Chapter 4 The first reading of "The Prey" brought him to forget life

What reading brings him is to forget life (1) "Where is he going?" "How do I know?... He is with his family, like an outsider..." The family gathers in the living room.The living room was like a passage, with four doors that were always open, from which the occupants could be observed.The women listened with bated breath to Jean-Luc's footsteps, but he was gone. Laurent Dagherner said softly: "He is free..." His reaction was exactly what his wife had expected: he might have been tempted to call his son back, and with his often irrepressible, self-deprecating, coy smile said, "Come here... Home..." But the words stopped at the edge of his mouth, and turned into a barely noticeable sigh.He silently let his son go, and then picked up his book again.Now, he seems to be happy.He was one of those men who felt at ease in meditation and spiritual speculation.Reading has brought him what alcohol has brought to others: forgetting about life.

The small building of the Dagener family was built on the north side of Vishina.It was a Sunday night, and the car was running on the national highway.Not far from the garden, there was a crossroads, and when the car passed in front of the garden fence and braked, it often made an unbearable creaking sound, like an anxious cry.However, by this time, there were fewer and fewer cars.The cottage then rests in silence until the next day.At this moment, it is raining non-stop, and big and big raindrops are impatient, beating the roof non-stop. Laurent Dagener held the book aloft to better capture the faint light of a three-beaked chandelier.It was cold and uncomfortable in the living room, filled with furniture brought in from the garden.In autumn, the furniture will be brought in from the garden.Against the wall stood a tattered wicker chair that had been used for an unknown number of years, and a string of faded croquet balls with rusty arches.The house was surrounded by a flowerless and unpretty garden; the old black cedars were tall and strong, and their branches had reached the windows, and a lamp burning on the steps dimly reflected these fir trees, and the lawn. The plaster jar in the middle, the rim of the jar is filled with rainwater and rotting leaves.

The yellow-brick building looked like a pre-war building, sombre, solid, ugly, austere, durable, and had been built by Laurent Dagerner for his first marriage.But his ex-wife Louise died early, and died in this house, and now he lives here with another woman... For many years, due to his illness, the architect's income has been pitifully small At that time, the family lived here, and they never left whether it was cold winter or hot summer.On a November night, as it was that night, Paris seemed eerily far away ... and that's because the Dagherners didn't have a car. Mathilde Dagener was mending clothes with her head down. Her long hair, parted in the middle and close to her temples, was full of silver threads. They used to be black and shiny.From time to time, she stopped what she was doing, sighed, frowned, looked ahead intently, her two tightly closed thin lips moved, and whispered out some numbers:

"Twelve francs and seventy-five centimes... twelve and eight... exactly as I expected... more than twenty francs..." She had a big, thin, straight nose, and sad eyes set deep in their sockets.Her naturally dry skin, never exposed to makeup, was as malnourished from lack of food.Her features were not lacking in beauty, but they were prematurely haggard.From the point of view of figure, this is a tall and beautiful woman with impeccable figure, her withered face and perfect figure form a very strange contrast. On her wedding day, she gave a present to her stepson Jean-Luc, who was eight years old at the time.Jean-Luc was pushed by his father to kiss her to thank her. Not long after the kiss, whether out of fun or shyness, he stretched out his mouth again, and she quickly took a step back:

"But you have kissed me, Jean-Luc..." As soon as she had finished saying this, she raised her eyes to meet Jean-Luc's, and thought: "What am I talking about?...Am I crazy?..." However, these harsh words and accusations were blurted out under the impetus of an unknown force, and she was just a little uneasy at first, with good intentions and felt that this This kind of love is futile and effortless.That night, she was still thinking: "It's so hard raising another woman's child!" Jean-Luc is now twenty-three years old.It must be a sad day when poor Laurent dies, when the whole family will have nothing to rely on but Jean-Luc.

During his time in German captivity, Laurent Dagener suffered from back spasms.After the last operation, his disease has become incurable.He was a small, thin man with a pale complexion and tired, sunken pupils that seemed turned inward, with an indifference to the real world that belied a dying man. Alas, it will not be long before the master of the house becomes Jean-Luc.He will be the legal guardian of his younger brother and half-sister (Matilde Dagherne's daughter from her first marriage, adopted by her present husband).But what can he do for them? She thought to herself: "He has a heart of stone."

She held up the needle to a place where the light was brighter, and said aloud: "He's not coming back tonight." "Have you asked him?" "I dare not ask him. He will let you understand that it will make him unhappy if you ask him. I don't need the other party to explain this kind of thing in detail. " Laurent could not bear Jean-Luc being reproached by his wife, whether it came out of her mouth or kept in his heart, so he murmured anxiously: "I'm sure he'll be back." She let out a long sigh: "Will be back, my friend...don't worry."

