英語聽力 學(xué)英語,練聽力,上聽力課堂! 注冊 登錄
> 在線聽力 > 有聲讀物 > 世界名著 > 譯林版·摸彩:雪莉·杰克遜短篇小說選 >  第21篇

雙語·摸彩:雪莉·杰克遜短篇小說選 邪惡的可能性

所屬教程:譯林版·摸彩:雪莉·杰克遜短篇小說選

瀏覽:

2022年05月25日

手機(jī)版
掃描二維碼方便學(xué)習(xí)和分享

The Possibility of Evil

Miss Adela Strangeworth came daintily along Main Street on her way to the grocery. The sun was shining, the air was fresh and clear after the night's heavy rain, and everything in Miss Strangeworth's little town looked washed and bright. Miss Strangeworth took deep breaths, and thought that there was nothing in the world like a fragrant summer day.

She knew everyone in town, of course; she was fond of telling strangers—tourists who sometimes passed through the town and stopped to admire Miss Strangeworth's roses—that she had never spent more than a day outside this town in all her long life. She was seventy-one, Miss Strangeworth told the tourists, with a pretty little dimple showing by her lip, and she sometimes found herself thinking that the town belonged to her. “My grandfather built the first house on Pleasant Street,” she would say, opening her blue eyes wide with the wonder of it. “This house, right here. My family has lived here for better than a hundred years. My grandmother planted these roses, and my mother tended them, just as I do. I've watched my town grow; I can remember when Mr. Lewis, Senior, opened the grocery store, and the year the river flooded out the shanties on the low road, and the excitement when some young folks wanted to move the park over to the space in front of where the new post office is today. They wanted to put up a statue of Ethan Allen”—Miss Strangeworth would frown a little and sound stern—“but it should have been a statue of my grandfather. There wouldn't have been a town here at all if it hadn't been for my grandfather and the lumber mill.”

Miss Strangeworth never gave away any of her roses, although the tourists often asked her. The roses belonged on Pleasant Street, and it bothered Miss Strangeworth to think of people wanting to carry them away, to take them into strange towns and down strange streets. When the new minister came, and the ladies were gathering flowers to decorate the church, Miss Strangeworth sent over a great basket of gladioli; when she picked the roses at all, she set them in bowls and vases around the inside of the house her grandfather had built.

Walking down Main Street on a summer morning, Miss Strangeworth had to stop every minute or so to say good morning to someone or to ask after someone's health. When she came into the grocery, half a dozen people turned away from the shelves and the counters to wave at her or call out good morning.

“And good morning to you, too, Mr. Lewis,” Miss Strangeworth said at last. The Lewis family had been in the town almost as long as the Strangeworths; but the day young Lewis left high school and went to work in the grocery,Miss Strangeworth had stopped calling him Tommy and started calling him Mr. Lewis, and he had stopped calling her Addie and started calling her Miss Strangeworth. They had been in high school together, and had gone to picnics together, and to high-school dances and basketball games; but now Mr. Lewis was behind the counter in the grocery, and Miss Strangeworth was living alone in the Strangeworth house on Pleasant Street.

“Good morning,” Mr. Lewis said, and added politely, “l(fā)ovely day.”

“It is a very nice day,” Miss Strangeworth said as though she had only just decided that it would do after all. “I would like a chop, please, Mr. Lewis,a small, lean veal chop. Are those strawberries from Arthur Parker's garden?They're early this year.”

“He brought them in this morning,” Mr. Lewis said.

“I shall have a box,” Miss Strangeworth said. Mr. Lewis looked worried, she thought, and for a minute she hesitated, but then she decided that he surely could not be worried over the strawberries. He looked very tired indeed. He was usually so chipper, Miss Strangeworth thought, and almost commented,but it was far too personal a subject to be introduced to Mr. Lewis, the grocer,so she only said, “And a can of cat food and, I think, a tomato.”

Silently, Mr. Lewis assembled her order on the counter and waited. Miss Strangeworth looked at him curiously and then said, “It's Tuesday, Mr. Lewis. You forgot to remind me.”

“Did I? Sorry.”

“Imagine your forgetting that I always buy my tea on Tuesday,” Miss Strangeworth said gently. “A quarter pound of tea, please, Mr. Lewis.”

“Is that all, Miss Strangeworth?”

“Yes thank you, Mr. Lewis. Such a lovely day, isn't it?”

“Lovely,” Mr. Lewis said.

Miss Strangeworth moved slightly to make room for Mrs. Harper at the counter, “Morning, Adela,” Mrs. Harper said, and Miss Strangeworth said,“Good morning, Martha.”

“Lovely day,” Mrs. Harper said, and Miss Strangeworth said, “Yes, lovely,”and Mr. Lewis, under Mrs. Harper's glance, nodded.

“Ran out of sugar for my cake frosting,” Mrs. Harper explained. Her hand shook slightly as she opened her pocketbook. Miss Strangeworth wondered,glancing at her quickly, if she had been taking proper care of herself. Martha Harper was not as young as she used to be, Miss Strangeworth thought. She probably could use a good, strong tonic.

“Martha,” she said, “you don't look well.”

“I'm perfectly all right,” Mrs. Harper said shortly. She handed her money to Mr. Lewis, took her change and her sugar, and went out without speaking again. Looking after her, Miss Strangeworth shook her head slightly. Martha definitely did not look well.

