UNCOLLECTED STORIES-The Scarlet House-1

  Iremember,Idbeenwatgahawk.Therewasanimmenseskyofthemostiblue,blueofabowlfromwhichachildmightjusthavedrunkitsmmilkabehindafewwhitishtracesofcloudaroundtherim,and,imprihissky,asinglepointofperfectstillness--ahawkovertheruins.Ahawksostillheseemedthetralheskyandthesourceoftheheavysilencewhichfelldownontheruinslikeinvisiblerain;animmobilehawksohighabovetheturningworldthatIwassurehewouldseeahalfrotatinghemispherebelowhim;and,overthishemisphere,scamperedtheplumpvoleordeliciousbunnythatdidnotknowithadbeenpinionedalreadybytheeyebeamofitsfeathered,taloeimmiintheair.M,silence,ahawk,hispreyandruins.IfItryveryhard,Ialsoaddtothislandscapewithmylittletent,myhalf-trad,piecebypiece,allmynaturalistsequipment...Imusthavegoocollectsamplesofthedesolatefloraofthisemptyplace.Abovethegreenabandoofthedesertedcity,wherethelittlefoxesplayed,arapthawkgatheredtohimselfallitshauillness.

  Hawkplummets.HesunpremeditatedandpreciseasZenswordsmen,hisfallsubsumedtotheaerialwhizzoftheropethattrapsme.

  Iamsureofit--beatmeasmuchasyoulike;Irememberitperfectly.DontI?

  Thetsitsinahallhungwithembroideriesdepigallthehierarchyofhell,aplace,heclaims,notuheScarletHouse.Soon,everywherewillbeliketheScarletHouse.Chaosising,saysthet,andgiggles;thetendsallhisletters"yoursentropically"andsighthepeacocksquilldippedinthebloodofahumansacrifice.Whydidyouetotheseabandions,mydear,surelyyoudheardrumoursthatIandmyfabulousretinuehadalreadyinstalledourselvesintheruins,preparingchaoswiththeaidofaTarotpack?

  ButIhadnonotionwhothetwaswhenhisbodyguardcapturedme.TheystoodaroundmeasIwrithedonthegroundandtheyshowedtheirfangsatme;theyallfiletheirestoapoint,itisasignofmachismoamoheyworejacketsofblackleatherbrightlystuddedwithcabbalisticpatterns;tallboots;snugleggingsofblackleather;andslickblackhelmetsthatfittedcloselyovertheheadahemouth,too,leavingonlytheirpaleeyesvisible.Theireyesglitteredlikepebblesinabrook.Theywerearmedwithhand-gunsandtheirbeltsbristledwithknives.Eachcarriedacoilofrope.Asilencesoperfectthatitmightneverhavebeenbrokenresumeditselfafterthehawkfell.

  Theyhauledmeoffattheendoftheropetheytiedtothebackofoheirmotorcyclesandmademerun,tumble,bouncebehindthemonmywaytotheScarletHouse,thoughImustadmittheydrovequiteslowly,soIwasnotmujured.TheScarletHousewasbuiltofwhitecreteandlookedtomeverymuchlikeahospital,alargeterminalward.Afewdaysihere,andthegravelrash,thegrazesandbruiseshealed.

  Iremembereverythingperfectly.Iknowtherui;atnights,IhearthefoxesbarkinginNewBondStreet.Thatsoundfirmstheexisteheruinsthough,ofcourse,Iseenothingfromthewindows.

  Meanwhile,inthisblindplace,thetsultsmapsofthestarswiththeaidofhisadviser,whosegeneralefficyishiheepilepticfitswithwhichheisafflicted.Thoughatthebestoftimeshiswitsareoutoforder;hedrools,too.Hisstar-spangledrobesaredabbledwithspittleandspilledfoodandotherrandomlyspatteredbodilyeffluvia,forhesquiteshamelessinhisoddlittlelustsandpleasuresandthetletshimindulgethemall.Hesthelisedfoolandmayevenpullouthispridplaywithitatmealtimes,aideyouifyouflinoneofhisrandomdisplaysofslaffe,forthatsasuresignyouarentihchaos.ButImnotsureifhesafoolallthetime;sometimeshiseyesfoewiththeassessingglintofaused-cardealer.ThenIamafraidhemaybewwhatIremember.

