Chapter 3 Chapter two

The sun is rising.Blue waves, green waves, fanned rapidly against the beach; it skirted the spikes of sea holly and left shallow shiny puddles in the sand.When the waves ebbed they left a shadowy fringe behind them.Those reefs that once seemed hazy and blurred have gradually shown their outlines, revealing red cracks. Strips of extraordinarily fresh shadows lay across the grass, and dewdrops dancing on the tip of the flower-stalks turned the garden into a half-finished mosaic of bright specks.The birds, with bright yellow and rose-red spots on their breasts, sang a song or two noisily, like skaters arm in arm, and then scuttled away, leaving a stillness.

The sun's light spot on the house is getting wider and wider.The light hit something green in the corner of the window and turned it into a big emerald, a pool of pure green like a seedless fruit.The sunlight defined the corners of the chairs and tables and wove golden threads on the white tablecloth.As the light intensified, the buds opened all around them into blooming flowers, veined with green, trembling, as if the effort of opening caused them to tremble, and as if in their slender When the tender tongues hit their white bell walls, there was an inaudible jingle of bells.Everything became hazy and shapeless, as if the porcelain on the plate was fluid, and the steel from which the knife was made was liquid.At the same time, the broken waves swelled and roared, like fallen logs, crashing on the shore.

"And now," said Bernard, "the time has come. The big day has come. The cab is at the door. My huge box is throwing George's bowed legs even more. The tiresome ceremonies are over, and those Instructions, and farewells in the vestibule. It should be a farewell to my mother, to hold back tears, to shake hands with my father; now I must keep waving, keep waving till we turn the Room corner. Now the ceremonies are over. Thank goodness all the ceremonies are over. I'm alone; I'm going to school for the first time in my life. "Everyone seems to do things for the present moment; and never repeat it. Never repeat it. The urgency of the present moment is horrible. Everyone knows I'm going to school and going to school for the first time in my life. Going to school. 'The boy is going to school for the first time in his life,' said the maid, as she wiped the steps of the stairs. I must not cry. I must look at them as if nothing happened. Now the station entrance with the gaping mouth; 'The great round-faced clock stared at me'. I had to keep uttering beautiful words in order to set something solid to keep me from the gazes of the maids, from the gazes of the clock, from the gazes of the faces, those indifferent faces, or I would have cried. There was Louis, and there was Neville, in a long coat and handbag, just to the side of the box office. They looked composed. Yet There's something special about them."

"Here comes Bernard," Louis said. "He's calm; he's deliberate. He's rocking his bag as he walks. I'm going to follow Bernard because he's not timid about anything. On the platform, it was like a river swirling around the pier with branches and stubble. Here is the particularly powerful, dark green locomotive, with no neck, only the back and thighs, panting. The conductor blew his whistle; the flag bearer had already signaled; like an avalanche set off by a light push, we moved forward effortlessly, following the momentum. Bernard spread out a rug and played Bone game. Neville is reading. London is gradually becoming scattered and scattered. London is gradually becoming undulating. There are rows of chimneys and towers. A white church; a mast rising from the spire. A canal. Now there is Open space with an asphalt road, and it is strange that people are walking on the road at this moment and there. A hill appears, with rows of red houses on it. A person is walking across a bridge, followed by a road Dog. Now the boy in red starts shooting a pheasant, and the boy in blue pushes him aside. 'My uncle is the best shooter in England. My cousin is a master of foxhounds .' The bragging begins. And I can't brag because my dad works in a bank in Brisbane and I speak with an Australian accent."

"After all the tumult," said Neville, "after all the confusion and tumult, we are at last at our station. It is indeed a remarkable hour--it is indeed a solemn hour. I come Now, like a lord coming to his fine mansion. That is the founder of our school; the famous founder of our school, and he is standing in the courtyard with one foot up. In this solemn There is a noble Roman air in the quadrangle. Lights have been turned on in the classrooms of all grades. Those may be the laboratories; there is the library, where I will study the pure Latin Phrases, reciting the clear, sonorous hexameters of Virgil, Lucretius; and reading the great quartos, reciting Catullus with passion and unequivocal Love poems to write. And, I'm going to lie down in a field with itchy, prickly grass. I'm going to lie down with my friends under tall elms.

"Look, the headmaster. Sorry, he can't help but make me laugh. He's so smooth, and he's too shiny and dirty, like a statue in a park. On his vest, on his On the left side of the barrel-stretched waistcoat hangs a cross." "Old Crane," said Bernard, "is up and addressing us now. Old Crane, the Headmaster, has a nose like a mountain in the setting sun; he has a blue cleft above his chin." , as if a tree-covered ravine had been set on fire by some tourist. He swayed slightly, spitting out loud, pretentious rhetoric. I love rhetorical rhetoric. But he was too hot so it seemed insincere. This time, however, he was sure they were sincere. And when he staggered with great difficulty out of the room, slammed open the swing door and walked out, all the teachers staggered even harder Akira staggered, slammed open the swing door and went out. It was our first night at school away from the sisters."

"It was my first night at school away from my father, away from my house," Susan said. "My eyes were swollen; my eyes were sore from tears. I hated the smell of pine and linoleum. I Hate the weathered bushes and bathroom tiles. I hate the funny jokes and everyone's shiny faces. I leave my squirrels and my pigeons to the valet. The kitchen door slammed, and when Percy shot the crow, the sound of the shot echoed through the leaves. Everything was absurd here; everything was tacky. Rhoda and Jenny were in brown serge Clothes sat in the distance, looking at Miss Lamport, sitting under a portrait of Queen Alexandra, reading from a book in front of her. There was also a hand-knit, embroidered by some woman. If I hadn't been pouting, if I hadn't been wringing my handkerchief, I'd be crying."

"The purple sheen on Miss Lambert's ring," said Rhoda, "flickers to and fro over the dark spots on the white pages of the prayer-book. It is the color of fine wine, it is a The luster of love. Since our luggage is already settled in the dormitory, we sit in a cluster under the map of the world. Here are the desks and the ink tanks on it. Here we will write our Homework. But here I am nothing. I have no face. This whole company, all in brown serges, has taken away my individuality. We are all cold and without friendship. I will try to put on a face. , a calm, natural, extraordinary face, and I'll give it an air of omniscience, and wear it next to me like a talisman, and then (I'll swear it) I'll be in the woods Find a shaded glen where I can display my rarities of all kinds. I will swear to myself to do this. So I must not weep."

"That dark woman," said Jenny, "with high cheekbones and a glittering seashell-patterned dress ready for evening. It's nice in summer, but in winter I'd rather Ask for a thinner suit, inlaid with red silk, that will shine brightly in the light of the fire. Then when the lamps are all lit, I will put on my red dress, and it will be as thin as a veil, And will wrap itself around me; it will flutter when I come twirling on tiptoe into a room. My red dress will Opening to the shape of a flower. But Miss Lamport, in a gray suit, sat down under the portrait of Queen Alexandra, pressing a snow-white finger hard on the page. , her dress fell like a cascade from under her snow-white lace shawl. Then we said our prayers."

