“It’s like a school,” said Hilary.
She was back once more in her own apartment. The clothes and ac-cessories she had chosen were awaiting her in the bedroom. She hung theclothes in the cupboard and arranged the other things to her liking1.
“I know,” said Betterton, “I felt like that at first.”
Their conversation was wary2 and slightly stilted3. The shadow of a pos-sible microphone still hung over them. He said in an oblique4 manner:
“I think it’s all right, you know. I think I was probably imagining things.
But all the same. .?.?.”
He left it at that, and Hilary realized that what he had left unsaid was,“but all the same, we had better be careful.”
The whole business was, Hilary thought, like some fantastic nightmare.
Here she was, sharing a bedroom with a strange man, and yet so strongwas the feeling of uncertainty5, and danger, that to neither of them did theintimacy appear embarrassing. It was like, she thought, climbing a Swissmountain where you share a hut in close proximity6 with guides and otherclimbers as a matter of course. After a minute or two Betterton said:
“It all takes a bit of getting used to, you know. Let’s just be very natural.
Very ordinary. More or less as if we were at home still.”
She realized the wisdom of that. The feeling of unreality persisted andwould persist, she supposed, some little time. The reasons for Bettertonleaving England, his hopes, his disillusionment, could not be touched uponbetween them at this moment. They were two people playing a part withan undefined menace hanging over them, as it were. She said presently:
“I was taken through a lot of formalities. Medical, psychological and allthat.”
“Yes. That’s always done. It’s natural, I suppose.”
“Did the same happen to you?”
“More or less.”
“Then I went in to see the—Deputy Director I think they called him?”
“That’s right. He runs this place. Very capable and a thoroughly8 good ad-ministrator.”
“But he’s not really the head of it all?”
“Oh no, there’s the Director himself.”
“Does one—do I—shall I see the Director?”
“Sooner or later I expect. But he doesn’t often appear. He gives us an ad-dress from time to time—he’s got a wonderfully stimulating10 personality.”
There was a faint frown between Betterton’s brows and Hilary thoughtit wise to abandon the subject. Betterton said, glancing at a watch:
“Dinner is at eight. Eight to eight-thirty, that is. We’d better be gettingdown, if you’re ready?”
He spoke11 exactly as though they were staying in a hotel.
Hilary had changed into the dress she had selected. A soft shade of grey-green that made a good background for her red hair. She clasped a neck-lace of rather attractive costume jewellery round her neck and said shewas ready. They went down the stairs and along corridors and finally intoa large dining room. Miss Jennson came forward and met them.
“I have arranged a slightly larger table for you, Tom,” she said to Better-ton. “A couple of your wife’s fellow travellers will sit with you—and theMurchisons, of course.”
They went along to the table indicated. The room contained mostlysmall tables seating four, eight or ten persons. Andy Peters and Ericssonwere already sitting at the table and rose as Hilary and Tom approached.
Hilary introduced her “husband” to the two men. They sat down, andpresently they were joined by another couple. These Betterton introducedas Dr. and Mrs. Murchison.
“Simon and I work in the same lab,” he said, in an explanatory fashion.
Simon Murchison was a thin, anaemic- looking young man of abouttwenty-six. His wife was dark and stocky. She spoke with a strong foreignaccent and was, Hilary gathered, an Italian. Her Christian12 name was Bi-anca. She greeted Hilary politely but, or so it seemed to Hilary, with a cer-tain reserve.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I will show you around the place. You are not ascientist, no?”
“I’m afraid,” said Hilary, “that I have had no scientific training.” She ad-ded, “I worked as a secretary before my marriage.”
“Bianca has had legal training,” said her husband. “She has studied eco-nomics and commercial law. Sometimes she gives lectures here but it isdifficult to find enough to do to occupy one’s time.”
Bianca shrugged13 her shoulders.
“I shall manage,” she said. “After all, Simon, I came here to be with youand I think that there is much here that could be better organized. I amstudying conditions. Perhaps Mrs. Betterton, since she will not be engagedon scientific work, can help me with these things.”
Hilary hastened to agree to this plan. Andy Peters made them all laughby saying ruefully:
“I guess I feel rather like a homesick little boy who’s just gone to board-ing school. I’ll be glad to get down to doing some work.”
“It’s a wonderful place for working,” said Simon Murchison with enthu-siasm. “No interruptions and all the apparatus14 you want.”
“What’s your line?” asked Andy Peters.
Presently the three men were talking a jargon15 of their own which Hilaryfound difficult to follow. She turned to Ericsson who was leaning back inhis chair, his eyes abstracted.
