The Rainbow-虹(英文版)- 第15部分

The　journey　had　to　be　performed　several　times。　There　was　the
rhythmic　sound　of　the　shovel　in　the　barn；　then　the　man　returned
walking　stiffly　between　the　two　weights；　the　face　of　the　child
peering　out　from　the　shawl。　Then　the　next　time；　as　he　stooped；
she　freed　her　arm　and　put　it　round　his　neck；　clinging　soft　and
warm；　making　all　easier。

The　beasts　fed；　he　dropped　the　pan　and　sat　down　on　a　box；　to
arrange　the　child。

〃Will　the　cows　go　to　sleep　now？〃　she　said；　catching　her
breath　as　she　spoke。

〃Yes。〃

〃Will　they　eat　all　their　stuff　up　first？〃

〃Yes。　Hark　at　them。〃

And　the　two　sat　still　listening　to　the　snuffing　and　breathing
of　cows　feeding　in　the　sheds　municating　with　this　small　barn。
The　lantern　shed　a　soft；　steady　light　from　one　wall。　All　outside
was　still　in　the　rain。　He　looked　down　at　the　silky　folds　of　the
paisley　shawl。　It　reminded　him　of　his　mother。　She　used　to　go　to
church　in　it。　He　was　back　again　in　the　old　irresponsibility　and
security；　a　boy　at　home。

The　tind；　in　a　sort　of　trance；　seemed
to　bee　more　and　more　vague。　He　held　the　child　close　to　him。　A
quivering　little　shudder；　reechoing　from　her　sobbing；　went　down
her　limbs。　He　held　her　closer。　Gradually　she　relaxed；　the
eyelids　began　to　sink　over　her　dark；　watchful　eyes。　As　she　sank
to　sleep；　his　mind　became　blank。

When　he　came　to；　as　if　from　sleep；　he　seemed　to　be　sitting　in
a　timeless　stillness。　What　was　he　listening　for？　He　seemed　to　be
listening　for　some　sound　a　long　way　off；　from　beyond　life。　He
remembered　his　wife。　He　must　go　back　to　her。　The　child　was
asleep；　the　eyelids　not　quite　shut；　showing　a　slight　film　of
black　pupil　between。　Why　did　she　not　shut　her　eyes？　Her　mouth
was　also　a　little　open。

He　rose　quickly　and　went　back　to　the　house。

〃Is　she　asleep？〃　whispered　Tilly。

He　nodded。　The　servantwoman　came　to　look　at　the　child　who
slept　in　the　shawl；　with　cheeks　flushed　hot　and　red；　and　a
whiteness；　a　wanness　round　the　eyes。

〃Godamercy！〃　whispered　Tilly；　shaking　her　head。

He　pushed　off　his　boots　and　went　upstairs　with　the　child。　He
became　aware　of　the　anxiety　grasped　tight　at　his　heart；　because
of　his　wife。　But　he　remained　still。　The　house　was　silent　save
for　the　wind　outside；　and　the　noisy　trickling　and　splattering　of
water　in　the　waterbutts。　There　was　a　slit　of　light　under　his
wife's　door。

He　put　the　child　into　bed　wrapped　as　she　was　in　the　shawl；
for　the　sheets　would　be　cold。　Then　he　was　afraid　that　she　might
not　be　able　to　move　her　arms；　so　he　loosened　her。　The　black　eyes
opened；　rested　on　him　vacantly；　sank　shut　again。　He　covered　her
up。　The　last　little　quiver　from　the　sobbing　shook　her
breathing。

This　was　his　room；　the　room　he　had　had　before　he　married。　It
was　familiar。　He　remembered　what　it　was　to　be　a　young　man；
untouched。

He　remained　suspended。　The　child　slept；　pushing　her　small
fists　from　the　shawl。　He　could　tell　the　woman　her　child　was
asleep。　But　he　must　go　to　the　other　landing。　He　started。　There
was　the　sound　of　the　owlsthe　moaning　of　the　woman。　What
an　uncanny　sound！　It　was　not　humanat　least　to　a　man。

He　went　down　to　her　room；　entering　softly。　She　was　lying
still；　with　eyes　shut；　pale；　tired。　His　heart　leapt；　fearing　she
was　dead。　Yet　he　knew　perfectly　well　she　was　not。　He　saw　the　way
her　hair　went　loose　over　her　temples；　her　mouth　was　shut　with
suffering　in　a　sort　of　grin。　She　was　beautiful　to　himbut
it　was　not　human。　He　had　a　dread　of　her　as　she　lay　there。　What
had　she　to　do　with　him？　She　was　other　than　himself。

