One day Martin became aware that he was lonely. He was healthy and strong, and had nothing to do. The cessation from writing and studying, the death of Brissenden, and the estrangement from Ruth had made a big hole in his life; and his life refused to be pinned down to good living in cafes and the smoking of Egyptian cigarettes. It was true the South Seas were calling to him, but he had a feeling that the game was not yet played out in the United States. Two books were soon to be published, and he had more books that might find publication. Money could be made out of them, and he would wait and take a sackful of it into the South Seas. He knew a valley and a bay in the Marquesas that he could buy for a thousand Chili dollars. The valley ran from the horseshoe, land-locked bay to the tops of the dizzy, cloud-capped peaks and contained perhaps ten thousand acres. It was filled with tropical fruits, wild chickens, and wild pigs, with an occasional herd of wild cattle, while high up among the peaks were herds of wild goats harried by packs of wild dogs. The whole place was wild. Not a human lived in it. And he could buy it and the bay for a thousand Chili dollars.
The bay, as he remembered it, was magnificent, with water deep enough to accommodate the largest vessel afloat, and so safe that the South Pacific Directory recommended it to the best careening place for ships for hundreds of miles around. He would buy a schooner—one of those yacht-like, coppered crafts that sailed like witches—and go trading copra and pearling among the islands. He would make the valley and the bay his headquarters. He would build a patriarchal grass house like Tati’s, and have it and the valley and the schooner filled with dark-skinned servitors. He would entertain there the factor of Taiohae, captains of wandering traders, and all the best of the South Pacific riffraff. He would keep open house and entertain like a prince. And he would forget the books he had opened and the world that had proved an illusion.
To do all this he must wait in California to fill the sack with money. Already it was beginning to flow in. If one of the books made a strike, it might enable him to sell the whole heap of manuscripts. Also he could collect the stories and the poems into books, and make sure of the valley and the bay and the schooner. He would never write again. Upon that he was resolved. But in the meantime, awaiting the publication of the books, he must do something more than live dazed and stupid in the sort of uncaring trance into which he had fallen.
He noted, one Sunday morning, that the Bricklayers’ Picnic took place that day at Shell Mound Park, and to Shell Mound Park he went. He had been to the working-class picnics too often in his earlier life not to know what they were like, and as he entered the park he experienced a recrudescence of all the old sensations. After all, they were his kind, these working people. He had been born among them, he had lived among them, and though he had strayed for a time, it was well to come back among them.
“If it ain’t Mart!” he heard some one say, and the next moment a hearty hand was on his shoulder. “Where you ben all the time? Off to sea? Come on an’ have a drink.”
It was the old crowd in which he found himself—the old crowd, with here and there a gap, and here and there a new face. The fellows were not bricklayers, but, as in the old days, they attended all Sunday picnics for the dancing, and the fighting, and the fun. Martin drank with them, and began to feel really human once more. He was a fool to have ever left them, he thought; and he was very certain that his sum of happiness would have been greater had he remained with them and let alone the books and the people who sat in the high places. Yet the beer seemed not so good as of yore. It didn’t taste as it used to taste. Brissenden had spoiled him for steam beer, he concluded, and wondered if, after all, the books had spoiled him for companionship with these friends of his youth. He resolved that he would not be so spoiled, and he went on to the dancing pavilion. Jimmy, the plumber, he met there, in the company of a tall, blond girl who promptly forsook him for Martin.
“Gee, it’s like old times,” Jimmy explained to the gang that gave him the laugh as Martin and the blonde whirled away in a waltz. “An’ I don’t give a rap. I’m too damned glad to see ’m back. Watch ’m waltz, eh? It’s like silk. Who’d blame any girl?”
But Martin restored the blonde to Jimmy, and the three of them, with half a dozen friends, watched the revolving couples and laughed and joked with one another. Everybody was glad to see Martin back. No book of his been published; he carried no fictitious value in their eyes. They liked him for himself. He felt like a prince returned from excile, and his lonely heart burgeoned in the geniality in which it bathed. He made a mad day of it, and was at his best. Also, he had money in his pockets, and, as in the old days when he returned from sea with a pay-day, he made the money fly.
Once, on the dancing-floor, he saw Lizzie Connolly go by in the arms of a young workingman; and, later, when he made the round of the pavilion, he came upon her sitting by a refreshment table. Surprise and greetings over, he led her away into the grounds, where they could talk without shouting down the music. From the instant he spoke to her, she was his. He knew it. She showed it in the proud humility of her eyes, in every caressing movement of her proudly carried body, and in the way she hung upon his speech. She was not the young girl as he had known her. She was a woman, now, and Martin noted that her wild, defiant beauty had improved, losing none of its wildness, while the defiance and the fire seemed more in control. “A beauty, a perfect beauty,” he murmured admiringly under his breath. And he knew she was his, that all he had to do was to say “Come,” and she would go with him over the world wherever he led.
