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雙語·夜色溫柔 第二篇 第十四章

所屬教程:譯林版·夜色溫柔

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2022年05月09日

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Dick awoke at five after a long dream of war, walked to the window and stared out it at the Zugersee. His dream had begun in sombre majesty; navy blue uniforms crossed a dark plaza behind bands playing the second movement of Prokofieff’s “Love of Three Oranges.” Presently there were fire engines, symbols of disaster, and a ghastly uprising of the mutilated in a dressing station. He turned on his bed-lamp light and made a thorough note of it ending with the half-ironic phrase:“Non-combatant’s shell-shock.”

As he sat on the side of his bed, he felt the room, the house and the night as empty. In the next room Nicole muttered something desolate and he felt sorry for whatever loneliness she was feeling in her sleep. For him time stood still and then every few years accelerated in a rush, like the quick re-wind of a film, but for Nicole the years slipped away by clock and calendar and birthday, with the added poignance of her perishable beauty.

Even this past year and a half on the Zugersee seemed wasted time for her, the seasons marked only by the workmen on the road turning pink in May, brown in July, black in September, white again in Spring. She had come out of her first illness alive with new hopes, expecting so much, yet deprived of any subsistence except Dick, bringing up children she could only pretend gently to love, guided orphans. The people she liked, rebels mostly, disturbed her and were bad for her—she sought in them the vitality that had made them independent or creative or rugged, sought in vain—for their secrets were buried deep in childhood struggles they had forgotten. They were more interested in Nicole’s exterior harmony and charm, the other face of her illness. She led a lonely life owning Dick who did not want to be owned.

Many times he had tried unsuccessfully to let go his hold on her. They had many fine times together, fine talks between the loves of the white nights, but always when he turned away from her into himself he left her holding Nothing in her hands and staring at it, calling it many names, but knowing it was only the hope that he would come back soon.

He scrunched his pillow hard, lay down, and put the back of his neck against it as a Japanese does to slow the circulation, and slept again for a time. Later, while he shaved, Nicole awoke and marched around, giving abrupt, succinct orders to children and servants. Lanier came in to watch his father shave—living beside a psychiatric clinic he had developed an extraordinary confidence in and admiration for his father, together with an exaggerated indifference toward most other adults; the patients appeared to him either in their odd aspects, or else as devitalized, over-correct creatures without personality. He was a handsome, promising boy and Dick devoted much time to him, in the relationship of a sympathetic but exacting officer and respectful enlisted man.

“Why,” Lanier asked, “do you always leave a little lather on the top of your hair when you shave?”

Cautiously Dick parted soapy lips:“I have never been able to find out. I’ve often wondered. I think it’s because I get the first finger soapy when I make the line of my side-burn, but how it gets up on top of my head I don’t know.”

“I’m going to watch it all to-morrow.”

“That’s your only question before breakfast.”

“I don’t really call it a question.”

“That’s one on you.”

Half an hour later Dick started up to the administration building. He was thirty-eight—still declining a beard he yet had a more medical aura about him than he had worn upon the Riviera. For eighteen months now he had lived at the clinic—certainly one of the best-appointed in Europe. Like Dohmler’s it was of the modern type—no longer a single dark and sinister building but a small, scattered, yet deceitfully integrated village—Dick and Nicole had added much in the domain of taste, so that the plant was a thing of beauty, visited by every psychologist passing through Zurich. With the addition of a caddy house it might very well have been a country club. The Eglantine and the Beeches, houses for those sunk into eternal darkness, were screened by little copses from the main building, camouflaged strong-points. Behind was a large truck farm, worked partly by the patients. The workshops for ergo-therapy were three, placed under a single roof, and there Doctor Diver began his morning’s inspection. The carpentry shop, full of sunlight, exuded the sweetness of sawdust, of a lost age of wood; always half a dozen men were there, hammering, planing, buzzing—silent men, who lifted solemn eyes from their work as he passed through. Himself a good carpenter, he discussed with them the efficiency of some tools for a moment in a quiet, personal, interested voice. Adjoining was the book-bindery, adapted to the most mobile of patients who were not always, however, those who had the greatest chance for recovery. The last chamber was devoted to beadwork, weaving and work in brass. The faces of the patients here wore the expression of one who had just sighed profoundly, dismissing something insoluble—but their sighs only marked the beginning of another ceaseless round of ratiocination, not in a line as with normal people but in the same circle. Round, round, and round. Around forever. But the bright colors of the stuffs they worked with gave strangers a momentary illusion that all was well, as in a kindergarten. These patients brightened as Doctor Diver came in. Most of them liked him better than they liked Doctor Gregorovious. Those who had once lived in the great world invariably liked him better. There were a few who thought he neglected them, or that he was not simple, or that he posed. Their responses were not dissimilar to those that Dick evoked in non-professional life, but here they were warped and distorted.

