英语听力 学英语,练听力,上听力课堂! 注册 登录
> 在线听力 > 有声读物 > 世界名著 > 译林版·伤心咖啡馆之歌 >  内容

双语·伤心咖啡馆之歌 席林斯基夫人与芬兰国王

所属教程:译林版·伤心咖啡馆之歌

浏览:

2022年05月17日

手机版
扫描二维码方便学习和分享

Madame Zilensky and the King of Finland

To Mr. Book, the head of the music department at Ryder College, was due all the credit for getting Madame Zilensky on the faculty.The college considered itself fortunate;her reputation was impressive, both as a composer and as a pedagogue.Mr.Brook took on himself the responsibility of finding a house for Madame Zilensky, a comfortable place with a garden, which was convenient to the college and next to the apartment house where he himself lived.

No one in Westbridge had known Madame Zilensky before she came. Mr.Brook had seen her pictures in musical journals, and once he had written to her about the authenticity of a certain Buxtehude manuscript.Also, when it was being settled that she was to join the faculty, they had exchanged a few cables and letters on practical affairs.She wrote in a clear, square hand, and the only thing out of the ordinary in these letters was the fact that they contained an occasional reference to objects and persons altogether unknown to Mr.Brook, such as“the yellow cat in Lisbon”or“poor Heinrich.”These lapses Mr.Brook put down to the confusion of getting herself and her family out of Europe.

Mr. Brook was a somewhat pastel person;years of Mozart minuets, of explanations about diminished sevenths and minor triads, had given him a watchful vocational patience.For the most part, he kept to himself.He loathed academic fddle-faddle and committees.Years before, when the music department had decided to gang together and spend the summer in Salzburg, Mr.Brook sneakedout of the arrangement at the last moment and took a solitary trip to Peru.He had a few eccentricities himself and was tolerant of the peculiarities of others;indeed, he rather relished the ridiculous.Often, when confronted with some grave and incongruous situation, he would feel a little inside tickle, which stiffened his long, mild face and sharpened the light in his gray eyes.

Mr. Brook met Madame Zilensky at the Westbridge station a week before the beginning of the fall semester.He recognized her instantly.She was a tall, straight woman with a pale and haggard face.Her eyes were deeply shadowed and she wore her dark, ragged hair pushed back from her forehead.She had large, delicate hands, which were very grubby.About her person as a whole there was something noble and abstract that made Mr.Brook draw back for a moment and stand nervously undoing his cuff links.In spite of her clothes-a long, black skirt and a broken-down old leather jacket-she made an impression of vague elegance.With Madame Zilensky were three children, boys between the ages of ten and six, all blond, blank-eyed, and beautiful.There was one other person, an old woman who turned out later to be the Finnish servant.

This was the group he found at the station. The only luggage they had with them was two immense boxes of manuscripts, the rest of their paraphernalia having been forgotten in the station at Springfeld when they changed trains.That is the sort of thing that can happen to anyone.When Mr.Brook got them all into a taxi, he thought the worst difficulties were over, but Madame Zilensky suddenly tried to scramble over his knees and get out of the door.

“My God!”she said.“I left my-how do you say?—my tick-tick-tick—”

“Your watch?”asked Mr. Brook.

“Oh no!”she said vehemently.“You know, my tick-tick-tick,”and she waved her forefnger from side to side, pendulum fashion.

“Tick-tick,”said Mr. Brook, putting his hands to his forehead and closing his eyes.“Could you possibly mean a metronome?”

“Yes!Yes!I think I must have lost it there where we changed trains.”

Mr. Brook managed to quiet her.He even said, with a kind of dazed gallantry, that he would get her another one the next day.But at the time he was bound to admit to himself that there was something curious about this panic over a metronome when there was all the rest of the lost luggage to consider.

The Zilensky ménage moved into the house next door, and on the surface everything was all right.The boys were quiet children.Their names were Sigmund, Boris, and Sammy.They were always together and they followed each other around Indian fle, Sigmund usually the frst.Among themselves they spoke a desperate-sounding family Esperanto made up of Russian, French, Finnish, German, and English;when other people were around, they were strangely silent.It was not any one thing that the Zilenskys did or said that made Mr.Brook uneasy.There were just little incidents.For example, something about the Zilensky children subconsciously bothered him when they were in a house, and fnally he realized that what troubled him was the fact that the Zilensky boys never walked on a rug;they skirted it single fle on the bare foor, and if a room was carpeted, they stood in the doorway and did not go inside.Another thing was this:Weeks passed and Madame Zilensky seemed to make no effort to get settled or to furnish the house with anything more than a table and some beds.The front door was left open day and night and soon the house began to take on a queer, bleak look like that of a place abandoned for years.

