Chapter 6 Chapter Six

Pack your bags!Departures are such a pain in the ass: looking for lost keys, claiming blank luggage tags, wrapping paper all over the place, I hate it all.Even today, when I'm used to going out, or making my hotel home as the saying goes, packing still bothers me.Today, slamming drawers, opening those impersonal wardrobes and hangers in hotels or temporary rental cottages, and organizing my luggage has become a methodical routine of life, but I still feel sad and lost.After all, this is where the two of us lived, where we had a great time together.No matter how short the stay, even if it was just two nights, this place was ours, our traces are here.This does not mean a hair pin left on the dresser, an empty bottle of aspirin pills or a handkerchief under the pillow.

No, not these physical traces; what we leave behind is a moment in a lifetime, a thought and a state of mind, something indescribable. This house has received us, where we have spoken to each other and loved each other.But that was yesterday.Today, we continued on our way and never saw the house again.Both of us have changed slightly, and we are no longer exactly the same as yesterday.Sometimes we stopped for dinner in a small roadside inn, and I went into a dark and strange room to relieve myself.It was the first time I pinched the doorknob, the first time I saw the peeling strips of paste wallpaper and the funny little broken mirror above the washbasin.At this moment, all this belongs to me, and I and these objects know each other.All of this belongs to the present moment, not the past or the future.Here I am washing my hands at this moment, my face reflected in the broken mirror, beyond the passage of time.It was me that appeared in the mirror, and it seemed to freeze at this moment.

Then I opened the door and went into the dining room.He was sitting at the table waiting for me.I suddenly realized that suddenly I was a little older, and I took another step towards an unknown destiny on the road of life. The two of us looked at each other and smiled, ordering food and eating together, chatting all over the place.But I said to myself that I've changed a little from who I was when I left him five minutes ago; that woman is still hanging around, and I've become a different person, an older, more mature person... … The other day I read in the papers that the hotel "Côte d'Azur" in Monte-Carlo had changed its manager, changed its name, refurbished its rooms, and changed everything inside.The apartment on the second floor that Mrs. Van Hopper once rented may no longer exist; there is probably not even a trace of my small bedroom.That day, when I knelt on the ground and fumbled to lock her suitcase, I had a premonition that it was gone forever.

The suitcase snapped shut, and I ended this reverie.Looking out the window, I felt as if I had turned another page in a photo album.The roofs near and far and the sea are no longer mine, they belong to yesterday, to the past.After packing up the belongings, the room looked empty, as if wishing that we would leave quickly and prepare to receive new guests tomorrow.The large luggage has been bundled up and locked in the corridor outside; the small clothes still have to be packed.The wastebasket was so full of mess it couldn't hold it anymore.There were her medicine bottles (still half filled), discarded cream jars, torn bills and letters.The drawer holes were open, and the mirrored wardrobe was empty.

I was pouring her coffee at breakfast the previous morning when she dropped a letter and told me, "Helen is sailing to New York on Saturday. Little Nancy may have had appendicitis, so they telegraphed Helen to hurry. As soon as I've made up my mind, we'll start right away. Europe is really boring, so we might as well wait until early autumn, how about it, isn't it a good idea to show you around New York?" The idea is scarier than going to jail.I must have looked sad, so she first looked at me in surprise, then got angry: "You child is ridiculous, you don't know what's good! I really don't understand what you think. Don't you know that only in the In the United States, a young girl like you who has no money and no power can live comfortably. Boyfriends are in groups, that’s exciting! They are all young men who are just like you. You can find a few friends by yourself, and you don’t have to be like this Doing my bidding all the time. I thought you didn't like Monte Carlo very much."

"I'm just used to living here," I muttered to myself as I wretchedly came up with this flimsy excuse. "Then you must accustom yourself to life in New York too. Well, it's settled. We have to catch Helen's boat, so we have to arrange tickets immediately. You go downstairs to the reception room at once." , let that boy do things quickly. You'll be busy all day. Well, that's good, so you don't have time to worry about leaving Monte Carlo." She smiled sinisterly, twisted the cigarette in the butter, and went on Just call your friends. I didn't have the guts to go to the anteroom to do it right away, so I went into the bathroom, locked the door, sat down on the cork rug with my head in my hands and it finally happened and I had to get ready to go.It's all over!Tomorrow night I'll be on the train like a maid, holding her jewelry box and the knee blanket she used on the train.She sat across from me in the sleeper car, wearing a brand new bonnet with a single bird feather in it, huddled in a fur jacket.

