Late one June afternoon Alexandra Bergson was driving along one of the many roads that led through the rich French farming country to the big church. The sunlight was shining directly in her face, and there was a blaze of light all about the red church on the hill. Beside Alexandra lounged a strikingly exotic figure in a tall Mexican hat, a silk sash, and a black velvet3 jacket sewn with silver buttons. Emil had returned only the night before, and his sister was so proud of him that she decided4 at once to take him up to the church supper, and to make him wear the Mexican costume he had brought home in his trunk. “All the girls who have stands are going to wear fancy costumes,” she argued, “and some of the boys. Marie is going to tell fortunes, and she sent to Omaha for a Bohemian dress her father brought back from a visit to the old country. If you wear those clothes, they will all be pleased. And you must take your guitar. Everybody ought to do what they can to help along, and we have never done much. We are not a talented family.”
The supper was to be at six o’clock, in the basement of the church, and afterward5 there would be a fair, with charades6 and an auction7. Alexandra had set out from home early, leaving the house to Signa and Nelse Jensen, who were to be married next week. Signa had shyly asked to have the wedding put off until Emil came home.
Alexandra was well satisfied with her brother. As they drove through the rolling French country toward the westering sun and the stalwart church, she was thinking of that time long ago when she and Emil drove back from the river valley to the still unconquered Divide. Yes, she told herself, it had been worth while; both Emil and the country had become what she had hoped. Out of her father’s children there was one who was fit to cope with the world, who had not been tied to the plow8, and who had a personality apart from the soil. And that, she reflected, was what she had worked for. She felt well satisfied with her life.
When they reached the church, a score of teams were hitched9 in front of the basement doors that opened from the hillside upon the sanded terrace, where the boys wrestled10 and had jumping-matches. Amedee Chevalier, a proud father of one week, rushed out and embraced Emil. Amedee was an only son, — hence he was a very rich young man, — but he meant to have twenty children himself, like his uncle Xavier. “Oh, Emil,” he cried, hugging his old friend rapturously, “why ain’t you been up to see my boy? You come tomorrow, sure? Emil, you wanna get a boy right off! It’s the greatest thing ever! No, no, no! Angel not sick at all. Everything just fine. That boy he come into this world laughin’, and he been laughin’ ever since. You come an’ see!” He pounded Emil’s ribs11 to emphasize each announcement.
Emil caught his arms. “Stop, Amedee. You’re knocking the wind out of me. I brought him cups and spoons and blankets and moccasins enough for an orphan12 asylum13. I’m awful glad it’s a boy, sure enough!”
The young men crowded round Emil to admire his costume and to tell him in a breath everything that had happened since he went away. Emil had more friends up here in the French country than down on Norway Creek14. The French and Bohemian boys were spirited and jolly, liked variety, and were as much predisposed to favor anything new as the Scandinavian boys were to reject it. The Norwegian and Swedish lads were much more self-centred, apt to be egotistical and jealous. They were cautious and reserved with Emil because he had been away to college, and were prepared to take him down if he should try to put on airs with them. The French boys liked a bit of swagger, and they were always delighted to hear about anything new: new clothes, new games, new songs, new dances. Now they carried Emil off to show him the club room they had just fitted up over the post-office, down in the village. They ran down the hill in a drove, all laughing and chattering15 at once, some in French, some in English.
Alexandra went into the cool, whitewashed16 basement where the women were setting the tables. Marie was standing17 on a chair, building a little tent of shawls where she was to tell fortunes. She sprang down and ran toward Alexandra, stopping short and looking at her in disappointment. Alexandra nodded to her encouragingly.
“Oh, he will be here, Marie. The boys have taken him off to show him something. You won’t know him. He is a man now, sure enough. I have no boy left. He smokes terrible-smelling Mexican cigarettes and talks Spanish. How pretty you look, child. Where did you get those beautiful earrings18?”
“They belonged to father’s mother. He always promised them to me. He sent them with the dress and said I could keep them.”
