Outside, in the dust and among the garbage (there were four dogs now), Bernard and John were walking slowly up and down.
“So hard for me to realize,” Bernard was saying, “to reconstruct. As though we were living on different planets, in different centuries. A mother, and all this dirt, and gods, and old age, and disease…” He shook his head. “It's almost inconceivable. I shall never understand, unless you explain.”
“Explain what?”
“This.” He indicated the pueblo. “That.” And it was the little house outside the village. “Everything. All your life.”
“But what is there to say?”
“From the beginning. As far back as you can remember.”
“As far back as I can remember.” John frowned. There was a long silence.
It was very hot. They had eaten a lot of tortillas and sweet corn. Linda said, “Come and lie down, Baby.” They lay down together in the big bed. “Sing,” and Linda sang. Sang “Streptocock-Gee to Banbury-T” and “Bye Baby Banting, soon you'll need decanting.” Her voice got fainter and fainter…
There was a loud noise, and he woke with a start. A man was standing by the bed, enormous, frightening. He was saying something to Linda, and Linda was laughing. She had pulled the blanket up to her chin, but the man pulled it down again. His hair was like two black ropes, and round his arm was a lovely silver bracelet with blue stones in it. He liked the bracelet; but all the same, he was frightened; he hid his face against Linda's body. Linda put her hand on him and he felt safer. In those other words he did not understand so well, she said to the man, “Not with John here.” The man looked at him, then again at Linda, and said a few words in a soft voice. Linda said, “No.” But the man bent over the bed towards him and his face was huge, terrible; the black ropes of hair touched the blanket. “No,” Linda said again, and he felt her hand squeezing him more tightly. “No, no!” But the man took hold of one of his arms, and it hurt. He screamed. The man put up his other hand and lifted him up. Linda was still holding him, still saying, “No, no.” The man said something short and angry, and suddenly her hands were gone. “Linda, Linda.” He kicked and wriggled; but the man carried him across to the door, opened it, put him down on the floor in the middle of the other room, and went away, shutting the door behind him. He got up, he ran to the door. Standing on tiptoe he could just reach the big wooden latch. He lifted it and pushed; but the door wouldn't open. “Linda,” he shouted. She didn't answer.
He remembered a huge room, rather dark; and there were big wooden things with strings fastened to them, and lots of women standing round them—making blankets, Linda said. Linda told him to sit in the corner with the other children, while she went and helped the women. He played with the little boys for a long time. Suddenly people started talking very loud, and there were the women pushing Linda away, and Linda was crying. She went to the door and he ran after her. He asked her why they were angry. “Because I broke something,” she said. And then she got angry too. “How should I know how to do their beastly weaving?” she said. “Beastly savages.” He asked her what savages were. When they got back to their house, Popé was waiting at the door, and he came in with them. He had a big gourd full of stuff that looked like water; only it wasn't water, but something with a bad smell that burnt your mouth and made you cough. Linda drank some and Popé drank some, and then Linda laughed a lot and talked very loud; and then she and Popé went into the other room. When Popé went away, he went into the room. Linda was in bed and so fast asleep that he couldn't wake her.
Popé used to come often. He said the stuff in the gourd was called mescal; but Linda said it ought to be called soma; only it made you feel ill afterwards. He hated Popé. He hated them all—all the men who came to see Linda. One afternoon, when he had been playing with the other children—it was cold, he remembered, and there was snow on the mountains—he came back to the house and heard angry voices in the bedroom. They were women's voices, and they said words he didn't understand, but he knew they were dreadful words. Then suddenly, crash! something was upset; he heard people moving about quickly, and there was another crash and then a noise like hitting a mule, only not so bony; then Linda screamed. “Oh, don't, don't, don't!” she said. He ran in. There were three women in dark blankets. Linda was on the bed. One of the women was holding her wrists. Another was lying across her legs, so that she couldn't kick. The third was hitting her with a whip. Once, twice, three times; and each time Linda screamed. Crying, he tugged at the fringe of the woman's blanket. “Please, please.” With her free hand she held him away. The whip came down again, and again Linda screamed. He caught hold of the woman's enormous brown hand between his own and bit it with all his might. She cried out, wrenched her hand free, and gave him such a push that he fell down. While he was lying on the ground she hit him three times with the whip. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt—like fire. The whip whistled again, fell. But this time it was Linda who screamed.
“But why did they want to hurt you, Linda?” he asked that night. He was crying, because the red marks of the whip on his back still hurt so terribly. But he was also crying because people were so beastly and unfair, and because he was only a little boy and couldn't do anything against them. Linda was crying too. She was grown up, but she wasn't big enough to fight against three of them. It wasn't fair for her either. “Why did they want to hurt you, Linda?”
“I don't know. How should I know?” It was difficult to hear what she said, because she was lying on her stomach and her face was in the pillow. “They say those men are their men,” she went on; and she did not seem to be talking to him at all; she seemed to be talking with some one inside herself. A long talk which he didn't understand; and in the end she started crying louder than ever.
“Oh, don't cry, Linda. Don't cry.”
He pressed himself against her. He put his arm round her neck. Linda cried out. “Oh, be careful. My shoulder! Oh!” and she pushed him away, hard. His head banged against the wall. “Little idiot!” she shouted; and then, suddenly, she began to slap him. Slap, slap…
“Linda,” he cried out. “Oh, mother, don't!”
“I'm not your mother. I won't be your mother.”
“But, Linda…Oh!” She slapped him on the cheek.
“Turned into a savage,” she shouted. “Having young ones like an animal…If it hadn't been for you, I might have gone to the Inspector, I might have got away. But not with a baby. That would have been too shameful.”
He saw that she was going to hit him again, and lifted his arm to guard his face. “Oh, don't, Linda, please don't.”
“Little beast!” She pulled down his arm; his face was uncovered.
“Don't, Linda.” He shut his eyes, expecting the blow.
But she didn't hit him. After a little time, he opened his eyes again and saw that she was looking at him. He tried to smile at her. Suddenly she put her arms round him and kissed him again and again.
Sometimes, for several days, Linda didn't get up at all. She lay in bed and was sad. Or else she drank the stuff that Popé brought and laughed a great deal and went to sleep. Sometimes she was sick. Often she forgot to wash him, and there was nothing to eat except cold tortillas. He remembered the first time she found those little animals in his hair, how she screamed and screamed.
The happiest times were when she told him about the Other Place. “And you really can go flying, whenever you like?”
