One
One
The man behind the desk moved a heavy glass paperweight four inches tothe right. His face was not so much thoughtful or abstracted as expression-less. He had the pale complexion that comes from living most of the day inartificial light. This man, you felt, was an indoor man. A man of desks andfiles. The fact that to reach his office you had to walk through long twist-ing underground corridors was somehow strangely appropriate. It wouldhave been difficult to guess his age. He looked neither old nor young. Hisface was smooth and unwrinkled, and in his eyes was a great tiredness.
The other man in the room was older. He was dark with a small militarymoustache. There was about him an alert nervous energy. Even now, un-able to sit still, he was pacing up and down, from time to time throwing offa remark in a jerky manner.
“Reports!” he said explosively. “Reports, reports and more reports, andnone of them any damn’ good!” The man at the desk looked down at thepapers in front of him. On top was an official card headed, “Betterton,Thomas Charles.” After the name was an interrogation mark. The man atthe desk nodded thoughtfully. He said:
“You’ve followed up these reports and none of them any good?” Theother shrugged his shoulders.
“How can one tell?” he asked.
The man behind the desk sighed.
“Yes,” he said, “there is that. One can’t tell, really.” The older man wenton with a kind of machine-gun volley abruptness:
“Reports from Rome; reports from Touraine; seen on the Riviera; no-ticed in Antwerp; definitely identified in Oslo; positively seen in Biarritz;observed behaving suspiciously in Strasbourg; seen on the beach at Os-tend with a glamorous blonde; noticed walking in the streets in Brusselswith a greyhound! Hasn’t been seen yet in the Zoo with his arm round azebra, but I dare say that will come!”
“You’ve no particular fancy yourself, Wharton? Personally I had hopesof the Antwerp report, but it hasn’t led to anything. Of course by now—”
the young man stopped speaking and seemed to go into a coma. Presentlyhe came out of it again and said cryptically, “Yes, probably .?.?. and yet—Iwonder?”
Colonel Wharton sat down abruptly on the arm of a chair.
“But we’ve got to find out,” he said insistently. “We’ve got to break theback of all this how and why and where? You can’t lose a tame scientistevery month or so and have no idea how they go or why they go or where!
Is it where we think—or isn’t it? We’ve always taken it for granted that itis, but now I’m not so sure. You’ve read all the last dope on Betterton fromAmerica?”
The man behind the desk nodded.
“Usual Left- Wing tendencies at the period when everyone had them.
Nothing of a lasting or permanent nature as far as can be found out. Didsound work before the war though nothing spectacular. When Mannheimescaped from Germany, Betterton was assigned as assistant to him, andended by marrying Mannheim’s daughter. After Mannheim’s death hecarried on, on his own, and did brilliant work. He leaped into fame withthe startling discovery of ZE Fission. ZE Fission was a brilliant and abso-lutely revolutionary discovery. It put Betterton tops. He was all set for abrilliant career over there, but his wife had died soon after their marriageand he was all broken up over it. He came to England. He has been at Har-well for the last eighteen months. Just six months ago he married again.”
“Anything there?” asked Wharton sharply.
The other shook his head.
“Not that we can find out. She’s the daughter of a local solicitor. Workedin an insurance office before her marriage. No violent political affinitiesso far as we’ve been able to discover.”
“ZE Fission,” said Colonel Wharton gloomily, with distaste. “What theymean by all these terms beats me. I’m old-fashioned. I never really evenvisualized a molecule, but here they are nowadays splitting up the uni-verse! Atom bombs, nuclear fission, ZE fission, and all the rest of it. AndBetterton was one of the splitters in chief! What do they say of him at Har-well?”
“Quite a pleasant personality. As to his work, nothing outstanding orspectacular. Just variations on the practical applications of ZEF.”
Both men were silent for a moment. Their conversation had been des-ultory, almost automatic. The security reports lay in a pile on the desk andthe security reports had had nothing of value to tell.
“He was thoroughly screened on arrival here, of course,” said Wharton.
“Yes, everything was quite satisfactory.”
“Eighteen months ago,” said Wharton thoughtfully. “It gets ’em down,you know. Security precautions. The feeling of being perpetually underthe microscope, the cloistered life. They get nervy, queer. I’ve seen it oftenenough. They begin to dream of an ideal world. Freedom and brother-hood, and pool-all-secrets and work for the good of humanity! That’s ex-actly the moment when someone, who’s more or less the dregs of human-ity, sees their chance and takes it!” He rubbed his nose. “Nobody’s so gull-ible as the scientist,” he said. “All the phony mediums say so. Can’t quitesee why.”
The other smiled, a very tired smile.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “it would be so. They think they know, you see. That’salways dangerous. Now, our kind are different. We’re humble- mindedmen. We don’t expect to save the world, only pick up one or two brokenpieces and remove a spanner or two when it’s jamming up the works.” Hetapped thoughtfully on the table with his finger. “If I only knew a littlemore about Betterton,” he said. “Not his life and his actions, but the re-vealing, everyday things. What sort of jokes he laughed at. What madehim swear. Who were the people he admired and who made him mad.”
Wharton looked at him curiously.
“What about the wife—you’ve tried her?”
“Several times.”
“Can’t she help?”
The other shrugged his shoulders.
“She hasn’t so far.”
“You think she knows something?”
“She doesn’t admit, of course, that she knows anything. All the estab-lished reactions: worry, grief, desperate anxiety, no clue or suspicion be-forehand, husband’s life perfectly normal, no stress of any kind—and soon and so on. Her own theory is that he’s been kidnapped.”
“And you don’t believe her?”
“I’m handicapped,” said the man behind the desk bitterly. “I never be-lieve anybody.”
“Well,” said Wharton slowly, “I suppose one has to keep an open mind.
What’s she like?”
“Ordinary sort of woman you’d meet any day playing bridge.”
Wharton nodded comprehendingly.
“That makes it more difficult,” he said.
“She’s here to see me now. We shall go over all the same ground again.”
“It’s the only way,” said Wharton. “I couldn’t do it, though. Haven’t gotthe patience.” He got up. “Well, I won’t keep you. We’ve not got much fur-ther, have we?”
“Unfortunately, no. You might do a special check-up on that Oslo report.
It’s a likely spot.”
Wharton nodded and went out. The other man raised the receiver by hiselbow and said:
“I’ll see Mrs. Betterton now. Send her in.”
He sat staring into space until there was a tap on the door and Mrs. Bet-terton was shown in. She was a tall woman, about twenty-seven years ofage. The most noticeable thing about her was a magnificent head of au-burn-red hair. Beneath the splendour of this, her face seemed almost in-significant. She had the blue-green eyes and light eyelashes that so oftengo with red hair. She was wearing no make-up, he noticed. He consideredthe significance of that whilst he was greeting her, settling her comfort-ably in a chair near the desk. It inclined him very slightly to the belief thatMrs. Betterton knew more than she had said she knew.
In his experience, women suffering from violent grief and anxiety didnot neglect their make-up. Aware of the ravages grief made in their ap-pearance, they did their best to repair those ravages. He wondered if Mrs.
Betterton calculatingly abstained from make-up, the better to sustain thepart of the distracted wife. She said now, rather breathlessly:
“Oh, Mr. Jessop, I do hope—is there any news?”
He shook his head and said gently:
“I’m so sorry to ask you to come up like this, Mrs. Betterton. I’m afraidwe haven’t got any definite news for you.”
Olive Betterton said quickly:
“I know. You said so in your letter. But I wondered if—since then—oh! Iwas glad to come up. Just sitting at home wondering and brooding—that’sthe worst of it all. Because there’s nothing one can do!”
The man called Jessop said soothingly:
“You mustn’t mind, Mrs. Betterton, if I go over the same ground againand again, ask you the same questions, stress the same points. You see it’salways possible that some small point might arise. Something that youhadn’t thought of before, or perhaps hadn’t thought worth mentioning.”
“Yes. Yes, I understand. Ask me all over again about everything.”
“The last time you saw your husband was on the 23rd of August?”
“Yes.”
“That was when he left England to go to Paris to a Conference there.”
“Yes.”
Jessop went on rapidly:
“He attended the first two days of the Conference. The third day he didnot turn up. Apparently he had mentioned to one of his colleagues that hewas going instead for a trip on a bateau mouche that day.”
“A bateau mouche? What’s a bateau mouche?”
Jessop smiled.
“One of those small boats that go along the Seine.” He looked at hersharply. “Does that strike you as unlike your husband?”
She said doubtfully:
“It does, rather. I should have thought he’d be so keen on what was go-ing on at the Conference.”
“Possibly. Still the subject for discussion on this particular day was notone in which he had any special interest, so he might reasonably havegiven himself a day off. But it doesn’t strike you as being quite like yourhusband?”
She shook her head.
“He did not return that evening to his hotel,” went on Jessop. “As far ascan be ascertained he did not pass any frontier, certainly not on his ownpassport. Do you think he could have had a second passport, in anothername perhaps?”
“Oh, no, why should he?”
He watched her.
“You never saw such a thing in his possession?”
She shook her head with vehemence.
“No, and I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it for a moment. I don’t believehe went away deliberately as you all try to make out. Something’shappened to him, or else—or else perhaps he’s lost his memory.”
“His health had been quite normal?”
“Yes. He was working rather hard and sometimes felt a little tired, noth-ing more than that.”
“He’d not seemed worried in any way or depressed?”
“He wasn’t worried or depressed about anything!” With shaking fingersshe opened her bag and took out her handkerchief. “It’s all so awful.” Hervoice shook. “I can’t believe it. He’d never have gone off without a word tome. Something’s happened to him. He’s been kidnapped or he’s been at-tacked perhaps. I try not to think it but sometimes I feel that that must bethe solution. He must be dead.”
“Now please, Mrs. Betterton, please—there’s no need to entertain thatsupposition yet. If he’s dead, his body would have been discovered bynow.”
“It might not. Awful things happen. He might have been drowned orpushed down a sewer. I’m sure anything could happen in Paris.”
“Paris, I can assure you, Mrs. Betterton, is a very well-policed city.”
She took the handkerchief away from her eyes and stared at him withsharp anger.
“I know what you think, but it isn’t so! Tom wouldn’t sell secrets or be-tray secrets. He wasn’t a communist. His whole life is an open book.”
“What were his political beliefs, Mrs. Betterton?”
“In America he was a Democrat, I believe. Here he voted Labour. Hewasn’t interested in politics. He was a scientist, first and last.” She addeddefiantly, “He was a brilliant scientist.”
“Yes,” said Jessop, “he was a brilliant scientist. That’s really the crux ofthe whole matter. He might have been offered, you know, very consider-able inducements to leave this country and go elsewhere.”
“It’s not true.” Anger leaped out again. “That’s what the papers try tomake out. That’s what you all think when you come questioning me. It’snot true. He’d never go without telling me, without giving me some idea.”
“And he told you—nothing?”
Again he was watching her keenly.
“Nothing. I don’t know where he is. I think he was kidnapped, or else, asI say, dead. But if he’s dead, I must know. I must know soon. I can’t go onlike this, waiting and wondering. I can’t eat or sleep. I’m sick and ill withworry. Can’t you help me? Can’t you help me at all?”
He got up then and moved round his desk. He murmured:
“I’m so very sorry, Mrs. Betterton, so very sorry. Let me assure you thatwe are trying our very best to find out what has happened to your hus-band. We get reports in every day from various places.”
“Reports from where?” she asked sharply. “What do they say?”
He shook his head.
“They all have to be followed up, sifted and tested. But as a rule, I amafraid, they’re vague in the extreme.”
“I must know,” she murmured brokenly again. “I can’t go on like this.”
“Do you care for your husband very much, Mrs. Betterton?”
“Of course I care for him. Why, we’ve only been married six months.
Only six months.”
“Yes, I know. There was—forgive me for asking—no quarrel of any kindbetween you?”
“Oh, no!”
“No trouble over any other woman?”
“Of course not. I’ve told you. We were only married last April.”
“Please believe that I’m not suggesting such a thing is likely, but one hasto take every possibility into account that might allow for his going off inthis way. You say he had not been upset lately, or worried—not on edge—not nervy in any way?”
“No, no, no!”
“People do get nervy, you know, Mrs. Betterton, in such a job as yourhusband had. Living under exacting security conditions. In fact”— hesmiled—“it’s almost normal to be nervy.”
She did not smile back.
“He was just as usual,” she said stolidly.
“Happy about his work? Did he discuss it at all with you?”
“No, it was all so technical.”
“You don’t think he had any qualms over its—destructive possibilities,shall I say? Scientists do feel that sometimes.”
“He never said anything of the kind.”
“You see, Mrs. Betterton,” he leaned forward over the desk, droppingsome of his impassiveness, “what I am trying to do is to get a picture ofyour husband. The sort of man he was. And somehow you’re not helpingme.”
“But what more can I say or do? I’ve answered all your questions.”
“Yes, you’ve answered my questions, mostly in the negative. I wantsomething positive, something constructive. Do you see what I mean? Youcan look for a man so much better when you know what kind of a man heis.”
She reflected for a moment. “I see. At least, I suppose I see. Well, Tomwas cheerful and good-tempered. And clever, of course.”
Jessop smiled. “That’s a list of qualities. Let’s try and get more personal.
Did he read much?”
“Yes, a fair amount.”
“What sort of books?”
“Oh, biographies. Book Society recommendations, crime stories if hewas tired.”
“Rather a conventional reader, in fact. No special preferences? Did heplay cards or chess?”
“He played bridge. We used to play with Dr. Evans and his wife once ortwice a week.”
“Did your husband have many friends?”
“Oh, yes, he was a good mixer.”
“I didn’t mean just that. I mean was he a man who—cared very muchfor his friends?”
“He played golf with one or two of our neighbours.”
“No special friends or cronies of his own?”
“No. You see, he’d been in the U.S.A. for so long, and he was born inCanada. He didn’t know many people over here.”
Jessop consulted a scrap of paper at his elbow.
“Three people visited him recently from the States, I understand. I havetheir names here. As far as we can discover, these three were the onlypeople with whom he recently made contact from outside, so to speak.
That’s why we’ve given them special attention. Now first, Walter Griffiths.
He came to see you at Harwell.”
“Yes, he was over in England on a visit and he came to look up Tom.”
“And your husband’s reactions?”
“Tom was surprised to see him, but very pleased. They’d known eachother quite well in the States.”
“What did this Griffiths seem like to you? Just describe him in your ownway.”
“But surely you know all about him?”
“Yes, we know all about him. But I want to hear what you thought ofhim.”
She reflected for a moment.
“Well, he was solemn and rather long-winded. Very polite to me andseemed very fond of Tom and anxious to tell him about things that hadhappened after Tom had come to England. All local gossip, I suppose. Itwasn’t very interesting to me because I didn’t know any of the people.
Anyway, I was getting dinner ready while they were reminiscing.”
“No question of politics came up?”
“You’re trying to hint that he was a communist.” Olive Betterton’s faceflushed. “I’m sure he was nothing of the sort. He had some governmentjob—in the District Attorney’s office, I think. And anyway when Tom saidsomething laughingly about witch hunts in America, he said solemnly thatwe didn’t understand over here. They were necessary. So that shows hewasn’t a communist!”
“Please, please, Mrs. Betterton, now don’t get upset.”
“Tom wasn’t a communist! I keep telling you so and you don’t believeme.”
“Yes, I do, but the point is bound to come up. Now for the second contactfrom abroad, Dr. Mark Lucas. You ran across him in London in the Dor-set.”
“Yes. We’d gone up to a show and we were having supper at the Dorsetafterwards. Suddenly this man, Luke or Lucas, came along and greetedTom. He was a research chemist of some kind and the last time he hadseen Tom was in the States. He was a German refugee who’d taken Amer-ican nationality. But surely you—”
“But surely I know that? Yes, I do, Mrs. Betterton. Was your husbandsurprised to see him?”
“Yes, very surprised.”
“Pleased?”
“Yes, yes—I think so.”
“But you’re not sure?” He pressed her.
“Well, he was a man Tom didn’t much care about, or so he told me after-wards, that’s all.”
“It was just a casual meeting? There was no arrangement made to meetat some future date?”
“No, it was just a casual encounter.”
“I see. The third contact from abroad was a woman, Mrs. Carol Speeder,also from the States. How did that come about?”
“She was something to do with U.N.O., I believe. She’d known Tom inAmerica, and she rang him up from London to say she was over here, andasked if we could come up and lunch one day.”
“And did you?”
“No.”
“You didn’t, but your husband did!”
“What!” She stared.
“He didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
Olive Betterton looked bewildered and uneasy. The man questioningher felt a little sorry for her, but he did not relent. For the first time hethought he might be getting somewhere.
“I don’t understand it,” she said uncertainly. “It seems very odd heshouldn’t have said anything about it to me.”
“They lunched together at the Dorset where Mrs. Speeder was staying,on Wednesday, August 12th.”
“August 12th?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, he did go to London about then .?.?. He never said anything—” shebroke off again, and then shot out a question. “What is she like?”
He answered quickly and reassuringly.
“Not at all a glamorous type, Mrs. Betterton. A competent young careerwoman of thirty-odd, not particularly good-looking. There’s absolutely nosuggestion of her ever having been on intimate terms with your husband.
That is just why it’s odd that he didn’t tell you about the meeting.”
“Yes, yes, I see that.”
“Now think carefully, Mrs. Betterton. Did you notice any change in yourhusband about that time? About the middle of August, shall we say? Thatwould be about a week before the Conference.”
“No—no, I noticed nothing. There was nothing to notice.”
Jessop sighed.
The instrument on his desk buzzed discreetly. He picked up the re-ceiver.
“Yes,” he said.
The voice at the other end said:
“There’s a man who’s asking to see someone in authority about the Bet-terton case, sir.”
“What’s his name?”
The voice at the other end coughed discreetly.
“Well, I’m not exactly sure how you pronounce it, Mr. Jessop. PerhapsI’d better spell it.”
“Right. Go ahead.”
He jotted down on his blotter the letters as they came over the wire.
“Polish?” he said interrogatively, at the end.
“He didn’t say, sir. He speaks English quite well, but with a bit of an ac-cent.”
“Ask him to wait.”
“Very good, sir.”
Jessop replaced the telephone. Then he looked across at Olive Betterton.
She sat there quite quietly with a disarming, hopeless placidity. He tore offthe leaf on his desk pad with the name he had just written on it, andshoved it across to her.
“Know anybody of that name?” he asked.
Her eyes widened as she looked at it. For a moment he thought shelooked frightened.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I do. He wrote to me.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. He’s a cousin of Tom’s first wife. He’s just arrived in thiscountry. He was very concerned about Tom’s disappearance. He wrote toask if I had had any news and—and to give me his most profound sym-pathy.”
“You’d never heard of him before that?”
She shook her head.
“Ever hear your husband speak of him?”
“No.”
“So really he mightn’t be your husband’s cousin at all?”
“Well, no, I suppose not. I never thought of that.” She looked startled.
“But Tom’s first wife was a foreigner. She was Professor Mannheim’sdaughter. This man seemed to know all about her and Tom in his letter. Itwas very correct and formal and—and foreign, you know. It seemed quitegenuine. And anyway, what would be the point—if he weren’t genuine, Imean?”
“Ah, that’s what one always asks oneself.” Jessop smiled faintly. “We doit so much here that we begin to see the smallest thing quite out of propor-tion!”
“Yes, I should think you might.” She shivered suddenly. “It’s like thisroom of yours, in the middle of a labyrinth of corridors, just like a dreamwhen you think you will never get out. .?.?.”
“Yes, yes, I can see it might have a claustrophobic effect,” said Jessoppleasantly.
Olive Betterton put a hand up and pushed back her hair from her fore-head.
“I can’t stand it much longer, you know,” she said. “Just sitting and wait-ing. I want to get away somewhere for a change. Abroad for choice. Some-where where reporters won’t ring me up all the time, and people won’tstare at me. I’m always meeting friends and they keep asking me if I havehad any news.” She paused, then went on, “I think—I think I’m going tobreak down. I’ve tried to be brave, but it’s too much for me. My doctoragrees. He says I ought to go right away somewhere for three or fourweeks. He wrote me a letter. I’ll show you.”
She fumbled in her bag, took out an envelope and pushed it across thedesk to Jessop.
“You’ll see what he says.”
Jessop took the letter out of the envelope and read it.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I see.”
He put the letter back in the envelope.
“So — so it would be all right for me to go?” Her eyes watched himnervously.
“But of course, Mrs. Betterton,” he replied. He raised surprised eye-brows. “Why not?”
“I thought you might object.”
“Object—why? It’s entirely your own business. You’ll arrange it so that Ican get in touch with you while you’re away in case any news shouldcome through?”
“Oh, of course.”
“Where were you thinking of going?”
“Somewhere where there is sun and not too many English people. Spainor Morocco.”
“Very nice. Do you a lot of good, I’m sure.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you very much.”
She rose, excited, elated—her nervousness still apparent.
Jessop rose, shook hands with her, pressed the buzzer for a messengerto see her out. He went back to his chair and sat down. For a few momentshis face remained as expressionless as before, then very slowly he smiled.
He lifted the phone.
“I’ll see Major Glydr now,” he said.
第一章
第一章
坐在桌后的男人把一个沉重的玻璃镇纸向右移了四英寸，他面无表情，不像正陷入深思，也不像分了神。由于他一天的大部分时间都处于室内灯光下，因而脸色显得有些苍白。你可以感觉到他是个不常外出的人，一个与办公桌和文件打交道的人。你必须穿过一条七拐八拐的漫长走廊才能来到他位于地下的办公室，不过奇怪的是，你会觉得这很衬他。你很难猜出他的年纪，他看起来说不上年轻或是年长。他的脸很光滑，没有皱纹，但眼眸却透出深深的疲惫。
房间里的另一个男人要年长一些。他面色黝黑，留着军人式的小胡子，透着机警和活力。此刻他也无法安心坐定，而是一直在屋里走来走去，并不时语调不稳地抛出几句话。
“报告！”他像在发脾气，“报告，报告，总是报告！这些玩意儿他妈的没一个有用！”坐在桌后的男人低头看着眼前的文件，文件最上面放着一张名片，上面写着“贝特顿，托马斯•查尔斯”，名字后面还有个问号。
男人若有所思地点了点头，问道：“您已经看完了这些报告，并且认为没有一点儿有用的？”
年长的那个耸了耸肩，反问道：“要怎么分辨有没有用？”
桌后的男人叹了口气。
“是的，”他说，“关键就在这儿，没人能分辨，确实。”
年长的那个像突然开始自动发射的机关枪一样说道：“有来自罗马的报告，有来自都兰[1] 的报告，有人在里维埃拉看到过他，有人在安特卫普看到过他，有人在奥斯陆认出了他，他人肯定在比亚里茨，有人在斯特拉斯堡看到他形迹可疑，有人看到他与一位迷人的金发美人儿漫步在奥斯坦德的沙滩上，有人看到他牵着一只灵缇犬在布鲁塞尔的大街上散步！我敢打赌我马上就会收到报告，说有人看到他牵着一匹斑马逛动物园！”
“沃顿，你本人没有什么想法吗？我个人曾对安特卫普的那份报告充满希望，不过后来似乎没有后续了。当然，如今……”年轻男人突然闭上嘴，像是要昏迷了。但他很快恢复了常态，措辞隐晦含糊地说：“是的，或许……但是，我深表怀疑。”
沃顿上校重重地坐在椅子的扶手上。
“但我们必须搞清楚，”他坚决地说，“必须排除万难，搞清楚怎么回事、为什么，以及去哪儿了？不能差不多每个月损失一个温顺的科学家，却对他们是怎么不见的，为什么会失踪，以及去了哪儿一无所知！他们真的是去了我们所预想的那个地方吗——还是什么别的地方？我们总是理所当然地认定他们肯定去了那个地方，但如今我不那么确定了。你看了从美国寄来的关于贝特顿的最新消息了吗？”
坐在桌后的男人点了点头。
“曾有些左派倾向，不过左派得势时每个人都或多或少有些倾向，贝特顿先生的左派倾向显然没有持续太久。大战之前，他工作勤恳，但没有什么引人注目的发现。曼海姆从德国逃亡来美之后，贝特顿被指派为他的助手，并且最终与曼海姆的女儿成婚。曼海姆去世后，贝特顿独自接替他的工作，并做出了杰出的成就。ZE裂变 [2] 这一令人吃惊的发现让他举世闻名。ZE裂变确实是一项杰出的革命性发现，这一发现使得贝特顿登上了人生的顶峰。他本打算在美国做出一番事业，但是新婚不久的妻子不幸离世了，这使他悲痛欲绝、伤心万分，于是来到了英国。最近这一年半他住在哈韦尔，半年前刚刚再婚。”
“有什么问题吗？”沃顿厉声问道。另一个人摇了摇头。
“目前没发现什么问题。他的妻子是当地一位事务律师的女儿，结婚以前在一家保险公司工作。没发现她有强烈的政治倾向。”
“ZE裂变。”沃顿上校语调阴沉、语气反感地说，“我真搞不懂这些词是什么意思。我是个守旧的人。我都不知道分子什么样，可如今他们却要分裂整个宇宙！原子弹、核裂变、ZE裂变，还有其他那些。贝特顿是最主要的裂变主义者！在哈韦尔，人们对他是怎么评价的？”
“一个非常友善的人。工作上倒是没有什么突出或特别的成就，只是让ZE裂变能更广泛地应用在实际中。”
两个男人一时都陷入沉默之中。他们的对话一向是散漫突发的。桌上堆着一沓秘密调查报告，然而没有任何价值。
“当然了，他进入英国的时候进行过彻底的审查。”沃顿说。
“是的，审查结果相当令人满意。”
“一年半以前，这些人崩溃了。”沃顿深思熟虑地说，“你知道的，他们忍受不了安保措施了。时刻处于监控的显微镜下，过着离群索居的生活，使得他们逐渐变得不安、反常。
这种情况我见得多了。他们开始幻想一个理想世界：自由互信，共享秘密，为了人类的繁荣而工作！恰在这个时刻，那些或多或少可以说是人类渣滓的人出现了，他们看到了机会，并且想迅速地攫取它！”他揉了揉鼻子，继续道，“没有人比科学家更容易上当受骗了，所有的虚假宣传材料都表明了这一点，我十分不解这是为什么。”
另一个男人疲惫地笑了笑。
“哦，是的，”他说，“确实是这样。你看，他们认为自己知晓一切，抱有这种观点十分危险。我们这样的人却不一样，我们是有自知之明的人，没想过拯救世界，只想在它无法正常运转的时候帮忙处理一两块坏掉的零件或是松松螺丝。”他若有所思地用手指敲击着桌面，继续道，“如果我能知道多一些关于贝特顿的资料就好了。不仅仅是他的经历和工作，而是日常生活中所展现出来的那些事。比如哪类玩笑会引他发笑，什么会让他大声咒骂，他的偶像是谁，又为谁痴狂。”
沃顿好奇地注视着他。
“他妻子怎么说——你去找过她，对吧？”
“去过几次。”
“她能帮上忙吗？”
男人耸了耸肩。
“目前为止还没什么帮助。”
“你认为她知道些什么？”
“当然了，她表现得一无所知。全是普通人的正常反应：担心，悲伤，极度焦虑，事先没有什么线索或征兆，丈夫的生活一切正常，没有任何压力——诸如此类的。在她看来，她丈夫就是被绑架了。”
“但你并不相信她？”
“在这方面我有个毛病，”坐在桌子后面的男人苦涩地说，“我不相信任何人。”
“好吧，”沃顿慢慢说道，“我认为在这个问题上我们都该看开点。她是个什么样的人？”
“一个普通女人，随便哪天玩桥牌的时候都会遇到的那种。”
沃顿点点头，像是完全理解了。
“这让整件事更扑朔迷离了。”他说。
“她马上就要来这儿见我了，我们又要把所有问题再重复一遍。”
“这是唯一的办法，”沃顿说，“但是我做不来，我没有足够的耐心。”他站起来，“好了，我不妨碍你了。我们确实没有什么进展，不是吗？”
“很不幸，毫无进展。你可以专门检查一下那份来自奥斯陆的报告，那个看起来像真的。”
沃顿点了点头就出去了。屋内的男人拿起电话听筒说：“让贝特顿太太进来吧。”
说完男人就呆坐在那里直到有人敲门，贝特顿太太被领入。她身材高大，二十七岁左右，最引人注目之处是她有一头美丽动人的赤褐色头发，而耀眼头发下的面庞倒乏善可陈。和大多数红头发的女人一样，她有一双蓝绿色的眼睛和淡色睫毛。男人注意到她没有化妆。他心里想着这次会面，同时嘴上对她表示欢迎，请她在桌子旁边的椅子上安坐。此时他再次觉得贝特顿太太其实比她所说的要知道得更多。
根据他的经验，处于极度悲伤与不安中的女人更加不会忽略打扮自己。因为她们知道悲痛会摧残自己的外貌，便会尽力掩饰这种损伤。他怀疑贝特顿太太刻意不打扮，是为了更好地展现一个心烦意乱的妻子的形象。她有点上气不接下气地开口道：“哦，杰索普先生，我希望……有什么新消息？”
男人摇了摇头，温柔地说：“十分抱歉又让您跑一趟，贝特顿太太，不过我们恐怕不能给您提供任何确切的消息。”
奥利芙•贝特顿快速地应道：“我知道，你在信中说了。但我想或许……来信之后……哦！我很高兴能来这儿，只是坐在家里胡思乱想、闷闷不乐，这才是最糟糕的。因为我什么也做不了！”
叫杰索普的男人安慰她道：“如果我再次重复相同的说法，问您同样的问题，强调同样的重点，也请您千万不要介意。您知道的，可能会有细微的情况就此显现。一些您之前从未想到过，或者没有意识到其价值的情况。”
“是的、是的，我明白。再重新问我一遍吧。”
“您最后一次见到您的丈夫是在八月二十三日？”
“是的。”
“那天他离开了英国，赴巴黎参加会议？”
“是的。”
杰索普继续快速地提问：“他参加了本次会议的前两天议程，第三天他没有出现。据说他曾向一位同事提过他不准备参加那天的会议，而是去乘坐平底游览船 [3] 观光。”
“平底游览船？什么是平底游览船？”
杰索普微微一笑。
“就是那种航行在塞纳河上的小船。”他机敏地看着她，“您是不是认为这不像是您丈夫会做的事？”
她含糊地说：“我确实有些疑虑。在我看来，他应该更关心会议的进程。”
“可能那天会议讨论的主题他不是特别感兴趣，于是他选择给自己放一天假。这么说您能接受吗？”
她摇了摇头。
“他那天晚上没回旅馆，”杰索普继续说道，“根据目前我们的调查，他没有前往其他国家，至少没用自己的护照跨越国境。您觉得他有没有可能还有一本护照，登记的是不同的名字？”
“哦，不会，他为什么要这样？”
男人凝视着她。
“您从来没见过他拥有这类东西吗？”
她用力摇了摇头。
“没有，我也不相信他会有。一刻都不会相信。我不相信他是蓄意失踪的，像你们试图证明的那样。他肯定发生了什么事，又或者……又或者可能他失去了记忆。”
“他的健康状况一直没什么问题吧？”
“是的，只是有时因为工作过于努力而稍微有些疲倦，仅此而已。”
“他看上去有没有因为什么事而忧心或沮丧？”
“他从来不会为任何事感到忧心或沮丧！”她用颤抖着的手打开皮包，取出手帕，“这简直太可怕了！”她的声音发颤，“我无法相信。他从来不会一句话不说就离开！他一定是出了什么事，可能是被绑架了或是遭遇袭击了。我尽量不去这么想，但有时我觉得一定是这样的。他肯定已经死了。”
“不要这样想，贝特顿太太，不要这样……如今还没有做这样的推测的必要。如果他死了，现在我们肯定已经发现他的尸体了。”
“那可不一定。可怕的事情总在发生。他可能溺死了，或是被人推进一条阴沟，我觉得在巴黎什么事都有可能发生。”
“我可以向您保证，贝特顿太太，巴黎是一座治安很好的城市。”
她把蒙着眼睛的手帕拿开，盯着杰索普，眼神愤怒。
“我知道你在想什么，但不是这样的！汤姆绝对不会出卖国家或是泄露秘密。他不是一个政治上‘左’倾的人。他这一生都光明磊落。”
“贝特顿太太，您先生有什么政治信仰？”
“我相信在美国的时候他是一个民主党人。在这里他投票支持工党。他对政治不感兴趣，他始终是一位科学家。”她又挑衅地补充道，“一位杰出的科学家。”
“确实，”杰索普说，“他是一位杰出的科学家。这正是问题的关键所在。他很可能受了什么人的高薪诱惑，离开这个国家去了其他地方。”
“这不可能。”她的怒气再次被激起，“只是那些文件力图证明如此。你在质询我的时候也是这么想的。但这不是事实，他从来没有不告而别过，从来不会什么都不对我说。”
“他……什么都没对你说吗？”
男人再次目光锐利地盯着她。
“什么也没说。我不知道他在哪儿。我认为他被绑架了，或者像我刚才所说的，死了。
但如果他真的死了，我肯定知道。我必须马上知道，我不能再这样下去了，无望地等待，每天胡思乱想。我吃不下睡不着，担忧、焦躁，病恹恹的。您能帮我吗？您究竟能不能帮帮我？”
男人站了起来，绕过办公桌，低声说道：“我感到十分抱歉，贝特顿太太，真的非常抱歉。我向您保证，我们正在全力调查您丈夫究竟出了什么事，而且每天都能收到从不同地方发来的报告。”
“从哪里发来的报告？”她机警地问，“报告里都写了些什么？”
男人摇了摇头。
“所有报告我们都进行跟进、筛选和检验。但通常来说，我很抱歉，里面的内容都无法得到证实。”
“我必须知道，”她再次断断续续地喃喃道，“我不能再这样下去了。”
“贝特顿太太，您十分在意您的丈夫吗？”
“我当然非常在意他。我们刚结婚六个月，刚刚六个月。”
“是的，我知道。不过——恕我冒昧，你们之间有没有发生过争吵？”
“哦，没有！”
“没有因为另一个女人而发生矛盾吗？”
“当然没有。我不是说了吗，我们去年四月才结的婚。”
“请您相信，我并不是在暗示什么，只是我们必须把导致他突然消失的可能性全都考虑在内。您说他最近没有表现出沮丧或担忧，不焦躁也不紧张，任何微小的表现都没有？”
“没有，没有，没有！”
“要知道，贝特顿太太，您丈夫的工作性质很容易让人紧张不安。毕竟要生活在严格的安保监控下。事实上，”他笑道，“稍显紧张反倒更正常一些。”
她并没有回以微笑。
“他和往常一样。”她斩钉截铁地说。
“他工作愉快吗？您丈夫有没有跟您聊起过他的工作？”
“没有，他的工作全是技术性的东西。”
“您觉得他是否因为他所研究的东西的……破坏力而感到良心不安呢？请原谅我这么说，科学家有时的确会有这种感觉。”
“他从没说过类似的话。”
“您看，贝特顿太太，”男人倾身向前贴着桌子，神情冷酷地说，“我做这些只是想尽力了解您的丈夫，了解他是个怎样的人。但不知为何，您不太愿意帮我。”
“我还能说什么、做什么来帮您呢？我回答了您的所有问题。”
“是的，您回答了我的所有问题，但绝大多数是以消极否定的方式。我需要一些积极的、有建设意义的回答。您明白我的意思吗？当你知道他是个什么样的人的时候，你才能更高效地找到他。”
她思考了一会儿。“我明白了，起码我认为我明白了。嗯，汤姆是个开朗积极、好脾气的人。并且非常聪明，当然了。”
杰索普笑了。“一长串好品质。说说更具个人特色的吧，他书读得多吗？”
“是的，相当多。”
“都是什么类型的书？”
“嗯，传记，读书协会推荐的那些，累的时候还会看看犯罪小说。”
“一个非常普通的读者。他有什么特别的爱好吗？桥牌或国际象棋？”
“他玩桥牌。我们通常每个星期与埃文斯博士夫妇玩一次或两次桥牌。”
“您丈夫朋友多吗？”
“哦，是的，他很擅于交际。”
“不仅如此，我的意思是，他是一个非常关心朋友的人吗？”
“他有时和我们的一两个邻居打高尔夫球。”
“他有没有比较特别的朋友，或是密友？”
“没有。你知道的，他在美国待了那么长的时间，而且他出生在加拿大，他在这里没有结识太多人。”
杰索普瞄了一眼手肘边的一张纸条。
“我知道最近有三个从美国来的人拜访过他。我这里有他们的名字。调查显示，这三个人是最近这段时间您丈夫唯一接触过的……外人。因此我们特别注意了一下他们。现在说说第一位，沃尔特•格里菲斯，他到哈韦尔拜访了你们。”
“是的，他正好来英国，就顺道来看望汤姆 [4] 。”
“您丈夫见到他时有什么反应呢？”
“汤姆非常惊讶，但也很高兴。他们在美国私交甚密。”
“您怎么看这个格里菲斯？就用您自己的方式来描述一下。”
“你肯定已经很了解他了吧？”
“是的，他的一切我都了解了。但我想听听您是怎么看待他的？”
她思考了一会儿。
“嗯……他很严肃，有点啰唆。对我彬彬有礼，而且能看得出他非常喜欢汤姆。他急于讲述汤姆离开美国来到英国之后发生的事情，我感觉全是当地的小道消息。对此我没什么兴趣，因为我不认得其中的任何一个人，于是，他们追忆往事的时候我就去准备晚餐了。”
“他们没聊什么政治问题吗？”
“你是在暗示他是个共产主义者吗？”奥利芙•贝特顿的脸一下子红了，“我敢肯定他不是。我记得他在政府部门任职，我想是在美国地方检察官办公室。汤姆开些与美国的政治审查有关的玩笑时，他就严肃地说我们不了解那边的情形，政治审查是必需的。这表示他不是一个共产主义者！”
“哦，拜托，请您不要生气，贝特顿太太。”
“汤姆不是一个共产主义者！我重复了很多遍了，可你就是不相信我。”
“不不，我相信您，但这个问题还是要提出来。现在说说第二个从国外来的人，马克•卢卡斯博士。你们在伦敦的多赛特旅馆遇到了他。”
“是的，那天我们去看演出，随后在多赛特旅馆吃晚餐。忽然这个人，卢克还是卢卡斯，跑过来跟汤姆打招呼。他是个从事研究工作的化学家，上一次见到汤姆是在美国。他是一个德国难民，已经取得美国国籍。但是这些情况你们——”
“我们都知道了？是的，的确，贝特顿太太。您的丈夫见到他时惊讶吗？”
“是的，非常惊讶。”
“高兴吗？”
“是的，是的，我觉得是。”
“但您不是很肯定？”他紧紧追问。
“嗯，他和汤姆不是特别熟，这是汤姆后来告诉我的。就是这样。”
“这真的是一次偶然的相遇吗？他们有没有相约日后再碰面？”
“没约，这仅仅是一次偶遇。”
“明白了。第三个来自国外且和汤姆接触过的是个女人，卡罗尔•斯比德太太，同样来自美国。他们是怎么碰到的？”
“据我所知，她是要去联合国组织办点事。她与汤姆在美国认识，有天她从伦敦打来电话说她来这儿出差，问我们是否有时间和她一起吃个午饭。”
“那你们去了吗？”
“没有。”
“您没去，但您丈夫去了！”
“什么！”她瞪圆了双眼。
“他没告诉您？”
“没有。”
奥利芙•贝特顿看起来疑惑且不安。一直问她问题的男人觉得有些过意不去，但他并未心软。这是他第一次觉得自己可能抓到了什么。
“我不太明白。”贝特顿夫人犹豫地说，“这太奇怪了，他没理由不告诉我。”
“他们在斯比德太太下榻的多赛特旅馆共进了一顿午餐，八月十二日，星期三。”
“八月十二日？”
“是的。”
“没错，那天他确实去伦敦了……可他什么都没说啊——”她突然顿住了，接着吼着问出一个问题，“她长什么样？”
男人以令人宽慰的口吻迅速答道：“完全不是那种富有魅力的类型，贝特顿太太。她是一位年轻有为的职业女性，三十多岁，长得不算好看。没有任何线索显示您丈夫和她有什么亲密关系。不过这就很奇怪了，为什么他没有向您透露这次见面？”
“没错，没错，我也觉得奇怪。”
“现在请您认真想一想，贝特顿太太。那段日子您丈夫有什么异常吗？差不多八月中旬的时候，也就是您丈夫出国参加会议之前一周。”
“没有……没有，我没发现什么异常。没发生任何事。”
杰索普叹了口气。
桌上的电话猛然响起。他拿起听筒。
“喂。”
电话那头的人说道：“有个人想见贝特顿案的主管人，先生。”
“他叫什么？”
电话那头的人轻轻咳了一声。
“唔，我不是很确定该怎么读，杰索普先生，我看我还是告诉您怎么拼写吧。”
“好的，拼吧。”
他在吸墨纸上记下从电话另一头传来的字母。
“是波兰人吗？”记完名字后他疑惑地问。
“他没说，先生。他英语说得很棒，只有一点儿口音。”
“让他等一会儿。”
“好的，先生。”
杰索普挂掉电话，接着望向桌子对面的奥利芙•贝特顿。她安静地坐在那儿，显得毫无防备、极其平和。他撕下写着人名的那页纸，推到她跟前。
“您认识叫这个名字的人吗？”他问。
她看着纸上的字，眼睛突然睁大。有那么一刻男人认为她明显受到了惊吓。
“是的，”她说道，“是的，我知道。他给我写过信。”
“什么时候？”
“昨天。他是汤姆前妻的表弟，刚刚来到英国。汤姆失踪一事他十分关心。他写信给我，问我是否得到了什么新消息，并向我致以最深切的问候。”
“您之前听说过这个人吗？”
她摇了摇头。
“从未听您丈夫提起他吗？”
“没有。”
“所以很可能他根本就不是您丈夫的表弟。”
“哦，是的，我想是的。我从未这么想过。”她看起来很惊讶，“但是汤姆的前妻是个外国人，是曼海姆教授的女儿。在那个男人的信里，他似乎知晓她和汤姆的一切。信写得很规范、很有条理，并且有些……外国气息，你明白吗？看起来情真意切。不管怎么说，我的意思是，如果他的情真意切都是假的，这么做又有什么意义呢？”
“哦，这是人们经常扪心自问的问题。”杰索普露出浅笑，“我们这里的人习惯琢磨细微小事中的重大意义。”
“是的，我觉得你们确实是。”她忽然颤抖了一下，“就像你这间屋子，处于迷宫般的一堆走廊中，就像一个梦，你身在其中，感觉自己好像再也走不出来了……”
“是的，是的，我知道它确实有一些幽闭恐怖的效果。”杰索普笑道。
奥利芙•贝特顿抬起一只手，捋了捋覆在前额上的头发。
“你知道的，我无法再忍受只坐在家里死等了。”她说道，“我想出去换换环境。海外是个选择。去一个记者不会总给我打电话，人们也不会盯着我看的地方。现在我见朋友，朋友也总是问我有没有什么新消息。”她顿了顿，接着说，“我觉得……我觉得我就要崩溃了。我也试着勇敢，但实在不堪重负。我的医生也赞同我马上离开这儿，去别的地方待三四个星期。他给我写了封信，我给你看看。”
她在手提包里翻找着，拿出一个信封，推到杰索普面前。
“你看他是怎么说的。”
杰索普拿出信读了一遍。
“是的、是的，我看到了。”他说道，又把信装回信封里。
“这么说……这么说我能离开了？”她紧张不安地看着他。
“当然可以了，贝特顿太太。”他回应道，惊讶地扬起眉毛，“有何不可呢？”
“我以为您会不同意。”
“不同意，为什么？这事由你说了算。只要保证外出期间我们若有什么新消息能随时联系到您就行了。”
“啊，这是当然。”
“您准备去哪里？”
“去一个阳光充沛、没有太多英国人的地方。西班牙或摩洛哥。”
“好极了。这样会给您带来很多好处的，我相信。”
“啊，谢谢你。真的非常感谢你。”
她站了起来，兴奋而激动——不过仍旧紧张焦躁。
杰索普也站了起来，和她握了握手，然后按铃叫来一位手下把她送了出去。他回到桌边坐下。有那么一会儿，他的脸跟之前一样没什么表情，接着笑容缓缓爬上他的脸颊。他拿起电话听筒。
“叫克莱德尔少校来吧。”他说道。
注释：
[1]都兰（Touraine）是法国的一个地区。
[2]ZE应为zero energy的缩写，ZE裂变即零损耗裂变。
[3]Bateau mouche，泛指巴黎塞纳河上的平底游览船。一直由Bateau Mouches公司经营。
Mouche其实是十八世纪里昂附近的一处地名，那里盛产这种平底游船，后来被 Bateau Mouches的创始人让•布里埃（Jean Bruel）拿来命名他经营的塞纳河游船，并沿用至今。
[4]汤姆是托马斯的昵称。
Two
Two
“Major Glydr?” Jessop hesitated a little over the name.
“It is difficult, yes.” The visitor spoke with humorous appreciation.
“Your compatriots, they have called me Glider in the war. And now, in theStates, I shall change my name to Glyn, which is more convenient for all.”
“You come from the States now?”
“Yes, I arrived a week ago. You are—excuse me—Mr. Jessop?”
“I’m Jessop.”
The other looked at him with interest.
“So,” he said. “I have heard of you.”
“Indeed? From whom?”
The other smiled.
“Perhaps we go too fast. Before you permit that I should ask you somequestions, I present you first this letter from the U.S. Embassy.”
He passed it with a bow. Jessop took it, read the few lines of polite intro-duction, put it down. He looked appraisingly at his visitor. A tall man, car-rying himself rather stiffly, aged thirty or thereabouts. The fair hair wasclose cropped in the continental fashion. The stranger’s speech was slowand careful with a very definite foreign intonation, though grammaticallycorrect. He was, Jessop noticed, not at all nervous or unsure of himself.
That in itself was unusual. Most of the people who came into this officewere nervous or excited or apprehensive. Sometimes they were shifty,sometimes violent.
This was a man who had complete command of himself, a man with apoker face who knew what he was doing and why, and who would not beeasily tricked or betrayed into saying more than he meant to say. Jessopsaid pleasantly:
“And what can we do for you?”
“I came to ask if you had any further news of Thomas Betterton, whodisappeared recently in what seems a somewhat sensational manner. Onecannot, I know, believe exactly what one reads in the press, so I ask whereI can go for reliable information. They tell me—you.”
“I’m sorry, we’ve no definite information about Betterton.”
“I thought perhaps he might have been sent abroad on some mission.”
He paused and added, rather quaintly, “You know, hush-hush.”
“My dear sir.” Jessop looked pained. “Betterton was a scientist, not a dip-lomat or a secret agent.”
“I am rebuked. But labels are not always correct. You will want to in-quire my interest in the matter. Thomas Betterton was a relation of mineby marriage.”
“Yes. You are the nephew, I believe, of the late Professor Mannheim.”
“Ah, that you knew already. You are well informed here.”
“People come along and tell us things,” murmured Jessop. “Betterton’swife was here. She told me. You had written to her.”
“Yes, to express my condolences and to ask if she had had any furthernews.”
“That was very correct.”
“My mother was Professor Mannheim’s only sister. They were verymuch attached. In Warsaw when I was a child I was much at my uncle’shouse, and his daughter, Elsa, was to me like a sister. When my father andmother died my home was with my uncle and cousin. They were happydays. Then came the war, the tragedies, the horrors .?.?. Of all that we willnot speak. My uncle and Elsa escaped to America. I myself remained in theunderground Resistance, and after the war ended I had certain assign-ments. One visit I paid to see my uncle and cousin, that was all. But therecame a time when my commitments in Europe are ended. I intend toreside in the States permanently. I shall be, I hope, near my uncle and mycousin and her husband. But alas”—he spread out his hands—“I get thereand my uncle, he is dead, my cousin, too, and her husband he has come tothis country and has married again. So once more I have no family. Andthen I read of the disappearance of the well-known scientist Thomas Bet-terton, and I come over to see what can be done.” He paused and lookedinquiringly at Jessop.
Jessop looked expressionlessly back at him.
“Why did he disappear, Mr. Jessop?”
“That,” said Jessop, “is just what we’d like to know.”
“Perhaps you do know?”
Jessop appreciated with some interest how easily their roles might be-come reversed. In this room he was accustomed to ask questions ofpeople. This stranger was now the inquisitor.
Still smiling pleasantly, Jessop replied:
“I assure you we do not.”
“But you suspect?”
“It is possible,” said Jessop cautiously, “that the thing follows a certainpattern .?.?. There have been occurrences of this kind before.”
“I know.” Rapidly the visitor cited a half-dozen cases. “All scientists,” hesaid, with significance.
“Yes.”
“They have gone beyond the Iron Curtain?”
“It is a possibility, but we do not know.”
“But they have gone of their own free will?”
“Even that,” said Jessop, “is difficult to say.”
“It is not my business, you think?”
“Oh, please.”
“But you are right. It is of interest to me only because of Betterton.”
“You’ll forgive me,” said Jessop, “if I don’t quite understand your in-terest. After all, Betterton is only a relation by marriage. You didn’t evenknow him.”
“That is true. But for us Poles, the family is very important. There areobligations.” He stood up and bowed stiffly. “I regret that I have tres-passed upon your time, and I thank you for your courtesy.”
Jessop rose also.
“I’m sorry we cannot help you,” he said, “but I assure you we are com-pletely in the dark. If I do hear of anything can I reach you?”
“Care of the U.S. Embassy will find me. I thank you.” Again he bowedformally.
Jessop touched the buzzer. Major Glydr went out. Jessop lifted the re-ceiver.
“Ask Colonel Wharton to come to my room.”
When Wharton entered the room Jessop said:
“Things are moving—at last.”
“How?”
“Mrs. Betterton wants to go abroad.”
Wharton whistled.
“Going to join hubby?”
“I’m hopeful. She came provided with a convenient letter from her med-ical adviser. Complete need of rest and change of scene.”
“Looks good!”
“Though, of course, it may be true,” Jessop warned him. “A simple state-ment of fact.”
“We never take that view here,” said Wharton.
“No. I must say she does her stuff very convincingly. Never slips up for amoment.”
“You got nothing further from her, I suppose?”
“One faint lead. The Speeder woman with whom Betterton lunched atthe Dorset.”
“Yes?”
“He didn’t tell his wife about the lunch.”
“Oh.” Wharton considered. “You think that’s relevant?”
“It might be. Carol Speeder was had up before the Committee of Invest-igation of un-American Activities. She cleared herself, but all the same .?.?.
yes, all the same she was, or they thought she was, tarred with that brush.
It may be a possible contact. The only one we’ve found for Betterton sofar.”
“What about Mrs. Betterton’s contacts—any possible contact lately whocould have instigated the going abroad business?”
“No personal contact. She had a letter yesterday from a Pole. A cousin ofBetterton’s first wife. I had him here just now asking for details, etc.”
“What’s he like?”
“Not real,” said Jessop. “All very foreign and correct, got all the ‘gen,’
curiously unreal as a personality.”
“Think he’s been the contact to tip her off ?”
“It could be. I don’t know. He puzzles me.”
“Going to keep tabs on him?”
Jessop smiled.
“Yes. I pressed the buzzer twice.”
“You old spider—with your tricks.” Wharton became businesslike again.
“Well, what’s the form?”
“Janet, I think, and the usual. Spain, or Morocco.”
“Not Switzerland?”
“Not this time.”
“I should have thought Spain or Morocco would have been difficult forthem.”
“We mustn’t underestimate our adversaries.”
Wharton flipped the security files disgustedly with his nail.
“About the only two countries where Betterton hasn’t been seen,” hesaid with chagrin. “Well, we’ll lay it all on. My God, if we fall down on thejob this time—”
Jessop leaned back in his chair.
“It’s a long time since I’ve had a holiday,” he said. “I’m rather sick of thisoffice. I might take a little trip abroad. .?.?.”
第二章
第二章
“克莱德尔少校？”杰索普说这个名字的时候稍微犹豫了一下。
“不太好发音，是的。”访客以一种诙谐的赞赏口吻说道，“战争期间，你的同胞们叫我格莱德。现在我在美国改名叫格林，这个名字更容易读一些。”
“你从美国来？”
“是的，一周之前到的。你是……不好意思，你是杰索普先生吗？”
“我是杰索普。”
对方满怀兴趣地看着杰索普。
“嗯，”他说道，“我听说过你。”
“是吗？从谁那里？”
男人笑了。
“我可能把话题推进得太快了。在你允许我提一些问题之前，我应该先把美国大使馆的信给你看。”
他躬身把信递给杰索普。杰索普接过信，看了几句客套的引荐，就把它放下了。他认真审视来访者。身形高大，使他显得有点呆板，年纪在三十岁上下，金色头发打理成欧洲大陆样式。这个人说话时语速缓慢，用词谨慎，口音明显但语法准确。杰索普注意到他一点也不紧张，而且自信满满。这很不寻常，大多数来到这间办公室的人都要么紧张，要么激动，要么忧虑不安。有时他们会表现得非常狡猾，有时则异常暴躁。
而这是一个自控力很强的男人，他面无表情，知道自己在做什么以及为什么要这么做，这表示你很难设计引诱他说出本不打算说的事情。
杰索普欣然问道：“那么，我们能为你做些什么呢？”
“我来这里是想请教，有关托马斯•贝特顿，你们是否有新消息？他最近以一种耸人听闻的方式失踪了。我知道不能不折不扣地相信报纸上登的东西，于是我打听了一下哪里能得到可靠的消息。他们告诉我——在你这里。”
“很抱歉，我们还没有贝特顿的确切消息。”
“我以为他被派到国外去执行什么任务了。”他顿了顿，又相当巧妙地补充道，“你知道的，不能声张的那种。”
“亲爱的先生，”杰索普看上去有些难受地说道，“贝特顿是一位科学家，不是外交官，也不是秘密特工。”
“你在指责我。但标签不一定是真的。你肯定想知道我为何对这件事感兴趣。托马斯•贝特顿是我的姻亲。”
“是的。我想你就是已经去世的曼海姆教授的外甥吧。”
“啊，你已经知道了。你的消息真灵通啊！”
“总有人过来主动告诉我们一些事情。”杰索普低声说道，“刚才贝特顿的妻子来过，是她告诉我的。你给她写过信。”
“是的，向她致以我的慰问，同时询问关于贝特顿先生的消息。”
“你确实该这么做。”
“我的母亲是曼海姆教授唯一的妹妹，他们十分亲密。在华沙的时候，我那会儿还是个孩子，总是待在舅舅家里，他的女儿艾尔莎就像我的亲姐姐一样。我的双亲去世后，舅舅和表姐就是我的家人了，那段日子非常愉快。接着战争来临，全是惨剧和恐怖的回忆……这些我们就不提了吧。舅舅和艾尔莎去美国避难，我则留在那儿，加入了地下抵抗组织，并在战争结束后接手了一些任务。那段时间我只去探望了一次舅舅和表姐。不过执行完欧洲的任务后，我打算去美国定居，而且希望尽量离舅舅、表姐和表姐夫近一些。但是，唉……”他摊开手道，“我抵达美国的时候舅舅已经去世了，表姐也过世了，她的丈夫去了英国并且再婚了。所以我再一次失去了家。随后我在报纸上读到著名科学家托马斯•贝特顿失踪的报道，于是我就来到这里，想看看能做些什么。”他停下来看着杰索普，眼神里带着疑问。
杰索普面无表情地看回去。
“为什么他会失踪，杰索普先生？”
“这正是我们也想知道的。”杰索普说道。
“或许你是知道的？”
杰索普很钦佩这个男人轻易就将两人的关系对调了。在这个房间里，他总是提问的那个，而现在这个陌生人却是质询者。
杰索普仍旧愉悦地笑着，回应道：“我向你保证，我们确实不知道。”
“但你们肯定有所怀疑吧？”
“这件事似乎遵循了一种特定模式……”杰索普小心谨慎地说道，“之前也发生过类似的事情。”
“我知道。”来访者立即引出半打类似案件，“全是科学家。”他意味深长地说道。
“是的。”
“他们都去铁幕 [1] 那边了吗？”
“有可能，但我们还不确定。”
“他们是出于自己的意愿去的吗？”
“这一点也很难说清。”杰索普说。
“你认为这不关我的事。”
“是的。抱歉。”
“你是对的。我只对贝特顿感兴趣。”
“对不起，”杰索普说，“其实我不太理解你为何对他感兴趣，毕竟贝特顿只是你的一个姻亲，而且你完全不了解他。”
“确实。但我们波兰人十分看重家庭，关心家人是义务。”他站起身，生硬地鞠了个躬，“很抱歉占用了你的时间，感谢你的热情接待。”
杰索普也站了起来。
“很抱歉我没能帮到你。”他说，“但我向你保证，我们目前也毫无头绪。如果我们这边得到了什么消息，能与你联系吗？”
“通过美国大使馆就可以找到我。谢谢你。”他再次礼貌地鞠了一躬。
杰索普按响传唤铃。克莱德尔少校走出门后，杰索普拿起电话。
“叫沃顿上校来我屋里。”
沃顿进来后，杰索普说道：“事情有进展了——终于。”
“发生了什么？”
“贝特顿夫人想去海外。”
沃顿吹了声口哨。
“去和丈夫相会？”
“我认为可能性很大。她拿着一封医生写的信过来，医生建议她换个环境，彻底休养。
理所应当。”
“看起来是个好进展！”
“当然了，也可能她说的是真的。”杰索普提醒他道，“只是简单的事实。”
“我们这里，可从不这样看待事情。”沃顿说道。
“确实。但我不得不说，她表现得相当令人信服，没有一丝可疑之处。”
“我想你从她那儿没得到什么新消息吧？”
“有一点点。那个跟贝特顿在多赛特旅馆共进午餐的斯比德。”
“怎么了？”
“他没告诉他妻子那次午餐的事。”
“哦。”沃顿思考着，“你认为这件事另有深意？”
“有可能。卡罗尔•斯比德在经历非美活动调查委员会 [2] 审查前还被起诉过。她极力为自己申辩，但不管怎么说……是的，不管怎么说她就是——或者说人们普遍认为她就是不干净。她可能与此事有关，至少是调查贝特顿到现在发现的唯一线索。”
“贝特顿夫人那边呢？会不会是受人唆使，她才想去海外？”
“没什么人联系她。她昨天收到了一封信，一个波兰人写给她的。那人是贝特顿前妻的表弟，刚才就在这儿，问我这件事的细节……”
“他是个怎样的人？”
“不太真诚，”杰索普说道，“很像个外国人，很规矩，从头到脚‘温文尔雅’的，但不知为何就是不太像个真实的人。”
“你认为他就是那个唆使她去海外的人？”
“可能。我不知道，他让我觉得很奇怪。”
“需要监视他吗？”
杰索普笑了。
“是的。我按了两次铃。”
“你这个善于设圈套的老手，诡计多端。”沃顿再次严肃起来，以公事公办的口气说道，“那么，要什么格式的？”
“珍妮特吧，和以前一样。西班牙，或者摩洛哥。”
“不是瑞士吗？”
“这次不是。”
“我觉得西班牙和摩洛哥对他们来说有点困难啊。”
“可千万不能低估对手。”
沃顿厌恶地用指尖翻动着那一堆调查文件。
“还没有人在这两个国家见过贝特顿。”他懊恼地说道，“嗯，我们要孤注一掷了。我的上帝，如果我们这次在这个案件上失败的话……”
杰索普靠在椅背上。
“我很久没休过假了。”他说道，“对这个办公室是真的厌倦了。我可能需要去国外度个假……”
注释：
[1]指将苏联和东欧共产党国家与西欧分开的边界。
[2]非美活动调查委员会（Committee of Investigation of un-American Activities）是一九三八年至一九六九年美国国会众议院设立的反共、反民机构。一九三八年五月二十六日，美国国会众议院设立临时性非美活动调查委员会。以反共著称的得克萨斯州参议员 M.戴斯担任主席，故又称戴斯委员会。
Three（1）
Three
I
“Flight 108 to Paris. Air France. This way please.”
The persons in the lounge at Heathrow Airport rose to their feet. HilaryCraven picked up her small, lizard-skin travelling case and moved in thewake of the others, out on to the tarmac. The wind blew sharply cold afterthe heated air of the lounge.
Hilary shivered and drew her furs a little closer round her. She followedthe other passengers across to where the aircraft was waiting. This was it!
She was off, escaping! Out of the greyness, the coldness, the dead numbmisery. Escaping to sunshine and blue skies and a new life. She wouldleave all this weight behind, this dead weight of misery and frustration.
She went up the gangway of her plane, bending her head as she passed in-side and was shown by the steward to her seat. For the first time inmonths she savoured relief from a pain that had been so sharply acute asalmost to be physical. “I shall get away,” she said to herself, hopefully. “Ishall get away.”
The roaring and the revolutions of the plane excited her. There seemeda kind of elemental savagery in it. Civilized misery, she thought, is theworst misery. Grey and hopeless. “But now,” she thought, “I shall escape.”
The plane taxied gently along the runway. The air hostess said:
“Fasten your belts, please.”
The plane made a half-turn and stood waiting its signal to depart. Hilarythought, “Perhaps the plane will crash .?.?. Perhaps it will never rise off theground. Then that will be the end, that will be the solution to everything.”
They seemed to wait for ages out on the airfield. Waiting for the signal tostart off to freedom, Hilary thought, absurdly: “I shall never get away,never. I shall be kept here—a prisoner. .?.?.”
Ah, at last.
A final roar of engines, then the plane started forward. Quicker, quicker,racing along. Hilary thought: “It won’t rise. It can’t .?.?. this is the end.” Ah,they were above the ground now, it seemed. Not so much that the planerose as that the earth was falling away, dropping down, thrusting its prob-lems and its disappointments and its frustrations beneath the soaringcreature rising up so proudly into the clouds. Up they went, circlinground, the aerodrome looking like a ridiculous child’s toy beneath. Funnylittle roads, strange little railways with toy trains on them. A ridiculouschildish world where people loved and hated and broke their hearts. Noneof it mattered because they were all so ridiculous and so prettily small andunimportant. Now there were clouds below them, a dense, greyish-whitemass. They must be over the Channel now. Hilary leaned back, closing hereyes. Escape. Escape. She had left England, left Nigel, left the sad littlemound that was Brenda’s grave. All left behind. She opened her eyes,closed them again with a long sigh. She slept. .?.?.
第三章（1）
第三章
1“乘坐法国航空一〇八次航班的乘客，请这边走。”
希思罗机场候机大厅里陆续有人站起。希拉里•克雷文拎起她小小的蜥蜴皮旅行箱，随着人流走向停机坪。离开闷热的候机厅，外面冷冽的寒风吹得人难受。
希拉里打了个寒战，把身上的皮草大衣裹得更紧了。她跟随其他乘客走向即将要乘坐的飞机。成功了！她解脱了，逃离了！从这灰暗、阴冷、死气沉沉的悲惨生活中逃离了。
逃去阳光明媚的蓝天下，去拥抱新的生活。她要把所有重负都抛在身后，悲惨的境遇和挫折失败。她踏上飞机舷梯，低头走进舱门，由空乘领到自己的座位。这是近几个月来她第一次感到放松，摆脱了几乎影响到身体健康的痛苦。“我要离开了。”她满怀希望地自言自语道，“我就要离开了。”
引擎的轰鸣声和机翼转动的声音使她兴奋，这声音似乎带有一种原始的野性。她想，由文明礼仪制造的不幸，是最糟糕的不幸，灰暗而毫无希望。但是现在，她又想到，我要逃离了。
飞机慢慢地沿着跑道滑行。乘务员的声音传来。
“请您系紧安全带。”
飞机转了九十度，停下来等待起飞的信号。希拉里暗想，飞机可能会坠毁……可能永远都无法飞离地面。那么一切都结束了，一切事情都解决了。他们似乎等了很久，等待着飞向自由的信号，希拉里有点荒谬地想着：我永远都离不开这里了，永远。我会永远待在这里……我是个囚犯……
啊，终于。
发动机发出一声轰鸣，接着飞机开始加速。沿着跑道，速度越来越快，越来越快。希拉里想着：但它无法升空。它不能……这就是结局。哦，似乎已经离开地面了。与其说飞机升空了，不如说是地面在下沉，沉下去，把所有问题、失落和挫折都丢下，不断向上的飞机则骄傲地钻入云端。飞机在攀升、盘旋，下面的机场看起来就像滑稽可笑的孩子的玩具一样。可笑的小马路，奇怪的小铁路和上面的玩具火车。一个荒谬可笑的孩童般的世界，人们在这里相爱、憎恨、伤心欲绝。如今这些都没有意义了，因为全都荒谬可笑、异常渺小、微不足道。接着飞机钻入云团，视野变得模糊，像裹在一团灰白色的脏东西里。
一定是正在穿越英吉利海峡。希拉里靠在座椅上，闭上了眼睛。逃离。逃离。她已经离开了英国，离开了奈杰尔，离开了埋葬布伦达的小土堆。一切都被她抛诸脑后。她睁开眼睛，深深地叹了口气后又再次闭上。她睡着了……
Three（2）
II
When Hilary awoke, the plane was coming down. “Paris,” thought Hilary,as she sat up in her seat and reached for her handbag. But it was not Paris.
The air hostess came down the car saying, with that nursery governessbrightness that some travellers found so annoying:
“We are landing you at Beauvais as the fog is very thick in Paris.”
The suggestion in her manner was: “Won’t that be nice, children?” Hil-ary peered down through the small space of window at her side. She couldsee little. Beauvais also appeared to be wreathed in fog. The plane wascircling round slowly. It was some time before it finally made its landing.
Then the passengers were marshalled through cold, damp mist into arough wooden building with a few chairs and a long wooden counter.
Depression settled down on Hilary but she tried to fight it off. A mannear her murmured:
“An old war aerodrome. No heating or comforts here. Still, fortunately,being the French, they’ll serve us out some drinks.”
True enough, almost immediately a man came along with some keysand presently passengers were being served with various forms of alco-holic refreshments to boost their morale. It helped to buoy the passengersup for the long and irritating wait.
Some hours passed before anything happened. Other planes appearedout of the fog and landed, also diverted from Paris. Soon the small roomwas crowded with cold, irritable people grumbling about the delay.
To Hilary it all had an unreal quality. It was as though she was still in adream, mercifully protected from contact with reality. This was only adelay, only a matter of waiting. She was still on her journey—her journeyof escape. She was still getting away from it all, still going towards thatspot where her life would start again. Her mood held. Held through thelong, fatiguing delay, held through the moments of chaos when it was an-nounced, long after dark, that buses had come to convey the travellers toParis.
There was then a wild confusion, of coming and going, passengers, offi-cials, porters all carrying baggage, hurrying and colliding in the darkness.
In the end Hilary found herself, her feet and legs icy cold, in a bus slowlyrumbling its way through the fog towards Paris.
It was a long weary drive taking four hours. It was midnight when theyarrived at the Invalides and Hilary was thankful to collect her baggageand drive to the hotel where accommodation was reserved for her. Shewas too tired to eat—just had a hot bath and tumbled into bed.
The plane to Casablanca was due to leave Orly Airport at ten-thirty thefollowing morning, but when they arrived at Orly everything was confu-sion. Planes had been grounded in many parts of Europe, arrivals hadbeen delayed as well as departures.
A harassed clerk at the departure desk shrugged his shoulders and said:
“Impossible for Madame to go on the flight where she had reservations!
The schedules have all had to be changed. If Madame will take a seat for alittle minute, presumably all will arrange itself.”
In the end she was summoned and told that there was a place on a planegoing to Dakar which normally did not touch down at Casablanca butwould do so on this occasion.
“You will arrive three hours later, that is all, Madame, on this later ser-vice.”
Hilary acquiesced without protest and the official seemed surprised andpositively delighted by her attitude.
“Madame has no conceptions of the difficulties that have been made tome this morning,” he said. “Enfin, they are unreasonable, Messieurs thetravellers. It is not I who made the fog! Naturally it has caused the disrup-tions. One must accommodate oneself with the good humour — that iswhat I say, however displeasing it is to have one’s plans altered. Aprèstout, Madame, a little delay of an hour or two hours or three hours, whatdoes it matter? How can it matter by what plane one arrives at Casab-lanca.”
Yet on that particular day it mattered more than the little Frenchmanknew when he spoke those words. For when Hilary finally arrived andstepped out into the sunshine on to the tarmac, the porter who was mov-ing beside her with his piled-up trolley of luggage observed:
“You have the lucky chance, Madame, not to have been on the plane be-fore this, the regular plane for Casablanca.”
Hilary said: “Why, what happened?”
The man looked uneasily to and fro, but after all, the news could not bekept secret. He lowered his voice confidentially and leant towards her.
“Mauvaise affaire!” he muttered. “It crashed—landing. The pilot and thenavigator are dead and most of the passengers. Four or five were aliveand have been taken to hospital. Some of those are badly hurt.”
Hilary’s first reaction was a kind of blinding anger. Almost unpromptedthere leapt into her mind the thought, “Why wasn’t I in that plane? If I hadbeen, it would have been all over now—I should be dead, out of it all. Nomore heartaches, no more misery. The people in that plane wanted to live.
And I—I don’t care. Why shouldn’t it have been me?”
She passed through the Customs, a perfunctory affair, and drove withher baggage to the hotel. It was a glorious, sunlit afternoon, with the sunjust sinking to rest. The clear air and golden light—it was all as she hadpictured it. She had arrived! She had left the fog, the cold, the darkness ofLondon; she had left behind her misery and indecision and suffering.
Here there was pulsating life and colour and sunshine.
She crossed her bedroom and threw open the shutters, looking out intothe street. Yes, it was all as she had pictured it would be. Hilary turnedslowly away from the window and sat down on the side of the bed. Es-cape, escape! That was the refrain that had hummed incessantly in hermind ever since she left England. Escape. Escape. And now she knew—knew with a horrible, stricken coldness, that there was no escape.
Everything was just the same here as it had been in London. She herself,Hilary Craven, was the same. It was from Hilary Craven that she was try-ing to escape, and Hilary Craven was Hilary Craven in Morocco just asmuch as she had been Hilary Craven in London. She said very softly toherself:
“What a fool I’ve been—what a fool I am. Why did I think that I’d feeldifferently if I got away from England?”
Brenda’s grave, that small pathetic mound, was in England and Nigelwould shortly be marrying his new wife in England. Why had she ima-gined that those two things would matter less to her here? Wishful think-ing, that was all. Well, that was all over now. She was up against reality.
The reality of herself and what she could bear, and what she could notbear. One could bear things, Hilary thought, so long as there was a reasonfor bearing them. She had borne her own long illness, she had borneNigel’s defection and the cruel and brutal circumstances in which it hadoperated. She had borne these things because there was Brenda. Then hadcome the long, slow, losing fight for Brenda’s life—the final defeat .?.?. Nowthere was nothing to live for any longer. It had taken the journey to Mo-rocco to prove that to her. In London she had had a queer, confused feel-ing that if only she could get somewhere else she could forget what lay be-hind her and start again. And so she had booked her journey to this placewhich had no associations with the past, a place quite new to her whichhad the qualities she loved so much: sunlight, pure air and the strangenessof new people and things. Here, she had thought, things will be different.
But they were not different. They were the same. The facts were quitesimple and inescapable. She, Hilary Craven, had no longer any wish to goon living. It was as simple as that.
If the fog had not intervened, if she had travelled on the plane on whichher reservations had been made, then her problem might have beensolved by now. She might be lying in some French official mortuary, abody broken and battered with her spirit at peace, freed from suffering.
Well, the same end could be achieved, but she would have to take a littletrouble.
It would have been so easy, if she had had sleeping-stuff with her. Sheremembered how she had asked Dr. Grey and the rather queer look on hisface as he had answered:
“Better not. Much better to learn to sleep naturally. May be hard at first,but it will come.”
A queer look on his face. Had he known then or suspected that it wouldcome to this? Oh, well, it should not be difficult. She rose to her feet withdecision. She would go out now to a chemist’s shop.
第三章（2）
2希拉里醒来的时候飞机正在下降。到巴黎了，希拉里一边想着一边站起来去拿行李。
但这里不是巴黎。空乘走过来，用许多乘客感到反感的幼儿园女老师的明快腔调说道：“因为巴黎大雾，我们将先行降落在博韦 [1] 。”看她那样子，仿佛在说：“孩子们，是不是很棒？”
希拉里透过身边的小窗向下看。什么都看不清，博韦也被浓雾笼罩。飞机在缓慢地盘旋，用了很长时间降落。接着乘客们被带领着穿过寒冷潮湿的迷雾，进入一栋只有几把椅子和一个长条木桌的简陋木屋。
希拉里失望万分，但她努力让自己振奋起来。坐在她旁边的男人小声说道：“这儿是战时用的旧机场，没有暖气，条件很差。不过幸运的是我们在法国，法国人会给我们提供些酒水。”
确实，几乎立刻就来了一个带着一大串钥匙的人，他为乘客们提供各种酒精饮料，以振奋精神。在令人焦躁的漫长等待中，酒确实非常有用。
就这样等了几个小时。其间又有一些去往巴黎的飞机在迷雾中出现，降落在这里。很快，这间小木屋里就挤满了瑟瑟发抖、暴躁不满的人们，都在为延误抱怨。
对于希拉里来说，这一切都很不真实。仿佛她仍处于梦中，被仁慈地护佑着让她远离现实。这只是一次延误，只是一次等待。她仍在旅程之中——逃离之旅。她仍在尽力逃脱这一切，向生活可能重新开始的地方逃去。情绪正缠着她。在这漫长的、令人筋疲力尽的延误中，在夜幕降临，几辆汽车驶来，宣称要将乘客们载往巴黎的混乱中，情绪一直未散。
那是怎样的一种混乱啊，乘客、工作人员、搬运工，都拖着行李，在黑暗中匆忙来回，互相碰撞。终于坐上在浓雾中缓缓驶往巴黎的汽车时，希拉里感觉自己的脚和腿都冻僵了。
这趟令人疲倦的漫长旅程共花费四个小时，午夜时分他们才抵达巴黎荣军院。希拉里心怀感激地拿好自己的行李，马上赶往提前订好的酒店。她太累了，不想吃东西，只是洗了个热水澡就爬上床睡觉了。
飞往卡萨布兰卡的飞机原定于第二天早晨十点半从奥利机场起航，但一早的奥利机场却是一片混乱。从欧洲各地飞来的航班都没有抵达，出发和到达层都挤满了乘客。
候机服务台前的工作人员一脸疲惫，耸了耸肩，说道：“夫人，您无法乘坐之前预订的航班启程了！航班时间表都变了。请您稍微等一会儿，一切都会安排妥当的。”
然后她被告知飞往达喀尔 [2] 的航班上还有一个座位，通常这条航线是不经停卡萨布兰卡的，但鉴于今天的特殊情况，会在那里停留。
“夫人，如果您乘坐这趟飞机，三个小时之后就能到卡萨布兰卡了。”
希拉里毫不犹豫地接受了，那位工作人员似乎被她吓到了，同时明显很感激她的配合。
“夫人，您想象不到我今早遇到了多少麻烦。”他说，“那些先生们实在是蛮不讲理啊！
这大雾又不是因我而起的！大雾自然会导致混乱，一个人必须学会平心静气地调整情绪，即便发生了行程改变这种令人不快的事。说到底 [3] ，夫人，耽误一个小时、两个小时还是三个小时，又有什么关系呢？坐哪一架飞机飞往卡萨布兰卡又有什么要紧的。”
不过，在这特别的一天，乘坐哪架飞机飞往卡萨布兰卡远比这个小个子法国人所说的要紧要得多。当希拉里最终抵达目的地，走出机舱感受外面的阳光的时候，一位推着一车行李的搬运工从她身侧走过，对她说：“您真幸运，夫人，没有搭乘上一班飞机，就是常规飞来卡萨布兰卡的那班。”
希拉里问：“为什么，发生了什么？”
搬运工紧张地四处张望，最终还是没能憋住那个秘密。他压低声音、靠近希拉里偷偷地跟她说：“恐怖极了！”他继续低声道，“飞机坠毁了，着陆的时候。机长和空乘全死了，大部分乘客也死了。只有四五个人幸存，被送往医院，大都受了重伤。”
希拉里的第一反应是一种说不清的愤怒。她下意识地想，为什么我不在那架飞机上？
如果我搭乘了那架飞机，现在一切就都结束了。我死了，摆脱了一切。再也不会头痛，不会再有不幸。乘坐那架飞机的人想活着，而我——我不在乎。为什么在那架飞机上的不是我？
通过了十分敷衍的海关检查后，她带着行李乘车前往酒店。这是个阳光充沛的舒适午后，太阳正渐渐西沉。清新的空气和金色的阳光——这正是她曾在脑中构想的画面。她做到了！告别了雾气沉沉、阴冷潮湿、昏暗无比的伦敦；伤心、迟疑和痛苦都被她抛在身后了。这里有鲜活的生活、色彩和阳光。
她穿过卧室，拉开窗帘，透过窗户望向外面的大街。是的，一切正如她所想。希拉里从窗边慢慢转过身，坐在床边。逃离，逃离！自从离开英国，她的脑海里就不断回响着这个词。逃离。逃离。现在她知道了——怀着一种恐怖、折磨人的寒意，她知道根本无处可逃。
这里和伦敦别无二致。她自己，希拉里•克雷文，也没有改变。她想逃离的正是希拉里•克雷文，然而希拉里•克雷文还是希拉里•克雷文，无论她身在摩洛哥还是伦敦。
她轻声对自己说：“我是个多么愚蠢的傻瓜。我真傻啊！我竟然认为离开伦敦就会有完全不同的感觉。”
布伦达的坟墓还在英国，那个可悲的小土堆，而奈杰尔也将会在英国迎娶新妻子。为什么她会以为离开了英国，这两件事对她来说就没那么重要了？这不过是她的美好幻想。
好了，这一切都过去了。她要面对现实，面对自己，面对她能承受的以及无力承受的。希拉里想，人总能熬过去的，只要还有理由承受一切熬过去。她承受了长期的病痛折磨，承受了奈杰尔的背叛和背叛所引发的残酷悲惨的境遇。她选择承受这一切，全因为布伦达。
然后为了布伦达的生命，她又经历了一场进展缓慢的漫长战斗——最终她输了……现在已经没有值得活下去的理由了。这趟摩洛哥之旅进一步证明了这一点。在伦敦时她总有一种模模糊糊的奇怪感觉，只要她能去一个新地方，就能忘记身边的麻烦事，开始新生活。于是她预订了这趟旅程，来到这个与她的过去没有丝毫关系的地方，而且这里有她非常喜欢的东西：阳光，纯净的空气，陌生人和新事物。她曾经以为来到这里一切就会变得不同。
然而什么都没变，现实还是如此简单又不可逃避。她，希拉里•克雷文，不想继续活下去了。就是如此简单。
要是没有大雾干扰，要是她搭上了那架她预订的飞机的话，问题可能就解决了。此时她可能正躺在某个法国政府所属的停尸间，尸体支离破碎、伤痕累累，但精神得到了安宁，从痛苦中解脱了。不过还可以通过其他途径达到这一结果，只是要费点周折。
如果她带着安眠药的话，将会很容易。她记起问格雷医生要安眠药时医生脸上古怪的表情，接着他说：“最好不要服药，试着自然入睡对你有好处。可能一开始有点困难，但慢慢就会好的。”
他脸上的表情十分奇怪。难道他那时就知道或猜到她的打算了？哦，没事，不会太困难的。她下定决心站了起来。她现在就要出门去药店。
注释：
[1]博韦（Beauvais）是位于巴黎西北部的一个城市。
[2]达喀尔（Dakar）是塞内加尔的首都。
[3]原文为法语。本书中有多处法语表述，均以仿宋表示。
Three（3）
III
Hilary had always imagined that drugs were easy to buy in foreign cities.
