The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第30部分

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wanted　to　destroy　it　in　him。

This　snowy　morning；　he　sat　with　a　dark…bright　face　beside
her；　not　aware　of　her；　and　somehow；　she　felt　he　was　conveying　to
strange；　secret　places　the　love　that　sprang　in　him　for　her。　He
sat　with　a　dark…rapt；　half…delighted　face；　looking　at　a　little
stained　window。　She　saw　the　ruby…coloured　glass；　with　the　shadow
heaped　along　the　bottom　from　the　snow　outside；　and　the　familiar
yellow　figure　of　the　lamb　holding　the　banner；　a　little　darkened
now；　but　in　the　murky　interior　strangely　luminous；　pregnant。

She　had　always　liked　the　little　red　and　yellow　window。　The
lamb；　looking　very　silly　and　self…conscious；　was　holding　up　a
forepaw；　in　the　cleft　of　which　was　dangerously　perched　a　little
flag　with　a　red　cross。　Very　pale　yellow；　the　lamb；　with　greenish
shadows。　Since　she　was　a　child　she　had　liked　this　creature；　with
the　same　feeling　she　felt　for　the　little　woolly　lambs　on　green
legs　that　children　carried　home　from　the　fair　every　year。　She
had　always　liked　these　toys；　and　she　had　the　same　amused；
childish　liking　for　this　church　lamb。　Yet　she　had　always　been
uneasy　about　it。　She　was　never　sure　that　this　lamb　with　a　flag
did　not　want　to　be　more　than　it　appeared。　So　she　half　mistrusted
it；　there　was　a　mixture　of　dislike　in　her　attitude　to　it。

Now；　by　a　curious　gathering；　knitting　of　his　eyes；　the
faintest　tension　of　ecstasy　on　his　face；　he　gave　her　the
unfortable　feeling　that　he　was　in　correspondence　with　the
creature；　the　lamb　in　the　window。　A　cold　wonder　came　over
her……her　soul　was　perplexed。　There　he　sat；　motionless；
timeless；　with　the　faint；　bright　tension　on　his　face。　What　was
he　doing？　What　connection　was　there　between　him　and　the　lamb　in
the　glass？

Suddenly　it　gleamed　to　her　dominant；　this　lamb　with　the　flag。
Suddenly　she　had　a　powerful　mystic　experience；　the　power　of　the
tradition　seized　on　her；　she　was　transported　to　another　world。
And　she　hated　it；　resisted　it。

Instantly；　it　was　only　a　silly　lamb　in　the　glass　again。　And
dark；　violent　hatred　of　her　husband　swept　up　in　her。　What　was　he
doing；　sitting　there　gleaming；　carried　away；　soulful？

She　shifted　sharply；　she　knocked　him　as　she　pretended　to　pick
up　her　glove；　she　groped　among　his　feet。

He　came　to；　rather　bewildered；　exposed。　Anybody　but　her　would
have　pitied　him。　She　wanted　to　rend　him。　He　did　not　know　what
was　amiss；　what　he　had　been　doing。

As　they　sat　at　dinner；　in　their　cottage；　he　was　dazed　by　the
chill　of　antagonism　from　her。　She　did　not　know　why　she　was　so
angry。　But　she　was　incensed。

〃Why　do　you　never　listen　to　the　sermon？〃　she　asked；　seething
with　hostility　and　violation。

〃I　do；〃　he　said。

〃You　don't……you　don't　hear　a　single　word。〃

He　retired　into　himself；　to　enjoy　his　own　sensation。　There
was　something　subterranean　about　him；　as　if　he　had　an　underworld
refuge。　The　young　girl　hated　to　be　in　the　house　with　him　when　he
was　like　this。

After　dinner；　he　retired　into　the　parlour；　continuing　in　the
same　state　of　abstraction；　which　was　a　burden　intolerable　to
her。　Then　he　went　to　the　book…shelf　and　took　down　books　to　look
at；　that　she　had　scarcely　glanced　over。

He　sat　absorbed　over　a　book　on　the　illuminations　in　old
missals；　and　then　over　a　book　on　paintings　in　churches：　Italian；
English；　French　and　German。　He　had；　when　he　was　sixteen；
discovered　a　Roman　Catholic　bookshop　where　he　could　find　such
things。

He　turned　the　leaves　in　absorption；　absorbed　in　looking；　not
thinking。　He　was　like　a　man　whose　eyes　were　in　his　chest；　she
said　of　him　later。

She　came　to　look　at　the　things　with　him。　Half　they　fascinated
her。　She　was　puzzled；　interested；　and　antagonistic。

