The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第58章

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said　Lydia　Brangwen；　her　heart　cold；　knowing　her　own
singleness。

〃I　did　not　know　you　in　life。　You　are　beyond　me；　supreme　now
in　death；〃　said　Anna　Brangwen；　awe…stricken；　almost　glad。

It　was　the　sons　who　could　not　bear　it。　Fred　Brangwen　went
about　with　a　set；　blanched　face　and　shut　hands；　his　heart　full
of　hatred　and　rage　for　what　had　been　done　to　his　father；
bleeding　also　with　desire　to　have　his　father　again；　to　see　him；
to　hear　him　again。　He　could　not　bear　it。

Tom　Brangwen　only　arrived　on　the　day　of　the　funeral。　He　was
quiet　and　controlled　as　ever。　He　kissed　his　mother；　who　was
still　dark…faced；　inscrutable；　he　shook　hands　with　his　brother
without　looking　at　him；　he　saw　the　great　coffin　with　its　black
handles。　He　even　read　the　name…plate；　〃Tom　Brangwen；　of　the
Marsh　Farm。　Born　。　Died　。〃

The　good…looking；　still　face　of　the　young　man　crinkled　up　for
a　moment　in　a　terrible　grimace；　then　resumed　its　stillness。　The
coffin　was　carried　round　to　the　church；　the　funeral　bell　tanged
at　intervals；　the　mourners　carried　their　wreaths　of　white
flowers。　The　mother；　the　Polish　woman；　went　with　dark；　abstract
face；　on　her　son's　arm。　He　was　good…looking　as　ever；　his　face
perfectly　motionless　and　somehow　pleasant。　Fred　walked　with
Anna；　she　strange　and　winsome；　he　with　a　face　like　wood；　stiff；
unyielding。

Only　afterwards　Ursula；　flitting　between　the　currant　bushes
down　the　garden；　saw　her　Uncle　Tom　standing　in　his　black
clothes；　erect　and　fashionable；　but　his　fists　lifted；　and　his
face　distorted；　his　lips　curled　back　from　his　teeth　in　a
horrible　grin；　like　an　animal　which　grimaces　with　torment；
whilst　his　body　panted　quick；　like　a　panting　dog's。　He　was
facing　the　open　distance；　panting；　and　holding　still；　then
panting　rapidly　again；　but　his　face　never　changing　from　its
almost　bestial　look　of　torture；　the　teeth　all　showing；　the　nose
wrinkled　up；　the　eyes；　unseeing；　fixed。

Terrified；　Ursula　slipped　away。　And　when　her　Uncle　Tom　was　in
the　house　again；　grave　and　very　quiet；　so　that　he　seemed　almost
to　affect　gravity；　to　pretend　grief；　she　watched　his　still；
handsome　face；　imagining　it　again　in　its　distortion。　But　she　saw
the　nose　was　rather　thick；　rather　Russian；　under　its　transparent
skin；　she　remembered　the　teeth　under　the　carefully　cut　moustache
were　small　and　sharp　and　spaced。　She　could　see　him；　in　all　his
elegant　demeanour；　bestial；　almost　corrupt。　And　she　was
frightened。　She　never　forgot　to　look　for　the　bestial；
frightening　side　of　him；　after　this。

He　said　〃Good…bye〃　to　his　mother　and　went　away　at　once。
Ursula　almost　shrank　from　his　kiss；　now。　She　wanted　it；
nevertheless；　and　the　little　revulsion　as　well。

At　the　funeral；　and　after　the　funeral；　Will　Brangwen　was
madly　in　love　with　his　wife。　The　death　had　shaken　him。　But　death
and　all　seemed　to　gather　in　him　into　a　mad；　over…whelming
passion　for　his　wife。　She　seemed　so　strange　and　winsome。　He　was
almost　beside　himself　with　desire　for　her。

