现代大学英语精读第二版(第六册)学习笔记(原文及全文翻译)——2 - A Rose for Emily(给艾米莉的玫瑰)

Unit 2 - A Rose for Emily

A Rose for Emily

William Faulkner

When Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old manservant--a combined gardener and cook--had seen in at least ten years.

It was a big, squarish frame house that had once been white, decorated with cupolas and spires and scrolled balconies in the heavily lightsome style of the seventies, set on what had once been our most select street. But garages and cotton gins had encroached and obliterated even the august names of that neighborhood; only Miss Emily's house was left, lifting its stubborn and coquettish decay above the cotton wagons and the gasoline pumps--an eyesore among eyesores. And now Miss Emily had gone to join the representatives of those august names where they lay in the cedar-bemused cemetery among the ranked and anonymous graves of Union and Confederate soldiers who fell at the battle of Jefferson.

Alive, Miss Emily had been a tradition, a duty, and a care; a sort of hereditary obligation upon the town, dating from that day in 1894 when Colonel Sartoris, the mayor--he who fathered the edict that no Negro woman should appear on the streets without an apron--remitted her taxes, the dispensation dating from the death of her father on into perpetuity. Not that Miss Emily would have accepted charity. Colonel Sartoris invented an involved tale to the effect that Miss Emily's father had loaned money to the town, which the town, as a matter of business, preferred this way of repaying. Only a man of Colonel Sartoris' generation and thought could have invented it, and only a woman could have believed it.

When the next generation, with its more modern ideas, became mayors and aldermen, this arrangement created some little dissatisfaction. On the first of the year they mailed her a tax notice. February came, and there was no reply. They wrote her a formal letter, asking her to call at the sheriff's office at her convenience. A week later the mayor wrote her himself, offering to call or to send his car for her, and received in reply a note on paper of an archaic shape, in a thin, flowing calligraphy in faded ink, to the effect that she no longer went out at all. The tax notice was also enclosed, without comment.

They called a special meeting of the board of aldermen. A deputation waited upon her, knocked at the door through which no visitor had passed since she ceased giving china-painting lessons eight or ten years earlier. They were admitted by the old Negro into a dim hall from which a stairway mounted into still more shadow. It smelled of dust and disuse--a close, dank smell. The Negro led them into the parlor. It was furnished in heavy, leather-covered furniture. When the Negro opened the blinds of one window, they could see that the leather was cracked; and when they sat down, a faint dust rose sluggishly about their thighs, spinning with slow motes in the single sunray. On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of Miss Emily's father.

They rose when she entered--a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated, like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump of dough as they moved from one face to another while the visitors stated their errand. She did not ask them to sit. She just stood in the door and listened quietly until the spokesman came to a stumbling halt. Then they could hear the invisible watch ticking at the end of the gold chain.

Her voice was dry and cold. "I have no taxes in Jefferson. Colonel Sartoris explained it to me. Perhaps one of you can gain access to the city records and satisfy yourselves."

But we have. We are the city authorities, Miss Emily. Didn't you get a notice from the sheriff, signed by him?

I received a paper, yes, Miss Emily said. "Perhaps he considers himself the sheriff.... I have no taxes in Jefferson."

But there is nothing on the books to show that, you see. We must go by the—

See Colonel Sartoris. I have no taxes in Jefferson.

But, Miss Emily—

See Colonel Sartoris. (Colonel Sartoris had been dead almost ten years.) "I have no taxes in Jefferson. Tobe!" The Negro appeared. "Show these gentlemen out."

So she vanquished them, horse and foot, just as she had vanquished their fathers thirty years before about the smell. That was two years after her father's death and a short time after her sweetheart—the one we believed would marry her—had deserted her. After her father's death she went out very little; after her sweetheart went away, people hardly saw her at all. A few of the ladies had the temerity to call, but were not received, and the only sign of life about the place was the Negro man—a young man then—going in and out with a market basket.

"Just as if a man--any man--could keep a kitchen properly, " the ladies said; so they were not surprised when the smell developed. It was another link between the gross, teeming world and the high and mighty Griersons.

A neighbor, a woman, complained to the mayor, Judge Stevens, eighty years old.

But what will you have me do about it, madam? he said.

Why, send her word to stop it, the woman said. "Isn't there a law?"

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Judge Stevens said. "It's probably just a snake or a rat that nigger of hers killed in the yard. I'll speak to him about it."

The next day he received two more complaints, one from a man who came in diffident deprecation. "We really must do something about it, Judge. I'd be the last one in the world to bother Miss Emily, but we've got to do something." That night the board of aldermen met--three greybeards and one younger man, a member of the rising generation.

"It's simple enough," he said. "Send her word to have her place cleaned up. Give her a certain time to do it in, and if she don't…"

"Damn it, sir," Judge Stevens said, "will you accuse a lady to her face of smelling bad?"