One Englishwoman spoke to him always about a subject which she considered her own.

“Have we got music to-night?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I haven’t seen Doctor Lladislau. How did you enjoy the music that Mrs. Sachs and Mr. Longstreet gave us last night?”

“It was so-so.”

“I thought it was fine—especially the Chopin.”

“I thought it was so-so.”

“When are you going to play for us yourself?”

She shrugged her shoulders, as pleased at this question as she had been for several years.

“Some time. But I only play so-so.”

They knew that she did not play at all—she had had two sisters who were brilliant musicians, but she had never been able to learn the notes when they had been young together.

From the workshop Dick went to visit the Eglantine and the Beeches. Exteriorly these houses were as cheerful as the others; Nicole had designed the decoration and the furniture on a necessary base of concealed grills and bars and immovable furniture. She had worked with so much imagination—the inventive quality, which she lacked, being supplied by the problem itself—that no uninstructed visitor would have dreamed that the light, graceful filagree work at a window was a strong, unyielding end of a tether, that the pieces reflecting modern tubular tendencies were stancher than the massive creations of the Edwardians—even the flowers lay in iron fingers and every casual ornament and fixture was as necessary as a girder in a skyscraper. Her tireless eyes had made each room yield up its greatest usefulness. Complimented, she referred to herself brusquely as a master plumber.

For those whose compasses were not depolarized there seemed many odd things in these houses. Doctor Diver was often amused in the Eglantine, the men’s building—here there was a strange little exhibitionist who thought that if he could walk unclothed and unmolested from the étoile to the Place de la Concorde he would solve many things—and, perhaps, Dick thought, he was quite right.

His most interesting case was in the main building. The patient was a woman of thirty who had been in the clinic six months; she was an American painter who had lived long in Paris. They had no very satisfactory history of her. A cousin had happened upon her all mad and gone and after an unsatisfactory interlude at one of the whoopee cures that fringed the city, dedicated largely to tourist victims of drug and drink, he had managed to get her to Switzerland. On her admittance she had been exceptionally pretty—now she was a living agonizing sore. All blood tests had failed to give a positive reaction and the trouble was unsatisfactorily catalogued as nervous eczema. For two months she had lain under it, as imprisoned as in the Iron Maiden. She was coherent, even brilliant, within the limits of her special hallucinations.

She was particularly his patient. During spells of overexcitement he was the only doctor who could “do anything with her.” Several weeks ago, on one of many nights that she had passed in sleepless torture, Franz had succeeded in hypnotizing her into a few hours of needed rest, but he had never again succeeded. Hypnosis was a tool that Dick had distrusted and seldom used, for he knew that he could not always summon up the mood in himself—he had once tried it on Nicole and she had scornfully laughed at him.

The woman in room twenty could not see him when he came in—the area about her eyes was too tightly swollen. She spoke in a strong, rich, deep, thrilling voice.

“How long will this last? Is it going to be forever?”

“It’s not going to be very long now. Doctor Lladislau tells me there are whole areas cleared up.”