What reading brings him is to forget life (2) Laurent was already reproaching himself for thinking too much of his son.He inadvertently distinguishes Jean-Luc by imagination from Joseph, and from the little Claudine whom he tries to love even though he is not of his own blood.He stretched out his trembling hand that was so slight that it was almost imperceptible, and stroked Joseph's messy hair and Clotina's forehead: "How are you, children?" They did not speak: their parents' voices rarely reached their ears.Clotina was sixteen, Joseph twelve.Children at this age have an invisible wall around their bodies that separates their senses from the outside world.Sometimes, when their mother said certain words to them in a shrill voice that reached their ears, their bodies trembled as if awakened from a dream, but Laurent Duggle Na was just a solid shadow to them.

Clotina, a pudgy little woman who had grown up, with black hair and pink cheeks piled with heavy muscles, was squat, strong, indifferent, mysterious, and she was sewing a piece of underwear.She was doing nothing, looking listlessly around, her underwear on her lap, playing with her silver bracelet.Joseph sat next to her, head bowed, excitedly flipping through a book, his hair falling over his broad forehead and beautiful eyes.He didn't interrupt his reading, he just shook his head sharply, throwing his hair back, and then he stuck his thumbs in his ears and dug his nails into his cheeks.His skin is still very tender, like a girl's, and it turns red and purple when pressed by his fingers.He looks like Jean-Luc, Laurent thought, but he is well cared for, rosy-cheeked and happy... Jean-Luc has never lived like this... He was very young Became an "orphan" and sent to school at the age of eight, always so pale and thin, wearing a layer of armor with a cold appearance.The school is taught by all male teachers, and the classmates are all boys. Accepting such an education made him full of doubts about himself.Laurent saw again the sharp-edged features of his eldest son's face, his small, bright eyes, and his beautiful lips, which seemed to be pressed tightly together by force of will.His voice is soft, but he speaks in short sentences.Laurent was sad and frightened when he thought of him... "At the end of a man's life," he thought to himself, "he has as much affection for a child as for a woman he loves. Jean-Luc's most Even simple motives seem mysterious to me. Where is he now? With a woman? Which woman? Will my son like a woman? With a friend?  … I remember I was in Any boy his age, the dumbest and rudest boys are close to me, they are more important to me than my own father. How much time is wasted on those wretches, to the dying People are so contemptuous, so indifferent, and now I am like that man who is dying. Jean-Luc can hear so many bitter and heavy experiences from my mouth, but he wants to I never thought about it... How old am I to him? What can I give him? I can't give him anything, I really can't give him anything. I haven't been able to pay his tuition for two years, I can’t even give him money for food. What is he doing? How does he live? If he doesn’t say anything, I don’t dare to ask… I’m afraid to know his misfortune, I’m afraid to know that he lacks food and drink, I’m afraid to know these things, because I How can I help him? Freedom? Of course he is free... But what else can I give him but this poor freedom? He is cautious and prematurely matured. But is he happy? Freedom is just It's beautiful when it's longed for, it's longed for, but as a gift like this, it has other names: abandonment, loneliness..."

