Chapter 6 Creme de Menthe

THEY MET again in the cafe several hours later. Gerald went through the push doors into the large, lofty room where the faces and heads of the drinkers showed dimly through the haze of smoke, reflected more dimly, and repeated ad infinitum in the great mirrors on the walls, so that one seemed to enter a vague, dim world of shadowy drinkers humming within an atmosphere of blue tobacco smoke. There was, however, the red plush of the seats to give substance within the bubble of pleasure.

Gerald moved in his slow, observant, glistening-attentive motion down between the tables and the people whose shadowy faces looked up as he passed. He seemed to be entering in some strange element, passing into an illuminated new region, among a host of licentious souls. He was pleased, and entertained. He looked over all the dim, evanescent, strangely illuminated faces that bent across the tables. Then he saw Birkin rise and signal to him.

At Birkin's table was a girl with dark, soft, fluffy hair cut short in the artist fashion, hanging level and full almost like the Egyptian princess's. She was small and delicately made, with warm colouring and large, dark hostile eyes. There was a delicacy, almost a beauty in all her form, and at the same time a certain attractive grossness of spirit, that made a little spark leap instantly alight in Gerald's eyes.

Birkin, who looked muted, unreal, his presence left out, introduced her as Miss Darrington. She gave her hand with a sudden, unwilling movement, looking all the while at Gerald with a dark, exposed stare. A glow came over him as he sat down.

The waiter appeared. Gerald glanced at the glasses of the other two. Birkin was drinking something green, Miss Darrington had a small liqueur glass that was empty save for a tiny drop.

`Won't you have some more -- ?'

`Brandy,' she said, sipping her last drop and putting down the glass. The waiter disappeared.

`No,' she said to Birkin. `He doesn't know I'm back. He'll be terrified when he sees me here.'

She spoke her r's like w's, lisping with a slightly babyish pronunciation which was at once affected and true to her character. Her voice was dull and toneless.

`Where is he then?' asked Birkin.

`He's doing a private show at Lady Snellgrove's,' said the girl. `Warens is there too.'

There was a pause.

`Well, then,' said Birkin, in a dispassionate protective manner, `what do you intend to do?'

The girl paused sullenly. She hated the question.

`I don't intend to do anything,' she replied. `I shall look for some sittings tomorrow.'

`Who shall you go to?' asked Birkin.

`I shall go to Bentley's first. But I believe he's angwy with me for running away.'

`That is from the Madonna?'

`Yes. And then if he doesn't want me, I know I can get work with Carmarthen.'

`Carmarthen?'

`Lord Carmarthen -- he does photographs.'

`Chiffon and shoulders -- '

`Yes. But he's awfully decent.' There was a pause.

`And what are you going to do about Julius?' he asked.

`Nothing,' she said. `I shall just ignore him.'

`You've done with him altogether?' But she turned aside her face sullenly, and did not answer the question.

Another young man came hurrying up to the table.

`Hallo Birkin! Hallo Pussum, when did you come back?' he said eagerly.

`Today.'

`Does Halliday know?'

`I don't know. I don't care either.'

`Ha-ha! The wind still sits in that quarter, does it? Do you mind if I come over to this table?'

`I'm talking to Wupert, do you mind?' she replied, coolly and yet appealingly, like a child.

`Open confession -- good for the soul, eh?' said the young man. `Well, so long.'

And giving a sharp look at Birkin and at Gerald, the young man moved off, with a swing of his coat skirts.

All this time Gerald had been completely ignored. And yet he felt that the girl was physically aware of his proximity. He waited, listened, and tried to piece together the conversation.

`Are you staying at the flat?' the girl asked, of Birkin.

`For three days,' replied Birkin. `And you?'

`I don't know yet. I can always go to Bertha's.' There was a silence.

Suddenly the girl turned to Gerald, and said, in a rather formal, polite voice, with the distant manner of a woman who accepts her position as a social inferior, yet assumes intimate camaraderie with the male she addresses:

`Do you know London well?'

`I can hardly say,' he laughed. `I've been up a good many times, but I was never in this place before.'

`You're not an artist, then?' she said, in a tone that placed him an outsider.

`No,' he replied.

`He's a soldier, and an explorer, and a Napoleon of industry,' said Birkin, giving Gerald his credentials for Bohemia.

`Are you a soldier?' asked the girl, with a cold yet lively curiosity.

`No, I resigned my commission,' said Gerald, `some years ago.'

`He was in the last war,' said Birkin.

`Were you really?' said the girl.

`And then he explored the Amazon,' said Birkin, `and now he is ruling over coalmines.'

The girl looked at Gerald with steady, calm curiosity. He laughed, hearing himself described. He felt proud too, full of male strength. His blue, keen eyes were lit up with laughter, his ruddy face, with its sharp fair hair, was full of satisfaction, and glowing with life. He piqued her.

`How long are you staying?' she asked him.

`A day or two,' he replied. `But there is no particular hurry.'

Still she stared into his face with that slow, full gaze which was so curious and so exciting to him. He was acutely and delightfully conscious of himself, of his own attractiveness. He felt full of strength, able to give off a sort of electric power. And he was aware of her dark, hot-looking eyes upon him. She had beautiful eyes, dark, fully-opened, hot, naked in their looking at him. And on them there seemed to float a film of disintegration, a sort of misery and sullenness, like oil on water. She wore no hat in the heated cafe, her loose, simple jumper was strung on a string round her neck. But it was made of rich peach-coloured crepe-de-chine, that hung heavily and softly from her young throat and her slender wrists. Her appearance was simple and complete, really beautiful, because of her regularity and form, her soft dark hair falling full and level on either side of her head, her straight, small, softened features, Egyptian in the slight fulness of their curves, her slender neck and the simple, rich-coloured smock hanging on her slender shoulders. She was very still, almost null, in her manner, apart and watchful.

She appealed to Gerald strongly. He felt an awful, enjoyable power over her, an instinctive cherishing very near to cruelty. For she was a victim. He felt that she was in his power, and he was generous. The electricity was turgid and voluptuously rich, in his limbs. He would be able to destroy her utterly in the strength of his discharge. But she was waiting in her separation, given.

They talked banalities for some time. Suddenly Birkin said:

`There's Julius!' and he half rose to his feet, motioning to the newcomer. The girl, with a curious, almost evil motion, looked round over her shoulder without moving her body. Gerald watched her dark, soft hair swing over her ears. He felt her watching intensely the man who was approaching, so he looked too. He saw a pale, full-built young man with rather long, solid fair hair hanging from under his black hat, moving cumbrously down the room, his face lit up with a smile at once naive and warm, and vapid. He approached towards Birkin, with a haste of welcome.

It was not till he was quite close that he perceived the girl. He recoiled, went pale, and said, in a high squealing voice:

`Pussum, what are you doing here?'

The cafe looked up like animals when they hear a cry. Halliday hung motionless, an almost imbecile smile flickering palely on his face. The girl only stared at him with a black look in which flared an unfathomable hell of knowledge, and a certain impotence. She was limited by him.

`Why have you come back?' repeated Halliday, in the same high, hysterical voice. `I told you not to come back.'