“And you?” she asked. “Do you feel like a homesick little boy, too?”
He looked at her as though from a long way away.
“I do not need a home,” he said. “All these things; home, ties of affection,parents, children; all these are a great hindrance16. To work one should bequite free.”
“And you feel that you will be free here?”
“One cannot tell yet. One hopes so.”
Bianca spoke to Hilary.
“After dinner,” she said, “there is a choice of many things to do. There isa card room and you can play bridge; or there is a cinema, or three nightsa week theatrical17 performances are given and occasionally there is dan-cing.”
Ericsson frowned disapprovingly18.
“All these things are unnecessary,” he said. “They dissipate energy.”
“Not for us women,” said Bianca. “For us women they are necessary.”
He looked at her with an almost cold and impersonal19 dislike.
Hilary thought: “To him women are unnecessary, too.”
“I shall go to bed early,” said Hilary. She yawned deliberately20. “I don’tthink I want to see a film or play bridge this evening.”
“No, dear,” said Tom Betterton hastily. “Much better to go to bed reallyearly and have a good night’s rest. You’ve had a very tiring journey, re-member.”
As they rose from table, Betterton said:
“The air here is wonderful at night. We usually take a turn or two on theroof garden after dinner, before dispersing21 to recreations or study. We’llgo up there for a little and then you’d better go to bed.”
They went up in a lift manned by a magnificent-looking native in whiterobes. The attendants were darker-skinned and of a more massive buildthan the slight, fair Berbers—a desert type, Hilary thought. Hilary wasstartled by the unexpected beauty of the roof garden, and also by the lav-ish expenditure22 that must have gone to create it. Tons of earth must havebeen brought and carried up here. The result was like an Arabian Nightsfairy tale. There was the splash of water, tall palms, the tropical leaves ofbananas and other plants and paths of beautiful coloured tiles withdesigns of Persian flowers.
“It’s unbelievable,” said Hilary. “Here in the middle of the desert.” Shespoke out what she had felt: “It’s an Arabian Nights fairy tale.”
“I agree with you, Mrs. Betterton,” said Murchison. “It looks exactly asthough it has come into being by conjuring23 up a djinn! Ah well—I supposeeven in the desert there’s nothing you can’t do, given water and money—plenty of both of them.”
“Where does the water come from?”
“Spring tapped deep in the mountain. That’s the raison d’être of theUnit.”
A fair sprinkling of people were on the roof garden, but little by littlethey dwindled24 away.
The Murchisons excused themselves. They were going to watch someballet.
There were few people left now. Betterton guided Hilary with his handon her arm to a clear space near the parapet. The stars showed abovethem and the air was cold now, crisp and exhilarating. They were alonehere. Hilary sat down on the low concrete, and Betterton stood in front ofher.
“Now then,” he said in a low nervous voice. “Who the hell are you?”
She looked up at him for a moment or two without answering. Beforeshe replied to his question there was something that she herself had toknow.
“Why did you recognize me as your wife?” she asked.
They looked at each other. Neither of them wished to be the first to an-swer the other’s question. It was a duel25 of wills between them, but Hilaryknew that whatever Tom Betterton had been like when he left England,his will was now inferior to her own. She had arrived here fresh in theself-confidence of organizing her own life—Tom Betterton had been livinga planned existence. She was the stronger.
He looked away from her at last, and muttered sullenly27:
“It was—just an impulse. I was probably a damned fool. I fancied thatyou might have been sent—to get me out of here.”
“You want to get out of here, then?”
“My God, can you ask?”
“How did you get here from Paris?”
Tom Betterton gave a short unhappy laugh.
“I wasn’t kidnapped or anything like that, if that’s what you mean. Icame of my own free will, under my own steam. I came keenly and enthu-siastically.”
“You knew that you were coming here?”
“I’d no idea I was coming to Africa, if that’s what you mean. I wascaught by the usual lure28. Peace on earth, free sharing of scientific secretsamongst the scientists of the world; suppression of capitalists and war-mongers—all the usual jargon! That fellow Peters who came with you isthe same, he’s swallowed the same bait.”
“And when you got here—it wasn’t like that?”
Again he gave that short bitter laugh.
“You’ll see for yourself. Oh, perhaps it is that, more or less! But it’s notthe way you thought it would be. It’s not—freedom.”
He sat down beside her frowning to himself.