It　was　when　she　came　to　pictures　of　the　Pieta　that　she　burst
out。

〃I　do　think　they're　loathsome；〃　she　cried。

〃What？〃　he　said；　surprised；　abstracted。

〃Those　bodies　with　slits　in　them；　posing　to　be
worshipped。〃

〃You　see；　it　means　the　Sacraments；　the　Bread；〃　he　said
slowly。

〃Does　it；〃　she　cried。　〃Then　it's　worse。　I　don't　want　to　see
your　chest　slit；　nor　to　eat　your　dead　body；　even　if　you　offer　it
to　me。　Can't　you　see　it's　horrible？〃

〃It　isn't　me；　it's　Christ。〃

〃What　if　it　is；　it's　you！　And　it's　horrible；　you　wallowing　in
your　own　dead　body；　and　thinking　of　eating　it　in　the
Sacrament。〃

〃You've　to　take　it　for　what　it　means。〃

〃It　means　your　human　body　put　up　to　be　slit　and　killed　and
then　worshipped……what　else？〃

They　lapsed　into　silence。　His　soul　grew　angry　and　aloof。

〃And　I　think　that　lamb　in　Church；〃　she　said；　〃is　the　biggest
joke　in　the　parish〃

She　burst　into　a　〃Pouf〃　of　ridiculing　laughter。

〃It　might　be；　to　those　that　see　nothing　in　it；〃　he　said。　〃You
know　it's　the　symbol　of　Christ；　of　His　innocence　and
sacrifice。〃

〃Whatever　it　means；　it's　a　lamb；〃　she　said。　〃And　I
like　lambs　too　much　to　treat　them　as　if　they　had　to　mean
something。　As　for　the　Christmas…tree
flag……no〃

And　again　she　poufed　with　mockery。

〃It's　because　you　don't　know　anything；〃　he　said　violently；
harshly。　〃Laugh　at　what　you　know；　not　at　what　you　don't
know。〃

〃What　don't　I　know？〃

〃What　things　mean。〃

〃And　what　does　it　mean？〃

He　was　reluctant　to　answer　her。　He　found　it　difficult。

〃What　does　it　mean？〃　she　insisted。

〃It　means　the　triumph　of　the　Resurrection。〃

She　hesitated；　baffled；　a　fear　came　upon　her。　What　were　these
things？　Something　dark　and　powerful　seemed　to　extend　before　her。
Was　it　wonderful　after　all？

But　no……she　refused　it。

〃Whatever　it　may　pretend　to　mean；　what　it　is　is　a　silly
absurd　toy…lamb　with　a　Christmas…tree　flag　ledged　on　its
paw……and　if　it　wants　to　mean　anything　else；　it　must　look
different　from　that。〃

He　was　in　a　state　of　violent　irritation　against　her。　Partly
he　was　ashamed　of　his　love　for　these　things；　he　hid　his　passion
for　them。　He　was　ashamed　of　the　ecstasy　into　which　he　could
throw　himself　with　these　symbols。　And　for　a　few　moments　he　hated
the　lamb　and　the　mystic　pictures　of　the　Eucharist；　with　a
violent；　ashy　hatred。　His　fire　was　put　out；　she　had　thrown　cold
water　on　it。　The　whole　thing　was　distasteful　to　him；　his　mouth
was　full　of　ashes。　He　went　out　cold　with　corpse…like　anger；
leaving　her　alone。　He　hated　her。　He　walked　through　the　white
snow；　under　a　sky　of　lead。

And　she　wept　again；　in　bitter　recurrence　of　the　previous
gloom。　But　her　heart　was　easy……oh；　much　more　easy。

She　ake　it　up　with　him　when　he　came
home　again。　He　was　black　and　surly；　but　abated。　She　had　broken　a
little　of　something　in　him。　And　at　length　he　was　glad　to　forfeit
from　his　soul　all　his　symbols；　to　have　her　making　love　to　him。
He　loved　it　when　she　put　her　head　on　his　knee；　and　he　had　not
asked　her　to　or　wanted　her　to；　he　loved　her　when　she　put　her
arms　round　him　and　made　bold　love　to　him；　and　he　did　not　make
love　to　her。　He　felt　a　strong　blood　in　his　limbs　again。

And　she　loved　the　intent；　far　look　of　his　eyes　when　they
rested　on　her：　intent；　yet　far；　not　near；　not　with　her。　And　she
wanted　to　bring　them　near。　She　wanted　his　eyes　to　e　to　hers；
to　know　her。　And　they　would　not。　They　remained　intent；　and　far；
and　proud；　like　a　hawk's　naive　and　inhuman　as　a　hawk's。　So　she
loved　him　and　caressed　him　and　roused　him　like　a　hawk；　till　he
was　keen　and　instant；　but　without　tenderness。　He　came　to　her
fierce　and　hard；　like　a　hawk　striking　and　taking　her。　He　was　no
mystic　any　more；　she　was　his　aim　and　object；　his　prey。　And　she
was　carried　off；　and　he　was　satisfied；　or　satiated　at　last。

