Archie London was also returning to town, and very early next morning they stood in the hall together waiting for the brougham, while the man who had taken them after rabbits waited outside for a tip.
"Tell him to boil his head," said Maurice crossly. "I offered him five bob and he wouldn't take it. Damned cheek!"
Mr London was scandalized. What were servants coming to? Was it to be nothing but gold? If so, one might as well shut up shop, and say so. He began a story about his wife's monthly nurse. Pippa had treated that woman more than an equal, but what can you expect with half educated people? Half an educa-tion is worse than none.
"Hear, hear," said Maurice, yawning.
All the same, Mr London wondered whether noblesse didn't oblige.
"Oh, try if you want to."
He stretched a hand into the rain.
"Hall, he took it all right, you know."
"Did he, the devil?" said Maurice. "Why didn't he take mine? I suppose you gave more."
With shame Mr London confessed this was so. He had in-creased the tip through fear of a snub. The fellow was the limit evidently, yet he couldn't think it was good taste in Hall to take the matter up. When servants are rude one should merely ignore it.
t
But Maurice was cross, tired, and worried about his appoint-ment in town, and he felt the episode part of the ungraciousness of Penge. It was in the spirit of revenge that he strolled to the door, and said in his familiar yet alarming way, "Hullo! So five shillings aren't good enough! So you'll only take gold!" He was interrupted by Anne, who had come to see them off.
"Best of luck," she said to Maurice with a very sweet expres-sion, then paused, as if inviting1 confidences. None came, but she added, "I'm so glad you're not horrible."
"Are you?"
"Men like to be thought horrible. Clive does. Don't you, Clive? Mr Hall, men are very funny creatures." She took hold of her necklace and smiled. "Very funny. Best of luck." By now she was delighted with Maurice. His situation, and the way he took it, struck her as appropriately masculine. "Now a woman in love," she explained to Clive on the doorstep, as they watched their guests start: "now a woman in love never bluffs—I wish I knew the girl's name."
Interfering2 with the house-servants, the keeper carried out Maurice's case to the brougham, evidently ashamed. "Stick it in then," said Maurice coldly. Amid wavings from Anne, Clive, and Mrs Durham, they started, and London recommenced the story of Pippa's monthly nurse.
"How about a little air?" suggested the victim. He opened the window and looked at the dripping park. The stupidity of so much rain! What did itwant to rain for? The indifference3 of the universe to man! Descending4 into woods, the brougham toiled5 along feebly. It seemed impossible that it should ever reach the station, or Pippa's misfortune cease.
Not far from the lodge6 there was a nasty little climb, and the road, always in bad condition, was edged with dog roses that scratched the paint. Blossom after blossom crept past them,
draggled by the ungenial year: some had cankered, others would never unfold: here and there beauty triumphed, but des-perately, flickering7 in a world of gloom. Maurice looked into one after another, and though he did not care for flowers the failure irritated him. Scarcely anything was perfect. On one spray every flower was lopsided, the next swarmed8 with caterpillars9, or bulged10 with galls11. The indifference of nature! And her incom-petence! He leant out of the window to see whether she couldn't bring it off once, and stared straight into the bright brown eyes of a young man.
"God, why there's that keeper chap again!"
"Couldn't be, couldn't have got here. We left him up at the house."
"He could have if he'd run."
"Why should he have run?"
"That's true, why should he have?" said Maurice, then lifted the flap at the back of the brougham and peered through it into the rose bushes, which a haze12 already concealed13.
"Was it?"
"I couldn't see." His companion resumed the narrative14 at once, and talked almost without ceasing until they parted at Waterloo.
In the taxi Maurice read over his statement, and its frankness alarmed him. He, who could not trust Jowitt, was putting him-self into the hands of a quack15; despite Risley's assurances, he connected hypnotism with seances and blackmail16, and had often growled17 at it from behind theDaily Telegraph; had he not bet-ter retire?
But the house seemed all right. When the door opened, the little Lasker Joneses were playing on the stairs—charming chil-dren, who mistook him for "Uncle Peter", and clung to his hands; and when he was shut into the waiting room withPunch the sense of the normal grew stronger. He went to his fate
calmly. He wanted a woman to secure him socially and diminish his lust18 and bear children. He never thought of that woman as a positive joy—at the worst, Dickie had been that—for during the long struggle he had forgotten what Love is, and sought not happiness at the hands of Mr Lasker Jones, but repose19.
