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Part 2 Chapter 47
And then, as planned that night between them--a trip to Grass Lake the next morning in separate cars, but which,upon their arrival and to his surprise, proved to be so much more briskly tenanted than he anticipated. He wasvery much disturbed and frightened by the evidence of so much active life up here. For he had fancied this, aswell as Big Bittern, would be all but deserted. Yet here now, as both could see, it was the summer seat andgathering place of some small religious organization or group--the Winebrennarians of Pennsylvania--as itproved with a tabernacle and numerous cottages across the lake from the station. And Roberta at onceexclaiming:
"Now, there, isn't that cute? Why couldn't we be married over there by the minister of that church?"And Clyde, puzzled and shaken by this sudden and highly unsatisfactory development, at once announced:
"Why, sure--I'll go over after a bit and see," yet his mind busy with schemes for circumventing her. He wouldtake her out in a boat after registering and getting settled and remain too long. Or should a peculiarly remote andunobserved spot be found . . . but no, there were too many people here. The lake was not large enough, andprobably not very deep. It was black or dark like tar, and sentineled to the east and north by tall, dark pines--theserried spears of armed and watchful giants, as they now seemed to him--ogres almost--so gloomy, suspiciousand fantastically erratic was his own mood in regard to all this. But still there were too many people--as many asten on the lake.
The weirdness of it.
The difficulty.
But whisper:--one could not walk from here through any woods to Three Mile Bay. Oh, no. That was all of thirtymiles to the south now. And besides this lake was less lonely--probably continually observed by members of thisreligious group. Oh, no--he must say--he must say--but what--could he say? That he had inquired, and that nolicense could be procured here? Or that the minister was away, or that he required certain identifications whichhe did not have--or--or, well, well--anything that would serve to still Roberta until such hour to-morrow, as thetrain south from here left for Big Bittern and Sharon, where, of course, they would surely be married.
Why should she be so insistent? And why, anyhow, and except for her crass determination to force him in thisway, should he be compelled to track here and there with her--every hour--every minute of which was torture--anunending mental crucifixion really, when, if he were but rid of her! Oh, Sondra, Sondra, if but now from yourhigh estate, you might bend down and aid me. No more lies! No more suffering! No more misery of any kind!
But instead, more lies. A long and aimless and pestilential search for water-lilies, which because of his ownrestless mood, bored Roberta as much as it did him. For why, she was now thinking to herself as they rowedabout, this indifference to this marriage possibility, which could have been arranged before now and given thisouting the dream quality it would and should have had, if only--if only he had arranged for everything in Utica,even as she had wanted. But this waiting--evasion--and so like Clyde, his vacillating, indefinite, uncertain mood,always. She was beginning to wonder now as to his intentions again--whether really and truly he did intend tomarry her as he had promised. Tomorrow, or the next day at most, would show. So why worry now?
And then the next day at noon, Gun Lodge and Big Bittern itself and Clyde climbing down from the train at GunLodge and escorting Roberta to the waiting bus, the while he assured her that since they were coming back thisway, it would be best if she were to leave her bag here, while he, because of his camera as well as the lunch doneup at Grass Lake and crowded into his suitcase, would take his own with him, because they would lunch on thelake. But on reaching the bus, he was dismayed by the fact that the driver was the same guide whom he hadheard talk at Big Bittern. What if it should prove now that this guide had seen and remembered him! Would henot at least recall the handsome Finchley car--Bertine and Stuart on the front seat--himself and Sondra at theback--Grant and that Harley Baggott talking to him outside?
At once that cold perspiration that had marked his more nervous and terrified moods for weeks past, now burstforth on his face and hands. Of what had he been thinking, anyhow? How planning? In God's name, how expectto carry a thing like this through, if he were going to think so poorly? It was like his failing to wear his cap fromLycurgus to Utica, or at least getting it out of his bag before he tried to buy that straw hat; it was like not buyingthe straw hat before he went to Utica at all.
Yet the guide did not remember him, thank God! On the contrary he inquired rather curiously, and as of a totalstranger: "Goin' over to the lodge at Big Bittern? First time up here?" And Clyde, enormously relieved and yetreally tremulous, replied: "Yes," and then in his nervous excitement asked: "Many people over there to-day?" aquestion which the moment he had propounded it, seemed almost insane. Why, why, of all questions, should heask that? Oh, God, would his silly, self-destructive mistakes never cease?
So troubled was he indeed, now, that he scarcely heard the guide's reply, or, if at all, as a voice speaking from along way off. "Not so many. About seven or eight, I guess. We did have about thirty over the Fourth, but most o' them went down yesterday."The stillness of these pines lining this damp yellow road along which they were traveling; the cool and thesilence; the dark shadows and purple and gray depths and nooks in them, even at high noon. If one were slippingaway at night or by day, who would encounter one here? A blue-jay far in the depths somewhere uttered itsmetallic shriek; a field sparrow, tremulous upon some distant twig, filled the silver shadows with its perfect song.
And Roberta, as this heavy, covered bus crossed rill and thin stream, and then rough wooden bridges here andthere, commented on the clarity and sparkle of the water: "Isn't that wonderful in there? Do you hear the tinklingof that water, Clyde? Oh, the freshness of this air!"And yet she was going to die so soon!
God!
But supposing now, at Big Bittern--the lodge and boathouse there--there were many people. Or that the lake,peradventure, was literally dotted with those that were there--all fishermen and all fishing here and there, eachone separate and alone--no privacy or a deserted spot anywhere. And how strange he had not thought of that.
This lake was probably not nearly as deserted as he had imagined, or would not be to-day, any more than GrassLake had proved. And then what?
Well, flight then--flight--and let it go at that. This strain was too much--hell--he would die, thinking thoughts likethese. How could he have dreamed to better his fortunes by any so wild and brutal a scheme as this anyhow--tokill and then run away--or rather to kill and pretend that he and she had drowned--while he--the real murderer-slippedaway to life and happiness. What a horrible plan! And yet how else? How? Had he not come all this wayto do this? And was he going to turn back now?
And all this time Roberta at his side was imagining that she was not going to anything but marriage--tomorrowmorning sure; and now only to the passing pleasure of seeing this beautiful lake of which he had been talking-talking,as though it were something more important and delectable than any that had as yet been in her or hislife for that matter.
But now the guide was speaking again, and to him: "You're not mindin' to stay over, I suppose. I see you left theyoung lady's bag over there." He nodded in the direction of Gun Lodge.
"No, we're going on down to-night--on that 8:10. You take people over to that?""Oh, sure.""They said you did--at Grass Lake."But now why should he have added that reference to Grass Lake, for that showed that he and Roberta had beenthere before coming here. But this fool with his reference to "the young lady's bag"! And leaving it at GunLodge. The Devil! Why shouldn't he mind his own business? Or why should he have decided that he and Roberta were not married? Or had he so decided? At any rate, why such a question when they were carrying two bagsand he had brought one? Strange! The effrontery! How should he know or guess or what? But what harm could itdo--married or unmarried? If she were not found--"married or unmarried" would make no difference, would it?
And if she were, and it was discovered that she was not married, would that not prove that she was off with someone else? Of course! So why worry over that now?
And Roberta asking: "Are there any hotels or boarding houses on the lake besides this one we're going to?""Not a one, miss, outside o' the inn that we're goin' to. There was a crowd of young fellers and girls campin' overon the east shore, yisterday, I believe, about a mile from the inn--but whether they're there now or not, I dunno.
Ain't seen none of 'em to-day."A crowd of young fellows and girls! For God's sake! And might not they now be out on the water--all of them-rowing--or sailing--or what? And he here with her! Maybe some of them from Twelfth Lake! Just as he andSondra and Harriet and Stuart and Bertine had come up two weeks before--some of them friends of theCranstons, Harriets, Finchleys or others who had come up here to play and who would remember him, of course.
And again, then, there must be a road to the east of this lake. And all this knowledge and their presence therenow might make this trip of his useless. Such silly plotting! Such pointless planning as this--when at least hemight have taken more time--chosen a lake still farther away and should have--only so tortured had he been forthese last many days, that he could scarcely think how to think. Well, all he could do now was to go and see. Ifthere were many he must think of some way to row to some real lonely spot or maybe turn and return to GrassLake--or where? Oh, what could or would he do--if there were many over here?
