The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第113章

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on　the　ground。　What　was　it　that　was　drawing　near　her；　what
weight　oppressing　her　heart？　She　did　not　know；　she　did　not
look。

Yet　now　her　way　was　cut　off。　They　were　blocking　her　back。　She
knew　they　had　gathered　on　a　log　bridge　over　the　sedgy　dike；　a
dark；　heavy；　powerfully　heavy　knot。　Yet　her　feet　went　on　and　on。
They　would　burst　before　her。　They　would　burst　before　her。　Her
feet　went　on　and　on。　And　tense；　and　more　tense　became　her　nerves
and　her　veins；　they　ran　hot；　they　ran　white　hot；　they　must　fuse
and　she　must　die。

But　the　horses　had　burst　before　her。　In　a　sort　of　lightning
of　knowledge　their　movement　travelled　through　her；　the　quiver
and　strain　and　thrust　of　their　powerful　flanks；　as　they　burst
before　her　and　drew　on；　beyond。

She　knew　they　had　not　gone；　she　knew　they　awaited　her　still。
But　she　went　on　over　the　log　bridge　that　their　hoofs　had　churned
and　drummed；　she　went　on；　knowing　things　about　them。　She　was
aware　of　their　breasts　gripped；　clenched　narrow　in　a　hold　that
never　relaxed；　she　was　aware　of　their　red　nostrils　flaming　with
long　endurance；　and　of　their　haunches；　so　rounded；　so　massive；
pressing；　pressing；　pressing　to　burst　the　grip　upon　their
breasts；　pressing　for　ever　till　they　went　mad；　running　against
the　walls　of　time；　and　never　bursting　free。　Their　great　haunches
were　smoothed　and　darkened　with　rain。　But　the　darkness　and
wetness　of　rain　could　not　put　out　the　hard；　urgent；　massive　fire
that　was　locked　within　these　flanks；　never；　never。

She　went　on；　drawing　near。　She　was　aware　of　the　great　flash
of　hoofs；　a　bluish；　iridescent　flash　surrounding　a　hollow　of
darkness。　Large；　large　seemed　the　bluish；　incandescent　flash　of
the　hoof…iron；　large　as　a　halo　of　lightning　round　the　knotted
darkness　of　the　flanks。　Like　circles　of　lightning　came　the　flash
of　hoofs　from　out　of　the　powerful　flanks。

They　were　awaiting　her　again。　They　had　gathered　under　an　oak
tree；　knotting　their　awful；　blind；　triumphing　flanks　together；
and　waiting；　waiting。　They　were　waiting　for　her　approach。　As　if
from　a　far　distance　she　was　drawing　near；　towards　the　line　of
twiggy　oak　trees　where　they　made　their　intense　darkness；
gathered　on　a　single　bank。

She　must　draw　near。　But　they　broke　away；　they　cantered　round；
making　a　wide　circle　to　avoid　noticing　her；　and　cantered　back
into　the　open　hillside　behind　her。

They　were　behind　her。　The　way　was　open　before　her；　to　the
gate　in　the　high　hedge　in　the　near　distance；　so　she　could　pass
into　the　smaller；　cultivated　field；　and　so　out　to　the　high…road
and　the　ordered　world　of　man。　Her　way　was　clear。　She　lulled　her
heart。　Yet　her　heart　was　couched　with　fear；　couched　with　fear
all　along。

Suddenly　she　hesitated　as　if　seized　by　lightning。　She　seemed
to　fall；　yet　found　herself　faltering　forward　with　small　steps。
The　thunder　of　horses　galloping　down　the　path　behind　her　shook
her；　the　weight　came　down　upon　her；　down；　to　the　moment　of
extinction。　She　could　not　look　round；　so　the　horses　thundered
upon　her。

Cruelly；　they　swerved　and　crashed　by　on　her　left　hand。　She
saw　the　fierce　flanks　crinkled　and　as　yet　inadequate；　the　great
hoofs　flashing　bright　as　yet　only　brandished　about　her；　and　one
by　one　the　horses　crashed　by；　intent；　working　themselves　up。

They　had　gone　by；　brandishing　themselves　thunderously　about
her；　enclosing　her。　They　slackened　their　burst　transport；　they
slowed　down；　and　cantered　together　into　a　knot　once　more；　in　the
corner　by　the　gate　and　the　trees　ahead　of　her。　They　stirred；
they　moved　uneasily；　they　settled　their　uneasy　flanks　into　one
group；　one　purpose。　They　were　up　against　her。

Her　heart　was　gone；　she　had　no　more　heart。　She　knew　she　dare
not　draw　near。　That　concentrated；　knitted　flank　of　the
horse…group　had　conquered。　It　stirred　uneasily；　awaiting　her；
knowing　its　triumph。　It　stirred　uneasily；　with　the　uneasiness　of
awaited　triumph。　Her　heart　was　gone；　her　limbs　were　dissolved；
she　was　dissolved　like　water。　All　the　hardness　and　looming　power
was　in　the　massive　body　of　the　horse…group。

Her　feet　faltered；　she　came　to　a　standstill。　It　was　the
crisis。　The　horses　stirred　their　flanks　uneasily。　She　looked
away；　failing。　On　her　left；　two　hundred　yards　down　the　slope；
the　thick　hedge　ran　parallel。　At　one　point　there　was　an　oak
tree。　She　might　climb　into　the　boughs　of　that　oak　tree；　and　so
round　and　drop　on　the　other　side　of　the　hedge。

Shuddering；　with　limbs　like　water；　dreading　every　moment　to
fall；　she　began　to　work　her　way　as　if　making　a　wide　detour　round
the　horse…mass。　The　horses　stirred　their　flanks　in　a　knot
against　her。　She　trembled　forward　as　if　in　a　trance。

