Chapter 19
At first Philip had been too grateful for Rose’s friendship to make any demands on him. He took things as they came and enjoyed life. But presently he began to resent Rose’s universal amiability; he wanted a more exclusive attachment, and he claimed as a right what before he had accepted as a favour. He watched jealously Rose’s companionship with others; and though he knew it was unreasonable could not help sometimes saying bitter things to him. If Rose spent an hour playing the fool in another study, Philip would receive him when he returned to his own with a sullen frown. He would sulk for a day, and he suffered more because Rose either did not notice his ill-humour or deliberately ignored it. Not seldom Philip, knowing all the time how stupid he was, would force a quarrel, and they would not speak to one another for a couple of days. But Philip could not bear to be angry with him long, and even when convinced that he was in the right, would apologise humbly. Then for a week they would be as great friends as ever. But the best was over, and Philip could see that Rose often walked with him merely from old habit or from fear of his anger; they had not so much to say to one another as at first, and Rose was often bored. Philip felt that his lameness began to irritate him.
Towards the end of the term two or three boys caught scarlet fever, and there was much talk of sending them all home in order to escape an epidemic; but the sufferers were isolated, and since no more were attacked it was supposed that the outbreak was stopped. One of the stricken was Philip. He remained in hospital through the Easter holidays, and at the beginning of the summer term was sent home to the vicarage to get a little fresh air. The Vicar, notwithstanding medical assurance that the boy was no longer infectious, received him with suspicion; he thought it very inconsiderate of the doctor to suggest that his nephew’s convalescence should be spent by the seaside, and consented to have him in the house only because there was nowhere else he could go.
Philip went back to school at half-term. He had forgotten the quarrels he had had with Rose, but remembered only that he was his greatest friend. He knew that he had been silly. He made up his mind to be more reasonable. During his illness Rose had sent him in a couple of little notes, and he had ended each with the words: ‘Hurry up and come back.’ Philip thought Rose must be looking forward as much to his return as he was himself to seeing Rose.
He found that owing to the death from scarlet fever of one of the boys in the Sixth there had been some shifting in the studies and Rose was no longer in his. It was a bitter disappointment. But as soon as he arrived he burst into Rose’s study. Rose was sitting at his desk, working with a boy called Hunter, and turned round crossly as Philip came in.
‘Who the devil’s that?’ he cried. And then, seeing Philip: ‘Oh, it’s you.’
Philip stopped in embarrassment.
‘I thought I’d come in and see how you were.’
‘We were just working.’
Hunter broke into the conversation.
‘When did you get back?’
‘Five minutes ago.’
They sat and looked at him as though he was disturbing them. They evidently expected him to go quickly. Philip reddened.
‘I’ll be off. You might look in when you’ve done,’ he said to Rose.
‘All right.’
Philip closed the door behind him and limped back to his own study. He felt frightfully hurt. Rose, far from seeming glad to see him, had looked almost put out. They might never have been more than acquaintances. Though he waited in his study, not leaving it for a moment in case just then Rose should come, his friend never appeared; and next morning when he went in to prayers he saw Rose and Hunter singing along arm in arm. What he could not see for himself others told him. He had forgotten that three months is a long time in a schoolboy’s life, and though he had passed them in solitude Rose had lived in the world. Hunter had stepped into the vacant place. Philip found that Rose was quietly avoiding him. But he was not the boy to accept a situation without putting it into words; he waited till he was sure Rose was alone in his study and went in.
‘May I come in?’ he asked.
Rose looked at him with an embarrassment that made him angry with Philip.
‘Yes, if you want to.’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ said Philip sarcastically.
‘What d’you want?’
‘I say, why have you been so rotten since I came back?’
‘Oh, don’t be an ass,’ said Rose.
‘I don’t know what you see in Hunter.’
‘That’s my business.’
Philip looked down. He could not bring himself to say what was in his heart. He was afraid of humiliating himself. Rose got up.
‘I’ve got to go to the Gym,’ he said.
When he was at the door Philip forced himself to speak.
‘I say, Rose, don’t be a perfect beast.’
‘Oh, go to hell.’
Rose slammed the door behind him and left Philip alone. Philip shivered with rage. He went back to his study and turned the conversation over in his mind. He hated Rose now, he wanted to hurt him, he thought of biting things he might have said to him. He brooded over the end to their friendship and fancied that others were talking of it. In his sensitiveness he saw sneers and wonderings in other fellows’ manner when they were not bothering their heads with him at all. He imagined to himself what they were saying.
