Chapter 68 Chapter 67

Pamela.Although Tudsbury often fell into lust involuntarily, the experience of falling in love with each other was only once in his life.Colonel Henry was the man she had loved.She flew from Washington to Moscow in August to see him one last time before marrying. She had already given up the idea of ​​going to the Soviet Union. In fact, she had already decided to give up her career as a journalist and planned to go to New Delhi to marry Dyna Walker, and her visa was suddenly approved.She immediately changed her plans and included Moscow in her itinerary.For this reason, she will not resign from the Observer for the time being.If Pamela is emotional, she has a fairly cool head.She never doubted now that her articles were but the faint echo of a dead soul.It was another thing for her to ghostwrite a few newsletters when her father was sick or overworked.It was beyond her power to write a news report with his vision, panache, and verve these days.She's not a journalist, she's just a knife catcher.She didn't want to deceive herself as to why she was marrying Burner-Walker.Same with her foray into journalism.The decision to marry was also hastily made to fill the vacuum left by Tudsbury's death.At the weak moment when she begins to feel the emptiness and sadness of her life, he proposes.He is humble and generous, a rare object to meet, so she agreed.She has no regrets.They would be happy together, she thought, how lucky she was to have him.

Why, then, did she detour through Moscow?This was mainly because she had been with Rhoda at several dances and receptions.Henry came across him unexpectedly, and she saw a tall, gray-haired army colonel who often accompanied her.Rhoda treated her with kindness and warmth, and--in Pamela's opinion--with the air of claiming the imposing army officer for himself.Before leaving Washington, Pam thought it wouldn't hurt to hang up on her.Rhoda told her excitedly that Byron had now been promoted to first officer of the sub; Pamela was sure to bring the news to Pug and "tell him to watch his weight!" There was no trace of jealousy or affectation of geniality. ; This mood is indeed incomprehensible.What happened to their relationship as a couple?Had their reconciliation reached such a level of reconciliation that she could no longer hold back?Otherwise, could it be that she is flirting with others behind her husband's back?Or is it developing like this?Pamela felt bewildered. "She hadn't heard from him since Midway, and he hadn't written a single letter of condolence even after her father's death had been widely reported in the papers. Wartime mail is unreliable. She had deliberately given him the opportunity to object to the marriage in the letter she sent about Burner-Walker; there was no reply. But had he received the letter before the sinking of the Northampton? She was at a loss again. Pamela wanted to know what her relationship with Victor Henry was like now, and the only way to find out was to meet him. She didn't care if she had to travel a lot in the midsummer of wartime to do that. Thousand miles of road.

Despite not caring, the journey had worn her out after all.The embassy sent a car to pick her up at the Moscow airport, but she almost collapsed as soon as she got in the car.After flying non-stop across the North African continent and three days in the dusty, fly-infested hell of Tehran, she was exhausted.The driver, a small, decent black-uniformed Londoner, couldn't see how the Moscow heat affected him.From time to time he peeped at her in the mirror.In spite of her weariness, the slender betrothed of Lord Burner-Walker, this woman so elegant and so un-Russian in white linen and straw hat, was genuine to the homesick man. , the future Viscountess, he was really happy to be able to drive for her.There was no doubt in his mind that she was in journalism for the amusement of her troubles.

In the eyes of the exhausted Pamela, Moscow itself has not changed: monotonous rows of old houses, many unfinished buildings left behind by the war, and the bulging, bulging buildings that are still floating in the sky. blocked balloons.But the people have changed.By the time she and her father had hurried out of the city in 1941 with the Germans approaching, all the big shots had fled to Kuibyshev.Back then, bloated Muscovites looked tortured and miserable as they trudged through snow-covered streets or dug tank traps.Today, they walk on the sunny sidewalks, women in calico light clothes, men who don't wear military uniforms in sweatshirts and slacks, and lovely children run and play carefree on the roads and in the parks.War is far from here.

The British embassy, ​​on a pretty riverfront with a view of the Kremlin, was, like the Spasso Tower, the residence of a merchant in the Tsarist era.As Pamela walked out into the garden through the French windows at the back of the house, she came across the shirtless ambassador lying in the sun, surrounded by a flock of white-feathered chickens clucking loudly.This formal garden has been turned into a large vegetable garden.philip.Ruhr sat listlessly on a stool next to the ambassador.He stood up and bowed mockingly. "Ah! You are Mrs. Burner-Walker?" She answered coldly, "Not yet, Philip."

The ambassador gestured around the garden as he rose to shake hands with her. "You're welcome, Pam. You can see something has changed here. In Moscow today, you can only make a living by growing something to eat in your backyard." "That's predictable." "We tried to get you a room at the National Hotel, but it's full. We won't be able to get you until next Friday, and we're putting you here for the time being." "It's really hard for you." "Why bother?" Ruhr said. "I didn't think it was going to be a problem. The U.P. just moved out of that suite at the Metropolis, Pam. The sitting room is an acre. You won't find a prettier bathroom in all of Moscow."

