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双语·夜色温柔 第一篇 第十七章

所属教程:译林版·夜色温柔

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2022年05月05日

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It was a house hewn from the frame of Cardinal de Retz’s palace in the rue Monsieur, but once inside the door there was nothing of the past, nor of any present that Rosemary knew. The outer shell, the masonry, seemed rather to enclose the future so that it was an electric-like shock, a definite nervous experience, perverted as a breakfast of oatmeal and hashish, to cross that threshold, if it could be so called, into the long hall of blue steel, silver-gilt, and the myriad facets of many oddly bevelled mirrors. The effect was unlike that of any part of the Decorative Arts Exhibition—for there were people in it, not in front of it. Rosemary had the detached false-and-exalted feeling of being on a set and she guessed that every one else present had that feeling too.

There were about thirty people, mostly women, and all fashioned by Louisa M. Alcott or Madame de Ségur; and they functioned on this set as cautiously, as precisely, as does a human hand picking up jagged broken glass. Neither individually nor as a crowd could they be said to dominate the environment, as one comes to dominate a work of art he may possess, no matter how esoteric, no one knew what this room meant because it was evolving into something else, becoming everything a room was not; to exist in it was as difficult as walking on a highly polished moving stairway, and no one could succeed at all save with the aforementioned qualities of a hand moving among broken glass—which qualities limited and defined the majority of those present.

These were of two sorts. There were the Americans and English who had been dissipating all spring and summer, so that now everything they did had a purely nervous inspiration. They were very quiet and lethargic at certain hours and then they exploded into sudden quarrels and breakdowns and seductions. The other class, who might be called the exploiters, was formed by the sponges, who were sober, serious people by comparison, with a purpose in life and no time for fooling. These kept their balance best in that environment, and what tone there was, beyond the apartment’s novel organization of light values, came from them.

The Frankenstein took down Dick and Rosemary at a gulp—it separated them immediately and Rosemary suddenly discovered herself to be an insincere little person, living all in the upper registers of her throat and wishing the director would come. There was however such a wild beating of wings in the room that she did not feel her position was more incongruous than any one else’s. In addition, her training told and after a series of semi-military turns, shifts, and marches she found herself presumably talking to a neat, slick girl with a lovely boy’s face, but actually absorbed by a conversation taking place on a sort of gun-metal ladder diagonally opposite her and four feet away.

There was a trio of young women sitting on the bench. They were all tall and slender with small heads groomed like manikins’ heads, and as they talked the heads waved gracefully about above their dark tailored suits, rather like long-stemmed flowers and rather like cobras’ hoods.

“Oh, they give a good show,” said one of them, in a deep rich voice.“Practically the best show in Paris—I’d be the last one to deny that. But after all—” She sighed. “Those phrases he uses over and over—‘Oldest inhabitant gnawed by rodents.’ You laugh once.”

“I prefer people whose lives have more corrugated surfaces,” said the second, “and I don’t like her.”

“I’ve never really been able to get very excited about them, or their entourage either. Why, for example, the entirely liquid Mr. North?”

“He’s out,” said the first girl. “But you must admit that the party in question can be one of the most charming human beings you have ever met.”

It was the first hint Rosemary had had that they were talking about the Divers, and her body grew tense with indignation. But the girl talking to her, in the starched blue shirt with the bright blue eyes and the red cheeks and the very gray suit, a poster of a girl, had begun to play up. Desperately she kept sweeping things from between them, afraid that Rosemary couldn’t see her, sweeping them away until presently there was not so much as a veil of brittle humor hiding the girl, and with distaste Rosemary saw her plain.

“Couldn’t you have lunch, or maybe dinner, or lunch the day after?” begged the girl. Rosemary looked about for Dick, finding him with the hostess, to whom he had been talking since they came in. Their eyes met and he nodded slightly, and simultaneously the three cobra women noticed her; their long necks darted toward her and they fixed finely critical glances upon her. She looked back at them defiantly, acknowledging that she had heard what they said. Then she threw off her exigent vis-à-vis with a polite but clipped parting that she had just learned from Dick, and went over to join him. The hostess—she was another tall rich American girl, promenading insouciantly upon the national prosperity—was asking Dick innumerable questions about Gausse’s H?tel, whither she evidently wanted to come, and battering persistently against his reluctance. Rosemary’s presence reminded her that she had been recalcitrant as a hostess and glancing about she said:“Have you met any one amusing, have you met Mr.—” Her eyes groped for a male who might interest Rosemary, but Dick said they must go. They left immediately, moving over the brief threshold of the future to the sudden past of the stone fa?ade without.