So the next night, after midnight, four men crossed Miss Emily's lawn and slunk about the house like burglars, sniffing along the base of the brickwork and at the cellar openings while one of them performed a regular sowing motion with his hand out of a sack slung from his shoulder. They broke open the cellar door and sprinkled lime there, and in all the outbuildings. As they recrossed the lawn, a window that had been dark was lighted and Miss Emily sat in it, the light behind her, and her upright torso motionless as that of an idol. They crept quietly across the lawn and into the shadow of the locusts that lined the street. After a week or two the smell went away.

That was when people had begun to feel really sorry for her. People in our town, remembering how old lady Wyatt, her great-aunt, had gone completely crazy at last, believed that the Griersons held themselves a little too high for what they really were. None of the young men were quite good enough to Miss Emily and such. We had long thought of them as a tableau; Miss Emily a slender figure in white in the background, her father a spraddled silhouette in the foreground, his back to her and clutching a horsewhip, the two of them framed by the backflung front door. So when she got to be thirty and was still single, we were not pleased exactly, but vindicated; even with insanity in the family she wouldn't have turned down all of her chances if they had really materialized.

When her father died, it got about that the house was all that was left to her; and in a way, people were glad. At last they could pity Miss Emily. Being left alone, and a pauper, she had become humanized. Now she too would know the old thrill and the old despair of a penny more or less.

The day after his death all the ladies prepared to call at the house and offer condolence and aid, as is our custom. Miss Emily met them at the door, dressed as usual and with no trace of grief on her face. She told them that her father was not dead. She did that for three days, with the ministers calling on her, and the doctors, trying to persuade her to let them dispose of the body. Just as they were about to resort to law and force, she broke down, and they buried her father quickly.

We did not say she was crazy then. We believed she had to do that. We remembered all the young men her father had driven away, and we knew that with nothing left, she would have to cling to that which had robbed her, as people will.

She was sick for a long time. When we saw her again, her hair was cut short, making her look like a girl, with a vague resemblance to those angels in colored church windows--sort of tragic and serene.

The town had just let the contracts for paving the sidewalks, and in the summer after her father's death they began the work. The construction company came with riggers and mules and machinery, and a foreman named Homer Barron, a Yankee--a big, dark, ready man, with a big voice and eyes lighter than his face. The little boys would follow in groups to hear him cuss the riggers, and the riggers singing in time to the rise and fall of picks. Pretty soon he knew everybody in town. Whenever you heard a lot of laughing anywhere about the square, Homer Barron would be in the center of the group. Presently we began to see him and Miss Emily on Sunday afternoons driving in the yellow-wheeled buggy and the matched team of bays from the livery stable.

At first we were glad that Miss Emily would have an interest, because the ladies all said, "Of course a Grierson would not think seriously of a Northerner, a day laborer." But there were still others, older people, who said that even grief could not cause a real lady to forget noblesse oblige--without calling it noblesse oblige. They just said, "Poor Emily. Her kinsfolk should come to her." She had some kin in Alabama; but years ago her father had fallen out with them over the estate of old lady Wyatt, the crazy woman, and there was no communication between the two families. They had not even been represented at the funeral.

And as soon as the old people said "Poor Emily," the whispering began. "Do you suppose it's really so?" they said to one another. "Of course it is. What else could …" This behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin behind jalousies closed upon the sun of Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the matched team passed: "Poor Emily."

She carried her head high enough--even when we believed that she was fallen. It was as if she demanded more than ever the recognition of her dignity as the last Grierson; as if it had wanted that touch of earthiness to reaffirm her imperviousness. Like when she bought the rat poison, the arsenic. That was over a year after they had begun to say "Poor Emily," and while the two female cousins were visiting her.

"I want some poison," she said to the druggist. She was over thirty then, still a slight woman, though thinner than usual, with cold, haughty black eyes in a face the flesh of which was strained across the temples and about the eye sockets as you imagine a lighthouse keeper's face ought to look. "I want some poison," she said.

Yes, Miss Emily. What kind? For rats and such? I'd recoin--

I want the best you have. I don't care what kind.

The druggist named several. "They'll kill anything up to an elephant. But what you want is--"

Arsenic, Miss Emily said. "Is that a good one?"

Is…arsenic? Yes, ma'am. But what you want--

I want arsenic.

The druggist looked down at her. She looked back at him, erect, her face like a strained flag. "Why, of course," the druggist said. "If that's what you want. But the law requires you to tell what you are going to use it for."

Miss Emily just stared at him, her head tilted back in order to look him eye for eye, until he looked away and went and got the arsenic and wrapped it up. The Negro delivery boy brought her the package; the druggist didn't come back. When she opened the package at home, there was written on the box, under the skull and bones: "For rats."