Marie wore a short red skirt of stoutly19 woven cloth, a white bodice and kirtle, a yellow silk turban wound low over her brown curls, and long coral pendants in her ears. Her ears had been pierced against a piece of cork20 by her great-aunt when she was seven years old. In those germless days she had worn bits of broom-straw, plucked from the common sweeping-broom, in the lobes21 until the holes were healed and ready for little gold rings.
When Emil came back from the village, he lingered outside on the terrace with the boys. Marie could hear him talking and strumming on his guitar while Raoul Marcel sang falsetto. She was vexed22 with him for staying out there. It made her very nervous to hear him and not to see him; for, certainly, she told herself, she was not going out to look for him. When the supper bell rang and the boys came trooping in to get seats at the first table, she forgot all about her annoyance23 and ran to greet the tallest of the crowd, in his conspicuous24 attire25. She didn’t mind showing her embarrassment26 at all. She blushed and laughed excitedly as she gave Emil her hand, and looked delightedly at the black velvet coat that brought out his fair skin and fine blond head. Marie was incapable27 of being lukewarm about anything that pleased her. She simply did not know how to give a half-hearted response. When she was delighted, she was as likely as not to stand on her tip-toes and clap her hands. If people laughed at her, she laughed with them.
“Do the men wear clothes like that every day, in the street?” She caught Emil by his sleeve and turned him about. “Oh, I wish I lived where people wore things like that! Are the buttons real silver? Put on the hat, please. What a heavy thing! How do you ever wear it? Why don’t you tell us about the bull-fights?”
She wanted to wring28 all his experiences from him at once, without waiting a moment. Emil smiled tolerantly and stood looking down at her with his old, brooding gaze, while the French girls fluttered about him in their white dresses and ribbons, and Alexandra watched the scene with pride. Several of the French girls, Marie knew, were hoping that Emil would take them to supper, and she was relieved when he took only his sister. Marie caught Frank’s arm and dragged him to the same table, managing to get seats opposite the Bergsons, so that she could hear what they were talking about. Alexandra made Emil tell Mrs. Xavier Chevalier, the mother of the twenty, about how he had seen a famous matador29 killed in the bull-ring. Marie listened to every word, only taking her eyes from Emil to watch Frank’s plate and keep it filled. When Emil finished his account, — bloody30 enough to satisfy Mrs. Xavier and to make her feel thankful that she was not a matador, — Marie broke out with a volley of questions. How did the women dress when they went to bull-fights? Did they wear mantillas? Did they never wear hats?
After supper the young people played charades for the amusement of their elders, who sat gossiping between their guesses. All the shops in Sainte–Agnes were closed at eight o’clock that night, so that the merchants and their clerks could attend the fair. The auction was the liveliest part of the entertainment, for the French boys always lost their heads when they began to bid, satisfied that their extravagance was in a good cause. After all the pincushions and sofa pillows and embroidered31 slippers32 were sold, Emil precipitated33 a panic by taking out one of his turquoise34 shirt studs, which every one had been admiring, and handing it to the auctioneer. All the French girls clamored for it, and their sweethearts bid against each other recklessly. Marie wanted it, too, and she kept making signals to Frank, which he took a sour pleasure in disregarding. He didn’t see the use of making a fuss over a fellow just because he was dressed like a clown. When the turquoise went to Malvina Sauvage, the French banker’s daughter, Marie shrugged35 her shoulders and betook herself to her little tent of shawls, where she began to shuffle36 her cards by the light of a tallow candle, calling out, “Fortunes, fortunes!”
The young priest, Father Duchesne, went first to have his fortune read. Marie took his long white hand, looked at it, and then began to run off her cards. “I see a long journey across water for you, Father. You will go to a town all cut up by water; built on islands, it seems to be, with rivers and green fields all about. And you will visit an old lady with a white cap and gold hoops37 in her ears, and you will be very happy there.”
“Mais, oui,” said the priest, with a melancholy38 smile. “C’est L’Isle–Adam, chez ma mere39. Vous etes tres savante, ma fille.” He patted her yellow turban, calling, “Venez donc, mes garcons! Il y a ici une veritable clairvoyante!”
