The class met at night and they would walk rapidly away together along the empty echoing corridors, and, turning, clatter3 down the stairs that led to the main entrance. The vast building was deserted44 and full of weary echoes: they could hear the solitary45 clang of an elevator door and the dynamic hum of its machinery46 as it mounted. Someone was walking in the big corridor downstairs: they heard the echoing ring of his footsteps on the slick marble flags, and the noisy rattle47 of a cleaner’s bucket on the floor. The whole building was charged with a weary electric quality — with the quality of a light which has gone dim. And the taste and the smell of this weariness were in Eugene’s mouth and nostrils48; it was as if he had stuck his tongue against a warm but burned-out storage battery; it was like the smell that comes from the wheels of a street car when they have ground around a curve, or like the odour from a smoking hot-box on the fast express. His body also had this feeling of electric weariness, as if the vital currents were exhausted49: his flesh felt dry and juiceless, his back was tired, his loins were sterile50, the acrid51 burned-out flavour filled him.
The big ugly building breathed slowly with the fatigue of inanimate objects which have been overcharged with human energy: it was haunted with its tired emptiness, with the absence of the thousands of people who had swarmed52 through its every part that day with such a clamorous53, hot and noisy life. The lifeless air in its passages had been breathed and rebreathed again and again: the walls, the furniture, the floors — every part of the building — seemed to exude54 this sense of nervous depletion55.
As he hurried down the stairs on such an evening with his unshakable companion, his implacable disputant, he hated the building more than he had ever hated any building before: it seemed to be soaked in all the memories of fruitless labour and harsh strife56, of fear and hate and weariness, of ragged57 nerves and pounding heart and tired flesh: the building brooded there, charged with its dreadful burden of human pain, encumbered58 with its grief; and his hatred59 for the building was the hatred of a man for the place where he has met some terrible humiliation60 of the flesh or spirit, or for the room in which a man has seen his brother die, or for the dwelling61 from which love and the beloved have departed. The ghosts of pain and darkness sat in the empty chairs, the spirits of venom62 and sterility63 brooded over the desks: dry hatred and the poison of the brain were seated in the chairs of the instructors64; fear trembled in their seats, it made a hateful cold around the heart, it made the bowels65 queasy66, it made swallowing hard, it slithered at the edges of the desk, it fell and crawled and wobbled like a boneless thing. And the grey-faced Jew beside Eugene made the weary lights burn dim: he gave a tongue to weariness, a colour to despair.
They hurried down the steps and left the building almost as if they were in flight. The heavy door clanged to behind them making echoes in the halls, they reached the pavement of the Square, and immediately they halted. Here they were in another world, and their weary bodies drank in a new vitality67. Sometimes, on a cold still night in winter, the sky had the peculiarly frosty clarity that comes from a still, biting cold. Above the great vertical68 radiance and cold Northern passion of New York, it was a-glitter with magnificent stars, it was a-glitter with small pollens69, with a jewelled dust of stars that seemed to have been sown drunkenly through heaven, and as Eugene looked his weariness was cleansed70 out of him at once, he was filled with an overwhelming desire to possess beauty and all things else, and to include all things in him. He would learn to be all things: he would be an artist and he would find a way of living in the maelstrom71. The darkness filled him with a sense of power and possession: his spirit soared out over the city, and over the earth, he was no longer afraid of the grey-faced Jew beside him, peace and power and certitude possessed72 him. He drank the air into his veins73 in great gulps74, he saw the huge walled cliff of the city ablaze75 with its jewellery of hard sown lights, he knew he could possess it all, and a feeling of joy and victory rushed through his senses.
Under the furious goad76 of desperation, a fear of failure and disgrace, a sense of loneliness and desolation, and a grim determination to go down into the dust of ruin only when he could no longer lift a hand or draw a breath, he learned his job, and found his life again, he did the labour of a titan, the flesh wasted from his bones, he became a mad, driven zealot, but he was a good teacher, and the day came when he knew he need no longer draw his breath in fear or shame, that he had paid his way and earned his wage and could meet them eye to eye. He took those swarthy swarming77 classes and looted his life clean for them: he bent78 over them, prayed, sweated, and exhorted79 like a prophet, a poet, and a priest — he poured upon them the whole deposit of his living, feeling, reading, the whole store of poetry, passion and belief: he went into the brain of a dullard like a surgeon, and he blew some spark of fire into a glow in even the least and worst of them, but that grey-faced Yiddish inquisitor hung doggedly80 to his heels; the more he gave, the more Abe wanted; he fed on Eugene’s life, enriching his greyness with an insatiate and vampiric81 gluttony, and yet he never had a word of praise, a sentence of thanks, a syllable82 of commendation.
