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北回归线|Tropic Of Cancer

Part 11 第2章|Part 11 Chapter 2

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 亨利-米勒] 阅读：[14256]
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她自己谈起了这个话题，这样我就比较容易启齿了。她遇到困难了，还不仅仅是失去了孩子，她母亲病在家里，病得很厉害，要付给医生诊费、要买药，还要买这个、买那个。当然，她的话我一句也不信。我反正得替自己找个旅馆，我便提议她跟我一道走，一起过夜，我暗想回到我那里能节省些。可她不干，坚持要回家，说她自己租了公寓，何况还得照顾她妈妈。仔细一盘算，我认定睡在她那儿会更便宜一些，便应允了，提议马上就走。走之前我认为最好先叫她知道一下我的财政状况，这样到分手时便不会有什么埋怨。我告诉她我口袋里有多少钱，我看她听完后快要昏过去了，她说，“你竟然是这种人！”她像是受了极大侮辱，我估计她会大闹一抄…然而我毫不畏惧，根本不为所动，我平静地说，“好吧，那么我走开就是，也许是我误会了。”

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“我看你是误会了！”她嚷道，同时仍拽着我的袖子不放手。

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“亲爱的，听着……公道点！”听到这话我又恢复了信心，我明白这只不过是要我答应再给她一点儿，以后一切就都妥了。我疲惫地说，“好吧，我会对得起你的。走着瞧好了。”

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“那么，你刚才是在撒谎喽？”她问。

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“是的，我是在撒谎……”我笑了。

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不等我戴上帽子她便叫了一辆出租车，我听见她给司机的地址是克利希林荫道。我自忖，到那儿去的车费比租个房间还多呢。唉，算了，有时间……咱们走着瞧。我不知道车子是怎么开动的，不过她很快就对我大谈起亨利?博尔多来。我还不曾遇见一个不知道亨利?博尔多的妓女！不过这一个是真正有才华的，现在她的语言也文雅了，她那么温柔，那么聪明，使我不断地考虑该给她多少钱才合适。我仿佛听到她在说—“没有时间了。”总之听起来是这话，处于我目前的境况，这话值一百法郎。我诧异这是她自己的话还是从亨利?博尔多那儿拣来的。这也无关紧要。是蒙马特尔街了，我自言自语道，“你好，老妈妈，我和你女儿会照顾你的—没有时间了！”我记得，她还要给我看她的助产士执照。

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进屋一关上门她就显得十分惊慌，她乱忙一气，两只手拧来拧去，摆出萨拉?伯恩哈特的姿势。她的衣服脱了一半，她不时停下来催我快点儿脱，催我干这干那。最后她脱光了，手里拎着一件小背心走来走去，找她的晨衣。我搂住她狠狠拥抱了一下。待我放开她，她脸上流露出很痛苦的表情。“我的上帝！我的上帝！我一定要下楼去看看妈妈！”她嚷道，“想洗就洗个澡，亲爱的。在那边。我几分钟就回来。”在门口我又拥抱了她，我穿着内衣，勃起得很厉害。不知怎么搞的，她所有这些痛苦和激动、所有的悲伤和做作只是激发了我的欲望。也许她只是下楼去安慰她的老鸨，我有一种感觉，一件不寻常的事情正在发生，这将是我在晨报上读到的那类戏剧性轶事。我很快巡视了一下这个地方，这儿有两个房间和一个浴室，装修得还可以，挺卖弄风骚。墙上挂着她的执照，是“一级”的，这类执照总是一级的。梳妆台上还有一张女孩的照片，是一个生着一头秀发的小女孩。我放水洗澡，后来又改变了主意，如果要出什么事，我会在浴盆里被人发现……我可不喜欢这个主意。时间一分钟一分钟过去，我在屋里来回踱着，心里越来越不安。

