《嘉莉妹妹》灵的诱惑：肉的追求
Passion in a man of Hurstwood's nature takes a vigorous form. It is no musing, dreamy thing. There is none of the tendency to sing outside of my lady's window -- to languish and repine in the face of difficulties. In the night he was long getting to sleep because of too much thinking, and in the morning he was early awake, seizing with alacrity upon the same dear subject and pursuing it with vigour. He was out of sorts physically, as well as disordered mentally, for did he not delight in a new manner in his Carrie, and was not Drouet in the way? Never was man more harassed than he by the thoughts of his love being held by the elated, flush-mannered drummer. He would have given anything, it seemed to him, to have the complication ended -- to have Carrie acquiesce to an arrangement which would dispose of Drouet effectually and forever.
What to do. He dressed thinking. He moved about in the same chamber with his wife, unmindful of her presence.
At breakfast he found himself without an appetite. The meat to which he helped himself remained on his plate untouched. His coffee grew cold, while he scanned the paper indifferently. Here and there he read a little thing, but remembered nothing. Jessica had not yet come down. His wife sat at one end of the table revolving thoughts of her own in silence. A new servant had been recently installed and had forgot the napkins. On this account the silence was irritably broken by a reproof.
"I've told you about this before, Maggie," said Mrs. Hurstwood. "I'm not going to tell you again."
Hurstwood took a glance at his wife. She was frowning. Just now her manner irritated him excessively. Her next remark was addressed to him.
"Have you made up your mind, George, when you will take your vacation?"
It was customary for them to discuss the regular summer outing at this season of the year.
"Not yet," he said, "I'm very busy just now."
"Well, you'll want to make up your mind pretty soon, won't you, if we're going?" she returned.
"I guess we have a few days yet," he said.
"Hmff," she returned. "Don't wait until the season's over."
She stirred in aggravation as she said this.
"There you go again," he observed. "One would think I never did anything, the way you begin."
"Well, I want to know about it," she reiterated.
"You've got a few days yet," he insisted. "You'll not want to start before the races are over."
He was irritated to think that this should come up when he wished to have his thoughts for other purposes.
"Well, we may. Jessica doesn't want to stay until the end of the races."
"What did you want with a season ticket, then?"
"Uh！" she said, using the sound as an exclamation of disgust, "I'll not argue with you," and therewith arose to leave the table.
"Say," he said, rising, putting a note of determination in his voice which caused her to delay her departure, "what's the matter with you of late? Can't I talk with you any more?"
"Certainly, you can talk with me," she replied, laying emphasis on the word.
"Well, you wouldn't think so by the way you act. Now, you want to know when I'll be ready -- not for a month yet. Maybe not then."
"We'll go without you."
"You will, eh?" he sneered.
"Yes, we will."
He was astonished at the woman's determination, but it only irritated him the more.
"Well, we'll see about that. It seems to me you're trying to run things with a pretty high hand of late. You talk as though you settled my affairs for me. Well, you don't. You don't regulate anything that's connected with me. If you want to go, go, but you won't hurry me by any such talk as that."
He was thoroughly aroused now. His dark eyes snapped, and he crunched his paper as he laid it down. Mrs. Hurstwood said nothing more. He was just finishing when she turned on her heel and went out into the hall and upstairs. He paused for a moment, as if hesitating, then sat down and drank a little coffee, and thereafter arose and went for his hat and gloves upon the main floor.
His wife had really not anticipated a row of this character. She had come down to the breakfast table feeling a little out of sorts with herself and revolving a scheme which she had in her mind. Jessica had called her attention to the fact that the races were not what they were supposed to be. The social opportunities were not what they had thought they would be this year. The beautiful girl found going every day a dull thing. There was an earlier exodus this year of people who were anybody to the watering places and Europe. In her own circle of acquaintances several young men in whom she was interested had gone to Waukesha. She began to feel that she would like to go too, and her mother agreed with her.
Accordingly, Mrs. Hurstwood decided to broach the subject. She was thinking this over when she came down to the table, but for some reason the atmosphere was wrong. She was not sure, after it was all over, just how the trouble had begun. She was determined now, however, that her husband was a brute, and that, under no circumstances, would she let this go by unsettled. She would have more lady-like treatment or she would know why.
For his part, the manager was loaded with the care of this new argument until he reached his office and started from there to meet Carrie. Then the other complications of love, desire, and opposition possessed him. His thoughts fled on before him upon eagles' wings. He could hardly wait until he should meet Carrie face to face. What was the night, after all, without her -- what the day? She must and should be his.