"Can I get this suite?" "Come on! Let's try it. It's only five minutes from here. The manager there is my wife's second cousin." "That bathroom made my mind up," Pamela said, brushing her wet forehead with a hand. "I want to spend a week in the bathtub." The ambassador said, "I sympathize with you. But please come to our banquet tonight, Pam. These are the best days to watch the victory fireworks." In the car, Pam asked Rule, "What victory?" "Oh, the Kursk Bulge. Of course you've heard it." "Kursk doesn't get a lot of fanfare in America. Sicily is the big news."

"That's right, typical Yankee edit. Sicily! It brought down Mussolini, but in military terms it was nothing more than an episode, Kursk was the biggest tank battle ever, Pamela, too The real turning point of the great war." "Didn't this happen weeks ago, Phil?" "Breakthrough, it's been a few weeks. The counterattack forces rushed into Orel and Belgorod yesterday. These two cities are heavily held by the German army in the salient, so the backbone of the German defense line has finally been broken. Yes. Stalin has issued an order to celebrate the victory with a one-hundred-twenty gun salute. There must be some tricks."

"Then, I must come to the banquet." "Oh, you have to come." "I just want to fall down and go to sleep. I'm so sad." "It's a pity. The People's Commissariat for Foreign Affairs has invited a corps of foreign journalists to inspect the front tomorrow. We will be away for a week. You must not miss this opportunity." Pamela groaned. "By the way, the entire American Mission is coming to the embassy to watch the fireworks, but Colonel Henry is not coming." "Oh, he's not coming? You know him, then?" "Of course. Short, athletic, about fifty. Moody, isn't he? Quiet."

"That's him, the naval attaché?" "No. The Naval Attaché is Colonel Joyce. Henry is in charge of special military liaison. People in the know say he's from Hopkins in Moscow. He's in Siberia at the moment." "fair enough." "why?" "Because I'm ugly to death." "Listen, Pamela, you're gorgeous." He touched her arm. She moved her arm away. "How is your wife?" "Valentina? Well I guess. She's touring the front with her ballet troupe. She dances everywhere—on flatbeds, trucks, airstrips—anywhere she doesn't break her ankle." .”

The suite at the Metropolitan Hotel is just like Philip.as Ruhl described.There was a grand piano and a large Persian rug in the living room, and some bad statues scattered around.Pamela stared into the bathroom for a while and said, "Look at this bathtub, I can swim back and forth in it." "Do you want this room?" "I want it, no matter how much it is." "I will arrange everything for you. If you give me your papers, I can register for you at the People's Commissariat for Foreign Affairs for field inspections. May I pick you up at half past ten? The salute and fireworks start at midnight." She took off her hat in front of a speckled mirror, and he stood behind her, taking in her beauty.Ruhr was already putting on weight, his flaxen hair was much thinner than before, and his nose seemed bigger and wider.Apart from reminding her of an unhappy past, this man was an insignificant figure in her life.Ever since that incident in the storm on Christmas Eve in Singapore, she had always been offended whenever he touched her skin, that was all.She knew she was still attractive to him, but it was his business, not hers.If only I could keep him at a constant distance; Philip.Ruhr is quite obedient and even helpful to you.She wanted to embody the rhetoric of his eulogy for her father in Alexandria: an Englishman's Englishman, a reporter's reporter, a bard with a press card, in the excitement of the triumphant march. The dirge of the empire is sung to the beat. She turned around and gave him her hand reluctantly. "It's very kind of you, Phil. I'll see you at half past ten." Pamela was used to being exposed to the gaze of men, but it was a new feeling for women to stare at her.The Russian girls who attended the embassy banquet looked at her from head to toe, up and down.She was about as good as a model hired to put on a catwalk in full