Stories by Doris Lessing-第4章

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he　returned　from　that　expedition　severely　depressed。　apparently；　he　had　seen　two　green　eyes　fifty　yards　off。　they　had　not　moved。　he　had　shouted；　but　nothing　had　happened。　he’d　switched　off　his　head　lamp　and　fired　between　the　eyes。　they　had　not　moved。　he　had　fired　again。　it　was　obviously　impossible　that　he　could　have　missed；　but　he　had　fired　three　times　more。　then　he　had　walked　up　to　his　target　convinced　that　he　would　find　five　corpses　piled　up　there。　he　had　found；　instead；　two　glow…worms　on　a　log。　the　incident　was　such　a　blow　to　his　pride　that　he　forgot　to　discuss　my　case　with　my　parents。　this　was；　on　the　whole；　lucky　for　the　household；　which；　after　my　brother　went　back　to　school；　i　continued　to　supply　with　meat　until　one　happy　day　when　i　was　able　to　leave　for　the　city　and　the　delights　of　civilization。

my　talents　as　hunter　were　useful　on　one　other　occasion。　it　happened　that　while　in　the　city　i　became　engaged；　or　attached—the　precise　word　for　this　relationship　evades　me—to　a　young　man　who　was　in　every　way　a　sportsman。　his　conceptions　of　honor　were　intricate；　and　caused　me　hours　of　introspection；　as　a　result　of　which　i　concluded　we　were　ill…matched。　he；　however；　did　not　think　so；　and　tried　to　persuade　me　that　my　reluctance　to　join　my　fate　eternally　to　his　was　the　result　of　tender　age；　i　was　sixteen　at　the　time。

among　other　virtues；　he　had　ideas　about　hunting；　shooting；　and　fishing　that　can　be　described　only　as　classic。　he　had　a　large　number　of　gold　and　silver　medals　for　marksmanship；　and　was；　naturally；　eager　to　visit　our　farm；　where　he　could　prove　himself。　since　leaving　scotland　ten　years　before；　never　once　had　he　set　foot　on　any　shooting　ground　but　a　target　range。

for　a　while；　i　made　excuses；　but　at　last　they　ran　out；　and　we　went　home　for　a　weekend　visit。　i　took　him　guinea…fowl　shooting；　since　i　was　famed　for　this；　but；　of　course；　i　pressed　the　rifle　into　his　hand　with　the　self…denial　proper　to　a　good　hostess。　at　once；　he　showed　the　correctness　of　his　upbringing　by　saying　that　no　one　had　ever　heard　of　shooting　birds　with　a　rifle。　but　he　tried。　he　missed　a　good　many　guinea　fowl　running　along　the　ground；　which　was　hardly　surprising；　seeing　the　speed　they　get　up。　then　he　missed　a　lot　more　flying　up　into　the　trees。　he　hit　none。　by　that　time；　he　was　in　a　bad　temper。　he　pushed　the　rifle　back　into　my　hand　and　said；　“well；　then；　you　show　me　how　to　do　it。”

the　guinea　fowl　were　by　now　all　safely　up　in　the　trees。　we　threw　stones　at　them；　and　even　shook　the　trees；　but　they　wouldn’t　budge。　i　could　not　shoot。　we　began　walking　home　along　a　track　through　the　bush　while　i　prayed　that　no　second　flock　of　birds　would　announce　itself。　i　planned；　if　i　heard　the　“chink；　chink；”　to　talk　very　loudly　and　drown　it。　suddenly　he　shouted；　“look！　now’s　your　chance！”

hundreds　of　feet　away；　a　partridge　dodged　among　the　ruts　of　the　road。　i　doubt　whether　even　my　brother　could　have　hit　it。　a　small　puff　of　wind　raised　the　dust。　i　saw　my　chance；　and；　muttering；　“damn　this　dust；”　i　fired　at　random　into　it。

