"GL4" - читать интересную книгу автора (vol12)

'Deep indeed run the roots of Evil,' said Borlas, 'and the black
sap is strong in them. That tree will never be slain. Let men hew
it as often as they may, it will thrust up shoots again as soon as
they turn aside. Not even at the Feast of Felling should the axe
be hung up on the wall! '
'Plainly you think you are speaking wise words,' said Saelon.
'I guess that by the gloom in your voice, and by the nodding of
your head. But what is this all about? Your life seems fair
enough still, for an aged man that does not now go far abroad.
Where have you found a shoot of your dark tree growing? In
your own garden?'
Borlas looked up, and as he glanced keenly at Saelon he
wondered suddenly if this young man, usually gay and often
half mocking, had more in his mind than appeared in his face.
Borlas had not intended to open his heart to him, but being
burdened in thought he had spoken aloud, more to himself than
his companion. Saelon did not return his glance. He was hum-
ming softly, while he trimmed a whistle of green willow with a
sharp nail-knife.
The two were sitting in an arbour near the steep eastern shore
of Anduin where it flowed about the feet of the hills of Arnen.
They were indeed in Borlas's garden and his small grey-stone
house could be seen through the trees above them on the hill-
slope facing west. Borlas looked at the river, and at the trees in
their June leaves, and then far off to the towers of the City under
the glow of late afternoon. 'No, not in my garden,' he said
thoughtfully.
'Then why are you so troubled?' asked Saelon. 'If a man has
a fair garden with strong walls, then he has as much as any man
can govern for his own pleasure.' He paused. 'As long as he
keeps the strength of life in him,' he added. 'When that fails,
why trouble about any lesser ill? For then he must soon leave his
garden at last, and others must look to the weeds.'

Borlas sighed, but he did not answer, and Saelon went on:
'But there are of course some who will not be content, and to
their life's end they trouble their hearts about their neighbours,
and the City, and the Realm, and all the wide world. You are
one of them, Master Borlas, and have ever been so, since I first
knew you as a boy that you caught in your orchard. Even then
you were not content to let ill alone: to deter me with a beating,
or to strengthen your fences. No. You were grieved and wanted
to improve me. You had me into your house and talked to me.
'I remember it well. "Orcs' work," you said many times.
"Stealing good fruit, well, I suppose that is no worse than boys'
work, if they are hungry, or their fathers are too easy. But
pulling down unripe apples to break or cast away! That is Orcs'
work. How did you come to do such a thing, lad?"
'Orcs' work! I was angered by that, Master Borlas, and too