Chapter 9 Coal-dust

GOING HOME from school in the afternoon, the Brangwen girls descended the hill between the picturesque cottages of Willey Green till they came to the railway crossing. There they found the gate shut, because the colliery train was rumbling nearer. They could hear the small locomotive panting hoarsely as it advanced with caution between the embankments. The one-legged man in the little signal-hut by the road stared out from his security, like a crab from a snail-shell.

Whilst the two girls waited, Gerald Crich trotted up on a red Arab mare. He rode well and softly, pleased with the delicate quivering of the creature between his knees. And he was very picturesque, at least in Gudrun's eyes, sitting soft and close on the slender red mare, whose long tail flowed on the air. He saluted the two girls, and drew up at the crossing to wait for the gate, looking down the railway for the approaching train. In spite of her ironic smile at his picturesqueness, Gudrun liked to look at him. He was well-set and easy, his face with its warm tan showed up his whitish, coarse moustache, and his blue eyes were full of sharp light as he watched the distance.

The locomotive chuffed slowly between the banks, hidden. The mare did not like it. She began to wince away, as if hurt by the unknown noise. But Gerald pulled her back and held her head to the gate. The sharp blasts of the chuffing engine broke with more and more force on her. The repeated sharp blows of unknown, terrifying noise struck through her till she was rocking with terror. She recoiled like a spring let go. But a glistening, half-smiling look came into Gerald's face. He brought her back again, inevitably.

The noise was released, the little locomotive with her clanking steel connectingrod emerged on the highroad, clanking sharply. The mare rebounded like a drop of water from hot iron. Ursula and Gudrun pressed back into the hedge, in fear. But Gerald was heavy on the mare, and forced her back. It seemed as if he sank into her magnetically, and could thrust her back against herself.

`The fool!' cried Ursula loudly. `Why doesn't he ride away till it's gone by?'

Gudrun was looking at him with black-dilated, spellbound eyes. But he sat glistening and obstinate, forcing the wheeling mare, which spun and swerved like a wind, and yet could not get out of the grasp of his will, nor escape from the mad clamour of terror that resounded through her, as the trucks thumped slowly, heavily, horrifying, one after the other, one pursuing the other, over the rails of the crossing.

The locomotive, as if wanting to see what could be done, put on the brakes, and back came the trucks rebounding on the iron buffers, striking like horrible cymbals, clashing nearer and nearer in frightful strident concussions. The mare opened her mouth and rose slowly, as if lifted up on a wind of terror. Then suddenly her fore feet struck out, as she convulsed herself utterly away from the horror. Back she went, and the two girls clung to each other, feeling she must fall backwards on top of him. But he leaned forward, his face shining with fixed amusement, and at last he brought her down, sank her down, and was bearing her back to the mark. But as strong as the pressure of his compulsion was the repulsion of her utter terror, throwing her back away from the railway, so that she spun round and round, on two legs, as if she were in the centre of some whirlwind. It made Gudrun faint with poignant dizziness, which seemed to penetrate to her heart.

`No -- ! No -- ! Let her go! Let her go, you fool, you fool -- !' cried Ursula at the top of her voice, completely outside herself. And Gudrun hated her bitterly for being outside herself. It was unendurable that Ursula's voice was so powerful and naked.

A sharpened look came on Gerald's face. He bit himself down on the mare like a keen edge biting home, and forced her round. She roared as she breathed, her nostrils were two wide, hot holes, her mouth was apart, her eyes frenzied. It was a repulsive sight. But he held on her unrelaxed, with an almost mechanical relentlessness, keen as a sword pressing in to her. Both man and horse were sweating with violence. Yet he seemed calm as a ray of cold sunshine.

Meanwhile the eternal trucks were rumbling on, very slowly, treading one after the other, one after the other, like a disgusting dream that has no end. The connecting chains were grinding and squeaking as the tension varied, the mare pawed and struck away mechanically now, her terror fulfilled in her, for now the man encompassed her; her paws were blind and pathetic as she beat the air, the man closed round her, and brought her down, almost as if she were part of his own physique.

`And she's bleeding! She's bleeding!' cried Ursula, frantic with opposition and hatred of Gerald. She alone understood him perfectly, in pure opposition.

Gudrun looked and saw the trickles of blood on the sides of the mare, and she turned white. And then on the very wound the bright spurs came down, pressing relentlessly. The world reeled and passed into nothingness for Gudrun, she could not know any more.