The college had every reason to be satisfied with Madame Zilensky. She taught with a fierce insistence.She could become deeply indignant if some Mary Owens or Bernadine Smith would not clean up her Scarlatti trills.She got hold of four pianos for her college studio and set four dazed students to playing Bach fugues together.The racket that came from her end of the departmentwas extraordinary, but Madame Zilensky did not seem to have a nerve in her, and if pure will and effort can get over a musical idea, then Ryder College could not have done better.At night Madame Zilensky worked on her twelfth symphony.She seemed never to sleep;no matter what time of night Mr.Brook happened to look out of his sitting-room window, the light in her studio was always on.No, it was not because of any professional consideration that Mr.Brook became so dubious.

It was in late October when he felt for the first time that something was unmistakably wrong. He had lunched with Madame Zilensky and had enjoyed himself, as she had given him a very detailed account of an African safari she had made in 1928.Later in the afternoon she stopped in at his offce and stood rather abstractly in the doorway.

Mr. Brook looked up from his desk and asked,“Is there anything you want?”

“No, thank you,”said Madame Zilensky. She had a low, beautiful, sombre voice.“I was only just wondering.You recall the metronome.Do you think perhaps that I might have left it with that French?”

“Who?”asked Mr. Brook.

“Why, that French I was married to,”she answered.

“Frenchman,”Mr. Brook said mildly.He tried to imagine the husband of Madame Zilensky, but his mind refused.He muttered half to himself,“The father of the children.”

“But no,”said Madame Zilensky with decision.“The father of Sammy.”

Mr. Brook had a swift prescience.His deepest instincts warned him to say nothing further.Still, his respect for order, his conscience, demanded that he ask,“And the father of the other two?”

Madame Zilensky put her hand to the back of her head and ruffled up her short, cropped hair. Her face was dreamy, and for several moments she did not answer.Then she said gently,“Boris isof a Pole who played the piccolo.”

“And Sigmund?”he asked. Mr.Brook looked over his orderly desk, with the stack of corrected papers, the three sharpened pencils, the ivory-elephant paperweight.When he glanced up at Madame Zilensky, she was obviously thinking hard.She gazed around at the corners of the room, her brows lowered and her jaw moving from side to side.At last she said,“We were discussing the father of Sigmund?”

“Why, no,”said Mr. Brook.“There is no need to do that.”

Madame Zilensky answered in a voice both dignifed and fnal.“He was a fellow-countryman.”

Mr. Brook really did not care one way or the other.He had no prejudices;people could marry seventeen times and have Chinese children so far as he was concerned.But there was something about this conversation with Madame Zilensky that bothered him.Suddenly he understood.The children didn't look at all like Madame Zilensky, but they looked exactly like each other, and as they all had different fathers, Mr.Brook thought the resemblance astonishing.

But Madame Zilensky had fnished with the subject. She zipped up her leather jacket and turned away.

“That is exactly where I left it,”she said, with a quick nod.“Chez that French.”

Affairs in the music department were running smoothly. Mr.Brook did not have any serious embarrassments to deal with, such as the harp teacher last year who had fnally eloped with a garage mechanic.There was only this nagging apprehension about Madame Zilensky.He could not make out what was wrong in his relations with her or why his feelings were so mixed.To begin with, she was a great globe-trotter, and her conversations were incongruously seasoned with references to far-fetched places.She would go along for days without opening her mouth, prowling through the corridor with her hands in the pockets of her jacket and her face lockedin meditation.Then suddenly she would buttonhole Mr.Brook and launch out on a long, volatile monologue, her eyes reckless and bright and her voice warm with eagerness.She would talk about anything or nothing at all.Yet, without exception, there was something queer, in a slanted sort of way, about every episode she ever mentioned.If she spoke of taking Sammy to the barbershop, the impression she created was just as foreign as if she were telling of an afternoon in Bagdad.Mr.Brook could not make it out.

