Читать книгу Belgarath the Sorcerer - David Eddings - Страница 12

And now we were seven, and I think we all knew that for the time being there wouldn’t be any more of us. The others came later. We were an oddly assorted group, I’ll grant you, but the fact that we lived in separate towers helped to keep down the frictions to some degree.

The addition of Beldin to our fellowship was not as disruptive as I’d first imagined it might be. This is not to say that our ugly little brother mellowed very much, but rather that we grew accustomed to his irascible nature as the years rolled by. I invited him to stay in my tower with me during what I suppose you could call his novitiate – that period when he was Aldur’s pupil before he achieved full status. I discovered during those years that there was a mind lurking behind those bestial features, and what a mind it was! With the possible exception of Belmakor, Beldin was clearly the most intelligent of us all. The two of them argued for years about points of logic and philosophy so obscure that the rest of us hadn’t the faintest idea of what they were talking about, and they both enjoyed those arguments enormously.

It took me a while, but I finally managed to persuade Beldin that an occasional bath probably wouldn’t be harmful to his health, and that if he bathed, the fastidious Belmakor might be willing to come close enough to him that they wouldn’t have to shout during their discussions. As my daughter’s so fond of pointing out, I’m not an absolute fanatic about bathing, but Beldin sometimes carries his indifference to extremes.

During the years that we lived and studied together, I came to know Beldin and eventually at least to partially understand him. Mankind was still in its infancy in that age, and the virtue of compassion hadn’t really caught on as yet. Humor, if you want to call it that, was still quite primitive and brutal. People found any sort of anomaly funny, and Beldin was about as anomalous as you can get. Rural folk would greet his entry into their villages with howls of laughter, and after they’d laughed their fill, they would normally stone him out of town. It’s not really very hard to understand his foul temper, is it? His own people tried to kill him the moment he was born, and he’d spent his whole life being chased out of every community he tried to enter. I’m really rather surprised that he didn’t turn homicidal. I probably would have.

He’d lived with me for a couple hundred years, and then on one rainy spring day, he raised a subject I probably should have known would come up eventually. He was staring moodily out the window at the slashing rain, and he finally growled, ‘I think I’ll build my own tower.’

‘Oh?’ I replied, laying aside my book. ‘What’s wrong with this one?’

‘I need more room, and we’re starting to get on each other’s nerves.’

‘I hadn’t noticed that.’

‘Belgarath, you don’t even notice the seasons. When you’re face-down in one of your books, I could probably set fire to your toes, and you wouldn’t notice. Besides, you snore.’

‘I snore? You sound like a passing thunderstorm every night, all night.’

‘It keeps you from getting lonesome.’ He looked pensively out the window again. ‘There’s another reason, too, of course.’

‘Oh?’

He looked directly at me, his eyes strangely wistful. ‘In my whole life, I’ve never really had a place of my own. I’ve slept in the woods, in ditches, and under haystacks, and the warm, friendly nature of my fellow-man has kept me pretty much constantly on the move. I think that just once, I’d like to have a place that nobody can throw me out of.’

What could I possibly say to that? ‘You want some help?’ I offered.

‘Not if my tower’s going to turn into something that looks like this one,’ he growled.

‘What’s wrong with this tower?’

‘Belgarath, be honest. This tower of yours looks like an ossified tree-stump. You have absolutely no sense of beauty whatsoever.’

This? Coming from Beldin?

‘I think I’ll go talk with Belmakor. He’s a Melcene, and they’re natural builders. Have you ever seen one of their cities?’

‘I’ve never had occasion to go into the east.’

‘Naturally not. You can’t pull yourself out of your books long enough to go anyplace. Well? Are you coming along, or not?’

How could I turn down so gracious an invitation? I pulled on my cloak, and we went out into the rain. Beldin, of course, didn’t bother with cloaks. He was absolutely indifferent to the weather.

When we reached Belmakor’s somewhat overly ornate tower, my stumpy little friend bellowed up, ‘Belmakor! I need to talk with you!’

Our civilized brother came to the window. ‘What is it, old boy?’ he called down to us.

‘I’ve decided to build my own tower. I want you to design it for me. Open your stupid door.’

‘Have you bathed lately?’

‘Just last month. Don’t worry, I won’t stink up your tower.’