We'll wash up in Naasai's little room.Because of the vibration of the car, the door vomited and vomited, and water splashed from the washbasin. The towels were wet; the soap was stained with a hair; the drink bottles on the table were half full;The train roared on, every clang, every jolt and shake announced that I was moving further and further away from him.And him?He may be sitting at the familiar table in the dining room reading a book, neither missing nor lingering. ① French: There is a potty under the washbasin. Before leaving, he might say goodbye to him in the waiting room, but since his wife was present, he could only secretly make a hasty gesture.After the farewell, there may be a short silence, followed by a mutual smile and a few polite words, such as: "Of course, you must write!" "Oh, you are very kind, I don't know how to thank you!" " Be sure to send the photo!" "Excuse me, what is your address?" "I will tell you," etc., etc.Then, as if nothing had happened, he took out a cigarette and called the waiter who passed by to give him a fire, but I was saddened by the side: "In another four and a half minutes, I will never see him again."

Because I was about to leave, because the friendship between us was over, and I didn't know what to say all of a sudden.We are like passers-by who have never met before. This is the last time and the only time we meet here.But my heart howled in agony: "I love you so much, and how unfortunate I am! This is the first time in my life, and it will never happen again." But I still have to put on a normal face I have to say something nonsense: "Look, that old man is so funny! Who is he, he must be a new guest in the hotel." In this way, we laughed at a stranger together, wasting a lot of money. This last moment.We do this because we have become strangers ourselves.

"I hope those prints look good," I repeated in desperation.He replied, "Yeah. The one in the square was probably pretty good, the light was just right that day. "The two chattered endlessly like this, and everyone tacitly spoke with the same caliber. In fact, I don't care whether the photo is blurred or printable, because this is the last moment to say goodbye. With a miserable wry smile on my face, I thanked him again: "Well, I really have to thank you very much, it was really 'exciting'①..." I used a few words that I didn't usually use when speaking. "Excitement", what does this word mean?God knows.I don't care, I'll talk about it after I use it.That was the word used by schoolgirls watching hockey, and it was an inappropriate way to describe the mixed emotions of the past few weeks. ①The original text is "rip Ping".

Then the elevator doors flew wide, and Mrs. Van Hopper appeared, and I walked across the lounge toward her, while he wandered back to his corner, picking up a newspaper. Sitting on the bathroom floor, I went through a ridiculous series of imaginings, thinking about the journey and arriving in New York.I thought of the shrill voice of Helen, a woman who was a perfect duplicate of her mother; and Nancy, Helen's daughter, a crying little rogue.I thought of the college boys Mrs. Van Hopper was going to introduce me to, and the bank clerks my equal, oily boys with snub noses, who would say to me flirtatiously, "Wednesday night out ?” “Like jazz?” And I had to be polite.At that time, I will definitely be like this moment, just want to shut myself in the bathroom and think about it. She came and slammed the door: "What are you doing?"

"Ah, okay, okay. I'm sorry, I'll come right away." I deliberately turned on the faucet, worked inside for a while, and put a towel on the crossbar. I opened the door, and she looked at me suspiciously and said, "Why have you stayed in there for so long? I don't have time for you to think wildly this morning. There are so many things to do?" Of course he's going back to Manderley in a few weeks, I'm sure of that.A pile of letters awaited him in the hall, mixed with a letter I had scribbled on board the boat.This is an insincere letter, gossiping about my fellow shipmate, just trying to make him laugh.When he had finished reading, he slipped the letter into the blotting table, and did not read it until, some weeks later, one Sunday morning, before lunch, he chanced upon it while