雙語(yǔ)·返老還童：菲茨杰拉德短篇小說(shuō)選 頭和肩膀 四
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HEAD AND SHOULDERS IV
Horace and Marcia were married early in February. The sensation in academic circles both at Yale and Princeton was tremendous. Horace Tarbox, who at fourteen had been played up in the Sunday magazines sections of metropolitan newspapers, was throwing over his career, his chance of being a world authority on American philosophy, by marrying a chorus girl—they made Marcia a chorus girl. But like all modern stories it was a four-and-a-half-day wonder.
They took a flat in Harlem. After two weeks' search, during which his idea of the value of academic knowledge faded unmercifully, Horace took a position as clerk with a South American export company—some one had told him that exporting was the coming thing. Marcia was to stay in her show for a few months—anyway until he got on his feet. He was getting a hundred and twenty-five to start with, and though of course they told him it was only a question of months until he would be earning double that, Marcia refused even to consider giving up the hundred and fifty a week that she was getting at the time.
“We'll call ourselves Head and Shoulders, dear,” she said softly, “and the shoulders'll have to keep shaking a little longer until the old head gets started.”
“I hate it,” he objected gloomily.
“Well,” she replied emphatically, “your salary wouldn't keep us in a tenement. Don't think I want to be public—I don't. I want to be yours. But I'd be a half-wit to sit in one room and count the sun flowers on the wall-paper while I waited for you. When you pull down three hundred a month I'll quit.”
And much as it hurt his pride, Horace had to admit that hers was the wiser course.
March mellowed into April. May read a gorgeous riot act to the parks and waters of Manhatten, and they were very happy. Horace, who had no habits whatsoever—he had never had time to form any—proved the most adaptable of husbands, and as Marcia entirely lacked opinions on the subjects that engrossed him there were very few jottings and bumping. Their minds moved in different spheres. Marcia acted as practical factotum, and Horace lived either in his old world of abstract ideas or in a sort of triumphantly earthy worship and adoration of his wife. She was a continual source of astonishment to him—the freshness and originality of her mind, her dynamic, clear-headed energy, and her unfailing good humor.
And Marcia's co-workers in the nine-o'clock show, whither she had transferred her talents, were impressed with her tremendous pride in her husband's mental powers. Horace they knew only as a very slim, tight-lipped, and immature-looking young man, who waited every night to take her home.
“Horace,” said Marcia one evening when she met him as usual at eleven, “you looked like a ghost standing there against the street lights. You losing weight?”
He shook his head vaguely.
“I don't know. They raised me to a hundred and thirty-five dollars to-day, and—”
“I don't care,” said Marcia severely. “You're killing yourself working at night. You read those big books on economy—”
“Economics,” corrected Horace.
“Well, you read 'em every night long after I'm asleep. And you're getting all stooped over like you were before we were married.”
“But, Marcia, I've got to—”
“No, you haven't dear. I guess I'm running this shop for the present, and I won't let my fella ruin his health and eyes. You got to get some exercise.”
“I do. Every morning I—”
“Oh, I know! But those dumb-bells of yours wouldn't give a consumptive two degrees of fever. I mean real exercise. You've got to join a gymnasium. 'Member you told me you were such a trick gymnast once that they tried to get you out for the team in college and they couldn't because you had a standing date with Herb Spencer?”
“I used to enjoy it,” mused Horace, “but it would take up too much time now.”
“All right,” said Marcia. “I'll make a bargain with you. You join a gym and I'll read one of those books from the brown row of 'em.”
“‘Pepys' Diary’? Why, that ought to be enjoyable. He's very light.”
“Not for me—he isn't. It'll be like digesting plate glass. But you been telling me how much it'd broaden my lookout. Well, you go to a gym three nights a week and I'll take one big dose of Sammy.”
Horace hesitated.
“Well—”
“Come on, now! You do some giant swings for me and I'll chase some culture for you.”
So Horace finally consented, and all through a baking summer he spent three and sometimes four evenings a week experimenting on the trapeze in Skipper's Gymnasium. And in August he admitted to Marcia that it made him capable of more mental work during the day.
“Mens sana in corpore sano,” he said.
“Don't believe in it,” replied Marcia. “I tried one of those patent medicines once and they're all bunk. You stick to gymnastics.”
One night in early September while he was going through one of his contortions on the rings in the nearly deserted room he was addressed by a meditative fat man whom he had noticed watching him for several nights.
