Chapter 7 Chapter Six

Two years and three months ago Miss Kilman, filled with resentment, went to a church.She listened to the Reverend Edward Whittaker, and the children in the choir sang, and she saw the light shine; The violin came to play, but the sound was very squeaky and harsh; she had no sense of music, and her hearing was not good;) The burning anger in her heart died down, and she was moved to tears; so she went to Kensington District Hui Mr. Turk's home to visit.He said: This is God's help, the Lord has shown you the way.So now, whenever she was angry or jealous, when she hated Mrs. Dalloway, when she was cynical, she always thought of God.She also thought of Mr. Whittaker, and calm overcame her anger.She only felt a warm current all over her body, and her lips parted; she was wearing a raincoat, standing on the landing, looking very dignified; and with a vicious heart, she watched Mrs. Dalloway come out steadily and calmly. , followed by her daughter.

Elizabeth said she had forgotten to put on her gloves.It was an excuse, for Miss Kilman and her mother were enemies.She could not bear to see them together.She ran upstairs to find gloves. Miss Kilman, however, did not hate Mrs Dalloway.Now, as she gazed at Clarissa with her gooseberry eyes, at that little pink face, that slender figure, that radiant fashion, Miss Kilman thought: What a fool!idiot!You have neither suffered nor enjoyed pleasure, you just lived in vain!Then she felt very strongly in her heart to overwhelm the woman, to tear off her mask.If Miss Kilman could beat her, she would feel better.But not against her body, but against her soul and pretense, and make her feel superior to her.How Miss Kilman wanted to make her cry, to destroy her, to humiliate her, to make her kneel, and cry: You are right!However, this was not Miss Kilman's intention, but God's will.That would be a victory for religion.With this kind of mood, she stared and glared.

Clarissa was really terrified.Such a Christian—this woman!This woman stole her daughter!She can actually be sensed by the gods!She is clumsy, ugly, mediocre, neither charitable nor elegant, but she has insight into the meaning of life! "Did you take Elizabeth to the Ayne's?" asked Mrs. Dalloway. Miss Kilman said yes.The two confronted each other.Miss Kilman did not want to be pleasant with the lady.She has always been self-reliant.She is extremely well versed in modern history.Despite her meager income, she had amassed a large sum of money for her religious cause; and this woman had done nothing, had no faith, and brought up her daughter... At this moment Elizabeth came back, panting, that pretty girl.

So the two of them are going to the A&E store.How strange it was that while Miss Kilman stood there (and she really stood upright, like some monstrous creature of the past, silent and mighty, armed for a primitive war), gradually, slowly, Slowly, her self-concept and her hatred (which was aimed at certain concepts rather than people) faded and disintegrated, her malice disappeared, her aura was deflated, and she gradually became ordinary. Miss Kilman, in her battered raincoat; God knows, Clarissa will help her. Clarissa smiled as the monster's arrogance subsided.She smiled and said: Goodbye.

Then in a rush of impulsive, heart-wrenching pain that the woman had taken her daughter away, Clarissa leaned against the stair-pole and cried, "Don't forget the party! Don't forget there's a party tonight!" But Elizabeth had opened the front door; a delivery truck drove by outside; she refused. Clarissa thought: Ho, love and religion!Walking back to the living room, trembling all over.How abominable, these two things, how abominable!At this moment, Miss Kilman was no longer in sight, so Clarissa felt not overwhelmed by who she was, but by the ideas she represented.People like her, Clarissa thought, are the cruelest things in the world, clumsy and hot, imperious, false, bugging, jealous, unscrupulous, brutal—in a raincoat, on a platform: The embodiment of love and religion.I never wanted to change anyone's belief like her, did I? !Don't you want everyone to keep their true colors? !At the moment, Clarissa looked out the window and saw the old lady opposite was climbing upstairs.Let her go upstairs, then let her stop, then (as Clarissa often spies) let her go into the bedroom, draw the curtains, and fade away again.Somehow, these gestures elicited respect—the old woman, looking out the window leisurely, without the slightest sense that anyone was watching her.There is something majestic about this image--and love and religion will destroy it, and all that it symbolizes, such as the quiet soul.That nasty Kilman is going to spoil it.On the contrary, the image of the old woman moved me to tears.

Love can also be destructive.It will destroy all good things, all real things.Take Peter Walsh, for example.Such a lovely and intelligent man who has his own opinions on everything.Like if you want to know about the Pope, or about Addison, or just nonsense, about someone, what something means, and so on, just ask Peter, he knows it better than anyone else.It was Peter who helped her and lent her books.But look at the women he fell in love with--so vulgar, mother-in-law, plain.Think of Peter's courtship—he still comes to see me after all these years, but what does he talk about!Talking about myself all the time, that terrible passion!Humiliated passion, she thought!She thought about it, thinking of Kilman and her daughter, who were walking to the Ayn store now.