paying the bill.Afterwards, the news died, and I didn't send a New Year's card until Christmas, so that the recipient once again felt that you were just an insignificant person.The Christmas card may be printed on the Manderley Manor covered in hoarfrost.The congratulatory message was printed in gold stamping: "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. Maximilian de Winter. "However, in order to show friendship, he may make an exception and cross out the name printed on the New Year's card with a pen, and write in his own hand at the bottom: "Maxim's gift", and if there is room on the New Year's card, at most add a sentence : "Hope you're having a great time in New York. "Then, lick the glue on the envelope with the tip of your tongue, put a stamp on it, and toss it in the stack of mail to be sent. "Leave tomorrow? It's a pity." The staff in the hotel reception room said to me while holding a telephone receiver in one hand. "There's a ballet next week, does Mrs. Van Hopper know?" Base, I'm back from Christmas at Manderley to the reality of a sleeper train. Mrs. Van Hopper was having lunch in the restaurant that day, the first time she had been in a restaurant since she had the flu.Walking into the hall with her, I felt a burning pain in my chest.All I know of his behavior is that he was in Cannes during the day, as he himself had told me the previous day.But I was still worried, for fear that the waiter would come to me abruptly and ask, "Miss, did you dine with Mr. as usual today?" So whenever the waiter approached the table, I sweated, but luckily he didn't say anything. Been packing all day.In the evening, people came to say goodbye.Supper was eaten in the living room, after which she went to bed immediately.So far, I haven't seen him.At half past nine I went downstairs to the lounge on the pretext of asking for a luggage tag, but he wasn't there, and the disgusting clerk in the reception room smiled at me and said, "If you're looking for Mr. de Winter, It was a waste of time, Cannes called and said he wouldn't be back until midnight." "I'd like a paper bag of luggage tags," I replied.But I could see from his eyes that he didn't believe me at all. So even the last night was taken away.I had been looking forward to this precious moment all day long, and as a result, I had to suffer alone in my room, staring blankly at my battered suitcase and overstuffed canvas bag. .But it was all right, because I must have been a terrible company if I had been with him that night, and he might have read my thoughts in my face. I remember that night I buried my head deep in the pillow and cried a lot. The young girl's bitter tears couldn't roll.I was only twenty-one years old at that time, and I would not have cried so sadly if I were changed today.I cried so hard that night, my eyes were red and swollen, and my throat was dry.When I woke up in the morning, I was so anxious that I washed my face with a sponge soaked in cold water, put on toilet water, and secretly applied powder, trying to cover up the traces of crying at night.I don't usually put powder on, but it actually catches the eye.At the same time, I was afraid that I would cry again involuntarily. A few twitches at the corners of my mouth might cause disaster and cause tears to flow like a fountain.I remember pushing open the window and leaning out, hoping the fresh morning air would wash away the redness and puffiness around my eye circles under makeup so that no one would know I was crying.Never had the sun seemed so bright; never had the day been so balmy and clear.Monte Carlo suddenly became friendly and charming, the only place in the world where people were treated with sincerity.I love Monte Carlo, my heart is full of tenderness.How I wish I could live here forever.But, I have to leave today!I stand in front of this mirror and comb my hair for the last time; I wash in this basin for the last time; I will never sleep in this bed again; I will never turn this switch to turn off the light again.I was pacing in this ordinary hotel room in my dressing gown, immersed in the melancholy of parting, unable to extricate myself. "You didn't catch the cold, did you?" she asked me during breakfast. "No, probably not." This was a life-saving straw.If my under-eye circles are