On the day of Harry1’s funeral Tod was drunk: He hadn’t seen Faye since she went off with Mary Dove, but he knew that he was certain to find her at the undertaking2 parlor3 and he wanted to have the courage to quarrel with her. He started drinking at lunch. When he got to Holsepp’s in the late afternoon, he had passed the brave state and was well into the ugly one.
He found Harry in his box, waiting to be wheeled out for exhibition in the adjoining chapel4. The casket was open and the old man looked quite snug5. Drawn6 up to a little below his shoulders and folded back to show its fancy lining7 was an ivory satin coverlet. Under his head was a tiny lace cushion. He was wearing a Tuxedo8, or at least had on a black bow-tie with his stiff shirt and wing collar. His face had been newly shaved, his eyebrows9 shaped and plucked and his lips and cheeks rouged10. He looked like the interlocutor in a minstrel show.
Tod bowed his head as though in silent prayer when he heard someone come in. He recognized Mrs. Johnson’s voice and turned carefully to face her. He caught her eye and nodded, but she ignored him. She was busy with a man in a badly fitting frock coat.
“It’s the principle of the thing,” she scolded. “Your estimate said bronze. Those handles ain’t bronze and you know it.”
“But I asked Miss Greener,” whined11 the man. “She okayed them.”
“I don’t care. I’m surprised at you, trying to save a few dollars by fobbing off a set of cheap gun-metal handles on the poor child.”
Tod didn’t wait for the undertaker to answer. He had seen Faye pass the door on the arm of one of the Lee sisters. When he caught up with her, he didn’t know what to say. She misunderstood his agitation12 and was touched. She sobbed13 a little for him.
She had never looked more beautiful. She was wearing a new, very tight black dress and her platinum14 hair was tucked up in a shining bun under a black straw sailor. Ever so often, she carried a tiny lace handkerchief to her eyes and made it flutter there for a moment. But all he could think of was that she had earned the money for her outfit15 on her back.
She grew uneasy under his stare and started to edge away. He caught her arm.
“May I speak with you for a minute, alone?”
Miss Lee took the hint and left.
“What is it?” Faye asked.
“Not here,” he whispered, making mystery out of his uncertainty16,
He led her along the hall until he found an empty showroom. On the walls were framed photographs of important funerals and on little stands and tables were samples of coffin17 materials, and models of tombstones and mausoleums.
Not knowing what to say, he accented his awkwardness, playing the inoffensive fool.
She smiled and became almost friendly.
“Give out, you big dope.”
“A kiss . . . ”
“Sure, baby,” she laughed, “only don’t muss me.” They pecked at each other.
She tried to get away, but he held her. She became annoyed and demanded an explanation. He searched his head for one. It wasn’t his head he should have searched, however.
She was leaning toward him, drooping19 slightly, but not from fatigue20. He had seen young birches droop18 like that at midday when-they are over-heavy with sun.
“You’re drunk,” she said, pushing him away.
“Please,” he begged.
Raging at him, she was still beautiful. That was because her beauty was structural22 like a tree’s, not a quality of her mind or heart. Perhaps even whoring couldn’t damage it for that reason, only age or accident or disease.
In a minute she would scream for help. He had to say something. She wouldn’t understand the aesthetic23 argument and with what values could he back up the moral one? The economic didn’t make sense either. Whoring certainly paid. Half of the customer’s thirty dollars. Say ten men a week.
She kicked at his shins, but he held on to her. Suddenly he began to talk. He had found an argument. Disease would destroy her beauty. He shouted at her like a Y.M.C.A. lecturer on sex hygiene24.
She stopped struggling and held her head down, sobbing25 fitfully. When he was through, he let go of her arms and she bolted from the room. He groped his way to a carved, marble coffin.
He was still sitting there when a young man in a black jacket and gray striped trousers came in.
“Are you here for the Greener funeral?”
Tod stood up and nodded vaguely26.
“The services are beginning,” the man said, then opened a little casket covered with grosgrain satin and took out a dust cloth. Tod watched him go around the showroom wiping off the samples.
“Services have probably started,” the man repeated with a wave at the door.
Tod understood this time and left. The only exit he could find led through the chapel. The moment he entered it, Mrs. Johnson caught him and directed him to a seat. He wanted badly to get away, but it was impossible to do so without making a scene.
Faye was sitting in the front row of benches, facing the pulpit. She had the Lee sisters on one side and Mary Dove and Abe Kusich on the other. Behind them sat the tenants27 of the San Berdoo, occupying about six rows. Tod was alone in the seventh. After him were several empty rows and then a scattering28 of men and women who looked very much out of place.
He turned in order not to see Faye’s jerking shoulders and examined the people in the last rows. He knew their kind. While not torch-bearers themselves, they would run behind the fire and do a great deal of the shouting. They had come to see Harry buried, hoping for a dramatic incident of some sort, hoping at least for one of the mourners to be led weeping hysterically29 from the chapel. It seemed to Tod that they stared back at him with an expression of vicious, acrid30 boredom31 that trembled on the edge of violence. When they began to mutter among themselves, he half-turned and watched them out of the corner of his eyes.
An old woman with a face pulled out of shape by badly-fitting store teeth came in and whispered to a man sucking on the handle of a home-made walking stick. He passed her message along and they all stood up and went out hurriedly. Tod guessed that some star had been seen going into a restaurant by one of their scouts32. If so, they would wait outside the place for hours until the star came out again or the police drove them away.
