Sladka voda ob vznožju morske pečine

Zadnji del stopnišča je drugačen. Skala ni več suha. Pod njenimi nogami postaja temnejša in hladnejša, diši po mokrem kamnu, svetloba, ki se odbija od vode, pa meče premikajoče se črte po stropu nizke jame na dnu.

The last stretch of the staircase is different. The rock stops being dry. It goes darker and cooler under her feet, and there is a smell of wet stone, and the light coming up off the water throws moving lines across the ceiling of a low cave at the bottom.

In tam, v višini morja, le nekaj stopnic od slane vode, iz skale priteka sladka voda. Polly jo pokusi s kljunom. Mrzla je in sladka in tu sploh ne bi smela biti, pa vendar je razlog za vse, kar se dviga nad Polly.

And there, at the level of the sea, with salt water a few steps away, fresh water is coming out of the rock. Polly puts her beak to it. It is cold and it is sweet and it is entirely wrong, and it is the reason for everything above her.

Deluje takole. Zemlja na vrhu pečine je apnenec, dež pa z apnenca ne odteka tako, kot odteka z druge kamnine. Ponikne. Najde razpoke, jih razširi in potuje navzdol skozi notranjost kamna, in ker je sladka voda lažja od morske, lahko pride vse do vznožja pečine in tja prispe še vedno sladka, točno na gladini, preden se morje utegne pomešati z njo.

It works like this. The land on top of the cliff is limestone, and rain does not run off limestone the way it runs off other rock. It sinks. It finds cracks and widens them and travels down through the inside of the stone, and because fresh water is lighter than sea water it can come all the way to the bottom of the cliff and arrive still fresh, right at the water line, before the sea gets a chance to mix with it.

Zdaj ima stopnišče smisel. Ne vojaki in ne ena noč. Najverjetneje menihi, ki so leta in leta potrpežljivo sekali navzdol proti izviru, za katerega so vedeli, da je tam, saj ima lahko mesto na vrhu pečine obzidje in stolpe in razgled čez ves preliv, pa vseeno izgubi vse, ker mu zmanjka požirka vode.

So now the staircase makes sense. Not soldiers, and not one night. Monks, most likely, cutting patiently downward over years toward a spring they knew was there, because a town on top of a cliff can have walls and towers and a view over the whole strait and still lose everything for the want of a drink of water.