“Say, lad, do that stunt you were doin' last night.”
Horace grinned at him from his perch.
“I invented it,” he said. “I got the idea from the fourth proposition of Euclid.”
“What circus he with?”
“He's dead.”
“Well, he must of broke his neck doin' that stunt. I set here last night thinkin' sure you was goin' to break yours.”
“Like this!” said Horace, and swinging onto the trapeze he did his stunt.
“Don't it kill your neck an' shoulder muscles?”
“It did at first, but inside of a week I wrote the quod erat demonstrandum on it.”
“Hm!”
Horace swung idly on the trapeze.
“Ever think of takin' it up professionally?” asked the fat man.
“Not I.”
“Good money in it if you're willin' to do stunts like 'at an' can get away with it.”
“Here's another,” chirped Horace eagerly, and the fat man's mouth dropped suddenly agape as he watched this pink-jerseyed Prometheus again defy the gods and Isaac Newton.
The night following this encounter Horace got home from work to find a rather pale Marcia stretched out on the sofa waiting for him.
“I fainted twice to-day,” she began without preliminaries.
“What?”
“Yep. You see baby's due in four months now. Doctor says I ought to have quit dancing two weeks ago.”
Horace sat down and thought it over.
“I'm glad of course,” he said pensively—“I mean glad that we're going to have a baby. But this means a lot of expense.”
“I've got two hundred and fifty in the bank,” said Marcia hopefully, “and two weeks' pay coming.”
Horace computed quickly.
“Inducing my salary, that'll give us nearly fourteen hundred for the next six months.”
Marcia looked blue.
“That all? Course I can get a job singing somewhere this month. And I can go to work again in March.”
“Of course nothing!” said Horace gruffly. “You'll stay right here. Let's see now—there'll be doctor's bills and a nurse, besides the maid. We've got to have some more money.”
“Well,” said Marcia wearily, “I don't know where it's coming from. It's up to the old head now. Shoulders is out of business.”
Horace rose and pulled on his coat.
“Where are you going?”
“I've got an idea,” he answered. “I'll be right back.”
Ten minutes later as he headed down the street toward Skipper's Gymnasium he felt a placid wonder, quite unmixed with humor, at what he was going to do. How he would have gaped at himself a year before! How every one would have gaped! But when you opened your door at the rap of life you let in many things.
The gymnasium was brightly lit, and when his eyes became accustomed to the glare he found the meditative fat man seated on a pile of canvas mats smoking a big cigar.
“Say,” began Horace directly, “were you in earnest last night when you said I could make money on my trapeze stunts?”
“Why, yes,” said the fat man in surprise.
“Well, I've been thinking it over, and I believe I'd like to try it. I could work at night and on Saturday afternoons—and regularly if the pay is high enough.”
The fat men looked at his watch.
“Well,” he said, “Charlie Paulson's the man to see. He'll book you inside of four days, once he sees you work out. He won't be in now, but I'll get hold of him for to-morrow night.”
The fat man was as good as his word. Charlie Paulson arrived next night and put in a wondrous hour watching the prodigy swap through the air in amazing parabolas, and on the night following he brought two large men with him who looked as though they had been born smoking black cigars and talking about money in low, passionate voices. Then on the succeeding Saturday Horace Tarbox's torso made its first professional appearance in a gymnastic exhibition at the Coleman Street Gardens. But though the audience numbered nearly five thousand people, Horace felt no nervousness. From his childhood he had read papers to audiences—learned that trick of detaching himself.
“Marcia,” he said cheerfully later that same night, “I think we're out of the woods. Paulson thinks he can get me an opening at the Hippodrome, and that means an all-winter engagement. The Hippodrome you know, is a big—”
“Yes, I believe I've heard of it,” interrupted Marcia, “but I want to know about this stunt you're doing. It isn't any spectacular suicide, is it?”
“It's nothing,” said Horace quietly. “But if you can think of an nicer way of a man killing himself than taking a risk for you, why that's the way I want to die.”
Marcia reached up and wound both arms tightly round his neck.
“Kiss me,” she whispered, “and call me ‘dear heart.’ I love to hear you say ‘dear heart.’ And bring me a book to read to-morrow. No more Sam Pepys, but something trick and trashy. I've been wild for something to do all day. I felt like writing letters, but I didn't have anybody to write to.”
“Write to me,” said Horace. “I'll read them.”