For her part, Carrie had experienced a world of fancy and feeling since she had left him, the night before. She had listened to Drouet's enthusiastic maunderings with much regard for that part which concerned herself, with very little for that which affected his own gain. She kept him at such lengths as she could, because her thoughts were with her own triumph. She felt Hurstwood's passion as a delightful background to her own achievement, and she wondered what he would have to say. She was sorry for him, too, with that peculiar sorrow which finds something complimentary to itself in the misery of another. She was now experiencing the first shades of feeling of that subtle change which removes one out of the ranks of the suppliants into the lines of the dispensers of charity. She was, all in all, exceedingly happy.
On the morrow, however, there was nothing in the papers concerning the event, and, in view of the flow of common, everyday things about, it now lost a shade of the glow of the previous evening. Drouet himself was not talking so much of as for her. He felt instinctively that, for some reason or other, he needed reconstruction in her regard.
"I think," he said, as he spruced around their chambers the next morning, preparatory to going down town, "that I'll straighten out that little deal of mine this month and then we'll get married. I was talking with Mosher about that yesterday."
"No, you won't," said Carrie, who was coming to feel a certain faint power to jest with the drummer.
"Yes, I will," he exclaimed, more feelingly than usual, adding, with the tone of one who pleads, "Don't you believe what I've told you?"
Carrie laughed a little.
"Of course I do," she answered.
Drouet's assurance now misgave him. Shallow as was his mental observation, there was that in the things which had happened which made his little power of analysis useless. Carrie was still with him, but not helpless and pleading. There was a lilt in her voice which was new. She did not study him with eyes expressive of dependence. The drummer was feeling the shadow of something which was coming. It coloured his feelings and made him develop those little attentions and say those little words which were mere forefendations against danger.
Shortly afterward he departed, and Carrie prepared for her meeting with Hurstwood. She hurried at her toilet, which was soon made, and hastened down the stairs. At the corner she passed Drouet, but they did not see each other.
The drummer had forgotten some bills which he wished to turn into his house. He hastened up the stairs and burst into the room, but found only the chambermaid, who was cleaning up.
"Hello," he exclaimed, half to himself, "has Carrie gone?"
"Your wife? Yes, she went out just a few minutes ago."
"That's strange," thought Drouet. "She didn't say a word to me. I wonder where she went?"
He hastened about, rummaging in his valise for what he wanted, and finally pocketing it. Then he turned his attention to his fair neighbour, who was good-looking and kindly disposed towards him.
"What are you up to?" he said, smiling.
"Just cleaning," she replied, stopping and winding a dusting towel about her hand.
"Tired of it?"
"Not so very."
"Let me show you something," he said, affably, coming over and taking out of his pocket a little lithographed card which had been issued by a wholesale tobacco company. On this was printed a picture of a pretty girl, holding a striped parasol, the colours of which could be changed by means of a revolving disk in the back, which showed red, yellow, green, and blue through little interstices made in the ground occupied by the umbrella top.
"Isn't that clever?" he said, handing it to her and showing her how it worked. "You never saw anything like that before."
"Isn't it nice?" she answered.
"You can have it if you want it," he remarked.
"That's a pretty ring you have," he said, touching a commonplace setting which adorned the hand holding the card he had given her.
"Do you think so?"
"That's right," he answered, making use of a pretence at examination to secure her finger. "That's fine."
The ice being thus broken, he launched into further observation, pretending to forget that her fingers were still retained by his. She soon withdrew them, however, and retreated a few feet to rest against the window-sill.
"I didn't see you for a long time," she said, coquettishly, repulsing one of his exuberant approaches. "You must have been away."
"I was," said Drouet.
"Do you travel far?"
"Pretty far -- yes."
"Do you like it?"
"Oh, not very well. You get tired of it after a while."
"I wish I could travel," said the girl, gazing idly out of the window.
"What has become of your friend, Hurstwood?" she suddenly asked, bethinking herself of the manager, who, from her own observation, seemed to contain promising material.
"He's here in town. What makes you ask about him?"
"Oh, nothing, only he hasn't been here since you got back."
"How did you come to know him?"
"Didn't I take up his name a dozen times in the last month?"
"Get out," said the drummer, lightly. "He hasn't called more than half a dozen times since we've been here."
"He hasn't, eh?" said the girl, smiling. "That's all you know about it."
Drouet took on a slightly more serious tone. He was uncertain as to whether she was joking or not.
"Tease," he said, "what makes you smile that way?"
"Oh, nothing."
"Have you seen him recently?"
"Not since you came back," she laughed.
"Before?"
"Certainly."
"How often?"
"Why, nearly every day."
