Chapter 119

第一百十九章

菲利普自己没有篮子，便同莎莉坐在一起。吉恩对菲利普不帮她而去帮她大姐采蛇麻子感到可笑至极。于是菲利普只得答应等莎莉的篮子装满后就去帮助她。莎莉摘得几乎跟她母亲一样快。

"采这种东西会碰伤你的手，使你不好缝衣服吧？"菲利普问莎莉说。

"哦，不会的。采蛇麻子同样需要一双柔软的手。这就是为什么女人总比男人采得快的缘故。粗活干久了，手就会变得粗糙，手指就会变得僵直不灵活，要快也快不起来。"

菲利普就喜欢欣赏她那敏捷的动作，而莎莉也不时地注视着他，脸上带有一种俨然是个母亲似的神气，令人看了不觉有趣，然而又不无迷人的魅力。起初他笨手笨脚的，为此，她常常嘲笑他。莎莉弯下腰来，教他如何把整棵蛇麻子拔起的诀窍，这样一来，他们俩的手就碰到了一起。他不胜惊讶地觉得莎莉顿时满脸绯红。他无论如何也不能使自己相信她眼下已是个盈盈女子了，这是因为他打她还是个黄毛丫头时就认识她了，总是情不自禁地还把她当作小孩子看待。然而，她身后有许多求婚者这一事实，表明她已不再是个黄毛丫头了。虽说他们来到这儿还没几天工夫，可是莎莉的一位姨兄倒已经盯上她了，使得她不得不耐着性子听着他那倾筐倾筐的痴情话。她这位姨兄名叫彼得·甘恩，是阿特尔涅太太的姐姐的儿子。阿特尔涅太太的这位姐姐嫁的是费恩附近的一位农夫。彼得·甘恩觉得每天来一趟蛇麻子草场很有必要，个中的缘由，大家都心照不宣。

八时整，耳边传来一阵号角声，算是收工吃早饭的号令。虽然阿特尔涅太太不住地唠叨着他们不配吃这顿早饭，可他们一个个狼吞虎咽，吃得可香甜啦。一吃完饭，他们就接着干，一直干到十二点，这时号角声又响了，招呼人们收工吃中饭。计量员趁这个空子，带上记帐员，一箱一箱地过数。这位记帐员先是在自己的帐本上然后在采集者的帐本上登录所采的重量。从装满蛇麻子的箱子里，用蒲式耳的量器钩起蛇麻子灌进大布袋里。然后，计量员和车夫把一袋袋蛇麻子抬上马车。阿特尔涅不时地跑来跑去，不是说希思太太摘了多少多少，就是说琼斯已经收了多少多少蛇麻子，接着便想当然地要全家加油，努力超过她们。他总是想创造采蛇麻子的记录。他情绪高昂时，可以手脚不停地采上个把小时；可是，他的主要兴趣在于采蛇麻子的动作可以把他那双高贵的手的妙处表现得淋漓尽致。他对自己的那双手总是感到无比的自豪。为了修剪美化指甲，他可是花了一番心血的。在张开他那渐渐变尖的五指的当儿，他对菲利普说，为了使手常年洁白如玉，西班牙的大公们睡觉时手上还套着上了油的手套。他带着戏剧性的口吻说，那只扼守欧洲的手跟女人的手一样，总是那么漂亮和纤巧。他姿势优美地采摘蛇麻子的当儿，他一边端详着自己的手，一边怀着满意的心情感叹着。对这种动作产生腻味时，他便给自己卷上一支烟，然后便跟菲利普大谈特谈文学和艺术。一到下午，天气变得热不可耐。人们干起活来劲头不如先前那么足了，而且交谈声也停止了。上午那种滔滔不绝的说话声，眼下却变成了语无伦次的杂谈。莎莉的上唇沁出一颗颗小小的汗珠，在干活的当儿，她那张嘴微微地启开着。她看上去活脱像一个含苞待放的玫瑰花蕾。

收工时间要看烘炉房的情况而定。有时候烘炉房很早就装满了。到下午三四点钟，如果所采的蛇麻子已够当晚烘的了，那就吹号收工。但是，在通常情况下，一天中最后一次计量工作要到五点才开始。每一批采集者把蛇麻子过完数后，便动手收拾工具；放工时间一到，他们一边聊着天，一边悠哉悠哉地荡出草场。女人们纷纷赶回茅屋，忙着打扫和准备晚饭，而不少男人则结伴朝小酒馆走去。一天工作之余，喝上一杯啤酒确是一大快事。