The girl did not answer, only stared in the same viscous, heavy fashion, straight at him, as he stood recoiled, as if for safety, against the next table.

`You know you wanted her to come back -- come and sit down,' said Birkin to him.

`No I didn't want her to come back, and I told her not to come back. What have you come for, Pussum?'

`For nothing from you,' she said in a heavy voice of resentment.

`Then why have you come back at all?' cried Halliday, his voice rising to a kind of squeal.

`She comes as she likes,' said Birkin. `Are you going to sit down, or are you not?'

`No, I won't sit down with Pussum,' cried Halliday.

`I won't hurt you, you needn't be afraid,' she said to him, very curtly, and yet with a sort of protectiveness towards him, in her voice.

Halliday came and sat at the table, putting his hand on his heart, and crying:

`Oh, it's given me such a turn! Pussum, I wish you wouldn't do these things. Why did you come back?'

`Not for anything from you,' she repeated.

`You've said that before,' he cried in a high voice.

She turned completely away from him, to Gerald Crich, whose eyes were shining with a subtle amusement.

`Were you ever vewy much afwaid of the savages?' she asked in her calm, dull childish voice.

`No -- never very much afraid. On the whole they're harmless -- they're not born yet, you can't feel really afraid of them. You know you can manage them.'

`Do you weally? Aren't they very fierce?'

`Not very. There aren't many fierce things, as a matter of fact. There aren't many things, neither people nor animals, that have it in them to be really dangerous.'

`Except in herds,' interrupted Birkin.

`Aren't there really?' she said. `Oh, I thought savages were all so dangerous, they'd have your life before you could look round.'

`Did you?' he laughed. `They are over-rated, savages. They're too much like other people, not exciting, after the first acquaintance.'

`Oh, it's not so very wonderfully brave then, to be an explorer?'

`No. It's more a question of hardships than of terrors.'

`Oh! And weren't you ever afraid?'

`In my life? I don't know. Yes, I'm afraid of some things -- of being shut up, locked up anywhere -- or being fastened. I'm afraid of being bound hand and foot.'

She looked at him steadily with her dark eyes, that rested on him and roused him so deeply, that it left his upper self quite calm. It was rather delicious, to feel her drawing his self-revelations from him, as from the very innermost dark marrow of his body. She wanted to know. And her dark eyes seemed to be looking through into his naked organism. He felt, she was compelled to him, she was fated to come into contact with him, must have the seeing him and knowing him. And this roused a curious exultance. Also he felt, she must relinquish herself into his hands, and be subject to him. She was so profane, slave-like, watching him, absorbed by him. It was not that she was interested in what he said; she was absorbed by his self-revelation, by him, she wanted the secret of him, the experience of his male being.

Gerald's face was lit up with an uncanny smile, full of light and rousedness, yet unconscious. He sat with his arms on the table, his sunbrowned, rather sinister hands, that were animal and yet very shapely and attractive, pushed forward towards her. And they fascinated her. And she knew, she watched her own fascination.

Other men had come to the table, to talk with Birkin and Halliday. Gerald said in a low voice, apart, to Pussum:

`Where have you come back from?'

`From the country,' replied Pussum, in a very low, yet fully resonant voice. Her face closed hard. Continually she glanced at Halliday, and then a black flare came over her eyes. The heavy, fair young man ignored her completely; he was really afraid of her. For some moments she would be unaware of Gerald. He had not conquered her yet.

`And what has Halliday to do with it?' he asked, his voice still muted.

She would not answer for some seconds. Then she said, unwillingly:

`He made me go and live with him, and now he wants to throw me over. And yet he won't let me go to anybody else. He wants me to live hidden in the country. And then he says I persecute him, that he can't get rid of me.'

`Doesn't know his own mind,' said Gerald.

`He hasn't any mind, so he can't know it,' she said. `He waits for what somebody tells him to do. He never does anything he wants to do himself -- because he doesn't know what he wants. He's a perfect baby.'

Gerald looked at Halliday for some moments, watching the soft, rather degenerate face of the young man. Its very softness was an attraction; it was a soft, warm, corrupt nature, into which one might plunge with gratification.

`But he has no hold over you, has he?' Gerald asked.

`You see he made me go and live with him, when I didn't want to,' she replied. `He came and cried to me, tears, you never saw so many, saying he couldn't bear it unless I went back to him. And he wouldn't go away, he would have stayed for ever. He made me go back. Then every time he behaves in this fashion. And now I'm going to have a baby, he wants to give me a hundred pounds and send me into the country, so that he would never see me nor hear of me again. But I'm not going to do it, after -- '

A queer look came over Gerald's face.

`Are you going to have a child?' he asked incredulous. It seemed, to look at her, impossible, she was so young and so far in spirit from any child-bearing.

She looked full into his face, and her dark, inchoate eyes had now a furtive look, and a look of a knowledge of evil, dark and indomitable. A flame ran secretly to his heart.

`Yes,' she said. `Isn't it beastly?'

`Don't you want it?' he asked.

`I don't,' she replied emphatically.

`But -- ' he said, `how long have you known?'

`Ten weeks,' she said.

All the time she kept her dark, inchoate eyes full upon him. He remained silent, thinking. Then, switching off and becoming cold, he asked, in a voice full of considerate kindness:

`Is there anything we can eat here? Is there anything you would like?'

`Yes,' she said, `I should adore some oysters.'

`All right,' he said. `We'll have oysters.' And he beckoned to the waiter.

Halliday took no notice, until the little plate was set before her. Then suddenly he cried:

`Pussum, you can't eat oysters when you're drinking brandy.'

`What has it go to do with you?' she asked.

`Nothing, nothing,' he cried. `But you can't eat oysters when you're drinking brandy.'

`I'm not drinking brandy,' she replied, and she sprinkled the last drops of her liqueur over his face. He gave an odd squeal. She sat looking at him, as if indifferent.

`Pussum, why do you do that?' he cried in panic. He gave Gerald the impression that he was terrified of her, and that he loved his terror. He seemed to relish his own horror and hatred of her, turn it over and extract every flavour from it, in real panic. Gerald thought him a strange fool, and yet piquant.

`But Pussum,' said another man, in a very small, quick Eton voice, `you promised not to hurt him.'

`I haven't hurt him,' she answered.

`What will you drink?' the young man asked. He was dark, and smooth-skinned, and full of a stealthy vigour.

`I don't like porter, Maxim,' she replied.

`You must ask for champagne,' came the whispering, gentlemanly voice of the other.

Gerald suddenly realised that this was a hint to him.

`Shall we have champagne?' he asked, laughing.

`Yes please, dwy,' she lisped childishly.

Gerald watched her eating the oysters. She was delicate and finicking in her eating, her fingers were fine and seemed very sensitive in the tips, so she put her food apart with fine, small motions, she ate carefully, delicately. It pleased him very much to see her, and it irritated Birkin. They were all drinking champagne. Maxim, the prim young Russian with the smooth, warm-coloured face and black, oiled hair was the only one who seemed to be perfectly calm and sober. Birkin was white and abstract, unnatural, Gerald was smiling with a constant bright, amused, cold light in his eyes, leaning a little protectively towards the Pussum, who was very handsome, and soft, unfolded like some red lotus in dreadful flowering nakedness, vainglorious now, flushed with wine and with the excitement of men. Halliday looked foolish. One glass of wine was enough to make him drunk and giggling. Yet there was always a pleasant, warm naivete about him, that made him attractive.