“Wasn’t it terrible?” he said.

“Terrible,” she echoed obediently.

“Rosemary?”

She murmured, “What?” in an awed voice.

“I feel terribly about this.”

She was shaken with audibly painful sobs. “Have you got a handkerchief?” she faltered. But there was little time to cry, and lovers now they fell ravenously on the quick seconds while outside the taxi windows the green and cream twilight faded, and the fire-red, gas-blue, ghost-green signs began to shine smokily through the tranquil rain. It was nearly six, the streets were in movement, the bistros gleamed, the Place de la Concorde moved by in pink majesty as the cab turned north.

They looked at each other at last, murmuring names that were a spell. Softly the two names lingered on the air, died away more slowly than other words, other names, slower than music in the mind.

“I don’t know what came over me last night,” Rosemary said. “That glass of champagne? I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“You simply said you loved me.”

“I do love you—I can’t change that.” It was time for Rosemary to cry, so she cried a little in her handkerchief.

“I’m afraid I’m in love with you,” said Dick, “and that’s not the best thing that could happen.”

Again the names—then they lurched together as if the taxi had swung them. Her breasts crushed flat against him, her mouth was all new and warm, owned in common. They stopped thinking with an almost painful relief, stopped seeing; they only breathed and sought each other. They were both in the gray gentle world of a mild hangover of fatigue when the nerves relax in bunches like piano strings, and crackle suddenly like wicker chairs. Nerves so raw and tender must surely join other nerves, lips to lips, breast to breast….

They were still in the happier stage of love. They were full of brave illusions about each other, tremendous illusions, so that the communion of self with self seemed to be on a plane where no other human relations mattered. They both seemed to have arrived there with an extraordinary innocence as though a series of pure accidents had driven them together, so many accidents that at last they were forced to conclude that they were for each other. They had arrived with clean hands, or so it seemed, after no traffic with the merely curious and clandestine.

But for Dick that portion of the road was short; the turning came before they reached the hotel.

“There’s nothing to do about it,” he said, with a feeling of panic. “I’m in love with you but it doesn’t change what I said last night.”

“That doesn’t matter now. I just wanted to make you love me—if you love me everything’s all right.”

“Unfortunately I do. But Nicole mustn’t know—she mustn’t suspect even faintly. Nicole and I have got to go on together. In a way that’s more important than just wanting to go on.”

“Kiss me once more.”

He kissed her, but momentarily he had left her.

“Nicole mustn’t suffer—she loves me and I love her—you understand that.”

She did understand—it was the sort of thing she understood well, not hurting people. She knew the Divers loved each other because it had been her primary assumption. She had thought however that it was a rather cooled relation, and actually rather like the love of herself and her mother. When people have so much for outsiders didn’t it indicate a lack of inner intensity?

“And I mean love,” he said, guessing her thoughts. “Active love—it’s more complicated than I can tell you. It was responsible for that crazy duel.”

“How did you know about the duel? I thought we were to keep it from you.”

“Do you think Abe can keep a secret?” He spoke with incisive irony.“Tell a secret over the radio, publish it in a tabloid, but never tell it to a man who drinks more than three or four a day.”

She laughed in agreement, staying close to him.

“So you understand my relations with Nicole are complicated. She’s not very strong—she looks strong but she isn’t. And this makes rather a mess.”

“Oh, say that later! But kiss me now—love me now. I’ll love you and never let Nicole see.”

“You darling.”

They reached the hotel and Rosemary walked a little behind him, to admire him, to adore him. His step was alert as if he had just come from some great doings and was hurrying on toward others. Organizer of private gaiety, curator of a richly incrusted happiness. His hat was a perfect hat and he carried a heavy stick and yellow gloves. She thought what a good time they would all have being with him to-night.

