Chapter 37 Chapter Thirty-Seven

In mid-January, Leslie Sloter was stranded in Lisbon on his way to his new job because Lufthansa did not have a seat for Berlin.He checked into the Palace Hotel in Ishturil, Lisbon's palm-lined seaside resort where diplomats, fleeing rich men, Gestapo and spies from other countries gathered.He thought, maybe he can learn something here while waiting for the plane ticket.In fact, he found Ishturil cold and dull in January.There are quite a lot of Germans here, but they look down on other tourists in the hotel with contemptuous eyes, always hug their own people, and do not communicate with anyone.

One afternoon, sitting in the crowded passenger lounge, grinding his pipe between his teeth, he was flipping through a Swiss newspaper about the British victories in Abyssinia and North Africa against Italy, in the gloom. A faint ray of dawn appeared.Here, the newspapers of neutral countries are not easily seen.The Portuguese newsstands were full of Italian-Fascist and German-Nazi papers, and besides that, a few hollow, servile periodicals from Vichy France.Not even a shadow of the British and American publications had disappeared.It was like a barometer that clearly marked the progress of the battle-at least in the judgment of the Portuguese rulers.A year ago, newspapers from both sides were available at newsstands in Lisbon.

① French city name.It was the seat of the French puppet government at that time. ② That is now Ethiopia. "Mr. Slote! Mr. Leslie Slote!" He jumped up from his seat, and followed a rosy-cheeked boy boy from the hotel to the telephone near the reception counter. "Hello, is that Leslie? I'm Bunch. How's the old place on the beach?" Benkel Wendell Zelston Jr. and Sloot had gone to Foreign Service School.Today he works as Second Secretary at the American Legation in Lisbon. "Benky, it's no fun here. What's the matter?" "Oh, no big deal." Zelston sounded happy. "Only I think you mentioned a girl named Natalie Jastrow to me once."

"Yes, I mentioned it. What's the matter with her?" "A girl with that name is sitting across from my desk." "Who? Natalie?" "Want to talk to her? As soon as she heard I said you were here, she jumped a foot high." "Of course I do." Natalie answered the phone with a smile.Sloter's heart pounded when he heard the familiar and sweet voice. "Hi, Slote," she said. "Natalie, what a surprise! What are you doing here?" "And you?" Natalie said. "I am as surprised as you are. Why don't you stay in Moscow?"

"I got delayed in Washington and got stuck here again. Is Ellen here with you?" "I wish he was here. He's in Siena now." "What? Are you not ready to go back to the United States?" Natalie paused for a moment before replying, "I'm not ready either. Leslie, can I see you while you're here?" "Of course! That's great! At once! I'm going into town to the embassy." "Wait. You're staying at the Palace Hotel, aren't you? I'll come out and find you. I'd rather that." Benji Zelston answered the phone again. "Well, Leslie, I'll put her on the bus and she'll be there in about half an hour. I'll meet you at the Palace Hotel at five o'clock, if I can."

She still likes to wear those big dark hats.Through the dusty windows of the bus he saw Natalie, huddled among the disembarking passengers, moving out along the central aisle.Natalie ran towards him, put her arms around him, and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey, I'm freezing like an iceman. I could have come in in my old beaver coat, but who would've thought it was so cold in Lisbon, and there wasn't a single ray of sunshine! Hey, it's colder here by the sea, isn't it?" The wind made her hat flap, and she held it down with her hands. "I'll take a look at you. Well, it hasn't changed! If anything, I can see you've come to rest."

She spoke these words very quickly.Her eyes were wide and sparkling, and her expression was unusually excited.The old charm was at work again.In the months since he had broken up with Natalie he had been in love again with a girl from Kansas named Nora Jamieson.Nora, like the girl, was tall, with dark brown hair and dark eyes.But other than that, they were as different as one was a doe and the other a lynx.Nora was mild-tempered and sentimental; in terms of intelligence--she had been a senator's secretary for three years; in terms of appearance--she had played the leading role in a semi-professional theater company in Washington.Her father was engaged in agriculture and was very rich.She drives a Buick with a fold-down top.What a serendipitous discovery she was.Slote seriously considered marrying her after his return from Moscow.Nora adored him too.Besides, she was more beautiful than Natalie Jastrow, and she was much easier to deal with.But the Jewish girl in the big hat put her arms around him and rubbed her lips against his face.He felt the memory of her love, which he had tasted before, stabbed like a knife, and Natalie's love web closed around him again.

He said, "Well, you know how much I adore you. But you do look haggard." "How can I not be haggard? I've suffered a lot on this journey. Let's find shelter from the wind. Where is the Palace Hotel? I've been to Ishturil twice, but I don't know the way." He took Natalie's arm and said to her as they walked, "It's not far from here. Tell me what's the matter! Why isn't Ellen here? What are you doing here?" "Byron arrives tomorrow by submarine." He stopped in surprise.She looked up at him, put her arm around him, and smiled.Her face glowed with joy. "Yes, that's why I'm here."

"Has he finished that school?" "You sound a bit surprised." "I thought he would find it too difficult." "He managed to make it through. This is his first long-distance tour. His submarine is only here for a few days. I guess you think I'm a fool, but this is what he wrote to call I came here to meet him. So here I am." "My dear, I won't be surprised by anything you do. I'm not the same man you met when you went to Warsaw in August '39." She smiled and squeezed his arm again. "Yes, it turned out to be an unusual trip then. My God, it's so cold in here. It's a wonder the palms don't turn yellow and die. I've been to Lisbon twice before, you know. Slote, I'm in a mess every time. It's a strange thing to be happy here."

He asked Natalie about Ellen Jastrow.She said the letter from the secretary of state's office appeared to have less and less effect.They discovered that Jastrow's passport had expired, making his acquisition of U.S. citizenship questionable, thus making his case unclear.The young consul in Florence, Van Veenack, who had spent nearly a month in vain on the matter, promised to do something, but could never think of a way.Later he fell ill and went to France for treatment.Fast forward a few weeks.Now Van Veeneck is corresponding with the State Department to study how to deal with his problem.She had received a promise from him that she would do everything possible to get things done.The worst part, she said, was that Ellen himself was in no rush to leave his cottage, as it now appeared to be just another reveal of bureaucracy.He seemed to celebrate each delay, though he also expressed his usual impatience.It was this that made Natalie helpless.Instead of fighting, refusing to exert pressure on the consul to bring about a solution, he took his time writing his book on Constantine, maintaining all his schedules and habits: coffee in the lemon room, evening walks, Wake up before dawn, sit on the terrace with a blanket and watch the sunrise.Believing that the Battle of Britain had decided the war, Hitler called and lost.Soon, peace will emerge through negotiation.