“That’s what got me down at home, you know. The feeling of beingwatched and spied upon. All the security precautions. Having to accountfor one’s actions, for one’s friends .?.?. All necessary, I dare say, but it getsyou down in the end .?.?. And so when someone comes along with a pro-position—well, you listen .?.?. It all sounds fine .?.?.” He gave a short laugh.
“And one ends up—here!”
Hilary said slowly:
“You mean you’ve come to exactly the same circumstances as thosefrom which you tried to escape? You’re being watched and spied upon injust the same way—or worse?”
Betterton pushed his hair back nervously29 from his forehead.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly. I don’t know. I can’t be sure. It maybe all going on in my own mind. I don’t know that I’m being watched atall. Why should I be? Why should they bother? They’ve got me here—inprison.”
“It isn’t in the least as you imagined it?”
“That’s the odd thing. I suppose it is in a way. The working conditionsare perfect. You’ve every facility, every kind of apparatus. You can workfor as long a time as you like or as short a time. You’ve got every comfortand accessory. Food, clothes, living-quarters, but you’re conscious all thetime that you’re in prison.”
“I know. When the gates clanged behind us today as we came in it was ahorrible feeling.” Hilary shuddered30.
“Well,” Betterton seemed to pull himself together. “I’ve answered yourquestion. Now answer mine. What are you doing here pretending to beOlive?”
“Olive—” she stopped, feeling for words.
“Yes? What about Olive? What’s happened to her? What are you tryingto say?”
She looked with pity at his haggard, nervous face.
“I’ve been dreading31 having to tell you.”
“You mean—something’s happened to her?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, terribly sorry .?.?. Your wife’s dead .?.?. She was coming tojoin you and the plane crashed. She was taken to hospital and died twodays later.”
He stared straight ahead of him. It was as though he was determined32 toshow no emotion of any kind. He said quietly:
“So Olive’s dead? I see. .?.?.”
There was a long silence. Then he turned to her.
“All right. I can go on from there. You took her place and came here,why?”
This time Hilary was ready with her response. Tom Betterton had be-lieved that she had been sent “to get him out of here” as he had put it. Thatwas not the case. Hilary’s position was that of a spy. She had been sent togain information, not to plan the escape of a man who had placed himselfwillingly in the position he now was. Moreover, she could command nomeans of deliverance, she was a prisoner as much as he was.
To confide26 in him fully9 would, she felt, be dangerous. Betterton was verynear a breakdown33. At any moment he might go completely to pieces. Inthose circumstances it would be madness to expect him to keep a secret.
She said:
“I was in the hospital with your wife when she died. I offered to take herplace and try and reach you. She wanted to get a message to you verybadly.”
He frowned.
“But surely—”
She hurried on—before he could realize the weakness of the tale.
“It’s not so incredible as it sounds. You see I had a lot of sympathy withall these ideas—the ideas you’ve just been talking about. Scientific secretsshared with all nations—a new World Order. I was enthusiastic about itall. And then my hair—if what they expected was a red-haired woman ofthe right age, I thought I’d get through. It seemed worth trying anyway.”
“Yes,” he said. His eyes swept over her head. “Your hair’s exactly likeOlive’s.”
“And then, you see, your wife was so insistent—about the message shewanted me to give to you.”
“Oh yes, the message. What message?”
“To tell you to be careful—very careful—that you were in danger—fromsomeone called Boris?”
“Boris? Boris Glydr, do you mean?”
“Yes, do you know him?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve never met him. But I know him by name. He’s a relation of my firstwife’s. I know about him.”
“Why should he be dangerous?”
“What?”
He spoke absently.
Hilary repeated her question.
“Oh, that.” He seemed to come back from far away. “I don’t know whyhe should be dangerous to me, but it’s true that by all accounts he’s a dan-gerous sort of chap.”
“In what way?”
“Well, he’s one of those half-balmy idealists who would quite happilykill off half humanity if they thought for some reason it would be a goodthing.”
“I know the sort of person you mean.”
She felt she did know—vividly. (But why?)
“Had Olive seen him? What did he say to her?”
“I can’t tell you. That’s all she said. About danger—oh yes, she said ‘thatshe couldn’t believe it.’”
“Believe what?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated a minute and then said, “You see—she wasdying. .?.?.”
A spasm34 of pain convulsed his face.
“I know .?.?. I know .?.?. I shall get used to it in time. At the moment I can’trealize it. But I’m puzzled about Boris. How could he be dangerous to mehere? If he’d seen Olive, he was in London, I suppose?”
“He was in London, yes.”
“Then I simply don’t get it .?.?. Oh well, what does it matter? What thehell does anything matter? Here we are, stuck in this bloody35 Unit surroun-ded by a lot of inhuman36 Robots. .?.?.”
