登陆注册
10485800000007

第7章 PASSENGERS

As the train rattled out of the cliff tunnel and emerged in a green tree-choked gorge, Iris glanced at her watch. According to the evidence of its hands, the Trieste express was not yet due at the village station.

"It must have stopped when I crashed," she decided. "Sweet luck. It might have lost me my train."

The reminder made her feel profoundly grateful to be actually on her way back to England. During the past twenty-four hours she had experienced more conflicting emotions than in a lifetime of easy circumstance and arrangement. She had known the terrifying helplessness of being friendless, sick, and penniless-with every wire cut. And then, at the worst, her luck had turned, as it always did.

From force of contrast the everyday business of transport was turned into a temporary rapture. Railway travel was no longer an infliction, only to be endured by the aid of such palliatives as reservations, flowers, fruit, chocolates, light literature, and a group of friends to shriek encouragement.

As she sat, jammed in an uncomfortable carriage, in a train which was not too clean, with little prospect of securing a wagon-lit at Trieste, she felt the thrill of a first journey.

The scenery preserved its barbarous character in rugged magnificence. The train threaded its way past piled-up chunks of disrupted landscape, like a Doré steel-engraving of Dante's Inferno. Waterfalls slashed the walls of granite precipices with silver-veining. Sometimes they passed arid patches, where dark pools, fringed with black-feathered rushes, lay in desolate hollows.

Iris gazed at it through the screen of the window-glad of the protective pane of glass. This grandeur was the wreckage of a world shattered by elemental force, and reminded her that she had just been bruised by her first contact with reality.

She still shrank from the memory of first facts, even although the nightmare railway station was the thick of the mountain away. Now that it was slipping farther behind the coils of the rails with every passing minute, she could dare to estimate the narrow margin by which she had escaped disaster.

Amid the crowd at the station there must have been a percentage of dishonest characters, ready to take advantage of the providential combination of an unconscious foreigner-who did not count-and an expensive handbag which promised a rich loot. Yet the little gnome-like porter chanced to be the man on the spot.

"Things always do turn out for me," she thought. "But-it must be appalling for some of the others."

It was the first time she had realised the fate of those unfortunates who had no squares in their palms. If there were a railway accident, she knew that she would be in the un-wrecked middle portion of the train, just as inevitably as certain other passengers were doomed to be in the telescoped coaches.

As she shuddered at the thought, she glanced idly at the woman who sat opposite to her. She was a negative type in every respect-middle-aged, with a huddle of small indefinite features, and vague colouring. Some one drew a face and then rubbed it nearly out again. Her curly hair was faded and her skin was bleached to oatmeal.

She was not sufficiently a caricature to suggest a stage spinster. Even her tweed suit and matching hat were not too dowdy, although lacking any distinctive note.

In ordinary circumstances, Iris would not have spared her a second glance or thought. Today, however, she gazed at her with compassion.

"If she were in a jam, no one would help her out," she thought.

It was discomforting to reflect that the population of the globe must include a percentage of persons without friends, money, or influence; nonentities who would never be missed, and who would sink without leaving a bubble.

To distract her thoughts, Iris tried to look at the scenery again. But the window was now blocked by passengers, who were unable to find seats, so stood in the corridor. For the first time, therefore, she made a deliberate survey of the other occupants of her compartment.

They were six in number-the proper quota-which she had increased to an illegal seven. Her side was occupied by a family party-two large parents and one small daughter of about twelve.

The father had a shaven head, a little waxed moustache, and several chins. His horn-rimmed glasses and comfortable air gave him the appearance of a prosperous citizen. His wife had an oiled straight black fringe, and bushy eyebrows which looked as though they had been corked. The child wore babyish socks, which did not match her adult expression. Her hair had apparently been set, after a permanent wave, for it was still secured with clips.

They all wore new and fashionable suits, which might have been inspired by a shorthand manual. The father wore stripes-the mother, spots-and the daughter, checks. Iris reflected idly that if they were broken up, and reassembled, in the general scramble, they might convey a message to the world in shorthand.

On the evidence, it would be a motto for the home, for they displayed a united spirit, as they shared a newspaper. The mother scanned the fashions; the little girl read the children's page; and from the closely-printed columns Iris guessed that the head of the family studied finance.

She looked away from them to the opposite side of the carriage. Sitting beside the tweed spinster was a fair pretty girl, who appeared to have modelled herself from the photograph of any blonde film actress. There were the same sleek waves of hair, the large blue eyes-with supplemented lashes, and the butterfly brows. Her cheeks were tinted and her lips painted to geranium bows.

