The Thirteenth Tale-第8章

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！


as　not　a　single　sign　of　human　habitation。　closed　in　upon　itself；　the　place　seemed　to　shun　visitors。

i　rang　the　bell。　its　clang　was　oddly　muted　in　the　damp　air。　while　i　waited　i　watched　the　sky。　cold　crept　through　the　soles　of　my　shoes；　and　i　rang　the　bell　again。　still　no　one　came　to　the　door。

about　to　ring　for　a　third　time；　i　was　caught　by　surprise　when　with　no　sound　at　all　the　door　was　opened。

the　woman　in　the　doorway　smiled　professionally　and　apologized　for　keeping　me　waiting。　at　first　sight　she　seemed　very　ordinary。　her　short；　neat　hair　was　the　same　palish　shade　as　her　skin；　and　her　eyes　were　neither　blue　nor　gray　nor　green。　yet　it　was　less　the　absence　of　color　than　a　lack　of　expression　that　made　her　plain。　with　some　warmth　of　emotion　in　them；　her　eyes　could；　i　suspected；　have　gleamed　with　life；　and　it　seemed　to　me；　as　she　matched　my　scrutiny　lance　for　glance；　that　she　maintained　her　inexpressivity　only　by　deliberate　effort。

‘good　evening；“　i　said。　”i　am　margaret　lea。“

‘the　biographer。　we’ve　been　expecting　you。“

what　is　it　that　allows　human　beings　to　see　through　each　other’s　pretendings？　for　i　understood　quite　clearly　in　that　moment　that　she　was　anxious。　perhaps　emotions　have　a　smell　or　a　taste；　perhaps　we　transmit　em　unknowingly　by　vibrations　in　the　air。　whatever　the　means；　i　knew　just　as　surely　that　it　was　nothing　about　me　in　particular　that　alarmed　her；　it　only　the　fact　that　i　had　e　and　was　a　stranger。

she　ushered　me　in　and　closed　the　door　behind　me。　the　key　turned　the　lock　without　a　sound　and　there　was　not　a　squeak　as　the　well…oiled　bolts　were　slid　noiselessly　into　place。

standing　there　in　my　coat　in　the　hallway；　i　experienced　for　the　first　time　the　most　profound　oddity　of　the　place。　miss　winter’s　house　was　entirely　silent。

the　woman　told　me　her　name　was　judith；　and　that　she　was　the　housekeeper。　she　asked　about　my　journey　and　mentioned　the　hours　of　meals　and　the　best　times　to　get　hot　water。　her　mouth　opened　and　closed；　as　soon　as　her　words　fell　from　her　lips　they　were　smothered　by　the　blanket　of　silence　that　descended　and　extinguished　them。　the　same　silence　swallowed　our　footfalls；　and　muffled　the　opening　and　closing　of　ors　as　she　showed　me；　one　after　another；　the　dining　room；　the　drawing　room；　the　music　room。

there　was　no　magic　behind　the　silence—it　was　the　soft…furnishings　it　did　it。　overstuffed　sofas　were　piled　with　velvet　cushions；　there　：re　upholstered　footstools；　chaise　lounges　and　armchairs；　tapestries　hung　on　the　walls　and　were　used　as　throws　over　upholstered　furniture；　every　floor　was　carpeted；　every　carpet　overlaid　with　rugs。　the　damask　it　draped　the　windows　also　baffled　the　walls。　just　as　blotting　paper　absorbs　ink；　so　all　this　wool　and　velvet　absorbed　sound；　with　one　difference：　where　blotting　paper　takes　up　only　excess　ink；　the　fabric　of　the　house　seemed　to　suck　in　the　very　essence　of　the　words　we　spoke。

i　followed　the　housekeeper。　we　turned　left　and　right；　and　right　and　left；　went　up　and　down　stairs　until　i　was　thoroughly　confused。　i　quickly　lost　all　sense　of　how　the　convoluted　interior　of　the　house　corresponded　with　its　outer　plainness。　the　house　had　been　altered　over　time；　i　supposed；　added　to　here　and　there；　probably　we　were　in　some　wing　or　extension　invisible　from　the　front。　“you’ll　get　the　hang　of　it；”　the　housekeeper　mouthed；　seeing　my　face；　and　i　understood　her　as　if　i　were　lip…reading。　finally　we　turned　from　a　half…landing　and　came　to　a　halt。　she　unlocked　a　door　that　opened　into　a　sitting　room。　there　were　three　more　doors　leading　off　it。　“bathroom；”　she　said；　opening　one　of　the　doors；　“bedroom；”　opening　another；　“and　study。”　the　rooms　were　as　padded　with　cushions　and　curtains　and　hangings　as　the　rest　of　the　house。

‘will　you　take　your　meals　in　the　dining　room；　or　here？“　she　asked；　indicating　the　small　table　and　a　single　chair　by　the　window。

i　did　not　know　whether　meals　in　the　dining　room　meant　eating　with　my　hostess；　and　unsure　of　my　status　in　the　house　（was　i　a　guest　or　an　employee？）；　i　hesitated；　wondering　whether　it　was　politer　to　accept　or　to　refuse。　divining　the　cause　of　my　uncertainty；　the　housekeeper　added；　as　though　having　to　overe　a　habit　of　reticence；　“miss　winter　always　eats　alone。”