And　she　took　him；　she　seemed　ready　for　him；　she　wanted
him。

The　grandmother　stayed　a　while　at　the　Yew　Cottage；　till　the
Marsh　was　restored。　Then　she　returned　to　her　own　rooms；　quiet；
and　it　seemed；　wanting　nothing。　Fred　threw　himself　into　the　work
of　restoring　the　farm。　That　his　father　was　killed　there；　seemed
to　make　it　only　the　more　intimate　and　the　more　inevitably　his
own　place。

There　was　a　saying　that　the　Brangwens　always　died　a　violent
death。　To　them　all；　except　perhaps　Tom；　it　seemed　almost
natural。　Yet　Fred　went　about　obstinate；　his　heart　fixed。　He
could　never　forgive　the　Unknown　this　murder　of　his　father。

After　the　death　of　the　father；　the　Marsh　rs。
Brangwen　was　unsettled。　She　could　not　sit　all　the　evening
peacefully；　as　she　could　before；　and　during　the　day　she　was
always　rising　to　her　feet　and　hesitating；　as　if　she　must　go
somewhere；　and　were　not　quite　sure　whither。

She　was　seen　loitering　about　the　garden；　in　her　little
woollen　jacket。　She　was　often　driven　out　in　the　gig；　sitting
beside　her　son　and　watching　the　countryside　or　the　streets　of
the　town；　with　a　childish；　candid；　uncanny　face；　as　if　it　all
were　strange　to　her。

The　children；　Ursula　and　Gudrun　and　Theresa　went　by　the
garden　gate　on　their　way　to　school。　The　grandmother　would　have
them　call　in　each　time　they　passed；　she　would　have　them　e　to
the　Marsh　for　dinner。　She　wanted　children　about　her。

Of　her　sons；　she　was　almost　afraid。　She　could　see　the　sombre
passion　and　desire　and　dissatisfaction　in　them；　and　she　wanted
not　to　see　it　any　more。　Even　Fred；　with　his　blue　eyes　and　his
heavy　jaw；　troubled　her。　There　was　no　peace。　He　wanted
something；　he　wanted　love；　passion；　and　he　could　not　find　them。
But　why　must　he　trouble　her？　Why　must　he　e　to　her　with　his
seething　and　suffering　and　dissatisfactions？　She　was　too
old。

Tom　was　more　restrained；　reserved。　He　kept　his　body　very
still。　But　he　troubled　her　even　more。　She　could　not　but　see　the
black　depths　of　disintegration　in　his　eyes；　the　sudden　glance
upon　her；　as　if　she　could　save　him；　as　if　he　would　reveal
himself。

And　how　could　age　save　youth？　Youth　must　go　to　youth。　Always
the　storm！　Could　she　not　lie　in　peace；　these　years；　in　the
quiet；　apart　from　life？　No；　always　the　swell　must　heave　upon　her
and　break　against　the　barriers。　Always　she　must　be　embroiled　in
the　seethe　and　rage　and　passion；　endless；　endless；　going　on　for
ever。　And　she　wanted　to　draw　away。　She　wanted　at　last　her　own
innocence　and　peace。　She　did　not　want　her　sons　to　force　upon　her
any　more　the　old　brutal　story　of　desire　and　offerings　and　deep；
deep…hidden　rage　of　unsatisfied　men　against　women。　She　wanted　to
be　beyond　it　all；　to　know　the　peace　and　innocence　of　age。

She　had　never　been　a　woman　to　work　much。　So　that　now　she
would　stand　often　at　the　garden…gate；　watching　the　scant　world
go　by。　And　the　sight　of　children　pleased　her；　made　her　happy。
She　had　usually　an　apple　or　a　few　sweets　in　her　pocket。　She
liked　children　to　smile　at　her。

She　never　went　to　her　husband's　grave。　She　spoke　of　him
simply；　as　if　he　were　alive。　Sometimes　the　tears　would　run　down
her　face；　in　helpless　sadness。　Then　she　recovered；　and　was
herself　again；　happy。

