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恋爱中的女人|Women in Love

Chapter 10 Sketch-book|Chapter 10 Sketch-book

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 劳伦斯] 阅读：[28848]
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一天早晨，姐妹二人来到威利湖畔的边远地带写生。戈蹚水来到一处布满砾石的浅滩，象一位佛教徒那样坐下来，凝视着低矮的岸边泥土里鲜嫩的水生植物。她看到的尽是软软的稀泥，泥浆中生出青翠的水生植物来，肥厚而有肉质，主干挺拔饱满，两侧平平地伸展出叶子，色彩缤纷，有深红，有墨绿，一片深紫，一片黄棕色。但是她却能用审美的眼光去看它们饱满多肉的肌体，她知道它们是如何从泥水中长出来的，她知道那叶子是如何自己伸展出来的，她知道它们多汁的身躯何以在空中挺立着。

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水面上有一群蝴蝶在飞舞。厄秀拉看到蓝色的蝴蝶瞬息间不知从何处扑拉拉飞出，飞进凤仙花丛中，一只黑红两色的蝶扑到花朵上，微颤着双翅，沉迷地呼吸着纯静阳光。两只白蝶在空中扭打在一起，它们周身笼罩着一层光环。厄秀拉看了一会儿，就站起身飘飘然离开了，象蝴蝶一样毫无意识。

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戈珍蹲在浅滩上沉醉地看着亭亭玉立的水生植物，边看边画着。可看不上一会儿，她就会不由自主地凝视起来，对挺拔、裸露着的肥厚枝干着起迷来。她光脚蹲在水中，帽子放在眼前的岸上。

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欸乃的橹声，把她从沉醉中惊醒。她四下里张望一下，看到那边驶来一条船，船上撑着一把华丽的日本女伞，一位身着白衣的男士在划着船。那女的是赫麦妮，男的是杰拉德，她立刻就认出来了。一时间她被渴望的战栗感所攫取，那是从血管中震荡而过的一股强烈电波，比在贝多弗见到杰拉德时强烈多了，那时不过是一种低弱的电流罢了。

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杰拉德是她的避难所，让她得以逃脱那苍白、缺少意识的地下世界的矿工们。他们是一潭泥坑、而杰拉德则是泥中的出水芙蓉，他是他们的主人。她看到了他的后背，看到他白白的腰肢随着他划船的动作在运动着。他似乎弯腰在做什么。他有点发白的头发在闪光，就象天上的电光一样。

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“戈珍在那儿呢，”水面上飘过来赫麦妮的声音，很清晰。

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“咱们过去跟她打个招呼吧，你介意吗？”

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杰拉德看到戈珍姑娘站在湖岸边正在看他，于是他象受到什么吸引似地把船向她划去，脑子里却并没想她。在他意识的世界里，她仍然是个不起眼儿的人。他知道赫麦妮要打破一切社会地位的不平等，对此她报以一种奇特的快慰，至少表面上她是这样的人，于是他顺从了她。

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“你好，戈珍，”赫麦妮慢悠悠地唤着戈珍的教名，摆出一副很时髦的姿态。“做什么呢？”

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“你好，赫麦妮。我正写生呢。”

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“是吗？”船摇近了，龙头触到岸上时，赫麦妮说：“可以让我看看吗？我很喜欢看。”

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戈珍知道反抗赫麦妮的意图是无用的，于是她回答：

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“那——”她很不愿意让别人看自己没完成的作品，因此语气很勉强。“一点都没意思。”

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“不会吧？还是让我看看吧。”

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戈珍把素描簿递了过去，杰拉德从船上伸手去接了过来。此时此刻，他记起了戈珍对他说的最后一句话，那时她冲着坐在震颤的马背上的他说了那句话。他的神经立时感到一阵骄傲，他似乎感到她向他屈服了。他们两人交流了感情，那是一种不为意识所控制的强有力的交流。

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似乎着了魔一样，戈珍意识到他的身体倾过来，象一股野火窜过来，他的手象一根树干直朝她伸过来。她感到一种肉体上强烈的恐惧，几乎昏厥过去，头脑一片昏暗，意识一片空白。可他却在水上荡着，似一点漂荡的磷火。他观察一下小船，发现它有些离岸了，于是挥起橹将船驶回来。在深沉柔和的水面上慢悠悠驾着轻舟，那种美妙感觉真是令人心醉。

