The gates of the Leper Colony closed behind the travellers with a metallicclang. The noise struck on Hilary’s startled consciousness with a horriblenote of finality. Abandon hope, it seemed to say, all ye who enter here .?.?.
This, she thought, was the end .?.?. really the end. Any way of retreat theremight have been was now cut off.
She was alone now amongst enemies, and in, at most, a very fewminutes, she would be confronted with discovery and failure. Subcon-sciously, she supposed, she had known that all day, but some undefeatableoptimism of the human spirit, some persistence1 in the belief that that en-tity oneself could not possibly cease to exist, had been masking that factfrom her. She had said to Jessop in Casablanca, “And when I do reach TomBetterton?” and he had said then gravely that that was when the dangerwould become acute. He had added that he hoped that by then he mightbe in a position to give her protection, but that hope, Hilary could not butrealize, had failed to materialize.
If “Miss Hetherington” had been the agent on whom Jessop was relying,“Miss Hetherington” had been outmanoeuvred and left to confess failureat Marrakesh. But in any case, what could Miss Hetherington have done?
The party of travellers had arrived at the place of no return. Hilary hadgambled with death and lost. And she knew now that Jessop’s diagnosishad been correct. She no longer wanted to die. She wanted to live. Thezest of living had come back to her in full strength. She could think ofNigel, of Brenda’s grave, with a sad wondering pity, but no longer with thecold lifeless despair that had urged her on to seek oblivion in death. Shethought: “I’m alive again, sane2, whole .?.?. and now I’m like a rat in a trap.
If only there were some way out. .?.?.”
It was not that she had given no thought to the problem. She had. But itseemed to her, reluctantly, that once confronted with Betterton, therecould be no way out. .?.?.
Betterton would say: “But that’s not my wife—” And that would be that!
Eyes turning towards her .?.?. realization3 .?.?. a spy in their midst. .?.?.
Because what other solution could there be? Supposing she were to getin first? Supposing she were to cry out, before Tom Betterton could get in aword—“Who are you? You’re not my husband!” If she could simulate in-dignation, shock, horror, sufficiently4 well—might it, just credibly5, raise adoubt? A doubt whether Betterton was Betterton—or some other scientistsent to impersonate him. A spy, in other words. But if they believed that,then it might be rather hard on Betterton! But, she thought, her mind turn-ing in tired circles, if Betterton was a traitor6, a man willing to sell his coun-try’s secrets, could anything be “hard on him?” How difficult it was, shethought, to make any appraisement7 of loyalties8 — or indeed any judge-ments of people or things .?.?. At any rate it might be worth trying—to cre-ate a doubt.
With a giddy feeling, she returned to her immediate9 surroundings. Herthoughts had been running underground with the frenzied10 violence of arat caught in a trap. But during that time her surface stream of conscious-ness had been playing its appointed part.
The little party from the outside world had been welcomed by a bighandsome man—a linguist11, it would seem, since he had said a word or twoto each person in his or her own language.
“Enchanté de faire votre connaissance, mon cher docteur,” he was mur-muring to Dr. Barron, and then turning to her:
“Ah, Mrs. Betterton, we’re very pleased to welcome you here. A longconfusing journey, I’m afraid. Your husband’s very well and, naturally,awaiting you with impatience12.”
He gave her a discreet13 smile; it was a smile, she noticed, that did nottouch his cold pale eyes.
“You must,” he added, “be longing14 to see him.”
The giddiness increased—she felt the group around her approachingand receding15 like the waves of the sea. Beside her, Andy Peters put out anarm and steadied her.
“I guess you haven’t heard,” he said to their welcoming host. “Mrs. Bet-terton had a bad crash at Casablanca—concussion. This journey’s doneher no good. Nor the excitement of looking forward to meeting her hus-band. I’d say she ought to lie down right now in a darkened room.”
Hilary felt the kindness of his voice, of the supporting arm. She swayeda little more. It would be easy, incredibly easy, to crumple16 at the knees, todrop flaccidly down .?.?. to feign17 unconsciousness—or at any rate near un-consciousness. To be laid on a bed in a darkened room—to put off the mo-ment of discovery just a little longer .?.?. But Betterton would come to herthere—any husband would. He would come there and lean over the bed inthe dim gloom and at the first murmur18 of her voice, the first dim outline ofher face as his eyes became accustomed to the twilight19, he would realizethat she was not Olive Betterton.