  Whenhesbeenagoodfoolandmadethetchuckle,thettellsMadameSchrecktogivehimaccesstooheyouofthegirls.TherearegirlsasyoungastwelveorthirteenandFoollikeshiswomenjustoutoftheshell.TheFooltakeshispresentdowntothedungeoseeheragain.

  ButwasshenotalmostasgoodasdeadthemomefootiheScarletHouse?Themomentofcapturehadsealedherfate.

  Asformyself,IamsureIturedbythebikers,intheruins.IamperfectlyfidentthatishowIcametotheScarletHouse.Yetthetassuresme,withequal,ifnotsuperiorfidehatIammistaken,sothatIamnotsurewhichofustobelieve.

  Thetisdedicatedtotheobliterationofmemory.

  Memory,saysthet,isthemaindiffereweenmanandthebeasts;thebeastswereborntolivebutmanwasborntoremember.Outofhismemory,hemadeabstractpatternsofsignifitforms.Memoryisthegridofmeaningweimposeontherandomandbewilderingfluxoftheworld.Memoryisthelinewepayoutbehindusaswetravelthroughtime--itistheclue,likeAriadnes,whichmeanswedonotloseourway.Memoryisthelassowithwhichturethepastandhaulitfromchaostowardsusinnicelyorderedsequences,likethoseofbaroquekeyboardmusic.Thetgrimaceswhenhesaysthatbecausehehatesmusimorethathehatesmathematicsbuthelovestolistentoscreaming."Theentropicrhetoricofthescream",hecallsit.MadameSchreckscreechesforhimsometimesatnight,toaugmenthispleasureifwegirlshavescreamedourselveshoarseandakeanymorenoise.

  Memory,inofnarrative;memory,barrieragainstoblivion;memory,repositoryofmybeing,thosedelicatefilamentsofmyselfIweave,ioaspiderswebtocatchasmuchworldinitasI.Inthemidstofmyself-spuhereIsit,intheserenityofmyself-possession.OrsoIwould,ifIcould.

  Becausemymemoryisundergoingasea-ge.ThoughIamcertainIremember,IamnolongersurewhatitisIremembernor,ihereasonwhyIshouldrememberit.

  Everyday,thetattemptstoerasethetapesfrommymemory.Hehasperfectedaplexsystemetting.AlthoughIpassionatelyasserthowIwasseizedbythebikersintheruinsofNewBondStreet,Iknowthisassertionisnomorethanmylast,paltrylineofdefenceagainsttheobliterationsofthet.Hehasalreadyimplantediofpseudo-memories,allofwhietimesplayiogether,throwioadreadfulfusionsothat,thoughIremembereverything,Ihavenomeansofascertainiualityofthosememories,whichallreturhshimmeringvividnessandasenseoflivedandquantifiedexperience.Allofthem.

  Deargod,allofthem.

  Rememberingisthefirststageofabsolutefetfulness,saystheoccultt,whogoesbytraries.SoIhavebeenprecipitatedintoafugueofallthememoriesofallthewomenintheScarletHouse,whereIlive,now.Thisishisharem.WeareleftinthecrueladameSchreck,whoeatssmallbirdssuchasfig-peckersandthrushes;sheputsawholeone,spit-grilled,inte,redmouthaslusciouslyasifitwerealiqueurchocolateandthestheboliketheskinandpipsofagrape.Aother,extravaganttastesaswell;shelikesteupontheunbornyoungofrabbits.Sheacquiresthefoetusesfromlaboratories;shehasthemcookedforherinacreamsaurichedwiththeadditionoftheyolkofanegg.Shesamessyeater,shespillssauherbarebellyandoneofusmustlickitoffforher.Shethrowsopenherlegsandshowsusherhole;thewaydownandout,shesays.

  ThetespersonallytotheScarletHousetogiveusourlessons.Healwaysbringswithhimabraceofpigsonsilkenleasheswhichwegirlsmustcaress.Thetbelievesthepigistheprimeexampleofperfectedevolutioivorousbeastthatlivesinshit,mostentropicofsubstances,andesitsownfarrow,ifitgetshalfthece.

  Liketime,saysthet;liketime.

  Time,whichistheenemyofmemory.

  Thepastisverymuchlikethefuture.

