PART Ⅱ-9
ThewarhadjerkedmeoutoftheoldlifeI’dknown,butinthequeerperiodthatcameafterwardsIfotitalmostpletely.
Iknowthatinasenseoneneverfetsanything.Yourememberthatpiecee-peelyousawierthirteenyearsago,andthatcolouredposterofTorquaythatyouoaglimpseofinarailwaywaiting-room.ButI’mspeakingofadifferentkindofmemory.InasenseIrememberedtheoldlifeinLowerBinfield.Irememberedmyfishing-rodandthesmellofsainfoinandMotherbehindthebrootandJackiethebullfindthehorse-troughinthemarket-place.Butwasaliveinmymindanylowassomethingfaraway,somethingthatI’dfih.ItwouldneverhaveoccurredtomethatsomedayImightwanttogobacktoit.
Itwasaqueertime,thoseyearsjustafterthewar,almostqueererthanthewaritself,thoughpeopledon’trememberitsovividly.Inaratherdifferentformthesenseofdisbelievingihingwasstrohanever.MillionsofmenhadsuddenlybeenkickedoutoftheArmytofindthatthetrythey’dfoughtfordidn’twantthem,andLloydGeeandhispalsweregivingtheworkstoanyillusionsthatstillexisted.Bandsofex-servimarchedupanddownrattlingcolleboxes,maskedwomenweresingingireets,andchapsinofficers’tunicsweregrindingbarrel-ans.EverybodyinEnglaobescramblingforjobs,myselfincluded.ButIcameoffluckierthanmost.Igotasmallwound-gratuity,andwhatwiththataofmoneyI’dputasideduriyearofwar(nothavinghadmuchopportunitytospendit),IcameoutoftheArmywithhanthreehundredandfiftyquid.It’sratheriing,Ithink,tonoticemyrea.HereIwas,withquiteenoughmoodothethingI’dbeenbroughtuptodoahingI’ddreamedofforyears—thatis,startashop.Ihadplentyofcapital.Ifyoubideyourtimeandkeepyoureyesopenyourunacrossquitelebusinessesforthreehundredandfiftyquid.A,ifyou’llbelieveme,theideaneveroccurredtome.Inotonlydidn’tmakeanymovetowardsstartingashop,butitwasn’ttillyearslater,about1925infact,thatitevencrossedmymindthatImighthavedohefactwasthatI’dpassedrightoutoftheshopkeepingorbit.ThatwaswhattheArmydidtoyou.Itturnedyouintoanimitatiolemanandgaveyouafixedideathatthere’dalwaysbeabitofmoneyingfromsomewhere.Ifyou’dsuggestedtomethen,in1919,thatIoughttostartashop—atobadsweetshop,say,eneralstoreinsomegod-forsakenvillage—I’djusthavelaughed.I’dwornpipsonmyshoulder,andmysocialstandardshadrisen.AtthesametimeIdidn’tsharethedelusion,whichrettyongex-officers,thatIcouldspeofmylifedrinkingpinkgin.IknewI’dgottohaveajob.Andthejob,ofcourse,wouldbe‘inbusiness’—justwhatkindofjobIdidn’tknow,butsomethinghigh-upandimportant,somethingwithadatelephoneandifpossibleasecretaryermawave.Duriyearorsoofwaralotofushadhadvisionslikethat.Thechapwho’dbeenashopwalkersawhimselfasatravellingsalesman,andthechapwho’dbeenatravellingsalesmansawhimselfasamanagingdirector.Itwastheeffeylife,theeffectofwearingpipsandhavingacheque-bookandcallingtheeveningmealdinner.Allthewhilethere’dbeenanideafloatinground—andthisappliedtothemenintheranksaswellastheofficers—thatwhenwecameoutoftheArmythere’dbejobswaitingforusthatwouldbringiasmuchasourArmypay.Ofcourse,ifideaslikethatdidn’tcirculate,nowarwouldeverbefought.
