MAJOR P ALGRAVE T ELLS A S TORY
“T ake all this business about Kenya,” said Major Palgrave.
“Lots of chaps gabbing1 away who know nothing about the place! Now I spent fourteen years of my life there.
Some of the best years of my life, too—”
Old Miss Marple inclined her head.
It was a gentle gesture of courtesy. Whilst Major Palgrave proceeded with the somewhat uninteresting recollectionsof a lifetime, Miss Marple peacefully pursued her own thoughts. It was a routine with which she was well acquainted.
The locale varied2. In the past, it had been predominantly India. Majors, Colonels, Lieutenant-Generals—and a familiarseries of words: Simla. Bearers. Tigers. Chota Hazri—Tiffin. Khitmagars, and so on. With Major Palgrave the termswere slightly different. Safari3. Kikuyu. Elephants. Swahili. But the pattern was essentially4 the same. An elderly manwho needed a listener so that he could, in memory, relive days in which he had been happy. Days when his back hadbeen straight, his eyesight keen, his hearing acute. Some of these talkers had been handsome soldierly old boys, someagain had been regrettably unattractive; and Major Palgrave, purple of face, with a glass eye, and the generalappearance of a stuffed frog, belonged in the latter category.
Miss Marple had bestowed5 on all of them the same gentle charity. She had sat attentively6, inclining her head fromtime to time in gentle agreement, thinking her own thoughts and enjoying what there was to enjoy: in this case thedeep blue of a Caribbean Sea.
So kind of dear Raymond—she was thinking gratefully, so really and truly kind … Why he should take so muchtrouble about his old aunt, she really did not know. Conscience, perhaps; family feeling? Or possibly he was truly fondof her….
She thought, on the whole, that he was fond of her — he always had been — in a slightly exasperated7 andcontemptuous way! Always trying to bring her up to date. Sending her books to read. Modern novels. So difficult—allabout such unpleasant people, doing such very odd things and not, apparently8, even enjoying them. “Sex” as a wordhad not been mentioned in Miss Marple’s young days; but there had been plenty of it—not talked about so much—butenjoyed far more than nowadays, or so it seemed to her. Though usually labelled Sin, she couldn’t help feeling thatthat was preferable to what it seemed to be nowadays—a kind of Duty.
Her glance strayed for a moment to the book on her lap lying open at page twenty-three which was as far as shehad got (and indeed as far as she felt like getting!).
“‘Do you mean that you’ve had no sexual experience at ALL?’ demanded the young man incredulously. ‘Atnineteen? But you must. It’s vital.’
“The girl hung her head unhappily, her straight greasy9 hair fell forward over her face.
“‘I know,’ she muttered, ‘I know.’
“He looked at her, stained old jersey10, the bare feet, the dirty toe nails, the smell of rancid fat … Hewondered why he found her so maddeningly attractive.”
Miss Marple wondered too! And really! To have sex experience urged on you exactly as though it was an irontonic! Poor young things….
“My dear Aunt Jane, why must you bury your head in the sand like a very delightful11 ostrich12? All bound up in thisidyllic rural life of yours. REAL LIFE —that’s what matters.”
Thus Raymond—and his Aunt Jane—had looked properly abashed—and said “Yes,” she was afraid she was ratherold-fashioned.
Though really rural life was far from idyllic13. People like Raymond were so ignorant. In the course of her duties in acountry parish, Jane Marple had acquired quite a comprehensive knowledge of the facts of rural life. She had no urgeto talk about them, far less to write about them—but she knew them. Plenty of sex, natural and unnatural14. Rape15, incest,perversion of all kinds. (Some kinds, indeed, that even the clever young men from Oxford16 who wrote books didn’tseem to have heard about.)
Miss Marple came back to the Caribbean and took up the thread of what Major Palgrave was saying….
“A very unusual experience,” she said encouragingly. “Most interesting.”
“I could tell you a lot more. Some of the things, of course, not fit for a lady’s ears—”
With the ease of long practice, Miss Marple dropped her eyelids17 in a fluttery fashion, and Major Palgravecontinued his bowdlerized version of tribal18 customs whilst Miss Marple resumed her thoughts of her affectionatenephew.
