The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第24部分

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bemused。　She　did　not　understand。　She　only　thought　the　marriage
was　impeded　for　want　of　money　and　position。

There　was　a　horrible　silence　in　the　house。　Anna　kept　out　of
sight　as　much　as　possible。　She　could　be　for　hours　alone。

Will　Brangwen　came　back；　after　stupid　scenes　at　Nottingham。
He　too　was　pale　and　blank；　but　unchanging。　His　uncle　hated　him。
He　hated　this　youth；　who　was　so　inhuman　and　obstinate。
Nevertheless；　it　was　to　Will　Brangwen　that　the　uncle；　one
evening；　handed　over　the　shares　which　he　had　transferred　to　Anna
Lensky。　They　were　for　two　thousand　five　hundred　pounds。　Will
Brangwen　looked　at　his　uncle。　It　was　a　great　deal　of　the　Marsh
capital　here　given　away。　The　youth；　however；　was　only　colder　and
more　fixed。　He　was　abstract；　purely　a　fixed　will。　He　gave　the
shares　to　Anna。

After　which　she　cried　for　a　whole　day；　sobbing　her　eyes　out。
And　at　night；　when　she　had　heard　her　mother　go　to　bed；　she
slipped　down　and　hung　in　the　doorway。　Her　father　sat　in　his
heavy　silence；　like　a　monument。　He　turned　his　head　slowly。

〃Daddy；〃　she　cried　from　the　doorway；　and　she　ran　to　him
sobbing　as　if　her　heart　would　break。
〃Daddy……daddy……daddy。〃

She　crouched　on　the　hearthrug　with　her　arms　round　him　and　her
face　against　him。　His　body　was　so　big　and　fortable。　But
something　hurt　her　head　intolerably。　She　sobbed　almost　with
hysteria。

He　was　silent；　with　his　hand　on　her　shoulder。　His　heart　was
bleak。　He　was　not　her　father。　That　beloved　image　she　had　broken。
Who　was　he　then？　A　man　put　apart　with　those　whose　life　has　no
more　developments。　He　was　isolated　from　her。　There　was　a
generation　between　them；　he　was　old；　he　had　died　out　from　hot
life。　A　great　deal　of　ash　was　in　his　fire；　cold　ash。　He　felt　the
inevitable　coldness；　and　in　bitterness　forgot　the　fire。　He　sat
in　his　coldness　of　age　and　isolation。　He　had　his　own　wife。　And
he　blamed　himself；　he　sneered　at　himself；　for　this　clinging　to
the　young；　wanting　the　young　to　belong　to　him。

The　child　who　clung　to　him　wanted　her　child…husband。　As　was
natural。　And　from　him；　Brangwen；　she　wanted　help；　so　that　her
life　might　be　properly　fitted　out。　But　love　she　did　not　want。
Why　should　there　be　love　between　them；　between　the　stout；
middle…aged　man　and　this　child？　How　could　there　be　anything
between　them；　but　mere　human　willingness　to　help　each　other？　He
was　her　guardian；　no　more。　His　heart　was　like　ice；　his　face　cold
and　expressionless。　She　could　not　move　him　any　more　than　a
statue。

She　crept　to　bed；　and　cried。　But　she　was　going　to　be　married
to　Will　Brangwen；　and　then　she　need　not　bother　any　more。
Brangwen　went　to　bed　with　a　hard；　cold　heart；　and　cursed
himself。　He　looked　at　his　wife。　She　was　still　his　wife。　Her　dark
hair　was　threaded　with　grey；　her　face　was　beautiful　in　its
gathering　age。　She　was　just　fifty。　How　poignantly　he　saw　her！
And　he　wanted　to　cut　out　some　of　his　own　heart；　which　was
incontinent；　and　demanded　still　to　share　the　rapid　life　of
youth。　How　he　hated　himself。

His　wife　was　so　poignant　and　timely。　She　was　still　young　and
naive；　with　some　girl's　freshness。　But　she　did　not　want　any　more
the　fight；　the　battle；　the　control；　as　he；　in　his　incontinence；
still　did。　She　was　so　natural；　and　he　was　ugly；　unnatural；　in
his　inability　to　yield　place。　How　hideous；　this　greedy
middle…age；　which　must　stand　in　the　way　of　life；　like　a　large
demon。

What　was　missing　in　his　life；　that；　in　his　ravening　soul；　he
was　not　satisfied？　He　had　had　that　friend　at　school；　his　mother；
his　wife；　and　Anna？　What　had　he　done？　He　had　failed　with　his
friend；　he　had　been　a　poor　son；　but　he　had　known　satisfaction
with　his　wife；　let　it　be　enough；　he　loathed　himself　for　the
state　he　was　in　over　Anna。　Yet　he　was　not　satisfied。　It　was
agony　to　know　it。