Belmakor sighed. ‘Oh, very well,’ he gave in. His eyes went slightly distant, and the latch on his heavy iron-bound door clicked. The rest of us had taken our cue from our Master and used rocks to close the entrances to our towers, but Belmakor felt the need for a proper door. Beldin and I went in and mounted the stairs.

‘Have you and Belgarath had a falling out?’ Belmakor asked curiously.

‘Is that any business of yours?’ Beldin snapped.

‘Not really. Just wondering.’

‘He wants a place of his own,’ I explained. ‘We’re starting to get under each other’s feet.’

Belmakor was very shrewd. He got my point immediately. ‘What did you have in mind?’ he asked the dwarf.

‘Beauty,’ Beldin said bluntly. ‘I may not be able to share it, but at least I’ll be able to look at it.’

Belmakor’s eyes filled with sudden tears. He always was the most emotional of us.

‘Oh, stop that!’ Beldin told him. ‘Sometimes you’re so gushy you make me want to spew. I want grace. I want proportion, I want something that soars. I’m tired of living in the mud.’

‘Can you manage that?’ I asked our brother.

Belmakor went to his writing desk, gathered his papers, and inserted them in the book he’d been studying. Then he put the book upon a top shelf, spun a large sheet of paper and one of those inexhaustible quill pens he was so fond of out of air itself, and sat down. ‘How big?’ he asked Beldin.

‘I think we’d better keep it a little lower than the Master’s, don’t you?’

‘Wise move. Let’s not get above ourselves.’ Belmakor quickly sketched in a fairy castle that took my breath away – all light and delicacy with flying buttresses that soared out like wings, and towers as slender as toothpicks.

‘Are you trying to be funny?’ Beldin accused. ‘You couldn’t house butterflies in that piece of gingerbread.’

‘Just a start, brother mine,’ Belmakor said gaily. ‘We’ll modify it down to reality as we go along. You have to do that with dreams.’

And that started an argument that lasted for about six months and ultimately drew us all into it. Our own towers were, for the most part, strictly utilitarian. Although it pains me to admit it, Beldin’s description of my tower was probably fairly accurate. It did look somewhat like a petrified tree-stump when I stepped back to look at it. It kept me out of the weather, though, and it got me up high enough so that I could see the horizon and look at the stars. What else is a tower supposed to do?

It was at that point that we discovered that Belsambar had the soul of an artist. The last place in the world you would look for beauty would be in the mind of an Angarak. With surprising heat, given his retiring nature, he argued with Belmakor long and loud, insisting on his variations as opposed to the somewhat pedestrian notions of the Melcenes. Melcenes are builders, and they think in terms of stone and mortar and what your material will actually let you get away with. Angaraks think of the impossible, and then try to come up with ways to make it work.

‘Why are you doing this, Belsambar?’ Beldin once asked our normally self-effacing brother. ‘It’s only a buttress, and you’ve been arguing about it for weeks now.’

‘It’s the curve of it, Beldin,’ Belsambar explained, more fervently than I’d ever heard him say anything else. ‘It’s like this.’ And he created the illusion of the two opposing towers in the air in front of them for comparison. I’ve never known anyone else who could so fully build illusions as Belsambar. I think it’s an Angarak trait; their whole world is built on an illusion.

Belmakor took one look and threw his hands in the air. ‘I bow to superior talent,’ he surrendered. ‘It’s beautiful, Belsambar. Now, how do we make it work? There’s not enough support.’

‘I’ll support it, if necessary.’ It was Belzedar, of all people! ‘I’ll hold up our brother’s tower until the end of days, if need be.’ What a soul that man had!

‘You still didn’t answer my question – any of you!’ Beldin rasped. ‘Why are you all taking so much trouble with all of this?’

‘It is because thy brothers love thee, my son,’ Aldur, who had been standing in the shadows unobserved, told him gently. ‘Canst thou not accept their love?’

Beldin’s ugly face suddenly contorted grotesquely, and he broke down and wept.

‘And that is thy first lesson, my son,’ Aldur told him. ‘Thou wilt warily give love, all concealed beneath this gruff exterior of thine, but thou must also learn to accept love.’

It all got a bit sentimental after that.

And so we all joined together in the building of Beldin’s tower. It didn’t really take us all that long. I hope Durnik takes note of that. It’s not really immoral to use our gift on mundane things, Sendarian ethics notwithstanding.