`I'm not afwaid of anything except black-beetles,' said the Pussum, looking up suddenly and staring with her black eyes, on which there seemed an unseeing film of flame, fully upon Gerald. He laughed dangerously, from the blood. Her childish speech caressed his nerves, and her burning, filmed eyes, turned now full upon him, oblivious of all her antecedents, gave him a sort of licence.

`I'm not,' she protested. `I'm not afraid of other things. But black-beetles -- ugh!' she shuddered convulsively, as if the very thought were too much to bear.

`Do you mean,' said Gerald, with the punctiliousness of a man who has been drinking, `that you are afraid of the sight of a black-beetle, or you are afraid of a black-beetle biting you, or doing you some harm?'

`Do they bite?' cried the girl.

`How perfectly loathsome!' exclaimed Halliday.

`I don't know,' replied Gerald, looking round the table. `Do black-beetles bite? But that isn't the point. Are you afraid of their biting, or is it a metaphysical antipathy?'

The girl was looking full upon him all the time with inchoate eyes.

`Oh, I think they're beastly, they're horrid,' she cried. `If I see one, it gives me the creeps all over. If one were to crawl on me, I'm sure I should die -- I'm sure I should.'

`I hope not,' whispered the young Russian.

`I'm sure I should, Maxim,' she asseverated.

`Then one won't crawl on you,' said Gerald, smiling and knowing. In some strange way he understood her.

`It's metaphysical, as Gerald says,' Birkin stated.

There was a little pause of uneasiness.

`And are you afraid of nothing else, Pussum?' asked the young Russian, in his quick, hushed, elegant manner.

`Not weally,' she said. `I am afwaid of some things, but not weally the same. I'm not afwaid of blood.'

`Not afwaid of blood!' exclaimed a young man with a thick, pale, jeering face, who had just come to the table and was drinking whisky.

The Pussum turned on him a sulky look of dislike, low and ugly.

`Aren't you really afraid of blud?' the other persisted, a sneer all over his face.

`No, I'm not,' she retorted.

`Why, have you ever seen blood, except in a dentist's spittoon?' jeered the young man.

`I wasn't speaking to you,' she replied rather superbly.

`You can answer me, can't you?' he said.

For reply, she suddenly jabbed a knife across his thick, pale hand. He started up with a vulgar curse.

`Show's what you are,' said the Pussum in contempt.

`Curse you,' said the young man, standing by the table and looking down at her with acrid malevolence.

`Stop that,' said Gerald, in quick, instinctive command.

The young man stood looking down at her with sardonic contempt, a cowed, selfconscious look on his thick, pale face. The blood began to flow from his hand.

`Oh, how horrible, take it away!' squealed Halliday, turning green and averting his face.

`D'you feel ill?' asked the sardonic young man, in some concern. `Do you feel ill, Julius? Garn, it's nothing, man, don't give her the pleasure of letting her think she's performed a feat -- don't give her the satisfaction, man -- it's just what she wants.'

`Oh!' squealed Halliday.

`He's going to cat, Maxim,' said the Pussum warningly. The suave young Russian rose and took Halliday by the arm, leading him away. Birkin, white and diminished, looked on as if he were displeased. The wounded, sardonic young man moved away, ignoring his bleeding hand in the most conspicuous fashion.

`He's an awful coward, really,' said the Pussum to Gerald. `He's got such an influence over Julius.'

`Who is he?' asked Gerald.

`He's a Jew, really. I can't bear him.'

`Well, he's quite unimportant. But what's wrong with Halliday?'

`Julius's the most awful coward you've ever seen,' she cried. `He always faints if I lift a knife -- he's tewwified of me.'

`H'm!' said Gerald.

`They're all afwaid of me,' she said. `Only the Jew thinks he's going to show his courage. But he's the biggest coward of them all, really, because he's afwaid what people will think about him -- and Julius doesn't care about that.'

`They've a lot of valour between them,' said Gerald good-humouredly.

The Pussum looked at him with a slow, slow smile. She was very handsome, flushed, and confident in dreadful knowledge. Two little points of light glinted on Gerald's eyes.

`Why do they call you Pussum, because you're like a cat?' he asked her.

`I expect so,' she said.

The smile grew more intense on his face.

`You are, rather; or a young, female panther.'

`Oh God, Gerald!' said Birkin, in some disgust.

They both looked uneasily at Birkin.

`You're silent tonight, Wupert,' she said to him, with a slight insolence, being safe with the other man.

Halliday was coming back, looking forlorn and sick.

`Pussum,' he said, `I wish you wouldn't do these things -- Oh!' He sank in his chair with a groan.

`You'd better go home,' she said to him.

`I will go home,' he said. `But won't you all come along. Won't you come round to the flat?' he said to Gerald. `I should be so glad if you would. Do -- that'll be splendid. I say?' He looked round for a waiter. `Get me a taxi.' Then he groaned again. `Oh I do feel -- perfectly ghastly! Pussum, you see what you do to me.'

`Then why are you such an idiot?' she said with sullen calm.

`But I'm not an idiot! Oh, how awful! Do come, everybody, it will be so splendid. Pussum, you are coming. What? Oh but you must come, yes, you must. What? Oh, my dear girl, don't make a fuss now, I feel perfectly -- Oh, it's so ghastly -- Ho! -er! Oh!'

`You know you can't drink,' she said to him, coldly.

`I tell you it isn't drink -- it's your disgusting behaviour, Pussum, it's nothing else. Oh, how awful! Libidnikov, do let us go.'

`He's only drunk one glass -- only one glass,' came the rapid, hushed voice of the young Russian.

They all moved off to the door. The girl kept near to Gerald, and seemed to be at one in her motion with him. He was aware of this, and filled with demonsatisfaction that his motion held good for two. He held her in the hollow of his will, and she was soft, secret, invisible in her stirring there.

They crowded five of them into the taxi-cab. Halliday lurched in first, and dropped into his seat against the other window. Then the Pussum took her place, and Gerald sat next to her. They heard the young Russian giving orders to the driver, then they were all seated in the dark, crowded close together, Halliday groaning and leaning out of the window. They felt the swift, muffled motion of the car.

The Pussum sat near to Gerald, and she seemed to become soft, subtly to infuse herself into his bones, as if she were passing into him in a black, electric flow. Her being suffused into his veins like a magnetic darkness, and concentrated at the base of his spine like a fearful source of power. Meanwhile her voice sounded out reedy and nonchalant, as she talked indifferently with Birkin and with Maxim. Between her and Gerald was this silence and this black, electric comprehension in the darkness. Then she found his hand, and grasped it in her own firm, small clasp. It was so utterly dark, and yet such a naked statement, that rapid vibrations ran through his blood and over his brain, he was no longer responsible. Still her voice rang on like a bell, tinged with a tone of mockery. And as she swung her head, her fine mane of hair just swept his face, and all his nerves were on fire, as with a subtle friction of electricity. But the great centre of his force held steady, a magnificent pride to him, at the base of his spine.

