The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第50章

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And　when；　with　his　second　sense　of　another　presence；　he　knew　she
was　ing；　he　was　satisfied；　he　was　at　rest。　When　he　was　alone
with　her；　he　did　not　want　to　take　notice；　to　talk。　He　wanted　to
live　unthinking；　with　her　presence　flickering　upon　him。

He　always　went　in　silence。　The　child　would　push　open　the　shed
door；　and　see　him　working　by　lamplight；　his　sleeves　rolled　back。
His　clothes　hung　about　him；　carelessly；　like　mere　wrapping。
Inside；　his　body　was　concentrated　with　a　flexible；　charged　power
all　of　its　own；　isolated。　From　when　she　was　a　tiny　child　Ursula
could　remember　his　forearm；　with　its　fine　black　hairs　and　its
electric　flexibility；　working　at　the　bench　through　swift；
unnoticeable　movements；　always　ambushed　in　a　sort　of
silence。

She　hung　a　moment　in　the　door　of　the　shed；　waiting　for　him　to
notice　her。　He　turned；　his　black；　curved　eyebrows　arching
slightly。

〃Hullo；　Twittermiss！〃

And　he　closed　the　door　behind　her。　Then　the　child　was　happy
in　the　shed　that　smelled　of　sweet　wood　and　resounded　to　the
noise　of　the　plane　or　the　hammer　or　the　saw；　yet　was　charged
with　the　silence　of　the　worker。　She　played　on；　intent　and
absorbed；　among　the　shavings　and　the　little　nogs　of　wood。　She
never　touched　him：　his　feet　and　legs　were　near；　she　did　not
approach　them。

She　liked　to　flit　out　after　him　when　he　was　going　to　church
at　night。　If　he　were　going　to　be　alone；　he　swung　her　over　the
wall；　and　let　her　e。

Again　she　was　transported　when　the　door　was　shut　behind　them；
and　they　two　inherited　the　big；　pale；　void　place。　She　would
watch　him　as　he　lit　the　organ　candles；　wait　whilst　he　began　his
practicing　his　tunes；　then　she　ran　foraging　here　and　there；　like
a　kitten　playing　by　herself　in　the　darkness　with　eyes　dilated。
The　ropes　hung　vaguely；　twining　on　the　floor；　from　the　bells　in
the　tower；　and　Ursula　always　wanted　the　fluffy；　red…and…white；
or　blue…and…white　rope…grips。　But　they　were　above　her。

Sometimes　her　mother　came　to　claim　her。　Then　the　child　was
seized　with　resentment。　She　passionately　resented　her　mother's
superficial　authority。　She　wanted　to　assert　her　own
detachment。

He；　however；　also　gave　her　occasional　cruel　shocks。　He　let
her　play　about　in　the　church；　she　rifled　foot…stools　and
hymn…books　and　cushions；　like　a　bee　among　flowers；　whilst　the
organ　echoed　away。　This　continued　for　some　weeks。　Then　the
charwoman　worked　herself　up　into　a　frenzy　of　rage；　to　dare　to
attack　Brangwen；　and　one　day　descended　on　him　like　a　harpy。　He
wilted　away；　and　wanted　to　break　the　old　beast's　neck。

Instead　he　came　glowering　in　fury　to　the　house；　and　turned　on
Ursula。

〃Why；　you　tiresome　little　monkey；　can't　you　even　e　to
church　without　pulling　the　place　to　bits？〃

His　voice　was　harsh　and　cat…like；　he　was　blind　to　the　child。
She　shrank　away　in　childish　anguish　and　dread。　What　was　it；　what
awful　thing　was　it？

The　mother　turned　with　her　calm；　almost　superb　manner。

〃What　has　she　done；　then？〃

〃Done？　She　shall　go　in　the　church　no　more；　pulling　and
littering　and　destroying。〃

The　wife　slowly　rolled　her　eyes　and　lowered　her　eyelids。

〃What　has　she　destroyed；　then？〃

He　did　not　know。

〃I've　just　had　Mrs。　Wilkinson　at　me；〃　he　cried；　〃with　a　list
of　things　she's　done。〃

Ursula　withered　under　the　contempt　and　anger　of　the　〃she〃；　as
he　spoke　of　her。

〃Send　Mrs。　Wilkinson　here　to　me　with　a　list　of　the　things
she's　done；〃　said　Anna。　〃I　am　the　one　to　hear　that。〃

〃It's　not　the　things　the　child　has　done；〃　continued　the
mother；　〃that　have　put　you　out　so　much；　it's　because　you　can't
bear　being　spoken　to　by　that　old　woman。　But　you　haven't　the
courage　to　turn　on　her　when　she　attacks　you；　you　bring　your　rage
here。〃

He　relapsed　into　silence。　Ursula　knew　that　he　was　wrong。　In
the　outside；　upper　world；　he　was　wrong。　Already　came　over　the
child　the　cold　sense　of　the　impersonal　world。　There　she　knew　her
mother　was　right。　But　still　her　heart　clamoured　after　her
father；　for　him　to　be　right；　in　his　dark；　sensuous　underworld。
But　he　was　angry；　and　went　his　way　in　blackness　and　brutal
silence　again。

The　child　ran　about　absorbed　in　life；　quiet；　full　of
amusement。　She　did　not　notice　things；　nor　changes　nor
alterations。　One　day　she　would　find　daisies　in　the　grass；
another　day；　apple…blossoms　would　be　sprinkled　white　on　the
ground；　and　she　would　run　among　it；　for　pleasure　because　it　was
there。　Yet　again　birds　would　be　pecking　at　the　cherries；　her
father　would　throw　cherries　down　from　the　tree　all　round　her　on
the　garden。　Then　the　fields　were　full　of　hay。