Even as the thought flashed through his brain he received a heavy blow on the side of his head that nearly knocked him down. It was a man’s fist, directed by a man so angry and in such haste that the fist had missed the jaw for which it was aimed. Martin turned as he staggered, and saw the fist coming at him in a wild swing. Quite as a matter of course he ducked, and the fist flew harmlessly past, pivoting the man who had driven it. Martin hooked with his left, landing on the pivoting man with the weight of his body behind the blow. The man went to the ground sidewise, leaped to his feet, and made a mad rush. Martin saw his passion-distorted face and wondered what could be the cause of the fellow’s anger. But while he wondered, he shot in a straight left, the weight of his body behind the blow. The man went over backward and fell in a crumpled heap. Jimmy and others of the gang were running toward them.
Martin was thrilling all over. This was the old days with a vengeance, with their dancing, and their fighting, and their fun. While he kept a wary eye on his antagonist, he glanced at Lizzie. Usually the girls screamed when the fellows got to scrapping, but she had not screamed. She was looking on with bated breath, leaning slightly forward, so keen was her interest, one hand pressed to her breast, her cheek flushed, and in her eyes a great and amazed admiration.
The man had gained his feet and was struggling to escape the restraining arms that were laid on him.
“She was waitin’ for me to come back!” he was proclaiming to all and sundry. “She was waitin’ for me to come back, an’ then that fresh guy comes buttin’ in. Let go o’ me, I tell yeh. I’m goin’ to fix ’m.”
“What’s eatin’ yer?” Jimmy was demanding, as he helped hold the young fellow back. “That guy’s Mart Eden. He’s nifty with his mits, lemme tell you that, an’ he’ll eat you alive if you monkey with ’m.”
“He can’t steal her on me that way,” the other interjected.
“He licked the Flyin’Dutchman, an’you know him,”Jimmy went on expostulating. “An’ he did it in five rounds. You couldn’t last a minute against him. See?”
This information seemed to have a mollifying effect, and the irate young man favored Martin with a measuring stare.
“He don’t look it,” he sneered; but the sneer was without passion.
“That’s what the Flyin’ Dutchman thought,” Jimmy assured him. “Come on, now, let’s get outa this. There’s lots of other girls. Come on.”
The young fellow allowed himself to be led away toward the pavilion, and the gang followed after him.
“Who is he?” Martin asked Lizzie. “And what’s it all about, anyway?”
Already the zest of combat, which of old had been so keen and lasting, had died down, and he discovered that he was self-analytical, too much so to live, single heart and single hand, so primitive an existence.
Lizzie tossed her head.
“Oh, he’s nobody,” she said. “He’s just ben keepin’ company with me.”
“I had to, you see,” she explained after a pause. “I was gettin’ pretty lonesome. But I never forgot.” Her voice sank lower, and she looked straight before her. “I’d throw ’m down for you any time.”
Martin looking at her averted face, knowing that all he had to do was to reach out his hand and pluck her, fell to pondering whether, after all, there was any real worth in refined, grammatical English, and, so, forgot to reply to her.
“You put it all over him,” she said tentatively, with a laugh.
“He’s a husky young fellow, though,” he admitted generously. “If they hadn’t taken him away, he might have given me my hands full.”
“Who was that lady friend I seen you with that night?” she asked abruptly.
“Oh, just a lady friend,” was his answer.
“It was a long time ago,” she murmured contemplatively. “It seems like a thousand years.”
But Martin went no further into the matter. He led the conversation off into other channels. They had lunch in the restaurant, where he ordered wine and expensive delicacies and afterward he danced with her and with no one but her, till she was tired. He was a good dancer, and she whirled around and around with him in a heaven of delight, her head against his shoulder, wishing that it could last forever. Later in the afternoon they strayed off among the trees, where, in the good old fashion, she sat down while he sprawled on his back, his head in her lap. He lay and dozed, while she fondled his hair, looked down on his closed eyes, and loved him without reserve. Looking up suddenly, he read the tender advertisement in her face. Her eyes fluttered down, then they opened and looked into his with soft defiance.
“I’ve kept straight all these years,” she said, her voice so low that it was almost a whisper.
