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I thought, if I had caused the cloud, it was my duty to make an effort to dispel it. They could not every day sit so grim and taciturn; and it was impossible, however ill-tempered they might be, that the universal scowl they wore was their every-day countenance. “It is strange,” I began, in the interval of swallowing one cup of tea and receiving another—“it is strange how custom can mould our tastes and ideas: many could not imagine the existence of happiness in a life of such complete exile from the world as you spend, Mr. Heathcliff; yet, I’ll venture to say, that, surrounded by your family, and with your amiable lady as the presiding genius over your home and heart—” “My amiable lady!” he interrupted, with an almost diabolical sneer on his face. “Where is she—my amiable lady?” “Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean.” “Well, yes—oh, you would intimate that her spirit has taken the post of ministering angel, and guards the fortunes of Wuthering Heights, even when her body is gone. Is that it?” Perceiving myself in a blunder, I attempted to correct it. I might have seen there was too great a disparity between the ages of the parties to make it likely that they were man and wife. One was about forty: a period of mental vigour at which men seldom cherish the delusion of being married for love by girls: that dream is reserved for the solace of our declining years. The other did not look seventeen. Then it flashed upon me—“The clown at my elbow, who is drinking his tea out of a basin and eating his bread with unwashed hands, may be her husband: Heathcliff junior, of course. Here is the consequence of being buried alive: she has thrown herself away upon that boor from sheer ignorance that better individuals existed! A sad pity—I must beware how I cause her to regret her choice.” The last reflection may seem conceited; it was not. My neighbour struck me as bordering on repulsive; I knew, through experience, that I was tolerably attractive. “Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law,” said Heathcliff, corroborating my surmise. He turned, as he spoke, a peculiar look in her direction: a look of hatred; unless he has a most perverse set of facial muscles that will not, like those of other people, interpret the language of his soul. “Ah, certainly—I see now: you are the favoured possessor of the beneficent fairy,” I remarked, turning to my neighbour. This was worse than before: the youth grew crimson, and clenched his fist, with every appearance of a meditated assault. But he seemed to recollect himself presently, and smothered the storm in a brutal curse, muttered on my behalf: which, however, I took care not to notice. “Unhappy in your conjectures, sir,” observed my host; “we neither of us have the privilege of owning your good fairy; her mate is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law: therefore, she must have married my son.” “And this young man is—” “Not my son, assuredly.” Heathcliff smiled again, as if it were rather too bold a jest to attribute the paternity of that bear to him. “My name is Hareton Earnshaw,” growled the other; “and I’d counsel you to respect it!” “I’ve shown no disrespect,” was my reply, laughing internally at the dignity with which he announced himself. He fixed his eye on me longer than I cared to return the stare, for fear I might be tempted either to box his ears or