They walked upstairs—five flights. At the first landing they stopped and kissed; she was careful on the next landing, on the third more careful still. On the next—there were two more—she stopped half way and kissed him fleetingly good-by. At his urgency she walked down with him to the one below for a minute—and then up and up. Finally it was good-by with their hands stretching to touch along the diagonal of the banister and then the fingers slipping apart. Dick went back downstairs to make some arrangements for the evening—Rosemary ran to her room and wrote a letter to her mother; she was conscience-stricken because she did not miss her mother at all.

这幢房屋在风格上仿照位于木樨街的红衣主教莱兹的宫殿,可是一进门,罗斯玛丽就发现里面全无怀古的幽思,也无现代的情调。房屋砖石结构的外壳似乎给人以面向未来的超前感,一迈入门槛(如果可以被称为门槛的话),步入一个长长的大厅,那儿有许多蓝色的钢架和镀银的架子,还有许多古里古怪的棱镜,你会有触电的感觉,产生焦躁不安的情绪,还会觉得反胃,就好像早餐吃下了难以下咽的燕麦和麻药一样。这种感觉却跟你在装饰艺术展览会的展览厅里的那种感觉完全不同——在展览厅里,你是身在其中,而非像现在这般站在镜子面前出洋相。罗斯玛丽有一种戏中人的感觉,必须得装模作样,估摸着其他的人八成跟她感受相同。

屋里大约有三十个人,其中多为女性,个个都像是路易莎·梅·奥尔科特或塞居尔夫人创造出来的艺术形象——这些人谨小慎微,一举一动都准确无误,就像是用手捡玻璃碴,生怕被扎伤。他们当中的每一个人,或者说整个群体似乎都无法掌控周围的环境,不能像支配属于自己的艺术品那样;不管周围的环境怎样神秘,他们都无可奈何——无人知道这个大厅究竟意欲何为,因为它变化莫测,正在悄然改变着性质,似乎已经不是大厅了。你来到这里,会觉得步履维艰,每一步都得小心翼翼,就像走在十分光滑的活动楼梯上。除非你具有以上所说的用手捡玻璃碴的那种本事,否则别想行动自如——这里的大多数人正是受到这种限制,才有了如此窘境。

这些人按类型可分为两种。在第一种类型里,有美国人,也有英国人——这些人在春光明媚的时候,以及在融融的夏日,会纵情狂欢,一味追求精神刺激。这种人有的时候会非常安静,甚至可以说是蔫了吧唧,而有的时候则突然爆发出活力,四处惹是生非,不是与人争执,就是行拐骗之事。第二种类型可以被称为剥削者,靠剥削他人为生,相对而言比较沉着、冷静,有着自己的人生目标,不愿虚度光阴,此时在这个大厅里尚能保持情绪稳定。如果说这个大厅光怪陆离,很有特色,那么,这种特色来自于第二种类型的人。

这个“弗兰肯斯坦”一口将迪克和罗斯玛丽吞进了肚子里,然后立刻就把他们分开了。罗斯玛丽突然觉得自己成了一个不知所措的小人物,张口结舌不知说什么才好,希望有人能过来为她指点指点。不过,大厅里慌乱不知所措的非止她一人,这叫她觉得自己并不比别人更尴尬。另外,她的训练发挥了作用,做了几个半军事化的动作——辗转腾挪,她终于走到了一个地方。她发现自己看似在和一个女孩说话——一个生得齐整的乖巧女孩(该女孩有一张英俊少年的脸),实际上她被说话的声音吸引了——斜对面四英尺远的金属楼梯口那儿有人在交谈。

那儿的长椅上坐着三位年轻女子,个个身材修长、腰肢纤细,小头小脑,戴着模特那样的头饰,身穿黑色时装,说话时脑袋一摆一摆的,很是优雅,像长茎上的花朵,也有点像眼镜蛇的脑袋。

“哼,他们可真是够显赫的,”其中的一个女子说道,嗓音低沉、圆润,“在整个巴黎,他们恐怕是最爱出风头的了。这一点是谁都不能否认的。可毕竟……”说到这里,她叹了口气,“那些话他说了又说……岂不知‘话说三遍淡如水’。只能叫人付之一笑。”

“我比较喜欢生活中经历风雨的人。”又有一个女子说道,“对于她,我是不喜欢的。”

“说实在的,对他们两口子我历来都不十分感兴趣,对他们的朋友也是如此。比如说,那个贪杯好饮的诺思先生就是其中的一个。他来了吗?”