“Whenever you like.” And she would tell him about the lovely music that came out of a box, and all the nice games you could play, and the delicious things to eat and drink, and the light that came when you pressed a little thing in the wall, and the pictures that you could hear and feel and smell, as well as see, and another box for making nice smells, and the pink and green and blue and silver houses as high as mountains, and everybody happy and no one ever sad or angry, and every one belonging to every one else, and the boxes where you could see and hear what was happening at the other side of the world, and babies in lovely clean bottles—everything so clean, and no nasty smells, no dirt at all—and people never lonely, but living together and being so jolly and happy, like the summer dances here in Malpais, but much happier, and the happiness being there every day, every day….He listened by the hour. And sometimes, when he and the other children were tired with too much playing, one of the old men of the pueblo would talk to them, in those other words, of the great Transformer of the World, and of the long fight between Right Hand and Left Hand, between Wet and Dry; of Awonawilona, who made a great fog by thinking in the night, and then made the whole world out of the fog; of Earth Mother and Sky Father; of Ahaiyuta and Marsailema, the twins of War and Chance; of Jesus and Pookong; of Mary and Etsanatlehi, the woman who makes herself young again; of the Black Stone at Laguna and the Great Eagle and Our Lady of Acoma. Strange stories, all the more wonderful to him for being told in the other words and so not fully understood. Lying in bed, he would think of Heaven and London and Our Lady of Acoma and the rows and rows of babies in clean bottles and Jesus flying up and Linda flying up and the great Director of World Hatcheries and Awonawilona.
Lots of men came to see Linda. The boys began to point their fingers at him. In the strange other words they said that Linda was bad; they called her names he did not understand, but that he knew were bad names. One day they sang a song about her, again and again. He threw stones at them. They threw back; a sharp stone cut his cheek. The blood wouldn't stop; he was covered with blood.
Linda taught him to read. With a piece of charcoal she drew pictures on the wall—an animal sitting down, a baby inside a bottle; then she wrote letters. THE CAT IS ON THE MAT. THE TOT IS IN THE POT. He learned quickly and easily. When he knew how to read all the words she wrote on the wall, Linda opened her big wooden box and pulled out from under those funny little red trousers she never wore a thin little book. He had often seen it before. “When you're bigger,” she had said, “you can read it.” Well, now he was big enough. He was proud. “I'm afraid you won't find it very exciting,” she said. “But it's the only thing I have.” She sighed. “If only you could see the lovely reading-machines we used to have in London!” He began reading. The Chemical and Bacteriological Conditioning of the Embryo. Practical Instructions for Beta Embryo-Store Workers. It took him a quarter of an hour to read the title alone. He threw the book on the floor. “Beastly, beastly book!” he said, and began to cry.
The boys still sang their horrible song about Linda. Sometimes, too, they laughed at him for being so ragged. When he tore his clothes, Linda did not know how to mend them. In the Other Place, she told him, people threw away clothes with holes in them and got new ones. “Rags, rags!” the boys used to shout at him. “But I can read,” he said to himself, “and they can't. They don't even know what reading is.” It was fairly easy, if he thought hard enough about the reading, to pretend that he didn't mind when they made fun of him. He asked Linda to give him the book again.
The more the boys pointed and sang, the harder he read. Soon he could read all the words quite well. Even the longest. But what did they mean? He asked Linda; but even when she could answer it didn't seem to make it very clear, And generally she couldn't answer at all.
“What are chemicals?” he would ask.
“Oh, stuff like magnesium salts, and alcohol for keeping the Deltas and Epsilons small and backward, and calcium carbonate for bones, and all that sort of thing.”
“But how do you make chemicals, Linda? Where do they come from?”
“Well, I don't know. You get them out of bottles. And when the bottles are empty, you send up to the Chemical Store for more. It's the Chemical Store people who make them, I suppose. Or else they send to the factory for them. I don't know. I never did any chemistry. My job was always with the embryos.”
It was the same with everything else he asked about. Linda never seemed to know. The old men of the pueblo had much more definite answers.
“The seed of men and all creatures, the seed of the sun and the seed of earth and the seed of the sky—Awonawilona made them all out of the Fog of Increase. Now the world has four wombs; and he laid the seeds in the lowest of the four wombs. And gradually the seeds began to grow…”
One day (John calculated later that it must have been soon after his twelfth birthday) he came home and found a book that he had never seen before lying on the floor in the bedroom. It was a thick book and looked very old. The binding had been eaten by mice; some of its pages were loose and crumpled. He picked it up, looked at the title-page: the book was called The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.
Linda was lying on the bed, sipping that horrible stinking mescal out of a cup. “Popé brought it,” she said. Her voice was thick and hoarse like somebody else's voice. “It was lying in one of the chests of the Antelope Kiva. It's supposed to have been there for hundreds of years. I expect it's true, because I looked at it, and it seemed to be full of nonsense. Uncivilized. Still, it'll be good enough for you to practice your reading on.” She took a last sip, set the cup down on the floor beside the bed, turned over on her side, hiccoughed once or twice and went to sleep.
He opened the book at random.
Nay, but to live
In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed,
Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love
Over the nasty sty…
The strange words rolled through his mind; rumbled, like talking thunder; like the drums at the summer dances, if the drums could have spoken; like the men singing the Corn Song, beautiful, beautiful, so that you cried; like old Mitsima saying magic over his feathers and his carved sticks and his bits of bone and stone—kiathla tsilu silokwe silokwe. Kiai silu silu, tsith!—but better than Mitsima's magic, because it meant more, because it talked to him, talked wonderfully and only half-understandably, a terrible beautiful magic, about Linda; about Linda lying there snoring, with the empty cup on the floor beside the bed; about Linda and Popé, Linda and Popé.
He hated Popé more and more. A man can smile and smile and be a villain. Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain. What did the words exactly mean? He only half knew. But their magic was strong and went on rumbling in his head, and somehow it was as though he had never really hated Popé before; never really hated him because he had never been able to say how much he hated him. But now he had these words, these words like drums and singing and magic. These words and the strange, strange story out of which they were taken (he couldn't make head or tail of it, but it was wonderful, wonderful all the same)—they gave him a reason for hating Popé; and they made his hatred more real; they even made Popé himself more real.
One day, when he came in from playing, the door of the inner room was open, and he saw them lying together on the bed, asleep—white Linda and Popé almost black beside her, with one arm under her shoulders and the other dark hand on her breast, and one of the plaits of his long hair lying across her throat, like a black snake trying to strangle her. Popé's gourd and a cup were standing on the floor near the bed. Linda was snoring.
