Chapter 17 Chapter Thirteen I am determined to go on

When I started towards Greenwich instead of chasing the young man with the donkey cart, I may not have thought of running all the way there.If I had had that thought, I would have come out of this daze very quickly, for I had stopped in front of a row of houses on the Kent High Road.There was a pool in front of the house, and in the middle of the pool was a big statue of a fool blowing a dried shell.There I sat on the front step, so worn out with my previous efforts that I had hardly strength left to cry over my lost chest and half guinea. By this time it was dark; and as I sat resting, I heard the clock strike ten o'clock.Fortunately, it was a summer night and the weather was fine.I caught my breath, and I no longer felt the tightness and dryness in my throat, so I stood up and walked forward.Despite my depression, I had no thoughts of turning back.Even if there is a heavy snow in Switzerland on this Kent road, I don't think I will want to go back.

But my present funds were only threepence (I still believe at this moment that I still can't figure out how I had three pence left in my pocket on Saturday), and this situation is not because I go on. It bothers me.I began to imagine that, within a day or two, under some fence my body was found, and it became a story in the papers.I walked forward with difficulty but still as fast as I could, and didn't stop until I came to a small shop.The small shop stated that it bought men's and women's clothes, and bought rags, bones and kitchen supplies at a high price.The proprietor was sitting in the doorway without a coat, smoking; and since there were so many coats and trousers hanging from the low ceiling, and there were only two lighted candles in the shop to dimly illuminate these things, I imagined him like Like a man who is bent on revenge, once he hangs all his enemies, he will be complacent.

My recent experience with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber reminds me that there may be a way to save the day.I went to a nearby alley, took off my vest, folded it under my arm; then I came to the door of the shop. "I'm sorry, sir," I said, "but I'll sell it for a fair price." Mr. Doroby—at least, this Doroby is the name of the shop—took up his waistcoat, leaned his pipe upside down on the doorpost, and led me in, and after pinching the wick with his fingers, He unfolded the vest on the counter, looked at it, held it up to the light, looked at it for a moment, and finally said:

"Here, just such a small vest, what price do you want to sell it for?" "Oh, sir, you know best," I replied humbly. "But I can't be buyer and seller at the same time," said Mr. Doroby. "Put a price on the vest." "Then eighteenpence—" I beckoned after a moment's hesitation. Mr. Doroby handed it back to me in one roll. "If I'd give ninepence for it," said he, "I'd be robbing my house." That's not a good way to do business, because it would force a stranger like me to ask Mr. Doroby to rob his house for me.But I was so embarrassed that I said I would sell it for ninepence if he would.Mr Doroby gave me ninepence, not without complaint.I said good-bye to him and walked out of the shop, more money and less vest, but as long as I buttoned my coat it was all right.

Indeed, I had clearly foreseen that my coat would soon be taken off me, and that I must hurry, so that I could get to Dover in a shirt and trousers - and I would be lucky if I could get there in those clothes. .However, I was not preoccupied with it at the time, as is generally supposed.I think that when I set out on the road again with the ninepence in my pocket, apart from the general impression of the road ahead of me and the young man in the donkey cart who had bullied me so roughly, I didn't have a very urgent sense of my difficulties. I have thought of a plan for an overnight stay, which I shall begin at once.The plan: to sleep behind my old school, where there was often hay piled in the corner.I imagined that being so close to those students and the bedroom where I used to talk in the past was like having a companion; although the students didn't even know that I was coming, the bedroom couldn't protect me.

I've had enough work for the day, and when I finally make it to Blaises Flat, I'm exhausted.I struggled a lot to find Salem School, but I finally found it, and I found the haystack in the corner, and I lay down beside it.But before I lay down, I walked around the wall and looked up at the windows, and I could see that the windows were dark and still.I will never forget the dreary feeling of sleeping for the first time without a roof over my head! Sleep fell upon me as it fell that night on other vagrants rejected by the gates and chased away by the dogs.I dreamed that I was lying on the bed of the old school, talking with my classmates in the bedroom; when I woke up, I found myself sitting upright, saying Steerforth's name in my mouth, and looking blankly at the twinkling stars above my head .As I remembered where I was at this hour when I shouldn't have woken up, a feeling crept over me, and I stood up and wandered about in nameless terror.But the fading of the stars, and the paleness of the sky where the sun was about to rise, reassured me; and as my eyes felt heavy, I lay down again and fell asleep--though in sleep I knew it was cold - sleeping until the warm rays of the sun and the wake-up bell at Salem's school woke me up.If I could have hoped that Steerforth was still there, I would hide somewhere about until he came out alone; but I know he must have been out of there long ago.Traddles was still there, perhaps, but it is hard to say; and I do not have much confidence in his prudence and good luck (though I do have much confidence in his good temper).And go and tell him about me.So, before Mr. Creeker's pupils got up, I stole away from the school walls and up the dusty Dover road.I knew it was the Dover Highway when I was one of the students, but I never thought it would be me that people would see walking on it.

