Chapter 19 Chapter Nineteen

"Byron!" Dr. Jastrow gasped at the name, his eyes widening in surprise.He was sitting on the lawn as usual, with a blue blanket on his legs, a gray scarf on his shoulders, and a clipboard and a yellow legal pad on his lap.The cool breeze from the Siena valley stirred Jastrow's book.In the haze, around this city surrounded by red walls, vineyards are dotted on the rolling hills, and there are black and white churches on the top of the hills. This solemn scene is very similar to Siena in the middle ages in ancient murals. "Hello, Ellen Jastrow." "My God, Byron! I'm so taken aback by you that I swear it'll take me a week to get myself together again! We were talking about you over breakfast. We're both sure you must be in New York by now."

"Is she here too?" "Of course. She's upstairs in the library." "So, excuse me, sir, may I go up first?" "Go, go, and calm me down. Oh, Byron, you tell Maria I want some strong tea now." Byron rushed up the stairs in the hall and came to the library.She was wearing a gray sweater and a black skirt, and she was standing by the desk, pale and wide-eyed. "My God, it's you! There's no one else up the stairs like that but you." "it's me." "Why the hell are you back again?" "I must find a job."

"You're so stupid, why didn't you inform us earlier that you were coming?" "Well, I think I'd better just come straight in." She walked up to him and hesitantly stretched out a hand to caress his face.The long fingers were dry and cold. "But you look much better, and you seem to have gained some weight." She said, and walked away suddenly and unnaturally. "I owe you an apology. I was in a bad mood that day in Koenigsberg. I'm so sorry I offended you." She left him and went back to her desk to sit down. "Well, we could keep you working here, but it's not pleasant to come out of nowhere like you are. Do you understand now?" She continued typing.It was as if he had just returned from a trip to town.

This is his welcome.Jastrow had him working here again, and within a few days everything was back to normal.It was as if that trip to Poland had never happened, and neither of them had ever been down the mountain.In this silent mountains, there are very few traces of war.Just the lack of gasoline from time to time caused some difficulties.The Milanese and Florentine papers they read did not talk about the war.Even the BBC broadcast little news of the war.Russia's attack on Finland is as distant as an earthquake in China. Because the bus was unreliable, Jastrow asked Byron to move in and live in a room on the third floor of the villa where the maids used to live. It's raining.Natalie lives just below Byron, a bedroom on the second floor facing Siena.Her attitude towards him has always been special.At meals, or generally in Jastrow's presence, she always kept her distance.In the library, she was even rude to him, and she worked in silence for a long time. If he wanted to ask her something, she would answer him coldly and simply.Byron had always had an inferiority complex and felt that he was not interesting to others, so he took her attitude for granted.But he still missed their friendship in Poland, and wondered why she didn't say a word about it.He thought it must be because he followed her here and made her angry.He was with her again, which was why he had come here, and so, despite her rough manner, he was as content as a dog reunited with his irascible master.

When Byron arrived in Siena, the work on Constantine was temporarily suspended, and Jastrow was to supplement an article published in the magazine entitled "The Last Horse Race".When he speaks of race, he paints a sad picture of Europe's return to war.The article was so predictable that when the editorial department received it on September 1, it happened to be the day when Germany attacked Poland.The magazine published the article, and the publisher of Jastrow's book sent him an undersea cable.Desperately wish he would turn this into a little book, and say it would be nice if he could express some optimism (even a little) about the outcome of the war.The telegram also mentions a large royalty advance.That work is at hand now.

In this pamphlet, Jastrow makes an astonishingly majestic, prophetic, and broad-minded argument.He wrote: The Germans may be defeated once more; even if they achieve the dominion of the world, they will eventually be domesticated and conquered by their subjects, just as their ancestors Goths and Vandals were domesticated into Christ. Christians are the same.There is a certain number of fanatical or tyrannical tyranny.It is a recurring fever of man, doomed at last to cool down and subside.And the whole human history will always move towards rationality and freedom. Jastrow believes that the Germans are the unworthy descendants of Europe, selfish, self-willed, impractical, and always trying to disrupt various forms of unstable order.Arminius shattered the peace under Roman rule by force.Martin Luther destroyed Catholicism, and now Hitler is challenging the still unstable European liberal capitalist system built on old, fragmented state structures.

Europe's "horse race," Jastrow writes, in which many small, crazed nationalist states compete on a small densely populated landmass, made it impossible for a large Siena, surrounded by the sea on three sides and Asia on one side. Living.Because Siena has only one water company, one power company, one telecommunications system, and one mayor, instead of seventeen pseudo-independent regions such as the so-called geese, caterpillars, and giraffes. Therefore, common sense in Europe The unifying conditions of understanding are ripe.Hitler, the bad guy with genius, saw this.With Teutonic fanaticism he set out to destroy the old order cruelly and wrongly, but the important thing is that he was right in essence.World War II was the last horse race.Whichever side wins this stupid, bloody horse race, Europe will emerge with a structure that is less lively than it used to be, but more rational and stable.Perhaps this painful but healthy process will become global, and the whole world will finally unite.As for Hitler, the villain in this farce, he may be pursued and killed like Macbeth, or he may win, and then he too will eventually fall or die.But the planet will live on, and the earth will live on, and humankind's desire for freedom and brotherly understanding and love for one another will endure forever.

