高行健 诺贝尔文学 诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第3章Part 17

诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第3章Part 17  

Paul D had only begun
what he was telling her was only the beginning when her fingers on hisknee
soft and reassuring
stopped him. Just as well. Just as well. Saying more might push themboth to a place they couldn't get back from. He would keep the rest where it belonged: in thattobacco tin buried in his chest where a red heart used to be. Its lid rusted shut. He would not pry itloose now in front of this sweet sturdy woman
for if she got a whiff of the contents it wouldshame him. And it would hurt her to know that there was no red heart bright as Mister's bbeating in him.
Sethe rubbed and rubbed
pressing the work cloth and the stony curves that made up his knee. Shehoped it calmed him as it did her. Like kneading bread in the half-light of the restaurant kitchen. Before the cook arrived when she stood in a space no wider than a bench is long
back behind andto the left of the milk cans. Working dough. Working
working dough. Nothing better than that tostart the day's serious work of beating back the past.
UPSTAIRS was dancing. A little o-step
o-step
make-a-new-step
slide
slide and strut ondown.
Denver sat on the bed smiling and providing the music.
She had never seen Beloved this happy. She had seen her pouty lips open wide with the pleasure ofsugar or some piece of news Denver gave her. She had felt warm satisfaction radiating fromBeloved's skin when she listened to her mother talk about the old days. But gaiety she had never seen. Not ten minutes had passed since Beloved had fallen backward tothe floor
pop-eyed
thrashing and holding her throat. Now
after a few seconds lying in Denver'sbed
she was up and dancing.
"Where'd you learn to dance?" Denver asked her.