‘After all, it wasn’t likely to last long. I wonder he ever stuck Carey at all. Blighter!’
To show his indifference he struck up a violent friendship with a boy called Sharp whom he hated and despised. He was a London boy, with a loutish air, a heavy fellow with the beginnings of a moustache on his lip and bushy eyebrows that joined one another across the bridge of his nose. He had soft hands and manners too suave for his years. He spoke with the suspicion of a cockney accent. He was one of those boys who are too slack to play games, and he exercised great ingenuity in making excuses to avoid such as were compulsory. He was regarded by boys and masters with a vague dislike, and it was from arrogance that Philip now sought his society. Sharp in a couple of terms was going to Germany for a year. He hated school, which he looked upon as an indignity to be endured till he was old enough to go out into the world. London was all he cared for, and he had many stories to tell of his doings there during the holidays. From his conversation—he spoke in a soft, deep-toned voice—there emerged the vague rumour of the London streets by night. Philip listened to him at once fascinated and repelled. With his vivid fancy he seemed to see the surging throng round the pit-door of theatres, and the glitter of cheap restaurants, bars where men, half drunk, sat on high stools talking with barmaids; and under the street lamps the mysterious passing of dark crowds bent upon pleasure. Sharp lent him cheap novels from Holywell Row, which Philip read in his cubicle with a sort of wonderful fear.
Once Rose tried to effect a reconciliation. He was a good-natured fellow, who did not like having enemies.
‘I say, Carey, why are you being such a silly ass? It doesn’t do you any good cutting me and all that.’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ answered Philip.
‘Well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t talk.’
‘You bore me,’ said Philip.
‘Please yourself.’
Rose shrugged his shoulders and left him. Philip was very white, as he always became when he was moved, and his heart beat violently. When Rose went away he felt suddenly sick with misery. He did not know why he had answered in that fashion. He would have given anything to be friends with Rose. He hated to have quarrelled with him, and now that he saw he had given him pain he was very sorry. But at the moment he had not been master of himself. It seemed that some devil had seized him, forcing him to say bitter things against his will, even though at the time he wanted to shake hands with Rose and meet him more than halfway. The desire to wound had been too strong for him. He had wanted to revenge himself for the pain and the humiliation he had endured. It was pride: it was folly too, for he knew that Rose would not care at all, while he would suffer bitterly. The thought came to him that he would go to Rose, and say:
‘I say, I’m sorry I was such a beast. I couldn’t help it. Let’s make it up.’
But he knew he would never be able to do it. He was afraid that Rose would sneer at him. He was angry with himself, and when Sharp came in a little while afterwards he seized upon the first opportunity to quarrel with him. Philip had a fiendish instinct for discovering other people’s raw spots, and was able to say things that rankled because they were true. But Sharp had the last word.
‘I heard Rose talking about you to Mellor just now,’ he said. ‘Mellor said: Why didn’t you kick him? It would teach him manners. And Rose said: I didn’t like to. Damned cripple.’
Philip suddenly became scarlet. He could not answer, for there was a lump in his throat that almost choked him.
