获得诺贝尔文学 诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第9章Part 6

诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第9章Part 6  

All the while Denver was obliged to talk about what they were doing — the how and why of it. About people Denver knew once or had seen
giving them more life than life had: the sweet-smelling whitewoman who brought her oranges and cologne and good wool skirts; Lady Joneswho taught them songs to spell and count by; a beautiful boy as smart as she was with a birthmarklike a nickel on his cheek. A white preacher who prayed for their souls while Sethe peeled potatoesand Grandma Baby sucked air. And she told her about Howard and Buglar: the parts of the bedthat belonged to each (the top reserved for herself); that before she transferred to Baby Suggs' bedshe never knew them to sleep without holding hands. She described them to Beloved slowly
tokeep her attention
dwelling on their habits
the games they taught her and not the fright that drovethem increasingly out of the house — -anywhere — and finally far away.
This day they are outside. It's cold and the snow is hard as packed dirt. Denver has finished singingthe counting song Lady Jones taught her students. Beloved is holding her arms steady whileDenver unclasps frozen underwear and towels from the line. One by one she lays them inBeloved's arms until the pile
like a huge deck of cards
reaches her chin. The rest
aprons andbrown stockings
Denver carries herself. Made giddy by the cold
they return to the house. Theclothes will thaw slowly to a dampness perfect for the pressing iron
which will make them smelllike hot rain. Dancing around the room with Sethe's apron
Beloved wants to know if there areflowers in the dark. Denver adds sticks to the stovefire and assures her there are. Twirling
her faceframed by the neckband
her waist in the apron strings' embrace
she says she is thirsty.
Denver suggests warming up some cider
while her mind races to something she might do or say to interest and entertain the dancer. Denver is a strategist now and has to keep Beloved by her sidefrom the minute Sethe leaves for work until the hour of her return when Beloved begins to hover atthe window
then work her way out the door
down the steps and near the road. Plotting haschanged Denver markedly. Where she was once indolent
resentful of every task
now she is spry
executing
even extending the assignments Sethe leaves for them. All to be able to say "We got to"and "Ma'am said for us to." Otherwise Beloved gets private and dreamy
or quiet and sullen
andDenver's chances of being looked at by her go down to nothing. She has no control over theevenings. When her mother is anywhere around
Beloved has eyes only for Sethe. At night
in bed
anything might happen. She might want to be told a story in the dark when Denver can't see her.
Or she might get up and go into the cold house where Paul D has begun to sleep. Or she might cry
silently. She might even sleep like a brick
her breath sugary from fingerfuls of molasses or sand-cookie crumbs. Denver will turn toward her then
and if Beloved faces her
she will inhale deeplythe sweet air from her mouth. If not
she will have to lean up and over her
every once in a while
to catch a sniff. For anything is better than the original hunger — the time when
after a year of thewonderful little i
sentences rolling out like pie dough and the pany of other children
therewas no sound ing through. Anything is better than the silence when she answered to handsgesturing and was indifferent to the movement of lips. When she saw every little thing and colorsleaped smoldering into view. She will fo the most violent of sunsets
stars as fat as dinner platesand all the blood of autumn and settle for the palest yellow if it es from her Beloved. The ciderjug is heavy
but it always is
even whenempty. Denver can carry it easily
yet she asks Beloved tohelp her. It is in the cold house next to the molasses and six pounds of cheddar hard as bone. Apallet is in the middle of the floor covered with newspaper and a blanket at the foot. It has beenslept on for almost a month
even though snow has e and
with it
serious winter.
It is noon
quite light outside; inside it is not. A few cuts of sun break through the roof and wallsbut once there they are too weak to shift for themselves. Darkness is stronger and swallows themlike minnows.
The door bangs shut. Denver can't tell where Beloved is standing. "Where are you?" she whispersin a laughing sort of way.
"Here
" says Beloved.
"Where?"
"Come find me
" says Beloved.
要么她可能起来到保罗·D已经开始在里面睡觉的冷藏室去。她还可能默默地哭泣。她甚至可能睡得像块砖头，由于用手指吃糖浆和甜饼干渣，她的呼吸变得甜丝丝的。丹芙愿意转向她，如果宠儿脸朝她睡，她就能深深地吸进她嘴里甜甜的气息。否则，她就必须每隔一会儿爬起一次，越过她的身体去嗅上一鼻子。因为什么都比最初的饥饿要好——那个时期，在整整一年美妙的小写i、馅饼面团一样滚出来的句子以及同其他孩子的相伴之后，就再没有声音了。什么都比寂静好；那个时期，她只能回答别人的手势，面对嘴唇的动作却毫无反应。那个时期，她能看到每一样细小的东西和色彩燃烧着跳进视野。而今，她情愿放弃最热烈的落日、盘子一般硕大的星星和秋天的全部血液，而满足于最暗淡的黄色，只要那黄色来自她的宠儿。苹果汁罐子很沉，不过它从来就是那样，甚至空的时候也是。丹芙其实能够轻易地提起它，可她还是请宠儿来帮忙。罐子在冷藏室里，挨着糖浆和六磅像石头一样硬的切达干酪。地板中央有一张草荐牀，牀脚盖着报纸和一条毯子。它被睡了将近一个月了，尽管严冬早已随冰雪一道降临。
正是中午，外面相当亮；屋里却不然。几丝阳光从屋顶和墙壁挤进来，可是进来后就太微弱了，都不能单独成束。强大的黑暗将它们像小鱼一样吞噬。
门砰地合上。丹芙拿不准宠儿站在哪里。
"你在哪儿？"她似笑非笑地悄声问道。
"在这儿呢。"宠儿道。
"哪儿？"
"来找我吧。"宠儿道。