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她回来时比出去时更加颓丧，不住地呜咽道， “她快死了……她快死了！”有一刹那我差点儿要拔腿走了。当一个女人的妈妈要死在楼下了，也许正在你底下，你他妈的怎么能爬到这个女人身上去呢？我伸出双臂搂住她，一半是同情，一半是决计要获得此行的收获。我们这样站着，她低声咕哝说她需要我应允给她的钱，好像真的遇到了难处，这钱是给“妈妈”的。见鬼，眼下我根本没有心思为几个法郎讨价还价。我走到放衣服的椅子那儿，从表袋里取出一张一百法郎的票子，仍始终小心地背对着她。并且，作为进一步预防措施，还把裤子放在我知道自己将要睡的这一侧。这一百法郎仍不十分令她满意。不过她嫌少时不很坚决，由此我看出这已足够了。接着她以惊人的力量猛地脱下晨衣跳上床来，我刚刚用双臂搂住她，把她拉过来，她便去够开关，关上了灯。她充满激情地拥抱我，她呻吟，所有的法国女人跟你睡觉时都是这样呻吟的。她的调情手段弄得我激动得不得了，关灯的把戏我还是头一回遇见……好像真的洞房花烛夜一样。可我仍不免疑虑重重，一俟能方便行事就伸出双手摸摸我的裤子是不是还在椅子上。

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我想我就要在这儿过夜了，床睡着很舒服，比一般旅馆的床还软些，床单也是干净的，我早就注意到了这一点。只要她别扭来扭去就好了！这劲头会叫你认为她有一个月没跟男人睡过了。我想尽量拖长时间跟她睡个够，我这一百法郎要个个花得值得，可她仍在喃喃自语，说男女睡觉时说的种种疯话，在黑暗中这些话更容易很快叫你不能自持。我不想全力以赴，可是不可能，她在不停地呻吟、喘粗气，还咕哝道，“快，亲爱的！ 快，亲爱的！啊，这好极了！啊，啊！快，快，亲爱的！”我试图数数以镇定下来，但她的喊叫像火警警报响起来一样紧急。

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“快，亲爱的！”这一回她喘着粗气抽搐了一阵，哗，我听到星星叮当乱响，我那一百法郎不见了，还有早已忘掉的那五十。灯又全亮了，她仍像跳上床时那样麻利地跳下床，一边还像头老母猪一样哼哼、尖叫。我又躺下来抽起一根香烟，同时后悔地凝视着我的裤子，它皱成了一团。不到一分钟她又回来了，一面往身上裹晨衣一面用叫人心神不宁的激动口吻告诉我别拘束、随便些。她又说，“我下楼去看看妈妈。别客气，亲爱的，我马上就回来。”

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过了一刻钟，我觉得非常急躁不安，我走进里屋看完了放在桌上的一封信，信上没有什么内容，是一封情书。在浴室里我查看了架上所有的瓶子，一个女人使自己身上香气袭人的各种玩艺儿她都应有尽有。我仍希望她会回来，给我另外五十法郎的货，可是时间一分一秒过去了，仍不见她的踪影。我心慌了，也许楼下真有人快死了。我糊里糊涂地穿起衣服来，我想这是出于一种保护自己的本能吧。系腰带时我突然想起她是如何把那张一百法郎的票子装进钱包的，情急中她把钱包塞进衣柜上层了，我还记得她的动作—踞起脚尖要够到那层。不到一分钟我就打开衣柜摸到那只钱包，它还在老地方。我急忙把它打开，看见我那一百法郎稳妥地藏在绸子夹层之间。我把钱包放回老地方，穿上外衣和鞋子溜到楼梯平台上仔细侧耳听了一阵。什么都听不到，天知道她到哪儿去了。我马上又回到衣柜前摸出她的钱包，装上那一百法郎和所有零钱。我无声地关上门，轻手轻脚地下楼，一到了街上我便使出吃奶的力气尽量快走。到布尔东咖啡店那儿我停下吃点儿东西，妓女们在这儿放肆地用东西投掷一个吃饭时睡着了的胖子。这个胖子睡得很死，还在打鼾，不过他的颚仍在机械地上下活动。这个地方闹哄哄的，有人在喊“开车啦”！接着便是一阵有节奏的僻僻啪啪乱扔刀叉声。胖子睁了睁眼，傻呼呼地眨眨眼，脑袋又向前倒在胸脯上了。我仔细把那一百法郎的钞票放回表袋里，数了数零钱。身边的嘈杂声越来越大，我无法确切忆起是否在她的执照上看到 “一级”的字样。至于她妈，我根本不关心，我希望现在她已经死掉了。如果这姑娘说的都是实话那才怪呢，她太好了，好得叫人不敢相信。“快点，亲爱的……快点！快点！”还有那个说“我的好先生，你的面容真慈祥”的傻子，不知她是不是真的在我们停下的那个地方的旅馆里租了一个房间。