①The protagonist of Shakespeare's play "Macbeth". When Byron typed out a draft of this opinion repeatedly, he thought, if Jastrow had not been in this secluded villa overlooking the panoramic view of Siena, but had spent September in Warsaw full of gunfire, he would not know what to do. Would he have written such a broad-minded and optimistic work.He thought there were too many inappropriate empty talk in The Last Race.But he didn't say it. Natalie gets a letter or two from Leslie Slote every week.She was no longer so excited about these letters as she was in the spring, when she always ran to the bedroom to read them, and came back with a smile on her face or tears in her eyes.Now she is sitting by the desk, casually reading through the typewritten letter with a wide blank line, and stuffing it in the drawer.One rainy day, she was reading the letter, and Byron was typing the manuscript of "Horse Racing", when she said, "My God!" Byron raised his head and asked, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said, flushing and waving her hands excitedly.Flick the letter paper. "Sorry. Nothing." Byron went back to work, struggling to decipher Jastrow's illegible sentence.The professor's handwriting was illegible, often missing letters or words.The s's and o's he wrote were rarely sealed.Some fancy words written in blue ink require guesswork.Natalie could recognize it, but Byron didn't like her condescending reluctance. "Alas!" Natalie leaned back in her chair with a groan, staring at the letter. "Brani?" "What's up?"

Biting her full lower lip, she hesitated. "I can't help it. I have to talk to someone and you're here. Guess what I'm holding in this little feverish hand?" She rustled the paper. "I know what you got." "You thought you knew," she smiled mischievously. "I'll tell you. This is a letter proposing to me from Mr. Leslie Manson Slote, a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford University, a successful diplomat, and an unpredictable bachelor. You How do you feel, Byron Henry?" "Congratulations to you," Byron said. At this moment, the bell on Natalie's desk rang. "Uh, my God. Braney, please go and see what Ellen Jastrow is doing. I'm out of my wits." She threw the letter on the table, shaking her long, white hands into the hair.

Dr. Jastrow was in the downstairs study, wrapped in a blanket on one of the daybeds by the fire, which was his frequent spot when it rained.In the armchair opposite him sat a fat, pale Italian official in a yellow-green uniform and black boots, drinking coffee.Byron had never seen the man, nor the uniform. "Uh, Byron, can you ask Natalie to find my proof of residence? She knows where it is." Jastrow said to the officer again, "Do you want to see their papers?" ?” "Not today, Professor. Just yours." Natalie, who was rereading the letter, looked up and grinned when he came in. "Oh, what's the matter with him?" Byron told her.With a gloomy face, she took out the key from her purse and opened a small steel filing cabinet next to the desk. "Take it," she handed him a Luzon paper clip tied with a red ribbon. "Is there going to be any trouble? Shall I go down?" "It's better to wait for you to be called, and you can come again." As he descended the stairs he heard laughter and cheerful voices in the study. "Uh, thank you, Byron," Jastrow said in English as he walked in. "Just put it on the table." Then he went on in Italian about a donkey that came into the garden last Monday and trampled all the vegetables in a small vegetable patch and chewed up a chapter.The officer's belted belly quivered with laughter. Natalie was typing again in the library.The letter from Sloter was gone. "Looks like there's going to be no trouble," Byron said. "That's good," she said quietly. At dinner, Dr. Jastrow spoke little, ate less than usual, and drank two extra glasses of wine.They are here day in and day out.Week in and day out, living a monotonous life, so one extra drink is a big deal, and the second one is a bomb.Natalie finally said, "Ellen, what is that man doing here today?" Jastrow, who was in a daze, came