第十九章
起初，菲利普对罗斯向他表示的友情简直是感激涕零，从不对他提出任何要求。他一切听其自然，倒也过得很快活。但是时隔不久，他看到罗斯在任何人面前都那么和蔼可亲，开始忿忿不满起来，他要求的是一种专一笃实的情谊，过去作为恩惠接受下来的东西，现在却视为非我莫属了。他用妒忌的眼光注视着罗斯同别的孩子交往，尽管自知理亏，可有时还是忍不住要挖苦罗斯几句。要是罗斯在别人书室里消磨了个把小时，那么等他回到自己书室时，菲利普就皱眉蹙额给他看冷脸子。他常常一整天闷闷不乐；而罗斯呢，不是没有注意到他在耍脾气，就是故意不加理会，这就使菲利普倍觉伤心。他明明知道自己傻透了，但还是不止一次地同罗斯寻衅吵架，接着两人一连几天不讲话。然而翻脸的时间一长，菲利普又熬不住了，即使有时相信自己没错，也还是低声下气地向罗斯赔礼道歉。后来他们又言归于好，像过去一样亲密无间地好了一个星期。但是，友谊的黄金时代已去而返，菲利普看得出来，罗斯同他一起散步，往往是出于固有的习惯，或者是怕他发脾气；他们已不像当初那般情投意合，无话不谈。罗斯常常感到不胜厌烦。菲利普感觉得到，自己的瘸腿开始惹罗斯讨厌了。
学期快结束时，有两三个学生染上了猩红热。学校里一时议论纷纷，要求把他们送回家去，免得疫病传播开来。结果患者给隔离了起来，后来也没有学生再被感染上，大家这才放了心。一场时疫总算及时制止住了。菲利普是猩红热患者之一，整个复活节假期都是在医院里度过的。夏季学明开始时，他被送回牧师公馆疗养，透透新鲜空气。虽然医生打了包票，说菲利普的病已过了传染期，但牧师仍疑虑重重，认为医生建议他侄子到海边来疗养实属考虑不周，而他同意菲利普回家来，也是出于无奈，因为实在没有别的地方好送他去。
菲利普过了半个学期才回到学校。他已经把同罗斯口角争吵的事儿忘了，只记得罗斯是他的莫逆之交。他明白自己过去太傻了，决心以后要通情达理些。在他养病期间，罗斯曾寄来过几封短信，在每封信的结尾处，都祝他"早日康复返校"。菲利普想，罗斯一定在盼着他归来，其心情之迫切，就像自己想见到罗斯一样。
菲利普得知，由于六年级有个学生死于猩红热，书室已作了一些调整，罗斯边不再同他住在一块了。多扫兴！菲利普一到学校，直奔罗斯的书室，径自闯了进去。罗斯正坐在书桌旁，同一个名叫亨特的同学一道做功课。菲利普进门时，罗斯倏地转过身来。
"是哪个冒失鬼？"他大喝一声，然后定睛一看，"哟，原来是你啊。"
菲利普尴尬地收住脚步。
"我想进来瞧瞧你身体可好。"
"我们正在做功课哪。"
亨特从旁插了一句。
"你什么时候回来的？"
"才一回来五分钟。"
他们端坐不动，只是盯着他望，似乎嫌他来得不是时候。显然，他们巴不得菲利普快点走开。菲利普飞红了脸。
"我这就走。你做完了功课，是不是请到我房问来坐坐，"他朝罗斯说。
"好的。"
菲利普随手带上了门，一瘸一拐地朝自己书室走去。他好不伤心。罗斯见到自己，非但一点儿也不感到高兴，反而面现愠色，似乎他俩一向不过是泛泛之交罢了。他守在自己书室里，一步也不敢离开，生怕罗斯正巧这时来找他，不料他那位朋友始终没露面。第二天早上，他刚开始做晨祷，只见罗斯同亨特勾肩搭背，大摇大摆走了过去。别人把他走后的情形，一五一十地说给他听。菲利普忘了，在一个人的学生时代，三个月的时光。可不能算短哪。在这段时间里，他离群索居，养病在家，而罗斯却是生活在熙熙攘攘的人世之中。亨特正好填补了这个空缺。菲利普发觉罗斯一直在悄悄地回避自己。然而菲利普叶不是那种遇事迁就，有话也任其憋在肚子里的孩子；他在等待机会，等到确信只有罗斯一个人呆在书室里毕的时候，他走了进去。
"可以进来吗？"他问。
罗斯瞪着眼，尴尬之余不禁迁怒于菲利普。
"嗯，随你的便。"
"那就多谢您罗！"菲利普语中带刺地说。
"你来有何贵于？"
"听我说，打我回来后，你干吗变得这么窝囊？"
"噢，别说蠢话了，"罗斯说。
"真不懂你看上了亨特哪一点。"