阿特尔涅家的蛇麻子是最后一个过秤。当计量员朝他们走来时，阿特尔涅太太如释重负地松了口气，随即站了起来，伸了个懒腰，因为她以同样的姿势一坐就是几个小时，身上都有些发僵了。

"好啦，我们到'快乐的水手'去吧，"阿特尔涅说。"每天的礼仪都要一项不拉地履行。眼下再也没有比上小酒馆更神圣的事儿了。"

"阿特尔涅，带个酒壶去，"他的妻子吩咐说，"带一品脱半的啤酒回来，吃晚饭时好喝。"

说罢她往阿特尔涅的手里一个铜币一个铜币数着。酒馆里早已挤满了人。店堂里，沙色地板，四周摆着长条椅，墙上贴满了泛黄了的维多利亚时代的职业拳击家的画像。酒馆老板能叫出所有顾客的姓名，此时，他身子倾过柜台，脸上堆着宽厚的笑容，正注视着两个年轻人往两根立在地上的杆子上套圈圈。他们俩都没有套中，逗得周围的旁观者发出阵阵喝倒彩声。人们互相挤了挤，为新来的顾客让座。菲利普发觉自己坐在两个陌生人中间，一边是位上了年纪的身穿灯心绒衣服的雇工，两膝下面都系了根细绳子，另一边是个十七岁的毛头小伙子，只见他油光满面的，一绺鬈发平展地贴在红彤彤的额头上。阿特尔涅执意要试试手气，去套圈圈玩。他下了半品脱啤酒的赌注，结果硬是赢了。在为败北者祝酒时，他说：

"我的孩子，与其去赢赛手，我还不如来赢你这半品脱啤酒喝喝哩。"

阿特尔涅胡子翘翘的，头上戴了顶宽边帽，挤身在这群乡下佬中间，那副模样显得有些希奇古怪，而且从周围人们的表情中不难看出，他们都觉得他古怪。尽管如此，阿特尔涅却兴致勃勃，热情洋溢，他颇有些感染力，使得周围那些人一个个不得不喜欢上他。人们无拘无束地交谈开了，互相操着粗犷的、缓慢的塔内特岛的方言打趣逗乐，当地爱说俏皮话的人一说出连珠妙语，顿时引起哄堂大笑。真是一次难得的愉快的聚会！只有铁石心肠的人才会对这些伙伴表示不满。菲利普的目光移向窗外，只见外面依然一片光明，充满了阳光。窗户就跟村舍的窗户一样，上面挂着块小小的系了根红布带的窗帘。窗台上摆着几盆天竺葵。不多时，这些会享清福的人们一个个离座起身，晃晃悠悠地返回草场，那里家家户户正忙着做晚饭呢。

"我想你该准备上床歇着了，"阿特尔涅太太对菲利普说，"你是过不惯一早五点就起床，成天价呆在户外的日子的。"

"菲利普叔叔，你要跟我们一道去游泳，对不？"孩子们大声地嚷道。

"那当然啦！"

他身体疲乏，但精神却很愉快。晚饭后，他坐在一张没有靠背的椅子上，身子靠着茅屋的墙壁，嘴里衔着烟斗，两眼凝视着星空。莎莉正忙着呢，不停地走出走进。他目光懒懒地注视着她井井有条地工作。她的步态引起了他的注意，倒不是因为她的步态特别优美，而是因为她连走起路来都是那样的自如和沉着。她依靠臀部的力量，向前摆动着双腿，两只脚似乎断然地踏在地上。阿特尔涅早已溜到邻居家里去嗑牙扯淡去了，而这时菲利普听到阿特尔涅太太在不指名地唠叨着。

"喂，家里茶叶完了，我想让阿特尔涅上布莱克太太的小店里去买些回来。"一阵沉默过后，她又提高嗓门喊道："莎莉，快到布莱克太太的小店去给我买半磅茶叶，好吗？我的茶叶喝光了。"

"好的，妈妈。"

沿大路约半英里路开外处，布莱克太太拥有间小屋子。她把这间屋子既用作女邮政局长的办公室，又办了爿小百货商店。莎莉走出茅屋，捋下卷起的衣袖。

"莎莉，我陪你一道去好吗？"菲利普问道。

"别麻烦了。我一个人走不怕的。"

"我并没有说你怕的意思，我马上要上床休息了，我刚才只是想在临睡前舒展舒展两条腿。"