Big Ben struck—half an hour passed. How strange, how strange, er, how touching--to see the old lady (who was an old neighbor for indeterminate years) walk away from the window, as if she were clinging to that bell, that bond.Although the bell is very loud, it has something to do with this frail old woman.Its tentacles reach into the mundane, reach in, reach out, and make the moment majestic.Clarissa imagined: the bell made the old woman have to walk—to where?Clarissa stared at her, saw her turn and disappear, only her white hat looming in the bedroom.She's still there, moving across the room.Clarissa thought to herself: This is the miracle, this is the mystery (she meant the old lady), what more faith, prayers, and raincoats do you need? !Now she could see the old woman walking from the closet to the dressing table.She can still see the old lady, and they are in touch with each other.And Kilman would say that she had penetrated the most mysterious truths, or, Peter might say, that he had experienced the most mysterious truths; but Clarissa thought that neither of them touched even the shadow of mystery. up there.The real mystery is nothing more than this: here is my own room, and there is the old lady's bedroom, which are invisibly connected.Can religion, or love, solve the mystery?

Love... Now, another clock strikes, always two minutes behind Big Ben; the sound waves come, as if shuffling in clothes, pockets full of bits and pieces , and fell to the ground, as if the bell thought that although the majestic Big Ben could make laws, so solemn, so just, but it must remember that there are all kinds of little things in the world--Ma Mrs. Chan, Ellie Henderson, ice-glasses—little things of all kinds, to the majestic Big Ben; Things are like waves, splashing, jumping, swarming.Well, Mrs. Marsham, Ellie Henderson, a glass with ice.She has to call right away. The two-minute slow clock followed Big Ben, struck, and the sound waves came over, as if shuffling, and the pockets were full of small things.However, the bell was disturbed and broken by the sound of the city: the sound of cars and horses outside, including the rampaging trucks, and the bustling stream of people: skinny men, women ostentatiously passing through the city, pushing and shoving, rushing straight forward; The domes and spiers of buildings and hospitals soared into the sky; all this disturbed the bells, which carried all sorts of little things, and seemed to be dying, like waves exhausted, leaving only a star of spray, splashing on the base. Miss Herman, who stood for a moment in the street, muttered to herself: "The problem is the flesh."

It is the flesh that she wants to control.Clarissa Dalloway insulted her.That's to be expected.However, she herself was not victorious, she did not control her lust.Clarissa Dalloway laughed at her shabbiness and clumsiness, and stimulated her to be pretty and clever, because she was ashamed of herself with Clarissa.Also, she was not as articulate as Clarissa.But why be like that woman?Why?She despised Mrs. Dalloway from the bottom of her heart—she was dishonest, she was bad, and her life was mingled with vanity and fraud.But I, Doris Kilman, was overwhelmed by her.In fact, she almost burst into tears when Clarissa Dalloway laughed at her. "It's the flesh, the flesh," she murmured (as was her habit), as she walked down Victoria Street, trying to stifle the tumult and anguish.She prays to God.She was naturally ugly, and there was nothing to be done about it; she was too poor to afford beautiful clothes.But Clarissa was taunting her about it... Don't even think about it, and focus on other things before you get to the mailbox.In any case, she'd got Elizabeth.

She went on talking to herself: It would be nice to live in the country, to fight and overcome her cynical passions, as Mr. Whitaker advises; Abandoning her, first of all this humiliation - ridiculing her unlovable figure, people can hardly glance at her.No matter what hairstyle she wore, the forehead was always like an egg, bald and white.It doesn't look good in any clothes.It's useless to buy anything to dress up.For a woman, this means, of course, never approaching the opposite sex.She will never initiate contact with anyone.There had been times of late when it seemed to her that, apart from Elizabeth, she lived only for food, for comfort: good meals, tea, hot-water bottles for evenings.However, man must fight, overcome, and trust in God.Mr. Whittaker said that she lived on earth for a noble purpose.But, that pain!No one knows.He pointed to the cross and said: God understands.But why should she alone have to suffer while other women, such as Clarissa Dalloway, are exempted?Mr. Whittaker replied: Pain produces knowledge.

