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雙語·美麗新世界 第十八章

所屬教程:譯林版·美麗新世界

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2022年05月02日

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The door was ajar; they entered.

“John!”

From the bathroom came an unpleasant and characteristic sound.

“Is there anything the matter?” Helmholtz called.

There was no answer. The unpleasant sound was repeated, twice; there was silence. Then, with a click, the bathroom door opened and, very pale, the Savage emerged.

“I say,” Helmholtz exclaimed solicitously, “you do look ill, John!”

“Did you eat something that didn't agree with you?” asked Bernard.

The Savage nodded. “I ate civilization.”

“What?”

“It poisoned me; I was defiled. And then,” he added, in a lower tone, “I ate my own wickedness.”

“Yes, but what exactly…? I mean, just now you were…”

“Now I am purified,” said the Savage. “I drank some mustard and warm water.”

The others stared at him in astonishment. “Do you mean to say that you were doing it on purpose?” asked Bernard.

“That's how the Indians always purify themselves.” He sat down and, sighing, passed his hand across his forehead. “I shall rest for a few minutes,” he said. “I'm rather tired.”

“Well, I'm not surprised,” said Helmholtz. After a silence, “We've come to say good-bye,” he went on in another tone. “We're off to-morrow morning.”

“Yes, we're off to-morrow,” said Bernard on whose face the Savage remarked a new expression of determined resignation. “And by the way, John,” he continued, leaning forward in his chair and laying a hand on the Savage's knee, “I want to say how sorry I am about everything that happened yesterday.” He blushed. “How ashamed,” he went on, in spite of the unsteadiness of his voice, “how really…”

The Savage cut him short and, taking his hand, affectionately pressed it.

“Helmholtz was wonderful to me,” Bernard resumed, after a little pause. “If it hadn't been for him, I should…”

“Now, now,” Helmholtz protested.

There was a silence. In spite of their sadness—because of it, even; for their sadness was the symptom of their love for one another—the three young men were happy.

“I went to see the Controller this morning,” said the Savage at last.

“What for?”

“To ask if I mightn't go to the islands with you.”

“And what did he say?” asked Helmholtz eagerly.

The Savage shook his head. “He wouldn't let me.”

“Why not?”

“He said he wanted to go on with the experiment. But I'm damned,” the Savage added, with sudden fury, “I'm damned if I'll go on being experimented with. Not for all the Controllers in the world. I shall go away to-morrow too.”

“But where?” the others asked in unison.

The Savage shrugged his shoulders. “Anywhere. I don't care. So long as I can be alone.”

From Guildford the down-line followed the Wey valley to Godalming, then, over Milford and Witley, proceeded to Haslemere and on through Petersfield towards Portsmouth. Roughly parallel to it, the up-line passed over Worplesden, Tongham, Puttenham, Elstead and Grayshott. Between the Hog's Back and Hindhead there were points where the two lines were not more than six or seven kilometres apart. The distance was too small for careless flyers—particularly at night and when they had taken half a gramme too much. There had been accidents. Serious ones. It had been decided to deflect the up-line a few kilometres to the west. Between Grayshott and Tongham four abandoned air-lighthouses marked the course of the old Portsmouth-to-London road. The skies above them were silent and deserted. It was over Selborne, Bordon and Farnham that the helicopters now ceaselessly hummed and roared.

The Savage had chosen as his hermitage the old lighthouse which stood on the crest of the hill between Puttenham and Elstead. The building was of ferro-concrete and in excellent condition—almost too comfortable the Savage had thought when he first explored the place, almost too civilizedly luxurious. He pacified his conscience by promising himself a compensatingly harder self-discipline, purifications the more complete and thorough. His first night in the hermitage was, deliberately, a sleepless one. He spent the hours on his knees praying, now to that Heaven from which the guilty Claudius had begged forgiveness, now in Zuñi to Awonawilona, now to Jesus and Pookong, now to his own guardian animal, the eagle. From time to time he stretched out his arms as though he were on the Cross, and held them thus through long minutes of an ache that gradually increased till it became a tremulous and excruciating agony; held them, in voluntary crucifixion, while he repeated, through clenched teeth (the sweat, meanwhile, pouring down his face), “Oh, forgive me! Oh, make me pure! Oh, help me to be good!” again and again, till he was on the point of fainting from the pain.

When morning came, he felt he had earned the right to inhabit the lighthouse; yes, even though there still was glass in most of the windows, even though the view from the platform was so fine. For the very reason why he had chosen the lighthouse had become almost instantly a reason for going somewhere else. He had decided to live there because the view was so beautiful, because, from his vantage point, he seemed to be looking out on to the incarnation of a divine being. But who was he to be pampered with the daily and hourly sight of loveliness? Who was he to be living in the visible presence of God? All he deserved to live in was some filthy sty, some blind hole in the ground. Stiff and still aching after his long night of pain, but for that very reason inwardly reassured, he climbed up to the platform of his tower, he looked out over the bright sunrise world which he had regained the right to inhabit. On the north the view was bounded by the long chalk ridge of the Hog's Back, from behind whose eastern extremity rose the towers of the seven skyscrapers which constituted Guildford. Seeing them, the Savage made a grimace; but he was to become reconciled to them in course of time; for at night they twinkled gaily with geometrical constellations, or else, flood-lighted, pointed their luminous fingers (with a gesture whose significance nobody in England but the Savage now understood) solemnly towards the plumbless mysteries of heaven.

In the valley which separated the Hog's Back from the sandy hill on which the lighthouse stood, Puttenham was a modest little village nine stories high, with silos, a poultry farm, and a small vitamin-D factory. On the other side of the lighthouse, towards the South, the ground fell away in long slopes of heather to a chain of ponds.

Beyond them, above the intervening woods, rose the fourteen-story tower of Elstead. Dim in the hazy English air, Hindhead and Selborne invited the eye into a blue romantic distance. But it was not alone the distance that had attracted the Savage to his lighthouse; the near was as seductive as the far. The woods, the open stretches of heather and yellow gorse, the clumps of Scotch firs, the shining ponds with their overhanging birch trees, their water lilies, their beds of rushes—these were beautiful and, to an eye accustomed to the aridities of the American desert, astonishing. And then the solitude! Whole days passed during which he never saw a human being. The lighthouse was only a quarter of an hour's flight from the Charing-T Tower; but the hills of Malpais were hardly more deserted than this Surrey heath. The crowds that daily left London left it only to play Electro-magnetic Golf or Tennis. Puttenham possessed no links; the nearest Riemann-surfaces were at Guildford. Flowers and a landscape were the only attractions here. And so, as there was no good reason for coming, nobody came. During the first days the Savage lived alone and undisturbed.

Of the money which, on his first arrival, John had received for his personal expenses, most had been spent on his equipment. Before leaving London he had bought four viscose-woollen blankets, rope and string, nails, glue, a few tools, matches (though he intended in due course to make a fire drill), some pots and pans, two dozen packets of seeds, and ten kilogrammes of wheat flour. “No, not synthetic starch and cotton-waste flour-substitute,” he had insisted. “Even though it is more nourishing.” But when it came to pan-glandular biscuits and vitaminized beef-surrogate, he had not been able to resist the shop-man's persuasion. Looking at the tins now, he bitterly reproached himself for his weakness. Loathesome civilized stuff! He had made up his mind that he would never eat it, even if he were starving. “That'll teach them,” he thought vindictively. It would also teach him.

He counted his money. The little that remained would be enough, he hoped, to tide him over the winter. By next spring, his garden would be producing enough to make him independent of the outside world. Meanwhile, there would always be game. He had seen plenty of rabbits, and there were waterfowl on the ponds. He set to work at once to make a bow and arrows.

