“Do you mind if I stay on a bit, Dad?” asked Micky.
“No, of course not. I’m delighted. Is it all right with your firm?”
“Yes,” said Micky. “I rang ’em up. I needn’t be back until after the week-end. They’ve been very decent about it. Tina’s staying over the weekendtoo,” he said.
He went to the window, looked out, walked across the room with handsin his pockets, gazing up at the bookshelves. He spoke1 then in a jerky,awkward voice.
“You know, Dad, I do appreciate really all you’ve done for me. Just latelyI’ve seen—well, I’ve seen how ungrateful I’ve always been.”
“There’s never been any question of gratitude,” said Leo Argyle. “Youare my son, Micky. I have always regarded you as such.”
“An odd way of treating a son,” said Micky. “You never bossed meabout.”
Leo Argyle smiled, his remote, far-away smile.
“Do you really think that’s the only function of a father?” he said. “Toboss his children about?”
“No,” said Micky, “no. I suppose it isn’t.” He went on, speaking in a rush.
“I’ve been a damned fool,” he said. “Yes. A damned fool. It’s comic in away. Do you know what I’d like to do, what I’m thinking of doing? Takinga job with an oil company out in the Persian Gulf2. That was what Motherwanted to put me into to begin with—an oil company. But I wasn’t havingany then! Flung off on my own.”
“You were at the age,” said Leo, “when you wanted to choose for your-self, and you hated the idea of anything being chosen for you. You’ve al-ways been rather like that, Micky. If we wanted to buy you a red sweater,you insisted you wanted a blue one, but all the time it was probably a redone you wanted.”
“True enough,” said Micky, with a short laugh. “I’ve been an unsatisfact-ory sort of creature always.”
“Just young,” said Leo. “Just kicking up your heels. Apprehensive3 of thebridle, of the saddle, of control. We all feel like that at one time in ourlives, but we have to come to it in the end.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Micky.
“I’m very glad,” said Leo, “that you have got this idea for the future. Idon’t think, you know, that just working as a car salesman and demonstra-tor is quite good enough for you. It’s all right, but it doesn’t lead any-where.”
“I like cars,” said Micky. “I like getting the best out of them. I can do aline of talk when I have to. Patter, patter, all the smarmy4 bits, but I don’tenjoy the life, blast it. This is a job to do with motor transport, anyway.
Controlling the servicing of cars. Quite an important job.”
“You know,” said Leo, “that at any time you might want to finance your-self, to buy yourself into any business you thought worthwhile, the moneyis there, available. You know about the Discretionary Trust. I am quiteprepared to authorize5 any necessary sum provided always that the busi-ness details are passed and acceptable. We would get expert opinion onthat. But the money is there, ready for you if you want it.”
“Thanks, Dad, but I don’t want to sponge on you.”
“There’s no question of sponging, Micky, it’s your money. Definitelymade over to you in common with the others. All I have is the power ofappointment, the when and the how. But it’s not my money and I’m notgiving it to you. It’s yours.”
“It’s Mother’s money really,” said Micky.
“The Trust was made several years ago,” said Leo.
“I don’t want any of it!” said Micky. “I don’t want to touch it! I couldn’t!
As things are, I couldn’t.” He flushed suddenly as he met his father’s eye.
He said uncertainly: “I didn’t—I didn’t quite mean to say that.”
“Why can’t you touch it?” said Leo. “We adopted you. That is, we tookfull responsibility for you, financial and otherwise. It was a business ar-rangement that you should be brought up as our son and properlyprovided for in life.”
“I want to stand on my own feet,” Micky repeated.
“Yes. I see you do … Very well, then, Micky, but if you change your mind,remember the money is there waiting.”
“Thanks, Dad. It’s good of you to understand. Or at least, not to under-stand, to let me have my way. I wish I could explain better. You see, I don’twant to profit by—I can’t profit by—oh, dammit all, it’s all too difficult totalk about.”
There was a knock on the door which was almost more a bump.
“That’s Philip, I expect,” said Leo Argyle. “Will you open the door forhim, Micky.”
Micky went across to open the door, and Philip, working his invalidchair, propelled himself into the room. He greeted them both with a cheer-ful grin.
“Are you very busy, sir?” he asked Leo. “If so, say so. I’ll keep quiet andnot interrupt you and just browse6 along the bookshelves.”
“No,” said Leo, “I have nothing to do this morning.”
“Gwenda not here?” asked Philip.
“She rang up to say she had a headache and couldn’t come today,” saidLeo. His voice was expressionless.
“I see,” said Philip.
Micky said:
“Well, I shall go and dig out Tina. Make her go for a walk. That girl hatesfresh air.”
He left the room, walking with a light, springy step.
“Am I wrong,” asked Philip, “or is there a change in Micky lately? Notscowling at the world as much as usual, is he?”
“He’s growing up,” said Leo. “It’s taken rather a long time for him to doso.”
“Well, he’s chosen a curious time to cheer up,” said Philip. “Yesterday’ssession with the police wasn’t exactly encouraging, did you think so?”
Leo said quietly:
“It’s painful of course, to have the whole case reopened.”
