. . . Arise and fly The reeling faun, the sensual feast;
Move upward, working out the beast,
And let the ape and tiger die.
—tennyson, In Memoriam (1850)
For the twenty-ninth time that morning Sam caught the cook’s eye, directed his own to a row of bells over the kitchen door and then eloquently1 swept them up to the ceiling. It was noon. One might have thought Sam glad to have a morning off; but the only mornings off he coveted2 were with more attractive female company than that of the portly Mrs. Rogers.
“’E’s not ‘imself,” said the dowager, also for the twenty-ninth time. If she felt irritated, however, it was with Sam, not the young lord upstairs. Ever since their return from Lyme two days before, the valet had managed to hint at dark goings-on. It is true he had graciously communicated the news about Winsyatt; but he had regularly added “And that ain’t ‘alf of what’s a-foot.” He refused to be drawn3. “There’s sartin confidences” (a word he pronounced with a long i) “as can’t be yet spoken of, Mrs. R. But things ‘as ‘appened my heyes couldn’t ‘ardly believe they was seein’.”
Sam had certainly one immediate4 subject for bitterness. Charles had omitted to dismiss him for the evening when he went out to see Mr. Freeman. Thus Sam had waited in and up until after midnight, only to be greeted, when he heard the front door open, by a black look from a white face.
“Why the devil aren’t you in bed?”
“’Cos you didn’t say you was dinin’ out, Mr. Charles.”
“I’ve been at my club.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And take that insolent5 look off your damned face.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam held out his hands and took—or caught—the various objects, beginning with sundry6 bits of outdoor apparel and terminating in a sulphurous glare, that Charles threw at him. Then the master marched majestically7 upstairs. His mind was now very sober, but his body was still a little drunk, a fact Sam’s bitter but unseen smirk8 had only too plainly reflected.
“You’re right, Mrs. R. ‘E’s not ‘imself. ‘E was blind drunk last night.”
“I wouldn’t ‘ave believed it possible.”
“There’s lots o’ things yours truly wouldn’t ‘ave believed possible, Mrs. R. As ‘as ‘appened hall the same.”
“’E never wants to cry off!”
“Wild ‘osses wouldn’t part my lips, Mrs. R.” The cook took a deep-bosomed breath. Her clock ticked beside her range. Sam smiled at her. “But you’re sharp, Mrs. R. Very sharp.”
Clearly Sam’s own feeling of resentment9 would very soon have accomplished10 what the wild horses were powerless to effect. But he was saved, and the buxom11 Mrs. Rogers thwart-ed, by the bell. Sam went and lifted the two-gallon can of hot water that had been patiently waiting all morning at the back of the range, winked12 at his colleague, and disappeared.
There are two kinds of hangover: in one you feel ill and incapable13, in the other you feel ill and lucid14. Charles had in fact been awake, indeed out of bed, some time before he rang. He had the second sort of hangover. He remembered only too clearly the events of the previous night.
His vomiting15 had driven the already precarious16 sexual element in that bedroom completely out of sight and mind. His unhappily named choice had hastily risen, pulled on her gown, and then proved herself to be as calm a nurse as she had promised to be a prostitute. She got Charles to his chair by the fire, where he caught sight of the hock bottle, and was promptly17 sick again. But this time she had ready a basin from the washstand. Charles kept groaning18 his apologies between his retches.
“Most sorry . . . most unfortunate . . . something disagreed...” “It’s all right, sir, it’s all right. You just let it come.”
And let it come he had had to. She went and got her shawl and threw it round his shoulders. He sat for some time ludicrously like an old granny, crouched19 over the basin on his knees, his head bowed. After a while he began to feel a little better. Would he like to sleep? He would, but in his own bed. She went and looked down into the street, then left the room while he shakily got dressed. When she came back she herself had put on her clothes. He looked at her aghast.
“You are surely not... ?”
“Get you a cab, sir. If you just wait...”
“Ah yes ... thank you.”
And he sat down again, while she went downstairs and out of the house. Though he was by no means sure that his nausea20 was past, he felt in some psychological way profound-ly relieved. Never mind what his intention had been; he had not committed the fatal deed. He stared into the glowing fire; and strange as it may seem, smiled wanly21.
