Chapter 4 Chapter Three (Part 1)

Father Ralph de Bricassart's brand new Daimler drove along the rutted lane across a long, silvery meadow, The strong sunlight blinded him half-closed.he pondered.The road to Drogheda brought back few memories of his youth, not the lovely misty green meadows of Ireland.What would Drogheda be like?There are no battlefields, no thrones of power.This is not true at all.His sense of humor is tempered these days, but it's as strong as it used to be.He pictured in his mind a Cromwellian Mary Carson exercising her unique, regal power.There is no need for such an exaggerated metaphor; there is no doubt that women are no less capable of exercising power and controlling others than the powerful warlords of yesteryear.

① Automobile produced by Daimler AG in Germany ②Oliver Cromwell (1599-1658), a representative of the bourgeois new aristocratic group in the British bourgeois revolution in the 17th century, and the leader of the independent faction. -- Annotation Passing through a field of boxwood and eucalyptus, the last gate was already in sight, the car jerked and stopped abruptly.Father Ralph pulled a battered gray wide-brimmed hat over his head to keep out the sun.He got out of the car.Walking slowly towards the steel latch on the post; he pulled back the latch and flung the gate impatiently open.There were twenty-seven gates between Father Killambo's house and Drogheda's house, and each door meant he had to stop, get out of the car, open the door, get back in the car, drive through, park again, and Get out, go back and close the gate, then go back to the car and drive down the next door.Countless times, he'd longed to cut the procedure at least in half, to keep the doors open behind him like a string of frightened mouths.But, despite his formidable career, he will surely be punished severely by the master of the gate if he does so.He wished the horses could go as fast and as efficiently as the car, because then you could open and close the door from the horse's back instead of getting off.

"There's nothing wrong with nothing," he said, patting the dashboard of the brand new Daimler as he drove the last mile of treeless grass to the paddock mansion; Fastened firmly behind him. Even for an Irishman used to the sights of huge mansions and mansions, this Australian mansion is still a sight to behold.Drogheda was the oldest and largest estate in the area, and its not so long ago senile owner had built a mansion to match it.It was a two-story house built of hand-hewn beige sandstone from a quarry five hundred miles to the east.Its architecture is Georgian, austere and generous; its ground floor has many wide windows of glass, and wide verandahs with iron columns.Black wooden shutters are placed on each glass window, which is not only for decoration, but also for practicality.Pulling them down keeps the interior cool on hot summer days.

Although it is already Xiaoxiao Jinqiu, the slender vines are still green.In spring, the wisteria that was planted on the same day as the house was completed 50 years ago was full of impenetrable lavender flower clusters, bustling and bustling, covering the exterior walls and the roof of the veranda.Surrounding the house were acres of scythe-manicured lawn with the utmost care, dotted with well-groomed flower beds, which even at this moment were still in full bloom with roses, sweet-scented, dahlias, and Golden Gazelle.A tall row of devil's gums, with pale white trunks rising seventy feet above the ground, shades the buildings from the relentless sun; some of the branches of this row sometimes intertwine with the vines of mirabilis, revealing a bright red color .Even the requisite outback monsters, the water storage tanks, are thickly covered with hardy, native vines and wisterias that seem more decorative than utilitarian.Thanks to the late Mr. Michael Carson's enthusiasm for the mansion, he never spared money in such things as water tanks; it is said that after ten years without rain, the lawns in Drogheda mansion can still be green and clear. , The flowers in the flower beds are still in full bloom.

①An Australian eucalyptus. -- Annotation When you walk through the paddock mansion, the first thing you see is the house and those devil gums, but then you will find that there are many one-story yellow sandstone houses behind and on both sides; The ramps connect them with the main building, and the top of the ramps is covered with tigers.The rutted lane ended in a wide gravel drive that turned into a circular car park on one side of the big house and continued down until out of sight, Drogheda real working place.Father Ralph himself preferred the giant pepper trees, which hid all the annexes and their associated activities, to the devil's gums which shaded the main building.The thick, pale green leaves of the pepper trees, buzzing with bees, are just what it looks like in outback paddocks with languidly drooping leaves.

As Father Ralph parked the car in the yard and strolled out onto the lawn, the maid was already waiting on the front porch, her freckled face wide with a smile. "Good morning, Minnie," he said. "Oh, Father, it is such a pleasure to see you on such a beautiful morning," she said in a heavy accent, pushing the door open with one hand, and reaching out to receive his door with the other. A battered, not priestly hat. The hall was dimly lit with marble tiles, and the grand staircase had brass banisters.He stood there until Minnie nodded to him, and then he went into the living room.