His heart seemed to have disappeared and left a hole. He was empty. Empty, and cold, and rather sick, and giddy. He leaned against the wall to steady himself. Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous…Like drums, like the men singing for the corn, like magic, the words repeated and repeated themselves in his head. From being cold he was suddenly hot. His cheeks burnt with the rush of blood, the room swam and darkened before his eyes. He ground his teeth. “I'll kill him, I'll kill him, I'll kill him,” he kept saying. And suddenly there were more words.
When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage
Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed…
The magic was on his side, the magic explained and gave orders. He stepped back in the outer room. “When he is drunk asleep…” The knife for the meat was lying on the floor near the fireplace. He picked it up and tiptoed to the door again. “When he is drunk asleep, drunk asleep…” He ran across the room and stabbed—oh, the blood!—stabbed again, as Popé heaved out of his sleep, lifted his hand to stab once more, but found his wrist caught, held and—oh, oh!—twisted. He couldn't move, he was trapped, and there were Popé's small black eyes, very close, staring into his own. He looked away. There were two cuts on Popé's left shoulder. “Oh, look at the blood!” Linda was crying. “Look at the blood!” She had never been able to bear the sight of blood. Popé lifted his other hand—to strike him, he thought. He stiffened to receive the blow. But the hand only took him under the chin and turned his face, so that he had to look again into Popé's eyes. For a long time, for hours and hours. And suddenly—he couldn't help it—he began to cry. Popé burst out laughing. “Go,” he said, in the other Indian words. “Go, my brave Ahaiyuta.” He ran out into the other room to hide his tears.
“You are fifteen,” said old Mitsima, in the Indian words. “Now I may teach you to work the clay.”
Squatting by the river, they worked together.
“First of all,” said Mitsima, taking a lump of the wetted clay between his hands, “we make a little moon.” The old man squeezed the lump into a disk, then bent up the edges, the moon became a shallow cup.
Slowly and unskilfully he imitated the old man's delicate gestures.
“A moon, a cup, and now a snake.” Mitsima rolled out another piece of clay into a long flexible cylinder, trooped it into a circle and pressed it on to the rim of the cup. “Then another snake. And another. And another.” Round by round, Mitsima built up the sides of the pot; it was narrow, it bulged, it narrowed again towards the neck. Mitsima squeezed and patted, stroked and scraped; and there at last it stood, in shape the familiar water pot of Malpais, but creamy white instead of black, and still soft to the touch. The crooked parody of Mitsima's, his own stood beside it. Looking at the two pots, he had to laugh.
“But the next one will be better,” he said, and began to moisten another piece of clay.
To fashion, to give form, to feel his fingers gaining in skill and power—this gave him an extraordinary pleasure. “A, B, C, Vitamin D,” he sang to himself as he worked. “The fat's in the liver, the cod's in the sea.” And Mitsima also sang—a song about killing a bear. They worked all day, and all day he was filled with an intense, absorbing happiness.
“Next winter,” said old Mitsima, “I will teach you to make the bow.”
He stood for a long time outside the house, and at last the ceremonies within were finished. The door opened; they came out. Kothlu came first, his right hand outstretched and tightly closed, as though over some precious jewel. Her clenched hand similarly outstretched, Kiakimé followed. They walked in silence, and in silence, behind them, came the brothers and sisters and cousins and all the troop of old people.
They walked out of the pueblo, across the mesa. At the edge of the cliff they halted, facing the early morning sun. Kothlu opened his hand. A pinch of corn meal lay white on the palm; he breathed on it, murmured a few words, then threw it, a handful of white dust, towards the sun. Kiakimé did the same. Then Kiakimé's father stepped forward, and holding up a feathered prayer stick, made a long prayer, then threw the stick after the corn meal.
“It is finished,” said old Mitsima in a loud voice. “They are married.”
“Well,” said Linda, as they turned away, “all I can say is, it does seem a lot of fuss to make about so little. In civilized countries, when a boy wants to have a girl, he just…But where are you going, John?”
He paid no attention to her calling, but ran on, away, away, anywhere to be by himself.
It is finished. Old Mitsima's words repeated themselves in his mind. Finished, finished…In silence and from a long way off, but violently, desperately, hopelessly, he had loved Kiakimé. And now it was finished. He was sixteen.
At the full moon, in the Antelope Kiva, secrets would be told, secrets would be done and borne. They would go down, boys, into the kiva and come out again, men. The boys were all afraid and at the same time impatient. And at last it was the day. The sun went down, the moon rose. He went with the others. Men were standing, dark, at the entrance to the kiva; the ladder went down into the red lighted depths. Already the leading boys had begun to climb down. Suddenly, one of the men stepped forward, caught him by the arm, and pulled him out of the ranks. He broke free and dodged back into his place among the others. This time the man struck him, pulled his hair. “Not for you, white-hair!” “Not for the son of the she-dog,” said one of the other men. The boys laughed. “Go!” And as he still hovered on the fringes of the group, “Go!” the men shouted again. One of them bent down, took a stone, threw it. “Go, go, go!” There was a shower of stones. Bleeding, he ran away into the darkness. From the red-lit kiva came the noise of singing. The last of the boys had climbed down the ladder. He was all alone.
All alone, outside the pueblo, on the bare plain of the mesa. The rock was like bleached bones in the moonlight. Down in the valley, the coyotes were howling at the moon. The bruises hurt him, the cuts were still bleeding; but it was not for pain that he sobbed; it was because he was all alone, because he had been driven out, alone, into this skeleton world of rocks and moonlight. At the edge of the precipice he sat down. The moon was behind him; he looked down into the black shadow of the mesa, into the black shadow of death. He had only to take one step, one little jump….He held out his right hand in the moonlight. From the cut on his wrist the blood was still oozing. Every few seconds a drop fell, dark, almost colourless in the dead light. Drop, drop, drop. To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow…
He had discovered Time and Death and God.
“Alone, always alone,” the young man was saying.
The words awoke a plaintive echo in Bernard's mind. Alone, alone…“So am I,” he said, on a gush of confidingness. “Terribly alone.”
“Are you?” John looked surprised. “I thought that in the Other Place…I mean, Linda always said that nobody was ever alone there.”
Bernard blushed uncomfortably. “You see,” he said, mumbling and with averted eyes, “I'm rather different from most people, I suppose. If one happens to be decanted different…”
“Yes, that's just it.” The young man nodded. “If one's different, one's bound to be lonely. They're beastly to one. Do you know, they shut me out of absolutely everything? When the other boys were sent out to spend the night on the mountains—you know, when you have to dream which your sacred animal is—they wouldn't let me go with the others; they wouldn't tell me any of the secrets. I did it by myself, though,” he added. “Didn't eat anything for five days and then went out one night alone into those mountains there.” He pointed.
