The handsome young Japanese couple who had visited Robert Childan's store, the Kasouras, telephoned him toward the end of the week and requested that he come to their apartment for dinner. He had been waiting for some further word from them, and he was delighted.
A little early he shut up American Artistic1 Handcrafts Inc. and took a pedecab to the exclusive district where the Kasouras lived. He knew the district, although no white people lived there. As the pedecab carried him along the winding2 streets with their lawns and willow3 trees, Childan gazed up at the modern apartment buildings and marveled at the grace of the designs. The wrought-iron balconies, the soaring yet modern columns, the pastel colors, the uses of varied4 textures5. . . it all made up a work of art. He could remember when this had been nothing but rubble6 from the war.
The small Japanese children out playing watched him without comment, then returned to their football or baseball. But, he thought, not so the adults; the well-dressed young Japanese, parking their cars or entering the apartment buildings, noticed him with greater interest. Did he live here? they were perhaps wondering. Young Japanese businessmen coming home from their offices. . . even the heads of Trade Missions lived here. He noticed parked Cadillacs. As the pedecab took him closer to his destination, he became increasingly nervous.
Very shortly, as he ascended7 the stairs to the Kasouras' apartment, he thought, Here I am, not invited in a business context, but a dinner guest. He had of course taken special pains with his attire8; at least he could be confident of his appearance. My appearance, he thought. Yes, that is it. How do I appear? There is no deceiving anyone; I do not belong here. On this land that white men cleared and built one of their finest cities. I am an outsider in my own country.
He came to the proper door along the carpeted hall, rang the bell. Presently the door opened. There stood young Mrs. Kasoura, in a silk kimono and obi, her long black hair in shining tangle9 down her neck, smiling in welcome. Behind her in the living room, her husband, with drink in hand, nodding.
"Mr. Childan. Enter."
Bowing, he entered.
Tasteful in the extreme. And -- so ascetic10. Few pieces. A lamp here, table, bookcase, print on the wall. The incredible Japanese sense of wabi. It could not be thought in English. The ability to find in simple objects a beauty beyond that of the elaborate or ornate. Something to do with the arrangement.
"A drink?" Mr. Kasoura asked. "Scotch11 and soda12?"
"Mr. Kasoura --" he began.
"Paul," the young Japanese said. Indicating his wife. "Betty. And you are --"
Mr. Childan murmured, "Robert."
Seated on the soft carpet with their drinks, they listened to a recording13 of koto, Japanese thirteen-string harp14. It was newly released by Japanese HMV, and quite popular. Childan noticed that all parts of the phonograph were concealed16, even the speaker. He could not tell where the sound came from.
"Not knowing your appetites in dining," Betty said, "we have played safe. In kitchen electric oven is broiling17 T-bone steak. Along with this, baked potato with sauce of sour cream and chives. Maxim18 utters: no one can err19 in serving steak to new-found guest first time."
"Very gratifying," Childan said. "Quite fond of steak." And that certainly was so. He rarely had it. The great stockyards from the Middle West did not send out much to the West Coast any more. He could not recall when he had last had a good steak.
It was time for him to graft20 guest gift.
From his coat pocket he brought small tissue-paperwrapped thing. He laid it discreetly21 on the low table. Both of them immediately noticed, and this required him to say, "Bagatelle22 for you. To display fragment of the relaxation23 and enjoyment24 I feel in being here."
His hand opened the tissue paper, showing them the gift. Bit of ivory carved a century ago by whalers from New England. Tiny ornamented25 art object, called a scrimshaw. Their faces illuminated26 with knowledge of the scrimshaws which the old sailors had made in their spare time. No single thing could have summed up old U.S. culture more.
Silence.
"Thank you," Paul said.
Robert Childan bowed.
There was peace, then, for a moment, in his heart. This offering, this -- as the I Ching put it -- libation. It had done what needed to be done. Some of the anxiety and oppression which he had felt lately began to lift from him.
From Ray Calvin he had received restitution27 for the Colt .44, plus many written assurances of no second recurrence28. And yet it had not eased his heart. Only now, in this unrelated situation, had he for a moment lost the sense that things were in the constant process of going askew29. The wabi around him, radiations of harmony. . . that is it, he decided30. The proportion. Balance. They are so close to the Tao, these two young Japanese. That is why I reacted to them before. I sensed the Tao through them. Saw a glimpse of it myself.
