The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第33章

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earth；　leaving　behind　him　the　hard　rind　of　worldly　knowledge　and
experience。　He　heard　it　in　the　huckster's　cries；　the　noise　of
carts；　the　calling　of　children。　And　it　was　all　like　the　hard；
shed　rind；　discarded。　Inside；　in　the　softness　and　stillness　of
the　room；　was　the　naked　kernel；　that　palpitated　in　silent
activity；　absorbed　in　reality。

Inside　the　room　was　a　great　steadiness；　a　core　of　living
eternity。　Only　far　outside；　at　the　rim；　went　on　the　noise　and
the　destruction。　Here　at　the　centre　the　great　wheel　was
motionless；　centred　upon　itself。　Here　was　a　poised；　unflawed
stillness　that　was　beyond　time；　because　it　remained　the　same；
inexhaustible；　unchanging；　unexhausted。

As　they　lay　close　together；　plete　and　beyond　the　touch　of
time　or　change；　it　was　as　if　they　were　at　the　very　centre　of　all
the　slow　wheeling　of　space　and　the　rapid　agitation　of　life；
deep；　deep　inside　them　all；　at　the　centre　where　there　is　utter
radiance；　and　eternal　being；　and　the　silence　absorbed　in　praise：
the　steady　core　of　all　movements；　the　unawakened　sleep　of　all
wakefulness。　They　found　themselves　there；　and　they　lay　still；　in
each　other's　arms；　for　their　moment　they　were　at　the　heart　of
eternity；　whilst　time　roared　far　off；　for　ever　far　off；　towards
the　rim。

Then　gradually　they　were　passed　away　from　the　supreme　centre；
down　the　circles　of　praise　and　joy　and　gladness；　further　and
further　out；　towards　the　noise　and　the　friction。　But　their
hearts　had　burned　and　were　tempered　by　the　inner　reality；　they
were　unalterably　glad。

Gradually　they　began　to　wake　up；　the　noises　outside　became
more　real。　They　understood　and　answered　the　call　outside。　They
counted　the　strokes　of　the　bell。　And　when　they　counted　midday；
they　understood　that　it　was　midday；　in　the　world；　and　for
themselves　also。

It　dawned　upon　her　that　she　was　hungry。　She　had　been　getting
hungrier　for　a　lifetime。　But　even　yet　it　was　not　sufficiently
real　to　rouse　her。　A　long　way　off　she　could　hear　the　words；　〃I
am　dying　of　hunger。〃　Yet　she　lay　still；　separate；　at　peace；　and
the　words　were　unuttered。　There　was　still　another　lapse。

And　then；　quite　calmly；　even　a　little　surprised；　she　was　in
the　present；　and　was　saying：

〃I　am　dying　with　hunger。〃

〃So　am　I；〃　he　said　calmly；　as　if　it　were　of　not　the　slightest
significance。　And　they　relapsed　into　the　warm；　golden　stillness。
And　the　minutes　flowed　unheeded　past　the　window　outside。

Then　suddenly　she　stirred　against　him。

〃My　dear；　I　am　dying　of　hunger；〃　she　said。

It　was　a　slight　pain　to　him　to　be　brought　to。

〃We'll　get　up；〃　he　said；　unmoving。

And　she　sank　her　head　on　to　him　again；　and　they　lay　still；
lapsing。　Half　consciously；　he　heard　the　clock　chime　the　hour。
She　did　not　hear。

〃Do　get　up；〃　she　murmured　at　length；　〃and　give　me　something
to　eat。〃

〃Yes；〃　he　said；　and　he　put　his　arms　round　her；　and　she　lay
with　her　face　on　him。　They　were　faintly　astonished　that　they　did
not　move。　The　minutes　rustled　louder　at　the　window。

〃Let　me　go　then；〃　he　said。

She　lifted　her　head　from　him；　relinquishingly。　With　a　little
breaking　away；　he　moved　out　of　bed；　and　was　taking　his　clothes。
She　stretched　out　her　hand　to　him。