the　dust　subsided。　the　partridge　lay　dead；　shot　through　the　head—a　running　shot；　from　behind；　at　a　hundred　and　seventy　yards。　i　ejected　the　cartridge　in　an　efficient　sort　of　way；　and　my　panion　paced　the　distance　twice。　i　said　nothing；　of　course；　one　does　not　boast。

he　then　began　plaining　that　he　was　not　used　to　the　gun；　that　it　was　ten　years　since　he　had　shot　at　a　moving　target；　and　so　on。　he　continued　to　excuse　himself　thus　at　supper。　my　father　was　silent。　i　imagined　this　was　for　the　usual　reason—that　he　was　thinking　of　something　else—but　at　last　it　came　home　to　me　that　it　was　because　his　sense　of　decency　was　being　outraged。

a　good　sportsman；　i　remembered；　never　puts　the　blame　for　his　failures　on　the　weather；　or　luck；　or　anything　but　himself。　i　have　never　understood　why；　but　then　it’s　a　man’s　world。　next　day；　my　father　said　darkly　that　there　was　nothing　like　sport　to　bring　out　the　weak　spots　in　a　man’s　character；　and；　thus　supported；　i　was　able　to　break　off　the　engagement；　or　attachment；　in　the　most　honorable　way。　soon　after　this；　i　acquired　an　inflexible　principle—namely；　that　it　is　wrong　to　shoot　fauna　of　any　kind—and　with　that　i　laid　down　my　gun。　？

。。！



THE　STARE


the　new　yorker　fiction　by　doris　lessing　july　7；　1997

“look　at　him；”　says　helen。　“i　don’t　say　anything；　and　i　go　on　looking。”

“what　does　he　do　then？”　asks　mary；　gazing　at　helen　as　she　so　often　does；　as　if　helen　had　the　secret　of　something　or　other。

“then　he　gives　in；”　says　helen；　and　laughs。　the　laugh；　as　always；　takes　mary　captive；　and　this　time　it　seems　to　reverberate　right　through　her；　and　helen　seems　to　be　remembering　something　delicious；　for　she　sits　smiling。

helen　is　the　greek　wife　of　tom；　who　is　english。　he　saw　her　in　a　taverna　in　naxos；　where　she　was　waiting　on　him　and　on　the　other　foreign　tourists　as　if　she　were　doing　them　a　favor；　and　he　fell　in　love　and　persuaded　her　to　return　to　england　with　him。　not　entirely　foreign　ground　to　her；　because　she　has　relatives　in　the　large　greek　and　cypriot　munity　in　camden　town；　and　she　visited　them　one　summer。　mary　is　the　english　wife　of　demetrios；　and　she　was　with　a　girlfriend　on　holiday　in　ándros　when　the　handsome　waiter　in　the　café　overlooking　the　sea　fell　in　love　with　her。　he；　too；　has　relatives　in　london。　now　he　is　a　waiter　in　a　greek　restaurant　called　the　argonauts；　and　he　intends　to　have　his　own　restaurant　soon。　he　will　call　it　dmitri’s；　because　dmitri　is　what　mary　calls　him。　meanwhile　they　live　in　two　rooms　over　the　grocery　owned　by　helen’s　tom。

the　two　women　spend　mornings　together；　gossiping　or　shopping；　but　now　helen　has　a　baby　and　they　often　go　to　primrose　hill　and　sit　on　a　bench　with　the　pram　pushed　into　some　shade。　there　are　other　wives；　greek　and　cypriot；　and　some　mornings　it　is　quite　a　little　female　munity；　but　helen　and　mary　are　recognized　as　special　friends。　some　evenings　the　two　couples　make　a　foursome　in　one　of　the　pubs；　cafés；　or　restaurants；　and　on　these　evenings　mary　often　congratulates　herself　that　she　made　all　the　right　choices　that　brought　her　away　from　boring　croydon；　to　be　here　among　people　who　laugh　easily；　or　start　singing；　and　who　might　end　an　evening　with　impromptu　dancing；　even　on　the　tables。　she　might　not　have　gone　to　greece　that　summer；　might　have　said　no　to　demetrios　when　her　parents　put　pressure　on。