The truth came to him very suddenly, and the truth made everything perfectly clear, or at least clarified the situation. Mr.Brook had come home early and lighted a fre in the little grate in his sitting-room.He felt comfortable and at peace that evening.He sat before the fre in his stocking feet, with a volume of William Blake on the table by his side, and he had poured himself a half-glass of apricot brandy.At ten o'clock he was drowsing cozily before the fre, his mind full of cloudy phrases of Mahler and foating half-thoughts.Then all at once, out of this delicate stupor, four words came to his mind:“The King of Finland.”The words seemed familiar, but for the first moment he could not place them.Then all at once he tracked them down.He had been walking across the campus that afternoon when Madame Zilensky stopped him and began some preposterous rigamarole, to which he had only half listened;he was thinking about the stack of canons turned in by his counterpoint class.Now the words, the infections of her voice, came back to him with insidious exactitude, Madame Zilensky had started off with the following remark:“One day, when I was standing in front of a patisserie, the King of Finland came by in a sled.”

Mr. Brook jerked himself up straight in his chair and put down his glass of brandy.The woman was a pathological liar.Almost every word she uttered outside of class was an untruth.If she worked all night, she would go out of her way to tell you she spent the evening at the cinema.If she ate lunch at the Old Tavern, she would be sure to mention that she had lunched with her children at home.The woman was simply a pathological liar, and that accounted for everything.

Mr. Brook cracked his knuckles and got up from his chair.His frst reaction was one of exasperation.That day after day Madame Zilensky would have the gall to sit there in his offce and deluge him with her outrageous falsehoods!Mr.Brook was intensely provoked.He walked up and down the room, then he went into his kitchenette and made himself a sardine sandwich.

An hour later, as he sat before the fre, his irritation had changed to a scholarly and thoughtful wonder. What he must do, he told himself, was to regard the whole situation impersonally and look on Madame Zilensky as a doctor looks on a sick patient.Her lies were of the guileless sort.She did not dissimulate with any intention to deceive, and the untruths she told were never used to any possible advantage.That was the maddening thing;there was simply no motive behind it all.

Mr. Brook fnished off the rest of the brandy.And slowly, when it was almost midnight, a further understanding came to him.The reason for the lies of Madame Zilensky was painful and plain.All her life long Madame Zilensky had worked-at the piano, teaching, and writing those beautiful and immense twelve symphonies.Day and night she had drudged and struggled and thrown her soul into her work, and there was not much of her left over for anything else.Being human, she suffered from this lack and did what she could to make up for it.If she passed the evening bent over a table in the library and later declared that she had spent that time playing cards, it was as though she had managed to do both those things.Through the lies, she lived vicariously.The lies doubled the little of her existence that was left over from work and augmented the little rag-end of her personal life.

Mr. Brook looked into the fire, and the face of Madame Zilensky was in his mind-a severe face, with dark, weary eyes and delicately disciplined mouth.He was conscious of a warmthin his chest, and a feeling of pity, protectiveness, and dreadful understanding.For a while he was in a state of lovely confusion.

Later on he brushed his teeth and got into his pajamas. He must be practical.What did this clear up?That French, the Pole with the piccolo, Bagdad?And the children, Sigmund, Boris, and Sammy-who were they?Were they really her children after all, or had she simply rounded them up from somewhere?Mr.Brook polished his spectacles and put them on the table by his bed.He must come to an immediate understanding with her.Otherwise, there would exist in the department a situation which could become most problematical.It was two o'clock.He glanced out of his window and saw that the light in Madame Zilensky's workroom was still on.Mr.Brook got into bed, made terrible faces in the dark, and tried to plan what he would say next day.

Mr. Brook was in his offce by eight o'clock.He sat hunched up behind his desk, ready to trap Madame Zilensky as she passed down the corridor.He did not have to wait long, and as soon as he heard her footsteps he called out her name.

Madame Zilensky stood in the doorway. She looked vague and jaded.“How are you?I had such a fne night's rest,”she said.

“Pray be seated, if you please,”said Mr. Brook.“I would like a word with you.”

Madame Zilensky put aside her portfolio and leaned back wearily in the armchair across from him.“Yes?”she asked.

“Yesterday you spoke to me as I was walking across the campus,”he said slowly.“And if I am not mistaken, I believe you said something about a pastry shop and the King of Finland. Is that correct?”

Madame Zilensky turned her head to one side and stared retrospectively at a corner of the window sill.

“Something about a pastry shop,”he repeated.

