Then a great change was brought about in the life of Mr. Polly by the death of his father. His father had died suddenly — the local practitioner1 still clung to his theory that it was imagination he suffered from, but compromised in the certificate with the appendicitis2 that was then so fashionable — and Mr. Polly found himself heir to a debateable number of pieces of furniture in the house of his cousin near Easewood Junction3, a family Bible, an engraved4 portrait of Garibaldi and a bust5 of Mr. Gladstone, an invalid6 gold watch, a gold locket formerly7 belonging to his mother, some minor8 jewelry9 and bric-a-brac, a quantity of nearly valueless old clothes and an insurance policy and money in the bank amounting altogether to the sum of three hundred and ninety-five pounds.
Mr. Polly had always regarded his father as an immortal10, as an eternal fact, and his father being of a reserved nature in his declining years had said nothing about the insurance policy. Both wealth and bereavement11 therefore took Mr. Polly by surprise and found him a little inadequate12. His mother’s death had been a childish grief and long forgotten, and the strongest affection in his life had been for Parsons. An only child of sociable13 tendencies necessarily turns his back a good deal upon home, and the aunt who had succeeded his mother was an economist14 and furniture polisher, a knuckle15 rapper and sharp silencer, no friend for a slovenly16 little boy. He had loved other little boys and girls transitorily, none had been frequent and familiar enough to strike deep roots in his heart, and he had grown up with a tattered17 and dissipated affectionateness that was becoming wildly shy. His father had always been a stranger, an irritable18 stranger with exceptional powers of intervention19 and comment, and an air of being disappointed about his offspring. It was shocking to lose him; it was like an unexpected hole in the universe, and the writing of “Death” upon the sky, but it did not tear Mr. Polly’s heartstrings at first so much as rouse him to a pitch of vivid attention.
He came down to the cottage at Easewood in response to an urgent telegram, and found his father already dead. His cousin Johnson received him with much solemnity and ushered20 him upstairs, to look at a stiff, straight, shrouded21 form, with a face unwontedly quiet and, as it seemed, with its pinched nostrils22, scornful.
“Looks peaceful,” said Mr. Polly, disregarding the scorn to the best of his ability.
“It was a merciful relief,” said Mr. Johnson.
There was a pause.
“Second — Second Departed I’ve ever seen. Not counting mummies,” said Mr. Polly, feeling it necessary to say something.
“We did all we could.”
“No doubt of it, O’ Man,” said Mr. Polly.
A second long pause followed, and then, much to Mr. Polly’s great relief, Johnson moved towards the door.
Afterwards Mr. Polly went for a solitary23 walk in the evening light, and as he walked, suddenly his dead father became real to him. He thought of things far away down the perspective of memory, of jolly moments when his father had skylarked with a wildly excited little boy, of a certain annual visit to the Crystal Palace pantomime, full of trivial glittering incidents and wonders, of his father’s dread24 back while customers were in the old, minutely known shop. It is curious that the memory which seemed to link him nearest to the dead man was the memory of a fit of passion. His father had wanted to get a small sofa up the narrow winding25 staircase from the little room behind the shop to the bedroom above, and it had jammed. For a time his father had coaxed26, and then groaned27 like a soul in torment28 and given way to blind fury, had sworn, kicked and struck at the offending piece of furniture and finally wrenched29 it upstairs, with considerable incidental damage to lath and plaster and one of the castors. That moment when self-control was altogether torn aside, the shocked discovery of his father’s perfect humanity, had left a singular impression on Mr. Polly’s queer mind. It was as if something extravagantly30 vital had come out of his father and laid a warmly passionate31 hand upon his heart. He remembered that now very vividly32, and it became a clue to endless other memories that had else been dispersed33 and confusing.
A weakly wilful34 being struggling to get obdurate35 things round impossible corners — in that symbol Mr. Polly could recognise himself and all the trouble of humanity.
He hadn’t had a particularly good time, poor old chap, and now it was all over. Finished. . . .
Johnson was the sort of man who derives36 great satisfaction from a funeral, a melancholy37, serious, practical-minded man of five and thirty, with great powers of advice. He was the up-line ticket clerk at Easewood Junction, and felt the responsibilities of his position. He was naturally thoughtful and reserved, and greatly sustained in that by an innate38 rectitude of body and an overhanging and forward inclination39 of the upper part of his face and head. He was pale but freckled40, and his dark grey eyes were deeply set. His lightest interest was cricket, but he did not take that lightly. His chief holiday was to go to a cricket match, which he did as if he was going to church, and he watched critically, applauded sparingly, and was darkly offended by any unorthodox play. His convictions upon all subjects were taciturnly inflexible41. He was an obstinate42 player of draughts43 and chess, and an earnest and persistent44 reader of the British Weekly. His wife was a pink, short, wilfully45 smiling, managing, ingratiating, talkative woman, who was determined46 to be pleasant, and take a bright hopeful view of everything, even when it was not really bright and hopeful. She had large blue expressive47 eyes and a round face, and she always spoke48 of her husband as Harold. She addressed sympathetic and considerate remarks about the deceased to Mr. Polly in notes of brisk encouragement. “He was really quite cheerful at the end,” she said several times, with congratulatory gusto, “quite cheerful.”