"I figured it was a mistake to go back to Italy after all," she said as she walked into the hotel. "There is nothing more comfortable with me beside him, so he doesn't want to move a step." "I think you're doing the right thing by going back to Italy," Sloter said. "He's in more danger than he realizes, so someone needs to push him hard. Maybe the two of us together can push him out of danger." "But you are going to Moscow." "I can have thirty days on the road, and I have just spent ten. Perhaps I can accompany you back to Rome. I have a few acquaintances at the embassy over there." "That would be great!" Natalie stopped in the middle of the pillared hotel lounge. "Where's the bar?" "At the far end, it's dark and beer-smelling. It's almost the headquarters of the German Secret Police. Why, would you like a drink?" "Leslie, I'd rather have a cup of tea," she said with a curious twinkle. "I haven't eaten since morning. I was just wondering where the bar was." He led her into a long, narrow passenger common room.Here, on the sofas and armchairs, people are full of people drinking tea or cocktails.Entering the smoky room, they followed the head waiter and heard people talking in various languages, the most common of which was German, with only a small group speaking English. "It's almost the League of Nations," said Natalie, as the head waiter hunched over to usher them into a dark corner with a sofa and two chairs. "It's just that a lot of them look like Jews." "Many of them were Jews," said Sloter wistfully. "Too many." Natalie drank the tea and ate the whole plate of sugar cakes in one go. "I shouldn't be eating like this, but I'm starving. I'm a house full. I put on ten pounds in the first half of the house. I'm just eating all day long." "Maybe I'm prejudiced, but I always feel that you really look like a goddess of love, but you look a little tired from the journey." "Yes, you must be referring to my Milo Cupid plump buttocks, eh?" She glanced at him pleasantly. "I hope Byron will like buttocks. I do have beautiful buttocks." ① Refers to the ancient sculpture unearthed on the island of Milos in Greece in 1820, which is now in the Louvre Museum in Paris. "I didn't pay attention to your rear, but you can bet Byron would like it. I don't really think you'll be bothered. Look, here comes Punch Zylston." Sloter said to a The thin man waved his hand, and the man was walking towards them from the door. "Bunche is quite a princely character." "His mustache is the prettiest thing in the world," said Natalie. "A marvelous moustache." Mustache approached.A head of thick, thick tawny hair, each shiny and neatly brushed; beneath it was a cheerful, ruddy, round face, and a small figure, neatly dressed in gray velvet. Slote said, "Hey, Bunch, you're too late for tea, but just in time for a glass of wine." Zelston sighed loudly and sat down. "Thanks. I'll have a double Canadian whiskey and water. It's nasty, it's freezing cold. Here's the list I promised you, Natalie." He handed a folded, typed list to her. "I'm afraid you'd have to agree with that idea to be blown. Well, I haven't found Lieutenant Colonel Bazust, but I've left messages all over the place. I'm sure he'll be ringing up here for me in an hour." Sloter squinted curiously at the list in Natalie's hand, which listed nine documents in total for foreigners in Portugal to apply for marriage.Natalie studied the list eagerly, shoulders slumped, eyes from Slote to Zelston. "Gee, it took months to put all this together." "I've seen people get it all done in a month," says Zelston, "but it usually takes six to eight weeks. The Portuguese government doesn't particularly encourage foreigners to get married here. I can't say no." Know why. In peacetime, we always send people to Gibraltar. When we get there, it's like greased lightning, and we get married in a flash. But now the rock is blocked." "Are you going to get married?" Sloter asked Natalie. The dry tone made her blush. "It's one of the many things Byron wrote me to do. I thought I might ask. It's obviously impossible. I don't think it's a very bright idea anyway." "Who's Lieutenant Colonel Bazzurt?" said Sloter. "It's our naval attache," said Zelston. "He knows exactly when the subs will arrive." The waiter put the whiskey in front of him now, and he threw back half of it.Then, with two forefingers, he carefully smoothed down his mustache, and looked around the room with resentment. "My God, Lisbon is creepy. 