“What of Agnes?”
She was not at home. He could think of no way to find her unassisted. He knew not where to look next and time was pressing. It was necessary to raise a wide alarm and organize a search. But he had no authority to act. It was her father’s business to take such steps. Now recalling what he had said to Enoch through the gate about Agnes he realized that it was absurdly inadequate2. He had not at all communicated his fears concerning her. Therefore, though the thought of another encounter with Enoch made him shudder3, he would have to go back. On this decision he came to a sudden stop and was surprised to see how far he had come unawares, and that he was not on the highway. When or how he had left it he did not remember. “I must have come fast,” he thought. He was half way back to New Damascus, not far from the mill, in a road that further on became a street running into sooty locust4 trees, cinder5 sidewalks, rows of company houses and a stale, historic smell of fried food. Turning in his tracks he was making back when his name was called from the side of the road by a voice he instantly knew.
[176]
“Thane!” he said, going toward him. “I need you. Please go—oh! I’m sorry. I thought you were alone.”
He veered6 off at seeing the figure of a woman behind Thane, leaning on the fence, her face averted7; but Thane, coming forward, caught him by the arm, saying anxiously:
“I need your advice is why I called you.”
“Hold it, whatever it is, Thane,” John answered. “I can’t stop now. I just can’t.” He was pulling away.
“Won’t hold,” said Thane.
“It must,” said John. “I can’t stop. I’m sorry.” He liked Thane and was loath8 to leave him in a lurch9. “Go to the hotel and wait for me there,” he said, pushing him off. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Are you looking for me?”
“Agnes!” said John to himself, as a declaration of preposterous11 fact. He wheeled around and stood stone still.
One instant before he had been mad with anxiety to hear her voice. Yet to the sound of it, so collected and sure, his emotional reaction was one of fierce anger. There was also a desolate12 world-wide sense of loss. Why he was angry or what was lost he could not have said in words. These feelings referred to her. Toward Thane there was a thought that seemed to rise behind him with purpose and power of its own; and he braced13 his back against it.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said, approaching her. “I found these.” He held out the[177] handkerchief and scarf. She took them. “Then I went to the mansion14 ... and....” There he stopped.
“Yes. What did you learn there?” she asked.
His anger kept rising. How could she be so suave15 and frontal about it? He had actually the impulse to set hands upon her roughly and demand to know what she had been doing, how she came to be here alone on a dark road with an iron puddler16 and how she could pretend to be so unembarrassed.
“Nothing,” he said. “It had just this instant occurred to me to go back and try again. I was in a beastly fume17 about you.”
“And seem to be still,” she said, in a way to put him in mind of the high tone he had been using.
“For reasons to which you are pleased to be oblivious,” he retorted. “It is to be imagined that I have some interest in seeing you safely home. May I take you on from here?”
“Another one,” Agnes murmured in a tone of soliloquy. “How repetitious!”
The thought touched off her feelings. They exploded in a burst of shrill18, irrelevant19 laughter. John was scandalized. His rage was boundless20. Yet at the same time his sense of responsibility increased. Abominable21 thoughts assailed22 him. He wondered if perhaps her father had not been right to keep her under restraint. He fervently23 wished he had never tempted24 her to break out. A resolve to get her home by force if necessary was forming in his mind when Thane put in.
[178]
“They ain’t no home,” he said. “That’s the trouble.”
“What do you know about it?” John asked, blazing.
“Oughten I know somewhat about it seeing as she’s my own wife?” said Thane, with dismal25 veracity26.
John, for an instant appalled27, turned fiercely on Agnes. “Now what have you done?” he asked. She was so startled by his manner that she couldn’t speak. “What have you done?” he demanded, now shaking her and with such authority that for a moment her spirit quailed28. “Is it true? Are you married?”
“Yes,” she said.
“To a....” He caught the word just in time, slowly let go of her and stepped back.
“Say it,” she dared him. “To a ... to ... a what? Go on. Say it.”
John’s anger was gone. Other emotions had swallowed it up,—sorrow, pity, remorse29, that devastating30 sense of loss again, more poignant31 than before in some new way, and above all a great yearning32 toward both of them.
“Where?” he asked, in a changed voice.
“In my father’s house,” said Agnes, derisively33. “What a pity you missed it!”
“But what happened?” asked John.
“What hap-pen-ed
What hap-pen-ed
What hap-pen-ed[179]
Here Mildred?
