Chertoff was a hunchback. He had a huge head and tremendously long arms and features of waxen pallor. Children who saw him for the first time would run from him with fright and would hide in doorways3 until he had passed. Yet those who knew him loved him, for under his repellent exterior5 throbbed6 a warm heart, and his nature was kindly7 and cheering. In Gurtman’s sweatshop, where he toiled8 from dawn to nightfall, he was loved by all—that is, all save Gurtman—for 168when the day’s task seemed hardest and the click and roar of the machines chanted the song of despair that all sweatshop workers know so well, Chertoff would burst into a lively tune9 and fill the room with gladness. Then he would gossip and tell interesting stories and bandy jests with anyone in the room who showed the slightest disposition10 to contribute a moment’s gaiety to the dreary11, heart-breaking routine.
It was before the days of the factory inspectors12, and conditions were bad—so bad that if anyone were to tell you how bad they were you would never believe it. In those days a bright spirit in a sweatshop was no common thing. One day Gurtman announced that there would be a reduction of three cents on piece-work, and a great silence fell upon the room. A woman gasped13 as if something had struck her. And Chertoff struck up a merry Russian tune:
“The miller14 in his Sunday clothes
Came riding into Warsaw.”
“Why do you always sing those silly tunes15?” Gurtman asked, peevishly16.
And then Chertoff closed his eyes and answered:
169“Perhaps to save your life! Who knows?”
Then he opened his eyes and laughed, and many laughed with him at the very silliness of the retort, but the sweater only disliked him the more for it. It was a curious habit of Chertoff’s to close his eyes when something stung him, and it worked a startling transformation17 in his expression. It was as if a light had been extinguished and a sudden gloom had overspread his features. The lines became sharp, and something sinister18 would creep into his countenance19. But in a moment his eyes would open and a light of kindness would illumine his face.
Twice this transformation had come upon him and had lingered long enough to make the room uneasy. The first time was when Chertoff’s mother, who had worked at the machine side by side with her son for five years, was summarily dismissed. Chertoff had asked the sweater for the reason. In the hearing of all the room Gurtman had curtly20 replied:
“She’s too old for work. She’s too slow. I don’t want her.”
They thought that Chertoff was fainting, so 170ashen and so haggard did his features become. But when he opened his eyes and smiled the iron rod that he held in his hands was seen by all to have been bent21 almost double. The other time—and oh! how this must have rankled22!—was when Gurtman jestingly taunted23 Chertoff with being enamoured of Babel. For it was true. Chertoff, in addition to his skill as a workman, was an expert mechanic, and was quite valuable in the shop in keeping the sewing machines in repair. He was sitting under a machine with a big screw-driver in his hand when Gurtman, in a burst of pleasantry, asked him if it were true that he loved Babel. For a long time no answer came. Then the screw-driver rolled to the sweater’s feet, crumpled24 almost into a ball, and Chertoff’s merry voice rang out:
“Of course I love Babel! Who does not?”
And then all laughed—all save Babel, who reddened and frowned, for, with all her poverty and with all the struggle for existence that had been her lot since she was old enough to tread a pedal, Babel was a sensitive creature, and did not like to hear her name flung to and fro in the sweatshop. Was Babel pretty? “When a girl has lovely 171eyes,” says the Talmud, “it is a token that she is pretty.” Babel had lovely eyes, and must, therefore, have been pretty. Yet what matters it? Chertoff was eating out his heart with vain longing25 for Babel, suffering all the tortures of unrequited passion, all the agonies that he suffers who yearns26 with all the strength of his being to possess what he knows can never be his. Is not that the true tragedy of life? So what matters it if Babel be not to your taste or mine? Chertoff loved her.
He had never told Babel that he loved her; never had asked her whether she cared for him. He had spared himself added misery27. Content to suffer, he did his best to conceal28 his hopeless passion, and strove with all his might to lighten the burden of gloom that was the lot of his fellow-workers. He never could understand, however, why the sweater had taken so strong a dislike to him. Surely Gurtman could envy him nothing. Why should a strong, fine-looking man—a rich man, too, as matters went in Hester Street—take pleasure in tormenting30 an ugly, good-natured cripple? It was strange, yet true. Perhaps it was that Chertoff’s cheery disposition grated upon 172the brooding, gloomy temperament31 of the sweater, or perhaps the cripple’s popularity in the sweatshop was an offence in his employer’s eyes, or perhaps it was merely one of those unreasoning antipathies32 that one man often feels toward another and for which he can give not the slightest explanation. It was an undeniable fact, however, that the sweater hated his hunchback employee, and would never have tolerated him had Chertoff not been so valuable a workman, and, deeming it unprofitable to discharge him, vented33 his dislike in baiting and tormenting Chertoff whenever an opportunity offered itself. And had it not been for Babel, Chertoff would have gone elsewhere. Hopeless though he knew his longing to be, he could not bring himself to part from her presence.
And so matters went until a summer’s night brought an interruption, and this interruption is the only excuse for this tale. It had been a busy day, and the sweatshop was working late into the night to finish its work. It had been a hot day, too, and men and women were nigh exhausted34. The thermometer was ninety-five in the street, but in this room, you know, were four tremendous stoves 173at full blast to keep the irons hot. And the machines had been roaring almost since daybreak, and the men and women were pale and weary and half suffocated35. Chertoff had been watching Babel anxiously for nearly an hour. She had lost her pallor and her face had become slightly flushed, which is a bad sign in a sweatshop. He feared the strain was becoming too great, and the thoughts that crowded one upon another in his wearied brain were beginning to daze36 him. He made a heroic effort.
