第十章（第27/34页）

“没错！没错！”她抬头看着他说。“他的作品确实了不起。”她双眸中闪耀着的深蓝色光辉，还有端坐时那温柔娴静的神态，都让克利福德心悸不已。她从未如此温婉，如此安静。她将他迷得神魂颠倒，不能自拔，似乎周身飘散的某种异香让他如醉如痴。于是，他不由自主地继续读着，在她听来，法语中的喉音就像烟囱里飘荡的风。至于拉辛到底写了些什么，她根本一点都没留意。

She was gone in her own soft rapture, like a forest soughing with the dim, glad moan of spring, moving into bud. She could feel in the same world with her the man, the nameless man, moving on beautiful feet, beautiful in the phallic mystery. And in herself in all her veins, she felt him and his child. His child was in all her veins, like a twilight.

她沉迷在自己编织的温柔梦境中，如同春意盎然的森林，微风发出轻柔愉悦的呢喃，万物恢复生机。她能感觉到那男人，那不知姓名的男人，正与自己在他俩联手缔造的世界里，优雅地前行，正是他那神秘莫测的阳物，将这世界装扮得如此美丽。而在她的心底，在每根血管中，都能感觉到他和他的孩子。孩子就像是黎明的曙光，充斥在她的血液中。

"For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor feet, nor golden Treasure of hair..." She was like a forest, like the dark interlacing of the oakwood, humming inaudibly with myriad unfolding buds. Meanwhile the birds of desire were asleep in the vast interlaced intricacy of her body.

“她没有双手，没有双眸，没有双脚，更没有那珍宝般闪亮的金发……”她像座森林，幽暗的橡树林，枝叶繁茂，根节盘曲，无穷无尽的蓓蕾悄然绽放，轻声吟唱。与此同时，在她体内那交织缠绕的巨大巢穴中，欲望的鸟儿正沉沉睡着。

But Clifford's voice went on, clapping and gurgling with unusual sounds. How extraordinary it was! How extraordinary he was, bent there over the book, queer and rapacious and civilized, with broad shoulders and no real legs! What a strange creature, with the sharp, cold inflexible will of some bird, and no warmth, no warmth at all! One of those creatures of the afterwards, that have no soul, but an extra-alert will, cold will. She shuddered a little, afraid of him. But then, the soft warm flame of life was stronger than he, and the real things were hidden from him.

但克利福德仍没完没了地读着，伴随着尖锐且时断时续的怪异声音。这样的声音多么奇异啊！他的样子同样如此，身体前倾于书本之上，肩膀宽阔厚实，但两腿却毫无知觉。他虽然举止斯文，但却性格古怪，贪得无厌。如此奇异的生物，拥有鸟类般狡黠冷酷、顽强不屈的意志，但却没有热情，半点都没有！这是属于未来世界的某种生物，灵魂缺失，但却拥有高度警觉、冷若冰霜的意志。由于心怀畏惧，她战栗起来。但温柔炽热的生命火焰远非他能相比，而且他也并不了解事实的真相。

The reading finished. She was startled. She looked up, and was more startled still to see Clifford watching her with pale, uncanny eyes, like hate.

诗终于读完。她感到愕然。抬起头，看到克利福德那双可怕的淡蓝色眼睛正直勾勾盯着自己，似乎充满恨意，她惊愕的程度又添几分。

"Thank you so much! You do read Racine beautifully!" she said softly.

“非常感谢！你读拉辛的诗作，读得确实精彩！”她柔声称赞着。

"Almost as beautifully as you listen to him," he said cruelly. "What are you making?" he asked.

“你听得也同样精彩。”他冷冷地回应道。“你在缝什么？”他问。

"I'm making a child's dress, for Mrs. Flint's baby.” He turned away. A child! A child! That was all her obsession.

“我要缝条小裙子，准备送给弗林特太太的女儿。”他背过脸去。孩子！又是孩子！她的心里只想着孩子。

"After all," he said in a declamatory voice, "one gets all one wants out of Racine. Emotions that are ordered and given shape are more important than disorderly emotions.

“归根结底，”他仍用朗诵似的语气说道，“从拉辛的作品中，我们能够获得想要的一切。有理有序的情感，远比任意胡为的冲动重要得多。”

She watched him with wide, vague, veiled eyes. "Yes, I'm sure they are," she said.

她瞪着那双朦胧的大眼睛，茫然地望着他。“没错，你说得很有道理。”她说。

"The modern world has only vulgarized emotion by letting it loose. What we need is classic control." "Yes," she said slowly, thinking of him listening with vacant face to the emotional idiocy of the radio. "People pretend to have emotions, and they really feel nothing. I suppose that is being romantic." "Exactly!" he said.