Somebody came into the coffee-room. G.J. looked round, hoping that it might, after all, be Concepcion. But it was Concepcion's maid, Emily, an imitative young woman who seemed to have caught from her former employer the quality of strange, sinister8 provocativeness9.
"Mrs. Smith wishes me to say that she will certainly be well enough to take you to the station in the morning, sir," said she in her specious11 tones. "But she hopes you will be able to stay till the afternoon train."
"I shan't." He shook his head.
"Very well, sir."
And after another moment's pause Emily, apparently12 with a challenging reluctance13, receded14 through the shadows of the room and vanished.
G.J. was extremely depressed15 and somewhat indignant. He gazed down bitterly at the water, following with his eye the incredibly long branches of the tree that from the height of the buttresses16 drooped17 perpendicularly18 into the water. He had had an astounding19 week-end; and for having responded to Concepcion's telegram, for having taken the telegram seriously, he had deserved what he got. Thus he argued.
She had met him on the hot Saturday afternoon in a Ford20 car. She did not look ill. She looked as if she had fairly recovered from her acute neurasthenia. She was smartly and carelessly dressed in a summer sporting costume, and had made a strong contrast to every other human being on the platform of the small provincial21 station. The car drove not to the famous principal hotel, but to a small hotel just beyond the bridge. She had given him tea in the coffee-room and taken him out again, on foot, showing him the town—the half-timbered houses, the immense castle, the market-hall, the spacious22 flat-fronted residences, the multiplicity of solicitors23, banks and surveyors, the bursting provision shops with imposing24 fractions of animals and expensive pies, and the drapers with ladies' blouses at 2s. 4d. Then she had conducted him to an organ recital25 in the vast church where, amid faint gas-jets and beadles and stalls and stained glass and holiness and centuries of history and the high respectability of the town, she had whispered sibilantly, and other people had whispered, in the long intervals26 of the [318] organ. She had removed him from the church before the collection for the Red Cross, and when they had eaten a sort of dinner she had borne him away to the Russian dancers in the Moot27 Hall.
She said she had seen the Russian dancers once already, and that they were richly worth to him a six-hours' train journey. The posters of the Russian dancers were rather daring and seductive. The Russian dancers themselves were the most desolating28 stage spectacle that G.J. had ever witnessed. The troupe29 consisted of intensely English girls of various ages, and girl-children. The costumes had obviously been fabricated by the artistes. The artistes could neither dance, pose, group, make an entrance, make an exit, nor even smile. The ballets, obviously fabricated by the same persons as the costumes, had no plot, no beginning and no end. Crude amateurishness30 was the characteristic of these honest and hard-working professionals, who somehow contrived31 to be neither men nor women—and assuredly not epicene—but who travelled from country town to country town in a glamour32 of posters, exciting the towns, in spite of a perfect lack of sex, because they were the fabled33 Russian dancers. The Moot Hall was crammed34 with adults and their cackling offspring, who heartily35 applauded the show, which indeed was billed as a "return visit" due to "terrific success" on a previous occasion. "Is it not too marvellous," Concepcion had said. He had admitted that it was. But the boredom36 had been excruciating. In the street they had bought an evening paper of which he had never before heard the name, to learn news of the war. The war, however, seemed very far off; it had grown unreal. "We'll talk to-morrow," Concepcion had said, and gone abruptly37 to bed! Still, he had slept well in the soft climate, to the everlasting38 murmur39 of the weir.
Then the Sunday. She was indisposed, could not come down to breakfast, but hoped to come down to lunch, could not come down to lunch, but hoped to come down to tea, could not come down to tea—and so on to nightfall. The Sunday had been like a thousand years to him. He had learnt the town, and the suburbs of it; the grass-grown streets, the main thoroughfares, and the slums; by the afternoon he was recognising familiar faces in the town. He had twice made the classic round—along the cliffs, over the New Bridge (which was an antique), up the hill to the castle, through the market-place, down the High Street to the Old Bridge. He had explored the brain of the landlord, who could not grapple with a time-table, and who spent most of the time during closed hours in patiently bolting the front door which G.J. was continually opening. He had talked to the old customer who, whenever the house was open, sat at a table in the garden over a mug of cider. He had played through all the musical comedies, dance albums and pianoforte albums that littered the piano. He had read the same Sunday papers that he read in the Albany. And he had learnt the life-history of the sole servant, a very young agreeable woman with a wedding-ring and a baby, which baby she carried about with her when serving at table. Her husband was in France. She said that as soon as she had received his permissionto do so she should leave, as she really could not get through all the work of the hotel and mind and feed a baby. She said also that she played the piano herself. And she regretted that baby and pressure of work had deprived her of a sight of the Russian dancers, because she had heard so much about them, and was sure they were beautiful. This detail touched G.J.'s heart to a mysterious and sweet and almost intolerable melancholy40. He had not made the acquaintance of fellow-guests—for there were none, save Concepcion and Emily.