“If I knew what I had done to deserve this I could accept it with equanimity.”

“It isn’t wise to be mystical about it—we recognize it as a nervous phenomenon. It’s related to the blush—when you were a girl, did you blush easily?”

She lay with her face turned to the ceiling.

“I have found nothing to blush for since I cut my wisdom teeth.”

“Haven’t you committed your share of petty sins and mistakes?”

“I have nothing to reproach myself with.”

“You’re very fortunate.”

The woman thought a moment; her voice came up through her bandaged face afflicted with subterranean melodies:

“I’m sharing the fate of the women of my time who challenged men to battle.”

“To your vast surprise it was just like all battles,” he answered, adopting her formal diction.

“Just like all battles.” She thought this over. “You pick a set-up, or else win a Pyrrhic victory, or you’re wrecked and ruined—you’re a ghostly echo from a broken wall.”

“You are neither wrecked nor ruined,” he told her. “Are you quite sure you’ve been in a real battle?”

“Look at me!” she cried furiously.

“You’ve suffered, but many women suffered before they mistook themselves for men.” It was becoming an argument and he retreated. “In any case you mustn’t confuse a single failure with a final defeat.”

She sneered. “Beautiful words,” and the phrase transpiring up through the crust of pain humbled him.

“We would like to go into the true reasons that brought you here—” he began but she interrupted.

“I am here as a symbol of something. I thought perhaps you would know what it was.”

“You are sick,” he said mechanically.

“Then what was it I had almost found?”

“A greater sickness.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.” With disgust he heard himself lying, but here and now the vastness of the subject could only be compressed into a lie. “Outside of that there’s only confusion and chaos. I won’t lecture to you—we have too acute a realization of your physical suffering. But it’s only by meeting the problems of every day, no matter how trifling and boring they seem, that you can make things drop back into place again. After that—perhaps you’ll be able again to examine—”

He had slowed up to avoid the inevitable end of his thought:“—the frontiers of consciousness.” The frontiers that artists must explore were not for her, ever. She was fine-spun, inbred—eventually she might find rest in some quiet mysticism. Exploration was for those with a measure of peasant blood, those with big thighs and thick ankles who could take punishment as they took bread and salt, on every inch of flesh and spirit.

—Not for you, he almost said. It’s too tough a game for you.

Yet in the awful majesty of her pain he went out to her unreservedly, almost sexually. He wanted to gather her up in his arms, as he so often had Nicole, and cherish even her mistakes, so deeply were they part of her. The orange light through the drawn blind, the sarcophagus of her figure on the bed, the spot of face, the voice searching the vacuity of her illness and finding only remote abstractions.

As he arose the tears fled lava-like into her bandages.

“That is for something,” she whispered. “Something must come out of it.”

He stooped and kissed her forehead.

“We must all try to be good,” he said.

Leaving her room he sent the nurse in to her. There were other patients to see: an American girl of fifteen who had been brought up on the basis that childhood was intended to be all fun—his visit was provoked by the fact that she had just hacked off all her hair with a nail scissors. There was nothing much to be done for her—a family history of neurosis and nothing stable in her past to build on. The father, normal and conscientious himself, had tried to protect a nervous brood from life’s troubles and had succeeded merely in preventing them from developing powers of adjustment to life’s inevitable surprises. There was little that Dick could say:“Helen, when you’re in doubt you must ask a nurse, you must learn to take advice. Promise me you will.”

What was a promise with the head sick? He looked in upon a frail exile from the Caucasus buckled securely in a sort of hammock which in turn was submerged in a warm medical bath, and upon the three daughters of a Portuguese general who slid almost imperceptibly toward paresis. He went into the room next to them and told a collapsed psychiatrist that he was better, always better, and the man tried to read his face for conviction, since he hung on the real world only through such reassurance as he could find in the resonance, or lack of it, in Doctor Diver’s voice. After that Dick discharged a shiftless orderly and by then it was the lunch hour.