to his senses and shook his head slightly. "Strange, it's Jusup again." Jusup had been the gardener's assistant, whom Ellen had recently dismissed, a scrawny, lazy, clumsy old drunkard with curly black hair and a big, red, rosacea nose.It was Jusup who left the gate open and the donkey came in.He always does such bad things.Because the manuscript was torn to pieces and the vegetable patch was trampled, Jastrow was so angry that he couldn't write for two days and couldn't digest well. "How did the official know about Jusup?" Byron said. "That's where the blame is. He's from the Aliens Registry in Florence, and he's talking about Giuseppe having nine kids and how hard it is to find a job now, etc. Until I promise to rehire him. He gave me the registration form back with a smug smile." Jastrow sighed and put the tablecloth on the table. "I've been dealing with Jusup all these years, and honestly, I don't care anymore. I'm a little tired. Tell Maria to send my fruit and cheese to the study." After the professor left, Natalie said, "Let's take the Bring the coffee to my room to drink." "Okay, great." She never invited him to her room.Sometimes in his own room above he could hear her moving about the room, a faint, lovely, sensual sound.He followed her upstairs with excitement. "I live in a big sugar box," she said sheepishly, opening a heavy door. "You know, when Ellen bought the house, she bought the furniture with it, and kept the mistress as it was. It looks ridiculous to me, but--" She turns on a light.It's a big room, painted pink.Pink and gold furniture, pink Cupids on a blue and gold ceiling, pink silk draperies, a large double bed with a pink satin coverlet with ruffles.Natalie, with dark hair, was dressed in an old brown woolen dress, which she always wore in the cold evenings, but which made the room look strange in combination with the Waldo style.But Byron found that even this contrast excited him as much as everything else about her.She lit a log in the marble fireplace with Roman portraits, and they sat facing each other in armchairs, with coffee on the coffee table between them. ① Wadu (1684-1721), a French painter. "Why do you think Ellen is in such a bad mood?" said Natalie, sitting very comfortably in the big armchair, pulling her pleated skirt low over her pretty legs. "Jusep was a long time ago. Actually it was a mistake to fire him. He knows all the plumbing and wiring better than Tommaso. Although he's a dirty old drunkard, in fact the repair He does a pretty good job of pruning." "Ellen Jastrow had to, Natalie." She bit her lip and nodded.Byron went on: "We're all in the hands of this bunch. Ellen Jastrow is worse than you and me. He's got property and he's stuck here." "The Italians are nice, though, they're not German." "There's nothing to deal with Mussolini. Ban Ruier's suggestion is right. Go!" Natalie smiled slightly. "Lekh lekha, my God, these things seem so far away. Wonder how he is now." Her smile faded. "I don't think about Warsaw. Try not to." "I do not blame you." "How are you, Blaney? Have you thought about Warsaw?" "Think about it. I keep dreaming about those things." "Well, God, that hospital, I've been walking around it night after night..." "When Warsaw fell," said Byron, "it hit me hard." He told Natalie what had happened at Wannsee.She laughed when he told about the waiter turning away suddenly. "Your father is very kind." "He's not bad." "He probably thought I was a vampire, so obsessed with you that you almost killed yourself." "We didn't talk about you." Natalie's face suddenly darkened.She poured him and herself some more coffee. "Brani, you turn the fire up. I'm cold. Jusup always wets the wood." He turned the fire up, added a piece of dead wood, and immediately the fire was blazing. "Oh, that's all right!" She jumped up, switched off the chandelier, and stood by the fire, looking at the flames. "At the station," she said suddenly nervously, "the moment they took the Jews away! I can't even think about it. That's one reason why I was so bad at Koenigsberg. Painful. I kept thinking maybe I could have