GRENOUILLE SET to work with professional circumspection1. He opened his knapsack, took out the linen2, pomade, and spatula3, spread the cloth over the blanket on which he had lain, and began to brush on the fatty paste. This job took time, for it was important that the oil be applied4 in thinner or thicker layers depending on what part of the body would end up lying on a particular patch of the cloth. The mouth and armpits, breasts, genitals, and feet gave off greater amounts of scent5 than, for instance, shins, back, and elbows; the palms more than the backs of the hands; eyebrows6 more than eyelids7, etc.-and therefore needed to be provided with a heavier dose of oil. Grenouille was creating a model, as it were, transferring onto the linen a scent diagram of the body to be treated, and this part of the job was actually the one that satisfied him most, for it was a matter of an artistic8 technique that incorporated equally one’s knowledge, imagination, and manual dexterity9, while at the same time it anticipated on an ideal plane the enjoyment10 awaiting one from the final results. Once he had applied the whole potful of pomade, he dabbed11 about here and there, removing a bit of oil from the cloth here, adding another there, retouching, checking the greasy12 landscape he had modeled one last time-with his nose, by the way, not with his eyes, for the whole business was carried on in total darkness, which was perhaps yet another reason for Grenouille’s equably cheerful mood. There was nothing to distract him on this night of new moon. The world was nothing but odor and the soft sound of surf from the sea. He was in his element. Then he folded the cloth together like a tapestry13, so that the oiled surfaces lay against one another. This was a painful procedure for him, because he knew well that despite the utmost caution certain parts of the sculpted14 contours would be flattened15 or shifted. But there was no other way to transport the cloth. After he had folded it up small enough to be carried under his arm without all too much difficulty, he tucked spatula, scissors, and the little olivewood club in his pockets and crept out into the night.
The sky was clouded over. There were no lights burning in the inn. The only glimmer16 on this pitch-dark night was the winking17 of the lighthouse at the fort on the He Sainte-Marguerite, over a mile away to the east, a tiny bright needlepoint in a raven-black cloth. A light, fishy18 wind was blowing from the bay. The dogs were asleep.
Grenouille walked to the back dormer of the threshing shed, where a ladder stood propped19. He picked the ladder up, and balancing it vertically20, three rungs clamped under his free right arm, the rest of it pressed against his right shoulder, he moved across the courtyard until he was under her window. The window stood half ajar. As he climbed the ladder, as easily as a set of stairs, he congratulated himself on the circumstances that made it possible for him to harvest the girl’s scent here in La Napoule. In Grasse, where the house had barred windows and was tightly guarded, all this would have been much more difficult. She was even sleeping by herself here. He would not have to bother with eliminating the maid.
He pushed up the casement21, slipped into the room, and laid down his cloth. Then he turned to the bed. The dominant22 scent came from her hair, for she was lying on her stomach with her head pressed into the pillow and framed by the crook23 of her arm- presenting the back of her head in an almost ideal position for the blow by the club.
The sound of the blow was a dull, grinding thud. He hated it. He hated it solely24 because it was a sound, a sound in the midst of his otherwise soundless procedure. He could bear that gruesome sound only by clenching26 his teeth, and, after it was all over, standing27 off to one side stiff and implacable, as if he feared the sound would return from somewhere as a resounding28 echo. But it did not return, instead stillness returned to the room, an increased stillness in fact, for now even the shuffle29 of the girl’s breathing had ceased. And at once Grenouille’s tenseness dissolved (one might have interpreted it more as a posture30 of reverence31 or some sort of crabbed32 moment of silence) and his body fell back to a pliable33 ease.
He tucked the club away and from here on was all bustle34 and business. First he unfolded the impregnating cloth, spread it loosely on its back over the table and chairs, taking care that the greased side not be touched. Then he pulled back the bedclothes. The glorious scent of the girl, welling up so suddenly warm and massive, did not stir him. He knew that scent, of course, and would savor35 it, savor it to intoxication36, later on, once he truly possessed37 it. But now the main thing was to capture as much of it as possible, let as little of it as possible evaporate; for now the watchwords were concentration and haste.
With a few quick snips38 of his scissors, he cut open her nightgown, pulled it off, grabbed the oiled linen, and tossed it over her naked body. Then he lifted her up, tugged39 the overhanging cloth under her, rolled her up in it as a baker40 rolls strudel, tucking in the corners, enveloping41 her from toes up to brow. Only her hair still stuck out from the mummy clothes. He cut it off close to her scalp and packed it inside her nightgown, which he then tied up into a bundle. Finally he took a piece of cloth still dangling42 free and flapped it over the shaved skull43, smoothed down the overlapping44 ends, gently pressed it tight with a finger. He examined the whole package. Not a slit45, not a hole, not one bulging46 pleat was left through which the girl’s scent could have escaped. She was perfectly47 packed. There was nothing to do but wait, for six hours, until the gray of dawn.