She had passed the post-box, and Elizabeth had turned back into Ayorn's, to the shady brown cigarette counter, while Miss Kilman was still muttering and babbling about Whittaker's That line from Mr. Pain that produces knowledge; and the matter of the flesh, "Well, the flesh," she said to herself. Elizabeth interrupted her and asked: Which counter do you want to go to? "Seller of dresses," she said curtly, striding toward the elevator. They went upstairs.Elizabeth led the way, this way, that way; Miss Kilman let her lead, in a trance, like a big child, like a heavy warship.Here, lo and behold, all kinds of skirts: brown, striped, generous, gaudy, thick, cicada-like, you name it; she chooses so absent-mindedly that the girl at the counter thinks she's a crazy woman. While they bandaged Elizabeth wondered what was going on in her mind.At last Miss Kilman came out of her trance, and said it was time for tea.So they had tea. Miss Kilman was hungry, thought Elizabeth.She gobbled it up as usual, and then looked at a plate of icing cakes on the table next to her. After a while, a lady and a child sat down at the table, and the child ate the cake.Is Miss Kilman distressed?Well, she was distressed, because she really wanted to eat that cake—the pink one.Now, the only real joy in her life was eating, and at this moment, she couldn't even enjoy that cake! She once said to Elizabeth: There is always a source of happiness for a happy person, which can be inexhaustible; but she is like a wheel without tires (she likes to use this metaphor), always bumping against small stones-she often Said something like that on a Tuesday morning, when she was standing by the fire at recess after school, with her schoolbag (a "little bag," as she called it) between her arms.She also talks about the war: after all, there are still people who think that the British are not always right.That's what it says in the book.And there's the rally.There are also people who dissent.Does Elizabeth want to go with her to hear someone speak? (It was a very handsome old man.) Miss Kilman then took her up to a church in Kensington, where she was served tea by the same priest.She also lent Elizabeth all kinds of books: law, medicine, politics, and so on.Miss Kilman said: "For women of your generation, all careers are open.As for herself, her future was ruined, completely ruined, was it her fault?God, said Elizabeth, no. Sometimes the girl's mother would come in and say: The people from Bourton's house have sent a big basket of flowers, would Miss Kilman take some?Clarissa was always very kind to Miss Kilman; but the lady bundled up the flowers in the basket and took them down, but did not gossip with her; What interested Elizabeth's mother was annoying; in short, the two were extremely awkward together; and Miss Kilman was really ugly, but she thought she was great; but Miss Kilman was indeed very clever.Elizabeth never thought of being poor.Because she had what she wanted--mother had breakfast in bed every day, and Lucy brought it as usual; and Elizabeth liked those old ladies, because they were all duchesses, and descended from some kind of lord.Yet Miss Kilman told her (on a Tuesday morning, during recess): "My grandfather owned an oil paint shop in Kensington." Make others look so small. Miss Kilman drank another cup of tea.But Elizabeth no longer drank or ate anything; she sat upright, with an oriental charm, and her posture was mysterious.She was looking for gloves—her white gloves.It's under the table.Oh, she must go!But Miss Kilman won't let her go!This girl is so beautiful!This girl makes people love her from the bottom of their hearts!Miss Kilman's large hands opened and closed on the table. It's kind of boring, thought Elizabeth, and she wanted to slip away. But Miss Kilman said, "I haven't finished eating yet." So, of course Elizabeth will have to wait a while, but it's quite stuffy here. "Are you going to the party tonight?" asked Miss Kilman suddenly. Elizabeth said, perhaps go, mother asked her to go.Miss Kilman stroked the edge of the almost devoured