Rather to her surprise, she found that this was not so. The chemist shewent to first supplied her with only two doses. For more than that amount,he said, a doctor’s prescription would be advisable. She thanked him smil-ingly and nonchalantly and went rather quickly out of the shop, collidingas she did so with a tall, rather solemn-faced young man, who apologizedin English. She heard him asking for toothpaste as she left the shop.
Somehow that amused her. Toothpaste. It seemed so ridiculous, so nor-mal, so everyday. Then a sharp pang pierced her, for the toothpaste hehad asked for was the brand that Nigel had always preferred. She crossedthe street and went into a shop opposite. She had been to four chemists’
shops by the time she returned to the hotel. It had amused her a little thatin the third shop the owlish young man had again appeared, once moreasking obstinately for his particular brand of toothpaste which evidentlywas not one commonly stocked by French chemists in Casablanca.
Hilary felt almost lighthearted as she changed her frock and made upher face before going down for dinner. She purposely went down as lateas possible since she was anxious not to encounter any of her fellow trav-ellers or the personnel of the aeroplane. That was hardly likely in any case,since the plane had gone on to Dakar, and she thought that she had beenthe only person put off at Casablanca.
The restaurant was almost empty by the time she came into it, thoughshe noticed that the young Englishman with the owl-like face was just fin-ishing his meal at the table by the wall. He was reading a French newspa-per and seemed quite absorbed in it.
Hilary ordered herself a good meal with a half-bottle of wine. She wasfeeling a heady kind of excitement. She thought to herself, “What is thisafter all, but the last adventure?” Then she ordered a bottle of Vichy waterto be sent up to her room and went straight up after leaving the diningroom.
The waiter brought the Vichy, uncapped it, placed it on the table, andwishing her good night, left the room. Hilary drew a sigh of relief. As heclosed the door after him, she went to it and turned the key in the lock.
She took from the drawer of the dressing table the four little packets shehad obtained from the chemists’, and unwrapped them. She laid the tab-lets out on the table and poured herself out a glass of Vichy water. Sincethe drug was in tablet form, she had only to swallow the tablets, and washthem down with the Vichy water.
She undressed, wrapped her dressing gown round her and came back tosit by the table. Her heart beat faster. She felt something like fear now, butthe fear was half fascination and not the kind of flinching that would havetempted her to abandon her plan. She was quite calm and clear aboutthat. This was escape at last—real escape. She looked at the writing table,debating whether she would leave a note. She decided against it. She hadno relations, no close or dear friends, there was nobody to whom shewished to say goodbye. As for Nigel, she had no wish to burden him withuseless remorse even if a note from her would have achieved that object.
Nigel would read presumably in the paper that a Mrs. Hilary Craven haddied of an overdose of sleeping tablets in Casablanca. It would probablybe quite a small paragraph. He would accept it at its face value. “Poor oldHilary,” he would say, “bad luck”—and it might be that, secretly, he wouldbe rather relieved. Because she guessed that she was, slightly, on Nigel’sconscience, and he was a man who wished to feel comfortable with him-self.
Already Nigel seemed very far away and curiously unimportant. Therewas nothing more to be done. She would swallow the pills and lie down onher bed and sleep. From that sleep she would not wake. She had not, orthought she had not, any religious feeling. Brenda’s death had shut downon all that. So there was nothing more to consider. She was once again atraveller as she had been at Heathrow Airport, a traveller waiting to de-part for an unknown destination, unencumbered by baggage, unaffectedby farewells. For the first time in her life she was free, entirely free, to actas she wished to act. Already the past was cut away from her. The longaching misery that had dragged her down in her waking hours was gone.
Yes. Light, free, unencumbered! Ready to start on her journey.
She stretched out her hand towards the first tablet. As she did so therecame a soft, discreet tap on the door. Hilary frowned. She sat there, herhand arrested in mid-air. Who was it—a chambermaid? No, the bed hadalready been turned down. Somebody, perhaps, about papers or passport?
She shrugged her shoulders. She would not answer the door. Why shouldshe bother? Presently whoever it was would go away and come back atsome further opportunity.
The knock came again, a little louder this time. But Hilary did not move.
There could be no real urgency, and whoever it was would soon go away.
Her eyes were on the door, and suddenly they widened with astonish-ment. The key was slowly turning backwards round the lock. It jerked for-ward and fell on the floor with a metallic clang. Then the handle turned,the door opened and a man came in. She recognized him as the solemn,owlish young man who had been buying toothpaste. Hilary stared at him.
She was too startled for the moment to say or do anything. The young manturned round, shut the door, picked the key up from the floor, put it intothe lock and turned it. Then he came across towards her and sat down in achair the other side of the table. He said, and it seemed to her a most in-congruous remark:
“My name’s Jessop.”
The colour rose sharply in Hilary’s face. She leaned forward. She saidwith cold anger:
“What do you think you’re doing here, may I ask?”
He looked at her solemnly—and blinked.
“Funny,” he said. “I came to ask you that.” He gave a quick sideways nodtowards the preparations on the table. Hilary said sharply:
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh yes, you do.”
Hilary paused, struggling for words. There were so many things shewanted to say. To express indignation. To order him out of the room. Butstrangely enough, it was curiosity that won the day. The question rose toher lips so naturally that she was almost unaware of asking it.
“That key,” she said, “it turned, of itself, in the lock?”
“Oh, that!” The young man gave a sudden boyish grin that transformedhis face. He put his hand into his pocket and, taking out a metal instru-ment, he handed it to her to examine.
“There you are,” he said, “very handy little tool. Insert it into the lockthe other side, it grips the key and turns it.” He took it back from her andput it in his pocket. “Burglars use them,” he said.
“So you’re a burglar?”
“No, no, Mrs. Craven, do me justice. I did knock, you know. Burglarsdon’t knock. Then, when it seemed you weren’t going to let me in, I usedthis.”
“But why?”
Again her visitor’s eyes strayed to the preparations on the table.
“I shouldn’t do it if I were you,” he said. “It isn’t a bit what you think,you know. You think you just go to sleep and you don’t wake up. But it’snot quite like that. All sorts of unpleasant effects. Convulsions sometimes,gangrene of the skin. If you’re resistant to the drug, it takes a long time towork, and someone gets to you in time and then all sorts of unpleasantthings happen. Stomach pump. Castor oil, hot coffee, slapping and push-ing. All very undignified, I assure you.”
Hilary leaned back in her chair, her eyelids narrowed. She clenched herhands slightly. She forced herself to smile.
“What a ridiculous person you are,” she said. “Do you imagine that I wascommitting suicide, or something like that?”
“Not only imagine it,” said the young man called Jessop, “I’m quite sureof it. I was in that chemist’s, you know, when you came in. Buying tooth-paste, as a matter of fact. Well, they hadn’t got the sort I like, so I went toanother shop. And there you were, asking for sleeping pills again. Well, Ithought that was a bit odd, you know, so I followed you. All those sleepingpills at different places. It could only add up to one thing.”
His tone was friendly, offhand, but quite assured. Looking at him HilaryCraven abandoned pretence.
“Then don’t you think it is unwarrantable impertinence on your part totry and stop me?”
He considered the point for a moment or two. Then he shook his head.
“No. It’s one of those things that you can’t not do—if you understand.”
Hilary spoke with energy. “You can stop me for the moment. I mean youcan take the pills away—throw them out of the window or something likethat—but you can’t stop me from buying more another day or throwingmyself down from the top floor of the building, or jumping in front of atrain.”
The young man considered this.
“No,” he said. “I agree I can’t stop you doing any of those things. But it’sa question, you know, whether you will do them. Tomorrow, that is.”
“You think I shall feel differently tomorrow?” asked Hilary, faint bitter-ness in her tone.
“People do,” said Jessop, almost apologetically.
“Yes, perhaps,” she considered. “If you’re doing things in a mood of hotdespair. But when it’s cold despair, it’s different. I’ve nothing to live for,you see.”
Jessop put his rather owlish head on one side, and blinked.
“Interesting,” he remarked.
“Not really. Not interesting at all. I’m not a very interesting woman. Myhusband, whom I loved, left me, my only child died very painfully of men-ingitis. I’ve no near friends or relations. I’ve no vocation, no art or craft orwork that I love doing.”
“Tough,” said Jessop appreciatively. He added, rather hesitantly: “Youdon’t think of it as—wrong?”
Hilary said heatedly: “Why should it be wrong? It’s my life.”
“Oh yes, yes,” Jessop repeated hastily. “I’m not taking a high moral linemyself, but there are people, you know, who think it’s wrong.”
Hilary said:
“I’m not one of them.”
Mr. Jessop said, rather inadequately:
“Quite.”
He sat there looking at her, blinking his eyes thoughtfully.
Hilary said:
“So perhaps now, Mr.—er—”
“Jessop,” said the young man.
“So perhaps now, Mr. Jessop, you will leave me alone.”
But Jessop shook his head.
“Not just yet,” he said. “I wanted to know, you see, just what was behindit all. I’ve got it clear now, have I? You’re not interested in life, you don’twant to live any longer, you more or less welcome the idea of death?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” said Jessop, cheerfully. “So now we know where we are. Let’s goon to the next step. Has it got to be sleeping pills?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve already told you that they’re not as romantic as they sound.
Throwing yourself off a building isn’t too nice, either. You don’t always dieat once. And the same applies to falling under a train. What I’m getting atis that there are other ways.”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I’m suggesting another method. Rather a sporting method, really.
There’s some excitement in it, too. I’ll be fair with you. There’s just a hun-dred to one chance that you mightn’t die. But I don’t believe under the cir-cumstances, that you’d really object by that time.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you haven’t,” said Jessop. “I’ve not begun to tell you about ityet. I’m afraid I’ll have to make rather a thing about it—tell you a story, Imean. Shall I go ahead?”
“I suppose so.”
Jessop paid no attention to the grudgingness of the assent. He started offin his most owl-like manner.
“You’re the sort of woman who reads the papers and keeps up withthings generally, I expect,” he said. “You’ll have read about the disappear-ance of various scientists from time to time. There was that Italian chapabout a year ago, and about two months ago a young scientist calledThomas Betterton disappeared.”
Hilary nodded. “Yes, I read about that in the papers.”
“Well, there’s been a good deal more than has appeared in the papers.
More people, I mean, have disappeared. They haven’t always been scient-ists. Some of them have been young men who were engaged in importantmedical research. Some of them have been research chemists, some ofthem have been physicists, there was one barrister. Oh, quite a lot hereand there and everywhere. Well, ours is a so-called free country. You canleave it if you like. But in these peculiar circumstances we’ve got to knowwhy these people left it and where they went, and, also important, howthey went. Did they go of their own free will? Were they kidnapped? Werethey blackmailed into going? What route did they take—what kind of or-ganization is it that sets this in motion and what is its ultimate aim? Lotsof questions. We want the answer to them. You might be able to help getus that answer.”
Hilary stared at him.
“Me? How? Why?”
“I’m coming down to the particular case of Thomas Betterton. He disap-peared from Paris just over two months ago. He left a wife in England. Shewas distracted—or said she was distracted. She swore that she had no ideawhy he’d gone or where or how. That may be true, or it may not. Somepeople—and I’m one of them—think it wasn’t true.”
Hilary leaned forward in her chair. In spite of herself she was becominginterested. Jessop went on.
“We prepared to keep a nice, unobtrusive eye on Mrs. Betterton. Abouta fortnight ago she came to me and told me she had been ordered by herdoctor to go abroad, take a thorough rest and get some distraction. Shewas doing no good in England, and people were continually bothering her—newspaper reporters, relations, kind friends.”
Hilary said drily: “I can imagine it.”
“Yes, tough. Quite natural she would want to get away for a bit.”
“Quite natural, I should think.”
“But we’ve got nasty, suspicious minds in our department, you know.
We arranged to keep tabs on Mrs. Betterton. Yesterday she left England asarranged, for Casablanca.”
“Casablanca?”
“Yes—en route to other places in Morocco, of course. All quite open andabove board, plans made, bookings ahead. But it may be that this trip toMorocco is where Mrs. Betterton steps off into the unknown.”
Hilary shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t see where I come into all this.”
Jessop smiled.
“You come into it because you’ve got a very magnificent head of redhair, Mrs. Craven.”
“Hair?”
“Yes. It’s the most noticeable thing about Mrs. Betterton — her hair.
You’ve heard, perhaps, that the plane before yours today crashed on land-ing.”
“I know. I should have been on that plane. I actually had reservationsfor it.”
“Interesting,” said Jessop. “Well, Mrs. Betterton was on that plane. Shewasn’t killed. She was taken out of the wreckage still alive, and she is inhospital now. But according to the doctor, she won’t be alive tomorrowmorning.”
A faint glimmer of light came to Hilary. She looked at him inquiringly.
“Yes,” said Jessop, “perhaps now you see the form of suicide I’m offeringyou. I’m suggesting that you should become Mrs. Betterton.”
“But surely,” said Hilary, “that would be quite impossible. I mean, they’dknow at once she wasn’t me.”
Jessop put his head on one side.
“That, of course, depends entirely on who you mean by ‘they.’ It’s a veryvague term. Who is or are ‘they?’ Is there such a thing, are there such per-sons as ‘they?’ We don’t know. But I can tell you this. If the most popularexplanation of ‘they’ is accepted, then these people work in very close,self-contained cells. They do that for their own security. If Mrs. Betterton’sjourney had a purpose and is planned, then the people who were incharge of it here will know nothing about the English side of it. At the ap-pointed moment they will contact a certain woman at a certain place, andcarry on from there. Mrs. Betterton’s passport description is 5 ft. 7, redhair, blue- green eyes, mouth medium, no distinguishing marks. Goodenough.”
“But the authorities here. Surely they—”
Jessop smiled. “That part of it will be quite all right. The French havelost a few valuable young scientists and chemists of their own. They’ll co-operate. The facts will be as follows. Mrs. Betterton, suffering from con-cussion, is taken to hospital. Mrs. Craven, another passenger in thecrashed plane, will also be admitted to hospital. Within a day or two Mrs.
Craven will die in hospital, and Mrs. Betterton will be discharged, sufferingslightly from concussion, but able to proceed on her tour. The crash wasgenuine, the concussion is genuine, and concussion makes a very goodcover for you. It excuses a lot of things like lapses of memory, and variousunpredictable behaviour.”
Hilary said:
“It would be madness!”
“Oh, yes,” said Jessop, “it’s madness, all right. It’s a very tough assign-ment and if our suspicions are realized, you’ll probably cop it. You see, I’mbeing quite frank, but according to you, you’re prepared and anxious tocop it. As an alternative to throwing yourself in front of a train or some-thing like that, I should think you’d find it far more amusing.”
Suddenly and unexpectedly Hilary laughed.
“I do believe,” she said, “that you’re quite right.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“In that case,” said Jessop, rising in his seat with sudden energy, “there’sabsolutely no time to be lost.”
第三章（3）
3希拉里总是幻想着在国外很容易就能买到药物，她惊讶地发现事实并非如此。她去的第一家药房只给了她两次服用的量，药剂师说想要更多剂量就必须有医生开具的处方。她笑着表示谢意，表现得好像根本不在乎。迅速离开药店时希拉里跟一个神色肃穆的高个子年轻男人撞了个满怀，男人用英语跟她道歉，之后她听到那个人要买牙膏。
这不知怎的逗乐了希拉里。牙膏。多么有趣啊，普通、每一天都在用的东西。接着一阵剧痛击中了她，男人要买的牙膏品牌正是奈杰尔喜欢用的。她穿过大街，走进对面的一家店。最终她去了四家药店，好笑的是，她在第三家药店又遇到了那个年轻人，执着地向店员询问很明显卡萨布兰卡的法国药店不会有的牙膏。之后希拉里回到了酒店。
下楼享用晚餐前，她怀着近乎愉悦的心情换上连衣裙，并打扮了一番。为避免碰到同机的游客和机组人员，她耗到很晚才下楼。其实能碰到他们的概率很小，因为那架飞机是飞往达喀尔的，希拉里很可能是唯一在卡萨布兰卡下飞机的人。
她踏入餐厅的时候里面几乎没人了，不过她马上注意到那个长得像猫头鹰一样的年轻英国人就坐在靠墙的桌边，并且就快用完晚餐了。他正在阅读一份法国报纸，看上去对报纸上的内容颇感兴趣。
希拉里享用了一顿丰盛的晚餐，还喝了半瓶酒，她感到一种微醺的兴奋。她想，这算什么，最后一次冒险？接着她让服务员送一瓶维希矿泉水到自己的房间，然后就离开餐厅径直上楼去了。
送维希矿泉水的服务员为她扭开盖子，把水瓶放到桌上，跟她道了声晚安离开了房间。希拉里长舒一口气。服务员一走，希拉里就跑过去把门锁上了。她从梳妆台的抽屉里拿出那四个小药包，打开，把药片放在桌子上，倒了一杯维希矿泉水。她只需把药片塞到嘴里，再用维希矿泉水冲下去就行了。
接着她脱下连衣裙，裹上睡袍，再次坐到了桌边。她的心脏跳得很快，并有一种类似恐惧的感觉，但这种恐惧更像诱惑，而不是吓得她想放弃计划。她十分平静，头脑清醒。
这才是逃离——真正的逃脱。她看向写字台，想着是否要留个字条，最终决定不留了。她没有亲人，没有密友，没有想郑重与之告别的人。至于奈杰尔，留张字条或许会让他懊悔，但她不想给他增加这无用的负担。奈杰尔或许会在报纸上读到这样一篇报道，希拉里•克雷文太太在卡萨布兰卡因过量服用安眠药身亡，不会占很大篇幅。他会照字面意思接受整件事。“可怜的老希拉里，”他会这么说，“真不幸啊！”内心深处他说不定深感解脱。她觉得自己的存在让奈杰尔有些良心不安，而他是一个希望保持坦荡的人。
不过如今奈杰尔离她非常遥远，而且竟然不那么重要了。没什么要做的了。她要吞下这些药片，躺到床上，睡过去。进入梦乡后再也不醒来。她没有——或者说她认为自己没有——任何宗教上的顾虑，布伦达的死已让她断绝了这类感觉。因此真的没有任何事要考虑了。如同在希斯罗机场时一样，她再次成为一位旅客，等待着去往一个未知的目的地，没有沉重的行李，不受离别的牵绊。这将是她的一生中第一次感到自由，彻底的自由，想做什么就做什么。过往已经从她身上剥离，清醒时长久地纠缠着她的痛苦也全都消失了。
是的。轻盈，自由，没有负担！她准备好开始这段旅程了。
她伸出手去拿第一片药。恰在此时，响起一阵轻柔、小心翼翼的敲门声。希拉里皱了皱眉。她坐在那里，手悬在半空。会是谁？女服务员吗？不是，床铺已经打理好了。可能是办理文件或护照的人？她耸了耸肩，没有应门。干吗惹麻烦呢？不管是谁，见没人应就会离开，等待会儿再来。
敲门声再次响起，比上一次稍微响了一些。但是希拉里还是没有动。不会有什么要紧事的，那个人很快就会离开。
她望向房门的双眼突然因惊吓而睁大。插在锁眼上的钥匙在缓慢地转动，然后哐当一声掉落在了地板上。接着门把手一转，门被打开，一个男人闯了进来。她认出来人就是那个长得像猫头鹰、在药店买牙膏的严肃年轻人。希拉里盯着他。此时此刻她太惊讶了，以至于说不出话，也动弹不得。年轻人转身关上门，把地上的钥匙捡起来重新插进锁眼，并锁好了门。接着他径直朝她走去，坐在桌子边的另一把椅子上。他开口了，在她听来这句话十分不合时宜。
“我叫杰索普。”
希拉里的脸瞬间通红。她身子前倾，带着冷冷的愤怒问道：“请问，你要干什么？”
年轻人严肃地看着她，还眨了眨眼。
“有意思，”他说道，“这正是我来这儿想问你的问题。”他朝旁边桌子上的药片迅速地点了点头。
希拉里尖声道：“我不明白你在说什么。”
“哦，不，你明白。”
希拉里顿了顿，试图组织语言。她有太多想说的了——表达愤怒，让他离开屋子。但是奇怪极了，今天好奇心占了上风。那个问题自然而然地浮上了她的嘴唇，话都说完了她才意识到自己在说什么。
“钥匙，锁里的钥匙，是自己转起来的吗？”
“哦，这个啊！”年轻人忽然像小男孩一样咧嘴笑了起来。他把手伸进口袋，拿出一个金属工具，递给了她。
“这个，”他说道，“一件非常好用的小工具。把它从另一边插入锁眼，就能抓住钥匙并转动它。”他拿回这个小工具，放回自己的口袋，又补充了一句，“小偷们就用这个。”
“这么说你是一个小偷？”
“不、不，克雷文太太，不要诬陷我。我敲门了，你肯定听到了，小偷是不会敲门的。
只是你似乎不想让我进来，我才不得已使用了工具。”
“为什么？”
这位访客再一次看向桌子上的药片。
“如果我是你的话，我可不会这么做。”他说道，“那和你想的完全不一样。你以为你就是睡过去，再也不会醒来。但并不是那样的。会有各种不良反应，身体会抽搐，皮肤会生坏疽。如果你有些抗药性的话，就要过很久才会起作用，起效前若有人发现了你，那可就惨了。洗胃器，蓖麻油，热咖啡，又是拍又是打。相信我，那非常不体面。”
希拉里靠在椅背上，眯着眼睛。她微微捏紧拳头，强迫自己露出微笑。
“你真是可笑，”她说道，“你怀疑我要自杀？”
“不只是怀疑。”叫杰索普的年轻人说道，“我相当确信。你知道的，当时我在药店买牙膏，你走了进来。哦，他们没有我想要的牙膏，于是我去了另一家店。你又出现了，还是买安眠药。嗯，我觉得这有些古怪，所以我就跟踪了你。你去了几家药店买安眠药，这一切总结起来只能说明一件事。”
他的语气十分友善、随意，却相当肯定。看着他，希拉里•克雷文抛下了所有伪装。
“可你不觉得你这么单方面地跑来阻止我，是无理且莽撞的吗？”
他思考了一两分钟，接着摇了摇头。
“不。这是你不能做的事情——如果这么说你能理解的话。”
希拉里大声说道：“这一刻你能阻止我，我的意思是你能把这些药片全拿走，把它们扔出窗外之类的。但是你不能阻止我过段时间再去买更多的药片，或是从某幢楼的楼顶纵身一跃，或是冲到火车前面。”
年轻人思考了一会儿。
“是的，”他说道，“我确实不能阻止你做这类事情。但问题是，你知道的，你还想做这种事情吗？比如明天？”
“你认为到了明天我就会有不同的想法了？”希拉里带着一丝苦涩问道。
“人们通常都会这样。”杰索普带着歉意说。
“是的，或许。”她若有所思地说，“如果你是一时冲动而做了什么。但当你处于冷酷的绝望之中时，情况就不同了。你看，我没值得活下去的理由了。”
杰索普歪过犹如猫头鹰一般的头，眨了眨眼。
“有趣。”他说道。
“不，一点也不有趣，我不是一个有趣的女人。我的丈夫，那个我深爱着的人，离开了我，我唯一的孩子因为脑膜炎而痛苦地死去。我没有亲近的朋友，没有家人，没有职业，对艺术、手工等都没有兴趣。”
“你很坚强。”杰索普像在赞叹。接着他有些迟疑地问了一句：“你不认为这么做……是错的吗？”
希拉里激动地说：“为什么这么做是错的？这是我的生命。”
“哦，是的，是的，”杰索普匆忙应道，“我不是一个拥有强烈道德感的人，但是你知道的，有些人认为这么做是错的。”
希拉里说：“我不是这类人。”
杰索普含糊地应道：“确实。”
他坐在那里看着她，眨着眼睛沉思着。
希拉里说道：“所以，现在，呃……先生……”
“杰索普。”年轻人提醒道。
“所以现在，杰索普先生，你可以离开了吗？”
但是杰索普摇了摇头。
“现在还不行。”他说，“我要搞清楚，嗯，这是怎么回事儿。我已经弄明白一部分了，对吗？您对活着不抱希望，不想再活下去了，或多或少有些期待死亡。”
“是的。”
“好。”杰索普愉快地说，“我们说到这一步了，那让我们继续下一步吧。一定要服用安眠药自杀吗？”
“什么意思？”
“嗯，我已经告诉你了，服用安眠药自杀并不像人们所说的那么唯美浪漫。从大楼纵身跳下也不会太好看，你不会立即死去。卧轨也是。说了这么多，我想表达的是，还有其他方式去拥抱死亡。”
“我不明白。”
“我向你建议另一种死亡方式，一种相当冒险的方式，还伴随着激动人心的感觉。坦白说，只有百分之一的可能你死不了，而我相信若发生这种情况，你也不会拒绝继续活下去。”
“你在说什么？我一个字都没听懂。”
“是啊，当然了，”杰索普说道，“我还没开始解释这种方式呢。恐怕我要费一番功夫了——我得先给你讲个故事。我能继续说吗？”
“你说吧。”
杰索普并未在意她的勉强态度，开始郑重其事地谈论自己的计划。
“我想你是那种有读报的习惯，会紧跟时事的女人。”他说道，“你应该看到过科学家们不时失踪的报道。一年前，一位意大利科学家失踪了；两个月前，一位叫作托马斯•贝特顿的年轻科学家也失踪了。”
希拉里点点头。“是的，我在报纸上读到过。”
“好的，事实上远比报纸上报道的要多，我是说失踪的人。他们不全是科学家，其中也有一些参与了重要医学研究项目的年轻人。有化学领域的，有物理领域的，还有一位律师。哦，这儿啊那儿啊，到处都有人失踪。嗯，我们国家是一个‘自由之国’，如果你想离开，没人拦你。但放在这几个人身上，我们不知道他们为什么离开以及去了哪儿，还有更重要的，他们是怎么离开的？是出于自己的意志吗？是被绑架了吗？是被迫离开的吗？以什么路径离开的——通过什么组织完成，最终目的又是什么？这其中有很多问题。我们想找到答案，而你或许有可能帮我们找到答案。”
希拉里盯着他。
“我？什么？为什么？”
“我这就来给你讲讲托马斯•贝特顿失踪这件事。他两个月前从巴黎失踪了，把妻子留在了英国。她焦虑不安——至少她自己是这么说的。她发誓说自己不知道他为什么离开、去了哪儿、怎么去的。这可能是实话，也可能不是。许多人认为这不是实话，我也是其中之一。”
希拉里身子前倾，她正无法自控地越发感兴趣。
杰索普继续说道：“我们打算监视贝特顿太太，但要足够低调。差不多两周前她来找我，说医生建议她去外国彻底休养一段时间，散散心。她在英国过得不太好，总有人打扰她，报社记者们、亲属和友善的朋友们。”
希拉里冷冷地说：“我想象得到。”
“嗯，艰难极了。她想离开一段时间也是情理之中的。”
“非常正常，我觉得。”
“但干我们这行的都疑心很重，看什么都觉得有陷阱。我们要安排对贝特顿太太进行监视。昨天她如期离开了英国，来到卡萨布兰卡。”
“卡萨布兰卡？”
“是的。稍事停留，然后再去摩洛哥的其他地方。她的行程是提前订好了的，公开透明，但这一切或许只是贝特顿太太前往某地的掩护。”
希拉里耸了耸肩。
“我不明白，为什么跟我说这些？”
杰索普笑了。
“因为你有一头美丽的红发，克雷文太太。”
“头发？”
“是的，这是贝特顿太太身上最引人注目的特点——她的头发。你可能已经听说了，今天早一点的那班飞机，着陆的时候坠毁了。”
“我知道。我本该在那班飞机上的，我原本订的是那班飞机的票。”
“有趣。”杰索普说道，“嗯，贝特顿太太在那架飞机上。她没死，被人从失事飞机残骸里救了出来，现在在医院里。但是据医生说，她活不过明天早晨了。”
一丝微光照进希拉里心中，她带着质询的眼神看着杰索普。
“好了，”杰索普说道，“现在你或许已经明白我提供给你的自杀方式了。我建议你化身为贝特顿太太。”
“但是，这不太可能。”希拉里说道，“我的意思是，他们立马会认出我不是贝特顿太太的。”
杰索普歪着头。
“至于这个，完全取决于你所说的‘他们’是谁了。这是一个意思模糊的词。‘他们’是谁？是像这个代词指代的那类人吗？我们不知道。但我能告诉你的是，如果‘他们’就是最常说的那类人，那么‘他们’一定关系紧密、封闭、独立。这么做是为了自身的安危。如果贝特顿太太此行是有目的且有计划的，那么这边的负责人肯定完全不了解英国那边的情况。他们只会约好在特定的时间、特定的地点，跟一位特定的女士联系，接着再往下传。
贝特顿太太护照上的描述是五英尺七英寸高，红发，蓝绿色的眼睛，中等嘴型，身上没有特别疤痕。好极了。”
“但是这里的当局，他们一定会……”
杰索普笑了。“这一部分不用担心。法国也失去了一些年轻、有价值的科学家和化学家，他们会配合的。我们是这样安排的。贝特顿太太因为脑震荡被送入医院，在飞机事故中受伤的另一位乘客克雷文太太也被送进了医院。一两天后克雷文太太死在了医院里，贝特顿太太虽然有些轻微的脑震荡后遗症，但可以出院，并继续旅行了。飞机事故是真的，脑震荡也是真的，脑震荡还能给你提供一个很好的掩护，它可以解释很多事情，比如突然记不住以前的事了，或者其他与贝特顿太太不符的行为。”
希拉里说道：“这简直太疯狂了！”
“哦，确实。”杰索普说道，“确实疯狂，没错。这是一次非常艰难的任务，而如果我们的怀疑被证实，你可能会死。你知道我一直很坦诚，我想反正你已经准备好了去死，甚至希望去死，我认为相比卧轨之类的寻死方法，我的建议要更有意思。”
希拉里突然毫无征兆地笑了起来。
“你说得没错。”她说道。
“你同意了？”
“是的，为什么不呢？”
“那么，”杰索普猛然站了起来，动作有力，“就一分一秒都不能浪费了。”
Four（1）
Four
I
It was not really cold in the hospital but it felt cold. There was a smell ofantiseptics in the air. Occasionally in the corridor outside could be heardthe rattle of glasses and instruments as a trolley was pushed by. HilaryCraven sat in a hard iron chair by a bedside.
In the bed, lying flat under a shaded light with her head bandaged, OliveBetterton lay unconscious. There was a nurse standing on one side of thebed and the doctor on the other. Jessop sat in a chair in the far corner ofthe room. The doctor turned to him and spoke in French.
“It will not be very long now,” he said. “The pulse is very much weaker.”
“And she will not recover consciousness?”
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
“That I cannot say. It may be, yes, at the very end.”
“There is nothing you can do—no stimulant?”
The doctor shook his head. He went out. The nurse followed him. Shewas replaced by a nun who moved to the head of the bed, and stood there,her fingers fingering her rosary. Hilary looked at Jessop and in obedienceto a glance from him came to join him.
“You heard what the doctor said?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes. What is it you want to say to her?”
“If she regains consciousness I want any information you can possiblyget, any password, any sign, any message, anything. Do you understand?
She is more likely to speak to you than to me.”
Hilary said with sudden emotion:
“You want me to betray someone who is dying?”
Jessop put his head on one side in the bird-like manner which he some-times adopted.
“So it seems like that to you, does it?” he said, considering.
“Yes, it does.”
He looked at her thoughtfully.
“Very well then, you shall say and do what you please. For myself I canhave no scruples! You understand that?”
“Of course. It’s your duty. You’ll do whatever questioning you please,but don’t ask me to do it.”
“You’re a free agent.”
“There is one question we shall have to decide. Are we to tell her thatshe is dying?”
“I don’t know. I shall have to think it out.”
She nodded and went back to her place by the bed. She was filled nowwith a deep compassion for the woman who lay there dying. The womanwho was on her way to join the man she loved. Or were they all wrong?
Had she come to Morocco simply to seek solace, to pass the time until per-haps some definite news could come to her as to whether her husbandwere alive or dead? Hilary wondered.
Time went on. It was nearly two hours later when the click of the nun’sbeads stopped. She spoke in a soft impersonal voice.
“There is a change,” she said. “I think, Madame, it is the end that comes.
I will fetch the doctor.”
She left the room. Jessop moved to the opposite side of the bed, standingback against the wall so that he was out of the woman’s range of vision.
The eyelids flickered and opened. Pale incurious blue-green eyes lookedinto Hilary’s. They closed, then opened again. A faint air of perplexityseemed to come into them.
“Where .?.?. ?”
The word fluttered between the almost breathless lips, just as the doctorentered the room. He took her hand in his, his finger on the pulse, stand-ing by the bed looking down on her.
“You are in hospital, Madame,” he said. “There was an accident to theplane.”
“To the plane?”
The words were repeated dreamily in that faint breathless voice.
“Is there anyone you want to see in Casablanca, Madame? Any messagewe can take?”
Her eyes were raised painfully to the doctor’s face. She said:
“No.”
She looked back again at Hilary.
“Who—who—”
Hilary bent forward and spoke clearly and distinctly.
“I came out from England on a plane, too—if there is anything I can doto help you, please tell me.”
“No—nothing—nothing—unless—”
“Yes?”
“Nothing.”
The eyes flickered again and half closed—Hilary raised her head andlooked across to meet Jessop’s imperious commanding glance. Firmly, sheshook her head.
Jessop moved forward. He stood close beside the doctor. The dying wo-man’s eyes opened again. Sudden recognition came into them. She said:
“I know you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Betterton, you know me. Will you tell me anything you canabout your husband?”
“No.”
Her eyelids fell again. Jessop turned quietly and left the room. The doc-tor looked across at Hilary. He said very softly:
“C’est la fin!”
The dying woman’s eyes opened again. They travelled painfully roundthe room, then they remained fixed on Hilary. Olive Betterton made avery faint motion with her hand, and Hilary instinctively took the whitecold hand between her own. The doctor, with a shrug of his shoulders anda little bow, left the room. The two women were alone together. Olive Bet-terton was trying to speak:
“Tell me—tell me—”
Hilary knew what she was asking, and suddenly her own course of ac-tion opened clearly before her. She leaned down over the recumbentform.
“Yes,” she said, her words clear and emphatic. “You are dying. That’swhat you want to know, isn’t it? Now listen to me. I am going to try andreach your husband. Is there any message you want me to give him if Isucceed?”
“Tell him—tell him—to be careful. Boris—Boris—dangerous. .?.?.”
The breath fluttered off again with a sigh. Hilary bent closer.
“Is there anything you can tell me to help me—help me in my journey, Imean? Help me to get in contact with your husband?”
“Snow.”
The word came so faintly that Hilary was puzzled. Snow? Snow? She re-peated it uncomprehendingly. A faint, ghost-like little giggle came fromOlive Betterton. Faint words came tumbling out.
Snow, snow, beautiful snow!
You slip on a lump, and over you go!
She repeated the last word. “Go .?.?. Go? Go and tell him about Boris. Ididn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. But perhaps it’s true .?.?. If so, if so.?.?.” a kind of agonized question came into her eyes which stared up intoHilary’s “.?.?. take care. .?.?.”
A queer rattle came to her throat. Her lips jerked.
Olive Betterton died.
第四章（1）
第四章
1其实医院并没有那么冷，只是身在其中觉得有些冷。空气中弥漫着消毒水的味道，偶尔护士推着手推车经过病房外的走廊，就能听到玻璃药瓶和各种器具碰撞发出的叮当声。
希拉里•克雷文坐在床边的一把铁椅子上。
被柔和的灯光笼罩的病床上躺着奥利芙•贝特顿太太，头部缠着绷带，昏迷不醒。床两侧分别站着一位医生和一位护士，杰索普坐在远处的角落。医生转向他，用法语说道：“剩余的时间不多了，脉搏已经越来越微弱了。”
“她不会再恢复知觉了吧？”
法国医生耸了耸肩。
“这说不好。有可能，嗯，在弥留之际。”
“没别的办法了吗？兴奋剂也没用吗？”
医生摇摇头，走出了病房，护士马上跟着走了。一位修女进来站在护士之前站的地方，手指拨动着念珠。希拉里看向杰索普，然后在他的眼神示意下走到他身边。
“你听到医生怎么说了吧？”他低声道。
“是的。你想对她说什么？”
“如果她恢复了意识，我希望你能设法获得一些信息，密码、口令、口信，什么都行。
明白吗？她可能更愿意对你说，而不是我。”
希拉里这才搞明白。
“你是要我去欺骗一个将死之人？”
杰索普又像鸟一样歪着头。
“这对你而言是一种欺骗？”他若有所思地问道。
“是的，是欺骗。”
他关切地望着她。
“好极了，那么今后一切都按你自己的想法来。我是不会为你操心的！明白了吗？”
“当然，为了你的职责你会不择手段，但别让我也那么做。”
“你是一名自由探员。”
“有件事我们必须现在做决定。我们要告诉她她快死了吗？”
“我还不知道。我要仔细考虑一下。”
她点点头，回到病床边的椅子上坐下。现在她心中充溢着对躺在病床上将死的女人的深深同情。这个女人真的是要去和爱人团聚吗？还是说他们都错了？也许她来摩洛哥只是为了抚慰内心，打发掉搞清楚丈夫是死是活的确切消息之前的时间？希拉里猜想着。
时间飞逝。大概两个小时后，修女转动念珠的声音停止了。她用一种温和却不带感情的声音说：“她有变化了。我想，夫人，最后的时刻即将到来。我去叫医生。”
修女离开了病房，杰索普走到病床的另一侧，背靠着墙壁站着，这样床上的女人睁眼也看不到他了。女人的眼皮颤动着，张开来。眼神空洞的蓝绿色眼眸直视着希拉里的眼睛。眼皮合上了，接着再次睁开，眼睛中闪现出微弱的困惑。
“哪儿……”
这个词浮出几乎断气的嘴唇，此时医生恰好踏进病房。医生抓起她的手，手指按着脉搏，站在床边低头看她。
“夫人，您是在医院，”他说道，“飞机失事了。”
“飞机？”
她仿如梦呓般重复着这个词，声音极其微弱。
“夫人，您在卡萨布兰卡有想见的人吗？要我们为您传达什么信息吗？”
她难受地抬起眼睛看向医生的脸，说道：“没有。”
她再次看向希拉里。
“谁——谁？”
希拉里俯下身子，清晰无比地说着：“我也是从英国坐飞机来的……如果我能为您做什么的话，请告诉我。”
“不……没有，没有，除非……”
“什么？”
“没有。”
眼皮再次颤动，接着她半闭上眼睛。希拉里抬起头看向杰索普，后者以专横的眼神下达了命令。但希拉里坚决地摇了摇头。
杰索普走过去，紧靠着医生。濒死的女人再次睁开眼睛，忽然闪现出看到熟人时的眼神。她说：“我认识你。”
“是的，贝特顿太太，您认识我。您愿意告诉我关于您丈夫的事情吗？”
“不。”
她的眼皮再次合上。杰索普迅速转身离开了病房。医生看向希拉里，温和地说道：“结束了。”
将死的女人再次睁开眼睛，痛苦不堪地环视整间屋子，最终锁定在希拉里身上。奥利芙•贝特顿的手轻微地动了动，希拉里本能地握住了她苍白冰冷的手。医生耸耸肩，微微躬身后离开了病房。奥利芙•贝特顿努力开口道：“告诉我……告诉我……”
希拉里知道她要问的是什么，忽然间她很清楚自己该怎样做了。她弯下腰贴近这个将死之人。
“是的，”她清晰有力地说道，“你就要死了。你想知道的是这个，对吗？现在听我说。
我要试着去寻找你的丈夫，如果我能成功找到，你有口信要带给他吗？”
“告诉他……告诉他……要小心。鲍里斯，鲍里斯……危险……”
一声喘息打乱了她的呼吸。希拉里贴得更近了。
“您有什么要嘱咐我的吗，能给我帮助的？我的意思是，帮我跟您丈夫联络上？”
“雪。”
贝特顿太太的声音十分轻微，让希拉里有些迷惑。雪？雪？她不解地重复着这个词。
这时从奥利芙•贝特顿的口中发出一阵微弱的、鬼魅般的笑声，微弱的语句从她口中滑出。
雪，雪，多美的雪！
你踩在上面，滑倒了！
她重复着最后一个字，继续道：“去……去，去告诉他关于鲍里斯的事。我无法相信。
我不能相信。但这可能是真的……如果是这样，如果是这样……”她注视着希拉里的双眼中闪过痛苦的神色，“……小心……”
接着从她的喉咙里发出奇怪的咯咯声。她的嘴唇抽动着。
奥利芙•贝特顿死了。
Four（2）
II
The next five days were strenuous mentally, though inactive physically.
Immured in a private room in the hospital, Hilary was set to work. Everyevening she had to pass an examination on what she had studied that day.
All the details of Olive Betterton’s life, as far as they could be ascertained,were set down on paper and she had to memorize and learn them byheart. The house she had lived in, the daily woman she had employed, herrelations, the names of her pet dog and her canary, every detail of the sixmonths of her married life with Thomas Betterton. Her wedding, thenames of her bridesmaids, their dresses. The patterns of curtains, carpetsand chintzes. Olive Betterton’s tastes, predilections, and day by day activit-ies. Her preferences in food and drink. Hilary was forced to marvel at theamount of seemingly meaningless information that had been massed to-gether. Once she said to Jessop:
“Can any of this possibly matter?”
And to that he had replied quietly:
“Probably not. But you’ve got to make yourself into the authentic article.
Think of it this way, Hilary. You’re a writer. You’re writing a book about awoman. The woman is Olive. You describe scenes of her childhood, hergirlhood; you describe her marriage, the house she lived in. All the timethat you do it she becomes more and more of a real person to you. Thenyou go over it a second time. You write it this time as an autobiography.
You write it in the first person. Do you see what I mean?” She noddedslowly, impressed in spite of herself.
“You can’t think of yourself as Olive Betterton until you are Olive Better-ton. It would be better if you had time to learn it up, but we can’t affordtime. So I’ve got to cram you. Cram you like a schoolboy—like a studentwho is going in for an important examination.” He added, “You’ve got aquick brain and a good memory, thank the Lord.”
He looked at her in cool appraisement.
The passport descriptions of Olive Betterton and Hilary Craven were al-most identical, but actually the two faces were entirely different. OliveBetterton had had a quality of rather commonplace and insignificant pret-tiness. She had looked obstinate but not intelligent. Hilary’s face hadpower and an intriguing quality. The deep-set bluish-green eyes underdark level brows had fire and intelligence in their depths. Her mouthcurved upwards in a wide and generous line. The plane of the jaw was un-usual—a sculptor would have found the angles of the face interesting.
Jessop thought: “There’s passion there — and guts — and somewhere,damped but not quenched, there’s a gay spirit that’s tough—and that en-joys life and searches out for adventure.”
“You’ll do,” he said to her. “You’re an apt pupil.”
This challenge to her intellect and her memory had stimulated Hilary.
She was becoming interested now, keen to achieve success. Once or twiceobjections occurred to her. She voiced them to Jessop.
“You say that I shan’t be rejected as Olive Betterton. You say that theywon’t know what she looks like, except in general detail. But how sure canyou be of that?”
Jessop shrugged his shoulders.
“One can’t be sure — of anything. But we do know a certain amountabout the set- up of these shows, and it does seem that internationallythere is very little communication from one country to another. Actually,that’s a great advantage to them. If we come upon a weak link in England(and, mind you, in every organization there always will be a weak link)that weak link in the chain knows nothing about what’s going on inFrance, or Italy, or Germany, or wherever you like, we are brought upshort by a blank wall. They know their own little part of the whole—nomore. The same applies the opposite way round. I dare swear that all thecell operating here knows is that Olive Betterton will arrive on such andsuch a plane and is to be given such and such instructions. You see, it’s notas though she were important in herself. If they’re bringing her to her hus-band, it’s because her husband wants her brought to him and becausethey think they’ll get better work out of him if she joins him. She herself isa mere pawn in the game. You must remember too, that the idea of substi-tuting a false Olive Betterton is definitely a spur of the moment improvisa-tion—occasioned by the plane accident and the colour of your hair. Ourplan of operation was to keep tabs on Olive Betterton and find out whereshe went, how she went, whom she met—and so on. That’s what the otherside will be on the lookout for.”
Hilary asked:
“Haven’t you tried all that before?”
“Yes. It was tried in Switzerland. Very unobtrusively. And it failed as faras our main objective was concerned. If anyone contacted her there wedidn’t know about it. So the contact must have been very brief. Naturallythey’ll expect that someone will be keeping tabs on Olive Betterton. They’llbe prepared for that. It’s up to us to do our job more thoroughly than lasttime. We’ve got to try and be rather more cunning than our adversaries.”
“So you’ll be keeping tabs on me?”
“Of course.”
“How?”
He shook his head.
“I shan’t tell you that. Much better for you not to know. What you don’tknow you can’t give away.”
“Do you think I would give it away?”
Jessop put on his owl-like expression again.
“I don’t know how good an actress you are—how good a liar. It’s noteasy, you know. It’s not a question of saying anything indiscreet. It can beanything, a sudden intake of the breath, the momentary pause in some ac-tion—lighting a cigarette, for instance. Recognition of a name or a friend.
You could cover it up quickly, but just a flash might be enough!”
“I see. It means—being on your guard for every single split second.”
“Exactly. In the meantime, on with the lessons! Quite like going back toschool, isn’t it? You’re pretty well word perfect on Olive Betterton, now.
Let’s go on to the other.”
Codes, responses, various properties. The lesson went on; the question-ing, the repetition, the endeavour to confuse her, to trip her up; then hypo-thetical schemes and her own reactions to them. In the end, Jessop noddedhis head and declared himself satisfied.
“You’ll do,” he said. He patted her on the shoulder in an avuncular man-ner. “You’re an apt pupil. And remember this, however much you mayfeel at times that you’re all alone in this, you’re probably not. I say prob-ably—I won’t put it higher than that. These are clever devils.”
“What happens,” said Hilary, “if I reach journey’s end?”
“You mean?”
“I mean when at last I come face to face with Tom Betterton.”
Jessop nodded grimly.
“Yes,” he said. “That’s the danger moment. I can only say that at thatmoment, if all has gone well, you should have protection. If, that is to say,things have gone as we hope; but the very basis of this operation, as youmay remember, was that there wasn’t a very high chance of survival.”
“Didn’t you say one in a hundred?” said Hilary drily.
“I think we can shorten the odds a little. I didn’t know what you werelike.”
“No, I suppose not.” She was thoughtful. “To you, I suppose, I was just.
.?.?.”
He finished the sentence for her. “A woman with a noticeable head ofred hair and who hadn’t the pluck to go on living.”
She flushed.
“That’s a harsh judgement.”
“It’s a true one, isn’t it? I don’t go in for being sorry for people. For onething it’s insulting. One is only sorry for people when they’re sorry forthemselves. Self pity is one of the biggest stumbling-blocks in the worldtoday.”
Hilary said thoughtfully:
“I think perhaps you’re right. Will you permit yourself to be sorry forme when I’ve been liquidated or whatever the term is, in fulfilling thismission?”
“Sorry for you? No. I shall curse like hell because we’ve lost someonewho’s worthwhile taking a bit of trouble over.”
“A compliment at last.” In spite of herself she was pleased.
She went on in a practical tone:
“There’s just one other thing that occurred to me. You say nobody’slikely to know what Olive Betterton looks like, but what about being recog-nized as myself? I don’t know anyone in Casablanca, but there are thepeople who travelled here with me in the plane. Or one may of course runacross somebody one knows among the tourists here.”
“You needn’t worry about the passengers in the plane. The people whoflew with you from Paris were businessmen who went on to Dakar and aman who got off here who has since flown back to Paris. You will go to adifferent hotel when you leave here, the hotel for which Mrs. Bettertonhad reservations. You will be wearing her clothes and her style ofhairdressing and one or two strips of plaster at the sides of your face willmake you look very different in feature. We’ve got a doctor coming towork upon you, by the way. Local an?sthetic, so it won’t hurt, but you willhave to have a few genuine marks of the accident.”
“You’re very thorough,” said Hilary.
“Have to be.”
“You’ve never asked me,” said Hilary, “whether Olive Betterton told meanything before she died.”
“I understood you had scruples.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not at all. I respect you for them. I’d like to indulge in them myself—but they’re not in the schedule.”
“She did say something that perhaps I ought to tell you. She said ‘Tellhim’—Betterton, that is—‘tell him to be careful—Boris—dangerous—’ ”
“Boris.” Jessop repeated the name with interest. “Ah! Our correct for-eign Major Boris Glydr.”
“You know him? Who is he?”
“A Pole. He came to see me in London. He’s supposed to be a cousin bymarriage of Tom Betterton.”
“Supposed?”
“Let us say, more correctly, that if he is who he says he is, he is a cousinof the late Mrs. Betterton. But we’ve only his word for it.”
“She was frightened,” said Hilary, frowning. “Can you describe him? I’dlike to be able to recognize him.”
“Yes. It might be as well. Six feet. Weight roughly, 160 pounds. Fair—rather wooden poker face—light eyes—foreign stilted manner—Englishvery correct, but a pronounced accent, stiff military bearing.”
He added:
“I had him tailed when he left my office. Nothing doing. He wentstraight to the U.S. Embassy—quite correctly—he’d brought me an intro-ductory letter from there. The usual kind they send out when they want tobe polite but non-committal. I presume he left the Embassy either in some-body’s car or by the back entrance disguised as a footman or something.
Anyway he evaded us. Yes—I should say that Olive Betterton was perhapsright when she said that Boris Glydr was dangerous.”
第四章（2）
2接下来的五天希拉里虽然没做什么事，精神却一直处于重压之下。她把自己关在医院的一个小房间中工作，每天白天学习，晚上进行测试。迄今为止已查明的关于奥利芙•贝特顿的所有细节都被整理成册，她必须用心牢记它们。她住的房子，雇的日间女仆，亲戚，宠物狗和金丝雀的名字，与托马斯•贝特顿六个月婚姻生活中的所有细节。她的婚礼，伴娘的名字和衣着。窗帘、地毯和印花罩布的图案花色。奥利芙•贝特顿的口味，爱好，日常活动。她偏爱的食物和饮品。希拉里不由得对搜集到的信息量之大感到惊讶万分。有一次，她问杰索普：“这些真的有用吗？”
杰索普平静地答道：“可能没用。但是你必须让你自己成为真的贝特顿太太。希拉里，你这样来想。你是一位作家，在写一本关于一个女人的书，这个女人就是奥利芙。你描述她的童年生活，她的少女时代；你描述她的婚姻，她所住的房子。你越是在做这些事，那么对你来说，她就越来越像一个真正存在的人。接着你又重复一遍，把它写成一部自传。
以第一人称写。你明白我的意思吗？”
希拉里慢慢点头，虽然有点抗拒但还是接受了。
“你必须先变成奥利芙•贝特顿，才能真的像奥利芙•贝特顿一样。如果有充足的时间让你来慢慢学习当然最好，但我们时间不够了，所以我只好一股脑儿地塞给你。像对小学生那样——准备参加重要考试的学生。”他又补充道，“谢天谢地你很聪明，记忆力也极好。”
他冷静地审视着她。
护照上对于奥利芙•贝特顿和希拉里•克雷文的描述几乎是相同的，但实际上这两张脸完全不同。奥利芙•贝特顿的相貌相当平淡无奇，不受瞩目。她看上去有些固执，还不那么聪慧。希拉里的脸庞却有一种魔力和魅力，浓眉下是一双深陷的眼睛，蓝绿色眼眸深处藏着热情和智慧。她的嘴唇线条大气又柔和，嘴角上扬，下巴很不寻常——雕塑家会热爱这张脸的轮廓。
杰索普想着：她拥有热情……和勇气，还有一种顽强的欢乐精神——虽然一直被压抑着，但是没有完全熄灭。她想要享受生活，想去冒险。
“你能做到的，”他对她说，“你是个聪明学生。”
最近对智力和记忆力的挑战刺激了希拉里，现在她越发感兴趣，急切地想取得成功。
仅有那么一次两次，她产生了抗拒之情，她把这种抗拒告诉了杰索普。
“你说别人不会认出我不是奥利芙•贝特顿，你说他们都只是知道她的日常习惯而不知道她长什么样。但你对此有十足的把握吗？”
杰索普耸了耸肩。
“没人对任何事有十足的把握，但我们在这类事情上有一定的经验。其实国家与国家之间是很少互通信息的，事实上，这样对他们来说更有利。假设我们在英国获得的信息是整个链条中较薄弱的一环——容我提醒一句，每个组织里都会有薄弱的一环——这薄弱的一环对法国或意大利或德国或随便哪个地方发生的事一无所知，那我们的计划就很可能会碰壁。我们只知道整个事件中的一小部分，再没有更多信息了。但对于对手来说情况也是一样。我敢说，这里的行动组织也只知道奥利芙•贝特顿将乘飞机抵达，他们知道她会坐哪一班飞机，要去给她怎样的指示。明白吗，重要的不是她这个人。或许他们会把她带到她丈夫身边，那也只是因为她丈夫希望她能来自己身边，或是他们认为把她带来，她丈夫的工作就能进展得更加顺利。她只不过是这场游戏中的一个小道具罢了。另外你必须记住，用一个假奥利芙•贝特顿来取代真的，这绝对只是一时兴起想到的主意——因为飞机失事以及您头发的颜色。我们原本的计划是密切监视奥利芙•贝特顿，搞清楚她去了哪儿、怎么去的、见了谁之类的。这也是对手们极力想隐藏的。”
希拉里问：“你们之前尝试过这么做吗？”
“是的，我们在瑞士尝试过，做得非常隐蔽。总的来说，那次行动算是失败了。我们不确定是否有人与她联络过，如果有，那么那次联络必定极其简短。他们自然预料到有人密切跟踪着奥利芙•贝特顿，因此做好了准备。这次我们必须比上一次更果决、彻底，必须试着比对手更狡猾、巧妙。”
“这么说你们会密切监视着我？”
“当然。”
“怎么监视？”
他摇了摇头。
“我不能告诉你，而且你最好别知道。你不知道的东西就不会泄露出去。”
“你认为我会泄露消息？”
杰索普又露出那副猫头鹰似的神情。
“我不知道你是不是一个好演员，撒谎技巧高不高超。你知道的，这不容易，不光是讲话时慎重不慎重的问题。可能会显露在任何事中，猛地吸了口气，做什么事情时短暂地停顿了一下——点了一根香烟之类的。认出了某个名字或某位朋友。你可以迅速地掩盖，但那一瞬间就已经暴露了。”
“我明白了……也就是说，要每分每秒保持警惕。”
“没错。同时，你还要认真学习！像重返校园一样，是不是？现在你已经对奥利芙•贝特顿的情况了如指掌了，我们学习一些其他东西吧。”
密码，接头方式，各种专业知识。课程还在继续：询问，重复，想方设法让她混乱，让她崩溃；设置各种虚假方案，看她作何反应。最后，杰索普点了点头，表示对她的表现很满意。
“你能做到的。”他如长辈般拍了拍她的肩膀，“你是个聪明的学生。记住，你可能会不时觉得自己在孤军奋战，但可能并非如此。我只说可能，因为我不想让你有太高的期待，毕竟我们的敌人也聪明无比。”
“如果我能走到这趟调查之旅的尽头，会发生什么呢？”希拉里问道。
“你的意思是？”
“如果我能面对面见到汤姆•贝特顿。”
杰索普严肃地点了点头。
“是的，”他说，“那将是一个危险的时刻。我只能说，如果一切顺利的话，那时你应该就安全了。前提是事情按照我们所希望的发展；但是你要铭记，这次行动你生还的可能性不是很大。”
“你之前说可能性只有百分之一？”希拉里冷冷地问道。
“我想很可能更低。我不知道你是个怎样的人。”
“是的，你不了解我。”她似乎陷入了深思，“在你看来，我想，我不过是——”
他接口道：“一个有一头引人注目的红发，却失去了继续活下去的勇气的女人。”
她的脸涨红了。
“真尖锐啊！”
“却是事实，对吗？我不喜欢为他人哀叹，因为从某种层面上讲，这是一种侮辱。只有一个人为自身哀叹时，外人才有资格为他哀叹。而自怜自艾是当今世界最大的绊脚石。”
希拉里依旧深思着，说：“我想你或许是对的。如果我在任务中途被清除——就别管我的用词了——你会不会为我哀叹？”
“为你哀叹？不，我会大声咒骂，因为我们损失了一个值得费心力培养的人。”
“这算是对我的称赞吧。”希拉里不禁有些高兴。
接着，她以一种就事论事的口吻问道：“我突然想起一件事。你说基本没人知道奥利芙•贝特顿长什么样，但如果有人认出我是希拉里了呢？在卡萨布兰卡我一个人都不认识，但跟我搭乘同一班飞机过来的人认得我，很可能会碰巧遇到。”
“飞机上的乘客你不用担心。乘坐那班航班的都是前往达喀尔的商人，和你一起在这里下飞机的男人已经飞回巴黎了。离开这里后你就不回之前住的酒店了，去贝特顿太太预订的酒店。你将会穿她的衣服、梳她的发型，脸上再贴一两张膏药，看起来就大不相同了。
哦对，我们要叫来一位医生在你身上制造几个伤疤，会局部麻醉，不会弄疼你的，让你更像遭遇了飞机事故。”
“你真是考虑周全。”希拉里说道。
“不得不这样。”
“你从来没问过我，”希拉里说道，“奥利芙•贝特顿临死之前跟我说了什么。”
“我理解你的顾虑。”
“对不起。”
“这没什么，我因此对你产生了敬意。我也想成为一个这样的人——但现在还不是时候。”
“她说了些事，我想我应当告诉你。她说‘告诉他’，指的应该就是贝特顿了吧，她说‘告诉他要小心，鲍里斯……危险……’”
“鲍里斯。”杰索普饶有兴趣地重复了一遍这个名字，“哦！那位端正的外国少校鲍里斯•克莱德尔。”
“你知道他？他是谁？”
“一个波兰人。他去过我在伦敦的办公室。他说他是汤姆•贝特顿的姻亲。”
“他说他是？”
“嗯，这么说更准确。他说他是已经去世的贝特顿太太的表弟，但我们只有他的一面之词。”
“她惊恐极了。”希拉里皱着眉头说，“你能描述一下他吗？我希望见到他时我能认出来。”
“好。他六英尺高，体重大概有一百六十磅，浅色头发，脸像刻出来的一样没有一丝表情，浅色眼睛，举止很外国人，英文不错，但有明显的口音，身姿是军人那种挺拔。”
他又补充道：“他离开我的办公室后我找人跟踪了他，但什么也没发现。他直接去了美国大使馆，这很正常，他见我时就带着一封大使馆开的介绍信，是通常那种用词礼貌但不承担任何责任的介绍信。我猜想他要么是坐上了某人的车离开了大使馆，要么是伪装成男仆之类的从使馆后门溜了。不管怎样，他摆脱了跟踪。是的……奥利芙•贝特顿或许是对的，鲍里斯•克莱德尔可能是个危险人物。”
Five（1）
Five
I
In the small formal salon of the H?tel St. Louis, three ladies were sitting,each engaged in her particular occupation. Mrs. Calvin Baker, short,plump, with well-blued hair, was writing letters with the same driving en-ergy she applied to all forms of activity. No one could have mistaken Mrs.
Calvin Baker for anything but a travelling American, comfortably off, withan inexhaustible thirst for precise information on every subject under thesun.
In an uncomfortable Empire-type chair, Miss Hetherington, who againcould not have been mistaken for anything but travelling English, wasknitting one of those melancholy shapeless-looking garments that Englishladies of middle age always seem to be knitting. Miss Hetherington wastall and thin with a scraggy neck, badly arranged hair, and a general ex-pression of moral disappointment in the universe.
Mademoiselle Jeanne Maricot was sitting gracefully in an upright chairlooking out of the window and yawning. Mademoiselle Maricot was a bru-nette dyed blonde, with a plain but excitingly made- up face. She waswearing chic clothes and had no interest whatsoever in the other occu-pants of the room whom she dismissed contemptuously in her mind as be-ing exactly what they were! She was contemplating an important changein her sex life and had no interest to spare for these animals of tourists!
Miss Hetherington and Mrs. Calvin Baker, having both spent a couple ofnights under the roof of the St. Louis, had become acquainted. Mrs. CalvinBaker, with American friendliness, talked to everybody. Miss Hethering-ton, though just as eager for companionship, talked only to English andAmericans of what she considered a certain social standing. The Frenchshe had no truck with unless guaranteed of respectable family life as evid-enced by little ones who shared the parental table in the dining room.
A Frenchman looking like a prosperous business man glanced into thesalon, was intimidated by its air of female solidarity, and went out againwith a look of lingering regret at Mademoiselle Jeanne Maricot.
Miss Hetherington began to count stitches sotto voce.
“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine—now what can I have—Oh, I see.”
A tall woman with red hair looked into the room and hesitated a mo-ment before going on down the passage towards the dining room.
Mrs. Calvin Baker and Miss Hetherington were immediately alert. Mrs.
Baker slewed herself round from the writing table and spoke in a thrilledwhisper.
“Did you happen to notice that woman with red hair who looked in,Miss Hetherington? They say she’s the only survivor of that terrible planecrash last week.”
“I saw her arrive this afternoon,” said Miss Hetherington, dropping an-other stitch in her excitement. “In an ambulance.”
“Straight from the hospital, so the manager said. I wonder now if it waswise—to leave hospital so soon. She’s had concussion, I believe.”
“She’s got strapping on her face, too—cut, perhaps, by the glass. What amercy she wasn’t burnt. Terrible injuries from burning in these air acci-dents, I believe.”
“It just doesn’t bear thinking about. Poor young thing. I wonder if shehad a husband with her and if he was killed?”
“I don’t think so,” Miss Hetherington shook her yellow-grey head. “Itsaid in the paper, one woman passenger.”
“That’s right. It gave her name, too. A Mrs. Beverly—no, Betterton, thatwas it.”
“Betterton,” said Miss Hetherington reflectively. “Now what does that re-mind me of? Betterton. In the papers. Oh, dear, I’m sure that was thename.”
“Tant pis pour Pierre,” Mademoiselle Maricot said to herself. “Il estvraiment insupportable! Mais le petit Jules, lui il est bien gentil. Et son pèreest très bien placé dans les affairs. Enfin, je me décide!”
And with long graceful steps Mademoiselle Maricot walked out of thesmall salon and out of the story.
第五章（1）
第五章
1圣路易斯酒店的小会客厅里坐着三位女士，各自忙着手上的事。娇小、丰满、有一头漂亮蓝发的卡尔文•贝克太太在写信，她像任何时候一样精力充沛。卡尔文•贝克太太是典型的美国游客，富裕，看到什么都感兴趣，并不断追问细节。
坐在一把不太舒适的帝国椅上的赫瑟林顿小姐则是一位典型的英国游客，她正在织那种透着悲伤、看不出样式、英国妇女都会织的衣服。赫瑟林顿小姐又高又瘦，脖子很细，头发乱蓬蓬的，总是一脸对整个宇宙感到失望的表情。
法国小姐珍妮特•马里科仪态优雅地坐在一把竖背椅子上，正打着哈欠望着窗外。马里科小姐的金发是染的，扁平的脸上化着浓妆。她穿着时尚，对小会客厅里的其他人一点也不感兴趣，甚至打从心底看不起她们！此时此刻她正在思考性生活中的一个重大变化，没空去理会这些如动物般的游客们！
赫瑟林顿小姐和卡尔文•贝克太太都在圣路易斯酒店住了好几天了，彼此熟识。卡尔文•贝克太太带着美国人特有的友善，跟每个人都相谈甚欢。赫瑟林顿小姐虽然同样渴望陪伴，但她只和英国人，以及她认为与自己社会地位相当的美国人说话。至于法国人，她几乎都不打交道，只有曾在餐厅与孩子一起进餐，证明拥有体面的家庭生活的人除外。
一个貌似很有钱的法国商人刚进小会客厅，就被这几个女人一致的神情吓住了，于是他带着对珍妮特•马里科小姐的不舍，略带遗憾地走开了。
赫瑟林顿小姐低声数针数。
“二十八，二十九……我怎么弄成了这样。嗯，我知道了。”
一位高大的红发女人看了看小会客厅，迟疑了一会儿，接着继续沿走廊去往餐厅了。
卡尔文•贝克太太和赫瑟林顿小姐马上来了精神。贝克太太从写字台边转身，激动万分地低声说道：“赫瑟林顿小姐，你看到刚才那个往这边看的红发女人了吗？他们说她是上周那场恐怖的空难中唯一的幸存者。”
“今天下午她到的时候我看见了，”赫瑟林顿小姐因为过于激动而漏了一针，“是救护车送来的。”
“酒店经理说是直接从医院过来的。这样明智吗？这么快就离开医院。她肯定有脑震荡。”
“她的脸上还贴着胶布呢，应该是被碎玻璃割伤了。谢天谢地她没有被烧伤。我敢说飞机事故中的烧伤是很严重的。”
“简直不敢想象。真是个可怜人。不知道她丈夫是否和她一起，他死没死？”
“她丈夫好像不在飞机上。”赫瑟林顿小姐摇了摇暗黄色的脑袋，“报纸上说是一位女乘客。”
“对、对，我好像记得她的名字。贝弗利太太——不对，是贝特顿，就是这个。”
“贝特顿，”赫瑟林顿小姐重复道，“是叫这个吗？贝特顿，在那些报纸上。哦，天哪，我敢肯定她就叫这个名字。”
“皮埃尔去一边吧。”马里科小姐在自言自语，“真让人受不了！小朱尔斯，他可爱极了。况且他的父亲很有社会地位，就这么决定了。”
马里科小姐迈着优雅的步子走出了小会客厅，也离开了我们的故事。
Five（2）
II
Mrs. Thomas Betterton had left the hospital that afternoon five days afterthe accident. An ambulance had driven her to the H?tel St. Louis.
Looking pale and ill, her face strapped and bandaged, Mrs. Bettertonwas shown at once to the room reserved for her, a sympathetic managerhovering in attendance.
“What emotions you must have experienced, Madame!” he said, after in-quiring tenderly as to whether the room reserved suited her, and turningon all the electric lights quite unnecessarily. “But what an escape! What amiracle! What good fortune! Only three survivors, I understand, and oneof them in a critical condition still.”
Hilary sank down on a chair wearily.
“Yes, indeed,” she murmured. “I can hardly believe it myself. Even nowI can remember so little. The last twenty-four hours before the crash arestill quite vague to me.”
The manager nodded sympathetically.
“Ah, yes. That is the result of the concussion. That happens once to a sis-ter of mine. She was in London in the war. A bomb came, she wasknocked unconscious. But presently she gets up, she walks about Londonand she takes a train from the station of Euston and, figurez- vous, shewakes up at Liverpool and she cannot remember anything of the bomb, ofgoing across London, of the train or of getting there! The last thing she re-members is hanging up her skirt in the wardrobe in London. Very curiousthese things, are they not?”
Hilary agreed that they were, indeed. The manager bowed and depar-ted. Hilary got up and looked at herself in the glass. So imbued was shenow with her new personality that she positively felt the weakness in herlimbs which would be natural to one who had just come out of hospitalafter a severe ordeal.
She had already inquired at the desk, but there had been no messages orletters for her there. The first steps in her new role had to be taken verymuch in the dark. Olive Betterton might perhaps have been told to ring acertain number or to contact a certain person at Casablanca. As to thatthere was no clue. All the knowledge she had to go on was Olive Better-ton’s passport, her Letter of Credit, and her book of Cooks’ tickets and re-servations. These provided for two days in Casablanca, six days in Fez andfive days in Marrakesh. These reservations were now, of course, out ofdate, and would have to be dealt with accordingly. The passport, the Letterof Credit and the accompanying Letter of Identification had been suitablydealt with. The photograph on the passport was now that of Hilary, thesignature on the Letter of Credit was Olive Betterton in Hilary’s handwrit-ing. Her credentials were all in order. Her task was to play her part ad-equately and to wait. Her master card must be the plane accident, and itsresultant loss of memory and general haziness.
It had been a genuine accident and Olive Betterton had been genuinelyon board the plane. The fact of concussion would adequately cover herfailure to adopt any measures in which she might have been instructed.
Bewildered, dazed, weak, Olive Betterton would await orders.
The natural thing to do would be to rest. Accordingly she lay down onthe bed. For two hours she went over in her mind all that she had beentaught. Olive’s luggage had been destroyed in the plane. Hilary had a fewthings with her supplied at the hospital. She passed a comb through herhair, touched her lips with a lipstick and went down to the hotel diningroom for dinner.
She was looked at, she noticed, with a certain amount of interest. Therewere several tables occupied by business men and these hardly vouch-safed a glance at her. But at other tables, clearly occupied by tourists, shewas conscious of a murmur and a whisper going on.
“That woman over there—the one with the red hair—she’s a survivor ofthe plane crash, my dear. Yes, came from hospital in an ambulance. I sawher arrive. She looks terribly ill still. I wonder if they ought to have let herout so soon. What a frightful experience. What a merciful escape!”
After dinner Hilary sat for a short while in the small formal salon. Shewondered if anyone would approach her in any way. There were one ortwo other women scattered about the room, and presently a small, plump,middle-aged woman with well-blued white hair, moved to a chair nearhers. She opened proceedings in a brisk, pleasant American voice.
“I do hope you’ll excuse me, but I just felt I had to say a word. It’s you,isn’t it, who had the wonderful escape from that air crash the other day?”
Hilary put down the magazine she was reading.
“Yes,” she said.
“My! Isn’t that terrible. The crash I mean. Only three survivors, they say.
Is that right?”
“Only two,” said Hilary. “One of the three died in hospital.”
“My! You don’t say! Now, if you don’t mind my asking, Miss—Mrs. .?.?.”
“Betterton.”
“Well, if you don’t mind my asking, just where were you sitting in thatplane? Were you up at the front or near the tail?”
Hilary knew the answer to that one and gave it promptly.
“Near the tail.”
“They always say, don’t they, that’s the safest place. I just insist on al-ways having a place near the rear doors. Did you hear that, Miss Hether-ington?” She turned her head to include another middle-aged lady. Thisone was uncompromisingly British with a long, sad, horse-like face. “It’sjust as I was saying the other day. Whenever you go into an aeroplane,don’t you let those air hostesses take you right up to the front.”
“I suppose someone has to sit at the front,” said Hilary.
“Well, it won’t be me,” said her new American friend promptly. “Myname’s Baker, by the way, Mrs. Calvin Baker.”
Hilary acknowledged the introduction and Mrs. Baker plunged on,monopolizing the conversation easily.
“I’ve just come here from Mogador and Miss Hetherington has comefrom Tangier. We became acquainted here. Are you going to visit Mar-rakesh, Mrs. Betterton?”
“I’d arranged to do so,” said Hilary. “Of course, this accident has thrownout all my time schedule.”
“Why, naturally, I can see that. But you really mustn’t miss Marrakesh,wouldn’t you say so, Miss Hetherington?”
“Marrakesh is terribly expensive,” said Miss Hetherington. “This miser-able travel allowance makes everything so difficult.”
“There’s a wonderful hotel, the Mamounia,” continued Mrs. Baker.
“Wickedly expensive,” said Miss Hetherington. “Out of the question forme. Of course, it’s different for you, Mrs. Baker — dollars, I mean. Butsomeone gave me the name of a small hotel there, really very nice andclean, and the food, they say, is not at all bad.”
“Where else do you plan to go, Mrs. Betterton?” asked Mrs. CalvinBaker.
“I would like to see Fez,” said Hilary, cautiously. “I shall have to getfresh reservations, of course.”
“Oh, yes, you certainly oughtn’t to miss Fez or Rabat.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Not yet. I’m planning to go there shortly, and so is Miss Hetherington.”
“I believe the old city is quite unspoilt,” said Miss Hetherington.
The conversation continued in desultory fashion for some time further.
Then Hilary pleaded fatigue from her first time out of hospital and wentup to her bedroom.
The evening so far had been quite indecisive. The two women who hadtalked to her had been such well-known travelling types that she couldhardly believe that they were other than they seemed. Tomorrow, she de-cided, if she had received no word or communication of any kind, shewould go to Cooks, and raise the question of fresh reservations at Fez andMarrakesh.
There were no letters, messages or telephone calls the following morn-ing and about eleven o’clock she made her way to the travel agency. Therewas somewhat of a queue, but when she at last reached the counter andbegan talking to the clerk, an interruption occurred. A somewhat moresenior clerk with glasses elbowed the young man aside. He beamed at Hil-ary through his glasses.
“It is Madame Betterton, is it not? I have all your reservations made.”
“I am afraid,” said Hilary, “that they will be out of date. I have been inhospital and. .?.?.”
“Ah, mais oui, I know all that. Let me congratulate you on your escape,Madame. But I got your telephone message about fresh reservations, andwe have them here ready for you.”
Hilary felt a faint quickening of her pulse. As far as she knew no onehad phoned the travel agency. Here then were definite signs that OliveBetterton’s travelling arrangements were being supervised. She said:
“I wasn’t sure if they had telephoned or not.”
“But yes, Madame. Here, I will show you.”
He produced railway tickets, and vouchers for hotel accommodation,and a few minutes later the transactions were completed. Hilary was toleave for Fez on the following day.
Mrs. Calvin Baker was not in the restaurant either for lunch or dinner.
Miss Hetherington was. She acknowledged Hilary’s bow as the latterpassed to her table, but made no attempt to get into conversation with her.
On the following day after making some necessary purchases of clothesand underclothing, Hilary left by train for Fez.