When she recovered, her soul was calm and cold, without feeling. The trucks were still rumbling by, and the man and the mare were still fighting. But she herself was cold and separate, she had no more feeling for them. She was quite hard and cold and indifferent.

They could see the top of the hooded guard's-van approaching, the sound of the trucks was diminishing, there was hope of relief from the intolerable noise. The heavy panting of the half-stunned mare sounded automatically, the man seemed to be relaxing confidently, his will bright and unstained. The guard's-van came up, and passed slowly, the guard staring out in his transition on the spectacle in the road. And, through the man in the closed wagon, Gudrun could see the whole scene spectacularly, isolated and momentary, like a vision isolated in eternity.

Lovely, grateful silence seemed to trail behind the receding train. How sweet the silence is! Ursula looked with hatred on the buffers of the diminishing wagon. The gatekeeper stood ready at the door of his hut, to proceed to open the gate. But Gudrun sprang suddenly forward, in front of the struggling horse, threw off the latch and flung the gates asunder, throwing one-half to the keeper, and running with the other half, forwards. Gerald suddenly let go the horse and leaped forwards, almost on to Gudrun. She was not afraid. As he jerked aside the mare's head, Gudrun cried, in a strange, high voice, like a gull, or like a witch screaming out from the side of the road:

`I should think you're proud.'

The words were distinct and formed. The man, twisting aside on his dancing horse, looked at her in some surprise, some wondering interest. Then the mare's hoofs had danced three times on the drum-like sleepers of the crossing, and man and horse were bounding springily, unequally up the road.

The two girls watched them go. The gate-keeper hobbled thudding over the logs of the crossing, with his wooden leg. He had fastened the gate. Then he also turned, and called to the girls:

`A masterful young jockey, that; 'll have his own road, if ever anybody would.'

`Yes,' cried Ursula, in her hot, overbearing voice. `Why couldn't he take the horse away, till the trucks had gone by? He's a fool, and a bully. Does he think it's manly, to torture a horse? It's a living thing, why should he bully it and torture it?'

There was a pause, then the gate-keeper shook his head, and replied:

`Yes, it's as nice a little mare as you could set eyes on -- beautiful little thing, beautiful. Now you couldn't see his father treat any animal like that -- not you. They're as different as they welly can be, Gerald Crich and his father -- two different men, different made.'

Then there was a pause.

`But why does he do it?' cried Ursula, `why does he? Does he think he's grand, when he's bullied a sensitive creature, ten times as sensitive as himself?'

Again there was a cautious pause. Then again the man shook his head, as if he would say nothing, but would think the more.

`I expect he's got to train the mare to stand to anything,' he replied. `A pure-bred Harab -- not the sort of breed as is used to round here -- different sort from our sort altogether. They say as he got her from Constantinople.'

`He would!' said Ursula. `He'd better have left her to the Turks, I'm sure they would have had more decency towards her.'

The man went in to drink his can of tea, the girls went on down the lane, that was deep in soft black dust. Gudrun was as if numbed in her mind by the sense of indomitable soft weight of the man, bearing down into the living body of the horse: the strong, indomitable thighs of the blond man clenching the palpitating body of the mare into pure control; a sort of soft white magnetic domination from the loins and thighs and calves, enclosing and encompassing the mare heavily into unutterable subordination, soft blood-subordination, terrible.

On the left, as the girls walked silently, the coal-mine lifted its great mounds and its patterned head-stocks, the black railway with the trucks at rest looked like a harbour just below, a large bay of railroad with anchored wagons.

Near the second level-crossing, that went over many bright rails, was a farm belonging to the collieries, and a great round globe of iron, a disused boiler, huge and rusty and perfectly round, stood silently in a paddock by the road. The hens were pecking round it, some chickens were balanced on the drinking trough, wagtails flew away in among trucks, from the water.

On the other side of the wide crossing, by the road-side, was a heap of pale-grey stones for mending the roads, and a cart standing, and a middle-aged man with whiskers round his face was leaning on his shovel, talking to a young man in gaiters, who stood by the horse's head. Both men were facing the crossing.

They saw the two girls appear, small, brilliant figures in the near distance, in the strong light of the late afternoon. Both wore light, gay summer dresses, Ursula had an orange-coloured knitted coat, Gudrun a pale yellow, Ursula wore canary yellow stockings, Gudrun bright rose, the figures of the two women seemed to glitter in progress over the wide bay of the railway crossing, white and orange and yellow and rose glittering in motion across a hot world silted with coal-dust.

