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Messer Marco Polo
coldness to shiver and die？'
〃So she remains in her garden by the lake of Cranes with Li Po； the
great poet； him they call the Drinker of Wine； to make songs for her； and
the SANANG Tung Chih； the great magician； to perform wonders for her
when she is wearied； and Bulagan； her nurse； to take her to her heart when
she is sad。
〃And sad she is a lot of the time； they tell me。 She sits in her garden
in the dusk； playing her lute； and singing the song of the Willow branches；
which is the saddest love…song in the world。 。 。
〃And why she should be singing a sad love…song； is a mystery； for her
soft； brown beauty is the flower of the world。 For there would be no lack
of suitors for her； nor is she the one to refuse love。 The only thing I make
of it is that the right hour hasn't come。
〃The beauty of Venice jumps to your eyes； but the beauty of this pulls
at your heart。 Little brown Golden Bells； in her Chinese garden； singing
the song of the Willow Branches at the close of day 。 。 。Is that not better
nor Venice？〃
But he got no word out of Marco Polo； sitting with his chin cupped in
his hands。 And that was the finest answer at all； at all。 。 。
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Messer Marco Polo
CHAPTER V
The times went by； and Marco Polo busied himself with his daily
affairs； keeping track of the galleasses with merchandise to strange far…
away ports； buying presents for refractory governors who didn't care for
foreign trade in their domains； getting wisdom from the old clerks； and
knowledge from the mariners； in the main； acting as the son of a great
house while the heads of it were away。
You would think that he would have forgotten what the sea…captain of
China told him about Golden Bells； what with work and sport and other
women near him。 You would think that would drop out of his memory
like an old rime。 But it stuck there； as an old rime sometimes sticks； and
by dint of thinking he had her fast now in his mind so fast； so clear； so
full of life； that she might be some one he had seen an hour ago or was
going to see an hour from now。 He would think of the now merry； now
sad eyes of her； and the soft； sweet voice of her by reason of which they
called her Golden Bells； and the dusky little face； and the hair like black
silk； and the splotch of the red flower in it。 She was as distinct to him as
the five fingers on his hand。 It wasn't only she was clear in his mind's
eye； but she was inside of him； closer than his heart。 She was there when
the sun rose； so he would be saying； 〃It's a grand day is in it surely； Golden
Bells。〃 She was there in the dim counting house and he going over in the
great intricate ledgers the clerks do be posting carefully with quills of the
gray goose； so that he would be saying： 〃I wonder where this is and that is。
Sure I had my finger on it only a moment ago； Golden Bells。〃 And when
the dusk was falling； and the bats came out； and the quiet of Christ was
over everything； and the swallows flew low on the great canals； she would
be beside him； and never a word would he say to her； so near to him would
she be。
And she wrought strangeness between him and the women he knew；
the great grave lady with the large； pale mouth； her that was of his mind；
and the little black cloak…maker with the eager； red mouth； her that was
closer than mind or heart to him。 So that the first found fault with his
poetry。
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Messer Marco Polo
〃I don't know what's come over you； Marco Polo；〃 and there was a
touch of temper in her voice； 〃but these poems of yours show me you
haven't your mind on your subject。 Would you mind telling me when I
had bound black hair？〃 she says。 〃And you say my bosom is like two
little russet apples。 Now； a regular poet once compared it to two great
silver cups； and that was a good comparison； though in truth；〃 she says；
〃he knew as little about it as you。 And my hands are not like soft Eastern
flowers。 They're like lilies。 I don't know where you do be getting these
Eastern comparisons；〃 she says。 〃But I don't like them。 Tell me； pretty
boy；〃 she looks suspicious； 〃you haven't been taking any of the
strange Egyptian drugs the dark people do be selling in the dim shops on
the quiet canals？ Look out； pretty boy！ Look out！〃
And the little cloak…maker grumbled when he was gone。 〃I don't
know what's wrong with him；〃 says she。 〃Or maybe it's something that's
wrong with myself； but this delicate love isn't all it's cracked up to be。
It's all right in books；〃 she says； 〃and it's a grand sight； and the players
doing it； but I like a hug；〃 she says； 〃would put the breath out of you； and
a kiss；〃 she says； 〃you could feel in the soles of your feet。〃 And she lay
awake and grumbled。 〃Let him be taking his la…di…da courting to those as
favor it；〃 says she。 〃It's not my kind；〃 and she grumbled through the
lonely night。 〃I wonder where my husband is now；〃 she said。 〃And
wasn't I the foolish girl to be sending him off！ Sure； he drank like a fish
and beat me something cruel； but he was a rare lover； and the mood on
him。 Sure； a woman never knows when she's well off；〃 says she。
And Marco Polo didn't miss them any more nor you'd miss an old
overcoat and the winter past。 All his mind was on was the Golden Bells
of China。 And he thought long until his uncle and father came； so that he
could be off with them to the strange Chinese land。
〃But there's no use to me going there；〃 says he。 〃I couldn't marry her。
She would laugh at me；〃 he says。 〃She； who refused the son of the King
of Siam； with his hundred princes on a hundred elephants； what use would
she have for me； who's no better nor a peddler with his pack？ But it
would be worth walking the world barefoot for to see that little golden
face； to hear the low； sweet voice they call Golden Bells。〃
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Messer