It was the next day in the afternoon that as I was walking rather rapidly inthe darkest part of the wood where the shade of the pine trees was moremenacing than anywhere else, I saw the figure of a tall woman standing1 inthe drive. I took a quick impulsive2 step off the path. I’d taken it for grantedthat she was our gipsy but I stopped in sudden recoil3 when I saw who itactually was. It was my mother. She stood there tall and grim and grey-haired.
“Good Lord,” I said, “you startled me, Mum. What are you doing here?
Come to see us? We’ve asked you often enough, haven’t we?”
We hadn’t actually. I’d extended one rather lukewarm invitation, thatwas all. I’d put it, too, in a way which made it pretty sure that my motherwouldn’t accept. I didn’t want her here. I’d never wanted her here.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’ve come to see you at last. To see all’s wellwith you. So this is the grand house you’ve built, and it is a grand house,”
she said, looking over my shoulder.
I thought I detected in her voice the disapproving4 acidity5 that I’d expec-ted to find.
“Too grand for the likes of me, eh?” I said.
“I didn’t say that, lad.”
“But you thought it.”
“It wasn’t what you were born to, and no good comes from getting out ofyour station in life.”
“Nobody’d ever get anywhere if they listened to you.”
“Aye, I know that’s what you say and think, but I don’t know what goodambition’s ever done to anybody. It’s the kind of thing that turns to dead-sea fruit in your mouth.”
“Ah, for God’s sake don’t croak,” I said. “Come on. Come along up to seeour grand house for yourself and turn up your nose at it. And come andsee my grand wife, too, and turn up your nose at her if you dare.”
“Your wife? I’ve seen her already.”
“What do you mean, you’ve seen her already?” I demanded.
“So she didn’t tell you, eh?”
“What?” I demanded.
“That she came to see me.”
“She came to see you?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes. There she was one day standing outside the door, ringing the belland looking a little scared. She’s a pretty lass and a sweet one for all thefine clothes she had on. She said, ‘You’re Mike’s mother, aren’t you?’ and Isaid, ‘Yes, and who are you?’ and she said, ‘I’m his wife.’ She said, ‘I had tocome to see you. It didn’t seem right that I shouldn’t know Mike’smother…’ And I said, ‘I bet he didn’t want you to’ and she hesitated, and Isaid: ‘You don’t need to mind telling me that. I know my boy and I knowwhat he’d want or not want.’ She said, ‘You think—perhaps he’s ashamedof you because he and you are poor and I’m rich, but it isn’t like that at all.
That isn’t like him at all. It isn’t, really it isn’t.’ I said again, ‘You don’t needto tell me, lass. I know what faults my boy has. That’s not one of his faults.
He’s not ashamed of his mother and he’s not ashamed of his beginnings.
“‘He’s not ashamed of me,’ I said to her. ‘He’s afraid of me if anything. Iknow too much about him, you see.’ And that seemed to amuse her. Shesaid, ‘I expect mothers always feel like that—that they know all abouttheir sons. And I expect sons always feel embarrassed just because ofthat!’
“I said in a way that might be true. When you’re young, you’re alwaysputting on an act to the world. I mind myself, when I was a child in myauntie’s house. On the wall over my bed there was a great big eye in a giltframe. It said ‘Thou God seest me.’ Gave me the creeps it did all up myspine before I went to sleep.”
“Ellie should have told me she’d been to see you,” I said. “I don’t see whyshe should keep it such a secret. She should have told me.”
I was angry. I was very angry. I’d had no idea that Ellie would keepsecrets like that from me.
“She was a little scared of what she’d done, maybe, but she’d no call tobe frightened of you, my boy.”
“Come on,” I said, “come on and see our house.”
I don’t know whether she liked our house or not. I think not. She lookedround the rooms and raised her eyebrows7 and then she went into the ter-race room. Ellie and Greta were sitting there. They’d just come in fromoutside and Greta had a scarlet8 wool cloak half over her shoulders. Mymother looked at them both. She just stood there for a moment as thoughrooted to the spot. Ellie jumped up and came forward and across theroom.
