That winter Robert Cohn went over to America with his novel, and it was accepted by a fairly good publisher. His going made an awful row I heard, and I think that was where Frances lost him, because several women were nice to him in New York, and when he came back he was quite changed. He was more enthusiastic about America than ever, and he was not so simple, and he was not so nice. The publishers had praised his novel pretty highly and it rather went to his head. Then several women had put themselves out to be nice to him, and his horizons had all shifted. For four years his horizon had been absolutely limited to his wife. For three years, or almost three years, he had never seen beyond Frances. I am sure he had never been in love in his life.
He had married on the rebound1 from the rotten time he had in college, and Frances took him on the rebound from his discovery that he had not been everything to his first wife. He was not in love yet but he realized that he was an attractive quantity to women, and that the fact of a woman caring for him and wanting to live with him was not simply a divine miracle. This changed him so that he was not so pleasant to have around. Also, playing for higher stakes than he could afford in some rather steep bridge games with his New York connections, he had held cards and won several hundred dollars. It made him rather vain of his bridge game, and he talked several times of how a man could always make a living at bridge if he were ever forced to.
Then there was another thing. He had been reading W. H. Hudson. That sounds like an innocent occupation, but Cohn had read and reread "The Purple Land." "The Purple Land" is a very sinister2 book if read too late in life. It recounts splendid imaginary amorous3 adventures of a perfect English gentleman in an intensely romantic land, the scenery of which is very well described. For a man to take it at thirty-four as a guide-book to what life holds is about as safe as it would be for a man of the same age to enter Wall Street direct from a French convent, equipped with a complete set of the more practical Alger books. Cohn, I believe, took every word of "The Purple Land" as literally4 as though it had been an R. G. Dun report. You understand me, he made some reservations, but on the whole the book to him was sound. It was all that was needed to set him off. I did not realize the extent to which it had set him off until one day he came into my office.
"Hello, Robert," I said. "Did you come in to cheer me up?"
"Would you like to go to South America, Jake?" he asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I never wanted to go. Too expensive. You can see all the South Americans you want in Paris anyway."
"They're not the real South Americans."
"They look awfully5 real to me."
I had a boat train to catch with a week's mail stories, and only half of them written.
"Do you know any dirt?" I asked.
"No."
"None of your exalted6 connections getting divorces?"
"No; listen, Jake. If I handled both our expenses, would you go to South America with me?"
"Why me?"
"You can talk Spanish. And it would be more fun with two of us."
"No," I said, "I like this town and I go to Spain in the summertime."
"All my life I've wanted to go on a trip like that," Cohn said. He sat down. "I'll be too old before I can ever do it."
"Don't be a fool," I said. "You can go anywhere you want. You've got plenty of money."
"I know. But I can't get started."
"Cheer up," I said. "All countries look just like the moving pictures."
But I felt sorry for him. He had it badly.
"I can't stand it to think my life is going so fast and I'm not really living it."
"Nobody ever lives their life all the way up except bullfighters."
"I'm not interested in bull-fighters. That's an abnormal life. I want to go back in the country in South America. We could have a great trip."
"Did you ever think about going to British East Africa to shoot?"
"No, I wouldn't like that."
"I'd go there with you."
"No; that doesn't interest me."
"That's because you never read a book about it. Go on and read a book all full of love affairs with the beautiful shiny black princesses."
"I want to go to South America."
He had a hard, Jewish, stubborn streak7.
"Come on down-stairs and have a drink."
"Aren't you working?"
"No," I said. We went down the stairs to the café on the ground floor. I had discovered that was the best way to get rid of friends. Once you had a drink all you had to say was: "Well, I've got to get back and get off some cables," and it was done. It is very important to discover graceful8 exits like that in the newspaper business, where it is such an important part of the ethics9 that you should never seem to be working. Anyway, we went down-stairs to the bar and had a whiskey and soda10. Cohn looked at the bottles in bins11 around the wall. "This is a good place," he said.
"There's a lot of liquor," I agreed.
"Listen, Jake," he leaned forward on the bar. "Don't you ever get the feeling that all your life is going by and you're not taking advantage of it? Do you realize you've lived nearly half the time you have to live already?"
"Yes, every once in a while."
"Do you know that in about thirty-five years more we'll be dead?"
"What the hell, Robert," I said. "What the hell."
"I'm serious."
"It's one thing I don't worry about," I said.
"You ought to."
"I've had plenty to worry about one time or other. I'm through worrying."
"Well, I want to go to South America."
"Listen, Robert, going to another country doesn't make any difference. I've tried all that. You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There's nothing to that."
"But you've never been to South America."
"South America hell! If you went there the way you feel now it would be exactly the same. This is a good town. Why don't you start living your life in Paris?"
"I'm sick of Paris, and I'm sick of the Quarter."
"Stay away from the Quarter. Cruise around by yourself and see what happens to you."
"Nothing happens to me. I walked alone all one night and nothing happened except a bicycle cop stopped me and asked to see my papers."
