The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第39部分

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across　his　gardenwall　drew　him；　he　gave　it　loving　attention。
But　he　went　to　take　charge　of　it；　to　preserve　it。　It　was　as　an
old；　sacred　thing　to　him。　He　looked　after　the　stone　and
woodwork；　mending　the　an　and　restoring　a　piece　of　broken
carving；　repairing　the　church　furniture。　Later；　he　became
choirmaster　also。

His　life　was　shifting　its　centre；　being　more　superficial。
He　had　failed　to　bee　really　articulate；　failed　to　find　real
expression。　He　had　to　continue　in　the　old　form。　But　in　spirit；
he　was　uncreated。

Anna　was　absorbed　in　the　child　now；　she　left　her　husband　to
take　his　own　way。　She　was　willing　now　to　postpone　all　adventure
into　unknown　realities。　She　had　the　child；　her　palpable　and
immediate　future　was　the　child。　If　her　soul　had　found　no
utterance；　her　womb　had。

The　church　that　neighboured　with　his　house　became　very
intimate　and　dear　to　him。　He　cherished　it；　he　had　it　entirely　in
his　charge。　If　he　could　find　no　new　activity；　he　would　be　happy
cherishing　the　old；　dear　form　of　worship。　He　knew　this　little；
whitewashed　church。　In　its　shadowy　atmosphere　he　sank　back　into
being。　He　liked　to　sink　himself　in　its　hush　as　a　stone　sinks
into　water。

He　went　across　his　garden；　mounted　the　wall　by　the　little
steps；　and　entered　the　hush　and　peace　of　the　church。　As　the
heavy　door　clanged　to　behind　him；　his　feet　reechoed　in　the
aisle；　his　heart　reechoed　with　a　little　passion　of　tenderness
and　mystic　peace。　He　was　also　slightly　ashamed；　like　a　man　who
has　failed；　who　lapses　back　for　his　fulfilment。

He　loved　to　light　the　candles　at　the　an；　and　sitting　there
alone　in　the　little　glow；　practice　the　hymns　and　chants　for　the
service。　The　whitewashed　arches　retreated　into　darkness；　the
sound　of　the　an　and　the　anpedals　died　away　upon　the
unalterable　stillness　of　the　church；　there　were　faint；　ghostly
noises　in　the　tower；　and　then　the　music　swelled　out　again；
loudly；　triumphantly。

He　ceased　to　fret　about　his　life。　He　relaxed　his　will；　and
let　everything　go。　What　was　between　him　and　his　wife　was　a　great
thing；　if　it　was　not　everything。　She　had　conquered；　really。　Let
him　wait；　and　abide；　wait　and　abide。　She　and　the　baby　and
himself；　they　were　one。　The　an　rang　out　his　protestation。　His
soul　lay　in　the　darkness　as　he　pressed　the　keys　of　the
an。

To　Anna；　the　baby　was　a　plete　bliss　and　fulfilment。　Her
desires　sank　into　abeyance；　her　soul　was　in　bliss　over　the　baby。
It　was　rather　a　delicate　child；　she　had　trouble　to　rear　it。　She
never　for　a　moment　thought　it　would　die。　It　was　a　delicate
infant；　therefore　it　behoved　her　to　make　it　strong。　She　threw
herself　into　the　labour；　the　child　was　everything。　Her
imagination　was　all　occupied　here。　She　was　a　mother。　It　was
enough　to　handle　the　new　little　limbs；　the　new　little　body；　hear
the　new　little　voice　crying　in　the　stillness。　All　the　future
rang　to　her　out　of　the　sound　of　the　baby's　crying　and　cooing；
she　balanced　the　ing　years　of　life　in　her　hands；　as　she
nursed　the　child。　The　passionate　sense　of　fulfilment；　of　the
future　germinated　in　her；　made　her　vivid　and　powerful。　All　the
future　was　in　her　hands；　in　the　hands　of　the　woman。　And　before
this　baby　was　ten　months　old；　she　was　again　with　child。　She
seemed　to　be　in　the　fecund　of　storm　life；　every　moment　was　full
and　busy　with　productiveness　to　her。　She　felt　like　the　earth；
the　mother　of　everything。

Brangwen　occupied　himself　with　the　church；　he　played　the
an；　he　trained　the　choirboys；　he　taught　a　Sundayschool
class　of　youths。　He　was　happy　enough。　There　was　an　eager；
yearning　kind　of　happiness　in　him　as　he　taught　the　boys　on
Sundays。　He　was　all　the　time　exciting　himself　with　the　proximity
of　some　secret　that　he　had　not　yet　fathomed。

