manalive-第4章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


a　name　than　of　a　grown…up　man　admitting　one。

Despite　these　doubts　about　identity；　the　hapless　Inglewood
watched　the　other　unpack；　and　stood　about　his　bedroom　in　all
the　impotent　attitudes　of　the　male　friend。　　Mr。　Smith　unpacked
with　the　same　kind　of　whirling　accuracy　with　which　he　climbed
a　treethrowing　things　out　of　his　bag　as　if　they　were　rubbish；
yet　managing　to　distribute　quite　a　regular　pattern　all　round
him　on　the　floor。

As　he　did　so　he　continued　to　talk　in　the　same　somewhat　gasping　manner
（he　had　come　upstairs　four　steps　at　a　time；　but　even　without　this　his　style
of　speech　was　breathless　and　fragmentary）；　and　his　remarks　were　still
a　string　of　more　or　less　significant　but　often　separate　pictures。

〃Like　the　day　of　judgement；〃　he　said；　throwing　a　bottle
so　that　it　somehow　settled；　rocking　on　its　right　end。
〃People　say　vast　universe。。。　infinity　and　astronomy；
not　sure。。。　I　think　things　are　too　close　together。。。　packed　up；
for　travelling。。。　stars　too　close；　really。。。　why；　the　sun's
a　star；　too　close　to　be　seen　properly；　the　earth's　a　star；
too　close　to　be　seen　at　all。。。　too　many　pebbles　on　the　beach；
ought　all　to　be　put　in　rings；　too　many　blades　of　grass　to　study。。。
feathers　on　a　bird　make　the　brain　reel；　wait　till　the　big　bag
is　unpacked。。。　may　all　be　put　in　our　right　places　then。〃

Here　he　stopped；　literally　for　breaththrowing　a　shirt　to　the　other　end
of　the　room；　and　then　a　bottle　of　ink　so　that　it　fell　quite　neatly　beyond　it。
Inglewood　looked　round　on　this　strange；　half…symmetrical　disorder　with
an　increasing　doubt。

In　fact；　the　more　one　explored　Mr。　Smith's　holiday　luggage；
the　less　one　could　make　anything　of　it。　　One　peculiarity　of　it
was　that　almost　everything　seemed　to　be　there　for　the　wrong　reason；
what　is　secondary　with　every　one　else　was　primary　with　him。
He　would　wrap　up　a　pot　or　pan　in　brown　paper；　and　the　unthinking
assistant　would　discover　that　the　pot　was　valueless　or　even　unnecessary；
and　that　it　was　the　brown　paper　that　was　truly　precious。
He　produced　two　or　three　boxes　of　cigars；　and　explained
with　plain　and　perplexing　sincerity　that　he　was　no　smoker；
but　that　cigar…box　wood　was　by　far　the　best　for　fretwork。
He　also　exhibited　about　six　small　bottles　of　wine；　white　and　red；
and　Inglewood；　happening　to　note　a　Volnay　which　he　knew　to　be　excellent；
supposed　at　first　that　the　stranger　was　an　epicure　in　vintages。
He　was　therefore　surprised　to　find　that　the　next　bottle　was　a　vile　sham
claret　from　the　colonies；　which　even　colonials　（to　do　them　justice）
do　not　drink。　　It　was　only　then　that　he　observed　that　all　six
bottles　had　those　bright　metallic　seals　of　various　tints；
and　seemed　to　have　been　chosen　solely　because　they　have　the　three
primary　and　three　secondary　colours：　　red；　blue；　and　yellow；
green；　violet　and　orange。　　There　grew　upon　Inglewood　an　almost
creepy　sense　of　the　real　childishness　of　this　creature。
For　Smith　was　really；　so　far　as　human　psychology　can　be；　innocent。
He　had　the　sensualities　of　innocence：　　he　loved　the　stickiness　of　gum；
and　he　cut　white　wood　greedily　as　if　he　were　cutting　a　cake。
To　this　man　wine　was　not　a　doubtful　thing　to　be　defended　or　denounced；
it　was　a　quaintly　coloured　syrup；　such　as　a　child　sees　in　a　shop　window。
He　talked　dominantly　and　rushed　the　social　situation；
but　he　was　not　asserting　himself；　like　a　superman　in　a　modern　play。
He　was　simply　forgetting　himself；　like　a　little　boy　at　a　party。
He　had　somehow　made　the　giant　stride　from　babyhood　to　manhood；
and　missed　that　crisis　in　youth　when　most　of　us　grow　old。