How different this Sunday morning was from the old Sunday mornings in Yarmouth!As I walked forward step by step, at the time of worship, I heard church bells ringing, I saw people going to church, I passed one or two churches where worship services were being held, and the singing of hymns came into the sunlight, The church assistants either sat under the profile or under the shade of the yew trees to enjoy the shade. They put their hands on their brows and frowned when they saw me pass by.The serenity and repose of Sunday mornings of yesteryear reigned over all but me.The difference is here.My grime and unkempt hair made me feel unseemly.If it weren't for the quiet picture I made in my imagination (where I drew my beautiful young mother sitting by the fire weeping, and my great-aunt who was kind to her), I would It's hard to believe that I have the courage to go on to the next day.But that painting always led me away in front of me.

I walked twenty-three miles that very Sunday on the straight road, though not an easy walk--for I was not used to it.As dusk fell, I came out on Rochester Bridge feeling my feet ache and my body go weak, and I just ate the bread I had bought for supper.A little house or two labeled "Traveler's Home" tempted me, but I was afraid of spending the few pennies I had, and still less of the horrors of the vagrants I had seen or caught, so , I will not seek any accommodation except sleeping in the open.After much toil, I came to Chatham, a place that seemed dreamlike at night, a dreamland of chalk and temporary bridges and that sailless sailboat like Noah's ark in the murky water.I managed to climb up a grassy fort with a path under it and a sentinel walking up and down there.I lay down near a cannon.Though the sentry below knew no more about me lying above than the students of Salem's school knew about me sleeping outside the wall, I was glad to have the sound of his footsteps as company.I slept soundly there and didn't wake up until dawn.

In the morning, my feet were not only sore but stiff, and the sound of the drums and the march of the army made me dazed, and I walked down a narrow and long street, as if I had been killed by the army. surrounded from all sides.I realized that if I had to save my energy to get to the finish line, I would only be able to walk a little that day, so I decided to make selling my coat the main task of the day.So I took off my coat, also to learn how to live without it, tucked it under my arm, and started touring the estimates. It was a good place to sell coats, because there were countless used clothes dealers there, and, generally speaking, they waited for customers at the door.As most of them always hung a coat or two with eminent epaulets among their wares, I was so overwhelmed by the splendor of their business that I walked away for a long time without showing my wares to Any businessman looks.

As a result of my timidity I was obliged to turn my attention to the sailor's shop, and the kind (such as Mr. Doroby's) which suited me better than the usual ones.At last, at the corner of a dirty alley, I found what I thought looked like a promising house, close to a fence overgrown with stinging nettles, some of which seemed to have flooded from a clothes shop before the fence. Outflow of old sailor clothes.Among some hammocks, rusty muskets, oilskin hats, and some trays containing so many kinds of old rusty keys—enough to open all the doors in the world—the clothes floated. Trembling down a few steps, I entered this low and small clothing store.There was a small window in the store, and it was also covered with clothes, so instead of being bright, the store was made darker.I didn't feel relieved when an ugly old man came running from a dirty cave behind the shop and grabbed my hair; the lower half of his face was completely hidden by a stubble gray beard.He looked terrible, and he wore a dirty flannel vest, and he smelled heavily of wine.His bed, covered with a colorful patched sheet, was tucked into the hole he had just crawled out of, which also had a small window revealing more stinging nettles and a lame donkey.

