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查太莱夫人的情人（LADY CHATTERLEY'S LOVER）第十二章

2次大中小

Connie went to the wood directly after lunch. It was really a lovely day, the first dandelions making suns, the first daisies so white. The hazel thicket was a lace-work, of half-open leaves, and the last dusty perpendicular of the catkins. Yellow celandines now were in crowds, flat open, pressed back in urgency, and the yellow glitter of themselves. It was the yellow, the powerful yellow of early summer. And primroses were broad, and full of pale abandon, thick-clustered primroses no longer shy. The lush, dark green of hyacinths was a sea, with buds rising like pale corn, while in the riding the forget-me-nots were fluffing up, and columbines were unfolding their ink-purple ruches, and there were bits of blue bird's eggshell under a bush. Everywhere the bud-knots and the leap of life!
The keeper was not at the hut. Everything was serene, brown chickens running lustily. Connie walked on towards the cottage, because she wanted to find him.

The cottage stood in the sun, off the wood's edge. In the little garden the double daffodils rose in tufts, near the wide-open door, and red double daisies made a border to the path. There was the bark of a dog, and Flossie came running.

The wide-open door! so he was at home. And the sunlight falling on the red-brick floor! As she went up the path, she saw him through the window, sitting at the table in his shirt-sleeves, eating. The dog wuffed softly, slowly wagging her tail.

He rose, and came to the door, wiping his mouth with a red handkerchief still chewing.

`May I come in?' she said.

`Come in!'

The sun shone into the bare room, which still smelled of a mutton chop, done in a dutch oven before the fire, because the dutch oven still stood on the fender, with the black potato-saucepan on a piece of paper, beside it on the white hearth. The fire was red, rather low, the bar dropped, the kettle singing.

On the table was his plate, with potatoes and the remains of the chop; also bread in a basket, salt, and a blue mug with beer. The table-cloth was white oil-cloth, he stood in the shade.

`You are very late,' she said. `Do go on eating!'

She sat down on a wooden chair, in the sunlight by the door.

`I had to go to Uthwaite,' he said, sitting down at the table but not eating.

`Do eat,' she said. But he did not touch the food.

`Shall y'ave something?' he asked her. `Shall y'ave a cup of tea? t' kettle's on t' boil'---he half rose again from his chair.

`If you'll let me make it myself,' she said, rising. He seemed sad, and she felt she was bothering him.

`Well, tea-pot's in there'---he pointed to a little, drab corner cupboard; 'an' cups. An' tea's on t' mantel ower yer 'ead,'

She got the black tea-pot, and the tin of tea from the mantel-shelf. She rinsed the tea-pot with hot water, and stood a moment wondering where to empty it.

`Throw it out,' he said, aware of her. `It's clean.'

She went to the door and threw the drop of water down the path. How lovely it was here, so still, so really woodland. The oaks were putting out ochre yellow leaves: in the garden the red daisies were like red plush buttons. She glanced at the big, hollow sandstone slab of the threshold, now crossed by so few feet.

`But it's lovely here,' she said. `Such a beautiful stillness, everything alive and still.'

He was eating again, rather slowly and unwillingly, and she could feel he was discouraged. She made the tea in silence, and set the tea-pot on the hob, as she knew the people did. He pushed his plate aside and went to the back place; she heard a latch click, then he came back with cheese on a plate, and butter.

She set the two cups on the table; there were only two. `Will you have a cup of tea?' she said.

`If you like. Sugar's in th' cupboard, an' there's a little cream jug. Milk's in a jug in th' pantry.'

`Shall I take your plate away?' she asked him. He looked up at her with a faint ironical smile.

`Why...if you like,' he said, slowly eating bread and cheese. She went to the back, into the pent-house scullery, where the pump was. On the left was a door, no doubt the pantry door. She unlatched it, and almost smiled at the place he called a pantry; a long narrow white-washed slip of a cupboard. But it managed to contain a little barrel of beer, as well as a few dishes and bits of food. She took a little milk from the yellow jug.

`How do you get your milk?' she asked him, when she came back to the table.

`Flints! They leave me a bottle at the warren end. You know, where I met you!'

But he was discouraged. She poured out the tea, poising the cream-jug.

`No milk,' he said; then he seemed to hear a noise, and looked keenly through the doorway.

`'Appen we'd better shut,' he said.

`It seems a pity,' she replied. `Nobody will come, will they?'

`Not unless it's one time in a thousand, but you never know.'

`And even then it's no matter,' she said. `It's only a cup of tea.'

`Where are the spoons?'

He reached over, and pulled open the table drawer. Connie sat at the table in the sunshine of the doorway.

`Flossie!' he said to the dog, who was lying on a little mat at the stair foot. `Go an' hark, hark!'

He lifted his finger, and his `hark!' was very vivid. The dog trotted out to reconnoitre.

`Are you sad today?' she asked him.

He turned his blue eyes quickly, and gazed direct on her.

`Sad! no, bored! I had to go getting summonses for two poachers I caught, and, oh well, I don't like people.'

He spoke cold, good English, and there was anger in his voice. `Do you hate being a game-keeper?' she asked.

`Being a game-keeper, no! So long as I'm left alone. But when I have to go messing around at the police-station, and various other places, and waiting for a lot of fools to attend to me...oh well, I get mad...' and he smiled, with a certain faint humour.

`Couldn't you be really independent?' she asked.

`Me? I suppose I could, if you mean manage to exist on my pension. I could! But I've got to work, or I should die. That is, I've got to have something that keeps me occupied. And I'm not in a good enough temper to work for myself. It's got to be a sort of job for somebody else, or I should throw it up in a month, out of bad temper. So altogether I'm very well off here, especially lately...'

He laughed at her again, with mocking humour.

`But why are you in a bad temper?' she asked. `Do you mean you are always in a bad temper?'

`Pretty well,' he said, laughing. `I don't quite digest my bile.'

`But what bile?' she said.

`Bile!' he said. `Don't you know what that is?' She was silent, and disappointed. He was taking no notice of her.

`I'm going away for a while next month,' she said.

`You are! Where to?'

`Venice! With Sir Clifford? For how long?'

`For a month or so,' she replied. `Clifford won't go.'

`He'll stay here?' he asked.

`Yes! He hates to travel as he is.'

`Ay, poor devil!' he said, with sympathy. There was a pause.

`You won't forget me when I'm gone, will you?' she asked. Again he lifted his eyes and looked full at her.

`Forget?' he said. `You know nobody forgets. It's not a question of memory;'

She wanted to say: `When then?' but she didn't. Instead, she said in a mute kind of voice: `I told Clifford I might have a child.'

Now he really looked at her, intense and searching.

`You did?' he said at last. `And what did he say?'

`Oh, he wouldn't mind. He'd be glad, really, so long as it seemed to be his.' She dared not look up at him.

He was silent a long time, then he gazed again on her face.

`No mention of me, of course?' he said.

`No. No mention of you,' she said.

`No, he'd hardly swallow me as a substitute breeder. Then where are you supposed to be getting the child?'

`I might have a love-affair in Venice,' she said.

`You might,' he replied slowly. `So that's why you're going?'

`Not to have the love-affair,' she said, looking up at him, pleading.

`Just the appearance of one,' he said.

There was silence. He sat staring out the window, with a faint grin, half mockery, half bitterness, on his face. She hated his grin.

`You've not taken any precautions against having a child then?' he asked her suddenly. `Because I haven't.'

`No,' she said faintly. `I should hate that.'

He looked at her, then again with the peculiar subtle grin out of the window. There was a tense silence.

At last he turned his head and said satirically:

`That was why you wanted me, then, to get a child?'

She hung her head.

`No. Not really,' she said. `What then, really?' he asked rather bitingly.

She looked up at him reproachfully, saying: `I don't know.'

He broke into a laugh.

`Then I'm damned if I do,' he said.

There was a long pause of silence, a cold silence.

`Well,' he said at last. `It's as your Ladyship likes. If you get the baby, Sir Clifford's welcome to it. I shan't have lost anything. On the contrary, I've had a very nice experience, very nice indeed!'---and he stretched in a half-suppressed sort of yawn. `If you've made use of me,' he said, `it's not the first time I've been made use of; and I don't suppose it's ever been as pleasant as this time; though of course one can't feel tremendously dignified about it.'---He stretched again, curiously, his muscles quivering, and his jaw oddly set.

`But I didn't make use of you,' she said, pleading.

`At your Ladyship's service,' he replied.

`No,' she said. `I liked your body.'

`Did you?' he replied, and he laughed. `Well, then, we're quits, because I liked yours.'

He looked at her with queer darkened eyes.

`Would you like to go upstairs now?' he asked her, in a strangled sort of voice.

`No, not here. Not now!' she said heavily, though if he had used any power over her, she would have gone, for she had no strength against him.

He turned his face away again, and seemed to forget her. `I want to touch you like you touch me,' she said. `I've never really touched your body.'

He looked at her, and smiled again. `Now?' he said. `No! No! Not here! At the hut. Would you mind?'

`How do I touch you?' he asked.

`When you feel me.'

He looked at her, and met her heavy, anxious eyes.

`And do you like it when I feel you?' he asked, laughing at her still.

`Yes, do you?' she said.

`Oh, me!' Then he changed his tone. `Yes,' he said. `You know without asking.' Which was true.

She rose and picked up her hat. `I must go,' she said.

`Will you go?' he replied politely.

She wanted him to touch her, to say something to her, but he said nothing, only waited politely.

`Thank you for the tea,' she said.

`I haven't thanked your Ladyship for doing me the honours of my tea-pot,' he said.

She went down the path, and he stood in the doorway, faintly grinning. Flossie came running with her tail lifted. And Connie had to plod dumbly across into the wood, knowing he was standing there watching her, with that incomprehensible grin on his face.

She walked home very much downcast and annoyed. She didn't at all like his saying he had been made use of because, in a sense, it was true. But he oughtn't to have said it. Therefore, again, she was divided between two feelings: resentment against him, and a desire to make it up with him.

She passed a very uneasy and irritated tea-time, and at once went up to her room. But when she was there it was no good; she could neither sit nor stand. She would have to do something about it. She would have to go back to the hut; if he was not there, well and good.

She slipped out of the side door, and took her way direct and a little sullen. When she came to the clearing she was terribly uneasy. But there he was again, in his shirt-sleeves, stooping, letting the hens out of the coops, among the chicks that were now growing a little gawky, but were much more trim than hen-chickens.

She went straight across to him. `You see I've come!' she said.

`Ay, I see it!' he said, straightening his back, and looking at her with a faint amusement.

`Do you let the hens out now?' she asked.

`Yes, they've sat themselves to skin and bone,' he said. `An' now they're not all that anxious to come out an' feed. There's no self in a sitting hen; she's all in the eggs or the chicks.'

The poor mother-hens; such blind devotion! even to eggs not their own! Connie looked at them in compassion. A helpless silence fell between the man and the woman.

`Shall us go i' th' 'ut?' he asked.

`Do you want me?' she asked, in a sort of mistrust.

`Ay, if you want to come.'

She was silent.

`Come then!' he said.

And she went with him to the hut. It was quite dark when he had shut the door, so he made a small light in the lantern, as before.

`Have you left your underthings off?' he asked her.

`Yes!'

`Ay, well, then I'll take my things off too.'

He spread the blankets, putting one at the side for a coverlet. She took off her hat, and shook her hair. He sat down, taking off his shoes and gaiters, and undoing his cord breeches.

`Lie down then!' he said, when he stood in his shirt. She obeyed in silence, and he lay beside her, and pulled the blanket over them both.

`There!' he said.

And he lifted her dress right back, till he came even to her breasts. He kissed them softly, taking the nipples in his lips in tiny caresses.

`Eh, but tha'rt nice, tha'rt nice!' he said, suddenly rubbing his face with a snuggling movement against her warm belly.

And she put her arms round him under his shirt, but she was afraid, afraid of his thin, smooth, naked body, that seemed so powerful, afraid of the violent muscles. She shrank, afraid.

And when he said, with a sort of little sigh: `Eh, tha'rt nice!' something in her quivered, and something in her spirit stiffened in resistance: stiffened from the terribly physical intimacy, and from the peculiar haste of his possession. And this time the sharp ecstasy of her own passion did not overcome her; she lay with her ends inert on his striving body, and do what she might, her spirit seemed to look on from the top of her head, and the butting of his haunches seemed ridiculous to her, and the sort of anxiety of his penis to come to its little evacuating crisis seemed farcical. Yes, this was love, this ridiculous bouncing of the buttocks, and the wilting of the poor, insignificant, moist little penis. This was the divine love! After all, the moderns were right when they felt contempt for the performance; for it was a performance. It was quite true, as some poets said, that the God who created man must have had a sinister sense of humour, creating him a reasonable being, yet forcing him to take this ridiculous posture, and driving him with blind craving for this ridiculous performance. Even a Maupassant found it a humiliating anti-climax. Men despised the intercourse act, and yet did it.

Cold and derisive her queer female mind stood apart, and though she lay perfectly still, her impulse was to heave her loins, and throw the man out, escape his ugly grip, and the butting over-riding of his absurd haunches. His body was a foolish, impudent, imperfect thing, a little disgusting in its unfinished clumsiness. For surely a complete evolution would eliminate this performance, this `function'.

And yet when he had finished, soon over, and lay very very still, receding into silence, and a strange motionless distance, far, farther than the horizon of her awareness, her heart began to weep. She could feel him ebbing away, ebbing away, leaving her there like a stone on a shore. He was withdrawing, his spirit was leaving her. He knew.

And in real grief, tormented by her own double consciousness and reaction, she began to weep. He took no notice, or did not even know. The storm of weeping swelled and shook her, and shook him.

`Ay!' he said. `It was no good that time. You wasn't there.'---So he knew! Her sobs became violent.

`But what's amiss?' he said. `It's once in a while that way.'

`I...I can't love you,' she sobbed, suddenly feeling her heart breaking.

`Canna ter? Well, dunna fret! There's no law says as tha's got to. Ta'e it for what it is.'

He still lay with his hand on her breast. But she had drawn both her hands from him.

His words were small comfort. She sobbed aloud.

`Nay, nay!' he said. `Ta'e the thick wi' th' thin. This wor a bit o' thin for once.'

She wept bitterly, sobbing. `But I want to love you, and I can't. It only seems horrid.'

He laughed a little, half bitter, half amused.

`It isna horrid,' he said, `even if tha thinks it is. An' tha canna ma'e it horrid. Dunna fret thysen about lovin' me. Tha'lt niver force thysen to `t. There's sure to be a bad nut in a basketful. Tha mun ta'e th' rough wi' th' smooth.'

He took his hand away from her breast, not touching her. And now she was untouched she took an almost perverse satisfaction in it. She hated the dialect: the thee and the tha and the thysen. He could get up if he liked, and stand there, above her, buttoning down those absurd corduroy breeches, straight in front of her. After all, Michaelis had had the decency to turn away. This man was so assured in himself he didn't know what a clown other people found him, a half-bred fellow.

Yet, as he was drawing away, to rise silently and leave her, she clung to him in terror.

`Don't! Don't go! Don't leave me! Don't be cross with me! Hold me! Hold me fast!' she whispered in blind frenzy, not even knowing what she said, and clinging to him with uncanny force. It was from herself she wanted to be saved, from her own inward anger and resistance. Yet how powerful was that inward resistance that possessed her!

He took her in his arms again and drew her to him, and suddenly she became small in his arms, small and nestling. It was gone, the resistance was gone, and she began to melt in a marvellous peace. And as she melted small and wonderful in his arms, she became infinitely desirable to him, all his blood-vessels seemed to scald with intense yet tender desire, for her, for her softness, for the penetrating beauty of her in his arms, passing into his blood. And softly, with that marvellous swoon-like caress of his hand in pure soft desire, softly he stroked the silky slope of her loins, down, down between her soft warm buttocks, coming nearer and nearer to the very quick of her. And she felt him like a flame of desire, yet tender, and she felt herself melting in the flame. She let herself go. She felt his penis risen against her with silent amazing force and assertion and she let herself go to him She yielded with a quiver that was like death, she went all open to him. And oh, if he were not tender to her now, how cruel, for she was all open to him and helpless!

She quivered again at the potent inexorable entry inside her, so strange and terrible. It might come with the thrust of a sword in her softly-opened body, and that would be death. She clung in a sudden anguish of terror. But it came with a strange slow thrust of peace, the dark thrust of peace and a ponderous, primordial tenderness, such as made the world in the beginning. And her terror subsided in her breast, her breast dared to be gone in peace, she held nothing. She dared to let go everything, all herself and be gone in the flood.

And it seemed she was like the sea, nothing but dark waves rising and heaving, heaving with a great swell, so that slowly her whole darkness was in motion, and she was Ocean rolling its dark, dumb mass. Oh, and far down inside her the deeps parted and rolled asunder, in long, fair-travelling billows, and ever, at the quick of her, the depths parted and rolled asunder, from the centre of soft plunging, as the plunger went deeper and deeper, touching lower, and she was deeper and deeper and deeper disclosed, the heavier the billows of her rolled away to some shore, uncovering her, and closer and closer plunged the palpable unknown, and further and further rolled the waves of herself away from herself leaving her, till suddenly, in a soft, shuddering convulsion, the quick of all her plasm was touched, she knew herself touched, the consummation was upon her, and she was gone. She was gone, she was not, and she was born: a woman.

Ah, too lovely, too lovely! In the ebbing she realized all the loveliness. Now all her body clung with tender love to the unknown man, and blindly to the wilting penis, as it so tenderly, frailly, unknowingly withdrew, after the fierce thrust of its potency. As it drew out and left her body, the secret, sensitive thing, she gave an unconscious cry of pure loss, and she tried to put it back. It had been so perfect! And she loved it so!

And only now she became aware of the small, bud-like reticence and tenderness of the penis, and a little cry of wonder and poignancy escaped her again, her woman's heart crying out over the tender frailty of that which had been the power.

`It was so lovely!' she moaned. `It was so lovely!' But he said nothing, only softly kissed her, lying still above her. And she moaned with a sort Of bliss, as a sacrifice, and a newborn thing.

And now in her heart the queer wonder of him was awakened.

A man! The strange potency of manhood upon her! Her hands strayed over him, still a little afraid. Afraid of that strange, hostile, slightly repulsive thing that he had been to her, a man. And now she touched him, and it was the sons of god with the daughters of men. How beautiful he felt, how pure in tissue! How lovely, how lovely, strong, and yet pure and delicate, such stillness of the sensitive body! Such utter stillness of potency and delicate flesh. How beautiful! How beautiful! Her hands came timorously down his back, to the soft, smallish globes of the buttocks. Beauty! What beauty! a sudden little flame of new awareness went through her. How was it possible, this beauty here, where she had previously only been repelled? The unspeakable beauty to the touch of the warm, living buttocks! The life within life, the sheer warm, potent loveliness. And the strange weight of the balls between his legs! What a mystery! What a strange heavy weight of mystery, that could lie soft and heavy in one's hand! The roots, root of all that is lovely, the primeval root of all full beauty.

She clung to him, with a hiss of wonder that was almost awe, terror. He held her close, but he said nothing. He would never say anything. She crept nearer to him, nearer, only to be near to the sensual wonder of him. And out of his utter, incomprehensible stillness, she felt again the slow momentous, surging rise of the phallus again, the other power. And her heart melted out with a kind of awe.

And this time his being within her was all soft and iridescent, purely soft and iridescent, such as no consciousness could seize. Her whole self quivered unconscious and alive, like plasm. She could not know what it was. She could not remember what it had been. Only that it had been more lovely than anything ever could be. Only that. And afterwards she was utterly still, utterly unknowing, she was not aware for how long. And he was still with her, in an unfathomable silence along with her. And of this, they would never speak.

When awareness of the outside began to come back, she clung to his breast, murmuring `My love! My love!' And he held her silently. And she curled on his breast, perfect.

But his silence was fathomless. His hands held her like flowers, so still aid strange. `Where are you?' she whispered to him.

`Where are you? Speak to me! Say something to me!'

He kissed her softly, murmuring: `Ay, my lass!'

But she did not know what he meant, she did not know where he was. In his silence he seemed lost to her.

`You love me, don't you?' she murmured.

`Ay, tha knows!' he said. `But tell me!' she pleaded.

`Ay! Ay! 'asn't ter felt it?' he said dimly, but softly and surely. And she clung close to him, closer. He was so much more peaceful in love than she was, and she wanted him to reassure her.

`You do love me!' she whispered, assertive. And his hands stroked her softly, as if she were a flower, without the quiver of desire, but with delicate nearness. And still there haunted her a restless necessity to get a grip on love.

`Say you'll always love me!' she pleaded.

`Ay!' he said, abstractedly. And she felt her questions driving him away from her.

`Mustn't we get up?' he said at last.

`No!' she said.

But she could feel his consciousness straying, listening to the noises outside.

`It'll be nearly dark,' he said. And she heard the pressure of circumstances in his voice. She kissed him, with a woman's grief at yielding up her hour.

He rose, and turned up the lantern, then began to pull on his clothes, quickly disappearing inside them. Then he stood there, above her, fastening his breeches and looking down at her with dark, wide-eyes, his face a little flushed and his hair ruffled, curiously warm and still and beautiful in the dim light of the lantern, so beautiful, she would never tell him how beautiful. It made her want to cling fast to him, to hold him, for there was a warm, half-sleepy remoteness in his beauty that made her want to cry out and clutch him, to have him. She would never have him. So she lay on the blanket with curved, soft naked haunches, and he had no idea what she was thinking, but to him too she was beautiful, the soft, marvellous thing he could go into, beyond everything.

`I love thee that I call go into thee,' he said.

`Do you like me?' she said, her heart beating.

`It heals it all up, that I can go into thee. I love thee that tha opened to me. I love thee that I came into thee like that.'

He bent down and kissed her soft flank, rubbed his cheek against it, then covered it up.

`And will you never leave me?' she said.

`Dunna ask them things,' he said.

`But you do believe I love you?' she said.

`Tha loved me just now, wider than iver tha thout tha would. But who knows what'll 'appen, once tha starts thinkin' about it!'

`No, don't say those things!---And you don't really think that I wanted to make use of you, do you?'

`How?'

`To have a child---?'

`Now anybody can 'ave any childt i' th' world,' he said, as he sat down fastening on his leggings.

`Ah no!' she cried. `You don't mean it?'

`Eh well!' he said, looking at her under his brows. `This wor t' best.'

She lay still. He softly opened the door. The sky was dark blue, with crystalline, turquoise rim. He went out, to shut up the hens, speaking softly to his dog. And she lay and wondered at the wonder of life, and of being.

When he came back she was still lying there, glowing like a gipsy. He sat on the stool by her.

`Tha mun come one naight ter th' cottage, afore tha goos; sholl ter?' he asked, lifting his eyebrows as he looked at her, his hands dangling between his knees.

`Sholl ter?' she echoed, teasing.

He smiled. `Ay, sholl ter?' he repeated.

`Ay!' she said, imitating the dialect sound.

`Yi!' he said.

`Yi!' she repeated.

`An' slaip wi' me,' he said. `It needs that. When sholt come?'

`When sholl I?' she said.

`Nay,' he said, `tha canna do't. When sholt come then?'

`'Appen Sunday,' she said.

`'Appen a' Sunday! Ay!'

He laughed at her quickly.

`Nay, tha canna,' he protested.

`Why canna I?' she said.

午饭过后，康妮马上便到林中去，那真是可爱的一天。蒲公英开着太阳似的花，新出的雏菊花是棕的自，擦树的茂林，半开的叶子中杂着尘灰颜色的垂直花絮，好象是一幅花边。大开着的黄燕蔬。满地簇拥。象黄金似的在闪耀。这种黄边。是初夏的有力的黄色。莲馨花灰灰地盛开着。花姿招展的莲馨花。再也不畏缩了。绿油油的玉簪。象是个苍海。向上举着一串串的蓓蕾。跑马路上，毋忘我草乱蓬蓬地繁生着。楼斗莱乍开着它们的紫蓝色的花苞。在那矮丛林的下面。还有些蓝色的鸟蛋壳。处处都是蕾芽。处处都是生命的突跃！

守猎人并不在那小屋里。那儿，一切都是在静穆中。棕色的少鸡在肆意地奔窜着。康妮继续向着村舍走去。因为她要去会他。

村舍浸在太阳光里。在树林的边缘外。小园里。重苔的野水仙丛簇地生长着。靠近大开着的门前。沿着小径的两旁。都是些重苔的红雏菊。一只狗吠着。佛萝茜走上前来。

门大开着！那么他是在家里了。阳光铺泻在红砖的阶台上！当她经过小园里时。她从窗里看见了他。穿着衬衣。正坐在桌边吃着东西。狗儿轻轻地叫着。缓缓地摇着尾巴。

他站了起来，来到门边，用一条红手巾揩着嘴，嘴里不住地咀嚼着。

“我可以进来吗？”她说。

“进来！”

简朴的房子里。阳光照了进去，房子里还带着羊排煎过后的味道。煎煮东西用的炉子还在防火架上。旁边，那白色的地上。有今盛着马铃薯的黑锅子。放在一张纸上。火是红的。但是不太起劲；通风的炉门关着。开水壶在响。

桌了上摆着碟子，里面是些马铃薯和剩下的羊排。还有一个盛着面包的篓子和一只盛着啤酒的蓝杯子，桌上铺着一张白色的漆布。他站在阴影处。

“你的午餐吃得晚呢。”她说“请继续吃罢！”

她在门。边的阳光里，坐在一把木椅上。

“我得到了斯魏去。”他一边说着，一边坐了下来，。但他并不吃。

“请吃罢。”她说。

但他还是不吃。

“你要吃点什么东西吗？”他用着土话问她。“你要喝杯茶么？开水壶里有开着的水。一他欠身起来。

“假如你让我自己来弄扩知。”她说着站了起来，他仿佛忧闷的样子，她觉得她正使他烦恼不安。

“艰险罢，茶壶在那边。”一他指着一个壁角的褐色的小橱子。“茶杯和茶，是在你头脾炉架上。”

她从炉架上取下了那黑茶壶和一盒茶叶。她用热水把茶过来洗灌了，呆了一会，不知把水倒在哪里好。

“倒在外边。”他看见了她的迟疑的样子说，“那是净水。”

她走到门边，把水倒在小径上，多可爱的地方。这么清静。这么真的森林世界！橡树发着赭黄色的小叶儿；花园里，戏雏菊象是些红毛绒上的钮结似的。她望着门槛上那块带洞的大石板。现在这门槛上跨过的脚步是这么少了。

“这儿真是个可爱的地方。”她说：“这么美妙地静寂。一切都静寂而富有生命！”

他慢慢地、有点不太愿意地重新用他的餐午，她能感觉到他是很扫兴的，她默默地沏了花，把茶壶放在炉灶上，她知道普通人是这么做的，他推开碟子。走到屋后边去，她听见了开门闰的声响，一会儿他拿了一盘干酷和牛油回来。

她把两个茶杯放在桌上；这是仅有的两个茶杯。

“你喝杯茶吗？”她说。

“假如你愿意的话，糖在柜子里，牛奶过来也在那儿。牛奶在伙食间里。”

“我把你的碟子收了好吗？”她问道。他向她望着。微微地冷笑起来。

“晤……假如你愿意的话。”他一边说，一边慢慢地吃着面包和干酷她到后边洗涤碗碟的侧屋里。水龙头是安在那儿的，左边有个门。无疑地这是伙食间的门了。她把这个门打开了。看见了这个所谓伙食间，差不多笑了：这只是一个狭长的粉白着的壁橱。但是这里面还布置得下一桶啤酒和几食物。她从一个黄罐里取了点牛奶。

“你的牛奶怎么得来的？”当她回到桌边时，她伺他道。

“弗林家里的。他们把瓶子放在畜牧场边。你知道的，就是那天我遇着你的那个地方。”

但是他是很扫兴的样子。

她斟了茶。然后举着牛奶过来。

“不要牛奶。”她说，他好象听见什么声响，向门外疾望着。

“我想把门关了的好。”他说。

“那未免可惜了。”她答道。“没有人会来吧，是不是？”

“那是千载一时的。不过谁知道呢。”

“纵玲有人来了也不打紧。”她说。“我不过来喝一杯茶罢了。调羹在哪儿？”

他弯身把桌子的舞屉打开了。康妮坐在桌边。大门里讲来的阳光晒着她。

“佛萝茜！”他向那睡在楼梯下一块小席上的狗说，“去守望去，去守望去！”

他举着手指，狗儿奔了出去个察。

“你今天不快活吗？”她问道。

他的蓝色的眼睛迅速地转了过来凝视着她。

“不快活？不，只有点儿烦恼罢了！我得去请发两张传票，去传我所捉得的两个偷猎的人。咳，我是讨厌这类事情的。”

他说的是冷静、正确的英语，他的声音里含着怒气。

“你讨厌当守猎人吗？”她说。

“当守猎人？不！只要人们让我安安静静的。但是到了要我上敬礼察署和其他的地方，等着那些混蛋来理我的时候……呵，咳，我便要发疯了……”他着带点幽默味道微笑着。

“难道你不能真正在自立么？”她问道。

“我？我想我能够的，我有我的恤金使我生活。我能够的！但是我得是点工作，否则我便要闷死。那是说，我需要点什么事情使我不空闲着。而我的坏脾气是不容我为自己工作的。所以便不得不替他人做事了。不然的话，我的坏脾气来了，不出一月，便要把一切踢翻，所以算起来，我在这儿是很好的，尤其是近来……”

他又向她幽默地起来。

“但是为什么你有这种脾气呢？”她问道，“难道你‘常常”都是坏脾气的么？”

“差不多是常常铁。”他笑着说，“我有满腔的忿懑。”

“什么忿港？”她说。

“忿港！”他说“你不知道那是什么吗？”

她失望地静默着。他并不注意她。

“下个月我要暂时离开这儿了。”她说。

“是么？到那儿去？”

“威尼斯。”

“威尼斯？和克利福男爵去么？去多久？”

“一个月上下。”她答道，“克利福他不去。

“他留在这儿么？”他问道。

“是的，他是不喜欢在他这种情境中旅行的。”

“暖，可怜的家伙！”他带着同情心说。

停了一会。

“我走了你不会把我忘记罢，会不会？”她问道，他又向她凝视起来。

“忘记？”他说，“你知道没有人会忘记的。那不是个记忆的问题。”

她想问：“那么是个什么问题呢？”但是她忍住了。她只用一种沉哑的声音说：“我告诉了克利福，也许我极个孩子了。”

现在他带着强烈的好奇心，真正地望着她。

“真的么？”他终于说：“他说了什么？”

“呵，他是无所谓的，只在孩子似乎是他的，他倒要喜欢呢。”

她不敢看她。他静默了好一会，然后再凝望着她。

“没有提到我，当然吧？”他说。

“没有，没有提到你。”她说。

“不，他是决难容忍我做他的代庖人的。……那么他将怎样设想这孩子的来源呢？”

“我可以在威尼斯有个情人呀。”

“不错。”他缓缓在回答道，“这便是你到威尼斯去的缘故了。”

“但并不是真为了找情人去。”她望着他，辩护着说。

“只是做个样子罢了。”他说。

两个人重新静默着。他望着窗外，半悲伤、半讥嘲地苦笑，她是恨他这种劳笑的。

“难道你没有预先设法避免孩子么？”他突然说，“因为我没有那工具。”

“没有。”她说，“我恨那样。”

他望着她，然后又带着那特殊的诡谲的苦笑，望着窗外。两个人紧张地静默着，最后，他回转头来，讥否则地向她说：

“那么，那便是你要我的缘故，为了要有个孩子的缘故吧？”

她低着头。

“不，事实上不是这样？”她说。

“为什么事实上？”他用着有点激烈的声音问道。

她埋怨地望着她，说；“我不知道。”他大笑起来。

“你不知道，那么我知道么！”他说。

两人静默了好久，冷森森地静默着。

“唔。”他最后说，“随夫人的便，如果你有了个孩子，我是喜欢送给克利福男爵的。我并不吃什么亏。我倒得了个很快意的经验，的确快意的经验：“……他伸着腰，半打着呵欠，“如果你把我利用了，那并不是我么一次给人利用，而且这一次是最快意地给人利用了，虽然这对于我是不十分荣誉的事。”……他重新奇异地伸着懒腰，他的筋肉颤战着，牙关紧闭着。．“但是我并没有利用你。”他辩护着说。

“我是听夫人作用的。”他答道。

“不。”她说，“我喜欢你的肉体。”

“真的么？”他答道，笑着，“好，那么我们是两讫子，因为我也喜欢你的。”

他的奇异的阴暗的两眼望着她。

“现在我们到楼上去好不好？他用着一种窒息的声音问她。

“不，不要在这儿，不要现在！”她沉重地说。虽然，假如他稍为紧持的话，她定要屈服了，因为她是没有力量反抗他的。

他又把脸翻了转去，好象把她忘了。

“我想触摸你，同你触摸我一样。”她说，“我从来没有真正地触摸过你的身体。”

他望着她，重新微笑起来。现在？”他说。

“不！不！不要在这儿！到小屋里去，你不介意罢？”

“你怎么触摸我？”他问道。

“当你抚摩我的时候。”

他的眼睛和她的沉重不安的眼睛遇着。

“你喜欢我抚摩你么？”他老是笑着。

“是的，你呢？”

“呵，我！”然后他换了声调说：“我也喜欢，那不用我告诉你的。”这是实在的。

她站了起来，拿起了帽子。“我得走了。”她说。

“你要走了么？”他文雅地说。

她满望着他来触摸她，对她说些话，但是他什么也不说，只是斯文地等待着。

“谢谢你的茶。”她说。

“我还没有谢谢夫人赏光呢。”他说。

她向着小径走了出去，他站在门口，微微地苦笑着。佛萝茜举着尾巴走了前来，康妮沉默地向林中蹒跚走去，心里知道他正站在那儿望着她，脸上露着那不可思议的苦笑。

她狠扫兴地、烦恼地回到家里，她一点也不喜欢他说他是被人利用了。在某种意义上，这是真的，但是他不应该说了出来。因此她重新地给两种感情占据着：其一是怨恨他，其一是欲望着与他和好起来。

她十分不安地、恼怒地用完了茶点后，立刻回到楼上房里去了，但是她在房子里不知所措，坐立不安。她得做点什么事。她得再到小屋里去。假如他不在那儿的话，那便算了。

她从旁门溜了出去，有时闷郁地直向目的地走去，当她来到林中那空旷地时，她觉得可怖地不安起来，但是他却在那儿，穿着衬衣，蹲在鸡笼前，把笼门打开了，让母鸡出来。在他周围的那些小雏鸡，现在都长得有点笨拙了，但比之普通的小鸡却雅致得多。

她直向他走了过去。

“你瞧！我来了。”她说。

“唉，我看见了！”他一边，一边站了起来，有点嘻笑地望着她。

“你现在让母鸡出来了么？”她问道。

“是的，它们孵小鸡孵到只剩一张皮、一把骨了，现在，它们全不想出来和取食了，一只孵卵期的母鸡是没有自我的，它整个身心都为了它的卵或小鸡。”

可怜的母鸡！多么盲目的爱！甚至所孵的卵并不是它们自已的！康妮怜地望着它们，好懒情他之间，给一种阴郁的静默笼罩着。

“我们进小屋里去吧？”他问道。

“你要我去么？”她猜疑地问道。

“是的，假如你愿意来的黄悠地、一波一浪荡到远处去。不住地，在她的最生动的地方，那海底分开，在若荡漾，中央便是探海者在温柔的深探着，愈探愈深，愈来愈触着她的底下；她愈深愈远地暴露着，她的波涛越荡越汹涌地荡到什么岸边去，使她暴露着。无名者的深探，愈入愈近，她自己的波涛越荡越远地离开她，抛弃她，直至突然地，在一种温柔的、颤战的痉挛中，她的整个生命的最美妙处被触着了，她自己知道被触着了，一切都完成了，她已经没有了，她已经没有了，好也不存在了，她出世了：一个妇人。

唉！太美了，太可爱了！在那波涛退落之中；她体会这一切的美而可爱了。现在她整个的身体，在深情地紧依着那不知名的男子，在盲目地依恋着那萎缩着的阴茎，它，经过了全力的、狂暴的冲刺后，现在柔软地、娇弱地、不自知地退缩着。当它，这神秘的锐敏的东西从她的肉里退了出来时，她不自学地叫了一声，一声迷失的呼喊，她试着把它放了回去。刚才是这样的佳妙！这样的使她欢快！

现在她才知道了那阴茎的小巧，和花蕊似的静躺，柔嫩，她不禁又惊奇地尖锐了叫了一声，她的妇人的心，这权威者的；柔嫩而惊奇地叫着。

“可爱极了！”她呻吟着说，“好极了！?む被她自己的销魂的情欲所压倒，她躺着，两手无力地放在他的舞动的身上，无论怎样，她都禁不住她的精神在作局外观；她觉得他的臂部的冲撞是可笑的，他的阴茎的那种渴望着得到那片刻的排汇的样子是滑稽的。是的，这便是爱，这可笑的两臂的冲撞这可怜的、无意义的、润湿的小阴茎的萎缩。这便是神圣的爱！毕竟，现代人的藐视这种串演是有理由的，因为这是一种串演。有些诗人说得很对，创造人类的上帝，一定有个乖庚的、幽默的官能，他造了一个有理智的人，而同时却迫他做这种可笑的姿势，而且使他盲目地追求这可笑的串演。甚至一个莫泊桑都觉得爱是屈辱的没落。世人轻蔑床第间事，却又做它。

冷酷地、讥消地，她的奇异的妇人之心远引着，虽然她一动不动地躺着，但是她的本能却使她挺起腰子，想把那男子挤出去，想从他的丑恶的紧抱中，从他的怪诞的后臂的冲撞中逃了出来。这男子的身体是个愚蠢的、鲁莽的、不完备的东西，它的缺憾的笨拙，是有点令人讨厌的。人类如果是完完备地进化的话，这种串演，这种“官能；是定要被淘汰的。

当他很快地完了时，当他卧在她的身上，狠静默的远引着，远引在一种奇异的，静息的境域里，很远地，无室她所不能及的天外时，她开始在心里做哭起来，她觉得他象潮水似的退开，退开，留下她在那儿，象一块海岸上的小石。他舞退着，他的心正离开着她，他知道。

一股真正的哀伤袭据着她心，她痛哭起来。他并没有注意，也许甚至不知道。强烈的呜咽愈来愈厉害。摇撼着她，摇撼着他。

“暖”他说，“这一次是失败了，你没有来呢”

这样看来，他是知道的！她哭得更剧烈了。

“但是怎么啦？”他说，“有时是要这样的。”

“我……我不能爱你。”她哭着说，突然地，她觉得她的心碎了。

“您不能？那么，您不用爱就是！世上并没有法律强迫您爱。听其自然好了。”

他的手还是她的胸上；但是她却没有搂着他了。

他的话是不太能安慰她的。她高声地鸣咽起来。

“不要这样，不要这样！”他说，“甜的要，苦的也要，这一次是有点苦的。”

她哀痛地哭道：“但是我很想爱你，我却不能”那是可怕的！”

他半苦昧、半椰榆地笑了一笑。

“那并不可怕。”他说，“纵令您是那么觉得，您涌使不可怕的东西成为可怕。不要管您爱不爱我。您绝不能勉强的。一篮核桃之中，总有个二泊。好的坏的都得要。”

他撒开了他的手，再也不触摸着她了。现在，她再也不被他触摸着了，她顽皮地觉得满足起来。她憎恨他的土话：这些“您”，“您”，“您的”，假如他喜欢的话，他可以站了起来，毫不客气地直站在她面前，去如他那燕京饭店唐的粗棉布的裤子，毕竟蔑克里斯还知羞地背过脸去。这个人却是这样的自信，他甚至不人们会觉得他是鲁莽无教养的。

虽然，当他默默地舞了出来预备起身时，她恐怖地紧抱着他。

“不！不要走！不要离开我！不要和我斗气！抱着我罢！紧紧地抱着我罢！”她盲目地，疯狂地，哺哺地说，也不知道自己说着什么，她用一种奇异的力量紧抱着他。她要从她自己的内在的暴怒中和反抗中逃了出来，这占据着她的内在的反抗力，是多么强呵！

他重新把她抱在他的两臂中，紧压着她。突然地，她在他的两臂中变成娇小了，这样地娇小而贴服了。完了，反抗力没有了，她开始在一种神妙的和平里溶解了。当她神妙地在他的两臂中溶解成娇小玲珑地时候，他对她的情欲也无限地膨胀了。他所有的血管里都好象为了这臂里的她，为了她的娇媚，为了她的勾人心魂的美，沸腾着一种剧烈的，却又温柔的情欲。他的弃着纯粹的温柔的情欲的手，奇妙地，令人晕眩地爱抚爱她，温柔地，他抚摩着边腰间的软油的曲线，往下去，再往下去，在她柔软而温暖的两股中间，移近着，再移近着，直到她身上最生罢的地方。她觉得他象是一团欲火，但是温柔的欲燕且她觉得自己是溶化在这火焰中了。她不能自禁了。她觉着他的阴茎带着一种静默的、令人惊奇的力量与果断，向他坚举着，她不能自禁地去就他。她颤战着降服了。她的一切都为他开展了。呵！假如他此刻不为她温存，那是多么残酷的事，因为她是整个地为他开展着，整在地在祈求他的怜爱！

那种强猛的，不容分说地向她的进入，是这样的奇异这样的可怕，使她重新颤战起来，也许他的来势要象利刃似的，一刀刺进她温柔地开展着的肉里，那时她便要死了。她在一种骤然的、恐怖的忧苦中，紧紧地抱着她。但是，他的来势只是一种缓缓的、和平的进入，幽暗的、和平的进入，一种有力的、原始的、温情的进入，这种温情是和那创造世界时候的温情一样的，于是恐怖的情绪在她的心里消退了。她的心安泰着，她毫无畏惧了。她让一切尽情地奔驰，她让她自己整个地尽情奔驰，投奔在那泛滥的波涛里。

她仿佛象个大海，满是些幽暗的波涛，上升着，膨胀着，膨胀成一个巨浪，于是慢慢地，整个的幽暗的她，都在动作起来，她成了一个默默地、蒙昧地、兴波作浪的海洋。在她的里面，在她的底下，慢慢分开，左右荡漾，悠悠地、一波一浪荡到远处去。不住地，在她的最生动的地方，那海底分开，在若荡漾，中央便是探海者在温柔的深探着，愈探愈深，愈来愈触着她的底下；她愈深愈远地暴露着，她的波涛越荡越汹涌地荡到什么岸边去，使她暴露着。无名者的深探，愈入愈近，她自己的波涛越荡越远地离开她，抛弃她，直至突然地，在一种温柔的、颤战的痉挛中，她的整个生命的最美妙处被触着了，她自己知道被触着了，一切都完成了，她已经没有了，她已经没有了，好也不存在了，她出世了：一个妇人。

现在她才知道了那阴茎的小巧，和花蕊似的静躺，柔嫩，她不禁又惊奇地尖锐了叫了一声，她的妇人的心，这权威者的；柔嫩而惊奇地叫着。

“可爱极了！”她呻吟着说，“好极了！”

但是他却不说什么，静息地躺在她身上，只是温柔地吻着她。她幸福地呻吟着，好象一个牺牲者，好象一个新生的东西。

现在，她的心里开始对他奇怪地惊异起来了。一个男子！这奇异的男性的权威压在她身上！她的手还有点害怕地在他身上轻抚着，害怕他那曾经使她觉得有点厌恶的、格格不入的奇民蝗东西；一个男子。现在，她触摸着他，这是上帝的儿子们和人类的女儿们在一起的时候了，他多么美，他的皮肤多么纯洁！多么可爱，多么可爱，这样的强壮，却又纯洁而嫩弱！多么安静，这敏锐的身体！这权威者，这嫩弱的肉，多么绝对地安静！多美！多美！她的两手，在他的背上畏怯地向下爱抚着，直到那温软的臀上。美妙！真是美妙！一种新知觉的骤然的小火焰，打她的身里穿过，怎么这同样的美，她以前竟只觉得厌恶？摸触着这温暖生动的臀部的美妙，是不能言嗡的！这生命中的生命，这纯洁的美，是温暖而又有力的。还有他那两腿间的睾丸的奇异的重量！多么神秘！多么奇异的神秘的重量，软软的，沉重的，可以拿来放在手上。这是根蒂，一切可爱的东西的根蒂，一切完备的美的原始的根蒂。

她紧依着他，神奇地惊叹起来，这种惊叹差不多可说是警畏恐怖的惊叹。他紧紧地抱着她，但是不说什么，他决不会说什么的。她假近着他，更加假近着他，为的是要亲近他那感官的奇异在他的绝对的、不可思议的安静中，她又觉得他那东西，那另一个权威者，重新慢慢地颤举起来，她的心在一种敬畏的情绪中溶化了。

这一次，他的进入她的身内，是十分温柔的，美艳的，纯粹的地温柔，纯粹地美艳，直至意识所不能捉摸。整个的她在颤战着。象生命之原液似的，无知而又生动，她不知道那是怎样的，她不复记忆那是怎样过去的，她只知道世上再也没有这样可爱的事情了。就只这一点儿，然后，她完全地静默着，完全地失掉意识，她也不知道经过了多久的时间，他和她一样地静默着。和她一样地深陷在无底的沉寂中，关于这一切，他们是永不会开口的。

当她的意识开始醒转的时候。她紧依在他的胸前，哺哺地说：“我的爱！我的爱！”而他则沉默地紧抱着她，她蜷伏在他的至善至美的胸膛上。

但是他依旧是在那无底的静默中，他奇异地，安静地，把她象花似的抱着。

“你在那儿？”她低声说，“你在那儿？说话罢！对我说说话吧！”

他温柔地吻着她，喃喃地说：“是的，我的小人儿！”

但是她不知道他说的是什么意思，她不知道他在那儿，他的那种沉默，使她觉得似乎是失落了。

“你爱我，是不是？”她喃喃地说。

“是的，您知道！”他说。

“但是告诉我你爱我吧！”她恳求道。

“是的！是的！您不觉得么？”他模糊地但是温柔地、确信地说。她愈紧地、愈紧地依着他。他在爱恋之中比她安泰得多了，她却需要他再使她确信。

“你真的爱我吧！”她固执地细声说。他的两手温柔地爱抚着她，好象爱抚着一朵花似的，没有情欲的颤战，但是很微妙，很亲切的。她呢，却依旧好象恐怕爱情要消遁似的。

“告诉我，你爱我吧”她恳求说。

“是的！”他心不在焉地说。她觉得他的问话，使他远离着她了。

“我们得起来了吧？”他最后说。

“不！”她说。

但是她觉得他分心了，正在听着外边的动静。

“差不多天黑了。”他说。从他的声音里，她听出了世事是不容人的，她吻着他，心里带着一个妇人在放弃她的欢乐时的悲伤。

他站了起来，把灯火转大了，然后，很快地把衣裤重新穿上。他站着，一边束紧着他的裤子。一边用两只乌黑的大眼睛俯望着她。他那带几分红热的脸孔，乱蓬蓬的头发，在那朦胧的灯光下，显得奇异地温暖、安静而美妙，美妙到她永不会告诉他怎样的美，她想去紧依着他，楼抱着他，因为他的美，有着一种温暖的、半睡眠的幽逮，那使她想呼喊起来，把他紧捉着，把他占据着。但是她是绝不会把他占据的，所以她静卧在毡子上，裸露着她温柔地弯曲着的腰股。他呢，他一点也不知道她在想什么，但是他觉得她是美妙的，尤其是他可以进去的那温软的、神奇的东西，是比一切都更美妙的。

“我爱您，因为我可以进您的身里去。”他说。

“你喜欢我么？”好心跳着说。

“我既可以进您的身里去，一切便都行了。我爱您，因为您为我开展着。我爱您。因为我可以这样进您的身里去。

他俯着身上她的柔软的腰窝里吻着，用他的面颊在那儿摩察着，然后用毡子把她盖上了。

“你永不丢弃我吧？”她说。

“别问这种事。”他说。

“但是你相信我爱你吧？”她说。

“此刻您在爱我，热爱到您以前所意想不到的程度，但是一旦您细想起来的时候，谁知道要怎样呢！”

“不，不要说这种话，……你并不真正以为我利用你吧，是不是？”

“怎么？”

“为了生孩子……”

“我们今日，无论谁都可以生无论怎样的孩子。”他一边说，一边坐了下来束紧着他的脚绊。