It’s a swollen1 orange sunset by the time Lucy wades2 into the river.
Rumor3 has emptied the banks. No one around to see as she damps her skirts, pauses. As, very carefully, she contorts herself to undo4 all thirty pearl buttons. She floats naked beside her dress. The water rushes over flesh and fabric5 alike, dispassionate in its cleansing6.
If Anna is her second friend in Sweetwater, the river is her first.
Five years ago she first crossed into town. Carts banged into her, a crowd spun7 her round. She was lost. The sky no help—look up as she’d learned to do in the hills, and buildings crowded her view. Clouds didn’t circle. She was the center of nothing and the land didn’t speak. She was no one.
She found her way to a restaurant kitchen. A relief in what she knew: greasy8 dishes, low ceiling, ache in her bent9 neck. Three other girls stood at the sink. One pale, two dark. Lucy murmured: An orphan10. Left. Don’t know. No one.The pale girl lost interest. The dark girls were persistent11, whispering together till they approached Lucy in the alley12.
“Who are you?” the taller asked.
“An orphan.”
“No,” said the shorter, stepping closer. Lucy looked them full in the face: Indian, most like. There were a number of Indians, people of all stripes, in Sweetwater’s streets. “Who are your people?” The short girl pressed a hand to her chest, spoke13 the name of her tribe.
Another long-ago name, spoken to her in a loft14, whirled across Lucy’s memory, broke apart like dust. This is the right word.Gone. Taste of her own dry tongue. If she’d had a people, she could no longer name them. The taller Indian girl put her hand on her chest, too, and Lucy realized that the two must be sisters.
The girls kept looking at Lucy, kept asking, kept inviting15 her to share their strange, wrapped lunches. Kept pestering16 till one day Lucy turned and said something about skin. About water. About filth17.
The Indian girls never spoke to her again. Lick of shame, consuming, then an emptiness that she learned to see as lightness. Deliberately18 this time, she let the name of the girls’ people drop between the gaps in her memory, gone where her own name had gone. At least they left her alone.
She wasn’t completely alone, not yet. Noon and night she returned to the river with kitchen scraps19 that Sam wrinkled a nose at. Sam offered those two silver dollars, Lucy pretending deafness till the offering stopped. Other talk stopped too. Sam grew more picky, more fidgety, more absent. Gone for hours, Sam acquired food some other way.
Finally came the trade fair the mountain man had spoken of. Cowboys and trappers and cattlemen, games and shows, blew through Sweetwater like weather. When the fair lifted away, Sam was gone too—and Nellie.
For a week more, Lucy waited alone with the river. So clear up top. So much rubble20 at its bottom. At last she threw her belongings—threadbare, dented21, tattered22 and mean, sun-stained and stinking23 of the long road from the Western territory—into the water. She moved with just the dress on her back into a boardinghouse.
Her first year, she scanned Sweetwater’s crowds. Thousands of faces, more types than she’d seen before. None familiar.
Her second year she quit seeking disappointment, hurried head-down through the streets. Sometimes voices called. Never those she knew. Men, mostly, and mostly at night.
Her third year she said Orphan, Left, No oneso often the words made a lacquer over the truth. A blank story to suit this town where she learned what civilization properly meant: no danger, no adventure, no uncertainty24 in a place so bled of wildness that a false tiger could be an event.
Three years of suds, wrinkled hands, cobbles, neat corners, green leaves then brown leaves then no leaves then green again, sharp-creased dresses, coins slid over the grocer’s counter, white curtains, starched25 sheets, salt, sweet water, heavy air, streetlamps, cricked neck, dish suds turned to laundry suds, a new job at the hotel with higher pay, the Indian girls left behind in the kitchen where Lucy heard they were indentured26 to work eight years more to pay a debt, salt, sweet water, aching hands, air so hard to breathe, glint of fork and knife at a table set for one, and no touch on her own skin but for the touch of river water.
And then at the start of the fourth year, Lucy met Anna by the river.