莎莉什么也没说。他们俩便动身朝小店走去。大路白晃晃的，静悄悄的。夏日之夜，万籁俱寂。他们俩谁也没说多少话。

"这时候天还是很热，是不？"菲利普开腔说道。

"我认为这是一年之中最好的天气。"

不过，他们俩不言不语，倒也不显得尴尬。他们觉得两人肩并肩地走路本身就是件令人愉快的事情，因此，觉得没有说话的必要。当来到掩映在栽成树篱的灌木丛中的梯磴跟前时，耳边突然传来一阵喃喃细语声，夜幕中显出两个人的身影来。这两个人紧挨着坐在一起，莎莉和菲利普走过时，他们连动也没动一下。

"不知道他们是些什么人，"莎莉说了一句。

"他们看上去很幸福，是不？"

"我想他们也把我们当作一对情侣了。"

他们看到了前面那间小店射出来的灯光，不一会儿，两人便走进了小店。一时间，那雪亮的灯光照得他们连眼睛都睁不开。

"你们来迟了，"布莱克太太说，"我正打算打烊，"说着，她朝钟望了一眼，"瞧，都快九点了。"

莎莉买了半磅茶叶（阿特尔涅太太买茶叶从来不肯超过半磅），接着两人返身上路回家。间或耳边传来一声夜间野兽发出的短促、尖利的嘶叫声，但这不过使夜显得格外静寂罢了。

"我相信，你静静地站着，一定能听见大海的声音，"莎莉说。

他们俩竖起耳朵谛听着，脑海里的想象使得他们听到了细浪拍击沙石发出的微弱声响。当他们再一次走过梯磴时，那对恋人还在原地没走，不过这一回他们不再喁喁私语，而是相互搂抱着对方，那个男的嘴唇紧紧地贴着女的双唇。

"看来他们还怪忙乎的哩，"莎莉说了一声。

他们拐了个弯，有好一会儿，一缕温暖的微风吹拂着他俩的面颊。泥上散发着清香。在这极其敏感之夜，似乎蕴藏着一种不可名状的东西，一种说不出道不明的东西在远处伫候着他们。阒寂顿时变得意味隽永。菲利普心中萌生出一种不可名状的情感，这种情感似乎非常丰富，仿佛要融化了（这些平庸的词藻倒把那种奇特的感觉描述得恰到好处）。菲利普感到愉快、热切和有所期待。此时，菲利普突然想起了杰西卡和洛伦佐两人所写的诗句来。他们各自用接引诗句的办法向对方低声朗诵自己的优美动人的诗句；但是他们俩胸中的激情，却透过两人都觉得有趣的巧妙的奇想，放射出夺目的光芒。他不知道大气中究竟是什么使得他的感官变得如此异乎寻常地机敏起来。在他看来，他才是享受香气、声响和大地芬芳的纯洁的心灵。他从未感受到有这样一种高雅的审美能力。他真担心莎莉开口说话，把这宁静给破坏了，然而她到底没吐一个字。他真想听听她那润喉发出的声音。她那低低的、音色优美的嗓音正是这乡村之夜本身发出的声音。

他们来到草场前，莎莉就要在这里穿过栅门回茅屋去。菲利普走进草场，替莎莉启开栅门。

"唔，我想我该在这里同你分手了。"

"谢谢你陪我走了那么多路。"

莎莉把手伸向菲利普，菲利普一边握着她的手，一边说：

"如果你是真心诚意的，那你就该像你家别的人那样同我吻别。"

"我不在乎，"她说了一句。

菲利普原本是说着玩的。他只是想吻她一下，因为这样他感到快乐，他喜欢莎莉，再说这夜晚又是多么的迷人。

"祝你晚安，"他说，随即轻轻地笑了笑，把莎莉拉向自己的身边。莎莉向他翘起了她那温馨、丰满和柔软的双唇；他吻着，并留恋了一会儿，那两片嘴唇微启着，宛如一朵鲜花。接着，他不知怎么搞的，顿时张开双臂环抱住她。莎莉默默地顺从了他。莎莉的身躯紧紧地贴着他的身躯。他感到她的心紧贴自己的心。他顿然昏了头，感情犹如决口的洪水将他淹没了。他把莎莉拉进了灌木丛的更暗的阴影处。
 

Philip had not a basket of his own, but sat with Sally. Jane thought it monstrous that he should help her elder sister rather than herself, and he had to promise to pick for her when Sally’s basket was full. Sally was almost as quick as her mother.

‘Won’t it hurt your hands for sewing?’ asked Philip.

‘Oh, no, it wants soft hands. That’s why women pick better than men. If your hands are hard and your fingers all stiff with a lot of rough work you can’t pick near so well.’

