The house stood near the flat shingle bay where he landed, and where he pulled up his light boat. On a sunny day in August the men sailed away and left him. The sea was still and pale blue. On the horizon he saw the small mail-steamer slowly passing northwards, as if she were walking. She served the outer isles4 twice a week. He could row out to her if need be, in calm weather, and he could signal her from a flagstaff behind his cottage.
Half a dozen sheep still remained on the island, as company; and he had a cat to rub against his legs. While the sweet, sunny days of the northern autumn lasted, he would walk among the rocks, and over the springy turf of his small domain5, always coming to the ceaseless, restless sea. He looked at every leaf, that might be different from another, and he watched the endless expansion and contraction6 of the water-tossed sea-weed. He had never a tree, not even a bit of heather to guard. Only the turf, and tiny turf-plants, and the sedge by the pool, the seaweed in the ocean. He was glad. He didn’t want trees or bushes. They stood up like people, too assertive7. His bare, low-pitched island in the pale blue sea was all he wanted.
He no longer worked at his book. The interest had gone. He liked to sit on the low elevation8 of his island, and see the sea; nothing but the pale, quiet sea. And to feel his mind turn soft and hazy9, like the hazy ocean. Sometimes, like a mirage10, he would see the shadow of land rise hovering11 to northwards. It was a big island beyond. But quite without substance.
He was soon almost startled when he perceived the steamer on the near horizon, and his heart contracted with fear, lest it were going to pause and molest12 him. Anxiously he watched it go, and not till it was out of sight did he feel truly relieved, himself again. The tension of waiting for human approach was cruel. He did not want to be approached. He did not want to hear voices. He was shocked by the sound of his own voice, if he inadvertently spoke13 to his cat. He rebuked14 himself for having broken the great silence. And he was irritated when his cat would look up at him and mew faintly, plaintively15. He frowned at her. And she knew. She was becoming wild, lurking16 in the rocks, perhaps fishing.
But what he disliked most was when one of the lumps of sheep opened its mouth and baa-ed its hoarse17, raucous18 baa. He watched it, and it looked to him hideous19 and gross. He came to dislike the sheep very much.
He wanted only to hear the whispering sound of the sea, and the sharp cries of the gulls20, cries that came out of another world to him. And best of all, the great silence.
He decided22 to get rid of the sheep, when the boat came. They were accustomed to him now, and stood and stared at him with yellow or colourless eyes, in an insolence23 that was almost cold ridicule24. There was a suggestion of cold indecency about them. He disliked them very much. And when they jumped with staccato jumps off the rocks, and their hoofs25 made the dry, sharp hit, and the fleece flopped26 on their square backs — he found them repulsive27, degrading.
The fine weather passed, and it rained all day. He lay a great deal on his bed, listening to the water trickling28 from his roof into the zinc29 water-butt, looking through the open door at the rain, the dark rocks, the hidden sea. Many gulls were on the island now: many sea-birds of all sorts. It was another world of life. Many of the birds he had never seen before. His old impulse came over him, to send for a book, to know their names. In a flicker30 of the old passion, to know the name of everything he saw, he even decided to row out to the steamer. The names of these birds! he must know their names, otherwise he had not got them, they were not quite alive to him.
But the desire left him, and he merely watched the birds as they wheeled or walked around him, watched them vaguely31, without discrimination. All interest had left him. Only there was one gull21, a big handsome fellow, who would walk back and forth32, back and forth in front of the open door of the cabin, as if he had some mission there. He was big, and pearl-grey, and his roundnesses were as smooth and lovely as a pearl. Only the folded wings had shut black pinions33, and on the closed black feathers were three very distinct white dots, making a pattern. The islander wondered very much, why this bit of trimming on the bird out of the far, cold seas. And as the gull walked back and forth, back and forth in front of the cabin, strutting34 on pale-dusky gold feet, holding up his pale yellow beak35, that was curved at the tip, with curious alien importance, the man wondered over him. He was portentous36, he had a meaning.