“What are you doing with that?” a voice asked that day from behind. A hand shot over Lucy’s shoulder, pointing at the stick in Lucy’s hand. A strange girl stepped forward on the riverbank. She held a dowsing rod just like Lucy’s.
“I’m Anna,” she said. Her voice broke the solitude27.
Up till then Lucy had come to the river alone. On days off she swam, or scrubbed her skin, or searched the water for glimpses of her own face: slash28 of cheek, wing of hair, an eye’s narrow line. She picked up objects—long gray rocks, pebbles29 black as bullets, a branch forked into a Y like a dowsing rod—and held them to her ear as if they might speak to her as no one did.
And then, Anna.
I hear it’ll rain tomorrow.
I like your hair.
I like your freckles30.
Will you teach me to swim like that?
How old are you?
Sixteen.
Me too.
Lucy came to suspect that her new friend, too, had something to hide. They never spoke of the past. Anna had interest only in the future. A train she wanted to ride, a dress she wanted made, a fruit she wanted to eat come autumn. Life as a bloom of possibilities, just waiting for to ripen31.
One Sunday the bank was white with frost and Anna carried three of the autumn apples she’d talked about for weeks—so red that Lucy’s eyes smarted. Anna spun her dowsing rod in rare silence, then said, “My father was a prospector32.”
Lucy’s mouth was full of juice. Sweetness loosed her tongue. “Mine too.”
To her surprise Anna didn’t let the words lie between them as usual. “I knew it,” she said, gripping Lucy’s hands. Lucy tried to slide back. Tried to divine what the girl knew, and how. The gun, the bank, the jackal-men? “I knew you were the same as me. Papa said not to tell people, he said I’m too na?ve, he doesn’t like when I come here without my hired man—but I knew I could trust you. The moment I saw you, I knew. We’re going to be the very best of friends.”
—
Anna is a prospector’s daughter, but there the likeness33 ends. Because when Anna’s father took gold from these hills, he kept it. He has deeds to prove his claim, and men who work under him. He hoarded34 mines, hotels, stores, trains, a house in Sweetwater far from the hills he’d emptied of riches, a daughter.
Fool’s goldis a thing Lucy learns of in Sweetwater. A cheap stone, it deceives the untrained eye. Fool’s goldhas become a saying about that which imitates truth. Prospector’s daughter Anna may be, but she looked at Lucy and was deceived.
Lucy amended35 her lie. An orphan. Don’t know. No one. But I suspect my father was a prospector.Anna forgave. Anna forgives easy, laughs easy, cries so easy that Lucy, who does none of this easy, who has packed so tight the grave of her girlhood that little feeling trembles through, marvels36. And still Anna insists, We’re just the same, deep down.
In Anna’s house there are twenty-one rooms and fifteen horses, two kitchens and three fountains. Velvet37 and damask, silver and marble. And in the largest room, its vaulted38 ceiling so high that the blue tiles mimic39 sky, is a deed in a frame. The frame is solid gold. The deed is mere40 paper. Dusty edges, one corner torn. Anna’s father’s signature a snake across the bottom. This is his most precious thing, this that gives him claim to his first prospecting41 siteAre you hurting?Anna asked the first time she brought Lucy to see the deedYour face—it looks—Likely Anna had little practice with the word despair. Anyhow Anna fussed over Lucy, fed her sweets, led her across the marble floors and pressed onto Lucy silver boxes of salt, velvet dresses. Anna saying all the while, The same.Those words echo through the mansion42 where emptiness lurks43 despite the maids and grooms44 and gardeners—Anna’s mother dead, her father always traveling—and Lucy thought she heard what sounded behind them.
It is as if Anna waved a wand over her friend—only the wand was a dowsing rod, and the rod held by Anna’s father, and the magic only gold. Transformation45 into the same girl
It worked, for a while. They even tricked the half-blind gardener. Same dress, same curls. Lucy repeated Anna’s words, repeated her carefree laugh. Anna filled Lucy’s vision so that, passing a mirror, Lucy was startled at the face within—not green-eyed, not round. A strange, grave face with crooked46 nose and guarded eyes.