In his heart Martin knew that it was the miraculous truth. And at his heart pleaded a great temptation. It was in his power to make her happy. Denied happiness himself, why should he deny happiness to her? He could marry her and take her down with him to dwell in the grass-walled castle in the Marquesas. The desire to do it was strong, but stronger still was the imperative command of his nature not to do it. In spite of himself he was still faithful to Love. The old days of license and easy living were gone. He could not bring them back, nor could he go back to them. He was changed—how changed he had not realized until now.
“I am not a marrying man, Lizzie,” he said lightly.
The hand caressing his hair paused perceptibly, then went on with the same gentle stroke. He noticed her face harden, but it was with the hardness of resolution, for still the soft color was in her cheeks and she was all glowing and melting.
“I did not mean that—” she began, then faltered. “Or anyway I don’t care.”
“I don’t care,” she repeated. “I’m proud to be your friend. I’d do anything for you. I’m made that way, I guess.”
Martin sat up. He took her hand in his. He did it deliberately, with warmth but without passion; and such warmth chilled her.
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” she said.
“You are a great and noble woman,” he said. “And it is I who should be proud to know you. And I am, I am. You are a ray of light to me in a very dark world, and I’ve got to be straight with you, just as straight as you have been.”
“I don’t care whether you’re straight with me or not. You could do anything with me. You could throw me in the dirt an’ walk on me. An’ you’re the only man in the world that can,” she added with a defiant flash. “I ain’t taken care of myself ever since I was a kid for nothin’.”
“And it’s just because of that that I’m not going to,” he said gently. “You are so big and generous that you challenge me to equal generousness. I’m not marrying, and I’m not—well, loving without marrying, though I’ve done my share of that in the past. I’m sorry I came here today and met you. But it can’t be helped now, and I never expected it would turn out this way.”
“But look here, Lizzie. I can’t begin to tell you how much I like you. I do more than like you. I admire and respect you. You are magnificent, and you are magnificently good. But what’s the use of words? Yet there’s something I’d like to do. You’ve had a hard life; let me make it easy for you.” (A joyous light welled into her eyes, then faded out again.) “I’m pretty sure of getting hold of some money soon—lots of it.”
In that moment he abandoned the idea of the valley and the bay, the grass-walled castle and the trim, white schooner. After all, what did it matter? He could go away, as he had done so often, before the mast, on any ship bound anywhere.
“I’d like to turn it over to you. There must be something you want—to go to school or business college. You might like to study and be a stenographer. I could fix it for you. Or maybe your father and mother are living—I could set them up in a grocery store or something. Anything you want, just name it, and I can fix it for you.”
She made no reply, but sat, gazing straight before her, dry-eyed and motionless, but with an ache in the throat which Martin divined so strongly that it made his own throat ache. He regretted that he had spoken. It seemed so tawdry what he had offered her—mere money—compared with what she offered him. He offered her an extraneous thing with which he could part without a pang, while she offered him herself, along with disgrace and shame, and sin, and all her hopes of heaven.
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” she said with a catch in her voice that she changed to a cough. She stood up. “Come on, let’s go home. I’m all tired out.”
The day was done, and the merrymakers had nearly all departed. But as Martin and Lizzie emerged from the trees they found the gang waiting for them. Martin knew immediately the meaning of it. Trouble was brewing. The gang was his body-guard. They passed out through the gates of the park with, straggling in the rear, a second gang, the friends that Lizzie’s young man had collected to avenge the loss of his lady. Several constables and special police officers, anticipating trouble, trailed along to prevent it, and herded the two gangs separately aboard the train for San Francisco. Martin told Jimmy that he would get off at Sixteenth Street Station and catch the electric car into Oakland. Lizzie was very quiet and without interest in what was impending. The train pulled in to Sixteenth Street Station, and the waiting electric car could be seen, the conductor of which was impatiently clanging the gong.
“There she is,” Jimmy counselled. “Make a run for it, an’ we’ll hold ’em back. Now you go! Hit her up!”
The hostile gang was temporarily disconcerted by the manoeuvre, then it dashed from the train in pursuit. The staid and sober Oakland folk who sat upon the car scarcely noted the young fellow and the girl who ran for it and found a seat in front on the outside. They did not connect the couple with Jimmy, who sprang on the steps, crying to the motorman:—
“Slam on the juice, old man, and beat it outa here!”
