“Say, ain't it swell4?” Billy queried5, with a wave of his hand indicating the circled tree-groups, the trickle6 of unseen water, and the summer hum of bees.
“I love it,” Saxon affirmed. “It makes me want to live in the country, and I never have.”
“Me, too, Saxon. I've never lived in the country in my life—an' all my folks was country folks.”
“No cities then. Everybody lived in the country.”
“I guess you're right,” he nodded. “They just had to live in the country.”
There was no brake on the light carriage, and Billy became absorbed in managing his team down the steep, winding7 road. Saxon leaned back, eyes closed, with a feeling of ineffable8 rest. Time and again he shot glances at her closed eyes.
“What's the matter?” he asked finally, in mild alarm. “You ain't sick?”
“It's so beautiful I'm afraid to look,” she answered. “It's so brave it hurts.”
“BRAVE?—now that's funny.”
“Isn't it? But it just makes me feel that way. It's brave. Now the houses and streets and things in the city aren't brave. But this is. I don't know why. It just is.”
“By golly, I think you're right,” he exclaimed. “It strikes me that way, now you speak of it. They ain't no games or tricks here, no cheatin' an' no lyin'. Them trees just stand up natural an' strong an' clean like young boys their first time in the ring before they've learned its rottenness an' how to double-cross an' lay down to the bettin' odds9 an' the fight-fans. Yep; it is brave. Say, Saxon, you see things, don't you?” His pause was almost wistful, and he looked at her and studied her with a caressing10 softness that ran through her in resurgent thrills. “D'ye know, I'd just like you to see me fight some time—a real fight, with something doin' every moment. I'd be proud to death to do it for you. An' I'd sure fight some with you lookin' on an' understandin'. That'd be a fight what is, take it from me. An' that's funny, too. I never wanted to fight before a woman in my life. They squeal11 and screech12 an' don't understand. But you'd understand. It's dead open an' shut you would.”
A little later, swinging along the flat of the valley, through the little clearings of the farmers and the ripe grain-stretches golden in the sunshine, Billy turned to Saxon again.
“Say, you've ben in love with fellows, lots of times. Tell me about it. What's it like?”
She shook her head slowly.
“I only thought I was in love—and not many times, either—”
“Many times!” he cried.
“Not really ever,” she assured him, secretly exultant13 at his unconscious jealousy14. “I never was really in love. If I had been I'd be married now. You see, I couldn't see anything else to it but to marry a man if I loved him.”
“But suppose he didn't love you?”
“Oh, I don't know,” she smiled, half with facetiousness15 and half with certainty and pride. “I think I could make him love me.”
“I guess you sure could,” Billy proclaimed enthusiastically.
“The trouble is,” she went on, “the men that loved me I never cared for that way.—Oh, look!”
A cottontail rabbit had scuttled16 across the road, and a tiny dust cloud lingered like smoke, marking the way of his flight. At the next turn a dozen quail17 exploded into the air from under the noses of the horses. Billy and Saxon exclaimed in mutual18 delight.
“Gee,” he muttered, “I almost wisht I'd ben born a farmer. Folks wasn't made to live in cities.”
“Not our kind, at least,” she agreed. Followed a pause and a long sigh. “It's all so beautiful. It would be a dream just to live all your life in it. I'd like to be an Indian squaw sometimes.”
“About those fellows you thought you was in love with,” he said finally. “You ain't told me, yet.”
“You want to know?” she asked. “They didn't amount to anything.”
“Of course I want to know. Go ahead. Fire away.”
“Well, first there was Al Stanley—”
“What did he do for a livin'?” Billy demanded, almost as with authority.
“He was a gambler.”
Billy's face abruptly20 stiffened21, and she could see his eyes cloudy with doubt in the quick glance he flung at her.
“Oh, it was all right,” she laughed. “I was only eight years old. You see, I'm beginning at the beginning. It was after my mother died and when I was adopted by Cady. He kept a hotel and saloon. It was down in Los Angeles. Just a small hotel. Workingmen, just common laborers22, mostly, and some railroad men, stopped at it, and I guess Al Stanley got his share of their wages. He was so handsome and so quiet and soft-spoken. And he had the nicest eyes and the softest, cleanest hands. I can see them now. He played with me sometimes, in the afternoon, and gave me candy and little presents. He used to sleep most of the day. I didn't know why, then. I thought he was a fairy prince in disguise. And then he got killed, right in the bar-room, but first he killed the man that killed him. So that was the end of that love affair.