"Oh, what are you doing here?" the old man bared his teeth, and said in a frightening nasal voice, "Oh, my eyes, arms and legs, what are you doing here? Oh, my lungs, what are you doing here? Oh, Gulu , Gollum!" This series of words, especially the unfamiliar word repeated at the end-it was the sound that came out of his throat-stood me too frightened to answer; so, still holding my hair, the old man said: "Oh, what are you doing here? Oh, my eyes, arms and legs, what are you doing here? My lungs and liver, what are you doing here? Oh, Gulu!" He spent a lot of effort, even his eyes protruding, before squeezing out the last that grunt. "I wonder," I said tremblingly, "if you want to buy a coat." "Oh, let's see the coat!" said the old man. "Oh, my heart is burning, show us the coat! Oh, my eyes, arms and legs, show us the coat!" said he, pulling his trembling hand like a bird's claw from my hair; then he put on a pair of spectacles, though they did not add much luster to his inflamed eyes. "Oh, what's the coat for?" cried the old man, when he had seen it. "Oh, Gollum!—what's the coat for?" "Half a crown," I answered calmly. "Oh, my lungs," cried the old man, "no, my eyes, no! Oh, my arms and legs, no! Eighteenpence. Grumble!" Whenever he said that, his eyes looked like they were going to bulge out in danger of falling; he said every word in the same intonation, it was like a gust of wind, first low and then high and finally low again, and I couldn't find it. There is no better analogy than this. "Well then," said I, glad to have done the deal, "I'll take eighteenpence." "Oh, my liver!" cried the old man, throwing his coat on a shelf. "Go out of the shop! Oh, my lungs, out of the shop! Oh, my eyes and arms and legs—grumble!—don't ask for money, trade it for something else." Never in my life--before or since--had I been so frightened; but I told him in a low voice that I needed money, and nothing else was of use to me, but I didn't need him, I could go outside and wait. with.I went outside and sat in the shade in a corner.I sat there for so many hours, and the shadows turned into sunlight, and the sunlight turned into shadows, and I still sat there, waiting for the money. I hope there are no more crazy drunks like that in that line of business now.I soon learned from the attacks on him by the children that he was famous in the neighborhood as a drunkard, and enjoyed the reputation of having sold himself out to the devil.The kids kept coming to attack the store, yelling stories like that, telling him to get his gold out: "You know, Charlie, you're not poor, you're pretending to be poor. Get your gold out. You put your Sold yourself to the devil, get some of your gold. Come on! The gold's sewn in the mattress, Charlie. Unravel the mattress, and let's get some!" These cries, and The suggestion of borrowing a knife to unmask him so enraged him that he kept rushing out all day, and the children kept running.Sometimes he was so angry that he would rush at me as if I were one of them, saying that he would tear me apart, but just in time he remembered who I was and went into the shop again. .I could tell from his voice that he was in bed again.In his windy tone, he yelled "Nelson's Death" like crazy, and added an "Oh!" It didn't get enough of me just because I sat outside the store disheveled and patient and determined, and the kids thought I was with the "store" and threw stones at me and ravaged me all day long. He tried many ways to induce me to agree to exchange for something else.Now he produced a fishing rod, now a fiddle, once a peaked hat, and another time a flute.I sat there helpless, refusing all his proposals; each time I tearfully begged him to return my money or my clothes.At last he began to pay me halfpenny at a time.It took another two hours before it was added up to one shilling little by little. "Oh, my eyes, arms and legs!" he cried, after a long time, viciously, out of the shop door, "and two pence more, and you will go?" "I can't," I said, "I'll starve to death." "Oh, my liver, threepence, will you go?" "I'd go for nothing if I could," I said, "but I need the money