The next moment Jimmy whirled about, and the passengers saw him land his fist on the face of a running man who was trying to board the car. But fists were landing on faces the whole length of the car. Thus, Jimmy and his gang, strung out on the long, lower steps, met the attacking gang. The car started with a great clanging of its gong, and, as Jimmy’s gang drove off the last assailants, they, too, jumped off to finish the job. The car dashed on, leaving the flurry of combat far behind, and its dumfounded passengers never dreamed that the quiet young man and the pretty working-girl sitting in the corner on the outside seat had been the cause of the row.
Martin had enjoyed the fight, with a recrudescence of the old fighting thrills. But they quickly died away, and he was oppressed by a great sadness. He felt very old—centuries older than those careless, care-free young companions of his others days. He had travelled far, too far to go back. Their mode of life, which had once been his, was now distasteful to him. He was disappointed in it all. He had developed into an alien. As the steam beer had tasted raw, so their companionship seemed raw to him. He was too far removed. Too many thousands of opened books yawned between them and him. He had exiled himself. He had travelled in the vast realm of intellect until he could no longer return home. On the other hand, he was human, and his gregarious need for companionship remained unsatisfied. He had found no new home. As the gang could not understand him, as his own family could not understand him, as the bourgeoisie could not understand him, so this girl beside him, whom he honored high, could not understand him nor the honor he paid her. His sadness was not untouched with bitterness as he thought it over.
“Make it up with him,” he advised Lizzie, at parting, as they stood in front of the workingman’s shack in which she lived, near Sixth and Market. He referred to the young fellow whose place he had usurped that day.
“I can’t—now,” she said.
“Oh, go on,” he said jovially. “All you have to do is whistle and he’ll come running.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said simply.
