The party that night moved with the speed of a slapstick comedy. They were twelve, they were sixteen, they were quartets in separate motors bound on a quick Odyssey4 over Paris. Everything had been foreseen. People joined them as if by magic, accompanied them as specialists, almost guides, through a phase of the evening, dropped out and were succeeded by other people, so that it appeared as if the freshness of each one had been husbanded for them all day. Rosemary appreciated how different it was from any party in Hollywood, no matter how splendid in scale. There was, among many diversions, the car of the Shah of Persia. Where Dick had commandeered this vehicle, what bribery5 was employed, these were facts of irrelevance6. Rosemary accepted it as merely a new facet7 of the fabulous8, which for two years had filled her life. The car had been built on a special chassis9 in America. Its wheels were of silver, so was the radiator10. The inside of the body was inlaid with innumerable brilliants which would be replaced with true gems11 by the court jeweller when the car arrived in Teheran the following week. There was only one real seat in back, because the Shah must ride alone, so they took turns riding in it and sitting on the marten fur that covered the floor.
But always there was Dick. Rosemary assured the image of her mother, ever carried with her, that never, never had she known any one so nice, so thoroughly12 nice as Dick was that night. She compared him with the two Englishmen, whom Abe addressed conscientiously13 as “Major Hengest and Mr. Horsa,” and with the heir to a Scandinavian throne and the novelist just back from Russia, and with Abe, who was desperate and witty14, and with Collis Clay, who joined them somewhere and stayed along — and felt there was no comparison. The enthusiasm, the selflessness behind the whole performance ravished her, the technic of moving many varied15 types, each as immobile, as dependent on supplies of attention as an infantry16 battalion17 is dependent on rations18, appeared so effortless that he still had pieces of his own most personal self for everyone.
— Afterward19 she remembered the times when she had felt the happiest. The first time was when she and Dick danced together and she felt her beauty sparkling bright against his tall, strong form as they floated, hovering20 like people in an amusing dream — he turned her here and there with such a delicacy21 of suggestion that she was like a bright bouquet22, a piece of precious cloth being displayed before fifty eyes. There was a moment when they were not dancing at all, simply clinging together. Some time in the early morning they were alone, and her damp powdery young body came up close to him in a crush of tired cloth, and stayed there, crushed against a background of other people’s hats and wraps . . . .
The time she laughed most was later, when six of them, the best of them, noblest relics23 of the evening, stood in the dusky front lobby of the Ritz telling the night concierge24 that General Pershing was outside and wanted caviare and champagne26. “He brooks27 no delay. Every man, every gun is at his service.” Frantic28 waiters emerged from nowhere, a table was set in the lobby, and Abe came in representing General Pershing while they stood up and mumbled29 remembered fragments of war songs at him. In the waiters’ injured reaction to this anti-climax they found themselves neglected, so they built a waiter trap — a huge and fantastic device constructed of all the furniture in the lobby and functioning like one of the bizarre machines of a Goldberg cartoon. Abe shook his head doubtfully at it.
“Perhaps it would be better to steal a musical saw and —”
“That’s enough,” Mary interrupted. “When Abe begins bringing up that it’s time to go home.” Anxiously she confided30 to Rosemary:
“I’ve got to get Abe home. His boat train leaves at eleven. It’s so important — I feel the whole future depends on his catching31 it, but whenever I argue with him he does the exact opposite.”
“I’ll try and persuade him,” offered Rosemary.
“Would you?” Mary said doubtfully. “Maybe you could.”
Then Dick came up to Rosemary:
“Nicole and I are going home and we thought you’d want to go with us.”
Her face was pale with fatigue32 in the false dawn. Two wan25 dark spots in her cheek marked where the color was by day.
“I can’t,” she said. “I promised Mary North to stay along with them — or Abe’ll never go to bed. Maybe you could do something.”
“Don’t you know you can’t do anything about people?” he advised her. “If Abe was my room-mate in college, tight for the first time, it’d be different. Now there’s nothing to do.”
“Well, I’ve got to stay. He says he’ll go to bed if we only come to the Halles with him,” she said, almost defiantly33.
He kissed the inside of her elbow quickly.
“Don’t let Rosemary go home alone,” Nicole called to Mary as they left. “We feel responsible to her mother.”
— Later Rosemary and the Norths and a manufacturer of dolls’ voices from Newark and ubiquitous Collis and a big splendidly dressed oil Indian named George T. Horseprotection were riding along on top of thousands of carrots in a market wagon34. The earth in the carrot beards was fragrant35 and sweet in the darkness, and Rosemary was so high up in the load that she could hardly see the others in the long shadow between infrequent street lamps. Their voices came from far off, as if they were having experiences different from hers, different and far away, for she was with Dick in her heart, sorry she had come with the Norths, wishing she was at the hotel and him asleep across the hall, or that he was here beside her with the warm darkness streaming down.
“Don’t come up,” she called to Collis, “the carrots will all roll.” She threw one at Abe who was sitting beside the driver, stiffly like an old man . . . .
Later she was homeward bound at last in broad daylight, with the pigeons already breaking over Saint-Sulpice. All of them began to laugh spontaneously because they knew it was still last night while the people in the streets had the delusion36 that it was bright hot morning.
“At last I’ve been on a wild party,” thought Rosemary, “but it’s no fun when Dick isn’t there.”
She felt a little betrayed and sad, but presently a moving object came into sight. It was a huge horse-chestnut tree in full bloom bound for the Champs élysées, strapped37 now into a long truck and simply shaking with laughter — like a lovely person in an undignified position yet confident none the less of being lovely. Looking at it with fascination38 Rosemary identified herself with it, and laughed cheerfully with it, and everything all at once seemed gorgeous.
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1
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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apathetic
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| adj.冷漠的，无动于衷的 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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4
odyssey
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| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
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bribery
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| n.贿络行为，行贿，受贿 | |
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irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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facet
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| n.(问题等的)一个方面；(多面体的)面 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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chassis
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| n.汽车等之底盘；（飞机的）起落架；炮底架 | |
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radiator
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| n.暖气片，散热器 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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12
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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14
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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15
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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19
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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20
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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24
concierge
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| n.管理员；门房 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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31
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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34
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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35
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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36
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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37
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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