But what could Laurent do?After his last surgery, he stopped working.He lives only on the pitiful annuity left to him by the treasury and tax authorities.He is now receiving the final coupon.After he dies, he will leave his family with a life insurance policy that he had previously signed, and the small building in Vishner that cannot be sold; the small building cannot be sold because it was at the end of 1932, an unprecedented economic crisis it has started.Jean-Luc's future is very bleak... He closed his eyes gently, in order to see his son's dear face more clearly in his imagination.Will he be back tonight? . . . From Saturday to Monday Jean-Luc lived in Vychner, but the rest of the day he lived in Paris.This evening, the room still smelled of Jean-Luc's presence.He had left some books on the table, and on the arm of the arm-chair his watch, which had a leather strap so short that he had to take it off so often that it bound his wrist, and then forgot there.Seeing her husband's gaze resting on the watch, Mathilde stood up, picked up the watch, and put it in a drawer.The smell of Jean-Luc's cigarettes had faded away, and there was only the unpleasant smell of rain, autumn, and wet ground that had come up from the garden.Several cats howled horribly in the dark.Laurent thought that he would no longer have to accept these old, painful thoughts... Fear of tomorrow, of the food of the family and of the life ahead?Which man today is happy enough to come and go without worries?He was like so many other fathers... This is the sorrow of fatherhood, which weighs on millions of them... He sighed, looking tenderly at the book, which was a A thin English book with a worn cover.If there was anything to comfort him, it was his favorite Elizabethan poetry.He read:

My soul like a ship in a black storm Is driven I know not within... "My heart is like a boat in a dark storm, I don't know how deep it will be swept..." He looked up, looking gravely at the cedars bathed in mist, and the pale lights that shone on them, on them and on the walls.In sickness and old age, who can gaze at these motionless black trees and breathe the smell of autumnal dirt without shivering? ... He asked: "Clautina, can you close the blinds, my child? ... Can you close the curtains? ... I feel cold." "Clautina, did you hear what your father said?" said Mrs. Daglener. Clotina stood up and closed the curtains. What reading brings him is to forget life (3) When I was studying at night in junior high school, Jean-Luc, who was still a child, often thought like this: "In the future, when I fall in love with a woman, when I hold her in my arms for the first time (he flushed with shyness and desire when he thought of the word 'naked'), I will especially remember These dark walls and the sound of rain to heighten my pleasure." That night, sleeping next to Eddie in a warm dark room, an old memory came back to me for a moment, but it was so far away and so sweet and so well stripped of the evil So much so that he just thought about it a little bit and smiled.He was so happy... They put out the lights, and a small kerosene stove burned in one corner of the room, its red heart shining on a sprig-patterned wall covering that had faded from damp. sailing boat.Jean-Luc discovered this small private room in a small restaurant on the edge of the Montsouris Park, accessed by an unobtrusive staircase and a secret door. It was there that he had a tryst with Eddie.At this time, in this season, the park and the whole house seem to be empty.The iron table on the terrace fell under the canopy of a rain cape.The night erased the words "Wedding Banquet" printed on the door.A lit street lamp reflected light in a dark lake.The rain is flowing gently, and the sound of the water diving into the water is estimating and arranging the time alone.The autumn night was chilly and desolate, but in this room, Eddie's scent drenched the walls.There was a stuffy feeling in the room, but it was cozy and lulled body and soul to sleep.On the table was a bottle of dry white wine, soaked in a bucket full of ice cubes.But they didn't drink a drop, they didn't even kiss and hug.They just cuddled tightly, motionless, their hands were tightly clenched, and Eddie's wrists were pinched with red marks.Time stopped.A door closes softly, a woman's voice, a stifled laugh pass through the wall, and then everything falls silent again.The rain, which was falling harder, was the same rain that Laurent Dagerner was listening to now, beating on the zinc eaves of the roof. "What a fine day," whispered Jean-Luc. He reached for a cigarette on the table.Eddie lit the little lamp that sat between the two dishes. They stared at each other longingly, without a smile.He took off his suit jacket and collar, revealing his young, fair, strong and powerful neck, and his unkempt brown hair covered half of