Chapter 20 Gladiatorial

AFTER the fiasco of the proposal, Birkin had hurried blindly away from Beldover, in a whirl of fury. He felt he had been a complete fool, that the whole scene had been a farce of the first water. But that did not trouble him at all. He was deeply, mockingly angry that Ursula persisted always in this old cry: `Why do you want to bully me?' and in her bright, insolent abstraction.

He went straight to Shortlands. There he found Gerald standing with his back to the fire, in the library, as motionless as a man is, who is completely and emptily restless, utterly hollow. He had done all the work he wanted to do -- and now there was nothing. He could go out in the car, he could run to town. But he did not want to go out in the car, he did not want to run to town, he did not want to call on the Thirlbys. He was suspended motionless, in an agony of inertia, like a machine that is without power.

This was very bitter to Gerald, who had never known what boredom was, who had gone from activity to activity, never at a loss. Now, gradually, everything seemed to be stopping in him. He did not want any more to do the things that offered. Something dead within him just refused to respond to any suggestion. He cast over in his mind, what it would be possible to do, to save himself from this misery of nothingness, relieve the stress of this hollowness. And there were only three things left, that would rouse him, make him live. One was to drink or smoke hashish, the other was to be soothed by Birkin, and the third was women. And there was no-one for the moment to drink with. Nor was there a woman. And he knew Birkin was out. So there was nothing to do but to bear the stress of his own emptiness.

When he saw Birkin his face lit up in a sudden, wonderful smile.

`By God, Rupert,' he said, `I'd just come to the conclusion that nothing in the world mattered except somebody to take the edge off one's being alone: the right somebody.'

The smile in his eyes was very astonishing, as he looked at the other man. It was the pure gleam of relief. His face was pallid and even haggard.

`The right woman, I suppose you mean,' said Birkin spitefully.

`Of course, for choice. Failing that, an amusing man.'

He laughed as he said it. Birkin sat down near the fire.

`What were you doing?' he asked.

`I? Nothing. I'm in a bad way just now, everything's on edge, and I can neither work nor play. I don't know whether it's a sign of old age, I'm sure.'

`You mean you are bored?'

`Bored, I don't know. I can't apply myself. And I feel the devil is either very present inside me, or dead.'

Birkin glanced up and looked in his eyes.

`You should try hitting something,' he said.

Gerald smiled.

`Perhaps,' he said. `So long as it was something worth hitting.'

`Quite!' said Birkin, in his soft voice. There was a long pause during which each could feel the presence of the other.

`One has to wait,' said Birkin.

`Ah God! Waiting! What are we waiting for?'

`Some old Johnny says there are three cures for ennui, sleep, drink, and travel,' said Birkin.

`All cold eggs,' said Gerald. `In sleep, you dream, in drink you curse, and in travel you yell at a porter. No, work and love are the two. When you're not at work you should be in love.'

`Be it then,' said Birkin.

`Give me the object,' said Gerald. `The possibilities of love exhaust themselves.'

`Do they? And then what?'

`Then you die,' said Gerald.

`So you ought,' said Birkin.

`I don't see it,' replied Gerald. He took his hands out of his trousers pockets, and reached for a cigarette. He was tense and nervous. He lit the cigarette over a lamp, reaching forward and drawing steadily. He was dressed for dinner, as usual in the evening, although he was alone.

`There's a third one even to your two,' said Birkin. `Work, love, and fighting. You forget the fight.'

`I suppose I do,' said Gerald. `Did you ever do any boxing --?'

`No, I don't think I did,' said Birkin.

`Ay --' Gerald lifted his head and blew the smoke slowly into the air.

`Why?' said Birkin.

`Nothing. I thought we might have a round. It is perhaps true, that I want something to hit. It's a suggestion.'

`So you think you might as well hit me?' said Birkin.

`You? Well! Perhaps --! In a friendly kind of way, of course.'

`Quite!' said Birkin, bitingly.

Gerald stood leaning back against the mantel-piece. He looked down at Birkin, and his eyes flashed with a sort of terror like the eyes of a stallion, that are bloodshot and overwrought, turned glancing backwards in a stiff terror.

`I fell that if I don't watch myself, I shall find myself doing something silly,' he said.

`Why not do it?' said Birkin coldly.

Gerald listened with quick impatience. He kept glancing down at Birkin, as if looking for something from the other man.

`I used to do some Japanese wrestling,' said Birkin. `A Jap lived in the same house with me in Heidelberg, and he taught me a little. But I was never much good at it.'

`You did!' exclaimed Gerald. `That's one of the things I've never ever seen done. You mean jiu-jitsu, I suppose?'

`Yes. But I am no good at those things -- they don't interest me.'

`They don't? They do me. What's the start?'

`I'll show you what I can, if you like,' said Birkin.

`You will?' A queer, smiling look tightened Gerald's face for a moment, as he said, `Well, I'd like it very much.'