But just then a long aisle of green trees giving out at the far end as he now recalled upon a square of lawn, andthe lake itself, the little inn with its pillared verandah, facing the dark blue waters of Big Bittern. And that low,small red-roofed boathouse to the right on the water that he had seen before when he was here. And Robertaexclaiming on sight, "Oh, it is pretty, isn't it--just beautiful." And Clyde surveying that dark, low island in thedistance, to the south, and seeing but few people about--none on the lake itself--exclaiming nervously, "Yes, it is,you bet." But feeling half choked as he said it.
And now the host of the inn himself appearing and approaching--a medium-sized, red-faced, broad-shoulderedman who was saying most intriguingly, "Staying over for a few days?"But Clyde, irritated by this new development and after paying the guide a dollar, replying crustily and irritably,"No, no--just came over for the afternoon. We're going on down to-night.""You'll be staying over for dinner then, I suppose? The train doesn't leave till eight-fifteen.""Oh, yes--that's so. Sure. Yes, well, in that case, we will." . . . For, of course, Roberta on her honeymoon--the daybefore her wedding and on a trip like this, would be expecting her dinner. Damn this stocky, red-faced fool,anyway.
"Well, then, I'll just take your bag and you can register. Your wife'll probably be wanting to freshen up a bitanyway."He led the way, bag in hand, although Clyde's greatest desire was to snatch it from him. For he had not expectedto register here--nor leave his bag either. And would not. He would recapture it and hire a boat. But on top ofthat, being compelled "for the register's sake," as Boniface phrased it, to sign Clifford Golden and wife--beforehe could take his bag again.
And then to add to the nervousness and confusion engendered by all this, thoughts as to what additionaldevelopments or persons, even, he might encounter before leaving on his climacteric errand--Robertaannouncing that because of the heat and the fact that they were coming back to dinner, she would leave her hatand coat--a hat in which he had already seen the label of Braunstein in Lycurgus--and which at the time causedhim to meditate as to the wisdom of leaving or extracting it. But he had decided that perhaps afterwards-afterwards--if he should really do this--it might not make any difference whether it was there, or not. Was she notlikely to be identified anyhow, if found, and if not found, who was to know who she was?
In a confused and turbulent state mentally, scarcely realizing the clarity or import of any particular thought ormovement or act now, he took up his bag and led the way to the boathouse platform. And then, after droppingthe bag into the boat, asking of the boathouse keeper if he knew where the best views were, that he wanted tophotograph them. And this done--the meaningless explanation over, assisting Roberta (an almost nebulousfigure, she now seemed, stepping down into an insubstantial row-boat upon a purely ideational lake), he nowstepped in after her, seating himself in the center and taking the oars.
The quiet, glassy, iridescent surface of this lake that now to both seemed, not so much like water as oil--likemolten glass that, of enormous bulk and weight, resting upon the substantial earth so very far below. And thelightness and freshness and intoxication of the gentle air blowing here and there, yet scarcely rippling the surfaceof the lake. And the softness and furry thickness of the tall pines about the shore. Everywhere pines--tall andspearlike. And above them the humped backs of the dark and distant Adirondacks beyond. Not a rower to beseen. Not a house or cabin. He sought to distinguish the camp of which the guide had spoken. He could not. Hesought to distinguish the voices of those who might be there--or any voices. Yet, except for the lock-lock of hisown oars as he rowed and the voice of the boathouse keeper and the guide in converse two hundred, threehundred, five hundred, a thousand feet behind, there was no sound.
"Isn't it still and peaceful?" It was Roberta talking. "It seems to be so restful here. I think it's beautiful, truly, somuch more beautiful than that other lake. These trees are so tall, aren't they? And those mountains. I wasthinking all the way over how cool and silent that road was, even if it was a little rough.""Did you talk to any one in the inn there just now?""Why, no; what makes you ask?""Oh, I thought you might have run into some one. There don't seem to be very many people up here to-day,though, does there?""No, I don't see any one on the lake. I saw two men in that billiard room at the back there, and there was a girl inthe ladies' room, that was all. Isn't this water cold?" She had put her hand over the side and was trailing it in the blue-black ripples made by his oars.
"Is it? I haven't felt it yet."He paused in his rowing and put out his hand, then resumed. He would not row directly to that island to thesouth. It was--too far--too early. She might think it odd. Better a little delay. A little time in which to think--alittle while in which to reconnoiter. Roberta would be wanting to eat her lunch (her lunch!) and there was acharming looking point of land there to the west about a mile further on. They could go there and eat first--orshe could--for he would not be eating today. And then--and then-She was looking at the very same point of land that he was--a curved horn of land that bent to the south and yetreached quite far out into the water and combed with tall pines. And now she added:
"Have you any spot in mind, dear, where we could stop and eat? I'm getting a little hungry, aren't you?" (If shewould only not call him DEAR, here and now!)The little inn and the boathouse to the north were growing momentarily smaller,--looking now, like that otherboathouse and pavilion on Crum Lake the day he had first rowed there, and when he had been wishing that hemight come to such a lake as this in the Adirondacks, dreaming of such a lake--and wishing to meet such a girl asRoberta--then--And overhead was one of those identical woolly clouds that had sailed above him at Crum Lakeon that fateful day.
The horror of this effort!
They might look for water-lilies here today to kill time a little, before--to kill time . . . to kill, (God)--he must quitthinking of that, if he were going to do it at all. He needn't be thinking of it now, at any rate.
At the point of land favored by Roberta, into a minute protected bay with a small, curved, honey-colored beach,and safe from all prying eyes north or east. And then he and she stepping out normally enough. And Roberta,after Clyde had extracted the lunch most cautiously from his bag, spreading it on a newspaper on the shore, whilehe walked here and there, making strained and yet admiring comments on the beauty of the scene--the pines andthe curve of this small bay, yet thinking--thinking, thinking of the island farther on and the bay below that againsomewhere, where somehow, and in the face of a weakening courage for it, he must still execute this grim andterrible business before him--not allow this carefully planned opportunity to go for nothing--if--if--he were to notreally run away and leave all that he most desired to keep.
And yet the horror of this business and the danger, now that it was so close at hand--the danger of making amistake of some kind--if nothing more, of not upsetting the boat right--of not being able to--to--oh, God! Andsubsequently, maybe, to be proved to be what he would be--then--a murderer. Arrested! Tried. (He could not, hewould not, go through with it. No, no, no!)And yet Roberta, sitting here with him now on the sand, feeling quite at peace with all the world as he could see.
And she was beginning to hum a little, and then to make advisory and practical references to the nature of theircoming adventure together--their material and financial state from now on--how and where they would go from here--Syracuse, most likely--since Clyde seemed to have no objection to that--and what, once there, they woulddo. For Roberta had heard from her brother-in-law, Fred Gabel, of a new collar and shirt factory that was juststarting up in Syracuse. Might it not be possible for Clyde, for the time being at least, to get himself a positionwith that firm at once? And then later, when her own worst trouble was over, might not she connect herself withthe same company, or some other? And temporarily, since they had so little money, could they not take a smallroom together, somewhere in some family home, or if he did not like that, since they were by no means so closetemperamentally as they once had been, then two small adjoining rooms, maybe. She could still feel hisunrelenting opposition under all this present show of courtesy and consideration.
And he thinking, Oh, well, what difference such talk now? And whether he agreed or whether he did not. Whatdifference since he was not going--or she either--that way. Great God! But here he was talking as thoughtomorrow she would be here still. And she would not be.
If only his knees would not tremble so; his hands and face and body continue so damp.
And after that, farther on down the west shore of this small lake in this little boat, to that island, with Clydelooking nervously and wearily here and there to see that there was no one--no one--not anywhere in sight onland or water--no one. It was so still and deserted here, thank God. Here--or anywhere near here might do,really,--if only he had the courage so to do now, which he had not,--yet. Roberta trailing her hand in the water,asking him if he thought they might find some water-lilies or wild flowers somewhere on shore. Water-lilies!
Wild flowers! And he convincing himself as he went that there were no roads, cabins, tents, paths, anything inthe form of a habitation among these tall, close, ranking pines--no trace of any little boat on the widespreadsurface of this beautiful lake on this beautiful day. Yet might there not be some lone, solitary hunter and trapperor guide or fisherman in these woods or along these banks? Might there not be? And supposing there were onehere now somewhere? And watching!
