Until one o’clock Baby Warren lay in bed, reading one of Marion Crawford’s curiously inanimate Roman stories; then she went to a window and looked down into the street. Across from the hotel two carabinieri, grotesque in swaddling capes and harlequin hats, swung voluminously from this side and that, like mains’ls coming about, and watching them she thought of the guards’ officer who had stared at her so intensely at lunch. He had possessed the arrogance of a tall member of a short race, with no obligation save to be tall. Had he come up to her and said:“Let’s go along, you and I,” she would have answered:“Why not?”—at least it seemed so now, for she was still disembodied by an unfamiliar background.

Her thoughts drifted back slowly through the guardsman to the two carabinieri, to Dick—she got into bed and turned out the light.

A little before four she was awakened by a brusque knocking.

“Yes—what is it?”

“It’s the concierge, Madame.”

She pulled on her kimono and faced him sleepily.

“Your friend name Deever he’s in trouble. He had trouble with the police, and they have him in the jail. He sent a taxi up to tell, the driver says that he promised him two hundred lire.” He paused cautiously for this to be approved. “The driver says Mr. Deever in the bad trouble. He had a fight with the police and is terribly bad hurt.”

“I’ll be right down.”

She dressed to an accompaniment of anxious heartbeats and ten minutes later stepped out of the elevator into the dark lobby. The chauffeur who brought the message was gone; the concierge hailed another one and told him the location of the jail. As they rode, the darkness lifted and thinned outside and Baby’s nerves, scarcely awake, cringed faintly at the unstable balance between night and day. She began to race against the day; sometimes on the broad avenues she gained but whenever the thing that was pushing up paused for a moment, gusts of wind blew here and there impatiently and the slow creep of light began once more. The cab went past a loud fountain splashing in a voluminous shadow, turned into an alley so curved that the buildings were warped and strained following it, bumped and rattled over cobblestones, and stopped with a jerk where two sentry boxes were bright against a wall of green damp. Suddenly from the violet darkness of an archway came Dick’s voice, shouting and screaming.

“Are there any English? Are there any Americans? Are there any English? Are there any—oh, my God! You dirty Wops!”

His voice died away and she heard a dull sound of beating on the door. Then the voice began again.

“Are there any Americans? Are there any English?”

Following the voice she ran through the arch into acourt, whirled about in momentary confusion and located the small guard-room whence the cries came. Two carabinieri started to their feet, but Baby brushed past them to the door of the cell.

“Dick!” she called. “What’s the trouble?”

“They’ve put out my eye,” he cried. “They handcuffed me and then they beat me, the goddamn—the—”

Flashing around Baby took a step toward the two carabinieri.

“What have you done to him?” she whispered so fiercely that they flinched before her gathering fury.

“Non capisco inglese.”

In French she execrated them; her wild, confident rage filled the room, enveloped them until they shrank and wriggled from the garments of blame with which she invested them. “Do something! Do something!”

“We can do nothing until we are ordered.”

“Bene. Bay-nay! Bene!”

Once more Baby let her passion scorch around them until they sweated out apologies for their impotence, looking at each other with the sense that something had after all gone terribly wrong. Baby went to the cell door, leaned against it, almost caressing it, as if that could make Dick feel her presence and power, and cried:“I’m going to the Embassy, I’ll be back.” Throwing a last glance of infinite menace at the carabinieri she ran out.

She drove to the American Embassy where she paid off the taxi-driver upon his insistence. It was still dark when she ran up the steps and pressed the bell. She had pressed it three times before a sleepy English porter opened the door to her.

“I want to see some one,” she said. “Any one—but right away.”

“No one’s awake, Madame. We don’t open until nine o’clock.”

Impatiently she waved the hour away.

“This is important. A man—an American has been terribly beaten. He’s in an Italian jail.”

“No one’s awake now. At nine o’clock—”

“I can’t wait. They’ve put out a man’s eye—my brother-in-law, and they won’t let him out of jail. I must talk to some one—can’t you see? Are you crazy? Are you an idiot, you stand there with that look in your face?”

“Hime unable to do anything, Madame.”

“You’ve got to wake some one up!” She seized him by the shoulders and jerked him violently. “It’s a matter of life and death. If you won’t wake some one a terrible thing will happen to you—”

“Kindly don’t lay hands on me, Madame.”

