The party had started already when Mark entered the auditorium1. They were dancing at the far end, and between him and the dancers a group of girls stood whispering. They turned to look at him, and one of them left the group. There was giggling2 behind her, and she motioned her sisters to stop, but the giggling continued.
“Hello, Mark,” she said. “I’m Susan.”
Before he realized what she was doing she had slipped off her bracelet3 and was trying to put it over his hand. There were six little bows on the bracelet.
“No,” Mark said hurriedly, and jerked away. “I . . . No. I’m sorry.” He backed up a step, turned and ran, and the giggling started again, louder than before.
He ran to the dock and stood looking at the black water. He shouldn’t have run. Susan and her sisters were seventeen, maybe even a little older. In one night they would have taught him everything, he thought bitterly, and he had turned and run. The music grew louder; soon they would eat and then leave in couples, in groups, everyone but Mark, and the children too young for the mat play. He thought of Susan and her sisters and he was first hot, then cold, then flushing hot again.
“Mark?”
He stiffened4. They wouldn’t have followed him, he thought in panic. He whirled around.
“It’s Rose,” she said. “I won’t give you my bracelet unless you want it.”
She came closer, and he turned his back and pretended to be looking at something in the river, afraid she would be able to see him in the dark, see the redness he could feel pounding in his neck and cheeks, sense his wet palms. Rose, he thought, his age, one of the girls he had trained in the woods. For him to blush and become bashful before her was more intolerable than running from Susan had been.
“I’m busy,” he said.
“I know. I saw you before. It’s all right. They shouldn’t have done that, not all of them together. We all told them not to.”
He didn’t reply, and she moved to his side. “There’s nothing to see, is there?”
“No. You’ll get cold out here.”
“You will too.”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing. Next summer I’ll be old enough to go to Washington or Philadelphia.”
He turned angrily. “I’m going to my room.”
“Why did I make you mad? Don’t you want me to go to Washington? Don’t you like me?”
“Yes. I’m going now.”
She put her hand on his arm and he stopped; he felt he couldn’t move. “May I go to your room with you?” she asked, and now she sounded like the girl who had asked in the woods if the mushrooms were all dangerous, if the things in the trees had told him how to find his way, if he really could become invisible if he wanted to.
“You’ll go back to your sisters and laugh at me like Susan did,” he said.
“No!” she whispered. “Never! Susan wasn’t laughing at you. They were scared, that’s why they were all so nervous. Susan was most scared of all because she was picked to put the bracelet on you. They weren’t laughing at you.”
As she spoke5 she released his arm and took a step back from him, then another. Now he could see the pale blur6 of her face. She was shaking her head as she talked.
“Scared? What do you mean?”
“You can do things no one else can do,” she said, still speaking very softly, almost in a whisper. “You can make things no one ever saw, and you can tell stories no one ever heard, and you can disappear and travel through the woods like the wind. You’re not like the other boys. Not like our elders. Not like anyone else. And we know you don’t like any of us because you never choose anyone to lie with.”
“Why did you come after me if you’re so afraid of me?”
“I don’t know. I saw you run and . . . I don’t know.” He felt the hot flush race through him again, and he began to walk. “If you want to go with me, I don’t care,” he said roughly, not looking back. “I’m going to my room now.” He could not hear her footsteps for the pounding in his ears. He walked swiftly, making a wide berth7 of the auditorium, and he knew she was running to keep up. He led her around the hospital, not wanting to walk down the brightly lighted corridor with her at his heels. At the far end he opened the door and glanced inside before he entered. He let the door go and almost ran to his room, and he heard her quick footsteps as she came after him.
“What are you doing?” she asked at the doorway8.
“I’m putting the cover over the window,” he said, and his voice sounded angry even to him. “So no one can look at us. I put it there a lot.”
“But why?”
He tried not to look at her when he climbed down from the chair, but again and again he found himself watching. She was unwinding a long sash that had gone around her neck, criss-crossed at her breasts, and circled her waist several times. The sash was violet, almost the color of her eyes. Her hair was a pale brown. He remembered that during the summer it had been blond. There were freckles9 across her nose, on her arms.
She finished with the sash and now lifted her tunic10, and with one motion took it off. Suddenly Mark’s fingers seemed to come to life and without his willing it they began to pull off his tunic.
Later she said she had to go, and he said not yet, and they dozed11 with his arms tight about her. When she again said she had to go, he woke up completely. “Not yet,” he said. When he woke the second time it was daylight and she was pulling on her tunic.
“You have to come back,” Mark said. “Tonight, after dinner. Will you?”
“All right.”
“Promise. You won’t forget?”
“I won’t forget. I promise.”
He watched her wind the sash, and when she was gone he reached out and yanked the cover from the window and looked for her. He didn’t see her; she must have gone through the building, out the other end. He rolled over and fell asleep again.