第五章（2）
2事故发生五天后，托马斯•贝特顿太太离开了医院。一辆救护车将她送到了圣路易斯酒店。
她看上去苍白虚弱，脸上缠着绷带，贴着膏药。贝特顿太太立马被带到预订的客房，极富同情心的经理似乎不想马上离开。
“夫人，您遭受了多大的悲痛啊！”在热心地询问了这间房间是否合意，又画蛇添足地打开了所有的灯之后，经理说道，“但您活下来了！真是奇迹啊！多么幸运啊！据我所知只有三位幸存者，其中一位至今仍处于危险中。”
希拉里虚弱地瘫在椅子里。
“是的，确实。”她嘟囔道，“我自己都不敢相信。直到现在我也几乎记不起什么。记不清飞机失事前二十四个小时都发生了什么。”
酒店经理同情地点点头。
“哦，是的，这就是脑震荡的后果。我妹妹也曾遇到过这种情况。战时她住在伦敦，一枚炸弹投下来，把她震得晕了过去。但她很快就起来了，漫无目的地在伦敦城里转悠，在尤斯顿站搭上了一辆火车。你能想象吗？后来她在利物浦醒过来，完全不记得炸弹以及在伦敦城里转悠的事了，连怎样搭火车抵达这里的也忘了！她记得自己做的最后一件事是把裙子挂进伦敦家里的衣橱。多奇怪啊这种事，不是吗？”
希拉里表示赞同。经理躬身致意之后离开了。希拉里站起来，在镜子前照了照。她已经完全投入到所扮演的新身份中了，以至于自发地感到四肢无力，就像一个经历了严酷的考验，刚从医院出来的人那样。
她询问过前台了，得知没有给她的留言或信件。看来她的新角色要在迷茫中迈出前几步。奥利芙•贝特顿可能早被告知到卡萨布兰卡后要拨打哪个特定号码或去找某个人，只是他们不知情，也没有线索。她手边可参考的信息只有奥利芙•贝特顿的护照，信用卡，在库克斯旅行社预订的机票。票据显示她计划在卡萨布兰卡待两天，在菲斯 [1] 待六天，在马拉喀什 [2] 待五天。当然，现在这些预订票据都过期失效了，需要处理一下。护照、信用卡和附带的身份证明都处理过了：护照上的照片替换成希拉里的了，信用卡上的签名用的是希拉里写的“奥利芙•贝特顿”。文件类的东西一应俱全，她所要做的就是得体地扮演这个角色，然后静静等待着。她的王牌是那场飞机事故导致的失忆和混乱。
飞机事故是真实发生了的，奥利芙•贝特顿也确实乘坐了那班飞机。如果她之前接到过指示如今却没有完成，脑震荡这一事实也能很好地解释。迷糊、茫然、虚弱的奥利芙•贝特顿只能等待。
现在最自然的事是去休息，于是她躺在了床上，用两个小时把近期学的东西在脑子里过了一遍。奥利芙的行李已经在飞机事故中焚毁了，希拉里拿走了她随身带去医院的少量物品。她用梳子梳了梳头，在嘴唇上擦了点口红，下楼去餐厅用餐。
她备受关注，人们带着好奇和兴趣看向她。不过有几张桌子被商人们占据，他们就几乎没有看她一眼。但另有些桌子明显坐着游客，她能听到他们正在小声议论着。
“坐在那边的那个女人——有一头红发的那个，她是那次飞机事故中的幸存者，亲爱的。是的，她是被一辆救护车送到酒店的。她到的时候我看到了。她看起来仍然病恹恹的。我觉得他们是不是不应该这么快让她出院。真是可怕无比的经历啊！能够幸存真是万幸！”
用完晚餐，希拉里在小会客厅待了一小会儿，期待着或许会有人以某种方式接近她。
小会客厅里还零散坐着一两个女人，这时，一位身材娇小、丰满、有一头漂亮蓝发的中年女士坐到了希拉里旁边。她声音轻快，带着美国口音。
“抱歉来打扰您，但我想跟您说几句话。您……您就是有幸从几天前的那场飞机事故中逃生的那个人吗？”
希拉里放下了正在看的杂志，回答道：“是的。”
“哦！真是可怕极了。我是说那场意外。他们说只有三位幸存者，这是真的吗？”
“只有两位。”希拉里回答道，“另一位在医院去世了。”
“天哪！不会吧！如果您不介意……小姐……夫人……”
“贝特顿。”
“哦，如果您不介意，能告诉我您坐在飞机上的什么位置吗？是飞机前部还是尾部？”
希拉里知道怎样回答这个问题，她立马答道：“尾部。”
“他们不是总说那里是飞机上最安全的部位吗？我总是坚持选择靠近后门的位置。您听到了吗，赫瑟林顿小姐？”她看向另一位中年女士。那位女士绝对是一个英国人，长着一张像马脸一样的悲伤长脸。“就像我前几天说过的，不论什么时候搭乘飞机，都不要坐到飞机机头的位置。”
“可总有人要坐在前部啊。”希拉里说。
“是，但肯定不会是我。”这位新结识的美国朋友马上回应，“哦，对了，我叫贝克，卡尔文•贝克夫人。”
希拉里也自我介绍了一番，接着话题的主导权又被贝克太太夺去，并且很容易就控制了整个谈话。
“我之前在摩加多尔玩，赫瑟林顿小姐在丹吉尔，我们是在这里结识的。贝特顿太太，您是要去马拉喀什游玩吗？”
“我是这么计划的。”希拉里说，“当然了，这次事故把我的整个计划都弄乱了。”
“哦，是啊，可以想见。但您一定要去马拉喀什。贝特顿小姐，您说是不是？”
“马拉喀什太贵了。”赫瑟林顿小姐说，“我这微薄的预算让我干什么都很困难。”
“那儿有一家很棒的酒店，叫马穆尼亚。”贝克太太接着说道。
“贵得离谱。”赫瑟林顿说道，“我连想都不敢想。对您来说自然不是问题，贝克太太，您用美金。不过有人给我介绍了一个小旅馆，又好又干净，食物也不算太差。”
“贝特顿太太，您还计划去哪些地方？”卡尔文•贝克太太问道。
“我想去菲斯。”希拉里小心翼翼地说，“就是还要重新预订酒店。”
“哦，没错，您不该错过菲斯和拉巴特。”
“您都去过了吗？”
“没有。不过我计划近期就去，赫瑟林顿小姐也想去。”
“据说那座老城依旧保持原貌。”赫瑟林顿小姐说。
这场漫无目的的谈话又持续了一会儿。接着，希拉里以刚从医院出来还有些疲惫为借口，上楼回到了自己的卧室。
这晚到目前为止还没出现什么明确的线索。那两位与她攀谈的女士一看就是典型的游客，她不敢想象她们其实有别的身份。她决定如果明天还是什么都没收到、什么都没发生，就动身去库克斯旅行社，重新安排去菲斯和马拉喀什的行程。
第二天早晨她仍旧没有收到任何信件、便条或电话。于是，快十一点时她动身前往旅行社。柜台前排着队，当终于轮到她咨询时，一位看起来职位更高的戴眼镜的职员打断了她的话。他用手肘把年轻办事员推开，透过眼镜看着希拉里。
“您是贝特顿太太吗？您的行程已经安排好了。”
“但我想是不是都过期了啊。我之前一直在医院，而且……”希拉里说。
“哦，是的，我知道那件事。请接受我为您生还的祝愿，夫人。不过我们按照您后来在电话里说的，安排好了新的行程。”
希拉里感觉到脉搏在略微加速。据她所知，没有人给旅行社打过电话。这证明奥利芙•贝特顿的行程是有人安排好的。她说道：“我都不确定他们是否打过电话。”
“打了，夫人。过来吧，我拿给您。”
他拿出火车票和酒店预付凭证，并花了几分钟说明。希拉里明天就要离开这里前往菲斯了。
午餐和晚餐时段卡尔文•贝克太太都没出现在餐厅。赫瑟林顿小姐两餐都在。希拉里从她桌旁经过时冲她点了点头，她也回了礼，但没有和希拉里搭话。第二天，希拉里买了些衣服和内衣，然后乘坐火车前往菲斯。
注释：
[1]菲斯（Fez）是摩洛哥北部的一座古城。
[2]马拉喀什（Marrakesh）是摩洛哥西南部的一座历史古城，有“南方的珍珠”之称。
Five（3）
III
It was on the day of Hilary’s departure that Mrs. Calvin Baker, coming intothe hotel in her usual brisk fashion, was accosted by Miss Hetheringtonwhose long thin nose was quivering with excitement.
“I’ve remembered about the name Betterton—the disappearing scientist.
It was in all the papers. About two months ago.”
“Why, now I do remember something. A British scientist—yes—he’dbeen at some conference in Paris.”
“Yes—that’s it. Now I wonder, do you think—if this could possibly be hiswife. I looked in the register and I see her address is Harwell—Harwell,you know, is the Atom Station. I do think all these atom bombs are verywrong. And Cobalt—such a lovely colour in one’s paintbox and I used it alot as a child; the worst of all, I understand nobody can survive. Weweren’t meant to do these experiments. Somebody told me the other daythat her cousin, who is a very shrewd man, said the whole world might goradioactive.”
“My, my,” said Mrs. Calvin Baker.
第五章（3）
3希拉里离开当天，卡尔文•贝克夫人如往日一般步伐轻快地走进酒店，马上被赫瑟林顿小姐拉住，后者那纤细的鼻子正因兴奋而颤抖着。
“我想起贝特顿这个名字了，失踪的科学家。所有报纸上都有报道，大约两个月前。”
“嗯？哦，我也想起来了。一位英国科学家……是的，他去巴黎参加一个会议……”
“是的，就是他。我猜想……您觉得那个女人有没有可能是他妻子？我去看了登记簿，她登记的地址是哈韦尔。哈韦尔，你知道的，是一个原子试验站。我认为所有原子弹都无比邪恶，可明明钴是颜料盒中多么漂亮的颜色，我小时候经常用这个颜色。最糟糕的是我知道没人能幸存。我们不该做这种实验。前几天有人告诉我，她的一个表弟，一个聪明绝顶的年轻人，说整个世界都可能遭到辐射。”
“天哪，天哪。”卡尔文•贝克太太叫道。
Six
Six
Casablanca had vaguely disappointed Hilary by being such a prosperous-looking French town with no hint of the Orient or mystery about it, exceptfor the crowds in the street.
The weather was still perfect, sunny and clear, and she enjoyed lookingout of the train at the passing landscape as they journeyed northward. Asmall Frenchman who looked like a commercial traveller sat opposite toher, in the far corner was a somewhat disapproving-looking nun tellingher beads, and two Moorish ladies with a great many packages, who con-versed gaily with one another, completed the complement of the carriage.
Offering a light for her cigarette, the little Frenchman opposite soonentered into conversation. He pointed out things of interest as theypassed, and gave her various information about the country. She foundhim interesting and intelligent.
“You should go to Rabat, Madame. It is a great mistake not to go to Ra-bat.”
“I shall try to do so. But I have not very much time. Besides,” she smiled,“money is short. We can only take so much with us abroad, you know.”
“But that is simple. One arranges with a friend here.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t got a convenient friend in Morocco.”
“Next time you travel, Madame, send me a little word. I will give you mycard. And I arrange everything. I travel often in England on business andyou repay me there. It is all quite simple.”
“That’s very kind of you, and I hope I shall pay a second visit to Mo-rocco.”
“It must be a change for you, Madame, to come here from England. Socold, so foggy, so disagreeable.”
“Yes, it’s a great change.”
“I, too, I travelled from Paris three weeks ago. It was then fog, rain andall of the most disgusting. I arrive here and all is sunshine. Though, mindyou, the air is cold. But it is pure. Good pure air. How was the weather inEngland when you left?”
“Much as you say,” said Hilary. “Fog.”
“Ah yes, it is the foggy season. Snow—you have had snow this year?”
“No,” said Hilary, “there has been no snow.” She wondered to herself,amusedly, if this much-travelled little Frenchman was following what heconsidered to be the correct trend of English conversation, dealing prin-cipally with the weather. She asked him a question or two about the polit-ical situation in Morocco and in Algiers, and he responded willingly, show-ing himself to be well informed.
Glancing across at the far corner, Hilary observed the nun’s eyes fixeddisapprovingly on her. The Moroccan ladies got out and other travellersgot in. It was evening when they arrived at Fez.
“Permit me to assist you, Madame.”
Hilary was standing, rather bewildered at the bustle and noise of thestation. Arab porters were seizing her luggage from her hands, shouting,yelling, calling, recommending different hotels. She turned gratefully toher new French acquaintance.
“You are going to the Palais Djamai, n’est-ce pas, Madame?”
“Yes.”
“That is right. It is eight kilometres from here, you understand.”
“Eight kilometres?” Hilary was dismayed. “It’s not in the town, then.”
“It is by the old town,” the Frenchman explained. “Me, I stay here at thehotel in the commercial new city. But for the holiday, the rest, the enjoy-ment, naturally you go to the Palais Djamai. It was a former residence, youunderstand, of the Moroccan nobility. It has beautiful gardens, and you gostraight from it into the old city of Fez which is untouched. It does notseem as though the hotel had sent to meet this train. If you permit, I willarrange for a taxi for you.”
“You’re very kind, but. .?.?.”
The Frenchman spoke in rapid Arabic to the porters and shortly after-wards Hilary took her place in a taxi, her baggage was pushed in, and theFrenchman told her exactly what to give the rapacious porters. He alsodismissed them with a few sharp words of Arabic when they protestedthat the remuneration was inadequate. He whipped a card from hispocket and handed it to her.
“My card, Madame, and if I can be of assistance to you at any time, tellme. I shall be at the Grand Hotel here for the next four days.”
He raised his hat and went away. Hilary looked down at the card whichshe could just see before they moved out of the lighted station:
Monsieur Henri Laurier
The taxi drove briskly out of the town, through the country, up a hill. Hil-ary tried to see, looking out of the windows, where she was going, butdarkness had set in now. Except when they passed a lighted building noth-ing much could be seen. Was this, perhaps, where her journey divergedfrom the normal and entered the unknown? Was Monsieur Laurier anemissary from the organization that had persuaded Thomas Betterton toleave his work, his home and his wife? She sat in the corner of the taxinervously apprehensive, wondering where it was taking her.
It took her, however, in the most exemplary manner to the PalaisDjamai. She dismounted there, passed through an arched gateway andfound herself, with a thrill of pleasure, in an oriental interior. There werelong divans, coffee tables, and native rugs. From the reception desk shewas taken through several rooms which led out of each other, out on to aterrace, passing by orange trees and scented flowers, and then up a wind-ing staircase and into a pleasant bedroom, still oriental in style butequipped with all the “conforts modernes” so necessary to twentieth-cen-tury travellers.
Dinner, the porter informed her, took place from 7:30. She unpacked alittle, washed, combed her hair and went downstairs through the long ori-ental smoking room, out on the terrace and across and up some steps to alighted dining room running at right angles to it.
The dinner was excellent and, as Hilary ate, various people came andwent from the restaurant. She was too tired to size them up and classifythem this particular evening, but one or two outstanding personalitiestook her eye. An elderly man, very yellow of face, with a little goateebeard. She noticed him because of the extreme deference paid to him bythe staff. Plates were whisked away and placed for him at the mere raisingof his head. The slightest turn of an eyebrow brought a waiter rushing tohis table. She wondered who he was. The majority of diners were clearlytouring on pleasure trips. There was a German at a big table in the centre,there was a middle- aged man and a fair, very beautiful girl who shethought might be Swedes, or possibly Danes. There was an English familywith two children, and various groups of travelling Americans. Therewere three French families.
After dinner she had coffee on the terrace. It was slightly cold but notunduly so and she enjoyed the smell of scented blossoms. She went to bedearly.
Sitting on the terrace the following morning in the sunshine under thered-striped umbrella that protected her from the sun, Hilary felt how fant-astic the whole thing was. Here she sat, pretending to be a dead woman,expecting something melodramatic and out of the common to occur. Afterall, wasn’t it only too likely that poor Olive Betterton had come abroadmerely to distract her mind and heart from sad thoughts and feelings?
Probably the poor woman had been just as much in the dark as everybodyelse.
Certainly the words she had said before she died admitted of a perfectlyordinary explanation. She had wanted Thomas Betterton warned againstsomebody called Boris. Her mind had wandered — she had quoted astrange little jingle—she had gone on to say that she couldn’t believe it atfirst. Couldn’t believe what? Possibly only that Thomas Betterton had beenspirited away the way he had been.
There had been no sinister undertones, no helpful clues. Hilary stareddown at the terrace garden below her. It was beautiful here. Beautiful andpeaceful. Children chattered and ran up and down the terrace, Frenchmammas called to them or scolded them. The blonde Swedish girl cameand sat down by a table and yawned. She took out a pale pink lipstick andtouched up her already exquisitely painted lips. She appraised her faceseriously, frowning a little.
Presently her companion—husband, Hilary wondered, or it might pos-sibly be her father — joined her. She greeted him without a smile. Sheleaned forward and talked to him, apparently expostulating about some-thing. He protested and apologized.
The old man with the yellow face and the little goatee came up the ter-race from the gardens below. He went and sat at a table against the ex-treme wall, and immediately a waiter darted forth. He gave an order andthe waiter bowed before him and went away, in all haste to execute it. Thefair girl caught her companion excitedly by the arm and looked towardsthe elderly man.
Hilary ordered a Martini, and when it came she asked the waiter in alow voice:
“Who is the old man there against the wall?”
“Ah!” The waiter leaned forward dramatically, “That is Monsieur Ar-istides. He is enormously—but yes, enormously—rich.”
He sighed in ecstasy at the contemplation of so much wealth and Hilarylooked over at the shrivelled- up, bent figure at the far table. Such awrinkled, dried-up, mummified old morsel of humanity. And yet, becauseof his enormous wealth, waiters darted and sprang and spoke with awe intheir voices. Old Monsieur Aristides shifted his position. Just for a momenthis eyes met hers. He looked at her for a moment, then looked away.
“Not so insignificant after all,” Hilary thought to herself. Those eyes,even at that distance, had been wonderfully intelligent and alive.
The blonde girl and her escort got up from their table and went into thedining room. The waiter, who now seemed to consider himself as Hilary’sguide and mentor, stopped at her table as he collected glasses and gaveher further information.
“Ce Monsieur-là, he is a big business magnate from Sweden. Very rich,very important. And the lady with him she is a film star—another Garbo,they say. Very chic—very beautiful—but does she make him the scenes,the histories! Nothing pleases her. She is, as you say, ‘fed up’ to be here, inFez, where there are no jewellers’ shops—and no other expensive womento admire and envy her toilettes. She demands that he should take hersomewhere more amusing tomorrow. Ah, it is not always the rich who canenjoy tranquillity and peace of mind.”
Having uttered this last in a somewhat sententious fashion, he saw abeckoning forefinger and sprang across the terrace as though galvanized.
“Monsieur?”
Most people had gone in to lunch, but Hilary had had breakfast late andwas in no hurry for her midday meal. She ordered herself another drink.
A good-looking young Frenchman came out of the bar and across the ter-race, cast a swift discreet glance at Hilary which, thinly disguised, meant:
“Is there anything doing here, I wonder?” and then went down the steps tothe terrace below. As he did so he half sang, half hummed a snatch ofFrench opera:
Le long des lauriers roses
Rêvant de douces choses.
The words formed a little pattern on Hilary’s brain. Le long des lauriersroses. Laurier. Laurier? That was the name of the Frenchman in the train.
Was there a connection here or was it coincidence? She opened her bagand hunted in it for the card he had given her. Henri Laurier, 3 Rue desCroissants, Casablanca. She turned the card over and there seemed to befaint pencil marks on the back of it. It was as though something had beenwritten on it and then rubbed out. She tried to decipher what the markswere. “Où sont,” the message began, then something which she could notdecipher, and finally she made out the words “D’Antan.” For a momentshe had thought that it might be a message, but now she shook her headand put the card back in her bag. It must have been some quotation thathe had once written on it and then rubbed out.
A shadow fell on her and she looked up, startled. Mr. Aristides wasstanding there between her and the sun. His eyes were not on her. He waslooking across over the gardens below towards the silhouette of hills inthe distance. She heard him sigh and then he turned abruptly, towards thedining room, and as he did so, the sleeve of his coat caught the glass onher table and sent it flying to the terrace where it broke. He wheeledround quickly and politely.
“Ah. Mille pardons, Madame.”
Hilary assured him smilingly in French that it did not matter in theleast. With the swift flick of a finger he summoned a waiter.
The waiter as usual came running. The old man ordered a replacementof Madame’s drink and then, once more apologizing, he made his way intothe restaurant.
The young Frenchman, still humming, came up the steps again. Helingered noticeably as he passed Hilary, but as she gave no sign, he wenton into lunch with a slight philosophic shrug of the shoulders.
A French family passed across the terrace, the parents calling to theiryoung.
“Mais viens donc, Bobo. Qu’est-ce que tu fais? Dépêchetoi!” “Laisse ta balle,chérie, on va déjeuner.”
They passed up the steps and into the restaurant, a happy contentedlittle nucleus of family life. Hilary felt suddenly alone and frightened.
The waiter brought her drink. She asked him if Mr. Aristides was allalone here.
“Oh, Madame, naturally, anyone so rich as Monsieur Aristides wouldnever travel alone. He has here his valet and two secretaries and a chauf-feur.”
The waiter was quite shocked at the idea of Mr. Aristides travelling un-accompanied.
Hilary noted, however, when she at last went into the dining room, thatthe old man sat at a table by himself as he had done on the previous even-ing. At a table nearby sat two young men whom she thought were prob-ably the secretaries since she noticed that one or the other of them was al-ways on the alert and looked constantly towards the table where Mr. Ar-istides, shrivelled and monkeylike, ate his lunch and did not seem to no-tice their existence. Evidently to Mr. Aristides, secretaries were not hu-man!
The afternoon passed in a vague dream- like manner. Hilary strolledthrough the gardens, descending from terrace to terrace. The peace andbeauty seemed quite astounding. There was the splash of water, the gleamof the golden oranges, and innumerable scents and fragrances. It was theoriental atmosphere of seclusion about it that Hilary found so satisfying.
As a garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse .?.?. This was what a garden wasmeant to be, a place shut away from the world—full of green and gold.
If I could stay here, thought Hilary. If I could stay here always. .?.?.
It was not the actual garden of the Palais Djamai that was in herthoughts, it was the state of mind it typified. When she no longer lookedfor peace, she had found it. And peace of mind had come to her at a mo-ment when she was committed to adventure and danger.
But perhaps there was no danger and no adventure .?.?. Perhaps shecould stay here awhile and nothing would happen .?.?. and then. .?.?.
And then—what?
A little cold breeze sprang up and Hilary gave a quick shiver. Youstrayed into the garden of peaceful living, but in the end you would be be-trayed from within. The turmoil of the world, the harshness of living, theregrets and despairs, all these she carried within her.
It was late afternoon, and the sun had lost its power. Hilary went up thevarious terraces and into the hotel.
In the gloom of the Oriental Lounge, something voluble and cheerful re-solved itself, as Hilary’s eyes got attuned to the dimness, into Mrs. CalvinBaker, her hair newly blued, and her appearance immaculate as ever.
“I’ve just got here by air,” she explained. “I simply can’t stand thesetrains—the time they take! And the people in them, as often as not, quiteunsanitary! They’ve no idea at all of hygiene in these countries. My dear,you should see the meat in the souks—all smothered in flies. They justseem to think it’s natural to have flies settling on everything.”
“I suppose it is really,” said Hilary.
Mrs. Calvin Baker was not going to allow such a heretical statement topass.
“I’m a great believer in the Clean Food movement. At home everythingperishable is wrapped in Cellophane—but even in London your bread andcakes just stand about unwrapped. Now tell me, have you been gettingaround? You’ve been doing the old city today, I expect?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t ‘done’ anything,” said Hilary, smiling. “I’ve justbeen sitting about in the sun.”
“Ah, of course—you’re just out of hospital. I forgot.” Clearly only recentillness was accepted by Mrs. Calvin Baker as an excuse for failure to sight-see. “How could I be so stupid? Why, it’s perfectly true, after concussionyou ought to lie down and rest in a dark room most of the day. By and bywe can make some expeditions together. I’m one of those people who likea real packed day — everything planned and arranged. Every minutefilled.”
In Hilary’s present mood, this sounded like a foretaste of hell, but shecongratulated Mrs. Calvin Baker on her energy.
“Well, I will say that for a woman of my age I get around pretty well. Ihardly ever feel fatigue. Do you remember Miss Hetherington at Casab-lanca? An Englishwoman with a long face. She’ll be arriving this evening.
She prefers train to flying. Who’s staying in the hotel? Mostly French, Isuppose. And honeymoon couples. I must run along now and see aboutmy room. I didn’t like the one they gave me and they promised to changeit.”
A miniature whirlwind of energy, Mrs. Calvin Baker departed.
When Hilary entered the dining room that evening, the first thing shesaw was Miss Hetherington at a small table against the wall eating herdinner with a Fontana book propped up in front of her.
The three ladies had coffee together after dinner and Miss Hetheringtondisplayed a pleasurable excitement over the Swedish magnate and theblonde film star.
“Not married, I understand,” she breathed, disguising her pleasure witha correct disapproval. “One sees so much of that sort of thing abroad. Thatseemed a nice French family at the table by the window. The childrenseemed so fond of their Papa. Of course, French children are allowed to situp far too late. Ten o’ clock sometimes before they go to bed, and they gothrough every course on the menu instead of just having milk and biscuitsas children should.”
“They seem to look quite healthy on it,” said Hilary, laughing.
Miss Hetherington shook her head and uttered a cluck of disapproval.
“They’ll pay for it later,” she said with grim foreboding. “Their parentseven let them drink wine.”
Horror could go no further.
Mrs. Calvin Baker began making plans for the next day.
“I don’t think I shall go to the old city,” she said. “I did that very thor-oughly last time. Most interesting and quite a labyrinth, if you know whatI mean. So quaint and old world. If I hadn’t had the guide with me, I don’tthink I should have found my way back to the hotel. You just kind of loseyour sense of direction. But the guide was a very nice man and told mequite a lot of interesting things. He has a brother in the States—in Chicago,I think he said. Then when we’d finished with the town, he took me up to akind of eating house or tearoom, right up on the hillside looking downover the old city—a marvellous view. I had to drink that dreadful mint tea,of course, which is really very nasty. And they wanted me to buy variousthings, some quite nice, but some just rubbish. One has to be very firm, Ifind.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Hetherington.
She added rather wistfully, “And, of course, one can’t really spare themoney for souvenirs. These money restrictions are so worrying.”
第六章
第六章
卡萨布兰卡让希拉里有些失望，它就是一个看上去繁荣兴旺的法国小镇，除了街道上拥挤的人群，没有一丝一毫东方气质或神秘气息。
天气一直很好，灿烂干净，她在北行的列车上惬意地透过车窗欣赏外面飞逝的景色。
对面是一位看上去像旅行推销员的小个子法国男人，远处的角落里坐着一位一脸苦相、拨着念珠祷告的修女，以及两位带了许多行李、正愉快交谈着的摩尔族女人。整节车厢就这么几位乘客。坐在对面的小个子法国男人帮希拉里点了烟，接着两人聊了起来。沿途路过一些景点他都会指给她看，还讲了很多关于这座城市的故事。希拉里觉得他有趣又聪明。
“您应该去拉巴特，夫人。不去拉巴特是不行的。”
“我会试试的，但我没那么多时间。”她笑着说，“钱也不够。您知道的，身在国外，不能随身带太多钱。”
“这很简单啊。让这边的朋友安排一下。”
“在摩洛哥我恐怕没有能帮我安排的朋友。”
“下次您出行，夫人，给我个消息。待会儿我给您我的名片。我会帮您安排好一切。我经常去英国出差，您可以到时再给我钱。多简单。”
“您真是个好心人，希望我能再来摩洛哥旅行。”
“对您来说这儿的一切都很不一样吧，夫人，和英国相比。英国那么冷，整日大雾，让人抑郁。”
“是的，确实完全不同。”
“我是三周前从巴黎过来的，对我来说这里也很新鲜。我离开巴黎那天雾很大，还下雨，真是糟糕透了。一到这里就每天都是晴天。不过空气有些冷冽，您也要注意。但是纯净澄澈。干净的空气。您离开英国的时候那边天气如何？”
“正如您所说的那样。”希拉里答道，“大雾。”
“哦，是的，正是大雾的季节。雪呢，今年下雪了吗？”
“没有，”希拉里答道，“还没下雪。”她暗地里有些好笑地想，这个经常出行的小个子法国人一定是觉得跟英国人聊天就要多聊天气才好，所以就不停地谈论天气的话题。她问了一两个有关摩洛哥和阿尔及尔政治局势的问题，他很乐意回答，显示出他是个消息灵通的人。
希拉里瞥了一眼对面角落，发现那位修女正不满地看着她。摩尔族女人下车了，又有一些乘客上了车。傍晚时分列车抵达菲斯。
“请让我帮您，夫人。”
希拉里呆立着，身处嘈杂喧闹的车站让她有些晕眩。阿拉伯脚夫试图从她手中争抢行李，他们喊着、叫着、招呼着、向她推荐酒店。她求助地望向新结识的法国朋友。
“夫人，您是要去贾尔阿宫殿，对吗？”
“是的。”
“好的。那里距离这儿有八公里。”
“八公里？”希拉里感到害怕，“不在城区里吗？”
“那边是老城区。”法国男人解释道，“我，我住的酒店在新开发的城区这边。不过贾尔阿宫殿是旅行、休闲、放松身心的好去处。您知道的，那里以前是摩洛哥贵族的家宅。那里有美丽的花园，步行就可抵达未被开发的菲斯老城。看来酒店没有派车来接乘这趟火车来的游客，您愿意的话，我可以帮您叫辆出租车。”
“您真是善良极了，但是……”
法国人用流畅的阿拉伯语跟阿拉伯脚夫说了几句话，接着希拉里就坐上了出租车，行李也被推了进来，法国人还清楚地告诉她该付给贪婪的阿拉伯脚夫多少钱。其他脚夫还吵吵着说钱给的不够，但他用几个阿拉伯单词把他们赶走了。最终他从口袋里掏出一张名片，递给希拉里。
“夫人，这是我的名片，如果日后您需要我的帮助，请随时告诉我。我会在这里的大饭店住四天。”
他脱帽行礼然后离开了。在离开灯火通明的车站前，希拉里终于低头看清了名片上的字：
亨利•劳里埃先生
出租车飞速驶离城区，穿过郊区，开上一座山。希拉里试图透过窗户看看外面的景物，但此时夜幕已降临，除了经过亮着灯的建筑，其他时候什么都看不清。这里会不会就是她这趟旅程的岔路口呢，脱离正轨步入未知之境？劳里埃先生会不会就是那个劝说托马斯•贝特顿抛下工作、家庭和妻子的组织的密使呢？她焦虑不安地坐在车里的角落，猜想着自己将被带至何处。
但是出租车准确无误地把她送到了贾尔阿宫殿酒店。她从车上下来，穿过一个拱形门廊，欣喜地发现自己身处一桩东方建筑内部。这里有长沙发椅，咖啡桌以及当地制的地毯。在前台做完登记，她被领着穿过几个连通的房间，接着走过种满橘子树和各种芳香花卉的露台，爬上螺旋楼梯，最终来到一间舒适的卧房。这间屋子也是东方风格的，但是又有二十世纪旅行者所必需的“现代设施”。
服务员告诉她晚餐七点半开始。她打开行李，梳洗了一下就下楼去了。穿过狭长的东方式吸烟室，再次穿过露台，然后上了几级台阶，希拉里来到灯火辉煌的餐厅。
晚餐很精致，希拉里进餐的时候餐厅里人来人往。今晚她太疲倦了，没有精力去仔细观察所有人并对他们进行分类，不过有一两位特别显眼，引起了她的注意。有一个脸色蜡黄的老头，蓄着山羊胡。她注意到他是因为服务员都对他非常恭敬。他稍微一抬头，吃完的盘子就马上被拿走并迅速端上下一道菜。他稍微皱皱眉，就有服务员跑到他的桌边。希拉里想知道他是谁。大部分用餐的都明显是来放松休闲的游客。一个德国人坐在中间的大桌子边，一个中年人和一个有一头美丽金发的姑娘坐在一起——希拉里觉得他们是瑞典人或丹麦人，还有一对英国夫妇带着两个孩子，几小堆美国人，以及三个法国家庭。
用完晚餐，希拉里在露台上喝了些咖啡。外面有些凉意但还受得了，她非常享受这里浓郁的花香。这一天她很早就上床睡觉了。
第二天早晨，希拉里坐在洒满阳光的露台上，头顶是红条纹的遮阳伞，她突然觉得这整件事奇妙无比。她坐在这里，假装成一位已经死了的女士，期待着一些戏剧化的、不寻常的事情发生。不管怎么说，那个可怜的奥利芙•贝特顿也很有可能只是为了散散心，从哀伤中解脱才出国的，不是吗？可能那个可怜的女人也和其他人一样，对一切一无所知。
她临终前说的话其实也可以解释，她想提醒托马斯•贝特顿防备一个叫鲍里斯的人。当时她思维混乱迷糊，于是念了一段奇怪的短诗，还说一开始并不相信。她不相信什么？可能只是在说托马斯•贝特顿就这样失踪了。
直到现在都没有暗含深意的指令，没有有用的线索。希拉里盯着下方的露台花园，那里美极了，美丽而祥和。孩子们叫嚷着在露台跑上跑下，妈妈们用法语呼唤、责骂着。那个金发瑞典姑娘走过来，在一张桌子旁落座，打了个哈欠。她拿出一支浅粉色的口红，在已经涂抹得很精致的嘴唇上抹了抹，又对着镜子照了照，微微皱起眉头。
不一会儿，她的伴侣——希拉里觉得那是她丈夫，但也没准儿是她父亲——走了过来。她面无笑意地跟他打了个招呼，然后倾身对他说了些什么，显然是在抱怨。男人先顶了几句，然后又开始道歉。
那个脸色蜡黄、留着山羊胡的老头也从下面的花园走上露台，在最里面靠墙的桌子旁坐下，马上就有服务员跑过去招呼他。听他说完要求后，服务员鞠了一躬就匆忙去准备了。那个金发姑娘兴奋地抓住同伴的胳膊，眼睛直直地看向老头。
希拉里点了一杯马提尼，酒端上来的时候，她低声询问服务员：“那个坐在墙边的老头是谁？”
“哦！”服务员夸张地倾身向前，道，“那是阿里斯提德先生。他非常——这么说好像不太好，但确实如此，他非常有钱。”
服务员似乎因为想到那巨大的财富而叹了口气，希拉里看向远处那位弯腰驼背、佝偻在桌旁的老头。他满脸皱纹，干瘪瘦小，老得像个木乃伊。但他拥有巨大的财富，于是服务员们个个殷勤百倍、低声下气地为他服务。阿里斯提德老先生动了动身子，眼神在一瞬间与希拉里的眼神交汇了。他盯着她看了一小会儿，然后把目光转向了别处。
他不是个普通人，希拉里暗自想着。即便隔着这么远的距离，依旧能看到他眼睛里透出的智慧与活力。
金发姑娘和她的护花使者站起来去餐厅了。刚才那位服务员自认为有义务向希拉里做更多介绍，便在收拾完杯碟后来到她的桌边，说道：“那位先生，是瑞典的一位大资本家。
非常有钱，地位很高。跟着他的女士是一位电影明星，他们说她是另一个嘉宝 [1] 。她非常时尚，非常漂亮，在先生身边为他增色不少，最经典的情侣组合！但她对什么都不满意。
她就是人们常说的对这个地方‘厌倦了’，菲斯没有珠宝店，没有其他贵妇称赞羡慕她的礼服。她要求先生明天带她去一个更有趣的地方。唉，有钱人也不总能享受平和和安宁。”
他的感慨还没抒发完，就看到有人弯起食指招呼他，他匆匆结束了介绍，犹如过电了一般迅速穿过露台。
“先生？”
大部分人都去吃午餐了，但希拉里早餐吃得比较晚，不急着去用午餐。她又点了一杯饮料。一位长相俊美的年轻法国男人从酒吧来到露台，他快速却谨慎地看了一眼希拉里，眼神没有过多的掩饰，似乎在问：“这儿发生了什么事吗？”接着他走下露台，一边走一边低声哼唱着一段法国歌剧：
顺着玫瑰和月桂树
想象着爱情的暖意 [2]
这几句歌词在希拉里的脑海中描绘出一小幅画面。顺着玫瑰和月桂树。月桂树。劳里埃 [3] ？这不是火车上遇到的那位法国男人的名字吗？这两者之间有联系吗，还是只是巧合？她打开包，找出那张名片。亨利•劳里埃，新月路三号，卡萨布兰卡。她把名片翻过来，背面似乎隐隐有铅笔字迹，像是先写上去又用橡皮擦掉了。她试图分辨这些字：开头是“在哪里”，接下来的字她实在分辨不出，最终她又认出了“好日子”。她摇摇头，打消了认为这是一条信息的念头，把名片放回包里。这肯定是一条格言，写完又用橡皮擦掉了。
一个影子罩在她身上，她抬头看，惊讶地发现阿里斯提德先生就站在她面前。但他没有看她，而是远眺着花园那边山的轮廓。她听到他叹了口气，接着猛然转身走向餐厅，没想到他的衣袖扫到了她桌子上的杯子，杯子掉在露台上摔碎了。他迅速转过头，礼貌地道歉：“哦。非常抱歉，夫人。”
希拉里笑着用法语不断地说没关系。他轻轻晃动手指招呼服务员。
服务员如平常一样迅速跑来。老头吩咐给希拉里再上一杯酒，并再次致歉，然后走向了餐厅。
那位年轻的法国男人还在哼唱着，再次出现在露台。他故意在希拉里身边停留了一会儿，但因为希拉里没什么表示，他便如哲人般不屑地耸了耸肩，去吃午餐了。
一家子法国人走过露台，父母呼唤着孩子。
“过来，波波。干什么呢？赶紧！”“不要再玩了，宝贝儿，该去吃午饭了。”
这个美好家庭的小小投影走上台阶进入餐厅。希拉里突然感到一阵孤独和恐惧。
服务员把酒给她端上来了。她问服务员阿里斯提德先生是否是独自一人来这里的。
“哦，夫人，任何一位像阿里斯提德先生那么有钱的人都是绝对不会单独出行的。他带了贴身男仆、两位秘书和一位司机。”
看得出来，希拉里认为阿里斯提德先生会单独出行的想法让服务员很震惊。
当希拉里终于踏入餐厅用餐的时候，她注意到那个老头还和昨天晚上一样，独自坐在桌子旁。旁边的桌子坐了两个年轻男人，她觉得是阿里斯提德先生的秘书。因为她注意到他们中总有一个保持警惕，不时望向阿里斯提德先生那边。然而干瘪得像瘦猴子一般的阿里斯提德先生自顾自地吃着午餐，似乎完全没有注意到他们的存在。很明显，在阿里斯提德先生看来，秘书就不算人！
下午的时光像梦一般虚度了。希拉里在花园里漫步，从一个露台走到另一个露台。这里的安详与美丽让人叹为观止。这里有喷泉，有耀眼的金色橙子闪闪发光，各种香味扑鼻而来。这种隐居地般的东方气息让希拉里沉醉。封闭的花园是我的姐妹，我的伴侣 [4] ……这才是花园的意义所在，一个与世隔离的地方，满眼绿色与金光。
如果我能待在这里，希拉里想，如果能一直待在这里……但她的脑海里真正所想的并不是真实的贾尔阿宫殿的花园，而是这座花园所代表的一种心境。当她不再找寻宁静的时候，宁静自己就上门了。当她决定以身试险时，却自然地找到了内心的平和。
不过可能根本没什么挑战和危险……她可能会在这里待一段时间，什么事也不会发生……接着……
接着会怎样？
一丝凉风吹来，希拉里颤抖了一下。你误入一座宁静祥和的花园，但最终还是不属于这里。混乱的世界，艰难的生活，悔恨和绝望，这些都沉重地压在她身上。
临近傍晚，阳光已经没那么猛烈。希拉里又依次走过每层的露台，回到酒店内部。
昏暗的东方式休息厅里笼罩着愉悦的氛围，有人正喋喋不休地说着话，希拉里的眼睛终于适应了暗淡的光线后，她认出了卡尔文•贝克太太那头刚染的蓝色头发，以及一如往常的漂亮脸蛋。
“我刚坐飞机到的，”她解释道，“我真是忍受不了火车——花费的时间太漫长了！而且坐在里面的人大多不讲卫生！这类国家的人根本就没有卫生的概念。亲爱的，你应该去看看露天市场上卖的肉——苍蝇到处飞。他们好像认为苍蝇落在任何东西上都是再正常不过的了。”
“确实如此。”希拉里应道。
卡尔文•贝克太太可不准备就此停止陈述她的观点。
“我坚决支持‘洁食运动’。在我们国家，容易腐坏的事物总会用玻璃纸包起来——但甚至在伦敦，面包和蛋糕也都没有外包装。现在跟我说说，您去周边玩过了吗？我猜您今天去游览了古城吧？”
“我怕是什么也没‘做’。”希拉里笑着说，“我光坐在阳光下了。”
“哦，是啊，我忘了，您刚出院。”显然，身体欠佳是卡尔文•贝克太太唯一能接受的没有出门观光的理由，“我怎么这么傻？真是的。当然了，经历了那么大的冲击，您需要长时间地躺在光线柔和的屋子里休养。过段时间我们就能一起出去游玩了。我是那种喜欢快节奏生活的人，所有事都要事先计划安排好，每一分钟都要填满。”
对于希拉里当前的情绪来说，这种安排简直像地狱一样可怕。但她赞赏了卡尔文•贝克太太充沛的精力。
“嗯，我确实算是同年纪的女人中身体相当不错的。我几乎不会感到疲惫。你记得在卡萨布兰卡见过的赫瑟林顿小姐吗？那个长着一张长脸的英国女人。她今晚到。她喜欢坐火车而不是飞机。谁会选这家酒店住啊？我想大部分是法国人吧，还有度蜜月的新婚夫妇。
现在我要去看看我的房间了。刚才给我安排的那间我不喜欢，他们说会给我换一间。”
卡尔文•贝克夫人像阵旋风一样离开了。
傍晚，希拉里走进餐厅，最先看到的是坐在靠墙的一张小桌子旁用晚餐的赫瑟林顿小姐，她面前摊着一本丰塔纳指南。
晚餐后，三位女士坐在一起喝咖啡，赫瑟林顿小姐对瑞典商业巨头和金发电影女星的组合很感兴趣。
“肯定没结婚，我知道的。”她声音很轻，用不满的态度来掩饰对此事的兴趣，“在国外，这样的事情太多了。坐在窗边的那一家子法国人感觉很美满啊，孩子们似乎很喜欢他们的爸爸。不过法国孩子睡觉的时间太晚了。有时候都十点了他们还要吃一顿饭再上床，而且是一整套正餐，不像一般孩子只喝牛奶吃饼干。”
“他们看起来身体都不错。”希拉里笑着说道。
赫瑟林顿小姐摇了摇头，发出不赞同的声音。
“他们今后就会付出代价了。他们的父母甚至让他们饮酒。”她冷酷地预测道，似乎没有什么比这个更恐怖了。
接着卡尔文•贝克太太开始安排明天的计划。
“我不想去古城区了，”她说道，“上次来时我已经转了个遍。那儿有趣极了，像个迷宫，你明白我在说什么吧，一个古怪、老旧的世界。要不是带着一个随身导游，我估计都不认得回酒店的路。你在那里就是会迷失方向。我那位导游是个非常好的人，他给我讲了很多有意思的事情。他说他有个兄弟在美国——我记得是在芝加哥。我们游览完古城，他带我去了一个类似饭店或茶室的地方，在山坡上，可以俯瞰整个古城——景色壮观极了。
不过我不得不喝下那可怕的薄荷茶，当然了，那东西恶心极了。接着他们又希望我买各种东西，有一些挺好的，还有一些简直是垃圾。这件事教会我人一定要坚定。”
“是的，确实。”赫瑟林顿小姐说，还不满地补充道，“而且，不该在买旅游纪念品上浪费钱。外币限制真是招人烦。”
注释：
[1]指瑞典籍演员葛丽泰•嘉宝（Greta Garbo，1905—1990），好莱坞著名影星，代表作有《茶花女》
《安娜•卡列尼娜》等。
[2]出自法国歌剧《拉克美》（Lakme）。
[3]月桂树法语为Laurier，也可当作人名，译为劳里埃。
[4]这句出自公认的拉丁文圣经《雅歌》（Song of Songs）。
Seven（1）
Seven
I
Hilary hoped to avoid having to see the old city of Fez in the depressingcompany of Miss Hetherington. Fortunately the latter was invited by Mrs.
Baker to come with her on an expedition by car. Since Mrs. Baker made itclear that she was going to pay for the car, Miss Hetherington, whose trav-elling allowance was dwindling in an alarming manner, accepted withavidity. Hilary, after inquiry at the desk, was supplied with a guide, andset forth to see the city of Fez.
They started from the terrace, going down through the succession of ter-raced gardens until they reached an enormous door in the wall at the bot-tom. The guide produced a key of mammoth proportions, unlocked thedoor which swung slowly open, and motioned Hilary to pass through.
It was like stepping into another world. All about her were the walls ofold Fez. Narrow winding streets, high walls, and occasionally, through adoorway, a glimpse of an interior or a courtyard, and moving all aroundher were laden donkeys, men with their burdens, boys, women veiled andunveiled, the whole busy secret life of this Moorish city. Wanderingthrough the narrow streets she forgot everything else, her mission, thepast tragedy of her life, even herself. She was all eyes and ears, living andwalking in a dream world. The only annoyance was the guide who talkedunceasingly, and urged her into various establishments into which shehad no particular wish to go.
“You look, lady. This man have very nice things, very cheap, really old,really Moorish. He have gowns and silks. You like very nice beads?”
The eternal commerce of East selling to West went on, but it hardly dis-turbed the charm for Hilary. She soon lost all sense of place or direction.
Here within this walled city she had little idea of whether she was walkingnorth or south or whether she were retracing her steps over the samestreets through which she had already passed. She was quite exhaustedwhen the guide made his final suggestion, which was evidently part of theroutine.
“I take you very nice house, now, very superior. Friends of mine. Youhave mint tea there and they show you plenty lovely things.”
Hilary recognized the well-known gambit which Mrs. Calvin Baker haddescribed. However, she was willing to see, or be taken to see, anythingthat was suggested. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would come intothe Old City alone and wander around without a guide chattering by herelbow. So she allowed herself to be guided through a gateway and up awinding path climbing up more or less outside the city walls. They arrivedat last at a garden surrounding an attractive house built in native style.
Here in a big room with a fine view out over the city, she was urged tosit down at a small coffee table. In due course glasses of mint tea werebrought. To Hilary who did not like sugar with her tea, it was somewhat ofan ordeal to drink it. But by banishing the idea of tea from her mind, andmerely thinking of it as a new kind of lemonade, she managed almost toenjoy it. She enjoyed, too, being shown rugs and beads and draperies, em-broideries and various other things. She made one or two small purchasesmore out of good manners than for any other reason. The indefatigableguide then said:
“I have a car ready now and take you very nice short drive. One hour,not more, see very beautiful scenery and country. And then back to hotel.”
He added, assuming a suitable discreet expression, “This girl here, shetake you first to very nice ladies’ toilet.”
The girl who had served the tea was standing by them smiling, and saidat once in careful English:
“Yes, yes, Madame. You come with me. We have very fine toilet, oh veryfine. Just like the Ritz Hotel. Same as in New York or Chicago. You see!”
Smiling a little, Hilary followed the girl. The toilet hardly rose to theheights claimed for it, but it did at least have running water. There was awashbasin and a small cracked mirror which had such distorting propor-tions that Hilary almost shrank back in alarm at the sight of her own face.
When she had washed and dried her hands, which she did on her ownhandkerchief, not much caring for the appearance of the towel, she turnedto leave.
In some way, however, the door of the toilet appeared to have stuck. Sheturned and rattled the handle unavailingly. It would not move. Hilarywondered whether it had been bolted or locked from the outside. Shegrew angry. What was the idea of shutting her in there? Then she noticedthat there was another door in a corner of the room. Going to it she turnedthe handle. This time the door opened easily enough. She passed through.
She found herself in a small eastern-looking room with light that cameonly from slits high in the wall. Sitting there on a low divan, smoking, wasthe little Frenchman she had met in the train, M. Henri Laurier.
第七章（1）
第七章
1希拉里想尽力避免和令人压抑的赫瑟林顿小姐结伴游览菲斯古城，幸好后者应贝克太太之邀去乘车游玩了。赫瑟林顿小姐的旅游经费不够，于是贝克太太一表明自己会付车费，她就欣然赴约。希拉里在问询台咨询之后雇了一名导游，出发去游览菲斯城。
他们从露台走下一层一层的花园，到达一扇嵌在墙里的巨大的门前。那位导游掏出一把仿如猛犸象的牙齿般巨大的钥匙，打开门锁后缓慢地拉开大门，示意希拉里先过。
门外仿佛是另一个世界。四周都是菲斯古城的城墙。狭长蜿蜒的街道，高耸的古城墙，经过一扇大门时希拉里偶然瞥了一眼门内，竟看到许多背着货物的驴子、背着重物的男人、男孩及女人——有的蒙着面纱，有的没有。正是当地人神秘而繁忙的日常生活状态。在这狭长街道里闲逛的她忘记了其他任何事，包括她的任务，生命中过往的悲剧，甚至忘了她自己。她感到眼睛和耳朵都不够用，仿佛漫步于一个梦中世界。唯一让她感到烦恼的是那位导游不停地跟她说着话，极力建议她去那些她不是很想去的商店。
“您看看，夫人，那个男人那里有些很不错的东西，非常便宜，非常古老，非常具有摩尔风格。他有长袍和丝绸。您喜欢美丽的玻璃珠吗？”
东方人向西方人推销商品的那一套一刻没停，但这依旧没有毁坏这里的魅力。她很快就失去了方向，不知自己要去何处。在这个到处都是围墙的城市里，她不知道自己是在往南还是往北，甚至分不清这条街刚才是否走过。导游再次提出建议时她已经筋疲力尽了，这显然是这趟游览行程的一部分。
“我带您去一幢非常漂亮的房子，非常精致。那儿有我的朋友。您能在那儿喝薄荷茶，他们会给您看非常多的好东西。”
希拉里知道这个开场白意味着什么，卡尔文•贝克太太描述过。但她还是很愿意一试，想看看会被带去看什么东西。明天，她暗自想到，我要一个人游览古城区，不要导游在身边一直絮叨个不停。于是她跟随导游穿过城门，沿着一条城墙外的蜿蜒小径往上爬了一小段，最终抵达一幢本地建筑风格、被花园环绕的迷人房子。
她被带进一间可以俯瞰城市景观的大房间里，应邀坐在一张小咖啡桌边，接着薄荷茶就被端上了桌。对于希拉里这个不爱在茶里放糖的人来说，喝这种薄荷茶真是个苦差事。
但是不把这种薄荷茶当茶，而仅仅当作一种新款柠檬汁的话，她就觉得不错。她怀着同样的欣赏心情对待他们拿出的地毯、玻璃珠、织物、刺绣等各种东西，并出于礼貌而不是真心想要买下了一两件小玩意儿。那位不知疲倦的导游接着说道：“我备好了车，可以带您小小地兜个风。最多一个小时，不会太久，看看美丽的景色和这座城市。接着我们回酒店。”他又相当得体而委婉地补充了一句，“在出发前，这位姑娘会带您去一下女盥洗室。”
刚上过茶的姑娘站在她身边笑了起来，并立马用英语小心地说道：“是的，是的，夫人。您跟我来，我们这儿的盥洗室非常不错，非常舒适。就像丽兹酒店里的一样。像纽约或芝加哥的。您看看就知道了！”
希拉里微微一笑，跟着那位姑娘去了。盥洗室虽然没有他们所称道的那么舒适，但起码有自来水。这里还有洗脸盆和一面上面有细小裂纹的镜子，但当她在镜子中看到因裂纹而扭曲的脸的时候，吓得整个人抖了一下。希拉里洗了洗手，拿出自己的手帕擦干，她还是不太放心挂在旁边的毛巾。接着她转身准备离开。
可是盥洗室的门好像被什么卡住了。她扭动着把手，发出咯咯的金属声，却开不开门。把手纹丝不动。希拉里猜想门是不是从外面锁上了。她非常生气。干吗把她锁在这里啊？接着她发现这间盥洗室的角落还有一扇门。她走过去转动把手，这一次门很容易就打开了。她走了出去。
她发现自己身处一间东方韵味的小屋，从墙壁高处的裂缝漏进来的阳光是屋里唯一的光源。一张低矮的沙发椅上坐着一个正在抽烟的男人，正是她在火车上遇到的小个子法国人亨利•劳里埃先生。
Seven（2）
II
He did not rise to greet her. He merely said, and the timbre of his voicewas slightly changed:
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Betterton.”
For a moment Hilary stood motionless. Astonishment held her in itsgrip. So this—was it! She pulled herself together. This is what you’ve beenexpecting. Act as you think she would act. She came forward and saideagerly:
“You have news for me? You can help me?”
He nodded, then said reproachfully:
“I found you, Madame, somewhat obtuse upon the train. Perhaps youare too well accustomed to talk of the weather.”
“The weather?” She stared at him, bewildered.
What had he said about weather on the train? Cold? Fog? Snow?
Snow. That was what Olive Betterton had whispered as she lay dying.
And she had quoted a silly little jingle—what was it?
Snow, snow, beautiful snow,
You slip on a lump and over you go.
Hilary repeated it falteringly now.
“Exactly—why did you not respond with that immediately as ordered?”
“You don’t understand. I have been ill. I was in a plane crash and after-wards in hospital with concussion. It’s affected my memory in all sorts ofways. Everything long ago is clear enough, but there are terrible blanks—great gaps.” She let her hands rise to her head. She found it easy enough togo on with a real tremor in her voice. “You can’t understand how frighten-ing that is. I keep feeling that I’ve forgotten important things—really im-portant things. The more I try to get them back, the less they will come.”
“Yes,” said Laurier, “the aeroplane crash was unfortunate.” He spoke ina cold businesslike way. “It is going to be a question of whether you havethe necessary stamina and courage to continue your journey.”
“Of course I’m going to continue my journey,” cried Hilary. “My hus-band—” her voice broke.
He smiled, but not a very pleasant smile. Faintly catlike.
“Your husband,” he said, “is, I understand, awaiting you with eager-ness.”
Hilary’s voice broke.
“You have no idea,” she said, “no idea what it’s been like these monthssince he went away.”
“Do you think the British authorities came to a definite conclusion as towhat you did or did not know?”
Hilary stretched out her hands with a wide gesture.
“How do I know—how can I tell? They seemed satisfied.”
“All the same .?.?.” He stopped.
“I think it quite possible,” said Hilary slowly, “that I have been followedhere. I can’t pick out any one particular person but I have had the feelingever since I left England that I am under observation.”
“Naturally,” said Laurier, coldly. “We expected no less.”
“I thought I ought to warn you.”
“My dear Mrs. Betterton, we are not children. We understand what weare doing.”
“I’m sorry,” said Hilary, humbly. “I’m afraid I’m very ignorant.”
“It does not matter if you are ignorant so long as you are obedient.”
“I shall be obedient,” said Hilary in a low voice.
“You were closely watched in England, I have no doubt, ever since theday of your husband’s departure. Nevertheless, the message came to you,did it not?”
“Yes,” said Hilary.
“Now,” said Laurier in a businesslike manner, “I will give you your in-structions, Madame.”
“Please do.”
“From here you will proceed to Marrakesh the day after tomorrow. Thatis as you planned and in accordance with your reservations.”
“Yes.”
“The day after you arrive there you will receive a telegram from Eng-land. What it will say I do not know, but it will be sufficient for you tomake plans immediately to return to England.”
“I am to return to England?”
“Please listen. I have not finished. You will book a seat on a plane leav-ing Casablanca the following day.”
“Supposing I cannot get reservations — supposing the seats are allbooked?”
“They will not be all booked. Everything is arranged for. Now, you un-derstand your instructions?”
“I understand.”
“Then please return to where your guide is waiting. You have been longenough in this ladies’ toilet. By the way, you have become friendly with anAmerican woman and an Englishwoman who are now staying at the Pal-ais Djamai?”
“Yes. Has that been a mistake? It has been difficult to avoid.”
“Not at all. It suits our plans admirably. If you can persuade one orother of them to accompany you to Marrakesh, so much the better. Good-bye, Madame.”
“Au revoir, Monsieur.”
“It is unlikely,” Monsieur Laurier told her with a complete lack of in-terest, “that I shall meet you again.”
Hilary retraced her steps to the ladies’ toilet. This time she found theother door unfastened. A few minutes later she had rejoined the guide inthe tearoom.
“I got very nice car waiting,” said the guide. “I take you now for verypleasant instructive drive.”
The expedition proceeded according to plan.
第七章（2）

2他没有起身，只是口头上打了声招呼，声音听起来有些细微的变化。
“下午好，贝特顿夫人。”
希拉里因为过于震惊而愣在原地。原来如此——原来是这样！她控制好自己的心神。
这就是你一直期待的事情，现在你要以“她”的方式行事了。她走上前去，急切地说：“你有新消息了？你能帮我？”
男人点了点头，然后语带责备地说：“夫人，您在火车上时真是迟钝。可能您太习惯于谈论天气了。”
“天气？”她盯着他，不明所以。
在火车上他都说了些什么有关天气的话？冷？大雾？雪？
雪。奥利芙•贝特顿弥留之际跟她耳语的也是雪。那时她引用了一小段诗句。是什么来着？
雪，雪，多美的雪！
你踩在上面，滑倒了！
希拉里结结巴巴地复述着。
“没错。可为什么您没有按约定立即给出回应？”
“你不知道，我病了。我乘坐的飞机坠毁了，我患上了脑震荡，住了很长时间医院。脑震荡对我的记忆产生了严重的影响。很久之前的事我倒是记得很清楚，但有一些可怕的记忆空白带——空白。”她举起手来抱着头，很自然地控制着声音，仿佛真的感到恐惧，“你不明白这有多可怕。我总感觉自己忘了什么重要的事情——真正重要的事情。我越是努力回忆，越是什么都想不起来。”
“是的，飞机出了事故，真是不幸极了。”劳里埃说道，态度极其冷静，一副公事公办的样子，“那么，您是否还有精力及勇气继续这趟旅程，就是个问题了。”
“我当然要继续。”希拉里失声叫道，“我丈夫——”她无法说完整句话。
男人笑了，但那不是一个开心的笑容，而有些像鬼鬼祟祟的猫。
他说道：“您的丈夫，是的，据我所知，他正急切地等着您呢。”
希拉里不成声地说道：“你无法想象……无法想象他不在的这几个月我是怎么熬过来的。”
“在你看来，英国当局是否知道你对此事的了解程度呢？”
希拉里略显激动地摊开双手，说：“在我看来——我怎么知道？他们似乎没什么不满意的。”
“虽说如此……”男人欲言又止。
希拉里缓缓应道：“在我看来，很有可能我这一路都有人跟着。我说不出具体哪个人可疑，但自打我离开英国，就一直觉得处在某人的监视之下。”
“这是自然，”劳里埃冷冷地说道，“我们也早就想到了。”
“我想我应该告诉你这些，好让你保持警惕。”
“我亲爱的贝特顿夫人，我们不是孩子。我们明白该做什么。”
“抱歉。”希拉里顺从地说，“恐怕是我太无知了。”
“你只要听从指挥就行，无知一点也没关系。”
“我会听从的。”希拉里低声说道。
“自你丈夫失踪那天起，在英国的你就被密切监视着，对此我毫不怀疑。但即便如此，你还是收到了消息，不是吗？”
“是的。”希拉里答道。
“现在，”劳里埃再次公事公办地说道，“夫人，我要向你传达命令了。”
“快说吧。”
“后天你要从这里前往马拉喀什。这与你的计划及预订的旅馆机票都是吻合的。”
“嗯。”
“抵达那里的第二天，你会收到一封发自英国的电报。我不知道电报具体写了什么内容，但肯定能帮你做好马上回英国的准备。”
“我又要回英国了？”
“请你听我说完。到时候你要去订一张第二天离开卡萨布兰卡的机票。”
“那要是我订不上该怎么办——如果所有座位都被订光了呢？”
“不会都被订光的，所有事都安排好了。那么你听明白指示了吗？”
“明白了。”
“那就请你回去吧，你的导游还在等呢。你在女士盥洗室里待得太久了。哦对了，你是不是和同住在贾尔阿宫殿酒店的一位美国女士和一位英国女士成了朋友？”
“是的。不能这么做吗？当时情势难免。”
“你做得没错，这对我们的计划很有利。如果你能劝说其中一位陪你一起去马拉喀什，那就再好不过了。再见，夫人。”
“再见，先生。”
“我们应该不会再见面了。”劳里埃先生不带丝毫感情地说道。
希拉里回到女盥洗室。这次她发现之前那扇门没有上锁。几分钟后她回到茶室，再次见到了她的导游。
“我找到了一辆很好的车，”导游说，“现在我们出发去兜个风吧。”
行程按计划推进。
Seven（3）
III
“So you’re leaving for Marrakesh tomorrow,” said Miss Hetherington.
“You haven’t made a very long stay in Fez, have you? Wouldn’t it havebeen much easier to go to Marrakesh first and then to Fez, returning toCasablanca afterwards?”
“I suppose it would really,” said Hilary, “but reservations are rather dif-ficult to obtain. It’s pretty crowded here.”
“Not with English people,” said Miss Hetherington, rather disconsol-ately. “It really seems dreadful nowadays the way one meets hardly any ofone’s fellow-countrymen.” She looked round her disparagingly and said,“It’s the French.”
Hilary smiled faintly. The fact that Morocco was a French colonial pos-session did not seem to count much with Miss Hetherington. Hotels any-where abroad she regarded as the prerogative of the English travellingpublic.
“The French and the Germans and the Armenians and the Greeks,” saidMrs. Calvin Baker, with a little cackle of laughter. “That scruffy little oldman is a Greek, I believe.”
“I was told he was,” said Hilary.
“Seems a person of importance,” said Mrs. Baker. “You just notice howthe waiters fly about for him.”
“They give the English hardly any attention nowadays,” said Miss Heth-erington, gloomily. “They always give them the most terrible back bed-rooms—the ones maids and valets used to have in the old days.”
“Well, I can’t say I’ve found any fault with the accommodation I’ve hadsince I came to Morocco,” said Mrs. Calvin Baker. “I’ve managed to get amost comfortable room and bath every time.”
“You’re an American,” said Miss Hetherington, sharply, and with somevenom in her voice. She clicked her knitting needles furiously.
“I wish I could persuade you two to come to Marrakesh with me,” saidHilary. “It’s been so pleasant meeting you and talking to you here. Really,it’s very lonely travelling all by oneself.”
“I’ve been to Marrakesh,” said Miss Hetherington in a shocked voice.
Mrs. Calvin Baker, however, appeared to be somewhat sold on the idea.
“Well, it certainly is an idea,” she said. “It’s over a month since I was inMarrakesh. I’d be quite happy to go there again for a spell, and I couldshow you round, too, Mrs. Betterton, and prevent you being imposedupon. It’s not until you’ve been to a place and looked right round it thatyou learn the strings. I wonder now. I’ll go right to the office and see whatI can fix up.”
Miss Hetherington said acidly, when she had departed:
“That’s exactly like these American women. Rushing from place to place,never settling down anywhere. Egypt one day, Palestine the next. Some-times I really don’t think they know what country they’re in.”
She shut her lips with a snap, and rising and gathering up her knittingcarefully she left the Turkish room with a little nod to Hilary as she went.
Hilary glanced down at her watch. She felt inclined not to change thisevening for dinner, as she usually did. She sat on there alone in the low,rather dark room with its oriental hangings. A waiter looked in, then wentaway after turning on two lamps. They did not give out very much lightand the room seemed pleasantly dim. It had an Eastern sort of serenity.
Hilary sat back on the low divan, thinking of the future.
Only yesterday she had been wondering if the whole business uponwhich she had been engaged was a mare’s nest. And now—now she wason the point of starting on her real journey. She must be careful, verycareful. She must make no slip. She must be Olive Betterton, moderatelywell-educated, inartistic, conventional but with definite Left Wing sym-pathies, and a woman who was devoted to her husband.
“I must make no mistake,” said Hilary to herself, under her breath.
How strange it felt to be sitting here alone in Morocco. She felt as thoughshe had got into a land of mystery and enchantment. That dim lamp be-side her! If she were to take the carved brass between her hands and rub,would a Djinn of the Lamp appear? As the thought came to her, she star-ted. Materializing quite suddenly from beyond the lamp, she saw the smallwrinkled face and pointed beard of Mr. Aristides. He bowed politely be-fore sitting down beside her, saying:
“You permit, Madame?” Hilary responded politely.
Taking out his cigarette case he offered her a cigarette. She accepted andhe lit one himself also.
“It pleases you, this country, Madame?” he asked, after a moment ortwo.
“I have been here only a very short time,” said Hilary. “I find it so farquite enchanting.”
“Ah. And you have been into the old city? You liked it?”
“I think it is wonderful.”
“Yes, it is wonderful. It is the past there—the past of commerce, of in-trigue, of whispering voices, shuttered activities, all the mystery and pas-sion of a city enclosed in its narrow streets and walls. Do you know what Ithink of, Madame, when I walk through the streets of Fez?”
“No?”
“I think of your Great West Road in London. I think of your great factorybuildings on each side of the road. I think of those buildings lit throughoutwith their neon lighting and the people inside, that you see so clearly fromthe road as you drive along in your car. There is nothing hidden, there isnothing mysterious. There are not even curtains to the windows. No, theydo their work there with the whole world observing them if it wants to doso. It is like slicing off the top of an anthill.”
“You mean,” said Hilary, interested, “that it is the contrast that interestsyou?”
Mr. Aristides nodded his elderly, tortoise-like head.
“Yes,” he said. “There everything is in the open and in the old streets ofFez nothing is à jour. Everything is hidden, dark .?.?. But—” he leant for-ward and tapped a finger on the little brass coffee table “—but the samethings go on. The same cruelties, the same oppressions, the same wish forpower, the same bargaining and haggling.”
“You think that human nature is the same everywhere?” Hilary asked.
“In every country. In the past as in the present there are always the twothings that rule. Cruelty and benevolence! One or the other. Sometimesboth.” He continued with hardly a change of manner. “They have told me,Madame, that you were in a very bad aeroplane accident the other day atCasablanca?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“I envy you,” Mr. Aristides said unexpectedly.
Hilary looked at him in an astonished manner. Again he waggled hishead in vehement assertion.
“Yes,” he added, “you are to be envied. You have had an experience. Ishould like the experience of having come so near to death. To have that,yet survive—do you not feel yourself different since then, Madame?”
“In a rather unfortunate way,” said Hilary. “I had concussion and thatgives me very bad headaches, and it also affects my memory.”
“Those are mere inconveniences,” said Mr. Aristides, with a wave of thehand, “but it is an adventure of the spirit you have passed through, is itnot?”
“It is true,” said Hilary slowly, “that I have passed through an adventureof the spirit.”
She was thinking of a bottle of Vichy water and a little heap of sleepingpills.
“I have never had that experience,” said Mr. Aristides, in his dissatisfiedvoice. “So many other things, but not that.” He rose, bowed, said “Meshommages, Madame,” and left her.
第七章（3）
3“这么说您明天就要前往马拉喀什了。”赫瑟林顿小姐说道，“您在菲斯可没待多久啊，不是吗？先去马拉喀什，再来菲斯，最后返回卡萨布兰卡，这样的行程不是更好吗？”
“确实如此。”希拉里说道，“但这里的酒店不好预订。人太多了。”
“英国人不是太多。”赫瑟林顿小姐悲伤地说，“现如今，出门旅行都几乎碰不到同胞了。”她轻蔑地四处打量了一番，“都是些法国人。”
希拉里微微一笑。在赫瑟林顿小姐看来，摩洛哥是法国的一块殖民地似乎并不能说明什么，她认为，在国外的任何酒店，英国游客都该享受特权。
“法国人、德国人、亚美尼亚人和希腊人。”卡尔文•贝克太太咯咯笑着说道，“我想，那个脏兮兮的小老头一定是个希腊人。”
“有人告诉我他的确是。”希拉里说道。
“看起来是个重要人物。”贝克太太说，“看看服务员，总是围着他转来转去。”
“如今他们都对英国人不上心了。”赫瑟林顿小姐沮丧地说道，“总是给我们安排黑乎乎的糟糕房间，以前男仆和女仆住的地方。”
“唔，要我说，摩洛哥的住宿条件没什么毛病。”卡尔文•贝克太太说道，“每次我都能设法搞到最舒适的、能泡澡的房间。”
“您是个美国人。”赫瑟林顿小姐尖酸地说，语调中饱含恶意。她一边说话一边把毛衣针弄得啪啪响。
“要是你们能跟我一起去马拉喀什就好了。”希拉里说，“能遇到你们，和你们聊天，真是太愉快了。真的，一个人旅行太孤单了。”
“我去过马拉喀什了。”赫瑟林顿小姐大声说道。
卡尔文•贝克夫人却被这个主意打动了。
“哦，这是个好提议。”她说道，“我是上个月去的马拉喀什，很想再去一趟。我能带您四处转转，贝特顿太太，还能防止您被骗。去一个地方要知道该去哪儿玩，才能体会其中的美妙。我现在就去办事处看看能做些什么安排。”
赫瑟林顿小姐在卡尔文太太离开后刻薄地说道：“美国女人都这样，从一个地方急匆匆赶到另一个地方，在任何地方都不能好好停留。今天在埃及，明天就到了巴勒斯坦。我觉得她们有时连自己身处哪个国家都不清楚。”
她忽然闭上嘴，收拾起针线，向希拉里点头致意后，离开了这间土耳其式的房间。希拉里看了看手表，决定今晚不像往常那样先换衣服再用晚餐了。她一个人坐在低矮昏暗、挂着很多东方饰物的屋子里。一位服务员进来看了看又走了，之后带着两只小台灯回来。
灯光不是很亮，正好让室内呈现出一种很舒适的昏暗，有一种东方式的静谧。希拉里倚在矮沙发里，思考着接下来要怎么办。
昨天她还在想她参与的这整件事是不是一场骗局。但是现在——现在她要开始真正的旅程了。她必须小心翼翼，非常谨慎，不犯任何错误。她必须成为奥利芙•贝特顿，受过普通教育，乏味无趣，传统顺从，但有明显的“左”倾倾向，并且对自己的丈夫忠心耿耿。
“我不能出任何差错。”希拉里压低声音对自己说。
身在摩洛哥，一个人坐着感觉奇怪极了。她感觉自己来到了一个神秘而魅力无穷的地方。身边那盏昏暗的灯！如果把刻着花纹的黄铜灯台握在两手之间摩擦，灯神会现身吗？
她被自己竟产生这种想法惊呆了，同时台灯旁边真的突然出现一个人，是阿里斯提德先生皱皱巴巴、留着尖尖的山羊胡的小脸。他礼貌地点头致意后坐在了希拉里的身旁，并开口问道：“夫人，我可以坐这里吗？”
希拉里礼貌地点头应允。
老人打开烟盒，递给希拉里一支烟，接着为自己也点了一根。
“夫人，您喜欢这个国家吗？”一两分钟后，他问道。
“我待得不久。”希拉里说，“我发现这里非常引人入胜。”
“哦。你去过古城区了吗？喜欢那里吗？”
“我觉得那里美妙极了。”
“是的，美妙极了。昔日的一切——贸易，阴谋，流言，暗地里的活动，城市的秘密和激情都被关在窄小的街道和高墙之中。知道我是怎么想的吗，夫人，当我漫步在菲斯的街道中时？”
“不知道。”
“我想到了伦敦的西大道，想到了你们那儿街道两边的工厂。我想到那些被霓虹灯照亮的建筑，开车行驶在路上的时候你可以清楚地看到里面的人。那里没有什么秘密，没有一丝神秘感可言。甚至窗户上都不挂窗帘。没有，他们就在那里工作，全世界只要想看就能看到他们。就像揭开蚂蚁窝的顶。”
“您的意思是，”希拉里颇感兴趣地说，“这种反差吸引了您。”
阿里斯提德先生缓慢地点了点苍老的头颅。
“是的。”他说道，“在那里，一切都是公开的；而在菲斯的老街，没有什么是在阳光下的。这里的一切都是隐蔽、晦暗不明的……但是……”他身子前倾，手指轻敲黄铜制的咖啡桌，“但发生的事情是一样的。同样残酷，压抑，对于权力的欲望，讨价还价以及争论不休。”
“您认为人类的本性都是一样的，不论在哪儿？”希拉里问道。
“在任何国家，不论过去还是现在，总是被两件事支配。残暴和仁慈！不是这一个就是另一个，有时候二者同时存在。”他语气丝毫未变地继续说道，“他们告诉我，夫人，那日您搭乘的前往卡萨布兰卡的飞机出了事故，是真的吗？”
“是的，是真的。”
“我真羡慕您。”阿里斯提德先生出人意料地说。
希拉里十分惊讶地看着他。他猛烈地点了点头。
“是的，”他补充道，“您值得被羡慕。您拥有了那样的经历，我很想拥有濒死的体验。
经历险境并幸存下来。夫人，您不觉得自那之后您就与往昔不同了吗？”
“那是一次相当不幸的经历。”希拉里说道，“我患上了脑震荡，头痛欲裂，记忆还受到了影响。”
“那些只不过是不方便之处。”阿里斯提德先生摆摆手说道，“但是您经历了精神上的冒险，不是吗？”
“确实，”希拉里缓缓说道，“我经历了精神上的冒险。”
她想起那一杯维希矿泉水和一小堆安眠药。
“我从未有过这类体验。”阿里斯提德先生不满地说，“我经历过不少事，唯独没有这种体验。”接着他站起身，点头道，“夫人，向您致敬。”说完就离开了。
Eight
Eight
How alike, Hilary thought to herself, all airports were! They had a strangeanonymity about them. They were all at some distance from the town orcity they served, and in consequence you had a queer, stateless feeling ofexisting nowhere. You could fly from London to Madrid, to Rome, to Istan-bul, to Cairo, to anywhere you liked, and if your journey was a throughone by air, you would never have the faintest idea of what any of these cit-ies looked like! If you caught a glimpse of them from the air, they wereonly a kind of glorified map, something built with a child’s box of bricks.
And why, she thought vexedly, looking round her, does one always haveto be at these places so much too early?
They had spent nearly half an hour in the waiting room. Mrs. CalvinBaker, who had decided to accompany Hilary to Marrakesh, had beentalking non- stop ever since their arrival. Hilary had answered almostmechanically. But now she realized that the flow had been diverted. Mrs.
Baker had now switched her attention to two other travellers who weresitting near her. They were both tall, fair young men. One an Americanwith a broad, friendly grin, the other a rather solemn-looking Dane orNorwegian. The Dane talked heavily, slowly, and rather pedantically incareful English. The American was clearly delighted to find another Amer-ican traveller. Presently, in conscientious fashion, Mrs. Calvin Bakerturned to Hilary.
“Mr.—? I’d like to have you know my friend, Mrs. Betterton.”
“Andrew Peters—Andy to my friends.”
The other young man rose to his feet, bowed rather stiffly and said,“Torquil Ericsson.”
“So now we’re all acquainted,” said Mrs. Baker happily. “Are we all go-ing to Marrakesh? It’s my friend’s first visit there—”
“I, too,” said Ericsson. “I, too, for the first time go.”
“That goes for me, too,” said Peters.
The loudspeaker was suddenly switched on and a hoarse announcementin French was made. The words were barely distinguishable but it ap-peared to be their summons to the plane.
There were four passengers besides Mrs. Baker and Hilary. BesidesPeters and Ericsson, there was a thin, tall Frenchman, and a severe-look-ing nun.
It was a clear, sunny day and flying conditions were good. Leaning backin her seat with half-closed eyes, Hilary studied her fellow-passengers,seeking to distract herself that way from the anxious questionings whichwere going on in her mind.
One seat ahead of her, on the other side of the aisle, Mrs. Calvin Baker inher grey travelling costume looked like a plump and contented duck. Asmall hat with wings was perched on her blue hair and she was turningthe pages of a glossy magazine. Occasionally she leaned forward to tap theshoulder of the man sitting in front of her, who was the cheerful-lookingfair young American, Peters. When she did so he turned round, displayinghis good- humoured grin, and responding energetically to her remarks.
How very good-natured and friendly Americans were, Hilary thought toherself. So different from the stiff travelling English. She could not ima-gine Miss Hetherington, for instance, falling into easy conversation with ayoung man even of her own nation on a plane, and she doubted if the lat-ter would have responded as good-naturedly as this young American wasdoing.
Across the aisle from her was the Norwegian, Ericsson.
As she caught his eye, he made her a stiff little bow and leaning acrossoffered her his magazine, which he was just closing. She thanked him andtook it. In the seat behind him was the thin, dark Frenchman. His legswere stretched out and he seemed to be asleep.