Well,Ididhatjob.Itseemedthatnobodywasanxioustopayme2,000poundsayearforsittingamongstreamlinedofficefurnitureanddictatierstoaplatinumblonde.Iwasdiscwhatthree-quartersoftheblokeswho’dbeenofficersweredisc—thatfromafinancialpointofviewwe’dbeeeroffintheArmythanwewereeverlikelytobeagain.We’dsuddenlygedfromgentlemenholdingHisMajesty’sissionintomiserableout-of-workswhomnobodywanted.Myideassoonsankfromtwothousaothreeorfourpoundsaweek.Butevenjobsofthethreeorfourpoundsaweekkinddidoexist.Everymortaljobwasfilledalready,eitherbymenwho’dbeenafewyearstoooldtofight,orbyboyswho’dbeenafewmonthstooyoung.Thepoorbastardswho’dhappeobeborween1890and1900wereleftoutinthecold.Andstillitneveroccurredtometogobacktothegrbusiness.ProbablyIcouldhavegotajobasagrocer’sassistant;oldGrimmett,ifhewasstillaliveandinbusiness(Iwasn’tintouchwithLowerBinfieldanddidn’tknow),wouldhavegivenmegoodrefs.ButI’dpassedintoadifferentorbit.Evenifmysocialideashadn’trisen,Icouldhardlyhaveimagined,afterwhatI’dseenandlearned,goingbacktotheoldsafeexistencebehindtheter.Iwaobetravellingaboutandpullingdownthebigdough.ChieflyIwaobeatravellingsalesman,whiewwouldsuitme.
Buttherewerenojobsfortravellingsalesmen—that’stosay,jobswithasalaryattached.Whattherewere,however,wereon-issionjobs.Thatracketwasjustbeginningonabig,scale.It’sabeautifullysimplemethodofincreasingyoursalesandadvertisingyourstuffwithouttakinganyrisks,anditalwaysflourisheswhentimesarebad.Theykeepyouonastringbyhintingthatperhapsthere’llbeasalariedjobgoinginthreemonths’time,andwhenyougetfedupthere’salwayssomeotherpoordevilreadytotakeover.Naturallyitwasn’tlongbeforeIhadanon-issionjob,infactIhadquiteanumberinrapidsuccession.ThankGod,Inevercamedowntopeddlingvacuum-ers,ordiaries.ButItravelledincutlery,insoap-powder,inalineofpatentcorkscrews,tin-openers,andsimilargadgets,andfinallyinalineofofficeaccessories—paper-clips,carboypewriterribbons,andsoforth.Ididn’tdosobadlyeither.I’mthetypethatsellthingsonission.I’vegotthetemperamentandI’vegotthemanner.ButInevercameanywherenearmakiliving.You’t,injobslikethat—and,ofcourse,youareo.