his compact pale forehead; his thick hair , too dense, too full of life, to grow on bony faces, like the lush grass that grows on burning earth in the tropics.He snapped them back with his hands.Some of his movements are still childish like a minor, but his eyes are already bold and bright like an adult.When he lowered his eyes, the long eyelashes softened his face. She murmured: "It's late." "not late." "It's late, let me go. It's almost midnight. My family doesn't allow me to go home after midnight." "I don't care about your family..." "I care, I should..." "Okay then, let's go!" She stood up, but felt the boy's legs entangled with hers.They fell slowly again, hugging each other tightly. She was twenty years old, with a domineering, delicate face and big green eyes, and she wore very little make-up.Her hair is half-length and tied behind her ears in two tortoiseshell barrettes studded with diamonds.Jean-Luc took off her barrette, and the loose hair poured over her shoulders and neck.Her hair was blond, brighter than her amber skin.Her pretty face, slender arms, and especially her light hair make her look like a child sometimes.They smiled innocently, such innocence is rarely seen on their faces.They were reflected in a tilted mirror, an old mirror with a heavy gilt frame, probably made in 1880, like all the furniture in the house, scratched with words and names of unknown people .At this moment, the strongest and most beautiful wish of the two of them is to stay like this, to stay motionless, to be like this forever, hugging tightly and falling asleep, never to see their parents again, and not to feel the pain on the desolate street. breath.They talked mouth to mouth, so close that before the words came out, the words were still murmurs, half-words and half-kisses that were still half-formed, and they were sucked in by their lips.They are so happy.When they are young, few people know how to taste happiness, they don’t even go after this kind of happiness, as if they think it’s too much to ask God for extra happiness at such a young age, but this silent ecstasy is what they want The closest picture of happiness that can be understood.They are not lovers.He loves her and he wants to make her his wife. Suddenly, they feel cold.Although their cheeks were as hot as burning flames, their bodies were shivering with cold.They got up from the bed, walked to the small kerosene stove and sat down, smoking in silence.Then, Eddie took out the mirror from her bag and put it on the floor, leaning against Jean-Luc's lap, and began to comb her hair slowly.He grabbed the cigarette she had put down and brought it to his lips. "It's hard to live without you," he finally said with difficulty. As usual, his voice would drop into a lower voice when he was agitated.He turned his head so as not to let his eyes betray his excitement: young and vigorous souls are ashamed of love.His face has become stern and calm.When he speaks with enthusiasm or sincerity, his face becomes expressionless, cold and unpredictable, but when every expression of his is calm, the opposite will happen, his face will be Livelied with sarcasm, thought, and intense concentration; his eyes twinkled, his lips contracted impatiently for quelling his agitation, but this agitation burst from deep within, Like a burning fire. She leaned against him.He shook his head and said: "I'm not going to stay here with you. You're the kind of woman that scares me. You're so gorgeous...and the kind of woman I used to imagine..." He did not continue, but silently gazed at her bare neck, thrown back on his knee.The room was lit by the fire from the kerosene stove, and the dull rose-coloured light left Eddie's body in shadow but painted her face and round golden neck with paint. "Darling... what kind of woman do you imagine? You are so ungrateful... And I, ever since I saw you, I've been thinking: 'I like this man...' Do you remember? Sorbonne In the long corridor of the 1990s, where I waited for Dar Descley. It was dark, and lights were lit everywhere. There was no one around us, and you...I found you so handsome...you want to talk to me Talk, but don't have the guts." "I knew you weren't a college student from the way you dressed, but I pretended to