“That hap-pen-ed
That hap-pen-ed
That hap-pen-ed
Sir, she said.”
“Was it flat?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I know something to do. Let’s each one tell the story of his life. Shall I begin?”
She began to sing again:—
“What hap-pen-ed ...”
“Please,” said John. “Please don’t. You make my blood run cold.”
“Then you tell me,” said John.
“I carried her home,” said Thane, now weary of telling it, “from where she got hurt between me an’ the Cornishman knocking ourselves around in the path, an’ old Enoch he got a wicked notion as I don’t know what an’ sent for the preacher an’ we was married. Then he handed me the blue ticket an’ put us out of the house.”
John turned to Agnes with a question on his tongue. She anticipated him and began to sing:—
“What hap-pen-ed ...”
“I was coming for my street clothes to where I live,” continued Thane, “being as I was all that time in my[180] puddling rig an’ we got bogged39 here like you see us now. Nothing I say let’s do will move her. And when I say all right, what does she want, she chanties about me, making them up out of nothing.”
“When they get like that,” said John, “you have to use force. You’ve got to pick them up.”
“Can’t work it,” said Thane.
“Why not? Does she bite?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Can’t work it,” said Thane. “Not since,” he added.
“The subject of this clinic is conscious,” said Agnes, pleasantly.
They paid no attention to her.
“You board, don’t you? You were not intending to take her there?” said John.
“Only so as to get my clothes,” said Thane.
“We can’t do anything until you get your clothes,” said John. “That’s plain. I’ll stay here with her while you go for them. But don’t be long. Then maybe we can think of something to do.”
Thane went off at once with a tremendous sigh of relief in the feeling of action. His feet made a cavernous tlump, tlump, tlump-ing on the hard dirt road. John, who stood regarding Agnes from the side of the road, was sure he saw her shudder. Then from the heedless tone with which she broke the silence he was sure he had been mistaken.
“It seems you know my husband,” she said.
[181]
He was surprised that she had no difficulty with the word, though it must have been the first time she had ever used it in the possessive sense—and in such circumstances!
“Can’t you think of anything feasible to do?” John asked.
“Do you like him?” she inquired.
“Because if you can’t,” said John, “I can. It’s too much for Thane. That isn’t fair.”
He supposed she was thinking. To his disgust she began to sing, softly, tunefully:
Is the ocean very wet?
If I meet you on the bottom,
Will you never once——”
“Stop it!” He moved as if to menace her. She stopped and looked at him soberly.
“Is there nothing I can do to entertain you? I might recite. And you haven’t answered my question.”
“You give me the horrors,” he blurted41. “No, no I’m sorry. I’m unstrung, that’s all. Please do be serious. We’ve got to think of what we shall do.”
“Who are we?”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Agnes, do for....”
“Mrs. Thane, please.”
“I don’t expect you to be amiable,” he said, “but please for one moment be reasonable.”
[182]
“When they are like that you can’t do anything with them,” she said. “Really you can’t. You will have to see my husband.”
She had seated herself on a grassy43 bench with her back to the fence, her feet in the dry ditch, and was viciously jabbing the earth with a limber stick. She threw the stick from her, leaned back, folded her arms and tilted44 her chin at the sky, with an air of casting John out of existence. He had given up trying to talk and stood observing her in an overt45 manner. It was thus he saw how she looked at the moon, first vacantly without seeing it, then with a start as of recognition or recollection, and at length with an expression of such twisted mocking wistfulness that he knew one shape of her heart and turned wretchedly away, almost wishing he had not seen.
For a long time she did not move. She seemed under a kind of spell. Thane found them so, in separate states of reverie. Neither heard his footsteps approaching.
“I was thinking why should I bother you like this,” said Thane, “being though as we are friends in a way. If only it was so as I could touch something.”
“Thane,” said John, slowly, “listen to what I am thinking. The skeins of our three lives have run together in a hard knot. Mine and that of Agnes were already twisted together in a very strange history. Yours got entangled46 by chance, heaven knows why. Fate does it. Nobody is to blame. But I am responsible.”
[183]
“For us being married?” asked Thane.