“I wish I could,” breathed Marcia. “If I knew words enough I could write you the longest love-letter in the world—and never get tired.”
But after two more months Marcia grew very tired indeed, and for a row of nights it was a very anxious, weary-looking young athlete who walked out before the Hippodrome crowd. Then there were two days when his place was taken by a young man who wore pale blue instead of white, and got very little applause. But after the two days Horace appeared again, and those who sat close to the stage remarked an expression of beatific happiness on that young acrobat's face, even when he was twisting breathlessly in the air an the middle of his amazing and original shoulder swing. After that performance he laughed at the elevator man and dashed up the stairs to the flat five steps at a time—and then tiptoed very carefully into a quiet room.
“Marcia,” he whispered.
“Hello!” She smiled up at him wanly. “Horace, there's something I want you to do. Look in my top bureau drawer and you'll find a big stack of paper. It's a book—sort of—Horace. I wrote it down in these last three months while I've been laid up. I wish you'd take it to that Peter Boyce Wendell who put my letter in his paper. He could tell you whether it'd be a good book. I wrote it just the way I talk, just the way I wrote that letter to him. It's just a story about a lot of things that happened to me. Will you take it to him, Horace?”
“Yes, darling.”
He leaned over the bed until his head was beside her on the pillow, and began stroking back her yellow hair.
“Dearest Marcia,” he said softly.
“No,” she murmured, “call me what I told you to call me.”
“Dear heart,” he whispered passionately—“dearest heart.”
“What'll we call her?”
They rested a minute in happy, drowsy content, while Horace considered.
“We'll call her Marcia Hume Tarbox,” he said at length.
“Why the Hume?”
“Because he's the fellow who first introduced us.”
“That so?” she murmured, sleepily surprised. “I thought his name was Moon.”
Her eyes dosed, and after a moment the slow, lengthening surge of the bedclothes over her breast showed that she was asleep.
Horace tiptoed over to the bureau and opening the top drawer found a heap of closely scrawled, lead-smeared pages. He looked at the first sheet:
SANDRA PEPYS, SYNCOPATED
BY MARCIA TARBOX
He smiled. So Samuel Pepys had made an impression on her after all. He turned a page and began to read. His smile deepened—he read on. Half an hour passed and he became aware that Marcia had waked and was watching him from the bed.
“Honey,” came in a whisper.
“What Marcia?”
“Do you like it?”
Horace coughed.
“I seem to be reading on. It's bright.”
“Take it to Peter Boyce Wendell. Tell him you got the highest marks in Princeton once and that you ought to know when a book's good. Tell him this one's a world beater.”
“All right, Marcia,” Horace said gently.
Her eyes closed again and Horace crossing over kissed her forehead—stood there for a moment with a look of tender pity. Then he left the room.
All that night the sprawly writing on the pages, the constant mistakes in spelling and grammar, and the weird punctuation danced before his eyes. He woke several times in the night, each time full of a welling chaotic sympathy for this desire of Marcia's soul to express itself in words. To him there was something infinitely pathetic about it, and for the first time in months he began to turn over in his mind his own half-forgotten dreams.
He had meant to write a series of books, to popularize the new realism as Schopenhauer had popularized pessimism and William James pragmatism.
But life hadn't come that way. Life took hold of people and forced them into flying rings. He laughed to think of that rap at his door, the diaphanous shadow in Hume, Marcia's threatened kiss.
“And it's still me,” he said aloud in wonder as he lay awake in the darkness. “I'm the man who sat in Berkeley with temerity to wonder if that rap would have had actual existence had my ear not been there to hear it. I'm still that man. I could be electrocuted for the crimes he committed.
“Poor gauzy souls trying to express ourselves in something tangible. Marcia with her written book; I with my unwritten ones. Trying to choose our mediums and then taking what we get—and being glad.”