Was　his　life　nothing？　Had　he　nothing　to　show；　no　work？　He　did
not　count　his　work；　anybody　could　have　done　it。　What　had　he
known；　but　the　long；　marital　embrace　with　his　wife！　Curious；
that　this　was　what　his　life　amounted　to！　At　any　rate；　it　was
something；　it　was　eternal。　He　would　say　so　to　anybody；　and　be
proud　of　it。　He　lay　with　his　wife　in　his　arms；　and　she　was　still
his　fulfilment；　just　the　same　as　ever。　And　that　was　the　be…all
and　the　end…all。　Yes；　and　he　was　proud　of　it。

But　the　bitterness；　underneath；　that　there　still　remained　an
unsatisfied　Tom　Brangwen；　who　suffered　agony　because　a　girl
cared　nothing　for　him。　He　loved　his　sons……he　had　them　also。
But　it　was　the　further；　the　creative　life　with　the　girl；　he
wanted　as　well。　Oh；　and　he　was　ashamed。　He　trampled　himself　to
extinguish　himself。

What　weariness！　There　was　no　peace；　however　old　one　grew！　One
was　never　right；　never　decent；　never　master　of　oneself。　It　was
as　if　his　hope　had　been　in　the　girl。

Anna　quickly　lapsed　again　into　her　love　for　the　youth。　Will
Brangwen　had　fixed　his　marriage　for　the　Saturday　before
Christmas。　And　he　waited　for　her；　in　his　bright；　unquestioning
fashion；　until　then。　He　wanted　her；　she　was　his；　he　suspended
his　being　till　the　day　should　e。　The　wedding　day；　December
the　twenty…third；　had　e　into　being　for　him　as　an　absolute
thing。　He　lived　in　it。

He　did　not　count　the　days。　But　like　a　man　who　journeys　in　a
ship；　he　was　suspended　till　the　ing　to　port。

He　worked　at　his　carving；　he　worked　in　his　office；　he　came　to
see　her；　all　was　but　a　form　of　waiting；　without　thought　or
question。

She　was　much　more　alive。　She　wanted　to　enjoy　courtship。　He
seemed　to　e　and　go　like　the　wind；　without　asking　why　or
whither。　But　she　wanted　to　enjoy　his　presence。　For　her；　he　was
the　kernel　of　life；　to　touch　him　alone　was　bliss。　But　for　him；
she　was　the　essence　of　life。　She　existed　as　much　when　he　was　at
his　carving　in　his　lodging　in　Ilkeston；　as　when　she　sat　looking
at　him　in　the　Marsh　kitchen。　In　himself；　he　knew　her。　But　his
outward　faculties　seemed　suspended。　He　did　not　see　her　with　his
eyes；　nor　hear　her　with　his　voice。

And　yet　he　trembled；　sometimes　into　a　kind　of　swoon；　holding
her　in　his　arms。　They　would　stand　sometimes　folded　together　in
the　barn；　in　silence。　Then　to　her；　as　she　felt　his　young；　tense
figure　with　her　hands；　the　bliss　was　intolerable；　intolerable
the　sense　that　she　possessed　him。　For　his　body　was　so　keen　and
wonderful；　it　was　the　only　reality　in　her　world。　In　her　world；
there　was　this　one　tense；　vivid　body　of　a　man；　and　then　many
other　shadowy　men；　all　unreal。　In　him；　she　touched　the　centre　of
reality。　And　they　were　together；　he　and　she；　at　the　heart　of　the
secret。　How　she　clutched　him　to　her；　his　body　the　central　body
of　all　life。　Out　of　the　rock　of　his　form　the　very　fountain　of
life　flowed。

But　to　him；　she　was　a　flame　that　consumed　him。　The　flame
flowed　up　his　limbs；　flowed　through　him；　till　he　was　consumed；
till　he　existed　only　as　an　unconscious；　dark　transit　of　flame；
deriving　from　her。

Sometimes；　in　the　darkness；　a　cow　coughed。　There　was；　in　the
darkness；　a　slow　sound　of　cud　chewing。　And　it　all　seemed　to　flow
round　them　and　upon　them　as　the　hot　blood　flows　through　the
womb；　laving　the　unborn　young。

Sometimes；　when　it　was　cold；　they　stood　to　be　lovers　in　the
stables；　where　the　air　was　warm　and　sharp　with　ammonia。　And
during　these　dark　vigils；　he　learned　to　know　her；　her　body
against　his；　they　drew　nearer　and　nearer　together；　the　kisses
came　more　subtly　close　and　fitting。　So　when　in　the　thick
darkness　a　horse　suddenly　scrambled　to　its　feet；　with　a　dull；
thunderous　sound；　they　listened　as　one　person　listening；　they
knew　as　one　person；　they　were　conscious　of　the　horse。