40,000 fugitives are desperately trying to get out of the net. I've seen most of the faces here in the embassy." Zelston turned to Sloter. : "When you and I entered the foreign affairs school, this is not what we expected to do." "Bunch, you'd better get rid of your Quaker conscience, or you're going to be damned. Don't forget: we didn't do it, it was the Germans." "Not really. Before this thing started, I never thought much about our immigration laws. Those provisions are harmful and stupid." Bunch took another sip of wine, coughed, and his face turned purple. "Forty thousand. Forty thousand! What does it matter if they are all allowed to enter the country? In good conscience, what is forty thousand in the vast wilderness of Montana or North Dakota? They might even bring The benefits!" "But they don't go to the wilderness. They're bound to crowd into the big cities, where there's already unemployment." Zelston thumped the table with his fist. "Leslie, don't you come and give me that old cliché too. I'll suffice myself repeating it like a parrot all day long. They'll go anywhere, you know. Just let them go right away." Write a letter to live in Death Valley for the rest of your life, and they will do it. Our laws are just inhumane. Wasn’t the United States created as a refuge from European tyranny?” Slote took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and looked carefully at the people around him—four elderly men were arguing about something in French.He said: "Well, I'm not going to defend immigration law, but how do you draw that line? Or do you advocate unlimited immigration? Let anyone who wants to come in? That way, southern and eastern Europe will All empty. These immigrants will flood our economy, bring starvation, and then brew and boil a revolution. What will the East do? Do you want to tear down the West's dams? That way, within ten In 2020, the United States will become a large suburb of China." Natalie gestured to the room and said, "He's talking about these few refugees from the Germans in Lisbon. That's all." "It hasn't escaped yet," Zelston said. "The Germans can take Portugal overnight." "What I want to talk about is if you want to change the immigration laws -- especially in favor of the Jewish people," Sloter said, "there's going to be a lot of debate in Congress. No one wants to increase the competition from the Jewish side. They Too much energy and too much wit. Natalie, it's always true whether you like it or not." “We could have taken in all the Jews in Europe — all five million Jews. We’d only be better off that way,” Zelston said. "Remember what Ruskin said? He said, 'Wealth is life.' If that was too simple, it's always true that wealth is brains." He leaned toward Natalie. Crooked, and said in a low voice: "If you want to meet the head of the German secret police in Portugal, that's the one that came in. With him came the German ambassador. He's very nice—I mean the ambassador. My wife likes him a lot." ①John Ruskin (1819-1900), British writer and art critic. Natalie stared: "Is that the one with the scar?" "No. I don't know that man, although I see him often. I think he must be a German secret policeman too. The ambassador is the one in the gray civilian clothes." The three sat not far from them.The head waiter walked back and forth, grinning eagerly, taking notes of their drinks. "How normal they look," Natalie said. "Germans are pretty normal," Sloter said. "It's kind of scary to say, but honestly, they look like Americans." Natalie said worriedly: "The people sitting at the table next to them are obviously Jewish. Sitting next to the German secret police, drinking and laughing, it's really chilling!" Zelston said, "I know them. They got paid out of Belgium. They still don't believe they can't get their way to America. Most of the Jews here are scrapped for nothing. But There are also a few like them. These people go to the casino every night, yelling. They are caught fish, but they are still dancing, and they are having fun every day while there is still some water." Ze Alston drained his drink, smoothed his moustache, and swung his glass at the waiter. "Give me another drink. Some of the visitors I had today were a real pain in the ass. Lisbon is a sad and scary place right now. I've already submitted my application for a transfer. The problem is I can't wait for approval. Maybe I I simply resigned and quit. I have never been so envious