頭和肩膀 四
二月初，賀拉斯和瑪西亞結(jié)婚了。這在耶魯和普林斯頓學(xué)術(shù)圈里引起了巨大的轟動(dòng)。十四歲就在一家都市報(bào)的周日雜志專(zhuān)欄發(fā)表文章的賀拉斯·塔波克斯，現(xiàn)在放棄了自己的事業(yè)，放棄了成為美國(guó)哲學(xué)領(lǐng)域世界權(quán)威的機(jī)會(huì)，娶了一位合唱團(tuán)的姑娘——他們認(rèn)為瑪西亞是合唱團(tuán)的。但是和現(xiàn)代所有的奇談怪事一樣，這樁奇聞也只熱鬧了四天半便歸于平靜了。
他們?cè)诠R姆(5)租了一套公寓。經(jīng)過(guò)兩個(gè)禮拜的求職，賀拉斯的學(xué)術(shù)知識(shí)價(jià)值觀無(wú)情地崩塌了。他在一家南美出口公司謀得了一個(gè)小職員的職位——他聽(tīng)人講過(guò)出口業(yè)很有前途。瑪西亞打算繼續(xù)在劇團(tuán)里多待幾個(gè)月——無(wú)論如何她都要堅(jiān)持到他站穩(wěn)腳跟再說(shuō)。盡管有人告訴他，幾個(gè)月后，他就可以掙到雙倍工資，但開(kāi)始時(shí)他的月薪只有一百二十美元，因此瑪西亞甚至拒絕考慮放棄她當(dāng)時(shí)每個(gè)禮拜能掙到一百五十美元的工作。
“親愛(ài)的，我們把我們自己稱(chēng)作‘頭和肩膀’吧，”她溫柔地說(shuō)，“肩膀可以繼續(xù)抖動(dòng)得久一點(diǎn)，一直到這顆古老的腦袋也開(kāi)始抖動(dòng)起來(lái)為止?！?/p>
“我不喜歡這個(gè)樣子?！彼麗瀽灢粯?lè)地反駁道。
“嗯，”她加重語(yǔ)氣說(shuō)，“你的工資還不夠我們付房租呢。別以為我想出風(fēng)頭——我才不想呢。我只想做你的妻子。但是，要是你讓我閑坐在屋子里，一邊等你，一邊數(shù)墻紙上的太陽(yáng)花，我會(huì)變成弱智的。等你每個(gè)月能掙到三百美元的時(shí)候，我就辭職。”
盡管這話很傷自尊，賀拉斯也不得不承認(rèn)，她的想法更加切合實(shí)際。
從三月到四月，日子過(guò)得和和美美。到了五月，曼哈頓的公園里、小河邊，到處洋溢著的歡聲笑語(yǔ)也見(jiàn)證了他們的幸福。賀拉斯沒(méi)有什么愛(ài)好——他沒(méi)有培養(yǎng)愛(ài)好的時(shí)間——然而事實(shí)證明他是個(gè)十分稱(chēng)職的丈夫。而且因?yàn)楝斘鱽唽?duì)于令賀拉斯十分著迷的事情完全沒(méi)有意見(jiàn)，因此，他們幾乎沒(méi)有什么磕磕碰碰的矛盾。他們有各自的分工。瑪西亞實(shí)際上扮演了務(wù)實(shí)的管家的角色，而賀拉斯要么依然生活在他過(guò)去那抽象思維的世界里，要么就心滿(mǎn)意足地生活在對(duì)妻子全心全意的崇拜中。她讓他驚喜不斷——她的想法鮮活而新穎，她活力四射、頭腦清醒，她有永不枯竭的幽默感。
無(wú)論瑪西亞在哪里展示她的表演才華，她對(duì)丈夫的聰明才智所流露出的無(wú)與倫比的自豪都會(huì)令她的九點(diǎn)檔節(jié)目的同事們印象深刻。他們只知道賀拉斯是一個(gè)文弱而不茍言笑、看上去稚氣未脫的年輕人，他每天晚上都等著接她回家。
“賀拉斯，”一天晚上，瑪西亞像往常一樣在十一點(diǎn)鐘見(jiàn)到他時(shí)說(shuō)道，“你站在街燈下時(shí)，看上去像個(gè)鬼魂。你瘦了是不是？”
他不知其可地?fù)u搖頭。
“我不知道。今天他們把我的工資漲到了一百三十五美元，還有——”
“我不在乎，”瑪西亞嚴(yán)肅地說(shuō)，“你要是再熬夜工作的話，非把自己累死不可。你看那些經(jīng)濟(jì)的大部頭書(shū)本——”
