“And what are you doing, Hester, my love?” asked Philip.
In his wheelchair he was propelling himself along the passage. Hesterwas leaning out of the window halfway1 along it. She started and drew herhead in.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said.
“Are you observing the universe, or considering suicide?” asked Philip.
She looked at him defiantly2.
“What makes you say a thing like that?”
“Obviously it was in your mind,” said Philip. “But, frankly3, Hester, if youare contemplating4 such a step, that window is no good. The drop’s notdeep enough. Think how unpleasant it would be for you with a brokenarm and a broken leg, say, instead of the merciful oblivion you are crav-ing?”
“Micky used to climb down the magnolia tree from this window. It washis secret way in and out. Mother never knew.”
“The things parents never know! One could write a book about it. But ifit’s suicide you are contemplating, Hester, just by the summerhouse wouldbe a better place to jump from.”
“Where it juts5 out over the river? Yes, one would be dashed on the rocksbelow!”
“The trouble with you, Hester, is that you’re so melodramatic in yourimaginings. Most people are quite satisfied with arranging themselves ti-dily in the gas oven or measuring themselves out an enormous number ofsleeping pills.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Hester unexpectedly. “You don’t mind talk-ing about things, do you?”
“Well, actually, I haven’t much else to do nowadays,” said Philip. “Comeinto my room and we’ll do some more talking.” As she hesitated, he wenton: “Mary’s downstairs, gone to prepare me some delicious little morningmess with her own fair hands.”
“Mary wouldn’t understand,” said Hester.
“No,” Philip agreed, “Mary wouldn’t understand in the least.”
Philip propelled himself along and Hester walked beside him. Sheopened the door of the sitting room and he wheeled himself in. Hester fol-lowed.
“But you understand,” said Hester. “Why?”
“Well, there’s a time, you know, when one thinks about such things …When this business first happened to me, for instance, and I knew that Imight be a cripple for life….”
“Yes,” said Hester, “that must have been terrible. Terrible. And you werea pilot, too, weren’t you? You flew.”
“Up above the world so high, like a tea-tray in the sky,” agreed Philip.
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Hester. “I am really. I ought to have thoughtabout it more, and been more sympathetic!”
“Thank God you weren’t,” said Philip. “But anyway, that phase is overnow. One gets used to anything, you know. That’s something, Hester, thatyou don’t appreciate at the moment. But you’ll come to it. Unless you dosomething very rash and very silly first. Now come on, tell me all about it.
What’s the trouble? I suppose you’ve had a row with your boy friend, thesolemn young doctor. Is that it?”
“It wasn’t a row,” said Hester. “It was much worse than a row.”
“It will come right,” said Philip.
“No, it won’t,” said Hester. “It can’t—ever.”
“You’re so extravagant6 in your terms. Everything’s black and white toyou, isn’t it, Hester? No halftones.”
“I can’t help being like that,” said Hester. “I’ve always been like it.
Everything I thought I could do or wanted to do has always gone wrong. Iwanted to have a life of my own, to be someone, to do something. It wasall no good. I was no good at anything. I’ve often thought of killing7 myself.
Ever since I was fourteen.”
Philip watched her with interest. He said in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice:
“Of course people do kill themselves a good deal, between fourteen andnineteen. It’s an age in life when things are very much out of proportion.
Schoolboys kill themselves because they don’t think they can pass examin-ations and girls kill themselves because their mothers won’t let them go tothe pictures with unsuitable boy friends. It’s a kind of period whereeverything appears to be in glorious technicolour. Joy or despair. Gloomor unparalleled happiness. One snaps out of it. The trouble with you is,Hester, it’s taken you longer to snap out of it than most people.”
“Mother was always right,” said Hester. “All the things she wouldn’t letme do and I wanted to do. She was right about them and I was wrong. Icouldn’t bear it, I simply couldn’t bear it! So I thought I’d got to be brave.
I’d got to go off on my own. I’d got to test myself. And it all went wrong. Iwasn’t any good at acting8.”
“Of course you weren’t,” said Philip. “You’ve got no discipline. You can’t,as they say in theatrical9 circles, take production. You’re too busy dramatiz-ing yourself, my girl. You’re doing it now.”
“And then I thought I’d have a proper love affair,” said Hester. “Not asilly, girlish thing. An older man. He was married, and he’d had a very un-happy life.”
“Stock situation,” said Philip, “and he exploited it, no doubt.”
“I thought it would be a—oh, a grand passion. You’re not laughing atme?” She stopped, looking at Philip suspiciously.
“No, I’m not laughing at you, Hester,” said Philip gently. “I can see quitewell that it must have been hell for you.”
“It wasn’t a grand passion,” said Hester bitterly. “It was just a cheaplittle affair. None of the things he told me about his life, or his wife, weretrue. I—I’d just thrown myself at his head. I’d been a fool, a silly, cheaplittle fool.”
“You’ve got to learn a thing, sometimes, by experience,” said Philip.
“None of that’s done you any harm, you know, Hester. It’s probably helpedyou to grow up. Or it would help you if you let it.”
“Mother was so—so competent about it all,” said Hester, in a tone of re-sentment. “She came along and settled everything and told me that if Ireally wanted to act I’d better go to the dramatic school and do it properly.
But I didn’t really want to act, and I knew by that time I was no good. So Icame home. What else could I do?”