Raymond West was a very successful novelist and made a large income, and he conscientiously19 and kindly20 did allhe could to alleviate21 the life of his elderly aunt. The preceding winter she had had a bad go of pneumonia22, and medicalopinion had advised sunshine. In lordly fashion Raymond had suggested a trip to the West Indies. Miss Marple haddemurred—at the expense, the distance, the difficulties of travel, and at abandoning her house in St. Mary Mead23.
Raymond had dealt with everything. A friend who was writing a book wanted a quiet place in the country. “He’ll lookafter the house all right. He’s very house proud. He’s a queer. I mean—”
He had paused, slightly embarrassed—but surely even dear old Aunt Jane must have heard of queers.
He went on to deal with the next points. Travel was nothing nowadays. She would go by air—another friend, DianaHorrocks, was going out to Trinidad and would see Aunt Jane was all right as far as there, and at St. Honoré she wouldstay at the Golden Palm Hotel which was run by the Sandersons. Nicest couple in the world. They’d see she was allright. He’d write to them straight away.
As it happened the Sandersons had returned to England. But their successors, the Kendals, had been very nice andfriendly and had assured Raymond that he need have no qualms24 about his aunt. There was a very good doctor on theisland in case of emergency and they themselves would keep an eye on her and see to her comfort.
They had been as good as their word, too. Molly Kendal was an ingenuous25 blonde of twenty odd, alwaysapparently in good spirits. She had greeted the old lady warmly and did everything to make her comfortable. TimKendal, her husband, lean, dark and in his thirties, had also been kindness itself.
So there she was, thought Miss Marple, far from the rigours of the English climate, with a nice bungalow26 of herown, with friendly smiling West Indian girls to wait on her, Tim Kendal to meet her in the dining room and crack ajoke as he advised her about the day’s menu, and an easy path from her bungalow to the sea front and the bathingbeach where she could sit in a comfortable basket chair and watch the bathing. There were even a few elderly guestsfor company. Old Mr. Rafiel, Dr. Graham, Canon Prescott and his sister, and her present cavalier Major Palgrave.
What more could an elderly lady want?
It is deeply to be regretted, and Miss Marple felt guilty even admitting it to herself, but she was not as satisfied asshe ought to be.
Lovely and warm, yes — and so good for her rheumatism27 — and beautiful scenery, though perhaps — a triflemonotonous? So many palm trees. Everything the same every day—never anything happening. Not like St. MaryMead where something was always happening. Her nephew had once compared life in St. Mary Mead to scum on apond, and she had indignantly pointed28 out that smeared29 on a slide under the microscope there would be plenty of lifeto be observed. Yes, indeed, in St. Mary Mead, there was always something going on. Incident after incident flashedthrough Miss Marple’s mind, the mistake in old Mrs. Linnett’s cough mixture—that very odd behaviour of youngPolegate—the time when Georgy Wood’s mother had come down to see him—(but was she his mother—?) the realcause of the quarrel between Joe Arden and his wife. So many interesting human problems—giving rise to endlesspleasurable hours of speculation30. If only there were something here that she could—well—get her teeth into.
With a start she realized that Major Palgrave had abandoned Kenya for the North West Frontier and was relatinghis experiences as a subaltern. Unfortunately he was asking her with great earnestness: “Now don’t you agree?”
Long practice had made Miss Marple quite an adept31 at dealing32 with that one.
“I don’t really feel that I’ve got sufficient experience to judge. I’m afraid I’ve led rather a sheltered life.”
“And so you should, dear lady, so you should,” cried Major Palgrave gallantly33.
“You’ve had such a very varied life,” went on Miss Marple, determined34 to make amends35 for her former pleasurableinattention.
“Not bad,” said Major Palgrave, complacently36. “Not bad at all.” He looked round him appreciatively. “Lovelyplace, this.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Marple and was then unable to stop herself going on: “Does anything ever happen here, Iwonder?”
Major Palgrave stared.
“Oh rather. Plenty of scandals—eh what? Why, I could tell you—”
But it wasn’t really scandals Miss Marple wanted. Nothing to get your teeth into in scandals nowadays. Just menand women changing partners, and calling attention to it, instead of trying decently to hush37 it up and be properlyashamed of themselves.
“There was even a murder here a couple of years ago. Man called Harry38 Western. Made a big splash in the papers.
Dare say you remember it.”