Mary Carson was sitting in a high-backed chair with the window open, a floor-to-ceiling floor-to-ceiling window fifteen feet high; she was apparently unconcerned by the cold wind blowing from the window.Her thick red hair was still almost as shiny as it had been in her youth, though age had blotted out her rough, blotchy skin even more.For a 65-year-old woman, her wrinkles are not many, much like the tiny diamond-shaped creases in a laundered comforter.On either side of her Roman nose was a deep line that ran to the corner of her mouth; her pale blue eyes were expressionless, the only sign of stubbornness.

Father Ralph walked silently across the Aubasson rug and kissed her hand; a gesture well suited to a man of his stature and elegance, especially since he wore it which gave him a certain courtly air. velveteen black cassock.There was a sudden twist of joy in her expressionless eyes, and Mary Carson was almost smirking. ① Carpet produced in Aubasson, France. -- Annotation "Would you like some tea, Father?" she asked. "It depends on whether you are willing to attend mass." He said as he sat down on the chair opposite her.His legs were crossed, breeches and high boots peeked from beneath his arched cassock, a concession of the church to his parish. "I brought you Communion, but if you want to hear Mass, I can make it for you in a few minutes, and I don't mind eating it later."

"You have been too kind to me, Father," she said with great grace, knowing full well that he, like all men, respected not her but her money. "Tea, please," she went on, "I shall be glad to have Communion." He restrained himself from resentment; the parish was a good place for him to develop self-control.If one day he had a chance to escape the obscurity his temper had brought him, he would not have to do it again.If he was cunning and played his cards well, the old lady might be able to make him get what he wanted. "I have to admit, Father, that last year was a great one," she said. "You're a far more satisfying man than old Father Kelly, God let his soul rot." She said the last, her voice suddenly vicious and harsh.

He looked up at her face, blinking hard. "My dear Mrs. Carson! That's not quite a Catholic feeling." "But it's true. He's a long-drinking old alcoholic, and I believe God will make his soul as rotten as his alcoholic body." She leaned forward. "I know you pretty well by now, and I think I'm qualified to ask you a few questions, right? After all, you're free to use Drogheda as if it were your own playing field—learn what Be a rancher, get better at riding, get out of the world of Gilly. Of course, this is all at my invitation, but I do think I'm entitled to your answers to some questions, yes. Is it?" ① Abbreviation for Kiranbo. -- Annotation