“經(jīng)濟(jì)學(xué)。”賀拉斯糾正道。
“哦，每天晚上，我都睡了很久了，你還在看這些書(shū)。你又回到我們結(jié)婚前那種彎腰弓背的狀態(tài)了?！?/p>
“可是，瑪西亞，我必須——”
“不，你用不著那樣，親愛(ài)的。我想，現(xiàn)在我是老板，我可不想讓我的伙計(jì)把身體累垮，把眼睛累壞。你得鍛煉鍛煉身體了。”
“我鍛煉了。每天早上我——”
“哦，我知道！但是你的那些啞鈴根本消耗不了多少熱量。我的意思是真正的鍛煉。你得去健身房。還記得你對(duì)我說(shuō)過(guò)的，你曾經(jīng)是個(gè)體操健將，有人想把你選進(jìn)大學(xué)體操隊(duì)去，可他們沒(méi)能如愿，因?yàn)楫?dāng)時(shí)你正和赫伯特·斯賓塞見(jiàn)面？”
“以前我喜歡鍛煉，”賀拉斯思慮重重地說(shuō)，“可是現(xiàn)在鍛煉太浪費(fèi)時(shí)間了?！?/p>
“好吧，”瑪西亞說(shuō)，“我和你做個(gè)交易。你去健身房健身，我就從你那排發(fā)黃的書(shū)里面挑一本來(lái)讀?！?/p>
“《佩皮斯日記》嗎？哦，那本書(shū)應(yīng)該很有意思，讀起來(lái)很輕松。”
“對(duì)我來(lái)說(shuō)，可不是這樣——一點(diǎn)都不輕松，就像啃厚玻璃板一樣。不過(guò)，你一直對(duì)我說(shuō)，這本書(shū)能讓我眼界大開(kāi)。好吧，你每個(gè)禮拜去三次健身房，我就服一劑大劑量的塞米(6)?！?/p>
賀拉斯猶豫不決。
“呃——”
“好了，就這么定了！你為我做幾個(gè)大回環(huán)，我為你學(xué)點(diǎn)文化知識(shí)?！?/p>
就這樣，賀拉斯終于同意了，整個(gè)烈日炎炎的夏天，他每個(gè)禮拜都花三或四個(gè)晚上到斯基珀健身房去練習(xí)吊環(huán)。八月份，他向瑪西亞承認(rèn)，鍛煉使他白天的腦力勞動(dòng)更有效率。
“健全的靈魂寓于健全的體魄。”他說(shuō)道。
“別信那些玩意兒，”瑪西亞答道，“我吃過(guò)那些特效藥，全都是垃圾。(7)你只管堅(jiān)持去健身房就好了?！?/p>
九月初的一個(gè)晚上，在一間幾乎空無(wú)一人的健身房里，他正在完成一個(gè)高難度的吊環(huán)扭體動(dòng)作，一個(gè)若有所思的胖男人和他搭起話來(lái)，他注意到這個(gè)人已經(jīng)觀察他幾個(gè)晚上了。
“嗨，小伙子，再展示一下你昨天晚上的那個(gè)絕活兒。”
賀拉斯在吊環(huán)上咧開(kāi)嘴沖他笑了笑。
“我自創(chuàng)的，”他說(shuō)，“受到了歐幾里得第四定理的啟發(fā)?！?/p>
“他是哪個(gè)馬戲團(tuán)的？”
“他已經(jīng)死了。”
“哦，他一定是在做那個(gè)絕活兒時(shí)折斷了脖子。昨天晚上我坐在這里想，你肯定也會(huì)把你的脖子弄斷的?！?/p>
“像這樣！”賀拉斯說(shuō)著，把吊環(huán)蕩起來(lái)，演示了他的絕活兒。
“這不會(huì)扭傷脖子和肩膀上的筋肉嗎？”
“剛開(kāi)始的時(shí)候會(huì)，但是一個(gè)禮拜后，就不會(huì)了?！?/p>
“呵！”
賀拉斯悠閑地抓著吊環(huán)蕩來(lái)蕩去。
“有沒(méi)有想過(guò)把這個(gè)作為你的職業(yè)？”胖男人問(wèn)道。
“沒(méi)想過(guò)?！?/p>
“要是愿意干這個(gè)絕活兒，能掙大錢(qián)，沒(méi)準(zhǔn)還能出名哩?！?/p>