Her tired face brightened.“But of course,”she said eagerly.“I told you about the time I was standing in front of this shop and theKing of Finland—”

“Madame Zilensky!”Mr. Brook cried.“There is no King of Finland.”

Madame Zilensky looked absolutely blank. Then, after an instant, she started off again.“I was standing in front of Bjarne's patisserie when I turned away from the cakes and suddenly saw the King of Finland—”

“Madame Zilensky, I just told you that there is no King of Finland.”

“In Helsingfors,”she started off again desperately, and again he let her get as far as the King, and then no further.

“Finland is a democracy,”he said.“You could not possibly have seen the King of Finland. Therefore, what you have just said is an untruth.A pure untruth.”

Never afterward could Mr. Brook forget the face of Madame Zilensky at that moment.In her eyes there was astonishment, dismay, and a sort of cornered horror.She had the look of one who watches his whole interior world split open and disintegrate.

“It is a pity,”said Mr. Brook with real sympathy.

But Madame Zilensky pulled herself together. She raised her chin and said coldly,“I am a Finn.”

“That I do not question,”answered Mr. Brook.On second thought, he did question it a little.

“I was born in Finland and I am a Finnish citizen.”

“That may very well be,”said Mr. Brook in a rising voice.

“In the war,”she continued passionately,“I rode a motor-cycle and was a messenger.”

“Your patriotism does not enter into it.”

“Just because I am getting out the frst papers—”

“Madame Zilensky!”said Mr. Brook.His hands grasped the edge of the desk.“That is only an irrelevant issue.The point is that you maintained and testified that you saw-that you saw—”But he could not fnish.Her face stopped him.She was deadly pale andthere were shadows around her mouth.Her eyes were wide open, doomed, and proud.And Mr.Brook felt suddenly like a murderer.A great commotion of feelings-understanding, remorse, and unreasonable love-made him cover his face with his hands.He could not speak until this agitation in his insides quieted down, and then he said very faintly,“Yes.Of course.The King of Finland.And was he nice?”

An hour later, Mr. Brook sat looking out of the window of his offce.The trees along the quiet Westbridge street were almost bare, and the gray buildings of the college had a calm, sad look.As he idly took in the familiar scene, he noticed the Drakes'old Airedale waddling along down the street.It was a thing he had watched a hundred times before, so what was it that struck him as strange?Then he realized with a kind of cold surprise that the old dog was running along backward.Mr.Brook watched the Airedale until he was out of sight, then resumed his work on the canons which had been turned in by the class in counterpoint

席林斯基夫人与芬兰国王

赖德学院音乐系能聘到席林斯基夫人全靠系头儿布洛克先生办事有方。学院认为自己还是够幸运的,不管作为一位作曲家还是作为一位教师,夫人都是声名远扬。布洛克先生还真卖力气,亲自帮席林斯基夫人寻摸到一处带花园的小楼,那地方上学院很近便,而且就在他自己住的公寓的隔壁。

在席林斯基夫人来到之前,整个西桥没有一个人认识她。布洛克先生在音乐刊物上见到过她的照片,有一回还就布克斯特胡德[16]手稿真实性的问题与她通过信。另外,在她来音乐系工作的事情定下来之后,他们之间就实际问题交换过几封电报与书信。她的书法清晰工整,信里唯一异乎寻常之处,是偶尔会不经意地提到布洛克先生全无所知的一些人与事,比如“里斯本的那只黄猫”或是“可怜的海因利希”。这样的疏忽,布洛克寻思,必定是与她和家人想尽方法离开欧洲时所遇到的种种混乱有关吧。

布洛克先生是个性格比较温和的人,多年讲授莫扎特小步舞曲,解释何为减七度何为小三和弦,已经赋予他一种事事留意的职业性的耐心。大多数的事情,他都独自悄悄处理掉。他厌恶学院式的废话和各式各样的委员会。多年前,音乐系决定同仁们集体去萨尔茨堡[17]过暑假,布洛克先生在最后一刻溜开独自一人去了秘鲁。他自己也是有几样怪癖的,所以很能容忍别人的特立独行。的确,他还挺珍爱那些可笑可乐的人与事的呢。在面临某些严肃与僵持的局面时,他时常会在心里觉得痒痒的却又不敢笑,这就使得他那张温顺的长脸板得更僵了,也使得他的灰眼睛变得更亮了。