Tom　Brangwen　had　taken　them　a　cottage　at　Cossethay；　on　a
twenty…one　years'　lease。　Will　Brangwen's　eyes　lit　up　as　he　saw
it。　It　was　the　cottage　next　the　church；　with　dark　yew…trees；
very　black　old　trees；　along　the　side　of　the　house　and　the　grassy
front　garden；　a　red；　squarish　cottage　with　a　low　slate　roof；　and
low　windows。　It　had　a　long　dairy…scullery；　a　big　flagged
kitchen；　and　a　low　parlour；　that　went　up　one　step　from　the
kitchen。　There　were　whitewashed　beams　across　the　ceilings；　and
odd　corners　with　cupboards。　Looking　out　through　the　windows；
there　was　the　grassy　garden；　the　procession　of　black　yew　trees
down　one　side；　and　along　the　other　sides；　a　red　wall　with　ivy
separating　the　place　from　the　high…road　and　the　churchyard。　The
old；　little　church；　with　its　small　spire　on　a　square　tower；
seemed　to　be　looking　back　at　the　cottage　windows。

〃There'll　be　no　need　to　have　a　clock；〃　said　Will　Brangwen；
peeping　out　at　the　white　clock…face　on　the　tower；　his
neighbour。

At　the　back　of　the　house　was　a　garden　adjoining　the　paddock；
a　cowshed　with　standing　for　two　cows；　pig…cotes　and　fowl…houses。
Will　Brangwen　was　very　happy。　Anna　was　glad　to　think　of　being
mistress　of　her　own　place。

Tom　Brangwen　was　now　the　fairy　godfather。　He　was　never　happy
unless　he　was　buying　something。　Will　Brangwen；　with　his　interest
in　all　wood…work；　was　getting　the　furniture。　He　was　left　to　buy
tables　and　round…staved　chairs　and　the　dressers；　quite　ordinary
stuff；　but　such　as　was　identified　with　his　cottage。

Tom　Brangwen；　with　more　particular　thought；　spied　out　what　he
called　handy　little　things　for　her。　He　appeared　with　a　set　of
new…fangled　cooking…pans；　with　a　special　sort　of　hanging　lamp；
though　the　rooms　were　so　low；　with　canny　little　machines　for
grinding　meat　or　mashing　potatoes　or　whisking　eggs。

Anna　took　a　sharp　interest　in　what　he　bought；　though　she　was
not　always　pleased。　Some　of　the　little　contrivances；　which　he
thought　so　canny；　left　her　doubtful。　Nevertheless　she　was　always
expectant；　on　market　days　there　was　always　a　long　thrill　of
anticipation。　He　arrived　with　the　first　darkness；　the　copper
lamps　of　his　cart　glowing。　And　she　ran　to　the　gate；　as　he；　a
dark；　burly　figure　up　in　the　cart；　was　bending　over　his
parcels。

〃It's　cupboard　love　as　brings　you　out　so　sharp；〃　he　said；　his
voice　resounding　in　the　cold　darkness。　Nevertheless　he　was
excited。　And　she；　taking　one　of　the　cart　lamps；　poked　and　peered
among　the　jumble　of　things　he　had　brought；　pushing　aside　the　oil
or　implements　he　had　got　for　himself。

She　dragged　out　a　pair　of　small；　strong　bellows；　registered
them　in　her　mind；　and　then　pulled　uncertainly　at　something　else。
It　had　a　long　handle；　and　a　piece　of　brown　paper　round　the
middle　of　it；　like　a　waistcoat。

〃What's　this？〃　she　said；　poking。

He　stopped　to　look　at　her。　She　went　to　the　lamp…light　by　the
horse；　and　stood　there　bent　over　the　new　thing；　while　her　hair
was　like　bronze；　her　apron　white　and　cheerful。　Her　fingers
plucked　busily　at　the　paper。　She　dragged　forth　a　little　wringer；
with　clean　indiarubber　rollers。　She　examined　it　critically；　not
knowing　quite　how　it　worked。

She　looked　up　at　him。　He　stood　a　shadowy　presence　beyond　the
light。

〃How　does　it　go？〃　she　asked。

〃Why；　it's　for　pulpin'　turnips；〃　he　replied。

She　looked　at　him。　His　voice　disturbed　her。

〃Don't　be　silly。　It's　a　little　mangle；〃　she　said。　〃How　do　you
stand　it；　though？〃

〃You　screw　it　on　th'　side　o'　your　wash…tub。〃　He　came　and　held
it　out　to　her。

〃Oh；　yes！〃　she　cried；　with　one　of　her　little　skipping
movements；　which　still　came　when　she　was　suddenly　glad。

And　without　another　thought　she　ran　off　into　the　house；
leaving　him　to　untackle　the　horse。　And　when