“還有個(gè)絕招呢?！辟R拉斯熱切而歡快地說(shuō)。胖男人看到這個(gè)身穿粉色針織運(yùn)動(dòng)衫的普羅米修斯再次公然挑釁上帝和牛頓的時(shí)候，頓時(shí)驚得目瞪口呆。
這次見(jiàn)面的第二天，賀拉斯下班回到家，發(fā)現(xiàn)瑪西亞臉色蒼白，正躺在沙發(fā)上等他。
“今天我暈倒了兩次。”她直接說(shuō)。
“什么？”
“是的。你瞧，再過(guò)四個(gè)月寶寶就出生了。醫(yī)生說(shuō)我兩個(gè)禮拜前就不該再跳舞了。”
賀拉斯坐下來(lái)認(rèn)真思考。
“我很高興，當(dāng)然，”他心事重重地說(shuō)，“我的意思是我很高興我們要有孩子了。但是這意味著我們今后得花很多錢(qián)?！?/p>
“我有兩百五十美元的存款，”瑪西亞滿(mǎn)懷希望地說(shuō)，“而且還有兩個(gè)禮拜的薪水沒(méi)有領(lǐng)呢?！?/p>
賀拉斯飛快地計(jì)算著。
“加上我的工資，接下來(lái)的半年時(shí)間里，我們差不多總共會(huì)有一千四百美元?！?/p>
瑪西亞看起來(lái)憂(yōu)心忡忡。
“總共就這么多嗎？當(dāng)然了，這個(gè)月我可以找個(gè)地方唱歌。三月份的時(shí)候，我就又可以去上班了。”
“當(dāng)然不要你操心了！”賀拉斯粗魯?shù)卣f(shuō)，“你就乖乖待在家里?，F(xiàn)在我們來(lái)看看——除了保姆費(fèi)，還要支付醫(yī)生和護(hù)士的費(fèi)用。我們還得再準(zhǔn)備點(diǎn)錢(qián)。”
“哦，”瑪西亞疲憊不堪地說(shuō)，“我可不知道從哪兒弄啦。現(xiàn)在得靠這顆古老的腦袋，不關(guān)肩膀的事了?！?/p>
賀拉斯站起來(lái)，穿上了外套。
“你要去哪里？”
“我有辦法了，”他答道，“我很快就回來(lái)。”
十分鐘后，他已經(jīng)走在通往斯基珀健身房的路上。他感到心平氣和，又覺(jué)得十分奇妙，這種感受很純粹，不摻雜任何滑稽的成分。要是在一年前，他會(huì)對(duì)自己的這個(gè)決定感到多么驚訝！大家又會(huì)感到多么驚訝啊！然而，當(dāng)生活叩響了你的大門(mén)，你敞開(kāi)大門(mén)迎接的不僅是生活本身，還會(huì)有許多東西紛至沓來(lái)。
健身房里燈光明亮，他等眼睛適應(yīng)過(guò)來(lái)后，發(fā)現(xiàn)那個(gè)若有所思的胖男人正坐在一堆帆布?jí)|子上抽著一根大雪茄。
“嗨，”賀拉斯開(kāi)門(mén)見(jiàn)山地說(shuō)，“昨天晚上你說(shuō)我的吊環(huán)絕技可以賺錢(qián)，這話是真的嗎？”
“哦，那還用說(shuō)？”胖男人吃驚地說(shuō)。
“嗯，我一直都在考慮這件事，我想我愿意試試。我可以晚上和禮拜六下午來(lái)表演——而且如果報(bào)酬足夠高的話，我可以每天都來(lái)?！?/p>
胖男人看了看手表。
“哦，”他說(shuō)，“查理·鮑爾森才是你要見(jiàn)的人。他要是看到你的表演，不出四天就會(huì)用你。他現(xiàn)在不在，不過(guò)明天晚上我會(huì)替你盯住他。”
胖男人很守信用。第二天晚上，查理·鮑爾森來(lái)了，他花了一個(gè)小時(shí)的時(shí)間，無(wú)比驚詫地觀看了這位天才在空中上下翻飛、左右騰躍，畫(huà)出無(wú)數(shù)條令人驚嘆的拋物線。再過(guò)了一晚，他帶來(lái)了兩個(gè)人，他們?nèi)烁唏R大，看上去似乎一生下來(lái)就會(huì)抽黑雪茄，一直在小聲而興致勃勃地談?wù)摳X(qián)有關(guān)的事情。然后，在接下來(lái)的那個(gè)禮拜六，賀拉斯·塔波克斯在科爾曼街花園進(jìn)行了首次職業(yè)亮相表演。盡管觀眾幾乎有五千人之多，賀拉斯卻一點(diǎn)都不覺(jué)得緊張。他從很小就開(kāi)始當(dāng)眾朗讀他的論文，深諳把自己與觀眾隔離的技巧。