There were ash trees near the lighthouse and, for arrow shafts, a whole copse full of beautifully straight hazel saplings. He began by felling a young ash, cut out six feet of unbranched stem, stripped off the bark and, paring by paring, shaved away the white wood, as old Mitsima had taught him, until he had a stave of his own height, stiff at the thickened centre, lively and quick at the slender tips. The work gave him an intense pleasure. After those weeks of idleness in London, with nothing to do, whenever he wanted anything, but to press a switch or turn a handle, it was pure delight to be doing something that demanded skill and patience.

He had almost finished whittling the stave into shape, when he realized with a start that he was singing—singing! It was as though, stumbling upon himself from the outside, he had suddenly caught himself out, taken himself flagrantly at fault. Guiltily he blushed. After all, it was not to sing and enjoy himself that he had come here. It was to escape further contamination by the filth of civilized life; it was to be purified and made good; it was actively to make amends. He realized to his dismay that, absorbed in the whittling of his bow, he had forgotten what he had sworn to himself he would constantly remember—poor Linda, and his own murderous unkindness to her, and those loathsome twins, swarming like lice across the mystery of her death, insulting, with their presence, not merely his own grief and repentance, but the very gods themselves. He had sworn to remember, he had sworn unceasingly to make amends. And here he was, sitting happily over his bow-stave, singing, actually singing….

He went indoors, opened the box of mustard, and put some water to boil on the fire.

Half an hour later, three Delta-Minus landworkers from one of the Puttenham Bokanovsky Groups happened to be driving to Elstead and, at the top of the hill, were astonished to see a young man standing Outside the abandoned lighthouse stripped to the waist and hitting himself with a whip of knotted cords. His back was horizontally streaked with crimson, and from weal to weal ran thin trickles of blood. The driver of the lorry pulled up at the side of the road and, with his two companions, stared open-mouthed at the extraordinary spectacle. One, two, three—they counted the strokes. After the eighth, the young man interrupted his self-punishment to run to the wood's edge and there be violently sick. When he had finished, he picked up the whip and began hitting himself again. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve…

“Ford!” whispered the driver. And his twins were of the same opinion.

“Fordey!” they said.

Three days later, like turkey buzzards settling on a corpse, the reporters came.

Dried and hardened over a slow fire of green wood, the bow was ready. The Savage was busy on his arrows. Thirty hazel sticks had been whittled and dried, tipped with sharp nails, carefully nocked. He had made a raid one night on the Puttenham poultry farm, and now had feathers enough to equip a whole armoury. It was at work upon the feathering of his shafts that the first of the reporters found him. Noiseless on his pneumatic shoes, the man came up behind him.

“Good-morning, Mr. Savage,” he said. “I am the representative of The Hourly Radio.”

Startled as though by the bite of a snake, the Savage sprang to his feet, scattering arrows, feathers, glue-pot and brush in all directions.

“I beg your pardon,” said the reporter, with genuine compunction. “I had no intention…” He touched his hat—the aluminum stove-pipe hat in which he carried his wireless receiver and transmitter. “Excuse my not taking it off,” he said. “It's a bit heavy. Well, as I was saying, I am the representative of The Hourly…”

“What do you want?” asked the Savage, scowling. The reporter returned his most ingratiating smile.

“Well, of course, our readers would be profoundly interested…” He put his head on one side, his smile became almost coquettish. “Just a few words from you, Mr. Savage.” And rapidly, with a series of ritual gestures, he uncoiled two wires connected to the portable battery buckled round his waist; plugged them simultaneously into the sides of his aluminum hat; touched a spring on the crown—and antennae shot up into the air; touched another spring on the peak of the brim—and, like a jack-in-the-box, out jumped a microphone and hung there, quivering, six inches in front of his nose; pulled down a pair of receivers over his ears; pressed a switch on the left side of the hat—and from within came a faint waspy buzzing; turned a knob on the right—and the buzzing was interrupted by a stethoscopic wheeze and crackle, by hiccoughs and sudden squeaks. “Hullo,” he said to the microphone, “hullo, hullo…” A bell suddenly rang inside his hat. “Is that you, Edzel? Primo Mellon speaking. Yes, I've got hold of him. Mr. Savage will now take the microphone and say a few words. Won't you, Mr. Savage?” He looked up at the Savage with another of those winning smiles of his. “Just tell our readers why you came here. What made you leave London (hold on, Edzel!) so very suddenly. And, of course, that whip.” (The Savage started. How did they know about the whip?) “We're all crazy to know about the whip. And then something about Civilization. You know the sort of stuff. ‘What I think of the Civilized Girl.’ Just a few words, a very few…”

The Savage obeyed with a disconcerting literalness. Five words he uttered and no more—five words, the same as those he had said to Bernard about the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury. “Háni! Sons éso tse-ná!” And seizing the reporter by the shoulder, he spun him round (the young man revealed himself invitingly well-covered), aimed and, with all the force and accuracy of a champion foot-and-mouth-baller, delivered a most prodigious kick.

Eight minutes later, a new edition of The Hourly Radio was on sale in the streets of London. “HOURLY RADIO REPORTER HAS COCCYX KICKED BY MYSTERY SAVAGE,” ran the headlines on the front page. “SENSATION IN SURREY.”

“Sensation even in London,” thought the reporter when, on his return, he read the words. And a very painful sensation, what was more. He sat down gingerly to his luncheon.

Undeterred by that cautionary bruise on their colleague's coccyx, four other reporters, representing the New York Times, the Frankfurt Four-Dimensional Continuum, The Fordian Science Monitor, and The Delta Mirror, called that afternoon at the lighthouse and met with receptions of progressively increasing violence.

From a safe distance and still rubbing his buttocks, “Benighted fool!” shouted the man from The Fordian Science Monitor, “why don't you take soma?”

“Get away!” The Savage shook his fist.

The other retreated a few steps then turned round again. “Evil's an unreality if you take a couple of grammes.”

“Kohakwa iyathtokyai!” The tone was menacingly derisive.

“Pain's a delusion.”

“Oh, is it?” said the Savage and, picking up a thick hazel switch, strode forward.

The man from The Fordian Science Monitor made a dash for his helicopter.

After that the Savage was left for a time in peace. A few helicopters came and hovered inquisitively round the tower. He shot an arrow into the importunately nearest of them. It pierced the aluminium floor of the cabin; there was a shrill yell, and the machine went rocketing up into the air with all the acceleration that its super-charger could give it. The others, in future, kept their distance respectfully. Ignoring their tiresome humming (he likened himself in his imagination to one of the suitors of the Maiden of Mátsaki, unmoved and persistent among the winged vermin), the Savage dug at what was to be his garden. After a time the vermin evidently became bored and flew away; for hours at a stretch the sky above his head was empty and, but for the larks, silent.

The weather was breathlessly hot, there was thunder in the air. He had dug all the morning and was resting, stretched out along the floor. And suddenly the thought of Lenina was a real presence, naked and tangible, saying “Sweet!” and “Put your arms round me!” —in shoes and socks, perfumed. Impudent strumpet! But oh, oh, her arms round his neck, the lifting of her breasts, her mouth! Eternity was in our lips and eyes. Lenina…No, no, no, no! He sprang to his feet and, half naked as he was, ran out of the house. At the edge of the heath stood a clump of hoary juniper bushes. He flung himself against them, he embraced, not the smooth body of his desires, but an armful of green spikes. Sharp, with a thousand points, they pricked him. He tried to think of poor Linda, breathless and dumb, with her clutching hands and the unutterable terror in her eyes. Poor Linda whom he had sworn to remember. But it was still the presence of Lenina that haunted him. Lenina whom he had promised to forget. Even through the stab and sting of the juniper needles, his wincing flesh was aware of her, inescapably real. “Sweet, sweet…And if you wanted me too, why didn't you…”

The whip was hanging on a nail by the door, ready to hand against the arrival of reporters. In a frenzy the Savage ran back to the house, seized it, whirled it. The knotted cords bit into his flesh.