“For that, yes. But for a great deal more. I am only beginning to see the meaning of things. By inheritance I am responsible for something my father and mother did to Enoch before I was born, for the fact that Agnes is his daughter and he is not my father, for the fact that he is mad. He has had his revenge on Aaron’s son, greater than he knows. What that means I cannot tell you. I shall never say it again. But what I want you to see is that I cannot leave you to face the consequences alone. It is not a matter of friendship. You are married to Agnes. In a foster sense I am married to both of you.”
His face was lighted from within. He spoke in the absent, anonymous47 manner of one undergoing a mystical experience. Something of his mood entered Thane. With one impulse they had struck hands and now stood looking deeply into each other’s eyes.
“I don’t know as I see what you mean,” said Thane.
“No,” said John. “You wouldn’t. I’ve confused you, trying to get it all said at once. There is first the fact that we are friends. My feeling for you in that way has increased suddenly, I don’t quite know why. And now, above that, is my sense of responsibility for what has happened. You must accept my view of that. It shall be understood that I have a right to stand by and that I may be trusted ... absolutely trusted ... whatever comes....”
He groped and stopped and seemed to have gone to sleep with his eyes open.
[184]
Thane moved uneasily. John, returning to himself, started slightly and released Thane’s hand. When he spoke his voice was altered.
“I can’t make it come clear,” he said. “I thought I could.”
“I’ve looked my eyes out that way, too,” said Thane. “Let’s take it as it is.”
What John at first had so clear a vision of was an act of heroic self-denial. It thrilled him with momentary48 ecstasy49. That may be understood. Man is an emotional formation, subject to sudden passions, one of which is the passion of sacrifice. Blindly on the spot he rears an altar, lays the wood in order and looks to see what offering hath in a miraculous50 manner provided itself to be burnt. Lo! there stands the one thing most beloved in all the world. The Lord sometimes interferes51, as for Isaac. Sometimes the victim saves itself. Then again the man draws back. He has not the heart to do it.
John drew back. To conclude the covenant52 with Thane meant forswearing Agnes in his heart forever. That was a vow53 he could neither bring himself to make nor trust himself to keep. And yet, any secret reservation seemed treachery to Thane. So there he stood before this truth of contradiction and “looked his eyes out” at it. How came Thane to have a thought like that?
Agnes was observing them intently with one elbow on her knee, her chin in her hand, eyes half closed. She was not thinking. She was verifying a kind of[185] knowledge that underlies54 the mind. She knew why John faltered55, why he lost his way toward what he meant to do, what that was, and why he dropped Thane’s hand. She knew what it was of a sudden to become a woman and why a woman need never be afraid.
Far away in the sky of her immemorial self, so far that what she saw of it was but its heat’s reflection, passed a flash of contempt for those tame, romantic vanities in which now man sublimates56 the reckless impulses of his savage57 egoism. At that instant, too, as it were in the light of this archaic58 intuition, there stood upon her memory the figure of the Cornishman, and she was horribly ashamed.
Nevertheless she continued to feel cynical59 about the emotional male principle. It bored her. There was one obvious thing to do. There was in fact only one thing possible to be done. But apparently60 neither Thane nor John was ever going to think of it, or give her a chance to suggest it without boldly naming it. One might have thought they had forgotten her existence. They stood in the middle of the road, John with his back to her, Thane with his eyes in the heavens, sharing a vast man-silence. She was at the core of that silence; she was all there was there. That did not interest her at all. She wished to be somewhere else.
She got up quietly and walked away from them, away from New Damascus, with a very bad list and limp. They overtook her in four or five steps, one on each side.
[186]
“What’s this way now?” Thane asked.
No answer.
“She isn’t fit to walk,” said John. “Don’t let her do it.”
She looked at Thane; the gesture he was making toward her froze in the air.
“’Tain’t what’s outside I’m afraid of,” said Thane.
Stepping ahead and turning, John confronted her. Thane did the same. She made to go around them, right. They moved that way. She made to go around them, left. They moved that way. With a frustrated62 gesture she gave it up, turned a tormented63 profile and made them feel how much she despised them.
“Mrs. Thane,” said John, “do you wish to leave New Damascus—leave it now—tonight?”
Agnes turned on him in a sudden rage of exasperation64.
“Fly, I suppose! Fly away with a—a—what is he? I forget.”
“What are you?” she said to Thane.
“Puddler,” he answered, with dignity, the look of a hurt animal in his face.