`Then we'll try jiu-jitsu. Only you can't do much in a starched shirt.'

`Then let us strip, and do it properly. Hold a minute --' He rang the bell, and waited for the butler.

`Bring a couple of sandwiches and a syphon,' he said to the man, `and then don't trouble me any more tonight -- or let anybody else.'

The man went. Gerald turned to Birkin with his eyes lighted.

`And you used to wrestle with a Jap?' he said. `Did you strip?'

`Sometimes.'

`You did! What was he like then, as a wrestler?'

`Good, I believe. I am no judge. He was very quick and slippery and full of electric fire. It is a remarkable thing, what a curious sort of fluid force they seem to have in them, those people not like a human grip -- like a polyp --'

Gerald nodded.

`I should imagine so,' he said, `to look at them. They repel me, rather.'

`Repel and attract, both. They are very repulsive when they are cold, and they look grey. But when they are hot and roused, there is a definite attraction -- a curious kind of full electric fluid -- like eels.'

`Well -- yes -- probably.'

The man brought in the tray and set it down.

`Don't come in any more,' said Gerald.

The door closed.

`Well then,' said Gerald; `shall we strip and begin? Will you have a drink first?'

`No, I don't want one.'

`Neither do I.'

Gerald fastened the door and pushed the furniture aside. The room was large, there was plenty of space, it was thickly carpeted. Then he quickly threw off his clothes, and waited for Birkin. The latter, white and thin, came over to him. Birkin was more a presence than a visible object, Gerald was aware of him completely, but not really visually. Whereas Gerald himself was concrete and noticeable, a piece of pure final substance.

`Now,' said Birkin, `I will show you what I learned, and what I remember. You let me take you so --' And his hands closed on the naked body of the other man. In another moment, he had Gerald swung over lightly and balanced against his knee, head downwards. Relaxed, Gerald sprang to his feet with eyes glittering.

`That's smart,' he said. `Now try again.'

So the two men began to struggle together. They were very dissimilar. Birkin was tall and narrow, his bones were very thin and fine. Gerald was much heavier and more plastic. His bones were strong and round, his limbs were rounded, all his contours were beautifully and fully moulded. He seemed to stand with a proper, rich weight on the face of the earth, whilst Birkin seemed to have the centre of gravitation in his own middle. And Gerald had a rich, frictional kind of strength, rather mechanical, but sudden and invincible, whereas Birkin was abstract as to be almost intangible. He impinged invisibly upon the other man, scarcely seeming to touch him, like a garment, and then suddenly piercing in a tense fine grip that seemed to penetrate into the very quick of Gerald's being.

They stopped, they discussed methods, they practised grips and throws, they became accustomed to each other, to each other's rhythm, they got a kind of mutual physical understanding. And then again they had a real struggle. They seemed to drive their white flesh deeper and deeper against each other, as if they would break into a oneness. Birkin had a great subtle energy, that would press upon the other man with an uncanny force, weigh him like a spell put upon him. Then it would pass, and Gerald would heave free, with white, heaving, dazzling movements.

So the two men entwined and wrestled with each other, working nearer and nearer. Both were white and clear, but Gerald flushed smart red where he was touched, and Birkin remained white and tense. He seemed to penetrate into Gerald's more solid, more diffuse bulk, to interfuse his body through the body of the other, as if to bring it subtly into subjection, always seizing with some rapid necromantic fore-knowledge every motion of the other flesh, converting and counteracting it, playing upon the limbs and trunk of Gerald like some hard wind. It was as if Birkin's whole physical intelligence interpenetrated into Gerald's body, as if his fine, sublimated energy entered into the flesh of the fuller man, like some potency, casting a fine net, a prison, through the muscles into the very depths of Gerald's physical being.

So they wrestled swiftly, rapturously, intent and mindless at last, two essential white figures working into a tighter closer oneness of struggle, with a strange, octopus-like knotting and flashing of limbs in the subdued light of the room; a tense white knot of flesh gripped in silence between the walls of old brown books. Now and again came a sharp gasp of breath, or a sound like a sigh, then the rapid thudding of movement on the thickly-carpeted floor, then the strange sound of flesh escaping under flesh. Often, in the white interlaced knot of violent living being that swayed silently, there was no head to be seen, only the swift, tight limbs, the solid white backs, the physical junction of two bodies clinched into oneness. Then would appear the gleaming, ruffled head of Gerald, as the struggle changed, then for a moment the dun-coloured, shadow-like head of the other man would lift up from the conflict, the eyes wide and dreadful and sightless.

At length Gerald lay back inert on the carpet, his breast rising in great slow panting, whilst Birkin kneeled over him, almost unconscious. Birkin was much more exhausted. He caught little, short breaths, he could scarcely breathe any more. The earth seemed to tilt and sway, and a complete darkness was coming over his mind. He did not know what happened. He slid forward quite unconscious, over Gerald, and Gerald did not notice. Then he was half-conscious again, aware only of the strange tilting and sliding of the world. The world was sliding, everything was sliding off into the darkness. And he was sliding, endlessly, endlessly away.