badly." "Oh, goo-ooo!" I really can't describe the appearance of him when he yelled like that, when he showed me just a little of his old cunning head from behind the doorpost. "Fourpence, will you go?" I was so weak and so tired that I agreed to the number.My hands trembled as I took the money from his paws.It was already sunset, and I left hungry and thirsty.After another threepence had been spent, I soon recovered, and as I was in better spirits, I limped another seven miles. This night, my bed was under another pile of hay, and I washed my soaked feet in a small river, wrapped them as best I could in cool leaves, and slept comfortably under the hay.When I set out again the next morning, I found that the road ran through a series of hop fields and orchards.It was the season when the orchards were dyed red by overripe apples, and workers had already started working in several hop fields.I thought all this was so beautiful, so I imagined the long rows of stalks wrapped in green leaves as lovely companions, and decided to sleep among the hops that night. The bums I met that day were worse than usual, and still scare me.Some of them were vile-looking gangsters who stared at me as I walked by, or stopped and told me to go back and talk to them.When I ran away, they threw stones at me.I remember a young guy - I judged he was a tinker from his tool bag and charcoal stove - he was with a woman, staring at me and yelling at me so loudly Back so that I stopped and looked around. "Come, if you're called," said the tinker, "or I'll tear your little head apart!" I think turning back is the best policy.I approached them, trying to comfort the tinkerer with a smile on my face, when I also noticed that one of the woman's eyes was blue and swollen. "Where are you going?" said the tinker, grabbing the front of my shirt. "I'm going to Dover," I said. "Where did you come from?" asked the Tinker, twisting his grip on my shirt and tightening my grip. "I'm from London," I said. "What do you do?" asked the Tinker. "Are you a little pickpocket?" "No-yes-yes," I said. "No? Tell the truth! If you try to lie to me," said the Tinker, "I'll blow your brains out." He gestured with his free hand, and then looked me over from head to toe. "Have you enough money for a pint of beer?" said the Tinker. "If you have, take it, and don't let me do it!" If I hadn't met the woman's eyes and seen her shaking her head slightly and mouthing the word "no", I would have taken it out. "I'm poor," I said with a forced smile, "I have no money left." "Aha, what do you mean?" The tinker said and looked at me coldly. I was afraid that he had seen the money in my pocket. "Sir." I stammered. "You wear my brother's silk scarf," said the Tinker. "What's the meaning of this? Here!" he took my scarf from my neck and threw it to the woman. The woman laughed out loud, as if she thought it was just a joke.She threw the scarf back to me, nodded slightly as before, and made a "go" mouth.Before I could move away, the Tinker snatched the scarf from my hand, wound it carelessly around his own neck, and pushed me away like a feather.He then turned to the woman, cursing and knocking her down.I saw her fall backwards on the hard pavement and lie there.Her hat fell off and her hair turned white in the dust.I will never forget that scene.When I was far away, I looked back and saw her sitting on the sidewalk—it was an embankment by the side of the road—wiping the blood off her face with the corner of her shawl, while he walked on. I will never forget that scene. no. This adventure frightened me so much that from now on, when I saw such people approaching, I retreated to a place where I could hide, and stayed there until they were too far away for me to see them.This happened so often that my travels were greatly delayed.But even in this difficulty, as in the face of all other difficulties along the way, I always seemed to be supported and led by the picture of my mother, who was in my prime before I was born. mother.This picture has never left my mind.It was there when I lay down among the hops for the night, and it walked with me in the morning when