Having unlocked the door, Maurice dashed back into bed.
"Curtains drawn1, sir, nice air, nice day for the match," said Simcox entering in some excitement with the tea. He looked at the head of black hair that was all the visitor showed. No answer came, and, disappointed of the morning chat Mr Hall had hith-erto accorded, he gathered up the dinner-jacket and its appur-tenances, and took them away to brush.
Simcox and Scudder; two servants. Maurice sat up and drank a cup of tea. He would have to give Scudder some handsome present now, indeed he would like to, but what should it be? What could one give a man in that position? Not a motor-bike. Then he remembered that he was emigrating, which made the problem easier. But the anxious look remained on his face, for he was wondering whether Simcox had been surprised at find-ing the door locked. Also had he meant anything by "Curtains drawn, sir"? Voices sounded under his window. He tried to drowse again, but the acts of other men had impinged.
"Now what will you wear, sir, I wonder?" inquired Simcox, returning. "You'll put on your cricketing flannels2 straight away perhaps; that rather than the tweed."
"All right."
"College blazer with them, sir?"
"No—never mind."
"Very good, sir." He straightened out a pair of socks and con-tinued meditatively3: "Oh, they've moved that ladder at last, I see. About time." Maurice then saw that the tips against the sky had disappeared. "I could have sworn it was here when I brought in your tea, sir. Still, one can never be certain."
"No, one can't," agreed Maurice, speaking with difficulty and with the sense that he had lost his bearings. He felt relief when Simcox had left, but it was overshadowed by the thought of Mrs Durham and the breakfast table, and by the problem of a suit-able present for his late companion. It couldn't be a cheque, lest suspicions were aroused when it was cashed. As he dressed, the trickle4 of discomfort5 gathered force. Though not a dandy, he had the suburban6 gentleman's usual show of toilet appliances, and they all seemed alien. Then the gong boomed, and just as he was going down to breakfast he saw a flake7 of mud close to the window sill. Scudder had been careful, but not careful enough. He was headachy and faint when, clothed all in white, he at last descended8 to take his place in society.
Letters—a pile of them, and all subtly annoying. Ada, most civil. Kitty, saying his mother looked done up. Aunt Ida—a post-card—wanting to know whether the chauffeur9 was supposed to obey orders, or had one misunderstood?, business fatuities10, circulars about the College Mission, the Territorial11 training, the Golf Club, and the Property Defence Association. He bowed humorously over them to his hostess. When she scarcely re-sponded, he went hot round his mouth. It was only that Mrs Durham's own letters worried her. But he did not know this, and was carried out further by the current. Each human being seemed new, and terrified him: he spoke12 to a race whose nature and numbers were unknown, and whose very food tasted poi-sonous.
After breakfast Simcox returned to the charge. "Sir, in Mr
Durham's absence the servants feel—we should be so honoured if you would captain us against the Village in the forthcoming 'Park versus13 Village' match."
"I'm not a cricketer, Simcox. Who's your best bat?"
"We have no one better than the under gamekeeper."
"Then make the under gamekeeper captain."
Simcox lingered to say, "Things always go better under a gentleman."
"Tell them to put me to field deep—and I won't bat first: about eighth if he likes—not first. You might tell him, as I shan't come down till it's time." He closed his eyes, feeling sick-ish. He had created something whose nature he ignored. Had he been theologically minded, he would have named it remorse14, but he kept a free soul, despite confusion.
Maurice hated cricket. It demanded a snickety neatness he could not supply; and, though he had often done it for Clive's sake, he disliked playing with his social inferiors. Footer was different—he could give and take there—but in cricket he might be bowled or punished by some lout15, and he felt it unsuitable. Hearing his side had won the toss, he did not go down for half an hour. Mrs Durham and one or two friends already sat in the shed. They were all very quiet. Maurice squatted16 at their feet, and watched the game. It was exactly like other years. The rest of his side were servants and had gathered a dozen yards away round old Mr Ayres, who was scoring: old Mr Ayres always scored.
