“We sail Monday on the St. Paul. Mizzi is with me. I broke my word to you. But you lied to me about the letters. I found them the week before the concert. I shall bring her back with me or stay to fight for Germany. Forgive me, dear sister.”
Just fifty words. His thrifty7 German training.
“No!” cried Fanny, aloud. “No! No!” And the cry quavered and died away, and another took its place, and it, too, gave way to another, so that she was moaning as she stood there with the telegram in her shaking hand. She read it again, her lips moving, as old people sometimes read. Then she began to whimper, with her closed fist over her mouth, her whole body shaking. All her fine courage gone now; all her rigid8 self-discipline; all her iron determination. She was not a tearful woman. And she had wept much on the train. So the thing that wrenched9 and shook her now was all the more horrible because of its soundlessness. She walked up and down the room, pushing her hair back from her forehead with the flat of her hand. From time to time she smoothed out the crumpled10 yellow slip of paper and read it again. Her mind, if you could have seen into it, would have presented a confused and motley picture. Something like this: But his concert engagements?... That was what had happened to Bauer.... How silly he had looked when her fist met his jaw11.... It had turned cold; why didn't they have steam on? The middle of October.... Teddy, how could you do it! How could you do it!... Was he still lying in a heap on the floor? But of course the sneaking12 little Jap had found him.... Somebody to talk to. That was what she wanted. Some one to talk to....
Some one to talk to. She stood there, in the middle of her lamp-lighted living room, and she held out her hands in silent appeal. Some one to talk to. In her mind she went over the list of those whose lives had touched hers in the last few crowded years. Fenger, Fascinating Facts, Ella Monahan, Nathan Haynes; all the gay, careless men and women she had met from time to time through Fenger and Fascinating Facts. Not one of them could she turn to now.
Clarence Heyl. She breathed a sigh of relief. Clarence Heyl. He had helped her once, to-day. And now, for the second time, something that he had said long before came from its hiding place in her subconscious13 mind. She had said:
“Some days I feel I've got to walk out of the office, and down the street, without a hat, and on and on, walking and walking, and running and running till I come to the horizon.”
And Heyl had answered, in his quiet, reassuring14 way: “Some day that feeling will get too strong for you. When that time comes get on a train marked Denver. From there take another to Estes Park. That's the Rocky Mountains, where the horizon lives and has its being. Ask for Heyl's place. They'll hand you from one to the other. I may be there, but more likely I shan't. The key's in the mail box, tied to a string. You'll find a fire laid with fat pine knots. My books are there. The bedding's in the cedar15 chest. And the mountains will make you clean and whole again; and the pines...”
Fanny went to the telephone. Trains for Denver. She found the road she wanted, and asked for information. She was on her own ground here. All her life she had had to find her own trains, check her own trunks, plan her journeys. Sometimes she had envied the cotton-wool women who had had all these things done for them, always.
One-half of her mind was working clearly and coolly. The other half was numb16. There were things to be done. They would take a day. More than a day, but she would neglect most of them. She must notify the office. There were tickets to be got. Reservations. Money at the bank. Packing. When the maid came in at eleven Fanny had suitcases and bags out, and her bedroom was strewn with shoes, skirts, coats.
Late Monday afternoon Fenger telephoned. She did not answer. There came a note from him, then a telegram. She did not read them. Tuesday found her on a train bound for Colorado. She remembered little of the first half of her journey. She had brought with her books and magazines, and she must have read hem6, but her mind had evidently retained nothing of what she had read. She must have spent hours looking out of the window, for she remembered, long afterward17, the endlessness and the monotony of the Kansas prairies. They soothed18 her. She was glad there were no bits of autumnal woodland, no tantalizing19 vistas20, nothing to break the flat and boundless21 immensity of it. Here was something big, and bountiful, and real, and primal22. Good Kansas dirt. Miles of it. Miles of it. She felt she would like to get out and tramp on it, hard.
“Pretty cold up there in Estes Park,” the conductor had said. “Been snowing up in the mountains.”
She had arranged to stop in Denver only long enough to change trains. A puffy little branch line was to take her from Denver to Loveland, and there, she had been told, one of the big mountain-road steam automobiles23 would take her up the mountains to her destination. For one as mentally alert as she normally was, the exact location of that destination was very hazy24 in her mind. Heyl's place. That was all. Ordinarily she would have found the thought ridiculous. But she concentrated on it now; clung to it.
At the first glimpse of the foot-hills Fanny's listless gaze became interested. If you have ever traveled on the jerky, cleanly, meandering25 little road that runs between Denver and the Park you know that it winds, and curves, so that the mountains seem to leap about, friskily26, first confronting you on one side of the car window, then disappearing and seeming to taunt27 you from the windows of the opposite side. Fanny laughed aloud. The mountain steam-car was waiting at Loveland. There were few passengers at this time of year. The driver was a great tanned giant, pongee colored from his hair to his puttees and boots. Fanny was to learn, later, that in Estes Park the male tourist was likely to be puny28, pallid29, and unattractive when compared to the tall, slim, straight, khaki-clad youth, browned by the sun, and the wind, and the dust, who drives his steamer up and down the perilous30 mountain roads with more dexterity31 than the charioteering gods ever displayed on Olympus.