of someone with a rich father." Sloter said to Natalie, "I treat you to dinner, can I?" "Okay, I'm very happy." "What about you, Bunch? Let's go eat together. Let's all go upstairs to my room first. I want a change of shirt or something." "No, I have an appointment for dinner. I'll just sit here with Natalie a little longer and finish my glass of wine. I've left a message for Bazust to call here for me." Slote stood up and said, "Thank you, then, for your help." "I can do a great job of helping people who don't need my help." After Sloot told Natalie his room number, he left.Later she saw a penciled note on the jamb of his door: "Na: the door is not locked." She entered a large living room and looked out from the long iron-barred balcony, See a purple sea.The room was full of ancient and heavy furniture in gilt and green, golden draperies, gilded mirrors, and huge dark old paintings.Sloter sang softly as he headed into the shower, and Natalie yelled at him across the open bedroom, "Hi, I'm coming." The tap is turned off.A moment later Sloter emerged in a tartan bathrobe, wiping his head with a towel. "How's my apartment? It's good enough for an Indian sheikh's residence, eh? The embassy booked it for an oil tycoon. But he didn't show up. I booked it for a week." "Excellent," she said, leaning back in her chair. "What's the matter?" "Bazust called at last. Braney's submarine was diverted to Gibraltar instead of Lisbon. That's it, no explanation." "So it is! Oh, what a pity. Perhaps you can meet him in Gibraltar." "Zelston doesn't think so, but he's going to the British embassy first thing in the morning to find out. He's really willing to help, especially since he obviously thinks I'm a fool. No doubt you do too. I think so." She looked up at him with unconvinced chagrin—a familiar, charming look—and took off her hat, tossing her hair back vigorously. "What did you tell him about Braney? And me? He seems to know a lot!" "Well, we drank a little too much one night, and I was leaning on his shoulder and crying about the tragedies of my love life. Don't worry, I have good things to say about Byron, and I understand him." She said with a hint of malice: "I dare say you will do that. Hey, you are such a big show, it will bankrupt you." "For the few days I've been here, not yet." "As for me? I left my luggage in a flea-hole in the city. I share a room with a poor old Jewish woman from Rotterdam. Her husband was snatched from the train in Paris. From Sunday, I haven't had a shower yet." "Look, why don't you move here? I have a room here for the maid. I'll sleep there. Look at this bed. It's like a football field. You can sleep here." "No. Look, Slote, if I go to Gibraltar, I'll marry Byron. He wants that." Slote, who was combing her hair in a mirror surrounded by gilded cherubs blowing trumpets, paused. Come, and looked at her with pain and suspicion.She went on in a panic. "I know it sounds flippant and absurd," she said with a smile, her eyes suddenly brightened, "but, in fact, I would like to do it myself." "Well, Natalie, I thought I should congratulate you. God knows how much I wish you well." "Oh, I know what you mean, Slote. Don't tell me it's too queer. Some things are meant to be. I love Byron." "Well, this room is at your disposal anyway. Dinner is late here. You take a shower." "And crawl into the old shirt I was wearing?" Natalie shook her head, seeming to be thinking. "I see a shop downstairs. See what Lisbon has to offer a big girl like me." Soon she came back with a box between her arms, with a somewhat secretive expression on her face. "Are you serious about asking me to stay here? I bought a bunch of stuff. It might be my dowry. Quick purchase in half an hour. They're all cheap and just right from Seville. My taste. Byron would love it so much that his eyes would pop out if he could come." "Are you short of money?" "I've got plenty, my dear. That's the advantage of living on the Siena hills with nothing to buy. Ellen pays me on time every month, and the money keeps piling up. Really, I could live with you." Is it? I hate going back to town again tonight. I'm afraid of the poor old woman." "As I said, this room is yours." "I can't register." "Relax." "Okay," she held the box with her two arms, stopped at the door of the dormitory, and turned around.Her soulful, secretive glance shocked the diplomat. "People will misunderstand us, won't they, Slote?" "I have nothing to misunderstand. It