“Strumpet! Strumpet!” he shouted at every blow as though it were Lenina (and how frantically, without knowing it, he wished it were!), white, warm, scented, infamous Lenina that he was flogging thus. “Strumpet!” And then, in a voice of despair, “Oh, Linda, forgive me. Forgive me, God. I'm bad. I'm wicked. I'm…No, no, you strumpet, you strumpet!”

From his carefully constructed hide in the wood three hundred metres away, Darwin Bonaparte, the Feely Corporation's most expert big-game photographer, had watched the whole proceedings. Patience and skill had been rewarded. He had spent three days sitting inside the bole of an artificial oak tree, three nights crawling on his belly through the heather, hiding microphones in gorse bushes, burying wires in the soft grey sand. Seventy-two hours of profound discomfort. But now the great moment had come—the greatest, Darwin Bonaparte had time to reflect, as he moved among his instruments, the greatest since his taking of the famous all-howling stereoscopic feely of the gorillas' wedding. “Splendid,” he said to himself, as the Savage started his astonishing performance. “Splendid!” He kept his telescopic cameras carefully aimed—glued to their moving objective; clapped on a higher power to get a close-up of the frantic and distorted face (admirable!); switched over, for half a minute, to slow motion (an exquisitely comical effect, he promised himself); listened in, meanwhile, to the blows, the groans, the wild and raving words that were being recorded on the sound-track at the edge of his film, tried the effect of a little amplification (yes, that was decidedly better); was delighted to hear, in a momentary lull, the shrill singing of a lark; wished the Savage would turn round so that he could get a good close-up of the blood on his back—and almost instantly (what astonishing luck!) the accommodating fellow did turn round, and he was able to take a perfect close-up.

“Well, that was grand!” he said to himself when it was all over. “Really grand!” He mopped his face. When they had put in the feely effects at the studio, it would be a wonderful film. Almost as good, thought Darwin Bonaparte, as the Sperm Whale's Love-Life—and that, by Ford, was saying a good deal!

Twelve days later The Savage of Surrey had been released and could be seen, heard and felt in every first-class feely-palace in Western Europe.

The effect of Darwin Bonaparte's film was immediate and enormous. On the afternoon which followed the evening of its release John's rustic solitude was suddenly broken by the arrival overhead of a great swarm of helicopters.

He was digging in his garden—digging, too, in his own mind, laboriously turning up the substance of his thought. Death—and he drove in his spade once, and again, and yet again. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. A convincing thunder rumbled through the words. He lifted another spadeful of earth. Why had Linda died? Why had she been allowed to become gradually less than human and at last…He shuddered. A good kissing carrion. He planted his foot on his spade and stamped it fiercely into the tough ground. As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport. Thunder again; words that proclaimed themselves true—truer somehow than truth itself. And yet that same Gloucester had called them ever-gentle gods. Besides, thy best of rest is sleep, and that thou oft provok'st; yet grossly fear'st thy death which is no more. No more than sleep. Sleep. Perchance to dream. His spade struck against a stone; he stooped to pick it up. For in that sleep of death, what dreams…?

A humming overhead had become a roar; and suddenly he was in shadow, there was something between the sun and him. He looked up, startled, from his digging, from his thoughts; looked up in a dazzled bewilderment, his mind still wandering in that other world of truer-than-truth, still focused on the immensities of death and deity; looked up and saw, close above him, the swarm of hovering machines. Like locusts they came, hung poised, descended all around him on the heather. And from out of the bellies of these giant grasshoppers stepped men in white viscose-flannels, women (for the weather was hot) in acetate-shantung pyjamas or velveteen shorts and sleeveless, half-unzippered singlets—one couple from each. In a few minutes there were dozens of them, standing in a wide circle round the lighthouse, staring, laughing, clicking their cameras, throwing (as to an ape) peanuts, packets of sex-hormone chewing-gum, pan-glandular petits beurres. And every moment—for across the Hog's Back the stream of traffic now flowed unceasingly—their numbers increased. As in a nightmare, the dozens became scores, the scores hundreds.

The Savage had retreated towards cover, and now, in the posture of an animal at bay, stood with his back to the wall of the lighthouse, staring from face to face in speechless horror, like a man out of his senses.

From this stupor he was aroused to a more immediate sense of reality by the impact on his cheek of a well-aimed packet of chewing-gum. A shock of startling pain—and he was broad awake, awake and fiercely angry.

“Go away!” he shouted.

The ape had spoken; there was a burst of laughter and hand-clapping. “Good old Savage! Hurrah, hurrah!” And through the babel he heard cries of: “Whip, whip, the whip!”

Acting on the word's suggestion, he seized the bunch of knotted cords from its nail behind the door and shook it at his tormentors.

There was a yell of ironical applause.

Menacingly he advanced towards them. A woman cried out in fear. The line wavered at its most immediately threatened point, then stiffened again, stood firm. The consciousness of being in overwhelming force had given these sightseers a courage which the Savage had not expected of them. Taken aback, he halted and looked round.

“Why don't you leave me alone?” There was an almost plaintive note in his anger.

“Have a few magnesium-salted almonds!” said the man who, if the Savage were to advance, would be the first to be attacked. He held out a packet. “They're really very good, you know,” he added, with a rather nervous smile of propitiation. “And the magnesium salts will help to keep you young.”

The Savage ignored his offer. “What do you want with me?” he asked, turning from one grinning face to another. “What do you want with me?”

“The whip,” answered a hundred voices confusedly. “Do the whipping stunt. Let's see the whipping stunt.”

Then, in unison and on a slow, heavy rhythm, “We—want—the whip,” shouted a group at the end of the line. “We—want—the whip.”

Others at once took up the cry, and the phrase was repeated, parrot-fashion, again and again, with an ever-growing volume of sound, until, by the seventh or eighth reiteration, no other word was being spoken. “We—want—the whip.”

They were all crying together; and, intoxicated by the noise, the unanimity, the sense of rhythmical atonement, they might, it seemed, have gone on for hours—almost indefinitely. But at about the twenty-fifth repetition the proceedings were startlingly interrupted. Yet another helicopter had arrived from across the Hog's Back, hung poised above the crowd, then dropped within a few yards of where the Savage was standing, in the open space between the line of sightseers and the lighthouse. The roar of the air screws momentarily drowned the shouting; then, as the machine touched the ground and the engines were turned off: “We—want—the whip; we—want—the whip,” broke out again in the same loud, insistent monotone.

The door of the helicopter opened, and out stepped, first a fair and ruddy-faced young man, then, in green velveteen shorts, white shirt, and jockey cap, a young woman.

At the sight of the young woman, the Savage started, recoiled, turned pale.

The young woman stood, smiling at him—an uncertain, imploring, almost abject smile. The seconds passed. Her lips moved, she was saying something; but the sound of her voice was covered by the loud reiterated refrain of the sightseers.

“We—want—the whip! We—want—the whip!”

The young woman pressed both hands to her left side, and on that peach-bright, doll-beautiful face of hers appeared a strangely incongruous expression of yearning distress. Her blue eyes seemed to grow larger, brighter; and suddenly two tears rolled down her cheeks. Inaudibly, she spoke again; then, with a quick, impassioned gesture, stretched out her arms towards the Savage, stepped forward.

“We—want—the whip! We—want…”

And all of a sudden they had what they wanted.

“Strumpet!” The Savage had rushed at her like a madman. “Fitchew!” Like a madman, he was slashing at her with his whip of small cords.

Terrified, she had turned to flee, had tripped and fallen in the heather. “Henry, Henry!” she shouted. But her ruddy-faced companion had bolted out of harm's way behind the helicopter.

With a whoop of delighted excitement the line broke; there was a convergent stampede towards that magnetic centre of attraction. Pain was a fascinating horror.

“Fry, lechery, fry!” Frenzied, the Savage slashed again.

Hungrily they gathered round, pushing and scrambling like swine about the trough.