In　the　house；　he　served　his　wife　and　the　little　matriarchy。
She　loved　him　because　he　was　the　father　of　her　children。　And　she
always　had　a　physical　passion　for　him。　So　he　gave　up　trying　to
have　the　spiritual　superiority　and　control；　or　even　her　respect
for　his　conscious　or　public　life。　He　lived　simply　by　her
physical　love　for　him。　And　he　served　the　little　matriarchy；
nursing　the　child　and　helping　with　the　housework；　indifferent
any　more　of　his　own　dignity　and　importance。　But　his　abandoning
of　claims；　his　living　isolated　upon　his　own　interest；　made　him
seem　unreal；　unimportant。

Anna　was　not　publicly　proud　of　him。　But　very　soon　she　learned
to　be　indifferent　to　public　life。　He　was　not　what　is　called　a
manly　man：　he　did　not　drink　or　smoke　or　arrogate　importance。　But
he　was　her　man；　and　his　very　indifference　to　all　claims　of
manliness　set　her　supreme　in　her　own　world　with　him。　Physically；
she　loved　him　and　he　satisfied　her。　He　went　alone　and　subsidiary
always。　At　first　it　had　irritated　her；　the　outer　world　existed
so　little　to　him。　Looking　at　him　with　outside　eyes；　she　was
inclined　to　sneer　at　him。　But　her　sneer　changed　to　a　sort　of
respect。　She　respected　him；　that　he　could　serve　her　so　simply
and　pletely。　Above　all；　she　loved　to　bear　his　children。　She
loved　to　be　the　source　of　children。

She　could　not　understand　him；　his　strange；　dark　rages　and　his
devotion　to　the　church。　It　was　the　church　building　he　cared　for；
and　yet　his　soul　was　passionate　for　something。　He　laboured
cleaning　the　stonework；　repairing　the　woodwork；　restoring　the
an；　and　making　the　singing　as　perfect　as　possible。　To　keep
the　church　fabric　and　the　churchritual　intact　was　his　business；
to　have　the　intimate　sacred　building　utterly　in　his　own　hands；
and　to　make　the　form　of　service　plete。　There　was　a　little
bright　anguish　and　tension　on　his　face；　and　in　his　intent
movements。　He　was　like　a　lover　who　knows　he　is　betrayed；　but　who
still　loves；　whose　love　is　only　the　more　intense。　The　church　was
false；　but　he　served　it　the　more　attentively。

During　the　day；　at　his　work　in　the　office；　he　kept　himself
suspended。　He　did　not　exist。　He　worked　automatically　till　it　was
time　to　go　home。

He　loved　with　a　hot　heart　the　darkhaired　little　Ursula；　and
he　waited　for　the　child　to　e　to　consciousness。　Now　the　mother
monopolized　the　baby。　But　his　heart　waited　in　its　darkness。　His
hour　would　e。

In　the　long　run；　he　learned　to　submit　to　Anna。　She　forced　him
to　the　spirit　of　her　laws；　whilst　leaving　him　the　letter　of　his
own。　She　bated　in　him　his　devils。　She　suffered　very　much　from
his　inexplicable　and　incalculable　dark　rages；　when　a　blackness
filled　him；　and　a　black　wind　seemed　to　sweep　out　of　existence
everything　that　had　to　do　with　him。　She　could　feel　herself；
everything；　being　annihilated　by　him。

At　first　she　fought　him。　At　night；　in　this　state；　he　would
kneel　down　to　say　his　prayers。　She　looked　at　his　crouching
figure。

〃Why　are　you　kneeling　there；　pretending　to　pray？〃　she　said；
harshly。　〃Do　you　think　anybody　can　pray；　when　they　are　in　the
vile　temper　you　are　in？〃

He　remained　crouching　by　the　beside；　motionless。

〃It's　horrible；〃　she　continued；　〃and　such　a　pretence！　What　do
you　pretend　you　are　saying？　Who　do　you　pretend　you　are　praying
to？〃

He　still　remained　motionless；　seething　with　inchoate　rage；
when　his　whole　nature　seemed　to　disintegrate。　He　seemed　to　live
with　a　strain　upon　himself；　and　occasionally　came　these　dark；
chaotic　rages；　the　lust　for　destruction。　She　then　fought　with
him；　and　their　fights　were　horrible；　murderous。　And　then　the
passion　between　them　came　just　as　black　and　awful。