I was on my way; it went ahead of me all the time.Since then it has always been in my mind associated with the sunny Canterbury Street, which seemed to sleep in the heat of the summer heat, and with its old houses, its gates, and its majestic gray with so many rooks flying around its roof. churches together.When at last I came to the wild and wide moor near Dover, it was again the picture which softened the desolation of the scene with hope.During the five days of my escape, before I reached the most important destination of my travels, before I actually entered the town, the picture never left me.But it’s strange to say that I put on my worn-out shoes and barely supported my ragged body, which had suffered from the wind, the sun, and the sun, and stood at the place I had been looking forward to for a long time. At this moment, the picture disappeared like a dream. I fell into the depression of loneliness again. I first asked the boatmen about my aunt and grandma, and got various answers.One said she burned off her beard while living in a lighthouse in South Forland.One said she was tied to a large buoy outside the harbor and was only visible during the time between tides.A third said she was in Maconton Prison on charges of stealing children.A fourth said that she had been seen riding on a broom during the last gale, flying straight for Calais.I went to ask the coachmen again, and they were just as joking and not serious.Finally, I asked the shopkeepers, who didn't like the way I looked, and generally said without listening to me that they had nothing to get rid of me.I now feel that this is the saddest and most difficult moment since my escape.I have spent all my money, and have nothing else to sell; I am hungry, I am thirsty, I am tired; I seem as far from my destination as I am in London. That morning went on inquiring and visiting. I was sitting on the steps of an empty shop on a street corner near the market. I was thinking about the places I mentioned before. cloth.The kindness in his face when I gave it to him gave me the courage to ask him if he could tell me where Miss Trotwood lived.I've asked this question so many times that I can barely speak this time. -------- ① Calais is a place name in France, which is across the English Channel from Britain. (Translator's Note) "Trowwood," he said, "let me see. I know that name too. Old woman?" "Yes," I said, "exactly." "Stand straight?" He straightened up and said. "Yes," I said, "I suppose so." "With a bag?" he said. "A big bag--queer and strict?" My heart sank when I admitted that this description was undoubtedly true. "Well, I'll tell you," he said, "when you get there," he pointed to the hillsides with his whip, "just go straight to the right, and when you get to some houses facing the sea, I think you'll be able to inquire Here she is. I don't think she'll give you anything. Here, this penny is for you." I gratefully accepted the bounty, and bought a loaf of bread.While eating, I walked in the direction the friend pointed. After walking for a long time, I still haven't reached the houses he mentioned.At last I saw some houses ahead; and when I got there, I went into a little store, the kind we used to call a grocery store back home.I went in and asked people to tell me where Miss Trowood lived.I said this to a man behind the counter who was weighing rice for a young woman; but the woman turned away thinking I was asking her. "My boss?" she said. "What do you want from her, little one." "I suppose," I replied, "talk to her, will you?" "Beg from her, you think?" said the girl. "No," I said, "it's not." But then I realized that I had come here for no other purpose, and I was so frightened that I couldn't speak, and I felt my face burn. My aunt's maid--so I infer from what she said--put the rice in a little basket and went out of the shop; and she told me that if I wanted to know where Miss Trotwood lived I should go with her.That's all I wanted; but I was so excited that my legs were shaking underneath.I followed the young woman, and soon came to a neat little house with small bright semi-circular windows and a small quadrangle