He didn't want her to remind him that he should be grateful to her, but he had been waiting for the day when she thought she had a right to ask something of him. "That's true, Mrs. Carson. I can't thank you enough for letting me come and go to Drogheda as I please, and for all the fetishes you gave me—horses, cars." "Excuse me, what is the longevity?" She asked straight to the point. "Twenty-eight," he replied. "Smaller than I thought. Still, they shouldn't have sent a priest like you to a place like Gilly. What did you do to make them send you to this remote place?" " "I offended His Excellency the Bishop." He smiled and said calmly. "That must be the case. I don't think a priest of your caliber would be happy in a place like Gillumbo." "It's God's will." "Nonsense! You're here because you're wrong--you're wrong; every lord bishop is perfect, only the Pope is perfect. Kiri doesn't fit in with your talents, we know that .Not that we would be happy to have someone like you in place of the priestly slobs they usually send us, but your talents are better off in dabbling in the divine authority of the Church, not here. among the sheep and horses. You'll look splendid in a cardinal's red robe." "I'm afraid I don't have that luck. I don't think Gillanbo is the center of the Pope's envoy map. It could be worse. I have you here at least, and Drogheda." She took his deliberate, explicit flattery with gusto, admiring his imposing presence, his attentive attention, and his quick-witted mind.Really, he'd make a great cardinal.In all her life she could not remember seeing a man more handsome than he, or one who used the charm of his handsomeness in much the same way.He must have known what he looked like himself: tall and well-proportioned, handsome and aristocratically handsome, with all the parts perfectly matched.He is the proud creation of God. Among all things created by God, such a generous gift is rare.From the shaggy black curls on his head and those amazing blue eyes, to his small, slender hands and feet, everything is beautiful.Yes, he must be aware of everything he is.Yet there was an air of detachment about him that made her feel that he had never been enslaved by his beauty, and never would.If necessary, he will use his beauty nonchalantly to get what he wants, but he doesn't seem to be intoxicated by his beauty, and he seems to think that those affected by his beauty are the least worthwhile.She would love to know what had made him this way in his past life. It is puzzling that there are so many priests as handsome as Adonis and as romantic as Don Juan.Did they practice celibacy to escape the consequences of that? ①A god in Greek legend, who is said to be the beautiful boy in love with Aphrodite, the god of love. -- Annotation ②The character in the Spanish legend is a nobleman who lives a romantic life, which is often seen in Western poetry and drama. -- Annotation "Why are you willing to be in Killambo?" she asked. "Why don't you give up your teaching job, and why do you prefer to live like this? With your talents, you can become rich and powerful in many ways. You You can't tell me that power doesn't appeal to you, can you?" His left eyebrow is raised. "Dear Mrs. Carson, you are a Catholic. You know the vows I took are sacred, and I will die a priest. I cannot break my vows." She laughed out loud. "Oh, come, do you really believe that if you break your vow they'll come after you and shoot you like hell?" "Of course not. And I don't believe you'd be so foolish as to think I'm in the priesthood out of fear of punishment." "Oh ho, that's bitter, Father de Bricassart! So what is it that binds you? What compels you to suffer from dust and heat and Kiri's flies? You know perfectly well that it may be It's a life sentence." A shadow passed over those blue eyes for a moment, but he smiled and said to her tenderly, "You're a great comforter, aren't you?" He opened his lips, looked up at the ceiling, and sighed . "I was raised to be a priest, but it's more than that. How can I explain it to a woman? I'm a hollow body, Mrs. Carson, and it's often God who fills it Yes. If I'd been a better priest, I wouldn't have felt empty at all. Filled with God, one with God, it doesn't matter where I am. Whether I'm in Killambo or In the bishop's house, it's all the same. But it's not easy to explain, because, even for priests, it's a great mystery. It's a divine gift that no one else will ever understand. Perhaps, That's what it is. Give it up? I can't." "That's a power, isn't it? So why is it only given to priests? What makes you think that the anointing of the holy oil during an exhaustingly lengthy ceremony can give this power to anyone?" " He shook his head. "Why, it's earned by years of life, even before the ordination. It's the stretch that opens the body to God. It's earned! It's earned. That's what the oath is for, don't you see? The priest's mind is free from worldly distractions--no lust for women, no lust for money, no resentment at having to obey others. I'm nothing new; I'm not from a rich family, and it's not hard for me to be chaste. What about obedience? It's the most difficult thing for me of the above three. But I'll obey, Because if I value myself more than being God's body, then I'm nothing. I'm going to obey. I'm willing to suffer in Gillanbo all my life if necessary." "Then you're an idiot," she said. "I also think there are more important things than lovers, but being God's host is not the case. It's weird. I never thought you were a fanatical believer in God. I thought you were a skeptic." people." "I do have doubts. What does a thinking person not doubt? That's why I often feel empty." He looked behind her at something she couldn't see. "I think I've given up all my aspirations, all my desires, in order to be a perfect priest, do you know that?" "Perfection is boring in anything," she said. "I like a little blemish myself." He laughed, and looked at her with admiration and some