Chapter 38 chapter eight

Cam looked at the undulating shore, which became more and more remote and quiet, and she thought that people couldn't feel anything there.Her hand submerged in the water made a ripple on the surface, and in her mind, those green eddies and lines formed various patterns, and her thoughts were paralyzed and veiled, and she was imagining wandered in that underwater world where clusters of pearls and white spray cling together, and in that green light her whole mind was transfigured, and her body wrapped in a green cloak, It becomes translucent in sunlight. Later, the vortex around her hand weakened.The rushing turbulence ceased; the whole world was filled with a slight creak and creak.You could hear the waves splashing against the sides of the boats as if they had dropped anchor in the harbour.Everything appears very close to you.James kept his eyes on the sail, which at last seemed to be an old acquaintance to him, and now it was completely deflated; and there they stood, the boat adrift, waiting for a fair wind to blow, and they were exposed to the heat In the bright sunshine, it is quite far away from the coast, and there is still a distance from the lighthouse.In the whole world, everything seemed to stand still.The lighthouse remained unmoved, and the distant shoreline became fixed.The sun became hotter, and it seemed that everyone on board was very close together and aware of each other, but just now everyone was thinking about each other, and almost forgot about each other.McAllister's line sank vertically out to sea.But Mr Ramsay sat cross-legged and read on.

He was reading a shiny little book with a cover as mottled as a snipe's egg.They drifted in that eerie silence, and he turned a page after a while.It seemed to James that with each page he turned, there was a particular gesture aimed at him: now authoritarian, now authoritative, now trying to make people sympathize with him; All the while turning the pages of the little book, James dreaded lest he should suddenly look up at him and say something harsh to him.Why are they dawdling here?He would ask such questions, or such rather unreasonable questions.If he's so unreasonable, James thought, I'll take a knife and stab him right in the heart.

In his mind, he has always kept the symbol of stabbing his father's heart with a knife.But now that he was a little older, and as he sat looking at his father with rage and indifference, it was not he who was going to kill, not the old man reading, but what had come upon him. Something evil—perhaps he himself knows nothing about it—that monstrous hawk that suddenly swoops down on black wings, with its cold, hard talons and beak, strikes you again and again. (he could feel the eagle's beak pecking at his bare leg, where it had pecked in his childhood), and then it flew away, and he was all right again, just a very sad old man, sitting Read a book there.What he wanted to kill was the strange eagle, and he wanted to stab it straight in the heart with a knife.Whatever he was doing--he looked at the lighthouse and the far shore and felt he could be anything--whether he was a businessman, a banker, a lawyer, or the head of some corporation, he was going to fight the monster, he was going to hunt It, destroys it—he calls it bullying and despotism—because it compels people to do what they don't want to do, and deprives them of the right to speak out.Who among them can say "but I don't want to" when he says "to the lighthouse"?go do this!bring me that!The black wings spread, and the hard beak ruthlessly tore its prey.After a while, he's sitting there reading again, and he'll probably look up at you—you never know—seemingly reasonable.He might go talk to the McAllisters.James thought, he might slip a souvenir into the hands of a frozen old woman on the street, he might cheer on the fishermen who were fishing, he might dance with excitement.Or he might sit at the head of the table and say nothing from the beginning of the meal until the end.James thought: Yes, when the little boat drifted along in the scorching sun, and in the distance there was a very bleak and monotonous moor, with snow on top and rocks on the bottom; When he spoke or acted, he often had the feeling that there were only two pairs of footprints on that wasteland—his own and his father's.Only the two of them understand each other.So why is there still this feeling of fear and hatred?He pushed aside the layers of leaves of the past that had veiled his gaze, and peered into the heart of the wood, where light and shadow intersected and distorted the forms of all things, sometimes blinding the sun, sometimes obscuring the vision. , He groped frantically among them, he wanted to seek an image, use a specific form to cool down his emotion, disperse it, and make it change direction.Is it conceivable that he, like a helpless child, sitting in a pram or on a grown-up's lap, sees a carriage inadvertently crush someone's foot?Suppose first he saw the foot in the grass, clean and whole; then he saw the wheel go by; then he saw the foot bloodied and crushed to pieces.However, that wheel was not meant to hurt anyone.And so, early this morning, when his father came across the corridor knocking at the door to wake them up and tell them to go to the lighthouse, the wheel ran over his feet, and Cam's, and everybody's feet. .You just sit there and stare at it.