The two men stood quite still in the heat, watching. The elder was a short, hardfaced energetic man of middle age, the younger a labourer of twenty-three or so. They stood in silence watching the advance of the sisters. They watched whilst the girls drew near, and whilst they passed, and whilst they receded down the dusty road, that had dwellings on one side, and dusty young corn on the other.

Then the elder man, with the whiskers round his face, said in a prurient manner to the young man:

`What price that, eh? She'll do, won't she?'

`Which?' asked the young man, eagerly, with laugh.

`Her with the red stockings. What d'you say? I'd give my week's wages for five minutes; what! -- just for five minutes.'

Again the young man laughed.

`Your missis 'ud have summat to say to you,' he replied.

Gudrun had turned round and looked at the two men. They were to her sinister creatures, standing watching after her, by the heap of pale grey slag. She loathed the man with whiskers round his face.

`You're first class, you are,' the man said to her, and to the distance.

`Do you think it would be worth a week's wages?' said the younger man, musing.

`Do I? I'd put 'em bloody-well down this second --'

The younger man looked after Gudrun and Ursula objectively, as if he wished to calculate what there might be, that was worth his week's wages. He shook his head with fatal misgiving.

`No,' he said. `It's not worth that to me.'

`Isn't?' said the old man. `By God, if it isn't to me!'

And he went on shovelling his stones.

The girls descended between the houses with slate roofs and blackish brick walls. The heavy gold glamour of approaching sunset lay over all the colliery district, and the ugliness overlaid with beauty was like a narcotic to the senses. On the roads silted with black dust, the rich light fell more warmly, more heavily, over all the amorphous squalor a kind of magic was cast, from the glowing close of day.

`It has a foul kind of beauty, this place,' said Gudrun, evidently suffering from fascination. `Can't you feel in some way, a thick, hot attraction in it? I can. And it quite stupifies me.'

They were passing between blocks of miners' dwellings. In the back yards of several dwellings, a miner could be seen washing himself in the open on this hot evening, naked down to the loins, his great trousers of moleskin slipping almost away. Miners already cleaned were sitting on their heels, with their backs near the walls, talking and silent in pure physical well-being, tired, and taking physical rest. Their voices sounded out with strong intonation, and the broad dialect was curiously caressing to the blood. It seemed to envelop Gudrun in a labourer's caress, there was in the whole atmosphere a resonance of physical men, a glamorous thickness of labour and maleness, surcharged in the air. But it was universal in the district, and therefore unnoticed by the inhabitants.

To Gudrun, however, it was potent and half-repulsive. She could never tell why Beldover was so utterly different from London and the south, why one's whole feelings were different, why one seemed to live in another sphere. Now she realised that this was the world of powerful, underworld men who spent most of their time in the darkness. In their voices she could hear the voluptuous resonance of darkness, the strong, dangerous underworld, mindless, inhuman. They sounded also like strange machines, heavy, oiled. The voluptuousness was like that of machinery, cold and iron.

It was the same every evening when she came home, she seemed to move through a wave of disruptive force, that was given off from the presence of thousands of vigorous, underworld, half-automatised colliers, and which went to the brain and the heart, awaking a fatal desire, and a fatal callousness.

There came over her a nostalgia for the place. She hated it, she knew how utterly cut off it was, how hideous and how sickeningly mindless. Sometimes she beat her wings like a new Daphne, turning not into a tree but a machine. And yet, she was overcome by the nostalgia. She struggled to get more and more into accord with the atmosphere of the place, she craved to get her satisfaction of it.

She felt herself drawn out at evening into the main street of the town, that was uncreated and ugly, and yet surcharged with this same potent atmosphere of intense, dark callousness. There were always miners about. They moved with their strange, distorted dignity, a certain beauty, and unnatural stillness in their bearing, a look of abstraction and half resignation in their pale, often gaunt faces. They belonged to another world, they had a strange glamour, their voices were full of an intolerable deep resonance, like a machine's burring, a music more maddening than the siren's long ago.

She found herself, with the rest of the common women, drawn out on Friday evenings to the little market. Friday was pay-day for the colliers, and Friday night was market night. Every woman was abroad, every man was out, shopping with his wife, or gathering with his pals. The pavements were dark for miles around with people coming in, the little market-place on the crown of the hill, and the main street of Beldover were black with thickly-crowded men and women.