“Oh, the flesh!” The Savage ground his teeth. This time it was on his shoulders that the whip descended. “Kill it, kill it!”

Drawn by the fascination of the horror of pain and, from within, impelled by that habit of co-operation, that desire for unanimity and atonement, which their conditioning had so ineradicably implanted in them, they began to mime the frenzy of his gestures, striking at one another as the Savage struck at his own rebellious flesh, or at that plump incarnation of turpitude writhing in the heather at his feet.

“Kill it, kill it, kill it…” The Savage went on shouting.

Then suddenly somebody started singing “Orgy-porgy” and, in a moment, they had all caught up the refrain and, singing, had begun to dance. Orgy-porgy, round and round and round, beating one another in six-eight time. Orgy-porgy…

It was after midnight when the last of the helicopters took its flight. Stupefied by soma, and exhausted by a long-drawn frenzy of sensuality, the Savage lay sleeping in the heather. The sun was already high when he awoke. He lay for a moment, blinking in owlish incomprehension at the light; then suddenly remembered—everything.

“Oh, my God, my God!” He covered his eyes with his hand.

*

That evening the swarm of helicopters that came buzzing across the Hog's Back was a dark cloud ten kilometres long. The description of last night's orgy of atonement had been in all the papers.

“Savage!” called the first arrivals, as they alighted from their machine. “Mr. Savage!”

There was no answer.

The door of the lighthouse was ajar. They pushed it open and walked into a shuttered twilight. Through an archway on the further side of the room they could see the bottom of the staircase that led up to the higher floors. Just under the crown of the arch dangled a pair of feet.

“Mr. Savage!”

Slowly, very slowly, like two unhurried compass needles, the feet turned towards the right; north, north-east, east, south-east, south, south-south-west; then paused, and, after a few seconds, turned as unhurriedly back towards the left. South-south-west, south, south-east, east….

門虛掩著,他們進(jìn)去了。

“約翰!”

從衛(wèi)生間里傳來了那種典型的令人不快的聲音。

“出什么事了嗎?”赫爾姆霍茨問。

沒有人回答。那種令人不舒服的聲音又傳來了,一次,兩次,然后是一片靜寂。過了一會(huì)兒,衛(wèi)生間的門咔嗒一聲打開了,野蠻人走了出來,臉色蒼白。

“我說,”赫爾姆霍茨關(guān)切地喊道,“約翰,你看起來真像生病了!”

“你吃了什么不合你胃口的東西了嗎?”伯納德問。

野蠻人點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭說:“我吃了文明。”

“什么?”

“我中毒了,我被玷污了。”他接著放低了聲音補(bǔ)充道,“我吃了我自己的邪惡。”

“好吧,到底是什么呢?我是說,你剛才在……”

“現(xiàn)在,我凈化了自己,”野蠻人說,“我喝了些溫水沖服的芥末。”

那兩個(gè)人吃驚地盯著他。“你是說,你剛才是故意那么做的?”伯納德問。

“印第安人總是這么凈化自己的。”他坐下來,嘆口氣,用手抹了抹額頭,“我要休息幾分鐘,”他說,“我很累。”

“我一點(diǎn)也不吃驚。”赫爾姆霍茨說,沉默了一會(huì)兒,他又說,“我們是來跟你告別的,”他換了種語氣,“我們明天早晨就離開。”

“是的,我們明天走。”伯納德說,野蠻人注意到他的臉上新添了一種堅(jiān)忍的、聽天由命的表情。“順便說一句,約翰,”他繼續(xù)說,坐在椅子上的身體前傾,將一只手放在野蠻人的膝蓋上,“我想說,我為昨天發(fā)生的事情抱歉,”他的臉紅了,“多么恥辱,”他繼續(xù)說,雖然聲音有些顫抖,“真的,多么……”

野蠻人打斷他的話,抓住他的手,親切地捏了捏。

“赫爾姆霍茨對我太好了,”伯納德停頓了片刻,接著說,“要沒有他的話,我可能……”

“別說了,別說了。”赫爾姆霍茨抗議了。

他們陷入了沉默。雖然有些傷心,甚至正是由于這種傷心的情感,因?yàn)樗麄兊膫恼撬麄儽舜藧蹖Ψ降谋憩F(xiàn),這三個(gè)年輕人感到非常開心。

“今天早晨我去見了控制官。”最后,野蠻人說。

“去干什么呢?”

“去問問我能否和你們一起去島上。”

“他怎么說?”赫爾姆霍茨急切地問。

野蠻人搖搖頭。“他不允許。”

“為什么呢?”

“他說他想繼續(xù)這個(gè)實(shí)驗(yàn),可是,我才不會(huì)干呢,”野蠻人突然怒氣沖沖地說,“我才不會(huì)讓他繼續(xù)拿我做實(shí)驗(yàn)?zāi)?。即使世界上所有控制官都請我來做,我也不做。我明天也要離開。”

“可是去哪里呢?”兩個(gè)人一起問。

野蠻人聳了聳肩。“任何地方。我不在乎,只要我能夠獨(dú)自一人就行。”

*

下行線路從吉爾福德出發(fā),沿著威谷徑直下到戈德爾明,然后,越過米爾福德和威特利,通向黑斯?fàn)柮谞?,再穿過彼得斯菲爾德,到達(dá)樸茨茅斯。和這條線路大概平行的上行線路,則經(jīng)過沃普爾斯頓、堂海姆、普坦?jié)h姆、埃爾斯坦德和格雷肖特。在野豬背和欣德黑德之間的一些地方,這兩條線路之間的距離不超過六七英里。對那些漫不經(jīng)心的駕駛員來講,這段距離太小了,尤其是晚上他們多吃了半克唆麻之后。曾經(jīng)出過一些事故,很嚴(yán)重的事故。后來決定將上行線往西挪移幾英里。在格雷肖特和堂海姆之間,有四座廢棄的航空燈塔,標(biāo)志著從樸茨茅斯到倫敦的那條舊路線。這些燈塔的上空寂靜無聲,一片荒涼?,F(xiàn)在,那些直升機(jī)是在塞爾伯恩、博爾敦和法納姆的上空飛行,不間斷地嗡嗡著,呼嘯著。

野蠻人選擇了一座舊燈塔作為自己的隱居地,這個(gè)燈塔位于普坦?jié)h姆和埃爾斯坦德之間的一座小山上。這是個(gè)鐵架水泥建筑,狀況良好。當(dāng)野蠻人首次勘查這個(gè)地方的時(shí)候,覺得這個(gè)住處簡直過于舒服、過于文明化、過于奢侈了。他保證將以更加嚴(yán)酷的自律和更加徹底的凈化加以彌補(bǔ),以此安慰自己的良心。在隱居地度過的第一個(gè)晚上,他刻意沒有睡覺。他整夜都跪在地上祈禱,一會(huì)兒向身負(fù)罪孽的克勞狄斯(1)曾經(jīng)乞求過寬恕的上天祈禱,一會(huì)兒又用祖尼語向阿沃納威婁納祈禱,一會(huì)兒向耶穌和菩公祈禱,一會(huì)兒又向自己的守護(hù)獸雄鷹祈禱。他不時(shí)將胳膊展開,好像在十字架上那樣。他一直保持這個(gè)姿勢,隨著時(shí)間一分一秒地流逝,他胳膊上的疼痛逐漸加劇,直到變成一陣陣刺骨的痛楚;他就這樣挺著,承受著自發(fā)的釘刑,咬著牙,嘴里不斷地重復(fù)著(同時(shí),汗水順著臉頰淌下來):“哦,寬恕我吧!哦,讓我變得純潔!哦,助我變得善良!”一遍又一遍,直到他幾乎因?yàn)樘弁炊鴷炈肋^去。