Something　made　him　go　and　touch　her　fingers　that　were　still
grasped　on　the　sheet。　Her　browngrey　eyes　opened　and　looked　at
him。　She　did　not　know　him　as　himself。　But　she　knew　him　as　the
man。　She　looked　at　him　as　a　woman　in　childbirth　looks　at　the　man
who　begot　the　child　in　her：　an　impersonal　look；　in　the　extreme
hour；　female　to　male。　Her　eyes　closed　again。　A　great；　scalding
peace　went　over　him；　burning　his　heart　and　his　entrails；　passing
off　into　the　infinite。

When　her　pains　began　afresh；　tearing　her；　he　turned　aside；
and　could　not　look。　But　his　heart　in　torture　was　at　peace；　his
bowels　were　glad。　He　went　downstairs；　and　to　the　door；　outside；
lifted　his　face　to　the　rain；　and　felt　the　darkness　striking
unseen　and　steadily　upon　him。

The　swift；　unseen　threshing　of　the　night　upon　him　silenced
him　and　he　was　overe。　He　turned　away　indoors；　humbly。　There
was　the　infinite　world；　eternal；　unchanging；　as　well　as　the
world　of　life。



CHAPTER　III

CHILDHOOD　OF　ANNA　LENSKY

Tom　Brangwen　never　loved　his　own　son　as　he　loved　his
stepchild　Anna。　When　they　told　him　it　was　a　boy；　he　had　a　thrill
of　pleasure。　He　liked　the　confirmation　of　fatherhood。　It　gave
him　satisfaction　to　know　he　had　a　son。　But　he　felt　not　very　much
outgoing　to　the　baby　itself。　He　was　its　father；　that　was
enough。

He　was　glad　that　his　wife　was　mother　of　his　child。　She　was
serene；　a　little　bit　shadowy；　as　if　she　were　transplanted。　In
the　birth　of　the　child　she　seemed　to　lose　connection　with　her
former　self。　She　became　now　really　English；　really　Mrs。
Brangwen。　Her　vitality；　however；　seemed　lowered。

She　was　still；　to　Brangwen；　immeasurably　beautiful。　She　was
still　passionate；　with　a　flame　of　being。　But　the　flame　was　not
robust　and　present。　Her　eyes　shone；　her　face　glowed　for　him；　but
like　some　flower　opened　in　the　shade；　that　could　not　bear　the
full　light。　She　loved　the　baby。　But　even　this；　with　a　sort　of
dimness；　a　faint　absence　about　her；　a　shadowiness　even　in　her
motherlove。　When　Brangwen　saw　her　nursing　his　child；　happy；
absorbed　in　it；　a　pain　went　over　him　like　a　thin　flame。　For　he
perceived　how　he　must　subdue　himself　in　his　approach　to　her。　And
he　wanted　again　the　robust；　moral　exchange　of　love　and　passion
such　as　he　had　had　at　first　with　her；　at　one　time　and　another；
when　they　were　matched　at　their　highest　intensity。　This　was　the
one　experience　for　him　now。　And　he　wanted　it；　always；　with
remorseless　craving。

She　came　to　him　again；　with　the　same　lifting　of　her　mouth　as
had　driven　him　almost　mad　with　trammelled　passion　at　first。　She
came　to　him　again；　and；　his　heart　delirious　in　delight　and
readiness；　he　took　her。　And　it　was　almost　as　before。

Perhaps　it　was　quite　as　before。　At　any　rate；　it　made　him　know
perfection；　it　established　in　him　a　constant　eternal
knowledge。

But　it　died　down　before　he　wanted　it　to　die　down。　She　was
finished；　she　could　take　no　more。　And　he　was　not　exhausted；　he
wanted　to　go　on。　But　it　could　not　be。

So　he　had　to　begin　the　bitter　lesson；　to　abate　himself；　to
take　less　than　he　wanted。　For　she　was　Woman　to　him；　all　other
women　were　her　shadows。　For　she　had　satisfied　him。　And　he　wanted
it　to　go　on。　And　it　could　not。　However　he　raged；　and；　filled
with　suppression　that　became　hot　and　bitter；　hated　her　in　his
soul　that　she　did　not　want　him；　however　he　had　mad　outbursts；
and　drank　and　made　ugly　scenes；　still　he　knew；　he　was　only
kicking　against　the　pricks。　It　was　not；　he　had　to　learn；　that
she　would　not　want　him　enough；　as　much　as　he　demanded　that　she
should　want　him。　It　was　that　she　could　not。　She　could　only　want
him　in　her　own　way；　and　to　her　own　measure。　And　she　had　spent
much　life　before　he　found　her　as　she　was；　the　woman　who　could
take　him　and　give　him　fulfilment。　She　had　taken　him　and　given
him　fulfilment。　She　still　could　do　so；　in　her　own　times　and
ways。　But　he　must　control　himself；　measure　himself　to　her。

