The Rainbow-虹(英文版)-第57部分

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anything；　she　was　not　enough。　She　could　not　be　important　to　him。
This　knowledge　deadened　her　from　the　first。

Still　she　set　towards　him　like　a　quivering　needle。　All　her
life　was　directed　by　her　awareness　of　him；　her　wakefulness　to
his　being。　And　she　was　against　her　mother。

Her　father　was　the　dawn　wherein　her　consciousness　woke　up。
But　for　him；　she　might　have　gone　on　like　the　other　children；
Gudrun　and　Theresa　and　Catherine；　one　with　the　flowers　and
insects　and　playthings；　having　no　existence　apart　from　the
concrete　object　of　her　attention。　But　her　father　came　too　near
to　her。　The　clasp　of　his　hands　and　the　power　of　his　breast　woke
her　up　almost　in　pain　from　the　transient　unconsciousness　of
childhood。　Wideeyed；　unseeing；　she　was　awake　before　she　knew
how　to　see。　She　was　wakened　too　soon。　Too　soon　the　call　had　e
to　her；　when　she　was　a　small　baby；　and　her　father　held　her　close
to　his　breast；　her　sleepliving　heart　was　beaten　into
wakefulness　by　the　striving　of　his　bigger　heart；　by　his　clasping
her　to　his　body　for　love　and　for　fulfilment；　asking　as　a　mag
must　always　ask。　From　her　the　response　had　struggled　dimly；
vaguely　into　being。

The　children　were　dressed　roughly　for　the　country。　When　she
was　little；　Ursula　pattered　about　in　little　wooden　clogs；　a　blue
overall　over　her　thick　red　dress；　a　red　shawl　crossed　on　her
breast　and　tied　behind　again。　So　she　ran　with　her　father　to　the
garden。

The　household　rose　early。　He　was　out　digging　by　six　o'clock
in　the　morning；　he　went　to　his　work　at　halfpast　eight。　And
Ursula　was　usually　in　the　garden　with　him；　though　not　near　at
hand。

At　Eastertime　one　year；　she　helped　him　to　set　potatoes。　It
was　the　first　time　she　had　ever　helped　him。　The　occasion
remained　as　a　picture；　one　of　her　earliest　memories。　They　had
gone　out　soon　after　dawn。　A　cold　wind　was　blowing。　He　had　his
old　trousers　tucked　into　his　boots；　he　wore　no　coat　nor
waistcoat；　his　shirtsleeves　fluttered　in　the　wind；　his　face　was
ruddy　and　intent；　in　a　kind　of　sleep。　When　he　was　at　work　he
neither　heard　nor　saw。　A　long；　thin　man；　looking　still　a　youth；
with　a　line　of　black　moustache　above　his　thick　mouth；　and　his
fine　hair　blown　on　his　forehead；　he　worked　away　at　the　earth　in
the　grey　first　light；　alone。　His　solitariness　drew　the　child
like　a　spell。

The　wind　came　chill　over　the　darkgreen　fields。　Ursula　ran　up
and　watched　him　push　the　settingpeg　in　at　one　side　of　his　ready
earth；　stride　across；　and　push　it　in　the　other　side；　pulling　the
line　taut　and　clear　upon　the　clods　intervening。　Then　with　a
sharp　cutting　noise　the　bright　spade　came　towards　her；　cutting　a
grip　into　the　new；　soft　earth。

He　struck　his　spade　upright　and　straightened　himself。

〃Do　you　want　to　help　me？〃　he　said。

She　looked　up　at　him　from　out　of　her　little　woollen
bon。

〃Ay；〃　he　said；　〃you　can　put　some　taters　in　for　me。
Looklike　thatthese　little　sprits　standing
upso　much　apart；　you　see。〃

And　stooping　down　he　quickly；　surely　placed　the　spritted
potatoes　in　the　soft　grip；　where　they　rested　separate　and
pathetic　on　the　heavy　cold　earth。

He　gave　her　a　little　basket　of　potatoes；　and　strode　himself
to　the　other　end　of　the　line。　She　saw　him　stooping；　working
towards　her。　She　was　excited；　and　unused。　She　put　in　one　potato；
then　rearranged　it；　to　make　it　sit　nicely。　Some　of　the　sprits
were　broken；　and　she　was　afraid。　The　responsibility　excited　her
like　a　string　tying　her　up。　She　could　not　help　looking　with
dread　at　the　string　buried　under　the　heapedback　soil。　Her
father　was　working　nearer；　stooping；　working　nearer。　She　was
overe　by　her　responsibility。　She　put　potatoes　quickly　into
the　cold　earth。

He　came　near。

〃Not　so　close；〃　he　said；　stooping　over　her　potatoes；　taking
some　out　and　rearranging　the　others。　She　stood　by　with　the
painful　terrified　helplessness　of　childhood。　He　was　so　unseeing
and　confident；　she　wanted　to　do　the　thing　and　yet　she　could　not。
She　stood　by　looking　on；　her　little　blue　overall　fluttering　in
the　wind；　the　red　woollen　ends　of　her　shawl　blowing　gustily。
Then　he　went　down　the　row；　relentlessly；　turning　the　potatoes　in
with　his　sharp　spadecuts。　He　took　no　notice　of　her；　only　worked
on。　He　had　another　world　from　hers。