It was dark, the market-place was hot with kerosene flares, which threw a ruddy light on the grave faces of the purchasing wives, and on the pale abstract faces of the men. The air was full of the sound of criers and of people talking, thick streams of people moved on the pavements towards the solid crowd of the market. The shops were blazing and packed with women, in the streets were men, mostly men, miners of all ages. Money was spent with almost lavish freedom.

The carts that came could not pass through. They had to wait, the driver calling and shouting, till the dense crowd would make way. Everywhere, young fellows from the outlying districts were making conversation with the girls, standing in the road and at the corners. The doors of the public-houses were open and full of light, men passed in and out in a continual stream, everywhere men were calling out to one another, or crossing to meet one another, or standing in little gangs and circles, discussing, endlessly discussing. The sense of talk, buzzing, jarring, half-secret, the endless mining and political wrangling, vibrated in the air like discordant machinery. And it was their voices which affected Gudrun almost to swooning. They aroused a strange, nostalgic ache of desire, something almost demoniacal, never to be fulfilled.

Like any other common girl of the district, Gudrun strolled up and down, up and down the length of the brilliant two-hundred paces of the pavement nearest the market-place. She knew it was a vulgar thing to do; her father and mother could not bear it; but the nostalgia came over her, she must be among the people. Sometimes she sat among the louts in the cinema: rakish-looking, unattractive louts they were. Yet she must be among them.

And, like any other common lass, she found her `boy.' It was an electrician, one of the electricians introduced according to Gerald's new scheme. He was an earnest, clever man, a scientist with a passion for sociology. He lived alone in a cottage, in lodgings, in Willey Green. He was a gentleman, and sufficiently well-to-do. His landlady spread the reports about him; he would have a large wooden tub in his bedroom, and every time he came in from work, he would have pails and pails of water brought up, to bathe in, then he put on clean shirt and under-clothing every day, and clean silk socks; fastidious and exacting he was in these respects, but in every other way, most ordinary and unassuming.

Gudrun knew all these things. The Brangwen's house was one to which the gossip came naturally and inevitably. Palmer was in the first place a friend of Ursula's. But in his pale, elegant, serious face there showed the same nostalgia that Gudrun felt. He too must walk up and down the street on Friday evening. So he walked with Gudrun, and a friendship was struck up between them. But he was not in love with Gudrun; he really wanted Ursula, but for some strange reason, nothing could happen between her and him. He liked to have Gudrun about, as a fellow-mind -but that was all. And she had no real feeling for him. He was a scientist, he had to have a woman to back him. But he was really impersonal, he had the fineness of an elegant piece of machinery. He was too cold, too destructive to care really for women, too great an egoist. He was polarised by the men. Individually he detested and despised them. In the mass they fascinated him, as machinery fascinated him. They were a new sort of machinery to him -- but incalculable, incalculable.

So Gudrun strolled the streets with Palmer, or went to the cinema with him. And his long, pale, rather elegant face flickered as he made his sarcastic remarks. There they were, the two of them: two elegants in one sense: in the other sense, two units, absolutely adhering to the people, teeming with the distorted colliers. The same secret seemed to be working in the souls of all alike, Gudrun, Palmer, the rakish young bloods, the gaunt, middle-aged men. All had a secret sense of power, and of inexpressible destructiveness, and of fatal half-heartedness, a sort of rottenness in the will.

Sometimes Gudrun would start aside, see it all, see how she was sinking in. And then she was filled with a fury of contempt and anger. She felt she was sinking into one mass with the rest -- all so close and intermingled and breathless. It was horrible. She stifled. She prepared for flight, feverishly she flew to her work. But soon she let go. She started off into the country -- the darkish, glamorous country. The spell was beginning to work again.

 

下午放学以后，布朗温家两姐妹从威利·格林那风景如画的山村走下来，来到铁道叉路口。栅门关上了，矿车轰轰作响地驶近了。机车喘着粗气在路基上缓缓前行。路边讯号室里那位一条腿的工人象一只螃蟹从壳中伸出头来向外探视着。

她们等在路口时，杰拉德·克里奇骑着一匹阿拉伯种的母马奔来了。他骑术很好，轻巧地驾驶着马，马在他的双腿间微微震颤着，令他感到心满意足。在戈珍眼中，杰拉德那副姿态着实有点诗情画意：他驾轻就熟地骑在马上，那匹苗条的红马，尾巴在空中甩着。他跟两个姑娘打了个招呼，就驱马来到栅门口，俯首看着铁路。戈珍刚才调侃地看着他那副英姿，现在转而看他本人了。他身材很好，举止潇洒，他的脸晒成了棕褐色，但唇上的粗胡髭却泛着点灰色，他凝视着远方的时候，那双蓝眼睛闪着锐利的光芒。