迪克做了一個(gè)長長的有關(guān)戰(zhàn)爭的夢,五點(diǎn)鐘醒來后,走到窗前,放眼眺望窗外的楚格湖。夢開始時(shí),場景陰森可怕,身穿海軍藍(lán)制服的士兵列隊(duì)穿過漆黑一團(tuán)的廣場,走在前邊的是軍樂隊(duì),奏的是普羅科菲耶夫《三個(gè)橘子的愛情》的第二樂章。接著,夢中出現(xiàn)了消防車(這是發(fā)生災(zāi)難的征兆),又有傷殘敵軍士兵在包扎所暴動(dòng)的可怕場面。他打開床頭燈,把夢見的情形詳細(xì)記了下來,最后加了一個(gè)略帶嘲諷的詞語:“非戰(zhàn)斗人員的彈震癥”。

他坐在床邊黯然神傷,覺得這房間,這整幢房子,連同那茫茫的黑夜都是空蕩蕩的。隔壁房間,尼科爾在睡夢中喃喃自語,聲音凄楚,可能她在夢境里也感到孤苦,這叫他不勝惆悵。對他而言,時(shí)間有時(shí)是靜止的,有時(shí)則快得像倒放電影的膠帶,幾年的時(shí)間會(huì)一閃而過。對尼科爾來說,歲月的消逝則是靠鐘表、日歷和生日計(jì)量的,隨之流逝的還有她的美貌,讓人感到悲哀。

即使在楚格湖這一年半的生活,對她而言也是虛度年華。這兒的生活一成不變,只有通過走在路上的工人穿什么顏色的衣服才能注意到季節(jié)的更迭——他們五月穿粉紅色衣服,七月穿棕色,九月穿黑色,春天則是一身素白。她已度過了最初發(fā)病的危險(xiǎn)期,滿懷憧憬和希望,然而除了跟迪克過日子,再也無法實(shí)現(xiàn)別的希望;至于撫養(yǎng)兒女,她只是假做一番柔情,就像對待孤兒一樣。她喜歡的人多為憤世嫉俗者,那些人攪亂了她的生活,對她有害無益。她試圖在那些人身上發(fā)現(xiàn)生命的活力,以為正是這種活力使得他們具有獨(dú)立精神、創(chuàng)造才能和堅(jiān)強(qiáng)的意志,但最終一無所獲,因?yàn)檫@種活力是他們在童年時(shí)代奮斗時(shí)產(chǎn)生的,已成為彼時(shí)的秘密,早已遺忘在了爪哇國里。那些人更感興趣的是她文靜的外表和風(fēng)度,豈不知這也是她病癥的一種表現(xiàn)。她只擁有迪克,這讓她感到十分孤獨(dú),而迪克又不愿被任何人擁有。

他多次想對她撒手不管,由著她去,但每一次都未能如愿。他們在一起度過了許多美好時(shí)光,不知有多少次徹夜長談,有說不盡的溫馨話語。每一次,他都那么深情繾綣,但一轉(zhuǎn)身就會(huì)恢復(fù)自我,使得她懷里只剩下了幻影——她茫然地望著那幻影千呼萬喚,但她清楚,要他即刻回來,純粹是奢望。

這時(shí),他用勁拍了拍枕頭,躺下來,像日本人那樣把后頸壓在枕頭上,以減緩血液的循環(huán),睡了個(gè)回籠覺。起床后,他開始刮臉,而尼科爾也醒了,在屋里到處走動(dòng),對孩子和仆人發(fā)出簡短明了的指示。拉尼爾進(jìn)來看他父親刮臉——住在精神病診所跟前,他耳濡目染,漸漸對父親產(chǎn)生了非同一般的信賴感和崇敬之心,而對其他大多數(shù)成人則有些不屑一顧。在他看來,那些病人要么舉止古怪,要么缺乏生氣,都是些沒有個(gè)性的渾渾噩噩的人。他是個(gè)英俊、有出息的男孩,迪克在他身上沒少花時(shí)間,父子倆的關(guān)系如同一個(gè)慈祥但又嚴(yán)厲的長官與一位恭敬的士兵。

“咦,”拉尼爾問,“你刮臉時(shí)怎么總要在頭發(fā)上沾一點(diǎn)肥皂沫?”