So the next day we all said, "She will kill herself"; and we said it would be the best thing. When she had first begun to be seen with Homer Barron, we had said, "She will marry him." Then we said, "She will persuade him yet," because Homer himself had remarked--he liked men, and it was known that he drank with the younger men in the Elks Club--that he was not a marrying man. Later we said "Poor Emily" behind the jalousies as they passed on Sunday afternoon in the glittering buggy, Miss Emily with her head high and Homer Barron with his hat cocked and a cigar in his teeth, reins and whip in a yellow glove.

Then some of the ladies began to say that it was a disgrace to the town and a bad example to the young people. The men did not want to interfere, but at last the ladies forced the Baptist minister--Miss Emily's people were Episcopal--to call upon her. He would never divulge what happened during that interview, but he refused to go back again. The next Sunday they again drove about the streets, and the following day the minister's wife wrote to Miss Emily's relations in Alabama.

So she had blood kin under her roof again and we sat back to watch developments. At first nothing happened. Then we were sure that they were to be married. We learned that Miss Emily had been to the jeweler's and ordered a man's toilet set in silver, with the letters H.B. on each piece. Two days later we learned that she had bought a complete outfit of men's clothing, including a nightshirt, and we said, "They are married." We were really glad. We were glad because the two female cousins were even more Grierson than Miss Emily had ever been.

So we were not surprised when Homer Barron--the streets had been finished some time since--was gone. We were a little disappointed that there was not a public blowing-off, but we believed that he had gone on to prepare for Miss Emily's coming, or to give her a chance to get rid of the cousins. (By that time it was a cabal, and we were all Miss Emily's allies to help circumvent the cousins.) Sure enough, after another week they departed. And, as we had expected all along, within three days Homer Barron was back in town. A neighbor saw the Negro man admit him at the kitchen door at dusk one evening.

And that was the last we saw of Homer Barron. And of Miss Emily for some time. The Negro man went in and out with the market basket, but the front door remained closed. Now and then we would see her at a window for a moment, as the men did that night when they sprinkled the lime, but for almost six months she did not appear on the streets. Then we knew that this was to be expected too; as if that quality of her father which had thwarted her woman's life so many times had been too virulent and too furious to die.

When we next saw Miss Emily, she had grown fat and her hair was turning gray. During the next few years it grew greyer and greyer until it attained an even pepper-and-salt iron gray, when it ceased turning. Up to the day of her death at seventy-four it was still that vigorous iron gray, like the hair of an active man.

From that time on her front door remained closed, save for a period of six or seven years, when she was about forty, during which she gave lessons in china painting. She fitted up a studio in one of the downstairs rooms, where the daughters and granddaughters of Colonel Sartoris' contemporaries were sent to her with the same regularity and in the same spirit that they were sent to church on Sundays with a twenty-five-cent piece for the collection plate. Meanwhile her taxes had been remitted.

Then the newer generation became the backbone and the spirit of the town, and the painting pupils grew up and fell away and did not send their children to her with boxes of color and tedious brushes and pictures cut from the ladles' magazines. The front door closed upon the last one and remained closed for good. When the town got free postal delivery, Miss Emily alone refused to let them fasten the metal numbers above her door and attach a mailbox to it. She would not listen to them.

Daily, monthly, yearly we watched the Negro grow greyer and more stooped, going in and out with the market basket. Each December we sent her a tax notice, which would be returned by the post office a week later, unclaimed. Now and then we would see her in one of the downstairs windows--she had evidently shut up the top floor of the house--like the carven torso of an idol in a niche, looking or not looking at us, we could never tell which. Thus she passed from generation to generation--dear, inescapable, impervious, tranquil, and perverse.

And so she died. Fell ill in the house filled with dust and shadows, with only a doddering Negro man to wait on her. We did not even know she was sick; we had long since given up trying to get any information from the Negro. He talked to no one, probably not even to her, for his voice had grown harsh and rusty, as if from disuse.

She died in one of the downstairs rooms, in a heavy walnut bed with a curtain, her grey head propped on a pillow yellow and moldy with age and lack of sunlight.

The negro met the first of the ladies at the front door and let them in, with their hushed, sibilant voices and their quick, curious glances, and then he disappeared. He walked right through the house and out the back and was not seen again.

The two female cousins came at once. They held the funeral on the second day, with the town coming to look at Miss Emily beneath a mass of bought flowers, with the crayon face of her father musing profoundly above the bier and the ladies sibilant and macabre; and the very old men--some in their brushed Confederate uniforms--on the porch and the lawn, talking of Miss Emily as if she had been a contemporary of theirs, believing that they had danced with her and courted her perhaps, confusing time with its mathematical progression, as the old do, to whom all the past is not a diminishing road but, instead, a huge meadow which no winter ever quite touches, divided from them now by the narrow bottleneck of the most recent decade of years.