He　wanted　to　give　her　all　his　love；　all　his　passion；　all　his
essential　energy。　But　it　could　not　be。　He　must　find　other　things
than　her；　other　centres　of　living。　She　sat　close　and　impregnable
with　the　child。　And　he　was　jealous　of　the　child。

But　he　loved　her；　and　time　came　to　give　some　sort　of　course
to　his　troublesome　current　of　life；　so　that　it　did　not　foam　and
flood　and　make　misery。　He　formed　another　centre　of　love　in　her
child；　Anna。　Gradually　a　part　of　his　stream　of　life　was　diverted
to　the　child；　relieving　the　main　flood　to　his　wife。　Also　he
sought　the　pany　of　men；　he　drank　heavily　now　and　again。

The　child　ceased　to　have　so　much　anxiety　for　her　mother　after
the　baby　came。　Seeing　the　mother　with　the　baby　boy；　delighted
and　serene　and　secure；　Anna　was　at　first　puzzled；　then　gradually
she　became　indignant；　and　at　last　her　little　life　settled　on　its
own　swivel；　she　was　no　more　strained　and　distorted　to　support
her　mother。　She　became　more　childish；　not　so　abnormal；　not
charged　with　cares　she　could　not　understand。　The　charge　of　the
mother；　the　satisfying　of　the　mother；　had　devolved　elsewhere
than　on　her。　Gradually　the　child　was　freed。　She　became　an
independent；　fetful　little　soul；　loving　from　her　own
centre。

Of　her　own　choice；　she　then　loved　Brangwen　most；　or　most
obviously。　For　these　two　made　a　little　life　together；　they　had　a
joint　activity。　It　amused　him；　at　evening；　to　teach　her　to
count；　or　to　say　her　letters。　He　remembered　for　her　all　the
little　nursery　rhymes　and　childish　songs　that　lay　fotten　at
the　bottom　of　his　brain。

At　first　she　thought　them　rubbish。　But　he　laughed；　and　she
laughed。　They　became　to　her　a　huge　joke。　Old　King　Cole　she
thought　was　Brangwen。　Mother　Hubbard　was　Tilly；　her　mother　was
the　old　woman　who　lived　in　a　shoe。　It　was　a　huge；　it　was　a
frantic　delight　to　the　child；　this　nonsense；　after　her　years
with　her　mother；　after　the　poignant　folktales　she　had　had　from
her　mother；　which　always　troubled　and　mystified　her　soul。

She　shared　a　sort　of　recklessness　with　her　father；　a
plete；　chosen　carelessness　that　had　the　laugh　of　ridicule　in
it。　He　loved　to　make　her　voice　go　high　and　shouting　and　defiant
with　laughter。　The　baby　was　darkskinned　and　darkhaired；　like
the　mother；　and　had　hazel　eyes。　Brangwen　called　him　the
blackbird。

〃Hallo；〃　Brangwen　would　cry；　starting　as　he　heard　the　wail　of
the　child　announcing　it　wanted　to　be　taken　out　of　the　cradle；
〃there's　the　blackbird　tuning　up。〃

〃The　blackbird's　singing；〃　Anna　would　shout　with　delight；
〃the　blackbird's　singing。〃

〃When　the　pie　was　opened；〃　Brangwen　shouted　in　his　bawling
bass　voice；　going　over　to　the　cradle；　〃the　bird　began　to
sing。〃

〃Wasn't　it　a　dainty　dish　to　set　before　a　king？〃　cried　Anna；
her　eyes　flashing　with　joy　as　she　uttered　the　cryptic　words；
looking　at　Brangwen　for　confirmation。　He　sat　down　with　the　baby；
saying　loudly：

〃Sing　up；　my　lad；　sing　up。〃

And　the　baby　cried　loudly；　and　Anna　shouted　lustily；　dancing
in　wild　bliss：

　　　〃Sing　a　song　of　sixpence
　　　Pocketful　of　posies；
　　　Ascha！　Ascha！〃

Then　she　stopped　suddenly　in　silence　and　looked　at　Brangwen
again；　her　eyes　flashing；　as　she　shouted　loudly　and
delightedly：

〃I've　got　it　wrong；　I've　got　it　wrong。〃

〃Oh；　my　sirs；〃　said　Tilly　entering；　〃what　a　racket！〃

Brangwen　hushed　the　child　and　Anna　flipped　and　danced　on。　She
loved　her　wild　bursts　of　rowdiness　with　her　father。　Tilly　hated
it；　Mrs。　Brangwen　did　not　mind。

Anna　did　not　care　much　for　other　children。　She　domineered
them；　she　treated　them　as　if　they　were　extremely　young　and
incapable；　to　her　they　were　little　people；　they　were　not　her
equals。　So　she　was　mostly　alone；　flying　round　the　farm；
entertaining　the　farmhands　and　Tilly　and　the　servantgirl；
whirring　on　and　never　ceasing。

She　loved　driving　with　Brangwen　in　th