covered with stones in front of the house. A small garden filled with carefully cultivated and fragrant flowers. "This is Miss Trotwood's house," said the young woman; "well, you know, that's all I can say." Then she hurried into the house, as if to bring me here. Push the relationship cleanly.I was left standing before the garden gate, looking sullenly over the door into the drawing-room window.There are gauze curtains hanging on the windows, but the middle of the gauze curtains is left open.Through the window sills, you can see a large curved green screen or a fan, as well as a small table and a big chair. I can't help but think that my aunt might just be sitting there with a gloomy look. My shoes were then in a most miserable state, the soles were falling off in pieces, and the uppers were so torn that they could no longer be considered shoes.My hat (which I also use as a nightcap) is so flat and wrinkled that even a broken pick that has been thrown out of its handle on the rubbish heap would not be ashamed to compare it with it.My shirt and trousers were stained with heat, dew, grass clippings, Kentish dirt (on which I slept), plus rags, and when I stood at the door, the birds in my aunt's little yard My son was also frightened.I haven't had a comb and brush in my hair since I left London.Unaccustomed to the sun and wind, my face, neck and hands were baked a purplish brown.I was covered in chalk and sand from head to toe, as if I had just come out of a lime kiln.Just this look, and a strong self-consciousness about that look, I waited to introduce myself to my stern aunt and make her accept my first impression. For a moment the time passed, and the drawing-room window remained so still, that I thought she might not be there.I looked up at the upper window, and saw a man with gray hair and a happy expression standing there. He closed one eye strangely, nodded and shook his head at me, smiled again, and walked away. Distraught enough already, I was made even more distraught by this unexpected movement, so I was going to walk away and figure out what to do with it.At that moment a woman came out of the house, with another kerchief on her hat, gardening gloves, a large gardening bag like a tax collector's apron, and a large knife in her hand.I knew at once that she was Miss Bessie, for she came out of the house in exactly the same manner my poor mother used to describe her entering our Blandstone's Crow's Nest garden. "Go away!" said Miss Bessie, shaking her head, and slashing the knife in the air. "Go away! Boys are not allowed here!" I watched her tremblingly as she came to a corner of the garden and stooped to dig the roots of a young tree.My courage was exhausted, and I only had the idea of ​​fighting it out, so I walked over gently, stood beside her, and touched her with my fingers. "I'm sorry, ma'am," I began. She looked up in surprise. "I'm sorry, auntie." "Er hey?" cried Miss Betsy, and I've never heard anyone speak in such a startled tone. "I'm sorry, auntie. I'm your grandson." "Oh, God!" said my aunt, and sat down on the garden path. "I'm David Copperfield, from Blandstone, Suffolk - you went there the night I was born and met my dear mother. I was very sorry when she died. Happy, I was left out, unable to go to school and forced to earn a living independently, doing hard work that was not suitable for me. So I ran to you. I was robbed as soon as I left, so I had to walk all the way. After I left, I Didn't go to bed." At this point all my self-control was gone; I moved my hands to show her my rags, to testify to my misery, but I burst into tears. When I woke up, I thought this cry had been in my heart for a whole week. My aunt sat on the stone with a surprised expression on her face and stared at me; as soon as I started crying, she got up quickly, grabbed my collar, and led me into the living room.In the living room, the first thing she did was unlock a tall kitchen, took out several bottles from it, and poured a little of each bottle's contents into my mouth.I think she pulled out the bottles without thinking, because I'm sure to this day that I tasted fennel