Fate!
Destruction!
Death! Yet no sound and no smoke. Only--only--these tall, dark, green pines--spear-shaped and still, with hereand there a dead one--ashen pale in the hard afternoon sun, its gaunt, sapless arms almost menacinglyoutstretched.
Death!
And the sharp metallic cry of a blue-jay speeding in the depths of these woods. Or the lone and ghostly tap-taptapof some solitary woodpecker, with now and then the red line of a flying tanager, the yellow and black of ayellow-shouldered blackbird.
"Oh, the sun shines bright in my old Kentucky home."It was Roberta singing cheerfully, one hand in the deep blue water.
And then a little later--"I'll be there Sunday if you will," one of the popular dance pieces of the day.
And then at last, after fully an hour of rowing, brooding, singing, stopping to look at some charming point ofland, reconnoitering some receding inlet which promised water-lilies, and with Roberta already saying that theymust watch the time and not stay out too long,--the bay, south of the island itself--a beautiful and yet mostfunereally pine-encircled and land delimited bit of water--more like a smaller lake, connected by an inlet orpassage to the larger one, and yet itself a respectable body of water of perhaps twenty acres of surface and almostcircular in form. The manner in which to the east, the north, the south, the west, even, except for the passage bywhich the island to the north of it was separated from the mainland, this pool or tarn was encircled by trees! Andcat-tails and water-lilies here and there--a few along its shores. And somehow suggesting an especially arrangedpool or tarn to which one who was weary of life and cares--anxious to be away from the strife and contentions ofthe world, might most wisely and yet gloomily repair.
And as they glided into this, this still dark water seemed to grip Clyde as nothing here or anywhere before thisever had--to change his mood. For once here he seemed to be fairly pulled or lured along into it, and havingencircled its quiet banks, to be drifting, drifting--in endless space where was no end of anything--no plots--noplans--no practical problems to be solved--nothing. The insidious beauty of this place! Truly, it seemed to mockhim--this strangeness--this dark pool, surrounded on all sides by those wonderful, soft, fir trees. And the wateritself looking like a huge, black pearl cast by some mighty hand, in anger possibly, in sport or phantasy maybe,into the bosom of this valley of dark, green plush--and which seemed bottomless as he gazed into it.
And yet, what did it all suggest so strongly? Death! Death! More definitely than anything he had ever seenbefore. Death! But also a still, quiet, unprotesting type of death into which one, by reason of choice or hypnosisor unutterable weariness, might joyfully and gratefully sink. So quiet--so shaded--so serene. Even Robertaexclaimed over this. And he now felt for the first time the grip of some seemingly strong, and yet friendlysympathetic, hands laid firmly on his shoulders. The comfort of them! The warmth! The strength! For now theyseemed to have a steadying effect on him and he liked them--their reassurance--their support. If only they wouldnot be removed! If only they would remain always--the hands of this friend! For where had he ever known thiscomforting and almost tender sensation before in all his life? Not anywhere--and somehow this calmed him andhe seemed to slip away from the reality of all things.
To be sure, there was Roberta over there, but by now she had faded to a shadow or thought really, a form ofillusion more vaporous than real. And while there was something about her in color, form that suggested reality-stillshe was very insubstantial--so very--and once more now he felt strangely alone. For the hands of the friendof firm grip had vanished also. And Clyde was alone, so very much alone and forlorn, in this somber, beautifulrealm to which apparently he had been led, and then deserted. Also he felt strangely cold--the spell of thisstrange beauty overwhelming him with a kind of chill.
He had come here for what?
And he must do what?
Kill Roberta? Oh, no!
And again he lowered his head and gazed into the fascinating and yet treacherous depths of that magnetic, bluish,purple pool, which, as he continued to gaze, seemed to change its form kaleidoscopically to a large, crystallineball. But what was that moving about in this crystal? A form! It came nearer--clearer--and as it did so, herecognized Roberta struggling and waving her thin white arms out of the water and reaching toward him! God!
How terrible! The expression on her face! What in God's name was he thinking of anyway? Death! Murder!
And suddenly becoming conscious that his courage, on which he had counted so much this long while to sustainhim here, was leaving him, and he instantly and consciously plumbing the depths of his being in a vain search torecapture it.
Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah! Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah! Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah!
(The weird, haunting cry of that unearthly bird again. So cold, so harsh! Here it was once more to startle him outof his soul flight into a realization of the real or unreal immediate problem with all of its torturesome angles thatlay before him.)He must face this thing! He must!
Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah! Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah!
What was it sounding--a warning--a protest--condemnation? The same bird that had marked the very birth of thismiserable plan. For there it was now upon that dead tree--that wretched bird. And now it was flying to anotherone--as dead--a little farther inland and crying as it did so. God!
And then to the shore again in spite of himself. For Clyde, in order to justify his having brought his bag, nowmust suggest that pictures of this be taken--and of Roberta--and of himself, possibly--on land and water. For thatwould bring her into the boat again, without his bag, which would be safe and dry on land. And once on shore,actually pretending to be seeking out various special views here and there, while he fixed in his mind the exacttree at the base of which he might leave his bag against his return--which must be soon now--must be soon. Theywould not come on shore again together. Never! Never! And that in spite of Roberta protesting that she wasgetting tired; and did he not think they ought to be starting back pretty soon? It must be after five, surely. AndClyde, assuring her that presently they would--after he had made one or two more pictures of her in the boat withthose wonderful trees--that island and this dark water around and beneath her.
His wet, damp, nervous hands! And his dark, liquid, nervous eyes, looking anywhere but at her.
And then once more on the water again--about five hundred feet from shore, the while he fumbled aimlessly withthe hard and heavy and yet small camera that he now held, as the boat floated out nearer the center. And then, atthis point and time looking fearfully about. For now--now--in spite of himself, the long evaded and yetcommanding moment. And no voice or figure or sound on shore. No road or cabin or smoke! And the momentwhich he or something had planned for him, and which was now to decide his fate at hand! The moment ofaction--of crisis! All that he needed to do now was to turn swiftly and savagely to one side or the other--leap up-uponthe left wale or right and upset the boat; or, failing that, rock it swiftly, and if Roberta protested too much,strike her with the camera in his hand, or one of the oars at his right. It could be done--it could be done--swiftly and simply, were he now of the mind and heart, or lack of it--with him swimming swiftly away thereafter tofreedom--to success--of course--to Sondra and happiness--a new and greater and sweeter life than any he hadever known.
Yet why was he waiting now?
What was the matter with him, anyhow?
Why was he waiting?
At this cataclysmic moment, and in the face of the utmost, the most urgent need of action, a sudden palsy of thewill--of courage--of hate or rage sufficient; and with Roberta from her seat in the stern of the boat gazing at histroubled and then suddenly distorted and fulgurous, yet weak and even unbalanced face--a face of a sudden,instead of angry, ferocious, demoniac--confused and all but meaningless in its registration of a balanced combatbetween fear (a chemic revulsion against death or murderous brutality that would bring death) and a harried andrestless and yet self-repressed desire to do--to do--to do--yet temporarily unbreakable here and now--a staticbetween a powerful compulsion to do and yet not to do.
And in the meantime his eyes--the pupils of the same growing momentarily larger and more lurid; his face andbody and hands tense and contracted--the stillness of his position, the balanced immobility of the mood more andmore ominous, yet in truth not suggesting a brutal, courageous power to destroy, but the imminence of trance orspasm.
And Roberta, suddenly noticing the strangeness of it all--the something of eerie unreason or physical and mentalindetermination so strangely and painfully contrasting with this scene, exclaiming: "Why, Clyde! Clyde! What isit? Whatever is the matter with you anyhow? You look so--so strange--so--so--Why, I never saw you look likethis before. What is it?" And suddenly rising, or rather leaning forward, and by crawling along the even keel,attempting to approach him, since he looked as though he was about to fall forward into the boat--or to one sideand out into the water. And Clyde, as instantly sensing the profoundness of his own failure, his own cowardice orinadequateness for such an occasion, as instantly yielding to a tide of submerged hate, not only for himself, butRoberta--her power--or that of life to restrain him in this way. And yet fearing to act in any way--being unwillingto--being willing only to say that never, never would he marry her--that never, even should she expose him,would he leave here with her to marry her--that he was in love with Sondra and would cling only to her--and yetnot being able to say that even. But angry and confused and glowering. And then, as she drew near him, seekingto take his hand in hers and the camera from him in order to put it in the boat, he flinging out at her, but not eventhen with any intention to do other than free himself of her--her touch--her pleading--consoling sympathy--herpresence forever--God!