I missed having my grotesque little friend around in my own tower, but I’ll admit that I slept better. I wasn’t exaggerating in the least in my description of his snoring.

Life settled down in the Vale after that. We continued our studies of the world around us and expanded our applications of our peculiar talent. I think it was one of the twins who discovered that it was possible for us to communicate with each other by thought alone. It would have been one – or both – of the twins, since they’d been sharing their thoughts since the day they were born. I do know that it was Beldin who discovered the trick of assuming the forms of other creatures. The main reason I can be so certain is that he startled several years’ growth out of me the first time he did it. A large hawk with a bright band of blue feathers across its tail came soaring in, settled on my window ledge, and blurred into Beldin. ‘How about that?’ he demanded. ‘It works after all.’

I was drinking from a tankard at the time, and I dropped it and went into an extended fit of choking while he pounded me on the back.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ I demanded after I got my breath.

He shrugged. ‘I was studying birds,’ he explained. ‘I thought it might be useful to look at the world from their perspective for a while. Flying’s not as easy as it looks. I almost killed myself when I threw myself out of the tower window.’

‘You idiot!’

‘I managed to get my wings working before I hit the ground. It’s sort of like swimming. You never know if you can do it until you try.’

‘What’s it like? Flying, I mean?’

‘I couldn’t even begin to describe it, Belgarath,’ he replied with a look of wonder on his ugly face. ‘You should try it. I wouldn’t recommend jumping out of any windows, though. Sometimes you’re a little careless with details, and if you don’t get the tail feathers right, you’ll break your beak.’

Beldin’s discovery came at a fortuitous time. It wasn’t very long afterward that our Master sent us out from the Vale to see what the rest of mankind had been up to. As closely as I can pinpoint it, it seems to have been about fifteen hundred years since that snowy night when I first met him.

Anyway, flying is a much faster way to travel than walking. Beldin coached us all, and we were soon flapping around the Vale like a flock of migrating ducks. I’ll admit right at the outset that I don’t fly very well. Polgara’s made an issue of that from time to time. I think she holds it in reserve for occasions when she doesn’t have anything else to carp about. Anyway, after Beldin taught us how to fly, we scattered to the winds and went out to see what people were up to. With the exception of the Ulgos, there wasn’t really anybody to the west of us, and I didn’t get along too well with their new Gorim. The original one and I had been close friends, but the latest one seemed just a bit taken with himself.

So I flew east instead and dropped in on the Tolnedrans. They’d built a number of cities since the last time I’d seen them. Some of those cities were actually quite large, though their habit of using logs for constructing walls and thatch for roofs made me just a little wary of entering those freestanding firetraps. As you might expect, the Tolnedran fascination with money hadn’t diminished in the fifteen hundred years since I’d last seen them. If anything, they’d grown even more acquisitive, and they seemed to spend a great deal of time building roads. What is this thing with Tolnedrans and roads? They were generally peaceful, however, since war’s bad for business, so I flew on to visit the Marags.

The Marags were a strange people – as I’m sure Relg has discovered by now. Perhaps their peculiarities are the result of the fact that there are many more women in their society than there are men. Their God, Mara, takes what is in my view an unwholesome interest in fertility and reproduction. Their society is matriarchal, which is unusual – although the Nyissans tend in that direction as well.

Despite its peculiarities, Marag culture was functional, and they had not yet begun the practice of ritual cannibalism that their neighbors found so repugnant and which ultimately led to their near-extinction. They were a generous people – the women particularly, and I got along quite well with them. I don’t know that I need to go into too much detail. This book will almost certainly fall into Polgara’s hands eventually, and she has strong opinions about some things which aren’t really all that important.

After several years, we all returned to the Vale and gathered once more in our Master’s tower to report on what we had seen.

With a certain delicacy, our Master had sent Belsambar north to see what the Morindim and the Karands were doing. It really wouldn’t have been a good idea to send Belsambar back into the lands of the Angaraks. He had very strong feelings about the Grolim priesthood, and our journeys were supposed to be fact-finding missions. We weren’t out there to right wrongs or to impose our own notions of justice. In retrospect, though, we could have probably saved the world a great deal of pain and suffering if we’d simply turned Belsambar loose on the Grolims. It probably would have caused bad blood between Torak and our Master, though, and that came soon enough anyway.