"The captain has put himself in first," said a lady. "A gentle-man would never have done that. Little points interest me."
Maurice said, "The captain's our best man, apparently17."
She yawned and presently criticized: she'd an instinct that man was conceited18. Her voice fell idly into the summer air. He was emigrating, said Mrs Durham—the more energetic did—
which turned them to politics and Clive. His chin on his knees, Maurice brooded. A storm of distaste was working up inside him, and he did not know against what to direct it. Whether the ladies spoke, whether Alec blocked Mr Borenius's lobs, whether the villagers clapped or didn't clap, he felt unspeakably op-pressed: he had swallowed an unknown drug: he had disturbed his life to its foundations, and couldn't tell what would crumble19. When he went out to bat, it was a new over, so that Alec re-ceived first ball. His style changed. Abandoning caution, he swiped the ball into the fern. Lifting his eyes, he met Maurice's and smiled. Lost ball. Next time he hit a boundary. He was un-trained, but had the cricketing build, and the game took on some semblance20 of reality. Maurice played up too. His mind had cleared, and he felt that they were against the whole world, that not only Mr Borenius and the field but the audience in the shed and all England were closing round the wickets. They played for the sake of each other and their fragile relationship —if one fell the other would follow. They intended no harm to the world, but so long as it attacked they must punish, they must stand wary21, then hit with full strength, they must show that when two are gathered together majorities shall not tri-umph. And as the game proceeded it connected with the night, and interpreted it. Clive ended it easily enough. When he came to the ground they were no longer the leading force; people turned their heads, the game languished22, and ceased. Alec re-signed. It was only fit and proper that the squire23 should bat at once. Without looking at Maurice, he receded24. He too was in white flannels, and their looseness made him look like a gentle-man or anyone else. He stood in front of the shed with dignity, and when Clive had done talking offered his bat, which Clive took as a matter of course: then flung himself down by old Ayres.
Maurice met his friend, overwhelmed with spurious tender-ness.
"Clive. ... Oh my dear, are you back? Aren't you fagged frightfully?"
"Meetings till midnight—another this afternoon—must bat a minute to please these people."
"What! Leaving me again? How frightfully rotten."
"You may well say so, but I really do come back this evening, then your visit really does begin. I've a hundred things to ask you, Maurice."
"Now, gentlemen," said a voice; it was the socialist25 school-master, out at long stop.
"We stand rebuked," said Clive, but didn't hurry himself. "Anne's cried off the afternoon meeting, so you'll have her for company. Oh look, they've actually mended her dear little hole in the roof of the drawing-room. Maurice! No, I can't remember what I was going to say. Let us join the Olympic Games."
Maurice went out first ball. "Wait for me," called Clive, but he went straight for the house, for he felt sure that the break-down was coming. As he passed the servants, the majority of them rose to their feet, and applauded him frantically26, and the fact that Scudder didn't alarmed him. Was it meant for imperti-nence? The wrinkled forehead—the mouth—possibly a cruel mouth; head a trifle too small—why was the shirt open at the throat like that? And in the hall of Penge he met Anne.
"Mr Hall, the meeting didn't go." Then she saw his face, which was green-white, and cried, "Oh, but you're not well."
"I know," he said, trembling.
Men hate to be fussed, so she only replied, "I'm frightfully sorry, I'll send some ice to your room."
"You've been so kind to me always—"
"Look here, what about a doctor?"
"Never another doctor," he cried frantically.
"We want to be kind to you—naturally. When one's happy oneself one wants the same happiness for others."
"Nothing's the same."
"Mr Hall—!"
"Nothing's the same for anyone. That's why life's this Hell, if you do a thing you're damned, and if you don't you're damned—" he paused, and continued. "Sun too hot—should like a little ice."
She ran for it, and released he flew up to the Russet Room. It brought home to him the precise facts of the situation, and he was violently sick.