be mistaken. I asked you a stupid question..." "You seem very at ease. I used to dream of finding a lad like you... yes, your thin face and beautiful eyes... so you, when you were little, longed for another woman? What kind of woman is that?" "Being the 'Princess of Racine', but also kneeling in front of me." He said with a smile. She immediately knelt down in front of him and looked at him with a smile.He shook his head. "That might not be enough... think about it... I want her to be true to me, to obey me, except that I am dependent on no one but mine, and see me as her total happiness, her total ease... ...and you are a rich daughter, a young woman, and your whole life is very different from mine...but soon..." What reading brings him is to forget life (4) He held the girl's crooked neck with one hand, pinched it gently, and then slowly increased the strength until she let out a cry of pain.He doesn't ask her, "Do you love me? Will you never love another man? Will we never be apart?" He rarely uses the language of love, which at his age is still So majestic, and irrevocably spoken, they have not abused the language of love.Finally, he said: "my friend……" It was the only tender word he could blurt without effort, the only word that did not shame him. They hugged each other tightly without saying a word.Eddie stood up suddenly: "Okay, that's enough, it's time to go... come on." While she was brushing her hair again, Jean-Luc stood up and walked over to the closed window.He blew on the mist on the glass of the window through which the pale light of a zinc street lamp on the restaurant terrace filtered in. "There's not a soul in the park." "It's already midnight." Jean-Luc looked at the motionless trees, bent over the earth, listening intently to the sound of the rising sap, but not trembling with joy, not agitated with spring, but calm, patient, full of love. A faint hope... Jean-Luc teased them, condemned them, pitied them, for his young body trembled, his blood boiled and burned.He flung open the window and breathed in the rain-laden air, as if balm had been put in the air to calm the throbbing and frenzy in his heart.The dim light cast their silhouettes on the glass patio wall, they kissed, and Eddie picked up the fur coat that had been thrown on the sofa where they had been lying on top of each other and she held it up to her cheeks and lips: "Your scent..." They also hesitated for a moment by the sofa.Jean-Luc said in a low, passionate voice: "No, no, you won't be my mistress, but my wife. Do you think, if I slept with you, I would let you go?..." "Let's go..." He pressed a fifty-franc note, the last, under the bottle, which was still full. . . whatever! ... what does it matter? ...He felt that he was strong enough to hold up the whole world! 3 They parted hands in the deserted Little Ghazan Street.Every now and then a part of the park is illuminated by a dim light.It was still raining. Jean-Luc turned up the collar of his raincoat and put his hands in his pockets.The rain was in his hair and running down his face.The heavy, cold drops of water sucked away the burning heat from his cheeks, and he felt very comfortable.He is very happy.How sublime, how sublime, is to be alone in happiness. . . . the wind was cutting through his clothes, and he was so hungry that he skipped dinner to buy that bottle of wine, and cigarettes for Eddie, but it made him happier and prouder to do so.At his age, necessities of material things make a man respectable, even if revenged later... Nothing seemed to him to drain his well-preserved strength, be it poverty, overwork, or Indulge in pleasure.His body was excited by sleepless nights; his mind was quicker and clearer from hunger.He is intoxicated by his youth, blood, and a nimble and balanced body that conveys confidence to his heart.He smiled again remembering middle school, the dark walls and his tears...all that was gone...for the first time in his life, time was with him and belonged to him.In childhood, time passed so slowly and dullly, the time that meant joy and forgetfulness to others, now began to beat with his pulse.How young he is!He really wanted to raise his arms and shout: "Thank you, youth..." In an instant, his strength could rival