He liked to see her deft movements, and she watched him too now and then with that maternal spirit of hers which was so amusing and yet so charming. He was clumsy at first, and she laughed at him. When she bent over and showed him how best to deal with a whole line their hands met. He was surprised to see her blush. He could not persuade himself that she was a woman; because he had known her as a flapper, he could not help looking upon her as a child still; yet the number of her admirers showed that she was a child no longer; and though they had only been down a few days one of Sally’s cousins was already so attentive that she had to endure a lot of chaffing. His name was Peter Gann, and he was the son of Mrs. Athelny’s sister, who had married a farmer near Ferne. Everyone knew why he found it necessary to walk through the hop-field every day.

A call-off by the sounding of a horn was made for breakfast at eight, and though Mrs. Athelny told them they had not deserved it, they ate it very heartily. They set to work again and worked till twelve, when the horn sounded once more for dinner. At intervals the measurer went his round from bin to bin, accompanied by the booker, who entered first in his own book and then in the hopper’s the number of bushels picked. As each bin was filled it was measured out in bushel baskets into a huge bag called a poke; and this the measurer and the pole-puller carried off between them and put on the waggon. Athelny came back now and then with stories of how much Mrs. Heath or Mrs. Jones had picked, and he conjured his family to beat her: he was always wanting to make records, and sometimes in his enthusiasm picked steadily for an hour. His chief amusement in it, however, was that it showed the beauty of his graceful hands, of which he was excessively proud. He spent much time manicuring them. He told Philip, as he stretched out his tapering fingers, that the Spanish grandees had always slept in oiled gloves to preserve their whiteness. The hand that wrung the throat of Europe, he remarked dramatically, was as shapely and exquisite as a woman’s; and he looked at his own, as he delicately picked the hops, and sighed with self-satisfaction. When he grew tired of this he rolled himself a cigarette and discoursed to Philip of art and literature. In the afternoon it grew very hot. Work did not proceed so actively and conversation halted. The incessant chatter of the morning dwindled now to desultory remarks. Tiny beads of sweat stood on Sally’s upper lip, and as she worked her lips were slightly parted. She was like a rosebud bursting into flower.

Calling-off time depended on the state of the oast-house. Sometimes it was filled early, and as many hops had been picked by three or four as could be dried during the night. Then work was stopped. But generally the last measuring of the day began at five. As each company had its bin measured it gathered up its things and, chatting again now that work was over, sauntered out of the garden. The women went back to the huts to clean up and prepare the supper, while a good many of the men strolled down the road to the public-house. A glass of beer was very pleasant after the day’s work.

The Athelnys’ bin was the last to be dealt with. When the measurer came Mrs. Athelny, with a sigh of relief, stood up and stretched her arms: she had been sitting in the same position for many hours and was stiff.

‘Now, let’s go to The Jolly Sailor,’ said Athelny. ‘The rites of the day must be duly performed, and there is none more sacred than that.’

‘Take a jug with you, Athelny,’ said his wife, ‘and bring back a pint and a half for supper.’

She gave him the money, copper by copper. The bar-parlour was already well filled. It had a sanded floor, benches round it, and yellow pictures of Victorian prize-fighters on the walls. The licencee knew all his customers by name, and he leaned over his bar smiling benignly at two young men who were throwing rings on a stick that stood up from the floor: their failure was greeted with a good deal of hearty chaff from the rest of the company. Room was made for the new arrivals. Philip found himself sitting between an old labourer in corduroys, with string tied under his knees, and a shiny-faced lad of seventeen with a love-lock neatly plastered on his red forehead. Athelny insisted on trying his hand at the throwing of rings. He backed himself for half a pint and won it. As he drank the loser’s health he said:

‘I would sooner have won this than won the Derby, my boy.’

He was an outlandish figure, with his wide-brimmed hat and pointed beard, among those country folk, and it was easy to see that they thought him very queer; but his spirits were so high, his enthusiasm so contagious, that it was impossible not to like him. Conversation went easily. A certain number of pleasantries were exchanged in the broad, slow accent of the Isle of Thanet, and there was uproarious laughter at the sallies of the local wag. A pleasant gathering! It would have been a hard-hearted person who did not feel a glow of satisfaction in his fellows. Philip’s eyes wandered out of the window where it was bright and sunny still; there were little white curtains in it tied up with red ribbon like those of a cottage window, and on the sill were pots of geraniums. In due course one by one the idlers got up and sauntered back to the meadow where supper was cooking.