too red and swollen, I can use this to prevaricate for a while later. "I don't like procrastinating after packing," she muttered. "We should have made up our minds to take the earlier train. If we figured it out, we might be able to get tickets. That way we could stay longer in Paris. Send a telegram to Helen, tell her not to join us, and find another way to meet.I don’t know——” She looked at her watch, and then said: “I think it’s still time to ask them to change the ticket, anyway, you can try it, you go downstairs and ask. " "Okay." I'm a complete puppet, at her disposal.I went into the bedroom, took off my dressing gown, put on the flannel skirt that I always wear, and the jacket that I sewed myself.For her, at this moment, I am not only holding an indifferent attitude, but I am beginning to hate her.Then it was all over, and even this morning was taken away from me, and I couldn't even spend half an hour in the courtyard—even ten minutes—to say goodbye!And the only reason is that she didn't expect to finish breakfast so soon, and she was bored.Well, since this is the case, I don't care about rules, propriety and face.I slammed the living room door and ran down the corridor. I couldn't wait for the elevator to come, so I ran up the escalator three steps at a time and went straight to the fourth floor.Knowing that he lived in Room 148, I blushed and knocked on the door out of breath. "Come in!" he called.As I pushed the door, I felt a little regretful, and my courage gradually disappeared.Because he slept late last night, he may have just woken up at this moment, lying on the bed with disheveled hair, very angry. He was shaving standing by the open window in a camel-hair jacket over his pajamas.Compared with him, I looked very bloated in my flannel dress and big leather shoes. At first I thought it was a bit dramatic to find myself in this way, but I didn't know it was just a fool. "What's the matter?" he asked. "What happened?" "I've come to say goodbye," I said. "We're leaving this morning." He looked at me blankly, then put the razor on the eyelid stand, and told me to close the door. I take it to the door.Standing awkwardly with hands down. "What nonsense are you talking about?" he asked me. "Really, we're leaving today. We decided to leave on the late train, but now she wants to catch the early train. I'm afraid I'll never see you again, and I feel I must see you again and say thank you before I go." These were two meaningless words in my imagination, but they rolled awkwardly anyway.My whole body was stiff and numb, and I felt indescribably awkward.For a split second, I even wanted to use the word "vigorous" to describe his personality. "Why didn't you tell me beforehand?" "She made a hasty decision yesterday. Her daughter sails for New York on Saturday, and we're going to go all the way with her, so we're going to meet in Paris and then at Cherbourg." "Is she taking you to New York?" "Yes. But I don't want to. I hate New York. I'm going to be very distressed." "Then why go with her?" "I had to go with her, you know that. I'm making money, and it's too much to lose for me to part with her." He picked up the razor again and wiped the soap off his face. "Sit down," he told me. "Just a minute, I'll go to the bathroom and get dressed, five minutes." He picked up the clothes from the chair, threw them on the bathroom floor, walked into the bathroom, and slammed the door.I sat down on the edge of the bed and started biting my nails.The whole thing was like a dream; I felt like a puppet.I don't know how he feels at the moment and what he plans to do.I looked around. It was an ordinary man's bedroom, messy and lacking in character.There were too many shoes to wear; there were strings of ties; the mirror stand was empty except for a large bottle of shampoo and a pair of ivory combs.No photos, no shadows, nothing of the sort.I instinctively looked for such things, thinking there would be at least one photograph in the room, perhaps by the bed, perhaps in the middle of the mantel shelf, a large leather-framed photograph, but there was none.All I saw were some books and a box of cigarettes. Sure enough, within five minutes he was dressed. "Go, go downstairs to the platform and have breakfast with me." I looked at my watch