Instead he became daily more open in his surly discontent, his sour depreciation83; his insolence84, unchecked, grew by leaps and bounds, he exulted85 in a feeling of cruel crowing Jewish mastery over Eugene’s bent aching spirit, he walked away with him day by day and his conversation now was one long surly indictment86 of his class, his teaching, and his competence15. Why didn’t Eugene give them better topics for their themes? Why didn’t they use another volume of essays instead of the one they had, which was no good? Why, in the list of poems, plays, biographies and novels which Eugene had assigned, and which were no good, had he omitted the names of Jewish writers such as Lewisohn and Sholem Asch? Why did he not give each student private “conferences” more frequently, although he had conferred with them until his brain and heart were sick and weary? Why did they not write more expository, fewer descriptive themes; more argument, less narration87? Why, in short, did he not do everything in a different way? — the indictment, merciless, insistent88, unrelenting, piled up day by day and meanwhile resentment89, anger, resolution began to blaze and burn in Eugene, a conviction grew that this could no longer be endured, that no life, no age, no position was worth this thankless toil90 and trouble, and that he must make an end of a situation which had become intolerable.
One night, when Abe had accompanied Eugene from the class to the entrance of the hotel, and as he was in the full course and tide of his surly complaint, Eugene stopped him suddenly and curtly91, saying: “You don’t like my class, do you, Jones? You don’t think much of the way I teach, do you?”
Abe was surprised at the question, because his complaint had always had a kind of sour impersonality92: it had never wholly dared a final accusatory directness.
“Well,” he said in a moment, with a surly and unwilling93 tone, “I never said that. I don’t think we’re getting as much out of the class as we should. I think we could get a lot more out of it than we’re getting. That’s all I said.”
“And you have a few thousand suggestions to make that would improve it? Is that it?”
“Well, I had to tell you how I felt about it,” Abe said doggedly. “If you don’t like it, I’m sorry. You know we fellows down there have got to pay tuition. And they charge you plenty for it, too! . . . Don’t let them kid you!” he said with a derisive94 and scornful laugh. “That place is a goldmine for someone! The trustees are getting rich on it!”
“Well, I’m not getting rich on it,” Eugene said. “I get $150 a month out of it. Apparently95 you think it’s too much.”
“Well, we’ve got a right to expect the best we can get,” he said. “That’s what we’re there for. That’s what we’re paying out our dough96 for. You know, the fellows down there are not rich guys like the fellows at Yale and Harvard. A dollar means something to them. . . . We don’t get everything handed to us on a silver platter. Most of us have got to work for everything we get, and if some guy who’s teaching us is not giving us the best he’s got we got a right to kick about it. . . . That’s the way I feel about it.”
“All right,” Eugene said, “I know where you stand now. Now, I’ll tell you where I stand. I’ve been giving you the best I’ve got, but you don’t think it’s good enough. Well, it’s all I’ve got and it’s all you’re going to get from me. Now, I tell you what you’re going to do, Jones. You’re going out of my class. Do you understand?” he shouted. “You’re going now. I never want to see you in my class again. I’ll get you transferred, I’ll have you put in some other instructor’s class, but you’ll never come into my room again.”
“You can’t do that,” Abe said. “You’ve got no right to do that. You’ve got no right to change a fellow to another class in the middle of the term. I’ve done my work,” he said resentfully; “you’re not going to change me. . . . I’ll take it to the faculty97 committee if you do.”
Eugene could stand no more: in misery98 and despair he thought of all he had endured because of Abe, and the whole choking wave of resentment and fury which had been gathering99 in his heart for months burst out upon him.
“Why, damn you!” he said. “Go to the faculty committee or any other damned place you please, but you’ll never come back to any room where I’m teaching again. If they send you back, if they say I’ve got to have you in my class, I quit. Do you hear me, Jones?” he shouted. “I’ll not have you! If they try to force me, I’m through! To hell with such a life! I’ll get down and clean out sewers100 before I have you in my class again. . . . Now, you damned rascal,” his voice had grown so hoarse and thick he could hardly speak, and the blind motes101 were swimming drunkenly before him. “ . . . I’ve had all I can stand from you. . . . Why, you damned dull fellow. . . . Sitting there and sneering102 at me day after day with your damned Jew’s face. . . . What are you but a damned dull fellow, anyway? . . . Why, damn you, Jones, you didn’t deserve anyone like me. . . . You should get down on your knees and thank God you had a teacher half as good as me. . . . You . . . damned . . . FELLOW. . . . You! . . . To think I sweat blood over you! . . . Now, get away from here!” . . . he yelled. “To hell with you! . . . I never want to see your face again!”
He turned and started toward the hotel entrance: he felt blind and weak and dizzy, but he did not care what happened now: after all these weeks of heavy misery a great wave of release and freedom was coursing through his veins. Before he had gone three steps Abe Jones was at his side, clutching at his sleeve, beseeching103, begging, pleading: “Say! . . . You’ve got the wrong idea! Honest you have! . . . Say! I never knew you felt like that! Don’t send me out of there,” he begged earnestly, and suddenly Eugene saw that his shining glasses had grown misty104 and that his dull weak eyes blinked with tears. “I don’t want to leave your class,” he said. “Why, that’s the best class that I’ve got! . . . Honest it is! No kiddin’! . . . All the fellows feel the same way about it.”
