人性的枷鎖(8)

人性的枷鎖OF HUMAN BONDAGE

BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM毛姆

1915

中譯Bill Lin

第8章 磨擦

菲利浦已經過慣了孤獨無伴的獨生子生活，所以在牧師樓的感受，並不比母親在世時更為寂寞。他同瑪麗安成了朋友。瑪麗安矮小圓圓胖胖的個兒，三十五歲，父親是漁夫，她十八歲那年就來到牧師樓；這兒是她幫傭的第一家，她也不想離開這兒；但是她經常拿婚嫁當法寶，來嚇唬她那膽小的男女東家。她父母住在離港口街Harbor Street 不遠的小屋子裡。放假的晚上，她就去探望他們。

瑪麗安所講的那些海上的故事，引發了菲利浦的想像力；他的年輕幻想，帶給港口周遭的狹街陋巷加添濃厚的浪漫色彩。一個晚上，他問是不是可以隨瑪麗安到她家去，但是他伯母生怕他沾染上什麼，而他伯父則說：不好的交往會敗壞良好的教養。他不喜歡那些粗野無禮的漁民，而且他們都上小禮拜堂。但是菲利浦在廚房裡要比待在餐室裡更自在些，一有機會，他就抱著玩具到廚房去玩。他伯母無所謂。她不喜歡亂糟糟的；雖然她認為男孩子都很野，不如就讓他到廚房裡去亂搞。

只要菲利浦有些毛燥，他的伯父很容易跟著不耐煩，就說現在是送他去上學的時候。凱里太太覺得菲利浦還不到上學的年齡，她真心疼這個沒娘的孩子；但是她想博得孩子親情的做法卻很笨拙，使得這孩子覺得愐腆，對她親熱的表示接受得很勉強，使得她感到痛心。有時候，她聽到菲利浦在廚房裡尖著嗓門格格大笑，可是只要她一進廚房，他馬上不作聲了，瑪麗安解釋玩笑的時候，他更是變了臉色。凱里太太不覺得有什麼好笑，也只能湊合著裝笑。

「威廉，他和瑪麗安在一起，好像比和我們在一起更快活，」她回來繼續做針線，一面對老公說著。

「誰都看得出，他沒有教養。他需要好好的管教。」

菲利浦來了以後的第二個星期天，一件倒霉事發生了。午餐後，凱里先生照常去客廳小睡片刻，但是那天他心裡不舒服睡不著。上午，喬賽亞．格雷夫斯很反對牧師用幾盞燭臺來裝飾聖壇。這幾盞燭臺是他從坎特伯利Tercanbury買來的二手貨，他覺得它們很好看。但是喬賽亞．格雷夫斯卻說那是屬於天主堂的東西。

這種刺激的話，總會讓牧師生氣。牛津Oxford運動時，他身臨其境，這運動因愛德華．曼寧Edward Manning脫離國教而結束，而他對羅馬教廷頗表同情。他存心要把布萊克斯泰勃教區不重視儀式的禮拜搞得隆重一點，他的靈魂暗處，深切渴望著列隊儀式和燃燒的蠟燭。他現在只能在焚香時要信徒列隊。他討厭“新教徒”這個字，他自稱是天主教徒。他慣於說，過去那些羅馬天主教徒只是教皇黨需要個稱號；其實英國國教才是最好的、最充分的，最能有崇高表現的天主教。

他想到自己那幅刮得光淨的教士臉就很得意，而且在年輕時就有的苦行僧氣質，更加深了這個印象。他常提到自己在法國布洛涅Boulogne渡假時，像以往一樣因為省錢沒讓老婆同行：有一天他去了一個教堂，那位負責的教士居然走到他面前，請他上臺講道。他堅持未領受聖職的教士應該獨身，所以，他的副牧師一結婚，就被他辭掉。然而在某次選舉時，自由黨人在他花園的籬笆上塗了幾個藍色大字：「此路通往羅馬」，他很生氣，揚言要提告布萊克斯泰勃自由黨的頭子。

現在他決定，不管喬賽亞．格雷夫斯怎麼說，都別想讓他把燭臺從聖壇上拿開；一氣惱，就自言自語的罵了幾聲「俾斯麥」！

突然他聽到奇怪的聲響。他拿掉蓋在臉上的手帕，從躺著的沙發跳起來，直奔餐室。菲利浦正坐在桌子前，身邊擺了一堆磚頭。他剛才搭了一座大城堡，因為地基出了問題，使得整個建築物嘩啦的成了一堆廢墟。