apprehension.She is an extraordinary woman. She had been widowed for 33 years, and her only son died in the cradle.Because of her extraordinary position in Gillumbo, she never considered the overtures made to her by the few ambitious men she knew; and as Michael Carson's widow, she was an undisputed woman, But as someone's wife, she has to hand over her control of everything to that one person.But Mary Carson's idea of ​​life wasn't being a sidekick.Therefore, she vowed to renounce carnality, preferring to play power.There was absolutely no doubt that she would have a lover.For as far as gossip is concerned, Kieranbo is like a wire fit for electricity.But she is neither sensible nor has the weakness of ordinary people. But now, she has been recognized as an octogenarian and no longer has physical urges.If the new young priest had done his duty to her, there was nothing wrong with her giving him a small gift like a car in return.She has been a solid pillar of the Church all her life, supporting her diocese and its religious heads in a proportionate manner, even when Father Kelly hiccups persistently during Mass.She was not alone in feeling fondly and magnanimously for Father Kelly's successor; Father Ralph de Bricassart was well received by every parishioner of his parish, wealthy or not. the poor.If parishioners from farther parishes could not come to see him in Gilly, he visited them: before Mary Carson gave him a car, he rode there.His patience and kindness endeared him to all his parishioners, and to the heartfelt love of some.Martin of Buguera spent a lot of money to restore the priest's house: Dominique O'Rourke of Banh-Banh paid for a good housekeeper. Mary Carson, therefore, from her respectable age and position, felt that she could play with Father Ralph in safety.She likes to outwit a mind as bright as herself, she likes to outwit him because she's not at all sure that she actually outwits him. "Let's go back to what you said about Kiri not being in the center of the Pope's envoy," she said, sitting back in her chair. Shake it up and make Kiri the turning point of his life?" The priest smiled mournfully. "It's hard to say. Is it going to be a blockbuster? Suddenly save a thousand souls, suddenly have the ability to make the sick walk and the blind to see... But the era of miracles is over." "Oh, well, I doubt it! It's only God changing his way. He's using money these days." "You're such a cynic! Maybe that's why I like you so much, Mrs. Carson." "My name is Mary. Please call me Mary." Just as Father de Bricassart said "Thank you, Marie," Minnie came in pushing the refreshment trolley. Mary Carson sighed as she ate fresh cakes and (the fish was) fish toast: "Dear priest, I hope you prayed hard for me this morning." "Call me Ralph," he said.Then he said mischievously, "I doubt I can pray for you harder than usual, but I'll give it a try." "Oh, you're fascinating! Maybe that's sarcasm? I don't usually like things that are obvious, but with you I was never sure if the obvious covered something deeper. Like The carrot before the donkey. Father de Bricassart, what do you really think of me? I'll never know because you're too smooth to tell me. It's so interesting, so disturbing Fascinated. You must pray for me, though. I am old and sinful." "The years go by, the same for you and me, and I, too, have sinned." She couldn't help but smiled softly. "It would cost me dearly to know how you did it! Really, I do." She was silent for a moment, then changed the subject. "I'm short of a foreman on my ranch right now." "Are you missing someone again?" "Last year there were five missing. It's getting harder and harder to find decent people." "Oh, I hear you're not a generous, considerate employer." "Ah, presumptuous!" She gasped and laughed. "Who bought you a brand new Dame so you don't have to jolt around on horseback?" "Oh, but look how hard I pray for you!" "If Michael had half your intelligence and character, I might like him," she said unexpectedly.Her face changed and became vicious. "You think I have no family and no family in the world, and I have to leave my property and land to the Church, don't you?" "I don't know," he said quietly, pouring himself some more tea. "Actually, I have a younger brother who has a big mouth and a thriving family." "That's great," he said solemnly. "When I married, I had very little property. I knew I could never find a good match in Ireland; a woman had to be educated and well-connected there to find a rich husband. So I I worked my ass off with both hands, saved enough money, and came to a land where rich men don't talk so much. When I got here, all I had was a face, a body, and a bikini Smarter minds that women are supposed to have. That's all I got Michael Carson; he was a stupid old man who doted on me till the end of his life." "What about your brother?" He felt that she was getting too far, so he reminded him. "My brother is 11 years younger than me, so he should be 54 now. We are the only ones alive now. I hardly knew him, he was a child when I left Galway. Now He lives in New Zealand; if he emigrated to make a fortune, he hasn't succeeded so far." ①A place name in Ireland. -- Annotation "But last night, when the ranch hand brought me word that Arthur Teviot had packed his bedding, I suddenly thought of Padraic. Here I am, never to be younger, No family around. I thought Paddy was a man of experience with land, but had no money to buy his own land. I thought, why not write him a letter and tell him to come here with his sons? When I died, he inherited Drogheda and Michal Ltd., because he was the only next of kin living to me compared to my cousins ​​in Ireland." She smiled: "Maybe it seems a bit stupid to wait now, doesn't it? He will come sooner or later, and he will get used to herding sheep on the black soil plains. I'm sure it's very different to herd sheep on the black soil plains and New Zealand." .Then, after I die, he can take over my career smoothly." She