Then　immediately　she　began　to　retaliate　on　him。　She　too　was　a
hawk。　If　she　imitated　the　pathetic　plover　running　plaintive　to
him；　that　was　part　of　the　game。　When　he；　satisfied；　moved　with　a
proud；　insolent　slouch　of　the　body　and　a　half…contemptuous　drop
of　the　head；　unaware　of　her；　ignoring　her　very　existence；　after
taking　his　fill　of　her　and　getting　his　satisfaction　of　her；　her
soul　roused；　its　pinions　became　like　steel；　and　she　struck　at
him。　When　he　sat　on　his　perch　glancing　sharply　round　with
solitary　pride；　pride　eminent　and　fierce；　she　dashed　at　him　and
threw　him　from　his　station　savagely；　she　goaded　him　from　his
keen　dignity　of　a　male；　she　harassed　him　from　his　unperturbed
pride；　till　he　was　mad　with　rage；　his　light　brown　eyes　burned
with　fury；　they　saw　her　now；　like　flames　of　anger　they　flared　at
her　and　recognized　her　as　the　enemy。

Very　good；　she　was　the　enemy；　very　good。　As　he　prowled　round
her；　she　watched　him。　As　he　struck　at　her；　she　struck　back。

He　was　angry　because　she　had　carelessly　pushed　away　his　tools
so　that　they　got　rusty。

〃Don't　leave　them　littering　in　my　way；　then；〃　she　said。

〃I　shall　leave　them　where　I　like；〃　he　cried。

〃Then　I　shall　throw　them　where　I　like。〃

They　glowered　at　each　other；　he　with　rage　in　his　hands；　she
with　her　soul　fierce　with　victory。　They　were　very　well　matched。
They　would　fight　it　out。

She　turned　to　her　sewing。　Immediately　the　tea…things　were
cleared　away；　she　fetched　out　the　stuff；　and　his　soul　rose　in
rage。　He　hated　beyond　measure　to　hear　the　shriek　of　calico　as
she　tore　the　web　sharply；　as　if　with　pleasure。　And　the　run　of
the　sewing…machine　gathered　a　frenzy　in　him　at　last。

〃Aren't　you　going　to　stop　that　row？〃　he　shouted。　〃Can't　you
do　it　in　the　daytime？〃

She　looked　up　sharply；　hostile　from　her　work。

〃No；　I　can't　do　it　in　the　daytime。　I　have　other　things　to　do。
Besides；　I　like　sewing；　and　you're　not　going　to　stop　me　doing
it。〃

Whereupon　she　turned　back　to　her　arranging；　fixing；
stitching；　his　nerves　jumped　with　anger　as　the　sewing…machine
started　and　stuttered　and　buzzed。

But　she　was　enjoying　herself；　she　was　triumphant　and　happy　as
the　darting　needle　danced　ecstatically　down　a　hem；　drawing　the
stuff　along　under　its　vivid　stabbing；　irresistibly。　She　made　the
machine　hum。　She　stopped　it　imperiously；　her　fingers　were　deft
and　swift　and　mistress。

If　he　sat　behind　her　stiff　with　impotent　rage　it　only　made　a
trembling　vividness　e　into　her　energy。　On　she　worked。　At　last
he　went　to　bed　in　a　rage；　and　lay　stiff；　away　from　her。　And　she
turned　her　back　on　him。　And　in　the　morning　they　did　not　speak；
except　in　mere　cold　civilities。

And　when　he　came　home　at　night；　his　heart　relenting　and
growing　hot　for　love　of　her；　when　he　was　just　ready　to　feel　he
had　been　wrong；　and　when　he　was　expecting　her　to　feel　the　same；
there　she　sat　at　the　sewing…machine；　the　whole　house　was　covered
with　clipped　calico；　the　kettle　was　not　even　on　the　fire。

She　started　up；　affecting　concern。

〃Is　it　so　late？〃　she　cried。

But　his　face　had　gone　stiff　with　rage。　He　walked　through　to
the　parlour；　then　he　walked　back　and　out　of　the　house　again。　Her
heart　sank。　Very　swiftly　she　began　to　make　his　tea。

He　went　black…hearted　down　the　road　to　Ilkeston。　When　he　was
in　this　state　he　never　thought。　A　bolt　shot　across　the　doors　of
his　mind　and　shut　him　in；　a　prisoner。　He　went　back　to　Ilkeston；
and　drank　a　glass　of　beer。　What　was　he　going　to　do？　He　did　not
want　to　see　anybody。

He　would　go　to　Nottingham；　to　his　own　town。　He　went　to　the
station　and　took　a　train。　When　he　got　to　Nottingham；　still　he
had　nowhere　to　go。　However；　it　was　more　agreeable　to　walk
familiar　streets。　He　paced　them　with　a　mad　restlessness；　as　if
he　were　running　amok。　Then　he　turned　to　a　book…shop　and　foun