"这你可管不着。"
菲利普垂下眼睑，满肚子的话却不知从何说起。他怕失言丢丑。罗斯站起身来。
"飞得上健身房去了，"他说。
他昂首阔步走到门口时，菲利普硬从喉咙日挤出一句话来：
"听我说，罗斯，别那么不讲情义。"
"哼，去你的吧。"
罗斯砰地一声把门带上，任菲利普一个人留在房里。菲利普气得浑身直哆嗦。他跑回自己的书室，脑子里反复回想着刚才的一席话。他现在恨罗斯，一定要设法报复，也让他难受难受，又想到刚才原可以说点什么挖苦他一下。菲利普沮丧地暗自嘀咕，这场情谊就此告吹啦，不知旁人会在背后怎么风言风语呢。他出于神经过敏，似乎在其他同学的言谈举止中看到了各种嘲讽和诧异的表示，其实他们才不把他放在心里呢。他想象着别人在怎么私下议论这件事。
"毕竟是好景不长嘛。真不知道他怎么会和凯里好上的，那么个讨厌家伙！"
为了显得白己对这事满不在乎，菲利普突然同一个自己一向讨厌而且瞧不起的同学打得火热。这同学叫夏普，是从伦敦来的，一副粗俗相：矮胖个儿，嘴唇上盖着一层刚长出来的绒髭，两道浓眉在鼻梁上方合到了一块。一双软绵绵的手，举止斯文得同他的年龄不相称。说起话来，带点儿伦敦土腔。他是属于行动过于迟钝而干脆什么游戏也不参加的那类学生，为了逃避学校规定必须参加的活动项目，他还挖空心思编造些借口来。同学和教师对他总隐隐有种厌恶之感。而菲利普现在主动同他结交，纯粹是出于牛心眼赌气。再过两个学期，夏普将要去德国，在那儿呆上一年。他讨厌上学，把求学念书看作是有失体面的苦差事，而在长大成人踏入社会之前又非得忍受不可。除了伦敦之外，他对什么也不感兴趣，而关于自己假期里在伦敦的活动，他有一肚子的故事好讲。他说起话来柔声细气，喉音低沉，言谈里似乎萦绕着伦敦街头夜生活的袅袅余音。菲利普听了既心荡神迷，又不胜厌恶。凭着他活跃的想象力，菲利普恍惚看到了剧院正厅门周围蜂拥的人流；看到了低级餐馆和酒吧间里的炫目灯；光，一些似醉非醉的汉子坐在高脚凳上，同侍女们搭讪攀谈；看到了路灯下影影绰绰的人群，神秘莫测地来来往往，一心想寻欢作乐。夏普把一些从霍利韦尔街买来的廉价小说借给菲利普，菲利普便一头躲进斗室，怀着某种奇妙的恐惧看了起来。
有一回，罗斯试图同菲利普言归于好。他性情温和，不喜欢结冤树敌。
"我说，凯里，你发这么大的傻劲，何苦来着？你不理睬我，对你自己又有什么好处呢？"
"我不明白你的意思，"菲利普回答道。
"嗯，我是说，咱俩何必连句话也不讲呢？"
"你使我讨厌。"
"那就请便吧。"
罗斯一耸肩，转身走开了。菲利普脸色煞白--每当他感情冲动时总是这样--心儿怦怦直跳。罗斯走后，他突然感到悲痛欲绝。他不明白自己干吗要那样回答罗斯。只要能同罗斯重归于好，他付愿牺牲一切。地怨恨自己刚才和罗斯发生了口角；看到自己给罗斯带来了痛苦，他感到十分内疚。但是在那当口上，他实在控制不了自己，就像魔鬼缠身似的，冲口说了些违心的刻薄话，其实，即使此时此刻，他何尝不想主动找上门去，同罗斯握手言欢。然而，他雪耻泄恨的欲望实在太强烈了。他一直想为自己所忍受的痛苦和屈辱找机会报复一下。这是自尊心在作怪，而这种做法又是多么愚蠢，因为他明知罗斯根本不会把这放在心上，自己反倒要为此备受折磨。他脑子里忽然闪过这样一个念头：去找罗斯，对他说：
"喂，对不起，我刚才太蛮不讲理了。我也实在没法子。让咱俩不记前隙，和好吧。"
然而他知道，自己说什么也不会这么干的。他怕招罗斯耻笑。他不由得生起自己的气来。不一会儿，夏普走了进来，菲利普一找到个碴儿就同他吵了一架。他具有一种揭别人伤疤的残忍本能，而且往往也因其一针见血而特别招人怨恨。可是这回，亮出致命绝招的却是夏普。
"嘿，我刚才听到罗斯同梅勒讲到你啦，"夏普说。"梅勒说：'那你干吗不飞腿给他一脚？这可以教训教训他，让他懂点规矩嘛！'罗斯说：'我才不屑这么干呢。该死的瘸子！'"
菲利普蓦地涨红脸，半晌回不出一句话来，喉咙口哽住了，几乎连气也透不过来。