Patronizingly, Bernard smiled. “And did you dream of anything?” he asked.
The other nodded. “But I mustn't tell you what.” He was silent for a little; then, in a low voice, “Once,” he went on, “I did something that none of the others did: I stood against a rock in the middle of the day, in summer, with my arms out, like Jesus on the Cross.”
“What on earth for?”
“I wanted to know what it was like being crucified. Hanging there in the sun…”
“But why?”
“Why? Well…” He hesitated. “Because I felt I ought to. If Jesus could stand it. And then, if one has done something wrong…Besides, I was unhappy; that was another reason.”
“It seems a funny way of curing your unhappiness,” said Bernard. But on second thoughts he decided that there was, after all, some sense in it. Better than taking soma…
“I fainted after a time,” said the young man. “Fell down on my face. Do you see the mark where I cut myself?” He lifted the thick yellow hair from his forehead. The scar showed, pale and puckered, on his right temple.
Bernard looked, and then quickly, with a little shudder, averted his eyes. His conditioning had made him not so much pitiful as profoundly squeamish. The mere suggestion of illness or wounds was to him not only horrifying, but even repulsive and rather disgusting. Like dirt, or deformity, or old age. Hastily he changed the subject.
“I wonder if you'd like to come back to London with us?” he asked, making the first move in a campaign whose strategy he had been secretly elaborating ever since, in the little house, he had realized who the “father” of this young savage must be. “Would you like that?”
The young man's face lit up. “Do you really mean it?”
“Of course; if I can get permission, that is.”
“Linda too?”
“Well…” He hesitated doubtfully. That revolting creature! No, it was impossible. Unless, unless…It suddenly occurred to Bernard that her very revoltingness might prove an enormous asset. “But of course!” he cried, making up for his first hesitations with an excess of noisy cordiality.
The young man drew a deep breath. “To think it should be coming true—what I've dreamt of all my life. Do you remember what Miranda says?”
“Who's Miranda?”
But the young man had evidently not heard the question. “O wonder!” he was saying; and his eyes shone, his face was brightly flushed. “How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is!” The flush suddenly deepened; he was thinking of Lenina, of an angel in bottle-green viscose, lustrous with youth and skin food, plump, benevolently smiling. His voice faltered. “O brave new world,” he began, then suddenly interrupted himself; the blood had left his cheeks; he was as pale as paper. “Are you married to her?” he asked.
