Chapter 9 chapter eight

The sun is setting.The day shattered like a solid rock, and light poured from between the slivers.The red light and golden light pierced the waves like arrows with darkness as their feathers.Shafts of light flickered and flickered erratically, like signals from sunken islands, or javelins thrown from laurel bushes by some shameless, laughing children.But the waves grow dull as they approach the shore, and sink in long-lasting booms, like a wall, a wall of gray stone without any cracks through which light passes. The wall came crashing down. There was a slight breeze; the leaves trembled; and after this commotion the leaves lost their rich brownness and became gray or white, as the tree wobbled and lost its sense of oneness.The eagle perched on the highest branch blinked, then flew up and flew away.A wild sandpiper was singing in the swamp. It circled, dodged, and then flew further away to continue singing alone.The smoke from the trains and chimneys was blown away by the wind, and finally merged into the light curtain of sky suspended over the sea and the fields.

Now the grain has been harvested.The original tumbling crops are now only a crisp stubble.A large owl took off slowly from an elm tree, and it flew unsteadily upward, as if following a line hanging from the air, until it reached the top of a fir tree.On the hillside, the slowly moving shadow expands and shrinks as it drifts by.The pool at the top of the moor looked empty.Not a furry face peered, not a hoof splashed, not a warm snout dipped in the water to get wet.A bird perched on a smoky twig and took a full sip of cold water.There was neither grass-grassing nor wheel-sounding, but a sudden howling wind filling the sails and skimming over the tops of the grass.A bone lay there, gleaming like a sea-polished twig after rain and sun.The trees that were russet in the spring and bent by the southerly wind in midsummer are now as black and bare as pig iron.

The place is so remote that it is never possible to see gleaming roofs or shimmering windows.The earth, so heavy and sombre, has swallowed up the fragile shackles and snail-shell obstacles.Now, there are only cloud shadows that are transparent as water, the impact of rain, a ray of sunshine like a spear, or a sudden storm.A few lonely trees, like obelisks, dotted the distant mountains. The heat has receded and the scorching focus has been dissipated. The setting sun has painted the tables and chairs with a soft halo, and inlaid them with brown and yellow diamond-shaped spots.The shadows around the tables and chairs made them seem more serious, as if the skewed colors were condensed to one side.There are knives and forks and wine glasses, but they seem to be elongated and swollen, and they look very strange.A mirror in a gold frame reflected the scene in a motionless state, as if what it reflected would last forever.

By this time the shadows had also spread on the beach; the darkness was growing thicker.The boot, as black as pig iron, turned into a pool of dark blue water.Hard rocky reefs become indistinct.The water around the old boat was pitch black, as if it had been soaked with pearl oysters.The waves turned blue and black, and here and there they left pearly white shadows on the misty sand. "Hampton Court," Bernard said, "Hampton Court. This is where we agreed to reunite. Look at those pink chimneys at Hampton Court, those square battlements. When I say 'Hampton Court Palace', my tone of voice proves that I am already middle-aged. Ten or fifteen years ago, I would have said in a questioning tone: 'Hampton Palace?'—what would it be like there? Is there a lake, is there a labyrinth? Or is there a premonition in the tone: Is something going to happen to me here? Whom am I going to meet? And now, Hampton Court — Hampton Court — — These words are like a gong, echoing in the clearing that I have spent a lot of effort through six or seven phone calls and postcards, making a loud and deafening sound; Scenes of pictures emerge—a summer afternoon, a boat, an old woman holding a skirt, a pot of tea in winter, a few daffodils in March—all these float on the water, and then lurks in the depths of every scene.

"Now they're all standing in front of the little hotel where we've agreed to meet--Susan, Louise, Rhoda, Jenny, and Neville. They've arrived together. After I've joined them , another arrangement, another scheme will be conceived at once. Now, wasteful things, too many scenes, should be prevented and explained. I am most reluctant to be subject to such restrictions. Away from them At only fifty yards I felt a change in the order of my life. The attraction of their circle worked on me. I came closer. They didn't see me. Now Rhoda saw me, but She pretended not to know me for fear of the shock of the reunion. Now Neville turned her face away. Suddenly I raised my hand in greeting to Neville and said loudly: 'I too was at Shakespeare's Flower petals in sonnets.' And then I'm overwhelmed with emotion and can't go on. My little boat pitches and tosses on the raging waves. There's no panacea in the world (let me write it down) that can heal The excitement of reunion.

"Similarly, gluing jagged and rough edges to each other is uncomfortable; it is only after we saunter into the inn and take off our coats and hats that the meeting becomes pleasant. Now, we Gathered and sat down in the long, empty dining-room which overlooked a park, a field of greenery which was still unbelievably illuminated by the brilliance of the setting sun, so that between those trees stretched A golden band of light." "And now, one by one," said Neville, "we sat down round the long table; and what were our feelings now, while the first excitement was still undiminished? Now, let us Tell honestly, frankly, bluntly, as old friends should when they are finally reunited, what we felt when we were together. It is sorrow. The door will not open; he will not come. And we all cherish With a very heavy heart. Since each of us is middle-aged, each of us has a burden on our shoulders. Let's put our individual burdens aside. Let's ask each other how you have been living , how do I live? You, Bernard; you, Susan; you, Jenny; Before the salad, I fumbled in my body pocket for my certificates—I always carry them with me to prove that I am better than others. I passed the exam. I have a certificate in my body pocket to prove it. But your eyes, Susan, reflecting turnips and crops, confuse and disturb me. These papers in my breast pockets—the loud announcement that I have passed the exams—sound only feebly. the sound of a man clapping his hands in an open field to scare off a rook. Now, under Susan's watch, that sound (my clap and its echoes) has also been silenced, and I just Could hear the wind blowing over the plowed field and a bird singing—perhaps it was an excited skylark. Did the waiter hear me; or those Lovers who are always sneaking together, wandering here and there, hiding and looking at the shade of trees not yet dark enough to hide their lying bodies, did they hear my voice? No; the clapping of hands did not play any role.