It was Belzedar who went down to the north side of Korim to observe the Angaraks. Isn’t it funny how things turn out? What he saw in those mountains troubled him very much. Torak always had an exaggerated notion of his significance in the overall scheme of things, and he encouraged his Angaraks to become excessive in their worship. They’d raised a temple to him in the High Places of Korim where the Grolim priesthood ecstatically butchered their fellow Angaraks by the hundreds while Torak looked on approvingly.

The religious practices of the various races of man were really none of our business, but Belzedar found cause for alarm in the beliefs of the Angaraks. Torak made no secret of the fact that he considered himself several cuts above his brothers, and he was evidently encouraging his people to feel the same way about themselves. ‘It’s just a matter of time, I’m afraid,’ Belzedar concluded somberly. ‘Sooner or later, they’re going to try to impose their notion of their own superiority on the rest of mankind, and that won’t work. If someone doesn’t persuade Torak to stop filling the heads of the Angaraks with that obscene sense of superiority, there’s very likely to be war in the south.’

Then Belsambar told us that the Morindim and the Karands had become demon-worshipers, but that they posed no real threat to the rest of mankind, since the demons devoted themselves almost exclusively to eating the magicians who raised them.

Beldin reported that the Arends had grown even more stupid – if that’s possible – and that they all lived in a more or less perpetual state of war.

Belmakor had passed through the lands of the Nyissans on his way to Melcena, and he reported that the snake-people were still fearfully primitive. No one’s ever accused the Nyissans of being energetic, but you’d think they might have at least started building houses by now. The Melcenes, of course, did build houses – probably more than they really needed – but it kept them out of mischief. On his way back, he passed through Kell, and he told us that the Dals were much involved in arcane studies – astrology, necromancy, and the like. The Dals spend so much of their time trying to look into the future that they tend to lose sight of the present. I hate mystics! The only good part of it was that they were so fuzzy-headed that they didn’t pose a threat to anybody else.

The Alorns, of course, were an entirely different matter. They’re a noisy, belligerent people who’ll fight at the drop of a hat. Beltira and Belkira looked in on their fellow Alorns. Fortunately for the sake of world peace, the Alorns, like the Arends, spent most of their time fighting each other rather than doing war on other races, but the twins strongly suggested that we keep an eye on them. I’ve been doing just that for the past five thousand years. It was probably that more than anything else that turned my hair white. Alorns can get into more trouble by accident than other people can on purpose – always excepting the Arends, of course. Arends are perpetually a catastrophe waiting to explode.

Our Master considered our reports carefully and concluded that the world outside the Vale was generally peaceful and that only the Angaraks were likely to cause trouble. He told us that he’d have a word with his brother Torak about that particular problem, pointing out to him that if any kind of general war broke out, the Gods themselves would inevitably be drawn in, and that would be disastrous. ‘Methinks I can make him see reason,’ Aldur told us. Reason? Torak? Sometimes my Master’s optimism got the better of him.

As I recall, he had been absently fondling that strange grey stone of his as we made our reports. He’d had the thing for so long that I don’t think he even realized that it was in his hand. Over the years since he’d spoken with UL about it, I don’t think he’d once put it down, and it somehow almost became a part of him.

It was naturally Belzedar who noticed it. I wonder how everything might have turned out if he hadn’t. ‘What is that strange jewel, Master?’ he asked. Better far that his tongue had fallen out before he asked that fatal question.

‘This Orb?’ Aldur replied, holding it up for all of us to see. ‘In it lies the fate of the world.’ It was then for the first time that I noticed that the stone seemed to have a faint blue flicker deep inside of it. It was, as I think I’ve mentioned before, polished by a thousand years or more of our Master’s touch, and it was now, as Belzedar had so astutely noticed, more a jewel than a piece of plain, country rock.

‘How can so small an object be so important, Master?’ Belzedar asked. That’s another question I wish he’d never thought of. If he’d just been able to let it drop, none of what’s happened would have happened, and he wouldn’t be in his present situation. Despite all of our training, there are some questions better left unanswered.