In spite of the delicacy of her features, her beauty was lifeless and standardised. She wore a tight white suit, with a high black satin blouse, while her cap, gauntlet-gloves and bag were also black. She sat erect and motionless, holding a rigid pose, as though she were being photographed for a "still."

Although her figure was reduced almost to starvation-point, she encroached on the tweed spinster's corner, in order to leave a respectful gap between herself and the personage who had opposed Iris' entrance.

There was no doubt that this majestic lady belonged to the ruling classes. Her bagged eyes were fierce with pride, and her nose was an arrogant beak. Dressed and semi-veiled in heavy black, her enormous bulk occupied nearly half the seat.

To Iris' astonishment, she was regarding her with a fixed stare of hostility. It made her feel both guilty and self-conscious.

"I know I crashed the carriage," she thought. "But she's got plenty of room. Wish I could explain, for my own satisfaction."

Leaning forward, she spoke impulsively to the personage.

"Do you speak English?"

Apparently the question was an insult, for the lady closed her heavy lids with studied insolence, as though she could not endure a plebeian spectacle.

Iris bit her lip as she glanced at the other passengers. The family party kept their eyes fixed on their paper-the tweed spinster smoothed her skirt, the blonde beauty stared into space. Somehow, Iris received an impression that this well-bred unconsciousness was a tribute of respect to the personage.

"Is she the local equivalent to the sacred black bull?" she wondered angrily. "Can't any one speak until she does? Well, to me, she's nothing but a fat woman with horrible kid gloves."

She tried to hold on to her critical attitude, but in vain. An overpowering atmosphere of authority seemed to filtrate from the towering black figure.

Now that her excitement was wearing off, she began to feel the after-effects of her slight sunstroke. Her head ached and the back of her neck felt as stiff as though it had been reinforced by an iron rod. The symptoms warned her to be careful. With the threat of illness still hanging over her, she knew she should store up every scrap of nervous force, and not waste her reserves in fanciful dislikes.

Her resolution did not save her from increasing discomfort. The carriage seemed not only stuffy, but oppressive with the black widow's personality. Iris felt positive that she was a clotted mass of prejudices-an obstruction in the healthy life-stream of the community. Her type was always a clog on progress.

As her face grew damp, she looked toward the closed windows of the compartment. The corridor-end, where she sat, was too crowded to admit any of the outer air, so she struggled to her feet and caught the other strap.

"Do you mind?" she asked with stressed courtesy, hoping, from her intonation, that the other passengers would grasp the fact that she was asking their permission before letting down the glass.

As she expected, the man of the family party rose and took the strap from her. Instead of finishing the job, however, he glanced respectfully at the personage, as though she were sacrosanct, and then frowned at Iris, shaking his head the while.

Feeling furious at the opposition, Iris returned to her corner.

"I've got to take it," she thought. "Take it on the chin. I'm the outsider here."

It was another novel sensation for the most popular member of the crowd, to be in a minority. Besides having to endure the lack of ventilation, the inability to explain her actions, or express a wish, gave her the stunted sense of being deprived of two faculties-speech and hearing.

Presently the door was opened and a tall man squeezed into the carriage. Although she realised that her feelings had grown super-sensitive, Iris thought she had never seen a more repulsive face. He was pallid as potter's clay, with dead dark eyes, and a black spade beard.

He bowed to the personage and began to talk to her, standing the while. His story was evidently interesting, for Iris noticed that the other passengers, including the child, were all listening with close interest.

As he was speaking, his glasses flashed round the compartment, and finally rested on her. His glance was penetrating, yet impersonal, as though she were a specimen on a microscope-slide. Yet, somehow, she received the impression that she was not a welcome specimen, nor one that he had expected to see.

Stooping so that his lips were on a level with the personage's ear, he asked a low-toned question. She replied in a whisper, so that Iris was reminded of two blowflies buzzing in a bottle.

"Am I imagining things, or do these people really dislike me?" she wondered.

She knew that she was growing obsessed by this impression of a general and secret hostility. It was manifestly absurd, especially as the man with the black spade beard had not seen her before. She had merely inconvenienced some strangers, from whom she was divided by the barrier of language.

Shutting her eyes, she tried to forget the people in the carriage. Yet the presence of the man continued to affect her with discomfort. His white face seemed to break through her closed lids, and float in the air before her.

It was a great relief when the buzzing ceased and she heard him go out of the compartment. Directly he had left, she grew normal again, and was chiefly conscious of a very bad headache. The most important things in life were tea and cigarettes; yet she dared not smoke because of the threat of sickness, while tea seemed a feature of a lost civilisation.

The train was now rushing through a deserted country of rock and pine. The nearest reminder of habitation was an occasional castle of great antiquity, and usually in ruins. As she was gazing out at the fantastic scenery, an official poked his head in at the door and shouted something which sounded like blasphemy.

The other passengers listened in apathy, but Iris began to open her bag, in case tickets or passport were required. As she did so, she was amazed to hear a crisp English voice.

The tweed spinster had risen from her seat and was asking her a question.

"Are you coming to the restaurant-car to get tea?"

同类推荐
  • The Player
  • A Topps League Story

    A Topps League Story

    It's Chad's first spring as a batboy, and the Pine City Porcupines are hot—until they come up against the league-leading Heron Lake Humdingers. Now Chad's got a whole lineup of problems: his favorite player, shortstop Mike Stammer, thinks he's jinxed; Dylan, the other batboy, doesn't even like baseball; there's a goofy new porcupine mascot on the field; plus, Chad has to fill in as batboy for the Herons. It's a good thing there's something in the cards—his baseball cards, that is—that can help Chad sort it all out.
  • Cause to Save (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 5)

    Cause to Save (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 5)

    "A dynamic story line that grips from the first chapter and doesn't let go."--Midwest Book Review, Diane Donovan (regarding Once Gone)From #1 bestselling author Blake Pierce comes a new masterpiece of psychological suspense: CAUSE TO SAVE (An Avery Black Mystery—Book 5)—the final installment in the Avery Black series.In the epic finale of the Avery Black series, serial killer Howard Randall has escaped, and the entire city of Boston is on edge. Women are turning up gruesomely murdered, and everyone suspects Howard is at it again.When Boston's most brilliant and controversial homicide detective—Avery Black—is herself stalked—and when people close to her are brutally killed, one by one—it seems the city's worst fears are confirmed.But Avery is not so sure. The murders remind her of something she once saw in her past. They remind her of something too close to her heart—something that had to do with a secret she thought she had buried long ago….
  • When the Lights Went out
  • Life's a Bitch and Then You Change Careers
热门推荐
  • 风雨夜归人

    风雨夜归人

    忠臣义士,和帝王一样,最后都会陷入孤独。为了江山,许伯彦和李显都必须学会忍受,这无边无际的孤独……
  • 厨娘皇后

    厨娘皇后

    她胖胖多福,烧得一手好菜,却不想被人陷害,因祸得福变作俏佳人。他冷酷霸道,容颜绝世,对她亦是一见钟情。当圣旨突降,她被迫入宫,在权势与爱情面前,她背离情感。一场爱的争斗,一段爱的搁浅,一个并不绝世的灵性女子,在命运沉浮中演绎着一场至纯至性的情缘。--情节虚构,请勿模仿
  • 独断大明

    独断大明

    猪脚是明光宗第六子,他觉得不能让未来的崇祯皇帝朱由检做皇帝,于是,他在紫禁城里大喊了一声:我要做皇帝!新书:宋时风流,求支持~
  • 本草纲目(家庭健康生活)

    本草纲目(家庭健康生活)

    明代医学家李时珍穷毕生之力撰著的《本草纲目》是我国古代医学宝库中珍贵的科学遗产。它以精深的学术和丰富的内涵,赢得了国内外医学界和其他学术界的珍视,有“中国古代百科全书”之称,对治疗疾病和促进人类的健康起到了重大作用。
  • 契诃夫作品集:短篇小说·幽默小品

    契诃夫作品集:短篇小说·幽默小品

    本书是一本契诃夫早期短篇小说和幽默小品选集,译自1974-1983年莫斯科出版的《契诃夫作品和书信全集》第二卷《短篇小说幽默小品(1883-1884年)》。本书共有长短不一(从几十个字到上千字)的作品131篇。在契诃夫的早期创作中,幽默小品(包括诙谐、讽刺、嘲笑、批评揭露等“杂文”以及所谓“滑稽故事”等)占有很大的分量。不少作品,短小精悍,言简意赅。随着作者在思想上和艺术上(包括语言文字上)日趋成熟,作品的语言(特别是各色“杂文”的语言)有很大的进步:有的作品虽隐晦曲折,但言必有中;有的作品语言机智幽默,但直言不讳,以至酣畅淋漓。
  • 永世沉沦