Miss Marple nodded without enthusiasm. It had not been her kind of murder. It had made a big splash mainlybecause everyone concerned had been very rich. It had seemed likely enough that Harry Western had shot the Countde Ferrari, his wife’s lover, and equally likely that his well-arranged alibi39 had been bought and paid for. Everyoneseemed to have been drunk, and there was a fine scattering40 of dope addicts41. Not really interesting people, thought MissMarple—although no doubt very spectacular and attractive to look at. But definitely not her cup of tea.
“And if you ask me, that wasn’t the only murder about that time.” He nodded and winked42. “I had my suspicions—oh!—well—”
Miss Marple dropped her ball of wool, and the Major stooped and picked it up for her.
“Talking of murder,” he went on. “I once came across a very curious case—not exactly personally.”
Miss Marple smiled encouragingly.
“Lot of chaps talking at the club one day, you know, and a chap began telling a story. Medical man he was. One ofhis cases. Young fellow came and knocked him up in the middle of the night. His wife had hanged herself. Theyhadn’t got a telephone, so after the chap had cut her down and done what he could, he’d got out his car and hared offlooking for a doctor. Well, she wasn’t dead but pretty far gone. Anyway, she pulled through. Young fellow seemeddevoted to her. Cried like a child. He’d noticed that she’d been odd for some time, fits of depression and all that. Well,that was that. Everything seemed all right. But actually, about a month later, the wife took an overdose of sleepingstuff and passed out. Sad case.”
Major Palgrave paused, and nodded his head several times. Since there was obviously more to come Miss Marplewaited.
“And that’s that, you might say. Nothing there. Neurotic43 woman, nothing out of the usual. But about a year later,this medical chap was swapping44 yarns45 with a fellow medico, and the other chap told him about a woman who’d triedto drown herself, husband got her out, got a doctor, they pulled her round—and then a few weeks later she gassedherself.
“Well, a bit of a coincidence—eh? Same sort of story. My chap said—‘I had a case rather like that. Name of Jones(or whatever the name was)—What was your man’s name?’ ‘Can’t remember. Robinson I think. Certainly not Jones.’
“Well, the chaps looked at each other and said it was pretty odd. And then my chap pulled out a snapshot. Heshowed it to the second chap. ‘That’s the fellow,’ he said—‘I’d gone along the next day to check up on the particulars,and I noticed a magnificent species of hibiscus just by the front door, a variety I’d never seen before in this country.
My camera was in the car and I took a photo. Just as I snapped the shutter46 the husband came out of the front door so Igot him as well. Don’t think he realized it. I asked him about the hibiscus but he couldn’t tell me its name.’ Secondmedico looked at the snap. He said: ‘It’s a bit out of focus—But I could swear—at any rate I’m almost sure—it’s thesame man.’
“Don’t know if they followed it up. But if so they didn’t get anywhere. Expect Mr. Jones or Robinson covered histracks too well. But queer story, isn’t it? Wouldn’t think things like that could happen.”
“Oh, yes, I would,” said Miss Marple placidly47. “Practically every day.”
“Oh, come, come. That’s a bit fantastic.”
“If a man gets a formula that works—he won’t stop. He’ll go on.”
“Brides in the bath—eh?”
“That kind of thing, yes.”
“Doctor let me have that snap just as a curiosity—”
Major Palgrave began fumbling48 through an overstuffed wallet murmuring to himself: “Lots of things in here—don’t know why I keep all these things….”
Miss Marple thought she did know. They were part of the Major’s stock-in-trade. They illustrated49 his repertoire50 ofstories. The story he had just told, or so she suspected, had not been originally like that—it had been worked up a gooddeal in repeated telling.
The Major was still shuffling51 and muttering—“Forgotten all about that business. Good-looking woman she was,you’d never suspect—now where—Ah—that takes my mind back—what tusks52! I must show you—”
He stopped—sorted out a small photographic print and peered down at it.
“Like to see the picture of a murderer?”
He was about to pass it to her when his movement was suddenly arrested. Looking more like a stuffed frog thanever, Major Palgrave appeared to be staring fixedly53 over her right shoulder — from whence came the sound ofapproaching footsteps and voices.
“Well, I’m damned—I mean—” He stuffed everything back into his wallet and crammed54 it into his pocket.
His face went an even deeper shade of purplish red—He exclaimed in a loud, artificial voice:
“As I was saying—I’d like to have shown you those elephant tusks—Biggest elephant I’ve ever shot—Ah, hallo!”
His voice took on a somewhat spurious hearty56 note.