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“你画的就是这些，”赫麦妮说着，眼睛搜寻着岸边的水生植物，将它们与戈珍的画作着比较。戈珍顺着赫麦妮长长的手指所指的方向看着。“是那个吗，嗯？”赫麦妮反复问着想得到证实。

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“是的，”戈珍不经意地回答，对赫麦妮的话并没往心里去。

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“让我瞧瞧，”杰拉德说着伸出手来要本子。赫麦妮理都不理他，她没看完之前他别想看。可他有着跟她一样不屈不懈的意志，他仍旧伸出手去摸素描簿。赫麦妮吃了一惊，对他反感极了，还没等他拿稳。她就松了手，素描簿在船帮上碰了一下就掉到水里去了。

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“天啊！”赫麦妮叫着，可那语调却掩饰不住某种恶意的胜利感。“对不起，太对不起了。杰拉德，能把它捞上来吗？”

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她的话语中既透着焦虑又显出对杰拉德的嘲弄，简直令杰拉德恨死她了。杰拉德把大半个身子探出船外，手伸到水中去。他感到自己这个姿式很可笑，他腰部的肉都露出来了。

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“没什么，”戈珍铿锵地说。她似乎要去触摸他。可他却更远远地探出身子去，把船搞得剧烈晃动起来。但赫麦妮无动于衷。他的手在水下抓住了素描簿拎了上来，本子水淋淋的。

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“我太过意不去了，太对不起了。”赫麦妮反复说，“恐怕这都是我的错。”

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“这没什么，真的，别往心里去，一点没关系，”戈珍大声强调道，脸都绯红了。说着她不耐烦地伸手去接那湿漉漉的素描簿，以此了结这桩闹剧。杰拉德把本子还给她，样子颇有些激动。

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“我太抱歉了，”赫麦妮重复着，都把杰拉德和戈珍说恼了。“没什么补救办法了吗？”

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“怎么办？”戈珍冷冷地调侃道。

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“我们还能挽救这些画儿吗？”

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戈珍沉默了，很显然她对赫麦妮的穷追不舍表示不屑一顾。

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“你放心吧，”戈珍干脆地说，“这些画儿依然很好，还能用。我不过是用来当个参考罢了。”

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“我可以给你一个新簿子吗？我希望你别拒绝我。我太抱歉了，我觉得这都是我的错。”

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“其实呀，”戈珍说，“根本不是你的错。如果说错，那也是杰拉德的错。可这桩事儿太微不足道了，要是太往心里去岂不荒谬？”

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戈珍驳斥赫麦妮时，杰拉德一直凝视着她。戈珍身上有一种冷酷的力量。他以某种深邃的洞察力审视着她。他发现她是一个危险，敌意的精灵，什么也无法战胜她。另外，她的举止也算得上绝顶得完美。

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“这太让我高兴了，”杰拉德说，“没损害什么就好。”

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戈珍回首看着他，漂亮的蓝眼睛盯着他，那目光直刺入他的灵魂。她的话音银铃般地响着，对他表示亲昵：

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“当然，一点也没关系。”

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一个眼神，一声话语，两人之间就产生了默契。她说话的语调清楚地表明：他和她是同病相怜的一类人。她还知道她能左右他。不管他们到了哪里，他们都能秘密地结成同盟，而他在这种同盟中处于被动的位置上。她的心里高兴极了。

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“再见！你原谅了我，让我太高兴了。再见！”

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赫麦妮悠长地拖着告别的话，边说边挥着手臂。杰拉德身不由己地操起橹来把船划开了，可他闪烁着笑意的眼睛却艳羡地看着戈珍，戈珍站在浅滩上挥着水淋淋的书本向他们告别。然后她转开身，不再去理会倒划回去的船只。可杰拉德却边划船边回头看她，早忘了自己手中的桨。

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“船是否太偏左了？”赫麦妮慢声慢气地问道，她坐在花伞下，感到被冷落了。