the entire world. He walked slowly in the small streets around the Parc Montsouris, feeling that the night and the silence well shielded his inner frenzy.Below the lower part of the park stretches a stretch of light and noise, through which hundreds of lads like him pass, equally strong, equally intelligent (same intelligent? Well, no, not the same, he thought with a smile) ), these young people have nothing, but everyone dreams of holding the world firmly with their own hands.He was on the dark street, reluctant to go back for a long time.He leaned against the fence in the park and looked fondly at the lights on the lake.There is nothing calmer than these little fires flickering in the dark, in the rain, in the endless silence.The light seemed to absorb his gaze slowly, slowly...it was indescribable, indescribable...it flickered softly, gradually calming his heartbeat. He walked on, slipping the hand that had caressed Eddie through the opening of his shirt, and pressed it firmly to his chest.From time to time, he raised that hand to his lips and inhaled its fragrance.Eddie... This rich lady grew up in a world he didn't understand. It was hard for him to imagine what kind of world it was, the world of financiers and politicians (her father was that Abel Sarah, the banker), the rich girl will be his wife.Love is only valuable when two people sacrifice for each other, and sacrifice completely.Eddie would be his wife, his constant companion until death.He could marry her as long as he found a means of earning a living.He guessed that nine times out of ten her father would object to the marriage.But it would be a terrible thing if one had to live in poverty.The idea of ​​being responsible to women, the fear of depriving women of the luxuries and comforts that some people say they belong to women for granted, is something older generations value.Why? ...Love should be tempered in hard work, in equal mutual sacrifice and mutual loyalty.Courage and self-respect are the only essential virtues for men and women in today's world.Essential, but sufficient.Eddie couldn't be timid.Lack of courage would wipe out the love in her heart.Of course, life is hard.Who knows this better than him? …to survive, to finish school without anyone to depend on—he couldn’t ask his weak, sick, bankrupt father for anything—he was really working his ass off.He washes the car, spends two nights translating detective novels, gives lessons at extremely low fees, earns money through hard work, and completely gives up material comforts. Proud to say that his family gave him nothing and claimed nothing from him, and that he could build the life he wanted, without waiting, advice, or assistance.But in this life he will be the only master. In this way, while he was daydreaming, he squeezed through the crowd like no one else, and finally arrived at a small cafe in the Place Odion, where he was going to meet his friend Serge Dourdin.Worn upholstered benches, a tarnished zinc bar, an exhausted, sleepy girl leaning against a pale, emaciated boy, these are the scenes of his daily life.Because youth is a glass of fine wine, but it is usually packed in a poorly made cup.However, he felt no pain.There is no place like these shabby pubs, where it is like getting lost, hiding in the recesses of the city, taking refuge in the dark and noisy center, recreating around yourself a world free from the laws of the world, just like a child. He stayed there until the early morning hours with Serge Dourdin, lost in politics with him.He would watch the saucers being delivered to the little iron table.Dourdan was as lonely as he was.They met in middle school. On the first night of school, at the gate of the boarding school, the gate was about to close behind them. Two poor children lost in the crowd, clenched their fists and clenched their teeth, not to be ashamed tears fall. They will stay until the early morning, and they may talk or remain silent, in which they understand each other better.Then Jean-Luc would go back to the room he rented, on the Isle de l'Ovre, above the old billiard room, directly opposite the Sorbonne, and he would throw the Falling asleep amidst the clinking of marbles, the clink of wine glasses, and the sound of talking, just