“你是说，现在发生的事让你难于接受？”“是的——而且——”
“你总是 把自己紧紧地封闭起来，不让我靠近。”
她激动得直哆嗦。
“你知道，”她说，“一想到这我就不习惯——”
“你最近才开始适应？”他说。
“可我一辈子都习惯不了，妈妈对我说过：‘结婚以后有件事老让人觉得害怕，但你必须忍受。’我相信这句话。”
“现在还信？”他问。
“不！”她急忙喊道。“我和你一样，都相信爱情是生活的顶峰，即使以那种方式表达。”
“但这并没有改变你从不想要这种爱的事实。”
“不”，她把他的头拥在怀里，失望地轻轻扭动着身子，“别这么说！你不明白。”她痛苦地扭着，“难道我不想要你的孩子吗？”
“但不是要我。”
“你怎么能这么说？不过我们得在结婚以后再要孩子———”
“那我们就应该结婚，我要你给我生孩子。”
他神情严肃地吻着她的手。她看着他，忧伤地沉思着。
“我们大年轻了。”她终于说。
“都二十四和二十三岁了——”
“还不到呢。”她苦恼地摇着身子恳求道。
“等到你心甘情愿的时候。”他说。
她心情沉重地低下头。他说这些话时，那绝望的语调令她非常伤心。这总是他俩之间很难一致的地方。她默默地顺从了他。
他俩恩恩爱爱过了一周，一个星期天的晚上，临睡前他突然对母亲说：
“我不会常去米丽亚姆家了，妈妈。”
她感到惊讶，但什么也没问。
“你愿意怎么着就怎么着吧。”她说。
于是，他上床睡觉去了。不过，从此以后他身上又有一种新的沉默，她对此感到纳闷。她几乎猜到了是怎么回事，然而，她并不理他，过急了反而会把事情弄糟。她 看着 他形单影只不知道他会怎样收场。他病了，而且更加沉默不像他平时的为人，老是皱着眉头，还在他吃奶时就有这种表情，不过那是许多年以前了。然而，现在他又这样，她确实爱莫能助，只好让他独自闯自己的路。
他对米丽亚姆依然忠贞不渝。因为他曾全心全意地爱过他，不过，那日子已是黄鹤一去不复返了。失落的感觉越来越强烈。开始时他只不过感到伤心，后来，他觉得自己也不能这样继续下去了。他要逃离，无论如何要到异国他乡去。他渐渐地不再向她求欢了。因为，这一行为不但不能促成两人的亲密无间，反而使他们更加疏远。而且，他也意识到，这样做毫无益处。再努力也无济于事，他们两人之间永远无法达到一种和谐。
几个月来，他很少见到克莱拉。他们也偶尔趁吃午饭时到外面散步半小时。不过，他总是心存着米丽亚姆。然而，和克莱拉在一起他的眉头也舒朗了，心里又变得高兴起来。她百般迁就地对待他，把他当作一个孩子。他认为自己不在乎这些，但心里却非常生气。
有时候米丽亚姆会说：
“克莱拉怎么样啊？最近没听到她的消息？”
“昨天我跟她一起走了约二十分钟。”
他答道。
“她说了些什么？”
“我不知道，我觉得全是我一个人在唠叨——一我常常这样。我好象给她讲了罢工的事以及妇女们对罢工的看法。”
“哦。”
就这样他自己谈论起自己。
实际上，他自己没有意识到，他对克莱拉怀有的那股热忱已把他从米丽亚姆身旁拉走，他感到对此自己应负有责任，觉得自己是属于米丽亚姆的。他认为自己对米丽亚姆是完全忠诚的。在一个男人被感情驱使忘乎所以以前，很难估量他对女人所抱有的感情强烈炽热到什么程度。
他开始更频繁地与男朋友们来往。其中一个是艺术学校的杰斯普，一个是大学里的化学实验辅导员斯温，一个是当教师的牛顿，此外还有艾德加和米丽亚姆的几个弟弟。借口要工作，他跟杰斯普一起写生、学习。他去大学里找斯温，两人一起去“闹市区”玩。还和牛顿一起乘火车回家，顺道和他到星月俱乐部去打一盘弹于球。如果他借口和男友在一起，而不去米丽亚姆那里，他也觉得心安理得。他的母亲开始放心了，他总把行踪告诉她。
夏天里，克莱拉有时穿件宽袖的薄纱女服。当她抬手时，袖子就往后滑，露出两只健美的胳膊。
“等等，”他叫道：“抬着胳膊别动。”
他给她的手和胳膊画了几张速写，画中蕴藉着实物对他产生的魅力。米丽亚姆总爱认真地翻看他的书本和纸张，因而翻出了这些画。
“我觉得克莱拉的胳膊美极了。”他说。
“是的！这是你什么时间画的？”
“星期二，在工作间画的。你知道吗，我有一个角落可以干活。午饭前，我干完车间里所有需要料理的事。下午，我就可以干自己的事了，晚上只要照看一下事情就行了。”
“噢。”她说着，翻着他的速写本。
