We leave, just as we have planned, on the last day of April. Richard’s stay is complete. My uncle’s prints are mounted and bound: he takes me to view them, as a sort of treat. “Fine work,” he says. “You think, Maud? Hmm?”
我们走了，正如我们计划好的，在四月的最后一天。理查德的差事业已结束。我舅舅的藏画都裱好订好：他让我去欣赏那些画，作为一种奖赏。“精细活儿，”他说道。“你说呢？莫德？”
“Yes, sir.”
“是的，先生。”
“Do you look?”
“你看了吗？”
“Yes. Fine work. I believe I shall send for Hawtrey and Huss. I shall have them come — next week? What do you say? Shall we make an occasion of it?”
“是啊。精细活儿。我想我要给霍粹和哈斯捎个信儿。我要让他们过来——下周？你觉得如何？我们是否该为此举办一次盛会？”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“是的，舅舅。”
I do not answer. I am thinking of the dining-room, the drawing-room — and me, in some other shadowy place, far off. He turns to Richard.
我没答话。我在想那间餐厅，那间客厅——而我，在某个阴暗角落里，远离了布莱尔的。他转向理查德。
“Rivers,” he says, “should you like to come back, as a guest, with Hawtrey?”
“瑞富斯，”他说道，“你是否愿意作为客人，跟霍粹一起光临舍下？”
“Unfortunate. You hear that, Maud? Most unfortunate…”
“太不幸了。你听到吧，莫德？最不幸的…”
He unlocks his door. Mr Way and Charles are going about the gallery with Richard’s bags. Charles is rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. — “Get on with you!” says Mr Way savagely, kicking out with his foot. Charles lifts his head, sees us emerging from my uncle’s room — sees my uncle, I suppose — and shakes in a sort of convulsion, and runs. My uncle also shakes, then.
他打开门。魏先生和查尔斯在过厅里收拾理查德的行李。查尔斯用袖子擦着眼睛。——“你给我麻利点！”魏先生恶狠狠地说道，脚也踹出去了。查尔斯抬起头，正看到我们从我舅舅的房里出来——我猜想是见了我舅舅——他惊得身体一震，随即跑开了。我舅舅见状也一震。
Richard bows, looks sorry. “I fear, sir, I shall be occupied elsewhere.”
理查德躬身，面带歉意。“我恐怕，先生，我脱不开身。”
“I will, sir,” says Mr Way.
“我会的，先生。”魏先生说道。
“Do you see, Rivers, the torments to which I am exposed? Mr Way, I hope you will catch that boy and whip him!”
“理查德，你是否看到，我面临着何种痛苦？魏先生，我希望你能逮住那小子，抽他一顿！”
Richard looks at me, and smiles. I do not smile back. And when, at the steps, he takes my hand, my fingers sit quite nervelessly against his own. “Good-bye,” he says. I say nothing. He turns to my uncle: “Mr Lilly. Farewell to you, sir!”
理查德望着我，他笑了。我未报以笑容。他在楼梯上抓住我的手，我的手无知觉似的静静任他抓着。“再见，”他说道。我没言语。他转过去对着我舅舅：“李先生，向你道别了，先生！”
“A handsome man,” my uncle says, as the trap is drawn from sight. “Hmm, Maud? What, are you silent? Shan’t you like it, to have to return to our solitary ways?”
“一个俊小伙儿，”当马车在视野里渐渐消失，我舅舅说道。“嗯？莫德？怎么？你不说话？难道你不喜欢重回到我们平静的生活中去吗？”
We go back into the house. Mr Way pulls closed the swollen door, and the hall grows dark. I climb the stairs at my uncle’s side, as I once, as a girl, climbed them with Mrs Stiles. How many times, I think, have I mounted them, since then? How many times has my heel struck this spot, that spot. How many slippers, how many strait gowns, how many gloves, have I outgrown or outworn? How many voluptuous words have I silently read? — how many mouthed, for gentlemen?
我们回到宅子里。魏先生连拖带拉地关闭了膨胀变形的大门，大厅变得阴暗了。我跟在我舅舅身边上了楼梯，就好似我还是小姑娘时，跟着斯黛尔太太上楼梯。从那时起，我心里想，这楼梯我走了多少次？有多少次，我的脚跟落在这个点上、那个点上？有多少双鞋，多少件箍人的裙子，多少双手套，被我穿坏，或被我穿小了？我默读过多少个淫逸香艳的词语？——有多少次，我为绅士们，动口不动心地诵读？
The stairs, the slippers and gloves, the words, the gentlemen, will all remain, though I escape. Will they? I think again of the rooms of my uncles house: the dining-and drawing-room, the library. I think of the little crescent I once picked out in the paint that covers the library windows: I try to imagine it, eyeless. I remember how once I woke and watched my room seem to gather itself together out of the dark, and thought, I shall never escape! Now I know that I shall But I think that Briar will haunt me, too. — Or else, I will haunt it, while living out some dim and partial life beyond its walls.
就算我逃脱了，这楼梯，这鞋子和手套，这些词语，这些绅士们，仍将留存于我。不是吗？我又想起我舅舅这宅子中的房间：餐厅和客厅，还有书房。我想起用指甲在书房窗户的涂料上抠出的那一弯小小月牙。我在心中试图回想起它的样子。我记起有一回，我醒来，看着我的房间仿佛自行聚集，要从黑夜中抽离出去，于是我想，我永远也逃不出去！现在我知道我能逃出去。然而我觉得布莱尔也会如影随形。——另外，当我在布莱尔之外度过惨淡余生，我的鬼魂也会萦绕在布莱尔。
At last she has nothing more to show. We must only wait. We take our lunch. We walk to my mother’s grave. I stare at the stone, feeling nothing. The day is mild, and damp: our shoes, as we walk, press dew from the springing green earth and mark our gowns with streaks of mud.
最后她再无其他可展示了。我们必须且只能等待。我们一起吃了午饭。我们散步到了我母亲的墓地。我瞪着墓碑，心中全无感觉。日光柔和，空气颇潮湿：我们一路走来，鞋上沾了些草地中的露水，裙子上也溅了些泥点。
I think of the ghost I shall make: a neat, monotonous ghost, walking for ever on soft-soled feet, through a broken house, to the pattern of ancient carpets. But perhaps, after all, I am a ghost already. For I go to Sue and she shows me the gowns and linens she means for us to take, the jewels she means to shine, the bags she will fill; but she does it all without meeting my gaze; and I watch, and say nothing. I am more aware of her hands than of the objects she takes up; feel the stir of her breath, see the movement of her lip, but her words slip from my memory the moment she has said them.
我想到我将造就的那个鬼魂：一个干净整齐，单调乏味的鬼魂，总是穿着软底鞋走路，穿过一间破屋子，走到古旧地毯的图案前。然而，或许，我已经是个鬼魂了。因为我来到苏身边，她给我看我们要带走的裙子和亚麻衣裳，她打算擦亮的珠宝，她要装满东西的袋子；而她做着这些，始终不看我的眼睛；我在一旁看着，一言不发。我更多地注意到她的双手，而不是她收拾的家什；我感受着她呼吸引起的气流，我望着她嘴唇阖动，可她的言语从我脑中滑将过去，左耳进右耳出。
I have surrendered myself to Richard’s plan, as I once gave myself to my uncle. The plot, the flight — they seem fired, now, not so much by my wants as by his. I am empty of want. I sit at my supper, I eat, I read; I return to Sue and let her dress me as she likes, take wine when she offers it, stand at the window at her side. She moves fretfully, from foot to foot. “Look at the moon,” she says softly, “how bright it is! Look at the shadows on the grass. — What time is it? Not eleven, yet? — To think of Mr Rivers, somewhere upon the water, now…”
我已经屈从于理查德的阴谋，就好似我曾屈从于我舅舅。这个计划，这次逃脱——此时此刻，我推进这些事儿的念头，好象不如他那般强烈。我毫无想法。晚餐我坐在桌旁，我进晚餐，我诵读书籍；我回到楼上，让苏照她的喜好为我更衣，她给我酒，我喝了一点，我站在窗前她的身边。她焦躁不安地走来走去。“瞧那月亮，”她轻声说道，“多亮啊！瞧那边草地上的影子。——现在几点？还没到十一点？想想瑞富斯先生，现在他在河上某个地方…”
I go stealthily from the room. I know my way, I do not need a lamp, and my dark dress hides me. I go to the head of the stairs, cross quickly the broken carpets of moonlight that the windows there throw upon the floor. Then I pause, and listen. Silence. So then I go on, into the corridor which faces mine, along a path which is the mirror of the path that has led from my own rooms. At the first door I pause again, and listen again, to be sure that all is still within. This is the door to my uncle’s rooms. I have never entered here, before. But, as I guess, the handle and hinges are kept greased, and turn without a sound. The rug is a thick one, and makes a whisper of my step.
我潜出房间。不需灯火我也知该如何走，深色的衣裳掩护了我。我走到楼梯口，月光透过窗格在地上撒下零落投影，我从月光里快速通过，然后停下倾听周围动静。一片寂静。于是我继续走，走进面前的长廊，那条走廊与去我房间的走廊对称布置，我沿着那走廊一直走。在第一个房门口，我又停住，再次附耳倾听，确定房里并无响动。这是我舅舅的房门。以前我未来过这儿。不过，不出我所料，门把手和铰链都上了油，门毫无声息地打开了。门垫颇厚实，我脚踏上去发出细微的唏嗦声。
There is only one thing I mean to do, before I go: one deed — one terrible deed — the vision of which has risen, to goad and console me, through all the bitten-down rages, the dark and uneasy sleeps, of my life at Briar; and now, as the hour of our flight nears, as the house falls silent, still, unsuspecting, I do it. Sue leaves me, to look over our bags. I hear her, unfastening buckles. — That is all I wait for.
临走前，我只余一件未了心愿：仅此一件——非了不可的心愿——那愿景浮现，贯穿了我在布莱尔的岁月，所有咬牙咽下的怒火，所有黑暗又不得安宁的睡梦，予我刺痛，也予我慰籍；如今，当我们逃脱的时刻渐渐临近，当这宅子归于静默，沉寂，不再戒备重重，我要了却这桩心愿。苏走开了，她去检查我们的行李。我听她解开了带扣。——那正是我所等待的。
I go quickly and take them up — the chain uncurling softly, I feel it slither against my glove. If it should fall! — It does not fall. The door-key swings like a pendulum. The razor is heavier than I expect, the blade is free of its clasp, at an angle, showing its edge. I pull it a little freer, and turn it to the light: it must be sharp, for what I want it for. I think it is sharp enough. I lift my head. In the glass above the mantel, picked out against the shadows of the room, I see myself — my hands: in one a key, in the other a blade. I might pass for a girl in an allegory. Confidence Abused.
我快步上前，拿起这两样东西——表链软绵绵地垂下，在我手套上滑动着。假使它落到地上——！它没落到地上。书房钥匙如钟摆似的摇荡着。那剃刀比我预想中重，刀身从刀柄中脱出，与刀柄摆成个角度，刀锋亮出来。我将刀身又拉开些，拿到灯光下：为达成我要凭它达成的心愿，这剃刀必须锋利。我觉得这刀够锋利。我抬起头。在壁炉架上的镜子中，我于房间的重重暗影里看到自己——我的双手：一手拿着钥匙，一手拿着剃刀。我会被人看成寓言中的姑娘。刚愎自用。
He has his bed-curtains pulled close but keeps a light, as I do, upon a table: this seems curious to me, I should never have supposed him to be nervous of the dark. But the dim light helps me. Without moving from my place beside the door, I look about me; and at last see the two things I have come to take. On his dressing-stand, beside his jug of water: his watch-chain with, upon it, the key to his library, bound in faded velvet; and his razor.
他将床帷拉得颇严实，却象我一样在桌上留了盏灯：这灯令我颇意外，我从未想过他也怕黑。而这昏暗灯光有助于我。我立在门边，没有挪动，环顾周围；终于看到我来取的那两样东西：在他盥洗台上，放在水壶边儿上：他的表链，上面拴着他书房的钥匙，裹在钥匙上的天鹅绒已秃了毛儿；旁边是他的剃刀。
His drawing-room is even darker, and seems smaller, than mine: he has hangings upon the walls, and more book-presses. I don’t look at them. I go to his dressing-room door, put my ear to the wood; take the handle and turn it. One inch, two inches, three. — I hold my breath, my hand upon my heart. No sound. I push the door further, stand and listen again. If he stirs, I will turn and go. Does he move? For a second there is nothing. Still I wait, uncertain. Then comes the soft, even rasp of his breathing.