Then the bird came no more. The island, which had been full of sea-birds, the flash of wings, the sound and cut of wings and sharp eerie37 cries in the air, began to be deserted38 again. No longer they sat like living eggs on the rocks and turf, moving their heads, but scarcely rising into flight round his feet. No longer they ran across the turf among the sheep, and lifted themselves upon low wings. The host had gone. But some remained, always.
The days shortened, and the world grew eerie. One day the boat came: as if suddenly, swooping39 down. The islander found it a violation40. It was torture to talk to those two men, in their homely41 clumsy clothes. The air of familiarity around them was very repugnant to him. Himself, he was neatly42 dressed, his cabin was neat and tidy. He resented any intrusion, the clumsy homeliness43, the heavy-footedness of the two fishermen was really repulsive to him.
The letters they had brought, he left lying unopened in a little box. In one of them was his money. But he could not bear to open even that one. Any kind of contact was repulsive to him. Even to read his name on an envelope. He hid the letters away.
And the hustle44 and horror of getting the sheep caught and tied and put in the ship made him loathe45 with profound repulsion the whole of the animal creation. What repulsive god invented animals, and evil-smelling men? To his nostrils46, the fishermen and the sheep alike smelled foul47; an uncleanness on the fresh earth.
He was still nerve-wracked and tortured when the ship at last lifted sail and was drawing away, over the still sea. And sometimes days after, he would start with repulsion, thinking he heard the munching48 of sheep.
The dark days of winter drew on. Sometimes there was no real day at all. He felt ill, as if he were dissolving, as if dissolution had already set in inside him. Everything was twilight49, outside, and in his mind and soul. Once, when he went to the door, he saw black heads of men swimming in his bay. For some moments he swooned unconscious. It was the shock, the horror of unexpected human approach. The horror in the twilight! And not till the shock had undermined him and left him disembodied, did he realize that the black heads were the heads of seals swimming in. A sick relief came over him. But he was barely conscious, after the shock. Later on, he sat and wept with gratitude50, because they were not men. But he never realized that he wept. He was too dim. Like some strange, ethereal animal, he no longer realized what he was doing.
Only he still derived51 his single satisfaction from being alone, absolutely alone, with the space soaking into him. The grey sea alone, and the footing of his sea-washed island. No other contact. Nothing human to bring its horror into contact with him. Only space, damp, twilit, sea-washed space! This was the bread of his soul.
For this reason, he was most glad when there was a storm, or when the sea was high. Then nothing could get at him. Nothing could come through to him from the outer world. True, the terrific violence of the wind made him suffer badly. At the same time, it swept the world utterly52 out of existence for him. He always liked the sea to be heavily rolling and tearing. Then no boat could get at him. It was like eternal ramparts round his island.
He kept no track of time, and no longer thought of opening a book. The print, the printed letters, so like the depravity of speech, looked obscene. He tore the brass53 label from his paraffin stove. He obliterated54 any bit of lettering in his cabin.
His cat had disappeared. He was rather glad. He shivered at her thin, obtrusive55 call. She had lived in the coal shed. And each morning he had put her a dish of porridge, the same as he ate. He washed her saucer with repulsion. He did not like her writhing56 about. But he fed her scrupulously57. Then one day she did not come for her porridge: she always mewed for it. She did not come again.
He prowled about his island in the rain, in a big oil-skin coat, not knowing what he was looking at, nor what he went out to see. Time had ceased to pass. He stood for long spaces, gazing from a white, sharp face, with those keen, far-off blue eyes of his, gazing fiercely and almost cruelly at the dark sea under the dark sky. And if he saw the labouring sail of a fishing boat away on the cold waters, a strange malevolent58 anger passed over his features.
Sometimes he was ill. He knew he was ill, because he staggered as he walked, and easily fell down. Then he paused to think what it was. And he went to his stores and took out dried milk and malt, and ate that. Then he forgot again. He ceased to register his own feelings.
The days were beginning to lengthen59. All winter the weather had been comparatively mild, but with much rain, much rain. He had forgotten the sun. Suddenly, however, the air was very cold, and he began to shiver. A fear came over him. The sky was level and grey, and never a star appeared at night. It was very cold. More birds began to arrive. The island was freezing. With trembling hands he made a fire in his grate. The cold frightened him.