From above and behind the porter floated down a weary Groton voice.

“What is it there?”

The porter answered with relief.

“It’s a lady, sir, and she has shook me.” He had stepped back to speak and Baby pushed forward into the hall. On an upper landing, just aroused from sleep and wrapped in a white embroidered Persian robe, stood a singular young man. His face was of a monstrous and unnatural pink, vivid yet dead, and over his mouth was fastened what appeared to be a gag. When he saw Baby he moved his head back into a shadow.

“What is it?” he repeated.

Baby told him, in her agitation edging forward to the stairs. In the course of her story she realized that the gag was in reality a mustache bandage and that the man’s face was covered with pink cold cream, but the fact fitted quietly into the nightmare. The thing to do, she cried passionately, was for him to come to the jail with her at once and get Dick out.

“It’s a bad business,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed conciliatingly. “Yes?”

“This trying to fight the police.” A note of personal affront crept into his voice, “I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done until nine o’clock.”

“Till nine o’clock,” she repeated aghast. “But you can do something, certainly! You can come to the jail with me and see that they don’t hurt him any more.”

“We aren’t permitted to do anything like that. The Consulate handles these things. The Consulate will be open at nine.”

His face, constrained to impassivity by the binding strap, infuriated Baby.

“I can’t wait until nine. My brother-in-law says they’ve put his eye out—he’s seriously hurt! I have to get to him. I have to find a doctor.” She let herself go and began to cry angrily as she talked, for she knew that he would respond to her agitation rather than her words. “You’ve got to do something about this. It’s your business to protect American citizens in trouble.”

But he was of the Eastern seaboard and too hard for her. Shaking his head patiently at her failure to understand his position he drew the Persian robe closer about him and came down a few steps.

“Write down the address of the Consulate for this lady,” he said to the porter, “and look up Doctor Colazzo’s address and telephone number and write that down too.” He turned to Baby, with the expression of an exasperated Christ. “My dear lady, the diplomatic corps represents the Government of the United States to the Government of Italy. It has nothing to do with the protection of citizens, except under specific instructions from the State Department. Your brother-in-law has broken the laws of this country and been put in jail, just as an Italian might be put in jail in New York. The only people who can let him go are the Italian courts and if your brother-in-law has a case you can get aid and advice from the Consulate, which protects the rights of American citizens. The Consulate does not open until nine o’clock. Even if it were my brother I couldn’t do anything—”

“Can you phone the Consulate?” she broke in.

“We can’t interfere with the Consulate. When the Consul gets there at nine—”

“Can you give me his home address?”

After a fractional pause the man shook his head. He took the memorandum from the porter and gave it to her.

“Now I’ll ask you to excuse me.”

He had manoeuvred her to the door: for an instant the violet dawn fell shrilly upon his pink mask and upon the linen sack that supported his mustache; then Baby was standing on the front steps alone. She had been in the embassy ten minutes.

The piazza whereon it faced was empty save for an old man gathering cigarette butts with a spiked stick. Baby caught a taxi presently and went to the Consulate but there was no one there save a trio of wretched women scrubbing the stairs. She could not make them understand that she wanted the Consul’s home address—in a sudden resurgence of anxiety she rushed out and told the chauffeur to take her to the jail. He did not know where it was, but by the use of the words semper dritte, dextra and sinestra she manoeuvred him to its approximate locality, where she dismounted and explored a labyrinth of familiar alleys. But the buildings and the alleys all looked alike. Emerging from one trail into the Piazza di Spagna she saw the American Express Company and her heart lifted at the word“American” on the sign. There was a light in the window and hurrying across the square she tried the door, but it was locked, and inside the clock stood at seven. Then she thought of Collis Clay.

She remembered the name of his hotel, a stuffy villa sealed in red plush across from the Excelsior. The woman on duty at the office was not disposed to help her—she had no authority to disturb Mr. Clay, and refused to let Miss Warren go up to his room alone; convinced finally that this was not an affair of passion she accompanied her.

Collis lay naked upon his bed. He had come in tight and, awakening, it took him some moments to realize his nudity. He atoned for it by an excess of modesty. Taking his clothes into the bathroom he dressed in haste, muttering to himself “Gosh. She certainly musta got a good look at me.” After some telephoning, he and Baby found the jail and went to it.

