jeremy-第19节
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Nails…in…Cove with its coloured rocks and sparkling shells。 Every
child had his own place; my place was; like Jeremy's; Rafiel; and a
better; more beautiful place; in the whole world you will not find。
And each place has its own legend: at Rafiel the Gold lured Pirates;
and the Turnip… Field; at Polwint the Giant Excise Man; at Borhaze
the Smugglers of Trezent Rock; at St。 Borse the wreck of 〃The Golden
Galleon〃 in the year 1563; with its wonderful treasure; and at St。
Maitsin Cove the famous Witch of St。 Maitsin Church Town who turned
men's bones into water and filled St。 Maitsin Church with snakes。
Back from one summer holiday; treasuring these stories together with
our collections of shells and seaweed and dried flowers; we came;
and so the tales settled in Polchester streets and crept into the
heart of the Polchester cobbles and haunted the Polchester corners
by the fire; and even invaded with their romantic; peering;
mischievous faces the solemn aisles of the Cathedral itself。
The sea was at the heart of all of them; and whenever a sea…breeze
blew down the street carrying with it wisps of straw from the field;
or dandelion seeds; or smell of sea… pinks; we children lifted our
noses and sniffed and sniffed and saw the waves curl in across the
shore; or breakers burst upon the rock; and whispered to one another
of the Smugglers of Trezent or the Gold…laced Pirates of Rafiel。
But I think that none of us adored the sea as Jeremy did。 From that
first moment when; as a small baby; he had been held up in Rafiel
Cove to see the tops of the waves catch the morning light as they
rolled over to shore; he had adored it。 He had never felt any fear
of it; he had been able to swim since he could remember; and he
simply lived for those days at the end of July when they would all;
in a frantic hurry and confusion; take the train for Rafiel and
arrive at Cow Farm in the evening; with the roar of the sea coming
across the quiet fields to mingle with the lowing of the cows and
the bleating of the sheep。 He had in his bedroom a wonderful
collection of dusty and sticky sea…shells; and these he would turn
over and over; letting them run through his fingers as a miner
counts his gold。
Let him catch the faintest glimpse of a shadow of a sailor in the
street and he was after it; and he had once; when he was only four
or five; been caught by the terrified Jampot; only just in time;
walking away confidently down the market…place; his hand in the huge
grasp of a villainous looking mariner。 He was exceedingly happy in
his home; but he did often wonder whether he would not run away to
sea; of course; he was going to be a sailor; but it seemed so long
to wait until he was thirteen or fourteen; and there was the sea all
the time rolling in and out and inviting him to come。
Mrs。 Cole warned Miss Jones of this taste of Jeremy's: 〃Never let
him speak to a sailor; Miss Jones。 There are some horrible men in
the town; and Jeremy simply is not to be trusted when sailors are
concerned。〃
Miss Jones; however; could not be always on her guard; and Fate is
stronger than any governess。 。 。
Early in February there came one of those hints of spring that in
Glebeshire more than in any other place in the world thrill and stir
the heart。 Generally they give very little in actual reward and are
followed by weeks of hail and sleet and wind; but for that reason
alone their burning promise is beyond all other promises beguiling。
Jeremy got up one morning to feel that somewhere behind the thick
wet mists of the early hours there was a blazing sun。 After
breakfast; opening the window and leaning out; he could see the
leaves of the garden still shining with their early glitter and the
earth channelled into fissures and breaks; dark and hard under the
silver…threaded frost; beneath the rind of the soil he could feel
the pushing; heaving life struggling to answer the call of the sun
above it。 Far down the road towards the Orchards a dim veil of gold
was spreading behind the walls of mist; the sparrows on the almond
tree near his window chattered like the girls of the High School;
and blue shadows stole into the dim grey sky; just as light breaks
upon an early morning sea; the air was warm behind the outer wall of
the frosty morning; and the faint gold of the first crocus beneath
the garden wall near the pantry door; where always the first
crocuses came; caught his eye。 Even as he watched the sun burst the
mist; the trees changed from dim grey to sharp black; the blue
flooded the sky; and the Cathedral beyond the trees shone like a