Hilary turned her head over her shoulder. The severe-faced nun was sit-ting behind her, and the nun’s eyes, impersonal, incurious, met Hilary’swith no expression in them. She sat immovable, her hands clasped. Itseemed to Hilary an odd trick of time that a woman in traditional medi-eval costume should be travelling by air in the twentieth century.
Six people, thought Hilary, travelling together for a few hours, travellingto different places with different aims, scattering perhaps at the end ofthat few hours and never meeting again. She had read a novel which hadhinged on a similar theme and where the lives of those six people werefollowed up. The Frenchman, she thought, must be on holiday. He seemedso tired. The young American was perhaps a student of some kind. Eric-sson was perhaps going to take up a job. The nun was doubtless bound forher convent.
Hilary closed her eyes and forgot her fellow travellers. She puzzled, asshe had done all last night, over the instructions that had been given her.
She was to return to England! It seemed crazy! Or could it be that in someway she had been found wanting, was not trusted: had failed to supplycertain words or credentials that the real Olive would have supplied. Shesighed and moved restlessly. “Well,” she thought, “I can do no more than Iam doing. If I’ve failed—I’ve failed. At any rate, I’ve done my best.”
Then another thought struck her. Henri Laurier had accepted it as nat-ural and inevitable that a close watch was being kept upon her in Morocco—was this a means of disarming suspicion? With the abrupt return ofMrs. Betterton to England it would surely be assumed that she had notcome to Morocco in order to “disappear” like her husband. Suspicionwould relax—she would be regarded as a bona fide traveller.
She would leave for England, going by Air France via Paris—and per-haps in Paris—
Yes, of course—in Paris. In Paris where Tom Betterton had disappeared.
How much easier to stage a disappearance there. Perhaps Tom Bettertonhad never left Paris. Perhaps—tired of profitless speculation Hilary wentto sleep. She woke—dozed again, occasionally glancing without interest atthe magazine she held. Awakening suddenly from a deeper sleep she no-ticed that the plane was rapidly losing height and circling round. Sheglanced at her watch, but it was still some time earlier than the estimatedtime of arrival. Moreover, looking down through the window, she couldnot see any signs of an aerodrome beneath.
For a moment a faint qualm of apprehension struck her. The thin, darkFrenchman rose, yawned, stretched his arms and looked out and saidsomething in French which she did not catch. But Ericsson leant across theaisle and said:
“We are coming down here, it seems—but why?”
Mrs. Calvin Baker, leaning out of her seat, turned her head and noddedbrightly as Hilary said:
“We seem to be landing.”
The plane swooped round in ever lower circles. The country beneaththem seemed to be practically desert. There were no signs of houses or vil-lages. The wheels touched with a decided bump, bouncing along and taxi-ing until they finally stopped. It had been a somewhat rough landing, butit was a landing in the middle of nowhere.
Had something gone wrong with the engine, Hilary wondered, or hadthey run out of petrol? The pilot, a dark-skinned, handsome young man,came through the forward door and along the plane.
“If you please,” he said, “you will all get out.” He opened the rear door,let down a short ladder and stood there waiting for them all to pass out.
They stood in a little group on the ground, shivering a little. It was chillyhere, with the wind blowing sharply from the mountains in the distance.
The mountains, Hilary noticed, were covered with snow and singularlybeautiful. The air was crisply cold and intoxicating. The pilot descendedtoo, and addressed them, speaking French:
“You are all here? Yes? Excuse, please, you will have to wait a littleminute, perhaps. Ah, no, I see it is arriving.”
He pointed to where a small dot on the horizon was gradually growingnearer. Hilary said in a slightly bewildered voice:
“But why have we come down here? What is the matter? How long shallwe have to be here?”
The French traveller said:
“There is, I understand, a station wagon arriving. We shall go on inthat.”
“Did the engine fail?” asked Hilary.
Andy Peters smiled cheerfully.
“Why no, I shouldn’t say so,” he said, “the engine sounded all right tome. However, they’ll fix up something of that kind, no doubt.”
She stared, puzzled. Mrs. Calvin Baker murmured:
“My, but it’s chilly, standing about here. That’s the worst of this climate.
It seems so sunny but it’s cold the moment you get near sunset.”
The pilot was murmuring under his breath, swearing, Hilary thought.
He was saying something like:
“Toujours des retards insupportables.”
The station wagon came towards them at a breakneck pace. The Berberdriver drew up with a grinding of brakes. He sprang down and was imme-diately engaged by the pilot in angry conversation. Rather to Hilary’s sur-prise, Mrs. Baker intervened in the dispute—speaking in French.
“Don’t waste time,” she said peremptorily. “What’s the good of arguing?
We want to get out of here.”
The driver shrugged his shoulders and, going to the station wagon, heunhitched the back part of it which let down. Inside was a large packingcase. Together with the pilot and with help from Ericsson and Peters, theygot it down on to the ground. From the effort it took, it seemed to beheavy. Mrs. Calvin Baker put her hand on Hilary’s arm and said, as theman began to raise the lid of the case:
“I shouldn’t watch, my dear. It’s never a pretty sight.”
She led Hilary a little way away, on the other side of the wagon. TheFrenchman and Peters came with them. The Frenchman said in his ownlanguage:
“What is it then, this manoeuvre there that they do?”
Mrs. Baker said:
“You are Dr. Barron?”
The Frenchman bowed.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mrs. Baker. She stretched out her hand,rather like a hostess welcoming him to a party. Hilary said in a bewilderedtone:
“But I don’t understand. What is in that case? Why is it better not tolook?”
Andy Peters looked down on her consideringly. He had a nice face, Hil-ary thought. Something square and dependable about it. He said:
“I know what it is. The pilot told me. It’s not very pretty perhaps, but Iguess it’s necessary.” He added quietly, “There are bodies in there.”
“Bodies!” She stared at him.
“Oh, they haven’t been murdered or anything,” he grinned reassuringly.
“They were obtained in a perfectly legitimate way for research—medicalresearch, you know.”
But Hilary still stared. “I don’t understand.”
“Ah. You see, Mrs. Betterton, this is where the journey ends. One jour-ney, that is.”
“Ends?”
“Yes. They’ll arrange the bodies in that plane and then the pilot will fixthings and presently, as we’re driving away from here, we shall see in thedistance the flames going up in the air. Another plane that has crashedand come down in flames, and no survivors!”
“But why? How fantastic!”
“But surely—” It was Dr. Barron now who spoke to her. “But surely youknow where we are going?”
Mrs. Baker, drawing near, said cheerfully:
“Of course she knows. But maybe she didn’t expect it quite so soon.”
Hilary said, after a short bewildered pause:
“But you mean—all of us?” She looked round.
“We’re fellow travellers,” said Peters gently.
The young Norwegian, nodding his head, said with an almost fanaticalenthusiasm:
“Yes, we are all fellow travellers.”
第八章
第八章
希拉里心想，所有的机场都是何其相似！都没有什么特别之处，都与所属的城镇距离遥远，导致在这里的人产生一种无国界、脱离现实的感觉。你能从伦敦飞往马德里、罗马、伊斯坦布尔、开罗，去任何你想去的地方，但如果你搭乘的是直飞航班，途经的城市什么样你会一点概念都没有！即便你从空中瞥到了城市全貌，那也不过是一张美化过的地图，就像用儿童积木搭建而成的。
而且，她环视四周，烦恼地想着，为什么人们总是过早地赶到机场呢？
她们在候机厅等了大约半小时。决定陪同希拉里去马拉喀什的卡尔文•贝克太太自打到机场就絮絮叨叨地说个不停，希拉里机械地回应着。但此时，她发觉贝克太太停下了絮叨，注意力转移到坐在她旁边的两位乘客身上。他们都是高大英俊的年轻人，一个是美国人，脸上挂着友好的笑容；另一个表情严肃，看上去像是丹麦人或挪威人。丹麦人说话语速很慢，语调沉重，用词谨慎陈腐。美国人则明显因为发现了美国同胞而非常高兴。没过多久，卡尔文•贝克太太就转向希拉里，认真地说道：“嗯，这位先生，我想向您介绍我的朋友，贝特顿太太。”
“我叫安德鲁•彼得斯，朋友们都叫我安迪。”
另一位年轻人站起身，僵硬地点头致意道：“托基尔•埃里克森。”
“那么现在我们算认识了。”卡尔文•贝克太太高兴地说道，“你们也要去马拉喀什吗？这是我朋友第一次去那边……”
“我，也是，”埃里克森说道，“我，也是第一次去。”
“我也是。”彼得斯也说。
广播忽然响起，播报一则法语通知。虽然听不太清，但似乎是他们搭乘的飞机开始登机了。
这次航班除了贝克太太和希拉里之外，还有四位乘客。彼得斯和埃里克森，一位高瘦的法国人，以及一位面色严峻的修女。
天气晴好，非常适宜飞行。希拉里靠在椅背上，半闭着眼睛观察其他几位乘客，试图以此赶走脑海中的焦虑思绪。
卡尔文•贝克太太坐在前一排、过道另一侧的位子，正在翻看一本服装杂志。她身上的灰色旅行套装让她看上去像一只心满意足的胖鸭子，一顶插着羽毛装饰的帽子扣在她蓝色的头发上。那个充满活力的英俊美国年轻人彼得斯坐在贝克太太前面，贝克太太不时前倾拍拍他的肩膀，然后他就转过身来，露出好看的笑脸，活力满满地回应她。希拉里想，美国人多么好脾气、多么友善啊，与呆板的英国游客完全不同。比如她就不敢想象赫瑟林顿小姐能这么轻易地和同一航班上的英国年轻人聊起来，她怀疑英国年轻人也不会像这个美国年轻人那样热情地回应别人。
和希拉里隔着过道坐着挪威人埃里克森。
两人目光交汇的时候，埃里克森僵硬地点点头致意，并侧过身子把刚合上的杂志递给希拉里，希拉里表示感谢并接了过来。埃里克森身后是那位高瘦阴郁的法国人，此时他的腿伸到了过道里，看上去好像睡着了。
希拉里别过脸向后看，发现那位面色严肃的修女坐在她后面。修女的眼神非常冷漠，似乎对什么都不关心，与希拉里的目光交汇也没增加什么感情。她一动不动地坐着，双手交叉。在希拉里看来这一幕仿如奇异的把戏，一个中世纪打扮的女人在二十世纪乘飞机旅行。
希拉里心想，六个人同度一段飞行时光，为了不同的目的去往不同的地方，很可能这几个小时的旅程之后大家就会分道扬镳，再也不会相见。她读过一本内容相似的小说，里面介绍了这六个人的身世。那个法国人一定是在度假，他看上去疲惫极了。那个年轻的美国人可能还是个学生。埃里克森像是身负工作使命。修女则无疑是回修道院去。
希拉里闭上眼睛，暂时忘记她的旅伴。昨晚依照指示做好一切安排后，她就一直很困惑。她要回英国了！这看起来太疯狂了！有没有可能她露出了什么马脚，没能取得对方的信任：比如她没有及时说出特定的词，或拿出真正的奥利芙•贝特顿会拿出的凭据。她连连叹气，坐立不安。嗯，她想着，我也只能做这么多了。如果我失败了——失败了。不管怎么说，我已经尽力了。
接着另一个想法又涌了上来。亨利•劳里埃认为她在摩洛哥的时候一直受到严密监视是再自然不过且难以避免的事——这是不是表示他对她的身份深信不疑？而他接着命令贝特顿太太返回英国，肯定是为了让当局认为她不是接到指示前往摩洛哥，然后像她丈夫一样“消失”。这么一来对她的怀疑就会减轻——她只是一位如假包换的游客。
她要按计划回英国，乘坐法国航空的班机，途经巴黎……或者在巴黎——是的，当然，在巴黎。汤姆•贝特顿就是在巴黎失踪的。在这里上演一场消失大戏简直太容易了。可能汤姆•贝特顿一直没离开巴黎，可能……希拉里这样无益地猜测着，终于累得睡着了。中途她不时醒来，然后再次昏睡过去，有时随意地瞥一眼手中的杂志。又一次突然从沉睡中醒来后，她意识到飞机正在迅速降落并盘旋着。她看了一眼手表，距离预定抵达的时间还早。而且透过窗户望出去，她没看到下面有机场。
过了一会儿她才伴随着一丝不安理解了眼前的状况。那个高瘦阴郁的法国男人站起身打了个哈欠，他伸伸胳膊，望向窗外，说了几句她听不懂的法语。埃里克森探身过来，说道：“看起来我们要在这里降落了，但是为什么？”
卡尔文•贝克太太也从座位上探出身子，转过头，欣喜地点头对希拉里说：“我们似乎要着陆了。”
飞机一个俯冲，在更低的高度盘旋。下面看上去像是一片荒野，没有房屋和村庄的痕迹。起落架触地时产生轻微的震颤，颠簸着滑行了一段后终于停下了。一次粗暴的着陆，而且不知在什么地方。
希拉里猜想是不是发动机出了问题，或是燃料用完了？皮肤黝黑、英俊年轻的飞行员从飞机前部的驾驶舱走了出来。
“请大家都出去。”他说完打开舱门，放下短梯，站在一边等着乘客们下飞机。六个人凑在一起站在地面上，冷得发抖。从远处的山上吹来的风很大，希拉里注意到那些山上盖着积雪，非常美丽。空气冷入骨髓，但令人舒适。最后飞行员也下来了，用法语对他们说：“都在这里了吧？是吗？不好意思，我们可能要在这里等一小会儿。哦不，我已经看到它了。”
他指向地平线附近，一个小点正渐渐变大。
希拉里还有点迷糊，她问道：“可是为什么要降落在这里？出什么事了吗？我们要在这儿停留多久？”
那位法国游客说道：“好像是一辆大轿车过来了。我们可能要坐那辆车走。”
“是发动机坏了吗？”希拉里接着问道。
安迪•彼得斯愉快地笑着。
“我觉得不是。”他说道，“发动机的声音听起来很正常。但毫无疑问，他们要进行一些修理。”
希拉里呆呆地站着，感到困惑。卡尔文•贝克太太嘟囔道：“哦，真是冷极了，还要站在这儿等。糟糕的天气。倒是很晴朗，但傍晚真的太冷了。”
飞行员也在低声嘟囔着，希拉里觉得他一定是在咒骂，类似这样的话：“真受不了，耽误时间。”
就在所有人都要坚持不住了的时候，大轿车到了，柏柏尔族 [1] 司机急刹车后下了车，飞行员马上怒气冲冲地和他吵起来。让希拉里意外的是，贝克太太竟然插嘴了，而且是用法语。
“不要再耽误时间了，”她语气强硬地说，“吵架有什么用？我们想赶紧离开这里。”
司机耸耸肩，走向大轿车，把后面的门打开。那里面有一个巨大的打包箱。飞行员、埃里克森和彼得斯三人合力把箱子抬了出来。看他们那样子，箱子应该很重。飞行员准备打开箱子的时候，卡尔文•贝克太太把手搭在希拉里的胳膊上，说道：“我不想看，亲爱的，肯定不好看。”
她把希拉里拉到了大轿车的另一侧。法国男人和彼得斯也过来了。法国男人用法语说道：“他们在干什么啊？”
贝克太太说：“您是巴伦博士吗？”
法国男人点点头。
“很高兴见到您。”贝克太太说着伸出手，像女主人欢迎客人来参加聚会一样。
希拉里困惑地问道：“我还没明白。那里面有什么？为什么最好别去看呢？”
安迪•彼得斯相当体贴地低头看着她。他有一张友善的脸庞，希拉里心想，看上去很公正、很可靠。他说道：“我知道那里面有什么。飞行员告诉我的。可能确实不太好看，但也是难免的。”他冷静地补充道，“那里面装着几具尸体。”
“尸体！”希拉里瞪视着他。
“哦，不是谋杀案中的死者之类的，”他露出安慰人的笑容，“是用于合法研究的——医学研究，你们知道的。”
但希拉里仍旧瞪视着他。“我不明白。”
“哦，您看，贝特顿太太，这里就是旅程的终点。旅程到此结束了。”
“终点？”
“是的。他们会把尸体抬进飞机，飞行员安排好一切，接着等我们驾车离开这里一段距离的时候，会看到火光冲天。一架飞机坠毁了，在大火中摔成碎片，无人生还。”
“但是为什么？天方夜谭！”
“您……”换巴伦博士对她说道，“您肯定知道我们将要去哪儿。”
贝克太太靠了过来，笑着说道：“她当然知道了。她只是没想到会发生得这么快。”
希拉里迷惑不解地愣了一会儿，然后开口道：“你们的意思是……我们所有人？”她环视四周。
“我们是您此次旅行的同伴。”彼得斯温和地答道。
那个年轻的挪威人点点头，用一种狂热的激情答道：“是的，我们都是同伴。”
注释：
[1]柏柏尔族是非洲北部说闪含语系柏柏尔语的古老民族，包含了很多文化习俗相似的部族。称呼来自拉丁语中的barbari（野蛮人）。
Nine（1）
Nine
I
The pilot came up to them.
“You will start now, please,” he said. “As soon as possible. There is muchto be done, and we are late on schedule.”
Hilary recoiled for a moment. She put her hand nervously to her throat.
The pearl choker she was wearing broke under the strain of her fingers.
She picked up the loose pearls and crammed them into her pocket.
They all got into the station wagon. Hilary was on a long bench crowdedup with Peters one side of her and Mrs. Baker the other. Turning her headtowards the American woman, Hilary said:
“So you — so you — are what you might call the liaison officer, Mrs.
Baker?”
“That hits it off exactly. And though I say it myself, I’m well qualified.
Nobody is surprised to find an American woman getting around and trav-elling a lot.”
She was still plump and smiling, but Hilary sensed, or thought shesensed, a difference. The slight fatuity and surface conventionality hadgone. This was an efficient, probably ruthless woman.
“It will make a fine sensation in the headlines,” said Mrs. Baker. Shelaughed with some enjoyment. “You, I mean, my dear. Persistently doggedby ill-luck, they’ll say. First nearly losing your life in the crash at Casab-lanca, then being killed in this further disaster.”
Hilary realized suddenly the cleverness of the plan.
“These others?” she murmured. “Are they who they say they are?”
“Why yes. Dr. Barron is a bacteriologist, I believe. Mr. Ericsson a verybrilliant young physicist, Mr. Peters is a research chemist, Miss Needheim,of course, isn’t a nun, she’s an endocrinologist. Me, as I say, I’m only the li-aison officer. I don’t belong in this scientific bunch.” She laughed again asshe said, “That Hetherington woman never had a chance.”
“Miss Hetherington—was she—was she—”
Mrs. Baker nodded emphatically.
“If you ask me, she’s been tailing you. Took over in Casablanca fromwhoever followed you out.”
“But she didn’t come with us today although I urged her to?”
“That wouldn’t have been in character,” said Mrs. Baker. “It would havelooked a little too obvious to go back again to Marrakesh after having beenthere already. No, she’ll have sent a telegram or a phone message throughand there’ll be someone waiting at Marrakesh to pick you up when you ar-rive. When you arrive! That’s a good laugh, isn’t it? Look! Look there now!
Up she goes.”
They had been driving rapidly away across the desert, and now as Hil-ary craned forward to look through the little window, she saw a greatglow behind them. A faint sound of an explosion came to her ears. Petersthrew his head back and laughed. He said:
“Six people die when plane to Marrakesh crashes!”
Hilary said almost under her breath:
“It’s—it’s rather frightening.”
“Stepping off into the unknown?” It was Peters who spoke. He was seri-ous enough now. “Yes, but it’s the only way. We’re leaving the Past andstepping out towards the Future.” His face lit up with sudden enthusiasm.
“We’ve got to get quit of all the bad, mad old stuff. Corrupt governmentsand the warmongers. We’ve got to go into the new world—the world ofscience, clean away from the scum and the driftwood.”
Hilary drew a deep breath.
“That’s like the things my husband used to say,” she said, deliberately.
“Your husband?” he shot her a quick glance. “Why, was he Tom Better-ton?”
Hilary nodded.
“Well, that’s great. I never knew him out in the States, though I nearlymet him more than once. ZE Fission is one of the most brilliant discoveriesof this age—yes, I certainly take my hat off to him. Worked with old Man-nheim, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Hilary.
“Didn’t they tell me he’d married Mannheim’s daughter. But surelyyou’re not—”
“I’m his second wife,” said Hilary, flushing a little. “He—his—Elsa diedin America.”
“I remember. Then he went to Britain to work there. Then he riled themby disappearing.” He laughed suddenly. “Walked slap out of some Parisconference into nowhere.” He added, as though in further appreciation,“Lord, you can’t say They don’t organize well.”
Hilary agreed with him. The excellence of their organization was send-ing a cold pang of apprehension through her. All the plans, codes, signsthat had been so elaborately arranged were going to be useless now, fornow there would be no trail to pick up. Things had been so arranged thateveryone on the fatal plane had been fellow-travellers bound for the Un-known Destination where Thomas Betterton had gone before them. Therewould be no trace left. Nothing, but a burnt-out plane. There would evenbe charred bodies in the plane. Could they—was it possible that Jessop andhis organization could guess that she, Hilary, was not one of those charredbodies? She doubted it. The accident had been so convincing, so clever.
Peters spoke again. His voice was boyish with enthusiasm. For himthere were no qualms, no looking back, only eagerness to go forward.
“I wonder,” he said, “where do we go from here?”
Hilary, too, wondered, because again much depended on that. Sooner orlater there must be contacts with humanity. Sooner or later, if investiga-tion was made, the fact that a station wagon with six people in it resem-bling the description of those who had left that morning by plane mightpossibly be noted by someone. She turned to Mrs. Baker and asked, tryingto make her tone the counterpart of the childish eagerness of the youngAmerican beside her.
“Where are we going—what happens next?”
“You’ll see,” said Mrs. Baker, and for all the pleasantness of her voice,there was something somehow ominous in those words.
They drove on. Behind them the flare of the plane still showed in thesky, showed all the more clearly because the sun was now dropping belowthe horizon. Night fell. Still they drove. The going was bad, since they wereobviously not on any main road. Sometimes they seemed to be on fieldtracks, at other times they drove over open country.
For a long time Hilary remained awake, thoughts and apprehensionsturning round in her head excitedly. But at last, shaken and tossed fromside to side, exhaustion had its way and she fell asleep. It was a brokensleep. Various ruts and jars in the road awoke her. For a moment or twoshe would wonder confusedly where she was, then reality would comeback to her. She would remain awake for a few moments, her thoughts ra-cing round in confused apprehension, then once more her head woulddrop forward and nod, and once again she would sleep.
第九章（1）
第九章
1飞行员朝他们走来。
“请你们现在出发吧。”他说，“尽快。还有很多事要做，我们已经比计划滞后了。”
一时间希拉里有些畏缩。她紧张不安地用手按着喉咙，手指一用力，把珍珠短项链弄断了。她把散落的珍珠捡起来，装进了口袋。
众人都钻进大轿车。希拉里坐在彼得斯和贝克太太之间。她把头转向美国女人，问道：“那么您……您……您就是所谓的联络员吗，贝克太太？”
“您说得没错。尽管这么说有些自夸，但我还是要说我很称职吧。看到一个跑来跑去、到处旅行的美国女人，没有人会产生怀疑的。”
她肥胖的身躯和脸上的笑容都没变，但希拉里察觉到——或者说她觉得自己察觉到——她变了。之前的迟钝和老派消失不见了，眼前的是一位高效可能还很无情的女人。
“这件事会成为报纸上轰动的头条的。”贝克太太说着，兴奋地笑了起来，“他们会说，你，我的意思是亲爱的你，真是霉运连连。先是差点在卡萨布兰卡的飞机事故中丧生，接着真的死于这次灾难。”
希拉里猛然体会到这个计划的高明之处。
“其他人呢？”她小声问道，“真的是他们自称的身份吗？”
“哦，巴伦博士是一位细菌学家，埃里克森先生是一位很有前途的年轻物理学家，彼得斯先生是从事研究工作的化学家，尼达姆小姐，当然了，她不是修女，是一位内分泌学家。我嘛，正如我所说，我只是一位联络员而已。我不属于这个科学家团体。”她说着又笑了起来，“赫瑟林顿那个女人永远也不会有机会的。”
“赫瑟林顿小姐……她是，她是……”
贝克太太用力点点头。
“如果你问我，我会说她一直在跟踪你。从卡萨布兰卡开始接手的，之前是另一个人在跟踪你。”
“但是今天我坚持邀请她一起来时她拒绝了啊？”
“因为她知道那么做不合适。”贝克太太解释道，“在这么短的时间内再去一次马拉喀什，有点太明显了。不，她会发个电报或打电话让某人在马拉喀什等着您抵达。等您抵达！真是好笑，不是吗？看！看那儿！爆炸啦。”
大轿车正载着他们迅速穿越荒野，希拉里伸长脖子从小窗户望去，看到后方火焰冲天，隐隐还能听到爆炸的声音。彼得斯转回头，大笑着说道：“飞往马拉喀什的飞机坠毁，六人身亡！”
希拉里低声说道：“这真是……真是可怕极了。”
“你是说步入未知的死亡世界？”彼得斯说道，他已经不再笑了，“确实可怕，但这是唯一的办法。我们要离开‘过去’，走向‘未来’。”心中的热情让他神采奕奕，“我们要摆脱所有糟糕、混乱、陈旧的东西。腐败的政府和战争贩子。我们要去一个新世界——没有渣滓和废物的科学的世界。”
希拉里深深地吸了一口气。
“跟我丈夫之前总说的一样。”她故意这么说道。
“您丈夫？”彼得斯飞快地看向希拉里，“哦，就是汤姆•贝特顿吗？”
希拉里点点头。
“嗯，真是好极了。他还在美国时我一直没有机会结识他，虽然我们见过不止一次。零功率裂变是这个时代最伟大的发明之一。是的，我要向他脱帽致敬。他是不是和老曼海姆一起工作的？”
“是的。”希拉里答道。
“他们告诉我他和曼海姆的女儿结婚了，但很明显您不是……”
“我是他第二任妻子。”希拉里说道，微微涨红了脸，“他，他的……艾尔莎在美国过世了。”
“我记起来了，接着他赴英国工作，然后就失踪了，让所有人措手不及。”他突然笑起来，“去巴黎开一个什么会议时销声匿迹。”又以一种赞赏的口吻补充道，“上帝啊，不得不说，他们安排得相当不错。”
希拉里表示赞同。这个组织的安排是如此精妙，让希拉里不寒而栗。所有精心设计的计划、密码、暗号现在都没用了，没有一点可追寻的线索。一切都安排得妥妥当当，搭乘这架致命航班的都是要前往“地狱之旅”的同伴，之前托马斯•贝特顿也是这么消失的。不会留下一点痕迹。什么都没有，除了一架彻底烧毁了的飞机。飞机上甚至还有烧焦的尸体。
他们能否——杰索普和他的组织有没有可能发现被烧焦的尸体中没有她希拉里？她对此很是怀疑。这场事故安排得非常令人信服，非常高超。
彼得斯再次开口，孩子气的声音透露出他的激动。他没有一丝疑惑，不想往回看，只想急切地往前走。
“我想知道，我们接下来要去哪儿？”他说道。
希拉里也想知道，因为这一点关系重大。他们迟早要和外界接触，如果有人调查，很有可能会发现这辆大轿车上的六个人，和清晨搭乘飞机的那六个人有些相似之处。她转向贝克太太询问，努力让自己的口吻像坐在身旁的年轻美国人那样充满孩子气的激情。
“我们这是要去哪儿？接下来会发生什么？”
“你会知道的。”贝克太太说道，虽然她的声音悦耳动听，但这句话带给人一种不祥的感觉。
车子继续前进。身后，飞机燃烧的火光照亮了天空，而且此时太阳已经落下，火光看起来更明显了。夜幕降临，车子仍旧在行驶。因为没有行驶在大马路上，路况很差。有时候似乎在田间小道上，有时候又是在开阔的平原上飞驰。
希拉里在很长一段时间内都保持着清醒，各种各样的想法和忧虑在她的脑中翻腾。但上上下下的颠簸还是让她精疲力竭，睡了过去。她睡得断断续续的，路上的坑不时把她震醒，醒来后会有一两分钟迷迷糊糊的不知自己身在何处，但渐渐就醒了过来。她会保持清醒一小会儿，大脑在忧虑与混乱中奋力思考，接着她又再一次低下头，轻点着，然后再次睡着。
Nine（2）
II
She was awakened suddenly by the car coming to an abrupt stop. Verygently Peters shook her by the arm.
“Wake up,” he said, “we seem to have arrived somewhere.”
Everyone got out of the station wagon. They were all cramped andweary. It was still dark and they seemed to have drawn up outside a housesurrounded by palm trees. Some distance away they could see a few dimlights as though there were a village there. Guided by a lantern they wereushered into the house. It was a native house with a couple of gigglingBerber women who stared curiously at Hilary and Mrs. Calvin Baker.
They took no interest in the nun.
The three women were taken to a small upstairs room. There were threemattresses on the floor and some heaps of coverings, but no other fur-niture.
“I’ll say I’m stiff,” said Mrs. Baker. “Gets you kind of cramped, ridingalong the way we’ve been doing.”
“Discomfort does not matter,” said the nun.
She spoke with a harsh, guttural assurance. Her English, Hilary found,was good and fluent, though her accent was bad.
“You’re living up to your part, Miss Needheim,” said the American wo-man. “I can just see you in the convent, kneeling on the hard stones at fourin the morning.”
Miss Needheim smiled contemptuously.
“Christianity has made fools of women,” she said. “Such a worship ofweakness, such snivelling humiliation! Pagan women had strength. Theyrejoiced and conquered! And in order to conquer, no discomfort is un-bearable. Nothing is too much to suffer.”
“Right now,” said Mrs. Baker, yawning, “I wish I was in my bed at thePalais Djamai at Fez. What about you, Mrs. Betterton? That shaking hasn’tdone your concussion any good, I’ll bet.”
“No, it hasn’t,” Hilary said.
“They’ll bring us something to eat presently, and then I’ll fix you up withsome aspirin and you’d better get to sleep as fast as you can.”
Steps were heard coming up the stairs outside and giggling femalevoices. Presently the two Berber women came into the room. They carrieda tray with a big dish of semolina and meat stew. They put it down on thefloor, came back again with a metal basin with water in it and a towel.
One of them felt Hilary’s coat, passing the stuff between her fingers andspeaking to the other woman who nodded her head in rapid agreement,and did the same to Mrs. Baker. Neither of them paid any attention to thenun.
“Shoo,” said Mrs. Baker, waving them away. “Shoo, shoo.”
It was exactly like shooing chickens. The women retreated, still laugh-ing, and left the room.
“Silly creatures,” said Mrs. Baker, “it’s hard to have patience with them.
I suppose babies and clothes are their only interest in life.”
“It is all they are fit for,” said Fr?ulein Needheim. “They belong to aslave race. They are useful to serve their betters, but no more.”
“Aren’t you a little harsh?” said Hilary, irritated by the woman’s atti-tude.
“I have no patience with sentimentality. There are those that rule, thefew; and there are the many that serve.”
“But surely. .?.?.”
Mrs. Baker broke in in an authoritative manner.
“We’ve all got our own ideas on these subjects, I guess,” she said, “andvery interesting they are. But this is hardly the time for them. We’ll wantto get what rest we can.”
Mint tea arrived. Hilary swallowed some aspirin willingly enough, sinceher headache was quite a genuine one. Then the three women lay downon the couches and fell asleep.
They slept late into the following day. They were not to go on again untilthe evening, so Mrs. Baker informed them. From the room in which theyhad slept, there was an outside staircase leading on to a flat roof wherethey had a certain amount of view over the surrounding country. A littledistance away was a village, but here, where they were, the house wasisolated in a large palm garden. On awakening, Mrs. Baker had indicatedthree heaps of clothing which had been brought and laid down just insidethe door.
“We’re going native for the next lap,” she explained, “we leave our otherclothes here.”
So the smart little American woman’s neat suiting and Hilary’s tweedcoat and skirt and the nun’s habit were all laid aside and three native Mo-roccan women sat on the roof of the house and chatted together. Thewhole thing had a curiously unreal feeling.
Hilary studied Miss Needheim more closely now that she had left the an-onymity of her nun’s habit. She was a younger woman than Hilary hadthought her, not more, perhaps, than thirty-three or thirty-four. There wasa neat spruceness in her appearance. The pale skin, the short stubby fin-gers, and the cold eyes in which burned from time to time the gleam of thefanatic, repelled rather than attracted. Her speech was brusque and un-compromising. Towards both Mrs. Baker and Hilary she displayed a cer-tain amount of contempt as towards people unworthy to associate withher. This arrogance Hilary found very irritating. Mrs. Baker, on the otherhand, seemed hardly to notice it. In a queer way Hilary felt far nearer andmore in sympathy with the two giggling Berber women who brought themfood, than with her two companions of the Western world. The young Ger-man woman was obviously indifferent to the impression she created.
There was a certain concealed impatience in her manner, and it was obvi-ous that she was longing to get on with her journey and that she had no in-terest in her two companions.
Appraising Mrs. Baker’s attitude Hilary found more difficult. At firstMrs. Baker seemed a natural and normal person after the inhumanity ofthe German woman specialist. But as the sun sank lower in the sky she feltalmost more intrigued and repelled by Mrs. Baker than by Helga Need-heim. Mrs. Baker’s social manner was almost robotlike in its perfection.
All her comments and remarks were natural, normal, everyday currency,but one had a suspicion that the whole thing was like an actor playing apart for perhaps the seven hundredth time. It was an automatic perform-ance, completely divorced from what Mrs. Baker might really have beenthinking or feeling. Who was Mrs. Calvin Baker, Hilary wondered? Whyhad she come to play her part with such machinelike perfection? Was she,too, a fanatic? Had she dreams of a brave new world—was she in violentrevolt against the capitalist system? Had she given up all normal life be-cause of her political beliefs and aspirations? Impossible to tell.
They resumed their journey that evening. It was no longer the stationwagon. This time it was an open touring car. Everyone was in nativedress, the men with white djellabas round them, the women with theirfaces hidden. Packed tightly in, they started off once more, driving allthrough the night.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Betterton?”
Hilary smiled up at Andy Peters. The sun had just risen and they hadstopped for breakfast. Native bread, eggs, and tea made over a Primus.
“I feel as though I were taking part in a dream,” said Hilary.
“Yes, it has rather that quality.”
“Where are we?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“Who knows? Our Mrs. Calvin Baker, no doubt, but no other.”
“It’s a very lonely country.”
“Yes, practically desert. But then it would have to be, wouldn’t it?”
“You mean so as to leave no trace?”
“Yes. One realizes, doesn’t one, that the whole thing must be very care-fully thought out. Each stage of our journey is, as it were, quite independ-ent of the other. A plane goes up in flames. An old station wagon drivesthrough the night. If anyone notices it, it has on it a plate stating that it be-longs to a certain arch?ological expedition that is excavating in theseparts. The following day there is a touring car full of Berbers, one of thecommonest sights to be seen on the road. For the next stage”— heshrugged his shoulders—“who knows?”
“But where are we going?”
Andy Peters shook his head.
“No use to ask. We shall find out.”
The Frenchman, Dr. Barron, had joined them.
“Yes,” he said, “we shall find out. But how true it is that we cannot butask? That is our western blood. We can never say ‘sufficient for the day.’ Itis always tomorrow, tomorrow with us. To leave yesterday behind, to pro-ceed to tomorrow. That is what we demand.”
“You want to hurry the world on, Doctor, is that it?” asked Peters.
“There is so much to achieve,” said Dr. Barron, “life is too short. Onemust have more time. More time, more time.” He flung out his hands in apassionate gesture.
Peters turned to Hilary.
“What are the four freedoms you talk about in your country? Freedomfrom want, freedom from fear. .?.?.”
The Frenchman interrupted. “Freedom from fools,” he said bitterly.
“That is what I want! That is what my work needs. Freedom from incess-ant, pettifogging economics! Freedom from all the nagging restrictionsthat hamper one’s work!”
“You are a bacteriologist, are you not, Dr. Barron?”
“Yes, I am a bacteriologist. Ah, you have no idea, my friend, what a fas-cinating study that is! But it needs patience, infinite patience, repeated ex-periment—and money—much money! One must have equipment, assist-ants, raw materials! Given that you have all you ask for, what can one notachieve?”
“Happiness?” asked Hilary.
He flashed her a quick smile, suddenly human again.
“Ah, you are a woman, Madame. It is women who ask always for happi-ness.”
“And seldom get it?” asked Hilary.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“That may be.”
“Individual happiness does not matter,” said Peters seriously; “theremust be the happiness of all, the brotherhood of the spirit! The workers,free and united, owning the means of production, free of the warmongers,of the greedy, insatiable men who keep everything in their own hands.
Science is for all, and must not be held jealously by one power or theother.”
“So!” said Ericsson appreciatively, “you are right. The scientists must bemasters. They must control and rule. They and they alone are the Super-men. It is only the Supermen who matter. The slaves must be well treated,but they are slaves.”
Hilary walked a little way away from the group. After a minute or twoPeters followed her.
“You look just a little scared,” he said humorously.
“I think I am.” She gave a short, breathless laugh. “Of course what Dr.
Barron said was quite true. I’m only a woman. I’m not a scientist, I don’tdo research or surgery, or bacteriology. I haven’t, I suppose, much mentalability. I’m looking, as Dr. Barron said, for happiness—just like any otherfool of a woman.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” said Peters.
“Well, maybe I feel a little out of my depth in this company. You see, I’mjust a woman who’s going to join her husband.”
“Good enough,” said Peters. “You represent the fundamental.”
“It’s nice of you to put it that way.”
“Well, it’s true.” He added in a lower voice, “You care for your husbandvery much?”
“Would I be here if I didn’t?”
“I suppose not. You share his views? I take it that he’s a communist?”
Hilary avoided giving a direct answer.
“Talking of being a communist,” she said, “has something about ourlittle group struck you as curious?”
“What’s that?”
“Well, that although we’re all bound for the same destination, the viewsof our fellow travellers don’t seem really alike.”
Peters said thoughtfully:
“Why, no. You’ve got something there. I hadn’t thought of it quite thatway—but I believe you’re right.”
“I don’t think,” said Hilary, “that Dr. Barron is politically minded at all!
He wants money for his experiments. Helga Needheim talks like a fascist,not a communist. And Ericsson—”
“What about Ericsson?”
“I find him frightening—he’s got a dangerous kind of single-mindedness.
He’s like a mad scientist in a film!”
“And I believe in the Brotherhood of Men, and you’re a loving wife, andour Mrs. Calvin Baker—where would you place her?”
“I don’t know. I find her more hard to place than anyone.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’d say she was easy enough.”
“How do you mean?”
“I’d say it was money all the way with her. She’s just a well-paid cog inthe wheel.”
“She frightens me, too,” said Hilary.
“Why? Why on earth does she frighten you? No touch of the mad scient-ist about her.”
“She frightens me because she’s so ordinary. You know, just like any-body else. And yet she’s mixed up in all this.”
Peters said grimly:
“The Party is realistic, you know. It employs the best man or woman forthe job.”
“But is someone who only wants money the best person for the job?
Mightn’t they desert to the other side?”
“That would be a very big risk to take,” said Peters, quietly. “Mrs. CalvinBaker’s a shrewd woman. I don’t think she’d take that risk.”
Hilary shivered suddenly.
“Cold?”
“Yes. It’s a bit cold.”
“Let’s move around a little.”
They walked up and down. As they did so Peters stooped and picked upsomething.
“Here. You’re dropping things.”
Hilary took it from him.
“Oh, yes, it’s a pearl from my choker. I broke it the other day—no, yes-terday. What ages ago that seems already.”
“Not real pearls, I hope.”
Hilary smiled.
“No, of course not. Costume jewellery.”
Peters took a cigarette case from his pocket.
“Costume jewellery,” he said; “what a term!”
He offered her a cigarette.
“It does sound foolish—here.” She took a cigarette. “What an odd cigar-ette case. How heavy it is.”
“Made of lead, that’s why. It’s a war souvenir—made out of a bit of abomb that just failed to blow me up.”
“You were—in the war then?”
“I was one of the backroom boys who tickled things to see if they’d gobang. Don’t let’s talk about wars. Let’s concentrate on tomorrow.”
“Where are we going?” asked Hilary. “Nobody’s told me anything. Arewe—”
He stopped her.
“Speculations,” he said, “are not encouraged. You go where you’re toldand do what you’re told.”
With sudden passion Hilary said:
“Do you like being dragooned, being ordered about, having no say ofyour own?”
“I’m prepared to accept it if it’s necessary. And it is necessary. We’ve gotto have World Peace, World Discipline, World Order.”
“Is it possible? Can it be got?”
“Anything’s better than the muddle we live in. Don’t you agree to that?”
For a moment, carried away by fatigue, by the loneliness of her sur-roundings and the strange beauty of the early morning light, Hilary nearlyburst out into a passionate denial.
She wanted to say:
“Why do you decry the world we live in? There are good people in it.
Isn’t muddle a better breeding ground for kindliness and individualitythan a world order that’s imposed, a world order that may be right todayand wrong tomorrow? I would rather have a world of kindly, faulty, hu-man beings, than a world of superior robots who’ve said goodbye to pityand understanding and sympathy.”
But she restrained herself in time. She said instead, with a deliberatesubdued enthusiasm:
“How right you are. I was tired. We must obey and go forward.”
He grinned.
“That’s better.”
第九章（2）
2她被一个急刹车惊醒。彼得斯轻轻地晃了晃她的胳膊。
“醒醒，”他说，“我们好像到了。”
众人都从大轿车里出来，一个个被挤得疲惫至极。天还黑着，他们发现自己身处一幢四周种满棕榈树的房子外。不远处能看到微弱的灯光，似乎是个村庄。一个提着灯笼的人引领他们走进房子。这是一幢本地式样的房子，屋里有两个柏柏尔族妇女，一边咯咯笑着一边好奇地盯着希拉里和贝克太太，但好像对修女没什么兴趣。
三个女人被带到楼上的一间小屋里。地板上放着三个床垫和一堆被子，没有别的东西了。
“这一路挤在那个小车里，我的身子都动不了了。”贝克太太说道。
“身体上的不适是小事。”修女说道。
她语调严厉，声音低沉却坚定。希拉里发现她的英语说得很好、很流畅，虽然发音不是太标准。
“您真是虔诚，尼达姆小姐。”美国女人说道，“我都能想象凌晨四点您在女修道院里，跪在坚硬的石板上。”
尼达姆小姐轻蔑地笑了起来，她说道：“基督教使女性愚昧。崇尚软弱，哭哭啼啼，真是不害臊！没有信仰的女人最强大。她们开开心心，战无不胜！而为了获胜，没有什么是她们不能忍受的。这些险阻都不成问题。”
“此刻，”贝克太太打着哈欠说道，“我真希望自己睡在菲斯的贾尔阿宫殿酒店的床上。
贝特顿太太，您呢？我敢打赌这一路的颠簸对您的脑震荡可没有好处。”
“是的，确实让我不舒服。”希拉里应道。
“他们很快就会给我们拿来一些吃的，吃过东西之后我再给你几片阿司匹林。我看您最好尽快睡下。”
从屋外传来女人咯咯笑的声音，接着她们听到了上楼梯的脚步声。很快，那两个柏柏尔族女人就走进了屋子。她们端着一个托盘，上面有一大碗粗面糊和炖肉汤。把这些东西放在地板上后她们暂时离开了，没一会儿又拿来一个装着水的金属盆和一块毛巾。其中一个摸了摸希拉里的外套，在手指间摩挲着，然后对另一个说了些什么，后一个女人迅速地点了点头。她们又这么对待了贝克夫人，但都没有留意修女。
“嘘，”贝克太太张开手臂赶她们走，“嘘，嘘。”就像轰小鸡那样。
女人们往后退，依旧笑个不停，最终离开了房间。
“蠢家伙。”贝克太太说道，“对待她们你真的很难有耐心。我想她们生活的趣味就只在养孩子和穿着上。”
“她们也只能想这些。”尼达姆小姐说道，“她们的祖先是奴隶，只会伺候主人，其他什么也干不了。”
“您不觉得这么说话太残酷了吗？”希拉里被这个女人的态度惹恼了。
“我没有闲心感情用事。这个世界就是被少数人统治，并奴役着大多数。”
“就算如此……”
贝克太太以一种权威的姿态插话道：“我想，在这类问题上每个人都有自己的看法。这确实是个有趣的话题，但恐怕不适合现在讨论。我们都想赶紧休息，对吧？”
薄荷茶被端上来了。希拉里感激地服下几片阿司匹林，她头痛好一阵子了。接着这三个女人就躺在垫子上睡着了。
第二天很晚她们才起来，贝克太太说要等到傍晚再上路。她们从房间外面的楼梯爬到平整的屋顶，俯瞰周围的村庄。不远处确实有一个村庄，但是这里，她们所在的这座房子，附近却什么都没有，孤零零地立在一个巨大的棕榈树园子里。清醒之后，贝克太太指着放在门口地板上的三堆衣服，解释道：“下一段路，我们要扮成当地人。身上的衣服就留在这里。”
于是机敏的小个子美国女人脱下整洁的套装，希拉里脱下花呢大衣和短裙，修女脱下黑色长袍，放在一边；其间那三个摩洛哥当地妇女一直坐在房顶上聊天。整件事给人一种奇异的不真实感。
希拉里仔细观察着脱下修女袍后的尼达姆小姐。她比希拉里之前所想的要年轻些，可能也就三十三四岁，外表很整洁。苍白的皮肤，短粗的手指，冷酷的眼眸，不时闪出一阵狂热的激情。她看起来毫无攻击性，反而有些畏缩，但讲起话来直率强硬。她对希拉里和贝克太太都表现得不屑一顾，觉得她们不配与她同行。这种傲慢态度让希拉里大为光火，贝克太太却似乎毫无察觉。很奇怪，与两位同为西方人的同伴相比，希拉里更愿意亲近那两个给她拿食物的柏柏尔族妇女，也更同情她们。显然，这位年轻的德国女人并不在意别人怎么看她。她的言谈举止透露出一丝急躁，并且能明显看出她渴望继续上路，对两名同伴倒没有什么兴趣。
希拉里发现要分析贝克太太的态度有些困难。一开始，在那位冷酷的德国女专家的衬托下，贝克太太看起来是一个正常的普通人。但随着夕阳渐渐西下，她却感到贝克太太比海尔格•尼达姆更难看清，且拒人万里。与贝克太太交流就像和一个运行良好的机器人交流。她说的话、给出的回应都很自然、正常，就像日常生活中会碰到的，但不由得让人怀疑这是一位演员在演戏，而且这一切她已经演过七百次了。那是一种机械性的表演，与贝克太太真正的所思所想毫无关系。希拉里想知道卡尔文•贝克究竟是个什么样的人？她为什么能像机器一样完美地扮演她的角色？她也狂热地笃信某种宗教吗？她也幻想着一个勇敢的新世界，也强烈厌恶资本主义社会吗？她是不是因为政治信仰和志向放弃了正常生活？
无从得知。
晚上他们继续上路了。这次不再是大轿车，而是一辆敞篷游览车。每个人都穿着当地的服装，男人裹着白色杰拉巴 [1] ，女人遮着面纱，紧紧挤在一起。车子整整开了一晚。
“您还好吧，贝特顿太太？”
希拉里抬起头冲安迪•彼得斯笑了笑。此时太阳初升，他们停下来吃早餐。摩洛哥面包和鸡蛋，便携式煤油炉上还煮着茶。
“我感觉似乎身在梦里。”希拉里说道。
“是的，是有点这种感觉。”
“我们这是在哪儿？”
彼得斯耸了耸肩。
“谁知道呢？除了我们的卡尔文•贝克太太，没人知道。”
“这真是个孤独的国家。”
“是啊，简直就是荒漠。但我们也只能来这种地方，不是吗？”
“你的意思是这样就不会留下踪迹了？”
“是的，我们所有人应该都看得出这整件事是经过了缜密构思的。这段旅程的每个阶段都与其他阶段没有联系。一架飞机坠毁了。一辆老旧的大轿车在夜间行驶。不知是否有人留意，大轿车上有一个牌子，表明那辆车是属于在这一片进行挖掘工作的某支考古远征队的。第二天又有一辆坐满了柏柏尔族人的游览车，这在大道上见怪不怪。下一阶段，”他又耸耸肩，“谁知道呢？”
“但是我们要去哪儿？”
安迪•彼得斯摇摇头。
“没有必要问。我们会知道的。”
那个叫巴伦的法国博士也加入了谈话。
“是的，”他说，“我们会知道的。但不去问问怎么知道？我们西方人本性如此。我们从不说‘我今天满意极了’，总想着明天，明天伴随着我们。将昨天置于身后，去追寻明日，这才是我们所要的。”
“您想推动世界，是吗，博士？”彼得斯问道。
“有太多事情想做，但生命太短暂。”巴伦博士说，“人需要更多时间。更多时间，更多时间。”他激动地挥舞双手。
彼得斯转向希拉里。
“你们国家所谓的四大自由是什么？脱离欲望的自由，脱离恐惧的自由——”
法国人插话进来。“脱离傻瓜的自由，”他讥讽道，“这就是我想要的！也是我的工作所需要的。脱离由连续不断的骗局构成的经济体系的自由！脱离阻碍工作的无聊限制的自由！”
“您是位细菌学家，对吗，巴伦先生？”
“是的，我是个细菌学家。哦，你不知道，我的朋友，这是一门多么神奇的学科啊！但它需要耐心，无止境的耐心。反反复复的实验——还有金钱——很多钱！你必须有设备、助手和原料！若能给你所需的一切，还有什么得不到的呢？”
“快乐？”希拉里问道。
他露出一抹笑容，忽然又变得有人情味儿了。
“哦，你是个女人，夫人。女人总是在追求快乐。”
“但很少能得到？”希拉里说。
他耸耸肩。“或许吧。”
“个人的快乐无关紧要。”彼得斯严肃地说，“要全体人类都获得幸福，兄弟般的情谊！
工人们，自由又团结，拥有生产技术，不服从于战争贩子，不服从于贪得无厌、不知满足但又掌握着一切的人。科学是为全人类服务的，不能被单一集团独占，哪个集团都不行。”
“没错！”埃里克森赞同道，“您说得对。所以科学家要做主人，由他们掌控一切。他们——且只有他们是超人。超人才是核心。虽说如今给科学家们的待遇不错，但他们依旧只是奴隶。”
希拉里稍微走开了几步。一两分钟后，彼得斯也跟了过来。
“您看起来有点害怕。”他开玩笑似的说。
“我想是的。”希拉里抿嘴笑了一下，“当然了，巴伦博士说得很对。我只是个女人，不是一位科学家，我不从事研究，也不会做外科手术，或细菌学。我想我甚至不是个特别聪明的人。正如巴伦博士所说，我只知道追求幸福——和其他蠢女人一样。”
“可这又有什么不对的呢？”彼得斯说道。
“哦，我觉得我和你们不是一路人。您看，我就是个去和丈夫会合的女人。”
“足够了。”彼得斯说，“您代表着人类的本能。”
“您这样说真是太贴心了。”
“嗯，这是实话。”他压低声音补充道，“您很担心您的丈夫吧？”
“不然我为什么来这儿呢？”
“我想也是。那您赞同他的主张吗？我听说他是一名共产主义者？”
希拉里模棱两可地答道：“说到共产主义者，您不认为我们这个小团体有点奇怪吗？”
“哪儿奇怪？”
“嗯，虽然我们要去往同一个目的地，但观点似乎迥然不同。”
彼得斯若有所思地说：“哦，是吗？您真的想了很多啊，我从未这么想过——但我觉得您是对的。”
“我不认为巴伦博士真的是有什么政治目的！”希拉里说，“他只是想为试验筹钱。海尔格•尼达姆说起话来就像一个法西斯，而不是共产主义者。至于埃里克森……”
“埃里克森又怎样呢？”
“我觉得他很可怕，他太专注了，专注到危险。他就像电影里的疯狂科学家！”
“我相信我的兄弟们，而您是一位钟情的妻子，那么卡尔文•贝克太太呢，您将她置于何地？”
“我不知道。我认为她最难定义。”
“哦，我不这么认为，我觉得她很好懂。”
“您的意思是？”
“我认为她彻头彻尾就是为了钱。她就是个办事拿钱的小零件。”
“她也让我害怕。”希拉里说。
“为什么？她有什么好让您觉得害怕的？她身上可没有疯狂科学家的气质。”
“她让我害怕是因为她太平常了。您明白吗，就和其他普通人一样。但她参与了这一切。”
彼得斯严肃地说：“组织追求现实主义，您知道的。为了事业，组织会雇用最优秀的男性和女性。”
“但一心只为钱的人真的是适合这类工作的最佳人选吗？他们不会投靠另一方吗？”
“那样做风险太大。”彼得斯平静地说，“卡尔文•贝克太太是个机智的女人，我不认为她会冒这个险。”
希拉里猛地一抖。
“您冷了？”
“是的，有点冷。”
“我们稍微走走吧。”
散步途中彼得斯突然停下来，捡起了什么东西。
“您掉东西了。”
希拉里接了过来。
“哦，是的，是我项链上的珍珠。我前天——不，是昨天，把项链弄断了。像发生在好几年前的事一样。”
“希望不是真的珍珠。”
希拉里笑了。
“不是，当然不是。只是装饰珠宝。”
彼得斯从口袋里拿出烟盒。
“装饰珠宝。”他说道，“多好的说法！”
他递给她一支烟。
“听起来很蠢，在这里。”她接过烟，“这真是个奇怪的烟盒。很沉。”
“是铅做的，所以特别沉。是一件战争纪念品。我用一枚差点儿把我炸死的炸弹的一小块弹皮做的。”
“您……参过战？”
“我属于机密部门，鼓捣些东西看看能否爆炸。咱们别再谈论战争了，还是集中注意力想想明天吧。”
“我们要去哪儿？”希拉里再次问道，“没人告诉我任何事。我们是要——”
彼得斯打断了她，他说道：“猜忌不会给人力量。我们会去该去的地方，做该做的事情。”
希拉里突然感到一阵冲动，她说道：“你喜欢被人强制着做事，任人摆布，自己什么都不能决定吗？”
“若这是必要的，我会欣然接受。现在就是这样，我们要去实现‘世界和平，世界统一，世界秩序’。”
“这可能吗？能实现吗？”
“不管怎样也比现在所处的泥沼要好。您不这样认为吗？”
此刻，身体上的疲惫、身处荒野的孤单和曙光的美丽削弱了希拉里的意志，她差点儿激动地否认。
她想说：“你为什么如此贬低我们所生存的世界？这里也有很好的人。泥沼能更好地孕育善良和个性，不比强加的秩序要好吗？而且这个秩序今天是正确的，可能放在明天就是错误的了。我宁愿要一个善良的、可能会犯错的人类世界，而不是一个由没有同情心、共感和怜悯心的超级机器人组成的世界。”
但是她及时控制住了自己。转而用坚定却柔和，仿佛有些疲惫了的语气说：“您说得太对了。我累了。我们必须顺从，大步向前。”
彼得斯笑了起来。
“那最好不过了。”
注释：
[1]Djellabas，一种摩洛哥传统服饰，有各种颜色和图案，多层设计。
Ten
Ten
A dream journey. So it seemed; more so every day. It was as though, Hil-ary felt, she had been travelling all her life with these five strangely assor-ted companions. They had stepped off from the beaten track into the void.
In one sense this journey of theirs could not be called a flight. They wereall, she supposed, free agents; free, that is, to go where they chose. As faras she knew they had committed no crime, they were not wanted by thepolice. Yet great pains had been taken to hide their tracks. Sometimes shewondered why this was, since they were not fugitives. It was as thoughthey were in process of becoming not themselves but someone else.
That indeed was literally true in her case. She who had left England asHilary Craven had become Olive Betterton, and perhaps her strange feel-ing of unreality had something to do with that. Every day the glib politicalslogans seemed to come more easily to her lips. She felt herself becomingearnest and intense, and that again she put down to the influence of hercompanions.
She knew now that she was afraid of them. She had never before spentany time in close intimacy with people of genius. This was genius at closequarters, and genius had that something above the normal in it that was agreat strain upon the ordinary mind and feeling. All five were differentfrom each other, yet each had that curious quality of burning intensity,the single-mindedness of purpose that made such a terrifying impression.
She did not know whether it were a quality of brain or rather a quality ofoutlook, of intensity. But each of them, she thought, was in his or her waya passionate idealist. To Dr. Barron life was a passionate desire to be oncemore in his laboratory, to be able to calculate and experiment and workwith unlimited money and unlimited resources. To work for what? Shedoubted if he ever put that question to himself. He spoke to her once ofthe powers of destruction that he could let loose on a vast continent,which could be contained in one little phial. She had said to him:
“But could you ever do that? Actually really do it?”
And he replied, looking at her with faint surprise:
“Yes. Yes, of course, if it became necessary.”
He had said it in a merely perfunctory fashion. He had gone on:
“It would be amazingly interesting to see the exact course, the exact pro-gress.” And he had added with a deep half sigh, “You see, there’s so muchmore to know, so much more to find out.”
For a moment Hilary understood. For a moment she stood where hestood, impregnated with that single-hearted desire for knowledge whichswept aside life and death for millions of human beings as essentially un-important. It was a point of view and, in a way, a not ignoble one. To-wards Helga Needheim she felt more antagonistic. The young woman’s su-perb arrogance revolted her. Peters she liked but was from time to timerepulsed and frightened by the sudden fanatical gleam in his eye. She saidto him once:
“It is not a new world you want to create. It is destroying the old onethat you will enjoy.”
“You’re wrong, Olive. What a thing to say.”
“No, I’m not wrong. There’s hate in you. I can feel it. Hate. The wish todestroy.”
Ericsson she found the most puzzling of all. Ericsson, she thought, was adreamer, less practical than the Frenchman, further removed from de-structive passion than the American. He had the strange, fanatical ideal-ism of the Norseman.
“We must conquer,” he said: “we must conquer the world. Then we canrule.”
“We?” she asked.
He nodded, his face strange and gentle with a deceptive mildness aboutthe eyes.
“Yes,” he said, “we few who count. The brains. That is all that matters.”
Hilary thought, where are we going? Where is all this leading? Thesepeople are mad, but they’re not mad in the same way as each other. It’s asthough they were all going towards different goals, different mirages. Yes,that was the word. Mirages. And from them she turned to a contemplationof Mrs. Calvin Baker. Here there was no fanaticism, no hate, no dream, noarrogance, no aspiration. There was nothing here that Hilary could find ortake notice of. She was a woman, Hilary thought, without either heart orconscience. She was the efficient instrument in the hands of a big un-known force.
It was the end of the third day. They had come to a small town andalighted at a small native hotel. Here, Hilary found, they were to resumeEuropean clothing. She slept that night in a small, bare white- washedroom, rather like a cell. At early dawn Mrs. Baker woke her.
“We’re going off right now,” said Mrs. Baker. “The plane’s waiting.”
“The plane?”
“Why yes, my dear. We’re returning to civilized travelling, thank theLord.”
They came to the airfield and the plane after about an hour’s drive. Itlooked like a disused army airfield. The pilot was a Frenchman. They flewfor some hours, their flight taking them over mountains. Looking downfrom the plane Hilary thought what a curious sameness the world has,seen from above. Mountains, valleys, roads, houses. Unless one was reallyan aerial expert all places looked alike. That in some the population wasdenser than in others, was about all that one could say. And half of thetime one saw nothing owing to travelling over clouds.
In the early afternoon they began to lose height and circle down. Theywere in mountainous country still, but coming down in a flat plain. Therewas a well-marked aerodrome here and a white building beside it. Theymade a perfect landing.
Mrs. Baker led the way towards the building. Beside it were two power-ful cars with chauffeurs standing by them. It was clearly a private aero-drome of some kind, since there appeared to be no official reception.
“Journey’s end,” said Mrs. Baker cheerfully. “We all go in and have agood wash and brush up. And then the cars will be ready.”
“Journey’s end?” Hilary stared at her. “But we’ve not — we haven’tcrossed the sea at all.”
“Did you expect to?” Mrs. Baker seemed amused. Hilary said confusedly:
“Well, yes. Yes, I did. I thought .?.?.” She stopped.
Mrs. Baker nodded her head.
“Why, so do a lot of people. There’s a lot of nonsense talked about theIron Curtain, but what I say is an iron curtain can be anywhere. Peopledon’t think of that.”
Two Arab servants received them. After a wash and freshening up theysat down to coffee and sandwiches and biscuits.
Then Mrs. Baker glanced at her watch.
“Well, so long, folks,” she said. “This is where I leave you.”
“Are you going back to Morocco?” asked Hilary, surprised.
“That wouldn’t quite do,” said Mrs. Calvin Baker, “with me being sup-posed to be burnt up in a plane accident! No, I shall be on a different runthis time.”
“But someone might still recognize you,” said Hilary. “Someone, I mean,who’d met you in hotels in Casablanca or Fez.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Baker, “but they’d be making a mistake. I’ve got a differ-ent passport now, though it’s true enough that a sister of mine, a Mrs.
Calvin Baker, lost her life that way. My sister and I are supposed to bevery alike.” She added, “And to the casual people one comes across in ho-tels one travelling American woman is very like another.”
Yes, Hilary thought, that was true enough. All the outer, unimportantcharacteristics were present in Mrs. Baker. The neatness, the trimness, thecarefully arranged blue hair, the highly monotonous, prattling voice. In-ner characteristics, she realized, were carefully masked or, indeed, absent.
Mrs. Calvin Baker presented to the world and to her companions, a fa?ade,but what was behind the facade was not easy to fathom. It was as thoughshe had deliberately extinguished those tokens of individuality by whichone personality is distinguishable from another.
Hilary felt moved to say so. She and Mrs. Baker were standing a littleapart from the rest.
“One doesn’t know,” said Hilary, “in the least what you’re really like?”
“Why should you?”
“Yes. Why should I? And yet, you know, I feel I ought to. We’ve travelledtogether in rather intimate circumstances and it seems odd to me that Iknow nothing about you. Nothing, I mean, of the essential you, of whatyou feel and think, of what you like and dislike, of what’s important to youand what isn’t.”
“You’ve such a probing mind, my dear,” said Mrs. Baker. “If you’ll takemy advice, you’ll curb that tendency.”
“I don’t even know what part of the United States you come from.”
“That doesn’t matter either. I’ve finished with my own country. Thereare reasons why I can never go back there. If I can pay off a grudgeagainst that country, I’ll enjoy doing it.”
For just a second or two malevolence showed both in her expressionand in the tone of her voice. Then it relaxed once more into cheerful tour-ist tones.
“Well, so long, Mrs. Betterton, I hope you have a very agreeable reunionwith your husband.”
Hilary said helplessly:
“I don’t even know where I am, what part of the world, I mean.”
“Oh, that’s easy. There needs to be no concealment about that now. A re-mote spot in the High Atlas. That’s near enough—”
Mrs. Baker moved away and started saying goodbye to the others. Witha final gay wave of her hand she walked out across the tarmac. The planehad been refuelled and the pilot was standing waiting for her. A faint coldchill went over Hilary. Here, she felt, was her last link with the outsideworld. Peters, standing near her, seemed to sense her reaction.
“The place of no return,” he said softly. “That’s us, I guess.”
Dr. Barron said softly:
“Have you still courage, Madame, or do you at this moment want to runafter your American friend and climb with her into the plane and go back—back to the world you have left?”
“Could I go if I wanted to?” asked Hilary.
The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders.
“One wonders.”
“Shall I call to her?” asked Andy Peters.
“Of course not,” said Hilary sharply.
Helga Needheim said scornfully:
“There is no room here for women who are weaklings.”
“She is not a weakling,” said Dr. Barron softly, “but she asks herselfquestions as any intelligent woman would do.” He stressed the word “in-telligent” as though it were a reflection upon the German woman. She,however, was unaffected by his tone. She despised all Frenchmen and washappily assured of her own worth. Ericsson said, in his high nervousvoice:
“When one has at last reached freedom, can one even contemplate go-ing back?”
Hilary said:
“But if it is not possible to go back, or to choose to go back, then it is notfreedom!”
One of the servants came to them and said:
“If you please, the cars are ready now to start.”
They went out through the opposite door of the building. Two Cadillaccars were standing there with uniformed chauffeurs. Hilary indicated apreference for sitting in front with the chauffeur. She explained theswinging motion of a large car occasionally made her feel carsick. This ex-planation seemed to be accepted easily enough. As they drove along Hil-ary made a little desultory conversation from time to time. The weather,the excellence of the car. She spoke French quite easily and well, and thechauffeur responded agreeably. His manner was entirely natural andmatter-of-fact.
“How long will it take us?” she asked presently.
“From the aerodrome to the hospital? It is a drive of perhaps two hours,Madame.”
The words struck Hilary with faintly disagreeable surprise. She hadnoted, without thinking much about it, that Helga Needheim had changedat the rest house and was now wearing a hospital nurse’s kit. This fittedin.
“Tell me something about the hospital,” she said to the chauffeur.
His reply was enthusiastic.
“Ah, Madame, it is magnificent. The equipment, it is the most up to datein the world. Many doctors come and visit it, and all of them go away fullof praise. It is a great thing that is being done there for humanity.”
“It must be,” said Hilary, “yes, yes, indeed it must.”
“These miserable ones,” said the chauffeur, “they have been sent in thepast to perish miserably on a lonely island. But here this new treatment ofDr. Kolini’s cures a very high percentage. Even those who are far gone.”
“It seems a lonely place to have a hospital,” said Hilary.
“Ah, Madame, but you would have to be lonely in the circumstances.
The authorities would insist upon it. But it is good air here, wonderful air.
See, Madame, you can see now where we are going.” He pointed.
They were approaching the first spurs of a mountain range, and on theside of it, set flat against the hillside, was a long gleaming white building.
“What an achievement,” said the chauffeur, “to raise such a building outhere. The money spent must have been fantastic. We owe much, Madame,to the rich philanthropists of this world. They are not like governmentswho do things always in a cheap way. Here money has been spent like wa-ter. Our patron, he is one of the richest men in the world, they say. Heretruly he has built a magnificent achievement for the relief of human suf-fering.”
He drove up a winding track. Finally they came to rest outside greatbarred iron gates.
“You must dismount here, Madame,” said the chauffeur. “It is not per-mitted that I take the car through these gates. The garages are a kilometreaway.”
The travellers got out of the car. There was a big bellpull at the gate, butbefore they could touch it the gates swung slowly open. A white-robed fig-ure with a black, smiling face bowed to them and bade them enter. Theypassed through the gate; at one side, screened by a high fence of wire,there was a big courtyard where men were walking up and down. Asthese men turned to look at the arrivals, Hilary uttered a gasp of horror.
“But they’re lepers!” she exclaimed. “Lepers!”
A shiver of horror shook her entire frame.
第十章
第十章
梦幻之旅。越来越像在梦里。希拉里感觉自己似乎跟这五个奇怪的旅伴一起走过了一生。他们远离常规道路走向了无人之境。从某种意义上说，他们这段旅程并不能被称为“旅程”。她认为他们所有人都是“自由代理人”；自由，是的，都是自主选择参与这里的。据她所知，他们之中没有人犯过罪，没有警察会去找他们的麻烦，但依旧费尽千辛万苦隐藏一路的踪迹。她有时会想这是为什么，他们又不是逃犯。不过他们都变成其他人了。
她倒是确实变成其他人了。离开英国时她还是希拉里•克雷文，现在已经变成奥利芙•贝特顿了，可能那种不真实的奇怪感受也跟这个有关。那些政治口号越来越容易说出口了，她发觉自己变得更加诚挚、更加热情，她再次将之归结于旅伴的影响。
她现在很确定他们让她感到害怕。她之前从未跟天赋过人的人如此亲密。这些人都非常接近天才，并且在某一方面有过人之处，他们会给普通人的思维和感受施加巨大的压力。这五个人各不相同，但是每个人都有火一般浓烈的奇怪特质，对结果专注到令人害怕的程度。希拉里不知道这种特质是来自大脑还是外表，但她认为他们每一个人都是某种意义上的理想主义者。对于巴伦博士来说，生命的意义在于再次踏进实验室的强烈渴望，可以拿着无尽的钱财和资源去计算、去做试验、去展开工作。工作又是为了什么呢？希拉里怀疑他从未问过自己这个问题。一次他跟她说起一种研发物，一个小瓶子里装的能量就可能摧毁一块辽阔的大陆。那时她对他说：“但是您会这么做吗？真正地去实施？”
他略微有些惊讶地看着她，回答道：“会啊。会的，当然是在有必要的前提下。”他说这话时的态度十分随意，然后接着说道，“若能看到整个过程，每一步确切的是如何进展的话，一定非常有意思。”他又深吸一口气，补充道，“您看，还有太多事要去了解，要去搞明白。”
希拉里有时也能理解，理解这些人的立场。专注于知识本身，即使这些知识可能把成百万的人类毁于一旦也不是什么要紧事。而且，从某种意义上讲，这还不是一种卑鄙的观点。但对于海尔格•尼达姆她感到的是强烈的反感。那个年轻女人的狂妄傲慢让她愤怒不已。她挺喜欢彼得斯的，但有时他眼中忽然迸发出的狂热又让她害怕，想躲避。
有一次她对他说：“你不是想创造一个新世界，而是很享受毁灭旧世界。”
“你错了，奥利芙。你在说什么啊。”
“不，我没说错。你心里怀着恨意，我能感受到。恨意。想要毁灭的欲望。”
埃里克森是最令她不解的一个。她认为埃里克森是一个空想家，比法国人更不切实际，比美国人更具毁灭性激情。他有北欧人所特有的那种奇异、狂热的理想主义。
“我们必须征服，我们必须征服世界。继而统治它。”他曾这么说道。
“我们？”希拉里反问。
他点点头，表情温和却很诡异，眼眸中透出一种虚伪的温和。
“是的，”他说道，“我们这些少数人说了算。我们拥有头脑，这决定了一切。”
希拉里想，我们到底要去哪里？会被引领到哪里？这些人都疯了，而且表现出不同的疯狂。看起来好像他们各有各的目的，各有各的幻景。是的，这个词合适极了。幻景。抛开这几个人，她又仔细揣摩了一下卡尔文•贝克太太。她没有狂热，没有恨意，没有梦想，没有狂妄自大，也没有渴望和抱负。希拉里在她身上什么都找不到。她是一个没有感情、没有道德感的女人，希拉里想。她是受一股巨大的未知力量掌控的高效工具。
第三日快结束时他们抵达了一个小镇，住进本地的一家旅馆。希拉里发现这里的人都是欧洲式打扮。她在一间什么都没有的白墙小屋子里睡了一觉，像在牢房里一样。天还没亮，卡尔文•贝克太太就叫醒了她。
“要出发了。”贝克太太说道，“飞机已经在等了。”
“飞机？”
“有什么好惊讶的，我亲爱的。我们又回到现代化的旅行了，真是谢天谢地。”
一个小时的车程之后，他们来到了机场，看起来似乎是一个已被废弃的军用机场。飞行员是位法国人。飞行持续了几个小时，飞机载着他们飞越山巅。希拉里从飞机上往下看，心想，从空中看，到处都差不多啊。山峰、山谷、道路、房屋。只有飞行专家才能看出区别，普通人只能看出某些地方比其他地方的人口更稠密。飞在云层之上的时间里则什么都看不到。
中午过后飞机开始盘旋着降低高度。他们仍然处于山区，但是降落在一处平原上。那里有一个标识清晰的飞机场和一幢白色建筑。飞机安全降落。
贝克太太引领着大家走向那幢建筑。建筑旁停着两辆高档轿车，车旁站着司机。很明显，这里是一处私人机场，因此没有工作人员前来迎接。
“到终点了。”贝克太太开心地说，“所有人都进去好好梳洗整理一下吧。外面的汽车会等我们的。”
“到终点了？”希拉里盯着她问，“但我们没有——没有穿越大洋啊。”
“你以为要去大洋那一边吗？”贝克太太惊讶地问道。
希拉里迷惑不解地说：“嗯，是的。是的，我确实是这么以为的。我以为……”她欲言又止。
贝克太太点点头。
“嗯，好多人是这么以为的。人们总是说起铁幕，都是一派胡言，要我说，铁幕无处不在，但人们就是不承认。”
两位阿拉伯仆人为他们服务。梳洗整理完毕后，他们坐下来喝了杯咖啡，吃了些三明治和饼干。
卡尔文•贝克太太看了看表，说道：“哦，同伴们，到说再见的时候了！我要在这里和你们分别了。”
“您要回摩洛哥吗？”希拉里惊讶地问道。
“这可能做不到。”卡尔文•贝克太太说，“因为我已经在飞机事故中被烧死了！不，我要开始一段新的旅程了。”
“但依旧有可能有人认出您。”希拉里说，“我的意思是，在卡萨布兰卡或菲斯的酒店里见过您的人。”
“哦，那就是他们搞错了。”贝克太太说，“我有一份不同的护照，而我妹妹，那个叫卡尔文•贝克太太的妹妹，不幸死于飞机事故。我和妹妹长得非常像。”她补充道，“而且在住酒店的普通人眼中，外出旅行的美国女人都差不多。”
是的，希拉里也这么认为，确实是这样。让你记住卡尔文•贝克太太的是她呈现出的外在特征，这些是不重要的。整齐、干净、细心打理过的蓝色头发，一直闲聊的高亢单调的声音。而她的内在特质却被很好地掩藏了起来，或者根本就不存在。卡尔文•贝克太太只向外部世界和旅伴们展示她的外表，掩藏于外表之下的东西却很难看透。她是故意把与个人有关的特性掐灭。
此时她和贝克太太站得离其他人有些距离，希拉里深有感触地说道：“反正没人知道您到底是个什么样的人？”
“我为什么要让别人知道呢？”
“是啊，为什么要让别人知道呢？但是，我觉得我应该知道。我们一起旅行了这么久，非常亲近，可我却对您一无所知，这真是太奇怪了。真的是一无所知，不知道您的个性、感受和想法，您喜欢什么、讨厌什么，什么对您来说最重要，什么又是无关紧要的。”
“您好奇心真重啊，亲爱的。”贝克太太说，“接受我的劝告吧，不要追根究底了。”
“我甚至不知道您来自美国的哪个地方。”
“这也无关紧要。我跟我的国家已经没有关系了，有些事情导致我永远不能回去了。而如果我能对那个国家进行报复的话，我将十分乐意。”
有那么一瞬间，她的语调和表情都显露出怨恨。但很快就又变成轻松无比的游客腔调了。
“好了，再会，贝特顿太太，我希望您和您的丈夫能愉快地重逢。”
希拉里无助地说：“我甚至不知道自己身在何方，在世界的哪个角落。”
“哦，这个问题简单。现在也没必要对您保密了。我们在大阿特拉斯山脉 [1] 深处。您满意了吧。”
贝克太太与众人告别，准备启程。她最后一次冲大家愉快地挥手告别，然后走过停机坪。飞机已经加好了油，飞行员在一旁等着她。希拉里周身爬过一阵轻微的寒意，她感到这里是她和外部世界的最后一个连接点。站在她身旁的彼得斯似乎察觉到了她的反应。
“没有回头路了。”他温和地说，“我想是这样的。”
巴伦博士也温和地说：“夫人，您还有勇气继续吗？或是您想在这一刻追随您的美国朋友也登上飞机，回到……回到您刚刚离开的世界？”
“即便我真想这么做，我能吗？”希拉里问道。
法国男人耸了耸肩。“那我可不知道了。”
“要我帮您喊她吗？”安迪•彼得斯问。
“当然不。”希拉里厉声制止。
海尔格•尼达姆讥讽地说：“这件事不适合性格懦弱的女性。”
“她不是个懦弱的人。”巴伦博士温和地说，“她只是和所有聪明的女性一样，经常扪心自问一些问题。”他特意强调了“聪明”这个词，好像是在针对那个德国女人。但她不为他的语气所影响。她看不上所有法国人，同时对自己的能力抱有十足的信心。
埃里克森用他那紧张不安的高亢声音说道：“一个人终于就要获得自由时，为何还盘算着回头？”
希拉里说：“但如果不能回头，或者没有办法选择回头，那就不是自由！”
一位仆人走过来，说道：“各位，汽车在等着你们呢。”
他们从建筑的另一扇门出去，看到两辆凯迪拉克停在那儿，旁边站着穿着制服的司机。希拉里说想跟司机一起坐在汽车前座，并解释说坐这种大轿车容易让她晕车。这个理由似乎马上就被其他人接受了。行驶过程中，希拉里不时跟司机交谈两句。聊天气啊，赞美这汽车简直棒极了啊！她精通法语，说得不错，司机也很愿意回答她的问题，他表现得非常自然、真诚。
“要多久能到啊？”希拉里问道。
“从机场到医院吗？夫人，大概需要两个小时。”
这句话让希拉里有些不愉快，还有些惊讶。她刚才就留意到尼达姆换了身护士制服，但当时她没多想。如今司机的话正与此契合。
“给我介绍介绍那家医院吧。”希拉里对司机说。
司机热情地回应了她。
“哦，夫人，那里棒极了。设备是全世界最先进的。许多医生去那里参观，每个人离开的时候都赞不绝口。那里做的事简直伟大极了。”
“是啊，”希拉里应道，“是的，是的，确实如此。”
司机继续说道：“那些可怜人，过去只会被送到孤岛上悲惨地等死。但是在这里，科里尼医生的新疗法有很高的治愈率。哪怕是重度患者。”
“在这里建医院，好像有点太偏僻了。”希拉里说道。
“哦，夫人，在这种情况下，只能偏僻点。这是当局的要求。但这里空气清新，真的棒极了。您看，夫人，现在已经能看到那里了。”他指着前方说。
车子就要经过盘山路上的第一处大转弯了，能看到山的另一侧，倚着山坡有一幢长条形的、闪着光的白色建筑。
“真是个奇迹。”司机说道，“在这里建这样一座房子，肯定花了很多钱。夫人，让我们感谢全世界富裕的慈善家们吧。他们做起事来不像政府那样，总是能省则省。在这里，花钱如流水。他们说我们的赞助人是全世界最有钱的人之一。他们说，他是为了减轻人类所遭受的痛苦，才在这里建造了这么一座伟大的建筑。”
车子蜿蜒爬坡，最后停在了一扇巨大的铁栅栏门前。
“夫人，您要在这里下车了。”司机说道，“我们的车不允许进门，要开去距离这里一公里的车库。”
同伴们也都下了车。门上垂着拉铃带，但还没等碰它，门就缓慢开启了。一个穿着白色长袍，只露出一张挂着笑容的黑脸的人走出来，鞠了个躬后邀请他们进去。他们走进大门，看到里面有一个围着高耸的铁丝网篱笆的大院子，有人正在院子里走来走去。当这些人转过身看向来访者时，希拉里惊恐地倒吸了一口冷气。
“他们都是麻风病人啊！”她叫喊着，“麻风病人！”
恐惧让她颤抖不已。
注释：
[1]大阿特拉斯山脉（High Atlas）位于摩洛哥中部。
Eleven
Eleven
The gates of the Leper Colony closed behind the travellers with a metallicclang. The noise struck on Hilary’s startled consciousness with a horriblenote of finality. Abandon hope, it seemed to say, all ye who enter here .?.?.
