Victoria awoke to a morning of vivid sunshine. Having dressed, she wentout onto the wide balcony outside her window. Sitting in a chair a littleway along with his back to her was a man with curling grey hair growingdown onto a muscular red brown neck. When the man turned his headsideways Victoria recognized, with a distinct feeling of surprise, Sir RupertCrofton Lee. Why she should be so surprised she could hardly have said.
Perhaps because she had assumed as a matter of course that a VIP such asSir Rupert would have been staying at the Embassy and not at a hotel.
Nevertheless there he was, staring at the Tigris with a kind of concen-trated intensity1. She noticed, even, that he had a pair of field glasses slungover the side of his chair. Possibly, she thought, he studied birds.
A young man whom Victoria had at one time thought attractive hadbeen a bird enthusiast3, and she had accompanied him on several weekendtramps, to be made to stand as though paralysed in wet woods and icywinds, for what seemed like hours, to be at last told in tones of ecstasy4 tolook through the glasses at some drab- looking bird on a remote twigwhich in appearance as far as Victoria could see, compared unfavourablyin bird appeal with a common robin6 or chaffinch.
Victoria made her way downstairs, encountering Marcus Tio on the ter-race between the two buildings of the hotel.
“I see you’ve got Sir Rupert Crofton Lee staying here,” she said.
“Oh yes,” said Marcus, beaming, “he is a nice man—a very nice man.”
“Do you know him well?”
“No, this is the first time I see him. Mr. Shrivenham of the British Em-bassy bring him here last night. Mr. Shrivenham, he is very nice man, too.
I know him very well.”
Proceeding7 in to breakfast Victoria wondered if there was anyonewhom Marcus would not consider a very nice man. He appeared to exer-cise a wide charity.
After breakfast, Victoria started forth8 in search of the Olive Branch.
A London-bred Cockney, she had no idea of the difficulties involved infinding any particular place in a city such as Baghdad until she had startedon her quest.
Coming across Marcus again on her way out, she asked him to direct herto the Museum.
“It is a very nice museum,” said Marcus, beaming. “Yes. Full of interest-ing, very very old things. Not that I have been there myself. But I havefriends, archaeological friends, who stay here always when they comethrough Baghdad. Mr. Baker9—Mr. Richard Baker, you know him? AndProfessor Kalzman? And Dr. Pauncefoot Jones — and Mr. and Mrs.
McIntyre—they all come to the Tio. They are my friends. And they tell meabout what is in the Museum. Very very interesting.”
“Where is it, and how do I get there?”
“You go straight along Rashid Street—a long way—past the turn to theFeisal Bridge and past Bank Street—you know Bank Street?”
“I don’t know anything,” said Victoria.
“And then there is another street—also going down to a bridge and it isalong there on the right. You ask for Mr. Betoun Evans, he is English Ad-viser there—very nice man. And his wife, she is very nice, too, she camehere as Transport Sergeant10 during the war. Oh, she is very very nice.”
“I don’t really want to go actually to the Museum,” said Victoria. “I wantto find a place—a society—a kind of club called the Olive Branch.”
“If you want olives,” said Marcus, “I give you beautiful olives—very finequality. They keep them especially for me—for the Tio Hotel. You see, Isend you some to your table tonight.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Victoria and escaped towards RashidStreet.
“To the left,” Marcus shouted after her, “not to the right. But it is a longway to the Museum. You had better take a taxi.”
“Would a taxi know where the Olive Branch was?”
“No, they do not know where anything is! You say to the driver left,right, stop, straight on—just where you want to go.”
“In that case, I might as well walk,” said Victoria.
She reached Rashid Street and turned to the left.
Baghdad was entirely11 unlike her idea of it. A crowded main thorough-fare thronged12 with people, cars hooting13 violently, people shouting,European goods for sale in the shop windows, hearty14 spitting all roundher with prodigious15 throat clearing as a preliminary. No mysterious East-ern figures, most of the people wore tattered16 or shabby Western clothes,old army and air force tunics17, the occasional shuffling18 black-robed andveiled figures were almost inconspicuous amongst the hybrid19 Europeanstyles of dress. Whining20 beggars came up to her—women with dirty ba-bies in their arms. The pavement under her feet was uneven21 with occa-sional gaping22 holes.
She pursued her way feeling suddenly strange and lost and far fromhome. Here was no glamour23 of travel, only confusion.
She came at last to the Feisal Bridge, passed it and went on. In spite ofherself she was intrigued24 by the curious mixture of things in the shop win-dows. Here were babies’ shoes and woollies, toothpaste and cosmetics,electric torches and china cups and saucers—all shown together. Slowly akind of fascination25 came over her, the fascination of assorted26 merchandisecoming from all over the world to meet the strange and varied27 wants of amixed population.