The cell door was open and Dick was slumped on a chair in the guard-room. The carabinieri had washed some of the blood from his face, brushed him and set his hat concealingly upon his head. Baby stood in the doorway trembling.

“Mr. Clay will stay with you,” she said. “I want to get the Consul and a doctor.”

“All right.”

“Just stay quiet.”

“All right.”

“I’ll be back.”

She drove to the Consulate; it was after eight now, and she was permitted to sit in the ante-room. Toward nine the Consul came in and Baby, hysterical with impotence and exhaustion, repeated her story. The Consul was disturbed. He warned her against getting into brawls in strange cities, but he was chiefly concerned that she should wait outside—with despair she read in his elderly eye that he wanted to be mixed up as little as possible in this catastrophe. Waiting on his action, she passed the minutes by phoning a doctor to go to Dick. There were other people in the ante-room and several were admitted to the Consul’s office. After half an hour she chose the moment of some one’s coming out and pushed past the secretary into the room.

“This is outrageous! An American has been beaten half to death and thrown into prison and you make no move to help.”

“Just a minute, Mrs.—”

“I’ve waited long enough. You come right down to the jail and get him out!”

“Mrs.—”

“We’re people of considerable standing in America—” Her mouth hardened as she continued. “If it wasn’t for the scandal we can—I shall see that your indifference to this matter is reported in the proper quarter. If my brother-in-law were a British citizen he’d have been free hours ago, but you’re more concerned with what the police will think than about what you’re here for.”

“Mrs.—”

“You put on your hat and come with me right away.”

The mention of his hat alarmed the Consul who began to clean his spectacles hurriedly and to ruffle his papers. This proved of no avail: the American Woman, aroused, stood over him; the clean-sweeping irrational temper that had broken the moral back of a race and made a nursery out of a continent, was too much for him. He rang for the Vice-consul—Baby had won.

Dick sat in the sunshine that fell profusely through the guard-room window. Collis was with him and two carabinieri, and they were waiting for something to happen. With the narrowed vision of his one eye Dick could see the carabinieri; they were Tuscan peasants with short upper lips and he found it difficult to associate them with the brutality of last night. He sent one of them to fetch him a glass of beer.

The beer made him light-headed and the episode was momentarily illumined by a ray of sardonic humor. Collis was under the impression that the English girl had something to do with the catastrophe, but Dick was sure she had disappeared long before it happened. Collis was still absorbed by the fact that Miss Warren had found him naked on his bed.

Dick’s rage had retreated into him a little and he felt a vast criminal irresponsibility. What had happened to him was so awful that nothing could make any difference unless he could choke it to death, and, as this was unlikely, he was hopeless. He would be a different person henceforward, and in his raw state he had bizarre feelings of what the new self would be. The matter had about it the impersonal quality of an act of God. No mature Aryan is able to profit by a humiliation; when he forgives it has become part of his life, he has identified himself with the thing which has humiliated him—an upshot that in this case was impossible.

When Collis spoke of retribution, Dick shook his head and was silent. A lieutenant of carabinieri, pressed, burnished, vital, came into the room like three men and the guards jumped to attention. He seized the empty beer bottle and directed a stream of scolding at his men. The new spirit was in him, and the first thing was to get the beer bottle out of the guard-room. Dick looked at Collis and laughed.

The Vice-consul, an over-worked young man named Swanson, arrived, and they started to the court; Collis and Swanson on either side of Dick and the two carabinieri close behind. It was a yellow, hazy morning; the squares and arcades were crowded and Dick, pulling his hat low over his head, walked fast, setting the pace, until one of the short-legged carabinieri ran alongside and protested. Swanson arranged matters.

“I’ve disgraced you, haven’t I?” said Dick jovially.

“You’re liable to get killed fighting Italians,” replied Swanson sheepishly. “They’ll probably let you go this time but if you were an Italian you’d get a couple of months in prison. And how!”

“Have you ever been in prison?”

Swanson laughed.

“I like him,” announced Dick to Clay. “He’s a very likeable young man and he gives people excellent advice, but I’ll bet he’s been to jail himself. Probably spent weeks at a time in jail.”

Swanson laughed.

“I mean you want to be careful. You don’t know how these people are.”

“Oh, I know how they are,” broke out Dick, irritably. “They’re god damn stinkers.” He turned around to the carabinieri:“Did you get that?”