What would it be like, he wondered, to really know the Tao? The Tao is that which first lets the light, then the dark. Occasions the interplay of the two primal31 forces so that there is always renewal32. It is that which keeps it all from wearing down. The universe will never be extinguished because just when the darkness seems to have smothered33 all, to be truly transcendent, the new seeds of light are reborn in the very depths. That is the Way. When the seed falls, it falls into the earth, into the soil. And beneath, out of sight, it comes to life.
"An hors d'oeuvre," Betty said. She knelt to hold out a plate on which lay small crackers34 of cheese, et cetera. He took two gratefully.
"International news much in notice these days." Paul said as he sipped36 his drink. "While I drove home tonight I heard direct broadcast of great pageant-like State Funeral at Munich, including rally of fifty thousand, flags and the like. Much 'Ich hatte einen Kamerad' singing. Body now lying in state for all faithful to view.""
"Yes, it was distressing," Robert Childan said. "The sudden news earlier this week."
"Nippon Times tonight saying reliable sources declare B. von Schirach under house arrest," Betty said. "By SD instruction."
"Bad," Paul said, shaking his head.
"No doubt the authorities desire to keep order," Childan said. "Von Schirach noted37 for hasty, headstrong, even halfbaked actions. Much similar to R. Hess in past. Recall mad flight to England."
"What else reported by Nippon Times?" Paul asked his wife.
"Much confusion and intriguing38. Army units moving from hither to yon. Leaves canceled. Border stations closed. Reichstag in session. Speeches by all."
"That recalls fine speech I heard by Doctor Geobbels," Robert Childan said. "On radio, year or so ago. Much witty39 invective40. Had audience in palm of hand, as usual. Ranged throughout gamut41 of emotionality. No doubt; with original Adolf Hitler out of things, Doctor Goebbels A-one Nazi42 speaker."
"True," both Paul and Betty agreed, nodding.
"Doctor Goebbels also has fine children and wife," Childan went on. "Very high-type individuals."
"True," Paul and Betty agreed. "Family man, in contrast to number of other grand moguls there," Paul said. "Of questionable43 sexual mores44."
"I wouldn't give rumors45 time of day." Childan said. "You refer to such as E. Roehm? Ancient history. Long since obliterated46."
"Thinking more of H. G?ring," Paul said, slowly sipping47 his drink and scrutinizing48 it. "Tales of Rome-like orgies of assorted49 fantastic variety. Causes flesh to crawl even hearing about."
"Lies," Childan said.
"Well, subject not worth discussing," Betty said tactfully, with a glance at the two of them.
They had finished their drinks, and she went to refill.
"Lot of hot blood stirred up in political discussion." Paul said. "Everywhere you go. Essential to keep head."
"Yes," Childan agreed. "Calmness and order. So things return to customary stability."
"Period after death of Leader critical in totalitarian society," Paul said. "Lack of tradition and middle-class institutions combine --" He broke off. "Perhaps better drop politics." He smiled. "Like old student days."
Robert Childan felt his face flush, and he bent51 over his new drink to conceal15 himself from the eyes of his host. What a dreadful beginning he had made. In a foolish and loud manner he had argued politics; he had been rude in his disagreeing, and only the adroit52 tact50 of his host had sufficed to save the evening. How much I have to learn, Childan thought. They're so graceful53 and polite. And I -- the white barbarian54. It is true.
For a time he contented55 himself with sipping his drink and keeping on his face an artificial expression of enjoyment. I must follow their leads entirely56, he told himself. Agree always.
Yet in a panic he thought, My wits scrambled57 by the drink. And fatigue58 and nervousness. Can I do it? I will never be invited back anyhow; it is already too late. He felt despair.
Betty, having returned from the kitchen, had once more seated herself on the carpet. How attractive, Robert Childan thought again. The slender body. Their figures are so superior; not fat, not bulbous. No bra or girdle needed. I must conceal my longing59; that at all costs. And yet now and then he let himself steal a glance at her. Lovely dark colors of her skin, hair, and eyes. We are half-baked compared to them. Allowed out of the kiln60 before we were fully35 done. The old aboriginal61 myth; the truth, there.
