THE ISLAND temple, built in the style of Nicholas Revett in the late 1780s, was intended as a point of interest, an eye-catching feature to enhance the pastoral ideal, and had of course no religious purpose at all. It was near enough to the water’s edge, raised upon a projecting bank, to cast an interesting reflection in the lake, and from most perspectives the row of pillars and the pediment above them were charmingly half obscured by the elms and oaks that had grown up around. Closer to, the temple had a sorrier look: moisture rising through a damaged damp course had caused chunks1 of stucco to fall away. Sometime in the late nineteenth century clumsy repairs were made with unpainted cement which had turned brown and gave the building a mottled, diseased appearance. Elsewhere, the exposed laths, themselves rotting away, showed through like the ribs2 of a starving animal. The double doors that opened onto a circular chamber3 with a domed4 roof had long ago been removed, and the stone floor was thickly covered in leaves and leaf mold and the droppings of various birds and animals that wandered in and out. All the panes5 were gone from the pretty, Georgian windows, smashed by Leon and his friends in the late twenties. The tall niches6 that had once contained statuary were empty but for the filthy7 ruins of spiderwebs. The only furniture was a bench carried in from the village cricket pitch—again, the youthful Leon and his terrible friends from school. The legs had been kicked away and used to break the windows, and were lying outside, softly crumbling8 into the earth among the nettles9 and the incorruptible shards11 of glass.
Just as the swimming pool pavilion behind the stable block imitated features of the temple, so the temple was supposed to embody12 references to the original Adam house, though nobody in the Tallis family knew what they were. Perhaps it was the style of column, or the pediment, or the proportions of the windows. At different times, but most often at Christmas, when moods were expansive, family members strolling over the bridges promised to research the matter, but no one cared to set aside the time when the busy new year began. More than the dilapidation13, it was this connection, this lost memory of the temple’s grander relation, which gave the useless little building its sorry air. The temple was the orphan14 of a grand society lady, and now, with no one to care for it, no one to look up to, the child had grown old before its time, and let itself go. There was a tapering15 soot16 stain as high as a man on an outside wall where two tramps had once, outrageously18, lit a bonfire to roast a carp that was not theirs. For a long time there had been a shriveled boot lying exposed on grass kept trim by rabbits. But when Briony looked today, the boot had vanished, as everything would in the end. The idea that the temple, wearing its own black band, grieved for the burned-down mansion19, that it yearned20 for a grand and invisible presence, bestowed21 a faintly religious ambience. Tragedy had rescued the temple from being entirely22 a fake.
It is hard to slash23 at nettles for long without a story imposing24 itself, and Briony was soon absorbed and grimly content, even though she appeared to the world like a girl in the grip of a terrible mood. She had found a slender hazel branch and stripped it clean. There was work to do, and she set about it. A tall nettle10 with a preening25 look, its head coyly drooping26 and its middle leaves turned outward like hands protesting innocence—this was Lola, and though she whimpered for mercy, the singing arc of a three-foot switch cut her down at the knees and sent her worthless torso flying. This was too satisfying to let go, and the next several nettles were Lola too; this one, leaning across to whisper in the ear of its neighbor, was cut down with an outrageous17 lie on her lips; here she was again, standing27 apart from the others, head cocked in poisonous scheming; over there she lorded it among a clump28 of young admirers and was spreading rumors29 about Briony. It was regrettable, but the admirers had to die with her. Then she rose again, brazen30 with her various sins—pride, gluttony, avarice31, uncooperativeness—and for each she paid with a life. Her final act of spite was to fall at Briony’s feet and sting her toes. When Lola had died enough, three pairs of young nettles were sacrificed for the incompetence32 of the twins—retribution was indifferent and granted no special favors to children. Then playwriting itself became a nettle, became several in fact; the shallowness, the wasted time, the messiness of other minds, the hopelessness of pretending—in the garden of the arts, it was a weed and had to die.
No longer a playwright33 and feeling all the more refreshed for that, and watching out for broken glass, she moved further round the temple, working along the fringe where the nibbled34 grass met the disorderly undergrowth that spilled out from among the trees. Flaying35 the nettles was becoming a self-purification, and it was childhood she set about now, having no further need for it. One spindly specimen36 stood in for everything she had been up until this moment. But that was not enough. Planting her feet firmly in the grass, she disposed of her old self year by year in thirteen strokes. She severed37 the sickly dependency of infancy38 and early childhood, and the schoolgirl eager to show off and be praised, and the eleven-year-old’s silly pride in her first stories and her reliance on her mother’s good opinion. They flew over her left shoulder and lay at her feet. The slender tip of the switch made a two-tone sound as it sliced the air. No more! she made it say. Enough! Take that!
