How alike, Hilary thought to herself, all airports were! They had a strangeanonymity about them. They were all at some distance from the town orcity they served, and in consequence you had a queer, stateless feeling ofexisting nowhere. You could fly from London to Madrid, to Rome, to Istan-bul, to Cairo, to anywhere you liked, and if your journey was a throughone by air, you would never have the faintest idea of what any of these cit-ies looked like! If you caught a glimpse of them from the air, they wereonly a kind of glorified1 map, something built with a child’s box of bricks.
And why, she thought vexedly, looking round her, does one always haveto be at these places so much too early?
They had spent nearly half an hour in the waiting room. Mrs. CalvinBaker, who had decided3 to accompany Hilary to Marrakesh, had beentalking non- stop ever since their arrival. Hilary had answered almostmechanically. But now she realized that the flow had been diverted. Mrs.
Baker2 had now switched her attention to two other travellers who weresitting near her. They were both tall, fair young men. One an Americanwith a broad, friendly grin, the other a rather solemn-looking Dane orNorwegian. The Dane talked heavily, slowly, and rather pedantically4 incareful English. The American was clearly delighted to find another Amer-ican traveller. Presently, in conscientious5 fashion, Mrs. Calvin Bakerturned to Hilary.
“Mr.—? I’d like to have you know my friend, Mrs. Betterton.”
“Andrew Peters—Andy to my friends.”
The other young man rose to his feet, bowed rather stiffly and said,“Torquil Ericsson.”
“So now we’re all acquainted,” said Mrs. Baker happily. “Are we all go-ing to Marrakesh? It’s my friend’s first visit there—”
“I, too,” said Ericsson. “I, too, for the first time go.”
“That goes for me, too,” said Peters.
The loudspeaker was suddenly switched on and a hoarse6 announcementin French was made. The words were barely distinguishable but it ap-peared to be their summons to the plane.
There were four passengers besides Mrs. Baker and Hilary. BesidesPeters and Ericsson, there was a thin, tall Frenchman, and a severe-look-ing nun7.
It was a clear, sunny day and flying conditions were good. Leaning backin her seat with half-closed eyes, Hilary studied her fellow-passengers,seeking to distract herself that way from the anxious questionings whichwere going on in her mind.
One seat ahead of her, on the other side of the aisle8, Mrs. Calvin Baker inher grey travelling costume looked like a plump and contented9 duck. Asmall hat with wings was perched on her blue hair and she was turningthe pages of a glossy10 magazine. Occasionally she leaned forward to tap theshoulder of the man sitting in front of her, who was the cheerful-lookingfair young American, Peters. When she did so he turned round, displayinghis good- humoured grin, and responding energetically to her remarks.
How very good-natured and friendly Americans were, Hilary thought toherself. So different from the stiff travelling English. She could not ima-gine Miss Hetherington, for instance, falling into easy conversation with ayoung man even of her own nation on a plane, and she doubted if the lat-ter would have responded as good-naturedly as this young American wasdoing.
Across the aisle from her was the Norwegian, Ericsson.
As she caught his eye, he made her a stiff little bow and leaning acrossoffered her his magazine, which he was just closing. She thanked him andtook it. In the seat behind him was the thin, dark Frenchman. His legswere stretched out and he seemed to be asleep.
Hilary turned her head over her shoulder. The severe-faced nun was sit-ting behind her, and the nun’s eyes, impersonal11, incurious, met Hilary’swith no expression in them. She sat immovable, her hands clasped. Itseemed to Hilary an odd trick of time that a woman in traditional medi-eval costume should be travelling by air in the twentieth century.
Six people, thought Hilary, travelling together for a few hours, travellingto different places with different aims, scattering12 perhaps at the end ofthat few hours and never meeting again. She had read a novel which hadhinged on a similar theme and where the lives of those six people werefollowed up. The Frenchman, she thought, must be on holiday. He seemedso tired. The young American was perhaps a student of some kind. Eric-sson was perhaps going to take up a job. The nun was doubtless bound forher convent.
Hilary closed her eyes and forgot her fellow travellers. She puzzled, asshe had done all last night, over the instructions that had been given her.
She was to return to England! It seemed crazy! Or could it be that in someway she had been found wanting, was not trusted: had failed to supplycertain words or credentials13 that the real Olive would have supplied. Shesighed and moved restlessly. “Well,” she thought, “I can do no more than Iam doing. If I’ve failed—I’ve failed. At any rate, I’ve done my best.”
Then another thought struck her. Henri Laurier had accepted it as nat-ural and inevitable14 that a close watch was being kept upon her in Morocco—was this a means of disarming15 suspicion? With the abrupt16 return ofMrs. Betterton to England it would surely be assumed that she had notcome to Morocco in order to “disappear” like her husband. Suspicionwould relax—she would be regarded as a bona fide traveller.
She would leave for England, going by Air France via Paris—and per-haps in Paris—
Yes, of course—in Paris. In Paris where Tom Betterton had disappeared.
How much easier to stage a disappearance17 there. Perhaps Tom Bettertonhad never left Paris. Perhaps—tired of profitless speculation18 Hilary wentto sleep. She woke—dozed again, occasionally glancing without interest atthe magazine she held. Awakening19 suddenly from a deeper sleep she no-ticed that the plane was rapidly losing height and circling round. Sheglanced at her watch, but it was still some time earlier than the estimatedtime of arrival. Moreover, looking down through the window, she couldnot see any signs of an aerodrome beneath.