"Now, we're walking forward, two by two," Louis said, "and we walk into the chapel in a single file. I like the sudden dimness of light that falls upon us as we enter this sacred building. I Likes to march in neat steps. We walked in two in a row; - but only due to his momentum - I like it all when I get on the pulpit and read a passage from the Bible spread out on the back of the bronze eagle. I like it; my I rejoiced inwardly at his size, at his authority. He calmed the gray clouds that hung over my quivering, disgracefully turbulent heart—when we danced around the Christmas tree, while giving presents They forgot about me, and the fat woman said, 'The little boy has no presents yet,' and gave me a shining flag from the top of the tree, and I cried with rage Arise—for I was remembered because others had pity on me. Now all is pacified by his authority, his cross. I feel a sense that fills me, that the earth is beneath my feet, and my roots go down Yaza, until they cling to something solid deep in the heart of the earth. When he read the Bible, I regained my wholeness, and I was a figure in a marching procession, spinning A spoke in the great wheel of my body, which at last raised me up, here and now. I have always been in the dark; I have been hidden; but when the wheel spins (while he read when I read), I straightened up into the dim light. Here, I glimpsed but never saw the kneeling children, the columns and the brass sacrificial vessels. There was no rudeness, no A sudden kiss."

"When the beast prayed," said Neville, "there was always a threat to my freedom. When the shiny cross rose and fell on his waistcoat, he thrilled with his lack of imagination." The rising words hit me coldly like paving stones. Authoritative words are always spoiled by those who say them. I laugh at this terrible religion, at these trembling, mourning The ashes and bruises of the tormentors marched along a road shaded by fig trees; on the side of the road some children crawled in the dust—some naked children; and those bloated with wine Goatskin wineskins hung over the doors of taverns. I was traveling with my father in Rome at Easter; Walking past carrying a crucifix placed in a glass case. "Now I'm going to lean over and pretend to scratch my thigh so I can see Percival. There he sits, upright among the little guys. He breathes very heavily through his straight nose." ...his strange, expressionless blue eyes gazed at the opposite column with pagan indifference. He would make an admirable deacon. He should have a birch branch with which to beat the He was like those Latin phrases engraved on brass. He saw nothing, he heard nothing. He was away from all of us, alone in a pagan world. And yet, behold— —He patted the back of his head with his hand. Some people can't help falling in love with someone for life because of this gesture. Dalton, Jones, Edgar, and Bate Man, all patted themselves on the back of the head with their hands like this. But none of them succeeded." "The snarling," said Bernard, "has stopped at last. The sermon is over. He's pretending that the fluttering of white butterflies at the door is chaff. His rough voice is like an unshaven chin." .Now he staggered back to his seat like a drunken sailor. It was a manner that all the other instructors tried to imitate; The only thing they can do is make themselves ridiculous. I don't despise them. Their antics seem pathetic to me. I have this and many other things in my notebook for future reference. When I grow up, I will carry a notebook with me--a big thick book with many pages, neatly arranged in alphabetical order. I will record my epigrams. In column B, there will be 'butterfly' Dust'. If in my novel I were to describe sunlight on a window sill, I'd look in Column B and find the dust of butterflies. That would be very helpful. The tree shaded the window with its green fingers. Shade'. That would have been helpful. But alas! I was distracted so quickly—by a lock of hair like twisted candy, by Seria's volume of ivory primary light The Seria Prayer in a paper cover. Louis could watch nature for hours without blinking. I quickly failed unless talking to it.' My unoared The lake of shattered minds, gently rippling, then sinking into greasy drowsiness.' This one works, too." "Now we're coming out of this deserted temple and into the yellow playing field," Lewis said, "and, since it's a half-holiday (Duke's birthday), we're