Carrying her little bag of groceries, Miss Strangeworth came out of the store into the bright sunlight and stopped to smile down on the Crane baby. Don and Helen Crane were really the two most infatuated young parents she had ever known, she thought indulgently, looking at the delicately embroidered baby cap and the lace-edged carriage cover.

“That little girl is going to grow up expecting luxury all her life,” she said to Helen Crane.

Helen laughed. “That's the way we want her to feel,” she said. “Like a princess.”

“A princess can be a lot of trouble sometimes,” Miss Strangeworth said dryly. “How old is her Highness now?”

“Six months next Tuesday,” Helen Crane said, looking down with rapt wonder at her child. “I've been worrying, though, about her. Don't you think she ought to move around more? Try to sit up, for instance?”

“For plain and fancy worrying,” Miss Strangeworth said, amused, “give me a new mother every time.”

“She just seems—slow,” Helen Crane said.

“Nonsense. All babies are different. Some of them develop much more quickly than others.”

“That's what my mother says.” Helen Crane laughed, looking a little bit ashamed.

“I suppose you've got young Don all upset about the fact that his daughter is already six months old and hasn't yet begun to learn to dance?”

“I haven't mentioned it to him. I suppose she's just so precious that I worry about her all the time.”

“Well, apologize to her right now,” Miss Strangeworth said. “She is probably worrying about why you keep jumping around all the time.” Smiling to herself and shaking her old head, she went on down the sunny street, stopping once to ask little Billy Moore why he wasn't out riding in his daddy's shiny new car, and talking for a few minutes outside the library with Miss Chandler,the librarian, about the new novels to be ordered and paid for by the annual library appropriation. Miss Chandler seemed absentminded and very much as though she was thinking about something else. Miss Strangeworth noticed that Miss Chandler had not taken much trouble with her hair that morning,and sighed. Miss Strangeworth hated sloppiness.

Many people seemed disturbed recently, Miss Strangeworth thought. Only yesterday the Stewarts' fifteen-year-old Linda had run crying down her own front walk and all the way to school, not caring who saw her. People around town thought she might have had a fight with the Harris boy, but they showed up together at the soda shop after school as usual, both of them looking grim and bleak. Trouble at home, people concluded, and sighed over the problems of trying to raise kids right these days.

From halfway down the block Miss Strangeworth could catch the heavy scent of her roses, and she moved a little more quickly. The perfume of roses meant home, and home meant the Strangeworth House on Pleasant Street. Miss Strangeworth stopped at her own front gate, as she always did, and looked with deep pleasure at her house, with the red and pink and white roses massed along the narrow lawn, and the rambler going up along the porch; and the neat, the unbelievably trim lines of the house itself, with its slimness and its washed white look. Every window sparkled, every curtain hung stiff and straight, and even the stones of the front walk were swept and clear. People around town wondered how old Miss Strangeworth managed to keep the house looking the way it did, and there was a legend about a tourist once mistaking it for the local museum and going all through the place without finding out about his mistake. But the town was proud of Miss Strangeworth and her roses and her house. They had all grown together.

Miss Strangeworth went up her front steps, unlocked her front door with her key, and went into the kitchen to put away her groceries. She debated having a cup of tea and then decided that it was too close to midday dinnertime; she would not have the appetite for her little chop if she had tea now. Instead she went into the light, lovely sitting room, which still glowed from the hands of her mother and her grandmother, who had covered the chairs with bright chintz and hung the curtains. All the furniture was spare and shining, and the round hooked rugs on the floor had been the work of Miss Strangeworth's grandmother and her mother. Miss Strangeworth had put a bowl of her red roses on the low table before the window, and the room was full of their scent.

Miss Strangeworth went to the narrow desk in the corner, and unlocked it with her key. She never knew when she might feel like writing letters, so she kept her notepaper inside, and the desk locked. Miss Strangeworth's usual stationery was heavy and cream-colored, with “Strangeworth House”engraved across the top, but, when she felt like writing her other letters, Miss Strangeworth used a pad of various-colored paper, bought from the local newspaper shop. It was almost a town joke, that colored paper, layered in pink and green and blue and yellow; everyone in town bought it and used it for odd, informal notes and shopping lists. It was usual to remark, upon receiving a note written on a blue page, that so-and-so would be needing a new pad soon—here she was, down to the blue already. Everyone used the matching envelopes for tucking away recipes, or keeping odd little things in, or even to hold cookies in the school lunch boxes. Mr. Lewis sometimes gave them to the children for carrying home penny candy.

Although Miss Strangeworth's desk held a trimmed quill pen, which had belonged to her grandfather, and a gold-frost fountain pen, which had belonged to her father, Miss Strangeworth always used a dull stub of pencil when she wrote her letters, and she printed them in a childish block print. After thinking for a minute, although she had been phrasing the letter in the back of her mind all the way home, she wrote on a pink sheet: DIDN'T YOU EVER SEE AN IDIOT CHILD BEFORE? SOME PEOPLE JUST SHOULDN'T HAVE CHILDREN, SHOULD THEY?

She was pleased with the letter. She was fond of doing things exactly right. When she made a mistake, as she sometimes did, or when the letters were not spaced nicely on the page, she had to take the discarded page to the kitchen stove and burn it at once. Miss Strangeworth never delayed when things had to be done.

After thinking for a minute, she decided that she would like to write another letter, perhaps to go to Mrs. Harper, to follow up the ones she had already mailed. She selected a green sheet this time and wrote quickly: HAVE YOU FOUND OUT YET WHAT THEY WERE ALL LAUGHING ABOUT AFTER YOU LEFT THE BRIDGE CLUB ON THURSDAY?OR IS THE WIFE REALLY ALWAYS THE LAST ONE TO KNOW?