This, she thought, was the end .?.?. really the end. Any way of retreat theremight have been was now cut off.
She was alone now amongst enemies, and in, at most, a very fewminutes, she would be confronted with discovery and failure. Subcon-sciously, she supposed, she had known that all day, but some undefeatableoptimism of the human spirit, some persistence in the belief that that en-tity oneself could not possibly cease to exist, had been masking that factfrom her. She had said to Jessop in Casablanca, “And when I do reach TomBetterton?” and he had said then gravely that that was when the dangerwould become acute. He had added that he hoped that by then he mightbe in a position to give her protection, but that hope, Hilary could not butrealize, had failed to materialize.
If “Miss Hetherington” had been the agent on whom Jessop was relying,“Miss Hetherington” had been outmanoeuvred and left to confess failureat Marrakesh. But in any case, what could Miss Hetherington have done?
The party of travellers had arrived at the place of no return. Hilary hadgambled with death and lost. And she knew now that Jessop’s diagnosishad been correct. She no longer wanted to die. She wanted to live. Thezest of living had come back to her in full strength. She could think ofNigel, of Brenda’s grave, with a sad wondering pity, but no longer with thecold lifeless despair that had urged her on to seek oblivion in death. Shethought: “I’m alive again, sane, whole .?.?. and now I’m like a rat in a trap.
If only there were some way out. .?.?.”
It was not that she had given no thought to the problem. She had. But itseemed to her, reluctantly, that once confronted with Betterton, therecould be no way out. .?.?.
Betterton would say: “But that’s not my wife—” And that would be that!
Eyes turning towards her .?.?. realization .?.?. a spy in their midst. .?.?.
Because what other solution could there be? Supposing she were to getin first? Supposing she were to cry out, before Tom Betterton could get in aword—“Who are you? You’re not my husband!” If she could simulate in-dignation, shock, horror, sufficiently well—might it, just credibly, raise adoubt? A doubt whether Betterton was Betterton—or some other scientistsent to impersonate him. A spy, in other words. But if they believed that,then it might be rather hard on Betterton! But, she thought, her mind turn-ing in tired circles, if Betterton was a traitor, a man willing to sell his coun-try’s secrets, could anything be “hard on him?” How difficult it was, shethought, to make any appraisement of loyalties — or indeed any judge-ments of people or things .?.?. At any rate it might be worth trying—to cre-ate a doubt.
With a giddy feeling, she returned to her immediate surroundings. Herthoughts had been running underground with the frenzied violence of arat caught in a trap. But during that time her surface stream of conscious-ness had been playing its appointed part.
The little party from the outside world had been welcomed by a bighandsome man—a linguist, it would seem, since he had said a word or twoto each person in his or her own language.
“Enchanté de faire votre connaissance, mon cher docteur,” he was mur-muring to Dr. Barron, and then turning to her:
“Ah, Mrs. Betterton, we’re very pleased to welcome you here. A longconfusing journey, I’m afraid. Your husband’s very well and, naturally,awaiting you with impatience.”
He gave her a discreet smile; it was a smile, she noticed, that did nottouch his cold pale eyes.
“You must,” he added, “be longing to see him.”
The giddiness increased—she felt the group around her approachingand receding like the waves of the sea. Beside her, Andy Peters put out anarm and steadied her.
“I guess you haven’t heard,” he said to their welcoming host. “Mrs. Bet-terton had a bad crash at Casablanca—concussion. This journey’s doneher no good. Nor the excitement of looking forward to meeting her hus-band. I’d say she ought to lie down right now in a darkened room.”
Hilary felt the kindness of his voice, of the supporting arm. She swayeda little more. It would be easy, incredibly easy, to crumple at the knees, todrop flaccidly down .?.?. to feign unconsciousness—or at any rate near un-consciousness. To be laid on a bed in a darkened room—to put off the mo-ment of discovery just a little longer .?.?. But Betterton would come to herthere—any husband would. He would come there and lean over the bed inthe dim gloom and at the first murmur of her voice, the first dim outline ofher face as his eyes became accustomed to the twilight, he would realizethat she was not Olive Betterton.
Courage came back to Hilary. She straightened up. Colour came into hercheeks. She flung up her head.
If this were to be the end, let it be a gallant end! She would go to Better-ton and, when he repudiated her, she would try out the last lie, come outwith it confidently, fearlessly:
“No, of course I’m not your wife. Your wife—I’m terribly sorry, it’s awful—she’s dead. I was in hospital with her when she died. I promised her I’dget to you somehow and give you her last messages. I wanted to. You see,I’m in sympathy with what you did—with what all of you are doing. Iagree with you politically. I want to help. .?.?.”
Thin, thin, all very thin .?.?. And such awkward trifles to explain—thefaked passport—the forged Letter of Credit. Yes, but people did get bysometimes with the most audacious lies—if one lied with sufficient confid-ence—if you had the personality to put a thing over. One could at any ratego down fighting.
She drew herself up, gently freeing herself from Peters’s support.
“Oh, no. I must see Tom,” she said. “I must go to him—now—at once—please.”
The big man was hearty about it. Sympathetic. (Though the cold eyeswere still pale and watchful.)
“Of course, of course, Mrs. Betterton. I quite understand how you arefeeling. Ah, here’s Miss Jennson.”
A thin spectacled girl had joined them.
“Miss Jennson, meet Mrs. Betterton, Fr?ulein Needheim, Dr. Barron, Mr.
Peters, Dr. Ericsson. Show them into the Registry, will you? Give them adrink. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Just taking Mrs. Betterton along toher husband. I’ll be with you again shortly.”
He turned to Hilary again, saying:
“Follow me, Mrs. Betterton.”
He strode forward, she followed. At a bend in the passage, she gave alast look over her shoulder. Andy Peters was still watching her. He had afaintly puzzled, unhappy look—she thought for a moment he was going tocome with her. He must have realized, she thought, that there’s somethingwrong, realized it from me, but he doesn’t know what it is.
And she thought, with a slight shiver: “It’s the last time, perhaps, that I’llever see him .?.?.” And so, as she turned the corner after her guide, sheraised a hand and waved a goodbye. .?.?.
The big man was talking cheerfully.
“This way, Mrs. Betterton. I’m afraid you’ll find our buildings ratherconfusing at first, so many corridors, and all rather alike.”
Like a dream, Hilary thought, a dream of hygienic white corridors alongwhich you pass forever, turning, going on, never finding your way out. .?.?.
She said:
“I didn’t realize it would be a—hospital.”
“No, no, of course. You couldn’t realize anything, could you?”
There was a faint sadistic note of amusement in his voice.
“You’ve had, as they say, to ‘fly blind’. My name’s Van Heidem, by theway. Paul Van Heidem.”
“It’s all a little strange—and rather terrifying,” said Hilary. “The lepers.
.?.?.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Picturesque—and usually so very unexpected. Itdoes upset newcomers. But you’ll get used to them—oh yes, you’ll get usedto them in time.”
He gave a slight chuckle.
“A very good joke, I always think myself.”
He paused suddenly.
“Up one flight of stairs—now don’t hurry. Take it easy. Nearly therenow.”
Nearly there—nearly there .?.?. So many steps to death .?.?. Up—up—deepsteps, deeper than European steps. And now another of the hygienic pas-sages and Van Heidem was stopping by a door. He tapped, waited, andthen opened it.
“Ah, Betterton—here we are at last. Your wife!”
He stood aside with a slight flourish.
Hilary walked into the room. No holding back. No shrinking. Chin up.
Forward to doom.
A man stood half turned from the window, an almost startlingly good-looking man. She noted that, recognizing his fair handsomeness with afeeling almost of surprise. He wasn’t, somehow, her idea of Tom Betterton.
Surely, the photograph of him that she had been shown wasn’t in the least—
It was that confused feeling of surprise that decided her. She would goall out for her first desperate expedient.
She made a quick movement forward, then drew back. Her voice rangout, startled, dismayed. .?.?.
“But—that isn’t Tom. That isn’t my husband .?.?.” It was well done, shefelt it herself. Dramatic, but not over dramatic. Her eyes met VanHeidem’s in bewildered questioning.
And then Tom Betterton laughed. A quiet, amused, almost triumphantlaugh.
“Pretty good, eh, Van Heidem?” he said. “If even my own wife doesn’tknow me!”
With four quick steps he had crossed to her and gathered her tightlyinto his arms.
“Olive, darling. Of course you know me. I’m Tom all right even if Ihaven’t got quite the same face as I used to have.”
His face pressed against hers, his lips by her ear, she caught the faintwhispered addition.
“Play up. For God’s sake. Danger.”
He released her for a moment, caught her to him again.
“Darling! It’s seemed years—years and years. But you’re here at last!”
She could feel the warning pressure of his fingers below hershoulderblades, admonishing her, giving their urgent message.
Only after a moment or two did he release her, push her a little fromhim and look into her face.
“I still can’t quite believe it,” he said, with an excited little laugh. “Still,you know it’s me now, don’t you?”
His eyes, burning into hers, still held that message of warning.
She didn’t understand it—couldn’t understand it. But it was a miraclefrom heaven and she rallied to play her part.
“Tom!” she said, and there was a catch in her voice that her listeningears approved. “Oh, Tom—but what—”
“Plastic surgery! Hertz of Vienna is here. And he’s a living marvel. Don’tsay you regret my old crushed nose.”
He kissed her again, lightly, easily, this time, then turned to the watch-ing Van Heidem with a slight apologetic laugh.
“Forgive the transports, Van Heidem,” he said.
“But naturally, naturally—” the Dutchman smiled benevolently.
“It’s been so long,” said Hilary, “and I—” she swayed a little; “I—please,can I sit down?”
Hurriedly Tom Betterton eased her into a chair.
“Of course, darling. You’re all in. That frightful journey. And the planeaccident. My God, what an escape!”
(So there was full communication. They knew all about the plane crash.)“It’s left me terribly woolly-headed,” said Hilary, with an apologetic littlelaugh. “I forget things and get muddled up, and have awful headaches.
And then, finding you looking like a total stranger! I’m a bit of a mess,darling. I hope I won’t be a bother to you!”
“You a bother? Never. You’ll just have to take it easy for a bit, that’s all.
There’s all the—time in the world here.”
Van Heidem moved gently towards the door.
“I will leave you now,” he said. “After a little you will bring your wife tothe Registry, Betterton? For the moment you will like to be alone.”
He went out, shutting the door behind him.
Immediately Betterton dropped on his knees by Hilary and buried hisface on her shoulder.
“Darling, darling,” he said.
And once again she felt that warning pressure of the fingers. The whis-per, so faint as hardly to be heard, was urgent and insistent.
“Keep it up. There might be a microphone—one never knows.”
That was it, of course. One never knew .?.?. Fear—uneasiness—uncer-tainty—danger—always danger—she could feel it in the atmosphere.
Tom Betterton sat back on his haunches.
“It’s so wonderful to see you,” he said softly. “And yet, you know, it’s likea dream—not quite real. Do you feel like that, too?”
“Yes, that’s just it—a dream—being here—with you—at last. It doesn’tseem real, Tom.”
She had placed both hands on his shoulders. She was looking at him, afaint smile on her lips. (There might be a spy-hole as well as a micro-phone.)
Coolly and calmly she appraised what she saw. A nervous good-lookingman of thirty-odd who was badly frightened—a man nearly at the end ofhis tether—a man who had, presumably, come here full of high hopes andhad been reduced—to this.
Now that she had surmounted her first hurdle, Hilary felt a curious ex-hilaration in the playing of her part. She must be Olive Betterton. Act asOlive would have acted, feel as Olive would have felt. And life was so un-real that that seemed quite natural. Somebody called Hilary Craven haddied in an aeroplane accident. From now on she wouldn’t even rememberher.
Instead, she rallied her memories of the lessons she had studied so as-siduously.
“It seems such ages since Firbank,” she said. “Whiskers—you rememberWhiskers? She had kittens—just after you went away. There are so manythings, silly everyday little things, you don’t even know about. That’s whatseems so odd.”
“I know. It’s breaking with an old life and beginning a new one.”
“And—it’s all right here? You’re happy?”
A necessary wifely question that any wife would ask.
“It’s wonderful.” Tom Betterton squared his shoulders, threw his headback. Unhappy, frightened eyes looked out of a smiling confident face.
“Every facility. No expense spared. Perfect conditions to get on with thejob. And the organization! It’s unbelievable.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. My journey—did you come the same way?”
“One doesn’t talk about that. Oh, I’m not snubbing you, darling. But—you see, you’ve got to learn about everything.”
“But the lepers? Is it really a Leper Colony?”
“Oh yes. Perfectly genuine. There’s a team of medicos doing very finework in research on the subject. But it’s quite self-contained. It needn’tworry you. It’s just—clever camouflage.”
“I see.” Hilary looked round her. “Are these our quarters?”
“Yes. Sitting room, bathroom there, bedroom beyond. Come, I’ll showyou.”
She got up and followed him through a well-appointed bathroom into agood- sized bedroom with twin beds, big built- in cupboards, a dressingtable, and a bookshelf near the beds. Hilary looked into the cupboardspace with some amusement.
“I hardly know what I’m going to put in here,” she remarked. “All I’vegot is what I can stand up in.”
“Oh that. You can fit yourself out with all you want. There’s a fashionmodel department and all accessories, cosmetics, everything. All first-class. The Unit is quite self-contained—all you want on the premises. Noneed to go outside ever again.”
He said the words lightly, but it seemed to Hilary’s sensitive ear thatthere was despair concealed behind the words.
“No need to go outside ever again. No chance of ever going outsideagain. Abandon hope all ye who enter here .?.?. The well-appointed cage! Wasit for this,” she thought, “that all these varying personalities had aban-doned their countries, their loyalties, their everyday lives? Dr. Barron,Andy Peters, young Ericsson with his dreaming face, the overbearingHelga Needheim? Did they know what they were coming to find? Wouldthey be content? Was this what they had wanted?”
She thought: “I’d better not ask too many questions .?.?. if someone islistening.”
Was someone listening? Were they being spied upon? Tom Bettertonevidently thought it might be so. But was he right? Or was it nerves—hys-teria? Tom Betterton, she thought, was very near to a breakdown.
“Yes,” she thought grimly, “and so may you be, my girl, in six months’
time .?.?.” What did it do to people, she wondered, living like this?
Tom Betterton said to her:
“Would you like to lie down—to rest?”
“No—” she hesitated. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then perhaps you’d better come with me to the Registry.”
“What’s the Registry?”
“Everyone who clocks in goes through the Registry. They recordeverything about you. Health, teeth, blood pressure, blood group, psycho-logical reactions, tastes, dislikes, allergies, aptitudes, preferences.”
“It sounds very military—or do I mean medical?”
“Both,” said Tom Betterton. “Both. This organization—it’s really formid-able.”
“One’s always heard so,” said Hilary. “I mean that everything behind theIron Curtain is really properly planned.”
She tried to put a proper enthusiasm into her voice. After all, Olive Bet-terton had presumably been a sympathizer with the Party, although, per-haps by order, she had not been known to be a Party member.
Betterton said evasively:
“There’s a lot for you to—understand.” He added quickly: “Better not tryto take in too much at once.”
He kissed her again, a curious, apparently tender and even passionatekiss, that was actually as cold as ice, murmured very low in her ear, “Keepit up,” and said aloud, “And now, come down to the Registry.”
第十一章
第十一章
麻风病人隔离区的门关上了，发出巨大的金属撞击声。在已经吓傻了的希拉里听来，这一声意味着最终的审判。完蛋了，那声音像在宣告，所有来这里的人，都完蛋了……她想，这次是真的要结束了……真正的终点。之前还有可能回头，现在则彻底完了。
现在她孤身一人陷于敌营，最多几分钟后她就要面对身份被识破和最终的失败。潜意识里，她这一整天都能感受到结果会是这样，但人类精神中不屈的乐观，以及笃信一个人不可能突然不复存在的信念，为她粉饰了事实。她曾在卡萨布兰卡问杰索普“我什么时候才能到汤姆•贝特顿那里”？那时他沉重地说，当情况真正危急的时候。他还补充说希望那时他能为她提供保护，但希拉里不得不承认，这一希望已经破灭了。
莫非“赫瑟林顿小姐”是杰索普安排的可以仰赖的人？可“赫瑟林顿小姐”在马拉喀什就被算计，退出这次行动了。就算退一步讲，赫瑟林顿小姐又能做些什么呢？
这群旅行者到了无路可退的地方。希拉里拿命相搏，然后输了。现在她才意识到杰索普的分析是对的。她已经不想去死了，她想活下去。对生活的强烈渴望回到了她的体内。
再想起奈杰尔和布伦达的坟墓时她是哀伤悲痛的，但不再处于冷冰冰、毫无活力的绝望中，急切地想以死来遗忘一切。她想：我活过来了，脑子清醒，身心健全……但现在我就像一只陷阱中的老鼠。如果我能找到逃生之路就好了……她不是没有思考过这个问题，她想过。但对她而言，非常遗憾，一旦遇到贝特顿，那就无路可走了……
贝特顿会说：“她不是我的妻子。”就是这句话！所有人都看向她……明白过来……一个藏在他们中间的间谍……
还有别的解决途径吗？假设她先下手呢？假设在汤姆•贝特顿开口之前她先大叫：“你是谁？你不是我丈夫！”如果她装作很愤怒、震惊、恐惧，并且演得惟妙惟肖——可能会激起其他人的怀疑吗？怀疑贝特顿是否是贝特顿，有没有可能是别的科学家被派来伪装成贝特顿的。换句话说，一个间谍。但如果他们认为贝特顿是假的，那可能会对他不利！但是，思绪在她疲惫的大脑中翻转着，如果贝特顿是一个叛徒，一个甘愿出卖自己国家秘密的人，还说什么“是否会对他不利”呢？太难了，她想，评判一个人的忠诚度——事实上评判任何人和事都很难……但不管怎样，这还是值得一试的——去制造怀疑。
她回到眼下的状况，一直疯狂地想着困在陷阱里的老鼠，让她的脑子昏沉沉的。不过她表面上保持着平静，举止也很得体。
一位高大英俊的男人迎接了他们这群来自外部世界的人。他看起来像是一位语言学家，因为他跟每个人打招呼时用的都是对方的母语。
“很高兴见到您，亲爱的博士先生。”他轻声细语地招呼完巴伦博士，转向了希拉里，“哦，贝特顿太太，欢迎您来到这里。这是一段漫长而令人迷惑的旅程吧。您的丈夫好极了，当然，他一直耐心地等待着您的到来。”
他露出小心的笑容，但她留意到他那冷酷的灰色眼眸中毫无笑意。
他又补充道：“您一定很想见到他吧。”
头更晕了——她觉得周围的人像海浪一样靠近又远去。在她身边的安迪•彼得斯伸出手扶住了她。
“你大概还不知道吧，”他对热情的主人说道，“贝特顿太太在卡萨布兰卡遭遇了一次飞机事故，造成了脑震荡。这次的旅程让她更不舒服了，再加上她急切地期盼着见到丈夫。
我觉得她应该马上去一间光线昏暗的房间躺下休息。”
希拉里从他伸出的手和话语中感受到了善意。她又让自己轻微地晃动了几下。这很容易，非常容易，膝盖一软，慢慢地跪倒在地……假装失去知觉——或者说几乎失去知觉。
被送去一间光线昏暗的房间里躺着，就能让暴露的时刻稍微推迟一点……但贝特顿会去看她的，任何一位丈夫都会这样做的。他走进房间，在昏暗的光线下俯身靠近床边，然后听她说出第一句话，眼睛适应了屋里的昏暗后第一眼看清她脸部的轮廓，他就会发觉她不是奥利芙•贝特顿。
希拉里再次获得了勇气。她站直了身子，双颊绯红，高昂起头。
如果事情要在这里结束的话，也要精彩地结束！她会去见贝特顿，当他说不认识她的时候，她就竭力说出最后一个谎言，非常自信、无所畏惧地说：“是的，我当然不是您的妻子。很抱歉，您的妻子——真是糟糕，她死了。她去世的时候我陪伴着她，我答应她不管怎样我都会找到您，把她的遗言告诉您。我想这么做。您看，我非常赞同您的所作所为——您所做的一切。我赞同您的政治观点。我想帮忙……”
太弱了，太弱，说不过去……并且还有很多令人尴尬的琐事要解释：伪造的护照、假信用证。是的，但有时候人就是会相信大胆的谎言——只要说谎的人足够自信，有强烈的意志圆谎。不管怎样，值得拼一把。
她靠自己的力量直起身子，轻轻地摆脱了彼得斯的支撑。
“哦，不。我必须见到汤姆。”她说道，“我要去见他……现在……立即……求你们了。”
那个高大的男人似乎有些不忍心了。看来他有很强的共情能力。（虽然那双冷酷的眼睛依旧不露感情且充满警惕。）
“当然，当然，贝特顿太太，我很能理解您的感受。哦，詹森小姐过来了。”
一位戴着眼镜的苗条姑娘走过来。
“詹森小姐，来见贝特顿太太、尼达姆小姐、巴伦博士、彼得斯先生和埃里克森博士。
把他们领到登记处好吗？给他们点喝的。我先带贝特顿太太去见她的丈夫，一会儿就过去和你们碰头。”
他再次转向希拉里，说：“跟我走吧，贝特顿太太。”
他大步向前，她跟随着。在走廊拐弯处她转头望了一眼，安迪•彼得斯还在目送她。他看上去有些困惑，一脸不高兴的样子。一瞬间希拉里以为他会跑过来跟她一起。她想：他一定觉察到我有些不对劲，但他不知道具体是什么。
接着她又想，伴随着轻微的颤抖：这可能是我最后一次见他了……于是，当跟着向导走到拐弯处时，她举起手挥了挥，跟他道别……
那个高大的男人兴致勃勃地说：“这边走，贝特顿太太。恐怕刚开始您会在我们这栋建筑里迷路，这么多走廊，而且看上去都差不多。”
像在梦里，希拉里想，一场一直沿着一条干净的白色走廊走啊走，转弯，继续走，永远走不出去的梦……
她说：“我没想到会来到一所……医院。”
“是啊，是啊，当然了。您没办法知道，不是吗？”
他的声调中有一丝虐待狂的愉悦。
“您这一路是人们所说的‘盲目飞行’。顺便一提，我叫范• 海德姆。保罗•范•海德姆。”
“有点古怪，还有点可怕。”希拉里说，“麻风病人……”
“是的，是的，当然。这里风景如画，因此通常不会有人想到里面是这样的。新来的人确实会有些失望，但您会适应的。哦，是的，您到时候就会习惯的。”他轻笑出声，“我一直觉得这是个不错的玩笑。”
他猛然停住了脚步。
“要上一段楼梯——不用慌张。放松。就快到了。”
快到了——快到了……通往死亡的路怎么这么长……上楼——上楼，高高的台阶，比欧洲的台阶要高。又走过一条干净的走廊后，范•海德姆在一扇门前停了下来。他敲敲门，等了一会儿，然后推开了门。
“哦，贝特顿，终于，你妻子来了！”
他有些兴奋地站到了一旁。
希拉里走进了屋子。她没有逃，没有颤抖，而是直起腰板，走了进去。
一个男人站在窗前，半转过身子，长相英俊得令人吃惊。她打量着那张英俊的脸，有些惊讶，因为他不像是她想象中的汤姆•贝特顿。至少不是她所看过的照片里的人……困惑又惊奇的感觉让她下定了决心，她要竭尽全力做一次垂死挣扎。
她猛地冲上前去，接着又退回来，然后大叫起来，表现得震惊又害怕……“哦——这不是汤姆。他不是我丈夫……”棒极了，她觉得自己做得不错。演得很夸张，但又没有那么夸张。她惊恐的眼神与范•海德姆的眼神交汇了。
接着她听到汤姆•贝特顿笑了起来。轻轻的、像是被逗乐了，又有些得意扬扬的笑声。
“真有趣，范•海德姆，是不是？”他说，“我自己的妻子都不认得我了。”
他迈开大步走了四步，用胳膊紧紧搂住希拉里。
“奥利芙，亲爱的。你当然认得我，我是汤姆啊，只不过样子跟以前不太一样了。”
他紧贴着希拉里的脸，在她耳边耳语，她听到了轻声的嘱咐。
“演戏。看在上帝的分儿上。危险。”
他松开了她，然后再次紧紧搂住她。
“亲爱的！好像过了许多年……像过了好几年。不过你最终还是来了！”
她能感受到他紧紧地按压着她的肩胛骨下方，这是警告的手势，提醒她，给她暗示。
他又放开了她，把她稍微推远了一些，看着她的面庞。
“我仍然不敢相信。”他带着兴奋的微笑说道，“你现在能认出我了吧，还不能吗？”
他的眼睛里闪着光，这仍然是警示的信号。
虽然她不明白，无法领会他的意思，但这简直是上帝创造的奇迹。她打起精神，决意演好自己的角色。
“汤姆！”她叫道，试图用语调传达她的决定，“哦，汤姆……但是这是怎么——”
“整形手术！这里有一位来自维也纳的赫兹医生，他真是个活奇迹。你再也不能嘲笑我的塌鼻子了。”
他亲吻了她，动作轻柔、自然，接着他看向一直在一旁看着的范•海德姆，发出略带歉意的笑声。
“请原谅，范•海德姆，我们太激动了。”他说道。
“没有，这是自然的，自然的……”高大男人慷慨地笑了起来。
“这一路太漫长了。”希拉里说，“而我……”她的身子有些摇晃，“我……我可以坐下吗？”
汤姆•贝特顿连忙扶她坐到了椅子上。
“是啊，亲爱的，你也经历了那一趟可怕的旅程。还有飞机事故。我的上帝，真是幸运！”
（看来这边消息十分灵通，他们知道关于飞机失事的事。）“那次事故让我的脑袋糊里糊涂的，”希拉里露出抱歉的微笑，“忘记了很多事，还把一些事搞混了，而且总是头疼得厉害。刚才又看到你完全像个陌生人！我真的很混乱，亲爱的。希望我没有给你添麻烦！”
“添麻烦？永远不会。你只要放轻松就行了。在这里有的是时间。”
范•海德姆轻轻走向门口。
“我先走了。”他说，“贝特顿，待会儿你带着你的妻子去登记处好吗？我想你们应该想独处一会儿吧。”
他走了出去，关上了门。
贝特顿突然跪倒在希拉里面前，把脸埋在她的肩膀上。
“亲爱的，亲爱的。”他呼唤着。
她立即感受到他的手指又在做警示的手势。耳语声微弱得几乎听不到，但语调急切，让她无法忽视。
“继续演。这里可能有窃听器，哪儿都不安全。”
确实，当然，哪儿都不安全……恐惧、不安、不确定性、危险——危险无处不在，她都能从空气中感受到。
汤姆•贝特顿跪坐在地上，柔声说道：“能见到你真是太好了。然而，这就像一场梦——非常不真实。你这么觉得吗？”
“是的，确实如此……一场梦……来到这里……和你相见……终于。这很不真实，汤姆。”
她把两只手搭在他的肩膀上，注视着他，微微一笑。（除了窃听器，可能还有窥视口。）
她冷静坦然地审视着眼前的人。一位长相英俊、大约三十岁的男子，他紧张不安，担惊受怕，处在崩溃边缘。他来到这里的时候大概满怀崇高的理想，然而梦想渐渐破灭，变成现在这样。
不过现在算跨过了第一道难关，这让希拉里颇受鼓舞，觉得能扮演好自己的角色。她就是奥利芙•贝特顿。做奥利芙会做的事，与奥利芙有同样的感受。在这不真实的生活里她这样反而非常自然。那个名叫希拉里•克雷文的人在一场飞机事故中丧生了，从现在开始，她不会再想起她。
取而代之的是，她要依靠努力记住的信息活下去。
“弗班克似乎是很久之前的事了。”她说道，“胡须——你还记得胡须吗？她生小猫咪了，就在你走了之后。发生了很多事，不重要的日常琐事，而你都不知道，这太奇怪了。”
“我知道。与旧生活彻底告别，开始全新的生活。”
“那么……你在这里还好吗？你快乐吗？”
这是作为妻子一定会问的问题。
“棒极了。”汤姆•贝特顿动动肩膀，甩了甩头。脸上挂着自信的微笑，眼睛却透露出不快乐与恐惧。他说：“设备齐全。钱都花在了对的地方。完美的工作环境。还有组织！真是难以置信。”
“哦，我相信。来这里的旅程——你也是这么过来的吗？”
“我们在这儿不说这件事。哦，我不是在数落你，亲爱的。但是你看，你必须学会这里的规矩。”
“那些麻风病人……这儿真的是一家麻风病医院吗？”
“哦，是的。如假包换。这里的医生团队专门从事这种疾病的研究，很了不起。就是这里遗世独立，不过你不用担心，这不过是……高明的伪装。”
“我明白了。”希拉里环顾四周，“那这间屋子算是我们的住处了？”
“是的。这里是客厅，盥洗室在那儿，卧室在后面。来，我带你去看看。”
她站起来，跟着他穿过设备齐全的盥洗室，来到大小适当的卧室。这里有一张双人床、一个嵌入式衣柜、一张梳妆台和靠床的书柜。希拉里欣喜地望向衣柜。
“我可能没什么能往这里面放的，”她说，“我只有身上这一身衣服。”
“哦，这个啊，想要什么都可以满足你。这里有服装部，也有各种配饰和化妆品，全都有，而且都是高级货。这个地方应有尽有——你想要的都能在这栋建筑里找到，再也不用出去了。”
他说这话时语调轻松，但希拉里敏锐的耳朵听出了话语背后隐藏的绝望。
再也不用出去了。再也出不去了。来这里的人都完蛋了……这就是个设施齐全的牢房！她想着，难道就是为了这些，让性格各异的人们抛弃了祖国，抛弃了信仰，抛弃了日常生活？巴伦博士，安迪•彼得斯，有一张迷幻脸庞的年轻人埃里克森，还有傲慢的海尔格•尼达姆，他们知道这里是这样的吗？他们对此感到满足吗？这就是他们想要的吗？
她又想：我最好别问太多问题……万一有人偷听。
会有人偷听吗？他们正被谁监视着吗？汤姆•贝特顿明显认为这有可能。但他是对的吗？会不会根本没这回事，只是他神经太紧张？希拉里觉得汤姆•贝特顿已经快要崩溃了。
是的，她冷酷地想，小姑娘，你也可能变成这样，六个月后……这样的生活会把人变成什么样？
汤姆•贝特顿对她说：“你想躺下来……休息一会儿吗？”
“不……”她迟疑着回答道，“不，不想。”
“那么我带你去登记处吧。”
“登记处是做什么的？”
“所有进来的人都要去登记处。他们记录下你的所有信息。健康情况，牙齿状况，血压，血型，精神反应，口味，不喜欢什么，是否对什么过敏，有什么习惯和爱好。”
“听起来像要参军，还是更像要住院？”
“都有点像。”汤姆•贝特顿说，“都有点像。这个组织……非常严密。”
“大家都这么说。”希拉里说道，“什么铁幕里的一切都是精心安排好的。”
她试图通过声音表露出恰当的热情，因为奥利芙•贝特顿应该是一个支持组织的人，她遵从一切指令，尽管还不是组织的一员。
贝特顿闪烁其词地应道：“这里还有很多事需要你去……了解。”他又迅速补充道，“最好不要一下子知道太多。”
他再次亲吻了她，这是一个奇怪的吻，感觉上饱含热情、柔情脉脉，实际上冷如冰。
他在她耳边低语了一句“坚持住”，接着大声说道：“那么我们去登记处吧。”
Twelve
Twelve
The Registry was presided over by a woman who looked like a strict nurs-ery governess. Her hair was rolled into a rather hideous bun and she worevery efficient-looking pince-nez. She nodded approval as the Bettertonsentered the severe office-like room.
“Ah,” she said. “You’ve brought Mrs. Betterton. That’s right.”
Her English was perfectly idiomatic but it was spoken with a stilted pre-cision which made Hilary believe that she was probably a foreigner. Actu-ally, her nationality was Swiss. She motioned Hilary to a chair, opened adrawer beside her and took out a sheaf of forms upon which she com-menced to write rapidly. Tom Betterton said rather awkwardly:
“Well then, Olive, I’ll leave you.”
“Yes please, Dr. Betterton. It’s much better to get through all the formal-ities straight away.”
Betterton went out, shutting the door behind him. The Robot, for as suchHilary thought of her, continued to write.
“Now then,” she said, in a businesslike way. “Full name, please. Age.
Where born. Father and mother’s names. Any serious illnesses. Tastes.
Hobbies. List of any jobs held. Degrees at any university. Preferences infood and drink.”
It went on, a seemingly endless catalogue. Hilary responded vaguely, al-most mechanically. She was glad now of the careful priming she had re-ceived from Jessop. She had mastered it all so well that the responsescame automatically, without having to pause or think. The Robot said fi-nally, as she made the last entry:
“Well, that seems to be all for this department. Now we’ll hand you overto Doctor Schwartz for medical examination.”
“Really!” said Hilary. “Is all this necessary? It seems most absurd.”
“Oh, we believe in being thorough, Mrs. Betterton. We like to haveeverything down in the records. You’ll like Dr. Schwartz very much. Thenfrom her you go on to Doctor Rubec.”
Dr. Schwartz was fair and amiable and female. She gave Hilary a metic-ulous physical examination and then said:
“So! That is finished. Now you go to Dr. Rubec.”
“Who is Dr. Rubec?” Hilary asked. “Another doctor?”
“Dr. Rubec is a psychologist.”
“I don’t want a psychologist. I don’t like psychologists.”
“Now please don’t get upset, Mrs. Betterton. You’re not going to havetreatment of any kind. It’s simply a question of an intelligence test and ofyour type-group personality.”
Dr. Rubec was a tall, melancholy Swiss of about forty years of age. Hegreeted Hilary, glanced at the card that had been passed on to him by Dr.
Schwartz and nodded his head approvingly.
“Your health is good, I am glad to see,” he said. “You have had an aero-plane crash recently, I understand.”
“Yes,” said Hilary. “I was four or five days in hospital at Casablanca.”
“Four or five days is not enough,” said Dr. Rubec reprovingly. “Youshould have been there longer.”
“I didn’t want to be there longer. I wanted to get on with my journey.”
“That, of course, is understandable, but it is important with concussionthat plenty of rest should be had. You may appear quite well and normalafter it but it may have serious effects. Yes, I see your nerve reflexes arenot quite what they should be. Partly the excitement of the journey andpartly, no doubt, due to concussion. Do you get headaches?”
“Yes. Very bad headaches. And I get muddled up every now and thenand can’t remember things.”
Hilary felt it well to stress this particular point. Dr. Rubec nodded sooth-ingly.
“Yes, yes, yes. But do not trouble yourself. All that will pass. Now we willhave a few association tests, so as to decide what type of mentality youare.” Hilary felt faintly nervous but all appeared to pass off well. The testseemed to be of a merely routine nature. Dr. Rubec made various entrieson a long form.
“It is a pleasure,” he said at last, “to deal with someone (if you will ex-cuse me, Madame, and not take amiss what I am going to say) to deal withsomeone who is not in any way a genius!”
Hilary laughed.
“Oh, I’m certainly not a genius,” she said.
“Fortunately for you,” said Dr. Rubec. “I can assure you your existencewill be far more tranquil.” He sighed. “Here, as you probably understand,I deal mostly with keen intellects, but with the type of sensitive intellectthat is apt to become easily unbalanced, and where the emotional stress isstrong. The man of science, Madame, is not the cool, calm individual he ismade out to be in fiction. In fact,” said Dr. Rubec, thoughtfully, “between afirst-class tennis player, an operatic prima-donna and a nuclear physicistthere is really very little difference as far as emotional stability goes.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Hilary, remembering that she was sup-posed to have lived for some years in close proximity to scientists. “Yes,they are rather temperamental sometimes.”
Dr. Rubec threw up a pair of expressive hands.
“You would not believe,” he said, “the emotions that arise here! Thequarrels, the jealousies, the touchiness! We have to take steps to deal withall that. But you, Madame,” he smiled. “You are in a class that is in a smallminority here. A fortunate class, if I may so express myself.”
“I don’t quite understand you. What kind of a minority?”
“Wives,” said Dr. Rubec. “We have not many wives here. Very few arepermitted. One finds them, on the whole, refreshingly free from the brain-storms of their husbands and their husbands’ colleagues.”
“What do wives do here?” asked Hilary. She added apologetically, “Yousee it’s all so new to me. I don’t understand anything yet.”
“Naturally not. Naturally. That is bound to be the case. There are hob-bies, recreations, amusements, instructional courses. A wide field. Youwill find it, I hope, an agreeable life.”
“As you do?”
It was a question, and rather an audacious one, and Hilary wondered amoment or two later whether she had been wise to ask it. But Dr. Rubecmerely seemed amused.
“You are quite right, Madame,” he said. “I find life here peaceful and in-teresting in the extreme.”
“You don’t ever regret—Switzerland?”
“I am not homesick. No. That is partly because, in my case, my homeconditions were bad. I had a wife and several children. I was not cut out,Madame, to be a family man. Here conditions are infinitely more pleasant.
I have ample opportunity of studying certain aspects of the human mindwhich interest me and on which I am writing a book. I have no domesticcares, no distractions, no interruptions. It all suits me admirably.”
“And where do I go next?” asked Hilary, as he rose and shook her cour-teously and formally by the hand.
“Mademoiselle La Roche will take you to the dress department. The res-ult, I am sure”—he bowed—“will be admirable.”
After the severe Robot-like females she had met so far, Hilary was agree-ably surprised by Mademoiselle La Roche. Mademoiselle La Roche hadbeen a vendeuse in one of the Paris houses of haute couture and her man-ner was thrillingly feminine.
“I am delighted, Madame, to make your acquaintance. I hope that I canbe of assistance to you. Since you have just arrived and since you are, nodoubt, tired, I would suggest that you select now just a few essentials. To-morrow and indeed during the course of next week, you can examinewhat we have in stock at your leisure. It is tiresome, I always think, tohave to select things rapidly. It destroys all the pleasure of la toilette. So Iwould suggest, if you agree, just a set of underclothing, a dinner dress, andperhaps a tailleur.”
“How delightful it sounds,” said Hilary. “I cannot tell you how odd itfeels to own nothing but a toothbrush and a sponge.”
Mademoiselle La Roche laughed cheeringly. She took a few rapid meas-ures and led Hilary into a big department with built-in cupboards. Therewere clothes here of every description, made of good material and excel-lent cut and in a large variety of sizes. When Hilary had selected the essen-tials of la toilette, they passed on to the cosmetics department where Hil-ary made a selection of powders, creams and various other toilet accessor-ies. These were handed to one of the assistants, a native girl with a shiningdark face, dressed in spotless white, and she was instructed to see thatthey were delivered to Hilary’s apartment.
All these proceedings had seemed to Hilary more and more like adream.
“And we shall have the pleasure of seeing you again shortly, I hope,”
said Mademoiselle La Roche, gracefully. “It will be a great pleasure, Ma-dame, to assist you to select from our models. Entre nous my work is some-times disappointing. These scientific ladies often take very little interest inla toilette. In fact, not half an hour ago I had a fellow traveller of yours.”
“Helga Needheim?”
“Ah yes, that was the name. She is, of course, a Boche, and the Boches arenot sympathetic to us. She is not actually bad-looking if she took a littlecare of her figure; if she chose a flattering line she could look very well.
But no! She has no interest in clothes. She is a doctor, I understand. A spe-cialist of some kind. Let us hope she takes more interest in her patientsthan she does in her toilette—Ah! that one, what man will look at hertwice?”
Miss Jennson, the thin, dark, spectacled girl who had met the party onarrival, now entered the fashion salon.
“Have you finished here, Mrs. Betterton?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you,” said Hilary.
“Then perhaps you will come and see the Deputy Director.”
Hilary said au revoir to Mademoiselle La Roche and followed the earnestMiss Jennson.
“Who is the Deputy Director?” she asked.
“Doctor Nielson.”
Everybody, Hilary reflected, in this place was a doctor of something.
“Who exactly is Doctor Nielson?” she asked. “Medical, scientific, what?”
“Oh, he’s not medical, Mrs. Betterton. He’s in charge of Administration.
All complaints have to go to him. He’s the administrative head of the Unit.
He always has an interview with everyone when they arrive. After that Idon’t suppose you’ll ever see him again unless something very importantshould arise.”
“I see,” said Hilary, meekly. She had an amused feeling of having beenput severely in her place.
Admission to Dr. Nielson was through two antechambers where steno-graphers were working. She and her guide were finally admitted into theinner sanctum where Dr. Nielson rose from behind a large executive’sdesk. He was a big, florid man with an urbane manner. Of transatlanticorigin, Hilary thought, though he had very little American accent.
“Ah!” he said, rising and coming forward to shake Hilary by the hand.
“This is—yes—let me see—yes, Mrs. Betterton. Delighted to welcome youhere, Mrs. Betterton. We hope you’ll be very happy with us. Sorry to hearof the unfortunate accident during the course of your journey, but I’mglad it was no worse. Yes, you were lucky there. Very lucky indeed. Well,your husband’s been awaiting you impatiently and I hope now you’ve gothere you will settle down and be very happy amongst us.”
“Thank you, Dr. Nielson.” Hilary sat down in the chair he drew forwardfor her.
“Any questions you want to ask me?” Dr. Nielson leant forward over hisdesk in an encouraging manner. Hilary laughed a little.
“That’s a most difficult thing to answer,” she said. “The real answer is, ofcourse, that I’ve got so many questions to ask that I don’t know where tobegin.”
“Quite, quite. I understand that. If you’ll take my advice—this is just ad-vice, you know, nothing more—I shouldn’t ask anything. Just adapt your-self and see what comes. That’s the best way, believe me.”
“I feel I know so little,” said Hilary. “It’s all so—so very unexpected.”
“Yes. Most people think that. The general idea seems to have been thatone was going to arrive in Moscow.” He laughed cheerfully. “Our deserthome is quite a surprise to most people.”
“It was certainly a surprise to me.”
“Well, we don’t tell people too much beforehand. They mightn’t be dis-creet, you know, and discretion’s rather important. But you’ll be comfort-able here, you’ll find. Anything you don’t like—or particularly would liketo have .?.?. just put in a request for it and we’ll see what can be managed!
Any artistic requirement, for instance. Painting, sculpture, music, we havea department for all that sort of thing.”
“I’m afraid I’m not talented that way.”
“Well, there’s plenty of social life too, of a kind. Games, you know. Wehave tennis courts, squash courts. It takes a week or two, we often find, forpeople to find their feet, especially the wives, if I may say so. Your hus-band’s got his job and he’s busy with it and it takes a little time, some-times, for the wives to find—well—other wives who are congenial. All thatsort of thing. You understand me.”
“But does one—does one—stay here?”
“Stay here? I don’t quite understand you, Mrs. Betterton.”
“I mean, does one stay here or go on somewhere else?”
Dr. Nielson became rather vague.
“Ah,” he said. “That depends on your husband. Ah, yes, yes, that de-pends very much on him. There are possibilities. Various possibilities. Butit’s better not to go into all that just now. I’d suggest, you know, that you—well—come and see me again perhaps in three weeks’ time. Tell me howyou’ve settled down. All that kind of thing.”
“Does one—go out at all?”
“Go out, Mrs. Betterton?”
“I mean outside the walls. The gates.”
“A very natural question,” said Dr. Nielson. His manner was now ratherheavily beneficent. “Yes, very natural. Most people ask it when they comehere. But the point of our Unit is that it’s a world in itself. There is nothing,if I may so express myself, to go out to. Outside us there is only desert.
Now I’m not blaming you, Mrs. Betterton. Most people feel like that whenthey first get here. Slight claustrophobia. That’s how Dr. Rubec puts it. ButI assure you that it passes off. It’s a hangover, if I may so express it, fromthe world you have left. Have you ever observed an anthill, Mrs. Better-ton? An interesting sight. Very interesting and very instructive. Hundredsof little black insects hurrying to and fro, so earnest, so eager, so purpose-ful. And yet the whole thing’s such a muddle. That’s the bad old world youhave left. Here there is leisure, purpose, infinite time. I assure you,” hesmiled, “an earthly paradise.”
第十二章
第十二章
登记处负责人是一位看起来像极其严格的保育员的女人。她的头发挽成一个难看的发髻，戴着一副夹鼻眼镜，看起来很高效。看到贝特顿夫妇踏进办公室，她点点头表示赞许。
她说道：“哦，您把贝特顿夫人带来了，这好极了。”
她的英语说得很流利但是过于字斟句酌，让希拉里怀疑她是个外国人。实际上她是瑞士人。她让希拉里坐下，打开身边的一个抽屉，拿出一沓表格，飞快地写了起来。汤姆•贝特顿有点尴尬地说：“那么，我把奥利芙留在这儿了。”
“哦，好的，贝特顿博士。一下子办完所有手续是最好不过的。”
贝特顿走了，并关上了门。那个“机器人”——希拉里是这么认为的——继续写着。
“好了，”她事务性地问道，“请告诉我您的全名，年龄，出生地，父母的名字，是否有重病史，口味偏好和爱好，以及工作经历和学历，还有食物饮品方面的喜好。”
登记程序似乎没有结束的意思。希拉里茫然地回答着问题，近乎机械性。现在她很感激杰索普对她的反复考察和检验了。她全都掌握了，因此才能回答得如此顺畅自然，没有任何停顿或犹豫。“机器人”终于填完了最后一栏，说道：“好了，我这个部门负责的就这些。现在我带您去施瓦茨医生那儿，她会给您做个医学检查。”
“为什么！”希拉里问道，“有这个必要吗？这也太奇怪了吧。”
“我们必须检查彻底，贝特顿太太，并且在您的档案里记录下来。您会很喜欢施瓦茨医生的。她那儿完成之后再去鲁贝克博士那儿。”
施瓦茨医生是一位亲切的金发女郎，她给希拉里做了一次全面的体检，然后说：“好了，结束了！现在去找鲁贝克博士吧。”
“鲁贝克博士？也是一位医生吗？”希拉里问道。
“鲁贝克博士是一位心理学家。”
“我不想见心理学家。我讨厌心理学家。”
“您先别着急，贝特顿太太。不是让您去接受治疗之类的，就是一个智力测试，并对您的个性进行归类。”
鲁贝克博士是一个神情忧郁、身材高大的瑞士人，大概四十岁。他和希拉里打过招呼后看了一眼施瓦茨医生那儿提供的卡片，赞同地点头道：“您很健康，我很高兴。我听说您最近遭遇了一次飞机事故。”
“是的，”希拉里说道，“我在卡萨布兰卡的医院里住了四五天。”
“四五天可不够啊。”鲁贝克博士责备道，“您应该待得更久些。”
“我不想再待在那儿了。我想继续旅程。”
“哦，是啊，当然，可以理解，但脑震荡患者应该多休息。您可能看上去恢复正常了，但没准儿有严重的后遗症。是的，我看您的神经反射不太正常，一部分是因为旅程辛劳，另一部分，毫无疑问该归咎于脑震荡。您头疼吗？”
“嗯，总是非常疼。我最近总是迷迷糊糊的，还记不住事。”
希拉里觉得必须强调这一点。
鲁贝克博士点点头，安慰道：“是的，是的，是的，但您不要担心，这一切都会过去。
现在我要给您做一系列测试，看看您属于哪一类。”
希拉里有一点不安，但很好地完成了。这个测试似乎只是个惯例流程。鲁贝克博士在一张长表格上做了各种记录。
“很好。”他说，“我喜欢面对没有任何天赋的普通人！请您原谅，夫人，我这么说并非贬义。”
希拉里笑了。
“哦，我确实不是个天才。”她说道。
“您真是幸运。”鲁贝克博士说，“我向您保证，您在这里将会平平安安的。”他叹了口气，“您可能已经知道了，这里的人大多智力超群，但是神经敏感，很容易走极端或压力过大。现实中的科学家，夫人，可不像小说里写的那样冷酷、平静。事实上，”鲁贝克博士若有所思地说，“一流的网球选手、歌剧中的首席女歌手和核物理学家，这三类人的情绪稳定性是差不多的。”
“我想您说得对。”希拉里说道，记起自己正在扮演与科学家亲密生活了几年的妻子，“没错，他们有时会比较情绪化。”
鲁贝克博士摊开双手。
“您简直无法相信他们在这儿发脾气的样子！”他说道，“争吵，嫉妒，过于敏感！我们不得不采取一些措施来处理这类事情。但是您，夫人，”他笑着说，“您属于这里的少数人。幸运的少数人，请您允许我这么说。”
“我没太听懂。哪一种少数？”
“妻子们。”鲁贝克博士说道，“没多少妻子跟到这儿来，能通过测试的就更少了。大部分妻子反而会因为离开了聪明的丈夫和丈夫的同事而感到解脱。”
“妻子们在这里能做些什么呢？”希拉里问，又不好意思地补充道，“您看，这里的一切对我来说都是全新的。我还什么都不懂呢。”
“当然了，自然，这没什么好奇怪的。这里能满足您的各种爱好，有丰富的休闲娱乐项目，还提供一些课程，范围很广。我希望您能在这里享受到美好的生活。”
“您呢？”
这是一个相当冒失的问题，希拉里想了一两分钟这么问是否明智才问出了口。但鲁贝克博士似乎被逗乐了。
“是的，夫人。”他说道，“我认为在这里的生活极其平静、有趣。”
“您从不觉得对不起……瑞士吗？”
“我一点也不想家。不想。部分也是因为我的家庭情况不好，我和妻子有几个孩子。夫人，我不是个居家男人，这里的条件对我来说绝对更加轻松。我有大量的机会研究我所感兴趣的人类心智方面的课题，而且我正在写一本这个主题的书。不用关心家庭事务，就没什么能让我分心、打断我。对我来说合适极了。”
鲁贝克博士站起来，礼貌而正式地与希拉里握手。希拉里问：“接下来我该去哪儿？”
“拉罗什小姐会带您去服装部。至于这里的检查结果嘛，我敢保证，”他鞠了个躬，说道，“会很完美。”
鉴于刚刚见识过一位像机器人一样的女士，希拉里被拉罗什小姐惊到了。拉罗什小姐曾经是巴黎一家高级时装店的店员，充满女性魅力。
“夫人，认识您我真高兴，希望我能帮到您。您刚到，毫无疑问，您一定疲惫极了，我建议您今天先选择一些生活必需品就好了。明天以及之后的整个星期，您都可以在空闲的时候来这里看看有什么适合您的。我一直认为匆忙选购太累人了，还会毁了购物的乐趣。
所以我建议，如果您同意的话，就先选一套内衣和一件晚礼服，可能还需要量量尺寸。”
“听起来棒极了。”希拉里说，“您不知道，只有一把牙刷和一块海绵感觉有多奇怪。”
拉罗什小姐欢快地笑了起来。她手脚麻利地为希拉里量好了尺寸，带希拉里走进一间宽敞、有内置壁橱的房间。这里有各式各样的衣服，全都质地上乘，剪裁得体，尺码齐全。希拉里选完必备衣服之后，她们又来到化妆品部，希拉里在这里选了粉扑、乳液和一些洗浴用品。这些东西都由一位侍者拿着，一个当地姑娘，黝黑的面庞闪着光，穿着一身干干净净的纯白色衣服，也将由她把这些东西送去希拉里的房间。
选购商品的整个过程让希拉里越来越觉得自己身在梦中。
“我希望能有幸很快再次见到您。”拉罗什小姐优雅十足地说道，“夫人，陪您选衣服真是件乐事。跟你私下说吧，这里的工作有时让我很沮丧。那些女科学家总是不太在意服饰。事实上，半个小时之前您的同行者刚来过这里。”
“海尔格•尼达姆？”
“哦，是的，是这个名字。当然了，她是个德国佬，德国佬都不喜欢我们法国人。其实只要稍微注意一下形象，她倒是不难看；穿些贴合身体曲线的衣服就会很好看。但是她不！她对衣饰毫无兴趣。我知道她是一位医生，某一领域的专家。我衷心希望她对病人的兴趣要远远大于对服饰的兴趣——哦！那样的人，哪个男人会看她第二眼？”
这时，身材苗条、肤色黝黑、戴夹鼻眼镜的詹森小姐走进这个时尚沙龙。
“贝特顿太太，您都处理完了吗？”她问道。
“是的，谢谢。”希拉里回答。
“那么您来见见副院长吧。”
希拉里用法语告别了拉罗什小姐，跟着办事认真的詹森小姐走了。
“谁是副院长啊？”希拉里问道。
“尼尔森博士。”
希拉里的第一反应是这里的所有人都是什么博士。
“那谁是尼尔森博士呢？”她又问道，“他是医生还是科学家之类的？ [1] ”
“哦，他不是医生，贝特顿太太，他负责管理和行政工作，也处理投诉。他是这个组织的行政主管。每个到这里的新人都要和他聊聊，之后我想您就不会再见到他了，除非发生了非常要紧的事情。”
“我明白了。”希拉里谦卑地说。对方的严肃态度让她觉得有些好笑。
尼尔森博士的办公室外有两间接待室，速记员们正忙着。希拉里和她的向导得到允许后走进了里面的私人办公室，尼尔森博士从一张大写字台后站起来。他身形高大，气色极好，举止文雅。虽然他只有轻微的口音，但希拉里觉得他一定有美国血统。
“哦！”他走上前去和希拉里握手，“这位是……是的……让我瞧瞧——是的，贝特顿太太。欢迎您来到这里，贝特顿太太，希望您喜欢这儿。对您在旅程中经历的那次不幸的意外我深感同情，也很高兴地看到结果并不太糟。是的，您幸运地来到了这里。真是非常幸运。哦，您的丈夫都等您等得不耐烦了，现在您既然来了，我希望您能安定下来，与我们一道快乐地生活。”
“谢谢您，尼尔森博士。”希拉里坐在尼尔森博士拖来的椅子上。
“您有什么问题想问我吗？”尼尔森博士又坐回桌边，身子前倾，一副鼓励希拉里提问的样子。
希拉里微微一笑。
“这个问题可真难回答啊！”她说，“说实话，我有太多问题想问了，就是不知该从哪个问起。”
“确实，确实，我能理解。我的建议是——这只是个建议，没有其他意思——什么都别问，顺其自然，看看会发生什么。这是最好的方式，相信我。”
“我觉得自己一无所知，”希拉里说道，“这里的一切都非常……非常出人意料。”
“是的，大多数人都这么认为。大家来时普遍认为自己会被带到莫斯科。”他欢快地笑了起来，“我们这个荒漠之家确实让大多数人颇为震惊。”
“这对我来说真是惊讶极了。”
“嗯，我们事先不会透露太多消息。可能会有人不够慎重，您知道的，慎重非常重要。
但您在这里会很舒适，您会发现的。遇到任何您不喜欢的——或者非常想要的……只需提出要求，我们就会努力想办法！比如艺术类的要求，绘画、雕塑、音乐之类的，我们有一个部门专门负责这类事情。”
“我恐怕没有这方面的天赋。”
“嗯……这里也是有社交活动的。通过一些比赛，您知道的。我们有几个网球场和壁球场。其实只要一两个星期就能认识些朋友，特别是随行的太太们，如果我能这么说的话。
丈夫们有工作要忙，因此有时候，随行的太太就需要花一点时间……嗯，找到能聊得来的其他太太。就是这样的。您能听明白吧？”
“但是要一直……一直……待在这里吗？”
“待在这里？我不是太明白，贝特顿太太。”
“我的意思是，是要一直待在这里，还是之后会去别处？”
尼尔森博士的态度变得暧昧起来。
“哦，”他说，“这取决于您的丈夫。哦，是的，是的，这在很大程度上取决于他。有很多种可能。很多种。但现在最好先别说这个。我建议您，嗯……三个星期后再来见我，告诉我您是如何安顿下来的。到时我们再聊这类事情。”
“那么……能外出吗？”
“贝特顿太太，外出？”
“我的意思是走到墙外。走出大门。”
“您会这么问是再自然不过的了。”尼尔森博士此时表现得非常非常慈祥，“是的，很自然。大多数人刚来时都会问这个问题。但我们组织的宗旨是：这里就是一个世界。因此没必要出去，希望我这么表达您能理解。外面只有一片荒漠。贝特顿太太，接下来我要说的并不是针对您，确实大多数人刚来到这里时都会患上轻微的幽闭恐惧症，这是鲁贝克博士告诉我的。但我向您保证，这种感觉很快就会过去。要我说，这只是你从过去那个世界带来的遗留物。贝特顿太太，您观察过蚁穴吗？非常奇妙的景观。非常有意思，非常吸引人。成千上万只黑色小蚂蚁匆忙来去，那么热诚，那么急切，那么有目的性，但整个画面看起来乱作一团。您离开的那个糟糕的世界也是这样的。但我向您保证，这里平和安逸，未来可期，有无限的时光。”他笑了起来，“是一片人间乐土。”
注释：
[1]原文Doctor有医生和博士两个含义。
Thirteen
Thirteen
“It’s like a school,” said Hilary.
She was back once more in her own apartment. The clothes and ac-cessories she had chosen were awaiting her in the bedroom. She hung theclothes in the cupboard and arranged the other things to her liking.
“I know,” said Betterton, “I felt like that at first.”
Their conversation was wary and slightly stilted. The shadow of a pos-sible microphone still hung over them. He said in an oblique manner:
“I think it’s all right, you know. I think I was probably imagining things.
But all the same. .?.?.”
He left it at that, and Hilary realized that what he had left unsaid was,“but all the same, we had better be careful.”
The whole business was, Hilary thought, like some fantastic nightmare.
Here she was, sharing a bedroom with a strange man, and yet so strongwas the feeling of uncertainty, and danger, that to neither of them did theintimacy appear embarrassing. It was like, she thought, climbing a Swissmountain where you share a hut in close proximity with guides and otherclimbers as a matter of course. After a minute or two Betterton said:
“It all takes a bit of getting used to, you know. Let’s just be very natural.
Very ordinary. More or less as if we were at home still.”
She realized the wisdom of that. The feeling of unreality persisted andwould persist, she supposed, some little time. The reasons for Bettertonleaving England, his hopes, his disillusionment, could not be touched uponbetween them at this moment. They were two people playing a part withan undefined menace hanging over them, as it were. She said presently:
“I was taken through a lot of formalities. Medical, psychological and allthat.”
“Yes. That’s always done. It’s natural, I suppose.”
“Did the same happen to you?”
“More or less.”
“Then I went in to see the—Deputy Director I think they called him?”
“That’s right. He runs this place. Very capable and a thoroughly good ad-ministrator.”
“But he’s not really the head of it all?”
“Oh no, there’s the Director himself.”
“Does one—do I—shall I see the Director?”
“Sooner or later I expect. But he doesn’t often appear. He gives us an ad-dress from time to time—he’s got a wonderfully stimulating personality.”
There was a faint frown between Betterton’s brows and Hilary thoughtit wise to abandon the subject. Betterton said, glancing at a watch:
“Dinner is at eight. Eight to eight-thirty, that is. We’d better be gettingdown, if you’re ready?”
He spoke exactly as though they were staying in a hotel.
Hilary had changed into the dress she had selected. A soft shade of grey-green that made a good background for her red hair. She clasped a neck-lace of rather attractive costume jewellery round her neck and said shewas ready. They went down the stairs and along corridors and finally intoa large dining room. Miss Jennson came forward and met them.
“I have arranged a slightly larger table for you, Tom,” she said to Better-ton. “A couple of your wife’s fellow travellers will sit with you—and theMurchisons, of course.”
They went along to the table indicated. The room contained mostlysmall tables seating four, eight or ten persons. Andy Peters and Ericssonwere already sitting at the table and rose as Hilary and Tom approached.
Hilary introduced her “husband” to the two men. They sat down, andpresently they were joined by another couple. These Betterton introducedas Dr. and Mrs. Murchison.
“Simon and I work in the same lab,” he said, in an explanatory fashion.
Simon Murchison was a thin, anaemic- looking young man of abouttwenty-six. His wife was dark and stocky. She spoke with a strong foreignaccent and was, Hilary gathered, an Italian. Her Christian name was Bi-anca. She greeted Hilary politely but, or so it seemed to Hilary, with a cer-tain reserve.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I will show you around the place. You are not ascientist, no?”
“I’m afraid,” said Hilary, “that I have had no scientific training.” She ad-ded, “I worked as a secretary before my marriage.”
“Bianca has had legal training,” said her husband. “She has studied eco-nomics and commercial law. Sometimes she gives lectures here but it isdifficult to find enough to do to occupy one’s time.”
Bianca shrugged her shoulders.
“I shall manage,” she said. “After all, Simon, I came here to be with youand I think that there is much here that could be better organized. I amstudying conditions. Perhaps Mrs. Betterton, since she will not be engagedon scientific work, can help me with these things.”
Hilary hastened to agree to this plan. Andy Peters made them all laughby saying ruefully:
“I guess I feel rather like a homesick little boy who’s just gone to board-ing school. I’ll be glad to get down to doing some work.”
“It’s a wonderful place for working,” said Simon Murchison with enthu-siasm. “No interruptions and all the apparatus you want.”
“What’s your line?” asked Andy Peters.
Presently the three men were talking a jargon of their own which Hilaryfound difficult to follow. She turned to Ericsson who was leaning back inhis chair, his eyes abstracted.
“And you?” she asked. “Do you feel like a homesick little boy, too?”
He looked at her as though from a long way away.
“I do not need a home,” he said. “All these things; home, ties of affection,parents, children; all these are a great hindrance. To work one should bequite free.”
“And you feel that you will be free here?”
“One cannot tell yet. One hopes so.”
Bianca spoke to Hilary.
“After dinner,” she said, “there is a choice of many things to do. There isa card room and you can play bridge; or there is a cinema, or three nightsa week theatrical performances are given and occasionally there is dan-cing.”
Ericsson frowned disapprovingly.
“All these things are unnecessary,” he said. “They dissipate energy.”
“Not for us women,” said Bianca. “For us women they are necessary.”
He looked at her with an almost cold and impersonal dislike.
Hilary thought: “To him women are unnecessary, too.”
“I shall go to bed early,” said Hilary. She yawned deliberately. “I don’tthink I want to see a film or play bridge this evening.”
“No, dear,” said Tom Betterton hastily. “Much better to go to bed reallyearly and have a good night’s rest. You’ve had a very tiring journey, re-member.”
As they rose from table, Betterton said:
“The air here is wonderful at night. We usually take a turn or two on theroof garden after dinner, before dispersing to recreations or study. We’llgo up there for a little and then you’d better go to bed.”
They went up in a lift manned by a magnificent-looking native in whiterobes. The attendants were darker-skinned and of a more massive buildthan the slight, fair Berbers—a desert type, Hilary thought. Hilary wasstartled by the unexpected beauty of the roof garden, and also by the lav-ish expenditure that must have gone to create it. Tons of earth must havebeen brought and carried up here. The result was like an Arabian Nightsfairy tale. There was the splash of water, tall palms, the tropical leaves ofbananas and other plants and paths of beautiful coloured tiles withdesigns of Persian flowers.
“It’s unbelievable,” said Hilary. “Here in the middle of the desert.” Shespoke out what she had felt: “It’s an Arabian Nights fairy tale.”
“I agree with you, Mrs. Betterton,” said Murchison. “It looks exactly asthough it has come into being by conjuring up a djinn! Ah well—I supposeeven in the desert there’s nothing you can’t do, given water and money—plenty of both of them.”
“Where does the water come from?”
“Spring tapped deep in the mountain. That’s the raison d’être of theUnit.”
A fair sprinkling of people were on the roof garden, but little by littlethey dwindled away.
The Murchisons excused themselves. They were going to watch someballet.
There were few people left now. Betterton guided Hilary with his handon her arm to a clear space near the parapet. The stars showed abovethem and the air was cold now, crisp and exhilarating. They were alonehere. Hilary sat down on the low concrete, and Betterton stood in front ofher.
“Now then,” he said in a low nervous voice. “Who the hell are you?”
She looked up at him for a moment or two without answering. Beforeshe replied to his question there was something that she herself had toknow.
“Why did you recognize me as your wife?” she asked.
They looked at each other. Neither of them wished to be the first to an-swer the other’s question. It was a duel of wills between them, but Hilaryknew that whatever Tom Betterton had been like when he left England,his will was now inferior to her own. She had arrived here fresh in theself-confidence of organizing her own life—Tom Betterton had been livinga planned existence. She was the stronger.
He looked away from her at last, and muttered sullenly:
“It was—just an impulse. I was probably a damned fool. I fancied thatyou might have been sent—to get me out of here.”
“You want to get out of here, then?”
“My God, can you ask?”
“How did you get here from Paris?”
Tom Betterton gave a short unhappy laugh.
“I wasn’t kidnapped or anything like that, if that’s what you mean. Icame of my own free will, under my own steam. I came keenly and enthu-siastically.”
“You knew that you were coming here?”
“I’d no idea I was coming to Africa, if that’s what you mean. I wascaught by the usual lure. Peace on earth, free sharing of scientific secretsamongst the scientists of the world; suppression of capitalists and war-mongers—all the usual jargon! That fellow Peters who came with you isthe same, he’s swallowed the same bait.”
“And when you got here—it wasn’t like that?”
Again he gave that short bitter laugh.
“You’ll see for yourself. Oh, perhaps it is that, more or less! But it’s notthe way you thought it would be. It’s not—freedom.”
He sat down beside her frowning to himself.
“That’s what got me down at home, you know. The feeling of beingwatched and spied upon. All the security precautions. Having to accountfor one’s actions, for one’s friends .?.?. All necessary, I dare say, but it getsyou down in the end .?.?. And so when someone comes along with a pro-position—well, you listen .?.?. It all sounds fine .?.?.” He gave a short laugh.
“And one ends up—here!”
Hilary said slowly:
“You mean you’ve come to exactly the same circumstances as thosefrom which you tried to escape? You’re being watched and spied upon injust the same way—or worse?”
Betterton pushed his hair back nervously from his forehead.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly. I don’t know. I can’t be sure. It maybe all going on in my own mind. I don’t know that I’m being watched atall. Why should I be? Why should they bother? They’ve got me here—inprison.”
“It isn’t in the least as you imagined it?”
“That’s the odd thing. I suppose it is in a way. The working conditionsare perfect. You’ve every facility, every kind of apparatus. You can workfor as long a time as you like or as short a time. You’ve got every comfortand accessory. Food, clothes, living-quarters, but you’re conscious all thetime that you’re in prison.”
“I know. When the gates clanged behind us today as we came in it was ahorrible feeling.” Hilary shuddered.
“Well,” Betterton seemed to pull himself together. “I’ve answered yourquestion. Now answer mine. What are you doing here pretending to beOlive?”
“Olive—” she stopped, feeling for words.
“Yes? What about Olive? What’s happened to her? What are you tryingto say?”
She looked with pity at his haggard, nervous face.
“I’ve been dreading having to tell you.”
“You mean—something’s happened to her?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, terribly sorry .?.?. Your wife’s dead .?.?. She was coming tojoin you and the plane crashed. She was taken to hospital and died twodays later.”
He stared straight ahead of him. It was as though he was determined toshow no emotion of any kind. He said quietly:
“So Olive’s dead? I see. .?.?.”
There was a long silence. Then he turned to her.
“All right. I can go on from there. You took her place and came here,why?”
This time Hilary was ready with her response. Tom Betterton had be-lieved that she had been sent “to get him out of here” as he had put it. Thatwas not the case. Hilary’s position was that of a spy. She had been sent togain information, not to plan the escape of a man who had placed himselfwillingly in the position he now was. Moreover, she could command nomeans of deliverance, she was a prisoner as much as he was.
To confide in him fully would, she felt, be dangerous. Betterton was verynear a breakdown. At any moment he might go completely to pieces. Inthose circumstances it would be madness to expect him to keep a secret.
She said:
“I was in the hospital with your wife when she died. I offered to take herplace and try and reach you. She wanted to get a message to you verybadly.”
He frowned.
“But surely—”
She hurried on—before he could realize the weakness of the tale.
“It’s not so incredible as it sounds. You see I had a lot of sympathy withall these ideas—the ideas you’ve just been talking about. Scientific secretsshared with all nations—a new World Order. I was enthusiastic about itall. And then my hair—if what they expected was a red-haired woman ofthe right age, I thought I’d get through. It seemed worth trying anyway.”
“Yes,” he said. His eyes swept over her head. “Your hair’s exactly likeOlive’s.”
“And then, you see, your wife was so insistent—about the message shewanted me to give to you.”
“Oh yes, the message. What message?”
“To tell you to be careful—very careful—that you were in danger—fromsomeone called Boris?”
“Boris? Boris Glydr, do you mean?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve never met him. But I know him by name. He’s a relation of my firstwife’s. I know about him.”
“Why should he be dangerous?”
“What?”
He spoke absently.
Hilary repeated her question.
“Oh, that.” He seemed to come back from far away. “I don’t know whyhe should be dangerous to me, but it’s true that by all accounts he’s a dan-gerous sort of chap.”
“In what way?”
“Well, he’s one of those half-balmy idealists who would quite happilykill off half humanity if they thought for some reason it would be a goodthing.”
“I know the sort of person you mean.”
She felt she did know—vividly. (But why?)
“Had Olive seen him? What did he say to her?”
“I can’t tell you. That’s all she said. About danger—oh yes, she said ‘thatshe couldn’t believe it.’”
“Believe what?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated a minute and then said, “You see—she wasdying. .?.?.”
A spasm of pain convulsed his face.
“I know .?.?. I know .?.?. I shall get used to it in time. At the moment I can’trealize it. But I’m puzzled about Boris. How could he be dangerous to mehere? If he’d seen Olive, he was in London, I suppose?”
“He was in London, yes.”
“Then I simply don’t get it .?.?. Oh well, what does it matter? What thehell does anything matter? Here we are, stuck in this bloody Unit surroun-ded by a lot of inhuman Robots. .?.?.”
“That’s just how they felt to me.”
“And we can’t get out.” He pounded with his fist on the concrete. “Wecan’t get out.”
“Oh yes, we can,” said Hilary.
He turned to stare at her in surprise.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“We’ll find a way,” said Hilary.
“My dear girl,” his laugh was scornful. “You haven’t the faintest ideawhat you’re up against in this place.”
“People escaped from the most impossible places during the war,” saidHilary stubbornly. She was not going to give in to despair. “They tun-nelled, or something.”
“How can you tunnel through sheer rock? And where to? It’s desert allround.”
“Then it will have to be ‘or something.’ ”
He looked at her. She smiled with a confidence that was dogged ratherthan genuine.
“What an extraordinary girl you are! You sound quite sure of yourself.”
“There’s always a way. I dare say it will take time, and a lot of plan-ning.”
His face clouded over again.
“Time,” he said. “Time .?.?. That’s what I can’t afford.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know exactly whether you’ll be able to understand .?.?. It’s likethis. I can’t really—do my stuff here.” She frowned.
“How do you mean?”
“How shall I put it? I can’t work. I can’t think. In my stuff one has tohave a high degree of concentration. A lot of it is—well—creative. Sincecoming here I’ve just lost the urge. All I can do is good sound hackwork.
The sort of thing any twopenny- halfpenny scientific chap can do. Butthat’s not what they brought me here for. They want original stuff and Ican’t do original stuff. And the more nervous and afraid I get, the less I’mfit to turn out anything worth turning out. And it’s driving me off myrocker, do you see?”
Yes, she saw now. She recalled Dr. Rubec’s remarks about prima donnasand scientists.
“If I can’t deliver the goods, what is an outfit like this going to do aboutit? They’ll liquidate me.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes they will. They’re not sentimentalists here. What’s saved me sofar is this plastic surgery business. They do it a little at a time, you know.
And naturally a fellow who’s having constant minor operations can’t beexpected to concentrate. But they’ve finished the business now.”
“But why was it done at all? What’s the point?”
“Oh, that! For safety. My safety, I mean. It’s done if—if you’re a ‘wanted’
man.”
“Are you a ‘wanted’ man, then?”
“Yes, didn’t you know? Oh, I suppose they wouldn’t advertise the fact inthe papers. Perhaps even Olive didn’t know. But I’m wanted rightenough.”
“You mean for—treason is the word, isn’t it? You mean you’ve sold thematom secrets?”
He avoided her eyes.
“I didn’t sell anything. I gave them what I knew of our processes—gaveit freely. If you can believe me, I wanted to give it to them. It was part ofthe whole set-up—the pooling of scientific knowledge. Oh, can’t you un-derstand?”
She could understand. She could understand Andy Peters doing justthat. She could see Ericsson with his fanatical dreamer’s eyes betrayinghis country with a high-souled enthusiasm.
Yet it was hard for her to visualize Tom Betterton doing it—and she real-ized with a shock that all that showed was the difference between Better-ton a few months ago, arriving in all the zeal of enthusiasm, and Bettertonnow, nervous, defeated, down to earth — an ordinary, badly frightenedman.
Even as she accepted the logic of that, Betterton looked round himnervously and said:
“Everyone’s gone down. We’d better—”
She rose.
“Yes. But it’s all right, you know. They’ll think it quite natural—underthe circumstances.”
He said awkwardly:
“We’ll have to go on with this now, you know. I mean—you’ll have to goon being—my wife.”
“Of course.”
“And we’ll have to share a room and all that. But it will be quite all right.
I mean, you needn’t be afraid that—”
He swallowed in an embarrassed manner.
“How handsome he is,” thought Hilary, looking at his profile, “and howlittle it moves me. .?.?.”
“I don’t think we need worry about that,” she said cheerfully. “The im-portant thing is to get out of here alive.”
