large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_03_dunsany_64kb_18
large/9571/a_dreamers_tales_dm_1501_librivox_64kb_mp3/dreamerstales_03_dunsany_64kb
English
9571
And on this night, once in every year, I used to weep, for weeping was the mood of the city that nursed me. AND ON THIS NIGHT ONCE IN EVERY YEAR I USED TO WEEP FOR WEEPING WAS THE MOOD OF THE CITY THAT NURSED ME
 I saw a fair-haired man who drank beer in a café, and I said to him: "Why is the city of Andelsprutz quite dead, and her soul gone hence?" He answered: "Cities do not have souls and there is never any life in bricks." And I said to him: "Sir, you have spoken truly." And I asked the same question of another man, and he gave me the same answer, and I thanked him for his courtesy. And I saw a man of a more slender build, who had black hair, and channels in his cheeks for tears to run in, and I said to him: "Why is Andelsprutz quite dead, and when did her soul go hence?" And he answered: "Andelsprutz hoped too much. For thirty years would she stretch out her arms toward the land of Akla every night, to Mother Akla from whom she had been stolen. Every night she would be hoping and sighing, and stretching out her arms to Mother Akla. At midnight, once a year, on the anniversary of the terrible day, Akla would send spies to lay a wreath against the walls of Andelsprutz. She could do no more. N THAT ONDO'S BRUTES WAS DEAD I SAW A FAIR HAIRED MAN WHO DRANK BEER IN A CAFE AND I SAID TO HIM WHY IS THE CITY OF ONDO SPRUTES QUITE DEAD AND HER SOUL GONE HENCE HE ANSWERED CITIES DO NOT HAVE SOULS AND THERE IS NEVER ANY LIFE IN BRICKS AND I SAID TO HIM SIR YOU HAVE SPOKEN TRULY AND I ASKED THE SAME QUESTION OF ANOTHER MAN AND HE GAVE ME THE SAME ANSWER AND I THANKED HIM FOR HIS COURTESY AND I SAW A MAN OF A MORE SLENDER BUILD WHO HAD BLACK HAIR AND CHANNELS IN HIS CHEEKS FOR TEARS TO RUN IN AND I SAID TO HIM WHY IS ONDO'S BRUTES QUITE DEAD AND WHEN DID HER SOUL GO HENCE AND HE ANSWERED ONDO SPRUTES HOPED TOO MUCH FOR THIRTY YEARS WOULD SHE STRETCH OUT HER ARMS TOWARDS THE LAND OF OCCLA EVERY NIGHT TO MOTHER OCLA FROM WHOM SHE HAD BEEN STOLEN EVERY NIGHT SHE WOULD BE HOPING AND SIGHING AND STRETCHING OUT HER ARMS TO MOTHER OCLA AT MIDNIGHT ONCE A YEAR ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE TERRIBLE DAY OCCLA WOULD SEND SPIES TO LAY A WREATH AGAINST THE WALLS OF ONDUL SPRUTES SHE COULD DO NO MORE
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