The Daughters of the Late Colonel .Cn

曼斯菲尔德短篇小说

曼斯菲尔德著

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《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 1

SELECTED STORIES OF KATHERINE

MANSFIELD

Bliss

Although Bertha Young was thirty she still had moments like this when she wanted to run instead of walk, to take dancing steps on www.BOOKOO.com and off the pavement, to bowl a hoop, to throw something up in the air and catch it again, or to stand still and laugh at -- nothing -- at nothing, simply. What can you do if you are thirty and, turning the corner of your own street, you are overcome,suddenly, by a feeling of bliss -- .cn

absolute bliss!-- as though you'd suddenly swallowed a bight piece of that late afternoon sun and it burned in your bosom,sending out a little shower of sparks into every particle,into every finger and toe?.... Oh,is there no way you can express it whthout being "drunk and disor derly"? How idiotic civilization is! Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare, rare fiddle? "No, that about the fiddle is not quite what I mean," she thought, running up the steps and feeling in her bag for the key -- she'd

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 2 forgotten it, as usual--and rattling the letter-box."It's not what I mean, because- Thank you, Mary" -- she went into the hall."Is nurse back?" "Yes, M'm." "And has the fruit come?" "Yes, M'm. Everything's come." "Bring the fruit up to the dining-room, will you? I'll arrange it before I go upstairs."

It was dusky in the dining-room and quite chilly. But all the www.BOOKOO.com same Bertha threw off her coat; she could not bear the tight clasp of it another moment,and the cold air fell on her arms. But in her bosom there was still that bright glowing place--that shower of little sparks coming from it. It was almost unbearable.She .cn hardly dared to breathe for fear of fanning it higher,and yet she breathed deeply, deely.She hardly dared to look into the cold mirror-but she did look, and it gave her back a woman, radiant, with smiling,trembling lips, with big,dark eyes and an air of listening, waiting for something ... divine to happen ... that she knew must happen ...infallibly. Mary brought in the fruit on a tray and with it a glass bowl, and a blue dish, very lovely, with a strange sheen on it as though it had been dipped in milk.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 3

"Shall I turn on the light, M'm?" "No, thank you. I can see quite well." There were tangerines and apples stained with strawberry pink. Some yellow pears, smooth as silk, some white grapes covered with a silver bloom and a big cluster of purple ones. These last she had bought to tone in with the new dining-room carpet. Yes, that did sound rather far-fetched and absurd, but it was really why she had bought them. She had thought in the shop: "I must have some purple www.BOOKOO.com ones to bring the carpet up to the table."And it had seemed quite sense at the time. When she had finished with them and had made two pyramids of these bright round shapes, she stood away from the table to get the .cn effect - and it really was most curious. For the dark table seemed to melt into the dusky light and the glass dish and the blue bowl to float in the air. This, of course in her present mood, was so incredibly beautiful....She began to laugh. "No, no. I'm getting hysterical." And she seized her bag and coat and ran upstairs to the nursery. Nurse sat at a low table giving Little B her supper after her bath. The baby had on a white flannel gown and a blue woollen jacket, and her dark,fine hair was brushed up into a funny little peak. She looked

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 4 up when she saw her mother and began to jump. "Now, my lovey, eat it up like a good girl," said Nurse, setting her lips in a way that Bertha knew, and that meant she had come into the nursery at another wrong moment. "Has she been good, Nanny?" "She's been a little sweet all the afternoon," whispered Nanny. "We went to the park and I sat down on a chair and took her out of the pram and a big dog came along and put its head on my knee and www.BOOKOO.com she clutched its ear,tugged it. Oh, you should have seen her." Bertha wanted to ask if it wasn't rather dangerous to let her clutch at a strange dog's ear. But she did not dare to. She stood watching them, her hands by her side, like the poor little girl in front .cn of the rich little girl with the doll.

The baby looked up at her again, stared, and then smiled so charmingly that Bertha couldn't help crying: "Oh,Nanny,do let me finish giving her her supper while you put the bath things away." "Well, M'm,she oughtn't to be changed hands while she's eating," said Nanny,still whispering."It unsettles her;it's very likely to upset her." How absurd it was. Why have a baby if it has to be kept--not in

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 5 a case like a rare,rare fiddle--but in another woman's arms? "Oh,I must!" said she. Very offended,Nanny handed her over. "Now,don't excite her after her supper.You know you do,M'm.And I have such a time with her after!" Thank heaven! Nanny went out of the room with the bath towels.

"Now I've got you to myself, my little precious," said Bertha, as www.BOOKOO.com the baby leaned against her. She ate delightfully, holding up her lips for the spoon and then waving her hands.Sometimes she wouldn't let the spoon go; and sometimes, just as Bertha had filled it, she waved it away to the four .cn winds.

When the soup was finished Bertha turned round to the fire. "You're nice--you're very nice!" said she, kissing her warm baby."I'm fond of you.I like you." And, indeed, she loved Little B so much--her neck as she bent for ward, her exquisite toes as they shone transparent in the firelight--that all her feeling of bliss came back again, and again she didn't know how to express it--what to do with it. "You're wanted on the telephone," said Nanny, coming back in

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 6 triumph and seizing her Little B. Down she flew.It was Harry. "Oh,is that you, Ber? Look here. I'll be late. I'll take a taxi and come along as quickly as I can, but get dinner put back ten minutes--will you?All right?" "Yes, perfectly. Oh, Harry!" "Yes?"

What had she to say? She'd nothing to say. She only wanted to www.BOOKOO.com get intouch with him for a moment.She couldn't absurdly cryt: "Hasn't it been a divine day!" "What is it?" rapped out the little voice. "Nothing. Entendu," said Bertha, and hung up the .cn receiver,thinking how more than idiotic civilization was.

They had people coming to dinner. The Norman Knights--a very sound couple--he was about to start a theatre, and she was awfully keen on interior decoration, a young man, Eddie Warren, who had just published a little book of poems and whom everybody was asking to dine, and a "find" of Bertha's called Pearl Fulton.What Miss Fulton did, Bertha didn't know.They had met at the club and Bertha had fallen in love with her, as she always did fall in love with beautiful women who had something strange about them.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 7

The provoking thing was that, though they had been about together and met a number of times and really talked, Bertha couldn't yet make her out Up to a certain point Miss Fulton was rarely, wonderfully frank, but the certain point was there, and beyond that she would not go. Was there anything beyond it? Harry said "No." Voted her dullish. and "cold like all blonde women, with a touch, perhaps, of anaemia of the brain". But Bertha wouldn't agree with him; not yet,at www.BOOKOO.com any rate. "No, the way she has of sitting with her head a little on one side, and smiling, has something behind it, Harry, and I must find out what that something is." .cn "Most likely it's a good stomach," answered Harry.

He made a point of catching Bertha's heels with replies of that kind ..."liver frozen, my dear girl", or "pure flatulence", or "kidney disease", ...and so on. For some strange reason Bertha liked this, and almost admired it in him very much. She went into the drawing-room and lighted the fire; then picking up the cushions, one by one, that Mary had disposed so carefully, she threw them back on to the chairs and the couches. That made all the difference; the room came alive at once. As she was

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 8 about to throw the last one she sur prised herself by suddenly hugging it to her, passionately, passionately. But it did not put out the fire in her bosom. Oh, on the contrary! The windows of the drawing-room opened on to a balcony overlooking the garden. At the far end, against the wall, there was a tall, slender pear tree in fullest, richest bloom; it stood perfect, as though becalmed against the jade-green sky. Bertha couldn't help feeling, even from this distance,that it had not a single bud or a faded www.BOOKOO.com petal. Down below, in the garden beds, the red and yellow tulips, heavy with flowers, seemed to lean upon the dusk. A grey cat, dragging its belly, crept across the lawn, and a black one, its shadow, trailed after. The sight of them, so intent and so quick,gave Bertha a .cn curious shiver.

"What creepy things cats are!" she stammered, and she turned away from the window and began walking up and down.... How strong the jonquils smelled in the warm room. Too strong? Oh, no.And yet, as though overcome, she flung down on a couch and pressed her hands to her eyes. "I 'm too happy--too happy!" she murmured. And she seemed to see on her eyelids the lovely pear tree with its wide open blossoms as a symbol of her own life.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 9

Really--really--she had everything. She was young. Harry and she were as much in love as ever, and they got on together splendidly and were really good pals. She had an adorable baby. They didn't have to worry about money. They had this absolutely satisfactory house and garden. And friends- modern, thrilling friends,writers and painters and poets or people keen on social questions--just the kind of friends they wanted. And then there were books, and there was music, and she had found a wonderful little dressmaker, and they www.BOOKOO.com were going abroad in the summer, and their new cook made the most superb omelettes.... "I'm absurd. Absurd!" She sat up; but she felt quite dizzy, quite drunk. It must have been the spring. .cn Yes, it was the spring. Now she was so tired she could not drag herself upstairs to dress. A white dress, a string of jade beads, green shoes and stockings. It wasn't intentional. She had thought of this scheme hours before she stood at the drawing-room window. Her petals rustled softly into the hall, and she kissed Mrs Norman Knight, who was taking off the most amusing orange coat with a procession of black monkeys round the hem and up the fronts. "...Why! Why! Why is the middle-class so stodgy--so utterly

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10 without a sense of humour! My dear, it's only by a fluke that I am here at all--Norman being the protective fluke. For my darling monkeys so upset the train that it rose to a man and simply ate me with its eyes. Didn't laugh--wasn't amused--that I should have loved. No, just stared--and bored me through and through." "But the cream of it was," said Norman, pressing a large tortoiseshell rimmed monocle into his eye, "you don't mind me telling this,Face, do you?" (In their home and among their friends www.BOOKOO.com they called each other Face and Mug.) "The cream of it was when she, being full fed, turned to the woman beside her and said :'Haven't you ever seen a monkey before?'" "Oh, yes!" Mrs Norman Knight joined in the laughter. "Wasn't .cn that too absolutely creamy?"

And a funnier thing still was that now her coat was off she did look like a very intelligent monkey--who had even made that yellow silk dress out of scraped banana skins. And her amber ear-rings; they were like little dangling nuts. "This is a sad, sad fall!" said Mug, pausing in front of Little B's peram bulator. "When the perambulator comes into the hall--" and he waved the rest of the quotation away. The bell rang. It was lean, pale Eddie Warren (as.usual) in a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11 state of acute distress. "It is the right house,isn't it?" he pleaded. "Oh, I think so--I hope so," said Bertha brightly. "I have had such a dreadful experience with a taxi-man; he was most sinister. I couldn't get him to stop. The more I knocked and called the faster he went. And in the moonlight this bizarre figure with the flattened head crouching over the lit-tle wheel...."

He shuddered, taking off an immense white silk scarf. Bertha www.BOOKOO.com noticed that his socks were white, too--most charming. "But how dreadful!" she cried. "Yes, it really was," said Eddie, following her into the drawing-room. "I saw myself driving through Eternity in a timeless .cn taxi."

He knew the Norman Knights. In fact, he was going to write a play for N.K.when the theatre scheme came off. "Well,Warren, how's the play?" said Norman Knight, dropping his monocle and giving his eye a moment in which to rise to the surface before it was screwed down again. And Mrs Norman Knight: "Oh, Mr Warren, what happy socks?" "I am so glad you like them," said he, staring at his feet. "They seem to have got so much whiter since the moon rose." And he

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12 turned his lean sorrowful young face to Bertha. "There is a moon, you know." She wanted to cry; "I am sure there is--ofte --often!" He really was a most attractive person.But so was Face, crouched before the fire in her banana skins, and so was Mug, smoking a cigarette and saying as he flicked the ash: "Why doth the bridegroom tarry?"

"There he is, now." www.BOOKOO.com Bang went the front door open and shut. Harry shouted: "Hullo, you people. Down in five minutes." And they heard him swarm up the stairs. Bertha couldn't help smiling; she knew how he loved doing things at high pressure. What, after all, did an extra five minutes .cn matter? But he would pretend to himself that they mattered beyond measure. And then he would make a great point of coming into the drawing-room, extravagantly cool and collected. Harry had such a zest for life. Oh, how she appreciated it in him. And his passion for fighting--for seeking in everything that came up against him another test of his power and of his courage--that, too, she understood. Even when it made him just occasionally, to other people, who didn't know him well, a little ridiculous perhaps.... For there were moments when herushed into battle where no battle was...

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

She talked and laughed and positively forgot until he had come in (just as she had imagined) that Pearl Fulton had not turned up. "I wonder if Miss Fulton has forgotten?" "I expect so," said Harry."Is she on the phone?" "Ah! There's a taxi, now." And Bertha smiled with that little air of proprietorship that she always assumed while her women finds were new and mysterious. "She lives in taxis."

"She'll run to fat if she does," said Harry coolly, ringing the bell www.BOOKOO.com for dinner. "Frightful danger for blonde women." "Harry--don't," warned Bertha, laughing up at him. Came another tiny moment, while they waited, laughing and talking, just a trifle too much at their ease, a trifle too unaware. And .cn then Miss Fulton,all in silver, with a silver fillet binding her pale blonde hair, came in smiling, her head a little on one side. "Am I late?" "No, not at all," said Bertha. "Come along." And she took her arm and they moved into the dining-room. What was there in the touch of that cool arm that could fan--fan--start blazing--blazing--the fire of bliss that Bertha did not know what to do with? Miss Fulton did not look at her; but then she seldom did look at

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14 people directly. Her heavy eyelids lay upon her eyes and the strange half smile came and went upon her lips as though she lived by listening rather than seeing. But Bertha knew, suddenly, as if the longest, most intimate look had passed between them--as if they had said to each other: "You, too?"--that Pearl Fulton, stirring the beautiful red soup in the grey plate, was feeling just what she was feeling.

And the others? Face and Mug, Eddie and Harry, their spoons www.BOOKOO.com rising and falling--dabbing their lips with their napkins, crumbling bread,fiddling with the forks and glasses and talking. "I met her at the Alpha show--the weirdest little person. She'd not only cut off her hair, but she seemed to have taken a dreadfully .cn good snip off her legs and arms and her neck and her poor little nose as well."

"Isn't she very liée with Michael Oat?" "The man who wrote Love in False Teeth?" "He wants to write a play for me. One act. One man. Decides to commit suicide. Gives all the reasons why he should and why he shouldn't. And just as he has made up his mind either to do it or not to do it--curtain.Not half a bad idea." "What's he going to call it--`Stomach Trouble'?"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

"I think I've come across the same idea in a lit-tle French review, quiteunknown in England." No, they didn't share it. They were dears--dears--and she loved having them there, at her table, and giving them delicious food and wine. In fact, she longed to tell them how delightful they were, and what a decorative group they made, how they seemed to set one another off and how they reminded her of a play by Chekhov.

Harry was enjoying his dinner. It was part of his -- well, not his www.BOOKOO.com nature,exactly, and certainly not his pose -- his -- something or other -- to talk about food and to glory in his "shameless passion for the white flesh of the lobster" and "the green of pistachio ices -- green and cold like the eyelids of Egyptian dancers". .cn When he looked up at her and said: "Bertha, this is a very admirable soufflée!" she almost could have wept with child-like pleasure. Oh, why did she feel so tender towards the whole world tonight?Everything was good -- was right. All that happened seemed to fill again her brimming cup of bliss. And still, in the back of her mind, there was the pear tree. It would besilver now, in the light of poor dear Eddie's moon, silver as Miss Fulton,who sat there turning a tangerine in her slender fingers

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16 that were so pale a light seemed to come from them. What she simply couldn't make out -- what was miraculous -- was how she should have guessed Miss Fulton's mood so exactly and so instantly.For she never doubted for a moment that she was right, and yet what had she to go on? Less than nothing. "I believe this does happen very, very rarely between women. Never between men," thought Bertha. "But while I am making the coffee in the drawing-room perhaps she will'give a sign'." www.BOOKOO.com What she meant by that she did not know, and what would happen after that she could not imagine. While she thought like this she saw herself talking and laughing. She had to talk because of her desire to laugh. .cn "I must laugh or die."

But when she noticed Face's funny little habit of tucking something down the front of her bodice -- as if she kept a tiny, secret hoard of nuts there, too -- Bertha had to dig her nails into her hands -- so as not to laugh too much. It was over at last. And: "Come and see my new coffee machine," said Bertha. "We only have a new coffee machine once a fortnight," said Harry. Face took her arm this time, Miss Fulton bent her head and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17 followed after. The fire had died down in the drawing-room to a red, flickering "nest of baby phoenixes", said Face. "Don't turn up the light for a moment. It is so lovely." And down she crouched by the fire again. She was always cold ..."without her little red flannel jacket, of course," thought Bertha. At that moment Miss Fulton "gave the sign".

"Have you a garden?" said the cool, sleepy voice. www.BOOKOO.com This was so exquisite on her part that all Bertha could do was to obey.She crossed the room, pulled the curtains apart, and opened those long windows. "There !" she breathed. .cn And the two women stood side by side looking at the slender, flowering tree. Although it was so still it seemed, like the flame of a candle, to stretch up, to point, to quiver in the bright air, to grow taller as they gazed--almost to touch the rim of the round, silver moon. How long did they stand there? Both, as it were, caught in that circle of unearthly light, understanding each other perfectly, creatures of another world, and wondering what they were to do in this one with all this blissful treasure that burned in their bosoms and dropped,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 18 in silver flowers, from their hair and hands? For ever -- for a moment? And did Miss Fulton murmur: "Yes. Just that." Or did Bertha dream it? Then the light was snapped on and Face made the coffee and Harry said: "My dear Mrs Knight, don't ask me about my baby. I never see her. I shan't feel the slightest interest in her until she has a lover," and Mug took his eye out of the conservatory for a moment and then put it under glass again and Eddie Warren drank his coffee www.BOOKOO.com and set down the cup with a face of anguish as though he had drunk and seen the spider. "What I want to do is to give the young men a show. I believe London is simply teeming with first-chop, unwritten plays. What I .cn want to say to'emis:'Here's the theatre. Fire ahead.'"

"You know, my dear, I am going to decorate a room for the Jacob Nathans. Oh, I am so tempted to do a fried-fish scheme, with the backs of the chairs shaped like frying pans and lovely chip potatoes embroidered all over the curtains." "The trouble with our young writing men is that they are still too romantic. You can't put out to sea without being seasick and wanting a basin.Well, why won't they have the courage of those basins?"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 19

"A dreadful poem about a girl who was violated by a beggar without a nose in a lit-tle wood...." Miss Fulton sank into the lowest, deepest chair and Harry handed round the cigarettes. From the way he stood in front of her shaking the silver box and saying abruptly:"Egyptian? Turkish? Virginian? They're all mixed up." Bertha realized that she not only bored him; he really disliked her. And she decid ed from the way Miss Fulton said: "No, thank you, www.BOOKOO.com I won't smoke," that she felt it, too, and was hurt. "Oh, Harry, don't dislike her. You are quite wrong about her. She's wonderful, wonderful. And, besides, how can you feel so differently about someone who means so much to me. I shall try to .cn tell you when we are in bed tonight what has been happening. What she and I have shared." At those last words something strange and almost terrifying darted into Bertha's mind. And this something blind and smiling whispered to her:"Soon these people will go. The house will be quiet -- quiet. The lights will be out. And you and he will be alone together in the dark room - the warm bed...." She jumped from her chair and ran over to the piano. "What a pity someone does not play!" she cried. "What a pity

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 20 somebody does not play." For the first time in her life Bertha Young desired her husband. Oh, she'd loved him -- she'd been in love with him, of course, in every other way, but just not in that way. And, equally, of course, she'd understood that he was different. They'd discussed it so often. It had worried her dreadfully at first to find that she was so cold, but after a time it had not seemed to matter. They were so frank with each other -- such good pals. That was the best of being modern. www.BOOKOO.com But now -- ardently! ardently! The word ached in her ardent body! Was this what that feeling of bliss had been leading up to? But then-- "My dear," said Mrs Norman Knight, "you know our shame. We .cn are victims of time and train. We live in Hampstead. It's been so nice." "I'll come with you into the hall," said Bertha. "I loved having you. But you must not miss the last train. That's so awful, isn't it?" "Have a whisky, Knight, before you go?" called Harry. "No thanks, old chap." Bertha squeezed his hand for that as she shook it. "Good night, good-bye," she cried from the top step, feeling that this selfof hers was taking leave of them for ever.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 21

When she got back into the drawing-room the others were on the move. "...Then you can come part of the way in my taxi." "I shall be so thankful not to have to face another drive alone after my dreadful experience." "You can get a taxi at the rank just at the end of the street. You won't have to walk more than a few yards."

"That's a comfort. I 'll go and put on my coat." www.BOOKOO.com Miss Fulton moved towards the hall and Bertha was following when Harry almost pushed past. "Let me help you." Bertha knew that he was repenting his rudeness -- she let him go. .cn What a boy he was in some ways -- so impulsive -- so simple.

And Eddie and she were left by the fire. "I wonder if you have seen Bilks' new poem called Table d'Hote," said Eddie softly. "It's so wonderful. In the last anothology. Have you got a copy? I'd so like to show it to you. It begins with an incredibly beautiful line: 'Why must it always be tomato soup?'" "Yes," said Bertha. And she moved noiselessly to a table opposite the drawing-room door and Eddie glided noiselessly after her. She picked up the little book and gave it to him；they had not

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 22 made a sound. While he looked it up she turned her head towards the hall. And she saw ... Harry with Miss Fulton's coat in his arms and Miss Fulton with her back turned to him and her head bent. He tossed the coat away, put his hands on her shoulders, and turned her violently to him. His lips said: "I adore you,"and Miss Fulton laid her moonbeam fingers on his cheeks and smiled her sleepy smile. Harry's nostrils quivered; his lips curled back in a hideous grin while he whispered : www.BOOKOO.com "Tomorrow," and with her eyelids Miss Fulton said: "Yes." "Here it is," said Eddie." 'Why must it always be tomato soup?' It's so deeply true, don't you feel? Tomato soup is so dreadfully eternal." .cn "If you prefer," said Harry's voice, very loud, from the hall, "I can phone you a cab to come to the door." "Oh, no. It's not necessary," said Miss Fulton, and she came up to Bertha and gave her the slender fingers to hold. "Good-bye. Thank you so much." "Good-bye," said Bertha. Miss Fulton held her hand a moment longer. "Your lovely pear tree!" she murmured. And then she was gone, with Eddie following, like the black cat

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 23 following the grey cat. "I 'll shut up shop," said Harry, extravagantly cool and collected. "Your lovely pear tree--pear tree--pear tree!" Bertha simply ran over to the long windows. "Oh, what is going to happen now?" she cried. But the pear tree was as lovely as ever and as full of flower and as still. www.BOOKOO.com The Wind Blows

Suddenly -- dreadfully -- she wakes up. What has happened? Some thing dreadful has happened. No--nothing has happened.It is only the wind shaking the house, rattling the windows, banging a .cn piece of iron on the roof and making her bed tremble. Leaves flutter past the window, up and away; down in the avenue a whole newspaper wags in the air like a lost kite and falls, spiked on a pine tree. It is cold. Summer is over--it is autumn--everything is ugly. The carts rattle by, swinging from side to side;two Chinamen lollop along under their wooden yokes with the straining vegetable baskets -- their pigtails and blue blouses fly out in the wind. A white dog on three legs yelps past the gate. It is all over! What is? Oh,everything! And she begins to plait her hair with shaking fingers, not daring to

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 24 look in the glass. Mother is talking to grandmother in the hall. "A perfect idiot! Imagine leaving anything out on the line in weather like this.... Now my best little Teneriffe-work teacloth is simply in ribbons.What is that extraordinary smell? It's the porridge burning. Oh, heavens--this wind!" She has a music lesson at ten o'clock. At the thought the minor move ment of the Beethoven begins to play in her head, the trills long and terrible like little rolling drums....Marie Swainson runs into www.BOOKOO.com the garden next door to pick the "chrysanths" before they are ruined. Her skirt flies up above her waist; she tries to beat it down, to tuck it between her legs while she stoops, but it is no use -- up it flies. All the trees and bushes beat about her. She picks as quickly as she can, .cn but she is quite distracted. She doesn't mind what she does -- she pulls the plants up by the roots and bends and twists them, stamping her foot and swearing. "For heaven's sake keep the front door shut! Go round to the back,"shouts someone. And then she hears Bogey: "Mother, you're wanted on the telephone. Telephone, Mother. It's the butcher." How hideous life is -- evolting, simply evolting.... And now her hat elastic's snapped. Of course it would. She'll wear her old tam and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 25 slip out the back way. But Mother has seen. "Matilda. Matilda. Come back im-me-diately! What on earth have you got on your head? It looks like a tea cosy. And why have you got that mane of hair on your forehead." "I can't come back, Mother. I'll be late for my lesson." "Come back immediately!" She won't. She won't. She hates Mother. "Go to hell," she shouts, running down the road. www.BOOKOO.com In waves, in clouds, in big round whirls the dust comes stinging, and with it little bits of straw and chaff and manure. There is a loud roaring sound from the trees in the gardens, and standing at the bottom of the road outside Mr Bullen's gate she can hear the sea sob: .cn "Ah!...Ah!...Ah-h!"But Mr Bullen's drawing-room is as quiet as a cave. The windows are closed, the blinds half-pulled, and she is not late. The-girl-before-her has just started playing Mac-Dowell's "To an Iceberg". Mr Bullen looks over at her and half smiles. "Sit down," he says. "Sit over there in the sofa corner, little lady." How funny he is. He doesn't exactly laugh at you...but there is just something...Oh, how peaceful it is here. She likes this room. It smells of art serge and stale smoke and chrysanthemums...there is a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 26 big vase of them on the mantelpiece behind the pale photograph of

Rubinstein...àmonami Robert Bullen.... Over the black glittering piano hangs "Solitude" - a dark tragic woman draped in white, sitting on a rock, her knees crossed, her chin on her hands. "No, no!" says Mr Bullen, and he leans over the other girl, puts his arms over her shoulders and plays the passage for her. The stupid--she's blushing! How ridiculous!

Now the-girl-before-her has gone; the front door slams. Mr www.BOOKOO.com Bullen comes back and walks up and down, very softly, waiting for her. What an extraordinary thing. Her fingers tremble so that she can't undo the knot in the music satchel. It's the wind.... And her heart beats so hard she feels it must lift her blouse up and down. Mr Bullen .cn does not say a word. The shabby red piano seat is long enough for two people to sit side by side. Mr Bullen sits down by her. "Shall I begin with sca1es?" she asks, squeezing her hands together. "I had some arpeggios, too." But he does not answer. She doesn't believe he even hears...and then suddenly his fresh hand with the ring on it reaches over and opens Bee thoven. "Let's have a little of the old master," he says. But why does he speak so kindly -- so awfully kindly -- and as

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 27 though they had known each other for years and years and knew everything about each other. He turns the page slowly. She watches his hand -- it is a very nice hand and always looks as though it had just been washed. "Here we are," says Mr Bullen. Oh, that kind voice -- Oh, that minor movement. Here come the little drums....

"Shall I take the repeat?" www.BOOKOO.com "Yes, dear child." His voice is far, far too kind. The crotchets and quavers are dancing up and down the stave like little black boys on a fence. Why is he so... She will not cry -- she has nothing to cry about.... .cn "What is it, dear child?"

Mr Bullen takes her hands. His shoulder is there -- just by her head. She leans on it ever so little, her cheek against the springy tweed. "Life is so dreadful," she murmurs, but she does not feel it's dreadful at all. He says something about "waiting" and "marking time" and "that rare thing, a woman", but she does not hear. It is so comfortable...for ever... Suddenly the door opens and in pops Marie Swainson, hours

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 28 before her time. "Take the allegretto a little faster," says Mr Bullen, and gets up and begins to walk up and down again. "Sit in the sofa corner, little lady," he says to Marie. The wind, the wind. It's frightening to be here in her room by herself.The bed, the mirror, the white jug and basin gleam like the sky outside. It's the bed that is frightening. There it lies, sound asleep....Does Mother imagine for one moment that she is going to www.BOOKOO.com darn all those stockings knotted up on the quilt like a coil of snakes? She's not. No, Mother. I do not see why I should.... The wind--the wind! There's a funny smell of soot blowing down the chimney. Hasn't anyone written poems to the wind?... "I bring fresh flowers to .cn the leaves and showers." ...What nonsense.

"Is that you, Bogey?" "Come for a walk round the esplanade,Matilda.I can't stand this any longer." "Right-o. I'll put on my ulster.Isn't it an awful day!" Bogey's ulster is just like hers. Hooking the collar she looks at herself in the glass. Her face is white, they have the same excited eyes and hot lips. Ah, they know those two in the glass. Good-bye, dears; we shall be back soon.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 29

"This is better, isn't it?" "Hook on," says Bogey. They cannot walk fast enough. Their heads bent, their legs just touching,they stride like one eager person through the town, down the asphalt zigzag where the fennel grows wild, and on to the esplanade. It is dusky - just getting dusky. The wind is so strong that they have to fight their way through it, rocking like two old drunkards. All the poor little pohutukawas on the esplanade are bent www.BOOKOO.com to the ground. "Come on! Come on! Let's get near." Over by the break water the sea is very high. They pull off their hats and her hair blows across her mouth, tasting of salt. The sea is so .cn high that the waves do not break at all; they thump against the rough stone wall and suck up the weedy, dripping steps. A fine spray skims from the water right across the esplanade. They are covered with drops; the inside of her mouth tastes wet and cold. Bogey's voice is breaking. When he speaks he rushes up and down the scale. It's funny -- it makes you laugh -- and yet it just suits the day. The wind carries their voices -- away fly the sentences like narrow ribbons. "Quicker! Quicker!"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 30

It is getting very dark. In the harbour the coal hulks show two lights --one high on a mast, and one from the stern. "Look, Bogey. Look over there." A big black steamer with a long loop of smoke streaming, with the port holes lighted, with lights everywhere, is putting out to sea. The wind does not stop her; she cuts through the waves, making for the open gate between the pointed rocks that leads to ... It's the light that makes her look so awfully beautiful and mysterious.... They are www.BOOKOO.com on board leaning over the rail arm in arm. "...Who are they?" "... Brother and sister." "Look, Bogey, there's the town. Doesn't it look small? There's .cn the post office clock chiming for the last time. There's the esplanade where we walked that windy day. Do you remember? I cried at my music lesson that day -- how many years ago! Good-bye, little island, good-bye...." Now the dark stretches a wing over the tumbling water. They can't see those two any more. Good-bye, good-bye. Don't forget.... But the ship is gone, now. The wind -- the wind.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 31

Psychology

When she opened the door and saw him standing there she was more pleased than ever before, and he, too, as he followed her into the studio,seemed very very happy to have come. "Not busy?" "No. Just going to have tea." "And you are not expecting anybody?" www.BOOKOO.com "Nobody at all." "Ah! That's good." He laid aside his coat and hat gently, lingeringly, as though he had time and to spare for everything, or as though he were taking

leave of them for ever, and came over to the fire and held out his .cn hands to the quick, leaping flame. Just for a moment both of them stood silent in that leaping light. Still, as it were, they tasted on their smiling lips the sweet shock of their greeting.Their secret selves whispered: "Why should we speak? Isn't this enough?" "More than enough. I never realized until this moment ..." "How good it is just to be with you...." "Like this...." "It's more than enough."

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 32

But suddenly he turned and looked at her and she moved quickly away. "Have a cigarette? I'll put the kettle on. Are you longing for tea?" "No. Not longing." "Well, I am." "Oh, you." He thumped the Armenian cushion and flung on to the sommier. "You're a perfect little Chinee." www.BOOKOO.com "Yes. I am," she laughed. "I long for tea as strong men long for wine." She lighted the lamp under its broad orange shade, pulled the curtains,and drew up the tea table. Two birds sang in the kettle; the .cn fire fluttered. He sat up clasping his knees. It was delightful -- this business of having tea --and she always had delicious things to eat -- little sharp sandwiches, short sweet almond fingers, and a dark, rich cake tasting of rum -- but it was an interruption. He wanted it over, the table pushed away, their two chairs drawn up to the light, and the moment came when he took out his pipe, filled it, and said, pressing the tobacco tight into the bowl:"I have been thinking over what you said last time and it seems to me..." Yes, that was what he waited for and so did she. Yes, while she

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 33 shook the teapot hot and dry over the spirit flame she saw those other two, him,leaning back, taking his ease among the cushions, and her, curled up en escargot in the blue shell armchair. The picture was so clear and so minute it might have been painted on the blue teapot lid. And yet she couldn't hurry.She could almost have cried: "Give me time." She must have time in which to grow calm. She wanted time in which to free herself from all these familiar things with which she lived so vividly. For all these gay things round her were part of her -- www.BOOKOO.com her off-spring -- and they knew it and made the largest, most vehement claims. But now they must go. They must be swept away, shooed away -- like children, sent up the shadowy stairs, packed in to bed, and commanded to go to sleep -- at once -- without a murmur! .cn For the special thrilling quality of their friendship was in their complete surrender. Like two open cities in the midst of some vast plain their two minds lay open to each other. And it wasn't as if he rode into hers like a conqueror, armed to the eyebrows and seeing nothing but a gay silken flut ter -- nor did she enter his like a queen walking soft on petals. No, they were eager, serious travellers, absorbed in understanding what was to be seen and discovering what was hidden -- making the most of this extraordinary absolute chance which made it possible for him to be utterly truthful to her and for

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 34 her to be utterly sincere with him. And the best of it was they were both of them old enough to enjoy their adventure to the full without any stupid emotional complication. Passion would have ruined everything; they quite saw that. Besides, all that sort of thing was over and done with for both of them -- he was thirty-one, she was thirty -- they had had their experiences, and very rich and varied they had been, but now was the time for harvest -- harvest. Weren't his novels to be very big novels www.BOOKOO.com indeed? And her plays. Who else had her exquisite sense of real English Comedy?... Carefully she cut the cake into thick little wads and he reached across for a piece. .cn "Do you realize how good it is," she implored. "Eat it imaginatively.Roll your eyes if you can and taste it on the breath. It's not a sandwich from the hatter's bag -- it's the kind of cake that might have been men tioned in the Book of Genesis.... And God said:'Let there be cake. And there was cake. And God saw that it was good.'" "You needn't entreat me," said he. "Really you needn't. It's a queer thing but I always do notice what I eat here and never anywhere else. I suppose it comes of living alone so long and always reading while I feed...my habit of looking upon food as just

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 35 food ...something that's there, at certain times... to be devoued...to be... not there." He laughed. "That shocks you. Doesn't it?" "To the bone," said she. "But ---- look here --"He pushed away his cup and began to speak very fast. "I simply haven't got any external life at all. I don't know the names of things a bit -- trees and so on -- and I never notice places or furniture or what people look like. One room is just like another to me -- a place to sit and read or talk in -- except," and here www.BOOKOO.com he paused, smiled in a strange naive way, and said, "except this studio." He looked round him and then at her; he laughed in his astonishment and pleasure. He was like a man who wakes up in a train to find that he has arrive, already, at the journey's end. .cn "Here's another queer thing. If I shut eyes I can see this place down to every detail -- every detail.... Now I come to think of it -- I've never realized this consciously before. Often when I am away from here I revisit it inspirit -- wander about among your red chairs, stare at the bowl of fruit on the black table -- and just touch, very lightly, that marvel of a sleeping boy's head." He looked at it as he spoke. It stood on the corner of the mantelpiece; the head to one side down-drooping, the lips parted, as though in his sleep the little boy listened to some sweet sound....

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 36

"I love that little boy," he murmured. And then they both were silent. A new silence came between them. Nothing in the least like the satisfactory pause that had followed their greetings -- the "Well, here we are together again, and there's no reason why we shouldn't go on from just where we left off last time." That silence could be contained in the circle of warm, delightful fire and lamplight. How many times hadn't they flung something into it just for the fun of www.BOOKOO.com watching the ripples break on the easy shores. But into this unfamiliar pool the head of the little boy sleeping his timeless sleep dropped -- and the ripples flowed away, away - bound lessly far -- into deep glittering darkness. .cn And then both of them broke it. She said: "I must make up the fire," and he said: "I have been trying a new..." Both of them escaped. She made up the fire and put the table back, the blue chair was wheeled forward, she curled up and he lay back among the cushions. Quickly! Quickly! They must stop it from happening again. "Well, I read the book you left last time." "Oh, what do you think of it?" They were off and all was as usual. But was it? Weren't they just a little too quick, too prompt with their replies, too ready to take each

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 37 other up?Was this really anything more than a wonderfully good imitation of other occasions? His heart beat; her cheek burned and the stupid thing was she could not discover where exactly they were or what exactly was happening.She hadn't time to glance back. And just as she had got so far it happened again. They faltered, wavered, broke down, were silent. Again they were conscious of the boundless, questioning dark. Again, there they were --two hunters, bending over their fire, but hearing suddenly from the jungle behond a shake of www.BOOKOO.com wind and a loud, questioning cry.... She lifted her head. "It's raining," she murmured. And her voice was like his when he had said: "I love that little boy." Well. Why didn't they just give way to it -- yield -- and see what .cn will happen then? But no. Vague and troubled though they were, they knew enough to realize their precious friendship was in danger. She was the one who would be destroyed -- not they -- and they'd be no party to that. He got up, knocked out his pipe, ran his hand through his hair, and said:"I have been wondering very much lately whether the novel of the future will be a psychological novel or not. How sure are you that psychology quapsychology has got anything to do with literature at all?"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 38

"Do you mean you feel there's quite a chance that the mysterious nonexistent creatures -- the young writers of today -- are trying simply to jump the psycho-analyst's claim?" "Yes, I do. And I think it's because this generation is just wise enough to know that it is sick and to realize that its only chance of recovery is by going into its symptoms -- making an exhaustive study of them - tracking them down -- trying to get at the root of the trouble." www.BOOKOO.com "But oh," she wailed. "What a dreadfully dismal outlook." "Not at all," said he. "Look here..." On the talk went. And now it seem ed they really had succeeded. She turned in her chair to look at him while she answered. Her smile said: "We have won." And he .cn smiled back, confident: "Absolutely."

But the smile undid them. It lasted too long; it became a grin. They saw themselves as two little grinning puppets jigging away in nothingness. "What have we been talking about?" thought he. He was so utterly bored he almost groaned. "What a spectacle we have made of ourselves," thought she. And she saw him laboriously -- oh, laboriously -- laying out the grounds and her self running after, putting here a tree and there a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 39 flowery shrub and here a handful of glittering fish in a pool. They were silent this time from sheer dismay. The clock struck six merry little pings and the fire made a soft flutter.What fools they were -- heavy, stodgy, elderly -- with positively uphol stered minds. And now the silence put a spell upon them like solemn music. It was anguish -- anguish for her to bear it and he would die -- he'd die if it were broken.... And yet he longed to break it. Not by speech. At www.BOOKOO.com any rate not by their ordinary maddening chatter. There was another way for them to speak to each other, and in the new way he wanted to murmur: "Do you feel this too? Do you understand it at all?"... Instead, to his horror, he heard himself say: "I must be off; I'm .cn meeting Brand at six."

What devil made him say that instead of the other? She jumped -- simply jumped out of her chair, and he heard her crying: "You must rush, then. He's so punctual. Why didn't you say so before?" "You've hurt me; you've hurt me! We've failed!" said her secret self while she handed him his hat and stick, smiling gaily. She wouldn't give him a moment for another word, but ran along the passage and opened the big outer door. Could they leave each other like this? How could they? He

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 40 stood on the step and she just inside holding the door. It was not raining now. "You've hurt me -- hurt me," said her heart. "Why don't you go? No,don't go. Stay. No -- go!" And she looked out upon the night. She saw the beautiful fall of the steps, the dark garden ringed with glit tering ivy, on the other side of the road the huge bare willows and above them the sky big and bright with stars. But of course he would see nothing of all this. He was superior to it all. He www.BOOKOO.com -- with his wonderful "spiritual" vision! She was right. He did see nothing at all. Misery! He'd missed it. It was too late to do anything now. Was it too late? Yes, it was. A cold snatch of hateful wind blew into the garden. Curse life! He heard her .cn cry "au revoir"and the door slammed.

Running back into the studio she behaved so srangely. She ran up and down lifting her arms and crying: "Oh! Oh! How stupid! How imbecile!How stupid!" And then she flung herself down on the sommier thinking of nothing -- just lying there in her rage. All was over. What was over? Oh --something was. And she'd never see him again -- never. After a long long time (or perhaps ten minutes) had passed in that black gulf her bell rang a sharp quick jingle. It was he, of course. And equally, of course, she oughtn't to have paid the

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 41 slightest attention to it but just let it go on ringing and ringing. She flew to answer. On the doorstep there stood an elderly virgin, a pathetic creature who simply idolized her (heaven knows why) and had this habit of turning up and ringing the bell and then saying, when she opened the door: "My dear,send me away!" She never did. As a rule she asked her in and let her admire everything and accepted the bunch of slightly soiled looking flowers --more than graciously. But today... www.BOOKOO.com "Oh, I am so sorry," she cried. "But I've got someone with me. We are working on some wood-cuts. I'm hopelessly busy all evening." "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all, darling," said the good .cn friend."I was just passing and I thought I'd leave you some violets."

She fumbled down among the ribs of a large old umbrella. "I put them down here. Such a good p1acc to keep flowers out of the wind. Here they are." she said,shaking out a little dead bunch. For a moment she did not take the violets. But while she stood just in side, holding the door, a strange thing happened.... Again she saw the beau tiful fall of the steps, the dark garden ringed with glittering ivy, the willows, the big bright sky. Again she felt the silence that was like a question.But this time she did not hesitate. She

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 42 moved forward. Very softly and gently, as though fearful of making a ripple in that boundless pool of quiet she put her arms round her friend. "My dear," murmured her happy friend, quite overcome by this grati tude. "They are really nothing. Just the simplest little thrippenny bunch." But as she spoke she was enfolded -- more tenderly, more beautifully embraced, held by such a sweet pressure and for so long www.BOOKOO.com that the poor dear'smind positively reeled and she just had the strength to quaver: "Then you really don't mind me too much?" "Good night, my friend," whispered the other. "Come again soon." .cn "Oh, I will. I will."

This time she walked back to the studio slowly, and standing in the middle of the room with half-shut eyes she felt so light, so rested, as if she had woken up out of a childish sleep. Even the act of breathing was a joy.... The sommier was very untidy. All the cushions "like furious mountains" as she said; she put them in order before going over to the writing-table. "I have been thinking over our talk about the psychological

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 43 novel," she dashed off, "it really is intensely interesting." ...And so on and so on. At the end she wrote: "Good night, my friend. Come again soon."

Mr Reginald Peacock's Day

If there was one thing that he hated more than another it was the way she had of waking him in the morning. She did it on purpose, of www.BOOKOO.com course. It was her way of establishing her grievance for the day, and he was not going to let her know how successful it was. But really, really, to wake a sensitive person like that was positively dangerous! It took him hours to get over it --simply hours. She came into the .cn room buttoned up in an overall, with a handkerchief over her head -- thereby proving that she had been up herself and slaving since dawn -- and called in a low, warning voice: "Reginald!" "Eh! What! What's that? What's the matter?" "It's time to get up; it's half past eight." And out she went, shutting the door quietly after her, to gloat over her triumph, he supposed. He rolled over in the big bed, his heart still beating in quick, dull throbs,and with every throb he felt his energy escaping him, his

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 44

-- his inspiration for the day stifling under those thudding blows. It seemed that she took a malicious delight in making life more difficult for him than - Heaven knows -- it was, by denying him his rights as an artist, by trying to drag him down to her level. What was the matter with her? What the hell did she want? Hadn't he three times as many pupils now as when they were first married, earned three times as much, paid for every stick and stone that they possessed, and now had begun to shell out for Adrian's kindergarten?...And had he ever www.BOOKOO.com reproached her for not having a penny to her name?Never a word -- never a sign! The truth was that once you married a wom an she became insatiable, and the truth was that nothing was more fatal for an artist than marriage, at any rate until he was well over forty....Why .cn had he married her? He asked himself this question on an average about three times a day, but he never could answer it satisfactorily. She had caught him at a weak moment, when the first plunge into reality had bewildered and overwhelmed him for a time. Looking back, he saw a pathetic, youthful creature, half child, half wild untamed bird, totally incompetent to cope with bills and creditors and all the sordid details of existence. Well-she had done her best to clip his wings, if that was any satisfaction for her, and she could congratulate herself on the success of this early morning trick. One

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 45 ought to wake exquisitely, reluctantly, he thought, slipping down in the warm bed. He began to imagine a series of enchanting scenes which ended with his latest, most charming pupil putting her bare, scented arms round his neck, and covering him with her long, perfumed hair. "Awake,my love!"... As was his daily habit, while the bath water ran, Reginald Peacock tried his voice.

"When her mother tends her before the laughing mirrior, www.BOOKOO.com Looping up her laces, tying up her hair," he sang, softly at first, listening to the quality, nursing his voice until he came to the third line: "Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded ..." .cn and upon the word "wedded" he burst into such a shout of triumph that the tooth-glass on the bathroom shelf trembled and even the bath tap seemed to gush stormy applause.... Well, there was nothing wrong with his voice, he thought, leaping into the bath and soaping his soft, pink body all over with a loofah shaped like a fish. He could fill Covent Garden with it! "wedded," he shouted again,seizing the towel with a magnificent operatic gesture, and went on singing while he rubbed as though he had been Lohengrin tipped out by an unwary Swan and drying

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 46 himself in the greatest haste before that tiresome Elsa came along along.... Back in his bedroom, he pulled the blind up with a jerk, and standing upon the pale square of sunlight that lay upon the carpet like a sheet of cream blotting-paper, he began to do his exercises -- deep breathing, bend ing forward and back, squatting like a frog and shooting out his legs -for if there was one thing he had a horror of it was of getting fat, and men in his profession had a dreadful tendency www.BOOKOO.com that way. However, there was no sign of it at present. He was, he decided, just right, just in good proportion.In fact, he could not help a thrill of satisfaction when he saw himself in the glass, dressed in a morning coat, dark grey trousers, grey socks, and a black tie with a .cn silver thread in it. Not that he was vain -- he couldn't stand vainmen

-- no; the sight of himself gave him a thrill of purely artistic satisfaction."Voilàtout!" said he, passing his hand over his sleek hair. That little, easy French phrase blown so lightly from his lips, like a whiff of smoke, reminded him that someone had asked him again, the evening before, if he was English. People seemed to find it impossible to believe that he hadn't some Southern blood. True, there was an emotional quality in his singing that had nothing of the John Bull in it.... The door-handle rattled and turned round and round.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 47

Adrian's head popped through. "Please, father, mother says breakfast is quite ready, please." "Very well," said Reginald. Then, just as Adrian disappeard: "Adrian!" "Yes, father." "You haven`t said`good morning'." A few months ago Reginald had spent a week-end in a very aristocratic family, where the father received his little sons in the www.BOOKOO.com morning and shook hands with them. Reginald thought the practice charming, and introduced it immediately, but Adrian felt dreadfully silly at having to shake hands with his own father every morning. And why did his father always sort of sing to him instead of talk?... .cn In excellent temper, Reginald walked into the dining-room and sat down before a pile of letters, a copy of The Times, and a little covered dish. He glanced at the letters and then at his breakfast.There were two thin slices of becon and one egg. "Don't you want any becon?" he asked. "No,I prefer a cold baked apple. I don't feel the need of becon every morning." Now, did she mean that there was no need for him to have becon every morning, either, and that she grudged having to cook it for

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 48 him? "If you don't want to cook the breakfast," said he, "why don't you keep a servant? You know we can afford one, and you know how I loathe to see my wife doing the work. Simply because all the women we have had in the past have been failures, and utterly upset my regime, and made it almost impossible for me to have any pupils here, you've given up trying to find a decent woman. It's not impossible to train a servant -- is it? I mean, it doesn't require www.BOOKOO.com genius?" "But I prefer to do the work myself; it makes life so much more peace ful....Run along, Adrian darling and get ready for school." "Oh no, that's not it!" Reginald pretended to smile. "You do the .cn work yourself, because, for some extraordinary reason, you love to humiliate me.Objectively, you may not know that, but, subjectively, it's the case." This last remark so delighted him that he cut open an envelope as gracefully as if he had been on the stage.... Dear Mr Peacock, I feel I cannot go to sleep until I have thanked you again for the wonder ful joy your singing gave me this evening. Quite unforgettable. You make me wonder, as I have not wondered since I was a girl, if this is all. I mean,if this ordinary world is all. If there is

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 49 not, perhaps, for those of us who understand, divine beauty and richness awaiting us if we only have the courage to see it. And to make it ours ... The house is so quiet. I wish you were here now that I might thank you in person. You are doing a great thing. You are teaching the world to escape from life! Yours, most sincerely, ANONE FELL

P.S.--I am in every afternoon this week.... www.BOOKOO.com The letter was scrawled in violet ink on thick, handmade paper. Vanity,that bright bird, lifted its wings again, lifted them until he felt his breast would break. "Oh well, don't let us quarrel," said he, and actually flung out a .cn hand to his wife.

But she was not great enough to respond. "I must hurry and take Adrian to school," said she. "Your room is quite ready for you." Very well -- very well -- let there be open war between them! But he was hanged if he'd be the first to make it up again! He walked up and down his room, and was not calm again until he heard the outer door close upon Adrian and his wife. Of course, if this went on,he would have to make some other arrangement. That

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 50 was obvious. Tied and bound like this, how could he help the world to escape from life? He opened the piano and looked up his pupils for the morning. Miss Betty Brittle, the Countess Wilkowska, and Miss Marian Morrow. They were charming, all three. Punctually at half past ten the door-bell rang. He went to the door. Miss Betty Brittle was there, dressed in white, with her music in a blue silk case.

"I'm afraid I'm early," she said, blushing and shy, and she www.BOOKOO.com opened her big blue eyes very wide. "Am I?" "Not at all, dear lady. I am only too charmed," said Reginald. "Won'tyou come in?" "It's such a heavenly morning," said Miss Brittle. "I walked .cn across the Park. The flowers were too marvellous."

"Well, think about them while you sing your exercises," said Reginald,sitting down at the piano. "It will give your voice colour and warmth." Oh, what an enchanting idea! What a genius Mr Peacock was. She parted her pretty lips, and began to sing like a pansy. "Very good, very good, indeed," said Reginald, playing chords that would waft a hardened criminal to heaven. "Make the notes round. Don't be afraid. Linger over them, breathe them like a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 51 perfume." How pretty she looked, standing there in her white frock, her little blonde head tilted, showing her milky throat. "Do you ever practise before a glass?" asked Reginald. "You ought to,you know; it makes the lips more flexible. Come over here." They went over to the mirror and stood side by side. "Now sing -- moo-e-koo-e-oo-e-a!"

But she broke down, and blushed more brightly than ever. www.BOOKOO.com "Oh," she cried, "I can't. It makes me feel so silly. It makes me want tolaugh. I do look so absurd!" "No, you don't. Don't be afraid," said Reginald, but laughed, too, very kindly. "Now, try again!" .cn The lesson simply flew, and Betty Brittle quite got over her shyness. "When can I come again?" she asked, tying the music up again in the blue silk case. "I want to take as many lessons as I can just now. Oh, Mr Peacock, I do enjoy them so much. May I come the day after tomorrow?" "Dear lady, I shall be only too charmed," said Reginald, bowing her out. Glorious girl! And when they had stood in front of the mirror,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 52 her white sleeve had just touched his black one. He could feel -- yes, he could actually feel a warm glowing spot, and he stroked it. She loved her lessons.His wife came in. "Reginald, can you let me have some money? I must pay the dairy. And will you be in for dinner tonight?" "Yes, you know I'm singing at Lord Timbuck's at half past nine. Can you make me some clear soup, with an egg in it?"

"Yes. And the money, Reginald. It's eight and sixpence." www.BOOKOO.com "Surely that's very heavey -- isn't it?" "No, it's just what it ought to be. And Adrian must have milk." There she was -- off again. Now she was standing up for Adrian against him. .cn "I have not the slightest desire to deny my child a proper amount of milk," said he. "Here is ten shillings." The door-bell rang. He went to the door. "Oh," said the Countess Wilkowska, "the stairs. I have not a breath."And she put her hand over her heart as she followed him into the music room. She was all in black, with a little black hat with a floating veil--violets in her bosom. "Do not make me sing exercises, today," she cried, throwing out her hands in her delightful foreign way. "No, today, I want only to

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 53 sing songs....And may I take off my violets? They fade so soon." "They fade so soon -- they fade so soon," played Reginald on the piano. "May I put them here?" asked the Countess, dropping them in a little vase that stood in front of one of Reginald's photographs. "Dear lady, I should be only too charmed!" She began to sing, and all was well until she came to the phrase:

"You love me. Yes, I know you love me!" Down dropped his hands www.BOOKOO.com from the keyboard, he wheeled round, facing her. "No, no; that's not good enough. You can do better than that," cried Reginald ardently. "You must sing as if you were in love. Listen; let me try and show you." And he sang. .cn "Oh, yes, yes. I see what you mean," stammered the little

Countess."May I try it again?" "Certainly. Do not be afraid. Let yourself go. Confess yourself. Make proud surrender!" he called above the music. And she sang. "Yes; better that time. But I still feel you are capable of more. Try it with me. There must be a kind of exultant defiance as well -- don't you feel?" And they sang together. Ah! now she was sure she understood. "May I try once again?" "You love me. Yes, I know you love me."

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 54

The lesson was over before that phrase was quite perfect. The little for eign hands trembled as they put the music together. "And you are forgetting your violets," said Reginald softly. "Yes, I think I will forget them," said the Countess, biting her underlip.What fascinating ways these foreign women have! "And you will come to my house on Sunday and make music?" she asked.

"Dear lady, I shall be only too charmed!" said Reginald. www.BOOKOO.com "Weep ye no more, sad fountains Why need ye flow so fast?" sang Miss Marian Morrow, but her eyes filled with tears and her chin trembled. .cn "Don't sing just now," said Reginald. "Let me play it for you."

He play ed so softly. "Is there anything the matter?" asked Reginald. "You're not quite happy this morning." No, she wasn't; she was awfully miserable. "You don't care to tell me what it is?" It really was nothing particular. She had those moods sometimes when life seemed almost unbearable. "Ah, I know," he said; "if I could only help!"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 55

"But you do; you do! Oh, if it were not for my lessons I don't feel I could go on." "Sit down in the arm-chair and smell the violets and let me sing to you.It will do you just as much good as a lesson." Why weren't all men like Mr Peacock? "I wrote a poem after the concert last night -- just about what I felt. Of course, it wasn't personal. May I send it to you?"

"Dear lady, I should be only too charmed!" www.BOOKOO.com By the end of the afternoon he was quite tired and lay down on a sofa to rest his voice before dressing. The door of his room was open. He could hear Adrian and his wife talking in the dining-room. "Do you know what that teapot reminds me of, Mummy? It .cn reminds me of a little sitting-down kitten."

"Does it, Mr Absurdity?" Reginald dozed. The telephone bell woke him. "AEnone Fell is speaking. Mr Peacock, I have just heard that you are singing at Lord Timbuck's tonight. Will you dine with me, and we can go on together afterwards?" And the words of his reply dropped like flowers down the telephone. "Dear lady, I should be only too charmed."

What a triumphant evening! The little dinner tête àtête with

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 56

AEnone Fell,the drive to Lord Timbuck's in her white motor-car, when she thanked him again for the unforgettable joy. Triumph upon triumph! And Lord Tim buck's champagne simply flowed. "Have some more champagne, Peacock," said Lord Timbuck. Peacock,you notice -- not Mr Peacock -- but Peacock, as if he were one of them .And wasn't he? He was an artist. He could sway them all. And wasn't he teaching them all to escape from life? How he sang! And as he sang, as in a dream he saw their feathers and their www.BOOKOO.com flowers and their fans, offered to him,laid before him, like a huge bouquet. "Have another glass of wine, Peacock." "I could have any one I liked by lifting a finger," thought .cn Peacock, positively staggering home.

But as he let himself into the dark flat his marvellous sense of elation began to ebb away. He turned up the light in the bedroom. His wife lay asleep, squeezed over to her side of the bed. He remembered suddenly how she had said when he had told her he was going out to dinner: "You might have let me know before!" And how he had answered: "Can't you possibly speak to me without offending against even good manners?" It was incredi ble, he thought, that she cared so little for him -- incredible that she wasn't interested in the slightest in

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 57 his triumphs and his artistic career. When so many women in her place would have given their eyes.... Yes, he knew it. ...Why not acknowledge it? ... And there she lay, an enemy, even in her sleep.... Must it ever be thus? he thought, the champagne still working. Ah, if we only were friends, how much I could tell her now! About this evening; even about Timbuck's manner to me, and all that they said to me and so on and so on. If only I felt that she was here to come back to -- that I could confide in her -- and so on and so on. www.BOOKOO.com In his emotion he pulled off his evening boot and simply hurled it in the corner. The noise work his wife with a terrible start. She sat up, pushing back her hair. And he suddenly decided to have one more try to treat her as a friend, to tell her everything, to win her. Down he .cn sat on the side of the bed, and seized one of her hands. But of all those splendid things he had to say, not one could he utter. For some fiendish reason, the only words he could get out were :"Dear lady, I should be so charmed -- so charmed!"

Feuille D'album

He really was an impossible person. Too shy altogether. With absolutely nothing to say for himself. And such a weight. Once he was in your studio he never knew when to go, but would sit on and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 58 on until you nearly screamed, and burned to throw something enormous after him when he did finally blush his way out -- something like the tortoise stove. The strange thing was that at first sight he looked most interesting. Everybody agreed about that. You would drift into the caféone evening and there you would see, sitting in a corner, with a glass of coffee in front of him, a thin dark boy,wearing a blue jersey with a little grey flannel jacket buttoned over it. And somehow that blue jersey and the grey jacket with the www.BOOKOO.com sleeves that were too short gave him the air of a boy that has made up his mind to run away to sea.Who has run away, in fact, and will get up in a moment and sling a knotted handkerchief containing his nightshirt and his mother's picture on the end of a stick, and walk out .cn into the night and be drowned....Stumble over the wharf edge on his way to the ship, even.... He had black close-cropped hair,grey eyes with long lashes, white checks and a mouth pouting as though he were determined not to cry....How could one resist him? Oh, one's heart was wrung at sight. And, as if that were not enough, there was his trick of blushing....Whenever the waiter came near him he turned crimson - he might have been just out of prison and the waiter in the know.... "Who is he, my dear? Do you know?"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 59

"Yes. His name is lan French. Painter. Awfully clever, they say. Someone started by giving him a mother's tender care. She asked him how often he heard from home, whether he had enough blankets on his bed, how much milk he drank a day. But when she went round to his studio to give an eye to his socks, she rang and rang, and though she could have sworn she heard someone breathing inside, the door was not answered....Hopeless!"