I must divert my thoughts. Find social item, anything. His eyes strayed about, seeking some topic. The silence reigned62 heavily, making his tension sizzle. Unbearable63. What the hell to say? Something safe. His eyes made out a book on a low black teak cabinet.
"I see you're reading The Grasshopper64 Lies Heavy," he said. "I hear it on many lips, but pressure of business prevents my own attention." Rising, he went to pick it up, carefully consulting their expressions; they seemed to acknowledge this gesture of sociality, and so he proceeded. "A mystery? Excuse my abysmal65 ignorance." He turned the pages.
"Not a mystery," Paul said. "On contrary, interesting form of fiction possibly within genre66 of science fiction."
"Oh no," Betty disagreed. "No science in it. Nor set in future. Science fiction deals with future, in particular future where science has advanced over now. Book fits neither premise67."
"But," Paul said, "it deals with alternate present. Many well-known science fiction novels of that sort." To Robert he explained, "Pardon my insistence68 in this, but as my wife knows, I was for a long time a science fiction enthusiast69. I began that hobby early in my life; I was merely twelve. It was during the early days of the war."
"I see," Robert Childan said, with politeness.
"Care to borrow Grasshopper?" Paul asked. "We will soon be through, no doubt within day or so. My office being downtown not far from your esteemed70 store, I could happily drop it off at lunchtime." He was silent, and then -- possibly, Childan thought, due to a signal from Betty -- continued, "You and I, Robert, could eat lunch together, on that occasion."
"Thank you," Robert said. It was all he could say. Lunch, in one of the downtown businessmen's fashionable restaurants. He and this stylish71 modem72 high-place young Japanese. It was too much; he felt his gaze blur73. But he went on examining the book and nodding. "Yes," he said, "this does look interesting. I would very much like to read it. I try to keep up with what's being discussed." Was that proper to say? Admission that his interest lay in book's modishness74. Perhaps that was low-place. He did not know, and yet he felt that it was. "One cannot judge by book being best seller," he said. "We all know that. Many best sellers are terrible trash. This, however --" He faltered75.
Betty said, "Most true. Average taste really deplorable."
"As in music," Paul said. "No interest in authentic76 American folk jazz, as example. Robert, are you fond of say Bunk77 Johnson and Kid Ory and the like? Early Dixieland jazz? I have record library of old such music, original Genet recordings78."
Robert said, "Afraid I know little about Negro music." They did not look exactly pleased at his remark. "I prefer classical. Bach and Beethoven." Surely that was acceptable. He felt now a bit of resentment79. Was he supposed to deny the great masters of European music, the timeless classics in favor of New Orleans jazz from the honky-tonks and bistros of the Negro quarter?
"Perhaps if I play selection by New Orleans Rhythm Kings," Paul began, starting from the room, but Betty gave him a warning look. He hesitated, shrugged80.
"Dinner almost ready," she said.
Returning, Paul once more seated himself. A little sulkily, Robert thought, he murmured, "Jazz from New Orleans most authentic American folk music there is. Originated on this continent. All else came from Europe, such as corny English-style lute81 ballads82."
"This is perpetual argument between us," Betty said, smiling at Robert. "I do not share his love of original jazz."
Still holding the copy of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, Robert said, "What sort of alternate present does this book describe?"
Betty, after a moment, said, "One in which Germany and Japan lost the war."
They were all silent.
"Time to eat," Betty said, sliding to her feet. "Please come, two hungry gentleman businessmen." She cajoled Robert and Paul to the dining table, already set with white tablecloth83, silver, china, huge rough napkins in what Robert recognized as Early American bone napkin rings. The silver, too, was sterling84 silver American. The cups and saucers were Royal Albert, deep blue and yellow. Very exceptional; he could not help glancing at them with professional admiration85.
The plates were not American. They appeared to be Japanese; he could not tell, it being beyond his field.
"That is Imari porcelain86." Paul said, perceiving his interest. "From Arita. Considered a first-place product. Japan."