She was a mischievous newsmonger, and was keenly wondering what the effect of her words would be.
"Who did he come to see?" asked the drummer, incredulously.
"Mrs. Drouet."
He looked rather foolish at this answer, and then attempted to correct himself so as not to appear a dupe.
"Well," he said, "what of it?"
"Nothing," replied the girl, her head cocked coquettishly on one side.
"He's an old friend," he went on, getting deeper into the mire.
He would have gone on further with his little flirtation, but the taste for it was temporarily removed. He was quite relieved when the girl's name was called from below.
"I've got to go," she said, moving away from him airily.
"I'll see you later," he said, with a pretence of disturbance at being interrupted.
When she was gone, he gave freer play to his feelings. His face, never easily controlled by him, expressed all the perplexity and disturbance which he felt. Could it be that Carrie had received so many visits and yet said nothing about them? Was Hurstwood lying? What did the chambermaid mean by it, anyway? He had thought there was something odd about Carrie's manner at the time. Why did she look so disturbed when he had asked her how many times Hurstwood had called? By George！ he remembered now. There was something strange about the whole thing.
He sat down in a rocking-chair to think the better, drawing up one leg on his knee and frowning mightily. His mind ran on at a great rate.
And yet Carrie hadn't acted out of the ordinary. It couldn't be, by George, that she was deceiving him. She hadn't acted that way. Why, even last night she had been as friendly toward him as could be, and Hurstwood too. Look how they acted！ He could hardly believe they would try to deceive him.
His thoughts burst into words.
"She did act sort of funny at times. Here she had dressed and gone out this morning and never said a word."
He scratched his head and prepared to go down town. He was still frowning. As he came into the hall he encountered the girl, who was now looking after another chamber. She had on a white dusting cap, beneath which her chubby face shone good-naturedly. Drouet almost forgot his worry in the fact that she was smiling on him. He put his hand familiarly on her shoulder, as if only to greet her in passing.
"Got over being mad?" she said, still mischievously inclined.
"I'm not mad," he answered.
"I thought you were," she said, smiling.