That gentleman further relieved him by coming up to his idea of what an advanced scientific man ought to be. Sallow and ex-pressionless, he sat in a large pictureless room before a roll-top desk. "Mr Hall?" he said, and offered a bloodless hand. His ac-cent was slightly American. "Well, Mr Hall, and what's the trouble?" Maurice became detached too. It was as if they met to discuss a third party. "It's all down here," he said, producing the statement. "I've consulted one doctor and he could do nothing. I don't know whether you can."
The statement was read.
"I'm not wrong in coming to you, I hope?"
"Not at all, Mr Hall. Seventy-five per cent of my patients are of your type. Is that statement recent?"
"I wrote it last night."
"And accurate?"
"Well, names and place are a bit changed, naturally."
Mr Lasker Jones did not seem to think it natural. He asked several questions about "Mr Cumberland", Maurice's pseudo-nym for Clive, and wished to know whether they had ever united: on his lips it was curiously20 inoffensive. He neither praised nor blamed nor pitied: he paid no attention to a sudden outburst of Maurice's against society. And though Maurice yearned21 for sympathy—he had not had a word of it for a year— he was glad none came, for it might have shattered his purpose.
He asked, "What's the name of my trouble? Has it one?"
"Congenital homosexuality."
"Congenital how much? Well, can anything be done?"
"Oh, certainly, if you consent."
"The fact is I've an old-fashioned prejudice against hypno-tism."
"I'm afraid you may possibly retain that prejudice after trying, Mr Hall. I cannot promise a cure. I spoke22 to you of my other patients—seventy-five per cent—but in only fifty per cent have I been successful."
The confession23 gave Maurice confidence, no quack would have made it. "We may as well have a shot," he said, smiling. "What must I do?"
"Merely remain where you are. I will experiment to see how deeply the tendency is rooted. You will return (if you wish) for regular treatment later. Mr Hall! I shall try to send you into a trance, and if I succeed I shall make suggestions to you which will (we hope) remain, and become part of your normal state when you wake. You are not to resist me."
"All right, go ahead."
Then Mr Lasker Jones left his desk and sat in an impersonal24 way on the arm of Maurice's chair. Maurice felt he was going to have a tooth out. For a little time nothing happened, but presently his eye caught a spot of light on the fire irons, and the rest of the room went dim. He could see whatever he was look-ing at, but little else, and he could hear the doctor's voice and his own. Evidently he was going into a trance, and the achieve-ment gave him a feeling of pride.
"You're not quite off yet, I think."
"No, I'm not."
He made some more passes. "How about now?"
"I'm nearer off now."
"Quite?"
Maurice agreed, but did not feel sure. "Now that you're quite off, how do you like my consulting-room?"
"It's a nice room."
"Not too dark?"
"Rather dark."
"You can see the picture though, can't you?"
Maurice then saw a picture on the opposite wall, yet he knew that there was none.
"Have a look at it, Mr Hall. Come nearer. Take care of that crack in the carpet though."
"How broad is the crack?"
"You can jump it."
Maurice immediately located a crack, and jumped, but he was not convinced of the necessity.
"Admirable—now what do you suppose this picture is of, whom is it of—?"
"Whom is it of—"
"Edna May."
"Mr Edna May."
"No, Mr Hall, Miss Edna May."
"It's Mr Edna May."
"Isn't she beautiful?"
"I want to go home to my mother." Both laughed at this re-mark, the doctor leading.
"Miss Edna May is not only beautiful, she is attractive."
"She doesn't attract me," said Maurice pettishly25.
"Oh Mr Hall, what an ungallant remark. Look at her lovely hair."
"I like short hair best."
"Why?"
"Because I can stroke it—" and he began to cry. He came to himself in the chair. Tears were wet on his cheeks, but he felt as usual, and started talking at once.
"I say, I had a dream when you woke me up. I'd better tell it
you. I thought I saw a face and heard someone say, "That's your friend.' Is that all right? I often feel it—I can't explain—sort of walking towards me through sleep, though it never gets up to me, that dream."
"Did it get near now?"
"Jolly near. Is that a bad sign?"
"No, oh no—you're open to suggestion, you're open—I made you see a picture on the wall."
Maurice nodded: he had quite forgotten. There was a pause, during which he produced two guineas, and asked for a second appointment. It was arranged that he should telephone next week, and in the interval26 Mr Lasker Jones wanted him to re-main where he was in the country, quietly.
Maurice could not doubt that Clive and Anne would welcome him, nor that their influence would be suitable. Penge was an emetic27. It helped him to get rid of the old poisonous life that had seemed so sweet, it cured him of tenderness and humanity. Yes, he'd go back, he said: he would wire to his friends and catch the afternoon express.