Ihadaboutayearofitaltogether.Itwasaqueertime.Thecross-tryjourhegodlessplacesyoufetchedupin,suburbsofMidlandtownsthatyou’dneverhearofinahundrednormallifetimes.Theghastlybed-and-breakfasthouseswherethesheetsalwayssmellfaintlyofslopsandthefriedeggatbreakfasthasayolkpalerthanalemon.Aherpoordevilsofsalesmenthatyou’realwaysmeeting,middle-agedfathersoffamiliesinmoth-eatenovercoatsandbowlerhats,whoholybelievethatsoonerorlatertradewillturntheerandthey’lljacktheirearningsuptofivequidaweek.Araipsingfromshoptoshop,andtheargumentswithshopkeeperswhodon’twanttolisten,aandingbadmakingyourselfsmallwhenaeresin.Don’tthinkthatitworriedmeparticularly.Tosomechapsthatkindoflifeistorture.Therearechapswho’tevenwalkintoashopaheirbagofsampleswithoutscrewingthemselvesupasthoughtheyweregoihetop.ButI’mnotlikethat.I’mtough,Italkpeopleintobuyingthingstheydon’twant,aheyslamthedoorinmyfaceitdoesn’tbotherme.SellingthingsonissionisactuallywhatIlikedoing,providedIseemywaytomakingabitofdoughoutofit.Idon’tknowwhetherIlearnedmuthatyear,butIunlearnedagooddeal.ItkheArmynonseofme,anditdroveintothebayheadthenotionsthatI’dpickedupduringtheidleyearwhenIwasreadingnovels.Idon’tthinkIreadasinglebook,barriivestories,allthetimeIwasontheroad.Iwasn’tahighbrowanylonger.Iwasdownamongtherealitiesofmodernlife.Andwhataretherealitiesofmodernlife?Well,thechiefoneisaneverlasting,franticstruggletosellthings.Withmostpeopleittakestheformofsellingthemselves—that’stosay,gettingajobandkeepingit.Isupposetherehasn’tbeenasihsihewar,inanytradeyoucaretoname,inwhichthereweren’tmorementhanjobs.It’sbroughtapeculiar,ghastlyfeelingintolife.It’slikeonasinkingshipwhenthereareeensurvivorsandfourtees.Butisthereanythingparticularlymoderninthat,yousay?Hasitanythingtodowiththewar?Well,itfeelsasifithad.Thatfeelingthatyou’vegottobeeverlastinglyfightingandhustling,thatyou’llanythingunlessyougrabitfromsomebodyelse,thatthere’salwayssomebodyafteryourjob,themonthorthemonthafterthey’llberedugstaffandit’syouthat’llgetthebird—THAT,Iswear,didintheoldlifebeforethewar.
ButmeanwhileIwasn’tbadlyoff.IwasearningabitandI’dstillgotplentyofmohebank,nearlytwohundredquid,andIwasn’tfrightenedforthefuture.IkhatsoonerorlaterI’dgetaregularjob.Andsureenough,afteraboutayear,byastrokeofluckithappened.Isaybyastrokeofluck,butthefactisthatIwasboundtofallo.I’mnotthetypethatstarves.I’maboutaslikelytoendupintheworkhouseastoendupintheHouseofLords.I’mthemiddlingtype,thetypethatgravitatesbyakindofnaturallawtowardsthefive-pound-a-weeklevel.SolongasthereareanyjobsatallI’llbackmyselftogetone.
IthappenedwhenIeddlingpaper-clipsandtypewriterribbons.I’djustdodgedintoahugeblockofoffiFleetStreet,abuildingwhivassersweren’tallowedinto,asamatteroffact,butI’dmaogivetheliftattendanttheimpressionthatmybagofsampleswasmerelyanattachecase.IwaswalkingalohecorridorslookingfortheoffialltoothpastefirmthatI’dbeenreery,whenIsawthatsomeverybigbugwasingdownthecorridoriherdire.Iknewimmediatelythatitwasabigbug.Youknowhowitiswiththesebigbusinessmen,theyseemtotakeupmoreroomandwalkmoreloudlythananyordinaryperson,andtheygiveoffakindofwaveofmohatyoufeelfiftyyardsaway.WhenearlyuptomeIsawthatitwasSirJosephCheam.Hewasincivvies,ofcourse,butIhadnodifficultyinreizinghim.Isupposehe’dbeenthereforsomebusinessfereher.Acoupleofclerks,orsecretaries,orsomething,werefollowingafterhim,notactuallyholdinguphistrain,becausehewasn’tweariyousomehowfeltthatthatwaswhattheyweredoing.OfcourseIdodgedasideinstantly.Butcuriouslyenoughhereizedme,thoughhehadn’tseenmeforyears.Tomysurprisehestoppedandspoketome.
‘Hullo,you!I’veseenyousomewherebefore.What’syour’soipofmytongue.’