"Well, since I can't pull out my papers and convince you of my passing by reading my certificate aloud, what else do I have to say? All that's left is Susan's pair of pearls What is revealed by the piercing gaze of the transparent and shining green eyes. Every time we get together, there is always someone who is not willing to get involved in the awkwardness when we first met; There are people who want to suppress their individuality and not let it show. Now for me, this person is Susan. I want to talk to Susan and get her attention. Please listen to me, Susan. "Even the fruit embroidered on my curtains swells up when someone walks in at breakfast, so that the parrot will reach out to peck at it; you can even pick it off between your thumb and forefinger .In the early morning, the thin skim milk will be milky white, blue, or rose. At that time, your husband-the one who beats his high boots and points the barren cow with the whip The man - is grumbling and whining. You don't say anything. You don't look at anything. Habit blindfolds you. At that moment, your relationship is silent, empty, dark. I The relationship at that moment is warm and colorful. For me, the repetition is non-existent. Every day is full of danger. Although we are very gentle on the surface, we are as terrifying as a coiled snake in our bones "Imagine we're reading The Times; imagine we're arguing with each other. That's an experience. Imagine it's winter. The snow is falling, covering the roof, and sealing us all in a red cave." The pipe is frozen and cracked. We set up a yellow tin tub in the middle of the room. We scramble to find the washbasin. Look there—the pipe is leaking again over the bookcase. We laugh and shout as we watch the disaster. Let the stable life go to ashes. Let us have nothing. Or imagine it's summer? We can hang out by a lake and watch the Chinese geese waddle to the water's edge with flat feet, or See a city church that looks like a skeleton, with vibrant green grass swaying in front of it. (I'm talking casually; I'm always talking about the obvious.) Every sight is an arabesque The patterns are drawn on a whim to illustrate the sense of surprise and wonder when people get along intimately. Heavy snow, cracked water pipes, tin bathtubs, Chinese geese—these are all signs hanging high, through They, when I look back on my past life, I can recognize the characteristics of each love; see how they are different from each other.

"At the same time, because I want to dispel your unfriendly mood, your green eyes are fixed on me, your shabby clothes, your rough hands, and everything else that can explain your maternal splendor. All signs of your life are clinging to you like a limpet to a rock. But seriously, I don't want to hurt you; I just want to restore and restore the self-confidence I lost in you. Changing reality is not enough. Possible things. Our fate is sealed. Once upon a time, when we met Percival in a London restaurant, nothing was certain; anything was possible for us. And now we have chosen Now, sometimes it seems that someone else has made a choice for us—like a pair of pincers clamping us tightly. I choose too. I don't imprint my life on the outside, but on the inside , on nerves immaculate, inexperienced, and defenseless. I am scarred and useless by all manner of imprints of minds, faces, and other things; I am, but nameless. To you, I am nothing more than 'Nevill', you see the narrow confines of my life and its insurmountable boundaries. But to me personally, I am boundless is a great net imperceptible to the depths of the world with every nerve. My net is almost indistinguishable from what it surrounds. It catches whales—huge sea monsters and white gargoyles. A chaotic, shifting mush; I spied, I spied. Opened before my eyes—a book; I saw the bottom; saw the core—I saw all the way to the deep. I Know what kind of love leaps into flames; how the green flames of jealousy spread everywhere; how love and love intertwine; what knots love makes; what love ruthlessly tears them apart. I I've been entangled; I've been brutally torn apart.

"But there have been other glorious things too, when Percival arrives at last when the door we've all been waiting for opens; when." "There was a beech grove," said Susan, "there was Elvedon, and the hands of the clock glittered among the trees. Pigeons flew out of the foliage. The shifting light was over my head Swaying. I don't remember them all. But look, Neville, I've humiliated you once to keep my pride. Look at my hand on the table. Look at my knuckles and palm. These various shades of healthy complexion. My body is like a tool that has been thoroughly used by some able laborer. It has been worn out by practical use every day. The blade is still clean and sharp, but the center has been worn out. Worn out. (We fight together like wild beasts fighting in the field, like does butting each other with horns.) You can see through your pale and emaciated muscles at a glance, and even The apple or bunch of fruit must also be covered with a membrane, as if covered with a glass. Next to a person--just a person, but a person who is always changing-- Lying in a chair, you can see only an inch deep into the muscles; see the nerves, tendons, blood flowing slowly or rapidly; but never see everything. You can't see the trees standing in the garden. A house; a horse in a field; a city spreading out, because you stooped like an old woman trying to see her sewing. But I saw rows of solid, massive houses saw their crenelated walls and towers, factories and gas towers; a quaint house built in a time I can't remember. These things have always maintained their broad, strong, prominent features, and never faded. I am engraved on my mind. I am neither gentle nor flattering; I sit among you, grinding your weakness with my hardness, and with the green light from my clear eyes, Restrain your words that quiver like the wings of silver-grey moths that flicker and flicker.