Someone else decided that he ought to fall in love. She www.BOOKOO.com summoned him to her side, called him "boy", leaned over him so that he might smell the enchanting perfume of her hair, took his arm, told him how marvellous life could be if one only had the courage, and went round to his studio one even ing and rang and rang....Hopeless. .cn "What the poor boy really wants is thoroughly rousing," said a third. So off they went to cafés and cabarets, little dances, places where you drank something that tasted like tinned apricot juice, but cost twenty-seven shillings a bottle and was called champagne, other places, too thrilling for words, where you sat in the most awful gloom, and where someone had always been shot the night before. But he did not turn a hair. Only once he got very drunk, but instead of blossoming forth, there he sat, stony, with two spots of red on his cheeks, like, my dear, yes, the dead image of that rag time thing they

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 60 were playing, like a "Broken Doll". But when she took him back to his studio he had quite recovered, and said "good night" to her in the street below, as though they had walked home from church together....Hopeless. After heaven knows how many more attempts--for the spirit of kindness dies very hard in women--they gave him up. Of course, they were still perfectly charming, and asked him to their shows, and spoke to him in the café but that was all. When one is an artist one www.BOOKOO.com has no time simply for people who won't respond. Has one? "And besides I really think there must be something rather fishy some where... don't you? It can't all be as innocent as it looks! Why come to Paris if you want to be a daisy in the field? No, I'm not .cn suspicious. But--"

He lived at the top of a tall mournful building overlooking the river. One of those buildings that look so romantic on rainy nights and moonlightnights, when the shutters are shut, and the heavy door, and the sign advertising "a little apartment to let immediately" gleams forlorn beyond words.One of those buildings that smell so unromantic all the year round, and where the concierge lives in a glass cage on the ground floor, wrapped up in a filthy shawl, stirring something in a saucepan and ladling out tit-bits to the swollen old

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 61 dog lolling on a bead cushion....Perched up in the air the studio had a wonderful view. The two big windows faced the water, he could see the boats and the barges swinging up and down, and the fringe of an island planted with trees, like a round bouquet.The side window looked across to another house, shabbier still and smaller, and down below there was a flower market. You could see the tops of huge umbrellas, with frills of bright flowers escaping from them, booths covered with striped awning where they sold plants in boxes and www.BOOKOO.com clumps of wet gleaming palms in terracotta jars.Among the flowers the old women scuttled from side to side, like crabs.Really there was no need for him to go out. If he sat at the window until his white beard fell over the sill he still would have found something to draw.... .cn How surprised those tender women would have been if they had managed to force the door. For he kept his studio as neat as a pin. Everything was arranged to form a pattern, a little "still life" as it were -- the saucepans with their lids on the wall beind the gas stove, the bowl of eggs, milk jug and tea pot on the shelf, the books and the lamp with the crinkly paper shade on the table. An Indian curtain that had a fringe of red leopards marching round it covered his bed by day, and on the wall beside the bed on a level with your eyes when you were lying down there was a small neatly printed notice:GET UP AT

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 62

ONCE. Every day was much the same. While the light was good he slayed at his painting, then cooked his meals and tidied up the place.

And in the evenings he went off to the café, or sat at home reading or making out the most complicated list of expenses headed: "What I ought to be able to do it on," and ending with a sworn statement... "I swear not to exceed this amount for next month. Signed,lan French."

Nothing very fishy about this; but those far-seeing women were www.BOOKOO.com quite right. It wasn't all. One evening he was sitting at the side window eating some prunes and throwing the stones on to the tops of the huge umbrellas in the deserted flower market. It had been raining -- the first real .cn spring rain of the year had fallen -- a bright spangle hung on everything, and the air smelled of buds and moist earth. Many voices sounding languid and content rang out in the dusky air, and the poeple who had come to close their windows and fast en the shutters leaned out instead. Down below in the market the trees were peppered with new green. What kind of trees were they? he wondered. Andnow came the lamplighter. He stared at the house across the way, the small,shabby house, and suddenly, as if in answer to his gaze, two wings of windows opened and a girl came out on to

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 63 the tiny balcony carrying a pot of daffodils. She was a strangely thin girl in a dark pinafore, with a pink hand kerchief tied over her hair. Her sleeves were rolled up almost to her shoul ders and her slender arms shone against the dark stuff. "Yes, it is quite warm enough. It will do them good," she said, putting down the pot and turning to someone in the room inside. As she turned she put her hands up to the handkerchief and tucked away some wisps of hair.She looked down at the deserted market and up at www.BOOKOO.com the sky, but where he sat there might have been a hollow in the air. She simply did not see the house opposite. And then she disappeared. His heart fell out of the side window of his studio, and down to the balcony of the house opposite -- buried itself in the pot of .cn daffodils under the half-opened buds and spears of green....That room with the balcony was the sitting-room, and the one next door to it was the kitchen. He heard the clatter of the dishes as she washed up after supper, and then she came to the window, knocked a little mop against the ledge, and hung it on a nail to dry.She never sang or unbraided her hair, or held out her arms to the moon as young girls are supposed to do. And she always wore the same dark pinafore and the pink handkerchief over her hair.... Whom did she live with? Nobody else came to those two windows, and yet she was always

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 64 talking to someone in the room. Her mother, he decided, was an invalid. They took in sewing.The father was dead.... He had been a journalist -- very pale, with long moustaches, and a piece of black hair falling over his forehead. By working all day they just made enough money to live on, but they never went out and they had no friends. Now when he sat down at his table he had to make an entirely new set of sworn statements....

Not to go to the side window before a certain hour: signed, Ian www.BOOKOO.com French. Not to think about her until he had put away his painting things for the day: signed, Ian French. It was quite simple. She was the only person he really wanted to know,because she was, he decided, the only other person alive who .cn was just his age. He couldn't stand giggling girls, and he had no use for grown-up women.... She was his age, she was -- well, just like him. He sat in his dusky studio, tired, with one arm hanging over the back of his chair, staring in ather window and seeing himself in there with her. She had a violent temper; they quarrelled terribly at times, he and she. She had a way of stamping her foot and twisting her hands in her pinafore... furious. And she very rarely laughed. Only when she told him about an absurd little kitten she once had who used to roar and pretend to be a lion when it was given meat to

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 65 eat.Things like that made her laugh.... But as a rule they sat together very quietly; he, just as he was sitting now, and she with her hands folded in her lap and her feet tucked under, talking in low tones, or silent and tired after the day's work. Of course, she never asked him about his pictures, and of course he made the most wonderful drawings of her which she hated, because he made her so thin and so dark.... But how could he get to know her? This might go on for years.... www.BOOKOO.com Then he discovered that once a week, in the evenings, she went out shopping. On two successive Thursdays she came to the window wearing an old-fashioned cape over the pinafore, and carrying a basket. From where he sat he could not see the door of her house, but .cn on the next Thursday evening at the same time he snatched up his cap and ran down the stairs. There was a lovely pink light over everything. He saw it glowing in the river, and the people walking towards him had pink faces and pink hands. He leaned against the side of his house waiting for her and he had no idea of what he was going to do or say. "Here she comes," said a voice in his head. She walked very quickly, with small, light steps; with one hand she carried the basket, with the other she kept the cape together.... What could he do? He could only follow.... First

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 66 she went into the grocer's and spent a long time in there, and then she went into the butcher's where she had to wait her turn. Then she was an age at the draper's matching something, and then she went to the fruit shop and bought a lemon. As he watched her he knew more surely than ever he must get to know her, now. Her composure,her seriousness and her loneliness, the very way she walked as though she was eager to be done with this world of grown-ups all was so natural to him and so inevitable. www.BOOKOO.com "Yes, she is always like that," he thought proudly. "We have nothing to do with these people." But now she was on her way home and he was as far off as ever.... She suddenly turned into the dairy and he saw her through the .cn window buying an egg. She picked it out of the basket with such care

-- a brown one, a beauti fully shaped one, the one he would have chosen. And when she came out of the dairy he went in after her. In a moment he was out again, and following her past his house across the flower market, dodging among the huge umbrellas and treading on the fallen flowers and the round marks where the pots had stood.... Through her door he crept, and up the stairs after, taking care to tread in time with her so that she should not notice. Finally, she stopped on the landing, and took the key out of her purse. As she put it into the

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 67 door he ran up and faced her. Blushing more crimson than ever, but looking at her severely he said, almost angrily: "Excuse me, Mademoiselle, you dropped this." And he handed her an egg.

The Little Governess

Oh, dear, how she wished that it wasn't night-time. She'd have much rather travelled by day, much much rather. But the lady at the www.BOOKOO.com Governess Bureau had said: "You had better take an evening boat and then if you get into a compartment for 'Ladies Only' in the train you will be far safer than sleeping in a foreign hotel. Don't go out of the carriage; don't walk about the corridors and be sure to lock the .cn lavatory door if you go there. The train arrives at Munich at eight o'clock, and Frau Arnholdt says that the Hotel Grüneld is only one minute away. A porter can take you there. She will arrive at six the same evening, so you will have a nice quiet day to rest after the journey and rub up your German. And when you want anything to eat I would advise you to pop into the nearest baker's and get a bun and some coffee. You haven't been abroad before, have you?" "No." "Well, I always tell my girls that it's better to mistrust people at first rather than trust them,and it's safer to suspect people of evil

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 68 intentions rather than good ones.... It sounds rather hard but we've got to be women of the world, haven't we?" It had been nice in the Ladies' Cabin. The stewardess was so kind and changed her money for her and tucked up her feet. She lay on one of the hard pink-sprigged couches and watched the other passengers, friendly and natural, pinning their hats to the bolsters, taking off their boots and skirts,opening dressing-cases and arranging mysterious rustling little packages, tying their heads up in veils www.BOOKOO.com before lying down. Thud, thud, thud, went the steady screw of the steamer. The stewardess pulled a green shade over the light and sat down by the stove, her skirt turned back over her kness, a long piece of knitting on her lap. On a shelf above her head there was a water .cn bottle with a tight bunch of flowers stuck in it. "I like travelling very much,"thought the little governess. She smiled and yielded to the warm rocking. But when the boat stopped and she went up on deck, her dress-basket in one hand, her rug and umbrella in the other, a cold, strange wind flew under her hat. She looked up at the masts and spars of the ship black against a green glittering sky and down to the dark landing stage where strange muffled figures lounged, waiting; she moved forward with the sleepy flock,all knowing where to go to

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 69 and what to do except her, and she felt afraid.Just a little -- just enough to wish -- oh, to wish that it was day-time and that one of those women who had smiled at her in the glass, when they both did their hair in the Ladies'Cabin, was somewhere near now. "Tickets,please. Show your tickets. Have your tickets ready." She went down the gangway balancing herself carefully on her heels. Then a man in a black leather cap came forward and touched her on the arm. "Where for, Miss?"He spoke English -- he must be a guard www.BOOKOO.com or a stationmaster with a cap like that.She had scarcely answered when he pounced on her dress-basket. "This way," he shouted, in a rude, determined voice, and elbowing his way he strode past the people. "But I don't want a porter." What a horrible man! "I don't .cn want a porter. I want to carry it myself" She had to run to keep up with him, and her anger, far stronger than she, ran before her and snatched the bag out of the wretch's hand.He paid no attention at all, but swung on down the long dark platform, and across a railway line. "He is a robber."She was sure he was a robber as she stepped between the silvery rails and felt the cinders crunch under her shoes. On the other side -- oh, thank good ness! -- there was a train with Munich written on it. The man stopped by the huge lighted carriages. "Second class?" asked the insolent voice. "Yes, a Ladies'

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 70 compartment." She was quite out of breath. She opened her little purse to find something small enough to give this horrible man while he tossed her dress-basket into the rack of an empty carriage that had a ticket,Dames Seules, gummed on the window. She got into the train and handed him twenty centimes."What's this?" shouted the man, glaring at the money and then at her, holding it up to his nose, sniffing at it as though he had never in his life seen, much less held, such a sum. "It's a franc. You know that, don't you? It's a franc. That's www.BOOKOO.com my fare!" A franc! Did he imagine that she was going to give him a franc for playing a trick like that just because she was a girl and travelling alone at night? Never, never! She squeezed her purse in her hand and simply did not see him -- she looked at a view of StMalo on .cn the wall opposite and simply did not hear him. "Ah, no. Ah, no.Four sous.You make a mistake. Here, take it. It's a franc I want." He leapt on to the step of the train and threw the money on to her lap. Trembling with terror she screwed herself tight, tight, and put out an icy hand and took the money -- stowed it away in her hand. "That's all you're going to get," she said. For a minute or two she felt his sharp eyes pricking her all over, while he nodded slowly, pulling down his mouth: "Ve-ry well. Trrr è s bien." He shrugged his shoulders and disappeared into the dark. Oh, the relief! How simply

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 71 terrible that had been! As she stood up to feel if the dress-basket was firm she caught sight of herself in the mirror, quite white, with big round eyes. She untied her "motor veil" and unbuttoned her green cape. "But it's all over now," she said to the mirror face, feeling in some way that it was more frightened than she. People began to assemble on the platform. They stood together in little groups talking; a strange light from the station lamps painted their faces almost green. A little boy in red clattered up with a huge www.BOOKOO.com tea wagon and leaned against it, whistling and flicking his boots with a serviette. A woman in a black alpaca apron pushed a barrow with pillows for hire. Dreamy and vacant she looked -- like a woman wheeling a perambulator -- up and down, up and down -- with a .cn sleeping baby inside it. Wreaths of white smoke floated up from somewhere and hung below the roof like misty vines."How strange it all is," thought the little governess, "and the middle of the night, too." She looked out from her safe corner, frightened no longer but proud that she had not given that franc. "I can look after myself -- of course I can. The great thing is not to --" Suddenly from the corridor there came a stamping of feet and men's voices, high and broken with snatches of loud laughter. They were coming her way. The little governess shrank into her corner as four young men in bowler hats

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 72 passed, staring through the door and window. One of them, bursting with the joke, pointed to the notice Dames Seules and the four bent down the better to see the one little girl in the corner. Oh dear, they were in the carriage next door. She heard them tramping about and then a sudden hush followed by a tall thin fellow with a tiny black moustache who flung her door open. "If mademoiselle cares to come in with us," he said, in French. She saw the others crowding behind him, peeping under his arm and over his shoulder, and she sat very www.BOOKOO.com straight and still. "If mademoiselle will do us the honour," mocked the tall man. One of them could be quiet no longer; his laughter went off in a loud crack. "Mademoiselle is serious," persisted the young man, bowing and grimacing.He took off his hat with a flourish, and .cn she was alone again.

"En voiture. En voi-ture!" Someone ran up and down beside the train. "I wish it wasn't night-time. I wish there was another woman in the carriage.I'm frightened or the men next door." The little governess looked out to see her porter coming back again -- the same man making for her carriage with his arms full of luggage. But -- but what was he doing? He put his thumbnail under the label Dames Seules and tore it right off and then stood aside squinting at her while an old man wrapped in a plaid cape climbed up the high step. "But

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 73 this is a ladies' compartment." Oh, no, Mademoiselle, you make a mistake. No, no, I assure you. Merci, Monsieur," "En voi-turre!" A shrill whistle. The porter stepped off triumphant and the train started. For a moment or two big tears brimmed her eyes and through them she saw the old man unwinding a scarf from his neck and untying the flaps of his Jaeger cap. He looked very old. Ninety at least. He had a white moustache and big gold-rimmed spectacles with little blue eyes behind them and pink wrinkled cheeks. A nice face -- and charming www.BOOKOO.com the way he bent forward and said in halting French: "Do I disturb you, Mademoiselle? Would you rather I took all these things out of the rack and found another carriage?" What! that old man have to move all those heavy things because she... "No, it's quite all right.You don't .cn disturb me at all." "Ah, a thousand thanks." He sat down opposite her and unbuttoned the cape of his enormous coat and flung it off his shoulders. The train seemed glad to have left the station.With a long leap it sprang into the dark. She rubbed a place in the window with her glove but she could see nothing -- just a tree outspread like a black fan or a scatter of lights, or the line of a hill, solemn and huge. In the carriage next door the young menstarted singing "Un, deux, trois". They sang the same song over and over at the tops of their voices.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 74

"I never could have dared to go to sleep if I had been alone," she decided."I couldn't have put my feet up or even taken off my hat." The singing gave her a queer little tremble in her stomach and, hugging herself to stop it, with her arms crossed under her cape, she felt really glad to have the old man in the carriage with her. Careful to see that he was not looking she peeped at him through her long lashes. He sat extremely upright, the chest thrown out,the chin well in, kness pressed together, reading a German paper. That was why he www.BOOKOO.com spoke French so funnily. He was a German. Something in the army,she supposed -- a Colonel or a General -- once, of course, not now; he was too old for that now. How spick and span he looked for an old man. He wore a pearl pin stuck in his black tie and a ring with .cn a dark red stone on his little finger; the tip of a white silk handkerchief showed in the pocket of his double-breasted jacket. Somehow, altogether, he was really nice to look at. Most old men were so horrid. She couldn't bear them doddery -- or they had a disgusting cough or something. But not having a beard -- that made all the difference -- and then his cheeks were so pink and his moustache so very white. Down went the German paper and the old man leaned forward with the same delightful courtesy: "Do you speak German, Mademoiselle?" "Ja,ein wenig，mehr als franzosisch,"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 75 said the little governess, blushing a deep pink colour that spread slowly over her cheeks and made her blue eyes look almost black. "Ach, so!" The old man bowed graciously. "Then perhaps you would care to look at some illustrated papers." He slipped a rubber band from a little roll of them and handed them across. "Thank you very much."She was very fond of looking at pictures, but first she would take off her hat and gloves. So she stood up, unpinned the brown straw and put it neatly in the rack beside the dress-basket, stripped www.BOOKOO.com off her brown kid gloves, paired them in a tight roll and put them in the crown of the hat for safety, and then sat down again, more comfortably this time, her feet crossed, the papers on her lap. How kindly the old man in the corner watched her bare little hand turning .cn over the big white pages, watched her lips moving as she pronounced the long words to herself, rested upon her hair that fairly blazed under the light. Alas! how tragic for a little governess to possess hair that made one think of tangerines and marigolds, of apricots and tortoiseshell cats and champagne! Perhaps that was what the old man was thinking as he gazed and gazed, and that not even the dark ugly clothes could disguise her soft beauty. Perhaps the flush that licked his cheeks and lips was a flush of rage that anyone so young and tender should have to travel alone and unprotected through the night.

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Who knows he was not murmuring in his sentimental German fashion:"Ja, es ist eine Tragodie! Would to God I were the child's grandpapa!" "Thank you very much. They were very interesting." She smiled prettily handing back the papers. "But you speak German extremely well," said the old man. "You have been in Germany before, of course?" "Oh no, this is the first time" -- a little pause, then -- "this is the first time that I have ever been abroad at all." "Really! I am www.BOOKOO.com surprised. You gave me the impression, if I may say so, that you were accustomed to travelling." "Oh, well -- I have been about a good deal in England, and to Scotland, once." "So. I myself have been in England once, but I could not learn English." He raised one hand and .cn shook his head, laughing. "No, it was too difficult for me....

`Ow-do-you-do. Please vich is ze vay to Leicestaire Squaare.'" She laughed too."Foreigners always say..." They had quite a little talk about it. "But you willlike Munich," said the old man. "Munich is a wonderful city. Museums, pictures, galleries, fine buildings and shops, concerts, theatres, restaurants --all are in Munich. I have travelled all over Europe many, many times in mylife, but it is always to Munich that I return. You will enjoy yourself there.""I am not going to stay in Munich," said the little governess, and she

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 77 addedshyle, "I am going to a post as governess to a doctor's family in Augsburg.""Ah, that was it." Augsburg he knew. Augsburg -- well -- was not beauti-ful. A solid manufacturing town. But if Germany was new to her he hopedshe would find something interesting there too. "I am sure I shall." "But what a pity not to see Munich before you go. You ought to take a little holiday on your way" -- he smiled -- "and store up some pleasant memories.""I am afraid I could not do that," said the little governess, shaking her head,suddenly important and www.BOOKOO.com serious. "And also, if one is alone ..." He quite understood. He bowed, serious too. They were silent after that. The train shattered on, baring its dark, flaming breast to the hills and to the valleys. It was warm in the carriage. She seemed to lean against the dark rushing and to be .cn carried away and away. Little sounds made themselves heard; steps in the corridor, doors opening and shutting -- a murmur of voices -- whistling....Then the window was pricked with long needles of rain. ... But it did not matter ... it was outside ... and she had her umbrella ... she pouted, sighed,opened and shut her hands once, and fell fast asleep. "Pardon! Pardon!" The sliding back of the carriage door work her with a start. What had happened? Someone had come in and gone out again. The old man sat in his corner, more upright than ever, his

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 78 hands in the pockets of his coat, frowning heavily. "Ha! ha! ha!" came from the carriage next door.Still half asleep, she put her hands to her hair to make sure it wasn't a dream. "Disgraceful!" muttered the old man more to himself than to her."Common, vulgar fellows! I am afraid they disturbed you, gracious Fraulein,blundering in here like that." No, not really. She was just going to wake up,and she took out her silver watch to look at the time. Half past four. A cold blue light filled the window panes. Now when she rubbed a place she www.BOOKOO.com could see bright patches of fields, a clump of white houses like mushrooms, a road "like a picture" with poplar trees on either side, a thread of river. How petty it was! How pretty and how different! Even those pink clouds in the sky looked foreign. It was cold, but she .cn pretended that it was far colder and rubbed her hands together and shivered, pulling at the collar of her coat because she was so happy. The train began to slow down. The engine gave a long shrill whistle. They were coming to a town. Taller houses, pink and yellow, glided by, fast asleep behind their green eyelids, and guarded by the poplar trees that quivered in the blue air as if on tiptoe, listening. In one house a woman opened the shutters, flung a red and white mattress across the window frame, and stood staring at the train. A pale woman with black hair and a white woollen shawl over her

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 79 shoulders. More women appeared at the doors and at the windows of the sleeping houses. There came a flock of sheep. The shepherd wore a blue blouse and pointed wooden shoes. Look! look what flowers--and by the railway station too! Standard roses like bridesmaids' bouquets,white geraniums, waxy pink ones that you would never see out of a green house at home. Slower and slower. A man with a watering can was spraying the platform. "A-a-a-ah!"

Somebody came running and waving his arms. A huge fat woman www.BOOKOO.com waddled through the glass doors of the station with a tray of strawberries. Oh, she was thirsty! She was very thirsty! "A-a-a-ah!" The same somebody ran back again. The train sopped. The old man pulled his coat round him and got up, smiling at .cn her. He murmured something she didn't quite catch, but she smiled back at him as he left the carriage. While he was away the little governess looked at herself again in the glass, shook and patted herself with the precise practical care of a girl who is old enough to travel by herself and has nobody else to assure her that she is "quite all right behind". Thirsty and thirsty! The air tasted of water. She let down the window and the fat woman with the strawberries passed as if on purpose; holding up the tray to her. "Nein, danke," said the little governess, looking at the big berries on their

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 80 gleaming leaves."Wieviel?" she asked as the fat woman moved away. "Two marks fifty, Fraulein.""Good gracious!" She came in from the window and sat down in the corner,very sobered for a minute. Half a crown! "H-o-o-o-o-o-e-e-e!" shrieked the train, gathering itself together to be off again. She hoped the old man wouldn't be left behind. Oh, it was daylight -- everything was lovely if only she hadn't been so thirsty. Where was the old man -- oh, here he was - she dimpled at him as though he were an old accepted friend as he www.BOOKOO.com closed the door and, turning, took from under his cape a basket of the strawberries. "If Fraulein would honour me by accepting these ..." "What for me?" But she drew back and raised her hands as though he were about to put a wild little kitten on her lap. .cn "Certainly, for you," said the old man. "For myself it is twenty years since I was brave enough to eat strawberries." "Oh, thank you very much. Danke bestens," she stammered, "sie sind so sehr schon!" "Eat them and see," said the old man looking pleased and friendly. "You won't have even one?" "No,no, no." Timidly and charmingly her hand hovered. They were so big and juicy she had to take two bites to them -- the juice ran all down her fingers--and it was while she munched the berries that she first thought of the old man as a grandfather. What a perfect grandfather he would make! Just like one

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 81 out of a book! The sun came out, the pink clouds in the sky, the strawberry clouds were eaten by the blue. "Are they good?" asked the old man. "As good as they look?" When she had eaten them she felt she had known him for years. She told him about Frau Arnholdt and how she had got the place. Did he know the Hotel Grünewald? Frau Arnholdt would not arrive until the evening. He lis tened, listened until he knew as much about the www.BOOKOO.com affair as she did, until he said -- not looking at her -- but smoothing the palms of his brown suède gloves together: "I wonder if you would let me show you a little of Munich today. Nothing much -- but just perhaps a picture gallery and the Englischer Garten. It seems .cn such a pity that you should have to spend the day at the hotel, and also a little uncomfortable... in a strange place. Nicht wahr? You would be back there by the early afternoon or whenever you wish, of course,and you would give an old man a great deal of pleasure." It was not until long after she had said "yes" -- because the moment she had said it and he had thanked her he began telling her about his travels in Turkey and attar of roses -- that she wondered whether she had done wrong.After all, she really did not know him. But he was so old and he had been so very kind -- not to mention the

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 82 strawberries.... And she couldn't have explained the reason why she said "No", and it was her last day in a way, her last day to really enjoy herself in. "Was I wrong? Was I?" A drop of sunlight fell into her hands and lay there, warm and quivering. "If I might accompany you as far as the hotel," he suggested, "and call for you again at about ten o'clock." He took out his pocket-book and handed her a card. "Herr Regierungsrat...." He had a title! Well, it was bound to be all right! So after that the little governess gave herself up to the www.BOOKOO.com excitement of being really abroad,to looking out and reading the foreign advertisement signs, to being told about the places they came to -- having her attention and enjoyment looked after by the charming old grandfather -- until they reached Munich and the .cn Hauptbahnhof. "Porter! Porter!" He found her a porter, disposed of his own luggage in a few words, guided her through the bewildering crowd out of the station down the clean white steps into the white road to the hotel. He explained who she was to the manager as though all this had been bound to happen, and then for one moment her little hand lost itself in the big brown suède ones. "I will call for you at ten o'clock." He was gone. "This way, Fraulein," said a waiter, who had been dodging behind the manager's back, all eyes and ears for the strange couple.

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She followed him up two flights of stairs into a dark bedroom. He dashed down her dress-bas ket and pulled up a clattering, dusty blind. Ugh! what an ugly, cold room--what enormous furniture! Fancy spending the day in here! "Is this the room Frau Arnholdt ordered?" asked the little governess. The waiter had a curious way of staring as if there was something funny about her. He pursed up his lips about to whistle, and then changed his mind. "Gewiss," he said. Well,why didn't he go? Why did he stare so? "Gehen Sie," said the little gover www.BOOKOO.com ness, with frigid English simplicity. His little eyes, like currants, nearly popped out of his doughy cheeks. "Gehen Sie sofort," she repeated icily. At the door he turned. "And the gentleman," said he, "shall I show the gentle man upstairs when he comes?" .cn Over the white streets big white clouds fringed with silver -- and sun shine everywhere. Fat, fat coachmen driving fat cabs; funny women with little round hats cleaning the tramway lines; people laughing and pushing against one another; trees on both sides of the streets and everywhere you looked almost, immense fountains; a noise of laughing from the footpaths or the middle of the streets or the open windows. And beside her, more beauti fully brushed than ever, with a rolled umbrella in one hand and yellow gloves instead of brown ones, her grandfather who had asked her to spend the day. She

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 84 wanted to run, she wanted to hang on his arm, she wanted to cry every minute, "Oh, I am so frightfully happy!" He guided her across the roads, stood still while she "looked", and his kind eyes beamed on her and he said "just whatever you wish". She ate two white sausages and two little rolls of fresh bread at eleven o'clock in the morning and she drank some beer, which he told her wasn't intoxicating, wasn't at all like English beer,our of a glass like a flower vase. And then they took a cab and really she must have seen www.BOOKOO.com thousands and thousands of wonderful classical pictures in about a quarter of an hour! "I shall have to think them over when I am alone."... But when they came out of the picture gallery it was raining. The grandfather unfurled his umbrella and held it over the little .cn governess. They started to walk to the restaurant for lunch. She, very close beside him so that he should have some of the umbrella, too. "It goes easier," he remarked in a detached way, "if you take my arm, Fraulein. And besides it is the custom in Germany." So she took his arm and walked beside him while he pointed out the famous statues, so interested that he quite forgot to put down the umbrella even when the rain was long over.

After lunch they went to a caféto hear a gipsy band, but she did not like that at all. Ugh! such horrible men were there with heads like

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 85 eggs and cuts on their faces, so she turned her chair and cupped her burning cheeks in herhands and watched her old friend instead.... Then they went to the Englis cher Garten. "I wonder what the time is," asked the little governess. "My watch has stopped. I forgot to wind it in the train last night. We've seen such a lot of things that I feel it must be quite late." "Late!" He stopped in front of her laughing and shaking his head in a way she had begun to know. "Then you have not really enjoyed yourself. Late! www.BOOKOO.com Why, we have not had any ice cream yet!" "Oh, but I have enjoyed myself," she cried, distressed, "more than I can possibly say. It has been wonderful! Only Frau Arnholdt is to be at the hotel at six and I ought to be there by five." "So you shall. After the ice cream I shall .cn put you into a cab and you can go there comfortably." She was happy again. The chocolate ice cream melted -- melted in little sips a long way down. The shadows of the trees danced on the table cloths, and she sat with her back safely turned to the ornamental clock that pointed to twenty five minutes to seven. "Really and truly," said the little governess earnestly,"this has been the happiest day of my life. I've never even imagined such a day." In spite of the ice cream her grateful baby heart glowed with love for the fairy grandfather. So they walked out of the garden down a long alley. The day

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 86 was nearly over. "You see those big buildings opposite," said the old man. "The third storey -- that is where I live. I and the old housekeeper who looks after me." She was very interested. "Now just before I find a cab for you, will you come and see my little 'home' and let me give you a bottle of the attar of roses I told you about in the train? For remembrance?" She would love to."I've never seen a bachelor's flat in my life," laughed the little governess.

The passage was quite dark. "Ah, I suppose my old woman has www.BOOKOO.com gone out to buy me a chicken. One moment." He opened a door and stood aside for her to pass, a little shy but curious, into a strange room. She did not know quite what to say. It wasn't pretty. In a way it was very ugly -- but neat,and, she supposed, comfortable for such an .cn old man. "Well, what do you think of it?" He knelt down and took from a cupboard a round tray with two pink glasses and a tall pink bottle. "Two little bedrooms beyond," he said gaily, "and a kitchen. It's enough, eh?" "Oh, quite enough." "And if ever you should be in Munich and care to spend a day or two -- why there is always a little nest -- a wing of a chicken, and a salad, and an old man delighted to be your host once more and many many times, dear little Fraulein!" He took the stopper out of the bottle and poured some wine into the two pink glasses. His hand shook and the wine spilled over the tray.

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It was very quiet in the room. She said: "I think I ought to go now." "But you will have a tiny glass of wine with me -- just one before you go?" said the old man. "No, really no. I never drink wine. I -- I have promised never to touch wine or anything like that." And though he pleaded and though she felt dreadfully rude, especially when he seemed to take it to heart so, she was quite determined. "No, really, please." "Well, will you just sit down on the sofa for five minutes and let me drink your health?" The little governess sat down www.BOOKOO.com on the edge of the red velvet couch and he sat down beside her and drank her health at a gulp. "Have you really been happy today?" asked the old man, turning round, so close beside her that she felt his knee twitching against hers. Before she could answer he held her .cn hands. "And are you going to give me one little kiss before you go?" he asked, drawing her closer still. It was a dream! It wasn't true! It wasn't the same old man at all. Ah, how horrible! The little governess stared at him in terror. "No, no, no!" she stammered, struggling out of his hands. "One little kiss. A kiss. What is it?Just a kiss, dear little Fraulein. A kiss." He pushed his face forward, his lips smiling broadly; and how his little blue eyes gleamed behind the spectacles!"Never -- never. How can you!" She sprang up, but he was too quick and he held her against the wall,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 88 pressed against her his hard old body and his twitching knee and, though she shook her head from side to side, distracted,kissed her on the mouth. On the mouth! Where not a soul who wasn't a near relation had ever kissed her before.... She ran, ran down the street until she found a broad road with tram lines and a policeman standing in the middle like a clockwork doll. "I want to get a tram to the Hauptbahnhof," sobbed the little governess."Fraulein?" She wrung her hands at him. "The www.BOOKOO.com Hauptbahnhof.There -- there's one now," and while he watched very much surprised, the little girl with her hat on one side,crying without a handkerchief, sprang on to the tram -- not seeing the conductor's eyebrows, nor hearing the hochwohlgebildete Dame talking her over .cn with a scandalized friend. She rocked herself and cried out loud and said "Ah, ah!" pressing her hands to her mouth. "She has been to the dentist,"shrilled a fat old woman, too stupid to be uncharitable. "Na, sagen Sie 'mal,what toothache! The child hasn't one left in her mouth." While the tram swung and jangled through a world full of old men with twitching knees. When the little governess reached the hall of the Hotel Grunewald the same waiter who had come into her room in the morning was standing by a table, polishing a tray of glasses.The sight

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 89 of the little governess seemed to fill him out with some inexplicable important content. He was ready for her question; his answer came pat and suave. "Yes, Fraulein, the lady has been here. I told her that you had arrived and gone out again immediately with a gentleman. She asked me when you were coming back again -- but of course I could not say. And then she went to the manager." He took up a glass from the table, held it up to the light, looked at it with one eye closed,and started polishing it with a corner of his apron."...?" www.BOOKOO.com "Pardon, Fraulein?Ach, no Fraulein.The manager could tell her nothing -- nothing." He shook his head and smiled at the brilliant glass. "Where is the lady now?" asked the little governess, shuddering so violently that she had to hold her hand kerchief up to .cn her mouth. "How should I know?" cried the waiter, and as he swooped past her to pounce upon a new arrival his heart beat so hard against his ribs that he nearly chuckled aloud. "That's it! that's it!" he thought."That will show her." And as he swung the new arrival's box on to his shoulders -- hoop! -- as though he were a giant and the box a feather, he minced over again the little governess's words, "Gehen Sie. Gehen Sie so fort. Shall I! Shall I!" he shouted to himself.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 90

Revelations

From eight o'clock in the morning until about half past eleven Monica Tyrell suffered from her nerves, and suffered so terribly that these hours were -- agonizing, simply. It was not as though she could control them. "Perhaps if I were ten years younger ..." she would say. For now that she was thirty -three she had a queer little way of referring to her age on all occasions, of looking at her friends with www.BOOKOO.com grave, chi1dish eyes and saying: "Yes, I remember how twenty years ago ..." or of drawing Ra1ph's attention to the girls -- real gir1s -- with love1y youthful arms and throats and swift hesitating movements who sat near them in restaurants. "Perhaps if I were ten

years younger ..." .cn

"Why don't you get Marie to sit outside your door and absolute1y forbid anybody to come near your room until you ring your bel1?" "Oh, if it were as simple as that!" She threw her little g1oves down and pressed her eyelids with her fingers in the way he knew so well. "But in the first place I'd be so conscious of Marie sitting there, Marie shaking her finger at Rudd and Mrs Moon, Marie as a kind of cross between a wardress and a nurse for mental cases! And then, there's the post. One can't get over the fact that the post comes, and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 91 once it has come, who -- who - could wait unti1 eleven for the letters?" His eyes grew bright; he quickly, lightly clasped her. "My letters, darling?" "Perhaps," she drawled, softly, and she drew her hand over his reddish hair, smiling too, but thinking : "Heavens! What a stupid thing to say!"

But this morning she had been awakened by one great slam of www.BOOKOO.com the front door. Bang. The flat shook. What was it? She jerked up in bed, clutching at the eiderdown; her heart beat. What could it be? Then she heard voices in the passage. Marie knocked, and, as the door opened, with a sharp tearing rip out flew the blind and the .cn curtains, stiffening, flapping, jerking. The tassel of the blind knocked

-- knocked against the window. "Eh-h, voila!" cried Marie, setting down the tray and running. "C'est le vent, Madame. C'est un vent insupportable." Up rolled the blind; the window went up with a jerk; a whitey-greyish light filled the room. Monica caught a glimpse of a huge pale sky and a cloud like a torn shirt dragging across before she hid her eyes with her sleeve. "Marie! the curtains! Quick, the curtains!" Monica fell back into

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 92 the bed and then "Ring-ting-a-ping-ping. ring--ting-a-ping-ping." It was the telephone. The limit of her suffering was reached; she grew quite calm. "Go and see. Marie." "It is Monsieur. To know if Madame will lunch at Princes' at one-thirty today." Yes, it was Monsieur himself. Yes, he had asked that the message be given to Madame immediate1y. Instead of replying, Monica put her cup down and asked Marie in a small wondering voice what time it was. It was half past nine. She lay still www.BOOKOO.com and half closed her eyes. "Tell Monsieur I can not come," she said gently. But as the door shut, anger -- anger suddenly gripped her close, close, violent, half strangling her. How dared he. How dared Ralph do such a thing when he knew how agonizing her nerves were .cn in the morning! Hadn't she explained and described and even - though light1y, of course; she couldn't say such a thing directly -- given him to understand that this was the one unforgivab1e thing. And then to choose this frightful windy morning. Did he think it was just a fad of hers, a little feminine folly to be laughed at and tossed aside? Why, only 1ast night she had said: "Ah, but you must take me seriously, too." And he had replied : "My darling. you'll not believe me, but I know you infinitely better than you know yourself .Every delicate thought and feeling I bow to, I treasure. Yes,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 93 laugh! l love the way your lip lifts" -- and he had leaned across the table -- "I don't care who sees that I adore all of you. I'd be with you on mountain-top and have all the searchlights of the world play upon us." "Heavens!" Monica almost c1utched her head. Was it possible he had really said that? How incredible men were! And she had loved him - how could she have loved a man who talked like that. What had she been doing ever since that dinner party months ago, when he www.BOOKOO.com had seen her home and asked if he might come and "see again that slow Arabian smi1e"? Oh. What nonsense -- what utter nonsense -- and yet she remembered at the time a strange deep thri1l unlike anything she had ever felt before. .cn "Coal! Coal! Coal! Old iron! Old iron! Old iron!" sounded from below. It was all over. Understand her? He had understood nothing. That ringing her up on a windy morning was immensely significant. Wou1d he understand that? She could almost have laughed. "You rang me up when the person who understood me simply couldn't have." It was the end. And when Marie said: "Monsieur replied he wou1d be in the vestibu1e in case Madame changed her mind," Monica said: "No. not verbena, Marie. Carnations. "Two handfuls." A wild white morning. a tearing, rocking wind. Monica sat

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 94 down before the mirror. She was pale. The maid combed back her dark hair - combed it all back -- and her face was like a mask, with pointed eyelids and dark red lips. As she stared at herself in the blueish shadowy g1ass she suddenly felt -- oh, the strangest, most tremendous excitement filling her slowly, slowly, until she wanted to fling out her arms, to laugh, to scatter everything, to shock Marie, to cry :"I'm free. I'm free. I'm free as the wind." And now all this vibrating, trembling, exciting, fling world was hers. It was her www.BOOKOO.com kingdom. No, no, she belonged to nobody but Life. "That will do, Marie," she stammered. "My hat, my coat, my bag. And now get me a taxi." Where was she going? Oh, anywhere. She could not stand this silent, flat, noiseless Marie, this ghostly .cn quiet feminine interior. She must be out; she must be driving quickly

-- anywhere, anywhere. "The taxi is there, Madame." As she pressed open the big outer doors of the flats the wild wind caught her and floated her across the pavement. Where to? She got in, and smiling radiantly at the cross, cold-looking driver, she told him to take her to her hairdresser's. What would she have done without her hairdresser? Whenever Monica had nowhere else to go or nothing on earth to do she drove there. She might just have her hair waved, and by that time she'd

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 95 have thought out a plan. The cross, cold driver drove at a tremendous pace, and she let herself be hurled from side to side. She wished he would go faster and faster. Oh, to be free of Princes' at one-thirty, of being the tiny kitten in the swans-down basket, of being the Arabian, and the grave, delighted child and the little wild creature.... "Never again," she cried aloud, clenching her small fist. But the cab had stopped, and the driver was standing holding the door open for her.

The hairdresser's shop was warm and glittering. It smelled of www.BOOKOO.com soap and burnt paper and wallflower brilliantine. There was Madame behind the counter, round, fat, white, her head like a powder-puff rolling on a black satin pin-cushion. Monica always had the feeling that they loved her in this shop and understood her -- the real her -- .cn far better than many of her friends did. She was her real self here, and she and Madame had often talked -- quite strangely -- together. Then there was George who did her hair, young, dark, slender George. She was really fond of him. But today -- how curious! Madame hardly greeted her. Her face was whiter than ever, but rims of bright red showed round her blue bead eyes, and even the rings on her pudgy fingers did not flash. They were cold, dead, like chips of glass. When she called through the wall-telephone to George there was a note in her voice that had

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 96 never been there before. But Monica would not believe this. No, she refused to. It was just her imagination. She sniffed greedily the warm. scented air. and passed behind the velvet curtain into the small cubicle. Her hat and jacket were off and hanging from the peg, and sti1l George did not come. This was the first time he had ever not been there to hold the chair for her, to take her hat and hang up her bag, dangling it in his fingers as though it were something he'd never seen www.BOOKOO.com before -- something fairy. And how quiet the shop was! There was not a sound even from Madame. Only the wind blew, shaking the old house; the wind hooted, and the portraits of Ladies of the Pompadour Period looked down and smiled, cunning and sly. Monica wished she .cn hadn't come. Oh, what a mistake to have come! Fata1. Fatal. Where was George? If he didn't appear the next moment she would go away. She took off the white kimono. She didn't want to look at herself any more. When she opened a big pot of cream on the glass shelf her fingers trembled. There was a tugging feeling at her heart as though her happiness -- her marvellous happiness -- were trying to get free. "I'll go. I'l1 not stay." She took down her hat. But just at that moment steps sounded, and, looking in the mirror, she saw George bowing in the doorway. How queerly he smiled! It was the mirror of

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 97 course. She turned round quickly. His lips curled back in a sort of grin, and -- wasn't he unshaved? -- he looked almost green in the face. "Very sorry to have kept you waiting," he mumbled, sliding, gliding forward. Oh, no, she wasn't going to stay. "I'm afraid," she began. But he had lighted the gas and laid the tongs across, and was holding out the kimono. www.BOOKOO.com "It's a wind," he said. Monica submitted. She smelled his fresh young fingers pinning the jacket under her chin. "Yes, there is a wind," said she, sinking back into the chair. And silence fell. George took out the pins in his expert way. Her hair tumbled back, but he .cn didn't hold it as he usually did, as though to feel how fine and soft and heavy it was. He didn't say it "was in a lovely condition". He let it fall, and, taking a brush out of a drawer, he coughed faintly, cleared his throat, and said dully: "Yes, it's a petty strong one, I should say it was." She had no reply to make. The brush fell on her hair. Oh, oh, how mournful, how mournful! It fell quick and light, it fell like leaves; and then it fell heavy, tugging like the tugging at her heart. "That's enough," she cried, shaking herself free.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 98

"Did I do it too much?" asked George. He crouched over the tongs. "I'm sorry." There came the smell of burnt paper -- the smell she loved - and he swung the hot tongs round in his hand, staring before him. "I shouldn't be surprised if it rained." He took up a piece of her hair, when - she couldn't bear it any longer -- she stopped him. She looked at him; she saw herself looking at him in the white kimono like a nun. "Is there something the matter here? Has something happened?" But George gave a half shrug and a grimace. www.BOOKOO.com "Oh, no, Madame. Just a little occurrence." And he took up the piece of hair again. But, oh, she wasn't deceived. That was it. Something awful had happened. The silence -- really, the silence seemed to come drifting down like flakes of snow. She shivered. It was cold in .cn the litt1e cubicle, all cold and glittering. The nicke1 taps and jets and sprays looked somehow almost malignant. The wind rattled the window-frame; a piece of iron banged, and the young man went on changing the tongs, crouching over her. Oh, how terrifying Life was, thought Monica. How dreadful. It is the loneliness which is so appal1ing. We whirl along like leaves, and nobody knows -- nobody cares where we fall, in what black river we float away. The tugging feeling seemed to rise into her throat. It ached. ached; she longed to cry. "That will do," she whispered. "Give me the pins." As he stood

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 99 beside her, so submissive, so silent, she nearly dropped her arms and sobbed. She couldn't bear any more. Like a wooden man the gay young George still slid, glided, handed her hat and veil, took the note, and brought back the change. She stuffed it into her bag. Where was she going now? George took a brush. "There is a little powder on your coat." he murmured. He brushed it away. And then suddenly he raised himself and, looking at Monica, gave a strange wave with the brush and said : www.BOOKOO.com "The truth is, Madame, since you are an o1d customer -- my little daughter died this morning. A first child" -- and then his white face crumpled like paper, and he turned his back on her and began brushing the cotton kimono. "Oh, oh," Monica began to cry. She ran .cn out of the shop into the taxi. The driver, looking furious, swung off the seat and slammed the door again. "Where to?" "Princes'," she sobbed. And all the way there she saw nothing but a tiny wax doll with a feather of gold hair, lying meek. its tiny hands and feet crossed. And then just before she came to Princes' she saw a flower shop full of white flowers. Oh, what a perfect thought. Lilies-of-the-valley, and white pansies, double white violets and white velvet ribbon.... From an unknown friend.... From one who understands.... For a Little Girl .... She tapped against the window,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 100 but the driver did not hear; and, anyway, they were at Princes' already.

The Escape

Ir was his fault, wholly and solely his fault, that they had missed the train. What if the idiotic hotel people had refused to produce the bill? Wasn't that simply because he hadn't impressed upon the waiter at lunch that they must have it by two o'clock? Any other man would www.BOOKOO.com have sat there and refused to move until they handed it over. But no! His exquisite belief in human nature had allowed him to get up and expect one of those idiots to bring it to their room.... And then, when the voiture did arrive, while they were still (Oh, Heavens!) waiting .cn for change, why hadn't he seen to the arrangement of the boxes so that they could, at least, have started the moment the money had come? Had he expected her to go outside, to stand under the awning in the heat, and point with her parasol? Very amusing picture of English domestic life. Even when the driver had been told how fast he had to drive he had paid no attention whatsoever -- just smiled. "Oh," she groaned, "if she'd been a driver she cou1dn't have stopped smiling herself at the absurd, ridiculous way he was urged to hurry." And she sat back and imitated his voice; "Allez, vite, vite" -- and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 101 begged the driver's pardon for troubling him.... And then the station -- unforgettable -- with the sight of the jaunty little train shuffling away and those hideous children waving from the windows. "Oh, why am I made to bear these things? Why am I exposed to them? ..." The glare, the flies, while they waited, and he and the stationmaster put their heads together over the time-table, trying to find this other train, which, of course, they wouldn't catch.

The people who'd gathered round, and the woman who'd held up that www.BOOKOO.com baby with that awful, awful head.... "Oh, to care as I care -- to feel as I feel, and never to be saved anything -- never to know for one moment what it was to ... to ..." Her voice had changed. It was shaking now -- crying now. She .cn fumbled with her bag, and produced from its little maw a scented handkerchief. She put up her vei1 and, as though she were doing it for somebody else, pitifully, as though she were saying to somebody else: "I know, my darling," she pressed the handkerchief to her eyes. The little bag, with its shiny, silvery jaws open, lay on her lap. He could see her powder-puff, her rouge stick, a bundle of letters, a phial of tiny black pills like seeds, a broken cigarette, a mirror, white ivory tablets with lists on them that had been heavily scored through. He thought :"In Egypt she would be buried with those things."

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 102

They had left the last of the houses, those small straggling houses with bits of broken pot flung among the flower-beds and half-naked hens scratching round the doorsteps. Now they were mounting a long steep road that wound round the hill and over into the next bay. The horses stumbled, pulling hard. Every five minutes, every two minutes the driver trailed the whip across them. His stout back was solid as wood; there were boils on his reddish neck, and he wore a new, a shining new straw hat.... www.BOOKOO.com There was a little wind, just enough wind to blow to satin the new leaves on the fruit trees, to stroke the fine grass, to turn to silver the smoky olives -- just enough wind to start in front of the carriage a whirling, twirling snatch of dust that settled on their clothes like the .cn finest ash. When she took out her powder-puff the powder came flying over them both. "Oh, the dust," she breathed, "the disgusting, revolting dust." And she put down her veil and lay back as if overcome. "Why don't you put up your parasol?" he suggested. It was on the front seat, and he leaned forward to hand it to her. At that she suddenly sat upright and blazed again. "Please leave my parasol alone! I don't want my parasol! And anyone who was not utterly insensitive would know that I'm far, far

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 103 too exhausted to hold up a parasol. And with a wind like this tugging at it.... Put it down at once," she flashed, and then snatched the parasol from him, tossed it into the crumpled hood behind, and subsided, panting. Another bend of the road, and down the hill there came a troop of little children, shrieking and giggling, little girls with sun-bleached hair, little boys in faded soldiers' caps. In their hands they carried flowers -- any kind of flowers -- grabbed by the head, and these they www.BOOKOO.com offered, running beside the carriage. Lilac, faded lilac, greeny-white snowballs, one arum lily, a handful of hyscinths. They thrust the flowers and their impish faces into the carriage; one even threw into her lap a bunch of marigolds. Poor little mice! He had his hand in his .cn trouser pocket before her. "For Heaven's sake don't give them anything. Oh, how typica1 of you! Horrid little monkeys! Now they'll follow us all the way. Don't encourage them; you would encourage beggars"; and she hurled the bunch out of the carriage with "Well, do it when I'm not there, please." He saw the queer shock on the children's faces. They stopped running, lagged behind, and then they began to shout something, and went on shouting until the carriage had rounded yet another bend. "Oh, how many more are there before the top of the hill is

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 104 reached? The horses haven't trotted once. Surely it isn't necessary for them to walk the whole way." "We shall be there in a minute now," he said, and took out his cigarette case. At that she turned round towards him. She clasped her hands and held them against her breast; her dark eyes looked immense, imploring, behind her veil; her nostrils quivered, she bit her lip, and her head shook with a little nervous spasm. But when she spoke, her voice was quite weak and very, very calm. www.BOOKOO.com "I want to ask you something. I want to beg something of you," she said. "I've asked you hundreds and hundreds of times before, but you've forgotten. It's such a little thing, but if you knew what it meant to me...." She pressed her hands together. "But you can't know. No .cn human creature could know and be so cruel." And then, slowly, deliberately, gazing at him with those huge, sombre eyes : "I beg and implore you for the last time that when we are driving together you won't smoke. If you could imagine," she said, "the anguish I suffer when that smoke comes floating across my face...." "Very well," he said. "I won't. I forgot." And he put the case back. "Oh, no," said she, and almost began to laugh, and put the back of her hand across her eyes. "You couldn't have forgotten. Not that."

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 105

The wind came, blowing stronger. They were at the top of the hill. "Hoy-yip-yip-yip," cried the driver. They swung down the road that fell into a small valley, skirted the sea coast at the bottom of it, and then coiled over a gentle ridge on the other side. Now there were houses again, blue-shuttered against the heat, with bright burning gardens, with geranium carpets flung over the pinkish walls. The coastline was dark; on the edge of the sea a white silky fringe just stirred. The carriage swung down the hill, bumped, shook. "Yi-ip," www.BOOKOO.com shouted the driver. She clutched the sides of the seat, she closed her eyes, and he knew she felt this was happening on purpose; this swinging and bumping, this was all done -- and he was responsible for it, somehow -- to spite her because she had asked if they couldn't .cn go a little faster. But just as they reached the bottom of the valley there was one tremendous lurch. The carriage nearly overturned, and he saw her eyes blaze at him, and she positively hissed, "I suppose you are enjoying this?" They went on. They reached the bottom of the valley. Sudden1y she stood up. "Cocher! Cocher! Arrêtez-vous!" She turned round and looked into the crumpled hood behind. "I knew it," she exclaimed. "I knew it. I heard it fall, and so did you, at that last bump." "What? Where?"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 106

"My parasol. It's gone. The parasol that belonged to my mother. The parasol that I prize more than -- more than ..." She was simply beside herself. The driver turned round, his gay, broad face smiling. "I, too, heard something," said he, simply and gaily. "But I thought as Monsieur and Madame said nothing ..." "There. You hear that. Then you must have heard it too. So that accounts for the extraordinary smile on your face...."

"Look here," he said, "it can't be gone. If it fell out it will he www.BOOKOO.com there still. Stay where you are. I'll fetch it." But she saw through that. Oh, how she saw through it! "No, thank you." And she bent her spiteful, smiling eyes upon him, regardless of the driver. "I'll go myself. I'll walk back and find it, and .cn trust you not to follow. For" -- knowing the driver did not understand, she spoke softly, gently -- "if I don't escape from you for a minute I shal1 go mad." She stepped out of the carriage. "My bag." He handed it to her. "Madame prefers ..." But the driver had already swung down from his seat, and was seated on the parapet reading a small newspaper. The horses stood with hanging heads. It was still. The man in the carriage stretched himself out, folded his arms. He felt the sun beat on his knees. His

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 107 head was sunk on his breast. "Hish, hish," sounded from the sea. The wind sighed in the valley and was quiet. He felt himself, lying there, a hollow man, a parched, withered man, as it were, of ashes. And the sea sounded, "Hish hish." It was then that he saw the tree, that he was conscious of its presence just inside a garden gate. It was an immense tree with a round, thick silver stem and a great arc of copper leaves that gave back the light and yet were somebre. There was something beyond www.BOOKOO.com the tree -- a whiteness, a softness, an opaque mass, half-hidden -- with delicate pillars. As he looked at the tree he felt his breathing die away and he became part of the silence. It seemed to grow, it seemed to expand in the quivering heat until the great carved leaves hid the .cn sky, and yet it was motionless. Then from within its depths or from beyond there came the sound of a woman's voice. A woman was singing. The warm untroubled voice floated upon the air, and it was all part of the silence as he was part of it. Suddenly, as the voice rose, soft, dreaming, gentle, he knew that it would come floating to him from the hidden leaves and his peace was shattered. What was happening to him? Something stirred in his breast. Something dark, something unbearable and dreadful pushed in his bosom, and like a great weed it floated, rocked ... it was warm, stifling. He tried to

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 108 struggle to tear at it, and at the same moment -- all was over. Deep, deep, he sank into the silence, staring at the tree and waiting for the voice that came floating, falling, until he felt himself enfolded. In the shaking corridor of the train. It was night. The train rushed and roared through the dark. He held on with both hands to the brass rail. The door of their carriage was open. "Do not disturb yourself, Monsieur. He will come in and sit down when he wants to. He likes -- he likes -- it is his habit.... Oui www.BOOKOO.com Madame, je suis un peu souffrante.... Mes nerfs. Oh, but my husband is never so happy as when he is travelling. He likes roughing it.... My husband.... My husband...." The voices murmured, murmured. They were never still. But so .cn great was his heavenly happiness as he stood there he wished he might live for ever.

The Garden Party

And after all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect day for a garden party if they had ordered it. Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes in early summer. The gardener had been up since dawn, mowing the lawns and sweeping them, unti1 the

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 109 grass and the dark flat rosettes where the daisy plants had been seemed to shine. As for the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden parties; the only flowers the everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though they had been visited by archangels.

Breakfast was not yet over before the men came to put up the www.BOOKOO.com marquee. "Where do you want the marquee put, mother?" "My dear child, it's not use asking me. I'm determined to leave everything to you children this year. Forget I am your mother. Treat .cn me as an honoured guest."

But Meg could not possibly go and supervise the men. She had washed her hair before breakfast, and she sat drinking her coffee in a green turban, with a dark wet curl stamped on each cheek. Jose, the butterfly, always came down in a silk petticoat and a kimono jacket. "You'll have to go, Laura; you're the artistic one." Away Laura flew, still holding her piece of bread-and-butter. It's so delicious to have an excuse for eating out of doors, and besides, she loved having to arrange things; she always felt she could do it so

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 110 much better than anybody else. Four men in their shirt-sleeves stood grouped together on the garden path. They carried staves covered with rolls of canvas, and they had big tool-bags slung on their backs. They looked impressive. Laura wished now that she was not holding that piece of bread-and-butter, but there was nowhere to put it, and she couldn't possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them. www.BOOKOO.com "Good morning," she said, copying her mother's voice. But that sounded so fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and stammered like a little girl, "Oh-- er -- have you come -- is it about the marquee?" .cn "That's right, miss," said the tallest of the men, a lanky, freckled fellow, and he shifted his tool-bag, knocked back his straw hat and smiled down at her. "That's about it." His smile was so easy, so friendly, that Laura recovered. What nice eyes he had, small, but such a dark blue! And now she looked at the others, they were smiling too. "Cheer up. we won't bite," their smile seemed to say. How very nice workmen were! And what a beautiful morning! She mustn't mention the morning; she must be business-like. The marquee.

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"Well, what about the lily-lawn? Would that do?" And she pointed to the lily-lawn with the hand that didn't hold the bread-and-butter. They turned, they stared in the direction. A little fat chap thrust out his under-lip, and the tall fellow frowned. "I don't fancy it," said he. "Not conspicuous enough. You see, with a thing like a marquee," and he turned to Laura in his easy way, "you want to put it somewhere where it'll give you a bang slap in the eye, if you follow me." www.BOOKOO.com Laura's upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether it was quite respectful of a workman to talk to her of bangs slap in the eye. But she did quite follow him. "A corner of the tennis-court," she suggested. "But the band's .cn going to be in one corner."