chocolate custard and said: Don't get carried away by the feast. Elizabeth replied, I don't like parties very much.At that moment, Miss Kilman opened her mouth, protruding her jaw a little, swallowed the remaining slice of chocolate brioche, wiped her fingers, and stirred the tea in her cup. She felt like she was going to explode.The pain inside is simply horrible.If only I could catch the girl, hold her close, make her all mine, mine forever, and die!This is my wish.But at this moment, sitting here, rummaging, unable to think of anything to talk about, seeing Elizabeth's distaste for her, why, even this girl finds her repulsive--how embarrassing!She can't take it.Thick fingers clenched tightly. "I never go to any parties," said Miss Kilman, in order not to let Elizabeth get away, "I am not invited to dinner parties;"—she said this knowing that it was this self-centeredness that Her style made her a nuisance; Mr. Whittaker had warned her about it, but what could she do.She has suffered so much. "Why did they ask me?!" she went on, "I'm not good-looking, I'm not happy." She knew it was ridiculous to say so.Blame the people who came and went—the people with big and small bags, the people who despised her, for forcing her to say such ridiculous things.However, she is Doris Kilman.She has a degree.She is a woman who strives for social status.Her knowledge of modern history is quite profound. "I don't feel sorry for myself," she went on, "I feel sorry for..." She wanted to say "your mother," but she couldn't, she couldn't say that to Elizabeth, so she said, "I think other people are better than you." I am much more pitiful." Elizabeth Dalloway sat there without saying a word, like a dumb animal led to a gate, not knowing what to drag it in for, so she stood still, just wanting to run away. Lose.Will Miss Kilman go on babbling? "Don't forget me," said Doris Kilman, his voice trembling.The little animal that couldn't talk was terrified, and ran away quickly, and went straight to the end of the field. The big hands opened and closed again. Elizabeth turned her head to see the waitress approaching.Elizabeth then said: Go up to the counter and pay the bill; and she ran as she spoke; and Miss Kilman felt that the girl ran to the other end of the dining-room with her bowels running out; she turned round, He bowed respectfully and walked away. she left.Miss Kilman was sitting alone at the marble table with the chocolate brioche on it; sharp pains stabbed her.The girl ran away.Mrs Dalloway won.Elizabeth is gone.Beauty is gone, youth is gone. Miss Kilman sat for a while.She finally stood up, staggering and reeling between the small dining tables as someone delivered her forgotten dress; she got lost in a department store, caught between boxes of goods bound for India , momentarily caught in the midst of piles of maternity paraphernalia and baby underwear; through all the commodities in the world: durable, perishable, such as ham, medicines, flowers, stationery, etc., smells of all kinds, some Sweet, some sour; she staggered to and fro, her hat was all askew; she saw herself in a big mirror, stumbled, her face flushed; finally, she squeezed out the door and onto the street. Before her rose the tower of Westminster Abbey, the palace of God.Among the noisy traffic, stands the palace of God.Carrying her bag, she walked on to another temple, Westminster Abbey; when she got there, she sat down and covered her face with her hands; They had to come here to escape: all kinds of believers, most of them lost their social status, and almost had no sex life; at the moment, everyone raised their hands to cover their faces, but once they put their hands down, they immediately revealed the faces of British middle-class men and women, with a look With a pious demeanor, some of them even want to visit the wax figures displayed inside. Miss Kilman, however, kept her hands over her face.Sometimes people leave, and sometimes people come and sit down.Another group of believers came in from outside to replace those who had slipped away; people looked