"Now we have butted our antlers. This is the necessary prelude; a greeting from an old friend." "The golden light in the woods has faded," said Rhoda, "and a green meadow lay behind them, stretching like a blade in a dream, or a tapering island untouched. Now , the lights of the cars coming down the street began to flicker and flicker. Now the lovers could hide in the shadows; the tree trunks that concealed them swelled and became blurred." "It wasn't like that," Bernard said. "We used to be able to follow our own decisions and not go with the crowd. Now, it takes as many phone calls and postcards as it takes to carve a gap where we can all be united and gather together." Come to Hampton Court? How swiftly life flies, from January to December! Each of us is swept up in a torrent of affairs so commonplace that it is never given We cast no shade; we never compare; we almost never think of you or me; Tufts of weeds at the mouth of the old river channel. We had to jump out of the water like fish to catch the train from Waterloo station. But no matter how high we jumped, eventually we fell into the current again Now, I will never go to the South Sea Islands by boat again. A trip to Rome is the furthest trip I have ever made. I have a son and a daughter.

"However, it is only my body that is irretrievably fixed - this elderly man whom you here call Bernard - and I prefer to believe that to be the case. I am now more than I was when I was younger I was able to think calmly, and at that time I always searched vigorously, searching for myself, like a child fumbles for a lottery bag. 'Look, what is this? And this? Is this a good gift?' Is that all?' And so on. Now, I already know what's in those little bags; so don't particularly care. I throw my thoughts into the air like a man throws handfuls of seeds Let the seeds fall in the violet glow of the setting sun, on the bare plowed land gleaming after flattening. "A bunch of words. A bunch of imperfect words. But what's the use of words? They leave me little to lay on this table, by this hand of Susan; or Taken out of my pocket, along with Neville's certificates. I am neither legal, nor medical, nor financial. I'm wrapped in weed-like rhetoric; I shine, Phosphorescent. Every one of you felt it when I said, 'I'm burning. I'm shining'. As I sat under the elms by the side of the field and let the clusters of beautiful words flow from me When it came out, the little guys used to be like, 'That's a great sentence, that's a great sentence.' And they just spouted it out; and they ran away with my beautiful rhetoric. However, I'm getting more and more emaciated in loneliness. Loneliness is the cause of my destruction. "I wandered from house to house, like a medieval friar holding a rosary and telling folk tales to entice women and girls. I was a wandering, door-to-door peddler, earning food by telling folk tales. lodging fees; I'm a non-fussy, easy-to-satisfy guest; I'm often put in the best room, with a four-poster bed; and sometimes a haystack in the barn. I don't care Fleas are not opposed to silk and silk. I am very tolerant. I am not a moralist. I have a very deep feeling for the shortness of life and all kinds of temptations, so I will never set rules for others. However, I It's not that I'm not picky at all as you imagine, just as you can judge from my eloquent speech. I also have some contempt and harshness hidden in my bones. It's just that I am more willing to accommodate and give in .I always make up stories.I can dig