“Next was after the asylum23, when I was thirteen and living with my brother—I've lived with him ever since. He was a boy that drove a bakery wagon24. Almost every morning, on the way to school, I used to pass him. He would come driving down Wood Street and turn in on Twelfth. Maybe it was because he drove a horse that attracted me. Anyway, I must have loved him for a couple of months. Then he lost his job, or something, for another boy drove the wagon. And we'd never even spoken to each other.
“Then there was a bookkeeper when I was sixteen. I seem to run to bookkeepers. It was a bookkeeper at the laundry that Charley Long beat up. This other one was when I was working in Hickmeyer's Cannery. He had soft hands, too. But I quickly got all I wanted of him. He was... well, anyway, he had ideas like your boss. And I never really did love him, truly and honest, Billy. I felt from the first that he wasn't just right. And when I was working in the paper-box factory I thought I loved a clerk in Kahn's Emporium—you know, on Eleventh and Washington. He was all right. That was the trouble with him. He was too much all right. He didn't have any life in him, any go. He wanted to marry me, though. But somehow I couldn't see it. That shows I didn't love him. He was narrow-chested and skinny, and his hands were always cold and fishy25. But my! he could dress—just like he came out of a bandbox. He said he was going to drown himself, and all kinds of things, but I broke with him just the same.
“And after that... well, there isn't any after that. I must have got particular, I guess, but I didn't see anybody I could love. It seemed more like a game with the men I met, or a fight. And we never fought fair on either side. Seemed as if we always had cards up our sleeves. We weren't honest or outspoken26, but instead it seemed as if we were trying to take advantage of each other. Charley Long was honest, though. And so was that bank cashier. And even they made me have the fight feeling harder than ever. All of them always made me feel I had to take care of myself. They wouldn't. That was sure.”
She stopped and looked with interest at the clean profile of his face as he watched and guided the horses. He looked at her inquiringly, and her eyes laughed lazily into his as she stretched her arms.
“That's all,” she concluded. “I've told you everything, which I've never done before to any one. And it's your turn now.”
“Not much of a turn, Saxon. I've never cared for girls—that is, not enough to want to marry 'em. I always liked men better—fellows like Billy Murphy. Besides, I guess I was too interested in trainin' an' fightin' to bother with women much. Why, Saxon, honest, while I ain't ben altogether good—you understand what I mean—just the same I ain't never talked love to a girl in my life. They was no call to.”
“The girls have loved you just the same,” she teased, while in her heart was a curious elation27 at his virginal confession28.
“Lots of them,” she urged.
Still he did not reply.
“Now, haven't they?”
“Well, it wasn't my fault,” he said slowly. “If they wanted to look sideways at me it was up to them. And it was up to me to sidestep if I wanted to, wasn't it? You've no idea, Saxon, how a prizefighter is run after. Why, sometimes it's seemed to me that girls an' women ain't got an ounce of natural shame in their make-up. Oh, I was never afraid of them, believe muh, but I didn't hanker after 'em. A man's a fool that'd let them kind get his goat. “
“Maybe you haven't got love in you,” she challenged.
“Maybe I haven't,” was his discouraging reply. “Anyway, I don't see myself lovin' a girl that runs after me. It's all right for Charley-boys, but a man that is a man don't like bein' chased by women.”
“My mother always said that love was the greatest thing in the world,” Saxon argued. “She wrote poems about it, too. Some of them were published in the San Jose Mercury.”
“What do you think about it?”
“Oh, I don't know,” she baffled, meeting his eyes with another lazy smile. “All I know is it's pretty good to be alive a day like this.”
At one o'clock Billy turned off the road and drove into an open space among the trees.
“Here's where we eat,” he announced. “I thought it'd be better to have a lunch by ourselves than stop at one of these roadside dinner counters. An' now, just to make everything safe an' comfortable, I'm goin' to unharness the horses. We got lots of time. You can get the lunch basket out an' spread it on the lap-robe.”