"H'm, going to have a band, are you?" said another of the workmen. He was pale. He had a haggard look as his dark eyes scanned the tennis-court. What was he thinking? "Only a very small band," said Laura gently. Perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if the band was quite small. But the tall fellow interrupted. "Look here, miss, that's the place. Against those trees. Over there. That'll do fine."

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Against the karakas. Then the karaka-trees would be hidden. And they were so lovely, with their broad, gleaming leaves, and their clusters of yellow fruit. They were like trees you imagined growing on a desert island, proud, solitary, lifting their leaves and fruits to the sun in a kind of silent splendour. Must they be hidden by a marquee? They must. Already the men had shouldered their staves and were making for the place. Only the tall fellow was left. He bent down, pinched a sprig of lavender, put his thumb and forefinger to www.BOOKOO.com his nose and snuffed up the smell. When Laura saw that gesture she forgot all about the karakas in her wonder at him caring for things like that -- caring for the smell of lavender. How many men that she knew would have done such a thing. Oh, how extraordinarily nice .cn workmen were, she thought. Why couldn't she have workmen for friends rather than the silly boys she danced with and who came to Sunday night supper? She would get on much better with men like these. It's all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something on the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up or left to hang, of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her part, she didn't feel them. Not a bit, not an atom ... And now there came the chock-chock of wooden hammers. Someone whistled, someone sang

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 113 out, "Are you right there, matey?" "Matey!" The friendliness of it, the -- the -- Just to prove how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home she felt, and how she despised stupid conventions, Laura took a big bite of her bread-and-butter as she stared at the little drawing. She felt just like a workgirl. "Laura, Laura, where are you? Telephone, Laura!" a voice cried from the house.

"Coming!" Away she skimmed, over the lawn, up the path, up www.BOOKOO.com the steps, across the veranda, and into the porch. In the hall her father and Laurie were brushing their hats ready to go to the office. "I say, Laura," said Laurie very fast, "you might just give a squiz at my coat before this afternoon. See if it wants pessing." .cn "I will," said she. Suddenly she couldn't stop herself She ran at

Laurie and gave him a small, quick squeeze. "Oh, I do love parties, don't you?" gasped Laura. "Ra-ther," said Laurie's warm, boyish voice, and he squeezed his sister too, and gave her a gentle push. "Dash off to the telephone, old girl." The telephone. "Yes, yes; oh yes. Kitty? Good morning, dear. Come to lunch? Do, dear. Delighted of course. It will only be a very scratch meal -just the sandwich crusts and broken meringue-shells

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 114 and what's left over. Yes, isn't it a perfect morning? Your white? Oh, I certainly should. One moment -- hold the line. Mother's calling." And Laura sat back. "What, mother? Can't hear." Mrs Sheridan's voice floated down the stairs. "Tell her to wear that sweet hat she had on last Sunday." "Mother says you're to wear that sweet hat you had on last Sunday. Good. One o'clock. Bye-bye.

Laura put back the receiver, flung her arms over her head, took www.BOOKOO.com a deep breath, stretched and let them fall. "Huh," she sighed, and the moment after the sigh she sat up quickly. She was still, listening. All the doors in the house seemed to be open. The house was alive with soft, quick steps and running voices. The green baize door that led to .cn the kitchen regions swung open and shut with a muffled thud. And now there came a long, chuckling absurd sound. It was the heavy piano being moved on its stiff castors. But the air! If you stopped to notice, was the air always like this? Little faint winds were playing chase in at the tops of the windows, out at the doors. And there were two tiny spots of sun, one on the inkpot, one on a silver photograph frame, playing too. Darling little spots. Especially the one on the inkpot lid. It was quite warm. A warm little silver star. She could have kissed it.

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The front door bell pealed, and there sounded the rustle of Sadie's print skirt on the stairs. A man's voice murmured; Sadie answered, careless, "I'm sure I don't know. Wait. I'l1 ask Mrs Sheridan." "What is it, Sadie?" Laura came into the hall. "It's the florist, Miss Laura." It was, indeed. There, just inside the door, stood a wide, shallow tray full of pots of pink lilies. No other kind. Noting but lilies -- www.BOOKOO.com canna lilies, big pink flowers, wide open, radiant, almost frighteningly alive on bright crimson stems. "O-oh, Sadie!" said Laura, and the sound was like a little moan. She crouched down as if to warm herself at that blaze of lilies; she .cn felt they were in her fingers, on her lips, growing in her breast.

"It's some mistake," she said faintly. "Nobody ever ordered so many. Sadie, go and find mother." But at that moment Mrs Sheridan joined them. "It's quite right," she said calmly. "Yes, I ordered them. Aren't they lovely?" She pressed Laura's arm. "I was passing the shop yesterday, and I saw them in the window. And I suddenly thought for once in my life I shall have enough canna lilies. The garden party will be a good excuse."

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"But I thought you said you didn't mean to interfere," said Laura. Sadie had gone. The florist's man was still outside at his van. She put her arm round her mother's neck and gently, very gently, she bit her mother's ear. "My darling child, you wouldn't like a logical mother, would you? Don't do that. Here's the man." He carried more lilies still, another whole tray.

"Bank them up, just inside the door, on both sides of the porch, www.BOOKOO.com please," said Mrs Sheridan. "Don't you agree, Laura?" "Oh, I do, mother." In the drawing-room Meg, Jose and good little Hans had at last succeeded in moving the piano. .cn "Now, if we put this chesterfield against the wall and move everything out of the room except the chairs, don't you think?" "Quite." "Hans, move these tables into the smoking-room, and bring a sweeper to take these marks off the carpet and -- one moment, Hans --" Jose loved giving orders to the servants, and they loved obeying her. She always made them feel they were taking part in some drama. "Tell mother and Miss Laura to come here at once." "Very good, Miss Jose."

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She turned to Meg. "I want to hear what the piano sounds like, just in case I'm asked to sing this afternoon. Let's try over `This life is Weary'." Pom! Ta-ta-ta Tee-ta! The piano burst out so passionately that Jose's face changed. She clasped her hands. She looked mournfully and enigmatically at her mother and Laura as they came in. This Life is Wee-ary, A Tear -- a Sigh. www.BOOKOO.com A Love that Chan-ges, This Life is Wee-ary, A Tear -- a Sigh. A Love that Chan-ges, And then ... Good-bye! But at the word "Goodbye", and although the piano sounded

more desperate than ever, her face broke into a brilliant. dreadfully .cn unsympathetic smile. "Aren't I in good voice, mummy?" she beamed. This Life is Wee-ary, Hope comes to Die. A Dream -- a Wa-kening. But now Sadie interrupted them. "What is it, Sadie?" "If you please, m'm, cook says have you got the flags for the sandwiches?" "The flags for the sandwiches, Sadie?" echoed Mrs Sheridan dreamily. And the children knew by her face that she hadn't got them.

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"Let me see." And she said to Sadie firmly, "Tell cook I'll let her have them in ten minutes." Sadie went. "Now. Laura," said her mother quickly, "come with me into the smoking-room. I've got the names somewhere on the back of an envelope. You'll have to write them out for me. Meg, go upstairs this minute and take that wet thing off your head. Jose, run and finish dressing this instant. Do you hear me, children, or shall I have to tell www.BOOKOO.com your father when he comes home tonight? And -- and, Jose, pacify cook if you do go into the kitchen, will you? I'm terrified of her this morning." The envelope was found at last behind the dining-room clock, .cn though how it had got there Mrs Sheridan could not imagine.

"One of you children must have stolen it out of my bag, because I remember vividly -- cream-cheese and lemon--curd. Have you done that?" "Yes." "Egg and --" Mrs Sheridan held the envelope away from her. "It looks like mice. It can't he mice, can it?" "Olive, pet," said Laura, looking over her shoulder. "Yes, of course, olive. What a horrible combination it sounds.

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Egg and olive." They were finished at last, and Laura took them off to the kitchen. She found Jose there pacifying the cook, who did not look at all terrifying. "I have never seen such exquisite sandwiches," said Jose's rapturous voice. "How many kinds did you say there were, cook? Fifteen?"

"Fifteen, Miss Jose." www.BOOKOO.com "Well, cook, I congratulate you." Cook swept up crusts with the long sandwich knife and smiled broadly. "Godber's has come," announced Sadie, issuing out of the pantry. .cn She had seen the man pass the window.

That meant the cream puffs had come. Godber's were famous for their cream puffs. Nobody ever thought of making them at home. "Bring them in and put them on the table, my girl," ordered cook. Sadie brought them in and went back to the door. Of course Laura and Jose were far too grown-up to really care about such things. All the same, they couldn't help agreeing that the puffs looked very attractive. Very. Cook began arranging them, shaking off the

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 120 extra icing sugar. "Don't they carry one back to all one's parties?" said Laura. "I suppose they do," said practical Jose, who never liked to be carried back. "They look beautifully light and feathery, I must say." "Have one each, my dears," said cook in her comfortable voice. "Yer ma won't know." Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast. The very idea made one shudder. All the same, two minutes later Jose and www.BOOKOO.com Laura were licking their fingers with that absorbed inward look that only comes from whipped cream. "Let's go into the garden, out by the back way," suggested Laura. "I want to see how the men are getting on with the marquee. They're .cn such awfully nice men."

But the back door was blocked by cook, Sadie, Godber's man and Hans. Something had happened. "Tuk-tuk-tuk," clucked cook like an agitated hen. Sadie had her hand clapped to her cheek as though she had toothache. Hans's face was screwed up in the effort to understand. Only Godber's man seemed to be enjoying himself; it was his story. "What's the matter? What's happened?"

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"There's been a horrible accident," said cook. "A man killed!" "A man killed! Where? How? When?" But Godber's man wasn't going to have his story snatched from under his very nose. "Know those little cottages just below here, miss?" Know them? Of course, she knew them. "Well, there's a young chap living there, name of Scott, a carter. His horse shied at a traction--engine, corner of Hawke Street this morning, and he was thrown out on the back of www.BOOKOO.com his head. Killed." "Dead !" Laura stared at Godber's man. "Dead when they picked him up," said Godber's man with relish. "They were taking the body home as I come up here." And he said to .cn the cook, "He's left a wife and five little ones."

"Jose, come here." Laura caught hold of her sister's sleeve and dragged her through the kitchen to the other side of the green baize door. There she paused and leaned against it. "Jose!" she said, horrified, "however are we going to stop everything?" "Stop everything, Laura!" cried Jose in astonishment. "What do you mean?" "Stop the garden party, of course." Why did Jose pretend? But Jose was still more amazed. "Stop the garden party? My

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 122 dear Laura, don't be so absurd. Of course we can't do anything of the kind. Nobody expects us to. Don't be so extravagant." "But we can't possibly have a garden party with a man dead just outside the front gate." That really was extravagant, for the little cottages were in a lane to themselves at the very bottom of a steep rise that led up to the house. A broad road ran between. True, they were far too near. They were the greatest possible eyesore, and they had no right to be in that www.BOOKOO.com neighbourhood at all. They were little mean dwellings painted a chocolate brown. In the garden patches there was nothing but cabbage stalks, sick hens and tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was poverty-stricken. Little rags and shreds of .cn smoke, so unlike the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the

Sheridans' chimneys. Washerwomen lived in the lane and sweeps and a cobbler, and a man whose house-front was studded all over with minute bird--cages. Children swarmed. When the Sheridans were little they were forbidden to set foot there because of the revolting language and of what they might catch. But since they were grown up, Laura and Laurie on their prowls sometimes walked through. It was disgusting and sordid. They came out with a shudder. But still one must go everywhere; one must see everything. So through they

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 123 went. "And just think of what the band would sound like to that poor woman," said Laura. "Oh, Laura!" Jose began to be seriously annoyed. "If you're going to stop a band playing every time someone has an accident, you'll lead a very strenuous life. I'm every bit as sorry about it as you. I feel just as sympathetic." Her eyes hardened. She looked at her sister just as she used to when they were little and fighting together. www.BOOKOO.com "You won't bring a drunken workman back to life by being sentimental," she said softly. "Drunk! Who said he was drunk?" Laura turned furiously on Jose. She said just as they had used to say on those occasions, "I'm .cn going straight up to tell mother."

"Do, dear," cooed Jose. "Mother, can I come into your room?" Laura turned the big glass doorknob. "Of course, child. Why, what's the matter? What's given you such a colour?" And Mrs Sheridan turned round from her dressing-table. She was trying on a new hat. "Mother, a man's been killed," began Laura. "Not in the garden?" interrupted her mother.

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"No, no!" "Oh, what a fright you gave me!" Mrs Sheridan sighed with relief, and took off the big hat and held it on her knees. "But listen, mother," said Laura. Breathless, half-choking, she told the dreadful story. "Of course, we can't have our party, can we?" she pleaded. "The band and everybody arriving. They'd hear us, mother; they're nearly neighbours !"

To Laura's astonishment her mother behaved just like Jose; it www.BOOKOO.com was harder to bear because she seemed amused. She refused to take Laura seriously. "But, my dear child, use your common sense. It's only by accident we've heard of it. If someone had died there normally -- and .cn I can't understand how they keep alive in those poky little holes -- we should still be having our party, shouldn't we?" Laura had to say "yes" to that, but she felt it was all wrong. She sat down on her mother's sofa and pinched the cushion frill. "Mother, isn't it really terrib1y heartless of us?" she asked. "Darling!" Mrs Sheridan got up and came over to her, carrying the hat. Before Laura could stop her she had popped it on. "My child!" said her mother, "the hat is yours. It's made for you. It's much too young for me. I have never seen you look such a picture. Look at

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 125 yourself!" And she held up her hand-mirror. "But, mother," Laura began again. She couldn't look at herself; she turned aside. This time Mrs Sheridan lost patience just as Jose had done. "You are being very absurd, Laura," she said coldly. "People like that don't expect sacrifices from us. And it's not very sympathetic to spoil everybody's enjoyments as you're doing now."

"I don't understand." said Laura, and she walked quickly out of www.BOOKOO.com the room into her own bedroom. There, quite by chance, the first thing she saw was this charming girl in the mirror, in her black hat trimmed with gold daisies, and a long black velvet ribbon. Never had she imagined she could look like that. Is mother right? she thought. .cn And now she hoped her mother was right. Am I being extravagant?

Perhaps it was extravagant. Just for a moment she had another glimpse of that poor woman and those little children, and the body being carried into the house. But it all seemed blurred, unreal, like a picture in the newspaper. I'll remember it again after the party's over, she decided. And somehow that seemed quite the best plan ... Lunch was over by half past one. By half past two they were all ready for the fray. The green-coated band had arrived and was established in a corner of the tennis-court.

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"My dear!" trilled Kitty Maitland, "aren't they too like frogs for words? You ought to have arranged them round the pond with the conductor in the middle on a leaf." Laurie arrived and hailed them on his way to dress. At the sight of him Laura remembered the accident again. She wanted to tell him. If Laurie agreed with the others. then it was bound to be all right. And she followed him hito the hall.

"Laurie !" www.BOOKOO.com "Hallo!" He was half-way upstairs, but when he turned round and saw Laura he suddenly puffed out his cheeks and goggled his eyes at her. "My word, Laura! You do look stunning," said Laurie. "What an absolutely topping hat!" .cn Laura said faintly "Is it?" and smiled up at Laurie, and didn't tell him after all. Soon after that people began coming in streams. The band struck up; the hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee. Wherever you looked there were couples strolling, bending to the flowers, greeting, moving on over the lawn. They were like bright birds that had alighted in the Sheridans' garden for this one afternoon, on their way to -- where? Ah, what happiness it is to be with people who all are happy, to press hands, press cheeks, smile into eyes.

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"Darling Laura, how well you look!" "What a becoming hat, child!" "Laura, you look quite Spanish. I've never seen you look so striking." And Laura, glowing, answered softly, "Have you had tea? Won't you have an ice? The passion-fruit ices really are rather special." She ran to her father and begged him. "Daddy darling, can't the band have something to drink?" www.BOOKOO.com And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded, slowly its petals closed. "Never a more delightful garden-party..." "The greatest success...." "Quite the most ..." .cn Laura helped her mother with the goodbyes. They stood side by side in the porch till it was all over. "All over, all over, thank heaven," said Mrs Sheridan. "Round up the others, Laura. Let's go and have some fresh coffee. I'm exhausted. Yes, it's been very successful. But oh, these parties, these parties! Why will you children insist on giving parties!" And they all of them sat down in the deserted marquee. "Have a sandwich, daddy dear. I wrote the flag." "Thanks." Mr Sheridan took a bite and the sandwich was gone.

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He took another. "I suppose you didn't hear of a beastly accident that happened today?" he said. "My dear," said Mrs Sheridan, holding up her hand, "we did. It nearly ruined the party. Laura insisted we should put it off." "Oh, mother!" Laura didn't want to be teased about it. "It was a horrible affair all the same," said Mr Sheridan. "The chap was married too. Lived just below in the lane, and leaves a wife and half a dozen kiddies, so they say." www.BOOKOO.com An awkward little silence fell. Mrs Sheridan fidgeted with her cup. Really, it was very tactless of father ... Suddenly she looked up. There on the table were all those sandwiches, cakes, puffs, all un-eaten, all going to be wasted. She .cn had one of her brilliant ideas.

"I know," she said. "Let's make up a basket. Let's send that poor creature some of this perfectly good food. At any rate, it will be the greatest treat for the children. Don't you agree? And she's sure to have neighbours calling in and so on. What a point to have it all ready prepared. Laura!" She jumped up. "Get me the big basket out of the stairs cupboard." "But, mother, do you really think it's a good idea?" said Laura. Again, how curious, she seemed to be different from them all.

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To take scraps from their party. Would the poor woman really like that? "Of course! What's the matter with you today? An hour or two ago you were insisting on us being sympathetic, and now --" Oh well! Laura ran for the basket. It was filled, it was heaped by her mother. "Take it yourself, darling," said she. "Run down just as you are.

No, wait, take the arum lilies too. People of that class are so www.BOOKOO.com impressed by arum lilies." "The stems will ruin her lace frock," said practical Jose. So they would. Just in time. "Only the basket, then. And, Laura!" - her mother followed her out of the marquee -- "don't on any .cn account --"

"What mother?" No, better not put such ideas into the child's head! "Nothing! Run along." It was just growing dusky as Laura shut their garden gates. A big dog ran by like a shadow. The road gleamed white, and down below in the hollow the little cottages were in deep shade. How quiet it seemed after the afternoon. Here she was going down the hill to somewhere where a man lay dead, and she couldn't realize it. Why

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 130 couldn't she? She stopped a minute. And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons, laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her. She had no room for anything else. How strange! She looked up at the pale sky, and all she thought was, "Yes, it was the most successful party." Now the broad road was crossed. The lane began, smoky and dark. Women in shawls and men's tweed caps hurried by. Men hung over the palings; the children played in the doorways. A low hum www.BOOKOO.com came from the mean little cottages. In some of them there was a flicker of light, and a shadow, crab-like, moved across the window. Laura bent her head and hurried on. She wished now she had put on a coat. How her frock shone! And the big hat with the velvet streamer .cn -- if only it was another hat! Were the people looking at her? They must be. It was a mistake to have come; she knew all along it was a mistake. Should she go back even now? No, too late. This was the house. It must be. A dark knot of people stood outside. Beside the gate an old, old woman with a crutch sat in a chair, watching. She had her feet on a newspaper. The voices stopped as Laura drew near. The group parted. It was as though she was expected, as though they had known she was coming here.

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Laura was terribly nervous. Tossing the velvet ribbon over her shoulder, she said to a woman standing by, "Is this Mrs Scott's house?" and the woman, smiling queerly, said, "It is, my lass." Oh, to be away from this! She actually said, "Help me, God," as she walked up the tiny path and knocked. To be away from those staring eyes, or to be covered up in anything, one of those women's shawls even. I'll just leave the basket and go, she decided. I shan't even wait for it to be emptied. www.BOOKOO.com Then the door opened. A little woman in black showed in the gloom. Laura said, "Are you Mrs Scott?" But to her horror the woman answered, "Walk in, please, miss," and she was shut in the passage. .cn "No," said Laura, "I don't want to come in. I only want to leave this basket. Mother sent--" The little woman in the gloomy passage seemed not to have heard her. "Step this way, please, miss," she said in an oily voice, and Laura followed her. She found herself in a wretched little low kitchen, lighted by a smoky lamp. There was a woman sitting before the fire. "Em," said the little creature who had let her in. "Em! It's a young lady." She turned to Laura. She said meaningly, "I'm 'er sister,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 132 miss. You'll excuse 'er, won't you?" "Oh, but of course!" said Laura. "Please, please don't disturb her. I-I only want to leave--" But at that moment the woman at the fire turned round. Her face, puffed up, red, with swollen eyes and swollen lips, looked terrible. She seemed as though she couldn't understand why Laura was there. What did it mean? Why was this stranger standing in the kitchen with a basket? What was it all about? And the poor face puckered up www.BOOKOO.com again. "All right, my dear," said the other. "I'll thank the young lady." And again she began, "You'll excuse her, miss, I'm sure," and her face, swollen too, tried an oily smile. .cn Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She was back in the passage. The door opened. She walked straight through into the bedroom where the dead man was lying. "You'd like a look at 'im, wouldn't you?" said Em's sister, and she brushed past Laura over to the bed. "Don't be afraid, my lass," -- and now her voice sounded fond and sly, and fondly she drew down the sheet -- "'e looks a picture. There's nothing to show. Come along, my dear." Laura came.

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There lay a young man, fast asleep -- sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so remote, so peaceful. He was dreaming. Never wake him up again. His head was sunk in the pillow, his eyes were closed; they were blind under the closed eyelids. He was given up to his dream. What did garden parties and baskets and lace frocks matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing, this marvel had come to www.BOOKOO.com the lane. Happy ...happy ... All is well, said that sleeping face. This is just as it should be. I am content. But all the same you had to cry, and she couldn't go out of the room without saying something to him. Laura gave a loud childish .cn sob.

"Forgive my hat," she said. And this time she didn't wait for Em's sister. She found her way out of the door, down the path, past all those dark people. At the corner of the lane she met Laurie. He stepped out of the shadow. "Is that you, Laura?" "Yes." "Mother was getting anxious. Was it all right?" "Yes, quite. Oh, Laurie!" She took his arm, she pressed up

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 134 against him. "I say, you're not crying, are you?" asked her brother. Laura shook her head. She was. Laurie put his arm round her shoulder. "Don't cry," he said in his warm, loving voice. "Was it awful?" "No," sobbed Laura. "It was simply marvellous. But, Laurie --" She stopped, she looked at her brother. "Isn't life," she stammered,

"isn't life --" But what life was she couldn't explain. No matter. He www.BOOKOO.com quite understood. "Isn 't it, darling?" said Laurie.

The Daughters of the Late Colonel .cn

Ⅰ

The week after was one of the busiest weeks of their lives. Even when they went to bed it was only their bodies that lay down and rested; their minds went on, thinking things out, talking things over, wondering, deciding, trying to remember where ... Constantia lay like a statue, her hands by her sides, her feet just overlapping each other, the sheet up to her chin. She stared at the ceiling.

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"Do you think father would mind if we gave his top-hat to the porter?" "The porter?" snapped Josephine. "Why ever the porter? What a very extraordinary idea!" "Because," said Constantia slowly, "he must often have to go to funerals. And I noticed at -- at the cemetery that he only had a bowler." She paused. "I thought then how very much he'd appreciate a top-hat. We ought to give him a present too. He was always very www.BOOKOO.com nice to father." "But," cried Josephine, flouncing on her pillow and staring across the dark at Constantia, "father's head!" And suddenly, for one awful moment, she nearly giggled. Not, of course, that she felt in the .cn least like giggling. It must have been habit. Years ago, when they had stayed awake at night talking, their beds had simply heaved. And now the porter's head, disappearing, popped out, like a candle, under father's hat ... The giggle mounted, mounted; she clenched her hands; she fought it down; she frowned fiercely at the dark and said "Remember" terribly sternly. "We can decide tomorrow," she said. Constantia had noticed nothing; she sighed. "Do you think we ought to have our dressing-gowns dyed as

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 136 well?" "Black?" almost shrieked Josephine. "Well, what else?" said Constantia. "I was thinking -- it doesn't seem quite sincere, in a way, to wear black out of doors and when we're fully dressed, and then when we're at home --" "But nobody see us," said Josephine. She gave the bedclothes such a twitch that both her feet became uncovered, and she had to creep up the pillows to get them well under again. www.BOOKOO.com "Kate does," said Constantia. "And the postman very well might." Josephine thought of her dark red slippers, which matched her dressing-gown, and of Constantia's favourite indefinite green ones .cn which went with hers. Black! Two black dressing-gowns and two pairs of black woolly slippers, creeping off to the bathroom like black cats. "I don't think it's absolutely necessary," said she. Silence. Then Constantia said, "We shall have to post the papers with the notice in them tomorrow to catch the Ceylon mail ... How many letters have we had up till now?" "Twenty-three." Josephine had replied to them all, and twenty-three times when

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 137 she came to "We miss our dear father so much" she had broken down and had to use her handkerchief, and on some of them even to soak up a very light blue tear with an edge of blotting-paper. Strange! She couldn't have put it on -- but twenty-three times. Even now, though, when she said over to herself sadly "We miss our dear father so much," she could have cried if she'd wanted to. "Have you got enough stamps?" came from Constantia.

"Oh, how can I tell?" said Josephine crossly. "What's the good www.BOOKOO.com of asking me that now?" "I was just wondering," said Constantia mildly. Silence again. There came a little rustle, a scurry, a hop. "A mouse," said Constantia. .cn "It can't be a mouse because there aren't any crumbs," sand

Josephine. "But it doesn't know there aren't," said Constantia. A spasm of pity squeezed her heart. Poor little thing! She wished she'd left a tiny piece of biscuit on the dressing-table. It was awful to think of it not finding anything. What would it do? "I can't think how they manage to live at all," she said slowly. "Who?" demanded Josephine. And Constantia said more loudly than she meant to, "Mice."

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Josephine was furious. "Oh, what nonsense, Con!" she said. "What have mice got to do with it? You're asleep." "I don't think I am," said Constantia. She shut her eyes to make sure. She was. Josephine arched her spine, pulled up her knees, folded her arms so that her fists came under her ears, and pressed her cheek hard against the pillow. www.BOOKOO.com Ⅱ

Another thing which complicated matters was they had Nurse Andrews staying on with them that week. It was their own fault; they had asked her. It was Josephine's idea. On the morning -- well, on the .cn last morning, when the doctor had gone, Josephine had said to

Constantia, "Don't you think it would be rather nice if we asked Nurse Andrews to stay on for a week as our guest?" "Very nice," said Constantia. "I thought," went on Josephine quickly, "I should just say this afternoon, after I've paid her, 'My sister and I would be very pleased, after all you've done for us, Nurse Andrews, if you would stay on for a week as our guest.' I'd have to put that in about being our guest in case --"

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"Oh, but she could hardly expect to be paid!" cried Constantia. "One never knows," said Josephine sagely. Nurse Andrews had, of course, jumped at the idea. But it was a bother. It meant they had to have regular sit-down meals at the proper times, whereas if they'd been alone they could just have asked Kate if she wouldn't have minded bringing them a tray wherever they were. And meal-times now that the strain was over were rather a trial.

Nurse Andrews was simply fearful about butter. Really they www.BOOKOO.com couldn't help feeling that about butter, at least, she took advantage of their kindness. And she had that maddening habit of asking for just an inch more bread to finish what she had on her plate, and then, at the last mouthful, absent- mindedly -- of course it wasn't .cn absent-mindedly -- taking another helping. Josephine got very red when this happened, and she fastened her small, bead-like eyes on the tablecloth as if she saw a minute strange insect creeping through the web of it. But Constantia's long, pale face lengthened and set, and she gazed away -- away -- far over the desert, to where that line of camels unwound like a thread of wool ... "When I was with Lady Tukes," said Nurse Andrews, "she had such a dainty little contrayvance for the buttah. It was a silvah Cupid balanced on the -- on the bordah of a glass dish, holding a tayny fork.

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And When you wanted some buttah you simply pressed his foot and he bent down and speared you a piece. It was quite a gayme." Josephine could hardly bear that. But "I think those things are very extravagant" was all she said. "But whey?" asked Nurse Andrews, beaming through her eye-glasses. "No one, surely, would take more buttah than one wanted -- would one?"

"Ring, Con," cried Josephine. She couldn't trust herself to reply. www.BOOKOO.com And proud young Kate, the enchanted princess, came in to see what the old tabbies wanted now. She snatched away their plates of mock something or other and slapped down a white, terrified blancmange. .cn "Jam, please, Kate," said Josephine kindly.

Kate knelt and burst open the sideboard, lifted the lid of the jam-pot, saw it was empty, put it on the table, and stalked off. "I'm afraid," said Nurse Andrews a moment later, "there isn't any." "Oh, what a bother!" said Josephine. She bit her lip. "What had we better do?" Constantia looked dubious. "We can't disturb Kate again," she said softly.

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Nurse Andrews waited, smiling at them both. Her eyes wandered, spying at everything behind her eye-glasses. Constantia in despair went back to her camels. Josephine frowned heavily -- concentrated. If it hadn't been for this idiotic woman she and Con would, of course, have eaten their blancmange without. Suddenly the idea came. "I know," she said. "Marmalade. There's some marmalade in the sideboard. Get it, Con." www.BOOKOO.com "I hope," laughed Nurse Andrews, and her laugh was like a spoon tinkling against a medicine-glass -- "I hope it's not very bittah marmalayde."

Ⅲ .cn

But, after all, it was not long now, and then she'd be gone for good. And there was no getting over the fact that she had been very kind to father. She had nursed him day and night at the end. Indeed, both Constantia and Josephine felt privately she had rather overdone the not leaving him at the very last. For when they had gone in to say goodbye Nurse Andrews had sat beside his bed the whole time, holding his wrist and pretending to look at her watch. It couldn't have been necessary. It was so tactless, too. Supposing father had wanted

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 142 to say something -- something private to them. Not that he had. Oh, far from it! He lay there, purple, a dark, angry purple in the face, and never even looked at them when they came in. Then, as they were standing there, wondering what to do, he had suddenly opened one eye. Oh, what a difference it would have made, what a difference to their memory of him, how much easier to tell people about it, if he had only opened both! But no -- one eye only. It glared at them a moment and then ... went out. www.BOOKOO.com

Ⅳ

It had made it very awkward for them when Mr Farolles, of St John's, called the same afternoon. .cn "The end was quite peaceful, I trust?" were the first words he said as he glided towards them through the dark drawing-room. "Quite," said Josephine faintly. They both hung their heads. Both of them felt certain that eye wasn't at all a peaceful eye. "Won't you sit down?" said Joephine. "Thank you, Miss Pinner," said Mr Farolles gratefully. He folded his coat-tails and began to lower himself into father's arm-chair, but just as he touched it he almost sprang up and slid into the next chair instead.

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He coughed. Josephine clasped her hands; Constantia looked vague. "I want you to feel, Miss Pinner," said Mr Farolles, "and you, Miss Constantia, that I'm trying to be helpful. I want to be helpful to you both, if you will let me. "These are the times," said Mr Farolles, very simply and earnestly, "when God means us to be helpful to one another."

"Thank you very much, Mr Farolles," said Josephine and www.BOOKOO.com Constantia. "Not at all," said Mr Farolles gently. He drew his kid gloves through his fingers and leaned forward. "And if either of you would like a little Communion, either or both of you, here and now, you .cn have only to tell me. A little Communion is often very help --a great comfort," he added tenderly. But the idea of a little Communion terrified them. What! In the drawing-room by themselves -- with no -- no altar or anything! The piano would be much too high, thought Constantia, and Mr Farolles could not possibly lean over it with the chalice. And Kate would be sure to come bursting in and interrupt them, thought Josephine. And supposing the bell rang in the middle? It might be somebody important -- about their mourning. Would they get up reverently and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 144 go out, or would they have to wait ... in torture? "Perhaps you will send round a note by your good Kate if you would care for it later," said Mr Farolles. "Oh yes, thank you very much!" they both said. Mr Farolles got up and took his black straw hat from the round table. "And about the funeral," he said softly. "I may arrange that -- as your dear father's old friend and yours, Miss Pinner -- and Miss www.BOOKOO.com Constantia?" Josephine and Constantia got up too. "I should like it to be quite simple," said Josephine firemly, "and not too expensive. At the same time, I should like --" .cn "A good one that will last," thought dreamy Constantia, as if

Josephine were buying a nightgown. But of course Josephine didn't say that. "One suitable to our father's position." She was very nervous. "I'll run round to our good friend Mr Knight," said Mr Farolles soothingly. "I will ask him to come and see you. I am sure you will find him very helpful indeed."

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Ⅴ

Well, at any rate, all that part of it was over, though neither of them could possibly believe that father was never coming back. Josephine had had a moment of absolute terror at the cemetery, while the coffin was lowered, to think that she and Constantia had done this thing without asking his permission. What would father say when he found out? For he was bound to find out sooner or later. He always www.BOOKOO.com did. "Buried. You two girls had me buried!" She heard his stick thumping. Oh, what would they say? What possible excuse could they make? It sounded such an appallingly heartless thing to do. Such a wicked advantage to take of a person because he happened to

be helpless at the moment. The other people seemed to treat it all as a .cn matter of course. They were strangers; they couldn't be expected to understand that father was the very last person for such a thing to happen to. No, the entire blame for it all would fall on her and Constantia. And the expense, she thought, stepping into the tight-buttoned cab. When she had to show him the bills. What would he say then? She heard him absolutely roaring, "And do you expect me to pay for this gimcrack excursion of yours?" "Oh," groaned poor Josephine aloud, "we shouldn't have done it,

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Con!" And Constantia, pale as a lemon in all that blackness, said in a frightened whisper, "Done what, Jug?" "Let them bu-bury father like that," said Josephine, breaking down and crying into her new, queer-smelling mourning handkerchief. "But what else could we have done?" asked Constantia wonderingly. "We couldn't have kept him, Jug -- we couldn't have www.BOOKOO.com kept him unburied. At any rate, not in a flat that size." Josephine blew her nose; the cab was dreadfully stuffy. "I don't know," she said forlornly. "It is all so dreadful. I feel we ought to have tried to, just for a time at least. To make perfectly sure. .cn One thing's certain" -- and her tears sprang out again -- "father will never forgive us for this -- never!"

Ⅵ

Father would never forgive them. That was what they felt more than ever when, two mornings later, they went into his room to go through his things. They had discussed it quite calmly. It was even down on Josephine's list of things to be done. Go through father 's things and settle about them. But that was a very different matter

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 147 from saying after breakfast: "Well, are you ready, Con?" "Yes, Jug -- when you are." "Then I think we'd better get it over." It was dark in the hall. It had been a rule for years never to disturb father in the morning, whatever happened. And now they were going to open the door without knocking even ... Constantia's eyes were enormous at the idea; Josephine felt weak in the knees. www.BOOKOO.com "You -- you go first," she gasped, pushing Constantia. But Constantia said, as she always had said on those occasions, "No Jug, that's not fair. You're eldest." Josephine was just going to say -- what at other times she .cn wouldn't have owned to for the world -- what she kept for her very last weapon, "But you're tallest," when they noticed that the kitchen door was open, and there stood Kate ... "Very stiff," said Josephine, grasping the door-handle and doing her best to turn it. As if anything ever deceived Kate! It couldn't he helped. That girl was ... Then the door was shut behind them, but -- but they weren't in father's room at all. They might have suddenly walked through the wall by mistake into a different flat altogether. Was the door just behind them? They were

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 148 too frightened to look. Josephine knew that if it was it was holding itself tight shut; Constantia felt that, like the doors in dreams, it hadn't any handle at all. It was the coldness which made it so awful. Or the whiteness -- which? Everything was covered. The blinds were down, a cloth hung over the mirror, a sheet hid the bed, a huge fan of white paper filled the fire-place. Constantia timidly put out her hand; she almost expected a snowflake to fall. Josephine felt a queer tingling in her nose, as if her nose was freezing. Then a cab www.BOOKOO.com klop-klopped over the cobbles below, and the quiet seemed to shake into little pieces. "I had better pull up a blind," said Josephine bravely. "Yes, it might be a good idea," whispered Constantia. .cn They only gave the blind a touch, but it flew up and the cord flew after, rolling round the blind-stick, and the little tassel tapped as if trying to get free. That was too much for Constantia. "Don't you think -- don't you think we might put it off another day?" she whispered. "Why?" snapped Josephine, feeling, as usual, much better now that she knew for certain that Constantia was terrified. "It's got to be done. But I do wish you wouldn't whisper, Con." "I didn't know I was whispering," whispered Constantia.

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"And why do you keep on staring at the bed?" said Josephine, raising her voice almost defiantly. "There's nothing on the bed." "Oh, Jug, don't say so!" said poor Connie. "At any rate, not so loudly." Josephine felt herself that she had gone too far. She took a wide swerve over to the chest of drawers, put out her hand, but quickly drew it back again.

"Connie!" she gasped, and she wheeled round and leaned with www.BOOKOO.com her back against the chest of drawers. "Oh, Jug -- what?" Josephine could only glare. She had the most extraordinary feeling that she had just escaped something simply awful. But how .cn could she explain to Constantia that father was in the chest of drawers? He was in the top drawer with his handkerchiefs and neckties, or in the next with his shirts and pajamas, or in the lowest of all with his suits. He was watching there, hidden away -- just behind the door-handle -- ready to spring. She pulled a funny old-fashioned face at Constantia, just as she used to in the old days when she was going to cry. "I can't open," she nearly wailed. "No, don't, Jug," whispered Constantia earnestly. "It's much

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 150 better not to. Don't let's open anything. At any rate, not for a long time." "But -- but it seems so weak," said Josephine, breaking down. "But why not be weak for once, Jug?" argued Constantia, whispering quite fiercely. "If it is weak." And her pale stare flew from the locked writing-table -- so safe -- to the huge glittering wardrobe, and she began to breathe in a queer, panting way. "Why shouldn't we be weak for once in our lives, Jug? It's quite excusable. www.BOOKOO.com Let's be weak -- be weak, Jug. It's much nicer to be weak than to be strong." And then she did one of those amazingly bold things that she'd done about twice before in their lives; she marched over to the .cn wardrobe, turned the key, and took it out of the lock. Took it out of the lock and held it up to Josephine, showing Josephine by her extraordinary smile that she knew what she'd done, she'd risked deliberately father being in there among his overcoats. If the huge wardrobe had lurched forward, had crashed down on Constantia. Josephine wouldn't have been surprised. On the contrary, she would have thought it the only suitable thing to happen. But noting happened. Only the room seemed quieter than ever, and bigger flakes of cold air fell on Josephine's shoulders and knees. She

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 151 began to shiver. "Come, Jug," said Constantia, still with that awful callous smile, and Josephine followed just as she had that last time, when Constantia had pushed Benny into the round pond.

Ⅶ

But the strain told on them when they were back in the dining-room. They sat down, very shaky, and looked at each other. www.BOOKOO.com "I don't feel I can settle to anything," said Josephine, "until I've had something. Do you think we could ask Kate for two cups of hot water?" "I really don't see why we shouldn't," said Constantia carefully. .cn She was quite normal again. "I won't ring. I'll go to the kitchen door and ask her." "Yes, do," said Josephine, sinking down into a chair. "Tell her, just two cups, Con, nothing else -- on a tray." "She needn't even put the jug on, need she?" said Constantia, as though Kate might very well complain if the jug had been there. "Oh no, certainly not! The jug's not at all necessary. She can pour it direct out of the kettle," cried Josephine, feeling that would be a labour-saving indeed.

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Their cold lips quivered at the greenish brims. Josephine curved her small red hands round the cup; Constantia sat up and blew on the wavy steam, making it flutter from one side to the other. "Speaking of Benny," said Josephine. And though Benny hadn't been mentioned Constantia immediately looked as though he had. "He'll expect us to send him something of father's, of course.

But it's so difficult to know what to send to Ceylon." www.BOOKOO.com "You mean things get unstuck so on the voyage," murmured Constantia. "No, lost," said Josephine sharply. "You know there's no post. Only runners." .cn Both paused to watch a black man in white linen drawers running through the pale fields for dear life, with a large brown-paper parcel in his hands. Josephine's black man was tiny; he scurried along glistening like an ant. But there was something blind and tireless about Constantia's tall, thin fellow, which made him, she decided, a very unpleasant person indeed ... On the veranda, dressed all in white and wearing a cork helmet, stood Benny. His right hand shook up and down, as father's did when he was impatient. And behind him, not in the least interested, sat Hilda, the unknown

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 153 sister-in-law. She swung in a cane rocker and flicked over the leaves of the Tatler. "I think this watch would be the most suitable present," said Josephine. Constantia looked up; she seemed surprised. "Oh, would you trust a gold watch to a native?" "But of course I'd disguise it," said Josephine. "No one would know it was a watch." She liked the idea of having to make a parcel www.BOOKOO.com such a curious shape that no one could possibly guess what it was. She even thought for a moment of hiding the watch in a narrow cardboard corset-box that she'd kept by her for a long time, waiting for it to come in for something. It was such beautiful firm cardboard. .cn But, no, it wouldn't be appropriate for this occasion. It had lettering on it: Medium Women 's 28. Extra Firm Busks. It would be almost too much of a surprise for Benny to open that and find father's watch inside. "And of course it isn't as though it would be going-- ticking, I mean," said Constantia, who was still thinking of the native love of jewellery. "At least," she added, "it would be very strange if after all that time it was."

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Ⅷ

Josephine made no reply. She had flown off on one of her tangents. She had suddenly thought of Cyril. Wasn't it more usual for the only grandson to have the watch? And then dear Cyril was so appreciative, and a gold watch meant so much to a young man. Benny, in all probability, had quite got out of the habit of watches; men so seldom wore waistcoats in those hot climates. Whereas Cyril www.BOOKOO.com in London wore them from year's end to year's end. And it would be so nice for her and Constantia, when he came to tea, to know it was there. "I see you've got on grandfather's watch, Cyril." It would be somehow so satisfactory.

Dear boy! What a blow his sweet, sympathetic little note had .cn been! Of course they quite understood; but it was most unfortunate. "It would have been such a point, having him," said Josephine. "And he would have enjoyed it so," said Constantia, not thinking what she was saying. However, as soon as he got back he was coming to tea with his aunties. Cyril to tea was one of their rare treats. "Now, Cyril, you mustn't be frightened of our cakes. Your Auntie Con and I bought them at Buszard's this morning. We know what a man's appetite is. So don't be ashamed of making a good tea."

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Josephine cut recklessly into the rich dark cake that stood for her winter gloves or the soling and heeling of Constantia's only respectable shoes. But Cyril was most unmanlike in appetite. "I say, Aunt Josephine, I simply can't. I've only just had lunch, you know." "Oh, Cyril, that can't be true! It's after four," cried Josephine. Constantia sat with her knife poised over the chocolate-roll.

"It is, all the same," said Cyril. "I had to meet a man at Victoria, www.BOOKOO.com and he kept me hanging about till ... there was only time to get lunch and to come on here. And he gave me --phew" -- Cyril put his hand to his forehead -- "a terrific blow-out," he said. It was disappointing -- today of all days. But still he couldn't be .cn expected to know.

"But you'll have a meringue, won't you, Cyril?" said Aunt Josephine. "These meringues were bought specially for you. Your dear father was so fond of them. We were sure you are, too." "I am, Aunt Josephine," cried Cyril ardently. "Do you mind if I take half to begin with?" "Not at all, dear boy; but we mustn't let you off with that." "Is your dear father still so fond of meringues?" asked Auntie Con gently. She winced faintly as she broke through the shell of hers.

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"Well, I don't quite know, Auntie Con," said Cyril breezily. At that they both looked up. "Don't know?" almost snapped Josephine. "Don't know a thing like that about your own father, Cyril?" "Surely." said Auntie Con softly. Cyril tried to laugh it off. "Oh, well," he said, "it's such a long time since --" He faltered. He stopped. Their faces were too much for him. www.BOOKOO.com "Even so," said Josephine. And Auntie Con looked. Cyril put down his teacup. "Wait a bit," he cried. "Wait a bit, Aunt Josephine. What am I thinking of?" .cn He looked up. They were beginning to brighten. Cyril slapped his knee. "Of course," he said, "it was meringues. How could I have forgotten? Yes, Aunt Josephine, you're perfectly right. Father's most frightfully keen on meringues." They didn't only beam. Aunt Josephine went scarlet with pleasure; Auntie Con gave a deep, deep sigh. "And now, Cyril, you must come and see father," said Josephine. "He knows you were coming today."

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"Right," said Cyril, very firmly and heartily. He got up from his chair; suddenly he glanced at the clock. "I say, Auntie Con, isn't your clock a bit slow? I've got to meet a man at -- at Paddington just after five. I'm afraid I shan't be able to stay very long with grandfather." "Oh, he won't expect you to stay very long!" said Aunt Josephine.

Constantia was still gazing at the clock. She couldn't make up www.BOOKOO.com her mind if it was fast or slow. It was one or the other, she felt almost certain of that. At any rate, it had been. Cyril still lingered. "Aren't you coming along, Auntie Con?" "Of course," said Josephine, "we shall all go. Come on, Con." .cn

Ⅸ

They knocked at the door, and Cyril followed his aunts into grandfather'shot, sweetish room. "Come on," said Grandfather Pinner. "Don't hang about. What is it? What've you been up to?" He was sitting in front of a roaring fire, clasping his stick. He had a thick rug over is knees. On his lap there lay a beautiful pale yellow silk handkerchief.

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"It's Cyril, father," said Josephine shyly. And she took Cyril's hand and led him forward. "Good afternoon, grandfather," said Cyril, trying to take his hand out of Aunt Josephine's. Grandfather Pinner shot his eyes at Cyril in the way he was famous for. Where was Auntie Con? She stood on the other side of Aunt Josephine; her long arms hung down in front of her; her hands were clasped. She never took her eyes off grandfather. www.BOOKOO.com "Well," said Grandfather Pinner, beginning to thump, "what have you got to tell me?" What had he, what had he got to tell him? Cyril felt himself smiling like a perfect imbecile. The room was stifling, too. .cn But Aunt Josephine came to his rescue. She cried brightly,

"Cyril says his father is still very fond of meringues, father dear." "Eh?" said Grandfarther Pinner, curving his hand like a purple meringue-shell over one ear. Josephine repeated, "Cyril says his father is still very fond of meringues." "Can't hear," said old Colonel Pinner. And he waved Josephine away with his stick, then pointed with his stick to Cyril. "Tell me what she's trying to say," he said.

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(My God!) "Must I?" said Cyril, blushing and staring at Aunt losephine. "Do, dear," she smiled. "It will please him so much." "Come on, out with it!" cried Colonel Pinner testily, beginning to thump again. And Cyril leaned forward and yelled, "Father's still very fond of meringues."

At that Grandfather Pinner jumped as though he had been shot. www.BOOKOO.com "Don't shout!" he cried. "What's the matter with the boy? Meringues! What about 'em?" "Oh, Aunt Josephine, must we go on?" groaned Cyril desperately. .cn "It's quite all right, dear boy," said Aunt Josephine, as though he and she were at the dentist's together. "He'll understand in a minute." And she whispered to Cyril, "He's getting a bit deaf, you know." Then she leaned forward and really bawled at Grandfather Pinner, "Cyril only wanted to tell you, father, dear, that his father is still very fond of meringues." Colonel Pinner heard that time, heard and brooded, looking Cyril up and down. "What an esstrordinary thing!" said old Grandfarther Pinner.

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"What an esstrordinary thing to come all this way here to tell me!" And Cyril felt it was. "Yes, I shall send Cyril the watch," said Josephine. "That would be very nice," said Constantia. "I seem to remember last time he came there was some little trouble about the time."

Ⅹ www.BOOKOO.com

They were interrupted by Kate bursting through the door in her usual fashion, as though she had discovered some secret panel in the wall. "Fried or boiled?" asked the bold voice. .cn Fried or boiled? Josephine and Constantia were quite bewildered for the moment. They could hardly take it in. "Fried or boiled what, Kate?" asked Josephine, trying to begin to concentrate. Kate gave a loud sniff "Fish." "Well, why didn't you say so immediately?" Josephine reproached her gently. "How could you expect us to understand, Kate? There are a great many things in this world, you know, which are fried or boiled." And after such a display of courage she said quite

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 161 brightly to Constantia, "Which do you prefer, Con?" "I think it might be nice to have it fried," said Constantia. "On the other hand, of course, boiled fish is very nice. I think I prefer both equally well ... Unless you ... In that case --" "I shall fry it," said Kate, and she bounced back, leaving their door open and slamming the door of her kitchen. Josephine gazed at Constantia; she raised her pale eyebrows until they rippled away into her pale hair. She got up. She said in a www.BOOKOO.com very lofty, imposing way, "Do you mind following me into the drawing-room, Constantia? I've something of great importance to discuss with you." For it was always to the drawing-room they retired when they .cn wanted to talk over Kate.

Josephine closed the door meaningly. "Sit down, Constantia," she said, still very grand. She might have been receiving Constantia for the first time. And Con looked round vaguely for a chair, as though she felt indeed quite a stranger. "Now the question is," said Josephine, bending forward, "whether we shall keep her or not." "That is the question," agreed Constantia. "And this time," said Josephine firmly, "we must come to a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 162 definite decision ." Constantia looked for a moment as though she might begin going over all the other times, but she pulled herself together and said, "Yes, Jug." "You see, Con," explained Josephine, "everything is so changed now." Constantia looked up quickly. "I mean," went on Josephine, "we're not dependent on Kate as we were." And she blushed faintly.

"There's not father to cook for." www.BOOKOO.com "That is perfectly true," agreed Constantia. "Father certainly doesn't want any cooking now whatever else --" Josephine broke in sharply, "You're not sleepy, are you, Con?" "Sleepy, Jug?" Constantia was wide-eyed. .cn "Well, concentrate more," said Josephine sharply, and she returned to the subject. "What it comes to is, if we did" -- and this she barely breathed, glancing at the door -- "give Kate notice" --she raised her voice again --"we could manage our own food." "Why not?" cried Constantia. She couldn't help smiling. The idea was so exciting. She clasped her hands. "What should we live on, Jug?" "Oh, eggs in various forms!" said Jug, lofty again. "And besides, there are all the cooked foods."

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"But I've always heard," said Constantia, "they are considered so very-expensive." "Not if one buys them in moderation," said Josephine. But she tore herself away from this fascinating bypath and dragged Constantia after her. "What we've got to decide now, however, is whether we really do trust Kate or not."

Constantia leaned back. Her flat little laugh flew from her lips. www.BOOKOO.com "Isn't it curious, Jug," said she, "that just on this one subject I've never been able to quite make up my mind?"

Ⅺ .cn She never had. The whole difficulty was to prove anything.

How did one prove things, how could one? Suppose Kate had stood in front of her and deliberately made a face. Mightn't she very well have been in pain? Wasn't it impossible, at any rate, to ask Kate if she was making a face at her? If Kate answered "No" -- and of course she would say "No" -- what a position! How undignified! Then again Constantia suspected, she was almost certain that Kate went to her chest of drawers when she and Josephine were out, not to take things but to spy. Many times she had come back to find her amethyst cross

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 164 in the most unlikely places, under her lace ties or on top of her evening Bertha. More than once she had laid a trap for Kate. She had arranged things in a special order and then called Josephine to witness. "You see, Jug?" "Quite, Con." "Now we shall be able to tell."

But, oh dear, when she did go to look, she was as far off from a www.BOOKOO.com proof as ever! If anything was displaced, it might so very well have happened as she closed the drawer; a jolt might have done it so easily. "You come, Jug, and decide. I really can't. It's too difficult." .cn But after a pause and a long glare Josephine would sigh, "Now you've put the doubt into my mind, Con, I'm sure I can't tell myself." "Well, we can't postpone it again," said Josephine. "If we postpone it this time --"

Ⅻ

But at that moment in the street below a barrel-organ struck up. Jose- phine and Constantia sprang to their feet together. "Run, Con," said Josephine. "Run quickly. There's sixpence on

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 165 the --" Then they remembered. It didn't matter. They would never have to stop the organ-grinder again. Never again would she and Constantia be told to make that monkey take his noise somewhere else. Never would sound that loud, strange bellow when father thought they were not hurrying enough. The organ-grinder might play there all day and the stick would not thump .

It never will thump again, www.BOOKOO.com It never will thump again, played the barrel-organ. What was Constantia thinking? She had such a strange smile; she looked different. She couldn't be going to cry. "Jug, Jug," said Constantia softly, pressing her hands together. .cn

"Do you know what day it is? Its Saturday. It's a week today, a whole week." A week since father died, A week since father died, cried the barrel-organ. And Josephine, too, forgot to be practical and sensible; she smiled faintly, strangely. On the Indian carpet there fell a square of sunlight, pale red; it came and went and came -- and stayed, deepened -- until it shone almost golden. "The sun's out," said Josephine, as though it really mattered. A perfect fountain of bubbling notes shook from the

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 166 barrel-organ, round, bright notes, carelessly scattered. Constantia lifted her big, cold hands as if to catch them, and then her hands fell again. She walked over to the mantelpiece to her favourite Buddha. And the stone and gilt image, whose smile always gave her such a queer feeling, almost a pain and yet a pleasant pain, seemed today to be more than smiling. He knew something; he had a secret. "I know something that you don't know," said her Buddha. Oh, what was it, what could it be? And yet she had always felt there www.BOOKOO.com was ... something. The sunlight pressed through the windows, thieved its way in, flashed its light over the furniture and the photographs. Josephine watched it. When it came to mother's photograph, the enlargement .cn over the piano, it lingered as though puzzled to find so little remained of mother, except the ear-rings shaped like tiny pagodas and a black feather boa. Why did the photographs of dead people always fade so? wondered Josephine. As soon as a person was dead their photograph died too. But, of course, this one of mother was very old. It was thirty-five years old. Josephine remembered standing on a chair and pointing out that feather boa to Constantia and telling her that it was a snake that had killed their mother in Ceylon ... Would everything have been different if mother hadn't died? She didn't see Why. Aunt

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Florence had lived with them until they had left school, and they had moved three times and had their yearly holiday and ... and there'd been changes of servants, of course. Some little sparrows, young sparrows they sounded, chirped on the window-ledge. Yeep -- eyeep -- yeep. But Josephine felt they were not sparrows, not on the window-ledge. It was inside her, that queer little crying noise. Yeep -- eyeep --yeep. Ah, what was it crying, so weak and forlorn? www.BOOKOO.com If mother had lived, might they have married? But there had been nobody for them to marry. There had been father's Anglo-Indian friends before he quarrelled with them. But after that she and Constantia never met a single man except clergymen. How did one .cn meet men? Or even if they'd met them, how could they have got to know men well enough to be more than strangers? One read of people having adventures, being followed, and so on. But nobody had ever followed Constantia and her. Oh yes, there had been one year at Eastbourne a mysterious man at their boarding-house who had put a note on the jug of hot water outside their bedroom door! But by the time Connie had found it the steam had made the writing too faint to read; they couldn't even make out to which of them it was addressed. And he had left next day. And that was all. The rest had

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 168 been looking after father, and at the same time keeping out of father's way. But now? But now? The thieving sun touched Josephine gently. She lifted her face. She was drawn over to the window by gentle beams ... Until the barrel-organ stopped playing Constantia stayed before the Buddha, wondering, but not as usual, not vaguely. This time her wonder was like longing. She remembered the times she had come in here, crept out of bed in her nightgown when the moon was full, and www.BOOKOO.com lain on the floor with her arms outstretched, as though she was crucified. Why? The big, pale moon had made her do it. The horrible dancing figures on the carved screen had leered at her and she hadn't minded. She remembered too how, whenever they were at the seaside, .cn she had gone off by herself and got as close to the sea as she could, and sung something, something she had made up, while she gazed all over that restless water. There had been this other life, running out, bringing things home in bags, getting things on approval, discussing them with Jug, and taking them back to get more things on approval, and arranging father's trays and trying not to annoy father. But it all seemed to have happened in a kind of tunnel. It wasn't real. It was only when she came out of the tunnel into the moonlight or by the sea or into a thunderstorm that she really felt herself. What did it

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 169 mean? What was it she was always wanting? What did it all lead to? Now? Now? She turned away from the Buddha with one of her vague gestures. She went over to where Josephine was standing. She wanted to say something to Josephine, something frightfully important, about -- about the future and what... "Don't you think perhaps --" she began.

But Josephine interrupted her. "I was wondering if now --" she www.BOOKOO.com murmured. They stopped; they waited for each other. "Go on Con," said Josephine. "No, no, Jug; after you," said Constantia. "No, say what you were going to say. You began," said .cn Josephine.

"I ... I'd rather hear what you were going to say first," said Constantia. "Don't be absurd, Con." "Really, Jug." "Connie !" "Oh, Jug!" A pause. Then Constantia said faintly," I can't say what I was going to say, Jug, because I've forgotten what it was ... that l was

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 170 going to say." Josephine was silent for a moment. She stared at a big cloud where the sun had been. Then she replied shortly, "I've forgotten too."