something interesting out of anything.A girl sits at the door of a farmhouse;she's waiting for someone;waiting for someone?Seduced or not?The The headmaster sees a hole in the carpet. He's always moaning. His wife runs her fingers through her still-thick, wavy hair and muses—wait, wait. indecisiveness, a guy throwing a cigarette butt down the gutter—these are all stories. But which one is the real story? I don't know. So I hang my clothes in the pantry Waiting for someone to wear that and hang up my rhetoric. Although I wait like this, I keep thinking like this, recording a little here and a little there, but I am not attached to life. I may be caught like a bee People brushed away from the sunflowers. My persistent philosophy, accumulated bit by bit, will disappear without a trace in an instant like quicksilver. But the radical and rigorous Louis is in his attic, In his office, a set of definite conclusions were formed about the things that needed to be clarified." "The thread I was trying to get a piece of knitting was broken," said Louis, "and it was your sneer, your indifference, and your beauty that broke it. Many years ago, when Jenny kissed I interrupted the line. At school the bombastic boys always laughed at my Australian accent and interrupted the line. 'That's the point,' I said; Pained at once--a thrill of vanity.'Listen,' said I, 'to the nightingale that sings under the trampling feet of countless feet; it sings under the feet of conquerors and settlers .Please believe it--' Then it was interrupted all of a sudden. I always choose my way among the rubble. All kinds of light shine down, reflecting ordinary things mottled, strange Strange. In this evening we gather together, with wine, and swaying tree shadows, and young men in white flannel uniforms coming from the river with cushions; yet to me, such an important The moment of reminiscence is overshadowed by all the scandals that man has done to man, all the torture and captivity that has been inflicted on man. My conceptions are so abnormal that it is impossible for me to the color of magenta to obliterate the harsh reproaches my sanity keeps throwing at us, even as we all sit here. Where is the solution, I ask myself, where is the bridge of communication? How can I do it? Combining these flickering, dizzying phantasms into a thread that holds them all together? So I meditate; while you look maliciously at my pursed mouth, sunken cheeks and always furrowed brows. "But I implore you to notice also my cane and my waistcoat. I have inherited a solid mahogany writing-table which stands in a room covered with maps. Our steamers, with their luxuriously furnished cabins, have Earned an enviable reputation. We have an indoor pool and gym. Now I always wear a white vest and always consult a pocket book when I want to make an appointment. "I display this sly and mocking gesture in the hope that you will not notice my trembling, my fragility, and my particularly immature, unguarded mind. For I will always be the most immature the most childish fuss; I am always the first to understand and sympathize with the uncomfortable or the comical—whether it be a smudge on the nose or an unbuttoned button. I Will suffer from all the humiliation. But I will also be ruthless and hard as stone. I don't understand how you can think it is a blessing to be alive. When a kettle boils, when a breeze blows Your petty excitement, your childish excitement when Jenny's stained scarf makes it flutter like a spider's web, it's just