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·馬丁·伊登 >  第44篇

雙語《馬丁·伊登》 第四十四章

所屬教程:譯林版·馬丁·伊登

瀏覽:

2022年07月26日

手機版
掃描二維碼方便學(xué)習(xí)和分享

CHAPTER XLIV

Mr. Morse met Martin in the office of the Hotel Metropole. Whether he had happened there just casually, intent on other affairs, or whether he had come there for the direct purpose of inviting him to dinner, Martin never could quite make up his mind, though he inclined toward the second hypothesis. At any rate, invited to dinner he was by Mr. Morse—Ruth’s father, who had forbidden him the house and broken off the engagement.

Martin was not angry. He was not even on his dignity. He tolerated Mr. Morse, wondering the while how it felt to eat such humble pie. He did not decline the invitation. Instead, he put it off with vagueness and indefiniteness and inquired after the family, particularly after Mrs. Morse and Ruth. He spoke her name without hesitancy, naturally, though secretly surprised that he had had no inward quiver, no old, familiar increase of pulse and warm surge of blood.

He had many invitations to dinner, some of which he accepted. Persons got themselves introduced to him in order to invite him to dinner. And he went on puzzling over the little thing that was becoming a great thing. Bernard Higginbotham invited him to dinner. He puzzled the harder. He remembered the days of his desperate starvation when no one invited him to dinner. That was the time he needed dinners, and went weak and faint for lack of them and lost weight from sheer famine. That was the paradox of it. When he wanted dinners, no one gave them to him, and now that he could buy a hundred thousand dinners and was losing his appetite, dinners were thrust upon him right and left. But why? There was no justice in it, no merit on his part. He was no different. All the work he had done was even at that time work performed. Mr. and Mrs. Morse had condemned him for an idler and a shirk and through Ruth had urged that he take a clerk’s position in an office. Furthermore, they had been aware of his work performed. Manuscript after manuscript of his had been turned over to them by Ruth. They had read them. It was the very same work that had put his name in all the papers, and, it was his name being in all the papers that led them to invite him.

One thing was certain: the Morses had not cared to have him for himself or for his work. Therefore they could not want him now for himself or for his work, but for the fame that was his, because he was somebody amongst men, and—why not?—because he had a hundred thousand dollars or so. That was the way bourgeois society valued a man, and who was he to expect it otherwise? But he was proud. He disdained such valuation. He desired to be valued for himself, or for his work, which, after all, was an expression of himself. That was the way Lizzie valued him. The work, with her, did not even count. She valued him, himself. That was the way Jimmy, the plumber, and all the old gang valued him. That had been proved often enough in the days when he ran with them; it had been proved that Sunday at Shell Mound Park. His work could go hang. What they liked, and were willing to scrap for, was just Mart Eden, one of the bunch and a pretty good guy.

Then there was Ruth. She had liked him for himself, that was indisputable. And yet, much as she had liked him she had liked the bourgeois standard of valuation more. She had opposed his writing, and principally, it seemed to him, because it did not earn money. That had been her criticism of his “Love-cycle.” She, too, had urged him to get a job. It was true, she refined it to “position,” but it meant the same thing, and in his own mind the old nomenclature stuck. He had read her all that he wrote—poems, stories, essays—“Wiki-Wiki,” “The Shame of the Sun,” everything. And she had always and consistently urged him to get a job, to go to work—good God!—as if he hadn’t been working, robbing sleep, exhausting life, in order to be worthy of her.

So the little thing grew bigger. He was healthy and normal, ate regularly, slept long hours, and yet the growing little thing was becoming an obsession. Work performed. The phrase haunted his brain. He sat opposite Bernard Higginbotham at a heavy Sunday dinner over Higginbotham’s Cash Store, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from shouting out:—

“It was work performed! And now you feed me, when then you let me starve, forbade me your house, and damned me because I wouldn’t get a job. And the work was already done, all done. And now, when I speak, you check the thought unuttered on your lips and hang on my lips and pay respectful attention to whatever I choose to say. I tell you your party is rotten and filled with grafters, and instead of flying into a rage you hum and haw and admit there is a great deal in what I say. And why? Because I’m famous; because I’ve a lot of money. Not because I’m Martin Eden, a pretty good fellow and not particularly a fool. I could tell you the moon is made of green cheese and you would subscribe to the notion, at least you would not repudiate it, because I’ve got dollars, mountains of them. And it was all done long ago; it was work performed, I tell you, when you spat upon me as the dirt under your feet.”

But Martin did not shout out. The thought gnawed in his brain, an unceasing torment, while he smiled and succeeded in being tolerant. As he grew silent, Bernard Higginbotham got the reins and did the talking. He was a success himself, and proud of it. He was self-made. No one had helped him. He owed no man. He was fulfilling his duty as a citizen and bringing up a large family. And there was Higginbotham’s Cash Store, that monument of his own industry and ability. He loved Higginbotham’s Cash Store as some men loved their wives. He opened up his heart to Martin, showed with what keenness and with what enormous planning he had made the store. And he had plans for it, ambitious plans. The neighborhood was growing up fast. The store was really too small. If he had more room, he would be able to put in a score of labor-saving and money-saving improvements. And he would do it yet. He was straining every effort for the day when he could buy the adjoining lot and put up another two-story frame building. The upstairs he could rent, and the whole ground-floor of both buildings would be Higginbotham’s Cash Store. His eyes glistened when he spoke of the new sign that would stretch clear across both buildings.

Martin forgot to listen. The refrain of “Work performed,” in his own brain, was drowning the other’s clatter. The refrain maddened him, and he tried to escape from it.

“How much did you say it would cost?” he asked suddenly.

His brother-in-law paused in the middle of an expatiation on the business opportunities of the neighborhood. He hadn’t said how much it would cost. But he knew. He had figured it out a score of times.

“At the way lumber is now,” he said, “four thousand could do it.”

“Including the sign?”

“I didn’t count on that. It’d just have to come, onc’t the buildin’ was there.”

“And the ground?”

“Three thousand more.”

He leaned forward, licking his lips, nervously spreading and closing his fingers, while he watched Martin write a check. When it was passed over to him, he glanced at the amount-seven thousand dollars.

“I—I can’t afford to pay more than six per cent,” he said huskily.

Martin wanted to laugh, but, instead, demanded:—

“How much would that be?”

“Lemme see. Six per cent—six times seven—four hundred an’ twenty.”

“That would be thirty-five dollars a month, wouldn’t it?”

Higginbotham nodded.

“Then, if you’ve no objection, well arrange it this way.” Martin glanced at Gertrude. “You can have the principal to keep for yourself, if you’ll use the thirty-five dollars a month for cooking and washing and scrubbing. The seven thousand is yours if you’ll guarantee that Gertrude does no more drudgery. Is it a go?”

Mr. Higginbotham swallowed hard. That his wife should do no more housework was an affront to his thrifty soul. The magnificent present was the coating of a pill, a bitter pill. That his wife should not work! It gagged him.

“All right, then,” Martin said. “I’ll pay the thirty-five a month, and—”

He reached across the table for the check. But Bernard Higginbotham got his hand on it first, crying:

“I accept! I accept!”

When Martin got on the electric car, he was very sick and tired. He looked up at the assertive sign.

“The swine,” he groaned. “The swine, the swine.”

When Mackintosh’s Magazine published“The Palmist,”featuring it with decorations by Berthier and with two pictures by Wenn, Hermann von Schmidt forgot that he had called the verses obscene. He announced that his wife had inspired the poem, saw to it that the news reached the ears of a reporter, and submitted to an interview by a staff writer who was accompanied by a staff photographer and a staff artist. The result was a full page in a Sunday supplement, filled with photographs and idealized drawings of Marian, with many intimate details of Martin Eden and his family, and with the full text of “The Palmist” in large type, and republished by special permission of Mackintosh’s Magazine.It caused quite a stir in the neighborhood, and good housewives were proud to have the acquaintances of the great writer’s sister, while those who had not made haste to cultivate it. Hermann von Schmidt chuckled in his little repair shop and decided to order a new lathe. “Better than advertising,” he told Marian, “and it costs nothing.”

“We’d better have him to dinner,” she suggested.

And to dinner Martin came, making himself agreeable with the fat wholesale butcher and his fatter wife—important folk, they, likely to be of use to a rising young man like Hermann Von Schmidt. No less a bait, however, had been required to draw them to his house than his great brother-in-law. Another man at table who had swallowed the same bait was the superintendent of the Pacific Coast agencies for the Asa Bicycle Company. Him Von Schmidt desired to please and propitiate because from him could be obtained the Oakland agency for the bicycle. So Hermann von Schmidt found it a goodly asset to have Martin for a brother-in-law, but in his heart of hearts he couldn’t understand where it all came in. In the silent watches of the night, while his wife slept, he had floundered through Martin’s books and poems, and decided that the world was a fool to buy them.

And in his heart of hearts Martin understood the situation only too well, as he leaned back and gloated at Von Schmidt’s head, in fancy punching it well-nigh off of him, sending blow after blow home just right—the chuckle-headed Dutchman! One thing he did like about him, however. Poor as he was, and determined to rise as he was, he nevertheless hired one servant to take the heavy work off of Marian’s hands. Martin talked with the superintendent of the Asa agencies, and after dinner he drew him aside with Hermann, whom he backed financially for the best bicycle store with fittings in Oakland. He went further, and in a private talk with Hermann told him to keep his eyes open for an automobile agency and garage, for there was no reason that he should not be able to run both establishments successfully.

With tears in her eyes and her arms around his neck, Marian, at parting, told Martin how much she loved him and always had loved him. It was true, there was a perceptible halt midway in her assertion, which she glossed over with more tears and kisses and incoherent stammerings, and which Martin inferred to be her appeal for forgiveness for the time she had lacked faith in him and insisted on his getting a job.

“He can’t never keep his money, That’s sure,” Hermann von Schmidt confided to his wife. “He got mad when I spoke of interest, an’ he said damn the principal and if I mentioned it again, he’d punch my Dutch head off. That’s what he said—my Dutch head. But he’s all right, even if he ain’t no business man. He’s given me my chance, an’ he’s all right.”

Invitations to dinner poured in on Martin; and the more they poured, the more he puzzled. He sat, the guest of honor, at an Arden Club banquet, with men of note whom he had heard about and read about all his life;and they told him how, when they had read “The Ring of Bells” in the Transcontinental, and“The Peri and the Pearl”in The Hornet, they had immediately picked him for a winner. My God! and I was hungry and in rags, he thought to himself. Why didn’t you give me a dinner then? Then was the time. It was work performed. If you are feeding me now for work performed, why did you not feed me then when I needed it? Not one word in “The Ring of Bells,” nor in “The Peri and the Pearl” has been changed. No; you’re not feeding me now for work performed. You are feeding me because everybody else is feeding me and because it is an honor to feed me. You are feeding me now because you are herd animals; because you are part of the mob; because the one blind, automatic thought in the mob-mind just now is to feed me. And where does Martin Eden and the work Martin Eden performed come in in all this? he asked himself plaintively, then arose to respond cleverly and wittily to a clever and witty toast.

So it went. Wherever he happened to be—at the Press Club, at the Redwood Club, at pink teas and literary gatherings—always were remembered “The Ring of Bells” and “The Peri and the Pearl” when they were first published. And always was Martin’s maddening and unuttered demand: Why didn’t you feed me then? It was work performed. “The Ring of Bells” and “The Peri and the Pearl” are not changed one iota. They were just as artistic, just as worth while, then as now. But you are not feeding me for their sake, nor for the sake of anything else I have written. you’re feeding me because it is the style of feeding just now, because the whole mob is crazy with the idea of feeding Martin Eden.

And often, at such times, he would abruptly see slouch in among the company a young hoodlum in square-cut coat and under a stiff-rim Stetson hat. It happened to him at the Gallina Society in Oakland one afternoon. As he rose from his chair and stepped forward across the platform, he saw stalk through the wide door at the rear of the great room the young hoodlum with the square-cut coat and stiff-rim hat. Five hundred fashionably gowned women turned their heads, so intent and steadfast was Martin’s gaze, to see what he was seeing. But they saw only the empty centre aisle. He saw the young tough lurching down that aisle and wondered if he would remove the stiff-rim which never yet had he seen him without. Straight down the aisle he came, and up the platform. Martin could have wept over that youthful shade of himself, when he thought of all that lay before him. Across the platform he swaggered, right up to Martin, and into the foreground of Martin’s consciousness disappeared. The five hundred women applauded softly with gloved hands, seeking to encourage the bashful great man who was their guest. And Martin shook the vision from his brain, smiled, and began to speak.

The Superintendent of Schools, good old man, stopped Martin on the street and remembered him, recalling seances in his office when Martin was expelled from school for fighting.

“I read your ‘Ring of Bells’ in one of the magazines quite a time ago,”he said. “It was as good as Poe. Splendid, I said at the time, splendid!”

Yes, and twice in the months that followed you passed me on the street and did not know me, Martin almost said aloud. Each time I was hungry and heading for the pawnbroker. Yet it was work performed. You did not know me then. Why do you know me now?

“I was remarking to my wife only the other day,” the other was saying,“wouldn’t it be a good idea to have you out to dinner some time? And she quite agreed with me. Yes, she quite agreed with me.”

“Dinner?” Martin said so sharply that it was almost a snarl.

“Why, yes, yes, dinner, you know—just pot luck with us, with your old superintendent, you rascal,” he uttered nervously, poking Martin in an attempt at jocular fellowship.

Martin went down the street in a daze. He stopped at the corner and looked about him vacantly.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he murmured at last. “The old fellow was afraid of me.”

第四十四章

摩斯先生在都市飯店的前臺見到了馬丁,不知是為了別的事碰巧到了那里,還是專門請他吃飯來的。馬丁心里可吃不準(zhǔn),不過他倒傾向于第二種假設(shè)。不管怎樣,請他赴宴的是摩斯先生——露絲的父親,一個曾經(jīng)禁止他上門、解除了他和露絲婚約的人。

馬丁沒有生氣,甚至連架子也沒有擺。他原諒了摩斯先生,但心里卻感到納悶,不知對方如此低三下四究竟是怎么一種滋味。他沒有直接拒絕邀請,而只是用含糊不清、模棱兩可的話搪塞了一下,并問候了他家里的人,特別是摩斯夫人和露絲。他非常自然、毫不遲疑地說出了露絲的名字,但未免有點吃驚,因為他的心不顫不抖,沒有像昔日常有的那樣脈搏加速跳動、熱血奔涌。

請他吃飯的人絡(luò)繹不絕;他只接受了其中一部分人的邀請。有些人為了能請他吃飯,特意托人介紹跟他認(rèn)識。對于這樣一件愈演愈烈的小事,他一直都想不通。伯納德·希金波森也請他去吃飯,這讓他越加困惑。他不由想起,在他餓得死去活來的那些日子,沒有一個人請他去吃飯。那時他多么需要有頓飯吃??!由于肚中無食,他手足無力、頭昏眼花,餓得皮包骨頭。世間的事真是矛盾。當(dāng)他想吃飯的時候,沒有人發(fā)出邀請,而現(xiàn)在他能買得起成千成萬頓飯,食欲一天不如一天,請他吃飯的人卻紛至沓來。到底是為什么?這其中無道理可言,也不是因為他本人的價值。他還是從前的他,甚至連他所有的作品都是在那段時期創(chuàng)作的。摩斯夫婦曾責(zé)怪他游手好閑、逃避工作,還借露絲之口要他到事務(wù)所當(dāng)個職員。他們明明知道他在寫東西呀,因為露絲把他的一份份稿件都交給他們過目了呀。正是由于那些稿件,他的名字才上了所有的報紙,而正是因為他的名字上了所有的報紙,他們才請他去赴宴。

鐵的事實是:摩斯夫婦當(dāng)初看不上他或他的事業(yè),所以不愿請他吃飯。因此,現(xiàn)在請他也不可能是看上了他或他的事業(yè),而是看上了他的名聲,因為他是個人尖尖——不請他請誰呢?——還因為他手里握著約十萬塊錢。這正是資產(chǎn)階級社會衡量一個人的標(biāo)準(zhǔn),難道還能指望著他們用別的標(biāo)準(zhǔn)去衡量嗎?不過,他是有自尊心的,鄙夷這樣的標(biāo)準(zhǔn)。他渴望別人看重的是他本人,或者是代表著他本人的作品。這是麗茜衡量他的標(biāo)準(zhǔn)。她把他的事業(yè)甚至看得一錢不值,而只看重他本人。管子工吉米以及那些老朋友也是拿這種眼光看待他的。跟他們在一起廝混時,這一點已被反復(fù)證實過——那個星期天在貝冢公園就是一個例子。他的事業(yè)是個狗屁。他們所喜歡并愿意為之而戰(zhàn)的是馬丁·伊登這個人——一個老伙伴和好朋友。

那么,露絲的態(tài)度呢?她喜歡他本人,這是無可置疑的??杀M管她喜歡他本人,她更喜歡的還是資產(chǎn)階級衡量人的標(biāo)準(zhǔn)。他認(rèn)為,她反對他寫作主要是因為憑寫作賺不來錢。她對他的《愛情組詩》就提過這樣的意見。她也曾催促他去找工作。不錯,她用的是“職業(yè)”這樣一個高雅的字眼,但意思都一樣,印在他腦海中的還是原來的那個名稱。他給她念他的所有作品——詩歌、故事、論文——《維基-維基》、《太陽的恥辱》等等??伤偸且粋€勁地催他去找份工作。天??!為了能配得上她,他拼命少睡覺,耗盡了精力寫作。但這好像就不是工作似的!

于是,這件小事愈變愈大。他身體健康、精神正常,按時吃飯,睡眠充足,然而這件愈變愈大的小事卻沉重地壓在他的心頭。他的腦海中不斷閃出這樣一個詞語——“已完稿的作品”。一個星期天他來到希金波森零售店的樓上,坐在伯納德·希金波森的對面吃一頓豐盛的晚宴時,他費了很大的勁才克制住自己,沒有喊出這樣的話:

“那些都是已完稿的作品呀!現(xiàn)在你請我來吃飯,可那時你看著我挨餓,不準(zhǔn)我進(jìn)你家的門,并詛咒我,還不是因為我不愿去找工作干。豈不知那些作品已經(jīng)完稿,全都寫得停停當(dāng)當(dāng)。而今我說話時,你心里盡管有自己的想法,卻硬是不說出口來,隨我說什么你都恭恭敬敬地聆聽。我說你們這些人庸俗透頂,全是市儈小人,你非但不勃然大怒,反而嗯嗯呃呃地承認(rèn)我的話大有道理,原因何在?因為我出了名,口袋里有的是錢,而不是因為我是馬丁·伊登——一個非常好的人,一個有點頭腦的人。如果我說月亮是生乳酪做成的,你也會同意我的看法,至少不會持否定的態(tài)度,還不是因為我有許多許多的錢。那些作品早已完稿;告訴你吧,正當(dāng)你唾棄我,視我如糞土的時候,那些作品就已經(jīng)寫完啦?!?/p>

馬丁雖然沒有喊出聲來,但這些念頭卻在咬嚙著他的大腦,不停地折磨著他。不過,他面掛微笑,顯出一副寬容大度的樣子。他的話愈來愈少,而伯納德·希金波森粉墨登場,滔滔不絕講了起來。他說自己也取得了成就,并為此感到自豪。他是個無師自通的人才,沒有人幫助過他,所以他不欠任何人的情。作為一個公民,他盡到了自己的責(zé)任,養(yǎng)活了一大家子人。希金波森零售店是一個紀(jì)念碑,說明了他的勤奮和能力。他愛希金波森零售店,就像有些人愛自己的妻子一樣。他對馬丁推心置腹,說他耗費了大量的精力和心力才建起了這個商店。對于這座零售店,他是有遠(yuǎn)大抱負(fù)的。眼看著該地區(qū)飛速發(fā)展,店面的確顯得太小了些。如果地方再大些,他可以提出一二十種省力省錢的改進(jìn)方法。他早晚都會如愿以償?shù)?。他正在盡一切努力,指望著有一天能把旁邊的地基買下來,蓋一幢兩層的木板房。他可以把樓上的房間租出去,而兩幢房的底層都可以充當(dāng)希金波森零售店的店面。當(dāng)說到將會有一塊新招牌橫貫兩幢房的門面時,他眼中散發(fā)出了閃亮的光彩。

馬丁忘了聽對方講話?!耙淹旮宓淖髌贰边@個短語在他的大腦中轟鳴著,淹沒了對方的嘮叨。那轟鳴聲叫他發(fā)狂,他真想擺脫那聲音。

“你剛才說需要多少錢?”他突然問道。

他的那個正在詳細(xì)講解該地區(qū)生意經(jīng)的姐夫收住了話頭。他剛才沒提需要多少錢,但他心里清楚,因為他已經(jīng)盤算過好幾十遍了。

“按眼下木料的價格,四千塊錢就夠了。”他說道。

“招牌也包括在內(nèi)嗎?”

“這我可沒有算進(jìn)去。房子一蓋好,招牌是少不了的?!?/p>

“還有地基呢?”

“再加上三千塊錢吧?!?/p>

他把身子前傾,望著馬丁簽支票,舌頭舔著嘴唇,激動地將手指頭一張一合,當(dāng)他接過支票時,用眼一瞟,發(fā)現(xiàn)上面的數(shù)目是七千塊錢。

“我——我頂多只能付六厘的年息?!彼硢≈曇粽f。

馬丁真想大笑一場,可是沒笑出聲,卻這樣問道:

“那有多少利息呢?”

“讓我算算。按六厘的利息率——六乘七——總共四百二十塊錢?!?/p>

“每月三十五塊錢,對吧?”

希金波森點了點頭。

“那好,如果你不反對,咱們這樣做吧?!瘪R丁說著望了一眼葛特露,“倘若你每個月用這三十五塊錢雇人做飯、洗衣服和擦地板,你可以把這筆本金留著自己支配。假如你能保證葛特露不再干雜務(wù),這七千塊錢就屬于你了。愿意不愿意?”

希金波森先生覺得十分委屈。讓他的妻子再也不干家務(wù),這對他的節(jié)儉精神簡直是一種侮辱。眼前的禮物是裹著糖衣的藥丸,是一枚苦澀的藥丸。想想吧,讓他的妻子不干活!這真是叫他作難。

“那好吧,”馬丁說,“我每個月出三十五塊錢,這張——”

他隔著桌子伸手去拿支票??刹{德·希金波森搶先用手把支票按住,嚷嚷道:

“我同意!我同意!”

待登上電車時,馬丁感到又厭煩又疲倦。他抬起眼睛望了望那塊刺眼的招牌。

“畜生,”他痛苦地咕噥著,“畜生,實在庸俗?!?/p>

《手相專家》附著白蒂埃的裝飾畫以及威恩的兩幅插圖,由《麥金托許氏雜志》推出后,赫爾曼·馮·施米特竟忘了自己曾把這篇作品稱為下流詩。他聲稱是自己的妻子給了作者以靈感,并讓這消息傳到了一個記者的耳朵里。而后便接受了一位專欄作家、專欄攝影師和專欄畫家的采訪。結(jié)果,星期日增刊用整整一個版面登載了瑪麗安的照片和理想化的畫像,登載了許多關(guān)于馬丁·伊登及其家里人的生活私事,還得到《麥金托許氏雜志》的特別恩準(zhǔn),以大號鉛字重新全文刊出了《手相專家》。街坊鄰里一下子熱鬧了起來,那些認(rèn)識這位偉大作家妹妹的幸運主婦們都感到非常自豪,而那些不認(rèn)識的也急忙湊上來培養(yǎng)感情。赫爾曼·馮·施米特在自家的小修理鋪里暗自高興,決定再添置一臺新機床?!斑@比登廣告強,”他對瑪麗安說,“而且一分錢也不用花?!?/p>

“最好請他來吃頓飯?!爆旣惏步ㄗh說。

馬丁來赴宴時,對那位肥頭大耳的肉食批發(fā)商和更為肥胖的批發(fā)商夫人和顏悅色——他們可是重要人物哩,赫爾曼·馮·施米特這樣一個正在發(fā)跡的年輕人很可能會用上他們。然而,吸引他們到家里來,非得用他的這個偉大的小舅子作誘餌不可。席間還有一位也吞下了同樣的誘餌,此人便是阿薩自行車公司太平洋沿岸經(jīng)銷處的總負(fù)責(zé)人。馮·施米特極想巴結(jié)討好這個人,因為從他手中可以得到奧克蘭地區(qū)自行車的經(jīng)銷權(quán)。赫爾曼·馮·施米特覺得有馬丁這樣一位小舅子,就等于擁有一筆可觀的財產(chǎn),可他心里卻弄不懂這到底是怎么回事。更深人靜,待妻子睡著了的時候,他把馬丁出的書和詩集胡亂翻閱了一通,心想世上的人真蠢,竟花錢買這種東西。

馬丁心明如鏡,把這一切都看了個透。他向后仰著身子,得意地凝視著馮·施米特的腦袋瓜,想象著自己揮起拳頭,在又狠又準(zhǔn)地猛擊,一拳一拳揍得這個呆頭呆腦的荷蘭佬屁滾尿流。不過,有一點他倒是挺滿意的。馮·施米特雖然不富裕,而且有著發(fā)財?shù)臎Q心,但他還是雇了個用人,不讓瑪麗安干繁重的家務(wù)。馬丁和阿薩經(jīng)銷處的總負(fù)責(zé)人進(jìn)行了交談,飯后把他跟赫爾曼拉到一旁,說自己愿意出資在奧克蘭為赫爾曼建一個最出色的、設(shè)備齊全的自行車行。這還不算,他在跟赫爾曼私下談話時,要他留心物色一個汽車經(jīng)銷處和修理廠,因為完全可以兩件生意一塊做,照樣能做得很好。

分手時,瑪麗安眼里噙著淚水,用胳膊勾住馬丁的脖子,述說著自己是多么愛他,而且始終愛著他。不過,正當(dāng)她振振有詞講話的時候,中途卻出現(xiàn)了明顯的停頓,于是她又是流淚,又是親吻,又是語無倫次地喃喃,想借此掩飾過去。馬丁卻認(rèn)為她這是在懇求原諒,因為她當(dāng)初對他缺乏信心,硬讓他去找份工作干。

“我敢肯定,他絕對攢不住錢,”赫爾曼·馮·施米特事后對妻子推心置腹地說,“我一提利息,他就生氣。他說讓本金見鬼去吧,假如我再說見外的話,他就擰下我的荷蘭腦瓜。這可是他說的——要擰下我的荷蘭腦瓜。不過,盡管他不懂生意,他還是滿不錯的。他好就好在給了我機會。”

宴會請?zhí)蒲┢w來,可請?zhí)啵R丁就愈困惑。他以貴賓的身份參加過亞登俱樂部的宴會,在座的都是些他過去時常聽人提起、在報上常常看到的名人雅客;那些人對他說,當(dāng)他們拜讀到《橫貫大陸月刊》登載的《嘹亮的鐘聲》以及《大黃蜂》刊出的《仙女與珍珠》時,他們就看出他一定能走紅。上帝啊!他心想,當(dāng)時的我可是饑腸轆轆、衣衫襤褸呀!那時你們?yōu)槭裁床徽埼页燥埬??那可正是時候呀。那些作品已經(jīng)脫稿。如果你們現(xiàn)在請我吃飯是由于我的作品的緣故,那么,當(dāng)我需要食物的時候,你們?yōu)槭裁床徽埼夷??《嘹亮的鐘聲》以及《仙女與珍珠》只字都未更改過呀。不,你們現(xiàn)在請我吃飯,并非看重我的作品,而是由于所有的人都在請我吃飯,是因為請我吃飯是一種榮譽。你們現(xiàn)在請我吃飯,是因為你們是合群的動物,是因為你們是蕓蕓眾生當(dāng)中的一員,是因為世人的腦子里目前都有一個盲目、機械的念頭,那就是宴請我。他傷心地問自己,馬丁·伊登以及馬丁·伊登寫的作品,跟這些有什么關(guān)系呢?然而,他還是站起了身,以機警俏皮的話答謝別人機警俏皮的祝酒詞。

事情就是這樣,無論他到哪里去——不管是在記者俱樂部、紅木俱樂部,還是參加名流茶話會以及文學(xué)討論會——別人總跟他回憶起《嘹亮的鐘聲》和《仙女與珍珠》最初發(fā)表時的情景。馬丁總是非常生氣,心里責(zé)問著:你們當(dāng)初為什么不宴請我?那都是些早已完稿的作品呀?!多诹恋溺娐暋泛汀断膳c珍珠》從未有過一絲一毫的更改呀。它們的藝術(shù)性以及價值,那時和現(xiàn)在都是一樣的啊。顯然,你們現(xiàn)在宴請我并非為了這兩篇作品,也不是為了我的其他任何作品,而是因為請吃飯是一種時髦,因為蕓蕓眾生都發(fā)了狂似的想宴請馬丁·伊登。

在這種場合,他時常會突然看到一個身穿方下擺衣服,頭戴史特遜硬邊帽的小流氓出現(xiàn)在人群里。一天下午,他到奧克蘭的加利納協(xié)會去,就見到了這幅情景。當(dāng)他從椅子上站起身,趨步走向臺前時,他看到那個身穿方下擺衣服、頭戴史特遜硬邊帽的小流氓穿過大廳后端寬敞的門昂首挺胸地踱了進(jìn)來。馬丁全神貫注,目不轉(zhuǎn)睛地望著,引得五百位衣著時髦的女士都回過頭來,看他究竟在望什么。然而,她們看到的只是一條空蕩蕩的中央甬道。他卻見那個小流氓沿甬道搖搖晃晃地走來。他心里思量著,不知那家伙會不會摘掉那頂從未見離開過腦袋殼的硬邊帽。那家伙順著甬道徑直走上前來,登上了講臺。一想起自己的遭遇,馬丁真恨不得對著自己青少年時的幻影痛哭一場。那幻影大搖大擺走到臺前,來到馬丁跟前,消失在他的內(nèi)心深處。五百名女士戴著手套輕輕鼓起了掌,為這位應(yīng)邀而來的難為情的偉人打氣。馬丁忘掉腦海中出現(xiàn)的幻象,笑了一笑,開始講起了話。

年老的學(xué)??偙O(jiān)在街上叫住馬丁,想起了他是誰,不由回憶起當(dāng)馬丁因打架被學(xué)校開除時,他曾在辦公室里召開過幾次會議。

“很久以前,我在一份雜志上拜讀過你的《嘹亮的鐘聲》,”他說,“寫得跟坡[1]的作品一樣棒。真了不起!我當(dāng)時就說那是篇杰作!”

馬丁差點沒說出聲,在后來的那幾個月里你在街上碰到我兩回,可是你視而不見,跟我擦肩而過。那兩次我都是餓著肚子,到當(dāng)鋪里典東西。我的作品那時已經(jīng)脫稿,可你對我不理不睬。為什么現(xiàn)在卻理起我來啦?

“那天我還對妻子說來著,想請你改天去吃頓飯,”對方說,“她完全同意我的建議,說那是好主意。是啊,她完全贊同?!?/p>

“吃飯?”馬丁說話的聲調(diào)十分兇狠,簡直像是在咆哮。

“哦,是的,是的,是吃飯——跟我們一起吃頓便飯。我可是你過去的學(xué)監(jiān)啊,搗蛋鬼。”他不安地說道,并用手戳了馬丁一下,想以這種隨便的方式表示親熱。

接著,馬丁恍恍惚惚在街上走著,最后在街角處停了下來,茫然地朝四下望了望。

“這我敢肯定!”他末了咕噥了一句,“那老家伙害怕我?!?/p>

* * *

[1] 愛倫·坡,19世紀(jì)美國著名小說家兼詩人。

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是什么意思青島市前田社區(qū)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