Then　suddenly；　in　a　flame　of　agony；　she　darted；　seized　the
rugged　knots　of　the　oak　tree　and　began　to　climb。　Her　body　was
weak　but　her　hands　were　as　hard　as　steel。　She　knew　she　was
strong。　She　struggled　in　a　great　effort　till　she　hung　on　the
bough。　She　knew　the　horses　were　aware。　She　gained　her　foot…hold
on　the　bough。　The　horses　were　loosening　their　knot；　stirring；
trying　to　realize。　She　was　working　her　way　round　to　the　other
side　of　the　tree。　As　they　started　to　canter　towards　her；　she
fell　in　a　heap　on　the　other　side　of　the　hedge。

For　some　moments　she　could　not　move。　Then　she　saw　through　the
rabbit…cleared　bottom　of　the　hedge　the　great；　working　hoofs　of
the　horses　as　they　cantered　near。　She　could　not　bear　it。　She
rose　and　walked　swiftly；　diagonally　across　the　field。　The　horses
galloped　along　the　other　side　of　the　hedge　to　the　corner；　where
they　were　held　up。　She　could　feel　them　there　in　their　huddled
group　all　the　while　she　hastened　across　the　bare　field。　They
were　almost　pathetic；　now。　Her　will　alone　carried　her；　till；
trembling；　she　climbed　the　fence　under　a　leaning　thorn　tree　that
overhung　the　grass　by　the　high…road。　The　use　went　from　her；　she
sat　on　the　fence　leaning　back　against　the　trunk　of　the　thorn
tree；　motionless。

As　she　sat　there；　spent；　time　and　the　flux　of　change　passed
away　from　her；　she　lay　as　if　unconscious　upon　the　bed　of　the
stream；　like　a　stone；　unconscious；　unchanging；　unchangeable；
whilst　everything　rolled　by　in　transience；　leaving　her　there；　a
stone　at　rest　on　the　bed　of　the　stream；　inalterable　and　passive；
sunk　to　the　bottom　of　all　change。

She　lay　still　a　long　time；　with　her　back　against　the　thorn
tree　trunk；　in　her　final　isolation。　Some　colliers　passed；
tramping　heavily　up　the　wet　road；　their　voices　sounding　out；
their　shoulders　up　to　their　ears；　their　figures　blotched　and
spectral　in　the　rain。　Some　did　not　see　her。　She　opened　her　eyes
languidly　as　they　passed　by。　Then　one　man　going　alone　saw　her。
The　whites　of　his　eyes　showed　in　his　black　face　as　he　looked　in
wonderment　at　her。　He　hesitated　in　his　walk；　as　if　to　speak　to
her；　out　of　frightened　concern　for　her。　How　she　dreaded　his
speaking　to　her；　dreaded　his　questioning　her。

She　slipped　from　her　seat　and　went　vaguely　along　the
path……vaguely。　It　was　a　long　way　home。　She　had　an　idea　that
she　must　walk　for　the　rest　of　her　life；　wearily；　wearily。　Step
after　step；　step　after　step；　and　always　along　the　wet；　rainy
road　between　the　hedges。　Step　after　step；　step　after　step；　the
monotony　produced　a　deep；　cold　sense　of　nausea　in　her。　How
profound　was　her　cold　nausea；　how　profound！　That　too　plumbed　the
bottom。　She　seemed　destined　to　find　the　bottom　of　all　things
to…day：　the　bottom　of　all　things。　Well；　at　any　rate　she　was
walking　along　the　bottom…most　bed……she　was　quite　safe：
quite　safe；　if　she　had　to　go　on　and　on　for　ever；　seeing　this　was
the　very　bottom；　and　there　was　nothing　deeper。　There　was　nothing
deeper；　you　see；　so　one　could　not　but　feel　certain；　passive。

She　arrived　home　at　last。　The　climb　up　the　hill　to　Beldover
had　been　very　trying。　Why　must　one　climb　the　hill？　Why　must　one
climb？　Why　not　stay　below？　Why　force　one's　way　up　the　slope？　Why
force　one's　way　up　and　up；　when　one　is　at　the　bottom？　Oh；　it　was
very　trying；　very　wearying；　very　burdensome。　Always　burdens；
always；　always　burdens。　Still；　she　must　get　to　the　top　and　go
home　to　bed。　She　must　go　to　bed。

She　got　in　and　went　upstairs　in　the　dusk　without　its　being
noticed　she　was　in　such　a　sodden　condition。　She　was　too　tired　to
go　downstairs　again。　She　got　into　bed　and　lay　shuddering　with
cold；　yet　too　apathetic　to　get　up　or　call　for　relief。　Then
gradually　she　became　more　ill。

She　was　very　ill　for　a　fortnight；　delirious；　shaken　and
racked。　But　always；　amid　the　ache　of　delirium；　she　had　a　dull
firmness　of　being；　a　sense　of　permanency。　She　was　in　some　way
like　the　stone　at　the　bottom　of　the　river；　inviolable　and
unalterable；　no　matter　what　storm　raged　in　her　body。　Her　soul
lay　still　and　permanent；　full　of　pain；　but　itself　for　ever。
Under　all　her　illness；　persisted　a　deep；　inalterable
knowledge。

She　knew；　and　she　cared　no　more。　Throughout　her　illness；
distorted　into　vague　forms；　persisted　the　question　of　herself
and　Skrebensky；　like　a　gnawing　ache　that　was　still　superficial；
and　did　not　touch　her　isolated；　impregnable　core　of　reality。　But
the　corrosion　of　him　burned　in　her　till　it　burned　itself
out。

Must　she　belong　to　him；　must　she　adhere　to　him？　Something
pelled　her；　and　yet　it　was　not　real。　Always　the　ache；　the
ache　of　unreality；　of　her　be