第十三章
第十三章
“这里就像一所学校。”希拉里说道。
她再次回到了自己的房间，刚才挑选的衣服和配饰都已经在她的卧室了。她把衣服挂进衣橱里，其他东西也按喜好放好。
“是的，”贝特顿说，“最初我也有这种感觉。”
他们之间的谈话很谨慎，还有点不自然。房内可能装有窃听器的阴云仍飘在他们头顶。他委婉地说道：“但我认为这没什么，你知道的，我觉得可能是想得太多了。不过当然……”
他就点到为止，希拉里知道他没有说出口的话是“不过当然我们还是小心点为好”。
希拉里觉得整件事就是一场奇异的噩梦。她在这里，跟一位陌生男子共享一间卧室，但强烈的非现实感和危险感让这种亲密都不那么尴尬了。她想，这就像在瑞士登山时和向导及其他登山者分享一间小屋一样理所当然。
一两分钟之后，贝特顿又说道：“当然，需要努力适应这里。让我们放松点儿，平常些，就好像我们仍然待在家里。”
希拉里听出了话里的深意。非现实感还会持续一段时间，但此时不能触及贝特顿离开英国的原因、他的愿望、他是否感到幻灭这类话题。他们两人正在不确定的威胁之下扮演属于自己的角色。于是她马上说道：“我刚才被带去办了很多手续。体检，心理测试之类的。”
“是的，大家都这样。我认为这是应有的流程。”
“你也被检查过吗？”
“差不多吧。”
“接着我去见了副院长——我想他们是这样称呼他的。”
“是的，他掌管这里，是一个非常称职、非常认真的好领导。”
“但是他并不是最高领导吧？”
“哦，不是的，还有院长。”
“还要……我还要……去见院长吗？”
“我想你会见到他的。他不常在，有时过来看我们一下——他拥有鼓舞人心的人格魅力。”
贝特顿微微皱起了眉，希拉里觉得最好放弃这个话题。贝特顿看着表，说：“晚餐是八点。八点到八点三十。我们最好现在就下楼去，你准备好了吗？”
他说的好像他们正住在酒店里一样。
希拉里穿上她刚挑选的衣服，一条柔软的灰绿色连衣裙，很好地衬托了她的红发。她戴上一条非常漂亮的人造珠宝项链，说她一切就绪。他们下了楼，顺着走廊走到一间巨大的餐厅。詹森小姐走上前来迎接他们。
“汤姆，我给你安排了一张稍大的桌子。”她对贝特顿说道，“与您夫人一起来的两位同行者会跟你们坐在一起，当然了，还有莫奇森夫妇。”
他们走向那张桌子。厅里放着四人桌、八人桌或十人桌。安迪•彼得斯和埃里克森已经坐在桌边了，看到希拉里和汤姆走过来，他们赶忙站起来迎接。希拉里向两个人介绍了自己的“丈夫”。他们坐了下来，很快，另一对夫妇也加入进来。贝特顿介绍说他们是莫奇森博士和他的太太。
“西蒙和我在同一个实验室工作。”他解释道。
西蒙•莫奇森大概二十六岁，身形瘦削，像患有贫血症。他的妻子肤色较深，矮胖结实。她说起话来带有浓重的外国口音，希拉里判断她是一名意大利人。她的教名是比安卡。她彬彬有礼地向希拉里问好，但在希拉里看来她似乎有所保留。
“明天，”她说道，“我带着你去四处转转。你不是科学家，对吗？”
“我想我没接受过科学专业教育。”希拉里应道，“结婚前我是一位秘书。”
“比安卡学过法律。”她丈夫说道，“她学过经济和经济法，有时候她会在这里开班教学。在这里想找到足够多的事情填满时间可不容易。”
比安卡耸耸肩。
“我会处理好的。”她说道，“当然，西蒙，我来这里是陪你的，但我觉得也可以在这里做些事。我正在调查客观条件，可能贝特顿太太能帮助我做些事，鉴于她并不需要做什么科学研究。”
希拉里连忙对此计划表示赞同。这时安迪•彼得斯委屈地说：“我觉得自己就像刚上寄宿学校的小男孩，开始想家了。我很乐意沉下心来做一些事。”这话逗得大家都笑了起来。
“这里是理想的工作场所。”西蒙•莫奇森充满热情地说，“没有干扰，却有你需要的所有设备。”
“您是研究什么的？”安迪•彼得斯问道。
不一会儿，这三个男人就谈论起了各自的专业，希拉里听不懂了。她转向靠着椅背的埃里克森，发现他看上去有点双眼无神。
她问道：“那么你呢？是否也觉得自己像个思念家乡的小男孩？”
他看向她，仿佛他们之间隔得很远。
“我不需要家。”他说，“所有这些东西：家庭，爱的牵绊，父母，孩子，这些都是巨大的负担。人必须完全自由才能好好工作。”
“那你在这里感到自由了吗？”
“目前还说不准。希望如此吧。”
比安卡对希拉里说道：“晚餐后有许多事可做。这里有一间棋牌室，您可以在那里打桥牌；还有电影院，每周三有话剧演出；偶尔还有舞会。”
埃里克森略显厌恶地皱起眉，说道：“这类事都不值得做，只会损耗精力。”
“对我们女人来说可不是这样，”比安卡说道，“对我们女人来说，这些事是必须做的。”
埃里克森用冷酷得近乎没有人情味的厌恶眼神看着她。
希拉里心想：对他来说，女人都不是必需的。
“我想早点休息。”希拉里说，并故意打了个哈欠，“今晚就不看电影或打桥牌了。”
“是啊，亲爱的，最好早点上床休息，好好睡一觉。”贝特顿连忙应道，“我忘了，你刚到，这一路太辛苦了。”
众人从桌边站起身时贝特顿说道：“晚上的空气非常好。晚饭后我们常去屋顶花园散散步，然后再各自去工作或消遣。我们先去上面待一会儿吧，然后你就去休息。”
他们搭乘电梯上楼顶，开电梯的是一位身穿白袍、长相俊朗的本地人。这里的服务人员都比纤瘦漂亮的柏柏尔族人皮肤更黑、身材更壮，希拉里觉得他们更像生活在荒漠的人种。顶层花园的美景深深震撼了希拉里，同时她想到建造这么一座花园所花费的资金。成吨的泥土被运过来，再抬到房顶，最终打造出一个仿若《一千零一夜》里的神话世界。这里有喷泉、高大的棕榈树、香蕉树和各式植物，小径是由绘有波斯花纹的漂亮彩色瓷砖铺成的。
“这真是超乎想象，在沙漠的中心。”她将自己的感受说了出来，“这简直就是《一千零一夜》。”
“我同意您的说法，贝特顿太太，”莫奇森说，“就像是被灯神带进了仙境！啊，只要有水源和金钱，我想即便在沙漠里也没有什么是做不到的——只是水和钱都要足够多。”
“这水是从哪里来的？”
“从大山深处引来的泉水。这是组织存续的基础。”
他们上来时屋顶花园里有不少人，但现在都走得差不多了。
莫奇森夫妇也告别了，他们要去看芭蕾舞表演。
没几个人了。贝特顿挽着希拉里，把她带到一处靠近栏杆的僻静地方。头顶繁星满天，四周空气清冷，令人愉悦。他们两个人终于独处了。希拉里坐在一个矮水泥凳上，贝特顿站在她身前。
“那么，”他压低声音说道，“你究竟是谁？”
她抬头看了他一会儿，没有回答。在回答他的问题之前，她想先搞明白一些事。
“你为什么把我认作妻子？”她问道。
他们互相打量着对方，谁也不愿意先回答对方的问题。这是一场意志力的斗争，但是希拉里知道，无论汤姆•贝特顿离开英国时什么样，此时他的意志力肯定不如她。她是怀着重组生活的自信来到这里的，而汤姆•贝特顿的失踪是事先安排好的。因此她更强大。
最终，他将视线从她身上移开，低声说道：“那不过……是我一时冲动。我是个该死的蠢蛋。我以为你是被派来……带我离开这里的人。”
“那么，你确实想离开这里，对吗？”
“天哪，这还用问吗？”
“你是怎么从巴黎来这里的？”
汤姆•贝特顿苦笑了一下。
“不是被绑架来的，如果你是这个意思的话。我来这里是出于本意，通过我自己的努力，带着满腔热情，迫切地来到这里。”
“你知道自己会来到这里吗？”
“我不知会到非洲来，如果你是这个意思的话。我也被诱惑吸引了。世界和平，全球的科学家自由分享科学的秘密；推翻资本主义，打倒战争贩子——这些惯常套话！那个和你一起来的彼得斯也是被这样的话给骗来的，他也上当了。”
“然后你到这里以后……发现并不是这样的？”
贝特顿再次露出苦笑。
“你会明白的。哦，可能这里本没有错，只是不是我想象的那样。这里……不自由。”
他坐在她旁边，皱起眉头。
“你知道在英国时我为何那么失落吗，是因为时刻有被监视、被审查的感觉。那些安全防范措施。做什么都要解释，亲朋好友的身份都要审查……我知道这些是必要的，但真的会让人失落……而恰在此时，有人来跟你说了某种主张……嗯，你听了……觉得还不错……”他微微一笑，“于是就……来到了这里！”
希拉里缓缓地说：“你的意思是，这里其实和你试图逃离的环境是差不多的？你依旧被监视、被审查——或者情况更糟糕？”
贝特顿紧张不安地拢起搭在前额的头发。
“我不知道。”他说，“坦白来说我并不知道。不确定。可能只是我自己乱想的。我不知道自己是否被监视着。监视我是为了什么？为什么做这么麻烦的事？他们已经把我带到这里了——关进了监狱。”
“难道这里没有一处与你所想的一致吗？”
“这就是最奇怪的地方。我想从某方面来说其实是我所想的，这里有完美的工作条件。
拥有所有的设备，各式各样的仪器。你愿意工作多久就工作多久，想少做一些也可以。在这里生活很舒适，物资充足，食物，衣服，住所……但你就是时刻觉得自己是在监狱里。”
“我明白。今天到这儿的时候，大门关上的那一刻简直恐怖极了。”希拉里颤抖着说。
“现在，”贝特顿像是打起了精神，“我已经回答了你的问题，该你回答我的问题了。你伪装成奥利芙来这里，有什么目的？”
“奥利芙……”她停住了，不知道该怎么说。
“嗯？奥利芙怎么了？她遇到了什么事吗？你想说什么？”
她同情地看着贝特顿那张憔悴不安的脸。
“我有点不敢告诉你。”
“你的意思是……她出了什么事？”
“是的。我很遗憾，遗憾极了……你的妻子她死了……她要来见你，但是飞机坠毁了。
她被送去了医院，两天之后去世了。”
他直直地望向前方，好像在极力抑制自己表露出任何感情。接着他平静地说：“这么说奥利芙死了？我知道了……”
接下来是长时间的沉默。然后他转向她，说：“好吧，现在接着说吧。你顶替她来到了这里，为什么？”
这一次希拉里准备好答案了。汤姆•贝特顿以为她是被派来“带他从这里离开”的，但事实并非如此。希拉里是一个间谍。她是来搜寻情报的，而不是为了搭救这么一个自愿来这里的男人。况且她根本救不了他，她自己也同样是个犯人。
她感觉此时全盘托出有些危险，贝特顿濒临崩溃边缘，随时都有可能彻底崩溃。在这样的情况下，可不能指望他保守秘密。
她说道：“你妻子死的时候我在她身边，于是我提出代替她设法去找你。因为她急切地想向你传达一个消息。”
贝特顿皱起眉。
她连忙说下去，趁他还没觉察到这个故事的漏洞。
“确实……听起来很不可思议。你看，我很赞同那些观点，你刚才谈到的观点——共享科学秘密：一个新的世界。这也让我激动万分。加上我的头发，如果他们只知道要来一个年龄相当的红发女人，我想我能蒙混过关。总之看起来值得一试。”
“是的。”他说道，眼睛扫过她的头发，“你的头发跟奥利芙的很像。”
“再加上，你看，你的妻子她非常迫切，迫切地想向你传达那个消息。”
“哦，是啊，那个消息是什么消息？”
“她想告诉你要小心，非常小心，你正处在危险中。要留意一个叫鲍里斯的人。”
“鲍里斯？鲍里斯•格莱德尔，是这个人吗？”
“是的，你知道他？”
他摇摇头。
“从没见过，但我知道这个名字。他是我前妻的一个亲戚，我听说过他。”
“为什么说他危险？”
“什么？”贝特顿机械性地应道。
希拉里又重复了一遍问题。
“啊，这个。”他的思绪似乎从很远的地方转了回来，“我也不知道为什么他对我来说是危险的。但是从各个方面来说，他确实是个危险的家伙。”
“从哪方面？”
“嗯，他是那种有些疯狂的理想主义者，会为了某种他们认为是正确的原因而愉快地杀掉一半人类。”
“我知道你说的那类人。”
希拉里觉得她真的知道——仿佛就在眼前。（但为什么会有这样的感觉？）“奥利芙见过他了吗？他对奥利芙说了些什么？”
“我不知道。她就说了刚才那些话，危险什么的……哦对，她说‘真不敢相信’。”
“相信什么？”
“我不知道。”她迟疑了一下，接着说，“你看，那时她就快死了……”
痛苦扭曲了他的脸。
“我知道……我知道……我会慢慢适应的，眼下我还无法相信。但是，鲍里斯，我很困惑，我在这里，他要怎么伤害到我呢？如果他曾见过奥利芙，那么我想他应该在伦敦？”
“他是在伦敦，是的。”
“那我就不明白了……唉，不过又有什么关系呢？到底有什么关系呢？我们在这里，被困在这样一个残暴的组织里，周围都是毫无人性的机器人……”
“这也是他们给我的感觉。”
“并且我们逃不了。”他扬起拳头砸在水泥凳上，“我们逃不了。”
“不，我们可以。”希拉里说。
他惊讶地盯着她。
“你在说什么？”
“我们会找到办法的。”希拉里说。
“我亲爱的姑娘，”他嘲讽地笑道，“你一点都不明白在这个地方所面临的是什么。”
“在战时，人们能从最不可能的地方逃脱。”希拉里倔强地说，她不准备向绝望妥协，“挖地道，或做其他事。”
“可你怎么在岩石层挖地道？要挖到哪里？这里四面都是荒漠。”
“那么只好去尝试‘做其他事’了。”
他看着她。她自信满满地笑着，与其说是发自内心地相信不如说是一种坚持。
“你可真是个特别的姑娘！对自己信心十足。”
“总能找到办法的。只是我想需要时间和制订计划。”
阴云再次笼罩了贝特顿的脸。
“时间。”他说道，“时间……这正是我提供不了的。”
“为什么？”
“我不知道你能否理解……是这样的，在这里我做不了事。”
“什么意思？”
“该怎么说呢？我无法工作，无法思考。我的工作需要高度集中精力，大部分工作是需要……嗯……创造性的。但自从来到这里，我就失去了创造的动力，只能做一些苦力工作，任何一个拙劣的科学界同行都能做的事。但他们把我带到这里不是为了做这些事的，他们需要一些原创性的东西，而我创造不出原创性的东西。而且我越是紧张害怕，就越研究不出什么有价值的成果。这快把我逼疯了，你能明白吗？”
是的，她现在明白了。她回忆起鲁贝克博士关于女歌剧家和科学家的话。
“如果我不能提供什么有价值的东西，这个机构会怎么处理我呢？他们会清除我的。”
“哦，不会的！”
“不，他们一定会的。这里的人根本不具备情感。让我得以活到现在的原因是我在做整容手术，你知道的，这种手术一次只能进行一点点。一个不断接受小手术的人怎么集中精力啊！但现在手术做完了。”
“为什么要做整容手术？意义何在？”
“你问这个！是为了安全。我指的是我的安全。所有……‘被通缉的人’都要做这种手术。”
“你‘被通缉’了？”
“是的，你不知道吗？哦，我想这种事不会登在报纸上的。可能连奥利芙都不知道。但我确实被通缉了。”
“是因为……叛国罪吗？你把原子研发机密卖给其他人了？”
他避开了她的视线。
“我没有出卖任何东西。我把我知道的实验进程告诉了他们——免费的。我是主动告诉他们的，如果你愿意相信我。作为整个体系的一部分，加入到这个科学泳池。你能明白吗？”
希拉里明白。她明白安迪•彼得斯也想这么做。她还曾见过埃里克森眼里带着狂热，以一种高尚的激情背叛自己的祖国。
但眼下汤姆•贝特顿说出这一切的时候，她有点难以接受。并且，她惊讶地发现贝特顿在这几个月内的变化：充满热情地来到这里，现在却紧张，沮丧，自卑，变成了一个被吓坏了的普通男人。
希拉里慢慢接受了这里的逻辑。这时贝特顿紧张地环视四周，说：“大家都下去了，我们最好……”
她站了起来。
“嗯，其实也没什么，你知道的，他们会认为这再自然不过了——在这种情况下。”他有些尴尬地说，“我们还要继续演戏，你知道的。我的意思是……你必须继续扮演……我的妻子。”
“当然。”
“我们要在一间屋子里生活之类的。但不会发生什么的，我的意思是，你不要担心……”
他不好意思再说下去了。
他是多么英俊啊，希拉里看着贝特顿的脸，心里想着，可我怎么一点都不心动呢……“我觉得我们现在不应该担心那些事，”希拉里欢快地说，“最重要的是，如何活着离开这里。”
Fourteen
Fourteen
In a room at the H?tel Mamounia, Marrakesh, the man called Jessop wastalking to Miss Hetherington. A different Miss Hetherington this, from theone that Hilary had known at Casablanca and at Fez. The same appear-ance, the same twin set, the same depressing hairdo. But the manner hadchanged. It was a woman now both brisk, competent, and seeming manyyears younger than her appearance.
The third person in the room was a dark stocky man with intelligenteyes. He was tapping gently on the table with his fingers and humming alittle French song under his breath.
“.?.?. and as far as you know,” Jessop was saying, “those are the onlypeople she talked to at Fez?”
Janet Hetherington nodded.
“There was the Calvin Baker woman, who we’d already met at Casab-lanca. I’ll say frankly I still can’t make up my mind about her. She wentout of her way to be friendly with Olive Betterton, and with me for thatmatter. But Americans are friendly, they do enter into conversation withpeople in hotels, and they like joining them on trips.”
“Yes,” said Jessop, “it’s all a little too overt for what we’re looking for.”
“And besides,” went on Janet Hetherington, “she was on this plane, too.”
“You’re assuming,” said Jessop, “that the crash was planned. He lookedsideways towards the dark, stocky man. “What about it, Leblanc?” Leblancstopped humming his tune, and stopped his little tattoo on the table for amoment or two.
“?a se peut,” he said. “There may have been sabotage to the machineand that is why it crashed. We shall never know. The plane crashed andwent up in flames and everyone on board was killed.”
“What do you know of the pilot?”
“Alcadi? Young, reasonably competent. No more. Badly paid.” He addedthe two last words with a slight pause in front of them.
Jessop said:
“Open therefore to other employment, but presumably not a candidatefor suicide?”
“There were seven bodies,” said Leblanc. “Badly charred, unrecogniz-able, but seven bodies. One cannot get away from that.”
Jessop turned back to Janet Hetherington.
“You were saying?” he said.
“There was a French family at Fez that Mrs. Betterton exchanged a fewwords with. There was a rich Swedish business man with a glamour girl.
And the rich oil magnate, Mr. Aristides.”
“Ah,” said Leblanc, “that fabulous figure himself. What must it feel like, Ihave often asked myself, to have all the money in the world? For me,” headded frankly, “I would keep racehorses and women, and all the worldhas to offer. But old Aristides shuts himself up in his castle in Spain—liter-ally his castle in Spain, mon cher—and collects, so they say, Chinese potteryof the Sung period. But one must remember,” he added, “that he is at leastseventy. It is possible at that age that Chinese pottery is all that interestsone.”
“According to the Chinese themselves,” said Jessop, “the years betweensixty and seventy are the most rich in living and one is then most appreci-ative of the beauty and delight of life.”
“Pas moi!” said Leblanc.
“There were some Germans at Fez, too,” continued Janet Hetherington,“but as far as I know they didn’t exchange any remarks with Olive Better-ton.”
“A waiter or a servant, perhaps,” said Jessop.
“That’s always possible.”
“And she went out into the old town alone, you say?”
“She went with one of the regular guides. Someone may have contactedher on that tour.”
“At any rate she decided quite suddenly to go to Marrakesh.”
“Not suddenly,” she corrected him. “She already had her reservations.”
“Ah, I’m wrong,” said Jessop. “What I mean is that Mrs. Calvin Baker de-cided rather suddenly to accompany her.” He got up and paced up anddown. “She flew to Marrakesh,” he said, “and the plane crashed and camedown in flames. It seems ill-omened, does it not, for anyone called OliveBetterton to travel by air. First the crash near Casablanca, and then thisone. Was it an accident or was it contrived? If there were people whowished to get rid of Olive Betterton, there would be easier ways to do itthan by wrecking a plane, I should say.”
“One never knows,” said Leblanc. “Understand me, mon cher. Once youhave got into that state of mind where the taking of human lives no longercounts, then if it is simpler to put a little explosive package under a seat ina plane than to wait about at the corner on a dark night and stick a knifeinto someone, then the package will be left and the fact that six otherpeople will die also is not even considered.”
“Of course,” said Jessop, “I know I’m in a minority of one, but I still thinkthere’s a third solution—that they faked the crash.”
Leblanc looked at him with interest.
“That could be done, yes. The plane could be brought down and it couldbe set on fire. But you cannot get away from the fact, mon cher Jessop, thatthere were people in the plane. The charred bodies were actually there.”
“I know,” said Jessop, “that’s the stumbling block. Oh, I’ve no doubt myideas are fantastic, but it’s such a neat ending to our hunt. Too neat. That’swhat I feel. It says finish to us. We write down R.I.P. in the margin of ourreport and it’s ended. There’s no further trail to take up.” He turned againto Leblanc. “You are having a search instituted?”
“For two days now,” said Leblanc. “Good men, too. It’s a particularlylonely spot, of course, where the plane crashed. It was off its course, bythe way.”
“Which is significant,” Jessop put in.
“The nearest villages, the nearest habitations, the nearest traces of a car,all those are being investigated fully. In this country as well as in yours,we fully realize the importance of the investigation. In France, too, wehave lost some of our best young scientists. In my opinion, mon cher, it iseasier to control temperamental opera singers than it is to control a scient-ist. They are brilliant, these young men, erratic, rebellious, and, finallyand dangerously, they are most completely credulous. What do they ima-gine goes on là bas? Sweetness and light and desire for truth and the mil-lennium? Alas, poor children, what disillusionment awaits them.”
“Let’s go over the passenger list once more,” said Jessop.
The Frenchman reached out a hand, picked it out of a wire basket andset it before his colleague. The two men pored over it together.
“Mrs. Calvin Baker, American. Mrs. Betterton, English. Torquil Ericsson,Norwegian—what do you know of him, by the way?”
“Nothing that I can recall,” said Leblanc. “He was young, not more thantwenty-seven or twenty-eight.”
“I know his name,” said Jessop, frowning. “I think—I am almost sure—that he read a paper before the Royal Society.”
“Then there is the religieuse,” Leblanc said, turning back to the list. “Sis-ter Marie something or other. Andrew Peters, also American. Dr. Barron.
That is a celebrated name, le docteur Barron. A man of great brilliance. Anexpert on virus diseases.”
“Biological warfare,” said Jessop. “It fits. It all fits.”
“A man poorly paid and discontented,” said Leblanc.
“How many going to St. Ives?” murmured Jessop.
The Frenchman shot him a quick look and he smiled apologetically.
“Just an old nursery rhyme,” he said. “For St. Ives read question mark.
Journey to nowhere.”
The telephone on the table buzzed and Leblanc picked up the receiver.
“Allo?” he said. “Qu’est-ce qu’ il y a? Ah, yes, send them up.” He turnedhis head towards Jessop. His face was suddenly alive, vigorous. “One ofmy men reporting,” he said. “They have found something. Mon chercollègue, it is possible—I say no more—possible that your optimism is justi-fied.”
A few moments later two men entered the room. The first bore a roughresemblance to Leblanc, the same type, stocky, dark, intelligent. His man-ner was respectful but exhilarated. He wore European clothes badlystained and marked, covered with dust. He had obviously just arrivedfrom a journey. With him was a native wearing the white local dress. Hehad the dignified composure of the dweller in remote places. His mannerwas courteous but not subservient. He looked with a faint wonder roundthe room whilst the other man explained things in rapid French.
“The reward was offered and circulated,” the man explained, “and thisfellow and his family and a great many of his friends have been searchingdiligently. I let him bring you the find himself as there may be questionsyou want to ask him.”
Leblanc turned to the Berber.
“You have done good work,” he said, speaking now in the man’s ownlanguage. “You have the eyes of the hawk, my father. Show us then whatyou have discovered.” From a fold in his white robe the man took out asmall object, and stepping forward laid it on the table before the French-man. It was rather a large-sized, pinkish-grey synthetic pearl.
“It is like the one shown to me and shown to others,” he said. “It is ofvalue and I have found it.”
Jessop stretched out a hand and took the pearl. From his pocket he drewout another exactly like it and examined both. Then he walked across theroom to the window, and examined them both through a powerful lens.
“Yes,” he said, “the mark is there.” There was jubilation now in his voiceand he came back to the table. “Good girl,” he said, “good girl, good girl!
She managed it!”
Leblanc was questioning the Moroccan in a rapid exchange of Arabic.
Finally he turned to Jessop.
“I make my apologies, mon cher collègue,” he said. “This pearl was foundat a distance of nearly half a mile from the flaming plane.”
“Which shows,” said Jessop, “that Olive Betterton was a survivor, andthat though seven people left Fez in the plane and seven charred bodieswere found, one of those charred bodies was definitely not hers.”
“We extend the search now,” said Leblanc. He spoke again to the Berberand the man who had brought him in. “He will be handsomely rewardedas promised,” said Leblanc, “and there will be a hunt now all over thecountryside for these pearls. They have hawk eyes, these people, and theknowledge that these are worth good money in reward will pass roundlike a grapevine. I think—I think, mon cher collègue, that we shall get res-ults! If only they have not tumbled to what she was doing.”
Jessop shook his head.
“It would be such a natural occurrence,” he said. “The sudden breakingof a necklace of costume jewellery such as most women wear, the pickingup apparently of what loose pearls she can find and stuffing them into herpocket, then a little hole in the pocket. Besides, why should they suspecther? She is Olive Betterton, anxious to join her husband.”
“We must review this matter in a new light,” said Leblanc. He drew thepassenger list towards him. “Olive Betterton. Dr. Barron,” he said, tickingoff the two names. “Two at least who are going—wherever they are going.
The American woman, Mrs. Calvin Baker. As to her we keep an openmind. Torquil Ericsson you say has read papers before the Royal Society.
The American, Peters, was described on his passport as a research chem-ist. The religieuse—well, it would make a good disguise. In fact, a wholecargo of people cleverly shepherded from different points to travel in thatone plane on that particular day. And then the plane is discovered inflames and inside it the requisite number of charred bodies. How did theymanage that, I wonder? Enfin, c’est colossal!”
“Yes,” said Jessop. “It was the final convincing touch. But we know nowthat six or seven people have started off on a fresh journey, and we knowwhere their point of departure is. What do we do next—visit the spot?”
“But precisely,” said Leblanc. “We take up advanced headquarters. If Imistake not, now that we are on the track, other evidence will come tolight.”
“If our calculations are exact,” Jessop said, “there should be results.”
The calculations were many and devious. The rate of progress of a car,the likely distance where it would refuel, possible villages where travel-lers might have stayed the night. The tracks were many and confusing,disappointments were continual, but every now and then there came apositive result.
“Voilà, mon capitaine! A search of the latrines, as you ordered. In a darkcorner of the latrine a pearl embedded in a little piece of chewing gum inthe house of one Abdul Mohammed. He and his sons have been interrog-ated. At first they denied, but at last they have confessed. A carload of sixpeople said to be from the German arch?ological expedition spent a nightat his house. Much money was paid, and they were not to mention this toanyone, the excuse being that there was some illicit digging in prospect.
Children in the village of El Kaif also have brought in two more pearls. Weknow now the direction. There is more, Monsieur le Capitaine. The hand ofFatima has been seen as you foretold. This type here, he will tell you aboutit.”
“This type” was a particularly wild-looking Berber.
“I was with my flocks,” he said, “at night and I heard a car. It passed meand as it did so I saw the sign. The hand of Fatima was outlined on oneside of it. It gleamed, I tell you, in the darkness.”
“The application of phosphorus on a glove can be very efficacious,” mur-mured Leblanc. “I congratulate you, mon cher, on that idea.”
“It’s effective,” said Jessop, “but it’s dangerous. It’s too easily noticed bythe fugitives themselves, I mean.”
Leblanc shrugged his shoulders.
“It could not be seen in daylight.”
“No, but if there was a halt and they alighted from the car in the dark-ness—”
“Even then—it is a notable Arab superstition. It is painted often on cartsand wagons. It would only be thought that some pious Muslim hadpainted it in luminous paint on his vehicle.”
“True enough. But we must be on our guard. For if our enemies did no-tice it, it is highly possible that they will lay a false trail marked for us, ofhands of Fatima in phosphorus paint.”
“Ah, as to that I agree with you. One must indeed be on one’s guard. Al-ways, always on one’s guard.”
On the following morning Leblanc had another exhibit of three falsepearls arranged in a triangle, stuck together by a little piece of chewinggum.
“This should mean,” said Jessop, “that the next stage of the journey wasby plane.”
He looked inquiringly at Leblanc.
“You are absolutely right,” said the other. “This was found on a disusedarmy airfield, in a remote and desolate place. There were signs that aplane landed and left there not long ago.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Anunknown plane,” he said; “and once again they took off for a destinationunknown. That brings us once more to a halt and we do not know wherenext to take up the trail—”
第十四章
第十四章
在马拉喀什马穆尼亚旅馆的一个房间里，那个叫杰索普的男人正跟赫瑟林顿小姐交谈着。这位赫瑟林顿小姐跟希拉里在卡萨布兰卡和菲斯见过的那个赫瑟林顿小姐不同。虽然外形相似，都穿毛衣两件套，相同的糟糕发型，但神情举止不同。这位女士聪明能干，看上去十分年轻。
房间里还有一位肤色黝黑，矮胖健壮的男子，他有一双聪慧的眼眸。他正一边用手指轻叩桌面，一边低声哼唱着一首法国小调。
“这些就是你所知道的在菲斯和她说过话的人？”杰索普说。
珍妮特•赫瑟林顿点点头。
“那个叫卡尔文•贝克的女人，我们在卡萨布兰卡时就遇到过她。坦白说，我现在还搞不清楚她这个人。她对奥利芙•贝特顿很好，对我也友善。但美国人一向友善，他们喜欢在酒店里找人攀谈，喜欢在旅途中交朋友。”
“是的。”杰索普说，“如果她就是我们要找的人的话，似乎过于明显了。”
“不过她也在那架飞机上。”珍妮特•赫瑟林顿说道。
“你认为，”杰索普说，“那起事故是预先安排好的。”他转向那个肤色黝黑、矮胖健壮的男子，“勒布朗，你怎么看？”
勒布朗停止了哼唱，叩击桌子的手指也停下了一两分钟。
“有可能。”他说道，“飞机坠毁的原因可能是有人人为破坏了飞机零件，但实情我们永远无法得知。飞机坠毁，一场大火把一切都烧光了，飞机上的人全部遇难。”
“关于那位驾驶员，有什么信息吗？”
“阿尔卡蒂？年轻，技术过硬。没别的了。”顿了一瞬后他又补充了一句，“拿到的报酬很低。”
杰索普说：“就算他想换个工作，也不至于自杀吧？”
“有七具尸体。”勒布朗说道，“全都烧焦了，无法辨认，但确实有七具尸体，无人生还。”
杰索普转向珍妮特•赫瑟林顿，说道：“你继续。”
“在菲斯与贝特顿太太交流过的人包括一个法国家庭，一位瑞典富商和一位艳光四射的女郎，还有富有的石油大亨阿里斯提德先生。”
“啊哦，”勒布朗说道，“那位传奇人物。我经常问自己，拥有全世界的财富那是一种怎样的感觉？对我而言，”他坦率地补充道，“我要良驹和美人，还有能得到的所有东西。但是据说老阿里斯提德先生一直隐居在西班牙的城堡里——他那个城堡可是真正的城堡啊，亲爱的——传闻还说他在收藏中国宋代的瓷器。要知道，他至少七十岁了。这个岁数的人恐怕只对中国瓷器感兴趣了。”
“中国人认为，”杰索普说，“六十到七十岁的人是阅历最丰富的，也是最能欣赏生命中的美好与乐趣的。”
“饶了我吧！”勒布朗说。
“在菲斯时我们还遇见了几个德国人。”珍妮特•赫瑟林顿继续说道，“但据我所知，他们都没跟贝特顿太太说过话。”
“或许还要加上服务员和酒店工作人员。”杰索普说。
“有可能。”
“你说她是独自一人前往古城区的？”
“和一位普通导游一起。那次出行中可能有人跟她接触过。”
“不管怎样，她突然就决定去马拉喀什了。”
“不算突然。”她纠正道，“她早就订好了票。”
“哦，我说错了。”杰索普说道，“我是指卡尔文•贝克太太是突然决定陪她一起去的。”他站起身来，踱着步，又说道，“她坐上了飞往马拉喀什的航班，但那架飞机坠毁了，烧成灰烬。好像只要取名叫奥利芙•贝特顿，坐上飞机都会遭遇不测，不是吗？先是在卡萨布兰卡附近失事，随后又遇到了一次。只是个巧合还是蓄谋已久的呢？我得说，如果有人想要除掉奥利芙•贝特顿，有许多比毁掉一架飞机更容易的方式。”
“可谁知道呢，”勒布朗说道，“亲爱的朋友，我的意思是，如果你在思想上认为人命无关紧要，而且比起在深夜手持匕首等在暗处伺机捅人一刀，你认为在飞机座位下面放一包炸药要容易得多，那么你就会把炸药包放在那里，根本不会考虑其他六个人的命。”
“确实如此。”杰索普说，“我知道没人认同，但我仍然认为存在另一种可能——那场事故是人为伪造的。”
勒布朗饶有兴趣地看着他。
“是的，有这个可能。飞机正常降落了，然后人为纵火。但你不能忽略这样的事实，亲爱的朋友杰索普，飞机上有人。烧焦的尸体确实在飞机上。”
“我知道，”杰索普说，“这正是整件事中让人想不明白的地方。唉，我也承认我有点异想天开了，但这场追踪以这么个结果结束，实在太干脆了。过于干脆。这就是我的感受。
我们的工作就此结束了，在报告末尾写上‘愿他们安息’，然后就结束了。没有任何可继续追查的线索了。”他再次转向勒布朗，“你调查了吗？”
“调查两天了。”勒布朗说，“派了最好的人。飞机坠毁的地方十分荒凉。顺便一提，那里不在航线内。”
“这一点很重要。”杰索普插嘴道。
“离那里最近的村庄、最近的居民、可以追寻到的最近的车辆的痕迹，都进行了充分调查。在这里和在您的国家一样，我们都知道调查这件事有多重要。我们法国也丢失了很多年轻有为的科学家。但在我看来，亲爱的朋友，控制一位脾气变化无常的歌剧歌唱家都要比控制一位科学家容易得多。那些年轻人，智力超群，性格古怪，充满反叛精神，最重要也最危险的是，他们非常容易上当受骗。他们幻想中的世界什么样？甜蜜光明、尊重真理的黄金盛世？唉，可怜的孩子们，等着理想幻灭吧。”
“我们再过一遍乘客名单吧。”杰索普说。
法国人伸出手，从一个铁篮子里拿出一张名单，放在他的同事面前。然后两个男人靠在一起，聚精会神地看着。
“卡尔文•贝克太太，美国人。贝特顿太太，英国人。托基尔•埃里克森，挪威人——你对这个人有印象吗？”
“没什么印象。”勒布朗说，“很年轻，最多二十七八岁。”
“我见过这个名字。”杰索普皱着眉说道，“我想——几乎能肯定——他在英国皇家学会读过一篇论文。”
“接着是位信徒。”勒布朗又看向名单，说道，“一位叫玛丽的修女。安德鲁•彼得斯，也是一位美国人。巴伦博士，这位赫赫有名啊，巴伦医生。他声名卓著，是病毒领域的专家。”
“生化战争，”杰索普说道，“说得通。一切都说得通了。”
“但他拿的钱很少，想必十分不满。”勒布朗说。
“有几个人想去圣艾夫斯呢？”杰索普低声嘟囔。
法国人瞥了他一眼，杰索普赶忙抱歉地解释。
“一首古老的童谣里唱的。‘你真的要去圣艾夫斯吗，那里可是旅程的尽头。’”
这时桌上的电话响了，勒布朗拿起听筒。
“喂？您是哪位？啊，好的，让他们上来吧。”他转向杰索普，面色忽然变得活泼愉悦，“是我的一个手下，报告说他们有了些发现。亲爱的同事，可能——我知道得也不太多，但可能您的乐观主义观点将被证明是对的。”
几分钟后两个男人走进了房间。其中一个跟勒布朗是同一种类型的，矮胖健壮，肤色黝黑，聪明机智。他举止敬重却透着一丝兴奋，身上的西装脏兮兮的，还满身尘土，明显刚结束一段旅行归来。跟着他的那一位穿着当地那种白色长袍，散发出住在偏远地区的人所特有的庄严和沉静感，举止不卑不亢。第一个男人用法语快速地汇报时，他略显好奇地环视整个房间。
“悬赏通告做好了，已经发出去了。”法国男人说道，“这个人以及他的家人，还有他的许多朋友，一直在仔细搜寻。这次我带他来，是想交给您他找到的东西，另外可能您想问他些问题。”
勒布朗转而看向那个柏柏尔族人，用阿拉伯语说道：“您做得好极了。您有如鹰一般锐利的双眸啊，老人家。那么，给我们看看您找到了什么吧。”
那个柏柏尔族人从白色长袍里拿出一个小东西，走上前几步，把那东西放在了法国人的面前。是一颗硕大的灰粉色人造珍珠。
“这个和你给我，我又拿给其他人看过的那颗一样。”他说，“我找到了它，应该很有用吧。”
杰索普伸出手拿起珍珠，又从口袋里掏出了一颗，仔细研究。接着他穿过房间走到窗边，用高倍放大镜检查这两颗珍珠。
“是的。”他说，“这里有痕迹。”他的语调充满喜悦，又走回桌旁说道，“好姑娘，好姑娘，好姑娘！她做到了！”
勒布朗飞快地用阿拉伯语询问了那个当地人，之后对杰索普说：“我要向您道歉，亲爱的同事，这颗珍珠是在距离出事地点差不多半英里之外的地方找到的。”
“这就表明，”杰索普说，“奥利芙•贝特顿还活着。虽然有七个人搭乘这架飞机离开了菲斯，并且在飞机上找到了七具烧焦的尸体，但这其中并没有她的尸体。”
“现在我们必须扩大搜寻范围。”勒布朗说道。他再次跟柏柏尔族人攀谈起来，之后这两人离开了。“他会得到事先说好的丰厚奖赏。”勒布朗说，“接下来他的人会搜遍整个郊外，找到珍珠。那些人都有鹰一样的眼睛，再加上找到珍珠就能得到丰厚奖赏的消息会很快散布出去。我想……我想，我亲爱的同事，很快就会有结果！只要对手还没有察觉她的行动。”
杰索普摇摇头。
“不会有什么问题的。”他说，“一串每个女人都有的人造珍珠项链忽然断了，她把能找到的珠子都捡了起来、装进口袋，只是口袋正好有个小洞，一个小巧合。他们凭什么对她起疑？她是奥利芙•贝特顿，迫切地想与丈夫团聚。”
“现在，我们要重新看待这整件事了。”勒布朗说着，拿起了乘客名单，“奥利芙•贝特顿。巴伦博士。”他边读边用笔勾出这两个人的名字，“最起码这两个人是知道要去哪里的——并且自愿前往。美国女人卡尔文•贝克太太，她我们还不能下定论。托基尔•埃里克森，您说过他曾在皇家协会上朗读过论文。美国人彼得斯，护照上登记的信息是他是一位从事研究工作的化学家。修女——哦，这个伪装真的做得很好。然后呢，这几位乘客在同一天被从不同的地点通过高超的手段带到了这架飞机上。再接下来，飞机就失火了，最后只留下被烧焦的尸体。我不知道他们是如何安排的，但不管怎么说，做得巧妙极了！”
“是的，”杰索普说，“令人信服的招数。但现在我们知道这六个或七个人又开始了一段新的旅程，而且知道他们的出发地。接下来要做什么——去现场探查？”
“正是如此。”勒布朗说道，“我们要转移阵地了。没搞错的话，只要沿着这条线索追查，一定会渐渐查出其他证据的。”
“只要计算正确，”杰索普说，“就会得出结果。”
计算过程烦琐又曲折。汽车行驶的速度，可能会在哪里加油，乘客们可能会在哪个村庄歇脚过夜……痕迹很多但令人迷惑，失望的情况不断发生，不过也不时有一些积极的成果。
“找到了，队长！遵从您的指示，我们去搜查了公共厕所。在阿卜杜勒•穆罕默德家厕所的一个阴暗角落，我们找到了一颗被口香糖包着的珍珠。父子俩一开始不肯说，后来放弃了，说一辆德国考古队的车拉着六个人来他们家住了一晚。他们给了很多钱，要穆罕默德一家不准把这件事透露给任何人，理由是他们要进行一些非法勘探。另外埃尔凯夫村的小孩们也找到了两颗珍珠。现在我们知道他们前进的方向了。不仅如此，队长先生，正如您所预言的，法蒂玛之手 [1] 找到了，我把他带来了，让他跟您讲一讲吧。”
“他”是一个长相粗犷的柏柏尔族人。
他说道：“那天晚上，我正在放牧，听到有一辆汽车开过来。它就从我身边开过，因此我看到车身侧面有一个‘法蒂玛之手’的轮廓。它闪闪发光，真的，在黑暗中发光。”
“在手套上抹些磷粉有时会很有用。”勒布朗嘟囔道，“亲爱的，真有你的，能想到这样的办法。”
“这一招确实有用。”杰索普说，“但很危险。我的意思是太容易被其他逃亡者发觉了。”
勒布朗耸耸肩。
“那东西在白天是看不到的。”
“是的，但如果晚上停车，大家都下车来休息——”
“就算如此，那是阿拉伯人迷信的图案，他们经常在车上画一个。看到了也只会认为是某个虔诚的信徒用发光油漆涂了一个在车上。”
“确实，但我们必须保持警惕。一旦被敌人发觉，他们很可能会伪造‘法蒂玛之手’的痕迹来欺骗我们。”
“啊，我同意。人必须时刻保持警惕。一直，永远，保持警惕。”
第二天早晨，勒布朗又拿到了排成三角形的三颗假珍珠，它们也被包在一块口香糖里。
杰索普说：“这是指下一阶段他们要搭乘飞机。”
他用质询的眼神看着勒布朗。
“没错。”勒布朗说道，“这是在一个废置的军用机场里发现的，十分偏远，人迹罕至。
有迹象表明有架飞机不久前刚在那里着陆，之后又飞走了。”他耸耸肩，继续道，“未知航班。他们就这样再次启程了，不知道会去哪里。而我们，再一次无迹可寻——”
注释：
[1]西亚及北非常见的一种护身符，有带来好运、防范厄运的用途。
Fifteen
Fifteen
“It’s incredible,” thought Hilary to herself, “incredible that I’ve been hereten days!” The frightening thing in life, Hilary thought, was how easily youadapted yourself. She remembered once being shown in France some pe-culiar torture arrangement of the Middle Ages, an iron cage wherein aprisoner had been confined and in which he could neither lie, stand norsit. The guide had recounted how the last man imprisoned there had livedin it for eighteen years, and had been released and had lived for anothertwenty after that, before dying, an old man. That adaptability, thought Hil-ary, was what differentiated man from the animal world. Man could livein any climate and on any food and under any conditions. He could existslave or free.
She had felt first, when introduced into the Unit, a blinding panic, a hor-rible feeling of imprisonment and frustration, and the fact that the impris-onment was camouflaged in circumstances of luxury had somehow madeit seem all the more horrible to her. And yet now, already, even after aweek here, she had begun insensibly to accept the conditions of her life asnatural. It was a queer, dream-like existence. Nothing seemed particularlyreal, but already she had the feeling that the dream had gone on a longtime and would go on for a long time more. It would, perhaps, last forever.?.?. She would always live here in the Unit; this was life, and there wasnothing outside.
This dangerous acceptance, she thought, came partly from the fact thatshe was a woman. Women were adaptable by nature. It was their strengthand their weakness. They examined their environment, accepted it, andlike realists settled down to make the best of it. What interested her mostwere the reactions of the people who had arrived here with her. HelgaNeedheim she hardly ever saw except sometimes at meals. When theymet, the German woman vouchsafed her a curt nod, but no more. As faras she could judge, Helga Needheim was happy and satisfied. The Unit ob-viously lived up to the picture she had formed in her mind of it. She wasthe type of woman absorbed by her work, and was comfortably sustainedby her natural arrogance. The superiority of herself and her fellow-scient-ists was the first article of Helga’s creed. She had no views of a brother-hood of man, of an era of peace, of liberty of mind and spirit. For her thefuture was narrow but all-conquering. The super race, herself a memberof it; the rest of the world in bondage, treated, if they behaved, with con-descending kindness. If her fellow workers expressed different views, iftheir ideas were Communist rather than Fascist, Helga took little notice. Iftheir work was good they were necessary, and their ideas would change.
Dr. Barron was more intelligent than Helga Needheim. Occasionally Hil-ary had brief conversations with him. He was absorbed in his work,deeply satisfied with the conditions provided for him, but his inquiringGallic intellect led him to speculate and ponder on the media in which hefound himself.
“It was not what I expected. No, frankly,” he said one day, “entre nous,Mrs. Betterton, I do not care for prison conditions. And these are prisonconditions, though the cage, let us say, is heavily gilded.”
“There is hardly the freedom here that you came to seek?” Hilary sug-gested.
He smiled at her, a quick, rueful smile.
“But no,” he said, “you are wrong. I did not really seek liberty. I am acivilized man. The civilized man knows there is no such thing. Only theyounger and cruder nations put the word ‘Liberty’ on their banner. Theremust always be a planned framework of security. And the essence of civil-ization is that the way of life should be a moderate one. The middle way.
Always one comes back to the middle way. No. I will be frank with you. Icame here for money.”
Hilary in her turn smiled. Her eyebrows rose.
“And what good is money to you here?”
“It pays for very expensive laboratory equipment,” said Dr. Barron. “Iam not obliged to put my hand into my own pocket, and so I can serve thecause of science and satisfy my own intellectual curiosity. I am a man wholoves his work, true, but I do not love it for the sake of humanity. I haveusually found that those who do so are somewhat woolly headed, and of-ten incompetent workers. No, it is the pure intellectual joy of research thatI appreciate. For the rest, a large sum of money was paid to me before Ileft France. It is safely banked under another name and in due course,when all this comes to an end, I shall have it to spend as I choose.”
“When all this comes to an end?” Hilary repeated. “But why should itcome to an end?”
“One must have the common sense,” said Dr. Barron, “nothing is per-manent, nothing endures. I have come to the conclusion that this place isrun by a madman. A madman, let me tell you, can be very logical. If youare rich and logical and also mad, you can succeed for a very long time inliving out your illusion. But in the end”—he shrugged—“in the end thiswill break up. Because, you see, it is not reasonable, what happens here!
That which is not reasonable must always pay the reckoning in the end. Inthe meantime”— again he shrugged his shoulders —“it suits me admir-ably.”
Torquil Ericsson, whom Hilary had expected to be violently disillu-sioned, appeared to be quite content in the atmosphere of the Unit. Lesspractical than the Frenchman, he existed in a single-minded vision of hisown. The world in which he lived was one so unfamiliar to Hilary that shecould not even understand it. It engendered a kind of austere happiness,an absorption in mathematical calculations, and an endless vista of pos-sibilities. The strange, impersonal ruthlessness of his character frightenedHilary. He was the kind of young man, she thought, who in a moment ofidealism could send three-quarters of the world to their death in orderthat the remaining quarter should participate in an impractical Utopiathat existed only in Ericsson’s mind.
With the American, Andy Peters, Hilary felt herself far more in accord.
Possibly, she thought, it was because Peters was a man of talent but not agenius. From what others said, she gathered he was a first-class man at hisjob, a careful and skilled chemist, but not a pioneer. Peters, like herself,had at once hated and feared the atmosphere of the Unit.
“The truth is that I didn’t know where I was going,” he said. “I thought Iknew, but I was wrong. The Party has got nothing to do with this place.
We’re not in touch with Moscow. This is a lone show of some kind—a Fas-cist show possibly.”
“Don’t you think,” said Hilary, “that you go in too much for labels?” Heconsidered this.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Come to think of it, these words wethrow around don’t mean much. But I do know this. I want to get out ofhere and I mean to get out of here.”
“It won’t be easy,” said Hilary, in a low voice.
They were walking together after dinner near the splashing fountains ofthe roof garden. With the illusion of darkness and the starlit sky theymight have been in the private gardens of some sultan’s palace. The func-tional concrete buildings were veiled from the sight.
“No,” said Peters; “it won’t be easy, but nothing’s impossible.”
“I like to hear you say that,” said Hilary. “Oh, how I like to hear you saythat!”
He looked at her sympathetically.
“Been getting you down?” he asked.
“Very much so. But that’s not what I’m really afraid of.”
“No? What then?”
“I’m afraid of getting used to it,” said Hilary.
“Yes.” He spoke thoughtfully. “Yes, I know what you mean. There’s akind of mass suggestion going on here. I think perhaps you’re right aboutthat.”
“It would seem to me much more natural for people to rebel,” said Hil-ary.
“Yes. Yes, I’ve thought the same. In fact I’ve wondered once or twicewhether there’s not a little hocus-pocus going on.”
“Hocus-pocus? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, to put it frankly, dope.”
“Do you mean a drug of some kind?”
“Yes. It might be possible, you know. Something in the food or drink,something that induces—what shall I say—docility?”
“But is there such a drug?”
“Well, that’s not really my line of country. There are things that aregiven to people to soothe them down, to make them acquiescent before op-erations and that. Whether there is anything that can be administeredsteadily over a long period of time—and which at the same time does notimpair efficiency—that I don’t know. I’m more inclined to think now thatthe effect is produced mentally. I mean that I think some of these organ-izers and administrators here are well versed in hypnosis and psychologyand that, without our being aware of it, we are continually being offeredsuggestions of our well-being, of our attaining our ultimate aim (whateverit is), and that all this does produce a definite effect. A lot can be done thatway, you know, if it’s done by people who know their stuff.”
“But we mustn’t acquiesce,” cried Hilary, hotly. “We mustn’t feel for onemoment that it’s a good thing to be here.”
“What does your husband feel?”
“Tom? I—oh, I don’t know. It’s so difficult. I—” she lapsed into silence.
The whole fantasy of her life as she lived it she could hardly communic-ate to the man who was listening to her. For ten days now she had lived inan apartment with a man who was a stranger to her. They shared a bed-room and when she lay awake at night she could hear him breathing inthe other bed. Both of them accepted the arrangement as inevitable. Shewas an impostor, a spy, ready to play any part and assume any personal-ity. Tom Betterton she quite frankly did not understand. He seemed to hera terrible example of what could happen to a brilliant young man whohad lived for some months in the enervating atmosphere of the Unit. Atany rate there was in him no calm acceptance of his destiny. Far from tak-ing pleasure in his work, he was, she thought, increasingly worried by hisinability to concentrate on it. Once or twice he had reiterated what he hadsaid on that first evening.
“I can’t think. It’s just as though everything in me has dried up.”
Yes, she thought. Tom Betterton, being a real genius, needed libertymore than most. Suggestion had failed to compensate him for the loss offreedom. Only in perfect liberty was he able to produce creative work.
He was a man, she thought, very close to a serious nervous breakdown.
Hilary herself he treated with curious inattention. She was not a womanto him, not even a friend. She even doubted whether he realized andsuffered from the death of his wife. The thing that preoccupied him incess-antly was the problem of confinement. Again and again he had said:
“I must get away from here. I must, I must.” And sometimes, “I didn’tknow. I’d no idea what it was going to be like. How am I going to get out ofhere? How? I’ve got to. I’ve simply got to.”
It was in essence very much what Peters had said. But it was said with agreat deal of difference. Peters had spoken as a young, energetic, angry,disillusioned man, sure of himself and determined to pit his wits againstthe brains of the establishment in which he found himself. But Tom Bet-terton’s rebellious utterances were those of a man at the end of his tether,a man almost crazed with the need for escape. But perhaps, Hilarythought suddenly, that was where she and Peters would be in six months’
time. Perhaps what began as healthy rebellion and a reasonable confid-ence in one’s own ingenuity would turn at last into the frenzied despair ofa rat in a trap.
She wished she could talk of all this to the man beside her. If only shecould say: “Tom Betterton isn’t my husband. I know nothing about him. Idon’t know what he was like before he came here and so I’m in the dark. Ican’t help him, for I don’t know what to do or say.” As it was she had topick her words carefully. She said:
“Tom seems like a stranger to me now. He doesn’t — tell me things.
Sometimes I think the confinement, the sense of being penned up here, isdriving him mad.”
“It’s possible,” said Peters, drily; “it could act that way.”
“But tell me—you speak so confidently of getting away. How can we getaway—what earthly chance is there?”
“I don’t mean we can walk out the day after tomorrow, Olive. Thething’s got to be thought out and planned. People have escaped, you know,under the most unpromising conditions. A lot of our people, and a lot yourside of the Atlantic, too, have written books about escape from fortressesin Germany.”
“That was rather different.”
“Not in essence. Where there’s a way in there’s a way out. Of course tun-nelling is out of the question here, so that knocks out a good many meth-ods. But as I say, where there’s a way in, there’s a way out. With ingenuity,camouflage, playing a part, deception, bribery and corruption, one oughtto manage it. It’s the sort of thing you’ve got to study and think about. I’lltell you this. I shall get out of here. Take it from me.”
“I believe you will,” said Hilary, then she added, “but shall I?”
“Well, it’s different for you.”
His voice sounded embarrassed. For a moment she wondered what hemeant. Then she realized that presumably her own objective had been at-tained. She had come here to join the man she had loved, and havingjoined him her own personal need for escape should not be so great. Shewas almost tempted to tell Peters the truth—but some instinct of cautionforbade that.
She said good night and left the roof.
第十五章
第十五章
这真是难以置信，希拉里私下里想着，难以置信，我竟然在这里待了十天！生活中最可怕的，莫过于太容易适应环境。她记起曾在法国参观过一次中世纪酷刑展，被囚禁在铁笼里的犯人不能躺着，不能直立，也不能坐下。解说员说最终犯人在里面活了十八年，获释之后又活了二十年，死时已是个老头了。这种适应性，希拉里想，正是区分人与动物的关键。人可以在任何气候环境下生存，什么都能吃，再苦都活得下去。不论是否被奴役。
初到这里，被带进这个组织时，她所感受到的是一种茫然的不安，一种因囚禁和失望所产生的恐惧，用奢华的环境来掩饰囚禁的做法在某种程度上更加重了恐惧。但是现在，在这里待了一周之后，她竟在不知不觉中接受了这一切。这里像梦境一般奇异，什么都很不真实，但她已经有种自己在这个梦里待了很久，而且还要继续待更久的感觉了。或许，会永远待下去……永远待在这个组织里；她的生活就是这样的，与外界无关。
她认为，这种危险的适应能力，一部分应归因于她是个女人。女人天生更具适应性。
这是能力，也是劣势。她们审视所处环境，然后便接受它，尽可能安顿下来，争取做到最好。希拉里很想看看一起来的几位同伴的反应。海尔格•尼达姆，只在用餐时能偶尔见到。
每次碰到的时候，那个德国女人也只是勉为其难，生硬地点点头致意。在希拉里看来，海尔格•尼达姆很快活、很满足，显然，这个组织和她所料想的一样。她是那种将全副身心都投入到工作中的女人，完全接受自己傲慢的天性。正是这样的人生观让海尔格及她周围的科学家朋友都自我感觉良好。她不关心人类之间的情谊、时代是否和平，以及思想和精神上的解放。对她来说，未来的路很狭窄但一定会成功。她是优越种族中的一员，世界上其余的人则是被奴役的，如果他们表现得不错就恩赐给他们一些善意。尼达姆不关心身边的同事是倾向于共产主义还是法西斯，她认为只要工作优异就能证明他们的价值，而观点总是会改变的。
巴伦博士明显比海尔格•尼达姆更聪明。希拉里偶尔会跟他简短地交谈一番。他全身心地投入工作，对提供给他的工作条件十分满意，但法国人血液里的好奇让他开始猜测并思考所处的环境。
“这里和我想的不太一样，坦白来说。”有一天，他这么说，“跟您说吧，贝特顿太太，但我并不在乎这里是不是监狱。这里确实如监狱一般，只不过牢房是镀金的。”
“这儿几乎没有您所追寻的自由啊，不是吗？”
他露出微笑，一个苦涩的笑容。
“不是的，”他说，“您错了，我不是来寻求自由的。我是个社会人，社会人知道根本不存在自由这玩意儿。只有年轻的、未经锤打的人才会把‘自由’一词写在自己的旗帜之上。
社会和团体需要一个规则。而文明的实质是克制，寻求中间的平衡之路。人总会回到中间的平衡之路上的。不，我跟您坦白了吧，我来这里是为了钱。”
这次轮到希拉里笑了，她的眉毛都扬了起来。
“在这儿，钱对您来说有什么用？”
“可以买极其昂贵的实验设备。”巴伦博士说，“我不需要自掏腰包就能完成科学研究，满足我自己的求知欲。我是一个热爱工作的人，确实，但我并不是为了给人类带来福音才热爱科学研究的。我发现那些为了人类福祉工作的人大多头脑不清，经常不太称职。我热爱的是从事研究所获得的纯粹的智力上的乐趣。除此之外，我离开法国之前，已经收到了一笔巨款。这笔钱用另一个名字存在某家银行，等这里的工作结束，我就能自由支配了。”
“等这里的工作结束？”希拉里重复道，“会结束吗？”
“人要有基本常识，”巴伦博士说，“没有事物是永恒的，没有什么能永远存在。我认为这个地方是由一个疯子经营的。一个疯子，跟您说，也可能很有逻辑。如果你富裕、有逻辑，同时又是个疯子，你就能让幻想成真，并维持相当长的一段时间。但是最后，”他耸耸肩，“一切终将破灭。因为，您看，这不合理，这里发生的一切都不合情理！不合情理的事必定会被清算。但就目前而言，”他再次耸耸肩，“这里对我而言再适合不过了。”
希拉里以为托基尔•埃里克森会因幻灭而发狂，但他似乎十分适应组织的氛围。他没有法国人的实用主义，而是一心奉行自己的一套观点生活着。他的世界对希拉里来说实在太过陌生，因此她完全无法理解。投身于数学计算之中让他产生了一种单纯的幸福感，还让他看到了未来的无限可能。他性格中的怪异之处和不近人情的冷酷深深震惊了希拉里。她想他是那种年轻人，一旦陷入理想主义，就会愿意毁掉全世界四分之三的人类，留下那四分之一来享受只存在于空想中的乌托邦。
希拉里发觉同美国人安迪•彼得斯更聊得来。她想或许是因为彼得斯是一个有才华的人，而并不是天才。据别人说，他是他所在领域的一流专家，一位细致缜密、技术娴熟的化学家，但不是先驱者。彼得斯和她一样，有些讨厌并害怕组织里的氛围。
“事实上，之前我并不知道自己要去的是个什么地方。”他说，“我以为我知道，但其实我想的是错的。这个地方和政府没有任何关联，不处于莫斯科的管辖之下。这里就像一场表演——可能是一场法西斯性质的表演。”
“你不认为你这么说是在随意贴标签吗？”希拉里问。
他考虑了一下，说：“可能您是对的。不过想想吧，我们说的话又有什么作用呢？但是我很明确一点，我想离开这里，这一点是确定的。”
“这不会太容易。”希拉里压低声音说。
此时他们刚吃完晚餐，正一起在屋顶花园的喷泉旁散步。黑夜与满天繁星让他们产生一种幻觉，觉得自己似乎置身于某位阿拉伯君主的私家花园，整个混凝土建筑在夜色中显得十分朦胧。
“是的。”彼得斯说，“不会容易的，但绝非不可能。”
“很高兴听你这么说。”希拉里说，“哦，听到你这么说我真是太开心了！”
他略带怜悯地看着她，问道：“在这里让你感到害怕了？”
“非常害怕。但这不是我真正担心的。”
“不是？那是什么？”
“我害怕自己适应了这里。”希拉里说道。
“是的。”他若有所思地说，“是的，我明白你的意思。这里一直在给人洗脑，我认为你的担心或许是对的。”
“我以为人们会反抗。”希拉里说。
“是的，是的，我也这么以为。事实上，我曾有一两次怀疑，这里是不是藏着什么鬼把戏。”
“鬼把戏？你具体指什么？”
“嗯，说得直白点，给人下毒。”
“某种药品之类的？”
“是的。很有可能。在食物或饮品中放一些能导致……我该怎么说呢……让人变得温柔易驯服的药物？”
“但是，真的有这种药物吗？”
“哦，这个真的不在我的研究范围。我知道有药物能使人镇定，在手术前服用可以让患者听话。但是否有一种药物能长期定量服用，同时不会降低工作效率，我就不了解了。现在我更倾向于他们采用的是通过控制思想来驯服人们的方式。我的意思是，我认为这里的行政人员和管理人员是催眠和心理学方面的专家，他们在不知不觉中向我们灌输这里的生活很幸福，要为了终极目标——先不管那是什么——竭尽全力的思想，而这一切产生了非常好的效果。用这种手段可以干很多事，你知道的，尤其是对精通此道的人来说。”
“但我们不能就这样接受了啊。”希拉里生气地吼道，“我们绝对不能产生待在这里也不错的想法，一刻也不行。”
“你丈夫他怎么想？”
“汤姆？我……哦，我不知道。这很难讲。我……”她陷入了沉默。
她不能把她所体验的离奇经历告诉这个男人。十天了，她一直和一个陌生男人住在一起。他们睡在同一个房间，夜里她醒来时就能听到从另一张床上传来的呼吸声。他们两人都接受了这个安排。她假冒妻子，实则是个间谍，随时准备着换一个身份，扮演另一个人。坦白来说，她完全不了解汤姆•贝特顿。在她看来他就是一个典型案例，一个才华横溢的年轻人在令人沮丧的组织氛围中熬过几个月后的样子。不过无论怎样，他并不愿安然接受这一命运，在这里，他不但无法享受工作，反而因不能集中精力而日渐担忧。这十天里他又重复过一两次第一晚说过的话。
“我无法思考。好像我身体里的一切都枯竭了。”
是的，她想，汤姆•贝特顿是一个名副其实的天才，自由对他来说高于一切。因此思想控制对他来说不管用，无法弥补失去自由的痛苦。只有真正的自由才能让他做出创造性的工作。
她又想，他是个男人，一个濒临崩溃的男人。他对希拉里毫不关心，不当她是女人，也不是朋友。她甚至怀疑他是否真正意识到了妻子的死亡，并为此感到痛苦。目前他的大脑已被囚禁这个问题占据。他一遍又一遍地说：“我一定要逃离这里。必须，必须。”
有时候又会说：“我不知道。不知道事情会变成什么样。要怎样才能离开这里呢？要怎样？我必须出去。我就是要出去。”
这与彼得斯所说的话在本质上是一样的，只是表达方式有很大不同。彼得斯就像一个充满活力、因理想破灭而愤怒的年轻人。他自信满满，决心要与他所在的这个组织斗智斗勇。而汤姆•贝特顿的说法就像是一个马上要被吊死的人，近乎疯狂地想逃脱。但是，希拉里猛然想到，或许她和彼得斯在这里待上六个月后也会这样。可能最初怀有的强烈反抗精神和对于自身能力的合理自信，最终都会变为像落入陷阱的老鼠一样的绝望。
她多想对身旁的这个男人吐露一切。如果能，她会这么说：“汤姆•贝特顿不是我丈夫，我对他一无所知。我不知道他到这里之前什么样，因此帮不到他，不知道要做些什么、说什么。”然而，此时她只能小心谨慎地选择措辞，说：“现在的汤姆对我来说就像个陌生人，他什么事也不告诉我。有时候我在想，被关在这里，像个囚犯一般的感觉，就要把他逼疯了。”
“很有可能。”彼得斯无力地说，“很可能发生这样的情况。”
“告诉我，你如此自信地说要离开这里。可我们要怎么离开？真的有机会吗？”
“奥利芙，我们不可能明天或后天就直接从这里走出去，整件事要经过再三思考和缜密计划。但是，你知道的，即便在最没有希望的条件下，还是有人能成功逃脱。我们国家和大西洋彼岸的你们国家的人，都写过很多从德国人的铁壁中逃脱的书。”
“这两者可完全不同。”
“本质上没什么不同。只要有路进来，就有路能出去。当然，挖地道在这里不适用，类似的很多办法也就随之排除了。但正如我所说，有路进来的地方就有路出去。通过好点子、伪装、掩饰、骗术或贿赂，总能成功的。我们需要学习和思考的是这些方面。告诉你吧，我会离开这里的。走着瞧。”
“我相信你会的。”希拉里说道，接着又补充了一句，“但是我能吗？”
“哦，你的情况有些不同。”
他的声音听上去有些尴尬，她一时没弄懂他的意思。接着她意识到他可能以为她已经达到目的了，她来这里是为了和爱人团聚，与之相比，自身想逃跑的愿望就没那么强烈了。她差点儿就把真相告诉彼得斯了，但谨慎的本性让她没有说出口。
她道了声晚安，离开了屋顶花园。
Sixteen（1）
Sixteen
I
“Good evening, Mrs. Betterton.”
“Good evening, Miss Jennson.”
The thin, spectacled girl was looking excited. Her eyes glinted behindthe thick lenses.
“There will be a Reunion this evening,” she said. “The Director himself isgoing to address us!”
She spoke in an almost hushed voice.
“That’s good,” said Andy Peters, who was standing close by. “I’ve beenwaiting to catch a glimpse of this Director.”
Miss Jennson threw him a glance of shocked reproof.
“The Director,” she said austerely, “is a very wonderful man.”
As she went away from them down one of the inevitable white cor-ridors, Andy Peters gave a low whistle.
“Now did I, or did I not, catch a hint of the Heil Hitler attitude there?”
“It certainly sounded like it.”
“The trouble in this life is that you never really know where you’re go-ing. If I’d known when I left the States all full of boyish ardour for thegood old Brotherhood of Man that I was going to land myself in theclutches of yet another heavenborn Dictator—” he threw out his hands.
“You don’t know that yet,” Hilary reminded him.
“I can smell it—in the air,” said Peters.
“Oh,” cried Hilary. “How glad I am that you’re here!” She flushed, as helooked at her quizzically.
“You’re so nice and ordinary,” said Hilary desperately.
Peters looked amused.
“Where I come from,” he said, “the word ordinary doesn’t have yourmeaning. It can stand for being just plain mean.”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way. I mean you’re like everybody else.
Oh dear, that sounds rude, too.”
“The common man, that’s what you’re asking for? You’ve had enough ofthe genius?”
“Yes, and you’ve changed, too, since you came here. You’ve lost thatstreak of bitterness—of hatred.”
But immediately his face grew rather grim.
“Don’t count on that,” he said. “It’s still there—underneath. I can stillhate. There are things, believe me, that should be hated.”
第十六章（1）
第十六章
1“晚上好啊，贝特顿太太。”
“晚上好，詹森小姐。”
这位戴着眼镜的瘦削姑娘看上去很激动，她的眼睛在厚镜片后闪闪发光。
“今晚有一场聚会，”她说，“院长也会来！”几乎是压着嗓子在说话。
“好极了。”站在附近的安迪•彼得斯说，“我一直等着一睹院长的风采。”
詹森小姐又惊讶又责备地看了他一眼。
“院长先生，”她严肃地说，“是个伟大的人。”
当她沿着白色走廊远远走开后，安迪•彼得斯轻轻吹了声口哨。
“我刚才好像听到了‘希特勒万岁’，是我听错了吗？”
“确实很像。”
“人生的不幸在于，你永远不会知道接下来会遇见什么。如果在我怀着天真和赤诚离开美国，去追寻四海之内皆兄弟的世界时，能预先知道进入的会是另一个天生独裁者的魔爪……”他摊开双手，没有说完这句话。
“你还没见过他呢。”希拉里提醒道。
“我能嗅到，就在空气里。”彼得斯说。
“啊，”希拉里喊道，“真高兴有你在！”
彼得斯迷惑不解地望向她，希拉里脸红了，她真诚地说：“您是如此善良，又是如此正常。”
彼得斯似乎被她逗乐了。
“在我们国家，”他说，“正常这个词可不是你所说的那个意思。它表示平庸、无趣。”
“你知道我不是那个意思。我是指你和其他人一样。哦，天哪，这听起来更粗鲁无礼了。”
“正常人，你想找个正常人？你已经受够天才了，对吗？”
“是的。但你也变了，来到这里之后。你失去了那种痛苦——因恨意而生的痛苦。”
突然，他的脸色严峻了起来。
“外表看到的不重要，”他说，“它仍然存在——在我内心深处。我仍然感到仇恨。相信我，这里的有些事情值得被憎恨。”
Sixteen（2）
II
The Reunion, as Miss Jennson had called it, took place after dinner. Allmembers of the Unit assembled in the large Lecture Room.
The audience did not include what might be called the technical staff:
the laboratory assistants, the Corps de Ballet, the various service person-nel, and the small assembly of handsome prostitutes who also served theUnit as purveyors of sex to those men who had no wives with them andhad formed no particular attachments with the female workers.
Sitting next to Betterton, Hilary awaited with keen curiosity the arrivalon the platform of that almost mythical figure, the Director. Questioned byher, Tom Betterton had given unsatisfactory, almost vague answers aboutthe personality of the man who controlled the Unit.
“He’s nothing much to look at,” he said. “But he has tremendous impact.
Actually I’ve only seen him twice. He doesn’t show up often. He’s remark-able, of course, one feels that but honestly I don’t know why.”
From the reverent way Miss Jennson and some of the other womenspoke about him, Hilary had formed a vague mental figure of a tall manwith a golden beard wearing a white robe—a kind of godlike abstraction.
She was almost startled when, as the audience rose to their feet, a dark,rather heavily built man of middle age came quietly on to the platform. Inappearance he was quite undistinguished, he might have been a businessman from the Midlands. His nationality was not apparent. He spoke tothem in three languages, alternating one with the other, and never exactlyrepeating himself. He used French, German and English, and each wasspoken with equal fluency.
“Let me first,” he began, “welcome our new colleagues who have cometo join us here.”
He then paid a few words of tribute to each of the new arrivals.
After that he went on to speak of the aims and beliefs of the Unit.
Trying to remember his words later, Hilary found herself unable to doso with any accuracy. Or perhaps it was that the words, as remembered,seemed trite and ordinary. But listening to them was a very differentthing.
Hilary remembered once being told by a friend who had lived in Ger-many in the days before the war how she had gone to a meeting in merecuriosity to listen “to that absurd Hitler”—and how she had found herselfcrying hysterically, swept away by intense emotion. She had describedhow wise and inspiring every word had seemed, and how, afterwards, theremembered words in their actuality had seemed commonplace enough.
Something of the same kind was happening now. In spite of herself, Hil-ary was stirred and uplifted. The Director spoke very simply. He spokeprimarily of Youth. With Youth lay the future of mankind.
“Accumulated Wealth, Prestige, influential Families—those have beenthe forces of the past. But today, power lies in the hands of the young.
Power is in Brains. The brains of the chemist, the physicist, the doctor .?.?.
From the laboratories comes the power to destroy on a vast scale. Withthat power you can say ‘Yield—or perish!’ That power should not be givento this or that nation. Power should be in the hands of those who create it.
This Unit is a gathering place for the Power of all the world. You comehere from all parts of the globe, bringing with you your creative scientificknowledge. And with you, you bring Youth! No one here is over forty-five.
When the day comes, we shall create a Trust. The Brains Trust of Science.
And we shall administer world affairs. We shall issue our orders to Capit-alists and Kings and Armies and Industries. We shall give the World thePax Scientifica.”
There was more of it—all the same heady intoxicating stuff—but it wasnot the words themselves—it was the power of the orator that carriedaway an assembly that could have been cold and critical had it not beenswayed by that nameless emotion about which so little was known.
When the Director had ended abruptly:
“Courage and Victory! Good Night!” Hilary left the Hall, half-stumblingin a kind of exalted dream, and recognized the same feeling in the facesaround her. She saw Ericsson in particular, his pale eyes gleaming, hishead tossed back in exultation.
Then she felt Andy Peters’s hand on her arm and his voice said in herear:
“Come up on the roof. We need some air.”
They went up in the lift without speaking and stepped out among thepalm trees under the stars. Peters drew a deep breath.
“Yes,” he said. “This is what we need. Air to blow away the clouds ofglory.”
Hilary gave a deep sigh. She still felt unreal.
He gave her arm a friendly shake.
“Snap out of it, Olive.”
“Clouds of glory,” said Hilary. “You know—it was like that!”
“Snap out of it, I tell you. Be a woman! Down to earth and basic realities!
When the effects of the Glory Gas poisoning pass off you’ll realize thatyou’ve been listening to the same old Mixture as Before.”
“But it was fine—I mean a fine ideal.”
“Nuts to ideals. Take the facts. Youth and Brains—glory glory Alleluia!
And what are the youth and brains? Helga Needheim, a ruthless egoist.
Torquil Ericsson, an impractical dreamer. Dr. Barron, who’d sell hisgrandmother to the knacker’s yard to get equipment for his work. Takeme, an ordinary guy, as you’ve said yourself, good with the test tube andthe microscope but with no talent whatever for efficient administration ofan office, let alone a world! Take your own husband—yes, I’m going to sayit—a man whose nerves are frayed to nothing and who can think of noth-ing but the fear that retribution will catch up with him. I’ve given youthose people we know best—but they’re all the same here—or all that I’vecome across. Geniuses, some of them, damned good at their chosen jobs—but as Administrators of the Universe—hell, don’t make me laugh! Perni-cious nonsense, that’s what we’ve been listening to.”
Hilary sat down on the concrete parapet. She passed a hand across herforehead.
“You know,” she said. “I believe you’re right .?.?. But the clouds of gloryare still trailing. How does he do it? Does he believe it himself? He must.”
Peters said gloomily:
“I suppose it always comes to the same thing in the end. A madman whobelieves he’s God.”
Hilary said slowly:
“I suppose so. And yet—that seems curiously unsatisfactory.”
“But it happens, my dear. Again and again throughout history it hap-pens. And it gets one. It nearly got me, tonight. It did get you. If I hadn’twhisked you up here —” His manner changed suddenly. “I suppose Ishouldn’t have done that. What will Betterton say? He’ll think it odd.”
“I don’t think so. I doubt if he’ll notice.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“I’m sorry, Olive. It must be all pretty fair hell for you. Seeing him godown the hill.”
Hilary said passionately:
“We must get out of here. We must. We must.”
“We shall.”
“You said that before—but we’ve made no progress.”
“Oh yes we have. I’ve not been idle.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“No precise plan, but I’ve initiated subversive activities. There’s a lot ofdissatisfaction here, far more than our Godlike Herr Director knows.
Amongst the humbler members of the Unit, I mean. Food and money andluxury and women aren’t everything, you know. I’ll get you out of hereyet, Olive.”
“And Tom too?”
Peters’s face darkened.
“Listen, Olive, and believe what I say. Tom will do best to stay on here.
He’s”—he hesitated—“safer here than he would be in the outside world.”
“Safer? What a curious word.”
“Safer,” said Peters. “I use the word deliberately.”
Hilary frowned.
“I don’t really see what you mean. Tom’s not—you don’t think he’s be-coming mentally unhinged?”
“Not in the least. He’s het up, but I’d say Tom Betterton’s as sane as youor I.”
“Then why are you saying he’d be safer here?”
Peters said slowly:
“A cage, you know, is a very safe place to be.”
“Oh no,” cried Hilary. “Don’t tell me you’re going to believe that too.
Don’t tell me that mass- hypnotism, or suggestion, or whatever it is, isworking on you. Safe, tame, content! We must rebel still! We must want tobe free!”
Peters said slowly:
“Yes, I know. But—”
“Tom, at any rate, wants desperately to get away from here.”
“Tom mayn’t know what’s good for him.”
Suddenly Hilary remembered what Tom had hinted at to her. If he haddisposed of secret information he would be liable, she supposed, to prosec-ution under the Official Secrets Act—that, no doubt, was what Peters washinting at in his rather embarrassed way—but Hilary was clear in herown mind. Better to serve a prison sentence than remain on here. Shesaid, obstinately:
“Tom must come too.”
She was startled when Peters said suddenly, in a bitter tone:
“Have it your own way. I’ve warned you. I wish I knew what the hellmakes you care for that fellow so much.”
She stared at him in dismay. Words sprang to her lips, but she checkedthem. She realized that what she wanted to say was, “I don’t care for him.
He’s nothing to me. He was another woman’s husband and I’ve a respons-ibility to her.” She wanted to say, “You fool, if there’s anybody I careabout, it’s you. .?.?.”
