Pilar sat squeezed up against the window and thought how very odd the English smelt1 . . . It was
what had struck her so far most forcibly about England—the difference of smell. There was no
garlic and no dust and very little perfume. In this carriage now there was a smell of cold stuffiness2
—the sulphur smell of the trains—the smell of soap and another very unpleasant smell—it came,
she thought, from the fur collar of the stout woman sitting beside her. Pilar sniffed3 delicately,
imbibing4 the odour of mothballs reluctantly. It was a funny scent5 to choose to put on yourself, she
thought.
A whistle blew, a stentorian6 voice cried out something and the train jerked slowly out of the
station. They had started. She was on her way. . . .
Her heart beat a little faster. Would it be all right? Would she be able to accomplish what she
had set out to do? Surely—surely—she had thought it all out so carefully . . . She was prepared for
every eventuality. Oh, yes, she would succeed—she must succeed. . . .
The curve of Pilar’s red mouth curved upwards7. It was suddenly cruel, that mouth. Cruel and
greedy—like the mouth of a child or a kitten—a mouth that knew only its own desires and that
was as yet unaware8 of pity.
She looked round her with the frank curiosity of a child. All these people, seven of them—
how funny they were, the English! They all seemed so rich, so prosperous—their clothes—their
boots—Oh! undoubtedly9 England was a very rich country as she had always heard. But they were
not at all gay—no, decidedly not gay.
That was a handsome man standing11 in the corridor . . . Pilar thought he was very handsome.
She liked his deeply bronzed face and his high-bridged nose and his square shoulders. More
quickly than any English girl, Pilar had seen that the man admired her. She had not looked at him
once directly, but she knew perfectly12 how often he had looked at her and exactly how he had
looked.
She registered the facts without much interest or emotion. She came from a country where
men looked at women as a matter of course and did not disguise the fact unduly13. She wondered if
he was an Englishman and decided10 that he was not.
“He is too alive, too real, to be English,” Pilar decided. “And yet he is fair. He may be
perhaps Americano.” He was, she thought, rather like the actors she had seen in Wild West films.
An attendant pushed his way along the corridor.
“First lunch, please. First lunch. Take your seats for first lunch.”
The seven occupants of Pilar’s carriage all held tickets for the first lunch. They rose in a body
and the carriage was suddenly deserted14 and peaceful.
Pilar quickly pulled up the window which had been let down a couple of inches at the top by
a militant-looking, grey-haired lady in the opposite corner. Then she sprawled15 comfortably back
on her seat and peered out of the window at the northern suburbs of London. She did not turn her
head at the sound of the door sliding back. It was the man from the corridor, and Pilar knew, of
course, that he had entered the carriage on purpose to talk to her.
She continued to look pensively16 out of the window.
Stephen Farr said:
“Would you like the window down at all?”
Pilar replied demurely17:
“On the contrary. I have just shut it.”
She spoke18 English perfectly, but with a slight accent.
During the pause that ensued, Stephen thought:
“A delicious voice. It has the sun in it . . . It is warm like a summer night. . . .”
Pilar thought:
“I like his voice. It is big and strong. He is attractive—yes, he is attractive.”
Stephen said: “The train is very full.”
“Oh, yes, indeed. The people go away from London, I suppose, because it is so black there.”
Pilar had not been brought up to believe that it was a crime to talk to strange men in trains.
She could take care of herself as well as any girl, but she had no rigid19 taboos20.
If Stephen had been brought up in England he might have felt ill at ease at entering into
conversation with a young girl. But Stephen was a friendly soul who found it perfectly natural to
talk to anyone if he felt like it.
He smiled without any self-consciousness and said:
“London’s rather a terrible place, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes. I do not like it at all.”
“No more do I.”
Pilar said: “You are not English, no?”
“I’m British, but I come from South Africa.”
“Oh, I see, that explains it.”
“Have you just come from abroad?”
Pilar nodded. “I come from Spain.”
Stephen was interested.
“From Spain, do you? You’re Spanish, then?”
“I am half-Spanish. My mother was English. That is why I talk English so well.”
“What about this war business?” asked Stephen.