Marie was clever at fortune-telling, indulging in a light irony40 that amused the crowd. She told old Brunot, the miser41, that he would lose all his money, marry a girl of sixteen, and live happily on a crust. Sholte, the fat Russian boy, who lived for his stomach, was to be disappointed in love, grow thin, and shoot himself from despondency. Amedee was to have twenty children, and nineteen of them were to be girls. Amedee slapped Frank on the back and asked him why he didn’t see what the fortune-teller would promise him. But Frank shook off his friendly hand and grunted42, “She tell my fortune long ago; bad enough!” Then he withdrew to a corner and sat glowering43 at his wife.
Frank’s case was all the more painful because he had no one in particular to fix his jealousy44 upon. Sometimes he could have thanked the man who would bring him evidence against his wife. He had discharged a good farm-boy, Jan Smirka, because he thought Marie was fond of him; but she had not seemed to miss Jan when he was gone, and she had been just as kind to the next boy. The farm-hands would always do anything for Marie; Frank couldn’t find one so surly that he would not make an effort to please her. At the bottom of his heart Frank knew well enough that if he could once give up his grudge45, his wife would come back to him. But he could never in the world do that. The grudge was fundamental. Perhaps he could not have given it up if he had tried. Perhaps he got more satisfaction out of feeling himself abused than he would have got out of being loved. If he could once have made Marie thoroughly46 unhappy, he might have relented and raised her from the dust. But she had never humbled47 herself. In the first days of their love she had been his slave; she had admired him abandonedly. But the moment he began to bully48 her and to be unjust, she began to draw away; at first in tearful amazement49, then in quiet, unspoken disgust. The distance between them had widened and hardened. It no longer contracted and brought them suddenly together. The spark of her life went somewhere else, and he was always watching to surprise it. He knew that somewhere she must get a feeling to live upon, for she was not a woman who could live without loving. He wanted to prove to himself the wrong he felt. What did she hide in her heart? Where did it go? Even Frank had his churlish delicacies50; he never reminded her of how much she had once loved him. For that Marie was grateful to him.
While Marie was chattering to the French boys, Amedee called Emil to the back of the room and whispered to him that they were going to play a joke on the girls. At eleven o’clock, Amedee was to go up to the switchboard in the vestibule and turn off the electric lights, and every boy would have a chance to kiss his sweetheart before Father Duchesne could find his way up the stairs to turn the current on again. The only difficulty was the candle in Marie’s tent; perhaps, as Emil had no sweetheart, he would oblige the boys by blowing out the candle. Emil said he would undertake to do that.
At five minutes to eleven he sauntered up to Marie’s booth, and the French boys dispersed51 to find their girls. He leaned over the card-table and gave himself up to looking at her. “Do you think you could tell my fortune?” he murmured. It was the first word he had had alone with her for almost a year. “My luck hasn’t changed any. It’s just the same.”
Marie had often wondered whether there was anyone else who could look his thoughts to you as Emil could. To-night, when she met his steady, powerful eyes, it was impossible not to feel the sweetness of the dream he was dreaming; it reached her before she could shut it out, and hid itself in her heart. She began to shuffle her cards furiously. “I’m angry with you, Emil,” she broke out with petulance52. “Why did you give them that lovely blue stone to sell? You might have known Frank wouldn’t buy it for me, and I wanted it awfully53!”
Emil laughed shortly. “People who want such little things surely ought to have them,” he said dryly. He thrust his hand into the pocket of his velvet trousers and brought out a handful of uncut turquoises54, as big as marbles. Leaning over the table he dropped them into her lap. “There, will those do? Be careful, don’t let any one see them. Now, I suppose you want me to go away and let you play with them?”
Marie was gazing in rapture55 at the soft blue color of the stones. “Oh, Emil! Is everything down there beautiful like these? How could you ever come away?”
