人性的枷鎖(2)

人性的枷鎖OF HUMAN BONDAGE

BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM毛姆

1915

中譯Bill Lin

第2章 孤兒

一個星期以後，菲利浦坐在瓦特津小姐那座落於翁斯洛Onslow 花園區房子的客廳地板上。他是個獨生子，已習慣於自得其樂。客廳裡擺滿了大件傢俱，每張沙發上都有三個大靠墊。每張扶手椅上也各有一個椅墊。他把這些軟墊全抓過來，藉著幾張輕巧而易於挪動的鍍金雕花便椅，精心地搭成個洞穴。藏在理面，就可以躲開那些匿藏在帷幔後面的印第安紅人。他把耳朵貼近地板，凝神諦聽野牛群狂奔過草原。這時候，他聽見門打開了，趕緊屏住呼吸，不想被人發現；但是，有一隻手猛地拖開了一把椅子，軟墊全掉下來。

「你這調皮鬼，瓦特津小姐要生氣啦。」

「嘿！艾瑪Emma！」他說。

保姆彎腰吻了他，然後把墊子的一一抖好，放回原位。

「我該回家了吧？」他問道。

「是的，我就是來帶你回去的。」

「你穿了件新衣服。」那是1885年，所以她穿著撐裙；黑絲絨裙袍，窄袖削肩，裙子上有三條寬荷葉邊；戴了一頂綁著絲絨帶的黑色蘇格蘭帽。

她猶豫了一下；原先準備的答話無從出口，因為孩子沒提出她預想的問題。

「你不想問你媽媽身體好嗎？」她只好自己提了。

「噢，我忘了。我媽媽身體好嗎？」

這下子，她有準備了。

「你媽媽身體很好，也很快活。」

「哦，我很高興。」

「你媽媽去逝了，你再也見不著她了。」菲利浦沒聽懂她的意思。

「為什麼？」

「你媽媽在天國裡了。」

她哭將起來，而菲利浦雖不太了解是怎麼一回事，也跟著哭起來。艾瑪是個高挑、寬骨架的婦人，金髮，眉目鮮明。她來自德文郡Devonshire ，儘管在倫敦幫傭多年，還是鄉音未改。她這麼一哭可牽動了真情， 只好把孩子緊摟在懷裡。想到這可憐的孩子被剝奪了他在世上唯一的愛，她心頭依稀有一股憐憫無私的愛。想到非得把他交到陌生人手裡，是有點恐怖。但是過一會兒，她就恢復了。

「你的威廉William 伯父正等著見你呢，」她說，「我們去跟瓦特津小姐說再見，說我們要回家了。」

「我不要去說再見，」他回答。他內心很不想讓人看到自己的掉淚。

「好吧，那就快上樓去拿帽子。」

菲利浦拿了帽子，回到樓下，艾瑪在大廳裡等著。他聽到餐室後面的書房裡有說話的聲音。他停下來。他知道是瓦特津小姐和她姐姐在同朋友交談；他這個九歲的孩子似乎感到，假如自己走了進去，她們會為他難過。

「我想我要去跟瓦特津小姐說再見。」

「還是去說一聲的好，」艾瑪說。

「那妳先進去說我來了，」他說。

他希望能充分把握他的機會。艾瑪敲敲門，走了進去。他聽見她說：

「小姐，菲利浦少爺來向您告別。」

話聲戛然而止，菲利浦拐著進來。亨利耶妲．瓦特津Henrietta Watkin 是個身材豐盈的婦女，臉色紅潤，染了髮。在那個年頭，染髮招惹話題，記得當他的教母頭髮變了顏色時，菲利浦在自己家裡就聽過不少閒話。瓦特津小姐和姐姐住在一起。她的姐姐養老退休了。還有兩位菲利浦不認識的太太也在這兒，她們好奇的看著菲利浦。

「我可憐的孩子。」瓦特津小姐說著張開了雙臂。

她哭將起來。菲利浦現在終於明白，為什麼她剛才沒在家吃午飯，而且為什麼她要穿一身黑衣。她哭得說不出話來。

「我得回家了，」菲利浦最後這麼說。

菲利浦脫開了瓦特津小姐的懷抱；她再次親了他。然後，他走到她的姐姐跟前，也對她說了再見。陌生太太中的一位問：是否也可以讓她吻一下，他很正式地表示可以。雖在流淚，但是他對於眼前這種由自己引起的感傷場面，倒蠻享受的。若非感到她們巴不得自己走掉，他還很樂意再多待一會，讓她們在自己身上發洩個痛快；所以只好說艾瑪在等他，走出了書房。艾瑪已經在樓下地下室同她的女友話家常；他只得在樓梯口等她。他還聽到了亨利耶妲．瓦特津的說話聲。