He came to consciousness again, hearing an immense knocking outside. What could be happening, what was it, the great hammer-stroke resounding through the house? He did not know. And then it came to him that it was his own heart beating. But that seemed impossible, the noise was outside. No, it was inside himself, it was his own heart. And the beating was painful, so strained, surcharged. He wondered if Gerald heard it. He did not know whether he were standing or lying or falling.

When he realised that he had fallen prostrate upon Gerald's body he wondered, he was surprised. But he sat up, steadying himself with his hand and waiting for his heart to become stiller and less painful. It hurt very much, and took away his consciousness.

Gerald however was still less conscious than Birkin. They waited dimly, in a sort of not-being, for many uncounted, unknown minutes.

`Of course --' panted Gerald, `I didn't have to be rough -- with you -- I had to keep back -- my force --'

Birkin heard the sound as if his own spirit stood behind him, outside him, and listened to it. His body was in a trance of exhaustion, his spirit heard thinly. His body could not answer. Only he knew his heart was getting quieter. He was divided entirely between his spirit, which stood outside, and knew, and his body, that was a plunging, unconscious stroke of blood.

`I could have thrown you -- using violence --' panted Gerald. `But you beat me right enough.'

`Yes,' said Birkin, hardening his throat and producing the words in the tension there, `you're much stronger than I -- you could beat me -easily.'

Then he relaxed again to the terrible plunging of his heart and his blood.

`It surprised me,' panted Gerald, `what strength you've got. Almost supernatural.'

`For a moment,' said Birkin.

He still heard as if it were his own disembodied spirit hearing, standing at some distance behind him. It drew nearer however, his spirit. And the violent striking of blood in his chest was sinking quieter, allowing his mind to come back. He realised that he was leaning with all his weight on the soft body of the other man. It startled him, because he thought he had withdrawn. He recovered himself, and sat up. But he was still vague and unestablished. He put out his hand to steady himself. It touched the hand of Gerald, that was lying out on the floor. And Gerald's hand closed warm and sudden over Birkin's, they remained exhausted and breathless, the one hand clasped closely over the other. It was Birkin whose hand, in swift response, had closed in a strong, warm clasp over the hand of the other. Gerald's clasp had been sudden and momentaneous.

The normal consciousness however was returning, ebbing back. Birkin could breathe almost naturally again. Gerald's hand slowly withdrew, Birkin slowly, dazedly rose to his feet and went towards the table. He poured out a whiskey and soda. Gerald also came for a drink.

`It was a real set-to, wasn't it?' said Birkin, looking at Gerald with darkened eyes.

`God, yes,' said Gerald. He looked at the delicate body of the other man, and added: `It wasn't too much for you, was it?'

`No. One ought to wrestle and strive and be physically close. It makes one sane.'

`You do think so?'

`I do. Don't you?'

`Yes,' said Gerald.

There were long spaces of silence between their words. The wrestling had some deep meaning to them -- an unfinished meaning.

`We are mentally, spiritually intimate, therefore we should be more or less physically intimate too -- it is more whole.'

`Certainly it is,' said Gerald. Then he laughed pleasantly, adding: `It's rather wonderful to me.' He stretched out his arms handsomely.

`Yes,' said Birkin. `I don't know why one should have to justify oneself.'

`No.'

The two men began to dress.

`I think also that you are beautiful,' said Birkin to Gerald, `and that is enjoyable too. One should enjoy what is given.'

`You think I am beautiful -- how do you mean, physically?' asked Gerald, his eyes glistening.

`Yes. You have a northern kind of beauty, like light refracted from snow -and a beautiful, plastic form. Yes, that is there to enjoy as well. We should enjoy everything.'

Gerald laughed in his throat, and said:

`That's certainly one way of looking at it. I can say this much, I feel better. It has certainly helped me. Is this the Bruderschaft you wanted?'

`Perhaps. Do you think this pledges anything?'

`I don't know,' laughed Gerald.

`At any rate, one feels freer and more open now -- and that is what we want.'

`Certainly,' said Gerald.

They drew to the fire, with the decanters and the glasses and the food.

`I always eat a little before I go to bed,' said Gerald. `I sleep better.'

`I should not sleep so well,' said Birkin.

`No? There you are, we are not alike. I'll put a dressing-gown on.' Birkin remained alone, looking at the fire. His mind had reverted to Ursula. She seemed to return again into his consciousness. Gerald came down wearing a gown of broad-barred, thick black-and-green silk, brilliant and striking.

`You are very fine,' said Birkin, looking at the full robe.

`It was a caftan in Bokhara,' said Gerald. `I like it.'

`I like it too.'