around and shuttled past the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, but she kept twisting her fingers and covering her eyes, hoping to be in this double darkness (eyes covered, plus the monastery) Dim inner light), transcend worldly vanity, lust and merchandise, cleanse love and hatred.Her hands twisted, as if in a fight.To others, however, God is accessible and the path to His old home is smooth.For example, Mr. Fletcher, a retired Treasury official, and Mrs. Gorham, the widow of a famous person (K. See), all approached his old man with ease, and after praying, he leaned back in his chair and listened to music (how beautiful the organ played. ), while seeing Miss Kilman sitting at the end of the same row, praying and praying; these people are still wandering on the fringes of the world, so they sympathize with her as a soul wandering in the same great world; An ethereal soul, not a woman, but a soul. However, Mr. Fletcher is leaving.He had to pass her; he himself was well attired, and he was a little dismayed to see the poor lady in such a state of disarray; her hair disheveled, and a package dropped on the floor.She didn't let him pass right away.He had to stop for a moment, looking around, admiring the white marble columns, the dusty window panes, and the precious cultural relics accumulated by generations (he was very proud of Westminster Abbey); Like an ox, strong and strong, sitting upright, swinging her knees from time to time (her road to God is so bumpy—for her passions are extremely strong); all this impressed him deeply, just as Mrs. Dalloway ( The image of Miss Kilman was haunting her that afternoon), the Reverend Edward Whittaker, and Elizabeth, all had vivid impressions of Miss Kilman. At this time, Elizabeth was waiting for a bus on Victoria Street.How cool it is to be outside!She thought to herself, there is no need to rush home now.What a joy to be outdoors!So she just wants to hitch a bus and go for a ride.Standing at the station that day in her well-cut dress, . Because she wanted to be alone in the country, secluded, and free; people compared her to a lily, and she had to go to a party; how pleasant it was to be alone with her father in the country, playing with the dogs ;London is dull by comparison. The buses sped along, stopped, and went on—one after another, gleaming red and yellow; which one would she take?She doesn't care.True, she didn't want to rush forward.She prefers to go with the flow.She just needs expression, and she was born with beautiful eyes, Chinese and Oriental; and, as her mother said, her slender shoulders are very graceful, slim, and always look charming; she seems Never excited, but lately, especially at night, when she was interested and a little excited, almost beautiful; she looked very demure, very demure.What is she thinking?Every man fell in love with her, but she was really bored.It's the beginning of love.Her mother sensed it—people were just beginning to pay attention to her daughter.Her daughter's indifference to these things—for example, her lack of dress—worryed Clarissa sometimes; but perhaps it was interesting and charming to be a little girl, a little girl, to be a little awkward.Now, I have made such a strange friend as Miss Kilman.Well, it proves that the daughter has a good heart; and it was at three o'clock in the middle of the night that Clarissa had these thoughts, because she could not sleep, and was thinking about them while reading. But it was said that Elizabeth was at the station, she made a sudden stride, and quickly boarded the bus before everyone else.She took the top spot.The big, aggressive thing (like a pirate ship) burst into action and galloped away; she had to hold on to the iron bars beside the seat to keep from wobbling; the car was a pirate ship, fast and furious, reckless, overwhelming, circling dangerously , boldly let one passenger jump on it, and simply left the other passenger, squeezed through the busy traffic like an eel, and then rushed to the Whitehall with full power, as if sailing a sail.Did Elizabeth think of