Purgatorio (8 page)

               
And so he said: ‘If the mirror that moves its light   
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to either side of the equator

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were in the company of Castor and of Pollux,

               
‘the red part of the zodiac would show

               
still closer to the Bears

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unless it were to leave its ancient track.

               
‘If you would understand how this may be,   
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with your mind focused, picture Zion

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and this mountain positioned so on earth

               
‘they share the same horizon

               
but are in different hemispheres.

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Then you shall see how, to his misfortune,

               
‘the highway Phaeton failed to drive

               
must pass this mountain on the one side,

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Zion on the other, if you consider it with care.’

               
‘Indeed, my master,’ I said,   
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‘I did not understand what now is clear,

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the point for which my wit was lacking:

               
‘the mid-circle of that celestial motion,

               
which a certain science calls “Equator,”

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and which always lies between the sun and winter,

               
‘for the very reason you have given

               
is as far to the north from here   
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as the Hebrews saw it toward the torrid parts.

               
‘But, please, tell me just how far   
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we have to go, for the hill rises

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farther than my eyes can climb.’

               
And he to me: ‘This mountain is so fashioned

               
that the climb is harder at the outset

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and, as one ascends, becomes less toilsome.

               
‘When climbing uphill will seem pleasing—

               
as easy as the passage of a boat

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that lets the current float it down the stream—

               
‘at that point will this trail be done.

               
There look to rest your weariness.

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This I know for truth. I say no more.’

               
As soon as he had said these words

               
a voice close by called out: ‘Perhaps   
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you’ll feel the need to sit before then.’

               
Hearing this, both of us turned around,

               
and saw to our left an enormous rock

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that neither he nor I at first had noticed.

               
When we approached, we saw some people

               
resting in the shade behind the boulder

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as men will settle down in indolence to rest,   
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and one of them, who seemed so very weary,

               
was sitting with his arms around his knees,

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his head pressed down between them.

               
‘O my dear lord,’ I said, ‘just look at him.

               
He shows himself more indolent

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than if sloth had been his very sister.’

               
Then he turned and fixed his eyes on us,

               
barely lifting his face above his haunch,

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and said: ‘Go on up then, you who are so spry.’

               
At that I realized who he was,   
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and the exertion that still kept me short of breath

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now did not keep me from his side.

               
When I reached him he barely raised his head

               
to say: ‘Have you marked how the sun

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drives his car past your left shoulder?’

               
His lazy movements and curt speech   
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slowly shaped my lips into a smile, and I began:   
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‘Belacqua, no longer need I grieve for you.

               
‘But tell me, what keeps you sitting here?   
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Are you waiting for an escort,

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or have you gone back to your old lazy ways?’

               
And he: ‘Brother, what’s the good of going up?   
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The angel of God who sits in the gateway

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would not let me pass into the torments.

               
‘I must wait outside as long as in my lifetime   
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the heavens wheeled around me

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while I put off my sighs of penance to the end,   
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‘unless I’m helped by prayers that rise   
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from a heart that lives in grace.

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What good are those that go unheard in Heaven?’

               
And now, not waiting for me, the poet began   
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to climb the path, saying: ‘Come along.

               
Look, now the sun is touching the meridian,

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and on Morocco’s shore night sets her foot.’

               
I had already parted from those shades,   
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following the footsteps of my guide,

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when one behind me, pointing with his finger,

               
cried: ‘Look how the sun’s rays on the ground   
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are cut off to his left

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and how he moves and seems like one alive.’

               
Hearing these words, I turned to look at them   
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and saw that they were staring in amazement

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at me, at me and at the interrupted light.   
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‘Is your mind so distracted,’ asked the master,   
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‘that you have slowed your pace?

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Why do you care what they are whispering?

               
‘Just follow me and let the people talk.

               
Be more like a sturdy tower

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that does not tremble in the fiercest wind.

               
‘For any man who lets one thought—

               
and then another—take him over

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will soon lose track of his first goal.’

               
What could I answer but ‘I come’?   
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I said it, blushing with such shame

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as might make one worthy of his pardon.

               
And all this time in front of us

               
a group of shades advanced across the slope,   
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chanting
Miserere
line by line.

               
When they perceived my body stopped   
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the rays of the sun from shining through,

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their voices faded to a hoarse and drawn-out ‘Oh!’

               
and two of them, as messengers,   
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ran out to meet us and insisted:

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‘Tell us what you can of your condition.’

               
My master answered: ‘When you go back   
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you may report to those who sent you:

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this man’s body is true flesh.

               
‘If they stopped because they saw his shadow,

               
as I suppose, they have their answer.

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It may profit them to do him honor.’

               
Never have I seen falling stars streak   
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across the placid sky nor, at nightfall,

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lightning pulse within the clouds of August

               
as swiftly as these two ran upward

               
and, when they reached the others, they all,

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like an unruly band, turned and charged toward us.