他客厅比我的更暗，似乎也小了点：墙壁上挂着帷幔，书柜占了更多地方。我没看那书柜。我走到他卧室门前，将耳朵贴在门上；手抓住门把，转动起来。一寸，两寸，三寸——我屏住呼吸，手按心口。没发出声响。我将门又推开了一点儿，立在门边再次倾听。假使他惊醒，我就转身跑掉。他是不是动了一下？停了一秒，无事发生。我仍在忐忑观望。这时传来他的轻微鼻息，略显刺耳。
But this is not that kind of story. Not yet. I stand and watch him sleep for almost a minute; and then I leave him. I go as I have come — carefully, silently. I go to the stairs, and from there to the library, and once inside that room I lock the door at my back and light a lamp. My heart is beating hardest, now. I am queasy with fear and anticipation. But time is racing, and I cannot wait. I cross to my uncle’s shelves and unfasten the glass before the presses. I begin with The Curtain Drawn Up, the book he gave me first: I take it, and open it, and set it upon his desk. Then I lift the razor, grip it tight, and fully unclasp it. The blade is stiff, but springs the last inch. It is its nature to cut, after all. Still, it is hard — it is terribly hard, I almost cannot do it — to put the metal for the first time to the neat and naked paper. I am almost afraid the book will shriek, and so discover me. But it does not shriek. Rather, it sighs, as if in longing for its own laceration; and when I hear that, my cuts become swifter and more true.
不过这可不是那种故事。还不到时候。我立在原地，看他熟睡；片刻后，我就离开了。我如何来，便如何去——仔细小心，悄无声息。我走到楼梯口，经楼梯口到了书房，一进入书房，我就将身后的门锁上，点起灯火。此刻，我心跳剧烈到极点。我因恐惧和期待而手足无措。但是时不我待。我穿过书房，走到我舅舅的书柜前，打开书架的玻璃柜门。我从他给我的第一本书——《帘幕大开》——开始行事：我将书抽出，翻开，放在他书桌上。随后我拿出剃刀，紧紧攥住，将刀打开。刀拉开时颇费力，拉到最后刀身却自行弹起。毕竟，这刀有其嗜血的天性。这事还是颇难办——太难办了，我简直下不了手——将利器置于整洁又光溜溜的纸张上。我生怕书会发出惨叫，于是便泄露了我的行径。书却并未惨叫。应当说，书在叹息，仿佛期盼着被划伤；当我听到叹息，我下刀更快更用力了。
Behind me, the drapes to my uncle’s bed do not quite meet. In the space between them a shaft of light — so weak it is hardly light, but rather a lessening of darkness — leads to his face. I have never seen him sleep before. In form he seems slight, like a child. The blanket is drawn to his chin, uncreased, pulled tight. His lips let out his breath in a puff. He is dreaming — black-letter dreams, perhaps, or pica, morocco, calf. He is counting spines. His spectacles sit neatly, as if with folded arms, on the table beside his head. Beneath the lashes of one of his soft eyes there is a gleaming line of moisture. The razor is warming in my hand…
在我身后，我舅舅的床帷未完全闭合。床帷缝隙间透进一线光——那嬴弱的光线，与其说是光，倒不如说是褪了色的黑暗——正落在他脸上。此前我从未见过他睡觉的样子。看上去，他似乎颇脆弱，好象个孩子。毯子拽到下巴上，一丝不乱地紧绷着。他的气息从嘴里喷出来。他在做梦——可能梦见了黑体字，要么是十二磅因的字体，摩洛哥皮，小牛皮。他在计算书脊厚度。他的眼镜摆在枕边小桌上，规规矩矩仿佛抱着胳膊似的。他一边睫毛下有道发光的线，那是潮气。剃刀被我的手握热了…
Soft as a thief, she goes. She tells me where I may walk. She does not know that I have recently stood, light as a shadow, and watched my uncle sleep. But then, we go by the servants’ way, and the naked passages and stairs are strange to me, all this part of the house is strange to me. She keeps her hand in mine until we reach the basement door. Then she sets down her bag, so she may smear the key and the bolts with grease, to make them turn. She catches my eye and winks, like a boy. My heart aches in my breast.
她行走时，如贼一般轻手轻脚。她告诉我该走何处。她并不知道刚才我站在我舅舅房中，轻飘飘好似个影子，望着我那熟睡中的舅舅。而此时，我们走仆人通道，那未经装饰的走廊和楼梯于我是全然陌生的，宅子的这一部分于我也是全然陌生的。她一直拉着我的手，直到我们到达地窖门口。这时她放下包，好给钥匙和锁舌抹油，再试着转了一下。她与我对视一眼，象个男孩似的冲我眨。我的心在胸腔中一阵抽痛。
Then the door is opened and she takes me into the night; and the park is changed, the house seems queer — for of course, I have never before seen it at such an hour as this, I have only stood at my window and gazed out. If I stood there now, would I see myself running, Sue tugging my hand? Would I seem so bleached of depth and colour, like the lawn, the trees, the stones and stumps of ivy? For a second I hesitate, turn and watch the glass, quite sure that, if I only wait, I will see my face. Then I look at the other windows. Will no-one wake, and come, and call me back?
此时，门打开了，她领我进入黑夜；花园变了模样，这宅子似乎也颇为怪异——当然，此前我从未如今次这般，于子夜时分看到这宅子，我仅是站在窗前观望。假使此刻我站在那儿，我会看到自己在狂奔吗？还有苏牵着我手？我会如这草地，这树林，这砾石和这爬山虎的残根一般，形体色彩都为夜色所漂白褪去吗？有一瞬间，我略迟疑，转身回望那扇窗，心里十分清楚，假使我稍等片刻，那我会看到自己的脸。于是我望着其他窗户。没有谁会夜半醒来，走到窗边，招唤我回头吧？
When I return to Sue she is at the window, wringing her hands. Midnight has sounded. She supposed me lost. But she is too relieved to scold me. “Here’s your cloak,” she says. “Fasten it up now, quick. Take your bag. — Not that one, that one’s too heavy for you. Now, we must go.” She thinks me nervous. She puts her finger to my mouth. She says, “Be steady.” Then she takes my hand and leads me through the house.
等我回到苏身边，她站在窗前，双手绞着。午夜的钟声敲过了。她以为我失踪了。而她松了一口气，竟忘了责备我。“这是你的斗篷，”她说道。“现在穿上，快。拿着你的包。——不是那个，那个你拿太重了。现在，我们得走了。”她以为我紧张。她伸手掩住我的嘴。她说道，“镇静。”然后她拉起我的手，领我穿行于宅子中。
He keeps to the black part. The boat sits low upon the water — a dark-hulled boat, slender, rising at the prow. The dark boat of my dreams. I watch it come, feel Sue’s hand turn in mine; then step from her, take the rope he casts, let him guide me to my seat, unresisting. She comes beside me, staggering, her balance all gone. He braces the boat against the bank with a single oar, and as she sits, we turn, and the current takes us.
他待在河水漆黑的那一边。船浅浅地浮在水面上——那是一艘黑壳小船，船体细长，船头高高翘起。正是我梦想中之黑暗小舟。我眼见那船划过来，苏的手在我手里动了一下，于是我跑上前，接住他甩过来的绳索，由他将我接到船上，并无抗拒。她上船坐在我身边，脚步踉跄，平衡尽失。他用浆撑着河岸，将船撑离了岸边。待她就座，船就调了头，顺流而下。
No-one speaks. No-one moves, save Richard as he rows. We glide, softly, in silence, into our dark and separate hells.
无人发言，也无人过去帮理查德划浆。一派寂静中，船在河上滑行，舒缓平稳地，滑进我们那个黑暗而隔绝的地狱。
What follows? I know that the journey upon the river is a smooth one: that I should like to keep upon the boat, but am made to leave it and mount a horse. I should be afraid of the horse, at any other time; but I sit lifelessly upon it now, letting it bear me — as, I think, I would let it throw me, if it chose to. I remember the church of flint, the stalks of honesty, my own white gloves my hand, that is bared then passed from one set of fingers to another, then bruised by the thrusting of a ring. I am made to say certain words, that I have now forgotten. I remember the minister, in a surplice smudged with grey. I do not recall his face. I know that Richard kisses me. I remember a book, the handling of a pen, the writing of my name. I do not remember the walk from the church: what I recall next is a room, Sue loosening my gown; and then a pillow, coarse against my cheek; a blanket, coarser; and weeping. My hand is bare and has that ring upon it, still.
接下来呢？我知道水上行程一帆风顺，我愿一直待在船上，却又被带下船，上了马。换了其他时候，我定然会对马匹恐惧有加；而此时我一动不动骑在马上，由它驮着我——我觉得，假使这马要将我抛到地上，我也会由它去。我记得石头砌的教堂，还有一束干花，我记得我白色的手套——我的手未着手套，由此人手中递到彼人手中，然后被硬塞进一枚戒指，指节被挤出青淤伤痕。我被人带着说了些照本宣科的话，那些话现在我全忘了。我记得那个主婚人，穿件脏到发灰的白袍子。我记不起他的面孔。我知道理查德亲吻了我。我记得有本簿子，我执笔，写下自己的名姓。我记不起如何走出教堂：下面记起的场景，是苏解开我的衣裳；然后是粗糙的枕头，摩擦我的脸，毯子更粗糙，然后是哭泣。我手未戴手套，戒指还戴在手上。
No-one wakes, no-one calls. Sue pulls at my hand again, and I turn and follow. I have the key to the gate in the wall: when we are through and the lock is fast again I let it fall among the rushes. The sky is clear. We stand in shadow, saying nothing — two Thisbes, awaiting a Pyramus. The moon makes the river half silver, half deepest black.
无人醒来，无人招唤。苏又拽拽我的手，我转身继续跟她走。我有围墙门的钥匙：待我们通过，我将那道门锁好，将钥匙扔进芦苇荡。夜空清澈晴朗。我们站在暗影中，没言语——两位桑丝比（Thisbe），在等待一位皮瑞摩斯（Pyramus）。月光下的河水半边银光粼粼，半边隐没在最深沉的黑暗中。
Sue’s fingers slip from mine. “You must be different now,” she says, and I turn my face.
苏将手从我身上抽回。“你现在不一样了，”她说道，我将脸别过去。
“Oh, Maud,” he says quietly, shaking his head. He wipes his beard and lips.
“噢，莫德，”他摇摇头，轻言细语地说道。他摸摸胡须和嘴唇。
When I look again, she has left me. In her place stands Richard. He keeps for a second before the door, his eyes on mine; then he lets out his breath, puts the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle laughter.
待我转头再望，她已离去。原先她立着的地方换做理查德。他在门口站了片刻，目光落在我身上；这时他舒了一口气，手背掩着嘴，忍住笑意。
“Our wedding-night,” he says; and laughs again.
“我们的新婚之夜，”他说道；说着又笑。
“Will you speak? Hmm, Maud? Come, you needn’t be fey; not now, with me. Our wedding-night, Maud!” He has come to my side. He raises his hand and grips the head-board above my pillow and shakes it, hard, until the legs of the bed lurch and grind against the floor.
“你不说话？嗯？莫德？来吧，别要死不活的；现在对着我，不要这样。我们的新婚之夜，莫德！”他走到我身边，抬手抓住我枕前的床头栏杆，用力摇撼不止，直摇得床腿歪斜，咯吱作响。
I watch him and do not speak, the blankets pulled high before my breast. I am sober, now. I am quite awake. When he falls quiet, I hear the house beyond him: the stairs expand, throw off the pressure of his step. A mouse, or bird, moves in the space above the rafters. The sounds are wrong. The thought must show in my face.
我望着他，没言语，毯子拽在胸前。现在我镇静了。我非常警醒。当他话音落下，我听见在他身后这房子发出声响，那是楼梯在伸展，化解他先前踩踏留下的压力。是老鼠，还是鸟儿，在房梁上悉嗦跑动。这动静着实令人不适。我的念头肯定立时显现在我脸上。
“It’s queer for you, here,” he says, coming closer to me. “Don’t mind it. You shall be at London soon. There’s more life there. Think of that.” I say nothing.
“这里对你来说，太简陋了，”他走近一步说道。“别介意。你很快就能去伦敦。到那儿生活就舒适了。想想伦敦吧。”我没言语。
I close my eyes. The shuddering continues another moment, then the bed grows still. But he keeps his arm above me, and I feel him watching. I feel the bulk of him — seem to see the darkness of him, even through my eyelids. I sense him change. The mouse or bird still moves in the ceiling of the room, and I think he puts back his head, to follow its path. Then the house falls quiet, and he studies me again.
我闭上眼睛。这摇撼持续片刻，然后床不动了。可他胳膊还放在床头，我能感觉到他的目光。我感觉到他就在我身边——甚至，我好象透过眼皮看到了他的身影。我感觉到他姿态变了。那老鼠还是鸟儿仍旧在天花板上跑动，我想他仰起头来，关注着那阵动静。然后房子归于沉寂，他又来关注我。
“Touch it,” I say. “Touch it, and die. I have poison in me.”
“碰一下，”我说道，“碰一下，我就不活了。我身上藏着毒药。”
And then his breath comes, quick, against my cheek. He has blown in my face. I open my eyes. “Hey,” he says softly. His look is strange. “Don’t say you’re afraid.” He swallows. Then he brings back his arm from the head-board, slowly. I flinch, thinking he might strike me. But he does not do that. His gaze moves over my face, then settles at the hollow of my throat. He looks, as if fascinated. “How fast your heart beats,” he whispers. He lowers his hand, as if he means to test, with his finger, the racing of my blood.