Already we knew that there was one room in that region above stairs which no one had seen in forty years, and which would have to be forced. They waited until Miss Emily was decently in the ground before they opened it.

The violence of breaking down the door seemed to fill this room with pervading dust. A thin, acrid pall as of the tomb seemed to lie everywhere upon this room decked and furnished as for a bridal: upon the valence curtains of faded rose color, upon the rose-shaded lights, upon the dressing table, upon the delicate array of crystal and the man's toilet things backed with tarnished silver, silver so tarnished that the monogram was obscured. Among them lay a collar and tie, as if they had just been removed, which, lifted, left upon the surface a pale crescent in the dust. Upon a chair hung the suit, carefully folded; beneath it the two mute shoes and the discarded socks.

The man himself lay in the bed.

For a long while we just stood there, looking down at the profound and fleshless grin. The body had apparently once lain in the attitude of an embrace, but now the long sleep that outlasts love, that conquers even the grimace of love, had cuckolded him. What was left of him, rotted beneath what was left of the nightshirt, had become inextricable from the bed in which he lay; and upon him and upon the pillow beside him lay that even coating of the patient and biding dust.

Then we noticed that in the second pillow was the indentation of a head. One of us lifted something from it, and leaning forward, that faint and invisible dust dry and acrid in the nostrils, we saw a long strand of iron-grey hair.

参考译文——给艾米莉的玫瑰

给艾米莉的玫瑰

威廉·福克纳

艾米莉·格利尔逊小姐走了,全镇的人都去送葬:男人们是出于敬慕之情,因为一座丰碑倒塌了;女人们大多出于好奇之心,都想到艾米莉屋里看个究竟。除了一个园丁兼厨师的上了年纪的男仆外,至少已经十年都没有人进去看过了。

那是一幢曾经漆成白色的方形大木屋,装点着19世纪70年代明亮风格的圆形屋顶、尖塔和涡形花纹阳台。房屋所在的街道曾经是全镇最为繁华之地。但这里早已被附近的汽修厂和轧棉机侵占了,就连那些庄严的名字也被吞噬得一干二净;岿然不动的,只有艾米莉小姐的房子,虽有破败之势,却依然显得执拗不驯,风韵犹存,与周围的四轮棉花车和汽油泵一样,太过碍眼了。如今艾米莉小姐也进人了那些具有代表性的庄严的名字行列之中,他们长眠在雪松环拥的墓地里,那是南北战争时期杰斐逊战役中阵亡的联邦联盟军军人之墓:有的是南方军人,有的是北方士兵;有的是高职位,有的是无名氏。

生前,艾米莉小姐代表着一个传统、一种职责;她既是人们关注的目标,也是全镇传承下来对她应尽的义务,这种义务是从1894年开始的,当时的镇长萨特里斯上校一他还颁布了一道命令:严禁黑人妇女不系围裙上街——豁免了她各种税款;这种特惠政策从她父亲去世之日开始,一直到她不在人世之时为止。这并不是说艾米莉爱占人们的便宜,而是萨特里斯上校编造了一套不清不楚的瞎话,说什么艾米莉的父亲曾贷款给镇政府,而镇政府,作为交易,以这种方式偿还。这种瞎话,只有萨特里斯上校那一代人以及像他那样的脑袋的人才瞎编得出来,也只有女人们才会相信这种瞎话。

到了第二代人,他们当上了镇长和议员,思想更加前卫,便对这种免税约定产生了一丝不满。那年元旦,他们寄给她一张纳税通知单,可是到了二月,依然没有回信。他们给她发了一封公函,要她方便时到镇治安办公室去一趟。一周后,镇长亲自书函一封给她,表示愿意登门拜访,或派车接她;镇长得到的回信却是一张便条,字是写在一张古香古色的信笺土,书法流利,字迹纤细,墨迹已干,大意是说,她根本不再外出。随信附还的还有纳税通知单,但不见任何评述。

镇政府官员们召开了参议院委员会特别会议,派了一个代表团拜访艾米莉。他们敲了敲门。这扇门自从八年或十年前艾米莉停授瓷器彩绘课以来,谁都没有从这里进出过。接待他们的是那个黑人男仆,他们来到阴暗的门厅,再沿楼梯而上,光线变得更加阴暗了。屋子里发出一股尘封的气味,阴冷潮湿,密不透气,这里长久没有人住了。黑人领着他们来到客厅,客厅里陈设着笨重、包着皮套的家具。黑人打开一扇百叶窗,只见皮套子已经开裂了;他们坐了下来,大腿两边,顿时尘粒飞扬,在百叶窗射进的一缕阳光中,缓缓旋转着。壁炉前是一张早已失去了昔日的光泽的画架;画架上屹立着艾米莉父亲的炭笔画像。