秋季开学前的一个星期,布洛克先生上西桥火车站去迎接席林斯基夫人。他一下子就认出她来了。她是个高高的、身板很直的妇人,脸色苍白,有些憔悴。她的眼睛暗淡无光,那头乱蓬蓬的黑发从额上直直地往后梳。那双大手倒是长得挺细巧,只是脏兮兮的。总的来说,她身上有某种高贵、捉摸不定的气质,这使布洛克先生往后退了片刻,不安地站立着,无意间解开了自己的衬衫袖扣。尽管她穿的衣服不伦不类——下面是条黑色长裙,上面是件破旧的皮夹克——她却朦朦胧胧给人一种优雅的感觉。和席林斯基夫人在一起的是三个孩子,六岁到十岁的男孩,全都是金黄头发,黑眼睛,十分漂亮。另外还有一位妇女,是个老太太,后来才知道这是他们的芬兰女佣。

这就是他在车站见到的那群人。他们唯一的行李是两大纸箱手稿,其他的随身物品在斯普林菲尔德换车时留在车站上忘记拿了。这样的事是会发生在任何一个人身上的。在布洛克先生把他们全塞进一辆出租汽车时,他以为最困难的一步总算走完了,可是席林斯基夫人却突然想挤过他的膝盖爬到车门外面去。

“我的上帝!”她说,“我没拿我的——你们是怎么说来着的?——我的嘀?—嘀?—嘀?——”

“你的表?”布洛克先生问道。

“哦,不是的!”她强烈地否认,“你知道吧,我的嘀?—嘀?—嘀?——”她挥动起她的食指,从一边移到另一边,像只钟摆那样。

“嘀?—嘀?,”布洛克先生说,将双手摁在自己的脑门上,还闭上眼睛,“你的意思会不会是指一只节拍器?”

“对呀!对呀!我想我准是在换乘火车时将它丢失了。”

布洛克先生费尽力气地安抚她。他甚至一冲动豪侠气十足地说,他明天就去弄一架来给她。不过与此同时他无法不暗自承认,她全部行李全都丢个精光,却单单为一个节拍器如此激动,这里头未免有些蹊跷。

席林斯基一大家子搬进了隔壁的那座房子,从表面上看一切都很正常。那几个男孩也的确孩子气十足。他们的名字是西格蒙德、鲍里斯和萨米。他们总是黏在一起,走起路来总是排成单行鱼贯而行,领头的一般都是西格蒙德。他们自己人之间说话时让人听起来像是在用一种由俄语、法语、芬兰语、德语和英语混合而成的发音极其怪异的家庭世界语。遇到有外人在场时,他们便很奇怪地保持沉默。使得布洛克先生感到不安的并不是席林斯基家人所做的或是说的单独的哪一件事,而仅仅是一些芝麻绿豆大的琐事。最后他明白了,他下意识受到干扰的是席林斯基家的孩子们在屋子里的一些做法,比方说吧,他们走动时永远也不会去踩地毯;他们排着纵队在光秃秃的地板上走,如果房间里铺有地毯,他们就站在门口不进来。另外的一件事情是,都过去好几个星期了,而席林斯基夫人却似乎一点也没有安顿下来的意思,连一张桌子几张床都不想往房子里添加。不管是白天还是黑夜,大门都是敞开着的,很快,这座房子便有了一种废弃多年的老房子的奇特、荒凉的模样。

学院倒是大可因为拥有了席林斯基夫人而感到心满意足的。她在教学上有那么一股子狠劲。倘若有某个玛丽·欧文斯或是伯纳丁·史密斯没能完成她布置的斯卡拉蒂[18]的颤音作业,那是会引起她的深深愤慨的。她让学院里她的工作室掌握有四架钢琴,让四个晕头转向的学生联手弹奏巴赫的赋格曲。系里她那一头所发出的喧嚣声真是够大的,可是席林斯基夫人头脑里似乎没有一根神经,如果音乐理想确实是仅仅靠了意志与努力便能完成的话,那么赖德学院便没有什么好发愁了。晚上的时间席林斯基夫人总是用来写她的第十二交响曲。她像是永远都不睡觉的,布洛克先生不论何时从他的起居室朝外张望,总能看到她工作室的灯光永远都是亮着的。不,并非因为任何专业上的考虑才使布洛克先生如此疑团重重的。

到了十月下旬,他才第一次觉察到有什么地方肯定不对头。那天,他和席林斯基夫人一起吃了午餐,心情不错,因为她非常详细地给他描述了一九二八年她参加的一次非洲野外观兽旅行的全过程。下午晚一些时候,她路过他的办公室,在门口那儿神情有些恍惚地停了下来。

布洛克先生从办公桌上抬起头,问道:“你有什么需要吗?”