迪克小心翼翼地張開涂了肥皂沫的嘴巴說:“我一直都不知道原因,經(jīng)常為此感到納悶。大概是因?yàn)樾拚W角時(shí),肥皂沫沾在了食指上,可它怎么跑到了我的頭發(fā)上,我就不知道了?!?/p>

“明天來我要好好觀察一下原因?!?/p>

“一大早,空著肚子,你就只關(guān)心這個(gè)問題?”

“其實(shí),不能稱之為問題?!?/p>

“由你怎么說吧?!?/p>

半小時(shí)后,迪克收拾好,就到行政樓里去了。他已經(jīng)三十八歲了,卻仍不愿留胡子。不過,跟在里維埃拉那時(shí)相比,他多了幾分醫(yī)生的氣質(zhì)。在這家診所,他住了有一年半的時(shí)間了。這兒的設(shè)備在歐洲算得上數(shù)一數(shù)二,跟多姆勒教授的診所一樣是現(xiàn)代化的。這兒沒有醫(yī)院里常見的那種孤零零、黑乎乎、看上去很凄涼的樓房,而是像一個(gè)別致的小村莊,乍看有些散亂,實(shí)則渾然一體。迪克和尼科爾苦心孤詣地要給這兒增加一種情調(diào),把這個(gè)診所布置得美輪美奐。但凡途經(jīng)蘇黎世的心理學(xué)家,都要來這兒參觀。如果再增設(shè)一個(gè)專門喝茶的地方,這兒都可以說是個(gè)鄉(xiāng)間俱樂部了?!耙八N薇”樓和“山毛櫸”樓對那些心靈陷入永久黑暗的患者而言就是家園,一片小樹林把它們與主樓隔開,使它們就像隱蔽的據(jù)點(diǎn)。后面是一大片種蔬菜的農(nóng)田,患者有時(shí)會(huì)下田干些農(nóng)活。用于工作療法的工作間共有三間,都在一幢房子里,戴弗醫(yī)生每天早晨都要來這兒巡訪。木工操作間里陽光燦爛,彌漫著鋸末和陳年木頭散發(fā)出的香氣。這兒總有六七個(gè)人在釘呀刨呀鋸呀的——他們沉默不語,在他走過時(shí),會(huì)抬起頭看他,表情莊重。他自己就是一個(gè)優(yōu)秀的木工,有時(shí)會(huì)用平靜、親切而又興趣盎然的聲音同他們討論某種工具的效率。隔壁是書籍裝訂工作間,來這兒干活的患者病情極不穩(wěn)定,康復(fù)的概率都不大。在最后一個(gè)工作間,患者們干的活是制作珠子、編織和打造銅器。他們愁容滿面,唉聲嘆氣,似乎遇到了解決不了的難題——他們的嘆息意味著他們又要開始新一輪的思考——他們的思維不像正常人那樣是直線的,而是無休無止的、循環(huán)性的,一圈又一圈,永無止境。不過,他們制造的物品色彩亮麗,使陌生人一時(shí)會(huì)產(chǎn)生幻覺,錯(cuò)以為是在幼兒園里,一切都很正常。戴弗醫(yī)生只要一進(jìn)門,患者們便會(huì)喜色滿面,因?yàn)樗麄兇蠖喽枷矚g他,勝過喜歡格雷戈羅維斯醫(yī)生。那些在上流社會(huì)待過的患者,無一例外,對他的喜歡更要多幾分。也有個(gè)別病人認(rèn)為他對他們關(guān)心不夠,或者認(rèn)為他不夠坦率,有點(diǎn)裝腔作勢。他們的這些反應(yīng)同迪克在日常生活中遇到的情況沒有什么兩樣,只不過這些病人的精神不正常,心態(tài)是扭曲的。

一位英國女子總要跟他談她感興趣的話題。

“今晚咱們聽音樂嗎?”