They seated themselves.
"Coffee?" Betty asked Robert.
"Yes," he said. "Thanks."
"Toward end of meal," she said, going to get the serving cart.
Soon they were all eating. Robert found the meal delicious. She was quite an exceptional cook. The salad in particular pleased him. Avocados, artichoke heart, some kind of blue cheese dressing87. . . thank God they had not presented him with a Japanese meal, the dishes of mixed greens and meats of which he had eaten so much since the war.
And the unending seafoods88. He had gotten so that he could no longer abide89 shrimp90 or any other shellfish.
"I would like to know," Robert said, "what he supposes it would be like in world where Germany and Japan lost the war."
Neither Paul nor Betty answered for a time. Then Paul said at last, "Very complicated differences. Better to read the book. It would spoil it for you, possibly, to hear."
"I have strong convictions on the subject," Robert said. "I have frequently thought it over. The world would be much worse." He heard his voice sound out firm, virtually harsh. "Much worse."
They seemed taken by surprise. Perhaps it was his tone.
"Communism would rule everywhere," Robert continued.
Paul nodded. "The author, Mr. H. Abendsen, considers that point, as to unchecked spread of Soviet91 Russia. But same as in First World War, even on winning side, second-rate mostly peasant Russia naturally takes pratfall. Big Laughingstock, recalling Japan War with them, when --"
"We have had to suffer, to pay the cost," Robert said. "But we did it for a good cause. To stop Slavic world inundation92."
Betty said in a low voice, "Personally, I do not believe any hysterical93 talk of 'world inundation' by any people, Slavic or Chinese or Japanese." She regarded Robert placidly94. She was in complete control of herself, not carried away; but she intended to express her feeling. A spot of color, deep red, had appeared in each of her cheeks.
They ate for a time without conversing95.
I did it again, Robert Childan informed himself. Impossible to avoid the topic. Because it's everywhere, in a book I happen to pick up or a record collection, in these bone napkin rings -- loot piled up by the conquerors96. Pillage97 from my people.
Face facts. I'm trying to pretend that these Japanese and I are alike. But observe: even when I burst out as to my gratification that they won the war, that my nation lost -- there's still no common ground. What words mean to me is sharp contrast vis-à-vis them. Their brains are different. Souls likewise. Witness them drinking from English bone china cups, eating with U.S. silver, listening to Negro style of music. It's all on the surface. Advantage of wealth and power makes this available to them, but it's ersatz as the day is long.
Even the I Ching, which they've forced down our throats; it's Chinese. Borrowed from way back when. Whom are they fooling? Themselves? Pilfer98 customs right and left, wear, eat, talk, walk, as for instance consuming with gusto baked potato served with sour cream and chives, old-fashioned American dish added to their haul. But nobody fooled, I can tell you; me least of all.
Only the white races endowed with creativity, he reflected. And yet I, blood member of same, must bump head to floor for these two. Think how it would have been had we won! Would have crushed them out of existence. No Japan today, and the U.S.A. gleaming great sole power in entire wide world.
He thought: I must read that Grasshopper book. Patriotic99 duty, from the sound of it.
Betty said softly to him, "Robert, you're not eating. Is the food misprepared?"
At once he took a forkful of salad. "No," he said. "It is virtually the most delicious meal I have had in years."
"Thank you," she said, obviously pleased. "Doing my best to be authentic. . . for instance, carefully shopping in teeny-tiny American markets down along Mission Street. Understand that's the real McCoy."
You cook the native foods to perfection, Robert Childan thought. What they say is true: your powers of imitation are immense. Apple pie, Coca-Cola, stroll after the movie, Glenn Miller100. . . you could paste together out of tin and rice paper a complete artificial America. Rice-paper Mom in the kitchen, rice-paper Dad reading the newspaper. Rice-paper pup at his feet. Everything.
Paul was watching him silently. Robert Childan, suddenly noticing the man's attention, ceased his line of thought and applied101 himself to his food. Can he read my mind? he wondered. See what I"m really thinking? I know I did not show it. I kept the proper expression; he could not possibly tell.
"Robert," Paul said, "since you were born and raised here, speaking the U.S. idiom, perhaps I could get your help with a book which has given me certain trouble. Novel from the 1930s by a U.S. author."