On　wet　days；　she　stayed　in　bed。　Her　bedroom　was　her　city　of
refuge；　where　she　could　lie　down　and　muse　and　muse。　Sometimes
Fred　would　read　to　her。　But　that　did　not　mean　much。　She　had　so
many　dreams　to　dream　over；　such　an　unsifted　store。　She　wanted
time。

Her　chief　friend　at　this　period　was　Ursula。　The　little　girl
and　the　musing；　fragile　woman　of　sixty　seemed　to　understand　the
same　language。　At　Cossethay　all　was　activity　and　passion；
everything　moved　upon　poles　of　passion。　Then　there　were　four
children　younger　than　Ursula；　a　throng　of　babies；　all　the　time
many　lives　beating　against　each　other。

So　that　for　the　eldest　child；　the　peace　of　the　grandmother's
bedroom　was　exquisite。　Here　Ursula　came　as　to　a　hushed；
paradisal　land；　here　her　own　existence　became　simple　and
exquisite　to　her　as　if　she　were　a　flower。

Always　on　Saturdays　she　came　down　to　the　Marsh；　and　always
clutching　a　little　offering；　either　a　little　mat　made　of　strips
of　coloured；　woven　paper；　or　a　tiny　basket　made　in　the
kindergarten　lesson；　or　a　little　crayon　drawing　of　a　bird。

When　she　appeared　in　the　doorway；　Tilly；　ancient　but　still　in
authority；　would　crane　her　skinny　neck　to　see　who　it　was。

〃Oh；　it's　you；　is　it？〃　she　said。　〃I　thought　we　should　be
seein'　you。　My　word；　that's　a　bobby…dazzlin'　posy　you've
brought！〃

It　was　curious　how　Tilly　preserved　the　spirit　of　Tom
Brangwen；　who　was　dead；　in　the　Marsh。　Ursula　always　connected
her　with　her　grandfather。

This　day　the　child　had　brought　a　tight　little　nosegay　of
pinks；　white　ones；　with　a　rim　of　pink　ones。　She　was　very　proud
of　it；　and　very　shy　because　of　her　pride。

〃Your　gran'mother's　in　her　bed。　Wipe　your　shoes　well　if
you're　goin'　up；　and　don't　go　burstin'　in　on　her　like　a
skyrocket。　My　word；　but　that's　a　fine　posy！　Did　you　do　it　all　by
yourself；　an'　all？〃

Tilly　stealthily　ushered　her　into　the　bedroom。　The　child
entered　with　a　strange；　dragging　hesitation　characteristic　of
her　when　she　was　moved。　Her　grandmother　was　sitting　up　in　bed；
wearing　a　little　grey　woollen　jacket。

The　child　hesitated　in　silence　near　the　bed；　clutching　the
nosegay　in　front　of　her。　Her　childish　eyes　were　shining。　The
grandmother's　grey　eyes　shone　with　a　similar　light。

〃How　pretty！〃　she　said。　〃How　pretty　you　have　made　them！　What
a　darling　little　bunch。〃

Ursula；　glowing；　thrust　them　into　her　grandmother's　hand；
saying；　〃I　made　them　you。〃

〃That　is　how　the　peasants　tied　them　at　home；〃　said　the
grandmother；　pushing　the　pinks　with　her　fingers；　and　smelling
them。　〃Just　such　tight　little　bunches！　And　they　make　wreaths　for
their　hair……they　weave　the　stalks。　Then　they　go　round　with
wreaths　in　their　hair；　and　wearing　their　best　aprons。〃

Ursula　immediately　imagined　herself　in　this　story…land。

〃Did　you　used　to　have　a　wreath　in　your　hair；
grandmother？〃

〃When　I　was　a　little　girl；　I　had　golden　hair；　something　like
Katie's。　Then　I　used　to　have　a　wreath　of　little　blue　flowers；
oh；　so　blue；　that　e　when　the　snow　is　gone。　Andrey；　the
coachman；　used　to　bring　me　the　very　first。〃