growing up while they're playing cricket. Stranded on the tall grass. If I were 'them' I'd choose to play cricket too; I'd put on my chest protector and stride across the field ahead of the batsmen. Now look, everybody They all followed Percival. He was a hulking fellow. He lumbered out of the field, across the tall grass, to where the tall elms stood. He had the grandeur of a medieval commander. Kind. There is a shining trail in the grass where he walked. Watch us who follow him, his faithful servants, go to the slaughter like lambs, for there is no doubt that he will try to accomplish something. A nearly hopeless career and finally dying on the battlefield. My heart became sick; It's me who despises his languid voice—I'm so much better than him—and I'm really jealous of him." "Now," said Neville, "let Bernard begin. Let him tell us stories while we lie still. Let him describe what we all saw, To make it coherent. Bernard said there are stories everywhere. I am a story. Louis is a story. There is a story about the shoe shine boy, there is a story about the one-eyed man, and there is a story about the man who peddles the whelk Let him babble on and on about his story, and I'll lie on my back and look through the quivering blades of grass at the stiff legs of baseball players in chest protectors. It seems the whole world All floating and curling - the trees on the ground, the clouds in the sky. I looked through the trees to the sky. The race seemed to be going on there. Among the soft white clouds, I heard a faint voice shouting 'Run' , faintly heard the voice of 'what's the matter?'. When the soft wind blows away those clouds, they will lose the white mass. If the blue can last forever; if the hole can last forever; If this moment could last forever... "But Bernard went on and on. All kinds of figurative metaphors, they bubbled up. 'Like a camel,' . . . 'a vulture.' The camel was a vulture; the vulture was a camel; for Bernard was a restless fellow, loose and agreeable. Yes, because, when he talked , when he makes up one of his stupid metaphors, a sense of relief goes through you. And you levitate as if you were the bubble; you feel liberated; you feel, I'm free. Even the pudgy little ones (Dalton, Lapont and Baker) feel this freedom. They find it more enjoyable than cricket. The words come out and they catch them They let the feathery grass tickle their noses. And then we all became aware of Percival lying sleepily among us. His grotesque laugh seemed to be a laugh of approval. But now he Already rocking his body across the long grass. He's chewing a grass stalk in his mouth, I suppose. He's bored; I'm bored too. Bernard would have sensed our boredom at once. There's something exhaustive about his sentences, something overblown, as if he's trying to say, 'Look!' and Percival always says, 'No.' because he's always the first to see The hypocrisy of others; and always inhumane to the extreme. So the hesitation fades away before a sentence is finished. Yes, the shocking moment finally comes, Bernard's energy disappears, and the words spoken There was no longer any coherence, he was depressed, he faltered a few times before falling into silence, his mouth was open as if he was about to cry. It seems that in all the trials and shatterings of life there is also With a situation like this - it's impossible for our friends to even finish their stories." "Let me try now," said Louis, "before we get up, before we go to our tea, to try to make the most of this moment. It works. We're parted; some went to tea; some went fishing; I went to show my composition to Mr Barker. It always worked out. Through discord, through resentment (I despise ostentatious imagination man of strength—I loathe Percival's heightened passions), my shattered heart came together again by some sudden realization. I'll let these trees, these clouds, prove that I'm completely settled I, Louis, I, the man who will walk seventy years in this world, was born sane, beyond hatred, beyond discord. Here, on this circular lawn, we were once Sitting together driven by some inner compulsion. The branches sway, the clouds float. The time is finally approaching when these monologues should be shared by all. And again and again. Boys, our lives have been a drumming; "Now the grass and the trees, the drifting air that blows the empty gaps in the blue sky and closes them, blows the leaves and sets them