Birkin was silent, thinking how scrupulous Gerald was in his attire, how expensive too. He wore silk socks, and studs of fine workmanship, and silk underclothing, and silk braces. Curious! This was another of the differences between them. Birkin was careless and unimaginative about his own appearance.

`Of course you,' said Gerald, as if he had been thinking; `there's something curious about you. You're curiously strong. One doesn't expect it, it is rather surprising.'

Birkin laughed. He was looking at the handsome figure of the other man, blond and comely in the rich robe, and he was half thinking of the difference between it and himself -- so different; as far, perhaps, apart as man from woman, yet in another direction. But really it was Ursula, it was the woman who was gaining ascendance over Birkin's being, at this moment. Gerald was becoming dim again, lapsing out of him.

`Do you know,' he said suddenly, `I went and proposed to Ursula Brangwen tonight, that she should marry me.'

He saw the blank shining wonder come over Gerald's face.

`You did?'

`Yes. Almost formally -- speaking first to her father, as it should be, in the world -- though that was accident -- or mischief.'

Gerald only stared in wonder, as if he did not grasp.

`You don't mean to say that you seriously went and asked her father to let you marry her?'

`Yes,' said Birkin, `I did.'

`What, had you spoken to her before about it, then?'

`No, not a word. I suddenly thought I would go there and ask her -- and her father happened to come instead of her -- so I asked him first.'

`If you could have her?' concluded Gerald.

`Ye-es, that.'

`And you didn't speak to her?'

`Yes. She came in afterwards. So it was put to her as well.'

`It was! And what did she say then? You're an engaged man?'

`No, -- she only said she didn't want to be bullied into answering.'

`She what?'

`Said she didn't want to be bullied into answering.'

`"Said she didn't want to be bullied into answering!" Why, what did she mean by that?'

Birkin raised his shoulders. `Can't say,' he answered. `Didn't want to be bothered just then, I suppose.'

`But is this really so? And what did you do then?'

`I walked out of the house and came here.'

`You came straight here?'

`Yes.'

Gerald stared in amazement and amusement. He could not take it in.

`But is this really true, as you say it now?'

`Word for word.'

`It is?'

He leaned back in his chair, filled with delight and amusement.

`Well, that's good,' he said. `And so you came here to wrestle with your good angel, did you?'

`Did I?' said Birkin.

`Well, it looks like it. Isn't that what you did?'

Now Birkin could not follow Gerald's meaning.

`And what's going to happen?' said Gerald. `You're going to keep open the proposition, so to speak?'

`I suppose so. I vowed to myself I would see them all to the devil. But I suppose I shall ask her again, in a little while.'

Gerald watched him steadily.

`So you're fond of her then?' he asked.

`I think -- I love her,' said Birkin, his face going very still and fixed.

Gerald glistened for a moment with pleasure, as if it were something done specially to please him. Then his face assumed a fitting gravity, and he nodded his head slowly.

`You know,' he said, `I always believed in love -- true love. But where does one find it nowadays?'

`I don't know,' said Birkin.

`Very rarely,' said Gerald. Then, after a pause, `I've never felt it myself -- not what I should call love. I've gone after women -- and been keen enough over some of them. But I've never felt love. I don't believe I've ever felt as much love for a woman, as I have for you -- not love. You understand what I mean?'

`Yes. I'm sure you've never loved a woman.'

`You feel that, do you? And do you think I ever shall? You understand what I mean?' He put his hand to his breast, closing his fist there, as if he would draw something out. `I mean that -- that I can't express what it is, but I know it.'

`What is it, then?' asked Birkin.

`You see, I can't put it into words. I mean, at any rate, something abiding, something that can't change --'

His eyes were bright and puzzled.

`Now do you think I shall ever feel that for a woman?' he said, anxiously.

Birkin looked at him, and shook his head.

`I don't know,' he said. `I could not say.'

Gerald had been on the qui vive, as awaiting his fate. Now he drew back in his chair.

`No,' he said, `and neither do I, and neither do I.'

`We are different, you and I,' said Birkin. `I can't tell your life.'

`No,' said Gerald, `no more can I. But I tell you -- I begin to doubt it!'

`That you will ever love a woman?'

`Well -- yes -- what you would truly call love --'

`You doubt it?'

`Well -- I begin to.'

There was a long pause.

`Life has all kinds of things,' said Birkin. `There isn't only one road.'

`Yes, I believe that too. I believe it. And mind you, I don't care how it is with me -- I don't care how it is -- so long as I don't feel --' he paused, and a blank, barren look passed over his face, to express his feeling -- `so long as I feel I've lived, somehow -- and I don't care how it is -- but I want to feel that --'

`Fulfilled,' said Birkin.

`We-ell, perhaps it is fulfilled; I don't use the same words as you.'

`It is the same.'