and said, "No time. I should have changed my ticket at the desk by now." "Never mind that, I've got to talk to you," he said. We walked down the corridor and he rang for the elevator.I thought to myself, of course he doesn't know that the morning bus will leave in about an hour and a half.After a while, Mrs. Van Hopper is bound to call the information desk and ask if I'm there. We took the elevator downstairs, didn't speak all the way, and walked up to the platform in silence, where the breakfast table was already set. "What do you want to eat?" "I've had breakfast," I told him. "Anyway I'm only here for another four minutes." "Coffee, hard-boiled eggs, toast, jam, and another tangerine." He ordered the waiter to bring breakfast, then took a piece of corundum from his pocket, and began to trim his nails. "So Mrs. Van Hopper is tired of Monte Carlo and wants to go home. I want to go home as much as she does. She went back to New York, I went back to Manderley, where did you fall in love?Choose yourself. " "Don't be kidding, it's really wrong to tell jokes at this time," I said, "It seems that I have to get tickets, so let's say goodbye here." "If you thought I was one of those people who was being funny at breakfast, you were wrong," he said. "Early mornings are always when I'm at my worst. I'll say it again: go to America with Mrs. Van Hopper, or go back to Manderley with me. You choose." "You mean, you want to hire a secretary or something?" "No, I want you to marry me, you little fool!" I put my hands on my knees as the waiter brought breakfast and watched him set the coffee and milk jugs on the table. "You don't understand," I said after the waiter walked away. "Men don't marry people like me." He put down the spoon, stared at me, and asked, "What do you mean by that?" I watched a fly land on the jam and he waved it away impatiently. "I can't tell," I said in a stutter. "I can't tell, at least one thing: I'm not in your circle." "What circle?" "Manderley, you know what I mean." He picked up the spoon and ate a little jam. "You are just as ignorant and stupid as Mrs. Van Hopper. What do you know about Manderley? Whether you belong to that circle or not is for me to judge. Do you think I proposed to you on impulse? Because you said you don't want to go to New York? You think I want you to marry me, just like I drive you out; by the way, and invite you to dinner for the first time, just to show my kindness? Don't you Do you think so?" "That's exactly what I think," I thought. As he slathered jam on toast, he said, "One day you'll see that charity is never my good quality. Right now, I see you don't understand anything. You haven't given me an answer yet. You Are you going to marry me?" Even in my ecstasy and ecstasy, the possibility never occurred to me.Once, I went out with him in a car and walked for several miles without saying a word, and I started to think wildly, imagining that he was sick, very sick, and even talking nonsense in a coma.He sent for me to nurse.I have been imagining it, and I just imagined that I applied toilet water to his head, and the car returned to the hotel, and the story ended there.Another time, when I imagined myself living in a cottage on the Manderley grounds, he sometimes came to see me, and the two of us sat in front of the fire.But the sudden mention of marriage left me bewildered, even shocked, as if it were the King of England who proposed.It didn't sound like it was real; but he was eating his jam as if it was all natural.In the book, a man kneels on the ground to propose to a woman, and there must be moonlight as a foil. It's not like this at all, talking about marriage over breakfast. "It seems my suggestion is not quite to your liking," he said. "Sorry! I thought you loved me. That's a good lesson for my pride." "I do love you," I said. "Love so much. You made me so miserable. I cried all night because I thought I'd never see you again." When I said that, I remember, he smiled and held out his hand across the table to me. "For that, may God bless you," he said. "You told me that it is your ambition to be a grand woman of thirty-five years old. On that day, I will tell you about the situation here and now. Of course, you will not believe me, but I want to Say, if only you wouldn't grow