He took the little armchair on which her clothes lay, dragged it to the bed, and sat down. The gentle breath of her scent still clung to the ample black cloak, blending with the odor of aniseed cakes she had put in her pocket as a snack for the journey. He put his feet up on the end of the bed, near her feet, covered himself with her dress, and ate aniseed cakes. He was tired. But he did not want to fall asleep, because it was improper48 to sleep on the job, even if your job was merely to wait. He recalled the nights he had spent distilling49 in Baldini’s workshop: the soot-blackened alembic, the flickering50 fire, the soft spitting sound the distillate made as it dripped from the cooling tube into the Florentine flask51. From time to time you had to tend the fire, pour in more distilling water, change Florentine flasks52, replace the exhausted53 stuff you were distilling. And yet it had always seemed to him that you stayed awake not so that you could take care of these occasional tasks, but because being awake had its own unique purpose. Even here in this bedchamber, where the process of enfleurage was proceeding55 all on its own, where in fact premature56 checking, turning, or poking57 the fragrant58 package could only cause trouble-even here, it seemed to Grenouille, his waking presence was important. Sleep would have endangered the spirit of success.
It was not especially difficult for him to stay awake and wait, despite his weariness. He loved this waiting. He had also loved it with the twenty-four other girls, for it was aot a dull waiting-till-it’s-over, not even a yearning59, expectant waiting, but an attendant, purposeful, in a certain sense active, waiting. Something was happening while you waited. The most essential thing was happening. And even if he himself was doing nothing, it was happening through him nevertheless. He had done his best. He had employed all his artistic skill. He had made not one single mistake. His performance had been unique. It would be crowned with success.... He need only wait a few more hours. It filled him with profound satisfaction, this waiting. He had never felt so fine in all his life, so peaceful, so steady, so whole and at one with himself-not even back inside his mountain-as during these hours when a craftsman60 took his rest sitting in the dark of night beside his victim, waiting and watching. They were the only moments when something like cheerful thoughts formed inside his gloomy brain.
Strangely enough, these thoughts did not look toward the future. He did not think of the scent that he would glean61 in a few hours, nor of the perfume made of the auras of twenty-five maidens62, nor of future plans, happiness, and success. No, he thought of his past. He remembered the stations of his life, from Madame Gaillard’s house and the moist, warm woodpile in front of it to his journey today to the little village of La Napoule, which smelled like fish. He thought of Grimal the tanner, of Giuseppe Baldini, of the marquis de La Taillade-Espinasse. He thought of the city of Paris, of its great effluvium, that evil smell of a thousand iridescences; he thought of the redheaded girl in the rue25 des Marais, of open country, of the spare wind, of forests. He thought, too, of the mountain in the Auvergne-he did not avoid such memories in the least-of his cave, of the air void of human beings. He thought of his dreams. And he thought of all these things with great satisfaction. Yes, it seemed to him as he looked back over it that he was a man to whom fortune had been especially kind, and that fate had led him down some tortuous63 paths, but that ultimately they had proved to be the right ones-how else would it have been possible for him to have found his way here, into this dark chamber54, at the goal of his desires? He was, now that he really considered it, a truly blessed individual!
Feelings of humility64 and gratitude65 welled up within him. “I thank you,” he said softly, “I thank you, Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, for being what you are!” So touched was he by himself.
Then his eyelids closed-not for sleep, but so that he could surrender himself completely to the peace of this holy night. The peace filled his heart. But it seemed also as if it reigned66 all about him. He smelled the peaceful sleep of the maid in the adjoining room, the deep contentment of Antoine Richis’s sleep on the other side of the corridor; he smelled the peaceful slumber67 of the innkeeper and his servants, of the dogs, of the animals in their stalls, of the whole village, and of the sea. The wind had died away. Everything was still. Nothing disturbed the peace.
Once he turned his foot to one side and ever so softly touched Laure’s foot. Not actually her foot, but simply the cloth that enveloped68 it and beneath that the thin layer of oil drinking up her scent, her glorious scent, his scent.
收听单词发音 |
1
circumspection
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| n.细心，慎重 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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spatula
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| n.抹刀 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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dabbed
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| （用某物）轻触( dab的过去式和过去分词 )； 轻而快地擦掉（或抹掉）； 快速擦拭； （用某物）轻而快地涂上（或点上）… | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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sculpted
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| adj.经雕塑的 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vertically
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| adv.垂直地 | |
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casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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resounding
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| adj. 响亮的 | |
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shuffle
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| n.拖著脚走，洗纸牌；v.拖曳，慢吞吞地走 | |
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posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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31
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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32
crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pliable
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| adj.易受影响的；易弯的；柔顺的，易驾驭的 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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38
snips
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| n.（剪金属板的）铁剪，铁铗；剪下之物( snip的名词复数 )；一点点；零星v.剪( snip的第三人称单数 ) | |
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39
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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41
enveloping
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的现在分词 ) | |
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42
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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43
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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overlapping
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| adj./n.交迭（的） | |
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45
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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46
bulging
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| 膨胀； 凸出（部）； 打气； 折皱 | |
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47
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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48
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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49
distilling
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| n.蒸馏（作用）v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )( distilled的过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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50
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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51
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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52
flasks
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| n.瓶，长颈瓶， 烧瓶( flask的名词复数 ) | |
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53
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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54
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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55
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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56
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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57
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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58
fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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60
craftsman
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| n.技工，精于一门工艺的匠人 | |
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61
glean
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| v.收集(消息、资料、情报等) | |
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62
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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63
tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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64
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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66
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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67
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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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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