 

求婚失败后，伯金气急败坏地从贝多弗逃了出来。他觉得自己是个十足的傻瓜，整个经过纯粹是一场闹剧。当然他也并不觉得有什么不安。令他深感气愤的是厄秀拉总没完没了地大叫：“你为什么要欺负我？”那口气着实无礼，说话时还显得很得意、满不在乎。

他径直朝肖特兰兹走去。杰拉德正背对着壁炉站在书房里，他纹丝不动，象一个内心十分空虚的人那样焦躁不安。他做了该做的一切，现在什么事都没有了。他可以坐车出门儿，可以到城里去。可他既不想坐车出门，也不想进城，不想去拜访席尔比家。他现有很茫然，很迟钝，就象一台失去动力的机器一样。

杰拉德为此深感痛苦，他以前总是没完没了地忙于事务，从不知烦恼为何物。现在，一切似乎都停止了。他不想再做任何事，他心中某种死去的东西拒绝回应任何建议。他绞尽脑汁想着如何把自己从这种虚无的痛苦中解救出来，如何解脱这种空洞对他的压抑。只有三件事可以令他复活。一是吸印度大麻制成的麻醉品，二是得到伯金的抚慰，三是女人。现在没人同他一起吸麻醉品，也没有女人，伯金也出门了。没事可干，只能一人独自忍受空虚的重负。

一看到伯金，他的脸上一下子就亮起一个奇妙的微笑。

“天啊，卢伯特，”他说，“我正在想世界上最厉害的就是有人消弱别人的锋芒，这人就是你。”

他看伯金时眼中的笑意是惊人的，它表明一种纯粹的释然。他脸色苍白，甚至十分憔悴。

“你指的是女人吧？”伯金轻蔑地说。

“当然要有所选择，不行的话，一个有趣儿的男人亦可。”

说着他笑了。伯金紧靠着壁炉坐下来。

“你在干什么？”

“我，没干什么。我一直很不好过。事事都令人不安，搞得我既不能工作又无法娱乐。可以说我不知道这是否是衰老的迹象。”

“你是说你感到厌倦了？”

“厌倦，我不知道。我无法安下心来。我还感到我心中的魔鬼不是活着就是死了。”

伯金扫视他一眼，然后看着他的眼睛说：

“你应该试图专心致志。”

杰拉德笑道：

“也许会，只要有什么值得我这样做。”

“对呀！”伯金柔声地说。双方沉默着，相互感知着对方。

“要等待才行。”伯金说。

“天啊！等待！我们等什么呢？”

“有的老家伙说消除烦恼有三个办法：睡觉，喝酒和旅游。”伯金说。

“全是些没用的办法，”杰拉德说，“睡觉时做梦，喝了酒就骂人，旅游时你得冲脚夫大喊大叫。不行，这样不行。工作和爱才是出路。当你不工作时，你就应该恋爱。”

“那就这样吧。”伯金说。

“给我一个目标，”杰拉德说：“爱的可能性足以使爱消耗殆尽。”

“是吗？然后又会怎么样？”

“然后你就会死。”杰拉德说。

“你才应该这样。”伯金说。

“我倒看不出，”杰拉德说着手从裤兜中伸出来去拿香烟。他十分紧张。他在油灯上点着烟卷儿，前前后后缓缓地踱着步。尽管他孤身一人，他还是象往常一样衣冠楚楚准备用膳。

“除了你那两种办法以外，还有第三种办法，”伯金说，“工作，爱和打斗。你忘了这一点。”

“我想我没有忘记，”杰拉德说，“你练拳吗？”

“不，我不练。”伯金说。

“嗨——”杰拉德抬起头，向空中吐着烟圈。

“怎么了？”伯金问。

“没什么，我正想跟你来一场拳赛。说真的，我需要向什么东西出击。这是个主意。”

“所以你想倒不如揍我一顿的好，是吗？”伯金问。

“你？嚯！也许是！当然是友好地打一场。”

“行啊！”伯金刻薄的说。

杰拉德向后斜靠着壁炉台。他低头看着伯金，眼睛象种马的眼睛一样激动地充着血、闪着恐怖的光芒。

“我觉得我管不住自己了，我会干出傻事来的。”杰拉德说。

“能不做傻事吗？”伯金冷冷地问。

杰拉德很不耐烦地听着。他俯视着伯金，似乎要从他身上看出什么来。

“我曾学过日本式摔跤，”伯金说，“在海德堡时我同一位日本人同住一室，他教过我几招。可我总也不行。”

“你学过！”杰拉德叫道，“我从来没见人用这种方法摔跤。

你搬的是柔道吧？”

“对，不过我不行，对那不感兴趣。”

“是吗？我可是感兴趣。怎么开头儿？”

“如果你喜欢我就表演给你看。”伯金说。

“你会吗？”杰拉德脸上堆起笑说，“好，我很喜欢这样。”

“那咱们就试试柔道吧。不过你穿着浆过的衣服可做不了几个动作。”