back together, and we sit here in a circle with our hands on our knees, all suggest something else A different and better order of life capable of forever embodying a rational order. This is what I grasped in a split second, and I will put it into words this evening, casting it into an iron Although Percival disturbed that order when he trampled the grass and staggered away, followed by a docile crowd of minions. Yet it was Percival I needed; for It was he who inspired the poetry." "For how many months, how many years?" said Susan, "I have been running up this staircase incessantly, whether it is a gray day in winter or a cold day in spring. It is now midsummer. We go up I went upstairs to change into my white tops and get ready to play tennis—Jenny and I, and Rhoda, followed. As I climbed the stairs I counted the steps, treating each one as if some kind of finished The same thing. Every night I tore the past day off the calendar and crumpled it up. I did it with a vengeance, while Betty and Clara were kneeling in prayer. I do not pray. I take revenge on the day. I take out my rancor on its symbols. You are dead now, I say, school day, abominable day. They have wiped out all the days in June— — Today is the twenty-fifth day — sunny and orderly, ringing the bell, attending classes, bathing as directed, changing clothes, doing homework, eating, and orderly. We listened to the lectures of the missionaries who had returned from China. We drove four wheels The big carriage drove along the asphalt road to the auditorium to attend the concert. We visited the art gallery and admired the paintings. "At home, the hay was blowing across the pasture. My father was leaning against the fence, smoking a cigarette. In the house the doors would slam shut one after another whenever the summer wind blew through the empty hallway. Maybe some old picture is shaking on the wall. A petal is falling from a rose in a vase. A farm wagon scrapes bunches of hay over a hedgerow. Whenever I Passing that mirror on the landing, Jenny walking in front, Rhoda slugging behind, I'd see it all, I always saw. Jenny was always dancing. Jenny was always in the hall and she often did somersaults in the meadows; and she often plucked flowers, in spite of the prohibition, and put them behind her ears, so that Miss Purry's dark eyes were full of admiration. The look, admiring Jenny, not me. Miss Purry liked Jenny; and I may have liked her once, but no one likes her now, except my father, and my caged child. Pigeons and squirrels in the care of the housemaid." "I hate that little mirror at the bend in the stairs," said Jenny. "It only sees our heads; it cuts off our heads. Besides, my mouth grows too wide, and my eyes Too close again, and when I laugh, my gums show too much. Susan's head beats mine, with its fierce face, and its grass-green eyes—according to Poets love eyes like that, says Bernard, because they adapt to the dense white thread stitch; even Rhoda's demented stupid face is perfect, like those white petals she used to float in a basin So I always run up the stairs in a hurry past them, to the corner of the next staircase, where there is a rectangular mirror, and I can see my whole body. I can see my body and head joined together One; for even in this serge coat they are one, my body and my head. Behold, when I shake my head, my slender body swings from top to bottom; Even my skinny legs would start quivering like a stalk in the wind. I would flicker between Susan's tough face and Rhoda's bewildered face; I'd be like a flame bursting from a crack in the earth I danced; I swayed; I danced; I never ceased to sway and dance. I swayed like the leaf that once swayed like a child in the hedgerows, and that leaf once frightened me. I Like hearthlight dancing around the teapots, on these variegated, haphazard glue-painted walls round the yellow skirting boards. I caught even the passionate flame in the indifferent eyes of the women. When I read, a purple halo will spread around the black margins of the textbook. But I can't make sense of the words through their inflections. I can't understand any thought from ancient times to the present. I don't stand there bewildered like Susan, thinking of home with tears in my eyes, or like Rhoda, lying in the fern grass, dreaming of the lush flowers and plants under the sea, swimming slowly with the fish The rocks in it, while at the same time dyed my pink cotton coat green. I never dream. "Now let us hurry. Now let me take off these rough clothes for the first time. Here are my clean white socks. Here are my brand new shoes. I tied my hair with a white ribbon so that When I hop across the yard, the ribbon flies up in a jiffy, but wraps around my neck and stays perfectly in place. Not a single hair gets blown out." "That's my face," said Rhoda, "in the mirror, behind Susan's shoulders.