Robert bowed slightly.
"The book," Paul said, "which is quite rare, and which I possess a copy of nonetheless, is by Nathanael West. Title is Miss Lonelyhearts. I have read it with enjoyment, but do not totally grasp N. West's meaning." He looked hopefully at Robert.
Presently Robert Childan admitted. "I have never read that book, I fear." Nor, he thought, even heard of it.
Disappointment showed in Paul's expression. "Too bad. It is a tiny book. Tells about man who runs column in daily paper; receives heartache problems constantly, until evidently driven mad by pain and has delusion102 that he is J. Christ. Do you recall? Perhaps read long ago."
"No," Robert said.
"Gives strange view about suffering," Paul said. "Insight of most original kind into meaning of pain for no reason, problem which all religions cope with. Religions such as Christian103 often declare must be sin to account for suffering. N. West seems to add more compelling view of this, over older notions. N. West possibly saw could be suffering without cause due to his being a Jew."
Robert said. "If Germany and Japan had lost the war, the Jews would be running the world today. Through Moscow and Wall Street."
The two Japanese, man and wife, seemed to shrink. They seemed to fade, grow cold, descend104 into themselves. The room itself grew cold. Robert Childan felt alone. Eating by himself, no longer in their company. What had he done now? What had they misunderstood? Stupid inability on their part to grasp alien tongue, the Western thought. Eluded105 them and so they took umbrage106. What a tragedy, he thought as he continued eating. And yet -- what could be done?
Former clarity -- that of only a moment ago -- had to be drawn107 on for all it was worth. Full extent not glimpsed until now. Robert Childan did not feel quite as badly as before, because the nonsensical dream had begun to lift from his mind. I showed up here with such anticipation108, he recalled. Near-adolescent romantic haze109 befuddling110 me as I ascended stairs. But reality cannot be ignored; we must grow up.
And this is the straight dope, right here. These people are not exactly human. They don the dress but they're like monkeys dolled up in the circus. They're clever and can learn, but that is all.
Why do I cater111 to them? Due solely112 to their having won?
Big flaw in my character revealed through this encounter. But such is the way it goes. I have pathetic tendency to. . . well, shall we say, unerringly choose the easier of two evils. Like a cow catching113 sight of the trough; I gallop114 without premeditation.
What I've been doing is to go along with the exterior115 motions because it is safer; after all, these are the victors. . . they command. And I will go on doing it, I guess. Because why should I make myself unhappy? They read an American book and want me to explain it to them; they hope that I, a white man, can give them the answer. And I try? But in this case I can't, although had I read it, I no doubt could.
"Perhaps one day I'll have a look at that Miss Lonelyhearts book," he said to Paul. "And then I can convey to you its significance."
Paul nodded slightly.
"However, at present I am too busy with my work," Robert said. "Later on, perhaps. . . I am sure it wouldn't take me very long."
"No," Paul murmured. "Very short book." Both he and Betty looked sad, Robert Childan thought. He wondered if they, too, sensed the unbridgeable gap between themselves and him. Hope so, he thought. They deserve to. A shame -- just have to ferret out book's message on their own.
He ate with more enjoyment.
No further friction116 marred117 the evening. When he left the Kasouras' apartment at ten o'clock, Robert Childan still felt the sense of confidence which had overtaken him during the meal.
He meandered118 down the apartment house stairs with no genuine concern as to the occasional Japanese residents who, on their way to and from the communal119 baths, might notice him and stare. Out onto the dark evening sidewalk, then the hailing of a passing pedecab. And he was thereupon on his trip home.
I always wondered what it would be like to meet certain customers socially. Not so bad after all. And, he thought, this experience may well help me in my business.
It is therapeutic120 to meet these people who have intimidated121 you. And to discover what they are really like. Then the intimidation122 goes.
Thinking along those lines, he arrived at his own neighborhood and finally at his own door. He paid the chink pedecab driver and ascended the familiar stairs.
There, in his front room, sat a man he did not know. A white man wearing an overcoat, sitting on the couch reading the newspaper. As Robert Childan stood astonished in the doorway123, the man put down his newspaper, leisurely124 rose, and reached into his breast pocket. He brought out a wallet and displayed it.