He begged, beseeched, and almost wept: finally, when good will had again been restored between them, he wrung Eugene’s hand, laughed painfully and shyly, and then took off his misted glasses and began to shine and polish them with a handkerchief. His grey ugly face as he stood there polishing his glasses had that curiously105 naked, inept106, faded and tired wistful look that is common to people with weak eyes when they remove their spectacles; it was a good and ugly face, and suddenly Eugene began to like Abe very much. He left him and went up to his room with a feeling of such relief, ease and happiness as he had not known for months; and that night, unhaunted, unashamed, unpursued by fears and furies and visions of his ruin and failure for the first time in many months, he sank dreamlessly, sweetly, deliriously107, into the depths of a profound and soundless sleep.
And from that moment, through every change of fortune, all absence, all return, all wandering, and through the whole progress of his city life, through every event of triumph, ruin, or madness, this Jew, Abe Jones, the first man-swarm atom he had come to know in all the desolation of the million-footed city — had been his loyal friend.
It was not the golden city he had visioned as a child, and the grey reptilian108 face of that beak-nosed Jew did not belong among the company of the handsome, beautiful and fortunate people that he had dreamed about, but Abe was made of better stuff than most dreams are made of. His spirit was as steady as a rock, as enduring as the earth, and like the flash of a light, the sight of his good, grey ugly face could always evoke109 for Eugene the whole wrought110 fabric111 of his life in the city, the whole design of wandering and return, with a thousand memories of youth and hunger, of loneliness, fear, despair, of glory, love, exultancy112 and joy.
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1
turbulence
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| n.喧嚣，狂暴，骚乱，湍流 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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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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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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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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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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censor
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| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
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incompetence
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| n.不胜任，不称职 | |
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competence
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| n.能力，胜任，称职 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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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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curdle
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| v.使凝结，变稠 | |
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stun
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| vt.打昏，使昏迷，使震惊，使惊叹 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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mumble
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| n./v.喃喃而语，咕哝 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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inadequacy
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| n.无法胜任，信心不足 | |
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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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taloned
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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intensities
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| n.强烈( intensity的名词复数 )；（感情的）强烈程度；强度；烈度 | |
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colons
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| n.冒号( colon的名词复数 )；结肠 | |
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punctuation
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| n.标点符号，标点法 | |
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laborious
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| adj.吃力的，努力的，不流畅 | |
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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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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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doused
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| v.浇水在…上( douse的过去式和过去分词 )；熄灯[火] | |
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travail
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| n.阵痛；努力 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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spinach
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| n.菠菜 | |
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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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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machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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sterile
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| adj.不毛的，不孕的，无菌的，枯燥的，贫瘠的 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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52
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 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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clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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exude
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| v.(使)流出，(使)渗出 | |
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depletion
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| n.耗尽，枯竭 | |
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strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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sterility
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| n.不生育，不结果，贫瘠，消毒，无菌 | |
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instructors
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| 指导者，教师( instructor的名词复数 ) | |
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bowels
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| n.肠，内脏，内部；肠( bowel的名词复数 )；内部，最深处 | |
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queasy
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| adj.易呕的 | |
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vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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vertical
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| adj.垂直的，顶点的，纵向的；n.垂直物，垂直的位置 | |
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pollens
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| n.花粉( pollen的名词复数 ) | |
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cleansed
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| 弄干净，清洗( cleanse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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maelstrom
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| n.大乱动；大漩涡 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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74
gulps
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| n.一大口（尤指液体）( gulp的名词复数 )v.狼吞虎咽地吃，吞咽( gulp的第三人称单数 )；大口地吸（气）；哽住 | |
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ablaze
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| adj.着火的，燃烧的；闪耀的，灯火辉煌的 | |
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goad
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| n.刺棒，刺痛物；激励；vt.激励，刺激 | |
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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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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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79
exhorted
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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81
vampiric
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| adj.（似）吸血鬼的 | |
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82
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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83
depreciation
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| n.价值低落，贬值，蔑视，贬低 | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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85
exulted
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| 狂喜，欢跃( exult的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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87
narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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88
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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89
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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90
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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92
impersonality
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| n.无人情味 | |
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93
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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94
derisive
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| adj.嘲弄的 | |
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95
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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96
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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97
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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98
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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99
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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100
sewers
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| n.阴沟，污水管，下水道( sewer的名词复数 ) | |
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101
motes
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| n.尘埃( mote的名词复数 )；斑点 | |
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102
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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103
beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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104
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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105
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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106
inept
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| adj.不恰当的，荒谬的，拙劣的 | |
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107
deliriously
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| adv.谵妄（性）；发狂；极度兴奋/亢奋；说胡话 | |
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108
reptilian
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| adj.（像）爬行动物的；（像）爬虫的；卑躬屈节的；卑鄙的n.两栖动物；卑劣的人 | |
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109
evoke
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| vt.唤起，引起，使人想起 | |
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110
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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111
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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112
exultancy
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| n.大喜，狂喜 | |
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