cw.imarriedadeadman-第14部分

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　Arms　reached　out　toward　her；　to　take　the　child　from　her。　The　godmother's　arms。　She　gave　him　over；　trailing　the　long　lace　ceremonial　gown　that…she　had　almost　said　〃his　father〃…that　a　stranger　named　Hugh　Hazzard　had　worn　before　him；　and　that　his　father；　Donald；　had　worn　before　him。
　Her　arms　felt　strangely　empty　after　that　She　wanted　to　cross　them　protectively　over　her　breast；　as　though　she　were　unclad。　She　forced　herself　not　to　with　an　effort。　It　was　not　her　form　that　was　unclad；　it　was　her　conscience。　She　dropped　them　quietly；　clasped　them　before　her；　looked　down。
　〃Hugh　Donald　Hazzard；　I　baptize　thee…〃
　They　had　gone　through　the　parody　of　consulting　her　preferences　in　this。　To　her　it　was　a　parody；　not　to　them。　She　wanted　him　named　after　Hugh；　of　course？　Yes；　she　had　said　demurely；　after　Hugh。　Then　how　about　the　middle　name？　After　her　own　father？　Or　perhaps　two　middle　names；　one　for　each　grandfather？　（She　actually　hadn't　been　able　to　recall　her　own　father's　name　at　the　moment；　it　came　back　to　her　some　time　after；　not　without　difficulty。　Mike：　a　scarcely　remembered　figure　of　a　looming　longshoreman；　killed　in　a　drunken　brawl　on　the　Embarcadero　when　she　was　ten。）
　One　middle　name　would　do。　After　Hugh's　father；　she　had　said　demurely。
　She　could　feel　her　face　burning　now；　knew　it　must　be　flushed　with　shame。　They　mustn't　see　that。　She　kept　it　steadily　down。
　〃…in　the　name　of　the　Father；　and　of　the　Son；　and　of　the　Holy　Ghost。　Amen。〃
　The　minister　sprinkled　water　on　the　child's　head。　She　could　see　a　stray　drop　or　two　fall　upon　the　floor；　darken　into　coin　dots。　A　dime；　a　nickel；　two　pennies。　Seventeen　cents。
　The　infant　began　to　wail　in　protest；　as　numberless　infants　before　it　since　time　immemorial。　The　infant　from　a　New　York　furnished　rooming　house　who　had　bee　heir　to　the　first；　the　wealthiest　family　in　Caulfield；　in　all　the　county；　maybe　even　in　all　that　State。
　〃You　have　nothing　to　cry　about；〃　she　thought　morosely。
　
　
　17
　
　There　was　a　cake　for　him；　on　his　first　birthday；　with　a　single　candle　standing　defiantly　in　the　middle　of　it；　its　flame　like　a　yellow　butterfly　hovering　atop　a　fluted　white　column。　They　made　great　to…do　and　ceremony　about　the　little　immemorial　rites　that　went　with　it。　The　first　grandson。　The　first　milestone。
　〃But　if　he　can't　make　the　wish；〃　she　demanded　animatedly；　〃is　it　all　right　if　I　make　it　for　him？　Or　doesn't　that　count？〃
　Aunt　Josie；　the　cake's　creator；　instinctively　deferred　to　in　all　such　matters　of　lore；　nodded　pontifically　from　the　kitchen…doorway。　〃You　make　it　for　him；　honey；　he　git　it　just　the　same；〃　she　promised。
　Patrice　dropped　her　eyes　and　her　face　sobered　for　a　moment。
　Peace；　all　your　life；　Safety；　such　as　this。　Your　own　around　you　always；　such　as　now。　And　for　myself…from　you；　someday…　forgiveness。
　〃You　got　it？　Now　blow。〃
　〃Him　or　me？〃
　〃It　count　just　like　for　him。〃
　She　leaned　down；　pressed　her　cheek　close　to　his；　and　blew　softly。　The　yellow　butterfly　fluttered　agitatedly；　shrivelled　into　nothingness。
　〃Now　cut；〃　coached　the　self…imposed　mistress　of　ceremonies。
　She　closed　his　chubby　little　hand　around　the　knife…handle；　enfolded　it　with　her　own；　and　tenderly　guided　it。　The　mystic　incision　made；　she　touched　her　finger　to　the　sugary　icing；　scraped　off　a　tiny　crumb；　and　then　placed　it　to　his　lips。
　A　great　crowing　and　cooing　went　up；　as　though　they　had　all　just　been　witnesses　to　a　prodigy　of　precocity。
　A　lot　of　people　had　e　in；　they　hadn't　had　so　many　people　all　in　the　house　at　one　time　since　she'd　first　been　there。　And　long　after　the　small　honor…guest　had　been　withdrawn　from　the　scene　and　taken　upstairs　to　bed；　the　festivities　continued　under　their　own　momentum；　even　accelerated　somewhat。　In　that　way　grown…ups　have　of　appropriating　a　child's　party；　given　the　slightest　encouragement。
　She　came　down　again；　afterward；　to　the　lighted；　bustling　rooms；　and　moved　about　among　them；　chatting；　smiling；　happier　tonight　than　she　ever　remembered　being　before。　A　cup　of　punch　in　one　hand；　in　the　other　a　sandwich　with　one　bite　gone；　that　she　never　seemed　to　get　around　to　taking　a　second　bite　out　of。　Every　time　she　raised　it　toward　her　mouth　somebody　said　something　to　her；　or　she　said　something　to　somebody。　It　didn't　matter；　it　was　more　fun　that　way。