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杰拉德不作声地四下观望一下，矫正了航向。

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“我觉得现在挺好了。”他和蔼地说，然后又没头没脑地划起船来。对他这种和和气气但视而不见的样子，赫麦妮着实不喜欢，她感到自己被冷落了，她无法再恢复自己的倨傲地位。

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ONE MORNING the sisters were sketching by the side of Willey Water, at the remote end of the lake. Gudrun had waded out to a gravelly shoal, and was seated like a Buddhist, staring fixedly at the water-plants that rose succulent from the mud of the low shores. What she could see was mud, soft, oozy, watery mud, and from its festering chill, water-plants rose up, thick and cool and fleshy, very straight and turgid, thrusting out their leaves at right angles, and having dark lurid colours, dark green and blotches of black-purple and bronze. But she could feel their turgid fleshy structure as in a sensuous vision, she knew how they rose out of the mud, she knew how they thrust out from themselves, how they stood stiff and succulent against the air.

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Ursula was watching the butterflies, of which there were dozens near the water, little blue ones suddenly snapping out of nothingness into a jewellife, a large black-and-red one standing upon a flower and breathing with his soft wings, intoxicatingly, breathing pure, ethereal sunshine; two white ones wrestling in the low air; there was a halo round them; ah, when they came tumbling nearer they were orangetips, and it was the orange that had made the halo. Ursula rose and drifted away, unconscious like the butterflies.

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Gudrun, absorbed in a stupor of apprehension of surging water-plants, sat crouched on the shoal, drawing, not looking up for a long time, and then staring unconsciously, absorbedly at the rigid, naked, succulent stems. Her feet were bare, her hat lay on the bank opposite.

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She started out of her trance, hearing the knocking of oars. She looked round. There was a boat with a gaudy Japanese parasol, and a man in white, rowing. The woman was Hermione, and the man was Gerald. She knew it instantly. And instantly she perished in the keen frisson of anticipation, an electric vibration in her veins, intense, much more intense than that which was always humming low in the atmosphere of Beldover.

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Gerald was her escape from the heavy slough of the pale, underworld, automatic colliers. He started out of the mud. He was master. She saw his back, the movement of his white loins. But not that -- it was the whiteness he seemed to enclose as he bent forwards, rowing. He seemed to stoop to something. His glistening, whitish hair seemed like the electricity of the sky.

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`There’s Gudrun,’ came Hermione’s voice floating distinct over the water. `We will go and speak to her. Do you mind?’

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Gerald looked round and saw the girl standing by the water’s edge, looking at him. He pulled the boat towards her, magnetically, without thinking of her. In his world, his conscious world, she was still nobody. He knew that Hermione had a curious pleasure in treading down all the social differences, at least apparently, and he left it to her.

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`How do you do, Gudrun?’ sang Hermione, using the Christian name in the fashionable manner. `What are you doing?’

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`How do you do, Hermione? I was sketching.’

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`Were you?’ The boat drifted nearer, till the keel ground on the bank. `May we see? I should like to so much.’

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It was no use resisting Hermione’s deliberate intention.

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`Well --’ said Gudrun reluctantly, for she always hated to have her unfinished work exposed -- `there’s nothing in the least interesting.’

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`Isn’t there? But let me see, will you?’

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Gudrun reached out the sketch-book, Gerald stretched from the boat to take it. And as he did so, he remembered Gudrun’s last words to him, and her face lifted up to him as he sat on the swerving horse. An intensification of pride went over his nerves, because he felt, in some way she was compelled by him. The exchange of feeling between them was strong and apart from their consciousness.

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And as if in a spell, Gudrun was aware of his body, stretching and surging like the marsh-fire, stretching towards her, his hand coming straight forward like a stem. Her voluptuous, acute apprehension of him made the blood faint in her veins, her mind went dim and unconscious. And he rocked on the water perfectly, like the rocking of phosphorescence. He looked round at the boat. It was drifting off a little. He lifted the oar to bring it back. And the exquisite pleasure of slowly arresting the boat, in the heavy-soft water, was complete as a swoon.