“Am I what?”
“Married. You know—for ever. They say ‘for ever’ in the Indian words; it can't be broken.”
“Ford, no!” Bernard couldn't help laughing.
John also laughed, but for another reason—laughed for pure joy.
“O brave new world,” he repeated. “O brave new world that has such people in it. Let's start at once.”
“You have a most peculiar way of talking sometimes,” said Bernard, staring at the young man in perplexed astonishment. “And, anyhow, hadn't you better wait till you actually see the new world?”
外面,在彌漫的灰塵和垃圾當中(現(xiàn)在已經(jīng)有四條狗了),伯納德和約翰來來回回地慢慢走著。
“我很難明白,”伯納德正在說,“很難想象你的生活。好像我們生活在不同的星球上,生活在不同的時代。一個媽媽,這些灰塵,神祇,老年,以及疾病……”他搖搖頭,“幾乎難以想象。我永遠也不會明白,除非你給我解釋解釋?!?/p>
“解釋什么呢?”
“這個,”伯納德指指村莊,“那個,”指指村莊外的小房子,“一切,你的全部生活。”
“可是,要說些什么呢?”
“從一開始。從你開始記事說起?!?/p>
“從我開始記事說起?!奔s翰的眉頭皺到了一起。一陣長長的沉默。
天氣很熱。他們都吃了不少玉米餅和甜玉米。琳達說:“來,寶貝,躺下?!彼麄円黄鹛稍诖蟠采??!俺獋€歌吧,”琳達開始唱,“鏈球菌馬兒轉(zhuǎn)轉(zhuǎn),到班伯里T去看看”,還有“再見寶貝班廷,很快你就要換瓶”。她的聲音越來越弱……
一陣很大的聲響,把他驚醒了。一個男人站在床邊,顯得巨大而又嚇人,正在對琳達說些什么,琳達在笑。她把毯子拉到了下巴處,可那個男人又給拽下去了。他的頭發(fā)像兩根粗黑的繩子,胳膊上戴著一個好看的銀手鐲,上面鑲著藍色的石頭。他很喜歡這個手鐲,可是,他仍然很害怕,他的臉緊緊靠著琳達的身體。琳達用手攬著他,他感到安全多了。她用他聽不太懂的那種話對那個男人說:“不行,約翰在這兒呢?!蹦莻€男人看看他,又看看琳達,對琳達溫柔地說了點什么。琳達說:“不行?!蹦莻€男人卻朝著床俯下身,臉對著他,那男人的臉看起來那么大、那么可怕,粗黑的辮子碰到了毯子?!安恍?。”琳達又說了一遍,他感覺到琳達把他抓得更緊了,“不行,不行!”可是,那個男人抓住了他的一只胳膊,抓得很疼。他大叫起來。男人伸出另一只手,把他抱起來。琳達還在抓著他,還在說“不行,不行”。男人說了句什么,很短促,很生氣,她的手突然松開了。“琳達,琳達?!彼泻爸?,踢著腳,掙扎著,那個男人卻把他抱到門口,打開門,把他放在另一個房間地板上的正中間,然后走了,隨后把門關上了。他站起來,跑到門口。他踮起腳尖站著,剛好能夠到那個大門栓。他拉開門栓,推了推門,可是打不開。“琳達?!彼暗馈K龥]有回答。
他還記得一個很大的房間,很暗,里面放了一些巨大的木頭制品,拴著線,周圍站著很多女人——琳達說,在織毯子。琳達讓他和其他孩子一起坐到角落里,她去幫那些女人。他和那些小男孩玩了很長時間。突然,人們說話的聲音變大了,那些女人正在往外推搡琳達,琳達哭了。她走到門口,他跑過去找她。他問她,為什么那些人生氣了?!耙驗槲遗獢嗔藮|西?!彼f,她也突然生氣了,“我怎么可能會織這些可惡的東西呢?”她說,“可惡的野蠻人?!彼麊査?,什么是野蠻人。他們回到自己的房子后,波培正等在門口,就和他們一起進來了。他拿來了一個大葫蘆,里面裝滿了水一樣的東西,可是,那不是水,而是有怪味的東西,喝了之后嗆嗓子,讓人咳嗽。琳達喝了一些,波培也喝了一些,然后,琳達就開始不斷地傻笑,大聲講話,之后,她和波培一起去了另外一個房間。波培離開后,他走進房間。琳達正躺在床上熟睡,他怎么都叫不醒她。
那時候,波培經(jīng)常來。他說葫蘆里的東西叫作麥斯卡爾酒,但琳達說那應該叫作唆麻,只是,事后這東西讓你感到不舒服。他恨波培。他恨所有那些人,恨那些來看琳達的男人。有天下午,他正在和其他孩子一起玩耍,他記得那天很冷,山上還有積雪。他回到房里,聽到臥室里傳出憤怒的聲音。是一些女人的聲音,她們說的話他聽不懂,但他知道肯定是很難聽的話。突然,叭的一聲,好像什么東西倒了,他聽到人們在跑來跑去,又是叭的一聲,之后就是鞭打驢子那種聲音,只是挨打的不像驢子那么瘦。琳達尖叫起來。“哦,不要,不要,不要!”她說。他跑進去。是三個披著黑毛氈的女人。琳達在床上。一個女人按住她的手腕,另一個橫躺在她的腿上,這樣她就不會亂踢了。第三個正在用鞭子抽打她。一下,兩下,三下,每一下抽打,琳達都疼得大叫。他哭了,使勁拽那個女人身上的氈子邊:“求你了,求你了?!迸擞每罩哪侵皇职阉崎_。鞭子又一次落下來,琳達又叫了一聲。他抓住女人棕色的大手,用盡全力咬了下去。她疼得大叫一聲,把手掙脫,狠狠地推了他一把,他摔倒在地。他躺在地上的時候,她用鞭子抽了他三下,那疼得比什么都厲害,火燒火燎的。鞭子再次呼嘯而下,可是,這次是琳達大叫了一聲。
“可是,她們?yōu)槭裁匆獋δ隳兀者_?”那天晚上,他問道。他在哭泣,鞭子打在他后背留下的紅印還是疼得要命,可是,他之所以哭,是因為人們都太壞、太不公平,他自己還是個孩子,沒法還擊。琳達也在哭,她是成年人,可是她一個人抵擋不了她們?nèi)齻€。對她來說也不公平?!盀槭裁此齻円獋δ?,琳達?”