done something. What if I had come out and said I was Jewish and hadn't let them go? What if we had protested together? The result might have been different. But we just acted like nothing happened to get on the train and watch them plod in the other direction." "We could have lost you and Mark Hartley," Byron said. "It was dangerous." "I know that. Leslie covered me. Although he was trembling, he stood his ground. He did his duty. But the other ambassadors and chargé d'affaires, never mind," Natalie said. start. "My whole family is in Medjes! I can imagine those good, good people falling into the hands of the Germans--but what's the use of thinking about it? It's not helpful, and it hurts. ’ She threw up her hands in disappointment, then sat down cross-legged in the armchair, her skirt covering her lap.Nothing was visible in the firelight but her face and her clasped hands. "Speaking of old Slote," she said, after a long silence, in a quite different tone. "He proposed to marry me as his wife, what do you think?" "I'm not surprised." "Really? I was taken aback. I never thought it would happen." "He told me in Berlin that he might marry you. He'd go mad if he missed the chance." "He's been picking for a long, long time, darling." She poured some more coffee and drank it, watching him mysteriously over the rim of the cup. "You two are in Berlin, and you've probably made a big comment on me, haven't you?" "Nothing in particular about you. He mentioned how you treated him at Koenigsberg on the last day exactly as you treated me." "I just felt terrible that day, Blaney." "Nothing. I thought I might have offended you, so I asked him." "That's interesting. What else did Sloter say about me?" Her low, tremulous voice, and her eyes, which gleamed cheerfully in the firelight, disturbed Byron. "He said that it's not appropriate for me to be entangled with a girl like you. He also said that from the first time he saw you, he never had a moment of peace in his heart." She chuckled contentedly. "These two remarks are accurate, my good man. What else did he say?" "That's all. That's what he said when he gave me the reading list." "Yeah, isn't this the real Slote? He wants to use his knowledge to influence you! This little incident is just proof. He really told you all about us? About him and me?" Bye Len shook his head. Natalie said, "Would you go and get us some brandy? I'd like some brandy." He ran downstairs and came back with a bottle of wine and two sparkling glasses.Natalie twirled the brandy glass in her hand, keeping her eyes on the spherical glass and rarely looking up at him.She was telling all about her and Leslie Sloter in one burst.She talked for a long time.Byron seldom spoke, only occasionally interrupting her by adding wood to the fire.The kind of thing she was talking about is very common. An older, wiser man plays casually with a girl, and in the end he turns out to be real and falls in love.If she is determined to marry him, she can only cause misery in his life.She said he was reluctant to marry her mainly because she was Jewish.Marrying a Jew was not good for his future.His attitude has always been ambiguous because of this.Now, two and a half years later, with this letter in hand, if she ever needed him, she would have it. Byron hated every word of the story, but he was still fascinated and grateful.The girl who had always been tight-lipped finally revealed the secrets of her life to him.She couldn't help saying these words, ending the strange tension between them since Warsaw, ending a little fake war between them-the long hostile silence in the library, she often Avoiding him, hiding in her room, and her weird condescending attitude, it was over.As she told these stories they grew closer to each other than they had been during their month-long adventure in Poland. Everything about this girl interested him.Even if she tells her love story with another man, what's the matter!At least Byron was talking to Natalie Jastrow about Natalie Jastrow, something he'd longed for.He listened to her sweet, deep, sometimes New York-like voice, and