FELIX began the task of forgetting—a task for youth in its most fantastically stern mood:—of trying to forget that unforgettable moment on the station platform with Rose-Ann. Or at least, to behave as though it had not occurred. For he was convinced that neither of them had intended it to occur.
But it was hard to ignore. It was a moment to which memory would recur2. It dramatized vividly3 for him the fact—to which he sought to adjust himself—of Rose-Ann’s absence.
Rose-Ann’s absence made a great deal of difference, it seemed—and not only to himself. What she had predicted in regard to her dramatic class came true very quickly. Under Miss Clark’s fussy4 direction, all the fun was taken out of the work for everybody. Mrs. Perk5 looked on the altered face of things with an air of wry6 disapproval7, and whispered to Felix, “Oh, it’s not the same place at all any more!” The children were listless. Paul froze into a silent rage at some unfortunate remark of Miss Clark’s about his scenery and left Community House, and Felix began to stay away from the rehearsals8 altogether.
He wrote these things to Rose-Ann, and received brief replies which showed how remote all these matters had now become to her. He accepted the probability that Springfield had captured her for good and all this time. It was true that she always inquired in a friendly way about the things in which they had both been interested; but these weekly inquiries9 were tinged10 with a kind of faint retrospective 70glamour, as though to her these interests were already invested with the pathos11 of distance. She was evidently saying good-bye to her moment of freedom.
Felix did not tell her how much he missed her. He was rather ashamed of the fact. There was something intellectually disgraceful about a state of dependence12 upon one person for companionship....
It was true, he had Clive. But he had been neglecting Clive, and now Clive had other concerns. Clive had several times urged him to come out over the week-end to Woods Point, where he was undertaking13 to spend the winter in his summer cottage, and Felix had always had some engagement with Rose-Ann which prevented his going. Now, when he would be glad to accept such an invitation, it was not renewed; Clive, it appeared, was so much interested in some girl that he had no time to spare for Felix. And Clive was the only person about the office that he cared for; at Community House since Rose-Ann had gone, there was no one. He wished that he had taken the trouble to make a few more friends. It made all the difference in the world to have some one to talk to at the day’s end, some one to share one’s thoughts with....
Suddenly he began to find Community House intolerable. He spent his evenings looking for a place to live. Certainly he could not be less lonely anywhere else! And one evening, on Canal Street, in a dingy14 building which had apparently15 once been a residence and was now rented out room by room, he found a tiny hall-room on the third floor which he had not the excuse of not being able to afford. He made some explanation for leaving Community House—which it seemed was not needed, for room there was much in demand—and moved at once into his new home.
It was a room about eight by eleven feet, hardly holding the cot-bed, table and chair, which constituted its furnishing. He improvised16 a shelf above the tiny radiator17 in the corner for his half-dozen books.... And for one evening he was 71happy, in being away from Community House, in being in a place of his own, in having in some way established his independence.
And then loneliness descended18 upon him in a black mist, obliterating19 the clear outlines of the actual world. He managed to get through the day’s work somehow, and then he wandered about hopelessly, unseeingly, the victim of a longing20 that made the very act of breathing a pain; a longing that he could not understand—for what was Rose-Ann to him?
2
He dined in various restaurants in the loop, in the vague hope of finding some one to talk to.
One evening, as he stood in a restaurant looking about for an empty table, he heard his name called. A young man, sitting alone, was beckoning21 to him. It was Eddie Silver, a reporter of whom Felix had been hearing much of late.
“Come over and congratulate me,” he said, grinning, “I’ve just been fired!”
“Really? What for?” Felix asked.
“Coming down to the office crazy drunk,” said Eddie Silver proudly. “Sit down.”
Felix had heard of Eddie Silver’s epic22 drunkennesses. Another thing he had heard was that Eddie Silver wrote poetry.... This was not so rare a thing among Chicago reporters as Felix would have supposed. Two in every dozen young reporters, as Clive had said, were poets of a sort. But, as Clive had added, it was always of a tame and colourless sort. Eddie Silver was not tame and colourless, whatever his poetry might be. Or rather there was nothing tame about the Eddie Silver legend—though its hero had appeared to Felix, whenever they met, to be the gentlest soul alive.