As Saxon unpacked31 the basket she was appalled32 at his extravagance. She spread an amazing array of ham and chicken sandwiches, crab33 salad, hard-boiled eggs, pickled pigs' feet, ripe olives and dill pickles34, Swiss cheese, salted almonds, oranges and bananas, and several pint35 bottles of beer. It was the quantity as well as the variety that bothered her. It had the appearance of a reckless attempt to buy out a whole delicatessen shop.
“You oughtn't to blow yourself that way,” she reproved him as he sat down beside her. “Why it's enough for half a dozen bricklayers.”
“It's all right, isn't it?”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. “But that's the trouble. It's too much so.”
“Then it's all right,” he concluded. “I always believe in havin' plenty. Have some beer to wash the dust away before we begin? Watch out for the glasses. I gotta return them.”
Later, the meal finished, he lay on his back, smoking a cigarette, and questioned her about her earlier history. She had been telling him of her life in her brother's house, where she paid four dollars and a half a week board. At fifteen she had graduated from grammar school and gone to work in the jute mills for four dollars a week, three of which she had paid to Sarah.
“How about that saloonkeeper?” Billy asked. “How come it he adopted you?”
She shrugged36 her shoulders. “I don't know, except that all my relatives were hard up. It seemed they just couldn't get on. They managed to scratch a lean living for themselves, and that was all. Cady—he was the saloonkeeper—had been a soldier in my father's company, and he always swore by Captain Kit37, which was their nickname for him. My father had kept the surgeons from amputating his leg in the war, and he never forgot it. He was making money in the hotel and saloon, and I found out afterward38 he helped out a lot to pay the doctors and to bury my mother alongside of father. I was to go to Uncle Will—that was my mother's wish; but there had been fighting up in the Ventura Mountains where his ranch39 was, and men had been killed. It was about fences and cattlemen or something, and anyway he was in jail a long time, and when he got his freedom the lawyers had got his ranch. He was an old man, then, and broken, and his wife took sick, and he got a job as night watchman for forty dollars a month. So he couldn't do anything for me, and Cady adopted me.
“Cady was a good man, if he did run a saloon. His wife was a big, handsome-looking woman. I don't think she was all right... and I've heard so since. But she was good to me. I don't care what they say about her, or what she was. She was awful good to me. After he died, she went altogether bad, and so I went into the orphan40 asylum. It wasn't any too good there, and I had three years of it. And then Tom had married and settled down to steady work, and he took me out to live with him. And—well, I've been working pretty steady ever since.”
She gazed sadly away across the fields until her eyes came to rest on a fence bright-splashed with poppies at its base. Billy, who from his supine position had been looking up at her, studying and pleasuring in the pointed41 oval of her woman's face, reached his hand out slowly as he murmured:
“You poor little kid.”
His hand closed sympathetically on her bare forearm, and as she looked down to greet his eyes she saw in them surprise and delight.
“Say, ain't your skin cool though,” he said. “Now me, I'm always warm. Feel my hand.”
It was warmly moist, and she noted42 microscopic43 beads44 of sweat on his forehead and clean-shaven upper lip.
“My, but you are sweaty.”
She bent45 to him and with her handkerchief dabbed46 his lip and forehead dry, then dried his palms.
“I breathe through my skin, I guess,” he explained. “The wise guys in the trainin' camps and gyms say it's a good sign for health. But somehow I'm sweatin' more than usual now. Funny, ain't it?”
She had been forced to unclasp his hand from her arm in order to dry it, and when she finished, it returned to its old position.
“But, say, ain't your skin cool,” he repeated with renewed wonder. “Soft as velvet47, too, an' smooth as silk. It feels great.”
Gently explorative, he slid his hand from wrist to elbow and came to rest half way back. Tired and languid from the morning in the sun, she found herself thrilling to his touch and half-dreamily deciding that here was a man she could love, hands and all.
“Now I've taken the cool all out of that spot.” He did not look up to her, and she could see the roguish smile that curled on his lips. “So I guess I'll try another.”