天亮了,他感到已經(jīng)贏得了住在這個(gè)燈塔里的權(quán)利,盡管大多數(shù)窗戶上的玻璃還在,盡管從塔頂平臺(tái)看過去的風(fēng)景很美。最初他選擇這個(gè)燈塔的原因現(xiàn)在幾乎成了他想馬上去別處的理由。起初,他決定在這里生活就是因?yàn)轱L(fēng)景太美了,因?yàn)?,從他的那個(gè)制高點(diǎn),他正在面對著的似乎是神靈的化身??墒?,他又有何德何能,得到如此的嬌寵,能夠每天、每小時(shí)都看到如此美景?他是誰,能夠一直與上帝面對面?他只配生活在某個(gè)骯臟的豬圈里,某個(gè)陰暗的地下洞穴里。經(jīng)過漫長一夜的折磨,他渾身依舊僵硬酸痛,但正是因此,他的良心才更加平靜,他爬到了燈塔頂部的平臺(tái)上,眺望著那個(gè)日出時(shí)分明亮的世界,感覺他已經(jīng)重新贏得了在這個(gè)世界生存的權(quán)利。他北面的風(fēng)景被野豬背長長的灰白色山脊包圍,最東頭的山脊后面,聳立著七座摩天大樓,那里就是吉爾福德??吹竭@些大樓,野蠻人苦笑了一下,但是,隨著時(shí)間的推移,他將習(xí)慣這個(gè)景觀。夜晚,這些摩天大樓或是裝飾著亮閃閃的、幾何形的星座,或是打著泛照燈,像通體透亮的手指(在英格蘭,除了野蠻人,沒有人能夠明白這個(gè)手勢的意義),莊嚴(yán)地指向天穹深不可測的奧秘之中。

一個(gè)山谷將野豬背和他的燈塔坐落的這座砂質(zhì)小山隔離開來,在那里,普坦?jié)h姆就像一個(gè)不起眼的小村莊,只有九層樓高,只有幾個(gè)筒倉、一個(gè)家禽場和一個(gè)不大的維他命D工廠。在燈塔的另一側(cè),地勢向南面漸漸下降,先是長長的長滿石楠的緩坡,然后降低為一長串池塘。

在更遠(yuǎn)處,比樹林更遠(yuǎn)的地方,矗立著一座十四層的塔樓,這就是埃爾斯坦德了。在英格蘭薄霧籠罩的空氣中,欣德黑德和塞爾伯恩看上去有點(diǎn)朦朧,吸引著你將視線往那蔚藍(lán)的浪漫遠(yuǎn)處望去。不過,最初將野蠻人吸引到燈塔這里來的,并不僅僅是這種遠(yuǎn)景,近景也一樣令人迷醉。樹林,連綿不絕的石楠和黃色的金雀花,一叢叢的蘇格蘭樺樹,杉樹掩映下的閃閃發(fā)光的池塘,池塘里的睡蓮和一簇簇的燈芯草,這些都是那么美麗,對于習(xí)慣了美洲干旱沙漠的眼睛來說,簡直令人震驚。還有那孤獨(dú)!幾天過去了,他從來沒有見過一個(gè)人影。這個(gè)燈塔離查令T字塔只有一刻鐘的飛行距離,可是,就算是瑪爾帕斯的山脈幾乎也不比這位于薩里郡的荒野更加寂寥。一群群人每天離開倫敦,只是為了去玩電磁高爾夫或者網(wǎng)球。普坦?jié)h姆那里沒有高爾夫球場,最近的黎曼曲面網(wǎng)球場是在吉爾福德,野花和風(fēng)景是這里唯一的吸引力。因此,沒有來這里的充分理由,也就沒有人來這里。在最初的幾天里,野蠻人完全是一個(gè)人生活,毫無打擾。

他剛到文明世界的時(shí)候,領(lǐng)到了一筆款項(xiàng),作為他日?;ㄤN之用。他把這筆錢大多花在了買裝備上面。離開倫敦之前,他購買了四床人造絲-羊毛毯、粗粗細(xì)細(xì)的繩子、釘子、膠水、幾件工具、火柴(雖然他計(jì)劃著過一段時(shí)間就鉆木取火)、幾個(gè)鍋壺、二十多包種子、十千克小麥面粉。“不,不要那種合成淀粉和廢棉做的代面粉,”他堅(jiān)持著,“即使它更有營養(yǎng)也不要。”可是,在面對泛腺體餅干和添加維生素的代牛肉時(shí),他沒有抵擋住店員的勸服??粗切┕揞^瓶子,他猛烈地譴責(zé)自己的軟弱??稍鞯奈拿骰臇|西!他已經(jīng)下定決心,堅(jiān)決不吃那東西,即使快要餓死了也不吃。“給他們一個(gè)教訓(xùn)。”他報(bào)復(fù)似的想。對他自己也是一個(gè)教訓(xùn)。

他數(shù)了數(shù)錢,希望剩下的那點(diǎn)足夠讓他湊合著度過冬天。到來年春天,他的菜園里將生產(chǎn)出足夠的食物,他就不用依賴外面的世界了。同時(shí),總會(huì)有一些獵物的。他看到過許多野兔,池塘里還有水禽。他立刻動(dòng)手制作一副弓箭。

燈塔附近有一些白蠟樹,還有長滿挺拔漂亮的榛子樹苗的灌木林,可以做箭桿。他開始砍伐一棵嫩白蠟樹,砍出一段六英尺長、沒有枝杈的樹干,剝掉樹皮,開始切削,刮下白白的木屑,就像老米斯瑪教他的那樣,最后,剩下了一段與他的身高大致相等的木棍,中間稍粗且堅(jiān)硬,兩頭纖細(xì)、靈活而柔軟。這項(xiàng)工作給了他極大的樂趣。他在倫敦度過了好幾星期懶散的日子,無所事事,需要什么東西的時(shí)候,只需按一下開關(guān)或者轉(zhuǎn)一下手柄,現(xiàn)在,做一些需要技巧和耐力的事情,真是一大樂趣。

快要將木棍削出形狀來的時(shí)候,他突然意識到自己在唱歌,他吃了一驚——唱歌!就好像,他碰巧剛剛從外面回來,看到自己正在干一件大壞事,抓了個(gè)正著。他慚愧了,臉唰地紅了。畢竟,他來到這里,不是為了唱歌和享受,而是為了逃離文明生活的污穢對他進(jìn)一步的腐蝕,是為了凈化自己,讓自己變得更好,是為了積極地贖罪。他沮喪地意識到,專注于切削他的弓的時(shí)候,他已經(jīng)忘記了發(fā)誓要時(shí)刻牢記的事情——可憐的琳達(dá),以及自己對她的兇狠和殘忍,那些可憎的多胞胎,像虱子一樣爬著,褻瀆了琳達(dá)之死的奧秘,他們的存在不僅侮辱了他自己的悲傷和悔恨,更侮辱了天神們。他曾經(jīng)發(fā)誓要牢記這些,他曾經(jīng)發(fā)誓要不停地贖罪??墒?,他卻坐在這里,開心地坐在這里,忙著做弓,還唱歌,真的在唱歌……

他走進(jìn)屋子,打開一盒芥末,倒了些水,放到火上開始煮。

半個(gè)小時(shí)之后,來自普坦?jié)h姆的一個(gè)波卡諾夫斯基組別的三個(gè)德爾塔-農(nóng)民開車去埃爾斯坦德,恰巧經(jīng)過這里。到達(dá)山頂時(shí),他們吃驚地發(fā)現(xiàn)一個(gè)年輕人站在廢棄的燈塔外面,上身赤裸,正在用一根打了結(jié)的鞭子抽打自己。他的后背上面橫亙著一道道深紅色的印跡,從這些鞭痕上流下細(xì)細(xì)的血水??ㄜ囁緳C(jī)將車停在路邊,和兩個(gè)同伴一起,目瞪口呆地盯著這不同尋常的景象。一下,兩下,三下——他們數(shù)著鞭打的次數(shù)。打完第八下,年輕人停止了自我懲罰,跑到樹林邊上,開始猛烈地嘔吐。吐完之后,他拾起鞭子,又開始鞭打自己。九下,十下,十一下,十二下……