“我不知道,我怎么會知道呢?”很難聽清楚她的話,她肚子朝下躺著,臉埋在枕頭里,“她們說那些男人是她們的?!彼又f,她根本不像在對他講話,而是在對自己腦子里的某個人講話,很長的話,他聽不懂的話。最后,她哭的聲音更大了。
“哦,琳達,別哭,別哭?!?/p>
他把身體靠過去,抱住她的脖子。琳達大叫一聲,“啊,小心,我的肩膀!??!”她把他推開,狠狠地推開。砰,他的頭碰到了墻上?!澳氵@個小白癡!”她大喊,突然,她開始扇他的耳光,扇啊,扇……
“琳達,”他喊道,“哦,媽媽,不要!”
“我不是你媽媽,我不想做你媽媽?!?/p>
“可是,琳達……??!”她狠狠地抽在他的臉上。
“變成了個野蠻人,”她大喊道,“像動物一樣生孩子……要不是你的話,我可能去找視察官了,可能都離開這里了??墒牵瑤е鴤€孩子。太丟人了!”
他看到她又要打他了,趕緊舉起手護著自己的臉。
“哦,琳達,不要,求你了,不要。”
“小畜生!”她把他的胳膊拽下來,他的臉露出來了。
“不要,琳達?!彼]上眼睛,等著挨打。
可是,她沒有再打他。過了一會兒,他睜開眼睛,她正在看著他。他試著對她笑。突然,她抱住他,親他,一次又一次。
有時候,接連幾天,琳達都不起床。她躺在床上傷心?;蛘?,她喝波培帶給她的那種東西,喝完后一個勁地笑,然后去睡覺。有時,她會生病。她經(jīng)常忘記給他洗澡,除了冷玉米餅之外,也沒有什么吃的。他還記得,她第一次在他頭發(fā)里面發(fā)現(xiàn)那種小蟲子的時候,她一陣大呼小叫,好一會兒都停不下來。
*
最快樂的時光就是當她給他講“那個地方”的時候?!澳銈冋娴臅w嗎?想飛就飛?”
“想飛就飛?!彼龝o他講從盒子里傳出來的美妙音樂,所有那些好玩的游戲,美味的食物和飲料,墻上那個按一下就立刻會出現(xiàn)亮光的小東西,還有能夠看到、聞到和摸到的圖畫,制造好聞氣味的盒子,像高山一樣的粉房子、綠房子、藍房子和銀房子,每個人都快樂幸福,沒有人會傷心或生氣,人人彼此相屬,能讓你看到和聽到外面世界的匣子,漂亮而干凈的瓶子里的嬰兒。一切都那么干凈,沒有難聞的氣味,沒有一?;覊m。人們從來不會孤獨,而是快活幸福地生活在一起,就像瑪爾帕斯夏天的舞會,只是比那舞會還快活,每天都快活,每天……他常常一聽就是一小時。有時候,他和其他孩子們玩累了的時候,村莊里的一個老頭兒會用他們的那種語言,給他們講故事,講世界上的那個偉大的改革者,講右手與左手的長期戰(zhàn)爭,講干燥和濕潤之間的戰(zhàn)爭,講阿沃納威婁納(1)的故事,他僅靠在深夜里思考就創(chuàng)造了大霧,又從大霧中創(chuàng)造了整個世界;講地母和天父;講阿海育塔和瑪賽萊瑪,這對戰(zhàn)爭和機遇的雙胞胎;講耶穌和菩公,講瑪麗和埃特桑納托,那個能讓自己恢復青春的女人;講拉古那的黑石頭,阿科馬的大鷹和圣母。都是奇怪的故事,而且由于是用那種語言講的,他聽不太懂,所以益發(fā)顯得神奇了。躺在床上的時候,他會想起天堂、倫敦和阿科馬圣母,想起一排一排干凈瓶子里的嬰兒,想起升天的耶穌,想起琳達飛起來的情景,想起高不可攀的世界孵化中心主任,也想起阿沃納威婁納。
*
很多男人來看琳達。那些男孩子開始對他指指點點。他們用那種奇怪的語言說琳達是個壞女人,他們用他聽不懂的語言罵她,但他知道那是罵人話。有一天,他們編了一首歌來唱她,唱了一遍又一遍。于是,他向他們?nèi)邮^,他們也反過來扔他。一塊尖利的石頭砸破了他的臉頰,血一直流個不停,他滿身都是血。
琳達教他認字。她用一個炭塊在墻上畫圖畫,一只坐著的動物,瓶子里的一個嬰兒,然后,她寫上字母:“貓在墊子上,嬰兒在瓶子里”。他學得很快,很容易。等他認識了她寫在墻上的所有字之后,琳達打開她的大木箱,從那些可笑的、她從沒有穿過的紅色短褲子下面,拽出一本薄薄的小書。他以前看到過這本書?!暗饶汩L大點,”她那時說,“你就會讀了?!爆F(xiàn)在,他已經(jīng)夠大了。他很得意?!翱峙履銜X得這本書很沒有意思,”她說,“可是,我只有這一本?!彼龂@嘆氣,“要是你能夠看到我們倫敦那些可愛的閱讀機器就好了!”他開始閱讀?!杜咛サ幕瘜W和細菌學條件設置》,《胚胎庫貝塔工作人員實用指南》。他光是讀書名,就花了一刻鐘。他把書扔到地上?!坝憛?,討厭的書!”他說,然后哭開了。
男孩子們還是唱他們編的那首可怕的琳達之歌。有時,他們也因為他穿得破破爛爛而笑話他。他把衣服弄破以后,琳達不知道怎么補。在“那個地方”,琳達告訴他,衣服有了破洞,人們就會扔掉,買新的?!捌茽€,破爛!”那些男孩子總是沖著他喊?!翱晌視x書,”他對自己說,“他們不會,他們連什么是讀書都不知道。”每次他們嘲笑他時,如果他努力想著讀書的事,假裝他并不在乎就容易得多了。他讓琳達再把那本書拿給他。
男孩子們越是指指點點,越是嘲笑他,他越是努力讀書。很快,他就認識書里所有的詞了,連最長的詞都會讀了??墒?,那些是什么意思呢?他問琳達,即使琳達知道,也說不太清楚,而通常情況下,她根本都說不上來。
“什么是化學藥品?”他會問。
“哦,就像鎂鹽啊,讓德爾塔和艾普西隆們長得又矮又笨的酒精啊,用于骨頭健康的碳酸鈣啊,就是那類東西?!?/p>
“怎么制造化學藥品呢,琳達?化學藥品是從哪里來的呢?”
“我也不知道。就是從瓶子里拿出來的。瓶子空了的時候,你就向化學藥品庫要。我想,是化學藥品庫的人們制造的吧?;蛘撸撬麄兿蚬S里要的。我不知道。我從來沒有做過化學這一行。我的工作是在胚胎庫?!?/p>
他問的其他問題也是這樣,琳達好像總是不知道。村里的老人就有更明確的答案。
“人和各種生物的種子,太陽的種子,大地的種子,天空的種子。都是阿沃納威婁納從繁衍之霧里創(chuàng)造出來的。這個世界有四個子宮,他將種子放在最低的子宮里。然后,種子開始慢慢地生長……”
有一天(約翰后來計算,應該是他過了十二歲生日沒幾天),他回家后發(fā)現(xiàn)臥室地上放著一本他從來沒有見過的書。這是一本很厚的書,看起來很舊了。書脊被老鼠啃壞了,有些書頁已經(jīng)松了,皺皺巴巴的。他把書撿起來,看了看書名,是《威廉·莎士比亞全集》。