"Wasn't the town nice at night?"
"I don't care for Paris."
So there you were. I was sorry for him, but it was not a thing you could do anything about, because right away you ran up against the two stubbornnesses: South America could fix it and he did not like Paris. He got the first idea out of a book, and I suppose the second came out of a book too.
"Well," I said, "I've got to go up-stairs and get off some cables."
"Do you really have to go?"
"Yes, I've got to get these cables off."
"Do you mind if I come up and sit around the office?"
"No, come on up."
He sat in the outer room and read the papers, and the Editor and Publisher and I worked hard for two hours. Then I sorted out the carbons, stamped on a by-line, put the stuff in a couple of big manila envelopes and rang for a boy to take them to the Gare St. Lazare. I went out into the other room and there was Robert Cohn asleep in the big chair. He was asleep with his head on his arms. I did not like to wake him up, but I wanted to lock the office and shove off. I put my hand on his shoulder. He shook his head. "I can't do it," he said, and put his head deeper into his arms. "I can't do it. Nothing will make me do it."
"Robert," I said, and shook him by the shoulder. He looked up. He smiled and blinked.
"Did I talk out loud just then?"
"Something. But it wasn't clear."
"God, what a rotten dream!"
"Did the typewriter put you to sleep?"
"Guess so. I didn't sleep all last night."
"What was the matter?"
"Talking," he said.
I could picture it. I have a rotten habit of picturing the bedroom scenes of my friends. We went out to the Café Napolitain to have an _aperitif_ and watch the evening crowd on the Boulevard.
那年冬天，罗伯特.科恩带着他写的那部小说到了美国，稿子被一位相当有地位的出版商接受了。我听说他这次出门引起了一场激烈的争吵，弗朗西丝大概从此就失去了他，因为在纽约有好几个女人对他不错，等他回到巴黎，他大大地变了。他比过去任何时候都更热中于美国，他不再那么单纯，不再那么厚道了。出版商把他的小说捧得很高，这着实冲昏了他的头脑。当时有几个女人费尽心机要同他好，他的眼界完全变了。有四年时间，他的视野绝对只局限于他妻子身上。有三年或者将近三年时间，他的注意力从未越出弗朗西丝的范围。我深信，他有生以来还从来没有真正恋爱过。
他大学里的那段日子过得太倒霉，在这刺激之下结了婚，等他发现在第一个妻子眼里他并不是一切，弗朗西丝掌握了他。他至今没有真正恋爱过，但是意识到自己对女人来说是一个有魅力的人，有个女人喜欢他并愿意和他生活在一起，这一点不仅仅是天赐的奇迹。这使他变了，因此跟他在一起就不那么令人愉快了。还有，当他和那帮纽约朋友在一起玩大赌注的桥牌戏，下的赌注超出了自己的财力时，他曾拿到了好牌，赢了好几百元。这使他很为自己的牌技洋洋自得，他几次谈起，一个人迫不得已的话，总是可以靠打桥牌为生的。
再说，还有另一件事。他读了不少威.亨.赫德森的小说。这似乎是桩无可指责的事情，但是科恩把《紫红色的国度》读了一遍又一遍。成年人读《紫红色的国度》是非常有害的。这本书描述一位完美无缺的英国绅士在一个富有浓厚浪漫色彩的国度里的种种虚构的风流韵事，故事编得绚烂多彩，自然风光描写得非常出色。一个三十四岁的男人把它做为生活指南是很不可靠的，就象一个同龄男人带了一整套更注重实际的阿尔杰的著作从法国修道院直接来到华尔街一样。我相信科恩把《紫红色的国度》里的每句话都象读罗.格.邓恩的报告那样逐词领会。不要误解我的意思，他是有所保留的，不过总的说来，他认为这本书大有道理。单靠这本书就使他活动起来了。我没有想到它对他的影响大到什么程度，直到有一天，他到写字间来找我。
“嗨，罗伯特，”我说。“你来是叫我开心开心的吧？”