She found the Museum, but not the Olive Branch. To one accustomed tofinding her way about London it seemed incredible that here was no oneshe could ask. She knew no Arabic. Those shopkeepers who spoke28 to herin English as she passed, pressing their wares29, presented blank faces whenshe asked for direction to the Olive Branch.
If one could only “ask a policeman,” but gazing at the policemen activelywaving their arms, and blowing their whistles, she realized that here thatwould be no solution.
She went into a bookshop with English books in the window, but a men-tion of the Olive Branch drew only a courteous30 shrug31 and shake of thehead. Regrettably they had no idea at all.
And then, as she walked along the street, a prodigious hammering andclanging came to her ears and peering down a long dim alley32, she re-membered that Mrs. Cardew Trench33 had said that the Olive Branch wasnear the Copper34 Bazaar35. Here, at least, was the Copper Bazaar.
Victoria plunged36 in, and for the next three-quarters of an hour she for-got the Olive Branch completely. The Copper Bazaar fascinated her. Theblow-lamps, the melting metal, the whole business of craftsmanship37 camelike a revelation to the little Cockney used only to finished productsstacked up for sale. She wandered at random38 through the souk, passed outof the Copper Bazaar, came to the gay striped horse blankets, and the cot-ton quilted bedcovers. Here European merchandise took on a totally dif-ferent guise39, in the arched cool darkness it had the exotic quality of some-thing come from overseas, something strange and rare. Bales of cheapprinted cottons in gay colours made a feast for the eyes.
Occasionally with a shout of Balek, Balek, a donkey or laden40 mulepushed past her, or men bearing great loads balanced on their backs.
Little boys rushed up to her with trays slung2 round their necks.
“See, lady, elastic41, good elastic, English elastic. Comb, English comb?”
The wares were thrust at her, close to her nose, with vehement42 urgingsto buy. Victoria walked in a happy dream. This was really seeing theworld. At every turn of the vast arched cool world of alleyways you cameto something totally unexpected—an alley of tailors, sitting stitching, withsmart pictures of European men’s tailoring; a line of watches and cheapjewellery. Bales of velvets and rich metal embroidered43 brocades, then achance turn and you were walking down an alley of cheap and shoddysecondhand European clothes, quaint44 pathetic little faded jumpers andlong straggly vests.
Then every now and then there were glimpses into vast quiet court-yards open to the sky.
She came to a vast vista45 of men’s trouserings, with cross-legged dignifiedmerchants in turbans sitting in the middle of their little square recesses46.
“Balek!”
A heavily-laden donkey coming up behind her made Victoria turn asideinto a narrow alleyway open to the sky that turned and twisted throughtall houses. Walking along it she came, quite by chance, to the object ofher search. Through an opening she looked into a small square courtyardand at the farther side of it an open doorway47 with THE OLIVE BRANCH ona huge sign and a rather impossible looking plaster bird holding an unre-cognizable twig5 in its beak48.
Joyously49 Victoria sped across the courtyard and in at the open door. Shefound herself in a dimly lit room with tables covered with books and peri-odicals and more books ranged round on shelves. It looked a little like abookshop except that there were little groups of chairs arranged togetherhere and there.
Out of the dimness a young woman came up to Victoria and said in care-ful English:
“What can I do for you, yes, please?”
Victoria looked at her. She wore corduroy trousers and an orange flan-nel shirt and had black dank hair cut in a kind of depressed50 bob. So farshe would have looked more suited to Bloomsbury, but her face was notBloomsbury. It was a melancholy51 Levantine face with great sad dark eyesand a heavy nose.
“This is—is this—is—is Dr. Rathbone here?”
Maddening still not to know Edward’s surname! Even Mrs. CardewTrench had called him Edward Thingummy.
“Yes. Dr. Rathbone. The Olive Branch. You wish to join us? Yes? Thatwill be very nice.”
“Well, perhaps. I’d—can I see Dr. Rathbone, please?”
The young woman smiled in a tired way.
“We do not disturb. I have a form. I tell you all about everything. Thenyou sign your name. It is two dinars, please.”
“I’m not sure yet that I want to join,” said Victoria, alarmed at the men-tion of two dinars. “I’d like to see Dr. Rathbone—or his secretary. His sec-retary would do.”
“I explain. I explain to you everything. We all are friends here, friendstogether, friends for the future—reading very fine educational books—re-citing poems each to other.”
“Dr. Rathbone’s secretary,” said Victoria loudly and clearly. “He particu-larly told me to ask for him.”