“I’m leaving you here,” Swanson said quickly. “I told your sister-in-law I would—our lawyer will meet you upstairs in the court-room. You want to be careful.”

“Good-by.” Dick shook hands politely. “Thank you very much. I feel you have a future—”

With another smile Swanson hurried away, resuming his official expression of disapproval.

Now they came into a courtyard on all four sides of which outer stairways mounted to the chambers above. As they crossed the flags a groaning, hissing, booing sound went up from the loiterers in the courtyard, voices full of fury and scorn. Dick stared about.

“What’s that?” he demanded, aghast.

One of the carabinieri spoke to a group of men and the sound died away.

They came into the court-room. A shabby Italian lawyer from the Consulate spoke at length to the judge while Dick and Collis waited aside. Some one who knew English turned from the window that gave on the yard and explained the sound that had accompanied their passage through.A native of Frascati had raped and slain a five-year-old child and was to be brought in that morning—the crowd had assumed it was Dick.

In a few minutes the lawyer told Dick that he was freed—the court considered him punished enough.

“Enough!” Dick cried. “Punished for what?”

“Come along,” said Collis. “You can’t do anything now.”

“But what did I do, except get into a fight with some taxi men?”

“They claim you went up to a detective as if you were going to shake hands with him and hit him—”

“That’s not true! I told him I was going to hit him—I didn’t know he was a detective.”

“You better go along,” urged the lawyer.

“Come along.” Collis took his arm and they descended the steps.

“I want to make a speech,” Dick cried. “I want to explain to these people how I raped a five-year-old girl. Maybe I did—”

“Come along.”

Baby was waiting with a doctor in a taxi-cab. Dick did not want to look at her and he disliked the doctor, whose stern manner revealed him as one of that least palpable of European types, the Latin moralist. Dick summed up his conception of the disaster, but no one had much to say. In his room in the Quirinal the doctor washed off the rest of the blood and the oily sweat, set his nose, his fractured ribs and fingers, disinfected the smaller wounds and put a hopeful dressing on the eye. Dick asked for a quarter of a grain of morphine, for he was still wide awake and full of nervous energy. With the morphine he fell asleep; the doctor and Collis left and Baby waited with him until a woman could arrive from the English nursing home. It had been a hard night but she had the satisfaction of feeling that, whatever Dick’s previous record was, they now possessed a moral superiority over him for as long as he proved of any use.

Annotation:

芭比·沃伦直至深夜仍未入眠，躺在床上读马里昂·克劳福德的一本异常单调乏味的有关罗马的小说。到了一点钟，她下床来到窗口，俯瞰下面的街道。在旅馆对面，有两个警察，身披斗篷，头戴马戏团小丑那样的帽子，模样很古怪。他们不停地走来走去，身上的斗篷鼓起，犹如两面飘动的帆。看着他们，她不由想起午餐时那个盯着她看的禁卫军军官。那人在低矮的意大利人中鹤立鸡群，显得高大威猛，并以此而自负（该军官除此之外似乎别无其他长处）。假如那人当时走到她跟前说：“你我交个朋友，好吗？”她一定会乐得回答：“为什么不呢？”至少此刻她有这样的想法，因为她仍然对环境不熟，觉得自己是孤家寡人。

她的思绪慢慢从那个禁卫军军官转到眼前的这两个警察上，接着又飘向迪克……最后，她回到床上，熄了灯。

将近四点，她被一阵急促的敲门声惊醒。

“来了……什么事？”

“我是看门的，夫人。”

她披上她的和服式女晨衣，开了门，睡眼惺忪地看着来人。

“你的一个叫戴弗的朋友出事了，得罪了警察，被关在了监狱里。他让一个出租车司机来送信。司机说他答应给自己两百里拉的辛苦费。”说到这里，看门人谨慎地停顿了一下，以期得到芭比的认可，“司机说戴弗先生闯下了大祸，和警察大打出手，伤得十分严重。”

“我马上下去。”