莫瑞斯开了门上的锁，飞快地回到床上。
“把窗帘拉开了，老爷？多好的微风，对举行比赛来说是上好的天气。”有点儿兴奋的西姆科克斯边端茶进来边说。他瞧了瞧客人惟一露出来的满头黑发。莫瑞斯没有回答。西姆科克斯原是指望像往日那样跟客人聊一通的，今天早晨落了空，便把无尾晚礼服和其他衣物拢在一起，拿出去掸干净。
西姆科克斯和斯卡德两个都是仆人。莫瑞斯坐起来，喝了一杯茶。现在他想送给斯卡德一份相当大的礼物，他确实想给，可送什么好呢？该给他那个地位的人什么东西呢？不宜送摩托车。接着他又想起斯卡德即将移居海外，这下子问题就容易解决了。但是他依然面泛难色，因为他琢磨着西姆科克斯发现门上了锁，是否感到吃惊。他那句“把窗帘拉开了，老爷？”是不是有什么含义呢？窗户下面，人声嘈杂。他试图再打个盹儿，然而旁人的行动妨碍了他。
“今天早晨你穿什么呢，老爷？”西姆科克斯回到屋里问道。“您干脆穿那身打板球的法兰绒衣裤怎么样？比穿粗花呢套装要强一些。”
“好的。”
“再披那件印着学院名字的运动外衣好吗，老爷？”
“不——啊，可以。”
“好极啦，老爷。”他将两只短袜摆在一起，若有所思地说下去：“哦，原来他们终于把梯子搬走啦，早该搬的。”于是莫瑞斯也发觉朝着天空的梯子尖儿已不见踪影。“我敢明确地说，当我给您送茶来的时候，它还在这儿来着，老爷。不过，咱们永远也不能十拿九稳。”
“可不，永远也不能。”莫瑞斯随声附和着。他说话很吃力，觉得自己已茫然不知所措了。当西姆科克斯离开的时候，他松了口气。然而一想到与德拉姆太太同桌进早餐，以及该送给新伙伴什么礼品才合适，心情依旧是郁闷的。不能寄支票给他，就怕兑成现金之际会引起怀疑。换衣服时，心里越来越烦闷了。他并不是个爱穿着打扮的人，却像住在郊外的一般绅士那样注意仪容。这一切都显得格格不入。接着，敲锣了。他正要下楼去吃早餐，紧粘在窗台旁的一小片泥映入他的眼帘。斯卡德算是谨慎的，但是还不够谨慎。当他穿着一身白，终于下楼去占据自己在社会上的位置时，只觉得头痛，行将昏厥。
信件一一大摞，每一封都不由得使他心烦。艾达的信最郑重了。吉蒂的信里说：母亲看上去已精疲力竭。艾达姨妈在明信片上写道：她想知道汽车司机该不该听从吩咐，难道是她搞误会了吗？事务方面的无聊的函件，学院传道区的通告，国防义勇军的训练通知，高尔夫俱乐部，还有财产保护协会。隔着这摞信，他诙谐地朝女主人躬身行礼。她几乎没有答理他，于是他的脸涨得通红。德拉姆太太只不过是在为自己收到的几封信焦虑而已。他却不明白这一点，已到这步田地欲罢不能了。每一个在座者都好像是陌生人，使他极度惊恐。他在跟完全不了解其性质与情况的种族谈话，就连他们的食品的味道都是恶臭的。
早餐后，西姆科克斯向他重新进攻了。“老爷，德拉姆先生不在家的时候，仆人们觉得——要是您肯在马上就要举行的‘庄园与村子’的对抗赛中担任我们的队长，大家会感到非常荣幸。”
“我不擅长打板球，西姆科克斯。你们最好的击球手是谁？”
“我们中间没有比底下那个猎场看守更棒的了。”
“那么就让底下那个猎场看守者当队长好啦。”
西姆科克斯不肯退让，他说：“一旦绅士带头，打赢的可能性就大多了。”
“告诉他们，让我当外野手一我决不头一个击球。要是队长愿意的话，就安排我当大约第八名击球手一决不当第一名。你可以告诉他，因为轮到我的时候，我才到场上去。”他觉得不舒服，就闭上了眼睛。他正在自食其果，对该结果的性质却熟视无睹。倘若他有宗教信仰的话，他就会把这叫做懊悔，尽管他狼狈不堪，却仍保持着一颗自由自在的灵魂。
莫瑞斯讨厌板球。用球棒的边缘碰击球需要一种技巧，而这正是他所缺乏的。虽然为了克莱夫的缘故他多次参加过比赛，却不喜欢跟社会阶层比自己低的人一起打。足球就不同了——他可以跟对方势均力敌地进行比赛——但是在板球赛中，他可能会被某个粗鲁的年轻人逼得出局或遭受痛击。他觉得这是不得体的。他听说．以掷硬币来决定哪一方先进攻时，他这方赢了。于是，过了半个钟头才下去。德拉姆太太和一两个朋友已经坐在亭子里了，她们全都静悄悄的。莫瑞斯蹲伏在她们的脚下，注视着比赛。跟早些年举行的比赛毫无二致。他这一方的其他队员都是仆人，他们在十二英码开外处，簇拥着正在记分的艾尔斯老人。艾尔斯老人一向管记分。
“队长头一个击了球。”一位太太说，“一位绅士是永远不会这么做的。我对这些小小的差异感兴趣。”