And now, Mark thought, he was happy. The nightmares were gone, the sudden flashes of terror that he couldn’t explain stopped sweeping12 over him. The mysteries had been answered, and he knew what the books meant when the authors spoke of finding happiness, as if it were a thing that perseverance13 would lead one to. He examined the world with new eyes, and everything he saw was beautiful and good.
During the day while studying, he would stop, think with terrible fear that she was gone, lost, had fallen into the river, something. He would drop what he was doing and race from building to building searching for her, not to speak to her, just to see her, to know she was all right. He might find her in the cafeteria with her sisters at such times, and from a distance he would count them and then search for the one with the special something that separated her from all others.
Every night she came to him, and she taught him what she had been taught by her sisters, by the other men, and his joy intensified14 until he wondered how the others had stood it before him, how he could stand it.
In the afternoons he ran to the old house, where he was making her a pendant. It was the sun, two inches in diameter, made of clay. It had three coats of yellow paint, and he added a fourth. In the old house he read again the chapters on physiology15, sexual responses, femininity, everything he could find that touched on his happiness in any way
She would say no one night soon, and he would give her the pendant to show he understood, and he would read to her. Poetry. Sonnets16 from Shakespeare or Wordsworth, something soft and romantic. And afterward17 he would teach her to play chess, and they would spend platonic18 evenings together learning all about each other.
Seventeen nights, he thought, waiting for her. Seventeen nights so far. The cover was over the window, his room was clean, ready. When his door opened and Andrew stood there, Mark jumped up in a panic.
“What’s wrong? Has something happened to Rose? What happened?”
“Come with me,” Andrew said sternly. Behind him one of his brothers watched.
“Tell me what’s wrong!” Mark yelled, and tried to run past them.
The doctors caught his arms and held him. “We’ll take you to her,” Andrew said.
Mark stopped trying to yank away, and a new coldness seemed to enter him. Wordlessly they walked through the building, out the far end, and along the pathways cleared in the snow to one of the dormitories. Now he struggled again, but briefly19, and he permitted them to lead him to one of the rooms. At the door they all stopped, and then Andrew gave Mark a slight push and he entered alone.
“No!” he cried. “No!”
There was a tangle20 of naked bodies, doing all the things to one another she had told him about. At his scream of anguish21 she raised her head, as they all did, but he knew it was Rose his eyes had picked out of all the rest. She was on her knees, one of the brothers behind her; she had been nuzzling one of her sisters.
He could see their mouths moving, knew they were talking, yelling. He turned and ran. Andrew got in front of him, his mouth opening, closing, opening. Mark doubled his fist and hit blindly, first Andrew, then the other doctor.
“Where is he?” Barry demanded. “Where did he go this time of night?”
“I don’t know,” Andrew said sulkily. His mouth was swollen22 and it hurt.
“You shouldn’t have done that to him! Of course he went wild with his first taste of sex. What did you think would happen to him? He’s never had it with anyone at all! Why did that foolish girl come to you?”
“She didn’t know what to do. She was afraid to tell him no. She tried to explain everything to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He ordered her back night after night.”
“Why didn’t you come to us about it?” Barry asked bitterly. “What made you think shock treatment like that would take care of the problem?”
“I knew you’d say leave him alone. You say that about everything he does. Leave him alone, it’ll take care of itself. I didn’t think it would.”
Barry went to the window and looked out at the black, cold night. The snow was several feet deep, and the temperature dropped to near zero almost every night.
“He’ll come back when he gets cold enough,” Andrew said. “He’ll come back furious with all of us, and with me in particular. But he will come back. We’re all he has.” He left abruptly23.
“He’s right,” Bruce said. He sounded tired. Barry looked quickly at his brother, then at the others, who had remained silent while Andrew reported. They were as worried about the boy as he was, and as tired as he was of the apparently24 endless stream of troubles caused by him.
“He can’t go to the old house,” Bruce said after a moment. “He knows he’d freeze there. The chimney’s plugged, he can’t have a fire. That leaves the woods. Even he can’t survive in the woods at night in this weather.”
Andrew had sent a dozen of the younger brothers to search all the buildings, even the breeders’ quarters, and another group had gone to the old house to look. There was no sign, of Mark. Toward dawn the snow started again.
Mark had found the cave by accident. Picking berries on the cliff over the farmhouse25 one day, he had felt a cold draft of air on his bare legs and had found the source. A hole in the hill, a place where two limestone26 rocks came together unevenly27. There were caves throughout the hills. He had found several others before this one, and there was the cave where the laboratories were.
He had dug carefully behind one of the limestone slabs28, and gradually had opened the mouth of the cave enough to get through it. There was a narrow passage; then a room, another passage, another larger room. Over the years since finding it he had taken in wood to burn, clothes, blankets, food.