view.There was no haughty malice, no deliberate disrespect in those glances, just intense, curious longing.Just look at their evening gowns and you won't be surprised: some are long and some are short, some are frilled, some are stretched, and none of them are badly made and colored. Men soon swarmed around Pam; Western journalists, military officers, and diplomats, admiring a beautiful woman from their part of the world.The Russian officers looked at Pamela silently, as if she was a priceless work of art. Their uniforms were in contrast to the Russian women's dresses, neat and beautiful.The long, paneled room did not appear crowded in spite of the presence of forty or fifty guests.Many of the guests gathered around a large silver bowl of mixed sweet drinks, others danced to the rhythm of American jazz records on a vacated parquet floor, the rest held glasses and laughed . A burly, handsome young Russian officer lined the crowd around Pamela and asked her to dance in broken English.He wore a string of medals, and his face was radiant.Pamela liked his courage and smile, so she nodded.He was as poor a dancer as she was, but he took pleasure in dancing around the slender waist of a beautiful young English woman, keeping a respectful distance between them.The joy in his healthy, ruddy face charmed her. "What are you doing in the war?" She managed to make a sentence out of her poor Russian. "Ubivayu nemtsev!" he replied, and then stammered into English, "I—killed the Germans." "I see. That's great." He grinned roughly, his eyes and teeth gleaming. Philip Ruhl waited on the dance floor with two mixed drinks.When the record was over, the Russian bowed and left Pamela. "He was one of those good tank commanders they had," Ruhr said. "He fought at Kursk." "Really? He's still a kid." "Wars are fought by children. If those politicians had to go shirtless, we would have world unity tomorrow." Ruhr's words went off the rails, Pamela thought to herself.Five years ago, he would never have uttered such vulgar, obnoxious things in this wisecracking tone.Another record begins: Lily.Marlene.They exchanged glances.For Pamela, the song meant North Africa and his father's death.Ruhr said: "Strange, isn't it? There's only one decent war song out there in the whole time of this bloody massacre. A low-brow, whimpering German ballad." He took the glass from her hand. come over. "Fuck it, Pamela, let's dance." "Oh well." To Pug who had just walked in with Ambassador Standley and an aviation general.For Henry, "Lily.Marlene means Pamela.Tudsbury.This resentful and overly German-sentimental tune, somehow, condensed the sweet and sour taste of men and women in troubled times, and the uneasy feeling of a soldier who is about to embark on a journey in the dark courting for love. Words of sorrow.He and Pamela would never experience such courtship in their lifetime.As he entered the room, he heard the crappy phonograph whimpering: Trumpeter, don't blow your battle horn tonight, I want to spend another good night with her. Then, we have to say goodbye before parting. lily.Marlene, I will always miss you, Lily.Marlene, on my mind.He was naturally shocked to meet Pamela here.It turned out that the visa was finally issued!Seeing her in Ruhr's arms surprised him even more.Remembering the incident in Singapore, Pug silently hated this guy.His reaction was not all jealousy, for he had lost all hope of Pamela, but the sight both disgusted and surprised him. Pamela noticed the short, stocky figure with the blue military eyes go by, and she guessed he must have seen her, and since she was dancing with Rule, he didn't greet her.For God's sake, she thought, why did he show up at this hour?Why do we always backfire?Since when did his hair get so gray?She left her partner to catch up, but he and the tall air general had entered the crowd around the bowl of mixed drinks, and the crowd closed again.She wanted to elbow her way through the crowd, but hesitated; just as she was determined to try, the lights flickered a few times. "Five minutes to midnight," the ambassador announced when the voices fell silent. "We're