代表团成员站了起来,原来进来一个人——一个身材矮小,但腰圆体胖的女人,她身着黑衫,细长的金链直垂腰部,最后插入腰带里;她撑在乌木拐杖上,杖头镶金早已失去了昔日的光泽。她骨架又矮又小,也许正因如此,要是落在别的女人身上,那种胖就是丰满,而落在她身上,就显得臃肿。她看上去肿胀发白,就好像长期浸泡在死水中的死尸一般。当客人说明来意时,她的那两只眼睛不停地转悠着,一会儿瞧瞧这张面孔,一会儿看看那张脸蛋,那眼睛啊,都深陷在脸隆起的赘肉里了,就像掐在生面团中的两个小煤球。

她并没有叫他们坐下,而是径直站在门口,一声不吭地听着,直到发言代表结结巴巴地说完。这时,只听见有滴答滴答的声音,那是金链另一端隐没在裤袋里的怀表发出来的声音。

她说起话来,声音冷酷无情。“杰斐逊时,我无须纳税。萨特里斯上校早已给我交代过了。兴许你们可以派个人去査一査镇政府档案,事情就清楚了。”

“可我们査过了。艾米莉小姐,我们就是镇政府当局的。难道你没有收到司法长官亲手签署的通知吗?”

“不错,我是收到过一张纸,”艾米莉小姐说道,“司法长官,也许他真把自己当回事……杰斐逊时,我无须纳税。”

“可是,纳税册上并没有无须纳税的说明,要知道,我们必须依……”

“找萨特里斯上校要去。杰斐逊时,我无须纳税。”

“可是,艾米莉小姐……”

“找萨特里斯上校要去(萨特里斯上校已经死了将近十年了),杰斐逊时,我无须纳税。托布!”黑奴应声而来。“把这些绅士们给我带出去。”

第二节

就这样,艾米莉把他们一个一个地完全收拾了,这种场面在三十年前也发生过,他们的父辈因熏天臭气而闹事,她照样把他们的父辈给收拾了。那事发生在她父亲死后两年,也就是她的心上人——我们一直以为一定会与结婚的那个人——拋弃她后不久才发生的事。父亲死后,她很少出门;但心上人走了后人们几乎再也没有看到她的身影了。有几个冒失的女人曾去过她的家,但却吃了闭门羹。房屋四周唯一的生命迹象就是那个黑人——当时他很年轻——拎着菜篮子进进出出。

“好像,要是男人——不管什么样的男人都可以把厨房收拾得井井有条的话,”女人们说道;那种气味越来越浓时,她们也并不感到吃惊。这种气味毕竟是芸芸众生的平凡世界与大官贵族的格利尔逊家族之间的另外一种联系方式。

邻家一妇人向年已八十的镇长史蒂文斯法官投诉。

可是,太太,这件事,你叫我怎么办呢?”他说道。

“嗯,那,通知她把气味去掉呗,”女人说,“不是有法律吗?”

“绝对没有必要,”史蒂文斯法官说。“也许是她家那个黑鬼在院子里打死了一条蛇或一只老鼠什么的。我去跟他说说这事儿。”

第二天,镇长又接到两起投诉,一起是来自一个男的,语气温和。“法官,对这气味,我们真的该采取措施了。可我又最不想打扰艾米莉小姐,但我们总得想想办法呀。”那天晚上,全体参议员召开了一个会,参加会议的人有三位老人和一位较年轻的新兴代成员。

“这事再简单不过了,”年轻人说。“通知她叫人把屋子打扫干净,限期搞好,否则……”

“滚蛋吧,你。先生……”萨特里斯法官说当着一个贵妇的面,你怎么能说她家里有难闻的气味呢?”

接着,第二天子夜过后,有四个男人越过艾米莉小姐家的草坪,像盗贼一般在屋子周围潜行,沿着墙角和在地窖通风处吸气闻嗅,其中一人还从肩上的麻袋中掏出东西,做着播种的样子。他们打开地窖门,在地窖里和所有的裙楼外都撒上了石灰。当他们再回头穿过草坪时,原本黑暗的窗户亮起了一扇灯光。灯光中艾米莉坐在那儿,灯在她的身后,挺立的身躯一动不动,活像一座雕像。他们鬼鬼祟祟地弓着腰,越过草地,进入街道两旁的洋槐树影中。一两周后,气味消失了。

第三节

而这时,人们才开始真正为她感到难过。我们镇上的人想起了了艾米莉小姐的姑奶奶怀亚特,这老太太后来完全变成了一个疯子;我们都相信格利尔逊一家人都太过自命清高了。年轻男人在艾米莉小姐这类的女人看来都不是什么好货色。长久以往,我们都把她们这家人看作一幅活人画:艾米莉小姐身材苗条,立于父亲身后;父亲站在前面,双脚叉开,背对艾米莉,手里握着马鞭;二人站在一扇后开的前门中间。所以当她接近三十岁,依然孑然一身,准确地说,我们并没有欣喜之心,反而觉得我们先前的看法得到了证实。即使她家有疯癫的遗传,要是遇到机会;她也不应断然放弃。