随后他的气息飞快地扑面而来。他在我面前喘着气儿。我睁开眼。“嗨，”他柔声说道。他的样子颇奇怪。“可别说你害怕。”他咽下口水。然后慢慢收回胳膊。我不由畏缩起来，心想他要打我了。可他没那么做。他目光在我脸上扫视一番，最后停在我颈项上。他注视着，仿佛被迷住了，“你心跳得多快啊，”他低声说道。他伸出手，似乎想亲手感知一下我血液的奔流。
His hand stops, an inch from my throat. I hold his gaze, not blinking. He straightens. His mouth gives a twitch, then curls in scorn.
他手在离我颈项一寸处停住。我瞪大眼睛，一瞬不瞬地迎着他的目光。他站直了，嘴角牵动一下，摆出个不屑的表情。
He has drawn back the blanket, exposing the sheet that covers the mattress, at the level of my hips. “Move over,” he says. I do. He sits, and awkwardly turns.
他将毯子掀开，掀到我臀部，露出裹着床垫的床单。“过去点儿。”他说道。我照办。他坐下来，不大利索地转过身。
“Did you think I wanted you?” he says. “Did you?” He almost hisses the words — for of course, he cannot speak too loudly, in case Sue should hear. He moves away, agitatedly smoothing his hair behind his ears. A bag lies in his path, and he kicks it. “God damn it,” he says. He takes off his coat, then tugs at the link in a cuff, begins to work savagely at one of his sleeves. “Must you stare so?” he says, as he bares his arm. “Haven’t I already told you, you are safe? If you think I am any gladder than you, to be married –” He comes back to the bed. “I must act glad, however,” he says moodily. “And this is a part of what passes for gladness, in marriage. Had you forgotten?”
“你以为我想要你？”他说道。“是不是？”他说出这番话，几乎不动唇齿——当然了，他说话不能太大声，万一被苏听到。他走到一旁，得意洋洋地梳理耳后的头发。一个包挡了他的道，他踢了一脚。“真该死，”他说道。他脱下外套，解开袖口，粗暴地挽起袖子。“你非要瞪着眼？”他说着，胳膊都露出来。“我没告诉过你，你很安全吗？如果你觉得，结了婚，我比你更开心——”他回到床边。“可是，我必须表现得开心，”他不高兴地说道。“而且，这是人们认为婚姻中欢乐生活的组成部分，你忘了？”
A penknife. I see it, and think at once of my uncle’s razor. It was in a different life, however, that I went stealthily through that sleeping house, cut the pages of books. Now I watch as Richard puts his nail to the groove of the knife and eases free the blade. It is spotted black. He looks distastefully at it, then lays it against his arm. But he does it uncertainly, flinching when the metal touches. Then he lowers the knife.
我见了那小刀，立即想起我舅舅的剃刀。我偷偷走过那沉睡中的宅子，去划破那些书籍书页，俱往矣。这时，我见理查德指甲抓住刀上凹槽，将刀身拉开。那黑色的刀片上带着些斑点。他颇不情愿地望着小刀，将刀放在自己胳膊上。但他并不十分坚定，当刀片触到皮肤，他退缩了。然后执刀的手放下来。
He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and draws something out.
他手伸进裤袋掏出个小玩意。那是一把铅笔刀。
“Don’t look, so uselessly. Have you no blood about you, to save me the pain? None of those — courses, that women suffer?” I say nothing. His mouth twists again. “Well, that is like you. I should have thought that, being obliged to bleed, you might as well bleed to some advantage; but, no…”
“别这么眼睁睁的什么都不干。你身上就没有血，可让我免受痛苦？真没有那个——月事？”我没说话。他又抿起嘴。“好，这就象你的作风。我早该料到，我忍痛放血，你因某种天分也在流血；却并不…”
“God damn it,” he says again. He smooths his whiskers, his hair. He catches my eye.
“真该死，”他又说了一句。他捋捋胡须，又捋捋头发。他抬眼直视我的眼睛。
“No, no,” he says. “I shall do it, in a moment.” He draws in his breath, moves the blade further down his arm, rests it in one of the creases at the base of his palm, where the flesh is hairless. He pauses again, takes another breath; slices, quickly. “Good Christ!” he says, wincing. A little blood springs to the cut — it seems dark, in the candle-light, upon the white heel of his hand. He lets it fall to the bed. There is not much of it. He presses with his thumb at the skin of his wrist and palm, and then it falls faster. He does not catch my eye.
“不了，不了，”他说道。“我来吧，马上。”他深吸一口气，将刀放在他手掌下方皱折处，没有汗毛的苍白皮肤上。他又停住，又深吸一口气。飞快地划了一道。“万能的耶稣啊！”他面露惧色说道。一点点血从伤口冒出来——在烛光下，衬着他的白色手肘，那血似乎是黑色的。他让血流到床上。血不太多。他用大拇指按压手腕和手掌，于是血流加快。
“Do you mean,” I say, “to insult me, in every possible way?”
“你是否打算，”我说道，“想尽一切办法羞辱我？”
“Be quiet,” he answers. We are still speaking in whispers. “This is for both our good. I don’t see you offering up your arm to the knife.” At once, I offer it. He waves it away.
“安静，”他答道。我们仍旧低声说话。“这是为了我们两人好。我可没见你把胳膊贡献出来挨刀子。”闻言我立即伸出手臂。他挥手挡开我。
I study his face. “Don’t you know?”
我仔细端详他的脸。“你不清楚吗？”
After a moment, however, he says quietly: “Do you suppose that enough?”
过了片刻，他轻声说道：“你觉得这够了吗？”
“But –“
“可是——”
“No, I do not know.”
“不，我不清楚。”
The blood still feebly runs. He curses. I think of Agnes, showing me her red and swollen mouth. I turn away from him, in a sort of sickness. “Come, Maud,” he says then, “tell me before I fall in a swoon. You must have read of such things. I am sure your uncle must have some entry on it in his damn Index — doesn’t he? Maud?”
血仍在缓慢流淌。他咒骂着。我想起阿格尼丝给我看她发红肿胀的嘴。我心中一阵恶心，翻过身去不再面对他。“好了，莫德，”这时他说道，“在我失血昏倒之前你得告诉我。你肯定读到过这些东西。我敢说你舅舅那本该死的大全里肯定有相关条目——不是吗？莫德？”
I look again, reluctantly, at the spreading drops of blood; and I nod. As a final gesture he puts his wrist to them, and smears them.
我又望着那滩血迹；点点头。作为最后一个动作，他将手腕置于血迹上，将血迹涂抹开。
“But what?” He blinks. “You mean Agnes, I suppose. Don’t flatter her. There are more ways of shaming a virtuous girl, than that one. You ought to know.”
“可是什么？”他眨眨眼。“我猜你是说阿格尼丝。可别抬举了她。除了那种办法，还有好多路子可谋取清白女子的贞洁。你应该知道。”
Then he frowns at his cut. His cheek is quite white. He makes a face. “How ill a man may grow,” he says, “from the sight of the spilling of a little of his own blood. What monsters you females must be, to endure this, month upon month. No wonder you are prone to madness. See how the flesh parts?” He shows me his hand. “I think after all I cut too deep. That was your fault, provoking me. Have you brandy? I think a little brandy would restore me.”
然后，他皱眉望着伤口，面颊十分苍白。他做了个鬼脸。“亲眼看到自己的血流出来，”他说道，“绅士得变得多痛苦啊。你们女人肯定是某种怪物，月复一月的忍受这个。一点也不奇怪，你会有变成疯子的倾向。看到这伤口裂得多大吗？”他将手伸给我看。“我觉得我割得太深了。这都是你的错，你将了我一军。你有白兰地吗？我想有点儿白兰地我就能复原了。”
“No brandy. What have you, then? Some draught or other? Come, I see by your face that you do.” He looks about him. “Where is it kept?”
“没有白兰地，那你有什么？药水还是别的什么？来吧，我一看你的脸就知道你有。”他环顾四周。“藏哪儿了？”
He has drawn out his handkerchief, and now presses it to his arm. I say, “I have no brandy.”
他先前曾拿出块手帕，这时他将手帕按在手臂上。我说道，“我没有白兰地。”
I hesitate; but now he has named it, the desire for drops begins to make its creeping way about my heart and limbs. “In my leather bag,” I say. He brings the bottle to me, draws out its stopper, puts his nose to it, grimaces. “Bring me a glass, also,” I say. He finds a cup, adds a little dusty water.
我略犹豫；不过他既已提及，服药的欲望就开始在我心脏和四肢中蠢蠢欲动。“在我皮包里，”我说道。他将药瓶拿来，拔开瓶塞，凑近鼻子，面孔皱起。“也给我一杯，”我说道。他找出杯子，往杯中倒了点浑浊不清的水。
“Not like that, for me,” he says, as I let the medicine slip. “That will serve tor you. I want it quicker.” He takes the bottle from me, uncovers his cut, lets a single drop fall into the parted flesh. It stings. He winces. Where it runs, he licks it.
当我将药倒入水杯中，他说道，“我不要这样。你这样喝好了。我希望药力快些发作。”他从我手中接过药瓶，揭开伤处，将一滴药水倒入分离的血肉中。药物带来刺痛，他抽搐起来。他舔舐着药水滑过之处。
Then he sighs, half closing his eyes, watching me as I drink then shiver then lean back upon my pillow, the cup at my breast.
然后他叹息一声，眼睛半睁半闭地望着我，我将药一饮而尽，随后浑身颤抖，随后歪斜地倒在枕头上，水杯横在我胸口。
At length, he smiles. He laughs. ” “The Fashionable Couple on their Wedding Night,” ” he says. “They would write a column on us, in the London papers.”
最后，他笑了。他笑出了声。“《时髦小夫妻的新婚之夜》，”他说道。“他们会在伦敦的报纸上为我们写个专栏。”
I shiver again, draw the blankets higher; the sheet falls, covering the smears of blood. I reach for the bottle. He reaches it first, however, and puts it out of my grasp.
我又颤抖起来，将毯子拽得更高；被单滑落，盖住那滩血迹。我伸手去拿药瓶。可是他先拿到，他将药瓶拿在我够不着的地方。
“No, no,” he says. “Not while you keep so contrary. I shall have it, tonight.”
“不成，不成，”他说道。“虽然你这么执拗，还是不成。今天夜里我要收好它。”
“I should not be astonished, after all,” he says, “to wake to the grip of your fingers at my throat. No, I shall not risk it.”
“毕竟，我不应该感到惊讶，”他说，“醒来时你的手指紧抓着我的喉咙。不，我不会冒险的。”
He puts it in his pocket, and I am too weary to try to take it from him. He stands and yawns, wipes his face, rubs hard at his eyes. “How tired I am!” he says. “It is past three o’clock, do you know?” I say nothing, and he shrugs. But he lingers at the foot of the bed, looking down, in a hesitating manner, at the place at my side; then he sees my face, and pretends to shudder.
他将药瓶揣进口袋，我疲惫不堪，无力争夺。他站在那儿打着哈欠，手搓搓脸，使劲地揉着眼睛。“太累了！”他说道。“你知道吗？现在是凌晨三点多。”我没言语，他耸耸肩。但是他在床尾徘徊，犹豫着低头看我身边的地方，然后他看到了我的脸，假装在发抖。
He steps to the fire, wets his thumb and finger upon his tongue, puts out the candle; then he sits in a huddle in the arm-chair and makes a blanket of his coat. He swears against the cold, the pose, the angles of the chair, for perhaps a minute. But he sleeps, sooner than I do.
他走到壁炉边，舌头沾湿拇指和食指，捻灭蜡烛；然后他坐到扶手椅上，身体蜷成一团，将外套盖在身上。他诅咒这寒气，不适的姿势，椅子的转角，大概咒了好一会儿。可他还是睡着了，比我先睡着。
And when he does, I rise, go quickly to the window, put the curtain back. The moon is still bright, and I don’t want to lie in darkness. But after all, every surface that takes up the silver light is strange to me; and when once I reach, to put my fingers to some mark upon the wall, the mark and the wall in taking my touch seem only to grow stranger. My cloak and gown and linen are closed in the press. My bags are shut. I look, and look, for something of mine; and see only at last, in the shadow of the wash-hand stand, my shoes. I go to them, and stoop, and place my hands upon them. Then I draw back and almost straighten; then touch them again.
待他睡去，我起身，快步走到窗前，将窗帘拉开。月光依旧明亮如雪，我不想躺在黑暗中。然而，毕竟，银色月光印照的每一样事物于我都是陌生的。当我伸出手，手指触到墙上的印记，那印记和墙壁却因我的触碰，而变得更为陌生。我的斗篷、裙子和亚麻衣裳都放在服柜里。我的包都紧闭着。我左看右看，要找件自个儿的东西；最后只看到，在洗手台的影子里，有我的鞋。我走过去蹲下来，将手放在鞋上面。然后我缩回手，即将站起时，这时我又将手放在鞋上，再触摸一番。
Then I lie in the bed, and listen hard for the sounds I am used to — for bells and growling levers. There are only those meaningless noises — the yawning boards, the creeping bird or mouse. I put back my head and gaze at the wall behind me. Beyond it lies Sue. If she turned in her bed, if she said my name, I think I would hear it. She might make any sound, any at all — I would catch it, I am certain I would.