For a moment a faint qualm of apprehension20 struck her. The thin, darkFrenchman rose, yawned, stretched his arms and looked out and saidsomething in French which she did not catch. But Ericsson leant across theaisle and said:
“We are coming down here, it seems—but why?”
Mrs. Calvin Baker, leaning out of her seat, turned her head and noddedbrightly as Hilary said:
“We seem to be landing.”
The plane swooped21 round in ever lower circles. The country beneaththem seemed to be practically desert. There were no signs of houses or vil-lages. The wheels touched with a decided bump, bouncing along and taxi-ing until they finally stopped. It had been a somewhat rough landing, butit was a landing in the middle of nowhere.
Had something gone wrong with the engine, Hilary wondered, or hadthey run out of petrol? The pilot, a dark-skinned, handsome young man,came through the forward door and along the plane.
“If you please,” he said, “you will all get out.” He opened the rear door,let down a short ladder and stood there waiting for them all to pass out.
They stood in a little group on the ground, shivering a little. It was chillyhere, with the wind blowing sharply from the mountains in the distance.
The mountains, Hilary noticed, were covered with snow and singularlybeautiful. The air was crisply cold and intoxicating23. The pilot descendedtoo, and addressed them, speaking French:
“You are all here? Yes? Excuse, please, you will have to wait a littleminute, perhaps. Ah, no, I see it is arriving.”
He pointed24 to where a small dot on the horizon was gradually growingnearer. Hilary said in a slightly bewildered voice:
“But why have we come down here? What is the matter? How long shallwe have to be here?”
The French traveller said:
“There is, I understand, a station wagon25 arriving. We shall go on inthat.”
“Did the engine fail?” asked Hilary.
Andy Peters smiled cheerfully.
“Why no, I shouldn’t say so,” he said, “the engine sounded all right tome. However, they’ll fix up something of that kind, no doubt.”
She stared, puzzled. Mrs. Calvin Baker murmured:
“My, but it’s chilly22, standing26 about here. That’s the worst of this climate.
It seems so sunny but it’s cold the moment you get near sunset.”
The pilot was murmuring under his breath, swearing, Hilary thought.
He was saying something like:
“Toujours des retards27 insupportables.”
The station wagon came towards them at a breakneck pace. The Berberdriver drew up with a grinding of brakes. He sprang down and was imme-diately engaged by the pilot in angry conversation. Rather to Hilary’s sur-prise, Mrs. Baker intervened in the dispute—speaking in French.
“Don’t waste time,” she said peremptorily28. “What’s the good of arguing?
We want to get out of here.”
The driver shrugged29 his shoulders and, going to the station wagon, heunhitched the back part of it which let down. Inside was a large packingcase. Together with the pilot and with help from Ericsson and Peters, theygot it down on to the ground. From the effort it took, it seemed to beheavy. Mrs. Calvin Baker put her hand on Hilary’s arm and said, as theman began to raise the lid of the case:
“I shouldn’t watch, my dear. It’s never a pretty sight.”
She led Hilary a little way away, on the other side of the wagon. TheFrenchman and Peters came with them. The Frenchman said in his ownlanguage:
“What is it then, this manoeuvre30 there that they do?”
Mrs. Baker said:
“You are Dr. Barron?”
The Frenchman bowed.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mrs. Baker. She stretched out her hand,rather like a hostess welcoming him to a party. Hilary said in a bewilderedtone:
“But I don’t understand. What is in that case? Why is it better not tolook?”
Andy Peters looked down on her consideringly. He had a nice face, Hil-ary thought. Something square and dependable about it. He said:
“I know what it is. The pilot told me. It’s not very pretty perhaps, but Iguess it’s necessary.” He added quietly, “There are bodies in there.”
“Bodies!” She stared at him.
“Oh, they haven’t been murdered or anything,” he grinned reassuringly31.
“They were obtained in a perfectly32 legitimate33 way for research—medicalresearch, you know.”
But Hilary still stared. “I don’t understand.”
“Ah. You see, Mrs. Betterton, this is where the journey ends. One jour-ney, that is.”
“Ends?”
“Yes. They’ll arrange the bodies in that plane and then the pilot will fixthings and presently, as we’re driving away from here, we shall see in thedistance the flames going up in the air. Another plane that has crashedand come down in flames, and no survivors34!”
“But why? How fantastic!”
“But surely—” It was Dr. Barron now who spoke35 to her. “But surely youknow where we are going?”
Mrs. Baker, drawing near, said cheerfully:
“Of course she knows. But maybe she didn’t expect it quite so soon.”
Hilary said, after a short bewildered pause:
“But you mean—all of us?” She looked round.
“We’re fellow travellers,” said Peters gently.
The young Norwegian, nodding his head, said with an almost fanaticalenthusiasm:
“Yes, we are all fellow travellers.”
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收听单词发音
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1
glorified
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| 美其名的，变荣耀的 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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pedantically
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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nun
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| n.修女，尼姑 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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impersonal
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| adj.无个人感情的，与个人无关的，非人称的 | |
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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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credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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disarming
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| adj.消除敌意的，使人消气的v.裁军( disarm的现在分词 )；使息怒 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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intoxicating
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| a. 醉人的,使人兴奋的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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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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retards
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| 使减速( retard的第三人称单数 )； 妨碍； 阻止； 推迟 | |
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peremptorily
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| adv.紧急地，不容分说地，专横地 | |
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shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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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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