The Voyage

The Picton boat was due to leave at half past eleven. It was a beautiful night, mild, starry, only when they got out of the cab and www.BOOKOO.com started to walk down the Old Wharf that jutted out into the harbour, a faint wind blowing off the water ruffled under Fenella's hat, and she put up her hand to keep it on. It was dark on the Old Wharf, very dark; the wool sheds, the cattle trucks, the cranes standing up so high, .cn the little squat railway engine, all seemed carved out of solid darkness. Here and there on a rounded wood-pile, that was like the stalk of a huge black mushroom, there hung a lantern, but it seemed afraid to unfurl its timid, quivering light in all that blackness; it burned softly, as if for itself. Fenella's father pushed on with quick, nervous strides. Beside him her grandma bustled along in her crackling black ulster; they went so fast that she had now and again to give an undignified little skip to keep up with them. As well as her luggage strapped into a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 171 neat sausage, Fenella carried clasped to her grandma's umbrella, and the handle, which was a swan's head, kept giving her shoulder a sharp little peck as if it too wanted her to hurry.... Men, their caps pulled down, their collars turned up, swung by; a few women all muffled scurried along; and one tiny boy, only his little black arms and legs showing out of a white woolly shawl, was jerked along angrily between his father and mother; he looked like a baby fly that had fallen into the cream. www.BOOKOO.com Then suddenly, so suddenly that Fenella and her grandma both leapt, there sounded from behind the largest wool shed, that had a trail of smoke hanging over it, Mia--oo-oo-O-O! "First whistle," said her father briefly, and at that moment they .cn came in sight of the Picton boat. Lying beside the dark wharf, all strung, all beaded with round golden lights, the Picton boat looked as if she was more ready to sail among stars than out into the cold sea. People pressed along the gangway. First went her grandma, then her father, then Fenella. There was a high step down on to the deck, and an old sailor in a jersey standing by gave her his dry, hard hand. They were there; they stepped out of the way of the hurrying people, and standing under a little iron stairway that led to the upper deck they began to say goodbye.

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"There, mother, there's your luggage!" said Fenella's father, giving grandma another strapped-up sausage. "Thank you, Frank." "And you've got your cabin tickets safe?" "Yes, dear." "And your other tickets?" Grandma felt for them inside her glove and showed him the tips.

"That's right." www.BOOKOO.com He sounded stern, but Fenella, eagerly watching him, saw that he looked tired and sad. Mia-oo-oo-O-O! The second whistle blared just above their heads, and a voice like a cry shouted, "Any more for the gangway?" .cn "You'll give my love to father," Fenella saw her father's lips say.

And her grandma, very agitated, answered, "Of course I will, dear. Go now. You'll be left. Go now, Frank. Go now." "It's all right, mother. I've got another three minutes." To her surprise Fenella saw her father take off his hat. He clasped grandma in his arms and pressed her to him. "God bless you, mother!" she heard him say. And grandma put her hand, with the black thread glove that was worn through on her ring finger, against his cheek, and she sobbed,

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"God bless you, my own brave son !" This was so awful that Fenella quickly turned her back on them, swallowed once, twice, and frowned terribly at a little green star on a mast head. But she had to turn round again; her father was going. "Goodbye, Fenella. Be a good girl." His cold, wet moustache brushed her cheek. But Fenella caught hold of the lapels of his coat. "How long am I going to stay?" she whispered anxiously. He wouldn't look at her. He shook her off gently, and gently said, "We'll www.BOOKOO.com see about that. Here! Where's your hand?" He pressed something into her palm. "Here's a shilling in case you should need it." A shilling! She must be going away for ever! "Father!" cried Fenella. But he was gone. He was the last off the ship. The sailors put .cn their shoulders to the gangway. A huge coil of dark rope went flying through the air and fell "thump" on the wharf. A bell rang; a whistle shrilled. Silently the dark wharf began to slip, to slide, to edge away from them. Now there was a rush of water between. Fenella strained to see with all her might. "Was that father turning round?" -- or waving? --or standing alone? -- or walking off by himself! The strip of water grew broader, darker. Now the Picton boat began to swing round steady, pointing out to sea. It was no good looking any longer. There was nothing to be seen but a few lights, the face of the town

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 174 clock hanging in the air, and more lights, little patches of them, on the dark hills. The freshening wind tugged at Fenella's skirts; she went back to her grandma. To her relief grandma seemed no longer sad. She had put the two sausages of luggage one on top of the other, and she was sitting on them, her hands folded, her head a little on one side. There was an intent, bright look on her face. Then Fenella saw that her lips were moving and guessed that she was praying. But the old woman www.BOOKOO.com gave her a bright nod as if to say the prayer was nearly over. She unclasped her hands, sighed, clasped them again, bent forward, and at last gave herself a soft shake. "And now, child," she said. fingering the bow of her .cn bonnet-strings, "I think we ought to see about our cabins. Keep close to me, and mind you don't slip." "Yes, grandma!" "And be careful the umbrellas aren't caught in the stair rail. I saw a beautiful umbrella broken in half like that on my way over." "Yes, grandma." Dark figures of men lounged against the rails. In the glow of their pipes a nose shone out, or the peak of a cap, or a pair of surprised-looking eyebrows. Fenella glanced up. High in the air, a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 175 little figure, his hand thrust in his short jacket pockets, stood staring out to sea. The ship rocked ever so little, and she thought the stars rocked too. And now a pale steward in a linen coat, holding a tray high in the palm of his hand, stepped out of a lighted doorway and skimmed past them. They went through that doorway. Carefully over the high brass-bound step on to the rubber mat and then down such a terribly steep flight of stairs that grandma had to put both feet on each step, and Fenella clutched the clammy brass rail and forgot all www.BOOKOO.com about the swan-necked umbrella. At the bottom grandma stopped; Fenella was rather afraid she was going to pray again. But no, it was only to get out the cabin tickets. They were in the saloon. It was glaring bright and stifling; the .cn air smelled of paint and burnt chop-bones and india-rubber. Fenella wished her grandma would go on, but the old woman was not to be hurried. An immense basket of ham sandwiches caught her eye. She went up to them and touched the top one delicately with her finger. "How much are the sandwiches?" she asked. "Tuppence!" bawled a rude steward, slamming down a knife and fork. Grandma could hardly believe it. "Twopence each?" she asked.

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"That's right," said the steward, and he winked at his companion. Grandma made a small, astonished face. Then she whispered primly to Fenella. "What wickedness!" And they sailed out at the further door and along a passage that had cabins on either side. Such a very nice stewardess came to meet them. She was dressed all in blue, and her collar and cuffs were fastened with large brass buttons.

She seemed to know grandma well. www.BOOKOO.com "Well, Mrs Crane," said she, unlocking their washstand. "We've got you back again. It's not often you give yourself a cabin." "No," said grandma. "But this time my dear son's thoughtfulness --" .cn "I hope --" began the stewardess. Then she turned round and took a long mournful look at grandma's blackness and at Fenella's black coat and skirt, black blouse, and hat with a crape rose. Grandma nodded. "It was God's will," said she. The stewardess shut her lips and, taking a deep breath, she seemed to expand. "What I always say is," she said, as though it was her own discovery, "sooner or later each of us has to go, and that's a certingty." She paused. "Now, can I bring you anything, Mrs Crane?

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A cup of tea? I know it's no good offering you a little something to keep the cold out." Grandma shook her head. "Nothing, thank you. We've got a few wine biscuits, and Fenella has a very nice banana." "Then I'll give you a look later on," said the stewardess, and she went out, shutting the door. What a very small cabin it was! It was like being shut up in a box with grandma. The dark round eye above the washstand gleamed www.BOOKOO.com at them dully. Fenella felt shy. She stood against the door, still clasping her luggage and the umbrella. Were they going to get undressed in here? Already her grandma had taken off her honnet, and, rolling up the strings, she fixed each with a pin to the lining .cn before she hung the bonnet up. Her white hair shone like silk; the little bun at the back was covered with a black net. Fenella hardly ever saw her grandma with her head uncovered; she looked strange. "I shall put on the woollen fascinator you dear mother crocheted for me，" said grandma，and, unstrapping the sausage，she took it out and wound it round her head; the fringe of grey bobbles danced at her eyebrows as she smiled tenderly and mournfully at Fenella. Then she undid her bodice，and something under that，and something else underneath that．Then there seemed a short，sharp tussle，and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 178 grandma flushed faintly，Snip！Snap! She had undone her stays．She breathed a sigh of relief,and sitting on the plush cough，she slowly and carefully pulled off her elastic-sided boots and stood them side by side. By the time Fenella had taken off her coat and skirt and put on her flannel dressing－gown grandma was quite ready． "MustI take off my boots，grandma？They're lace."

Grandma gave them a moment's deep consideration. "You'd feel www.BOOKOO.com a great deal more comfortable if you did ,child," said she.She kissed

Fenella."Don't forget to say your prayers．Our dear Lord Is with us when we were at sea even more than when we are on dry land．And because I am an experienced traveller，" said grandma briskly，"I .cn shall take the upper berth．"

"But，grandma，however will you get up there？" Three little spider－like steps were all Fenella saw．The old woman gave a small silent laugh before she mounted them nimbly， and she peered over the high bunk at the astonished Fenella． "You didn't think your grandma could do that，did you？"said she．And as she sank back Fenella heard her light laugh again. The hard square of brown soap would not lather，and the water in the bottle was like a kind of blue jelly. How hard it was，too，to

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 179 turn down those stiff sheets；you simply had to tear your way in．If everything had been different, Fenella might have got the giggles..．At last she was inside，and while she lay there panting， there sounded from above a long，soft whispering，as though someone was gently，gently rustling among tissue paper to find something．It was grandma saying her prayers⋯ A long time passed．Then the stewardess came in；she trod softly and leaned her hand on grandma's bunk． www.BOOKOO.com "We're just entering the Straits，"she said． "Oh！" "It's a fine night．but we're rather empty．We may pitch a little．" And indeed at that moment the Picton boat rose and rose and .cn hung in the air just long enough to give a shiver before she swung down again，and there was the sound of heavy water slapping against her sides．Fenella remembered she had left that swan－necked umbrella standing up on the little couch．If it fell over，would it break？But grandma remembered too，at the same time. "I wonder if you'd mind，stewardess，laying down my umbrella," she whispered． "Not at all，Mrs Crane．" And the stewardess，coming back to grandma，breathed，"Your little granddaughter's in such a beautiful

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 180 sleep．" "God be praised for that！"said grandma． "Poor little motherless mite!" said the stewardess．And grandma was still telling the stewardess all about what happened when Fenella fe11 asleep． But she hadn't been asleep long enough to dream before she woke up again to see something waving in the air above her head．What was it？What could it be？It was a small grey foot．Now www.BOOKOO.com another joined it．They seemed to be feeling about for something； there came a sigh． "I'm awake，grandma，"said Fenella． "Oh, dear，am I near the ladder？"asked grandma."I thought it .cn was this end."

"No，grandma，it's the other．I'11 put your foot on it．Are we there？" asked Fenella． "In the harbour，"said grandma．"We must get up，child．You'd better have a biscuit to steady yourself before you move．" But Fenella had hopped out of her bunk．The lamp was still burning，but night was over，and it was cold．Peering through that round eye，she could see far off some rocks．Now they were scattered over with foam；now a gull flipped by；and now there came a long

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 181 piece of real land． "It's land，grandma，"said Fenella，wonderingly，as though they had been at sea for weeks together．She hugged herself; she stood on one leg and rubbed it with the toes of the other foot；she was trembling．Oh，it had all been so sad lately．Was it going to change？ But all her grandma said was，"Make haste, child．I should leave your nice banana for the stewardess as you haven't eaten it．" And Fenella put on her black clothes again，and a button strang off one of her www.BOOKOO.com gloves and rolled to where she couldn't reach it．They went up on deck． But if it had been cold in the cabin，on deck it was like ice. The sun was not up yet，but the stars were dim，and the cold pale sky was .cn the same colour as the cold pale sea．On the land a white mist rose and fell．Now they could see quite plainly dark bush. Even the shapes of the umbrella ferns showed，and those strange silvery withered trees that are like skeletons⋯ Now they could see the landing－stage and some little houses，pale too，clustered together, like shells on the lid of a box．The other passengers tramped up and down, but more slowly than they had the night before，and they looked gloomy． And now the landing－stage came out to meet them．Slowly it swam towards the Picton boat，and a man holding a coil of rope，and

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 182 a cart with a small drooping horse and another man sitting on the step，came too． "It's Mr Penreddy，Fenella，come for us，"said grandma．She sounded pleased. Her white waxen cheeks were blue with cold, her chin trembled, and she had to keep wiping her eyes and her little pink nose． "You've got my--"

"Yes，grandma．" Fenella showed it to her. www.BOOKOO.com The rope came flying through the air，and "smack" it fell on to the deck The gangway was lowered. Again Fenella followed her grandma on to the wharf over to the little cart，and a moment later they were bowling away.The hooves of the little horse drummed over .cn the wooden piles，then sank softly into the sandy road. Not a soul was to be seen ；there was not even a feather of smoke, The mist rose and fell, and the sea still sounded asleep as slowly it turned on the beach.

"I seen Mr Crane yestiddy，"said Mr Penreddy．"He looked himself then．Missus knocked him up a batch of scones last week．" And now the little horse pulled up before one of the shell-like houses．They got down．Fenella put her hand on the gate，and the big，trembling dew－drops soaked through her glove－tips．Up a

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 183 little path of round white pebbles they went，with drenched sleeping flowers on either side. Grandma's delicate white picotees were so heavy with dew that they were fallen，but their sweet smell was part of the cold morning．The blinds were down in the little house；they mounted the steps on to the veranda．A pair of old bluchers was on one side of the door，and a large red water-can on the other. "Tut！tut！Your grandpa，"said grandma．She turned the handle．Not a sound. She called，"Walter!" And immediately a deep www.BOOKOO.com voice that sounded half stifled called back，"Is that you，Mary？" "Wait，dear"said grandma．"Go in there."She pushed Fendlla gently into a small dusky sitting－room． On the table a white cat，that had been folded up like a camel， .cn rose stretched itself, yawned，and then sprang on to the tips of its toes．Fenella buried one cold little hand in the white，warm fur, and smiled timidly while she stroked and listened to grandma's gent1e voice and the rolling tones of grandpa. A door creaked. "Come in, dear." The old woman beckoned, Fenel1a followed. There, lying to one side of immense bed, lay grandpa. Just his head with a white tuft, and his rosy face and long silver beard showed over the quilt. He was like a very old wide-awake bird.

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"Well, my girl!" said grandpa. "Give us a kiss!" Fenella kissed him. "Ugh!" said grandpa. "Her litt1e nose is as cold as a button. What's that she's holding? Her grandma's umbrella?" Fenella smiled again, and crooked the swan neck over the bed-rail. Above the bed there was a big text in a deep-black frame: Lost! One Golden Hour Set with Sixty Diamond Minutes. No Reward Is Offered

For It Is GONE FOR EVER! www.BOOKOO.com "Yer grandma painted that," said grandpa. And he ruffled his white tuft and looked at Fenella so merrily she almost thought he winked at her.

Her First Ball .cn

Exactly when the ball began Lei1a would have found it hard to say. Perhaps her first real partner was the cab. It did not matter that she shared the cab with the Sheridan girls and their brother. She sat back in her own little corner of it, and the bolster on which her hand rested felt like the sleeve of an unknown young man's dress suit; and away they bowled, past waltzing lamp-posts and houses and fences and trees. "Have you really never been to a ball before, Leila? But, my

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 185 child, how too weird --" cried the Sheridan girls. "Our nearest neighbour was fifteen miles," said Leila softly. Gently opening and shutting her fan. Oh, dear, how hard it was to be different like the others! She tried not to smile too much; she tried not to care. But every single thing was so new and exciting ... Meg's tuberoses, Jose's long loop of amber, Laura's little dark head, pushing above her white fur like a flower through snow. She would remember for ever. It even gave her www.BOOKOO.com a pang to see her cousin Laurie throw away the wisps of tissue paper he pulled from the fastenings of his new gloves. She wou1d like to have kept those wisps as a keepsake, as a remembrance. Laurie leaned forward and put his hand on Laura's knee. .cn "Look here, darling," he said. "The third and the ninth as usual.

Twig?" Oh, how marvellous to have a brother! In her excitement Leila felt that if there had been time, if it hadn't been impossible, she couldn't have helped crying because she was an only child, and no brother had ever said "Twig?" to her; no sister would ever say, as Meg said to Jose that moment, "I've never known your hair go up more successfully than it has tonight!" But, of course, there was no time. They were at the drill hall

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 186 already; there were cabs in front of them and cabs behind. The road was bright on either side with moving fan-like lights, and on the pavement gay couples seemed to float through the air; little satin shoes chased each other like birds. "Hold on to me, Leila; you'll get lost," said Laura. "Come on, girls, let's make a dash for it," said Laurie.

Leila put two fingers on Laura's pink velvet cloak，and they were somehow lifted past the big golden lantern，carried along the www.BOOKOO.com passage，and pushed into the little room marked "Ladies"．Here the crowd was so great there was hardly space to take off their things; the noise was deafening．Two benches on either side were stacked high with wraps．Two old women in white aprons ran up and down .cn tossing fresh armfuls．And everybody was pressing forward trying to get at the little dressing－table and mirror at the far end. A great quivering jet of gas lighted the ladies'room．It couldn't wait；It was dancing already．When the door opened again and there came a burst of tuning from the drill hall，it leaped almost to the ceiling． Dark girls，fair girls were patting their hair，tying ribbons again， tucking handkerchiefs down the fronts of their bodices，smoothing marble－white gloves．And because they were all laughing it seemed

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 187 to Leila that they were all lovely.

" Aren't there any invisible hair－pins？" cried a voice．"How most extraordinary! I can' t see a single invisible hairpin．" "Powder my back，there' s a darling，" cried someone else． "But I must have a needle and cotton．l've torn simply miles and miles of the frill," wailed a third. Then, "Pass them along, pass them along! "The straw basket of pro-grammes was tossed from arm to arm. Darling little www.BOOKOO.com pink-and-silver pro-grammes, with pink pencils and fluffy tassels. Leila's fingers shook as she took one out of the basket. She wanted to ask someone, "Am I meant to have one too ?" but she had just time to read: "Waltz 3.Two,Two in a Canoe. Polka 4.Making the Feathers .cn Fly, "when Meg cried, "Ready, Leila?" and they pressed their way through the crush in the passage towards the big double doors of the drill hall. Dancing had not begun yet, but the band had stopped tuning, and the noise was so great it seemed that when it did begin to play it would never be heard .Leila, pressing close to Meg, looking over Meg' shoulder, felt that even the little quivering coloured flags strung across the ceiling were talking. She quite forgot to be shy ;she forgot how in the middle of dressing she had sat down on the bed

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 188 with one shoe off and one shoe on and begged her mother to ring up her cousins and say she couldn't go after all. And the rush of longing she had had to be sitting on the veranda of their forsaken upcountry home, listening to the baby owls crying" More pork" in the moon light，was changed to a rush of joy of sweet that it was hard to bear alone. She clutched her fan，and gazing at the gleaming，golden floor，the azaleas，the lanterns，the stage at one end with its red carpet and gilt chairs and the band in a corner，she thought breathlessly, www.BOOKOO.com "how heavenly；how simply heavenly！" All the girls stood grouped together at one side of the doors，the men at the other，and the chaperones in dark dresses, smiling rather foolishly, walked with little careful steps over the polished floor .cn towards the stage．

"This is my little country cousin Leila. Be nice to her．Find her partners；she's under my wing，"said Meg，going up to one girl after another． Strange faces smiled at Leila--sweetly，vaguely .Strange voices answered，" Of course，my dear，" But Leila felt the girls didn't really see her．They were looking towards the men．Why didn't the men begin？What were they waiting for? There they stood，smoothing their gloves，patting their glossy hair and smiling among themselves.

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Then，quite suddenly，as if they had only just made up their minds that that was what they had to do，the men came gliding over the parquet．There was a joyful flutter among the girls．A tall，fair man flew up to Meg，seized her programme，scribbled something：Meg passed him on to Leila．"May I have the pleasure？"He ducked and smiled. There came a dark man wearing an eyeglass，then cousin Laurie with a friend, and Laura with a little freckled fellow whose tie was crooked．Then quite an old man--fat，with a big bald patch on his www.BOOKOO.com head-took her programme and murmured，"Let me see，let me see！ "And he was a long time comparing his programme, which looked black with names，with hers．It seemed to give him so much trouble that Leila was ashamed ．"Oh，please don't bother，"she said .cn eagerly．But instead of replying the fat man wrote something， glanced at her again．"Do I remember this bright little face？" he said softly．"Is it known to me of yore?" At that moment the band began playing；the fat man disappeared．He was tossing away on a great wave of music that came flying over the gleaming floor，breaking the groups up into couples，scattering them，sending them spinning... Leila had learned to dance at boarding School．Every Saturday afternoon the boarders were hurried off to a little corrugated iron mission hall where Miss Eccles（of London）held her "select"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 190 classes．But the difference between that dusty-smelling hall -- with calico texts on the walls, the poor terrified little woman in a brown velvet toque with rabbit's ears thumping the cold piano, Miss Eccles poking the girls' feet with her long white wand -- and this was so tremendous that Leila was sure if her partner didn't come and she had to listen to that marvellous music and to watch the others sliding, gliding over the golden floor, she would die at least, or faint, or lift her arms and fly out of one of those dark windows that showed the www.BOOKOO.com stars. "Ours, I think --" Someone bowed, smiled, and offered her his arm; she hadn't to die after all. Someone's hand pressed her waist, and she floated away like a flower that is tossed into a pool. .cn "Quite a good floor, isn't it?" drawled a faint voice close to her ear. "I think it's most beautifully slippery," said Leila. "Pardon!" The faint voice sounded surprised. Leila said it again. And there was a tiny pause before the voice echoed, "Oh, quite!" and she was swung round again. He steered so beautifully. That was the great difference between dancing with girls and men, Leila decided. Girls banged into each other, and stamped on each other's feet; the girl who was gentleman

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 191 always clutched you so. The azaleas were separate flowers no longer; they were pink and white flags streaming by. "Were you at the Bells' last week?" the voice came again. It sounded tired. Leila wondered whether she ought to ask him if he would like to stop. "No, this is my first dance," said she. Her partner gave a little gasping laugh. "Oh, I say," he protested.

"Yes, it is really the first dance I've ever been to." Leila was www.BOOKOO.com most fervent. It was such a relief to be able to tell somebody. "You see, I've lived in the country all my life up till now ..." At that moment the music stopped, and they went to sit on two chairs against the wall. Leila tucked her pink satin feet under and .cn fanned herself, while she blissfully watched the other couples passing and disappearing through the swing doors. "Enjoying yourself, Leila?" asked Jose, nodding her golden head. Laura passed and gave her the faintest little wink; it made Leila wonder for a moment whether she was quite grown up after all. Certainly her partner did not say very much. He coughed, tucked his handkerchief away, pulled down his waistcoat, took a minute thread off his sleeve. But it didn't matter. Almost immediately the band

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 192 started, and her second partner seemed to spring from the ceiling. "Floor's not bad," said the new voice. Did one always begin with the floor? And then. "Were you at the Nerves" on Tuesday?" And again Leila explained. Perhaps it was a little strange that her partners were not more interested. For it was thrilling. Her first ball ! She was only at the beginning of everything. It seemed to her that she had never known what the night was like before. Up till now it had been dark, silent, beautiful very often - oh. yes -- but mournful www.BOOKOO.com somehow. Solemn. And now it would never be like that again -- it had opened dazzling bright. "Care for an ice?" said her partner. And they went through the swing doors, down the passage, to the supper room. Her cheeks .cn burned, she was fearfully thirsty. How sweet the ices looked on little glass plates, and how cold the frosted spoon was, iced too! And when they came back to the hall there was the fat man waiting for her by the door. It gave her quite a shock again to see how old he was, he ought to have been on the stage with the fathers and mothers. And when Leila compared him with her other partners he looked shabby. His waistcoat was creased. there was a button off his glove, his coat looked as if it was dusty with French chalk. "Come along, little lady," said the fat man. He scarcely troubled

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 193 to clasp her, and they moved away so gently, it was more like walking than dancing. But he said not a word about the floor. "Your first dance, isn't it?" he murmured. "How did you know?" "Ah," said the fat man, "that's what it is to be old!" He wheezed faintly as he steered her past an awkward couple. "You see, I've been doing this kind of thing for the last thirty years."

"Thirty years?" cried Leila. Twelve years before she was born! www.BOOKOO.com "It hardly bears thinking about, does it?" said the fat man gloomily. Leila looked at his bald head, and she felt quite sorry for him. "I think it's marvellous to be still going on," she said kindly. .cn "Kind little lady," said the fat man, and he pressed her a little closer, and hummed a bar of the waltz. "Of course," he said, "you can't hope to last anything like as long as that. No-o," said the fat man, "long before that you'll be sitting up there on the stage, looking on, in your nice black velvet. And these pretty arms will have turned into little short fat ones, and you'll beat time with such a different kind of fan -- a black bony one." The fat man seemed to shudder. "And you'll smile away like the poor old dears up there, and point to your daughter, and tell the elderly lady next to you how some

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 194 dreadful man tried to kiss her at the club ball. And your heart will ache, ache" -- the fat man squeezed her closer still, as if he really was sorry for that poor heart -- "because no one wants to kiss you now. And you'll say how unpleasant these polished floors are to walk on, how dangerous they are. Eh, Mademoiselle Twinkletoes?" said the fat man softly. Leila gave a little light laugh, but she did not feel like laughing.

Was it -- could it all be true? It sounded terribly true. Was this first www.BOOKOO.com ball only the beginning of her last ball after all? At that the music seemed to change; it sounded sad, sad; it rose upon a great sigh. Oh, how quickly things changed! Why didn't happiness last for ever? For ever wasn't a bit too long. .cn "I want to stop," she said in a breathless voice. The fat man led her to the door. "No," she said, "I won't go outside. I won't sit down. I'll just stand here, thank you." She leaned against the wall, tapping with her foot, pulling up her gloves and trying to smile. But deep inside her a little girl threw her pinafore over her head and sobbed. Why had he spoiled it all? "I say, you know," said the fat man, "you mustn't take me seriously, little lady."

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"As if I should!" said Leila, tossing her small dark head and sucking her underlip... Again the couples paraded. The swing doors opened and shut. Now new music was given out by the bandmaster. But Leila didn't want to dance any more. She wanted to be home, or sitting on the veranda listening to those baby owls. When she looked through the dark windows at the stars, they had long beams like wings ...

But presently a soft, melting, ravishing tune began, and a young www.BOOKOO.com man with curly hair bowed before her. She would have to dance, out of politeness, until she could find Meg. Very stiffly she walked into the middle, very haughtily she put her hand on his sleeve. But in one minute, in one turn, her feet glided, glided. The lights, the azaleas, .cn the dresses, the pink faces, the velvet chairs, a1l became one beautifu1 flying wheel. And when her next partner bumped her into the fat man and he said, "Pardon," she smiled at him more radiantly than ever. She didn't even recognize him again.

An Ideal Family

That evening for the first time in his life, as he pressed through the swing-door and descended the three broad steps to the pavement, old Mr Neave felt he was too old for the spring. Spring -- warm,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 196 eager, restless -was there, waiting for him in the golden light, ready in front of everybody to run up, to blow in his white beard, to drag sweetly on his arm. And he couldn't meet her, no; he couldn't square up once more and stride off, jaunty as a young man. He was tired and, although the late sun was still shining, curiously cold, with a numbed feeling all over. Quite suddenly he hadn't the energy, he hadn't the heart to stand this gaiety and bright movement any longer; it confused him. He wanted to stand still, to wave it away with his stick, www.BOOKOO.com to say, "Be off with you!" Suddenly it was a terrible effort to greet as usual -- tipping his wide-awake with his stick -- all the people whom he knew, the friends, acquaintances, shopkeepers, postmen, drivers. But the gay glance that went with that gesture, the kindly twinkle that .cn seemed to say, "I'm a match and more for any of you" -- that old Mr

Neave could not manage at all. He stumped along, lifting is knees high as if he were walking through air that had somehow grown heavy and solid like water. And the homeward-going crowd hurried by, the trams clanked, the light carts clattered, the big swinging cabs bowled along with that reckless, defiant indifference that one knows only in dreams... It had been a day like other days at the office. Nothing special had happened. Harold hadn't come back from lunch until close on

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 197 four. Where had he been? What had he been up to? He wasn't going to let his father know. Old Mr Neave had happened to be in the vestibule, saying goodbye to a caller, when Harold sauntered in, perfectly turned out as usual, cool, suave, smiling that peculiar little half-smile that women found so fascinating. Ah, Harold was too handsome, too handsome by far; that had been the trouble all along. No man had a right to such eyes, such lashes and such lips; it was uncanny. As for his mother, his sisters, www.BOOKOO.com and the servants, it was not too much to say they made a young god of him; they worshipped Harold, they forgave him everything; and he had needed some forgiving ever since the time when he was thirteen and he had stolen his mother's purse, taken the money, and hidden .cn the purse in the cook's bedroom. Old Mr Neave struck sharply with his stick upon the pavement edge. But it wasn't only his family who spoiled Harold, he reflected, it was everybody; he had only to look and to smile, and down they went before him. So perhaps it wasn't to be wondered at that he expected the office to carry on the tradition. H'm, h'm! But it couldn't be done. No business -- not even a successful, established, big paying concern -- could be played with. A man had either to put his whole heart and soul into it, or it went all to pieces before his eyes ...

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 198

And then Charlotte and the girls were always at him to make the whole thing over to Harold, to retire, and to spend his time enjoying himself. Enjoying himself! Old Mr Neave stopped dead under a group of ancient cabbage palms outside the Government buildings! Enjoying himself! The wind of evening shook the dark leaves to a thin airy cackle. Sitting at home, twiddling his thumbs, conscious all the while his life's work was slipping away, dissolving, disappearing through Harold's fine fingers, while Harold smiled ... www.BOOKOO.com "Why will you be so unreasonable, father? There's absolutely no need for you to go to the office. It only makes it very awkward for us when people persist in saying how tired you're looking. Here's this huge house and garden. Surely you could be happy in -- in .cn --appreciating it for a change. Or you could take up some hobby."

And Lola the baby chimed in loftily. "All men ought to have hobbies. It makes life impossible if they haven't." Well, well! He couldn't help a grim smile as painfully he began to climb the hill that led into Harcourt Avenue. Where would Lola and her sisters and Charlotte be if he'd gone in for hobbies, he'd like to know? Hobbies couldn't pay for the town house and the seaside bungalow, and their horses, and their golf, and the sixty-guinea gramophone in the music-room for them to dance to. Not that he

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 199 grudged them these things. No, they were smart, good-looking girls, and Charlotte was a remarkable woman; it was natural for them to be in the swim. As a matter of fact, no other house in the town was as popular as theirs, no other family entertained so much. And how many times old Mr Neave, pushing the cigar box across the smoking-room table, had listened to praises of his wife, his girls, of himself even.

"You're an ideal family, sir, an ideal family. It's like something www.BOOKOO.com one reads about or sees on the stage." "That's all right, my boy," old Mr Neave would reply. "Try one of those; I think you'll like them. And if you care to smoke in the garden, you'll find the girls on the lawn, I dare say." .cn That was why the girls had never married, so people said. They could have married anybody. But they had too good a time at home. They were too happy together, the girls and Charlotte. H'm, h'm! Well, well ! Perhaps so ... By this time he had walked the length of fashionable Harcourt Avenue, he had reached the corner house, their house. The carriage gates were pushed back; there were fresh marks of wheels on the drive. And then he faced the big white-painted house, with its wide-open windows, its tulle curtains floating outwards, its blue jars

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 200 of hyacinths on the broad sills. ()n either side of the carriage porch their hydrangeas -- famous in the town - were coming into flower; the pinkish, bluish masses of flower lay like light among the spreading leaves. And somehow, it seemed to old Mr Neave that the house and the flowers, and even the fresh marks on the drive, were saying, "There is young life here. There are girls --" "The hall, as always. was dusky with wraps, parasols, gloves, piled on the oak chests. From the music-room sounded the piano, www.BOOKOO.com quick, loud and impatient. Through the drawing-room door that was ajar voices floated. "And were there ices?" came from Charlotte. Then the creak, creak of her rocker. .cn "Ices!" cried Ethel. "My dear mother, you never saw such ices.

Only two kinds. And one a common little strawberry shop ice, in a sopping wet frill." "The food altogether was too appalling," came from Marion. "Still, it's rather early for ices," said Charlotte easily. "But why, if one has them at all ..." began Ethel. "()h, quite so, darling," crooned Charlotte. Suddenly the music-room door opened and Lola dashed out. She started, she nearly screamed, at the sight of old Mr Neave.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 201

"Gracious, father! What a fright you gave me! Have you just come home? Why isn't Charles here to help you off with your coat?" Her cheeks were crimson from playing, her eyes glittered, the hair fell over her forehead. And she breathed as though she had come running through the dark and was frightened. Old Mr Neave stared at his youngest daughter; he felt he had never seen her before. So that was Lola, was it? But she seemed to have forgotten her father; it was not for him that she waited there. Now she put the tip of her www.BOOKOO.com crumpled handkerchief between her teeth and tugged at it angrily. The telephone rang. A-ah! Lola gave a cry like a sob and dashed past him. The door of the telephone-room slammed, and at the same moment Charlotte called, "Is that you, father?" .cn "You're tired again," said Charlotte reproachfully, and she stopped the rocker and offered him her warm plum-like cheek. Bright-haired Ethel pecked his beard; Marion's lips brushed his ear. "Did you walk back, father?" asked Charlotte. "Yes, I walked home," said old Mr Neave, and he sank into one of the immense drawing-room chairs. "But why didn't you take a cab?" said Ethel. "There are hundreds of cabs about at that time." "My dear Ethel," cried Marion, "if father prefers to tire himself

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 202 out, I really don't see what business of ours it is to interfere." "Children, children?" coaxed Charlotte. But Marion wouldn't be stopped. "No mother, you spoil father, and it's not right. You ought to be stricter with him. He's very naughty." She laughed her hard. bright laugh and patted her hair in a mirror. Strange! When she was a little girl she had such a soft, hesitating voice, she had even stuttered, and now, whatever she said

-- even if it was only "Jam, please, father" -- it rang out as though she www.BOOKOO.com were on the stage. "Did Harold leave the office before you, dear?" asked Charlotte, beginning to rock again. "I'm not sure," said old Mr Neave. .cn "I'm not sure. I didn't see him after four o'clock."

"He said --" began Charlotte. But at that moment Ethel, who was twitching over the leaves of some paper or other, ran to her mother and sank down beside her chair. "There, you see," she cried. "That's what I mean, mummy. Yellow, with touches of silver. Don't you agree?" "Give it to me, love," said Charlotte. She fumbled for her tortoise-shell spectacles and put them on, gave the page a little dab

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 203 with her plump small fingers, and pursed up her lips. "Very sweet!" she crooned vaguely; she looked at Ethel over her spectacles. "But I shouldn't have the train." "Not the train!" wailed Ethel tragically. "But the train's the whole point." "Here, mother, let me decide." Marion snatched the paper playfully from Charlotte. "I agree with mother," she cried triumphantly. "The train overweights it." www.BOOKOO.com Old Mr Neave, forgotten, sank into the broad lap of his chair, and, dozing, heard them as though he dreamed. There was no doubt about it, he was tired out; he had lost his bold. Even Charlotte and the girls were too much for him tonight. They were too ... too ... But .cn all his drowsing brain could think of was -- too rich for him. And somewhere at the back of everything he was watching a little withered ancient man climbing up endless flights of stairs. Who was he? "I shan't dress tonight," he muttered. "What do you say, father?" "Eh, what, what?" Old Mr Neave work with a start and stared across at them. "I shan't dress tonight," he repeated. "But, father, we've got Lucile coming, and Henry Davenport,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 204 and Mrs Teddie Walker." "It will look so very out of the picture." "Don't you feel well, dear?" "You needn't make any effort. What is Charles for?" "But if you're really not up to it," Charlotte wavered. "Very well ! Very well !" Old Mr Neave got up and went to join that little old climbing fellow just as far as his dressing-room ...

There young Charles was waiting for him. Carefully, as though www.BOOKOO.com everything depended on it, he was tucking a towel round the hot-water can. Young Charles had been a favorite of his ever since as a little red-faced boy he had come into the house to look after the fires. Old Mr Neave lowered himself into the cane lounge by the .cn window, stretched out his legs, and made his little evening joke,

"Dress him up, Charles!" And Charles, breathing intensely and frowning, bent forward to take the pin out of his tie. H'm, h'm! Well, well ! It was pleasant by the open window, very pleasant -- a fine mild evening. They were cutting the grass on the tennis court below; he heard the soft churr of the mower. Soon the girls would begin their tennis parties again. And at the thought he seemed to hear Marion's voice ring out, "Good for you, partner ... Oh, played, partner ... Oh, very nice indeed." Then Charlotte calling from

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 205 the veranda, "Where is Harold?" And Ethel, "He's certainly not here, mother." And Charlotte's vague, "He said --" Old Mr Neave sighed, got up, and putting one hand under his beard, he took the comb from young Charles, and carefully combed the white beard over. Charles gave him a folded handkerchief, his watch and seals, and spectacle case. "That will do, my lad." The door shut, he sank back, he was alone ... www.BOOKOO.com And now that little ancient fellow was climbing down endless flights that led to a glittering, gay dining-room. What legs he had! They were like a spider's -- thin, withered. "You're an ideal family, sir, an ideal family." .cn But if that were true, why didn't Charlotte or the girls stop him?

Why was he all alone, climbing up and down? Where was Harold? Ah, it was no good expecting anything from Harold. Down, down went the little old spider, and then, to his horror, old Mr Neave saw him slip past the dining-room and make for the porch, the dark drive, the carriage gates, the office. Stophim, stop him, somebody! Old Mr Neave started up. It was dark in his dressing-room, the window shone pale. How long had he been asleep? He listened, and through the big, airy, darkened house there floated far-away voices,

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 206 far-away sounds. Perhaps, he thought vaguely, he had been asleep for a long time he'd been forgotten. What had all this to do with him -- this house and Charlotte, the girls and Harold -- what did he know about them? They were strangers to him. Life had passed him by. Charlotte was not his wife. His wife! ... A dark porch, half hidden by a passion-vine, that drooped sorrowful, mournful, as though it understood. Small, warm arms were round his neck. A face, little and pale, lifted to his, and a voice www.BOOKOO.com breathed, "Goodbye, my treasure." My treasure! "Goodbye, my treasure!" Which of them had spoken? Why had they said goodbye? There had been some terrible mistake. She was his wife, that little pale girl, and all the rest of his .cn life had been a dream.

Then the door opened, and young Charles, standing in the light, put his hands by his side and shouted like a young soldier, "Dinner is on the table, sir!" "I'm coming, I'm coming," said old Mr Neave.

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 1

英汉对照●英美文学精品

美丽和忧郁的守护者

曼斯菲尔德短篇小说选

杨向荣译 www.BOOKOO.com

美丽和忧郁的守护者

曼斯菲尔德

英国女作家凯瑟琳·曼斯菲尔德（ Katherine Mansfield ， .cn

1888-1923）出生于新西兰惠灵顿。父亲曾担任新西兰银行主要负责人。1903 年，父亲迁至英国伦敦，曼斯菲尔德开始到皇后学院读书。在校期间读了大量奥斯卡·王尔德等人的著作并在校刊上

发表短篇小说。1906 年，又随父母回到惠灵顿。1908 年她又离开惠灵顿赴伦敦，此后再未回去。1909 年她与乔治·波顿结婚，很快又分手。其间她又去德国一段时间。回伦敦后她结识了未来

的编辑和批评家约翰·迈德顿·马利，于 1918 年结婚。她死后，马利编辑了她的短篇小说、书信。1915 年，她的兄弟在法国被害，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 2

加上本人健康恶化，对她的小说创作影响很大。在伦敦期间，她结识了许多著名作家，包括伍尔夫、罗素等人。在她人生后期，

她得知患了不治之症后曾在欧洲许多国家旅游。曼斯菲尔德的小说主题往往不难理解。1918 年，她曾给自己定下理想，要表现这个世界最微妙和宁静之美。在她的小说中反复出现爱的渴望、复杂和误解以及孤独，尤其是女性的孤独感。她还表现了现代生活，以及大自然的美丽，尤其喜爱描写植物和

大海。她的小说主题虽然单纯，然而叙述的调子和风格却复杂多 www.BOOKOO.com 变。她经常使用对话，似乎很少直接自己出来讲什么。读者往往

获得的是一个混合的视角。她经常使用"散点"的手法来组织和推动情节的发展，其间不一定有严格的逻辑顺承关系。曼斯菲尔德

认为这才是表现真实最诚实的手段。 .cn 她的小说很像契诃夫的作品，经常出现一些出乎意料的转折

和时空变化。同时她的文字也力求简化，力争把可有可无的字句删去。她使用了不少现代派表现手法，但用得自然。曼斯菲尔德擅长表现男女之间的复杂微妙关系以及令人意想不到的激情发展方向。在《心理学》一篇中，她选择了两位艺术家情感吸引的细节。由于双方过于自我，在两人感情本应该达到升华境界的时刻却错失良机，表现那种意想不到的心理摩擦。曼斯菲尔德的小说往往还处理更为复杂和模糊的性以及心理关系。在《幸福》中，女主角柏莎对她的婚姻、家庭、孩子、艺术家朋友有种孩子气的

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 3

幸福感，但又觉得自己对客人中的一位女友感兴趣。柏莎试图在多种神秘的情爱中寻找来自女友的暗示。这又使读者感到意外和震惊。柏莎继而又把自己的这种感情转移到丈夫身上，第一次对丈夫有了欲望。可是当她发现了女友与丈夫的暧昧行为后，也意味着她的生活破碎了，辛福将不复存在，代之以同床异梦的痛苦。曼斯菲尔德有许多作品表现了女性的孤独问题，往往在曼斯菲尔

德式的神秘瞬间，这些女人丧失了勇气，强烈的幻灭感油然而生。

在《已故上校的女儿们》中，读者一时很难轻易进入两位老 www.BOOKOO.com 处女的内心世界。小说一开始似乎还是在写一个男性为主的世界，姐妹俩走不出已死父亲的影响和控制。在情节逐渐展开过程中，慢慢揭示出两姐妹的个性，两人始终在犹豫状态中生活，连辞掉一个女佣的决定都很难做出。她们不得不采取某种行动时， .cn 又在最后失去了商量如何采取行动的交流机会。看来她们的生活

永远不会有结果。《游园会》基于一个真实的故事。在某种意义上是表示对阶级界限的不满。主角劳拉显然有曼斯菲尔德的影子。读者可以从中看出在对待穷人的态度上，上下两代人之间的冲突。而故事很

自然地往下推进时，"阶级界限"的主题逐渐退而变成一个女孩对死亡的直觉思考。这种很自然的转换在曼斯菲尔德的小说中经常

见到。她的机智也在这些细节上得到充分体现。作为一个作家，曼斯菲尔德的重要性主要在于使用一些现代

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 4

派手法，打破了英国维多利亚时代客厅小说的沉闷气氛。在她最好的作品中，她始终想剥去生活丑陋的外表，揭示隐藏在深处的

美。

幸福

尽管柏莎·扬已经 30 岁了，可走路时有时还会那样想跑上几步，在人行道上跳上跳下，来几个舞步，或者滚一下铁环，把 www.BOOKOO.com 什么东西抛向空中又接住，或者干脆一动不动站着傻笑—— 其实

没有任何可笑的，不过是笑笑而已。如果你年当 30，走到你们家那条街的拐角处，突然一种极度幸福的感觉袭来—— 一种毫无杂质的狂喜！—— 仿佛忽然间嘴里吞进一块那天黄昏时分外明亮的太阳，它在你胸中燃烧发亮，一 .cn

簇细密的光芒辐射到每一粒细胞、每一根手指和脚趾，此时此刻

你会怎么样呢？噢，难道除了"迷醉和狂乱"这些词就没法表达那种感觉吗？文明语汇多傻呀！如果身体像一把珍稀的小提琴一般给禁锢在盒

子里，那要它又有什么用呢？ "不，小提琴的比喻还没有完全表达出我的意思。"她一边思考一边轻快地踏上台阶，手在包里摸索钥匙—— 她又跟往常一

样，忘带了—— 接着她又顺手摇了摇信箱。"这不是我想说的意思，因为—— 谢谢你，玛丽"—— 她走进大厅。"保姆回来了吗？"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 5

"回来了，夫人。" "水果送来了吗？" "送来了，夫人，东西都齐了。" "把水果拿到餐厅去可以吗？我要在上楼前把它布置好。" 餐厅里不但光线很暗，还特别冷。但柏莎还是脱掉外套，她一刻也忍受不了大衣穿在身上那种紧绷绷的感觉。一股凉气随之

袭遍臂膀。

然而她胸中依然有那么一块地方在熠熠发光—— 那簇细密 www.BOOKOO.com 的火花就是从那里发出的。简直让人难以自持。她连气都不敢出，生怕把那束火焰扇得更旺，不过她还是深深地、深深地吸了口气。她甚至不敢看那面冰凉的镜子，可她还是看了，镜子里映现出一个容光焕发，面带微笑的女人，嘴唇颤动，一双大眼睛乌溜溜的。 .cn 她凝神倾听着、期待着⋯⋯某种不同寻常的事情⋯⋯好像她知道

一定会发生⋯⋯错不了。玛丽端着一盘水果进来，盘上放着一只玻璃碗，一只蓝色碟子，盘子非常漂亮，闪烁着一种奇异的光泽，像在牛奶中浸过似

的。 "要开灯吗，夫人？" "不用，谢谢。我看得见。" 桔子和苹果上泛着一层草莓般的粉红色。几只黄梨光洁得像丝绸，白葡萄上覆盖着一层银色的粉霜，还有一大串紫葡萄。最

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 6

后这一串她买来是想配餐厅里新铺的地毯。嗯，听上去确实不着边际而且荒谬，可这正是她买这些东西的真实动机。她在商店就

想："我得买些紫色的，把地毯的颜色带到餐桌上。"那时候听上去好像很有道理。她把水果布置好，用这些亮堂堂、圆溜溜的东西摆出两个金字塔后，站到离桌子几步远的地方观看效果—— 的确不俗。黑沉沉的桌子好像融入了昏暗的光线，衬得玻璃碟子和蓝碗像浮在空

中。当然，依她此时的心情，这里有一种无与伦比的美⋯⋯她开 www.BOOKOO.com

始笑起来。 "别这样，别这样，我又在歇斯底里了。"然后她抓起提包和外套冲上楼，向保姆室奔去。保姆坐在一张低矮的桌子旁边，正给刚洗完澡的小贝喂晚 .cn 饭。小孩穿着一件白色法兰绒裙子和蓝色毛料上衣，漂亮的黑头

发梳成一个很好玩的小尖顶。她看见妈妈时仰起头欢跳起来。 "诺，小乖，都吃了，做个好姑娘。"保姆说，她那努嘴的样子柏莎是很熟悉的，暗示她此时到保姆房里来很不是时候。 "她好吗，南妮？" "今天下午她可真乖。"南妮低声说，"我们去了公园。我坐在一把椅子上，把她从手推车里抱出来，这时候来了一条大狗，把头搁到我的膝盖上，她抓住狗的耳朵揪。噢，你要看见她那样子

就好了。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 7

柏莎想问让孩子去抓一条陌生的狗的耳朵是不是太危险了。但她没敢问。她站在那里望着她们，手垂在一边，像个穷人家的

小女孩站在抱着洋娃娃的阔小姐跟前一样。孩子又抬头望着她，目不转睛地瞧着她，笑容那么动人，柏

莎不禁叫起来： "嘿，南妮，我喂她吃晚饭，你收拾一下洗澡的家伙吧。" "嗯，夫人，她吃饭时可不能换手，"南妮说，声音还那么低。

"那样她会不舒服的，很可能会心烦。" www.BOOKOO.com 多么荒唐。要是必须把孩子放在别的女人怀里—— 当然不是

像一把珍贵的小提琴一样放在盒子里—— 那生孩子干吗呢？ "噢，我一定要喂！"她说。南妮很生气地把小孩递过来。 .cn "诺，吃完饭千万别逗她乐。您总是逗她，夫人。我一会儿

就来照看她！" 谢天谢地！南妮终于拿着浴巾走出屋子。 "我终于把你抓到手了，我的小宝贝。"柏莎说，孩了向她靠了过来。她一边翘起小嘴去够勺子，一边挥舞着小手，吃得很高兴。

有时她一口咬住小匙，有时柏莎刚舀上一匙，她一摆手就推开了。喝完汤后，柏莎转过身向着火。 "你真漂亮—— 真是漂亮极了！"她说，亲吻着暖融融的宝贝。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 8

"我多么爱你。多么喜欢你。" 她确实非常爱小宝贝—— 她身子往前倾时脖颈的样子、在火光照耀下显得透明、精致的脚趾头—— 突然那种极度幸福的感觉

又来了，她又不知该怎么表达—— 也不知道该怎么办。 "来电话了，要你接，"南妮说，她凯旋而归地抓走了小宝贝。她飞快地跑下楼。是哈里打来的。 "嗨，是你吗，柏儿？你瞧，我要迟到了。我叫辆出租车尽

快过来，晚宴推迟 10 分钟—— 可以吗？没关系吧？" www.BOOKOO.com "噢，哈里，完全可以。" "真的？" 她还能说什么呢？她无话可说。她只想跟他在一起待一会

儿。她可不能荒唐地叫喊："今天可是个神圣的日子啊！" .cn "什么？"那边突然小声说。

"没什么。请原谅。（译注：原文为法文）"柏莎说完挂上话筒，心想文明是多么愚蠢啊。他们请了几个客人来吃饭。诺曼·赖特夫妇 —— 很般配的一对，先生想开一个剧院，夫人热中于室内装潢。还有那个年轻人艾迪·沃伦刚出版了一本小诗集，大家争相请他赴宴。还有一位

是柏莎"发现的人物"，名叫珀尔·富尔顿。富尔顿小姐具体干什么，柏莎并不清楚。她们是在俱乐部相识的，柏莎遇到有些古怪

的美貌女人时就会很投缘。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 9

气人的是尽管她们想待在一起，而且见过很多次面，也真正谈过心，柏莎还是对她捉摸不透。从某种意义上讲，富尔顿小姐

有一种罕见而奇特的坦诚性格。但是所谓的"某种意义"总归是有界限的，出了格，她是不愿干的。究竟有什么叫人摸不透呢？哈里说"没有"，说她很傻，像所有金发女人一样很冷漠，而且可能有点脑贫血。但柏莎对他的说

法不以为然；至少目前还不同意。

"不，哈里，她那种坐下后斜着脑袋以及微笑的样子，还是 www.BOOKOO.com 有意思的。哈里，我一定要搞清是怎么回事。" "很可能是胃口好吧，"哈里回答。他顺着柏莎的话说了很多，什么"肝硬化，我亲爱的姑娘"，或者"纯粹胃气胀"或者"肾病"⋯⋯等等。说来奇怪，柏莎很喜欢 .cn 听，对这种素质挺欣赏。

她走进客厅把火生着，把玛丽精心布置过的垫子一只一只捡起，扔回到椅子和沙发上。一下子就不一样了，房间立刻恢复了生气。她准备扔掉最后一只时突然一时冲动地搂住垫子，连自己

也吃了一惊。可是这样仍熄灭不了她胸中的火焰。噢，恰恰相反！从客厅阳台那边打开的窗户可以俯视花园。花园尽头，挨着墙有一棵又细又高的梨树，繁花盛开，婷婷玉立，在翡翠一般湛蓝的天空映衬下显得镇定自若。即便从这么远看过去，柏莎还是情不自禁地觉得那树上没有一朵花蕾是孤零零的，没有一片花瓣

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

是褪色的。楼下花圃中，红色和黄色郁金香花叶压枝，好像要在黄昏的黑暗中飘逸出来。一只灰色的猫拖着肚皮爬过草地，另一只黑猫紧紧尾随其后，那是它的影子。看它们的样子，那么有主

意、那么敏捷，使柏莎奇怪地不寒而栗。 "猫是一种多么令人毛骨悚然的家伙啊！"她结结巴巴地说，然后从窗口转过身，开始走来走去⋯⋯

在这温暖的房间里，水仙花的味道是那么浓烈。是不是太浓 www.BOOKOO.com 了？哦，不。然后，她好像被花香袭倒似的，扑到一只沙发上，

双手捂住眼睛。 "我太幸福—— 太幸福了！"她嘴里喃喃自语。她好像从眼睑上方凝视着那棵美丽的、花朵盛开的梨树，想

象它就是自己生命的象征。 .cn

真的—— 真的—— 什么都有了。她还很年轻。哈里和她挚爱如初，他们生活得很美好，是真正的好伴侣。她有一个可爱极了的小孩。他们不用为钱发愁。房子和花园绝对令人满意。朋友们 —— 那些时髦、有激情的朋友们，作家、画家、诗人或者热中社会问题的人士—— 都是他们愿意结识的朋友。家里有书、有音乐，她还找到一位手艺不俗的小裁缝。夏天他们计划去国外，他们新

来的厨子做得一手一流的蛋卷⋯⋯ "我真荒唐，荒唐！"她坐起来，感觉目醉神迷。一定是在春

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

天来了。没错，是春天来了。此时她累得连上楼去换礼服都迈不动脚

步了。一身洁白的礼服，一串玉珠，绿鞋子和长筒袜。不是这会儿

刻意如此。站到客厅窗前几小时就在酝酿了。她的裙子像落花一般发出柔和的沙沙声，一路传到大厅。她

吻了下诺曼·赖特太太，她正准备脱掉那件非常有趣的桔黄色外 www.BOOKOO.com

套，衣服边上有一长串黑猴子图案，而且一直延伸到胸前。 "⋯⋯哎呀！为什么中产阶级这么令人腻味 —— 这么缺乏幽默感！我的天，我赶到这里纯属侥幸—— 多亏诺曼一路保护我。我的那些可爱的猴子弄得火车里的人很烦，大家共同对付我，差

点用眼睛把我吃了。既不笑也不乐—— 那样倒还好。可好，都一 .cn

个劲儿地盯着看—— 烦死了。 "最有意思的是，"诺曼说着把一只巨大的玳瑁单片眼镜压到眼眶上，"你们不会在意我这样说吧，面子？"（在家里和朋友中间，他们互相称对方为面子和脸蛋）"最有意思的是，等她烦透了后对旁边的女人说：'你难道没见过猴子吗？'" "噢，没错！"诺曼·赖特太太加入到欢声笑语中来， "难道这不有意思吗？" 更有意思的事还是，她现在脱掉外套后的确像只机灵的猴子

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

—— 一只甚至会用削下来的香蕉皮制作黄色丝袍的猴子。还有那

浅黄色耳环，样子像晃来晃去的小坚果。 "好一个悲凉的秋天！"脸蛋说着在小贝的儿童车前站住。" 当儿童车开进大厅的时候—— "他一挥手把剩下的话都挥掉了。门铃响了。瘦削、苍白的艾迪·沃伦（跟往常一样）带着一

副痛苦相进来。

"我没走错屋子吧？"他找话说。 www.BOOKOO.com "噢，我想是吧—— 希望如此，"柏莎愉快地说。 "我碰上了这么一个出租车司机，可怕的经历，他阴险极了。我都没法让他停车。我敲得越厉害他开得越快。月光下，那个扁

头扁脑、样子奇怪的家伙伏在方向盘上。"

他打了个冷战，摘掉那条巨幅白丝围巾。柏莎注意到他的袜 .cn

子也是白色的—— 很漂亮。 "真可怕！"她喊道。 "是啊，真是，"艾迪说着随她走进客厅。"我仿佛看着自己乘着一辆已失去时间概念的出租车奔向永恒。" 他认识诺曼·赖特。实际上，如果戏院计划付诸实现的话，

他还想给诺·赖写剧本呢。 "嗨，沃伦，剧本怎么样了？"诺曼·赖特说着摘掉单片眼镜，眼睛向上翻了翻又垂下来。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

诺曼·赖特太太也说： "噢，沃伦先生，您的袜子真漂亮哪。 "

"你能喜欢它真叫人高兴。"他说，然后盯着自己的脚。"月亮出来后这双袜子就显得更加白了。"他那张清瘦愁苦的脸转向柏莎，"你知道，今天晚上有月亮。" 她想叫出来，"我知道有—— 经常有！"

他真讨人喜欢。当然面子也是，她穿着香蕉皮做的衣服蹲在 www.BOOKOO.com

火堆前。脸蛋也蹲在火前，他正在吸烟，弹了下烟灰说："新郎为何还不到？" "他来了。" 大门砰地一声打开又关上。哈里大喊："大家好。5 分钟之内

下来。"接着大家听见他上楼去了。柏莎不禁笑了。她知道哈里 .cn

做事爱给自己加压力。毕竟，多等 5 分钟又有什么关系呢？但他宁愿骗自己，认为别人在意得不得了。然后他才极为冷静、泰然

自若地步入客厅。哈里对生活就有这股热情劲。哦，她多么欣赏这种气质！还有他那种好斗的激情—— 寻找一切胆敢挑战的对手，来证明自己的力量和勇气—— 这一点，她也很能理解。虽然这是偶尔为之，不太了解他的人恐怕觉得这有些可笑。因为有时候他冲锋陷阵之地并不存在战争⋯⋯她跟大家聊着、笑着，直到他进来（这也是

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

她意料之中的），才想起珀尔·富尔顿还没出现。 "我想是不是富尔顿小姐给忘了？" "我想也是，"哈里说，"她来过电话吗？" "噢！出租车来了。"柏莎面带捕获到新的神秘女性猎物、并且据为己有的那种意味笑了。"她简直就生活在出租车上。" "如果她老这样，过不了多久就会胖起来的。"哈里冷冷地说，

开始摇铃准备开饭。"对金发女人来说更是危险。" www.BOOKOO.com "哈里—— 别说了，"柏莎提醒道，对着他大笑。大家边谈笑着边等候又过了片刻，很自在，很忘情。这时富尔顿小姐微笑着走进来。她一身银光闪闪，淡淡的金发上束着一

条银色发带，头向一边略微侧着。

"我来晚了吗？" .cn

"没有，一点都不晚，"柏莎说，"过来。"她拉着富尔顿的胳膊一起走进饭厅。那只冰凉的胳膊会把火扇起来—— 扇旺—— 扇旺—— 那种柏莎不知如何是好的极度幸福之火，触摸着这样一只胳膊会有怎

样的感受呢？富尔顿小姐并不看她，也不正视任何人。她垂着厚重的眼睑，露出似是而非的奇怪笑容，嘴唇上翘，好像她是靠听觉而不是视觉生活的。突然间，似乎俩人经过了长久而亲昵的对视，似乎在

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

向对方问："你，也一样？"柏莎明白珀尔·富尔顿在搅动灰色盘子里盛着的红汤时，心里的感受和她别无二致。那么其他人呢？面子和脸蛋、艾迪和哈里，他们勺起勺落— — 不时地用餐巾点点嘴唇，撕碎着面包，在觥筹交错间，都在说

着什么。 "我在阿尔发演出会上见过她—— 扮演了一个很古怪的小

人。她不仅把头发全剪光了，而且好像还把大腿、胳膊、脖子和 www.BOOKOO.com

那可怜的小鼻子也剪得不像样子了。" "她跟米切尔·奥特关系很密切？ " "你是说写《爱在假牙》的那人吗？" "他要给我写部戏，一部独幕剧，一个角色决定自杀。诉说

他为什么要自杀或不自杀的理由。正在他要么自杀要么不自杀的 .cn

激烈斗争时—— 落幕了。戏还是有点味道的。 "他这部戏打算叫什么来着—— 《肚子疼》"？ "我觉得在法国的一份小评论杂志上碰到过类似的构思，那份杂志在英国还不出名呢。" 不，大家没有她那种感受。他们都很可爱—— 很可爱—— 她很乐意请他们来，坐在自家的桌边，献上美酒佳肴。其实，她多么想说他们多么讨人喜欢，是一帮多么体面的人，如何彼此衬托

得更加出色，又是如何让她想起契诃夫的戏剧。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

哈里完全沉浸在美食享受中。他喜欢谈论饮食、炫耀他对大虾白色肉体、阿月浑子绿色果冰—— 又绿又冷，像埃及舞女的眼皮—— 赤裸裸的贪婪激情。这确实是—— 还谈不上是天性，当然

更不是卖弄，总之是他的—— 一种爱好吧。他抬头看着她说："柏莎，这块蛋奶酥非常可口！"她听了简直像个孩子般激动得快流泪了。

啊，为什么她觉得今晚世界如此温柔？一切都那么美好—— www.BOOKOO.com 丝毫不差。所有发生的这一切似乎再次注入她那快要洋溢出来的

幸福之杯中。然而，她内心一隅还惦想着那棵梨树。此刻它一定散发着柔和的银光，在可怜可爱的艾迪所谓的月光下，就像富尔顿小姐那

样闪烁着银光。这会儿她正用那细长的手指转着红橘，手指白得 .cn

好像一束隐隐约约的透明光。有件事她完全搞不明白—— 多奇妙—— 她怎么会如此准确、迅速地猜出富尔顿小姐的心绪。因为她对自己的正确性从来就没

有过一丝怀疑，那么她有什么根据呢？不如说什么都没有。 "我认为这种事在女人中间是极为、极为少见的。在男人之间也不会发生。"柏莎想，"可待会儿客厅煮咖啡时，她也许会给个'暗示'的。" 她也不知道这意味着什么，随后会怎么样，她也料想不到。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

她就这样看着自己在聊天、在笑，脑子里想着别的事情。她

想说话，是因为她想笑。 "我必须笑出来，不然会死掉。" 可是当她注意到面子老从胸前往下拽什么的滑稽小动作时 —— 好像那里藏了一堆小小的秘密的坚果—— 柏莎只好用指尖

点住手心—— 以免笑得太厉害了。

好不容易席散了。"来看看我新买的咖啡机，"柏莎说。 www.BOOKOO.com "我们两星期才换一次新咖啡机，"哈里说。面子这时支着胳膊。富尔顿小姐低着头跟在后面。客厅里的火已经熄灭变成一堆红色，按面子的说法，它忽隐

忽现像"小凤凰鸟的巢"。

"别急着开灯。就这样很美。"然后她又蹲到火堆旁边。她老 .cn

觉得冷⋯⋯ "她一定又没穿那件红绒小夹克，"柏莎想。就在这时富尔顿小姐"发出了信号"。 "你有一个花园吧？"声音冷淡而疲惫。富尔顿小姐的口气那么高雅，柏莎只有听命的份儿。她穿过

房间拉开窗帘，打开那扇长窗。 "瞧那！"她细声说。就这样，两个女人并排站在一起望着那棵细长、开满花的树。虽然看上去似乎那么宁静，就像一支蜡烛的火焰，直直向上指着，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 18

在明亮的空中抖动了一下，在她们的注视下渐渐变高—— 快要碰

着圆圆的银色月亮这儿了。她们在那里站了多久？好像两个人都被那圣洁的光环吸引住了，彼此心心相印，都是来自另一个世界，不知来这个世界干什么，就这样浑身洋溢着难得的幸福感。它在胸中燃烧着，在这银色的花中，从她们的头发和手上流播下去。面对此情此景，她

们不知该怎么办好？ www.BOOKOO.com 这是永恒—— 还是一瞬？富尔顿小姐喃喃自语："对啊，就这样很好。"或者这是柏莎在做梦吧？这时灯忽然亮了，面子开始调咖啡，哈里说："亲爱的赖特女士，别问我孩子的事，我从不去看她。我对她一点兴趣都没有，

除非她有了情人。"脸蛋端详了一阵外面的温室，然后戴上眼镜。 .cn

艾迪·沃伦喝完咖啡，一脸痛苦地放下杯子，好像已经醉了。 "我想给那个年轻人一次上演机会。我相信伦敦没写出的一流剧本多的是。我只想说：'我们有戏院，前景一片光明'。" "你知道，亲爱的，我打算替雅各布·纳森斯装修一间屋子。啊，我很想设计个煎鱼的图案，把椅背做成烤盘形的，窗帘全绣

上漂亮的土豆片。" "我们那些青年作家的通病是过于浪漫。不想晕船、不准备一个盒子就别想去航海。唉，他们干嘛就没有那种要盒子的勇气

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 19

呢？ "有一首糟糕的诗，描写一个在小树林里被没有鼻子的乞丐冒犯的女孩。" 富尔顿小姐深深陷在那把最低的椅子里，哈里向大家让烟。他站在她前面摇着银色烟盒，唐突地说："要埃及的？土耳其的？还是弗吉尼亚的？全混在一起了，"柏莎想哈里不仅仅是

烦富尔顿，他简直是讨厌她。富尔顿小姐说："不，谢谢你，我 www.BOOKOO.com 不想吸烟。"她从这口气中判断富尔顿也感觉到这一点，而且自尊心受到了伤害。 "噢，哈里，别烦她。她根本不是你想的那样。她非常棒，非常棒。而且，她对我来说如此重要，你我怎么就想不到一块儿

去呢。晚上在床上我再告诉你是怎么回事。我们心有灵犀。" .cn

说到最后那几句话时，柏莎头脑中冒出来有点怪甚至可怕的

念头。这个盲目的微笑着的念头对她耳语道："这些人很快就要走了。屋子会很静—— 很静。那时灯光也熄了。你和他将单独呆

在这黑黑的房间—— 这温暖的床上⋯⋯ " 她从椅子上跳起来奔向钢琴。 "没有人来弹，多么可惜啊！"她喊道："没有人来弹，多可惜啊。" 柏莎·扬平生第一次对丈夫有了欲望。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 20

啊，她爱着他—— 她爱他，当然，说什么方式都可以，就不是那种方式。当然，她同样明白他爱的方式也不一样。他们经常谈到这件事。起初发现自己这么冷淡，她担心极了，但过了一段时间好像又没事了。他们彼此坦诚相对—— 真是一对好夫妻。这

是时髦的最大好处。而现在—— 她热情四溢！这个词在她火热的身子里令人痛

楚。是那种极度幸福的感觉让她往那里去想吗？可是那样—— www.BOOKOO.com "我亲爱的，"诺曼·赖特太太说， "你知道我们的为难之处。我们都得受时间和火车的支配。我们住在汉普斯坦德，今晚过得

真快活。" "我送你们到大厅去吧。"柏莎说，"我很高兴你们来。可是你

们千万别错过最后一班火车。是不是？" .cn

"喝杯威士忌吧，赖特，走之前？"哈里说。 "不用了，谢谢，老伙计。" 柏莎拉住他的手握了握。 "晚安，再见。"她站在台阶顶端上说，感觉从此以后再也见不着他们似的。她回到客厅，其他人正要起身。 "⋯⋯那你可以乘我的车，我捎你一段。" "我得感谢在那场可怕的经历过后，用不着再独自对付司机

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 21

了。" "你们在街口就可以叫一辆出租车。用不着走多远。" "那挺好。我去穿大衣。" 富尔顿小姐向大厅走去，柏莎跟着，这时哈里几乎是硬挤了

过来。 "我来帮你。"

柏莎知道他对自己刚才的粗鲁举止后悔了—— 就让他去了。 www.BOOKOO.com

有时候他多么孩子气啊—— 这么冲动，这么单纯。这会儿火炉旁只剩下艾迪和她了。 "我不知道你读过比尔克的新诗《客饭》了没有，"艾迪轻声说，"漂亮极了。收在他最新的一本选集里，你有没有这本书？

我很想让你看看。诗句一开始就妙不可言：'为什么总要喝西红柿 .cn

汤'？" "有啊，"柏莎说。然后她悄没声息地走到客厅门口对面的桌前，艾迪也悄没声息地紧紧相随。她拿起那本小书递给他；他们

谁也没有弄出一点声响。乘他翻书的时候，她扭头看着大厅那边。她看见⋯⋯哈里拿着富尔顿小姐的外套，富尔顿小姐低着头背对他。这时他扔掉外

套手搭在她的肩膀上，猛地扳过来。他嘴里说："我爱你。"富尔顿小姐伸出那月光一般的手指抚摸着他的脸颊，慵懒地微笑着。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 22

哈里的鼻孔微微颤动。他的嘴唇抽搐着，露出一丝狞笑，低声说：

"明天吧，"富尔顿小姐眨眨眼皮似乎在说："好吧。" "找到了，"艾迪说，"'为什么总要喝西红柿汤呢？'这是一种更为深刻的真实，你觉得呢？西红柿汤是一种更为可怕的永恒。

"假如你愿意，"哈里在大厅那边说，声音老大，"我可以打电

话把出租车叫到门口。" www.BOOKOO.com "噢，不用了。不必。"富尔顿小姐说，然后朝柏莎走来，伸出细长的手指让她握。 "再见，非常感谢。" "再见，"柏莎说。

富尔顿小姐抓住她的手握了会儿。 .cn

"你那棵梨树真美！"她喃喃说道。然后她就走了，艾迪跟在后面，像那只黑猫尾随着灰猫。 "我要打烊了。"哈里说。神态极为冷静和镇定。 "你那棵梨树—— 梨树—— 梨树多美啊！" 柏莎忙跑到长窗户跟前。 "噢，接下来会怎么样呢？"她喊道。而梨树依然那么美，那么枝繁叶茂，那么宁静。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 23

起风了

真可怕，她突然然醒来了。究竟怎么啦？一定发生什么可怕的事情了。其实并没有什么—— 什么事也没有。不过是风摇晃着屋子，刮得窗户咔嗒咔嗒直响。屋顶一块铁皮砰砰撞击，震得她的床晃个不停。树叶从窗前飞速飘过，升起又飞走。路上一团报

纸像断了线的风筝在空中飞滚，掉下后挂到一棵松树上。天很冷 www.BOOKOO.com 了。夏季结束，秋天到了，一切都那么难看。运货马车左右摇摆着咔嗒咔嗒地从街上通过。两个中国人用木制扁担挑着变形了的菜篮一颠一颠地往前走，辫子和蓝袍在风中飘荡。一条白狗拐着腿痛苦地喊叫着从大门跑过去。一切都完了！还有什么呢？噢，

一切！她开始扎头发，手指抖个不停，她不敢看镜子。妈妈正在 .cn

大厅里跟祖母说话。 "真是个傻瓜！这样的天气把东西晾在绳上。我那漂亮的特内里费岛产的茶桌布全给刮成条了吧。有股什么特殊的味儿？是

麦片粥烧糊了。噢，天哪—— 这风！" 10 点钟，她有一节音乐课要去上。她在头脑中想象着弹起贝多芬的小调乐章，悠长的颤音可怕得像不绝的鼓点声⋯⋯玛丽雅·温森跑进隔壁花园，乘着花还没毁掉去捡菊花。风把她的裙子吹得卷到腰上。她使劲往下扑打，蹲下时，把裙子拉住夹在腿

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 24

中间，可这不顶用—— 它还是往上飞。周围的树和灌木击打着她。她竭尽全力快速地捡着，可心里乱得要命。她不想自己在干什么 —— 把这些花草连根拔掉，折断扎成一团，踩几脚，嘴里还在诅

咒着。 "看在上帝的份上，把大门关上吧！从后面绕过去。"什么人在大声嚷嚷。接着她听见波格的声音：

"妈妈，你的电话。电话，妈妈。是卖肉的那人打来的。" www.BOOKOO.com 生活是多么可恶，周而复始，单调地周而复始⋯⋯这时她帽子的松紧带断了，当然这是免不了的。到时候戴那顶旧的大黑帽，

悄悄地回去。可是妈妈已经看见了。 "玛蒂尔德，玛蒂尔德。赶快回来！你头上到底戴的什么东

西？像个茶壶罩，干嘛额头上披着一缕头发呢。" .cn

"我不回来了，妈妈。上课要迟到了。" "赶快回来！" 她不想回去。不想。她恨妈妈。"去你的，"她大喊着跑到公路上。巨大的旋风裹夹着尘土如海浪、如云团一般扑面而来，打得脸生疼，里面混着草丝、谷皮和粪料。花园里的树大声呼啸着。

站在布伦恩先生门外的路口上，能听得见大海呼呼的呜咽声：" 啊！⋯⋯啊！⋯⋯啊！ "可是布伦恩先生的客厅却宁静得像一个

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 25

洞。窗户关得严严实实，窗帘半拉下来，她没有迟到。排在她前面的女孩刚开始弹麦克道威尔的《致一个冷冰冰的人》。布伦恩

先生半带微笑专注地看着她。 "请坐，"他说，"坐在那边沙发角上，小姑娘。" 他是多么有意思啊。他从不一本正经地嘲笑你⋯⋯可是总有些⋯⋯啊，这里多么平静。她挺喜欢这个房间，散发着画布、陈

烟和雏菊的气息。在鲁宾斯坦苍白的画像后面的壁炉架上有一大 www.BOOKOO.com 瓶菊花。⋯⋯画像出自老朋友罗伯特·布伦恩之手⋯⋯在黑亮的钢琴上方，挂着一幅叫《孤独》的画—— 一个黑色的忧郁的女人

身披白衣，坐在一块岩石上，她腿盘在一起，手支着下巴。 "不对，不对！"布伦恩先生说，他身子倾向那女孩，把手搭

在她的肩膀上，给她弹了一段。这个笨蛋—— 她脸红了！多么荒 .cn

唐！先来的女孩走了，大门砰地关上。布伦恩先生回来后踱着步，脚步很轻，在等着她上来。真是奇怪极了。她的手指抖得那么厉害，连音乐课书包的带子都解不开了。都是风弄的⋯⋯她的心跳动得那么凶，感到它把上衣顶起来又放下去。布伦恩先生一声不吭。那台破旧的红色钢琴座椅很长，够两个人并排坐。布伦恩先

生在她旁边坐下。 "我从音阶开始弹可以吗？"她问，两只手攥在一起。"我还得

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 26

弹几节琶音。" 可他没有回答。她觉得他甚至都没听见⋯⋯接着突然他那光

洁的带着戒指的手伸过来，翻开贝多芬的作品。 "让我们弹会儿这位不朽大师的作品吧，"他说。可是为什么他讲得这么和气呢，和气得惊人，好像他们相识

多年，彼此的每一个细节都那么了解。

他轻轻地翻到那一页。她凝视着他的手，这是一双非常漂亮 www.BOOKOO.com

的手，看起来永远好像刚刚洗过的一样。 "我们开始，"布伦恩先生说。啊，多么美妙的声音—— 啊，小调乐章。这时传来细细的鼓

声⋯⋯

"要弹复奏部分吗？" .cn

"是的，亲爱的孩子。" 他的声音听上去是那么、那么地温和。四分音符和八分音符在五线谱上跳上跳下，好像一个个黑色小孩在篱笆上跳动。为什

么他会这样⋯⋯她不想哭，她没有什么可哭的。 "怎么了，亲爱的孩子？" 布伦恩先生拿起她的手。他的肩膀靠过来，就在她脑袋一侧。

她一直稍微斜着那么一点点，脸蛋挨着扎人的粗呢衣服。 "生活太可怕了，"她轻声说，可是她一点都感觉不到可怕。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 27

他说到什么"等等"，"注意拍子"，"女人是奇异的东西"，可她都没有听进去。多么舒心啊，但愿永远⋯⋯ 突然门打开了，砰的一声，玛丽·斯婉逊出现了，她提前几

个小时到了。 "把琴音弹得稍微快些，"布伦恩先生说着站起来，又开始来回踱步。

"坐在沙发角上，小姑娘，"他对玛丽说。 www.BOOKOO.com 风啊，风。她一个人呆在屋里太可怕了。床、镜子、白罐子和盆子都闪着亮光，像外面的天空。最可怕的是床。它躺在那里，睡得那么深沉⋯⋯难道妈妈就一点都没有考虑过把那些像蛇一样盘卷在被子上面，纠结在一起的布条补一下吗？没有。没有，

妈妈。我不明白为什么要⋯⋯这风，风！一股奇怪的煤烟味从烟 .cn

囱吹下来。有没有人写过关于风的诗？⋯⋯ "我把鲜花带给树叶和阵雨"⋯⋯多么无聊。 "是你吗？波格？" "玛蒂尔德，我们绕着海滨斜堤走走吧。我一点都受不了啦。 "

"好的。我先去穿大衣。这天太可怕了。"波格的大衣跟她的完全一样。她竖起领子看着镜子里的自己。脸色苍白，跟镜子里那位长着一双同样动人的眼睛和热情的嘴唇。啊，她们两个在镜

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 28

子里是很熟的。再见，亲爱的，我们马上会回来。 "这样会好一些吧？" "竖起领来，"波格说。他们走不了那么快。两人低着头，身体紧挨着，迈着大步好像一个人有什么急事，匆匆穿过小镇沿着蜿蜒的柏油马路一路走过去。那路上长着野生茴香，接着又来到海滨斜堤。天色昏暗—

— 刚刚变暗。风还是那么烈，往前行走时简直得奋力开路，摇摇 www.BOOKOO.com 晃晃地像两个老醉鬼。斜堤上可怜的常绿小树全都向地面低伏

着。 "过来，过来，我们靠近点。" 海面上波涛翻滚，海水显得很高。他们摘掉帽子，她的头发

飘落到嘴上，感觉有股咸味。海面那么高，海浪完全连成一片。 .cn

他们手指紧扣着粗糙的石墙，在满是草丝和水滴的地上跋涉。一个凶猛的浪花从草地右边的水滩飞溅而来。水滴把他们全身都盖

住了，她的嘴唇里面又湿又冷。波格的声音断断续续。他一边说话一边上下拍打粘在身上的东西。真有意思—— 搞得你老想笑—— 不过这跟天气环境是相称的。他们的声音都被风吹跑了，说出的句子就像窄窄的丝带一样

飘向远方。 "快点！快点！"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 29

天越来越黑。海湾运煤船上亮着两盏灯，一盏高挂在桅杆上，

一盏挂在方向舵上。 "看，波格，瞧那边。" 一艘巨大的黑色汽轮带着长长的汽烟圈，舱口亮着灯，到处都闪亮着，它正要出海。风挡不住她，她毅然冲进海浪，朝两个突起的岩石间的门游去，那扇门通向⋯⋯灯光照得船异常美丽和

神秘。⋯⋯他们站在甲板上，手拉手靠着护栏。 www.BOOKOO.com "⋯⋯他们是谁？ " "⋯⋯兄妹俩。 " "看，波格，那边就是镇子。显得很小吧？邮局的钟在报最一次时辰。那就是我们曾在刮风的那天散过步的草地。你还记得

吗？那天我在音乐课上哭了—— 那还是多年以前！再见了，小岛， .cn

再见⋯⋯ " 这时候黑色迷漫开来，像翅膀一般盖住了翻腾的水面。他们再也看不见那两个人了。再见了，再见。别忘记⋯⋯可是，现在，

船已经开了。风啊，风。

心理学

她打开门看见他站在那里，感到有一种从未有过的兴奋，他

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 30

也是，跟着她走进书房时，对这次来访显得尤为愉快。 "不忙吧？" "不。正要喝茶呢。" "你就没想过什么人来吗？" "一点都没想过。" "哈，那就好。"

他轻轻而又恋恋不舍地把外套和帽子卸下来，好像他有的是 www.BOOKOO.com 时间，足以对付一切，又好像要永远跟外套和帽子分手了。他走

到火炉旁，把手伸向跳跃不已的火苗。他们在闪烁不定的火光中默默站了片刻。嘴唇带着笑意好像

还在品味相见时甜蜜的震惊。喁喁私语开始了：

"我们干嘛要说话？这样还不够吗？" .cn

"足够了。我从未意识到过，直到这一刻⋯⋯ " "只要跟你在一起，那就多好啊⋯⋯ " "就像这样⋯⋯ " "这就足够了。" 可是突然他转过来盯着她，她敏捷地走开了。 "抽支烟吧？我去把水烧上。想喝茶吗？" "不。不想。" "可我想。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 31

"你喝吧。"他手敲着阿美尼亚式垫子，猛地坐到床上。"你简直就像个小中国人。" "不错，我就是，"她笑了，"我爱喝茶就跟身强力壮的男人爱喝酒一样。" 她站在昏黄的阴影中把灯点亮，拉上窗帘，搬出茶几。水壶上两只鸟嘴在叫，火光一明一灭地闪烁着。他双手抱膝坐在那里。

喝茶这种活儿是很惬意的。她还总是弄些好吃的东西—— 比如味 www.BOOKOO.com 道很冲的小块三明治，小个甜杏仁棒，还有一种黑郎姆酒味的糕饼。这不过是一种消遣。他只想这种事赶快结束，然后推开桌子，两把椅子对着灯光摆开，这时他拿出烟斗，装满烟，把烟草结结

实实地压到烟斗里，然后说："我一直在想你上次对我说的那些

话，我觉得好像⋯⋯ " .cn

是啊，他一直等待的就是这个，她也在等着这个时刻。她摇晃着茶杯让水冷却，抑制着心灵的火焰。看这两个人，他背靠沙发样子很放松，她呢，像蜗牛一样蜷缩在蓝色贝壳手扶椅中。这幅图景是那么清晰和细腻，本该印在蓝色的茶壶盖子上才对。可

她不能着忙。她几乎要喊起来了："给我多一些时间，"她需要拿出时间让自己逐渐镇定下来。她需要时间把自己从赖以生活得如此鲜活的熟悉事物中解放出来。因为周围令人惬意的一切都是与她息息相关—— 是她的生活的产品—— 他们知道这个，而且为之

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 32

竭力欢呼。可是现在它们必须要离开。必须扫除掉，必须滚开— — 就像小孩子们似的，要被赶到阴暗的阁楼上，赶上床，强迫去

睡觉—— 而且立即就睡—— 不许说悄悄话！他们友谊中最为动人的因素全在于双方无条件地妥协，就像某个大平原上两个开放的城市，两人的内心世界完全向彼此开放。他既不像一个踏进她领地的征服者，全副武装，除了丝绸旗

帜快活地飘飞，眼里什么也看不到—— 她也不像一个袅袅娜娜向 www.BOOKOO.com 他走来的皇后。不，他们都是热情、严肃的旅行者，深深地专注于探索将要看到的风景，去发现隐藏的未知数—— 尽最大努力抓住那极为难得的良机，这会让他完全忠实于她，也使她完全忠诚

于他。

最难得的是他们都很成熟了，足以懂得享受冒险的欢乐，不 .cn

致陷入愚蠢的感情折磨之中。激情会把一切都毁掉，这一点他们看得很明白。再说，那种事情对他们两人来说已经过去，不会再

发生—— 他已经 31 岁，她也 30 岁了—— 他们都有经验了，人生的各种阅历也已丰富，现在该到收获的季节了。他的小说不是写得挺棒吗？还有她的戏剧，还有，谁有她那种对真正的英国喜剧

的感受力呢？她小心地把蛋糕切成厚厚的小方块，他拿了一片。 "你想想它多好吃啊，"她带点恳求地说，"吃的时候要发挥想

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 33

象力。如果可能的话不妨转动一下眼睛，细细品尝。这不是从制帽匠书包里取出来的三明治—— 这种蛋糕可能在《创世纪》中提

到过⋯⋯上帝说： '让有蛋糕吧，于是就有了蛋糕。而且上帝也觉得它很可口'。" "你不用求我，"他说，"真的不用。真怪，我老想着自己在这里吃了些什么东西，在别的任何地方都没有这种感觉。我觉得这

是因为长期一个人生活，吃饭时总在看书⋯⋯我习惯把食物只当 www.BOOKOO.com 食物来对待⋯⋯当成某种特定时刻该出现⋯⋯好让我吞下去的

东西⋯⋯让它⋯⋯不见。 "他笑着说，"你吃惊吧？" "吃惊得无以复加。"她说。 "不过—— 你瞧—— "他推开杯子，开始滔滔不绝地说起来："

我根本没有过什么物质生活。我连些小东西的名字都叫不上—— .cn

比如树名之类的—— 我从不关心房子、家俱以及别人长得什么样。一间屋子对我来说与另外一间没什么区别—— 不过是能坐下

来看书或谈话的地方—— 但是，"讲到这儿他停下了，带着一种奇怪而天真的微笑说，"这间书房是个例外。"他打量了一番四周，然后望着她，又带着他那种惊奇和快乐的表情笑起来。那样子就

像一个人在火车上醒来，发现自己已经到达此次旅行的终点。 "还有一件怪事。如果我闭上眼睛，这个屋子里的任何细节我都能看得一清二楚—— 任何细节⋯⋯现在我才意识到这点 —

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 34

— 以前从未意识到。我每次离开这里，都可以在脑海中重游一遍这地方—— 在你红色的椅子中间漫游，盯着黑色桌面上的果盒—

— 还轻轻地摸一下那个奇异的梦中小孩的头。" 他说话时就凝视着那东西。它就放在壁炉架的角落上，脑袋朝一边垂着，张着嘴唇，小男孩仿佛在梦中倾听着某种温柔的声

音⋯⋯

"我很喜欢那个小男孩，"他轻声说。接着两人都不说话了。 www.BOOKOO.com 沉默又一次光临。这种沉默一点都不像他们见面后那种令人

舒心的片刻停顿—— "啊，我们又见面了，我们干嘛不接着把上次中断的话题继续谈下去呢。"那种沉默笼罩着温暖、欢乐的火光、灯光。有很多次，他们沉默只是想在舒适的海滨开心地看海

水的涟漪。可是进入这个陌生的池子，这个沉睡小男孩在他那永 .cn

无止境的沉睡中垂着头—— 涟漪飘向远方，远方—— 无穷无尽的

远方—— 融入隐隐约约闪亮的黑夜。接着两人同时打破了沉默。她说："我得添些火。"他说：" 我一直想搞个新的⋯⋯ "两人都避开了。她加完火后把桌子搬回去，把那把蓝色的椅子推到前面，蜷起身子，他躺在软垫椅中间。

快点！快点！他们必须想办法别再沉默了。 "对了，我读了你上次留下的书。" "噢，你觉得怎么样？"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 35

他们的谈话跟平常一样时断时续。可是真这样吗？是不是两人都有点太急，应答都太突兀，太急于打断对方了？难道这真是前几次美妙经历的重复吗？他的心跳起来了，她的脸有些发烧，更傻的是她还没发觉他们到了什么地步，正在出什么事。她来不及回想。就象她以前所知的那样，它又发生了。他们犹犹豫豫、躲躲闪闪，又是沮丧，又是沉默。两人又意识到了那无边而可疑

的黑暗。他们又成这样了—— 像两个猎手俯身对着火堆，忽然听 www.BOOKOO.com

到丛林那头一声风吼和一声巨大、可疑的喊叫⋯⋯ 她抬起头。"下雨了。"她轻声说。这声音就跟他说"我喜欢那个小男孩"时一样。唉，他们为什么就不能让一下呢—— 让一步—— 然后再看看

会怎么样？可是谁也没有这样做。尽管两人都有些心烦意乱，但 .cn

至少还能意识到可贵的友情已面临危险。受害者是她—— 而不是

他们—— 他们不会成为这件事的当事人。他站起来叩灭烟斗，手插进头发说："最近我一直吃不准是不是把下一部小说写成心理小说。你觉得心理学与文学有关联

吗？" "你以为那些搞神秘、超现实的家伙们—— 那些当代青年作家们—— 可能一个劲儿地想接受精神分析学家的宣言吗？" "没错，我是这么想的。因为这一代人很聪明，完全明白这

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 36

是病态，唯一的康复机会就是正视病情—— 对它们进行深入研究

—— 然后征服它们—— 努力接近病根。" "可是，"她伤心地说，"前景却多么令人沮丧啊。" "绝对不。"他说，"瞧⋯⋯ "谈话继续进行着。这时他们好像真正取得了什么成果似的。她回答时转过椅子看着他。她的微笑

表明："我们胜利了。"他自信地报之以微笑："完全胜利了。"

然而，微笑却使他们不安。微笑持续得那么久，反而渐渐变 www.BOOKOO.com 成一种狞笑。两人都觉得自己是两只狞笑的小木偶在空洞地跳着

快步舞离去。 "我们在说什么来着？"他想。他已经彻底厌倦，差不多要呻吟了。

"我们把自己搞成什么样了啊，"她想。她看着他费劲地—— .cn

啊，多费劲—— 平整着土地，她跟着他，在这里栽棵树，在那里种几丛花，池子里还有一群游摆不定的鱼。彻底沮丧之后，他们

又沉默不语了。钟表轻轻地敲了 6 下，火光柔和地闪烁着。他们多傻啊—— 迟钝、庸俗、老化—— 只会一个劲儿地掩饰心灵的贫乏。这时沉默已在他们头顶笼罩了很久，就像一段庄严的音乐。太痛苦了—— 痛苦得她难以忍受，而他像要快死了—— 一旦沉默打破时，他就会死掉了⋯⋯但他还是渴望打破这沉默。不过不是

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 37

用语言。无论如何不能用他们惯用的令人发疯的唠叨。应该还有

其他向对方表达的方式。他想用这种新的方式轻轻地说："你也感觉到这点了吗？你全明白了吗？"⋯⋯ 然而，令人恐怖的是，他听见自己说："我得走了。6 点钟我要去见布兰德。" 是什么魔鬼促使他这样说而不说别的？她跳了起来—— 简

直是从椅子上蹦起来，他听到她喊："那你就赶紧走吧。他那么 www.BOOKOO.com 准时。你干嘛不早说？" "你伤透了我的心；伤透了我的心！我们算是完了。"她给他递帽子和拐杖时那个秘密的自我在心里说，而表面上她依然轻松地微笑着。她一句话都不想跟他说了，但还是陪着他走了一段路，

替他打开外面的大门。 .cn

他们就这样分手了吗？怎么能这样？他站在台阶上，她只是

在里面拉着门。这时雨已经停了。 "你伤透了我的心—— 伤透了我的心。"她心里说，"你为什么不走？别，别走。等等。别—— 走！"她望着外面的夜色。她看着台阶往下延伸的那种美丽的样子，环绕着亮闪闪的藤蔓的黑色花园、马路对面巨大的光秃秃的柳树、头顶星辰闪烁的天空。可他看不见这一切了。他完全超越这一切。这个有着奇妙

的精神幻觉的他。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 38

她说对了。他根本就什么都看不见。多么痛苦！他错过了这一幕。现在想挽救太晚了。真的太晚了？是，太晚了。猛然间一

股可恶的冷风吹进花园。该死的生活！他听见她叫了一声"再见" 和摔门声。她举止异常地跑回书房。她挥舞着手臂喊："噢，噢！太蠢了！太傻了！太蠢了！"接着扑到床上，脑子里一片空白—— 就

那么愤怒地躺在那里。一切都完了。什么完了？噢—— 某种东西。 www.BOOKOO.com

她再也不去见他了—— 永远不会。过了很久很久（或者也许 10 分钟），她穿越过那条黑色的鸿沟后，门铃发出尖锐急促的叫声。当然，肯定是他。当然，同样，她绝不理睬，让它一遍又一遍响

去吧。她飞快地去开门。

门口站着一个老处女，一个可怜的家伙，一直把她奉若偶像 .cn

崇拜（天知道为什么），此人已经养成突然降临、按门铃、然后

开始倾诉的习惯，一打开门就能听到："亲爱的，送我走吧！"她从未这样做过。往往都是请她进来，让她对一切都羡慕一番，接

过一束显得有点脏的花—— 真是雍容大度。可是今天⋯⋯ "噢，很抱歉！"她大声说，"我已经约了人来。我们想搞些木刻。要无可奈何忙一个通宵了。" "没关系，一点关系都没有，亲爱的，"这位好朋友说。"我只是路过，我想送给你几支紫罗兰。"她往下在一把巨大的旧雨伞

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 39

里摸索着。"我放在这里面了。这真是花避风的好地方。找到了。 "她说，颤巍巍地拉出一束枯萎的小花。她犹豫了片刻没有接这束紫罗兰。然而就在她站在屋里拉着门时，一件奇怪的事情发生了。她又看见了往下延伸的美丽的台阶、发亮的藤蔓环绕中的黑色花园、柳树、辽阔明亮的天空。她又感觉到那个好像一个问题的沉默。但这次她丝毫没有犹豫。她

走上前来，极其轻柔地，好像生怕在那无边无际幽静的池中惊起 www.BOOKOO.com

一丝波纹，搂住了这位朋友。 "亲爱的，"这位快乐的朋友轻声说，完全被这种感激所征服。 "那些东西其实算不上什么。不过是值 3 便士的小花。" 可是她这样说着，人已经被拥抱住了—— 拥抱得更为柔和、

更为美丽，一直保持着这种甜蜜的轻压，两人拥抱了很久，这位 .cn

可怜人儿的思想活跃起来，她只有战栗的劲儿："你对我真的一点都不介意吗？" "晚安，我的朋友。"另一位低声说："下次再来吧。" "噢，我会来，会来的。" 这次她慢慢地走回书房，站在屋子正中，半闭着眼睛，感觉如此清明，如此放松，好像是从孩提时代的梦中醒来。甚至连做

一次呼吸都是一种快乐⋯⋯ 床上很脏。所有的软垫如她所形容"就像狂乱的山峰。"她把

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 40

软垫摆整齐，然后走向书桌。 "我一直在想我们谈到的那本心理小说，"她一口气写下去，" 确实非常有意思"⋯⋯等等。信结束时她写道："晚安，我的朋友。快点再来吧。"

雷金纳德·皮库克先生的一天

要说他最恨什么的话，那就是她早晨弄醒他的方式。当然， www.BOOKOO.com 她纯属故意，这是她自寻烦恼的一天的开始。他偏不想让她知道这事得逞了。不过说真的，这样弄醒一个敏感的人很危险！他得花几个小时才能恢复过来—— 整整几个小时。她穿戴整齐，头上扎一块手帕走进屋子—— 说明她早已起床，从黎明起操劳到现在 .cn —— 然后轻轻而带点警告意味地喊："雷金纳德！"

"嗯！什么？怎么了？怎么回事？" "该起床了。都 8 点半了。"接着她走出去，随手轻轻关上门，他想，她一定在为自己的胜利而洋洋得意吧。他在大床上翻来复去，心脏还在怦怦地、枯燥地跳，每跳一下就觉得精力要消耗许多。他一天的灵感就在这种砰然喘息声中给扼杀掉了。她好像有意要在使他生活得更为难受中寻找一种邪恶的快感—— 天知道为什么—— 她要剥夺他作为一个艺术家应享受的权利，争取把他拉到与自己同一水准上。她究竟怎么啦？

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 41

她到底想干什么？他现在教的学生是当初他们结婚时的 3 倍，挣的钱是过去的 3 倍，家里的一木一石全靠这样购置来的，现在要支付艾德里安上幼儿园的费用，这不都是靠他挣的吗？⋯⋯他什么时候曾因为她一分钱都不挣而说过什么？从来没说过一句— — 连暗示一下都没有！一旦你跟一个女人结了婚，她就会贪婪起来，对一个艺术家无论怎么说，没有什么比婚姻更致命的了，如

果不上 40 千万别结婚⋯⋯他为什么要跟她结婚呢？他一天平均 www.BOOKOO.com 要问 3 回，但永远找不到满意的答案。她是乘他软弱无力的时候抓着他的，那时刚刚扎进现实生活，有段时间感觉非常迷茫和不知所措。回想起来，那时自己是一个病病歪歪、年轻的家伙，半是孩子，半是还没驯化的鸟，根本无力对付账单、债主以及生活

中的卑劣琐事。可是—— 她却在竭尽全力剪削他的翅膀，如果她 .cn

可以从中获得任何满足的话。她完全可以庆贺早晨这个把戏取得的成功。他想人应该是轻灵地醒来，不情愿地溜出热被窝。就这样他开始想象出一组组销魂情景，最后想象他近来最有魅力的学生用她光滑、香气四溢的胳膊搂住他的脖子，她那长长的散发芳

香的头发披在他脸上。"醒来吧，我亲爱的！⋯⋯ " 雷金纳德每天乘着开洗澡水的时间，试试自己的声音，这已

经是他的习惯了。 "每当妈妈在微笑的镜前欣赏，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 42

卷起她的衣边，扎起她的头发。" 开头他唱得很轻，一面听音质，一面润嗓子，最后唱起第 3 段： "她常常想，这个野东西一旦结婚多么可怕⋯⋯ " 唱到"结婚"时，他突然发出一声得意的大叫，连浴室架上的玻璃刷牙杯都抖了起来，喷头也猛喷起来表示喝采⋯⋯

嗯，声音没一点毛病，他想，然后钻进浴盆，用一块样子像 www.BOOKOO.com 条鱼的丝爪络在柔软发红的身上擦起来。他唱的这首歌能叫科文

特花园座无虚席！"结婚，"他又喊了一声，摆出一种庄重的歌剧表演的姿势抓住毛巾擦身子，一边擦一边继续唱，好像被粗心大意的天鹅碰到水里的罗安格林，乘讨厌的埃尔莎赶来之前，匆匆

忙忙地擦干身子。（译注：以上歌词及剧情选自瓦格纳的歌剧《罗 .cn

安格林》）他回到卧室猛地拉起窗帘，阳光落在地毯上，照出一片白色方块，像一张奶油色的吸墨纸。他站在上面开始运动—— 先是深呼吸，接着前后弯腰，像青蛙一般蹲下走，又踢踢腿。如果说他害怕什么，那就是发胖，而且像从事他这种职业的男人不可避免地要出现这种可怕趋势。不过，现在还没有一点迹象。他心想现在自己身材要标准、各方面比例要恰到好处。其实，他看到自己镜子里的样子时不禁有一种满足的兴奋感。他身穿晨衣，配灰黑

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 43

色的裤子和灰袜子，系一条缀着银线的黑领带。他并不是虚荣之辈—— 他无法忍受虚荣心太重的男人—— 受不了。镜子里的样子

让他有一种纯粹的艺术满足的振奋感。"完了！"（译注：原文为法语）他说，手掠了一下柔软的头发。那句简短的法语轻轻地从他嘴里吐出，就像一股轻烟。这让他想起昨晚又有人问他是不是英国人。人们似乎觉得他不可能没

有某种南方血统。的确，他的歌声中有某种英国佬所没有的感情 www.BOOKOO.com

因素⋯⋯门把在响动，不停地转着。艾德里安突然把头探进来。 "对不起，爸爸，妈妈说早饭都准备好了，请你吃饭。" "好吧，"雷金纳德说。艾德里安刚一退出去他就叫了声：" 艾德里安！"

"嗯，爸爸。" .cn

"你还没跟我说早上好呢。" 几月前雷金纳德在一个贵族家度周末，那家的父亲早上要接见小辈儿们，还要跟他们握手。雷金纳德觉得这种做法太有意思了，当即在自己家里实行起来，但艾德里安觉得每天要跟自己的爸爸握手简直傻极了。还有，为什么爸爸总是对着他唱歌而不说

点什么？⋯⋯ 雷金纳德心情好极了，他来到饭厅，在一堆信件、一份《泰晤士报》前坐下，面前还摆了一只盖住的小碟子。他瞥了眼信件，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 44

又看着自己的早餐。两小片熏肉再加一只鸡蛋。 "你不想吃熏肉吗？"他问。 "不，我想吃一块凉的烤苹果。我觉得没有必要天天早上都吃肉。" 瞧，她是不是在说他用不着每天早上都吃熏肉，或者嫌给他

做饭太辛苦了？

"如果你不想做饭，"他说，"干嘛不雇个佣人呢？你知道我们 www.BOOKOO.com 请得起。你也知道我多不情愿看着自己的老婆干活。都怪我们以前雇的女佣不合适，影响了我的生活习惯。我几乎没法在家里教学生，你也不去找个像样的女人。难道就训练不出一个佣人吗？

—— 办得到吗？我是说，这总该不需要天赋吧？"

"可我喜欢自己干活儿。这样日子才会显得太平⋯⋯快点， .cn

亲爱的艾德里安，准备上学去。" "噢，不对，才不是这么回事！"雷金纳德假惺惺地笑着。" 你想自己一手干活，是出于某种特殊原因，你爱叫我丢丑。客观

上你也许意识不到，可是，从主观上讲，其实就是如此。"最后一句话他觉得很得意，以至于拆信封的动作也优美得仿佛在舞台

上演戏⋯⋯ "亲爱的皮库克先生：我得再次感谢您今晚的演唱带给我美妙的欢乐，否则我就无

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 45

法入睡。十分难忘。您让我惊奇，因为从我少女时代起到现在从未感到惊奇过，假如生活就是这样的话。我是说，如果我们这个单调的世界本来就是如此的话。也许，对我们这些具备领悟能力的人来说，不是没有圣洁之美和丰富多彩的一切等待着我们，所需要的只是鼓起勇气去发现。让它成为我们自己的⋯⋯屋里多么静呀。我多么希望您此时此刻就在这里，那样我就可以当面感谢

您。您在从事一个伟大的事业。您在教导整个世界如何超越生活！ www.BOOKOO.com 您的忠诚的，伊诺娜·菲尔又及：这个星期每天下午我都在家⋯⋯ " 信是用紫罗兰色的墨水写在厚厚的手工制作的纸上的。虚

荣，那只快乐的鸟又拍起自己的翅膀，拍得他都感觉自己的胸脯 .cn

快要裂了。 "好啦，我们别吵了，"他说，其实已向老婆举手要求和解了。可她没有那么宽宏大量，居然没反应。 "我得抓紧时间带艾德里安去上学，"她说，"你的房间都收拾好了。" 好吧，好吧，就让彼此之间的战争公开吧！可下一次如果还

是他首先提出和解的话，就让他不得好死！他在屋里来回踱步，直到听见老婆和艾德里安关上外面的大

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 46

门，心里才安静下来。当然，如果情况仍然没有改观的话，他就得另作打算了。这再显然不过。像这样受束缚、受限制，他怎么能帮助这个世界超越生活呢？他打开钢琴，看了看今天早上要教哪几个学生。贝蒂·布里特尔小姐、伯爵小姐威尔科斯卡和玛丽

安·莫罗小姐。 3 个都长得漂亮动人。 10 点半门铃准时响了。他去开门。是贝蒂·布里特尔小姐，

穿一身白色礼服，乐谱放在一只蓝色丝绸夹里。 www.BOOKOO.com "我恐怕来早了吧，"她说，脸色羞红。她睁大那蓝色的大眼睛问："是吗？" "一点都没有，亲爱的小姐。我太高兴了，"雷金纳德说：" 还不进来吗？"

"今天早上天气真是美极了，"布里特尔小姐说。"我从公园穿 .cn

过来。花太美了。" "好了，练习唱歌时可以想着这些花。"雷金纳德说着，坐在钢琴旁边。"那样你的声音会更富光彩和热情。" 啊，多么迷人的想法！皮库克先生简直是个天才。她张开漂

亮的嘴唇，像一朵紫罗兰一般唱起来。 "好极了，好极了，真的，"雷金纳德说，他弹奏出的音符可以把一个罪恶深重的罪犯度化到天堂。"调子再圆润些。别怕。要婉转些，就好像在散发香气那样唱出来。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 47

她的模样多美啊，穿着白色上衣站在那里，披着金发的小脑

袋略微倾斜着，露出乳脂般的脖子。 "你照着镜子练习过吗？"雷金纳德问，"你应该试试，要知道，那样你的嘴唇会更加灵活。过来。" 他们来到镜子前并排站着。 "开始唱—— moo－e－koo－e－oo－e－a！"

但她突然停下，脸红得更加娇艳了。 www.BOOKOO.com "噢，"她喊道，"我做不来。我觉得自己这样子很傻，弄得我老想笑。我这个样子太滑稽了！" "别，别这样。别怕，"雷金纳德说，可是他也笑了，不过是善意的笑，"那就再试一次！"

这一课简直是飞一般结束，贝蒂·布里特尔完全忘了羞涩。 .cn

"我什么时候再来呢？"她问，把乐谱扎起来放进蓝绸夹里。" 我想尽量多上些课。噢，皮库克先生，我太喜欢上你的课了。我

后天来行吗？" "亲爱的小姐，真是太好了。"雷金纳德说，鞠着躬送她出去。多么好的女孩！刚才他们站在镜子前面的时候，她洁白的衣袖刚好挨着他的黑袖子。他感觉—— 有块地方真的不错，暖融融

的。他摸摸那地方。她说喜欢上他的课。就在这时老婆进来了。 "雷金纳德，能给我些钱吗？我得去付牛奶钱。今晚你回家

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 48

吃饭吗？" "行，你知道我 9 点半要在迪姆贝克爵士家演唱。你能不能给我做个清汤，汤里再打个鸡蛋？" "可以，钱呢，雷金纳德。8 先令 6 便士。" "这可真够贵的，是吧？" "不，就这个价。艾德里安不喝牛奶可不成。"

你瞧，又转题了！现在她是拿艾德里安跟他对着干呢。 www.BOOKOO.com "我可没有一点要减少孩子正常奶量的意思。"他说，"给你 10 先令。" 门铃响了。他去开门。 "噢，"伯爵小姐威尔科斯卡说："这楼梯，我都爬得快没气了。

"她把手放在心口跟着他走进音乐室。她穿着一身黑衣服，戴一 .cn

顶垂着面纱的小黑帽，胸脯上别了一支紫罗兰。 "今天别让我光练声，"她叫道，兴奋地以她的异国方式摊开双手。"别练了，今天我只想唱歌⋯⋯我摘掉紫罗兰行吗？这花很容易蔫。" "这花很容易蔫—— 这花很容易蔫，"雷金纳德弹起钢琴来。 "我放这儿行吗？"伯爵小姐说着把花插进雷金纳德像片前的一只小瓶里。 "亲爱的小姐，我很高兴！"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 49

她开始唱起来，开始一直唱得不错，唱到"你爱我。啊，我知道你爱我。"这段时就不行了。他的手离开键，转过身面对她。 "不，不，还不太好。你可以唱得比这更好，"雷金纳德热情地说。"你必须像真的恋爱那样去唱。听着，我来给你演示一遍。 "他唱起来。 "噢，对了，对了，我懂你的意思了，"年轻的伯爵小姐结结

巴巴地说。"我再试一次行吗？" www.BOOKOO.com "当然可以。别怕，放松。大胆地表白自己，向爱情屈服。" 他的喊声盖过了音乐声。她唱起来。 "对了，这次好一点。可我还是觉得你能发挥得更好些。来跟我一起唱，一定要有种忘我的欣喜若狂的感觉—— 体会到了

吗？"他们开始合唱。啊！现在她才真正领悟了。"我可以再来一 .cn

次吗？" "你爱我。啊，我知道你爱我。" 这一段还没有练到家，课就结束了。这双小巧的外国小姐的

手收拾乐谱时不停地哆嗦。 "你忘带紫罗兰了，"雷金纳德轻声说。 "是呀，我想自己可能会忘了，"伯爵小姐说，咬着下嘴唇。这些外国女人的姿态多么迷人啊！ "你星期天能来我家弹琴吗？"她问。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 50

"亲爱的小姐，非常高兴！"雷金纳德说。 "伤心的泉水，请别再哭泣。为什么你要流得这么快？" 玛丽安·莫罗小姐唱道，可她眼里满含泪水，下巴打着哆嗦。 "先别唱，"雷金纳德说："我把曲子弹给你听听。"他弹得那么轻柔。

"出什么事儿了吗？"雷金纳德问。"今天早上你很不高兴啊。 www.BOOKOO.com "

嗯，是不高兴；她很伤心。 "不介意的话，告诉我行吗？" 其实真没什么大不了的。有时生活似乎快要无法忍受时，她

就要闹情绪。 .cn

"噢，我知道了，"他说："要是我能帮上忙就好了！" "可是你能帮！能帮！唉，要不是为上课，我真觉得活不下去了。" "坐在扶手椅上，闻一闻紫罗兰的味道，我来给你唱一段。这会跟上一节课一样对你有帮助的。" 为什么男人不都像皮库克先生那样？ "昨天晚上音乐会结束以后我写了一首诗—— 只是自己的感受。当然并不是个人化的感受。我可以送给你吗？"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 51

"亲爱的小姐，我很高兴！" 到黄昏的时候，他已精疲力竭，穿礼服前先躺在沙发上保养

嗓子。他的房门开着。他能听见老婆和艾德里安在饭厅说话。 "你知道那只茶壶让我想起什么吗，妈妈？让我想起蹲着的小猫。" "真的吗？荒唐先生。"

雷金纳德昏昏沉沉地打着盹。电话铃声把他吵醒了。 www.BOOKOO.com "我是伊诺娜·菲尔。皮库克先生，我刚听说今晚你要到迪姆贝克爵士家去演唱。你愿意跟我一起吃饭吗？完了我们一起

去。"他回答的话就像花落在电话上一般讲了出来。 "亲爱的小姐，我非常高兴。"

这是一个多么得意的夜晚！与伊诺娜·菲尔在小小的聚餐上 .cn

促膝谈心，乘上她的白色小车去迪姆贝克勋爵家，她再次感谢他所带来的难忘的欢乐。这一切是如此令人惬意。得意加得意！迪

姆贝克勋爵家的香槟滔滔不绝地供应着。 "再来些香槟，皮库克。"迪姆贝克勋爵说。皮库克，请留心 —— 不是叫皮库克先生—— 而是皮库克，就好像是他们中的一员。难道他不是吗？他是个艺术家。他能够影响他们所有的人。他不是在教导他们所有的人超越生活吗？瞧他唱歌的样子！他演唱时就像在做梦，看见他们把羽毛、鲜花、扇子都献给他，摆在

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 52

他面前像一个巨大的花束。 "再来一杯酒，皮库克。" "我只要举一下手指，就可以拥有自己喜欢的任何东西。"皮库克想，很有兴致地蹒跚着回到家中。可是当他走进黑暗的公寓时，那种奇妙的得意感开始退潮。他打开卧室的灯。老婆已经睡了，蜷缩在床上她的那一侧。他忽

然想起自己告诉她要去吃饭时她说的话："你应该提前告诉我！" www.BOOKOO.com 他是这样答的："你就不能对我讲话时客气些，态度好些吗？"他想，真难相信，她对他漠不关心—— 难以相信的是她对他的成功以及艺术家职业一点点兴趣都没有。而这么多女人以她们那种地位投来那种眼光⋯⋯是的，他知道这个⋯⋯干嘛不承认呢？她躺

在这里，像个对手，即使睡着了也是对手⋯⋯难道非要永远这样 .cn

下去不可吗？他想，香槟还在作怪。唉！如果我们是朋友就好了，我可以对她讲多少话啊！讲今天晚上的事，讲迪姆贝克对我的态度，及他们对我说的话等等。要是我能感觉我是为她而回到这里，

我就能跟她倾诉—— 等等，等等。他闷闷不乐地脱掉晚上出门穿的靴子，随便扔到角落里。声音惊醒了老婆，吓了她一大跳。她坐起来往后掠了一把头发。他忽然决定再试试把她当一个朋友来对待，把什么都讲给她，去赢得她的欢心。他在床边坐下，抓住她的一只手。然而他想说的那

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 53

些得意的事没有一件能讲出来。出于某种残忍的理由，他能讲出

的唯一一句话是："亲爱的小姐，我是多么高兴—— 多么高兴！"

画页

他真是个不可思议的人，性格是那么羞涩。完全没有一点可说之处，身子又那么沉。他要是走进你的画室，就从不知道走的，

非要坐得熬到你快喊叫，怒火中烧想拿个什么大家伙—— 龟形炉 www.BOOKOO.com 之类的给他扔过去，这时他才终于红着脸开拔。奇怪的是见第一面时，他居然显得很风趣。大家都有这种感觉。晚上你要是逛到咖啡馆里，准会发现一个黑瘦的小伙子身穿蓝色套衫，再加上件小小的灰色法蓝绒夹克，钮扣扣得整整齐齐，面前放一杯咖啡， .cn 坐在角落。不知怎么那件蓝色套衫和袖子显得挺短的灰夹克把他

衬托得像个发誓要亡命海上的年轻人。那个逃亡的人马上就要动身，用一根棍子挑起一个用手绢扎起来的包裹，里面装着他的睡衣和妈妈的照片，走进夜色，淹进水里⋯⋯上船时在码头边上绊一跤，甚至⋯⋯他长着一头剪得短短的黑发，灰色的眼睛，长长的睫毛，脸色苍白，嘴唇略微噘着，好像在尽量抑制别哭⋯⋯谁能抵挡得住他呢？噢，一见他就心软。而且，好像这还不够，他还善于脸红⋯⋯只要侍者一过来，他脸就红了 —— 好像他刚从监

狱里放出来，侍者了解底细⋯⋯

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 54

"他是谁？亲爱的？你认识吗？" "认识。他叫伊恩·弗兰奇。画家。听说特别聪明。有个女人开始像母亲一般温柔地关心他，问他多长时间才收到一封家信，床上的毯子够不够用，一天喝多少牛奶。可是等她去画室想看看他的袜子时，她一遍又一遍按门铃，尽管她发誓听见里面有

人喘气的声音，可就是不来开门⋯⋯只好绝望了！ "

另一个女人觉得他应该恋爱一场。她把他喊过来，叫他"冤 www.BOOKOO.com 家"，身体挨过去让他闻头发中散发出来的香水味，还抓住他的胳膊，告诉他一个人只要有勇气，生活就会变得十分美好。一天

晚上她去他的画室，一遍又一遍按门铃⋯⋯还是绝望而归。 "这可怜的小伙子需要痛痛快快刺激一番。"第 3 个女人说。

于是他们隔一段时间去一次咖啡馆和有歌舞表演的酒吧间，轻歌 .cn

曼舞，那种地方供应一种味道像罐头杏仁汁的东西，但是一瓶要

27 先令，人称香槟酒。还去别的让人惊心动魄的场所，坐在光线明暗可怕的地方，头天夜里总是有人在那儿遭到枪杀。但是他丝毫不为所动。只有一次他喝得大醉，但还不至于烂醉如泥，他坐在那里像石头一般，脸上浮现出两团红色。天呐，那样子真像他

们表演的爵士舞中的死人形象，像一只"坏玩偶。"可是她送他回画室时，他又完全清醒了，在楼下的街边对她说"晚安"，好像两人一起从教堂回家似的⋯⋯又没希望了。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 55

天知道这样尝试过多少次后—— 因为女人们的仁慈心是很难泯灭的—— 她们终于放了他。当然她们依然很妩媚，请他去看她们的表演，在咖啡馆聊天，但也就顶多如此。一个想当艺术家

的人，根本就没有时间理会那些对艺术麻木的人。不是吗？ "我还真认为其中一定有什么不可见人之处⋯⋯你说呢？事情没表面上那么天真！如果你想做一束田野中的雏菊，干嘛要上

巴黎来呢？不，我不是怀疑。可是—— www.BOOKOO.com 他住在阴郁的高楼顶层，可以俯视那条河。它是这样一种楼：雨夜和月光遍地的晚上，百叶窗和沉重的门关上以后，广告牌上

闪烁的"小套间欲租从速"的字样孤零得无法用语言表达，只有在这时才显得富有情调。此外一年四季都散发着难闻极了的味道，

看门人住在一楼带格栅的玻璃房间里，裹一条脏乎乎的围巾，搅 .cn

着锅里的东西，把杂碎之类的玩意儿舀给懒散地靠在垫圈上的一条臃肿的老狗。画室在最高层，望出去风景极美。两扇大窗户对着河水，他可以看到小轮船以及驳船游来荡去，一个小岛周围全栽着树，像一圈花束。从侧面窗户望出去可以看到对面另一座破旧矮小的房子，正下方有一处花市。能看见巨大的篷顶，鲜花从篷顶下露出，货摊上方都撑着竖条的遮阳帆布，人们在那儿出售盆草和一丛丛栽在陶罐里湿润闪亮的棕榈树。老婆子们在花丛中像蟹一般地穿来穿去。他真是没必要出去。坐在窗边，就是坐到

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 56

白胡子落在窗台上，他仍然能找到值得画的素材。一旦那些柔情的女人设法闯进屋子，不知该有多吃惊，因为他把画室收拾得干干净净，一切都井井有条，构成一幅图案，像

一小帧"静物写生"，—— 锅和盖子挂在气炉后面的墙壁上，盛鸡蛋的盒子、奶瓶和茶壶都摆放在架子上，书籍和带皱纹纸罩的台灯放在桌上。一条边上印着往前爬行的红色豹的印度床罩白天铺

在床上。床边的墙上，跟你视线平行的地方，躺下时会看见一个 www.BOOKOO.com

写得很漂亮的警醒条："立即起床。" 每天的日子都完全相似。如果阳光很不错，他就拼命地画画，完了就做饭，收拾屋子。晚上他会去那个咖啡馆坐坐，或者坐在

屋里读书，或者开列一份最详尽的开支单，开头写："我应该能

做到按这个限量开支，"最后以一句誓言结束："我发誓下个月不 .cn

超过这个数量。伊恩·弗兰奇。 " 这些都没什么可怀疑的，不过那些挺有眼光的女人看来没

错。问题还不限于此。一天晚上，他坐在侧面窗户旁边吃果脯，把核扔到空无一人的鲜花市场的巨大顶篷上。天下着雨—— 一年中第一场真正的春雨—— 到处都挂着亮晶晶的水珠，空气中散发着花蕾和湿湿的泥土味道。各种听来懒洋洋而又心满意足的声音在幽暗的空中逐渐消逝。那些走近窗户要关百叶窗的人们探出身子。下面市场的树