She　stood　helplessly　stranded　on　his　world。　He　continued　his
work。　She　knew　she　could　not　help　him。　A　little　bit　forlorn；　at
last　she　turned　away；　and　ran　down　the　garden；　away　from　him；　as
fast　as　she　could　go　away　from　him；　to　fet　him　and　his
work。

He　missed　her　presence；　her　face　in　her　red　woollen　bon；
her　blue　overall　fluttering。　She　ran　to　where　a　little　water　ran
trickling　between　grass　and　stones。　That　she　loved。

When　he　came　by　he　said　to　her：

〃You　didn't　help　me　much。〃

The　child　looked　at　him　dumbly。　Already　her　heart　was　heavy
because　of　her　own　disappointment。　Her　mouth　was　dumb　and
pathetic。　But　he　did　not　notice；　he　went　his　way。

And　she　played　on；　because　of　her　disappointment　persisting
even　the　more　in　her　play。　She　dreaded　work；　because　she　could
not　do　it　as　he　did　it。　She　was　conscious　of　the　great　breach
between　them。　She　knew　she　had　no　power。　The　grownup　power　to
work　deliberately　was　a　mystery　to　her。

He　would　smash　into　her　sensitive　child's　world
destructively。　Her　mother　was　lenient；　careless　The　children
played　about　as　they　would　all　day。　Ursula　was
thoughtlesswhy　should　she　remember　things？　If　across　the
garden　she　saw　the　hedge　had　budded；　and　if　she　wanted　these
greenypink；　tiny　buds　for　breadandcheese；　to　play　at　teaparty
with；　over　she　went　for　them。

Then　suddenly；　perhaps　the　next　day；　her　soul　would　almost
start　out　of　her　body　as　her　father　turned　on　her；　shouting：

〃Who's　been　tramplin'　an'　dancin'　across　where　I've　just
sowed　seed？　I　know　it's　you；　nuisance！　Can　you　find　nowhere　else
to　walk；　but　just　over　my　seed　beds？　But　it's　like　you；　that
isno　heed　but　to　follow　your　own　greedy　nose。〃

It　had　shocked　him　in　his　intent　world　to　see　the　zigzagging
lines　of　deep　little　footprints　across　his　work。　The　child　was
infinitely　more　shocked。　Her　vulnerable　little　soul　was　flayed
and　trampled。　Why　were　the　footprints　there？　She　had　not
wanted　to　make　them。　She　stood　dazzled　with　pain　and　shame　and
unreality。

Her　soul；　her　consciousness　seemed　to　die　away。　She　became
shut　off　and　senseless；　a　little　fixed　creature　whose　soul　had
gone　hard　and　unresponsive。　The　sense　of　her　own　unreality
hardened　her　like　a　frost。　She　cared　no　longer。

And　the　sight　of　her　face；　shut　and　superior　with
selfasserting　indifference；　made　a　flame　of　rage　go　over　him。
He　wanted　to　break　her。

〃I'll　break　your　obstinate　little　face；〃　he　said；　through
shut　teeth；　lifting　his　hand。

The　child　did　not　alter　in　the　least。　The　look　of
indifference；　plete　glancing　indifference；　as　if　nothing　but
herself　existed　to　her；　remained　fixed。

Yet　far　away　in　her；　the　sobs　were　tearing　her　soul。　And　when
he　had　gone；　she　would　go　and　creep　under　the　parlour　sofa；　and
lie　clinched　in　the　silent；　hidden　misery　of　childhood。

When　she　crawled　out；　after　an　hour　or　so；　she　went　rather
stiffly　to　play。　She　willed　to　fet。　She　cut　off　her　childish
soul　from　memory；　so　that　the　pain；　and　the　insult　should　not　be
real。　She　asserted　herself　only。　There　was　not　nothing　in　the
world　but　her　own　self。　So　very　soon；　she　came　to　believe　in　the
outward　malevolence　that　was　against　her。　And　very　early；　she
learned　that　even　her　adored　father　was　part　of　this
malevolence。　And　very　early　she　learned　to　harden　her　soul　in
resistance　and　denial　of　all　that　was　outside　her；　harden
herself　upon　her　own　being。

She　never　felt　sorry　for　what　she　had　done；　she　never　fave
those　who　had　made　her　guilty。　If　he　had　said　to　her；　〃Why；
Ursula；　did　you　trample　my　carefullymade　bed？〃　that　would　have
hurt　her　to　the　quick；　and　she　would　have　done　anything　for　him。
But　she　was　always　tormented　by　the　unreality　of　outside　things。
The　earth　was　to　walk　on。　Why　must　she　avoid　a　certain　patch；
just　because　it　was　called　a　seedbed？　It　was　the　earth　to　walk
on。　This　was　her　instinctive　assumption。　And　when　he　bullied
her；　she　became　hard；　cut　herself　off　from　all　connection；　lived
in　the　little　separate　world　of