lowered her head and stared intently at Father Ralph. "I don't understand, why didn't you think of it earlier," he said. "Oh, I did. It never occurred to me until recently, though, that the last thing I wanted was to have a lot of greedy people waiting impatiently for my last breath. Only recently, the day of my death It seemed to be closer to me than ever before, and I felt... oh, I don't know. Maybe it's nice to have my own flesh and blood around me." "What's the matter? Do you think you're sick?" he asked hastily, with genuine concern in his eyes. She shrugged. "I'm fine. But over sixty-five, there's always something ominous. It suddenly feels like aging isn't something in the future, it's something that has already happened." "I see what you mean, and you are right. It will be a great pleasure to you to hear the voices of young men in this house." "Oh, they won't live here," she said. "They could live in the foreman's house by the creek, which is far from me. I don't like children and their noise." "Mary, isn't it too short to treat your only brother like this, even though you are very different in age?" "He's going to inherit—then let him earn it," she said flatly. Six days before Meggie's ninth birthday, Fiona Cleary gave birth to another boy.In the period before this, apart from a few miscarriages, nothing else happened, and she considered herself very lucky. Nine-year-old Meggie is old enough to really help out.Fiona was 40 herself, and having a child at this age was bound to be traumatizing.The child was named Harold, and was a delicate infant; for the first time in the family's memory, the doctor called in regularly. However, troubles are not forgiving, and Cleary's troubles have never ceased to increase.The consequences of the war may not be prosperity, but rural depression.Work was getting harder and harder to find. One day, while they were drinking tea, a telegram came from old Angus MacWilter.Paddy tore it open with trembling hands; telegrams were never good news.The children gathered around except Frank, who picked up his cup of tea and left the table.Fee's eyes followed him, but when Paddy snorted she looked back. "What's the matter?" she asked. Paddy was looking at the piece of paper dreamily, as if it bore bad news. "Archibald doesn't want us anymore." Bob banged his fist on the table; he had long been looking forward to being an apprentice shearer with his father, and Archibald's shearing shed was the first place he would have gone. "Father, why is he doing this shit to us? We were leaving tomorrow." "He didn't give a reason, Bob. I guess some goddam bastard contractor got us in." "Oh, Paddy!" Fee moaned. Little Hal, lying in the big cradle by the fire, began to cry, but Meggie was on her feet before Fee could move away.Frank went back in the door too, and stood there, teacup in hand, watching his father carefully. ①Harold's nickname. -- Annotation "Well, I guess I'll have to see Archibald," said Paddy at last. "It's too late to go to him now and find another one, but I feel in my heart he'll have to give me a more plausible explanation than that. Before Willoughby's sheepfolds start in July, We'll just have to hope to get a job milking." Meggie picked a square one from the large pile of white towels that stood by the stove, warmed it, spread it carefully over the case, and lifted the crying baby from the wicker cradle.The sparse Cleary hair shone on the baby's tiny skull while Meggie changed his diapers as precisely and neatly as her mother. "Little Mammy Meggie," Frank teased her. "I'm not!" she replied angrily. "I was just doing my mother a favor." "I know," he said gently. "You're a good girl, little Meggie." He tugged at the white taffeta bow at the back of her head so that it hung askew on one side. Her large gray eyes lifted into his face admiringly; and she bent down again on the dozing baby's head.It seemed to him that she had reached his own age, or even older than he.It pained him to do such a thing at an age when she was supposed to be looking after only Agnes (now forgotten in the bedroom).If it wasn't for her and their mother, he would have left long ago.He looked wistfully at his father, who had brought into being the new life that had made such a mess in the house.He has lost his sheep-shearing job, and he deserves it! Somehow, no other boy, not even Meggie, had ever hurt him as much as Hal; and this time, when Fee's girth started to grow, he was old enough to be married and a father himself. .Everyone but little Meggie felt something was wrong about it, especially his mother.The voyeurism of the boys made her cower and cower like a rabbit; she was not afraid to meet Frank's eyes or hide the shame in her own.Remembering the terrible groans and cries that came from her bedroom the night Hal was born, Frank kept telling himself that no woman should have to suffer like this; Didn't leave the family to fend for himself like other people do.Now you papa lost all your sheep shearing, and you deserve it.A dignified man should never have touched her again. His mother's head was golden in the new electric light, and there was an indescribable beauty in the pure outline of her face as she looked down at Paddy at the long table.How did such a lovely and refined person as she marry an itinerant shearer from the Galway Moors?What a disgrace to herself, to her Spodei china, to her satin napkins and those unshown Persian rugs in the living room, for she was out of tune with those old women of Pada's station.She made them feel strongly that their loud voices were vulgar, that they did not know what to do with more than one fork before them. ② ① A fine porcelain made by Josiah Spode (1733-1797) in Staffordshire, England in 1770. -- Annotation ②In decent households, each dish uses a pair of knives and forks. If there are more than one fork, it means that there is more than one dish.It is a metaphor here that these people have no experience in the world. -- Annotation