He shifted his hand along her arm with soft sensuousness48, and she, looking down at his lips, remembered the long tingling49 they had given hers the first time they had met.
“Go on and talk,” he urged, after a delicious five minutes of silence. “I like to watch your lips talking. It's funny, but every move they make looks like a tickly kiss.”
Greatly she wanted to stay where she was. Instead, she said:
“If I talk, you won't like what I say.”
“Go on,” he insisted. “You can't say anything I won't like.”
“Well, there's some poppies over there by the fence I want to pick. And then it's time for us to be going.”
“I lose,” he laughed. “But you made twenty-five tickle50 kisses just the same. I counted 'em. I'll tell you what: you sing 'When the Harvest Days Are Over,' and let me have your other cool arm while you're doin' it, and then we'll go.”
She sang looking down into his eyes, which were centered, not on hers, but on her lips. When she finished, she slipped his hands from her arms and got up. He was about to start for the horses, when she held her jacket out to him. Despite the independence natural to a girl who earned her own living, she had an innate51 love of the little services and finenesses; and, also, she remembered from her childhood the talk by the pioneer women of the courtesy and attendance of the caballeros of the Spanish-California days.
Sunset greeted them when, after a wide circle to the east and south, they cleared the divide of the Contra Costa hills and began dropping down the long grade that led past Redwood Peak to Fruitvale. Beneath them stretched the flatlands to the bay, checkerboarded into fields and broken by the towns of Elmhurst, San Leandro, and Haywards. The smoke of Oakland filled the western sky with haze52 and murk, while beyond, across the bay, they could see the first winking53 lights of San Francisco.
Darkness was on them, and Billy had become curiously54 silent. For half an hour he had given no recognition of her existence save once, when the chill evening wind caused him to tuck the robe tightly about her and himself. Half a dozen times Saxon found herself on the verge of the remark, “What's on your mind?” but each time let it remain unuttered. She sat very close to him. The warmth of their bodies intermingled, and she was aware of a great restfulness and content.
“Say, Saxon,” he began abruptly. “It's no use my holdin' it in any longer. It's ben in my mouth all day, ever since lunch. What's the matter with you an' me gettin' married?”
She knew, very quietly and very gladly, that he meant it. Instinctively55 she was impelled56 to hold off, to make him woo her, to make herself more desirably valuable ere she yielded. Further, her woman's sensitiveness and pride were offended. She had never dreamed of so forthright57 and bald a proposal from the man to whom she would give herself. The simplicity58 and directness of Billy's proposal constituted almost a hurt. On the other hand she wanted him so much—how much she had not realized until now, when he had so unexpectedly made himself accessible.
“Well you gotta say something, Saxon. Hand it to me, good or bad; but anyway hand it to me. An' just take into consideration that I love you. Why, I love you like the very devil, Saxon. I must, because I'm askin' you to marry me, an' I never asked any girl that before.”
Another silence fell, and Saxon found herself dwelling59 on the warmth, tingling now, under the lap-robe. When she realized whither her thoughts led, she blushed guiltily in the darkness.
“How old are you, Billy?” she questioned, with a suddenness and irrelevance60 as disconcerting as his first words had been.
“Twenty-two,” he answered.
“I am twenty-four.”
“As if I didn't know. When you left the orphan asylum and how old you were, how long you worked in the jute mills, the cannery, the paper-box factory, the laundry—maybe you think I can't do addition. I knew how old you was, even to your birthday.”
“That doesn't change the fact that I'm two years older.”
“What of it? If it counted for anything, I wouldn't be lovin' you, would I? Your mother was dead right. Love's the big stuff. It's what counts. Don't you see? I just love you, an' I gotta have you. It's natural, I guess; and I've always found with horses, dogs, and other folks, that what's natural is right. There's no gettin' away from it, Saxon; I gotta have you, an' I'm just hopin' hard you gotta have me. Maybe my hands ain't soft like bookkeepers' an' clerks, but they can work for you, an' fight like Sam Hill for you, and, Saxon, they can love you.”