    永世沉沦

    小时候家里很穷,父亲用纸给糊了个风筝,从天上下来的时候风筝却带着血……从那以后各种诡异无解的麻烦降临到我的头上,为了解决这一切,我走遍大江南北,踏入一个个那无人知晓的生命禁区,多年后我才明白,真正的可怕其实是人心,当汹涌的欲望与人性的丑恶交织在一起的时候。阴魂不散,永世沉沦。
  • 皇后有旨

    皇后有旨

    夏梵音一度觉得当公主是件很爽的事,只需要负责貌美如花,可是真的穿越后,她发现事情好像不太对劲??那一年,权倾天下的九千岁看上当朝最受宠的小公主,强势掠夺,整个皇室反抗无效。“本尊要的女人,谁敢说不?”“……”没人敢!梵音就这么被昔日的狗腿子们硬架着送给了死太监的房里。经年流转,九千岁荣登帝位,强势立她为后,“朕会对你负责的。”“你不举!”男人似笑非笑:“你放心。”那一晚,梵音的腰差点折了。………………梵音曾一度不解,这该死的男人明明是个太监,为什么总缠着她?直到后来每天每夜都腰酸背痛,她才明白这货根本就是个假太监!【男女双洁】
  • 国民老公的一亿宝妻

    国民老公的一亿宝妻

    十年的感情付出,抵不上一个富足的小三,什么同甘共苦的青梅竹马,全都见鬼去了。"你对我儿子来说,不仅没有用,而且是个包袱。你问问你自己能给我儿子什么呢?凭你们家那一点房子,听说还是小产权房?"前竹马的母亲,本来是她顾暖的未来婆婆,突然翻脸不认人了。顾暖知道,一千万,如果不让人彻底变性,不叫做一千万了。不过,TMD的,你儿子这种渣能值一千万?一千万就得瑟的人,让那些亿万富豪情何以堪。要是她顾暖将来嫁个亿万富豪,这对母子岂不是得去跳河?*首富的儿子,地产大亨的独生子,亿万家产的继承人,娱乐界贵人圈里处于风口浪尖的一代,有着典型富二代的本钱,却同时被誉为富人区中最奇特的怪人。有人把他形容为最致命的一朵罂粟。因为他提出的征婚条件是:"零家产。嫁给我的女人必须是零家产。我不需要她用钱养我,我的钱永远比她多。离婚的时候,也不用担心财产分割的问题,让她净身出户,没有人会说一句非议。"问及什么叫做婚姻,他更是挑挑眉头:"婚姻从来都是爱情的坟墓。你问的是不是笑话?"坦率、直白、一言一行永远出人意料。有人把他干脆叫做渣。可就是这样一个貌似是渣的坏男人代表,让每个女人都想嫁他这样的男人,国民老公的称号不胫而走。男人不坏,女人不爱。当有个女人嫁给他时,所有人都说,这个女人肯定是个无恶不作想巴结他的坏女人。"听说萧先生结婚了,大家都很好奇,萧太太是个什么样的人。""你说我太太是什么样的人?如今,我太太的风头都盖过我了。"薄如刀裁的唇角薄然一笑。"怎么说呢?每个人都知道她听不见,所以干脆当着她的面说她的坏话,打算对她做的坏事都一并说了出来。"主持人:。。。。。。女人不坏,男人不爱。一个坏男人加一个坏女人的故事。
  • 快递王朝:奸商皇后

    快递王朝:奸商皇后

    苏半梦在皇宴之上被三皇子当众退婚,羞辱难忍的她一头撞死在了桌角,大难不死的她醒来之后伶牙俐齿,怒斥嚣张跋扈的三皇子和白莲花姐姐。此苏半梦已非彼苏半梦。看一个懦弱古代女如何摇身一变成为传奇女枭雄!辣手摧残白莲花,脚踹无品渣男,坐拥天下美男!【情节虚构,请勿模仿】
  • 生命的写照

    生命的写照

    在明长城脚下盐池西部,有一座古老的惠安堡镇——那是父亲出生的地方。据说奶奶刚生下他时就得了一场大病……我爷马真奇为了挽救大人的性命,只好下狠心把孩子送到北边五十里外的海子井山庄,给一户有钱的人家马吉遥当了儿子。九岁上就学会了放羊。民国年间,马吉遥老爷子是这个村落的甲长。光娶老婆就是四个。我的母亲马富英就是他第四个老婆从山西林河农场带过来的丫头。后来由于老爷子的专横跋扈,四奶奶被迫在一个漆黑的夜晚跟着来海子湖驮盐的骆驼队离家逃走了,从此就再也没有回来……