〃You　are　so　nice；〃　she　said；　and　he　went　back　for　a　moment　or
two。

Then　actually　he　did　slip　into　some　clothes；　and；　looking
round　quickly　at　her；　was　gone　out　of　the　room。　She　lay
translated　again　into　a　pale；　clearer　peace。　As　if　she　were　a
spirit；　she　listened　to　the　noise　of　him　downstairs；　as　if　she
were　no　longer　of　the　material　world。

It　was　half…past　one。　He　looked　at　the　silent　kitchen；
untouched　from　last　night；　dim　with　the　drawn　blind。　And　he
hastened　to　draw　up　the　blind；　so　people　should　know　they　were
not　in　bed　any　later。　Well；　it　was　his　own　house；　it　did　not
matter。　Hastily　he　put　wood　in　the　grate　and　made　a　fire。　He
exulted　in　himself；　like　an　adventurer　on　an　undiscovered
island。　The　fire　blazed　up；　he　put　on　the　kettle。　How　happy　he
felt！　How　still　and　secluded　the　house　was！　There　were　only　he
and　she　in　the　world。

But　when　he　unbolted　the　door；　and；　half…dressed；　looked　out；
he　felt　furtive　and　guilty。　The　world　was　there；　after　all。　And
he　had　felt　so　secure；　as　though　this　house　were　the　Ark　in　the
flood；　and　all　the　rest　was　drowned。　The　world　was　there：　and　it
was　afternoon。　The　morning　had　vanished　and　gone　by；　the　day　was
growing　old。　Where　was　the　bright；　fresh　morning？　He　was
accused。　Was　the　morning　gone；　and　he　had　lain　with　blinds
drawn；　let　it　pass　by　unnoticed？

He　looked　again　round　the　chill；　grey　afternoon。　And　he
himself　so　soft　and　warm　and　glowing！　There　were　two　sprigs　of
yellow　jasmine　in　the　saucer　that　covered　the　milk…jug。　He
wondered　who　had　been　and　left　the　sign。　Taking　the　jug；　he
hastily　shut　the　door。　Let　the　day　and　the　daylight　drop　out；
let　it　go　by　unseen。　He　did　not　care。　What　did　one　day　more　or
less　matter　to　him。　It　could　fall　into　oblivion　unspent　if　it
liked；　this　one　course　of　daylight。

〃Somebody　has　been　and　found　the　door　locked；〃　he　said　when
he　went　upstairs　with　the　tray。　He　gave　her　the　two　sprigs　of
jasmine。　She　laughed　as　she　sat　up　in　bed；　childishly　threading
the　flowers　in　the　breast　of　her　nightdress。　Her　brown　hair
stuck　out　like　a　nimbus；　all　fierce；　round　her　softly　glowing
face。　Her　dark　eyes　watched　the　tray　eagerly。

〃How　good！〃　she　cried；　sniffing　the　cold　air。　〃I'm　glad　you
did　a　lot。〃　And　she　stretched　out　her　hands　eagerly　for　her
plate……〃e　back　to　bed；　quick……it's　cold。〃　She
rubbed　her　hands　together　sharply。

He　＇put　off　what　little　clothing　he　had　on；　and＇　sat　beside　her
in　the　bed。

〃You　look　like　a　lion；　with　your　mane　sticking　out；　and　your
nose　pushed　over　your　food；〃　he　said。

She　tinkled　with　laughter；　and　gladly　ate　her　breakfast。

The　morning　was　sunk　away　unseen；　the　afternoon　was　steadily
going　too；　and　he　was　letting　it　go。　One　bright　transit　of
daylight　gone　by　unacknowledged！　There　was　something　unmanly；
recusant　in　it。　He　could　not　quite　reconcile　himself　to　the
fact。　He　felt　he　ought　to　get　up；　go　out　quickly　into　the
daylight；　and　work　or　spend　himself　energetically　in　the　open
air　of　the　afternoon；　retrieving　what　was　left　to　him　of　the
day。