Soon, it was the action itself that absorbed her, and the newspaper report which she revised to the rhythm of her swipes. No one in the world could do this better than Briony Tallis who would be representing her country next year at the Berlin Olympics and was certain to win the gold. People studied her closely and marveled at her technique, her preference for bare feet because it improved her balance—so important in this demanding sport—with every toe playing its part; the manner in which she led with the wrist and snapped the hand round only at the end of her stroke, the way she distributed her weight and used the rotation39 in her hips40 to gain extra power, her distinctive41 habit of extending the fingers of her free hand—no one came near her. Self-taught, the youngest daughter of a senior civil servant. Look at the concentration in her face, judging the angle, never fudging a shot, taking each nettle with inhuman42 precision. To reach this level required a lifetime’s dedication43. And how close she had come to wasting that life as a playwright!
She was suddenly aware of the trap behind her, clattering44 over the first bridge. Leon at last. She felt his eyes upon her. Was this the kid sister he had last seen on Waterloo Station only three months ago, and now a member of an international elite45? Perversely46, she would not allow herself to turn and acknowledge him; he must learn that she was independent now of other people’s opinion, even his. She was a grand master, lost to the intricacies of her art. Besides, he was bound to stop the trap and come running down the bank, and she would have to suffer the interruption with good grace.
The sound of wheels and hooves receding47 over the second bridge proved, she supposed, that her brother knew the meaning of distance and professional respect. All the same, a little sadness was settling on her as she kept hacking48 away, moving further round the island temple until she was out of sight of the road. A ragged49 line of chopped nettles on the grass marked her progress, as did the stinging white bumps on her feet and ankles. The tip of the hazel switch sang through its arc, leaves and stems flew apart, but the cheers of the crowds were harder to summon. The colors were ebbing50 from her fantasy, her self-loving pleasures in movement and balance were fading, her arm was aching. She was becoming a solitary51 girl swiping nettles with a stick, and at last she stopped and tossed it toward the trees and looked around her.
The cost of oblivious52 daydreaming53 was always this moment of return, the realignment with what had been before and now seemed a little worse. Her reverie, once rich in plausible54 details, had become a passing silliness before the hard mass of the actual. It was difficult to come back. Come back, her sister used to whisper when she woke her from a bad dream. Briony had lost her godly power of creation, but it was only at this moment of return that the loss became evident; part of a daydream’s enticement55 was the illusion that she was helpless before its logic56: forced by international rivalry57 to compete at the highest level among the world’s finest and to accept the challenges that came with preeminence58 in her field—her field of nettle slashing—driven to push beyond her limits to assuage59 the roaring crowd, and to be the best, and, most importantly, unique. But of course, it had all been her—by her and about her—and now she was back in the world, not one she could make, but the one that had made her, and she felt herself shrinking under the early evening sky. She was weary of being outdoors, but she was not ready to go in. Was that really all there was in life, indoors or out? Wasn’t there somewhere else for people to go? She turned her back on the island temple and wandered slowly over the perfect lawn the rabbits had made, toward the bridge. In front of her, illuminated60 by the lowering sun, was a cloud of insects, each one bobbing randomly61, as though fixed62 on an invisible elastic63 string—a mysterious courtship dance, or sheer insect exuberance64 that defied her to find a meaning. In a spirit of mutinous65 resistance, she climbed the steep grassy66 slope to the bridge, and when she stood on the driveway, she decided67 she would stay there and wait until something significant happened to her. This was the challenge she was putting to existence—she would not stir, not for dinner, not even for her mother calling her in. She would simply wait on the bridge, calm and obstinate68, until events, real events, not her own fantasies, rose to her challenge, and dispelled69 her insignificance70.