“那就脱了衣服好好做。等一会儿——”他按了下铃唤来男仆，吩咐道：

“弄几块三明治，来瓶苏打水，然后今晚就不要来了，告诉别人也别来。”

男仆走了。杰拉德目光炯炯地看着伯金问：

“你跟日本人摔过跤？也不穿衣服？”

“有时这样。”

“是吗？他是个运动员吗？”

“可能是吧。不过我可不是裁判。他很敏捷、灵活，具有电火一般的力量。他那种运力法可真叫绝，简直不象人，倒象珊瑚虫。”

杰拉德点点头。

“可以想象得出来，”他说，“不过，那样子让我有点反感。”

“反感，也被吸引。当他们冷漠阴郁的时候可令人反感了。可他们热情的时候他们却是迷人的，的确迷人，就象黄鳝一样油滑。”

“嗯，很可能。”

男仆端来盘子放下。

“别再进来了。”杰拉德说。

门关上了。

“好吧，咱们脱衣服，开始吧。你先喝点什么好吗？”

“不，我不想喝。”

“我也不想。”

杰拉德关紧门，把屋里的家具挪动了一下。房间很大，有足够的空间，铺着厚厚的地毯。杰拉德迅速甩掉衣服，等着伯金。又白又瘦的伯金走了过来。他简直象个精灵；让人看不见摸不着。杰拉德完全可以感觉到他的存在，但并未真正看见他。杰拉德倒是个实实在在的，可以看得见的实体。

“现在，”伯金说，“让我表演一下我学到的东西，记住多少表演多少。来，你让我这样抓住你——”说着他的手抓住了杰拉德的裸体。说话间他轻轻扳倒杰拉德，用自己的膝盖托住他，他的头朝下垂直。放开他以后，杰拉德目光炯炯地站了起来。

“很好，”他说，“再来一次吧。”

两个人就这样扭打起来。他们两人太不一样。伯金又瘦又高，骨架很窄很纤细。杰拉德则很有块头，很有雕塑感。他的骨架粗大，四肢肌肉发达，整个人的轮廓看上去漂亮、健壮。他似乎很有重量地压在地面上，而伯金似乎腰部蕴藏着吸引力。杰拉德则有一种强大的磨擦力，很象机器，但力量来得突然，让人难以看出。而伯金则虚无缥缈，几乎令人无法捉摸。他隐附在另一个人身上，象一件衣服一样似乎没怎么触到杰拉德，但又似乎突如其来地直刺入杰拉德的致命处。

他们停下来切磋技艺，练习着抓举和抛开，渐渐变得能够相互适应各自的节奏、获得了彼此体力上的协调。然后他们正式较量了一番。他们似乎都在试图嵌进对方白色的肉体中去，就象要变成一体一样。伯金拥有某种极微妙的力量，就象咒语在他身上发生了效力。松开手之后，杰拉德长出一口气，感到头晕目眩，喘息着。

他们二人就这样扭打在一起，愈贴愈近。两个人皮肤都很白皙，杰拉德身上所触之处开始泛红，可伯金仍然很紧张，尽管身上还没有红。他似乎要嵌入杰拉德那坚实宽阔的躯体中，与他的躯体溶为一体。伯金凭着某种妖术般的预知迅速地掌握了另一条躯体的每一个动作，从而能够扭转它，与它对抗，微妙地控制它，象强风一样动摇着杰拉德的四肢。似乎伯金那充满智慧的肉体刺进了杰拉德的躯体，他纤弱、高尚的体能进入了杰拉德那强壮的皮肉中，似一种潜能透过肌肉在杰拉德肉体的深处投下了一张精织的网，筑起一座监狱。

他们就这样迅速、发疯般地扭打着，最终他们都全神贯注、一心一意起来，两个白白的躯体扭打着愈来愈紧地抱成一团，微弱的灯影里他们的四肢象章鱼一样纠缠、闪动着；只见装满褐色旧书的书柜中间有一团白色的肉体静静地扭作一团。不时传来重重的喘息或叹气声。忽而厚厚的地毯上响起急促的脚步声，忽而又响起一个肉体挣脱另一个肉体奇怪的磨擦声。这团默默飞旋着的剧烈扭动的肉体中难以看到他们的头，只能看到飞快转动着的四肢和坚实的白色脊梁，两具肉体扭成一体了。随着扭打姿式的变动，杰拉德那毛发零乱、闪光的头露了出来，然后伯金那长着褐色头发的头颅抬了起来，双眼大睁着，露出恐惧的神色。

最后杰拉德终于直挺挺地躺倒在地毯上，胸脯随着喘息起伏着，伯金跪在他身边，几乎失去了知觉。伯金比杰拉德的消耗更大，他急促地喘着气，都快喘不上来了。地板似乎在倾斜、在晃动，头脑中一片黑暗。他不知道发生了什么事。他毫无意识地向杰拉德倾倒过去，而杰拉德却没注意。然后他有点清醒了，他只感到世界在奇怪地倾斜、滑动着。整个世界在滑动，一切都滑向黑暗。他也滑动着，无休止地滑动着。

