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美丽新世界|Brave New World

第六章|Chapter Six

属类: 双语小说 【分类】双语小说 阅读:[24066]
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古怪,古怪,太古怪了,这是列宁娜对伯纳德·马克斯的评价。实际上,他太古怪了,以至于在接下来的几周里,列宁娜不止一次地考虑她是否应该改变主意,不去新墨西哥度假了,而是和本尼托·胡佛一块儿去北极。可问题是,她去过北极,去年夏天和乔治·埃德泽尔一块儿去的,还有,她觉得北极太阴冷了。在那儿没有什么事情可做,宾馆也老旧得要命,卧室里没有电视,没有香味乐器,只有那种最糟糕的合成音乐,两百多个客人却只有二十五个升降机壁球场可用。不,她绝对不能再去北极了。况且,她只去过美国一次,就那一次,还玩得不够尽兴!只在纽约度了个可怜的周末,是和让·雅克·哈比杜拉还是和波卡诺夫斯基·琼斯一起去的来着?她都记不起来了,反正,那一次没有什么重要的。再次飞往西部,而且是整整一周,想想都够诱人的。另外,那一周里,至少有三天时间他们都会待在野蛮人保留地。整个孵化与训练中心里,只有六七个人曾经到过野蛮人保留地。伯纳德是个阿尔法+心理学家,在她认识的人中,他是拥有许可证的为数不多的男人之一。对列宁娜来说,这次机会是非常难得的。但是,伯纳德的古怪也真够罕见的,她都有点犹豫要不要接受邀请了,甚至都在考虑:要不要再冒一次险,和滑稽的本尼托再去一趟北极?至少,本尼托还是正常的,而伯纳德……“代血浆里的酒精。”范妮对伯纳德的每一个奇怪之处都这么解释。但是,有一次和亨利在床上时,列宁娜满腹忧虑地谈起她的新情人,亨利却把可怜的伯纳德比喻成一头犀牛。

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“你没法教一头犀牛玩花样。”他以惯有的简洁有力的风格解释道,“有些男人具有犀牛的特质,他们对条件训练的反应不太正常。可怜的家伙们!伯纳德就是其中之一。幸运的是,他工作干得不错,否则,主任才不会留着他呢。不过,”他安慰似的加了一句,“我觉得他没有什么恶意。”

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没有恶意,也许吧,但是也够叫人不放心的。首先,就是他那个喜欢独自做事情的怪癖,那其实意味着,什么事都没有做啊,独自一人又能做点什么呢?(当然,上床睡觉除外,可是,也不能总是做这一件事啊。)是啊,能有什么事可做呢?少得可怜。他俩第一次一起外出的那个下午,天气特别好。列宁娜建议去托盖乡村俱乐部游泳,然后去牛津联合会吃晚餐,可是,伯纳德觉得那里人太多了。那么,去圣安德鲁斯玩电磁高尔夫球怎么样?还是不行,伯纳德认为电磁高尔夫是浪费时间。

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“那么,时间是用来干什么的呢?”列宁娜吃惊地问。

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很显然,是用来到湖区散步的,因为,随后伯纳德提出去湖区。把飞机降落在斯基道的山顶上,然后在石楠丛中漫步一两个小时。“单独和你在一起,列宁娜。”

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“可是,伯纳德,我们整个晚上都会单独在一起呀。”

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伯纳德涨红了脸,望向别处。“我的意思是,单独在一起,聊聊天。”他咕哝着说。

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“聊天?可是聊什么呢?”散步,聊天,就那样过一个下午,可真够奇怪的。

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最终,尽管他很不情愿,但她说服了他,飞到阿姆斯特丹,去看女子重量级摔跤比赛的四分之一决赛。“还是跟一堆人在一起。”他抱怨着。整个下午,他都固执地阴沉着脸,不愿意和列宁娜的朋友们讲话(在摔跤比赛间隙,他们在冰淇淋唆麻店遇到了几十个列宁娜的朋友);还有,即使他很不开心,也绝不接受她塞给他的含半克唆麻的树莓圣代。“我宁愿做我自己,”他说,“做我自己,继续讨人嫌,也不愿意成为别人,再快乐也不愿意。”

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“及时的一克胜过九克。”列宁娜说,从睡眠教育的智慧宝库中拿出一条。伯纳德不耐烦地推开了她递过来的杯子。

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“你看,不要发脾气。”她说,“记住,吃下一小片,烦恼都不见。”

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“哦,看着福帝的分上,住嘴!”他喊道。

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列宁娜耸了耸肩。“唆麻一片,摆脱苦难。”她颇有尊严地总结道,自己把圣代喝下去了。

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在回来的途中,飞越英吉利海峡的时候,伯纳德坚持要关上推进器,仅靠着直升机的螺旋桨,在海浪上方一百英尺处悬停一段时间。天气突然变糟了,刮起了西南风,天空乌云密布。

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“看。”他命令她。

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“可是,这太恐怖了。”列宁娜说,从窗口缩回来。飞速袭来的夜晚的空旷感,下方泡沫飞溅的汹涌的黑色海水,在匆匆掠过的云团中显得那么憔悴、那么烦恼的苍白月亮,这一切把列宁娜吓坏了。“打开收音机吧,快点!”她伸手去够仪表盘上的旋钮,随意打开了一个台。

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“……在你的怀里,天空是那么蔚蓝,”十六个颤抖的假声在唱着,“天上永远……”

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然后,收音机发出打嗝一般的声音,陷入沉默。伯纳德把电源给关了。

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“我想静静地看看大海,”他说,“听着这么个鬼声音,连大海也看不好。”

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“多好听啊。我不想看了。”

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“可我想看,”他坚持道,“让我感觉好像……”他迟疑着,寻找着合适的词汇来表达自己的感受,“好像我更是我自己了,如果你明白我的意思。我更加独立,而不是别的什么东西的一部分,不仅仅是社会肌体中的一个细胞。列宁娜,你有没有这种感觉?”

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列宁娜在哭。“太可怕了,太可怕了。”她不断地说,“你怎么能那么说话呢,说自己不想成为社会肌体的一部分?毕竟,每个人都为别人工作。我们离不开任何人。即使是艾普西隆……”

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“是的,我知道,”伯纳德讥讽地说,“‘即使是艾普西隆也有用’!我也一样。可我真他妈的希望我没有用处!”

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他这番亵渎的话令列宁娜大吃一惊。“伯纳德!”她抗议着,又吃惊,又痛苦,“你怎么能这么说话?”

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他换了个调子。“我怎么能这么说话?”他重复着,若有所思,“不,真正的问题是,为什么我不能,或者说——因为,毕竟,我非常清楚我为什么不能这么说话——如果我能这么说的话,事情会是什么样的,如果我是自由的——如果我没有被受过的条件训练奴役的话。”

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“可是,伯纳德,你说的这些都太骇人听闻了。”

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“难道你不希望自己是自由的吗,列宁娜?”

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“我不明白你的意思。我是自由的。自由地享受最美妙的时光。现在每个人都很幸福。”

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他笑了。“是啊,‘现在每个人都很幸福’。从孩子们五岁起,我们就教他们这个。可是,难道你不希望能够以其他的方式自由地追求幸福吗,列宁娜?比如,以你自己的方式,而不是和大家都一样?”

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“我不明白你的意思。”她重复了一遍,接着,她转向他,“哦,我们回去吧,伯纳德,”她乞求他,“我不喜欢这里。”

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“你不喜欢和我在一起吗?”

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“当然喜欢了,伯纳德。我是不喜欢这个鬼地方。”

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“我以为,我们两个在这里可以变得更……更接近,只有大海和月亮陪着我们。比在人群中更接近,甚至比在我的房间里还要更接近彼此。难道你不明白吗?”