Unfortunately, our Master had a habit of answering questions, and so things came out that might better have been left buried. If they had, I might not currently be carrying a load of guilt which I’m not really strong enough to bear. I’d rather carry a mountain than carry what I did to Belzedar. Garion might understand that, but I’m fairly sure none of the rest of my savage family would. Regrets? Yes, of course I have regrets. I’ve got regrets stacked up behind me at least as far as from here to the moon. But we don’t die from regret, do we? We might squirm a little, but we don’t die.

And our Master smiled at my brother Belzedar, and the Orb grew brighter. I seemed to see images flickering dimly within it. ‘Herein lies the past,’ our Master told us, ‘and the present, and the future, also. This is but a small part of the virtue of the Orb. With it may man – or earth herself – be healed or destroyed. Whatsoever man or God would do, though it be beyond even the power of the Will and the Word, with this Orb may it come to pass.’

‘Truly a wondrous thing, Master,’ Belzedar said, looking a bit puzzled, ‘but still I fail to understand. The jewel is fair, certainly, but in fine it is yet but a stone.’

‘The Orb hath revealed the future unto me, my son,’ our Master replied sadly. ‘It shall be the cause of much contention and great suffering and vast destruction. Its power reaches from where it now lies to blow out the lives of men yet unborn as easily as thou wouldst snuff out a candle.’

‘It’s an evil thing then, Master,’ I said, and Belsambar and Belmakor agreed.

‘Destroy it, Master,’ Belsambar pleaded, ‘before it can bring its evil into the world.’

‘That may not be,’ our Master replied.

‘Blessed be the wisdom of Aldur,’ Belzedar said, his eyes glittering strangely. ‘With us to aid him, our Master may wield this wondrous jewel for good instead of ill. It would be monstrous to destroy so precious a thing.’ Now that I look back at everything that’s happened, I suppose I shouldn’t really blame Belzedar for his unholy interest in the Orb. It was a part of something that absolutely had to happen. I shouldn’t blame him for it – but I do.

‘I tell ye, my sons,’ our Master continued, ‘I would not destroy the Orb even were it possible. Ye have all just returned from looking at the world in its childhood and at man in his infancy. All living things must grow or they will die. Through this jewel shall the world be changed and man shall achieve that state for which he was made. The Orb is not of itself evil. Evil is a thing which lieth only in the hearts and minds of men – and of Gods also.’ And then our Master fell silent, and he sighed, and we went away and left him in his sad communion with the Orb.

We saw little of our Master in the centuries which followed. Alone in his tower he continued his study of the Orb, and he learned much from it, I think. We were all saddened by his absence, and our work had little joy in it.

I think it was about twenty centuries after I came to serve my Master when a stranger came into the Vale. He was beautiful as no being I have ever seen, and he walked as if his foot spurned the earth.

As was customary, we went out to greet him.

‘I would speak with thy Master Aldur,’ he told us, and we knew that we were in the presence of a God.

As the eldest, I stepped forward. ‘I shall tell my Master you have come,’ I said politely. I wasn’t certain which God he was, but something about this over-pretty stranger didn’t sit very well with me.

‘That is not needful, Belgarath,’ he told me in a tone that irritated me even more than his manner. ‘My brother knows I am here. Convey me to his tower.’

I turned and led the way without trusting myself to answer.

When we reached the tower, the stranger looked me full in the face. ‘A bit of advice for thee, Belgarath,’ he said, ‘by way of thanks for thy service. Seek not to rise above thyself. It is not thy place to approve or to disapprove of me. For thy sake, I hope that when next we meet, thou wilt remember this instruction and behave in a more seemly manner.’ His eyes seemed to bore directly into me, and his voice chilled me.

But, because I was still who I was and not even the two thousand years and more I had lived in the Vale had entirely put the wild, rebellious boy in me to sleep, I answered him somewhat tartly. ‘Thank you for the advice,’ I told him. ‘Will you require anything else?’ It wasn’t up to me to tell him where the door was or how to open it. I waited, watching hopefully for some hint of confusion.

‘Thou art pert, Belgarath,’ he observed. ‘Perhaps one day I shall give myself leisure to instruct thee in proper behavior and customary respect.’

‘I’m always eager to learn,’ I replied. As you can see, Torak and I got off on the wrong foot almost immediately. You’ll notice that I’d deduced his identity by now.

He turned and gestured, and the stone door of the tower opened. Then he went inside.

We never knew exactly what passed between our Master and his brother. They spoke together for hours, then a summer storm broke above our heads, so we were forced to take shelter and thus missed Torak’s departure.