render my hilarity audible. I began to feel unmistakably out of place in that pleasant family circle. The dismal spiritual atmosphere overcame, and more than neutralised, the glowing physical comforts round me; and I resolved to be cautious how I ventured under those rafters a third time. The business of eating being concluded, and no one uttering a word of sociable conversation, I approached a window to examine the weather. A sorrowful sight I saw: dark night coming down prematurely, and sky and hills mingled in one bitter whirl of wind and suffocating snow. “I don’t think it possible for me to get home now without a guide,” I could not help exclaiming. “The roads will be buried already; and, if they were bare, I could scarcely distinguish a foot in advance.” “Hareton, drive those dozen sheep into the barn porch. They’ll be covered if left in the fold all night: and put a plank before them,” said Heathcliff. “How must I do?” I continued, with rising irritation. There was no reply to my question; and on looking round I saw only Joseph bringing in a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs. Heathcliff leaning over the fire, diverting herself with burning a bundle of matches which had fallen from the chimney-piece as she restored the tea-canister to its place. The former, when he had deposited his burden, took a critical survey of the room, and in cracked tones grated out—“Aw wonder how yah can faishion to stand thear i’ idleness un war, when all on ’ems goan out! Bud yah’re a nowt, and it’s no use talking—yah’ll niver mend o’yer ill ways, but goa raight to t’ divil, like yer mother afore ye!” |
我想如果这片阴云是因我而起，那就该由我来努力把它驱散。大家不能每天都这么干坐着，神情严肃，沉默寡言；不管他们脾气有多坏，也不可能每天人人都面带愁容吧。 “让人不可思议的是，”我喝完了一杯茶，接过第二杯之前的空当儿时，开始说，“让人不可思议的是风俗习惯塑造了我们的品位和思想——这世上该有多少人无法想象，像您，黑思克里夫先生，所过的这种完全与世隔绝的生活里也会有幸福可言。我斗胆说一句，有您这一家子围着您，还有您可爱的夫人，可称得上是您的房舍和身心的持家天才——” “我可爱的夫人！”他打断我的话，脸上露出了几近恶魔般的冷笑。“我可爱的夫人——她在哪儿？” “我是说黑思克里夫太太，您的夫人。” “哦，是啊——哦，你是说即便她的身体已经离去，但是她的灵魂已经担任了救死扶伤天使的职位，一直守护着呼啸山庄的这份家业。你是不是这个意思？！” 我察觉到我犯了个大错，于是就试着来纠正。我早就应该看出他俩年龄悬殊太大，不大像是两口子。一位大概正值不惑之年——男人在这个期间正是精强力壮，很少会怀有那种姑娘们憧憬爱情而要嫁给他的痴情梦想——这种梦想应留到暮年之时可聊以自慰。另一位看上去顶多刚过二八，正值妙龄。 于是另一个念头从我心头闪过——“我胳膊肘旁边的那个傻小子，正直接端着饭盆喝茶，手也不洗，抓起面包就啃，或许他才是她的丈夫——黑思克里夫少爷，应当是这样。这就是人被活活埋没在这里的后果——她纯粹是不知道天下还有更好的男人，便把自己白白下嫁给了这么个乡巴佬！真是太可惜了——我必须留点神，别让她因看到我而后悔她之前的选择。”我的这个想法看似狂妄自负，其实不然。邻座的那个傻小子对我而言，看起来几近令人生厌；根据我的阅历，我自知我的个人魅力还算差强人意。 “黑思克里夫太太是我的儿媳，”黑思克里夫的这句话证实了我的猜测。他一边说着一边转过身，朝她坐的方向投去一个奇特的眼神——那眼神中充满了仇恨；除非他的面部肌肉生就乖戾至极，否则会像其他人那样，将不会表露出他的心里话。 “啊，当然——我这下弄明白了——这位仙女慈眉善目，她的掌柜原来就是你啊，您可真够有福的。”我一边把头扭过去看我邻座的这位，一边说着。 我这么一说不要紧，情况比刚才变得更糟——小伙子的脸涨得通红，拳头紧握，看着像是随时要拉开一场预谋好的武斗。但是他好像立刻又恢复了镇定，嘴里低声嘟囔骂了我一句很粗的脏话，算是平息了这场风暴——我装作没听见那句脏话。 “很可惜你猜错了，先生，”我的房东说道。“我和他都没这个福分来给这位天仙当掌柜；她男人已经死了。我说她是我儿媳——也就是说他当然是嫁给我儿子了。” “那这位小伙子是——” “他当然不是我儿子喽。” 黑思克里夫又笑了，好像是说把这个小伙子当成是他的儿子，这玩笑未免开得有点大。 “我叫海瑞腾•俄韶，”小伙子吼到，“我警告你，请对我的名姓放尊重点！” “我并没有不尊重啊，”我答道，他通名报姓时流露出的那个架势，着实让我看了心里感觉好笑。 他眼睛死死盯着我看，直到看得我不愿意回敬他了，因为我怕我按捺不住给他一记耳光或者笑出声来。我开始感觉到在这欢快的一家人中间，我显得实在是格格不入，这点毫无疑问。精神上的沉闷气氛不止抵消了，而且压倒了我周围物质上的舒适享受；要是我下次敢再来到这个屋檐下的话，定要十分小心谨慎了。 用罢晚餐，大家都不说一句话，甚至连个客套话都只字不提。我走到窗户跟前看看天气如何。我看到的是一派令人伤感的景象——黑夜提前降临，寒风凄苦，大雪令人窒息，天空和群山被风雪搅作一团。 “我想现在要是没人给我带路，我怕是回不去了，”我禁不住大声叫道。“那些路早被雪埋住了；即使没被雪埋住，我也很难分清该往哪里迈腿啊。” “海瑞腾，把这十来只羊赶到谷仓门廊去。今晚要是把他们丢到羊圈里的话，需要给他们身上苫上点东西；然后再在前面放块木板，”黑思克里夫说道。 “我该怎么办？”我接着说，人开始变得有些焦躁不安了。 没人回答我的问题；环顾四周，我只看到周思福拎了一桶粥进来，准备给狗喂食。黑思克里夫太太俯身面对着火，手里捏着一把火柴在那儿点着玩，刚才她把茶叶罐放回原处时，火柴从烟囱旁边掉落下来。周思福放下粥桶，没事找事似地把屋子巡视了一遍，扯着沙哑的嗓子对我叫喊道：“人都散啦，你做么还干干立在那哒，继续胡闹！瞧你那怂样，跟你说再多都不抵事——一辈都改不了的坏毛病，你还不如直接去见鬼，去找你那死去的娘吧！” |