"Mr Hall, take exercise in moderation. A little tennis, or stroll about with a gun."
Maurice lingered to say, "On second thoughts perhaps I won't go back."
"Why so?"
"Well, it seems rather foolish to make that long journey twice in a day."
"You prefer then to stop in your own home?"
"Yes—no—no, all right, I will go back to Penge."
阿尔赤·伦敦也要进城去。第二天一大早，他们一起在门厅里等候四轮轿式马车。领他们去追捕兔子的那个人站在外面，指望得到小费。
“告诉他别犯傻。”莫瑞斯暴躁地说，“我给他五先令，他却不肯接。无礼的混蛋！”
伦敦先生感到愤慨。仆人们都惯成什么样子啦？他们只肯收金币吗？既然如此，尽可以辞工嘛，说出来好了。他讲起妻子所雇的那个按月付工钱的奶妈。皮帕对她格外优遇。然而你能指望一个没受过多少教育的人怎么样呢？只受一点儿皮毛的教育比不受还糟。
“说得好，说得好。”莫瑞斯边打哈欠边说。
不过，伦敦先生心里仍然琢磨着，莫非身份高的人自有乐善好施的义务呢？
“哦，倘若你有这么一种愿望的话，就试试看吧。”
他将一只手伸到雨里去了。
“霍尔，我跟你说，他乖乖地接受了。”
“是吗？这恶棍！”莫瑞斯说，“为什么他不肯接受我的呢？我猜想你给的多吧。”
伦敦先生面泛愧色，承认是这么回事。他生怕碰一鼻子灰，所以一狠心给了较多的小费。那家伙显然让人无法容忍，但他认为霍尔为此事较真儿，格调并不高雅。当仆人粗暴无礼的时候，就应该不予理睬。
然而莫瑞斯非常生气，感到疲倦，赴伦敦请催眠术师诊治，也使他焦虑。他觉得刚才发生的事是彭杰待客简慢的一个例子。他有心报复，溜达到门口，用一种随便的、却含有威胁意味的口吻说：“嘿！那么五先令还是不够喽！那么你只肯接受金币喽！”安妮来给他们送行，把他的话打断了。
“祝你好运。”她对莫瑞斯说，表情极其妩媚，接着顿了顿，好像在邀他吐露秘密。她扑了个空，却补充说：“我很高兴，因为你现在并没有玩世不恭。”
“你高兴吗？”
“男人都喜欢让人家觉得自己玩世不恭。克莱夫就是这样。对吗，克莱夫？霍尔先生，男人个个都滑稽透顶。”她抚弄着项链，微笑了一下。“滑稽透顶。祝你好运。”这时莫瑞斯很中她的意。他的处境，以及他面对现实的态度，给她以有着恰如其分的男子汉气概的印象。“如今，恋爱中的女人，”当他们目送客人们动身的时候，她站在门外的台阶上对克莱夫解释说，“如今，恋爱中的女人绝不装腔作势——我但愿能知道那个女孩子的名字。”
那个猎场看守显然感到羞愧了，他从仆人手里把莫瑞斯的手提箱夺过来，搬到马车跟前。“把它放进去。”莫瑞斯冷淡地说。安妮、克莱夫和德拉姆夫人一个劲儿地挥手，他们就这么启程r。伦敦先生重新讲起皮帕按月付工钱的那个奶妈的事来。
“换换空气怎么样？”莫瑞斯招架不住了。他打开车窗，眺望那湿淋淋的园林。雨水这么大，荒谬透顶！干吗要下雨？宇宙万物丝毫也不关心人类！马车有气无力地沿着林间的下坡路跋涉。它好像永远也不可能抵达车站，皮帕的不幸也似乎绵绵无绝期。
离看守小屋不远处有一段险峻的上坡路，一向是坑坑洼洼的。两侧都扎煞着野蔷薇，抓挠马车的车帮，一簇簇花儿从车子旁边划过去。淋雨害得它们在泥水中拖脏了，有的生了黑腐病，有的蓓蕾开不成花朵。东一朵，西一朵，美取得了胜利，然而也不过是在幽暗的世界中绝望地闪烁而已。莫瑞斯一朵朵地端详。尽管他并不怎么喜欢花，它们那副衰败的样子却使他气恼。几乎没有完美的东西。这个枝子上的每一朵花都向一边倾斜，另一枝上密密匝匝地爬满了毛毛虫，要么就长了虫瘿（译注：由细菌、真菌.病毒及线虫侵染或昆虫、螨类刺激引致的植物局部组织过度生长或肿胀的现象），鼓鼓囊囊的。大自然何等无动于衷！何等不够格！他从车窗探出身去，想看看究竟有没有一样差强人意的东西，径直进入视线的是一个小伙子那双炯炯有神的褐色眼睛。
“天哪，怎么又是那个看猎场的家伙！”
”不可能，他不可能到这儿来。咱们是在房子跟前把他撇下的。”
“如果他一路跑，还是来得了。”
“他跑什么呢？”
“说得对，跑什么呢？”莫瑞斯说，随即撩起后边的车篷，朝野蔷薇丛眯起眼看——它已被晨霭遮住了。
“是他吗？”
“我瞧不见。”他的旅伴立即重新接过话茬儿，几乎不停地絮聒到二人在滑铁卢车站分手为止。
在出租车里，莫瑞斯重读一遍自己的书面材料，率直得令他吃惊。他信不过乔伊特，却把自己交到一个庸医手里。尽管里斯利做了保证，他仍把催眠术与降神会和敲诈联系在一起。只要在《每日电讯报》上读到这类报道，他就常常对着它咆哮如雷。他是否最好打退堂鼓呢？
