Tod went into the living room to see how Homer was getting on. He was still on the couch, but had changed his position. He had curled his big body into a ball. His knees were drawn1 up almost to his chin, his elbows were tucked in close and his hands were against his chest. But he wasn’t relaxed. Some inner force of nerve and muscle was straining to make the ball tighter and still tighter. He was like a steel spring which has been freed of its function in a machine and allowed to use all its strength centripetally2. While part of a machine the pull of the spring had been used against other and stronger forces, but now, free at last, it was striving to attain3 the shape of its original coil.
Original coil . . . In a book of abnormal psychology4 borrowed from the college library, he had once seen a picture of a woman sleeping in a net hammock whose posture5 was much like Homer’s. “Uterine Flight,” or something like that, had been the caption6 under the photograph. The woman had been sleeping in the hammock without changing her position, that of the foetus in the womb, for a great many years. The doctors of the insane asylum7 had been able to awaken8 her for only short periods of time and those months apart.
He sat down to smoke a cigarette and wondered what he ought to do. Call a doctor? But after all Homer had been awake most of the night and was exhausted9. The doctor would shake him a few times and he would yawn and ask what the matter was. He could try to wake him up himself. But hadn’t he been enough of a pest already? He was so much better off asleep, even if it was a case of “Uterine Flight.”
What a perfect escape the return to the womb was. Better by far than Religion or Art or the South Sea Islands. It was so snug10 and warm there, and the feeding was automatic. Everything perfect in that hotel. No wonder the memory of those accommodations lingered in the blood and nerves of everyone. It was dark, yes, but what a warm, rich darkness. The grave wasn’t in it. No wonder one fought so desperately11 against being evicted12 when the nine months’ lease was up.
Tod crushed his cigarette. He was hungry and wanted his dinner, also a double Scotch13 and soda14. After he had eaten, he would come back and see how Homer was. If he was still asleep, he would try to wake him. If he couldn’t, he might call a doctor.
He took another look at him, then tiptoed out of the cottage, shutting the door carefully.
1 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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2 centripetally | |
adv.向心地 | |
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3 attain | |
vt.达到,获得,完成 | |
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4 psychology | |
n.心理,心理学,心理状态 | |
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5 posture | |
n.姿势,姿态,心态,态度;v.作出某种姿势 | |
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6 caption | |
n.说明,字幕,标题;v.加上标题,加上说明 | |
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7 asylum | |
n.避难所,庇护所,避难 | |
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8 awaken | |
vi.醒,觉醒;vt.唤醒,使觉醒,唤起,激起 | |
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9 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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10 snug | |
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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11 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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12 evicted | |
v.(依法从房屋里或土地上)驱逐,赶出( evict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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14 soda | |
n.苏打水;汽水 | |
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