他常常厌恶憎恨米丽亚姆，厌恶她弯 下身子仔细翻阅他的东西的样子，厌恶她不厌其烦地反复查问他，仿佛他就是一份复杂的心理学报告似的。在跟她在一起的日子里， 他最厌恶她对他若即若离的态度，他因此而折磨她。他常常说，她只想攫取，而不肯施予，至少不肯把充满生气的热情施予别人。仿佛她从来没有活过，没有放射出生命的火花。寻找她就像寻找根本不存在的事物一样。她只是他的良知，而不是他的伴侣。他憎恨她，对她更残忍凶狠了。就这样，他们的关系一直拖到第二年夏天。他越来越频繁地去见克莱拉。最后，他终于开口了。一天傍晚，他一直坐在家里干活。他们母子之间似乎有一种人与人相处的特殊关系，就是双方坦率挑剔过错。莫瑞尔太太马上又来劲了，保罗不再和米丽亚姆那么粘乎了，那很好，她决定抱一种观望的态度，等待他先开口。他会回到她身旁的，这得很 长一段时间，他将胸中郁积的怨气发泄完以后会回来的。这天傍晚，母子之间出现一种奇怪的紧张气氛。他象台机器似的拼命工作，以便自我逃避。夜幕降临，百合花的幽香悄悄地透过敞开的房门弥漫进来，香气四溢。突然他起身走出房门。
夜晚的美丽令他想放声长啸。一弯暗金色的新月正落向花园尽头的那棵黑黑的梧桐树后，月光把天际染成一片暗紫色。近处，模模糊糊的一排白色的百合花连成的花墙横穿园子，四处弥漫着花香，生机盎然。他踏进石竹花坛，石竹花那刺鼻的香味和百合花那阵阵摇曳的浓香分明地掺合在一起。他在一排白色的百合花旁停下。这些花都有气无力的耷拉着脑袋，仿佛在喘息。花香熏得他飘飘欲醉。他走进田野去看月亮西坠。
干草场上一只秧鸡不停地叫着。月亮飞速坠落着，射出越来越红的光。在他身后，高大的花儿前躬着身子，仿佛在呼唤着他。摹地他又闻到了一股花香，有些刺鼻呛人。他四处探寻发香之处，发现是紫色百合花，于是伸手抚摸着它们肥胖的花颈仿佛在抓着什么的黑色的花瓣。不管怎么说，他总算找到了。这些花长在黑暗中，散发着刺鼻的香气。月光在山顶上逐渐消失，四周笼罩着一片黑暗。秧鸡仍在叫着。
他折下一枝石竹花，突然进了屋子。
“好啦，孩子，”母亲 说，“我看你该上床睡觉去了。”
他站在那儿，把石竹花凑近嘴边。
“妈妈，我要跟米丽亚姆散了。”他平静地说。
她抬着腿从眼镜上面望着她。他也丝毫没有退缩的回望着她。母子俩对视了一会，她摘下了眼镜。他的脸色十分苍白，男子的气概又回到他身上。她不想大仔细地看他。
“不过，我原以为——”母亲开口说。
“可是，”他答道：“我不爱她，我不想要她——因此，我应该结束这一切。”
“可是，”母亲吃惊地叫道，“最近我还以为你已经打定主意要娶她呢，因此我没什么可说的。”
“我曾经——我曾经想过——但现在不那么想了。这没有什么好处。我要在星期天跟她断绝关系。我应当这样做，对么？”
“你心里最清楚。你知道很早以前我就这么说过。”
“现在我不得不和她散了。星期天我就去了结。”
“哦，”母亲说，“这样做再好不过了。但从最近来看，我以为你打定注意要娶她我只好不说什么了，也不应该说。不过，我还是说句老话，我认为她不适合你。”
“星期天我就跟她吹。” 他说着闻了闻石竹花，随后把花放进嘴里，心不在焉地咧着双唇，慢条斯理地嚼着花，结果弄得满嘴都是花瓣。接着，他把花瓣唾到火里，吻了吻母亲，就上床睡觉去了。
星期天下午，他早早就去威利农场。他已经给米丽亚姆写了封信，说他们还是到田野上散散步，去赫克诺尔去。母亲对他温柔体贴。他一句话也没说，不过她看得出来，他为这件事付出了极大的努力。他脸上那异常坚定的神情使她感到心里踏实。
“别担心，孩子，”她说，“等这件事完了以后，你心情就会好起来的。”
保罗吃惊而怨恨地瞥了母亲一眼， 他可不要她的怜悯。
米丽亚姆在小巷的尽头跟他会了面。她穿着一件印花麻纱新短袖。 看到她那惹人怜爱的两只露在短袖下的胳膊——那么可怜，那么柔顺，他心里更加痛若，使他反而变得更加狠心。她是专为他一个人穿戴打扮得如此艳丽动人，花枝招展。每次看到她——现在她已经是一个风韵成熟的年轻妇女了，在新衣的衬托下显得更加美丽——他内心就感到一阵痛苦，简直象要爆炸似的，他竭力克制着自己。可是他已经打定主意，一切都无法挽回了。
他们坐在山上，他头枕在她的腿上，躺了下来，她用手指抚摸着他的头发。正如她所说的她知道他心不在焉。每当她和他在一起时她常常追寻他的心灵，但不知它飘到什么地方去。可是今天下午，出乎她的意料。
他告诉她时间已经快五点钟了。他们坐在一条溪流边上，有一片草皮铺盖在凹陷的黄土河滩上。他用一根树枝乱戳乱舞，每当他烦躁不安和下狠心时， 他总是这样。
“我一直在考虑，”他说，“我们该散了。”“为什么？”她吃惊地失声喊道。
“因为再继续下去没有什么好处。”
“为什么没好处？”
“是没好处。我不 想结婚。我根本不想结婚。既然我们不打算结婚。这样下 去就没什么好处。”
“那你为什么现在才说这话？”
“因为我已经打定了主意。”
“那这个月来算怎回事，还有你曾经跟我说的话又怎么解释？”
“我也无能无力！我不想再继续下去了。”
“你不想要我了？”
“我觉得我们还是散了好——你摆脱了我，我摆脱了你。”
“那最近几个月的事怎么办？”
