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双语·剧院风情 第十章

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2022年05月24日

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Chapter 10

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” said Julia.

Evie entered.

“Aren't you going to bed today, Miss Lambert?” She saw Julia sitting on the floor surrounded by masses of photographs. “Whatever are you doing?”

“Dreaming.” She took up two of the photographs. “Look here upon this picture, and on this.”

One was of Michael as Mercutio in all the radiant beauty of his youth and the other of Michael in the last part he had played, in a white topper and a morning coat, with a pair of field glasses slung over his shoulder. He looked unbelievably self-satisfied.

Evie sniffed.

“Oh, well, it's no good crying over spilt milk.”

“I've been thinking of the past and I'm as blue as the devil.”

“I don't wonder. When you start thinking of the past it means you ain't got no future, don't it?”

“You shut your trap, you old cow,” said Julia, who could be very vulgar when she chose.

“Come on now, or you'll be fit for nothing tonight. I'll clear up all this mess.”

Evie was Julia's dresser and maid. She had come to her first at Middlepool and had accompanied her to London. She was a cockney, a thin, raddled, angular woman, with red hair which was always untidy and looked as if it much needed washing; two of her front teeth were missing but notwithstanding Julia's offer, repeated for years, to provide her with new ones she would not have them replaced.

“For the little I eat I've got all the teeth I want. It'd only fidget me to 'ave a lot of elephant's tusks in me mouth.”

Michael had long wanted Julia at least to get a maid whose appearance was more suitable to their position, and he had tried to persuade Evie that the work was too much for her, but Evie would not hear of it.

“You can say what you like, Mr. Gosselyn, but no one's going to maid Miss Lambert as long as I've got me 'ealth and strength.”

“We're all getting on, you know, Evie. We're not so young as we were.”

Evie drew her forefinger across the base of her nostrils and sniffed.

“As long as Miss Lambert's young enough to play women of twenty-five, I'm young enough to dress 'er. And maid 'er.” Evie gave him a sharp look. “An' what d'you want to pay two lots of wages for, when you can get the work done for one?”

Michael chuckled in his good-humoured way.

“There's something in that, Evie dear.”

She bustled Julia upstairs. When she had no matinée Julia went to bed for a couple of hours in the afternoon and then had a light massage. She undressed now and slipped between the sheets.

“Damn, my hot water bottle's nearly stone cold.”

She looked at the clock on the chimney-piece. It was no wonder. It must have been there an hour. She had no notion that she had stayed so long in Michael's room, looking at those photographs and idly thinking of the past.

“Forty-six. Forty-six. Forty-six. I shall retire when I'm sixty. At fifty-eight South Africa and Australia. Michael says we can clean up there. Twenty thousand pounds. I can play all my old parts. Of course even at sixty I could play women of forty-five. But what about parts? Those bloody dramatists.”

Trying to remember any plays in which there was a first-rate part for a woman of five-and-forty she fell asleep. She slept soundly till Evie came to awake her because the masseuse was there. Evie brought her the evening paper, and Julia, stripped, while the masseuse rubbed her long slim legs and her belly, putting on her spectacles, read the same theatrical intelligence she had read that morning, the gossip column and the woman's page. Presently Michael came in and sat on her bed. He often came at that hour to have a little chat with her.

“Well, what was his name?” asked Julia.

“Whose name?”

“The boy who came to lunch?”

“I haven't a notion. I drove him back to the theatre. I never gave him another thought.”

Miss Phillips, the masseuse, liked Michael. You knew where you were with him. He always said the same things and you knew exactly what to answer. No side to him. And terribly good-looking. My word.

“Well, Miss Phillips, fat coming off nicely?”

“Oh, Mr. Gosselyn, there's not an ounce of fat on Miss Lambert. I think it's wonderful the way she keeps her figure.”

“Pity I can't have you to massage me, Miss Phillips. You might be able to do something about mine.”

“How you talk, Mr. Gosselyn. Why, you've got the figure of a boy of twenty. I don't know how you do it, upon my word I don't.”

“Plain living and high thinking, Miss Phillips.”

Julia was paying no attention to what they said, but Miss Phillips's reply reached her.

“Of course there's nothing like massage, I always say that, but you've got to be careful of your diet. That there's no doubt about at all.”

“Diet!” she thought. “When I'm sixty I shall let myself go. I shall eat all the bread and butter I like. I'll have hot rolls for breakfast, I'll have potatoes for lunch and potatoes for dinner. And beer. God, how I like beer. Pea soup and tomato soup; treacle pudding and cherry tart. Cream, cream, cream. And so help me God, I'll never eat spinach again as long as I live.”

When the massage was finished Evie brought her a cup of tea, a slice of ham from which the fat had been cut, and some dry toast. Julia got up, dressed, and went down with Michael to the theatre. She liked to be there an hour before the curtain rang up. Michael went on to dine at his club. Evie had preceded her in a cab and when she got into her dressing-room everything was ready for her. She undressed once more and put on a dressing-gown. As she sat down at her dressing-table to make up she noticed some fresh flowers in a vase.