"Kempeitai."
He was a pinoc. Employee of Sacramento and its State Police installed by the Japanese occupation authorities. Frightening!
"You're R. Childan?"
"Yes, sir," he said. His heart pounded.
"Recently," the policeman said, consulting a clipboard of papers which he had taken from a briefcase125 on the couch, "you were paid a visit by a man, a white, describing himself as representing an officer of the Imperial Navy. Subsequent investigation126 showed that this was not so. No such officer existed. No such ship." He eyed Childan.
"That's correct," Childan said.
"We have a report," the policeman continued, "of a racket being conducted in the Bay Area. This fellow evidently was involved. Would you describe him?"
"Small, rather dark-skinned," Childan began.
"Jewish?"
"Yes!" Childan said. "Now that I think about it. Although I overlooked it at the time."
"Here's a photo." The Kempeitai man passed it to him.
"That's him," Childan said, experiencing recognition beyond any doubt. He was a little appalled127 by the Kempeitai's power of detection. "How'd you find him? I didn't report it, but I telephoned my jobber128, Ray Calvin, and told him --"
The policeman waved him silent. "I have a paper for you to sign, and that's all. You won't have to appear in court; this is a legal formality that ends your involvement." He handed Childan the paper, plus pen. "This states that you were approached by this man and that he tried to swindle you by misrepresenting himself and so forth129. You read the paper." The policeman rolled back his cuff130 and examined his watch as Robert Childan read the paper. "Is that substantially correct?"
It was -- substantially. Robert Childan did not have time to give the paper thorough attention, and anyhow he was a little confused as to what had happened that day. But he knew that the man had misrepresented himself, and that some racket was involved; and, as the Kempeitai man had said, the fellow was a Jew. Robert Childan glanced at the name beneath the photo of the man. Frank Frink. Born Frank Fink. Yes, he certainly was a Jew. Anybody could tell, with a name like Fink. And he had changed it.
Childan signed the paper.
"Thanks," the policeman said. He gathered up his things, tipped his hat, wished Childan good night, and departed. The whole business had taken only a moment.
I guess they got him, Childan thought. Whatever he was up to.
Great relief. They work fast, all right.
We live in a society of law and order, where Jews can't pull their subtleties131 on the innocent. We're protected.
I don't know why I didn't recognize the racial characteristics when I saw him. Evidently I'm easily deceived.
He decided, I'm simply not capable of deceit and that renders me helpless. Without law, I'd be at their mercy. He could have convinced me of anything. It's a form of hypnosis. They can control an entire society.
Tomorrow I will have to go out and buy that Grasshopper book, he told himself. It'll be interesting to see how the author depicts132 a world run by Jews and Communists, with the Reich in ruins, Japan no doubt a province of Russia; in fact, with Russia extending from the Atlantic to the Pacific. I wonder if he -- whatever his name is -- depicts a war between Russia and the U.S.A.? Interesting book, he thought. Odd nobody thought of writing it before.
He thought, it should help to bring home to us how lucky we are. In spite of the obvious disadvantages. . . we could be so much worse off. Great moral lesson pointed133 out by that book. Yes, there are Japs in power here, and we have to build. Out of this are coming great things, such as the colonization134 of the planets.
There should be a news broadcast on, he realized. Seating himself, he turned on the radio. Maybe the new Reichs Chancellor135 has been picked. He felt excitement and anticipation. To me, that Seyss-Inquart seems the most dynamic. The most likely to carry out bold programs.
I wish I was there, he thought. Possibly someday I'll be well enough to travel to Europe and see all that has been done. Shame to miss out. Stuck here on the West Coast, where nothing is happening. History is passing us by.