old!" By this time, I was starting to feel shy and annoyed that he was laughing at me.In this way, a woman should not make such a confession to a man. I have to learn about this kind of thing. "Okay, that's it, okay?" he said, continuing to eat his toast with jam. "You are no longer Mrs. Van Hopper's companion, but you have come to be my companion. Your duties are almost the same as before, and I also love to read the latest books in the library and have someone to put in the living room. Flowers; I also like to play Besik after dinner, and I also need someone to pour tea for me. The only difference is that I don’t smoke Taxol cigarettes, but I like Eno’s. Besides, you have to help me in time Get the toothpaste I'm used to." I flicked my fingers on the tabletop, wondering what was going on with me and him.Is he mocking me?Maybe it's all a joke?He looked up and saw the anxious look on my face. "I'm probably a hard-hearted fellow for you, am I?" he said. "This kind of proposal is probably not your ideal. In your opinion, we should talk about this kind of thing in the music hall; Rose, wearing a snow-white dress, the waltz played by the violin came from afar. and I?I should have wooed you furiously behind a banana tree.In this way, maybe you feel that you have worth.Poor little baby, aren't you ashamed?Never mind, I'll take you to Venice for your honeymoon, and take you on a gondola, arm in arm.We can't stay too long though, because I'm going to show you Manderley. "①A narrow flat-bottomed boat on the canals of Venice, Italy. He was going to show me Manderley... Suddenly, I realized that this was all about to happen!I shall be his wife, and we shall walk side by side in the garden, and down the glen path to the sandy shore.I pictured myself standing on the stone steps after breakfast, looking out at the sky, and withdrawing the remnants of bread to the birds; then how I would put on my sunhat, and go out with the pair of shears in my hand, to cut the flowers for the interior. .I now understand why I bought that picture postcard as a child.It turned out that this was an omen, a step towards the future in a daze. He wanted to show me Manderley... My thoughts ran freely, and various characters appeared before my eyes, scene after scene.At the same time, he just kept eating the tangerines, handing me a slice from time to time and watching me eat. We will be surrounded by guests, and he introduces me: "You probably haven't seen my wife yet." Mrs. de Winter.I will be Mrs. de Winter.I weighed the name over and over again.This name will be signed on checks, merchant's bills and invitations to dinner.I can still hear myself on the phone: "Would you like to come to Manderley this weekend?" Guests, always in droves. "Oh, she's charming, you must get to know her—" whispered someone on the outer circle of the crowd.I immediately turned around and pretended not to hear.I also imagined myself carrying a fruit basket full of grapes and pears, going to the concierge to see a sick old woman, and she held out her hands to me: "Madam, you are very kind, God bless you." I He replied: "If you want anything, just ask someone to come to the house and say it." Mrs. de Winter, I will be Mrs. de Winter.I seem to see the well-polished table and long candles in the dining room.Maxim sat at one end of the table, a banquet of twenty-four people.I have a flower in my hair.Everyone looked at me and raised their glasses: "You must drink to the bride's health!" Then, I heard Maxim say to me: "I have never seen you so cute like today." Cool big room full of flowers.My bedroom, with a fire in winter. There was a knock on the door, and a smiling woman entered.This is Maxim's sister.I heard her say, "It's not easy that you've made him so happy! Everybody's so happy. You're doing it!" Mrs. de Winter, I'll be Mrs. de Winter. "The few remaining oranges are too sour to eat," he said.I looked at him with wide eyes, and then slowly understood what he meant.Then, I lowered my head to look at my plate, and the quarter of the orange really shriveled and changed color, and it was really sour.The bitterness in my mouth is only now felt. "Who's going to talk to Mrs. Van Hopper about this? You or I?" he asked. He folded the napkin and pushed the plate away.I don't understand