juice, fish sauce, salad oil.Since I was still so sad and couldn't control my sobs, she threw me these tonics and put me on the couch, put a shawl under my head, and took her hood off her head and put it under my feet so that I don't get the slipcover dirty.Then she sat behind that big green fan or screen I said before, so that I couldn't see her face; every minute she cried "God!" like a trumpet cannon. After some time, she rang the bell. "Jenny," said my aunt to the maid who came in, "go upstairs and say hello to Mr. Dick for me, and say I want to speak to him." I lay upright on the sofa (I was afraid that I would offend my aunt if I moved a little), and Jenny was a little surprised when she saw it, but she went to carry out the order anyway.My aunt walked back and forth in the living room with her hands behind her back, until the man who winked at me from the upstairs window walked in with a smile. "Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "don't be stupid, because no one knows better than you if you will. We all know that. So don't be stupid at all costs." The man immediately became serious and looked at me.It seemed to me that he was going to beg me never to mention the window. "Mr. Dick," said my aunt, "did you hear me say anything about David Copperfield? Well, don't pretend you don't remember, because you and I know what happened." "David Copperfield?" said Mr. Dick, not quite remembering, I think. "David Copperfield? Oh, yes, of course. David, indeed." "Well," said my aunt, "this is his child—his son. If the child is not like his mother, it will be like his father." "His son?" said Mr. Dick. "Son of David? Absolutely true." "Yes," continued my aunt, "he's done a good job. He got away. Oh, and his sister, Bessie Trowood, would never have run away." My aunt shook her head firmly, expressing express her faith in the character and conduct of the girl who never came to earth. "Oh! You think she won't run away?" said Mr. Dick. "My God! look at this man!" cried my aunt, very rudely. "What's that? Don't I know she can't? She'll live with her godmother and aunt, We shall love each other. I should like to ask you, where will his sister, Bessie Trowood, run away from, or go to?" "She won't run," said Mr. Dick. "Well then," my aunt softened after hearing this answer, "you are as sharp as a surgeon's lancet, Dick, how can you pretend to be stupid? Now, you look at the David Copperfield, Jr., I ask you a question: What am I going to do with him?" "What will you do with him?" said Mr. Dick, scratching his hair timidly. "Oh! what will you do with him?" "Yes," said my aunt, holding up her fingers gravely, "hey! I want a very decent proposal." "Well, if I were you," Mr. Dick thought carefully, looking at me blankly, "I must—" He seemed to have an unexpected thought inspired by looking at me, and then Added very lightly, "I'll make sure to clean him up!" "Jenny," said my aunt, feeling triumphantly calm--but I didn't understand it then--and turning around, "Mr. Dick showed us all the right thing to do. Boil the bathwater!" Interesting as this conversation was, I could not help observing my aunt, Mr. Dick, and Jenny while it was going on, so that my observation of the room as a whole might be considered complete. My aunt was tall and stern, but not ugly.There was a fortitude in her face, in her voice, in her gait, which speaks of the influence she used to have on so weak a being as my mother; Although the face is firm and serious.What I especially noticed was that she had a pair of very clever and bright eyes.Her gray hair was parted simply and plainly, under what I took to be a kind of turban (I mean the cap, which was more fashionable then than it is now, with straps around the neck on either side).She was dressed in light purple, neat and tidy, but a tight fit, as if she wanted to be as intrusive as possible.I remember thinking her outfit looked a lot like a riding suit with the unnecessary hem cut off.She had a gold watch on her lapel, with a chain and some charms; if I could judge from its size and shape, it must have been for a man.There was something at her throat roughly the size of a shirt collar, and what looked like a shirt cuff sticking out of her wrist. Mr. Dick, as I said before, was rosy-complexioned and gray-haired.