她心里像有十五个吊桶在打水，七上八下的，手忙脚乱地穿戴停当，十分钟后下了电梯，走进黑乎乎的门厅。送信的司机已经走了，看门人另叫来一辆出租车，把监狱的地址告诉了司机。芭比上路时，车窗外的夜色已逐渐消退，天空朦胧一片。她的神经几乎还没有苏醒过来，迷迷糊糊弄不清现在是夜里还是白天。她开始和晨曦赛跑——有时，汽车驶上宽阔的大街，她就占上风；然而，一旦遇到阵风刮来，疾驶的汽车速度减慢，落后一步的晨曦便会追上来。汽车经过一处哗哗作响的喷泉时，但见一大片阴影里水花飞溅。后来，汽车拐进一条弯弯曲曲的小巷，两边的房屋也随之变了模样，或高或矮，千奇百怪。汽车在鹅卵石路上颠簸前行，轮胎嘎吱嘎吱地响。最后，汽车在一个地方猛地停下来——这儿有两座岗亭，亮着灯光，后边是一道幽暗潮湿的绿墙。突然，从泛着紫色的黑魆魆的拱门那儿传来了迪克大吼大叫的声音：“这儿有英国人吗？有美国人吗？有没有英国人？有没有……啊，上帝呀！你们这些肮脏的意大利人！”

他的喊声一落，就响起了沉闷的砸门的声音。随后又是他的大吼大叫：“这儿有美国人吗？有英国人吗？”

芭比循声跑了过去，穿过拱门进了一座院子。在院子里，她一时不知该往哪个方向去，随即看到一个小小的禁闭室，而迪克的叫喊声就是从那里传来的。两个警卫见了她不禁一愣，她没理他们，风一样从他们身边冲过，直奔禁闭室的房门。

“迪克！”她叫道，“这是怎么回事？”

“他们把我的眼睛打瞎了。”他高声吼道，“他们给我戴上手铐，然后就殴打我，这些该死的……这些……”

芭比不听则已，听后气得猛然转过身冲到那两个警卫跟前。

“你们对他干了些什么？”她怒气冲冲地低声问道。警卫见她凶神恶煞，吓得不禁矮了半截，畏怯地说：“我们听不懂英语。”

她用法语破口大骂，尽情发泄着胸中的愤怒，骂得他们身子直朝后缩，恨不得找个地缝钻进去。“赶快给我放人！赶快给我放人！”她吼道。

“没有命令，我们也没办法。”

“哼！岂有此理！”

暴怒之下，芭比又发了一通火，骂得警卫连声道歉说他们没有放人的权力，同时面面相觑，意识到问题已非常严重。芭比回到禁闭室门前，靠上前去，身子几乎紧贴在门上，仿佛是想让迪克感受到她的存在和力量。只听她大声说道：“我要到大使馆去，马上就回来。”接着，她最后朝警卫狠狠地瞪了一眼，便风风火火地走了。

她乘出租车到了美国大使馆，按司机要的价付了车费。此时，天还黑着。她跑上台阶，摁了门铃。她连摁三次，才见一个睡眼惺忪的英国门房给她开了门。

“我要见人，”她说，“随便哪一个都行……不过要快。”

“都在睡觉呢，夫人，大使馆九点才开门。”

她心急如焚，哪里管什么时候开门，只顾说道：“事关重大！一个美国人遭到了毒打，被关进了意大利的监狱！”

“都在睡觉呢，九点才……”

“我等不及了。他们把一个美国人的眼睛都打瞎了——那可是我的妹夫！他们把他关在牢里不放他出来。我必须向大使馆反映……你难道听不懂吗？难道你是疯了吗？看你一副傻傻的样子站在那里，莫非你是白痴？”

“我无能为力，夫人。”

“你去把人叫醒。”她揪住他的肩膀，用力晃了一下，“这可是人命关天的事。要是你不去把人叫醒，叫你吃不了兜着走！”

“请你放尊重一点，别碰我，夫人。”

这时，门房的身后飘来一个无精打采的带有格罗顿口音的声音。“怎么回事呀？”

门房松了口气，回答道：“这里有位女士求见，她推了我一把。”

门房说话时朝后退了几步，而芭比从他身边冲过，进了大厅。只见在上面的楼梯口站着一个奇特的年轻男子，显然刚被吵醒。他身上裹着一件绣花的白色波斯睡袍，脸上涂了一种粉红色的、看起来很鲜艳的东西，显得怪模怪样，不光不自然，还很难看。而且他嘴上套了样东西，像是牲畜套了口衔。他看见芭比过来，急忙把头朝后一缩，躲进了黑影里。