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 57

都涂了一层新绿。都是些什么树啊？他想。这时点街灯的灯夫出现了。他凝视着路对面的房子，那个又小又破的房子。忽然，好像是为了呼应他的注视，两扇落地窗户打开了，一个女孩从屋里出来，手里捧着一只栽着黄水仙的花盆来到小阳台上。她是个瘦得有点奇怪的女孩，穿一件黑色围裙，头发上扎着条粉红色的手帕。她的衣袖差不多快卷到肩头，细长的胳膊在黑色衣衫的映衬

下显得光洁宜人。 www.BOOKOO.com "啊，天气够暖和了。这样对它们会有好处，"她说着把花盆放下，转身向着屋子里的什么人。等她转过来时她把手伸向手帕，把几缕头发塞进去。她望着下面空寂无人的市场，又抬头看看天空，但他坐的地方似乎是空中的一个洞。她根本就没有看对面屋

子，然后就消失了。 .cn

他的心已经从画室侧窗飞了出去，落到对面屋子的阳台上— — 埋进花蕾初绽、新绿半放的那盆黄水仙之下⋯⋯带阳台的那间屋子是起居室，隔壁是一间厨房。他听到晚饭后她洗刷碟碗时发出的碰撞声，接着她又走到窗前，对着壁架甩打着小刷子，再挂到钉子上晾干。她从不像别的女孩子那样唱歌或散开头发，向月光伸出双臂。她总是穿同样的黑色围裙，头上总扎着粉红色的手帕⋯⋯她跟谁住在一起？没有别人走近那两扇窗户，可她老是在跟屋里的什么人说话。他认定她妈妈病了。她们接缝缝补补的活

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 58

儿。父亲已经死了⋯⋯曾经是个新闻记者 —— 面色苍白，胡须很

长，几缕黑头发挂在额头上。她们工作一整天挣的钱才只够过日子。她们从不出门，也没有朋友。这会儿他坐在桌边，又得制作一组全新的誓词⋯⋯不得在非规定时间去侧窗前：伊恩·弗兰奇。不得想她，除非把当天

的画具都收拾好以后：伊恩·弗兰奇。

这很容易做到。她是唯一他真正想认识的人，因为，他认为 www.BOOKOO.com 她是世界上唯一与他年纪一样的人。他受不了咯咯傻笑的女孩子，他讨厌成熟女人⋯⋯她跟他年龄一样大，她很像他。他坐在自己暮色浓重的书房里，来了倦意。他一只手臂垂在椅子背后，凝视着她的窗口，仿佛看见自己到了她那边。她脾气可能很烈，

他们有时吵得很凶，他和她。她吵起架的样子可能是跺着脚，手 .cn

搓着围裙⋯⋯怒不可遏。她还很少笑。她给他讲自己从前养的一只小怪猫的故事，喂肉时常常嚎叫，而且假装成狮子。只有这种事情才会让她发笑⋯⋯但他们多半是静静地坐在一起。他，就像此时这样坐着，而她，手交叉在一起放在腿上，脚并拢在一起，或者柔声轻诉，或者默默不语，一天劳作之后也累了。当然，她永远不会问他画的那些东西，当然他会以她为模特画出最漂亮的画，可她却不喜欢，因为他把她画得这么瘦，那么黑⋯⋯可是他

怎么样才能认识她呢？也许得用好几年时间⋯⋯

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 59

后来他发现，她每周要出去买一次东西，而且是在晚上。连续两个星期四，她围裙上套一件旧式斗篷来到窗前拿一个篮子。从他坐的地方看不见她家的门，但是在第二个星期四晚上的同一时刻，他一把抓起帽子，从楼上跑下去。到处弥漫着美丽的红光。

他看见河上泛着红光，人们的脸和手都映红了朝他走来。他挨着自家屋子的墙等她出来。他不知道该怎么办或者怎么

说。"她出来了，"他心中一个声音说。她走得很快，迈着轻巧的 www.BOOKOO.com 小步子，一只手提着篮子，另一只手尽量想把斗篷拢在一起⋯⋯ 他能怎么样呢？他只能跟着⋯⋯她先走进杂货铺，在里面花了很长时间，接着又走进肉铺，排队等待。后来她在布店里配什么料，呆了很久。然后她又走进水果店，买了只柠檬。他观察她时心里

比任何时候都沉着，一定要认识她，就在这个时候。她的镇定、 .cn

严肃、孤独以及走路时好像急着要与这个成年人的世界决裂的样

子，所有这一切对他来说都那么自然和必然。 "其实她一直就这样，"他骄傲地想。"我们跟这些人毫无关系。 " 可现在她就要回家了，他跟她的距离还是那么远⋯⋯。她突然拐进牛奶店。他透过窗户看见她在买一只鸡蛋。她极其小心地把蛋从篮子里挑出来，一只褐色的鸡蛋，样子那么优美，换了他也会挑这一只。她从牛奶店里出来，他接着走了进去。一会儿他

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 60

又出来，跟着她经过鲜花市场对面自家的房子，在巨大的顶篷中间穿来绕去，踩着掉在地上的花和摆过花盆留下的圆形印子。他跟着她穿过大门爬上楼梯，小心地与她保持同步，这样就不会引起她的注意。终于，她在楼梯顶的过道站住，从小包里取出钥匙。

她正要把钥匙插进门锁时，他赶上来面对着她。一种从未有过的羞红涌上脸来，但他还是毅然决然地盯着

她，声音几乎带点愤怒地说："对不起，小姐，你掉了这个。" www.BOOKOO.com 然后，他把一只鸡蛋递到她手里。

家庭女教师

噢，天呐，她多么希望别是晚间的车次啊。她宁肯白天旅行。 .cn 可是家庭女教师管理部门的那位女士说："你最好搭一艘夜间的

轮船，然后如果能在火车上坐在女士专用包厢，比白天住外国宾馆还安全。别出车厢，也别在过道里走动，去厕所一定要锁上门。

火车 8 点到达慕尼黑。安荷尔德夫人说：去格罗尼沃尔德宾馆只有 1 分钟的路程。有行李工带你去。她当天晚上 6 点到饭店，经过长途旅行后，你还可以安静地休息上一天，温习一下你的德文。你要吃什么东西时，我劝你去最近的面包店，要一份甜卷面包和

咖啡就行了。你以前没去过国外吧？""没有。""嗯，我经常对来这儿的女孩子们说，起先宁肯怀疑而不要轻信别人，怀疑人性本

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 61

恶要比人性本善安全得多⋯⋯听上去很冷酷，可是在这个世界，

我们身为女人，你说对吗？" 女士舱挺好的。女乘务员很和气，为她兑换外币，还替她掖脚下的毯子。她躺在一个红色硬座上，望着那些友善、自然、无拘无束的乘客，有的把帽子挂到木栏上，有的脱掉靴子和裙子，有的打开衣箱整理神秘、乱糟糟的小件行李，有的睡觉前把头发

扎在头巾里。蒸汽机发出恒定的砰砰旋转声。女乘务员用绿色罩 www.BOOKOO.com 子罩住灯，在火炉边坐下。把裙子翻过来盖住膝盖，腿上放了一件长长的毛线活儿。她头顶的架子上有一只水瓶，里面插着一束

扎得紧紧的花。"旅行多有意思。"女教师心想，她微笑着，在暖洋洋的摇晃中睡着了。

可是当船一停下，她爬上甲板，一手提着衣箱，一手夹着小 .cn

毛毯和雨伞，这时一股奇特的冷风从帽沿下吹过。她仰望着黑色桅杆直指闪着绿光的天空。她的目光又投向漆黑的码头，那一带人影幢幢，都裹得严严实实的在等着什么。她随着昏昏欲睡的人群往前走去。除了她，所有的人都知道往哪里去以及去干什么，她害怕起来，但只是一点点。她想，要是白天就好了。那个跟她同在女士舱里梳头发，在镜子里对她微笑的女人，现在在她身边

就好了。"检票，请出示您的票，把票准备好。"她从舷梯上走下来，小心地保持着步子的重心。这时一个戴黑皮帽的男人走过来，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 62

拉了下她的胳膊。"去哪儿，小姐？"他用英语说。他带着那种帽子，一定是个门卫或者站长之类的。他不等她回答就夺走她的衣

箱。"往这边走，"他大声说，口气粗鲁而不容置疑，用胳膊肘推开行人往前走。"我不需要行李工。"多可怕的一个人！"我不需要行李工，我自己拿着就行了。"她得跑着才能跟得上他，她气愤已极，跑到前面从这个卑鄙的家伙手上抢过行李包。他一点都不

在乎，而是大摇大摆顺着又长又黑的站台朝前走去，然后穿过一 www.BOOKOO.com

条铁路线。"他是个强盗。"她走到银色铁轨之间时深信他是个强盗，这时感觉煤渣硌着脚。啊，谢天谢地！那边有一辆车写着去

慕尼黑。那个人在一大节亮着灯的车厢旁边站住。"二等间？"一个蛮横的声音问。"嗯，是要妇女包厢。"她紧张得喘不过气来。

在她打开小钱包给这个莽汉找点小钱的时候，这人把她的衣箱扔 .cn

到一个空车厢的行李架上，车窗上贴着一张条儿：Dames Seules （德语：女士专用。）。她走进火车，递给他 20 生丁。"这是什么？ "这人大声说，盯着钱又看着她，拿到鼻子下嗅着，好像一辈子从未见过，没拿过这么少的钱。"1 法郎。你知道吗？1 法郎。这是我的价儿！"1 法郎！他以为她是夜里单独出门的女孩子，他耍个花招就能骗走她 1 法郎吗？永远别指望，永远！她紧紧捏住钱包，根本就不看他。她盯着对面墙上的圣马罗风景风，根本不理

会他说什么。"噢，不行，不行。4 个苏不行。你搞错了。拿着，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 63

我要 1 法郎。"他冲上火车踏板把钱扔到她腿上。她惊恐得浑身发抖，身子绷得生紧，伸出冰凉的手拿起钱攥在手里说："只能给你这么多。"有那么片刻功夫，她觉得他那锋利的眼睛在她浑身上下扫射着，他慢慢点点头，撇开嘴说："很—— 好。Trrrès bien．（法语：很好。） "他一耸肩消失在黑暗中。噢，没事了！多可怕呀！她站起来摸了下衣箱是否放稳，这时看到自己镜中的样

子，一双大大的圆眼睛，脸色苍白。她解开头巾和绿色披肩。" www.BOOKOO.com 现在总算都过去了。"她对着镜中的脸说，感觉镜中的脸比自己还要害怕。人们都开始拥到站台上。大家三三两两地聚在一块聊天。车站那古怪的光把人们的脸都快照成绿色了。一个穿红衣服的男孩

推着一辆巨大的送茶车噼里啪啦地走过来，身子靠在车上，打着 .cn

口哨，用餐巾角儿擦着鞋。一个系着黑色羊毛围裙的女人推着一辆手推车，里面放着待出租的枕头。她好像还没睡醒，心不在焉地推着熟睡的婴儿，来来回回地走着。不知从什么地方冒出一缕

缕白烟，像雾幔似的在屋檐下飘荡。"多新鲜呀，"小教师心想，" 这可是在半夜啊。"她从这个安全的角落里向外望着，心里不再害怕，相反觉得很自豪，她没有给那 1 法郎。"我可以自己照管自己了—— 肯定能。最重要的是—— "忽然走廊传来沉重的脚步声和男人的说话声，声音很大还混杂着一阵阵大笑。他们朝她这

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 64

边走来。家庭女教师缩到自己的角落里，四个戴圆礼帽的年轻人走过来，她透过门窗往外盯着。其中一个开了个玩笑突然大笑起

来，指着门上的"女士专用"标识，4 个人弯下腰仔细看着角落里的这个小女孩。天呐，他们就在隔壁车室。她听见他们沉重的脚步声，忽然声音静下来，然后一个留着一撮小黑胡的瘦高个推开

她的门，"小姐是否愿意跟我们一起坐坐，"他用法语说。她看见

别的几个挤在他身后，从他胳膊底下和肩上张望，她笔直地一动 www.BOOKOO.com

不动坐着。"小姐跟我们一起去消磨时间吧。"高个儿嘲弄道。其中一个忍不住了，大声笑起来。"小姐还挺正经的，"这个年轻人还坚持纠缠着，一面点头一面使眼色，他摘下帽子挥舞了一下走

了。这下又剩她一个人了。

"En voiture, En voiture！（法语：上车啦！上车啦！） "有人从 .cn

车厢外面跑上跑下，"不是夜间多好。但愿这节车厢再来个女人。隔壁那帮人吓死人了。"教师看到外面她的行李工又回来了，又是这个人手里提着一大堆行李朝她这节车厢走来。可是，他来干

什么？他把大姆指指甲插到标着"女士专用"的纸条下揭掉，站在一旁眯着眼瞧她。这时一个穿着花格斗篷的老人从高踏板走上

来。"这可是女士专用包厢。""噢，不，小姐，你弄错了。不，不是，我向你保证。谢谢，先生。""上车了！"传来尖锐的鸣笛声。行李工得意地跳了下去，火车开动了。她一下子眼中噙满泪水，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 65

在迷蒙中看见这个老人从脖子上取下围巾，解开豹皮帽的活扣。

他看上去年纪很大。至少有 90 岁的样子。他留着一撮白胡子，戴一副金边眼镜，镜片后一双小蓝眼睛，一张红脸皱巴巴的，挺

和善的一张脸—— 他很有风度地府身用吞吞吐吐的法语说："我打搅你了吗，小姐？要不要我把这些东西都从架上搬走再找个车

厢？"什么！难道为了她让老人搬走所有那些沉重的家伙⋯⋯ "不

用，一点关系都没有。你一点儿都不影响我。""哦，万分感谢。" www.BOOKOO.com 他在对面坐下，解开外面的大斗篷，从肩上拉下来。火车似乎很高兴地离开车站。它一跃就冲进黑暗中。她用手套在窗上擦亮一块地方，但什么都看不见，只有一棵像黑色扇子般延伸开来的树或者几星灯火，或者某个山坡的轮廓，显得庄严

而辽远。隔壁车室里的年轻人开始唱起歌 Un，deux，trois（法语： .cn

歌名为《1、2、3》）。他们一遍又一遍放声大唱着同一首歌。 "如果我一个人，绝对不敢睡。"她想。"我不会把脚抬起，连帽子也不脱。"这歌声让她心里发慌，她双手在短斗篷里交叉着抱住身子，想抑住颤抖，同时心里庆幸有个老人与她同坐一间车室。乘他没有注意，她小心地透过长长的睫毛偷偷地打量这位老人。他坐得极其板正，挺着胸脯，缩着下巴，膝部紧紧并拢在一起，正读一份德文报纸。怪不得他法语讲得这么蹩脚。他是个德国人。她猜想，也许是军人出身—— 一个上校或者将军—— 当然

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 66

曾经是，现在不是了。如果是现役，那也太老了。作为一个老人，他那样子是多么干净利爽。他黑领带上面别着珍珠别针，小姆指上戴着一枚深红色宝石戒指，双排扣上衣口袋里露出一角白丝手绢。不知怎么，他那样子还真挺漂亮。大多数老头让人讨厌。她简直受不了他们那种老态龙钟的样子，有的还患有那种令人讨厌的咳嗽什么的。不过他没留大胡子，于是印象就全不一样了。况

且他双颊红润，小胡子挺白的。老头儿放下报纸，同样文雅地欠 www.BOOKOO.com

着身子问："你会说德语吗，小姐？"小教师说了句德语"Ja，ein wenig，mehr als franzosisch,"（德语：是的，能说一点，比法语多一点）脸上的红晕慢慢地在整个脸上泛开，连那对蓝色的眼睛也

显得快变成黑色的了。"Ach，so．"（德语：啊，原来是这样）老

人和蔼地点点头。"那你也许有兴趣看看带图的报纸吧。"他把一 .cn

卷报纸上的橡皮筋解开，把报纸递过来。"非常感谢。"她挺喜欢看图画，但她得先摘掉帽子和手套。于是她站起来，解下棕色的草帽，把它整齐地放到架上衣箱旁边，接着又摘下褐色小手套，紧紧地卷在一起，为了安全起见放在帽筒里，然后才坐下来，这次显得挺放心。她双腿交在一起，把报纸放在膝头。老头看着她光洁的手指翻着大页的白纸，看着她嘴唇动着自言自语地在读一个长名，看着她的头发在灯光中泛着美丽的光泽，老人的样子是多么慈祥啊！啊！对于一个小家庭女教师来说，拥有这样一头让

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 67

人想到红橘、金盏花、杏树、龟壳猫、香槟之类的东西的头发，这是多么可悲啊！也许老人凝视着她时心里想到的就是这些，即使穿着这身难看的黑衣服也遮不住她的秀美。说不定他脸上、嘴唇上久久不散的红色是愤慨所致：一个这么小这么脆弱的人竟然独自在外而且一夜没有人保护。谁知道他是不是在用伤感的德国

方式说："Ja，es ist eine Tragodie！（德语：是啊，这真是一出悲

剧）" www.BOOKOO.com "太谢谢您了。这些东西挺好看。"她迷人地微笑着把报纸还回去。"你的德语讲得很好啊。"老头儿说。"你以前肯定去过德国吧？""噢，没有，这是第一次。"她停了会儿，然后又说："我连去外国都是有生以来第一次。""真的吗？我真吃惊。你给我的印

象却不是这样，如果我可以这样说的话，好像你对旅行很在行的。 .cn

""哦，我常去英格兰，去过苏格兰一次。""原来这样。我自己去过一次英格兰，可我学不会英语。"他抬起一只手摇了摇脑袋，笑了。"不行，对我来说太难了⋯⋯ 'Ow－do－you－do．Please vichis ze vay to LeicestairSquaare．'"（译注：此句为德国老人模仿英语，意为"你好，请问去雷斯泰尔广场怎么走。"）她也跟着笑了。"外国人总是这么说⋯⋯ "他们谈了一阵这个问题。"不过你会喜欢慕尼黑的。"老头儿说，"慕尼黑是座很美的城市，博物馆、名画、画廊、漂亮的建筑和商店、音乐会、剧院、饭店—— 这一

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 68

切慕尼黑都有。我一生走过欧洲很多地方，但最后总是要回到慕

尼黑。你在那里一定会很开心的。""我不住在慕尼黑。"小家教说，接着又不好意思地补充了一句："我要去奥斯堡一个医生家去做家庭教师。""噢，原来这样。"奥斯堡他知道。奥斯堡，嗯，并不漂亮，是一个殷实的制造业为主的小城。不过，如果她是第一次

来德国，他希望在那里也能发现点有意思的东西。"我相信会的。

""不过在走之前没有机会看看慕尼黑多可惜。你应该在路上度个 www.BOOKOO.com 小假，"他微笑着说，"留下些愉快的回忆。""我恐怕不可能。"小家教摇着头说，忽然变得挺沉重和严肃起来。"而且，如果是一个人⋯⋯ "他立刻明白了。他点着头，神情也很严肃。接着两人都默不作声了。火车摇摇晃晃地前进，在黑暗中呼啸着，顺着山

坡和山谷往前跑。车室挺温暖。她似乎紧靠着这股黑暗，被带到 .cn

远方。一点点声音他们都能听得见，过道里的脚步声，门打开又关上，呻吟声、口哨声。这时长长的针一般的雨丝敲打着玻璃窗。不过不要紧，雨在外面，何况她有雨伞⋯⋯她噘了下嘴，叹了口

气，屈伸了下手指，然后很快就沉睡过去了。 "对不起！对不起！"车室门滑动的响声，把她突然惊醒过来。出什么事儿了？有人进来后又出去了。老人坐在角落里，比刚才

挺得更板直了。他把手插在外衣口袋里，眉头深锁。"哈！哈！哈！"隔壁传来笑声。她在似睡非睡状态中用手摸了下头发来证

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 69

明不是做梦。"没教养！"老头与其说是对着她讲，还不如说在自言自语："这些平庸粗俗的家伙！他们打忧你了吧，好小姐，这么瞎撞。"没有，真的没有。她本来就快醒了，她掏出银表看了眼时间。4 点半。一束冰冷的蓝光照在玻璃窗上。她又擦亮一块地方，现在可以看清明亮的田野了，还有一簇簇蘑菇一般的白房子，公路两边栽着树，像一幅画一般，一条细细的河流。多漂亮

呀！多么漂亮和别致呀！连天空中的红云都显得有异国风味。天 www.BOOKOO.com 气有些冷，但她显得像冻坏了的样子，搓着双手浑身打寒噤，她

竖起大衣领子，因为她是那么高兴。火车开始减速。机车发出一声长长的汽笛尖叫声。列车到一个小镇了。外面高高的屋子都涂成红色和黄色，绿色的窗户像眼

皮一样闭着，好象都在熟睡。门前像守卫的白杨树在蓝天下颤动， .cn

好像在踮着脚尖倾听什么。一幢房子里有个女人打开百叶窗，把一张红白相间的垫子晾出来，然后站在那里瞧着火车。一个面色苍白，头发乌黑的女人肩上披一条白色毛围巾。在还处于沉睡状态的屋子的门口和窗口陆陆续续有更多的女人出现。一群羊朝这边走来。赶羊人穿着蓝色上衣和尖头木鞋。瞧！瞧那么多花，就在车站旁边！有像伴娘拿的标准玫瑰、白色天竺葵、还有那种在家乡温室外永远看不到的光滑的红色品种。车越来越慢。有个人

提着水桶在站台上洒水。"嗨—— "有个人跑过来挥手。一个高大

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 70

肥胖的女人手里拿着一盘草莓穿过车站玻璃门。她真渴，渴得要

命！"嗨⋯⋯！ "那个人又跑回去。火车停下来。老头取过大衣站起来，冲她微微一笑。他嘀咕着什么，她没听清楚，但他离开车室时，她也朝老人微笑了一下。他走后，小教师又看了看镜子。她以成熟得可以独自出门的女孩那种无微不

至的小心态度转来转去，收拾着自己，用不着别人保证她"从背

后看挺好"。真渴！好像空气中也有水的气息。 www.BOOKOO.com 她拉开窗户，那个卖草莓的胖女人好像很有目标地走过来，

把盘子端给她。"Nein,danke.（德语：不，谢谢。） "小教师说，一边瞧着露珠闪闪的叶子上的大草莓。"Wieviel？（德语：多少钱？） "胖女人刚要走，她又问。"两马克半，Fraulein（德语：小姐。）

""我的天！"她从窗口回过身坐在角落里，倒吸了一口冷气。要半 .cn

克郎！"呜呜—— "火车发出尖叫，振作起来准备要离站。她希望那老人别拉下。啊，是白天了—— 要不是渴，一切都好极了。老头儿上哪儿去了—— 哦，他来了—— 他关上门，从他的披肩里拿

出一篮草莓，这时她就像对待一个老朋友似的妩媚地微笑着。" 小姐请拿着。""是给我的吗？"她往后缩着抬起双手，好像他要把一只小野猫搁到她腿上。 "当然是给你的，"老头儿说。"我呢，已经有 20 年不敢吃草莓了。""呀，太谢谢你了。Danke bestens. （德语：衷心感谢。)"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 71

她结结巴巴地说，"Sie sind so sehr schon．"（德语：您心肠太好了。)"快吃吧。"老人显得很高兴也挺和气。"你一个也不想尝尝吗？""不，不吃。"她的手胆怯而优雅地移动着。草莓很大又很鲜嫩，她得咬两口才能吃完，汁水顺着手指流下来。就在她嚼着草莓时，第一次觉得老人就像自己的爷爷。他是一个多么完美的祖

父啊，简直就像书里写的！

太阳出来了，空中那一片片红云，草莓般的红云全被蓝色所 www.BOOKOO.com

吞没。"好吃吗？"老头儿问。"跟看上去的样子一样好吗？" 她吃完草莓，感觉好像认识这位老人有多年似的。她把弗朗·安荷尔德以及她怎么到那地方得到这个职位的事全都讲了。他知道格罗沃尔德旅馆吗？弗朗·安荷尔德要晚上才能到。他听

着，最后总算对她的情况有了更多了解。最后他说—— 也不看她， .cn

而是搓着两只戴着褐色手套的手："我不知道你想不想今天让我带你看看慕尼黑。不去太多地方，也许就看看一个画廊和英国公园。你得在旅馆待一整天这样太可惜了，在这个陌生地方，也不

舒服⋯⋯ Nicht wahr？（德语：不是吗？）下午你可以早些回去，或者不管什么时候，你想回去都行，那样的话，你可以让一个老

头儿很快慰了。" 她答应说"可以"后很快—— 因为她一说完，他感谢完后，就开始讲起他去土耳其旅行的事和玫瑰油—— 她就知道自己这样

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 72

做也许不合适，毕竟她并不真正了解他。可是他年纪这么大，人

这么好，更别提草莓了⋯⋯她实在没有理由说 "不"，而且从某种意义上说这是她最后一天，最后一个可以真正享受一下的日子。

"我错了？是吗？"一缕阳光落到她的手上，温暖而又轻轻动着。" 如果我能先陪你到旅馆，"他提议，"10 点左右再打电话给你。" 他取出笔记本递给她一张名片："政府顾问先生⋯⋯ "他有头衔！

嗯，这么说一点问题没有！接着她转而为到了真正的外国而激动， www.BOOKOO.com 去四处观光，读外文广告牌，向别人打听地名，在和蔼的老祖父

的照管下可以专心享受了，然后一直到慕尼黑和火车总站。"行李工，行李工！"他给她找了个行李工，几句话交待了自己的行李，然后领着她穿过熙熙攘攘的人群走出车站，走过干净的台阶，

走上去饭店的路。他跟经理说了她是谁，好像这一切都已事先安 .cn

排好，然后她的小手被那只戴着棕色手套的大手握了握。"我 10 点钟来找你。"他说完就走了。 "到这边来，小姐，"一个服务员说，他刚才躲在经理背后专注地观察这两个陌生人。她跟他来到二楼，走进一间幽暗的卧室。他放下她的衣箱，拉起来一个吱吱响、落满灰尘的窗帘。哇！多

难看、多冰凉的房间，这么大的家具！居然要在这里过一天！" 这是安荷尔德夫人订的房间吗？"小教师问。服务员奇怪他打量着她，好像她什么地方挺可笑似的。他撮起嘴像要吹口哨，接着

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 73

又改变了主意。"Gewiss，"（德语：当然啦）他说。嗯，为什么他还不走？为什么这样看着？"Gehen Sie，"（德语：您去吧。）小教师用生硬而简洁的英语方式说。他那像葡萄干似的小眼睛快

要从他面团似的脸上蹦出来。"Gehen Sie sofort，"（德语：您赶快走吧。）她又冷冷地重复了一遍。他走到门口回头说："还有那位先生，他来时要我领他上楼吗？"

干净的大街上空漂浮着一片片银边似的白云，阳光撒满大 www.BOOKOO.com 地。肥胖的车夫赶着肥大的出租马车；那些有趣的女人戴着圆帽子在清扫电车路轨；人们说说笑笑推推搡搡。街两边到处是树，随处可见喷泉；大街人行道上，街中间和打开的窗口传来各种笑声。她旁边那头发梳得漂漂亮亮的爷爷，手里拿着卷好的雨伞，

黑手套换成了黄手套，要请她玩一天。她不禁想奔跑，想挽着他 .cn

的胳膊，想不停地大喊大叫。"啊，我太幸福了！"他领着她穿过马路，在她"观光"时定定地站着。他那善良的眼睛盯着她还说" 你想怎么都行"。上午 11 点她吃了两条白香肠和两小块新鲜面包，还喝了些啤酒，他说这酒不会醉人，跟英国啤酒完全不同，啤酒是从一只花瓶般的瓶里倒出来的。后来他们叫了一辆出租马车，

她大概真以为自己在一刻钟内看了几千幅漂亮的古典油画。"到明天我一个人的时候，我要仔细回味一下这些画。"可是他们从画廊出来时外面开始下雨了。老爷爷打开伞撑在小家教的头上。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 74

他们去餐厅吃午饭。她紧挨着老头好让他也尽量在伞底下。"你要是挎住我的胳膊就会方便些，小姐。而且这也是德国的习惯啊。

"他漫不经心地说。于是她就挽住他的胳膊走在旁边，他指点着那些著名雕塑，兴致很高，雨早就停了，他还打着伞呢。吃完午饭，他们又去一家咖啡馆听吉普赛人的演唱，但她一点都不喜欢。唉！那些讨厌的家伙头长得像鸡蛋，脸上刻成那个

样子。所以她转过椅子捂住红得发烧的脸反而看起这位老朋友来 www.BOOKOO.com

了⋯⋯后来他们又去了英国公园。 "不知现在几点了，"小家教问。"我的表停了。昨晚在火车上忘了上发条。我们看了这么多东西，我觉得一定挺晚了。""唉！" 他在她面前站住大笑着摇摇脑袋说，他这个样子她现在开始熟悉

了。"这么说玩得并不开心了。唉！我们还没吃冰淇淋呢！""噢， .cn

其实我玩得挺开心。"她大声说，有些着急。"开心得不知怎么说了。真是开心极了！只是安荷尔德夫人 6 点钟要到旅馆，我应该在 5 点钟之前就回去。""那可以啊。吃过冰淇淋我送你上出租车，然后你就可以安心地回去了。"她又高兴起来。软软的巧克力冰淇淋，送进嘴里慢慢融化掉流下肚去。桌布上树影婆娑，她安心

地背靠椅子坐着，望着墙上的装饰用表，已经差 25 分 7 点了。" 说真的，"小家教诚挚地说："这是我平生最快乐的一天。我是想都没想过会有这么一天。"虽然吃着冰淇淋，她那孩子般满怀感

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 75

激的心还是热乎乎地对这位童话中的老爷爷充满了爱意。就这样他们从公园出来，走进一条长长的巷子。天快要完全

黑了。"你瞧对面那些高大的楼房，"老头儿说。"第 3 层—— 我就住在那儿。就我和照顾我的老管家两个人。"她觉得挺有趣。"在叫出租车之前，你是不是去看看我的小屋，我送你一瓶我在火车

上说的玫瑰油？作个纪念？"她很想去。"我一辈子还没见过一个

单身汉住的屋子呢。"小家教大笑着说。 www.BOOKOO.com 过道里特别黑。"嗯，我想老太婆出去给我买鸡去了。等等。 "他打开一扇门，站在一旁让她先进去，她带点羞涩和好奇地来到一间陌生的屋子。她简直不知道该说什么。房间并不漂亮，在某种意义上说还显得挺难看，不过挺干净，她想，像他这样一个

老头儿住着也挺舒服。"嗨，你觉得怎么样？"他蹲下从厨柜里取 .cn

出一只圆盘，带两个粉红的玻璃杯和一只粉红的高瓶子。"那边有两个小卧室，"他很有兴致地说，"还有一个厨房，够用了吧？ ""噢，挺大的了。""如果你什么时候来慕尼黑，想住那么一两天，可以把这儿当个常住的小窝，这里有鸡翅、沙拉、还有一个永远

乐意招待你的老头，亲爱的小姐！"他取掉瓶塞往两只粉红酒杯里倒了些酒。他的手有些发抖，酒都洒到盘子里了。屋里非常静。

她说："我现在该回去了。""可是你就不想在走之前跟我喝一小杯酒？"老头儿说。"不，真的不行。我从不喝酒。我，我发过誓从

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 76

不碰酒。"虽然他不住地劝，虽然她觉得这样挺不礼貌，尤其是他似乎是诚心诚意，她还是毅然决然："真的不行，对不起。"" 那么，你就在沙发上坐几分钟，让我来为你的健康干一杯行吗？

"小家教坐在红天鹅绒沙发的边上，老头儿也挨在她旁边坐下，为她一饮而尽。"今天你真的很开心吗？"老头儿问，说着转过身来，就在她身旁，近得她感觉得出他膝盖在颤动。她还没来得及

回答，他就抓住她的手。"你能轻轻地吻我一下再走吗？"他说， www.BOOKOO.com 把她往身上搂。简直像一场梦！这不可能是真的！这根本不是原来那个老头

儿。啊，太可怕了！小家教恐惧地盯着他。"不，不，不！"她口齿一点都不灵了，从他的手上挣脱出来。"就轻轻吻一下。一下。

怎么啦，就吻一下，亲爱的小姐，一个吻。"他把脸使劲凑上来， .cn

笑得嘴唇都合不上了。他那双小蓝眼睛在眼镜背后闪闪发亮！" 不—— 绝对不行。你怎么能这样！"她一跃而起，但他的动作也挺快，一下把她按到墙上，坚硬的老身子骨紧紧压住她，膝盖也顶着，尽管她头紧张地摆来摆去，嘴上还是被吻了一下，竟然是

在嘴上！她的嘴唇除了亲人从来就没有人吻的⋯⋯ 她顺着街一直跑啊跑，最后跑到一条通电车的马路，一个警

察站在马路中间，样子像个上了发条的玩具。"我要坐电车去火车站，"小家教哭着说。"什么，小姐？"她朝他扭了下手。"火车

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 77

站。那边就有一趟车去那里。"警察还在惊讶地看着这个帽子歪斜，没拿手绢哭个不停的小女孩时，她已经跳到车上。她既不看

售票员，也不听一位"高雅女士"与她一个爱诋毁人的朋友在议论她。她浑身颤抖，"啊，啊！"地放声大哭，双手捂着嘴。"她大概刚看了牙医。"一个胖女人尖声说，由于脑子太笨了，反而说得并不太可恶。"Na，sagen Sie'mal（德语：哎呀，您赶紧说说。）

牙疼成那个样子。这孩子嘴里一颗牙也不剩了。"这时小教师觉 www.BOOKOO.com 得电车摇摇晃晃地穿过一个充满了膝盖颤动的老头儿的世界。小家教回到格罗沃尔德旅馆大厅时，那位早上来过她房间的服务员站在一张桌子旁边擦玻璃盘。小家教的样子不知怎么好像让他觉得没什么大不了的事。他早就准备好回答她的问题了，他

的回答得体而有礼："是的，小姐，那位女士来过了。我告诉她 .cn

你已经到了，然后又很快跟一个先生出去了。她问我你什么时候

再回来，我当然说不上。然后她就去找经理了。"他从桌上拿起一只杯子，举到亮处，闭起一只眼看着，然后用围裙角儿擦起来。

"⋯⋯？ ""对不起，小姐说什么？哈，不用，小姐。经理什么也说不上。"他摇摇头对着漂亮的杯子微笑。"现在那位女士去哪儿了？ "家教问，她抖得更厉害了，只好拿出手帕按住嘴。"我怎么会知道？"服务员大声说，当他忽然撇下她去迎接新客时，他的心跳得那么厉害，都快要大笑起来。"活该，活该！"他心想。"让她知

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 78

道点。"他把新来客人的箱子扛到肩膀上，好像自己是个巨人，箱子像支羽毛，他又客气地对小家教说了一句："Gehen Sie, Gehen Sie Sofort．（德语：您走吧，您赶紧走吧。）一定！一定！"他在大声地自言自语。

意想不到的事

从早上 8 点到 11 点半左右，莫妮卡·泰瑞神经感到极为紧 www.BOOKOO.com 张，这几个小时的折磨简直可怕—— 完全是在苦苦挣扎。好像自

己完全无能为力。"如果我年轻 10 岁，恐怕⋯⋯ "她老爱这样说。因为她已经 33 岁了，在各种场合提到自己的年龄时，她的说法都有些怪，有时认真而孩子气地盯着朋友说："是啊，我还记得 .cn 20 年前⋯⋯ "有时在宾馆还把拉尔夫的注意力吸引到坐在他们旁

边的女孩们身上—— 真正的女孩—— 手臂、脖颈部柔嫩，动作犹

疑的漂亮女孩。这一切都有些怪。"如果我年轻 10 岁⋯⋯ " "你为什么不让玛丽坐在你的门外，而且你不按铃谁也别想挨近你的屋子？" "噢，事情要那么简单就好了！"她摘下自己的小手套，用他熟悉的那种动作把手捂在眼皮上。"不过主要问题是玛丽坐在那里使我感到很不舒服，玛丽对鲁德和穆恩太太招手，就像那种精神病院隔离间和护士之间的桥梁！然后呢，就是邮件问题。谁也

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 79

不会忽视这样一个事实吧，邮件来了后，一旦来了—— 谁会等信

等到 11 点呢？" 他的眼睛渐渐亮起来，敏捷而轻轻地搂住她。"是说我的信吗，亲爱的？" "可能吧，"她温柔而慢吞吞地说，她微笑着用手抚着他的红头发，而心里想："天呐！简直太蠢了！"

今天早上大门的一声巨响把她惊醒了。砰地一声，整座公寓 www.BOOKOO.com 都颤动了起来。出什么事儿了？她从床上惊跳起来，一把抓住鸭绒被，心怦怦直跳。会是什么呢？接着她听到过道传来一阵声音。玛丽来敲门，当打开门时一声撕裂似的尖叫声掠起门帘和窗帘，这声音在室内猛吹、拍打、撕拉着。窗帘上的流苏击打着窗户。

"哎，Voil（法语：瞧à 。） "玛丽放下托盘跑着大叫："C'est le vent， .cn

Madame.C'est unvent insupportable."（法语：起风了，夫人。这风真让人受人不了。）窗帘向上卷去，窗户猛地一下开了，一道灰色的光照亮房间，莫妮卡向辽阔苍白的天空瞥了一眼，看见像撕碎的衬衣似的一片

乌云，在她来不及眨眼之际，就飘逝而去。 "玛丽！窗帘！快点，窗帘！"莫妮卡跌倒在床上，接着传来叮铃铃的声音。电话在响。此时她已痛苦到极点，接着渐渐镇定

起来。"去看看，玛丽。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 80

"是先生来的。想知道夫人今天 l 点半是不是在公爵家吃午饭。"嗯，是先生本人。嗯，他让立刻告诉夫人。莫妮卡没有问答，她放下杯子，小声不解地问玛丽几点钟。9 点半。她躺在床上一动不动半闭着眼睛。"告诉先生我去不了。"她轻轻地说。可是门一关上，愤怒—— 莫名其妙的愤怒又控制了她，把她推向狂暴的边缘，几乎让她窒息。他胆子也够大了。他明知她早上神经

痛苦得要命，还胆敢做这种事！她没有解释和说明，当然，哪怕 www.BOOKOO.com 是一点点。这种事她不好直接讲出来—— 让他明白这是不可饶恕

的。而且还选择这么一个可怕的狂风呼啸的早晨。难道他以为这仅仅是她一时的怪念作祟，只是女人家小小的胡闹，嘲笑一番就

可以置之不理吗？而且，就在昨晚她都还说过："唉，你一定要 .cn

把我说的话当真。"他还回答："亲爱的，你不会相信，可我要比你自己更了解你。我发誓，你的每一个细微念头和感觉我都很珍

视的。好，笑吧！我喜欢你张开嘴唇的样子"—— 然后他就俯过身子，中间隔着桌子—— "我喜欢你的一切，谁瞧见我也不在乎。我要陪你站在高山之巅，让世上所有的探照灯都集中在我们俩身

上。" "天呐！"莫妮卡几乎抱住自己的脑袋。他会真心这样说吗？男人们多么不可信赖啊！她曾经爱过他—— 她曾经多么爱一个像

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 81

他这样说话的人啊。从几个月前那次聚餐后，他拜访过她家，他

问能不能再来，"再次见到那平静的阿拉伯式的微笑，"随后几个月她究竟干了些什么啊？噢，多么无聊—— 简直无聊透顶—— 然

而这时她又回想起那种奇异而深深的颤栗。 "卖煤啦！卖煤啦！卖煤啦！废铁!废铁！废铁！"楼下传来叫卖声。总算过去了。理解她？他简直一无所知。在这样一个狂风

肆虐的清晨来电话吵她就已经足以说明这一点。他理解吗？她差 www.BOOKOO.com

点要笑了。"你要是真理解我，就不会在这个时候打电话来。"事情就到此为止了吧。这时玛丽说："先生回话说，他会在前厅等着，没准夫人会改变主意。"莫妮卡说："别，别拿马鞭草，玛丽，要康乃馨。两束。"

这个狂野、恐怖的早晨，这场呼啸狂舞的大风。莫妮卡坐在 .cn

镜子前。她脸色苍白。女佣从后面梳着她的黑发—— 全都梳到后面—— 她的脸活像一部面具，眼皮发肿，嘴唇发紫。她盯着幽蓝、暗淡的镜子里的影子，忽然感到—— 啊，一种极其奇异、强烈的兴奋感慢慢在浑身洋溢出来，最后她竟想张开双臂、想大笑、想

摧毁一切、想震动玛丽、想喊叫："我自由了，我自由了。我像风一样自由了。"而现在这个震颤、晃动、兴奋、飘飞的世界属于她了。这是她的王国。不，不，她只属于生活，她不属于任何

人。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 82

"我现在就出去，玛丽，"她结结巴巴地说。"拿我的帽子、外套、提包来。马上给我叫辆出租车。"她要去什么地方？噢，随便什么地方。她受不了这个沉默寡言、平板、一声不响的玛丽，这个幽灵一般悄无声息的女佣。她一定要出去，她一定要让车开

得飞快—— 去任何地方，随便什么地方。 "出租车来了，夫人。"她推开公寓的大门，狂风扑面而来，

把她刮到人行道对面。去哪儿？她上了车，冲着生气、表情冷漠 www.BOOKOO.com 的司机粲然一笑，告诉他带她去理发店。没有自己的理发师她该怎么办啊？不管什么时候，只要无处可去或没事可干她都要开车到这里来。她也许刚把头发做成波浪形，过段时间又换个花样。这位气哼哼、态度冷漠的司机把车开得飞快，任由她在车上倒来

倒去。她希望开快些、再开快些。啊，可以摆脱在公爵家的午宴， .cn

用不着去扮作天鹅绒篮子里的小猫，不用扮作阿拉伯人，以及大

胆、欢乐的小孩和小野家伙⋯⋯ "再也不用了，"她紧紧握着小拳头大声喊道。可是出租车却停下了，司机站着给她开门。理发店温暖而明亮，散发着香皂、焦纸和植物发油的味道。女主人站在柜台后，显得又圆、又胖、又白。她的头像一只在黑色缎子针插上滚动的粉扑。莫妮卡总感觉店里的人比她许多朋友更喜欢和理解她—— 真实的她。在这里她能够展示出真实的自我。她常常和女主人一起聊天—— 很奇怪。接着乔治便来做她的

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 83

头发，这个年轻、黝黑、细长的乔治。她真喜欢他。可是今天—— 太奇怪了！女主人几乎不来迎她。她脸色比任何时候都还要苍白，但蓝色而明亮的小眼睛周围有一圈明显的红色印迹，就连胖手上的戒指也黯然无色。大家态度冰冷，死气沉沉，跟玻璃片似的。她隔着挂电话的墙喊乔治，说话的音调跟以前完全不同。但莫妮卡不相信。不，她不相信。这只是自己的想

像而已。她贪婪地吸着温暖、带香味的空气，从绒布门帘后面穿 www.BOOKOO.com

过去来到小房间。她脱掉帽子、外衣挂在钉子上，而乔治还没出来。他有史以来第一次没有给她扶椅子、拿帽子、挂提包，那时他还把包悬在手指上晃悠，好像以前从未见过这种东西—— 像仙境中的什么东

西。店里多么安静！连女主人都一声不响。只有风在怒号，摇撼 .cn

着这所老房子。风呜呜地吼叫，墙上蓬巴杜侯爵夫人时代的女士画像俯视微笑着，表情带着一种聪明狡黠的味道。莫妮卡心想自己不来就好了。唉，今天来太错误了！致命，致命的错误。乔治上哪儿去了？再过会儿还不来，她就走。她脱掉白色围衣。她一眼都不想再看自己。她打开镜台上一只大脂粉盒子时手不住地抖。她心里有种苦苦挣扎的感觉—— 好像她的幸福感—— 那种奇

特的幸福感—— 要极力脱她而去。 "我要走了。我不能再待下去了。"她取下帽子。但就在这时

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 84

传来脚步声，她从镜子里看到乔治低着头来到门口。他笑得多么奇怪！当然，这是镜子造成的。她马上回过头。他嘴唇抽搐着，有些狰狞，还有—— 他怎么没有刮脸？—— 他的脸看上去有些发

绿。 "很抱歉让你久等了，"他嘴里含含糊糊地说，轻轻地靠上前来。

噢，不，她不想待下去了。"我恐怕，"她说。但他已经拉开 www.BOOKOO.com 灯，摆好夹子，拿出围衣。 "起风了，"他说。莫妮卡听之任之了。她闻到他的手指伸到自己下巴底下扣衣服时，散发出的那种新鲜的气息。"是啊，是起风了。"她说着坐进椅子。什么声音也没有了。乔治熟练地拿

掉别针。她的头发向后散开，但他并没有像往常那样揽住，去品 .cn

味头发多漂亮、多柔软、多厚密。他任由头发飘散下来，从桌子抽屉里取出一把梳子，轻轻地咳了一声，清了下喉咙，闷声闷气

地说："是啊，我觉得这场风刮得太凶了。" 她不知道该怎么回答，梳子落到头发上。啊，气氛太凄楚了！梳子轻快地落下来，像一片叶子，接着又梳得很重，一把一把地

好像在拉她的心。"可以了，"她喊道，摇了下身子挣脱出来。 "我的手太重了吗？"乔治问。他的头紧挨着夹子。"对不起。 "闻到一股焦纸的味道，她喜欢这种味道—— 他的手绕着发热的

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 85

夹子，盯着镜子里的她。"今天要下雨的话，我一点都不奇怪。" 他撩起几缕头发，她一点都受不了了，她让停下来。她盯着乔治，

她看着自己穿着白色围衣盯着他的样子就像一个修女。"有什么事儿吗？怎么了？"而乔治稍稍耸了下肩，顽皮地一笑"噢，没什么，夫人。小事一桩"他又拉起几缕头发。但是，她再也受不了欺骗。一定有事。一定发生什么可怕的事情了。又是沉默—— 沉

默像雪花那样飘洒下来。她身体开始发抖。这是因为小房间里太 www.BOOKOO.com 冷，既冰冷又明晃晃的。镍制龙头、喷雾嘴的样子都显得有些邪恶。风撞击着窗框，一块铁皮砰砰作响，这个年轻人还在换夹子，头挨着她的头发。啊，生活是多么可怕，莫尼卡想。多么恐怖，孤独太恐怖了。我们就像树叶一样飞旋，没有人知道—— 没人关

心我们会落在哪里，落在哪条把我们漂向远方的黑色河流中。那 .cn

股冲动的感觉似乎上升到脖子了。好疼啊。她想哭。"可以了"她轻声说，"把发夹子给我。"他站在她身边，如此顺从，如此沉默，她差点垂下胳膊哭起来。她再也忍受不了了。这个年轻快活的乔治像个木头人似的，但仍然轻轻地来来回回给她递帽子、面纱、

接钱、找零钱。她把钱塞进提包里。现在她该去哪里？乔治拿来一把刷子。"你的外套上有点粉。"他含含糊糊地说。他把粉刷掉。然后他忽然站直盯着莫妮卡，拿刷子奇怪地划了一

下说："其实，夫人，这全因为你是个老主顾—— 我的小女儿今

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 86

天早上死了。我的第一个孩子。"—— 接着他苍白的脸皱得像一团纸，转过身背对着她开始刷棉布围衣。"啊，啊。"莫妮卡开始哭叫起来。她跑出理发店钻进出租车。司机满脸愤怒，跳上座位

摔上门："去哪儿？" "公爵家，"她哭着说。一路上她眼前老出现一个蜡做的小玩偶的幻彩，长着一身金丝羽毛，温驯地躺着。它的手很小，脚交

叉在一起。快到公爵家时她看见一家花店，里面全是白花。啊， www.BOOKOO.com 真是一个很妙的主意。山谷百合、白色堇、白罗兰，白色天鹅绒丝带⋯⋯一个不知名的朋友敬献⋯⋯一个能理解的人敬献⋯⋯ 献给一个小女孩⋯⋯她敲了下窗户，但司机没听见，倏忽间他们

已经到了公爵家。 .cn

逃跑

他们误了火车，都怪他，只能由他承担全部责任。如果愚蠢的宾馆人员不结帐会怎么样？难道不是因为他没有在吃饭的时候告诉服务员必须要在两点钟以前把帐单送来吗？换了别人肯定得坐在那里不走，等他们把帐单交到手里才行。可是他们没有这样做！对人性的唯美信仰使他起来等着哪个混帐把帐单拿到他们房间⋯⋯接着，轻便马车已经到了，而他们还（天呐！）在等着找钱，为什么他就不想着先收拾箱子，这样至少等钱一送来立

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 87

刻就可以启程？他还指望她先到外面，打着阳伞在炎热的凉篷下站着？听上去是多么舒心的英国家居图啊？甚至司机告诉他要

开多快才赶得及，可他死活不理睬—— 光是笑。"噢，"她叫了起来，"如果她是司机，她会止不住对他这副给逼急了的滑稽、荒唐的样子发笑的。"她坐在后排学他的声音："Allez，vite．"（法语：快点，全速开。）又请司机原谅打搅了他。

接着到了车站—— 简直不可饶恕—— 眼看着旅游小火车缓 www.BOOKOO.com

缓驶走，那些可恶的孩子在窗户里向他们挥手。"噢，我怎么能受得了这些事？我怎么在他们面前丢人呢？⋯⋯ "瞪眼、发火，就这样等着。他跟站长把头凑在一张时刻表上，试图找找还有没有别的车次，当然，他们是赶不上了。四周都是集聚的人群，那

个女人怀里抱着一个小孩，小孩的头可怕极了⋯⋯ "唉，要是像 .cn

我一样谨慎—— 按我的感觉行事，就绝对不会误了时间—— 一点

儿都不用担心会怎么样⋯⋯ 她的声音都变了。这会儿开始颤抖起来—— 现在又哭叫起来。她摸索着自己的包，从一只小提包里取出一块香帕。她带上面纱，那样子好像这一切都是做给别人看的，可怜巴巴地好像连

说话也是说给别人听的："我知道，亲爱的。"她把手帕捂到眼睛上。小包银光闪闪的拉锁张开着，就搁在她的腿上。他可以看见

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 88

里面的粉扑、口红、一札信，一瓶像种子一样的黑色小药片，一支断了的香烟、一块镜子、几片刻着深条纹的白色象牙。他想：

"要是在埃及她可能拿这些东西做陪葬物。" 他们已经离开最后一幢房子，那些零星的小房子的花圃中扔着一些破罐片子。母鸡的毛掉得差不多了，在门口台阶附近走动。现在他们正爬上一段又长又陡的公路，这是一段盘山开出的路，

翻过去就是一道海湾。几匹马蹒跚而上，吃力地往前拉着。每隔 www.BOOKOO.com

5 分钟或者 2 分钟车夫就劈头盖脸地抽它们一顿。车夫强壮的脊背硬得像树干，红通通的脖子上长出好多小疖，戴着一顶崭新、

闪亮的新草帽⋯⋯ 来了一点微风，风轻得只能吹动果树上青嫩的叶子，掀动一

下漂亮的草丛，翻动着橄榄叶—— 轻得只能旋起马车前面的尘 .cn

土，最后像细灰一般落在衣服上。她取出粉扑，粉一下子撒落到

他俩身上。 "唉，瞧这灰尘，"她叹了口气，"这讨厌、恶心的尘土。"她放下面纱，往后一仰，好像被什么击倒了似的。 "你干嘛不打起伞来？"他提议。伞放在前排座位上，他俯身想拿伞递给她。就在这时她突然直起身子又发火了。 "请别碰我的伞！我不想打伞！只要还不是个麻木透顶的人，谁都能感觉得出我累得打不起伞了。况且像这种风还在拉它⋯⋯

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 89

快放下。"她怒气冲冲地说，然后一下子从他手里夺过伞，扔到后面乱糟糟的车篷里，接着气呼呼地慢慢躺下。又拐过一个弯路，下山时碰上一群小孩子，尖叫着，笑着。小姑娘们的头发都被阳光漂淡了颜色，小男孩们都戴着褪色的军帽。每个人手里拿着鲜花—— 什么样的花都有—— 他们由带头的领着，跟着马车跑，兜售鲜花。有百合，那种淡淡的百合花、浅

绿色的雪球，还有一束海芋属百合花，一束风信子。他们把花扔 www.BOOKOO.com 过来，顽皮的脸探进马车。有个小孩甚至把一束金盏花扔到她腿

上。可怜的小耗子！他当着她把手伸向裤兜。"看在上帝的份儿上，什么也别给他们。唉，真是你的典型特征！这些可怕的小猴子！这下他们要跟随我们一路了。别怂恿他们。你可不能怂恿乞

丐。"她把花扔出马车，嘴里还说："好了，请在我不在场的时 .cn

候做好事吧。" 他看见孩子们的脸上闪过怪异而震惊的表情。他们不跟着跑了，慢慢落在后面，开始大声喊着什么，一直喊到马车拐过另一

个弯才听不见。 "唉，到山顶还要多久？这几匹马一次都没快跑过。当然，它们本来根本就没必要走这段路。" "我们要不了一分钟就能到。"他说着掏出香烟盒。这时她转过脸来瞧着他。她双手交叉贴在胸前。她那双黑黑的眼睛在面纱

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 90

后面显得深邃而且带着恳求的意味。她鼻子吸动着，尽量抿住嘴唇，有点像轻微的神经痉挛似的摆了下头。但她说话时声音十分

虚弱而又异常镇静。 "我求你一件事。我求求你，"她说，"我求过你几百次了，可你都当耳边风，虽然是小事，可是如果你知道这对我来说有多么

重要⋯⋯ "她双手合在一起。"可你是不会明白的。没有哪个人懂

的，也没有哪个人这么残忍。"接着她慢慢地，态度明确地用那 www.BOOKOO.com 双忧伤的大眼睛凝视着他："我最后一次恳求你，我们一起乘车时别吸烟。如果你能想像得到，"她说，"烟飘到我脸上时我所忍受的痛苦的话⋯⋯ " "很好，"他说。"我不了。我老是忘记。"他把烟盒收回去。

"噢，别这样，"她说，几乎笑起来，她用手背挡住眼睛。" .cn

你不该忘了。不该。" 起风了，风渐渐刮得更大。他们到了山顶。"嗬嘿，嘿，嘿， "车夫叫着。他们转到通往小山谷的路上，谷底边缘是海岸线。接着他们又盘绕过一座平缓的山梁。这时前方出现了些人家，房屋的蓝色窗帘迎着热气，每户人家都带着鲜亮的花园，红墙上爬满成片的天竺葵。海岸呈现出幽深的颜色，岸边带子一般白亮的

浪花轻轻激荡着。马车在颠簸和摇晃中开始下山。"吁吁⋯⋯ "车夫喊道。她紧紧抓住座位上的扶手，闭上眼睛。他知道，她觉得

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 91

这些都是人为造成的。这样摇来颠去，所有发生的这一切—— 在某种意义上应该由他负责—— 他在报复她，因为她提出过是不是该跑快点。就在他们快到谷底时车猛地向前一窜。马车差点翻了，

她怒冲冲地盯着他，明显地嘘了口气，"我看你是有意要享受这种乐趣吧？" 他们继续往前赶。终于到了谷底，她忽然站起来，"Cocher！

Cocher！Arrêtez－vons!"（法语：马车夫！马车夫！请您停一下！） www.BOOKOO.com 她转过身打量后面乱糟糟的车篷。"我知道了，"她大声惊叫，" 我知道了。我听见它掉下去；你肯定也听见了，就在最后那一下

颠簸时掉下去的。" "什么？掉在哪儿了？"

"我的伞。掉了。那是我妈妈的伞。我对那把伞的珍爱远远 .cn

胜过—— 胜过⋯⋯ "她完全失态了。车夫回过头，那张大脸上带着愉快的微笑。 "我，我也听见了什么东西。"他说，仍然一派天真欢乐的样子。"可是我想，既然先生和夫人什么也没说⋯⋯ " "就是，你听到了。你肯定听到了。从你脸上那种特殊的笑容可以看得出来⋯⋯ " "找找看，"他说，"不会丢的。如果掉出去了，肯定还在那里。你们待在这里，我去找。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 92

其实她已经看穿了。唉，她一眼就看穿了，"不用，谢谢你。 "她满含怨恨和笑意地望着他，并不理睬车夫。"我自己去找。我回去找，希望你别跟着来。因为"—— 想必车夫是不会明白的，她轻柔地说："我要不离开你一会儿，就会疯掉的。" 她下了马车。"把包给我。"他把包递给她。 "夫人喜欢⋯⋯ "

可是车夫早已从座位上跃下，坐在护栏上读一张小报。几匹 www.BOOKOO.com 马垂首站在那里。很静。马车里的那位抱起胳膊伸直腿。他感觉阳光落在膝盖上，他的头搭拉在胸前。海上传来呼呼的声音。风在山谷中轻轻喘息，很静。他躺在那里感觉自己像个空虚、干瘪、

枯萎的男人，跟灰尘一样。海上又传来呼呼的声音。

就在这时，他看见了那棵树，他感觉这棵树就在一个花园的 .cn

门里。这是棵大树，长着又粗又圆的白色枝条，黄色大圆叶子挡住了光线，仍然黑黝黝的。树上好像有什么东西—— 一团白色、柔软、模模糊糊的东西，掩映其中—— 还有精致的柱石。他凝视着这棵树感觉自己气息若有若无，与寂静完全融为一体。树变得

越来越大，好像朝热腾腾的空中扩张，巨大的叶片遮蔽住天空, 一丝不动。这时从树的最深或最高处传来一个女人的声音。有个女人在唱歌。那无忧无虑的温暖的歌声飘在空中，融入一片静寂，此时他也是宁静的一部分。这声音渐渐升高、变得越来越柔和，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 93