They arrived at a large block of buildings, went up in a lift, and presently a door was being opened for them by a Hindu. Gerald looked in surprise, wondering if he were a gentleman, one of the Hindus down from Oxford, perhaps. But no, he was the man-servant.

`Make tea, Hasan,' said Halliday.

`There is a room for me?' said Birkin.

To both of which questions the man grinned, and murmured.

He made Gerald uncertain, because, being tall and slender and reticent, he looked like a gentleman.

`Who is your servant?' he asked of Halliday. `He looks a swell.'

`Oh yes -- that's because he's dressed in another man's clothes. He's anything but a swell, really. We found him in the road, starving. So I took him here, and another man gave him clothes. He's anything but what he seems to be -- his only advantage is that he can't speak English and can't understand it, so he's perfectly safe.'

`He's very dirty,' said the young Russian swiftly and silently.

Directly, the man appeared in the doorway.

`What is it?' said Halliday.

The Hindu grinned, and murmured shyly:

`Want to speak to master.'

Gerald watched curiously. The fellow in the doorway was goodlooking and cleanlimbed, his bearing was calm, he looked elegant, aristocratic. Yet he was half a savage, grinning foolishly. Halliday went out into the corridor to speak with him.

`What?' they heard his voice. `What? What do you say? Tell me again. What? Want money? Want more money? But what do you want money for?' There was the confused sound of the Hindu's talking, then Halliday appeared in the room, smiling also foolishly, and saying:

`He says he wants money to buy underclothing. Can anybody lend me a shilling? Oh thanks, a shilling will do to buy all the underclothes he wants.' He took the money from Gerald and went out into the passage again, where they heard him saying, `You can't want more money, you had three and six yesterday. You mustn't ask for any more. Bring the tea in quickly.'

Gerald looked round the room. It was an ordinary London sitting-room in a flat, evidently taken furnished, rather common and ugly. But there were several negro statues, wood-carvings from West Africa, strange and disturbing, the carved negroes looked almost like the foetus of a human being. One was a woman sitting naked in a strange posture, and looking tortured, her abdomen stuck out. The young Russian explained that she was sitting in child-birth, clutching the ends of the band that hung from her neck, one in each hand, so that she could bear down, and help labour. The strange, transfixed, rudimentary face of the woman again reminded Gerald of a foetus, it was also rather wonderful, conveying the suggestion of the extreme of physical sensation, beyond the limits of mental consciousness.

`Aren't they rather obscene?' he asked, disapproving.

`I don't know,' murmured the other rapidly. `I have never defined the obscene. I think they are very good.'

Gerald turned away. There were one or two new pictures in the room, in the Futurist manner; there was a large piano. And these, with some ordinary London lodging-house furniture of the better sort, completed the whole.

The Pussum had taken off her hat and coat, and was seated on the sofa. She was evidently quite at home in the house, but uncertain, suspended. She did not quite know her position. Her alliance for the time being was with Gerald, and she did not know how far this was admitted by any of the men. She was considering how she should carry off the situation. She was determined to have her experience. Now, at this eleventh hour, she was not to be baulked. Her face was flushed as with battle, her eye was brooding but inevitable.

The man came in with tea and a bottle of Kummel. He set the tray on a little table before the couch.

`Pussum,' said Halliday, `pour out the tea.'

She did not move.

`Won't you do it?' Halliday repeated, in a state of nervous apprehension.

`I've not come back here as it was before,' she said. `I only came because the others wanted me to, not for your sake.'

`My dear Pussum, you know you are your own mistress. I don't want you to do anything but use the flat for your own convenience -- you know it, I've told you so many times.'

She did not reply, but silently, reservedly reached for the tea-pot. They all sat round and drank tea. Gerald could feel the electric connection between him and her so strongly, as she sat there quiet and withheld, that another set of conditions altogether had come to pass. Her silence and her immutability perplexed him. How was he going to come to her? And yet he felt it quite inevitable. He trusted completely to the current that held them. His perplexity was only superficial, new conditions reigned, the old were surpassed; here one did as one was possessed to do, no matter what it was.

Birkin rose. It was nearly one o'clock.

`I'm going to bed,' he said. `Gerald, I'll ring you up in the morning at your place or you ring me up here.'

`Right,' said Gerald, and Birkin went out.

When he was well gone, Halliday said in a stimulated voice, to Gerald:

`I say, won't you stay here -- oh do!'

`You can't put everybody up,' said Gerald.

`Oh but I can, perfectly -- there are three more beds besides mine -- do stay, won't you. Everything is quite ready -- there is always somebody here -- I always put people up -- I love having the house crowded.'

`But there are only two rooms,' said the Pussum, in a cold, hostile voice, `now Rupert's here.'

`I know there are only two rooms,' said Halliday, in his odd, high way of speaking. `But what does that matter?'

He was smiling rather foolishly, and he spoke eagerly, with an insinuating determination.

`Julius and I will share one room,' said the Russian in his discreet, precise voice. Halliday and he were friends since Eton.

`It's very simple,' said Gerald, rising and pressing back his arms, stretching himself. Then he went again to look at one of the pictures. Every one of his limbs was turgid with electric force, and his back was tense like a tiger's, with slumbering fire. He was very proud.

The Pussum rose. She gave a black look at Halliday, black and deadly, which brought the rather foolishly pleased smile to that young man's face. Then she went out of the room, with a cold good-night to them all generally.

There was a brief interval, they heard a door close, then Maxim said, in his refined voice:

`That's all right.'

He looked significantly at Gerald, and said again, with a silent nod:

`That's all right -- you're all right.'

Gerald looked at the smooth, ruddy, comely face, and at the strange, significant eyes, and it seemed as if the voice of the young Russian, so small and perfect, sounded in the blood rather than in the air.

`I'm all right then,' said Gerald.

`Yes! Yes! You're all right,' said the Russian.

Halliday continued to smile, and to say nothing.

Suddenly the Pussum appeared again in the door, her small, childish face looking sullen and vindictive.

`I know you want to catch me out,' came her cold, rather resonant voice. `But I don't care, I don't care how much you catch me out.'

She turned and was gone again. She had been wearing a loose dressing-gown of purple silk, tied round her waist. She looked so small and childish and vulnerable, almost pitiful. And yet the black looks of her eyes made Gerald feel drowned in some potent darkness that almost frightened him.

The men lit another cigarette and talked casually.

