Already, half an hour ago Alcibiades and Yaxis had departed with their pushcarts3, one to the north and one to the south, calling antiphonally as they went, in clear, high voices that came fainter and fainter to Achilles among his fruit.
They would not return until night, and then they would come with empty carts, and jingling4 in their pockets coppers5 and nickels and dimes6. The breath of a sigh escaped Achilles’s lips as he stood back surveying the stall. Something very like homesickness was in his heart. He had almost fancied for a minute that he was back once more in Athens. He raised his eyes and gave a quick, deep glance up and down the street—soot and dirt and grime, frowning buildings and ugly lines, and overhead a meagre strip of sky. Over Athens the sky hung glorious, a curve of light from side to side. His soul flew wide to meet it. Once more he was swinging along the “Street of the Winds,” his face lifted to the Parthenon on its Acropolis, his nostrils7 breathing the clear air. Chicago had dropped from him like a garment, his soul rose and floated.... Athens everywhere—column and cornice, and long, delicate lines, and colour of marble and light. He drew a full, sweet breath.
Achilles moved with quick, gliding8 step, taking orders, filling bags, making change—always with his dark eyes seeking, a little wistfully, something that did not come to them.... It was all so different—this new world. Achilles had been in Chicago six months now, but he had not yet forgotten a dream that he had dreamed in Athens. Sometimes he dreamed it still, and then he wondered whether this, about him, were not all a dream—this pushing, scrambling9, picking, hurrying, choosing crowd, dropping pennies and dimes into his curving palm, swearing softly at slow change, and flying fast from street to street. It was not thus in his dream. He had seen a land of new faces, turned ever to the West, with the light on them. He had known them, in his dream—eager faces, full of question and quick response. His soul had gone out to them and, musing10 in sunny Athens, he had made ready for them. Each morning when he rose he had lifted his glance to the Parthenon, studying anew the straight lines—that were yet not straight—the mysterious, dismantled11 beauty, the mighty12 lift of its presence. When they should question him, in this new land, he must not fail them. They would be hungry for the beauty of the ancient world—they who had no ruins of their own. He knew in his heart how it would be with them—the homesickness for the East—all its wonder and its mystery. Yes, he would carry it to them. He, Achilles Alexandrakis, should not be found wanting. This new world was to give him money, wealth, better education for his boys, a competent old age. But he, too, had something to give in exchange. He must make himself ready against the great day when he should travel down the long way of the Piraeus, for the last time, and set sail for America.
He was in America now. He knew, when he stopped to think, that this was not a dream. He had been here six months, in the little shop on Clark Street, but no one had yet asked him of the Parthenon. Sometimes he thought that they did not know that he was Greek. Perhaps if they knew that he had been in Athens, had lived there all his life from a boy, they would question him. The day that he first thought of this, he had ordered a new sign painted. It bore his name in Greek characters, and it was beautiful in line and colour. It caused his stand to become known far and wide as the “Greek Shop,” and within a month after it was put up his trade had doubled—but no one had asked about the Parthenon.
He had really ceased to hope for it now. He only dreamed the dream, a little wistfully, as he went in and out, and his thought dwelt always on Athens and her beauty. The images stamped so carefully on his sensitive brain became his most precious treasures. Over and over he dwelt on them. Ever in memory his feet climbed the steps to the Acropolis or walked beneath stately orange-trees, beating a soft rhythm to the sound of flute13 and viol. For Achilles was by nature one of the lightest-hearted of children. In Athens his laugh had been quick to rise, and fresh as the breath of rustling14 leaves. It was only here, under the sooty sky of the narrow street, that his face had grown a little sad.