“Look who’s here! The great quartette—Flora and Fauna—What luck have you had today—Eh?”
The approaching footsteps resolved themselves into four of the hotel guests whom Miss Marple already knew bysight. They consisted of two married couples and though Miss Marple was not as yet acquainted with their surnames,she knew that the big man with the upstanding bush of thick grey hair was addressed as “Greg,” that the golden blondewoman, his wife, was known as Lucky—and that the other married couple, the dark lean man and the handsome butrather weather-beaten woman, were Edward and Evelyn. They were botanists57, she understood, and also interested inbirds.
“No luck at all,” said Greg—“At least no luck in getting what we were after.”
“Don’t know if you know Miss Marple? Colonel and Mrs. Hillingdon and Greg and Lucky Dyson.”
They greeted her pleasantly and Lucky said loudly that she’d die if she didn’t have a drink at once or sooner.
Greg hailed Tim Kendal who was sitting a little way away with his wife poring over account books.
“Hi, Tim. Get us some drinks.” He addressed the others. “Planters Punch?”
They agreed.
“Same for you, Miss Marple?”
Miss Marple said Thank you, but she would prefer fresh lime.
“Fresh lime it is,” said Tim Kendal, “and five Planters Punches.”
“Join us, Tim?”
“Wish I could. But I’ve got to fix up these accounts. Can’t leave Molly to cope with everything. Steel band tonight,by the way.”
“Good,” cried Lucky. “Damn it,” she winced58, “I’m all over thorns. Ouch! Edward deliberately59 rammed55 me into athorn bush!”
“Lovely pink flowers,” said Hillingdon.
“And lovely long thorns. Sadistic60 brute61, aren’t you, Edward?”
“Not like me,” said Greg, grinning. “Full of the milk of human kindness.”
Evelyn Hillingdon sat down by Miss Marple and started talking to her in an easy pleasant way.
Miss Marple put her knitting down on her lap. Slowly and with some difficulty, owing to rheumatism in the neck,she turned her head over her right shoulder to look behind her. At some little distance there was the large bungalowoccupied by the rich Mr. Rafiel. But it showed no sign of life.
She replied suitably to Evelyn’s remarks (really, how kind people were to her!) but her eyes scanned thoughtfullythe faces of the two men.
Edward Hillingdon looked a nice man. Quiet but with a lot of charm … And Greg—big, boisterous62, happy-looking.
He and Lucky were Canadian or American, she thought.
She looked at Major Palgrave, still acting63 a bonhomie a little larger than life.
Interesting….
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1
gabbing
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| v.空谈，唠叨，瞎扯( gab的现在分词 ) | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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safari
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| n.远征旅行(探险、考察)；探险队，狩猎队 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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ostrich
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| n.鸵鸟 | |
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idyllic
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| adj.质朴宜人的，田园风光的 | |
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unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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rape
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| n.抢夺，掠夺，强奸；vt.掠夺，抢夺，强奸 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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eyelids
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| n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 )；眼睛也不眨一下；不露声色；面不改色 | |
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tribal
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| adj.部族的，种族的 | |
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conscientiously
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| adv.凭良心地；认真地，负责尽职地；老老实实 | |
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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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alleviate
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| v.减轻，缓和，缓解(痛苦等) | |
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pneumonia
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| n.肺炎 | |
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mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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qualms
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| n.不安；内疚 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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smeared
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| 弄脏； 玷污； 涂抹； 擦上 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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adept
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| adj.老练的，精通的 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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addicts
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| 有…瘾的人( addict的名词复数 )； 入迷的人 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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swapping
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| 交换，交换技术 | |
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yarns
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| n.纱( yarn的名词复数 )；纱线；奇闻漫谈；旅行轶事 | |
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shutter
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| n.百叶窗；(照相机)快门；关闭装置 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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repertoire
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| n.(准备好演出的)节目，保留剧目；(计算机的)指令表，指令系统， <美>(某个人的)全部技能；清单，指令表 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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52
tusks
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| n.（象等动物的）长牙( tusk的名词复数 )；獠牙；尖形物；尖头 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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54
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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rammed
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| v.夯实（土等）( ram的过去式和过去分词 )；猛撞；猛压；反复灌输 | |
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56
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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botanists
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| n.植物学家，研究植物的人( botanist的名词复数 ) | |
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58
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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sadistic
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| adj.虐待狂的 | |
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61
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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62
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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63
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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