"Quit your fooling about that," he said, in an offhand way. "Were you serious?"
"Certainly," she answered. Then, with an air of one who did not intentionally mean to create trouble, "He came lots of times. I thought you knew."
The game of deception was up with Drouet. He did not try to simulate indifference further.
"Did he spend the evenings here?" he asked.
"Sometimes. Sometimes they went out."
"In the evening?"
"Yes. You mustn't look so mad, though."
"I'm not," he said. "Did any one else see him?"
"Of course," said the girl, as if, after all, it were nothing in particular.
"How long ago was this?"
"Just before you came back."
The drummer pinched his lip nervously.
"Don't say anything, will you?" he asked, giving the girl's arm a gentle squeeze.
"Certainly not," she returned. "I wouldn't worry over it."
"All right," he said, passing on, seriously brooding for once, and yet not wholly unconscious of the fact that he was making a most excellent impression upon the chambermaid.
"I'll see her about that," he said to himself, passionately, feeling that he had been unduly wronged. "I'll find out, b'George, whether she'll act that way or not."
情欲在像赫斯渥这类人身上出现时，总呈现强烈的形式，绝非沉思梦幻般的东西。像他这种人可不会在情人的窗外唱小夜曲--也不会在遇到挫折时憔悴或者呻吟。夜里他因为想得太多了，久久睡不着；早上又老早醒了，一醒来又立刻去想那个甜蜜的事情，一个劲儿想个不停。他浑身不舒服，心烦意乱。一方面是他更加喜欢他的嘉莉，另一方面又有杜洛埃这个绊脚石，这还不足以使他烦恼吗？想到他的爱人正被那个得意洋洋精力旺盛的推销员所占有，世上再没有人比他更感痛苦的了。在他看来，只要能结束这种三角局面，只要嘉莉肯接受一项安排以便永久有效地摆脱掉杜洛埃，要他付出什么代价他都愿意。
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吃早饭时他发现自己一点胃口也没有，叉到盘中的肉还留在那里没有动过。咖啡已经放凉了，可是他仍在心不在焉地浏览报纸。这里那里他也读到一两则小消息，但是读过后他就什么也不记得了。杰西卡还在楼上卧室没有下来，他的妻子坐在桌子的另一头默默地想自己的心事。最近又换了一个女仆，今天新女仆忘了准备餐巾。为了这件事，他妻子大声斥责，令人恼火地打破了宁静。
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鈥準堑模颐蔷驼饷窗臁ｂ��
他看到这女人的坚决态度很感惊愕。不过这使他更恼火了。
鈥満茫颐亲咦徘坪昧恕Ｕ兆罱那樾慰雌鹄矗阆胍⒑攀┝睿恕Ｌ闼祷暗目谄瓜氲蔽业募伊恕：撸惚鹱髅巍Ｄ惚鹣敫稍ず臀矣泄氐氖隆Ｈ绻阆胱撸憔妥吆昧恕�
你别指望用这种话来逼我走。鈥�
他现在怒火中烧了。他的黑眼睛气得一闪一闪的，怒火直冒，把报纸揉成一团扔在一边。赫斯渥太太没有再说什么。不等他说完，她就转身朝外面的客厅走，接着就上楼了。他停顿了一下，好像是在犹豫。然后他又坐了下来，喝了一点咖啡，就站起身，到一楼去拿帽子和手套。
他太太确实没有料到会有这一场争吵。她下楼来吃早饭时，心绪不佳，脑子里反复盘算着一个计划。杰西卡提醒她，马赛不像她们原来想的那么有趣，今年赛马场没有提供多少社交机会。这位美丽的小姐感到每天去赛马场实在乏味。今年那些贵人到海滨和欧洲度假走得比往年早。她认识的人中，好几个她感兴趣的年轻人已经到华克夏去了。她于是开始想她也该走了。她母亲很赞成这主意。
基于这些想法，赫斯渥太太决定要提出这个问题。她走到饭桌边来时，心里正想这件事。但是不知为什么气氛有些不对劲。吵完架以后，她还是不明白怎么会争吵起来的。但是她现在已经肯定她丈夫是个粗暴的人。当然她对此绝不会善罢甘休的，她一定要他拿她当个夫人对待，不然她就要追究到底，找出原因来。
在经理那方面，在去办公室的路上他还在想着这场新的争吵。从办公室出来，他去和嘉莉幽会，这时候他脑子里装的是由爱情、欲望和阻力交织而成的另一种复杂局面。他的思念装上鹰的翅膀飞翔在他前面，他迫不及待地想要和嘉莉见面。
说到底，没有了她，夜晚有什么意思呢？白天又有什么意思？她必须是也应该是他的。