“我不知道,”他回答,“我沒有見到拉迪斯勞醫(yī)生。你喜歡昨晚薩克斯夫人和朗斯特里特先生演奏的樂曲嗎?”

“還湊合吧?!?/p>

“我倒覺得很不錯(cuò)——尤其是肖邦的鋼琴曲?!?/p>

“我覺得不過如此?!?/p>

“你什么時(shí)候給我們彈上一曲呢?”

她聳聳肩膀——多年來,她只要一聽到這個(gè)問題就很開心。

“再說吧。不過,我的水平可不行喲?!?/p>

大家心里都有數(shù),知道她壓根就沒登臺演奏過。她的兩個(gè)姐姐都是出類拔萃的音樂家——她們小時(shí)候一起練琴,只有她對音樂一竅不通。

從工作間出來,迪克去巡訪“野薔薇”樓和“山毛櫸”樓。從外表看,這兩幢樓同其他樓一樣都有著歡快的氣氛——尼科爾親自設(shè)計(jì)房間的裝飾和家具,可謂巧奪天工,其基本原則就是對鐵窗、鐵柵欄以及患者用的不可移動(dòng)的家具什么的,進(jìn)行巧妙的掩飾。她表現(xiàn)出了豐富的想象力和非凡的創(chuàng)造力(人們在她身上看不到有這種能力,但她的設(shè)計(jì)卻將它表露無遺)。不知道內(nèi)情的訪客看見窗戶上那輕巧、精致、漂亮的飾品,做夢也不會(huì)想到它們竟然是結(jié)實(shí)、堅(jiān)固的窗戶柵欄,想不到那些反映著現(xiàn)代人品味的管子家具竟然比愛德華時(shí)代的家具還要結(jié)實(shí)耐用——就連花飾也像握在鐵掌中一樣牢固,反正每一件飾品、每一件擺設(shè),似乎是隨意放在那兒,其實(shí)如房屋的大梁一般必不可少。在她不知疲倦的慧眼的設(shè)計(jì)下,每個(gè)房間的空間都得到了最大限度的利用。有人稱贊她,她就輕描淡寫地說自己只不過是個(gè)技術(shù)較好的管子工罷了。

在心理狀況正常的人看來,這里的怪現(xiàn)象比比皆是。戴弗醫(yī)生每次到男患者住的“野薔薇”樓,常常會(huì)覺得挺有意思——這兒有個(gè)矮小的怪人,是個(gè)露陰癖,聲稱他可以一絲不掛地從巴黎的星形廣場走到協(xié)和廣場,途中不會(huì)受到性騷擾,即便出了問題他也可以搞定。迪克覺得他的話也許不無道理。

他最感興趣的還是主樓的一個(gè)女患者。此人約有三十歲,是個(gè)美國畫家,長期僑居巴黎,來診所已有半年的時(shí)間。她的病史不詳。她的一個(gè)表哥偶然發(fā)現(xiàn)她患了精神病,而且病情很嚴(yán)重,就送她到巴黎近郊的一家主要收治觀光客中的癮君子和酒鬼的診所進(jìn)行刺激治療,但效果不佳,于是帶她來了瑞士。來的時(shí)候,她非常漂亮,現(xiàn)在卻滿臉是瘡,痛不欲生。對她多次進(jìn)行驗(yàn)血,均未發(fā)現(xiàn)問題,最后只好勉強(qiáng)地將她的病癥診斷為神經(jīng)性濕疹。近兩個(gè)月,她被關(guān)在病房里接受治療,猶如被關(guān)在“鐵處女”里。在她的幻覺世界里,她頭腦清晰,甚至可以說是思維敏捷。