—that's my face. But I'm going to hide behind her, because I don't Not here. I don't have a face. The others have faces; Susan and Rhoda have faces; they are here. Their world is the real world. The things they lift are heavy. They say'', they say ''; but I always evade, change my words, and always be seen through by others at once. Whenever they meet a certain maid, she looks at them and never smiles. But she always laughs at me. If someone treats them Talk, they know what to say. They laugh genuinely; "Now look at the extraordinary poise and self-confidence that Jenny puts on her stockings just to play tennis. I envy that. I like Susan's way of doing things better though, because she's more decisive, and less Jenny has less desire to show off. They both look down on me because I always imitate their every move; but Susan will sometimes teach me, for example, how to tie a bow tie, and Jenny has her own knowledge. , but keep it for themselves and never share it with anyone. They have friends they can sit with. They have whispers they need to go around the corner. I can only cling to other names and faces and put They are hidden deep in my heart like a talisman to ward off disasters. I can choose a strange face at the back of the hall, but when she, whose name I don’t know, comes and sits across from me, I can’t even drink tea. I can't drink it. I'm suffocating. I'm staggered by the intensity of my agitation. I imagine these nameless, flawless beings watching me from behind the bushes. I leap high, To arouse their admiration. At night, lying in bed, I arouse their great curiosity. I have often been shot to death by arrows, in order to win their tears. If they have said it, or I have taken it from their trunk They were recently on vacation in Spucarodo, and the whole town would be glittering with gold, and all the streets would be shining, so I hated those mirrors that made me see my real face. When I am alone, I often fall into nothingness. I have to move my steps carefully, lest I stumble from the edge of the world into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some solid door, so that the I call back my body myself." "We were late," said Susan, "and we had to wait for our turn to get on the court. We were going to throw a ball here, on this thick grass, and pretend we were watching Jenny and Clara. La, Betty, and Mavis. But we'll never actually watch them. I hate watching other people play. I'm going to find symbols for everything I hate and bury them all in the ground. This The shiny pebble is Mrs. Carlow, and I'll bury her deep, for all her flattery, and for the sixpence she gave me for stretching my knuckles when I practiced the scales. I buried her sixpence. I'd like to bury the whole school: the gym; the classrooms; the dining room that always smelled of meat; Tiles and portraits painted to curry favor with the old folks—the patrons, the founders of the school. There are some trees I like; the cherry tree with lumps of gum on its bark; The view towards the mountains. I want to bury everything but these, just like I bury these ugly stones that are always scattered on the beach with many piers and tourists. At home, the waves stretch to A mile. On winter nights we could hear the crash of the waves. A man was drowned by the waves last Christmas when he was alone in his carriage." "While Miss Lamport walked by talking to the clergyman," said Rhoda, "the others laughed and followed her to imitate her hunchback; but everything changed, and The daisy was getting brighter and brighter. When Miss Lambert walked by, Jenny jumped too high. If she had seen the daisy, things would have been different. Wherever she went, things were in her eyes. but after she had passed, would things return to the same? Miss Lamport was leading the clergyman through the side door into her private garden; and when she came to the pool she saw a A frog perches on a leaf, and these too change. Wherever she stands, like a statue in a garden, everything