“怎么回事呀？”他又重复了一遍刚才的提问。

芭比情绪激动地开始讲述，一边向楼梯那儿挪步。在讲述的过程中，她才看清他嘴上的“口衔”其实是胡须套，而他脸上涂的则是粉红色的面霜。芭比说的事，在他听来简直就是噩梦。末了，芭比语调激愤，高声要求他立刻跟她一起去监狱，把迪克救出来。

“此事很棘手呀。”他说道。

“是很棘手。”芭比顺着他的意思说道，“那该怎么办？”

“这事要和警察局打交道。”他的声音里有了一丝官腔，“领事馆九点钟开门之前，恐怕什么办法也没有。”

“要等到九点！”她惶恐地说，“你一定会有办法的！你可以跟我一起到监狱去，让他们别再伤害他嘛。”

“我们是无权这样做的。这种事由领事馆处理，而领事馆九点办公。”

他的脸由于罩着胡须套，显得无动于衷，这一下子激怒了芭比。

“我不能等到九点。我的妹夫说他的眼睛被打瞎了，伤得很严重！我必须到他那儿去，必须找个医生。”她情绪激动，边说边愤怒地嘤嘤哭起来——她知道光说不顶用，得用哭声打动他，“你一定得采取行动，因为你有责任保护遇到麻烦的美国公民。”

但他是东海岸人，天生一副硬心肠。他见她不理解他的难处，便耐着性子摇了摇头，将身上的波斯睡袍裹紧些，朝下走了几级楼梯，吩咐门房说：“你给这位夫人写一下领事馆的地址，再查一下科拉佐医生的住址和电话号码，也写给她。”吩咐完，他转向芭比，换上一副基督生气时的那种表情，说道：“尊敬的女士，大使馆代表美国政府处理同意大利政府之间的事务，除非有国务院的特别指示，否则是不负责保护公民的。你的妹夫触犯了这个国家的法律，被送入监狱，这就如同一个意大利人被送进纽约监狱一样。能放他出来的只有意大利法庭。要是你的妹夫打官司，你可以到领事馆去寻求帮助和忠告，因为他们负责保护美国公民的正当权利。领事馆要到九点才办公。即使是我的亲兄弟，我也无能为力……”

“你能给领事馆打个电话吗？”芭比插话说。

“领事馆的事务我们是不能干涉的。领事九点到那儿……”

“你能告诉我他的住址吗？”

他沉吟片刻，然后摇了摇头，接过门房写好了领事馆地址的便笺递给她说：“就这样吧。恕我不能奉陪了。”

他把她送到门口时，紫色的晨曦刹那间猛然照射在了他那像戴着粉红色面具一般的脸上，照在他那用来护须的亚麻套子上。他走后，只剩下了芭比一个人孤零零地站在大使馆门前的台阶上——她在大使馆里才待了十分钟。

大使馆外的广场上空荡荡的，只有一位老人在用一根带尖的棍子捡烟头。芭比拦了辆出租车去领事馆，但那里没有人，只有三个可怜兮兮的女清洁工在擦洗楼梯。她向她们打听领事的住址，但她们怎么也听不懂她的话。她忧心如焚，情急之中冲了出去，让司机送她去监狱。司机不知道监狱在哪儿，于是她就用“往前开”、“朝右拐”和“向左转”这样的话语为司机指路，总算到了监狱附近的一个地方。她下了车，在一条条迷宫一般但又眼熟的小巷里摸来摸去（这一带的房屋和小巷看上去都一个样）。后来，她从一条小巷摸出来，到了西班牙广场上，看见了美国运通公司的招牌。见了招牌上的“美国”两字，她精神为之一振。公司的窗口有灯光，于是她快步跑过广场，推了推门，但门锁着，屋里的时钟就在这时敲响，七点钟了。猛然间，她想起了科利斯·克莱。

她还记得他下榻的那家旅馆的名称——该旅馆是位于精品酒店对面的一幢别墅式房屋，里面铺着红地毯，闷得叫人透不过气来。值班的女服务员不愿帮她的忙，声称自己无权打搅克莱先生，也拒绝让这位“沃伦小姐”孤身一人上楼去他的房间。最后，在盘问清楚这并不是一桩风流案，她这才陪芭比上了楼。

科利斯赤条条躺在床上。昨夜回旅馆时，他喝得酩酊大醉，此时被叫醒后过了一会儿才意识到自己竟然一丝不挂。为此，他感到十分难为情，抓起衣服跑进了浴室，一边手忙脚乱地穿戴，一边喃喃自语：“糟糕，我这副样子肯定被她看得一清二楚。”接下来，他打了几个电话，弄清了那家监狱的地址，然后和芭比一道赶了去。

禁闭室的门开着，迪克歪坐在警卫室的一把椅子上。警卫已洗去了他脸上的一部分血污，刷过他的衣服，并给他戴上了帽子遮住伤口。

芭比来到门口，浑身发着抖说：“克莱先生在这里陪你，我要去见领事，再请个医生来。”

“好吧。”

“待着别动。”

“好吧。”

“我马上回来。”

她乘出租车赶到领事馆时已过了八点钟，那儿的人让她在接待室等候。快九点时，领事姗姗而至。芭比累极了，难以抑制自己的情绪，硬是耐着性子把来因讲了一遍。领事显得很不安，警告她说在人生地不熟之处千万不可打架斗殴。但他更为在意的是，芭比应该在外边等候才对。从他圆滑的眼睛里，芭比绝望地看出领事的推托，他压根就不想介入这个事件。在等待答复时，她打电话给迪克请了一位医生。在接待室里等候的其他人一个接一个被叫进了领事的办公室。芭比等了半个小时也没见叫她，于是她便趁着有人出来的时候，硬是从秘书身边挤进了办公室。

“简直太不像话了！一个美国人被人打个半死，还被关进了监狱，而你不采取任何措施去帮助他。”

“稍等一下，夫人……”

“我等得够久了。你得马上去监狱把他救出来！”

“夫人……”

“我们在美国也是有头有脸的人……”她说着说着语气越加强硬起来，“要不是怕闹出丑闻来，我们就……我要把你这种冷漠态度报告给有关部门。我妹夫要是英国公民，恐怕早就从监狱里放出来了。你倒好，处处为那些警察考虑，全然不顾你自己应尽的责任。”

“夫人……”

“戴上你的帽子，马上跟我走！”

一听说让他戴上帽子跟着走，领事有点慌神，又是擦眼镜又是乱翻桌上的文件，以掩饰内心的不安。而这些动作没有一点用处，眼前的这位美国女子哪管这些，气势汹汹地站在那儿，发着她那排山倒海般令人无法理喻的脾气——正是这种脾气摧折了一个民族的道德脊梁，把美洲大陆变成了幼儿园。领事哪里招架得住，急忙按铃叫来了副领事——芭比赢了！

迪克坐在警卫室里，阳光从窗户倾泻进来，洒在他的身上。科利斯和那两个警卫守在他身旁，大家都在等待着，看事情会有什么结果。迪克用肿得成了一条缝的眼睛看看警卫——那两人都是托斯卡纳的农家子弟，上嘴唇短小，很难把他们同昨晚的残暴行为联系起来。他叫一个警卫去给他端杯啤酒来。

一杯酒落肚，他觉得晕乎乎的，回想起昨天的事情，觉得很有讽刺意味，叫人啼笑皆非。科利斯认为那个英国女孩跟此事不无关联，而迪克则语气坚定地说事情发生之前那女孩早已不见了踪影。科利斯也有自己的心事，仍在为清晨那一幕焦虑，觉得沃伦小姐肯定看见了他一丝不挂睡在床上的窘相。

迪克的愤怒稍稍平息了些，觉得任何一方都不应该追究刑事责任。此事对他的打击太大了，除非彻底忘记，否则就无法摆脱这个阴影。然而，要忘记是不可能的，这叫他的心沉入谷底。从此以后，他将成为一个完全不同的人。此时此刻，他怪念丛生，真不知自己将会变成一个什么样的人。此事似乎不是人为，而是上帝一手安排的。一个成年的雅利安人是不可能从屈辱中获益的——他一旦决定采取宽恕的态度，屈辱就成了他生命中的一部分，而他本人就和使他蒙受屈辱的一方成了一体。这样的结局简直匪夷所思！

科利斯说此仇不报非君子，而迪克摇摇头，没吱声。一个警察中尉走进了警卫室，制服笔挺，皮靴锃亮，脚步嗵嗵响，就像来了一群人一样。两个警卫急忙立正站定。中尉拿起那个空酒瓶，把他的部下骂得狗血喷头。一怒之下，他把酒瓶从警卫室扔了出去。迪克看看科利斯，哈哈大笑了起来。