火车喷着汽“哧哧”地驶了过来，马不喜欢它，开始向后退却，似乎被那陌生的声音伤害了似的。杰拉德把它拉回来，让它头冲着栅门站着。机车“哧哧”的声音愈来愈重、令它难耐，那没完没了的重复声既陌生又可怕，母马吓得浑身抖了起来，象松了的弹簧一样向后退着。杰拉德脸上掠过一丝微笑，眼睛闪闪发亮。他终于又把马赶了回来。

喷汽声减弱了，小机车咣咣当当地出现在路基上，撞击声很刺耳。母马象碰到热烙铁一样跳开去。厄秀拉和戈珍恐慌地躲进路边的篱笆后。可杰拉德仍沉稳地骑在马上，又把马牵了回来。似乎他被母马磁铁般地吸住了，要把马背坐塌。

“傻瓜！”戈珍叫道，“他为什么不躲火车呢？”

戈珍瞪大了黑眼睛着迷地看看杰拉德。他目光炯炯地骑在马上，固执地驱赶着马团团转，那马风一般地打着转，可就是无法摆脱他的控制，也无法躲避那可怕的机车轰鸣声。矿车一辆接一辆地从铁道口处驶了过去，缓慢、沉重、可怕。

机车似乎要等待什么，一个急刹闸，各节车厢撞着缓冲器，象铙钹一样发出刺耳吓人的声音，母马张开大嘴，缓缓地前蹄腾起来，似乎是被一阵可怕的风催起来的。突然，它浑身抽动着要逃避可怕的火车，前腿伸开向后退着。两个姑娘紧紧抱在一起，感到这母马非把杰拉德压在身下不可。可是，他向前倾着身子，开心地笑着，最终还是令母马驻足，安静下来，再一次把它驱到栅门前的警戒线上。可是，他那巨大的压力引起了母马巨大的反感和恐怖，只见它后退着离开铁路，两条后腿在原地打着转，似乎它是一股旋风的中心。这幅景象令戈珍几乎昏厥过去，她的心都要被刺痛了。

“不要这样，别这样，松开它！放它走，你这个傻瓜！”厄秀拉扯着嗓门，忘我地大叫着。戈珍对厄秀拉这样忘我很不以为然。厄秀拉的声音那么有力，那么赤裸裸的，真让人难以忍受。

杰拉德神色严峻起来。他用力夹着马腹，就象一把尖刀刺中了马的要害，马又顺从地转了回来。母马喘着粗气咆哮着，鼻孔大张着喷出热气来，咧着大嘴，双目充满恐怖的神情。这幅情景真让人不舒服。可杰拉德就是不放松它，一点都不手软，就象一把剑刺入了它的胸膛。人与马都耗费了巨大的力量，汗流浃背。但他看上去很平静，就象一束冷漠的阳光一样。

可矿车仍然一辆接一辆、一辆接一辆地“隆隆”驶来，慢悠悠的，就象一条无尽的细流一样，令人厌烦。火车车厢的连接处吱吱哑哑地响着，声音忽高忽低，母马惊恐万状，蹄子机械地踢腾着，它受着人的制约，蹄子毫无目标地踢腾。马背上的人将它的身子转过来，把它腾空的蹄子又压回地面，似乎它是他身体的一部分。

“它流血了！它流血了！”厄秀拉冲杰拉德恶狠狠地叫着。

她知道自己是多么恨他。

戈珍看到母马的腹部流着一股血水，吓得她脸都白了。她看到，就在伤口处，亮闪闪的马刺残酷地扎了进去。一时间戈珍感到眼前天旋地转，然后就不省人事了。

她醒来时，心变得又冷又木。矿车仍然“隆隆”前行，人与马仍在搏斗着。但她的心变冷了，人也超脱了，没感觉了。

此时她的心既硬又冷又木。

她们看到带篷子的末尾值班车驶近了，矿车的撞击声减弱了，大家就要从那难以忍受的噪音中解脱出来了。母马重重地喘息着，马背上的人很自信地松了一口气，他的意志毫不动摇。值班在缓缓驶过去了，信号员朝外观看着，看着叉路口上这幅奇景。从那信号员的眼中，戈珍可以感觉出这幅奇景是多么孤单、短暂，就象永恒世界中的一个幻觉一样。

