cw.imarriedadeadman-第12部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


e　seat　That　would　be　the　kind　of　school　she'd　want…
　She　didn't　speak；　but　her　own　voice　was　loud　in　her　ears。　〃Help　me；　somebody；　I　don't　know　what　to　do！〃
　The　wheels　were　dying；　as　though　they'd　run　out　of　lubrication。　Or　like　a　phonograph　record　that　runs　down。
　
　〃Cli…ck；　cla…ck；
　Cli…i…ck；　cla…a…a…ck。〃
　
　Each　revolution　seemed　about　to　be　the　last。
　Suddenly　a　long　shed　started　up；　just　outside　the　windows；　running　along　parallel　to　them；　and　then　a　white　sign　suspended　from　it　started　to　go　by；　letter　by　letter　in　reverse。
　
　〃D…L…E…I…〃
　
　It　got　to　the　F　and　it　stuck。　It　wouldn't　budge。　She　all　but　screamed。　The　train　had　stopped。
　A　knock　sounded　right　behind　her　back；　the　vibration　of　it　seeming　to　go　through　her　chest。
　〃Caulfield；　ma'm。〃
　Then　someone　tried　the　knob。
　〃Help　you　with　yo'　things？〃
　Her　clenched　fist　tightened　around　the　seventeen　cents；　until　the　knuckles　showed　white　and　livid　with　the　pressure。
　She　ran　to　the　seat　and　picked　up　the　blue　blanket　and　what　it　held。
　There　were　people　out　there；　just　on　the　other　side　of　the　window。　Their　heads　were　low；　but　she　could　see　them；　and　they　could　see　her。　There　was　a　woman　looking　right　at　her。
　Their　eyes　met；　their　eyes　locked；　held　fast。　She　couldn't　turn　her　head　away；　she　couldn't　withdraw　deeper　into　the　partment。　It　was　as　though　those　eyes　riveted　her　where　she　stood。
　The　woman　pointed　to　her。　She　called　out　in　jubilation；　for　the　benefit　of　someone　else；　unseen。　〃There　she　is！　I've　found　her！　Here；　this　car　up　here！〃
　She　raised　her　hand　and　she　waved。　She　waved　to　the　little　somnolent；　blinking　head　coifed　in　the　blue　blanket；　looking　solemnly　out　the　window。　Made　her　fingers　flutter　in　that　special　wave　you　give　to　very　small　babies。
　The　look　on　her　face　couldn't　have　been　described。　It　was　as　when　life　begins　all　over　again；　after　an　interruption；　a　hiatus。　It　was　as　when　the　sun　peers　through　again　at　the　end；　at　the　end　of　a　bleak　wintry　day。
　The　girl　holding　the　baby　put　her　head　down　close　to　his；　almost　as　if　averting　it　from　the　window。　Or　as　if　they　were　muning　together；　exchanging　some　confidence　in　secret；　to　the　exclusion　of　everyone　else。
　She　was。
　〃For　you；〃　she　breathed。　〃For　you。　And　God　forgive　me。〃　Then　she　carried　him　over　to　the　door　with　her；　and　turned　the　latch　to　let　the　harassed　porter　in。
　
　
　14
　
　Sometimes　there　is　a　dividing…line　running　across　life。　Sharp；　almost　actual；　like　the　black　stroke　of　a　paintbrush　or　the　white　gash　of　a　chalk…mark。　Sometimes；　but　not　often。
　For　her　there　was。　It　lay　somewhere　along　those　few　yards　of　carpassage；　between　the　partment…window　and　the　car…steps；　where　for　a　moment　or　two　she　was　out　of　sight　of　those　standing　waiting　outside。　One　girl　left　the　window。　Another　girl　came　down　the　steps。　A　world　ended；　and　another　world　began。
　She　wasn't　the　girl　who　had　been　holding　her　baby　by　the　partment…window　just　now。
　Patrice　Hazzard　came　down　those　car…steps。
　Frightened；　tremulous；　very　white　in　the　face；　but　Patrice　Hazzard。
　She　was　aware　of　things；　but　only　indirectly；　she　only　had　eyes　for　those　other　eyes　looking　into　hers　from　a　distance　of　a　few　inches　away。　All　else　was　background。　Behind　her　back　the　train　glided　on。　Bearing　with　it　its　hundreds　of　living　passengers。　And；　all　unknown；　in　an　empty　partment；　a　ghost　。　。　。　Two　ghosts；　a　large　one　and　a　very　small　one。
　Forever　homeless　now；　never　to　be　retrieved。
　The　hazel　eyes　came　in　even　closer　to　hers。　They　were　kind；　they　smiled　around　the　edges；　they　were　gentle；　tender。　They　hurt　a　little。　They　were　trustful。
　She　was　in　her　fifties；　their　owner。　Her　hair　was　softly　graying；　and　only　underneath　had　the　process　been　delayed。　She　was　as　tall　as　Patrice；　and　as　slim；　and　she　shouldn't　have　been；　for　it　wasn't；　the　slimness　of　fashionable　effort　or　artifice；　and　something　about　her　clothes　revealed　it　to　be　recent；　only　the　past　few　months。
　But　even　these　details　about　her　were　background；　and　the　man　of　her　own　age　standing　just　past　her　shoulder　was　background　too。　It　was　only　her　face　that　was　immediate；　and　the　eyes　in　her　face；　so　close　now。　Saying　so　much　without　a　sound。