She made dying seem almost agreeable.
Both these people were resolved to treat Mr. Polly very well, and to help his exceptional incompetence49 in every possible way, and after a simple supper of ham and bread and cheese and pickles50 and cold apple tart51 and small beer had been cleared away, they put him into the armchair almost as though he was an invalid, and sat on chairs that made them look down on him, and opened a directive discussion of the arrangements for the funeral. After all a funeral is a distinct social opportunity, and rare when you have no family and few relations, and they did not want to see it spoilt and wasted.
“You’ll have a hearse of course,” said Mrs. Johnson. “Not one of them combinations with the driver sitting on the coffin52. Disrespectful I think they are. I can’t fancy how people can bring themselves to be buried in combinations.” She flattened53 her voice in a manner she used to intimate aesthetic54 feeling. “I do like them glass hearses,” she said. “So refined and nice they are.”
“Podger’s hearse you’ll have,” said Johnson conclusively55. “It’s the best in Easewood.”
“Everything that’s right and proper,” said Mr. Polly.
“Podger’s ready to come and measure at any time,” said Johnson.
“Then you’ll want a mourner’s carriage or two, according as to whom you’re going to invite,” said Mr. Johnson.
“Didn’t think of inviting56 any one,” said Polly.
“Oh! you’ll have to ask a few friends,” said Mr. Johnson. “You can’t let your father go to his grave without asking a few friends.”
“Funerial baked meats like,” said Mr. Polly.
“Not baked, but of course you’ll have to give them something. Ham and chicken’s very suitable. You don’t want a lot of cooking with the ceremony coming into the middle of it. I wonder who Alfred ought to invite, Harold. Just the immediate57 relations; one doesn’t want a great crowd of people and one doesn’t want not to show respect.”
“But he hated our relations — most of them.”
“He’s not hating them now,” said Mrs. Johnson, “you may be sure of that. It’s just because of that I think they ought to come — all of them — even your Aunt Mildred.”
“Bit vulturial, isn’t it?” said Mr. Polly unheeded.
“Wouldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen people if they all came,” said Mr. Johnson.
“We could have everything put out ready in the back room and the gloves and whiskey in the front room, and while we were all at the ceremony, Bessie could bring it all into the front room on a tray and put it out nice and proper. There’d have to be whiskey and sherry or port for the ladies. . . . ”
“Where’ll you get your mourning?” asked Johnson abruptly58.
Mr. Polly had not yet considered this by-product59 of sorrow. “Haven’t thought of it yet, O’ Man.”
A disagreeable feeling spread over his body as though he was blackening as he sat. He hated black garments.
“I suppose I must have mourning,” he said.
“Well!” said Johnson with a solemn smile.
“Got to see it through,” said Mr. Polly indistinctly.
“If I were you,” said Johnson, “I should get ready-made trousers. That’s all you really want. And a black satin tie and a top hat with a deep mourning band. And gloves.”
“Jet cuff60 links he ought to have — as chief mourner,” said Mrs. Johnson.
“Not obligatory,” said Johnson.
“It shows respect,” said Mrs. Johnson.
“It shows respect of course,” said Johnson.
And then Mrs. Johnson went on with the utmost gusto to the details of the “casket,” while Mr. Polly sat more and more deeply and droopingly into the armchair, assenting61 with a note of protest to all they said. After he had retired62 for the night he remained for a long time perched on the edge of the sofa which was his bed, staring at the prospect63 before him. “Chasing the O’ Man about up to the last,” he said.
He hated the thought and elaboration of death as a healthy animal must hate it. His mind struggled with unwonted social problems.
“Got to put ’em away somehow, I suppose,” said Mr. Polly.
“Wish I’d looked him up a bit more while he was alive,” said Mr. Polly.
收听单词发音 |
1
practitioner
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| n.实践者，从事者；(医生或律师等)开业者 | |
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appendicitis
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| n.阑尾炎，盲肠炎 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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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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formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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economist
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| n.经济学家，经济专家，节俭的人 | |
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knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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slovenly
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| adj.懒散的，不整齐的，邋遢的 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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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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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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extravagantly
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| adv.挥霍无度地 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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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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innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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draughts
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| n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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44
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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48
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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49
incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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50
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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51
tart
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| adj.酸的；尖酸的，刻薄的；n.果馅饼；淫妇 | |
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52
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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53
flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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54
aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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55
conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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56
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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by-product
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| n.副产品，附带产生的结果 | |
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60
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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61
assenting
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| 同意，赞成( assent的现在分词 ) | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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