 

几小时以后他们又在酒馆里见面了。杰拉德推开门走进宽大高雅的正屋，透过弥漫的烟雾可依稀辩认出顾客们的脸和头，这些人影反射在墙上的大镜子里，景象更加幽暗、庞杂，一走进去就象进入了一个朦胧、黯淡、烟雾缭绕、人影绰绰的世界。不过，在噪杂的欢声中红色的绒椅倒显得实在。

杰拉德缓慢地巡视着四周，穿过一张张桌子和人群，每过一处人们都抬起头来看他。他似乎进入了一个奇妙的地方，穿入一处闪光的新的去处，来到了一群放荡的人们之间。他感到心情喜悦，快活。他俯视着那些露出桌面的一张张脸，发现人们的脸上闪着奇特的光采。然后他看到伯金起身向他打招呼。

伯金的桌旁坐着一位金发女子，头发剪得很短，样式很考究，直披下来，发梢微微向上卷到耳际。她娇小玲珑，肤色白皙，有一双透着稚气的蓝色大眼睛。她娇嫩，几乎是如花似玉，神态也极迷人。看到她，杰拉德的眼睛立时一亮。

伯金看上去木然，神不守舍，介绍说这女子是塔林顿小姐。塔林顿小姐勉强地向杰拉德伸出手来，眼睛却阴郁、大胆地盯着他。杰拉德精神焕发地落了座。

侍者上来了。杰拉德瞟了一眼另外两人的杯子。伯金喝着一种绿色饮料，塔林顿小姐的小酒杯中只有几滴酒了。

“再要一点吗？”

“白兰地，”她咂尽最后一滴放下了杯子说。侍者离去了。

“不，”她对伯金说，“他还不知道我回来了。他要是看到我在这儿他会大大七（吃）一惊。”

她说起话来有点咬舌，象小孩子一样，对于她的性格来说，这既是装腔作势又象是真的。她的语调平缓，不怎么动人。

“他在哪儿呢？”伯金问。

“他在纳尔格鲁夫人那儿开私人画展。”姑娘说，“沃伦斯也在那儿。”

“那么，”伯金毫不动情但以保护人的口吻问她，“你打算怎么办？”

姑娘阴郁地沉默不语。她厌恶这个问题。

“我并不打算做什么，”她回答，“我明天将去找主顾，给他们当模特儿。”

“去谁那儿呢？”伯金问。

“先到班特利那儿，不过我相信我上次出走肯定让他生气了。”

“你是指从马多那那里逃走吗？”

“是的。要是他不需要我，我可以在卡马松那儿找到工作。”

“卡马松？”

“弗德里克·卡马松，他搞摄影。”

“拍穿薄纱衣露肩的照片——”

“是的。不过他可是个很正经的人。”

“那你拿裘里斯怎么办？”他问。

“不怎么，”她说，“我不理他就是了。”

“你跟他彻底断了？”她不高兴地转过脸去，对此不予回答。

这时另一位年轻人快步走了过来。

“哈啰，伯金！哈啰，米纳蒂，你什么时候回来的？”他急切地问。

“今天。”

“海里戴知道吗？”

“我不知道，再说我也不在乎他。”

“哈！还是那儿走运，不是吗？我挪到这张桌子上来，你不介意吧？”

“我在同努（卢）伯特谈话，你不介意吧？”她冷漠但恳求地说。象个孩子。

“公开的忏悔，对灵魂有益，啊？”小伙子说，“那，再见了。”

小伙子锐利的目光扫了一下伯金和杰拉德，转身走了，上衣的下摆随之一旋。

在这过程中，杰拉德几乎全然被人冷落了。但他感到这姑娘注意到了他的存在。他等待着，倾听着，试图凑上去说几句。

“你住在旅社里吗？”姑娘问伯金。

“住三天，”伯金说，“你呢？”

“我不知道。不过我可以到伯萨家住，什么时候都可以。”

一阵沉默。

突然这姑娘转向杰拉德问：

“你熟悉伦敦吗？”

她的口吻很正式、客气，象自认社会地位低下的女人一样态度疏远但又显示出对男人的亲昵。

“我说不上，”杰拉德笑道，“伦敦我来过好多次了，但这个地方还是头一次来。”

“你不是艺术家了？”她一语就把他推出了自己的圈外。

“不是。”他回答。

“人家是一位战士，探险家，工业拿破仑。”伯金说，流露出他对放浪艺术家的信任。

“你是战士吗？”姑娘漠然但好奇地问。

“不，”杰拉德说，“我多年以前就退伍了。”

“他参加了上次的大战①，”伯金说。

①指布尔战争（１８９９—１９０２）

“真的吗？”姑娘问。

“他那时考察了亚马逊河，”伯金说，“现在他管着一座煤矿。”

姑娘目不转睛、好奇地看着杰拉德。听别人讲自己，杰拉德笑了。他感到骄傲，充满了男子汉的力量。他蓝色的眼睛炯炯发光，洋溢着笑漪，容光焕发的脸上露着满意的神情，他的脸和金黄色的头发充满了活力。他激起了姑娘的好奇心。

“你要在这儿住多久？”她问。

“一两天吧，”他回答，“不过我并不急着回去。”

她仍然用一双凝眸盯着他的脸，这眼神那么好奇，令他激动。他自我意识极强，为自己的迷人之处深感喜悦。他感到浑身是劲，有能力释放出惊人的能量。同时他也意识到姑娘那蓝色的眼睛大胆地盯着自己。她的眼睛很美，鲜花般的媚眼睁得圆溜溜的，赤裸裸地看着他。她的眼屏上似乎漂浮着一层彩虹，某种分裂的东西，就象油漂浮在水上，那是忧郁的眼神。在闷热的咖啡馆里，她没戴帽子，宽松简朴的外套穿在身上，领口扎着一根细带。这细带是用贵重的双绉做的，柔软的带子从娇嫩的脖颈处垂下来，细纤的手腕处也垂着同样的带子。她容颜纯洁娇好，实在太美了。她长得端庄，金黄色的鬈发披挂下来，她挺拔、玲珑、柔软的体态显示出了每一处细小的曲线，脖颈显得纤细，烟雾缭绕在她瘦削的肩膀上。她很沉稳，几乎不露表情，一幅若即若离的神态。

她太让杰拉德动情了。他感到自己对她有一种巨大的控制力，一种本能上令人心儿发痛的爱。这是因为她是个牺牲品。他感到她是处在他的控制之下，他则是在施恩惠于她。这令他感到自己的四肢过电般地兴奋，奔涌着情欲的浪潮。如果他释放电能，他就会彻底摧毁她。可她却若有所思地等待着。

他们聊着些闲话，聊了一会儿，伯金突然说：

“裘里斯来了！”说着他站起身，向新来的人移动过去。姑娘奇怪地动了动，那样子不无恶意，身子没转动，只扭头朝后看去。这时杰拉德在看着她浓密的金发在耳朵上甩动着。他感到姑娘在密切地注视着来者，于是他也朝来人看去。他看到一位皮肤黝黑、身材颀长，黑帽子下露出长长黑发的小伙子行动迟缓地走了进来，脸上挂着天真、热情但又缺乏生气的笑容。他走近了急忙上前来迎接他的伯金。

直到他走近了，他才注意到这姑娘。他退缩着，脸色发青，尖叫道：

“米纳蒂，你在这儿干什么？”

咖啡馆里的人一听到这声尖叫都象动物一样抬起了头。海里戴无动于衷，脸上露出几乎有点蠢笨的微笑。姑娘冷冷地看着他，那表情显得深不可测，但也有些无能为力。她受制于海里戴。

“你为什么回来了？”海里戴仍然歇斯底里地叫着，“我对你说过不要回来。”

