As the spring wore away, he decided1 to consult a doc-tor. The decision—most alien to his temperament— was forced on him by a hideous2 experience in the train. He had been brooding in an ill-conditioned way, and his expression aroused the suspicions and the hopes of the only other person in the carriage. This person, stout3 and greasy-faced, made a las-civous sign, and, off his guard, Maurice responded. Next mo-ment both rose to their feet. The other man smiled, whereupon Maurice knocked him down. Which was hard on the man, who was elderly and whose nose streamed with blood over the cushions, and the harder because he was now consumed with fear and thought Maurice would pull the alarm cord. He splut-tered apologies, offered money. Maurice stood over him, black-browed, and saw in this disgusting and dishonourable old age his own.
He loathed4 the idea of a doctor, but he had failed to kill lust5 single-handed. As crude as in his boyhood, it was many times as strong, and raged in his empty soul. He might "keep away from young men", as he had naively6 resolved, but he could not keep away from their images, and hourly committed sin in his heart. Any punishment was preferable, for he assumed a doctor would punish him. He could undergo any course of treatment on the chance of being cured, and even if he wasn't he would be occu-pied and have fewer minutes for brooding.
Whom should he consult? Young Jowitt was the only doctor he knew well, and the day after that railway journey he man-aged to remark to him in casual tones, "I say, in your rounds here, do you come across unspeakables of the Oscar Wilde sort?" But Jowitt replied. "No, that's in the asylum7 work, thank God," which was discouraging, and perhaps it might be better to consult someone whom he should never see again. He thought of specialists, but did not know whether there were any for his disease, nor whether they would keep faith if he confided8 in them. On all other subjects he could command advice, but on this, which touched him daily, civilization was silent.
In the end he braved a visit to Dr Barry. He knew he should have a bad time, but the old man, though a bully9 and a tease, was absolutely trustworthy, and had been better disposed to him since his civilities to Dickie. They were in no sense friends, which made it easier, and he went so seldom to the house that it would make little difference were he forbidden it for ever.
He went on a cold evening in May. Spring had turned into a mockery, and a wretched summer was expected also. It was exactly three years since he had come here under balmy skies, to receive his lecture about Cambridge, and his heart beat quicker, remembering how severe the old man had been then. He found him in an agreeable mood, playing bridge with his daughter and wife, and urgent that Maurice should make a fourth in their party.
"I'm afraid I want to speak to you, sir," he said with an emo-tion so intense that he felt he should never accomplish the real words at all.
"Well, speak away."
"I mean professionally."
"Lord, man, I've retired10 from practice for the last six years. You go to Jericho or Jowitt. Sit down, Maurice. Glad to see you,
shouldn't have guessed you were dying. Polly! Whisky for this fading flower."
Maurice remained standing11, then turned away so oddly that Dr Barry followed him into the hall and said, "Hi, Maurice, can I seriously do anything for you?"
"I should think you can!"
"I've not even a consulting-room."
"It's an illness too awfully12 intimate for Jowitt—I'd rather come to you—you're the only doctor alive I dare tell. Once before I said to you I hoped I'd learn to speak out. It's about that"
"A secret trouble, eh? Well, come along."
They went into the dining-room, which was still strewn with dessert. The Venus de Medici in bronze stood on the mantel-piece, copies of Greuze hung on the walls. Maurice tried to speak and failed, poured out some water, failed again, and broke into a fit of sobbing13.
"Take your time," said the old man quite kindly14, "and remem-ber of course that this is professional. Nothing you say will ever reach your mother's ears."
The ugliness of the interview overcame him. It was like being back in the train. He wept at the hideousness15 into which he had been forced, he who had meant to tell no one but Clive. Unable to say the right words, he muttered, "It's about women—"
Dr Barry leapt to a conclusion—indeed he had been there ever since they spoke16 in the hall. He had had a touch of trouble himself when young, which made him sympathetic about it. "We'll soon fix that up," he said.
Maurice stopped his tears before more than a few had issued, and felt the rest piled in an agonizing17 bar across his brain. "Oh, fix me for God's sake," he said, and sank into a chair, arms hang-ing. "I'm close on done for."