is you who are inscrutable." "You never thought I was inscrutable before." "I thought I saw you through. I'm paying a ridiculously high price for my oversimplification right now." "You used to be a selfish fool. I like you a lot." "Thank you, Jastrow, and go take your shower." The next morning, Sloter was awakened by a sound at the suite door.He came out of the tiny maid's room yawning and blinking, strapping on his bathrobe.Natalie, in a stunning white baize dress and a red sash with gold buckles, was sitting in the blinding sunlight, watching the waiters at a table on wheels. Set up breakfast. "Ah, hi," she said, smiling pleasantly, stroking her carefully combed hair. "I don't know if you're going to get up. I've ordered an egg for you—in case you do. Everything is so cheap and plentiful here!" "I'll come to eat with you after I brush my teeth. You're already dressed! When did you wake up?" "I've been awake for several hours. According to the appointed time, I should be waiting for Byron in the bar here at eleven o'clock today. That was the original plan." Slote rubbed his eyes and glanced at her. "What's the matter with you? His submarine is heading for Gibraltar." "That's what the man called Bazust said. What if he's mistaken?" "Natalie, he's a naval attache." "I know." Slote shook his head, gestured to invite her to have breakfast, and sat down to open the room.After a while he came back in a shirt, leggings, and loafers, and found Natalie eating well.She grinned at him. "Don't be surprised, my dear, I eat like a pig. It makes a difference to have sunshine, and coffee! I'm so happy!" He sat down and split open a very ripe Spanish melon. "Hey, do you really think that Byron Henry will show up in the bar of this hotel at eleven o'clock today? Just by your will?" "But naval signals get mixed up like any other, don't you think so? I'm going to wait for him there anyway." "It's ridiculous, but it fits your character." "Do you like my dress? I bought it yesterday—in the window of that shop." "It fits your figure very well." She kept looking at her watch. "Well, wish me luck," she said at last, throwing the napkin on the table, "I'm going." "You're going to sit in that bar and wait like a stone statue all day?" "Leslie, don't be mad at me." "I'm not mad. I'm just trying to plan my time." "Of course, if he doesn't meet by around noon, the next step is to find out how to get to Gibraltar." "I'll make a phone call to ask Ben Qi, and I'll come downstairs at noon." "Excuse me then. Thank you, Leslie, for all your help. That bed was so comfortable. I haven't slept as well in months." When she said this, she couldn't completely hide the mischief on her face, and then waved her hand indifferently and left.It was clear, Sloter thought, that she was making fun of his embarrassment.The situation had changed, and he had to bear it until he could regain the initiative. His chance to judge him was at hand.Leslie was determined to make the most of this encounter.He couldn't understand why Natalie was so determined to waste her life on Byron Henry.He had made a terrible mistake in his treatment of this wonderful girl, and he wanted to save it now.Slote knew what it must feel like for a divorced man to accidentally meet an ex-wife he still loves.The old quarrels and the new decorum had created a gulf between them--a gulf which had worked to keep him from sleeping in the big bed last night.Yet beneath it all, the two of them were deeply emotionally connected.If it hadn't been for Natalie's accidental crush on Henry the eccentric skinny monkey, he believed they would have been back in each other's arms by this time, probably married.He honestly thought he was more worthy of her and more suitable for her. He figured: Natalie might linger in Lisbon for a while, her will was indomitable, but Gibraltar probably wouldn't work for her.She still has to go back to Italy.That way, he would accompany her back to Siena, pry Ellen Jastrow away, and send them home.If necessary, he would send a telegram to Washington requesting an extension of the trip.If he could not win Natalie back after such a long time, he would unfortunately have overestimated his fate and their fate.After all, he was the man she fell in love with for the first time.Slote believed that no woman would ever truly miss the first man she had had, and that this man would never be completely removed from her heart.He ate breakfast at his leisure, then called