And in the evening as in the morning the weir placidly41 murmured, and the river slipped smoothly42 between the huge jutting43 buttresses of the Old Bridge; and the thought of the perpetuity of the river, in whose mirror the venerable town was a mushroom, obsessed44 him, mastered him, and made him as old as the river. He was wonder-struck and sorrow-struck by life, and by his own life, and by the incomprehensible and angering fantasy of Concepcion. His week-end took on the appearance of the monstrous45. Then the door opened again, and Concepcion entered in a white gown, the antithesis46 of her sporting costume of the day before. She approached through the thickening shadows of the room, and the vague whiteness of her gown reminded him of the whiteness of the form climbing the chimney-ladder on the roof of Lechford House in the raid. Knowing her, he ought to have known that, having made him believe that she would not come down, she would certainly come down. He restrained himself, showed no untoward47 emotion, and said in a calm, [321] genial48 voice: "Oh! I'm so glad you were well enough to come down."
She sat opposite to him in the window-seat, rather sideways, so that her skirt was pulled close round her left thigh49 and flowed free over the right. He could see her still plainly in the dusk.
"I've never yet apologised to you for my style of behaviour at the committee of yours," she began abruptly in a soft, kind, reasonable voice. "I know I let you down horribly. Yes, yes! I did. And I ought to apologise to you for to-day too. But I don't think I'll apologise to you for bringing you to Wrikton and this place. They're not real, you know. They're an illusion. There is no such place as Wrikton and this river and this window. There couldn't be, could there? Queen and I motored over here once from Paulle—it's not so very far—and we agreed that it didn't really exist. I never forgot it; I was determined50 to come here again some time, and that's why I chose this very spot when half Harley Street stood up and told me I must go away somewhere after my cure and be by myself, far from the pernicious influence of friends. I think I gave you a very fair idea of the town yesterday. But I didn't show you the funniest thing in it—the inside of a solicitor's office. You remember the large grey stone house in Mill Street—the grass street, you know—with 'Simpover and Simpover' on the brass51 plate, and the strip of green felt nailed all round the front door to keep the wind out in winter. Well, it's all in the same key inside. And I don't know which is the funniest, the Russian dancers, or the green felt round the front door, or Mr. Simpover, or the other Mr. Simpover. I'm sure neither of those men is real, though they both somehow have children. You remember the yellow cards that you see in so many of the windows: 'A MAN has gone from this house to fight for King and Country!'—the elder Mr. Simpover thinks it would be rather boastful to put the card in the window, so he keeps it on the mantelpiece in his private office. It's for his son. And yet I assure you the father isn't real. He is like the town, he simply couldn't be real."
"What have you been up to in the private office?" G.J. asked lightly.
"Making my will."
"What for?"
"Isn't it the proper thing to do? I've left everything to you."
"You haven't, Con7!" he protested. There was absolutely no tranquillity52 about this woman. With her, the disconcerting unexpected happened every five minutes.
"Did you suppose I was going to send any of my possessions back to my tropical relatives in South America? I've left everything to you to do what you like with. Squander53 it if you like, but I expect you'll give it to war charities. Anyhow, I thought it would be safest in your hands."
He retorted in a tone quietly and sardonically54 challenging:
"But I was under the impression you were cured."
"Of my neurasthenia?"
"Yes."
"I believe I am. I gained thirteen pounds in the nursing home, and slept like a greengrocer. In fact, the Weir-Mitchell treatment, with modern improvements of course, enjoyed a marvellous triumph in my case. But that's not the point. G.J., I know you think I behaved very childishly yesterday, and that I deserved to be ill to-day for what I did yesterday. And I admit you're a saint for not saying so. But I wasn't really childish, and I haven't really been ill to-day. I've only been in a devil of a dilemma55. I wanted to tell you something. I telegraphed for you so that I could tell you. But as soon as I saw you I was afraid to tell you. Not afraid, but I couldn't make up my mind whether I ought to tell you or not. I've lain in bed all day trying to decide the point. To-night I decided56 I oughtn't, and then all of a sudden, just now, I became an automaton57 and put on some things, and here I am telling you."
She paused. G.J. kept silence. Then she continued, in a voice in which persuasiveness58 was added to calm, engaging reasonableness:
"Now you must get rid of all your conventional ideas, G.J. Because you're rather conventional. You must be completely straight—I mean intellectually—otherwise I can't treat you as an intellectual equal, and I want to. You must be a realist—if any man can be." She spoke59 almost with tenderness.