然而，那座房子好像还说得过去。门打开后，小拉斯克·琼斯们正在楼梯上玩耍——这几个可爱的孩子们误认为他是“彼得叔叔”，抓住他的手不放。当他被关在候诊室里，拿起一本《庞奇》（译注：英国的一种幽默杂志）的时候，情绪就越发正常了。他打算心平气和地听任命运摆布。他想要一个使他在社会上得到保证，肉欲有所削弱，并为他生儿育女的女性。他从未期待那个女人会给他纯粹的快乐——迪基那次，起码也还有快乐——因为在漫长的搏斗过程中，他已忘却了什么是爱。他向拉斯克·琼斯先生手中寻求的不是幸福，而是安逸。
那位先生使他更加感到宽慰。因为在莫瑞斯的心目中，一位研究先进的现代科学的人几乎就是琼斯先生这样的。他脸色灰黄，毫无表情，在一间连一幅画也没有的大屋子里，面对一张卷盖式书桌而坐。“霍尔先生吗？”他说，并伸出一只没有血色的手。他说话略带美国口音。“啊，霍尔先生，你哪里不舒服？”莫瑞斯也抱以一种超然的态度。他们好像是为了谈一个局外人的事才碰头似的。“全都写在这儿啦。”他边说边出示那份书面材料。“我请一位大夫诊治过，他无能为力。我不知道您有没有办法。”
琼斯先生读了那份材料。
“但愿我没有找错地方？”
“完全找对了。我的病人当中有百分之七十五是你这个类型的。这是最近写的吗？”
“我是昨天晚上写的。”
“准确吗？”
“哦，姓名和地点当然做了些改动。”
拉斯克·琼斯先生好像并不认为这是当然的。关于“坎伯兰先生”——这是莫瑞斯给克莱夫取的假名——他问了几个问题，并且想知道两个人之间有没有过性行为。奇怪的是，此词出自他的口，丝毫不触犯人。他既不称赞，也不责备，更不表示怜悯。当莫瑞斯突然对社会发泄不满的时候，他也浑然不觉。尽管莫瑞斯渴望得到同情——一年来这方面的话他连一个字也没听到过——却由于大夫没说这样的话而高兴。因为这样一来，他的意志就消沉了。
他问：“我这病叫什么名字？有名字吗？”
“先天性同性爱。”
“先天性究竟是什么程度呢？唷，有什么办法没有？”
“啊，当然喽，倘若你同意的话。”
“说实在的，我对催眠术抱有古老的偏见。”
“恐怕你即使试过之后，仍会保留那样一种偏见，霍尔先生。我不能保证一定把你治好。我跟你谈到过我的其他那些病人——百分之七十五——然而治愈率只达到其中的百分之五十。”
他这么一坦白，莫瑞斯倒有了信心。任何庸医也不会这么说。“咱们也试试看吧。”他笑吟吟地说。“我应该做些什么？”
“你只要原地不动就行。我要做些实验，看看你这种倾向，根子扎得有多深。以后（倘若愿意的话）．你只要定期前来复诊就行。霍尔先生！我试着使你进入催眠状态，要是成功了，我就对你做些暗示。（我们希望）这种暗示的效果能持续下去，等你苏醒过来后，成为你的正常状态的一部分。你可不要抵制我。”
“好的，开始吧。”
于是，拉斯克·琼斯先生离开他那张桌子，不牵涉个人感情地在莫瑞斯那把椅子的扶手上坐下来。莫瑞斯觉得像是要给他拔牙似的，暂时什么事也没发生。然而过了一会儿他看见火炉用具上有个光点，屋子的其他部分变得暗淡了。他看得见自己正看着的那个东西，别的就看不到什么了。他还听得见大夫的声音以及他自己的声音。显然他即将进入催眠状态，这一成果使他感到骄傲。
“我觉得你还没有完全进入状态。”
“没有，我没有。”
大夫又打了几个手势。“现在怎样？”
“我快要进入了。”
“完全进入了吗？”
莫瑞斯承认是这样，但他感到没有把握。“现在你既然完全进入了状态，你觉得我这间诊室怎么样，喜欢它吗？”
“这是一间很好的屋子。”
“不太暗吗？”
“相当暗。”
“不过，你看得见那幅画，看见了吗？”
于是，莫瑞斯看见了对面墙上的一幅画，尽管他知道画是不存在的。
。仔细看看它吧，霍尔先生。挨近一些，但是要当心地毯上的裂缝。”
“裂缝有多宽？”
“你可以跳过去。”
莫瑞斯立即发现了裂缝在哪儿，一跃而过，然而他并不相信有这样的必要。
“好极啦——那么，你认为这是什么画呢，画的是谁呢——？”
“画的是谁——”
“艾德娜·梅。”
“艾德娜·梅先生。”
“不，霍尔先生，是艾德娜‘梅小姐。”
“那是艾德娜-梅先生。”
“她长得不是很美吗？”
“我想回家找我妈妈去。”他们二人都被这句话逗笑了，是大夫带头笑的。
“艾德娜·梅小姐不仅长得美，还吸引人。”
“她并不吸引我。”莫瑞斯使着性子说。
“哦，霍尔先生，你这话何等失礼。瞧瞧她那秀美的头发。”
“我最喜欢短发。”
“为什么？”
“因为我可以抚摩它——”然后他哭起来了。他回到椅子上，苏醒过来。泪水把双颊弄湿了，但是他的感觉还跟平常一样，于是马上唠叨开了。
“哎呀，你把我弄醒的时候，我做了个梦。我最好还是告诉你，我觉得自己看见了一张脸，听见什么人说：‘这是你的朋友。．这对劲儿吗？我经常有这样的感觉——我说不清楚——就是这样一场梦，在睡眠中朝我走过来。然而从来也没走到我跟前来过。”