The gardener said, Yes, little madam. He cut the flowers that Lucy asked for.
The spell broke at midnight, two months back, when Lucy stayed longer than ever in Anna’s room. They lit a candle, sneaked47 cold biscuits though the cook could’ve whipped up a feast. A vase of cut roses heady. Pressed close on Anna’s bed, the rest of the enormous house darkened, insignificant48. Anna turned in midgiggle. Her face close and flushed. She asked if Lucy would like to live in one of the twenty-one rooms. Said, You’re like a sister to me.
For the first time since returning to an empty riverbank, Lucy imagined waking to the certainty of another. That animal smell of a second body. Truth welled up in her, muddy. She was ready to speak.
And then the gas lamps flared49 on. A man stood in the doorway50, asking, “Who are you?”
Anna’s father had returned from his business trip. Lucy brushed crumbs51 from her dress, dipped her head to hide her exposed nose.
Anna was born in this soft green place, but her father was of the hills. He knew true gold and wasn’t deceived. As Anna hugged him, he asked where Lucy came from. Said he’d heard of people like her from his colleagues. He listened to the lies—Orphan—Don’t know—No one—and then he asked Anna for a private word. Lucy gathered her things and left. No one called her back.
—
Since then, Anna’s quit talking of their shared future. The train they’d ride to its last stop in the East, the picnics they’d eat in her father’s orchards52, the rivers they’d swim, the dresses they’d buy with her father’s money. No mention of Lucy living in one of the twenty-one rooms.
After that night beaus were sent to the mansion. Anna mocked them, complained of them, compared them to animals and furniture. But she picked a man with his own family mansion, his own wealth in gold.
Now Anna speaks of a house with Charles, a garden with Charles, travel with Charles. Of course Lucy is invited along. Anna so pleased by her best friend and her fiancé arrayed around her that she doesn’t see how Charles’s fingers loiter at Lucy’s waist, how Charles calls Lucy our very close friend, how Charles sends gifts to the hotel where Lucy launders53 clothes and shows up at Lucy’s window stinking of a saloon.
Lucy accepts invitations to dinner and sits at the table set for three. She praises the delicacies54. The flowers. The kindness. Never mentioning Charles’s whispering, when Anna leaves the room, that they should take a walk alone. The place beside Anna—once wide enough to accommodate a sister—has narrowed.
And so Lucy soaks in the river, alone as she was before. Her skin puckers55 into damp ridges56. Still she floats. Imagining a future in which she is as wrinkled on land as she is in water, and still sitting, smiling beside her friend. What other future can there be? She’s become what she said: Orphan. No one. No fortune, no land, no horse, no family, no past, no home, no future.
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收听单词发音
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1
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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2
wades
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的第三人称单数 ) | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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cleansing
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| n. 净化(垃圾) adj. 清洁用的 动词cleanse的现在分词 | |
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7
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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8
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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9
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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10
orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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13
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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14
loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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16
pestering
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的现在分词 ) | |
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17
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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21
dented
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| v.使产生凹痕( dent的过去式和过去分词 )；损害；伤害；挫伤（信心、名誉等） | |
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22
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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indentured
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| v.以契约束缚（学徒）( indenture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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28
slash
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| 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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29
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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30
freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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31
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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32
prospector
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| n.探矿者 | |
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33
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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34
hoarded
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| v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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Amended
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| adj. 修正的 动词amend的过去式和过去分词 | |
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36
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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37
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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38
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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39
mimic
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| v.模仿，戏弄；n.模仿他人言行的人 | |
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40
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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41
prospecting
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| n.探矿 | |
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42
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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43
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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44
grooms
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| n.新郎( groom的名词复数 )；马夫v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的第三人称单数 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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45
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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46
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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47
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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48
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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49
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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50
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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51
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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52
orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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53
launders
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的第三人称单数 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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54
delicacies
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| n.棘手( delicacy的名词复数 )；精致；精美的食物；周到 | |
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55
puckers
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的第三人称单数 ) | |
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56
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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