老妇人的故事 英文版The Old Wives' Tale
阿诺德.本涅特 Arnold Bennett
III
Gerald returned to the bedroom which contained his wife and allelse that he owned in the world at about nine o'clock thatevening. Sophia was in bed. She had been driven to bed byweariness. She would have preferred to sit up to receive herhusband, even if it had meant sitting up all night, but her bodywas too heavy for her spirit. She lay in the dark. She had eatennothing. Gerald came straight into the room. He struck a match,which burned blue, with a stench, for several seconds, and thengave a clear, yellow flame. He lit a candle; and saw his wife.
"Oh!" he said; "you're there, are you?"
She offered no reply.
"Won't speak, eh?" he said. "Agreeable sort of wife! Well, haveyou made up your mind to do what I told you? I've come backespecially to know."
She still did not speak.
He sat down, with his hat on, and stuck out his feet, wagging themto and fro on the heels.
"I'm quite without money," he went on. "And I'm sure your peoplewill be glad to lend us a bit till I get some. Especially as it'sa question of you starving as well as me. If I had enough to payyour fares to Bursley I'd pack you off. But I haven't."
She could only hear his exasperating voice. The end of the bed wasbetween her eyes and his.
"Liar!" she said, with uncompromising distinctness. The wordreached him barbed with all the poison of her contempt anddisgust.
There was a pause.
"Oh! I'm a liar, am I? Thanks. I lied enough to get you, I'lladmit. But you never complained of that. I remember be-ginning theNew Year well with a thumping lie just to have a sight of you, myvixen. But you didn't complain then. I took you with only theclothes on your back. And I've spent every cent I had on you. Andnow I'm spun, you call me a liar."
She said nothing.
"However," he went on, "this is going to come to an end, this is!"
He rose, changed the position of the candle, putting it on a chestof drawers, and then drew his trunk from the wall, and knelt infront of it.
She gathered that he was packing his clothes. At first she did notcomprehend his reference to beginning the New Year. Then hismeaning revealed itself. That story to her mother about havingbeen attacked by ruffians at the bottom of King Street had been aninvention, a ruse to account plausibly for his presence on hermother's doorstep! And she had never suspected that the story wasnot true. In spite of her experience of his lying, she had neversuspected that that particular statement was a lie. What asimpleton she was!
There was a continual movement in the room for about a quarter ofan hour. Then a key turned in the lock of the trunk.
His head popped up over the foot of the bed. "This isn't a joke,you know," he said.
She kept silence.
"I give you one more chance. Will you write to your mother--orConstance if you like--or won't you?"
She scorned to reply in any way.
"I'm your husband," he said. "And it's your duty to obey me,particularly in an affair like this. I order you to write to yourmother."
The corners of her lips turned downwards.
Angered by her mute obstinacy, he broke away from the bed with asudden gesture.
"You do as you like," he cried, putting on his overcoat, "and Ishall do as I like. You can't say I haven't warned you. It's yourown deliberate choice, mind you! Whatever happens to you you'vebrought on yourself." He lifted and shrugged his shoulders to getthe overcoat exactly into place on his shoulders.
She would not speak a word, not even to insist that she wasindisposed.
He pushed his trunk outside the door, and returned to the bed.
"You understand," he said menacingly; "I'm off."
She looked up at the foul ceiling.
"Hm!" he sniffed, bringing his reserves of pride to combat thepersistent silence that was damaging his dignity. And he went off,sticking his head forward like a pugilist.
"Here!" she muttered. "You're forgetting this."
He turned.
She stretched her hand to the night-table and held up a redcirclet.
"What is it?"
"It's the bit of paper off the cigar you bought in the RueMontmartre this afternoon," she answered, in a significant tone.
He hesitated, then swore violently, and bounced out of the room.He had made her suffer, but she was almost repaid for everythingby that moment of cruel triumph. She exulted in it, and neverforgot it.
Five minutes later, the gloomy menial in felt slippers and alpacajacket, who seemed to pass the whole of his life flitting in andout of bedrooms like a rabbit in a warren, carried Gerald's trunkdownstairs. She recognized the peculiar tread of his slippers.
Then there was a knock at the door. The landlady entered, actuatedby a legitimate curiosity.
"Madame is suffering?" the landlady began.
Sophia refused offers of food and nursing.
"Madame knows without doubt that monsieur has gone away?"
"Has he paid the bill?" Sophia asked bluntly.
"But yes, madame, till to-morrow. Then madame has want ofnothing?"
"If you will extinguish the candle," said Sophia.
He had deserted her, then!
"All this," she reflected, listening in the dark to the ceaselessrattle of the street, "because mother and Constance wanted to seethe elephant, and I had to go into father's room! I should neverhave caught sight of him from the drawing-room window!"