And he knew what she had meant.
She leaned toward him as he was about to say good night. But she leaned not imperatively, not seductively, but wistfully and humbly. He was touched to the heart. His large tolerance rose up in him. He put his arms around her, and kissed her, and knew that upon his own lips rested as true a kiss as man ever received.
“My God!” she sobbed. “I could die for you. I could die for you.”
She tore herself from him suddenly and ran up the steps. He felt a quick moisture in his eyes.
“Martin Eden,” he communed. “You’re not a brute, and you’re a damn poor Nietzscheman. You’d marry her if you could and fill her quivering heart full with happiness. But you can’t, you can’t. And it’s a damn shame.”
“‘A poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers,’” he muttered, remembering his Henly. “‘Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame.’ It is—a blunder and a shame.”
一天,馬丁感到十分寂寞。他身強體壯,然而卻無事可做。自從停止寫作和讀書,自從勃力森登逝世后,自從與露絲分道揚鑣以來,他的生活顯得異常空虛;他不愿過下館子、抽埃及香煙那種養(yǎng)尊處優(yōu)的日子。南洋的確在召喚他,可他覺得他在美國的戲還沒有收場。兩本書即將出版,還有更多的書也很可能問世。這些書可以為他帶來金錢,他要等著把錢袋裝滿再到南洋去。他知道在馬克薩斯群島有一座峽谷和一個海灣,花一千塊智利大洋就能買到手。那座峽谷從陸地環(huán)抱的馬蹄形海灣邊一直延伸至白云繚繞、望之令人目眩的高山之巔,大概有一萬英畝的面積。峽谷里長滿了熱帶果樹,到處可見野雞和野豬,偶爾還有野牛群出入其間,高山的群峰之間,野羊成群結隊,它們時常遭到野狗的襲擊。那兒杳無人跡,四處荒蠻。而他花上一千塊智利大洋,就能把那峽谷和海灣買下。
他記得,那個海灣是個美麗的地方,水深得足可以泛起最大的舟船。那兒十分安全,《南太平洋指南》一書介紹說,它是方圓幾百英里最理想的船只檢修地。他要買一艘大帆船——一種像游艇一樣的船只,外面包著銅皮,駕駛起來得心應手——周游列島,販椰干和采珍珠。他要把峽谷和海灣作為大本營,蓋一幢酋長式的茅草屋,像塔蒂的那幢一樣,還要雇一群黑皮膚的仆人,在家中、峽谷里以及帆船上干活。他要在那兒款待駐泰奧海伊的商務代辦、來往商船的船長以及南太平洋游民里的頭面人物。他將敞開家門,如王子般迎四方來客。他要把自己看過的書以及虛幻的世界忘個干凈。
如欲實現(xiàn)這一理想,就得在加利福尼亞耐心等待,把錢袋裝滿。如今,金錢已經(jīng)開始源源流入。倘若一本書打響,就可以把堆積如山的稿件賣光。而且,他還可以把那些小說及詩歌收集成冊出版,這樣管保能買下那峽谷、海灣和帆船。他再也不動筆寫作,對此他已拿定了主意??裳巯碌戎鰰?,他得有點事干才成,總不能沉浸在無憂無慮的迷夢里,渾渾噩噩地混日子呀。
一個星期天的早晨,他聽說砌磚工人當天要在貝冢公園舉辦野餐會,于是便尋了去。昔日,他不知參加過多少次工人階級的野餐會,了解那兒會有什么樣的情形。一步入公園,往年的那種感受便一齊涌上了他的心頭。這些勞動人民畢竟是他的同類。他在他們中間出生,在他們中間生活,雖然離別了一段時間,可現(xiàn)在又回到了他們中間,難免叫他激動。
“真是馬特不成!”他聽到一個人說道,緊接著,一只手親熱地搭在了他的肩上,“這么長時間,你到哪兒去啦?出海去了嗎?來,跟我們喝一杯?!?/p>