Zelston. "Good morning, Bunch. Have you heard anything about Natalie's going to Gibraltar?" "No need, Rice. The sub is already here." Sloter has rarely received worse news.Yet he tried to suppress any emotion in the tone of his voice. "It's here? What's the matter?" "I don't know. It came in at daylight. It's down the river, near customs." "Then what did Bazzurt say?" "He's just wondering. He's going to talk to the captain in a moment. There was an order for the submarine to go to Gibraltar." "How long has it been here?" "It was originally scheduled for three days," Zelston's tone became a little playful. "Less, bad luck. The girl is really amazing. If I were you, I would grit my teeth for the next three days and then look at the situation." Sloter said calmly out of self-defense: "Yes, she Not bad. But it was much prettier then." He changed his clothes and ran downstairs quickly.In the dark bar, there were only four or five Germans.They turned suspicious faces at him.Sloter strode past the passenger lounge. "Hey, Slote, look back!" Natalie's voice rang like a string of happy silver bells.She was sitting with Byron on a green velvet sofa, half hidden by a potted palm.On the coffee table in front of them was an open briefcase, next to a stack of papers.The girl's cheeks were red, her eyes were bright, and her entire face was glowing with excitement.Byron Henry jumped up to shake his hand.He looked the same, not even the tweed jacket Sloter had worn when he first saw him lounging against a wall in Siena. Sloter said, "Uh, here we go! Didn't Natalie tell you we got some bad news?" Byron smiled. "Strictly speaking, there's nothing wrong with the news. But it's here anyway." He glanced at the lounge. "Hey, there's a strange Berlin smell here. Germans everywhere!" "Honey, they're in groups. Don't say anything about anything." Natalie said while flipping through the stack of documents excitedly, tugging at Byron's hand. "I can't find your residence permit!" "It's with yours." "So he's got everything," Natalie said aloud to Slote. "Everything is ready. According to the regulations, everything is complete. It has been translated into Portuguese and signed by the notary. The seal of the notary has also been verified by the Portuguese consul. There is no shortage of anything." Byron still sat down Beside her, she ran her hand through his thick hair and gave it a jerk. "I thought you were so messed up with your papers, you fellow! How did you get them so complete!" Slote said: "Are you sure that there is nothing lacking? I never see There are strict rules like here.Let me check that set for you. " "That would be great, Leslie. Will you?" Natalie said, making room for him on the couch, and running to hand over the stack of papers and the slip that Zelston had handed her. to Slote.Each item on the side of the list is marked with a check mark in red ink. "How did you get this together?" Sloter said, going through the papers. Byron explained that as soon as he heard that the submarine was planning to sail to Lisbon, he took four days of emergency leave and flew to Washington to learn about marriage regulations at the Portuguese embassy.It turned out that the Portuguese naval attaché there, Colonel de Esseguet, was a friend of his in Berlin, with whom he had played tennis doubles against his father and the Swedish attache.De Essaygues immediately set to work for him. "It's amazing what these guys can do in a few days if they really move!" says Byron. "I managed to get some documents, but the most difficult ones were obtained by the Portuguese consul." "It's all over the Foreign Service," Sloter said, looking at the checklist as he methodically flipped through file after file. "The wheel of fate either moves slowly like a glacier, or so fast that its shadow cannot be seen. Anyway, Byron, I honestly think you, or the Portuguese colonel, or both of you have made it. It seems The files are all there." "Will you marry me?" Byron asked very seriously.Natalie said, "I swear to God, of course." They burst into a loud laugh.Slote gave a low, melancholy laugh, and put the paper back in its folder -- on which Byron had stamped, in neat block letters, "Marriage." "I'm going to give Zelston a call and see what's the next step for you guys, okay? Byron, this Zelston is a friend of mine at the embassy." 拜伦•亨利慢条斯理地、十分感激地微笑着。斯鲁特不能不看到那副笑容是多么动人。“你肯吗？太谢谢啦。眼下我头脑不大清楚。” “不清楚？整个说来，我敢说你做得头头是道。” 过几分钟斯鲁特走回来时，他看到他俩握着手坐在沙发上，彼此用爱慕的眼神对望着，同时都在说着话。