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“我什么都不明白,”她果断地说,决心继续糊涂着,“不明白,一点都不明白。”她换了种语气,继续说,“你产生那些可怕想法的时候,为什么不吃点唆麻呢?你会忘掉那一切的。不再难过,而是非常快活,那么快活。”她重复了一遍。尽管她的眼睛里依然充满迷惑和焦虑,她还是微笑了,希望能够以自己的魅力和妖艳来劝服他。

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他默默地看着她,脸上没有任何反应,非常严肃,专心地看着她。过了一会儿,列宁娜的眼睛退缩了,她紧张地笑了一下,想说点什么,可什么都想不出来。沉默继续着。

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伯纳德最后开口了,声音低沉而疲惫。“那好吧,”他说,“我们回去。”他狠狠地踩了一下加速器,飞机呼地冲上高空。在四千米的高空,他发动了推进器。他们沉默地飞了一两分钟。然后,突然地,伯纳德开始大笑起来。列宁娜想,他笑得太古怪了,不过,总归是笑啊。

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“感觉好点了吗?”她鼓起勇气问道。

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作为回答,他将一只手从控制板上拿开,揽住她,开始玩弄她的乳房。

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“感谢福帝,”她心里想,“他终于正常了。”

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半小时之后,他们回到了他的房间。伯纳德一口气吞了四片唆麻,打开收音机和电视机,开始脱衣服。

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“喂,”第二天下午他们在楼顶见面的时候,列宁娜带着俏皮,意味深长地问他,“你觉得昨天好玩不?”

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伯纳德点点头。他们爬进了飞机。轻微的颠簸之后,他们出发了。

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“每个人都说我太丰满了。”列宁娜拍拍两腿,若有所思地说。

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“是太丰满了。”伯纳德的眼睛里有一种痛苦的表情。“就像一团肉。”他心里想。

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她有点担心地抬头看着他。“你是不是认为我太胖了?”

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他摇摇头。就像一大团肉。

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“你觉得我很好?”又一次点头。“每个方面都是?”

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“完美无缺。”他说,心里却在想:“她就是这么看她自己的。她不在乎自己就是一团肉。”

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列宁娜微笑了,很得意。但她满意得太早了。

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“尽管如此,”他停顿了一会儿,继续说,“我还是希望结果不是这样的。”

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“不是这样?”还有其他的结果吗?

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“我不希望我们最终以上床了事。”他说得更明白了。

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列宁娜大感诧异。

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“不是马上上床,不是第一天就上床。”

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“可是,那么……”

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他开始大谈特谈他那些玄奥又危险的废话。列宁娜尽可能地堵住她心灵的耳朵,可是,还是有一两个词时不时地钻进来。“试试抑制我的本能会有什么结果。”她听见他在说。这些词语似乎触动了她脑海里的某个弹簧。

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“永远不要把今天可以享受的事情推迟到明天。”她郑重其事地说。

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“从十四岁到十六岁半,每周两次,每次两百遍的重复。”这是他唯一的评价,他疯狂的呓语还在继续,“我想了解什么是激情,”她听见他在说,“我想体验强烈的感情。”

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“当个人产生感情,社会就地动山摇。”列宁娜宣告。

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“干吗不可以让它摇一摇、动一动呢?”

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“伯纳德!”

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可是伯纳德一点不觉得羞愧。

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“心智上是成年人,工作的时候是成年人,”他继续说,“在感情和欲望方面,却还是孩子。”

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“可我们的福帝爱小孩子。”

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对她的打岔,伯纳德毫不理会,继续说:“那天,我突然想到,我们完全可以一直做成年人。”

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“我不明白。”列宁娜的语气非常坚定。

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“我知道你不懂。所以,昨天我们才上床了,就像孩子,而不是像个成年人那样,等待一段时间。”

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“可我们这么做很有趣啊,”列宁娜坚持着,“你不觉得吗?”

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“哦,最有趣不过了。”他回答,可是声音那么悲伤,表情那么痛苦,列宁娜顿时感到自己的得意之情烟消云散了。

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归根到底,他可能还是觉得自己太胖了。

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“我告诉过你的,”范妮只说了这句,列宁娜是来找她倾诉心事的,“是因为他们在他的代血浆里倒入了酒精。”

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“无论如何,”列宁娜坚持说,“我还是喜欢他的。他的手太漂亮了。还有他耸动肩膀的样子,非常迷人。”列宁娜叹了口气,“可是,我真希望他不要那么古怪。”

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伯纳德在主任办公室的门外站了一会儿,深深地吸了口气,挺起胸脯,鼓足勇气去面对他肯定会遭遇的厌烦和不满。他敲了敲门,进去了。

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“主任,有一份许可证,需要您批准。”他尽量说得轻松一些,然后把文件放在写字桌上。

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主任不快地看了他一眼,可是,文件的上方盖着世界控制官办公室的印章,穆斯塔法·蒙德的名字,又粗又黑,就签在页面的下方,手续齐备,无可挑剔。主任没有选择,他只好签上了自己名字的首字母,把两个小得可怜、灰不溜秋的字母签在了“穆斯塔法·蒙德”的下面。主任本想一句话也不说,连“福帝保佑你”的话都不说,就把许可证还给伯纳德,这时,他突然注意到了证件的内容。

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“去新墨西哥保留地?”他说,他的语气和扬起来对着伯纳德的脸都透着某种不安和诧异。

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对于主任的吃惊,伯纳德也吃了一惊,他点点头。一阵沉默。

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主任往椅子背上靠了靠,眉头紧皱。“那是多久以前了?”他说,比起对伯纳德说话,更像是自言自语,“我想有二十多年了,快二十五年了。我那时一定和你现在差不多大……”他叹口气,摇摇头。伯纳德感到非常不自在。主任是那么一个严守传统、那么刻意遵从常规的人,现在却出现这么严重的失态!这让他想捂住脸,跑出房间。他自己倒不觉得谈论那么遥远的过去的事情有什么本质上令人厌恶的,睡眠教育里教给他的那些偏见中,他早已经彻底摆脱了这一条(至少他觉得是这样的)。令他感到不好意思的是,主任不赞成这一点,可他却在不知不觉中做了自己不赞成的事情。是在怎样的内在驱动之下做的?虽然感到不自在,但伯纳德还是怀着急切的心情听着。

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“我那时跟你的想法一样,”主任说,“想去看看那些野蛮人。拿到了去新墨西哥的许可证,去那里过暑假,是和我那时正在交往的女孩一起去的。她是贝塔-,我想(他闭上了眼睛),我想她长着黄色的头发。反正她挺丰满的,特别丰满,我还记得这个。总之,我们去了那里,我们看到了那些野蛮人,我们骑着马到处逛,诸如此类的事。然后,就要到最后一天了,然后……她就失踪了。那天,我们骑马去了那些讨厌的山峰中的一座,天气又热又闷,午饭后我们睡着了,至少我是睡着了。她一定是去散步了,独自一个人去的。反正,我醒来的时候,她不在那里。当时,突然下起了我所见过的最可怕的雷阵雨,大雨倾盆而下,雷声隆隆,电光闪闪。马匹挣脱开,跑掉了,我想抓住它们时,摔了一跤,伤了膝盖,几乎都不能走路了。我还是找啊,喊啊,找啊。可是,还是看不见她的影子。这时,我想她一定是一个人回宾馆去了吧。我就沿着我们来时的路,爬进了山谷。我的膝盖钻心地疼,我还把唆麻给弄丢了。路上花了我好几个小时。午夜之后,我才回到了宾馆。她没在宾馆,没在那里。”主任重复了一遍,陷入了沉默,“唉,”终于,他又接着说开了,“第二天,我们去找她,还是找不到。她一定是掉进某个山沟了,或者被山狮给吃掉了。福帝才晓得。总之,很恐怖。当时这事搅得我很不安,我可以说,超出了正常的程度,因为,毕竟,这种事故可能会发生在任何人身上。当然,虽然社会的组成细胞会发生变化,但社会肌体照样继续存在。”可是,这个睡眠教育的安慰现在似乎不太奏效,他摇摇头,“我有时做梦都会梦见这件事,”主任的声音很低,“梦到自己被阵阵雷声惊醒后,发现她不见了,梦到自己在树丛下找她,找啊,找啊。”他沉默了,陷入回忆。