“Oh, it’s Mrs. Rogers,” she said, then turning to Greta, she said, “It’sMike’s mother come to see our house and us. Isn’t that nice? This is myfriend Greta Andersen.”
And she held out both her hands and took Mum’s and Mum looked hardat her and then looked over her shoulder at Greta very hard.
“I see,” she said to herself, “I see.”
“What do you see?” asked Ellie.
“I wondered,” said Mum. “I wondered what it would all be like here.”
She looked round her. “Yes, it’s a fine house. Fine curtains and fine chairsand fine pictures.”
“You must have some tea,” said Ellie.
“You look as if you’ve finished tea.”
“Tea’s a thing that need never be finished,” said Ellie, then she said toGreta, “I won’t ring the bell. Greta, will you go out to the kitchen and makea fresh pot of tea?”
“Of course, darling,” said Greta and went out of the room looking overher shoulder once in a sharp, almost scared way at my mother.
My mother sat down.
“Where’s your luggage?” said Ellie. “Have you come to stay? I hope youhave.”
“No, lass, I won’t stay. I’m going back by train in half an hour’s time. Ijust wanted to look in on you.” Then she added rather quickly, probablybecause she wished to get it out before Greta came back, “Now don’tworry yourself, love, I told him how you came to see me and paid me avisit.”
“I’m sorry, Mike, that I didn’t tell you,” said Ellie firmly, “only I thoughtperhaps I’d better not.”
“She came out of the kindness of her heart, she did,” said my mother.
“She’s a good girl you’ve married, Mike, and a pretty one. Yes, a verypretty one.” Then she added half audibly, “I am sorry.”
“Sorry,” said Ellie, faintly puzzled.
“Sorry for thinking the things I did,” said my mother and added with aslight air of strain, “Well, as you say, mothers are like that. Always in-clined to be suspicious of daughters-in-law. But when I saw you, I knewhe’d been lucky. It seemed too good to be true to me, that it did.”
“What impertinence,” I said, but I smiled at her as I said it. “I always hadexcellent taste.”
“You’ve always had expensive taste, that’s what you mean,” said mymother and looked at the brocade curtains.
“I’m not really the worse for being an expensive taste,” said Ellie, smil-ing at her.
“You make him save a bit of money from time to time,” said Mum, “it’llbe good for his character.”
“I refuse to have my character improved,” I said. “The advantage of tak-ing a wife is that the wife thinks everything you do is perfect. Isn’t that so,Ellie?”
Ellie was looking happy again now. She laughed and said:
“You’re above yourself, Mike! The conceit9 of you.”
Greta came back then with the teapot. We’d been a little ill at ease andwe were just getting over it. Somehow when Greta came back the straincame out again. My mother resisted all endeavours on Ellie’s part to makeher stay over and Ellie didn’t insist after a short while. She and I walkeddown together with my mother along the winding10 drive through the treesand to the gateway11.
“What do you call it?” my mother asked abruptly12.
Ellie said, “Gipsy’s Acre.”
“Ah,” said my mother, “yes you’ve got gipsies around here, haven’tyou?”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“I saw one as I came up. She looked at me queer, she did.”
“She’s all right really,” I said, “a little half-baked, that’s all.”
“Why do you say she’s half-baked? She’d a funny look to her when shelooked at me. She’s got a grievance13 against you of some kind?”
“I don’t think it’s real,” said Ellie. “I think she’s imagined it all. Thatwe’ve done her out of her land or something like that.”
“I expect she wants money,” said my mother. “Gipsies are like that.
Make a big song and dance sometimes of how they’ve been done downone way or another. But they soon stop when they get some money intheir itching14 palms.”
“You don’t like gipsies,” said Ellie.
“They’re a thieving lot. They don’t work steady and they don’t keep theirhands off what doesn’t belong to them.”
“Oh well,” Ellie said, “we—we—don’t worry any more now.”
