I
Tina parked her car on the grass by the churchyard wall. She removed thepaper carefully from the flowers she had brought, then she walked inthrough the cemetery1 gates and along the main path. She did not like thenew cemetery. She wished it had been possible for Mrs. Argyle to havebeen buried in the old churchyard which surrounded the church. Thereseemed an old- world peace there. The yew2 tree and the moss- grownstones. In this cemetery, so new, so well arranged, with its main walk andthe paths radiating3 off it, everything seemed as slick and mass-producedas the contents of a supermarket.
Mrs. Argyle’s grave was well kept. It had a square marble surroundfilled with granite4 chips, a granite cross rising from the back of it.
Tina, holding her carnations5, bent6 to read the inscription7. “In lovingmemory of Rachel Louise Argyle.” Below it was the text:
“Her children shall rise up and call her blessed.”
There was a footstep behind her and Tina turned her head, startled8.
“Micky!”
“I saw your car. I followed you. At least—I was coming here anyway.”
“You were coming here? Why?”
“I don’t know. Just to say good-bye, perhaps.”
“Good-bye to—her?”
He nodded.
“Yes. I’ve taken that job with the oil company I told you about. I’m goingoff in about three weeks.”
“And you came here to say good-bye to Mother first?”
“Yes. Perhaps to thank her and to say I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for, Micky?”
“I’m not sorry that I killed her if that’s what you’re trying to imply. Haveyou been thinking I killed her, Tina?”
“I was not sure.”
“You can’t be sure now, either, can you? I mean it’s no good my tellingyou that I didn’t kill her.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“She did a lot for me,” said Micky slowly. “I was never the least bit grate-ful. I resented9 every single damn10 thing she did. I never gave her a kindword, or a loving look. I wish now that I had, that’s all.”
“When did you stop hating her? After she was dead?”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”
“It wasn’t her you hated, was it?”
“No—no. You were right about that. It was my own mother. Because Iloved her. Because I loved her and she didn’t care a button for me.”
“And now you’re not even angry about that?”
“No. I don’t suppose she could help it. After all, you’re born what youare. She was a sunny, happy sort of creature. Too fond of men and toofond of the bottle, and she was nice to her kids when she felt like beingnice. She wouldn’t have let anyone else hurt them. All right, so she didn’tcare for me! All these years I refused to live with that idea. Now I’ve ac-cepted it.” He stretched out a hand. “Give me just one of your carnations,will you, Tina?” He took it from her and bending down, laid it on the gravebelow the inscription. “There you are, Mum,” he said. “I was a rotten sonto you, and I don’t think you were a very wise mother to me. But youmeant well.” He looked at Tina. “Is that a good enough apology?”
“I think it will do,” said Tina.
She bent down and put her own bunch of carnations there.
“Do you often come here and put flowers?”
“I come here once a year,” said Tina.
“Little Tina,” said Micky.
They turned together and walked back down the cemetery path.
“I didn’t kill her, Tina,” said Micky. “I swear I didn’t. I want you to be-lieve me.”
“I was there that night,” said Tina.
He wheeled round.
“You were there? You mean at Sunny Point?”
“Yes. I was thinking of changing my job. I wanted to consult Father andMother about it.”
“Well,” said Micky, “go on.”
When she did not speak, he took her arm and shook her. “Go on, Tina,”
he said. “You’ve got to tell me.”
“I haven’t told anyone so far,” said Tina.
“Go on,” said Micky again.
“I drove there. I didn’t take the car right up to the gate. You know there’sa place halfway11 where it’s easier to turn it?”
Micky nodded.
“I got out of the car there and I walked towards the house. I felt unsureof myself. You know how difficult it was in some ways to talk to Mother. Imean, she always had her own ideas. I wanted to put the case as clearly asI could. And so I walked to the house and then back towards the car, andthen back again. Thinking things out.”
“What time was this?” asked Micky.
“I don’t know,” said Tina. “I can’t remember now. I—time doesn’t meanvery much to me.”
“No, darling,” said Micky. “You always have that air of infinite12 leisure.”
“I was under the trees,” said Tina, “and walking very softly—”
“Like the little cat you are,” said Micky affectionately.
“—when I heard them.”
“Heard what?”
“Two people whispering.”
“Yes?” Micky’s body had tensed. “What did they say?”