“他没来。”头一个说话的那个女子回答道,“不过,若论魅力,你得承认那些人能拔头筹。”

罗斯玛丽这才听出她们原来正在谈论戴弗夫妇,于是气得连身子都僵硬了。说话的那女子身穿浆得笔挺的蓝色衬衫、灰色外套,有一双亮晶晶的蓝眼睛,脸蛋红扑扑的,活脱脱一个广告女郎,她一见罗斯玛丽便大献殷勤,将挡在她们之间的东西一件件推开,生怕罗斯玛丽看不见她。最后,罗斯玛丽看到的是她的一副虚伪的嘴脸,心里感到十分厌恶。

“我想请你吃顿午饭或晚饭,后天也行。你肯不肯赏脸?”那女子以央求的口气问。罗斯玛丽没吱声,而是用目光四下寻找迪克,最终发现他和女主人在一起(他一进来,就一直在跟女主人说话)。二人目光相遇,迪克冲她微微点了点头。与此同时,那三个脑袋像眼镜蛇的女子用挑剔的目光打量她,而她也毫不示弱地盯着她们,好像在说她听见了她们刚才的言语。后来,她礼貌且果断地说了声再见,结束了这种冷峻的对峙,到迪克那儿去了——这样摆脱窘境的招数是她刚跟迪克学来的。那个女主人有高挑的个子,是个美国的富家女,逍遥自在地享受着国家繁荣所带来的财富,此时在向迪克打听高斯旅馆的情况,问这问那的,显然是想在那儿下榻。尽管迪克不愿多说,她仍一个问题接一个问题。直至罗斯玛丽走到跟前,她才感觉到自己没有尽到地主之谊,于是向四周看了看,对罗斯玛丽说:“你有没有看见哪个风趣的人,可以跟他……”她一边说一边想找到一位能让罗斯玛丽感兴趣的男士,但迪克说他们必须走了。随后,他和罗斯玛丽立刻走掉了,跨过那道象征着未来的门槛,一步就迈到了代表着过去的石头大门前。

“是不是很糟糕?”迪克问。

“是的。”罗斯玛丽小鸟依人般地回答道。

“罗斯玛丽?”

“怎么啦?”她喃喃地问,声音怯怯的。

“我心里很乱,觉得很糟糕。”

她的身子哆嗦着,痛苦地啜泣了几声,声音清晰可闻。“你带手帕了吗?”她嗓音发颤地问。此刻哪里有伤心落泪的时间!这对情侣很快就沉浸在爱河中不能自拔,贪婪地利用那分分秒秒飞逝的时光。车窗外,那绿色和奶油色相间的暮色渐渐隐没,街上亮起了霓虹灯,有火红色的、淡蓝色的,也有幽灵般绿色的,在静静的雨雾里闪闪烁烁的。此时已经快六点钟了,街上行人熙攘,各家餐馆灯火通明。他们乘坐的出租车转弯向北,从沐浴在粉红色灯光里的协和广场跟前疾驰而过。

最后,二人终于彼此分开,忘情地看着对方,嘴里念叨着对方的名字——那两个名字像具有魔力一样,轻轻地、久久地荡漾在空气里,比任何别的名字都要缠绵,甚至比绕梁的音乐还难以消散。

“我都不知道昨天晚上自己到底是怎么回事。”罗斯玛丽说,“莫非是喝酒喝糊涂啦?以前我可从来没有那样过。”

“没什么,你只不过说了声你爱我。”

“我确实爱你,欲罢不能。”这时,罗斯玛丽总算可以哭一场了。只见她拿出一方罗帕,呜呜咽咽哭了一通。

“恐怕我也爱上你了,”迪克说,“这可不是一件好事情。”