‘then　if　it’s　all　the　same　to　you；　i’ll　eat　here。“

‘i’ll　bring　you　soup　and　sandwiches　straightaway；　shall　i？　you　must　be　hungry　after　the　train。　you’ve　things　to　make　your　tea　and　coffee　just　here。“　she　opened　a　cupboard　in　the　corner　of　the　bedroom　to　reveal　a　kettle；　the　other　paraphernalia　for　drinks　making　and　even　a　tiny　fridge。　”it　will　save　you　from　running　up　and　down　to　the　kitchen；“　she　added；　and　threw　in　an　abashed　smile；　by　way　of　apology；　i　thought；　for　not　wanting　me　in　her　kitchen。

she　left　me　to　my　unpacking。

in　the　bedroom　it　was　the　work　of　a　minute　to　unpack　my　few　clothes；　my　books　and　my　toiletries。　i　pushed　the　tea　and　coffee　things　to　one　side　and　replaced　them　with　the　packet　of　cocoa　i　had　brought　from　home。　then　i　had　just　enough　time　to　test　the　high　antique　bed—　was　so　lavishly　covered　with　cushions　that　there　could　be　any　number　of　peas　under　the　mattress　and　i　would　not　know　it—before　the　house…keeper　returned　with　a　tray。　“miss　winter　invites　you　to　meet　her　in　the　library　at　eight　o’clock。”　she　did　her　best　to　make　it　sound　like　an　invitation；　but　i　under…stood；　as　i　was　no　doubt　meant　to；　that　it　was　a　mand。

。d　　。



MEETING　MISS　WINTER

小x说s网
whether　by　luck　or　accident　i　cannot　say；　but　i　found　my　way　to　the　library　a　full　twenty　minutes　earlier　than　i　had　been　manded　to　attend。　it　was　not　a　problem。　what　better　place　to　kill　time　than　a　library？　and　for　me；　what　better　way　to　get　to　know　someone　than　through　her　choice　and　treatment　of　books？

my　first　impression　was　of　the　room　as　a　whole；　and　it　struck　me　by　its　marked　difference　from　the　rest　of　the　house。　the　other　rooms　were　thick　with　the　corpses　of　suffocated　words；　here　in　the　library　you　could　breathe。　instead　of　being　shrouded　in　fabric；　it　was　a　room　made　of　wood。　there　were　floorboards　underfoot；　shutters　at　the　tall　windows　and　the　walls　were　lined　with　solid　oak　shelves。

it　was　a　high　room；　much　longer　than　it　was　wide。　on　one　side　five　arched　windows　reached　from　ceiling　almost　to　floor；　at　their　base　window　seats　had　been　installed。　facing　them　were　five　similarly　shaped　mirrors；　positioned　to　reflect　the　view　outside；　but　tonight　echoing　the　carved　panels　of　the　shutters。　the　bookshelves　extended　from　the　walls　into　the　rooms；　forming　bays；　in　each　recess　an　amber…shaded　lamp　was　placed　on　a　small　table。　apart　from　the　fire　at　the　far　end　of　the　room；　this　was　the　only　lighting；　and　it　created　soft；　warm　pools　of　illumination　at　the　edge　of　which　rows　of　books　melted　into　darkness。

slowly　i　made　my　way　down　the　center　of　the　room；　taking　a　look　to　the　bays　on　my　right　and　left。　after　my　first　glances　i　found　myself　nodding。　it　was　a　proper；　well…maintained　library。　categorized；　alphabetized　and　clean；　it　was　just　as　i　would　have　done　it　myself。　all　my　favorites　were　there；　with　a　great　number　of　rare　and　valuable　volumes　as　well　as　more　ordinary；　well…thumbed　copies。　not　only　jane　eyre；　wuthering　heights；　the　woman　in　white；　but　the　castle　of　otranto；　lady　audley’s　secret；　the　spectre　bride。　i　was　thrilled　to　e　across　a　jekyll　and　mr。　hyde　so　rare　that　my　father　had　given　up　believing　in　its　existence。

marveling　at　the　rich　selection　of　volumes　on　miss　winter’s　shelves；　i　browsed　my　way　toward　the　fireplace　at　the　far　end　of　the　room。　in　the　final　bay　on　the　right；　one　particular　set　of　shelves　stood　it　even　from　some　distance：　instead　of　displaying　the　mellow；　preeminently　brown　stripes　that　were　the　spines　of　the　older　books；　this　stack　showed　the　silvery　blues；　sage　greens　and　pink…beiges　of　more　：cent　decades。　they　were　the　only　modern　books　in　the　room。　miss　winter’s　own　works。　with　her　earliest　titles　at　the　top　of　the　stack　and　；cent　novels　at　the　bottom；　each　work　was　represented　in　its　many　different　editions　and　even　in　different　languages。　i　saw　no　thirteen　tales；　the　mistitled　book　i　had　read　at　the　bookshop；　but　in　its　other　guise　as　tales　of　change　and　desperation　there　were　more　than　a　dozen　different　editions。

i　selected　a　copy　of　miss　winter’s　most　recent　book。　on　page　one　an　elderly　nun　arrives　at　a　small　house　in　the　backstreets　of　an　unnamed　town　that　seems　to　be　in　italy；　she　is　shown　into　a　room　where　a　pompous　young　man；　whom　we　take　to　be　english　or　american；　greets　her　in　some　surprise。　（i　turned　the　page。　the　first　paragraphs　had　drawn　me　in；　just　as　i　had　been　drawn　in　every　time　i　had　opened　one　of　her　books；　and　without　meaning　to；　i　began　to　read　in　earnest。）　the　young　man　does　not　at　first　appreciate　what　the　reader　already　understands：　that　his　visitor　has　e　on　a　grave　mission；　one　that　will　alter　is　life　in　ways　he　cannot　be　expected　to　foresee。　she　begins　her　explanation　and　bears　it　patiently　（i　turned　the　page；　i　had　forgotten　the　library；　forgotten　miss　winter；　forgotten　myself）　when　he　treats　her　with　the　levity　of　indulged　youth…

and　then　something　penetrated　through　my　reading　and　drew　me　out　of　the　book。　a　prickling　sensation　at　the　back　of　the　neck。

so