how he can talk so nonchalantly, like it's not a big deal at all, just a slight tweak to the plan.But to me, it was a blockbuster flying in pieces. "You go and tell her," I replied. "She'll be pissed off!" We got up from the table.My cheeks are flushed.Trembling with excitement at the thought of the future.I don't know if he will take my arm, tell the waiter with a smile, "Congratulations. The lady and I have decided to get married." Then all the waiters will hear the news, smile and bow to us.The two of us walked into the lounge together, only to hear people talking excitedly behind us, while others whispered to each other, all wanting to see our splendor. But he didn't say anything, and left the platform without a word.I followed him to the elevator.People didn't even look at us as we passed the reception desk.The clerk, busy with a sheaf of receipts, turned to speak to his assistant.He didn't know, I thought, that I was going to be Mrs. de Winter, that I was going to live in Manderley, and that Manderley was going to be mine. We took the elevator to the second floor and walked down the corridor.As he walked, he shook my hand clinging to me. "Do you think forty-two is too old?" he asked. "Ah, no," I replied hastily, perhaps with an air that seemed too eager. "I don't like young boys." "You've never dealt with young men," he said. We came to the door of Mrs. Van Hopper's suite.He said: "I think it's best left to me alone. Tell me, do you really care when we get married? You don't ask for a dowry, do you? You don't like it? It's not a big deal." God, it's easy to get it done, find an office, get a certificate, and set off for Venice or wherever you like." "Not saluting in church?" I asked. "No white dresses, no bridesmaids, no bells, no choir boys? Don't your friends and relatives invite either?" "You forgot," he said. "I've had weddings like that before." We are still standing at the door.I noticed that the newspaper was still stuffed in the mailbox, because I was too busy to read it at breakfast time. "How?" he said. "Is that all right?" "Of course!" I replied. "Just now I thought we'd have to go home and get married. Churches, guests, I don't want that, I don't like that." I smiled at him, pretending to be cheerful. "Isn't this fun?" I said. But he had already turned around and opened the door.We entered the narrow porch of the suite. Mrs. Van Hopper yelled from the living room, "Is that you? My God, what the hell are you doing? I hung up on the service desk three times and they said they didn't see you." For a while, I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, and I also felt tightness in my chest.In a panic, I even hope that none of this happened, if only I was walking somewhere alone at this moment, whistling and whistling. "It's probably all my fault," he said as he walked into the living room, closing the door behind him.I heard her cry out in surprise. I went into my bedroom and sat by the open window, which was like sitting in the antechamber of a doctor's operating room. I should have picked up a magazine and flipped through irrelevant photos and unreadable articles, waiting for the nurse to come out and report.The nurse came, with a cheerful face and a very capable appearance, but because of years of dealing with disinfectants, her human touch had been washed away. "Everything is fine, the operation went well, don't worry, I'm going home to sleep for a while." The walls of the room were quite thick, and the conversation next door could not be heard at all. What did he say to her?How to word it?Perhaps, he said, "You know, I fell in love with her the first time we met. We see each other every day these days." Her answer was, "Well, Mr. de Winter, that's exactly what I've heard The most romantic of all the love affairs!" Romantic, that's the word I've been thinking about all the way up the elevator but never thought of.Yes, of course, romantic enough!That's what people say.It was sudden and very romantic.The two decided to get married at once, and they did it immediately.What an adventure!On the seat by the window, I hugged my knees and smiled sweetly to myself, how wonderful all this is, how happy I will be!I shall marry the man I love, and I shall be Mrs. de Winter!At such a happy moment, it is really