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“您当时一定吓坏了。”伯纳德说,真有点羡慕他了。

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听见这个声音,主任突然意识到自己身在何处,有点不好意思。他飞快地瞟了一眼伯纳德,躲着他的眼睛,脸涨得通红,对他突然产生了疑心,又瞥了他一眼,然后,为了维护自己的尊严,他生气地说:“不要以为我和那个女孩的关系有什么不合规矩的,没有什么强烈的感情,没有长时间的纠缠,一切都非常健康,完全正常。”他把许可证递给伯纳德,“我真不明白,为什么要对你讲这些鸡毛蒜皮的往事,让你都烦了。”他因为不小心暴露了一个不太光彩的秘密,很生自己的气,就把气撒在伯纳德身上。他眼睛里流露出丝毫不加掩饰的敌意。“我希望借这个机会,马克斯先生,”他接着说,“告诉你,我对那些有关你工作时间之外言行举止的报告一点都不满意。你可能会说,那不关我的事。但那关乎我的事。我需要考虑我们中心的名声。我的员工们都必须是毋庸置疑的,尤其是那些高种姓的员工。阿尔法们经过了特殊训练,他们在情感行为方面可以不用那么幼稚,但是,正因为如此,他们必须做出特别的努力,才能恪守习俗。幼稚是他们的责任,即使不愿意也得如此。那么,马克斯先生,我可是给过你警告了。”主任的声音因愤慨而颤抖,现在,这愤慨变得更加正气凛然,更加无私,似乎是社会本身在表达着反对,“如果我再听说你有什么违背礼仪、不合幼稚标准的行为,我就把你调到某个分中心去,最好是冰岛。上午好。”他在转椅上一转,拿起笔,开始写东西。

81
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“这就够给他个教训的。”他心里想。但是,他想错了,因为伯纳德大摇大摆地离开了房间,把门砰地关在身后。想到自己单枪匹马地与现有秩序作战,他得意非凡;意识到自己个人的重要性,他不禁为之陶醉,扬扬自得。即使想到有可能受到迫害,他也一点没有感到沮丧。受到迫害的念头不但没有让他感到郁闷,反而更提起了他的劲头。他感到自己足够坚强,完全可以应对并克服任何烦恼,甚至可以面对受贬到冰岛的境遇。况且,他一刻也没有认为自己真的会面对这一切,所以,他的信心益发地足了。人们才不会因为这类事情被调走呢。冰岛只不过是个威胁罢了,一个非常刺激的、让人神清气爽的威胁。走在过道上时,他甚至吹起了口哨。

82
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那天晚上,他讲起自己与孵化与条件训练中心主任的会面时,把自己描述得颇有英雄气概。“因此呢,”他的讲述这样结尾,“我就告诉他,见你的鬼去吧,然后大步走出房间。就这样了。”他充满期待地看着赫尔姆霍茨·华生,等待着自己应得的那份奖赏——同情、鼓励和敬佩。可是,一个字都没有。赫尔姆霍茨沉默地坐在那里,盯着地面。

83
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他很喜欢伯纳德,也很感激他,因为伯纳德是自己熟人中唯一的一个,可以与之探讨自己觉得很重要的那些话题。可是,伯纳德身上有某些方面是他讨厌的,比如,这种自夸,还有与自夸交替出现的卑贱的自我怜悯,还有他那可悲的、事后逞英雄的习惯,以及事不临头时才显摆机智和从容的毛病。他讨厌这些毛病,正因为他喜欢伯纳德才讨厌这些毛病。时间一分一秒过去了,赫尔姆霍茨还在盯着地面。突然,伯纳德脸红了,转过脸去。

84
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他们的旅程非常顺利。“蓝色太平洋”号火箭提前两分半钟到达新奥尔良,因为龙卷风,在得克萨斯上空耽误了四分钟,但在西经95度时遇到了顺风的气流,所以,降落到圣菲时,他们比预定时间只晚了四十秒。

85
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“六个半小时的飞行只晚了四十秒,不错。”列宁娜承认。

86
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当晚,他们在圣菲过夜。宾馆条件优越,比那个可怕的北极光之宫不知道强多少倍,去年夏天,列宁娜在那里吃过不少苦头。这里,有液态空气、电视机、振动真空按摩机,有收音机、滚烫的咖啡因饮料,有热乎乎的避孕套,每间卧室里还有八种不同气味的香水。他们走入大厅时,合成音乐正在播放,总之,一切都尽善尽美。电梯里的公告上写着,宾馆里有六十个升降机壁球场,花园里既可以玩障碍高尔夫,也可以玩电磁高尔夫。

87
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“听起来简直太妙了。”列宁娜喊道,“我简直希望我们能够一直待在这里。六十个升降机壁球场……”

88
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“保留地可什么都没有,”伯纳德警告她,“没有香水,没有电视,甚至都没有热水。如果你觉得受不了,你就待在这里,等我回来。”

89
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列宁娜很生气。“我当然受得了。我刚才说这里很妙是因为……因为进步是美妙的,难道不是吗?”

90
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“从十三岁到十七岁,每周一次,每次重复五百遍。”伯纳德厌倦地说,好像在自言自语。

91
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“你说什么?”

92
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“我说,进步是美妙的。正因为如此,如果你不是真的想去保留地,你就不必去了。”

93
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“可我想去。”

94
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“那好吧。”伯纳德说,几乎像在威胁她。

95
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他们的许可证需要保留地总监督的签字,所以,第二天他们就来到总监的办公室。一个艾普西隆+的黑人看门人接过伯纳德的名片,他们立即就被请了进去。

96
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总监是个金色头发、白色皮肤的阿尔法-,个子不高,红润的满月形圆脸,肩膀宽阔,说话声音浑厚有力。他很擅长引用睡眠教育中的警句。他就像一座装满无关紧要的信息的矿山,总是不请自来地给人提出各种建议。一旦打开话匣子,他总是不停地说啊说,浑厚的声音嗡呀嗡的:

97
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“……五十六万平方公里,划分为四个独立的保留区,每个保留区外面都围着高压电线。”

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这时,毫无理由地,伯纳德突然想起自己卫生间里的古龙水龙头还大开着,香水还在不断地流淌。

99
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“……由大峡谷水电站提供电力。”

100
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“等我回去的时候,恐怕得花一大笔钱了。”伯纳德脑海里浮现出缓慢爬动的香水表指针,一圈又一圈,像只蚂蚁一样,毫不疲倦地爬着。“得赶快给赫尔姆霍茨·华生打个电话。”

101
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“……长达五千公里的电网,电压为六万伏特。”

102
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“不会吧。”列宁娜客气地应和着,虽然她根本听不懂总监在说些什么,但她根据他富有戏剧性的停顿做出反应。当总监刚开始嗡呀嗡时,她悄悄地吞下了半克唆麻,结果呢,现在她可以安静地坐在那儿,没有听他讲,脑子也一动未动,只有她那双蓝色的大眼睛聚精会神地盯着总监的脸。

103
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“碰到电网就意味着死亡,”总监严肃地宣告,“没人能从野蛮人保留地逃出去。”

104
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“逃”这个字给了伯纳德暗示。“也许,”他欠了欠身子,“我们该走了。”小小的黑色指针匆匆地前行着,像个虫子,啮食着时间,吞噬着他的金钱。

105
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“根本逃不掉。”总监重复道,挥挥手让他坐回到椅子上。由于许可证还没有签字,伯纳德别无选择,只好服从。“那些出生在保留地的人们,记住,我亲爱的姑娘,”他补充道,色眯眯地看了一眼列宁娜,接着以不太正常的低声说,“记住,在保留地,孩子们还是生出来的,是的,生出来的,虽然听起来挺让人恶心的……”(他以为讲到这个猥亵的话题,列宁娜一定会脸红,谁知她仅仅故作聪明地笑了笑说:“真的吗?”总监失望了,只好接着说)“那些,我再说一遍,那些出生在保留地的人注定也要死在保留地。”

106
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注定要死……每分钟流出一分升的古龙水,每小时六升。“也许,”伯纳德又一次想站起来,“我们该……”

107
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总监身体前倾,用食指敲打着桌面。“你问我有多少人生活在保留地,那么我告诉你,”他得意地说,“我告诉你,我们不知道,只能猜测。”

108
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“真的吗?”

109
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“我亲爱的姑娘,是真的。”

110
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六升乘以二十四小时,不,都快要到六乘以三十六小时了。伯纳德脸都白了,着急得发抖。可是,那无情的嗡嗡声还在继续。

111
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“……大约六万印第安人和混血儿……完完全全的野蛮人……我们的视察官有时会去访问……除此之外,和文明世界几乎是完全隔绝的……还保留着他们那些令人厌恶的风俗习惯……婚姻,如果你知道那是怎么回事的话,我亲爱的姑娘;家庭……没有受过条件训练……可怕的迷信……基督教啊,图腾啊,祖先崇拜等等……消亡了的语言,比如祖尼语、西班牙语、阿萨巴斯卡语……美洲狮、箭猪和其他凶猛动物……传染病……教士……有毒的蜥蜴……”

112
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“真的吗?”

113
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他们终于离开了。伯纳德冲向电话亭。快点,快点,但是,他还是花了快三分钟才接通赫尔姆霍茨·华生的电话。“我们好像现在就已经身处野蛮人中间了,”他抱怨道,“效率太他妈低了。”

114
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“吃一克唆麻。”列宁娜建议。

115
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他拒绝了,他宁可自己生气。终于,感谢福帝,电话通了,是的,是赫尔姆霍茨。他向赫尔姆霍兹解释了发生的事,后者答应立刻去伯纳德的房间,立刻去关掉香水龙头,但还是利用这个机会告诉伯纳德,孵化与条件训练中心主任昨天晚上在公开场合说……“什么?他说要找一个人替换我?”伯纳德的声音很痛苦,“那么,已经最后定下来了?他有没有提到冰岛?你说他提到了?福帝呀!冰岛……”他挂了电话,转过身来,看着列宁娜。他脸色苍白,表情极度沮丧。

116
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“出什么事了?”她问。

117
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“什么事?”他重重地跌坐在椅子上,“我要被派到冰岛去了。”过去,他常常会想,如果他被迫需要经受某种严峻的考验,某种痛苦,某种迫害,那会是什么样子(不靠唆麻,只靠他自己内在的才智);他渴望受苦。就在一周之前,在主任的办公室,他还想象着自己如何英勇地抵抗,如何坚忍地、默默地接受苦难。实际上,主任当时的威胁反而让他得意扬扬,让他感觉自己比实际上更伟大。可是,现在他意识到,那是因为他没有把那些威胁太当一回事,他觉得,当事情真发展到那一步的时候,主任不会真的那么做。现在,那些威胁似乎真的要兑现了,伯纳德吓坏了。那些想象中的隐忍、理论上的勇气,都跑到九霄云外去了。

118
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他特别生自己的气——你这个大傻瓜!居然和主任对着干——可是,主任不给他再一次机会,太不公平了,现在他确信,自己其实一直都想要再一次机会。可现在,冰岛,冰岛……

119
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列宁娜摇摇头。“过去和未来让我头痛,”她在引用,“我吃唆麻,活在当下。”

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最后,她说服他吃下了四片唆麻。五分钟后,事情的起因和后果就都消失了,只剩当下的花朵红彤彤地盛开着。看门人送来消息,说遵照总监的命令,保留地的一个警卫开着飞机过来了,正在宾馆楼顶上等他们。他们立刻上到楼顶。一个穿着绿色衣服、有八分之一黑人血统的伽马对他们敬了个礼,然后给他们介绍了上午的安排。

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首先,从空中鸟瞰十一二个主要的印第安村庄,然后降落到玛尔帕斯山谷里吃午餐。那里的宾馆非常舒服,山上的村庄里,野蛮人很可能正在庆祝他们的夏令节日。那里是过夜的好地方。

122
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他们坐上飞机,出发了。十分钟之后,他们就跨越了文明与野蛮的边界。上山,下山,越过盐碱地与沙漠,穿过森林,进入大峡谷紫罗兰色的深谷,飞过岩石、山峰以及平坦如桌面的山顶,高压电网依然向前延伸,延伸,一条无可抗拒的笔直的电线,象征着人类意志胜利的几何形状。在高压线下面,星星点点的,会有一小堆一小堆的白骨,尚未腐烂的尸骨散布在黄褐色的地面上,那是鹿啊,公牛啊,美洲狮啊,箭猪啊,郊狼啊,或者贪婪的土耳其秃鹫什么的,受到一丝腐肉气味的诱惑,来到这里,结果离毁灭一切的高压线太近了,给电死了,就像遭到了报应一般。

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“它们总是不长记性。”穿着绿色制服的飞行员说,向下指着地面上的堆堆白骨。“它们永远也记不住。”他补充道,哈哈大笑,好像是他自己战胜了那些被电死的动物。伯纳德也笑了,吃了两克唆麻后,这个笑话不知怎么听起来挺好笑。笑过之后,他几乎马上就睡着了。在睡梦中,他们飞过了陶斯和特苏克,飞过了那姆布、皮库里斯和珀卓克,飞过了斯亚和科奇蒂,飞过了拉古那、阿科马和神秘的平顶山,飞过了祖尼、西伯拉和奥佐卡连特。等伯纳德醒来时,他发现飞机已经停在地面上,列宁娜正提着行李箱往一栋方形的小房子走去,那个有黑人血统的绿衣伽马正在和一个年轻的印第安人说着什么他听不懂的话。

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“玛尔帕斯到了,”伯纳德走出飞机时,飞行员对他解释,“这是宾馆。今天下午村庄里有舞会。他会带你们去。”他指了指那个闷闷不乐的年轻野蛮人。“会很好玩的,我想,”他咧嘴一笑,“他们做的每件事都很好玩。”说完,他爬进飞机,发动了引擎。“明天回来。记住,”他补充道,好像在安慰列宁娜,“他们都很温顺,野蛮人不会伤害你的。他们都吃过太多的瓦斯炸弹了,知道不能玩什么花招。”他哈哈大笑着,将直升机的螺旋桨推入挡位,加速,很快消失不见了。

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Odd, odd, odd, was Lenina’s verdict on Bernard Marx. So odd, indeed, that in the course of the succeeding weeks she had wondered more than once whether she shouldn’t change her mind about the New Mexico holiday, and go instead to the North Pole with Benito Hoover. The trouble was that she knew the North Pole, had been there with George Edzel only last summer, and what was more, found it pretty grim. Nothing to do, and the hotel too hopelessly old-fashioned—no television laid on in the bedrooms, no scent organ, only the most putrid synthetic music, and not more than twenty-five Escalator-Squash Courts for over two hundred guests. No, decidedly she couldn’t face the North Pole again. Added to which, she had only been to America once before. And even then, how inadequately! A cheap week-end in New York—had it been with Jean-Jacques Habibullah or Bokanovsky Jones? She couldn’t remember. Anyhow, it was of absolutely no importance. The prospect of flying West again, and for a whole week, was very inviting. Moreover, for at least three days of that week they would be in the Savage Reservation. Not more than half a dozen people in the whole Centre had ever been inside a Savage Reservation. As an Alpha-Plus psychologist, Bernard was one of the few men she knew entitled to a permit. For Lenina, the opportunity was unique. And yet, so unique also was Bernard’s oddness that she had hesitated to take it, had actually thought of risking the Pole again with funny old Benito. At least Benito was normal. Whereas Bernard…

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“Alcohol in his blood-surrogate,” was Fanny’s explanation of every eccentricity. But Henry, with whom, one evening when they were in bed together, Lenina had rather anxiously discussed her new lover, Henry had compared poor Bernard to a rhinoceros.

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“You can’t teach a rhinoceros tricks,” he had explained in his brief and vigorous style. “Some men are almost rhinoceroses; they don’t respond properly to conditioning. Poor devils! Bernard’s one of them. Luckily for him, he’s pretty good at his job. Otherwise the Director would never have kept him. However,” he added consolingly, “I think he’s pretty harmless.”

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Pretty harmless, perhaps; but also pretty disquieting. That mania, to start with, for doing things in private. Which meant, in practice, not doing anything at all. For what was there that one could do in private. (Apart, of course, from going to bed: but one couldn’t do that all the time.) Yes, what was there? Precious little. The first afternoon they went out together was particularly fine. Lenina had suggested a swim at Toquay Country Club followed by dinner at the Oxford Union. But Bernard thought there would be too much of a crowd. Then what about a round of Electro-magnetic Golf at St. Andrew’s? But again, no: Bernard considered that Electro-magnetic Golf was a waste of time.

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“Then what’s time for?” asked Lenina in some astonishment.

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Apparently, for going walks in the Lake District; for that was what he now proposed. Land on the top of Skiddaw and walk for a couple of hours in the heather. “Alone with you, Lenina.”

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“But, Bernard, we shall be alone all night.”

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Bernard blushed and looked away. “I meant, alone for talking,” he mumbled.

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“Talking? But what about?” Walking and talking—that seemed a very odd way of spending an afternoon.

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In the end she persuaded him, much against his will, to fly over to Amsterdam to see the Semi-Demi-Finals of the Women’s Heavyweight Wrestling Championship.

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“In a crowd,” he grumbled. “As usual.” He remained obstinately gloomy the whole afternoon; wouldn’t talk to Lenina’s friends (of whom they met dozens in the ice-cream soma bar between the wrestling bouts); and in spite of his misery absolutely refused to take the half-gramme raspberry sundae which she pressed upon him. “I’d rather be myself,” he said. “Myself and nasty. Not somebody else, however jolly.”

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“A gramme in time saves nine,” said Lenina, producing a bright treasure of sleep-taught wisdom.

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Bernard pushed away the proffered glass impatiently.

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“Now don’t lose your temper,” she said. “Remember one cubic centimetre cures ten gloomy sentiments.”

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“Oh, for Ford’s sake, be quiet!” he shouted.

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Lenina shrugged her shoulders. “A gramme is always better than a damn,” she concluded with dignity, and drank the sundae herself.

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On their way back across the Channel, Bernard insisted on stopping his propeller and hovering on his helicopter screws within a hundred feet of the waves. The weather had taken a change for the worse; a south-westerly wind had sprung up, the sky was cloudy.

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“Look,” he commanded.

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“But it’s horrible,” said Lenina, shrinking back from the window. She was appalled by the rushing emptiness of the night, by the black foam-flecked water heaving beneath them, by the pale face of the moon, so haggard and distracted among the hastening clouds. “Let’s turn on the radio. Quick!” She reached for the dialling knob on the dash-board and turned it at random.

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“…skies are blue inside of you,” sang sixteen tremoloing falsettos, “the weather’s always…”

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Then a hiccough and silence. Bernard had switched off the current.

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“I want to look at the sea in peace,” he said. “One can’t even look with that beastly noise going on.”

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“But it’s lovely. And I don’t want to look.”

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“But I do,” he insisted. “It makes me feel as though…” he hesitated, searching for words with which to express himself, “as though I were more me, if you see what I mean. More on my own, not so completely a part of something else. Not just a cell in the social body. Doesn’t it make you feel like that, Lenina?”

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But Lenina was crying. “It’s horrible, it’s horrible,” she kept repeating. “And how can you talk like that about not wanting to be a part of the social body? After all, every one works for every one else. We can’t do without any one. Even Epsilons…”

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“Yes, I know,” said Bernard derisively. “‘Even Epsilons are useful’! So am I. And I damned well wish I weren’t!”

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Lenina was shocked by his blasphemy. “Bernard!” She protested in a voice of amazed distress. “How can you?”

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In a different key, “How can I?” he repeated meditatively. “No, the real problem is: How is it that I can’t, or rather—because, after all, I know quite well why I can’t—what would it be like if I could, if I were free—not enslaved by my conditioning.”

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“But, Bernard, you’re saying the most awful things.”

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“Don’t you wish you were free, Lenina?”

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“I don’t know what you mean. I am free. Free to have the most wonderful time. Everybody’s happy nowadays.”

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He laughed, “Yes, ‘Everybody’s happy nowadays.’ We begin giving the children that at five. But wouldn’t you like to be free to be happy in some other way, Lenina? In your own way, for example; not in everybody else’s way.”

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“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated. Then, turning to him, “Oh, do let’s go back, Bernard,” she besought; “I do so hate it here.”

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“Don’t you like being with me?”

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“But of course, Bernard. It’s this horrible place.”

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“I thought we’d be more…more together here—with nothing but the sea and moon. More together than in that crowd, or even in my rooms. Don’t you understand that?”

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“I don’t understand anything,” she said with decision, determined to preserve her incomprehension intact. “Nothing. Least of all,” she continued in another tone, “why you don’t take soma when you have these dreadful ideas of yours. You’d forget all about them. And instead of feeling miserable, you’d be jolly. So jolly,” she repeated and smiled, for all the puzzled anxiety in her eyes, with what was meant to be an inviting and voluptuous cajolery.

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He looked at her in silence, his face unresponsive and very grave—looked at her intently. After a few seconds Lenina’s eyes flinched away; she uttered a nervous little laugh, tried to think of something to say and couldn’t. The silence prolonged itself.

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When Bernard spoke at last, it was in a small tired voice. “All right then,” he said, “we’ll go back.” And stepping hard on the accelerator, he sent the machine rocketing up into the sky. At four thousand he started his propeller. They flew in silence for a minute or two. Then, suddenly, Bernard began to laugh. Rather oddly, Lenina thought; but still, it was laughter.

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“Feeling better?” she ventured to ask.

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For answer, he lifted one hand from the controls and, slipping his arm around her, began to fondle her breasts.

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“Thank Ford,” she said to herself, “he’s all right again.”

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Half an hour later they were back in his rooms. Bernard swallowed four tablets of soma at a gulp, turned on the radio and television and began to undress.

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“Well,” Lenina enquired, with significant archness when they met next afternoon on the roof, “did you think it was fun yesterday?”

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Bernard nodded. They climbed into the plane. A little jolt, and they were off.

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“Every one says I’m awfully pneumatic,” said Lenina reflectively, patting her own legs.

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“Awfully.” But there was an expression of pain in Bernard’s eyes. “Like meat,” he was thinking.

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She looked up with a certain anxiety. “But you don’t think I’m too plump, do you?”

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He shook his head. Like so much meat.

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“You think I’m all right.” Another nod. “In every way?”

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“Perfect,” he said aloud. And inwardly. “She thinks of herself that way. She doesn’t mind being meat.”

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Lenina smiled triumphantly. But her satisfaction was premature.

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“All the same,” he went on, after a little pause, “I still rather wish it had all ended differently.”

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“Differently?” Were there other endings?

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“I didn’t want it to end with our going to bed,” he specified.

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Lenina was astonished.

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“Not at once, not the first day.”

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“But then what…?”

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He began to talk a lot of incomprehensible and dangerous nonsense. Lenina did her best to stop the ears of her mind; but every now and then a phrase would insist on becoming audible. “…to try the effect of arresting my impulses,” she heard him say. The words seemed to touch a spring in her mind.

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“Never put off till to-morrow the fun you can have to-day,” she said gravely.

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“Two hundred repetitions, twice a week from fourteen to sixteen and a half,” was all his comment. The mad bad talk rambled on. “I want to know what passion is,” she heard him saying. “I want to feel something strongly.”

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“When the individual feels, the community reels,” Lenina pronounced.

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“Well, why shouldn’t it reel a bit?”

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“Bernard!”

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But Bernard remained unabashed.

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“Adults intellectually and during working hours,” he went on. “Infants where feeling and desire are concerned.”

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“Our Ford loved infants.”

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Ignoring the interruption. “It suddenly struck me the other day,” continued Bernard, “that it might be possible to be an adult all the time.”

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“I don’t understand.” Lenina’s tone was firm.

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“I know you don’t. And that’s why we went to bed together yesterday—like infants—instead of being adults and waiting.”

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“But it was fun,” Lenina insisted. “Wasn’t it?”

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“Oh, the greatest fun,” he answered, but in a voice so mournful, with an expression so profoundly miserable, that Lenina felt all her triumph suddenly evaporate. Perhaps he had found her too plump, after all.

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“I told you so,” was all that Fanny said, when Lenina came and made her confidences. “It’s the alcohol they put in his surrogate.”

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“All the same,” Lenina insisted. “I do like him. He has such awfully nice hands. And the way he moves his shoulders—that’s very attractive.” She sighed. “But I wish he weren’t so odd.”

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Halting for a moment outside the door of the Director’s room, Bernard drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders, bracing himself to meet the dislike and disapproval which he was certain of finding within. He knocked and entered.

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“A permit for you to initial, Director,” he said as airily as possible, and laid the paper on the writing-table.

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The Director glanced at him sourly. But the stamp of the World Controller’s Office was at the head of the paper and the signature of Mustapha Mond, bold and black, across the bottom. Everything was perfectly in order. The director had no choice. He pencilled his initials—two small pale letters abject at the feet of Mustapha Mond—and was about to return the paper without a word of comment or genial Ford-speed, when his eye was caught by something written in the body of the permit.

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“For the New Mexican Reservation?” he said, and his tone, the face he lifted to Bernard, expressed a kind of agitated astonishment.

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Surprised by his surprise, Bernard nodded. There was a silence.

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The Director leaned back in his chair, frowning. “How long ago was it?” he said, speaking more to himself than to Bernard. “Twenty years, I suppose. Nearer twenty-five. I must have been your age…” He sighed and shook his head.

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Bernard felt extremely uncomfortable. A man so conventional, so scrupulously correct as the Director—and to commit so gross a solecism! It made him want to hide his face, to run out of the room. Not that he himself saw anything intrinsically objectionable in people talking about the remote past; that was one of those hypnopaedic prejudices he had (so he imagined) completely got rid of. What made him feel shy was the knowledge that the Director disapproved—disapproved and yet had been betrayed into doing the forbidden thing. Under what inward compulsion? Through his discomfort Bernard eagerly listened.

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“I had the same idea as you,” the Director was saying. “Wanted to have a look at the savages. Got a permit for New Mexico and went there for my summer holiday. With the girl I was having at the moment. She was a Beta-Minus, and I think” (he shut his eyes), “I think she had yellow hair. Anyhow she was pneumatic, particularly pneumatic; I remember that. Well, we went there, and we looked at the savages, and we rode about on horses and all that. And then—it was almost the last day of my leave—then…well, she got lost. We’d gone riding up one of those revolting mountains, and it was horribly hot and oppressive, and after lunch we went to sleep. Or at least I did. She must have gone for a walk, alone. At any rate, when I woke up, she wasn’t there. And the most frightful thunderstorm I’ve ever seen was just bursting on us. And it poured and roared and flashed; and the horses broke loose and ran away; and I fell down, trying to catch them, and hurt my knee, so that I could hardly walk. Still, I searched and I shouted and I searched. But there was no sign of her. Then I thought she must have gone back to the rest-house by herself. So I crawled down into the valley by the way we had come. My knee was agonizingly painful, and I’d lost my soma. It took me hours. I didn’t get back to the rest-house till after midnight. And she wasn’t there; she wasn’t there,” the Director repeated. There was a silence. “Well,” he resumed at last, “the next day there was a search. But we couldn’t find her. She must have fallen into a gully somewhere; or been eaten by a mountain lion. Ford knows. Anyhow it was horrible. It upset me very much at the time. More than it ought to have done, I dare say. Because, after all, it’s the sort of accident that might have happened to any one; and, of course, the social body persists although the component cells may change.” But this sleep-taught consolation did not seem to be very effective. Shaking his head, “I actually dream about it sometimes,” the Director went on in a low voice. “Dream of being woken up by that peal of thunder and finding her gone; dream of searching and searching for her under the trees.” He lapsed into the silence of reminiscence.

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“You must have had a terrible shock,” said Bernard, almost enviously.

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At the sound of his voice the Director started into a guilty realization of where he was; shot a glance at Bernard, and averting his eyes, blushed darkly; looked at him again with sudden suspicion and, angrily on his dignity, “Don’t imagine,” he said, “that I’d had any indecorous relation with the girl. Nothing emotional, nothing long-drawn. It was all perfectly healthy and normal.” He handed Bernard the permit. “I really don’t know why I bored you with this trivial anecdote.” Furious with himself for having given away a discreditable secret, he vented his rage on Bernard. The look in his eyes was now frankly malignant. “And I should like to take this opportunity, Mr. Marx,” he went on, “of saying that I’m not at all pleased with the reports I receive of your behaviour outside working hours. You may say that this is not my business. But it is. I have the good name of the Centre to think of. My workers must be above suspicion, particularly those of the highest castes. Alphas are so conditioned that they do not have to be infantile in their emotional behaviour. But that is all the more reason for their making a special effort to conform. It is their duty to be infantile, even against their inclination. And so, Mr. Marx, I give you fair warning.” The Director’s voice vibrated with an indignation that had now become wholly righteous and impersonal—was the expression of the disapproval of Society itself. “If ever I hear again of any lapse from a proper standard of infantile decorum, I shall ask for your transference to a Sub-Centre—preferably to Iceland. Good-morning.” And swivelling round in his chair, he picked up his pen and began to write.

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“That’ll teach him,” he said to himself. But he was mistaken. For Bernard left the room with a swagger, exulting, as he banged the door behind him, in the thought that he stood alone, embattled against the order of things; elated by the intoxicating consciousness of his individual significance and importance. Even the thought of persecution left him undismayed, was rather tonic than depressing. He felt strong enough to meet and overcome affliction, strong enough to face even Iceland. And this confidence was the greater for his not for a moment really believing that he would be called upon to face anything at all. People simply weren’t transferred for things like that. Iceland was just a threat. A most stimulating and life-giving threat. Walking along the corridor, he actually whistled.

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Heroic was the account he gave that evening of his interview with the D.H.C. “Whereupon,” it concluded, “I simply told him to go to the Bottomless Past and marched out of the room. And that was that.” He looked at Helmholtz Watson expectantly, awaiting his due reward of sympathy, encouragement, admiration. But no word came. Helmholtz sat silent, staring at the floor.

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He liked Bernard; he was grateful to him for being the only man of his acquaintance with whom he could talk about the subjects he felt to be important. Nevertheless, there were things in Bernard which he hated. This boasting, for example. And the outbursts of an abject self-pity with which it alternated. And his deplorable habit of being bold after the event, and full, in absence, of the most extraordinary presence of mind. He hated these things—just because he liked Bernard. The seconds passed. Helmholtz continued to stare at the floor. And suddenly Bernard blushed and turned away.

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The journey was quite uneventful. The Blue Pacific Rocket was two and a half minutes early at New Orleans, lost four minutes in a tornado over Texas, but flew into a favourable air current at Longitude 95 West, and was able to land at Santa Fé less than forty seconds behind schedule time.

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“Forty seconds on a six and a half hour flight. Not so bad,” Lenina conceded.

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They slept that night at Santa Fé. The hotel was excellent—incomparably better, for example, than that horrible Aurora Bora Palace in which Lenina had suffered so much the previous summer. Liquid air, television, vibro-vacuum massage, radio, boiling caffeine solution, hot contraceptives, and eight different kinds of scent were laid on in every bedroom. The synthetic music plant was working as they entered the hall and left nothing to be desired. A notice in the lift announced that there were sixty Escalator-Squash-Racquet Courts in the hotel, and that Obstacle and Electro-magnetic Golf could both be played in the park.

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“But it sounds simply too lovely,” cried Lenina. “I almost wish we could stay here. Sixty Escalator-Squash Courts…”

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“There won’t be any in the Reservation,” Bernard warned her. “And no scent, no television, no hot water even. If you feel you can’t stand it, stay here till I come back.”

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Lenina was quite offended. “Of course I can stand it. I only said it was lovely here because…well, because progress is lovely, isn’t it?”

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“Five hundred repetitions once a week from thirteen to seventeen,” said Bernard wearily, as though to himself.

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“What did you say?”

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“I said that progress was lovely. That’s why you mustn’t come to the Reservation unless you really want to.”

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“But I do want to.”

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“Very well, then,” said Bernard; and it was almost a threat.

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Their permit required the signature of the Warden of the Reservation, at whose office next morning they duly presented themselves. An Epsilon-Plus negro porter took in Bernard’s card, and they were admitted almost immediately.

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The Warden was a blond and brachycephalic Alpha-Minus, short, red, moon-faced, and broad-shouldered, with a loud booming voice, very well adapted to the utterance of hypnopaedic wisdom. He was a mine of irrelevant information and unasked-for good advice. Once started, he went on and on—boomingly.

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“…five hundred and sixty thousand square kilometres, divided into four distinct Sub-Reservations, each surrounded by a high-tension wire fence.”

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At this moment, and for no apparent reason, Bernard suddenly remembered that he had left the eau-de-Cologne tap in his bathroom wide open and running.

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“…supplied with current from the Grand Canyon hydro-electric station.”

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“Cost me a fortune by the time I get back.” With his mind’s eye, Bernard saw the needle on the scent meter creeping round and round, ant-like, indefatigable. “Quickly telephone to Helmholtz Watson.”

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“…upwards of five thousand kilometres of fencing at sixty thousand volts.”

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“You don’t say so,” said Lenina politely, not knowing in the least what the Warden had said, but taking her cue from his dramatic pause. When the Warden started booming, she had inconspicuously swallowed half a gramme of soma, with the result that she could now sit, serenely not listening, thinking of nothing at all, but with her large blue eyes fixed on the Warden’s face in an expression of rapt attention.

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“To touch the fence is instant death,” pronounced the Warden solemnly. “There is no escape from a Savage Reservation.”

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The word “escape” was suggestive. “Perhaps,” said Bernard, half rising, “we ought to think of going.” The little black needle was scurrying, an insect, nibbling through time, eating into his money.

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“No escape,” repeated the Warden, waving him back into his chair; and as the permit was not yet countersigned Bernard had no choice but to obey. “Those who are born in the Reservation—and remember, my dear young lady,” he added, leering obscenely at Lenina, and speaking in an improper whisper, “remember that, in the Reservation, children still are born, yes, actually born, revolting as that may seem…” (He hoped that this reference to a shameful subject would make Lenina blush; but she only smiled with simulated intelligence and said, “You don’t say so!” Disappointed, the Warden began again. ) “Those, I repeat who are born in the Reservation are destined to die there.”

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Destined to die…A decilitre of eau-de-Cologne every minute. Six litres an hour. “Perhaps,” Bernard tried again, “we ought…”

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Leaning forward, the Warden tapped the table with his forefinger. “You ask me how many people live in the Reservation. And I reply”—triumphantly—“reply that we do not know. We can only guess.”

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“You don’t say so.”

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“My dear young lady, I do say so.”

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Six times twenty-four—no, it would be nearer six times thirty-six. Bernard was pale and trembling with impatience. But inexorably the booming continued.

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“…about sixty thousand Indians and half-breeds…absolute savages…our inspectors occasionally visit…otherwise, no communication whatever with the civilized world…still preserve their repulsive habits and customs…marriage, if you know what that is, my dear young lady; families…no conditioning…monstrous superstitions…Christianity and totemism and ancestor worship…extinct languages, such as Zu?i and Spanish and Athapascan…pumas, porcupines and other ferocious animals…infectious diseases…priests…venomous lizards…”

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“You don’t say so?”

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They got away at last. Bernard dashed to the telephone. Quick, quick; but it took him nearly three minutes to get on to Helmholtz Watson. “We might be among the savages already,” he complained. “Damned incompetence!”

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“Have a gramme,” suggested Lenina.

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He refused, preferring his anger. And at last, thank Ford, he was through and, yes, it was Helmholtz; Helmholtz, to whom he explained what had happened, and who promised to go round at once, at once, and turn off the tap, yes, at once, but took this opportunity to tell him what the D.H.C. had said, in public, yesterday evening…

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“What? He’s looking out for some one to take my place?” Bernard’s voice was agonized. “So it’s actually decided? Did he mention Iceland? You say he did? Ford! Iceland…” He hung up the receiver and turned back to Lenina. His face was pale, his expression utterly dejected.

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“What’s the matter?” she asked.

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“The matter?” He dropped heavily into a chair. “I’m going to be sent to Iceland.”

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Often in the past he had wondered what it would be like to be subjected (soma-less and with nothing but his own inward resources to rely on) to some great trial, some pain, some persecution; he had even longed for affliction. As recently as a week ago, in the Director’s office, he had imagined himself courageously resisting, stoically accepting suffering without a word. The Director’s threats had actually elated him, made him feel larger than life. But that, as he now realized, was because he had not taken the threats quite seriously, he had not believed that, when it came to the point, the D.H.C. would ever do anything. Now that it looked as though the threats were really to be fulfilled, Bernard was appalled. Of that imagined stoicism, that theoretical courage, not a trace was left.

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He raged against himself—what a fool!—against the Director—how unfair not to give him that other chance, that other chance which, he now had no doubt at all, he had always intended to take. And Iceland, Iceland…

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Lenina shook her head. “Was and will make me ill,” she quoted, “I take a gramme and only am.”