“福帝??!”司機(jī)低聲說,他的兩個(gè)同伴也深有同感。

“福帝!”他們說。

三天后,記者們來了,猶如落在尸體上的禿鷲。

弓體在綠色木頭生起的文火上烤干變硬之后,就做好了。野蠻人正忙著做箭。已經(jīng)削出三十支榛子木棍,晾干了,一頭釘上了尖尖的鐵釘,弦口也仔細(xì)刻好了。有一天晚上,他突襲了普坦?jié)h姆的家禽場,現(xiàn)在他已經(jīng)有足夠的羽毛來裝備整個(gè)武器庫。他正在加工箭桿上的羽毛,這時(shí),第一個(gè)記者找到了他。這個(gè)人穿著充氣鞋子,悄無聲息,從他的身后突然出現(xiàn)。

“早上好,野蠻人先生,”他說,“我是《每時(shí)廣播》的記者。”

野蠻人嚇了一跳,好像被蛇咬了一下,他跳了起來,箭桿、羽毛、膠水瓶子和刷子散落一地。

“請你原諒,”記者說,真心地感到愧疚,“我沒有想……”他用手碰觸了一下帽子,那是一頂鋁制的煙囪形狀的帽子,在帽子里面裝有無線電接收器和發(fā)報(bào)器,“原諒我沒法把它摘下來,”他說,“有點(diǎn)沉。如我剛才所說,我代表的是……”

“你想干什么?”野蠻人陰沉著臉說。記者報(bào)以他最討好的笑容。

“哦,當(dāng)然,我們的讀者會(huì)非常感興趣……”他的頭歪向一邊,臉上的笑容幾乎像是在獻(xiàn)媚。“野蠻人先生,就說幾句話。”他做出了一系列快速的儀式般的動(dòng)作,解開兩團(tuán)電線接上圍在他腰間的便攜式電池;將它們同時(shí)插入鋁制帽子的兩側(cè);碰了一下帽頂上的彈簧,一根天線射向了空中;碰了一下帽檐頂端的另一個(gè)彈簧,跳出一個(gè)麥克風(fēng),就像從玩偶盒子里跳出一個(gè)玩偶一樣,麥克風(fēng)懸在那里,在離他的鼻子六英寸處顫動(dòng)著;拉下一對接收器,戴在耳朵上;按了一下帽子左邊的開關(guān),從里面?zhèn)鱽砦⑷醯狞S蜂般的嗡嗡聲;擰了一下右邊的旋鈕,嗡嗡聲之上立刻又增添了聽診器里那種呼呼聲和咳咳聲、咯咯聲和突然的吱吱聲。“喂,”他對著麥克風(fēng)說“喂,喂……”他的帽子里突然傳出了一聲鈴響。“是你嗎,厄澤爾?我是普利莫·梅爾倫。是的,我抓到他了。野蠻人先生現(xiàn)在要對著麥克風(fēng)說幾句話。你會(huì)說的吧,野蠻人先生?”他抬頭看著野蠻人,臉上又掛上了他最迷人的笑容。“就告訴我們的讀者你為什么會(huì)來這里。你為什么突然離開倫敦?(再等會(huì)兒,厄澤爾?。┊?dāng)然,還有那鞭子的事。”(野蠻人吃了一驚,他們怎么知道鞭子的事的?)“我們都非常想知道那鞭子是怎么回事。再說點(diǎn)對文明的看法。你知道的,就那類東西,‘我如何看待文明的姑娘’,等等。寥寥數(shù)語就行,寥寥……”

野蠻人照他的話做了,真的就只有令人不安的幾個(gè)詞。他只說了五個(gè)詞語,只有五個(gè),就是他對伯納德說過的同樣的話,他對坎特伯雷首席歌唱家的看法:“哈尼!桑斯埃索嚓那!”他抓住記者的肩膀,把他的身子扳過去(這個(gè)年輕人包裹得很嚴(yán)實(shí),真是誘人),瞄準(zhǔn),然后像個(gè)職業(yè)足球運(yùn)動(dòng)員一樣,猛力而準(zhǔn)確地向他踢過去,狠狠的一腳。

八分鐘之后,《每時(shí)廣播》的最新一期就在倫敦的大街小巷售賣了。頭版頭條印著“《每時(shí)廣播》記者被神秘野蠻人狠狠踢中尾骨”“轟動(dòng)整個(gè)薩里郡”。

“甚至轟動(dòng)了倫敦。”這個(gè)記者返回后,看到這些詞句時(shí)心里想。況且,這種轟動(dòng)還是那么痛苦。他小心翼翼地坐下,開始吃午飯。

又來了四個(gè)記者,他們絲毫沒有被同事尾骨上那本可以用以警戒的踢傷嚇倒,他們分別是《紐約時(shí)報(bào)》、法蘭克?!端木S閉連報(bào)》、《福帝科學(xué)箴言報(bào)》和《德爾塔鏡報(bào)》的記者。他們當(dāng)天下午來到燈塔,卻遭到了越來越暴力的對待。

《福帝科學(xué)箴言報(bào)》的記者躲在遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)的安全距離之外,仍舊在揉著屁股。“愚昧的傻瓜!”他大喊,“你干嗎不吃點(diǎn)唆麻?”

“滾開!”野蠻人晃了晃拳頭。

其他人退后幾步,又轉(zhuǎn)過身來。“如果你吃幾片唆麻,邪惡就不復(fù)存在。”

“摳哈克哇咿呀透克呀咿!”語氣兇惡且滿含譏諷。

“痛苦只是幻象。”

“哦,是嗎?”野蠻人說,撿起一根粗粗的榛子木棍,大步走了過來。

《福帝科學(xué)箴言報(bào)》的記者朝著自己的直升機(jī)飛奔過去。

這之后的一段時(shí)間內(nèi),野蠻人的生活回歸平靜。幾架直升機(jī)飛來,圍著燈塔好奇地盤旋。他向飛得最近、最纏人的一架射出一箭,射穿了駕駛艙的鋁制地板,只聽一聲尖叫,飛機(jī)火箭般地加速升空,使出了它的超級充電器所能提供的最大速度。隨后,其他飛機(jī)就敬而遠(yuǎn)之了。野蠻人毫不理會(huì)那些惱人的嗡嗡聲(在他的想象中,他將自己比喻成瑪塔斯基少女的眾多求婚者之一,不為那些長翅膀的毒蟲所擾亂,堅(jiān)毅而執(zhí)著),繼續(xù)挖他那個(gè)未來的菜園。過了片刻,很明顯,毒蟲厭倦了,飛走了。連續(xù)幾個(gè)小時(shí),他頭頂?shù)奶炜罩锌湛杖缫?,除了云雀的鳴叫外,寂靜無聲。

天氣又悶又熱,叫人透不過氣來,空中傳來滾滾雷聲。他挖了一上午的地,正躺在地板上休息。突然,對列寧娜的思念似乎變成了一個(gè)真實(shí)的存在,裸露著,幾乎可以觸摸到,她在說:“親愛的!”“抱緊我!”她穿著鞋子和襪子,噴了香水。不要臉的娼婦!可是,哦,哦,她的胳膊在摟著他的脖子,她的乳房抬起來了,她的嘴!永恒就在我們的唇間和雙眼。列寧娜……不,不,不,不!他跳了起來,半裸著身體,跑出房子。在荒原邊上,有一大簇灰白色的杜松,他沖入杜松叢。他擁抱的,不是他渴望的光滑肉體,而是一捧綠色的松針。尖利的松針,上千個(gè)針尖,刺著他。他竭力去想可憐的琳達(dá),她喘不過氣,說不出話,兩手亂撓著,眼睛里充滿無言的恐懼。可憐的琳達(dá),他曾經(jīng)發(fā)誓要牢記的琳達(dá)??墒?,纏繞著他的依然是列寧娜,他發(fā)誓要忘記的列寧娜。盡管杜松的松針在刺著他,扎著他,但他畏縮的肉體感受到的,還是列寧娜,真實(shí)的、難以逃避的列寧娜。“親愛的,親愛的……如果你也想要我,你干嗎不……”