随后,二人又念叨起对方的名字来。接着,他们倒在了一起,就好像车身一颠,将他们颠在了一处似的。她的酥胸紧紧贴在他的身上,温暖的樱桃小口香津津的,此刻属于他们二人。他们快活得忘乎所以,什么都不想,什么都不看,只是喘着粗气,恨不得将对方吞进肚里。此时的他们略感疲惫,在一个温柔的世界里休憩,犹如紧绷的琴弦松弛了下来,似柳条椅般嘎吱嘎吱响。他们的神经敏感、脆弱,必须从对方那儿寻求安慰,于是便嘴对嘴、胸贴胸……

二人沉浸在爱情的幸福之中,彼此对对方都产生了种种幻想,种种不切合实际的幻想,由于心灵水乳交融,已全然不顾其他的人际关系。他们达到这种境界,似乎是出于天真和无知,是阴差阳错走到了一起——由于诸多偶然事件的发生,他们才认定彼此是相爱的。他们达到这种境界是清清白白的(或者说看起来如此),事先并无花前月下的约会,也无耳鬓厮磨的偷情。

不过,对迪克而言,这样的爱情历程很短——还没到达旅馆,他的爱情就转了弯。

“真是无能为力啊,”他神情慌乱地说,“我爱你,但我昨晚所说的事实却是改变不了的。”

“这没有关系。我只是要你爱我——只要你爱我,一切都好办。”

“不幸的是我确实爱你,但不能让尼科尔知道——甚至不能叫她有丝毫的怀疑。我和尼科尔必须一同生活下去。从某种程度上说,这可不仅仅是愿意不愿意的问题。”

“请你再吻我一次吧。”

他吻了她,但一颗心却在瞬间远离了她。

“不能让尼科尔受到伤害……她爱我,我也爱她……这你应该是理解的。”

她当然理解,正因为理解,才不愿伤害他们。一开始她就知道戴弗夫妇彼此相爱,但也知道他们之间的爱是冷静的爱,就跟她与母亲之间的感情相似。人与人之间这样对外来者的爱是不是表明人的内心缺乏炽热的激情?

“我爱尼科尔,”他猜透了她的心思,于是解释道,“是发自于内心的爱。这种感情很复杂,说是说不清的。那场疯狂的决斗就是由这样的感情所引发的。”

“那场决斗你是怎么知道的?我以为这事是瞒着你的。”

“你以为阿贝能保守秘密?”他语含讥讽地说,“你可以把秘密告诉给广播电台,或把它登在街头小报上,但千万不要把它告诉给一个每天至少要醉三四次酒的人。”

她笑着表示同意,同时朝他怀里偎了偎。

“这样你就知道我和尼科尔的关系是错综复杂的。她看上去是个坚强的人,其实并非如此。正是这一点让问题复杂化了。”

“哦,这些以后再说吧!现在,亲亲我吧,爱我吧!我将会悄悄地爱你,决不让尼科尔看见。”

“你真善解人意。”

说话间,他们已经到了旅馆。罗斯玛丽慢行几步,落在了他后边,从后边欣赏着他,心里充满了崇拜。但见他脚步轻盈,仿佛刚完成了一件大事,现在正奔向前方去执行新的重大使命。好一个寻欢作乐的高手,婚姻幸福的呵护人!他头戴一顶精致的帽子,手戴一副黄色手套,拎着一根沉甸甸的手杖,真是风度翩翩!她不由心想:如果今夜能跟他共度良宵,该是多么令人销魂啊!

他们上楼去,中间要爬五段楼梯。在第一段楼梯口,他们停下脚步接吻;在第二段楼梯口,她接吻时就比较谨慎了;在第三段楼梯口,她便更谨慎了。在爬第四段楼梯时,她中途留住脚步,飞快地和他吻别。但在他的恳求下,她陪他又回到下面的那个楼梯口,缠绵了一会儿之后,复又拾级而上。最后,二人伸出手,顺着楼梯的栏杆握别,随即各自将手抽回。迪克下楼去为晚上的聚会做些安排;罗斯玛丽跑回自己的房间,着手给她母亲写信。她觉得内疚,因为她方才完全把母亲忘到了九霄云外。

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