老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
I
The two girls came up the unlighted stone staircase which led fromMaggie's cave to the door of the parlour. Sophia, foremost, wascarrying a large tray, and Constance a small one. Constance, whohad nothing on her tray but a teapot, a bowl of steaming andbalmy-scented mussels and cockles, and a plate of hot butteredtoast, went directly into the parlour on the left. Sophia had inher arms the entire material and apparatus of a high tea for two,including eggs, jam, and toast (covered with the slop-basin turnedupside down), but not including mussels and cockles. She turned tothe right, passed along the corridor by the cutting-out room, uptwo steps into the sheeted and shuttered gloom of the closed shop,up the showroom stairs, through the showroom, and so into thebedroom corridor. Experience had proved it easier to make thislong detour than to round the difficult corner of the parlourstairs with a large loaded tray. Sophia knocked with the edge ofthe tray at the door of the principal bedroom. The muffledoratorical sound from within suddenly ceased, and the door wasopened by a very tall, very thin, black-bearded man, who lookeddown at Sophia as if to demand what she meant by such aninterruption.
"I've brought the tea, Mr. Critchlow," said Sophia.
And Mr. Critchlow carefully accepted the tray.
"Is that my little Sophia?" asked a faint voice from the depths ofthe bedroom.
"Yes, father," said Sophia.
But she did not attempt to enter the room. Mr. Critchlow put thetray on a white-clad chest of drawers near the door, and then heshut the door, with no ceremony. Mr. Critchlow was John Baines'soldest and closest friend, though decidedly younger than thedraper. He frequently "popped in" to have a word with the invalid;but Thursday afternoon was his special afternoon, consecrated byhim to the service of the sick. From two o'clock precisely tilleight o'clock precisely he took charge of John Baines, reigningautocratically over the bedroom. It was known that he would nottolerate invasions, nor even ambassadorial visits. No! He gave uphis weekly holiday to this business of friendship, and he must beallowed to conduct the business in his own way. Mrs. Bainesherself avoided disturbing Mr. Critchlow's ministrations on herhusband. She was glad to do so; for Mr. Baines was never to beleft alone under any circumstances, and the convenience of beingable to rely upon the presence of a staid member of thePharmaceutical Society for six hours of a given day every weekoutweighed the slight affront to her prerogatives as wife andhouse-mistress. Mr. Critchlow was an extremely peculiar man, butwhen he was in the bedroom she could leave the house with an easymind. Moreover, John Baines enjoyed these Thursday afternoons. Forhim, there was 'none like Charles Critchlow.' The two old friendsexperienced a sort of grim, desiccated happiness, cooped uptogether in the bedroom, secure from women and fools generally.How they spent the time did not seem to be certainly known, butthe impression was that politics occupied them. Undoubtedly Mr.Critchlow was an extremely peculiar man. He was a man of habits.He must always have the same things for his tea. Black-currantjam, for instance. (He called it "preserve.") The idea of offeringMr. Critchlow a tea which did not comprise black-currant jam wasinconceivable by the intelligence of St. Luke's Square. Thus foryears past, in the fruit-preserving season, when all the house andall the shop smelt richly of fruit boiling in sugar, Mrs. Baineshad filled an extra number of jars with black-currant jam,'because Mr. Critchlow wouldn't TOUCH any other sort.'
So Sophia, faced with the shut door of the bedroom, went down tothe parlour by the shorter route. She knew that on going up again,after tea, she would find the devastated tray on the doormat.
"Have some?" Constance asked of Sophia, with a large spoonhovering over the bowl of shells.
"Yes, PLEASE," said Sophia, positively.
Constance well knew that she would have some, and had only askedfrom sheer nervousness.
"Pass your plate, then."
Now when everybody was served with mussels, cockles, tea, andtoast, and Mr. Povey had been persuaded to cut the crust off histoast, and Constance had, quite unnecessarily, warned Sophiaagainst the deadly green stuff in the mussels, and Constance hadfurther pointed out that the evenings were getting longer, and Mr.Povey had agreed that they were, there remained nothing to say. Anirksome silence fell on them all, and no one could lift it off.Tiny clashes of shell and crockery sounded with the terribleclearness of noises heard in the night. Each person avoided theeyes of the others. And both Constance and Sophia keptstraightening their bodies at intervals, and expanding theirchests, and then looking at their plates; occasionally a primcough was discharged. It was a sad example of the differencebetween young women's dreams of social brilliance and the realityof life. These girls got more and more girlish, until, from beingwomen at the administering of laudanum, they sank back to abouteight years of age--perfect children--at the tea-table.
The tension was snapped by Mr. Povey. "My God!" he muttered, movedby a startling discovery to this impious and disgraceful oath (he,the pattern and exemplar--and in the presence of innocent girlhoodtoo!). "I've swallowed it!"
"Swallowed what, Mr. Povey?" Constance inquired.
The tip of Mr. Povey's tongue made a careful voyage of inspectionall round the right side of his mouth.
"Oh yes!" he said, as if solemnly accepting the inevitable. "I'veswallowed it!"
Sophia's face was now scarlet; she seemed to be looking for someplace to hide it. Constance could not think of anything to say.
"That tooth has been loose for two years," said Mr. Povey, "andnow I've swallowed it with a mussel."
"Oh, Mr. Povey!" Constance cried in confusion, and added, "There'sone good thing, it can't hurt you any more now."
"Oh!" said Mr. Povey. "It wasn't THAT tooth that was hurting me.It's an old stump at the back that's upset me so this last day ortwo. I wish it had been."
Sophia had her teacup close to her red face. At these words of Mr.Povey her cheeks seemed to fill out like plump apples. She dashedthe cup into its saucer, spilling tea recklessly, and then ranfrom the room with stifled snorts.
"Sophia!" Constance protested.
"I must just---" Sophia incoherently spluttered in the doorway. "Ishall be all right. Don't---"
Constance, who had risen, sat down again.