“不,谢谢你。”席林斯基夫人说。她的声音低沉,很美,也很忧郁,“我只不过是在琢磨。你记得那架节拍器的吧。你说我会不会没准留给那法国人了?”

“谁?”布洛克先生问。

“哦,我跟他结过婚的那个法国人呀。”她回答道。

“法国人呀。”布洛克先生如释重负。他努力去想象席林斯基夫人的丈夫是怎样的一个人,可是他的脑子不听使唤。他自言自语地说:“孩子们的父亲。”

“哦,不是的,”席林斯基夫人斩钉截铁地说,“是萨米的父亲。”

布洛克先生有一种迅速产生的预感。他最深沉的本能警告他千万别再说什么了。可是,他对秩序的尊重、他的良心,迫使他提出了问题,“那么另外两个的父亲呢?”

席林斯基夫人把一只手放到脑袋后面去,把她那剪得短短的头发往上托了托。她脸上出现了一种迷惘的神情,有几分钟她并没有回答。接着她轻声说道:“鲍里斯的是个吹短笛的波兰人。”

“那么西格蒙德呢?”他问。布洛克先生的眼光越过他自己那张井然有序的办公桌,上面有一叠改好的作业、三支削尖的铅笔和一只雕刻成大象形状的象牙镇纸。当他把眼光抬起来看席林斯基夫人时,只见她显然是在苦苦思索。她目光扫过房间的几个角落,眼眉下垂,下巴在左右移动。她终于说道:“我们这是在讨论西格蒙德的父亲?”

“哦,不,”布洛克先生说,“没有这样做的必要。”

席林斯基夫人用一种既有尊严也很决断的声音说:“他是我同一个国家的人。”

其实是什么国家的人对布洛克先生来说根本是无所谓的。他可没有什么偏见,谁想结上十七次婚生出个中国孩子来那也不干他什么事。可是和席林斯基夫人的这次谈话里却有点儿什么让他感到不安。突然之间他明白了。那几个孩子一点儿也不像席林斯基夫人,可是哥仨呢却长得一模一样,既然他们各自有不同的父亲,布洛克先生不由得觉得这样的相似未免有点奇怪。

可是席林斯基夫人认为这个话题已经结束了。她拉上她那件皮夹克的拉链,转身走了。

“那正是我丢失的地方,”她说,迅速地点了点头,“落在[19]那个法国人那里了。”

在音乐系,一切都进行得很顺利。布洛克先生不需要处理什么太挠头的事情,例如去年那位竖琴教师的事件,她最后竟跟一个汽车修理工人私奔了。现在只有一个问题让他有点儿心烦,那就是怎么去理解席林斯基夫人。他说不好自己跟她的关系里有什么不对头的地方,为什么自己的感情如此混乱不清。首先,整个世界她很少有地方不曾去过,她一开口便怪不自然地显露出自己经历丰富,哪怕是地角天边都能跟她扯得上一点关系。她会一连好几天连嘴都不张,双手插在夹克口袋里在过道上游走,脸上一副莫测高深的样子。可是突然之间又会揪住布洛克先生上衣的纽扣眼,发表起情绪激昂的长篇独白来,眼睛里充满感情、炯炯发光,声音因为渴望而变得热情充沛。她要不就是什么事儿都跟你讲,要不就是连一个字都不讲。不过,没有例外的,凡是她提到的每一个片段,都有点怪异,似乎是经过了折射。如果她说带萨米去理发店了,她给你的印象是出了国,仿佛她告诉你某天下午她在巴格达。布洛克先生简直都有点丈二和尚摸不到头脑的感觉。