他踌躇了一下，然后走近他们说：“对不起，出了点儿问题。” 娜塔丽抬起头来看他，有些震惊，皱了皱眉头说：“又怎么啦？” “奔奇听说你们所办到的，认输了，拜伦，他佩服得简直五体投地。他任凭你们吩咐，很乐意帮忙。但是他实在不知道怎样来帮你们对付那项必须在婚礼举行前十二天公布预告的规定。另外，外交部还得核对领事的签字，他说那一般需要一个星期。所以……”斯鲁特耸了耸肩，把文件夹子又放回桌上。 “对，这两个问题德•爱赛盖全提到过，”拜伦说。“他认为这些可以通融。今天早晨到这儿来的路上，我先去了趟海军部，把一封信交给了他叔叔。他叔叔在海军部里是个准将一类的官儿。他只能讲葡萄牙语，但是对我非常友好。我想他现在正在解决这些难题呢。已经约好我一点钟再到海军部去。泽尔斯顿先生能在那儿跟我们碰头吗？那就真帮忙了。” 斯鲁特的目光从拜伦转到娜塔丽身上，她正有趣地扭动着嘴巴。她仍把拜伦的手握在她的膝上。“我再给他回个电话问问他。你事先的确什么都想到了。” “是呀，我是非办成这件事情不可的。” 奔克尔•泽尔斯顿有些不知所措，只好在电话上答应一点钟在海军大楼和他们碰头。“喂，莱斯里，我仿佛记得你说过这位少尉又懒又没头脑。这档子事他可组织得象一场闪击战。” “出我意料之外。” “我同情你。” “嗯，奔奇，别说啦，一点钟见。” "Are you going too?" “对，我去。” “你可真有受罪的瘾。” 一个穿蓝色海军制服的高个子倚在旅馆门外一辆汽车的挡板上，抽着一支又黑又粗的雪茄。“嗨，勃拉尼，演习开始了吗？” “开始啦。”拜伦把他的副艇长埃斯特上尉介绍给娜塔丽和斯鲁特。埃斯特那双浅蓝色的小眼睛以犀利而颇有些贪婪的目光把姑娘打量了一番。他比拜伦魁梧些，个儿也大些，浓密、卷曲、金黄色的头发一直长到前额低处，脸长长的，由于嘴角朝上翘，显得亲切和蔼；然而那是一张闭得很紧的、倔强固执的嘴。“喂，娜塔丽，勃拉尼成天瞅着发呆的那张照片其实比你本人差多啦。都上来吧。勃拉尼，我给艇长打电话了，告诉他你已经取得了联系。潜艇停靠期间，你不值班啦。” “'夫人'，那太好啦。多谢啦。”娜塔丽怕是自己听错了，重复说了声：“夫人？” 副艇长的微笑略显出点疲惫。“这是我在军事学院一年级的时候他们给起的。既然我姓埃斯特，这个外号大概是跑不掉的①。娜塔丽，我的名字叫卡塔尔，你尽管直呼吧。” ①埃斯特夫人是一个嫁给英国贵族的美国女人，英国下议院第一个女议员，是三十至四十年代英美政界的活跃人物。 在开往城里的路上，两个潜艇军官就描述起“s—45号”在离里斯本一百五十英里时，本已得到开往直布罗陀的命令。艇长知道拜伦的计划，表示了遗憾，但他仍然吩咐把航线往南移。然而过了不到一小时，艇长接到报告说，二号主机垮了，前舱的电槽放出过多的氧气，蒸化器底部也起了碱，这只老潜艇周身都患着失调症，需要在里斯本紧急停靠两三天，进行检修。把这个报告交给艇长的埃斯特表示了自己的意见，认为往直布罗陀开要担风险，他的意见得到了轮机长的支持。所有这一切都是一本正经地报告的，艇长也是一本正经地采纳副艇长的建议而把航向改到里斯本的。 “你们这么搞怎么保得住不受处分？”斯鲁特说。“你们不会都被送到军事法庭去吗？” “谁也没撒一句谎，”埃斯特带着一副天真的笑容说。“我们有机器运行状况的记录为凭。这些超龄的潜艇一直就这么气喘吁吁地挣扎着，几乎任何时候都可以根据它的状况宣布报废。改开里斯本的决定做得非常稳妥、非常正确呢。” 娜塔丽对拜伦说：“那么你们就乘这样超龄的破家伙潜到海底去吗？” “可是，娜塔丽，'s—45号'已经潜海四千七百二十三次了，它总还能再潜几趟吧！” “往海底潜算不得什么，”埃斯特“夫人”说。“你只要一拉闸，它就潜下去了。再一开气管，它又浮上来了。使这个老家伙吃力的是从这里开到那里。可是我们总能对付。顺便提一下：婚礼完成后，请大家到艇上玩玩去。” “我？到一只潜艇上！”娜塔丽把裙子紧紧地往大腿下边掖了掖。 “艇长要向你们祝贺。你知道，为了来里斯本，他是帮了忙的。” “等会儿再看吧，”娜塔丽说。“斯鲁特！你是成心想叫我们都撞个头破血流吗？” “对不起，那辆卡车也不知道打哪儿冒出来的，”斯鲁特一面说，一面把车开回凹凸不平的路上去。他开得太快了。 奔克尔•泽尔斯顿在海军部门外的阳光下握了握亨利少尉的手，好奇地仔细打量了他好一会儿。“我很高兴见到一位有本事把什么都办成了的精明人。” “事情还没办成呢，先生，还差得远哪。多谢您主动提议来解救我们。” “来吧，看看事情怎么进展。你那边的后台可真硬。这位德•爱赛盖似乎是海军作战部副部长。” 从这位德•爱赛盖的一间间接待室、他办公室门前配备的武装卫兵之多、办公室本身的宽大、家具的华丽和他的制服上的金色穗带和勋章的灿烂来判断，他的职位一定相当高。他身材矮小，肤色棕黑，拉丁族的脸长得很严峻，浓密的头发两鬓已经开始花白。他直直地站在那里，和大家一一握手，用高雅的风度对他们做出欢迎的手势。他朝娜塔丽深深鞠了一躬，深色的眼睛里闪现了仰慕的神色。随后他拿出公事公办的姿态，叽里哇啦地用葡萄牙语对泽尔斯顿飞快地讲起来。 “他说，这类事儿需要时间，”泽尔斯顿传达了他的大意。 “他很想请大家吃顿午饭。” 拜伦朝娜塔丽瞥了一眼，然后说：“他很客气。可是他知不知道我们总共只有三天？” “我不知道应不应该催他，”泽尔斯顿咕哝说。 “请把我这句话翻给他听。” "Ok." 这位葡萄牙官员严肃地听着泽尔斯顿说的话。他的目光一直在拜伦身上。他用嘴边的皱纹和那阴沉的脸上闪过的一道风趣，表示他理解一个年轻恋人的焦急。他转过身来，突然朝着坐在一张小桌跟前的助手吩咐了一下——那位助手身上被挂的金色穗带仅少于他本人。助手马上站起来，走出房门。过了静寂无声的片刻，他捧着一束红玫瑰回来了。他把花束递给德•爱赛盖，德•爱赛盖又把花束递给娜塔丽•杰斯特罗，向她鞠了个躬，说了几句听来十分优美的话。 泽尔斯顿翻译道：“在这玫瑰花上的露珠未干之前，你们二位就已成为夫妻了。” “哎呀，那太美啦！多谢您！”娜塔丽的声音有些发抖了。她捧着花束，环顾着大家，神色忸怩地说：“你们知道，我现在开始相信了，刚刚第一次相信。” “夫人，演习开始了，”埃斯特上尉说，“如果想取消，得马上下命令。” “取消？”她挽住拜伦的胳膊，“没的事。开炮！” “嗨，不愧为一位海军的妻子，”埃斯特上尉说。 德•爱赛盖十分留心地想听懂他们之间的这段谈话。他请泽尔斯顿替他翻出来。他大声笑了，握住娜塔丽的手吻了吻。 “来吧，”他用英语说，“吃顿便饭。” 午餐时间拖得很长，菜肴精美，地点在一家饭馆里，那里风景绝佳，可以眺望里斯本的群山和闪闪发光的宽阔河流，很象从旧金山所望见的那种一览无余的全景。准将似乎一点也不忙。泽尔斯顿不断地看表，他知道大部分政府机关四点半或者五点就关门了。三点钟，德•爱赛盖漫不经心地说，也许他们该去看看这件小事办得怎样了。他们坐上一辆梅塞德斯牌黑色大轿车，开始旋风般巡游起一系列办公大楼。泽尔斯顿试着向他们解释正在进行着什么，可是过一会儿，他放弃了，因为连他自己也没把握。准将忽而一个人下车几分钟，忽而又在泽尔斯顿陪同下，领着这对夫妇去签些什么表格或文件。总有个官员等在大门口向他们致意，然后领他们穿过拥挤的接待室，来到一些古老的、满是尘埃的内部办公室；那里，总有年老、肥胖、脸色苍白的部室官长窘迫地从椅子上站起来，向德•爱赛盖鞠躬。 大约两小时以后，他们来到泽尔斯顿所熟悉的一间办公室，那是民间登记婚姻的地方。办公室这时已下了班，窗帘拉下来了。黑色轿车一停下来，一个窗帘马上拉起来，大门也打开了。一个身材高大、穿着棕色罩衫、下巴上汗毛挺重的老太婆领着他们穿过几个黑魆魆的空房间，来到一间明亮地点着枝形吊灯的内部办公室。一张古老的书桌后面坐着一个肤色棕黑、蛙形脸庞的人。他戴着金边眼镜，嘴里有几颗金牙，手上戴着三只大金戒指，正在那里翻着文件。他朝他们笑了笑，然后用葡萄牙语和泽尔斯顿谈了起来。泽尔斯顿把他提的问题翻译过来。那人用一支斑斑点点的钢笔在拜伦的那许多文件上潦草地写着，同时不断地盖着图章。娜塔丽和拜伦以及他们的两个证人——埃斯特和斯鲁特——不停地签着名。过一会儿，那人站了起来，带着猥亵的、闪着金牙的微笑，先向娜塔丽然后向拜伦伸出手来，用蹩脚的英语说着：“祝你们幸福。” “这是怎么回事？”娜塔丽说。 “还用问，你们结成夫妻啦，”泽尔斯顿说。“祝贺你们！” “我们结婚啦？已经？什么时候结的婚？我可没留意。” “在一道手续上，就是刚才你们俩在那绿本子上签字的时候，那就是啦。” “我一点儿也不记得了。”拜伦说：“我也记不起了。反正我相信你的话。'夫人'，把戒指拿给我吧。” 埃斯特把戒指递到他手里。他们那黄澄澄的箍儿套在娜塔丽的指头上，把她搂到怀里，吻了她。这时，泽尔斯顿告诉德•爱赛盖这对夫妇竟然没留意自己结婚的时刻，这位葡萄牙官员笑了。当泽尔斯顿向他解释美国吻新娘的风俗时，他又笑了。娜塔丽要德•爱赛盖第一个吻她。这位年迈的贵族格外高兴地在她的嘴唇上执行了这一特权，然后彬彬有礼地和大家一一握手，离去了。拜伦拾掇起他那一叠文件，交了费。 斯鲁特是最后吻她的人。娜塔丽踌躇了一下，直直地望着他说：“呃，老斯鲁特，我似乎已经办成了，是不是？祝福我吧。” “啊，当然，当然要祝福你，杰斯特罗，你是知道的。” 她让他在嘴上冷冰冰地、短促地吻了一下，把另一只闲着的手搭在他的脖子上。 他们出现在傍晚金黄色的阳光里时，那辆黑色轿车已经开走了。办公室的大门在他们走出来之后马上关上了。斯鲁特觉得有点什么松散的颗粒塞到他手里，原来是一把米。埃斯特咧了咧那冷冰冰的薄嘴唇，作了个怪笑，又眨了眨一只锐利的蓝眼睛。埃斯特发了个信号，三个人就都把米朝这对新婚夫妇洒来。 娜塔丽拂掉衣服上的米，又用手指关节拭了拭眼睛。“这么一来，婚礼可正式了！底下该做什么啦？” “要是你不懂的话，”埃斯特“夫人”说，“拜伦可得赶紧详详细细地给你解释一番。”说得娜塔丽张口结舌，脸羞得象块红砖。“哎呀，勃拉尼，这是个什么人物？” “'夫人'潜在海底的时间太长了，”拜伦说，“他感到不大容易把头脑提到海面水平。” “结婚生活是神圣的，美好的，”埃斯特“夫人”说，“可是在你们开始之前，咱们先去拜访老's—45号'一会儿怎么样？艇长似乎在那里等着咱们哪。” “当然罗，当然罗，”娜塔丽赶快说。“我要去看看's—45号'，非常想看它。咱们一定得去。” “你想过去完之后你们上哪儿吗？”莱斯里•斯鲁特干巴巴地问了这么一句。 拜伦说：“哦，我估计总可以有个地方——象旅馆什么的。” “里斯本都快挤破啦。”斯鲁特说。 “天哪，确实是这样。我一直没想到这个问题，”娜塔丽说。 “干嘛不住到我那儿去？”莱斯里•斯鲁特说。“那是一套我生平见到的真正算得上度蜜月的房间。” 娜塔丽看来非常惊讶。她望了拜伦一眼。