老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
II
He had apparently finished his home-lessons. The books were pushedaside, and he was sketching in lead-pencil on a drawing-block. Tothe right of the fireplace, over the sofa, there hung an engravingafter Landseer, showing a lonely stag paddling into a lake. Thestag at eve had drunk or was about to drink his fill, and Cyrilwas copying him. He had already indicated a flight of birds in themiddle distance; vague birds on the wing being easier thandetailed stags, he had begun with the birds.
Constance put a hand on his shoulder. "Finished your lessons?" shemurmured caressingly.
Before speaking, Cyril gazed up at the picture with a frowning,busy expression, and then replied in an absent-minded voice:
"Yes." And after a pause: "Except my arithmetic. I shall do thatin the morning before breakfast."
"Oh, Cyril!" she protested.
It had been a positive ordinance, for a long time past, that thereshould be no sketching until lessons were done. In his father'slifetime Cyril had never dared to break it.
He bent over his block, feigning an intense absorption.Constance's hand slipped from his shoulder. She wanted to commandhim formally to resume his lessons. But she could not. She fearedan argument; she mistrusted herself. And, moreover, it was so soonafter his father's death!
"You know you won't have time to-morrow morning!" she said weakly.
"Oh, mother!" he retorted superiorly. "Don't worry." And then, ina cajoling tone: "I've wanted to do that stag for ages."
She sighed and sat down in her rocking-chair. He went onsketching, rubbing out, and making queer expostulatory noisesagainst his pencil, or against the difficulties needlesslyinvented by Sir Edwin Landseer. Once he rose and changed theposition of the gas-bracket, staring fiercely at the engraving asthough it had committed a sin.
Amy came to lay the supper. He did not acknowledge that sheexisted.
"Now, Master Cyril, after you with that table, if you please!" Sheannounced herself brusquely, with the privilege of an old servantand a woman who would never see thirty again.
"What a nuisance you are, Amy!" he gruffly answered. "Look here,mother, can't Amy lay the cloth on that half of the table? I'mright in the middle of my drawing. There's plenty of room therefor two."
He seemed not to be aware that, in the phrase 'plenty of room fortwo,' he had made a callous reference to their loss. The fact was,there WAS plenty of room for two.
Constance said quickly: "Very well, Amy. For this once."
Amy grunted, but obeyed.
Constance had to summon him twice from art to nourishment. He atewith rapidity, frequently regarding the picture with half-shut,searching eyes. When he had finished, he refilled his glass withwater, and put it next to his sketching-block.
"You surely aren't thinking of beginning to paint at this time ofnight!" Constance exclaimed, astonished.
"Oh YES, mother!" he fretfully appealed. "It's not late."
Another positive ordinance of his father's had been that thereshould be nothing after supper except bed. Nine o'clock was thelatest permissible moment for going to bed. It was now less than aquarter to.
"It only wants twelve minutes to nine," Constance pointed out.
"Well, what if it does?"
"Now, Cyril," she said, "I do hope you are going to be a good boy,and not cause your mother anxiety."
But she said it too kindly.
He said sullenly: "I do think you might let me finish it. I'vebegun it. It won't take me long."
She made the mistake of leaving the main point. "How can youpossibly choose your colours properly by gas-light?" she said.
"I'm going to do it in sepia," he replied in triumph.
"It mustn't occur again," she said.
He thanked God for a good supper, and sprang to the harmonium,where his paint-box was. Amy cleared away. Constance did crochet-work. There was silence. The clock struck nine, and it also struckhalf-past nine. She warned him repeatedly. At ten minutes to tenshe said persuasively:
"Now, Cyril, when the clock strikes ten I shall really put the gasout."
The clock struck ten.
"Half a mo, half a mo!" he cried. "I've done! I've done!"
Her hand was arrested.
Another four minutes elapsed, and then he jumped up. "There youare!" he said proudly, showing her the block. And all his gestureswere full of grace and cajolery.
"Yes, it's very good," Constance said, rather indifferently.
"I don't believe you care for it!" he accused her, but with abright smile.
"I care for your health," she said. "Just look at that clock!"
He sat down in the other rocking-chair, deliberately.
"Now, Cyril!"
"Well, mother, I suppose you'll let me take my boots off!" He saidit with teasing good-humour.
In her bedroom, alone, she listened to his movements as heundressed. The door between the two rooms was unlatched. She hadto control a desire to open it ever so little and peep at him. Hewould not have liked that. He could have enriched her heart beyondall hope, and at no cost to himself; but he did not know hispower. As she could not cling to him with her hands, she clung tohim with that heart of hers, while moving sedately up and down theroom, alone. And her eyes saw him through the solid wood of thedoor. At last she got heavily into bed. She thought with placidanxiety, in the dark: "I shall have to be firm with Cyril." Andshe thought also, simultaneously: "He really must be a good boy.He MUST." And clung to him passionately, without shame! Lyingalone there in the dark, she could be as unrestrained and girlishas her heart chose. When she loosed her hold she instantly saw theboy's father arranged in his coffin, or flitting about the room.Then she would hug that vision too, for the pleasure of the painit gave her.