I did not see Strickland for several weeks. I was disgusted with him, and if I had had an opportunity should have been glad to tell him so, but I saw no object in seeking him out for the purpose.I am a little shy of any assumption of moral indignation.There is always in it an element of self-satisfaction which makes it awkward to anyone who has a sense of humour.It requires a very lively passion to steel me to my own ridicule.There was a sardonic sincerity in Strickland which made me sensitive to anything that might suggest a pose.
But one evening, when I was passing along the Avenue de Clichy in front of the café which Strickland frequented and which I now avoided, I ran straight into him.He was accompanied by Blanche Stroeve, and they were just going to Strickland’s favourite corner.
“Where the devil have you been all this time?”said he.“I thought you must be away.”
His cordiality was proof that he knew I had no wish to speak to him. He was not a man with whom it was worth while wasting politeness.
“No,”I said;“I haven't been away.”
“Why haven't you been here?”
“There are more cafés in Paris than one, at which to trife away an idle hour.”
Blanche then held out her hand and bade me good evening. I do not know why I had expected her to be somehow changed;she wore the same grey dress that she wore so often, neat and becoming, and her brow was as candid, her eyes as untroubled, as when I had been used to see her occupied with her household duties in the studio.
“Come and have a game of chess,”said Strickland.
I do not know why at the moment I could think of no excuse. I followed them rather sulkily to the table at which Strickland always sat, and he called for the board and the chessmen.They both took the situation so much as a matter of course that I felt it absurd to do otherwise.Mrs.Stroeve watched the game with inscrutable face.She was silent, but she had always been silent.I looked at her mouth for an expression that could give me a clue to what she felt;I watched her eyes for some tell-tale fash, some hint of dismay or bitterness;I scanned her brow for any passing line that might indicate a settling emotion.Her face was a mask that told nothing.Her hands lay on her lap motionless, one in the other loosely clasped.I knew from what I had heard that she was a woman of violent passions;and that injurious blow that she had given Dirk, the man who had loved her so devotedly, betrayed a sudden temper and a horrid cruelty.She had abandoned the safe shelter of her husband's protection and the comfortable ease of a well-provided establishment for what she could not but see was an extreme hazard.It showed an eagerness for adventure, a readiness for the hand-to-mouth, which the care she took of her home and her love of good housewifery made not a little remarkable.She must be a woman of complicated character, and there was something dramatic in the contrast of that with her demure appearance.
I was excited by the encounter, and my fancy worked busily while I sought to concentrate myself on the game I was playing. I always tried my best to beat Strickland, because he was a player who despised the opponent he vanquished;his exultation in victory made defeat more difficult to bear.On the other hand, if he was beaten he took it with complete good humour.He was a bad winner and a good loser.Those who think that a man betrays his character nowhere more clearly than when he is playing a game might on this draw subtle inferences.
When he had fnished I called the waiter to pay for the drinks, and left them. The meeting had been devoid of incident.No word had been said to give me anything to think about, and any surmises I might make were unwarranted.I was intrigued.I could not tell how they were getting on.I would have given much to be a disembodied spirit so that I could see them in the privacy of the studio and hear what they talked about.I had not the smallest indication on which to let my imagination work.
我有好幾個星期沒見到斯特里克蘭了,我實在是討厭他,如果有機會,我會很開心告訴他這一點,但我也犯不上為了這個目的而到處找他。我還是有點羞于假裝道德衛(wèi)士,義憤填膺地去指責別人。但這里面總有點自鳴得意的成分,好像在讓一個有幽默感的人感到很難堪。除非我真的動起火來,我是不肯讓別人拿自己當笑話看的。在斯特里克蘭身上有種與生俱來的擅于冷嘲熱諷的東西,這樣使我對任何故作姿態(tài)的言行都很小心謹慎。
但是有一天晚上,當我路過克里舍大街時,在那家斯特里克蘭經(jīng)常光顧而我現(xiàn)在盡量回避的咖啡館前,冷不丁和他打了個照面。他身旁有布蘭奇·斯特羅伊夫相陪,正要走向斯特里克蘭最常落座的角落。
“這段日子你他媽的跑哪兒去了?”他說,“我還以為你離開巴黎了呢。”
這種套近乎的方式正好證明了他很清楚我不想跟他講話,他這種人也不值得花時間跟他講什么禮貌。
“不,”我說,“我沒走?!?/p>
“那為什么在這兒見不到你了?”
“在巴黎不止有一家咖啡館,無論在哪家咖啡館都可以打發(fā)閑散時光?!?/p>
這時布蘭奇伸出手來,跟我說了句“晚上好”寒暄的話。我不知道為什么我原以為她會有某種改變,而事實上,她還是穿著她過去常穿的那件灰衣服,整潔、合體,前額光潔,眼神平靜,就跟我以前見她在畫室里忙家務時一模一樣。
“來下一盤棋吧?!彼固乩锟颂m說道。
不知道為什么我當時沒有想到任何借口拒絕,我一臉不高興地跟著他們走到斯特里克蘭常坐的那張桌旁,他要了棋盤和棋子。他們兩人對于這次的不期而遇沒有任何大驚小怪,我也只能裝作若無其事的樣子。斯特羅伊夫太太帶著神秘莫測的神情觀察著棋局,一言不發(fā),過去她也總是寡言少語。我看著她的嘴角,想找出能夠流露她心境的線索;我觀察著她的眼睛,想探查某種講述的目光,隱含著沮喪或是凄苦;我打量她的前額,想發(fā)現(xiàn)表明感情已經(jīng)流逝的皺紋。但她的臉就像戴著面具,什么表情也沒有。她的雙手一動不動地放在膝蓋上,一只手松松地握著另一只手。從我聽到的一些事我知道她是個性情暴烈的女人,她在街上曾給了迪爾柯惡狠狠的一記耳光,而這個男人過去是那么全心全意地愛著她,這說明她喜怒無常、冷酷無情。她拋棄了在她丈夫庇護下的溫暖安全的家,拋棄了衣食無憂、舒適安逸的生活,奔向她自己也能看得清的極其危險的境地。這一切表明她渴望冒險,即使過緊巴巴的日子也在所不惜,后一點從她照料家務,喜愛做一個好的家庭主婦上看一點也不足為奇。她是一個性格復雜的女人,她的性格和她嫻靜端莊的外表形成了鮮明的對比。
我被這次相遇也搞得心情激動,雖然腦海中思潮翻滾,但我還是想法把注意力集中到我正下的這盤棋上來,每次下棋,我總是千方百計要下贏斯特里克蘭,因為他是一個對落敗的對手總是很鄙視的玩家;他獲勝后的興高采烈、得意揚揚總是使失敗的一方更加難以忍受。而另一方面,如果他下輸了,他倒是能心情不錯地坦然處之,在下棋方面,他是一個不錯的輸家,糟糕的贏家。有人認為只有在下棋的時候,才能最清楚地觀察一個人的性格,這倒是可以從斯特里克蘭的例子上得到些許微妙的推論。
當我們下完棋的時候,我叫來侍者付了賬,然后就離開了。這場會面沒出現(xiàn)什么戲劇性場面,沒有一句話讓我玩味,沒有什么結論讓我肯定地得出。這反而勾起了我的好奇心。我不明白他們?nèi)绾蜗嗵?,但凡有可能,我寧愿靈魂出竅,化身成精靈去窺探他們在畫室單獨相處時,做了些什么,又說了些什么??偠灾?,盡管我充分發(fā)揮了想象力,但到頭來還是一頭霧水。