going to turn off the lights and draw the curtains now." Pamela was squeezed by excited guests to a barred window that was open, the stars were twinkling in the night sky, and the cool breeze blew gently.She stood there, surrounded by noisy, broken mouths, unable to move, her eyes looking across the river at the dark Kremlin. "Hi, Pamela." His voice came from beside her in the darkness, Victor.Henry's voice. At this time, rockets shot into the night sky, and when they exploded, they emitted a huge bright red light.The platoon roared.The floor beneath their feet shook.The banquet crowd cheered.Thousands of rays of light erupted from all parts of the city like volcanic eruptions, not fireworks but a fire net of ammunition: flares, signal rockets, red tracer bombs, and flowering bombs emitting dazzling yellow lights intertwined into a colorful canopy, and the deafening noise The rumble of a hundred and twenty cannon was almost drowned out. "Hey, does this remind you of anything?" she gasped to the shadowy figure beside her.In 1940, too, they stood and watched London being fire-bombed.At that time, he put his arms around her for the first time. "Yes. But it wasn't a victory celebration." Boom...boom...boom... The barrage of fire nets all over the sky is constantly exploding, the sky is full of flames, and grotesque splendor is pouring down on the river, the cathedral and the Kremlin.During the interval between the roar of the cannon, he began to speak. "I'm sorry about your father, Pam, very sorry. Did you get my letter?" "No. Have you ever had a letter from me?" bang... "Only got the one you sent me from Washington, saying you're engaged. Are you married?" "No. I also wrote one, a long letter, to the Northampton." bang... "I didn't get that letter." The salute roared endlessly, and finally stopped.When the flames die out, they leave behind plumes of black smoke under the stars.In the sudden silence there was a rattling sound on the embankment outside. "Ah, it's shrapnel falling!" came the ambassador's loud voice. "Get out of the windows, everyone!" The aviation general stood beside Pug when the lights came on.Slender, with flaxen curly hair a bit like a Burner-Walker, with an unpleasant grimness on his face. "Generous display of anti-aircraft fire," he said, "it's a pity they were not so generous with useful intelligence." Pug introduced him to Pamela.The general immediately looked happier. "Great! I was with Duncan Burner-Walker in New Delhi three weeks ago. He was just so happy when he heard you were coming. Now I know why he was so happy." She smiled sweetly. "How is he?" "It's okay. But it's a thankless war zone, the China-Burma-India war zone. Pug, let's go back and study those maps. I'm going to say goodbye now." "Yes, sir." The general walked away.Pug said to her, "I'm sorry, I have to stay with him, Pam. I'm busy arranging a charter plane to fly in. Shall we meet again sometime the day after tomorrow?" She told him the news about the trip to Kursk.His face fell, which pleased her a little. "A whole week, isn't it? What a coincidence." "I saw your wife in Washington. Did you get a letter from her?" "Oh, yes, she writes a lot. She seems to be doing well. How does she look?" "Excellent. She wants me to tell you that Byron has been promoted to co-captain of his submarine." "The mate!" He raised his thick eyebrows.Like his hair, his brows were grayer now, and his face darkened. "Strange. He's very junior. He's a reserve officer." "It looks like your general is leaving." "I think so too." He shook her off amicably.She wanted to hold his hand tightly and use actions to express her feelings that were difficult to express in words.But to meet under such unfavorable circumstances, even to do so would appear disloyal to Burner-Walker, and a little sorry for him.Oh, it sucks, she thought.It sucks, it sucks, it sucks! "Well, see you in a week," he said. "If I'm still in the city by then. So far, I don't have any scheduled jobs." "Okay, okay. We've got a lot to talk about." "Yes. Call me when you get back, Pam." A week later she hung up on the American embassy, ​​and