接着，我躺到床上，凝神聆听，想听到那些我习以为常的声响——钟声和机械的动作声。只有一些无意义的声音——地板的声音，鸟或老鼠的爬动声。我回头盯着身后的墙壁。墙那边是苏。如果她在床上翻个身，如果她念叨我的名字，我想我都听得到。她可以搞出些动静，什么都成——我能捕捉到那动静，我肯定我能。
“See here,” he says, “my shoulder. You see it? It is rising from its socket — it is quite thrown out. I shall be deformed, in a week. As for these creases –” He angrily smooths his trousers. “I should have brought Charles, after all. At this rate I shall arrive at London only to be laughed off its streets.”
“瞧这儿，”他说道，“我肩膀上。你看到吗？只消一周，我就会变成残废。至于这些褶子——”他恼怒地抹着裤子。“我真该把查尔斯带来。照这样下去，等我到了伦敦，只会成为街坊的笑谈。”
She makes no sound. Richard shifts in his chair. The moonlight creeps across the floor. In time, I sleep. I sleep and dream of Briar. But the passages of the house are not as I recall them. I am late for my uncle, and lost.
她什么动静都没搞出来。理查德在他的椅子里动了动。月光慢慢铺到地板上。很快，我睡着了。我睡着了，还梦到布莱尔。不过那宅子里的走廊并不是我回忆中的样子。我去见我舅舅，我迟到了，我还迷了路。
She comes each morning, after that, to wash me, to dress me, to set food before me, to take away my untouched plate; but, as in the last of our days at Briar, she never meets my gaze. The room is small. She sits near me, but rarely do we speak. She sews. I play at cards — the two of hearts with the crease of my heel upon it, rough beneath my naked finger. Richard keeps all day from the room. At night, he curses. He curses the filthy lanes of the country, that muddy his boots. He curses my silence, my strangeness. He curses the wait. Above all, he curses the angular arm-chair.
每天清晨，她过来，为我梳洗，将饭菜端到我面前，再将我碰都没碰过的盘子端走；然而，象我们在布莱尔最后那几天一样，她从不看我的眼睛。房间颇小，她坐在我旁边，可我们极少交谈。她做针线活。我玩纸牌——那张被我脚跟踩出折痕的红桃二，在我未着手套的手里愈发粗糙破旧。理查德整日都不在房里。到夜里，他咒骂连连。他咒骂乡间的泥泞小径，令他鞋上沾满了泥。他咒骂我的沉默不语，我的古怪性情。他咒骂这等待。当然，得他诅咒最多的，是那把带尖角的扶手椅。
London, I think. The word means nothing to me now.
伦敦，我心想。如今这个词语对于我毫无意义。
“Very good,” he says, watching me drink. “Not much longer, now. Why, how thin and pale you’ve grown! — and Sue grows sleeker by the hour, like one of Mother Cream’s black-faced sows. Get her into your best gown tomorrow, will you?”
“很好，”他望着我喝下药水说道。“现在不用等太久了。瞧瞧，你变得多消瘦多苍白！——苏这会儿变得多丰润，就象克里姆大婶养的黑脸猪。明天你会让她穿你最好的裙子，你会吗？”
I do. I will do anything, now, to bring an end to our long wait. I will pretend fear, and nervousness, and weeping, while he leans to caress or chide me. I will do it, not looking at Sue — or else, looking at her slyly, desperately, to see if she colours or seems ashamed. She never does. Her hands, that I remember sliding upon me, pressing, turning, opening me up — her hands, when they touch me now, are perfectly lifeless and white. Her face is closed. She only waits, as we do, for the coming of the doctors.
我会的。此时此刻，我会做任何事，将我们的漫长等待引向终点。当他躬身亲近我或责备我，我会装着害怕，装着紧张，装着哭泣。我会这么做，眼睛并不看苏——也会，心怀绝望地偷眼看她，看她是否神色改变，或者面露羞惭。她从未变色。她的双手，滑过我的身体，抚摸翻转，开启了我的生命，令我铭刻于心——此时，她双手白皙，触到我时仿佛是无生命的肢体。她面无表情。跟我们一样，她仅是等待着医生的光临。
He rides out, every other day, for news of my uncle. He smokes so many cigarettes the stain on his scorched forefinger spreads to the finger beside it. Now and then he lets me take a dose of my draught; but he always keeps hold of the bottle.
他每天骑马出去探听我舅舅的消息。他烟抽得更凶，手指上的烟迹扩散到两边的指头。他时不时地会给我服一剂药；但他从来都牢牢把握着那个小药瓶。
“I cannot see them,” I say. “You must send them back. They must come another time.”
“我不要见他们，”我说道。“你把他们送回去。让他们改天来。”
“I am too nervous.”
“我好紧张。”
We wait — I cannot say how long. Two weeks, or three. At last: “They come tomorrow,” Richard tells me one night; and then, next morning: They come today. You remember?”
我们都在等待——我也说不出等了多久。两周，还是三周。最终：“他们明天到。”一天夜里，理查德告诉我；然后，次日清晨：“他们今天来。你记得吗？”
“Don’t be tiresome, Maud.”
“别无聊了，莫德。”
“You will,” he answers; “for in seeing them you bring this thing to completion. You hate it here. Now is our time to leave.”
“你要见他们，”他答道；“因为见了他们你才能将此事做个了断。你也不喜欢这事儿悬在这儿。现在正是我们脱身之时。”
“I won’t see them!” I say.
“我不见他们！”我说道。
He stands and dresses, fastening his collar, his neck-tie. His coat lies neatly on the bed.
他站在一旁，穿戴衣裳，系紧衣领，系好领带。他的外套整整齐齐摆在床上。
He does not answer. He turns, to raise a brush to his head. I lean and seize his coat — find the pocket, the bottle of drops — but he sees, comes quickly to me and plucks it from my hand.
他没答话。他转身，拿起梳子梳理头发。我扑上前抓住他的外套——摸到口袋，还有药瓶——可他看见了，抢步上前将药瓶从我手中劈手夺下。
I have woken from terrible dreams.
我从烦乱不堪的梦中醒来。
“Oh, no,” he says, as he does it. “I won’t have you half in a dream — or risk you muddling the dose, and so spoiling everything! Oh, no. You must be quite clear in your mind.”
“噢，不，”他边抢药瓶边说道。“我不会让你半梦半醒——，然后搅乱一切！噢，不。你心里清楚得很。”
He returns the bottle to the pocket. When I reach again, he dodges.
他将药瓶放回口袋。当我又伸出手，他躲开了。
“Not yet,” he says. “Be good. Work for it.”
“现在不成，”他说道，“你乖一点。”
“Let me have it,” I say. “Richard, let me have it. One drop only, I swear.” My lips jump about the words. He shakes his head, wipes at the nap of the coat to remove the impression of my fingers.
“给我一滴，”我说道。“理查德，给我一滴。只要一滴，我发誓。”我嘴唇颤抖着说出这番话。他摇摇头，
“You shall try, for my sake. For our sake, Maud.”
“你可以为了我尝试一下。为了我们，莫德。”
“I cannot! I shan’t be calm, without a dose of it.”
“我办不到！不服药，我没法冷静。”
“Yes, yes, damn us all, damn us all.” He sighs; then returns to the brushing of his hair. When after a moment I sink back, he catches my eye.
“是啊，是啊，我们都该死，我们都该死。”他叹道；然后转身梳理头发。过了片刻，我倒在床上，他望着我的眼睛。
“Of course,” he says. He pats at his pocket, at the bottle of drops. “Think of London,” he says. “There are druggists on every street corner, there.”
待了片刻，我点点头。“当然，”他说道。他拍拍口袋，拍拍药瓶。“想想伦敦，”他说道。“在那儿，每条街的拐角上都有药店。”
My mouth trembles in scorn. “You think,” I say, “I shall still want my medicine, in London?”
我嘴唇颤抖着，“你以为，”我不屑地说道，“到了伦敦，我还会想服药？”
“Damn you!”
“你真该死！”
“Why throw such a tantrum, hey?” he says, almost kindly. And then: “You are calmer, now? Very good. You know what to do, when they see you? Have Sue make you neat, no more than that. Be modest. Weep if you must, a little. You are sure what to say?”
“为什么发这么大的脾气？哎？”他说道，语气几乎是和善的。“现在冷静多了吧？非常好。等他们来看你，你知道该干什么吧？谦恭一点。让苏把你收拾整齐，别太过了。你肯定知道该说什么？”
I am, despite myself; for we have planned this, many times. I wait, then nod.
我知道，尽管不情愿；因为我们曾多次谋划此事。
He takes them first to talk with Sue. Of course, they suppose her his wife, turned mad, thinking herself a servant, speaking in the manner of a maid, keeping to a maid’s room.
他带他们先去跟苏谈。当然，他们以为她是他的妻子，她变疯了，认为自己是个女仆，以女仆的口吻说话，待在仆人的房间里。
Then he takes up his pen-knife and stands at the fire and cleans his nails — now and then giving a flick of the blade, to cast slivers of dirt, fastidiously, into the flames.
然后他拿起他的铅笔刀，站到壁炉边剔指甲——时不时地弹一下刀片，挑剔地将黑泥条甩到火里。
I hear the creaking of the stairs and floorboards beneath their boots. I hear their voices — low, monotonous — but not their words. Sue’s voice I do not hear at all. I sit upon the bed until they come, and then I stand and curtsey.
我听到他们脚下的楼梯和地板叽噶作响。我听到他们的声音——低沉，单调——却听不清他们的话语。苏的声音我一点也没听到。我坐在床上，一直到他们来，我站起身行了个屈膝礼。
They nod. I say nothing, yet. But I think my look must be strange. I see them studying me. Richard also watches. Then he comes close.
他们点点头。而我并未答话。可我觉得我的表情肯定颇古怪。我见他们在研究我。理查德也在一旁看着。然后他走近我。
The words sound weak, even to my ears. He turns his head, saying nothing, perhaps suppressing a smile.
就连我听来，这番话也颇有些底气不足。他回头，一言不发，也许按捺住了笑意。
“Susan,” says Richard quietly. “My wife’s maid.”
“苏珊，”理查德平静地说道。“内人的女仆。”
“A faithful girl,” he says to the doctors. “Her strength has been sadly overtaxed, these past two weeks.” He makes me walk from the bed to the armchair, puts me in the light of the window. “Sit here,” he says gently, “in your mistress’s chair. Be calm, now. These gentlemen only wish to ask you a number of trifling questions. You must answer them honestly.”
“一个忠心耿耿的姑娘，”他对两位医生说道。“这两周以来，她心力交瘁，不堪重负。”他将我从床边带到扶手椅边，让我坐在窗户投进来的光线里。“坐这儿。”他彬彬有礼地说道。“就坐你小姐的椅子。现在，冷静点。这二位绅士只是想问你几个小问题。你须诚实回答。”
Richard watches.
理查德注视着我们。
“Yes, sir.”
“是的，先生。”
He presses my hand. I think he does it to reassure or to warn me; then I reel his fingers close about one of mine. I still wear my wedding-ring. He draws it free and holds it, hidden, against his palm.
他按住我的手。我以为他这么做是为了打消我的顾虑，要么是警告我；然后我感觉他的手抓住我一根手指。我还戴着那枚结婚戒指。他把戒指取下，攥在手心藏好。
“And your name is Susan Smith?”
“那你名叫苏珊·史密斯？”
“Very good,” says one of the doctors, more satisfied now. The other makes notes in a book. I watch him turn a page and, suddenly, long for paper. “Very good. We have seen your mistress. You do well to think of her comfort and health for — I am sorry to tell you this — we fear she is ill. Very ill indeed. You know she believes her name to be your name, her history one that resembles yours? You know that?”
“很好，”一位医生说道，他此时露出较满意的神色。另一位在本子上做记录。我见他翻过一页，忽然间，我心头涌起对纸张的渴望。“很好。我们已经见了你家小姐。你想她舒适健康，你做的没错——我遗憾地告诉你——我们恐怕她身染疾患。病情非常严重。你可知道，她坚信你的名姓就是她的名姓，她的过去跟你的过去几乎一样，这些都你知道吗？”
“Yes, sir,” I say, in a whisper.
“是的，先生。”我低声说道。
I nod.
我点头。
“And you were maid to Mrs Rivers — Miss Lilly, as was — in her uncle’s house, of Briar, before her marriage?”
“你是瑞富斯太太的仆人——就是曾经的李小姐——在她舅舅的府邸布莱尔里？在她婚前？”
“No, sir. I never heard of them. They are all Mrs Rivers’s fancy.”
“不曾，先生。我从未听说过这家人。他们都是瑞富斯太太幻想出来的。”
“And before that — where was your place? Not with a family named Dunraven, at the supposed address of Whelk Street, Mayfair?”
“在这之前——你在何处？不曾在一户据说住在梅菲尔的威尔克街，名为邓禄文的人家里做过仆人？”
I swallow. “Mrs Rivers has often seemed strange,” I say quietly. “The servants at Briar would speak of her as of a lady not quite right, in the brain. I believe her mother was mad, sir.”
我咽了口唾沫。“瑞富斯太太以前就经常举止怪异。”我平静地说道。“布莱尔的仆人们议论时，都说她是个脑筋不太好的女士。我知道她母亲是个疯子，先生。”
“Yes, sir,” I say. I gaze at the floor. The boards are scuffed, there are splinters rising from the wood, thick as needles.
“是，先生，”我说道。我盯着地板。地板磨损处有些木屑翘起，如针丛一般。
I speak, as a servant might. And I name, reluctantly, some other house and family — some family of Richard’s acquaintance, who might be relied on to provide the history we need, if the doctors think to seek them out. We do not think they will, however.
我叙述着，以仆人的语气。我心怀厌恶说出一些府邸和人家——一些同理查德相熟的人家。这都是可靠的人，假使医生们想把他们找出来，他们会提供我们需要的背景旁证。
The doctor nods again. “And Mrs Rivers,” he says. “You speak of her “fancy”. When did such fancies begin?”
医生又点头。“瑞富斯太太，”他说道。“你说到她的”幻想“，这种幻想从何时开始？”
“Now, now,” says Richard smoothly, interrupting. “The doctors don’t want to hear the gossip of servants. Go on with your observations, only.”
“好的，好的，”理查德适时插话。“医生可不想听仆人的闲言碎语。继续说你观察到的事儿，别扯远了。”
“And Mrs Rivers’s marriage,” says the doctor. “How did that affect her?”
“瑞富斯太太的婚姻，”医生说道。“又是如何影响到她呢？”
“It was that, sir,” I say, “which made the change in her. Before that time, she had seemed to love Mr Rivers; and we had all at Briar supposed his care, which was’ — I catch Richard’s eye — “so good, sir! — we had all supposed it would lift her out of herself. Then, since her wedding-night, she has started up very queer…”
“正是她的婚姻，先生，”我说道，“令她内里有了变化。婚前，她似乎是爱瑞富斯先生的；我们在布莱尔设想过，瑞富斯先生的关爱，那将是”——我直视理查德的眼睛——“多么细致周到，先生！——我们都以为这能令她摆脱自我。然后，她新婚之夜以来，她变的愈发古怪…”
The doctor looks at his colleague. “You hear,” he says, “how well the account matches Mrs Rivers’s own? It is quite remarkable! — as if, in making a burden of her life, she seeks to hand that burden to another, better able to bear it. She has made a fiction of herself!” He returns to me. “A fiction, indeed,” he says thoughtfully. “Tell me this, Miss Smith: does your mistress care for books? for reading?”
医生望着他的同事。“你听说，”他说道，“瑞富斯太太自己名下的户头里有多少钱吗？那是笔惊人的财富！——似乎，倒成了她生活中的一个负担，她孜孜以求，要将这负担转嫁到他人身上，以便更好地承受这些事儿。她自己制造出一个幻象！”他转向我。“一个幻象，确实是，”他思虑着说道。“跟我说说，史密斯小姐：你的女主人喜欢书籍吗？喜欢阅读吗？”
I meet his gaze, but my throat seems to close, or be splintered, like the boards on the floor. I cannot answer. Richard speaks in my behalf. “My wife,” he says, “was born to a literary life. Her uncle, who raised her, is a man dedicated to the pursuit of learning, and saw to her education as he might have seen to a son’s. Mrs Rivers’s first passion was books.”
我看到他的目光，可我喉头好象堵住了，要么就是碎裂开了，就好象地上的木板。我无法作答。理查德替我说出来。“内人，”他说道，“出生于书香门第。她舅舅一生致力于求知治学，是他将她抚养成人，将她视为己出，当作自己的孩子。内人的第一嗜好就是书籍。”
“There you have it!” says the doctor. “Her uncle, an admirable gentleman I don’t doubt. But the over-exposure of girls to literature — The founding of women’s colleges –” His brow is sleek with sweat. “We are raising a nation of brain-cultured women. Your wife’s distress, I’m afraid to say, is part of a wider malaise. I fear for the future of our race, Mr Rivers, I may tell you now. And her wedding-night, you say, the start of this most recent bout of insanity? Could that” — he drops his voice meaningfully, and exchanges a glance with the doctor who writes — “be plainer?” He taps at his lip. “I saw how she shrank from my touch, when I felt for the pulse at her wrist. I noted, too, that she wears no marriage ring.”
医生说道。“她的舅舅，一位令人钦佩的绅士，这一点我毫不怀疑。但是，让姑娘们看太多文献著作——成立女子公学——”他眉毛因汗湿而变的油滑。“我们正在建设一个妇女心智开化的国家。恐怕我得说，你太太的疾患，是广泛蔓延的抑郁情绪的一部分。现在我可以告诉你，瑞富斯先生，我为我们种族的前途忧心忡忡。她的新婚之夜，你说，是最近一次精神错乱爆发的起始？能否”——他意味深长地压低声音，跟记录的医生对视一眼——“说得更直白些？”。他轻叩着嘴唇。“我看到，当我要为她把脉，一碰她，她就缩起来。我也注意到，她没戴结婚戒指。”
“A wretched case,” says the doctor. “But we will work on your wife, you may be sure, to shake her of her unnatural fancy –“
“可怜的病例。”医生说道。“不过你尽可以放心，我们会诊治你太太，动摇她违背自然的幻想——”
“You might imagine the sensations that produced, sir, in my breast.” He puts his hand to his eyes, and sits heavily upon the bed; then rises, as if in horror. “This bed!” he says hoarsely. “Our marriage-bed, I thought it. To think my wife would rather the room of a servant, a pallet of straw –!” He shudders. That’s enough, I think. No more. But he is a man in love with his own roguery.
“你可以想象一下我胸中的感受，先生。”他手捂住眼睛，人重重地坐到床上；随后又站起来，仿佛心怀恐惧。“这张床！”他声音嘶哑地说道。“我们的婚床，我原以为。一想到我妻子宁可住仆人的房间，睡在草垫上——！”他浑身颤抖。够了。我心想。再别出洋相了。可他是个沉浸于自己流氓行径而不能自拔的男人。
“Here it is,” he says gravely, holding out the yellow band. “She put it from her, with a curse. — For she speaks like a servant now, and thinks nothing of mouthing filthy words. God knows where she learned them!” He bites at his lip.
“在这儿。”他神色严峻地说道，拿着黄色带子。“她，上帝晓得她从哪里学到那些脏话！”他咬着嘴唇。
Richard starts into life at the words, and pretends to draw something from his pocket. They say fortune favours villains.
听到这话，理查德回过神来，作势从口袋里拿出样东西。人们说财富偏爱坏蛋。
Unnatural?” says Richard. He shudders again. His look grows strange. “Ah sir,” he says, “you don’t know all. There is something else. I had hoped to keep it from you. I feel now, I cannot.”
“违背自然？”理查德说道。他又浑身发抖。他表情变的怪异。“啊，先生，你都不知道。还有件事。我本打算不说。现在我觉得，我不能不告诉你。”
He bites at his hand. The doctors stare, then turn to gaze at me.
他咬住自己的手。两位医生瞪大了眼睛，转过来盯着我。
“Indeed?” says the doctor. The other pauses, his pencil raised.
“是吗？”医生说道。旁边的那位停下来，铅笔抬起来。
Richard wets his mouth; and all at once I know what he means to say, and quickly turn my face to his. He marks it. He speaks, before I can.
理查德舔舔嘴唇；电光火石之间，我知道他要说什么了，立即扭头望着他。他看在眼里。他抢在我前面开口。
“Surely,” says Richard, coming to me, putting his hand heavily upon my shoulder, “surely these tears speak for themselves? Do we need to name the unhappy passion? Must we oblige Miss Smith to rehearse the words, the artful poses — the caresses — to which my distracted wife has made her subject? Aren’t we gentlemen?”
“难道，”理查德走过来，手用力放在我肩上，“难道这些泪水不能为它们自己表白吗？我们非要说出那些不开心的心事？我们非要逼史密斯小姐复述那些言语，那些外人难以察觉的身体侵犯——我那脑筋错乱的妻子逼迫她承受的——爱抚？我们还是绅士吗？”
“Susan,” he says, “you do well to feel shame in behalf of your mistress. You need feel none, however, in behalf of yourself. No guilt attaches to you. You did nothing to invite or encourage the gross attentions my wife, in her madness, attempted to force on you –“
“苏珊，”他说道，“你为你小姐的行为而感到羞愧，你做的对。可你无须为你的行为感到羞耻。你并未勾引我太太，也未曾怂恿她滋生那令人恶心的兴趣，你并未令她疯病发作，令她试图强迫你——”
“Miss Smith?”
“史密斯小姐？”
“Miss Smith,” says the first, leaning closer, “is this true?”
“史密斯小姐，”先前那位躬身凑近我说道，“这是真的？”
I think of Sue. I think of her, not as she must be now, in the room beyond the wall — satisfied to have betrayed me, glad to suppose herself about to return at last to her home, the dark thieves’ den, in London. I think of her holding herself above me, her hair let down, You pearl…
我想起苏。此时她在隔壁房间，定然为出卖了我而心满意足，喜滋滋地设想自己终于要回家了，回到伦敦那个阴暗的贼窝中。我想起她，并非这些场景。我想起她伏在我身上，头发落下，你是珍珠…
I have begun to weep.
我开始哭泣。
“Of course,” says the doctor quickly, moving back. “Of course. Miss Smith, your grief does you credit. You need not fear for your safety, now. You need not fear for the safety of your mistress. Her care will soon be our concern, not yours. Then we shall keep her, and cure her of all her ills. Mr Rivers, you understand — a case such as this — the treatment may well be a lengthy one…?”
“当然，”那医生退了回去，他飞快地说道。“当然。史密斯小姐，现在你不必再为安全而担惊受怕。你也不必再为你小姐的安全而担惊受怕。而不再是你们的。然后我们会收留她，治疗她身上所有的疾患。瑞富斯先生，你可明白——象这种病例——疗程会非常漫长…”
Then he comes back. He closes the door. He steps to me and tosses the wedding-ring into my lap. He rubs his hands together and almost capers.
然后他回到楼上。他关好门，走过来将结婚戒指扔到我腿上。他搓着双手，差点要欢呼雀跃了。
They rise. They have brought papers, and look for a surface on which to put them out. Richard clears the dressing-table of brushes and pins and they lay them there, then sign: a paper each. I don’t watch them do it, but hear the grinding of the pen. I hear them moving together, to shake each others hands.
他们站起身。他们带来了文件，要找个地方拿出来。理查德清理了梳妆台上的梳子和别针，他们就将文件放在梳妆台上，然后签字：每页都签。我没去看他们签署文件，却听到钢笔的沙沙声。我听到他们走到一处，握手致意。
The staircase thunders as they go down. I keep in my seat beside the window. Richard stands in the path to the house while they drive off.
他们下楼时，楼梯被踩得山响。我还坐在窗边。理查德站在门前小径上，目送他们乘车离开。
“You devil,” I say, without passion, wiping the tears from my cheek.
“你这恶魔，”我擦去脸上的泪珠儿，不带一丝感情地说道。
Then Sue comes from her room, to knock upon our door. He keeps his pose, but calls for her to enter.
这时，苏从她房间过来，敲响我们的房门。他姿势不变，却喊她进来。
“Look at me,” he says, “and tell me, honestly, that you don’t admire me.”
“看着我，”他说道，“诚实地告诉我，你并不欣赏我。”
“I hate you.”
“我恨你。”
He snorts. He moves to the back of my chair and puts his hands to my head, one hand to either side of my face; then tilts it back until our gazes meet.
他嗤之以鼻。他走到我身后，双手捧着我的头，将我的脸扳过去，直扳到我们目光相交。
“Hate yourself, then. We’re alike, you and I. More alike than you know. You think the world ought to love us, for the kinks in the fibres of our hearts? The world scorns us. Thank God it does! There was never a profit to be got from love; from scorn, however, you may twist riches, as filthy water may be wrung from a cloth. You know it is true. You are like me. I say it again: hate me, hate yourself.”
“那就是恨你自己。我们很相象，你和我。比你了解的还要相象。你以为这世界应该关爱我们，为了我们心头上的这些纠结？这个世界蔑视我们。感谢上帝这世界藐视我们！从爱情里我们什么好处也捞不到，可是从蔑视里，你可以迂回获利，就好象衣裳里能拧出脏水。你知道这是真理。你象我。我再说一遍：恨我，就是恨你自己。”
She comes to dress me, for the final time.
她过来，最后一次为我更衣。
I close my eyes. I say, “I do.”
我闭上眼睛。我说道，“我是恨我自己。”
His hands are warm upon my face, at least.
至少他的手在我的脸上是温暖的。
“Look here,” he says when she does, his voice quite changed, “at your mistress. Don’t you think her eyes a little brighter…?”
“瞧瞧这儿，”待她进来，他说道，声音全变了。“瞧瞧你的小姐。你不觉得她的眼睛亮一些了吗…？”
We leave next day, for the madhouse.
次日我们就走了，去疯人院。
“Thank you, Sue,” I say, in the old soft way, each time she hooks a button or draws a lace. I wear, still, the gown in which I left Briar, that is spotted with mud and river-water. She wears my gown of silk — blue silk, against which the white of her wrists and throat is turned to the colour of cream, and the browns or her hair and eyes are made rich. She has grown handsome. She moves about the room, taking up my linen, my shoes, my brushes and pins, and putting them carefully in bags. Two bags, there are: one destined for London, the other for the madhouse — the first, as she supposes, for herself; the second for me.
“谢谢你，苏，”她每扣上一粒纽扣，或系好一根带子，我都以旧有的语气柔声向她道谢。我还是穿离开布莱尔时的衣裳，上面沾了些泥点和河水。她穿我的丝绸裙子——蓝色丝绸，将她手腕和脖颈的雪白肌肤衬出凝脂颜色，秀发和眼眸的褐色愈发鲜明。她变漂亮了。她在屋里走来走去，收拾我的亚麻衣裳、鞋、梳子和发卡，她仔细地将这些家什收进包里。有两个包：一个要去伦敦，另一个去疯人院——前者，她以为，给她自己，后者给我。
It is hard to watch her make her choices — to see her frown over a petticoat, a pair of stockings or shoes, to know she is thinking, These will surely be good enough for mad people and doctors. This she ought to take, in case the nights are cool. Now, that and those (the bottle of drops, my gloves) she must have. — I move them, when she leaves me, and place them deep in the other bag. And one other thing I put with them, that she does not know I keep: the silver thimble, from the sewing-box at Briar, with which she smoothed my pointed tooth.
见到她在两个包之间挑来选去，这着实令人痛苦——眼见她对着一条裙子，一双袜子或一双鞋皱起眉头，心知她在思量，这些给疯子和医生真的够好了。这个她得带走，万一夜里冷。现在，行李和那些家什（那瓶药水，和我的手套）现在，那个包和那些家什（那瓶药水，和我的手套）必须由她带着。——趁她走开的工夫，我将那些家什拿出来，塞到另一个包的深处。跟这些家什放在一道的，还有一样东西，她不知道我保留着：那枚银顶针，从布莱尔的针线盒里带过来，就是她拿来帮我磨牙的银顶针。
The coach comes, sooner than I think it will.
马车来了，比我意料中来的快。
“Thank God,” says Richard. He carries his hat. He is too tall for this low and tilting house: when we step outside, he stretches. I have kept to my room so long, however, the day feels vast to me.
“感谢上帝，”理查德说道。他手拿着帽子。对这间矮小歪斜的屋子而言，他太高大了：等我们走到屋外，他就伸了个懒腰。而我在房里待得太久，日光轰然扑来，令我猝不及防。
Then we drive. I feel it, as more than a matter of galloping horses and turning wheels. It is like an undoing of my first journey, with Mrs Stiles, from the madhouse to Briar: I put my face to the window as the carriage slows, and almost expect to see the house and the mothers I was snatched from. I should remember them still, I know it. But, that house was large. This one is smaller, and lighter. It has rooms for female lunatics, only. That house was set in bare earth. This one has a bed of flowers beside its door — tall flowers, with tips like spikes.
于是我们上路。我感觉这行程不仅仅是马匹的鼻息和飞转的车轮。这好象是我首次旅行的重演，跟斯黛尔太太一道，从疯人院到布莱尔：当车慢下来，我将脸凑到车窗前，几乎心怀期盼，想看到我被他们强行带离的那栋房子，和那些妈妈们。我应该还记着她们，我心里明白。然而，那所疯人院比较大。这所小一些，敞亮一些。这儿的病房只供女病人。那所疯人院突兀地矗立在大地上。这所疯人院门边上有个花池——高高的花丛，长着象长钉似的花蕊。
I walk with Sue’s arm gripped in mine, and at the door of the coach, when I must give it up — give it up, for ever! — I think I hesitate.
我紧紧挽着苏的胳膊，走到马车门边上，等我必须要放开她——永远地放开！——我想我犹豫了一下。
“Now, now,” says Richard, taking my hand from her. “No time for sentiment.”
“现在，现在，”理查德从她身上抓过我的手，说道。“没时间多愁善感了。”
Then they take her. He helps her into their hands, and stands before me at the door, looking out.
然后他们捉住了她。他相帮着将她推到他们手里，然后挡在我身前，站在马车门旁，看着外面。
“Speak,” he whispers, “damn you.” Then I sing out, clear, mechanically: “Oh! My own poor mistress!” Her brown eyes — wide — with that darker fleck. Her tumbling hair. “Oh! Oh! My heart is breaking!”
“说话，”他低声说道，“你真该死。”于是我机械地大声喊道：“噢，我可怜的女主人！”我话音清晰，她褐色的双眼——怒睁着——带着那块深色的斑点。她甩着头发。“噢！噢！我的心碎了！”
“Don’t be afraid,” he says.
“别害怕，”他说道。
“Wait,” I hear her say. “What are you doing?” Then: “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” — an odd and formal phrase.
“等等，”我听到她说。“你们干什么？”接着是：“绅士！绅士！”——一个怪异又正经的词语。
The doctors speak in soothing tones, until she begins to curse; then their voices grow hard. Richard draws back. The floor of the carriage tilts, the doorway rises, and I see her — the two men’s hands upon her arms, a nurse gripping her waist. Her cloak is falling from her shoulders, her hat is tilted, her hair is tearing from its pins. Her face is red and white. Her look is wild, already. Her eyes are fixed on mine. I sit like a stone, until Richard takes my arm and presses, hard, upon my wrist.
医生们温言相劝，直劝得她破口大骂；于是他们声音也变严厉了。理查德退回来，马车地板斜了，踏步收起，我看她——两个男人手抓着她胳膊，一个护士攥着她的手腕。她的斗篷从肩头滑落，帽子翘起，发丝从发卡上散出来。她的面孔红白相间。她的神情已经疯狂。她眼睛牢牢地盯着我。我端坐如磐石，直到理查德抓住我胳膊，用力捏了下我手腕。
The cry seems to ring about the coach, even after Richard has swung closed the door and the driver whipped the horse into life and turned us. We do not speak. Beside Richard’s head is a lozenge-shaped window of milky glass, and for a moment I see her again: still struggling, lifting her arm to point or reach — Then the road makes a dip. There come trees. I take off my wedding-ring and throw it to the floor. I find, in my bag, a pair of gloves, and draw them on. Richard watches my trembling hands.
即便理查德关紧了车门，车夫扬鞭策马带我们调了头，那哭喊声仿佛还萦绕在马车周围。我们都没说话。理查德头旁边有扇镶着乳白玻璃的菱形窗户，有一瞬我又看到她：她仍旧在挣扎，扬着胳膊，是要指点什么，还是要抓住什么——这时马车下了坡。马车驶入树林中。我取下结婚戒指，扔到地板上，又从包里找出一副手套戴上。理查德望着我颤抖的双手。
I fall back in my seat. Richard catches my eye.
我跌落回座位上。理查德盯着我的眼睛。
He blinks, and attempts to smile. But his mouth moves strangely and his face, behind his beard, is perfectly white. He folds his arms. He sits, first one way and then another. He crosses and uncrosses his legs. At length he takes a cigarette from his pocket, and a match, and tries to draw down the carriage window. It will not come. His hands are damp, grow damper, and finally slide upon the glass. “Damn this!” he cries then. He rises, staggers, beats upon the ceiling for the driver to stop the horse, then fumbles with the key. We have gone no more than a mile or two, but he jumps to the ground and paces, coughs. He puts his hand to the lock of springing hair at his brow, many times. I watch him.
他眨眨眼，想挤出个笑容。可他的嘴巴尴尬地扯了扯，他胡须下面的皮肤分外苍白。他双臂交抱在胸前，坐在那里，一会这个姿势，一会那个姿势，一会翘个二郎腿，一会又放下腿。最后他从口袋里拿出香烟和火柴，又想拉开马车窗户。窗户拉不开。他手潮了，又变得更潮，终于从窗玻璃上滑开了。于是他叫道，“真该死！”他站起来，人摇摇晃晃地，敲打车顶，叫车夫勒住马，然后摸出钥匙。我们只走了一两哩地，而他却跳到地上，度步，咳嗽。他多次抬手扶起额头落下的头发。我望着他。
“Don’t speak to me,” I say, almost spitting the words. “If you speak to me, I shall kill you.”
“别跟我讲话，”我脱口而出道，“再跟我讲话，我就杀了你。”
“How like a villain,” I say, when he takes his seat again, “you are now.”
“真象个恶棍，”等他重又落座，我说道，“你现在。”
“And how like a lady, you!” he answers, with a sneer.
“真象个淑女，你！”他面带冷笑回应道。
Then he turns his face from me, rests his head against the jolting cushion; and pretends, with twitching eye-lids, to sleep.
然后他脸转过去不再看我，他头枕着靠垫假寐，眼皮却还颤动着。
“Well –” he says.
“好了——”他说道。
We make part of our journey like this, but then must give up the asylum carriage and take a train. I have never ridden a train before. We wait at a country station. We wait at an inn, since Richard is still afraid that my uncle will have sent out men to watch for us. He has the landlord put us in a private room and bring me tea and bread-and-butter. I will not look at the tray. The tea grows brown and cool, the bread curls. He stands at the fire and rattles the coins in his pocket, then bursts out: “God damn you, do you think I take food for you, for free?” He eats the bread-and-butter himself. “I hope I see my money soon,” he says. “God knows I need it, after three months with you and your uncle, doing what he calls a gentleman’s labour, receiving wages that would barely keep a proper gentleman in cuffs. Where’s that damn porter? How much do they mean to swindle me of for our tickets, I wonder?”
我们如此这般走了一程，然后不能再乘疯人院的马车了，须改乘火车。此前我从未乘过火车。我们在一个乡间小站候车。我们等在一间小客栈里，因为理查德怕我舅舅会派人来找我们。他让店家带我们进了一间私房，还让店家给我端来了茶、面包和黄油。那托盘我看也没看一眼。茶变黑了，面包干得卷起来。他站在壁炉边，将口袋里的硬币摆弄得叮当作响，然后他发作了：“老天要惩罚你，你因为我给你找吃的来，是不要钱的？”他自己把面包和黄油都吃了。“我希望马上就见到我的钱。”他说道。“跟你和你舅舅一起待了三个月，干了他所谓君子之行的差事，得了点酬劳，才刚刚够维持绅士体面，上帝知道我需要钱。那个该死的行李员呢？我很想知道，他们打算敲到多少钱，才肯卖给我们车票？”
My own eyes stay open. I gaze through the lozenge of glass at the road we have travelled — a winding red road, made cloudy by dust, like a thread of blood escaping from my heart.
我双眼还睁着。我目光穿过菱形窗户，落到我们走过的路上——一条曲折的红土之路，烟尘弥漫，仿佛是一道由我心中流出的鲜血绘成的线。
At last a boy appears to fetch us and take our bags. We stand on the station platform and study the rails. They shine, as if polished. In time they begin to purr, and then — unpleasantly, like nerves in failing teeth — to hum. The hum becomes a shriek. Then the train comes hurtling about the track, a plume of smoke at its head, its many doors unfolding.
终于有个小男孩出来接应我们，还帮我们提了包。我们站在月台上，研究起路轨来。那路轨闪闪发光，仿佛被抛过光。很快，路轨开始咕噜有声，然后是——好象坏牙里的牙神经一般，令人不适的——嗡嗡响。嗡嗡声变成了凄厉的尖啸。这时，火车循着路轨飞奔而来，车头冒着一股长烟，车身上有好些门，都紧闭着。
“That I must pay a man to think me lewd, so I may sit chastely, with my own little virgin of a wife! Let me tell you now, I am keeping a separate account of the costs of this journey, to charge against your share.”
“我得给别人塞了钱，让别人以为我是个下流胚，才能跟我纯洁无瑕的小新娘相安无事地待在一起！我现在告诉你，这趟行程的花费我另记着一笔帐，得从你那份钱里出。”
I keep my veil about my face. Richard hands a coin to the guard, saying easily: “You’ll see to it, perhaps, that my wife and I are kept quite private, till London?”
我一直戴着面纱。理查得给了列车员一个硬币，轻松地说道：“或许，你乐意见到我太太和我能够不被打扰，平安抵达伦敦？”
I say nothing. The train has shuddered, as if beaten with hammers, and now begins to roll upon its tracks. I feel the growing speed of it, and grip the hanging strap of leather until my hand cramps and blisters in its glove.
我没言语。火车原本震颤着，仿佛给重锤敲击了。此时车轮开始转动。我感觉到车在加速，就抓住挂在一旁的皮带环儿，抓得手汗湿了，手在手套里还起了水泡。
The guard says he will; and when Richard comes and takes his place in the coach across from me he is more peevish than ever.
列车员说他乐意；而理查德过来在我对面就座时，他愈发恼怒了。
So the journey proceeds. It seems to me that we must cross vast distances of space. — For you will understand that my sense of distance and space is rather strange.
于是行程得以继续。对我来说，我们似乎必须穿越万水千山。——因为你会明白我对于距离和空间的判断力是非常奇异的。
Though we have come so swiftly we have travelled no more than twenty miles, and have another thirty to go. I sit, still gripping the strap, leaning close to the glass; but the station is filled with men and women — the women in groups, the men idly walking; and from them I shrink. Soon the train gives a hiss, and gathers its bulk, and shudders back into terrible life.
我们马不停蹄赶到这儿，却也只走了不到二十哩路，还要再赶三十哩。我坐在原处，手仍抓着皮带环儿，身子歪到车窗边；这车站里满眼都是男男女女——女人们成群结队，男人们悠闲地漫步；一看到他们，我又缩回去。片刻后，火车发出一声嘶叫，车厢稍许退后，火车又在颤动中启程了。
They do not. The engine speeds us onward, then slows, and again there are streets and the spires of churches — more streets and spires than I have yet seen; more houses, and between them a steady traffic of cattle and vehicles and people. London! I think, with a lurch of my heart. But Richard studies me as I gaze, and smiles unpleasantly. “Your natural home,” he says. We stop at the station and I see the name of it: MAIDENHEAD.
他们没把火车弄翻。机车带我们飞快前进，然后车慢下来，外面又见街巷和教堂的尖顶——街巷和尖顶比我刚才看到的多；屋舍林立，其间人来车往，熙熙攘攘。伦敦！我心绪复杂地想。而我望着外边时，理查德一直注视着我，他露出令人厌恶的笑容。“你的老家到了。”他说道。火车在此站停留，我看到站名：梅登海德站。
We stop at a village of red-bricked houses, and then at another, very similar; and then at a third, rather larger. At every station there is what seems to me a press of people clamouring to board, the thud and shake of slamming doors. I am afraid the crowds will overburden the train — perhaps overturn it. I think, I deserve to be crushed in the wreck of a train; and almost hope they do.
我们先在一个小村车站停车，村里房子都是红砖砌的；而后是另一个小村站，跟上一站的村子非常相似；接着是第三个村子，比之前的很是大一些。在我看来，似乎每到一站，都是人群排山倒海地涌上来，呼喝叫嚷着往车上挤，车门开合时砰砰作响，颤抖不已。我怕这么些乘客，要把车厢撑破了——或者挤翻了。我想，要是我在火车失事中被碾得粉碎，那也是我的报应；我简直希望这些人把火车挤翻了。
I say, “Don’t look at me.”
我说道，“不要看我。”
I wonder if Sue is very much injured. I wonder what kind of place they have her in, now.
我想知道苏是否会受太多委屈。我想知道此刻他们把她关在何种地方。
Richard tries to see beyond my veil. “You’re not weeping, are you?” he says. “Come on, don’t trouble over it still.”
理查德想看清我面纱后的神情，“你没哭吧？哭了吗？”他说道。“好了，再别为这事儿伤神啦。”
“Should you rather be back at Briar, with the books? You know you should not. You know you have wanted this. You’ll forget, soon, the manner in which you got it. Believe me, I know these things. You must only be patient. We must both be patient now. We have many weeks to pass together, before the fortune becomes ours. I am sorry I spoke harshly, before. Come, Maud. We shall be at London, soon. Things will seem different to you there, I assure you…”
“难道你宁愿回到布莱尔，与书为伴？你知道你不想。你知道你想要这个。你马上就会忘记你是以何种方式取得这一切。相信我，我最清楚这种事。你只须耐心一些。现在我们都得耐心一些。在财富到手之前，我们有好几个星期要待在一起。之前我讲话很不客气，我很抱歉。来吧，莫德。我们马上就到伦敦。到了那儿，你看事情也许就不一样了，我跟你打保票…”
We leave the streets of Maidenhead. We pass through trees. Beyond the trees there are open parklands, and houses — some as great as my uncle’s, some greater. Here and there are cottages with pens of pigs, with gardens set with broken sticks for climbing beans, and hung with lines of laundry. Where the lines are full there is laundry hung from windows, from trees, on bushes, on chairs, between the shafts of broken carts — laundry everywhere, drooping and yellow. I keep my pose and watch it all. Look, Maud, I think. Here is your future. Here’s all your liberty, unfolding like a bolt of cloth…
我们离开了梅登海德的街市。火车穿过树林，树林那边有开阔的草地和房舍——有些房舍跟我舅舅的宅子一样宏伟，有些则更宏大。各处都是农舍，农舍旁边是猪圈和菜园，猪圈由围栏围起，菜园里竖着豆角架，晾衣绳上挂着洗晒的衣裳。那些挂满衣裳的晾衣绳上，衣裳从这扇窗挂到那扇窗，从这棵树到那棵树，也有摊在灌木丛上的，搭在椅子背上或手推车把手之间的——到处都挂着洗晒的衣裳，黄颜色的，耷拉下来。我姿势不变，将这一切尽收眼底。看吧，莫德，我心想。这里是你的未来。这里就是你的自由生活，如同一卷衣料般展现开来…
I do not answer. At last, with a curse, he gives it up. The day is darkening now — or rather, the sky is darkening, as we draw close to the city. There come streaks of soot upon the glass. The landscape is slowly growing meaner. The cottages have begun to be replaced by wooden dwellings, some with broken windows and boards. The gardens are giving way to patches of weed; soon the weed gives way to ditches, the ditches to dark canals, to dreary wastes of road, to mounds of stones or soil or ashes. Still, Even ashes, I think, are a part of your freedom — and I feel, despite myself, the kindling in me of a sort of excitement. But then, the excitement becomes unease. I have always supposed London a place, like a house in a park, with walls: I’ve imagined it rising, straight and clean and solid. I have not supposed it would sprawl so brokenly, through villages and suburbs. I’ve believed it complete: but now, as I watch, there come stretches of wet red land, and gaping trenches; now come half-built houses, and half-built churches, with glassless windows and slateless roofs and jutting spars of wood, naked as bones.
我没答话。最后，他咒骂了一句，就放弃了。此时，天色渐暗——或者更应说是天空渐暗，我们离这都市愈发近了。车窗玻璃上出现了几道煤烟印子。窗外景象渐渐变得破败简陋。农舍为木屋取而代之，有些木屋的窗户和木板都残破不堪。菜园中野草丛生，野草中沟渠纵横，沟渠引向黑黢黢的运河，引向凄凉的荒路，引向一堆堆土石灰烬。那沉寂不动的灰烬，我心里念道，也是你自由生活的一部分——我感觉内心有某种骚动激发出来，尽管我恨自己有这种感觉（despite myself）。可是马上，这骚动变成了不安。我一直以为伦敦是一个地方（a place），就象花园里的一幢房子，还有围墙围着：我想象过，那围墙高而直，干净又坚固。我从未设想过，伦敦会在整片的村庄和郊区乱七八糟地铺下个烂摊子。我刚以为这烂摊子摆完了：然而，正如我所见，一下是广袤潮湿的红土地和交错纵横的地沟；一下是盖了一半的房子，和盖了一半的教堂，房子窗户未装玻璃，房顶未上片瓦，木头椽子如同骨头一般露在外面。
— LEAD COFFINS.
——铅制保险柜。
— SUPPORTED ENTIRELY.
——完全支持。
— BROUGHAMS & NEAT CARRIAGES.
——汽车马车。
— PAPER-STAINERS.
——纸张用颜料。
— LEATHER AND GRINDERY.
——皮革制革原料。
There are words, all over the face of London. I see them, and cover my eyes. When I look again we have sunk: brick walls, thick with soot, have risen about the train and cast the coach in gloom. Then comes a great, vast, vaulting roof of tarnished glass, hung about with threads of smoke and steam and fluttering birds. We shudder to a frightful halt. There is the shrieking of other engines, a thudding of doors, the pressing passage — it seems to me — of a thousand, thousand people.
都是文字，遍布伦敦。我见了这些文字，抬手掩住双眼。等我放手再看，火车在下坡：砖墙，布满煤灰的砖墙，出现在火车两旁，将车厢投入到一派阴霾之中。接着是一个硕大无朋的圆形玻璃屋顶，高悬上空，玻璃暗淡无光，其下烟雾袅袅，水汽缭绕，几只鸟儿扑扇着翅膀。于战栗中，我们迎来一回令人心惊肉跳的停车。这时，旁边的火车发出长啸，车门乒乒乓乓地纷纷打开，过道里水泄不通——在我眼中——似乎挤着成千上万，成千上万的人。
Words, everywhere. Words, six-feet high. Words, shrieking and bellowing:
文字，无处不在。文字，六尺高。文字，尖叫着咆哮着：
— SHOP TO LET.
——旺铺招租。
— SPANISH BLINDS.
——西班牙百叶窗。
— OIL TALLOW & COTTON WASTE.
——牛油废棉。
— BY VOLUNTARY SUBSCRIPTION.
——志愿捐献。
— TO LET!
——招租！
Now there are so many smuts upon the glass they show like faults in the fabric of my veil. The train begins to rise. I don’t like the sensation. We begin to cross streets — grey streets, black streets — so many monotonous streets, I think I shall never be able to tell them apart! Such a chaos of doors and windows, of roofs and chimneys, of horses and coaches and men and women! Such a muddle of hoardings and garish signs:
现在，车窗上沾染了许多煤烟印子，看上去倒象是我面纱上有瑕疵。火车开始上坡，我不喜欢这种感觉。火车开始穿越街道——灰色的街道，黑色的街道——这么多单调的、并无二致的街道，我想我永远都无法将它们分辨开来！这杂乱无章的门窗，屋顶烟囱，马匹马车，还有善男信女！这令人眼晕的广告牌，还有艳俗的招牌：
— TO LET!
——招租！
A whistle is blown and men, in dark suits — ordinary men, gentlemen — pass by us, running. We take our place in the hackney at last, and are jerked out of the terminus into choked and filthy roads. Richard feels me tense. “Are you startled, by the streets?” he says. “We must pass through worse, I’m afraid. What did you expect? This is the city, where respectable men live side by side with squalor. Don’t mind it. Don’t mind it at all. We are going to your new home.”
这时候，一声呼哨响起，一群人，穿着深色衣裳——有普通人，也有绅士——从我们身边跑过去。最后我们上了出租马车。马车抽抽着离开车站，驶上肮脏而拥堵的马路。理查德发觉出我的紧张。“你是否被这些街景惊吓住了？”他说道。“恐怕我们还得经过一些更不堪的街道。你原先指望什么来着？这是都市，是名流富豪与穷鬼比邻而居的地方。别在意这个。压根就别在意这个。我们要去你的新家了。”
“Paddington terminus,” says Richard. “Come on.”
“终点帕丁顿站，”理查德说道。“来吧。”
He moves and speaks more quickly here. He is changed. He does not look at me — I wish he would, now. He finds a man to take our bags. We stand in a line of people — a queue, I know the word — and wait for a carriage — a hackney, I know that word also, from my uncle’s books. One may kiss in a hackney; one may take any kind of liberty with one’s lover; one tells one’s driver to go about the Regent’s Park. I know London. London is a city of opportunities fulfilled. This place, of jostling and clamour, I do not know. It is thick with purposes I do not understand. It is marked with words, but I cannot read it. The regularity, the numberless repetition, of brick, of house, of street, of person — of dress, and feature, and expression — stuns and exhausts me. I stand at Richard’s side and keep my arm in his. If he should leave me –!
这时他言行都麻利起来。他变了。他看也不看我——现在我希望他看看我。他找了个人帮我们提包。我们站在队伍里——队列，我知道这个词——等马车——出租马车，我也知道这个词，从我舅舅的书里看来的。人们可以在出租马车里接吻；人们可以跟他们的情人在车里自由自在，人们可以告诉他们的车夫到摄政公园去。我了解伦敦，伦敦是让人们施展报负，大展拳脚的都会。眼前这个扰攘喧嚣的地方，我不了解。这里充满了我不了解的企图心。它身上标着文字，而我却读不懂这文字。这中规中矩的砖石，房舍，街道，行人——行人的衣装，身材，表情——不计其数，一模一样，令我眩晕，令我筋疲力尽。我站在理查德身边，一直挽着他的胳膊。要是他丢下我就糟了！
“To our house,” he answers. And he studies me a moment longer, then reaches across me. “Here, if the sight troubles you –” He pulls down the blind.
“去我们的家，”他答道。他端详了我片刻。“这个，假使这景象令你不安——”这时他伸手在我身前一拉，将百叶窗拉下来。
And so once again we sit, and sway to the motion of a coach, in a kind of twilight; but we are pressed about, this time, by all the roar of London.
于是，我们坐在昏暗的车里，随马车行进摇晃着；而此时，我们为伦敦的喧嚷声浪层层包围。
“To our house,” I say. I think: There, with the doors and windows shut, I will grow calm. I will bathe, I will rest, I will sleep.
“去我们的家。”我说道。我心想：到了那儿，门窗紧闭，我会冷静下来。我要洗个澡，我要休息，我要睡一觉。
Be bold, I am thinking. God damn you, Maud! You have longed for this. You have given up Sue, you have given up everything, for this. Be bold! Richard pays the man, then returns for our bags. “From here we must walk,” he says. I climb out, unassisted, and blink at the light — though the light here is dim enough: we have lost the sun, and the sky is anyway thick with cloud — brown cloud, like the dirty fleece of a sheep. I have expected to find myself at the door to his house, but there are no houses here: we have entered streets that appear to me unspeakably shabby and mean — are hedged on one side by a great, dead wall, on the other by the lime-stained arches of a bridge. Richard moves off. I catch at his arm.
胆子大一点，我心想。老天要惩罚你，莫德！这是你原本渴望的，你为此抛下了苏，抛下了一切。胆子大一点！理查德付了车钱，再回身拿起包。“从这儿开始，我们得步行了。”他说道。他没搀扶我，我自己跳下车，继而被日光刺得不断眨眼——尽管这日光昏暗模糊：太阳失去了踪影，天空布满厚重的云——棕色的云，好似绵羊身上那脏兮兮的羊毛。我原本期望能够发现自己站在他家门口，可我面前并无房舍：眼前的街道呈现出言语无法形容的破旧和简陋——街道一边是高大呆板的围墙，另一边是刷了石灰的桥拱。理查德抬脚要走，我抓住他胳膊。
I do not see it when we go about the park. I do not see what route the driver takes, at all: perhaps I should not know it, if I did, though I have studied maps of the city, and know the placing of the Thames. I cannot say, when we stop, how long we have driven for — so preoccupied am I with the desperate stir of my senses and heart.
当马车经过公园时，我没有看外面。我也压根没看车夫的路线：假使我看了，可能也认不得路，虽然我研究过伦敦地图，知道泰晤士河的方位。当马车停下时，我也说不出这车究竟走了多少路程——我整个人，被来自感官和心脏的绝望悸动牢牢占据了。
“You are still afraid that my uncle may have sent men, to watch us?”
“你还是害怕我舅舅会派人来找我们？”
“Is this right?” I say.
“是这条路吗？”我说。
“Not far, now,” he says, kindly enough; his grip is tight, however. We leave that road and turn into another: here I can see the stained and broken face of what I take to be a single great house, but which is in fact the rear of a terrace of narrow dwellings. The air smells riverish, rank. People watch us, curiously. That makes me walk faster. Soon we turn again, into a lane of crunching cinders. Here there are children, in a group: they are standing idly about a bird, which lurches and hops. They have tied its wings with twine. When they see us, they come and press close. They want money, or to tug at my sleeve, my cloak, my veil. Richard kicks them away. They swear for a minute, then return to the bird. We take another, dirtier, path — Richard all the time gripping me harder, walking faster, faster, certain of his way.
“现在不远了。”他言语和善，手却攥的很紧。我们拐上另一条马路：在这里我看到，那龌龊破烂的门面——我原以为是一座门户独立的宏伟宅邸，其实是一排狭小住所的阴面。空气中弥漫着河水的味道，恶臭难当。人们好奇地望着我们。这令我加快了脚步。不一会儿，我们又拐进一条铺着煤渣的小巷。这儿有几个孩子，聚在一起：他们懒洋洋地立着，围着一只鸟儿，鸟儿步履蹒跚，一只脚蹦达着。他们用麻绳将鸟儿翅膀捆起来了。当他们看到我们，都跑上来紧紧跟着。他们想要钱，没要到钱就使劲拽我的袖子和斗篷，还想扯我的面纱。理查德把他们都撵开了。他们嚷嚷着骂了一会儿，又回头对付那只鸟儿。我们走上一条更肮脏的小路——理查德始终用力抓着我，脚步愈发急促，对脚下的路十分有把握。
“Quite right,” he answers. “Come, don’t be alarmed. We cannot live grandly, yet. And we must make our entrance the quiet way, that’s all.”
“没错，是这条路。”他答道。“来吧，别一惊一乍的。我们暂时还不能住得太排场。我们必须低调行事，就这样。”
He again moves off. “Come. We can talk soon, indoors. Not here. Come on, this way. Pick up your skirts.”
他抬脚又要走。“来。我们马上就能在屋里讲话了。不要在这儿讲。跟上，这边。把裙子提起来。”
He walks quicker than ever now, and I am slow to follow. When he sees me hanging back he holds our bags in one hand and, with the other, takes my wrist.
这时，他步履比刚才更快捷，我在后边慢慢跟着。当他见我脚步颇为迟疑，他将包交到一支手上，另一支手抓住我的手腕。
“We are very close now,” he says. “Don’t mind this filth, this is nothing. All London is filthy like this. Just a little further, I promise. And then you may rest.”
“现在我们就快到了，”他说道。“别在意这整个伦敦都这么脏。还有一点路，相信我。到时候你就好休息了。”
And at last, he slows. We have reached a court, with a thick mud floor and nettles. The walls are high, and running with damp. There is no open route from here, only two or three narrow covered passages, filled with darkness. Into one of these he makes to draw me, now; but, so black and foul is it, I suddenly hesitate, and pull against his grip.
终于，他脚步慢下来。我们进了一个院子，院中种着些荨麻，地上是厚厚的泥。院墙高耸，在潮气中伸展开去。这里没有出去的大路，只有三两条狭窄甬道，甬道中漆黑一片。他带我走向其中一条甬道。但那甬道中那么黑，还发出一股腐臭味道，我忽然犹疑起来，并甩开他的手。
“Come to where?” I ask him.
“到哪里去？”我问他。
“Come on,” he says, turning round, not smiling.
“快来，”他转过身，面无笑容地说道。
What can I do? I cannot go back, alone, to the children, the labyrinth of lanes, the street, the city. I cannot go back to Sue. I am not meant to. Everything has been impelling me here, to this dark point. I must go forward, or cease to exist. I think again of the room that is waiting for me: of the door, with its key that will turn; of the bed, on which I shall lie and sleep, and sleep — I hesitate, one second more; then let him draw me into the passage. It is short, and ends with a flight of shallow stairs, leading downwards; and these, in turn, end at a door, on which he knocks. From beyond the door there comes at once the barking of a dog, then soft, quick footsteps, a grinding bolt. The dog falls silent. The door is opened, by a fair-haired boy — I suppose, the housekeeper’s boy. He looks at Richard and nods.
我能如何？我无法经过那群小孩，穿过迷宫般的小巷，走过街道，穿过都市，一个人走回去。我回不到苏身边了。我也本无此意。诸般事体将我推到此处，推到这么一个黑洞洞的节骨眼上。我只有继续前行，否则就消于无形。我又想起那等我入住的房间，房间的门，门上有钥匙，钥匙可以转动一下；我想起房里的床，我要置身其上，呼呼大睡，睡啊睡啊睡——我犹豫了一秒钟；随后任由他带我进了甬道。那甬道很短，尽头是一段浅浅的楼梯，楼梯朝后走；转过来，是一扇门。他敲敲那扇门。门里立即传出一阵狗吠，然后是轻微而快捷的脚步声，和锁舌的摩擦声。狗安静下来。门开了，一个金发男孩开的门——我猜这是管家的儿子。他望着理查德，点点头。
His voice is tired, hard. I look behind me. I see the other passages, but the muddy path he has led me down is hidden — as if the glistening walls have parted to let us come, then closed to trap me.
他声音带着倦意，颇有些生硬。我望望身后。我看到几条通道，却找不出他引我来的那条泥泞小路——仿佛是那闪着幽光的围墙先行分开，放我们进来，而后合拢，令我们堕入圈套。
“To your new life, that has waited for you to start it, too long. To our house. Our housekeeper expects us. Come, now. — Or shall I leave you here?”
“去找你的新生活，长久以来一直期盼你前来开启的新生活。去我们的家。我们的管家期待着我们光临呢。来吧，快点。——要不我就把你丢在这儿？”
“All right,” answers Richard. “Is Aunty home? Here’s a lady, look, come to stay.”
“来了，”理查德答道。“大婶在家吗？这里有个小姐，瞧，要来留宿。”
The room beyond is a kind of kitchen — I suppose, a servants’ kitchen, for it is small, and windowless, dark and unwholesome, and chokingly hot: there is a good fire lit, and one or two smoking lamps upon a table and — perhaps, after all, these are the grooms’ quarters — a brazier in a cage, with tools about it. Beside the brazier is a pale man in an apron who, on seeing us come, sets down some fork or file and wipes his hands and looks me over, frankly.
眼前是一间厨房——我猜，这是仆人的厨房，因为这屋子很小，没有窗户，既阴暗又不卫生，热得叫人透不过气：桌上有一两盏冒着烟的灯——或许，其实，这是间男仆宿舍——一个桶上架了个火盆，盆里摆着些工具。火盆旁有个面色苍白的男人，他身围着围裙，手里放下一样东西，不知是叉子还是锉刀。他擦着手，目光毫不掩饰地上下打量我。
“All right?” he says.
“来了？”他说。
Before the fire sit a young woman and a boy: the girl fat-faced, red-haired, also watching me freely; the boy sallow and scowling, chewing with broken teeth on a strip of dry meat, and dressed — I notice this, even in my confusion — in an extraordinary coat, that seems pieced together from many varieties of fur. We holds, between his knees, a squirming dog, his hand about its jaws to keep it from barking.
一个年轻姑娘和一个男孩坐在壁炉前：姑娘有个大胖脸，一头红发，她也直戳戳地望着我；那男孩面有菜色，闷闷不乐，满口坏牙正嚼着一块风肉，他身着一件——尽管满心疑惑，我还是注意到了——非同寻常的外套，似乎由各种各样的皮毛一片片拼制而成。他膝间有一条狗，狗扭来扭去，他将手放在狗下巴上，让它不要叫。
The boy surveys me, I see him squinting to make out the features behind my veil. Then he smiles, nods again, draws back the door to let us pass him; closes it tightly at our backs.
这个男孩打量着我，我看到他眯缝起眼睛想看清我面纱后的样子。然后他笑了，又点头，拉开门让我们从他身前通过，在我们身后将门紧紧关上。
He looks at Richard and then at me. He surveys my coat and gloves and bonnet. He whistles. “What price them togs,” he says.
他望着理查德，又望望我。他端详着我的衣裳、手套和帽子。他发出一声轻嘘：“这些衣裳不便宜啊！”
“Good boy,” she says.
“好样儿的，”她说道。
I look at Richard. I think he will speak, or lead me on. But he has taken his hand from me and stands with folded arms, very leisurely. He is smiling, but smiling oddly. Everyone is silent. No-one moves save the white-haired woman. She has left her chair and comes about the table. She is dressed in taffeta, that rustles. Her face has a blush, and shines. She comes to me, she stands before me, her head weaves as she tries to catch the line of my features. She moves her mouth, wets her lips. Her gaze is still close and terribly eager. When she raises her blunt red hands to me, I flinch.– “Richard,” I say. But he still does nothing, and the woman’s look, that is so awful and so strange, compels me. I stand and let her fumble for my veil. She puts it back. And then her gaze changes, grows stranger still, when she sees my face. She touches my cheek, as if uncertain it will remain beneath her fingers.
我望着理查德。我想他要说什么，要么带我继续走进去。可他从我胳膊里将手抽回，双臂交迭，十分悠闲。他面带微笑，却笑得很古怪。每个人都沉默不语。每个人都一动不动，除了那个白发女人。她站起来，走到桌边。她穿着塔夫绸衣裳，衣料嘻嗦有声。她面色深红，泛着红光。她朝我走来，站到我面前，脑袋上下晃着，试图看分明我样貌形体的线条。她张开嘴，舔了舔嘴唇。她目光中依旧充满情感，充满渴望。当她粗壮通红的手向我伸来，我退后一步。——“理查德，”我说道。而他仍旧袖手旁观，这女人神情如此骇人，如此诡异，令我无处遁形。我立在原地，任由她摸上我的面纱。她掀起面纱。当她看清我的脸，她眼神立刻变了，变得更诡异。她抚摸着我的脸颊，仿佛无法确信她手指触到的是我的脸。
She keeps her eyes on mine, but speaks to Richard. Her voice is thick with the tears of age, or of emotion.
她眼睛盯着我，却在跟理查德讲话。她声音有些浑浊，也许是岁月积淀，也许是情之所至。
Then he flinches as, from another chair — a rocking chair, that creaks as it tilts — a white-haired woman leans to strike him. I suppose her the housekeeper. She has watched me, more closely and more eagerly than any of the others. She holds a bundle: now she puts it down and struggles from her seat, and the bundle gives a shudder. This is more astonishing than the lighted brazier, the coat of fur — it is a sleeping, swollen-headed baby in a blanket.
然后他身子缩了一下，因为，从另一张椅子上——一张摇椅，一摇就咯吱作响——一个满头白发的女人歪过身子打了他一记。我猜她是管家。她一直望着我，比旁人更仔细也更热切。她抱着个包裹：这时她放下包裹，艰难地从椅子上站起来，包裹抖了一下。这比火盆和毛皮衣裳更令我吃惊——那是一个毯子包起的婴儿，婴儿在大模大样熟睡。
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