收听单词发音 |
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artistic
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winding
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willow
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varied
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textures
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| n.手感( texture的名词复数 )；质感；口感；（音乐或文学的）谐和统一感 | |
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rubble
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ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attire
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tangle
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ascetic
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scotch
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soda
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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harp
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conceal
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concealed
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broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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maxim
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err
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graft
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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bagatelle
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| n.琐事；小曲儿 | |
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relaxation
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| n.松弛，放松；休息；消遣；娱乐 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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ornamented
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| adj.花式字体的v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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restitution
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| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
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recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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askew
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| adv.斜地；adj.歪斜的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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primal
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| adj.原始的；最重要的 | |
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renewal
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| adj.(契约)延期，续订，更新，复活，重来 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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34
crackers
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| adj.精神错乱的，癫狂的n.爆竹( cracker的名词复数 )；薄脆饼干；（认为）十分愉快的事；迷人的姑娘 | |
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35
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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36
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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38
intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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39
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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40
invective
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| n.痛骂，恶意抨击 | |
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41
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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42
Nazi
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| n.纳粹分子，adj.纳粹党的，纳粹的 | |
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43
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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44
mores
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| n.风俗，习惯，民德，道德观念 | |
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45
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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46
obliterated
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| v.除去( obliterate的过去式和过去分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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47
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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48
scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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49
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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50
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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51
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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52
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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53
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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54
barbarian
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| n.野蛮人；adj.野蛮(人)的；未开化的 | |
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55
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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56
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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57
scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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58
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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59
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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60
kiln
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| n.（砖、石灰等）窑，炉；v.烧窑 | |
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aboriginal
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| adj.（指动植物）土生的，原产地的，土著的 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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63
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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64
grasshopper
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| n.蚱蜢，蝗虫，蚂蚱 | |
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65
abysmal
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| adj.无底的，深不可测的，极深的；糟透的，极坏的；完全的 | |
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66
genre
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| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
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67
premise
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| n.前提；v.提论，预述 | |
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68
insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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69
enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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70
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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71
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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72
modem
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| n.调制解调器 | |
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73
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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74
modishness
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75
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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76
authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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77
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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recordings
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| n.记录( recording的名词复数 )；录音；录像；唱片 | |
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79
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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80
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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81
lute
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| n.琵琶，鲁特琴 | |
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82
ballads
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| 民歌，民谣，特别指叙述故事的歌( ballad的名词复数 )； 讴 | |
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83
tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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84
sterling
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| adj.英币的(纯粹的，货真价实的)；n.英国货币(英镑) | |
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85
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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86
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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87
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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88
seafoods
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| n.海产食品，海鲜( seafood的名词复数 ) | |
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89
abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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90
shrimp
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| n.虾，小虾；矮小的人 | |
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91
Soviet
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| adj.苏联的，苏维埃的；n.苏维埃 | |
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92
inundation
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| n.the act or fact of overflowing | |
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93
hysterical
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| adj.情绪异常激动的，歇斯底里般的 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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95
conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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96
conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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97
pillage
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| v.抢劫；掠夺；n.抢劫，掠夺；掠夺物 | |
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98
pilfer
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| v.盗，偷，窃 | |
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99
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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100
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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101
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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102
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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103
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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104
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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105
eluded
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的过去式和过去分词 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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106
umbrage
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| n.不快；树荫 | |
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107
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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108
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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109
haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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110
befuddling
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| v.使烂醉( befuddle的现在分词 )；使迷惑不解 | |
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111
cater
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| vi.(for/to)满足，迎合；(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
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112
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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113
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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114
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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115
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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116
friction
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| n.摩擦，摩擦力 | |
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117
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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118
meandered
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| （指溪流、河流等）蜿蜒而流( meander的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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119
communal
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| adj.公有的，公共的，公社的，公社制的 | |
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120
therapeutic
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| adj.治疗的，起治疗作用的；对身心健康有益的 | |
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121
intimidated
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| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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122
intimidation
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| n.恐吓，威胁 | |
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123
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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124
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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125
briefcase
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| n.手提箱，公事皮包 | |
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126
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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127
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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128
jobber
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| n.批发商；(股票买卖)经纪人；做零工的人 | |
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129
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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130
cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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131
subtleties
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| 细微( subtlety的名词复数 )； 精细； 巧妙； 细微的差别等 | |
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132
depicts
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| 描绘，描画( depict的第三人称单数 )； 描述 | |
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133
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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134
colonization
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| 殖民地的开拓，殖民，殖民地化； 移殖 | |
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135
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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