My mother said good-bye and then added, “Who’s the young lady thatlives with you?”
Ellie explained how Greta had been with her for three years before shemarried and how but for Greta she would have had a miserable15 life.
“Greta’s done everything to help us. She’s a wonderful person,” said El-lie. “I wouldn’t know how—how to get on without her.”
“She’s living with you or on a visit?”
“Oh well,” said Ellie. She avoided the question. “She—she’s living withus at present because I sprained16 my ankle and had to have someone tolook after me. But I’m all right again now.”
“Married people do best alone together when they’re starting,” mymother said.
We stood by the gate watching my mother march away.
“She’s got a very strong personality,” said Ellie thoughtfully.
I was angry with Ellie, really very angry because she’d gone and foundout my mother and visited her without telling me. But when she turnedand stood looking at me with one eyebrow6 raised a little and the funnyhalf-timid, half-satisfied little-girl smile on her face, I couldn’t help relent-ing.
“What a deceitful little thing you are,” I said.
“Well,” said Ellie, “I’ve had to be sometimes, you see.”
“That’s like a Shakespeare play I once saw. They did it at a school I wasat.” I quoted self-consciously, “‘She has deceiv’d her father and may thee.’”
“What did you play—Othello?”
“No,” I said, “I played the girl’s father. That’s why I remember thatspeech, I suppose. It’s practically the only thing I had to say.”
“‘She has deceiv’d her father and may thee,’” said Ellie thoughtfully. “Ididn’t even deceive my father as far as I know. Perhaps I would havelater.”
“I don’t suppose he would have taken very kindly17 to your marrying me,”
I said, “any more than your stepmother did.”
“No,” said Ellie, “I don’t suppose he would. He was pretty conventional Ithink.” Then she gave that funny little-girl smile again. “So I suppose I’dhave had to be like Desdemona and deceived my father and run awaywith you.”
“Why did you want to see my mother so much, Ellie?” I asked curiously18.
“It’s not so much I wanted to see her,” said Ellie, “but I felt terribly badnot doing anything about it. You haven’t mentioned your mother very of-ten but I did gather that she’s always done everything she could for you.
Come to the rescue about things and worked very hard to get you extraschooling and things like that. And I thought it seemed so mean and purse-proud of me not to go near her.”
“Well, it wouldn’t have been your fault,” I said, “it would have beenmine.”
“Yes,” said Ellie. “I can understand that perhaps you didn’t want me togo and see her.”
“You think I’ve got an inferiority complex about my mother? That’s nottrue at all, Ellie, I assure you it isn’t. It wasn’t that.”
“No,” said Ellie thoughtfully, “I know that now. It was because you didn’twant her to do a lot of mother stuff.”
“Mother stuff?” I queried19.
“Well,” said Ellie, “I can see that she’s the kind of person who wouldknow quite well what other people ought to do. I mean, she’d want you togo in for certain kinds of jobs.”
“Quite right,” I said. “Steady jobs. Settling down.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered very much now,” said Ellie. “I dare say it wasvery good advice. But it wouldn’t have been the right advice ever for you,Mike. You’re not a settler down. You don’t want to be steady. You want togo and see things and do things—be on top of the world.”
“I want to stay here in this house with you,” I said.
“For a while, perhaps…And I think—I think you’ll always want to comeback here. And so shall I. I think we shall come here every year and Ithink we shall be happier here than anywhere else. But you’ll want to goplaces too. You’ll want to travel and see things and buy things. Perhapsthink up new plans for doing the garden here. Perhaps we’ll go and look atItalian gardens, Japanese gardens, landscape gardens of all kinds.”
“You make life seem very exciting, Ellie,” I said. “I’m sorry I was cross.”
“Oh, I don’t mind your being cross,” said Ellie. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Then she added, with a frown: “Your mother didn’t like Greta.”
“A lot of people don’t like Greta,” I said.
“Including you.”
“Now look here, Ellie, you’re always saying that. It’s not true. I was just abit jealous of her at first, that was all. We get on very well now.” And I ad-ded, “I think perhaps she makes people get rather on the defensive20.”