becomes solemn, everything pales. She lets her tasseled The soft shawl slid down and only her purple ring, her wine-coloured ring, her amethyst-coloured ring, still glistened. When people leave us, they leave behind this mysterious thing. Whenever they left us, I could accompany them to the little pool, and imagine them in majesty. When Miss Lambert walked by, she caused the daisies to change; Time changes like strands of flame. Things lose their rigidity with the passing of the sun and the moon; even my flesh is now exposed to the light; my spine becomes like wax near a candle. Soft. I always dream, always dream.” "I won the race," Jenny said, "and now it's your turn. I'm going to lie on the floor and catch my breath. I'm so out of breath from running up and down, from winning. My body Parts were falling apart from running and winning. My blood must have been red and hot, thumping against my chest. The soles of my shoes were stinging my feet. Pain, as if the wire loop had broken and stuck into the sole of my foot. I could see every blade of grass very clearly. But the pulse was beating so hard on my forehead, behind my eyes, that everything was throbbing— —the nets, the grass; your faces fluctuate like butterflies;波动，一切都在跳荡；一切都显得短暂匆忙，狂欢得意。只是，在我独自一人躺在这块坚硬的地上，观看你们比赛的时候，我才开始感觉到被单独挑选出来的愿望；被某个前来寻找我的人召唤、喊走，他是被我吸引过来的，他离不开我，就禁不住来到我的身边；我坐在我的镀金的椅子上，我的披风像一朵鲜花，在我身上飘拂。于是，我们就躲到一个凉亭里，或是单独坐到一个阳台上，交谈起来。 “现在潮水平息了。现在这些树又来到了地面；激荡我的胸膛的蓬勃浪涛摇荡得越来越轻柔了，我的心也入港抛锚，就像一只帆船的风帆徐徐地降落在白色甲板上。球赛结束了。我们现在得去喝茶了。” “那些总爱吹嘘的小子们，”路易斯说，“现在已经结成一大帮打板球去了。他们一边齐声合唱，一边驾着他们的大四轮马车离开了。在月桂树丛附近的拐角那里，他们每个人的头都同时转了过来。现在他们正在自吹自擂呢。拉朋特的哥哥是牛津大学的足球运动员；施密斯的父亲在洛茨板球场打出过一百分。阿契和休；帕克和道尔顿；拉朋特和施密斯；然后又是阿契和休；帕克和道尔顿；拉朋特和施密斯——这些名字总是不停地重复；总是这些一模一样的名字。他们是自愿团的成员；他们又是板球队的队员；他们还是自然史学会的理事。他们总是四人组成一组，帽子上戴着徽章，列队前进；每当经过他们的会长身旁时，他们都会动作齐整地致以敬礼。他们有秩序的队列是多么庄严，他们对秩序的遵守是多么令人赞赏啊！如果我能够追随他们，如果我能够跟他们在一起，我宁愿献出我所知道的一切。但是他们也一样掐掉蝴蝶的翅膀，让它们瑟瑟地颤抖；他们把沾上血迹的脏手帕揉成一团丢进旮旯里。他们在昏暗的过道里弄得小孩子哭哭啼啼。他们长着红润的大耳朵，耳朵露在帽子外边。然而这就是我们愿意做的，奈维尔和我。我嫉妒地望着他们去了。我躲在窗帘后面窥视着，看到他们步调一致的动作，我心里感到欢欣鼓舞。如果我的腿能够通过他们而增加力量，那我的腿该会怎样地奔跑呀！如果我能够一直跟他们在一起，一同赢得比赛，一同划船参加大赛，并且一同整天骑马驰骋，那我该会是怎样在夜深的时候引吭高歌啊！那时，滔滔不绝的话语一定会从我的喉咙里涌泻出来的！” “珀西瓦尔已经走了，”奈维尔说，“他除了比赛整天什么也不想。当大马车转过月桂树丛附近的拐角时，他从来也不挥挥手。他瞧不起我身体娇弱得连球也打不成（不过他对我的瘦弱总是充满了好意）。他瞧不起我若非他关心我就不关心他们会不会赢得比赛或输掉比赛。他接受我的忠诚；他接受我提供给他的那种事实上掺和着对他的头脑蔑视的、怯生生的、毫无疑问下贱的帮助。因为他不会读书。但是，每当我躺在长长的草地上朗读莎士比亚或卡图鲁斯的著作时，他总能比路易斯理解得更深刻。不是指词语——可什么是词语呢？我不是已经懂了怎样去做诗，怎样模仿蒲伯、德莱顿、甚至莎士比亚吗？然而，我却做不到整天钻在太阳底下专注地看打球；我做不到通过我的身体来感觉球的飞行路线，而且一门心思只想着球。我将终身做一个依恋于词语表面意义的人。但是我做不到跟他生活在一起，忍受他的愚笨。他将会变得越来越粗俗不堪，而且睡觉时还会打呼噜。他会跟人结婚成家，吃早餐的时候还会发生一些温情脉脉的场面。但他现在还是个年轻人。当他赤身裸体，浑身燥热，躺在床上辗转反侧的时候，在他和太阳之间，在他和雨水之间，在他和月亮之间，不会存在一根线，不会存在一层纸。此刻，当他们坐在他们的大马车上沿着高速公路驰去时，他的脸上泛着红黄相间的斑点。他会丢开他的外衣，双腿叉开站定，手做好准备，眼睛盯着球门。他还会祈祷，'上帝啊，让我们得胜吧'；他将会只想着一件事情，那就是他们一定会得胜。 “我怎么能够做到和他们一起乘一辆大马车去打板球呢？只有伯纳德做得到跟他们一起去；但是伯纳德错过了时间，没法跟他们去了。他老是错过时间。他的不可救药的喜怒无常妨碍了他跟他们一起去。当他洗手的时候，他会停下来，说：'在那张蜘蛛网上有一只苍蝇。我是该搭救那只苍蝇呢，还是该让那只蜘蛛吃掉它呢？'他的心情总是被数不清的困惑混乱笼罩上阴影，否则，他一定会跟他们一起去打板球，一定会躺在草地上，望着天空，而且一定会在击中球的时候激动得跳起来。不过，他们一定会原谅他；因为他会给他们讲故事的。” “他们驾着车走了，”伯纳德说，“而我却错过了跟他们一块儿去的时间。那些令人讨厌透顶、同时又那么漂亮可爱的小伙子们，那些你和路易斯、奈维尔都非常非常羡慕的小伙子们，已经驾着车走了，他们每个人的脑袋都整齐地转往同一个方向。不过，我对这些大出风头的事情并不在意。我的手指在钢琴的键盘上滑行，没有辨别清楚哪个是黑键哪个是白键。阿契毫不费力就能打出一百分；我偶尔侥幸能够得到五十分。但是，我们俩之间有什么差别呢？可是等一等，奈维尔；让我说下去。那些气泡冒了上来，就像从平底锅里冒上来的银白色气泡；一个比喻叠着另一个比喻。我没法像路易斯那样怀着极度顽强的意志坐到我的课本前面去读书。我得打开那扇小小的天窗，让那些成串的辞藻冒出来，借助这些辞藻，我把所有发生的事情都串联起来，从而使这些事情不是支离破碎、互不相关，而是可以看到游动的线条，多多少少把它们连接在一起。我要给你讲讲那个博士的故事。 “当克莱恩博士做完祷告，蹒蹒跚跚走出弹簧门的时候，看上去他真的相信自己是非常高明的；但是实际上，奈维尔，我们都无法否认他的离去不仅使我们感觉到了轻松，而且还使我们获得一种摆脱了某种负担似的感受，就好像拔掉了一颗牙。现在当他费劲地穿过弹簧门走向他自己的住所时，让我们跟在他的后面。让我想象一下他在马厩那头他的私人房间里脱衣服时的情景吧。他解开他的吊袜带（让咱们讲得琐碎一些，让咱们讲得详尽一点）。然后用一个他所特有的姿势（要避免这些陈腐的字眼真是很难，而且就他来说，这些字眼在某种程度上还是很贴切的），他从他的裤袋里掏出银币，又掏出铜币，接着把它们放在那儿，那儿，放在他的梳妆台上。他把双臂摊开，搁在椅子的扶手上，陷入沉思（这是他私人独处的时间；我们正是应当在这种地方看清他）：他会走过桃红色的桥去到他的卧室里呢，还是不过桥？这两个房间被克莱恩夫人床头柜上的台灯玫瑰色的光亮所形成的一道桥连接在了一起，克莱恩夫人就躺在那张床上，头发披散在枕头上，正在读一本法文的自传。她一边读着书，一边用一种自暴自弃的沮丧绝望的姿势伸手抹了抹她的前额；她把自己跟某个法国公爵夫人作着对比，叹息地说：'这就完了吗？'现在，那个博士说，再过两年我就要退休了。我要在西部某座乡村花园里修剪紫杉树篱。我原本可以当个海军上将；或者当一个法官；而不是一个教师。究竟是什么力量，把我弄到这个地步的呢，他问道，一边凝视着煤气取暖器，他的双肩耸得比我们平时所看到的样子还要厉害（记住，他只穿着衬衫，没穿外衣）。究竟是什么力量？他一边思索，一边回头越过肩膀望着窗户，驰骋着他那些庄严的辞句。那是一个暴风雨之夜；栗子树的树枝波荡起伏。星星在树杈里闪烁。是什么善与恶的巨大力量把我引到了这里？他一边追问，一边伤心地发现他的椅子在紫色地毯的绒面上磨出一个不大的洞。他就这样坐在那里，让他的背带晃来晃去。不过，讲述一个人走进他自己的房间是有困难的。我没法把这个故事讲下去了。我正在想方设法地掉花腔；我正在我的裤兜里掂弄着四五枚硬币。” “伯纳德的故事在开始的时候使我觉得很有趣，”奈维尔说，“可是当故事荒唐可笑地越说越没声，而他张口结舌地捻弄着一截绳子的时候，我就想起我自己的孤独。他总是看到每个人的阴晦的一面。所以我就不能跟他谈起珀西瓦尔。我不能把我的荒唐而激烈的感情向他富于同情心的理解力敞开。那也一定会变成一个'故事'的。我需要这样一个人，他的头脑面对任何问题都能迎刃而解；对他来说，荒唐透顶也是卓越的，一根鞋带也是可爱的。但我能向谁表露我这迫切的热情呢？路易斯太冷淡，太不着边际。