He felt mysteriously shy, and with a brusque movement of the head shifted his glance from her to the river.
"Well?" he questioned, his gaze fixed60 on the water that continually slipped in large, swirling61, glinting sheets under the bridge.
"I'm going to kill myself."
At first the words made no impression on him. He replied:
"You were right when you said this place was an illusion. It is."
And then he began to be afraid. Did she mean it? She was capable of anything. And he was involved in her, inescapably. Yes, he was afraid. Nevertheless, as she kept silence he went on—with bravado62:
"And how do you intend to do it?"
"That will be my affair. But I venture to say that my way of doing it will make Wrikton historic," she said, curiously63 gentle.
"Trust you!" he exclaimed, suddenly looking at her. "Con, why will you always be so theatrical64?"
She changed her posture65 for an easier one, half reclining. Her face and demeanour seemed to have the benign66 masculinity of a man's.
"I'm sorry," she answered. "I oughtn't to have said that. At any rate, to you. I ought to have had more respect for your feelings."
He said:
"You aren't cured. That's evident. All this is physical."
"Of course it's physical, G.J.," she agreed, with an intonation67 of astonishment68 that he should be guilty of an utterance69 so obvious and banal70. "Did you ever know anything that wasn't? Did you ever even conceive anything that wasn't? If you can show me how to conceive spirit except in terms of matter, I'd like to listen to you."
"It's against nature—to kill yourself."
"Oh!" she murmured. "I'm quite used to that charge. You aren't by any means the first to accuse me of being against nature. But can you tell me where nature ends? That's another thing I'd like to know.... My dear friend, you're being conventional, and you aren't being realistic. You must know perfectly71 well in your heart that there's no reason why I shouldn't kill myself if I want to. You aren't going to talk to me about the Ten Commandments, I suppose, are you? There's a risk, of course, on the other side—shore—but perhaps it's worth taking. You aren't in a position to say it isn't worth taking. And at worst the other shore must be marvellous. It may possibly be terrible, if you arrive too soon and without being asked, but it must be marvellous.... Naturally, I believe in immortality72. If I didn't, the thing wouldn't be worth doing. Oh! I should hate to be extinguished. But to change one existence for another, if the fancy takes you—that seems to me the greatest proof of real independence that anybody can give. It's tremendous. You're playing chess with fate and fate's winning, and you knock up the chess-board and fate has to begin all over again! Can't you see how tremendous it is—and how tempting73 it is? The temptation is terrific."
"I can see all that," said G.J. He was surprised by a sudden sense of esteem74 for the mighty75 volition76 hidden behind those calm, worn, gracious features. But Concepcion's body was younger than her face. He perceived, as it were for the first time, that Concepcion was immeasurably younger than himself; and yet she had passed far beyond him in experience. "But what's the origin of all this? What do you want to do it for? What's happened?"
"Then you believe I mean to do it?"
"Yes," he replied sincerely, and as naturally as he could.
"That's the tone I like to hear," said she, smiling. "I felt sure I could count on you not to indulge in too much nonsense. Well, I'm going to try the next avatar just to remind fate of my existence. I think fate's forgotten me, and I can stand anything but that. I've lost Carly, and I've lost Queen.... Oh, G.J.! Isn't it awful to think that when I offered you Queen she'd already gone, and it was only her dead body I was offering you? ... And I've lost my love. And I've failed, and I shall never be any more good here. I swore I would see a certain thing through, and I haven't seen it through, and I can't! But I've told you all this before.... What's left? Even my unhappiness is leaving me. Unless I kill myself I shall cease to exist. Don't you understand? Yes, you do."
After a marked pause she added:
"And I may overtake Queen."
"There's one thing I don't understand," he said, "as we're being frank with each other. Why do you tell me? Has it occurred to you that you're really making me a party to this scheme of yours?"
He spoke with a perfectly benevolent77 detachment deriving78 from hers. And as he spoke he thought of a man whom he had once known and who had committed suicide, and of all that he had read about suicides and what he had thought of them. Suicides had been incomprehensible to him, and either despicable or pitiable. And he said to himself: "Here is one of them! (Or is it an illusion?) But she has made all my notions of suicide seem ridiculous."