“你想不想到南美洲去，杰克？”他问。
“不想去。”
“为什么？”
“不知道。我从来没想去。花钱太多。反正你想看南美洲人的话，在巴黎就能看个够。”
“他们不是地道的南美洲人。”
“我看他们都是挺地道的。”我一星期的通讯稿必须赶本班联运船车发出，但是我只写好了一半。
“你听到什么丑闻了？”我问。
“没有。”
“你那帮显贵的朋友里没有一个闹离婚的？”
“没有。你听着，杰克。如果我负担咱俩的开销，你肯不肯陪我去南美？”
“为什么要我去呢？”
“你会讲西班牙语，而且咱俩一起去更好玩。”
“不去，”我说，“我喜欢巴黎。夏天我到西班牙去。”
“我这一辈子老向往着能作这么一次旅行，”科恩说。他坐下来。“不等去成，我就老朽了。”
“别说傻话了，”我说。“你想到哪儿，就能到哪儿。你不是挣了那么一大笔钱吗？”
“这我知道。可我老走不成。”
“别伤心，”我说。“每个国家还不都象电影里那样。”
可是我为他难过。真够他受的。
“一想到我的生命消逝得这么迅速，而我并不是在真正地活着，我就受不了。”
“除了斗牛士，没有一个人的生活算得上是丰富多彩的，”
“我对斗牛士不感兴趣。那种生活不正常。我希望到南美的内地去走走。我们的旅行一定会很有意思的。”
“你想没想过到英属东非去打猎？”
“没有，我不喜欢打猎。”
“我愿意同你一起到那里去。”“不去，我不感兴趣。”
“这是因为你从来没有读过这方面的书。找一本里头尽是些人们跟皮肤黑得发亮的美貌公主谈情说爱的故事的书看看吧。”
“我要到南美去。”
他具有犹太人那种顽固、执拗的气质。
“下楼喝一杯去。”
“你不工作啦？”
“不干了，”我说。我们下楼，走进底层的咖啡室。我发现这是打发朋友走的最好办法。你喝完一杯，只消说一句，“哦，我得赶回去发几份电讯稿”，这就行了。新闻工作的规矩中极重要的一条就是你必须一天到晚显得不在工作，因此想出这一类得体的脱身法是很紧要的。于是，我们下楼到酒吧间去要了威士忌苏打。科恩望着墙边的一箱箱瓶酒。“这里真是个好地方，”他说。
“酒真不少啊，”我顺着说。
“听着，杰克，”他趴在酒吧柜上。“难道你从没感到你的年华在流逝，而你却没有及时行乐吗？你没发觉你已经度过几乎半辈子了吗？”
“是的，有时也想过。”
“再过三十五年光景，我们都会死去，你懂吗？”
“别瞎扯，罗伯特，”我说。“瞎扯什么。”
“我在说正经的。”
“我才不为这件事自寻烦恼哩，”我说。
“你该想一想。”
“三天两头我就有一堆烦恼的事儿。我不想再操心啦。”
“我反正要去南美。”
“听我说，罗伯特，到别的国家去也是这么样。我都试过。从一个地方挪到另一个地方，你做不到自我解脱。毫无用处。”
“可是你从来没有到过南美啊。”
“南美见鬼去吧！如果你怀着现在这种心情到那里去，还不是一个样。巴黎是个好地方。为什么你就不能在巴黎重整旗鼓呢？”
“我厌恶巴黎，厌恶拉丁区。”
“那么离开拉丁区。你自个儿到四处走走，看看能遇上什么新鲜事。”
“什么也不会遇上的。有一次，我独自溜达了一整夜，什么事儿也没有遇上，只有一个骑自行车的警察拦住了我，要看我的证件。”
“巴黎的夜晚不是很美吗？”
“我不喜欢巴黎。”
问题就在这里。我很可怜他，但是这不是你能帮忙的事，因为你一上手就要碰上他那两个根深蒂固的想法：一是去南美能解决他的问题，二是他不喜欢巴黎。他的前一种想法是从一本书上得来的，我猜想后一种想法也来自一本书。
“哦，”我说，“我得上楼去发几份电讯稿。”
“你真的必须上去？”
“是的，我必须把这几份电讯稿发出去。”
“我上楼去，在写字间里随便坐一会儿行吗？”
“好，上去吧。”他坐在外间看报，那位编辑和出版者和我紧张地工作了两个小时。最后我把一张张打字稿的正、副本分开，打上我的名字，把稿纸装进两个马尼拉纸大信封，揿铃叫听差来把信封送到圣拉扎车站去。我走出来到了外间，只见罗伯特.科恩在大安乐椅里睡着了。他把头枕在两只胳臂上睡去。我不愿意把他叫醒，但是我要锁门离开写字间了。我把手按在他肩膀上。他晃晃脑袋。“这件事我不能干，”他说着，把头在臂弯里埋得更深了。“这件事我不能干。使什么招儿也不行。”
“罗伯特，”我说，摇摇他的肩膀。他抬头看看。他笑起来，眨巴着眼睛。
“方才我说出声来啦？”
“说了几句。但是含糊不清。”
“上帝啊，做了个多么不愉快的梦！”
“是不是打字机的嗒嗒声催你睡过去了？”
“大概是的。昨晚我一整夜没睡。”
“怎么啦？”
“谈话了，”他说。
我能够想象得出当时是怎么回事。我有个要不得的习惯，就是好想象我的朋友们在卧室里的情景。我们上街到那波利咖啡馆去喝一杯开胃酒，观看黄昏时林荫大道上散步的人群。
收听单词发音 |
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rebound
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| v.弹回；n.弹回，跳回 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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amorous
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| adj.多情的；有关爱情的 | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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bins
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| n.大储藏箱( bin的名词复数 )；宽口箱（如面包箱，垃圾箱等）v.扔掉，丢弃( bin的第三人称单数 ) | |
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