莫瑞斯说：“队长显然是咱们这方最棒的击球手。”
她打了个哈欠，立即品头论足起来。她凭直觉看出那个人自高自大，她的嗓音陡然坠人夏日的微风中。他快要移居海外了。德拉姆太太说——精力最充沛的人都移居海外——随后，话题就转到政治和克莱夫上了。莫瑞斯用双膝托住下巴，郁闷地沉思着。激烈的厌恶在心中油然而生，他不知道该朝哪儿去发泄。女人们聊天也罢，阿列克击下了博雷尼乌斯先生所投的下手球也罢，村民们鼓掌抑或没鼓掌也罢，反正他的心情压抑得不可名状。他咽下了一副来历不明的药剂。他的人生打从根基起撼动了，而且不知道什么将会化为齑粉。
当莫瑞斯去击球的时候，新的一局刚开始，因而阿列克接了第一个球。他的打法改变了，他不再谨慎了，尽情地将球猛击到羊齿丛中去。他抬起眼睛，与莫瑞斯面面相觑，莞尔一笑，球不见了。第二次他击了个得分最高的界线球。他虽没受过训练，体格却适宜玩板球，打起球来有气势。莫瑞斯也鼓起劲头来了。他的心情不再抑郁了，只觉得自己和阿列克正在对抗全世界。不仅是博雷尼乌斯以及那一队球员，好像亭子里的观众和整个英国统统聚拢到三柱门周围来了。他们是为了彼此，为了他们那脆弱的关系而战——倘若一个跌倒了，另一个也会跟着倒下去。他们无意伤害世人，然而只要对方进攻，他们就必须予以痛击。他们非得严加提防不可，而且竭尽全力还击。他们一定让大家明白，要是两个同心协力，对方纵然人多势众也无从得胜。随着比赛的进行，与夜间那件事联系起来了，并阐释了其意义。克莱夫轻而易举地就把这一切结束了。他一上场，他们两个人就不再是主力了。大家把头转向他，球赛顿时黯然失色，停止了，阿列克卸任了。克莱夫这个乡绅一到，理应马上就当队长。阿列克连看也没看莫瑞斯一眼，就退出去了。他也是一身白色法兰绒装束，衣裤宽大，使得他看上去俨然是个绅士。阿列克端庄地站在亭子前面，当克莱夫说完他那一席话的时候，就把板球递过去。克莱夫理所当然地伸手接住。随后，阿列克在艾尔斯老人身旁一屁股坐了下来。
莫瑞斯充满了虚假的柔情，迎接朋友。
“克莱夫……哦，亲爱的，你回来啦。难道你不累吗？”
“一场接一场的会议，一直开到半夜——今天中午又开——必须打上一分钟，好让这帮人高兴高兴。”
“怎么！再一次把我撇下吗？真是不像话。”
“你这么说也有理，可是今天傍晚我一定回来。这回你才算是真正开始在我家做客。莫瑞斯，我要向你提出一百个问题呢。”
“喂，先生们。”传来了一个声音，那是站在草坪直线外的教师-一位社会主义者。
“咱们挨说啦，”克莱夫说，但他并没有慌。“下午的集会安妮打退堂鼓了，所以她可以陪你。哦，你去瞧瞧，他们竟然把客厅顶棚上她那个可爱的小洞补好了。莫瑞斯！不，我不记得想要说什么了。咱们去参加奥林匹克运动会吧。”
第一个球莫瑞斯就出局了。“等着我。”克莱夫喊道，但是他直奔房间，因为他确信自己快要垮了。当他从仆人们跟前走过去的时候，大多数都站起来，发疯似的鼓掌。斯卡德却没这么做，此事使他感到不安。这是否意味着鲁莽呢？起了皱纹的前额——嘴——说不定还是一张残酷的嘴。略小一些的头——为什么要把衬衫的领口像那样敞开？在彭杰的门厅里，他遇见了安妮。
“霍尔先生，会议开得不成功。”话音刚落，她就发现他脸色发青，于是叫喊道，“哦，你身体不合适吧！”
“我知道。”他边说边浑身打着哆嗦。
男人不喜欢人家对他大惊小怪，所以她只搭腔道：“我很替你难过，我送些冰到你的房间去。”
“你总是对我这么体贴——”
“哎，请一位大夫来怎么样？”
“绝对不要再请大夫了。”他狂呼大叫。
“当然喽，我们想关心你。自己要是幸福的话，就会希望别人也同样幸福。”
“天底下没有同样的东西。”
“霍尔先生——！”
“对任何人来说，都没有同样的东西。正因为如此，人生就成了地狱。倘若你做一件事，你就会遭天罚；倘若你什么都不做，也会遭天罚——”他歇了口气，接着说下去，“太阳毒得厉害——我想要点儿冰。”
她跑去取冰。他如释重负，飞快地跑上楼，进入赤褐屋。而今他认识到自己所面对的赤裸裸的现实，猛地感到想呕吐。
收听单词发音 |
1
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
flannels
|
|
| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
meditatively
|
|
| adv.冥想地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
trickle
|
|
| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
discomfort
|
|
| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
suburban
|
|
| adj.城郊的，在郊区的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
flake
|
|
| v.使成薄片；雪片般落下；n.薄片 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
chauffeur
|
|
| n.(受雇于私人或公司的)司机；v.为…开车 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
fatuities
|
|
| n.愚昧，昏庸( fatuity的名词复数 )；愚蠢的言行 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
11
territorial
|
|
| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
spoke
|
|
| 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 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
versus
|
|
| prep.以…为对手，对；与…相比之下 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
remorse
|
|
| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
lout
|
|
| n.粗鄙的人；举止粗鲁的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
squatted
|
|
| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
conceited
|
|
| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
crumble
|
|
| vi.碎裂，崩溃；vt.弄碎，摧毁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
semblance
|
|
| n.外貌，外表 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
wary
|
|
| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
languished
|
|
| 长期受苦( languish的过去式和过去分词 )； 受折磨； 变得（越来越）衰弱； 因渴望而变得憔悴或闷闷不乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
squire
|
|
| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
receded
|
|
| v.逐渐远离( recede的过去式和过去分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
socialist
|
|
| n.社会主义者；adj.社会主义的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
frantically
|
|
| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |