The Rainbow-虹(英文版)- 第37部分

〃What　don't　I　know？〃

〃What　things　mean。〃

〃And　what　does　it　mean？〃

He　was　reluctant　to　answer　her。　He　found　it　difficult。

〃What　does　it　mean？〃　she　insisted。

〃It　means　the　triumph　of　the　Resurrection。〃

She　hesitated；　baffled；　a　fear　came　upon　her。　What　were　these
things？　Something　dark　and　powerful　seemed　to　extend　before　her。
Was　it　wonderful　after　all？

But　no……she　refused　it。

〃Whatever　it　may　pretend　to　mean；　what　it　is　is　a　silly
absurd　toy…lamb　with　a　Christmas…tree　flag　ledged　on　its
paw……and　if　it　wants　to　mean　anything　else；　it　must　look
different　from　that。〃

He　was　in　a　state　of　violent　irritation　against　her。　Partly
he　was　ashamed　of　his　love　for　these　things；　he　hid　his　passion
for　them。　He　was　ashamed　of　the　ecstasy　into　which　he　could
throw　himself　with　these　symbols。　And　for　a　few　moments　he　hated
the　lamb　and　the　mystic　pictures　of　the　Eucharist；　with　a
violent；　ashy　hatred。　His　fire　was　put　out；　she　had　thrown　cold
water　on　it。　The　whole　thing　was　distasteful　to　him；　his　mouth
was　full　of　ashes。　He　went　out　cold　with　corpse…like　anger；
leaving　her　alone。　He　hated　her。　He　walked　through　the　white
snow；　under　a　sky　of　lead。

And　she　wept　again；　in　bitter　recurrence　of　the　previous
gloom。　But　her　heart　was　easy……oh；　much　more　easy。

She　ake　it　up　with　him　when　he　came
home　again。　He　was　black　and　surly；　but　abated。　She　had　broken　a
little　of　something　in　him。　And　at　length　he　was　glad　to　forfeit
from　his　soul　all　his　symbols；　to　have　her　making　love　to　him。
He　loved　it　when　she　put　her　head　on　his　knee；　and　he　had　not
asked　her　to　or　wanted　her　to；　he　loved　her　when　she　put　her
arms　round　him　and　made　bold　love　to　him；　and　he　did　not　make
love　to　her。　He　felt　a　strong　blood　in　his　limbs　again。

And　she　loved　the　intent；　far　look　of　his　eyes　when　they
rested　on　her：　intent；　yet　far；　not　near；　not　with　her。　And　she
wanted　to　bring　them　near。　She　wanted　his　eyes　to　e　to　hers；
to　know　her。　And　they　would　not。　They　remained　intent；　and　far；
and　proud；　like　a　hawk's　naive　and　inhuman　as　a　hawk's。　So　she
loved　him　and　caressed　him　and　roused　him　like　a　hawk；　till　he
was　keen　and　instant；　but　without　tenderness。　He　came　to　her
fierce　and　hard；　like　a　hawk　striking　and　taking　her。　He　was　no
mystic　any　more；　she　was　his　aim　and　object；　his　prey。　And　she
was　carried　off；　and　he　was　satisfied；　or　satiated　at　last。

Then　immediately　she　began　to　retaliate　on　him。　She　too　was　a
hawk。　If　she　imitated　the　pathetic　plover　running　plaintive　to
him；　that　was　part　of　the　game。　When　he；　satisfied；　moved　with　a
proud；　insolent　slouch　of　the　body　and　a　half…contemptuous　drop
of　the　head；　unaware　of　her；　ignoring　her　very　existence；　after
taking　his　fill　of　her　and　getting　his　satisfaction　of　her；　her
soul　roused；　its　pinions　became　like　steel；　and　she　struck　at
him。　When　he　sat　on　his　perch　glancing　sharply　round　with
solitary　pride；　pride　eminent　and　fierce；　she　dashed　at　him　and
threw　him　from　his　station　savagely；　she　goaded　him　from　his
keen　dignity　of　a　male；　she　harassed　him　from　his　unperturbed
pride；　till　he　was　mad　with　rage；　his　light　brown　eyes　burned
with　fury；　they　saw　her　now；　like　flames　of　anger　they　flared　at
her　and　recognized　her　as　the　enemy。

Very　good；　she　was　the　enemy；　very　good。　As　he　prowled　round
her；　she　watched　him。　As　he　struck　at　her；　she　struck　back。

He　was　angry　because　she　had　carelessly　pushed　away　his　tools
so　that　they　got　rusty。

〃Don't　leave　them　littering　in　my　way；　then；〃　she　said。

〃I　shall　leave　them　where　I　like；〃　he　cried。

〃Then　I　shall　throw　them　where　I　like。〃

They　glowered　at　each　other；　he　with　rage　in　his　hands；　she
with　her　soul　fierce　with　victory。　They　were　very　well　matched。
They　would　fight　it　out。

She　turned　to　her　sewing。　Immediately　the　tea…things　were
cleared　away；　she　fetched　out　the　stuff；　and　his　soul　rose　in
rage。　He　hated　beyond　measure　to　hear　the　shriek　of　calico　as
she　tore　the　web　sharply；　as　if　with　pleasure。　And　the　run　of
the　sewing…machine　gathered　a　frenzy　in　him　at　last。

〃Aren't　you　going　to　stop　that　row？〃　he　shouted。　〃Can't　you
do　it　in　the　daytime？〃

She　looked　up　sharply；　hostile　from　her　work。

〃No；　I　can't　do　it　in　the　daytime。　I　have　other　things　to　do。
Besides；　I　like　sewing；　and　you're　not　going　to　stop　me　doing
it。〃

Whereupon　she　turned　back　to　her　arranging；　fixing；
stitching；　his　nerves　jumped　with　anger　as　the　sewing…machine
started　and　stuttered　and　buzzed。

But　she　was　enjoying　herself；　she　was　triumphant　and　happy　as
the　darting　needle　danced　ecstatically　down　a　hem；　drawing　the
stuff　along　under　its　vivid　stabbing；　irresistibly。　She　made　the
machine　hum。　She　stopped　it　imperiously；　her　fingers　were　deft
and　swift　and　mistress。

If　he　sat　behind　her　stiff　with　impotent　rage　it　only　made　a
trembling　vividness　e　into　her　energy。　On　she　worked。　At　last
he　went　to　bed　in　a　rage；　and　lay　stiff；　away　from　her。　And　she
turned　her　back　on　him。　And　in　the　morning　they　did　not　speak；
except　in　mere　cold　civilities。

And　when　he　came　home　at　night；　his　heart　relenting　and
growing　hot　for　love　of　her；　when　he　was　just　ready　to　feel　he
had　been　wrong；　and　when　he　was　expecting　her　to　feel　the　same；
there　she　sat　at　the　sewing…machine；　the　whole　house　was　covered
with　clipped　calico；　the　kettle　was　not　even　on　the　fire。

She　started　up；　affecting　concern。

〃Is　it　so　late？〃　she　cried。

But　his　face　had　gone　stiff　with　rage。　He　walked　through　to
the　parlour；　then　he　walked　back　and　out　of　the　house　again。　Her
heart　sank。　Very　swiftly　she　began　to　make　his　tea。

He　went　black…hearted　down　the　road　to　Ilkeston。　When　he　was
in　this　state　he　never　thought。　A　bolt　shot　across　the　doors　of
his　mind　and　shut　him　in；　a　prisoner。　He　went　back　to　Ilkeston；
and　drank　a　glass　of　beer。　What　was　he　going　to　do？　He　did　not
want　to　see　anybody。

He　would　go　to　Nottingham；　to　his　own　town。　He　went　to　the
station　and　took　a　train。　When　he　got　to　Nottingham；　still　he
had　nowhere　to　go。　However；　it　was　more　agreeable　to　walk
familiar　streets。　He　paced　them　with　a　mad　restlessness；　as　if
he　were　running　amok。　Then　he　turned　to　a　book…shop　and　found　a
book　on　Bamberg　Cathedral。　Here　was　a　discovery！　here　was
something　for　him！　He　went　into　a　quiet　restaurant　to　look　at
his　treasure。　He　lit　up　with　thrills　of　bliss　as　he　turned　from
picture　to　picture。　He　had　found　something　at　last；　in　these
carvings。　His　soul　had　great　satisfaction。　Had　he　not　e　out
to　seek；　and　had　he　not　found！　He　was　in　a　passion　of
fulfilment。　These　were　the　finest　carvings；　statues；　he　had　ever
seen。　The　book　lay　in　his　hands　like　a　doorway。　The　world　around
was　only　an　enclosure；　a　room。　But　he　was　going　away。　He
lingered　over　the　lovely　statues　of　women。　A　marvellous；
finely…wrought　universe　crystallized　out　around　him　as　he　looked
again；　at　the　crowns；　the　twining　hair；　the　woman…faces。　He
liked　all　the　better　the　unintelligible　text　of　the　German。　He
preferred　things　he　could　not　understand　with　the　mind。　He　loved
the　undiscovered　and　the　undiscoverable。　He　pored　over　the
pictures　intensely。　And　these　were　wooden　statues；
〃Holz〃……he　believed　that　meant　wood。　Wooden　statues　so
shapen　to　his　soul！　He　was　a　million　times　gladdened。　How
undiscovered　the　world　was；　how　it　revealed　itself　to　his　soul！
What　a　fine；　exciting　thing　his　life　was；　at　his　hand！　Did　not
Bamberg　Cathedral　make　the　world　his　own？　He　celebrated　his
triumphant　strength　and　life　and　verity；　and　embraced　the　vast
riches　he　was　inheriting。

But　it　was　about　time　to　go　home。　He　had　better　catch　a
train。　All　the　time　there　was　a　steady　bruise　at　the　bottom　of
his　soul；　but　so　steady　as　to　be　forgettable。　He　caught　a　train
for　Ilkeston。

It　was　ten　o'clock　as　he　was　mounting　the　hill　to　Cossethay；
carrying　his　limp　book　on　Bamberg　Cathedral。　He　had　not　yet
thought　of　Anna；　not　definitely。　The　dark　finger　pressing　a
bruise　controlled　him　thoughtlessly。

Anna　had　started　guiltily　when　he　left　the　house。　She　had
hastened　preparing　the　tea；　hoping　he　would　e　back。　She　had
made　some　toast；　and　got　all　ready。　Then　he　didn't　e。　She
cried　with　vexation　and　disappointment。　Why　had　he　gone？　Why
couldn't　he　e　back　now？　Why　was　it　such　a　battle　between
them？　She　loved　him……she　did　love　him……why　couldn't　he
be　kinder　to　her；　nicer　to　her？

She　waited　in　distress……then　her　mood　grew　harder。　He
passed　out　of　her　thoughts。　She　had　considered　indignantly；　what
right　he　had　to　interfere　with　her　sewing？　She　had　indignantly
refuted　his　right　to　interfere　with　her　at　all。　She　was　not　to
be　interfered　with。　Was　she　not　herself；　and　he　the
outsider。

Yet　a　quiver　of　fear　went　through　her。　If　he　should　leave
her？　She　sat　conjuring　fears　and　sufferings；　till　she　wept　with
very　self…pity。　She　did　not　know　what　she　would　do　if　he　left
her；　or　if　he　turned　against　her。　The　thought　of　it　chilled　her；
made　her　desolate　and　hard。　And　against　him；　the　stranger；　the
outsider；　the　being　who　wanted　to　arrogate　authority；　she
remained　steadily　fortified。　Was　she　not　herself？　How　could　one
who　was　not　of　her　own　kind　presume　with　authority？　She　knew　she
was　immutable；　unchangeable；　sh