Fanny got the seat beside this glorious person. The steamer was a huge vehicle, boasting five rows of seats, and looking very much like a small edition of the sightseeing cars one finds in tourist-infested cities.
“Heyl's place,” said Fanny. Suppose it failed to work!
Said the blond god, “Stopping at the Inn overnight, I s'pose.”
“Why—I don't know,” faltered32 Fanny. “Can't I go right on to—to—Heyl's place?”
“Can.” Mountain steamer men are not loquacious33. “Sure. Better not. You won't get to the Inn till dark. Better stay there over night, and go on up to Heyl's place in the morning.”
Then he leaned forward, clawed about expertly among what appeared to Fanny's eyes to be a maze34 of handles, brakes, valves; and the great car glided35 smoothly36 off, without a bump, without a jar. Fanny took a long breath.
There is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they are futile37. And the Colorado Rockies, in October, when the aspens are turning! Well, aspens turn gold in October. People who have seen an aspen grove38 in October believe in fairies. And such people need no clumsy descriptive passages to aid their fancies. You others who have not seen it? There shall be no poor weaving together of words. There shall be no description of orange and mauve and flame-colored sunsets, no juggling39 with mists and clouds, and sunrises and purple mountains. Mountain dwellers40 and mountain lovers are a laconic41 tribe. They know the futility42 of words.
But the effect of the mountains on Fanny Brandeis. That is within our province. In the first place, they made her hungry. That was the crisp, heady air. The mountain road, to one who has never traveled it, is a thing of delicious thrills and near-terror. A narrow, perilous ribbon of road, cut in the side of the rock itself; a road all horseshoe curves and hairpin43 twists. Fanny found herself gasping44. But that passed after a time. Big Thompson canyon45 leaves no room for petty terror. And the pongee person was so competent, so quietly sure, so angularly graceful46 among his brakes and levers. Fanny stole a side glance at him now and then. He looked straight ahead. When you drive a mountain steamer you do look straight ahead. A glance to the right or left is so likely to mean death, or at best a sousing in the Thompson that foams47 and rushes below.
Fanny ventured a question. “Do you know Mr. Heyl?”
“Heyl? Took him down day before yesterday.”
“Down?”
“To the village. He's gone back east.”
Fanny was not quite sure whether the pang48 she felt was relief or consternation49.
At Estes village the blond god handed her over to a twin charioteer who would drive her up the mountain road to the Inn that nestled in a valley nine thousand feet up the mountain. It was a drive Fanny never forgot. Fenger, Ted1, Haynes-Cooper, her work, her plans, her ambitions, seemed to dwindle50 to puny insignificance51 beside the vast grandeur52 that unfolded before her at every fresh turn in the road. Up they went, and up, and up, and the air was cold, but without a sting in it. It was dark when the lights of the Inn twinkled out at them. The door was thrown open as they swung up the curve to the porch. A great log fire glowed in the fireplace. The dining room held only a dozen people, or thereabouts—a dozen weary, healthy people, in corduroys and sweaters and boots, whose cleanly talk was all about climbing and fishing, and horseback rides and trails. And it was fried chicken night at the Inn. Fanny thought she was too utterly53 tired to eat, until she began to eat, and then she thought she was too hungry ever to stop. After dinner she sat, for a moment, before the log fire in the low-ceilinged room, with its log walls, its rustic54 benches, and its soft-toned green and brown cushions. She forgot to be unhappy. She forgot to be anything but deliciously drowsy55. And presently she climbed the winding56 stair whose newel post was a fire-marked tree trunk, richly colored, and curiously57 twisted. And so to her lamp-lighted room, very small, very clean, very quiet. She opened her window and looked out at the towering mass that was Long's Peak, and at the stars, and she heard the busy little brook58 that scurries59 through the Inn yard on its way from the mountain to the valley. She undressed quickly, and crept into bed, meaning to be very, very miserable60 indeed. And the next thing she knew it was morning. A blue and gold October morning. And the mountains!—but there is no describing a mountain. One uses words, and they are futile. Fanny viewed them again, from her window, between pauses in dressing. And she meant, privately61, to be miserable again. But she could only think, somehow, of bacon and eggs, and coffee, and muffins.
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1
ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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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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meandering
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| 蜿蜒的河流，漫步，聊天 | |
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friskily
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| adv.活泼地，闹着玩地 | |
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taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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32
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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loquacious
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| adj.多嘴的，饶舌的 | |
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maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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juggling
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| n. 欺骗, 杂耍(=jugglery) adj. 欺骗的, 欺诈的 动词juggle的现在分词 | |
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40
dwellers
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| n.居民，居住者( dweller的名词复数 ) | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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42
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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hairpin
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| n.簪,束发夹，夹发针 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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foams
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| n.泡沫，泡沫材料( foam的名词复数 ) | |
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48
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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50
dwindle
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| v.逐渐变小（或减少） | |
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51
insignificance
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| n.不重要；无价值；无意义 | |
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52
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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54
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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56
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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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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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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scurries
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| v.急匆匆地走( scurry的第三人称单数 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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