领事馆的副领事是个劳累过度的年轻人，名叫斯旺森。他来后，大家一块儿到法庭去——科利斯和斯旺森走在迪克的两边，那两个警卫紧跟在后面。这是一个天色发黄、雾气腾腾的上午，广场上以及两边的拱廊里人头攒动。迪克拉低帽檐遮住脸，加快脚步朝前走，弄得其中的一个短腿的警卫一路小跑才跟得上，气得他直报怨。斯旺森出面做了调停。

“我让你们丢脸了，是不是？”迪克语气轻松地说。

“跟意大利人打架，弄不好你会被打死的。”斯旺森有些窘迫地回答，“这次他们也许会放过你，但你要是一个意大利人，可能会在牢里待上几个月。就这么回事！”

“你坐过牢吗？”

斯旺森哈哈一笑。

“我喜欢他，”迪克对科利斯说，“他是个非常讨人喜欢的年轻人，给别人提的忠告很有价值。不过，我敢打赌，他自己也坐过牢，非但坐过，恐怕还曾经坐过很长时间。”

斯旺森又是哈哈一笑，说道：“我只是想让你谨慎点，因为你根本不了解那是些什么人……”

“哼，我了解他们是什么人，”迪克气愤地打断他的话说，“他们都是些该死的王八蛋。”说完，他还转向警卫问：“你们听懂我的话了吗？”

“我就把你送到这儿了，”斯旺森急忙说，“我对你大姨子说过就送你到这里……我们的律师在楼上的法庭等你。说话谨慎为妙。”

“再见。”迪克客气地同他握手说，“非常感谢你。我相信你一定会鹏程万里……”

斯旺森又是一笑，急匆匆走了，脸上又换上了官场上的那种拒人于千里之外的表情。

迪克他们一行来到了一个院子里，四面都有露天楼梯通向上面的审判庭。当他们踏着石板路穿过院子时，聚集在那儿的人群发出一片嘘声和叫骂声，声音里充满了愤怒和轻蔑。迪克不解地看看四周。

“怎么回事？”他惊恐地问。

一个警卫对人群说了些什么，那片嘘声便消失了。

随后，他们走进了审判庭。领事馆派来的一位衣着不整的意大利律师在跟法官说话，一直说个没完，而迪克和科利斯就在旁边等着。一个懂英语的人刚才从窗口观察院子里的情况，这时走过来对迪克解释了他们穿过院子时那些人嘘他的原因。原来，弗拉斯卡蒂的一个本地人奸杀了一个五岁的女童，今天上午要被押来受审，院子里的人把迪克错当成了那个凶犯。

几分钟后，律师告诉迪克，说他自由了——法庭认为他已受到了足够的惩罚。

“足够的惩罚！”迪克叫了起来，“凭什么受惩罚？”

“走吧，”科利斯说，“你现在争辩是没有用的。”

“我只不过跟几个出租车司机打了一架，何罪之有？”

“他们指控你走近一个警探时，假装要跟他握手，却突然袭击了他……”

“这不属实！我告诉过他我要揍他——我并不知道他是警探。”

“你最好还是走吧。”律师催促道。

“走吧。”科利斯挽住他的胳膊，拉他下了楼梯。

“我有话要说，”迪克喊道，“我要对这些人讲一讲，我是怎样奸污那个五岁女童的。也许我……”

“走吧。”

芭比和一位医生在出租车里等着。迪克不想看到她，也不喜欢那个医生——此人板着面孔，让人觉得他是一个令人最难捉摸的欧洲人，一个拉丁民族的道德家。迪克在讲述这场飞来横祸时，其他人都缄口不语。到了奎里纳尔旅馆他的房间里，医生为他清洗了残留的血污和汗渍，校正了他的鼻梁，给折断的肋骨和脱臼的手指复了位，为一些小伤口消了毒，给受伤的那只眼缠了纱布。迪克向他要了四分之一格令的吗啡，因为他精神亢奋，难以入眠。他服了吗啡后就睡着了。医生和科利斯离开了，而芭比留下来守候，要等英国疗养院的护士来了再走。尽管这一夜过得很不容易，她心里却有一种满足感，觉得不管迪克以前怎么样，起码现在她们在道德层面占了优势——只要迪克还有一点用，她们在他面前就会一直保持这种优势。