没有一个人——在这儿，在这些灰暗的拱门、哀泣的鸽子、令人振奋的运动、传统的活动和竞赛中间，所有这一切全都那么巧妙地组合在一起，以避免有人感到孤单。然而当我偶尔碰上一些预示着有事情就要发生的意外征兆时，我仍然会感到震惊。昨天，当我经过那个通向那所私人花园的敞开的门扉时，我看见冯维克正举起他的球棍。在草地中央，茶壶正冒着热气。那里还有成簇成簇的蓝色鲜花。那时，一种莫名的、神秘的崇敬心情，一种战胜了混乱的完美感觉突然降临到我的身上。当我站在那个敞开的门口，谁也没有看见我那凝神专注的神态。谁也没有猜想到我当时所怀有的愿望，即：将我自己的生命奉献给某位神祇，然后死去，销踪匿影。他的球棍落了下来；幻影破灭了。 “我应当去寻找某一棵树吗？我应当丢开这些班级教室和图书室，以及我在上面读到卡图鲁斯作品的发黄的大开本书，去换取树林和田野吗？我应当到山毛榉树下面去散散步，或是沿着那树木的倒影像恶人似的在水中相依相拥的河岸，闲步而行吗？可是大自然太呆板单调，太枯燥乏味了。她所拥有的只是崇高和无限，水流和树叶而已。我开始了对火光、独处以及某个人的肢体的渴望。” “我开始了对即将来临的夜晚的向往。”路易斯说，“当我站在这里，手搁在威克汉姆先生仿橡木的房门上时，我想象自己是黎塞留的朋友，或是正在把鼻烟盒呈送给国王本人的圣西门公爵。这是我特殊的荣幸。我的连珠妙语'像野火一样在宫廷里传播'。公爵夫人出于赞赏，从她的耳坠上扯下绿宝石——不过这些缤纷的烟火只有当我处在黑暗之中，在夜晚我的小卧室里才会放射得最为精彩。现在我只不过是个带有殖民地口音的男孩，正在用指关节敲着威克汉姆先生的带橡木纹的房门。这一天是饱受耻辱而且为了怕人嘲笑而加以掩饰的胜利的一天。我是全学校中最优秀的奖学金获得者。然而当黑夜降临时，我摆脱了这具不值得艳羡的躯体——我的大鼻子，我的薄嘴唇，我的殖民地口音——而栖居遨游于无垠的天地。那时我就成了维吉尔的游伴，成了柏拉图的同行者。那时我就成了法国某个名门望族的最后一代苗裔。不过我也是这样的一个人，一个可以强制自己舍弃这些虚无缥缈的、犹如月光一样不切实的王国，舍弃这些午夜时分的遐思漫游，勇敢面对这个拥有仿橡木房门人的人。我要在我的一生中做到——愿上帝恩准这一天不会太遥远——在这两种我认为存在着惊人明显的矛盾的事物之间，建立某种巨大的联合。为了我所受的苦难，我要做到这一点。我要敲门。我要进去。” “我已经撕下了五月份和六月份的所有日子，”苏珊说，“还有七月份的头二十天。我把它们撕下来，揉成一团，好让它们已不复存在，只除了是我身边的一个负担。它们全都是萎靡不振的日子，就像翅膀萎缩、无法飞行的蛾子。只剩八天了。八天过后，六点二十五分，我就要走下火车，站在月台上了。那时我的自由将展开翅膀，而所有这些让人皱眉蹙额、束手无策的限制——钟点、秩序和纪律，以及在规定时间准时到这儿到那儿——都将土崩瓦解。当我打开马车的门，看见我的父亲戴着他的旧帽子，穿着有绑腿的高统靴子时，那样的日子就会终于到来了。我会发抖。我会流泪。然后次日早晨我会在天刚亮的时候就起床。我会让自己通过厨房的门走出去。我会到荒野上去走一走。那些影子骑士们的尊贵骏马的蹄声将在我的身后响起，并随后突然停止。我会看见燕子掠过草地。我会匍匐在河岸上，观察鱼儿在芦丛中游来游去。我的手心里将会留下松针刺的印痕。在那里我要掏出并扔掉所有我在这里得到的东西；那些令人难以忍受的东西。因为在这里，冬去夏来，在楼梯上，在卧室里，有某种东西已经在我的体内长成。我并不想别的人在我走进去的时候都带着爱慕的神情抬起头来。我想要献身，被人献身；我需要孤身独处，从而解脱掉我所具有的东西。 “那时，我将穿过在胡桃树叶搭成的拱篷下光影摇曳的通道走回家去。我会遇见一位推着一辆装满柴枝的童车走路的老妇人；还有一个牧羊人。但是我们不会交谈。我会穿过厨房外的花园走回家来，看见沾满露珠的卷心菜卷曲的叶子，看见花园里那间每扇窗户都挂着窗帘的屋子。我将上楼走进我的房间，翻翻我自己的那些被小心爱护地锁在衣橱里的物件：我的贝壳呀；我的鸟蛋呀；我的奇花异草呀。我要喂一喂我的鸽子和松鼠。我要到我的狗舍那儿，给我的长毛狗梳梳毛。就这样我会逐渐把在这里生长在我体内的令人难以忍受的东西全部祛除。但是这会儿铃声响了；又得没完没了地拖着脚走了。” “我恨黑暗、睡觉和夜晚，”珍妮说，“我恨躺在那儿盼着白天来临。我渴望一个星期能够成为没有分割的一个整天。当我一早醒来——当鸟鸣弄醒我的时候——我躺在那儿，望着碗柜上的铜把手渐渐变得清晰起来；接着是水盆；然后是毛巾架。随着卧室里的每一样东西变得越来越清晰，我的心脏也跳动得愈来愈快了。我感到我的身体变得僵硬了，而且变成了桃红色，变成了黄色，变成了茶褐色。我的手掌滑过我的双腿和身子。我感觉着它的曲线，它的纤弱。我喜欢听铃声响彻整个房间，接着骚动开始——这儿砰嚓一声，那儿叭嗒一声。房间的门砰砰地响；水哗哗地流。又是一天来了，又是一天来了，我一边双脚落地，一边大喊大叫。这可能是倒霉的一天，不完美的一天。我经常受到责骂。我经常因为懒惰、因为爱笑而丢人现眼；然而，即使在马修小姐嘟嘟囔囔地抱怨我轻率粗心的时候，我也会一眼望见有什么东西在动——也许是一幅画上的一抹阳光，抑或是一头驴子正在拉着割草机穿过草地；抑或是在月桂树叶丛中穿过的一片风帆，因此我从来没有垂头丧气过。谁也阻挡不了我一边跟在马修小姐身后去祈祷，一边用脚尖跳旋转舞。 “现在，我们将要离开学校，可以穿长裙子的日子就要到了。我要在晚上戴着项链，身上穿一套白色的无袖礼服。在明亮的屋子里将会举行晚会；一个男人会选中我，向我讲述他从未对任何人讲过的事情。他会喜欢我胜过喜欢苏珊或罗达。他会在我身上发现某种品质，某种特殊的东西。但是我不会让我自己只跟一个人缠乎在一起。我不希望被固定起来，受到约束。随着新的一天即将到来，我双腿垂着，坐在床沿上，那时，我会颤抖，哆嗦，就像树篱上的那片树叶。我有五十年要过，我有六十年要过。我还没有打开我的宝库。现在正是开始。” “还得熬好几个钟头，”罗达说，“那时我才能熄灯，躺在我的床上，就像悬浮在世界的上空；那时我才能让这一天结束，那时我才能抚育我的树成长，让它在我头顶上空的碧蓝穹隆下颤巍巍地生长。可是在这儿我却无法抚育它生长。老是有人把它碰倒。他们总是问这问那，他们总是打搅，他们总是把它碰倒。 “现在我要去浴室，然后脱掉我的鞋子，去洗一洗；但是在我洗浴的时候，在我低头俯在洗脸盆上的时候，我要让俄国女皇的面纱落在我的肩上。皇冠上的钻石在我的额头前熠熠闪耀。当我漫步走到阳台上时，我听见那些满怀敌意的暴民们的大声鼓噪。现在，我用劲擦干我的手，以便那个我忘记了她的姓名的小姐不至于怀疑我是在向一群狂怒的暴民挥舞拳头。'我是你们的女王，你们这些老百姓。'我的态度充满了蔑视。我无所畏惧。我要征服。 “然而这只是一种脆弱的梦想。这只是一棵纸做的树。兰波特小姐吹口气就能把它吹倒。甚至她那走过走廊时的身影也能将它吹成齑粉。它不是牢固的；它没有使我获得满足——这做女皇的梦。既然它已然破灭了，它就把我遗弃在这儿，在这个过道里，更确切地说是丢下我在这里浑身打着冷颤。一切都显得苍白黯淡。现在我要到图书馆里，去取出一本书，翻翻，读读；然后再翻翻，读读。在这儿有一首关于一道篱墙的诗。我要沿着它去漫步，采摘一些鲜花，绿色的牵牛花和月光色的山楂花，野玫瑰和蜿蜒曲折的常春藤。我要用我的手把它们紧紧握住，把它们放到课桌的发光的桌面上。我会坐在颤悠悠的河岸上，望着那些舒展而明朗的睡莲；它们身上犹如月光一般清冷的光辉，把垂覆在树篱上的橡树映照得熠熠闪光。我要采摘花朵；我要将花儿扎成一顶花冠，紧紧抓住它，把它献给——哦！献给谁呢？在我生命的流淌中似乎存在着某种阻碍；一股深沉的潜流拥塞在某种障碍前面；它痉挛；它挣扎；在它的中心似乎有一个顽冥不化的结。唉，这真是痛苦，这真是苦恼！我晕倒了，我失败了。现在我的身体消融了；我获得了解脱；我浑身散发出炽热的白光。现在那股潜流犹如汹涌的暗潮泻出，冲开闸门，冲退阻力，畅通无阻地奔腾起来。所有这些正从我那温暖的、松软的躯体中涌泻而出的东西，我应当献给谁？我要采集我的花儿，把它们扎成一束，献给——哦！献给谁呢？ “水手们成群结队地游来逛去，还有成双成对的情侣；公共汽车沿着海滨大道轰鸣着驶向城里。我要奉献；我要充实；我要把这种美还给世界。我要把我的花束扎成一个花环，我要双手伸出，跨步向前，把花环献给——哦！献给谁呢？” “现在我们已经接受了，”路易斯说，“因为这是最后一个学期的最后一天——奈维尔的、伯纳德的和我的最后一天——不管我们的老师们曾经非得教给我们什么东西。已经作过了介绍；世界也已被描述过。他们留下；我们离去。那位了不起的博士，所有人当中我最崇敬的人，步履蹒跚地走过每一张课桌，向每一个人分发装订好了的贺拉斯诗集，丁尼生诗集，以及济慈全集和马修·阿诺德全集，上面都写着措辞贴切的题辞。我尊敬赠送这些书的这只手。他怀着绝对的自信讲话。对他来说，他的话是真实的，虽然对我们来说并非如此。他讲话时满腔激动，用粗哑的声音，既激烈又温柔地告诉我们，我们就要走了。他祝愿我们'行动要像大丈夫'（不管是引自《圣经》上的话，还是引自《泰晤士报》上的话，只要到了他嘴里，似乎全都显得铿锵有力）。有些人将要干这个；还有些人将要干那个。有的人将不会再见面。奈维尔、伯纳德和我，将不会再在这里见面了。生活会把我们分开。但是我们已经建立了一些联系。我们孩子气的、无忧无虑的时光结束了。但是我们之间已经建立了一种纽带。首先，我已经继承了传统的东西。这些铺路的石板已经经历了六百年的磨损。在这里的墙上刻写着一些军人、政治家的名字，和一些不幸诗人的名字（我的名字也一定会列在他们中间）。愿上帝保佑所有的传统，保佑一切安全规定和限制吧！我十分感激你们这些身着黑色长袍的人，也十分感激你们这些已故的人，感激你们的引导，感激你们的守护；但是归根结底，问题依然存在。那些分歧依然没有解决。鲜花在窗户外面摇曳它们的身姿。我看见野生的鸟儿以及比最野的鸟儿更为狂野的冲动，正从我的野性未驯的心中冲出来。我的眼神是野的；我的嘴唇紧闭着。鸟儿在飞翔；花儿在舞蹈；而我却总是听到海浪沉闷的轰鸣；还有带着锁链的野兽在海滩上蹬脚的声音。它在蹬呀，蹬呀，不停地蹬着。” “这是最后的仪式，”伯纳德说。“这是我们所有仪式中的最后一次。我们被心里各种奇异的感觉征服了。举着旗子的列车员就要吹响他的哨子；喷着水汽的列车过一会儿就要开动。有的人想要说几句与这种场合正好相宜的话，体验一下在这种场合才会有的感受。有的人脑子里塞满了东西；有的人嘴唇噘了起来，快要张开了。就在这时候一只蜜蜂闯了进来，绕着那位将军的太太——汉普顿夫人嗡嗡地打转；汉普顿夫人为表示她对献花道贺的人的感谢，不停地闻那束鲜花。