关于他，除了前面所说的以外，他的头还特别怪地垂着，但这并非因年龄才如此，他那样垂着头使我想到克里克尔先生的一个学生挨打后的样子；他的灰眼睛大而凸起，并且水汪汪地亮得特别，加上他那心不在焉的神态，还有他对我姨奶奶的服从，以及听到姨奶奶的称赞时他那孩子样的高兴劲，这都使我怀疑他有点疯疯颠颠的。可是，如果他真是疯疯颠颠的，那他又怎么到这里的呢，这我可一点儿也想不通。他的穿着和别的普通男子一样，穿着很宽松的灰色晨装，白长裤；表放在裤口袋里，钱放在上衣口袋里。他还把钱晃得哗拉拉响，就像炫耀自己有钱一样。 珍妮是个健美的年轻女子，很好看，大约有十九或二十岁，像是一幅整洁至极的图画。虽然当时我尚未作深入的观察，但我在这里可以把我后来得到的看法提一提，那就是：她是我姨奶奶的一串学员之一，我姨奶奶一心专教她们和男人疏远，而她们通常都通过嫁面包师来表示她们绝不与男人来往的决心。 那个房间就像珍妮或我姨奶奶一样整洁。就在刚才我放下笔回忆那房间时，带着花香的海风又吹进来了；我还又看见擦得铮亮的老式家具，弧形窗里绿扇子附近我姨奶奶的那把凛然的大椅子和桌子，粗毛地毯，壶架，两只金丝雀，古磁器，装满干玫瑰叶的酒罐，放置各种器皿的高橱架，还有和这一切极不协调的——脏兮兮躺在沙发上打量这一切的我。 珍妮去烧洗澡水了。突然，我姨奶奶被吓得不能动弹，好不吃力才叫了出来道：“珍妮！驴呀！”我也被她这样子吓住了。 一听她这叫声，珍妮忙冲下楼，好像这房子起了火一样。珍妮一下蹦到房前一块草地上，把那斗胆闯到草地上的驮着女人的两头驴赶跑了；我姨奶奶从屋里冲到外面，抓住另一头驮着一个孩子的驴的勒绳，把它拽出这片圣地，然后给那赶驴的倒楣顽婆一记耳光，因为她居然敢亵渎那神圣不可侵犯的地方。 直到现在，我也不知道我姨奶奶对那块草地有什么合法特权；但她自认为是有的，是否合法对她都一样。她一生都认为让驴从那块圣洁的地皮上走过是犯罪，应受严厉惩罚。不管她在做什么，也不管她所参加的谈话对她多么有趣，只要一头驴子出现就会改变她的想法，使她马上冲到那里去。在一些秘密的地方藏着水瓶和喷壶，准备被用来喷洒来犯的小伙子们身上；门后还藏有棍棒；反击随时都发生，战争不断进行。也许，在赶驴的少年们看来，这又刺激又有趣；也许驴中较聪明者亦明白个中奥妙，怀着与生俱来的执拗，偏爱从那儿走过。我只知道，在洗澡水烧好现有三次警情，最后那次也最严重，我看到姨奶奶和一个红头发的十五岁的少年交战，在他还没摸清头脑前，他的红头发就被我姨奶奶拽住了并被抓着向她门上撞。这些插曲使我觉得特滑稽好笑，因为当时她正用一把汤匙喂我汤（她坚信我处于十分饥饿的状态中，开始进补只能一点点地进行），当我刚张开嘴等汤匙时，她却把匙子放回盆里，大叫“珍妮！驴呀！”并冲去进攻了。 洗澡实是很大的享受。我开始感到因曾睡在野地而四肢疼痛，而我又那么疲乏虚弱，几乎无法让眼连续睁开五分钟。我洗澡了后，她们——姨奶奶和珍妮——给我穿上本是狄克先生的衬衣和裤子，又用两或三条披巾把我裹上。我像一捆什么呢，我也说不上，但我觉得是热哄哄的一捆。我觉得很乏，极想睡，很快就又倒到沙发上睡着了。 也许是久已在我脑中出现的幻想使我做了那么个梦。我醒来还觉得是那么回事——姨奶奶曾来过，向我俯下，把我的头发从我脸上轻轻撩开，把我的头摆得更舒服些，然后站在那里看着我。我耳边似乎响过“可爱的小人”或“可怜的小人”这类话；可我醒来时，却实实在在找不出任何证明可让我相信那些话乃出自姨奶奶之口，她当时正坐在弧形窗前那可以转来转去的绿扇子后看大海呢。 我醒后不久，大家就一起吃烤鸡和布丁。我坐在桌旁，有点像只被绑住翅膀的鸟一样艰难地运动我的双臂。不过，是姨奶奶把我给捆成这样的，我也就对此不便有什么抱怨了。我一直急于想知道她要把我怎么处置，可她吃着饭，一言不发，只偶或看看坐在对面的我，并说句“天哪！”这丝毫不能使我的不安减轻半分。 桌布撤去后，摆上来的是种葡萄酒，我也喝了一杯那酒。姨奶奶又把狄克先生请来和我们坐在一起。姨奶奶请狄克先生听我的故事，他就尽可能装出很明白事理的模样。在姨奶奶一连串的问题下，我的故事被引了出来。我讲述时，她不住朝狄克先生看，如果他不这么做，我想他准会睡着。每当他微笑时，我姨奶奶就皱眉头，这下又把他的微笑给挡回去了。 “那可怜的不幸的'吃奶娃娃'究竟被什么迷了神智，竟要再嫁？”我说完后，姨奶奶道：“我真想不出。” “也许她爱上她的后夫呢，”狄克先生提示道。 “爱上了！”姨奶奶重复道，“你这是什么意思？她为什么会这样？” “也许，”狄克先生思忖了一会儿又说道，“她为了享乐才这样做。” “享乐，的确！”姨奶奶接着说，“那个'吃奶娃娃'把她那简单的信赖寄托在那么一个一定会那样虐待她的狗杂种身上，的确是种令人吃惊的享乐。她怎么对自己解释呢，我真想知道！她嫁过一个丈夫了，她为那从小就一直喜欢蜡囡囡的大卫·科波菲尔送了终。她生过一个孩子——哦，在那个星期五的晚上，她生下了坐在这儿的这个孩子！有两个吃奶娃娃了！她还要什么呢？” 狄克先生偷偷对我摇摇头，好像他觉得这话是无法反驳的。 “她甚至不能生一个不同的孩子，”姨奶奶说，“这孩子的姐姐贝西·特洛伍德呢？没能出世。不用告诉我！” 狄克先生好像更觉得惊奇了。 “那个头歪向一边的小个儿医生，”姨奶奶说，“吉力夫，管他叫什么呢，又做了些什么？他所能做的不过是像只知更鸟那样——他实际上就是一只知更鸟——对我说：'是个男孩。'一个男孩！是呀，他们全是傻乎乎的一群人。”？ 这最后一声发自她心底的怒吼使狄克先生惊诧至极；如果我说老实话，我本人也和狄克先生一样惊诧万分。 “就这样好像还不够，她害苦这孩子的姐姐贝西·特洛伍德还嫌不够，”我姨奶奶说道，“她还再嫁——嫁给一个杀人犯——或者叫做杀人犯的人①，而又害苦了这孩子！除了吃奶的毛头，谁都能预料，他命中注定要流离失所。他还没长大就很像该隐②。 狄克先生用力看着我，好像我就是那号人物。 “就这样，还有那个名字像异教徒③的女人，”姨奶奶说道，“那个皮果提也跟着学样结婚。她还没看够和这类事有关而生的罪过，据这孩子说，竟也跟着学样结了婚。我惟愿，”姨奶奶摇摇头说，“她的丈夫是报上说的那种魔鬼丈夫，用铁通条使劲抽她。” -------- ①默德斯通（murderstone）的前半部读音是杀人之意，与杀人犯（murderer）相似。 ②该隐乃亚当与夏娃之子，因杀死亲弟，被耶和华罚以流离失所。 ③邪教徒英文为Pagan，与皮果提音近。 听到老保姆受到这样的诅咒和诋毁，我可受不了。我告诉姨奶奶她误会了。皮果提是世界上最好、最可信赖、最忠心、最尽心、最无私的朋友和仆人；她一向最爱我；她一向非常非常地爱我母亲；是她在母亲临终时前抱起了母亲的头，在她脸上我母亲留下了最终的充满感激的亲吻。我想到她们俩，不禁哽咽；我还想说下面那番话时却哭了起来。我想说的是：她的家就是我的家，她的一切也是我的，要不是因为她的地位低下而我怕会因我反带给她麻烦，我就去她那里投靠了——想到要说这些时，我哭了起来（像我说过的那样），把脸伏在放在桌子上的双手里。 “行了，行了，”姨奶奶说，“这孩子保护那些保护他的人，也不错——珍妮！驴呀！” 我完全相信我们会达到很好的谅解，如果不是那些背时的驴子的话；因为那时我姨奶奶已把手放在我肩上，在这样的鼓励下，我已想抱住她并请救她庇护了。但被这一打扰，再加受门外战斗的影响而使她刚才的那种温情又没能继续，而且还激发我姨奶奶愤愤地对狄克先生发表了一番演说；她说她决心求助于她的国家法律，对多佛所有驴业人士的犯罪行为予以严惩。她一直演说到喝茶的时候才停下。 喝过茶后，我们在窗子旁边坐下，根据我姨奶奶那严峻的表情，我估计我们是警惕还会来的入侵者。我们在那儿坐着，直到暮色降临，这时珍妮把蜡烛和双陆棋盘放到桌上，并把百叶窗拉下。 “喏，狄克先生，”姨奶奶仍和先前一样严肃地举起食指说，“我要向你问另一个问题。看着这孩子。” “大卫的儿子？”狄克先生扬脸认认真真又不知所措地说道。 “正是，”姨奶奶说，“现在你把他怎么办呢？” “把大卫的儿子怎么办？”狄克先生说道。 “正是，”姨奶奶答道，“把大卫的儿子怎么办好。” “哦！”狄克先生说，“是呀，把他怎么办——我就会让他上床睡觉。” “珍妮！”姨奶奶满怀我先前提到的那种胜利感和满意心情叫道，“狄克先生为我们大家指出正确方法了。如果床已铺好，我们就送他去睡。” 珍妮报告说床铺好后，我就被带去睡觉。她们带我时态度和蔼，但有点像押解囚犯——姨奶奶走在我前面，珍妮殿后。唯一给我带来点新希望的事是姨奶奶在楼梯上查问在那里闻到的火味，珍妮回答说是她曾用我的旧衬衣在厨房里引火来着。不过我卧室里除了我穿的那堆怪模怪样的衣物外，再没什么别的衣服了。她们走开时，我听见她们在外面把门锁了。她们留下一小节蜡烛，姨奶奶还警告地提醒我，说这节小蜡烛恰好只够燃五分钟。回想起这些，我觉得姨奶奶并不很了解我，很可能怀疑我有逃跑的习性，所以采取了预防的措施，把我妥善地保管起来。 这房间挺可爱的，在房子的最高处，俯视着大海，一轮明月正照耀在海上。我记得，做了晚祷后，蜡烛灭了，我是怎样仍坐在那里，看那水上的月光，就好像希望从一本发光的书里读到我的命运或看到我的母亲带着她的孩子，沿那熠熠闪光的路从天上走来，她看着我，还像我最后一次看到她那甜美的脸时那样。我记得我怎样转过身，当我轻轻躺下，被雪白的被单拥围时，那庄严的感觉又由于看到这雪白的卧具而变作感激之情和安适之感——这是多么令人浮想连翩的感触呀！我记得我怎样想起我曾在夜空下露宿过的所有荒郊野地，我怎样祈祷永远不再失去家，也永远不忘记没有家的人。我还记得，我后来怎样依稀沿着海上那撩人思绪的光辉路径，漂入了梦境。