酷兔英语
    当前位置:
  1. 首页
  2. 文章
  3. 娱乐英语
  4. 原版小说
  5. 正文

Lady Baltimore-Part18_Owen Wister(1860-1938)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

0 收藏 0 分享 0 赞

章节正文
文章总共2页
compel him to live self-respecting, not as statesman, poet, or financier,

but by the honorable toil of his hand and sweat of his brow. Because "the



door of hope" was once opened too suddenly for him is no reason for

slamming it now forever in his face.



Thus mentally I lectured back at the Teuton as I went through the streets

of Kings Port; and after a while I turned a corner which took me



abruptly, as with one magic step, out of the white man's world into the

blackest Congo. Even the well-inhabited quarter of Kings Port (and I had



now come within this limited domain) holds narrow lanes and recesses

which teem and swarm with negroes. As cracks will run through fine



porcelain, so do these black rifts of Africa lurk almost invisible among

the gardens and the houses. The picture that these places offered, tropic,



squalid, and fecund, often caused me to walk through them and watch the

basking population; the intricate, broken wooden galleries, the rickety



outside stair cases, the red and yellow splashes of color on the clothes

lines, the agglomerate rags that stuffed holes in decaying roofs or hung



nakedly on human frames, the small, choked dwellings, bursting open at

doors and windows with black, round-eyed babies as an overripe melon



bursts with seeds, the children playing marbles in the court, the parents

playing cards in the room, the grandparents smoking pipes on the porch,



and the great-grandparents stairs gazing out at you like creatures from

the Old Testament or the jungle. From the jungle we had stolen them,



North and South had stolen them together, long ago, to be slaves, not to

be citizens, and now here they were, the fruits of our theft; and for



some reason (possibly the Teuton was the reason) that passage from the

Book c' Exodus came into my head: "For I the Lord thy God am a jealous



God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children."

These thoughts were interrupted by sounds as of altercation. I had nearly



reached the end of the lane, where I should again emerge into the White

man's world, and where I was now walking the lane spread into a broader



space with ells and angles and rotting steps, and habitations mostly too

ruinous to be inhabited. It was from a sashless window in one of these



that the angry voices came. The first words which were distinct aroused

my interest quite beyond the scale of an ordinary altercation:--



"Calls you'self a reconstuckted niggah?"

This was said sharply and with prodigious scorn. The answer which it



brought was lengthy and of such a general sullen incoherence that I could

make out only a frequentrepetition of "custom house," and that somebody



was going to take care of somebody hereafter.

Into this the first voice broke with tones of highest contempt and



rapidity:--

"President gwine to gib brekfus' an' dinnah an suppah to de likes ob you



fo' de whole remaindah oh youh wuthless nat'ral life? Get out ob my

sight, you reconstuckted niggah. I come out oh de St. Michael."



There came through the window immediately upon this sounds of scuffling

and of a fall, and then cries for help which took me running into the



dilapidated building. Daddy Ben lay on the floor, and a thick, young

savage was kicking him. In some remarkable way I thought of the solidity



of their heads, and before the assailant even knew that he had a witness,

I sped forward, aiming my kettle-supporter, and with its sharp brass edge



I dealt him a crack over his shin with astonishingaccuracy. It was a

dismal howl that he gave, and as he turned he got from me another crack



upon the other shin. I had no time to be alarmed at my deed, or I think

that I should have been very much so; I am a man above all of peace, and



physical encounters are peculiarly abhorrent to me; but, so far from

assailing me, the thick, young savage, with the single muttered remark,



"He hit me fuss," got himself out of the house with the most agreeable

rapidity.



Daddy Ben sat up, and his first inquiry greatly reassured me as to his

state. He stared at my paper bundle. "You done make him hollah wid dat,



sah!"

I showed him the kettle-supporter through a rent in its wrapping, and I



assisted him to stand upright. His injuries proved fortunately to be

slight (although I may say here that the shock to his ancient body kept



him away for a few days from the churchyard), and when I began to talk to

him about the incident, he seemed unwilling to say much in answer to my



questions. And when I offered to accompany him to where he lived, he




文章总共2页
文章标签:名著  

章节正文
Copyright © 2023 Qeto All rights reserved.
商务合作 | 联系我们 | 关于我们 | 版权声明 | 隐私条款 | 如果智培

京ICP备05059198号-1 京公网安备 11011202003401号