“Come, Babel,” he said, “if you will stop work and listen I’ll sing that song you like.”
“Sing it! Sing it!” cried fifty voices, although no one looked up.
“Not unless Babel stops working,” said Chertoff, smiling.
“Stop working, Babel! Stop working! We want a song!” they all cried. So Babel stopped working and, with a grateful nod to Chertoff, folded her hands in her lap and settled herself comfortably in her chair and fastened her eyes upon the door that led into the rear room. Gurtman was in this rear room filling the benzine cans.
174Chertoff began to sing. It was an old Russian folk-song, and it began like this:
“Sang a little bird, and sang,
And grew silent;
Knew the heart of merriment,
And forgot it.
Why, O little songster bird,
Grew you quiet?
How learned you, O heart, to know
Gloomy sorrow?”
He had sung this far when the door of the rear room was flung open and Gurtman, in angry mood, cried:
“In God’s name stop! That singing of yours is making my back as crooked37 as yours!”
Chertoff turned swiftly, with arm upraised, but before he could utter a word a huge flame of fire shot from the open doorway4 and enveloped38 the sweater, and a crash, loud as a peal39 of thunder, filled the room.
The benzine had exploded. In a twinkling bright flames seemed to dart40 from every nook and cranny, and the wall between the two rooms was torn asunder41. Then a panic of screams and frenzied42 cries arose, and the workers ran wildly, some 175to the door, some to the windows that looked down upon the street four stories below, some trying frantically43 to tear their way through the solid walls. The voice of Chertoff rose above the tumult44. “Follow me!” he cried. “Don’t be afraid!” He seized Babel, who had fainted, laid her gently upon his misshapen shoulder, and led the way into an adjoining room where the windows opened upon a fire escape. “Take your time,” he cried. “Follow me slowly down the ladders. There is no danger.”
Once out of sight of the flames calmness was soon restored, and one by one they slowly descended45 the iron ladders, following the lead of the hunchback with his burden. Babel soon regained46 consciousness. She looked wildly from face to face and then, clutching Chertoff’s arm, asked hoarsely47, “Gurtman! Where is he? Is he safe?”
Chertoff smiled. “Do not worry, Babel. He probably will never torment29 a human being again!”
Babel relaxed her hold and every drop of blood left her face. She began to moan pitifully: “I loved him! I loved him!” She buried her face 176in her hands and burst into a fit of weeping. Chertoff’s eyes closed. A look of hatred48, unutterable, venomous hatred, flashed into his face. He swayed to and fro with clenched49 fists, as though he would fall. Then swiftly he raised his head, his eyes opened, and a smile overspread his face. “Wait, Babel,” he whispered. “Wait!” With the agility50 of a gorilla51 he sprang upon the iron ladder and climbed swiftly upward. The bright moon cast a weird52, twisting shadow upon the wall of the house, as of some huge, misshapen beast. He reached the fourth story and disappeared through the open window, whence the smoke had already begun to creep. Presently he reappeared with the form of Gurtman upon his shoulder, and slowly descended. With the utmost gentleness he laid his burden upon the ground and placed his hand over the heart. Then he looked up into Babel’s face.
“He is alive. He is not hurt much.” Then Babel cried as though her heart would break, and Chertoff—went home.
Gurtman lived. He lived, and in a few days the sweatshop was running again exactly as it had 177run before, and everything else went on exactly as it had gone on before. Perhaps Chertoff’s pale face became a trifle whiter, but that only brought out his ugliness the more vividly53. He was a splendid workman, and Gurtman could not afford to lose him. Sometimes when the task was hard he sang that old song:
“Sang a little bird, and sang,
And grew silent;
Knew the heart of merriment,
And forgot it.
Why, O little songster bird,
Grew you quiet?
How learned you, O heart, to know
Gloomy sorrow?”
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收听单词发音
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1
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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3
doorways
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| n.门口，门道( doorway的名词复数 ) | |
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4
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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5
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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6
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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7
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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8
toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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9
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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10
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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11
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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12
inspectors
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| n.检查员( inspector的名词复数 )；（英国公共汽车或火车上的）查票员；（警察）巡官；检阅官 | |
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13
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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14
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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15
tunes
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| n.曲调，曲子( tune的名词复数 )v.调音( tune的第三人称单数 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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16
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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18
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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rankled
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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taunted
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| 嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 )； 嘲弄； 辱骂； 奚落 | |
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24
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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25
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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yearns
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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28
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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29
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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30
tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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31
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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32
antipathies
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| 反感( antipathy的名词复数 )； 引起反感的事物； 憎恶的对象； （在本性、倾向等方面的）不相容 | |
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33
vented
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| 表达，发泄（感情，尤指愤怒）( vent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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35
suffocated
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| （使某人）窒息而死( suffocate的过去式和过去分词 )； （将某人）闷死； 让人感觉闷热； 憋气 | |
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36
daze
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| v.(使)茫然，(使)发昏 | |
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37
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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38
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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40
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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41
asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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42
frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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43
frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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44
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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45
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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46
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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47
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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48
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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49
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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51
gorilla
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| n.大猩猩，暴徒，打手 | |
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52
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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53
vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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