“Hulloa, who sent them? Mrs. de Vries?”

Dolly always sent her a huge basket on her first nights, and on the hundredth night, and the two hundredth if there was one, and in between, whenever she ordered flowers for her own house, had some sent to Julia.

“No, miss.”

“Lord Charles?”

Lord Charles Tamerley was the oldest and the most constant of Julia's admirers, and when he passed a florist's he was very apt to drop in and order some roses for her.

“Here's the card,” said Evie.

Julia looked at it. Mr. Thomas Fennell. Tavistock Square.

“What a place to live. Who the hell d'you suppose he is, Evie?”

“Some feller knocked all of a heap by your fatal beauty, I expect.”

“They must have cost all of a pound. Tavistock Square doesn't look very prosperous to me. For all you know he may have gone without his dinner for a week to buy them.”

“I don't think.”

Julia plastered her face with grease paint.

“You're so damned unromantic, Evie. Just because I'm not a chorus girl you can't understand why anyone should send me flowers. And God knows, I've got better legs than most of them.”

“You and your legs,” said Evie.

“Well, I don't mind telling you I think it's a bit of all right having an unknown young man sending me flowers at my time of life. I mean it just shows you.”

“If he saw you now 'e wouldn't, not if I know anything about men.”

“Go to hell,” said Julia.

But when she was made up to her satisfaction, and Evie had put on her stockings and her shoes, having a few minutes still to spare she sat down at her desk and in her straggling bold hand wrote to Mr. Thomas Fennell a gushing note of thanks for his beautiful flowers. She was naturally polite and it was besides a principle with her to answer all fan letters. That was how she kept in touch with her public. Having addressed the envelope she threw the card in the waste-paper basket and was ready to slip into the first-act dress. The call-boy came round knocking at the dressing-room doors.

“Beginners, please.”

Those words, though heaven only knew how often she had heard them, still gave her a thrill. They braced her like a tonic. Life acquired significance. She was about to step from the world of make-believe into the world of reality.

第十章

有人在敲门。

“请进。”朱莉娅说道。

是伊维进来了。

“您今天还不去休息吗,兰伯特小姐?”她看到朱莉娅坐在地板上,周围都是照片,“您在做什么?”

“做梦。”她捡起两张照片,“看这张照片,还有这张。”

一张是迈克尔最年轻帅气时饰演茂丘西奥时的照片,另一张是迈克尔演最后一个角色时的照片,他戴着白色的礼帽,穿着晨礼服,肩膀上挂着一副双筒望远镜。他看起来自鸣得意得不可救药。

伊维嗤之以鼻。

“哦,没必要冲着洒了的牛奶哭。”

“我一直在回忆过去,现在快忧郁死了。”

“一定的。当你开始回想过去,那就意味着你没有什么未来了,是吗?”

“快闭嘴吧,你这老母牛。”朱莉娅说道。如果她愿意,她可以非常粗俗。

“快点吧,否则会影响今晚的演出,我来把乱糟糟的屋子收拾一下。”

伊维是朱莉娅的服装师兼女仆。在米德尔普尔时,她就为朱莉娅服务,后来随她来了伦敦。她是伦敦本地人,看起来身子单薄,无精打采,瘦骨嶙峋。她有些上了年纪,一头红发总是不整齐,似乎需要大洗一番;她的两颗门牙没了,尽管朱莉娅多年来一直提出要为她补上,但她却不愿意。

“对于我的食量而言,我这几颗牙完全足够了。嘴巴里装那么多象牙才让我紧张呢。”

迈克尔很早就希望朱莉娅能至少再请一位外表更能适合这个职位的女仆,他曾试图说服伊维承认这些工作对她来说太多了,但伊维没有听。

“您怎么说都行,格斯林先生,但只要我还健康有力气,就不会再有其他人来伺候兰伯特小姐。”

“我们都老了,你知道吧,伊维。我们都不再年轻了。”

伊维用食指抹了一把鼻孔,吸了吸鼻涕。

“只要兰伯特小姐还可以饰演二十五岁的年轻女人,我就可以为她换衣服,做她的女仆。”伊维狠狠地看了他一眼,“而且既然这点活您出一倍的钱就能完成,为什么还要出两倍的价钱?”