"Ah, women! How well I remember when you spouted18 on the platform at school. . . the year my poor brother died it was . . . you gaped19 at some master's wife . . . he's a lot to learn and life's a hard school, I remember thinking. Only women can teach us and there bad women as well as good. Dear, dear!" He cleared his throat. "Well, boy, don't be afraid of me. Only tell me the truth, and I'll get you well. When did you catch the beastly thing? At the Varsity?"
Maurice did not understand. Then his brow went damp. "It's nothing as filthy20 as that," he said explosively. "In my own rotten way I've kept clean."
Dr Barry seemed offended. He locked the door, saying, "Im-potent, eh? Let's have a look," rather contemptuously.
Maurice stripped, throwing the garments from him in a rage. He had been insulted as he had insulted Ada.
"You're all right," was the verdict.
"What d'ye mean, sir, by all right?"
"What I say. You're a clean man. Nothing to worry about here."
He sat down by the fire, and, dulled though he was to impres-sions, Dr Barry noted21 the pose. It wasn't artistic22, yet it could have been called superb. He sat in his usual position, and his body as well as his face seemed gazing indomitably at the flames. He wasn't going to knuckle23 under—somehow he gave that im-pression. He might be slow and clumsy, but if once he got what he wanted he would hold to it till Heaven and Earth blushed crimson24.
"You're all right," repeated the other. "You can marry tomor-row if you like, and if you take an old man's advice you will. Cover up now, it's so draughty. What put all this into your head?"
"So you've never guessed," he said, with a touch of scorn in
his terror. "I'm an unspeakable of the Oscar Wilde sort." His eyes closed, and driving clenched25 fists against them he sat motionless, having appealed to Caesar.
At last judgement came. He could scarcely believe his ears. It was "Rubbish, rubbish!" He had expected many things, but not this; for if his words were rubbish his life was a dream.
"Dr Barry, I can't have explained—"
"Now listen to me, Maurice, never let that evil hallucination, that temptation from the devil, occur to you again."
The voice impressed him, and was not Science speaking?
"Who put that he into your head? You whom I see and know to be a decent fellow! We'll never mention it again. No--ril not discuss. I'll not discuss. The worst thing I could do for you is to discuss it."