琳達正躺在床上,從杯子里啜飲那種味道難聞的麥斯卡爾酒。“波培拿來的?!彼f。她的聲音又粗又啞,好像是別人的聲音,“放在羚羊穴的一個大箱子里,據(jù)說已經(jīng)放了幾百年了。有可能是真的,我看了看,里面全都是些廢話。一點也不文明??墒牵阌盟毩曢喿x還是挺好的。”她又喝了最后一口,把杯子放在床邊的地上,側過身去,打了一兩個嗝,睡著了。
他隨便翻開了一頁。
哼,生活在一張汗臭沖鼻、
充滿油垢的溫床里;
只知道在腐墮里翻騰,
在齷齪的豬窩里尋歡做愛。(2)
這些奇怪的字句在他的頭腦里翻滾著,轟鳴著,猶如滾滾的雷聲,又像夏令舞會的鼓聲——如果那些鼓聲也會說話;既像那些唱玉米豐收歌的人,歌聲那么美,那么美,都把人唱哭了;也像老米斯瑪在念咒語,對著他的那些羽毛、雕花的手杖和零零碎碎的骨頭啊石頭啊什么的念個不停,嘰里呱啦,哼哼哈哈,西庫瓦,西庫瓦,但是又比這個魔咒好聽多了,因為這些詞句更有意義,它們在對他說話,那么美妙,可惜只能聽懂一半。這是既可怕又神秘的魔咒,是關于琳達的,關于琳達躺在那里打著呼嚕,床邊的地上放著空酒杯,關于琳達和波培的事,琳達和波培。
他越來越恨波培。一個人也許總是滿臉堆笑,可他照樣是個壞蛋。兇殘、無情、狡詐、淫蕩的壞蛋。(3)這些詞語都是什么意思?他似懂非懂。但是,這些詞的魔法很厲害,他的頭腦里總是轟隆隆地響著這些詞語,并且,現(xiàn)在看來,他好像從來沒有真正憎恨過波培,沒有真正憎恨過,因為他從來說不清他是如何憎恨波培的。現(xiàn)在,他知道了這些詞語,這些像鼓聲、像歌聲又像咒語的詞語。這些詞語,以及他從中學會了這些詞語的那個奇怪的故事(他根本看不懂,但是,這個故事還是非常棒,非常棒),它們給了他憎恨波培的理由,它們讓他的仇恨更真實,它們甚至讓波培變得更加真實。
有一天,他從外面玩?;貋?,里屋的門開著,他看見他們兩個人躺在床上,睡著了,膚色白皙的琳達和她身邊黑乎乎的波培。他的一只胳膊伸在琳達的肩膀下面,另一只黑手放在她的乳房上,他的一條長辮子橫在她的喉嚨上,就像一條正要纏死她的蛇。波培的葫蘆和杯子放在床邊的地上。琳達在打呼嚕。
他的心似乎消失了,留下了一個洞。他感到自己空了,空了,渾身發(fā)冷,惡心,頭暈。他靠在墻上,讓自己站穩(wěn)。無情、狡詐、淫蕩……像鼓點,像玉米豐收時的歌聲,像咒語,這些詞語在他頭腦里一遍又一遍地重復。他從全身冰冷,突然變得渾身燥熱。他感到血液上涌,臉頰如同發(fā)燒,在他的眼前,房間開始旋轉(zhuǎn),變暗。他咬著牙?!拔乙獨⒘怂?,我要殺了他,我要殺了他。”他不斷地說。突然,他想起了更多的詞語:
“當他爛醉如泥、大發(fā)雷霆、淫榻尋歡……”(4)
咒語是站在他這一邊的,咒語解釋了命令,發(fā)出了命令。他退回到外屋?!爱斔麪€醉如泥……”切肉的刀放在壁爐旁邊的地板上,他把刀撿起來,踮著腳尖,再次走到門口。“當他爛醉如泥,爛醉如泥……”他跑進房間,扎了下去,哦,出血了!再扎一下??吹讲ㄅ嘈蚜?,他舉起手準備再扎,卻發(fā)現(xiàn)自己的手腕被抓住了,攥得緊緊的,哦!手腕給掰過去了。他一動也不能動,他給困住了。波培那雙小小的黑眼睛,離得那么近,盯著自己的眼睛。他眼睛望向別處。波培的左肩上有兩個傷口?!芭?!看看流的這血!”琳達在哭,“看看這血!”她從來都看不得流血。波培舉起另外一只手,他以為要打他。他身子挺著,準備迎接這一擊??墒?,波培的手僅僅攥住他的下巴,把他的臉扭過來,讓他不得不看著波培的眼睛。過了好一會兒,好像有好幾個小時那么長,突然,他再也受不了,開始大哭起來。波培哈哈大笑,“走開,”他說,說的是印第安語,“走開,我勇敢的阿海育塔。”他跑到另外的房間,把眼淚藏起來。
“你十五歲了。”老米斯瑪用印第安語說,“現(xiàn)在,我可以教你做泥塑了。”
他倆蹲在河邊,一起做起來。
“首先,”米斯瑪說,兩手捧起一團濕泥巴,“我們做個小月亮。”老人把泥巴團擠成了一個圓盤,然后把邊緣卷上去,月亮變成了一個空杯子。
緩慢地,笨拙地,他開始模仿老人那靈巧的動作。
“月亮,杯子,現(xiàn)在做條蛇?!泵姿宫攲⒘硪粓F泥巴搓成了一條柔軟的長柱形,盤成一個圈,按壓到杯子沿上?!叭缓?,再做一條蛇,再來一條,又一條。”一圈接一圈,米斯瑪做出了罐子的邊,最初很窄小,然后慢慢鼓出來,到了罐子頸部又變窄了。米斯瑪又是擠,又是拍,又是抹,又是刮的。最后,罐子做好了,立在那里,形狀和瑪爾帕斯常見的水罐一樣,但不是黑色的,而是乳白色的,摸起來軟軟的。立在它旁邊歪歪扭扭的那個,是他模仿米斯瑪做的罐子??粗鴥蓚€罐子,他忍不住笑了。
“下一個就會好得多的?!彼f,開始弄濕另一團泥巴。
塑造,成形,他感到自己的手指越來越靈巧、越來越有力,這令他很快樂。“A,B,C,維他命D,”他一邊工作一邊唱著,“脂肪在肝里,鱈魚在海里?!泵姿宫斠苍诔?,一首關于獵熊的歌。他們一整天都在工作,一整天,他都忘我地沉浸在極度的快樂之中。
“明年冬天,”老米斯瑪說,“我教你做弓箭?!?/p>
他在房子外面站了很長時間,里面的儀式終于結束了。門開了,人們走了出來??扑刽斒堑谝粋€出來的,他的右胳膊向前伸著,緊握拳頭,好像攥著什么珍貴的珠寶。琪雅吉美跟在后面出來了,攥緊的手也向前伸著。他們默默地走著,后面跟著他們的兄弟姐妹和表兄妹們,還有一大群老年人,他們也都一聲不吭。
他們走出了村莊,穿過平頂?shù)纳?。在懸崖邊上,他們停住了,面對著初升的太陽??扑刽攺堥_手,手掌上有一小撮玉米面,白白的,他對著玉米面吹口氣,念叨了幾句,沖著太陽撒掉了,一小把白色的粉塵。琪雅吉美重復了同樣的動作。之后,琪雅吉美的父親走上前來,舉起一根帶羽毛的祈禱杖,做了一個很長的祈禱,然后把手杖隨著那些玉米面扔了下去。
“儀式完成了,”老米斯瑪大聲說,“他們結婚了。”
“哎呀,”琳達說,他們轉(zhuǎn)身要離開了,“我只想說,這些都有點大題小做。在文明的國家,一個男孩想要一個女孩時,他只要……約翰,你去哪里?”