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She made it easier for me because she herself introduced the subject. She was in difficulties. It was not only that she had just lost her child, but her mother was home, ill, very ill, and there was the doctor to pay and medicine to be bought, and so on and so forth. I didn’t believe a word of it, of course. And since I had to find a hotel for myself, I suggested that she come along with me and stay the night. A little economy there, I thought to myself. But she wouldn’t do that. She insisted on going home, said she had an apartment to herself – and besides she had to look after her mother. On reflection I decided that it would be still cheaper sleeping at her place, so I said yes and let’s go immediately. Before going, however, I decided it was best to let her know just how I stood, so that there wouldn’t be any squawking at the last minute. I thought she was going to faint when I told her how much I had in my pocket. "The likes of it!" she said. Highly insulted she was. I thought there would be a scene… Undaunted, however, I stood my ground. "Very well, then, I’ll leave you," I said quietly. "Perhaps I’ve made a mistake."

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"I should say you have!" she exclaimed, but clutching me by the sleeve at the same time. "Ecoute, cheri… sois raisonnable!" When I heard that all my confidence was restored. I knew that it would be merely a question of promising her a little extra and everything would be O.K. "All right," I said wearily, "I’ll be nice to you, you’ll see."

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"You were lying to me, then?" she said.

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"Yes," I smiled, "I was just lying…"

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Before I had even put my hat on she had hailed a cab. I heard her give the Boulevard de Clichy for an address. That was more than the price of room, I thought to myself. Oh well, there was time yet… we’d see. I don’t know how it started any more but soon she was raving to me about Henry Bordeaux. I have yet to meet a whore who doesn’t know of Henry Bordeaux! But this one was genuinely inspired; her language was beautiful now, so tender, so discerning, that I was debating how much to give her. It seemed to me that I had heard her say – "quand il n’y aura plus de temps." It sounded like that, anyway. In the state I was in, a phrase like that was worth a hundred francs. I wondered if it was her own or if she had pulled it from Henry Bordeaux. Little matter. It was just the right phrase with which to roll up to the foot of Montmartre. "Good evening, mother," I was saying to myself, "daughter and I will look after you – quand il n’y aura plus de temps!" She was going to show me her diploma, too, I remembered that.

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She was all aflutter, once the door had closed behind us. Distracted. Wringing her hands and striking Sarah Bernhardt poses, half undressed too, and pausing between times to urge me to hurry, to get undressed, to do this and do that. Finally, when she had stripped down and was poking about with a chemise in her hand, searching for her kimono, I caught hold of her and gave her a good squeeze. She had a look of anguish on her face when I released her. "My God! My God! I must go downstairs and have a look at mother!" she exclaimed. "You can take a bath if you like, chéri. There! I’ll be back in a few minutes." At the door I embraced her again. I was in my underclothes and I had a tremendous erection. Somehow all this anguish and excitement, all the grief and histrionics, only whetted my appetite. Perhaps she was just going downstairs to quiet her maquereau. I had a feeling that something unusual was happening, some sort of drama which I would read about in the morning paper. I gave the place a quick inspection. There were two rooms and a bath, not badly furnished. Rather coquettish. There was her diploma on the wall – "first class," as they all read. And there was the photograph of a child, a little girl with beautiful locks, on the dresser. I put the water on for a bath, and then I changed my mind. If something were to happen and I were found in the tub… I didn’t like the idea. I paced back and forth, getting more and more uneasy as the minutes rolled by.