“我不知道。我一直跟你 说真话，而且是怎么想就怎么说。”
“那你为什么现在又变卦了？”
“我没变——我还是一样——只是我觉得这样继续下去没什么好处罢了。”
“你还没告诉我为什么没好处。”
“因为我不想再继续下去了——我不想结婚。”
“你说过多少次你要娶我，我都没有答应？”
“我知道，但我还是觉得我们应该散了。”
他恶狠狠地挖着土，两人都沉默着。她低着头沉思着。他简直象个任性的不可理喻的小孩。他更象个婴儿，一旦吃饱，就把奶瓶砸个粉碎。她看着他，觉得还可以抓住他，从他身上逼出一些常性来。可是她又觉得无从下手，无能为力。于是她喊到：
“我曾说过你只不 过十四岁——其实你才四岁！”
他听到了，仍旧恶狠狠地挖着土。
“你是个四岁的小娃娃！”她愤怒地又重复了一遍。
他没有回答，只是在心里默默地说：“那好吧，既然我是个四岁的小娃娃，那你还要我干什么？我可不想再找一个妈妈。”可他什么也没说出来。两人都沉默着。
“你跟你家人说过吗？”她问。
“我告诉了母亲。”
又是一阵沉默。
“那你到底想干什么？”她问。
“哦，我就希望我们俩一刀两断。这些年来我们一直在一起生活，现在，就让我们到此为止吧。我要离开你走自己的路，你也应该离开我走你自己的路。这样你就可以自己 过一段独立的生活。”
这话有几分道理，尽管她痛断肝肠，她还是不由得牢牢记住这些话。她清楚自己象根捆绑他的索链，她恨这样，但又身不由己。自从她感到爱情之火过于强烈的时候起，她就恨自己对他的爱情，而从心灵深处来说，正由于她爱他并受他支配而恨他。她一直反抗着他的统治，现在终于摆脱他了。因此，与其说他摆脱了她，倒不如 说是她摆脱了他。
“再说，”他继续说，“我们多少会永远彼此牵念。你为我做过很多事，我也同样为你做过许多。现在让我们重新开始，独立生活吧。”
"Yes--and---"
"You are always clenched against me."
She was trembling with agitation.
"You see," she said, "I'm not used to the thought---"
"You are lately," he said.
"But all my life. Mother said to me: 'There is one thingin marriage that is always dreadful, but you have to bear it.' And I believed it."
"And still believe it," he said.
"No!" she cried hastily. "I believe, as you do, that loving,even in THAT way, is the high-water mark of living."
"That doesn't alter the fact that you never want it."
"No," she said, taking his head in her arms and rocking in despair. "Don't say so! You don't understand." She rocked with pain. "Don't I want your children?"
"But not me."
"How can you say so? But we must be married to have children---"
"Shall we be married, then? I want you to have my children."
He kissed her hand reverently. She pondered sadly, watching him.
"We are too young," she said at length.
"Twenty-four and twenty-three---"
"Not yet," she pleaded, as she rocked herself in distress.
"When you will," he said.
She bowed her head gravely. The tone of hopelessness inwhich he said these things grieved her deeply. It had always beena failure between them. Tacitly, she acquiesced in what he felt.
And after a week of love he said to his mother suddenly oneSunday night, just as they were going to bed:
"I shan't go so much to Miriam's, mother."
She was surprised, but she would not ask him anything.
"You please yourself," she said.
So he went to bed. But there was a new quietness abouthim which she had wondered at. She almost guessed. She wouldleave him alone, however. Precipitation might spoil things. She watched him in his loneliness, wondering where he would end. He was sick, and much too quiet for him. There was a perpetual littleknitting of his brows, such as she had seen when he was a small baby,and which had been gone for many years. Now it was the same again. And she could do nothing for him. He had to go on alone, make hisown way.
He continued faithful to Miriam. For one day he had loved herutterly. But it never came again. The sense of failure grew stronger. At first it was only a sadness. Then he began to feel he could notgo on. He wanted to run, to go abroad, anything. Gradually he ceasedto ask her to have him. Instead of drawing them together, it putthem apart. And then he realised, consciously, that it was no good. It was useless trying: it would never be a success between them.
For some months he had seen very little of Clara. They hadoccasionally walked out for half an hour at dinner-time. But he alwaysreserved himself for Miriam. With Clara, however, his brow cleared,and he was gay again. She treated him indulgently, as if he werea child. He thought he did not mind. But deep below the surfaceit piqued him.
Sometimes Miriam said:
"What about Clara? I hear nothing of her lately."
"I walked with her about twenty minutes yesterday," he replied.
"And what did she talk about?"
"I don't know. I suppose I did all the jawing--I usually do. I think I was telling her about the strike, and how the womentook it."
"Yes."
So he gave the account of himself.
But insidiously, without his knowing it, the warmth he feltfor Clara drew him away from Miriam, for whom he felt responsible,and to whom he felt he belonged. He thought he was being quitefaithful to her. It was not easy to estimate exactly the strengthand warmth of one's feelings for a woman till they have run awaywith one.
He began to give more time to his men friends. There was Jessop,at the art school; Swain, who was chemistry demonstratorat the university; Newton, who was a teacher; besides Edgar andMiriam's younger brothers. Pleading work, he sketched and studiedwith Jessop. He called in the university for Swain, and the two went"down town" together. Having come home in the train with Newton,he called and had a game of billiards with him in the Moonand Stars. If he gave to Miriam the excuse of his men friends,he felt quite justified. His mother began to be relieved. He always told her where he had been.
During the summer Clara wore sometimes a dress of soft cottonstuff with loose sleeves. When she lifted her hands, her sleevesfell back, and her beautiful strong arms shone out.
"Half a minute," he cried. "Hold your arm still."
He made sketches of her hand and arm, and the drawingscontained some of the fascination the real thing had for him. Miriam, who always went scrupulously through his books and papers,saw the drawings.
"I think Clara has such beautiful arms," he said.
"Yes! When did you draw them?"
"On Tuesday, in the work-room. You know, I've got a cornerwhere I can work. Often I can do every single thing they needin the department, before dinner. Then I work for myselfin the afternoon, and just see to things at night."
"Yes," she said, turning the leaves of his sketch-book.
Frequently he hated Miriam. He hated her as she bent forwardand pored over his things. He hated her way of patiently castinghim up, as if he were an endless psychological account. When hewas with her, he hated her for having got him, and yet not got him,and he tortured her. She took all and gave nothing, he said. At least,she gave no living warmth. She was never alive, and giving off life. Looking for her was like looking for something which did not exist. She was only his conscience, not his mate. He hated her violently,and was more cruel to her. They dragged on till the next summer. He saw more and more of Clara.
At last he spoke. He had been sitting working at homeone evening. There was between him and his mother a peculiar conditionof people frankly finding fault with each other. Mrs. Morel wasstrong on her feet again. He was not going to stick to Miriam. Very well; then she would stand aloof till he said something. It had been coming a long time, this bursting of the storm in him, when he would come back to her. This evening there was between them a peculiar condition of suspense. He worked feverishly and mechanically,so that he could escape from himself. It grew late. Through theopen door, stealthily, came the scent of madonna lilies, almost asif it were prowling abroad. Suddenly he got up and went out of doors.
The beauty of the night made him want to shout. A half-moon,dusky gold, was sinking behind the black sycamore at the end ofthe garden, making the sky dull purple with its glow. Nearer, a dimwhite fence of lilies went across the garden, and the air all roundseemed to stir with scent, as if it were alive. He went acrossthe bed of pinks, whose keen perfume came sharply across the rocking,heavy scent of the lilies, and stood alongside the white barrierof flowers. They flagged all loose, as if they were panting. The scent made him drunk. He went down to the field to watchthe moon sink under.
A corncrake in the hay-close called insistently. The moonslid quite quickly downwards, growing more flushed. Behind himthe great flowers leaned as if they were calling. And then,like a shock, he caught another perfume, something raw and coarse. Hunting round, he found the purple iris, touched their fleshy throatsand their dark, grasping hands. At any rate, he had found something. They stood stiff in the darkness. Their scent was brutal. The moon was melting down upon the crest of the hill. It was gone;all was dark. The corncrake called still.
Breaking off a pink, he suddenly went indoors.
"Come, my boy," said his mother. "I'm sure it's time you wentto bed."
He stood with the pink against his lips.
"I shall break off with Miriam, mother," he answered calmly.
She looked up at him over her spectacles. He was staring backat her, unswerving. She met his eyes for a moment, then took offher glasses. He was white. The male was up in him, dominant. She did not want to see him too clearly.
"But I thought---" she began.
"Well," he answered, "I don't love her. I don't want to marryher--so I shall have done."
"But," exclaimed his mother, amazed, "I thought lately youhad made up your mind to have her, and so I said nothing."
"I had--I wanted to--but now I don't want. It's no good. I shall break off on Sunday. I ought to, oughtn't I?"
"You know best. You know I said so long ago."
"I can't help that now. I shall break off on Sunday."
"Well," said his mother, "I think it will be best. But latelyI decided you had made up your mind to have her, so I said nothing,and should have said nothing. But I say as I have always said,I DON'T think she is suited to you."
"On Sunday I break off," he said, smelling the pink. He put the flower in his mouth. Unthinking, he bared his teeth,closed them on the blossom slowly, and had a mouthful of petals. These he spat into the fire, kissed his mother, and went to bed.
On Sunday he went up to the farm in the early afternoon. He had written Miriam that they would walk over the fields to Hucknall. His mother was very tender with him. He said nothing. But shesaw the effort it was costing. The peculiar set look on his facestilled her.
"Never mind, my son," she said. "You will be so much betterwhen it is all over. "
Paul glanced swiftly at his mother in surprise and resentment. He did not want sympathy.
Miriam met him at the lane-end. She was wearing a new dressof figured muslin that had short sleeves. Those short sleeves,and Miriam's brown-skinned arms beneath them--such pitiful, resignedarms--gave him so much pain that they helped to make him cruel. She had made herself look so beautiful and fresh for him. She seemedto blossom for him alone. Every time he looked at her--a mature youngwoman now, and beautiful in her new dress--it hurt so much that hisheart seemed almost to be bursting with the restraint he put on it. But he had decided, and it was irrevocable.
On the hills they sat down, and he lay with his head in her lap,whilst she fingered his hair. She knew that "he was not there,"as she put it. Often, when she had him with her, she looked for him,and could not find him. But this afternoon she was not prepared.
It was nearly five o'clock when he told her. They were sittingon the bank of a stream, where the lip of turf hung over a hollowbank of yellow earth, and he was hacking away with a stick, as hedid when he was perturbed and cruel.
"I have been thinking," he said, "we ought to break off."
"Why?" she cried in surprise.
"Because it's no good going on."
"Why is it no good?"
"It isn't. I don't want to marry. I don't want ever to marry. And if we're not going to marry, it's no good going on."
"But why do you say this now?"
"Because I've made up my mind."
"And what about these last months, and the things you toldme then?"
"I can't help it! I don't want to go on."
"You don't want any more of me?"
"I want us to break off--you be free of me, I free of you."
"And what about these last months?"
"I don't know. I've not told you anything but what I thoughtwas true."
"Then why are you different now?"
"I'm not--I'm the same--only I know it's no good going on."
"You haven't told me why it's no good."
"Because I don't want to go on--and I don't want to marry."
"How many times have you offered to marry me, and I wouldn't?"
"I know; but I want us to break off."
There was silence for a moment or two, while he dug viciously atthe earth. She bent her head, pondering. He was an unreasonable child. He was like an infant which, when it has drunk its fill, throws awayand smashes the cup. She looked at him, feeling she could get holdof him and WRING some consistency out of him. But she was helpless. Then she cried:
"I have said you were only fourteen--you are only FOUR!"
He still dug at the earth viciously. He heard.
"You are a child of four," she repeated in her anger.
He did not answer, but said in his heart: "All right;if I'm a child of four, what do you want me for? I don't wantanother mother." But he said nothing to her, and there was silence.
"And have you told your people?" she asked.
"I have told my mother."
There was another long interval of silence.
"Then what do you WANT?" she asked.
"Why, I want us to separate. We have lived on each other allthese years; now let us stop. I will go my own way without you,and you will go your way without me. You will have an independentlife of your own then."
There was in it some truth that, in spite of her bitterness,she could not help registering. She knew she felt in a sort ofbondage to him, which she hated because she could not control it. She hated her love for him from the moment it grew too strongfor her. And, deep down, she had hated him because she lovedhim and he dominated her. She had resisted his domination. She had fought to keep herself free of him in the last issue. And she was free of him, even more than he of her.
"And," he continued, "we shall always be more or lesseach other's work. You have done a lot for me, I for you. Now let us start and live by ourselves."
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