he could still see her hand gesticulating casually by the firelight, sometimes stretching out her palm and waving it, suddenly stopping in mid-air, always watching to her gesture.Only Natalie Jastrow held the same status as his father in his heart.He longed almost as much to be with his father, to hear him speak, or to tell him, though at last he had to restrain himself and withdraw from his father's room.And, he knew, almost every conversation made Victor Henry angry or disappointed.As for his mother's warmth, he took it for granted, so he accepted his mother's caress, but he thought her moody.His father was terrible, and Natalie was as terrible as he was, not to mention this dark girl, whom he had longed to embrace when he first saw her, but felt hopeless. "Well, you know all about it," Natalie said. "Wouldn't go on and on, but that's about it. How about a little more of Ellen's brandy? Don't you take any more? It's a very good brandy. Strange, I don't usually like it." Byron poured them both some more wine, though he did not finish his own glass. "I've wondered all day," she said, sipping her drink, "why Leslie is throwing in the towel now. I figured, I know why." "He's lonely without you," Byron said. Natalie shook her head. "Leslie Sloot was disgusting on Brahe's way. I looked down on him for that, and I made him understand that. It was a turning point. He's been chasing me since. I guess I've been avoiding him myself. I haven't answered more than half of his letters." Byron said: "You always exaggerate that. He just..." "Stop it, Byron. Don't beat me around. He just got sallow with fright and used me as an excuse to hide behind my skirt. The Swedish ambassador laughed at him all the way in his face." She poured her glass of brandy Almost gulped it down. "You know, there's nothing you can do about one's courage. It doesn't seem to matter much these days. You can be a world leader and be a mean coward at the same time. That's probably what Hitler was. There will be. It will continue to happen in the future. I'm not saying I don't want to marry Leslie Slote because he's scared of the gunfire. He's doing pretty well at the train station. Still, I dare say That must be why he proposed to me. He used it as a way of apologizing to me and rehabilitating himself. It’s not exactly what my Girls’ Generation ideal was.” "It's just what you want." "I don't know. There are many obstacles. My family, for example. When I told my parents that I fell in love with a Christian, they lost their temper. I didn't feel anything about it. My father didn't Been in bed for a whole week. Now it's time to start another storm. Also, Leslie proposed to me in a strange way. The time and place are not very suitable. If you write back and accept his request, he will run on a bicycle here." "If he's really such a fool—though I doubt it very much," Byron said. "Then you can let him go back by bicycle." "And then there's Ellen." "He will not trouble you. He will leave Italy sooner or later." "He was very reluctant to go." "Didn't he survive while we were gone?" "Well, that's what you thought. You should have seen what the library and study looked like when I got back. It was a mess. And he didn't write a thing for weeks. Ellen should have been married long ago, but He won't, so he has a lot of other people to worry about and take care of. He can't even sharpen a pencil." Byron began to wonder if Natalie was so agitated and talkative now because she had drunk too much brandy.When she talked, she danced and danced so fast that she couldn't even breathe, and her eyes seemed to be crazy. "Besides, you know, there's the biggest problem." "what is the problem?" She stared at him. "Don't you know, Blaney? Not at all? Don't you feel it at all? Just say it. Don't do it again." Natalie Jastrow glanced at him, a sudden, seductive glance that almost intoxicated him, and he stammered, "I guess, I don't know." "Well, let me tell you. You've succeeded, you bastard, and you know it. What you've wanted to do since day one, you've succeeded. I've fallen in love with you!" She continued She