house of crystal。
All this meant spring; and spring meant hunting for snowdrops in the
Meads。 Jeremy informed Miss Jones; and Miss Jones was; of course;
agreeable。 They would walk that way after luncheon。
The Meads fall in a broad green slope from the old Cathedral
battlement down to the River Pol。 Their long stretches of meadow are
scattered with trees; some of the oldest oaks in Glebeshire; and
they are finally bounded by the winding path of the Rope Walk that
skirts the river bank。 Along the Rope Walk in March and April the
daffodils first; and the primroses afterwards; are so thick that;
from the Cathedral walls; the Rope Walk looks as though it wandered
between pools and lakes of gold。 In the Orchards on the hill also
they run like rivers。
Upon this afternoon there were only the trees; faintly pink; along
the river and the wide unbroken carpet of green。 Miss Jones walked
up and down the Rope Walk; whilst Mary told her an endless and
exceedingly confused story that had begun more than a week ago and
had reached by now such a state of 〃To be continued in our next〃
that Miss Jones had only the vaguest idea of what it was all about。
Her mind therefore wandered; as indeed; did always the minds of
Mary's audiences; and Mary never noticed but stared with the rapt
gaze of the creator through her enormous glasses; out into an
enchanted world of golden princesses; white elephants and ropes and
ropes of rubies。 Miss Jones meanwhile thought of her young days; her
illnesses and a certain hat that she had seen in Thornley's windows
in the High Street。 Jeremy; attended by Hamlet; hunted amongst the
trees for snowdrops。
Hamlet had been worried ever since he could remember by a theory
about rabbits。 He had been told; of course; about rabbits by his
parents; and it had even been suggested to him that he would be a
mighty hunter of the same when he grew to a certain age。 He had now
reached that age; but never a rabbit as yet had he encountered。 He
might even have concluded that the whole Rabbit story was a myth and
a legend were it not that certain scents and odours were for ever
tantalising his nose that could; his instinct told him; mean Rabbit
and only Rabbit。 These scents met him at the most tantalising times;
pulling him this way and that; exciting the wildest hopes in him;
afterwards condemned to sterility; as ghosts haunt the convinced and
trusting spiritualist; so did rabbits haunt Hamlet。 He dreamt of
Rabbits at night; he tasted Rabbits in his food; he saw them scale
the air and swim the streamnow; he was close on their trail; now
he had them round that tree; up that hill; down that hole 。 。 。
sitting tranquilly in front of the schoolroom fire he would scent
them; always they eluded him; laughed at him; mocked him with their
stumpy tails。 They were rapidly becoming the obsession of his nights
and days。
Upon this afternoon the air was full of Rabbit。 The Meads seemed to
breathe Rabbit。 He left his master; rushed hither and thither;
barked and whined; scratched the soil; ran round the trees; lay
cautiously motionless waiting for his foes; and now and then sat and
laughed at himself for a ludicrous rabbit…bemused idiot。 He had a
delightful afternoon。 。 。
Jeremy then was left entirely to himself and wandered about; looking
for snowdrops under the trees; talking to himself; lost in a chain
of ideas that included food and the sea and catapults and a sore
finger and what school would be like and whether he could knock down
the Dean's youngest; Ernest; whom he hated without knowing why。
He was lost in these thoughts; and had indeed wandered almost into
the little wood that lies at the foot of the Orchards; when he heard
a deep rich voice say:
〃I suppose you 'aven't such a thing as a match upon you anywhere;
young gentleman?〃
He liked to be asked for a match; a manly thing to be supposed to
possess; but; of course; he hadn't one; owing to the stupidity of
elderly relations; so he looked up and said politely: 〃No; I'm
afraid I haven't。〃 Then how his heart whacked beneath his waistcoat!
There; standing in front of him; was the very figure of his dreams!
Looking down upon Jeremy was a gentleman of middle…age whom
experienced men of the world would have most certainly described as
〃seedy。〃
Jeremy did not see his 〃seediness。〃 He saw first his face; which was
of a deep brown copper colour; turning here and there to a handsome
purple; ill…shaved; perhaps; but with a fine round nose and a large
smiling mouth。 He saw black curling hair and a yachting cap; faded
this last and the white of it a dirty grey but set on