“That’s just how they felt to me.”
“And we can’t get out.” He pounded with his fist on the concrete. “Wecan’t get out.”
“Oh yes, we can,” said Hilary.
He turned to stare at her in surprise.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“We’ll find a way,” said Hilary.
“My dear girl,” his laugh was scornful. “You haven’t the faintest ideawhat you’re up against in this place.”
“People escaped from the most impossible places during the war,” saidHilary stubbornly. She was not going to give in to despair. “They tun-nelled, or something.”
“How can you tunnel through sheer rock? And where to? It’s desert allround.”
“Then it will have to be ‘or something.’ ”
He looked at her. She smiled with a confidence that was dogged ratherthan genuine.
“What an extraordinary girl you are! You sound quite sure of yourself.”
“There’s always a way. I dare say it will take time, and a lot of plan-ning.”
His face clouded over again.
“Time,” he said. “Time .?.?. That’s what I can’t afford.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know exactly whether you’ll be able to understand .?.?. It’s likethis. I can’t really—do my stuff here.” She frowned.
“How do you mean?”
“How shall I put it? I can’t work. I can’t think. In my stuff one has tohave a high degree of concentration. A lot of it is—well—creative. Sincecoming here I’ve just lost the urge. All I can do is good sound hackwork.
The sort of thing any twopenny- halfpenny scientific chap can do. Butthat’s not what they brought me here for. They want original stuff and Ican’t do original stuff. And the more nervous and afraid I get, the less I’mfit to turn out anything worth turning out. And it’s driving me off myrocker, do you see?”
Yes, she saw now. She recalled Dr. Rubec’s remarks about prima donnasand scientists.
“If I can’t deliver the goods, what is an outfit37 like this going to do aboutit? They’ll liquidate38 me.”
“Oh no!”
“Oh yes they will. They’re not sentimentalists here. What’s saved me sofar is this plastic surgery business. They do it a little at a time, you know.
And naturally a fellow who’s having constant minor39 operations can’t beexpected to concentrate. But they’ve finished the business now.”
“But why was it done at all? What’s the point?”
“Oh, that! For safety. My safety, I mean. It’s done if—if you’re a ‘wanted’
man.”
“Are you a ‘wanted’ man, then?”
“Yes, didn’t you know? Oh, I suppose they wouldn’t advertise the fact inthe papers. Perhaps even Olive didn’t know. But I’m wanted rightenough.”
“You mean for—treason is the word, isn’t it? You mean you’ve sold thematom secrets?”
He avoided her eyes.
“I didn’t sell anything. I gave them what I knew of our processes—gaveit freely. If you can believe me, I wanted to give it to them. It was part ofthe whole set-up—the pooling of scientific knowledge. Oh, can’t you un-derstand?”
She could understand. She could understand Andy Peters doing justthat. She could see Ericsson with his fanatical dreamer’s eyes betrayinghis country with a high-souled enthusiasm.
Yet it was hard for her to visualize40 Tom Betterton doing it—and she real-ized with a shock that all that showed was the difference between Better-ton a few months ago, arriving in all the zeal41 of enthusiasm, and Bettertonnow, nervous, defeated, down to earth — an ordinary, badly frightenedman.
Even as she accepted the logic7 of that, Betterton looked round himnervously and said:
“Everyone’s gone down. We’d better—”
She rose.
“Yes. But it’s all right, you know. They’ll think it quite natural—underthe circumstances.”
He said awkwardly:
“We’ll have to go on with this now, you know. I mean—you’ll have to goon being—my wife.”
“Of course.”
“And we’ll have to share a room and all that. But it will be quite all right.
I mean, you needn’t be afraid that—”
He swallowed in an embarrassed manner.
“How handsome he is,” thought Hilary, looking at his profile, “and howlittle it moves me. .?.?.”
“I don’t think we need worry about that,” she said cheerfully. “The im-portant thing is to get out of here alive.”
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liking
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wary
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stilted
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oblique
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uncertainty
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proximity
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logic
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thoroughly
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fully
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stimulating
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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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Christian
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shrugged
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apparatus
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jargon
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hindrance
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theatrical
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disapprovingly
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impersonal
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deliberately
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dispersing
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expenditure
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conjuring
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dwindled
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duel
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confide
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sullenly
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lure
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nervously
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shuddered
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dreading
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determined
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breakdown
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spasm
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bloody
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inhuman
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outfit
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liquidate
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minor
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visualize
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zeal
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