‘Bowling,sir.UsedtobeintheA.S.C.’
‘Ofcourse.Theboythatsaidhewasn’tagentleman.Whatareyoudoinghere?’
ImighthavetoldhimIwassellingtypewriterribbons,andthereperhapsthewholethingwouldhaveended.ButIhadohosesuddeninspirationsthatyougetoccasionally—afeelingthatImightmakesomethingoutofthisifIhaproperly.Isaidinstead:
‘Well,sir,asamatteroffactI’mlookingforajob.’
‘Ajob,eh?Hm.Notsoeasy,nowadays.’
Helookedmeupanddownforased.Thetwotrain-bearershadkindofwaftedthemselvesalittledistanceaway.Isawhisrathergood-lookingoldface,withtheheavygreyeyebrowsaelligentnose,lookingmeoverandrealizedthathe’ddecidedtohelpme.It’squeer,thepoweroftheseri.He’dbeenmargpastmeinhisplory,withhisunderlingsafterhim,andthenonsomewhimorotherhe’dturnedasidelikeanemperorsuddenlychugatoabeggar.
‘Soyouwantajob?Whatyoudo?’
Againtheinspiration.hablokelikethis,cragupyourows.Sticktothetruth.Isaid:‘Nothing,sir.ButIwantajobasatravellingsalesman.’
‘Salesman?Hm.NotsurethatI’vegotanythingforyouatprese’ssee.’
Hepursedhislipsup.Foramoment,halfaminuteperhaps,hewasthinkingquitedeeply.Itwascurious.EvenatthetimeIrealizedthatitwascurious.Thisimportantoldbloke,robablyworthatleasthalfamillion,wasactuallytakingthoughtonmybehalf.I’ddeflectedhimfromhispathandwastedatleastthreeminutesofhistime,allbecauseofaceremarkI’dhappeomakeyearsearlier.I’dstuhismemoryandthereforehewaswillingtotakethetinybitoftroublethatwasofindmeajob.Idaresaythesamedayhegavetwentyclerksthesack.Finallyhesaid:
‘How’dyouliketogointoaninsurancefirm?Alwaysfairlysafe,youknow.Peoplehavegottohaveinsurance,sameasthey’vegottoeat.’
OfcourseIjumpedattheideaofgoingintoaninsurancefirm.SirJosephwas‘ied’intheFlyingSalamander.Godknowshowmanypanieshewas‘ied’iheunderlingswaftedhimselfforwardwithascribbling-pad,andthereandthen,withthegoldstylooutofhiswaistcoatpocket,SirJosephscribbledmeaosomehigher-upintheFlyingSalamahenIthankedhim,andhemarchedon,andIsneakedoffiherdire,andweneversawoheragain.
Well,Igotthejob,and,asIsaidearlier,thejobgotme.I’vebeenwiththeFlyingSalamandercloseoeenyears.Istartedoffintheoffice,butnowI’mwhat’sknownasanIor,or,whenthere’sreasontosoundparticularlyimpressive,aRepresentative.AcoupleofdaysaweekI’mwirictoffidtherestofthetimeI’mtravellingaround,interviewingtswhosenameshavebeeinbythelocalagents,makingassessmentsofshopsandotherproperty,andnowandagainsnappingupafewordersonmyownat.Iearnroundaboutsevenquidaweek.Andproperlyspeakingthat’stheendofmystory.