带点梦幻的色彩。他恍然悟到这声音是从隐藏的树叶中向他飘来，他的宁静倾刻间瓦解了。他怎么了？有种东西在他胸中涌动。一种黑暗、无法承受和可怕的东西在胸中撞击，就像一团巨大的杂草在飘荡、摇摆，燥热得令人窒息。他想极力摆脱它，就在这一瞬间—— 一切都过去了。他深深地陷进寂静之中，一动不动地盯着那棵树，等着那飘散而来的声音，最后感觉自己完全蜷缩在

那里。 www.BOOKOO.com 在摇摇晃晃的火车过道里。这是在晚上。火车咆哮着向黑夜

冲去。他双手抓住黄铜护栏。他们的车门开着。 "你别担心，先生。他到时会进来坐的。他喜欢—— 他喜欢 —— 这是他的习惯了⋯⋯ Oui，Madame,je suis un peu souffrante⋯

Mes nerfs．（法语：啊，夫人，我的神经一点也受不了了。）噢， .cn

我丈夫出去旅行时从来没这么高兴过。喜欢粗犷⋯⋯我丈夫⋯⋯

我丈夫⋯⋯ " 这声音喃喃自语着，一直没有平静下来。当他站在那里时，感觉一种无比深厚的幸福感涌上心头，他多么希望自己能够生命

永驻。

游园会

毕竟天气很理想。即使提前预定，也碰不上比这更好的天气

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 94

来办游园会了。温暖无风，天上没有一丝云。蔚蓝的天空只有一层淡淡的金色薄翳，初夏有时就这样。天一亮园丁就起来修整草坪，直到把绿地和栽着雏菊的深色而又平坦的玫瑰形园圃修整得焕然一新。至于玫瑰嘛，你不禁觉得它们自己也明白：游园会上只有玫瑰最引人注目，只有玫瑰大家都认识。不错，几百枝玫瑰

一夜之间绽放出来。绿色枝芽给压弯身子，仿佛天使光临过。

早饭还没吃完，那几个人就来搭凉篷了。 www.BOOKOO.com "妈妈，你想把凉篷搭在哪儿？" "亲爱的孩子，别问我了。今年我一定要让你们孩子自己来处理一切。就忘了你这个妈妈吧。就当我也是一个贵客吧"。但梅格不可能去指挥这些男人。她早饭前洗过头发，这时正

裹着绿色头巾坐下来喝咖啡，湿湿的黑色卷发贴在两颊上。蝴蝶 .cn

一样的乔斯，穿一件丝衬裙和短短的晨衣走下楼来。 "你一定要去，劳拉，你是很有艺术眼光的。" 劳拉手里捏着黄油面包飞一般跑了。找个借口到外面吃东西多香甜啊，况且她也乐于筹划。她向来认为自己处理事情比别人

高明。 4 个只穿衬衣的男子团成一伙站在花园小路上。他们抬着裹着几卷帆布的支架，背着挺大的工具袋，看着挺神气。此刻，劳

拉多么希望自己手里没有攥着那块黄油面包，可是又没地方搁

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 95

着，也不可能扔掉。她向他们走去时，脸上泛起红晕，极力想表现得一本正经，还装做带点近视。 "早上好，"她模仿妈妈的口气说。但听上去很假，连自己都不好意思了，接着又像小姑娘那样结结巴巴地说，"噢-嗯-你们来-是搭凉篷的吧？" "对，小姐，"长得最高的那个人说，他是一个身体细长、满

脸雀斑的小伙子，他活动了下工具袋，把草帽往后一推，居高临 www.BOOKOO.com

下地望着她微笑。"是为这事来的。" 他笑得非常轻松非常友好，劳拉恢复了本来的样子。他的眼睛多可爱，虽然小了些，但蓝得多么幽深啊！这时她又注意看着

别人，他们也微笑着。"高兴点，我们不会咬你的。"他们的微笑

似乎说。这些工人多么好啊！早晨多美啊！别再提早晨了，她必 .cn

须像个谈生意的样子。要搭凉篷。 "那么，搭在百合花草坪上怎么样？合适吗？" 她用那只没有拿黄油面包的手指着百合花。他们转过来盯着

那个方向。一个小胖子努了一下嘴唇，高个子皱了下眉头。 "我不喜欢，"他说，"太不醒目了，像凉篷这种东西，"接着他又毫无拘束地转向劳拉说，"应该把它搭在好像在你眼睛上猛打一下似的地方。你得听我的。" 以劳拉的教养，心里不禁犹疑了一下，想一个工人跟她讲在

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 96

眼睛上猛打一下这种话是不是不尊重人。但她也随他了。 "在网球场角上吧，"她建议道。"可是准备把乐队安排在另一个角上。" "嗯，你是说要安排一个乐队？"另一个工人说。他脸色苍白，黑黑的眼睛扫视网球场时样子挺憔悴的。他在想什么？ "不过是个挺小的乐队，"劳拉轻声说。也许乐队小他就不太

在乎。但高个子打断话。 www.BOOKOO.com "瞧这里，小姐，这地方挺合适，背靠树。那边肯定很理想。 " 背靠喀拉树。那样的话喀拉树就要被遮住了。可是它们那么漂亮，宽阔的叶子闪闪发亮，结着成串的金黄色的果子。你可以

想像，这些树就像生长在荒岛上，骄傲、孤独、叶子和果实在默 .cn

默无闻的辉煌中指向太阳。非得要让凉篷遮住吗？看来非得这样了。几个人已经扛着帆布卷去清理地方。只有高个子没动。他蹲下掐了一朵薰衣草，用拇指和食指捏住靠近鼻子闻着香气。劳拉看见他这个动作后完全忘了喀拉树，很惊奇，他怎么会在乎薰衣草的味道。她熟悉的人里头有几个会干种事。啊，这些工人简直太好了，她想。为什么她就不能跟这些工人交朋友，却非要跟那些傻男孩来往，一起跳舞，参加星期日晚宴呢？

她跟这些人相处会好得多。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 97

高个子在一个纸袋背面画着什么，一些用来箍住，或挂起来的东西。她认定，这些荒谬的等级界限根本就不对。不过，就她自己而言，是感觉不到这种差别的。一点，哪怕一丁点都感觉不到⋯⋯这时传来捶钉楔子的声音。有人在吹口哨，有人放声唱起

来，"你好吗朋友？""朋友"！这个词包含了多少亲密劲儿，只想证明她有多高兴，觉得跟高个子有多亲近，对愚蠢的习俗多么蔑

视。劳拉盯着这小小的图画，美美地吃了一口黄油面包。她觉得 www.BOOKOO.com

自己就像个女工。 "劳拉，劳拉，你在哪儿？电话，劳拉！"屋里传来喊叫声。 "来了！"她跳着越过草坪，来到路上，登上台阶，跨过走廊，走进门厅。爸爸和劳利正在刷帽子准备去上班。

"我说，劳拉，"劳利迫不及待地说，"今天下午以前，你随便 .cn

看一下我的大衣，看是不是需要熨一下。" "好的，"她说。忽然她难以自抑地跑到劳利跟前轻轻地拥抱了一下，"我太喜欢聚会了，你呢？"劳拉上气不接下气地说。 "非常喜欢，"劳利用他那热情、孩子气的声音说。他也抱了一下妹妹，然后轻轻地一推，"赶快去接电话，傻姑娘。" 电话。"对，对。噢，对。是基蒂？早上好，亲爱的。来吃午饭？好吧，亲爱的。当然高兴啦。午饭可能很简单—— 只有三明治面包片和蛋白甜饼渣，还有以前剩的东西。对，难道早上这

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 98

天气还不好吗？你的白衣服？噢，我一定会的。等一下—— 先别

挂。妈妈叫我呢。"劳拉坐着回过头，"什么，妈妈？听不见。" 谢里登太太的声音从楼上飘下来。"告诉她戴着上星期天那顶漂亮的帽子来。" "妈妈说让你戴着上星期天那顶漂亮帽子来。好的。一点钟。再见。"

劳拉把听筒挂回去，双臂伸过头顶，深深地呼了一口气，把 www.BOOKOO.com

手臂张开又放下。"唉，"她刚出了口气，出完气又马上坐起来。她凝神倾听着。屋里所有的门似乎都开着。不时传来轻快的脚步声。通向厨房的绿呢绒门一开一合地发出沉闷的响声。这时又传来一长串吱吱呀呀的怪声。这是挪动笨重的钢琴时僵硬的小脚轮

发出的声音。空气真好！你要是停下来注意观察，空气会永远如 .cn

此吗？隐隐约约的微风在窗户顶上流过来，又从门里流出去。太阳照进来落下两个小光点，一个在墨水瓶上，另一个在银相框上，都摇曳不定。可爱的小光点。尤其是墨水瓶盖上的那个光点。墨

水瓶热了。一个温暖的小银星。她想去吻它。大门的铃声响了，楼梯上传来萨蒂印花布裙的窸窣声。一个

男子在嘟哝着什么。萨蒂漫不经心地应付着，"我真不知道。等等。我去问谢里登太太。" "怎么回事，萨蒂？"劳拉走进门厅。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 99

"是花店的人，劳拉小姐。" 果然是。门口摆着一只大浅盘，里面放满了一盆盆粉红百合花。只有这一种。除了百合没有别的—— 美人蕉似的百合，粉红

色的大花开得很盛，流光溢彩，红嫩的根茎撑得十分鲜活。 "哦，萨蒂！"劳拉说，声音听上去像轻声呻吟。她蹲下来，好像要让百合的光彩温暖自己。她仿佛觉得百合就在手指上，在

自己的嘴唇上，在胸中逐渐生长着。 www.BOOKOO.com "这不太对劲吧，"她模模糊糊地说，"谁也不会订购这么多。萨蒂，去找妈妈。" 就在这时，谢里登太太走过来了。 "一点都没错，"她平静地说，"都是我订购的。这些花不漂亮

吗？"她拉住劳拉的胳膊。"昨天我路过花店，从橱窗里发现了这 .cn

些花。我这辈子第一次忽然想到买这么多百合。要开游园会了，

我恰好有理由买下这些花。" "可我以为你说过不想费这个心，"劳拉说。萨蒂已经走了。花店的人还站在外面的货车旁边。她搂住妈妈的脖子，轻轻地，

非常、非常轻柔地吻了下妈妈的耳朵。 "我亲爱的孩子，你不会喜欢一个太正统的妈妈吧？别那样。这儿还有人呢。" 他还在搬百合花，又是一整盘。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

"把它们架高，就搁在门口稍靠里一点，请在走廊两边都摆上。"谢里登太太说。"同意吗，劳拉？" "噢，好极了，妈妈。" 梅格、乔斯和漂亮的小汉斯在客厅里，终于成功地完成了搬

运钢琴的任务。 "现在，如果我们把长椅挪到墙角，除了椅子，把屋里别的

全都搬出去，你们觉得怎么样？" www.BOOKOO.com "太好了。" "汉斯，把这些桌子搬到吸烟室去，再找一把扫帚把地毯上的印迹全清理掉，还有—— 等一等，汉斯—— "乔斯就喜欢对仆人发号施令，他们也乐得听从。她总让他们觉得大家这是在演戏。 .cn "告诉妈妈和劳拉小姐马上到这儿来。"

"好的，乔斯小姐。" 她对梅格说，"我想听听钢琴的声音，以防万一今天下午让我唱歌。来试一下《生活多无聊》。 " "嘣，哒哒哒，踢哒！"钢琴突然爆发出一种激昂的声音，乔斯的脸霎时变色了。她的手缩了回去。妈妈和劳拉走进来的时候，

她用一种悲哀而困惑的神情看着她们。这种生活多无聊，一滴泪水一声叹息，爱情一去不复返，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

这种生活多无聊，一滴泪水一声叹息。爱情一去不复返，那就⋯⋯再见吧！但弹到"再见"时，尽管钢琴声音已到令人沮丧得无以复加的程度，她的脸上却绽放出一种极其灿烂和快乐的微笑。 "我的声音好听吗，妈妈？"她笑着说。这样的生活多无聊，希望已经泯灭。 www.BOOKOO.com 梦想已经苏醒。这时萨蒂打断了他们。"怎么回事，萨蒂？" "问您呢，夫人，厨娘问您往三明治上插的签子准备好了没有？"

"三明治上插的签子？萨蒂？"谢里登太太茫然地应了一句。 .cn

孩子们从脸上判断她没有预备好，"我想想。"接着她肯定地对萨蒂说："告诉厨娘十分钟之内送到。" 萨蒂走了。 "现在，劳拉，"妈妈急急忙忙地说，"跟我去吸烟室。我把菜名都记在一个信封背面了。你得给我把它们都另写出来。梅格，马上上楼，把头上那块湿淋淋的东西拿下来。乔斯，赶快去准备穿好衣服。听见我说的了吗，孩子们，还要等爸爸晚上回来告诉他吗？还有—— 乔斯，你要是去厨房，别让厨娘着急，听见了吗？

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

今天早上我吓着她了。" 信封终于在餐厅的钟表背后找着了，至于怎么会搁那地方，

谢里登太太也想不起来。 "肯定是你们哪个孩子从我包里偷出来的，因为我记得特别清楚—— 奶油饼干和柠檬冻奶。你们做了吗？" "做了。"

"鸡蛋和—— "谢里登太太从她手里拿过信封。"好像写的是老 www.BOOKOO.com 鼠。不可能是老鼠，可能吗？" "是橄榄，亲爱的。"劳拉回头说。 "嗯，可以，就橄榄吧。那搭配听上去真可怕。鸡蛋和橄榄。 "

他们终于做完了，劳拉送到厨房。她发现乔斯在那里安慰厨 .cn

娘，看不出她有一点害怕的意思。 "我从未见过这么精美的三明治，"乔斯兴高采烈地说。"你说做了多少种，厨娘？15 种？" "15 种，乔斯小姐。" "好，厨娘，祝贺你。" 厨娘用切三明治的长刀把面包片拢到一起，开心地笑着。 "戈德伯店的人来了。"萨蒂从餐具室出来宣布道。她看见那人从窗下经过。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

那就是说奶油松饼送来了。戈德伯店做的糕点远近闻名。也

没有人想过在家里自己做了。 "把那些东西拿进来放在桌上，我的姑娘。"厨娘指挥道。萨蒂拿进来又回到门口。当然劳拉和乔斯已经大了，不会真心喜欢这种东西。不过，她们还是会由衷地觉得松饼让人垂涎。

厨娘开始摆放糕点了，她先抖掉多余的糖霜。

"这会不会让人想起过去的宴会呀？"劳拉问。 www.BOOKOO.com "我想会，"乔斯世故地说，她从来不喜欢想过去的事。"我得承认，这些东西又嫩又软。" "每人尝一块吧，亲爱的，"厨娘和气地说，"你妈妈不会知道的。"

噢，这不行。刚刚吃过早点就吃松饼，想想都让人打颤。虽 .cn

然这样，两分钟后乔斯和劳拉舔着手指头，脸上的那股贪婪劲，

一看就知道是刚吃完搅过的奶油。 "我们顺小路到花园去吧。"劳拉提议，"我想看看那些人把凉篷搭得怎么样了。这些人简直好得要命。" 但是厨娘、萨蒂、戈德伯店的那人和汉斯呆在那里，把后门

堵死了。一定出什么事儿了。 "咯咯，"厨娘就跟一只兴奋的母鸡似的发出咯咯声。萨蒂手

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

捂着脸好像牙疼。汉斯极力想弄明白是怎么回事，脸绷得皱成一

团。只有戈德伯店那人好像挺得意，一定是他在讲故事。 "怎么了？出什么事了吗？" "一件吓人的事故，"厨娘说。"有个人死了。" "死人了！在什么地方？怎么死的？什么时候？" 可那个戈德伯店的人不愿被抢走话题。

"知道离这儿不远下边那个小村子吗？小姐？知道那地方 www.BOOKOO.com 吧？"她当然知道啦。"嗯，那儿住着个年轻人，叫苏格特，是赶车的。今天早上他的马在豪克街拐角碰到牵引机的时候受惊了，

把他给摔了出去，后脑勺落地，就死了。" "死了！"劳拉盯着戈德伯店那人。 .cn "大家发现时人已经死了，"那人轻松地说，"我来这儿时他们

正抬着尸体回家呢。"他又对厨子说，"他撇下了老婆和 5 个小孩。 "

"乔斯，过来。"劳拉抓住姐姐的袖子把她拽出厨房，走到绿绒门另一头。她停下来靠门站住。"乔斯！"她惊魂未定地说，" 无论如何我们得停止现在做的一切，你说呢？" "停止一切，劳拉！"乔斯惊叫起来，"什么意思？" "不要搞游园会了。"乔斯干嘛还假装不明白呢？可是乔斯仍然大惑不解。"不搞游园会了？我亲爱的劳拉，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

别犯傻了。我们可办不到了。谁也不希望我们这样。别太过份了。

"可是我们怎么能在大门外刚刚死了个人就举办游园会呢。" 这样做的确太过份了，因为小村子在屋外那条下坡路的最底下，中间隔着一条很宽的马路。的确太近了。这些房屋看着很不顺眼，而且它们压根就没有理由建在这个街区。这些矮小丑陋的

房子都涂着一种巧克力一般的棕褐色。园地里除了白菜帮子、病 www.BOOKOO.com 鸡和番茄酱罐子外，什么都没有。连烟囱里冒出的烟也可怜兮兮的，散散淡淡的，完全无法与谢里登家烟囱里直直喷出的滚滚浓烟相比。小街上住着洗衣女，扫烟囱的和一个鞋匠，还有一家大门前挂着许多鸟笼。小孩成群地出没街头。谢里登家的孩子们小

时候是禁止踏上那块地方的，因为怕学上粗话，也怕传染上什么。 .cn

但他们长大后，劳拉和劳利有时蹑手蹑脚地从那里穿过。真是个令人作呕和污浊的地方。他们走出来时感觉毛骨悚然。可是人总

要什么地方都去去，什么东西都见见。所以他们下决心走了一趟。 "可是想想那个可怜的女人听了乐队的音乐会怎么想啊。"劳拉说。 "噢，劳拉！"乔斯开始真的生气了。"如果每发生一次意外事故就取消乐队，生活会多么单调。我跟你一样难过，可我只限于

同情。"她的眼神开始变得冷漠起来。她看着妹妹，她们小时候

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

一起打架时就是用这种眼神对视的。"你伤感总不能把一个喝醉酒的粗人起死回生吧"。她轻声说。 "喝醉的！谁说他喝醉了？"劳拉愤怒地盯着乔斯。她说：" 我直接去跟妈妈说。"碰到这种情景她往往这样说。 "去吧，亲爱的。"乔斯咕哝道。 "妈妈，我能进来吗？"劳拉转动着巨大的玻璃门把手。

"当然可以，孩子。怎么回事？你怎么是这副样子？"谢里登 www.BOOKOO.com 太太从梳妆台旁回过头来。她正在试一顶新帽子。 "妈妈，有个人死了。"劳拉一上来就这样说。 "不是在花园里吧？"妈妈打断她。 "没有，没有！" .cn "噢，你简直吓了我一大跳！"谢里登太太舒了口气，摘掉那

顶大帽子，搁在膝盖上。 "可是听我说，妈妈。"劳拉说。她上气不接下气地把那个可怕的事讲了一遍。"我们别再举办游园会了，行吗？"她请求道。" 乐队和请的人都要来，他们会听到我们这边的声音，妈妈。他们

是我们的邻居啊！" 令劳拉震惊的是，妈妈的态度跟乔斯几乎完全一样。妈妈听

了似乎给她逗笑了，这让她更受不了，她不把劳拉的话当真。 "我亲爱的孩子，还是理智一些吧。这不过是一桩我们偶然

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

听来的意外事放。如果什么人正常死了—— 我无法理解在那种狭窄的小洞里他们是怎么活下来的—— 找们就不该照常举行游园

会吗？" 劳拉只好说"对"，可她心里觉得根本就不对。她坐在妈妈的沙发上，揉着垫子上的褶边。 "妈妈，我们是不是真的太绝情了？"她问。

"宝贝！"谢里登太太站起来，手里拿着帽子朝她走来。还不 www.BOOKOO.com 等劳拉制止她就把帽子扣到劳拉头上。"我的孩子！"妈妈说，" 这顶帽子是给你的。专门给你做的。我戴着太年轻了。我还从未

见过你这个模样。快瞧瞧自己！"她拿起自己的手镜。 "可是，妈妈，"劳拉又说开了。她没有照镜子。把头扭到一 .cn 边。

这次谢里登太太跟乔斯一样忍不住发火了。 "你太荒唐了，劳拉。"她冷冷地说，"哪种人并不希望我们牺牲些什么。而且像你现在这样扫大家的兴也算不上就有多大的同

情心。" "我不懂，"劳拉说完快步从屋里走出去回到自己卧室。她一进去就意外地看到自己漂亮的影子，戴着那顶边上装饰着小菊花和一条长长的黑天鹅绒丝带的黑帽子。她没想到自己会这样漂亮。她想，妈妈说得对吗？此时此刻，她但愿妈妈说得对。我真

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

的过份吗？也许是过份吧。这时她在想像中又瞥了眼那个可怜的女人和那些小孩，以及抬到家里的尸体。不过这些似乎很模糊，也很虚，就像报纸上的照片。舞会结束后，我又会想起这事来的，

她想。不知怎么这好像是最好的办法⋯⋯ 午饭结束时已经一点半。两点半大家都准备好了等待激动人

心的一刻。身穿绿衣的乐队已经到了，安排在网球场的角上。

"天呐！"基蒂·梅特兰惊叫一声， "他们在那儿是不是就像青 www.BOOKOO.com 蛙一样？你应该让他们围着池塘排开，让指挥藏在池塘中的一片

叶子上。" 劳利回来了，跟大家打着招呼去换衣服。看到他，劳拉又想起那场意外。她想对他讲讲。如果劳利跟别人的看法一致，那么 .cn 这样做就肯定对了。她跟着劳利走进大厅。

"劳利！" "你好！"他正好在楼梯中间，但他扭过头来看见劳拉时突然鼓起双颊瞪大眼睛盯着劳拉。"我说，劳拉。你看上去真让人着迷，"劳利说，"这顶帽子简直太棒了！" 劳拉轻声说了句"是吗？"，然后抬起脸望着劳利笑一笑，竟没有告诉他。不久人们就开始像潮水一般涌来了。乐队开始演奏起来，请来的侍者从屋里向凉篷跑去。到处都可以看见人们一对对随意漫

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 10

步，俯身欣赏花朵，互相打着招呼，在草坪上走动。他们都像一只只快乐的小鸟在谢里登家的花园里暂时停栖一个下午，然后又启程飞向—— 何方呢？啊，跟这些幸福快乐的人呆在一起，握手、

拥抱、微笑着对视多么幸福啊。 "亲爱的劳拉，你真好看！" "多漂亮的帽子，孩子！"

"劳拉，你长得多像西班牙人。我从未见过你这么动人。" www.BOOKOO.com 劳拉呢，也是满脸光采逼人，轻轻地应答着。"你喝茶吗？要加冰吗？这种西番莲子果冰茶味道确实很独特。"她跑到爸爸跟前恳求："亲爱的爸爸，能不能让乐队喝点什么？" 美妙的午后活动渐渐达到高潮，又渐渐冷淡，最后又谢幕。 .cn "从来没参加过这么愉快的游园会。""办得太成功了⋯⋯ ""简

直⋯⋯ " 劳拉帮着妈妈送客。她们一起站在门廊边，直到客人全都离

开。 "结束了，结束了，谢天谢地。"谢里登太太说。"叫他们都过来吧，劳拉。我们去喝些新鲜咖啡。我累得精疲力竭了。不错，办得很成功。可是，这些游园会！为什么你们这帮孩子一个劲儿

地要办游园会呢！"大家全都坐在冷清的凉篷里。 "吃块三明治，爸爸。签是我写的。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

"谢谢。"谢里登先生只咬了一口，三明治就没了。他又拿了一块，"我猜你们没有听到今天发生的那桩残忍的意外事故吧？" 他说。 "亲爱的，"谢里登太太举起手说，"我们听说了。差点毁了我们的游园会。劳拉一定要我们换个时间。" "噢，妈妈！"劳拉不想拿这个来开玩笑。

"这件事太可怕了，"谢里登先生说，"那人也有家了，就住在 www.BOOKOO.com 下面小街，撇下老婆和一大堆孩子，大家都这样说。" 出现了片刻尴尬的沉默场面。谢里登太太摆弄着杯子坐卧不

宁。说真的，爸爸这样做太不得体了⋯⋯ 她忽然抬起头来。桌上摆满没吃过的三明治、蛋糕、松饼， .cn 都要浪费掉了，她忽然有了一个很妙的主意。

"我知道了，"她说，"我们装一只篮子，把这些还完好的东西给那些可怜的小家伙们吧。不管怎么说，对那些孩子来说这已经相当不错了。你们同意吗？肯定有邻居去看她。东西都是现成的

多好。劳拉！"她马上跳了起来，"给我从楼上的橱柜里拿个大篮子来。" "可是，妈妈，你真觉得这个主意好吗？"劳拉说。太奇怪了，她好像又跟大家不一样了"。拿这些聚会用过的残渣剩屑，那个可怜女人会喜欢吗？

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

"当然！你今天究竟是怎么回事？两个小时前你坚持要我们有同情心，可现在—— " 那好吧！劳拉跑着去拿篮子。妈妈把篮子装成满满一大堆。 "你送去吧，宝贝，"她说。"马上就出发。别，等等，再拿几束海芋百合吧。他们那种人挺喜欢百合。" "花茎会弄坏她的花边裙。"乔斯世故地说。

是会弄坏的。提醒得正是时候。"那就只带着篮子去吧。还 www.BOOKOO.com 有，劳拉！"妈妈跟出凉篷—— "什么也别—— " "什么，妈妈？" 最好别向孩子的头脑灌输这种念头。"没什么！赶快去吧。" 劳拉关上花园门走出去时，天色已开始暗下来。一条大狗像

影子一般跑过去。路上隐隐约约闪烁着白光，下面那片洼地上的 .cn

小村舍笼罩在黑暗中。黄昏时分这里多静啊。她下坡要经过那人摔死的地方，但她并不知道。这是为什么呢？她站住停了一会儿。她觉得那些亲吻、音响、勺子叮当声、笑声、揉碎的草丛发出的味道不知怎么还萦绕在脑际。她现在根本就没功夫想别的事情。

多么奇异！她仰望着苍白的天空，心里只想："不错，游园会办得太成功了。" 现在到了宽马路的交叉口，接着开始进入烟雾弥漫、黑乎乎的小街。女人们披着头巾，男人们戴着粗呢帽匆匆忙忙地从身边

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

经过。有人靠在篱笆上，小孩们在门口玩耍。小村舍里传来低沉的嗡嗡声。有些屋里灯光闪烁，螃蟹一般的人影在窗口移动。劳拉低着头急急忙忙往前走。她心想要是穿一件外套就好了。裙子太显眼了！还有这顶大帽子上的丝带—— 要是换顶别的帽子多好！是不是大家都在盯着她看？一定在看。到这儿来真是个错误。

她一开始就觉得是个错误。难道到了这时候再回去吗？

不行，太晚了。就是那一家了。一定是它，屋外站着一大堆 www.BOOKOO.com 人。门边一个年纪很大的女人手里拿着一根拐杖，坐在一把椅子里看着什么。她双脚垫在一张报纸上。劳拉走近时吵闹声停息下来。人群分开一条道来。好像专等着她来，而且早知道她要来似

的。 .cn 劳拉极为紧张。她把丝带扬到肩后，问站在一旁的女人："

这儿是苏格特太太家吗？"这女人怪怪地笑着说："是的，我的姑娘。" 噢，快离开这里吧！她走上小路敲门时心里真的说出来了：

"救救我啊，上帝。"赶快躲开那一双双凝视的眼睛，或者索性就用什么东西罩住自己，就是她们哪个女人的头巾也行啊。我决定

把篮子一搁下就走，我甚至用不着等着把它腾空。这时门开了。一个身穿黑衣的小个女人从黑暗中走出来。劳拉说："你是苏格特太太吗？"但让她感到可怕的是这女人

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

答道："请进来，小姐。"她人就给关在通道里了。 "不用了，"劳拉说，"我不想进去。我把这个篮子放下就可以了。妈妈让送—— " 这个站在阴暗过道里的小女人似乎没听见她在说什么。"请到这边来吧，小姐，"她的声音听上去有些讨好意味，劳拉跟在她后面。

她发现自己走进一个凌乱不堪、低矮的小厨房，里面点着一 www.BOOKOO.com

盏冒烟的灯。有个女人坐在火堆前。 "嗯，"这个领她进来的小女人说，"来了个年轻小姐。"她面对着劳拉，意味深长地说："我是她妹妹，你不会见怪吧？" "噢，那当然！"劳拉说。"请，请别打扰她。我—— 我只想留 .cn 下这个。"

但就在这时，烤火的那女人回过头来。她脸庞红肿，眼睛、嘴唇都肿了，样子很可怕。她似乎很纳闷为什么劳拉会在这里。究竟是什么意思？为什么这个陌生人拿着一只篮子站在厨房

里？究竟为什么来的？她那张可怜的脸又皱了起来。 "好吧，亲爱的。"另一个说。"我会向这位年轻小姐道谢的。 "

她又说："我相信你会谅解她的，小姐。"她的脸也肿着，讨好地微笑着。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

劳拉一心想着赶快出去离开这里。她回到过道，门开着，她

径直穿过停放着死人的卧室。 "你想看一下他吗？"那位妹妹说，她把劳拉拉到床边。"别怕，小可人儿。"—— 这时她的声音变得有些亲昵和淘气。她亲昵地揭掉被单，"他瞧上去像幅画。什么也看不出来。过来吧，亲爱的。"

劳拉走过去。 www.BOOKOO.com 那个年轻人躺在那里，睡得很深—— 睡得那么深沉，好像离她们俩那么遥远。啊，如此遥远，如此安静。他像在梦中。永远不要再搅醒他。他的头陷在枕头里，闭着眼睛。紧闭的双眼什么也看不见了。他完全置身梦里了。对他来说，游园会、篮子、花

裙子还有什么意义呢？所有这一切都离他十分遥远了。他很奇 .cn

妙，很美。大家欢笑、乐队演奏时，这个奇迹已经来到小街。幸福⋯⋯幸福⋯⋯一切都很美好，这张沉睡的面孔好像在说。本来

就应该如此。我已心满意足了。可是突然间你很想痛哭一场，她不能什么也不对他说一句就

离开屋子。劳拉大声地孩子气地哭了起来。 "原谅我的帽子。"她说。这次她没有等那位妹妹就走出大门来到街上，穿过所有黑暗

中的人们。她在街角碰上劳利。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

他从黑暗中走出来。"是你吗？劳拉？" "嗯。" "妈妈着急了。挺好吧？" "嗯，挺好。噢，劳利！"她抓住他的胳膊，紧紧靠在他身上。 "我说，你没哭吧？"哥哥说。劳拉摇摇头。她其实在哭。

劳利扶着她的肩膀。"别哭，"他温馨而爱抚地说，"很可怕吧？ www.BOOKOO.com "

"不。"劳拉哽咽着说，"简直太奇妙了。不过，劳利—— "她停住，看着哥哥。"生命是不是"，她结结巴巴地说，"生命是不是 —— "可是生命究竟是什么，她也无法解释。没关系，他完全理 .cn 解。

"不是吗，亲爱的？"劳利说。

已故上校的女儿们

一

后来那一星期可谓她们平生最忙的一星期。甚至上了床也不过是身体躺在那里休息，头脑还在一刻不停地运转，各种思绪纷

至沓来，还在那里想事、谈事、盘算、下决心、回忆⋯⋯

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

康斯坦蒂像尊雕塑一般躺在那里。她双手放在身体两旁，双

脚交在一起，被单盖到了下巴上。她凝视着天花板。 "你觉得我们要是把爸爸那顶高帽子送给勤杂工，他会介意吗？" "勤杂工？"约瑟芬打断她的话，"干嘛要给勤杂工呢？这种想法太不可思议了！"

"因为，"康斯坦蒂慢条斯理地说，"他老得去办各种各样的丧 www.BOOKOO.com 事。我注意到—— 他在葬礼上总是戴着那顶圆礼帽。"她停了一下，"所以，我想，他挺希望有一顶大礼帽。而且我们也应该送他一件礼物呀。他对爸爸一直那么好。" "可是，"约瑟芬大声说，她在枕头上弹了一下盯着黑暗中的 .cn 康斯坦蒂，"父亲也需要帽子啊！"忽然她差点笑起来，这个时候

挺吓人的。其实她觉得一点都不可笑。一定是习惯这样了。几年前，每当她们聊到很晚，床都会翻的。这时勤杂工的脑袋在爸爸那顶帽子下消失了，像一支蜡烛那样逐渐熄灭、熄灭。越来越想笑。她使劲捏住自己的手，抑制住笑。她望着黑暗使劲皱着眉头

厉声说："记住了"。 "我们明天再决定吧。"她说。康斯坦蒂叹息了一声，什么也没觉察出来。 "你觉得我们的晨衣是不是也该染一下？"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

"染成黑的？"约瑟芬几乎在尖叫。 "嗯，还能是什么？"康斯坦蒂说。"我在考虑—— 我们这样是不是显得不怎么真诚，你看我们出门时齐齐整整地穿一身黑衣

服，等回家后却⋯⋯ " "没人看我们的，"约瑟芬说。她猛地一拉床单，露出双脚，只好顺着枕头往上爬了些，又把脚盖严实。

"凯特会看见的。"康斯坦蒂说，"而且邮递员也很有可能会看 www.BOOKOO.com 见。" 约瑟芬想到自己那双跟裙子相配的深红色拖鞋，想起康斯坦蒂无比喜爱的绿拖鞋，那些拖鞋常常和自己的红拖鞋同出同进。

黑色！两条黑裙和两双黑色羊毛拖鞋，像黑猫一样溜进浴室。 .cn "我觉得这样做毫无必要。"她说。

沉默了片刻。接着康斯坦蒂说，"明天我们得把那些登着讣告的报纸都寄出去，好赶去斯伦的邮班。⋯⋯到现在为止，我们

一共收到多少信了？" "23 封。" 这些信，约瑟芬全都回过了，有 23 次每当写到"我们十分怀念亲爱的爸爸"时她就停下笔，拿出手绢擦眼泪，有时甚至拿吸墨纸擦掉一滴掉在纸上的晶亮而忧伤的眼泪。奇怪！她总不会装

吧—— 竟然哭了 23 次。即使现在她心里一遍又一遍伤心地说，"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

我们十分怀念亲爱的爸爸"，如果愿意，她还会哭出来。 "邮票够吗？"康斯坦蒂那边传来声音。 "嗯，我怎么知道呢？"约瑟芬生气地说。"这时候问我这个有什么用呢？" "我只是不放心而已。"康斯坦蒂温和地说。又沉默起来。屋里传来悉悉索索跑跳的声音。

"老鼠。"康斯坦蒂说。 www.BOOKOO.com "不可能是老鼠，因为这里没有面包屑。"约瑟芬说。 "可老鼠并不知道没有。"康斯坦蒂说。忽然间，一股怜悯之情袭上心头。可怜的小家伙！但愿梳妆台上留下一片饼干。想想它什么也找不着真可怕。那它会怎么办 .cn 呢？

"我完全无法想像它们是怎么活下去的，"她平静地说。 "谁？"约瑟芬问道。康斯坦蒂没想到自己的声音竟然那么大："老鼠。"。约瑟芬非常气愤："噢，太无聊了，康！"她说，"这跟老鼠有什么关系？你快迷糊了吧。" "我可没有，"康斯坦蒂说。她闭上眼睛看看能不能睡着。其实她真困了。约瑟芬蜷起身子，缩着膝盖，曲起胳膊，拳头挨着耳朵，脸

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 11

蛋紧紧贴住枕头。

二

还有一件缠人的事情。那星期他们得跟安德鲁保姆住在一起。这怪她们自己，是她们请求她的，是约瑟芬的主意。那天早晨—— 嗯，是最后一天早晨，医生刚走，约瑟芬对康斯坦蒂说：

"你不觉得如果我们请安德鲁保姆住上一周作伴会好一点？ www.BOOKOO.com "好啊。"康斯坦蒂说。 "我认为，"约瑟芬接着迫不及待地说，"我应该今天下午给她付完钱后告诉她：姐姐和我会很高兴，毕竟你给我们做了不少事，安德鲁保姆，不知你愿不愿意作为我们的客人再陪我们住一星 .cn 期。我必须说是作为客人，以防—— "

"噢，可她不能指望让付钱！"康斯坦蒂大声说。 "谁知道呢。"约瑟芬世故地说。安德鲁保姆当然对这个建议高兴得要跳起来。可这也挺烦人。这样一来意味着她们得按时吃饭，假如只有她们自己，不管在什么地方，只要愿意可以随时让凯特端上盘子来。而现在吃饭

简直变成了一种折磨。安德鲁保姆吃黄油那劲头简直吓人。真的，一提黄油就不禁想到这个。至少她利用了她们的脾气好才那么不客气。而且她还

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

有一个气人的习惯，先多要一小块面包，就着吃完盘里的食物，吃到最后一口时心不在焉地—— 当然并不是真的心不在焉—— 又取第二块。一看到这个，约瑟芬脸就红了，她那珠子般的小眼睛紧紧盯着桌布，好像盯着一条奇怪的小虫子爬过布缝。而康斯坦蒂苍白的长脸沉下来，目光远远地避开，凝望着远远的沙漠里

像一根羊毛线般的有一队骆驼。

安德鲁保姆说："我在托克斯夫人家时，她有一只漂亮的小 www.BOOKOO.com 家什专门盛黄油，是一只玻璃盘子，边上有一个银制的丘比特，手里抓着一只小叉子。你想要黄油时只消按一下它的脚，它会弯

下腰来给你切一块，可好玩了。" 约瑟芬简直受不了。"可我总觉得这种事也太浪费了。"她也 .cn 只能这样说。

"那有什么？"安德鲁保姆问，她眼镜片后目光炯炯。"说真的，谁也不会多要黄油的—— 谁会呢？" "门铃响了，康，"约瑟芬大喊道。她没有那个自信去开门。是骄傲的小凯特，这位迷人的公主进来看看老处女们要什么

东西。她撤走放着装饰物的盘子，摞下一盘可怕的白色牛奶冻。 "劳驾把果酱送来，凯特。"约瑟芬和气地说。凯特跪下粗暴地打开柜子，揭开果酱罐盖子，发现里面是空

的，又放到桌上，默不作声地走了出去。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

过了片刻，安德鲁保姆说，"我猜恐怕里面什么都没有。" "噢，真烦人！"约瑟芬说。她咬着嘴唇。"那我们怎么办呀？ "

康斯坦蒂面带犹豫，"我们不能再麻烦凯特了。"她轻声说。安德鲁保姆等着，冲着她俩微笑，透过镜片四处打量着每一

件东西。康斯坦蒂绝望地又去遥想沙漠里的骆驼队了。约瑟芬

深深地皱着眉头—— 聚精会神地思考什么。要不是这个蠢女 www.BOOKOO.com 人，她和康早可以不用就着什么东西吃牛奶冻了。忽然主意来了。 "我想起来了，"她说，"有桔皮果酱，柜子里还剩点，康，你去拿过来。" .cn "我希望，"安德鲁保姆大笑着说，她的笑声就像匙勺碰撞着

药瓶—— "我希望桔皮果酱，别就那么一丁点儿。"

三

不过，幸亏时间不长，后来她也就知趣地走了。总不能否认她对爸爸照料得确实很不错。最后那段日子里，她日夜守候在爸爸身边。康斯坦蒂和约瑟芬确实从心里觉得在最后一瞬间她不离爸爸，做得有些过头。因为她们进去告别时，安德鲁保姆始终坐在他床边，抓着他的手假装在看自己的手表。其实没有这个必要，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

也很不明智。想想爸爸还要讲点什么—— 对她们讲些私事啊。尽管他没有讲。也根本不可能！他躺在那里，满脸怒容，面色铁青，她们进来时甚至都不望一眼。后来，她们站在那里不知所措之际，他忽然睁开一只眼。噢，如果他把两只眼睛都睁开会多么不同，回忆起他来又会多么不一样，给别人多么好讲啊。可是他却没有这样—— 只睁了一只眼。那只眼睛生气地盯着她们看了会儿，然

后—— 就合上了。 www.BOOKOO.com

四

当天下午圣约翰教堂的法伦勒斯先生来拜访时她们更加尴

尬。 .cn "我相信最后一刻他一定很平静吧？"他慢慢穿过黑乎乎的客

厅，向她们走来时说的第一句话就是这个。 "很平静。"约瑟芬含含糊糊说了句。她俩都垂着脑袋，都觉得那只眼睛一丝平静神色都没有。 "请坐吧。"约瑟芬说。 "谢谢你。平奈小姐，"法伦勒斯先生感激他说。他撩起大衣后摆坐进爸爸的扶椅，但刚一挨着椅子就几乎跳起来又移到旁边

一把椅子里。他咳嗽了一声。约瑟芬双手交叉在一起。康斯坦蒂表情黯然。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

"我要让你知道，平奈小姐，"法伦勒斯先生说，"还有你，康斯坦蒂小姐，我要尽点力。我想尽力帮助你俩，如果你们愿意让

我帮的话。这个时候，"法伦勒斯先生直爽而热情地说，"正是上帝要我们互相帮助的时刻。" "太谢谢你了，法伦勒斯先生。"约瑟芬和康斯坦蒂同时说。 "不用谢。"法伦勒斯先生平静地说。他摘掉小手套身子往前

倾着。"你俩想举行个小范围的圣餐祷告，你们不管谁，随时告 www.BOOKOO.com 诉我一声就行了。圣餐祷告一般还是很有好处的，对生者是一种

很大的安慰。"他又温和地补充了一句。举行小圣餐祷告仪式这个主意吓了她们一跳。怎么办呢！在客厅里，就她们自己，然后连祭坛什么的都没有！康斯坦蒂心想，

钢琴太高，法伦勒斯先生端着圣餐杯靠不住它。凯特肯定会突然 .cn

闯进来打断她们的活动，约瑟芬心想，再试想一下中途门铃响了怎么办？也许进来的是个什么重要人物呢，来询问她们早晨的情

况。那她们是恭敬地起来出去，还是在煎熬中等待客人进来？ "也许可以让你们的好凯特带个信，如果以后你们想办的话。 "法伦勒斯先生说。 "哦，可以，非常感谢！"两人同时说。法伦勒斯先生站起来，拿起放在圆桌上的黑草帽。 "至于丧事，"他轻声说，"我会安排妥当的—— 作为你们亲爱

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

的爸爸的老朋友，也作为你，平奈小姐的老朋友，—— 还有康斯

坦蒂小姐，你说呢？" 约瑟芬和康斯坦蒂也站了起来。 "我希望葬礼尽量简单些，"约瑟芬肯定地说，"而且也不要太铺张。同时我还希望—— " "好一点，而且管的时间长一点，"不切实际的康斯坦蒂想，

好像约瑟芬在购买一条睡裙似的。不过约瑟芬不会这样说的。" www.BOOKOO.com 葬礼要办得跟我爸爸的地位相称。"她显得挺紧张。 "我马上去通知我的好朋友赖特先生，"法伦勒斯先生宽慰地说，"我让他来看看你们。相信他肯定会能帮你们点什么。"

五

.cn

唉，那段过程总算过去了，但她们俩可能谁都觉得爸爸还会苏醒过来。约瑟芬在葬礼上有一阵十分害怕。当棺材沉了下去，她心想她们未经爸同意就这样入土了。父亲发现后会说什么？因

为他肯定迟早会发现。总会发现的。"埋了。你们两个姑娘把我埋了！"她仿佛听见爸爸用拐杖敲着地板说。噢，她们怎么交待呢？她们编个什么借口好呢？这是件多么骇人听闻没有良心的事啊。当一个人孤立无援的时候却遭到如此邪恶的利用。别人还把它当成理所当然的事似的。他们都是些外人，别指望他们能懂

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

得爸爸是最不该这样对待的人。不，全部责任都会落在她和康斯坦蒂头上。她踏上裹得严严实实的马车时心想，还有这笔花销。

到时她得给他看账单，那时他会怎么说？她好像听见他在大声吼叫："你们还指望我给你掏这种无聊的胡逛的钱？" "噢，"可怜的约瑟芬叫了起来，"我们不该这样，康！"

康斯坦蒂穿着那身黑衣，整个人憔悴得像柠檬。她惊恐地小 www.BOOKOO.com

声问，"不该干什么呀，约？" "让他们那样埋了爸爸，"约瑟芬说完，突然泣不成声，拿出那只新的味道挺怪的擦眼泪的手帕。 "可是我们还能怎么样呢？"康斯坦蒂不解地问，"我们不可能

一直把他放着，约—— 我们不可能一直放着不埋他呀。不管怎么 .cn

样，是不该把他放在那么小的方盒子里。" 约瑟芬擤了下鼻子，出租马车里闷得要命。 "我不知道，"她凄凉地说。"总之太可怕了。我觉得我们至少应该试一试。哪怕一次也好。真正搞清楚。有一点完全可以肯定

"—— 她的眼泪又涌了出来—— "爸爸永远不会原谅我们的—— 永远不会！"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

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爸爸永远不会原谅她们。两天后的一个早晨，她们走进爸爸的屋子整理遗物，她们的这种感觉比任何时候都强烈。两人平心静气地讨论了一番这个问题。这件事甚至列入约瑟芬要处理的计划之列：整理爸爸的遗物。但吃完早饭后，开始付诸行动时又跟

说的不一样了。 www.BOOKOO.com "嗯，你准备好了吗？康？" "好了，约—— 随时听你的。" "那就开始吧。" 门厅里依然很黑。多年来有一个规矩，无论出什么事儿，早

晨不许打搅爸爸。但现在她们就要连门也不敲地打开那扇房门 .cn

了⋯⋯康斯坦蒂想到这点吓得睁大眼睛；约瑟芬感觉腿直发软。 "你—— 你先进去，"她紧张地说，推着康斯坦蒂。但康斯坦蒂说，"别，约，这不公平。你是姐姐。"碰到这种情形，她总是这样说。约瑟芬正要说："可是你个头最高啊，"—— 这可是她最后的杀手锏，要是在别的时候她绝对不肯承认。正在这时她们发现厨

房门开了，凯特站在那里⋯⋯ "门把太紧了，"约瑟芬说。她抓住门把鼓足勇气想转动它，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

好像真能骗过凯特似的。无济于事。那姑娘是⋯ ⋯接着门又关上了，可是 —— 可是她们走进的根本不是父亲的屋子。也许她们忽然穿过墙壁误入连在一起的另一间屋子了。门不是刚刚关上吗？两人吓得不敢回头看。约瑟芬知道，即使门在，也关得紧紧的。康斯坦蒂觉得这门好像在梦中，根本就没有把手。里面冷得可怕。或者说一片白色

—— 什么？所有的东西都被盖住了。窗帘拉了下来，镜面上蒙了 www.BOOKOO.com 一块布，床上罩着一条单子。一大张白纸塞住火炉。康斯坦蒂心惊胆颤地伸出手。她差点认为是落了一场雪。约瑟芬感觉鼻子有种奇怪的发痒感，好像鼻子快要冻没了。这时一辆车沉重地碾过

泥泞的道路，宁静被打得粉碎。 .cn "我们最好拉起窗帘。"约瑟芬鼓起勇气说。

"好吧，这个主意也许不错。"康斯坦蒂小声说。她们的手轻轻一挨百叶窗，它就哗啦一声提了上去，连绳子也跟着飞了上去，绕着百叶窗的杆芯转起来，小穗摇摇晃晃好像

要极力获得自由似的。康斯坦蒂简直受不了。 "你没想过—— 你没想过我们也许改天还得把它放下来吗？" 她咕哝着。 "为什么？"约瑟芬打断说，跟平常一样，她知道康斯坦蒂一定很害怕，反而觉得挺舒服。"快要完事了。可我真希望你别喊

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

叫，康。" "我不是故意喊呀。"康斯坦蒂喊道。 "你干嘛要老盯着床啊？"约瑟芬抬高噪门说，几乎带点挑战意味了，"床上什么也没有。" "噢，约，别说了。！ "可怜的康妮说，"千万别这么大声音。" 约瑟芬感觉自己有些过分。她绕了一个大弯子走到衣柜前

面，手刚伸进去，很快又缩回来。 www.BOOKOO.com "康妮！"她气喘吁吁地喊，转身背靠衣柜。 "喂！约—— 怎么了？" 约瑟芬只有瞪眼的份儿。她有种奇怪的感觉，好像自己刚刚躲过一场大灾难，可是她怎么向康斯坦蒂解释说爸爸就在衣柜里

呢？他就在上格抽屉，跟他的手绢和领带在一起，也许在第二格 .cn

里，跟他的衬衫和睡衣在一起，又或者在最低格里跟他的外套在一起。他正在那里向外望着，藏在某一个地方—— 仿佛就在门把

后面—— 随时准备跳出来。她对着康斯坦蒂扳着一副可笑的老面孔，过去她要哭时就是

这副样子。 "我打不开。"她差不多在哭叫了。 "别，别这样，约。"康斯坦蒂鼓励似地说。"最好别开了。什么也别开了，无论如何，多过几天再说。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 12

"可是—— 可是这样也太软弱了，"约瑟芬突然说。 "就软弱这一次有什么呢，约？"康斯坦蒂辩解道。她小声而凶猛地说。"就算软弱吧。"她心虚地把目光从锁着的写字台—— 很安全—— 移到高大发光的衣柜上。她的呼吸开始有些异常和紧

张，"我们一辈子软弱一次又有什么关系呢，约？这是很正常的。就让找们软弱—— 软弱吧，约。软弱至少要比强装大胆好。"

接着她做了一件她们曾经干过两次的非常莽撞的事。她冲到 www.BOOKOO.com 衣柜前，拧了一下钥匙，从锁孔里抽出来。取出后又交给约瑟芬，然后大胆地笑着向约瑟芬表白她知道自己干了件什么事。她是冒

着爸爸躲在他的外衣中间的危险这样做的。如果大衣柜突然往前一倒，把康斯坦蒂砸个粉碎，约瑟芬不

会感到意外。相反，她还觉得发生这种事一点都不离奇。但一切 .cn

都好端端的。唯一的变化似乎是房间比刚才更宁静了。湿冷的空

气落在约瑟芬的肩膀、膝盖上，似乎更冷了。她开始哆嗦。 "来吧，约。"康斯坦蒂说，脸上还带着那种已经凝固了的可怕的微笑。约瑟芬马上跑了，就像上次康斯坦蒂把本尼推进池塘

里，她也是这样跟着跑了。

七

但是她们回到客厅后，紧张的折磨还没过去，她们哆嗦着坐

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

下来，两人互相对视着。 "我觉得要不吃点东西，"约瑟芬说，"简直定不下心来做任何事。我们让凯特送两杯热水怎么样？" "我看不出没什么不可以的，"康斯坦蒂小心地说。她又完全恢复正常了。"我可不想去按铃。我去厨房叫她。" "行啊，去吧"约瑟芬说着一屁股坐到椅子里。"告诉她，两杯

就行了，康，别的什么也不要—— 搁在盘上端来。" www.BOOKOO.com "热水壶就不用放在上面了吧？"康斯坦蒂说，好像要是把壶搁在上面，凯特可能会挺生气似的。 "噢，当然用不着。小壶完全没必要。她可以直接从热水壶里倒出来就行了。"约瑟芬喊道，感觉这样可以省她很多气力。

她们冰冷的嘴唇贴着绿色杯口一个劲儿地抖。约瑟芬发红的 .cn

小手握着杯子。康斯坦蒂坐起来吹着水圈，摇摇晃晃想让水冷却。 "讲讲本尼的事，"约瑟芬说。虽然康斯坦蒂没有马上就谈到本尼，但看样子好像要提到

他。 "他肯定希望我们送些爸爸的东西给他。可是很难决定往斯伦送什么好。" "照你说那就得送些在船上不易摔碎的东西。"康斯坦蒂喃喃地说。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

"不能，那样会丢失。"约瑟芬尖声说。"你知道那里没有通邮。只有靠人传。" 两个人都默不作声望着一个身穿白色麻衣为了美好生活而奔跑着穿越苍白大地的黑人，手里拿着一只巨大的牛皮纸包。约瑟芬眼中的黑人个子不高，像只蚂蚁般疾驶而过。但康斯坦蒂眼中黑人挺高，有些瞎忙的样子，但精力无穷，她想像他不会讨人

喜欢⋯⋯。本尼站在屋檐下穿着一身白衣戴着一顶软木盔帽。他 www.BOOKOO.com 右手上下挥动，爸爸不耐烦时就那样。他身后坐着还没见过的嫂

子赫尔达，她漠然地坐在藤转椅里翻看《闲话》杂志。 "我觉得他那只手表是最合适的礼物。"约瑟芬说。康斯坦蒂抬头望着，似乎很吃惊。 .cn "噢，你觉得把一块金表交给当地人能放心吗？"

"不过我会伪装起来的。"约瑟芬说。"没有人会认出那是一块表。"她对这个主意挺欣赏：打一个怪模怪样的包裹，不会有人猜出里面是什么东西。她甚至一时想到把表藏在一只纸盒里，这只狭长的纸盒是装内衣用的，她保存了很长一段时间，希望有朝一日派上用场。这是一个非常漂亮而结实的纸盒。可是不行，这

次用它不适合。上面印着："女用中号 28，腰围超固。"本尼打开后发现里面是爸爸的手表会吃惊得不得了。 "当然，这样恐怕表也不走了—— 不会嘀答嘀答地响。我是

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

说。"康斯坦蒂说，她还考虑到当地人一定很爱珠宝。"至少，" 她补充道，"过那么长时间它还会走，那就怪了。"

八

约瑟芬没有说什么。她的思绪又飞到别的事上了。她忽然想到西里尔。把表送给唯一的孙子这不更合适吗！而且可爱的西里

尔一定会很感激，一块金表对年轻人来说意义可不小。本尼极有 www.BOOKOO.com 可能已经根本不习惯用表了，在那种气候炎热的地方人们很少穿马甲，而西里尔住在伦敦，一年四季都穿着马甲。他来喝茶时，

她和康斯坦蒂也知道表在他身上，心里也会好受些。"我看见你带着爷爷的手表，西里尔。"这样说说也让人感到挺满足的。 .cn 好孩子！他那封简短而又恳切的慰问信读了让人心碎！她们

当然非常理解，但太不幸了。 "送给他是个好主意。"约瑟芬说。 "他肯定会非常喜欢。"康斯坦蒂说，也不加思索自己说些什么。无论如何，他一回来，就会到两个姑姑这儿来喝茶。有西里

尔来喝茶也算是她们难得一遇的享受。 "西里尔，我们做的蛋糕不会吓着你了。你康妮姑姑和我今天早上专门去买来蛋糕。我们懂得男人的口味是什么了，好好用，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

别不好意思。" 约瑟芬毫不在意地切着那块浓香的蛋糕。这块蛋糕的价钱足够她买一副冬天的手套或是康斯坦蒂唯一一双体面的鞋子的鞋

底或鞋跟。可是西里尔的胃口完全不像个男子汉。 "听我说，约瑟芬姑姑，我一点都吃不了。你知道，我刚吃过午饭。"

"噢，西里尔，别瞎说了。现在都 4 点多了。"约瑟芬大声说。 www.BOOKOO.com 康斯坦蒂手里拿着刀正要切巧克力卷。 "是不早了，真的"。西里尔说，"我去维多利亚见了个人，他老缠着我⋯⋯我匆匆忙忙吃过午饭，然后就来这儿了。他请我 —

— 哦"—— 西里尔把手搁在额头上—— "吃了一顿大餐。"他说。 .cn 真是让人失望，尤其是今天。不过别指望他能理解。

"不过吃点蛋白酥皮吧，西里尔？"约瑟芬姑姑说，"这蛋白酥皮是专门给你买的。你爸爸就很爱吃蛋白酥皮。我们肯定你也爱

吃。" "我是喜欢，约瑟芬姑姑，"西里尔热情地说，"我吃一半行吗？ "

"当然行，小伙子，但你不吃就走可不行。" "你爸爸还那么爱吃蛋白酥皮吗？"康妮姑姑柔声细气地问。她敲开自己那份的壳时隐约有点舍不得。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

"嗯，我不太清楚，康妮姑姑，"西里尔轻描淡写地说。这时她们都抬起头来。 "不知道？"约瑟芬差点叫起来，"连自己爸爸爱吃什么都不知道，西里尔？" "真是的。"康妮姑姑轻声说。西里尔想一笑了之。"噢，已经这么长时间了⋯⋯ "他结结巴

巴地说。说不下去了，姑姑们的脸色让他受不了。 www.BOOKOO.com "竟然这样。"约瑟芬说。康妮姑姑也瞪眼看着他。西里尔放下茶杯。"等等，"他大声说："等等，约瑟芬姑姑。我刚才在想什么来着？" .cn 他努力搜索着。大家开始纷纷提示，西里尔使劲拍着膝盖。

"当然，是蛋白酥皮。我怎么会忘了呢？对了，约瑟芬姑姑，你说得太对了。爸爸太爱吃蛋白酥皮了。" 大家听了不仅面露喜色，约瑟芬姑姑高兴得红光满面，康妮

姑姑深深地舒了口气。 "好了，西里尔，现在你得去看爷爷了。"约瑟芬说，"他知道你今天回来。" "好吧，"西里尔干脆热情地回答。他从椅子上起来，忽然瞥了一眼钟表。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

"我说，康妮姑姑，你们的钟表是不是有些慢？我约了一个人在⋯⋯在帕丁顿见面，就在 5 点钟。我担心不能跟爷爷多呆一些时间。" "哦，他不会让你待很久的！"约瑟芬姑姑说。康斯坦蒂还盯着钟表，她搞不清究竟是快还是慢。反正不是快就是慢了，对此她倒是挺有把握的。不管怎么说，这表以前确