As　he　shunted　his　big　bag；　Arthur　observed　the　initials
I。　S。　printed　on　one　side　of　it；　and　remembered　that　Smith　had
been　called　Innocent　Smith　at　school；　though　whether　as　a　formal
Christian　name　or　a　moral　description　he　could　not　remember。
He　was　just　about　to　venture　another　question；　when　there　was　a　knock
at　the　door；　and　the　short　figure　of　Mr。　Gould　offered　itself；
with　the　melancholy　Moon；　standing　like　his　tall　crooked　shadow；
behind　him。　　They　had　drifted　up　the　stairs　after　the　other　two
men　with　the　wandering　gregariousness　of　the　male。

〃Hope　there's　no　intrusion；〃　said　the　beaming　Moses　with　a　glow
of　good　nature；　but　not　the　airiest　tinge　of　apology。

〃The　truth　is；〃　said　Michael　Moon　with　comparative　courtesy；
〃we　thought　we　might　see　if　they　had　made　you　comfortable。
Miss　Duke　is　rather〃

〃I　know；〃　cried　the　stranger；　looking　up　radiantly　from　his　bag；
〃magnificent；　isn't　she？　　Go　close　to　herhear　military　music　going　by；
like　Joan　of　Arc。〃

Inglewood　stared　and　stared　at　the　speaker　like　one　who　has
just　heard　a　wild　fairy　tale；　which　nevertheless　contains
one　small　and　forgotten　fact。　　For　he　remembered　how　he　had
himself　thought　of　Jeanne　d'Arc　years　ago；　when；　hardly　more
than　a　schoolboy；　he　had　first　come　to　the　boarding…house。　Long
since　the　pulverizing　rationalism　of　his　friend　Dr。　Warner　had
crushed　such　youthful　ignorances　and　disproportionate　dreams。
Under　the　Warnerian　scepticism　and　science　of　hopeless
human　types；　Inglewood　had　long　come　to　regard　himself　as
a　timid；　insufficient；　and　〃weak〃　type；　who　would　never　marry；
to　regard　Diana　Duke　as　a　materialistic　maidservant；
and　to　regard　his　first　fancy　for　her　as　the　small；
dull　farce　of　a　collegian　kissing　his　landlady's　daughter。
And　yet　the　phrase　about　military　music　moved　him　queerly；
as　if　he　had　heard　those　distant　drums。

〃She　has　to　keep　things　pretty　tight；　as　is　only　natural；〃　said　Moon；
glancing　round　the　rather　dwarfish　room；　with　its　wedge　of　slanted　ceiling；
like　the　conical　hood　of　a　dwarf。

〃Rather　a　small　box　for　you；　sir；〃　said　the　waggish　Mr。　Gould。

〃Splendid　room；　though；〃　answered　Mr。　Smith　enthusiastically；　with　his
head　inside　his　Gladstone　bag。　　〃I　love　these　pointed　sorts　of　rooms；
like　Gothic。　　By　the　way；〃　he　cried　out；　pointing　in　quite　a　startling　way；
〃where　does　that　door　lead　to？〃

〃To　certain　death；　I　should　say；〃　answered　Michael　Moon；　staring　up　at
a　dust…stained　and　disused　trapdoor　in　the　sloping　roof　of　the　attic。
〃I　don't　think　there's　a　loft　there；　and　I　don't　know　what　else　it　could
lead　to。〃　　Long　before　he　had　finished　his　sentence　the　man　at　the　door
in　the　ceiling；　swung　himself　somehow　on　to　the　ledge　beneath　it；
wrenched　it　open　after　a　struggle；　and　clambered　through　it。
For　a　moment　they　saw　the　two　symbolic　legs　standing　like　a　truncated　statue；
then　they　vanished。　　Through　the　hole　thus　burst　in　the　roof　appeared
the　empty　and　lucid　sky　of　evening；　with　one　great　many…coloured　cloud
sailing　across　it　like　a　whole　county　upside　down。

〃Hullo；　you　fellows！〃　came　the　far　cry　of　Innocent　Smith；
apparently　from　some　remote　pinnacle。　　〃Come　up　here；
and　bring　some　of　my　things　to　eat　and　drink。　　It's　just　the　spot
for　a　picnic。〃

With　a　sudden　impulse　Michael　snatched　two　of　the　small
bottles　of　wine；　one　in　each　solid　fist；　and　Arthur　Inglewood；
as　if　mesmerized；　groped　for　a　biscuit　tin　and　a　big　jar　of　ginger。
The　enormous　hand　of　Innocent　Smith　appearing　through　the　aperture；
like　a　giant's　in　a　fairy　tale；　received　these　tributes　and　bore　them
off　to　the　eyrie；　then　they　both　hoisted　themselves　out　of　the　window。
They　were　both　athletic；　and　even　gymnastic；　Inglewood　through　his
concern　for　hygiene；　and　Moon　through　his　concern　for　sport；　which　was
not　quite　so　idle　and　inactive　as　that　of　the　average　sportsman。
Also　they　both　had　a　light…headed　burst　of　celestial　sensation　when
the　door　was　burst　in　the　roof；　as　if　a　door　had　been　burst　in　the　sky；
and　they　could　climb　out　on　to　the　very　roof　of　the　universe。
They　were　both　men　who　had　long　been　unconsciously　imprisoned　in
the　commonplace；　though　one　took　it　comically；　and　the　other　seriously。
They　were　both　men；　nevertheless；　in　whom　sentiment　had　never　died。
But　Mr。　Moses　Gould　had　an　equal　contempt　for　their　suicidal　athletics
and　their　subconscious　transcendentalism；　and　he　stood　and　laughed
at　the　thing　with　the　shameless　rationality　of　another　race。