Miss Kilman at the moment?The poor friend loved her without envy, and compared her to a fawn in the moor, to moonlight in a glade.She was happy to get rid of that friend.How fresh and sweet the air is outside!And so stuffy in a department store.It was like a galloping horse now, galloping toward Whitehall; with every movement of the car, her pretty body swayed freely, like a rider, or a statue of a ship's prow; Her hair was fluttering, and the heat made her face pale, like white lacquered wood; her beautiful eyes, because they had no object to look at, stared forward, dazed and bright, like a statue, staring with inconceivable innocence. Miss Kilman was always talking about her misery, and that was what made it so annoying.But perhaps she was right?If what Miss Kilman means by being a Christian is to serve on the Commission for the Relief of the Poor, which takes hours of the day to do (goodness, that's what her father is, she's hardly saw him); but what exactly Miss Kilman meant was not sure.Hey, she really wants to ride a little longer now.Do you have to pay a penny to get to the Strand?Here, here, a penny.She just wants to go to Riverside Avenue. Miss Kilman loved caring for the sick, and told her every career was open to women of your generation.So she could be a doctor or a farmer.Aren't livestock often sick? !She can own tens of thousands of acres of land and have many hired workers.She will visit them at their hut.Oh, the car has come to Somerset House.Well, one can make a good farmer--strange to say, though Miss Kilman influenced such thinking, but more, almost decisively, Somerset House.It looked so gorgeous, so stately—this big gray building.She felt that the people inside were working, which was pleasant.She likes those churches, like houses made of gray paper, facing the flowing water of the river, standing upright.She alighted at Chancery Lane, thinking to herself: This part of the country is quite different from Westminster.The atmosphere is very serious and very busy.In short, she wanted a career.She was going to be a doctor, or a farmer, or maybe a member of parliament if necessary.All these ideas are inspired by Riverside Street. The streets were bustling about, workers were piling up stones with their hands, there was never chatter (comparing women to poplars, and so on—it was exciting, but it was also boring), and there was always Is devoted to ships, trade, law, administration, all so solemn (she went into the Law Society), and pleasant (look at the running water), and pious (the church); How to say, must be a farmer or a doctor.She is, however, rather lazy. It's best not to say anything.Sounds silly.When one is alone one is sometimes struck by outside influences--the houses without the engineer's signature, the crowds coming home from the city, who are more powerful than the bachelor priest of Kensington, more powerful than Miss Kilman's borrowed Any book given to her is more instructive, it will stimulate a person's subconscious mind-sleeping at the bottom of the mind like quicksand, clumsy and shy; Impulse, a revelation, whose effect is eternal, is now sinking to the depths of the soul like quicksand.She has to go home.She had to dress up and go to dinner.What time is it?Where is the clock? She looked over Fleet Street.Then, she walked a few steps towards St. Paul's Cathedral, timidly, as if on tiptoe, poking around by candlelight in a strange house, looking around, fearing that the master would suddenly open the bedroom door and ask her what she was doing; she dared not Strolling into those strange alleys is like being in a strange house, afraid to open a door, which may be the door of the bedroom or living room, or the door leading to the storage room.In fact, none of the Dalloways came to Seaside Street every day, so she was a pioneer, a lost lamb, adventurous, and trusting. Her mother felt that her daughter was extremely childish in many ways, still like a child, fond of dolls and wearing old slippers, just a little doll.It makes her look even cuter.But, having said that, not all Dalloways