“It is very terrible, yes—very sad. There has been damage done, quite a lot—yes.”
“Which side are you on?”
Pilar’s politics seemed to be rather vague. In the village where she came from, she explained,
nobody had paid very much attention to the war. “It has not been near us, you understand. The
Mayor, he is, of course, an officer of the Government, so he is for the Government, and the priest
is for General Franco—but most of the people are busy with the vines and the land, they have not
time to go into these questions.”
“So there wasn’t any fighting round you?”
Pilar said that there had not been. “But then I drove in a car,” she explained, “all across the
country and there was much destruction. And I saw a bomb drop and it blew up a car—yes, and
another destroyed a house. It was very exciting!”
Stephen Farr smiled a faintly twisted smile.
“So that’s how it seemed to you?”
“It was a nuisance, too,” explained Pilar. “Because I wanted to get on, and the driver of my
car, he was killed.”
Stephen said, watching her:
“That didn’t upset you?”
Pilar’s great dark eyes opened very wide.
“Everyone must die! That is so, is it not? If it comes quickly from the sky—bouff—like that,
it is as well as any other way. One is alive for a time—yes, and then one is dead. That is what
happens in this world.”
Stephen Farr laughed.
“I don’t think you are a pacifist.”
“You do not think I am what?” Pilar seemed puzzled by a word which had not previously21
entered her vocabulary.
“Do you forgive your enemies, señorita?”
Pilar shook her head.
“I have no enemies. But if I had—”
“Well?”
He was watching her, fascinated anew by the sweet, cruel upward-curving mouth.
Pilar said gravely:
“If I had an enemy—if anyone hated me and I hated them—then I would cut my enemy’s
throat like this. . . .”
She made a graphic22 gesture.
It was so swift and so crude that Stephen Farr was momentarily taken aback. He said:
“You are a bloodthirsty young woman!”
Pilar asked in a matter-of-fact tone:
“What would you do to your enemy?”
He started—stared at her, then laughed aloud.
“I wonder—” he said. “I wonder!”
Pilar said disapprovingly23:
“But surely—you know.”
He checked his laughter, drew in his breath and said in a low voice:
“Yes. I know. . . .”
Then with a rapid change of manner, he asked:
“What made you come to England?”
Pilar replied with a certain demureness24.
“I am going to stay with my relations—with my English relations.”
“I see.”
He leaned back in his seat, studying her—wondering what these English relations of whom
she spoke were like—wondering what they would make of this Spanish stranger . . . trying to
picture her in the midst of some sober British family at Christmastime.
Pilar asked: “Is it nice, South Africa, yes?”
He began to talk to her about South Africa. She listened with the pleased attention of a child
hearing a story. He enjoyed her näive but shrewd questions and amused himself by making a kind
of exaggerated fairy story of it all.
The return of the proper occupants of the carriage put an end to this diversion. He rose,
smiled into her eyes, and made his way out again into the corridor.
As he stood back for a minute in the doorway25, to allow an elderly lady to come in, his eyes
fell on the label of Pilar’s obviously foreign straw case. He read the name with interest—Miss
Pilar Estravados—then as his eye caught the address it widened to incredulity and some other
feeling—Gorston Hall, Longdale, Addlesfield.
He half turned, staring at the girl with a new expression—puzzled, resentful, suspicious . . .
He went out into the corridor and stood there smoking a cigarette and frowning to himself. . . .
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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2
stuffiness
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| n.不通风，闷热；不通气 | |
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3
sniffed
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| v.以鼻吸气，嗅，闻( sniff的过去式和过去分词 )；抽鼻子（尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气）；抱怨，不以为然地说 | |
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4
imbibing
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| v.吸收( imbibe的现在分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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5
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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6
stentorian
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| adj.大声的，响亮的 | |
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7
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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8
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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9
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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10
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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11
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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12
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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13
unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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14
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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15
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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16
pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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17
demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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18
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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19
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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20
taboos
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| 禁忌( taboo的名词复数 )； 忌讳； 戒律； 禁忌的事物（或行为） | |
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21
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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22
graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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23
disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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24
demureness
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| n.demure（拘谨的，端庄的）的变形 | |
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25
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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