Mrs. Ariadne Oliver had gone with the friend with whom she was staying, Judith Butler, to helpwith the preparations for a children’s party which was to take place that same evening.
At the moment it was a scene of chaotic1 activity. Energetic women came in and out of doorsmoving chairs, small tables, flower vases, and carrying large quantities of yellow pumpkins2 whichthey disposed strategically in selected spots.
It was to be a Hallowe’en party for invited guests of an age group between ten and seventeenyears old.
Mrs. Oliver, removing herself from the main group, leant against a vacant background of walland held up a large yellow pumpkin3, looking at it critically—“The last time I saw one of these,”
she said, sweeping4 back her grey hair from her prominent forehead, “was in the United States lastyear—hundreds of them. All over the house. I’ve never seen so many pumpkins. As a matter offact,” she added thoughtfully, “I’ve never really known the difference between a pumpkin and avegetable marrow5. What’s this one?”
“Sorry, dear,” said Mrs. Butler, as she fell over her friend’s feet.
Mrs. Oliver pressed herself closer against the wall.
“My fault,” she said. “I’m standing6 about and getting in the way. But it was rather remarkable,seeing so many pumpkins or vegetable marrows7, whatever they are. They were everywhere, in theshops, and in people’s houses, with candles or nightlights inside them or strung up. Veryinteresting really. But it wasn’t for a Hallowe’en party, it was Thanksgiving. Now I’ve alwaysassociated pumpkins with Hallowe’en and that’s the end of October. Thanksgiving comes muchlater, doesn’t it? Isn’t it November, about the third week in November? Anyway, here, Hallowe’enis definitely the 31st of October, isn’t it? First Hallowe’en and then, what comes next? All Souls’
Day? That’s when in Paris you go to cemeteries8 and put flowers on graves. Not a sad sort of feast.
I mean, all the children go too, and enjoy themselves. You go to flower markets first and buy lotsand lots of lovely flowers. Flowers never look so lovely as they do in Paris in the market there.”
A lot of busy women were falling over Mrs. Oliver occasionally, but they were not listening toher. They were all too busy with what they were doing.
They consisted for the most part of mothers, one or two competent spinsters; there were usefulteenagers, boys of sixteen and seventeen climbing up ladders or standing on chairs to putdecorations, pumpkins or vegetable marrows or brightly coloured witch- balls at a suitableelevation; girls from eleven to fifteen hung about in groups and giggled9.
“And after All Souls’ Day and cemeteries,” went on Mrs. Oliver, lowering her bulk on to thearm of a settee, “you have All Saints’ Day. I think I’m right?”
Nobody responded to this question. Mrs. Drake, a handsome middle-aged10 woman who wasgiving the party, made a pronouncement.
“I’m not calling this a Hallowe’en party, although of course it is one really. I’m calling it theEleven Plus party. It’s that sort of age group. Mostly people who are leaving the Elms and goingon to other schools.”
“But that’s not very accurate, Rowena, is it?” said Miss Whittaker, resetting11 her pince-nez onher nose disapprovingly12.
Miss Whittaker as a local schoolteacher was always firm on accuracy.
“Because we’ve abolished the eleven-plus some time ago.”
Mrs. Oliver rose from the settee apologetically. “I haven’t been making myself useful. I’ve justbeen sitting here saying silly things about pumpkins and vegetable marrows’—And resting myfeet, she thought, with a slight pang13 of conscience, but without sufficient feeling of guilt14 to say italoud.
“Now what can I do next?” she asked, and added, “What lovely apples!”
Someone had just brought a large bowl of apples into the room. Mrs. Oliver was partial toapples.
“Lovely red ones,” she added.
“They’re not really very good,” said Rowena Drake. “But they look nice and partified. That’sfor bobbing for apples. They’re rather soft apples, so people will be able to get their teeth intothem better. Take them into the library, will you, Beatrice? Bobbing for apples always makes amess with the water slopping over, but that doesn’t matter with the library carpet, it’s so old. Oh!
Thank you, Joyce.”
Joyce, a sturdy thirteen-year-old, seized the bowl of apples. Two rolled off it and stopped, asthough arrested by a witch’s wand, at Mrs. Oliver’s feet.
“You like apples, don’t you,” said Joyce. “I read you did, or perhaps I heard it on the telly.
You’re the one who writes murder stories, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“We ought to have made you do something connected with murders. Have a murder at the partytonight and make people solve it.”
“No, thank you,” said Mrs. Oliver. “Never again.”
“What do you mean, never again?”
“Well, I did once, and it didn’t turn out much of a success,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“But you’ve written lots of books,” said Joyce, “you make a lot of money out of them, don’tyou?”