他又一次清醒过来，听到外面有重重的敲动。这是什么？是什么锤子在敲打？这声音震动了整个房间。他不知道这是什么声音。过了一会儿他弄明白了，这是他的心在跳动。可这似乎不可能，这声音是来自外面啊。不，这声音来自体内，这是他的心。这心跳得很痛苦，它过于紧张，负担又太重。他在想杰拉德是否听到了这心跳。他不知道他是站着、躺着还是摔倒了。

当他发现自己是疲惫地倒在杰拉德身上时，他大吃一惊。他坐起来，双手扶地稳住身体，让自己的心渐渐稳定下来，痛苦稍稍减缓一点。心疼得厉害，他失去了意识。

杰拉德比伯金更昏昏然，他在某种死也似的浑沌中持续了好久。

“按说，”杰拉德喘着气说，“我不应该太粗暴，我应该收敛些。”

伯金似乎早已灵魂出壳，他听到了杰拉德在说什么。他已经精疲力竭，杰拉德的声音听起来很微弱，他的躯体一点反应也没有，他唯一知道的是，他的心安静了许多。他的精神与肉体早已分离，精神早已超脱于体外。他知道他对体内奔腾着的血液毫无知觉。

“我本可以用力把你甩开，”杰拉德喘息道。“可是你把我打得够呛。”

“是啊，”伯金粗着嗓音紧张地说，“你比我壮多了，你完全可以轻而易举地打败我。”

说完他又沉默了，心仍在突突跳，血仍在冲撞血管。

“让我吃惊的是，”杰拉德喘着说，“你那股劲儿是超自然的。”

“也就那么一会儿。”伯金说。

他仍能听得到说话声，似乎那是他分离出去的精神在倾听着，在他身后的远方倾听。不过他的精神愈来愈近了。胸膛里猛烈撞动着的血液渐渐舒缓了，允许他的理智回归。他意识到他全部身体的重量都靠在另一个人身上。他吃了一惊，原以为自己早就离开杰拉德了。他振作精神坐了起来。可他仍旧恍恍惚惚的，心神不定。他伸出手支撑着身体稳定下来，他的手碰到了杰拉德伸在地板上的手，杰拉德热乎乎的手突然握住伯金的手，他们手拉着手喘着气，疲劳极了。伯金的手立即有了反应，用力、热烈地握紧了对方的手。

他们渐渐恢复了知觉。伯金可以自然的呼吸了。杰拉德的手缓缓地缩了回去。伯金恍惚地站起身向桌子走去，斟了一杯威士苏忌打水。杰拉德也过来喝饮料。

“这是一场真正的角斗，不是吗？”伯金黑黑的眼睛看着他说。

“是啊，”杰拉德看着伯金柔弱的身体又说：“对你来说还不算厉害吧，嗯？”

“不。人应该角力，争斗，赤手相拼。这让人更健全些。”

“是吗？”

“我是这么想的，你呢？”

“我也是这么想的，”杰拉德说。

他们许久没有说话。一场角斗对他们来说意义深远，令人回味无穷。

“我们在精神上很密切，因此，我们多多少少在肉体上也应该密切些，这样才更完整。”

“当然了，”杰拉德说。然后他高兴地笑着补充道：“我觉得这很美好。”说着他很优美地伸展开双臂。

“就是，”伯金说。“我觉得人不该为自己辩解什么。”

“对。”

他们开始穿上衣服。

“我觉得你挺帅的，”伯金对杰拉德说，“这给人一种享受。

人应该会欣赏。”

“你觉得我帅，什么意思，指我的体格吗？”杰拉德目光闪烁着说。

“是的。你有一种北方人的美，就象白雪折射的光芒，另外，你的体型有一种雕塑感。让人看着感到是一种享受。我们应该欣赏一切。”

杰拉德笑道：

“当然这是一种看法。我可以这样说，我感觉不错这对我帮助很大。这就是你需要的那种‘血谊兄弟’吗？”

“或许是。这已经说明一切了，对吗？”

“我不知道。”杰拉德笑道。

“不管怎么说，我们感到更自由、更开诚布公了，我们需要的就是这个。”

“对，”杰拉德说。

说话间他们带着长颈水瓶，水杯和吃食靠近了壁炉。

“睡前我总要吃点什么。”杰拉德说，“那样睡起来才香甜。”

“我可睡不了那么香甜。”伯金说。

“不吗？你瞧，这一点上我们就不一样。我这就去换上睡衣。”

他走了，伯金一个人守在壁炉前。他开始想厄秀拉了，她似乎回到了他的意识中。杰拉德身穿宽条睡袍下楼来了，睡袍是绸子做的，黑绿条子相间，颜色耀眼得很。

“你可真神气，”伯金看着睡衣上长长的带子说。

“这是布哈拉式睡袍，”杰拉德说，“我挺喜欢穿它。”