迈克尔没脾气地笑了笑。

“我没有别的意思,亲爱的伊维。”

伊维催赶着朱莉娅上了楼。当朱莉娅没有午场演出的时候,她会在下午上床休息几个小时,然后做个轻轻的按摩。她脱了衣服,钻进了被窝。

“可恶,我的热水袋快冻成冰了。”

她看了看壁炉架上的钟表。难怪,热水袋被放在这里至少有一个小时了。她不知道自己在迈克尔的房间里待了那么久,翻阅那些照片,无所事事地回忆过去。

“四十六。四十六。四十六。当我六十岁的时候我就会退休。五十八岁的时候去南非和澳大利亚。迈克尔说我们会在那里大捞一笔。两万英镑。我可以出演所有以往的角色。当然,即便到了六十,我也能演四十五岁的女人。但有什么四十五岁的好角色呢?这些可恨的戏剧家。”

朱莉娅脑子里想着有没有一部一流戏剧的女主角是四十五岁,渐渐地睡着了。她睡得很沉,直到伊维叫醒了她,因为按摩师到了。伊维给她拿来了晚报,朱莉娅脱光衣服,按摩师按摩着她那细长的腿,她的肚子。朱莉娅戴上眼镜,又读了一遍她早上已经读过的戏剧消息、八卦专栏还有女性专题。此刻,迈克尔走了进来,坐在她床上。他经常会在这个时候来找她,和她聊上一阵子。

“他叫什么名字来着?”朱莉娅问道。

“谁的名字?”

“那个来吃午饭的男孩。”

“我不知道。我开车送他回了剧院。我没再想过他一下。”

这位按摩师,菲利普斯小姐,喜欢迈克尔。跟迈克尔在一起会很自在。他总是说一样的话,你知道如何应答。他也没什么架子,而且长得极其帅气。真的!

“菲利普斯小姐,她减肥效果不错吧?”

“哦,格斯林先生,兰伯特小姐没有一点赘肉。我觉得她身材保持得太好了!”

“真可惜我无法让你为我按摩,菲利普斯小姐。或许你能对我保持身材有所帮助。”

“您怎么说话呢,格斯林先生。您有二十岁男孩的身材。我不知道您是怎么做到的,我发誓我不知道。”

“简单生活,多动脑子,菲利普斯小姐。”

朱莉娅并没有在意他们在聊什么,但菲利普斯小姐的回答钻进了她耳朵。

“按摩当然非常管用,我一直这样认为,但您必须要注意自己的饮食,毫无疑问。”

“饮食!”她想,“当我六十岁的时候,我打算放任自己。我要吃所有我喜欢的黄油面包。早饭我要热面包卷,午饭和晚饭我都要吃土豆。还有啤酒,上帝,我多喜欢啤酒啊。豌豆汤和西红柿汤;糖浆布丁和樱桃馅饼。奶油,奶油,奶油。上帝啊,帮帮我,只要我还活着我就再也不想吃菠菜了。”

按摩后,伊维给她递来一杯茶,一片削掉肥肉的火腿,还有几片干吐司。朱莉娅起身,穿好衣服,和迈克尔一起去了剧院。她喜欢在幕布拉开前一个小时到达剧院。迈克尔会去他的俱乐部吃晚餐。伊维会坐出租车先行前往剧院,当朱莉娅到达她的更衣间时,一切都已经安排妥当。她再一次脱下衣服,穿上戏服。当她坐在她的梳妆台前开始化妆时,她注意到花瓶里插着一些鲜花。

“喂,谁送来的?是德·弗里斯夫人吗?”

多莉在她首场演出时送了她一个巨大的花篮,在她演出第一百晚和还有第二百晚(如果真的有这么一天),还有在此之间,只要她为自己的房子预订鲜花时,总会送一些给朱莉娅。

“不是,小姐。”

“查尔斯公爵?”

查尔斯·泰默利公爵是朱莉娅最早的也是最忠诚的爱慕者,当他路过花店时,他总会为朱莉娅订一些玫瑰。

“这是名片。”伊维说道。

朱莉娅看了一眼。托马斯·芬纳尔先生。塔维斯托克广场。

“住的什么鬼地方。你觉得这到底会是谁,伊维?”

“我觉得是某个被您的美貌迷倒的家伙。”

“这花肯定花了一英镑。塔维斯托克广场在我印象里并不是什么有钱人住的地方。你知道吧,买了这花,他可能一周都没钱吃饭了。”

“我想不至于吧。”

朱莉娅往脸上涂上油彩。

“该死,你太不浪漫了,伊维。就因为我不是个歌舞女郎,你就无法理解为什么会有人送我鲜花。上帝知道,我的双腿比她们都漂亮。”

“您和您的双腿都漂亮。”伊维说道。

“我不妨告诉你,我觉得在我这个年纪,有不知名的年轻男人送我鲜花没有什么不正常。我是说正好给你看看。”

“虽然我对男人也没什么了解,但如果他们看到您现在的样子,肯定不会送了。”

“去死吧。”朱莉娅说道。

当朱莉娅化好妆,伊维为她穿好长筒袜和鞋后,还有几分钟空闲,她坐在自己的桌子前,用她潦草粗放的字迹,写了一封热情洋溢的信给托马斯·芬纳尔先生,感谢他送来的鲜花。她天生就很有礼貌,而且回复所有仰慕者来信是她的一贯原则。这是她和公众保持联系的方式。写好信封后,她将卡片扔进废纸桶,准备穿上第一幕戏的戏服。催场员叩响了化妆间的门。

“开场演员请出场。”

这些话,虽然她已不知听了多少遍,却仍旧会让她内心颤动。它们像给她服了一剂补药。生活获得了意义。她即将从虚构世界步入真实世界。

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