"You might be dead if you hadn't. Would you like that better?"
The matter-of-fact question was like a hand laid across Lucilla's mouth. "I don't want to be dead," she admitted finally. "Neither do I want to go on like this, hearing words that aren't spoken and bells that don't ring. When it gets to the point that I pick up a phone just because somebody's thinking...." She stopped abruptly5.
"I didn't quite catch the end of that sentence," Dr. Andrews said.
"I didn't quite finish it. I can't."
"Can't? Or won't? Don't hold anything back, Lucilla. You were saying that you picked up the phone just because somebody was thinking...." He paused expectantly. Lucilla reread the ornate letters on the framed diploma on the wall, looked critically at the picture of Mrs. Andrews—whom she'd met—and her impish daughter—whom she hadn't—counted the number of pleats in the billowing drapes, ran a tentative finger over the face of her wristwatch, straightened a fold of her skirt ... and could stand the silence no longer.
"All right," she said wearily. "The girl at Karry Karton thought about talking to me, and I heard my phone ring, even though the bell was disconnected. G.G. thought about needing backup material for the conference and I went to the library. The truck driver thought about warning people and I got out of his way. So I can read people's minds—some people's minds, some of the time, anyway ... only there's no such thing as telepathy. And if I'm not telepathic, then...." She caught herself in the brink6 of time and bit back the final word, fighting for self-control.
"Then what?" The peremptory7 question toppled Lucilla's defenses.
"I'm crazy," she said. Speaking the word released all the others dammed up behind it. "Ever since I can remember, things like this have happened—all at once, in the middle of doing something or saying something, I'd find myself thinking about what somebody else was doing or saying. Not thinking—knowing. I'd be playing hide-and-seek, and I could see the places where the other kids were hiding just as plainly as I could see my own surroundings. Or I'd be worrying over the answers to an exam question, and I'd know what somebody in the back of the room had decided8 to write down, or what the teacher was expecting us to write. Not always—but it happened often enough so that it bothered me, just the way it does now when I answer a question before it's been asked, or know what the driver ahead of me is going to do a split second before he does it, or win a bridge game because I can see everybody else's hand through his own eyes, almost."
"Has it always ... bothered you, Lucilla?"
"No-o-o-o." She drew the word out, considering, trying to think when it was that she hadn't felt uneasy about the unexpected moments of perceptiveness9. When she was very little, perhaps. She thought of the tiny, laughing girl in the faded snaps of the old album—and suddenly, inexplicably10, she was that self, moving through remembered rooms, pausing to collect a word from a boyish father, a thought from a pretty young mother. Reluctantly, she closed her eyes against that distant time. "Way back," she said, "when I didn't know any better, I just took it for granted that sometimes people talked to each other and that sometimes they passed thoughts along without putting them into words. I was about six, I guess, when I found out it wasn't so." She slipped into her six-year-old self as easily as she had donned the younger Lucilla. This time she wasn't in a house, but high on a hillside, walking on springy pine needles instead of prosaic11 carpet.
"Talk," Dr. Andrews reminded her, his voice so soft that it could almost have come from inside her own mind.
"We were picnicking," she said. "A whole lot of us. Somehow, I wandered away from the others...." One minute the hill was bright with sun, and the next it was deep in shadows and the wind that had been merely cool was downright cold. She shivered and glanced around expecting her mother to be somewhere near, holding out a sweater or jacket. There was no one at all in sight. Even then, she never thought of being frightened. She turned to retrace12 her steps. There was a big tree that looked familiar, and a funny rock behind it, half buried in the hillside. She was trudging13 toward it, humming under her breath, when the worry thoughts began to reach her. (... only a little creek14 so I don't think she could have fallen in ... not really any bears around here ... but she never gets hurt ... creek ... bear ... twisted ankle ... dark ... cold....) She had veered15 from her course and started in the direction of the first thought, but now they were coming from all sides and she had no idea at all which way to go. She ran wildly then, first one way, then the other, sobbing16 and calling.
"Lucilla!" The voice sliced into the night, and the dark mountainside and the frightened child were gone. She shuddered17 a little, reminiscently, and put her hand over her eyes.
"Somebody found me, of course. And then Mother was holding me and crying and I was crying, too, and telling her how all the different thought at once frightened me and mixed me up. She ... she scolded me for ... for telling fibs ... and said that nobody except crazy people thought they could read each other's minds."
"I see," said Dr. Andrews, "So you tried not to, of course. And anytime you did it again, or thought you did, you blamed it on coincidence. Or luck."
"And had that nightmare again."
"Yes, that, too. Tell me about it."
"I already have. Over and over."
"Tell me again, then."
"I feel like a fool, repeating myself," she complained. Dr. Andrew's made no comment. "Oh, all right. It always starts with me walking down a crowded street, surrounded by honking18 cars and yelling newsboys and talking people. The noise bothers me and I'm tempted19 to cover my ears to shut it out, but I try to ignore it, instead, and walk faster and faster. Bit by bit, the buildings I pass are smaller, the people fewer, the noise less. All at once, I discover there's nothing around at all but a spreading carpet of gray-green moss20, years deep, and a silence that feels as old as time itself. There's nothing to frighten me, but I am frightened ... and lonesome, not so much for people, but for a sound ... any sound. I turn to run back toward town, but there's nothing behind me now but the same gray moss and gray sky and dead silence."
点击收听单词发音
1 miserably | |
adv.痛苦地;悲惨地;糟糕地;极度地 | |
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2 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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3 clenched | |
v.紧握,抓紧,咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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4 rupture | |
n.破裂;(关系的)决裂;v.(使)破裂 | |
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5 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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6 brink | |
n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘,边沿 | |
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7 peremptory | |
adj.紧急的,专横的,断然的 | |
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8 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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9 perceptiveness | |
n.洞察力强,敏锐,理解力 | |
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10 inexplicably | |
adv.无法说明地,难以理解地,令人难以理解的是 | |
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11 prosaic | |
adj.单调的,无趣的 | |
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12 retrace | |
v.折回;追溯,探源 | |
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13 trudging | |
vt.& vi.跋涉,吃力地走(trudge的现在分词形式) | |
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14 creek | |
n.小溪,小河,小湾 | |
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15 veered | |
v.(尤指交通工具)改变方向或路线( veer的过去式和过去分词 );(指谈话内容、人的行为或观点)突然改变;(指风) (在北半球按顺时针方向、在南半球按逆时针方向)逐渐转向;风向顺时针转 | |
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16 sobbing | |
<主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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17 shuddered | |
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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18 honking | |
v.(使)发出雁叫似的声音,鸣(喇叭),按(喇叭)( honk的现在分词 ) | |
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19 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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20 moss | |
n.苔,藓,地衣 | |
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