“Mr. Lippincott doesn’t like her either, does he? He think’s she’s got toomuch influence over me,” said Ellie.
“Has she?”
“I wonder why you should ask that. Yes, I think perhaps she has. It’sonly natural, she’s rather a dominant21 personality and I had to havesomeone I could trust in and rely on. Someone who’d stand up for me.”
“And see you got your own way?” I asked her, laughing.
We went into the house arm in arm. For some reason it seemed darkthat afternoon. I suppose because the sun had just left the terrace and lefta feeling of darkness behind it. Ellie said:
“What’s the matter, Mike?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Just suddenly I felt as though someone werewalking over my grave.”
“A goose is walking over your grave. That’s the real saying, isn’t it?” saidEllie.
Greta wasn’t about anywhere. The servants said she’d gone out for awalk.
Now that my mother knew all about my marriage and had seen Ellie, Idid what I had really wanted to do for some time. I sent her a largecheque. I told her to move into a better house and to buy herself any addi-tional furniture she wanted. Things like that. I had doubts of course as towhether she would accept it or not. It wasn’t money that I’d worked forand I couldn’t honestly pretend it was. As I expected, she sent the chequeback torn in two with a scrawled22 note. “I’ll have naught23 to do with any ofthis,” she wrote. “You’ll never be different. I know that now, heaven helpyou.” I flung it down in front of Ellie.
“You see what my mother’s like,” I said. “I married a rich girl, and I’mliving on my rich wife’s money and the old battleaxe disapproves24 of it!”
“Don’t worry,” said Ellie. “Lots of people think that way. She’ll get overit. She loves you very much, Mike,” she added.
“Then why does she want to alter me all the time? Make me into her pat-tern. I’m myself. I’m not anybody else’s pattern. I’m not mother’s little boyto be moulded the way she likes. I’m myself. I’m an adult. I’m me!”
“You’re you,” said Ellie, “and I love you.”
And then, perhaps to distract me, she said something rather disquieting25.
“What do you think,” she said, “of this new manservant of ours?”
I hadn’t thought about him. What was there to think? If anything I pre-ferred him to our last one who had not troubled to conceal26 his low opinionof my social status.
“He’s all right,” I said. “Why?”
“I just wondered whether he might be a security man.”
“A security man? What do you mean?”
“A detective. I thought Uncle Andrew might have arranged it.”
“Why should he?”
“Well—possible kidnapping, I suppose. In the States, you know, we usu-ally had guards—especially in the country.”
Another of the disadvantages of having money that I hadn’t knownabout!
“What a beastly idea!”
“Oh, I don’t know…I suppose I’m used to it. What does it matter? Onedoesn’t really notice.”
“Is the wife in it, too?”
“She’d have to be, I think, though she cooks very well. I should thinkthat Uncle Andrew, or perhaps Stanford Lloyd, whichever one of themthought of it, must have paid our last ones to leave, and had these two alllined up ready to take their place. It would have been quite easy.”
“Without telling you?” I was still incredulous.
“They’d never dream of telling me. I might have kicked up a fuss. Any-way, I may be quite wrong about them.” She went on dreamily. “It’s onlythat one gets a kind of feeling when one’s been used to people of that kindalways being around.”
“Poor little rich girl,” I said savagely27.
Ellie did not mind at all.
“I suppose that does describe it rather well,” she said.
“The things I’m learning about you all the time, Ellie,” I said.
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收听单词发音
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1
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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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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3
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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4
disapproving
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| adj.不满的，反对的v.不赞成( disapprove的现在分词 ) | |
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5
acidity
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| n.酸度，酸性 | |
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6
eyebrow
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| n.眉毛，眉 | |
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7
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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8
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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12
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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13
grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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itching
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| adj.贪得的，痒的，渴望的v.发痒( itch的现在分词 ) | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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16
sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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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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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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disapproves
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的第三人称单数 ) | |
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disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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