For the Mituans had
got it fixed before we came that the keeper was somehow mixed up in
the earthquakes. And when they'd once taken that idea, it made no
difference if they'd felt little motors every few days all their
lives, and trembloritos and tremblors pretty frequent. As a specimen
of authority, even a little motor earthquake is too much. They happen
along in that neighbourhood every now and then, maybe once a month,
and you grow used to them, but still, they're vivid. If you got it
once in your mind that Himself in the lighthouse was fingering the
bowels of the earth, and Himself was doing it when the jerks came
under you, and your house walls creaked and swayed, you'd give
something to keep Himself amiable. There was no doubt about that.
But then, what made it appear to them that the keeper was inside his
rights to be bothering them that way? They seemed to think no less of
him for it; but rather more. They thought he was a fine thing. It
puzzled me, and I studied it. Then I seemed to get an understanding
of the primitive mind that was surprising.
But then, how did the case stand with Craney and me? As often as
that troubled me, I had only to go up to the lantern story, and hear
the keeper talk about Madrid and the vineyards of Aragon, and about
his longing and his pride.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87