父亲死后,传说那幢房子全部留给了她;人们也有点髙兴。他们终于可以向她表达怜悯之情了。孤单清苦,她早该懂人情世故了。如今她也该体会到多一分钱则喜,少一分钱则愁的那种人之常情了。

她父亲死后的第二天,镇上所有的女人都准备去她家吊唁和提供帮助,这是我们的习俗。艾米莉小姐在家门口接待了她们,依着和往日一样,脸上也没有丝毫悲伤。她告诉来访者,她父亲没有死。连续三天都这样,无论是来访的牧师们,还是医生们,都劝她让他们把尸体处理掉。正当他们准备诉诸法律和武力时,艾米莉崩溃了,这时,他们才赶紧把她父亲给埋掉了。

我们并不是说她当时就疯了,反倒认为她的反常是身不由己,还记得,她父亲把所有的青年小伙都驱赶走了,也知道她如今一无所有了,才死死地抓住剥夺她一切的那个人,其实,是人都会这样。

第三节

她病了好长一段时间。再见她时,她已剪短了头发,小姑娘打扮,那样子有点像教堂里彩色玻璃窗上的天使——有些悲伤,有点肃穆。

原来镇政府刚刚签订了铺设人行道的合同,而动工时间就在她父亲去世那年夏天,来了一批劳工、骡子和机器,工头是个北方佬,名叫霍默·巴伦,大个子,黑皮肤,大嗓门儿,做事手脚麻利,黯黑的脸色衬出炯炯的眼神。他身后跟着一群群孩子,听他咒骂劳工,而劳工们却随着凿子起落有节奏地哼着劳动号子。不久,全镇的人他都认识了。在广场四周,只要能听到呵呵笑声的地方,霍默·巴伦必定在人群的中心。没过多久,每逢礼拜天下午,都可以见到他和艾米莉小姐一起驾着轻便马车出游,枣红色的马是从出租店租来,与黄色车轮的马车十分匹配。

起初,我们都很高兴,艾米莉小姐总算有了爱好,因为女人们都说“格利尔逊肯定不会看上一个北方佬,一个拿日工资的劳工,”不过也还有一些人,即一些上了年纪的人,说,即使悲伤也不至于叫一个高贵的妇女忘记自己“贵人责重”吧,贵人责重无须叮嘱啊。他们只是说:“可怜的艾米莉,她的亲属应该到这儿来一下。”她有亲戚在亚拉巴马州;但多年前,她父亲为争疯癫婆怀亚特的房产问题而与他们闹翻了,从此以后,两家再也没有往来了。即使是艾米莉父亲的葬礼,他们也没有派代表参加。

一说到“可怜的艾米莉”,老人们就是开始交头接耳了。他们议论道:“你看,当真有那么回事吗?”“当然啦。那还能有什么别的事……?”声音从他们的手指缝传出来;只听见清脆而疾驰的马蹄声声,只见马车百叶窗紧闭以抵御周日午后骄阳,窗后的绸缎发出窸窣声:“可怜的艾米莉。”

艾米莉高昂着头——即使我们都认为她已经堕落;仿佛她不仅仅想要人们承认她就是格里尔逊家族末代的尊严;仿佛需要同世俗接触才能重新确认她那倔强的性格。拿她买耗子药、砒霜的事来说吧。也就是人们开始说“可怜的艾米莉”之后一年多发生的事,当时她的两个堂姐妹正好来看望她。

“买点毒药,”她对药剂师说道。当时她已经三十多了,依然是一个身细腰纤的女人,比平常还要清瘦,一双黑色的眼睛显得冷峻高傲,脸上太阳穴和眼窝处,肌肉紧绷,那副模样好像只有灯塔守望者才应该具有的。“买点毒药,”艾米莉说道。

“好的,艾米莉小姐。要买哪一种?是毒耗子一类的药吗?我建议……”

“拿店里最灵的药。种类不论。”

药剂师一连说了好几种药名。“这些药什么都毒得死,就是大象也不例外。不过,你想要……”

“砒霜,”艾米莉小姐说,“灵不灵?”

“是……砒霜?好的,小姐。可你想要……”

“我要砒霜。”

药剂师朝下看着她。艾采莉挺直着身,回敬了他一眼,那脸绷得像凿出来的石板。“嗯嗯,当然有,”药剂师说道,“如果你真想要这种药。可是,按法律规定,你得说明用途。”

艾米莉小姐目不转睛地盯着他,头向后仰着,双眼正视着他,直到药剂师移开目光,转身拿砒霜包好。把那包药送出来的是店里的黑人送货员,而药剂师再也没有露过面。艾米莉回到家,打开药包,盒子上有个骷髅标记,标记下注明:“杀鼠专用。”

第四节

第二天,我们都说:“她要自杀啊,这事再好不过了。”第一次看见她与霍默·巴伦在一起时,我们就说过,“她会嫁给他。”接着,我们又说,“她还得说服他才行,”因为霍默自己说喜欢跟男人在一起——谁都知道他和年轻人在麋鹿俱乐部一起喝酒——照他的说法,他这个人不宜结婚。后来,每当礼拜日下午那耀眼的马车路过时,艾米莉总是高昂着头,霍默·巴伦斜戴着帽子,嘴里叼着雪茄,戴着黄手套的那只手握着马缰和马鞭;见此情景,我们都会在百叶窗后禁不住说一声:“可怜的艾米莉。”

后来,有些女人开始说,这是镇上的一大耻辱,结年轻人树立了一个坏榜样。而男人们又无意介入,但最后还是女人们敦促浸礼会牧师——艾米莉一家都信奉圣公会——去拜会他。拜会过程,牧师不愿透露,但他再也不愿去了。第二个礼拜天他们又驾着马车在街上兜风,第二天,牧师的老婆写信给艾米莉住在亚拉巴马的亲戚。

于是,她家直系亲属又来了一趟,我们呢,回家坐等时态的发展。起初风平浪静。接着,听说他们就要结婚了,后来还听说,艾米莉小姐去过珠宝店;还订购了一套男人盥洗用品,每件用品上都刻有“霍·巴”。两天后,我们又听说,她购买了一套男士服装,还有睡衣,所以我们说:“他们结婚了。”我们为此还真高兴,高兴的原因是,如果说荧艾米莉小姐曾经代表了格里尔逊家族的传统,那么如今两位堂姐妹更具有格里尔逊家族的风范。

霍默·巴伦走了后,我们一点也不感到惊奇,因为街道铺设工程完工已经有好一阵子了。让我们感到有点失望的是缺少了吹吹打打的欢送场面,但我们还是相信霍默·巴伦走了是去准备迎娶艾米莉小姐,或者给她一个机会好打发走两个堂妹。(当时我们形成了一个私党,力挺艾米莉小姐,帮她收拾这对堂姐妹。)一点不错,过了一星期,这对堂姐妹就走了。不出所料,霍默·巴伦又回来到了镇上。一个邻居目睹了艾来莉家的黑仆在一个黄昏把他从厨房门接了进去。

那是我们最后一次见到霍默·巴伦。艾米莉小姐呢,我们则有一段时间没有见过她了。黑人倒是提着篮子进进出出,但前门总是关着。偶尔还可以从窗户上看到她的身影闪现,就像人们撒石灰那天晚上见到的情景一样,但几乎有六个月没见她上过街了。我们知道,这一切也是可以预料的;好像父亲的性格对她这样的女人的生活增添了不少的麻烦,而这种性格似乎太恶毒、太极端了,至今难以消除。

再次见到艾米莉小姐时,她已经身体发福,而头发逐渐灰白起来。随后几年里,她的头发越来越灰,变成了白盐掺胡椒般的铁灰色,随后再也没有变过。到了她七十四岁过世时,都保持着她那旺盛的铁灰色,像是正值当年的男人的头发。

从那时起,她的前门再也没有打开过,只有她四十开外时,大约有六七年时间前门开过。在那段时间,她开课教授瓷器彩绘。她在楼下的一间房里布置了一间画室。萨特里斯上校同时代的人都把女儿、孙女送到她那儿去学习,而且很按时,那精神与礼拜天把她们送去教堂,给她们二毛五分硬币以备放在募捐盘中的情形没什么区别。那时,她的税收早巳豁免了。

后来,新一代成了镇上的骨干和灵魂,那些学画的孩子已经长大成人,相继离开了,她们没有让自己的女儿带着调色盒、讨厌的画笔和从女士杂志上剪下的图画到艾米莉小姐家学绘画。最后一个学生走后,前门就关了,而且再也没有打开过。镇上实行免费邮递时,唯独艾米莉小姐拒绝在她家门上订金属门牌号,附设邮箱。她也不听他们解释。

日复一日,月复一月,年复一年。只见那黑人,头发白了,背也驼了,依然提着菜篮子进进出出。每年十二月,我们都寄给她一张纳税通知单,但一星期后,又被邮局退了回来,无人认领。时不时地,我们在楼下的一个窗口——显然她把自己封闭在阁楼上了——还可看到她的身影。那身影活像神龛中供奉的无头神像,是不是在看我们,我们也拿不准。就这样,一代又一代过去了,她始终保持着——高贵傲然,临危不惧,性格倔强,镇定自如,怪僻乖张。

