He telephoned the railway information offices and was informed that there was a train for New York and the South in about an hour. If he hurried, he could catch it. He did not have enough money for the fare; he knew that he might hunt up Starwick, Dodd, Professor Hatcher, or other people that he knew, and get the money, but the delay would make him miss the train. Accordingly, he appealed to the person he knew best in the house, and who would be, he thought, most likely to help him. This was Mr. Wang, the Chinese student.
Mr. Wang was as good-hearted as he was stupid and childlike and now, faced with the need of getting money at once, the boy appealed to him. Mr. Wang came to his door and blinked owlishly; behind him the room was a blur2 of smoke and incense3, and the big cabinet victrola was giving forth4 for the dozenth time that evening the hearty5 strains of “Yes, We Have No Bananas.”
When Mr. Wang saw him, his round yellow face broke into a foolish crease6 of merriment; he began to shake his finger at the young man waggishly7, and his throat already beginning to choke and squeak8 a little with his jest, he said:
“I s’ink lest night I see you with nice —” Something in the other’s manner cut him short; he stopped, his round foolish face grew wondering and solemn, and in a doubtful and inquiring tone, he said:
“You say —?”
“Listen, Wang: I’ve just got this telegram from home. My father is very sick — they think that he is dying. I’ve got to get money to go home at once. I need fifty dollars: can you let me have it?”
As Mr. Wang listened, his sparkling eyes grew dull as balls of tar1, his round yellow moon of face grew curiously9 impassive. When the boy had finished, the Chinese thrust his hands into the wide flowered sleeves of his dressing10 gown, and then with a curious formal stiffness said:
“Will you come in? Please.”
The boy entered, and Mr. Wang, closing the door, turned, thrust his hand in his sleeves again, marched across the room to a magnificent teak-wood desk and opening a small drawer, took out a roll of bills, peeled off two twenties and a ten, and coming back to where his visitor was standing11, presented the money to him with a stiff bow, and his round face still woodenly impassive, said again:
“Please.”
The young man seized the money and saying, “Thank you, Wang, I’ll send it to you as soon as I get home,” ran back to his room and began to hurl12 clothing, shirts, socks, toilet articles, into his valise as hard as he could. He had just finished when there was a tapping on the door and the Chinese appeared again. He marched into the room with the same ceremonious formality that had characterized his former conduct and bowing stiffly again, presented the boy with two magnificent fans of peacock feathers of which the lacquered blades were delicately and beautifully engraved13.
And bowing stiffly again, and saying, “Please!” he turned and marched out of the room, his fat hands thrust into the wide sleeves of the flowered dressing gown.
Thirty minutes later he was on his way, leaving behind him, in the care of Mrs. Murphy, most of his belongings14 — the notebooks, letters, books, old shoes, worn-out clothes and battered15 hats, the thousands of pages of manuscript that represented the accretions16 of three years — that immense and nondescript collection of past events, foredone accomplishment17, and spent purposes, the very sight of which filled him with weariness and horror but which, with the huge acquisitive mania18 of his mother’s blood, he had never been able to destroy.
In this way he left Cambridge and a life he had known for two years; instantly recalled, drawn19 back by the hand of death into the immediacy of a former life that had grown strange as dreams. It was toward the end of June, just a day or two before the commencement exercises at the university. That year he had been informed of his eligibility20 for the Master’s degree — a degree he had neither sought nor known he had earned and, at the time he had received the telegram, he had been waiting for the formal exercises at which he would receive the degree — a wait prompted more by his total indecision as to his future purpose than by any other cause. Now, with explosive suddenness, his purpose had been shaped, decided21 for him, and with the old feeling of groping bewilderment, he surveyed the history of the last two years and wondered why he had come, why he was here, toward what blind goal he had been tending: all that he had to “show” for these years of fury, struggle, homelessness and hunger was an academic distinction which he had not aimed at, and on which he placed small value.
And it was in this spirit that he left the place. Rain had begun to fall that night, it fell now in torrential floods. The gay buntings and Japanese lanterns with which the Harvard Yard was already decked were reduced to sodden22 ruin, and as he raced towards the station in a taxi, the streets of Cambridge, and the old, narrow, twisted and familiar lanes of Boston were deserted23 — pools of wet light and glittering ribbons swept with storm.
When he got to the South station he had five minutes left to buy his ticket and get on his train. In spite of the lashing24 storm and the lateness of the hour, that magnificent station, which at that time — before the later “improvements” had reduced it to a glittering sterility25 of tile and marble — was one of the most thrilling and beautiful places in the world, was still busy with the tides of people that hurry for ever through the great stations of America, and that no violence of storm can check.
The vast dingy26 sweep of the cement concourse outside the train-gates was pungent27, as it had always been, with the acrid28 and powerfully exciting smell of engine smoke, and beyond the gates, upon a dozen tracks, great engines, passive and alert as cats, purred and panted softly, with the couched menace of their tremendous stroke. The engine smoke rose up straight in billowing plumes29 to widen under vaulting30 arches, to spread foggily throughout the enormous spaces of the grimy sheds. And beside the locomotives, he could see the burly denimed figures of the engineers, holding flaming torches and an oil-can in their hands as they peered and probed through the shining flanges31 of terrific pistoned wheels much taller than their heads. And for ever, over the enormous cement concourse and down the quays32 beneath the powerful groomed33 attentiveness34 of waiting trains the tides of travellers kept passing, passing, in their everlasting35 change and weft, of voyage and return — of speed and space and movement, morning, cities, and new lands.