他是非常突然地知道真相的,这真相使一切都变得非常清晰,至少是使局势显得很明朗。布洛克先生早早儿便回到家中,在他起居室小小的炉架上生起了火。他觉得很舒服,心想今天晚上一定会过得不错。他光穿着袜子坐在炉火前,一本威廉·布莱克的集子已经放在了身边桌子上,他给自己斟了半玻璃杯的杏仁白兰地。十点钟,他正在炉火前很惬意地打瞌睡,脑子里满是马勒云山雾罩的乐句和虚无缥缈思绪的半成品。这时候,突然之间,从这样微妙的恍惚状态里,四个字浮现在他脑子里:“芬兰国王。”这几个字他似乎很熟悉,但头几分钟他还无法确定它们来自何方。但紧接着他一下子就把线索摸清了。那天下午他正步行穿过校园,席林斯基夫人叫住了他,开始不知所云地胡扯起来,对那些话他也就是这耳朵进那耳朵出罢了。他心里在想的是他的对位课[20]班上同学交上来的那摞卡农作业。现在,那几个字,她声调上的抑扬顿挫,异常清晰地重新出现在他的脑海里。席林斯基夫人是这样开始她的讲述的:“有一天,就在我站在一家点心店[21]前面的时候,芬兰国王正好乘了一辆雪橇经过。”

布洛克先生在椅子里猛地坐直身子,放下他手中的那杯白兰地。那个女人是个病态说谎者嘛。她在教室之外所讲的几乎每一个字都是假的。倘若她通宵工作,她会远兜远转地设法告诉你昨天晚上她去看电影了。如果她是在“老酒店”吃的午餐,她肯定会提到她午饭是在家里跟孩子们一起吃的。这个女人根本就是一个病态说谎者,这便是一切疑窦的真正答案。

布洛克先生压响了他一个个手指关节,从椅子里站立起来。他的头一个反应是火冒三丈。日复一日,席林斯基夫人竟然如此厚颜无耻地坐在他的办公室里,把她那些弥天大谎往他头上堆积!布洛克先生真是气不打一处来。他在房间里踱过来走过去,接着又进入他的简便厨房给自己弄了一份沙丁鱼三明治。

一个小时之后,他在炉火前坐下来时,他的气愤已经转化成了一种学者式和思辨式的质疑。他告诉自己,他必须不从个人意气出发对待整个事件,而是应该像一位医生审察一个病人那样地看待席林斯基夫人。她的谎言倒并没有什么欺诈性。她并没有蓄意要骗取什么,她也从未用所说的那些不真实故事获取什么好处。让人恼火的正是这一点。事情的后面说不定根本就没有什么动机。

布洛克先生把剩下的白兰地全都喝了。慢慢地,快到午夜时,他脑子里出现了更进一步的想法。席林斯基夫人说谎的原因既很痛苦也很平凡。她一生都在工作——弹钢琴、教课、创作那些美丽而卷帙浩繁的十二部交响乐。白天黑夜,她都在呕心沥血地投入工作,根本就剩不下什么精力来对付别的事情。她也是一个人,这个方面有所缺失,她只好尽力设法来加以弥补。如果她在图书馆桌子上辛勤工作了一个通宵,以后她宣称这段时间她都用在打牌上了,那就好像她是两件事情都做了似的。通过这些谎言,她觉得自己生活得很充实。谎言使得她工作之余剩下的渺小的生存状态整整丰富了一倍,而且还使她个人生活里的那些小块的破布头变成了五色斑斓的丝绸。

布洛克先生凝视着炉火,他心目中出现了席林斯基夫人的那张脸——一张严峻的脸,上面的眼睛暗暗的,显得很疲惫,那张嘴细细巧巧,显得训练有素。他意识到自己胸膛里升起了一丝温暖的感觉,并且还有一种怜悯、保护感和异常理解的情怀。一时之间,他竟陷入在一种可爱的思想混乱的状态之中。

这以后他刷了牙,穿上他的睡裤。他必须从实际出发。这又能说明什么问题呢?那个法国人、那个吹短笛的波兰人、巴格达?还有那些孩子,西格蒙德、鲍里斯和萨米——他们是谁?他们果真是她的孩子吗,或者仅仅是她从什么地方捡来的呢?布洛克先生把他的眼镜擦干净,放在床头柜上。他必须和她达成一个清晰明白的认识。否则,系里会出现一种局面,那肯定会惹出问题来的。现在是两点钟。他朝自己窗外瞥了一眼,看到席林斯基夫人工作室的灯光仍然亮着。布洛克先生上了床,在黑暗里扭出了几个鬼脸,肚子里还不大清楚自己第二天会对她怎么说。

八点钟,布洛克先生就来到了自己的办公室。他伛起了背在办公桌后面坐下,等待捕捉从走廊上走过来的席林斯基夫人。他不用等候多久,一听到她的脚步声他便喊出了她的名字。

席林斯基夫人在门口站停了下来。她看上去有些迷惘和疲倦,“你好吗?我昨天晚上休息得可好了。”

“能不能请你坐下,”布洛克先生说,“我有几句话想跟你谈谈。”

席林斯基夫人把皮包往边上一放,倦怠地倚靠在他对面的圈手椅里。“怎么啦?”她问道。

“昨天我穿过校园的时候你跟我说话了,”他慢吞吞地说道,“如果我没有记错的话,我相信你说的是一家点心店和芬兰国王这样的事儿。对不对?”