are innocent, but have a tradition of serving the public.In the case of the women, there were abbots, university rectors, high school rectors, and various dignitaries--none of them brilliant, but all eminent.At this moment, Elizabeth continued to walk a few steps towards St. Paul's Cathedral.She likes the lively scene in this area, and feels that there is a harmonious atmosphere. People are like brothers and sisters, intimate and motherly.This makes her feel comfortable.However, there was a deafening noise all around; suddenly, a shrill trumpet sounded (the unemployed marching in a procession), echoing through the noise, like a piece of military music, accompanying the marching soldiers; however, if the unemployed were dying —If a woman is dying, and at last fulfills the highest and solemn mission of life-death, then, if any bystander opens the window of the dead man's room and looks down on Fleet Street, the noise, the military music, will It hit his eardrum vigorously; this noise is indifferent to everything in the world, so it has a soothing effect. This effect is unintentional.One feels no stake, no sense of fate from the noise; and as such, it has a soothing effect, even on those who are dazzled by the fading expression on the face of the dying. ,not excluded. People's forgetfulness may be sad, their ingratitude may be corrupting, but this noise, year after year, blares unceasingly, will consume everything in the world—(her own) vows, this pioneer, this seething The life, the torrent of people; the noise will take everything, sweep them away, just as in a raging glacier, a huge block of ice carries a small bone, a blue flower petal, the remains of some oak trees, and sweeps them all Go, roll on. But it was getting late, later than she thought.Mother would not like her wandering alone like this.So she turned back from Riverside Avenue. Although it was hot, there was a strong wind; and now a gust of wind was blowing thin dark clouds, which blotted out the sun and clouded Riverside Avenue.The faces of pedestrians are blurred, and the bus suddenly loses its brilliance.Clusters of floating clouds, like mountains, with jagged edges, make people think: it seems that someone cut off the clouds with a sharp axe, and the golden slopes stretch on both sides, presenting a paradise in the sky. However, the clouds continue to move and change: as if according to the original plan, suddenly the clouds shrink, and suddenly the pyramid-like large white clouds (which were originally stationary) move to the mid-heaven, or solemnly lead one after another. Float away to anchor.Although the clouds seem to stand still, intertwined into a harmonious whole, resting, in fact, they are flowing clouds like white snow, shining with golden clouds, incomparably fresh, free and sensitive; Although it seems that the misty white clouds are solemn and solidified, piled up, majestic and solid, they leave gaps, sometimes allowing a beam of sunlight to shine on the earth, and sometimes allowing darkness to cover everything. Elizabeth Dalloway boarded the bus calmly and swiftly, and drove towards Westminster. At this time, Septimus Warren Smith was lying on the sofa in the living room, watching the golden light and shadow on the wallpaper, flickering and fading, like an insect on a rose flower, extremely sensitive; It was as if these lights and shadows shuttled back and forth, beckoning, signaling, and covering, sometimes making the walls gray, sometimes making the bananas shine orange, sometimes making the Riverside Avenue gray, sometimes making the public The car was a brilliant yellow.Outdoors, the leaves are whirling, like a green net, spreading to the depths of the space; the sound of gurgling water comes from the room, and the chirping of birds is heard amid waves of waves.Everything was in full force before his eyes, and his hand rested comfortably on the back of the sofa, just as when he was swimming, he saw his hand floating on the top of the wave, and at the same time he heard the barking of the dogs on the distant shore, woof, woof, very distant.Don't be afraid anymore, he said in his heart, don't be afraid anymore. He is not afraid.