absurd to still feel a question in my chest.Of course, this is nerves at work.It was like sitting in the lobby of an operating room waiting for the results.It seemed that it would be more interesting and natural if the two walked into the living room hand in hand and made it clear to her. They looked at each other and smiled, and he stood up and announced to her: "We have decided to get married. We are deeply attached to each other. in love." fall in love.So far, he hasn't said this, maybe he didn't have time.I was in such a hurry when I had breakfast just now, and I had to put jam, coffee and tangerines in my mouth at the same time.Do you have spare time?Those tangerines taste really bad.Yes, he hasn't talked about falling in love yet, he only talked about marriage, and his tone is matter-of-fact, no doubt, but also unique.It is precisely because of the unique way that his marriage proposal is more in line with my intentions and appears more sincere.He is different from ordinary people, not like those young boys who may talk nonsense, but their minds are far from that; the kind of people who make endless vows, so enthusiastic that it is unbearable, but the preface does not match. postscript.This proposal of marriage is not like his first to Rebecca... I must not think of it, put it away.It is the devil who is tempting me to break into the forbidden zone of this thought.Get off the back, Satan!Never think about these things, never, ever, ever!He loves me, and he wants to show me Manderley.Is the conversation between the two over there still over?Are they still planning to call me over? 那部诗集就搁在床边。他已忘了借书给我这回事，可见这些诗对他是无关紧要的。 “去！”魔鬼在耳边轻声怂恿。 “翻开扉页。你心里难道不正想这么做吗？去翻开扉页。”胡扯！I say.我只是想把书放进行李堆去。我打个呵欠，漫不经心地往床头柜走去，信手捡起诗集。我被床灯的电线绊了一下，差一点摔倒，诗集从我手中掉到地板上，恰好散开在扉页。 “给迈克斯——吕蓓卡赠。”她死了，人们不该去想起死者。死者已经长眠，青草掩埋了他们的坟墓。不过，她的字迹多么活泼，多么道劲！那一手不凡的斜体字，还有那墨水渍，仿佛是昨天刚刚写上的。我从化妆盒里取出指甲剪子，把这页纸剪下来；一边剪，一边做贼心虚地往后张望。 这一页被我剪得一干二净，连毛边也没留下。剪掉这一页后，诗集显得洁白，变成一部没人翻阅过的新书。我把剪下的扉页撕成碎片，丢入废纸篓。接着，我又在临窗的座位坐下，可是心里还尽想着纸篓里的碎片。过了一会儿，我不得不站起身来，再去看看纸篓，即使在撕碎以后，墨水还是又浓又黑地出现在眼前，字迹并没有毁掉。我拿了一盒火柴，把碎纸片点着。火舌吐出美丽的火焰，仿佛在给纸片涂色，卷得纸边起皱，使上面的斜体字无从辨认。纸片抖散，变得褐色的灰烬。最后消失的是字母R，它向外扭曲着，显得比原先更雄伟，接着也在火焰中成了齑粉。留下的不是灰烬，而是一种轻盈的细尘…… 我走向脸盆，洗了手，顿时觉得好过一些。好过多了，就好像新年之初墙上挂的日历掀在元月一日，我有一种一切从头开始的洁净感，觉得一切都春意盎然，充满欢快的信念。门开了，他走进房间来。 “一切顺利，”他说。“开始她惊诧得说不出话来，不过这会儿已开始恢复，我现在下楼到服务台去给她弄车票，保证让她赶上第一班车。她曾犹豫了一下。我想她是想当我们的证婚人。我可是坚决不同意。去吧，跟她谈谈去。” 什么高兴、幸福，这类话他都没说，他也没有挽起我的手臂，陪我去起居室。他只是朝我一笑，挥挥手，就独自沿着走廊走开了。 我惴喘不安又难以为情地去见范?霍珀夫人，那模样活像一个通过别人之手递上辞呈的女佣。 她临窗站着抽烟。我从此再也见不到这个肥胖的矮怪物了；肥大的胸部那儿上衣绷得紧紧的，那顶可笑的女帽歪斜地覆在脑门上。 “啊，”她的声音干巴巴，冷冰冰，一定与对他说话时的腔调完全不一样。“看来我得付你双倍工资。你这人城府实在深。这事怎么给你办成的？” 我不知道怎么回答才好。我讨厌她那种奸笑。 “算你走运，幸亏我患了流行性感冒，”她说。“现在我才知道这些日子你是怎么打发的，还有，你为什么这样健忘。天哪，还说在练网球。你知道，你满可以对我说实话。” “对不起，”我说。 她好奇地打量着我，上下左右，眼光扫过我的身子。“他对我说，过不了几天你们就要结婚。你没有亲人，不会东问西问，这对你说来又是一件幸事。好吧，从现在起这事与我无关，我一点也不管了。我倒是想，他的朋友们会作何感想。不过，得由他自己拿主意。你知道他比你大多了。” “他才四十二岁，”我说。“而我看上去并不止我这点年纪。” 她笑了，把烟灰往地板上乱撒着说：“这倒不假。”她仍然用从来没有过的异样眼光端详着我。她是在判断我全身的价值，像家畜市场上的行家那样，她的眼光寻根究底，使人觉得难堪。 “你说，”她装出亲呢的样子，像是朋友间说私房话，“你有没有做什么不该做的事情？” 她简直就像提议付我百分之十佣金的女裁缝布莱兹。 “我不明白你在说些什么，”我说。 她又笑了，还耸耸肩。“啊，好吧……没有关系。不过，我常说英国姑娘都是黑马①，别看她们表面上只关心曲棍球，其实很难捉摸。这么说来，我得独自去巴黎，让你留下，等你那位情郎弄到结婚证书。我注意到他并没有邀请我参加婚礼。”①指实力难以预见，成绩出人意料的赛马。现常引申指人。 “他大概谁也不请。再说，到时候你反正已经动身了，”我说。 “呣，呣！”她取出化妆盒，动手往鼻子上扑粉。“想来，你作这个决定总是经过考虑的，”她接着说。“不过，事情毕竟很仓促，对吗？只有几星期的工夫。我看他这人并不怎么随和，你得改变自己的生活去适应他的习惯。你得明白，到目前为止，你一直过着非常闭塞的日子，我也没带你跑过多少地方。你今后要担负曼陀丽女主人的职责，说句老实话，亲爱的，我看你根本对付不了。” 这就像一小时前我对自己说的那一切的回声。 “你没有经验，”她又接着说。“你不了解那种环境。在我的桥牌茶会上，你连两个连贯的句子都说不上来。那么，你能对他的朋友们说些什么呢？她在世的时候，曼陀丽的宴会远近闻名。当然，这一切大概他都跟你说起过？” 我沉吟着没有接话。感谢老天，她不等我回答又接着往下说了：“我自然希望你幸福；另外，实话对你说吧，他的确很诱人。不过，嗯，请原谅，我个人以为，你犯了个大错，日后会追悔莫及。” 她放下粉盒，回头看我的脸色，也许，她终于说出真心话了，可我决不爱听这样的真心话。我抿着嘴不说话，也许表情有点阴沉，所以她只好一耸肩，往镜子跟前走去，把那顶蘑菇状的的小帽拉直。她终于要走了，我可以从此不再见到她，我打心眼里庆幸。 想起与她一起度过的、受雇于她的几个月时光，我不免怨气难平：替她捧着钱袋，跟在她后面东奔西跑，像个呆板、无声的影子。确实，我没有阅历，羞怯幼稚，一个十足的傻瓜。这一切我全明白，用不着她唠叨。我看她刚才说这番话完全是有意的，因为出于某种无法解释的女性立场，她恨这桩婚事，她对于人们各种价值的估计，由此遭到了当头一棒。 我才不管这些，我要忘掉这个女人和她的讥讽。从撕下扉页，烧掉残片时起，我开始产生一种新的自信。往昔对我俩已不复存在，他与我两人正在重新开始生活。过去，就像废纸篓里的灰烬一样，已经烟消云散。我将成为德温特夫人，我将以曼陀丽为家。 她马上就要离去，独个儿坐着卧车哐啷啷赶路。他与我将在旅馆餐厅里共进午餐。 仍旧坐在那张餐桌旁，规划着未来。这是意义重大的新生活的起点。也许，她走后，他终于会告诉我他是爱我的，他觉得幸福。到目前为止，还没有时间；另外，这类话毕竟不很容易说出口，一定要等到时机成熟。我抬起头来，正好看到她在镜子里的映像。她盯着我瞧。嘴角挂着隐约的容忍的浅笑。这下子，我以为她终于要做一点友好的姿态了，伸出手来，祝我走运，给我打气，对我说一切将非常顺利。但她还是只管微笑，绞着一绺散开的头发，塞回帽子底下去。 “当然啦，”她说。“你知道他为什么要娶你。你不会自欺欺人地以为他爱着你吧？实际情况是一幢空房子弄得他神经受不了，简直要把他逼疯。你进房间之前，他差不多承认了这一点。要他一个人在那儿生活下去，他硬是受不了……”