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Leila's Books
The Light Heart
The Light Heart
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an excerpt from the beginning of the first chapter:
Thormod was the name of a man known afterwards as Coalbrow's Poet, though nobody had known that he was a poet until he met with Coalbrow, and least of all had he known it himself. But from what I can find out about him his poetry was in him from the beginning. He had the poet's way of thinking rather than of doing, that knack of working out the ways of a deed so fully in the mind that when the time comes to do it, it seems already done, and done with: wherefore you simply leave it undone. Another trick he had, which betrays his quality. He always viewed himself and his actions, himself with his friends, or with his family, as if his thinking self were no part of himself. He was intensely curious about his own actions, and forever asking his great friend Thorgar how the things they did together struck him, so that he himself might get a clearer view of them, or another view. And one more thing about him, to my mind very significantly his quality. He would never, for his life, surprise Thorgar, come upon him unawares. Sooner than do that he would not see him at all; and as he saw him nearly every day, he was often at great pains to warn him of the exact time of his approach. If everything else failed he would stand well out of sight, and shout, " Ho, Thorgar!" until he heard the answer come back which he could recognize as Thorgar's voice. He found himself out in this queer trick one day by accident, and thereafter never rested till he had got to the bottom of it. He was afraid that Thorgar might be different; he was afraid that he might catch Thorgar doing something, or looking like something, which would prove that he had never known Thorgar—that is, the real Thorgar; for he felt sure that the real you was only visible when you were alone, or believed yourself so. Now he loved Thorgar so much, and knew that he did, saw himself daily, hourly, loving Thorgar so utterly that he simply dared not risk the chance of surprising a different Thorgar. When he knew all this he told Thorgar about it, of course. And Thorgar laughed.
" I thought you were a queer fish," he said, " but not that you were so queer as that."
Thormod said, " You surely see what I am afraid of—and why I am afraid of it?"
" But I do not," said Thorgar. Thormod frowned.
" You see," he said, " you are my greatest friend."
" Granted."
" You are only my friend because I love what you are."
"Well?"
"Well—but if you were different I might not love you at all."
Thorgar's eyes flashed. He had got hold of something at last. " Yes—but you might, on the other hand, love me more." And he insisted upon arguing about that, which to Thormod's mind had nothing whatever to do with it. So Thormod had to give up talking about it at all, but did not cease giving notice of his approach. So it happened that he met, quite by accident, with the happiest moment of his life, a moment which he never forgot.
Thormod was the name of a man known afterwards as Coalbrow's Poet, though nobody had known that he was a poet until he met with Coalbrow, and least of all had he known it himself. But from what I can find out about him his poetry was in him from the beginning. He had the poet's way of thinking rather than of doing, that knack of working out the ways of a deed so fully in the mind that when the time comes to do it, it seems already done, and done with: wherefore you simply leave it undone. Another trick he had, which betrays his quality. He always viewed himself and his actions, himself with his friends, or with his family, as if his thinking self were no part of himself. He was intensely curious about his own actions, and forever asking his great friend Thorgar how the things they did together struck him, so that he himself might get a clearer view of them, or another view. And one more thing about him, to my mind very significantly his quality. He would never, for his life, surprise Thorgar, come upon him unawares. Sooner than do that he would not see him at all; and as he saw him nearly every day, he was often at great pains to warn him of the exact time of his approach. If everything else failed he would stand well out of sight, and shout, " Ho, Thorgar!" until he heard the answer come back which he could recognize as Thorgar's voice. He found himself out in this queer trick one day by accident, and thereafter never rested till he had got to the bottom of it. He was afraid that Thorgar might be different; he was afraid that he might catch Thorgar doing something, or looking like something, which would prove that he had never known Thorgar—that is, the real Thorgar; for he felt sure that the real you was only visible when you were alone, or believed yourself so. Now he loved Thorgar so much, and knew that he did, saw himself daily, hourly, loving Thorgar so utterly that he simply dared not risk the chance of surprising a different Thorgar. When he knew all this he told Thorgar about it, of course. And Thorgar laughed.
" I thought you were a queer fish," he said, " but not that you were so queer as that."
Thormod said, " You surely see what I am afraid of—and why I am afraid of it?"
" But I do not," said Thorgar. Thormod frowned.
" You see," he said, " you are my greatest friend."
" Granted."
" You are only my friend because I love what you are."
"Well?"
"Well—but if you were different I might not love you at all."
Thorgar's eyes flashed. He had got hold of something at last. " Yes—but you might, on the other hand, love me more." And he insisted upon arguing about that, which to Thormod's mind had nothing whatever to do with it. So Thormod had to give up talking about it at all, but did not cease giving notice of his approach. So it happened that he met, quite by accident, with the happiest moment of his life, a moment which he never forgot.
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