on　this　day　mary　goes　home　excited　and　restless　and　sits　in　front　of　her　looking　glass　and　examines　herself。　she　often　does　this。　she　is　plump；　pretty；　with　ruddy　cheeks；　black　curls；　and　a　lot　of　well…placed　dimples；　and　dmitri　calls　her　his　little　blackberry。　but　she　has　gray　eyes；　and　he　says　that　if　it　weren’t　for　those　cool　english　eyes　he　could　believe　she　has　greek　blood。　his　black　eyes　easily　smolder；　or　burn；　or　reproach。　mary　leans　her　forearms　among　the　little　bottles　of　scent；　the　lipsticks；　the　eye　paint；　and　tries　out　expressions。　she　puts　a　long　unsmiling　unblinking　stare　on　her　face　and　frightens　herself　with　it。　she　shuts　her　eyes；　so　as　to　see　that　stare　on　helen’s　face；　but　fails；　because　helen　only　smiles。　mary　admires　helen。　that　is　putting　it　mildly。　because　of　something　dmitri　said；　mary　actually　went　to　the　library　and　found　a　book　called　“greek　myths　for　children；”　and　there　she　read　that　a　helen　once；　thousands　of　years　ago；　was　a　beauty；　and　men　started　a　war　because　of　her。　in　greece　parents　called　their　little　girls　helen；　as　if　the　name　were　just　betty　or　joan。　helen　told　mary　that　mary　was　the　mother　of　god；　but　mary　said　she　wasn’t　really　into　religion。

and　why　should　mary　want　to　try　out　helen’s　silent　staring　on　demetrios？　that　is　the　trouble。　mary　is　full　of　an　unfortable　dissatisfaction　with　life　and　with　herself　and　this　is　like　an　accusation　against　her　husband。　she　does　wonder　why　she　feels　like　this　but　has　decided　that　she　is　defending　herself。　he　is　discontented　because　he　wants　to　start　a　family；　particularly　now　that　he　is　seeing　his　friends　tom　and　helen　with　their　baby；　but　mary　says；　“no；　dmitri；　let’s　wait　a　bit；　what’s　the　hurry？”　she　really　does　mean　to　have　a　baby；　and　even　soon；　but　she　is　afraid　of　being　taken　over。　that’s　what　happens；　she　thinks；　watching　the　women　she　sees　every　day。　they　have　a　baby　and　。　。　。　well；　i　won’t　be　like　that。　and　helen　isn’t；　is　she？　she　is　exactly　the　same；　as　if　that　baby　had　arrived　from　somewhere　out　of　the　air；　and　she　had　caught　it　like　a　present　someone　had　thrown　to　her。　mary　is　on　the　pill　and　never　forgets　to　take　it。　dmitri　says　things　like　“one　of　these　days　i’ll　throw　all　that　junk　into　the　rubbish。”　his　rough　voice　and　hot　eyes　at　such　moments　thrill　mary　and　remind　her　of　earlier　days。

she　said　to　helen；　“is　tom　the　same　to　you　now？”　helen　instantly　understood　and　said；　with　the　laugh　that　was　like　an　admission　that　she　had　some　secret　fascinating　life　mary　was　too　much　of　a　clod　to　understand；　“of　course；　he’s　english；　isn’t　he？　he’s　just　the　same　as　when　we　started　together。”　and　she　examined　mary　in　her　frank　way　that　mary　at　first　thought　was　“tactless；”　and　said；　“you　don’t　understand　something。　greek　men　are　romantic　when　they　are　courting。　they　kiss　you　a　lot　and　they　make　pliments。　but　when　you　are　married