bull's-eyed to me I condemn you. Yet I am attached to you in my heart. I would go with you to the flames of death. But I prefer to be alone. I enjoy gold and purple to my heart's content. But I Prefer to look over chimneys; prefer to see cats scraping their mangy bellies up and down potted chimney-pipes; prefer to see broken windows; The hoarse bells from the steeple." "I can only see what's in front of me," said Jenny, "this scarf, these wine stains. This glass. This mustard bottle. This flower. I like things I can touch and taste. I I like rain to turn into snow, and to make delicious things. And because I am straight, and have more guts than you, I will never mix vulgarity with my beauty, lest it will spoil my image. I gobbled it up This is meat; this is drink. My imagination is the imagination of the flesh. Its phantoms are not delicate and white and pure like Louis's. I don't like your bony cats and potholed chimney hats. I'm disgusted by the poor view on your roof. Men and women in uniform, wigs and gowns, bowler hats and smart polo shirts, and ladies' clothing in endless styles (I I always pay special attention to all kinds of costumes), all these are pleasing to my eyes. I wandered around with them inseparable, in and out, in and out of rooms, halls, here, there; they went Everywhere, all the places, I go too. This one lifts up a horse's hooves to look. That one always pulls the drawer that holds his personal collection. I'm never alone. I There were always crowds of followers around. My mother must have been obsessed with the drums and my father was the sea. I was like a puppy walking behind a marching band, stopping every now and then to smell a tree trunk , sniffing a pile of yellow trash, then dashing across the street in pursuit of a dingo, then raising one front leg, concentrating on smelling the tantalizing scent of meat wafting from the butcher shop. My extensive association Has taken me to strange places. So many men come up to me off the wall. All I have to do is raise my hand. They will shoot straight to the appointed place-maybe a balcony A chair in the corner, or maybe a shop on the corner. The troubles and differences in your lives have been resolved overnight for me, and sometimes, when you sit and eat, you just touch your fingers under the tablecloth— ——My body has become completely like a flowing liquid. As long as I touch it with my finger, it will turn into a full drop of water, which will grow bigger and bigger, trembling, flickering, and dripping in ecstasy. "While you sit at your desks to write and do your sums, I sit before a mirror. And so, sitting before the mirror in my holy bedroom, I look at my nose and my cheeks; look at My lips that are too open to show the gums. I look carefully. I look carefully. I choose carefully, whether it is yellow or white, bright or dull, curved or straight. Which suits me better. I am now gay and changeable, now grave and serious; sometimes silvery and angular like an icicle; sometimes golden like the flame of a candle As swaying as ever. I ran so hard that it was almost like a whip I threw out with all my might. Over there in the corner, the front of the man's shirt was white; now it's purple ; smoke and fire surrounded us; through a great conflagration--yet sitting on the hearth-rug we hardly ever raised our voices, whispered our hearts as to clams-shells Secret, lest anyone in the bedroom should hear; but once I heard the cook stir, and another time we mistook the ticking of the alarm clock for a football