And caught up in the vaulting arches of those immense and grimy sheds he heard again the murmurous36 sound of time — that sound remote and everlasting, distilled37 out of all the movement, frenzy38, and unceasing fury of our unresting lives, and yet itself detached, as calm and imperturbable39 as the still sad music of humanity, and which, made up out of our million passing lives, is in itself as fixed40 and everlasting as eternity41.
They came, they paused and wove and passed and thrust and vanished in their everlasting tides, they streamed in and out of the portals of that enormous station in unceasing swarm42; great trains steamed in to empty them, and others steamed out loaded with their nameless motes43 of lives, and all was as it had always been, moving, changing, swarming44 on for ever like a river, and as fixed, unutterable in unceasing movement and in changeless change as the great river is, and time itself.
And within ten minutes he himself, another grain of dust borne onward45 on this ceaseless tide, another nameless atom in this everlasting throng46, another wanderer in America, as all his fathers were before him, was being hurled47 into the South again in the huge projectile48 of a train. The train swept swiftly down the gleaming rails, paused briefly49 at the Back–Bay station, then was on its way again, moving smoothly50, powerfully, almost noiselessly now, through the outer stretches of the small dense51 web of Boston. The town swept smoothly past: old blanks of wall, and old worn brick, and sudden spokes53 of streets, deserted, lashed54 with rain, set at the curbs55 with glittering beetles56 of its wet machinery57 and empetalled with its wet and sudden blooms of life. The flushed spoke52-wires crossed his vision, lost the moment that he saw them, his for ever, gone, like all things else, and never to be captured, seen a million times, yet never known before — as haunting, fading, deathless as a dream, as brief as is the bitter briefness of man’s days, as lost and lonely as his life upon the mighty58 breast of earth, and of America.
Then the great train, gathering59 now in speed and mounting smoothly to the summit of its tremendous stroke, was running swiftly through the outskirts60 of the city, through suburbs and brief blurs61 of light and then through little towns and on into the darkness, the wild and secret loneliness of earth. And he was going home again into the South and to a life that had grown strange as dreams, and to his father who was dying and who had become a ghost and shadow of his father to him, and to the bitter reality of grief and death. And — how, why, for what reason he could not say — all he felt was the tongueless swelling62 of wild joy. It was the wild and secret joy that has no tongue, the impossible hope that has no explanation, the savage63, silent, and sweet exultancy64 of night, the wild and lonely visage of the earth, the imperturbable stroke and calmness of the everlasting earth, from which we have been derived65, wherein again we shall be compacted, on which all of us have lived alone as strangers, and across which, in the loneliness of night, we have been hurled onward in the projectile flight of mighty trains — America.
Then the great train was given to the night and darkness, the great train hurtled through the night across the lonely, wild, and secret earth, bearing on to all their thousand destinations its freight of unknown lives — some to morning, cities, new lands, and the joy of voyages, and some to known faces, voices, and the hills of home — but which to certain fortune, peace, security, and love, no man could say.
The news that Gant was dying had spread rapidly through the town and, as often happens, that news had brought him back to life again in the heart and living memory of men who had known him, and who had scarcely thought of him for years. That night — the night of his death — the house was filled with some of the men who had known him best since he came to the town forty years before.
Among these people were several of the prominent and wealthy business men of the community: these included, naturally, Eliza’s brothers, William and James Pentland, both wealthy lumber66 dealers67, as well as one of her younger brothers, Crockett, who was Will Pentland’s bookkeeper, a pleasant, ruddy, bucolic68 man of fifty years. Among the other men of wealth and influence who had been Gant’s friends there was Fagg Sluder, who had made a fortune as a contractor69 and retired70 to invest his money in business property, and to spend his time seated in an easy creaking chair before the fire department, in incessant71 gossip about baseball with the firemen and the young professional baseball players whose chief support he was, whose annual deficit72 he cheerfully supplied, and to whom he had given the local baseball park, which bore his name. He had been one of Gant’s best friends for twenty years, he was immensely fond of him, and now, assembled in the broad front hall in earnest discussion with the Pentlands and Mike Fogarty, another of Gant’s friends, and armed with the invariable cigar (despite his doctor’s orders he smoked thirty or forty strong black cigars every day), which he chewed on, took out of his mouth, and put back again, with quick, short, unconscious movements, he could be heard saying in the rapid, earnest, stammering73 tone that was one of the most attractive qualities of his buoyant and constantly hopeful nature:
“I-I-I-I just believe he’s going to pull right out of this and-and-and-get well! Why-why-why-why-when I went in there tonight he spoke right up and-and-and knew me right away!” he blurted74 out, sticking the cigar in his mouth and chewing on it vigorously a moment —“why-why-why his mind is-is-is-is just as clear — as it always was — spoke right up, you know, says ‘Sit down, Fagg’— shook hands with me — knew me right away — talked to me just the same way he always talked — says ‘Sit down, Fagg. I’m glad to see you. How have you been?’ he says — and-and-and — I just believe he’s going to pull right out of this,” Mr. Sluder blurted out — “be damned if I don’t — what do YOU say, Will?” and snatching his chewed cigar butt75 from his mouth he turned eagerly to Will Pentland for confirmation76. And Will, who, as usual, had been paring his stubby nails during the whole course of the conversation, his lips pursed in their characteristic family grimace77, now studied his clenched78 fingers for a moment, pocketed his knife and turning to Fagg Sluder, with a little birdlike nod and wink79, and with the incomparable Pentland drawl, at once precise and full of the relish80 of self-satisfaction, said:
“Well, if any man alive can do it, W. O. is that man. I’ve seen him time and again when I thought every breath would be his last — and he’s got over it every time. I’ve always said,” he went on precisely81, and with a kind of deadly directness in his small compact and almost wizened82 face, “that he has more real vitality83 than any two men that I ever knew — he’s got out of worse holes than this before — and he may do it again.” He was silent a moment, his small packed face pursed suddenly in its animal-like grimace that had an almost savage ferocity and a sense of deadly and indomitable power.