第十六章（2）
2詹森小姐所说的那个聚会，安排在晚餐之后。组织里的所有成员都在一个大讲堂集合，但不包括所谓的“技术人员”：实验室助理、芭蕾舞演员、各种服务员，以及为那些妻子没有跟来，也没跟女科学家住在一起的男人提供性服务的妓女。
希拉里坐在贝特顿旁边，急切而好奇地等待着那位神话人物——院长——出现在讲台上。她问过汤姆•贝特顿这个掌管组织的男人长什么样，但他没说什么，只是含含糊糊地说：“看上去没什么特别的，但他拥有巨大的影响力。事实上我只见过他两次，他不经常出现。当然了，他是个大人物，大家都这么觉得，但老实说，我不知道为什么大家会这么觉得。”
根据詹森小姐和其他女人谈论他时表现出的崇拜态度，希拉里脑中形成的是一个留着金色胡须、穿白色长袍的高大男人形象——犹如上帝一般。
当下面的观众们全都站起身，看着一位皮肤黝黑、相当健壮的中年男人安静地走上讲台时，希拉里感到大为惊愕。他的外表相当平凡，像英格兰中部工业区的商人。很难判断他的国籍。他讲话时用三种语言，自然交替，从不重复说过的话。他的法语、德语和英语都说得相当流利。
他说：“首先，欢迎加入我们的新同事。”
接着他对每位新来的成员都简单说了几句。
然后他说起组织的目标和信条。
事后希拉里试图回忆他说过的话，却发现没办法准确地复述。印象中只是一些陈词滥调，但当时听来，感觉完全不同。
希拉里记起一位朋友讲过的故事。那个朋友战前在德国住了一段时间，有一次，她纯粹出于好奇，参加了一场“疯狂希特勒”的演讲会，结果她发现自己在现场大哭起来，情绪激动得无法自持。她说当时听起来每一个字眼都那么睿智、鼓舞人心，但之后回想，似乎都是老生常谈。
和眼下正发生的一样，希拉里已不自觉地被调动了情绪。院长的讲话非常简洁，他主要在谈年轻人，人类的未来要靠年轻人。
“累积的财富、声誉、家族影响力，这些都是过去的力量。今日，力量掌握在年轻人手中。力量源于智慧。化学家、物理学家、医生们的智慧……来自实验室的能量能摧毁很多东西。拥有这种力量，就可以说‘屈服，否则你就会被毁灭！’。这种力量不能由某个国家掌控，而应该掌握在创造者的手中。这个组织就是聚集全世界的力量的地方。你们从世界各地来到这里，带来了你们具有创造力的科学知识。还带来了你们的青春年华！这里没有年龄在四十五岁以上的人。等那一天到来的时候，我们要创造一个托拉斯 [1] ，科学界的智慧托拉斯。然后由我们管理世界事务，由我们向资本家、皇族、军队和实业家发出命令。
我们要为世界带来一次技术革命。”
他还说了很多，全是些使人迷醉的词，但不是这些语言，而是演讲者本身的能量，把本来冷峻而持批判态度的听众鼓动了起来，挑起了他们心中莫名的情绪。
最后，院长高呼：“勇气和胜利！晚安！”结束了这次演讲。
希拉里带着一种如梦似幻的感觉踉踉跄跄地离开了大厅，留意到其他人脸上也是同样的神情。她看到埃里克森尤其激动，他的眼眸闪着光，脑袋兴奋地后仰。
接着，她感受到安迪•彼得斯的手触碰了一下她的手臂，他对她耳语道：“去屋顶花园吧，我们需要一些新鲜空气。”
他们一起坐电梯上楼，在繁星之下漫步于棕榈树间，一路无言。
直到彼得斯深吸一口气，说：“哦，这才是我们所需要的。让风吹散这虚荣的云雾吧。”
希拉里深深地叹了口气，她还是觉得一切都很不真实。
彼得斯友好地晃了晃她的胳膊。
“振作起来，奥利芙。”
“虚荣的云雾，”希拉里说道，“你说得对——确实如此！”
“振作起来，听着，像个女人！回到现实中来！等这虚荣的毒雾散去，你会意识到听到的那些都是老一套。”
“但是很美好……我的意思是，那是一个美好的愿景。”
“无用的愿景。直面现实吧。青春和智慧——哈利路亚！哪有什么青春、什么智慧？海尔格•尼达姆，一个无情的利己主义者；托基尔•埃里克森，一个不切实际的幻想家；巴伦博士，可以为了实验仪器把祖母送进屠宰场的人。我呢，一个普通人，正如你所说，只擅长摆弄试管和显微镜。我甚至连一个办公室都管理不好，更别说管理世界了！再说说你丈夫——是的，我要说说他，神经紧张到整日什么都不想，就知道担心会受到惩罚。我说的这些都是你熟悉的，不过这里的人都这样，至少我遇到的都这样。他们中有些确实是天才，在自己的领域做得极为出色，但要说管理整个世界，该死，别逗我了！全是险恶的谎言，刚才我们听到的都是险恶的谎言。”
希拉里坐在水泥栏杆上，伸出一只手覆在前额。
“是的，”她说，“我想你说得对……但虚荣的云雾还在我眼前飘着。他是如何做到的呢？他自己相信那一套吗？哦，他一定相信。”
彼得斯忧郁地说：“我认为，事情的本质是相似的。他就是一个相信自己是上帝的疯子。”
希拉里缓缓说道：“我也这么觉得。但是……还是不太令人信服。”
“亲爱的，它就这样发生了，并且不断重演。有人就相信了，今晚我都差点儿相信了。
要不是我邀你一起上来，想必你也要相信了……”突然，他的神色一变，“可能我不该这么做。贝特顿会怎么想呢？他肯定觉得这很古怪。”
“我不这么认为。我甚至怀疑他是否注意到了。”
彼得斯疑惑不解地望着她。
“抱歉，奥利芙。看着他那么消沉，你一定很忧心。”
希拉里激动地说：“我们必须离开这里。必须。一定。”
“我们会的。”
“你之前也这么说过，但一直没什么进展。”
“哦不，有进展。我可没偷懒。”
她惊讶地看着他。
“没有具体的计划，但我已经在做一些事了。这里已积攒了很多不满情绪，比我们上帝一般的院长先生知道的要多得多。特别是组织里地位较低的人。食物、金钱、奢侈品和女人并不是一切，你懂的。我会带你离开这里的，奥利芙。”
“还有汤姆？”
彼得斯的脸色沉了下去。
“听着，奥利芙，听我说，汤姆最好还是待在这里。他……”彼得斯有些迟疑，“待在这里比在外面要安全得多。”
“安全？这太奇怪了。”
“安全，”彼得斯说，“我特意选了这个词。”
希拉里皱起眉。
“我实在不明白你在说什么。汤姆他——你不认为他都快神智不正常了吗？”
“一点也不。他只是过度紧张。要我说，汤姆•贝特顿和你我一样清醒。”
“可为什么你说他待在这里要安全得多？”
彼得斯缓慢地说道：“你知道的，待在笼子里，是非常安全的。”
“哦不！”希拉里叫道，“别告诉我你也相信那一套。别跟我说什么集体催眠，还是其他什么名词，别跟我说你也被控制了。安全、顺从、满足！我们必须反抗！我们必须寻得自由！”
彼得斯慢慢地说：“是的，我知道。但是——”
“无论如何，汤姆他迫切地想离开这里。”
“汤姆可能并不知道什么是对他好的。”
忽然，希拉里想起汤姆曾给过她的暗示。如果他泄露了信息，她想，出去后就会受到惩罚，根据《政府保密法》遭到起诉。毫无疑问，这正是彼得斯此时以这样一种羞辱人的方式对她做出的暗示。但希拉里已下定决心。比起待在这里，出去坐牢也没什么。
她坚持道：“汤姆必须一起走。”
彼得斯再开口时，那刻薄的语调把她吓到了。
“如您所愿。至少我警告过你了。见鬼，真不知道你为什么如此关心那个家伙！”
她难过地望向他。有话想说，却又被她咽下。她发现自己想对他说：“我一点都不关心他，他对我来说无足轻重。他是另一个女人的丈夫，我只是想对她负责而已。”她还想说：“你真是傻瓜，如果真有这么一个人让我牵挂，那就是你……”
注释：
[1]垄断组织的高级形式之一。
Sixteen（3）
III
“Been enjoying yourself with your tame American?”
Tom Betterton threw the words at her as she entered their bedroom. Hewas lying on his back on his bed, smoking.
Hilary flushed slightly.
“We arrived here together,” she said, “and we seem to think alike aboutcertain things.”
He laughed.
“Oh! I don’t blame you.” For the first time he looked at her in a new andappraising way. “You’re a good-looking woman, Olive,” he said.
From the beginning Hilary had urged him always to call her by hiswife’s name.
“Yes,” he continued, his eyes raking her up and down. “You’re a damnedgood-looking woman. I’d have noticed that once. As it is, nothing of thatkind seems to register with me any more.”
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” said Hilary drily.
“I’m a perfectly normal man, my dear, or I used to be. God knows what Iam now.”
Hilary sat down by him.
“What is the matter with you, Tom?” she said.
“I tell you. I can’t concentrate. As a scientist I’m shot to pieces. This place—”
“The others—or most of them—don’t seem to feel like you?”
“Because they’re a damned insensitive crowd, I suppose.”
“Some of them are temperamental enough,” said Hilary, drily. She wenton, “If only you had a friend here—a real friend.”
“Well, there’s Murchison. Though he’s a dull dog. And I’ve seen a gooddeal of Torquil Ericsson lately.”
“Really?” For some reason Hilary felt surprised.
“Yes. My God, he’s brilliant. I wish I had his brains.”
“He’s an odd sort of person,” said Hilary. “I always find him ratherfrightening.”
“Frightening? Torquil? He’s as mild as milk. Like a child in some ways.
No knowledge of the world.”
“Well I find him frightening,” repeated Hilary obstinately.
“Your nerves must be getting upset, too.”
“Not yet. I suspect they will, though. Tom—don’t get too friendly withTorquil Ericsson.”
He stared at her.
“Why ever not?”
“I don’t know. It’s a feeling I have.”
第十六章（3）
3“你挺喜欢跟那个温和的美国人在一起的啊？”
希拉里刚踏进卧室，汤姆•贝特顿就抛来了这句话。他正躺在自己的床上吸烟。
希拉里的脸微微泛红。
“我们一起来的，”她说，“而且对一些事情的看法很相似。”
他笑了起来。
“啊！我不是在怪你。”他用一种从未有过的赞赏眼光看着她，说道，“你很漂亮，奥利芙。”
一开始希拉里就要求他以妻子的名字称呼自己。
“是的。”他上下打量着她，继续说道，“你是个很美丽的女人。我以前就注意到了，但即便如此，我依旧对你提不起什么兴致。”
“或许这样更好。”希拉里冷冷地说。
“亲爱的，我是个正常男人，或者应该说我曾经是。天知道我现在成了什么样。”
希拉里坐在他身旁，问道：“汤姆，你怎么了？”
“我告诉过你，我不能集中精力。作为一个科学家，我彻底毁了。这个地方……”
“为什么其他人，或者说大多数，没像你这样？”
“我想那是因为他们都是该死的迟钝平庸的人。”
“有些人还是足够敏感的。”希拉里冷冷地说，“你在这里有朋友吗，一个真正的朋友？”
“嗯，我有莫奇森。虽然他是个迟钝的走狗。最近我常跟托基尔•埃里克森一起。”
“真的吗？”不知为何，希拉里感到有些吃惊。
“是的。我的上帝，他聪明绝顶。真希望我有他那样的脑子。”
“他很古怪。”希拉里说，“我总被他吓到。”
“被他吓到？托基尔？他温和得像牛奶，在某些方面像个小孩，对世界的章法一无所知。”
“但我还是觉得他很可怕。”希拉里固执地重复道。
“你的神经一定也不是很好了。”
“没有，不过我怀疑以后会的。汤姆……请别跟托基尔•埃里克森走得太近。”
他盯着她。
“为什么？”
“我不知道。我只是有种感觉。”
Seventeen（1）
Seventeen
I
Leblanc shrugged his shoulders.
“They have left Africa, it is certain.”
“Not certain.”
“The probabilities point that way.” The Frenchman shook his head.
“After all, we know, do we not, for where they are bound?”
“If they are bound for where we think, why start the journey fromAfrica? Anywhere in Europe would be simpler.”
“That is true. But there is the other side of it. No one would expect themto assemble and start from here.”
“I still think there’s more to it than that.” Jessop was gently insistent.
“Besides, only a small plane could have used that airfield. It would have tocome down and refuel before crossing the Mediterranean. And wherethey refuelled some trace should have been left.”
“Mon cher, we have instituted the most searching inquiries — every-where there has been—”
“The men with the Geiger counters must get results in the end. Thenumber of planes to be examined is limited. Just a trace of radioactivityand we shall know that is the plane we are looking for—”
“If your agent has been able to use the spray. Alas! always so many ‘if’s’.
.?.?.”
“We shall get there,” said Jessop obstinately. “I wonder—”
“Yes?”
“We have assumed they are going North—towards the Mediterranean.
Suppose instead, they flew South.”
“Doubled back on their tracks? But where, then, could they be flying to?
There are the Mountains of the High Atlas — and after that the desertsands.”
第十七章（1）
第十七章
1勒布朗耸耸肩。
“他们一定是离开非洲了。”
“不一定。”
“就目前来看只有这一种可能。”法国人摇摇头，“而且我们知道他们要去哪儿，不是吗？”
“如果他们要去那儿，为什么从非洲启程？从欧洲的任何一个地方出发都要更方便一些，不是吗？”
“确实。但反过来考虑，也就意味着没人料想到他们会从那里启程。”
“我仍旧认为事情远比这要复杂。”杰索普礼貌地坚持着，“除此之外，只有小型飞机才能在那个机场起飞，那么穿越地中海之前就必须着陆加油。加油的地方肯定会留下痕迹的。”
“亲爱的，我们进行了最仔细的调查，到处都去看了……”
“盖革计数器 [1] 会帮我们发现线索的。就那么几架飞机，只要有那么一丁点儿放射性物质的痕迹，我们就能找到那架飞机了——”
“如果您的属下成功使用了喷雾。老天啊！干什么都有那么多‘如果’……”
“我们会找到线索的。”杰索普坚持着，“我认为……”
“什么？”
“我们一直认为他们是往北部飞，也就是地中海。但会不会他们是往南部飞呢？”
“顺着来时的路飞吗？但他们这样能去哪儿？再往南就是阿特拉斯山脉了，然后就是沙漠地带。”
注释：
[1]盖革计数器，用于测量放射性。
Seventeen（2）
II
“Sidi, you swear to me that it will be as you have promised? A petrol sta-tion in America, in Chicago? It is certain?”
“It is certain, Mohammed, if we get out of here, that is.”
“Success depends on the will of Allah.”
“Let us hope, then, that it is the will of Allah that you should have a pet-rol station in Chicago. Why Chicago?”
“Sidi, the brother of my wife went to America, and he has there a petrolpump in Chicago. Do I want to remain in a backward part of the world allmy days? Here there is money and much food and many rugs and women—but it is not modern. It is not America.”
Peters looked thoughtfully into the dignified black face. Mohammed inhis white robes was a magnificent sight. What strange desires rose in thehuman heart.
“I don’t know that you’re wise,” he said with a sigh, “but so be it. Ofcourse, if we are found out—”
A smile on the black face revealed beautiful white teeth.
“Then it is death—for me certainly. Perhaps not for you, Sidi, since youare valuable.”
“They deal out death rather easily here, do they?”
The shoulders of the other man rose and fell contemptuously.
“What is death? That, too, is the will of Allah!”
“You know what you have to do?”
“I know, Sidi. I am to take you to the roof after dark. Also I am to put inyour room clothing such as I and the other servants wear. Later—therewill be other things.”
“Right. You’d better let me out of the lift now. Somebody may noticewe’re riding up and down. It may give them ideas.”
第十七章（2）
2“您能发誓答应我的事一定会办到吗？给我一个加油站，在美国的芝加哥？真的吗？”
“我发誓，穆罕默德，如果我们能离开这里。”
“成功与否要看真主安拉的意志。”
“那就让我们祈祷吧，你能不能在芝加哥拥有一个加油站，也要看真主安拉的意志了。
为什么选芝加哥呢？”
“我妻子的兄弟在美国芝加哥有个加油站。我为什么要待在全世界最落后的地区啊？这里确实有钱，我吃得饱穿得暖还不缺女人。但这里不够现代化。这里不是美国。”
彼得斯若有所思地看着这张面色庄严的黑色脸庞。穿着白色长袍的穆罕默德看上去颇为肃穆，但人类的心中都会怀有奇怪的欲望。
“我不知道你这个想法是否明智。”他叹了口气，“但我会说话算话的。当然，如果我们被人发现的话……”
黝黑的脸上泛起笑容，露出了美丽洁白的牙齿。
“就死定了——至少对我而言是这样的。可能您还不至于，因为您还有价值。”
“在这里，要弄死一个人是很容易的，对吗？”
穆罕默德耸耸肩，轻蔑地说：“处死？死亡也要看真主安拉的意志。”
“你知道要做些什么吧？”
“知道。天黑以后我要把您带到屋顶去，还要在您的屋子里放一套仆人穿的衣服，像我身上这样的。然后……再做其他事。”
“没错。现在，你最好让我出电梯，可能会有人留意到我一直上上下下的，没准儿会起疑。”
Seventeen（3）
III
There was dancing going on. Andy Peters was dancing with Miss Jennson.
He held her close to him, and seemed to be murmuring in her ear. As theyrevolved slowly near where Hilary was standing he caught her eye andimmediately gave her an outrageous wink.
Hilary, biting her lip to avoid a smile, averted her eyes quickly.
Her glance fell on Betterton who was standing just across the room talk-ing to Torquil Ericsson. Hilary frowned a little as she watched them.
“Have a turn with me, Olive?” said Murchison’s voice at her elbow.
“Yes, of course, Simon.”
“Mind you, I’m not very hot at dancing,” he warned her.
Hilary concentrated on keeping her feet where he could not possiblytread on them.
“It’s exercise, that’s what I say,” said Murchison, panting slightly. He wasan energetic dancer.
“Awfully jolly frock you’ve got on, Olive.”
His conversation seemed always to come out of an old-fashioned novel.
“I’m glad you like it,” said Hilary.
“Get it out of the Fashion Department?”
Resisting the temptation to reply: “Where else?” Hilary merely said,“Yes.”
“Must say, you know,” panted Murchison, as he capered perseveringlyround the floor, “they do you jolly well here. Said so to Bianca only theother day. Beats the Welfare State every time. No worries about money, orincome tax—or repairs or upkeep. All the worrying done for you. Must bea wonderful life for a woman, I should say.”
“Bianca finds it so, does she?”
“Well, she was restless for a bit, but now she’s managed to get up a fewcommittees and organize one or two things—debates, you know, and lec-tures. She’s complaining that you don’t take as much part as you might inthings.”
“I’m afraid I’m not that kind of person, Simon. I’ve never been very pub-lic spirited.”
“Yes, but you girls have got to keep yourselves amused one way or an-other. At least I don’t mean amused exactly—”
“Occupied?” suggested Hilary.
“Yes—I mean the modern woman wants to get her teeth into something.
I quite realize that women like you and Bianca have made a definite sacri-fice coming here—you’re neither of you scientists, thank goodness—really,these scientific women! Absolutely the limit, most of them! I said to Bi-anca, ‘Give Olive time, she’s got to get tuned in.’ It takes a little time gettingused to this place. To begin with, one gets a kind of claustrophobic feeling.
But it wears off—it wears off. .?.?.”
“You mean—one can get used to anything?”
“Well, some people feel it more than others. Tom, now, seems to take ithard. Where’s old Tom tonight? Oh yes, I see, over there with Torquil.
Quite inseparable, those two.”
“I wish they weren’t. I mean, I shouldn’t have thought they had verymuch in common.”
“Young Torquil seems fascinated by your husband. He follows himround everywhere.”
“I’ve noticed it. I wondered—why?”
“Well, he’s always got some outlandish theory to get off his chest—it’sbeyond my power to follow him—his English isn’t too good, as you know.
But Tom listens and manages to take it all in.”
The dance ended. Andy Peters came up and claimed Hilary for the nextone.
“I observed you suffering in a good cause,” he said. “How badly did youget trampled?”
“Oh, I was fairly agile.”
“You noticed me doing my stuff?”
“With the Jennson?”
“Yes. I think I may say without undue modesty that I have made a hit, apalpable hit in that quarter. These plain, angular, shortsighted girls re-spond immediately when given the treatment.”
“You certainly gave the impression of having fallen for her.”
“That was the idea. That girl, Olive, properly handled, can be very use-ful. She’s in the know about all the arrangements here. For instance, to-morrow there’s a party of various V.I.P.s due here. Doctors and a few Gov-ernment officials and a rich patron or two.”
“Andy—do you think there might be a chance. .?.?.”
“No, I don’t. I bet that’s going to be taken care of. So don’t cherish falsehopes. But it will be valuable because we’ll get an idea of the procedure.
And on the next occasion—well, there might be something doing. So longas I can keep the Jennson eating out of my hand, I can get a lot of miscel-laneous information out of her.”
“How much do the people who are coming know?”
“About us—the Unit, I mean—nothing at all. Or so I gather. They just in-spect the settlement and the medical research laboratories. This place hasbeen deliberately built like a labyrinth, just so that nobody coming into itcan possibly guess its extent. I gather there are kinds of bulkheads thatclose, and that shut off our area.”
“It all seems so incredible.”
“I know. Half the time one feels one must be dreaming. One of the un-real things here is never seeing any children about. Thank goodness therearen’t. You must be thankful you haven’t got a child.”
He felt the sudden stiffening of her body.
“Here—I’m sorry—I said the wrong thing!” He led her off the dancefloor and to a couple of chairs.
“I’m very sorry,” he repeated. “I hurt you, didn’t I?”
“It’s nothing—no, really not your fault. I did have a child—and it died—that’s all.”
“You had a child?—” he stared, surprised. “I thought you’d only beenmarried to Betterton six months?”
Olive flushed. She said quickly:
“Yes, of course. But I was — married before. I divorced my first hus-band.”
“Oh, I see. That’s the worst of this place. One doesn’t know anythingabout people’s lives before they came here, and so one goes and says thewrong thing. It’s odd to realize sometimes that I don’t know anythingabout you at all.”
“Or I anything about you. How you were brought up—and where—yourfamily—”
“I was brought up in a strictly scientific atmosphere. Nourished on testtubes, you might say. Nobody ever thought of anything else. But I wasnever the bright boy of the family. Genius lay elsewhere.”
“Where exactly?”
“A girl. She was brilliant. She might have been another Madame Curie.
She could have opened up new horizons.”
“She—what happened to her?”
He said shortly:
“She was killed.”
Hilary guessed at some wartime tragedy. She said gently:
“You cared for her?”
“More than I have ever cared for anybody.”
He roused himself suddenly.
“What the heck—we’ve got enough troubles in the present, right hereand now. Look at our Norwegian friend. Apart from his eyes, he alwayslooks as though he were made from wood. And that wonderful little stiffbow of his—as though you’d pulled a string.”
“It’s because he’s so very tall and thin.”
“Not so very tall. About my height — five- foot- eleven or six foot, notmore.”
“Height is deceptive.”
“Yes, it’s like descriptions on passports. Take Ericsson. Height six foot,fair hair, blue eyes, face long, demeanour wooden, nose medium, mouthordinary. Even add what a passport wouldn’t — speaks correctly butpedantically—you still wouldn’t have the first idea what Torquil reallylooked like. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
She was staring across the room at Ericsson. That description of BorisGlydr! Almost word for word as she had heard it from Jessop. Was thatwhy she had always felt nervous of Torquil Ericsson? Could it possibly bethat—
Turning abruptly to Peters she said:
“I suppose he is Ericsson? He couldn’t be someone else?”
Peters looked at her in astonishment.
“Someone else? Who?”
“I mean—at least I think I mean—could he have come here pretendingto be Ericsson?”
Peters considered.
“I suppose—no, I don’t think that would be feasible. He’d have to be ascientist .?.?. and anyway, Ericsson is quite well known.”
“But nobody here seems ever to have met him before—or I suppose hecould be Ericsson, but be someone else as well.”
“You mean Ericsson could have been leading some kind of double life?
That’s possible, I suppose. But it’s not very likely.”
“No,” said Hilary. “No, of course it isn’t likely.”
Of course Ericsson was not Boris Glydr. But why should Olive Bettertonhave been so insistent on warning Tom against Boris? Could it have beenbecause she knew that Boris was on his way to the Unit? Supposing the manwho had come to London calling himself Boris Glydr was not Boris Glydrat all? Supposing that he was really Torquil Ericsson. The description fit-ted. Ever since he arrived at the Unit, he had focused his attention on Tom.
Ericsson, she was sure, was a dangerous person—you didn’t know whatwent on behind those pale dreamy eyes. .?.?.
She shivered.
“Olive—what’s the matter? What is it?”
“Nothing. Look. The Deputy Director is going to make an announce-ment.”
Dr. Nielson was holding up his hand for silence. He spoke into the mi-crophone on the platform of the Hall.
“Friends and colleagues. Tomorrow you are asked to remain in theEmergency Wing. Please assemble at eleven a.m. when there will be a rollcall. Emergency orders are for twenty-four hours only. I much regret theinconvenience. A notice has been posted on the board.”
He retired smiling. Then music began again.
“I must pursue the Jennson again,” said Peters. “I see her looking earn-est by a pillar. I want to hear just what these Emergency quarters consistof.”
He moved away. Hilary sat thinking. Was she an imaginative fool?
Torquil Ericsson? Boris Glydr?
第十七章（3）
3舞会还在进行着。安迪•彼得斯正与詹森小姐共舞，他紧紧搂住她，在她耳边低声耳语。当他们缓慢地转到希拉里身边时，彼得斯迎向希拉里的目光，并向她调皮地眨了眨眼。
希拉里抿起嘴忍住笑意，迅速将目光转向别处。
她的目光落在了房间的另一侧，贝特顿正和托基尔•埃里克森聊着。她不由得微微皱起了眉头。
“奥利芙，能否赏脸跟我跳一曲？”莫奇森的声音响起。
“哦，当然了，西蒙。”
“先道个歉，我跳得不太好。”他提醒道。
希拉里小心着尽量避免让莫奇森踩到脚。
“在我看来，这也是一种运动。”莫奇森微微有些气喘，他的舞步很有活力，“你的连衣裙真是美极了，奥利芙。”他总会说些古典小说里才会有的台词。
“我很高兴你喜欢。”希拉里说。
“是从时装部挑的吗？”
希拉里本来想回敬他一句：“不然还能在哪儿？”但她只是应了声“是的”。
“我还是得说，你看，”莫奇森重重地跺着脚，喘着粗气说，“在这里，他们待我们不错。我前几天也跟比安卡说，这里的方方面面都比高福利国家还要好很多。不用担心钱的问题，没有所得税，修理费维护费之类的也不用操心。所有麻烦事都替你解决了。我说，对女人来说，这里的生活多美好啊！”
“比安卡也赞同，是吗？”
“哦，她其实有些不安，不过最近她组建了几个委员会，还组织了一两次活动，辩论会和讲座，你知道的。她抱怨说你不怎么参加活动。”
“很抱歉，这是我的问题，西蒙，我不是那种热心公共事务的人。”
“是的，但你们这些姑娘应当想方设法找点乐趣。我不是仅指娱乐……”
“去把时间占满？”希拉里应道。
“是的……我的意思是，现代女性需要去做一些事情。我非常理解，像你和比安卡这样的女性，来到这里确实是做出了巨大的牺牲。不过谢天谢地，你们都不是科学家！真的，那些女科学家！我知道我不该以偏概全，但她们大多让人忍无可忍！我对比安卡说：‘给奥利芙点时间，她会适应的。’适应这里确实需要花些时间。一开始人们总会有一种类似幽闭恐惧感。但这种感觉会消失的，会消失的……”
“你的意思是……人可以适应一切？”
“嗯，虽然有些人会困难一些。最近汤姆看起来就不太好。今晚老汤姆在哪儿呢？哦，我看到他了，在跟托基尔聊天呢。真是难舍难分啊，这两个人。”
“我真希望他们不要这么难舍难分。我的意思是，我不认为他们之间有什么共同之处。”
“年轻的托基尔似乎被您的丈夫吸引住了，到哪儿都跟着他。”
“我也发现了。只是……我不知道为什么？”
“哦，他总有一些奇怪的理论想与人讨论，我想我有些跟不上他的思路。而且他的英文说得不怎么好，您知道的。但是汤姆能认真地听，还会努力去理解。”
一曲结束。安迪•彼得斯走了过来，邀请希拉里跳下一曲。
“我看到你遭了不少罪。脚被踩得不轻吧？”他说。
“哦，我可是灵活得很。”
“你留意到我的行动了吧？”
“跟詹森小姐跳舞吗？”
“是的。我想我能毫不谦虚地说，我放下了诱饵，而那个诱饵肯定能有所收获。只要稍微用点手段，那些相貌平平、目光短浅的姑娘就会上钩。”
“你让她认为你迷上她了。”
“是这样的。那个姑娘，奥利芙，好好利用，会有很大用处。她清楚这里所有的安排。
比如明天会举办一场聚会，参加者都是重要人士。博士、政府官员，以及一两位富有的赞助人。”
“安迪……你是想说这是一次机会？”
“不、不，我相信到时会加强安保的，所以不要有什么不切实际的幻想。但经历了这次聚会，我们就知道这里的聚会都是怎么安排举办的了。那么，下一次再有聚会……就可以做点什么了。只要我掌控了詹森，就能从她那里得到多方面的情报。”
“那些将要来这里的人，对这里的情况知道多少？”
“据我所知，关于我们——我的意思是这个组织，他们一无所知。他们只是来视察一下，看看医学实验室。这个地方故意修得犹如一个大迷宫，这样一来，来这里的人就无从知晓其中的实情。我猜测，有道隔墙把我们这个部分隔离了。”
“这简直难以想象。”
“是的。所以人们总觉得一半时间像在梦中。这里还有一件不真实的事情，那就是没有孩子。谢天谢地，这里没有孩子。你肯定也很感谢上苍，你没有孩子。”
彼得斯意识到希拉里的身体挺直了。
“哦……对不起，我说错话了！”他带她走出舞池，找到两把椅子。
“我很抱歉，”他重复道，“我让你不高兴了，是吗？”
“没什么……不，这真的不是你的错。我有过一个孩子……但她死了，就是这样。”
“你有过孩子？”他十分惊讶，“你和贝特顿不是刚结婚六个月吗？”
奥利芙脸红了，她迅速应道：“是的，没错。但是我……之前结过婚。我跟第一任丈夫离婚了。”
“啊，我明白了。这正是这个地方最糟的，没人知道你来这里之前的经历，于是人们总会讲错话、做错事。我竟对你一无所知，这让我很不舒服。”
“我也对你一无所知。你是在怎样的环境里长大的……你的家在哪里……”
“我成长于一个纯粹的科学家庭。你可以说，我是在试管里长大的。周围没人想别的事。但我不是家里最聪明的，家里另有天才。”
“谁呢？”
“一个小女孩。她很聪明，本来可能成为第二个居里夫人，开拓出新的视野。”
“她……怎么了？”
他简短地说：“被杀了。”
希拉里猜想可能是战时发生的悲剧。她温柔地说：“你很在意她？”
“我从没那么在意过一个人。”他猛然起身，道，“说这些又有什么用！我们现在的麻烦事已经够多了，这里，现在。看看那个挪威朋友，不看眼睛，你会以为他整个人是木头做的。还有他那僵硬地点头的样子，就好像有人在他背后扯着线一般。”
“那是因为他又瘦又高。”
“也没有那么高。跟我差不多，五英尺十一英寸或六英尺，不会再多了。”
“身高具有欺骗性。”
“是的，就像护照上的描述一样。比如埃里克森，六英尺高，金发，蓝色眼睛，长脸，举止古板，普通的鼻子，普通的嘴唇。就算再加上护照上不会注明的说话时用词精准但过于学究气，你仍旧不知道托基尔•埃里克森到底长什么样。你怎么了？”
“没事。”
她注视着站在屋子另一侧的埃里克森。刚才的描述说的就像是鲍里斯•克莱德尔！跟她在杰索普那里听到的形容词一模一样。这就是她看到托基尔•埃里克森时总是感到紧张不安的原因吗？有没有可能……
她突然打断彼得斯，说：“我们都认为他是埃里克森，但他有没有可能是别的什么人？”
彼得斯惊呆了。
“别的什么人？谁？”
“我的意思是……我在想……有没有可能是有人假扮成埃里克森，为了来到这里？”
彼得斯思考着。
“我觉得不会……不，我认为这没有可能。要伪装，那个人必须是位科学家……而且埃里克森是个名人。”
“但这里的人似乎都没见过他。或者，他就是埃里克森，但他也扮成别的什么人。”
“你的意思是埃里克森过着双重生活？我想这倒是有可能，但可能性不大。”
“嗯。”希拉里说，“确实，这不太可能。”
埃里克森当然不是鲍里斯•格莱德尔。但为什么奥利芙•贝特顿那么坚定地想提醒汤姆提防鲍里斯呢？是不是因为她知道鲍里斯会通过某种方式来到这个组织？假如跑去伦敦自称为鲍里斯的男子并不是真的鲍里斯呢？假如他就是托基尔•埃里克森呢？两人外形相符，而且自从他来到组织，就对汤姆十分在意。她很确定，埃里克森是一位危险人物，你不知道他那迷离的浅色眼眸中藏着什么……
希拉里哆嗦了一下。
“奥利芙……你没事吧？怎么了？”
“没事。看，副院长好像有事要宣布。”
尼尔森博士举起手示意大家安静。他站在大厅的讲台上，通过扩音器开始讲话。
“朋友们，同事们，明天你们要去侧面的安全厅，请于上午十一点之前集合。我们会点名。这次紧急状况将持续二十四小时，带来的不便，我深表歉意。通知已经张贴在布告栏中了。”
他露出微笑。音乐继续。
“我要继续去追求詹森小姐了。”彼得斯说，“我看到她正表情急切地倚着柱子。我想搞清楚安全厅的构造。”
他离开了。希拉里坐下来陷入深思。我是个耽于幻想的傻瓜吗？托基尔•埃里克森？鲍里斯•克莱德尔？
Seventeen（4）
IV
Roll call was in the big lecture room. Everyone was present and answeredto his or her name. Then they were marshalled into a long column andmarched off.
The route was, as usual, through a maze of winding corridors. Hilary,walking by Peters, knew that he had, concealed in his hand, a tiny com-pass. From this, unobtrusively, he was calculating their direction.
“Not that it helps,” he observed ruefully in a low tone. “Or at any rate itdoesn’t help at the moment. But it may do—some time.”
At the end of the corridor they were following was a door and there wasa momentary halt as the door was opened.
Peters took out his cigarette case—but immediately Van Heidem’s voicewas raised peremptorily.
“No smoking, please. That has already been told you.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Peters paused with the cigarette case in his hand. Then they all went for-ward again.
“Just like sheep,” said Hilary disgustedly.
“Cheer up,” Peters murmured. “Baa, baa, black sheep is among the flock,thinking up devilry hard.”
She flashed him a grateful glance and smiled.
“Women’s dormitory to the right,” said Miss Jennson.
She shepherded the women off in the direction indicated.
The men were marched to the left.
The dormitory was a large room of hygienic appearance rather like ahospital ward. It had beds along the walls with curtains of plastic materialthat could be pulled for privacy. There was a locker by each bed.
“You will find arrangements rather simple,” said Miss Jennson, “but nottoo primitive. The bathroom accommodation is through there to the right.
The communal living room is through the door at the end.”
The communal living room where they all met again was plainly fur-nished rather like an airport waiting room—there was a bar and snackcounter at one side. Along the other side was a row of bookshelves.
The day passed quite agreeably. There were two cinema performancesshown on a small portable screen.
The lighting was of the daylight type which tended to obscure the factthat there were no windows. Towards evening a fresh set of bulbs cameon—soft and discreet night lighting.
“Clever,” said Peters appreciatively. “It all helps to minimize the feelingof being walled up alive.”
How helpless they all were, thought Hilary. Somewhere, quite nearthem, were a party from the outside world. And there was no means ofcommunicating with them, of appealing for help. As usual, everything hadbeen ruthlessly and efficiently planned.
Peters was sitting with Miss Jennson. Hilary suggested to the Murchis-ons that they should play bridge. Tom Betterton refused. He said hecouldn’t concentrate, but Dr. Barron made a fourth.
Oddly enough, Hilary found the game enjoyable. It was half-past elevenwhen their third rubber came to an end, with herself and Dr. Barron thewinners.
“I enjoyed that,” she said. She glanced at her watch. “It’s quite late. Isuppose the V.I.P.s will have left now—or do they spend the night here?”
“I don’t really know,” said Simon Murchison. “I believe one or two of thespecially keen medicos stay over. Anyway, they’ll all have gone by tomor-row midday.”
“And that’s when we’re put back into circulation?”
“Yes. About time, too. It upsets all one’s routine, this sort of thing.”
“But it is well arranged,” said Bianca with approval.
She and Hilary got up and said good night to the two men. Hilary stoodback a little to allow Bianca to precede her into the dimly lit dormitory. Asshe did so, she felt a soft touch on her arm.
She turned sharply to find one of the tall, dark-faced servants standingbeside her.
He spoke in a low urgent voice in French.
“S’il vous pla?t, Madame, you are to come.”
“Come? Come where?”
“If you will please follow me.”
She stood irresolute for a moment.
Bianca had gone on into the dormitory. In the communal living roomthe few persons left were engaged in conversation with each other.
Again she felt that soft urgent touch on her arm.
“You will follow me please, Madame.”
He moved a few steps and stood, looking back, beckoning to her. A littledoubtfully Hilary followed him.
She noticed that this particular man was far more richly dressed thanmost of the native servants. His robes were embroidered heavily with goldthread.
He led her through a small door in a corner of the communal livingroom, then once more along the inevitable anonymous white corridors.
She did not think it was the same way by which they had come to theEmergency Wing, but it was always difficult to be sure because of the sim-ilarity of the passages. Once she tried to ask a question but the guideshook his head impatiently and hurried on.
He stopped finally at the end of a corridor and pressed a button in thewall. A panel slid back disclosing a small lift. He gestured her in, followedher, and the lift shot upwards.
Hilary said sharply: “Where are you taking me?”
The dark eyes held hers in a kind of dignified reproof.
“To the Master, Madame. It is for you a great honour.”
“To the Director, you mean?”
“To the Master. .?.?.”
The lift stopped. He slid back the doors and motioned her out. Then theywalked down another corridor and arrived at a door. Her guide rapped onthe door and it was opened from inside. Here again were white robes, goldembroidery and a black impassive face.
The man took Hilary across the small red-carpeted anteroom and drewaside some hangings at the farther side. Hilary passed through. She foundherself, unexpectedly, in an almost oriental interior. There were lowcouches, coffee tables, one or two beautiful rugs hanging on the walls. Sit-ting on a low divan was a figure at whom she stared with complete in-credulity. Small, yellow, wrinkled, old, she stared unbelievingly into thesmiling eyes of Mr. Aristides.
第十七章（4）
4大家在大演讲室里集合，点名。没人缺席。接着排成队出发了。
跟往常一样，要穿过曲折如迷宫般的走廊。希拉里走在彼得斯旁边，知道他手里攥着个小型指南针。通过它，他可以判断出方向。
“不管用。”他压低声音失望地说，“不过可能只是这次没用，之后不知什么时候会有用的。”
走廊的尽头有一扇打开的门，大家暂且停住了脚步。
彼得斯拿出烟盒，但马上被范•海德姆提醒说：“请不要吸烟。之前已经通知过各位了。”
“抱歉，先生。”
彼得斯把烟盒攥在手里。接着众人再次出发。
“就像羊群。”希拉里厌恶地说。
“打起精神来。”彼得斯嘟囔道，“咩，咩，羊群里有一头黑羊，正想着什么鬼把戏。”
希拉里向他投去感激的目光，笑了起来。
“女宿舍在右边。”詹森小姐说。
她领着女人们走向那边。
男人们排队走向左侧。
宿舍很宽敞，很干净，就像医院里的病房一样。床靠墙排列，床之间有塑料帘子隔着，每张床旁边都有个床头柜。
“这里的设施很简单，”詹森小姐说，“但应有尽有。浴室在穿过房间的左侧、集体活动室在走廊那头。”
集体活动室就像机场候机室一样简陋。一侧有个吧台和零食台，另一侧是一排书架。
这一天过得不错。一部手提放映机放映了两部电影。
日光灯很亮，让人忘记了屋子里没有窗户。傍晚时又换了一套灯具——适宜夜晚的柔和灯光。
“真高明，”彼得斯赞赏地说，“这里的一切都在帮助人们缓解幽闭恐惧症。”
我们是如此无助，希拉里想。就在某处，离他们很近的地方，有一群从外面来的人，我们却没有办法与他们取得联系、寻求帮助。如往常一样，一切都无情却妥帖得安排好了。
彼得斯跟詹森小姐坐在一起。希拉里建议和莫奇森夫妇一起打桥牌，但汤姆•贝特顿拒绝了，他说他集中不了注意力。最终巴伦博士参加了。
奇怪的是，希拉里发觉自己打牌打得很开心。打完第三局时已经十一点半了，她和巴伦博士是赢家。
“真开心。”她说，看了看表，“很晚了。我想那些贵宾该离开了吧，还是说他们要在这儿过夜？”
“不太清楚。”西蒙•莫奇森说，“我想有一两位专科医生是要过夜的。不过最晚明天中午他们就会离开。”
“那时我们才能回去吗？”
“是的。差不多那个时候吧。这破事打乱了我的作息。”
“但这里还不错啊。”比安卡赞赏地说。
她和希拉里站起来，跟两个男人道了晚安。希拉里退了一步，让比安卡先进灯光昏暗的宿舍。接着她正要进屋时，感觉到有人轻轻碰了一下她的胳膊。
她猛地回头，看到一个高大的黑脸仆人。
他声音很低却语调急切，说的是法语。
“夫人，请您过来。”
“过来？去哪儿？”
“请您跟我来。”
希拉里迟疑了一下。
比安卡已经进宿舍了。集体活动室里还有几个人，三三两两地聊着天。
她再次感到胳膊被轻轻地触碰了一下。
“夫人，请跟我来。”
他转身走了几步，停下来转过头，向她招手。希拉里怀着一丝疑惑跟上了他。
她注意到这个男人的衣服要比大多数当地仆人的华贵。他的袍子上有金线绣的大量纹饰。
他带着她穿过活动室角落的一扇小门，接着又沿着那条必经的白色走廊走。她觉得这条路不是早晨来时走的那条，但也很难说，因为这里的路看上去都差不多。她曾试图提个问题，但向导不耐烦地摇摇头，急匆匆地往前赶。
最终，他停在走廊尽头，按了墙上的一个按钮。一扇滑动门开了，里面有个小电梯。
他示意她进去，然后跟着也进去了。电梯向上升。
希拉里尖叫道：“你要把我带到哪儿去？”
男人黑色的眼眸里带着责备的神色。
“去见我的主人，夫人。对您来说这是莫大的荣誉。”
“你的意思是去见院长？”
电梯停下了。他拉开门，让她出去。接着他们又走过一条走廊，来到一扇门前。向导敲敲门，有人从里面开了门。门里又是一个穿白色长袍的仆人，长袍上绣着金线，黑脸上毫无表情。
这个男人带着希拉里穿过铺有红地毯的狭小前厅，拉开内侧的门帘。希拉里走了进去。她惊讶地发现自己身处一间中式内室，陈设有低矮的沙发、咖啡桌，墙上挂着两张美丽的壁毯。矮小的沙发椅上坐着的人让她大为震惊。身材矮小、皮肤发黄、皱纹满脸、年迈不堪——她难以置信地盯着阿里斯提德先生略带笑意的眼眸。
Eighteen
Eighteen
“Asseyez-vous, chère Madame,” said Mr. Aristides.
He waved a small claw-like hand, and Hilary came forward in a dreamand sat down upon another low divan opposite him. He gave a gentle littlecackle of laughter.
“You are surprised,” he said. “It is not what you expected, eh?”
“No, indeed,” said Hilary. “I never thought—I never imagined—”
But already her surprise was subsiding.
With her recognition of Mr. Aristides the dream world of unreality inwhich she had been living for the past weeks shattered and broke. Sheknew now that the Unit had seemed unreal to her—because it was unreal.
It had never been what it pretended to be. The Herr Director with hisspellbinder’s voice had been unreal too—a mere figurehead of fiction setup to obscure the truth. The truth was here in this secret oriental room. Alittle old man sitting there and laughing quietly. With Mr. Aristides in thecentre of the picture, everything made sense—hard, practical, everydaysense.
“I see now,” said Hilary. “This—is all yours, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Madame.”
“And the Director? The so-called Director?”
“He is very good,” said Mr. Aristides appreciatively. “I pay him a veryhigh salary. He used to run Revivalist Meetings.”
He smoked thoughtfully for a moment or two. Hilary did not speak.
“There is Turkish Delight beside you, Madame. And other sweetmeats ifyou prefer them.” Again there was a silence. Then he went on, “I am aphilanthropist, Madame. As you know, I am rich. One of the richest men—possibly the richest man—in the world today. With my wealth I feel underthe obligation to serve humanity. I have established here, in this remotespot, a colony of lepers and a vast assembly of research into the problemof the cure of leprosy. Certain types of leprosy are curable. Others, so far,have proved incurable. But all the time we are working and obtaininggood results. Leprosy is not really such an easily communicated disease. Itis not half so infectious or so contagious as smallpox or typhus or plagueor any of these other things. And yet, if you say to people, ‘a leper colony’
they will shudder and give it a wide berth. It is an old, old fear, that. A fearthat you can find in the Bible, and which has existed all down through theyears. The horror of the leper. It has been useful to me in establishing thisplace.”
“You established it for that reason?”
“Yes. We have here also a Cancer Research department, and importantwork is being done on tuberculosis. There is virus research, also—for cur-ative reasons, bien entendu—biological warfare is not mentioned. All hu-mane, all acceptable, all redounding greatly to my honour. Well-knownphysicians, surgeons and research chemists come here to see our resultsfrom time to time as they have come today. The building has been cun-ningly constructed in such a way that a part of it is shut off and unappar-ent even from the air. The more secret laboratories have been tunnelledright into the rock. In any case, I am above suspicion.” He smiled and ad-ded simply: “I am so very rich, you see.”
“But why?” demanded Hilary. “Why this urge for destruction?”
“I have no urge for destruction, Madame. You wrong me.”
“But then—I simply don’t understand.”
“I am a businessman,” said Mr. Aristides simply. “I am also a collector.
When wealth becomes oppressive, that is the only thing to do. I have col-lected many things in my time. Pictures—I have the finest art collection inEurope. Certain kinds of ceramics. Philately—my stamp collection is fam-ous. When a collection is fully representative, one goes on to the nextthing. I am an old man, Madame, and there was not very much more forme to collect. So I came at last to collecting brains.”
“Brains?” Hilary queried.
He nodded gently.
“Yes, it is the most interesting thing to collect of all. Little by little, Ma-dame, I am assembling here all the brains of the world. The young men,those are the ones I am bringing here. Young men of promise, young menof achievement. One day the tired nations of the world will wake up andrealize that their scientists are old and stale, and that the young brains ofthe world, the doctors, the research chemists, the physicists, the surgeons,are all here in my keeping. And if they want a scientist, or a plastic sur-geon, or a biologist, they will have to come and buy him from me!”
“You mean .?.?.” Hilary leaned forward, staring at him. “You mean thatthis is all a gigantic financial operation.”
Again Mr. Aristides nodded gently.
“Yes,” he said. “Naturally. Otherwise—it would not make sense, wouldit?”
Hilary gave a deep sigh.
“No,” she said. “That’s just what I’ve felt.”
“After all, you see,” said Mr. Aristides almost apologetically. “It is myprofession. I am a financier.”
“And you mean there is no political side to this at all? You don’t wantWorld Power—?”
He threw up his hand in rebuke.
“I do not want to be God,” he said. “I am a religious man. That is the oc-cupational disease of Dictators: wanting to be God. So far I have not con-tracted that disease.” He reflected a moment and said: “It may come. Yes,it may come .?.?. But as yet, mercifully—no.”
“But how do you get all these people to come here?”
“I buy them, Madame. In the open market, like any other merchandise.
Sometimes I buy them with money. More often, I buy them with ideas.
Young men are dreamers. They have ideals. They have beliefs. SometimesI buy them with safety—those that have transgressed the law.”
“That explains it,” said Hilary. “Explains, I mean, what puzzled me so onthe journey here.”
“Ah! It puzzled you on the journey, did it?”
“Yes. The difference in aims. Andy Peters, the American, seemed com-pletely Left Wing. But Ericsson was a fanatical believer in the Superman.
And Helga Needheim was a Fascist of the most arrogant and pagan kind.
Dr. Barron—” She hesitated.
“Yes, he came for money,” said Aristides. “Dr. Barron is civilized andcynical. He has no illusions, but he has a genuine love of his work. Hewanted unlimited money, so as to pursue his researches further.” He ad-ded: “You are intelligent, Madame. I saw that at once in Fez.”
He gave a gentle little cackle of laughter.
“You did not know it, Madame, but I went to Fez simply to observe you—or rather I had you brought to Fez in order that I might observe you.”
“I see,” said Hilary.
She noted the oriental rephrasing of the sentence.
“I was pleased to think that you would be coming here. For, if you un-derstand me, I do not find many intelligent people in this place to talk to.”
He made a gesture. “These scientists, these biologists, these researchchemists, they are not interesting. They are geniuses perhaps at what theydo, but they are uninteresting people with whom to converse.”
“Their wives,” he added thoughtfully, “are usually very dull, too. We donot encourage wives here. I permit wives to come for only one reason.”
“What reason?”
Mr. Aristides said drily:
“In the rare cases where a husband is unable to do his work properlybecause he is thinking too much of his wife. That seemed to be the casewith your husband, Thomas Betterton. Thomas Betterton is known to theworld as a young man of genius, but since he has been here he has doneonly mediocre and second- class work. Yes, Betterton has disappointedme.”
“But don’t you find that constantly happening? These people are, afterall, in prison here. Surely they rebel? At first, at any rate?”
“Yes,” Mr. Aristides agreed. “That is only natural and inevitable. It is sowhen you first cage a bird. But if the bird is in a big enough aviary; if ithas all that it needs; a mate, seed, water, twigs, all the material of life, itforgets in the end that it was ever free.”
Hilary shivered a little.
“You frighten me,” she said. “You really frighten me.”
“You will grow to understand many things here, Madame. Let me assureyou that though all these men of different ideologies arrive here and aredisillusioned and rebellious, they will all toe the line in the end.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” said Hilary.
“One can be absolutely sure of nothing in this world. I agree with youthere. But it is a ninety-five percent certainty all the same.”
Hilary looked at him with something like horror.
“It’s dreadful,” she said. “It’s like a typists’ pool! You’ve got a pool here ofbrains.”
“Exactly. You put it very justly, Madame.”
“And from this pool, you intend, one day, to supply scientists to whoeverpays you best for them?”
“That is, roughly, the general principle, Madame.”
“But you can’t send out a scientist just as you can send out a typist.”
“Why not?”
“Because once your scientist is in the free world again, he could refuseto work for his new employer. He would be free again.”
“True up to a point. There may have to be a certain—conditioning, shallwe say?”
“Conditioning—what do you mean by that?”
“You have heard of Leucotomy, Madame?” Hilary frowned.
“That’s a brain operation, isn’t it?”
“But yes. It was devised originally for the curing of melancholia. I put itto you not in medical terms, Madame, but in such terms as you and I un-derstand. After the operation the patient has no more desire to commitsuicide, no further feelings of guilt. He is carefree, conscienceless and inmost cases obedient.”
“It hasn’t been a hundred percent success, has it?”
“In the past, no. But here we have made great strides in the investiga-tion of the subject. I have here three surgeons: one Russian, one French-man, and an Austrian. By various operations of grafting and delicate ma-nipulation of the brain, they are arriving gradually at a state where docil-ity can be assured and the will can be controlled without necessarily af-fecting mental brilliance. It seems possible that we may in the end so con-dition a human being that while his powers of intellect remain unim-paired, he will exhibit perfect docility. Any suggestion made to him he willaccept.”
“But that’s horrible,” cried Hilary. “Horrible!”
He corrected her serenely.
“It is useful. It is even in some ways beneficent. For the patient will behappy, contented, without fears or longings or unrest.”
“I don’t believe it will ever happen,” said Hilary defiantly.
“Chère Madame, forgive me if I say you are hardly competent to speakon the subject.”
“What I mean is,” said Hilary, “that I do not believe a contented, suggest-ible animal will ever produce creative work of real brilliance.”
Aristides shrugged his shoulders.
“Perhaps. You are intelligent. You may have something there. Time willshow. Experiments are going on all the time.”
“Experiments! On human beings, do you mean?”
“But certainly. That is the only practical method.”
“But—what human beings?”
“There are always the misfits,” said Aristides. “The ones who do not ad-apt themselves to life here, who will not cooperate. They make good ex-perimental material.”
Hilary dug her fingers into the cushions of the divan. She felt a deephorror of this smiling, yellow-faced little man with his inhuman outlook.
Everything he said was so reasonable, so logical and so businesslike, that itmade the horror worse. Here was no raving madman, just a man to whomhis fellow creatures were so much raw material.
“Don’t you believe in God?” she said.
“Naturally I believe in God.” Mr. Aristides raised his eyebrows. His tonewas almost shocked. “I have told you already. I am a religious man. Godhas blessed me with supreme power. With money and opportunity.”
“Do you read your Bible?” asked Hilary.
“Certainly, Madame.”
“Do you remember what Moses and Aaron said to Pharaoh? Let mypeople go.”
He smiled.
“So—I am Pharaoh? And you are Moses and Aaron in one? Is that whatyou are saying to me, Madame? To let these people go, all of them, or just—one special case?”
“I’d like to say—all of them,” said Hilary.
“But you are well aware, chère Madame,” he said, “that that would be awaste of time. So instead, is it not your husband for whom you plead?”
“He is no good to you,” said Hilary. “Surely by now you must realizethat.”
“Perhaps it is true what you say, Madame. Yes, I am very much disap-pointed in Thomas Betterton. I hoped that your presence here might re-store him to his brilliance, for undoubtedly he has brilliance. His reputa-tion in America leaves no doubt as to that. But your coming seems to havehad little or no effect. I speak not of my own knowledge, of course, butfrom the reports of those fitted to know. His brother scientists who havebeen working with him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “He does conscien-tious, mediocre work. No more.”
“There are birds that cannot sing in captivity,” said Hilary. “Perhapsthere are scientists who cannot attain creative thought under certain cir-cumstances. You must admit that that is a reasonable possibility.”
“It may be so. I do not deny it.”
“Then write off Thomas Betterton as one of your failures. Let him returnto the outer world.”
“That would hardly do, Madame. I am not yet prepared to have know-ledge of this place broadcast to the globe.”
“You could swear him to secrecy. He would swear never to breathe aword.”
“He would swear—yes. But he would not keep that word.”
“He would! Oh, indeed, he would!”
“There speaks a wife! One cannot take the word of wives on this point.
Of course,” he leaned back in his chair, and brought the tips of his yellowfingers together, “of course, he might leave a hostage behind him, and thatmight tie his tongue.”
“You mean?”
“I meant you, Madame .?.?. If Thomas Betterton went, and you remainedas a hostage, how would that bargain strike you? Would you be willing?”
Hilary stared past him into the shadows. Mr. Aristides could not knowthe pictures that rose before her eyes. She was back in a hospital room, sit-ting by a dying woman. She was listening to Jessop and memorizing his in-structions. If there was a chance, now, that Thomas Betterton might gofree, whilst she remained, would not that be the best way to fulfil her mis-sion? For she knew (what Mr. Aristides did not), that there would be nohostage in the usual meaning of the word, left behind. She herself meantnothing to Thomas Betterton. The wife he had loved was already dead.
She raised her head and looked across at the little old man on the divan.
“I should be willing,” she said.
“You have courage, Madame, and loyalty and devotion. They are goodqualities. For the rest—” He smiled. “We will talk of it again some othertime.”
“Oh no, no!” Hilary suddenly buried her face in her hands. Hershoulders shook. “I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it! It’s all too inhuman.”
“You must not mind so much, Madame.” The old man’s voice wastender, almost soothing. “It has pleased me tonight to tell you my aims andmy aspirations. It has been interesting to me to see the effect upon a mindtotally unprepared. A mind like yours, well-balanced, sane and intelligent.
You are horrified. You are repulsed. Yet I think that to shock you in thisway is a wise plan. At first you repel the idea, then you think of it, you re-flect on it, and in the end it will seem to you natural; as though it has al-ways existed, a commonplace.”
“Never that!” cried Hilary. “Never that! Never! Never!”
“Ah,” said Mr. Aristides. “There speaks the passion and the rebellionthat go with red hair. My second wife,” he added reflectively, “had redhair. She was a beautiful woman, and she loved me. Strange, is it not? Ihave always admired red- haired women. Your hair is very beautiful.
There are other things I like about you. Your spirit, your courage; the factthat you have a mind of your own.” He sighed. “Alas! Women as womeninterest me very little nowadays. I have a couple of young girls here whoplease me sometimes, but it is the stimulus of mental companionship thatI now prefer. Believe me, Madame, your company has refreshed megreatly.”
“Supposing I repeat all that you have told me to—my husband?”
Mr. Aristides smiled indulgently.
“Ah yes, supposing you do? But will you?”
“I don’t know. I—oh, I don’t know.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Aristides. “You are wise. There is some knowledge wo-men should keep to themselves. But you are tired—and upset. From timeto time, when I pay my visits here, you shall be brought to me, and we willdiscuss many things.”
“Let me leave this place—” Hilary stretched her hands out to him. “Oh,let me go away. Let me leave with you when you go. Please! Please!”
He shook his head gently. His expression was indulgent, but there was afaint touch of contempt behind it.
“Now you are talking like a child,” he said reprovingly. “How could I letyou go? How could I let you spread the story round the world of what youhave seen here?”
“Wouldn’t you believe me if I swore I wouldn’t say a word to anyone?”
“No indeed I should not believe you,” said Mr. Aristides. “I should bevery foolish if I believed anything of the kind.”
“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to stay here in this prison. I wantto get out.”
“But you have your husband. You came here to join him, deliberately, ofyour own free will.”
“But I didn’t know what I was coming to. I’d no idea.”
“No,” said Mr. Aristides, “you had no idea. But I can assure you this par-ticular world you have come to is a much pleasanter world than the lifebeyond the Iron Curtain. Here you have everything you need! Luxury, abeautiful climate, distractions. .?.?.”
He got up and patted her gently on the shoulder.
“You will settle down,” he said, confidently. “Ah yes, the red-haired birdin the cage will settle down. In a year, in two years certainly, you will bevery happy! Though possibly,” he added thoughtfully, “less interesting.”
第十八章
第十八章
“亲爱的夫人，请坐。”阿里斯提德先生说。
他挥动着爪子一般的小手，希拉里觉得自己像在梦中。她坐到他对面的沙发上，老人发出温和的咯咯笑声。
“您被吓到了。”他说，“您从没料想过，嗯？”
“是的，确实。”希拉里说道，“我从没想过……做梦都没想到……”
但她的惊讶之情已经平息下来了。
阿里斯提德先生的出现，打断了她过去这几周一直置身其中的那个脱离现实的梦。现在她清楚地认识到组织的不真实——因为那里就是假的，与表面所呈现的完全不同。院长先生那蛊惑性的声音也不真实，他只不过是个用来掩盖事实的傀儡。真相在这间隐秘的中式房间里。一个小老头坐在那儿，平静地笑着。阿里斯提德先生是这整件事的中心的话，一切就都解释得通了：严酷、实际、思想灌输。
“现在我明白了。”希拉里说，“这里……是属于您的，对吗？”
“是的，夫人。”
“那么那个院长呢？那个所谓院长？”
“他做得不错。”阿里斯提德先生赞赏地说，“我付给他很高的工资。他过去是主持复兴派教会会议的。”
他抽着烟沉默了一会儿。希拉里也没有开口说话。
“那边有土耳其软糖，夫人，不喜欢的话还有其他甜点。”接着又是一阵沉默。随后他开口说道：“我是个慈善家，夫人。您知道的，我很有钱，是世界上最富有的那批人中的一个——甚至很有可能是当今最富有的。拥有这样的财富，我感到自己有义务为人类谋福祉。我在这个偏远的地方修建了一座麻风病院，并聚集大量专业人才对麻风病进行研究。
有几种麻风病是可以被治愈的，其他的，迄今为止，还没有什么疗效。但我们一直在不懈地工作，也取得了很多成果。麻风病其实不那么容易传染。它的感染率和传染性跟天花、斑疹伤寒、鼠疫等疾病相比要小得多。虽然如此，可如果你说这里是‘麻风病隔离区’，人们还是会吓得哆嗦，远远避开。这是一种古老的恐惧感，一种我们能在《圣经》上找到的恐惧感，这种恐惧感一直流传至今。对于麻风病的恐惧促使我建了这个地方。”
“您是出于这个原因而修建了这个地方？”
“是的。这里还有一个癌症研究中心，我们在结核病方面也取得了重大进展，还有病毒研究——你可听好了，是出于治病目的，我可没提生化武器。我只做人道的、受人尊敬的以及能获得回报的领域。不时有知名内科医生、外科医生和化学家来这里观摩成果，就像今天这样。这个建筑是经过精心设计的，其中的一部分可完全隔离，甚至从上空俯瞰都看不到。岩层里还有更多保密性极高的实验室。不管怎样，肯定不会怀疑到我头上。”他笑了，接着补充道，“因为您知道的，我太富有了。”
“但是为什么？”希拉里问道，“您为什么如此迫切地想去破坏一切呢？”
“夫人，我不是想破坏什么。您误解我了。”
“可是……我想我没明白。”
“我是个商人，”阿里斯提德先生简洁地说，“也是个收藏家。财富过于充裕的时候，我就专注在收藏上。我这一生有很多藏品。名画，我拥有欧洲最珍贵的画作。还有几种陶器。集邮，我在集邮领域可名声在外。一种东西收藏够了，我就会想着下一种。我已经很老了，夫人，没什么东西供我收藏了。所以我决定收藏智力。”
“智力？”希拉里问道。
他轻轻点头。
“是的，这是所有藏品中最有意思的东西。夫人，我要一点一点把全世界的智慧都收藏于此。就是那些年轻人，我召集来的年轻人。他们有前途，会有成就。终有一日，陈腐的国家会醒悟，发觉他们的科学家都已老迈不堪，而世界上最年轻的聪明大脑，医生、化学家、物理学家，都掌握在我的手中。如果他们需要一个科学家，一个整形医生，或者一位生物学家，就要来我这里购买。”
“您的意思是……”希拉里身子前倾，盯着老人，“您的意思是这不过是一次大型商业运作。”
阿里斯提德先生再次温和地点点头。
“是的。”他说，“没错。否则……我做这些事是为了什么呢？”
希拉里深深地叹了口气。
“是啊。”她说，“我就是一直想不明白为什么。”
“您看，”阿里斯提德先生近乎抱歉地说，“毕竟我是个资本家，这是我的职业。”
“您的意思是说，这里的一切都完全没有政治色彩？您并不想掌控全世界——”
老人抬手打断了希拉里。
“我不想成为上帝。”他说，“我是个有信仰的人。当上帝是独裁者的通病，至少目前我还没染上这个毛病。”他思考了片刻，说，“可能会。是的，将来可能会染上……但万幸的是现在还没有。”
“但您是怎么把这些人搞到这里来的？”
“我把他们买来了，夫人。像在自由市场买东西一样。有时候我用钱买他们，更多时候是用理念买他们。年轻人都是幻想家，他们有愿景，有信仰。有时候我用安全感买他们——对那些犯了罪的人而言。”
“这就解释得通了。”希拉里说，“我的意思是，解答了我这一路一直迷惑不解的事。”
“啊！您在旅途中一直在想这个？”
“是的。大家的目标各不相同。安迪•彼得斯，那个美国人，看上去完全是个左派。但埃里克森是一个相信超人的幻想狂。海尔格•尼达姆是一个非常傲慢的无信仰法西斯主义者。巴伦博士……”她迟疑了。
“是的，他来这里是为了钱。”阿里斯提德先生说道，“巴伦博士是个文明开化、愤世嫉俗的人。他不爱幻想，但对工作怀有真挚的热爱。他需要无穷无尽的金钱，好买设备进一步开展研究工作。”他又补充道，“您聪明极了，夫人。我在菲斯一眼就看出来了。”
他发出轻轻的咯咯笑声。
“夫人，您不知道，我去菲斯就是为了观察您——其实应该说是我把您带到菲斯的，以便能观察您。”
“我明白了。”希拉里说。
她留意到刚才那段话中的东方式措辞。
“我很高兴地得知您会来这里。因为这里没什么可以交谈的聪明人，如果您明白我的意思的话。”他做了个手势，“这些科学家、生物学家、化学家，都很无趣。他们在自己的领域可能是天才，但是与他们交谈无趣极了。”
他若有所思地补充道：“他们的妻子，同样呆板无聊。我们不鼓励妻子们来这里，我只在一种情况下允许妻子过来。”
“什么情况？”
阿里斯提德先生冷酷地说：“只有在丈夫因思念妻子而无法工作的时候。这种事很少发生，但您的丈夫汤姆•贝特顿就是这样。汤姆•贝特顿是一位全世界知名的青年才俊，但他在这里就只做了些二流的工作。是的，贝特顿让我深感失望。”
“但您不觉得会发生这样的事情完全不意外吗？毕竟那些人在这里就像被囚禁了一样。
他们自然会反抗，至少在最初时段，不是吗？”
“是的。”阿里斯提德先生表示赞同，“这是自然而然且不可避免的。就像你第一次把一只鸟关在笼子里。但如果这只鸟所住的笼子足够大；如果你给它提供所需的一切：伴侣、食物、水、树枝，所有生活所需，它会忘记自己曾是自由的。”
希拉里微微战栗。
“您吓到我了。”她说，“您真的吓到我了。”
“您会慢慢了解很多事情的，夫人。我可以肯定地说，虽然那些带着不同理念来到这里的人一开始会感到幻灭，会想反抗，但最终他们会服从的。”
“您不能如此肯定。”希拉里说。
“没人能绝对肯定一件事，确实如您所说。但在这件事上，我有百分之九十五的把握。”
希拉里怀着一种恐惧的感觉看着他。
“可怕极了。”她说，“就像一个打字员集团！您在这里建立了一个智力集团。”
“没错。您的说法十分贴切，夫人。”
“您的计划是，有朝一日，高价出售这个集团里的科学家。”
“简单来说就是这样，大体的原则没错，夫人。”
“但您不能像外派一位打字员那样外派一位科学家。”
“为什么不能呢？”
“因为一旦您的科学家再次回到自由世界，他就会拒绝为新的雇主工作。他自由了。”
“您说到点子上了。或许需要设置个前提，您觉得呢？”
“前提……什么意思？”
“夫人，您听说过脑白质切除术吗？”
希拉里皱起了眉。
“是一种脑部手术，对吗？”
“是的，最开始是用来治疗抑郁症的。我跟你说话是不会用医学术语的，夫人，就用我们都能明白的词。手术之后病人就不会想自杀了，也不会再有罪恶感。他毫无烦忧，完全服从指令。”
“这项手术的成功率并非百分之百，对吗？”
“过去是这样，但是现在我们对这项手术的研究已经有了很大的进展。这里有三位外科医生：一位俄国人、一位法国人，还有一位奥地利人。经过几次精密的移植手术，对大脑的某些部位进行修改，病人就会渐渐进入温顺状态，并且可以在不影响智力的前提下控制他们。我们最终有可能让一个人完全服从，同时智力不受影响。他会接受任何建议。”
“但这多可怕啊！”希拉里惊呼道，“恐怖！”
他严肃地纠正她的说法。
“这很有用。从某些方面来讲甚至是有益的，能让那些病人变得快乐、满足，不再恐惧或不安。”
“我不认为这能实现。”希拉里反驳道。
“亲爱的夫人，原谅我，您在这个问题上没资格发言。”
“您什么意思？”希拉里问，“就因为我不相信一个自我满足、受人控制的动物可以做出真正充满智慧的创造性工作？”
阿里斯提德先生耸耸肩。
“可能吧。您很聪明。您说的可能有一定的道理，但是时间会证明一切。实验一直在进行着。”
“实验！在人身上做实验，您是这个意思吗？”
“确实如此。这是唯一可行的方法。”
“但是……都是什么样的人呢？”
“无法适应这里的人。”阿里斯提德先生说，“对这里的生活感到不适，总是不合作。他们就是最好的实验材料。”
希拉里的手指紧紧抠着沙发垫。这个笑容满面、脸色蜡黄的小老头看起来冷酷无情，让她感到深深的恐惧。他说的一切都是那么有理有据，逻辑和条理清晰，这使得恐惧进一步加深。这里坐着的不是一个口出狂言的疯子，而是一个拿自己的同类当作实验材料的人。
“您信仰上帝吗？”她问道。
“我当然信仰上帝了。”阿里斯提德先生挑起眉毛，似乎感到极为震惊，“我告诉过您了，我是一个信徒。上帝赐予我超能力、金钱和机遇。”
“您读过《圣经》吗？”
“当然了，夫人。”
“那您记得摩西和亚伦对法老说过的话吗？让我的人民自己走吧。”
他笑了。
“那么，我是法老了？而您是摩西和亚伦的合体？夫人，您是想这么说吧？让这些人走，所有人……还是您在特指某个人。”
“我指的是……所有人。”希拉里说。
“但您心知肚明，亲爱的夫人。”他说，“您说这些只是在浪费时间。我再问您一次，您是想替您丈夫求情吗？”
“他对您没什么用处。”希拉里说，“您现在肯定已经感觉到了。”
“可能您说的是对的，夫人。是的，我对托马斯•贝特顿深感失望。我曾以为您的出现或许能让他焕发活力。毫无疑问，他聪明绝伦，在美国他声名显赫。但是您的到来貌似没起什么作用。当然，这不是我个人的判断，是权威人士出具的报告显示的——那些一直跟他一起工作的科学家。”他耸耸肩，“他做了一些细微的一般性工作，再无其他了。”
“被圈养的鸟儿无法高歌。”希拉里说，“可能有些科学家在这样的环境下就是无法发挥自身的创造力。您要承认这话说得很有道理。”
“确实。我不否认。”
“那就把托马斯•贝特顿从您的失败名单中划掉吧，让他回到外面的世界吧。”
“这恐怕办不到，夫人。我还没做好准备让外界知晓这里的情况呢。”
“你可以让他发誓严守秘密。他会发誓永不透露一个字的。”
“他会发誓的，是的。但他是不会遵守的。”
“他会的！哦，真的，他会的！”
“您这么说是因为您是他的妻子！妻子说的话不能信。当然了，”他向后靠向椅背，双手指尖相对，“当然了，留个人质在这里，可能可以保证他闭嘴。”
“您的意思是？”
“我指的是您，夫人……如果我让托马斯•贝特顿走，您就要留下来做人质。这笔交易您意下如何？答应吗？”
希拉里的视线越过老人，盯着远处的阴影。阿里斯提德先生肯定猜不到此时她眼中浮现出了怎样的光景。她又回到了医院病房，坐在濒死的女人身旁；她在听杰索普说话，记住他的指示。眼下的这个机会可以让托马斯•贝特顿重获自由，只是她要留下，但这样一来她是不是就能完成任务了？她知道——但阿里斯提德先生不知道——事实上并没有真正意义上的人质被扣下，她对于托马斯•贝特顿来说什么都不是。他深爱着的妻子已经死了。
她抬起头，望向坐在矮沙发上的小老头，说：“我想我愿意。”
“您很有勇气，夫人，还很忠诚，愿意奉献。这些都是优秀的品质。那么……”他笑了，“我们之后可以详聊。”
“哦不，不要！”希拉里突然用双手捂住脸，肩膀颤抖着，“我受不了！受不了！这太不人道了。”
“您最好别太在意，夫人。”年迈的男人口气温和地安慰道，“今晚能跟您讲讲我的目的和愿景真是太愉快了。我很喜欢看一个人在毫无准备的时候的反应，特别是像您这样平和、理智、充满智慧的人。但您还是被吓到了，您很抗拒。而且我觉得以这样的方式吓吓您真是一个聪明的计划。最开始您很抗拒，接着您开始思考，深思熟虑后您又觉得这样的安排很合理；就好像它一直存在，司空见惯。”
“我永远不会这么觉得！”希拉里喊道，“永远不会！永远！永远！”
“啊，”阿里斯提德先生说，“拥有红色头发的人说起话来总是充满激情和反叛精神。我的第二任妻子就是这样。”他追忆道，“她有一头红色的头发，是个美丽的女人，她深爱着我。很奇怪，不是吗？我总是会爱慕红发女郎。您的头发美极了。您身上还有另外一些让我喜爱的东西。您的精神，您的勇气，您有自己的想法。”他叹了口气，“唉！现在的女人，作为女人已经很难引起我的兴趣了。这里有两个姑娘有时会来陪陪我，但我更想要精神上的伴侣。相信我，夫人，您让我精神振奋。”
“要是我把您告诉我的这些对我的丈夫说了，会怎样？”
阿里斯提德先生大度地笑了。
“啊，是啊，假如您这么做了。但您会这么做吗？”
“我不知道。我……唉，我不知道。”
“嗯！您很聪明。”阿里斯提德先生说，“有些事情女人需要保密。但现在您累了，还有点失落。下次我来这里时再叫您过来吧，我们可以再讨论其他事情。”
“让我离开这儿……”希拉里伸出手，“哦，带我离开。带我一起走吧。求您了！求您了！”
老人温和地摇摇头，露出宽容的神色，但这神色背后却有一丝蔑视。
“您说这话就像个小孩。”他语带责备地说道，“我怎么可能让您走呢？我怎么会放任您向全世界散播您在这里看到的一切呢？”
“您不相信我吗？我不会对任何人透露一个字的。”
“不，我当然不相信您。”阿里斯提德先生说，“我还没蠢到会相信这种话。”
“我不想待在这儿。我不想待在这个监狱里。我想出去。”
“您还有丈夫啊。您是自愿来这儿与他团聚的。”
“但我不知道会来到这样一个地方。我什么都不知道。”
“是的。”阿里斯提德说，“您什么都不知道。但我向您保证，您所来到的这个世界可比铁幕下的生活要愉快多了。这里有您所需要的一切！奢侈品，舒服的温度，各种娱乐休闲……”
老人站起身来，轻轻拍了拍她的肩膀。
“您会安定下来的。”他自信地说，“哦，是的，鸟笼里的红毛小鸟会安下心来的。一年或两年，您会很快活的！虽然可能，”他若有所思地补充道，“那时的您就没这么有趣了。”
Nineteen（1）
Nineteen
I
Hilary awoke the following night with a start. She raised herself on her el-bow, listening.
“Tom, do you hear?”
“Yes. Aircraft—flying low. Nothing in that. They come over from time totime.”
“I wondered—” She did not finish her sentence.
She lay awake thinking, going over and over that strange interview withAristides.
The old man had got some kind of capricious liking for her.
Could she play upon that?
Could she in the end prevail upon him to take her with him, out into theworld again?
Next time he came, if he sent for her, she would lead him on to talk ofhis dead red-haired wife. It was not the lure of the flesh that would captiv-ate him. His blood ran too coldly now in his veins for that. Besides he hadhis “young girls.” But the old like to remember, to be urged on to talk oftimes gone by. .?.?.
Uncle George, who had lived at Cheltenham .?.?.
Hilary smiled in the darkness, remembering Uncle George.
Were Uncle George and Aristides, the man of millions, really very differ-ent under the skin? Uncle George had had a housekeeper—“such a nice,safe woman, my dear, not flashy or sexy or anything like that. Nice andplain and sane.” But Uncle George had upset his family by marrying thatnice, plain woman. She had been a very good listener. .?.?.
What had Hilary said to Tom? “I’ll find a way of getting out of here?”
Odd, if the way should prove to be Aristides.
第十九章（1）
第十九章
1第二天夜里，希拉里猛然惊醒，她用手肘支撑着坐起身来，听着。
“汤姆，你听到了吗？”
“是的。直升机……低空飞行。没什么的。这种情况常有。”
“我猜……”希拉里没有把话说完。
她躺在床上思索着，一遍又一遍地琢磨同阿里斯提德先生的那次谈话。
这位老人对她有一种难以言喻的喜爱。
她能利用这一点吗？
她能说服他带她出去吗？重新回到外面的世界？
下一次他来的时候，如果再派人来找她，她要想办法引导他谈谈逝去的红发妻子。肉体上的诱惑对他来说不起作用，他血管里的血太冷酷了，况且他还有“年轻姑娘们”。但老人都喜欢回忆，喜欢去谈论已经流逝的过去……
比如住在切尔滕纳姆 [1] 的乔治叔叔……
希拉里回忆起乔治叔叔，在黑暗中笑了起来。
乔治叔叔和百万富翁阿里斯提德，皮囊之下有什么真正的不同吗？乔治叔叔有一位女管家——“真是个踏实可靠的好女人，亲爱的，虽然不太漂亮性感。她相貌平平，但善良理智。”最终乔治叔叔违背家庭的意愿，和这个善良、平凡的女人结婚了。她是个很善于倾听的人……
希拉里曾对汤姆说过什么？“我会找到离开这里的方法的。”但如果这方法是要依靠阿里斯提德先生，就太奇怪了。
注释：
[1]切尔滕纳姆是英国西南部的城市。
Nineteen（2）
II
“A message,” said Leblanc. “A message at last.”
