One
In my end is my beginning… That’s a quotation1 I’ve often heard people say.
It sounds all right—but what does it really mean?
Is there ever any particular spot where one can put one’s finger and say:
“It all began that day, at such a time and such a place, with such an incid-ent?”
Did my story begin, perhaps, when I noticed the Sale Bill hanging on thewall of the George and Dragon, announcing Sale by Auction2 of that valu-able property “The Towers,” and giving particulars of the acreage, themiles and furlongs, and the highly idealized portrait of “The Towers” as itmight have been perhaps in its prime, anything from eighty to a hundredyears ago?
I was doing nothing particular, just strolling along the main street ofKingston Bishop3, a place of no importance whatever, killing4 time. I noticedthe Sale Bill. Why? Fate up to its dirty work? Or dealing5 out its goldenhandshake of good fortune? You can look at it either way.
Or you could say, perhaps, that it all had its beginnings when I met San-tonix, during the talks I had with him; I can close my eyes and see: hisflushed cheeks, the over-brilliant eyes, and the movement of the strong yetdelicate hand that sketched6 and drew plans and elevations7 of houses. Onehouse in particular, a beautiful house, a house that would be wonderful toown!
My longing8 for a house, a fine and beautiful house, such a house as Icould never hope to have, flowered into life then. It was a happy fantasyshared between us, the house that Santonix would build for me—if he las-ted long enough….
A house that in my dreams I would live in with the girl that I loved, ahouse in which just like a child’s silly fairy story we should live together“happy ever afterwards.” All pure fantasy, all nonsense, but it started thattide of longing in me. Longing for something I was never likely to have.
Or if this is a love story—and it is a love story, I swear—then why not be-gin where I first caught sight of Ellie standing9 in the dark fir trees ofGipsy’s Acre?
Gipsy’s Acre. Yes, perhaps I’d better begin there, at the moment when Iturned away from the Sale board with a little shiver because a black cloudhad come over the sun, and asked a question carelessly enough of one ofthe locals, who was clipping a hedge in a desultory10 fashion nearby.
“What’s this house, The Towers, like?”
I can still see the queer face of the old man, as he looked at me sidewaysand said:
“That’s not what us calls it here. What sort of a name is that?” Hesnorted disapproval11. “It’s many a year now since folks lived in it andcalled it The Towers.” He snorted again.
I asked him then what he called it, and again his eyes shifted away fromme in his old wrinkled face in that queer way country folk have of notspeaking to you direct, looking over your shoulder or round the corner, asit were, as though they saw something you didn’t; and he said:
“It’s called hereabouts Gipsy’s Acre.”
“Why is it called that?” I asked.
“Some sort of a tale. I dunno rightly. One says one thing, one says an-other.” And then he went on, “Anyway, it’s where the accidents takeplace.”
“Car accidents?”
“All kinds of accidents. Car accidents mainly nowadays. It’s a nastycorner there, you see.”
“Well,” I said, “if it’s a nasty curve, I can well see there might be acci-dents.”
“Rural Council put up a Danger sign, but it don’t do no good, that don’t.
There are accidents just the same.”
“Why Gipsy?” I asked him.
Again his eyes slipped past me and his answer was vague.
“Some tale or other. It was gipsies” land once, they say, and they wereturned off, and they put a curse on it.”
I laughed.
“Aye,” he said, “you can laugh but there’s places as is cursed. You smart-Alecks in town don’t know about them. But there’s places as is cursed allright, and there’s a curse on this place. People got killed here in the quarrywhen they got the stone out to build. Old Geordie he fell over the edgethere one night and broke his neck.”
“Drunk?” I suggested.
“He may have been. He liked his drop, he did. But there’s many drunksas fall—nasty falls—but it don’t do them no lasting12 harm. But Geordie, hegot his neck broke. In there,” he pointed13 up behind him to the pine-covered hill, “in Gipsy’s Acre.”