「菲利浦，你拿那些磚頭幹什麼？要知道星期天是不可以玩的。」

菲利浦以受驚的眼光直直地望著他，習慣性地滿臉通紅。

「我通常是在家裡玩，」他回答。

「我敢說，你媽媽一定不會讓你幹這種壞事。」

菲利浦不知道這種事是不對的；要是果真如此，他不希望讓人以為他的母親同意他做這種事。他垂頭不語。

「你難道不知道主日玩耍是很不好的嗎？你不想想它為什麼被稱為休息日？你下午觸犯了祂的戒律，晚上去教堂，要如何面對你的造物主呢？」

凱里先生叫菲利浦立刻把磚頭搬走，並且站在邊上看著菲利浦做。

「你是個很不聽話的小孩，」他重覆說著。「想想你讓你在天國裡的可憐媽媽有多傷心。」

菲利浦想哭，但是他有一個不願讓人看到自己掉淚的本性，所以他緊咬牙關，不讓哭出來。凱里先生在安樂椅上，開始翻起書來。菲利浦站在窗邊。牧師樓和通往坎特伯利的公路有段距離。從餐室窗口望去，可以看到一大片半圓形的草皮，再過去，則是沿著水平線綠色的原野。羊群在那裡吃草。天空淒涼灰暗，菲利浦感到無盡地悲苦。

這時，瑪麗安進來擺茶點，路易莎伯母也下樓來了。

「午覺睡得好嗎，威廉？」她問。

「沒睡好！」他回答說。「菲利浦吵吵鬧鬧的，我一眨眼也不能睡。」

這樣說就不太對，他是有心事睡不著；菲利浦鐵著臉聽著，回想到他只有一次出了一點聲音，他的伯父沒理由前後都睡不著。當凱里太太問起詳情，牧師就述說實情。

「他甚至連一聲『對不起』也沒說，」他說完了。

「菲利浦啊，我知道你一定覺得對不起你伯父的，」凱里太太說著，生怕孩子會給他伯父留下不必要的更壞的印象。

菲利浦沒回應，繼續咀嚼手裡的牛油麵包片。他搞不清裡面來的什麼力量，讓他一點也不表示悔過。他覺得耳朵裡發麻，有點想哭，但是不肯吐露半個字。

「你不用生悶氣，把事情搞得更糟，」凱里先生說。

大家悶聲不響地吃完茶點。凱里太太不時的偷偷打量菲利浦，但是牧師卻故意不理睬他。菲利浦看到他的伯父上樓準備上教堂，他走到門廳去拿他的帽子和外套，但是牧師一下樓看見他時，就說：「我看你今晚別上教堂了，菲利浦。我想你現在的心態，是不適合進入神的家的。」

菲利浦無言，他覺得蒙受了奇恥大辱，臉頰翻紅。他靜靜地看著他的伯父戴上寬邊帽，披上大斗篷。凱里太太照例送他到門口，然後轉過來對菲利浦說：

「菲利浦，沒事，下一個主日你不會是個不聽話的小孩，不是嗎？你的伯父到晚上又會帶你上教堂了。」

她拿掉他的帽子和外套，領著他走進餐室。

「菲利浦，讓我們一起來敬拜，我們還要彈風琴唱詩歌。喜歡嗎？」

菲利浦堅決地搖頭；凱里太太吃了一驚。如果他不願意同她一起做晚禱敬拜，她就不知道該怎麼辦了。

「那麼在你伯父回來以前你想幹什麼呢？」凱里太太無助地問。

菲利浦總算開腔了。

「不要管我，」他說。

「菲利浦，你怎麼能說出這樣刻薄的話？你不知道你伯父和我完全是為你好嗎？你一點兒都不愛我嗎？」

「我恨你，我希望你死掉。」

凱里太太氣急敗壞了。他說出如此粗暴的話，給了她一個新的看法。她說不出話來。她坐在老公的椅子上，想到自己心疼這個無親無故的跛足孩子的意願，想到自己多麼熱切地希望能得到他的愛──她沒有兒女；雖然很清楚是神的旨意，但是有時看到小小孩，還是幾乎要受不了，她的心是如此的悲痛──眼淚一顆顆的上了眼眶，慢慢地往下淌。菲利浦吃驚地看著她；她掏出她的手帕，放聲痛哭。菲利浦突然發現，是因為他的話惹得她哭了，他很欠疚。