Yet (the camera still unconsciously held tight) pushing at her with so much vehemence as not only to strike herlips and nose and chin with it, but to throw her back sidewise toward the left wale which caused the boat tocareen to the very water's edge. And then he, stirred by her sharp scream, (as much due to the lurch of the boat,as the cut on her nose and lip), rising and reaching half to assist or recapture her and half to apologize for theunintended blow--yet in so doing completely capsizing the boat--himself and Roberta being as instantly throwninto the water. And the left wale of the boat as it turned, striking Roberta on the head as she sank and then rose for the first time, her frantic, contorted face turned to Clyde, who by now had righted himself. For she wasstunned, horror-struck, unintelligible with pain and fear--her lifelong fear of water and drowning and the blow hehad so accidentally and all but unconsciously administered.
"Help! Help!
"Oh, my God, I'm drowning, I'm drowning. Help! Oh, my God!
"Clyde, Clyde!"And then the voice at his ear!
"But this--this--is not this that which you have been thinking and wishing for this while--you in your great need?
And behold! For despite your fear, your cowardice, this--this--has been done for you. An accident--an accident-anunintentional blow on your part is now saving you the labor of what you sought, and yet did not have thecourage to do! But will you now, and when you need not, since it is an accident, by going to her rescue, oncemore plunge yourself in the horror of that defeat and failure which has so tortured you and from which this nowreleases you? You might save her. But again you might not! For see how she strikes about. She is stunned. Sheherself is unable to save herself and by her erratic terror, if you draw near her now, may bring about your owndeath also. But you desire to live! And her living will make your life not worth while from now on. Rest but amoment--a fraction of a minute! Wait--wait--ignore the pity of that appeal. And then--then--But there! Behold.
It is over. She is sinking now. You will never, never see her alive any more--ever. And there is your own hatupon the water--as you wished. And upon the boat, clinging to that rowlock a veil belonging to her. Leave it.
Will it not show that this was an accident?"And apart from that, nothing--a few ripples--the peace and solemnity of this wondrous scene. And then oncemore the voice of that weird, contemptuous, mocking, lonely bird.
Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah! Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah! Kit, kit, kit, Ca-a-a-ah!
The cry of that devilish bird upon that dead limb--the wier-wier.
And then Clyde, with the sound of Roberta's cries still in his ears, that last frantic, white, appealing look in hereyes, swimming heavily, gloomily and darkly to shore. And the thought that, after all, he had not really killedher. No, no. Thank God for that. He had not. And yet (stepping up on the near-by bank and shaking the waterfrom his clothes) had he? Or, had he not? For had he not refused to go to her rescue, and when he might havesaved her, and when the fault for casting her in the water, however accidentally, was so truly his? And yet--andyet-The dusk and silence of a closing day. A concealed spot in the depths of the same sheltering woods where aloneand dripping, his dry bag near, Clyde stood, and by waiting, sought to dry himself. But in the interim, removingfrom the side of the bag the unused tripod of his camera and seeking an obscure, dead log farther in the woods,hiding it. Had any one seen? Was any one looking? Then returning and wondering as to the direction! He mustgo west and then south. He must not get turned about! But the repeated cry of that bird,--harsh, nerve shaking.
And then the gloom, in spite of the summer stars. And a youth making his way through a dark, uninhabitedwood, a dry straw hat upon his head, a bag in his hand, walking briskly and yet warily--south--south.
第四十七章
转天早上,正如昨晚他们商量好的那样——他们俩动身去草湖(照例分开坐在两节车厢里).但一到那儿,克莱德大吃一惊,发现草湖的居民原来就很多,这是他始料所不及的.这儿一派生机盎然的景象,使他心里感到万分惊恐不安.因为原来他想象,这儿跟大比腾都是满目荒凉的景色.可是,他们俩一到这儿才闹明白,草湖乃是一个小小的宗教组织或是宗教团体——宾夕法尼亚州韦恩布雷纳教派——和会众相聚的避暑胜地.车站对面湖畔,可看到一个礼拜堂和许许多多村落.
罗伯达马上大声嚷道:
"哦,瞧,这儿还不很美吗?干吗不去找那当地教堂牧师给我们证婚呢?"
克莱德给这突如其来的、令人非常难堪的局面惊呆了,却不由得马上说:"哦,当然罗——等一会儿我过去看一看……"可他心里正一个劲儿在寻摸种种计谋陷害她.他要先去旅馆租定房间,然后带她出去划船,而且要长时间滞留在湖上.要是能发现一个特别冷僻、没人注意的地方……可是不行,这儿游客太多了.这湖本来就不够大,或许湖水也不够深.湖水是黑色的,甚至是黑糊糊,象焦油沥青.湖的东岸、北岸,都是好象哨兵站岗似的一排排黑苍苍的高大松树——在他看来,犹如无数披盔戴甲、高度警惕的巨人——乃至于象神话里的吃人魔王——手持矛熗,密集林立——这一切让他心里感到那么阴郁、惊疑,而又古怪得出奇.但游客还是太多——湖面上游船有十几条之多.
这一切——凶多吉少呀.
这有多难呀.
可是,耳际却突然有喃喃而语:从这儿穿过树林子,是怎么也走不到三英里湾的.哦,不行.这儿往南,拢共有三十英里呢.此外,这湖也并不是荒无人烟——说不定这一拨教友们老是目不转睛地在观望他们呢.哦,不——他必须跟罗伯达说——他必须说——但他能跟她说什么呢?就说他打听过了,这儿是拿不到结婚证书的?还是说牧师出门去了——还是说要有身份证明,可他身边没有带着——或是——或是,得了,得了,反正胡诌一通,只要能稳住罗伯达,等到明儿早上那个时刻得了,从南面开来的火车,便从这儿开往大比腾和沙隆,而在那儿,他们,当然罗,一定举行婚礼.
为什么她要这么坚持要求呢?如果不是因为她那么固执地逼着他,他能跟她象现在那样走东闯西吗——每一个小时——每一分钟他都觉得是在受刑罚——说真的,心灵上没完没了地背上了十字架.要是他能把她甩掉,该有多好!啊,桑德拉,桑德拉,要是您纡尊降贵,助我一臂之力,该有多好.那就再也不用撒谎了!再也不用受罪了!再也不用受苦受难了!
殊不知适得其反,还得编造更多谎话.长时间漫无目的、腻烦透顶地在找寻睡莲,再加上他心中烦躁不安,顿时使罗伯达厌烦情绪也并不亚于他.他们在划船的时候,她在暗自捉摸,为什么他对结婚一事会如此冷淡呢.此事本来可以提前安排好,那末,这次旅游就可以,而且也应该宛如置身于梦境一般,但愿——但愿他能在尤蒂卡一切都象她所希望的安排好.可是,这样期待——推托——活象克莱德这个人的性格,总是那样摇摆不定、犹豫不决、含糊不清.现在罗伯达又开始对他的用意犯疑了——到底他是不是真的会象他答应过的那样跟她结婚呢.到明天,或是至多后天,就可分晓了.所以,现在又何必多担心呢?
转天中午——在冈洛奇和大比腾.克莱德在冈洛奇下了火车,陪罗伯达到等候客人的公共汽车那里,一面还劝她说,既然他们要原路回来,她的手提包最好还是存放在这儿.而他呢,因为自己的照相机和准备在草湖上用的午餐点心,通通都塞进了他的手提箱,所以他要带在身边——因为他们决定要在湖上进午餐,可是,一到了公共汽车旁,他吓了一大跳,发现司机正是上次他在大比腾见过的那个导游.要是现在这个导游想起自己见过他,记得他,那怎么办呢!他不是至少会回想到芬奇利家那辆漂亮的汽车——伯蒂娜、斯图尔特坐在前座——他本人和桑德拉坐在后座——格兰特,还有那个哈利·巴戈特正在车外跟他闲扯淡.