there—we were reduced to ashes, and not a single remains remained, A bone not burnt, or a lock of hair, to be kept in a metal locket under a necklace, as your relatives and friends leave after death. Now I am gray; now I am very emaciated; Yet in the middle of the day, in broad daylight, I sit in front of the mirror and look at my face, meticulously examining my nose, my cheeks, and my lips that are too parted to show my gums. But I am not at all Fear." "There are lampposts all the way from the station to here," Rhoda said, "and there are trees, but the leaves haven't covered the way yet. The leaves might have covered me though. But I didn't hide Get under them. I walked straight up here to meet you, and didn't make the detours I usually do to avoid emotional impulses. But only because I've taught my body to do a trick. And deep down, I still haven't learned; I'm afraid, I hate, I love, I envy and despise you, but I've never met you happily. I resisted and hid in the trees all the way Walking straight from the station without the temptation to go behind the shade or the post-box; and even at a distance, I can see in your coats and umbrellas how you live by constant occasional meetings; I have a mission, I have style, I have children, I have power, I have fame, I have love, I have society; I have absolutely nothing. I don't even have a face. "Here in this dining room you see antlers and tumblers; you see salt shakers; you see yellow stains on tablecloths. 'Hello, waiter!' said Bernard. 'Bread!' said Susan. The waiter He came at once; he brought the bread. But it seemed to me that the wall of the wine glass was a mountain, and I saw only a part of the antlers, and the light on the wall of the kettle, like a crack in the dark, full of surprise and horror. Your voices are like the creaking and breaking of trees in the forest. So are your faces and the potholes on them. In the middle of the night, leaning far away on the railing of a square, standing silently How beautiful it would be to be there! The white surf behind you, the fishermen gathering and casting their nets on the horizon. A breeze blowing the leaves on the primeval forest treetops. (But we are sitting at Hampton Court here.) The parrot crow breaks the silence of the jungle. (Here the tram is moving.) The swallow flies on the lake at midnight. (We are talking.) This is what I try to grasp as we sit here together. environment. So I have to endure this Hampton Court austerity at exactly seven-thirty. "However, since these buns and bottles of wine are what I want, and your pockmarked faces are so beautiful, and this tablecloth with its yellow stains on it, it will never be allowed The sphere of understanding is widened more and more, so that at last (as I see in my dreams, at night when my bed levitates and I fall over the edge of the earth) can comprehend the whole world, then I have to take Personal eccentricities thoroughly analyzed. I have to do it when you pester me about your children, your poems, your chilblains, or whatever you're doing or suffering from However, I will not be deceived. Although you seduce me so much, despite your pestering and prying, I will pass through this thin layer of sheets alone and fall into the abyss of burning flames. And You will not come to save me. You will let me fall, crueler than the ancient executioners, and you will tear me to pieces after I fall. But sometimes, the brain wall will get thinner and thinner, what Thoughts can seep in; and at these times I imagine: we can blow a gigantic bubble in which the sun can rise and sink, and we can steal the blue day and the black midnight all into our hands, Get out now, get out of the here and now." "The silence is dripping," said Bernard, "drop after drop. It gradually condenses on the eaves of the mind, and then drips into the pool below. Always alone, alone, alone,—listen Silence drips, and sweeps their dripping sound to the farthest horizon. I, who has been ruined by loneliness, let the silence drop drop after drop, with the vicissitudes of life, leisurely and middle-aged complacency. “但是现在，滴落的寂静把我的脸打得坑坑洼洼，把我的鼻子逐渐冲化，就像一个站在庭院里被雨水漂淋的雪人似的。随着寂静不停滴落，我被彻底消融，变得失去所有特点，几乎跟别人一模一样，难以分辨彼此。不过没有关系。能有什么关系呢？我们吃得不错。鱼，小牛排，酒，早已把自高自大者的尖利牙齿给磨钝了。焦躁不安的心理早已平息了。就连我们当中最爱好虚荣的人，可能是路易斯，也不再在乎别人会怎么想了。奈维尔的苦恼也已不复存在了。让别人去蒸蒸日上吧——这就是他心里想的。苏珊静听着她所有安然入睡的孩子们的鼻息声。睡吧，睡吧，她低声说。罗达早已把她的那些船摇到了岸边。如今它们究竟是沉没了还是安全下了锚，她已不再操心。我们随时愿意接受这样的说法，即这世界或许对任何人都给予了公平的机会。这会儿我在想，地球只不过是偶然从太阳表面飞出来的一块卵石，而且在宇宙的所有深渊中没有哪里存在着生命。” “在这片寂静中，”苏珊说，“好像从来不会有一片树叶坠落，或是有一只鸟儿飞翔。” “好像奇迹已经发生过了，”珍妮说，“生活就滞留在此时此地。” “因此，”罗达说，“我们再也没有什么可以去活的了。” “可是，听，”路易斯说，“这世界正穿越在无边无垠的宇宙的各种深渊里。它在轰鸣；被照亮的一小片历史已经不复存在，还有我们那些国王和王后；我们已经消逝；我们的文明；尼罗河；以及所有的生活。我们每个人的一点一滴也已消散无踪；我们灭绝、消失在时间的深渊和无底的黑暗之中。” “寂静在滴落；寂静在滴落，”伯纳德说，“然而现在你们听：滴嗒，滴嗒；呜呜，呜呜；世界已经在召唤我们回去呢。当我们刚才超越了生活时，有那么一会儿，我听见那怒号的黑暗之风。但随后又是滴嗒，滴嗒（这是钟声）；接着是呜呜，呜呜（这是汽车声）。我们登陆了；我们上岸了；我们，一共六个人，正围坐在这张桌子旁边。是对我的鼻子的回忆唤醒了我。我站起身；'战斗！'我喊道，'战斗！'同时回想着我的鼻子的形状，并且用这只汤勺好战地敲打着这张桌子。” “让我们反抗这种没有止境的混乱，”奈维尔说，“反抗这种不可名状的愚蠢吧。当一个士兵躲在树后跟一个女护士造爱时，他比所有的星星都值得钦佩。不过有时候，如果一颗闪烁的星星出现在清澈的天空，就会使我感到世界是美丽的，而我们这些蛆甚至会用我们的情欲把树木糟蹋得丑陋不堪。” （“可是，路易斯，”罗达说，“寂静仅仅持续了多么短促的一会儿啊。他们已经开始把他们的餐巾摆在盘子旁边，用手抚平整。'谁来了？'珍妮说；于是奈维尔叹了口气，想到珀西瓦尔再也不会来了。珍妮掏出了她的小镜子。她像个艺术家似的察看自己的脸，在鼻子下面扑了点儿粉，接着稍稍考虑一下，就在嘴唇上不深不浅、恰到好处地抹了抹口红。苏珊，瞧着这番打扮感到又鄙夷又害怕，她扣上她的大衣最上面的那颗钮扣，随后又把它解开了。她正准备去干什么呢？去干某件事情，但一定是与此不同的事情。” “他们都在自己对自己说着，”路易斯说，“'现在正是时候。我还精力旺盛着呢。'他们都在这样说。'我这张脸在无限宇宙的黑影衬托下，一定显得棱角分明。'他们没有把这个话题接着说下去。'现在正是时候。'他们一直在说这句话。'花园就要关门了。'跟着他们走在一起，罗达，就会卷入他们的洪流，也许我们应该悄悄落在后面一些。” “简直就像有什么事儿要悄悄商量的同谋犯。”罗达说。 ) “这倒是真的，”伯纳德说，“而且就在我们沿着这条林荫路走着的时候，我想起一件真实的事情，说的是有一位国王骑着马在这儿的一个鼹鼠丘上绊了一跤。不过，把一个头上戴着个金色茶壶的小小人像摆在那广漠无垠的宇宙中旋转不停的深渊面前，这也显得太奇怪了吧。一个人很容易就能恢复对各种人物的信任，但却不大容易很快就恢复对他头上所戴东西的信任。我们英国以往的历史——一英寸长的光辉而已。那时候人们往自己头上戴个茶壶，就宣称：'我是国王！'不，我是在我们一起走着的时候，想恢复我对时间的感觉，但由于这弥漫在眼前的黑暗，我已经失去了理解力，十分茫然。这座宫殿看上去轻飘飘的，就像一朵在天空中暂时停留的云彩。一个接一个地把国王扶上宝座，戴上冠冕——这只不过是人们头脑里想出来的恶作剧。而我们，这并肩而行的六个人，凭着我们自己身上那种我们称之为头脑和情感的杂乱无章的闪光，能去反抗什么呢，我们该怎样去跟这股潮流进行对抗呢；究竟什么东西才是持久不变的呢？我们的生命也同样是在沿着这些暗淡无光的林荫路，度过一段混沌不明的时间，悄悄地流逝。有一次奈维尔把一首诗塞到我手里。怀着一种突如其来的对永恒的信念，我曾经说过：'凡是莎士比亚懂的东西，我也全懂。'但那样的信念已经一去不复返了。” “真是又荒唐，又可笑，”奈维尔说，“当我们走着的时候，时间又回来了。这是由一条昂首阔步的狗引起的。机器在转动。岁月使那座大门显得古色古香。现在，与那条狗对照起来，三百年的时间似乎比转瞬即逝的一刹那也长不了多少。威廉王戴着假发骑在马上，而那些宫廷夫人身着用鲸骨撑开的绣花长裙曳过草地。就在我们一起走着的时候，我开始相信欧洲的命运是非常重要的，而且尽管听来似乎仍旧有些荒谬，但确实一切都决定于那次布莱尼姆战役。是的，在我们一起穿过这座大门时，我要宣布，现在正是时候；我现在成了乔治王的忠实臣民。” “我们顺着这条林荫路往前行走，”路易斯说，“我轻轻地靠在珍妮身上，伯纳德和奈维尔挽着手，苏珊的一只手握在我的手里，我们称自己是小孩子，祈求上帝在我们睡着时保佑我们安然无恙，这实在让人禁不住要掉眼泪。多么甜蜜啊，在一起唱着歌，为了驱除对黑暗的恐惧而拍着手掌，同时有库丽小姐在一旁奏着小风琴！” “那个大铁门已经关上了，”珍妮说，“时间的利齿已经停止它贪婪的吞食。我们已经战胜了宇宙的各种深渊，用口红，用粉，用薄膜似的手帕。” “我要抓住，我要紧紧地握住，”苏珊说，“我要牢牢地握住这只手，不管它是谁的手，用爱，用恨；谁的手都无所谓。” “一种平静的心情，一种超然的心情笼罩着我们，”罗达说，“我们享受着这种暂时的轻松感觉（这种毫无焦虑的平静心情并不常有），同时我们心灵的屋壁也变得透明起来。雷恩建造的宫廷像一首演奏给大厅里冷淡乏味的听众听的四重奏，样子是个长方形。长方形的上面摞着一个正方形。我们说：'这就是我们的住处。'现在，那座建筑已经可以看见了。几乎没有什么东西留在外面。” “那朵花，”伯纳德说，“当我们跟珀西瓦尔一起在饭店吃饭时插在桌子上花瓶里的那朵康乃馨，现在变成一朵有六枚花瓣的花；它包含着六种生活。” “在那些水松的映衬下，”路易斯说，“一片神秘的亮光清晰可见。” “它是经历了很多次痛苦，很多次努力才造出来的。”珍妮说。 “婚姻，死亡，旅行，友谊，”伯纳德说，“城市与乡村，儿女和其他种种；从一个多面体这片黑暗中分离出来；那是一朵具有多重面目的花。让我们停留一会儿；让我们瞧瞧我们造出来的东西吧。让它在水松树的衬托下闪光发亮吧。那是一种生活。就在那儿。它已经消逝了。它已经熄灭了。” “现在他们渐渐地消失不见了，”路易斯说，“苏珊和伯纳德。奈维尔和珍妮。我和你，罗达，在这座大理石坟墓旁边停了一会儿。