WhenIlookbackIrealizethatmyactivelife,ifIeverhadone,endedwhenIwassixteehingthatreallymatterstomehadhappenedbeforethatdate.Butinamannerofspeakingthiillhappening—thewar,forinstaothetimewhenIgotthejobwiththeFlyingSalamander.Afterthat—well,theysaythathappypeoplehavenohistories,aherdotheblokeswhoworkininsuranceoffices.Fromthatdayforwardtherewasnothinginmylifethatyoucouldproperlydescribeasa,exceptthatabouttwoandahalfyearslater,atthebeginningof‘23,Igotmarried.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
Iknowthatinasenseoneneverfetsanything.Yourememberthatpiecee-peelyousawierthirteenyearsago,andthatcolouredposterofTorquaythatyouoaglimpseofinarailwaywaiting-room.ButI’mspeakingofadifferentkindofmemory.InasenseIrememberedtheoldlifeinLowerBinfield.Irememberedmyfishing-rodandthesmellofsainfoinandMotherbehindthebrootandJackiethebullfindthehorse-troughinthemarket-place.Butwasaliveinmymindanylowassomethingfaraway,somethingthatI’dfih.ItwouldneverhaveoccurredtomethatsomedayImightwanttogobacktoit.
Itwasaqueertime,thoseyearsjustafterthewar,almostqueererthanthewaritself,thoughpeopledon’trememberitsovividly.Inaratherdifferentformthesenseofdisbelievingihingwasstrohanever.MillionsofmenhadsuddenlybeenkickedoutoftheArmytofindthatthetrythey’dfoughtfordidn’twantthem,andLloydGeeandhispalsweregivingtheworkstoanyillusionsthatstillexisted.Bandsofex-servimarchedupanddownrattlingcolleboxes,maskedwomenweresingingireets,andchapsinofficers’tunicsweregrindingbarrel-ans.EverybodyinEnglaobescramblingforjobs,myselfincluded.ButIcameoffluckierthanmost.Igotasmallwound-gratuity,andwhatwiththataofmoneyI’dputasideduriyearofwar(nothavinghadmuchopportunitytospendit),IcameoutoftheArmywithhanthreehundredandfiftyquid.It’sratheriing,Ithink,tonoticemyrea.HereIwas,withquiteenoughmoodothethingI’dbeenbroughtuptodoahingI’ddreamedofforyears—thatis,startashop.Ihadplentyofcapital.Ifyoubideyourtimeandkeepyoureyesopenyourunacrossquitelebusinessesforthreehundredandfiftyquid.A,ifyou’llbelieveme,theideaneveroccurredtome.Inotonlydidn’tmakeanymovetowardsstartingashop,butitwasn’ttillyearslater,about1925infact,thatitevencrossedmymindthatImighthavedohefactwasthatI’dpassedrightoutoftheshopkeepingorbit.ThatwaswhattheArmydidtoyou.Itturnedyouintoanimitatiolemanandgaveyouafixedideathatthere’dalwaysbeabitofmoneyingfromsomewhere.Ifyou’dsuggestedtomethen,in1919,thatIoughttostartashop—atobadsweetshop,say,eneralstoreinsomegod-forsakenvillage—I’djusthavelaughed.I’dwornpipsonmyshoulder,andmysocialstandardshadrisen.AtthesametimeIdidn’tsharethedelusion,whichrettyongex-officers,thatIcouldspeofmylifedrinkingpinkgin.IknewI’dgottohaveajob.Andthejob,ofcourse,wouldbe‘inbusiness’—justwhatkindofjobIdidn’tknow,butsomethinghigh-upandimportant,somethingwithadatelephoneandifpossibleasecretaryermawave.Duriyearorsoofwaralotofushadhadvisionslikethat.Thechapwho’dbeenashopwalkersawhimselfasatravellingsalesman,andthechapwho’dbeenatravellingsalesmansawhimselfasamanagingdirector.Itwastheeffeylife,theeffectofwearingpipsandhavingacheque-bookandcallingtheeveningmealdinner.Allthewhilethere’dbeenanideafloatinground—andthisappliedtothemenintheranksaswellastheofficers—thatwhenwecameoutoftheArmythere’dbejobswaitingforusthatwouldbringiasmuchasourArmypay.Ofcourse,ifideaslikethatdidn’tcirculate,nowarwouldeverbefought.