  IdesdedatduskfromatrainonwhichIhadbeentheonlypassengerinadank,chillpartmentlitonlybyonegreenish,meagregasmaspair,ohersideofamirrorsoscratchedanddefacedIcouldnotseemyownrefleinit,wasbroken.Amessofsandwichingsandepeellitteredthegrimyfloor.Ithadbeenagloomyjourney,acrossafenshroudedinmistofautumn,anunpeopledlandscape,flat,waterlogged,dottedhereandtherewithpollardedwillowswiththeirmelancholylookofmenwhosearmshavebeenloppedofformutilatedwomenwithwhipsupontheirheads.Idesdedfromthetrainatthatlonelyhaltasnightwasfalling;amanwithaseamed,shutteredfacecametotakemyticketand,withoutasingleword,humpedmylittletintrunkformeoutoftheramshackle,woodenstationtoashabbycarriageinthelaside,ashabbycarriagewith,betweenitsshafts,astarvelingponywhoseribspokedoutusdrab,glosslesscoat.Onthedrivisatathin,darkmaninblackliverywho,tomyshockedhorror,Iperceivedpossessednomouthatall.Istartedback;butthestationmastergrabbedmyhandandallbutforcedmeintothecarriage,thenslammedthedooronme.

  Asthepoorbeastbeganpainfullytthecarriageflimpsedthelastoftheworldinwhitilthataghastmoment,Idspey-twirlhood;intothedarknessbeforemeItookthegrinningfaceofthestationmaster,pressedinfarewellatthesmearedwindow,transformedbyasuddenrushofmalevoleoamaskofpureevil.

  IknewImusttrytoescapeandtussledweaklywiththedoorbutitwaslockedfast.Theinexorablecarriage,lurg,ponderous,tookmeintothedeepeningshadowsofthenight,whichseemedtobemovingacrossthefentoengulfme.Ilaybackupoherseatandgavewaytohelplesstears.

  Atlastweenteredadarkcourtyardvirtuallyenclosedbytall,blacktrees;thegatesshutimmediatelyafterwewereinside.Whentheponyhalted,themacabreaoletmeout.HereachedformyhandtohelpmedownwithacertaincourtesyandIhadnochoicebuttotouchhim.Hisfleshfeltasdankasthewet,nightairofthefenswhichsurroundedus.

  YetwhenIbroughtmyselftolookathisghastlyfaordertothankhim,Isawhiseyesspeakthoughhehadnomouthnorhenecessaryappendagesoflips,teethandtohwhichtodoso,hisgraveeyes,thecolouroftheiheo,toldmeIwasayounggirlmuchtobepitiedand,inluminousdepths,Iperceivedthemostdreadfulintimationofmyfate.Atthedooroftherambling,brick-built,red-tiledplace,halffarmhouse,halftrymansionandnow,hadIbutknownit,whollydedicatedtothetsexperiments,MadameSchreckwaitedtogreetmeinthescarletsplendourofhersatihatlaidopentotheviewofherbreastsandtheunimaginablewoundofhersex--MadameSchreck,whomIwouldlearntofearfarmorethahitself,sihisfinite.

  Nowyouareattheplaceofannihilation,nowyouareattheplaceofannihilation.

  Yetthisversionofmycapture,inwhichdespairsettlesslowlylikeafallofgreysnowuponthelandscapethroughwhichItravelledtowardsthemomentwhenhopevanished,sometimesseemstometohavealtogethertooliteraryaflavour--toomuchofaeenth-turyquality,withitsrailwaytrains,itsadvertismentinthepersonalnofTheTimesfoverhatdrewme,likeaBronteheroine,onaspooloffateoverthebleakflat-lands.Therestheinky,over-writtensmellofpseudo-memoryaboutthegaslightsaean,thoughmyskinstillshuddersfromtherememberedtouchofhisskinandIwillneverbeabletethiseyes.

  Butthet,theMorpholyticKidwhopresidesoverthedeathofforms,assuresmethatnowtheprocessettingiswellunderwaysothatIrememberboththepastaurewithequalfacility,sihareillusory.Ivemadeupapastoutofsomeeoncereadonatrain,perhaps;andIveguessedatafuture.FortherearenofoxesinNewBondStreet.NorwilltheyfroliewBondStreetuntilthecardsfallinsuchawaythatthefoxeswillboundout,barking,frombehem.Timepastandtimefuturebiodistortmymemory.

  ButIhaveonememoryIsometimesthinkmustbethemostauthenticeitisbyfarthemostghastly.

  Mybelovedfatherhasastraightbadagaitinspiteoftheseventysummersthathaveturnedhishairtoaspumeofwhitefoam.Wesitatarouablelushcoverinourpleasantapartment,thewindowsopenontoabalywherealittlebreezestirstheheavyheadsofmyfineshowofgeraniums,white,salmonpinkandscarlet,allbaogether,exudingadelicious,spicyodour.