"I want advice," said Maurice, struggling against the over-whelming manner. "It's not rubbish to me, but my life."
"Rubbish," came the voice authoritatively26.
"I've been like this ever since I can remember without know-ing why. What is it? Am I diseased? If I am, I want to be cured, I can't put up with the loneliness any more, the last six months specially27. Anything you tell me, I'll do. That's all. You must help me."
He fell back into his original position, gazing body and soul into the fire.
"Come! Dress yourself."
"I'm sorry," he murmured, and obeyed. Then Dr Barry unlocked the door and called, "Polly! Whisky!" The consulta-tion was over.
春意渐浓，他决定找医生看一看。在火车中有过一次丑恶的经验，迫使他做出跟他的性格格格不入的这个决定。当时他心绪不宁，正在郁闷地沉思。车厢里只有一个乘客，他的表情引起了这个人的猜疑和希望。此人身体肥壮，脸上油腻腻的。他做了个猥亵的手势，莫瑞斯没有提防，竟然有所反应。一转眼工夫，两个人都站了起来。那个人眉开眼笑，于是莫瑞斯一下子将他击倒。他尝到了厉害，鼻血流到坐垫上。现在他害怕得不得了，以为莫瑞斯会拽警铃的绳索。他急促而慌乱地道歉，表示愿意给钱。莫瑞斯脸色铁青，俯视着他，从这个令人作呕、不光彩的老头身上看到了自己的未来。
想到要去找医生，他感到厌恶。然而单凭自己是不可能消灭肉欲的。肉欲是赤裸裸的，犹如在他少年时代那样，然而比当初强烈好几倍，在他那空洞的灵魂中逞凶。他曾天真地地打定主意要“离青少年远点儿”，这一点固然做得到，他却无法疏远他们的影像，时时刻刻在心中犯罪。任何惩罚都比这个强一些，他认为医生会惩罚他。只要能康复，什么样的治疗他都情愿接受。即便不能治愈，也会占用并缩短他郁闷地想心事的时间。
该接受谁的诊治呢？年轻的乔伊特是他惟一熟悉的医生。乘火车旅行遭遇了那件事的次日，他用漫不经心的语气问了乔伊特一句：“我说，你在这一带巡回诊治的时候，会不会碰上奥斯卡·王尔德（译注：奥斯卡.王尔德(1854-1900)是爱尔兰诗人、小说家、戏剧家。1895年他被指控和青年艾尔弗雷德.道格拉斯搞同性爱，被判入狱服劳役两年。他在狱中写了长信《从深处》，抱怨道格拉斯对他的引诱。）那样的难以启齿的病例呢？”然而乔伊特回答说：“不会的，那是精神病院分内的工作，谢天谢地。”这使莫瑞斯沮丧。也许不如请一位从此再也无缘相见的人来诊治更好。他想到了专科医生，但他不知道有没有专门看他这种病的医生，更不知道倘若他向他们吐露秘密，他们能不能守口如瓶。其他任何问题他都可以向旁人请教，然而惟独在这个每天都折磨他的问题上，文明保持着沉默。
莫瑞斯终于毅然去拜访巴里大夫。他知道自己发窘。然而那个老者尽管盛气凌人，爱捉弄人，却是绝对可以信赖的。自从他使迪基受到礼遇以来，大夫对他也多少有了好感。他们二人决不是朋友，反而用不着挂虑。他轻易不到大夫家去，即便今后永远被禁止上门，也没什么关系。
他是在五月里的一个冷峭的夜晚去的。春季的天气变得很恶劣，估计夏天也会这样。整整三年前，他曾在暖洋洋的天空下来到这里，以便为剑桥那件事挨训。想起那个老人当时何等严厉，他的心跳得越来越快了。他发现老人情绪愉快，正跟女儿与妻子打着桥牌，他想把莫瑞斯拉进来，凑成四人。
“先生，抱歉得很，我有话跟您说。”他这么说的时候感情太激动了，以致觉得自己永远也不能倾诉衷情。
“好的，敞开儿说吧。”
“我的意思是，想请您诊治一下。”
“天啊，我已经退休，六年没行医啦。你去找耶利各或乔伊特好了。坐下，莫瑞斯。很高兴见到你，我从来也没认为你快死啦。波莉！给这朵快要枯萎了的花儿端杯威士忌来。”
莫瑞斯依然伫立着，随后古里古怪地转身而去。巴里大夫跟随着步入门厅，说：“嘿，莫瑞斯，我能为你做点儿正经事吗？”
“我相信您能！”
“我连一间诊室都没有。”
“这是一种涉及隐私的病，不能让乔伊特诊治。我宁愿来找您—一您是世上我惟一敢告诉的大夫。以前我曾对您说过，我但愿自己能学会大胆公开地说出来，就是这件事。”
“一个秘密的苦恼，啊？好的，过来吧。”
他们到饭厅去了。桌子上还摆着一盘盘吃剩的甜点心。壁炉架上立着梅迪契（译注：洛伦佐.德.梅迪契( 1449—1492)是佛罗伦萨政治家，统治者和文学艺术保护人。意大利雕刻家米开朗琪罗(1475-1564)就是在他的帮助下梅迪契园学雕刻的。在15世纪后半叶，由于洛伦佐的鼓励，佛罗伦萨的艺术十分繁荣。梅迪契家族的统治一直延续到18世纪。）的维纳斯铜像，墙上挂着格勒兹的复制品。莫瑞斯试图说话，却说不出来。倒出一点儿水，又失败了，就突然抽泣起来。
“从从容容地谈。”老人十分和善地说，“当然要记住：这涉及我的医德。你所说的，永远也不会传到你母亲的耳朵里。”
这次面谈的丑陋压倒了莫瑞斯，他好像又返回到那节火车车厢里去了。他为自己被追陷入骇人听闻的境地而流泪。他原来打算除了克莱夫，不向任何人吐露。他找不到恰当的字眼儿，就咕哝道：“关于女人的事——”