Well,Ididhatjob.Itseemedthatnobodywasanxioustopayme2,000poundsayearforsittingamongstreamlinedofficefurnitureanddictatierstoaplatinumblonde.Iwasdiscwhatthree-quartersoftheblokeswho’dbeenofficersweredisc—thatfromafinancialpointofviewwe’dbeeeroffintheArmythanwewereeverlikelytobeagain.We’dsuddenlygedfromgentlemenholdingHisMajesty’sissionintomiserableout-of-workswhomnobodywanted.Myideassoonsankfromtwothousaothreeorfourpoundsaweek.Butevenjobsofthethreeorfourpoundsaweekkinddidoexist.Everymortaljobwasfilledalready,eitherbymenwho’dbeenafewyearstoooldtofight,orbyboyswho’dbeenafewmonthstooyoung.Thepoorbastardswho’dhappeobeborween1890and1900wereleftoutinthecold.Andstillitneveroccurredtometogobacktothegrbusiness.ProbablyIcouldhavegotajobasagrocer’sassistant;oldGrimmett,ifhewasstillaliveandinbusiness(Iwasn’tintouchwithLowerBinfieldanddidn’tknow),wouldhavegivenmegoodrefs.ButI’dpassedintoadifferentorbit.Evenifmysocialideashadn’trisen,Icouldhardlyhaveimagined,afterwhatI’dseenandlearned,goingbacktotheoldsafeexistencebehindtheter.Iwaobetravellingaboutandpullingdownthebigdough.ChieflyIwaobeatravellingsalesman,whiewwouldsuitme.
Buttherewerenojobsfortravellingsalesmen—that’stosay,jobswithasalaryattached.Whattherewere,however,wereon-issionjobs.Thatracketwasjustbeginningonabig,scale.It’sabeautifullysimplemethodofincreasingyoursalesandadvertisingyourstuffwithouttakinganyrisks,anditalwaysflourisheswhentimesarebad.Theykeepyouonastringbyhintingthatperhapsthere’llbeasalariedjobgoinginthreemonths’time,andwhenyougetfedupthere’salwayssomeotherpoordevilreadytotakeover.Naturallyitwasn’tlongbeforeIhadanon-issionjob,infactIhadquiteanumberinrapidsuccession.ThankGod,Inevercamedowntopeddlingvacuum-ers,ordiaries.ButItravelledincutlery,insoap-powder,inalineofpatentcorkscrews,tin-openers,andsimilargadgets,andfinallyinalineofofficeaccessories—paper-clips,carboypewriterribbons,andsoforth.Ididn’tdosobadlyeither.I’mthetypethatsellthingsonission.I’vegotthetemperamentandI’vegotthemanner.ButInevercameanywherenearmakiliving.You’t,injobslikethat—and,ofcourse,youareo.