When　the　singular　Smith；　astride　of　a　chimney…pot；　learnt　that　Gould
was　not　following；　his　infantile　officiousness　and　good　nature
forced　him　to　dive　back　into　the　attic　to　comfort　or　persuade；
and　Inglewood　and　Moon　were　left　alone　on　the　long　gray…green
ridge　of　the　slate　roof；　with　their　feet　against　gutters　and　their
backs　against　chimney…pots；　looking　agnostically　at　each　other。
Their　first　feeling　was　that　they　had　come　out　into　eternity；
and　that　eternity　was　very　like　topsy…turvydom。　One　definition
occurred　to　both　of　themthat　he　had　come　out　into　the　light
of　that　lucid　and　radiant　ignorance　in　which　all　beliefs　had　begun。
The　sky　above　them　was　full　of　mythology。　　Heaven　seemed　deep
enough　to　hold　all　the　gods。　　The　round　of　the　ether　turned
from　green　to　yellow　gradually　like　a　great　unripe　fruit。
All　around　the　sunken　sun　it　was　like　a　lemon；　round　all　the　east
it　was　a　sort　of　golden　green；　more　suggestive　of　a　greengage；
but　the　whole　had　still　he　emptiness　of　daylight　and　none　of　the　secrecy
of　dusk。　　Tumbled　here　and　there　across　this　gold　and　pale　green
were　shards　and　shattered　masses　of　inky　purple　cloud；　which　seemed
falling　towards　the　earth　in　every　kind　of　colossal　perspective。
One　of　them　really　had　the　character　of　some　many…mitred；　many…bearded；
many…winged　Assyrian　image；　huge　head　downwards；　hurled　out　of　heaven
a　sort　of　false　Jehovah；　who　was　perhaps　Satan。　　All　the　other　clouds
had　preposterous　pinnacled　shapes；　as　if　the　god's　palaces　had　been
flung　after　him。

And　yet；　while　the　empty　heaven　was　full　of　silent　catastrophe；　the　height
of　human　buildings　above　which　they　sat　held　here　and　there　a　tiny　trivial
noise　that　was　the　exact　antithesis；　and　they　heard　some　six　streets　below
a　newsboy　calling；　and　a　bell　bidding　to　chapel。　　They　could　also　hear
talk　out　of　the　garden　below；　and　realized　that　the　irrepressible　Smith
must　have　followed　Gould　downstairs；　for　his　eager　and　pleading　accents
could　be　heard；　followed　by　the　half…humourous　protests　of　Miss　Duke
and　the　full　and　very　youthful　laughter　of　Rosamund　Hunt。　　The　air　had
that　cold　kindness　that　comes　after　a　storm。　　Michael　Moon　drank　it　in　with
as　serious　a　relish　as　he　had　drunk　the　little　bottle　of　cheap　claret；
which　he　had　emptied　almost　at　a　draught。　　Inglewood　went　on　eating　ginger
very　slowly　and　with　a　solemnity　unfathomable　as　the　sky　above　him。
There　was　still　enough　stir　in　the　freshness　of　the　atmosphere　to　make　them
almost　fancy　they　could　smell　the　garden　soil　and　the　last　roses　of　autumn。
Suddenly　there　came　from　the　darkening　room　a　silvery　ping　and　pong　which
told　them　that　Rosamund　had　brought　out　the　long…neglected　mandoline。
After　the　first　few　notes　there　was　more　of　the　distant　bell…like　laughter。

〃Inglewood；〃　said　Michael　Moon；　〃have　you　ever　heard　that　I
am　a　blackguard？〃

〃I　haven't　heard　it；　and　I　don't　believe　it；〃　answered　Inglewood；
after　an　odd　pause。　　〃But　I　have　heard　you　werewhat　they
call　rather　wild。〃

〃If　you　have　heard　that　I　am　wild；　you　can　contradict　the　rumour；〃
said　Moon；　with　an　extraordinary　calm；　〃I　am　tame。
I　am　quite　tame；　I　am　about　the　tamest　beast　that　crawls。
I　drink　too　much　of　the　same　kind　of　whisky　at　the