“你这番意思太美了，斯鲁特，可是我无论如何也不忍那么办。” “我们会找到个地方的，”拜伦摇着头说。 “啊，可是他那个地方就象出自《天方夜谭》似的，”娜塔丽漫不经心地这么加上一句。“昨儿晚上我在那儿喝过一次酒。老斯鲁特•你真肯帮我们这个忙吗？” “莱斯里可以住到我那儿去，”泽尔斯顿说，“一点儿问题也没有。莱斯里，等会儿到使馆找我去。我得马上赶到那里去。” “那么一切都安排停当了，”斯鲁特说，“趁你们俩访问潜艇的当儿，我回趟旅馆，搬出来。” “天保佑你！谢谢了。我的行李呢？”娜塔丽心情纷乱地说着。“喔，还在罗森太太那个房间里哪。也许我应该去取一下。不啦，我还有东西往里头放呢，等下再取吧。谢谢你，斯鲁特；还有你，奔奇。谢谢你们帮的一切忙。” 斯鲁特朝着一辆过路的出租汽车打了个招呼。“祝你们幸福！” 娜塔丽看到潜艇那么小，样子那么难看，浑身是锈，不觉吃了一惊。“好家伙！”他们刚下出租汽车，当起重机正在他们头上摆动时，她就在那叮当、吱吱声中嚷道。“那就是's—45号'吗？勃拉尼，真的，你坐这个家伙潜到水下，要当心别得了幽闭恐怖症啊！” “他醒着的时候不多，所以他什么也理会不到，”埃斯特说。他们正朝着一道仅仅用两条长板子钉成的浮桥走去。水兵们都在低低的、平坦的黑色前甲板上闲荡，定睛望着这个穿白衣服、抱着一束玫瑰花的姑娘。“等咱们一潜下海去，他就该睁开眼睛，大喊大叫了。” “我别的倒不在乎，就是这里的伙伴太低级，”拜伦说，“还有身上发出的臭味——高级军官中间尤其厉害。我一睡着，就什么也不理会了。”浮桥那里有个头发蓬乱、枪低低地吊在臀部的年轻水兵。他向埃斯特敬了个礼，向娜塔丽投了个渴慕的、崇敬的眼色，然后说：“报告长官，艇长请你们都在码头上等候。” "OK." 不久，一个穿蓝制服、戴上尉金臂章的人物从锈痕斑斑的黑色风篷（就是位于艇身中央司令塔上面的架构）那里出现了。他走过浮桥，来到码头。艇长的体型颇有些象他的潜艇，中间笨拙壮实，两头陡然缩成圆锥形。他有棕色的大眼睛、宽阔的鼻子和一张使人惊奇的男孩子般的脸。 “卡鲁索艇长，这是我的妻子，”拜伦说，这个字眼使娜塔丽微微震动一下。 卡鲁索用他的白皙肥胖的爪子握住她的手。“呃，祝贺你们啦！拜伦是个好小伙子——在他醒着的短暂时刻。” “你真那么贪睡吗？”娜塔丽笑着对拜伦说。 “那纯粹是诽谤！”拜伦说。“在艇上我很少阖眼，除非在沉思，回想当初进潜艇学校是做了一件多么愚蠢的事！我倒承认我是时常这么沉思的。” “一下子他能沉思十八个小时，”埃斯特说，“真是不折不扣的金子般的沉思。” 两个穿粗布工作服的水兵从前甲板敞着门的舱口走上来，跨过浮桥。一个提着冰桶，里头放着一瓶香槟酒，另一个端着个托盘，上头放着玻璃杯。 “啊，咱们开始吧。亨利太太，海军规定不许我们在艇上喝烈性酒，”舰长说。娜塔丽又一次感到一阵小小的快活的震动。他砰的一声拔开瓶塞，在水兵拿出一只只杯子的时候，他郑重其事地斟上了酒。 “祝你们幸福！”他大声说，这时，起重机正大声叮当响着越过他们头上。 “祝福您，愿上帝祝福您！”娜塔丽嚷道。“谢谢您把他送到这儿。” “感谢二号机，”埃斯特“夫人”嚷道。“感谢蒸发器、排气系统和前电池组。在一条军舰上，从来没有出过这么多的毛病。”拜伦默默地冲着他的艇长和副艇长举起杯子。他们喝着酒，起重机隆隆地又转过去了。 “艇长，”卡鲁索再一次给他们斟酒时，埃斯特“夫人”说，“您认为拜伦房里那张照片有娜塔丽本人美吗？” “差得远哪，”艇长用他那双清澈的、色迷迷的意大利眼睛望着她说，”连点边儿也没沾上呢。” “我正是这么感觉的。既然您已经亲眼见到她了，长官，您同不同意我这个看法：在里斯本该办的事至少需要五天？” “三天，”卡鲁索艇长脸上那种梦幻般的神情消失了，立刻斩钉截铁地说，“整整七十二个小时。” “是的，是的，长官。” “'夫人'，你还得准备一份有说服力的机器失灵的鬼报告，”艇长一仰脖子喝干了杯里的酒，然后微笑着对娜塔丽说：“那么我可不可以陪您参观一下本艇呢？” 她跟着军官们走进那锈痕斑斑的风篷，下了舱口。梯子又凉又油腻，短而滑的横棒直绊娜塔丽的高跟鞋。她得低下头钻过第二个圆舱口，然后又走下一道梯子，才来到一间满是机器的小屋。她强烈地意识到这样会露出她的腿部，不过她高兴的是自己的腿是漂亮的，裙子是紧的。 “这是操纵室，“拜伦说，一面扶她下来。“这上头就是司令塔。” 娜塔丽看看周围那些穿粗布工作服、神情肃穆的水兵，看看那阀门、圆形把手、指针表、操纵把柄、大机轮和乱团在一起的钢缆，配电盘上的灯光照亮着舱里所有滚成绿色的隔板。尽管一台排气送风机一直在嗡嗡响着，屋里闷热的气息里仍散发着机器、烹调、陈年雪茄和没洗澡的男人的酸臭味。 “勃拉尼，你真懂得这都是些什么吗？” “他正学着哪，”埃斯特“夫人”说，“在他冬眠的间隔时期。” 他们迈过一道敞着的防水门，来到一间军官室。这里，娜塔丽又见到两位军官。桌上已经摆好了一个心形的白色蛋糕，上面用蓝色的糖浆浇成一条潜艇、几个小爱神和拜伦•亨利先生及太太字样。她勉强挤到首席上，坐在舰长的正对面，拜伦和埃斯特为了躲开头上已经折起的一张床铺，紧靠着舱壁蹲坐着。 有人拿出一把军刀。娜塔丽切开蛋糕，艇长把分剩下的送到水兵室去了。娜塔丽喝的两杯香婉酒上了头。这一天的奔波和周围年轻人朝她投来的渴望的目光也已经使她有些晕头转向了。在喝咖啡吃蛋糕的时候，她又为埃斯特“夫人”说的那些笑话逗得乐个不停。她终于认为尽管这条老潜艇又脏又狭窄，充满了机器的气味和男人的体臭，它毕竟是一条令人十分开心的船。拜伦在她眼里一分钟比一分钟称心，她吻了他一遍又一遍。 在他们离开“s—45号”之前，拜伦把他的新婚妻子领到一间小舱去，把两个床铺下面、靠近甲板的一个狭窄的黑洞指给她看，这就是他睡的地方。“我问你，”他说，“谁会甘愿在这个停尸间似的窄缝里多呆上一会儿呢？” “不睡在这里还有更可怕的事，”埃斯特“夫人”在娜塔丽身后说，“比如醒着。” 当娜塔丽和拜伦走上甲板，回到新鲜、凉爽的空气中时，前甲板的水兵们都向他们挥手欢呼，娜塔丽也向他们挥了挥手。有些胆大的水兵还吹起口哨。在浮桥那里站岗的替他们喊来的出租汽车刚一开动，就咯吱咯吱乱响起来。司机把车刹住，跳了下来。不久，娜塔丽和拜伦听到他用葡萄牙语骂了起来，随手把鞋和罐头盒子扔开。水兵们笑着，叫嚷着，直到出租汽车开远了。 “我敢说这会儿可怜的斯鲁特已经离开那家旅馆啦，”娜塔丽往她丈夫怀里靠了靠。“咱们先去取我的行李，然后到旅馆去，好吗？你看了就知道啦。我那么毫不客气地接受下来确实不好，可是，勃拉尼，老实说，那简直是给王室预备的套房。” 娜塔丽住的客栈在一条小巷里。她的房间里有一个老妇人正睡在一张铁床上打呼噜。“哦，斯鲁特的那个地方总比这个强吧，”拜伦小声说，一面望着那裂了缝的天花板，几只正在剥着墙纸的蟑螂一见到电灯光马上就四下躲藏。娜塔丽赶快把她的东西收拾好，留了个条子，连同钥匙一并放在桌上。走到门口，她又回头望了望罗森太太。她正仰卧着，张着下巴，灰色的头发乱糟糟地散在枕头上。娜塔丽想，罗森太太当初的婚礼是怎样的？她丈夫那张用银色像框嵌起来的、发黄了的脸在床头小桌上微笑着。这就是那位被德国人从法国火车上硬揪走的可怜虫给她留下的唯一的纪念。娜塔丽打了个冷颤，把门带上了。 斯鲁特显然事先已经通知了皇宫饭店柜台上的办事员并付过小帐，因为他马上就油滑地咧嘴笑着，把钥匙交给了拜伦。这对新婚夫妇得交出他们的护照。娜塔丽把她那个褐红色的美国护照递过去时，心里略微感到一些害怕——她就是凭这个护照才和里斯本的其他四万犹太人分道扬镳的。 “我刚想起一件事，”她在电梯里说，“你怎么登记的？” “当然是'先生和太太'啦。这是惊心动魄的大事。” “可我那护照上写的还是娜塔丽•杰斯特罗。” “那有什么。”电梯停了。他挽住她的胳膊。“我才不担这份心呢。” “也许你应该回去向他们说明一下。” “先等他们来问吧。” 侍者刚打开套房的门，娜塔丽就觉得自己猛然被抱起来了。“哎，拜伦，别胡闹！我可沉得要命。你会扭着筋骨的。”可是他那瘦削的身子出乎意料的力气使她很兴奋，她一只手紧紧搂住他的脖子，另一只手抓住她的裙子。 “嘿！”他说着，把她抱到房里。“我现在明白你说的了，这确实是给王室预备的套房。” 他把娜塔丽放下来的时候，她马上先跑进寝室去。娜塔丽心里有点着急，她的浴衣还挂在斯鲁特的洗澡间里呢。新买的非常肉感的内衣也还丢在五斗柜的抽屉里。要是给拜伦瞥见，可不好解释！但是所有这些全不翼而飞了——哪儿去了？她摸不着头脑。她正为这事纳闷的当儿，拜伦在寝室落地窗外的阳台上出现了。“外边这儿好极了，一点不假。可就是冷得要命。水上是一串奇异的光亮。你看到那瓶香槟酒了吗？还有百合花。” “百合花？” “瞧那儿。” 起居室的一角，大理石桌上的一个银质冷却器里镇着一瓶香槟酒，旁边立着一束红、白色的水芋百合。花束旁边是斯鲁特留的一个小白卡片，上面什么也没写。Doorbell rang.侍者递给娜塔丽一个内衣店送来的匣子。她马上跑进寝室，把它打开，里边放着斯鲁特清理出来的内衣——都是些五颜六色、镶着花边的薄绸。 “是什么呀？”拜伦站在阳台上问道。 “噢，我在旅馆大厅的铺子里买的一些东西，”她轻快地说。“我猜一定是斯鲁特告诉他们我要搬到这儿来。”她挑了一件桃色睡衣，装出女巫的神情把它覆在胸前。“嗨，象个大学者吧？” 然后，她在内衣下面看到斯鲁特写的一张便条。拜伦正要进来。 她赶紧跑到落地窗那边，把拜伦关在外面。“等会儿再进来。开香槟吧。” 便条上写的是：杰斯特罗，穿上那件灰色的吧。你穿灰色的总分外可爱。此系密信，阅后销毁。爱你至死的——斯鲁特。 这段话使娜塔丽的眼睛湿润了。她把便条撕个粉碎，丢到字纸篓里。她听到隔壁房里砰的一声拔开了瓶塞。她从匣子里拽出一件镶着黑色花边的灰绸睡衣。她把莱斯里•斯鲁特抛在脑后，赶快往周身喷了香水。她走出寝室，梳理着她 那一直披到肩头上的又长又黑的头发。拜伦一把抓住了她…… 酒，百合花，玫瑰；在圆月下面，黑暗的海在他们窗外翻滚着。这对分离了半年的年轻恋人，在战争与和平的地理刀刃上，忽然在这远离家乡的地方结了婚，与世隔绝地睡在一张好客的大床上，而对年轻的恋人说来，这是人生最好的时刻——这就是他们的新婚之夜。人生的境遇有时好似一幅阴郁的壁毯，上面绣着一个模糊不清、意义含混的图案。它朝里旋转着，转出一对灿烂的赤裸恋人。圣经就是从这一中心图画开始的。大部分古老的故事是以情人成为眷属结束的——隐退到他们那神圣不可侵犯的原始状态中去。然而对拜伦和娜塔丽来说，他们的故事才开始呢。 剧跳的脉搏和爱情的溪流消失在一对恋人的温暖的酣睡中了。在一九四一年一月的一个夜晚，拜伦•亨利夫妇（美国人）行完婚礼之后，睡在里斯本郊外的皇宫饭店里。这是第二次世界大战两千多个夜晚中的一个。这时，人类很大一部分正难以安眠。