Ihadaboutayearofitaltogether.Itwasaqueertime.Thecross-tryjourhegodlessplacesyoufetchedupin,suburbsofMidlandtownsthatyou’dneverhearofinahundrednormallifetimes.Theghastlybed-and-breakfasthouseswherethesheetsalwayssmellfaintlyofslopsandthefriedeggatbreakfasthasayolkpalerthanalemon.Aherpoordevilsofsalesmenthatyou’realwaysmeeting,middle-agedfathersoffamiliesinmoth-eatenovercoatsandbowlerhats,whoholybelievethatsoonerorlatertradewillturntheerandthey’lljacktheirearningsuptofivequidaweek.Araipsingfromshoptoshop,andtheargumentswithshopkeeperswhodon’twanttolisten,aandingbadmakingyourselfsmallwhenaeresin.Don’tthinkthatitworriedmeparticularly.Tosomechapsthatkindoflifeistorture.Therearechapswho’tevenwalkintoashopaheirbagofsampleswithoutscrewingthemselvesupasthoughtheyweregoihetop.ButI’mnotlikethat.I’mtough,Italkpeopleintobuyingthingstheydon’twant,aheyslamthedoorinmyfaceitdoesn’tbotherme.SellingthingsonissionisactuallywhatIlikedoing,providedIseemywaytomakingabitofdoughoutofit.Idon’tknowwhetherIlearnedmuthatyear,butIunlearnedagooddeal.ItkheArmynonseofme,anditdroveintothebayheadthenotionsthatI’dpickedupduringtheidleyearwhenIwasreadingnovels.Idon’tthinkIreadasinglebook,barriivestories,allthetimeIwasontheroad.Iwasn’tahighbrowanylonger.Iwasdownamongtherealitiesofmodernlife.Andwhataretherealitiesofmodernlife?Well,thechiefoneisaneverlasting,franticstruggletosellthings.Withmostpeopleittakestheformofsellingthemselves—that’stosay,gettingajobandkeepingit.Isupposetherehasn’tbeenasihsihewar,inanytradeyoucaretoname,inwhichthereweren’tmorementhanjobs.It’sbroughtapeculiar,ghastlyfeelingintolife.It’slikeonasinkingshipwhenthereareeensurvivorsandfourtees.Butisthereanythingparticularlymoderninthat,yousay?Hasitanythingtodowiththewar?Well,itfeelsasifithad.Thatfeelingthatyou’vegottobeeverlastinglyfightingandhustling,thatyou’llanythingunlessyougrabitfromsomebodyelse,thatthere’salwayssomebodyafteryourjob,themonthorthemonthafterthey’llberedugstaffandit’syouthat’llgetthebird—THAT,Iswear,didintheoldlifebeforethewar.
ButmeanwhileIwasn’tbadlyoff.IwasearningabitandI’dstillgotplentyofmohebank,nearlytwohundredquid,andIwasn’tfrightenedforthefuture.IkhatsoonerorlaterI’dgetaregularjob.Andsureenough,afteraboutayear,byastrokeofluckithappened.Isaybyastrokeofluck,butthefactisthatIwasboundtofallo.I’mnotthetypethatstarves.I’maboutaslikelytoendupintheworkhouseastoendupintheHouseofLords.I’mthemiddlingtype,thetypethatgravitatesbyakindofnaturallawtowardsthefive-pound-a-weeklevel.SolongasthereareanyjobsatallI’llbackmyselftogetone.
IthappenedwhenIeddlingpaper-clipsandtypewriterribbons.I’djustdodgedintoahugeblockofoffiFleetStreet,abuildingwhivassersweren’tallowedinto,asamatteroffact,butI’dmaogivetheliftattendanttheimpressionthatmybagofsampleswasmerelyanattachecase.IwaswalkingalohecorridorslookingfortheoffialltoothpastefirmthatI’dbeenreery,whenIsawthatsomeverybigbugwasingdownthecorridoriherdire.Iknewimmediatelythatitwasabigbug.Youknowhowitiswiththesebigbusinessmen,theyseemtotakeupmoreroomandwalkmoreloudlythananyordinaryperson,andtheygiveoffakindofwaveofmohatyoufeelfiftyyardsaway.WhenearlyuptomeIsawthatitwasSirJosephCheam.Hewasincivvies,ofcourse,butIhadnodifficultyinreizinghim.Isupposehe’dbeenthereforsomebusinessfereher.Acoupleofclerks,orsecretaries,orsomething,werefollowingafterhim,notactuallyholdinguphistrain,becausehewasn’tweariyousomehowfeltthatthatwaswhattheyweredoing.OfcourseIdodgedasideinstantly.Butcuriouslyenoughhereizedme,thoughhehadn’tseenmeforyears.Tomysurprisehestoppedandspoketome.
‘Hullo,you!I’veseenyousomewherebefore.What’syour’soipofmytongue.’
‘Bowling,sir.UsedtobeintheA.S.C.’
‘Ofcourse.Theboythatsaidhewasn’tagentleman.Whatareyoudoinghere?’