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`That’s what you have done,’ said Hermione, looking searchingly at the plants on the shore, and comparing with Gudrun’s drawing. Gudrun looked round in the direction of Hermione’s long, pointing finger. `That is it, isn’t it?’ repeated Hermione, needing confirmation.

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`Yes,’ said Gudrun automatically, taking no real heed.

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`Let me look,’ said Gerald, reaching forward for the book. But Hermione ignored him, he must not presume, before she had finished. But he, his will as unthwarted and as unflinching as hers, stretched forward till he touched the book. A little shock, a storm of revulsion against him, shook Hermione unconsciously. She released the book when he had not properly got it, and it tumbled against the side of the boat and bounced into the water.

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`There!’ sang Hermione, with a strange ring of malevolent victory. `I’m so sorry, so awfully sorry. Can’t you get it, Gerald?’

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This last was said in a note of anxious sneering that made Gerald’s veins tingle with fine hate for her. He leaned far out of the boat, reaching down into the water. He could feel his position was ridiculous, his loins exposed behind him.

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`It is of no importance,’ came the strong, clanging voice of Gudrun. She seemed to touch him. But he reached further, the boat swayed violently. Hermione, however, remained unperturbed. He grasped the book, under the water, and brought it up, dripping.

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`I’m so dreadfully sorry -- dreadfully sorry,’ repeated Hermione. `I’m afraid it was all my fault.’

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`It’s of no importance -- really, I assure you -- it doesn’t matter in the least,’ said Gudrun loudly, with emphasis, her face flushed scarlet. And she held out her hand impatiently for the wet book, to have done with the scene. Gerald gave it to her. He was not quite himself.

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`I’m so dreadfully sorry,’ repeated Hermione, till both Gerald and Gudrun were exasperated. `Is there nothing that can be done?’

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`In what way?’ asked Gudrun, with cool irony.

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`Can’t we save the drawings?’

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There was a moment’s pause, wherein Gudrun made evident all her refutation of Hermione’s persistence.

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`I assure you,’ said Gudrun, with cutting distinctness, `the drawings are quite as good as ever they were, for my purpose. I want them only for reference.’

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`But can’t I give you a new book? I wish you’d let me do that. I feel so truly sorry. I feel it was all my fault.’

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`As far as I saw,’ said Gudrun, `it wasn’t your fault at all. If there was any fault, it was Mr Crich’s. But the whole thing is entirely trivial, and it really is ridiculous to take any notice of it.’

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Gerald watched Gudrun closely, whilst she repulsed Hermione. There was a body of cold power in her. He watched her with an insight that amounted to clairvoyance. He saw her a dangerous, hostile spirit, that could stand undiminished and unabated. It was so finished, and of such perfect gesture, moreover.

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`I’m awfully glad if it doesn’t matter,’ he said; `if there’s no real harm done.’

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She looked back at him, with her fine blue eyes, and signalled full into his spirit, as she said, her voice ringing with intimacy almost caressive now it was addressed to him:

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`Of course, it doesn’t matter in the least.’

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The bond was established between them, in that look, in her tone. In her tone, she made the understanding clear -- they were of the same kind, he and she, a sort of diabolic freemasonry subsisted between them. Henceforward, she knew, she had her power over him. Wherever they met, they would be secretly associated. And he would be helpless in the association with her. Her soul exulted.

35

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`Good-bye! I’m so glad you forgive me. Gooood-bye!’

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Hermione sang her farewell, and waved her hand. Gerald automatically took the oar and pushed off. But he was looking all the time, with a glimmering, subtly-smiling admiration in his eyes, at Gudrun, who stood on the shoal shaking the wet book in her hand. She turned away and ignored the receding boat. But Gerald looked back as he rowed, beholding her, forgetting what he was doing.

37

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`Aren’t we going too much to the left?’ sang Hermione, as she sat ignored under her coloured parasol.

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Gerald looked round without replying, the oars balanced and glancing in the sun.

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`I think it’s all right,’ he said good-humouredly, beginning to row again without thinking of what he was doing. And Hermione disliked him extremely for his good-humoured obliviousness, she was nullified, she could not regain ascendancy.

40

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