Even more astonishing and troubling was the presence of these four older members of the Pentland family gathered together in his mother’s hall. As they stood there talking — Eliza with her hands held in their loose and powerful clasp across her waist, Will intently busy with his finger-nails, Jim listening attentively84 to all that was said, his solid porcine face and small eyes wincing85 from time to time in a powerful but unconscious grimace, and Crockett, gentlest, ruddiest, most easy-going and dreamy of them all, speaking in his quiet drawling tone and stroking his soft brown moustaches in a gesture of quiet and bucolic meditation86, Luke could not recall having seen so many of them together at one time and the astonishing enigma87 of their oneness and variety was strikingly apparent.
What was it? — this indefinable tribal88 similarity that united these people so unmistakably. No one could say: it would have been difficult to find four people more unlike in physical appearance, more strongly marked by individual qualities. Whatever it was — whether some chemistry of blood and character, or perhaps some physical identity of broad and fleshy nose, pursed reflective lips and flat wide cheeks, or the energies of powerfully concentrated egotisms — their kinship with one another was astonishing and instantly apparent.
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收听单词发音
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1
tar
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| n.柏油，焦油；vt.涂或浇柏油/焦油于 | |
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2
blur
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| n.模糊不清的事物；vt.使模糊，使看不清楚 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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4
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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6
crease
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| n.折缝，褶痕，皱褶；v.(使)起皱 | |
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7
waggishly
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| adv.waggish（滑稽的，诙谐的）的变形 | |
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8
squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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9
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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12
hurl
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| vt.猛投，力掷，声叫骂 | |
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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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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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15
battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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16
accretions
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| n.堆积( accretion的名词复数 )；连生；添加生长；吸积 | |
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17
accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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19
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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eligibility
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| n.合格，资格 | |
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21
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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23
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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24
lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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25
sterility
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| n.不生育，不结果，贫瘠，消毒，无菌 | |
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26
dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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27
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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vaulting
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| n.（天花板或屋顶的）拱形结构 | |
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flanges
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| n.（机械等的）凸缘，（火车的）轮缘( flange的名词复数 ) | |
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32
quays
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| 码头( quay的名词复数 ) | |
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groomed
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| v.照料或梳洗（马等）( groom的过去式和过去分词 )；使做好准备；训练；（给动物）擦洗 | |
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attentiveness
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| [医]注意 | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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murmurous
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| adj.低声的 | |
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distilled
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| adj.由蒸馏得来的v.蒸馏( distil的过去式和过去分词 )；从…提取精华 | |
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frenzy
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| n.疯狂，狂热，极度的激动 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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40
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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41
eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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42
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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43
motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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44
swarming
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| 密集( swarm的现在分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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45
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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46
throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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47
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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48
projectile
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| n.投射物，发射体；adj.向前开进的；推进的；抛掷的 | |
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49
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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51
dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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52
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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53
spokes
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| n.（车轮的）辐条( spoke的名词复数 )；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 | |
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54
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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curbs
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| v.限制，克制，抑制( curb的第三人称单数 ) | |
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56
beetles
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| n.甲虫( beetle的名词复数 ) | |
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57
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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61
blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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62
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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exultancy
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| n.大喜，狂喜 | |
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65
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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66
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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67
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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bucolic
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| adj.乡村的；牧羊的 | |
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contractor
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| n.订约人，承包人，收缩肌 | |
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70
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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71
incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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72
deficit
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| n.亏空，亏损；赤字，逆差 | |
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73
stammering
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的现在分词 ) | |
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74
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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76
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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77
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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78
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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80
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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81
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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82
wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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83
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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84
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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85
wincing
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的现在分词 ) | |
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86
meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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87
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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88
tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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