在嘉莉这方面，自从前一晚和他分手以后，她生活在一个充满想象和情感的世界里。对于杜洛埃絮絮聒聒的热情表白，她只注意听了和她有关的那一部分，至于他对拥有嘉莉的得意吹嘘，她就没有心思去听了。她尽量和他疏远，一心只想着自己的成功。她感到赫斯渥的爱情把她的成功衬托得更加可喜，她真想知道他会对此说些什么。她也为他难过，不过这种难过里也夹杂着几分沾沾之喜，因为赫斯渥的痛苦本身就是一种恭维。她正初次体验到从一个乞讨者变为施舍者的那种微妙的感情变化。总之，她非常非常地快乐。
然而第二天早上报纸对这件事只字未提。每天日常的事情还是一如既往地进行着，于是前一天晚上的成功有点黯然失色了。杜洛埃现在与其说是在谈论她的成功，不如说是在竭力讨好她了。他本能地感到，为了这种或者那种的原因，他有必要重获嘉莉的欢心。
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我昨天和摩旭谈了这事。鈥�
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鈥湹比晃蚁嘈牛�澦卮稹�
杜洛埃现在不那么自信了。尽管不善于察言观色，他发现事情起了一些变化，这种变化超出了他小小的分析能力之外。
嘉莉仍然和他在一起，但是已经不是懦弱无助哀哀乞怜了。她的声音里透出一种轻快活泼，这是以前没有的。她不再用依赖的目光注意他的一举一动。推销员感到了要发生什么事的阴影。这影响了他的情感，使他开始向嘉莉献些小殷勤，说些讨好的话，作为预防危机的措施。
他刚走不久，嘉莉就为赴赫斯渥的约会做准备。她匆匆打扮了一下，没花多少时间就准备就绪，急急下了楼梯。在马路转弯处，她走过杜洛埃的身边，但是两个人都没有看到对方。
推销员忘了拿几张他想交给商号的账单。他匆匆忙忙上了楼梯，又冲进房间，结果发现房间里只有公寓女仆在收拾房间。
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鈥溦娴穆穑库��
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鈥溛液镁妹挥屑侥懔恕ｂ�澦芫怂囊淮稳惹械那捉院螅襞缜榈厮担�溎阋欢ǔ雒湃チ恕ｂ�濃�準堑模�澏怕灏Ｋ怠�
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鈥湹髌す恚�澦担�溎愀陕镎饷垂殴值匦Γ库�濃�溹蓿皇裁矗库�濃�溎阕罱剿寺穑库�濃�湸幽慊丶依淳兔挥屑�澦α似鹄础�
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鈥湹比患恕ｂ��
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鈥準前。畈欢嗝刻於祭础ｂ��
她是个爱搬弄是非的人，非常想知道她这话会产生什么后果。
鈥溗纯此库�澩扑辈幌嘈诺匚省�
鈥湺怕灏Ｌｂ��
他听了这个回答发了一会儿呆，然后他竭力要掩饰自己露出的傻相。
鈥溹牛�澦担�溎怯衷跹兀库��
鈥溍皇裁矗�澒媚锓缟У匕淹芬煌幔卮稹�
鈥溗抢吓笥蚜耍�澦绦担嚼丛缴畹叵萁四嗾印�
尽管他暂时已没了兴趣，他本来还会把这小小的调情进行下去，所以当楼下叫这姑娘下去时，他如释重负。
鈥溛业米吡耍�澦底徘嵊卮铀肀咦呖�
鈥湹然岫�澦俺霰蝗舜蚨细械椒衬盏纳衿档馈�
等她一走，他让自己的感情发泄出来。他从来不善于掩饰自己的脸色。这会儿，他心里感到的种种困惑和烦恼都在脸上呈现出来。嘉莉接待人家这么多次，在他面前却一句没有提起。这事情可能吗？赫斯渥在说谎吗？这女仆这么说，是什么意思呢？他当时就感到嘉莉的神色有点反常。他问她赫斯渥来访几次时，她为什么显得那么不安呢？天哪，他现在想起来了。这整个事情是有点古怪呢。
他在一个摇椅里坐了下来，以便更好地想想。他把一个脚架在膝盖上，眉头皱紧了，思绪在飞快地变幻。
然而嘉莉并没有什么越轨的举动埃天哪，她不可能是在欺骗他。她从来没有骗过人。对了，就在昨晚她对他还是非常友好，赫斯渥也是如此。看看他们的举止！他几乎无法相信他们要其他。
他不禁自言自语起来。
鈥溣惺焙蛩木俣怯械愎帧＝裨缢┐髡氤鋈チ耍墒撬桓鲎忠裁挥兴怠ｂ�澦恿四油罚蛩闳ド桃登恕Ｋ拿纪方糁遄拧Ｗ叩矫盘保峙龅搅四歉龉媚铩Ｋ诖蛏硪桓龇考洌飞洗髯乓幌畎咨牡С久弊樱弊酉屡趾鹾醯牧车奥冻龊蜕频男σ狻�
看到她朝他微笑，他把自己的烦恼几乎都忘了。他亲密地把他的手搭在她肩上，好像只是路过打个招呼。
鈥溒寺穑库�澦匀挥械愕髌さ匚省�
鈥溛颐挥猩�澦卮稹�
鈥溛一挂晕闫枇耍�澦底盼⑽⒁恍Α�
鈥湶灰嫘α耍�澦姹愕厮担�溦馐碌闭媛穑库�濃�湹比涣耍�澦卮稹＝幼潘靡恢植⒎枪室庖舨κ欠堑纳衿担衡�溗戳撕芏啻危一挂晕阒赖哪亍ｂ�澏怕灏７牌硕运谑巫约旱乃枷氲拇蛩悖幌朐僮俺鑫匏降纳衿恕�
鈥溗砩侠凑饫锫穑库�澦省�
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鈥溚砩下穑库��
鈥準堑模还悴挥谜饷瓷ｂ��
鈥溛颐挥猩�澦怠ｂ�溁褂斜鹑思剿穑库�濃�湹比涣耍�澱馀⒆铀档溃孟裾馐卤暇顾悴坏檬裁此频摹�
鈥溦馐嵌嗑靡郧暗氖铝耍库��
鈥溇褪悄慊乩匆郧安痪玫氖隆ｂ��
推销员神经质地捏着嘴唇。
鈥溦馐履闶裁匆脖鹚担寐穑库�澦兆×斯媚锏氖直矍崆崮罅艘话眩档馈�
鈥溛乙欢ú凰担�澦卮稹ｂ�溛也挪晃馐虏傩哪兀库�濃�満茫驼庋ｂ�澦底庞旨绦庾撸降谝淮谓醒纤嗟乃伎肌２还⒉皇峭耆挥邢氲剿迅馀土粝铝艘桓龊芎玫挠∠蟆�
鈥溛乙纯此哉馐略趺此担�澦叻叩叵耄械阶约菏芰瞬桓檬艿奈ｂ�溙炷模乙欢ㄒ靼姿遣皇亲龀稣庵质吕础ｂ��
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