　Bill　brushed　by　her　once；　grinning。　〃How　does　it　feel　to　be　an　old　mother？〃
　〃How　does　it　feel　to　be　an　old　uncle？〃　she　rejoined　pertly　over　her　shoulder。
　A　year　ago　seemed　a　long　time　away；　just　a　year　ago　tonight；　with　its　horror　and　its　darkness　and　its　fright。　That　hadn't　happened　to　her；　it　couldn't　have。　That　had　happened　to　a　girl　named…No；　she　didn't　want　to　remember　that　name；　she　didn't　even　want　to　summon　it　back　for　a　fleeting　instant　It　had　nothing　to　do　with　her。
　〃Aunt　Josie's　sitting　up　there　with　him。　No；　he'll　be　all　right；　he's　a　very　good　baby　about　going　to　sleep。〃
　〃ing　from　a　detached　observer。〃
　〃Well；　I　am　detached　at　this　minute；　so　I'm　entitled　to　say　so。　He's　all　the　way　upstairs　and　I'm　down　here。〃
　She　was　in　the　brightly　lighted　living…room　of　her　home；　here；　with　her　friends；　her　family's　friends；　all　gathered　about　her；　laughing　and　chatting。　A　year　ago　was　more　than　a　long　time　away。　It　had　never　happened。　No；　it　had　never　happened。　Not　to　her；　anyway。
　A　great　many　of　the　introductions　were　blurred。　There　were　so　many　firsts；　on　an　occasion　like　this。　She　looked　about；　dutifully　recapitulating　the　key…people；　as　befitted　her　role　of　assistant　hostess。　Edna　Harding　and　Marilyn　Bryant；　they　were　those　two　girls　sitting　one　on　each　side　of　Bill；　and　vying　with　one　another　for　his　attention。　She　suppressed　a　mischievous　grin。　Look　at　him；　sober…faced　as　a　totem　pole。　Why；　it　was　enough　to　turn　his　head…if　he　hadn't　happened　to　have　a　head　that　was　unturnable　by　girls；　as　far　as　she'd　been　able　to　observe。　Guy　Ennis　was　that　dark…haired　young　man　over　there　getting　someone　a　punch…cup；　he　was　easy　to　memorize　because　he'd　e　in　alone。　Some　old　friend　of　Bill's；　evidently。　Funny　that　the　honeybees　didn't　buzz　around　him　more　thickly；　instead　of　unresponsive　Bill。　He　looked　far　more　the　type。
　Grace　Henson；　she　was　that　stoutish；　flaxen…haired　girl　over　there；　waiting　for　the　punch…cup。　Or　was　she？　No；　she　was　the　less　stout　but　still　flaxen…haired　one　at　the　piano；　softly　playing　for　her　own　entertainment；　no　one　near　her。　One　wore　glasses　and　one　didn't。　They　must　be　sisters；　there　was　too　close　a　resemblance。　It　was　the　first　time　either　one　of　them　had　been　to　the　house。
　She　moved　over　to　the　piano　and　stood　beside　her。　She　might　actually　be　enjoying　doing　that；　for　all　Patrice　knew；　but　she　should　at　least　have　somebody　taking　an　appreciative　interest。
　The　girl　at　the　keyboard　smiled　at　her。　〃Now　this。〃　She　was　an　acplished　player；　keeping　the　music　subdued；　like　an　undertone　to　the　conversations　going　on　all　over　the　room。
　But　suddenly　all　the　near…by　ones　had　stopped。　The　music　went　on　alone　for　a　note　or　two；　sounding　that　much　clearer　than　it　had　before。
　The　second　flaxen…haired　girl　quitted　her　panion　for　a　moment；　stepped　up　behind　the　player's　back；　touched　her　just　once　on　the　shoulder；　as　if　in　some　kind　of　esoteric　remonstrance　or　reminder。　That　was　all　she　did。　Then　she　went　right　back　to　where　she'd　been　sitting。　The　whole　little　pantomime　had　been　so　deft　and　quick　it　was　hardly　noticeable　at　all。
　The　player　had　broken　off；　uncertainly。　She　apparently　had　understood　the　message　of　the　tap；　but　not　its　meaning。　The　slightly　bewildered　shrug　she　gave　Patrice　was　evidence　of　that。
　〃Oh；　finish　it；〃　Patrice　protested　unguardedly。　〃It　was　lovely。　What's　it　called？　I　don't　think　I've　ever　heard　it　before。〃
　〃It's　the　Barcarolle；　from　Tales　of　Hoffman；〃　the　other　girl　answered　unassumingly。
　The　answer　itself　was　in　anticlimax。　Standing　there　beside　the　player；　she　became　conscious　of　the　congealing　silence　immediately　about　her；　and　knew　it　wasn't　due　to　that；　but　to　something　that　must　have　been　said　just　before。　It　had　already　ended　as　she　detected　it；　but　awareness　of　it　lingered　on…in　her。　Something　had　happened　just　then。
　I've　said　something　wrong。　I　said　something　that　was　wrong　just　now。　But　I　don't　know　what　it　was；　and　I　don