“瑪西亞，”當(dāng)天晚上表演結(jié)束后，他欣喜地說(shuō)，“我想我們有解決問(wèn)題的辦法了。鮑爾森覺(jué)得他能在競(jìng)技場(chǎng)劇院為我弄到一個(gè)空缺，能干上一整個(gè)冬天。競(jìng)技場(chǎng)劇院，你知道，是個(gè)大——”
“是的，我相信我聽(tīng)說(shuō)過(guò)這家劇院，”瑪西亞打斷了他的話，“但是，我想知道你表演的這個(gè)絕活兒，不會(huì)是那種場(chǎng)面壯烈的自殺型表演吧？”
“小事一樁，”賀拉斯平靜地說(shuō)，“不過(guò)，如果你能告訴我，男人以哪種方式自殺會(huì)比為你冒險(xiǎn)更好的話，那么沒(méi)關(guān)系，我寧愿那樣去死?！?/p>
瑪西亞張開(kāi)雙臂緊緊摟住他的脖子。
“親我，”她輕輕地說(shuō)，“叫我‘心肝寶貝’。我喜歡聽(tīng)你叫我‘心肝寶貝’。給我一本書(shū)讓我明天看。我不要再看塞姆·佩皮斯了，我想看點(diǎn)淺顯有意思的東西。我整天無(wú)聊死了，實(shí)在想做點(diǎn)什么。我想寫(xiě)信，可是我不知道給誰(shuí)寫(xiě)。”
“給我寫(xiě)，”賀拉斯說(shuō)，“我會(huì)看的?！?/p>
“希望我可以，”瑪西亞吸了口氣，“如果我認(rèn)的字夠多，我會(huì)給你寫(xiě)一封世界上最長(zhǎng)的情書(shū)，而且永遠(yuǎn)不會(huì)為此感到厭倦?！?/p>
然而，又過(guò)了兩個(gè)月，瑪西亞變得越來(lái)越疲憊。一連幾個(gè)晚上，年輕的賀拉斯都是一臉焦灼、精疲力竭地站在競(jìng)技場(chǎng)劇院的觀眾面前。因此，一個(gè)年輕人替他暫時(shí)表演了兩個(gè)晚上。這個(gè)人穿著淺藍(lán)色而非白色的運(yùn)動(dòng)裝，幾乎沒(méi)有人給他鼓掌。不過(guò)兩天后，賀拉斯重新出場(chǎng)了，那些坐得離舞臺(tái)較近的觀眾從這個(gè)年輕的雜技演員的臉上看到了一種快樂(lè)而安詳?shù)男腋１砬?，甚至?dāng)他在空中上氣不接下氣地做著各種翻轉(zhuǎn)，表演他那令人贊嘆的、自創(chuàng)的肩部動(dòng)作時(shí)，也都是如此。在那次表演之后，他沖負(fù)責(zé)開(kāi)電梯的人笑了笑，然后五步并作一步地沖到樓上的公寓里——踮著腳尖小心翼翼地進(jìn)入安靜的房間。
“瑪西亞。”他輕輕地叫道。
“嗨！”她虛弱地朝他笑笑，“賀拉斯，我想讓你做點(diǎn)事情。到書(shū)櫥最上面的抽屜里找找看，有一大疊紙。那是一本書(shū)——就算是書(shū)吧——賀拉斯，那是我這三個(gè)月待在家里閑得無(wú)聊的時(shí)候?qū)懙?。我希望你能把它送到那個(gè)曾把我的信刊登上報(bào)的彼得·博伊斯·文德?tīng)柲莾?。他?huì)告訴你這是不是一本好書(shū)。我寫(xiě)書(shū)的風(fēng)格和我講話一個(gè)樣，就是和我寫(xiě)給他的那封信的風(fēng)格一個(gè)樣。只是一個(gè)故事，是我親身經(jīng)歷過(guò)的很多事情。你會(huì)把它送給他嗎，賀拉斯？”
“我會(huì)的，親愛(ài)的。”
他朝床頭彎下身子，把頭放在枕頭上，挨著她，開(kāi)始輕撫她金色的頭發(fā)。
“最最親愛(ài)的瑪西亞。”他溫柔地說(shuō)。