Courage came back to Hilary. She straightened up. Colour came into hercheeks. She flung up her head.
If this were to be the end, let it be a gallant20 end! She would go to Better-ton and, when he repudiated21 her, she would try out the last lie, come outwith it confidently, fearlessly:
“No, of course I’m not your wife. Your wife—I’m terribly sorry, it’s awful—she’s dead. I was in hospital with her when she died. I promised her I’dget to you somehow and give you her last messages. I wanted to. You see,I’m in sympathy with what you did—with what all of you are doing. Iagree with you politically. I want to help. .?.?.”
Thin, thin, all very thin .?.?. And such awkward trifles to explain—thefaked passport—the forged Letter of Credit. Yes, but people did get bysometimes with the most audacious lies—if one lied with sufficient confid-ence—if you had the personality to put a thing over. One could at any ratego down fighting.
She drew herself up, gently freeing herself from Peters’s support.
“Oh, no. I must see Tom,” she said. “I must go to him—now—at once—please.”
The big man was hearty22 about it. Sympathetic. (Though the cold eyeswere still pale and watchful23.)
“Of course, of course, Mrs. Betterton. I quite understand how you arefeeling. Ah, here’s Miss Jennson.”
A thin spectacled girl had joined them.
“Miss Jennson, meet Mrs. Betterton, Fr?ulein Needheim, Dr. Barron, Mr.
Peters, Dr. Ericsson. Show them into the Registry, will you? Give them adrink. I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Just taking Mrs. Betterton along toher husband. I’ll be with you again shortly.”
He turned to Hilary again, saying:
“Follow me, Mrs. Betterton.”
He strode forward, she followed. At a bend in the passage, she gave alast look over her shoulder. Andy Peters was still watching her. He had afaintly puzzled, unhappy look—she thought for a moment he was going tocome with her. He must have realized, she thought, that there’s somethingwrong, realized it from me, but he doesn’t know what it is.
And she thought, with a slight shiver: “It’s the last time, perhaps, that I’llever see him .?.?.” And so, as she turned the corner after her guide, sheraised a hand and waved a goodbye. .?.?.
The big man was talking cheerfully.
“This way, Mrs. Betterton. I’m afraid you’ll find our buildings ratherconfusing at first, so many corridors, and all rather alike.”
Like a dream, Hilary thought, a dream of hygienic white corridors alongwhich you pass forever, turning, going on, never finding your way out. .?.?.
She said:
“I didn’t realize it would be a—hospital.”
“No, no, of course. You couldn’t realize anything, could you?”
There was a faint sadistic24 note of amusement in his voice.
“You’ve had, as they say, to ‘fly blind’. My name’s Van Heidem, by theway. Paul Van Heidem.”
“It’s all a little strange—and rather terrifying,” said Hilary. “The lepers.
.?.?.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Picturesque—and usually so very unexpected. Itdoes upset newcomers. But you’ll get used to them—oh yes, you’ll get usedto them in time.”
He gave a slight chuckle25.
“A very good joke, I always think myself.”
He paused suddenly.
“Up one flight of stairs—now don’t hurry. Take it easy. Nearly therenow.”
Nearly there—nearly there .?.?. So many steps to death .?.?. Up—up—deepsteps, deeper than European steps. And now another of the hygienic pas-sages and Van Heidem was stopping by a door. He tapped, waited, andthen opened it.
“Ah, Betterton—here we are at last. Your wife!”
He stood aside with a slight flourish.
Hilary walked into the room. No holding back. No shrinking. Chin up.
Forward to doom26.
A man stood half turned from the window, an almost startlingly good-looking man. She noted27 that, recognizing his fair handsomeness with afeeling almost of surprise. He wasn’t, somehow, her idea of Tom Betterton.
Surely, the photograph of him that she had been shown wasn’t in the least—
It was that confused feeling of surprise that decided28 her. She would goall out for her first desperate expedient29.
She made a quick movement forward, then drew back. Her voice rangout, startled, dismayed. .?.?.
“But—that isn’t Tom. That isn’t my husband .?.?.” It was well done, shefelt it herself. Dramatic, but not over dramatic. Her eyes met VanHeidem’s in bewildered questioning.
And then Tom Betterton laughed. A quiet, amused, almost triumphantlaugh.
“Pretty good, eh, Van Heidem?” he said. “If even my own wife doesn’tknow me!”
With four quick steps he had crossed to her and gathered her tightlyinto his arms.