这只蜜蜂会叮她的鼻子吗？我们刚才全都被深深感动了，然而有些不敬；然而有些懊悔；然而有些急于结束；然而有些恋恋不舍。这只蜜蜂分散了我们的心思；它漫不经心的飞翔似乎是在有意嘲弄我们的强烈情感。它捉摸不定地嗡嗡飞来飞去，忽而掠向这边，忽而掠向那边，最后栖落在一朵康乃馨上面。我们中的许多人将再也不会见面了。当我们以后可以随意地上床睡觉，或是多坐一会儿，当我再也不需要偷偷地藏起一截蜡烛头来读淫秽作品，那时，我们就再也享受不到某些乐趣了。现在，这只蜜蜂绕着那位了不起的博士的脑袋嗡嗡地旋转。拉朋特、约翰、阿契、珀西瓦尔、巴克以及施密斯——他们我都曾极度喜欢过。我只认识过一个疯疯癫癫的小子。我只厌恨过一个小气刻薄的家伙。我很喜欢回想我在校长的餐桌上吃过的那几顿别扭死了的早餐，吃的是吐司和果酱。只有他没有去注意那只蜜蜂。即便它落在了他的鼻子上，他也会用优雅的姿势轻轻地将它拂去。现在他已经讲完他的空话；现在他的声音差不多已若断若续，可也没有完全停止。现在我们——路易斯、奈维尔和我——已经永远地放学了。我们拿到了我们那几本非常精美的书，上面全都有用细小难辨的草体字写的玄奥的题辞。我们起身，我们散去；压力已经消除。那只蜜蜂已经变成一个无足轻重的、无人理睬的小昆虫，它穿过敞开的窗户，不知飞到哪里去了。明天我们也要离开了。” “我们就要离去了，”奈维尔说，“行李箱就在这里；出租汽车就在这里。戴着宽边毡帽的珀西瓦尔就在那边。他准会忘了我。他准会把我写的信随便丢在猎枪和猎狗当中，一个字也不回复。我将来会写诗赠送给他，而他也许会回赠我一张带风景的明信片。但是正是为此我才爱他。我将提出一些会面计划——在某座钟表下面，划着十字；而且我将等候，而他却不会来临。正是因为这样我才爱他。由于他是那么的健忘，由于他差不多是完全的无知无觉，他一定会从我的生活中消失的。而我，虽然看起来似乎难以置信，却一定会走向另外的生活；这也许只不过是一场儿戏、一段序曲而已。尽管我忍受不了博士那套浮夸做作的表演和装腔作势的激动，我却已经感觉到，那些我们曾经只是隐隐约约地预见到的东西已经临近了。我将会自由地进入冯维克举起他的球棍的那个小花园。那些曾经瞧不起我的人将会承认我的至高无上的权威。但是凭着我生命中某些不可思议的法则，仅仅得到至高无上的权威和拥有权力还是不够的；我要永远推开帷幕，闯入秘境，我要独自偷听别人的窃窃私语。因此我要向前走，虽然犹豫不决，但却意满志得；虽然对难以忍受的痛苦顾虑重重；然而我却感到，在历险的道路上，我一定会在经过巨大磨难之后战胜一切；毫无疑问，最后，我一定能够找到我所渴望的目标。在那儿，最后一次，我看见我们那位道貌岸然的建校者的雕像矗立在那里，鸽子在他的脑袋周围飞旋。它们会伴随着小教堂里风琴的呜咽，永远在他的脑袋周围盘旋，使它呈现为一片雪白。喏，我也去找找我的座位吧；等我在我们预订好了的列车隔间的角落找到我的座位，我要用一本书遮住我的眼睛，掩饰住淌出来的一珠泪滴；我要遮住我的眼睛，好去观察别人；偷偷地看看别人的面孔。今天是暑假第一天。” “今天是暑假第一天，”苏珊说，“但是这一天还没有展开。在我晚上走下列车、踏上月台之前，我不会去考察它。甚至在我闻到从田野送来的冷飕飕、绿阴阴的气息之前，我将不会去嗅闻它。不过，这里已不再是学校的田野；这里已不再是学校的篱墙；在这里的田野上，那些人正在干着真正的劳动；他们的大车装着真正的干草；这里的奶牛也是真正的奶牛，而不是学校里的牛。然而，走廊上的碳酸味和教室里的粉笔味，仍然滞留在我的鼻孔里。那些企口板闪烁、发亮的模样，仍然在我的眼前萦绕。我必须等待着那一片片的田野和灌木树篱，那一片片树林和田地，那一道道点缀着荆豆丛的铁路边陡峭的路堑和停在旁轨上的一节节货车车厢，还有一道道隧道以及一座座女人们正在晾洗衣服的城郊小花园，接着又是田野和孩子们扒在门上悠来荡去的情景，等待着这些景象把那些东西掩盖，把它们深深地掩埋，——这个我已经恨透了的学校。 “将来，我绝不会把我的孩子送到学校里，也绝不想在我的一生当中再在伦敦过上哪怕一夜。现在，在这个空旷的车站上，所有的东西都散发着空洞的轰鸣和回声。灯光如同遮凉棚里的光，黄澄澄的。珍妮住在这里。珍妮常带着她的狗在这里的人行道上散步。这里的人都是默不作声地在街道上匆匆穿过。他们的眼睛除了盯着商店的橱窗看看，别的什么也不看。他们的头扬起和低下时差不多总是一样高。这里的街道都被电线连接在了一起。这里的房子全都安装着玻璃门窗，全都安装着花彩窗帘，全都是圆柱和洁白的台阶。但是现在我继续往前走，又到了伦敦城外；又开始看到田野、房屋、晾洗衣服的妇女，以及树木和农田。伦敦这会儿变得模糊不清了，消隐了，支离破碎了，完全看不见了。石碳酸和油松的气味开始渐渐淡去。我闻到了谷物和芜菁的气息。我打开一个用白色棉线系着的纸袋。鸡蛋壳从我的两膝之间滑落到地板上。现在我们停过了一个车站又一个车站，打开了一瓶又一瓶罐装牛奶。现在妇女们互相吻一吻，然后就拿出篮子来吃东西。现在我要把身子探出车窗。风立刻灌进我的鼻子和喉咙——凉飕飕的风，带着咸味的风，其中还混杂着来自芜菁的气息。啊，我的父亲已经在那儿了，他正转过背去，跟一个农夫谈话。我浑身颤抖。我哭了起来。我那穿着带绑腿的高统靴子的父亲就在那里。我的父亲就在那儿呢。” “我舒舒服服地坐在我的角落里，乘着这列轰隆轰隆的快车，向北而去，”珍妮说，“它虽然开得还不够平稳，却使那些灌木树篱显得像是平坦的一片片，使得那些小山丘在连绵不绝地向前延伸。我们使那些信号塔一闪而过；我们使大地轻微地震颤晃动。远处的景物不停地汇聚过来，成为一个点；而我们又不断地使远方的开阔地铺展开来。那些电线杆连绵不断地突然冒出来；一棵刚刚隐没，另一棵又随即冒出来。现在我们呼啸着晃晃悠悠驶入一条隧道。这位先生拉开了窗子。我从镶嵌在隧道墙壁上的闪光的镜子里看到我的影子。我看见他放下他的报纸。他冲着我的映照在隧道墙壁上的影子笑了笑。在他的注视下，我的身体立刻自动地摆出一副臭架子。我的身体过着它自己的生活。现在黑黢黢的车窗又变得发绿了。我们驶出了隧道。他读起了他的报纸。不过我们已经交流了对彼此身体的欣赏。这会儿这里聚集着大群的身体，而我的身体已经向大伙介绍过了；我的身体刚才走进了这间摆着描金坐椅的车厢。瞧——所有城郊别墅的窗户和它们那白色纱帐似的窗帘全都在舞蹈；那些头上扎着蓝色头巾、坐在麦田里的树篱底下的人们也都像我一样，感觉到了暑热和兴奋，有个人在我们经过时挥了挥手。在这些城郊别墅的花园里都有树荫和凉亭，而且一些只穿着衬衣的年轻人正爬在扶梯上修剪玫瑰。一个男人骑着一匹马慢步跑过田野。他的马在我们经过时猛地往前冲了起来。而骑马的人转过头来望了望我们。我又一次呼啸着在黑暗中穿行。我仰身躺在椅子上；我让自己沉浸在兴奋和欢乐之中；我想象到了隧道的尽头，我会进入一间灯火通明、摆着坐椅的房间，我会在其中的一张椅子上坐下来，受到众人深深的钦慕，我的礼服绕着我的身体飘动。然而瞧，我一抬头竟遇上一个愠怒女人的目光，她猜到了我的兴高采烈的心情。我的身体傲慢地在她面前合拢起来，就像一把阳伞似的。我可以随心所欲地敞开或是合拢我的身体。生活开始了。现在，我正在打开我的生活的宝藏。” “今天是暑假第一天，”罗达说，“现在。当火车驶过这些红色的岩石，驶过这片蓝色的大海时，已经结束了的这个学期才在我身后以一个完整的具体形象呈现出来。我看见它的颜色。六月是白色的。我看见田野上到处都是白灿灿的雏菊和白颜色的衣裳，网球场上也画着一道道白色的线条。而且有过一阵风，响过一阵猛烈的雷。一天夜里，有一颗星星划过天空，我对那颗星星说：'毁灭我吧。'那是在仲夏，在那次游园会之后，在我于那次游园会上蒙受了耻辱之后。大风和暴雨渲染着七月的色彩。还有，当我手里拿着一只信封去给别人送信的时候，那个死气沉沉的、令人望而生畏的灰楚楚的烂泥坑，就横卧在院子的正当中。我走到那个烂泥坑跟前。我没法走过去。我不知所措。我们真是不中用，我这么说，然后就倒了下去。我就像一根被狂风舞荡的羽毛，我被吹送进了坑道。之后，非常小心谨慎地，我迈步跨了过去。我一只手扶在砖墙上面。我提心吊胆地跨过那个灰色的、死气沉沉的大泥坑，十分艰难地返回我的房间。这就是我那时注定要过的生活。 “因此，我特别把那个学期分离出来。生活翻腾着阴暗的浪涛从大海中浮现，断断续续发生一些令人震惊的事件，像猛虎的腾跃一样突如其来。我们没法摆脱这种境遇；我们为这种境遇所束缚，就像身体被困在野性的马背上一样。不过我们还是发明了一些方法来弥补这些裂纹，掩饰这些缝隙。检票员走过来了。这儿是两位男人，三个女人；篮子里有一只猫；还有我自己，胳膊正放在窗沿上——这就是此时在这儿的一切。我们穿过沙沙低语的金色的麦田，驶近一个地方，又驶离一个地方。田野里的妇女们惊奇地被我们丢在了身后，在那里锄着草。现在火车笨重地蹬着腿，呼噜呼噜地喘着气，不停地向上爬坡。终于，我们抵达荒原的最高处。这里只生活着寥寥几头野山羊，寥寥几匹毛发蓬乱的矮种马；然而让生活舒适的东西，我们应有尽有，有桌子可以放报纸，有杯套可以把玻璃杯放稳。我们随车携带着这些设备，来到荒原的最高处。现在我们来到了顶峰。寂静将在我们身后汇聚。只要越过那顶秃脑袋回头望望，我就会看见寂静已经笼罩在那里了，云彩的阴影也正在荒原上空彼此追逐；寂静笼罩着我们已经走过的短暂旅程。我此时所说的就是眼前的时刻；这是暑假的第一天。这是我们无法摆脱的那个正在浮现的怪物的一部分。” “现在我们出发了，”路易斯说，“现在我悬浮在空中，不受任何约束。我们不知道自己身在何处。我们正乘坐一列火车穿过英格兰。英格兰的景物在车窗外面飞逝而过，那些景色不停地变换，从山丘变换成树林，又从河流、垂柳变换成城镇。而我并没有稳固的立足之地可以前往。伯纳德和奈维尔，珀西瓦尔、阿契、拉朋特和巴克要去牛津或者剑桥，要去爱丁堡、罗马、巴黎、柏林，或是美国的某所大学。而我却没有明确的方向，生财之道也模糊渺茫。因此有一种令人心碎的阴影，一种强烈的色调，笼罩着这些金色麦芒，笼罩着这些芙蓉红的原野，这片此起彼伏的麦浪——波纹涌至田边，却永远不会溢出麦地的界埂。今天是新生活开始的第一天，是正在旋转的车轮上的又一根轮辐。可是我的身体却像一只飞鸟的阴影一样飘忽不定。我必定如同草地上的光影一样倏忽变化，快速消退，快速变暗，消失在那边草地与树林毗连的地方，倘若不是我的头脑清醒的话；我强制自己，即使只用一行未曾写出来的诗句，也要把眼前这一刻记录下来；把自从埃及、自从妇女们带着红色的水罐到尼罗河畔取水的法老时代就已开始的漫长、漫长历史当中的这一小段，记录下来。我好像已经生活了数千年。然而如果我此时闭上我的双眼，如果我没能认识到，我所乘坐的这节坐满回家