And now it continued, day after day, a dull, deathly cold. Occasional crumblings of snow were in the air. The days were greyly longer, but no change in the cold. Frozen grey daylight. The birds passed away, flying away. Some he saw lying frozen. It was as if all life were drawing away, contracting away from the north, contracting southwards. “Soon”, he said to himself, “it will all be gone, and in all these regions nothing will be alive.” He felt a cruel satisfaction in the thought.
Then one night there seemed to be a relief: he slept better, did not tremble half awake, and writhe61 so much, half-conscious. He had become so used to the quaking and writhing of his body, he hardly noticed it. But when for once it slept deep, he noticed that.
He awoke in the morning to a curious whiteness. His window was muffled62. It had snowed. He got up and opened his door, and shuddered63. Ugh! how cold! All white, with a dark leaden sea, and black rocks curiously64 speckled with white. The foam65 was no longer pure. It seemed dirty. And the sea ate at the whiteness of the corpse-like land. Crumbles66 of snow were silting67 down the dead air.
On the ground the snow was a foot deep, white and smooth and soft, windless. He took a shovel68 to clear round his house and shed. The pallor of morning darkened. There was a strange rumbling60 of far-off thunder, in the frozen air, and through the newly-falling snow, a dim flash of lightning. Snow now fell steadily69 down, in the motionless obscurity.
He went out for a few minutes. But it was difficult. He stumbled and fell in the snow, which burned his face. Weak, faint, he toiled70 home. And when he recovered, he took the trouble to make hot milk.
It snowed all the time. In the afternoon again there was a muffled rumbling of thunder, and flashes of lightning blinking reddish through the falling snow. Uneasy, he went to bed and lay staring fixedly71 at nothing.
Morning seemed never to come. An eternity72 long he lay and waited for one alleviating73 pallor on the night. And at last it seemed the air was paler. His house was a cell faintly illuminated74 with white light. He realized the snow was walled outside his window. He got up, in the dead cold. When he opened his door, the motionless snow stopped him in a wall as high as his breast. Looking over the top of it, he felt the dead wind slowly driving, saw the snow-powder lift and travel like a funeral train. The blackish sea churned and champed, seeming to bite at the snow, impotent. The sky was grey, but luminous75.
He began to work in a frenzy76, to get at his boat. If he was to be shut in, it must be by his own choice, not by the mechanical power of the elements. He must get to the sea. He must be able to get at his boat.
But he was weak, and at times the snow overcame him. It fell on him, and he lay buried and lifeless. Yet every time, he struggled alive before it was too late, and fell upon the snow with the energy of fever. Exhausted77, he would not give in. He crept indoors and made coffee and bacon. Long since he had cooked so much. Then he went at the snow once more. He must conquer the snow, this new, white brute78 force which had accumulated against him.
He worked in the awful, dead wind, pushing the snow aside, pressing it with his shovel. It was cold, freezing hard in the wind, even when the sun came out for a while, and showed him his white, lifeless surroundings, the black sea rolling sullen79, flecked with dull spume, away to the horizons. Yet the sun had power on his face. It was March.
He reached the boat. He pushed the snow away, then sat down under the lee of the boat, looking at the sea, which nearly swirled80 to his feet, in the high tide. Curiously natural the pebbles looked, in a world gone all uncanny. The sun shone no more. Snow was falling in hard crumbs81, that vanished as if by miracle as they touched the hard blackness of the sea. Hoarse waves rang in the shingle, rushing up at the snow. The wet rocks were brutally82 black. And all the time the myriad83 swooping crumbs of snow, demonish, touched the dark sea and disappeared.
During the night there was a great storm. It seemed to him he could hear the vast mass of the snow striking all the world with a ceaseless thud; and over it all, the wind roared in strange hollow volleys, in between which came a jump of blindfold84 lightning, then the low roll of thunder heavier than the wind. When at last the dawn faintly discoloured the dark, the storm had more or less subsided85, but a steady wind drove on. The snow was up to the top of his door.