His orderly had just entered and, after saluting, had laid a folded paperbefore him. He unfolded it, then spoke excitedly.
“This is a report from one of our reconnaissance pilots. He has been op-erating over a selected square of territory in the High Atlas. When flyingover a certain position in a mountainous region he observed a signal be-ing flashed. It was in Morse and was twice repeated. Here it is.”
He laid the enclosure before Jessop.
COGLEPROSIESL
He separated off the last two letters with a pencil.
“SL—that is our code for ‘Do not acknowledge.’ ”
“And COG with which the message starts,” said Jessop, “is our recogni-tion signal.”
“Then the rest is the actual message.” He underlined it. “LEPROSIE.” Hesurveyed it dubiously.
“Leprosy?” said Jessop.
“And what does that mean?”
“Have you any important leper settlements? Or unimportant ones forthat matter?”
Leblanc spread out a large map in front of him. He pointed with astubby forefinger stained with nicotine.
“Here,” he marked it off, “is the area over which our pilot was operat-ing. Let me see now. I seem to recall. .?.?.”
He left the room. Presently he returned.
“I have it,” he said. “There is a very famous medical research station,founded and endowed by well-known philanthropists and operating inthat area—a very deserted one, by the way. Valuable work has been donethere in the study of leprosy. There is a leper settlement there of abouttwo hundred people. There is also a cancer research station, and a tuber-cular sanatorium. But understand this, it is all of the highest authenticity.
Its reputation is of the highest. The President of the Republic himself is itsPatron.”
“Yes,” said Jessop appreciatively. “Very nice work, in fact.”
“But it is open to inspection at any time. Medical men who are interes-ted in these subjects visit there.”
“And see nothing they ought not to see! Why should they? There is nobetter camouflage for dubious business than an atmosphere of the highestrespectability.”
“It could be,” Leblanc said dubiously, “I suppose, a halting place forparties of people bound on a journey. One or two of the mid-Europeandoctors, perhaps, have managed to arrange something like that. A smallparty of people, like the one we are tracking, could lie perdu there for afew weeks before continuing their journey.”
“I think it might be something more than that,” said Jessop. “I think itmight be—Journey’s End.”
“You think it is something—big?”
“A leper settlement seems to me very suggestive .?.?. I believe, undermodern treatment, leprosy nowadays is treated at home.”
“In civilized communities, perhaps. But one could not do that in thiscountry.”
“No. But the word leprosy still has its association with the Middle Ageswhen the leper carried his bell to warn away people from his path. Idlecuriosity does not bring people to a leper settlement; the people who comeare, as you say, the medical profession, interested only in the medical re-search done there, and possibly the social worker, anxious to report onthe conditions under which the lepers live—all of which are no doubt ad-mirable. Behind that facade of philanthropy and charity—anything mightgo on. Who, by the way, owns the place? Who are the philanthropists whoendowed it and set it up?”
“That is easily ascertained. A little minute.”
He returned shortly, an official reference book in his hand.
“It was established by private enterprise. By a group of philanthropistsof whom the chief is Aristides. As you know, he is a man of fabulouswealth, and gives generously to charitable enterprises. He has foundedhospitals in Paris and also in Seville. This is, to all intents and purposes,his show—the other benefactors are a group of his associates.”
“So—it’s an Aristides enterprise. And Aristides was in Fez when Olive Bet-terton was there.”
“Aristides!” Leblanc savoured the full implication. “Mais—c’est colossal!”
“Yes.”
“C’est fantastique!”
“Quite.”
“Enfin—c’est formidable!”
“Definitely.”
“But do you realize how formidable it is?” Leblanc shook an excitedforefinger in the other’s face. “This Aristides, he has a finger in every pie.
He is behind nearly everything. The banks, the Government, the manufac-turing industries, armaments, transport! One never sees him, one hardlyhears of him! He sits in a warm room in his Spanish castle, smoking, andsometimes he scrawls a few words on a little piece of paper and throws iton the ground, and a secretary crawls forward and picks it up, and a fewdays later an important banker in Paris blows his brains out! It is likethat!”
“How wonderfully dramatic you are, Leblanc. But it is really not verysurprising. Presidents and Ministers make important pronouncements,bankers sit back behind their sumptuous desks and roll out opulent state-ments—but one is never surprised to find out that behind the importanceand magnificence there is somewhere some scrubby little man who is thereal motive power. It is really not at all surprising to find that Aristides isbehind all this disappearing business—in fact if we’d had any sense we’dhave thought of it before. The whole thing’s a vast commercial ramp. It’snot political at all. The question is,” he added, “what are we going to doabout it?”
Leblanc’s face grew gloomy.
“It is not going to be easy, you understand. If we are wrong—I dare notthink of it! And even if we are right—we have got to prove we are right. Ifwe make investigations—those investigations can be called off—at thehighest level, you understand? No, it is not going to be easy .?.?. But,” hewagged an emphatic stubby forefinger, “it will be done.”
第十九章（2）
2“终于有消息了。”勒布朗说。
他手下的通信员走了进来，行礼之后将一份文件放在他面前。他打开文件，马上兴奋地喊了起来。
“这份报告来自一位飞行侦察员。他在大阿特拉斯山脉上空的某一区域侦察，当他飞过大山中的某个点的时候，发现有人在发信号。是摩斯电码，重复了两次。就是这个。”
他把附件拿给杰索普看，并用铅笔单独勾出最后两个字母。
COGLEPROSIESL
“SL。这就是我们的专用密码，代表‘不要回答’。”
“而这段密码的开头，COG，”杰索普说，“是我们的识别号。”
“剩下的部分就是信息内容了。”勒布朗画出那些字母：“LEPROSIE”，疑惑地审视着。
“麻风病？”杰索普说。
“什么意思？”
“这个区域内有与麻风病有关的重要建筑吗？不那么重要也行。”
勒布朗展开一张大地图，用被烟熏黄的粗短手指指着一处。
“这里，”他点了点，“是我们这位飞行员的侦察区域。现在让我看看。我似乎记得……”
他离开了房间，很快又回来了。
“我找到了。”他说，“这里有一处非常著名的医学研究站，是由一位知名慈善家捐资修筑的——顺便一提，那地方荒凉至极。那里在进行大量有价值的关于麻风病的研究工作，还收容了约两百名患者。另外设有癌症研究部和肺病疗养院。这些信息都是真实可信的。
那里的声誉极高，美国共和党主席也是资助人。”
“明白了。”杰索普赞赏地说，“这个掩饰相当高明。”
“但那里是随时可供参观的。对这些方面感兴趣的医学界人士都可以去访问。”
“却看不到很多东西！为什么呢？因为这家尊贵的机构所制造的氛围是无耻勾当的绝佳伪装。”
“我认为，这里很有可能是供那一小队人中途休息的中转站。”勒布朗猜测道，“一两位有过类似经验的来自中欧的医生就能安排得顺顺利利。然后一小队人，比如我们正在追踪的那几位，就可以在这里藏匿几周，之后再继续上路。”
“我想可能不止如此。”杰索普说，“我认为这里有可能是……旅程的终点。”
“您认为这个地方……不止这么简单？”
“一座麻风病院在我看来很有启发性……我相信，在当代的医疗条件下，麻风病已经可以在本地治疗了。”
“在文明的国度或许可以，但在这样一个国家，做不到吧。”
“可能吧。但麻风病这个词仍然会让人想到中世纪，要给麻风病人系上铃铛，提醒路过的人。麻风病院不会吸引单纯有好奇心的人，如您所说，只有对此地进行的医学研究感兴趣的专业人士才会去参观，或许还有一些社工，他们想要去了解麻风病人的生活条件——这些毋庸置疑都是值得称赞的。但是在慈善事业之下，什么事都有可能发生。对了，谁拥有这片土地？是谁资助修建这处麻风病院的呢？”
“这很容易查。稍等。”
勒布朗很快就回来了，手里拿着一份官方资料。
“是由一家私人企业赞助的，背后的慈善家代表是阿里斯提德先生。您知道他吧，一位非常有钱的大亨，对于慈善事业一向大方，在巴黎和赛维利亚都修建了医院。这个地方主要是他主导的，其他的慈善家不过是辅助。”
“这么说……这里是阿里斯提德的一项事业。奥利芙•贝特顿在菲斯的时候，他也在那里。”
“阿里斯提德！”勒布朗领悟了其中的深意，用法语叫道，“这不一般！”
“是的。”
“真是难以相信。”
“的确。”
“总之……太令人惊恐了。”
“确实。”
“您真的意识到这有多可怕了吗？”勒布朗激动地挥舞着手指，“这个阿里斯提德，他的触角插入了各个方面。几乎任何领域都有他的身影，银行、政府、制造业、军备、运输！
他极少出现在大众面前，人们甚至很少听到他的消息！他坐在一座西班牙古堡的温暖房间里，吸着烟，偶尔在一张小纸条上随便写几个字然后扔在地上，秘书会跪在地上捡起纸条，几天之后，一位非常重要的银行家就在巴黎饮弹自尽！这就是他！”
“勒布朗，您的反应太夸张啦！但其实没什么好惊讶的。国家总统和部长发表重要演说，银行家坐在奢华的桌子后面说一大堆废话，但所有重要的事件可能都是由一个矮小的老头操控的，这并不值得惊讶。这一系列失踪事件的背后主使都是阿里斯提德，其实我一点都不惊讶——事实上，如果我们之前稍有察觉，早该知道了。这起事件就是一个巨大的商业陷阱，丝毫不涉及政治。那么，当前的问题是，”他补充道，“下一步该怎么做？”
勒布朗的脸色沉了下来。
“您应该也知道，接下来会很不容易。如果我们判断错了——我简直不敢想象！即便我们是对的，也要先去证明我们是对的。假设提出去现场调查，也很可能会被上级下令取消——最上级的领导，您明白吗？不会很容易的……但是，”他晃着粗短的食指，说，“我们还是要去做！”
Twenty
Twenty
The cars swept up the mountain road and stopped in front of the greatgate set in the rock. There were four cars. In the first car was a FrenchMinister and the American Ambassador, in the second car was the BritishConsul, a Member of Parliament and the Chief of Police. In the third carwere two members of a former Royal Commission and two distinguishedjournalists. The complement of these three cars was made up with the ne-cessary satellites. The fourth car contained certain people not known tothe general public, but sufficiently distinguished in their own sphere. Theyincluded Captain Leblanc and Mr. Jessop. The chauffeurs, immaculatelygarbed, were now opening car doors and bowing as they assisted the dis-tinguished visitors to alight.
“One hopes,” murmured the Minister, apprehensively, that there will beno possibility of a contact of any kind.”
One of the satellites immediately made soothing noises.
“Du tout, M. le Ministre. Every suitable precaution is taken. One inspectsonly from a distance.”
The Minister, who was elderly and apprehensive, looked relieved. TheAmbassador said something about the better understanding and treat-ment of these diseases nowadays.
The great gates were flung open. On the threshold stood a small partybowing to welcome them. The Director, dark, thick-set, the Deputy Direc-tor, big and fair, two distinguished doctors and a distinguished researchchemist. The greetings were French, florid and prolonged.
“And ce cher Aristides,” demanded the Minister. “I sincerely hope ill-health has not prevented him from fulfilling his promise to meet us here.”
“Mr. Aristides flew from Spain yesterday,” said the Deputy Director. “Heawaits you within. Permit me, Your Excellency—M. le Ministre, to lead theway.”
The party followed him. M. le Ministre, who was slightly apprehensive,glanced through the heavy railings to his right. The lepers were drawn upto attention in a serried row as far as possible from the grating. The Minis-ter looked relieved. His feelings about leprosy were still medieval.
In the well- furnished modern lounge Mr. Aristides was awaiting hisguests. There were bows, compliments, introductions. Apéritifs wereserved by the dark- faced servants dressed in their white robes andturbans.
“It’s a wonderful place you have here, sir,” said one of the youngerjournalists to Aristides.
The latter made one of his oriental gestures.
“I am proud of this place,” he said. “It is, as you might say, my swansong. My final gift to humanity. No expense has been spared.”
“I’ll say that’s so,” said one of the doctors on the staff, heartily. “Thisplace is a professional man’s dream. We do pretty well in the States, butwhat I’ve seen since I came here .?.?. and we’re getting results! Yes, sir, wecertainly are getting results.”
His enthusiasm was of a contagious kind.
“We must make all acknowledgements to private enterprise,” said theAmbassador, bowing politely to Mr. Aristides.
Mr. Aristides spoke with humility.
“God has been very good to me,” he said.
Sitting hunched up in his chair he looked like a small yellow toad. TheMember of Parliament murmured to the member of the Royal Commis-sion, who was very old and deaf, that he presented a very interestingparadox.
“That old rascal has probably ruined millions of people,” he murmured,“and having made so much money he doesn’t know what to do with it, hepays it back with the other hand.” The elderly judge to whom he spokemurmured:
“One wonders to what extent results justify increased expenditure. Mostof the great discoveries that have benefited the human race have been dis-covered with quite simple equipment.”
“And now,” said Aristides, when the civilities were accomplished andthe apéritifs drunk, “you will honour me by partaking of a simple repastwhich awaits you. Dr. Van Heidem will act as your host. I myself am on adiet and eat very little these days. After the repast you will start on yourtour of our building.”
Under the leadership of the genial Dr. Van Heidem the guests moved en-thusiastically into the dining room. They had had a two hours’ flight fol-lowed by an hour’s drive by car and they were all sharp set. The food wasdelicious and was commented on with special approval by the Minister.
“We enjoy our modest comforts,” said Van Heidem. “Fresh fruit and ve-getables are flown to us twice a week, arrangements are made for meatand chicken and we have, of course, substantial deep freezing units. Thebody must claim its due from the resources of science.”
The meal was accompanied by choice vintages. After it Turkish coffeewas served. The party was then asked to start on its tour of inspection.
The tour took two hours and was most comprehensive. The Minister, forone, was glad when it finished. He was quite dazed by the gleaming labor-atories, the endless white, shining corridors, and still more dazed by themass of scientific detail handed out to him.
Though the Minister’s interest was perfunctory, some of the others weremore searching in their inquiries. Some curiosity was displayed as to theliving conditions of the personnel and various other details. Dr. VanHeidem showed himself only too willing to show the guests all there wasto see. Leblanc and Jessop, the former in attendance on the Minister andthe latter accompanying the British Consul, fell a little behind the others asthey all returned to the lounge. Jessop took out an old-fashioned, loudlyticking watch and noted the time.
“There is no trace here, nothing,” murmured Leblanc in an agitatedmanner.
“Not a sign.”
“Mon cher, if we have, as your saying is, barked up the wrong tree, whata catastrophe! After the weeks it has taken to arrange all this! As for me—it will finish my career.”
“We’re not licked yet,” said Jessop. “Our friends are here, I’m sure of it.”
“There is no trace of them.”
“Of course there is no trace. They could not afford to have a trace ofthem. For these official visits everything is prepared and arranged.”
“Then how are we to get our evidence? I tell you, without evidence noone will move in the matter. They are sceptical, all of them. The Minister,the American Ambassador, the British Consul—they say all of them, that aman like Aristides is above suspicion.”
“Keep calm, Leblanc, keep calm. I tell you we’re not licked yet.”
Leblanc shrugged his shoulders. “You have the optimism, my friend,” hesaid. He turned for a moment to speak to one of the immaculately arrayed,moon-faced young men who formed part of the entourage, then turnedback to Jessop and asked suspiciously: “Why are you smiling?”
“At the resources of science — the latest modification of the GeigerCounter, to be exact.”
“I am not a scientist.”
“No more am I, but this very sensitive detector of radioactivity tells meour friends are here. This building has been purposely built in a confusingmanner. All the corridors and the rooms so resemble each other that it isdifficult to know where one is or what the plan of the building can be.
There is a part of this place that we have not seen. It has not been shownto us.”
“But you deduce that it is there because of some radioactive indication?”
“Exactly.”
“In fact, it is the pearls of Madame all over again?”
“Yes. We’re still playing Hansel and Gretel, as you might say. But thesigns left here cannot be so apparent or so crude as the beads of a pearlnecklace, or a hand of phosphoric paint. They cannot be seen, but they canbe sensed .?.?. by our radioactive detector—”
“But, mon Dieu, Jessop, is that enough?”
“It would be,” said Jessop. “What one is afraid of .?.?.” He broke off.
Leblanc finished the sentence for him.
“What you mean is that these people will not want to believe. They havebeen unwilling from the start. Oh yes, that is so. Even your British Consulis a man of caution. Your government at home is indebted to Aristides inmany ways. As for our Government,” he shrugged his shoulders. “M. leMinistre, I know, will be exceedingly hard to convince.”
“We won’t put our faith in governments,” said Jessop. “Governmentsand diplomats have their hands tied. But we’ve got to have them here, be-cause they’re the only ones with authority. But as far as believing is con-cerned, I’m pinning my faith elsewhere.”
“And on what in particular do you pin your faith, my friend?”
Jessop’s solemn face suddenly relaxed into a grin.
“There’s the press,” he said. “Journalists have a nose for news. Theydon’t want it hushed up. They’re ready always to believe anything that re-motely can be believed. The other person I have faith in,” he went on, “isthat very deaf old man.”
“Aha, I know the one you mean. The one who looks as though hecrumbles to his grave.”
“Yes, he’s deaf and infirm and semiblind. But he’s interested in truth.
He’s a former Lord Chief Justice, and though he may be deaf and blind andshaky on his legs, his mind’s as keen as ever—he’s got that keen sense thatlegal luminaries acquire—of knowing when there’s something fishy aboutand someone’s trying to prevent it being brought into the open. He’s aman who’ll listen, and will want to listen, to evidence.”
They had arrived back now in the lounge. Both tea and apéritifs wereprovided. The Minister congratulated Mr. Aristides in well-rounded peri-ods. The American Ambassador added his quota. It was then that the Min-ister, looking round him, said in a slightly nervous tone of voice:
“And now, gentlemen, I think the time has come for us to leave our kindhost. We have seen all there is to see .?.?.” his tone dwelt on those lastwords with some significance; “all here is magnificent. An establishmentof the first-class! We are most grateful for the hospitality of our kind host,and we congratulate him on the achievement here. So we say ourfarewells now and depart. I am right, am I not?”
The words were, in a sense, conventional enough. The manner, too, wasconventional. The glance that swept round the assembly of guests mighthave been no more than courtesy. Yet in actuality the words were a plea.
In effect, the Minister was saying, “You’ve seen, gentlemen, there is noth-ing here, nothing of what you suspected and feared. That is a great reliefand we can now leave with a clear conscience.”
But in the silence a voice spoke. It was the quiet, deferential, well-bredEnglish voice of Mr. Jessop. He spoke to the Minister in a Britannic thoughidiomatic French.
“With your permission, sir,” he said, “and if I may do so, I would like toask a favour of our kind host.”
“Certainly, certainly. Of course, Mr.—ah—Mr. Jessop—yes, yes?” Jessopaddressed himself solemnly to Dr. Van Heidem. He did not look ostensiblyto Mr. Aristides.
“We’ve met so many of your people,” he said. “Quite bewildering. Butthere’s an old friend of mine here that I’d rather like to have a word with.
I wonder if it could be arranged before I go?”
“A friend of yours?” Dr. Van Heidem said politely, surprised.
“Well, two friends really,” said Jessop. “There’s a woman, Mrs. Better-ton. Olive Betterton. I believe her husband’s working here. Tom Betterton.
Used to be at Harwell and before that in America. I’d very much like tohave a word with them both before I go.”
Dr. Van Heidem’s reactions were perfect. His eyes opened in wide andpolite surprise. He frowned in a puzzled way.
“Betterton—Mrs. Betterton—no, I’m afraid we have no one of that namehere.”
“There’s an American, too,” said Jessop. “Andrew Peters. Researchchemistry, I believe, is his line. I’m right, sir, aren’t I?” He turned deferen-tially to the American Ambassador.
The Ambassador was a shrewd, middle-aged man with keen blue eyes.
He was a man of character as well as diplomatic ability. His eyes metJessop’s. He took a full minute to decide, and then he spoke.
“Why, yes,” he said. “That’s so. Andrew Peters. I’d like to see him.” VanHeidem’s polite bewilderment grew. Jessop unobtrusively shot a quickglance at Aristides. The little yellow face betrayed no knowledge of any-thing amiss, no surprise, no disquietude. He looked merely uninterested.
“Andrew Peters? No, I’m afraid, Your Excellency, you’ve got your factswrong. We’ve no one of that name here. I’m afraid I don’t even know thename.”
“You know the name of Thomas Betterton, don’t you?” said Jessop.
Just for a second Van Heidem hesitated. His head turned very slightly to-wards the old man in the chair, but he caught himself back in time.
“Thomas Betterton,” he said. “Why, yes, I think—”
One of the gentlemen of the press spoke up quickly on that cue.
“Thomas Betterton,” he said. “Why, I should say he was pretty well bignews. Big news six months ago when he disappeared. Why, he’s madeheadlines in the papers all over Europe. The police have been looking forhim here, there and everywhere. Do you mean to say he’s been here inthis place all the time?”
“No.” Van Heidem spoke sharply. “Someone, I fear, has been misinform-ing you. A hoax, perhaps. You have seen today all our workers at the Unit.
You have seen everything.”
“Not quite everything, I think,” said Jessop, quietly. “There’s a youngman called Ericsson, too,” he added. “And Dr. Louis Barron, and possiblyMrs. Calvin Baker.”
“Ah.” Dr. Van Heidem seemed to receive enlightenment. “But thosepeople were killed in Morocco—in a plane crash. I remember it perfectlynow. At least I remember Ericsson was in the crash and Dr. Louis Barron.
Ah, France sustained a great loss that day. A man such as Louis Barron ishard to replace.” He shook his head. “I do not know anything about a Mrs.
Calvin Baker, but I do seem to remember that there was an English orAmerican woman on that plane. It might well perhaps have been this Mrs.
Betterton, of whom you speak. Yes, it was all very sad.” He looked acrossinquiringly at Jessop. “I do not know, Monsieur, why you should supposethat these people were coming here. It may possibly be that Dr. Barronmentioned at one time that he hoped to visit our settlement here while hewas in North Africa. That may possibly have given rise to a misconcep-tion.”
“So you tell me,” said Jessop, “that I am mistaken? That these people arenone of them here?”
“But how can they be, my dear sir, since they were all killed in thisplane accident? The bodies were recovered, I believe.”
“The bodies recovered were too badly charred for identification.” Jessopspoke the last words with deliberation and significance.
There was a little stir behind him. A thin, precise, very attenuated voicesaid:
“Do I understand you to say that there was no precise identification?”
Lord Alverstoke was leaning forward, his hand to his ear. Under bushy,overhanging eyebrows his small keen eyes looked into Jessop’s.
“There could be no formal identification, my lord,” said Jessop, “and Ihave reason to believe these people survived that accident.”
“Believe?” said Lord Alverstoke, with displeasure in his thin, high voice.
“I should have said I had evidence of survival.”
“Evidence? Of what nature, Mr.—er—er—Jessop.”
“Mrs. Betterton was wearing a choker of false pearls on the day she leftFez for Marrakesh,” said Jessop. “One of these pearls was found at a dis-tance of half a mile from the burnt-out plane.”
“How can you state positively that the pearl found actually came fromMrs. Betterton’s necklace?”
“Because all the pearls of that necklace had had a mark put upon theminvisible to the naked eye, but recognizable under a strong lens.”
“Who put that mark on them?”
“I did, Lord Alverstoke, in the presence of my colleague, here, MonsieurLeblanc.”
“You put those marks—you had a reason in marking those pearls in thatspecial fashion?”
“Yes, my lord. I had reason to believe that Mrs. Betterton would lead meto her husband, Thomas Betterton, against whom a warrant is out.” Jessopcontinued. “Two more of these pearls came to light. Each on stages of aroute between where the plane was burnt out and the settlement wherewe now are. Inquiries in the places where these pearls were found resul-ted in a description of six people, roughly approximating to those peoplewho were supposed to have been burnt in the plane. One of these passen-gers had also been supplied with a glove impregnated with luminous,phosphorus paint. That mark was found on a car which had transportedthese passengers part of the way here.”
Lord Alverstoke remarked in his dry, judicial voice:
“Very remarkable.”
In the big chair Mr. Aristides stirred. His eyelids blinked once or twicerapidly. Then he asked a question.
“Where were the last traces of this party of people found?”
“At a disused airfield, sir.” He gave precise location.
“That is many hundreds of miles from here,” said Mr. Aristides. “Gran-ted that your very interesting speculations are correct, that for somereason the accident was faked, these passengers, I gather, then took offfrom this disused airport for some unknown destination. Since that air-port is many hundreds of miles from here, I really cannot see on what youbase your belief that these people are here. Why should they be?”
“There are certain very good reasons, sir. A signal was picked up by oneof our searching aeroplanes. The signal was brought to Monsieur Leblanchere. Commencing with a special code recognition signal, it gave the in-formation that the people in question were at a leper settlement.”
“I find this remarkable,” said Mr. Aristides. “Very remarkable. But itseems to me that there is no doubt that an attempt has been made to mis-lead you. These people are not here.” He spoke with a quiet, definite de-cision. “You are at perfect liberty to search the settlement if you like.”
“I doubt if we should find anything, sir,” said Jessop. “Not, that is, by asuperficial search, although,” he added deliberately, “I am aware of thearea at which the search should begin.”
“Indeed! And where is that?”
“In the fourth corridor from the second laboratory turning to the left atthe end of the passage there.”
There was an abrupt movement from Dr. Van Heidem. Two glassescrashed from the table to the floor. Jessop looked at him, smiling.
“You see, Doctor,” he said, “we are well-informed.”
Van Heidem said sharply, “It’s preposterous. Absolutely preposterous!
You are suggesting that we are detaining people here against their will. Ideny that categorically.”
The Minister said uncomfortably:
“We seem to have arrived at an impasse.”
Mr. Aristides said gently:
“It has been an interesting theory. But it is only a theory.” He glanced athis watch. “You will excuse me, gentlemen, if I suggest that you shouldleave now. You have a long drive back to the airport, and there will bealarm felt if your plane is overdue.”
Both Leblanc and Jessop realized that it had come now to the show-down. Aristides was exerting all the force of his considerable personality.
He was daring these men to oppose his will. If they persisted, it meant thatthey were willing to come out into the open against him. The Minister, asper his instructions, was anxious to capitulate. The Chief of Police wasanxious only to be agreeable to the Minister. The American Ambassadorwas not satisfied, but he, too, would hesitate for diplomatic reasons to in-sist. The British Consul would have to fall in with the other two.
The journalists—Aristides considered the journalists—the journalistscould be attended to! Their price might come high but he was of the opin-ion that they could be bought. And if they could not be bought—well, therewere other ways.
As for Jessop and Leblanc, they knew. That was clear, but they could notact without authority. His eyes went on and met the eyes of a man as oldas himself, cold, legal eyes. This man, he knew, could not be bought. Butafter all .?.?. his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of that cold, clear,far away little voice.
“I am of the opinion,” said the voice, “that we should not unduly hurryour departure. For there is a case here that it seems to me would bear fur-ther inquiry. Grave allegations have been made and should not, I con-sider, be allowed to drop. In fairness every opportunity should be given torebut them.”
“The onus of proof,” said Mr. Aristides, “is on you.” He made a gracefulgesture towards the company. “A preposterous accusation has been made,unsupported by any evidence.”
“Not unsupported.”
Dr. Van Heidem swung round in surprise. One of the Moroccan servantshad stepped forward. He was a fine figure of a man in white embroideredrobes with a white turban surrounding his head, his face gleamed blackand oily.
What caused the entire company to gaze at him in speechless astonish-ment was the fact that from his full rather Negroid lips a voice of purelytransatlantic origin was proceeding.
“Not unsupported,” that voice said, “you can take my evidence here andnow. These gentlemen have denied that Andrew Peters, Torquil Ericsson,Mr. and Mrs. Betterton and Dr. Louis Barron are here. That’s false. They’reall here—and I speak for them.” He took a step forward towards the Amer-ican Ambassador. “You may find me a bit difficult to recognize at the mo-ment, sir,” he said, “but I am Andrew Peters.”
A very faint, sibilant hiss issued from Aristides’ lips, then he settled backin his chair, his face impassive once more.
“There’s a whole crowd of people hidden away here,” said Peters.
“There’s Schwartz of Munich, there’s Helga Needheim, there are Jeffreysand Davidson, the English scientists, there’s Paul Wade from the U.S.A.,there are the Italians, Ricochetti and Bianco, there’s Murchison. They’re allright here in this building. There’s a system of closing bulkheads that’squite impossible to detect by the naked eye. There’s a whole network ofsecret laboratories cut right down into the rock.”
“God bless my soul,” ejaculated the American Ambassador. He lookedsearchingly at the dignified African figure, and then he began to laugh. “Iwouldn’t say I’d recognize you even now,” he said.
“That’s the injection of paraffin in the lips, sir, to say nothing of blackpigment.”
“If you’re Peters, what’s the number you go under in the F.B.I.?”
“813471, sir.”
“Right,” said the Ambassador, “and the initials of your other name?”
“B.A.P.G., sir.” The Ambassador nodded.
“This man is Peters,” he said. He looked towards the Minister.
The Minister hesitated, then cleared his throat.
“You claim,” he demanded of Peters, “that people are being detainedhere against their will?”
“Some are here willingly, Excellence, and some are not.”
“In that case,” said the Minister, “statements must be taken—er—yes,yes, statements must certainly be taken.”
He looked at the Prefect of Police. The latter stepped forward.
“Just a moment, please.” Mr. Aristides raised a hand. “It would seem,”
he said, in a gentle, precise voice, “that my confidence here has beengreatly abused.” His cold glance went from Van Heidem to the Directorand there was implacable command in it. “As to what you have permittedyourselves to do, gentlemen, in your enthusiasm for science, I am not asyet quite clear. My endowment of this place was purely in the interests ofresearch. I have taken no part in the practical application of its policy. Iwould advise you, Monsieur Le Directeur, if this accusation is borne out byfacts, to produce immediately those people who are suspected of being de-tained here unlawfully.”
“But, Monsieur, it is impossible. I—it will be—”
“Any experiment of that kind,” said Mr. Aristides, “is at an end.” Hiscalm, financier’s gaze swept over his guests. “I need hardly assure you,Messieurs,” he said, “that if anything illegal is going on here, it has beenno concern of mine.”
It was an order, and understood as such because of his wealth, becauseof his power and because of his influence. Mr. Aristides, that world fam-ous figure, would not be implicated in this affair. Yet, even though he him-self escaped unscathed, it was nevertheless defeat. Defeat for his purpose,defeat for that brains pool from which he had hoped to profit so greatly.
Mr. Aristides was unperturbed by failure. It had happened to him occa-sionally, in the course of his career. He had always accepted it philosoph-ically and gone on to the next coup.
He made an oriental gesture of his hand.
“I wash my hands of this affair,” he said.
The Prefect of Police bustled forward. He had had his cue now, he knewwhat his instructions were and he was prepared to go ahead with the fullforce of his official position.
“I want no obstructions,” he said. “It is my duty to investigate fully.”
His face very pale, Van Heidem stepped forward.
“If you will come this way,” he said, “I will show you our reserve accom-modation.”
第二十章
第二十章
汽车沿着山路行驶，在一扇建在岩石中的大门前停住。一共有四辆车，第一辆车上坐着一位法国部长和一位美国大使；第二辆车上是一位英国领事、一位议员和警察局长；第三辆车上坐着前皇家学会的两位会员和两位记者。这几个人都带了陪同人员。第四辆车上坐着的人对普通大众来说不太熟悉，但在他们的领域是行业翘楚，里面就包括勒布朗上校和杰索普先生。穿着整洁的制服的司机打开车门，弯下身子将尊敬的访客们请下车。
“我只有一个愿望，”部长略显忧郁地嘟囔着，“就是不要染上任何一种传染病。”
一位陪同人员立即安慰道：“不用担心，部长先生。我们采取了完备的预防措施。病人会与您保持距离的。”
这番话让年迈忧心的部长轻松了不少。美国大使说如今对这类疾病已经有更好的治疗方式了，大众也有了更深入的了解。
大门打开。门口站着一小群人，在列队欢迎来客。皮肤黝黑、身形健硕的院长，高大、金发的副院长，以及两位著名医生和一位知名化学家。大家致以法国式的欢迎，热情而持久。
“我希望阿里斯提德先生不会因为健康状况不佳而失约。”部长说道。
“阿里斯提德先生昨天就从西班牙飞到这里了，”副院长说，“他在里面恭候各位。尊敬的……部长阁下，请允许我为您领路。”
来访者们跟在他后面。依旧有些不安的部长阁下望着右边坚固的护栏，发现那些麻风病人站在离护栏很远的地方。部长先生看上去没那么紧张了，他对麻风病的认知还停留在中世纪。
在现代奢华的休息室里，阿里斯提德先生等候着他的客人们。大家互相点头致意，问候着，介绍着。穿着当地白色长袍、戴着头巾的黑脸仆人为客人们端来了餐前酒。
“先生，您这里可真是棒啊！”一位年轻的记者对阿里斯提德先生说。
后者做了一个东方手势。
“这个地方让我很自豪。”他说，“可以这么说，这是我的绝笔。我给人类最后的礼物。
不惜重金打造。”
“在我看来，”一位医生热诚地对来客们说道，“这里是专业人士的理想乐土。在美国，我们工作的条件相当不错，但和这里相比……而且我们成果颇丰！是的，先生们，我们自然成果颇丰。”
他的热情颇具感染力。
“我们必须感谢您这项私人事业。”美国大使礼貌地向阿里斯提德先生低头致意。
阿里斯提德先生谦虚地说：“上帝一直对我很仁慈。”
窝在椅子里的阿里斯提德先生活像只黄色小蟾蜍。议员正跟又老又聋的前皇家学会的会员低声说着，阿里斯提德先生所创建的就是一个好笑的矛盾体。
“这个老无赖可能会毁掉成千上万条人命。”他说道，“他有那么多钱，却不知道该怎么花，于是左手付给右手。”
年迈的前皇家学会会员回应道：“真想知道花费如此巨大，做出了什么成果。人类的很多伟大的发明都是由相当简易的设备做出来的。”
寒暄完毕，餐前酒也喝完了，阿里斯提德先生说道：“那么现在，请原谅我只能简单地陪伴各位到这里。接下来由范•海德姆博士接待大家。这些日子我必须严格控制饮食。欢迎宴之后诸位就可以自由参观了。”
友好的范•海德姆博士带领大家去了餐厅。在乘坐了两小时的飞机加一小时的车程之后，每个人都感到饥肠辘辘。食物可口极了，部长对此大为赞赏。
“我们享受着最先进的条件。”范•海德姆博士说，“新鲜的蔬菜和水果一周两次空运过来，肉制品和禽类也有类似的安排。当然，我们这里还有很多冷冻设备。身体是科研的本钱嘛。”
进餐时有配餐葡萄酒，饭后还有土耳其咖啡。接着客人们开始参观，两个小时的参观内容极其丰富。法国部长在视察结束后表示相当满意。闪闪发光的实验室和无穷无尽的洁白闪耀的走廊让他眩晕，更让他眩晕不止的是大量的科研资料。
对部长先生来说是例行公事，但队伍里的其他人可是有目的而来的。有人提出与居住条件等一些细节相关的问题，范•海德姆博士表示很愿意为访客们展示这部分。此次访问勒布朗和杰索普名义上是分别陪同法国部长和英国领事的，众人返回休息厅的时候，他们俩故意走慢了几步。杰索普拿出一只声音很大的老式怀表来看时间。
“没有线索，什么都没有。”勒布朗有些激动地抱怨道。
“也没有痕迹。”
“亲爱的朋友，我认为您找错了目标，惹大麻烦了！我们花了好几周时间才策划了这次访问！对我来说……简直是断送前程。”
“我们还没有完全失败，”杰索普说，“我们的朋友就在这里，对此我很肯定。”
“可没有他们的痕迹。”
“当然不会有的。这里的人是不会让他们留下踪迹的。事先早就准备好一切，来对付我们这种官方参观团了。”
“那我们要怎么拿到证据呢？听着，没有证据就等于没用。他们都不相信，所有人。法国部长、美国大使、英国领事，他们全都不认为阿里斯提德先生这样的人值得怀疑。”
“冷静，勒布朗，保持冷静。听我说，我们还没有失败。”
勒布朗耸耸肩。“我的朋友，您真乐观。”说完他转身跟随行的一个圆脸年轻人说了几句话，接着又转向杰索普。他疑惑不解地问：“您笑什么呢？”
“拜先进设备所赐，最新款的盖革计数器确实更加精确了。”
“我不是个科学家，我听不懂。”
“我也不是。但这只敏感度极高的放射性探测器告诉我，我的朋友就在这里。这座建筑是有意修得仿若迷宫。所有的走廊和房间都一个样，使得人们很难弄清所在的位置以及整座建筑的构造。肯定有我们还没看到的部分，不能向我们展示的部分。”
“您推测出这个结论仅仅是因为这里有放射性？”
“没错。”
“也就是说，又发现那位夫人的珍珠了？”
“是的。用您的说法，就是我们还在玩‘韩塞尔与葛雷特 [1] ’的把戏。但这里的面包屑不像珍珠项链上的珍珠或涂了磷的手印那么清晰。我们看不到，但能感应到……通过放射性探测器……”
“但是，上帝啊，杰索普，这样就够了吗？”
“会有用的。”杰索普说，“我担心的是……”他没有说完。
勒布朗接着他的话说了下去。
“你担心的是这些人到时候会不承认。他们一开始就不想承认。是的，就是这样。包括你们那位警惕的英国领事。你们的政府在很多领域与阿里斯提德先生有债务纠纷。至于我们的政府，”他耸耸肩，“据我所知，那位部长先生，他很难被说服。”
“我们不能寄希望于政府。”杰索普说，“政府官员和外交官员都受牵制。我们需要他们，是因为只有他们有权利来这里。但说到信任，我倾向于寄托在其他地方。”
“我的朋友，您把您的信任寄托于何处呢？”
杰索普严肃的脸上突然绽放出一个笑容。
“别忘了媒体们。”他说，“记者能嗅到大新闻，他们不愿意息事宁人，他们会去相信难以置信的事情。另一个让我寄希望的，”他继续说，“是那个耳聋的老头。”
“嗯，我知道你说的是谁。那个半截身子已经埋在土里的人。”
“是的，他耳聋、身体弱、眼睛半瞎。但他忠于真相。他曾是最高法院的首席大法官，即便耳聋眼瞎、脚步蹒跚，但他的头脑还跟以往一样灵活。他保持着法律专家特有的敏锐，能马上意识到可疑之处，或是否有人在试图掩盖什么事，生怕曝光。他懂得倾听，愿意倾听，我们可以对他说我们的证据。”
二人也回到休息室。有茶和葡萄酒。法国部长不断向阿里斯提德先生表示祝贺，美国大使也补充了几句。接着部长环视四周，声音略带紧张地说：“那么，先生们，我想是时候跟友善的主人告别了。我们来看了想看的一切……”他故意强调了最后几个字，“那么了不起。全是一流的设备！我们要对主人的盛情款待深表谢意，并祝贺他在这里取得的成就。
现在，我们可以告别了，对吧？”
这段惯常的套话说得足够清楚，说话人的举止也礼貌周到，扫视四周的举动也可以用最后的致意来解释。但其实这段话话里有话。实际上部长先生是在说：“先生们，你们都看到了，这里什么都没有，没什么值得怀疑或害怕的。现在我们能问心无愧地轻松离开这里了。”
但是有人在沉默中发声了。是杰索普先生那镇定、礼貌、有教养的英国绅士所特有的声音。他用带有英国语调的标准法语询问法国部长。
“先生，希望您允许，”他说，“我想请问我们友善的主人能否帮我个忙。”
“没问题，没问题。当然了，呃……是杰索普先生，对吗？”
杰索普目光严肃地看着范•海德姆博士，假装不去看阿里斯提德先生。
“我们在这里见了许多人。”他说，“真是目眩神迷。但是我的一位老朋友在这里，我想跟他聊聊。不知能否在离开之前安排我们见一面？”
“您的一位朋友？”范•海德姆博士礼貌而惊讶地问道。
“哦，实际上是两位朋友。”杰索普说，“有一位是女士，贝特顿太太。奥利芙•贝特顿。
我相信她丈夫在此工作。汤姆•贝特顿。之前他在哈韦尔工作，更早的时候就职于美国。走之前我想跟他们说说话。”
范•海德姆博士的反应堪称完美。他惊讶地睁大眼睛，皱着眉，显得迷惑不解。
“贝特顿……贝特顿太太，哦，恐怕我们这里没有这么个人。”
“另一个朋友是个美国人，”杰索普说道，“安德鲁•彼得斯。我想他是研究化学的。先生，我说得对吗？”他谦恭地望向美国大使。
美国大使是一个机敏的中年男人，有一双锐利的蓝色眼睛。不但拥有外交才华，还是个极富魅力的人。他与杰索普的眼神交汇了，沉默了足足一分钟后开口道：“是的。是这样的，安德鲁•彼得斯。我也想见见他。”
范•海德姆的惊讶之情更加强烈了，但依旧保持着礼貌的态度。杰索普默默地瞟了一眼阿里斯提德。那张蜡黄的小脸不为所动，毫不惊讶，也不见焦虑，看上去完全不感兴趣。
“安德鲁•彼得斯？阁下，我恐怕您搞错了吧。我们这里没有这个人。我从未听过这个名字。”
“您听说过托马斯•贝特顿这个人吗？”杰索普问道。
范•海德姆只迟疑了一下，便微微转头看向坐在椅子上的小老头，但很快又转了过来。
“托马斯•贝特顿，”他说，“是的，我知道他，我想……”
一位记者迅速抓住了这条线，他说：“托马斯•贝特顿，他可是个上过头条新闻的人物。六个月前他失踪了，上了头条。全欧洲的报纸都登了。警察们一直在到处找他。您的意思是他一直待在这里？”
“不、不。”范•海德姆厉声道，“我恐怕是有人在误导你们。可能是个骗局。你们今天已经见到了在这个地方工作的所有人。你们看到了这里的一切。”
“我认为恐怕不是所有的。”杰索普镇定地说，“还有一个叫埃里克森的年轻人。”他补充道，“还有路易•巴伦博士，或许还有一位卡尔文•贝克夫人。”
“啊，”范•海德姆似乎得到了某种启示，“他们都在摩洛哥遇难了——飞机事故。我想起来了。最起码我记得埃里克森和路易•巴伦博士在那次事故中遇难了。啊，法国在那一天遭受了重大的损失，像路易•巴伦博士那样的人才是无法被取代的。”他摇摇头，“我还是记不起卡尔文•贝克太太，但似乎确实有一位英国或美国女士在那架飞机上，很有可能就是你所说的贝特顿太太。哦，那次事故真是太惨烈了。”他以质询的目光看向杰索普，“我不明白，先生，为什么您认为这些人来了这里？可能是因为巴伦博士在北非的时候提过想来这里访问，于是给了您这种错觉？”
“这么说，”杰索普说，“我搞错了？这些人没有一个在这里？”
“我亲爱的先生，他们在飞机事故中丧生了，可怎么来这里啊？我听说尸体都确认了。”
“尸体都被烧得面目全非，无法辨认了。”杰索普故意强调最后几个字。
有人在他身后微微动了一下。接着，一个尖细虚弱的声音清晰地说道：“您的意思是，尸体可能认错了？”阿尔弗斯托克勋爵身子前倾，用手扯着耳朵问道，浓眉下的锐利双眼盯着杰索普。
“勋爵，至少外表无法辨认。”杰索普说道，“并且，我有理由相信这几位从那次事故中生还了。”
“相信？”阿尔弗斯托克勋爵尖细高亢的语调中带有一丝不快。
“我应该说我有他们还健在的证据。”
“证据？什么证据，呃……杰索普先生。”
“贝特顿夫人离开菲斯去往马拉喀什的时候戴着一串珍珠项链，”杰索普说，“我们在离飞机坠毁地半英里处发现了这串珍珠项链中的一颗珍珠。”
“您怎么确定那颗珍珠就是贝特顿夫人所戴的珍珠项链中的一颗？”
“因为那串项链的每颗珍珠都标有记号，那记号裸眼是看不到的，只有在高倍放大镜下才能看到。”
“谁做的记号？”
“是我做的，阿尔弗斯托克勋爵，当着我一位同事的面做的。那位同事今天也在这里，就是勒布朗先生。”
“您做的记号——您为什么要给这些珍珠做记号呢？”
“勋爵先生，我认为贝特顿太太能引导我们找到她的丈夫，托马斯•贝特顿，而他应该被逮捕。”杰索普继续说道，“后来我们又找到了两颗珍珠。都是在飞机坠毁的地方到这座麻风病院之间的路上找到的。我们询问了捡到珍珠的地方住的人，得知有人看到过六个人，且外貌描述跟那六个在飞机事故中丧生的人颇为相似。这几位乘客中的一位戴着一只涂有磷的手套，有人在一辆开往这里的汽车上看到了这只手套。”
阿尔弗斯托克勋爵的声音变得有些干涩，他公正地说道：“非同寻常。”
坐在大椅子里的阿里斯提德先生动了动，眼皮迅速地眨了眨，问道：“你们发现的这群人留下的最后的踪迹是在哪里？”
“先生，是在一个废置的机场。”接着杰索普说出了准确的地点。
“那里离这里有上百英里。”阿里斯提德先生说，“就算您那有趣的猜测是正确的，什么为了掩藏真相伪造了一场飞机事故，我想，这些乘客也一定早就从这个机场启程，飞往下一个未知的地点了。这个机场距离这里有上百英里，我真不知道您为何认为这些人在这里。他们为什么会在这里呢？”
“先生，我有很充分的理由。我们的一架侦察机飞过您这里时捕捉到了一个信号，接着被送往勒布朗先生那里。是一个带识别密码的信号，内容暗示这些人就在这座麻风病院里。”
“真是太厉害了。”阿里斯提德先生说，“太厉害了。但是在我看来，无疑是有人想要误导您。那些人不在这里。”他平静而肯定地说，“如果你们愿意的话，就请仔细搜查吧。”
“我想我们什么也查不到，先生。”杰索普说，“即便来一次搜查。”他又谨慎地补充道，“不过有一个地方我确实想查查。”
“可以！哪里？”
“从第二实验室出来的第四条走廊，向左走到尽头的地方。”
范•海德姆突然颤抖了一下，打翻了桌子上的两个杯子。杰索普笑着看向他。
“您看看，博士，”他说，“我们的消息灵通吧。”
范•海德姆厉声道：“荒谬可笑。可笑极了！您的意思是，我们违背他们的意愿囚禁了他们。我对此完全否认。”
法国部长不安地说：“我们好像触到死局了。”
阿里斯提德先生温和地说：“真是个有趣的推测。但也只是个推测罢了。”他看看表，“先生们，我建议你们现在赶紧离开。机场离这里很远，如果你们误了飞机，会引起恐慌的。”
杰索普和勒布朗都意识到现在到了紧要关头。阿里斯提德正在动用他全部的个人影响力，他觉得这些人不敢违抗他的意志。如果他们坚持搜查，就意味着公开违抗他。法国部长背负着上级指令，明显急于服从。而警察局长完全听命于部长。美国大使对此不是很满意，但是因为外交原因，他也在迟疑是否要坚持下去。英国领事不得不紧紧追随前两位的脚步。
至于记者们——阿里斯提德开始考虑记者，他认为他们都可以被收买，虽然可能要付出很大的代价。即使不能被收买，也肯定有其他办法。
杰索普和勒布朗呢，他们知道了内幕，这很明显。但没有官方支持，他们无计可施。
他的眼神与跟他一样老迈的人的眼神相遇了，那双眼睛冷静而公正。他知道，那个人是无法被收买的。但是最终……他的思路被一个冷峻而清晰的声音打断了，那声音像是从很远的地方传来的。
“我的意见是，”那个声音说道，“我们最好不要匆忙离开。因为看起来这件事有进一步调查的必要。既然有人提出了严肃的指控，我认为就不能不管。要给提出反论的人同样公平的机会。”
“每个人都有权举证。”阿里斯提德先生说道，以一个优雅的手势指了指在场众人，“但有人提出了一项荒谬的指控，还没有任何证据支持。”
“有证据。”
范•海德姆惊讶地转过身。一位摩洛哥仆人走上前去。他个子很高，穿着绣了花的白色长袍，裹着头巾，黝黑的脸庞油光发亮。
令人震惊的是，从黑人的厚嘴唇中发出的，是来自大洋彼岸的纯正美国口音。
“有证据可以支持。”那人说，“我现在就来说说。那位先生刚刚否认安德鲁•彼得斯、托基尔•埃里克森、贝特顿夫妇及路易•巴伦博士在这里。这是谎话。他们全都在这儿——我可以代表他们发声。”他向美国大使走去，“先生，您大概是没认出我。我就是安德鲁•彼得斯。”
阿里斯提德先生口中发出微弱的嘶嘶声，接着他靠向椅背，脸上面无表情。
“这里藏着一群人。”彼得斯说，“来自慕尼黑的施瓦茨、海尔格•尼达姆，英国科学家杰弗莱和戴维森，来自美国的保罗•韦德，还有意大利人里克切提、比安卡和莫奇森。他们全都在这里。只是因为被隔离的高墙挡着，你们才看不到。这里还有一套秘密实验室呢，全都建在岩石里。”
“上帝保佑。”美国大使脱口而出。他认真审视着那个看上去很高贵的非洲人，接着笑了起来。“现在我依旧不敢认你。”他说。
“我的嘴唇被注射了石蜡，先生，身上用了黑色素。”
“如果你是彼得斯，应该知道你在联邦调查局的编号吧？”
“八一三四七一，先生。”
“没错。”美国大使说，“那你另外那个名字的缩写是什么？”
“BAPG，先生。”
美国大使点了点头。
“这个人就是彼得斯。”他看向法国部长说。
部长迟疑了一下，接着清了清嗓子。
“您的意思是，这些人是被囚禁在这里的，违背了他们的意愿？”他问道。
“有些人是自愿的，阁下，有些人不是。”
“在这种情况下，”部长说，“就需要留下口供了……嗯……是的、是的，需要口供。”
他看向警察局长。后者走上前去。
“请稍等片刻。”阿里斯提德先生举起手，用温和而清晰的声音说，“看起来，在这里，我的信誉被滥用了。”他用冷酷的眼神扫过范•海德姆和院长，带着无法缓和的愤怒，“先生们，你们在对科学的狂热下都做了些什么啊。这里的事我不是很清楚。我资助这里，纯粹源自我对科学研究的兴趣。我并没有参与政策的制定和实施。院长先生，我奉劝您，如果这些控告有事实根据，我们应当立即将被拘禁的人放了。”
“但是先生，这不可能。我……这将会……”
“任何这一类的实验，都要终止。”阿里斯提德先生说，如金融家般的平静眼神扫视了一番客人们，他说，“先生，我想我不用向你们发誓吧。如果这里进行着什么非法的勾当，也都与我本人无关。”
因为他的财富、权势和影响力，于是可以将这句话理解为一道命令。阿里斯提德先生，世界名人，不会牵扯进这起事件中。不过即便他不会受什么影响，依旧不能改变这是一次失败。他无法达到目的了，不能如预想中那样从这个智力联盟中获得巨额利润了。阿里斯提德先生面对失败向来是坦然的，事业生涯中不时会遇到失败，他会运用哲学的思维去接受，然后东山再起。
他比画了一个东方式的手势，说：“我不再插手这件事了。”
警察局长跃跃欲试。他得到了指示，他明白这个指示，并准备倾尽全力。
“我希望没人阻拦。”他说，“我有责任对这里进行全面搜查。”
范•海德姆脸色惨白，走上前去，说：“请您随我来，我带您去看备用房间。”
注释：
[1]出自《格林童话》中的《韩塞尔与葛雷特》（Hansel and Gretel），故事讲述韩塞尔和葛雷特两兄妹被继母扔在大森林中，迷路的他们来到了女巫的糖果屋，差点儿被女巫吃掉，但他们凭借机智与勇气打败了女巫，又循着留下的面包屑的痕迹，找到了回家的路。
Twenty-one
Twenty-one
“Oh, I feel as if I’d woken up out of a nightmare,” sighed Hilary.
She stretched her arms wide above her head. They were sitting on theterrace of a hotel in Tangier. They had arrived there that morning byplane. Hilary went on:
“Did it all happen? It can’t have!”
“It happened all right,” said Tom Betterton, “but I agree with you, Olive,it was a nightmare. Ah well, I’m out of it now.”
Jessop came along the terrace and sat down beside them.
“Where’s Andy Peters?” asked Hilary.
“He’ll be here presently,” said Jessop. “He has a bit of business to attendto.”
“So Peters was one of your people,” said Hilary, “and he did things withphosphorus and a lead cigarette case that squirted radioactive material. Inever knew a thing about that.”
“No,” said Jessop, “you were both very discreet with each other. Strictlyspeaking, though, he isn’t one of my people. He represents the U.S.A.”
“That’s what you meant by saying that if I actually reached Tom here,you hoped I should have protection? You meant Andy Peters.”
Jessop nodded.
“I hope you’re not blaming me,” said Jessop in his most owl-like manner,“for not providing you with the desired end to your experience.”
Hilary looked puzzled. “What end?”
“A more sporting form of suicide,” he said.
“Oh, that!” She shook her head incredulously. “That seems just as unrealas anything else. I’ve been Olive Betterton so long now that I’m feelingquite confused to be Hilary Craven again.”
“Ah,” said Jessop, “there is my friend, Leblanc. I must go and speak tohim.”
He left them and walked along the terrace. Tom Betterton said quickly:
“Do one more thing for me, will you, Olive? I call you Olive still—I’ve gotused to it.”
“Yes, of course. What is it?”
“Walk along the terrace with me, then come back here and say that I’vegone up to my room to lie down.”
She looked at him questioningly.
“Why? What are you—?”
“I’m off, my dear, while the going’s good.”
“Off, where?”
“Anywhere.”
“But why?”
“Use your head, my dear girl. I don’t know what the status is here.
Tangier is an odd sort of place not under the jurisdiction of any particularcountry. But I know what’ll happen if I come with the rest of you to Gibral-tar. The first thing that’ll happen when I get there, I shall be arrested.”
Hilary looked at him with concern. In the excitement of their escapefrom the Unit, she had forgotten Tom Betterton’s troubles.
“You mean the Official Secrets Act, or whatever they call it? But youcan’t really hope to get away, can you, Tom? Where can you go?”
“I’ve told you. Anywhere.”
“But is that feasible nowadays? There’s money and all sorts of diffi-culties.”
He gave a short laugh. “The money’s all right. It’s salted away where Ican get at it under a new name.”
“So you did take money?”
“Of course I took money.”
“But they’ll track you down.”
“They’ll find it hard to do that. Don’t you realize, Olive, that the descrip-tion they’ll have of me is quite unlike my present appearance. That’s why Iwas so keen on this plastic surgery business. That’s been the whole point,you see. To get away from England, bank some money, have my appear-ance altered in such a way that I’m safe for life.”
Hilary looked at him doubtfully.
“You’re wrong,” she said. “I’m sure you’re wrong. It’d be far better to goback and face the music. After all, it’s not wartime. You’d only get a shortterm of imprisonment, I expect. What’s the good of being hounded for therest of your life?”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “You don’t understand the first thingabout it all. Come on, let’s get going. There’s no time to lose.”
“But how are you going to get away from Tangier?”
“I’ll manage. Don’t you worry.”
She got up from her seat and walked with him slowly along the terrace.
She felt curiously inadequate and tongue-tied. She had fulfilled her obliga-tions to Jessop and also to the dead woman, Olive Betterton. Now therewas no more to do. She and Tom Betterton had shared weeks of the closestassociation and yet she felt they were still strangers to each other. Nobond of fellowship or friendship had grown up between them.
They reached the end of the terrace. There was a small side door therethrough the wall which led out on to a narrow road which curved downthe hill to the port.
“I shall slip out this way,” Betterton said; “nobody’s watching. So long.”
“Good luck to you,” said Hilary slowly.
She stood there watching Betterton as he went to the door and turned itshandle. As the door opened he stepped back a pace and stopped. Threemen stood in the doorway. Two of them entered and came towards him.
The first spoke formally.
“Thomas Betterton, I have here a warrant for your arrest. You will beheld here in custody whilst extradition proceedings are taken.”
Betterton turned sharply, but the other man had moved quickly roundthe other side of him. Instead, he turned back with a laugh.
“It’s quite all right,” he said, “except that I’m not Thomas Betterton.”
The third man moved in through the doorway, came to stand by the sideof the other two.
“Oh yes, you are,” he said. “You’re Thomas Betterton.”
Betterton laughed.
“What you mean is that for the last month you’ve been living with meand hearing me called Thomas Betterton and hearing me call myselfThomas Betterton. The point is that I’m not Thomas Betterton. I met Bet-terton in Paris. I came on and took his place. Ask this lady if you don’t be-lieve me,” he said. “She came to join me, pretending to be my wife, and Irecognized her as my wife. I did, didn’t I?”
Hilary nodded her head.
“That,” said Betterton, “was because, not being Thomas Betterton, natur-ally I didn’t know Thomas Betterton’s wife from Adam. I thought she wasThomas Betterton’s wife. Afterwards I had to think up some sort of ex-planation that would satisfy her. But that’s the truth.”
“So that’s why you pretended to know me,” cried Hilary. “When you toldme to play up—to keep up the deception!”
Betterton laughed again, confidently.
“I’m not Betterton,” he said. “Look at any photograph of Betterton andyou’ll see I’m speaking the truth.”
Peters stepped forward. His voice when he spoke was totally unlike thevoice of the Peters that Hilary had known so well. It was quiet and implac-able.
“I’ve seen photographs of Betterton,” he said, “and I agree I wouldn’thave recognized you as the man. But you are Thomas Betterton all thesame, and I’ll prove it.”
He seized Betterton with a sudden strong grasp and tore off his jacket.
“If you’re Thomas Betterton,” he said, “you’ve got a scar in the shape of aZ in the crook of your right elbow.”
As he spoke he ripped up the shirt and bent back Betterton’s arm.
“There you are,” he said, pointing triumphantly. “There are two lab as-sistants in the U.S.A. who’ll testify to that. I know about it because Elsawrote and told me when you did it.”
“Elsa?” Betterton stared at him. He began to shake nervously. “Elsa?
What about Elsa?”
“Ask what the charge is against you?”
The police official stepped forward once more.
“The charge,” he said, “is murder in the first degree. Murder of yourwife, Elsa Betterton.”
第二十一章
第二十一章
“哦，我觉得像从噩梦中惊醒了一样。”希拉里叹了口气说。
她伸直胳膊。此时他们坐在丹吉尔一家酒店的露台上，是今早乘坐飞机来到这里的。
希拉里继续说道：“这些是真的吗？不可能是真的！”
“确确实实发生了。”汤姆•贝特顿说，“但我赞同你的说法，奥利芙，这就是一场噩梦。
啊，还好我们脱身了。”
杰索普也来到露台，坐在他们身旁。
“安迪•彼得斯在哪儿？”希拉里问。
“他很快就过来。”杰索普说，“他有点事要忙。”
“这么说，彼得斯是你们的人？”希拉里说，“他把夜光磷涂在手套上，随身带着有放射性的钴制烟盒。我真是一点都没发觉。”
“你们都很谨慎。”杰索普说，“不，严格来说，他不是我们的人。他代表着美国。”
“您说如果我真的找到了汤姆，就能得到保护时其实是这个意思吗？您是指安迪•彼得斯？”
杰索普点点头。
“我希望您不要责怪我。”此时的杰索普又像猫头鹰一样了，“我没能帮助您达成目标。”
希拉里疑惑不解。“什么目标？”
“更为光明正大地自杀。”他说。
“啊，那个！”她难以置信地摇摇头，“现在看起来这与其他事情一样不真实。我做了这么长时间的奥利芙•贝特顿，再次回到希拉里•克雷文的时候我都有点糊涂了。”
“啊。”杰索普说，“那是我的朋友勒布朗。我要离开一下去跟他聊聊。”
他跟他们告别，走下了露台。汤姆•贝特顿马上说道：“能再为我做件事吗，奥利芙？
我还是喊你奥利芙吧，我已经习惯了。”
“好的，当然可以。做什么？”
“跟我一起走下露台，然后你回到这里，告诉他们我已经回房间休息了。”
她不解地看着他。
“为什么？你要——”
“我想离开，亲爱的，离开这里是最好的选择。”
“离开，去哪儿？”
“任何地方。”
“为什么要这么做？”
“动动脑子，我亲爱的姑娘。我对眼下的情况一无所知。丹吉尔是一个古怪的地方，它不属于任何一个国家。但是我知道，如果我们去直布罗陀，当我们抵达的时候，第一件事就是我会被逮捕。”
希拉里有些担心地看着他。从组织逃脱的兴奋感让她都忘了贝特顿的麻烦事了。
“你是说《政府保密法》或是其他类似的法规吗？但你是不可能逃脱的。汤姆，你能去哪儿？”
“我告诉过你了，任何地方。”
“但是这可行吗？你需要钱，还会遇到各式各样的麻烦。”
他微微一笑。“钱不是问题。我有钱，存在一个新的账户里，随时可以取用。”
“这么说，你拿了他们的钱。”
“当然了，我拿了他们的钱。”
“他们会抓到你的。”
“这不容易。奥利芙，你还没意识到吗？我现在的容貌已跟过去迥然不同。这就是我一直对整容手术如此热衷的原因，这是事情的关键。离开英国，银行账户，改头换面，这样我就能安度余生了。”
希拉里不解地看着他。
“你错了。”她说，“我敢肯定你错了。还是回到英国、面对现实的好。毕竟这不是战争时期，你只会被判很短的刑期。余生都被追捕又有什么好呢？”
“你不明白。”他说，“你从一开始就不明白。来吧，我们走吧，没时间磨蹭了。”
“但是你要如何离开丹吉尔？”
“我早就计划好了，不用担心。”
她从座位上起身，跟着他慢慢走下露台。她感到内心很不安稳，不知道要说什么好。
她已经完成了和那个死去的女人——奥利芙•贝特顿——的约定，不用再做什么了。虽然和汤姆•贝特顿亲密地共同生活了几周，但她感觉他们彼此还是陌生人，既没有伴侣之间的感情，也没有朋友的情谊。
他们走到了露台的尽头，那里有一扇小门，穿过小门是一条狭窄的小路，沿着这条路下山，可以走向港口。
“我要走了。”贝特顿说道，“没有人看到吧。再会！”
“祝你好运。”希拉里缓缓地说。
她站在那里，看着贝特顿走向小门，扭开门把手。当门打开的时候他后退了一步，停了下来。有三个男人站在门口。其中两个走了进来。为首的那个用正式口吻说道：“托马斯•贝特顿，我这里有你的逮捕令。在你被引渡回英国之前，要先在这里关押。”
贝特顿猛然转身，但是另一个人已迅速走到他面前。他只好转了过来。
“好极了。”他说，“但是我不是托马斯•贝特顿。”
第三个人也走了进来，站在那两个人身旁。
“啊，是的，你就是。”他说，“你就是托马斯•贝特顿。”
贝特顿笑了起来。
“你近一个月来一直和我生活在一起，你听别人叫我托马斯•贝特顿，我也自称托马斯•贝特顿，但关键是我不是托马斯•贝特顿。我在巴黎遇到了贝特顿，然后来到这里顶替了他的位置。如果你们不相信的话，请问问这位女士。”他说，“她来这里跟我会合，装作是我的妻子，我也将她认作我的妻子。是这样的，对吗？”
希拉里点点头。
贝特顿继续说道：“我不是托马斯•贝特顿，自然也不认识托马斯•贝特顿的妻子。我以为她就是托马斯•贝特顿的妻子。当然，我需要编造各种解释让她安心。但那些都不是真的。”
“所以，这才是你装作认识我的原因！”希拉里惊叫道，“你还让我继续演下去——其实全是骗局！”
贝特顿自负地笑了。
“我不是贝特顿。”他说，“看看贝特顿的任何一张照片，你都会发现我说的是真的。”
彼得斯走上前。他开口说话的时候跟希拉里熟知的那个彼得斯完全不同。他的语调是如此平静而坚定。
他说：“我见过贝特顿的照片，确实与你不同。但你就是托马斯•贝特顿，我会证明这一点的。”
他猛地抓住贝特顿，扯开了他的上衣。
“如果你是托马斯•贝特顿，那你的右臂手肘处就有个Z字形的痕迹。”他说。
他一边说着，一边将贝特顿的衣服扯到了胳膊肘。
“就是这个。”他指着疤痕说道，“在美国的两位实验助理也能证明。我知道这个，是因为艾尔莎告诉我你有这个疤痕。”
“艾尔莎？”贝特顿呆若木鸡，他不安地说道，“艾尔莎？艾尔莎怎么了？”
“看看对您的控告都说了些什么？”
那位警官再次走上前去。
“一级谋杀。谋杀您的妻子，艾尔莎•贝特顿。”
Twenty-two
Twenty-two
“I’m sorry, Olive. You’ve got to believe I’m sorry. About you, I mean. Foryour sake I’d have given him one chance. I warned you that he’d be saferto stay in the Unit and yet I’d come halfway across the world to get him,and I meant to get him for what he did to Elsa.”
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything. Who are you?”
“I thought you knew that. I’m Boris Andrei Pavlov Glydr, Elsa’s cousin. Iwas sent over to America from Poland, to a University there to completemy education. And the way things were in Europe my uncle thought itbest for me to take out American citizenship. I took the name of AndrewPeters. Then, when the war came, I went back to Europe. I worked for theResistance. I got my uncle and Elsa out of Poland and they got to America.
Elsa—I’ve told you about Elsa already. She was one of the first-class scient-ists of our time. It was Elsa who discovered ZE Fission. Betterton was ayoung Canadian who was attached to Mannheim to help him in his experi-ments. He knew his job, but there was no more to him than that. He delib-erately made love to Elsa and married her so as to be associated with herin the scientific work she was doing. When her experiments neared com-pletion and he realized what a big thing ZE Fission was going to be, he de-liberately poisoned her.”
“Oh, no, no.”
“Yes. There were no suspicions at the time. Betterton appeared heart-broken, threw himself with renewed ardour into his work and then an-nounced the ZE Fission discovery as his own. It brought him what hewanted. Fame and the recognition of being a first- class scientist. Hethought it prudent after that to leave America and come to England. Hewent to Harwell and worked there.
“I was tied up in Europe for some time after the war ended. Since I hada good knowledge of German, Russian and Polish, I could do very usefulwork there. The letter that Elsa had written to me before she died dis-quieted me. The illness from which she was suffering and from which shedied seemed to me mysterious and unaccounted for. When at last I gotback to the U.S.A. I started instituting inquiries. We won’t go into it all, butI found what I was looking for. Enough, that is, to apply for an order forexhumation of the body. There was a young fellow in the District Attor-ney’s office who had been a great friend of Betterton. He was going overon a trip to Europe about that time, and I think that he visited Bettertonand in the course of his visit mentioned the exhumation. Betterton got thewind up. I imagine that he’d been already approached by agents of ourfriend, Mr. Aristides. Anyway, he now saw that there lay his best chanceto avoid being arrested and tried for murder. He accepted the terms, stipu-lating that his facial appearance was to be completely changed. What actu-ally happened, of course, was that he found himself in a very real captiv-ity. Moreover, he found himself in a dangerous position there since he wasquite unable to deliver the goods—the scientific goods, that is to say. Hewas not and never had been a man of genius.”
“And you followed him?”
“Yes. When the newspapers were full of the sensational disappearanceof the scientist, Thomas Betterton, I came over to England. A rather brilli-ant scientist friend of mine had had certain overtures made to him by awoman, a Mrs. Speeder, who worked for U.N.O. I discovered on arrivingin England that she had had a meeting with Betterton. I played up to her,expressing Left Wing views, rather exaggerating perhaps my scientificabilities. I thought, you see, that Betterton had gone behind the Iron Cur-tain where no one could reach him. Well, if nobody else could reach him, Iwas going to reach him.” His lips set in a grim line. “Elsa was a first-classscientist and she was a beautiful and gentle woman. She’d been killed androbbed by the man whom she loved and trusted. If necessary I was goingto kill Betterton with my own hands.”
“I see,” said Hilary, “oh, I see now.”
“I wrote to you,” said Peters, “when I got to England. Wrote to you, thatis, in my Polish name, telling you the facts.” He looked at her. “I supposeyou didn’t believe me. You never answered.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Then I went to the Intelligence people. At first I went there putting on anact. Polish officer. Stiff, foreign and correctly formal. I was suspicious justthen of everybody. However, in the end Jessop and I got together.” Hepaused. “This morning my quest has come to an end. Extradition will beapplied for, Betterton will go to the U.S.A. and will stand his trial there. Ifhe’s acquitted, I have no more to say.” He added grimly, “But he won’t beacquitted. The evidence is too strong.”
He paused, staring down over the sunlit gardens towards the sea.
“The hell of it is,” he said, “that you came out there to join him and I metyou and fell in love with you. It has been hell, Olive. Believe me. So therewe are. I’m the man who’s responsible for sending your husband to theelectric chair. We can’t get away from it. It’s a thing that you’ll never beable to forget even if you forgave it.” He got up. “Well, I wanted to tell youthe whole story from my own lips. This is goodbye.” He turned abruptly asHilary stretched out a hand.
“Wait,” she said, “wait. There is something you don’t know. I’m not Bet-terton’s wife. Betterton’s wife, Olive Betterton, died at Casablanca. Jessoppersuaded me to take her place.”
He wheeled round staring at her.
“You’re not Olive Betterton?”
“No.”
“Good lord,” said Andy Peters. “Good lord!” He dropped heavily into achair beside her. “Olive,” he said, “Olive, my darling.”
“Don’t call me Olive. My name’s Hilary. Hilary Craven.”
“Hilary?” He said it questioningly. “I’ll have to get used to that.” He puthis hand over hers.
At the other end of the terrace Jessop, discussing with Leblanc varioustechnical difficulties in the present situation, broke off in the middle of asentence.
“You were saying?” he asked absently.
“I said, mon cher, that it does not seem to me that we are going to be ableto proceed against this animal of an Aristides.”
“No, no. The Aristides always win. That is to say they always manage tosquirm out from under. But he’ll have lost a lot of money, and he won’tlike that. And even Aristides can’t keep death at bay forever. I should sayhe’ll be coming up before the Supreme Justice before very long, from thelook of him.”
“What was it attracting your attention, my friend?”
“Those two,” said Jessop. “I sent Hilary Craven off on a journey to a des-tination unknown, but it seems to me that her journey’s end is the usualone after all.”
Leblanc looked puzzled for a moment then he said:
“Aha! yes! your Shakespeare!”
“You Frenchmen are so well-read,” said Jessop.
第二十二章
第二十二章
“很抱歉，奥利芙，我是真的很抱歉，请你相信我。因为你的原因，我本来想给他一次机会的。我曾跟你说过，他待在组织里会更安全些。我走遍半个地球搜寻他，因为我要让他对艾尔莎所犯下的罪负责。”
“我不明白。我一点都没明白。你是谁？”
“我以为你已经知道了。我是鲍里斯•安德烈•帕普洛夫•格莱德尔，是艾尔莎的表弟。为了完成学业，我从波兰赴美。考虑到欧洲的局势，我舅舅认为我最好加入美国国籍，我就改名为安德鲁•彼得斯。战争结束后我又回到了欧洲，投身反侵略战争，并带着我的舅舅和艾尔莎表姐从波兰离开，去了美国。艾尔莎，我跟你说过，她是当代第一流的科学家。正是艾尔莎发现了ZE裂变。贝特顿是个年轻的加拿大人，他来到曼海姆的实验室，辅助其做实验。他能做好自己的工作，但也就到这里了。他向艾尔莎示爱，跟她结婚，是因为这样一来他就能跟她所从事的科学研究关联起来了。在她的实验即将成功时，他觉察到ZE裂变将带来的巨大影响，就蓄意毒杀了她。”
“啊，不、不。”
“是的，那时没人怀疑。贝特顿表现得心碎欲裂，全身心地投入到工作中去。接着他宣布ZE裂变是他自己的成果。这给他带来了他想要的，名声和人们的交口盛赞，让他成了一流的科学家。他认为离开美国去英国比较明智，之后便去了哈韦尔。
“战争结束后我又在欧洲停留了一段时间。我擅长德语、俄语和波兰语，在那里做了很多有意义的工作。艾尔莎死之前给我写的一封信让我大为不安，她所患的疾病和她的死因都让我无法释怀。后来我返回美国，就开始调查了。我就不说调查的过程了，但我找到了想要的东西，于是我要求尸检。地区律所的工作人员中有个年轻人是贝特顿的好友，那时他正好要去欧洲旅行，我便拜托他当他去拜访贝特顿的时候跟他说说尸检的请求。贝特顿立马精神紧张起来。我认为他那时就和‘我们的朋友’阿里斯提德先生的代理人有所接触了。不管怎么说，他找到了逃避谋杀指控的最佳机会。他接受了阿里斯提德先生的条件，他原本就想改头换面。之后所发生的事，就是他发现自己真的被幽禁在这个麻风病院了。
而且他无法提供有价值的发现，拿不出科学贡献。因为他压根儿就不是天才。”
“这么说，你跟踪了他？”
“是的。当报纸上满是科学家托马斯•贝特顿失踪的消息的时候，我来到了英国。我的一位相当聪明的科学家朋友告诉我贝特顿与一位女士有过接触，斯比德太太，为联合国组织工作。我抵达伦敦后，发现这位太太跟贝特顿见过面。我欺骗她，说我有‘左’的倾向，还夸大了我的科研能力。你知道的，我以为贝特顿去了没人能找到他的铁幕那边。好的，如果没有人能找到他，那我就去找他。”他的嘴唇冷酷地紧闭着，“艾尔莎是一位一流的科学家，也是位美丽温柔的女士。她被自己所深爱的、信任的人给杀死了，那人还抢夺了她的成果。我真想亲自结果了贝特顿。”
“我明白。”希拉里说，“啊，现在我明白了。”
“我到英国后给你写过信。”彼得斯说，“信的署名是我的波兰名。我把事实告诉了你。”他看着她，“我想你是不会相信我的。你从未回信。”他耸耸肩，“接着我去找情报人员。最初我伪装成一位固执、一板一眼的波兰军官。那时我对什么人都心存怀疑。但最后，我认识了杰索普。”他顿了顿，“今早，我的追寻之旅结束了。当局会申请引渡，贝特顿会回到美国接受审判。如果他被判无罪，那我也无话可说了。”
他顿了顿，态度严肃地补充道：“但我知道他不会被判无罪的。证据如此明确。”
他不再说话，盯着临海的阳光花园。
“该死的，你来这里是为了与他团聚，而我却爱上了你。奥利芙，这真是糟透了。我是把你的丈夫推上电椅的那个人，我们无法避开这个事实。这件事你将终生难忘，即使你原谅了我。”他站了起来，“好了，我就是想亲自告诉你这整件事。再会吧！”他猛然转身，希拉里一把拽住了他。
“等等。”她说，“等等。有些事情你还不知道，我不是贝特顿的妻子。贝特顿的妻子——奥利芙•贝特顿，死在了卡萨布兰卡。杰索普劝说我来顶替她。”
彼得斯扭过身来，目不转睛地盯着她。
“你不是奥利芙•贝特顿？”
“嗯。”
“谢天谢地。”安迪•彼得斯说，“谢天谢地！”他一下子跌坐在背后的椅子上，“奥利芙，我亲爱的。”
“不要叫我奥利芙，我的名字是希拉里。希拉里•克雷文。”
“希拉里？”他有点迷惑地说，“我会习惯这么喊你的。”他攥紧了希拉里的手。
在露台的另一侧，杰索普和勒布朗正在谈论眼下的几个技术性问题，话说到一半忽然停住了。
“你说什么？”他突然问道。
“我说，亲爱的朋友，看来我们还不能对阿里斯提德那个畜生提起诉讼。”
“不能，是的，阿里斯提德总是立于不败之地，他总是能逃出生天。但是他要付出大量的钱财，这会让他很生气。就连阿里斯提德也无法永生。在我看来，在最后的裁决到来之前，他就会一命归西的。”
“我的朋友，是什么吸引了你的注意？”
“那两个人。”杰索普说，“我派希拉里•克雷文去做一次旅行，这次旅行的结果像通常的故事那样完满。”
勒布朗一瞬间有些迷惑不解，但是他猛然意会了，说道：“啊，是的！你们的莎士比亚！”
“你们法国人真是学富五车啊！”杰索普说。