“我也喜欢它。”

伯金沉默了，杰拉德的服饰很精细，很昂贵，他想。他穿着丝短袜，纽扣很精美，内衣和背带也是丝的。真怪！这是他们之间的又一不同之处。伯金的穿着很随便，没什么花样。

“当然，”杰拉德若有所思地说，“你有点怪，你怎么会那么强壮，真出乎人意料，让人吃惊。”

伯金笑了。他看着杰拉德健美的身躯，身着富贵的睡袍，白皮肤，碧眼金发，人显得很帅。他看着杰拉德，想着他们之间的不同之处，太不一样了。当然不象男人和女人那样有所区别，但很不同。此时此刻，厄秀拉这个女人以优势压倒了他。而杰拉德则变得模糊了，埋没了。

“知道吗，”他突然说，“我今天晚上去向厄秀拉·布朗温求婚了，求她嫁给我。”

他看到杰拉德脸上露着惊异、茫然的表情。

“是吗？”

“是的。有点正式——先对她父亲讲了，按礼应该这样，不过这也有点偶然，或说是个恶作剧吧。”

杰拉德惊奇地凝视他，似乎还不明白。

“你是否在说你很严肃地求她爸爸让他把女儿嫁给你？”

“是的，是这样。”伯金说。

“那么，你以前对她说过这事吗？”

“没有，只字未提。我突然心血来潮要去找她，碰巧她父亲在家，所以我就先问了他。

“问他你是否可以娶她？”

“是——的，就是那么说的。”

“你没跟她说吗？”

“说了。她后来回来了。我就对她也说了。”

“真的！她怎么说？你们订婚了？”

“没有，她只是说她不要被迫答应。”

“她说什么？”

“说她不想被迫答应。”

“‘说她不想被迫答应！’怎么回事，她这是什么意思？”

伯金耸耸肩说：“不知道，我想她现在不想找麻烦吧。”

“真是这样吗？那你怎么办？”

“我走出来就到你这儿来了。”

“直接来的吗？”

“是的。”

杰拉德好奇，好笑地看着他。他无法相信。

“真象你说的这样吗？”

“千真万确。”

“是这样。”

他靠在椅子上，心中实在感到有趣儿。

“这很好嘛，”他说，“所以你就来同你的守护神角斗？”

“是吗？”伯金说。

“对，看上去是这样，难道这不是你的所做所为吗？”

现在伯金无法理解杰拉德的意思了。

“结果会怎样？”杰拉德说，“你要公开求婚才行。”

“我想我会的。我发誓要坚持到底。我很快就要再次向她求婚。”

杰拉德目不转睛地盯着他。

“那说明你喜欢她喽？”他问。

“我想，我是爱她的。”伯金说着脸色变严峻起来。

杰拉德一时间感到很痛快，似乎这件事儿是专为讨好他而做的。然后他的神情严肃起来，缓缓地点头道：

“你知道，我一直相信爱情——真正的爱情。可如今哪儿才有真正的爱？”

“我不知道。”伯金说。

“极少见，”杰拉德说。停了片刻他又说：“我从来对此没有感受，不知道那是否叫爱情。我追求女人，对某些人很感兴趣。可我从未感受到爱。我不相信我象爱你那样爱过女人——不是爱。你明白我的意思吗？”

“是的，我相信你从未爱过女人。”

“你有所感觉，是吗？你以为我以后会吗？你明白我的意思？”说着他手握成拳放在胸脯上，似乎要把心都掏出来。

“我是说，我说不清这是什么，不过我知道。”

“那是什么呢？”伯金问。

“你看，我无法用语言表达。我是说，不管怎么说，这是某种必必遵守的东西，某种无法改变的东西。”

他的目光明亮，但神情很窘惑。

“你觉得我对女人会产生那种感情吗？”他不安地问。

伯金看着他摇摇头。

“我不知道，说不清。”

杰拉德一直保持着警觉，等待着自己的命运。现在他坐回自己的椅子中去。

“不，”他说，“你我都不会。”

“我们不一样，你和我，”伯金说，“我无法给你算命。”

“是啊，”杰拉德说，“我也不能。可是，跟你说吧，我开始怀疑了。”

“怀疑你是否会爱女人？”

“嗯，是的，就是你说的真正的爱。”

“你怀疑吗？”

“开始怀疑。”

一阵很长的沉默。

“生活中什么事都有，”伯金说，“并非只有一条路。”

“对，我也相信这一点，相信。但我不在乎我的爱如何如何——不管它，我反正没感觉到爱——”他不说了，脸上露出茫然的神态。“只要我还活着，它爱怎样怎样，可是我的确想感受到——”

“满足。”伯金说。

“是——是的，或许已经满足了。我的说法同你不一样。”

“但指的是一回事。”