At first the days had been full of hope, and the face of each newcomer had been scanned with eager eyes. The fruit, sold so courteously15 and freely, was hardly more than an excuse for the opening of swift talk. But the talk had never come. There was the inevitable16 and never-varying, “How much?” the passing of coin, and hurrying feet. Soon a chill had crept into the heart of Achilles. They did not ask of Athens. They did not know that he was Greek. They did not care that his name was Achilles. They did not see him standing17 there with waiting eyes. He might have been a banana on its stem, a fig-leaf against the wall, the dirt that gritted18 beneath their feet, for all that their eyes took note.... Yet they were not cruel or thoughtless. Sometimes there came a belated response—half surprised, but cordial—to his gentle “good day.” Sometimes a stranger said, “The day is warm,” or, “The breeze from the Lake is cool to-day.” Then the eyes of Achilles glowed like soft stars in their places. Surely now they would speak. They would say, “Is it thus in Greece?” But they never spoke19. And the days hurried their swift feet through the long, dirty streets.
A tall woman in spectacles was coming toward him, sniffing20 the air a little as she moved. “Have you got any bananas?”
“Yes. They nice.” He led the way into the shop and reached to the swinging bunch. “You like some?” he said, encouragingly.
“Yes-s. But here and here—” He twirled the bunch skilfully22 on its string. “These—not ripe, and these.” His sunny smile spread their gracious acceptableness before her.
She wrinkled her forehead at them. “Well—you might as well cut me off six.”
“A pleasure, madame.” He had seized the heavy knife.
“Give me that one.” It was a large one near the centre; “and this one here—and here.”
When the six were selected and cut off they were the cream of the bunch. She eyed him doubtfully, still scowling23 a little. “Yes. I’ll take these.”
The Greek bowed gravely over the coin she dropped into his palm. “Thank you, madame.”
It was later now, and the crowd moved more slowly, with longer pauses between the buyers.
A boy with a bag of books stopped for an apple. Two children with their nurse halted a moment, looking at the glowing fruit. The eyes of the children were full of light and question. Somewhere in their depths Achilles caught a flitting shadow of the Parthenon. Then the nurse hurried them on, and they, too, were gone.
He turned away with a little sigh, arranging the fruit in his slow absent way. Something at the side of the stall caught his eye, a little movement along the board, in and out through the colour and leaves. He lifted a leaf to see. It was a green and black caterpillar24, crawling with stately hunch25 to the back of the stall. Achilles watched him with gentle eyes. Then he leaned over the stall and reached out a long finger. The caterpillar, poised26 in midair, remained swaying back and forth27 above the dark obstruction28. Slowly it descended29 and hunched30 itself anew along the finger. It travelled up the motionless hand and reached the sleeve. With a smile on his lips Achilles entered the shop. He took down an empty fig-box and transferred the treasure to its depths, dropping in after it one or two leaves and a bit of twig31. He fitted the lid to the box, leaving a little air, and taking the pen from his desk, wrote across the side in clear Greek letters. Then he placed the box on the shelf behind him, where the wet ink of the lettering glistened32 faintly in the light. It was a bit of the heart of Athens prisoned there; and many times, through the cold and snow and bitter sleet33 of that winter, Achilles took down the fig-box and peered into its depths at a silky bit of grey cradle swung from the side of the box by its delicate bands.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
deftly
|
|
| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
figs
|
|
| figures 数字，图形，外形 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
pushcarts
|
|
| n.手推车( pushcart的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
4
jingling
|
|
| 叮当声 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
coppers
|
|
| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
dimes
|
|
| n.（美国、加拿大的）10分铸币( dime的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
nostrils
|
|
| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
gliding
|
|
| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
scrambling
|
|
| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
musing
|
|
| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
dismantled
|
|
| 拆开( dismantle的过去式和过去分词 )； 拆卸； 废除； 取消 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
flute
|
|
| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
rustling
|
|
| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
courteously
|
|
| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
inevitable
|
|
| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
gritted
|
|
| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
sniffing
|
|
| n.探查法v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的现在分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
sniffed
|
|
| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
skilfully
|
|
| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
scowling
|
|
| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
caterpillar
|
|
| n.毛虫，蝴蝶的幼虫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
hunch
|
|
| n.预感，直觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
poised
|
|
| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
forth
|
|
| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
obstruction
|
|
| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
hunched
|
|
| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
twig
|
|
| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
glistened
|
|
| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
sleet
|
|
| n.雨雪；v.下雨雪，下冰雹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |