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心是孤独的猎手|The heart is a lonely hunter

第二部分 2

属类： 双语小说 【分类】双语小说 -[作者: 卡森-麦卡勒斯] 阅读：[76867]
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十月份，天空蔚蓝，天气凉爽。比夫·布兰农换下薄泡泡纱裤子，穿上深蓝色哔叽呢裤。他在咖啡馆的柜台后面装了一个机器，可以做热巧克力。米克尤其偏爱热巧克力，每周都会过来三四次买热巧克力。他卖给她，只收五分钱，而原价是一毛钱。其实，他本想免费请她喝。望着她站在柜台后面，他感到焦虑而伤感。他想伸出手去，摸摸她被风吹日晒、蓬松凌乱的头发——但不是用触摸女人的那种方式。他心里有一种不安，跟她说话时，他的声音那么粗鲁，那么陌生。

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他心头有很多担忧。第一，爱丽丝身体状况不太好。从早上七点到晚上十点，她还是照常在楼下工作，但走路非常缓慢，眼睛下面有黑眼圈。干活儿时，她的病态表现得非常明显。有个星期天，她在打字机上打当日菜单，“皇家奶油鸡”的特色菜应该是五毛钱，她却标成了两毛钱，一直等到好几位顾客点完菜要付账时，她才注意到这个错误。还有一次，别人付了十块钱，她找给人家两张五块和三张一块的零钱。比夫站在那里，久久地望着她，半闭着眼睛，摩挲着鼻子，若有所思。

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他们没有一起讨论过这个话题。晚上，他在楼下干活儿，她去睡觉。早晨，她独自收拾着餐厅。等他们一起干活儿时，按照惯例，他待在收银机后面，照看着厨房和桌子。除了生意上的事情，他们也没什么话说，但比夫会站在那里望着她，脸上一副困惑的表情。

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十月八日下午，从他们的卧室突然传来一声痛苦的喊叫。比夫急忙上楼。不到一个小时，他们便把爱丽丝送到了医院，医生从她体内取出一个肿瘤，足有一个新生婴儿那么大。又过了不到一个小时，爱丽丝死了。

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比夫坐在她的病床旁边，震惊不已，思考着。她死的时候他在场。由于乙醚的麻醉作用，她的两只眼睛泪汪汪的，然后渐渐变硬，像玻璃一样。医生和护士都退了出去，他依然盯着她的脸。除了那层青白色，她的脸没有任何变化。他仔细研究着她身上的每一个细节，好像二十一年来他从来没有好好看过她一样。然后，他坐在那里，思绪逐渐转向一幅画面，那是一直在他心里藏了好久的画面。

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冰冷的绿色海洋，一溜灼热的金色沙滩。小孩子们在那丝滑的泡沫边缘玩耍，那个健壮的棕色皮肤的女娃娃，那几个又瘦又小光着屁股的男孩，还有几个半大孩子，他们一边跑一边用可爱尖厉的声音彼此呼唤着。里面的一些孩子他认识，米克，他的外甥女巴比，还有一些陌生的年轻面孔，以前没人见过他们。比夫垂下了头。

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过了很长时间，他从椅子上起来，站到病房中央。他能听到妻妹露西尔在外面的走廊上走来走去。一只圆滚滚的蜜蜂在柜子顶上爬着，比夫娴熟地用手捉起蜜蜂，把它从开着的窗户放了出去。再次望了一眼那张毫无生气的脸庞，他带着一种丧妻的镇静，推开通往医院走廊的大门。

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第二天早晨，将近中午时分，他坐在楼上房间里缝东西。为什么？在很多关于真爱的故事里，为什么一个人失去爱人之后，并不会自杀，紧随爱人而去？只是因为活着的人还要埋葬逝者吗？因为有人死后，活着的人必须要履行严格的仪式？因为活下来的那个人有一段时间就像登上舞台一样，每分每秒都度日如年，要在众目睽睽之下生活？因为他还必须要履行自己的职责？或者，如果有爱，那么痛失爱人的那个人必须坚守着，等待着心上人的复活——那么，逝去的那个人并非真的死去，而是会在生者的灵魂中继续成长，甚至被再次创造出来？为什么？

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比夫低头缝着，沉思着很多事情。他缝得非常熟练，指尖的老茧很硬，无须顶针便可以穿针引线。两套灰色西装袖子上的黑纱已经缝好了，现在他缝的是最后一个。

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天气晴朗且炎热，初秋的第一批落叶扫过人行道。他早早就出门了。每一分钟都如此漫长，在他面前的是无尽的空虚。他已经锁上了餐馆大门，在门外挂了一个白色百合花的花环。他先去了殡仪馆，仔细挑选着棺木。他摸摸里侧的材料，试试框架的牢靠程度。

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“这种绉纱叫什么名字——乔其纱？”

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殡仪员用一种逢迎虚假的声音回答了他的问题。

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“在你们这里，火葬占多大比例？”

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比夫从殡仪馆出来，又走到外面的街上，走得缓慢而又庄重。暖风从西边吹过来，太阳非常刺目。他的表停了，因此他拐个弯朝威尔伯·凯利住的那条街走去。最近，凯利在那里挂了一个修表的牌子。凯利正坐在工作台前，穿着一条打了补丁的浴袍。他的工作间也是他的卧室。米克用手推车推着到处逛的那个婴儿，正安静地坐在地上的一个草垫上。每一分钟都那么漫长，他有充足的时间来思考，来询问。他让凯利解释了手表里轴承的具体用途。凯利的右眼戴着修表匠的放大镜，他注意到这只眼睛在镜子后面变了形。他们谈论了一会儿张伯伦和慕尼黑。然后，因为时间仍然尚早，他决定到哑巴家里看一看。

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辛格正在穿衣服，准备上班。昨天晚上，辛格已经送去了一封吊唁信。葬礼上，他还要去扶棺。比夫坐在床边，跟哑巴一起抽了根烟。辛格不时地看他一眼，绿色的眼睛似乎洞察一切。他给比夫倒了一杯咖啡。比夫没说话，哑巴一度过来拍拍他的肩膀，盯着他的脸看了一会儿。等辛格穿好衣服，他们一起出了门。

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比夫在商店买了黑丝带，又去见了爱丽丝所在教堂的牧师。一切安排停当之后，他便回家了。把一切做得井井有条——他心里就是这么想的。他把爱丽丝的衣服和个人物品捆好，交给了露西尔。他把斗柜的抽屉彻底清洁并整理了一遍，甚至把楼下厨房里的架子都重新收拾了一遍，把电扇上色彩艳丽的绉纱彩带都取了下来。做完这一切之后，他坐进浴缸，把自己全身上下都洗了一遍。上午就这样过去了。

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比夫咬断线头，抚平大衣袖子上的黑纱。这会儿，露西尔应该在等着他了。露西尔、巴比和他要一起去坐殡葬车。他收好针线筐，把戴着黑纱的大衣小心翼翼地穿好，迅速环顾了一下房间，觉得没什么问题，然后便又出了门。

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一个小时以后，他来到了露西尔家的小厨房。他坐下，两腿交叉，腿上铺一块餐巾纸，喝着茶。露西尔和爱丽丝在很多方面全然不同，很难看出她俩是亲姐妹。露西尔又瘦又黑，今天又穿了一身黑。她正在收拾巴比的头发。妈妈在忙活着她的时候，这个孩子坐在餐桌上，双手叠放在膝盖上，耐心地等待着。阳光照进来，房间里安静祥和。

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“巴塞洛缪——”露西尔说。

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“什么事？”

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“你已经开始回忆以前的事了吗？”

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“没有。”比夫说。

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“你知道，我好像必须一直戴着眼罩，才不会胡思乱想，才不会回忆过去。我能让自己想的，只有每天上班，解决巴比的一日三餐，还有她的未来。”

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“这才是正确的态度。”

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“我一直在店里给巴比做手指卷发，但太容易开了，所以我考虑带她去做个电烫发。我不想自己给她做——我想，也许我去亚特兰大参加美容师大会时可以带她一起去，让她在那里做。”

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“天哪！她才四岁，会吓着她的。而且，电烫会伤害头发。”

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露西尔用梳子在一杯水里蘸了一下，把巴比耳朵上面的卷发打碎。“不，不会的，她也想烫。尽管巴比还小，但她已经跟我一样有志向了，这就说明了一切。”

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比夫在手掌上磨了磨指甲，摇摇头。

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“我和巴比每次去看电影，看见那些孩子演得那么好，她的感觉跟我一样。我保证她是这样的，巴塞洛缪，之后我想带她去吃晚饭都拉不动。”

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“天啊。”比夫说。

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“她的舞蹈课和表演课都学得非常好。明年我想让她开始学钢琴，如果能弹钢琴，会对她有帮助。她的舞蹈老师会让她在晚会上表演独舞。我觉得必须得全力督促巴比，她越早开始自己的事业对我们两个便越好。”

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“天啊！”

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“你不懂，对一个有天赋的孩子，不能像对待一个普通孩子那样。这就是我为什么要把巴比弄出这个普通社区的一个原因。我不能让她跟周围那些调皮孩子一样学着说粗话，或者像他们一样到处疯跑。”

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“我认识这条街上的孩子。”比夫说，“他们很好，街对面凯利家的那些孩子——克兰家的那个男孩——”

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“那你很清楚，他们哪个都达不到巴比的水平。”

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露西尔做完巴比头发上的最后一个发卷。她捏捏孩子的小脸，好让脸上有点血色，然后把孩子从桌上抱了下来。为了这次葬礼，巴比穿了一件小白裙，白鞋子，白袜子，甚至戴了一副小小的白手套。有人望着巴比时，她总会把头那样昂着，现在就是这副姿势。

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他们在闷热的小厨房里坐了一会儿，没有再说话。然后，露西尔哭了起来。“我们不像非常亲近的姐妹，我们截然不同，也不常见面，也许是因为我年龄小了很多。但人们的血缘关系里面有种东西，当发生这样的事情时——”

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比夫发出啧啧声，像是宽慰。

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“我知道你们俩是什么状况。”她说，“你和她之间并不都是浪漫，但也许正因为如此，才让你现在的状况更加糟糕。”

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比夫把手伸到巴比的腋下，把她抡到了自己肩膀上。这个孩子越来越重了。他小心翼翼地抓着她，走进了起居室。巴比坐在他的肩膀上，觉得温暖亲近，她白色的丝绸小裙子在他黑色大衣的映衬下显得雪白，她用一只小手紧紧揪住他的耳朵。

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“比夫姨夫！看我劈叉。”

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他温柔地把巴比放到地上站好。她把两只胳膊弯过头顶，两只脚在打过蜡的黄色地板上慢慢地朝相反方向滑出去。很快，她便坐到了地上，一条腿直直地朝前伸着，另一条腿在身后，两只胳膊向上举着，角度很美。她的眼睛斜看着墙，带着一种忧伤的表情。

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她又爬了起来。“看我做个前手翻，看我——”

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“宝贝，安静一点吧。”露西尔说。

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她挨着比夫坐到毛绒沙发上。“她是不是有点让你想到他的样子——特别是眼睛和脸？”

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“见鬼，没有。巴比和勒罗伊·威尔逊之间一点相似之处都没有。”

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就年龄而言，露西尔看上去太瘦，太疲惫。也许是因为身上穿着黑裙子，也许是因为她一直在哭。“毕竟，我得承认，他是巴比的父亲。”她说。

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“你难道不能忘了那个男人吗？”

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“不知道。我想，我在两件事上一直很傻，那就是勒罗伊和巴比。”

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在苍白脸色的映衬下，比夫新长出来的胡子呈现出一种青色。他的声音听上去很疲惫。“难道你不能把一件事情想清楚，搞明白原委，然后从中吸取教训吗？你难道不能理性一点——如果这些都是既定事实，结果就该是这样？”

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“我觉得，对他我做不到。”

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比夫说话的样子很疲倦，眼睛都快闭上了。“你十七岁就嫁给了这个人，后来你们俩之间就争吵不断，你跟他离了婚。两年以后你再次嫁给他，现在他又跑了，你也不知道他去了哪儿。这些事实似乎都表明了一件事——你们俩彼此不合适，这还不包括更个人化的方面——那个男人碰巧就是这种人。”

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“天晓得，我一直都知道他是个浑蛋，我只是希望他不会再来敲门了。”

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“瞧，巴比。”比夫急促地说，他把手指交叉在一起，然后举起来，“这是教堂，这是那个尖顶，打开门，上帝的子民就在这里。”

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露西尔摇摇头。“你不用为巴比费心。我把一切都跟她说了，她对这件事情的来龙去脉非常清楚。”

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“那么，如果他回来，你会收留他，然后让他尽情在你家当寄生虫——跟以前一样？”

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“是的，我想我会这样。每次门铃或电话响起来，每次有人走上门廊，我脑海里就会想起那个男人。”

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比夫摊开两只手掌：“你就是这样。”

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钟表敲了两下。屋里密闭而闷热。巴比又在打过蜡的地板上做了一个前手翻和劈叉。然后，比夫把她抱到腿上，她的两条小小的腿垂在他的小腿上。她解开他的坎肩，把脸埋了进去。

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“听着，”露西尔说，“我问你一个问题，你能保证跟我说实话吗？”

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“当然。”

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“无论什么问题？”

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比夫摸了摸巴比柔软的金发，把手温柔地放在她的小脑袋两侧。“当然。”

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“大概是七年前的事了。那时候，我们刚刚第一次结婚。有天晚上，他从你那里回来，头上全是大包。他跟我说，是你抓住他的脖子把他的脑袋往墙上猛撞。至于你为什么这么干，他编了个故事，但我想知道真实的原因。”

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比夫转动着手指上的婚戒。“我从来就没真正喜欢过勒罗伊，那次我俩打了一架，那时候我跟现在不一样。”

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“不对，你之所以那么干，肯定有原因。我们认识都那么长时间了，现在我已经明白，你无论做什么事都有原因。你的大脑不是单凭冲动行事，而是靠理性。喏，你刚才答应会告诉我真相，我想知道。”

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“现在都不重要了。”

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“我跟你说了，我必须要知道。”

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“好吧。”比夫说，“那天晚上，他走进来，开始喝酒，喝醉了便大放厥词。他说，他一个月回家一次，然后会把你痛打一顿，你总是默默忍受着。过后你会走到外面走廊里，大笑好几次，这样其他屋里的邻居们便会以为你俩只是在玩闹，开玩笑而已。就是这么回事，所以别再纠结这件事了。”

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露西尔坐直身子，两颊上各出现了一团红晕。“你瞧，巴塞洛缪，这就是我为什么必须得像一直戴着眼罩一样，才不会想起过去，才不会胡思乱想。我把全部心思都放在每天上班、照顾好家里的一日三餐上，还要照顾好巴比的事业。”

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“是的。”

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“我希望你也会这样，别去回忆过去。”

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比夫把头垂到胸前，闭上眼睛。整整一天了，他都没有想起爱丽丝。他努力要想起她的音容笑貌，脑海里却是一片奇怪的空白。关于她，他脑子里唯一清晰的印象就是她的一双脚——粗短，柔软，白皙，长着胖乎乎的脚指头，脚底是粉色的，靠近左脚跟的地方有个很小的褐色的痣。他们结婚的那天晚上，他脱掉她的鞋袜，吻了她的脚。现在想来，这倒值得好好想想，因为日本人认为一个女人身上最精美的部分——

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比夫动了一下，瞥了一眼手表。再过一小会儿，他们就要出发去教堂了，葬礼在那里举行。他在脑海里过了一遍葬礼的所有环节。教堂——和露西尔、巴比一起坐着车，跟在灵车后面，缓慢而沉痛——一群人站着，在九月的阳光下低着头。太阳照在白色的墓碑上，照在枯萎的鲜花上，还照在新挖坟墓上面盖着的帆布上。然后，又回到家中——然后呢？

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“不管怎么吵，亲姐妹之间还是有感情的。”露西尔说。

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比夫抬起头。“你为什么不再婚呢？找个没结过婚的出色年轻人照顾你和巴比？如果你忘掉勒罗伊，你会找个好男人，做个好妻子。”

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露西尔迟迟没有回答，最后说道：“你清楚我们两人之间的情况——一直以来，我们对彼此都非常了解，不必有任何令人心跳的杂念。嗯，我跟男人最多也只能到这种亲密程度了。”

77
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“我有同感。”比夫说。

78
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半小时后，有人敲门。为葬礼而备的车已经停在了家门前。比夫和露西尔慢慢站了起来，巴比穿着白色丝绸小裙子走在他们前面，三人在一种肃穆的沉默中走到外面。

79
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第二天，比夫的餐馆还是没有开门。

80
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傍晚时分，他把枯萎的百合花花环从前门取了下来，打开门，重新开始营业。老顾客们走进来，脸上带着悲伤的表情，会在收银机前跟他聊上几句，然后开始点餐。以前的那群人都来了——辛格、布朗特，还有在这条街其他店里干活儿或者在河边工厂上班的各色男人。晚饭过后，米克·凯利带着她的小弟弟来了，把一枚五分硬币投进老虎机。第一枚硬币被吞了之后，她用两只拳头砰砰猛砸机器，不断地打开出口，确认没有任何东西出来。然后，她又放进去一枚五分硬币，差一点中了头奖，硬币哗啦啦淌出来，滚到了地上。米克和小弟弟一边捡硬币，一边警惕地望着四周，以免有顾客趁他们还没来得及捡便拿脚踩住硬币。哑巴坐在屋子中央的一张桌子前，面前摆着晚饭。辛格对面坐着杰克·布朗特，布朗特穿着他最好的衣服，一边喝啤酒一边聊天。一切都跟以前一模一样。过了一会儿，空气中开始烟雾缭绕，嘈杂声四起。比夫很警觉，所有的声音和动作都逃不过他的眼睛。

81
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“我四处走。”布朗特说着，热切地从桌子上俯过身子，眼睛一直盯着哑巴的脸，“我四处走，想要告诉他们，但他们哄堂大笑。我没法让他们明白任何事情，无论我说什么，就是不能让他们明白真相。”

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辛格点点头，用餐巾擦擦嘴巴。他的晚饭已经凉了，因为他无法得空吃饭，但他非常礼貌，任布朗特继续说下去。

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在男人们的粗大嗓门中，老虎机旁边两个孩子的说话声音很大，很清晰。米克正在把那些五分硬币塞回老虎机里。她不时朝中央的餐桌望一眼，但哑巴一直背对着她，并没有看见。

84
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“辛格先生晚饭点了炸鸡，但他一块都没有吃完。”小男孩说。

85
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米克慢慢拉下机器的手柄。“少管闲事。”

86
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“你总是到他房间去，或者到你知道他会去的地方。”

87
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“我让你闭嘴，巴伯·凯利。”

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“你就是这样。”

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米克使劲晃着他，晃得他牙齿咔嗒作响，然后让他转身对着门口。“你赶紧回家睡觉。我早就告诉过你，我白天就已经受够了你和拉尔夫，晚上我好不容易自由了，不想让你还在我身边转悠。”

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巴伯伸出满是污垢的小手。“嗯，那给我五分钱吧。”他把钱装进衬衫口袋，回家去了。

91
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比夫拽拽外套，向后拢了一下头发。他的领带是纯黑的，灰色外套的袖子上还有他亲手缝上的黑纱。他很想走到老虎机旁边，跟米克聊聊天，但有什么东西就是阻止他去。他猛地深吸一口气，喝了一杯水。收音机里传来舞会交响乐，他却并不想听。过去十年中，所有的音乐都差不多，他几乎分不清楚。自一九二八年以来，他就不欣赏音乐了，但他年轻的时候弹过曼陀林，熟悉当时每首流行歌曲的歌词和旋律。

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他把一根手指放在鼻子一侧，头歪向一边。过去一年里，米克长大了很多，身高很快就要超过他了。她穿着红色毛衣和蓝色百褶裙，自从开学以来，她每天都穿这身衣服。现在，裙子上的褶皱都开了，褶边松松垮垮地拖在她尖瘦而突出的膝盖上。她这个年龄，看上去既像个女孩又像个长得过快的男孩。说到这里，为什么最聪明的人几乎都忽视了这一点呢？所有人生来都是双性的，因此，婚姻和床绝不是生活的全部。证据？看看真正的青年人和老年人。老年男性的声音会变得高而尖细，走起路来都迈着小碎步。而老年女性则有时候会变胖，声音会变得粗哑低沉，还会长出黑黑的小胡子。他自己甚至也是个证据——有时候，他心里有一部分希望自己是个母亲，希望米克和巴比是他的孩子。比夫猛然从收银机那里转过身来。

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那些报纸乱七八糟。两个星期了，他没有整理过一张报纸。他从柜台底下拿起一摞报纸，熟练地从上面扫到最底部。明天他要仔细看看后屋里那一摞摞报纸，看能不能改变一下归档的方式，打几个架子，用那些装运罐头的结实箱子做几个抽屉。时间上，从一九一八年十月二十七日一直到今天，用文件夹整理出来，顶上标记出主要的历史事件。三种不同的标记方法——第一种是标注国际事件，从停战协议一直到慕尼黑事件；第二种是标注国内事件；第三种标注地方新闻，从莱斯特市长在乡村俱乐部射杀妻子到哈德逊工厂的大火。过去二十年所有的新闻，他都做了摘要，列了目录，非常完整。比夫用手搓着下巴，暗自眉开眼笑。爱丽丝之前一直想让他把那些报纸都清出去，她好把这间屋子改造成女厕所。她不断唠叨这件事。但那一次，他没有听她的。只有那一次。

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比夫心平气和、全神贯注地开始详细阅读面前的报纸。他看得很慢，很专注，但出于习惯，他还有一只眼睛警惕着周围的一切。杰克·布朗特还在说话，不时用拳头砸着桌子。哑巴啜着啤酒。米克坐立不安地在收音机周围走来走去，盯着这些客人。比夫认真读着第一张报纸上的每一个字，在页边空白处做了一些笔记。

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突然，他抬起头，一脸吃惊的表情，本来张着嘴打哈欠，猛地一下闭上了嘴。收音机里突然开始播放一首老歌，时间可以追溯到他跟爱丽丝订婚的时候。那是《只是一个孩子在暮光中的祈祷》。有个周日，他们坐着有轨电车去老萨迪斯湖，租了一条小船。日落时分，他弹着曼陀林，她唱歌。她戴了一顶水手帽，他用手揽住她的腰，她——爱丽丝——

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他内心泛起一阵失落的感觉。比夫把报纸叠好，重新放到柜台底下。他站在那里，重心先是放在一条腿上，然后挪到另一条腿。最后，他冲着房间那端的米克大喊：“你没在听收音机吗？”

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米克关掉收音机。“没有，今晚没什么好听的。”

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所有这些他都不在意，他的注意力要放到另外一件事上。他伏在柜台上，望着一个又一个的顾客，最后注意力落在中间桌子前那个哑巴的身上。他看见米克慢慢挪过去，在哑巴的邀请下坐了下来。辛格指着菜单上的某个地方，然后女招待给她端来一杯可口可乐。只有像聋哑人一样的怪物，与其他人隔绝的人，才会邀请一个年轻女孩一起坐到他跟另一个男人喝酒的桌上来。布朗特和米克都盯着辛格。他们说着话，哑巴望着他们时脸上的表情也在变化。这是件很滑稽的事情。原因——是他们的原因还是他的原因？他坐得笔直，双手插在口袋里，因为他不说话，所以显出很优越的样子。那个家伙在想什么？明白了什么？他知道什么？

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那天晚上，比夫有两次想要走到中间那张桌子跟前，但每次又都停住了。他们走了以后，他还在想这个哑巴身上到底有什么东西——凌晨时分，他躺在床上，把问题和答案在脑子里翻来覆去地考虑，他却都不满意。这个谜在他心里生了根，让他在脑海深处困扰不已，让他坐立不安。有什么地方不对头。

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By October the days were blue and cool. Biff Brannon changed his light seersucker trousers for dark-blue serge ones.Behind the counter of the Café　he installed a machine that made hot chocolate.Mick was very partial to hot chocolate, and she came in three or four times a week to drink a cup.He served it to her for a nickel instead of a dime and he wanted to give it to her free.He watched her as she stood behind the counter and he was troubled and sad.He wanted to reach out his hand and touch her sunburned, tousled hair—but not as he had ever touched a woman.In him there was an uneasiness, and when he spoke to her his voice had a rough, strange sound.

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There were many worries on his mind. For one thing, Alice was not well.She worked downstairs as usual from seven in the morning until ten at night, but she walked very slowly and brown circles were beneath her eyes.It was in the business that she showed this illness most plainly.One Sunday, when she wrote out the day’s menu on the typewriter, she marked the special dinner with chicken　à　la king at twenty cents instead of fifty, and did not discover the mistake until several customers had already ordered and were ready to pay.Another time she gave back two fives and three ones as change for ten dollars.Biff would stand looking at her for a long time, rubbing his nose thoughtfully and with his eyes half-closed.

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They did not speak of this together. At night he worked downstairs while she slept, and during the morning she managed the restaurant alone.When they worked together he stayed behind the cash register and looked after the kitchen and the tables, as was their custom.They did not talk except on matters of business, but Biff would stand watching her with his face puzzled.

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Then in the afternoon of the eighth of October there was a sudden cry of pain from the room where they slept. Biff hurried upstairs.Within an hour they had taken Alice to the hospital and the doctor had removed from her a tumor almost the size of a newborn child.And then within another hour Alice was dead.

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Biff sat by her bed at the hospital in stunned reflection. He had been present when she died.Her eyes had been drugged and misty from the ether and then they hardened like glass.The nurse and the doctor withdrew from the room.He continued to look into her face.Except for the bluish pallor there was little difference.He noted each detail about her as though he had not watched her every day for twenty-one years.Then gradually as he sat there his thoughts turned to a picture that had long been stored inside him.

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The cold green ocean and a hot gold strip of sand. The little children playing on the edge of the silky line of foam.The sturdy brown baby girl, the thin little naked boys, the half-grown children running and calling out to each other with sweet, shrill voices.Children were here whom he knew, Mick and his niece, Baby, and there were also strange young faces no one had ever seen before.Biff bowed his head.

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After a long while he got up from his chair and stood in the middle of the room. He could hear his sister-in-law, Lucile, walking up and down the hall outside.A fat bee crawled across the top of the dresser, and adroitly Biff caught it in his hand and put it out the open window.He glanced at the dead face one more time, and then with widowed sedateness he opened the door that led out into the hospital corridor.

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Late the next morning he sat sewing in the room upstairs. Why?Why was it that in cases of real love the one who is left does not more often follow the beloved by suicide?Only because the living must bury the dead?Because of the measured rites that must be fulfilled after a death?Because it is as though the one who is left steps for a time upon a stage and each second swells to an unlimited amount of time and he is watched by many eyes?Because there is a function he must carry out?Or perhaps, when there is love, the widowed must stay for the resurrection of the beloved—so that the one who has gone is not really dead, but grows and is created for a second time in the soul of the living?Why?

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Biff bent close over his sewing and meditated on many things. He sewed skillfully, and the calluses on the tips of his fingers were so hard that he pushed the needle through the cloth without a thimble.Already the mourning bands had been sewn around the arms of two gray suits, and now he was on the last.

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The day was bright and hot, and the first dead leaves of the new autumn scraped on the sidewalks. He had gone out early.Each minute was very long.Before him there was infinite leisure.He had locked the door of the restaurant and hung on the outside a white wreath of lilies.To the funeral home he went first and looked carefully at the selection of caskets.He touched the materials of the linings and tested the strength of the frames.

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“What is the name of the crêpe of this one—georgette?”

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The undertaker answered his questions in an oily, unctuous voice.

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“And what is the percentage of cremations in your business?”

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Out on the street again Biff walked with measured formality. From the west there was a warm wind and the sun was very bright.His watch had stopped, so he turned down toward the street where Wilbur Kelly had recently put out his sign as watchmaker.Kelly was sitting at his bench in a patched bathrobe.His shop was also a bedroom, and the baby Mick pulled around with her in a wagon sat quietly on a pallet on the floor.Each minute was so long that in it there was ample time for contemplation and enquiry.He asked Kelly to explain the exact use of jewels in a watch.He noted the distorted look of Kelly’s right eye as it appeared through his watchmaker’s loupe.They talked for a while about Chamberlain and Munich.Then as the time was still early he decided to go up to the mute’s room.

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Singer was dressing for work. Last night there had come from him a letter of condolence.He was to be a pallbearer at the funeral.Biff sat on the bed and they smoked a cigarette together.Singer looked at him now and then with his green observant eyes.He offered him a drink of coffee.Biff did not talk, and once the mute stopped to pat him on the shoulder and look for a second into his face.When Singer was dressed they went out together.

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Biff bought the black ribbon at the store and saw the preacher of Alice’s church. When all was arranged he came back home.To put things in order—that was the thought in his mind.He bundled up Alice’s clothes and personal possessions to give to Lucile.He thoroughly cleaned and straightened the bureau drawers.He even rearranged the shelves of the kitchen downstairs and removed the gaily colored crêpe streamers from the electric fans.Then when this was done he sat in the tub and bathed himself all over.And the morning was done.

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Biff bit the thread and smoothed the black band on the sleeve of his coat. By now Lucile would be waiting for him.He and she and Baby would ride in the funeral car together.He put away the work basket and fitted the coat with the mourning band very carefully on his shoulders.He glanced swiftly around the room to see that all was well before going out again.

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An hour later he was in Lucile’s kitchenette. He sat with his legs crossed, a napkin over his thigh, drinking a cup of tea.Lucile and Alice had been so different in all ways that it was not easy to realize they were sisters.Lucile was thin and dark, and today she had dressed completely in black.She was fixing Baby’s hair.The kid waited patiently on the kitchen table with her hands folded in her lap while her mother worked on her.The sunlight was quiet and mellow in the room.

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“Bartholomew—”said Lucile.

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“What?”

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“Don’t you ever start thinking backward?”

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“I don’t，”said Biff.

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“You know it’s like I got to wear blinders all the time so I won’t think sideways or in the past. All I can let myself think about is going to work every day and fixing meals and Baby’s future.”

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“That’s the right attitude.”

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“I been giving Baby finger waves down at the shop. But they come out so quick I been thinking about letting her have a permanent.I don’t want to give it to her myself—I think maybe I’ll take her up to Atlanta when I go to the cosmetologist convention and let her get it there.”

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“Motherogod！She’s not but four. It’s liable to scare her.And besides, permanents tend to coarsen the hair.”

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Lucile dipped the comb in a glass of water and mashed the curls over Baby’s ears.“No, they don’t. And she wants one.Young as Baby is, she already has as much ambition as I got.And that’s saying plenty.”

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Biff polished his nails on the palm of his hand and shook his head.

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“Every time Baby and I go to the movies and see those kids in all the good r?les she feels the same way I do.I swear she does, Bartholomew.I can’t even get her to eat her supper afterward.”

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“For goodness’sake，”Biff said.

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“She’s getting along so fine with her dancing and expression lessons. Next year I want her to start with the piano because I think it’ll be a help for her to play some.Her dancing teacher is going to give her a solo in the soirée.I feel like I got to push Baby all I can.Because the sooner she gets started on her career the better it’ll be for both of us.”

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“Motherogod！”

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“You don’t understand. A child with talent can’t be treated like ordinary kids.That’s one reason I want to get Baby out of this common neighborhood.I can’t let her start to talk vulgar like these brats around her or run wild like they do.”

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“I know the kids on this block，”Biff said.“They’re all right. Those Kelly kids across the street—the Crane boy—”

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“You know good and well that none of them are up to Baby’s level.”

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Lucile set the last wave in Baby’s hair. She pinched the kid’s little cheeks to put more color in them.Then she lifted her down from the table.For the funeral Baby had on a little white dress with white shoes and white socks and even small white gloves.There was a certain way Baby always held her head when people looked at her, and it was turned that way now.

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They sat for a while in the small, hot kitchenette without saying anything. Then Lucile began to cry.“It’s not like we was ever very close as sisters.We had our differences and we didn’t see much of each other.Maybe it was because I was so much younger.But there’s something about your own blood kin, and when anything like this happens—”

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Biff clucked soothingly.

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“I know how you two were，”she said.“It wasn’t all just roses with you and she. But maybe that sort of makes it worse for you now.”

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Biff caught Baby under the arms and swung her up to his shoulder. The kid was getting heavier.He held her carefully as he stepped into the living-room.Baby felt warm and close on his shoulder, and her little silk skirt was white against the dark cloth of his coat.She grasped one of his ears very tight with her little hand.

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“Unca Biff！Watch me do the split.”

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Gently he set Baby on her feet again. She curved both arms above her head and her feet slid slowly in opposite directions on the yellow waxed floor.In a moment she was seated with one leg stretched straight in front of her and one behind.She posed with her arms held at a fancy angle, looking sideways at the wall with a sad expression.

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She scrambled up again.“Watch me do a handspring. Watch me do a—”

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“Honey, be a little quieter，”Lucile said. She sat down beside Biff on the plush sofa.“Don’t she remind you a little of him—something about her eyes and face?”

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“Hell, no. I can’t see the slightest resemblance between Baby and Leroy Wilson.”

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Lucile looked too thin and worn out for her age. Maybe it was the black dress and because she had been crying.“After all, we got to admit he’s Baby’s father，”she said.

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“Can’t you ever forget about that man?”

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“I don’t know. I guess I always been a fool about two things.And that’s Leroy and Baby.”

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Biff’s new growth of beard was blue against the pale skin of his face and his voice sounded tired.“Don’t you ever just think a thing through and find out what’s happened and what ought to come from that?Don’t you ever use logic—if these are the given facts this ought to be the result?”

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“Not about him, I guess.”

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Biff spoke in a weary manner and his eyes were almost closed.“You married this certain party when you were seventeen, and afterward there was just one racket between you after another. You divorced him.Then two years later you married him a second time.And now he’s gone off again and you don’t know where he is.It seems like those facts would show you one thing—you two are not suited to each other.And that’s aside from the more personal side—the sort of man this certain party happens to be anyway.”

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“God knows I been realizing all along he’s a heel. I just hope he won’t ever knock on that door again.”

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“Look, Baby，”Biff said quickly. He laced his fingers and held up his hands.“This is the church and this is the steeple.Open the door and here are God’s people.”

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Lucile shook her head.“You don’t have to bother about Baby. I tell her everything.She knows about the whole mess from A to Z.”

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“Then if he comes back you’ll let him stay here and sponge on you just as long as he pleases—like it was before?”

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“Yeah. I guess I would.Every time the doorbell or the phone rings, every time anybody steps up on the porch, something in the back of my mind thinks about that man.”

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Biff spread out the palms of his hands.“There you are.”

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The clock struck two. The room was very close and hot.Baby turned another handspring and made a split again on the waxed floor.Then Biff took her up into his lap.Her little legs dangled against his shin.She unbuttoned his vest and burrowed her face into him.

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“Listen，”Lucile said.“If I ask you a question will you promise to answer me the truth?”

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“Sure.”

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“No matter what it is?”

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Biff touched Baby’s soft gold hair and laid his hand gently on the side of her little head.“Of course.”

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“It was about seven years ago. Soon after we was married the first time.And he came in one night from your place with big knots all over his head and told me you caught him by the neck and banged his head against the side of the wall.He made up some tale about why you did it, but I want to know the real reason.”

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Biff turned the wedding ring on his finger.“I just never did like Leroy, and we had a fight. In those days I was different from now.”

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“No. There was some definite thing you did that for.We been knowing each other a pretty long time, and I understand by now that you got a real reason for every single thing you ever do.Your mind runs by reasons instead of just wants.Now, you promised you’d tell me what it was, and I want to know.”

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“It wouldn’t mean anything now.”

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“I tell you I got to know.”

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“All right，”Biff said.“He came in that night and started drinking, and when he was drunk he shot off his mouth about you. He said he would come home about once a month and beat hell out of you and you would take it.But then afterward you would step outside in the hall and laugh aloud a few times so that the neighbors in the other rooms would think you both had just been playing around and it had all been a joke.That’s what happened, so just forget about it.”

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Lucile sat up straight and there was a red spot on each of her cheeks.“You see, Bartholomew, that’s why I got to be like I have blinders on all the time so as not to think backward or sideways. All I can let my mind stay on is going to work every day and fixing three meals here at home and Baby’s career.”

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“Yes.”

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“I hope you’ll do that too, and not start thinking backward.”

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Biff leaned his head down on his chest and closed his eyes. During the whole long day he had not been able to think of Alice.When he tried to remember her face there was a queer blankness in him.The only thing about her that was clear in his mind was her feet—stumpy, very soft and white with puffy little toes.The bottoms were pink and near the left heel there was a tiny brown mole.The night they were married he had taken off her shoes and stockings and kissed her feet.And, come to think of it, that was worth considering, because the Japanese believe that the choicest part of a woman—

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Biff stirred and glanced at his watch. In a little while they would leave for the church where the funeral would be held.In his mind he went through the motions of the ceremony.The church—riding dirge-paced behind the hearse with Lucile and Baby—the group of people standing with bowed heads in the September sunshine.Sun on the white tombstones, on the fading flowers and the canvas tent covering the newly dug grave.Then home again—and what?

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“No matter how much you quarrel there’s something about your own blood sister，”Lucile said.

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Biff raised his head.“Why don’t you marry again?Some nice young man who’s never had a wife before, who would take care of you and Baby?If you’d just forget about Leroy you would make a good man a fine wife.”

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Lucile was slow to answer. Then finally she said：“You know how we always been—we nearly all the time understand each other pretty well without any kind of throbs either way.Well, that’s the closest I ever want to be to any man again.”

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“I feel the same way，”Biff said.

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Half an hour later there was a knock on the door. The car for the funeral was parked before the house.Biff and Lucile got up slowly.The three of them, with Baby in her white silk dress a little ahead, walked in solemn quietness outside.

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Biff kept the restaurant closed during the next day. Then in the early evening he removed the faded wreath of lilies from the front door and opened the place for business again.Old customers came in with sad faces and talked with him a few minutes by the cash register before giving their orders.The usual crowd was present—Singer, Blount, various men who worked in stores along the block and in the mills down on the river.After supper Mick Kelly showed up with her little brother and put a nickel into the slot machine.When she lost the first coin she banged on the machine with her fists and kept opening the receiver to be sure that nothing had come down.Then she put in another nickel and almost won the jackpot.Coins came clattering out and rolled along the floor.The kid and her little brother both kept looking around pretty sharp as they picked them up, so that no customer would put his foot on one before they could get to it.The mute was at the table in the middle of the room with his dinner before him.Across from him Jake Blount sat drinking beer, dressed in his Sunday clothes, and talking.Everything was the same as it had always been before.After a while the air became gray with cigarette smoke and the noise increased.Biff was alert, and no sound or movement escaped him.

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“I go around，”Blount said. He leaned earnestly across the table and kept his eyes on the mute’s face.“I go all around and try to tell them.And they laugh.I can’t make them understand anything.No matter what I say I can’t seem to make them see, the truth.”

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Singer nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin. His dinner had got cold because he couldn’t look down to eat, but he was so polite that he let Blount go on talking.

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The words of the two children at the slot machine were high and clear against the coarser voices of the men. Mick was putting her nickels back into the slot.Often she looked around at the middle table, but the mute had his back turned to her and did not see.

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“Mister Singer’s got fried chicken for his supper and he hasn’t eaten one piece yet，”the little boy said.

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Mick pulled down the lever of the machine very slowly.“Mind your own business.”

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“You’re always going up to his room or some place where you know he’ll be.”

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“I told you to hush, Bubber Kelly.”

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“You do.”

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Mick shook him until his teeth rattled and turned him around toward the door.“You go on home to bed. I already told you I get a bellyful of you and Ralph in the daytime, and I don’t want you hanging around me at night when I’m supposed to be free.”

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Bubber held out his grimy little hand.“Well, give me a nickel, then.”When he had put the money in his shirt pocket he left for home.

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Biff straightened his coat and smoothed back his hair. His tie was solid black, and on the sleeve of his gray coat there was the mourning band that he had sewn there.He wanted to go up to the slot machine and talk with Mick, but something would not let him.He sucked in his breath sharply and drank a glass of water.A dance orchestra came in on the radio, but he did not want to listen.All the tunes in the last ten years were so alike he couldn’t tell one from the other.Since　1928　he had not enjoyed music.Yet when he was young he used to play the mandolin, and he knew the words and the melody of every current song.

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He laid his finger on the side of his nose and cocked his head to one side. Mick had grown so much in the past year that soon she would be taller than he was.She was dressed in the red sweater and blue pleated skirt she had worn every day since school started.Now the pleats had come out and the hem dragged loose around her sharp, jutting knees.She was at the age when she looked as much like an overgrown boy as a girl.And on that subject why was it that the smartest people mostly missed that point?By nature all people are of both sexes.So that marriage and the bed is not all by any means.The proof?Real youth and old age.Because often old men’s voices grow high and reedy and they take on a mincing walk.And old women sometimes grow fat and their voices get rough and deep and they grow dark little mustaches.And he even proved it himself—the part of him that sometimes almost wished he was a mother and that Mick and Baby were his kids.Abruptly Biff turned from the cash register.

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The newspapers were in a mess. For two weeks he hadn’t filed a single one.He lifted a stack of them from under the counter.With a practiced eye he glanced from the masthead to the bottom of the sheet.Tomorrow he would look over the stacks of them in the back room and see about changing the system of files.Build shelves and use those solid boxes canned goods were shipped in for drawers.Chronologically from　27　October　1918　on up to the present date.With folders and top markings outlining historical events.Three sets of outlines—one international beginning with the Armistice and leading through the Munich aftermath, the second national, the third all the local dope from the time Mayor Lester shot his wife at the country club up to the Hudson Mill fire.Everything for the past twenty years docketed and outlined and complete.Biff beamed quietly behind his hand as he rubbed his jaw.And yet Alice had wanted him to haul out the papers so she could turn the room into a ladies’toilet.That was just what she had nagged him to do, but for once he had battered her down.For that one time.

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With peaceful absorption Biff settled down to the details of the newspaper before him. He read steadily and with concentration, but from habit some secondary part of him was alert to everything around him.Jake Blount was still talking, and often he would hit his fist on the table.The mute sipped beer.Mick walked restlessly around the radio and stared at the customers.Biff read every word in the first paper and made a few notes on the margins.

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Then suddenly he looked up with a surprised expression. His mouth had been open for a yawn and he snapped it shut.The radio swung into an old song that dated back to the time when he and Alice were engaged.“Just a Baby’s Prayer at Twilight.”They had taken the streetcar one Sunday to Old Sardis Lake and had rented a rowboat.At sunset he played on the mandolin while she sang.She had on a sailor hat, and when he put his arm around her waist she—Alice—

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A dragnet for lost feelings. Biff folded the newspapers and put them back under the counter.He stood on one foot and then the other.Finally he called across the room to Mick.“You’re not listening, are you?”

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Mick turned off the radio.“No. Nothing on tonight.”

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All of that he would keep out of his mind, and concentrate on something else. He leaned over the counter and watched one customer after another.Then at last his attention rested on the mute at the middle table.He saw Mick edge gradually up to him and at his invitation sit down.Singer pointed to something on the menu and the waitress brought a Coca-Cola for her.Nobody but a freak like a deaf-mute, cut off from other people, would ask a right young girl to sit down to the table where he was drinking with another man.Blount and Mick both kept their eyes on Singer.They talked, and the mute’s expression changed as he watched them.It was a funny thing.The reason—was it in them or in him?He sat very still with his hands in his pockets, and because he did not speak it made him seem superior.What did that fellow think and realize?What did he know?

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Twice during the evening Biff started to go over to the middle table, but each time he checked himself. After they were gone he still wondered what it was about this mute—and in the early dawn when he lay in bed he turned over questions and solutions in his mind without satisfaction.The puzzle had taken root in him.It worried him in the back of his mind and left him uneasy.There was something wrong.

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序号 英文/音标 中文解释 更多操作

uneasiness

[ʌn'iːzinəs]

n.担忧;不自在

thoughtful

['θɔːtfl]

adj.深思的;体贴的

Biff

[bɪf]

n.击打;棍刺

gradual

['ɡrædʒuəl]

adj.逐渐的;逐步的;平缓的

sedateness

[sɪ'deɪtnəs]

n.镇静(庄重的)

beloved

[bɪ'lʌvd]

adj.心爱的

sew

[səʊ]

v.缝合;缝纫

casket

['kɑːskɪt]

n.(精美)匣子;首饰盒;棺材;骨灰盒

georgette

[ˌdʒɔː'dʒet]

n.乔其纱(一种极薄的透明细纱)

unctuous

['ʌŋktjuəs]

adj.油腔滑调的;油的;虚情假意的

Munich

['mju:nik]

n.慕尼黑【德国城市】

mute

[mjuːt]

a. 【语】无音的;

streamer

['striːmə(r)]

n.横幅;长条旗;装饰彩纸条;北极光;流光;(报纸的)通栏标题

swift

[swɪft]

adj.快的;迅速的;敏捷的

mellow

['meləʊ]

adj.成熟的;醇的;熟练的

Bartholomew

[bɑː'θɒləmjuː]

n.男子名

backward

['bækwəd]

adj.向后的

past

[pɑːst]

a. 过去的;

cosmetologist

[ˌkɒzmɪ'tɒlədʒɪst]

n.美容品从业者;美容师

coarsen

['kɔːsn]

v.(使)变粗

curl

[kɜːl]

n.卷曲;卷发;年轮;漩涡;【足】曲线球

supper

['sʌpə(r)]

n.晚饭

sooner

['suːnə]

adv. soon的比较级

brat

[bræt]

n.乳臭未干的小孩;顽童

Crane

[kreɪn]

n.起重机

liftable

[lɪftəbl]

a.1. 可以举起的

kitchenette

[ˌkɪtʃɪ'net]

n.小厨房

soothing

[suːðɪŋ]

adj.安慰的;慰藉的;镇静的,

felted

['feltɪd]

v. 把 ... 制成毡(使 ... 粘结)

sideway

['saɪdweɪ]

【1】 n. 小巷;小路,小径;人行道 【2】 adj.旁的;横向的

handspring

['hændsprɪŋ]

n.翻筋斗

plush

[plʌʃ]

adj.豪华的;优裕的;长毛绒的

weary

['wɪəri]

adj.疲倦的;厌烦的

steeple

['stiːpl]

n.尖塔

sponge

[spʌndʒ]

n.海绵

doorbell

['dɔːbel]

n.门铃

burrow

['bʌrəʊ]

n.(兔子等)所掘的地洞

bang

[bæŋ]

n.巨响;重击;刘海

mole

[məʊl]

n.痣n.鼹鼠;钱鼠;间谍;凿岩机

tombstone

['tuːmstəʊn]

n.墓碑

throb

[θrɒb]

n.跳动，搏动，悸动

quietness

['kwaɪətnəs]

n.平静;安定;安静

napkin

['næpkɪn]

n.餐巾;一小块布或毛巾;卫生巾

lever

['liːvə(r)]

n.杠杆

hush

[hʌʃ]

n.肃静;安静;沉默

daytime

['deɪtaɪm]

n.白天;日间

nickel

['nɪkl]

n.镍;镍币;五分镍币

melody

['melədi]

n.旋律;曲子;曲调;美妙的音乐

batter

['bætə(r)]

v.猛击;打坏;往后递倾

sailor

['seɪlə(r)]

n.海员;水手;扁平的硬边草帽

Mick

[mɪk]

n. 爱尔兰佬

uneasy

[ʌn'iːzi]

adj.不自在的 ；心神不安的 ；不稳定的;不舒服的

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