Sullenly86, he worked to dig himself out. And he managed, through sheer persistency87, to get out. He was in the tail of a great drift, many feet high. When he got through, the frozen snow was not more than two feet deep. But his island was gone. Its shape was all changed, great heaping white hills rose where no hills had been, inaccessible88, and they fumed89 like volcanoes, but with snow powder. He was sickened and overcome.
His boat was in another, smaller drift. But he had not the strength to clear it. He looked at it helplessly. The shovel slipped from his hands, and he sank in the snow, to forget. In the snow itself, the sea resounded90.
Something brought him to. He crept to his house. He was almost without feeling. Yet he managed to warm himself, just that part of him which leaned in snow-sleep over the coal fire. Then again, he made hot milk. After which, carefully, he built up the fire.
The wind dropped. Was it night again? In the silence, it seemed he could hear the panther-like dropping of infinite snow. Thunder rumbled91 nearer, crackled quick after the bleared reddened lightning. He lay in bed in a kind of stupor92. The elements! The elements! His mind repeated the word dumbly. You can’t win against the elements.
How long it went on, he never knew. Once, like a wraith93, he got out, and climbed to the top of a white hill on his unrecognizable island. The sun was hot. “It is summer”, he said to himself, “and the time of leaves.” He looked stupidly over the whiteness of his foreign island, over the waste of the lifeless sea. He pretended to imagine he saw the wink94 of a sail. Because he knew too well there would never again be a sail on that stark95 sea.
As he looked, the sky mysteriously darkened and chilled. From far off came the mutter of the unsatisfied thunder, and he knew it was the signal of the snow rolling over the sea. He turned, and felt its breath on him.
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收听单词发音
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1
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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2
shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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corrugated
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| adj.波纹的；缩成皱纹的；波纹面的；波纹状的v.（使某物）起皱褶(corrugate的过去式和过去分词) | |
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isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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contraction
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| n.缩略词，缩写式，害病 | |
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assertive
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| adj.果断的，自信的，有冲劲的 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
rebuked
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| 责难或指责( rebuke的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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raucous
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| adj.(声音)沙哑的，粗糙的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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gulls
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| n.鸥( gull的名词复数 )v.欺骗某人( gull的第三人称单数 ) | |
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gull
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| n.鸥；受骗的人；v.欺诈 | |
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22
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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26
flopped
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| v.（指书、戏剧等）彻底失败( flop的过去式和过去分词 )；（因疲惫而）猛然坐下；（笨拙地、不由自主地或松弛地）移动或落下；砸锅 | |
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repulsive
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| adj.排斥的，使人反感的 | |
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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zinc
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| n.锌；vt.在...上镀锌 | |
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flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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pinions
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| v.抓住[捆住]（双臂）( pinion的第三人称单数 ) | |
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34
strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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38
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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swooping
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的现在分词 ) | |
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40
violation
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| n.违反(行为)，违背(行为)，侵犯 | |
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41
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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42
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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43
homeliness
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| n.简朴，朴实；相貌平平 | |
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44
hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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45
loathe
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| v.厌恶，嫌恶 | |
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46
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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47
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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48
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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49
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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50
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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51
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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53
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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54
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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55
obtrusive
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| adj.显眼的；冒失的 | |
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56
writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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58
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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59
lengthen
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| vt.使伸长，延长 | |
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60
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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61
writhe
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| vt.挣扎，痛苦地扭曲；vi.扭曲，翻腾，受苦；n.翻腾，苦恼 | |
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62
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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foam
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| v./n.泡沫，起泡沫 | |
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crumbles
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| 酥皮水果甜点( crumble的名词复数 ) | |
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67
silting
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| n.淤积，淤塞，充填v.（河流等）为淤泥淤塞( silt的现在分词 )；（使）淤塞 | |
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68
shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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alleviating
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| 减轻，缓解，缓和( alleviate的现在分词 ) | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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swirled
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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blindfold
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| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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fumed
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| 愤怒( fume的过去式和过去分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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stupor
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| v.昏迷；不省人事 | |
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wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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