姑娘没有回答，只是仍然冷漠、沉重地直视着他，他向后面的桌子退缩着，似乎要保护自己。

“你知道你想要她回来，来，坐下。”伯金对他说。

“不，我不想要她回来，我告诉过她，叫她别回来了。你回来干什么，米纳蒂？”

“跟你没关系。”她极反感地说。

“那你回来干什么？”海里戴提高嗓门尖叫着。

“她愿意回来就回来吧，”伯金说，“你坐下还是不坐下？”

“我不，我不跟米纳蒂坐一块儿。”海里戴叫道。

“我不会伤害你的，你用不着害怕。”她对海里戴尖刻地说，但语调中有点自卫的意思。

海里戴走过来坐在桌旁，手捂住胸口叫道：

“啊，这把我吓了一跳！米纳蒂，我希望你别干这些事。

你干吗要回来？”

“跟你没关系。”她重复道。

“你又说这个。”他大叫。

她转过身，对着杰拉德·克里奇，他的目光闪烁着，很开心。

“你西（是）不西（是）很怕野蛮人？”她用平缓无味、孩子般的语调问杰拉德。

“不，从来没怕过。总的来说，野蛮人并无害——他们还没出生呢，你不会觉得可怕的。你知道你可以对付他们。”

“你金（真）不怕吗？他们不是很凶恶吗？”

“不很凶。其实没多少凶恶的东西。不管是人还是动物，都没有多少是危险的。”

“除非是兽群。”伯金插话道。

“真的吗？”她说，“我觉得野蛮的东西都太危险了，你还来不及四下里看看，他们就要了你的命。”

“你遇上过？”他笑道，“野蛮的东西是无法划分等类的。

他们就象有些人一样，只有见过一面后才会兴奋起来。”

“那，做一名探险者不是太勇敢了吗？”

“不。与其说是恐怖倒不如说是艰险。”

“啊！那你害怕过吗？”

“在我一生中？我不知道。怕过，我对有些东西就感到怕——我怕被关起来幽禁在什么地方，或着被束缚起来。我怕被人捆住手脚。”

她凝视着他，天真的目光令他心动，头脑倒平静了。他感到她从他这里得到了他的自我暴露，似乎是从他躯体内黑暗的最深处得到的，这太有趣了。她想了解他，她的眼睛似乎看透了他的裸体。他感到，她被他吸引着，她命中注定要与他接触，因此她必须观察他、了解他。这让他感到很得意。同时他还感到她必须投入他的手心里，听他的才行。她是那么世俗，象个奴隶似地看着他，被他迷住了。倒不是说她对他说的话感兴趣，而是她被他的自我暴露迷住了，被他这个人迷住了，她需要他的秘密，需要男性的经验。

杰拉德脸上挂着莫名其妙的笑，精神焕发但并不很清醒。他双臂搭在桌上，一双晒得黝黑可怕的动物般的手朝她伸展着，不过他的手型很好看，很漂亮。这双手迷住了她，她知道自己被迷住了。

别的男人来到桌前同伯金和海里戴交谈。杰拉德压低嗓门冲米纳蒂说：

“你从哪儿回来的？”

“从乡下，”米纳蒂声音很低，但很圆润。她紧绷着脸，她时不时地瞟一眼海里戴，眼中燃起了怒火。神色沉郁的小伙子看都不看她，不过他是真怕她。有时她就是不理杰拉德，看来杰拉德并没有征服她。

“那么海里戴跟你回来有什么关系？”他依旧声音低沉地问她。

她沉默了好一会儿才不情愿地说：

“是他让我走的，让我跟他同居，可现在他想甩了我，但又不让我跟任何别的人在一起生活。他想让我隐居在乡下。然后他说我害了他，他无法摆脱我。”

“他简直失去理智了。”杰拉德说。

“他就没有理智，所以他不知道自己干了些什么。”她说，“他总等别人告诉他做什么他才做什么。他从来没按自己的想法做过什么事，因为他不知道他想什么。他整个儿是个孩子。”

杰拉德看着海里戴那柔和、颓废的脸。那张脸很有魅力；

那柔和、热情的性格很可掬、宜人。

“但他并不能控制你，对吗？”杰拉德问她。

“你知道是他强迫我跟他同居的，我并不愿意，”她说，“他来冲我大叫，哭着说我要是不跟他回去他就没法儿活，你从来没见过他流那么多的眼泪。每次他都这样。可现在我怀孕了，他想给我一百镑打发我到乡下去，从此再也不见我，再也听不到我的音讯。我就不这样，不——”

杰拉德脸上露出奇怪的笑。

“你要生孩子了？”他不相信地问。看她那样子，这似乎不可能，她那么年轻，那神态也不象怀孕的。

她凝视着他的脸，现在她那纯真的蓝眼睛窥视着，看到了不祥的东西，显出一副不可驾驭的神色。杰拉德心里烧起了一股火。

“是的，”她说，“是不是可怕？”

“你想要吗？”他问。

“我才不呢。”她加重语气说。

“可是，”他说，“你知道多久了？”

“十个星期了。”她说。

她一直看着他。他则默默地沉思着。然后他转过身去，变冷漠了，却不无关切地问：

“我们吃点什么好吗？你喜欢来点什么？”

“好的，”她说，“我喜欢来点牡蛎。”

“那好，”他说，“我们就要牡蛎。”说完他招唤侍者。

海里戴一直对这边的事视而不见，直到盛有牡蛎的小盘子放到她面前，他才大叫：

“米纳蒂，喝白兰地时不能吃牡蛎。”

“这跟你有什么关系？”她问。

“没关系，没关系，”他叫道，“可喝白兰地时就是不能吃牡蛎。”

“我没喝白兰地，”她说着将杯子里的最后一滴酒洒在海里戴脸上。海里戴不禁怪叫一声。可她却若无其事地看着他。

“米纳蒂，你干嘛这样？”他恐慌地叫道。在杰拉德看来，海里戴让米纳蒂吓怕了，他喜欢自己的这副恐慌样子。他似乎因为自己怕她、恨她而沾沾自喜，在恐慌中有所回味；欣赏这种恐慌的滋味。杰拉德认为他是个奇怪的傻瓜，但挺有味儿。

“可是米纳蒂，”另一个男人小声地操着伊顿腔说，“你保证过，说你不伤害他。”

“可我没伤害他呀。”她回答。

“你喝点什么？”那年轻人问。他肤色黑，但皮肤还算光洁，浑身有那么点令人难以发现的活力。

“我不喜欢人伺候，马克西姆。”她回答。

“你应该要点香槟。”马克西姆很有绅士风度地嘟哝道。

杰拉德突然意识到这是对他的启发。

“我们来点香槟好吗？”他笑问。

“好的，请，要干香槟，”她咬着舌孩子气地说。

杰拉德看着她吃牡蛎。她吃得很细，很讲究。她的手指尖漂亮又敏感，优雅、小心地剥开牡蛎，仔细地吃着。她这样子很让杰拉德心悦，可却把伯金气坏了。大家都在喝香槟酒，只有马克西姆看上去十分平静、清醒，他是个俄国小伙子，穿着整洁，皮肤光洁，一脸的暖色，黑头发擦得油亮。伯金脸色苍白、茫然、很不自在。杰拉德微笑着，眼睛里放射出开心但冷漠的目光，很有保护气度地向米纳蒂倾着身子。米纳蒂娇嫩、漂亮，象一朵恐惧中绽开的冰花。现在她虚荣地绯红了脸，由于喝了酒，周围又有男人在场，她很激动。海里戴看上去傻乎乎的。只肖一杯酒就可以让他醉倒并咯咯地笑。可他总有那么点可爱的热情天真相，这一点使得他颇有吸引力。