他悄悄地走上前，在她臉上親了一下；這是第一次他自動地吻她。這位可憐的老太婆，穿著黑綢緞的身軀是那麼瘦小，容顏乾癟蠟黃，頭上的螺旋捲髮滑稽可笑，她把孩子抱在膝上，雙手將他緊摟著，仍然像心碎般地掉淚。不過，她的眼淚，有一半是出於喜悅，因為她感到他們之間的陌生感已經消失了。她現在對他有了一種新的愛，因為這他會使她感到心痛。

**************

Philip had led always the solitary life of an only child, and his loneliness at the vicarage was no greater than it had been when his mother lived. He made friends with Mary Ann. She was a chubby little person of thirty-five, the daughter of a fisherman, and had come to the vicarage at eighteen; it was her first place and she had no intention of leaving it; but she held a possible marriage as a rod over the timid heads of her master and mistress. Her father and mother lived in a little house off Harbor Street, and she went to see them on her evenings out. Her stories of the sea touched Philip's imagination, and the narrow alleys round the harbor grew rich with the romance which his young fancy lent them. One evening he asked whether he might go home with her; but his aunt was afraid that he might catch something, and his uncle said that evil communications corrupted good manners. He disliked the fisher folk, who were rough, uncouth, and went to chapel. But Philip was more comfortable in the kitchen than in the dining-room, and, whenever he could, he took his toys and played there. His aunt was not sorry. She did not like disorder, and though she recognized that boys must be expected to be untidy she preferred that he should make a mess in the kitchen. If he fidgeted his uncle was apt to grow restless and say it was high time he went to school. Mrs. Carey thought Philip very young for this, and her heart went out to the motherless child; but her attempts to gain his affection were awkward, and the boy, feeling shy, received her demonstrations with so much sullenness that she was mortified. Sometimes she heard his shrill voice raised in laughter in the kitchen, but when she went in, he grew suddenly silent, and he flushed darkly when Mary Ann explained the joke. Mrs. Carey could not see anything amusing in what she heard, and she smiled with constraint.

"He seems happier with Mary Ann than with us, William," she said, when she returned to her sewing.

"One can see he's been very badly brought up. He wants licking into shape."

On the second Sunday after Philip arrived an unlucky incident occurred. Mr. Carey had retired as usual after dinner for a little snooze in the drawing-room, but he was in an irritable mood and could not sleep. Josiah Graves that morning had objected strongly to some candlesticks with which the Vicar had adorned the altar. He had bought them second-hand in Tercanbury, and he thought they looked very well. But Josiah Graves said they were popish. This was a taunt that always aroused the Vicar. He had been at Oxford during the movement which ended in the secession from the Established Church of Edward Manning, and he felt a certain sympathy for the Church of Rome. He would willingly have made the service more ornate than had been usual in the low-church parish of Blackstable, and in his secret soul he yearned for processions and lighted candles. He drew the line at incense. He hated the word protestant. He called himself a Catholic. He was accustomed to say that Papists required an epithet, they were Roman Catholic; but the Church of England was Catholic in the best, the fullest, and the noblest sense of the term. He was pleased to think that his shaven face gave him the look of a priest, and in his youth he had possessed an ascetic air which added to the impression. He often related that on one of his holidays in Boulogne, one of those holidays upon which his wife for economy's sake did not accompany him, when he was sitting in a church, the cure had come up to him and invited him to preach a sermon. He dismissed his curates when they married, having decided views on the celibacy of the unbeneficed clergy. But when at an election the Liberals had written on his garden fence in large blue letters: This way to Rome, he had been very angry, and threatened to prosecute the leaders of the Liberal party in Blackstable. He made up his mind now that nothing Josiah Graves said would induce him to remove the candlesticks from the altar, and he muttered Bismarck to himself once or twice irritably.

Suddenly he heard an unexpected noise. He pulled the handkerchief off his face, got up from the sofa on which he was lying, and went into the dining-room. Philip was seated on the table with all his bricks around him. He had built a monstrous castle, and some defect in the foundation had just brought the structure down in noisy ruin.