席林斯基夫人把头扭向一侧,似在追忆什么,眼睛盯看着窗框的一角。

“关于一家点心店的什么事儿。”他重复了一遍。

她那张疲惫的脸变得容光焕发了。“哦,当然对的,”她起劲地说道,“我告诉了你,那回我怎样站在这家店铺的门前,正好芬兰国王——”

“席林斯基夫人!”布洛克先生喊出声来,“芬兰是根本没有国王的。”

席林斯基夫人看上去一副茫然不知所措的样子。然后,过了半刻,她才开口重新说话,“那时我正站在布扎尼点心店的橱窗前,我看完蛋糕转过身子,突然看到芬兰国王——”

“席林斯基夫人,我刚跟你说过,世界上是没有芬兰国王的。”

“在赫尔辛福尔斯[22]。”她又一次不顾一切地说道,他再一次让她讲到国王,但是再往下便打断她不让她说了。

“芬兰是一个民主国家,”他说,“你是不可能见到芬兰国王的。因此,你方才说的不是真的,是全然不真实的。”

席林斯基夫人当时脸上的表情是布洛克先生今后再也忘不掉的。在她的眼睛里,有惊讶、沮丧以及一种被逼入死角的恐惧。她那神情,就跟一个人亲眼见到自己的整个内心世界分崩离析变得粉碎时一样。

“这很糟糕。”布洛克说,心中感觉到真正的同情。

可是席林斯基夫人振作起来了。她抬起下巴,冷冷地说:“我可是一个芬兰人哟。”

“这个问题我并未触及。”布洛克先生回答道。在重新想了一想之后,他承认,这个问题他方才也不是完全没有涉及。

“我出生在芬兰,我是一个芬兰公民。”

“这当然非常可能。”布洛克先生的声音也一点点在提高。

“战争时期,”她激昂慷慨地往下说,“我骑了一辆摩托车,担任通信员。”

“你的爱国热情跟这件事没有什么关系。”

“就因为我正要取出第一份文件——”

“席林斯基夫人!”布洛克先生说。他双手紧紧抓住办公桌的边缘,“那件事跟别的没有什么关系。问题是在于,你认为,你坚持说,你见到了——你说你见到了——”不过他说不下去了。她那张脸阻止了他。她的脸变得死一般的苍白,嘴巴周围都已经发暗了。她的眼睛睁得非常大,既绝望,却又很骄傲。布洛克先生突然觉得自己是个杀人犯。乱成一团的混合感情——理解、后悔、不可理喻的爱——使得他用双手去遮住自己的脸。他无法说话,一直到他心中激动的情绪逐渐安定下来,这时候,他用非常微弱的声音说道:“是的。自然是的。芬兰国王。他当时好吗?”

一个小时之后,布洛克先生坐着,朝他办公室窗子外面看去。沿着西桥路的街,树几乎都是光秃秃的了,学院的一幢幢灰色建筑有一种安详、忧郁的神态。在他懒洋洋地打量着熟悉的景色时,他注意到德雷克家的那条老阿莱德尔种犬在街上蹒蹒跚跚地行走。这景象他过去看到都有一百遍了,为什么他还会觉得奇怪呢?接着他不无惊悚地发现,那条老狗是在倒退着跑。布洛克盯看着那条阿莱德尔犬直到它越出了视线,接着便回到他的工作上来,对位课刚交上来的卡农作业还有待他来批改呢。

用户搜索

疯狂英语 英语语法 新概念英语 走遍美国 四级听力 英语音标 英语入门 发音 美语 四级 新东方 七年级 赖世雄 zero是什么意思合肥市恒生阳光城(巢湖市)英语学习交流群

  • 频道推荐
  • |
  • 全站推荐
  • 推荐下载
  • 网站推荐