我们到底会听到什么样的歌声呢；这几对已经寻找过了坟墓；现在，珍妮伸出她那戴着手套的手指点着，装模作样地看着那些睡莲，而苏珊，她一直爱着伯纳德，这会儿正在对他诉说：'我那毁灭了的人生，我那荒废了的人生。'还有奈维尔，他握着珍妮那抹着樱桃色指甲油的小手，正在湖边，在月光照耀的水边，喊着：'爱情啊，爱情啊'；而珍妮模仿着鸟儿的叫声，回答说：'爱情吗，爱情吗？'我们到底听到一些什么歌呀？” “他们朝着湖边走去，渐渐消失不见了，”罗达说，“他们偷偷摸摸地穿过草地溜走了，但又显得满有把握，好像他们曾请求我们对他们的古老特权大放慈悲——千万别去打扰。心灵的潮水是那样澎湃，那样汹涌；他们不得不抛开我们而去。黑暗淹没了他们的身体。我们到底听到了什么样的歌儿呀——猫头鹰的，夜莺的，还是雷恩的呢？轮船在轰隆轰隆地航行；电车轨道上光在不停地闪烁；树目在肃穆地摇摆身躯。耀眼的光幕笼罩在伦敦上空。这儿有一位老妇人，正在默默地往回走去，还有个男人，一个晚归的钓鱼人，正拿着钓竿从坡上走下来。任何一点声音，任何一个活动，都逃不开我们的注意。” “一只小鸟儿向巢里飞去，”路易斯说，“夜睁张着她的眼睛，在入睡之前向那些灌木丛匆匆扫视一遍。它们带给我们的这些纷纭复杂的信息，而且不只是它们，另外还有许许多多的死者，那些曾经在这一带出没过的、这个或那个皇帝统治下的小伙子和姑娘，成年男人和女人，我们该怎么做，才能将诸如此类的信息统统归纳在一起呢？” “一种沉重的东西融入黑夜，”罗达说，“把黑夜压垮了。每棵树都连着一片阴影，显得非常粗大，但那阴影并不是映在树背后的树影。我们听见一座正处在斋戒期的城市的屋顶上传来隆隆的鼓声，那里的土耳其人正饥肠辘辘，性情变幻莫测。我们听到他们正在像牡鹿长鸣似的尖声叫喊：'开门，开门。'请听那些尖啸的电车，听那些从电车轨道上尖啸而过的闪光物。我们听见山毛榉和白桦树举起它们的树枝，就像新娘让她的丝绸睡衣滑落在地，然后走到门前说：'开门吧，开门吧！'” “一切都显得富有生气，”路易斯说。“所以今天晚上，无论在哪儿我都听不见死亡的声息。你可能会认为，那个男人脸上的蠢劲，那个女人脸上的衰老，非常之强大，足以抵抗符咒，招来死亡。但是，今天晚上死亡在哪里？一切粗俗不堪的言行，鸡零狗碎的事情，形形色色的事物，全都像玻璃似的纷纷迸碎，融入边缘泛红的碧绿浪潮，浪潮卷携着数不清的鱼儿涌上海滩，消散在我们的脚下。” “如果我们能够一同攀登高峰，如果我们能够凭高远眺，”罗达说，“如果我们能够凌空而立——可是你，一点点赞扬欢笑的掌声就会使你怦然心动；而我，最讨厌人们嘴上的是非与毁谤，我只信赖孤独和不可抗拒的死亡，因此我们只好分道扬镳。” “永远分道扬镳，”路易斯说，“我们牺牲了在羊齿草丛中的拥抱，以及在湖边，在坟墓旁，像避免被人发现秘密的共谋者那样恋爱、恋爱、恋爱。但是现在，瞧，就在我们在这儿站着的时候，有一股细浪在地平线上碎裂了。渔网逐渐收了上来。它升到水面上。活蹦乱跳的银色小鱼搅碎了水面。它们跳动着，拍打着，被抛在了海岸上。生活把它的捕获物统统抛到了草地上。有几个人影朝着我们走来。他们是男人，还是女人？他们身上仍然穿着那身像流动的潮水一样模糊难辨的外衣，他们就是穿着这身外衣在水里浸泡过的。” “现在，”罗达说，“当他们走过那棵树的时候，他们又恢复了正常的形状。他们只不过是几个男人、几个女人而已。他们一脱下浪花的外衣，惊诧和畏惧的感觉就起了变化。同情心又回来了，因为他们出现在月光下，如同一支大军的残兵败卒，我们的影子，每天夜里（在这儿或者在希腊）走上战场，又在每天夜里带着满身创伤和残破的脸回来。现在光线又照到他们身上来了。他们都长着脸。他们变成了苏珊和伯纳德，珍妮和奈维尔，我们认识的人。这是多么令人沮丧的事情啊！这是多么令人不知所措、多么羞愧的事情啊！一阵熟悉的寒战、恐惧和憎恨传遍我的全身，我感到，他们扔在我们身上的那些钩子把我紧紧抓住，拖到了某个地方；还有这些问候，招呼，指头的点点戳戳和眼睛的注视搜索。但是他们只能讲话，而他们一开口说的那些话，那种熟悉的腔调，那种总是跟你的期望背道而驰的内容，和那种总是重新从黑暗中勾起千百件往事的手势，全都让我大失所望。” “好像有某种东西在摇曳跳动，”路易斯说，“当他们沿着林荫路走过来时，幻象又出现了。又开始夸夸其谈，问这问那了。我对你有什么的想法，——你对我有什么想法？你是一个什么的人？我又是一个什么样的人？——这些又重新在我身上激起一种局促不安的情绪，脉搏跳动加快了，眼睛也发亮了；那种如果没有它，生活就会变得平淡无奇、死气沉沉的个人生存中的全部疯狂劲头，都又出现了。他们来到我们身边。南方的太阳在这座坟墓上空闪耀；我们起身投入那狂暴无情的大海的浪潮。当我们迎接他们——苏珊和伯纳德，奈维尔和珍妮的归来时，愿上帝佑助我们扮演自己的角色。” “我们的出现好像破坏了什么东西，”伯纳德说，“也许是一个世界。” “可是我们简直喘不过气来了，”奈维尔说，“我们是如此精疲力竭。我们正陷在一种疲惫不堪和什么也不想干的精神状态，我们现在仅有的渴望是能够重新回到我们当初离开的母亲的体内。除此以外，一切都是乏味的，被迫的，令人厌倦的。珍妮的黄色披巾在眼前的光线中呈现出飞蛾似的颜色；苏珊的两眼显得暗淡无光。我们几乎都跟那条河水难分彼此。只有一截烟蒂是我们当中唯一醒目的东西。我们的全部心情都带着黯淡的色彩，只觉得应当撇下你们，挣脱一切；顺从内心的愿望去独自挤出某些苦水，某些同时也带点甜味的毒汁。但是现在，我们已经精疲力竭了。” “在我们度过如火的激情之后，”珍妮说，“再没有什么东西可以留下来放到项链上的小铁盒里去了。” “我仍在打着呵欠，”苏珊说，“我就像一只稚嫩的小鸟，不知满足地渴望得到某种我已错过的东西。” “走开之前，让我们再停留一会儿吧，”伯纳德说，“让我们在几乎没有旁人的情况下独自在这河边的斜坡上慢慢走走吧。上床睡觉的时间就要到了。人们都已回家去了。现在，望着河对岸那些小店主卧室里的灯光渐渐熄灭，该是多么惬意的事情啊。那儿有一盏——那边儿又有一盏。你们认为他们今天的收入怎么样？刚刚够付房租，付电灯费，买食物和孩子们穿的衣服。而且也只是勉强刚够。这些小店主卧室里的灯光使我们多么深切地体会到：生活毕竟还是可以忍受下去的啊！星期六到了，身上也许刚好有几个能买几张电影票的钱。熄灯之前，他们也许会到小花园里，去瞧瞧那只卧在木板窝里的大兔子。这只兔子是他们为星期天准备的午餐。之后他们就熄灭灯。接着他们就睡觉了。对成千上万的人来说，睡觉只是意味着温暖、宁静和做一些不切实际的梦。'我已经把信，'那个卖蔬菜的人想，'寄给了《礼拜天》日报。假使我在这场足球赛中能够赢五百镑赌注呢？那我们就杀了那只兔子。生活真是愉快。生活真是美好。我已经把信寄了出去。我们将杀了那只兔子。'接着，他睡着了。 “生活在继续。听。那边传来的声音仿佛是车皮正在旁轨上碰撞。那是我们生活中一件接一件事情的恰当衔接。碰撞，碰撞，碰撞。必须，必须，必须。必须走，必须睡，必须醒来，必须起床——这些严肃而宽大的字眼，我们总是装模作样地咒骂它们，同时又总是把它们牢牢地记在心里，离开了它们，我们就只有完蛋。我们是多么敬仰这种如同车皮在旁轨上碰撞、衔接似的声响啊！ “现在，我听见从河的下游远远传来合唱声；那是那些喜欢吹牛皮的小子们的歌声，他们在拥挤的轮船甲板上出游了一整天之后，现在正乘着一辆大游览车归来。他们仍然唱着歌儿，就像他们从前经常做的那样，唱着歌儿，在冬天的夜晚穿过院子，或者在夏天让屋子的窗户敞开着，喝醉了酒，乱砸家具，头上戴着有条纹的小圆帽，当大马车转过拐角处的时候齐刷刷地转过头来；而我那时非常渴望能和他们在一起。 “随着这歌声，随着这打着旋的河水和这隐约可闻的微风的细语，我们正在失去什么呢！我们身上许多小小的部分正在化为乌有。好啦！现在，某种极其重要的东西降临了。我再也支持不下去了。我要睡着了。但是我们必须走；必须去赶火车；必须走着回到车站——必须，必须，必须。我们只不过是几具肩挨着肩、摇摇晃晃地走着的躯体。我只是凭着我脚上的酸痛和两条腿的疲乏而存在着。我们好像已经走了好几个小时了。但走了些什么地方？我记不起来了。我就像一根木头，平稳地顺着一道瀑布滑行。我并不是法官。没有谁要我讲出我的观点。在这种晦暗的光线下，所有的房子和树都是一个模样。那是一个邮筒吗？那是一个妇女在走路吗？车站到了，如果火车把我轧成了两半，我也会在那一边重新连在一起，成为一个整体，成为无法分割的整体。然而，让人不可思议的是，即使在此刻，即使在熟睡中，我的右手里仍然紧紧捏着我到滑铁卢站去的那半张回程票。”