Miss Strangeworth never concerned herself with facts; her letters all dealt with the more negotiable stuff of suspicion. Mr. Lewis would never have imagined for a minute that his grandson might be lifting petty cash from the store register if he had not had one of Miss Strangeworth's letters. Miss Chandler, the librarian, and Linda Stewart's parents would have gone unsuspectingly ahead with their lives, never aware of possible evil lurking nearby, if Miss Strangeworth had not sent letters opening their eyes. Miss Strangeworth would have been genuinely shocked if there had been anything between Linda Stewart and the Harris boy, but, as long as evil existed unchecked in the world, it was Miss Strangeworth's duty to keep her town alert to it. It was far more sensible for Miss Chandler to wonder what Mr. Shelley's first wife had really died of than to take a chance on not knowing. There were so many wicked people in the world and only one Strangeworth left in town. Besides, Miss Strangeworth liked writing her letters.

She addressed an envelope to Don Crane after a moment's thought, wondering curiously if he would show the letter to his wife, and using a pink envelope to match the pink paper. Then she addressed a second envelope,green, to Mrs. Harper. Then an idea came to her and she selected a blue sheet and wrote: YOU NEVER KNOW ABOUT DOCTORS. REMEMBER THEY'RE ONLY HUMAN AND NEED MONEY LIKE THE REST OF US. SUPPOSE THE KNIFE SLIPPED ACCIDENTALLY. WOULD DOCTOR BURNS GET HIS FEE AND A LITTLE EXTRA FROM THAT NEPHEW OF YOURS?

She addressed the blue envelope to old Mrs. Foster, who was having an operation next month. She had thought of writing one more letter, to the head of the school board, asking how a chemistry teacher like Billy Moore's father could afford a new convertible, but all at once she was tired of writing letters. The three she had done would do for one day. She could write more tomorrow; it was not as though they all had to be done at once.

She had been writing her letters—sometimes two or three every day for a week, sometimes no more than one in a month—for the past year. She never got any answers, of course, because she never signed her name. If she had been asked, she would have said that her name, Adela Strangeworth, a name honored in the town for so many years, did not belong on such trash. The town where she lived had to be kept clean and sweet, but people everywhere were lustful and evil and degraded, and needed to be watched; the world was so large, and there was only one Strangeworth left in it. Miss Strangeworth sighed, locked her desk, and put the letters into her big, black leather pocketbook, to be mailed when she took her evening walk.

She broiled her little chop nicely, and had a sliced tomato and good cup of tea ready when she sat down to her midday dinner at the table in her dining room, which could be opened to seat twenty-two, with a second table, if necessary, in the hall. Sitting in the warm sunlight that came through the tall windows of the dining room, seeing her roses massed outside, handling the heavy, old silverware and the fine, translucent china, Miss Strangeworth was pleased; she would not have cared to be doing anything else. People must live graciously, after all, she thought, and sipped her tea. Afterward, when her plate and cup and saucer were washed and dried and put back onto the shelves where they belonged, and her silverware was back in the mahogany silver chest,Miss Strangeworth went up the graceful staircase and into her bedroom, which was the front room overlooking the roses, and had been her mother'sand her grandmother's. Their Crown Derby dresser set and furs had been kept here, their fans and silver-backed brushes and their own bowls of roses; Miss Strangeworth kept a bowl of white roses on the bed table.

She drew the shades, took the rose-satin spread from the bed,slipped out of her dress and her shoes, and lay down tiredly. She knew that no doorbell or phone would ring; no one in town would dare to disturb Miss Strangeworth during her afternoon nap. She slept,deep in the rich smell of roses.

After her nap she worked in her garden for a little while, sparing herself because of the heat; then she went in to her supper. She ate asparagus from her own garden, with sweet-butter sauce, and a soft-boiled egg, and, while she had her supper, she listened to a late-evening news broadcast and then to a program of classical music on her small radio. After her dishes were done and her kitchen set in order, she took up her hat—Miss Strangeworth's hats were proverbial in the town; people believed that she had inherited them from her mother and her grandmother—and, locking the front door of her house behind her, set off on her evening walk, pocketbook under her arm. She nodded to Linda Stewart's father, who was washing his car in the pleasantly cool evening. She thought that he looked troubled.

There was only one place in town where she could mail her letters, and that was the new post office, shiny with red brick and silver letters. Although Miss Strangeworth had never given the matter any particular thought, she had always made a point of mailing her letters very secretly; it would, of course, not have been wise to let anyone see her mail them. Consequently, she timed her walk so she could reach the post office just as darkness was starting to dim the outlines of the trees and the shapes of people's faces, although no one could ever mistake Miss Strangeworth, with her dainty walk and her rustling skirts.

There was always a group of young people around the post office, the very youngest roller-skating upon its driveway, which went all the way around the building and was the only smooth road in town; and the slightly older ones already knowing how to gather in small groups and chatter and laugh and make great, excited plans for going across the street to the soda shop in a minute or two. Miss Strangeworth had never had any self-consciousness before the children. She did not feel that any of them were staring at her unduly or longing to laugh at her; it would have been most reprehensible for their parents to permit their children to mock Miss Strangeworth of Pleasant Street. Most of the children stood back respectfully as Miss Strangeworth passed, silenced briefly in her presence, and some of the older children greeted her,saying soberly, “Hello, Miss Strangeworth.”