like falling asleep in the barracks in middle school, I slept deeply and soundly, without dreams. What reading brings him is to forget life (5) A year later, in this old green island, in the lobby on the ground floor, between the chess and billiard tables, Jean-Luc was waiting for Eddie's call. It was almost eight o'clock in the evening, and he had been waiting here for a long time.It's a gloomy autumn outside, there's nowhere to go... How tired he is of the streets of Paris, where he's been plotting since dawn, trying to sell his model vacuum cleaners, solder for radios, And cheap soap from a defunct cosmetics store... it's his only means of earning a living.Not a illustrious degree, not courage, not a job, gave him the slightest sense of security he could have hoped for, nothing could satisfy his least desires.Just as people say of American girls that "beauty is cheap," so in Europe, in the autumn of 1933, human intelligence is worth nothing. He was there alone, and Dourdan was supposed to come later.Dourdan found a job in an iron and metal shop for 800 yuan a month, and was responsible for supervising and loading export commodities every day.Sometimes, he also had dinner on Green Island, eating a piece of "ham bread" and drinking a cup of black coffee mixed with wine. A thick layer of smoke, mingled with dust and chalk, hung in the dull air; a yellow butterfly gas lamp burned opposite Jean-Luc.The clinking of billiards and chess pieces creates a dull cacophony that is almost intoxicating to listen to when you are drowsy from exhaustion. Jean-Luc sat in a corner, eyes closed, arms folded.When the phone rang—a tiny ring that was barely audible over the din of the café—he flung open his eyelids and strained his ears.But Ernest, the waiter, standing at the door of the telephone booth, was calling "Mr. Marcel", or "Mr. George", or someone else's name, and it wasn't him, it never was him... …Jean-Luc slowly let go of his crossed arms and circled his knees with tightly clasped hands until his heartbeat subsided.He stared intently at the gas flame through the smoke.He was thin, pale, badly shaved, with unusually long hair, and wore an ugly sweater with patched sleeves.All around him were young people who looked exactly like him, as if malnutrition, lack of air and sunlight had molded their faces and bodies until they were indistinguishable from each other as they bid farewell to adolescence. An individual, but a group of agglomerates, less like a person, more like a number, a unit in a barracks, office, or hospital.They all wore sweaters or old raincoats, and they all had the same hairstyle, smooth hair brushed back, narrow chested, very thin necks under very low stiff collars.Every movement they make is hasty and furious.Many of them are Asian, just a little yellower than others.Dim lighting casts a tinge of brown on all the faces.There are no women in the hall. All those who don't play cards and don't play chess talk about politics, just like Jean-Luc used to do... He knows what lies under the words, what kind of dreams they breed, in these young people However, the difficulty of material life did not make them despair, but it inspired them a vague ambition, but deep down they still don't admit it.With what joy will they bury the old world!如果它死了，如果它从四面八方爆炸，就像有人在他们周围对它大喊大叫一样，他们这些年轻人难道不会在那里收集爆炸碎片吗？ ……对那些年龄上与他们最接近的哥哥姐姐们来说，十五年来，这个世界只有一个主宰，那就是金钱。对他们来说，金钱就是权力。这个关键字他们永远也不会说出口，因为它是“忌讳”，但是虽然不情愿，人们还是听到了，隐约显露在他们快捷严肃的评判中，对包括整个世界在内的极度蔑视中，在对政治的热情中——这是惟一能让他们激动的人类活动形式。怎么能不梦想呢？ ……当今世界还给了年轻人什么呢？ ……工作找不到，最简单的心愿也实现不了，没有行动，就只剩下这个了……指望一步登天的、以各种名义和党派标签做伪装的残酷而冷漠的热情。 “那我呢？”让-卢克心想。 他像他们一样梦想主宰的世界，在他看来从来也没有这么遥不可及。他从一扇低矮的门进入世界，这是一扇贫穷之门，遗弃之门，背叛的爱情之门。他觉得是如此孤独……他心想： “于连· 索莱尔尚可以指望社会上的某个阶层，可我们呢？……我们今天有什么可以依靠的？……所有的一切都在摇摇欲坠。连金钱本身都不可靠。在我的周围，什么都没有，无依无靠。” 他用牙齿咬住嘴唇，以免发出一声懦弱的叹息。侍者才给他添了白兰地，他端起酒杯，一饮而尽，然后他俯身向前，手里玩着那只空烟盒。他重新开始等待。 现在快九点钟了。他突然站了起来，穿过弹子房，往电话间走去。透过电话间的门，他听见一个非常年轻的男人的声音，简直就像一个未成年人的声音，用睡梦中的语调反复说： “可我已经跟你说过我在父亲家吃晚饭！……妮妮，好了，理智一点！我跟你说我现在就在我爸爸家！……” 让-卢克靠在墙上，这墙壁以前刷过石灰，现在已经肮脏不堪，写满了名字和数字。最后，电话间的门终于打开了，从里面走出一个二十岁的小伙子，脸部因喝了酒而涨得通红，胳膊下面还夹了根台球棒。他认识让-卢克，对他微微一笑： “你好吗？达格尔纳。” 让-卢克一语不发地走进令人窒息的小电话间，他已经在那里打过许多次电话。他下不了决心把听筒摘下来，又一次听见那个声音： “你是谁啊？小姐出门了。” 电话间的隔板一直到半高的地方都写满了女人的名字，画了许多人体或者面孔，里面弥漫着一股冷冷的烟味，让人恶心。 轻轻地，让-卢克轻轻地摘下听筒，手在上面抚摸了片刻，然后开始拨号。