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In the end she persuaded him to swallow four tablets of soma. Five minutes later roots and fruits were abolished; the flower of the present rosily blossomed. A message from the porter announced that, at the Warden’s orders, a Reservation Guard had come round with a plane and was waiting on the roof of the hotel. They went up at once. An octoroon in Gamma-green uniform saluted and proceeded to recite the morning’s programme.

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A bird’s-eye view of ten or a dozen of the principal pueblos, then a landing for lunch in the valley of Malpais. The rest-house was comfortable there, and up at the pueblo the savages would probably be celebrating their summer festival. It would be the best place to spend the night.

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They took their seats in the plane and set off. Ten minutes later they were crossing the frontier that separated civilization from savagery. Uphill and down, across the deserts of salt or sand, through forests, into the violet depth of canyons, over crag and peak and table-topped mesa, the fence marched on and on, irresistibly the straight line, the geometrical symbol of triumphant human purpose. And at its foot, here and there, a mosaic of white bones, a still unrotted carcase dark on the tawny ground marked the place where deer or steer, puma or porcupine or coyote, or the greedy turkey buzzards drawn down by the whiff of carrion and fulminated as though by a poetic justice, had come too close to the destroying wires.

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“They never learn,” said the green-uniformed pilot, pointing down at the skeletons on the ground below them. “And they never will learn,” he added and laughed, as though he had somehow scored a personal triumph over the electrocuted animals.

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Bernard also laughed; after two grammes of soma the joke seemed, for some reason, good. Laughed and then, almost immediately, dropped off to sleep and, sleeping was carried over Taos and Tesuque; over Nambe and Picuris and Pojoaque, over Sia and Cochiti, over Laguna and Acoma and the Enchanted Mesa, over Zu?i and Cibola and Ojo Caliente, and woke at last to find the machine standing on the ground, Lenina carrying the suitcases into a small square house, and the Gamma-green octoroon talking incomprehensibly with a young Indian.

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“Malpais,” explained the pilot, as Bernard stepped out. “This is the rest-house. And there’s a dance this afternoon at the pueblo. He’ll take you there.” He pointed to the sullen young savage. “Funny, I expect.” He grinned. “Everything they do is funny.” And with that he climbed into the plane and started up the engines. “Back to-morrow. And remember,” he added reassuringly to Lenina, “they’re perfectly tame; savages won’t do you any harm. They’ve got enough experience of gas bombs to know that they mustn’t play any tricks.” Still laughing, he threw the helicopter screws into gear, accelerated, and was gone.

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

Whereas

[ˌweər’æz]

conj.然而;鉴于

rhinoceros

[raɪ’nɒsərəs]

n.犀牛;(对受攻击、批评、侮辱等)麻木不仁

console

[kən’səʊl]

vt.安慰;慰藉

Oxford

[’ɒksfəd]

n.牛津城;牛津大学;牛津

astonishment

[ə’stɒnɪʃmənt]

n.惊讶;令人惊讶的事物

heather

[’heðə(r)]

n.石南属植物

mumble

[’mʌmbl]

v.喃喃而语;咕哝

jolly

[’dʒɒli]

a. 欢乐的;兴高采烈的;快活的;

gramme

[græm]

n.克(重量单位)

impatient

[ɪm’peɪʃnt]

adj.不耐烦的;急躁的

gloomy

[’ɡluːmi]

adj.阴暗的;忧闷的;前景黯淡的

sundae

[’sʌndeɪ]

n.圣代冰淇淋

knob

[nɒb]

n.旋钮;把手;瘤;节;圆丘

falsetto

[fɔːl’setəʊ]

n.假声;假声歌手

hiccough

[’hɪkʌp]

n.打嗝

beastly

[’biːstli]

adj.如兽的;残忍的;恶劣的;令人不愉快的

epsilon

[’epsɪlɒn]

n.希腊语字母之第五字;【数】小的正数

distress

[dɪ’stres]

n.不幸;危难;苦恼;痛苦

enslave

[ɪn’sleɪv]

vt.使做奴隶;使处于奴役的状态

beseech

[bɪ’siːtʃ]

v.恳求;乞求

cajolery

[kə’dʒəʊlərɪ]

n.诱骗;谄媚;甜言蜜语

prolong

[prə’lɒŋ]

vt.延长;拖延

propeller

[prə’pelə(r)]

n.螺旋桨;推进器

fondle

[’fɒndl]

v.爱;爱抚;溺爱;抚弄

undress

[ʌn’dres]

v.脱掉;使脱衣服;暴露;使卸去装饰

arch

[ɑːtʃ]

n.拱;拱门;拱状物

jolt

[dʒəʊlt]

n.震摇;摇动;震惊;少量

Pat

[pæt]

n.轻拍;轻打;小块

plump

[plʌmp]

a. 丰满的;又嫩又胖的,圆呼呼的;

inwardly

[’ɪnwədli]

adv.在内心里;向内地;在内部

premature

[’premətʃə(r)]

adj.提前的;过早的;早产的

audible

[’ɔːdəbl]

adj.听得见的

reel

[riːl]

v.卷;绕

unabashed

[ˌʌnə’bæʃt]

adj.不畏惧的;不害躁的;满不在乎的

intellectually

[ˌɪntɪ’lɛktʃʊəlɪ]

1. 智力上

surrogate

[’sʌrəɡət]

n.代理人;代用品;代孕者

disapproval

[ˌdɪsə’pruːvl]

n.不赞成

airily

[’eərəli]

adv.快活地;轻描淡写地;轻率地

genial

[’dʒiːniəl]

adj.友好的;(气候)温暖的

discomfort

[dɪs’kʌmfət]

n.不便之处;不适

reminiscence

[ˌremɪ’nɪsns]

n.回想;回忆;记忆力

envious

[’enviəs]

adj.嫉妒的

pick

[pɪkt]

采摘,挑选;

blush

[blʌʃ]

n.脸红;羞愧

Santa

[ˈsæntə]

圣诞老人

synthetic

[sɪn’θetɪk]

adj.合成的;综合的

wearily

[’wɪərəli]

adv.疲倦地;厌烦地

porter

[’pɔːtə(r)]

n. 【英】守门人,门房(= doorman【美】);

Canyon

[’kænjən]

n.峡谷

rapt

[ræpt]

adj.全神贯注的;入迷的;出神的

Savage

[’sævɪdʒ]

a. 野蛮的,未开化的;

nibble

[’nɪbl]

v.一点点地咬;轻咬;吹毛求疵;(审慎地)表示有意接受

Warden

[’wɔːdn]

n.看守人

litre

[’liːtə(r)]

n.公升.

triumphant

[traɪ’ʌmfənt]

adj.胜利的;得意洋洋的

inexorably

[ɪn’eksərəbli]

adv.无情地;冷酷地;不可阻挡地

lizard

[’lɪzəd]

n.蜥蜴

incompetence

[ɪn’kɒmpɪtəns]

n.无能力;不合格;不能胜任

utterly

[’ʌtəli:]

adv.完全;全然;绝对

Iceland

[’aɪslənd]

n.冰岛

stoicism

[’stəʊɪsɪzəm]

n.禁欲主义;坚忍克己

programme

[ˈprəʊgræm]

n.电视台播放的各种电视节目

savage

[’sævɪdʒ]

a. 野蛮的,未开化的;

poetic

[pəʊ’etɪk]

adj.诗的;富有诗情的

grind

[ɡraɪnd]

v.磨;压迫;碾碎;磨得吱吱响;逐渐停顿

incomprehensibly

[ɪnˌkɒmprɪˌhensəbli]

adv.费解地;不能理解地

简典