正如几周来在他特别惊恐万状的时刻那样,冷汗这时一下子从他脸上和手上冒出来.他究竟一直在想些什么呀?怎样在拟定自己的计划?老天哪,要是这一切他都考虑得那么差劲,那么,能指望他应付得了这件事吗?比方说,从莱柯格斯到尤蒂卡,他就忘了带便帽,或者至少忘了在买新草帽以前把帽子从手提箱里取出来;又比方说他在去尤蒂卡以前没有先买好草帽.
可是,谢天谢地,那个导游并不记得他!相反,那导游只是相当好奇地向他问长问短,把他看成一个完全陌生的客人:"到大比腾去吗?头一回来这儿吧?"克莱德这才大大地舒了一口气,但还是用颤抖的声音回答说:"是的."稍后,他紧张不安地问:"今天那儿游人很多吗?"这话他一说出口,便觉得自己简直发疯了.要问的事多得很,干吗,干吗独独问那个呢?啊,老天哪,他这些傻里傻气、具有自我毁灭性质的错误,难道说就永远无尽无休了吗?
这时,他心里委实乱糟糟,连导游回答他的话几乎都没听见;即使听见,也仿佛是从遥远的地方传来的声音."不很多呗.依我看,不过七八个人.四日那天,来了三十几个人,不过大多数昨儿就走了."
他们一路开过潮湿的土黄色道路,林立在路旁两侧的松树真是寂然无声.多么阴凉,多么静谧.此刻松树林里,哪怕是在正午时分,林子偏远深处依然黑糊糊、朦朦胧胧,透出紫一块、灰一块.要是在夜间或是在白天溜掉,哪会在这儿碰上人呢?丛林深处传来一只樫鸟清脆的尖叫声,一只原野春雀在远处枝头上婉转啼唱,美妙的歌声在银光闪烁的阴影里回荡着.这辆笨重的带篷的公共汽车,驶过流水潺潺的小河,驶过一座座粗糙的木桥时,罗伯达见到清澈晶莹的湖水,不由得惊叹道:"那儿不是很迷人吗?克莱德,你听到银铃似的流水声吗?啊,这儿空气多新鲜呀!"
可她还是马上就要走向死亡!
老天哪!
可是,假定说这时在大比腾——在旅馆和游船出租处——有许许多多人,那怎么办呢?也许湖上都有一些垂钓人,分散在各处垂钓——他们都是孤零零一个人——到哪儿都找不到冷僻隐蔽或荒凉无人的地方,那怎么办?真怪,他就是没想到过这一点!说不定这湖远不是象他想象中那么满目荒凉——正如今日里游人看来不会少于草湖那边吧.那怎么办?
啊,那就逃走吧——逃走吧——把它忘了吧.这样紧张他实在受不了——见鬼去吧——这些念头快把他折磨死了.他怎能梦想自己能过上荣华富贵的生活,竟然乞灵于如此荒唐、残酷的阴谋——先把人杀掉,随后逃走——说得更确切些,是先把人杀掉,然后佯装好象他跟她两人都淹死了.可他——真正的凶手——却又溜回去——过那幸福的生活了.多可怕的计划呀!不过,要不然又怎么办呢?怎么办呢?难道说他准备已久,不就是为了这个吗?难道说现在他要后退吗?
这时,在他身边的罗伯达,始终都在想象仿佛等待她的不是别的,正是婚礼了,也许就在明天早上;现在看看他三头两日讲起的这个湖上美景,只不过是短暂的赏心乐事罢了.克莱德老是这么讲的——仿佛这次郊游远比他们俩一生中任何其他事情更为重要、更为愉快似的.
不料这时导游又说话了,而且是冲他说的:"依我看,您打算在这儿住一宿,是吧.我看见您让这位年轻小姐的手提包留在那儿了,"他朝冈洛奇方向点点头.
"不,今儿晚上我们就走——搭八点十分的火车.您送客人上那儿去吗?"
"哦,那当然罗."
"听说您常去送客人的——草湖那边的人对我这么说的."
可是,这时他为什么要加上有关草湖的这么一句话呢?他想借此说明:他上这儿来以前,他跟罗伯达是一块到过草湖呀.殊不知这个傻瓜偏偏还提到"这位年轻小姐的手提包"!还说把它留在冈洛奇.这魔鬼!干吗他偏要管别人的闲事?干吗他一看就断定他跟罗伯达并不是结发夫妻?他果真是这么断定的吗?不管怎么说,他们带了两只手提箱包,而他的一只就带在自己身边,那导游干吗还会提出这么一个问题来呢?不过,他们俩到底结过婚,还是没有结过婚——那又有什么关系?要是她打捞不到——"结过婚,还是没有结过婚"是毫无意义的,可不是吗?可是她被打捞起来,并且发现她还没有结婚,那不是证明她是跟别人一块出走了吗?当然罗!所以,现在又干吗要为这事操心呢?
罗伯达问导游说:"除了我们要去的那一家以外,湖上还有别的什么旅馆,或是出租成套家具的房间吗?"
"不,一家也没有,小姐,只有我们这一家.昨天有一大拨青年男女在东岸露宿营帐.我想,离开旅馆大约有一英里吧——不过,现在他们还在不在,我可不知道了.今天他们一个也没看见."
一大拨青年男女!老天哪!说不定他们正在湖上——所有的人——都在划船——或是扬帆——或是干别的什么?可他却跟她双双来到了这儿.也许还有从第十二号湖来的人呢!正如两周前他跟桑德拉、哈里特、斯图尔特、伯蒂娜初来时——里头有些是克兰斯顿家、哈里特家、芬奇利家等等的朋友,他们上这儿来玩,当然会记得他.此外,在湖的东头,看来一定还有一条路.由于所有这些情况,加上这一大拨青年男女也光临此地,看来他这次草湖之行也就白搭了.他这计划多蠢!这种多么无聊的计划——至少他早就应该花更多点时间——选择一个还要远得多的湖区,而且他本来就应该这么办——只是因为最近这些天他实在被折磨得够呛,几乎不知道该怎么思考才好.得了,现在他只好先去看看再说.要是那儿游人很多,那他就只好另想办法,划到真正荒凉的地点去.或者干脆掉头就走,还是再回到草湖——或是其他什么地方?老天哪,他究竟该怎么办——要是这儿游人很多的话?
但就在这时,绿树向前无限延伸开去,一眼望到尽头,仿佛象是一道绿色森林长廊——现在他已能把那块草地以及大比腾湖面认出来了.还有面对着大比腾深蓝色湖水的那家小客栈,以及它的圆柱游廊,也都看到了.还有湖右边那座盖着红瓦的低矮小船棚,上次他来这儿时就见到过的.罗伯达一见就嚷了起来:"啊,真美,可不是——简直美极了."这时,克莱德两眼望着南边,正在凝视着远处暗沉沉的、地势低的小岛,看到只有极少几个人在那儿——湖上连一个人影儿都没有——他心里慌了神,连忙喊道:"是啊,那还用说嘛."不过,他说这话时却感到嗓子眼仿佛哽住了似的.
这时迎面走来的是小客栈掌柜——此人个儿中等,脸色红润,肩膀很宽,用最殷勤奉承的口气说:"您在这儿要待几天吧?"
但是克莱德对这一新情况很恼火,给了导游一块美元以后,就气呼呼地回答说:"不,不——就只玩一个下午.今儿晚上我们就走."
"我说,你们就留在这儿进午餐吧?火车要到八点过一刻才开."
"哦,是的——那当然罗.得了,既然这样,我们就在这儿进午餐."……因为,这时正在度她的蜜月的罗伯达——在她结婚的前一天,而且又在这么一种性质的旅行中——她当然希望在这儿进午餐.嘿,让这个红脸儿、胖墩个的傻瓜见他的鬼去吧.
"那得了吧,让我来替您拿这手提箱.您就上帐房间登记去.说不定您太太反正也得歇歇脚了."
掌柜手里拎着提箱在前头带路,克莱德这时真的恨不得一把从他手里把箱子抢过来.因为,他既不打算在这儿登记,也不想把自己的手提箱留在这儿.而且,千万留不得呀.他要马上把手提箱抢过来,接着就去租一条游船.可是不管怎么说,到头来正象博尼费斯所说的,克莱德还是不得不"为了登记而登记",签下了克利福德·戈尔登夫妇这一名字——在这以后,他方才重新拿到了他的手提箱.
一路上这些事,本来就够他心慌意乱了,可是偏偏还有种种恼人的事纷至沓来,袭上心头.甚至就在他实现这次冒险的划船方案前,罗伯达冷不防说,这会儿天很热,反正他们还回来吃晚饭,所以,她就把帽子、外套都留在这儿——她的那顶帽子上,贴有莱柯格斯布朗斯坦厂家的商标,他早已看见了——这一下子让他心中又琢磨起来:这顶帽子商标留着好呢,还是干脆把它毁了?可是他决定:也许以后——以后——要是他真的这么办了的话——那末,帽子上有没有厂家商标,说不定也就无关紧要了.她要是被打捞起来,反正没有厂家商标,也都会被认出来的,要是打捞不到,谁知道她是什么人呀?
这时,他早已方寸大乱,几乎连自己都闹不清楚该怎么想、该怎么干,只是拎着自己的手提箱,径直往租船码头走去.随后,他把手提箱搁在船里,问着船棚的人哪儿风景最好,他想用照相机拍下来.这事问过了——他觉得毫无用处的说明也听过了,克莱德便搀扶罗伯达上了船(这时,他觉得她仿佛只是个虚无缥缈的影子,踩上了纯属想象中的湖上一只子虚乌有的小划子),他自己也跟着她跳上了船,坐在小划子当中,随手把划桨操了起来.
那静谧的、晶莹的、彩虹似的湖面,这时在他们俩看来,都觉得不象水,而是很象油——象熔化了的一块又大又沉的玻璃,搁在地心很深很深的、坚实的地球之上.到哪儿都是微风习习,多么飘逸,多么清新,多么令人陶醉,但又几乎看不到微风在湖面上吹起涟漪.岸边的参天松树,多么柔和,多么软而密.但见到处都是一片片松树林——象尖尖的剑戟耸入云霄.树顶上空隐约可见远处郁郁苍苍的艾迪隆达克斯山脉上峰峦迭起.湖上连一个划船的人都见不到.岸边一所房子或一间圆木小屋也没有.他虽然两眼寻找导游提到过的那个营帐,可是依然根本看不见他.他屏住气,倾听周围有没有说话声——或是这些声音究竟来自何方.可是,除了他划船时双桨发出的噼啪声,以及后面两百步外、三百步外、五百步外、一千步外看船棚的人跟导游的对话声,四下里什么声音都没有."这儿不是多么沉寂、宁静呀?"罗伯达说话了."这儿一切好象都是静悄悄.我看真美,比哪个湖都要美.这些树多高,可不是?还有那些山.我一路上坐在车上想,那条路多阴凉,多清静,尽管有点儿高低不平."
"刚才你在客栈里跟什么人说过话来着?"
"怎么啦,没有;你干吗问这个呀?"
"哦,我想也许你可能碰上什么人.虽然今天这里好象人并不多,是吧?"
"是的,我在湖上简直一个人都见不到.后面弹子房里,我看见有两个男的;还有女宾休息室里头有个姑娘——拢共就这么几个人.这水不是很冷吗?"她把手伸出船舷外,浸在被他的双桨所卷起的湛蓝湛蓝的涟漪的湖水里.
"是很冷吗?我还没试过呢."
他停住了双桨,把手伸进湖水试了一试,接着便陷入沉思之中.他不打算直接划到南边那个小岛去.这——太远——而且时间还太早呢.说不定她会觉得挺怪的.最好还是再磨蹭一会儿.再留一点儿时间,好好琢磨琢磨——再留一点儿时间,观赏观赏四周围景色.罗伯达会想到自己进午餐(她的午餐!).西头一英里外,望得见有一片很美的尖岬.他们不妨上那儿去,先进午餐——也就是说,让她先进午餐——因为今天他压根儿吃不下.然后——然后——
罗伯达也正在举目眺望刚才他张望过的那一片尖岬——一块尖角形的陆地,岸边净是参天的松树,远远地直插湖心,并且弯弯曲曲向南延伸开去.这时,她又找补着说:"亲爱的,你究竟选在哪儿,我们可以坐下来吃东西?我可有点儿饿了,你不饿吗?"(此时此地她不要叫他什么亲爱的就好了!)
远远望去,北头那座小客栈和船棚轮廓越来越小——这时看上去有如他初上克拉姆湖划船时那边的船棚和凉亭了.当初他心里恨不得自己也能到艾迪隆达克斯群山中这么一个湖上赏玩,他梦想着类似这样的湖——还巴不得能同罗伯达这样的姑娘邂逅——那就——殊不知现在他头顶上空正飘着羊毛似的云朵却跟命中注定的那一天,在克拉姆湖上,在他头顶上飘过的云朵一模一样.
这一切多费劲,多可怕呀!
今天,我们不妨就在这儿寻觅睡莲,为的是在……以前消磨一点儿时间,——消磨时间……杀死①,(老天哪)——他要是真的打算动手的话,就得马上停止想这个问题.反正此刻他也用不着去想这些.
①"消磨时间"英文原为(tokilltime),此处"消磨"(kill)一词与"杀死"
他便划到了罗伯达喜欢的那片尖岬,进入了周围仿佛固若金汤的小湾,那儿还有一小片弯弯曲曲的蜜黄色沙滩,从东、北两头谁都望不到小湾里的动静.他和她照例都上了岸.克莱德非常小心地从手提箱里把午餐点心取出来,罗伯达就接过来,一一放到铺在沙滩上的一张报纸上.这时,他在沙滩上走来走去,心里虽然非常别扭,可嘴上还是称赞这儿风景美——松树呀,弯弯曲曲的小湾呀——可是事实上,他心里却在想着——想着,想着再往前划去的那个小岛,和绕过小岛后头的另一个小湾,就在那儿,尽管他的勇气越来越小,他还是必同音同字,故在此是一语双关.
须实现摆在他面前的那个残酷、可怕的计划——决不让这一精心筹划的机会白白错过了——可是——要是——他真的不打算临阵脱逃,把他最热切盼望的一切永远抛弃的话.
可是现在,这事已是迫在眉睫,多可怕,多危险呀——要是突然出了一些差错——别的先不说,万一他不得法,没有把小船弄翻掉——万一他没有能耐去——去——啊,老天哪,那就太危险了!而事后说不定真相大白——那他——他就是……一名杀人犯!马上被抓住!吃官司.(要是这样他可对付不了,也不想对付这样的局面.不,不,不!)
不过,罗伯达这时在沙滩上,偶坐在他身边.依他看,她对世界上的这一切都很满意.她还在轻轻地哼着什么小曲儿呢.接着,她对他们这次双双出游谈了一些切实有用的意见,还谈到从今以后他们在物质生活与经济开支方面的情况——以及他们从这儿再上哪儿去,和怎么个走法——也许最好去锡拉丘兹,克莱德好象对此并不反对——到了那儿,他们又该怎么办.罗伯达听她妹夫弗雷德·加贝尔说过,锡拉丘兹刚开了一家新的领子衬衫工厂.克莱德不妨上那个厂家找个事由,哪怕是暂时性,可不是吗?然后,等到她最麻烦的事过去了,她自己不妨也上那儿,或是其他什么厂家找个工作,不也成吗?他们钱既然这么少,不妨暂且在某某人家找一个小房间——再不然,要是他不喜欢那样(因为现在他们脾气远不象过去那样合得来了),也许就找两个毗邻的房间得了.从目前他佯装的殷勤体贴的背后,她还是能感觉到他那股子犟脾气.
而克莱德也正在暗自思忖,啊,得了吧,现在说这类话又有什么用处呢?不论他同意她也好,不同意她也好——这究竟有多大关系呢?老天哪!可是他在这儿跟她谈话,仿佛她明天还会在这儿似的.可她却是不会在这儿了.要知道等待他的——和等待她的——是迥然不同的命运.老天哪!
要是他的双膝不象现在这么发抖该有多好;他的双手、他的脸和他浑身上下,还是这样直冒冷汗!