ImighthavetoldhimIwassellingtypewriterribbons,andthereperhapsthewholethingwouldhaveended.ButIhadohosesuddeninspirationsthatyougetoccasionally—afeelingthatImightmakesomethingoutofthisifIhaproperly.Isaidinstead:
‘Well,sir,asamatteroffactI’mlookingforajob.’
‘Ajob,eh?Hm.Notsoeasy,nowadays.’
Helookedmeupanddownforased.Thetwotrain-bearershadkindofwaftedthemselvesalittledistanceaway.Isawhisrathergood-lookingoldface,withtheheavygreyeyebrowsaelligentnose,lookingmeoverandrealizedthathe’ddecidedtohelpme.It’squeer,thepoweroftheseri.He’dbeenmargpastmeinhisplory,withhisunderlingsafterhim,andthenonsomewhimorotherhe’dturnedasidelikeanemperorsuddenlychugatoabeggar.
‘Soyouwantajob?Whatyoudo?’
Againtheinspiration.hablokelikethis,cragupyourows.Sticktothetruth.Isaid:‘Nothing,sir.ButIwantajobasatravellingsalesman.’
‘Salesman?Hm.NotsurethatI’vegotanythingforyouatprese’ssee.’
Hepursedhislipsup.Foramoment,halfaminuteperhaps,hewasthinkingquitedeeply.Itwascurious.EvenatthetimeIrealizedthatitwascurious.Thisimportantoldbloke,robablyworthatleasthalfamillion,wasactuallytakingthoughtonmybehalf.I’ddeflectedhimfromhispathandwastedatleastthreeminutesofhistime,allbecauseofaceremarkI’dhappeomakeyearsearlier.I’dstuhismemoryandthereforehewaswillingtotakethetinybitoftroublethatwasofindmeajob.Idaresaythesamedayhegavetwentyclerksthesack.Finallyhesaid:
‘How’dyouliketogointoaninsurancefirm?Alwaysfairlysafe,youknow.Peoplehavegottohaveinsurance,sameasthey’vegottoeat.’
OfcourseIjumpedattheideaofgoingintoaninsurancefirm.SirJosephwas‘ied’intheFlyingSalamander.Godknowshowmanypanieshewas‘ied’iheunderlingswaftedhimselfforwardwithascribbling-pad,andthereandthen,withthegoldstylooutofhiswaistcoatpocket,SirJosephscribbledmeaosomehigher-upintheFlyingSalamahenIthankedhim,andhemarchedon,andIsneakedoffiherdire,andweneversawoheragain.
Well,Igotthejob,and,asIsaidearlier,thejobgotme.I’vebeenwiththeFlyingSalamandercloseoeenyears.Istartedoffintheoffice,butnowI’mwhat’sknownasanIor,or,whenthere’sreasontosoundparticularlyimpressive,aRepresentative.AcoupleofdaysaweekI’mwirictoffidtherestofthetimeI’mtravellingaround,interviewingtswhosenameshavebeeinbythelocalagents,makingassessmentsofshopsandotherproperty,andnowandagainsnappingupafewordersonmyownat.Iearnroundaboutsevenquidaweek.Andproperlyspeakingthat’stheendofmystory.
WhenIlookbackIrealizethatmyactivelife,ifIeverhadone,endedwhenIwassixteehingthatreallymatterstomehadhappenedbeforethatdate.Butinamannerofspeakingthiillhappening—thewar,forinstaothetimewhenIgotthejobwiththeFlyingSalamander.Afterthat—well,theysaythathappypeoplehavenohistories,aherdotheblokeswhoworkininsuranceoffices.Fromthatdayforwardtherewasnothinginmylifethatyoucouldproperlydescribeasa,exceptthatabouttwoandahalfyearslater,atthebeginningof‘23,Igotmarried.松语文学www.16sy.coM免费小说阅读
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