The Gingo family arrived soon after they had left. The Gingos were Eskimos who had been brought to Hollywood to make retakes for a picture about polar exploration. Although it had been released long ago, they refused to return to Alaska. They liked Hollywood.
Harry had been a good friend of theirs and had eaten with them quite regularly, sharing the smoked salmon33, white fish, marinated and maatjes herrings they bought at Jewish delicatessen stores. He also shared the great quantities of cheap brandy they mixed with hot water and salt butter and drank out of tin cups.
Mama and Papa Gingo, trailed by their son, moved down the center aisle34 of the chapel, bowing and waving to everyone, until they reached the front row. Here they gathered around Faye and shook hands with her, each one in turn. Mrs. Johnson tried to make them go to one of the back rows, but they ignored her orders and sat down in front.
The overhead lights of the chapel were suddenly dimmed. Simultaneously35 other lights went on behind imitation stained-glass windows which hung on the fake oak-paneled walls. There was a moment of hushed silence, broken only by Faye’s sobs36, then an electric organ started to play a recording37 of one of Bach’s chorales, “Come Redeemer, Our Saviour38.”
Tod recognized the music. His mother often played a piano adaptation of it on Sundays at home. It very politely asked Christ to come, in clear and honest tones with just the proper amount of supplication39. The God it invited was not the King of Kings, but a shy and gentle Christ, a maiden40 surrounded by maidens41, and the invitation was to a lawn fete, not to the home of some weary, suffering sinner. It didn’t plead; it urged with infinite grace and delicacy42, almost as though it were afraid of frightening the prospective43 guest.
So far as Tod could tell, no one was listening to the music. Faye was sobbing and the others seemed busy inside themselves. Bach politely serenading Christ was not for them.
The music would soon change its tone and grow exciting. He wondered if that would make any difference. Already the bass44 was beginning to throb45. He noticed that it made the Eskimos uneasy. As the bass gained in power and began to dominate the treble, he heard Papa Gingo grunt46 with pleasure. Mama caught Mrs. Johnson eyeing him, and put her fat hand on the back of his head to keep him quiet.
“Now come, 0 our Saviour,” the music begged. Gone was its diffidence and no longer was it polite. Its struggle with the bass had changed it. Even a hint of a threat crept in and a little impatience47. Of doubt, however, he could not detect the slightest trace.
If there was a hint of a threat, he thought, just a hint, and a tiny bit of impatience, could Bach be blamed? After all, when he wrote this music, the world had already been waiting for its lover more than seventeen hundred years. But the music changed again and both threat and impatience disappeared. The treble soared free and triumphant48 and the bass no longer struggled to keep it down. It had become a rich accompaniment. “Come or don’t come,” the music seemed to say, “I love you and my love is enough.” It was a simple statement of fact, neither cry nor serenade, made without arrogance49 or humility50.
Perhaps Christ heard. If He did, He gave no sign. The attendants heard, for it was their cue to trundle on Harry in his box. Mrs. Johnson followed close behind and saw to it that the casket was properly placed. She raised her hand and Bach was silenced in the middle of a phrase.
“Will those of you who wish to view the deceased before the sermon please step forward?” she called out.
Only the Gingos stood up immediately. They made for the coffin in a group. Mrs. Johnson held them back and motioned for Faye to look first. Supported by Mary Dove and the Lee girls, she took a quick peek51, increased the tempo52 of her sobs for a moment, then hurried back to the bench.
The Gingos had their chance next. They leaned over the coffin and told each other something in a series of thick, explosive gutturals. When they tried to take another look, Mrs. Johnson herded53 them firmly to their seats.
The dwarf54 sidled up to the box, made a play with his handkerchief and retreated. When no one followed him, Mrs. Johnson lost patience, seeming to take what she understood as a lack of interest for a personal insult.
“Those who wish to view the remains55 of the late Mr. Greener must do so at once,” she barked.
There was a little stir, but no one stood up.
“You, Mrs. Gail,” she finally said, looking directly at the person named. “How about you? Don’t you want a last look? Soon all that remains of your neighbor will be buried forever.”
There was no getting out of it. Mrs. Gail moved down the aisle, trailed by several others.
Tod used them to cover his escape.
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1
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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lining
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| n.衬里，衬料 | |
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tuxedo
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| n.礼服，无尾礼服 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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whined
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| v.哀号( whine的过去式和过去分词 )；哀诉，诉怨 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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platinum
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| n.白金 | |
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outfit
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| n.（为特殊用途的）全套装备，全套服装 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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structural
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| adj.构造的，组织的，建筑（用）的 | |
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aesthetic
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| adj.美学的，审美的，有美感 | |
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hygiene
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| n.健康法，卫生学 （a.hygienic） | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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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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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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supplication
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| n.恳求，祈愿，哀求 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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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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prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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throb
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| v.震颤，颤动；(急速强烈地)跳动，搏动 | |
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46
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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47
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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48
triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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49
arrogance
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| n.傲慢，自大 | |
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humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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51
peek
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| vi.偷看，窥视；n.偷偷的一看，一瞥 | |
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tempo
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| n.(音乐的)速度；节奏，行进速度 | |
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53
herded
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| 群集，纠结( herd的过去式和过去分词 )； 放牧； （使）向…移动 | |
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54
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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