She answered his spoken question with vivacity79: "Why do I tell you? I don't know. That's the point I've been arguing to myself all night and all day. I'm not telling you. Something in me is forcing me to tell you. Perhaps it's much more important that you should comprehend me than that you should be spared the passing worry that I'm causing you by showing you the inside of my head. You're the only friend I have left. I knew you before I knew Carly. I practically committed suicide from my particular world at the beginning of the war. I was going back to my particular world—you remember, G.J., in that little furnished flat—I was going back to it, but you wouldn't let me. It was you who definitely cut me off from my past. I might have been gadding80 about safely with Sarah Churcher and her lot at this very hour, but you would have it otherwise, and so I finished up with neurasthenia. You commanded and I obeyed."
"Well," he said, ignoring all her utterance except the last words, "obey me again."
"What do you want me to do?" she demanded wistfully and yet defiantly81. Her features were tending to disappear in the tide of night, but she happened to sit up and lean forward and bring them a little closer to him. "You've no right to stop me from doing what I want to do. What right have you to stop me? Besides, you can't stop me. Nothing can stop me. It is settled. Everything is arranged."
He, too, sat up and leaned forward. In a voice rendered soft by the realisation of the fact that he had indeed known her before Carlos Smith knew her and had imagined himself once to be in love with her, and of the harshness of her destiny and the fading of her glory, he said simply and yet, in spite of himself, insinuatingly82:
"No! I don't claim any right to stop you. I understand better, perhaps, than you think. But let me come down again next week-end. Do let me," he insisted, still more softly.
Even while he was speaking he expected her to say, "You're only suggesting that in order to gain time."
But she said:
"How can you be sure it wouldn't be my inquest and funeral I should be 'letting' you come down to?"
He replied:
"I could trust you."
A delicate night-gust charged with the scent83 of some plant came in at the open window and deranged84 ever so slightly a glistening85 lock on her forehead. G.J., peering at her, saw the masculinity melt from her face. He saw the mysterious resurrection of the girl in her, and felt in himself the sudden exciting outflow from her of that temperamental fluid whose springs had been dried up since the day when she learnt of her widowhood. She flushed. He looked away into the dark water, as though he had profanely86 witnessed that which ought not to be witnessed. Earlier in the interview she had inspired him with shyness. He was now stirred, agitated87, thrilled—overwhelmed by the effect on her of his own words and his own voice. He was afraid of his power, as a prophet might be afraid of his power. He had worked a miracle—a miracle infinitely88 more convincing than anything that had led up to it. The miracle had brought back the reign89 of reality.
"Very well," she quivered.
And there was a movement and she was gone. He glanced quickly behind him, but the room lay black.... A transient pallor on the blackness, and the door banged. He sat a long time, solemn, gazing at the serrated silhouette of the town against a sky that obstinately90 held the wraith91 of daylight, and listening to the everlasting murmur of the invisible weir. Not a sound came from the town, not the least sound. When at length he stumbled out, he saw the figure of the landlord smoking the pipe of philosophy, and waiting with a landlord's fatalism for the last guest to go to bed. And they talked of the weather.
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1
tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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weir
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| n.堰堤，拦河坝 | |
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tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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con
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| n.反对的观点，反对者，反对票，肺病；vt.精读，学习，默记；adv.反对地，从反面；adj.欺诈的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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provocativeness
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| Provocativeness | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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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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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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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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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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buttresses
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| n.扶壁，扶垛( buttress的名词复数 )v.用扶壁支撑，加固( buttress的第三人称单数 ) | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perpendicularly
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| adv. 垂直地, 笔直地, 纵向地 | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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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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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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moot
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| v.提出；adj.未决议的；n.大会；辩论会 | |
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desolating
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| 毁坏( desolate的现在分词 )； 极大地破坏； 使沮丧； 使痛苦 | |
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troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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amateurishness
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| n.amateurish（业余的）的变形 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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fabled
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| adj.寓言中的，虚构的 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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41
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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42
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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43
jutting
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| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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44
obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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45
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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46
antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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untoward
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| adj.不利的，不幸的，困难重重的 | |
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48
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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49
thigh
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| n.大腿；股骨 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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squander
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| v.浪费，挥霍 | |
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sardonically
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| adv.讽刺地，冷嘲地 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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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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automaton
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| n.自动机器，机器人 | |
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persuasiveness
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| 说服力 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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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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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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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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theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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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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benign
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| adj.善良的，慈祥的；良性的，无危险的 | |
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intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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banal
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| adj.陈腐的，平庸的 | |
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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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immortality
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| n.不死，不朽 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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volition
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| n.意志；决意 | |
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benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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gadding
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| n.叮搔症adj.蔓生的v.闲逛( gad的现在分词 )；游荡；找乐子；用铁棒刺 | |
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defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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insinuatingly
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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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deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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profanely
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| adv.渎神地，凡俗地 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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