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In a German Pension-Part12_Katherine Mansfield(1888-1923)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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It was extraordinary--always before this woman came near her she trembled

in her shoes--even the sound of those flat feet stumping up the stairs made



her feel sick, but once they were face to face she felt immensely calm and

indifferent, and could not understand why she even worried about money, nor



why she sneaked out of the house on tiptoe, not even daring to shut the

door after her in case the landlady should hear and shout something



terrible, nor why she spent nights pacing up and down her room--drawing up

sharply before the mirror and saying to a tragicreflection: "Money,



money, money!" When she was alone her poverty was like a huge

dream-mountain on which her feet were fast rooted--aching with the ache of



the size of the thing--but if it came to definite action, with no time for

imaginings, her dream-mountain dwindled into a beastly "hold-your-nose"



affair, to be passed as quickly as possible, with anger and a strong sense

of superiority.



The landlady bounced out of the room, banging the door, so that it shook

and rattled as though it had listened to the conversation and fully



sympathised with the old hag.

Squatting on her heels, Viola opened the letter. It was from Casimir:



"I shall be with you at three o'clock this afternoon--and must be off again

this evening. All news when we meet. I hope you are happier than I.--



CASIMIR."

"Huh! how kind!" she sneered; "how condescending. Too good of you,



really!" She sprang to her feet, crumbling the letter in her hands. "And

how are you to know that I shall stick here awaiting your pleasure until



three o'clock this afternoon?" But she knew she would; her rage was only

half sincere. She longed to see Casimir, for she was confident that this



time she would make him understand the situation..."For, as it is, it's

intolerable--intolerable!" she muttered.



It was ten o'clock in the morning of a grey day curiously lighted by pale

flashes of sunshine. Searched by these flashes her room looked tumbled and



grimed. She pulled down the window-blinds--but they gave a persistent,

whitish glare which was just as bad. The only thing of life in the room



was a jar of hyacinths given her by the landlady's daughter: it stood on

the table exuding a sicklyperfume from its plump petals; there were even



rich buds unfolding, and the leaves shone like oil.

Viola went over to the washstand, poured some water into the enamel basin,



and sponged her face and neck. She dipped her face into the water, opened

her eyes, and shook her head from side to side--it was exhilarating. She



did it three times. "I suppose I could drown myself if I stayed under long

enough," she thought. "I wonder how long it takes to become



unconscious?...Often read of women drowning in a bucket. I wonder if any

air enters by the ears--if the basin would have to be as deep as a bucket?"



She experimented--gripped the washstand with both hands and slowly sank her

head into the water, when again there was a knock on the door. Not the



landlady this time--it must be Casimir. With her face and hair dripping,

with her petticoat bodice unbuttoned, she ran and opened it.



A strange man stood against the lintel--seeing her, he opened his eyes very

wide and smiled delightfully. "Excuse me--does Fraulein Schafer live



here?"

"No; never heard of her." His smile was so infectious, she wanted to smile



too--and the water had made her feel so fresh and rosy.

The strange man appeared overwhelmed with astonishment. "She doesn't?" he



cried. "She is out, you mean!"

"No, she's not living here," answered Viola.



"But--pardon--one moment." He moved from the door lintel, standing

squarely in front of her. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and drew a slip of



paper from the breast pocket, smoothing it in his gloved fingers before

handing it to her.



"Yes, that's the address, right enough, but there must be a mistake in the

number. So many lodging-houses in this street, you know, and so big."



Drops of water fell from her hair on to the paper. She burst out laughing.

"Oh, HOW dreadful I must look--one moment!" She ran back to the washstand



and caught up a towel. The door was still open...After all, there was

nothing more to be said. Why on earth had she asked him to wait a moment?



She folded the towel round her shoulders, and returned to the door,

suddenly grave. "I'm sorry; I know no such name" in a sharp voice.



Said the strange man: "Sorry, too. Have you been living here long?"

"Er--yes--a long time." She began to close the door slowly.



"Well--good-morning, thanks so much. Hope I haven't been a bother."

"Good-morning."



She heard him walk down the passage and then pause--lighting a cigarette.

Yes--a faint scent of delicious cigarette smoke penetrated her room. She



sniffed at it, smiling again. Well, that had been a fascinating interlude!

He looked so amazingly happy: his heavy clothes and big buttoned gloves;



his beautifully brushed hair...and that smile..."Jolly" was the word--just




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