At that instant Amedee laid hands on the switchboard. There was a shiver and a giggle56, and every one looked toward the red blur57 that Marie’s candle made in the dark. Immediately that, too, was gone. Little shrieks58 and currents of soft laughter ran up and down the dark hall. Marie started up, — directly into Emil’s arms. In the same instant she felt his lips. The veil that had hung uncertainly between them for so long was dissolved. Before she knew what she was doing, she had committed herself to that kiss that was at once a boy’s and a man’s, as timid as it was tender; so like Emil and so unlike any one else in the world. Not until it was over did she realize what it meant. And Emil, who had so often imagined the shock of this first kiss, was surprised at its gentleness and naturalness. It was like a sigh which they had breathed together; almost sorrowful, as if each were afraid of wakening something in the other.
When the lights came on again, everybody was laughing and shouting, and all the French girls were rosy59 and shining with mirth. Only Marie, in her little tent of shawls, was pale and quiet. Under her yellow turban the red coral pendants swung against white cheeks. Frank was still staring at her, but he seemed to see nothing. Years ago, he himself had had the power to take the blood from her cheeks like that. Perhaps he did not remember — perhaps he had never noticed! Emil was already at the other end of the hall, walking about with the shoulder-motion he had acquired among the Mexicans, studying the floor with his intent, deep-set eyes. Marie began to take down and fold her shawls. She did not glance up again. The young people drifted to the other end of the hall where the guitar was sounding. In a moment she heard Emil and Raoul singing:—
“Across the Rio Grand-e There lies a sunny land-e, My bright-eyed Mexico!”
Alexandra Bergson came up to the card booth. “Let me help you, Marie. You look tired.”
She placed her hand on Marie’s arm and felt her shiver. Marie stiffened60 under that kind, calm hand. Alexandra drew back, perplexed61 and hurt.
There was about Alexandra something of the impervious62 calm of the fatalist, always disconcerting to very young people, who cannot feel that the heart lives at all unless it is still at the mercy of storms; unless its strings63 can scream to the touch of pain.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
triumphant
|
|
| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
eminence
|
|
| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
velvet
|
|
| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
afterward
|
|
| adv.后来；以后 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
charades
|
|
| n.伪装( charade的名词复数 )；猜字游戏 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
auction
|
|
| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
plow
|
|
| n.犁，耕地，犁过的地；v.犁，费力地前进[英]plough | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
hitched
|
|
| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
wrestled
|
|
| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ribs
|
|
| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
orphan
|
|
| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
asylum
|
|
| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
creek
|
|
| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
chattering
|
|
| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
whitewashed
|
|
| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
earrings
|
|
| n.耳环( earring的名词复数 )；耳坠子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
stoutly
|
|
| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
cork
|
|
| n.软木，软木塞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
lobes
|
|
| n.耳垂( lobe的名词复数 )；（器官的）叶；肺叶；脑叶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
annoyance
|
|
| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
conspicuous
|
|
| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
attire
|
|
| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
wring
|
|
| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
matador
|
|
| n.斗牛士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
bloody
|
|
| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
slippers
|
|
| n. 拖鞋 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
precipitated
|
|
| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
turquoise
|
|
| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
shrugged
|
|
| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
shuffle
|
|
| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
hoops
|
|
| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
irony
|
|
| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
miser
|
|
| n.守财奴，吝啬鬼 (adj.miserly) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
grunted
|
|
| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
glowering
|
|
| v.怒视( glower的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
jealousy
|
|
| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
grudge
|
|
| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
thoroughly
|
|
| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
humbled
|
|
| adj. 卑下的，谦逊的，粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下，贬低 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
bully
|
|
| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
amazement
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
delicacies
|
|
| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
dispersed
|
|
| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
petulance
|
|
| n.发脾气，生气，易怒，暴躁，性急 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
awfully
|
|
| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
turquoises
|
|
| n.绿松石( turquoise的名词复数 )；青绿色 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
55
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
giggle
|
|
| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
blur
|
|
| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
shrieks
|
|
| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
rosy
|
|
| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
stiffened
|
|
| 加强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
perplexed
|
|
| adj.不知所措的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
impervious
|
|
| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
strings
|
|
| n.弦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |