嘉莉妹妹(Sister Carrie) 第二十章
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Chapter 20 THE LURE OF THE SPIRIT: THE FLESH IN PURSUIT Passion in a man of Hurstwood's nature takes a vigorous form. It is no musing, dreamy thing. There is none of the tendency to sing outside of my lady's window -- to languish and repine in the face of difficulties. In the night he was long getting to sleep because of too much thinking, and in the morning he was early awake, seizing with alacrity upon the same dear subject and pursuing it with vigour. He was out of sorts physically, as well as disordered mentally, for did he not delight in a new manner in his Carrie, and was not Drouet in the way? Never was man more harassed than he by the thoughts of his love being held by the elated, flush-mannered drummer. He would have given anything, it seemed to him, to have the complication ended -- to have Carrie acquiesce to an arrangement which would dispose of Drouet effectually and forever. What to do. He dressed thinking. He moved about in the same chamber with his wife, unmindful of her presence. At breakfast he found himself without an appetite. The meat to which he helped himself remained on his plate untouched. His coffee grew cold, while he scanned the paper indifferently. Here and there he read a little thing, but remembered nothing. Jessica had not yet come down. His wife sat at one end of the table revolving thoughts of her own in silence. A new servant had been recently installed and had forgot the napkins. On this account the silence was irritably broken by a reproof. "I've told you about this before, Maggie," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "I'm not going to tell you again." Hurstwood took a glance at his wife. She was frowning. Just now her manner irritated him excessively. Her next remark was addressed to him. "Have you made up your mind, George, when you will take your vacation?" It was customary for them to discuss the regular summer outing at this season of the year. "Not yet," he said, "I'm very busy just now." "Well, you'll want to make up your mind pretty soon, won't you, if we're going?" she returned. "I guess we have a few days yet," he said. "Hmff," she returned. "Don't wait until the season's over." She stirred in aggravation as she said this. "There you go again," he observed. "One would think I never did anything, the way you begin." "Well, I want to know about it," she reiterated. "You've got a few days yet," he insisted. "You'll not want to start before the races are over." He was irritated to think that this should come up when he wished to have his thoughts for other purposes. "Well, we may. Jessica doesn't want to stay until the end of the races." "What did you want with a season ticket, then?" "Uh!" she said, using the sound as an exclamation of disgust, "I'll not argue with you," and therewith arose to leave the table. "Say," he said, rising, putting a note of determination in his voice which caused her to delay her departure, "what's the matter with you of late? Can't I talk with you any more?" "Certainly, you can talk with me," she replied, laying emphasis on the word. "Well, you wouldn't think so by the way you act. Now, you want to know when I'll be ready -- not for a month yet. Maybe not then." "We'll go without you." "You will, eh?" he sneered. "Yes, we will." He was astonished at the woman's determination, but it only irritated him the more. "Well, we'll see about that. It seems to me you're trying to run things with a pretty high hand of late. You talk as though you settled my affairs for me. Well, you don't. You don't regulate anything that's connected with me. If you want to go, go, but you won't hurry me by any such talk as that." He was thoroughly aroused now. His dark eyes snapped, and he crunched his paper as he laid it down. Mrs. Hurstwood said nothing more. He was just finishing when she turned on her heel and went out into the hall and upstairs. He paused for a moment, as if hesitating, then sat down and drank a little coffee, and thereafter arose and went for his hat and gloves upon the main floor. His wife had really not anticipated a row of this character. She had come down to the breakfast table feeling a little out of sorts with herself and revolving a scheme which she had in her mind. Jessica had called her attention to the fact that the races were not what they were supposed to be. The social opportunities were not what they had thought they would be this year. The beautiful girl found going every day a dull thing. There was an earlier exodus this year of people who were anybody to the watering places and Europe. In her own circle of acquaintances several young men in whom she was interested had gone to Waukesha. She began to feel that she would like to go too, and her mother agreed with her. Accordingly, Mrs. Hurstwood decided to broach the subject. She was thinking this over when she came down to the table, but for some reason the atmosphere was wrong. She was not sure, after it was all over, just how the trouble had begun. She was determined now, however, that her husband was a brute, and that, under no circumstances, would she let this go by unsettled. She would have more lady-like treatment or she would know why. For his part, the manager was loaded with the care of this new argument until he reached his office and started from there to meet Carrie. Then the other complications of love, desire, and opposition possessed him. His thoughts fled on before him upon eagles' wings. He could hardly wait until he should meet Carrie face to face. What was the night, after all, without her -- what the day? She must and should be his. For her part, Carrie had experienced a world of fancy and feeling since she had left him, the night before. She had listened to Drouet's enthusiastic maunderings with much regard for that part which concerned herself, with very little for that which affected his own gain. She kept him at such lengths as she could, because her thoughts were with her own triumph. She felt Hurstwood's passion as a delightful background to her own achievement, and she wondered what he would have to say. She was sorry for him, too, with that peculiar sorrow which finds something complimentary to itself in the misery of another. She was now experiencing the first shades of feeling of that subtle change which removes one out of the ranks of the suppliants into the lines of the dispensers of charity. She was, all in all, exceedingly happy. On the morrow, however, there was nothing in the papers concerning the event, and, in view of the flow of common, everyday things about, it now lost a shade of the glow of the previous evening. Drouet himself was not talking so much of as for her. He felt instinctively that, for some reason or other, he needed reconstruction in her regard. "I think," he said, as he spruced around their chambers the next morning, preparatory to going down town, "that I'll straighten out that little deal of mine this month and then we'll get married. I was talking with Mosher about that yesterday." "No, you won't," said Carrie, who was coming to feel a certain faint power to jest with the drummer. "Yes, I will," he exclaimed, more feelingly than usual, adding, with the tone of one who pleads, "Don't you believe what I've told you?" Carrie laughed a little. "Of course I do," she answered. Drouet's assurance now misgave him. Shallow as was his mental observation, there was that in the things which had happened which made his little power of analysis useless. Carrie was still with him, but not helpless and pleading. There was a lilt in her voice which was new. She did not study him with eyes expressive of dependence. The drummer was feeling the shadow of something which was coming. It coloured his feelings and made him develop those little attentions and say those little words which were mere forefendations against danger. Shortly afterward he departed, and Carrie prepared for her meeting with Hurstwood. She hurried at her toilet, which was soon made, and hastened down the stairs. At the corner she passed Drouet, but they did not see each other. The drummer had forgotten some bills which he wished to turn into his house. He hastened up the stairs and burst into the room, but found only the chambermaid, who was cleaning up. "Hello," he exclaimed, half to himself, "has Carrie gone?" "Your wife? Yes, she went out just a few minutes ago." "That's strange," thought Drouet. "She didn't say a word to me. I wonder where she went?" He hastened about, rummaging in his valise for what he wanted, and finally pocketing it. Then he turned his attention to his fair neighbour, who was good-looking and kindly disposed towards him. "What are you up to?" he said, smiling. "Just cleaning," she replied, stopping and winding a dusting towel about her hand. "Tired of it?" "Not so very." "Let me show you something," he said, affably, coming over and taking out of his pocket a little lithographed card which had been issued by a wholesale tobacco company. On this was printed a picture of a pretty girl, holding a striped parasol, the colours of which could be changed by means of a revolving disk in the back, which showed red, yellow, green, and blue through little interstices made in the ground occupied by the umbrella top. "Isn't that clever?" he said, handing it to her and showing her how it worked. "You never saw anything like that before." "Isn't it nice?" she answered. "You can have it if you want it," he remarked. "That's a pretty ring you have," he said, touching a commonplace setting which adorned the hand holding the card he had given her. "Do you think so?" "That's right," he answered, making use of a pretence at examination to secure her finger. "That's fine." The ice being thus broken, he launched into further observation, pretending to forget that her fingers were still retained by his. She soon withdrew them, however, and retreated a few feet to rest against the window-sill. "I didn't see you for a long time," she said, coquettishly, repulsing one of his exuberant approaches. "You must have been away." "I was," said Drouet. "Do you travel far?" "Pretty far -- yes." "Do you like it?" "Oh, not very well. You get tired of it after a while." "I wish I could travel," said the girl, gazing idly out of the window. "What has become of your friend, Hurstwood?" she suddenly asked, bethinking herself of the manager, who, from her own observation, seemed to contain promising material. "He's here in town. What makes you ask about him?" "Oh, nothing, only he hasn't been here since you got back." "How did you come to know him?" "Didn't I take up his name a dozen times in the last month?" "Get out," said the drummer, lightly. "He hasn't called more than half a dozen times since we've been here." "He hasn't, eh?" said the girl, smiling. "That's all you know about it." Drouet took on a slightly more serious tone. He was uncertain as to whether she was joking or not. "Tease," he said, "what makes you smile that way?" "Oh, nothing." "Have you seen him recently?" "Not since you came back," she laughed. "Before?" "Certainly." "How often?" "Why, nearly every day." She was a mischievous newsmonger, and was keenly wondering what the effect of her words would be. "Who did he come to see?" asked the drummer, incredulously. "Mrs. Drouet." He looked rather foolish at this answer, and then attempted to correct himself so as not to appear a dupe. "Well," he said, "what of it?" "Nothing," replied the girl, her head cocked coquettishly on one side. "He's an old friend," he went on, getting deeper into the mire. He would have gone on further with his little flirtation, but the taste for it was temporarily removed. He was quite relieved when the girl's name was called from below. "I've got to go," she said, moving away from him airily. "I'll see you later," he said, with a pretence of disturbance at being interrupted. When she was gone, he gave freer play to his feelings. His face, never easily controlled by him, expressed all the perplexity and disturbance which he felt. Could it be that Carrie had received so many visits and yet said nothing about them? Was Hurstwood lying? What did the chambermaid mean by it, anyway? He had thought there was something odd about Carrie's manner at the time. Why did she look so disturbed when he had asked her how many times Hurstwood had called? By George! he remembered now. There was something strange about the whole thing. He sat down in a rocking-chair to think the better, drawing up one leg on his knee and frowning mightily. His mind ran on at a great rate. And yet Carrie hadn't acted out of the ordinary. It couldn't be, by George, that she was deceiving him. She hadn't acted that way. Why, even last night she had been as friendly toward him as could be, and Hurstwood too. Look how they acted! He could hardly believe they would try to deceive him. His thoughts burst into words. "She did act sort of funny at times. Here she had dressed and gone out this morning and never said a word." He scratched his head and prepared to go down town. He was still frowning. As he came into the hall he encountered the girl, who was now looking after another chamber. She had on a white dusting cap, beneath which her chubby face shone good-naturedly. Drouet almost forgot his worry in the fact that she was smiling on him. He put his hand familiarly on her shoulder, as if only to greet her in passing. "Got over being mad?" she said, still mischievously inclined. "I'm not mad," he answered. "I thought you were," she said, smiling. "Quit your fooling about that," he said, in an offhand way. "Were you serious?" "Certainly," she answered. Then, with an air of one who did not intentionally mean to create trouble, "He came lots of times. I thought you knew." The game of deception was up with Drouet. He did not try to simulate indifference further. "Did he spend the evenings here?" he asked. "Sometimes. Sometimes they went out." "In the evening?" "Yes. You mustn't look so mad, though." "I'm not," he said. "Did any one else see him?" "Of course," said the girl, as if, after all, it were nothing in particular. "How long ago was this?" "Just before you came back." The drummer pinched his lip nervously. "Don't say anything, will you?" he asked, giving the girl's arm a gentle squeeze. "Certainly not," she returned. "I wouldn't worry over it." "All right," he said, passing on, seriously brooding for once, and yet not wholly unconscious of the fact that he was making a most excellent impression upon the chambermaid. "I'll see her about that," he said to himself, passionately, feeling that he had been unduly wronged. "I'll find out, b'George, whether she'll act that way or not." 第二十章 灵的诱惑：肉的追求
“怎么办呢？”他一边穿衣一边想着这个问题。他在他和妻子共同的卧室里走动，对她视而不见。 吃早饭时他发现自己一点胃口也没有，叉到盘中的肉还留在那里没有动过。咖啡已经放凉了，可是他仍在心不在焉地浏览报纸。这里那里他也读到一两则小消息，但是读过后他就什么也不记得了。杰西卡还在楼上卧室没有下来，他的妻子坐在桌子的另一头默默地想自己的心事。最近又换了一个女仆，今天新女仆忘了准备餐巾。为了这件事，他妻子大声斥责，令人恼火地打破了宁静。 “麦琪，这件事我早就告诉过你了，”赫斯渥太太说。“下次我不会再提醒你了。”赫斯渥看了他太太一眼。她正皱着眉头。她现在的举动非常让他恼火。她下一句话是对他说的：“乔治，你有没有决定什么时候去度假？”按老习惯，他们每年都是这个季节商量夏天外出度假的计划。 “还没有，”他说道，“眼下我正忙着。” “嗯，如果我们要动身的话，你得赶忙决定了，是不是？”她答道。 “我看再拖几天也没关系，”他说。 “哼，”她说，“别等度假季节过完了再决定。”她这么说时，恼怒地扭动着身体。 “你又来了，”他批评说，“听你说话的口气，人家会以为我什么事情也不做呢。”“嗯，我一定要知道你的休假日期，”她重复说。 “你还可以等几天，”他坚持说，“赛马还没有结束，你反正走不了。”他很生气，因为他正有事情要考虑，她偏偏打岔提出这个问题。 “我们可以走得了。杰西卡不愿意等赛马结束再走。”“那么你们当初为什么非要全赛季的票子不可呢？”“哼！”她用这一声哼表示她极度的厌烦。“我不跟你争论，”说着就站起来离开了桌子。 “喂，”他站起来说道，“你近来怎么了？我就不能和你说话了吗？”他口气的坚决态度使她停住了脚。 “当然，你可以和我说话，”她回答说，最后两个字说得特别地重。 “哼，看你的样子，根本不是这么回事。好，你要知道我什么时候走得了--这个月里我离不开，下个月也不一定。”“那我们就自己去了。”“你真这么想，是吗？”他讥笑地说。 “是的，我们就这么办。” 他看到这女人的坚决态度很感惊愕。不过这使他更恼火了。 “好，我们走着瞧好了。照最近的情形看起来，你想要发号施令，为所欲为了。听你说话的口气还想当我的家了。哼，你别作梦。你别想干预和我有关的事。如果你想走，你就走好了。 你别指望用这种话来逼我走。” 他现在怒火中烧了。他的黑眼睛气得一闪一闪的，怒火直冒，把报纸揉成一团扔在一边。赫斯渥太太没有再说什么。不等他说完，她就转身朝外面的客厅走，接着就上楼了。他停顿了一下，好像是在犹豫。然后他又坐了下来，喝了一点咖啡，就站起身，到一楼去拿帽子和手套。 他太太确实没有料到会有这一场争吵。她下楼来吃早饭时，心绪不佳，脑子里反复盘算着一个计划。杰西卡提醒她，马赛不像她们原来想的那么有趣，今年赛马场没有提供多少社交机会。这位美丽的小姐感到每天去赛马场实在乏味。今年那些贵人到海滨和欧洲度假走得比往年早。她认识的人中，好几个她感兴趣的年轻人已经到华克夏去了。她于是开始想她也该走了。她母亲很赞成这主意。 基于这些想法，赫斯渥太太决定要提出这个问题。她走到饭桌边来时，心里正想这件事。但是不知为什么气氛有些不对劲。吵完架以后，她还是不明白怎么会争吵起来的。但是她现在已经肯定她丈夫是个粗暴的人。当然她对此绝不会善罢甘休的，她一定要他拿她当个夫人对待，不然她就要追究到底，找出原因来。 在经理那方面，在去办公室的路上他还在想着这场新的争吵。从办公室出来，他去和嘉莉幽会，这时候他脑子里装的是由爱情、欲望和阻力交织而成的另一种复杂局面。他的思念装上鹰的翅膀飞翔在他前面，他迫不及待地想要和嘉莉见面。 说到底，没有了她，夜晚有什么意思呢？白天又有什么意思？她必须是也应该是他的。 在嘉莉这方面，自从前一晚和他分手以后，她生活在一个充满想象和情感的世界里。对于杜洛埃絮絮聒聒的热情表白，她只注意听了和她有关的那一部分，至于他对拥有嘉莉的得意吹嘘，她就没有心思去听了。她尽量和他疏远，一心只想着自己的成功。她感到赫斯渥的爱情把她的成功衬托得更加可喜，她真想知道他会对此说些什么。她也为他难过，不过这种难过里也夹杂着几分沾沾之喜，因为赫斯渥的痛苦本身就是一种恭维。她正初次体验到从一个乞讨者变为施舍者的那种微妙的感情变化。总之，她非常非常地快乐。 然而第二天早上报纸对这件事只字未提。每天日常的事情还是一如既往地进行着，于是前一天晚上的成功有点黯然失色了。杜洛埃现在与其说是在谈论她的成功，不如说是在竭力讨好她了。他本能地感到，为了这种或者那种的原因，他有必要重获嘉莉的欢心。 “我打算，”他在房间里穿着打扮，准备上商业区之前说道，“这个月要把我的小买卖清理整顿一下，接着我们就结婚。 我昨天和摩旭谈了这事。” “不，你骗人。”她现在稍稍有了点自信心，敢跟这个推销员开开玩笑了。 “真的，不骗你。”他叫了起来，这样动感情在他来说还是第一次。他又用恳求的口吻补充说：“你难道对我的话不相信吗？”嘉莉笑了一下。 “当然我相信，”她回答。 杜洛埃现在不那么自信了。尽管不善于察言观色，他发现事情起了一些变化，这种变化超出了他小小的分析能力之外。 嘉莉仍然和他在一起，但是已经不是懦弱无助哀哀乞怜了。她的声音里透出一种轻快活泼，这是以前没有的。她不再用依赖的目光注意他的一举一动。推销员感到了要发生什么事的阴影。这影响了他的情感，使他开始向嘉莉献些小殷勤，说些讨好的话，作为预防危机的措施。 他刚走不久，嘉莉就为赴赫斯渥的约会做准备。她匆匆打扮了一下，没花多少时间就准备就绪，急急下了楼梯。在马路转弯处，她走过杜洛埃的身边，但是两个人都没有看到对方。 推销员忘了拿几张他想交给商号的账单。他匆匆忙忙上了楼梯，又冲进房间，结果发现房间里只有公寓女仆在收拾房间。 “哈啰，”他叫了一声，又半自言自语地说：“嘉莉出去了吗？”“你太太吗？是的，她才走没两分钟。”“真奇怪，”杜洛埃想，“她一句话也没对我提起。她上哪里去了呢？”他匆匆东翻西找，在旅行箱里乱摸了一气，终于找到了他要找的东西，就把它放进口袋。接着他把注意力投向站在旁边的女仆，她长得很俊，对他很和善。 “你在干什么？”他微笑着问。 “打扫一下房间。”她说着停了下来，把抹布缠在手上绕着。 “累了吗？” “不太累。” “我给你看点东西。”他和气地说着走了过来，从口袋里掏出一张小小的石印画卡片。那是一家烟草批发公司发行的。卡片上印着一个漂亮的姑娘，手里拿着一把条纹太阳桑只要转动卡片后面的小圆转盘，这伞上的颜色就会变化。卡片上伞面部分开了一些小裂缝，从小裂缝里变化出红、黄、蓝、绿的颜色。 “做得很巧妙，是不是？”他说着把卡片递给她，教她怎么玩。“这种东西你以前从来没有见过吧。”“可不，真漂亮，”她说。 “如果你想要，你留着好了，”他说道。 “你的戒指真漂亮。”他说着摸了摸她拿卡片那个手上戴的一个普通嵌戒。 “真的吗？” “真的，”他答道，一边假装要仔细看戒指而握住了她的手指，“是很美。”这样一来，他们之间的拘束感就打破了。他继续聊着，假装忘了他还握着她的手。不过她不久就把自己的手抽了回去，往后退了几步，倚在窗台上。 “我好久没有见到你了。”她拒绝了他的一次热切的亲近以后，卖弄风情地说，“你一定出门去了。”“是的，”杜洛埃说。 “你出门到很远的地方去吗？” “对，相当远。” “你喜欢出门吗？” “不太喜欢，你过一段时间就厌倦了。”“我倒很希望我能到外面跑跑。”姑娘说着无聊地看着窗外。 “你的朋友赫斯渥先生最近怎么样？”她突然问道。照她观察，这个经理似乎是个大有可谈的话题。 “他就在这个城里。你怎么想起问他？” “噢，没有什么。只是自从你回来以后他一直没有到这里来。”“你怎么会认识他的？”“上个月他来了十几次，每次不是我给他通报的吗？”“别瞎说了，”推销员不在意地说，“从打我们住到这里起，他总共只来过五六次。”“是吗？”这姑娘微笑着说，“那是你只知道这几次。”杜洛埃的口气比刚才严肃了，他不能肯定这姑娘是不是在开玩笑。 “调皮鬼，”他说，“你干嘛这么古怪地笑？”“噢，没什么？”“你最近见到他了吗？”“从你回家来就没有见过，”她笑了起来。 “这之前呢？” “当然见过了。” “常来吗？” “是啊，差不多每天都来。” 她是个爱搬弄是非的人，非常想知道她这话会产生什么后果。 “他来看谁？”推锁员不相信地问。 “杜洛埃太太。” 他听了这个回答发了一会儿呆，然后他竭力要掩饰自己露出的傻相。 “嗯，”他说，“那又怎样呢？” “没什么，”姑娘风骚地把头一歪，回答。 “他是老朋友了，”他继续说，越来越深地陷进了泥沼。 尽管他暂时已没了兴趣，他本来还会把这小小的调情进行下去，所以当楼下叫这姑娘下去时，他如释重负。 “我得走了，”她说着轻盈地从他身边走开。 “等会儿见，”他装出被人打断感到烦恼的神气说道。 等她一走，他让自己的感情发泄出来。他从来不善于掩饰自己的脸色。这会儿，他心里感到的种种困惑和烦恼都在脸上呈现出来。嘉莉接待人家这么多次，在他面前却一句没有提起。这事情可能吗？赫斯渥在说谎吗？这女仆这么说，是什么意思呢？他当时就感到嘉莉的神色有点反常。他问她赫斯渥来访几次时，她为什么显得那么不安呢？天哪，他现在想起来了。这整个事情是有点古怪呢。 他在一个摇椅里坐了下来，以便更好地想想。他把一个脚架在膝盖上，眉头皱紧了，思绪在飞快地变幻。 然而嘉莉并没有什么越轨的举动埃天哪，她不可能是在欺骗他。她从来没有骗过人。对了，就在昨晚她对他还是非常友好，赫斯渥也是如此。看看他们的举止！他几乎无法相信他们要其他。 他不禁自言自语起来。 “有时候她的举动是有点怪。今早她穿戴整齐出去了，可是她一个字也没有说。”他挠了挠头，打算去商业区了。他的眉头紧皱着。走到门厅时，又碰到了那个姑娘。她正在打扫另一个房间，头上戴着一项白色的掸尘帽子，帽子下胖乎乎的脸蛋露出和善的笑意。 看到她朝他微笑，他把自己的烦恼几乎都忘了。他亲密地把他的手搭在她肩上，好像只是路过打个招呼。 “气消了吗？”她仍然有点调皮地问。 “我没有生气，”他回答。 “我还以为你气疯了，”她说着微微一笑。 “不要开玩笑了，”他随便地说，“这事当真吗？”“当然了，”她回答。接着她用一种并非故意要挑拨是非的神气说：“他来了很多次，我还以为你知道的呢。”杜洛埃放弃了对她掩饰自己的思想的打算，他不想再装出无所谓的神气了。 “他晚上来这里吗？”他问。 “来过几次。有时候他们出去。” “晚上吗？” “是的，不过你不用这么生气。” “我没有生气，”他说。“还有别人见到他吗？”“当然了，”这女孩子说道，好像这事毕竟算不得什么似的。 “这是多久以前的事了？” “就是你回来以前不久的事。” 推销员神经质地捏着嘴唇。 “这事你什么也别说，好吗？”他握住了姑娘的手臂轻轻捏了一把，说道。 “我一定不说，”她回答。“我才不为这事操心呢？”“好，就这样。”他说着又继续往外走，生平第一次进行严肃的思考。不过并不是完全没有想到他已给这女仆留下了一个很好的印象。 “我要看看她对这事怎么说，”他愤愤地想，感到自己受了不该受的委屈。“天哪，我一定要弄明白她是不是做出这种事来。” |