glanced at him, her eyes sparkling and wide open. "Look at your astonishment. Don't you believe it?" he said in a very hoarse voice. "I hope I'm not dreaming." He stood up and walked towards her.She jumped up and hugged him. "Oh, my God," she said, leaning against him, kissing and kissing. "You have a really nice mouth," she murmured, running her hands through his hair and fondling his face. "What a sweet smile. What a pair of hands. I like to see your hands. I like the way you walk. You are so nice." It was like a dream that Byron had imagined a thousand times, but it was more intense, Better and more exciting.She was almost like a cat, rubbing against his body with instinctive pleasure.Her woolen nightgown rustled in his hands.The fragrance of her hair, the warm sweet breath of her mouth, none of this could be a dream.But it's just astonishing, unbelievable, what happened.They stood by the crackling fire, hugged and kissed, babbled and whispered, laughed and kissed and kissed.Natalie broke away, ran a few steps, and turned to him, her eyes sparkling. "Never mind. I'll do that or die. I've never felt like this in my life, Byron, I'm just madly attracted to you. I've been trying to get rid of it, get rid of it, because, You know, it doesn't do any good. You're a child. I can't do this. Can't make another Christian. Can't do this again. And..." She covered her face with her hands. "Ah! Ah! Don't look at me like that, Braney! Get out of my room." Byron turned to walk away, his legs going weak.He wanted to please her. She said at once: "My God, you're a good man. That's what makes you unbelievable. You'll stay here, won't you? My dear, my love, I don't mean to throw you out, I I want to talk to you again, but I just want to be sober. I don't want to do anything wrong. I will do whatever you ask me to do. I adore you very much." By the firelight he saw her in her wool pajamas, standing with her arms folded, one leg out to the side, one hip thrust out, Natalie's favorite pose.He was ecstatic and glad he was still alive. "Listen, are you going to marry me?" said Byron. Natalie's eyes widened and her mouth opened.Seeing this funny look on her face, Byron couldn't help laughing out loud, and she laughed desperately too.She came towards him, almost on top of him, laughing so hard she couldn't even kiss him. "My God," she said, breathlessly, putting her arms around him. "You're a queer man. Two people propose to Jastrow at the same time in one day! It's all right, all at once, isn't it?" "I mean it," he said. "I don't know why we're laughing. I've always wanted to marry you. It seems ridiculous, but if you really love me..." "It's ridiculous," Natalie said, kissing him on the cheek. "It's so ridiculous that although you meant it, I never meant it. Maybe... let it go! Anyway, no one can say that you are a young child! You are already a bit like sandpaper, aren't you?" She continued She kissed him hard, then let go. "You were right. You go. Good night, my dear. I know you mean it, and I'm deeply touched. Time is all we've won in a miserable place like this, and there's plenty of time." It was pitch black, and Byron was lying wide-eyed on his little bed in his elegant little room.He heard her move below for a moment, and then the house fell silent.He could still taste the aftertaste on Natalie's lips.He still kept the fragrance of her powder on his hands.Out in the canyon, from the echoing slopes came the echoing braying of a donkey, a rooster that got the wrong hour calling before dawn, and dogs barking.A sudden gust of wind blew, and the rain fell on the roof tiles for a long time. After a while, it dripped down the hole into a bucket beside his bed.The shower passed, the weak blue moonlight came in through the small round window, and the sound of dripping from the bucket was silenced, but Byron was still lying on the bed with his eyes open, trying his best to convince himself that what happened was true, and what was the difference? It was the dreams and hallucinations of the past six months, which were the realities of Natalie's love for him, which