矿车开过去后，四下里变得寂静起来，这是多么可爱、令人感激的寂静啊。多么甜美！厄秀拉仇视地望着远去的矿车。叉路口上的守门人走到他小屋的门前，前来开栅门。可不等门打开，戈珍就突然一步上前拨开插销，打开了两扇门，一扇朝看门人推去，她推开另一扇跑了过去。杰拉德突然信马由缰，策马飞跃向前，几乎直冲戈珍而来，但戈珍并不害怕。当他把马头推向旁边时，戈珍象个女巫一样扯着嗓门在路边冲他奇怪地大叫一声：

“你也太傲慢了。”

她的话很清晰，杰拉德听得真真的。他在跳跃着的马背上侧过身来，有点惊奇、意味深长地看着她。母马的蹄子在枕木上踢打了三遍，然后，骑马人和马一起颠簸着上路了。

两个姑娘看着他骑马走远了。守门人拖着一条木头做的腿在叉路口的枕木上掷地有声地蹒跚着。他把门栓紧，然后转回身对姑娘们说：

“一个骑马能手就要有自己的骑法儿，谁都会这样。”

“是的，”厄秀拉火辣辣，专横地说，“可他为什么不把马牵开等火车过去了再上来呢？他是个蛮横的傻瓜。难道他以为折磨一头动物就算够男子汉味儿了？马也是有灵性的，他凭什么要欺负、折磨一匹马？”

守门人沉默了一会儿，摇摇头说：

“一看就知道那是一匹好马，一头漂亮的马，很漂亮。可你不会发现他父亲也这么对待牲口。杰拉德·克里奇跟他爸爸一点都不一样，简直是两个人，两种人。

大家都不说话了。

“可他为什么要这样呢？”厄秀拉叫道，“他为什么要这么做？当他欺负一头比他敏感十倍的牲口时他难道会觉得自己了不起吗？”

大家又沉默了，守门人摇摇头，似乎他不想说什么而是要多思考。

“我希望他把马训练得能经受住任何打击，”他说，“一匹纯种的阿拉伯马，跟我们这里的马不是一类，全不一个样儿。

据说他是从君士坦丁堡①搞来的这匹马。”

①今名伊斯坦布尔，１９２３年前的土耳其首都。

“他会这样的！”厄秀拉说，“他最好把马留给土耳其人，他们会待它更高尚些。”

守门人进屋去喝茶了，两位姑娘走上了布满厚厚的黑煤灰的胡同。戈珍被杰拉德横暴地骑在马上的景象惊呆了，头脑变麻了：那位碧眼金发的男子粗壮、强横的大腿紧紧地夹住狂躁的马身，直到完全控制了它为止，他的力量来自腰、大腿和小腿，富有魔力，紧紧夹住马身，左右着它，令它屈服，那是骨子里的柔顺。

两位姑娘默默地走着路，左边是矿井高大的土台和车头，下面的铁路上停放着矿车，看上去就象一座巨大的港湾。

在围着许多明晃晃栅栏的第二个交叉路口附近，是一片属于矿工们的农田，田野的矿石堆中，放着一只废弃的大锅，锅已经生锈了，又大又圆，默默地驻在路边。一群母鸡在围着铁锅啄食，小鸡扒在池边饮水，鹡鸰飞离水池，在矿车中飞窜。

在叉路口另一边，堆着一堆用来修路的灰石头，旁边停着一辆车，一位长着连鬓胡的中年人手拄着铁锹，斜着身子与一位脚蹬高统靴子的年轻人聊着，年轻人身边站着一匹马，马头靠近他，他们两人都面对叉路口看着。

在午后强烈的阳光下，他们看到远处走来两位姑娘，那是两个闪闪发光的身影。两个姑娘都身着轻爽鲜艳的夏装。厄秀拉穿着桔黄色的针织上衣，戈珍的上衣则是浅黄色的。厄秀拉的长袜是鲜黄色的，戈珍的则是玫瑰色儿。两个女子的身影在穿过铁道转弯处时似乎在闪动着光芒，白、桔黄、浅黄和玫瑰红色在布满煤灰的世界里闪闪发光。

这两个男人在阳光下伫立着凝视这边。年长的是一位矮个子中年人，面孔严峻，浑身充满活力，年轻的工人大概二十三岁左右。他们两人静静地站着，望着两个姑娘向前走来。她们走近了、过去了、又在满是煤灰的路上消失了，那条路一边是房屋，一边是麦地。