“They said—one of them said, ‘Between seven and seven-thirty. That’sthe time. Now remember that and don’t make a muck of it. Between sevenand seven-thirty.’ The other person whispered, ‘You can trust me,’ andthen the first voice said, ‘And after that, darling, everything will be won-derful.’”
There was a silence, then Micky said:
“Well—why have you held this up?”
“Because I didn’t know,” said Tina. “I didn’t know who was speaking.”
“But surely! Was it a man or a woman?”
“I don’t know,” said Tina. “Don’t you see, when two people are whisper-ing, you don’t hear the voice. It’s just—well, just a whisper. I think, ofcourse I think, it was a man and a woman because—”
“Because of what they said?”
“Yes. But I didn’t know who they were.”
“You thought,” said Micky, “that it might have been Father andGwenda?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?” said Tina. “It might have meant that Gwenda wasto leave the house and come back between those times, or it might havebeen Gwenda telling Father to come down between seven and half past.”
“If it was Father and Gwenda, you wouldn’t want to turn them over tothe police. Is that it?”
“If I was sure,” said Tina. “But I’m not sure. It could have been someoneelse. It could have been—Hester and someone? It could even have beenMary, but not Philip. No, not Philip, of course.”
“When you say Hester and someone, who do you mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t see him—the man, I mean?”
“No,” said Tina. “I didn’t see him.”
“Tina, I think you’re lying. It was a man, wasn’t it?”
“I turned back,” said Tina, “towards the car, and then someone came byon the other side of the road walking, very fast. He was just a shadow inthe darkness. And then I thought—I thought I heard a car start up at theend of the road.”
“You thought it was me…” said Micky.
“I didn’t know,” said Tina. “It could have been you. It was about yoursize and height.”
They reached Tina’s little car.
“Come on, Tina,” said Micky, “get in. I’m coming with you. We’ll drivedown to Sunny Point.”
“But, Micky—”
“It’s no use my telling you it wasn’t me, is it? What else should I say?
Come on, drive to Sunny Point.”
“What are you going to do, Micky?”
“Why should you think I’m going to do anything? Weren’t you going toSunny Point anyway?”
“Yes,” said Tina, “I was. I had a letter from Philip.” She started the littlecar. Micky sitting beside her, held himself very taut13 and rigid14.
“Heard from Philip, did you? What had he to say?”
“He asked me to come over. He wanted to see me. He knows this is myhalf-day.”
“Oh. Did he say what he wanted to see you about?”
“He said he wanted to ask me a question and he hoped that I’d give himthe answer to it. He said that I needn’t tell him anything—he’d tell me. Iwould only have to say yes or no. He said that whatever I told him he’dhold in confidence.”
“So he’s up to something, is he?” said Micky. “Interesting.”
It was a very short distance to Sunny Point. When they got there, Mickysaid:
“You go in, Tina. I’m going to walk up and down the garden a bit, think-ing of things. Go on. Have your interview with Philip.”
Tina said:
“You’re not going to—you wouldn’t—”
Micky gave a short laugh.
“Suicide from Lover’s Leap? Come now, Tina, you know me better thanthat.”
“Sometimes,” said Tina, “I think one does not know anybody.”
She turned away from him and walked slowly into the house. Mickylooked after her, his head thrust forward, his hands in his pockets. He wasscowling. Then he walked round the corner of the house looking up at itthoughtfully. All his boyhood memories came back to him. There was theold magnolia tree. He’d climbed up there many a time and through thelanding window. There was the small plot of earth that had been supposedto be his own garden. Not that he’d ever taken very kindly15 to gardens.
He’d always preferred taking any mechanical toys he had to pieces. “De-structive little devil,” he thought with faint amusement.
Ah well, one didn’t really change.
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收听单词发音
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1
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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3
radiating
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| 发射出（光、热等）( radiate的现在分词 )； （使品质或情感）显出，流露； 射出，向四周伸出； 散热 | |
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4
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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carnations
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| n.麝香石竹，康乃馨( carnation的名词复数 ) | |
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6
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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7
inscription
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| n.（尤指石块上的）刻印文字，铭文，碑文 | |
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8
startled
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| adj.受惊吓的v.使惊跳，使大吃一惊( startle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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9
resented
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| 对…感到愤怒( resent的过去式和过去分词 )； 关系( regard的过去式和过去分词 )； 再差遣； 再发 | |
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damn
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| int.该死，他妈的；vt.指责，贬斥，诅咒 | |
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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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12
infinite
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| adj.无限的，无穷的，无边无际的 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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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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