“In a way,” said Mrs. Oliver, her thoughts flying to the Inland Revenue.
“And you’ve got a detective who’s a Finn.”
Mrs. Oliver admitted the fact. A small stolid15 boy not yet, Mrs. Oliver would have thought,arrived at the seniority of the eleven-plus, said sternly, “Why a Finn?”
“I’ve often wondered,” said Mrs. Oliver truthfully.
Mrs. Hargreaves, the organist’s wife, came into the room breathing heavily, and bearing a largegreen plastic pail.
“What about this,” she said, “for the apple bobbing? Kind of gay, I thought.”
Miss Lee, the doctor’s dispenser, said, “Galvanized bucket’s better. Won’t tip over so easily.
Where are you going to have it, Mrs. Drake?”
“I thought the bobbing for apples had better be in the library. The carpet’s old there and a lot ofwater always gets spilt, anyway.”
“All right. We’ll take them along. Rowena, here’s another basket of apples.”
“Let me help,” said Mrs. Oliver.
She picked up the two apples at her feet. Almost without noticing what she was doing, she sankher teeth into one of them and began to crunch16 it. Mrs. Drake abstracted the second apple from herfirmly and restored it to the basket. A buzz of conversation broke out.
“Yes, but where are we going to have the Snapdragon?”
“You ought to have the Snapdragon in the library, it’s much the darkest room.”
“No, we’re going to have that in the dining room.”
“We’ll have to put something on the table first.”
“There’s a green baize to put on that and then the rubber sheet over it.”
“What about the looking glasses? Shall we really see our husbands in them?”
Surreptitiously removing her shoes and still quietly champing at her apple, Mrs. Oliver loweredherself once more on to the settee and surveyed the room full of people critically. She wasthinking in her authoress’s mind: “Now, if I was going to make a book about all these people, howshould I do it? They’re nice people, I should think, on the whole, but who knows?”
In a way, she felt, it was rather fascinating not to know anything about them. They all lived inWoodleigh Common, some of them had faint tags attached to them in her memory because ofwhat Judith had told her. Miss Johnson—something to do with the church, not the vicar’s sister.
Oh no, it was the organist’s sister, of course. Rowena Drake, who seemed to run things inWoodleigh Common. The puffing17 woman who had brought in the pail, a particularly hideousplastic pail. But then Mrs. Oliver had never been fond of plastic things. And then the children, theteenage girls and boys.
So far they were really only names to Mrs. Oliver. There was a Nan and a Beatrice and a Cathie,a Diana and a Joyce, who was boastful and asked questions. I don’t like Joyce much, thought Mrs.
Oliver. A girl called Ann, who looked tall and superior. There were two adolescent boys whoappeared to have just got used to trying out different hair styles, with rather unfortunate results.
A smallish boy entered in some condition of shyness.
“Mummy sent these mirrors to see if they’d do,” he said in a slightly breathless voice.
Mrs. Drake took them from him.
“Thank you so much, Eddy,” she said.
“They’re just ordinary looking hand mirrors,” said the girl called Ann. “Shall we really see ourfuture husbands’ faces in them?”
“Some of you may and some may not,” said Judith Butler.
“Did you ever see your husband’s face when you went to a party—I mean this kind of a party?”
“Of course she didn’t,” said Joyce.
“She might have,” said the superior Beatrice. “E.S.P. they call it. Extra sensory18 perception,” sheadded in the tone of one pleased with being thoroughly19 conversant20 with the terms of the times.
“I read one of your books,” said Ann to Mrs. Oliver. “The Dying Goldfish. It was quite good,”
she said kindly21.
“I didn’t like that one,” said Joyce. “There wasn’t enough blood in it. I like murders to have lotsof blood.”
“A bit messy,” said Mrs. Oliver, “don’t you think?”
“But exciting,” said Joyce.
“Not necessarily,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“I saw a murder once,” said Joyce.
“Don’t be silly, Joyce,” said Miss Whittaker, the schoolteacher.
“I did,” said Joyce.
“Did you really?” asked Cathie, gazing at Joyce with wide eyes, “really and truly see amurder?”
“Of course she didn’t,” said Mrs. Drake. “Don’t say silly things, Joyce.”
“I did see a murder,” said Joyce. “I did. I did. I did.”
A seventeen-year-old boy poised22 on a ladder looked down interestedly.
“What kind of a murder?” he asked.
“I don’t believe it,” said Beatrice.
“Of course not,” said Cathie’s mother. “She’s just making it up.”
“I’m not. I saw it.”
“Why didn’t you go to the police about it?” asked Cathie.