But　little　by　little；　as　she　learned　to　love　him　better；　she
would　put　herself　aside；　and　when　she　felt　one　of　his　fits　upon
him；　would　ignore　him；　successfully　leave　him　in　his　world；
whilst　she　remained　in　her　own。　He　had　a　black　struggle　with
himself；　to　e　back　to　her。　For　at　last　he　learned　that　he
would　be　in　hell　until　he　came　back　to　her。　So　he　struggled　to
submit　to　her；　and　she　was　afraid　of　the　ugly　strain　in　his
eyes。　She　made　love　to　him；　and　took　him。　Then　he　was　grateful
to　her　love；　humble。

He　made　himself　a　woodwork　shed；　in　which　to　restore　things
which　were　destroyed　in　the　church。　So　he　had　plenty　to　do：　his
wife；　his　child；　the　church；　the　woodwork；　and　his　wageearning；
all　occupying　him。　If　only　there　were　not　some　limit　to　him；
some　darkness　across　his　eyes！　He　had　to　give　in　to　it　at　last
himself。　He　must　submit　to　his　oe
limit　to　himself；　of　＇something　unformed　in＇　his　own　black；
violent　temper；　and　to　reckon　with　it。　But　as　she　was　more　gentle
with　him；　it　became　quieter。

As　he　sat　sometimes　very　still；　with　a　bright；　vacant　face；
Anna　could　see　the　suffering　among　the　brightness。　He　was　aware
of　some　limit　to　himself；　of　something　unformed　in　his　very
being；　of　some　buds　which　were　not　ripe　in　him；　some　folded
centres　of　darkness　which　would　never　develop　and　unfold　whilst
he　was　alive　in　the　body。　He　was　unready　for　fulfilment。
Something　undeveloped　in　him　limited　him；　there　was　a　darkness
in　him　which　he　could　not　unfold；　which　would　never
unfold　in　him。



CHAPTER　VIII

THE　CHILD

From　the　first；　the　baby　stirred　in　the　young　father　a
deep；　strong　emotion　he　dared　scarcely　acknowledge；　it　was　so
strong　and　came　out　of　the　dark　of　him。　When　he　heard　the　child
cry；　a　terror　possessed　him；　because　of　the　answering　echo　from
the　unfathomed　distances　in　himself。　Must　he　know　in　himself
such　distances；　perilous　and　imminent？

He　had　the　infant　in　his　arms；　he　walked　backwards　and
forwards　troubled　by　the　crying　of　his　own　flesh　and　blood。　This
was　his　own　flesh　and　blood　crying！　His　soul　rose　against　the
voice　suddenly　breaking　out　from　him；　from　the　distances　in
him。

Sometimes　in　the　night；　the　child　cried　and　cried；　when　the
night　was　heavy　and　sleep　oppressed　him。　And　half　asleep；　he
stretched　out　his　hand　to　put　it　over　the　baby's　face　to　stop
the　crying。　But　something　arrested　his　hand：　the　very
inhumanness　of　the　intolerable；　continuous　crying　arrested　him。
It　was　so　impersonal；　without　cause　or　object。　Yet　he　echoed　to
it　directly；　his　soul　answered　its　madness。　It　filled　him　with
terror；　almost　with　frenzy。

He　learned　to　acquiesce　to　this；　to　submit　to　the　awful；
obliterated　sources　which　were　the　origin　of　his　living　tissue。
He　was　not　what　he　conceived　himself　to　be！　Then　he　was　what　he
was；　unknown；　potent；　dark。

He　became　accustomed　to　the　child；　he　knew　how　to　lift　and
balance　the　little　body。　The　baby　had　a　beautiful；　rounded　head
that　moved　him　passionately。　He　would　have　fought　to　the　last
drop　to　defend　that　exquisite；　perfect　round　head。

He　learned　to　know　the　little　hands　and　feet；　the　strange；
unseeing；　goldenbrown　eyes；　the　mouth　that　opened　only　to　cry；
or　to　suck；　or　to　show　a　queer；　toothless　laugh。　He　could　almost
understand　even　the　dangling　legs；　which　at　first　had　created　in
him　a　feeling　of　aversion。　They　could　kick　in　their　queer　little
way；　they　had　their　own　softness。

One　evening；　suddenly；　he　saw　the　tiny；　living　thing　rolling
naked　in　the　mother's　lap；　and　he　was　sick；　it　was　so　utterly
helpless　and　vulnerable　and　extraneous；　in　a　world　of　hard
surfaces　and　varying　altitudes；　it　lay　vulnerable　and　naked　at
every　point。　Yet　it　was　quite　blithe。　And　yet；　in　its　blind；
awful　crying；　was　there　not　the　blind；　faroff　terror　of　its　own
vulnerable　nakedness；　the　terror　of　being　so　utterly　delivered
over；　helpless　at　every　point。　He