“除了黑甲壳虫以外，我什么都不怕。”米纳蒂突然抬起头睁大眼睛凝视着杰拉德，那眼睛里燃着一团看不见的火。杰拉德从骨子里发出一声吓人的笑。她孩子气的话语触动了他的神经，火辣辣的目光全部投在他身上，她忘记了她以前的一切，那样子颇为放肆。

“我不怕，”她抗议道，“我别的什么都不怕。就怕黑甲壳虫，嚯！”她耸耸肩，似乎一想这些就难以忍受。

“你是不是说，”杰拉德喝了点酒，说话有些谨慎，“你看到黑甲壳虫就怕呢，还是害怕咬你、危害你的黑甲壳虫？”

“黑甲壳虫咬人吗？”姑娘问道。

“这简直太让人厌恶了！”海里戴惊叹着。

“我不知道，”杰拉德环顾着四周说，“黑甲壳虫是否咬人这并不是关键。问题的关键是，你是否怕它咬，或者说，它是不是一种玄学意义上的恶物。”

姑娘一直用迷惘的眼光凝视着杰拉德。

“哦，我觉得黑甲壳虫可恶、可怕。”她叫道，“要是我看见它，我就会浑身起鸡皮疙瘩。要是有那么一只虫子爬到我身上来，我敢说我会死的，我肯定会死的。”

“我希望你别这样。”年轻的俄国人低语道。

“我敢说我会的，马克西姆。”她强调说。

“那就不会有虫子爬到你身上。”杰拉德很理解地笑道。说不清为什么，他反正能理解她。

“这是个玄学问题，杰拉德说得对。”伯金发话了。

桌面上出现了不安的停顿。

“那么，米纳蒂，你还怕别的吗？”年轻的俄国人问。他说话速度很快，声音低，举止很文雅。

“难说，”米纳蒂说，“我害怕的并不见得都是这种东西。

我就不怕血。”

“不怕血！”又一个年轻人问。这人脸色苍白但多肉，一脸的嘲弄表情，他刚刚落座，喝着威士忌。

米纳蒂留给他一个阴郁、厌恶的一瞥。

“你真地不怕血？”那人追问着露出一脸的嘲笑。

“不怕，就是不怕。”她反唇相讥。

“为什么，你恐怕除了在牙医的痰盂里见过血以外，还没见过血吧？”小伙子讽刺道。

“我没跟你说话。”她很巧妙地回击。

“难道你不能回答我的话吗？”

她突然抓起一把刀照着他苍白肥胖的手戳了过去，作为回答。他骂着大街跳了起来。

“瞧你那德行。”米纳蒂不屑地说。

“他妈的，你，”小伙子站在桌边凶恶地俯视着她。

“行了，”杰拉德本能地立刻站出来控制局面。

那年轻人蔑视地看着她，苍白多肉的脸上露出胆怯的表情。血开始从手上淌出。

“哦，太可怕了，把它拿走！”海里戴青着变形的脸尖叫着。

“你觉得不舒服吗？”那位嘲弄人的小伙子有点关切地问，“不舒服吗，裘里斯？伙计，这不算什么，爷们儿，别让她以为自己演了一出好戏就高兴，别让她满意，爷们儿，她希望的就是这个。”

“哦！”海里戴尖叫着。

“他要吐，马克西姆，”米纳蒂警告说。文雅的俄国小伙子站起来挽住海里戴的胳膊把他带了出去。苍白、沉默的伯金袖手旁观，他似乎不大高兴。那位嘴头子很损的受伤者不顾自己流血的手，也走了。

“他真是个十足的胆小鬼，”米纳蒂对杰拉德说，“他对裘里斯很有影响。”

“他是什么人？”杰拉德问。

“他是个犹太人，真的。我无法忍受他。”

“哼，他没什么了不起。可是，海里戴怎么回事？”

“裘里斯是你见过的最胆小的胆小鬼。”她叫道，“只要我一举起刀，他就会晕过去，他让我吓坏了。”

“嚯！”

“他们都怕我，”她说，“只有那犹太人想表现一下他的胆量。可他是世界上最胆小的懦夫，真的，因为他怕别人对他有看法，而裘里斯就不在乎别人怎么看他自己。”

“他们还挺勇敢的嘛。”杰拉德和善地说。

米纳蒂看着他，脸上渐渐浮起笑容。她太漂亮了，绯红着脸，遇上可怕事仍旧泰然自若。杰拉德的眼睛里闪烁起两个亮点。

“他们为什么管你叫米纳蒂？是因为你长得象猫吗？”他问她。

“我想是吧。”她说。

他的脸绷得更紧了。

“你呀，倒不如说象一只年轻的母豹。”

“天哪，杰拉德！”伯金有点厌恶地说。

两个人都不安地看着伯金。

“你今晚很沉默，努（卢）伯特。”她有了另一个男人的保护，对伯金说话也大胆起来。

海里戴回来了，一脸病态，看上去很忧伤。

“米纳蒂，”他说，“我希望你以后别再这样了——天啊！”

他呻吟着坐在椅子里。

“你最好回家。”她对他说。

“我会回家的，”他说，“可是，你们都来好吗？到我的住所来。”他对杰拉德说，“你要是来我太高兴了。来吧，那太好了，是吗？”他四下里环视着找侍者。“来辆出租车。”然后他又呻吟起来。“哦，我真不好受，难受极了！米纳蒂，瞧你干的这事，把我弄成什么样子。”

“那你为什么这么傻呢？”她沉着脸平静地说。

“我不傻！哦，太可怕了！来吧，都来吧，来了太好了。米纳蒂，你来吧。什么？不，你一定要来，对，你一定要来。什么；哦，我亲爱的姑娘，别大惊小怪的了，我感觉，难受极了，哦！哦！”

“你知道你不能喝酒。”她冷冷地对他说。

“我告诉你说，米纳蒂，不是喝了酒的原因，是因为你令人作呕的表现，决不是因为别的。哦，太可怕了！里比德尼科夫，咱们走吧。”

“他一杯酒就醉，只肖一杯。”俄国小伙子声音很低沉地说。

大家都向门口走去。姑娘紧挨着杰拉德，似乎同他步调一致。杰拉德意识到这一点，心里产生了一阵恶魔般的满足：他的动作竟适用于两个人。他用自己的意志控制着她，她在他的控制下很激动，显得温顺、神秘、隐秘。

他们五个人挤进一辆出租车中。海里戴头一个歪歪扭扭地钻进去，坐在靠窗的位子上。然后米纳蒂坐了进去，杰拉德紧挨着她坐下。年轻的俄国人向司机说明了方向，然后大家就挤坐在黑暗的车中了，海里戴呻吟着把头伸出窗外。大家感到车子疾行着，滑动的声音很郁闷。