因为每时每刻，大自然都欢笑着用一种暗示（譬如墙上那闪来晃去的金色光斑，就在那儿、那儿、那儿），表明她的决心：要尽情表现自己，她飘扬着装饰的羽毛，秀发纷披，把斗篷挥来挥去，仪态万方，总是仪态万方；而且站到他跟前，从纤嫩的指缝里喁喁细语，用莎士比亚的名言曲传她的意蕴。 那时，雷西娅坐在桌子边，手里扭弄着帽子，凝视着他，只见他在微笑。哦，他感到幸福了。不过，她看见他的笑容便受不了。这不像夫妻，做丈夫的不该有这种怪样：老是一忽儿惊跳，一忽儿狂笑，或者沉默，呆坐着，接连几小时不动，要么一把攫住她，叫她记录。抽屉里塞满了她记下的他讲的话：关于战争，关于莎士比亚，关于伟大的发现，还有，无所谓死亡。近来，他突然莫名其妙地激动起来（霍姆斯大夫和威廉·布雷德肖爵士都说，激动对他是最有害的），挥舞双手，喊道：我知道真理了！他什么都知道！有一回他说：在大战中死掉的那个朋友，埃文斯，来了，在屏风后唱歌咧。他说的时候，她就记下来。他说，有些东西非常美，另一些完全是胡闹。他总是讲了一会便住口，改变主意，想加几句话；忽而又听到什么新奇的声音，扬起手倾听着。她可什么也没听见。 有一次，他们发现，打扫房间的姑娘念着那些记录，发出一阵阵嗤笑。真是可怕而又可怜，因为这使得赛普蒂默斯嚷道：人多么残酷哟！——他们相互死咬，扯得粉碎，特别把倒下去的可怜虫撕得粉碎。“霍姆斯在迫害咱们哩，”他会这样说，还想象霍姆斯在干啥：霍姆斯吃粥喽，霍姆斯念莎剧喽——一面狂笑，或怒吼。因为在他心目中，霍姆斯代表某种可怕的力量，他称之为“人性”。此外，还有种种幻觉。他常说：快溺死了，正躺在悬崖边，头上海鸥飞翔，发出凄厉的唳声；这时他靠在沙发边，望着地下，说是俯瞰海底。有时，他会听见美妙的音乐。其实只是街上流浪艺人在摇风琴，或仅仅是什么人在喊叫。他却嚷道，“美极了！”同时脸上淌下眼泪；这使她觉得最最可怕，眼看勇敢的打过仗的赛普蒂默斯，堂堂男子汉，竟然哭起来。有时他会静静地躺着，蓦然喊道：我跌下去啦，跌到火里去啦！她真的会四面张望，看哪儿失火了，因为他讲得那么逼真。当然，连一丁点儿火星都没有。房间里只有他俩。她便对他说，你在做梦吧。最后总算使他安静了。不过有时她也会毛发直竖。此刻，她则边缝纫边叹息。 她的叹息是温馨的、魅人的，犹如树林边吹拂的晚风。她时而放下剪刀，时而转身，从桌上拿一些东西。她只要稍微动一下，发出窸窸窣窣的微声，轻轻地拍几下，便在桌上做出些东西了。她总是坐在桌子边缝呀缝的。他从睫毛缝里模糊地窥见她的倩影，那穿着黑衣的娇小的身体，她的面孔和双手，她在桌边怎样转动着，捏起一个线圈，或寻找一块丝绸（她常会忘记把东西放在哪里）。这会儿，她在给菲尔默太太的已嫁的女儿做一顶帽子，那少妇的名字是……他忘了。 “菲尔默太太的出嫁的女儿叫什么来着？”他问道。 “彼得斯太太，”雷西娅回答，又说，恐怕这帽子做得太小了；一面把做好的帽子擎在面前打量。彼得斯太太长得高大，敢情帽子是小了点儿。雷西娅并不喜欢她，给她效劳仅仅因为菲尔默太太待他俩非常好——“今天早晨她还送葡萄给我呐，”——所以雷西娅想为她做些事情，表示感谢。不过，前天晚上雷西娅走进房间，却发现彼得斯太太在开唱机，她以为主人出去了。 “真的吗？”他问，“她在开唱机吗？”她说，是的；当时就告诉过他了，她发现彼得斯太太在开唱机。 于是他小心翼翼地睁开眼睛，看看房里究竟有没有唱机。但是，真实的东西——真实的东西会叫人过于激动。他必须谨慎。他不想发疯。起先，他望着书架底层的时装样纸，然后逐渐注视那装有绿喇叭的唱机。再也没有比这更实在的了。因而他鼓起勇气，环顾四周，瞧着餐具柜、一盘香蕉、版画上的维多利亚女王和丈夫，再看看炉架，上面一只广口瓶，插着蔷薇。所有这些都一动不动。一切都静止，一切都是真实的。 “那个女人有一张利嘴，毒得很，”雷西娅道。 “彼得斯先生是干什么的？”赛普蒂默斯问。 雷西娅“呃”了一声，尽力回忆。她想起菲尔默太太讲过，女婿是一家公司的推销员，常到外地出差。“眼下他到赫尔去了，”雷西娅说。 “就是这几天！”她重复道，带着意大利语音。他听见她亲口这样说。他用手半掩着眼睛，以免一下子看清她的面孔，而要一点一点地瞧，先看下巴，再看鼻子，然后，慢慢地窥那额头，生怕它是畸形的，或有什么可怕的斑痕。他想错了，她可没什么怪样，十分自然地坐在那儿，缝着帽子，像一般女人那样，缝纫时抿紧嘴，撅起嘴唇，露出悒郁的神情。他一次又一次谛视她的脸、她的手，叫自己放心，没有丝毫可怕的迹象，她只是大白天坐在那里缝纫，有什么吓人或可恶的呢？彼得斯太太却有一张恶毒的利嘴。彼得斯先生则到赫尔去了。那自己为什么要发怒或预言呢？为什么要自讨苦吃，自绝于人呢？为什么要凝望浮云而颤抖、哭泣呢？为什么要追求真理，传播福音呢？瞧，雷西娅不是安静地坐在那儿缝纫，把针插入外衣的前襟么？彼得斯不是照常出差，到赫尔去了么？什么奇迹、启示、痛苦、孤独啰，摔到海底，跌进火里啰——全都无影无踪了，因为，当他注视雷西娅替彼得斯太太做草帽时，只感觉到那条绣花床罩。 “对彼得斯太太来说，这帽子是太小了，”他说。 好多日子以来，这是第一回他像往常一样说话了！她应着道：可不是，实在……小得不像话呢。不过，这是彼得斯太太自己挑的嘛。 他把帽子从她手里拿过来，说道：这是摇风琴艺人耍的猢狲戴的帽儿。 哈，她听了多高兴呀！他俩好久没在一块儿欢笑了，此刻又像一般夫妻那样，私下里寻别人开心。她的意思是，眼下要是菲尔默太太走进来，或彼得斯太太、或任何人闯进来，都不会懂得她和赛普蒂默斯在嘲笑什么。 “瞧！”她把一朵玫瑰插上帽边。她从来没感到这么快活！一生中从未有过！ 赛普蒂默斯道：插上花儿更可笑啦，那可怜的女人戴了活像动物展览会上一头猪哩。（没有任何人会像赛普蒂默斯那样叫她大笑的。） 她的针线盒里还有些什么呢？有丝带、小珠子、流苏、纸花，等等。她把这些一古脑儿倒在桌上。于是他把颜色各别的玩艺儿拼起来——尽管他的手不灵，连一只小包儿都扎不好，眼光却尖得出奇，对色彩常看得准，当然有时也会闹笑话，不过有时确实妙得很。 “这一下她会戴上漂亮的帽子啦！”他喃喃道，拣这样挑那样的；雷西娅蹲在他身旁，从他肩上望着。一会儿就拼好了，就是说，花样设计好了，现在她得缝起来。他说：你必须非常、非常细心，完全要“依样画葫芦”。 她便着手缝了。他觉得，她缝的时候有一种微声，仿佛炉子铁架上煮着水壶，冒出咝咝的水泡声；她忙个不停，纤小而有力的指尖一忽儿掐、一忽儿戳，手上的针闪亮着。随便太阳忽隐忽现，时而照着流苏，时而映出墙纸，他只管安心等待，躺在沙发上，脚伸得长长的，眼睛望着沙发那一头的环纹短袜；他要在这安乐窝里待着，四周一片宁谧，空气都静止了，仿佛有时树林边薄暮的气氛：由于地上有些坑洼，或由于树木分布的格局（首先要科学性、科学性），温暖的空气逗留着，微风迎面吹拂，恰似鸟翼在抚摸。 “喏，好了，”雷西娅道，指尖上绕着彼得斯太太的帽子，“暂时就这样吧，以后再……”她的话像水泡一般冒着，低下去了，一滴、一滴、一滴，犹如没关上的水龙头，满意地滴着水。 妙极了。他得意扬扬，感到从未有过这样称心的事。那么真实，那么实在——彼得斯太太的帽子。 “瞧呀，”他说。 真的，只要看见这顶帽子，她会永远感到幸福。因为做帽子的时候，他恢复本来面目了，他笑了。他俩又单独在一起了。她将永远喜欢这帽儿。 他要她戴上试试。 “嗐，我肯定会变成丑八怪的！”她嚷道，随即跑到镜子前面，头侧来侧去，端详着。忽然听见有人敲门，赶紧脱掉帽子。难道是威廉·布雷德肖先生来了？已经来叫了吗？ No!原来只是那小女孩，送晚报来了。 每天总是例行的事——每晚都是这些事情。那小女孩照常来了，舔着大拇指，呆在房门口，雷西娅走过去，蹲下来，轻声轻气地跟孩子闲聊，亲吻她，再从抽屉里掏出一袋糖，塞给她吃。每天老是这样。一桩事接着另一桩事。她就这样按部就班做着，先做这桩，再做那桩。她拉着小孩跳来蹦去，溜呀滑的，在屋子里转圈儿。他看着晚报，念一则新闻的标题：萨里酷热，有一股热浪。雷西娅应声道：萨里酷热，有一股热浪；一面仍然同小孩（菲尔默太太的孙女）玩儿，跟她一起嬉笑谑浪，玩得挺有劲儿。他却很倦了，他很快乐。他想睡了。He closes his eyes.可是，双眼一闭，她们玩耍的声音立即变轻了，有点怪了，似乎有人在寻什么，却找不到，招魂一般喊着，声音愈来愈渺远了。她们失去他了！ 他惊恐地跳起来。看见了什么？餐具柜上一盘香蕉。屋里没有人（雷西娅陪孩子回到妈妈那里去了，该上床睡了）。原来如此：一辈子孤独。这是命里注定的，以前在米兰，走进住所的房间，看见那些人用麻布剪出花样时，已经注定了：一辈子孤独。 此刻，他独自面对餐具柜与香蕉。他孑然一身，躺着，栖息在阴沉的高处——不是在峰顶，也不在峭壁上，而是在菲尔默太太起居室的沙发上。至于那些幻觉、那些死者的面孔与声音，都消逝了？他面前只有一列屏风，上面显出黑油油的香蒲和蓝幽幽的燕子。在幻觉中一度呈现的山、脸、美，都杳无影踪了，惟有屏风。 “埃文斯！”他嘶喊。No reply.一只老鼠在吱吱地叫，也许是帷幕沙沙地响。那是死者的声音。只剩下屏风、煤桶和餐具柜了。那就让他面对屏风、煤桶和餐具柜吧……忽然，雷西娅闯进来，跟他聊天了： 来了几封信。每个人的打算都改变了。菲尔默太太终究不能到布赖顿去了。来不及通知威廉斯太太，雷西娅觉得懊恼之极；这时她瞥见了那顶帽子，心里想……也许……她……可以做些小小的……她那心满意足的、悦耳的声音渐渐轻下去了。 “啊，见鬼！”她猝然嚷道（她这句粗话是他俩开玩笑的一种方式）；原来针断了。帽子、孩子、布赖顿、针。她一桩桩应付着：先处理这桩，再对付那桩；她按部就班做着，眼下在缝帽子。