Miss Strangeworth smiled at them and quickly went on. It had been a long time since she had known the name of every child in town. The mail slot was in the door of the post office. The children stood away as Miss Strangeworth approached it, seemingly surprised that anyone should want to use the post office after it had been officially closed up for the night and turned over to the children. Miss Strangeworth stood by the door, opening her black pocketbook to take out the letters, and heard a voice which she knew at once to be Linda Stewart's. Poor little Linda was crying again, and Miss Strangeworth listened carefully. This was, after all, her town, and these were her people; if one of them was in trouble, she ought to know about it.

“I can't tell you, Dave,” Linda was saying—so she was talking to the Harris boy, as Miss Strangeworth had supposed—“I just can't. It's just nasty.”

“But why won't your father let me come around anymore? What on earth did I do?”

“I can't tell you. I just wouldn't tell you for anything. You've got to have a dirty, dirty mind for things like that.”

“But something's happened. You've been crying and crying, and your father is all upset. Why can't I know about it, too? Aren't I like one of the family?”

“Not anymore, Dave, not anymore. You're not to come near our house again; my father said so. He said he'd horsewhip you. That's all I can tell you: You're not to come near our house anymore.”

“But I didn't do anything.”

“Just the same, my father said...”

Miss Strangeworth sighed and turned away. There was so much evil in people. Even in a charming little town like this one, there was still so much evil in people.

She slipped her letters into the slot, and two of them fell inside. The third caught on the edge and fell outside, onto the ground at Miss Strangeworth's feet. She did not notice it because she was wondering whether a letter to the Harris boy's father might not be of some service in wiping out this potential badness. Wearily Miss Strangeworth turned to go home to her quiet bed in her lovely house, and never heard the Harris boy calling to her to say that she had dropped something.

“Old lady Strangeworth's getting deaf,” he said, looking after her and holding in his hand the letter he had picked up.

“Well, who cares?” Linda said. “Who cares anymore, anyway?”

“It's for Don Crane,” the Harris boy said, “this letter. She dropped a letter addressed to Don Crane. Might as well take it on over. We pass his house anyway.” He laughed. “Maybe it's got a check or something in it and he'd be just as glad to get it tonight instead of tomorrow.”

“Catch old lady Strangeworth sending anybody a check,” Linda said. “Throw it in the post office. Why do anyone a favor?” She sniffed. “Doesn't seem to me anybody around here cares about us,” she said. “Why should we care about them?”

“I'll take it over, anyway,” the Harris boy said. “Maybe it's good news for them. Maybe they need something happy tonight, too. Like us.”

Sadly, holding hands, they wandered off down the dark street, the Harris boy carrying Miss Strangeworth's pink envelope in his hand.

Miss Strangeworth awakened the next morning with a feeling of intense happiness and, for a minute, wondered why, and then remembered that this morning three people would open her letters. Harsh, perhaps, at first, but wickedness was never easily banished, and a clean heart was a scoured heart. She washed her soft, old face and brushed her teeth, still sound in spite of her seventy-one years, and dressed herself carefully in her sweet, soft clothes and buttoned shoes. Then, going downstairs, reflecting that perhaps a little waffle would be agreeable for breakfast in the sunny dining room, she found the mail on the hall floor, and bent to pick it up. A bill, the morning paper, a letter in a green envelope that looked oddly familiar. Miss Strangeworth stood perfectly still for a minute, looking down at the green envelope with the penciled printing, and thought: It looks like one of my letters. Was one of my letters sent back? No, because no one would know where to send it. How did this get here?

Miss Strangeworth was a Strangeworth of Pleasant Street. Her hand did not shake as she opened the envelope and unfolded the sheet of green paper inside. She began to cry silently for the wickedness of the world when she read the words: LOOK OUT AT WHAT USED TO BE YOUR ROSES.

邪惡的可能性

艾德拉·斯特蘭沃思小姐優(yōu)雅地沿著中央大街走著,她要去雜貨店買點(diǎn)兒東西。太陽當(dāng)空照耀著,經(jīng)過昨夜一場大雨,空氣變得很是清新。在斯特蘭沃思小姐所住的小鎮(zhèn)上,一切看上去都像被洗刷過一樣,十分明亮。斯特蘭沃思小姐深深吸了一口氣,心想這世界上再?zèng)]有什么比清香的夏日更美好的了。

當(dāng)然,她認(rèn)識鎮(zhèn)子上的每一個(gè)人;她也喜歡告訴陌生人——那些游客,有時(shí)他們會穿過小鎮(zhèn),并停下來去贊嘆斯特蘭沃思小姐的玫瑰花——在她漫長的一生當(dāng)中,她沒有離開過小鎮(zhèn)一天。她已經(jīng)七十一歲了,斯特蘭沃思小姐告訴游客們這些話時(shí),嘴角上揚(yáng),露出了好看的小酒窩,有時(shí)她發(fā)現(xiàn)自己把這個(gè)小鎮(zhèn)都當(dāng)成她自己家的了。“我的祖父修建了普萊桑特大街上的第一棟房屋,”她說道,睜著她迷人的藍(lán)色的眼睛,充滿了驕傲的神情,“這棟房屋現(xiàn)在還矗立在這兒。我的家族住在這兒已經(jīng)超過一百多年了。我的祖母種了這些玫瑰,而我的母親照料著它們,就像我現(xiàn)在做的這樣。我看著我的小鎮(zhèn)在成長,我還記得當(dāng)老劉易斯先生開雜貨店的時(shí)候,那一年河水泛濫,洪水淹沒了低洼處的棚戶區(qū)。一些年輕人想把公園挪到今天新郵局前面的空地上,人們興奮不已。他們想在那兒立上伊?!ぐ瑐?1)的雕像?!彼固靥m沃思小姐皺著眉頭,聽上去語氣嚴(yán)肅,“但是,應(yīng)該立一個(gè)我祖父的雕像,如果沒有我祖父和木材場,這兒就根本不會有城鎮(zhèn)。”

雖然游客們時(shí)不時(shí)想要一些玫瑰,但是斯特蘭沃思小姐從不把她的玫瑰贈(zèng)人,這些玫瑰屬于普萊桑特大街??墒撬固靥m沃思小姐一想到有人想摘下這些玫瑰,把它們帶到陌生的城鎮(zhèn)和街道,就讓她不勝困擾。當(dāng)新牧師到來的時(shí)候,女士們會采摘花朵來裝飾教堂,斯特蘭沃思小姐則送了一大籃劍蘭花。她當(dāng)然也摘玫瑰,不過只會把它們放到碗里和花瓶里,擺到她祖父所建樓房內(nèi)部的四處。

在夏天的一個(gè)早上,斯特蘭沃思小姐沿著中央大街一路走下去的時(shí)候,她不得不每一分鐘都停下腳步,要么跟某人說早上好,要么問候某人的身體狀況。當(dāng)她走進(jìn)雜貨店的時(shí)候,會有半打的人從貨架和柜臺那兒轉(zhuǎn)過身子向她揮手致意,或者大聲問候她早上好。

“早上好,劉易斯先生。”斯特蘭沃思小姐終于找到機(jī)會對店主說道。劉易斯家族居住在鎮(zhèn)子上的時(shí)間幾乎和斯特蘭沃思家族一樣長,年輕的劉易斯一離開高中就來這家雜貨店工作了,斯特蘭沃思小姐也不再叫他湯米了,而開始稱呼他劉易斯先生,而他也不再叫她艾迪了,而開始稱呼她斯特蘭沃思小姐。他們在高中時(shí)一起上學(xué),一起去野炊,一起去參加高中的舞會和籃球比賽。但是現(xiàn)在劉易斯先生站在了雜貨店柜臺的后面,而斯特蘭沃思小姐仍然單身一人住在普萊桑特大街的斯特蘭沃思之家里。

“早上好。”劉易斯先生說道,緊接著又禮貌地補(bǔ)充了一句,“天氣不錯(cuò)!”

“今天的天氣真是不錯(cuò)。”斯特蘭沃思小姐說道,好像只憑她個(gè)人就能決定天氣的好壞?!罢埥o我剁塊肉吧,劉易斯先生,一小塊,瘦一點(diǎn)兒的小牛肉。那些草莓是從亞瑟·帕克的園子里摘的嗎?今年它們下來得有點(diǎn)兒早了?!?/p>

“今天早上他才給我送的貨?!眲⒁姿瓜壬f道。

“我要買一盒?!彼固靥m沃思小姐說道。劉易斯先生看起來挺擔(dān)心,她心想,有那么一會兒她有些猶豫,但是,她很快明白他肯定不是在擔(dān)心草莓。他看上去的確很疲憊,可平時(shí)他是個(gè)挺開朗的人呀,斯特蘭沃思小姐心想,差點(diǎn)兒要開口評論了,但是這是一個(gè)太私人化的話題,不能跟劉易斯先生提了?!霸賮硪还挢埣Z,還有,我想,還要一個(gè)西紅柿。”

劉易斯先生沒有吭聲,把她要的所有貨物都放到了柜臺上,等著她結(jié)賬。斯特蘭沃思小姐好奇地看著他,然后說道:“今天周二了,劉易斯先生,你忘了提醒我了?!?/p>

“是嗎?對不住?!?/p>

“想想你是不是忘了,我總在周二買茶葉呀,”斯特蘭沃思小姐溫和地說道,“請?jiān)俳o我拿四分之一磅的茶葉,劉易斯先生?!?/p>

“就這些了嗎,斯特蘭沃思小姐?”

“是的,謝謝你,劉易斯先生。多么好的天呀,對吧?”

“天真好?!眲⒁姿瓜壬胶偷?。

斯特蘭沃思小姐略微挪了挪身子,給哈珀太太在柜臺前面騰了點(diǎn)兒地方。“早上好,艾德拉?!惫晏泻舻?。斯特蘭沃思小姐也打著招呼:“早上好,瑪莎。”

“天不錯(cuò)。”哈珀太太說道。斯特蘭沃思小姐也說道:“是的,天真好?!倍鴦⒁姿瓜壬?,在哈珀太太的注視下,點(diǎn)了點(diǎn)頭。

“做糖霜蛋糕時(shí),我發(fā)現(xiàn)家里的糖用完了?!惫晏忉尩?。當(dāng)她打開手提包時(shí),她的手微微顫抖著。斯特蘭沃思小姐心里很納悶,飛快地瞟了她一眼,她是不是沒照顧好自己呀。哈珀太太已經(jīng)不再像以前那樣年輕了,斯特蘭沃思小姐心想。她也許應(yīng)該用點(diǎn)兒療效好、作用強(qiáng)的滋補(bǔ)品。

“瑪莎,”她說道,“你看上去氣色不太好?!?/p>

“我身體挺好的?!惫晏喍痰鼗貞?yīng)道。她把錢遞給了劉易斯先生,接過了找給她的零錢和糖,沒再說什么就走出了店門。斯特蘭沃思小姐在身后看著她,輕輕地?fù)u了搖頭,瑪莎看上去臉色確實(shí)不太好。

斯特蘭沃思小姐拿著一小袋剛買的東西走出了商店,來到了燦爛的陽光下,她又停下了腳步,在克瑞恩夫婦的小寶貝前笑瞇瞇地蹲了下去。唐和海倫·克瑞恩夫婦真的是她所認(rèn)識的兩位最令人著迷的年輕父母,她滿是溺愛地尋思著,看著做工精細(xì)的刺繡嬰兒帽,以及蕾絲花邊的嬰兒車的遮陽篷。

“這小姑娘長大了會是大富大貴之人?!彼龑悺た巳鸲髡f道。

海倫開口笑了,“我們就想讓她感受到自己是在富貴中長大,”她說道,“就像個(gè)公主。”

“公主有時(shí)也會碰到很多麻煩事,”斯特蘭沃思小姐干巴巴地說道,“小公主殿下現(xiàn)在多大了?”

“下周二就六個(gè)月了,”海倫·克瑞恩說道,同時(shí)低下頭全神貫注,充滿好奇地看著她的孩子,“但是我一直都很擔(dān)心她,你不認(rèn)為她應(yīng)該多活動(dòng)活動(dòng)嗎?比如說,試著坐起來?”

“真是杞人憂天。”斯特蘭沃思小姐說道,她心里覺得好笑,“每一次都會碰到一個(gè)這樣的年輕母親。”

“她似乎——不怎么聰明。”海倫·克瑞恩說道。

“胡說。一個(gè)寶寶一個(gè)樣。有些孩子確實(shí)要比其他的孩子發(fā)育快得多?!?/p>

“我母親也是這樣說的?!焙悺た巳鸲鏖_口笑了,看上去有點(diǎn)兒不好意思。

“我想你已經(jīng)讓年輕的唐對這樣的事實(shí)很感到難過了,他的女兒已經(jīng)六個(gè)月大了,可是至今還沒開始去學(xué)跳舞,是這樣嗎?”

“我沒跟他提這茬兒。我覺得她在我心里是這么的珍貴,我才會一直都很擔(dān)心她?!?/p>

“好吧,現(xiàn)在就跟寶寶說對不起,”斯特蘭沃思小姐說道,“她大概還在擔(dān)心你為什么總是一驚一乍的?!彼灶欁缘匚⑿χ?,又搖了搖花白的頭,繼續(xù)沿著陽光照耀下的街道走去。有一次,她停下來,問小比利·莫爾為什么沒有開著他爸爸耀眼的新車出來逛。還有一次,她和圖書館館員錢德勒小姐在圖書館外面聊了幾分鐘,聊可以借閱的新上架的小說,以及每年圖書館的撥款如何支出。錢德勒小姐似乎心不在焉,好像心里在想著別的事情。斯特蘭沃思小姐注意到了今天上午錢德勒小姐沒有花心思整理她的頭發(fā),她嘆了口氣,因?yàn)樗固靥m沃思小姐討厭馬馬虎虎的人。

斯特蘭沃思小姐思量,最近好像很多人都遇到了煩心事。就在昨天,斯圖爾特家十五歲的琳達(dá)哭著在他們家前面的小路上跑向了學(xué)校,根本不管旁人看她的目光。鎮(zhèn)子上的人以為她和哈里斯家的小子打架了,可下學(xué)后,他們跟往常一樣,又一起出現(xiàn)在汽水店里了,但兩個(gè)人看上去很嚴(yán)肅和憂郁。一定是在家里遇到麻煩了,人們推斷,而且感嘆現(xiàn)在的日子養(yǎng)兒育女太不容易了。

沿著街區(qū)走到一半的時(shí)候,斯特蘭沃思小姐就聞到了她的玫瑰的濃香,于是稍微加快了腳步。玫瑰的香氣意味著家園,而家園又意味著普萊桑特大街上的斯特蘭沃思之家。斯特蘭沃思小姐在自己家的前院門前停下了腳步,她習(xí)慣這樣做,總是懷著深深的喜悅欣賞著她的房子。只見沿著狹窄的草坪,兩旁開滿了紅色的、粉色的、白色的玫瑰,攀緣薔薇爬滿了門廊。房屋整齊的輪廓令人難以置信。房子是長形的,白色外墻像洗刷過似的。每扇窗戶都閃閃發(fā)光,所有的窗簾都筆直垂掛,甚至門前小道上的石塊都清掃得一塵不染。鎮(zhèn)子里的人們都很好奇年老的斯特蘭沃思小姐怎么能把這個(gè)老宅子打理成這樣。甚至人們還口口相傳著這樣一件逸事:有一次,一位外地游客誤把她的房子當(dāng)成了當(dāng)?shù)氐牟┪镳^,把整棟房子瀏覽了個(gè)遍,竟然沒發(fā)現(xiàn)自己的錯(cuò)誤。整個(gè)鎮(zhèn)子為斯特蘭沃思小姐,還有她的玫瑰、她的古屋感到自豪,他們一起隨著歲月成長。

斯特蘭沃思小姐走上門前的臺階,用鑰匙打開了前門,走進(jìn)廚房,把買來的東西放下。她仔細(xì)考慮是否應(yīng)該給自己倒一杯茶,最后還是認(rèn)為這個(gè)時(shí)候已經(jīng)距離午飯?zhí)?,喝茶會讓她沒有胃口品嘗剛買的小牛肉。她走進(jìn)明亮又可愛的起居室。起居室是從她母親和祖母的手上傳下來的,現(xiàn)在仍然光彩照人,椅子包裹著明艷的印花棉布,窗簾也是同樣花色的布料。所有的家具都很簡單、潔凈,地板上元寶針織成的地毯是斯特蘭沃思小姐祖母和曾祖母的作品。斯特蘭沃思小姐在窗前小桌上的花瓶里擺放著紅玫瑰,此時(shí)屋里充滿了玫瑰花香。

斯特蘭沃思小姐走到角落中的一張窄窄的書桌旁,用鑰匙打開了抽屜。她從來不知道什么時(shí)候她想寫信,所以她把信箋放在里面,平時(shí)把抽屜鎖上。斯特蘭沃思小姐通常用的信箋是濃重的奶油色的,信頭上印著“斯特蘭沃思之家”的字樣。然而,她要寫別的信件時(shí),會用一摞不同顏色的信箋,信箋是從當(dāng)?shù)氐膱?bào)亭買來的。她用粉色、綠色、藍(lán)色和黃色來把一摞彩色的紙分層,這一習(xí)慣幾乎成了全鎮(zhèn)人的笑談。鎮(zhèn)子上的人買這種紙來寫臨時(shí)的、非正式的便條和購物清單。據(jù)說,人們收到一張寫在藍(lán)色紙上的便條是司空見慣的事,某某人很快就需要一摞新的紙了——就是指斯特蘭沃思小姐,說明她已經(jīng)用到藍(lán)色那一層了。每個(gè)人都用相配套的信封來放置食譜,或者保存其他零碎的小東西,甚至在上學(xué)的午餐盒里,用它來盛小點(diǎn)心。劉易斯先生有時(shí)把它給了孩子們來裝一分錢的散糖。

雖然斯特蘭沃思小姐的書桌里整齊地?cái)[放著羽毛筆,這些筆曾經(jīng)屬于她的祖父,書桌里還有一支灑金鋼筆,是她父親傳下來的。斯特蘭沃思小姐寫信時(shí),總愛用一小截鉛筆頭,而且用孩子氣的木板印刷字體來寫這些信。她一般在回家的路上就已經(jīng)把信件的內(nèi)容打好腹稿了,但是在落筆之前,她還是思考了一小會兒。她在一張粉色的信箋上寫道:你以前一定沒見過白癡嬰兒吧?有些人就不應(yīng)該要孩子,不是嗎?

她對這封信很滿意,因?yàn)樗矚g把事情辦得恰如其分,漂漂亮亮。當(dāng)她寫錯(cuò)字的時(shí)候——她時(shí)不時(shí)地會寫錯(cuò)字——或者一頁上每行字的間距不均勻時(shí),她就會把這一頁紙廢棄,扔進(jìn)廚房的爐子里馬上燒掉。當(dāng)事情不得不去做時(shí),斯特蘭沃思小姐絕不會拖延。

考慮了一分鐘之后,她決定還得再另寫一封信,也許要寫給哈珀太太,她已經(jīng)給哈珀太太寄過好幾封信了,但這封信還可以接著寫。這次,她選擇了一張綠色的信箋,而且寫得很快:在你周二離開橋牌俱樂部的時(shí)候,你沒發(fā)現(xiàn)大家究竟因?yàn)槭裁词露笮Σ恢箚??或者這事做妻子的真的只能最后知道嗎?

斯特蘭沃思小姐從不關(guān)心事實(shí),她寫的內(nèi)容全部都是模棱兩可、讓人生疑的東西。如果沒有收到斯特蘭沃思小姐信件的話,劉易斯先生可能絕對想象不到他的孫子會從商店的錢柜里偷零錢。如果斯特蘭沃思小姐沒有給他們寄信,讓他們睜大雙眼的話,圖書館的管理員錢德勒女士,以及琳達(dá)·斯圖爾特的父母,也可能會毫不懷疑地生活,絲毫不會注意到可能的邪惡就潛伏在身邊。如果琳達(dá)·斯圖爾特和哈里斯家的男孩真有什么事的話,斯特蘭沃思小姐一定會感到震驚的。然而,只要這世界上還存在未被遏制的邪惡,那讓自己鎮(zhèn)上的人們警惕,就是斯特蘭沃思小姐的責(zé)任。對錢德勒小姐來說,想了解雪萊先生第一任妻子的死因究竟是什么,比她一無所知地去冒險(xiǎn)要明智得多。這個(gè)世界上邪惡的人很多,但鎮(zhèn)子上只有一個(gè)斯特蘭沃思小姐,再說,她自己本身也愛寫信。

在想了一會兒之后,她在信封上寫下了唐·克瑞恩的地址,用一個(gè)粉色的信封配上粉色的信箋。她好奇唐·克瑞恩是否會給他妻子看這封信。然后,她又寫了第二個(gè)信封,綠色的,給哈珀太太。這時(shí),她腦子里又有了一個(gè)想法,她選了一張藍(lán)色的信箋,寫道:你絕對不了解醫(yī)生,記住他們也是人,就像我們其他的人一樣也需要錢。試想如果手術(shù)刀稍微偏那么一點(diǎn)兒的話。伯恩斯醫(yī)生從你的侄子那兒拿到費(fèi)用和紅包了嗎?