长着连鬓胡的长者淫荡地对年轻人说：

“那个值多少钱？她行吗？”

“哪个？”年轻人笑着渴望地问。

“那个穿红袜子的。你说呢？我宁可花一个星期的工资跟她过五分钟，天啊，就五分钟。”

年轻人又笑了。

“那你老婆可要跟你好一通理论理论了。”

戈珍转过身看看这两个男人，他们站在灰堆旁目光跟踪着她，真象两个凶恶的怪物。她讨厌那个长连鬓胡的人。

“你是第一流的，真的，”那人冲着远处她的身影说。

“你觉得她值一星期的工资吗？”年轻人打趣说。

“我觉得？我敢打第二遍赌。”

年轻人不偏不倚地看着戈珍和厄秀拉，似乎在算计着什么才值他两个星期的工资。终于他担忧地摇摇头说：

“不值，她可不值我那么多钱。”

“不吗？”他说，“她要不值多么多我就不是人！”

说完他又继续用铁锹挖起石头来。

姑娘们下到矿区街上，街两边的房屋铺着石板瓦顶，墙是用黑砖砌的。浓重的金色夕阳晖映着矿区，丑恶的矿区上涂抹着一层美丽的夕阳，很令人陶醉。洒满黑煤灰的路上阳光显得越发温暖、凝重，给这乌七八糟、肮脏不堪的矿区笼罩上一层神秘色彩。

“这里有一种丑恶的美，”戈珍很显然被这幅景色迷住了，又这为肮脏感到痛苦。“你是否觉得这景色很迷人？它雄浑，火热。我可以感觉出来这一点。这真令我吃惊。”

穿过矿工的住宅区时，她们不时会看到一些矿工在后院的露天地里洗身子。这个晚上很热，矿工们洗澡时都光着上身，肥大的厚毛头工装裤几乎快滑下去了。已经洗好的矿工们背朝着墙蹲着聊天，他们身体都很健壮，劳累了一天，正好歇口气。他们说话声音很粗，浓重的方言着实令人感到说不出的舒服。戈珍似乎受到了劳动者的抚爱，空气中回荡着男人洪亮的声音，飘送来浓郁的男人气息。但这些在这一带是司空见惯的，因此没人去注意它。

可对戈珍来说这气味则太强烈，甚至让她有点反感。她怎么也说不清为何贝多弗同伦敦和南方这样全然不同，为什么人一到这儿感觉就变了样，似乎生活在另一个球体上。现在她明白了，这个世界的男人们很强盛，他们大多时间里都生活在地下黑暗的世界里。她可以听出他们的声音中回荡着黑暗的淫秽、强壮、危险，无所顾及的非人的声音。那声音又极象加了油的机器在奇怪地轰鸣。那淫荡的音调也象机器声，冰冷，残酷。

每天晚上她回家时都遇到同样的景象，让她觉得自己似乎在撕肝裂胆般的浪头中行进，这浪头来自成千名强壮，生活在地下、身不由己的矿工们，这浪头打入了她的心，激起某种毁灭性的欲望和冷漠心情。

她很眷恋此地。她恨它，她知道这里是与世隔绝之地，它丑恶、蠢笨得让人恶心。有时她扑打着双翅，俨然一个新达芙妮①，不过不是飞向月桂树而是扑向一台机器。可她还是被对这里的眷恋之情所攫取。于是她奋力要与这里的气氛保持一致，渴望从中获得满足。

①为躲避阿波罗的追逐而变作月桂树的女神。

一到晚上，她就感到自己被城里的大街吸引着，那大街蒙昧又丑恶，但空气中溶满了这强壮、紧张、黑暗的冷酷。街上总有一些矿工在逛来逛去。他们有着奇怪、变态的自尊，举止挺美观，文静得有点不自然，苍白、常常是憔悴的脸上表情茫然、倦怠。他们属于另一个世界，他们有着奇特的迷人之处，声音浑厚洪亮，象机器轰鸣，象音乐，但比远古时莎琳①的声音更迷人。

①传说中半人半鸟的海妖，常用歌声诱惑过路的航海者，使航船触礁而毁。

她发现自己跟那些市井妇人们一样，到星期五晚上就被小夜市所吸引去了。星期五是矿工们发工钱的日子，晚上就成了逛市场的时候了。女人们东串西逛，男人们带着老婆出来买东西或着跟朋友们聚聚。几英里长的人流涌向城里，路上黑鸦鸦全是人；山顶上的小市场和贝多弗的主干道上熙熙攘攘，人流如织，挤满各色男女。