“不，”她喃喃地說(shuō)，“請(qǐng)按照我喜歡的方式叫我?！?/p>
“心肝寶貝，”他充滿(mǎn)激情地輕聲耳語(yǔ)道，“最最、最最親愛(ài)的心肝寶貝。”
“我們給她起個(gè)名字吧？”
賀拉斯在為孩子想名字的時(shí)候，他們便能在這種幸福、安靜的滿(mǎn)足感中休息一會(huì)兒。
“我們叫她瑪西亞·休姆·塔波克斯吧?！彼K于說(shuō)。
“為什么叫休姆？”
“因?yàn)檫@家伙是我們的第一個(gè)見(jiàn)證人呀。”
“這樣?。俊彼?，懨懨欲睡，又有點(diǎn)吃驚，“我還以為那個(gè)人叫穆恩呢?！?/p>
她閉上眼睛，過(guò)了一會(huì)兒，她胸脯上的被單開(kāi)始平緩地一起一伏，她睡著了。
賀拉斯踮著腳尖走到書(shū)櫥邊，打開(kāi)上面的抽屜，發(fā)現(xiàn)一摞字跡潦草，幾乎是涂鴉般的書(shū)稿。他看了看第一頁(yè)：
桑德拉·佩皮斯，簡(jiǎn)寫(xiě)本
瑪西亞·塔波克斯
他笑了。這么說(shuō)來(lái)，塞繆爾·佩皮斯還是對(duì)她產(chǎn)生了影響。他翻了一頁(yè)，開(kāi)始看起來(lái)。他笑得更開(kāi)心了——往下看了下去。半個(gè)小時(shí)過(guò)去了，他意識(shí)到瑪西亞已經(jīng)醒了，正從床上看著他。
“親愛(ài)的。”耳畔傳來(lái)了輕聲的呼喚。
“什么事，瑪西亞？”
“你喜歡嗎？”
賀拉斯咳了一聲。
“我還在看呢。很有趣?！?/p>
“把它送給彼得·博伊斯·文德?tīng)枴８嬖V他你在普林斯頓大學(xué)取得過(guò)最優(yōu)秀的成績(jī)，所以你知道一本書(shū)是不是好書(shū)。告訴他這本書(shū)會(huì)轟動(dòng)全世界。”
“好的，瑪西亞?！辟R拉斯溫柔地說(shuō)。
她的眼睛又閉上了，賀拉斯走過(guò)去吻了吻她的額頭——他在她身邊站了一會(huì)兒，臉上寫(xiě)滿(mǎn)了溫柔的憐惜。然后他離開(kāi)了房間。
那一整晚，一頁(yè)頁(yè)涂鴉似的手稿、一連串的拼寫(xiě)錯(cuò)誤和語(yǔ)法錯(cuò)誤、一堆奇怪的標(biāo)點(diǎn)符號(hào)，它們?cè)谒矍疤鴦?dòng)著。夜里他醒了幾次，每次都對(duì)瑪西亞在字里行間所流露出的靈魂的渴望充滿(mǎn)了無(wú)法言喻的、難以抑制的同情。他對(duì)瑪西亞寫(xiě)書(shū)這件事產(chǎn)生了極其憐惜的感覺(jué)，幾個(gè)月以來(lái)，他第一次開(kāi)始認(rèn)真思考起幾乎被自己遺忘了的夢(mèng)想。
他曾經(jīng)打算撰寫(xiě)一部論文集來(lái)普及新現(xiàn)實(shí)主義，正如叔本華普及了悲觀主義，威廉·詹姆斯普及了實(shí)用主義一樣。
然而，生活并不由人隨心所欲。生活操縱了他，迫使他去表演吊環(huán)?；叵肫饡?shū)房外的敲門(mén)聲，休姆椅子上那個(gè)輕盈透亮的身影，瑪西亞的索吻，他大笑起來(lái)。
“我還是我，”他躺在黑暗中毫無(wú)睡意，驚奇地大聲說(shuō)，“我還是那個(gè)坐在伯克利椅子上的莽夫，以為如果不想聽(tīng)，敲門(mén)聲就不存在。我依然是那個(gè)人。我可能會(huì)因?yàn)樽约悍赶碌淖镞^(guò)而被處以電刑。
“可憐的、輕薄的靈魂試圖以可感可觸的方式講述自己的人生。瑪西亞和她寫(xiě)的書(shū)，我和我未寫(xiě)出的書(shū)。我們?cè)噲D選擇某些手段，得到我們想要的東西，并因此而感到幸福?！?/p>
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