A kind of mulish sullenness52 came into the young woman’s face.
“Not today,” she said. “I explain—”
“Why not today? Isn’t he here? Isn’t Dr. Rathbone here?”
“Yais, Dr. Rathbone is here. He is upstairs. We do not disturb.”
A kind of Anglo-Saxon intolerance of foreigners swept over Victoria. Re-grettably, instead of the Olive Branch creating friendly international feel-ings, it seemed to be having the opposite effect as far as she was con-cerned.
“I have just arrived from England,” she said—and her accents were al-most those of Mrs. Cardew Trench herself—“and I have a very importantmessage for Dr. Rathbone which I must deliver to him personally. Pleasetake me to him at once! I am sorry to disturb him, but I have got to see him.
“At once!” she added, to clinch54 matters.
Before an imperious Briton who means to get his or her own way, barri-ers nearly always fall. The young woman turned at once and led the wayto the back of the room and up a staircase and along a gallery overlookingthe courtyard. Here she stopped before a door and knocked. A man’s voicesaid, “Come in.”
Victoria’s guide opened the door and motioned to Victoria to pass in.
“It is a lady from En gland53 for you.”
Victoria walked in.
From behind a large desk covered with papers, a man got up to greether.
He was an imposing- looking elderly man of about sixty with a highdomed forehead and white hair. Benevolence55, kindliness56 and charm werethe most apparent qualities of his personality. A producer of plays wouldhave cast him without hesitation57 for the role of the great philanthropist.
He greeted Victoria with a warm smile and an outstretched hand.
“So you’ve just come out from England,” he said. “First visit East, eh?”
“Yes.”
“I wonder what you think of it all…You must tell me sometime. Now letme see, have I met you before or not? I’m so shortsighted and you didn’tgive your name.”
“You don’t know me,” said Victoria, “but I’m a friend of Edward’s.”
“A friend of Edward’s,” said Dr. Rathbone. “Why, that’s splendid. DoesEdward know you’re in Baghdad?”
“Not yet,” said Victoria.
“Well, that will be a pleasant surprise for him when he gets back.”
“Back?” said Victoria, her voice falling.
“Yes, Edward’s at Basrah at the moment. I had to send him down thereto see about some crates58 of books that have come out for us. There havebeen most vexatious delays in the Customs—we simply have not been ableto get them cleared. The personal touch is the only thing, and Edward’sgood at that sort of thing. He knows just when to charm and when tobully, and he won’t rest till he’s got the thing through. He’s a sticker. A finequality in a young man. I think a lot of Edward.”
His eyes twinkled.
“But I don’t suppose I need to sing Edward’s praises to you, young lady?”
“When — when will Edward be back from Basrah?” asked Victoriafaintly.
“Well—now that I couldn’t say, he won’t come back till he’s finished thejob—and you can’t hurry things too much in this country. Tell me whereyou are staying and I’ll make sure he gets in touch with you as soon as hegets back.”
“I was wondering—” Victoria spoke desperately59, aware of her financialplight. “I was wondering if—if I could do some work here?”
“Now that I do appreciate,” said Dr. Rathbone warmly. “Yes, of courseyou can. We need all the workers, all the help we can get. And especiallyEnglish girls. Our work is going splendidly—quite splendidly—but there’slots more to be done. Still, people are keen. I’ve got thirty voluntary help-ers already—thirty—all of ’em as keen as mustard! If you’re really in earn-est, you can be most valuable.”
The word voluntary struck unpleasantly on Victoria’s ear.
“I really wanted a paid position,” she said.
“Oh dear!” Dr. Rathbone’s face fell. “That’s rather more difficult. Ourpaid staff is very small—and for the moment, with the voluntary help, it’squite adequate.”
“I can’t afford not to take a job,” explained Victoria. “I’m a competentshorthand typist,” she added without a blush.
“I’m sure you’re competent, my dear young lady, you radiate compet-ence, if I may say so. But with us it’s a question of ?.s.d. But even if youtake a job elsewhere, I hope you’ll help us in your spare time. Most of ourworkers have their own regular jobs. I’m sure you’ll find helping60 us reallyinspiring. There must be an end of all the savagery61 in the world, the wars,the misunderstandings, the suspicions. A common meeting ground, that’swhat we all need. Drama, art, poetry—the great things of the spirit—noroom there for petty jealousies63 or hatreds64.”
“N-no,” said Victoria doubtfully, recalling friends of hers who were act-resses and artists and whose lives seemed to be obsessed65 by jealousy66 ofthe most trivial kind, and by hatreds of a peculiarly virulent67 intensity.