Eddie Silver was having a dinner which consisted mostly of cocktails23; but he showed no signs of any of the alcoholic24 belligerency for which he was famed; he seemed, on the 72contrary, likely to burst into tears at any moment. He was in a soft poetic25 mood. He talked about poetry. He tried to recite it. But the lines kept getting mixed up.
“Come on over my place,” he said, “we’ll read some Swinburne.”
He took Felix to a large furnished room a little to the north of the loop, and propping26 himself on a couch with pillows, read “Poems and Ballads” in a sonorous27 and unintelligible28 manner until midnight. He invited Felix to come back the next evening for more Swinburne, and Felix went away feeling that the legend had rather over-emphasized the belligerent29 side of Eddie Silver’s character.... He came the next evening, which was spent in precisely30 the same manner, ending with an invitation to come in tomorrow evening for still more Swinburne.
Felix wondered if Eddie Silver read Swinburne every night.
Coming the third time, he found Eddie Silver’s room occupied by half a dozen young men all more or less drunk.
“C’m’ on in!” Eddie Silver called from the couch, where he sat propped31 with pillows as before, with a book in one hand and a glass in the other. “On’y two bo’l’s o’ Swinburne left!”
He rose, and poured a glassful of whiskey for Felix.
Felix looked at the huge drink with an involuntary gesture of dismay.
“’S all right,” said Eddie Silver. “Nas’y stuff, I know! But you take it ’n’ you’ll feel better right away!”
Felix had never been drunk. He had never wanted to be drunk. But it occurred to him that now was the proper time to have that experience.
He looked about the room. All these half dozen people were in that state, so eloquently32 described by the poets, of being “perplexed no more with human and divine.”
One of them was telling an incoherent story, and two others were laughing in the wrong place and being told indignantly that that wasn’t the point at all. Another was singing to himself, and not doing it very well. Poor devil! 73he probably wanted to sing and nobody would let him except when he was drunk. And still another was arguing with Eddie Silver, who paid no attention to him whatever, about somebody named John. “John means well,” he explained, with the air of one who understands all and forgives all. “John just don’t know how, that’s all! But he means well.”
Felix considered. Did he really wish to join them in that state, so merely ridiculous when viewed from the outside? Yet they were doubtless happy, in some way which he, in his inexperience, knew nothing about. Well, he would try it. He would get drunk.
And he might as well do it quickly.
He drank half the glassful down, choked, and was slapped on the back. He waited.
He was surprised, and a little disappointed, to find that it had no further effect than the same gentle exhilaration he had experienced from an evening’s slow sipping33 of his friend Tom Alden’s Rhine wine. That was not what he wanted. That was not enough. He braced34 himself, and drank the rest of the glassful.
Some hours later he was awakened35 from a deep and peaceful sleep on the floor of the bathroom by two of his companions, and walked out of the house.... He felt refreshed by the night air, and remembered a discussion about Chicago, and of slapping somebody’s face. He did not remember being knocked down—several times, they said. By a man named Smith. He did not remember Smith.
“And every time,” they told him gleefully, “you got up and solemnly slapped his face again. You said you wouldn’t allow anybody to talk that way about Chicago.... And you kept calling him ‘McFish.’”
His companions were taking him home. He thanked them extravagantly36, and tried to give them directions, but they explained that they lived in the same building he did—a fact which at the time he found very puzzling. Nevertheless they affirmed that it was so.
He got up two flights of stairs without assistance, and 74opened his door, but immediately became overcome with sleep, and sank on the couch. They pulled off his shoes and left him....
At seven o’clock in the morning he awoke, located himself after a momentary37 wonderment and shook his head. No headache! That was strange! Apparently he was not going to suffer the traditional aftermath.... He went to take a cold bath, and returning found one of his companions of the night before in the hall. “How do you feel?” He felt fine. He had some breakfast at the nearest restaurant, and went to work.
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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perk
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| n.额外津贴；赏钱；小费； | |
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wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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rehearsals
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| n.练习( rehearsal的名词复数 )；排练；复述；重复 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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radiator
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| n.暖气片，散热器 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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cocktails
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| n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 )；餐前开胃菜；混合物 | |
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alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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propping
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| 支撑 | |
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sonorous
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| adj.响亮的，回响的；adv.圆润低沉地；感人地；n.感人，堂皇 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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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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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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