他又回到了往日的那些伙伴中間——還是那一群人,只不過少了幾個故人,添了幾張新的面孔。這些伙伴并非砌磚工人,可他們就像過去一樣,什么樣的星期日野餐會都參加,來跳舞、打架和尋歡作樂。馬丁跟他們一起飲酒,覺得自己又成了一個真正的人。他心想,他真是個傻瓜,竟然半途離他們而去;他深信不疑,如果他始終跟這些人在一起,沒去攻讀那些書,沒去結交那些上流社會的人,他此時的心情會歡快得多。然而,啤酒卻似乎不如以前那樣醇香了,喝起來不似往年那樣有味道。他認定是勃力森登破壞了他對生啤酒的愛好,同時,他懷疑那些書也會作祟,毀掉他跟這些少年時期伙伴的友誼。他覺得自己絕不能受書本的影響,于是便挪動腳步向帳篷舞廳走去。在那里,他見管子工吉米正和一個高挑的金發(fā)女郎在一起。那姑娘看到他,立刻撇下吉米,迎了上來。
“嘖,還是跟過去一個樣?!奔讓锇閭冋f道。大家見馬丁和那個金發(fā)女郎邁著華爾茲舞步走遠了,便一齊嘲笑起了他?!拔也挪辉诤跄?。看到他回來,我高興都來不及呢。瞧見他們跳華爾茲了嗎?舞步多么輕盈。你們說,我能責怪那姑娘嗎?”
不過,馬丁跳完后又把金發(fā)女郎還給了吉米。他們?nèi)齻€和六七位朋友在一起,望著場中一對對翩翩起舞的人們,哈哈大笑著,彼此打著趣??吹今R丁又回到他們身旁,大伙兒都很高興。他們才不管他的書出版不出版呢,也不在乎他創(chuàng)作的價值。他們喜歡的是他本人。他覺得自己活似一位流亡歸來的王子,孤寂的心田里注入了溫馨的熱流。這一天,他縱情娛樂,玩得昏天黑地。他口袋里裝著錢,跟過去帶著薪水從海上回來時一樣,又放開手花了一通。
有一回,他在舞池里看見麗茜·康諾萊被一個工人小伙子摟著從他身旁舞過;后來,他繞著帳篷閑轉,碰見她正坐在一張茶點桌旁。兩人都感到意外,寒暄了幾句,過后,馬丁便把她帶到了花園里,在那兒說話不用提高嗓門去壓音樂聲。他剛一開始說話,就贏得了她的傾心。這他看得出來。她那既高傲又謙卑的眼神,她那神氣十足的軀體所做出的每一個柔媚的舉動,以及她專心致志聽他講話的神態(tài),無一不表明這一點。她已經(jīng)不是他過去所認識的那個小姑娘了,而成了一位女人。馬丁發(fā)現(xiàn)她的那種狂野和倔強的美更加完善,盡管沒有喪失一絲一毫的狂野,但倔強和火辣辣的勁兒卻似乎有所收斂。“真是個美人,一個十全十美的尤物?!彼吐曎潎@了一句。他明白她的芳心在他身上,他只消招呼一聲,她便會跟隨他走遍天涯海角。
就在這念頭掠過他的腦海時,有人重重一拳砸在了他的腦袋側面,差點將他擊翻在地。揮拳的是位怒火中燒的男子。那人原是想揍他的顎部,由于太性急,才打錯了地方。馬丁搖搖晃晃扭過身來,瞧見那拳頭又野蠻地向自己砸來。他本能地一躲閃,那拳頭便落了空,使揮拳的人身子失去了重心。馬丁彎起左肘,使出渾身的力氣砸在那個失去重心的人身上。那人斜著倒在地上,但他又一躍而起,發(fā)瘋似的沖了過來。馬丁見他氣歪了臉,真不知他為什么要發(fā)這么大的火。他心里一邊納著悶,一邊又使出渾身的力氣,把左拳直直甩了出去。那人仰面倒了下去,身子縮作一團。吉米和伙伴們跑了過來。
馬丁激動得熱血沸騰。昔日的那種跳舞、打架和尋歡作樂的情景完完全全回到了眼前。他一邊謹防著自己的敵手,一邊掃了麗茜一眼。姑娘家在小伙子們打架的時候,一般都會尖叫起來,可麗茜卻沒有尖叫。她屏住呼吸觀戰(zhàn),身子微微前傾,懷著極濃的興致,一只手按在胸口上,臉蛋泛著紅暈,眼睛里流露出十分驚奇和異常欽佩的神情。
那人站起身,拼命掙扎著想擺脫那幾只抓住他的手。
“她在等我回來呢!”他沖著在場的人嚷嚷道,“她在等我回來,可這家伙卻插了一杠子。你們放開我,讓我收拾這家伙。”
“你吃了熊心豹子膽啦?”吉米幫著眾人扯住那小伙子,問道,“這家伙是馬丁·伊登,拳腳厲害得很。告訴你吧,你再跟他胡鬧,他會活剝了你的皮。”
“不能讓他就這么把她從我的身邊搶走。”對方插嘴說。
“他打敗過‘荷蘭鬼’[1],你應該知道他的手段,”吉米繼續(xù)規(guī)勸道,“他們只戰(zhàn)了五個回合。你跟他交手,恐怕一分鐘也支持不下來。你明白嗎?”
這一信息對怒氣沖天的小伙子似乎起到了威懾作用,使他瞪著眼睛把馬丁端詳了半天。
“他看起來沒那么厲害?!彼湫χf,可他的冷笑失去了沖勁。
“‘荷蘭鬼’當初也是這么想的?!奔渍Z氣堅定地說,“走吧,咱們離開這里。天下的姑娘多的是。隨我走吧?!?/p>
小伙子由他帶著乖乖地到帳篷那邊去了,其他的人也跟著走了?!八钦l?”馬丁問麗茜道,“這到底是怎么回事?”
昔日的那種熱烈和持久的打架的激情,如今已煙消云散,他發(fā)現(xiàn)自己太喜歡自我分析,無法再過那種尋釁滋事的原始生活了。
麗茜把腦袋朝后一仰。
“哦,他是一個小人物,”她說,“只不過跟我做做伴而已。”
“你知道,這也是迫不得已,”她停了一會兒,然后解釋道,“我感到非常孤獨。不過,我始終都沒忘記你?!彼穆曇粲鷣碛?,目光直視前方,“為了你,我隨時都可以將他拋開?!?/p>
馬丁望著她那移開的面孔,心里明白自己只消伸出手去,就可以得到她。他不知道自己所學的溫文爾雅、合乎語法規(guī)范的英語到底有什么價值。他沉湎于遐想,竟然忘了同她對話。
“你殺盡了他的威風?!彼倘灰恍?,試探性地說。