"What are you doing with those bricks, Philip? You know you're not allowed to play games on Sunday."

Philip stared at him for a moment with frightened eyes, and, as his habit was, flushed deeply.

"I always used to play at home," he answered.

"I'm sure your dear mamma never allowed you to do such a wicked thing as that."

Philip did not know it was wicked; but if it was, he did not wish it to be supposed that his mother had consented to it. He hung his head and did not answer.

"Don't you know it's very, very wicked to play on Sunday? What d'you suppose it's called the day of rest for? You're going to church tonight, and how can you face your Maker when you've been breaking one of His laws in the afternoon?"

Mr. Carey told him to put the bricks away at once, and stood over him while Philip did so.

"You're a very naughty boy," he repeated. "Think of the grief you're causing your poor mother in heaven."

Philip felt inclined to cry, but he had an instinctive disinclination to letting other people see his tears, and he clenched his teeth to prevent the sobs from escaping. Mr. Carey sat down in his arm-chair and began to turn over the pages of a book. Philip stood at the window. The vicarage was set back from the highroad to Tercanbury, and from the dining-room one saw a semicircular strip of lawn and then as far as the horizon green fields. Sheep were grazing in them. The sky was forlorn and gray. Philip felt infinitely unhappy.

Presently Mary Ann came in to lay the tea, and Aunt Louisa descended the stairs.

"Have you had a nice little nap, William?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "Philip made so much noise that I couldn't sleep a wink."

This was not quite accurate, for he had been kept awake by his own thoughts; and Philip, listening sullenly, reflected that he had only made a noise once, and there was no reason why his uncle should not have slept before or after. When Mrs. Carey asked for an explanation the Vicar narrated the facts.

"He hasn't even said he was sorry," he finished.

"Oh, Philip, I'm sure you're sorry," said Mrs. Carey, anxious that the child should not seem wickeder to his uncle than need be.

Philip did not reply. He went on munching his bread and butter. He did not know what power it was in him that prevented him from making any expression of regret. He felt his ears tingling, he was a little inclined to cry, but no word would issue from his lips.

"You needn't make it worse by sulking," said Mr. Carey.

Tea was finished in silence. Mrs. Carey looked at Philip surreptitiously now and then, but the Vicar elaborately ignored him. When Philip saw his uncle go upstairs to get ready for church he went into the hall and got his hat and coat, but when the Vicar came downstairs and saw him, he said:

"I don't wish you to go to church tonight, Philip. I don't think you're in a proper frame of mind to enter the House of God."

Philip did not say a word. He felt it was a deep humiliation that was placed upon him, and his cheeks reddened. He stood silently watching his uncle put on his broad hat and his voluminous cloak. Mrs. Carey as usual went to the door to see him off. Then she turned to Philip.

"Never mind, Philip, you won't be a naughty boy next Sunday, will you, and then your uncle will take you to church with him in the evening."

She took off his hat and coat, and led him into the dining-room.

"Shall you and I read the service together, Philip, and we'll sing the hymns at the harmonium. Would you like that?"

Philip shook his head decidedly. Mrs. Carey was taken aback. If he would not read the evening service with her she did not know what to do with him.

"Then what would you like to do until your uncle comes back?" she asked helplessly.

Philip broke his silence at last.

"I want to be left alone," he said.

"Philip, how can you say anything so unkind? Don't you know that your uncle and I only want your good? Don't you love me at all?"

"I hate you. I wish you was dead."

Mrs. Carey gasped. He said the words so savagely that it gave her quite a start. She had nothing to say. She sat down in her husband's chair; and as she thought of her desire to love the friendless, crippled boy and her eager wish that he should love her—she was a barren woman and, even though it was clearly God's will that she should be childless, she could scarcely bear to look at little children sometimes, her heart ached so—the tears rose to her eyes and one by one, slowly, rolled down her cheeks. Philip watched her in amazement. She took out her handkerchief, and now she cried without restraint. Suddenly Philip realised that she was crying because of what he had said, and he was sorry. He went up to her silently and kissed her. It was the first kiss he had ever given her without being asked. And the poor lady, so small in her black satin, shrivelled up and sallow, with her funny corkscrew curls, took the little boy on her lap and put her arms around him and wept as though her heart would break. But her tears were partly tears of happiness, for she felt that the strangeness between them was gone. She loved him now with a new love because he had made her suffer.