天黑了，可市场上的煤油灯却燃得热乎乎的，暗红的灯光照耀着购货的主妇们阴郁的脸，映红了男人们茫然的脸。四下里满是人们叫喊、聊天的聒骂声、人流仍然向着市场上厚实的人群源源冲撞而来。商店里明晃晃的，挤满了女人，而街上则几乎全是男人，都是些老老少少的矿工。此时此地，人们出手大方，钱花得也潇洒。

往里驶的马车被阻住了。车夫们喊着叫着直到密不透风的人群让开一条缝来。随时随地，你都可以看见远处来的年轻小伙子站在路上或角落里跟姑娘们聊着天。小酒店里灯火通明，大门四开，男人们川流不息地接踵进出。他们大呼小唤地相且打招呼，奔走相认，仨一群五个一伙地站一圈没完没了地东扯西拉。人们嘁嘁喳喳，遮遮掩掩地谈着矿上的事或政治上的纠纷，搅得四下里一片聒噪，就象不和谐的机器声在响。可就是这些人的声音令戈珍神魂颠倒。这声音令她眷恋，令她渴望的心儿发痛、发疯、令她感到难以自己，这感觉真是莫明其妙。

象其他女孩子一样，戈珍在夜市附近那灯火通明的二百米长的坡路上上上下下地来回踱着步。她知道这样做很庸俗，她父母无法忍受她的这种行为，可她眷恋这里，她一定要和人们在一起。有时她会在电影院里同那些蠢笨的人们坐在一起，那些人很放荡，一点都不好看，可她一定要坐在他们中间。

也象其它普通女子一样，她也找到了她的“小伙子”。他是一个电学家，据说是来从事杰拉德的新计划的电学家。他这人很诚恳，很聪明，尽管是科学家，但对社会学很热心。他在威利·格林租了一间农舍独自住着。作为一位绅士，他经济上是比较宽裕的，他的女房东到处议论他，说他竟然在卧室中备了一只木桶，每天下班回来，他非要她一桶一桶地把水提上去供他洗澡用，他天天要换干净衬衣和内衣，还换干净的绸袜呢。在这些方面他似乎过分挑剔、苛求，但在别的方面他则再普通不过了，一点都不装腔作势。

戈珍对这些事都了解，这些闲言碎语很自然而且不可避免地会传到布朗温家中来。帕尔莫跟厄秀拉更要好些，但是他那苍白、神态高傲、严峻的脸上也现出与戈珍一样的那种眷恋情态。一到星期五晚上他也要在那条路上来回踱步。就这样他同戈珍走到了一起，他俩之间突然萌发了友情。但他并不爱戈珍，他真正爱的是厄秀拉，可不知为什么，他跟厄秀拉就是没缘分。他喜欢戈珍在他身边，但只是作为一个聪明的伴儿，没别的。同样，戈珍对他也没真动情。他是一位科学家，是得有个女人作他的后盾。但他是真真地毫无感情色彩，就象一架高雅漂亮的机器。他太冷，太具有破坏性，太自私，无法真正地爱女人。但他却受男人的吸引。作为个人，他厌恶、蔑视他们，可在人群中，他们却象机器一样吸引着他。对他来说，他们是新式机器，只不过他们是无法计算出来的。

戈珍就这样同帕尔莫一起在街上漫步，或者同地一起去看电影。他嘴里不停地冷嘲热讽，狭长、苍白、颇有几分高雅的脸上闪着光。他们两个，两个高雅的人有着同样的感觉。换句话说，他们是两个个体，但都追随着人群，与这些丑陋的矿工们溶为一体。同样的秘密似乎每个人心中都有：戈珍，帕尔莫，放浪的绔袴子弟，憔悴的中年人。大家都有一种力量的神秘感，无法言表的破坏力和三心二意，似乎意志中腐朽了一般。

有时戈珍真想变成旁观者，观察这一切，看看自己是如何沉沦的。她随之又气又蔑视自己。她感到自己跟别人一样沉沦到芸芸众生中挤得水泄不通、盘根错节地纠缠在一起难以将息。这太可怕了。她感到窒息。她准备好要斗争，疯狂地埋头干自己的工作。但她很快就不行了。她动身到农村去——黑色、富有魅力的农村。这种魅力又开始诱惑她了。