“不過,那小伙子倒是挺壯的,”他大度地承認說,“他要是不被拉走,很可能讓我窮于應付?!?/p>
“那天晚上我看到你和女朋友在一起,她是誰呢?”她突然問道。
“哦,一個普通的女朋友?!彼卮鹫f。
“時間過去許久了,”她沉思著喃喃道,“像是有一千年了?!?/p>
對這件事馬丁不愿深談,把話題又引到了別的方面。兩人在餐館里吃了飯,他點了美酒和佳肴。飯后,他跟她跳舞,而且只跟她跳,直到她喊累方休。他是個出色的舞伴,她隨著他打旋,舞來舞去,歡天喜地地把頭靠在他肩上,希望永遠這樣下去。到了下午,他們鉆進樹林,按著古老的習慣,由她席地而坐,而他仰面朝天躺下,腦袋枕在她的膝上。他躺在那兒打盹,她卻撫弄著他的頭發(fā),低頭望著他緊閉的雙眼,心里充滿了一往情深的愛意。他猛然抬眼一瞧,看見了她臉上含情脈脈的表情。她把眼皮一合,隨后又睜開,帶著柔情和倔強望著他的雙目。
“這些年我一直循規(guī)蹈矩。”她說話時,聲音低得簡直成了耳語。
馬丁心里清楚,這雖然是個奇跡,但也是事實。他心中升騰起一種強烈的欲望,懇求他去滿足。他有能力給她帶來幸福。他自己不要幸福,為什么就不能把幸福給她呢?他可以娶她為妻,把她帶到馬克薩斯群島去,住在干草打墻的城堡里。這種愿望非常強烈,但他的本性所發(fā)出的專橫命令卻更強硬,不許他那樣做。不管怎樣,他仍然忠實于愛情。過去的那種放浪形骸的生活一去不復返了。他無法把那種生活拉回來,也無法回到那種生活中去。他變了——直到此刻他才發(fā)現(xiàn)自己的變化是多么大。
“我不是個打算結婚成家的人,麗茜?!彼崧曊f。
撫弄他頭發(fā)的那只手突然停了下來,但隨后又撫弄了起來,而且仍是那么溫柔。他注意到她繃緊了面孔,可那是下決心時的表情,因為她的臉蛋仍散發(fā)著柔和的光,因為她依舊容光煥發(fā)、含情脈脈。
“我沒那意思——”她剛啟口,便遲疑了起來,“或者說,我不在乎!”“我不在乎。”她又重復了一遍,“能做你的朋友,我感到自豪。為了你,我任何事情都肯干??峙挛疑瓦@種脾氣?!?/p>
馬丁坐起身,握住她的手。他顯得很莊重,帶著一片溫柔,但卻缺乏激情;這種溫柔叫她心寒。
“算啦,別談這個了?!彼f。
“你是一個偉大、高尚的女性,”他說,“我為能結識你感到驕傲。是的,我感到非常自豪。你對我來說就是漆黑一團的世界當中的一線光明。我對你必須規(guī)矩才好,因為你一直都是一個循規(guī)蹈矩的人?!?/p>
“你對我規(guī)矩與否,我全不在乎。你愿把我怎么樣就怎么樣。你可以把我摔倒在塵埃中,從我身上踩過去。世間只有你一人可以這樣做?!彼裆坏卣f道,“自小我就注意保護自己,看來沒有白費力氣?!?/p>
“正是因為這一點,我才不能夠越軌?!彼崧暭氄Z地說,“你如此大度和體貼人,使得我也必須體貼人。我不打算結婚,也不能胡搞亂來,盡管我過去放縱過自己。今天我真不該到這里來,和你相會于此?,F(xiàn)在再說也沒有用了,我怎么也想不到會有這樣的結局。
“你請聽著,麗茜。我無法表達自己有多么喜歡你。我不僅僅是喜歡,還崇拜和敬重你。你美麗動人,是那樣超塵脫俗??晒鈩幼炱ぷ佑钟惺裁从媚??我想為你做點事情。你一直過的是困苦的生活,我要讓你的日子輕松些。”(她眼中閃出了喜悅的光芒,但隨即又消失了。)“過不了多久,我肯定能拿到一筆錢——數(shù)目挺大?!?/p>
在這一瞬間,他舍棄了購買峽谷、海灣、干草打墻的城堡和華麗白帆船的計劃。這又有什么關系呢?他可以像以前經(jīng)常做的那樣,隨便登上一條船,胡亂去個地方嘛。
“我想把錢給你用。你一定有些打算——如上學念書,或者進商學院。你也許想通過學習當一名速記員。我可以為你做出安排?;蛘撸愕母改鸽p親還在世——我可以為他們開個食雜店什么的。你想要什么,只需說出來,我就能為你搞到?!?/p>
她一聲不吭地坐在那兒,目光呆視著前方,眼睛里沒有一滴淚水,身子一動不動,但是喉頭卻在發(fā)痛,馬丁深深地覺察到了她的感覺,自己的喉頭也痛了起來。他為自己剛才的一番話感到后悔。他給她的只是錢,與她奉獻給他的東西相比,顯得那樣庸俗。他的禮品是無關痛癢的身外之物,而她所奉獻的則是她本人,以及她的自尊、名聲、人格和一切美好的愿望。
“不談這個啦。”她的聲音有些哽咽,但她咳嗽了一聲,想掩飾過去。最后,她站起了身?!白撸蹅兓厝グ?,我累得不行啦?!?/p>
這天的盛會已經(jīng)結束,尋歡作樂的人們幾乎已散盡??墒牵R丁和麗茜從樹林里走出來時,卻發(fā)現(xiàn)那幫人在等他們。馬丁立刻明白是怎么一回事——一場風暴正在醞釀之中。那幫人是來保護他的。他們走出公園的大門時,身后散散漫漫地跟著另一幫人,那是麗茜的男伴糾集來的朋友,小伙子失去了自己的女人,打算報仇雪恨。幾個警察和特警巡官料到要出亂子,便尾隨而來制止,把兩班人馬分別趕上了開往舊金山的火車。馬丁對吉米說,他要到第十六大街下車,然后搭電車去奧克蘭。火車駛入第十六大街車站時,可以看到一輛電車等在那里,售票員正不耐煩地搖著鈴。
“就坐那輛車,”吉米提議說,“你們跑過去,我們攔住他們??烊ィ诫娷嚿先?!”