she was only minutes back from her suite at the Metropolitan Hotel.She has kept the room at the expense of rent.She was sure that he must have left Moscow again, and that the love-sickness between them could only continue; this detour around Moscow seemed destined to end in a waste of time and energy.But he was at the embassy, ​​and seemed happy to hear her voice. "Hi, Pam, how's the trip going?" "It's horrible, it's no fun without a Tawky, Pug. And it makes me sick to see the ruined cities, the wrecked tanks, the stinking German corpses everywhere. Russian women and children hanging The picture on the gallows disgusts me. I can't stand this insane and shameful war. When shall we meet?" "How about tomorrow?" "Philip Ruhl called you to tell me about tonight?" "Rule?" His voice dropped. "He didn't tell me." She said quickly, "He wants to call you. His wife is back. It's her birthday today. He's going to have a party for her in my suite. It's a huge one, and he managed to get it for me." Yes. So I'm embarrassed to say no to him. There were some journalists, a few people from the embassy, ​​her ballet colleagues, that sort of thing. If you don't want to attend, I'm willing to get out and meet you somewhere else. " "No, Pamela. The Red Army is having a farewell banquet for my general. At the Hotel Metropolitan, in fact. We've made an agreement, and that's why he's here." "Great." "That'll have to wait and see. The Russians are good drafters and can write masterpieces of surrealism. Also, there's this feast and celebration, and I can't get out of it anyway. I'll see you tomorrow." call you." "Damn it," said Pamela. "Oh, what a bastard." He smiled softly. "Pam, you sound like a reporter." "You don't know how much I can talk like that. All right! To-morrow." Ruhr's wife was unbelievably beautiful: a perfect oval face, big blue eyes as bright as autumn water, thick yellow hair, full and well-proportioned hands and arms.She sat in a corner, seldom spoke or moved, never smiled.The suite was packed, the music was blaring, the guests were eating, drinking and dancing, but there was no real merriment, perhaps because the birthday girl was so conspicuously sullen. Those Russians dance Western dances like elephants, without the grace of ballet.Pamela danced with a man she had seen playing the prince in "Swan Lake" before.He had the face of a faun, a mass of beautifully tousled black hair, and an ill-fitting costume that couldn't hide his toned body; but he didn't know how to dance, and he kept apologizing in inexplicable Russian.That's what everyone who dances is like.Phil guzzled vodka after vodka, danced awkwardly with girl after girl, and forced goofy laughs.Valentina began to look better than dead.Pamela couldn't guess what was going on, partly because Russians were not good at dealing with foreigners, but there must have been some tension between Ruhl and his fairy beauty that she didn't know about. U.S. Naval Attaché Joyce, a sophisticated, jovial Irishman, asks Pamela to dance."It's a pity Colonel Henry can't get out downstairs," she said, as she committed herself to his help. "Yeah, you know Pug?" said Joyce. "Very familiar." His sharp and bright eyes stared at her.She went on to say: "He and my father are close friends." "I see. Oh, he's a marvel. Just finished a marvelous job." "Can you tell me about it?" "If you don't disclose it in the newspaper." "Will not." As they danced around, Joyce whispered in Pamela's ear over the music that Ambassador Standley had been trying for months to open a Siberian route for Lend-Lease aircraft, But to no avail.General Fitzgerald came to the Soviet Union once to facilitate this, but also returned empty-handed.This time Standley left the matter to Pug to sort it out, and now a deal was struck.This meant that the planes would no longer have to make the arduous long-distance flight around South America and Africa, risking frequent crashes, or be shipped in crates with convoys that German submarines could sink.They can now fly directly to the Soviet Union along a straight and safe route as if they are falling down a funnel.There are fewer delays, more deliveries, and the unhappiness that exists between the two parties can be eased accordingly. "Do the Russians keep their word?" Pamela asked as the music paused and they walked to the dessert table. "We'll have to wait and see. A veritable fellowship party is going on downstairs right now. Pug. Henry is very good at handling these tough guys." Pamela declined the vodka.Joyce raised a large glass and drank it down, coughed a few times, and looked at his watch. "Oh, it's about time they start dragging those fellows here from that noisy feast downstairs. Why don't I go get Pug?" "Yeah, please, please." About ten minutes later, four Red Army officers in full costumes broke in, followed by Joyce and Pug.Henry and General Fitzgerald.Among the Russians was a tall, balding general, covered in decorations, with a false hand and leather gloves.The other three were much younger, and they seemed far less cheerful than their general.The general came in and bellowed "Happy Birthday!" in Russian. He strode up to Ruhr's wife, bent down to kiss her hand, and asked her to dance.Valentina smiled—for the first time, to Pamela, like dawn on an ice peak—and leaped into his arms. "Do you know him?" Pug said to Pamela, and the couple just jumped onto the dance floor, thumping to the beat of "The Boogie-Woogie Laundrywoman." "Is that the one who treated us to dinner at Field Headquarters and danced like crazy afterward?" "That's right. Yuri. Yeshilianke." "My God, he's an untouchable man," said Colonel Joyce. "That squinting little guy with the scar on his face must be his political deputy. Or someone from the Ministry of Internal Affairs. He was trying to stop him from coming up. Mumbling something about being too familiar with foreigners. You know that Did the general say anything? He said, "So what?What will they do to me?Cut off my other hand? '" ...that boogie-woogie washerwoman washes and washes... "I think," said Pug to Pamela, "that we've heard this silly tune before, dancing?" "Do you have to jump?" "You don't want to dance? Thank God." He crossed her fingers and led her to a small sofa. "They caught my white wine trick during the toast. I'll just have to drink vodka again, and I'm feeling dizzy now .” While Yevlenko and the beaming Valentina wriggled strangely to and fro with plodding steps, some Russians gave up their stiff foxtrot for a jitterbug.This kind of dance is more suitable for their elastic jumping muscles.Although no one could mistake them for Americans, several of them danced quickly and cleanly. Pamela said, "It looks like you're not drunk yet." There he sat, erect, in his pristine uniform with some bright gold buttons, striped epaulets, and rows of brightly colored star belts.The vodka brightened his eyes and brought a flush to his cheeks.He had added a few gray hairs, he had gained weight, and otherwise he hadn't changed much in fourteen months. "By the way, your wife asked me to advise you to watch your weight." "Yeah, yes. She knows me. Go ahead and give me a slap. I'm going to eat and drink for a job like this. I was like a weed aboard the Northampton." chicken." Almost everyone was jumping now, except for the three young Red Army officers, leaning side by side against the wall with expressionless faces.And General Fitzgerald, flirting with a dainty ballerina in a dreadfully red satin dress.The noise was so loud that Ruhr had to turn up the music.Pamela said almost aloud: "Tell me about the Northampton, Victor." "Well," he beamed with delight, at least in her eyes, as he spoke of what had happened at sea after Midway, and even of the disaster at Tassa Faronga.He told her how he could have taken a job under Spruance and how he had finally accepted the job at Roosevelt's request.He talked freely, without bitterness or regret, he just told her this period of his life truthfully.There was a lot of people around, and she sat there, listening quietly to his heart, content to be by his side; his flesh and blood warmed her and made her feel a kind of uneasiness in her heart.This is all she wanted, she pondered over and over again, as long as she could stay with him for a long time, until the last moment of her life.She felt reborn from sitting on the sofa with him.He was not in a good mood.This is obvious.She felt that she could make him happy, and that making him happy would give meaning to her life. At the same time, Ye Shilianke and the ballet dancers were chatting enthusiastically around the piano when the gramophone music was suspended.A girl sat down and made a cacophony of dissonant notes that made everyone laugh.Yeshilianko shouted loudly in Russian: "It doesn't matter, let's play!" The girl knocked out a Russian tune, and Yeshilianke yelled, and all the Russians, even the three officers, came over to perform in line. A spinning group dance.Everyone shouted, stomped, criss-crossed, twirled; the circle of Westerners clapped their hands to time and applauded them.After this show, everyone has nothing to restrain themselves.Yeshilenko took off his medal-laden jacket and, wearing his baggy, sweat-stained shirt, danced the dance he once performed in a house on the Moscow front.In the applause, he kept squatting and jumping up.It's just that he's hanging his amputated, lifeless arm aside in embarrassment.Valentina then puts on his top and improvises a mischievous little dance, setting a pompous general as the object of mockery, and her performance elicits hilarity. After another spirited deliberation at the piano, Valentina gestured for silence and announced briskly that she and her friend would perform a performance of a song they had composed for their tour at the front. Ballet.She danced Hitler, another girl Goebbels, a third Goering, a fourth Mussolini, though none of them wore a masquerade.Four male actors play Red Army soldiers. Pug and Pamela broke off their conversation to watch the satire.The four villains of the mock invasion strut out to the sound of military music;At this time, the Red Army strode into the arena amidst the sound of "The Internationale".The four villains use exaggerated movements to express their inner timidity and fear.A hilarious chase round and round to smooth things over.Four villains died one after the other, their bent bodies forming a swastika on the floor.The audience is a sensation! Amid applause, the actor who played Prince Swan Lake took off his coat and tie, kicked off his shoes, and gestured to the pianist.Wearing a white shirt with an open collar and long trousers and stockings, he showed off his skills, sometimes jumping and sometimes spinning, his dancing was graceful and moving, and the audience cheered frequently.This is the pinnacle of dancing that no one can match, or so it seems.He stood there panting as people gathered around him to congratulate him and refill their glasses of vodka again and again.Suddenly, someone slammed on the keys, and there was a heavy piano sound.Standing straight, General Fitzgerald, whose military uniform was covered with ribbons, strode out with his head held high.He didn't take off his shirt.As soon as he waved to the piano player, the piano played a quick Kozotsky dance; with the sound of the piano, the slender aviation general squatted down and jumped up, arms folded on his chest, pale yellow His long hair is draped around him, and his two long legs are nimbly kicking in and out, sometimes jumping to the left and sometimes to the right.It was so unexpected, and so touching. The Prince of Swan Lake jumped to Fitzgerald's side and danced the show with him amidst a storm of cheers, stomps and clapping. "I like your general," Pamela said. "I like these guys," Pug said. "They're tough, but I like them." General Yevren Ho offered a glass of vodka to Fitzgerald and clinked glasses with him.They drank it down with warm applause.费兹杰拉德走到帕格的沙发旁边那张放饮料的桌子旁，挑了两瓶开着的伏特加——瓶子不大，但是满满的——说：“为了美国国旗，帕格。”他大踏步走回去，举起一瓶，挑战性地挥舞了一下，递给叶甫连柯。 “什么？好家伙！”叶甫连柯用俄语吼叫了一声，他的宽阔的脸上和光秃秃的头顶已经是一片亮光光的红色。 在所有的客人的怂恿下——除了，帕格注意到，那个有伤疤的红军军官，他象一个被小孩子造了反的保姆那样感到恼火——这两位将军各自翘起酒瓶，凑到嘴边，相互注视。费兹杰拉德先喝完，他把空瓶猛摔到砖砌的壁炉里，叶市连柯的瓶子也跟着飞了过去。在一片欢呼声中他们紧紧拥抱，弹钢琴的姑娘这时砰砰地弹出了几乎是难以辨认的《星条旗永不落》。 “天啊，我最好还是把他送回大使馆去，”帕格说。“他来到这里以后一直避免喝酒。” 但有人已经把《老虎拉格泰姆舞曲》的唱片放在留声机上，费兹杰拉德已经和那个穿红缎子衣服的姑娘婆娑起舞。她就是刚才在芭蕾舞中维妙维肖地模仿走起路来一瘸一拐的戈培尔的那个姑娘，叶市连柯搂着帕米拉跳。时间已过清晨二时。因此，这次尽欢而散的一轮跳舞很快就告结束。客人们开始走了，留下来的人已寥寥无几。帕米拉再次和《天鹅湖》王子跳的时候，她看见帕格、叶甫连柯和费兹杰拉德在一起谈话，鲁尔站在一边谛听。她那逐渐消失的记者本能突然清醒过来，于是她跑过去坐在帕格身边。 “那好！我们是开门见山地谈吧？”费兹杰拉德对着帕格说，两位将军在面对面的两张长靠椅上各坐一边，相互瞪着对方。 “开门见山！”叶市连柯大声喊道，并做了一个不会被误解的手势。 “那么告诉他，帕格，我对这个所谓第二战场的废话听腻了。几个星期以来，我在这里一直听到这些话。北非和西西里这两次有史以来最伟大的两栖攻势，究竟算不算数？对德国进行有上千架飞机参加的空袭究竟算不算数？为了防止日本人跳到他们背上，我们进行的整个太平洋战争究竟算不算数？” “为了美国国旗的光荣，”帕格轻声低语，费兹杰拉德听了脸上随即浮现一丝冷笑。他开始翻译，并在以后双方的唇枪舌剑中尽快地进行翻译。 叶市连柯听了帕格的话不住地点头，他的脸色沉下来了。他用手指对着费兹杰拉德的脸。“集中兵力在有决定性的地点予以打击！集结重兵！在西点军校他们没教过这条原理吗？决定性的地点是希特勒德国，是还是不是？你们打击希特勒德国的途径是通过法国，是还是不是？” “问问他为什么在英国对德孤军奋战的时候俄国在整个一年里没开辟一个第二战场。” 叶甫连柯咬牙切齿地瞪着费兹杰拉德：“那是帝国主义者为争夺世界市场而发动的战争。这对我们的农民和工人毫不相干。” philip.鲁尔一边听，一边不住地往自己的杯子里倒伏特加，现在他口齿不清地对费兹杰拉德说：“你们还要一直吵下去吗？” “他可以住嘴。是他开头的。”费兹杰拉德厉声说，“帕格，问问他为什么我们要甘冒风险去援助一个存心消灭我们生活方式的国家。” “呀！上帝，”鲁尔咕哝了一句。 叶甫连柯的目光越来越剑拔弩张了。“我们相信你们的生活方式会由于内在的矛盾而自行毁灭。我们不想摧毁它，但希特勒能够。因此，你们为什么不和我们合作，把希特勒打败？一九一九年丘吉尔曾试图毁灭我们的生活方式。现在他是克里姆林宫的上宾。历史是一步一步前进的，列宁说过。有时向前、有时向后。现在是前进的时候了。” “你们不相信我们的酸苹果，我们怎能合作？” 帕格不懂得该怎么翻“酸苹果”，但叶甫连柯领会了它的意思。他冷笑着回答：“对，对。这话听腻了。唉，先生，你们的国家从未受到入侵，但我们多次受到过。受入侵，被占领。和我们结盟的国家在历史上多半是背信弃义的，它们迟早会一转身便来进攻俄国，我们懂得了小心翼翼的好处。” “美国不会进攻俄国。你们没有我们需要的东西。” “好吧，我们只要求在打败希特勒之后，没人来触犯我们。” “既然这么说，我们大家是否可以喝上最后一杯？”鲁尔说。 “我们的主人疲倦了，”叶甫连何改变了他在辩论时那种刺耳的语调，突然友好地对旁边的费兹杰拉德说。 鲁尔开始一本正经地用俄语讲话，一边醉醺醺地打着手势，帕格低声地为费兹杰拉德作同声翻译。“呀，这一切都是空话。白种人正在打又一场大内战，主宰人类的事务的是种族，叶甫连柯将军，不是经济。白种人在机械方面是杰出的，但在道德方面是原始的。德国人是最纯粹的白人，是超人。希特勒对这一点算是说对了。白人在内战中把这个星球毁灭一半之后将和红种人一样注定要在历史中消失。在民主把张伯伦、达拉第、希特勒之流选为领袖之后，白人对民主所讲的胡言乱语可以休矣。接着要轮到中国了。中国是中央之国，是人类的重心。唯一的一个具有世界影响的真正的马克思主义者目前住在延安的窑洞里。他的名字叫毛泽东。” 鲁尔以不堪入目的醉汉的自信作出这样的断言。在帕格翻译时，他不时把目光投向帕米拉。 费兹杰拉德打着阿欠坐起身来，整理一下军上装和领带。“将军，我的飞机可以取道海参威吗？还是不可以？” “你们履行你们的诺言，我们就会履行我们的诺言。” “还有一件事。你们会和纳粹再次做交易吗？象你们在一九三九年那样？” 帕格有点紧张，不知该不该翻这句话，但叶甫连柯用冷静的语调反驳道：“如果我们得悉你们又在搞另一个慕尼黑，我们将再次扭转局势，那你们就要倒霉。但如果你们打下去，我们也就打下去。如果你们不打，我们就依靠自己的力量打败希特勒。” “那好，帕格。现在告诉他，作为一个制订作战计划的人，我费尽唇舌反对发动北非战役。告诉他，为了今年在法国开辟第二战场，我力争了整整六个月。说吧，告诉他。” 帕格照办了。叶甫连柯听着，绷紧嘴巴，眯着眼睛看费兹杰拉德。 “告诉他，他最好还是相信美国和历史上所有其他国家都不同。” 叶甫连柯的唯一反应是神秘地一笑。 “同时我希望他那专制的政体能让老百姓知道这种情况。因为从长远来看，这是实现和平的唯一机会。” 笑容消失，留下一张冰冷坚硬如石头的面孔。 “而你，将军，”费兹杰拉德站起来并伸出了手，“是个了不起的家伙，我已经醉得象个死人。如有冒犯之处，请勿介意。帕格，把我送回斯巴索大厦吧，我要赶紧收拾行装了。” 叶市连柯站了起来，伸出他的左手并说：“让我送你回斯巴索大厦吧！” “真的？你大客气了。以盟国友谊的名义，我接受你的盛情。现在让我去向过生日的美人道别。” 到了这个时刻。只有几个红军军官和瓦伦丁娜还没离开这个套间。叶甫连柯对着那些年轻的军官咆哮了几声，他们马上变得严肃起来。其中一个对费兹杰拉德说些什么——讲的是相当不错的英语，帕格注意到，这是他们在这个晚上第一次使用英语——接着航空兵将军跟着他走了出去。瓦伦丁娜把倒在扶手椅里的鲁尔拉了起来，并领着他跄跄踉踉地走了出去。帕格、帕米拉和叶甫连柯将军三人留下，四周是曲终人散后的一片孤寂凌乱。 叶甫连柯用左手握住帕米拉的手说：“这样说，你要和邓肯。勃纳一沃克空军少将结婚了。他把我们四十架飞蛇式战斗机偷走了。” 帕米拉没把句子的语法搞清楚，她回答说：“将军，我们是用那些飞蛇打同一个敌人呀。” “那他呢？”叶甫连柯用他那只假手指了指帕格。Henry. 她睁大了眼睛并模仿他的手势。“你问他。” 帕格用很快的速度和叶甫连柯说话。帕米拉打断他们说：“喂。喂，你of在讲些什么？” “我说他误会了。我告诉他我们是亲密的老朋友了。” 叶市连柯用慢而清楚的俄语对帕米拉说，一边把食指插进帕格的肩膀。“你能到莫斯科来，亲爱的女士，是因为他为你弄到签证。亨利，”他继续说，一边扣紧上衣的领扣，“不要做傻瓜！” 他出其不意地走了，并带上了门。 “别做傻瓜——不要做——什么？”帕米拉问。“最后一个字是什么意思？” “该死的傻瓜。工具格。” “我懂了。”帕米拉突然笑起来，喉头发出一阵女性的尖厉的欢笑声。她用双臂挽住他的脖子，吻他的嘴。“原来是这样，你把我弄到莫斯科来是因为我们是亲密的老朋友了。”他把她紧紧抱在怀里，狂吻一阵之后才放了她。她走到窗前，把窗帘拉开了。白昼已经降临，一个俄国仲夏的清晨，淡淡的阳光使筵席散后的景象更其凄凉阴郁。帕米拉来到他身边，遥望天际被晨曦映得微红的浮云。“你爱我。” “我基本上没变。” “我不爱邓肯。上次我写信到'诺思安普敦号'去就是为了告诉你这件事。他知道我不爱他。他也知道你。在那封信里，我要你说一声要我，或者永远保持缄默。但你没收到那封信。” “你为什么要和一个你不爱的人结婚呢？” “这个我在信中也告诉了你。我对漂泊不定的生涯感到厌倦了，我需要有个容身之处。现在情况更是这样。那时我还有韬基，现在却是子然一身了。” 他沉默了片刻之后说：“帕米拉，我回到家里时，罗达简直象是土耳其后宫里的一个妃子那样待我。她是我的奴隶。她感到内疚、悔恨和忧伤，她感到不知如何是好。我深信她和那个家伙已经一刀两断了。我不是上帝。我是他的丈夫。我不忍心抛弃她。” 内疚和悔恨！忧伤和不知如何是好！这跟帕米拉在华盛顿看到的那个女人多么不相象啊！帕格才是忧伤和不知如何是好的人呀！他脸上每一道皱纹都说明这一点。如果再发生她不忠实于你的行为又怎样呢？帕米拉险些要说出这个问题，她看到帕格。亨利的道道皱纹的、庄重的脸和忧伤的眼睛，她觉得说不出口。“好吧！我已经来了。是你把我弄到这儿来的。你要我怎样？” “嗅，那是因为斯鲁特写信告诉我，你弄不到签证。”她面对着他，目不转睛地凝视着他的眼睛。“好吧，一定要我说么？我想把你弄到这儿来是因为看到你就是幸福。” “即使在我和菲尔。鲁尔跳舞的时候？” “哦，那是偶然的事情。” “我对菲尔并无好感。” "I know." “帕格，我们真倒霉，不是吗？”她泪水晶莹，但泪珠没滴下来。“我不能为了接近你而呆在莫斯科。你不想云雨之欢吗？” 他面带热切而痛苦的神色说：“我没放任肉欲的自由，你也没有。” “那么我就到新德里去。我要嫁给邓肯。” “你还这么年轻。为什么要嫁给他呢？你迟早会遇到一个你心爱的人的。” “万能的上帝啊，我心里容不下别人。你不明白我的意思吗？我要讲得怎样露骨你才懂呢？邓肯的胃口是喜欢和一些漂亮的小姑娘鬼混。她们围着他团团转，百般勾引他。这也多少为我解决了一个难题。他想娶一位高贵的妇人，而且对我非常慈爱，又十分痴情。在他心目中我是个迷人的尤物，是世上少有的装饰品。”她把双手放在帕格肩上。“你是我的心上人。但愿我能控制自己的感情。我办不到。” 他把她拥在怀里，太阳透过低低的云层，把一片黄澄澄的阳光投射到墙壁上。 “哦，太阳出来了。”他说。 “维克多，抱着我别放。” 沉默了很久、很久以后他说：“说起来恐怕词不达意。你说我们真倒霉。可是，我对现状却感到满足，帕姆。这是上帝对我奇迹般的恩赐。我指我对你的一片深情。在这里呆一些日子吧。” “一个星期，”帕米拉说，语音有点梗塞。“我想办法呆一个星期。” “真的？一个星期？那可是等于一辈子呀。现在我得去把费兹杰拉德塞进飞机去。” 她柔情满怀地抚弄他的头发和眉毛，又吻了他。他大踏步走了出去，没回头。她跑到窗前，一直等到他那笔直矮小的穿着白色军服的人影出现，并目送他消失在静谧的、阳光明媚的林荫大道上。《莉莉。马琳》的调子在她脑际萦回。她在想，什么时候他才会识破他妻子的作为呢？