米纳蒂挨着杰拉德坐着，似乎变得稣软，点点滴滴将自己化入他的骨骼中去，似乎她是一道电流融入了他的体内。她的生命溶入了他的血管，如同一个黑暗的磁场，凝聚在他的脊髓中，形成一股可怕的力量源泉。与此同时，她同伯金和马克西姆谈话的声音变得细弱、冷漠起来。在她与杰拉德之间，存在着这种沉默与黑暗中闪电般的理解。然后她摸到他的手，把它紧紧握在自己那只小手中。这纯粹黑暗但赤裸裸的表示令他全身的血管颤动，令他头眩，他失去了感知。她的话音仍象铃儿在响，不乏调侃。她晃动着头，浓密的黑发扫动着脸颊，这样子令他的全部神经起火，似乎他的神经受到了微细的磨擦。但是，他力量的中心是稳固的，他心中感到无比自豪。

他们来到一条宁静的街道，踏上一条园中小径，走了一程，一个黑皮肤的仆人打开了门，杰拉德奇怪地望着开门人，猜测他也许是来自牛津的东方绅士，可他不是绅士，是男仆。

“沏茶，哈桑。”海里戴说。

“有我的房间吗？”伯金说。

男仆对两人的话都微笑着支吾作答。

这男仆让杰拉德顿生疑问，这人身材修长，衣着体面，看上去是个绅士样子。

“哪个是你的仆人？”他问海里戴，“他看上去很象样子嘛。”

“噢，因为他穿了另一个人的衣服。他的确是个挺漂亮的人。我看到他在街上挨饿，就把他领来了，另一个人送了他一套衣服。他就这样儿，唯一的优点是他不会英语，不会说，也听不懂，所以他很可靠。”

“他太脏了，”俄国小伙子以极快的速度说。

男仆出现在门道里。

“什么事？”海里戴问。

男仆咧咧嘴笑笑，然后腼腆地嘟哝说：

“想跟主人讲话。”

杰拉德好奇地看着他们。那门道中的男仆长得挺好，挺清爽，举止也文静，看上去很高雅，有贵族味儿。可他又有点象野蛮人一样傻乎乎地笑着。海里戴到走廊里去跟他说话。

“什么？”大家听他说，“什么？你说什么？再说一遍。什么？要钱？多要几个钱？可你要钱干什么？”那阿拉伯人含糊不清地说了些什么，然后海里戴回到屋里，傻乎乎地笑着说：

“他说他要钱买内衣。谁肯借给他一先令？好，谢谢，一先令足够他买全部的内衣了。”他从杰拉德手中接过钱又向走廊里走去，大家听他说道：“你别想要更多的钱了，昨天刚给了你三镑六先令。你不能再要钱了。快把茶端上来。”

杰拉德环视屋里。这是一间普遍伦敦人家的起居室，很明显一租来就配好了家具，零乱但很舒服。但有几尊雕像和几幅木刻显得古怪、让人不舒服。这些艺术品来自西太平洋国家，那上面刻的土著人几乎象人类胎儿。一尊雕像是一个奇形怪状的裸女坐像，受着折磨，肚子凸起。俄国小伙子解释说她坐着是在生孩子，两只手抓着套在脖子上的箍带，这样有利于分娩。这奇形怪状的普通女人呆若木鸡的脸又令杰拉德想起了胎儿。但这尊雕像也很奇妙，它表明人体极端的感觉是人的理性意识所不能控制的。

“这是不是太淫秽了？”他不赞同地问。

“我不知道，”俄国人喃言着，“我从来不认为它淫秽。我想这很好。”

杰拉德转过身去看另几幅未来主义风格的画和屋里的那架大钢琴。这些东西加上伦敦出租房间的一般家具算是这间屋子的全部装饰物。

米纳蒂摘下帽子，脱掉大衣，在沙发上坐了下来。她在这屋里显然很有点宾至如归的样子，但还是显得局促不安。她还不知道自己的地位。她现在的同盟是杰拉德，可她不知道其余的男人是否承认这种同盟，承认到什么程度。她正考虑如何对付眼前的局势，她下决心体验一下。在这关键时刻，她决不再受挫。她涨红了脸，似乎要打一仗，眼睛审度着，但这一仗是不可避免的了。

男仆端着茶点和一瓶科麦尔酒进屋来了。他把托盘放在了长沙发椅前的桌子上。

“米纳蒂，”海里戴说，“倒茶。”

她没有动。

“你倒茶，听见了吗？”海里戴重复着，但心里很是紧张害怕。

“我今天回这儿来，可跟以前不一样了。”她说，“我来这儿只是大伙儿想让我来，并不是为你来的。”

“我亲爱的米纳蒂，你知道你是自己的主人。我只是想让你在这公寓里受用，没别的意思，这你知道，我以前对你讲过多次了。”

她没有回答，却默默、有节制地伸手去拿茶壶。大家都围桌而坐品着茗香。杰拉德可以感觉到他同她之间那电磁般的联系是多么强壮，以至于他觉得这是另一种场合。她沉默着，克制着自己，她的沉寂令他困惑。他怎么才能亲近她呢？他感到这是不可避免的。他太相信那将他们两人连结在一起的电流了，他的困惑不过是表面现象，新的条件产生了，旧的已成为过去。此时一个人必定要尊从自己的命运，该做什么就做什么，不管是什么事都要去做。

伯金站起身来。已经快一点了。

“我要去睡了，”他说，“杰拉德，我明早往你的住处打电话，要不然你就给我这儿打电话。”

“好吧，”杰拉德说，他说完伯金就出去了。

当伯金的影子全消失了以后，海里戴很激动地对杰拉德说：

“我说，你留在这儿吧，啊，留下吧！”

“你并不能为每个人都安排住宿。”杰拉德说。

“能，我可以，没问题，除了我的床以外，还富裕三张床，留下吧。都是现成的，我这里总有什么人住，我总留人住下，我喜欢这屋里人多热闹。”

“可只有两个房间呀，”米纳蒂冷漠、敌视地说，“现在卢伯特在这儿呢。”

“我知道只有两间房，”海里戴声音高得有点怪。“那有什么？还有一间画室呢。”

他很憨厚地笑着，诚恳地、执着地说。

“裘里斯和我住一间，”俄国人谨慎、吐字准确地说。海里戴同他在伊顿公学上学时就是朋友了。

“这很简单嘛，”杰拉德说着舒展一下双臂阔一阔胸，然后又去看一幅图画。他的四肢被电流催胀，后背象老虎一样紧张地耸着，燃着一团火。他感到很自豪。

米纳蒂站起身，狠狠地瞪了一眼海里戴，这一瞪反倒招来海里戴一个很憨厚、得意的笑。然后米纳蒂向所有的人冷冷地道晚安，走了出去。

屋里沉默了一会儿，随后响起了关门声，然后马克西姆用优雅的语调说：

“好了，就这样吧。”

他又意味深长地看看杰拉德，点点头说：

“就这样，你没事