在那以后,他们这只小船绕小湖的西岸继续划行,来到了那个小岛.克莱德总是心慌意乱、疲惫不堪地四处张望,看那儿——岸上也好,湖上也好,只要是望得见的地方——到底是不是一个人都没有——一个人都没有.谢天谢地,四周围总算还是这么静悄悄,这么荒无一人!这儿,说实话——或是这儿附近的哪个地方动手都行——只要此刻他有这份胆量就得了——可他偏偏还没有.这时,罗伯达又把手伸到湖水里,问他,该不该到岸边去采撷睡莲或是别的什么野花.睡莲呀!野花呀!这时他暗自相信,在这密集林立的参天松树林里,确实没有什么大路,或是圆木小屋、露宿营帐、羊肠小道——乃至于说明有人烟的任何迹象——在这美好的日子里,在这美丽的一望无际的湖面上,连一只小船的影儿也都见不到.可是,在这些树林子里,或是绕着湖岸,会不会有单独狩猎、捕兽的人和导游或是渔夫呢?难道说就不会有吗?要是此时此地有人躲在什么旮旯儿呢?而且,还在瞅着他们哩!
完了!
毁了!
死了!可是四周围——既没有声音,也没有烟.只有——只有——这些耸入云霄、郁郁苍苍的松林树冠——象矛熗尖似的,浸沉在一片岑寂之中.偶尔见到午后焦灼的骄阳下有一棵灰白色枯树,它那干瘦的树桠枝,象一双双吓人的手往四下里伸开去.
一只急速飞往树林子深处的樫鸟,发出了清脆的尖叫声.要不然,不知从哪儿传来了一只孤零零的啄木鸟寂寞的、幽灵似的笃笃声.不时有一只红莺,接着又有一只黄肩膀的黑鸟,就象一道道红黑相间的闪电凌空掠过.
"啊,阳光灿烂,照耀我肯塔基的故乡."①
①这是美国名曲《我的肯塔基故乡》(S·福斯特词曲)的头一句歌词.
罗伯达兴致勃勃地在唱歌,一只手浸在湛蓝湛蓝的湖水里.
过了一会儿,她又唱了——"只要你乐意,星期天我就来."这是目前流行的一支舞曲.
他们就这样划着桨,一面沉思默想,一面唱着歌儿,观赏那美丽的尖岬,寻觅可能有睡莲的静谧湖湾,终于又捱过了整整一个钟头,罗伯达这才说,他们得注意时间,别在这儿滞留太久.最后终于划到——那个岛以南的小湾——这儿湖面虽小但很美,可又满目凄凉,四周被松树林和湖岸所包围——很象一个小湖,但有一窄窄的小港,可通往大湖.不过这湖面毕竟也相当可观,约有二十多公顷大,差不多是呈圆形的.从东、北、南、甚至西的各个方位来看,除了把岛北跟陆地隔开的那条小港以外,这儿有如一个池塘(也可以说龙潭吧),四周全被树木环抱.到处是香蒲和睡莲——甚至岸边间或也有一些.不知怎的,这儿仿佛是为厌倦于人生烦恼的人和渴望摆脱尘世纷争的人所天造地设,退隐到这儿,尽管心如死灰,倒也非常明智.
他们划进了这个小湾后,那静悄悄的、黑黝黝的湖水好象紧紧地把克莱德吸引住了——以前不论在哪儿全都没有象此刻这样——使他的心态骤然为之大变.因为克莱德一到这儿,好象就紧紧地被吸引住了,也可以说是简直给迷住了;他绕着静悄悄的岸边划过一圈以后,心想就这样放舟自流,放舟自流——在这一望无际的空间——什么事都谈不上有什么目的——没有阴谋——没有计划——也没有实际问题急待解决——什么都通通没有.他觉得这个小湖不知不觉地越来越美呀!真的,它好象是在嘲笑他.这儿多怪呀——这个黑黝黝的池塘,四周都被奇异、柔和的枞树团团围住.湖水宛如一颗硕大无朋的黑宝石,被哪一只巨手,也许是在暴怒,或是在嬉戏,或是在幻想时,给抛进这墨绿天鹅绒似的山谷底——他凝视着湖水,觉得好象深不见底.
可是,小湖这儿一切,如此强烈地向他暗示些什么呢?死!死!这是比他过去见过的任何东西都要更加确切的.死!而且也是一种肃静、安详、心满意足的死,有人由于自己的抉择,或是由于某种精神恍惚,或是由于说不出的困倦,也许会欢愉、爽快地如此沉沦下去.那么宁静——那么隐蔽——那么安详.罗伯达也惊异得嚷了起来.这时,他头一次感到:有两只好象很有力,而又很善意的、同情的手,正紧紧地按在他肩膀上.这一双手,给了他多大安慰!多么温暖!多么有力量!这一双手,好象使他得到了宽慰.这一双手,鼓励他,支持他——他喜欢这一双手.但愿这一双手不要移开!但愿这一双手永远留在这儿——这位朋友的这一双手!他整整一生中,哪儿领略过这种令人欣慰,乃至于温柔的感觉呢?从来也没有过——但不知怎的,这一下子却使他沉着起来,他仿佛已不知不觉地从现实中游移出来.
当然,还有罗伯达在这儿,可是此刻她已经化成一个影子,或是说实话,化成了一种思想、一种幻觉的形体,朦朦胧胧,一点儿也不真实.尽管她全身仍然有色彩、有轮廓,说明她的存在——可她还是远非实体——几乎有如一个幽灵——这时,突然他又感到孤单得出奇.因为,那个朋友的双手,也已经消失了.在这显然先是将他诱入,后又将他遗弃的幽美境界里,克莱德又感到了孤独、如此惊人的孤独与绝望.他又感到冷得出奇——这种奇异之美的魅力,不禁使他浑身上下打冷颤.
他上这儿来为了什么?
他非干不可的是什么?
害死罗伯达?哦,不!
他又低下头来,目不转睛地透过这富有魅力的、蓝里带紫的小湖,俯看它那迷人而又险恶的湖底.他一个劲儿俯看着,这小湖好象万花筒一般千变万化,又变成了一只巨大的水晶球.瞧水晶球里头,有一个什么东西在悸动呀?是一个人的形体!它越来越近——越来越清晰——他认得出是罗伯达:她正在挣扎,她那纤细白嫩的胳臂在水面上不停挥动,朝他这边游过来!老天哪!多可怕呀!瞧她脸上的表情呀!老天哪!他到底在想些什么呀?死!杀人!
他突然意识到,许久以来一直以为支持他的那种勇气,这时正在消失殆尽.他马上有意识地又浸沉在自我的深处,希望重新获得勇气,但还是枉然徒劳.
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
(又是这只不知名的鸟不祥的怪叫声,多么冷酷,多么刺耳!他又一次惊醒过来,仿佛使他从虚无缥缈的心灵世界,又意识到摆在他面前的那个真实的,也可以说是瞬息即逝的,但又折磨他的问题,亟待切实解决.)
他必须解决这个问题!他非得解决不可!
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
这怪叫声说明什么:警告?抗议?谴责?就是这一头鸟的怪叫声,标志着他这不幸的计谋的萌生.现在它正栖息在那棵枯树上——这该死的鸟.一会儿它又飞往另一棵树——也还是一棵枯树,稍微远些,在树林深处——一面飞,一面怪叫——老天哪!
随后,他情不自禁将小船划到岸边.要知道他为了拍照才把手提箱带在身边,所以现在必须提议把这儿的景色拍下来——既给罗伯达拍——还可能拍他自己——不论在岸上还是湖上.这样,她就得再到小船上去,而他的手提箱并没有带上小船,却是万无一失地留在岸上.他一上了岸,就装出好象真的在各处选择特别迷人的景色似的,心里却在一个劲儿琢磨,该把手提箱置放在哪一棵树底下,以便回来时取走——这时他必须马上回来——必须马上回来.要知道他们不会再一块儿上岸了.决不会!决不会!眼看着他这样磨磨蹭蹭,罗伯达虽然不以为然地说自己累了,又说他是不是觉得他们应该马上就回去?这时一定有五点多钟了.可是克莱德却安慰她,说等他以这些多么好看的树、那个小岛,还有她四周围以及底下这黑黝黝的湖面作为背景,再拍一两张她在小船上的照片,他们马上就走.
他那双湿漉漉、潮粘粘、慌了神的手啊!
还有他那双黑溜溜、亮闪闪、慌了神的眼睛,净是往别处看,压根儿也没看她一眼.