“Olive, darling. Of course you know me. I’m Tom all right even if Ihaven’t got quite the same face as I used to have.”
His face pressed against hers, his lips by her ear, she caught the faintwhispered addition.
“Play up. For God’s sake. Danger.”
He released her for a moment, caught her to him again.
“Darling! It’s seemed years—years and years. But you’re here at last!”
She could feel the warning pressure of his fingers below hershoulderblades, admonishing30 her, giving their urgent message.
Only after a moment or two did he release her, push her a little fromhim and look into her face.
“I still can’t quite believe it,” he said, with an excited little laugh. “Still,you know it’s me now, don’t you?”
His eyes, burning into hers, still held that message of warning.
She didn’t understand it—couldn’t understand it. But it was a miraclefrom heaven and she rallied to play her part.
“Tom!” she said, and there was a catch in her voice that her listeningears approved. “Oh, Tom—but what—”
“Plastic surgery! Hertz of Vienna is here. And he’s a living marvel31. Don’tsay you regret my old crushed nose.”
He kissed her again, lightly, easily, this time, then turned to the watch-ing Van Heidem with a slight apologetic laugh.
“Forgive the transports, Van Heidem,” he said.
“But naturally, naturally—” the Dutchman smiled benevolently32.
“It’s been so long,” said Hilary, “and I—” she swayed a little; “I—please,can I sit down?”
Hurriedly Tom Betterton eased her into a chair.
“Of course, darling. You’re all in. That frightful33 journey. And the planeaccident. My God, what an escape!”
(So there was full communication. They knew all about the plane crash.)“It’s left me terribly woolly-headed,” said Hilary, with an apologetic littlelaugh. “I forget things and get muddled34 up, and have awful headaches.
And then, finding you looking like a total stranger! I’m a bit of a mess,darling. I hope I won’t be a bother to you!”
“You a bother? Never. You’ll just have to take it easy for a bit, that’s all.
There’s all the—time in the world here.”
Van Heidem moved gently towards the door.
“I will leave you now,” he said. “After a little you will bring your wife tothe Registry, Betterton? For the moment you will like to be alone.”
He went out, shutting the door behind him.
Immediately Betterton dropped on his knees by Hilary and buried hisface on her shoulder.
“Darling, darling,” he said.
And once again she felt that warning pressure of the fingers. The whis-per, so faint as hardly to be heard, was urgent and insistent35.
“Keep it up. There might be a microphone—one never knows.”
That was it, of course. One never knew .?.?. Fear—uneasiness—uncer-tainty—danger—always danger—she could feel it in the atmosphere.
Tom Betterton sat back on his haunches.
“It’s so wonderful to see you,” he said softly. “And yet, you know, it’s likea dream—not quite real. Do you feel like that, too?”
“Yes, that’s just it—a dream—being here—with you—at last. It doesn’tseem real, Tom.”
She had placed both hands on his shoulders. She was looking at him, afaint smile on her lips. (There might be a spy-hole as well as a micro-phone.)
Coolly and calmly she appraised36 what she saw. A nervous good-lookingman of thirty-odd who was badly frightened—a man nearly at the end ofhis tether—a man who had, presumably, come here full of high hopes andhad been reduced—to this.
Now that she had surmounted37 her first hurdle38, Hilary felt a curious ex-hilaration in the playing of her part. She must be Olive Betterton. Act asOlive would have acted, feel as Olive would have felt. And life was so un-real that that seemed quite natural. Somebody called Hilary Craven haddied in an aeroplane accident. From now on she wouldn’t even rememberher.
Instead, she rallied her memories of the lessons she had studied so as-siduously.
“It seems such ages since Firbank,” she said. “Whiskers—you rememberWhiskers? She had kittens—just after you went away. There are so manythings, silly everyday little things, you don’t even know about. That’s whatseems so odd.”
“I know. It’s breaking with an old life and beginning a new one.”
“And—it’s all right here? You’re happy?”
A necessary wifely question that any wife would ask.
“It’s wonderful.” Tom Betterton squared his shoulders, threw his headback. Unhappy, frightened eyes looked out of a smiling confident face.
“Every facility. No expense spared. Perfect conditions to get on with thejob. And the organization! It’s unbelievable.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. My journey—did you come the same way?”
“One doesn’t talk about that. Oh, I’m not snubbing you, darling. But—you see, you’ve got to learn about everything.”
“But the lepers? Is it really a Leper Colony?”