接听电话的是爱蒂本人，一听到她的声音，让-卢克就大发雷霆，听到沙哑低沉的说话声，他自己也大吃一惊。 “是你……你为什么没打电话？” 爱蒂喃喃道： “我现在不能说……” 阅读带给他的，是忘却生活（6） “你听着，爱蒂！……如果你愿意，你只用说是或者不是，可我需要一个回答！一个认识你的小伙子说你已经订婚了，说订婚日期已经宣布了，定在11月25号。一个星期了，我见不到你，你既不给我打电话，也不给我写信。我想……我想要知道。你回答！……”他狂怒地喊道。 他停止说话了：爱蒂一句话也没说就把电话给挂掉了。 他气愤地摇着电话铃，他怎么弄都是白搭。他把手慢慢地放到脸上。 “婊子，”他咬牙切齿地喃喃道，“她会为此尝到苦头的，我发誓……” 说完，他还在那里呆了片刻，定定地看着画在门上的一个女人的臀部。他的心剧烈地跳动着。最后，他打开门，丢给收银员一句“我打了一通电话”，然后回到了大厅。 杜尔丹已经坐到他的那张桌子边。他推开杜尔丹放在椅子上的雨衣。杜尔丹小声问道： “不舒服？” “什么呀……没有。” They stopped talking.两人的友谊是很谨慎的那种，依然受孩童时的约定影响：不指责，不抱怨，尽可能少地诉说自己的痛苦和错误。从那个小小的脸色苍白的中学生，到让-卢克十二岁时认识的那个膝盖粗硬的小男孩，杜尔丹一直都保持着那种机灵、神秘和优雅的神情，他的手腕很细，那双忧郁的眼睛很难集中到跟他说话的那个人身上，就好像他打量了一下对方后，马上就把目光躲开了。 让-卢克把那片切开的火腿推到他面前。 “给。吃吧。想喝点东西吗？” “越多越好。我一整天都在北站扛废铁。” “为了那一个月八百块钱，你现在当起卡车司机来了？” “偶尔做一下。” “你给你叔叔写信了吗？” 杜尔丹属于洛林的工业家阶层，他的父亲死于1917年。一个家庭董事会负责管理那个建于1830年的水晶玻璃器皿店，等塞尔日成年后必须归还给他。这个家庭董事会是由杜尔丹老爹所能找到的最聪明最正直的人组成的，在出发上前线之前把儿子的股权托付给他们。他们理智地、谨慎地、诚实地经营着这门生意，以至于它不但没有赶上繁荣的浪潮，反而从1928年起就开始渐渐衰败，到经济危机的前几个月就破产了。 杜尔丹把酒杯举到嘴边： “我的叔叔吗？……我都收到他的回信了。你等一下就知道，这非常有趣。他在浮日山脉里面有个织布工厂，是那种赚不了几个钱但很惬意的生意。你明白了吗？……工厂15号开始变卖资产以偿还债务。他的两个女儿，一个四十二岁，一个四十五岁，在信的后面还附了文字，让我在巴黎随便给她们找个什么职位或者工作。你不觉得这很有趣吗？” “有趣，这个词恰如其分。”让-卢克低声说道。 杜尔丹好像醉了，空腹喝酒使他脸部充血。他站起来跟邻座借火。由于疲劳，他走起路来踉踉跄跄的。 “你想过吗，纪德的那句话很快就要失去意义了，”让-卢克说道，“一个家庭，它使你厌烦，但好歹有个家在那里，可以帮助你，使你的社会地位得到提升，它是无价之宝……可我，我不知道什么是无价之宝……” 他说这些话的时候，声音干巴巴的，就好像他在努力克制自己，压抑自己的感情。这些话好像是经过字斟句酌的，为的是弱化思想的重要性，减少思想的影响力，但是，时不时地，一个很不相称的词，诸如“可怕的”，“恐怖的”等等，就像一个出口，一团隐藏着的火从那里蹿出来。 杜尔丹和让-卢克之间的对话，常常会使用一些名言引出个人的私事，就像一块用于书写和阅读密码文件的镂空纸版放在文字上一样，这些文字的意思只有他们自己知道。杜尔丹明白让-卢克是在想自己的父亲，那个快要死去的父亲，他不能从父亲那里得到任何帮助和安慰。他低下头，让-卢克知道他已经明白自己所说的话。 “女孩子，”让-卢克突然痛苦地说，“只有女孩子是幸福的。自由自在，荒淫无度，一门心思追求肉体享受。'没有危险、毫不担心的'爱情。几代人中她们第一次享受到这种自由。你看看她们，她们多么漂亮，多么风光，看上去是多么幸福……而我们呢？……你看看我们。看看我们周围。我们漂亮吗？嗯？” “你说的是富家小姐……” “我说的是其中的一个，”让-卢克说着把头扭到了一边，“你知道我想说的是谁。”他说得更小声了，而且费了很大的劲，“你跟我说过……她要结婚……是真的吗？……” “是真的。”杜尔丹小声说道。 "How did you know?" “那好吧！”杜尔丹说道，“我认识一个女孩……她名叫玛丽·贝朗热，她知道爱蒂· 撒拉，更确切地说，她以前认识她。这个玛丽·贝朗热和丈夫分居了，是在几年前。分居后，她就没再见过撒拉那家人，他们是她丈夫的远房亲戚，但她从前的一个朋友还跟她有来往，那个朋友说你的那个爱蒂要嫁给贝特朗· 博罗歇。你知道这个名字吗？博罗歇家族。大财团，非常庞大的财团。所以我就知道了这个事。告诉我，这个女孩，你和她睡过吗？” "No." “没有？……你怎么犯这样的错误！应该利用她。这才是最重要的。” “这才是最重要的。”让-卢克重复道。 “你想过吗，在说到女孩子时，'年轻女子'这个词废弃不用却只说'女子'1，是具有征兆性的。'女子'，另外还有'婆娘'，她们就值这个价……但我们会喜欢上她们中间的一些人，我不知道是为什么……就像这个玛丽· 贝朗热……” 杜尔丹没有往下说。他把烟头放到空盘子里轻轻地掐灭，然后突然说道： “我需要钱。我太需要钱了。我不能让玛丽来我家，来那个住着北非人和皮条客的旅馆。我也不能去她家。她正准备离婚，为了得到一笔使她可以活下去的年金，离婚必须以她的丈夫有过错进行宣判。那是一个暴虐的疯子，如果他成功地证明她有个情人，她就会一无所有。我想要一间过得去的房子。我没有钱。可是也许有个办法……你说说，顾忌，你能告诉我什么是顾忌吗？” “一个人完全蔑视别人，但他也明白对自己的责任和义务。”让-卢克说道。 “你这么认为吗？……也许吧……” "any solution?" “啊！玩点文字游戏。”杜尔丹轻描淡写地说。 “造假？” “差不多……但更复杂……” “你得留点神。”让-卢克小声说道。 杜尔丹耸了耸肩膀。 “留神什么？……不名誉吗，我无所谓！……知道那会比现在这个样子要幸福得多……你想过吗，假如我们生病了，出事故了，我们会怎么样吗？我们会活活饿死……” “你醉了。”让-卢克说道。 杜尔丹好像清醒了。他费力地站了起来，拿起那件发绿的旧雨衣，揉成一团放到腋下，然后一语不发地走了。 剩下让-卢克独自一人。 阅读带给他的，是忘却生活（7） Late at night.玩弹子的客人走了，接着离开的是玩扑克和桥牌的人，最后走的是下象棋的人。 只有一个人还坐在让-卢克对面，那是一个穿着浪漫诗人的黑斗篷的老头儿，绿岛的一位常客。他坐在那里睡着了，垂在胸前的是一张精致苍白的脸，脸上留着一圈黑色的大胡子。 让-卢克出神地盯着他，却好像并没有看见，自己也没有动一下……去哪里呢？……秋天的夜晚如此不怀好意……当然还可以去维希纳……但是一想到青蛙的叫声和约瑟的鼾声，他就厌恶得发抖。那栋房子太小了。兄弟俩睡在同一个房间里。此外，他最害怕的还是他父亲那惴惴不安的柔情…… 最后，睡觉的老头醒了，离开了。让-卢克上楼回到自己的房间。 他这一整夜都很难受。他扑到床上，抱住枕头，死死地抱在胸前，就像在小时候那些非常难过的夜晚一样。她可真会玩他啊！他是多么痛苦啊！……他咬牙切齿、怒不可遏地重复说：“不，不，我不想受苦！”他使出年轻人的全部力量，带着愤怒、羞耻和蔑视，拒绝自己的痛苦，憎恨自己的痛苦。“我决不会为一个女人痛苦！……我拒绝为一个女人痛苦！我不想被世界上最低级、最可耻的东西降服，被爱的需要和顾影自怜打败！……啊！她想和我对着干……那好吧！我们走着瞧，我们看谁最厉害，”他大声说道，“我们走着瞧，我的小美人！……我会叫你欲哭无泪。你等着好了，要不了多久……你等着瞧……我将成为最强者！……我！……我！……我！……” 他自豪而又绝望地喊着“我”，就仿佛在向一个无形的神求助一样。无论如何，都必须挺住。他孤军奋战，世界上没有一个人能够帮助他。只能靠他自己，靠他自己的力量和意志。必须锤炼自己百折不挠的意志，要冷酷无情。他一字一顿、充满爱意地低声重复着“冷酷无情”几个字……这天夜里，自我力量的意识和必胜的信念在他身上诞生了。一个年轻人，有一个刚强的灵魂，当他第一次遭受痛苦的时候，他惊恐地发现它是如此强大，而他本人却是如此地不堪一击，但是他马上就会发现它和自己势均力敌，而不是像小时候那样力量悬殊，很快地他就可以骄傲地承受它，而不会变成弱者，不会因此而死去……他把痛苦叫出来，向它发出挑衅，向它挺起胸膛：“那么！来吧，打击我吧！……我不怕你！我不怕世界上的任何东西！……” 可是，他突然想起爱蒂的一句话，想起一个吻，惊恐地发现眼泪已经夺眶而出，就要在脸上流淌了。为了忍住眼泪，他的整个身体都在抽搐。不，他不会哭。他憎恨软弱。他想起他的父亲，父亲在送他去上学、即将开赴前线的时候哭了，当着他的面哭了，一点也不害羞。看着父亲泪流满面，他是多么怜悯他啊！mercy! ……他可不要任何人怜悯，他！ ……决不！ 他站起来，跑到敞开的窗户边，使尽全身力气让窗框从手指上关过，把手指压在两扇窗扉之间，使劲压着。这么做在很短的时间里对于消除嫉妒和爱情是非常有效的……他看着鲜血直流，满不在乎地点点头说： “行啦……现在了结了。”他大声说道。 了结了？……不，还没有……可是很快……一点点耐心，一点点勇气……爱情，这一类的爱情，充满耻辱和仇恨，是一种可耻的感情。尤其是，不要去想它！……别再见她，哪怕她躺在他的两腿中间，主动投怀送抱，他都会拒绝，让她自重……“就让她嫁给她的那个博罗歇吧，”他气愤地想，“但她首先和我睡！……我发誓！……利用她，她就配这个，”他想起杜尔丹的那句话后小声说道，“先利用她，然后，让她见鬼去吧！……想去哪里就去哪里，爱干什么就干什么吧……但至少我要得到快乐，不上当，不上她的当，不上世界上任何人的当，也不要被我自己的心给欺骗了！……” 他觉得疲惫但很清醒，心里已接近平静。他站在敞开着的窗户边，看着屋顶和早晨烟雾缭绕的低矮灰蒙的天空。他对爱蒂的所有温情和渴望，还剩下什么？ 他心想：“已经没有一丝一毫的柔情了……”是的，感情的事已经结束了，可能再也不会回来了。欲望还在持续，它更富有刺激性，更令人不安……等着瞧，会让它得到满足的……