Then there came a low cry from the next room. A silence, then the sound came again, louder this time and more pro-longed. The little girl had evidently wakened. Her crying— silence, wailing22, choking, silence, wailing—became intoler-able. Charles went to the window and opened the curtains. The mist prevented him seeing very far. There was not a soul to be seen. He realized how infrequent the sound of horses’ hooves had become; and guessed that the girl might have to go some way to find his hansom. As he stood undecided, there was a heavy thumping23 on the wall from the next house. A vindictive24 male voice shouted angrily. Charles hesitated, then laying his hat and stick on the table, he opened the door through to that other room. He made out by the reflect-ed light a wardrobe and an old box-trunk. The room was very small. In the far corner, beside a closed commode, was a small truckle bed. The child’s cries, suddenly renewed, pierced the small room. Charles stood in the lit doorway25, foolishly, a terrifying black giant.
“Hush26 now, hush. Your mother will soon return.” The strange voice, of course, only made things worse. Charles felt the whole neighborhood must wake, so penetrat-ing were the screams. He struck his head in distress27, then stepped forward into the shadow beside the child. Seeing how small she was he realized words were useless. He bent28 over her and gently patted her head. Hot small fingers seized his, but the crying continued. The minute, contorted face ejected its great store of fear with bewildering force. Some desperate expedient29 had to be found. Charles found it. He groped for his watch, freed its chain from his waistcoat and dangled30 it over the child. The effect was immediate. The cries turned to mewling whimpers. Then the small arms reached up to grab the delicious silver toy; and were allowed to do so; then lost it in the bedclothes and struggled to sit and failed. The screams began again.
Charles reached to raise the child a little against her pillow. A temptation seized him. He lifted her out of the bed in her long nightgown, then turned and sat on the commode. Holding the small body on his knees he dandled the watch in front of the now eager small arms. She was one of those pudgy-faced Victorian children with little black beads31 for eyes; an endearing little turnip32 with black hair. And her instant change of mood, a gurgle of delight when at last she clasped the coveted watch, amused Charles. She began to lall. Charles muttered answers: yes, yes, very pretty, good little girl, pretty pretty. He had a vision of Sir Tom and the bishop’s son coming on him at that moment ... the end of his great debauch33. The strange dark labyrinths34 of life; the mystery of meetings.
He smiled; for it was less a sentimental35 tenderness that little child brought than a restoration of his sense of irony36, which was in turn the equivalent of a kind of faith in himself. Earlier that evening, when he was in Sir Tom’s brougham, he had had a false sense of living in the present; his rejection37 then of his past and future had been a mere38 vicious plunge39 into irresponsible oblivion. Now he had a far more profound and genuine intuition of the great human illusion about time, which is that its reality is like that of a road—on which one can constantly see where one was and where one probably will be—instead of the truth: that time is a room, a now so close to us that we regularly fail to see it.
Charles’s was the very opposite of the Sartrean experience. The simple furniture around him, the warm light from the next room, the humble40 shadows, above all that small being he held on his knees, so insubstantial after its mother’s weight (but he did not think at all of her), they were not en-croaching and hostile objects, but constituting and friendly ones. The ultimate hell was infinite and empty space; and they kept it at bay. He felt suddenly able to face his future, which was only a form of that terrible emptiness. Whatever happened to him such moments would recur41; must be found, and could be found.
A door opened. The prostitute stood in the light. Charles could not see her face, but he guessed that she was for a moment alarmed. And then relieved.
“Oh sir. Did she cry?”
“Yes. A little. I think she has gone back to sleep now.”
“I ‘ad to go down to the Warren Street stand. They was all off ‘ere.”
“You are very kind.”
He passed her child to her, and watched her as she tucked it back into its bed; then abruptly42 turned and left the room. He felt in his pocket and counted out five sovereigns and left them on the table. The child had reawoken, and its mother was quietening it again. He hesitated, then silently left the room.
He was inside the waiting hansom when she came running down the steps and to the door. She stared up at him. Her look was almost puzzled, almost hurt.
“Oh sir ... thank you. Thank you.”
He realized that she had tears in her eyes; no shock to the poor like unearned money.
“You are a brave, kind girl.”
He reached out and touched her hand where it clasped the front sill. Then he tapped with his stick.
收听单词发音 |
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eloquently
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| adv. 雄辩地(有口才地, 富于表情地) | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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buxom
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| adj.（妇女）丰满的，有健康美的 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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lucid
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| adj.明白易懂的，清晰的，头脑清楚的 | |
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vomiting
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| 吐 | |
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precarious
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| adj.不安定的，靠不住的；根据不足的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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wanly
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| adv.虚弱地；苍白地，无血色地 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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vindictive
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| adj.有报仇心的，怀恨的，惩罚的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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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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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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rejection
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| n.拒绝，被拒，抛弃，被弃 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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recur
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| vi.复发，重现，再发生 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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