实走快或走慢过。 www.BOOKOO.com 西里尔还犹疑不决，"你也一起去吗，康妮姑姑？" "当然一起去，"约瑟芬说，"我们全都去，走吧，康。"

九 .cn 他们敲了下门，西里尔跟着两位姑姑走进祖父温暖舒适的屋

子。 "快过来，"平奈爷爷说，"别磨蹭了。怎么回事？你们来有什么事吗？" 他坐在一堆旺盛的炉火前，敲着拐杖。他腿上盖着一条挺厚

的毯子，腿上搁了一块漂亮的淡黄色丝手帕。 "西里尔来了，爸爸，"约瑟芬腼腆地说。她拉着西里尔的手把他推到前面。 "您好，爷爷。"西里尔说，想把手从约瑟芬姑姑的手里抽出

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

来。平奈爷爷以他那出了名的目光盯着西里尔。康妮姑姑上哪儿去了？她站在约瑟芬姑姑旁边，长长的胳膊垂在前面，手叉在一

起。她目不转睛地望着爷爷。 "嗯，"平奈爷爷用手杖敲着地板说："你们想对我说什么？" 对他，对他说什么？西里尔感觉自己像个傻瓜似的笑起来。

屋里气氛很沉闷。

不过约瑟芬姑姑来解围了。她敏捷地大声说："西里尔说他 www.BOOKOO.com 爸爸还很喜欢吃蛋白酥皮，爸爸。" "嗯？"平奈爷爷说，把自己的手弯曲成一个小圈放在耳朵附近，那样子很像蛋白酥皮的紫壳。约瑟芬又说了一遍，"西里尔说他爸爸还很喜欢吃蛋白酥皮。

" .cn

"听不见，"老平奈上校说。他挥舞着手杖让约瑟芬躲开。然后指着西里尔说："告诉我她在说什么。" （天呐！） "让我说？"西里尔说，红着脸望着约瑟芬姑姑。 "说吧，亲爱的，"她微笑着，"他会挺高兴的。" "过来，赶快说！"平奈上校暴躁地说，又开始大声敲地板了。西里尔身子前倾大声喊道："爸爸还很喜欢吃蛋白酥皮。" 这时平奈爷爷跳了起来，好像中了一弹似的。 "别叫了！"他大声说，"这孩子是怎么了？蛋白酥皮！说它干

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

什么？" "噢，约瑟芬姑姑，还要说下去吗？"西里尔绝望地呻吟道。 "没事儿，孩子。"约瑟芬姑姑说，好像两个人一起去看牙医似的。"他一会儿就会明白的。"她悄声对西里尔说："他耳朵有些聋，你知道。"然后她上前真正咆哮似地对平奈爷爷说："西里尔只想来告诉你，爸爸，他爸爸还很喜欢吃蛋白酥皮。"

平奈上校听清了，边听边琢磨，上下打量着西里尔。 www.BOOKOO.com "真奇怪！"平奈老爷爷说，"真奇怪，跑到这儿来居然就是告诉我这个！" 西里尔也觉得奇怪。 "不错，我要把表送给西里尔。"约瑟芬说。 .cn "那太好了。"康斯坦蒂说。"我好像记得上次他回来时说时间

上出过一点小麻烦。"

十

凯特突然闯进来，打断她们的谈话。她老是这样，那样子好

像她在墙上发现了什么秘密镶板。 "要炸的还是煮的？"一个莽撞的声音发问道。炸还是煮？约瑟芬和康斯坦蒂一时都给弄迷惑了，搞不清什

么意思。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

"炸什么，煮什么，凯特？"约瑟芬问，试图集中精神。凯特用力地一嗅说："鱼啊。" "哦，那你干嘛讲得这么急呢？"约瑟芬温和地责怪她。"你让我们怎么听得懂呢，凯特？你知道，世界上有很多东西都是可以

炸或者煮的。"经过这样一番勇敢的表示后，她又很轻松地对康斯坦蒂说："你喜欢哪种，康？"

"我觉得也许炸的好些吧，"康斯坦蒂说。"不过，当然，煮的 www.BOOKOO.com 鱼更好吃。我觉得两种都不错。除非你⋯⋯这样 —— " "我去炸吧。"凯特说完一扭头就走了，门也不关，倒是把厨房门摔上了。约瑟芬盯着康斯坦蒂，扬起淡淡的眉毛，都快伸进那淡淡的 .cn 头发里了。她站起来，以一种严肃和强调的口吻说："请跟我去

客厅行吗？康斯坦蒂？我有非常重要的事情跟你商量。" 每当她们要谈凯特的事情时就常常躲在客厅里说。约瑟芬有意掩上门。"坐下，康斯坦蒂。"她说，样子仍然那么煞有介事。她这也许是第一次这样对待康斯坦蒂。康犹豫不定

地想找把椅子，好像觉得自己真是个陌生人似的。 "目前的问题是，"约瑟芬身子前倾着说，"我们究竟留还是不留她。" "确实是个事儿。"康斯坦蒂表示同意。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 13

"这次，"约瑟芬毅然决然地说，"我们必须定下来。" 康斯坦蒂一瞬间显得好像有些出神，但接着她又回过神来

说，"是啊，约。" "你知道，康，"约瑟芬解释说，"现在情况变化这么大，"康斯坦蒂迅速抬起头来"我是说，"约瑟芬接着说："我们也不像从前那样少不了凯特。"她的脸有些发红。"也没有爸爸可给做饭了。"

"是啊，"康斯坦蒂同意。"不说别的，爸爸现在肯定是不要别 www.BOOKOO.com 人做饭了。" 约瑟芬突然插嘴说，"你不困吧，康？" "困，约？"康斯坦蒂睁大眼睛。 "那就专心点听。"约瑟芬毫不客气地说，接着又言归正传。" .cn 接下来的问题是，如果我们—— "她盯着门口几乎屏住呼吸说—

— "把凯特辞了"—— 接着她又抬高嗓门—— "我们自己做饭。" "为什么不呢？"康斯坦蒂说。她忍不住笑了。这个主意很激动人心。她拍了下手说，"我们吃什么呢，约？" "嗯，可以做各式各样的鸡蛋。"约又一本正经起来。"还有各种各样的熟食可以吃。" "可我常听人说，"康斯坦蒂说，"这些东西很贵。" "节制点买就不会很贵。"约瑟芬说。但她避开了这个有趣的题外话，让康斯坦蒂听她的。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

"现在，咱们需要决定的是，咱们是不是真正信任凯特。" 康斯坦蒂往后一仰。嘴角露出微微笑意。她说："约，在这个问题上我从来就拿不定主意，你说怪不怪，约？"

十一

她确实拿不定主意。全部困难在于要拿出证据。你怎么去证 www.BOOKOO.com 明，你怎么能证明？如果凯特就站在面前，故意做出怪脸，怎么知道她不是很痛苦呢？不管怎么，如果她做怪脸，你能问吗？如

果凯特说："没有"—— 当然她一定会说"没有"—— 那多尴尬！又是多么丢人！接着康斯坦蒂又怀疑，她几乎可以肯定凯特乘她和 .cn 约瑟芬不在家时翻过抽屉。倒不是拿东西，只不过是偷看。有几

次她回来发现水晶石十字架放在最不可能放的地方，不是在花边领结下面就是在晚礼服上。她给凯特设置了好几次圈套。她有意

把东西按某种顺序摆好，还叫来约瑟芬作证。 "看见了吧，约？" "一清二楚，康。" "那我们现在就可以弄清楚了。" 可是，亲爱的，当她真的去检查时，她的证据又荡然无存了！如果什么东西给动过了，那也极可能是关抽屉时震的，哪个地方

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

轻轻一碰就会轻而易举地实现这种巧合。 "约，你来决定吧。我真的决定不了。太难了。" 但稍停片刻，约瑟芬凝视良久长叹一口气，"现在你的疑虑也影响了我的脑子，康，我自己也说不清楚。" "好啦，这个问题我们不能再往后推了。"约瑟芬说，"如果我们这次往后—— " www.BOOKOO.com 十二

就在这时，下面街上有人拉起了手风琴。约瑟芬和康斯坦蒂

同时跳了起来。 "快跑，康，"约瑟芬说。"快跑。那儿有 6 便士—— " .cn 她们回忆起往事来。没关系。她们再也用不着去阻拦那个风

琴师。再也不会有人叫她和康斯坦蒂打发那只猴子去别的什么地方吵闹。再也不会当爸爸嫌她们动作不利索而大声怪吼了。那风琴声听上去像是一种陌生的吼叫。手风琴也许整天在那里演奏，

而手杖的敲打声再也不会有了。再也不会敲了，再也不会敲了。手风琴在演奏着。康斯坦蒂在想什么？她的笑容那么怪，神情有些异样。她不

会是要哭吧。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

"约，约，"康斯坦蒂手合在一起轻声说，"你知道今天是星期几吗？今天是星期 6。是周末，整整过了 1 周。" 爸爸去世 1 周了，爸爸去世 1 周了。手风琴又哽咽起来，约瑟芬也忘了什么要现实，要懂事，她奇怪地笑着。印度式地毯上落下一块粉红色四方形太阳光圈，光线来回摇晃不定，红光逐渐变深，最后光线差不多全变成金黄色 www.BOOKOO.com 了。 "太阳出来了。"约瑟芬说，好像这也是件事儿似的。手风琴传来一阵悠扬的乐声，像清澈急湍的溪流，圆润而欢

快，无忧无虑地撒开来。康斯坦蒂举起那双冰冷的手好像要捕捉这些音符，接着手又 .cn

落下来。她走到壁炉架上自己最喜欢的佛像前。这是一尊镀金石像，他微笑的样子令人感到有些怪异，说是痛苦，但又是令人愉快的痛苦。今天它的微笑似乎别有深意。他知道什么；他掌握着

一个秘密。"我知道一些你不知道的东西。"她的佛好像在说。哦，是什么呢，会是什么呢？而她总觉得有点不对劲。阳光透过窗户，好像是悄悄挤进来的。阳光落在家具和照片上，约瑟芬凝视着。当它移到钢琴上妈妈那张放大了的照片上时，停留了好一阵，仿佛疑惑不解地发现母亲的遗物竟然这么少，只有一副样子像小宝塔般的耳环和一条黑色羽毛披巾。为什么死去

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

的人相片总是这样容易褪色？约瑟芬搞不清楚。人一死，相片也

就随之死了。但是这张照片已经很老了，已有 35 年了。约瑟芬想起从前站在椅子上，指着那条羽毛披巾对康斯坦蒂说，妈妈是在斯伦被一条蛇咬死的⋯⋯假如妈妈不死，一切都会不同吧？她说不上为什么。佛罗伦萨姨妈一直跟她们住在一起，直到两人从

学校毕业。她们搬过 3 次地方，每年去过假期⋯⋯当然也免不了

要换仆人。 www.BOOKOO.com 几只小麻雀在窗台上唧唧喳喳叫个不停。叽-叽-叽-约瑟芬觉得它们不像麻雀，也不在窗台上。声音就在她心里，一种很怪的

轻叫声。哦！什么叫声如此微弱和可怜？如果妈妈还活着，她们会已经结婚了吗？但没有合适的人跟

她们结婚。爸爸跟旅居印度的英国朋友们吵翻之前有他们来家 .cn

里，但自那以后她和康斯坦蒂就再也没有单独跟男人相处过，除了牧师。怎么能碰上男人呢？即使她们碰上了，怎么才能熟悉他们而不是仅仅停留在陌生人的阶段呢？书上说有人碰上各种奇遇，有人追，等等。但从来就没有什么人追过她和康斯坦蒂。嗯，有过，有一年在伊斯堡恩一个挺神秘的男子在她们住的房间卧室门外的热水瓶上贴了一张纸条！但等康妮发现时水汽已经弄得上

面的字迹模糊难辨了，甚至连是写给谁的也不知道。第 2 天他就走了。事情整个经过就是这样。此后就一直跟着爸爸，同时又跟

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

爸爸保持距离。可现在，现在呢？阳光默默地抚摸着约瑟芬。她

扬起脸庞。她被窗口轻柔的光束吸引住了⋯⋯ 手风琴已经停了，康斯坦蒂还站在佛像前思绪纷纷，但并不像往常那样漫无边际。这次她的思绪好像变成某种渴望。她想起过去有几次进来时穿着睡裙从床上爬下来，正好满月当空，她伸开双臂躺在地板上，那样子就像钉在十字架上。为什么要这样？

是这巨大、苍白的月光让她这样做的。画屏上可怕的舞蹈人像偷 www.BOOKOO.com 偷地盯着她，但她不在乎。她还想起，她们不管什么时候去海边，她总要一个人走得远远的，尽可能地靠近大海唱点什么，唱点自己编的东西，一边浏览着永不止息的海水。生活还有另外一面，跑到外面，用袋子提着东西回到家里，要商量各种事情，要跟约

探讨，然后又派生出更多的事情来达成一致，还要安排爸爸的饮 .cn

食，极力别让他生气。但所有这一切好像是在另外一个通道里发生的，并不真实。只有当她从这个通道里走出来，走进月光或海边或者走进暴风雨中，她才会真正感觉到自己的存在。这意味着什么呢？她一直想得到什么呢？这一切会导致什么结局？现在

呢？现在怎么办？她漠然地把目光从佛像上移开。她走到约瑟芬站的地方。她

想对约瑟芬说点什么，非常重要，是关于将来⋯⋯ "你难道不觉得也许⋯⋯ "她这样开始。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

但约瑟芬打断她，"我想如果现在—— "她喃喃自语。两人都不说话了，等着对方说。 "接着说呀，康。"约瑟芬说。 "不，不，约，等你说完我再说。"康斯坦蒂说。 "别这样，接着把你刚才要说的说完吧。你先说吧。"约瑟芬说。

"我，我更想听你先说。"康斯坦蒂说。 www.BOOKOO.com "别任性了，康。" "真的，约。" "康妮！" "哦，约！" .cn 停了片刻。接着康斯坦蒂小声说，"我说不出来了，约，因

为忘了⋯⋯忘了我想说什么来着。 " 约瑟芬沉默了片刻。她盯着巨大的云彩，太阳隐没在云中，

接着她干脆地说："我也忘了。"

海上旅行

那艘皮克顿号船原定 11 点半开。夜色优美而温柔，天空布满繁星。他们从出租车里下来，朝一直延伸到海湾的老码头走去时，一阵微风吹起的水珠打湿了芬内拉的帽底，她用手拉住帽子。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

老码头上一片漆黑。羊毛打包房、运牛卡车、高高竖起的吊运机、微型蹲式铁路发电机，所有这一切好像是在严实的黑暗中雕刻出来的。到处是成堆的圆木，仿佛大捆黑色的蘑菇。那里挂着一盏灯，但好像害怕黑暗似的，它胆怯而颤抖地闪烁着亮光。灯光好

像只是为自己默默地亮着。芬内拉的爸爸急急忙忙快步向前跑着。祖母穿着咔嗒响的黑

大衣，在他旁边也忙着赶路。他们走得飞快，她一次又一次有失 www.BOOKOO.com 尊严地小跑几步跟上他们。除了捆成香肠般的行李包外，芬内拉还背着祖母的雨伞，伞把是一只天鹅的头，老是轻轻地触碰着她的肩膀，好像在催她快点走似的⋯⋯男人们都拉低帽子，竖着衣领从旁边匆匆经过。几个女人一路上跌跌撞撞着急地往前赶路，

有个小男孩从雪白的毛披肩里露出小小的黑胳膊和黑腿，夹在父 .cn

母中间生气地一跳一跳地走着。他好像一只落在奶油上的小苍

蝇。突然间，从那个最大的羊毛打包房后面传来"呜呜呜"的声音，那边已经烟雾弥漫了。这声音来得如此突然，惊得芬内拉和祖母

同时往前猛蹿一步。 "第一遍鸣笛，"爸爸匆匆地说了句，这时他们看见皮克顿号船了。皮克顿号船停泊在漆黑的码头旁边，到处系着绳索，四周拉着金色灯泡，那样子好像不是驶向冰冷的大海，更像要在繁星

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

中航行。人们都向舷梯上挤去。先是祖母，接着是爸爸，最后才是芬内拉上了船。一道高高的台阶直通甲板，一名身穿运动衫的水手站在那里向她伸出干硬的手。他们上去了，接着又离开匆匆忙忙的人群，站在通向更高层甲板的铁舷梯下，这时他们开始道

别。 "妈妈，给你行李！"芬内拉的爸爸说着，又递给祖母一包捆

成香肠的行李。 www.BOOKOO.com "谢谢，弗兰克。" "船票带好了吗？" "带好了，亲爱的。" "别的票呢？" .cn 祖母在手套里摸到票后露出一点让他看。

"那就行了。" 他的声音听上去很生硬，芬内拉着急地看着他，发现他显得

很累而且伤感。"呜呜呜"，第 2 遍鸣笛就在他们头顶响着，听上去好像在尖叫。"还能在过道待会儿吗？" "向爸爸问好吧，"芬内拉看见爸爸嘴唇在动，祖母则很激动，答应着说："一定会，亲爱的，快回去吧。你得走了。快回去吧，弗兰克，快回去吧。" "没关系，妈妈。还有 3 分钟呢。"让芬内拉惊讶的是她看见

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

爸爸摘掉帽子，紧紧地抱住祖母。"上帝保佑你，妈妈！"她听见爸爸在说。祖母伸出手，捧着他的脸，戴着戒指的指头磨破了黑线手套。

她哭着说，"上帝保佑你，我勇敢的孩子！" 这场面很吓人，芬内拉马上背过身去，极力压制着没哭出声来，她极力皱着眉头盯着桅杆顶上一颗绿色小星星。但等她不得

不再次回过头来，爸爸就要走了。 www.BOOKOO.com "再见，芬内拉，当个乖孩子。"他冰凉湿润的胡子扎着她的脸。芬内拉紧紧抓住他的大衣翻领。 "我要去待多久？"她着急地问道。他没有看她，轻轻地推开她，轻声说："到时我们看情况吧。给你这个！你的手呢？"他把 .cn 什么东西送到她手掌里。"给你 1 先令，以后用得着。"

1 先令！她一定是一去不复返了！"爸爸！"芬内拉哭起来。可他已经走了。他是最后一个下船的。水手们把舷梯扛了起来。一大盘黑色绳索从空中飞过，落到码头上。铃声响起来。汽笛尖叫一声。默默中漆黑的码头开始滑开，离他们渐渐远去。现在船和码头之间海水汹涌。芬内拉极力想看清楚那边。爸爸在回头望着吗？或者在招手吗？就他一个人站着吗？说不定已经一个人走了吧？海面越来越开阔，越来越深。现在皮克顿号船掉过船头，开始稳稳地向大海方向驶去。再也没什么好看的了，除了几许亮

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 14

光什么也看不见了。镇上的钟面浮现在空中，黑乎乎的山坡上零

星地散布着一些亮光。清新的海风吹着芬内拉的裙子，她回到祖母身边。祖母不再那么伤心了，她觉得有些安慰。她把两个行李袋摞在一起坐在上面，抱着手，头微微向一侧倾斜着。她脸上有种专注而愉快的表情。这时芬内拉看见她的嘴唇在动，猜想她正在做祷告。但老太

婆向她轻快地点了下头，好像在说祷告快完了。她松开手叹了口 www.BOOKOO.com

气，然后又叉在一起。她身子前倾，最后轻轻地抖了一下。 "好了，孩子，"她说，手指摸着无边帽上的蝴蝶结。"我觉得咱们应该到船舱去看看。靠近些，小心别滑倒。" "好的，祖母！" .cn "小心别让伞碰着楼梯框。我有一次在路上就看到有一把非

常漂亮的伞就那样断成两截。" "好的，祖母。" 黑乎乎的人影靠在栏杆上。烟斗里的火光一闪，照亮了一个人的鼻子，有时能看见帽舌亮一下，有时又看见样子惊恐的眉毛。芬内拉望了一眼上面。高处有个小人影，手插在短衣口袋里，站在那里望着远方的大海。船一直颠簸得很轻微，她觉得星星也在晃动。这时，一个身穿亚麻外衣，脸色苍白的乘务员高举着一只托盘，从亮着灯光的门口走出来，从她们身边过去。她们从那个

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

门口走进去，小心地通过高高的包铜边的台阶，踩着橡皮垫，然后从一段极陡的梯子上下去，祖母只好两脚都踏到同一层台阶以后，再下一级。芬内拉紧紧抓住潮冷的铜栏杆，完全顾不上天鹅

颈的雨伞了。到了底下，祖母站住。芬内拉很害怕她又要祈祷。这次倒是没有，只不过是拿包间票。她们来到餐厅，里面光线耀眼，但十

分沉闷，空气中混着油漆、烧焦的骨头渣和橡胶的味道。芬内拉 www.BOOKOO.com 希望祖母别停下来，一直往前走，可是老太婆却并不那么匆忙。

一大篮火腿三明治吸引住她的目光。她走上前细心地用手指摸着最上面的一个。 "这三明治多少钱？"她问。 .cn "两便士！"一个粗鲁的乘务员吼道，接着扔下一把刀和叉子。

祖母简直不相信。 "一个两便士？"她问。 "对。"乘务员说，他朝同伴使眼色。祖母露出微微惊讶的神情。接着她就一本正经地向芬内拉嚷

起来，"太不公道了！"她们继续向另一头门口走去，穿过一条两边都是舱房的通道。一个态度很好的女乘务员向她们迎来。她穿着一身蓝衣，领子和袖子上都钉着很大的铜钮口。她好像跟祖母

很熟。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

"你好，克兰太太，"她说着打开她们的脸盆架。"我们又要接你回去了。你可不怎么住包间啊。" "是啊，"她说，"可这次我的儿子想得很周到—— " "我希望—— "女乘务员刚说到这儿，她就转过身忧伤地盯着祖母的一身黑服和芬内拉的黑外套、黑裙子、黑上衣、带黑花的

帽子。

祖母点着头说，"这是上帝的旨意啊"。 www.BOOKOO.com 女乘务员合上嘴唇深深地吸了口气，好像想说的话都在这一

呼吸间说完了。 "我不是常说嘛，"她说，好像这是她的发现似的，"人迟早是要走的，谁也免不掉。"她停了一下。"我给你拿点什么东西来吧， .cn 克兰太太？来一杯茶？我知道喝点什么给你驱寒气不顶用。"

祖母摇摇头。"什么也不要，谢谢你。我们带了些下酒饼干，芬内拉还带着一根挺鲜的香蕉呢。" "那我待会儿再来看你。"女乘务员说完关上门出去了。这个舱位太小了！好像跟祖母被关在一只盒子里似的。脸盆架上方那只黑色的圆眼睛呆滞地盯着她们。芬内拉感到很不好意思。她靠门站着，手里还攥着行李和雨伞。难道她们就在这种地方脱衣睡觉？祖母都已经摘下无边帽了，而且收起帽绳，挂帽子之前用一枚针把它固定到衬里上。她的白发像丝绸一样闪着光，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

背后的小髻子上包着黑色网帽。芬内拉几乎从没见过祖母不戴帽

子的时候，看上去有点陌生。 "我要戴上你亲爱的妈妈给我织的那顶漂亮的帽子。"祖母说着解开行李袋，取出帽子来套到头上。她温柔而伤心地对着芬内拉笑着，头顶上灰色毛球边子在眉毛上飘荡。接着她解开胸衣，里面一层又一层。好像从什么地方发出扭抱在一起急促的声音，

祖母脸色微红。传来咔嚓声和噼啪声。她解开内衣，放松地出了 www.BOOKOO.com 口气，坐到舒适的沙发上，她慢慢地小心地脱掉松紧带靴子并排

立在那里。芬内拉脱掉外衣和裙子，穿上法兰绒睡裙，不等她脱好，祖

母早已准备好了。 .cn "我必须脱掉靴子吗，祖母？这可是花边的。"

祖母略微沉思片刻。"孩子，脱掉靴子会舒服得多。"她说。她吻了下芬内拉。"别忘了做祷告。我们亲爱的主在海上比在陆地上更有可能跟我们同行。因为我已经是个很有经验的旅客了。

"祖母兴致很高。"我睡上铺。" "可是，祖母，你能爬上去吗？" 芬内达看见有三层蛛网般的小梯子。老太婆默默地笑了笑，然后敏捷地爬了上去，还从高高的床铺上向下探视着吃惊不已的

芬内拉。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

"你以为祖母办不到吗？"她说。她躺下时芬内拉又听到悄悄的笑声。那块坚硬的四方形褐色肥皂不起泡沫，瓶子里的水像一种蓝色的果子冻。还有那干硬的床单都没法叠，你只能强忍着将就了。如果什么都不一样，芬内拉也许会笑。最后她还是钻进被子，但她躺在那里很紧张。上面传来很长一阵轻轻喃喃自语的声音，轻

轻地沙沙响着好像什么人在薄纸中找东西，是祖母在祷告⋯⋯ www.BOOKOO.com 过了很久，女乘务员进来了，她轻轻地走过来，手搭着祖母

的床铺。 "我们就要进入海峡了。"她说。 "哦！" .cn "夜色很美，可是我们却很无聊。可能会有点轻微的颠簸。"

果然就在这时，皮克顿号船高高地浮了起来在空中悬了很久，落下时让人一阵心惊。两边海水发出沉重的拍打声。芬内拉想起她把天鹅颈的雨伞立在小沙发上。如果它倒了会摔断吗？就

在这时祖母也想起这事。 "乘务员，你不介意的话，麻烦你把我的雨伞放平，"她说。 "没问题，克兰太太。"接着乘务员又喘着气回到祖母旁边。" 你的小孙女睡得多美啊。" "托上帝的福！"祖母说。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

"可怜的失去母亲的小家伙！"女乘务员说。芬内拉睡着后，祖母还给乘务员讲了些什么事。但她睡下后还来不及做梦就又醒来了，发现她头顶上方什么东西在动。是什么呢？会是什么？这是一只灰色的小脚。另一只

也露出来了。这双脚好像是来触摸什么的。传来一声叹息。 "我醒了，祖母，"芬内拉说。

"哦，亲爱的，我够着梯子了吗？"祖母问。"我想应该在这头。 www.BOOKOO.com "

"不对，祖母，在那一头。我来帮你把脚搭上去吧。找到了吗？"芬内拉问道。 "船要进港了，"祖母说，"我们得起来了，孩子。你最好吃块 .cn 饼干，定一下神，然后再动。"

但芬内拉已经从床上跳了下来。天快亮了，灯还开着，挺冷的。透过那圆圆的小窗户她能看清远处的岩石。浪花扑打着岩石，

海鸥飞来，一大片真正的大陆出现了。 "陆地，祖母，"芬内拉惊奇地说，好像他们在海上呆了好几个星期。她一个人自得其乐，她单脚站着，一只脚趾头搓着另一只脚。她直发抖。哦，到头来却这么让人沮丧。要变天了吗？可

祖母还说："快点，孩子。你要是不把香蕉吃掉的话，我就留给乘务员。"芬内拉又穿上那件黑色外衣，一颗钮扣从她的手套上

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

蹦了出去，滚到她够不着的地方了。她们爬上甲板。如果说舱房还比较冷的话，甲板上简直像冰。太阳还没出来，但星辰已经暗淡下去了，寒冷苍白的天空与寒冷苍白的大海呈现出同样的颜色。陆地上一团白雾升起又落下。现在她们可以看得清黑色的树林了。连伞形蕨莱也露了出来，那些奇怪的白色枯树跟骷髅一样⋯⋯她们看见码头和一些小房子，也白茫茫的挤在一

起，像一只盒盖上的贝壳。乘客们跳上跳下的，但没有昨晚那么 www.BOOKOO.com

着急，个个面带倦容。快要靠近码头了，它慢慢向皮克顿号船游靠过来。一个人手里拿着一盘绳索，一匹无精打采的小马拉着一辆马车，还有一个

人坐在台阶上，这些都靠了过来。 .cn "那是彭雷德先生，芬内拉，是来接我们的。"祖母说。她的

声音听上去很快活。她憔悴而光滑的脸冷得都发青了，下巴不停

地抖，她得不停地揉着眼睛和发红的小鼻子。 "你把我的—— " "知道了，祖母。"芬内拉拿给她看。绳索从空中抛了过来，啪地一声落在甲板上。舷梯放下来。芬内拉又跟着祖母来到码头，坐上那辆小马车，一会儿他们乘上车稳稳当当地离开了。小马的蹄子从木头堆中踩了过去，然后又踏入柔软的砂子路。路上不见一个人，甚至连一缕轻烟都没有。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

白雾升起又落下，大海缓缓地涌向海岸时好像还在沉睡之中。 "昨天我看见克兰先生了，"彭雷德先生说。"当时他正忙着自己的事。上周米萨斯要他烤了一炉圆饼，把他忙得够呛。" 小马在一个贝壳般的房子前停住。他们从马车上下来。芬内拉手放在门上，大颗掉落下来的水珠湿透了她的手套指尖。他们爬上一段白色鹅卵石小路，两旁开满湿漉漉的还在沉睡的鲜花。

祖母那纤细的白色荷兰石竹沾着露水沉得往下垂，但清晨的空气 www.BOOKOO.com 中仍然弥漫着那种甜丝丝的味道。小屋的窗帘都拉着。他们爬上台阶来到走廊。门的一边放着一双旧筒靴，另一边摆着一只红色

水桶。 "啧啧！瞧你祖父，"祖母说。她转动门把。没有一点声音。 .cn 她喊道："沃尔特！"紧接着传出一个低沉的声音，听上去有一半

被什么卡住了："是你吗，玛丽！" "慢着，亲爱的，"祖母说。"进去吧。"她把芬内拉轻轻地推进幽暗的起居室。桌上卧着一只白猫，蜷起身体的样子就像一只骆驼，起伏伸展了一下，打了个呵欠，接着爪子着地跳了下去。芬内拉那只冰冷的小手藏在温暖的白色猫毛里，她跺着脚听着祖母温和的声音

和祖父轰鸣般的嗓门，怯生生地微笑着。门吱吱呀呀地响起来。"进来，亲爱的。"老太婆招呼了一声，

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

芬内拉跟了进去。祖父躺在大床一侧，他的头顶还剩一丛白发，一张红脸和长长的白胡子露在被子外面。他就跟一只十分警觉的

老鸟似的。 "嗨，我的小姑娘！"祖父说，"吻我一下！"芬内拉过去吻了下他。"喔！"祖父说，"她的小鼻子冷得像颗纽扣。她拿着什么东西？是祖母的雨伞吗？"

芬内拉又笑了，把天鹅颈的伞挂在床栏上方。床上方挂着一 www.BOOKOO.com 个巨大的深黑色框，上面写着：金色时光徒星坠，分秒如钻熠生

辉。珍宝既失何幸理？此去长辞永无回。 "那是你祖母写上去的，"祖父说。他弄乱白发看着芬内拉，是那么高兴，芬内拉几乎觉得他在朝自己眨眼睛。 .cn

初涉舞会

直到舞会开始了，丽拉才发现这事难以启齿。也许她第一个真正的舞伴是出租车。问题倒不在于跟谢里登家的姑娘和兄弟们同乘一辆车。她独自坐在后面不起眼的角落里，她扶手的垫子感觉像一个无名青年的衣袖。他们坐上车在旋转的灯柱、屋子、篱

笆和树木旁匆匆掠过。 "你真的从来没有参加过舞会吗，丽拉？可是，我的乖乖，多么不可思议啊—— "谢里登家的女孩叫道。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

"离我们最近的邻居也在 15 里以外。"丽拉柔声柔气地说，轻轻地打开又合上自己的扇子。噢，天呐，跟别人不一样是多么让人难受啊！她克制着别笑得太厉害，尽量装得什么都不在乎。可是一切都是如此新鲜和诱人⋯⋯梅格的月下香，乔斯长长的琥珀项链，劳拉的黑发小脑袋从白色皮衣伸出来，像一朵雪中的花。她永远不会忘记。看到堂

兄劳利扔掉系在他的新手套搭扣上的薄棉纸条时，她都感到一阵 www.BOOKOO.com 痛苦。要是她，会留着那东西作个纪念的。劳利向前把手放在劳

拉的膝盖上。 "瞧，亲爱的，"他说。"还是那种 3 和弦和 9 和弦的音乐。小芽儿？"

啊，有个哥哥多么好啊！丽拉激动地想，要是还来得及，要 .cn

是还有可能，那该多好！她不禁想哭，因为家里就她一个孩子，

从来没有什么兄弟对她说："小芽儿？"也没有姐姐像这时梅格对乔斯那样说："我从没见过你的头发做得像今晚这样漂亮！" 可是，已经来不及了。他们已经来到舞会大厅，前前后后停满了出租车。路两旁灯火通明，挂满扇形活动灯。人行道上愉快的情侣们似乎是从空中飘然而至，小缎鞋前后紧跟着，就像鸟一

样。 "拉住我，丽拉，要不然会丢了的。"劳拉说。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 15

"快点，姑娘们，我们跑进去吧。"劳利说。丽拉的两根手指拽着劳拉的红绒斗篷，两人被挤着经过那只

巨大的金色灯笼，裹挟在人群中穿过走道，被推进标着"女士专用"的小屋子。屋里人们挤作一团，几乎找不着空地放东西，声音震耳欲聋。两边的长椅都高高地堆满各种外面穿的东西。两个身穿白围裙的老婆子抱着刚脱下的东西跑来跑去。每个人都往前

挤着，想到远远的那头的小梳妆台和镜子跟前去。 www.BOOKOO.com 一盏跳动的大煤汽灯照亮这间女士化妆室。等不及了，舞会已经开始。门再次打开时，突然从演练厅传来乐队定音的响声，

声响快冲上天花板了。黑头发和金头发的女孩们都在摆弄秀发，重扎发带，拉着挂

在胸前的手绢，扯平大理石般雪白的手套。到处是笑声，丽拉似 .cn

乎觉得人们个个都很可爱。 "怎么连一个暗发夹都没有？"有人大声说。"太出奇了！我一个暗发夹也找不到了。" "在我背后搽点粉，你真好。"另有一个人大声喊。 "可我得找根针和棉线。我的衣边撕了那么大一个口子。"第 3 个人伤心地说。接着，"传一下，传一下！"盛节目单的草编篮子从这只手传到那只手。小巧精致红白相间的节目单，带着粉红色的铅笔和绒

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

穗。丽拉从篮子里取出一张单子时手指都在发抖。她本想问别人：

"我也应该拿吗？"可是时间只够读节目单上的字："华尔兹 3：《独木舟上的两个人》，波尔卡 4：《羽毛飞舞》。 "这时梅格大声说：" 好了吗，丽拉？"她们挤过人群朝舞厅双扇大门走去。跳舞还没开始，不过乐队已经不再调音了。里面的噪音大得不得了，这样子就是等到乐队演奏起来恐怕也听不清。丽拉紧挨

着梅格，从梅格肩头上方向外张望去，感觉连悬挂在天花板上飘 www.BOOKOO.com 动的彩旗也在说话似的。她完全忘了难为情，也忘了打扮到中途，一只鞋穿好了另一只还没穿，坐在床上请妈妈给表兄妹们打电话她不去了。她那种无奈地坐在自己荒凉的乡村小屋，听着小猫头

鹰在月光下叫着"多吃肉"时的渴望之情，现在化作甜美得无法承

受的幸福冲动。她紧握着扇子，看着金光闪闪的地板、杜鹃花、 .cn

灯笼、对面铺着的红地毯、摆着镀金椅子的舞台和角落里的乐队。

她激动不已地想，"多么气派，多么气派啊！" 女孩子们都聚在一起站在门的一侧，男人们站在另一侧。陪着来的年长的女人都穿着深色衣服，傻乎乎地笑着，小心迈着步

子走过打了蜡的地板，向舞台走去。 "这是我的乡下小表妹丽拉，请多关照。给她找个舞伴，我领着她。"梅格迎着姑娘们一一介绍。那张张陌生的面孔都对着丽拉微笑，笑得甜蜜而漫不经心。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

陌生的声音答应着："没问题，亲爱的。"可是丽拉觉得那些女孩并没有真正看她。她们都在看着那边的男人们。男人们怎么还不开始？还等什么？他们站在那里有的拉手套，有的抚着油亮的头发互相微笑。接着，突然间，他们好像终于下定决心得干什么似的，从嵌花地板上滑过来了。女孩们欢快地躁动起来。一个高大英俊的男子朝梅格走来，拿着她的节目单，飞快地写着什么。梅

格把他介绍给丽拉。"我有幸邀请你吗？"他弯了下腰微笑着说。 www.BOOKOO.com 一个戴着眼镜、皮肤黝黑的人走来，接着是表哥劳利跟一个朋友过来了，劳拉跟一个长着雀斑的小伙子，他的领带皱巴巴的。接着是一个年纪挺大的人，胖乎乎的，头顶秃了好大一片，接过她

的节目单嘴里嘀咕："我看看，我看看！"他把自己那张名字看上

去一片黑的单子与丽拉的比较了很长时间，似乎给他带来很大麻 .cn

烦，丽拉觉得不好意思。"哦，请别麻烦。"她着急地说。但这个胖子并没有回答，却在上面写上什么又盯着她说："我记得这张亮丽的小脸吗？"他轻声说。"以前见过吗？"这时乐队开始演奏起来，胖子走了。音乐声在灯光闪耀的地板上方响起来，把他抛得远远的。乐声把扎成一堆的人分成一对又一对，都打散开来，让

大家旋转起来⋯⋯ 丽拉在寄宿学校学过跳舞。每个周六下午寄宿生们都匆匆赶到一个波纹铁造的教会小厅，伦敦来的埃克斯小姐在那里开她的

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

选修课。墙上贴着有斑点的乐谱。埃克斯小姐，那位可怜惊恐的小女人戴一顶棕色无边绒帽，帽上带着兔子耳朵，弹奏着冰冷的钢琴。她经常用那根长长的白色教鞭戳女孩子们的脚。那地方和这里简直是天壤之别。丽拉不禁想到，如果自己还没有舞伴来邀请，要是她只好听听那美妙的音乐，只好看着别人在华丽的舞池旋转游移，那么她非得死掉不可，或者昏过去，或者举起胳膊从

星光映照、黑洞洞的某个窗口飞出去。 www.BOOKOO.com "我想，我们可以跳一曲。"有人微笑着鞠躬，伸出手请她，终于可以不去死了。这人搂住她的腰，她像朵花一般飘然地被拉

到舞池。 "地板真是好极了，是吧？"那人凑近她的耳朵低声慢吞吞地 .cn 说。

"我觉得很光滑，很美。"丽拉说。 "对不起！"那人细细的声音流露出惊讶。丽拉又说了一遍。稍微停顿了一下，那人又回应道，"噢，确实不错！" 接着她又旋转起来。他带得非常优美。跟女孩跳舞和男人跳舞的最大区别就在这里，丽拉想。女孩子互相碰碰撞撞，老是踩着对方的脚，带你的

女孩总是把你抓得生紧。杜鹃花再也不显得那么孤零零的，她们连成流动的红色白色

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

旗帜。 "上星期你在贝尔家吧？"这声音又来了，带着一种疲倦感。丽拉搞不清是不是该问他是否愿意停下来。 "不，我这是第一次参加舞会"她说。舞伴喘着气笑了。"噢，是吗，"他不相信。 "真的，是真的，这是我有生以来第一次参加舞会。"丽拉显

得十分着急。给别人讲出来就轻松多了。"你知道，我在乡下一 www.BOOKOO.com 直住到现在。" 这时音乐停了，他们走过去坐在挨墙的两把椅子上。丽拉把一双穿着缎鞋的小脚收拢起来，用扇子扇着风。这时她极为幸福

地注视着其他舞伴从眼前过去，消失在转门口。 .cn "跳得高兴吗，丽拉？"乔斯问，点着她那金发脑袋。

劳拉过来不易察觉地向她挤了个眼。这一瞬间丽拉搞不清自己究竟是不是大人了。当然她的舞伴也没多说什么。他咳嗽着，拿起手帕，脱掉外套，摘掉袖子上的一根细线。但不要紧。紧接

着乐队又开始奏响舞曲，她的第二个舞伴好像是从天上蹦下来。 "地板还不赖，"换了个新的声音。难道人人都得从地板说起吗？接着又来了，"你星期二在尼维家吧？"丽拉又给解释了一遍。说来有些怪，她的舞伴个个都挺乏味。而这场面多么动人。这是她的第一次舞会！她一切都才刚刚开始。她似乎在想以前晚上不

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

知都是怎么过来的。一直在黑暗、沉默中，可是也挺美好的。哦，不错，毕竟有点伤感和孤独。现在再也不会那样了，曙光已经照

进来 "想吃冰淇淋吗？"舞伴问她。于是他们穿过转门，来到过道向餐厅走去。她脸色发烧，渴得要命。在小玻璃杯中冰块显得那么怡人，还有那冻住的勺子那么冷。他们回到大厅时那个胖子正

在门口等她。看到他那么老让她再次大吃一惊，他应该去跟那些 www.BOOKOO.com 爸爸妈妈们呆在一块。丽拉把他跟自己的舞伴比较了一下，觉得他太寒酸了。他的马甲皱巴巴的，手套上的钮扣也掉了，那件外

衣好像落满法国粉笔灰。 "过来，小姑娘。"胖子说。他毫不费劲地抓住她，两人轻轻 .cn 地跳开了。说是跳舞，更像走路。但他对地板一字不提。"这是

你第一次跳舞吧？"他轻声说。 "你怎么知道的？" "哦，"胖子说："这么老了可不是没有道理的！"他带着她经过一对笨拙的舞伴时轻轻地喘着气。"你瞧，我干这种事已经 30 年了。" "30 年？"丽拉大叫。比她出生还早 12 年！ "想到这点受不了吧？"胖子阴郁地说。丽拉盯着他的秃头，感觉很为他伤心。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

"你现在还在跳，我觉得真了不起。"她好心地说。 "好心的小姑娘，"胖子说，他靠得更近些，嘴里哼着华尔兹节拍。他说："别指望什么事情都会那么长久，用不了 30 年，不， "胖子说，"用不了多久，你会穿着漂亮的黑丝绒衣，坐在舞台上看别人跳。这漂亮的胳膊也将变得又短又胖，你也会用一把完全

不同的黑色乌木扇子打拍子。"胖子浑身似乎颤栗了一下。"你也

会像那边那些可怜的老妈妈一样远远地微笑着，指着你的女儿， www.BOOKOO.com 告诉旁边的老婆子说，某个讨厌的男人想在俱乐部舞会上吻她。

你的心会发疼，发疼的。"胖子把她搂得更紧了些，好像挺对不起那可怜的心脏似的，"因为没有人想吻你了。你会说这光滑的地板走起来不舒服，又挺危险。嗯，对吗，步步生莲的小姐？" .cn 脖子轻声说。

丽拉微微一笑，其实她并不想笑。他说的这一切都是真的吗？听上去那么真实。难道第一次舞会不过是她最后一次舞会的开始？这时音乐也似乎变味了，听起来很悲伤，升起一声巨大的悲叹声。哦，变化竟这么快！为什么幸福就不能永驻呢？即便永

驻也不会很长久。 "我不想跳了。"她气喘吁吁地说。胖子把她领到门口。 "不，"她说，"我不想出去。我不想坐下来，我就站这儿，谢谢。"她靠着墙，脚轻轻点着地，戴上手套勉强微笑。但在她内

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

心深处，一个小姑娘用围嘴捂住头在低声哭泣。他干嘛要破坏掉

这一切呢？ "听我说，你呀，"胖子说，"不必对我的话太当真，小姐。" "我才不呢！"丽拉说，她摇着黑头发的脑袋，咬住下嘴唇⋯⋯ 一对对舞伴又行动了。转门打开又关上。这时乐队指挥又送来新的乐曲。但丽拉一点跳舞的心思都没有了。她想回家，或者

坐在廊沿听小猫头鹰的叫声，透过窗户望着外面的星星，星星放 www.BOOKOO.com

射出长长的翅膀一般的光束⋯⋯ 就在这时传来轻柔迷人的乐曲，一个卷发年轻人鞠躬请她跳舞。她出于礼貌只好去跳，直到看见了梅格为止。她很不自然地走到舞池中间，高傲地拉着他的衣袖。可是不到一分钟，一个旋

转，她的脚步开始流畅地滑动起来。灯光、杜鹃花、衣袂、粉红 .cn

的面孔、丝绒椅子，这一切都变成一个美丽的飞轮。她的下一个

舞伴推着她，撞到那胖子身上，她说："对不起"她对他微笑着，笑得比任何时候都灿烂。她甚至没有认出他来。

理想家庭

那天傍晚，当尼维老先生推开转门，从宽阔的三级台阶上走到人行道上时，他平生第一次觉得自己老了，春天已经不是他的了。温暖、充满渴望、躁动的春天已经光临，在金色的阳光中等

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

待着他，准备在每个人面前显示一番，准备轻拂他的白胡子，准备轻柔地勾住他的手臂。他却无法迎接春天了，不能，再也不能像年轻人那样兴奋地摆好架势跃跃欲试。他感到苍白无力。虽然夕阳仍然在闪烁，他竟然有些发冷，浑身感到麻木。他忽然间就精力不支了，再也无心享受这种愉快和轻松的运动。这一变化让

他迷茫。他真想站住，挥舞手杖把春天赶走，"你走开吧！"忽然

间他得费很大力气才能像平常那样跟人打招呼。跟那些朋友、熟 www.BOOKOO.com 人、掌柜、邮递员、司机打招呼。用手杖轻轻地触一触帽沿都变得特别吃力了。要使个愉快的眼神，做个手势，亲切地眨眨眼睛，

想说，"我能行，我比得过你们任何人，而且比你们谁都强"。尼维先生对此就完全无能为力了。他一路跌跌撞撞，把腿提得老高，

好像在空气中行走，好像脚下很沉，拖泥带水似的。空气不知怎 .cn

么像水那样沉重。回家的人群匆匆掠过，市内电车发出叮当响声，亮着灯的马车咔嗒咔嗒地开过来，出租车那样鲁莽，带着那种一

切都不在乎的神气急驶而过，这种样子恐怕只有梦中才能见到。这一天办公室跟往天一样，没什么特别的事情。哈罗德吃午

饭直到 4 点快关门了才回来。他去哪儿了呢？他要干什么呢？他不想让父亲知道。哈罗德大摇大摆地走进来时，尼维老先生正在门厅送客人。他跟平常一样优雅地闪现出来，潇洒、温和、带着

那种令女人着迷的淡淡的微笑。

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

啊，哈罗德太漂亮了，太漂亮了，所以麻烦也从来没断过。没有哪个男人长着那样恰到好处的眼睛、睫毛和嘴唇，真是太不可思议了。至于他妈妈、姐妹、仆人们，都把他当神来尊崇，他

们一切顺着哈罗德，事事原谅他。从 13 岁开始，他就要人原谅他了，那次他偷了妈妈的钱包，把钱拿走，把钱包藏在厨子的卧室里。尼维先生用手杖使劲敲着人行道。不过也不光是家里人宠

惯他，他想，其实大家都在宠惯他。他只要瞧别人笑一笑，别人 www.BOOKOO.com 就折服了。有时候他办公室的人也会照例宠他，这也不难理解了。哼，这可不行。做生意—— 哪怕是一个生意兴隆、有根基的大商行—— 当儿戏可不行。你要不全副身心都倾注进去，生意准会在

眼前一败涂地⋯⋯

可是夏洛蒂和女儿们老缠着要他把所有的事都交给哈罗德， .cn

让他退休享福去。尼维老先生在市府大楼外一族老槟榔树下站住不动了。享福！晚风摇晃着苍郁的树叶，微微作响。坐在家里，在极端无聊中想着自己毕生的事业从哈罗德的微笑中，从他纤细

的手上溜走，化为乌有⋯⋯ "干嘛要这么想不通呢，爸爸。你完全没有必要去上班呀。别人一个劲儿地说你显得多么疲惫时，只能让我们感到很尴尬。摆着这么大的屋子和花园。真的，换个环境你肯定能幸福。要不

也可以培养个兴趣爱好什么的。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 16

小罗拉也一本正经地附合道，"所有的人都应该有爱好，如果没有简直没法活。" 行了，行了！他痛苦地爬上通往哈科特大道的小坡时，不禁苦笑一下。如果他去培养自己的爱好了，罗拉和姐姐以及夏洛蒂

到哪儿去呢？他倒是挺想知道。"爱好"可付不了城市的房租和海边的露营房，还有他们的马匹、高尔夫、还有那音乐室为他们跳

舞放的 60 基尼的唱机，爱好可没法开销这些钱啊。他并不是吝 www.BOOKOO.com 啬不让她们享受这些东西。她们都是些聪明、漂亮的姑娘，夏洛蒂也是个很出色的女人。追求时髦对她们来说挺自然的。其实，城里没有哪家比他们交游更广，没有哪家像他们那样宾客不断。不知有多少次，尼维老先生在吸烟室从桌上递过烟盒敬烟时，听 .cn 别人赞美自己的夫人、女儿甚至他本人。

"你们真是个理想家庭，先生，真是个理想家庭。就跟书里写的和舞台上演的一样。" "是啊，老伙计。"尼维老先生总是这样回答。"试试这支烟。我想你会喜欢。如果你想去花园抽烟，我敢说准能在草坪上看见

那些姑娘们。" 所以大家都说，难怪那些姑娘们都没结婚。她们本来可以嫁人。她们在家里过得太好了，夏洛蒂和几个女儿在一起多幸福。

哼！好吧，也许是这么回事吧。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

这时他已经走完了时髦的哈科特大街。他来到拐角那幢屋子，这就是他们的家。马车出入的门敞开着，车行道上还留着刚辗过的清晰车印。他面对着漆成白色的这所大宅，窗户大开着，薄纱窗帘向外飘扬，宽阔的窗台上摆着插着风信子的蓝色花瓶，车道两侧的绣球花正在盛开—— 这在城里也是远近闻名。一簇簇红色蓝色的花团在舒展的叶子中间绽放着光彩。不知怎么，尼维

老先生似乎觉得这房子、鲜花甚至新鲜的车印都在说，"这里到 www.BOOKOO.com 处都是年轻人的生活，处处有女孩子—— " 大厅里跟往常一样阴暗，橡木柜上堆满了包裹、阳伞、手套。音乐室里传来急促、高亢和不耐烦的钢琴声。从客厅门缝里传来

谈话声。 .cn "有冰淇淋吗？"这是夏洛蒂在说。接着听见她转椅的咔嚓声。

"冰淇淋！"艾瑟尔喊道，"亲爱的妈妈，你从未见过这种冰淋淇。只有两种。一种是普通店里的小草莓冰淇淋，边上都化得湿

淋淋的。" "吃的东西都让人不舒服。"玛丽恩说。 "可是，吃冰淇淋太早了点"夏洛蒂说。 "可是，要吃得上倒好了⋯⋯ "艾瑟尔说。 "噢，一点没错，亲爱的。"夏洛蒂轻声说。忽然音乐室的门打开了，罗拉冲出来。她看见尼维老先生时

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

吓了一跳，差点尖叫一声。 "哎呀，爸爸！你吓我一跳！你刚回来吗？查尔斯干嘛不来帮你脱大衣呀？" 因为一直在弹琴，她脸色通红，眼睛亮晶晶的，头发都散到前额上了。她喘着气像是从黑暗中跑出来给吓坏了。尼维老先生看着自己最小的女儿，好像没见过似的。这是罗拉吗？但她好像

忘了爸爸，她可不是在这儿等他的。这时她把皱巴巴的手绢角搁 www.BOOKOO.com 到牙齿中间生气地拉着。电话铃响了。罗拉发出哇啦一声哭似的叫声，从他前面冲过去。电话室的门砰地头上了。这时夏洛蒂喊

道，"是你吗，他爸爸？" "你又这么累，"夏洛蒂带点责备意味地说，她按住摇椅，让

他吻了下她温暖的梨一般的脸蛋。头发油光发亮的艾瑟尔亲了下 .cn

他的胡子，玛丽恩的嘴唇挨了下他的耳朵。 "你是走回来的吗，爸爸？"夏洛蒂问。 "嗯，是走回来的。"尼维老先生说，他一屁股坐到客厅一把大椅子里。 "你干嘛不坐出租车？"艾瑟尔说。"这个时候有好多出租车呢。" "我的好艾瑟尔，"玛丽恩大声说，"如果爸爸宁肯把自己搞得这么累，我看我们管也没用。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

"孩子们，孩子们？"夏洛蒂哄道。但玛丽恩并不就此罢休。"不，妈妈，你把爸爸宠坏了，这样可不对。你应该对他严一些。他太淘气了。"她发出干脆而又爽朗的大笑，对着镜子抚弄头发。奇怪！她小时候声音非常柔，说话吞吞吐吐，甚至有些结巴，现在，她不管说什么—— 即使只

是"请吃果酱，爸爸。"声调也流畅得像在舞台上演戏。

"你没下班，哈罗德就走了吗，亲爱的？"夏洛蒂问，又开始 www.BOOKOO.com 转起椅子来。 "我说不准。"尼维老先生说。 "我说不准。4 点钟以后就没看到他。" "他说—— "夏洛蒂说。

这时艾瑟尔拿着几页纸或别的什么，向妈妈跑来，坐在旁边 .cn

的椅子上。 "你瞧这个，"她喊道。"我说的就是这个，妈咪。黄色的，配上银边。你说好看吗？" "拿给我看看，宝贝。"夏洛蒂说。她摸着自己的玳瑁壳眼镜戴上，用她胖乎乎的小指头轻轻地点了点纸页，噘着嘴唇："挺好！"她嘀咕道，透过眼镜盯着艾瑟尔。"不过我们不要裙裾。" "不要裙裾！"艾瑟尔哭丧着脸说，"可是裙裾挺关键。" "妈妈，我来定吧。"玛丽恩开玩笑似地从夏洛蒂手中抢过纸

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

说："我同意妈妈的看法，"她得意地说，"加上裙裾就喧宾夺主了。 " 尼维老先生好像被遗忘了，一屁股坐在椅子里打起盹来，听着他们说话像在做梦。不用说，他是精疲力竭了，已经支撑不住。今晚连夏洛蒂和这帮姑娘们也让他受不了。她们太⋯⋯太⋯⋯而他昏昏沉沉的脑子只有一个念头—— 太富有了，他受不了。他眼

前出现一个形容枯槁的老人正在爬那没有尽头的楼梯。他是谁 www.BOOKOO.com

呢？ "我今晚不换礼服了。"他咕哝道。 "你说什么，他爸爸？" "嗯，什么，什么？"尼维老先生一下子惊醒过来，呆呆地打 .cn 量着大家，"我今晚不想换礼服了。"他又重复了一遍。

"可是，爸爸，我们已经请了露西尔、亨利·达文波特和泰迪·沃克太太。 " "那太不像样了。" "你不舒服吗，亲爱的？" "你不用操心。查尔斯是干什么的？" "可是如果你实在没精神的话，"夏洛蒂犹豫不决。 "行！行！"尼维老先生站起来和那位攀登小老头一起向更衣室走去⋯⋯

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

小查尔斯在那儿恭候着他，从热水瓶上拿过一条毛巾，小心得好像一切都系于此端。小查尔斯自从到这家里负责烧火，就深得他的欢心，那时还是个红脸小孩呢。尼维老先生坐在窗边的藤

椅上伸直腿，照例说几句晚上的俏皮话："把他打扮起来，查尔斯！"而查尔斯呼吸紧张，皱着眉头，弯下腰把他的领带夹取下来。

嗯，嗯！挺好，挺好，坐在打开的窗边真舒服，真舒服—— www.BOOKOO.com 又是一个美丽温柔的夜晚。他们在下面的网球场上忙着割草，他听着割草机轻轻的颤鸣声。过一会儿姑娘们又要开网球会。想到

这里他好像听到玛丽恩清脆的声音："打得好，朋友⋯⋯噢，打呀，朋友，噢，太棒了。"接着听见夏洛蒂在阳台上喊："哈罗德 .cn 上哪儿去了？"艾瑟尔说："他肯定不在这儿，妈妈。"夏洛蒂自言

自语说，"他说—— " 尼维老先生叹口气站起来，用手摸了下胡子，从小查尔斯手里接过梳子，仔细地梳理了一番白胡子。查尔斯把一块折好的手

帕、手表、印章、眼镜盒递给他。 "可以了，小伙子。"门关上后他又坐回去，独自一人⋯⋯ 这时那个小老头又从那个没有尽头、通向明亮、热闹的餐厅

的梯子上爬下来。他的腿怎么是那样！简直像蜘蛛的，又细又瘦。 "你们真是个理想家庭，先生，一个理想家庭。"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

可是假如真是这样，为什么夏洛蒂和姑娘们不拦他？为什么就他一个人孤独地爬上爬下？哈罗德上哪儿去了？噢，别指望哈罗德。这只小小的老蜘蛛一直往下爬。接着，令他恐怖的是，尼维老先生看见他溜出餐厅跑过走廊，来到黑乎乎的车道、马车出

入的大门，走进办公室。什么人赶快来拦住他，拦住他！尼维老先生突然惊醒。更衣室暗下来，窗口闪着白茫茫的亮

光。他睡了有多久？他倾听着周围的动静，空荡荡的大黑屋子外 www.BOOKOO.com 面飘来遥远的人声和别的声响。他迷迷糊糊地想，也许自己睡了很久。人们把他遗忘了。所有这一切—— 房子、夏洛蒂、姑娘们和哈罗德跟他有什么关系？他了解他们什么呢？他们对他简直跟陌生人一样。生命已从他身边飘逝。夏洛蒂并不是他的妻子。 .cn 他的妻子！

⋯⋯漆黑的过道掩映在茂密藤蔓中，它忧伤地垂了下来，好像它也能理解。温暖的小胳膊搂着他的脖子。一张苍白的小脸

对着他，轻轻说："再见，我的宝贝。" 我的宝贝！"再见，我的宝贝！"谁在说再见？为什么要说再见呢？一定是搞错了。她的妻子，那个苍白的小姑娘，生活中的

其他全是一场梦。这时门开了，小查尔斯站在亮处，垂着手像个年轻士兵似地

大声喊道："饭准备好了，先生！"

《曼斯菲尔德短篇小说》作者：曼斯菲尔德 17

"我就来，我就来，"尼维老先生说。