他沒有理會她的招呼,跑開了,跑得很遠,想一個人靜一靜。
完成了。老米斯瑪?shù)脑捯廊豢M繞在他的腦海里,完成了,完成了……他曾經(jīng)默默地,離得遠遠地,愛著琪雅吉美,他愛得那么強烈、那么絕望、那么無助?,F(xiàn)在,他們的儀式完成了。他那時十六歲。
月圓的時候,在羚羊穴里,會有人傾訴秘密,那里會產(chǎn)生秘密,也保守秘密。下到里面,進到地穴里的時候,他們是男孩子,出來的時候,變成了男人。男孩們都有點恐懼,但同時也都很渴望這一刻。終于,這一天到了。太陽下山,月亮升上來。他和其他男孩子一起下去了。一些男人站在地穴的入口,黑洞洞的人影。有梯子通向下面紅光照亮的深處。領頭的男孩子已經(jīng)開始順著梯子往下爬。突然,一個男人走上前來,抓住他的胳膊,把他拽出了隊伍。他掙脫了,躲藏著,回到隊伍中,和其他人站在一起。這次,這個男人打了他,揪住他的頭發(fā)?!安灰?,白毛!”“不要那個母狗下的崽!”另一個男人說。男孩們哄堂大笑。“滾開!”看到他還在人群的邊上晃悠,“滾開!”男人們喊道。有一個人貓下腰,撿起一塊石頭,扔過來?!皾L,滾,滾!”石頭像雨點一樣砸過來。他流著血,跑向黑暗處。從紅光照耀的地穴深處傳來一陣歌聲。最后的男孩子已經(jīng)爬下梯子。他完全孤獨了。
孤孤單單一個人,在村莊的外面,在平頂高山光禿禿的臺地上。在月色中,巖石像是漂白過的骨頭。下面山谷中,郊狼在對著月亮哀嚎。那些石頭擦破的地方非常疼,傷口還在流血,但是,他不是因為疼痛而哭泣,而是因為他的孤獨,因為他被趕了出來,孤零零地,被趕到了這個巖石與月亮構成的骷髏世界。在懸崖邊,他坐了下來。月亮在他的身后,他向下望著平頂山黑黑的陰影,望著死亡的暗影。他只要往前跨一步,輕輕一跳……在月色中,他伸出右手。從他手腕的傷口中,鮮血依然不停地滲出來。每過一會兒,就有一滴血落下來,很深的顏色,但在死亡般的光線下卻近乎無色。一滴,兩滴,三滴。明天,明天,明天(5)……
他發(fā)現(xiàn)了時間、死亡和上帝。
“獨自一人,總是獨自一人?!边@個年輕人說。
這些話在伯納德的頭腦中喚起了悲涼的回響。獨自一人,獨自一人……“我也一樣,”他說,一股傾訴的沖動涌上來,“孤獨得要命?!?/p>
“你也是嗎?”約翰看起來很吃驚,“我以為在‘那個地方’……我的意思是,琳達總是說在那個地方,從沒有人感到孤獨。”
伯納德臉紅了,感到很不自在。“你看啊,”他咕噥著說,眼睛望著別處,“我想,我和大多數(shù)人不太一樣,如果一個人換瓶時就不同……”
“是的,就是那么回事,”年輕人點點頭,“如果你和別人不同,你注定要孤獨。他們對你很壞。你知道嗎?他們不讓我參與任何事?當其他男孩子都去山上過夜,你知道,要去那里做夢,去夢見自己的神獸到底是什么,他們不讓我一塊兒去,他們也不告訴我任何秘密。雖然我自己去過那里了?!彼a充了一句,“連著五天什么都不吃,然后晚上獨自一人上了那座山?!彼噶酥改亲?。
伯納德頗為居高臨下地笑了笑?!澳銐舻绞裁戳藳]有?”他問。
年輕人點點頭。“我不能告訴你是什么?!彼聊似蹋缓髩旱吐曇粽f,“有一次,”他接著說,“我做了一件其他人都沒有做過的事。夏天,在中午時分,我靠著一塊大巖石站著,伸出我的胳膊,就像十字架上的基督。”
“做那個干什么?”
“我想知道被釘在十字架上是什么感覺,在大太陽下,吊在那里……”
“可為什么呀?”
“為什么?嗯……”他猶豫起來,“因為我覺得應該這么做。如果基督能夠忍受。還有,如果你做了錯事……還有,我當時很不開心,這是另外一個原因。”
“用這個方法治療你的不開心,夠可笑的?!辈{德說。但是再想了想之后,他又覺得這么做還是有點道理的,總比吃唆麻好……
“過了一會兒,我暈過去了,”年輕人說,“臉朝下躺倒在地。你看見我當時受傷留的疤了嗎?”他把前額上濃密的黃頭發(fā)撩起來。那個疤痕在他的右太陽穴部位,白白的,有點皺。
伯納德看了一眼,然后哆嗦了一下,趕緊把眼睛移開了。他所受的訓練沒有讓他變得充滿同情心,而是變得過度嬌氣。任何疾病或傷口對他來講都不僅僅是恐怖的,而且還讓人抵觸,令人惡心,就像灰塵、畸形或者老年什么的。他匆忙換了個話題。
“我在想,你愿不愿意和我們一起回倫敦?”他問道。自從在小房子里時意識到這個年輕野蠻人的“爸爸”是誰之后,他就在悄悄地謀劃著一個戰(zhàn)略,現(xiàn)在他邁出了這個戰(zhàn)役的第一步,“你愿意去嗎?”
年輕人的臉頓時露出喜色。“你是認真的嗎?”
“當然了,如果我能得到許可證的話?!?/p>
“琳達也去嗎?”
“嗯……”他不太肯定,猶豫著。那個令人惡心的家伙!不,那不可能,除非,除非……突然,伯納德想到,她的惡心說不定會成為一筆巨大的財富。“當然!”他喊道,用這種過分的熱情來彌補剛才的猶豫。
年輕人深深吸了一口氣?!跋胂刖尤灰獙崿F(xiàn)了,我一直做夢都在盼望著的事。你還記得米蘭達(6)是怎么說的嗎?”
“誰是米蘭達?”
很顯然,年輕人沒有聽到這個問題。“哦,奇跡??!(7)”他說,他的眼睛閃閃發(fā)亮,他的臉泛著紅光,“這里有多少美好的人!人類是多么美麗!”他臉上的紅暈突然加深了,他想起了列寧娜,一個穿著瓶子綠色黏膠衣服的天使,光彩照人,年輕,綢緞般的肌膚,豐滿,善良地微笑著。他的聲音顫抖了。“哦,美麗的新世界。”他說,突然又停住了,臉上血色全無,蒼白得如同一張紙?!澳愫退Y婚了嗎?”他問。
“我什么?”
“結婚。你知道的,永遠在一起。他們用印第安話說就是‘永遠在一起’,你不能毀約的。”
“福帝,沒有!”伯納德忍不住笑了。
約翰也笑了,但原因不同,他是因為高興而笑。
“哦,美麗的新世界,”他重復道,“哦,美麗的新世界,有這么出色的人物!我們馬上出發(fā)吧?!?/p>
“有時候,你說話的方式真特別?!辈{德說,吃驚且不解地看著這個年輕人,“還有,是不是等你真的見到這個新世界了,你再這么說?”
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(1) 北美祖尼族印第安人神話中的創(chuàng)世神。
(2) 引自《哈姆雷特》,哈姆雷特對他的母親說的話,譴責她同叔叔亂倫。
(3) 出處同上,哈姆雷特在描述他的叔叔兼繼父,現(xiàn)任國王克勞迪烏斯。
(4) 引自《哈姆雷特》,哈姆雷特在考慮殺死他叔叔的最佳地點和方式。
(5) 引自《麥克白》,在妻子死后、自己死前不久,麥克白得出結論:時間緩慢溜走,人生毫無意義。這里指約翰孤獨時經(jīng)常會思考的問題。
(6) 《暴風雨》女主人公。
(7) 此句和下面幾句均引自《暴風雨》,尤其是“美麗的新世界”這一句,約翰還將多次引用,每次含義略有不同,這體現(xiàn)了約翰在世界國的心路歷程以及他對這個文明世界的看法的轉(zhuǎn)變。