“Oh yes. Perfectly39 genuine. There’s a team of medicos doing very finework in research on the subject. But it’s quite self-contained. It needn’tworry you. It’s just—clever camouflage40.”
“I see.” Hilary looked round her. “Are these our quarters?”
“Yes. Sitting room, bathroom there, bedroom beyond. Come, I’ll showyou.”
She got up and followed him through a well-appointed bathroom into agood- sized bedroom with twin beds, big built- in cupboards, a dressingtable, and a bookshelf near the beds. Hilary looked into the cupboardspace with some amusement.
“I hardly know what I’m going to put in here,” she remarked. “All I’vegot is what I can stand up in.”
“Oh that. You can fit yourself out with all you want. There’s a fashionmodel department and all accessories, cosmetics41, everything. All first-class. The Unit is quite self-contained—all you want on the premises42. Noneed to go outside ever again.”
He said the words lightly, but it seemed to Hilary’s sensitive ear thatthere was despair concealed43 behind the words.
“No need to go outside ever again. No chance of ever going outsideagain. Abandon hope all ye who enter here .?.?. The well-appointed cage! Wasit for this,” she thought, “that all these varying personalities44 had aban-doned their countries, their loyalties, their everyday lives? Dr. Barron,Andy Peters, young Ericsson with his dreaming face, the overbearingHelga Needheim? Did they know what they were coming to find? Wouldthey be content? Was this what they had wanted?”
She thought: “I’d better not ask too many questions .?.?. if someone islistening.”
Was someone listening? Were they being spied upon? Tom Bettertonevidently thought it might be so. But was he right? Or was it nerves—hys-teria? Tom Betterton, she thought, was very near to a breakdown45.
“Yes,” she thought grimly, “and so may you be, my girl, in six months’
time .?.?.” What did it do to people, she wondered, living like this?
Tom Betterton said to her:
“Would you like to lie down—to rest?”
“No—” she hesitated. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Then perhaps you’d better come with me to the Registry.”
“What’s the Registry?”
“Everyone who clocks in goes through the Registry. They recordeverything about you. Health, teeth, blood pressure, blood group, psycho-logical reactions, tastes, dislikes, allergies46, aptitudes47, preferences.”
“It sounds very military—or do I mean medical?”
“Both,” said Tom Betterton. “Both. This organization—it’s really formid-able.”
“One’s always heard so,” said Hilary. “I mean that everything behind theIron Curtain is really properly planned.”
She tried to put a proper enthusiasm into her voice. After all, Olive Bet-terton had presumably been a sympathizer with the Party, although, per-haps by order, she had not been known to be a Party member.
Betterton said evasively:
“There’s a lot for you to—understand.” He added quickly: “Better not tryto take in too much at once.”
He kissed her again, a curious, apparently48 tender and even passionatekiss, that was actually as cold as ice, murmured very low in her ear, “Keepit up,” and said aloud, “And now, come down to the Registry.”
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收听单词发音
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1
persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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credibly
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| ad.可信地；可靠地 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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appraisement
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| n.评价，估价；估值 | |
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8
loyalties
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| n.忠诚( loyalty的名词复数 )；忠心；忠于…感情；要忠于…的强烈感情 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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linguist
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| n.语言学家；精通数种外国语言者 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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16
crumple
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| v.把...弄皱，满是皱痕，压碎，崩溃 | |
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feign
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| vt.假装，佯作 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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19
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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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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watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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sadistic
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| adj.虐待狂的 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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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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expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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30
admonishing
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| v.劝告( admonish的现在分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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31
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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32
benevolently
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| adv.仁慈地，行善地 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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appraised
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| v.估价( appraise的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；估量；评价 | |
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surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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hurdle
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| n.跳栏，栏架；障碍，困难；vi.进行跨栏赛 | |
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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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40
camouflage
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| n./v.掩饰，伪装 | |
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41
cosmetics
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| n.化妆品 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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43
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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44
personalities
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| n. 诽谤，（对某人容貌、性格等所进行的）人身攻击； 人身攻击；人格, 个性, 名人( personality的名词复数 ) | |
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45
breakdown
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| n.垮，衰竭；损坏，故障，倒塌 | |
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46
allergies
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| n.[医]过敏症；[口]厌恶，反感；（对食物、花粉、虫咬等的）过敏症( allergy的名词复数 )；变态反应，变应性 | |
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47
aptitudes
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| （学习方面的）才能，资质，天资( aptitude的名词复数 ) | |
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48
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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