  HowIlovedthatroom...theslipperyhorsehairsofawiththepaisleyshawlthrowandthepilesofcushionsmymotherhadembroideredwithallmannerhtlycolouredbutterfliesandflowers;therosewoodetfilledwithashepherdessesandbird-catchers,allcoveredwithafinebloomofdust--Imnotthebestofhousekeepers;thereisastainonthePersiancarpetwhichmarksthespotwhereIspilledabowlofhotchocolatewhenIwassixyearsold.Thereisaabowlfilledwithpotpourriolepiece.

  Mymotherusedtomakepotpourrieverysummer;shewouldbringbacktheflowersfromourhouseinthetry.Nowsheisdeadbutshestillpresidesoverourtea-table;thereonthewallshesmilesatusfromabirds-eyemapleframe,atintedphotographtakenshortlyaftersheandmyfatherweremarried.Shesstillveryyoung,notmucholderthanIamnow;shewearsawidestrawhatdecoratedwithpinkribbonandabunchofdaisies.Itsbrimgentlyshadeshereyes,ofwhichthelonglashesaresodarktheylooklikethefringedtresofanemones.Hereyesareamysterious,darkishgreen.

  TheysayIhavehereyes.

  Somewomentaketheireyesout,saysthet;heisalarticularlyangryifwhenheisengagedinerasiapesofmemory,Ibegin--asIsometimes,quitehelplessly,do--torepeat,overandain,asifoapewerestuck:"TheysayIhavemymotherseyes,theysayIhavemymotherseyes."Thesmewithaknottedwhipuntilmyshouldersbleed;whenvisitinghiswomen,heneverfetsawhip.ThenhehandsmeovertoMadameSchreckforaspellinthesensorydeprivationunit,Imustcrawlintotheoblivionofherholeforawhile.

  MyfatherandIsitundermymothersphotographinanold-fashionedroominwhicheverythingislovedbecauseitisfamiliar.Twenty-twoyearsofmylifehaveunfurledinthisroomlikeaslow,quietfan.Ipourteaformyfatherfromasilverpotoutliketheneckofaswan.Thecupshavenarrowstemsandaremadeoffine,whiteporcelainwithscrollsoffadedgoldaroundtherims.Myowncupcrackedusweightofyearslongago;Irememberhowmyfathercarefullyrivetedittogetheragain,untilitwasasgoodashereisaglasssaucertainingaslicedlemonoable,itssharp,strefreshesthissultryJulyafternoon.Thelightfallsinregularparallelogramsthroughourslattedblindssoweknowweareintroloftheweather.Intheparkoutside,afewbirdscheeptheexhaustedsongsofhighsummer.

  Thestaccatoclickofbootheels.Theperemptorybarrageofglovedfistsonthepanelsofthedoor.Whentheoldmanreachesfortherevolverhealwayswearsintheholsterunderhisarmpit,theygunhimdown.HiswhitehairfloodswithbloodasredasthepaintedhouseofMadameSchreck,whoiswaitingformeierraorture-chamberdeepattheheartofthemazeofmybrain,theMinotaurwiththeheadofawomanandtheorificeofasow.

  Myfathertumblesacrossthetea-table.Cups,saucersflyapartinshardsashecrashesdown.Hisfingersgraspattheemptyairtocatelast,losthandfulofworldbetweenthembeforeitslipsawayfromhimforever.

  Thentheyseizedme,strippedme,rapedmeonthesilkbirdsofthePersiancarpetundermymotherspicture,threwae,thrustaguninmybadforcedmedowntheegstaircasetothearmouredcarwaitingoutside.Ihadbeenavirgin.Iwasipain.

  MadameSchreasmartuniformofdrabolive,withsheerblackstogsandthosesix-inchheelsofhersthatstabthelinoleumasshewalks,tookmyparticularsatthemahoganydesk.WhenIrefusedtotellherwheremybrotherwas,shemademeliedownonthecamp-bedintheeroftheroom,underapropagandaposterofthetridinguponawingedsnakeand,withjudipassivity,sheappliedthelightedendarettetotheinteriormembraneofmylabiaminor.Throughtheopenwindow,Iremember,Isawahawkimmobileatthetralheblueskyofthemidsummer.Fromhisspreadwingsdroppedasilestunnedmemorethanthepainsheinflicted.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读

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