But whose feet did he see?In what garden did this happen?For a scene imagined in one's mind must have a setting: there are flowers and trees, a certain amount of light, and a few characters.All this will be arranged in a garden without such a gloomy atmosphere.There, no one gesticulates like that; people speak in plain, normal tones.They walk in and out all day.There was an old woman chattering in the kitchen; the curtains fluttered in the breeze; everything breathed loudly, everything grew; A single leaf, covering all those dishes and long, waving red and yellow flowers.At night, everything is quieter and darker.But the petal-like veil was so fine and slender that light could make it float, and sound could make it shrivel; As he approached and walked away, he could still hear the rustling of his clothes and the tinkling of necklaces.

It was in this world that the wheel ran over a man's foot.He remembered something lingering above him, casting him in shadow; it would not go away, it swaggered in the air; Something sharp fell down, like a blade, a scimitar, and felled among the leaves and flowers, and withered the flowers and withered the leaves. He remembered his father saying, "It's going to rain. You can't go to the lighthouse tomorrow." At that time, the lighthouse was to him a silver-gray, mysterious pagoda with a yellow eye, which opened suddenly and softly at dusk.Now-- James looked at the lighthouse.He could see the whitewashed rocks; the lighthouse, standing stiff and straight; he could see the black and white lines drawn on the tower; he could see the windows on the tower; he could even see the clothes.This is the lighthouse you've been dreaming of, isn't it?

No, that other one is also a lighthouse.Because nothing is simply a thing.That other lighthouse is also real.Sometimes it is barely visible across the bay.In the twilight he looked up and could see that eye opening and closing, and the light seemed to shine all the way around them, into the cool, happy garden where they sat. But he suppressed his wandering thoughts.Whenever he said "they" or "someone," he began to hear people's skirts rustling approaching, necklaces jingling away, and he wondered what was going on in the room. Human presence is extremely sensitive.Now, that person is his father.The atmosphere was extremely tense.Because, as long as there is no wind for a while, his father will snap the book and complain, "What's the matter? Why are we lingering here?" Like once on the platform, he threw the knife into The cut between them, mother and son, made her stiff and helpless, and if he had had an axe, or a sharp knife, or anything sharp, he would have grabbed it and stabbed his father right in the heart.She froze numbly for a while, then her arms that had been around him let go, and he felt that she was no longer paying attention to him, and somehow she got up and went away, leaving him there alone, dejected and ridiculous. Sitting on the floor with a pair of scissors in his hands.

There was no breeze at sea.In the bottom of the hold there was a splashing sound of water and three or four mackerel flapping their tails in a shallow pool where they could not submerge.Mr. Ramsay (James scarcely dared to look him in the eye) might at any moment wake up from his contemplation, close his book, and say something harsh; but for the moment he was still reading, so James quietly (as if he Going downstairs with bare feet, lest the floor creak and wake up the dog guarding the door) Continue to think: what does she look like?Where did she go that day?He began to follow her through several rooms, and finally they entered a room lit with blue light, as if reflected from many china dishes; she was talking to someone, and he listened to her. speak.She was talking to a servant and said whatever came to her mind.She was the only one who spoke the truth; he was the only one who could tell the truth to her.Perhaps, this was the source of her enduring attraction to him; she was someone you could confide in and say whatever you wanted.But, as he recalled his mother, he realized that his father had been following his thought, watching it, making it tremble, making it hesitate.Finally, he stopped thinking about it.

He sat looking at the lighthouse in the sun, with one hand on the tiller, and he had no strength to move, no strength to brush gently these motes of sorrow that one after another settled on his heart.It was as if a rope had tied him there, and his father had tied it in a knot, and he could only escape by taking a knife and stabbing it in... But then the sail turned slowly , Gradually the wind filled the boat, and the boat seemed to shake its body a bit, and set sail half asleep, and then it woke up, riding the wind and waves and advancing rapidly.This is very reassuring.They seemed to be estranged from each other again, and they were at their ease without disturbing each other, and the few lines cast from the side of the boat were slanted and taut.But his father was still buried in his books.But he raised his right hand mysteriously high in the air, and let it drop to his knee, as if he were conducting a mysterious symphony.