“I’ve had A Midsummer Night’s Dream translated into forty different lan-guages,” said Dr. Rathbone. “Forty different sets of young people all react-ing to the same wonderful piece of literature. Young people—that’s thesecret. I’ve no use for anybody but the young. Once the mind and spiritare muscle-bound, it’s too late. No, it’s the young who must get together.
Take that girl downstairs, Catherine, the one who showed you up here.
She’s a Syrian from Damascus. You and she are probably about the sameage. Normally you’d never come together, you’d have nothing in common.
But at the Olive Branch you and she and many many others, Russians,Jewesses, Iraqis, Turkish girls, Armenians, Egyptians, Persians, all meetand like each other and read the same books and discuss pictures and mu-sic (we have excellent lecturers who come out) all of you finding out andbeing excited by encountering a different point of view—why, that’s whatthe world is meant to be.”
Victoria could not help thinking that Dr. Rathbone was slightly overop-timistic in assuming that all those divergent elements who were comingtogether would necessarily like each other. She and Catherine, for in-stance, had not liked each other at all. And Victoria strongly suspected thatthe more they saw of each other the greater their dislike would grow.
“Edward’s splendid,” said Dr. Rathbone. “Gets on with everybody. Betterperhaps, with the girls than with the young men. The men students outhere are apt to be difficult at first—suspicious—almost hostile. But thegirls adore Edward, they’ll do anything for him. He and Catherine get onparticularly well.”
“Indeed,” said Victoria coldly. Her dislike of Catherine grew even moreintense.
“Well,” said Dr. Rathbone, smiling, “come and help us if you can.”
It was a dismissal. He pressed her hand warmly. Victoria went out of theroom and down the stairs. Catherine was standing62 near the door talking toa girl who had just come in with a small suitcase in her hand. She was agood-looking dark girl, and just for a moment Victoria fancied that shehad seen her before somewhere. But the girl looked at her without anysign of recognition. The two young women had been talking eagerly to-gether in some language Victoria did not know. They stopped when sheappeared and remained silent, staring at her. She walked past them to thedoor, forcing herself to say “Good-bye” politely to Catherine as she wentout.
She found her way out from the winding68 alley into Rashid Street andmade her way slowly back to the hotel, her eyes unseeing of the throngsaround her. She tried to keep her mind from dwelling69 on her own predica-ment (penniless in Baghdad) by fixing her mind on Dr. Rathbone and thegeneral setup of the Olive Branch. Edward had had an idea in London thatthere was something “fishy70” about his job. What was fishy? Dr. Rathbone?
Or the Olive Branch itself?
Victoria could hardly believe that there was anything fishy about Dr.
Rathbone. He appeared to her to be one of those misguided enthusiastswho insist on seeing the world in their own idealistic manner, regardlessof realities.
What had Edward meant by fishy? He’d been very vague. Perhaps hedidn’t really know himself.
Could Dr. Rathbone be some kind of colossal71 fraud?
Victoria, fresh from the soothing72 charm of his manner, shook her head.
His manner had certainly changed, ever so slightly, at the idea of payingher a salary. He clearly preferred people to work for nothing.
But that, thought Victoria, was a sign of common sense.
Mr. Greenholtz, for instance, would have felt just the same.
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1
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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slung
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| 抛( sling的过去式和过去分词 )； 吊挂； 遣送； 押往 | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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sergeant
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| n.警官，中士 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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tunics
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| n.（动植物的）膜皮( tunic的名词复数 )；束腰宽松外衣；一套制服的短上衣；（天主教主教等穿的）短祭袍 | |
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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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hybrid
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| n.(动，植）杂种，混合物 | |
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whining
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| n. 抱怨，牢骚 v. 哭诉，发牢骚 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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glamour
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intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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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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wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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alley
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| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
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trench
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| n./v.(挖)沟，(挖)战壕 | |
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copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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craftsmanship
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| n.手艺 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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beak
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| n.鸟嘴，茶壶嘴，钩形鼻 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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depressed
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| adj.沮丧的，抑郁的，不景气的，萧条的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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sullenness
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| n. 愠怒, 沉闷, 情绪消沉 | |
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gland
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| n.腺体，(机)密封压盖，填料盖 | |
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clinch
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| v.敲弯，钉牢；确定；扭住对方 [参]clench | |
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benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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crates
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| n. 板条箱, 篓子, 旧汽车 vt. 装进纸条箱 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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savagery
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| n.野性 | |
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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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jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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obsessed
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| adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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fishy
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| adj. 值得怀疑的 | |
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colossal
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| adj.异常的，庞大的 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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