她是迪克尤為關(guān)注的病人。她發(fā)病時(shí)情緒異常激動(dòng),別的醫(yī)生都束手無策,只有迪克能夠使她“轉(zhuǎn)危為安”。幾個(gè)星期前,她曾多日徹夜難眠,痛苦不堪,弗朗茨對她施催眠術(shù),讓她有了幾個(gè)小時(shí)必要的睡眠,但以后再試就不靈了。迪克不太相信催眠術(shù),也極少使用,因?yàn)樗雷约好看味紵o法產(chǎn)生實(shí)施催眠術(shù)的那種心境——他曾對尼科爾用過此術(shù),結(jié)果惹來的卻是尼科爾的冷嘲熱諷和譏笑。

他走進(jìn)二十號病房時(shí),那個(gè)女病人雙眼腫得很厲害,根本看不見他。只聽她用一種響亮、圓潤、深沉、有些發(fā)顫的聲音問道:“這要持續(xù)多久?怎么沒個(gè)完了?”

“不會(huì)太久的。拉迪斯勞醫(yī)生告訴我,說整塊地方都消腫了?!?/p>

“假如讓我知道自己究竟造了什么孽才有這樣的報(bào)應(yīng),那我會(huì)坦然接受的?!?/p>

“不能將其神秘化,否則就是不理智的。我們認(rèn)為這只是一種精神上的現(xiàn)象,跟羞愧的心理有關(guān)。你是不是在小的時(shí)候經(jīng)常感到羞愧?”

她臉朝天躺在病床上,回答說:“自從懂事以來,我沒有做過可羞愧的事情?!?/p>

“難道你就沒有過小毛病、小過錯(cuò)?”

“我沒做過任何可自責(zé)的事情?!?/p>

“你真夠幸運(yùn)的?!?/p>

女病人想了想,接著她的聲音便透過臉上的繃帶傳了出來,里面含著幾分凄苦:“若論命運(yùn),我和別的敢于挑戰(zhàn)男性的女子是相同的?!?/p>

“恐怕叫你感到意外的是,這樣的挑戰(zhàn)無異于刀光劍影的戰(zhàn)斗?!彼矒Q上了她那種說大道理的口氣,侃侃而論。

“的確像刀光劍影的戰(zhàn)斗?!彼宰魉尖夂笳f,“你面對強(qiáng)敵,要么獲得損失慘重的勝利,要么一敗涂地,遭受毀滅性的打擊,成為殘?jiān)珨啾谥械墓禄暌肮??!?/p>

“可你沒有一敗涂地,也沒有遭受毀滅性的打擊?!彼麑λf,“你敢肯定你參加過刀光劍影的戰(zhàn)斗嗎?”

“你看看我就知道了!”她憤怒地喊了起來。

“你吃了不少苦,但許多女子由于錯(cuò)以為自己是頂天立地的男子漢,也都吃了不少苦?!彼娝麄兊恼勗捳谧兂梢粓鰻幷?,于是便退縮了,息事寧人地說道,“不管怎么說,你不能把一次的失利當(dāng)作最后的敗局?!?/p>

她冷笑道:“凈說漂亮話!”這一聲發(fā)自于她那痛苦心房的譴責(zé)令他銳氣大減。

“我們很想知道你來這兒的真正原因……”他剛開口要說什么,卻被她打斷了。

“我來這兒本身就是一種象征。我想也許你會(huì)知道其中的含義。”

“象征著你病了?!彼麢C(jī)械地說。

“我在這兒差一點(diǎn)就會(huì)有所發(fā)現(xiàn),你說會(huì)是什么發(fā)現(xiàn)呢?”

“發(fā)現(xiàn)了更嚴(yán)重的病?!?/p>

“就這些?”