她在藍(lán)色信封上寫下了老福斯特太太的名字,她在下個(gè)月要做一個(gè)手術(shù)。她早先還想到要多寫一封信,寫給校董會的主席,去問一問一位化學(xué)老師,就像比利·莫爾的父親怎么會有錢去買一輛敞篷車。但是她一下子有點(diǎn)兒厭倦寫信了,一天寫三封信可以了。她明天再多寫一些,這些信不是馬上就能寫完的。

她過去一直寫信——有時(shí)一周每天寫兩或三封,有時(shí)一個(gè)月不超過一封——在過去的一年中。當(dāng)然,她從來不會得到任何回信,因?yàn)樗龔牟缓灻?。如果她被人問起來,她會告訴人家,她的名字叫艾德拉·斯特蘭沃思,一個(gè)多年來在鎮(zhèn)上受人尊重的名字,不能簽署在那種垃圾信件上。她所在的鎮(zhèn)子必須保持清新、和美的氣氛,但是隨處可見人們的貪婪、邪惡和墮落,需要小心提防。這個(gè)世界是如此之大,但只剩下一個(gè)斯特蘭沃思為人類而戰(zhàn)了。斯特蘭沃思小姐嘆了口氣,把她的書桌鎖上,然后把這幾封信放進(jìn)了她大大的、黑色皮手提包中,準(zhǔn)備在傍晚散步時(shí),把它們寄走。

她把小牛肉烤得很香,把西紅柿切成條,又倒了一杯泡好的茶,在她餐廳的桌子旁坐下來準(zhǔn)備享用她的午餐。餐廳可以容納二十二個(gè)人,如果有必要的話,可以在廳里加上第二張桌子。光線從餐廳高高的窗戶中透進(jìn)來,坐在溫暖的陽光中,看著外面大片的玫瑰,拿著沉沉的、古老的銀制餐具,還有精美的透亮的瓷器,斯特蘭沃思小姐很愜意;她真不應(yīng)該操心那么多別的事情了。不管怎么說,她想,人們必須優(yōu)雅地生活,她又抿了一口茶。后來,她把盤子、杯子、小碟都洗凈晾干,放回了架子上原來的位置,把銀器也放回了紅木制的銀器盒子中。斯特蘭沃思小姐走上精致的樓梯,進(jìn)了自己的臥室,這間臥室是俯瞰玫瑰花的前屋,一直是她母親和祖母的房間,她們的皇冠德貝瓷的梳妝用具和皮草服裝都放在這兒,她們的扇子、銀背的梳子、自己用的盛玫瑰的碗也放在這間臥室里。斯特蘭沃思小姐在床頭柜上放了一個(gè)盛著白玫瑰的碗。

她拉上了簾子,掀開了床上玫瑰色的床罩,脫了衣裙和鞋子,疲憊地躺到床上。她知道不會有門鈴或者電話鈴響起,在斯特蘭沃思小姐午休期間,鎮(zhèn)上沒人敢打擾她的小憩。她睡著了,深陷在玫瑰花濃烈的香氣中。

從午睡中醒來,她又在花園里工作了一小會兒,因?yàn)樘鞜幔芸旎氐搅宋堇?。接下來她該?zhǔn)備晚飯了。她蘸著淡黃油汁,吃了從自己的花園里摘的蘆筍,還有一個(gè)半生不熟的水煮蛋。在吃晚飯的時(shí)候,她用自己的小收音機(jī),聽了晚間新聞廣播和一個(gè)古典音樂節(jié)目。在她洗完碗,把廚房拾掇整齊后,便拿起帽子——斯特蘭沃思小姐的帽子在鎮(zhèn)上可是眾所周知的,人們認(rèn)為她是從她母親和祖母那兒繼承了這些帽子——她隨后鎖上了前門,把手提包夾在胳膊下面,開始晚上的散步了。她跟琳達(dá)·斯圖爾特的父親點(diǎn)頭致意,他正在涼爽的傍晚洗車呢,她想,他看上去好像有麻煩了。

在鎮(zhèn)子上只有一個(gè)地方能寄信,那就是新建的郵局,紅色的磚墻和銀色的字母磨得閃閃發(fā)亮。雖然斯特蘭沃思小姐從來沒有處心積慮地盤算如何寄信,但是她總是能選擇好時(shí)機(jī)秘密地做這件事。當(dāng)然,讓大家看見她寄信是不明智的。因此,她計(jì)劃好了散步的時(shí)間,正好能在天剛擦黑的時(shí)候到達(dá)郵局,這個(gè)時(shí)候天色能把樹木的輪廓、人臉的模樣變得暗淡模糊。但沒人能把斯特蘭沃思小姐搞錯(cuò),因?yàn)閺乃齼?yōu)雅的走路的姿勢和窸窣作響的裙擺就能一眼認(rèn)出她。

郵局周圍總有一群年輕人,其中歲數(shù)最小的孩子在馬路上滑著旱冰,

用戶搜索

瘋狂英語 英語語法 新概念英語 走遍美國 四級聽力 英語音標(biāo) 英語入門 發(fā)音 美語 四級 新東方 七年級 賴世雄 zero是什么意思梅州市金利南苑(楣桿北路23號)英語學(xué)習(xí)交流群

  • 頻道推薦
  • |
  • 全站推薦
  • 推薦下載
  • 網(wǎng)站推薦