书城外语那些无法拒绝的名篇
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第25章 阿拉比 (1)

Araby

《阿拉比》是詹姆斯·乔伊斯小说集《都柏林人》

中一篇反映少年心理变化的短篇小说。小说讲述了一

个都柏林少年对同伴的姐姐产生了朦胧的爱情,在经

过漫长而又焦急的等待之后,最终爱情幻想以破灭而

告终。

[ 爱尔兰] 詹姆斯·乔伊斯( James Joyce)

Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlor watching

her door. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash

so that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep

my heart leaped. I ran to the hall,seized my books and followed

her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and,when we

came near the point at which our ways diverged,I quickened my

pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning. I had

never spoken to her,except for a few casual words,and yet her

name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.

Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile

to romance. On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing

I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the

flaring streets,jostled by drunken men and bargaining women,

amid the curses of laborers,the shrill litanies of shop boys

who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs’cheeks,the nasal

chanting of street singers,who sang a come-all-you about O’

Donovan Rossa,or a ballad about the troubles in our native land.

These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me:I

imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes.

Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and

praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often

full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my

heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little

of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her

or not or,if I spoke to her,how I could tell her of my confused

adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and

gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.

One evening I went into the back drawing room in which

the priest had died. It was a dark rainy evening and there was no

sound in the house. Through one of the broken panes I heard the

rain impinge upon the earth,the fine incessant needles of water

playing in the sodden beds. Some distant lamp or lighted window

gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so little. All

my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and,feeling that

I was about to slip from them,I pressed the palms of my hands

together until they trembled,murmuring:“O love! O love !”

many times.

At last she spoke to me. When she addressed the first words

to me I was so confused that I did not know what to answer. She

asked me was I going to Araby. I forgot whether I answered yes or

no. It would be a splendid bazaar,she said ;she would love to go.

“And why can’t you?”I asked.

While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round

her wrist. She could not go,she said,because there would be a

retreat that week in her convent. Her brother and two other boys

were fighting for their caps and I was alone at the railings. She

held one of the spikes,bowing her head towards me. The light

from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her

neck,lit up her hair that rested there and,falling,lit up the hand

upon the railing. It fell over one side of her dress and caught the

white border of a petticoat,just visible as she stood at ease.

“It’s well for you,”she said.

“If I go,”I said,“I will bring you something.”

What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping

thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious

intervening days. I chafed against the work of school. At night

in my bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came

between me and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the

word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my

soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me. I

asked for leave to go to the bazaar on Saturday night. My aunt

was surprised and hoped it was not some Freemason affair. I

answered few questions in class. I watched my master’s face

pass from amiability to sternness ;he hoped I was not beginning

to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had

hardly any patience with the serious work of life which,now that

it stood between me and my desire,seemed to me child’s play,

ugly monotonous child’s play.

On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to

go to the bazaar in the evening. He was fussing at the hall stand,

looking for the hat brush,and answered me curtly :“Yes,boy,I

know.”

As he was in the hall I could not go into the front parlor

and lie at the window. I left the house in bad humor and walked

slowly towards the school. The air was pitilessly raw and already

my heart misgave me.

When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been

home. Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock for some time

and,when its ticking began to irritate me,I left the room. I

mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house.

The high cold empty gloomy rooms liberated me and I went

from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my

companions playing below in the street. Their cries reached me

weakened and indistinct and,leaning my forehead against the

cool glass,I looked over at the dark house where she lived. I may

have stood there for an hour,seeing nothing but the brown-clad

figure cast by my imagination,touched discreetly by the lamplight

at the curved neck,at the hand upon the railings and at the border

below the dress.

When I came downstairs again I found Mrs. Mercer sitting

at the fire. She was an old garrulous woman,a pawnbroker’s

widow,who collected used stamps for some pious purpose. I

had to endure the gossip of the tea table. The meal was prolonged

beyond an hour and still my uncle did not come. Mrs. Mercer stood

up to go:she was sorry she couldn’t wait any longer,but it was