The old sex antagonism61 which she had always experienced with men seemed to have vanished. She had no sense of being on the defensive62. This was no game. It was what she had been looking for and dreaming about. Before Billy she was defenseless, and there was an all-satisfaction in the knowledge. She could deny him nothing. Not even if he proved to be like the others. And out of the greatness of the thought rose a greater thought—he would not so prove himself.
She did not speak. Instead, in a glow of spirit and flesh, she reached out to his left hand and gently tried to remove it from the rein63. He did not understand; but when she persisted he shifted the rein to his right and let her have her will with the other hand. Her head bent over it, and she kissed the teamster callouses64.
For reply, she kissed the hand again and murmured:
“I love your hands, Billy. To me they are the most beautiful hands in the world, and it would take hours of talking to tell you all they mean to me.”
“Whoa!” he called to the horses.
He pulled them in to a standstill, soothed67 them with his voice, and made the reins68 fast around the whip. Then he turned to her with arms around her and lips to lips.
He kissed her wet eyes and found her lips again.
“Now you know what I was thinkin' and why I was sweatin' when we was eatin' lunch. Just seemed I couldn't hold in much longer from tellin' you. Why, you know, you looked good to me from the first moment I spotted70 you.”
“And I think I loved you from that first day, too, Billy. And I was so proud of you all that day, you were so kind and gentle, and so strong, and the way the men all respected you and the girls all wanted you, and the way you fought those three Irishmen when I was behind the picnic table. I couldn't love or marry a man I wasn't proud of, and I'm so proud of you, so proud.”
“Not half as much as I am right now of myself,” he answered, “for having won you. It's too good to be true. Maybe the alarm clock'll go off and wake me up in a couple of minutes. Well, anyway, if it does, I'm goin' to make the best of them two minutes first. Watch out I don't eat you, I'm that hungry for you.”
relaxed and he seemed to make an effort to draw himself together.
“An' the clock ain't gone off yet,” he whispered against her
cheek. “And it's a dark night, an' there's Fruitvale right ahead, an' if
there ain't King and Prince standin' still in the middle of the road. I
never thought the time'd come when I wouldn't want to take the ribbons
on a fine pair of horses. But this is that time. I just can't let go
of you, and I've gotta some time to-night. It hurts worse'n poison, but
here goes.”
He restored her to herself, tucked the disarranged robe about her, and chirruped to the impatient team.
Half an hour later he called “Whoa!”
“I know I'm awake now, but I don't know but maybe I dreamed all the rest, and I just want to make sure.”
And again he made the reins fast and took her in his arms.
野性的呼唤 The Call of the Wild
The Iron Heel 铁蹄
野性的呼唤 The Call of the Wild
The Iron Heel 铁蹄
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收听单词发音
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1
lathered
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| v.（指肥皂）形成泡沫( lather的过去式和过去分词 )；用皂沫覆盖；狠狠地打 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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canyon
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| n.峡谷，溪谷 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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ineffable
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| adj.无法表达的，不可言喻的 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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screech
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| n./v.尖叫；(发出)刺耳的声音 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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facetiousness
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| n.滑稽 | |
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scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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quail
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| n.鹌鹑；vi.畏惧，颤抖 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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outspoken
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| adj.直言无讳的，坦率的，坦白无隐的 | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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crab
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| n.螃蟹，偏航，脾气乖戾的人，酸苹果；vi.捕蟹，偏航，发牢骚；vt.使偏航，发脾气 | |
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pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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pint
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| n.品脱 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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ranch
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| n.大牧场，大农场 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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microscopic
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| adj.微小的，细微的，极小的，显微的 | |
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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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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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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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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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sensuousness
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| n.知觉 | |
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tingling
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的现在分词 ) | |
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tickle
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| v.搔痒，胳肢；使高兴；发痒；n.搔痒，发痒 | |
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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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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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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forthright
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| adj.直率的，直截了当的 [同]frank | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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callouses
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| n.硬皮，老茧( callous的名词复数 )v.（使）硬结，（使）起茧( callous的第三人称单数 )；（使）冷酷无情 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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reins
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| 感情，激情； 缰( rein的名词复数 )； 控制手段； 掌管； （成人带着幼儿走路以防其走失时用的）保护带 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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