鞭子就掛在門邊的釘子上,記者們來時(shí)可以隨手就拿起來。野蠻人一陣迷亂,他跑回房子,抓住鞭子,揮舞起來。打了結(jié)的繩子咬進(jìn)了他的肉體。

“娼婦!娼婦!”每打一鞭,他就大喊一聲,好像他打的是列寧娜(他沒有意識到,他多么瘋狂地希望打的真是列寧娜啊?。?,白花花的、溫暖的、噴噴香的、無恥的列寧娜,他正這樣鞭打著她。“娼婦!”然后,他絕望地說,“哦,列寧娜,寬恕我吧。寬恕我吧,上帝,我道德敗壞,我邪惡。我……不,不,你這個(gè)娼婦,你這個(gè)娼婦!”

在三百米開外的樹林里,達(dá)爾文·波拿巴藏在他精心建造的隱身處,目睹了剛才的整個(gè)過程,他是感官電影公司最高明的大型野獸攝像師。耐心和技巧終于得到了回報(bào)。他在一棵人工橡樹的樹洞里坐了三個(gè)白天,又花了三個(gè)晚上在石楠叢中爬來爬去,將麥克風(fēng)安裝到金雀花叢中,將電線埋進(jìn)柔軟的灰色沙地。在七十二個(gè)小時(shí)里,他飽嘗艱辛,現(xiàn)在,偉大的時(shí)刻到來了,最偉大的時(shí)刻——達(dá)爾文·波拿巴一邊在他的儀器中間走動(dòng)著,一邊在想,自從他拍攝了那著名的有關(guān)大猩猩交配的全號叫、立體感官電影之后,這是最偉大的時(shí)刻。“太精彩了,”當(dāng)看到野蠻人開始那令人震驚的表演,他自言自語,“太精彩了!”他將望遠(yuǎn)式照相機(jī)小心翼翼地瞄準(zhǔn)并固定在那移動(dòng)著的目標(biāo)上,調(diào)大功率,以獲得那張瘋狂扭曲的臉的特寫(太棒了?。?;又調(diào)換成半分鐘的慢鏡頭(將產(chǎn)生巧妙的滑稽效果,他向自己保證);同時(shí),他聆聽著那些正在往位于膠卷邊沿的錄音帶中錄入的鞭打聲、呻吟聲、狂野而瘋癲的話語聲,試了試將聲音稍微放大的效果(是的,絕對更好);在短暫的停歇之中,他很高興地聽到了云雀高亢尖銳的歌聲;他真希望野蠻人能夠扭過身去,讓他給他后背上的鮮血來個(gè)特寫,這時(shí),幾乎是立刻(多么令人吃驚的好運(yùn)氣!),那個(gè)與人為善的家伙真的轉(zhuǎn)過身去了,他拍了個(gè)完美的特寫。

“嗯,好極了!”拍完之后,他心里想,“真是好極了!”他擦了把臉。等他們在制作室里加入感官效果,這會(huì)是一部絕佳的影片。達(dá)爾文·波拿巴想,幾乎和《抹香鯨的愛情生活》一樣優(yōu)秀——福帝!那可就說明問題了!

十二天后,《薩里郡的野蠻人》正式上映,在西歐的每個(gè)頂級感官電影院都可以看到、聽到和觸摸到。

達(dá)爾文·波拿巴的電影立即產(chǎn)生了巨大的轟動(dòng)。晚上推出的電影,第二天下午,一大群直升機(jī)就突然飛臨約翰頭頂,打斷了他的鄉(xiāng)間獨(dú)處生活。

他正在菜園里挖地,在他的腦海里,他也在挖著,費(fèi)力地翻動(dòng)著頭腦中的思緒。死亡——他的鐵鍬落下去,一下,一下,再一下。我們所有的昨天,不過替傻子們照亮了到死亡的土壤中去的路。(2)一陣有說服力的雷聲在那些詞語之上訇然作響。他又掄起了一鍬土。為什么琳達(dá)會(huì)死?為什么要讓她逐漸變得不像人樣,最后……他打了個(gè)冷戰(zhàn)??捎H可吻的好腐肉。(3)他將腳放在鐵鍬上,狠狠地踩入堅(jiān)硬的土地。天神掌握著我們的命運(yùn),正像頑童捉到蒼蠅一樣,為了戲弄的緣故而把我們殺害。又一聲響雷。這些話宣告著自己的正確,甚至比真理本身還正確。可是,葛羅斯特卻把他們叫作永遠(yuǎn)溫柔的天神。(4)還有,睡眠是你所渴慕的最好的休息,死是永恒的寧靜,你卻對它心驚膽戰(zhàn)。(5)睡眠,可能會(huì)做夢。(6)他的鍬碰到了一塊石頭,他彎腰撿起來??墒?,在那死亡的睡眠里,會(huì)做什么樣的夢呢?(7)……

頭頂上的嗡嗡聲變成了轟鳴聲,一片陰影突然遮住了他,有什么東西擋在了他和太陽之間。他停下挖掘,停下思考,抬頭望去,嚇了一跳。他迷茫不解地抬頭去看,腦子還在比真理還正確的另一個(gè)世界里游蕩,注意力仍然還停留在死亡與神祇的重大問題上。他抬頭看去,看見了,那群盤旋著的直升機(jī),離他的頭頂那么近。它們就像蝗蟲一樣飛過來,懸停在半空,然后降落在他四周的荒原上。從這些巨大的蝗蟲肚子里,走出了穿白色人造絲-法蘭絨衣服的男人,穿黏膠-繭綢套裝或者天鵝絨短褲和拉鏈半開的無袖汗衫的女人(天氣很熱)——從每架飛機(jī)中都走出一對男女。不一會(huì)兒,就走出來幾十個(gè)人,他們圍著燈塔,形成一個(gè)大圈子,盯著他看,嬉笑著,咔嚓咔嚓地照著相,向他扔花生(就像扔給一只猴子),扔一包包性荷爾蒙口香糖,扔泛腺體小奶油餅。每時(shí)每刻,他們的數(shù)量都在增加,此時(shí),在野豬背的上空,飛機(jī)還在不斷地蜂擁而來。如同在噩夢中一般,幾十個(gè)人變成了上百個(gè),上百個(gè)又變成了幾百個(gè)。

野蠻人退回到隱蔽處?,F(xiàn)在,他背靠燈塔的墻壁,姿勢如同困獸一樣,一張張臉地看過去,恐懼得說不出話來,像個(gè)瘋子。

突然,一包瞄準(zhǔn)精確的口香糖砸到了他的臉頰,把他從恍惚狀態(tài)中驚醒,他意識到了眼前的現(xiàn)實(shí)。他痛苦地驚叫一聲,他完全清醒了,清醒而怒火中燒。

“滾開!”他大喊。

猴子說話了,周圍爆發(fā)出一陣大笑和鼓掌聲。“好野蠻人!好哇,好哇!”他在這些雜亂的聲音里聽到有人在喊:“鞭子,鞭子,鞭子!”