She　did　not　remember　what　had　been　nor　what　would　be；　the
outside　things　were　there　each　day。　She　was　always　herself；　the
world　outside　was　accidental。　Even　her　mother　was　accidental　to
her：　a　condition　that　happened　to　endure。

Only　her　father　occupied　any　permanent　position　in　the
childish　consciousness。　When　he　came　back　she　remembered　vaguely
how　he　had　gone　away；　when　he　went　away　she　knew　vaguely　that
she　must　wait　for　his　ing　back。　Whereas　her　mother；　returning
from　an　outing；　merely　became　present；　there　was　no　reason　for
connecting　her　with　some　previous　departure。

The　return　or　the　departure　of　the　father　was　the　one　event
which　the　child　remembered。　When　he　came；　something　woke　up　in
her；　some　yearning。　She　knew　when　he　was　out　of　joint　or
irritable　or　tired：　then　she　was　uneasy；　she　could　not　rest。

When　he　was　in　the　house；　the　child　felt　full　and　warm；　rich
like　a　creature　in　the　sunshine。　When　he　was　gone；　she　was
vague；　forgetful。　When　he　scolded　her　even；　she　was　often　more
aware　of　him　than　of　herself。　He　was　her　strength　and　her
greater　self。

Ursula　was　three　years　old　when　another　baby　girl　was　born。
Then　the　two　small　sisters　were　much　together；　Gudrun　and
Ursula。　Gudrun　was　a　quiet　child　who　played　for　hours　alone；
absorbed　in　her　fancies。　She　was　brown…haired；　fair…skinned；
strangely　placid；　almost　passive。　Yet　her　will　was　indomitable；
once　set。　From　the　first　she　followed　Ursula's　lead。　Yet　she　was
a　thing　to　herself；　so　that　to　watch　the　two　together　was
strange。　They　were　like　two　young　animals　playing　together　but
not　taking　real　notice　of　each　other。　Gudrun　was　the　mother's
favourite……except　that　Anna　always　lived　in　her　latest
baby。

The　burden　of　so　many　lives　depending　on　him　wore　the　youth
down。　He　had　his　work　in　the　office；　which　was　done　purely　by
effort　of　will：　he　had　his　barren　passion　for　the　church；　he　had
three　young　children。　Also　at　this　time　his　health　was　not　good。
So　he　was　haggard　and　irritable；　often　a　pest　in　the　house。　Then
he　was　told　to　go　to　his　woodwork；　or　to　the　church。

Between　him　and　the　little　Ursula　there　came　into　being　a
strange　alliance。　They　were　aware　of　each　other。　He　knew　the
child　was　always　on　his　side。　But　in　his　consciousness　he
counted　it　for　nothing。　She　was　always　for　him。　He　took　it　for
granted。　Yet　his　life　was　based　on　her；　even　whilst　she　was　a
tiny　child；　on　her　support　and　her　accord。

Anna　continued　in　her　violent　trance　of　motherhood；　always
busy；　often　harassed；　but　always　contained　in　her　trance　of
motherhood。　She　seemed　to　exist　in　her　own　violent　fruitfulness；
and　it　was　as　if　the　sun　shone　tropically　on　her。　Her　colour　was
bright；　her　eyes　full　of　a　fecund　gloom；　her　brown　hair　tumbled
loosely　over　her　ears。　She　had　a　look　of　richness。　No
responsibility；　no　sense　of　duty　troubled　her。　The　outside；
public　life　was　less　than　nothing　to　her；　really。

Whereas　when；　at　twenty…six；　he　found　himself　father　of　four
children；　with　a　wife　who　lived　intrinsically　like　the　ruddiest
lilies　of　the　field；　he　let　the　weight　of　responsibility　press
on　him　and　drag　him。　It　was　then　that　his　child　Ursula　strove　to
be　with　him。　She　was　with　him；　even　as　a　baby　of　four；　when　he
was　irritable　and　shouted　and　made　the　household　unhappy。　She
suffered　from　his　shouting；　but　somehow　it　was　not　really　him。
She　wanted　it　to　be　over；　she　wanted　to　resume　her　normal
connection　with　him。　When　he　was　disagreeable；　the　child　echoed
to　the　crying　of　some　need　in　him；　and　she　responded　blindly。
Her　heart　followed　him　as　if　he　had　some　tie　with　her；　and　some
love　which　he　could　not　deliver。　Her　heart　followed　him
persistently；　in　its　love。

But　there　was　the　dim；　childish　sense　of　her　own　smallness
and　inadequacy；　a　fatal　sense　of　worthlessness。　She　could　not　do
anything；　she　was　not　enough。　She　could　not　be　important　to　him。
This　knowledge　deadened　her　from　the　first。

Still　she　set　towards　him　like　a　quivering　needle。　All　her
life　was　directed　by　her　awareness　of　him；　her　wakefulness　to
his　being。　And　she　was　against　her　mother。

Her　father　was　the　dawn　wherein　her　consciousness　woke　up。
But　for　him；　she　might　have　gone　on　like　the　other　children；
Gudrun　and　Theresa　and　Catherine；　one　with　the　flowers　and
insects　and　playthings；　having　no　existence　apart　from　the
concrete　object　of　her　attention。　But　her　father　came　too　near
to　her。　The　clasp　of　his　hands　and　the　power　of　his　breast　woke
her　up　almost　in　pain　from　the　transient　unconsciousness　of
childhood。　Wide…eyed；　unseeing；　she　was　awake　before　she　knew
how　to　see。　She　was　wakened　too　soon。　Too　soon　the　call　had　e
to　her；　when　she　w