But　he　did　not　go。　Well；　one　might　as　well　be　hung　for　a
sheep　as　for　a　lamb。　If　he　had　lost　this　day　of　his　life；　he　had
lost　it。　He　gave　it　up。　He　was　not　going　to　count　his　losses。
She　didn't　care。　She　didn't　care　in　the　least。
Then　why　should　he？　Should　he　be　behind　her　in　recklessness　and
independence？　She　was　superb　in　her　indifference。　He　wanted　to
be　like　her。

She　took　her　responsibilities　lightly。　When　she　spilled　her
tea　on　the　pillow；　she　rubbed　it　carelessly　with　a　handkerchief；
and　turned　over　the　pillow。　He　would　have　felt　guilty。　She　did
not。　And　it　pleased　him。　It　pleased　him　very　much　to　see　how
these　things　did　not　matter　to　her。

When　the　meal　was　over；　she　wiped　her　mouth　on　her
handkerchief　quickly；　satisfied　and　happy；　and　settled　down　on
the　pillow　again；　with　her　fingers　in　his　close；　strange；
fur…like　hair。

The　evening　began　to　fall；　the　light　was　half　alive；　livid。
He　hid　his　face　against　her。

〃I　don't　like　the　twilight；〃　he　said。

〃I　love　it；〃　she　answered。

He　hid　his　face　against　her；　who　was　warm　and　like　sunlight。
She　seemed　to　have　sunlight　inside　her。　Her　heart　beating　seemed
like　sunlight　upon　him。　In　her　was　a　more　real　day　than　the　day
could　give：　so　warm　and　steady　and　restoring。　He　hid　his　face
against　her　whilst　the　twilight　fell；　whilst　she　lay　staring　out
with　her　unseeing　dark　eyes；　as　if　she　wandered　forth
untrammelled　in　the　vagueness。　The　vagueness　gave　her　scope　and
set　her　free。

To　him；　turned　towards　her　heart…pulse；　all　was　very　still
and　very　warm　and　very　close；　like　noon…tide。　He　was　glad　to
know　this　warm；　full　noon。　It　ripened　him　and　took　away　his
responsibility；　some　of　his　conscience。

They　got　up　when　it　was　quite　dark。　She　hastily　twisted　her
hair　into　a　knot；　and　was　dressed　in　a　twinkling。　Then　they　went
downstairs；　drew　to　the　fire；　and　sat　in　silence；　saying　a　few
words　now　and　then。

Her　father　was　ing。　She　bundled　the　dishes　away；　flew
round　and　tidied　the　room；　assumed　another　character；　and　again
seated　herself。　He　sat　thinking　of　his　carving　of　Eve。　He　loved
to　go　over　his　carving　in　his　mind；　dwelling　on　every　stroke；
every　line。　How　he　loved　it　now！　When　he　went　back　to　his
Creation…panel　again；　he　would　finish　his　Eve；　tender　and
sparkling。　It　did　not　satisfy　him　yet。　The　Lord　should　labour
over　her　in　a　silent　passion　of　Creation；　and　Adam　should　be
tense　as　if　in　a　dream　of　immortality；　and　Eve　should　take　form
glimmeringly；　shadowily；　as　if　the　Lord　must　wrestle　with　His
own　soul　for　her；　yet　she　was　a　radiance。

〃What　are　you　thinking　about？〃　she　asked。

He　found　it　difficult　to　say。　His　soul　became　shy　when　he
tried　to　municate　it。

〃I　was　thinking　my　Eve　was　too　hard　and　lively。〃

〃Why？〃

〃I　don't　know。　She　should　be　more；〃　he　made　a
gesture　of　infinite　tenderness。

There　was　a　stillness　with　a　little　joy。　He　could　not　tell
her　any　more。　Why　could　he　not　tell　her　any　more？　She　felt　a
pang　of　disconsolate　sadness。　But　it　was　n