shocked him greatly.At this moment, with agitated mood, he began to think about what to do next.His mind was full of ideas and decisions, from medical college to short-story writer to Washington banking.When he fell asleep with these thoughts, the outside of the window was already red.A distant brother of his mother did own a bank. "Hi, Natalie." "Um, here you are. Did you sleep well?" It was almost eleven o'clock when he hurried to the library.Byron was always lazy, but he had never come down so late before.There are three open books on Natalie's desk, and she is typing.She gave Byron an enthusiastic glance, and went back to her work.Byron saw a stack of manuscripts on his desk. Jastrow had messed up the manuscripts, and there was a note pinned to it, written in red pen: Please give me the materials before lunch. "Ellen Jastrow came in ten minutes ago," Natalie said, "and complained." Byron counted the pages. "At lunch he should have complained more. I'm sorry, but I didn't sleep until dawn." "Really?" she said, with a small smile. "I slept wonderfully." Byron quickly prepared the typing paper and carbon paper, and began to type, his eyes fixed on Jastrow's scribbled handwriting.A hand stroked his hair, and then placed it warmly on his neck. "Let me see." She stood behind him, looking at him affectionately and excitedly.On the left breast of her old brown blouse was pinned the gold and amethyst brooch she had brought from Warsaw.She had never worn this brooch before.She looked at the manuscript and took some away. "Poor Braney, why can't you sleep? Don't worry, you work hard, and I'll come too." They didn't finish before lunch, but by lunchtime Dr. Jastrow was distracted by other things.At noon, a white Lanxia drove up to the gravel outside the villa, making a rattling sound.Byron and Natalie heard Thom Saul's thick voice and his wife's warm, hearty laughter.The Saul couple, a pair of well-known American actors, lived intermittently for fifteen years in a villa not far from Jastrow on the hill.The women paint and tend the gardens, while the men lay bricks and cook.They are constantly reading old plays, new plays, and novels that could be adapted into screenplays.Many famous people came to Siena to visit them.Through them, Jastrow got acquainted with Maugham ①, Berenson ②, Gertrude Lawrence ③ and Picasso Picasso (1881-1973), a Spanish painter.A retired college professor was a mere unknown among this group of famous people, but the success of "Jesus of a Jew" allowed him to associate with them without shame.He enjoys joining the circle of famous people, though he also complains that these associations interfere with his work.He and the Sauls often drove to Florence to visit their friends, and Natalie and Byron thought the actors must be passing by at this moment to pick him up.But when they went downstairs to eat, they found Ellen Jastrow alone in the living room, sneezing with a red nose and swirling an empty sherry glass.He complained that they were late coming down.In fact, they came a little earlier. ① Gertrude Lawrence (1898-1952), a famous British actress. ② Berenson (1865-1959), an American literary critic. ③ Maugham (1874-1965), British novelist and playwright. "The Sauls are going," he said after lunch; he sneezed and blew his nose all through the meal without saying a word. "They're here to say goodbye." "Really? Are they writing a new script?" Natalie said. "They're leaving the country. They're gone. All the furniture is being moved back to America." “但是他们的租期还有——多少年？五年吧？” “七年。他们放弃了租契。他们说，如果战争扩大，他们会困在这里，付不出房租。”杰斯特罗愁眉苦脸地用手指抚摸着胡须说。“这就是租和买不相同的地方。你要走就走。不管这地方出什么事，都不用伤脑筋。过去他们劝过我租房子。我应该听他们的话。可是当时的售价多便宜！” 拜伦说：“先生，如果您认为有危险的话，最危险的是您的皮肤。” “那我并不害怕。他们也不害怕。对他们说来，那是个麻烦，咱们去柠檬房喝咖啡吧。”他不高兴地把头一抬，随后又陷入沉默。 柠檬房是一个周围都是玻璃的长房子，泥土地上摆满了栽在花盆里的小柑桔树，从这里可以看到整个城市的全景和周围的棕色山峦。桔树在这里不受山谷冷风的侵袭，沐浴着阳光，整个冬季都开花结果。杰斯特罗相信桔树和柠檬树浓郁的花香能治疗每当他激动或发脾气时就犯的气喘病，其实这是违反医学论断的。也许，因为他相信这一点，也就真起作用。他们喝咖啡的时候，他已经不那么呼哧呼哧地喘了。暖和的阳光使他振奋起来。他说：“我敢断定他们一定很快就会溜回来的，拖着三车家具上山。他们使我想到那些一遇风暴就赶快逃离马撒的文亚德①的人。我遇到过四次风暴，却依旧饱览了当地的景色。” ①马撒的文亚德在马萨诸塞州东南岸离文亚德岛四英里的一个小岛，是美国著名的游览区。 