Yes, I suppose that’s how it began. Not that I paid much attention to it atthe time. I just happened to remember it. That’s all. I think—that is, whenI think properly—that I built it up a bit in my mind. I don’t know if it wasbefore or later that I asked if there were still gipsies about there. He saidthere weren’t many anywhere nowadays. The police were always movingthem on, he said. I asked:
“Why doesn’t anybody like gipsies?”
“They’re a thieving lot,” he said, disapprovingly14. Then he peered moreclosely at me. “Happen you’ve got gipsy blood yourself?” he suggested,looking hard at me.
I said not that I knew of. It’s true, I do look a bit like a gipsy. Perhapsthat’s what fascinated me about the name of Gipsy’s Acre. I thought to my-self as I was standing there, smiling back at him, amused by our conversa-tion, that perhaps I had a bit of gipsy blood.
Gipsy’s Acre. I went up the winding15 road that led out of the village andwound up through the dark trees and came at last to the top of the hill sothat I could see out to sea and the ships. It was a marvellous view and Ithought, just as one does think things: I wonder how it would be if Gipsy’sAcre was my acre…Just like that…It was only a ridiculous thought. When Ipassed my hedge clipper again, he said:
“If you want gipsies, there’s old Mrs. Lee of course. The Major, he givesher a cottage to live in.”
“Who’s the Major?” I asked.
He said, in a shocked voice, “Major Phillpot, of course.” He seemed quiteupset that I should ask! I gathered that Major Phillpot was God locally.
Mrs. Lee was some kind of dependent of his, I suppose, whom he providedfor. The Phillpots seemed to have lived there all their lives and more orless to have run the place.
As I wished my old boy good day and turned away he said:
“She’s got the last cottage at the end of the street. You’ll see her outside,maybe. Doesn’t like the inside of houses. Them as has got gipsy blooddon’t.”
So there I was, wandering down the road, whistling and thinking aboutGipsy’s Acre. I’d almost forgotten what I’d been told when I saw a tallblack-haired old woman staring at me over a garden hedge. I knew atonce it must be Mrs. Lee. I stopped and spoke16 to her.
“I hear you can tell me about Gipsy’s Acre up there,” I said.
She stared at me through a tangled17 fringe of black hair and she said:
“Don’t have nought18 to do with it, young man. You listen to me. Forgetabout it. You’re a good- looking lad. Nothing good comes out of Gipsy’sAcre and never will.”
“I see it’s up for sale,” I said.
“Aye, that’s so, and more fool he who buys it.”
“Who’s likely to buy it?”
“There’s a builder after it. More than one. It’ll go cheap. You’ll see.”
“Why should it go cheap?” I asked curiously19. “It’s a fine site.”
She wouldn’t answer that.
“Supposing a builder buys it cheap, what will he do with it?”
She chuckled20 to herself. It was malicious21, unpleasant laughter.
“Pull down the old ruined house and build, of course. Twenty—thirtyhouses, maybe—and all with a curse on them.”
I ignored the last part of the sentence. I said, speaking before I couldstop myself:
“That would be a shame. A great shame.”
“Ah, you needn’t worry. They’ll get no joy of it, not those who buys andnot those who lays the bricks and mortar22. There’ll be a foot that slips onthe ladder, and there’ll be the lorry that crashes with a load, and the slatethat falls from the roof of a house and finds its mark. And the trees too.
Crashing, maybe, in a sudden gale23. Ah, you’ll see! There’s none that’ll getany good out of Gipsy’s Acre. They’d do best to leave it alone. You’ll see.
You’ll see.” She nodded vigorously and then she repeated softly to herself,“There’s no luck for them as meddles24 with Gipsy’s Acre. There never hasbeen.”
I laughed. She spoke sharply.
“Don’t laugh, young man. It comes to me as maybe one of these daysyou’ll laugh on the wrong side of your mouth. There’s never been no luckthere, not in the house nor yet in the land.”
“What happened in the house?” I asked. “Why has it been empty solong? Why was it left to fall down?”
