“我确实喜欢跟她聊天——我从没说过我不喜欢和她说话，但我确实不爱她。”
“再没有别人可以聊天了吗？”
“没人可以聊 我们聊的这些东西——有好多事情你是不感兴趣的，那种……”
“什么事？”
看到莫瑞尔太太如此紧张，保罗心里不禁怦怦直跳。
“哦，比如说——画画——还有书月。你是不关心赫伯特、斯实赛的。”
“是的，”她伤心地回答说，“你到了我这年纪也不会关心的。”
“可是——我现在关心——而且米丽亚姆也是……”
“可你怎么知道，”莫瑞尔太太生气地说，“我就不会感兴趣呢？你从来不曾试着跟我谈过！”
“但你是不关心的，妈妈，你清楚你不会关心一幅画是不是具有装饰性，也不会关心一幅画是什么风格。”
“你怎么知道我不关心？你跟我谈过吗？你曾经跟我谈过这些事情，来试一下我是否关心吗？”
“但这不是你所关心的事，妈妈，你知道的。”
“那么，什么事是我所关心的？”她发火了， 他痛苦地皱紧了眉头。
“你老了，妈妈，而我们正年轻。”
他本来的意思只是想说明她这个年纪的人和他这个年纪的人兴趣不同的，但话一出口，他就立刻意识到自己说错了话。
“是的，我很清楚——我老了，因此我就应该靠边站了。我和你已经没什么关系了，你只是想要我侍候你，而其他的都是米丽亚姆的。”
他无法忍受这些，他本能地意识到他就是她的生命支柱。不管怎么说，她是他生命里最重要的一部分。是他唯一至高无上的东西。
“妈，你知道不是这么回事，妈妈，根本不是这么回事！”
她被他的叫喊感动了，引起了怜悯心。
“ 看起来很像这么回事。”她 说着，气消了一半。
“不，妈妈——我真的不爱她。虽然我跟她聊着，可心里总是想着要早点回来和你在一起。”
他已经把硬领和领带取了下来，光着个脖子站了起来，准备去睡觉了。他俯身去吻母亲时，她一把抱住他的脖子，把脸埋在他肩上，像孩子似的嘤嘤哭泣起来。这和她平时截然不同，他痛苦得身子也扭动了起来。
“我受不了。我可以容忍别的女人——但绝不是她。她不会给我留下余地，一点儿余地都没有……”
他立即对米丽亚姆憎恨起来。
“而且我从来没有过——你知道，保罗——我从来没有一个丈夫——没有真正的……”
他抚摸着母亲的头发，吻着母亲的脖子。
“她是多么得意啊，把你从我身边夺走——她和一般的姑娘不同。”
“噢，妈妈，我不爱她！”他低下头来喃喃地说，痛苦地把眼睛埋进她的肩头。母亲给了他一个炽热的长吻。
“孩子。”她声音颤抖着，充满了热爱。
不知不觉地，他轻轻地抚摸起她的脸来。
“好了，”母亲说，“睡觉去吧，要不明天早上你会疲倦的。”她正说着，听见丈夫回来了，“你爸爸来了——去吧。”突然几乎带着恐惧，她抬起头来望着他，“也许我太自私了，如果你要她，就娶她吧，孩子。”
母亲看上去有些陌生，保罗颤抖着吻了吻她。
“噢，妈妈。”他温柔地说。
莫瑞尔踉踉跄跄地走了进来，帽子斜压在一只眼角上，靠着门柱站稳。
“你们又胡闹了？他凶恶地说。
莫瑞尔太太的感情突然转变，她对这个醉鬼恨得要命，因为他竟然这样对待她。
“不管怎么说，我们也没喝得像醉鬼一样。”
“什么——什么！什么——什么！”他冷笑着，走进过道，挂好衣帽。接着他们听见他下了三级楼梯到伙房去了。回来时手里拿着一块猪肉馅饼，这是莫瑞尔太太为儿子买的。
“这可不是给你买的，如果你只给我二十五先令，我才不会在你灌了一肚子啤酒之后给你买猪肉馅饼。”
“什么——什么！”莫瑞尔咆哮着，身子摇摇晃晃，“什么不是给我买的？”他看着那肉饼，突然大发脾气，把馅饼一下子给扔进了火里。
保罗吃惊地站了起来。
“浪费你自己的东西去吧！”他大声说。
“什么——什么！”莫瑞尔突然大叫起来，跳起来，握紧了拳头。“我要给你点颜色看看，你这个臭小子！”
“来吧。”保罗狠狠地说，头一甩：“给我看看吧。”
这时候他正巴不得对什么猛揍一下，莫瑞尔半蹲着，举着拳，准备跳起来。小伙子站在那儿，唇边还带着笑。
“呜哇！”父亲嘴里嘘了一声，擦着儿子脸边猛挥了一拳。虽然很近，他也不敢真动这小伙子一下，只是在一英寸之外虚晃而过。
“好！”保罗说，眼睛盯着父亲的嘴巴，要不了多久他的拳头就会落在这儿。他真渴望着揍这一拳。但他听到身后传来一声微弱的 呻吟。只 见母亲脸色像死人一样苍白，嘴巴乌黑，而莫瑞尔却跳过来准备再揍一拳头。
“爸爸！”保罗大喊了一声。
莫瑞尔吃了一惊，站住了。
“妈妈！”儿子悲声喊声：“妈妈！”
她挣扎着，虽然她动不了，但睁开的眼睛却一直在望着他，逐渐地，她恢复了正常。他帮她躺在沙发上，奔到楼上拿了一点威士忌，好不容易让她抿了一点。眼泪从他脸上流了下来。他跪在她面前，没有哭出声，可泪水却不断地流下来。屋子那边的莫瑞尔，胳膊肘撑住膝盖坐着，看着这一切。
“她怎么了？”他问。
“晕了。”保罗答道。
“呣！”
莫瑞尔解开靴带，踉踉跄跄地爬上床去。他在家里的最后一仗已经打完了。
保罗跪在那儿，抚摸着母亲的手。
“别病倒啊，妈妈——别病倒啊！” 他一遍又一遍地重复。
“没关系，孩子。”她喃喃地说。
最后他站起身，拿了一大块煤把火封了。接着又打扫了房间，把东西都摆放整齐，把早餐用具也摆好了，还给母亲拿来了蜡烛。
“你能上床去吗，妈妈？”
“能，我就去。”
“跟安妮睡吧，别跟他睡。”
“不，我要睡在自己的床上。”
她站起身，保罗灭掉煤气灯，拿着蜡烛，扶她上楼去。在楼梯口上他亲热地吻了她一下。
“晚安，妈妈。”
“晚安。”她说。
他万分痛苦地把头埋在枕头里。然而，在内心深处却异常平静，因为他最爱的还是他母亲，这是一种无可奈何的痛苦的平静。
第二天父亲为了和解而做出的努力，使他感到简直是一种莫大的侮辱。
每个人都竭力想去忘掉昨晚那一幕。
"Is there nobody else to talk to?"
"Not about the things we talk of. There's a lot of thingsthat you're not interested in, that---"
"What things?"
Mrs. Morel was so intense that Paul began to pant.
"Why--painting--and books. YOU don't care about Herbert Spencer."
"No," was the sad reply. "And YOU won't at my age."
"Well, but I do now--and Miriam does---"
"And how do you know," Mrs. Morel flashed defiantly, "that Ishouldn't. Do you ever try me!"
"But you don't, mother, you know you don't care whethera picture's decorative or not; you don't care what MANNER it is in."
"How do you know I don't care? Do you ever try me? Do youever talk to me about these things, to try?"
"But it's not that that matters to you, mother, you knowt's not."
"What is it, then--what is it, then, that matters to me?"she flashed. He knitted his brows with pain.
"You're old, mother, and we're young."
He only meant that the interests of HER age were not theinterests of his. But he realised the moment he had spokenthat he had said the wrong thing.
"Yes, I know it well--I am old. And therefore I may stand aside;I have nothing more to do with you. You only want me to wait onyou--the rest is for Miriam."
He could not bear it. Instinctively he realised that hewas life to her. And, after all, she was the chief thing to him,the only supreme thing.
"You know it isn't, mother, you know it isn't!"
She was moved to pity by his cry.
"It looks a great deal like it," she said, half putting asideher despair.
"No, mother--I really DON'T love her. I talk to her, but Iwant to come home to you."
He had taken off his collar and tie, and rose, bare-throated,to go to bed. As he stooped to kiss his mother, she threw herarms round his neck, hid her face on his shoulder, and cried,in a whimpering voice, so unlike her own that he writhed in agony:
"I can't bear it. I could let another woman--but not her. She'd leave me no room, not a bit of room---"
And immediately he hated Miriam bitterly.
"And I've never--you know, Paul--I've never had a husband--not really---"
He stroked his mother's hair, and his mouth was on her throat.
"And she exults so in taking you from me--she's not likeordinary girls."
"Well, I don't love her, mother," he murmured, bowing his headand hiding his eyes on her shoulder in misery. His mother kissedhim a long, fervent kiss.
"My boy!" she said, in a voice trembling with passionate love.
Without knowing, he gently stroked her face.
"There," said his mother, "now go to bed. You'll be so tiredin the morning." As she was speaking she heard her husband coming. "There's your father--now go." Suddenly she looked at him almostas if in fear. "Perhaps I'm selfish. If you want her, take her,my boy."
His mother looked so strange, Paul kissed her, trembling.
"Ha--mother!" he said softly.
Morel came in, walking unevenly. His hat was over one cornerof his eye. He balanced in the doorway.
"At your mischief again?" he said venomously.
Mrs. Morel's emotion turned into sudden hate of the drunkardwho had come in thus upon her.
"At any rate, it is sober," she said.
"H'm--h'm! h'm--h'm!" he sneered. He went into the passage,hung up his hat and coat. Then they heard him go down three stepsto the pantry. He returned with a piece of pork-pie in his fist. It was what Mrs. Morel had bought for her son.
"Nor was that bought for you. If you can give me no more thantwenty-five shillings, I'm sure I'm not going to buy you pork-pieto stuff, after you've swilled a bellyful of beer."
"Wha-at--wha-at!" snarled Morel, toppling in his balance. "Wha-at--not for me?" He looked at the piece of meat and crust,and suddenly, in a vicious spurt of temper, flung it into the fire.
Paul started to his feet.
"Waste your own stuff!" he cried.
"What--what!" suddenly shouted Morel, jumping up and clenchinghis fist. "I'll show yer, yer young jockey!"
"All right!" said Paul viciously, putting his head on one side. "Show me!"
He would at that moment dearly have loved to have a smackat something. Morel was half crouching, fists up, ready to spring. The young man stood, smiling with his lips.
"Ussha!" hissed the father, swiping round with a great strokejust past his son's face. He dared not, even though so close,really touch the young man, but swerved an inch away.
"Right!" said Paul, his eyes upon the side of his father'smouth, where in another instant his fist would have hit. He ached for that stroke. But he heard a faint moan from behind. His mother was deadly pale and dark at the mouth. Morel wasdancing up to deliver another blow.
"Father!" said Paul, so that the word rang.
Morel started, and stood at attention.
"Mother!" moaned the boy. "Mother!"
She began to struggle with herself. Her open eyes watched him,although she could not move. Gradually she was coming to herself. He laid her down on the sofa, and ran upstairs for a little whisky,which at last she could sip. The tears were hopping down his face. As he kneeled in front of her he did not cry, but the tears randown his face quickly. Morel, on the opposite side of the room,sat with his elbows on his knees glaring across.
"What's a-matter with 'er?" he asked.
"Faint!" replied Paul.
"H'm!"
The elderly man began to unlace his boots. He stumbled offto bed. His last fight was fought in that home.
Paul kneeled there, stroking his mother's hand.
"Don't be poorly, mother--don't be poorly!" he said timeafter time.
"It's nothing, my boy," she murmured.
At last he rose, fetched in a large piece of coal, and rakedthe fire. Then he cleared the room, put everything straight,laid the things for breakfast, and brought his mother's candle.
"Can you go to bed, mother?"
"Yes, I'll come."
"Sleep with Annie, mother, not with him."
"No. I'll sleep in my own bed."
"Don't sleep with him, mother."
"I'll sleep in my own bed."
She rose, and he turned out the gas, then followed her closelyupstairs, carrying her candle. On the landing he kissed her close.
"Good-night, mother."
"Good-night!" she said.
He pressed his face upon the pillow in a fury of misery. And yet, somewhere in his soul, he was at peace because he stillloved his mother best. It was the bitter peace of resignation.
The efforts of his father to conciliate him next day werea great humiliation to him.
Everybody tried to forget the scene.
| 左右关联 | |
|
|
|