他走后，娜塔丽说：“对他的震动太大了。” “但愿他能震动得离开这儿。” “一旦埃伦•杰斯特罗离开，这座房子就要荒废了。” “那有什么了不起？” “勃拉尼，你大概从来没有置过什么产业吧？或者存过钱？要是你有过，你就明白了。” “你看，娜塔丽，埃伦•杰斯特罗晚年突然得到一笔意外收入，他心血来潮在意大利一座偏僻的山城用非常便宜的代价买了一所很大的别墅。也好。那么，即使现在他离开了，又怎么样？他要是把别墅卖掉，总能得到一笔钱。否则就等战后回来，他也能原封不动把房子收回。要不然他可以把它忘掉，干脆让它倒塌，来得容易，去得快。” “你把事情看得太简单了，”她说。 他俩并排坐在一张白色长柳条椅上。他伸出胳膊想把她搂住。“别这样，”她打了个寒噤，推开他的手，说。“这也一样，未免太简单了。你仔细听我说，拜伦。你多少岁了？你只有二十五岁吧？我二十七了。” “配你我年龄已经足够了，娜塔丽。” “足够干什么？跟我同居吗？别瞎说。问题是，你自己打算做什么？我随时都能在大学教书。我的硕士论文快要写完了。你有什么呢？有你那叫我发狂的微笑，还有你那一头漂亮的头发。你勇敢，文雅，可你简直就是在这里闲荡。你完全因为我的原故留在这里。你在白白浪费时间，而你又没有一技之长。” “娜塔丽，你愿意嫁给一个银行家吗？” “嫁给什么？银行家？” 他告诉她，他有亲戚在华盛顿开银行。她双手合掌放在膝上，含着微笑看着他，脸被阳光晒得绯红。“你觉得怎么样？”他说。 “呃，不错，”她说。“你总算真正面对生活了。这是一桩严肃而认真的事，是吧？你告诉我一件事。” "what?" “告诉我你什么时候开始爱我的。” “你不想商量银行的事吗？” “当然啦，亲爱的。咱们马上就商量。你先告诉我什么时候开始？” “好吧，我来告诉你。就是你摘下你那副墨镜的时候。” “我那副墨镜？那是什么时候？” “怎么，就是头一天我们跟斯鲁特一起到别墅的时候。你还记得吗？你在车上戴着你那副大墨镜，可是后来你把墨镜摘了，我看见你的眼睛。” "yes?" “你问我什么时候爱上你的。我告诉你了。” “不过，那太怪了。象你说的，和你做的其他事情一样怪。那时候你对我了解吗？不过当时我的眼睛准是杀气腾腾。我到四点才睡觉，跟莱斯里大吵了一架。你当时没有给我留下什么印象，所以我一点也没有注意你。好吧，你真想当银行家吗？”他局促不安地苦笑一下，说：“我确实想过另外一个职业。不过，你别笑话我。” “我不笑你。” “我想做外交工作。这工作很有意思，而且又是为国家服务。” “你跟莱斯里同行，”她说。“那太好了。”她象母亲似的握住拜伦的一只手，拜伦深受感动。“这也并不是开玩笑，亲爱的勃拉尼，咱们是在认真谈话。” “那好，”拜伦说。“咱们接着谈吧。” 她坐着沉吟了片刻，把他的一只手握住放在膝上，象当初在瑞典大使的汽车里一样。“让我告诉你，我心里当真是怎么想的吧。问题是你有专长。你是一位海军军官。” “我正是不愿意干这行，也不愿以此为职业。” “你已经有任命了。” “我只是预备役的下级军官。这没关系。” “如果战争继续打下去，你就得应召入伍。那你就要在军队里呆好多年。你最后大概就是从一个非常懒散、穿便服、消磨时间混日子的人，变成一个军官。” “我明天就可以去把预备役委任辞掉。要去辞掉吗？” “要是我们卷进战争了呢？到那时候怎么办？到时候你不去打？” “到那时候当然是没有别的办法。” 她把手放到他头上，用力拉他的头发。“是啊，这就是你脑子思考问题的方法。我就是爱上你这一点，还爱你别的，可是，拜伦，我可不嫁给海军军官做妻子。我觉得对我说来，没有比那再可笑、再可怕的了。我也不嫁给一个见习飞行员或一个演员，你明白吗？” “这没什么，我告诉你，我决不会去当海军军官……谁去干这鬼差事？怎么？你为什么哭了？” 她用手背把突然流到面颊上的泪水揩掉，笑了。“呃，别说了。这样谈话我简直要发狂了。我越是想理智一点，可是心里越乱得厉害。我知道，我简直爱你爱得发疯了。即使走不通，又有什么关系？我显然是在钻牛角。别，现在别，亲爱的，真的不要……”当他紧紧把她抱在怀里时，她喘吁吁地说了最后几个字。 周围没有人。玻璃墙外面只有起伏的山峦和城市的全景，柠檬房里一片寂静，散发着浓郁的花香。他们互相搂抱，抚摸，亲吻。娜塔丽偶然朝外一看，突然发现园丁朱瑟普站在玻璃墙外边，靠着一辆装满剪下的枝条的独轮手车，在那里观望。他醉洋洋地斜眼瞟着，用运动衫的衣袖把他的酒糟鼻子一抹，非常下流地眨着眼。 “唉呀，上帝，”她说着，拚命使劲拉她的裙子。园丁露出稀稀落落的黄牙笑了笑，推着独轮车走开了。拜伦红着脸，头发蓬乱，心神不定地坐在那里，望着他的背影。 “亲爱的，咱们小小的秘密泄露了。在花房里接吻，亲嘴。我这是怎么了？这不过是一对爱人单独在一起时间太长，感情一时冲动。”她跳起来，拉住他的手。“不过，我爱你，我实在没有办法克制。我也不想克制自己，呃，这个狗娘养的朱瑟普！走，咱们回去打那堆稿子吧。该走了。” 他们进屋的时候，杰斯特罗从书房里喊道：“娜塔丽，你那封信呢？给我看看好吗？” “什么信，埃伦•杰斯特罗？我一封信也没有收到。” “你真没有信吗？我收到你母亲一封信，她说她也给你写了一封，比我这封信长。你来看看这封。是一封很重要的信。”拜伦上楼时，杰斯特罗挥着一页很薄的航空信笺。 她母亲用曼哈顿公共学校惯用的普普通通的字体，整整齐齐地写了五、六行： 亲爱的埃伦： 如果你能劝娜塔丽回家，我们两人都很感激你。路易斯听说她去波兰旅行的事很担心。医生甚至认为这很可能是促使他这次发病的原因。我已经把这一切都写信告诉娜塔丽了。你可以看看我给她的那封信，可怕的详情我就不在此赘叙了。事后想想，我们还算非常幸运。路易斯看来暂时没有危险，医生只告诉我们这些。 我们都很奇怪，不知你自己打算要在意大利呆到几时。你不觉得危险吗？我知道你和路易斯这些年来一直没有联系，不过他还是很为你担心。因为你是他的一个兄弟。 love you 索菲娅和路易斯 娜塔丽翻了一下摆在图书室里她桌上的信件，只有一封她的信，是斯鲁特写的。拜伦正在打字，猛抬头看见她一脸不高兴。“怎么了，娜塔丽？” “我爸爸病了。我得离开这里。” 两天后她收到母亲的信。这几天，娜塔丽尽管还别着那只胸针，而且用非常特殊的眼光看拜伦，但她还是有意躲着他。 母亲在这封长信里写到父亲心脏病发作的情况，写得有些颠三倒四，娜塔丽把这封信拿给杰斯特罗看，杰斯特罗裹着围巾，在书房的火炉边喝茶。他看信的时候，满怀同情地摇摇头，然后把信还给她。随后他盯着炉火，呷了一口茶说：“你最好还是走。” “啊，我也这么想。实际上我已经在收拾行装了。” “路易斯上次犯病是什么原因？很严重吗？” 他们两兄弟的关系过去这一段非常疏远，娜塔丽不知道具体原因，这次打破了他们之间长期不提她父亲的习惯，她觉得不自然，也不愉快。 “不，不是为这个。主要是为我告诉他们我爱上莱斯里了。我父亲一下子变得身体特别虚弱了，呼吸困难，一个时期失去知觉。不过当时没有送他进医院治疗。” 杰斯特罗闷闷不乐地用手指抚弄着胡须。“他只有六十一岁。你知道，娜塔丽，这么一来就弄不清你到底受谁的遗传了。我们母亲这一方的家里多半活到五十岁就死了。可是我父亲的两个哥哥都活过九十，他自己活到八十八。我的满口牙齿跟我父亲的一样，好极了。路易斯的牙齿老出毛病，跟母亲一样。”杰斯特罗发现这位姑娘怀着阴郁的戒备心情。他两手一摊，打了个表示歉意的手势。“你大概在想埃伦•杰斯特罗是个以自我为中心的可怕的老家伙吧。” “可是我一点也没有这么想。” 杰斯特罗戴上线手套拨火，又加上一根柴。他很爱惜他那双漂亮的小手。“我知道，你不会回来了。这里的生活会不一样了。我也许可能去新墨西哥或亚科桑那。可那些地方多么沉闷枯燥，又没有文化！要在那种地方写东西，真是不敢想象！”他深深叹了一口气，简直和呻吟差不多了。“毫无疑问，我的作品并不那么重要。不过，我还得靠写作维持生活。” “你的著作很重要，埃伦•杰斯特罗。” “是么，为什么？” 娜塔丽用一只拳头支着下巴，考虑一个中肯的回答。她沉吟了片刻，说：“当然，这些作品非常容易懂，而且经常写得非常漂亮，但这并不是它们的特点，独特的地方在于作品的精神实质。这些著作非常富于犹太色彩。无论内容上和态度上都切实可信，没有感情冲动。至少我读了以后认识到我们所属的这个奇怪的小民族应当如何感激基督教世界。你在关于君士坦丁大帝的这本著作里，这种思想体现到什么程度，将是读者很感兴趣的事。” 她的话对埃伦•杰斯特罗很起作用。他神经质地微笑了，眼睛也模糊起来，这一刻他突然显得特别象犹太人，他那张嘴、鼻子、那副表情、摸着胡须的白皙的小手，完全象一位没有戴帽子的拉比。他用柔弱、颤抖的声音说：“你当然知道说什么能叫我高兴。” “我心里真是那么想的，埃伦。” “那么，愿上帝保佑你。我从一个异教徒变成一个唯物论者、一个享乐主义者，很久很久以前我爱上了伟大的基督教和耶稣，但这一切并不曾减少我犹太人的本色。我们家庭里的任何成员都不会接受这种观点，尤其你父亲。我非常感激你能接受。我想通过关于君士坦丁大帝和路德这两本著作勾画一个全貌。我希望把这项工作完成。象我的犹太先辈一样，我是我所走过的这条道路的见证人。尽管毫无疑问我会使他们感到恐怖。”他仔细观察她的表情，然后眨了眨眼，微笑说：“你走后拜伦会呆多久呢？他在这里给我一种安全感。” “你给他加薪吧。这对他比什么都好。他从来还没有挣过一分钱呢。” 杰斯特罗把嘴一噘，圆瞪了眼睛，头一歪。在意大利生活多年，他的脾气显得有些怪僻了。 “现在我得注意我的钱了。咱们看吧。你给我非常强烈的印象是，你一回到那边，就会即刻跟莱斯里结婚，然后……呃，别这么脸红，别不好意思呀。我猜准了吧？” “没什么，埃伦•杰斯特罗。” “我敢肯定，如果拜伦晓得，他一定更愿意留在这里。”杰斯特罗摸着胡须，朝她微笑。 “天啊，埃伦！你是希望我对拜伦•亨利说我要嫁给斯鲁特，好让他留在你身边吗？” “唉，亲爱的，谁让你去这么说呀？等一等，我的意思是……”杰斯特罗伸出一只手，望着她的背影，她突然走掉使他大为吃惊。