“刚才靠近你了吗？”
“非常近，这是个不好的迹象吗？”
“不，啊，不——你容易接受暗示，你很坦率——我让你看了一幅墙上的画。”
莫瑞斯点了点头，他已经把这忘得精光。停顿了一下，他掏出两畿尼，请大夫再给预约一个号。约好莫瑞斯将于下周打电话来，这期间拉斯克·琼斯先生要求他心平气和地待在目前逗留的乡村。
莫瑞斯并不怀疑克莱夫和安妮会欢迎他，更不怀疑他们会对他起恰到好处的作用。彭杰是一剂催吐药。它帮助他摆脱曾经显得如此美好快乐的往昔——那段有毒的岁月，治好他的软心肠与仁慈。他说，好的，他会回去。他将打电报给他的朋友们，搭乘下午的快车。
“霍尔先生，你要适度地从事运动。打点儿网球，或是带着枪去散步。”
莫瑞斯临离开的时候说：“我重新考虑了一下，也许不回去啦。”
“为什么呢？”
“这个，我觉得一天之内远行两次，挺愚蠢的。”
“您宁愿待在自己家里吗？”
“是的——不——不，好的，我回到彭杰去。”
收听单词发音 |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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caterpillars
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| n.毛虫( caterpillar的名词复数 )；履带 | |
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bulged
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| 凸出( bulge的过去式和过去分词 )； 充满； 塞满（某物） | |
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galls
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| v.使…擦痛( gall的第三人称单数 )；擦伤；烦扰；侮辱 | |
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haze
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| n.霾，烟雾；懵懂，迷糊；vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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quack
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| n.庸医；江湖医生；冒充内行的人；骗子 | |
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blackmail
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| n.讹诈，敲诈，勒索，胁迫，恫吓 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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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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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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pettishly
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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emetic
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| n.催吐剂；adj.催吐的 | |
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