The next day it rained. Vance, who had given himself a week’s idleness, sat down before “Colossus”, and Halo with equal heroism1 descended2 to the verandah to clean the oil lamps. She was deep in her task when Mrs. Dorman came up the path, sheltering her bedraggled straw hat under a dripping umbrella.
It was long since any one from the Pension Britannique had called at the pink house; Halo concluded that the chaplain’s wife had come to ask for a contribution to the church bazaar3, or a subscription4 to renew the matting in the porch, and hurriedly calculated what could be spared from their month’s income, already somewhat depleted5 by the gift to Chris Churley.
Mrs. Dorman, when she had disposed of her umbrella, and been led indoors, did not immediately disclose the object of her visit. She hoped they were not in for a rainy spring, she said; but she had warned the new arrivals at Madame Fleuret’s that, after the fine weather they’d had all winter, they must expect a change. “I saw dear Madame Fleuret making signs to me to stop,” Mrs. Dorman continued complacently6, “but Major Masterman, who was thinking of hiring a motor-cycle by the month, said he was thankful I’d warned him, and very likely if the bad weather continued he and Mrs. Masterman would dash over to the Balearics instead of staying on at the pension; and they telegraphed to some friends for whom they’d asked Madame Fleuret to reserve rooms that they’d better go elsewhere. So it was really a kindness to tell them, wasn’t it? . . . But, dear Mrs. Weston, what I’ve come for is to bring you a message . . . a private message. . .” Mrs. Dorman continued, her cheeks filling out and growing pink, as they did when she had anything painful to impart. “It’s just this: you were kind enough, some weeks since, to offer to call on Mrs. Churley. At the time she couldn’t see any one; but she’s asked me to say that she’d be so glad if you’d come up this afternoon . . . at once, if you could, as the Colonel is rather opposed to her receiving visits, and she’d like to be sure of his not getting back from his walk while you’re there. And she begs you, please, not to mention that I’ve asked you. . .”
Mrs. Dorman’s lowered voice and roseate flush gave her words an ominous7 air; and Halo at once thought: “Chris!” Her first impulse was to ask the reason of the summons; but respect for Mrs. Churley’s reserve, whatever it might conceal8, made her answer: “Very well; I’ll wash the oil off and come.”
As she and Mrs. Dorman climbed the hill, Mrs. Dorman remarked that the mason had told her the roof of Les Mimosas was certain to fall in the next time there were heavy rains, and that when she had notified Colonel Churley he had said those fellows were always after a job; but thereafter she relapsed into silence, as though the first glimpse of that barricaded9 house-front had checked even her loquacity10.
In the vestibule the heavy smell of an unaired house met the two women. A crumpled11 dishcloth trailed on the stairs, and in a corner stood a broken-handled basket full of rusty12 garden tools festooned with cobwebs. It must have been years since they had been used, Halo reflected, remembering the untended garden. Mrs. Dorman, who had tiptoed up ahead, leaned over and signed to her to follow. A door opened, letting out a sickly waft13 of ether, and Halo found herself pushed into a darkened room, and heard Mrs. Dorman whisper: “There she is. Mind the footstool. I’ll slip down and mount guard in case he should come back.”
Halo paused, trying to make her way among the uncertain shapes of the furniture; then a shawled figure raised itself from a lounge, and a woman’s voice exclaimed: “Mrs. Weston, what do you know of my son?”
Halo’s eyes were growing used to the dimness and she saw a small muffled14-up body, and a hollow-cheeked face with tossed white hair and burning eyes like Chris’s. “She must have been very beautiful — oh, poor thing!” Halo thought; and the thin plaintive15 voice went on: “Do sit down. There’s a chair there, isn’t there? Please clear off anything that’s on it. I’m nearly blind — and so unused to visitors. And the only thing I can think of is my boy.”
“I’m so sorry. We’ve been wondering why there’s no news of him,” said Halo, taking the chair.
“Then you’ve heard nothing either?” Mrs. Churley, propped16 up among her cushions, gazed with a sort of spectral17 timidity at her visitor; as though, Halo thought, she were a ghost who feared to look at the living.