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When she returned she was even more upset than before. "She’s going to die… she’s going to die!" she kept wailing. For a moment I was almost on the point of leaving. How the hell can you climb over a woman when her mother’s dying downstairs, perhaps right beneath you? I put my arms around her, half in sympathy and half determined to get what I had come for. As we stood thus she murmured, as if in real distress, her need for the money I had promised her. It was for "maman." Shit, I didn’t have the heart to haggle about a few francs at the moment. I walked over to the chair where my clothes were lying and I wiggled a hundred franc note out of my fob pocket, carefully keeping my back turned to her just the same. And, as a further precaution, I placed my pants on the side of the bed where I knew I was going to flop. The hundred francs wasn’t altogether satisfactory to her, but I could see from the feeble way that she protested that it was quite enough. Then, with an energy that astonished me, she flung off her kimono and jumped into bed. As soon as I had put my arms around her and pulled her to me she reached for the switch and out went the lights. She embraced me passionately, and she groaned as all French cunts do when they get you in bed. She was getting me frightfully roused with her carrying on; that business of turning out the lights was a new one to me… it seemed like the real thing. But I was suspicious too, and as soon as I could manage conveniently I put my hands out to feel if my trousers were still there on the chair.

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I thought we were settled for the night. The bed felt very comfortable, softer than the average hotel bed – and the the sheets were clean, I had noticed that. If only she wouldn’t squirm so! You would think she hadn’t slept with a man for a month. I wanted to stretch it out. I wanted full value for my hundred francs. But she was mumbling all sorts of things in that crazy bed language which goes to your blood even more rapidly when it’s in the dark. I was putting up a stiff fight, but it was impossible with her groaning and gasping going on, and her muttering: "vite chéri! Vite chéri! Oh, c’est bon! Oh, oh! Vite, vite, chéri!" I tried to count but it was like a fire alarm going off.

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"Vite, chéri!" and this time she gave such a gasping shudder that bango! I heard the stars chiming and there was my hundred francs gone and the fifty that I had forgotten all about and the lights were on again and with the same alacrity that she had bounced into bed she was bouncing out again and grunting and squealing like an old sow. I lay back and puffed a cigarette, gazing ruefully at my pants the while; they were terribly wrinkled. In a moment she was back again, wrapping the kimono around her, and telling me in that agitated way which was getting on my nerves that I should make myself at home. "I’m going downstairs to see mother," she said. "Mais faites comme chez vous, chéri. Je reviens tout de suite."

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After a quarter of an hour had passed I began to feel thoroughly restless. I went inside and I read through a letter that was lying on the table. It was nothing of any account – a love letter. In the bathroom I examined all the bottles on the shelf; she had everything a woman requires to make herself smell beautiful. I was still hoping that she would come back and give me another fifty francs’ worth. But time dragged on and there was no sign of her. I began to grow alarmed. Perhaps there was someone dying downstairs. Absent – mindedly, out of a sense of self preservation, I suppose, I began to put my things on. As I was buckling my belt it came to me like a flash how she had stuffed the hundred franc note into her purse. In the excitement of the moment she had thrust the purse in the wardrobe, on the upper shelf. I remembered the gesture she made – standing on her tiptoes and reaching for the shelf. It didn’t take me a minute to open the wardrobe and feel around for the purse. It was still there. I opened it hurriedly and saw my hundred franc note lying snugly between the silk coverlets. I put the purse back just as it was, slipped into my coat and shoes, and then I went to the landing and listened intently. I couldn’t hear a sound. Where she had gone to, Christ only knows. In a jiffy I was back at the wardrobe and fumbling with her purse. I pocketed the hundred francs and all the loose change besides. Then, closing the door silently, I tiptoed down the stairs and when once I had hit the street I walked just as fast as my legs would carry me. At the Café Boudon I stopped for a bite. The whores there having a gay time pelting a fat man who had fallen asleep over his meal. He was sound asleep; snoring, in fact, and yet his jaws were working away mechanically. The place was in an uproar. There were shouts of "All aboard!" and then a concerted banging of knives and forks. He opened his eyes for a moment, blinked stupidly, and then his head rolled forward again on his chest. I put the hundred franc bill carefully away in my fob pocket and counted the change. The din around me was increasing and I had difficulty to recall exactly whether I had seen "first-class" on her diploma or not. It bothered me. About her mother I didn’t give a damn. I hoped she had croaked by now. It would be strange if what she had said were true. Too good to believe. vite chéri… vite, vite! And the other half wit with her "my good sir" and "you have such a kind face"! I wondered if she had really taken a room in that hotel we stopped by.

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