　She　placed　her　hands　lightly　upon　Patrice's　cheeks；　one　on　each；　framing　her　face　between　them　in　a　sort　of　accolade；　a　sacramental　benison。
　Then　she　kissed　her　on　the　lips；　in　silence；　and　there　was　a　lifetime　in　the　kiss；　the　girl　could　sense　it。　The　lifetime　of　a　man。　The　many　years　it　takes　to　raise　a　man；　from　childhood；　through　boyhood；　into　a　grown　son。　There　was　bitter　loss　in　the　kiss；　the　loss　of　all　that　at　a　single　blow。　The　end　for　a　time　of　all　hope；　and　weeks　of　cruel　grief。　But　then　too　there　was　the　reparation　of　loss；　the　finding　of　a　daughter；　the　starting　over　with　another；　a　smaller　son。　No；　with　the　same　son；　the　same　blood；　the　same　flesh。　Only　going　back　and　starting　again　from　the　beginning；　in　sweeter　sadder　sponsorship　this　time；　forewarned　by　loss。　And　there　was　the　burgeoning　of　hope　anew。
　There　were　all　those　things　in　it。　They　were　spoken　in　it；　they　were　felt　in　it；　and　they　were　meant　to　be　felt　in　it；　they　bad　been　put　into　it　for　that　purpose。
　This　was　not　a　kiss　under　a　railroad…station　shed；　it　was　a　sacrament　of　adoption。
　Then　she　kissed　the　child。　And　smiled　as　you　do　at　your　own。　And　a　little　crystal　drop　that　hadn't　been　there　before　was　resting　on　its　small　pink　cheek。
　The　man　came　forward　and　kissed　her　on　the　forehead。
　〃I'm　Father；　Patrice。〃
　He　stooped　and　straightened；　and　said；　〃I'll　take　your　things　over　to　the　car。〃　A　little　glad　to　escape　from　an　emotional　moment；　as　men　are　apt　to　be。
　The　woman　hadn't　said　a　word。　In　all　the　moments　she'd　been　standing　before　her；　not　a　word　had　passed　her　lips。　She　saw；　perhaps；　the　pallor　in　her　face；　could　read　the　shrinking；　the　uncertainty；　in　her　eyes。
　She　put　her　arms　about　her　and　drew　her　to　her　now；　in　a　warmer；　more　mundane；　more　everyday　greeting　than　the　one　that　had　passed　before。　Drew　the　girl's　head　to　rest　upon　her　own　shoulder　for　a　moment。　And　as　she　did　so；　she　spoke　for　the　first　time；　low　in　her　ear；　to　give　her　courage；　to　give　her　peace。
　〃You're　home；　Patrice。　Wele　home；　dear。〃
　And　in　those　few　words；　so　simply　said；　so　inalterably　meant；　Patrice　Hazzard　knew　she　had　found　at　last　all　the　goodness　there　is　or　ever　can　be　in　this　world。
　
　
　15
　
　And　so　this　was　what　it　was　like　to　be　home；　to　be　in　a　home　of　your　own；　in　a　room　of　your　own。
　She　had　another　dress　on　now；　ready　to　go　down　to　table。　She　sat　there　in　a　wing　chair　waiting；　very　straight；　looking　a　little　small　against　its　outspread　back。　Her　back　was　up　against　it　very　straight；　her　legs　dropped　down　to　the　floor　very　straight　and　meticulously　side　by　side。　She　had　her　hand　out　resting　on　the　crib；　the　crib　they'd　bought　for　him　and　that　she'd　found　already　here　waiting　when　she　first　entered　the　room。　He　was　in　it　now。　They'd　even　thought　of　that。
　They'd　left　her　alone；　she　would　have　had　to　be　alone　to　savor　it　as　fully　as　she　was　doing。　Still　drinking　it　in；　hours　after；　basking　in　it；　inhaling　the　essence　of　it；　there　was　no　word　for　what　it　did　to　her。　Hours　after；　and　her　head　every　now　and　then　would　still　give　that　slow；　prehensive；　marvelling　sweep　around　from　side　to　side；　taking　in　all　four　walls　of　it。　And　even　up　overhead；　not　forgetting　the　ceiling。　A　roof　over　your　head。　A　roof　to　keep　out　rain　and　cold　and　loneliness…Not　just　the　anonymous　roof　of　a　rented　building；　no；　the　roof　of　home。　Guarding　you；　sheltering　you；　keeping　you；　watching　over　you。
　And　somewhere　downstairs；　dimly　perceptible　to　her　acutely　attuned　ears；　the　soothing　bustle　of　an　evening　meal　in　preparation。　Carried　to　her　in　faint　snatches　now　and　then　at　the　opening　of　a　door；　stilled　again　at　its　closing。　Footsteps　busily　crossing　an　uncarpeted　strip　of　wooden　floor；　then　ing　back　again。　An　occasional　faint　clash　of　crockery　or　china。　Once　even　the　voice　of　the　colored　housekeeper；　for　an　instant　of　bugle…like　clarity。　〃No；　it　ain't　ready　yet；　Miz'　Hazzard；　need　five　mo'　minutes。〃
　And　the　laughingly　protesting　admonition　that　followed；　miraculously　audible　as　wel