“No; nothing since he left for London.”
“For London?” Mrs. Churley echoed, stressing the word. “Ah, he told you London too?”
Halo, surprised, said yes; and Mrs. Churley went on: “My poor boy . . . it was the only way to get his father to let him go.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He told us he’d been offered a permanent position on a well-known review — the ‘Windmill’, I think they call it — and that the editor wanted him at once, and had sent him an advance of five pounds. It was a great opportunity — and of course his father had to let him go.”
“Of course — ” Halo murmured.
“And so I said nothing,” the mother continued in her distressful20 whisper, “though I was sure editors don’t often send advances to beginners; for I suspected that your husband had been generous enough . . . to . . . you understand. . .”
“Yes . . .”
“And I was so grateful, and so happy at my boy’s having a job, because I hoped — my husband and I hoped — that it would make him settle down. You DO think he has talent?”
“I think he’s full of talent; we both do. Though as it happens we’ve never actually seen anything he’s written. . .”
“Ah — ” Mrs. Churley interjected in a stricken murmur18, sinking back against the cushions.
“Only now, I’m sure — with such an opening, and the discipline of an editorial office . . . You’ll see . . .” Halo went on reassuringly21.
“Yes; that’s what we thought. We felt so hopeful; I’ve never before seen my husband hopeful.”
“Well, you must go on hoping. You’ll hear from Chris as soon as he’s settled.”
Mrs. Churley again raised herself on her elbow, her face twisted with pain by the effort. “Mrs. Weston,” she brought out, “my son hasn’t gone to London.” She paused, watching Halo with startled dilated22 eyes. “I’ve just heard, from a friend who saw him the other day, that he’s at Nice!” The words fell into the silence of the muffled room as if every one rang out the knell23 of a hope. “At Nice, Mrs. Weston — NICE!”
It was an anti-climax, certainly; and Halo, after a first start of surprise, could not repress a smile.
“But are you sure? Was your friend sure, I mean? Did he actually speak to your son?”
“He didn’t speak to him; but he saw him going into a night-club with a party of dreadfully fast-looking people.” Mrs. Churley clasped her emaciated25 hands. “Mrs. Weston, I’m speaking in the deepest confidence. My husband would be very angry if he knew. He’s convinced that Chris is in London, and if he were to find out that we’ve been deceived again I dread24 to think what would happen. My husband has never understood that people may be unable to resist temptation — he says: why should they let themselves be tempted26? The artist’s nature is incomprehensible to him. . .” She leaned forward, and caught Halo’s wrist. “It was from me that my poor boy inherited that curse. I used to write poetry — but my husband thought it unsuitable in an officer’s wife . . . Oh, if you knew how we’d struggled and fought to keep Chris out of temptation . . . When my husband was retired27 we came to Oubli, in the hope that here our boy would be safe. He has a real love of literature; he’s always wanted to write. But something invariably seems to prevent him . . . the least little thing puts him off. We hoped he would choose a steadier profession; but when we saw that was useless we decided28 to come here, where there are so few distractions29. . .”
“But don’t you think that may be the reason?” Halo interposed. “Young men need distractions — they’re part of the artist’s training.”
“Part of his training? Oh, Mrs. Weston! Forgive my asking: are those your husband’s ideas?”
Halo smiled. “His idea is that the sooner Chris settles down to work the better.”
“Ah, just so — just so! You’re sure Mr. Weston didn’t intend him to use the money to go to Nice?”
In spite of her pity for the unhappy mother Halo felt a growing impatience30. “If you wish to know the truth, we did give your son a — a small sum, but on the understanding that he was going to London to secure the job he had been promised.”
“Oh, my poor Chris — my poor Chris! And now what is to become of him? For years I’ve been dreading31 lest he should get money and escape from us again. It happened once before.” Mrs. Churley hid her face in her hands, and broke into stifled32 sobbing33.