她就这样走了。死前,她病倒在一栋尘埃遍地、魅影幢幢的屋子里,只有一个老态龙钟的黑人侍候她。她病倒了,连我们都不知道,我们也懒得从黑人那儿打听消息了。况且,那黑人见谁也不吭声,恐怕见了她也是如此。由于长期不吭声,他的嗓子早已沙哑了。

她死在楼下一间屋子里,笨重的胡桃木床挂着床帏,她那长满铁灰色的头枕着枕头,因长年不见阳光,枕头已经泛黄发霉了。

第五节

黑人站在前门口迎接第一批妇女,把她们引进了屋子。她们悄声细语,好奇地东瞧瞧西瞅瞅。黑人转眼就不见了。他穿过屋子,出了后门,再也不见踪影了。

说来,两位堂姐妹就来了,他们第二天就举行了葬礼,全镇的人都来吊唁鲜花覆盖的艾米莉,棺材架上方挂着她父亲的炭笔画像,表情严肃深沉;女人们悄声细语、战战兢兢。而那些老年男人呢——有些还穿上刷洗干净的南方同盟军制服——在走廊里、草坪上议论着艾米莉小姐,仿佛她就是他们同时代的人,还说,跟她跳过舞,兴许还向她求过婚呢,他们按数学级数来推算,混淆了时间,这是老年人的通病。对老人来说,过去不是一条越走越窄的路,而是一片没有冬天的大草地,而只是最近十年才像窄小的瓶颈般将他们与过去隔断了。

我们早就知道,楼上那个地方有一间屋子,四十年了谁也没有进去过,只能踹门而入了。艾米莉小姐下葬后,他们才去开门。

门砰地一下踹开了,顿时屋里仿佛弥漫着灰尘。房间仿佛曾是一间装饰一新的新房,如今如坟墓一般发出淡淡的、呛人的气味,四处渗透出阴森森气氛:褪色了的玫瑰色窗帘,阴暗的玫瑰色灯光,梳妆台,一排精细的水晶饰品,还有白银底色的盥洗用品,不过白银制品已经失去了光泽,连刻在上面的字迹也都看不清了。其中有一条硬领和领带,仿佛是从身上取下来的,然后提起来,在台面上留下淡淡的月牙形尘埃痕迹。椅子上挂着一套精心折叠的衣服;椅子下是两只寂寞的鞋子,还有一双丢弃的袜子。

床上躺着那个男人。

我们在那儿站了好一会儿,俯视着那枯瘦阴森、龇牙咧嘴的头颅;尸体躺在那儿,那躺姿明显是曾一度拥抱过,但如今的长眠比爱情更加长远,甚至战胜爱情的折磨,彻底让他驯服了。破烂的睡衣下,躯体腐烂后的遗骸与他躺着的床早已难分难解了。在他身上,在他身旁的枕头上,均匀地铺满了长年累月积下来的灰尘。

后来,在旁边的枕头上,我们发现有人头压过的痕迹。有人从上面提起某种东西,凑近一看,一股淡淡的、无形的、干燥呛人的尘埃味扑鼻而来,原来是一绺长长的铁灰色头发。

Key Words:

hereditary      [hi'reditəri]    

adj. 世袭的,遗传的

calligraphy     [kə'ligrəfi]      

n. 书法

sheriff     ['ʃerif]    

n. 郡治安官,郡长

temerity  [ti'meriti]

n. 鲁莽,大胆

diffident  ['difidənt]      

adj. 无自信的,客客气气的,羞怯的

cling       [kliŋ]      

n. 紧抓,紧贴

vi. 粘紧,附着,紧贴

pauper   ['pɔ:pə]   

n. 贫民,被救济者,穷人

laborer   ['leibərə] 

n. 劳动者,劳工 =labourer(英)

serene    [si'ri:n]   

adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的

haughty  ['hɔ:ti]    

adj. 傲慢的

interfere  [.intə'fiə] 

vi. 妨碍,冲突,干涉

tedious   ['ti:diəs]  

adj. 沉闷的,单调乏味的

impervious    [im'pə:viəs]    

adj. 不能渗透的,不为所动的

macabre [mə'kɑ:bə]     

adj. 恐怖的,令人毛骨悚然的,以死亡为主题的

sibilant    ['siblənt] 

adj. 发咝咝声的

grimace  [gri'meis]

n. 面部的歪扭,鬼脸,痛苦的表情 vi. 扮鬼脸,作苦

参考资料:

  1. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(1)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  2. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(2)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  3. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(3)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  4. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(4)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  5. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(5)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  6. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(6)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  7. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(7)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  8. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(8)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  9. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(9)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  10. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(10)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
  11. 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第六册:U2 A Rose for Emily(11)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语

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Origin blog.csdn.net/hpdlzu80100/article/details/121396775