敵對的那一方?jīng)]料到這一招,一時茫然不知所措,但隨后便跳下火車,追了上來。坐在電車上的那些矜持、穩(wěn)重的奧克蘭人幾乎都沒留意到有個小伙子和一位姑娘跑上電車,在前邊靠外的座位坐了下來。他們不知道這兩位與吉米的關系,只見吉米跳上踏板,沖著司機吆喝道:
“打開電開關,老伙計,快離開這里!”
緊接著,吉米猛地轉過身去,乘客們看見他一拳打在了一個飛奔而來、企圖攀上電車的人臉上。整個電車上都能見到拳頭與面孔的撞擊。吉米和他的一幫人排列開,站在又長又低的踏板上,迎擊著對手的進攻。叮當當一陣鈴響,電車啟動了,吉米一伙人擊退了敵人的最后進攻,他們自己也跳下車去展開決戰(zhàn)。電車沖向前方,把混亂的戰(zhàn)場遠遠拋在了后邊。嚇得目瞪口呆的乘客們做夢也想不到,坐在拐角靠外的座位上的那個表情從容的年輕人和那個漂亮的女工,竟是引起這場惡斗的罪魁禍首。
起初,馬丁心中重新涌起了昔日的那種戰(zhàn)斗激情,非常欣賞剛才的戰(zhàn)斗場面。但那種激情很快就消失了,他感到一陣深深的悲哀。他覺得自己老態(tài)龍鐘,比昔日的那些粗魯莽撞、無憂無慮的年輕伙伴要老上幾百歲。他走得太遠了,遠得已經(jīng)回不去了。他們的生活方式曾一度與他的如出一轍,而今卻叫他厭惡。他對一切都感到失望,他和以前判若兩人。生啤酒喝到口里淡而無味,而他們的友誼也同樣叫他覺得淡而無味。他離開他們太遠了,成千上萬本打開的書像一道鴻溝橫在他與他們之間。他使自己過著流放生活。他漫游于遼闊的知識王國之中,最后無法再返回家園。不過,他畢竟是個人,需要滿足自己那種尋求伙伴的要求。只是他還沒有找到新的家園。那幫朋友不理解他,家里的人不理解他,資產(chǎn)階級不理解他,坐在他身旁的這位他十分敬重的姑娘也不理解他,還不理解他對她的尊崇。他仔細思考著,悲哀中又添了幾分痛苦。
“跟他和好吧。”分手時,他勸麗茜道。此刻,他們站在六馬路和市場街附近的一幢工人房屋前——這兒是麗茜的家。他所指的就是那個這天被他篡奪了位置的小伙子。
“不可能——現(xiàn)在已不可能了。”她說。
“嗨,無稽之談,”他語調輕松地說,“你只要吹聲口哨,他就會飛奔而來?!?/p>
“我不是那意思?!彼喍痰卣f。
他知道她話中的意思。
當他正欲道晚安的時候,她把身子靠了過來。不過,她在傾身時,既不強求,也不是挑逗,而是懷著一腔熱望,顯得十分恭敬。他的心被感動了,胸中涌起博大、寬厚的情緒。他把她摟在懷里,親吻著她,同時心中很清楚印在自己嘴唇上的吻是男人所能夠得到的最真情的吻。
“上帝?。 彼槠f,“我愿為你死去!我愿為你死去!”
她猛地掙出他的懷抱,跑上了臺階。他覺得自己的眼睛一下子濕潤了起來。
“馬丁·伊登啊,”他在心里說道,“你并不是一個不通情理的人,而是一個可憐的尼采信徒。如果可能,你一定會娶她,讓她那顫抖的心房充滿幸福。但這不可能,你辦不到。真他媽丟人。”
“‘一位可憐的老流浪兒在抨擊腐敗現(xiàn)象時說,’”他想起了亨利的一段語錄,不由喃喃出聲道,“‘我認為生活犯了大錯,是一種恥辱?!前。畹拇_犯了大錯,的確是一種恥辱?!?/p>
* * *
[1] 吉米捏造出的人物,作為恐嚇。