這話提醒了他,他從門后的釘子上抓起那段打了結(jié)的繩子,對著折磨他的人晃了晃。

一陣譏諷的喝彩聲和掌聲。

他氣勢洶洶地走向他們。一個(gè)女人害怕地叫起來。隊(duì)伍中離危險(xiǎn)最近的人們猶豫了一下,然后又站直了,堅(jiān)定地站在那里。這些觀光者意識到自己在力量上具有壓倒性的優(yōu)勢,因此勇氣大增,這大大出乎野蠻人的意料。他吃了一驚,停住了腳步,向四處望望。

“你們?yōu)槭裁床蛔屛乙粋€(gè)人待著?”他的憤怒里幾乎帶著一種哀怨。

“吃點(diǎn)鎂鹽杏仁吧!”如果野蠻人繼續(xù)向前,將第一個(gè)受到攻擊的那個(gè)男人說,他遞過來一包,“很好吃,你知道的,”他又說,討好的笑容有些緊張,“鎂鹽會(huì)幫助你永葆青春。”

野蠻人沒有理會(huì)他遞過來的東西。“你們找我干什么?”他看著一張張傻笑的臉,問道,“你們找我干什么?”

“鞭子,”上百個(gè)聲音亂糟糟地說,“表演一下那鞭子功夫,給我們看看鞭子功。”

然后,伴著緩慢沉重的節(jié)奏,他們一起喊起來:“我們——想看——鞭子。”隊(duì)伍后邊的一群人喊:“我們——想看——鞭子。”

其他人馬上也跟著喊了起來,不斷地重復(fù)著這句話,鸚鵡學(xué)舌一般,一遍又一遍,聲音越來越大,喊到第七次或第八次的時(shí)候,就沒有其他聲音了,只剩下“我們——想看——鞭子”。

他們都在一起喊著。這聲音,這團(tuán)結(jié),還有作為補(bǔ)償?shù)墓?jié)奏感,都令他們陶醉,他們似乎可以連續(xù)喊叫幾個(gè)小時(shí),幾乎可以無休無止地喊下去??墒?,喊到大概第二十五次的時(shí)候,這喊叫被突如其來地打斷了。又一架直升機(jī)飛過野豬背,懸停在人群上方,然后,在觀光者和燈塔之間的空地上,在距離野蠻人幾碼遠(yuǎn)的地方降落了。螺旋槳的咆哮聲暫時(shí)淹沒了喊聲。飛機(jī)落地了,馬達(dá)關(guān)掉了。“我們——想看——鞭子,我們——想看——鞭子”的喊聲再次爆發(fā),同樣響亮、同樣急切的單調(diào)聲音。

直升機(jī)門打開了,走出一個(gè)金發(fā)碧眼、臉色紅潤的年輕人,隨后走出來的,是一個(gè)穿著綠色天鵝絨短褲和白襯衫、戴著騎士帽的年輕姑娘。

野蠻人一看到這個(gè)姑娘,嚇得直往后退,臉色變得煞白。

那個(gè)姑娘站在那里,對他微笑著——不自信的、乞求的、幾乎是低聲下氣的微笑。時(shí)間一秒秒地過去了,她的嘴唇翕動(dòng),她在說著什么,可是,她的聲音被觀光者們一次次的大喊遮蓋住了。“我們——想看——鞭子!我們——想看——鞭子!”

姑娘將兩只手緊緊地貼在自己身體的左側(cè),她那桃紅色的、布娃娃般的明媚臉蛋上出現(xiàn)了極不協(xié)調(diào)的渴望和悲傷。她碧藍(lán)的眼睛似乎變大了,更加明亮了。突然,兩顆淚珠順著她的臉頰滾落。她又說了什么聽不見的話,然后,她突然動(dòng)情地張開雙臂,向著野蠻人走過來。

“我們——想看——鞭子!我們——想看……”

突然之間,他們看到了他們想看的。

“娼婦!”野蠻人像個(gè)瘋子一樣沖向她,“臭貓!”他像個(gè)瘋子,要用那打結(jié)的鞭子抽打她。

她嚇壞了,扭頭就逃,絆了一下,摔倒在石楠叢中。“亨利!亨利!”她大喊,可是,那個(gè)紅臉膛的年輕人已經(jīng)逃到直升機(jī)后面,躲到安全之處了。

人群又興奮又激動(dòng),大喊著,散開來,一窩蜂地向那個(gè)有磁力般的焦點(diǎn)簇?fù)磉^來。痛苦真是一種令人癡迷的恐怖。

“懲罰,好色,懲罰!(8)”迷亂之中,野蠻人再次揮起鞭子抽打起來。

人們饑渴地聚集在周圍,像食槽周圍的豬,亂哄哄地推搡著,擁擠著。

“哦,肉體!”野蠻人咬牙切齒。這一次,他抽打的是自己的肩膀,“殺死它!殺死它!”

人們著迷于這種痛苦的恐怖景象,又被合作的習(xí)慣以及那種尋求一致和補(bǔ)償?shù)挠?qū)動(dòng)(早年的條件訓(xùn)練已將這種欲望植根于他們的頭腦,難以消除),他們開始模仿野蠻人那癲狂的舉動(dòng),擊打著彼此的身軀,同時(shí),野蠻人正在鞭打他自己叛逆的肉體,或者鞭打著他腳下的石楠叢中那團(tuán)蠕動(dòng)著的豐滿肉體,那個(gè)淫亂的化身。

“殺死它,殺死它,殺死……”野蠻人還在大喊。

突然,有人開始高唱“狂歡啊狂歡”,不一會(huì)兒,人們都唱開了,不斷地重復(fù)著那個(gè)疊句,開始跳舞??駳g啊,一圈又一圈,打著六八拍,擊打著彼此??駳g啊……

午夜過后,最后一架直升機(jī)起飛離開了。野蠻人正在石楠叢中沉睡,唆麻令他呆滯,長時(shí)間瘋狂的肉欲放縱令他精疲力竭。他醒來時(shí),太陽已經(jīng)高照。他躺了片刻,像貓頭鷹一樣,對著陽光眨著不解的眼睛,突然,他想起來了,一切都想起來了。

“哦,我的上帝,我的上帝呀!”他用手蒙住了眼睛。

那天晚上,一群群嗡嗡叫著的直升機(jī)飛過野豬背,形成了綿延十公里的烏云。所有的報(bào)紙上都登載了對昨天晚上贖罪般的狂歡的描述。

“野蠻人!”最早到達(dá)的人們走下飛機(jī),喊道,“野蠻人先生!”

沒有回答。

燈塔的門虛掩著。他們推開門,步入百葉窗背后的昏暗。透過房間另一頭的拱門,他們可以看到通往樓上的樓梯的底部。在圓拱的下方,懸掛著一雙腳。

“野蠻人先生!”

那雙腳,就像圓規(guī)的兩條不慌不忙的腿,緩慢地,緩慢地轉(zhuǎn)向右邊,北,東北,東,東南,南,西南,然后停住了,懸停了幾秒鐘,接著又慢條斯理地轉(zhuǎn)向左邊,西南,南,東南,東……

————————————————————

(1) 《哈姆雷特》里哈姆雷特的叔叔、丹麥現(xiàn)任國王。

(2) 引自《麥克白》,麥克白在第五幕中關(guān)于人生和死亡的著名臺(tái)詞。

(3) 引自《哈姆雷特》,哈姆雷特裝瘋時(shí)的胡言亂語。

(4) 引自《李爾王》,葛羅斯特的話,他認(rèn)為天神對待人類的態(tài)度就像男孩子們對待蒼蠅一樣輕率,可是,在下一句里,他又稱天神是溫柔的。

(5) 引自《一報(bào)還一報(bào)》,公爵對克勞迪奧說的話,問他為什么懼怕死亡,死亡不過是睡眠。不過是睡眠。

(6) 引自《哈姆雷特》,是哈姆雷特關(guān)于“To be or not to be”的著名獨(dú)白段落中的話。

(7) 出處同上。

(8) 引自《特洛伊羅斯與克瑞西達(dá)》,特洛伊羅斯誤會(huì)了克瑞西達(dá),以為她是輕浮的女人。

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