“Because I didn’t know it was a murder when I saw it. It wasn’t really till a long timeafterwards, I mean, that I began to know that it was a murder. Something that somebody said onlyabout a month or two ago suddenly made me think: Of course, that was a murder I saw.”
“You see,” said Ann, “she’s making it all up. It’s nonsense.”
“When did it happen?” asked Beatrice.
“Years ago,” said Joyce. “I was quite young at the time,” she added.
“Who murdered who?” said Beatrice.
“I shan’t tell any of you,” said Joyce. “You’re all so horrid23 about it.”
Miss Lee came in with another kind of bucket. Conversation shifted to a comparison of bucketsor plastic pails as most suitable for the sport of bobbing for apples. The majority of the helpersrepaired to the library for an appraisal24 on the spot. Some of the younger members, it may be said,were anxious to demonstrate, by a rehearsal25 of the difficulties and their own accomplishment26 inthe sport. Hair got wet, water got spilt, towels were sent for to mop it up. In the end it was decidedthat a galvanized bucket was preferable to the more meretricious27 charms of a plastic pail whichoverturned rather too easily.
Mrs. Oliver, setting down a bowl of apples which she had carried in to replenish28 the storerequired for tomorrow, once more helped herself to one.
“I read in the paper that you were fond of eating apples,” the accusing voice of Ann or Susan—she was not quite sure which—spoke to her.
“It’s my besetting29 sin,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“It would be more fun if it was melons,” objected one of the boys. “They’re so juicy. Think ofthe mess it would make,” he said, surveying the carpet with pleasurable anticipation30.
Mrs. Oliver, feeling a little guilty at the public arraignment31 of greediness, left the room insearch of a particular apartment, the geography of which is usually fairly easily identified. Shewent up the staircase and, turning the corner on the half landing, cannoned32 into a pair, a girl and aboy, clasped in each other’s arms and leaning against the door which Mrs. Oliver felt fairly certainwas the door to the room to which she herself was anxious to gain access. The couple paid noattention to her. They sighed and they snuggled. Mrs. Oliver wondered how old they were. Theboy was fifteen, perhaps, the girl little more than twelve, although the development of her chestseemed certainly on the mature side.
Apple Trees was a house of fair size. It had, she thought, several agreeable nooks and corners.
How selfish people are, thought Mrs. Oliver. No consideration for others. That well-known tagfrom the past came into her mind. It had been said to her in succession by a nursemaid, a nanny, agoverness, her grandmother, two great-aunts, her mother and a few others.
“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Oliver in a loud, clear voice.
The boy and the girl clung closer than ever, their lips fastened on each other’s.
“Excuse me,” said Mrs. Oliver again, “do you mind letting me pass? I want to get in at thisdoor.”
Unwillingly33 the couple fell apart. They looked at her in an aggrieved34 fashion. Mrs. Oliver wentin, banged the door and shot the bolt.
It was not a very close-fitting door. The faint sound of words came to her from outside.
“Isn’t that like people?” one voice said in a somewhat uncertain tenor35. “They might see wedidn’t want to be disturbed.”
“People are so selfish,” piped a girl’s voice. “They never think of anyone but themselves.”
“No consideration for others,” said the boy’s voice.
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收听单词发音
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1
chaotic
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| adj.混沌的，一片混乱的，一团糟的 | |
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2
pumpkins
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| n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 )；南瓜的果肉，南瓜囊 | |
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3
pumpkin
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| n.南瓜 | |
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sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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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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marrows
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| n.骨髓（marrow的复数形式） | |
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cemeteries
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| n.（非教堂的）墓地，公墓( cemetery的名词复数 ) | |
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giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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11
resetting
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| v.重新安放或安置( reset的现在分词 )；重拨（测量仪器指针）；为（考试、测试等）出一套新题；重新安置，将…恢复原位 | |
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disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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13
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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14
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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15
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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16
crunch
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| n.关键时刻；艰难局面；v.发出碎裂声 | |
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17
puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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18
sensory
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| adj.知觉的，感觉的，知觉器官的 | |
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19
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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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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poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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24
appraisal
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| n.对…作出的评价；评价，鉴定，评估 | |
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rehearsal
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| n.排练，排演；练习 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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meretricious
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| adj.华而不实的，俗艳的 | |
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28
replenish
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| vt.补充；(把…)装满；(再)填满 | |
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29
besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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30
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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31
arraignment
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| n.提问，传讯，责难 | |
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32
cannoned
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| vi.与…猛撞（cannon的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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33
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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35
tenor
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| n.男高音（歌手），次中音（乐器），要旨，大意 | |
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