“A chap like Micky now,” said Philip, working his way along the book-shelves, pulling out a volume or two in a desultory7 manner, “would yousay he had much of a conscience?”
“That’s an odd question, Philip.”
“No, not really. I was just wondering about him. It’s like being tone deaf.
Some people can’t really feel any pangs8 of guilt9 or remorse10, or even regretfor their actions. Jacko didn’t.”
“No,” said Leo, “Jacko certainly didn’t.”
“And I wondered about Micky,” said Philip. He paused, and then wenton in a detached voice. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, sir? Howmuch really do you know about the background of all this adopted familyof yours?”
“Why do you want to know, Philip?”
“Just curiosity, I suppose. One always wonders, you know, how muchthere is in heredity.”
Leo did not answer. Philip observed him with bright-eyed interest.
“Perhaps,” he said, “I’m bothering you asking these questions.”
“Well,” said Leo, rising, “after all, why shouldn’t you ask them? You’reone of the family. They are at the moment, one can’t disguise it, very per-tinent questions to ask. But our family, as you put it, were not adopted inthe usual regular sense of the term. Mary, your wife, was formally and leg-ally adopted, but the others came to us in a much more informal manner.
Jacko was an orphan11 and was handed over to us by an old grandmother.
She was killed in the blitz and he stayed with us. It was as simple as that.
Micky was illegitimate. His mother was only interested in men. Shewanted ?100 down and got it. We’ve never known what happened toTina’s mother. She never wrote to the child, she never claimed her afterthe war, and it was quite impossible to trace her.”
“And Hester?”
“Hester was illegitimate too. Her mother was a young Irish hospitalnurse. She married an American GI shortly after Hester came to us. Shebegged us to keep the child. She did not propose to tell her husband any-thing about its birth. She went to the States with her husband at the end ofthe war and we’ve never heard any more from her.”
“All tragic12 histories in a way,” said Philip. “All poor unwanted little dev-ils.”
“Yes,” said Leo. “That’s what made Rachel feel so passionately13 aboutthem all. She was determined14 to make them feel wanted, to give them areal home, be a real mother to them.”
“It was a fine thing to do,” said Philip.
“Only—only it can never work out exactly as she hoped it might,” saidLeo. “It was an article of faith with her that the blood tie didn’t matter. Butthe blood tie does matter, you know. There is usually something in one’sown children, some kink of temperament15, some way of feeling that you re-cognize and can understand without having to put into words. Youhaven’t got that tie with children you adopt. One has no instinctive16 know-ledge of what goes on in their minds. You judge them, of course, by your-self, by your own thoughts and feelings, but it’s wise to recognize thatthose thoughts and feelings may be very widely divergent from theirs.”
“You understood that, I suppose, all along,” said Philip.
“I warned Rachel about it,” said Leo, “but of course she didn’t believe it.
Didn’t want to believe it. She wanted them to be her own children.”
“Tina’s always the dark horse, to my mind,” said Philip. “Perhaps it’s thehalf of her that isn’t white. Who was the father, do you know?”
“He was a seaman17 of some kind, I believe. Possibly a Lascar. Themother,” added Leo dryly, “was unable to say.”
“One doesn’t know how she reacts to things, or what she thinks about.
She says so little.” Philip paused, and then shot out a question: “What doesshe know about this business that she isn’t telling?”
He saw Leo Argyle’s hand, that had been turning over papers, stop.
There was a moment’s pause, and then Leo said:
“Why should you think she isn’t telling everything she knows?”
“Come now, sir, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“It’s not obvious to me,” said Leo.
“She knows something,” said Philip. “Something damaging, do youthink, about some particular person?”
“I think, Philip, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, that it is rather unwiseto speculate about these things. One can easily imagine so much.”
“Are you warning me off, sir?”
“Is it really your business, Philip?”
“Meaning I’m not a policeman?”
“Yes, that’s what I meant. Police have to do their duty. They have to en-quire into things.”
“And you don’t want to enquire18 into them?”
“Perhaps,” said Leo, “I’m afraid of what I should find.”
Philip’s hand tightened19 excitedly in his chair. He said softly:
“Perhaps you know who did it. Do you, sir?”
“No.”
The abruptness20 and vigour21 of Leo’s reply startled Philip.
“No,” said Leo, bringing his hand down on the desk. He was suddenly nolonger the frail22, attenuated23, withdrawn24 personality that Philip knew sowell. “I don’t know who did it! D’you hear? I don’t know. I haven’t theleast idea. I don’t—I don’t want to know.”
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收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
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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2
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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3
apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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4
smarmy
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| adj.爱说奉承话的 | |
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5
authorize
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| v.授权，委任；批准，认可 | |
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browse
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| vi.随意翻阅，浏览；(牛、羊等)吃草 | |
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7
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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pangs
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| 突然的剧痛( pang的名词复数 )； 悲痛 | |
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9
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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orphan
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| n.孤儿；adj.无父母的 | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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14
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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seaman
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| n.海员，水手，水兵 | |
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18
enquire
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| v.打听，询问；调查，查问 | |
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19
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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21
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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attenuated
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| v.（使）变细( attenuate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）变薄；（使）变小；减弱 | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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