第25章 阿拉比 (1)
《阿拉比》是詹姆斯·乔伊斯小说集《都柏林人》
中一篇反映少年心理变化的短篇小说。小说讲述了一
个都柏林少年对同伴的姐姐产生了朦胧的爱情，在经
过漫长而又焦急的等待之后，最终爱情幻想以破灭而
告终。
[ 爱尔兰] 詹姆斯·乔伊斯（ James Joyce）
Every morning I lay on the floor in the front parlor watching
her door. The blind was pulled down to within an inch of the sash
so that I could not be seen. When she came out on the doorstep
my heart leaped. I ran to the hall，seized my books and followed
her. I kept her brown figure always in my eye and，when we
came near the point at which our ways diverged，I quickened my
pace and passed her. This happened morning after morning. I had
never spoken to her，except for a few casual words，and yet her
name was like a summons to all my foolish blood.
Her image accompanied me even in places the most hostile
to romance. On Saturday evenings when my aunt went marketing
I had to go to carry some of the parcels. We walked through the
flaring streets，jostled by drunken men and bargaining women，
amid the curses of laborers，the shrill litanies of shop boys
who stood on guard by the barrels of pigs’cheeks，the nasal
chanting of street singers，who sang a come-all-you about O’
Donovan Rossa，or a ballad about the troubles in our native land.
These noises converged in a single sensation of life for me:I
imagined that I bore my chalice safely through a throng of foes.
Her name sprang to my lips at moments in strange prayers and
praises which I myself did not understand. My eyes were often
full of tears (I could not tell why) and at times a flood from my
heart seemed to pour itself out into my bosom. I thought little
of the future. I did not know whether I would ever speak to her
or not or，if I spoke to her，how I could tell her of my confused
adoration. But my body was like a harp and her words and
gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.
One evening I went into the back drawing room in which
the priest had died. It was a dark rainy evening and there was no
sound in the house. Through one of the broken panes I heard the
rain impinge upon the earth，the fine incessant needles of water
playing in the sodden beds. Some distant lamp or lighted window
gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so little. All
my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and，feeling that
I was about to slip from them，I pressed the palms of my hands
together until they trembled，murmuring:“O love! O love !”
many times.
At last she spoke to me. When she addressed the first words
to me I was so confused that I did not know what to answer. She
asked me was I going to Araby. I forgot whether I answered yes or
no. It would be a splendid bazaar，she said ；she would love to go.
“And why can’t you?”I asked.
While she spoke she turned a silver bracelet round and round
her wrist. She could not go，she said，because there would be a
retreat that week in her convent. Her brother and two other boys
were fighting for their caps and I was alone at the railings. She
held one of the spikes，bowing her head towards me. The light
from the lamp opposite our door caught the white curve of her
neck，lit up her hair that rested there and，falling，lit up the hand
upon the railing. It fell over one side of her dress and caught the
white border of a petticoat，just visible as she stood at ease.
“It’s well for you，”she said.
“If I go，”I said，“I will bring you something.”
What innumerable follies laid waste my waking and sleeping
thoughts after that evening! I wished to annihilate the tedious
intervening days. I chafed against the work of school. At night
in my bedroom and by day in the classroom her image came
between me and the page I strove to read. The syllables of the
word Araby were called to me through the silence in which my
soul luxuriated and cast an Eastern enchantment over me. I
asked for leave to go to the bazaar on Saturday night. My aunt
was surprised and hoped it was not some Freemason affair. I
answered few questions in class. I watched my master’s face
pass from amiability to sternness ；he hoped I was not beginning
to idle. I could not call my wandering thoughts together. I had
hardly any patience with the serious work of life which，now that
it stood between me and my desire，seemed to me child’s play，
ugly monotonous child’s play.
On Saturday morning I reminded my uncle that I wished to
go to the bazaar in the evening. He was fussing at the hall stand，
looking for the hat brush，and answered me curtly :“Yes，boy，I
know.”
As he was in the hall I could not go into the front parlor
and lie at the window. I left the house in bad humor and walked
slowly towards the school. The air was pitilessly raw and already
my heart misgave me.
When I came home to dinner my uncle had not yet been
home. Still it was early. I sat staring at the clock for some time
and，when its ticking began to irritate me，I left the room. I
mounted the staircase and gained the upper part of the house.
The high cold empty gloomy rooms liberated me and I went
from room to room singing. From the front window I saw my
companions playing below in the street. Their cries reached me
weakened and indistinct and，leaning my forehead against the
cool glass，I looked over at the dark house where she lived. I may
have stood there for an hour，seeing nothing but the brown-clad
figure cast by my imagination，touched discreetly by the lamplight
at the curved neck，at the hand upon the railings and at the border
below the dress.
When I came downstairs again I found Mrs. Mercer sitting
at the fire. She was an old garrulous woman，a pawnbroker’s
widow，who collected used stamps for some pious purpose. I
had to endure the gossip of the tea table. The meal was prolonged
beyond an hour and still my uncle did not come. Mrs. Mercer stood
up to go:she was sorry she couldn’t wait any longer，but it was