1 chunks | |
厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 ); (某物)相当大的数量或部分 | |
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2 ribs | |
n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 );(船或屋顶等的)肋拱;肋骨状的东西;(织物的)凸条花纹 | |
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3 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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4 domed | |
adj. 圆屋顶的, 半球形的, 拱曲的 动词dome的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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5 panes | |
窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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6 niches | |
壁龛( niche的名词复数 ); 合适的位置[工作等]; (产品的)商机; 生态位(一个生物所占据的生境的最小单位) | |
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7 filthy | |
adj.卑劣的;恶劣的,肮脏的 | |
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8 crumbling | |
adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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9 nettles | |
n.荨麻( nettle的名词复数 ) | |
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10 nettle | |
n.荨麻;v.烦忧,激恼 | |
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11 shards | |
n.(玻璃、金属或其他硬物的)尖利的碎片( shard的名词复数 ) | |
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12 embody | |
vt.具体表达,使具体化;包含,收录 | |
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13 dilapidation | |
n.倒塌;毁坏 | |
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14 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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15 tapering | |
adj.尖端细的 | |
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16 soot | |
n.煤烟,烟尘;vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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17 outrageous | |
adj.无理的,令人不能容忍的 | |
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18 outrageously | |
凶残地; 肆无忌惮地; 令人不能容忍地; 不寻常地 | |
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19 mansion | |
n.大厦,大楼;宅第 | |
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20 yearned | |
渴望,切盼,向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21 bestowed | |
赠给,授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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23 slash | |
vi.大幅度削减;vt.猛砍,尖锐抨击,大幅减少;n.猛砍,斜线,长切口,衣衩 | |
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24 imposing | |
adj.使人难忘的,壮丽的,堂皇的,雄伟的 | |
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25 preening | |
v.(鸟)用嘴整理(羽毛)( preen的现在分词 ) | |
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26 drooping | |
adj. 下垂的,无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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27 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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28 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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29 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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30 brazen | |
adj.厚脸皮的,无耻的,坚硬的 | |
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31 avarice | |
n.贪婪;贪心 | |
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32 incompetence | |
n.不胜任,不称职 | |
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33 playwright | |
n.剧作家,编写剧本的人 | |
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34 nibbled | |
v.啃,一点一点地咬(吃)( nibble的过去式和过去分词 );啃出(洞),一点一点咬出(洞);慢慢减少;小口咬 | |
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35 flaying | |
v.痛打( flay的现在分词 );把…打得皮开肉绽;剥(通常指动物)的皮;严厉批评 | |
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36 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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37 severed | |
v.切断,断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 );断,裂 | |
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38 infancy | |
n.婴儿期;幼年期;初期 | |
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39 rotation | |
n.旋转;循环,轮流 | |
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40 hips | |
abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯,耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 );[建筑学]屋脊;臀围(尺寸);臀部…的 | |
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41 distinctive | |
adj.特别的,有特色的,与众不同的 | |
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42 inhuman | |
adj.残忍的,不人道的,无人性的 | |
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43 dedication | |
n.奉献,献身,致力,题献,献辞 | |
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44 clattering | |
发出咔哒声(clatter的现在分词形式) | |
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45 elite | |
n.精英阶层;实力集团;adj.杰出的,卓越的 | |
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46 perversely | |
adv. 倔强地 | |
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47 receding | |
v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 );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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48 hacking | |
n.非法访问计算机系统和数据库的活动 | |
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49 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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50 ebbing | |
(指潮水)退( ebb的现在分词 ); 落; 减少; 衰落 | |
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51 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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52 oblivious | |
adj.易忘的,遗忘的,忘却的,健忘的 | |
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53 daydreaming | |
v.想入非非,空想( daydream的现在分词 ) | |
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54 plausible | |
adj.似真实的,似乎有理的,似乎可信的 | |
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55 enticement | |
n.诱骗,诱人 | |
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56 logic | |
n.逻辑(学);逻辑性 | |
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57 rivalry | |
n.竞争,竞赛,对抗 | |
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58 preeminence | |
n.卓越,杰出 | |
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59 assuage | |
v.缓和,减轻,镇定 | |
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60 illuminated | |
adj.被照明的;受启迪的 | |
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61 randomly | |
adv.随便地,未加计划地 | |
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62 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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63 elastic | |
n.橡皮圈,松紧带;adj.有弹性的;灵活的 | |
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64 exuberance | |
n.丰富;繁荣 | |
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65 mutinous | |
adj.叛变的,反抗的;adv.反抗地,叛变地;n.反抗,叛变 | |
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66 grassy | |
adj.盖满草的;长满草的 | |
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67 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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68 obstinate | |
adj.顽固的,倔强的,不易屈服的,较难治愈的 | |
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69 dispelled | |
v.驱散,赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70 insignificance | |
n.不重要;无价值;无意义 | |
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