That night he huddled29 in the second room and stared dry-eyed into the fire he had made, certain no one would ever find him. He hated them all, Andrew and his brothers most of all. As soon as the snow melted, he would run away, forever. He would go south. He would make a longer canoe, a seventeen-foot one this time, and steal enough supplies to last him and he would keep going until he reached the Gulf30 of Mexico. Let them train the boys and girls themselves, let them find the warehouses31, find the dangerous radioactive places if they could. First he would burn down everything in the valley. And then he would go.
He stared at the flames until his eyes felt afire. There were no voices in the cave, only the fire crackling and popping. The firelight flickered32 over the stalagmites and stalactites, making them appear red and gold. The smoke was carried away from his face and the air was good; it even felt warm after the cold night air. He thought about the time he and Molly had hidden on the hillside near the cave entrance while Barry and his brothers searched for them. At the thought of Barry, his mouth tightened33. Barry, Andrew, Warren, Michael, Ethan . . . All doctors, all the same. How he hated them!
He rolled in his blanket and when he closed his eyes, he saw Molly again, smiling gently at him, playing checkers, digging mud for him to model. And suddenly the tears came.
He never had explored the cave past the second room, but in the days that followed, he began a systematic34 exploration. There were several small openings off the room, and one by one he investigated them, until he was brought up by a sealed passage, or a drop-off, or a ceiling so high he couldn’t get to any of the holes there might be up there. He used torches, and his steps were sometimes reckless, but he didn’t care if he fell or not, if he got trapped or not. He lost track of how many days he had been in the cave; when he was hungry he ate, when he was thirsty he went to the entrance, scooped35 up snow, and took it back with him to melt. When he was sleepy he slept.
On one of his last exploratory trips he heard water running, and he stopped abruptly. He had traveled far, he knew. Over a mile. Maybe two miles. He tried to remember how long his torch had been when he started. Almost full length, and now it was less than a third of that. Another torch hung on his belt, just in case he needed it, but he never had gone so far that he had needed a second torch to get back.
He had lighted the second torch before he came upon the cave river. Now he felt a new excitement as he realized this had to be the same water that ran through the laboratory cave. It was one system, then, and even if no opening existed other than the one cut by the river, the two sections were linked.
He followed the river until it vanished into a hole in the cave wall; he would have to swim to go any further. He squatted36 and stared at the hole. The river appeared in the laboratory cave from just such a hole.
Another time he would come back with his rope and more torches. He turned to go back to his large room with the fire and food, and now he paid attention to his torch so he could estimate how far he traveled, how far that wall was from his familiar section of the cave. But he knew where he was. He knew on the other side of that wall there was the laboratory, and beyond it the hospital and the dormitories.
He slept one more time in the cavern37, and the next day he left it to return to the community. He had eaten very little for the past few days; he felt half starved and was very tired.
The snow was inches deeper than it had been, and it was snowing when he arrived in the valley once more. It was nearly dark by the time he got to the hospital building and entered. He saw several people but spoke to no one and went straight to his room, where he pulled off his outer clothes and fell into bed. He was nearly asleep when Barry appeared in the doorway.
“Are you all right?” Barry asked.
Mark nodded silently. Barry hesitated a moment, then entered. He stood over the bed. Mark looked up at him without speaking, and Barry reached down and touched his cheek, then his hair.
“You’re cold,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
Mark nodded.
“I’ll bring you something,” Barry said. But before he opened the door he turned once more. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Mark, I’m truly sorry.” He left quickly.
After he was gone Mark realized they had thought he was dead, and the look he had seen on Barry’s face was the same look he could remember seeing on Molly’s face a long time ago.
He didn’t care, he thought. They couldn’t do anything now to make up for what they had done to him. They hated him and thought he was weak, thought they could control him the way they controlled the clones. And they were wrong. It wasn’t enough for Barry to say he was sorry; they would all be sorry before he was done.
When he heard Barry returning with food, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, not willing to see again that soft, vulnerable look.
Barry left the tray, and when he was gone, Mark ate ravenously38. He pulled the cover over him and before he fell asleep he thought again of Molly. She had known he’d come to feel like this and she had said to wait, wait until he was a man, to learn everything he could first. Her face and Barry’s face seemed to blend together, and he fell asleep.
收听单词发音 |
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auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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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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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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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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dozed
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| v.打盹儿，打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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physiology
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| n.生理学，生理机能 | |
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sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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platonic
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| adj.精神的；柏拉图（哲学）的 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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limestone
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| n.石灰石 | |
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unevenly
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| adv.不均匀的 | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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warehouses
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| 仓库，货栈( warehouse的名词复数 ) | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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systematic
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| adj.有系统的，有计划的，有方法的 | |
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scooped
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| v.抢先报道( scoop的过去式和过去分词 )；（敏捷地）抱起；抢先获得；用铲[勺]等挖（洞等） | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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cavern
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| n.洞穴，大山洞 | |
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ravenously
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| adv.大嚼地，饥饿地 | |
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