“Probably heaps of things,” said Philip. “But that was the easiest.”
“Oh, yes,” said Hester with fervour. “How well you understand. I’m ter-ribly weak, you see. I always do want to do the easy thing. And if I rebelagainst it, it’s always in some silly way that doesn’t really work.”
“You’re terribly unsure of yourself, aren’t you?” said Philip gently.
“Perhaps that’s because I’m only adopted,” said Hester. “I didn’t find outabout that, you know, not till I was nearly sixteen. I knew the others wereand then I asked one day, and—I found that I was adopted too. It made mefeel so awful, as though I didn’t belong anywhere.”
“What a terrible girl you are for dramatizing yourself,” said Philip.
“She wasn’t my mother,” said Hester. “She never really understood asingle thing I felt. Just looked at me indulgently and kindly10 and madeplans for me. Oh! I hated her. It’s awful of me, I know it’s awful of me, butI hated her!”
“Actually, you know,” said Philip, “most girls go through a short periodof hating their own mothers. There wasn’t really anything very unusualabout that.”
“I hated her because she was right,” said Hester. “It’s so awful whenpeople are always right. It makes you feel more and more inadequate11. Oh,Philip, everything’s so terrible. What am I going to do? What can I do?”
“Marry that nice young man of yours,” said Philip, “and settle down. Bea good little GP’s wife. Or isn’t that magnificent enough for you?”
“He doesn’t want to marry me now,” said Hester mournfully.
“Are you sure? Did he tell you so? Or are you only imagining it?”
“He thinks I killed Mother.”
“Oh,” said Philip, and paused a minute. “Did you?” he asked.
She wheeled round at him.
“Why do you ask me that? Why?”
“I thought it would be interesting to know,” said Philip. “All in the fam-ily, so to speak. Not for passing on to the authorities.”
“If I did kill her, do you think I’d tell you?” said Hester.
“It would be much wiser not to,” agreed Philip.
“He told me he knew I’d killed her,” said Hester. “He told me that if I’donly admit it, if I’d confess it to him, that it would be all right, that we’d bemarried, that he’d look after me. That — that he wouldn’t let it matterbetween us.”
Philip whistled.
“Well, well, well,” he said.
“What’s the good?” asked Hester. “What’s the good of telling him I didn’tkill her? He wouldn’t believe it, would he?”
“He ought to,” said Philip, “if you tell him so.”
“I didn’t kill her,” said Hester. “You understand? I didn’t kill her. I didn’t,I didn’t, I didn’t.” She broke off. “That sounds unconvincing,” she said.
“The truth often does sound unconvincing,” Philip encouraged her.
“We don’t know,” said Hester. “Nobody knows. We all look at each other.
Mary looks at me. And Kirsten. She’s so kind to me, so protective. Shethinks it’s me, too. What chance have I? It would be better, much better, togo down to the Point, throw myself over….”
“For God’s sake, don’t be a fool, Hester. There are other things to do.”
“What other things? How can there be? I’ve lost everything. How can Igo on living day after day?” She looked at Philip. “You think I’m wild, un-balanced. Well, perhaps I did kill her. Perhaps it’s remorse12 gnawing13 at me.
Perhaps I can’t forget—here.” She put her hand dramatically to her heart.
“Don’t be a little idiot,” said Philip. He shot out an arm and pulled her tohim.
Hester half fell across his chair. He kissed her.
“What you need is a husband, my girl,” he said. “Not that solemn youngass, Donald Craig, with his head full of psychiatry14 and jargon15. You’re sillyand idiotic16 and—completely lovely, Hester.”
The door opened. Mary Durrant stood abruptly17 still in the doorway18.
Hester struggled to an upright postion and Philip gave his wife a sheepishgrin.
“I’m just cheering up Hester, Polly,” he said.
“Oh,” said Mary.
She came in carefully, placing the tray on a small table. Then shewheeled the table up beside him. She did not look at Hester. Hester lookeduncertainly from husband to wife.
“Oh, well,” she said, “perhaps I’d better go and—go and—” She didn’tfinish.
She went out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Hester’s in a bad way,” said Philip. “Contemplating suicide. I was tryingto dissuade19 her,” he added.
Mary did not answer.
He stretched out a hand towards her. She moved away from him.
“Polly, have I made you angry? Very angry?”
She did not reply.
“Because I kissed her, I suppose? Come, Polly, don’t grudge20 me one sillylittle kiss. She was so lovely and so silly—and I suddenly felt—well, I felt itwould be fun to be a gay dog again and have a flirtation21 now and then.
Come, Polly, kiss me. Kiss and make friends.”
Mary Durrant said:
“Your soup will get cold if you don’t drink it.”
She went through the door to the bedroom and shut it behind her.
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1
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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2
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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3
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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4
contemplating
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| 深思，细想，仔细考虑( contemplate的现在分词 )； 注视，凝视； 考虑接受（发生某事的可能性）； 深思熟虑，沉思，苦思冥想 | |
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5
juts
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| v.（使）突出( jut的第三人称单数 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
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6
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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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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8
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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9
theatrical
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| adj.剧场的，演戏的；做戏似的，做作的 | |
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10
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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11
inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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12
remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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13
gnawing
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| a.痛苦的，折磨人的 | |
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14
psychiatry
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| n.精神病学，精神病疗法 | |
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15
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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16
idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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18
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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19
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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21
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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