“It’s very well known,” she said, “puddlers don’t fly. Besides it’s too late. We’ve stopped to think. We had to take time to change his clothes. He’s out of a job and has no money. He told me so. I wonder what the wives of puddlers do.”
“Some would envy you your sting,” said John, horrified[187] at what she was doing to Thane. She understood him perfectly66.
“But you are immune,” she said. “I have not married you. Or have I? Are you this puddler’s David? What are your rights in him? How come you to suppose that you have rights in me?”
“Tantrums, thank God, and not hysterics,” said John.
“Shall we spend the rest of the night in this way?” she asked. “And what then?”
“I am leaving New Damascus tonight,” said John, pursuing a flash of intuition.
Agnes gave him an incredulous glance.
“So far as I know, forever,” he continued. “This decision is my own. You have nothing to do with it. But if you were also about to leave, perhaps taking the same direction, why shouldn’t we go together, as far as it’s parallel?”
“Who goes or stays, no matter what happens, I shall not be in sight of New Damascus at daybreak,” said Agnes, her face averted from both John and her husband, and she spoke as one making a vow. “So, whatever you do,” she added, “please hurry.”
Thane would have asked her a question, not knowing how women consent; John restrained him with a sign.
When he returned with a smart bay team and a light road wagon68, his own rig, the moon was sinking. Agnes was asleep on the dewy grass in Thane’s coat. He[188] wrapped her in the rug John held out to him and lifted her to the seat. She was docile69 and limp, like a groggy70 child. John had to hold her erect71 until Thane got up on the other side. She sat between them.
Where the road turns abruptly out of the valley John pulled up and looked back. It was now quite dark. All that he could see was the mill, like a live malignant72 cinder in the eye of darkness, glowing faintly, going almost out, then spurting73 forth74 quick tongues of flame. He had the sensation of a great solitary75 weight rolling about in his stomach. Tears came to his eyes. Until that moment he had not known that he cared for New Damascus. His caring was like an inherited memory.
And though he knew it not, this night was the time and his exit the sign that sealed the fate of New Damascus. It was left in the hands of Enoch, who fanatically withheld76 it from the steel age.
“Where to?” Thane asked.
“Wilkes-Barre tonight,” said John. “Then to Pittsburgh. I’m buying a mill at Pittsburgh that I want you to take hold of. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“What shape of mill?” asked Thane.
John hesitated.
“Nothing like the mill behind us,” he said.
The idea of buying a mill had only that instant come to him. So of course he did not know what kind of mill it was.
He looked at Agnes. She was sound asleep, leaning on Thane, who had his arm around her. Again he looked at her. She was in the same position, but her eyes were wide open, staring straight ahead.
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1
perplexed
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| adj.不知所措的 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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locust
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| n.蝗虫；洋槐，刺槐 | |
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cinder
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| n.余烬，矿渣 | |
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6
veered
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| 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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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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10
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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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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12
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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13
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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14
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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puddler
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| n.捣泥者，搅拌器，混凝器 | |
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fume
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| n.(usu pl.)(浓烈或难闻的)烟，气，汽 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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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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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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26
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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27
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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quailed
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| 害怕，发抖，畏缩( quail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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derisively
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| adv. 嘲笑地，嘲弄地 | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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improvising
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| 即兴创作（improvise的现在分词形式） | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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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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bogged
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| adj.陷于泥沼的v.（使）陷入泥沼， （使）陷入困境( bog的过去式和过去分词 )；妨碍，阻碍 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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overt
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| adj.公开的，明显的，公然的 | |
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46
entangled
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| adj.卷入的；陷入的；被缠住的；缠在一起的v.使某人（某物/自己）缠绕，纠缠于（某物中），使某人（自己）陷入（困难或复杂的环境中）( entangle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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anonymous
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| adj.无名的；匿名的；无特色的 | |
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momentary
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| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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interferes
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| vi. 妨碍，冲突，干涉 | |
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covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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underlies
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的第三人称单数 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起 | |
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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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sublimates
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| v.（使某物质）升华( sublimate的第三人称单数 )；使净化；纯化 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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nettle
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| n.荨麻；v.烦忧，激恼 | |
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62
frustrated
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| adj.挫败的，失意的，泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的过去式和过去分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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groggy
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| adj.体弱的；不稳的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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spurting
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| （液体，火焰等）喷出，（使）涌出( spurt的现在分词 )； （短暂地）加速前进，冲刺； 溅射 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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