Halo knelt down by the lounge. “Mrs. Churley, please don’t be so distressed34. After all, we must all follow our bent35 . . . artists especially . . . It may be best in the end for Chris to work out his own salvation36. . .”
“Salvation? Among those dreadful people? And weak as he is — and with no health? When I think it was I who laid on him the curse of the artist’s nature! Oh, promise me that Mr. Weston will help to find him, and bring him back before his father knows.”
“What is it his father’s not to know?” came a tremulous bass37 voice, and Colonel Churley stepped into the room, with Mrs. Dorman wailing38 in the rear: “But, dear Colonel Churley, do wait! I assure you it may not be as bad as we fear!”
Halo discerned in the Colonel’s frowning countenance39 the same quiver of distress19 as in his voice. “He minds it even more than she does,” she thought, looking from the threatening jut40 of his white eyebrows41 to the troubled blue of his eyes. “This is an unexpected honour — my wife is able to see so few people.” The Colonel bowed stiffly to Halo with a questioning side-glance at Mrs. Churley, whose eyes were anxiously fixed42 on him. “Mrs. Weston has been so kind. I wanted to thank her. . .” Her voice faded into silence.
“And knowing that visitors are too fatiguing43 for you, you took advantage of my absence to do so,” the Colonel interposed, lifting his lean brown forefinger44 in an attempt at playfulness.
“Oh, Colonel Churley, really . . . there’s been no bad news as yet,” Mrs. Dorman protested.
The Colonel turned with a frightened frown; his purplish lips trembled. “No bad news? Has there been any news? Has Mrs. Weston brought us news of my son?”
“No, no . . . it was only my idea that dear Mrs. Churley should ask her if she and Mr. Weston hadn’t heard anything,” Mrs. Dorman faltered45, her round face red with fright.
The Colonel again bowed. “Most kind — most thoughtful. I’m extremely obliged to all our friends for their interest. Mrs. Weston may not know that Chris has gone to London to take up an editorial position; in the rush of his new duties he has delayed to write.” He addressed himself to Halo with an apologetic smile. “My wife is an invalid46; I’m afraid the time sometimes hangs heavily on her, in spite of the kindness you ladies show her — especially so when her son’s away. She doesn’t realize that young men are often bad correspondents; and knowing that you and Mr. Weston were kind enough to receive Chris, she fancied you might have heard from him.”
“No,” said Halo, “we’ve heard nothing.”
“There, my dear,” pursued the Colonel, “you see we’ve not been less favoured than others. The boy will write when he has time.” Mrs. Churley’s weeping had subsided47 into a little clucking murmur. The Colonel turned to Halo.
“I’m sorry you should have come when my wife is more than usually unequal to receiving company.” He stood looking almost plaintively48 at Halo, who thought:
“What he hates most of all is my seeing this untidy neglected house, and that poor creature in her misery49.” She understood, and wishing Mrs. Churley goodbye turned toward the door. Colonel Churley opened it with a shaking hand, and Halo and Mrs. Dorman went from the room and down the stairs. Following them as they descended came the low clucking sound of Mrs. Churley’s weeping.
收听单词发音 |
1
heroism
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| n.大无畏精神，英勇 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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depleted
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| adj. 枯竭的, 废弃的 动词deplete的过去式和过去分词 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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waft
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| v.飘浮，飘荡；n.一股；一阵微风；飘荡 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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plaintive
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| adj.可怜的，伤心的 | |
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propped
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| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spectral
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| adj.幽灵的，鬼魂的 | |
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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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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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distressful
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| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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knell
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| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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emaciated
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| adj.衰弱的，消瘦的 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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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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distractions
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| n.使人分心的事[人]( distraction的名词复数 )；娱乐，消遣；心烦意乱；精神错乱 | |
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30
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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dreading
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| v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的现在分词 ) | |
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32
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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33
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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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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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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38
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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jut
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| v.突出；n.突出，突出物 | |
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41
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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42
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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fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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45
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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46
invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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47
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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48
plaintively
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| adv.悲哀地，哀怨地 | |
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49
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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