其实，自从他们在门厅里交谈以来，巴里大夫就估计是这么回事。他本人年轻的时候也有过一点儿麻烦，致使他对此抱同情的态度。“我们很快就会使你痊愈的。”他说。
莫瑞斯没等更多的眼泪流出来，勉强将它抑制住了。他感到剩下的泪水堆成一团，痛苦地压迫着他的脑子。“哦，千万为我把病治好吧，”他说着，深深地坐在一把椅子上，将双臂耷拉下去。“我快完蛋啦。”
“啊，关于女人的问题！你在学校的讲坛上滔滔不绝地发表演说的日子，我记得非常清楚……我那可怜的弟弟就是那一年死掉的……你目瞪口呆地瞧着一位老师的妻子……我记得当时自己曾想：他有许许多多该学的，人生是一座严厉的学校。只有女人能教咱们，除了好女人之外，还有坏女人。啊，啊！”他清了清嗓子。“喂，小伙子，用不着怕我。只要告诉我真实情况，我就替你把病治好。你是在哪儿染上这脏玩艺儿的？是在大学里吗？”
莫瑞斯没听懂。接着，他的额头冒出了冷汗。“不是那样肮脏的病。”他暴躁地说，“我尽管不健全；却守身如玉。”
巴里大夫好像被触怒了。他边锁上门，边以相当轻蔑的口吻说：“阳痿，是吗？咱们来检查一下。”
莫瑞斯愤怒地脱掉衣服并抛到一边。他受到了侮辱，正如曾经侮辱过艾达那样。
“你是正常的。”这是大夫的诊断。
“先生，正常指的是什么？”
“我说的是，你是个纯洁的男子。在这一点上，丝毫不用担心。”
他在壁炉旁坐下来。尽管巴里大夫对事物的印象是模糊的，却注意到了他的姿势。艺术性不强，然而说得上是精彩绝伦。他像平时那样坐着，身体和脸仿佛都充满不屈不挠的精神，凝视着火焰。他才不会屈服呢——不知为什么，他给人以这样一种印象。他或许迟钝而笨拙，然而一旦得到了想要的东西，他就会抓住它，直到天地都羞得红彤彤的。
“你是正常的。”对方重复了一遍。“倘若你愿意的话，明天就能结婚。你要是肯接受一个老人的劝告，你会这么做的。现在穿上衣服吧，穿堂风挺厉害的。是什么使你想到了这一切？”
“您根本就没猜到。”他说。虽然非常恐惧，声调里却含着一丝轻蔑。“我是奥斯卡·王尔德那种难以启齿的人。”他闭紧双目，攥住两只拳头，按在眼睛上，一动不动地坐着。他对恺撒所做的申诉已经结束。
他终于听到了审判，几乎不能相信自己的耳朵，那就是：“胡说八道！胡说八道！”他期待大夫会说各种各样的话，惟独不是这一句。因为假若他是在胡说八道，他的人生就是一场梦而已。
“巴里大夫，我还没解释清——。”
“现在听我说，莫瑞斯。永远也不要再让自己的脑子里浮现那样邪恶的幻觉，来自魔鬼的诱惑。”
这个嗓音使他深深感动。难道不是科学在说话吗？
“是谁把这样的谎言塞进你的脑子的？你可是个正派人呀！我瞧得出来，也了解你。咱们再也别提这个r。不——我决不谈，决不接触这个话题。我能为你做的最坏的一件事就是讨论这个问题。”
“我希望得到您的指点。”莫瑞斯说。他对巴里大夫那种盛气凌人的态度进行抗拒。“对我来说，这不是胡说八道，却关系列我的生命。”
“胡说八道。”传来了充满权威的声音。
“我也不知道是怎么回事，自从记事以来，我一直是这个样子。这是什么呢？我得病了吗？要是病了，我希望能够康复。我再也耐不住这样的凄凉，尤其是最近六个月。不论您吩咐我什么，我都照办。我把自己的要求和盘托出了，请您务必帮助我。”
他又恢复了原先那个姿势，全身心都在凝视那炉火。
“来！穿上衣服。”
“对不起。”他低声说，并且听从了大夫的话。接着，巴里大夫拧开了门锁，呼唤道：“波莉！威士忌！”诊治结束了。
收听单词发音 |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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lust
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| n.性(淫)欲；渴(欲)望；vi.对…有强烈的欲望 | |
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naively
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| adv. 天真地 | |
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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hideousness
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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gaped
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| v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的过去式和过去分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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knuckle
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| n.指节；vi.开始努力工作；屈服，认输 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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