The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第33章

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dark；　violent　hatred　of　her　husband　swept　up　in　her。　What　was　he
doing；　sitting　there　gleaming；　carried　away；　soulful？

She　shifted　sharply；　she　knocked　him　as　she　pretended　to　pick
up　her　glove；　she　groped　among　his　feet。

He　came　to；　rather　bewildered；　exposed。　Anybody　but　her　would
have　pitied　him。　She　wanted　to　rend　him。　He　did　not　know　what
was　amiss；　what　he　had　been　doing。

As　they　sat　at　dinner；　in　their　cottage；　he　was　dazed　by　the
chill　of　antagonism　from　her。　She　did　not　know　why　she　was　so
angry。　But　she　was　incensed。

〃Why　do　you　never　listen　to　the　sermon？〃　she　asked；　seething
with　hostility　and　violation。

〃I　do；〃　he　said。

〃You　don'tyou　don't　hear　a　single　word。〃

He　retired　into　himself；　to　enjoy　his　own　sensation。　There
was　something　subterranean　about　him；　as　if　he　had　an　underworld
refuge。　The　young　girl　hated　to　be　in　the　house　with　him　when　he
was　like　this。

After　dinner；　he　retired　into　the　parlour；　continuing　in　the
same　state　of　abstraction；　which　was　a　burden　intolerable　to
her。　Then　he　went　to　the　bookshelf　and　took　down　books　to　look
at；　that　she　had　scarcely　glanced　over。

He　sat　absorbed　over　a　book　on　the　illuminations　in　old
missals；　and　then　over　a　book　on　paintings　in　churches：　Italian；
English；　French　and　German。　He　had；　when　he　was　sixteen；
discovered　a　Roman　Catholic　bookshop　where　he　could　find　such
things。

He　turned　the　leaves　in　absorption；　absorbed　in　looking；　not
thinking。　He　was　like　a　man　whose　eyes　were　in　his　chest；　she
said　of　him　later。

She　came　to　look　at　the　things　with　him。　Half　they　fascinated
her。　She　was　puzzled；　interested；　and　antagonistic。

It　was　when　she　came　to　pictures　of　the　Pieta　that　she　burst
out。

〃I　do　think　they're　loathsome；〃　she　cried。

〃What？〃　he　said；　surprised；　abstracted。

〃Those　bodies　with　slits　in　them；　posing　to　be
worshipped。〃

〃You　see；　it　means　the　Sacraments；　the　Bread；〃　he　said
slowly。

〃Does　it；〃　she　cried。　〃Then　it's　worse。　I　don't　want　to　see
your　chest　slit；　nor　to　eat　your　dead　body；　even　if　you　offer　it
to　me。　Can't　you　see　it's　horrible？〃

〃It　isn't　me；　it's　Christ。〃

〃What　if　it　is；　it's　you！　And　it's　horrible；　you　wallowing　in
your　own　dead　body；　and　thinking　of　eating　it　in　the
Sacrament。〃

〃You've　to　take　it　for　what　it　means。〃

〃It　means　your　human　body　put　up　to　be　slit　and　killed　and
then　worshippedwhat　else？〃

They　lapsed　into　silence。　His　soul　grew　angry　and　aloof。

〃And　I　think　that　lamb　in　Church；〃　she　said；　〃is　the　biggest
joke　in　the　parish〃

She　burst　into　a　〃Pouf〃　of　ridiculing　laughter。

〃It　might　be；　to　those　that　see　nothing　in　it；〃　he　said。　〃You
know　it's　the　symbol　of　Christ；　of　His　innocence　and
sacrifice。〃

〃Whatever　it　means；　it's　a　lamb；〃　she　said。　〃And　I
like　lambs　too　much　to　treat　them　as　if　they　had　to　mean
something。　As　for　the　Christmastree
flagno〃

And　again　she　poufed　with　mockery。

〃It's　because　you　don't　know　anything；〃　he　said　violently；
harshly。　〃Laugh　at　what　you　know；　not　at　what　you　don't
know。〃

〃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　noshe　refused　it。

〃Whatever　it　may　pretend　to　mean；　what　it　is　is　a　silly
absurd　toylamb　with　a　Christmastree　flag　ledged　on　its
pawand　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　corpselike　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　easyoh；　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　halfcontemptuous　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　teathings　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　sewingmachine　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　sewingmachine
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　sewingmachine；　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　blackhearted　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　bookshop　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；
finelywrought　universe　crystallized　out　around　him　as　he　looked
again；　at　the　crowns；　the　twining　hair；　the　womanfaces。　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。　Woo