「他母親是我最要好的朋友。我一想到她死了，心裡真受不了。」

「你本來就不該去參加葬禮，亨利耶妲，」她姐姐說，「我知道你去了會很難過。」

一位陌生女客接著說：「可憐的小男孩，世上就剩他一個人，怪悽慘的。我看他有點瘸腿！」

「是呀，他天生一隻翻掌腳。這是他母親的傷痛。」

這時，艾瑪上來了。他們叫了一輛馬車，她告訴車夫往哪兒走。

*********

It was a week later. Philip was sitting on the floor in the drawing-room at Miss Watkin's house in Onslow gardens. He was an only child and used to amusing himself. The room was filled with massive furniture, and on each of the sofas were three big cushions. There was a cushion too in each arm-chair. All these he had taken and, with the help of the gilt rout chairs, light and easy to move, had made an elaborate cave in which he could hide himself from the Red Indians who were lurking behind the curtains. He put his ear to the floor and listened to the herd of buffaloes that raced across the prairie. Presently, hearing the door open, he held his breath so that he might not be discovered; but a violent hand pulled away a chair and the cushions fell down.

"You naughty boy, Miss Watkin will be cross with you."

"Hulloa, Emma!" he said.

The nurse bent down and kissed him, then began to shake out the cushions, and put them back in their places.

"Am I to come home?" he asked.

"Yes, I've come to fetch you."

"You've got a new dress on."

It was in 1885, and she wore a bustle. Her gown was of black velvet, with tight sleeves and sloping shoulders, and the skirt had three large flounces. She wore a black bonnet with velvet strings. She hesitated. The question she had expected did not come, and so she could not give the answer she had prepared.

"Aren't you going to ask how your mamma is?" she said at length.

"Oh, I forgot. How is mamma?"

Now she was ready.

"Your mamma is quite well and happy."

"Oh, I am glad."

"Your mamma's gone away. You won't ever see her any more." Philip did not know what she meant.

"Why not?"

"Your mamma's in heaven."

She began to cry, and Philip, though he did not quite understand, cried too. Emma was a tall, big-boned woman, with fair hair and large features. She came from Devonshire and, notwithstanding her many years of service in London, had never lost the breadth of her accent. Her tears increased her emotion, and she pressed the little boy to her heart. She felt vaguely the pity of that child deprived of the only love in the world that is quite unselfish. It seemed dreadful that he must be handed over to strangers. But in a little while she pulled herself together.

"Your Uncle William is waiting in to see you," she said. "Go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin, and we'll go home."

"I don't want to say good-bye," he answered, instinctively anxious to hide his tears.

"Very well, run upstairs and get your hat."

He fetched it, and when he came down Emma was waiting for him in the hall. He heard the sound of voices in the study behind the dining-room. He paused. He knew that Miss Watkin and her sister were talking to friends, and it seemed to him—he was nine years old—that if he went in they would be sorry for him.

"I think I'll go and say good-bye to Miss Watkin."

"I think you'd better," said Emma.

"Go in and tell them I'm coming," he said.

He wished to make the most of his opportunity. Emma knocked at the door and walked in. He heard her speak.

"Master Philip wants to say good-bye to you, miss."

There was a sudden hush of the conversation, and Philip limped in. Henrietta Watkin was a stout woman, with a red face and dyed hair. In those days to dye the hair excited comment, and Philip had heard much gossip at home when his godmother's changed color. She lived with an elder sister, who had resigned herself contentedly to old age. Two ladies, whom Philip did not know, were calling, and they looked at him curiously.

"My poor child," said Miss Watkin, opening her arms.

She began to cry. Philip understood now why she had not been in to luncheon and why she wore a black dress. She could not speak.

"I've got to go home," said Philip, at last.

He disengaged himself from Miss Watkin's arms, and she kissed him again. Then he went to her sister and bade her good-bye too. One of the strange ladies asked if she might kiss him, and he gravely gave her permission. Though crying, he keenly enjoyed the sensation he was causing; he would have been glad to stay a little longer to be made much of, but felt they expected him to go, so he said that Emma was waiting for him. He went out of the room. Emma had gone downstairs to speak with a friend in the basement, and he waited for her on the landing. He heard Henrietta Watkin's voice.

"His mother was my greatest friend. I can't bear to think that she's dead."

"You oughtn't to have gone to the funeral, Henrietta," said her sister. "I knew it would upset you."

Then one of the strangers spoke.

"Poor little boy, it's dreadful to think of him quite alone in the world.

I see he limps."

"Yes, he's got a club-foot. It was such a grief to his mother."

Then Emma came back. They called a hansom, and she told the driver where to go.