稍后,他们俩又来到了湖上——离岸约有五百英尺光景,小船儿越来越近漂向湖心.这时,克莱德只是毫无目的地摸弄着手里那架粗糙而又很小的照相机.接着,他在此时此地,猛地惊恐万状往四下里张望着.因为,此时此刻——此时此刻——不管他自己愿意不愿意,他许久以来总想躲避的那个千钧一发的时刻已来到了.而且岸上——什么说话声和人影儿也没有,连一点儿声息都没有.没有路,没有圆木小屋,连一溜烟也没有!而且,这一时刻——是为他设置的,或者可以说是在他心里琢磨已久的那个时刻,现在马上就要决定他的命运了!是行动的时刻——紧急关头!现在,他只要猛地倒向左边或是右边——突然一跃而起,偏向左舷或是右舷,让小船倾覆就得了.要是这样还不行,就使劲儿让船身猛烈摇晃;那时,要是罗伯达大声喊叫,索性撩起手里的照相机,或是他右手的那支划桨猛击她一下就得了.这是做得到的——这是做得到的——既干脆,又利索,问题全在于这时他有没有这种胆量和敢不敢下这一手——随后,他马上掉头游去,向着自由——成功——当然罗——桑德拉和幸福——他从没有见过的更伟大、更甜蜜的新生活.
那末他干吗还等待呢?
他到底是怎么一回事呢?
干吗他还等待呀?
在这千钧一发之际,正迫切需要行动的时刻,意志——勇气——仇恨或愤怒,突然瘫痪了.罗伯达在船尾自己座位上,两眼直瞅着他那张慌了神的、突然扭歪、变色,但又软弱无力、甚至心神紊乱的脸.从这张脸反映出来的,并不是愤怒、残暴和凶神附体,而是一种突如其来的窘态,几乎没有多大意义.可它毕竟表明了内心的猛烈斗争,一方是惧怕(是对死和死于非命的暴行的一种化学反应),另一方则是邪恶的、永不让你安宁的要求采取行动——采取行动——采取行动;但与此同时自己又在竭力压制这种渴望.但这一斗争暂时还呈静止状态,要求采取行动和不采取行动这两股强大力量,可谓势均力敌.
就在这时,克莱德那对眼珠子越来越大,越来越血红;他的脸孔、身躯、双手紧张而又痉挛——他呆坐在那儿纹丝不动,他那静止不动的心态,越来越预示着凶兆——其实,这并不意味着敢于杀人的残暴力量,而仅仅是眼看着就要昏厥或是痉挛.
罗伯达突然发觉他这一切表现多么惊诧——仿佛一种怪诞的理智紊乱,要不然就是生理上、心理上优柔寡断,跟四周景色形成了那么怪异和令人痛心的对照.于是,她大声惊呼:"怎么啦,克莱德!克莱德!怎么一回事?你到底怎么啦?你脸色好怪——好——好怪呀——怎么了,过去我从没有见过你这样呀.怎么一回事?"她猛地站了起来,说得更确切些,是俯身向前,尽量不让船身摇晃,特别小心翼翼,想要来到他身边,因为看样子他身子差点儿就要摔倒在船舱里——要不然身子一偏,摔到湖里去了.克莱德顿时感到:这一回自己失败得多么惨,多么胆小,多么窝囊;与此同时,憎恨突然从心底涌起,不仅憎恨他自己,而且憎恨罗伯达——因为她——或者生命本身——具有那么一股力量,就可以这样使他束手就范.可是,不管怎么说,克莱德还是害怕动手——不愿意下手——只愿意对她说:他永远、永远,也不跟她结婚——即使她告发了他,他也决不跟她一块从莱柯格斯出走跟她结婚——他爱上了桑德拉.他只能爱她一个人——可就是这些话,他也没能说出来.他只是一个劲儿恼羞成怒,惊惶失措,对罗伯达怒目而视.当她靠近他身边,想用一只手拉住他的手,并从他手里接过照相机放到船舱时,他猛地使劲把她一下子推开了.不过,即便在这会儿,他也没有别的意图,只是想要甩掉她——别让她碰着他——不想听她求告——不要她的安慰同情——永远不跟她在一块儿——老天哪!
不料,(这照相机,他还是下意识地、紧紧地抓在自己手里)由于推她时用力过猛,不但照相机砸着她的嘴唇、鼻子和下巴颏儿,而且还把她身子往后一摔,倒向左舷,使船身差点儿就倾覆了.一听到罗伯达的尖叫声(因为一是小船突然倾斜了,二是她的鼻子和嘴唇都被砸破了),克莱德就吓慌了.于是,他就一跃而起,俯身过去,一半想要帮助她,或是搀扶她一下,一半要想为这无心的一砸向她表示歉意.殊不知这么一折腾,小船就整个儿翻了——他自己跟罗伯达一下子都落水了.当她沉入水底,头一次冒出头来时,船底早已朝天,左舷撞着她脑袋,她那狂乱、扭歪的脸儿正朝着克莱德,到这时他神志方才清醒过来.而她呢,顿时昏了过去,吓得面无人色,又因剧痛和惧怕说不出话来:她一生怕水,怕被水淹死,怕他那么偶尔几乎无意识的一砸.
"救命呀,救命啊!"
"啊,老天呀,我快淹死了,我快淹死了.救命呀!啊,老天哪!"
"克莱德!克莱德!"
于是,他耳衅又突然响起了那个声音!
"可是,这——这——这不就是你——你在走投无路时老是琢磨、盼望的事吗?现在你看!尽管你害怕,你胆小,这——这事——终究让你完成了.一次意外——一次意外——你是无心的一砸,你就用不着为你一心渴望去做但又没胆量去做的事操劳了!既然是意外,你不用去救就得了;要是你现在去搭救她,难道说你愿再次陷入困境,忍受那惨痛的失败吗?你已在这困境中折磨得够呛,而现在不就一下子使你得到解脱了吗?你可以去搭救她.可你也可以不去搭救她!你看,她怎样在拚命挣扎.她已昏了过去.她是压根儿救不了自己的;现在你要是一挨近到她身边,那她在疯狂的惊恐之中,也许会把你都一块给淹死了.可你是想活下去呀!而她要是还活着,那你往后的一辈子也就没有什么意思了.就只冷眼旁观一会儿——几秒钟!等一下——等一下子——别管她苦苦喊叫救命.然后就——然后就——可是,哎呀!你看.一切全完了.现在她快沉下去了.你永远、永远再也见不到活着的她了——永远永远.看吧,你自己的帽子漂浮在湖面上——正如你原来设想的那样.而小船上,还有她的面纱正被桨架绊住了.那就随它去吧.难道这还不足以表明是一次意外事故吗?
除这以外,什么都没有——只有一些涟漪——四周围宁静、肃穆得出奇.听,那头孤怪、神秘的鸟,又在发出轻蔑、嘲弄的叫声.
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
基特,基特,基特,卡……阿……阿……阿赫!
这头恶魔似的鸟,一个劲儿在枯枝上狂叫——那头怪鸟.克莱德非常吃力地、阴郁地、沮丧地游到了岸边,可是,罗伯达的呼喊声还在他耳际,她眼里露出最后疯狂、惨白、恳求的神色,也都在他眼前.还有那么一个念头:真的,他毕竟并没有杀害她.没有,没有.谢天谢地.他可没有.不过(他登上附近的湖岸,把他衣服上的水抖掉),他到底杀人了吗?还是没有杀人?他不是不肯去搭救她吗?本来他也许能把她救起来呀.何况她之所以落水,尽管是意外,说实在的,还都是他的过错,可不是吗?可是——可是——
这时已是傍晚时分,昏暗、寂静.在这隐蔽的树林深处,一个僻静的旮旯儿,就只有他一个人.浑身湿透了的克莱德,独自站在自己那只干干的手提箱旁边,等着设法把衣服弄干.不过,在这当儿,他把没用过的照相机三脚架从手提箱边取了下来,在树林深处找到很难被人发现的一棵枯树.把它藏匿在那儿.有谁看见了吗?有谁正在张望呢?随后,他就转身往回走,可又暗自纳闷,真不知道该往哪个方向走!他必须先往西走,然后往南.他可千万不能迷失方向呀!可是,那头怪鸟却是一个劲儿在叫——多扎耳,令人心惊肉跳.随后是一片昏暗,尽管夏夜还有一点儿微弱的星光.一个年轻人,正在穿越漆黑一团、荒无人烟的树林子,头上戴着一顶干草帽,手里拎着一只手提箱,急匆匆,但又小心翼翼地——往南——往南走去.
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