And ah for a man to arise in me, That the man I am may cease to be!
—Tennyson, Maud (1855)
And now, having brought this fiction to a thoroughly1 tradi-tional ending, I had better explain that although all I have described in the last two chapters happened, it did not hap-pen quite in the way you may have been led to believe.
I said earlier that we are all poets, though not many of us write poetry; and so are we all novelists, that is, we have a habit of writing fictional2 futures3 for ourselves, although per-haps today we incline more to put ourselves into a film. We screen in our minds hypotheses about how we might behave, about what might happen to us; and these novelistic or cinematic hypotheses often have very much more effect on how we actually do behave, when the real future becomes the present, than we generally allow.
Charles was no exception; and the last few pages you have read are not what happened, but what he spent the hours between London and Exeter imagining might happen. To be sure he did not think in quite the detailed4 and coherent narrative5 manner I have employed; nor would I swear that he followed Mrs. Poulteney’s postmortal career in quite such interesting detail. But he certainly wished her to the Devil, so it comes to almost the same thing.
Above all he felt himself coming to the end of a story; and to an end he did not like. If you noticed in those last two chapters an abruptness6, a lack of consonance, a betrayal of
Charles’s deeper potentiality and a small matter of his being given a life span of very nearly a century and a quarter; if you entertained a suspicion, not uncommon7 in literature, that the writer’s breath has given out and he has rather arbitrarily ended the race while he feels he’s still winning, then do not blame me; because all these feelings, or reflections of them, were very present in Charles’s own mind. The book of his existence, so it seemed to him, was about to come to a distinctly shabby close.
And the “I,” that entity8 who found such slickly specious9 reasons for consigning10 Sarah to the shadows of oblivion, was not myself; it was merely the personification of a certain massive indifference11 in things—too hostile for Charles to think of as “God”—that had set its malevolent12 inertia13 on the Ernestina side of the scales; that seemed an inexorable on-ward direction as fixed14 as that of the train which drew Charles along.
I was not cheating when I said that Charles had decided15, in London that day after his escapade, to go through with his marriage; that was his official decision, just as it had once been his official decision (reaction might be a more accurate word) to go into Holy Orders. Where I have cheated was in analyzing16 the effect that three-word letter continued to have on him. It tormented17 him, it obsessed18 him, it confused him. The more he thought about it the more Sarah-like that sending of the address—and nothing more—appeared. It was perfectly19 in key with all her other behavior, and to be de-scribed only by oxy-moron; luring-receding, subtle-simple, proud-begging, defending-accusing. The Victorian was a pro-lix age; and unaccustomed to the Delphic.
But above all it seemed to set Charles a choice; and while one part of him hated having to choose, we come near the secret of his state on that journey west when we know that another part of him felt intolerably excited by the proximity20 of the moment of choice. He had not the benefit of existen-tialist terminology21; but what he felt was really a very clear case of the anxiety of freedom—that is, the realization22 that one is free and the realization that being free is a situation of terror.
So let us kick Sam out of his hypothetical future and back into his Exeter present. He goes to his master’s compartment23 when the train stops.
“Are we stayin’ the night, sir?”
Charles stares at him a moment, a decision still to make, and looks over his head at the overcast24 sky.
“I fancy it will rain. We’ll put up at the Ship.”
And so Sam, a thousand unpossessed pounds richer, stood a few minutes later with his master outside the station, watching the loading of Charles’s impedimenta on to the roof of a tired fly. Charles showed a decided restlessness. The portmanteau was at last tied down, and all waited on him.
“I think, Sam, after that confounded train journey, I will stretch my legs. Do you go on with the baggage.”
Sam’s heart sank.
“With respeck, Mr. Charles, I wouldn’t. Not with them rainclouds up there about to break.”
“A little rain won’t hurt me.”
Sam swallowed, bowed.
“Yes, Mr. Charles. Shall I give horders for dinner?”
“Yes . . . that is ... I’ll see when I come in. I may attend Evensong at the Cathedral.”
Charles set off up the hill towards the city. Sam watched him gloomily on his way for a little while, then turned to the cabby.
“Eh—‘card of Hendicott’s Family ‘Otel?”
“Aye.”
“Know where it is?”
“Aye.”
“Well, you dolly me up to the Ship double quick and you may ‘ear somethink to your hadvantage, my man.”
And with a suitable aplomb25 Sam got into the carriage. It very soon overtook Charles, who walked with a flagrant slowness, as if taking the air. But as soon as it had gone out of sight he quickened his pace.
Sam had plenty of experience of dealing26 with sleepy pro-vincial inns. The luggage was unloaded, the best available rooms chosen, a fire lit, nightwear laid out with other necessi-ties—and all in seven minutes. Then he strode sharply out into the street, where the cabby still waited. A short further journey took place. From inside Sam looked cautiously round, then descended27 and paid off his driver.
“First left you’ll find ‘un, sir.”
“Thank you, my man. ‘Ere’s a couple o’ browns for you.” And with this disgracefully mean tip (even for Exeter) Sam tipped his bowler28 over his eyes and melted away into the dusk. Halfway29 down the street he was in, and facing the one the cabby had indicated, stood a Methodist Chapel30, with imposing31 columns under its pediment. Behind one of these the embryo32 detective installed himself. It was now nearly night, come early under a gray-black sky.
Sam did not have to wait long. His heart leaped as a tall figure came into sight. Evidently at a loss the figure addressed himself to a small boy. The boy promptly33 led the way to the corner below Sam’s viewpoint, and pointed34, a gesture that earned him, to judge by his grin, rather more than twopence.
Charles’s back receded35. Then he stopped and looked up. He retraced36 a few steps back towards Sam. Then as if impatient with himself he turned again and entered one of the houses. Sam slipped from behind his pillar and ran down the steps and across to the street in which Endicott’s Family stood. He waited a while on the corner. But Charles did not reappear. Sam became bolder and lounged casually37 along the warehouse38 wall that faced the row of houses. He came to where he could see the hallway of the hotel. It was empty. Several rooms had lights. Some fifteen minutes passed and it began to rain.
Sam bit his nails for a while, in furious thought. Then he began to walk quickly away.
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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fictional
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| adj.小说的，虚构的 | |
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futures
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| n.期货，期货交易 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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specious
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| adj.似是而非的；adv.似是而非地 | |
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consigning
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的现在分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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analyzing
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| v.分析；分析( analyze的现在分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析n.分析 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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terminology
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| n.术语；专有名词 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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compartment
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| n.卧车包房，隔间；分隔的空间 | |
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overcast
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| adj.阴天的，阴暗的，愁闷的；v.遮盖，（使）变暗，包边缝；n.覆盖，阴天 | |
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aplomb
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| n.沉着，镇静 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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bowler
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| n.打保龄球的人，（板球的）投（球）手 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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embryo
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| n.胚胎，萌芽的事物 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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receded
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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warehouse
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| n.仓库；vt.存入仓库 | |
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