“就這些?!彼憛捵约赫f謊,但此時(shí)此刻,由于這個(gè)話題過于廣泛,也只能這么說了,“除此以外,就只有意識糊涂和心境混亂了。別怪我說你……我們非常清楚你身體遭受的痛苦,但只有面對每天會(huì)有的問題,不論這些問題多么瑣碎和乏味,你才能重新回到原來的狀態(tài)。之后……也許你就能重新去探索……”

他放慢了語速,邊想邊說,唯恐詞窮:“……去探索無邊的精神世界?!碧剿骶袷澜缡撬囆g(shù)家的使命,然而對她來說并不適合,因?yàn)樗^于脆弱、敏感,也許最終可以在某種寧靜的神秘主義圈子里找到歸宿。探索精神世界的人,必須氣血充盈、身體強(qiáng)壯,有著粗獷的氣質(zhì),經(jīng)得起風(fēng)雨,面對困境處之泰然。

有句話溜到嘴邊,他卻沒說出口:“你不適合探索精神世界,因?yàn)檫@樣的工作過于嚴(yán)峻?!?/p>

然而,女病人的痛苦是那樣強(qiáng)烈、沉重,使他深感同情,幾乎可以說產(chǎn)生了憐香惜玉的感情。他真想把她摟在懷里,就像他常常摟尼科爾那般,甚至愿意欣賞在她身上已根深蒂固的錯(cuò)誤。橘紅色的陽光透過拉下的百葉窗照進(jìn)來;她躺在床上,身體就像一具石棺,表情茫然,說出的話是在探尋她那虛無縹緲的病因,誰知越是探尋,反而使之越是抽象。

他起身時(shí),對方淚如巖漿,一滴一滴落在了她的繃帶上。

“一定有原因的,”女病人喃喃自語,“一定會(huì)水落石出的?!?/p>

他彎下腰,吻了吻她的額頭,說道:“咱們大家一起努力吧。”

離開病房,他叫了一個(gè)護(hù)士去照料她。接下來,他還要去巡訪其他病人,其中有一個(gè)是個(gè)十五歲的美國女孩。女孩小的時(shí)候,家里一心想叫她過快樂的生活,誰料卻事與愿違。他現(xiàn)在去看她,是因?yàn)樗齽傆靡话阎讣准舭阉囊活^秀發(fā)給剪了。診所對她束手無策——她家有神經(jīng)官能癥病史,而她本人精神狀態(tài)不穩(wěn)定,難以對癥下藥。她父親精神正常,頭腦很清楚,竭盡全力想保護(hù)好自己精神失常的子女,唯恐他們受到生活中各種問題的困擾,結(jié)果適得其反,反而妨礙了子女們發(fā)展應(yīng)對人生中風(fēng)風(fēng)雨雨的能力。迪克對這個(gè)小病人無計(jì)可施,只好說道:“海倫,你遇到麻煩務(wù)必要找護(hù)士,必須學(xué)會(huì)向別人請教。答應(yīng)我,下次一定要找護(hù)士!”

讓一個(gè)精神病人許諾無異于對牛彈琴!巡訪途中,他又看望了一位來自高加索的身體虛弱的流亡者。這位患者被牢牢地綁在一張吊床上,而吊床又浸在溫水浴缸里,讓他接受溫水浴治療。隨后,他還看望了一位葡萄牙將軍的三個(gè)女兒——這三位千金幾乎不知不覺都患上了一種麻痹性癡呆癥。出了她們的病房,他到隔壁去探視一位精神崩潰的精神病醫(yī)生,安慰那位醫(yī)生說他的病情已好轉(zhuǎn),而且在不斷好轉(zhuǎn)。那個(gè)醫(yī)生盯著他的臉瞧,因?yàn)槲ㄓ性谀莾翰趴梢粤私鈱?shí)情,讓一顆心感到踏實(shí),如若在那兒找不到答案,他會(huì)從迪克的話語中尋求安慰。巡查完病房,迪克解雇了一名懶惰的護(hù)工。這時(shí),已到了吃午飯的時(shí)候。

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