“The last people that lived there died, all of them.”
“How did they die?” I asked out of curiosity.
“Best not to speak of it again. But no one cared to come and live in it af-terwards. It was left to moulder25 and decay. It’s forgot by now and best thatit should be.”
“But you could tell me the story,” I said, wheedlingly27. “You know allabout it.”
“I don’t gossip about Gipsy’s Acre.” Then she let her voice drop to a kindof phoney beggar’s whine28. “I’ll tell your fortune now, my pretty lad, if youlike. Cross my palm with silver and I’ll tell your fortune. You’re one ofthose that’ll go far one of these days.”
“I don’t believe nonsense about fortune-telling,” I said, “and I haven’tany silver. Not to spare, anyway.”
She came nearer to me and went on in a wheedling26 voice. “Sixpencenow. Sixpence now. I’ll do it for sixpence. What’s that? Nothing at all. I’lldo it for sixpence because you’re a handsome lad with a ready tongue anda way with you. It could be that you’ll go far.”
I fished a sixpence out of my pocket, not because I believed in any of herfoolish superstitions29 but because for some reason I liked the old fraudeven if I did see through her. She grabbed the coin from me, and said:
“Give me your hand then. Both hands.”
She took my hands in her withered30 claw and stared down at the openpalms. She was silent for a minute or two, staring. Then she dropped myhands abruptly31, almost pushing them away from her. She retreated a stepand spoke harshly.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll get out of Gipsy’s Acre here andnow and you won’t come back! That’s the best advice I can give you. Don’tcome back.”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I come back?”
“Because if you do you’ll come back to sorrow and loss and dangermaybe. There’s trouble, black trouble waiting for you. Forget you ever sawthis place. I’m warning you.”
“Well of all the—”
But she had turned away and was retreating to the cottage. She went inand slammed the door. I’m not superstitious32. I believe in luck, of course,who doesn’t? But not a lot of superstitious nonsense about ruined houseswith curses on them. And yet I had an uneasy feeling that the sinister33 oldcreature had seen something in my hands. I looked down at my two palmsspread out in front of me. What could anyone see in the palms of anyone’shands? Fortune-telling was arrant34 nonsense—just a trick to get money outof you—money out of your silly credulity. I looked up at the sky. The sunhad gone in, the day seemed different now. A sort of shadow, a kind ofmenace. Just an approaching storm, I thought. The wind was beginning toblow, the backs of the leaves were showing on the trees. I whistled to keepmy spirits up and walked along the road through the village.
I looked again at the pasted- up bill advertising35 the auction of TheTowers. I even made a note of the date. I had never attended a propertysale in my life but I thought to myself that I’d come and attend this one. Itwould be interesting to see who bought The Towers. That is to say interest-ing to see who became the owner of Gipsy’s Acre. Yes, I think that’s reallywhere it all began…A fantastic notion occurred to me. I’d come and pre-tend to myself that I was the man who was going to bid for Gipsy’s Acre!
I’d bid against the local builders! They’d drop out, disappointed in theirhopes of buying it cheap. I’d buy it and I’d go to Rudolf Santonix and say,“Build me a house. I’ve bought the site for you.” And I’d find a girl, a won-derful girl, and we’d live in it together happy ever after.
I often had dreams of that kind. Naturally they never came to anythingbut they were fun. That’s what I thought then. Fun! Fun, my God! If I’donly known!
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quotation
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| n.引文，引语，语录；报价，牌价，行情 | |
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auction
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| n.拍卖；拍卖会；vt.拍卖 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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elevations
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| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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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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desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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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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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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nought
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| n.／adj.无，零 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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meddles
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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moulder
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| v.腐朽，崩碎 | |
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wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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wheedlingly
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| 用甜言蜜语哄骗 | |
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whine
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| v.哀号，号哭；n.哀鸣 | |
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superstitions
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| 迷信，迷信行为( superstition的名词复数 ) | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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arrant
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| adj.极端的；最大的 | |
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advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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