‘I expect you’ll be ready for your bed,’ said Mrs. Athelny to Philip. ‘You’re not used to getting up at five and staying in the open air all day.’

‘You’re coming to bathe with us, Uncle Phil, aren’t you?’ the boys cried.

‘Rather.’

He was tired and happy. After supper, balancing himself against the wall of the hut on a chair without a back, he smoked his pipe and looked at the night. Sally was busy. She passed in and out of the hut, and he lazily watched her methodical actions. Her walk attracted his notice; it was not particularly graceful, but it was easy and assured; she swung her legs from the hips, and her feet seemed to tread the earth with decision. Athelny had gone off to gossip with one of the neighbours, and presently Philip heard his wife address the world in general.

‘There now, I’m out of tea and I wanted Athelny to go down to Mrs. Black’s and get some.’ A pause, and then her voice was raised: ‘Sally, just run down to Mrs. Black’s and get me half a pound of tea, will you? I’ve run quite out of it.’

‘All right, mother.’

Mrs. Black had a cottage about half a mile along the road, and she combined the office of postmistress with that of universal provider. Sally came out of the hut, turning down her sleeves.

‘Shall I come with you, Sally?’ asked Philip.

‘Don’t you trouble. I’m not afraid to go alone.’

‘I didn’t think you were; but it’s getting near my bedtime, and I was just thinking I’d like to stretch my legs.’

Sally did not answer, and they set out together. The road was white and silent. There was not a sound in the summer night. They did not speak much.

‘It’s quite hot even now, isn’t it?’ said Philip.

‘I think it’s wonderful for the time of year.’

But their silence did not seem awkward. They found it was pleasant to walk side by side and felt no need of words. Suddenly at a stile in the hedgerow they heard a low murmur of voices, and in the darkness they saw the outline of two people. They were sitting very close to one another and did not move as Philip and Sally passed.

‘I wonder who that was,’ said Sally.

‘They looked happy enough, didn’t they?’

‘I expect they took us for lovers too.’

They saw the light of the cottage in front of them, and in a minute went into the little shop. The glare dazzled them for a moment.

‘You are late,’ said Mrs. Black. ‘I was just going to shut up.’ She looked at the clock. ‘Getting on for nine.’

Sally asked for her half pound of tea (Mrs. Athelny could never bring herself to buy more than half a pound at a time), and they set off up the road again. Now and then some beast of the night made a short, sharp sound, but it seemed only to make the silence more marked.

‘I believe if you stood still you could hear the sea,’ said Sally.

They strained their ears, and their fancy presented them with a faint sound of little waves lapping up against the shingle. When they passed the stile again the lovers were still there, but now they were not speaking; they were in one another’s arms, and the man’s lips were pressed against the girl’s.

‘They seem busy,’ said Sally.

They turned a corner, and a breath of warm wind beat for a moment against their faces. The earth gave forth its freshness. There was something strange in the tremulous night, and something, you knew not what, seemed to be waiting; the silence was on a sudden pregnant with meaning. Philip had a queer feeling in his heart, it seemed very full, it seemed to melt (the hackneyed phrases expressed precisely the curious sensation), he felt happy and anxious and expectant. To his memory came back those lines in which Jessica and Lorenzo murmur melodious words to one another, capping each other’s utterance; but passion shines bright and clear through the conceits that amuse them. He did not know what there was in the air that made his senses so strangely alert; it seemed to him that he was pure soul to enjoy the scents and the sounds and the savours of the earth. He had never felt such an exquisite capacity for beauty. He was afraid that Sally by speaking would break the spell, but she said never a word, and he wanted to hear the sound of her voice. Its low richness was the voice of the country night itself.

They arrived at the field through which she had to walk to get back to the huts. Philip went in to hold the gate open for her.

‘Well, here I think I’ll say good-night.’

‘Thank you for coming all that way with me.’

She gave him her hand, and as he took it, he said:

‘If you were very nice you’d kiss me good-night like the rest of the family.’

‘I don’t mind,’ she said.

Philip had spoken in jest. He merely wanted to kiss her, because he was happy and he liked her and the night was so lovely.

‘Good-night then,’ he said, with a little laugh, drawing her towards him.

She gave him her lips; they were warm and full and soft; he lingered a little, they were like a flower; then, he knew not how, without meaning it, he flung his arms round her. She yielded quite silently. Her body was firm and strong. He felt her heart beat against his. Then he lost his head. His senses overwhelmed him like a flood of rushing waters. He drew her into the darker shadow of the hedge.