When the storm had cleared, our Master called us to him, and we went up into his tower. He sat at the table where he had labored so long over the Orb. There was a great sadness in his face, and my heart wept to see it. There was also a reddened mark on his cheek that I didn’t understand.

But Belzedar saw what I hadn’t almost at once. ‘Master!’ he said with a note of panic in his voice, ‘where is the jewel? Where is the Orb of power?’ I wish I’d paid closer attention to the sound of his voice. I might have been able to avert a lot of things if I had.

‘Torak, my brother, hath taken it away with him,’ our Master replied, and his voice had almost the sound of weeping in it.

‘Quickly!’ Belzedar exclaimed. ‘We must pursue him and reclaim the Orb before he escapes us! We are many, and he is but one!’

‘He is a God, my son,’ Aldur said. ‘Numbers mean nothing to him.’

‘But, Master,’ Belzedar said desperately, ‘we must reclaim the Orb! It must be returned to us!’ And I still didn’t realize what was going on in Belzedar’s mind. My brains must have been asleep.

‘How did thy brother obtain thine Orb from thee, Master?’ Beltira asked.

‘Torak conceived a desire for the jewel,’ Aldur said, ‘and he besought me that I should give it to him. When I would not, he smote me and took the Orb and ran.’

That did it! Though the jewel was wondrous, it was still only a stone. The fact that Torak had struck my Master, however, brought flames into my brain. I threw off my cloak, bent my will into the air before me, and forged a sword with a single word. I seized the sword and leapt to the window.

‘No!’ my Master said, and the word stopped me as if a wall had been placed before me.

‘Open!’ I commanded, slashing at that unseen wall with the sword I’d just made.

‘No!’ my Master said again, and the wall wouldn’t let me through.

‘He hath struck thee, Master!’ I raged. ‘For that I will kill him though he be ten times a God!’

‘No. Torak would crush thee as easily as thou wouldst crush an insect which annoyed thee. I love thee much, mine eldest son, and I would not lose thee so.’

‘There must be war, Master,’ Belmakor said. That should give you some idea of how seriously we took the matter. The word ‘war’ was the last I’d have ever expected to hear coming from the ultra-civilized Belmakor. ‘The blow and the theft must not go unpunished. We will forge weapons, and Belgarath shall lead us. We will make war on this thief who calls himself a God.’

‘My son,’ Aldur said with a kind of gentle sorrow, ‘there will be war enough to glut thee of it before thy life ends. Gladly would I have given the Orb to Torak, save that the Orb itself hath told me that one day it would destroy him. I would have spared him had I been able, but his lust for the jewel was too great, and he would not listen.’ He sighed and then straightened. ‘There will be war, Belmakor. It is unavoidable now. My brother hath the Orb in his possession, and with its power can he do great mischief. We must reclaim it or alter it before Torak can subdue it and bend it to his will.’

‘Alter?’ Belzedar said, aghast. ‘Surely, Master, surely thou wouldst not weaken this precious thing!’ It seemed that was all he could think about, and I still didn’t understand.

‘It may not be weakened, Belzedar,’ Aldur replied, ‘but will retain its power even unto the end of days. The purpose of our war shall be to press Torak into haste, that he will attempt to use it in a way that it will not be used.’

Belzedar stared at him. He evidently had thought that the Orb was a passive object. He hadn’t counted on the fact that it had its own ideas about things.

‘The world is inconstant, Belzedar,’ our Master explained, ‘but good and evil are immutable and unchanging. The Orb is an object of good and not merely some bauble or toy. It hath understanding not such as thine, but understanding nonetheless. And it hath a will. Beware of it, for its will is the will of a stone. It is, as I say, a thing of good. If it be raised to do evil, it will strike down whoever would so use it – be he man or be he God.’ Aldur obviously saw what I did not, and this was his way to try to warn Belzedar. I don’t think it worked, though.

Our Master sighed, then he rose to his feet. ‘We must make haste,’ he told us. ‘Go ye, my disciples. Go ye even unto mine other brothers and tell them that I bid them come to me. I am the eldest, and they will come out of respect, if not love. The war we propose will not be ours alone. I do fear me that all of mankind shall be caught up in it. Go, therefore, and summon my brothers that we may consider what must be done.’