A Visit 2

There was, of course, not time to do everything. Before Margaret had seen half the house, Carla's brother came home. Carla came running up the great staircase one afternoon calling “Margaret, Margaret, he's come,” and Margaret, running down to meet her, hugged her and said, “I'm so glad.”

He had certainly come, and Margaret, entering the drawing room shyly behind Carla, saw Mrs. Rhodes with tears in her eyes and Mr. Rhodes standing straighter and prouder than before, and Carla said, “Brother, here is Margaret.”

He was tall and haughty in uniform, and Margaret wished she had met him a little later, when she had perhaps been to her room again, and perhaps tucked up her hair. Next to him stood his friend, a captain, small and dark and bitter, and smiling bleakly upon the family assembled. Margaret smiled back timidly at them both, and stood behind Carla.

Everyone then spoke at once. Mrs. Rhodes said “We've missed you so,” and Mr. Rhodes said “Glad to have you back, m'boy,” and Carla said “We shall have such times—I've promised Margaret—” and Carla's brother said “So this is Margaret?” and the dark captain said “I've been wanting to come.”

It seemed that they all spoke at once, every time; there would be a long waiting silence while all of them looked around with joy at being together, and then suddenly everyone would have found something to say. It was so at dinner: Mrs. Rhodes said “You're not eating enough,” and “You used to be more fond of pomegranates,” and Carla said “We're to go boating,” and “We'll have a dance, won't we?” and “Margaret and I insist upon a picnic,” and “I saved the river for my brother to show to Margaret.” Mr. Rhodes puffed and laughed and passed the wine, and Margaret hardly dared lift her eyes. The black captain said “Never realized what an attractive old place it could be, after all,” and Carla's brother said “There's much about the house I'd like to show Margaret.”

After dinner they played charades, and even Mrs. Rhodes did Achilles with Mr. Rhodes, holding his heel and both of them laughing and glancing at Carla and Margaret and the captain. Carla's brother leaned on the back of Margaret's chair and once she looked up at him and said, “No one ever calls you by name. Do you actually have a name?”

“Paul,” he said.

The next morning they walked on the lawn, Carla with the captain and Margaret with Paul. They stood by the lake, and Margaret looked at the pure reflection of the house and said, “It almost seems as though we could open a door and go in.”

“There,” said Paul, and he pointed with his stick at the front entrance. “There is where we shall enter, and it will swing open for us with an underwater crash.”

“Margaret,” said Carla, laughing, “you say odd things, sometimes. If you tried to go into that house, you'd be in the lake.”

“Indeed, and not like it much, at all,” the captain added.

“Or would you have the side door?” asked Paul, pointing with his stick.

“I think I prefer the front door,” said Margaret.

“But you'd be drowned,” Carla said. She took Margaret's arm as they started back toward the house, and said, “We'd make a scene for a tapestry right now, on the lawn before the house.”

“Another tapestry?” said the captain, and grimaced.

They played croquet, and Paul hit Margaret's ball toward a wicket, and the captain accused her of cheating prettily. And they played word games in the evening, and Margaret and Paul won, and everyone said Margaret was so clever. And they walked endlessly on the lawns before the house, and looked into the still lake, and watched the reflection of the house in the water, and Margaret chose a room in the reflected house for her own, and Paul said she should have it.

“That's the room where Mama writes her letters,” said Carla, looking strangely at Margaret.

“Not in our house in the lake,” said Paul.

“And I suppose if you like it she would lend it to you while you stay,” Carla said.

“Not at all,” said Margaret amiably. “I think I should prefer the tower anyway.”

“Have you seen the rose garden?” Carla asked.

“Let me take you there,” said Paul.

Margaret started across the lawn with him, and Carla called to her, “Where are you off to now, Margaret?”

“Why, to the rose garden,” Margaret called back, and Carla said, staring, “You are really very odd, sometimes, Margaret. And it's growing colder, far too cold to linger among the roses,” and so Margaret and Paul turned back.

Mrs. Rhodes's needlepoint was coming on well. She had filled in most of the outlines of the house, and was setting in the windows. After the first small shock of surprise, Margaret no longer wondered that Mrs. Rhodes was able to set out the house so well without a pattern or a plan; she did it from memory and Margaret, realizing this for the first time, thought “How amazing,” and then “But of course; how else would she do it?”

To see a picture of the house, Mrs. Rhodes needed only to lift her eyes in any direction, but, more than that, she had of course never used any other model for her embroidery; she had of course learned the faces of the house better than the faces of her children. The dreamy life of the Rhodeses in the house was most clearly shown Margaret as she watched Mrs. Rhodes surely and capably building doors and windows, carvings and cornices, in her embroidered house, smiling tenderly across the room to where Carla and the captain bent over a book together, while her fingers almost of themselves turned the edge of a carving Margaret had forgotten or never known about until, leaning over the back of Mrs. Rhodes's chair, she saw it form itself under Mrs. Rhodes's hands.

The small thread of days and sunlight, then, that bound Margaret to the house, was woven here as she watched. And Carla, lifting her head to look over, might say, “Margaret, do come and look, here. Mother is always at her work, but my brother is rarely home.”

They went for a picnic, Carla and the captain and Paul and Margaret, and Mrs. Rhodes waved to them from the doorway as they left, and Mr. Rhodes came to his study window and lifted his hand to them. They chose to go to the wooded hill beyond the house, although Carla was timid about going too far away—“I always like to be where I can see the roofs, at least,” she said—and sat among the trees, on moss greener than Margaret had ever seen before, and spread out a white cloth and drank red wine.

It was a very proper forest, with neat trees and the green moss, and an occasional purple or yellow flower growing discreetly away from the path. There was no sense of brooding silence, as there sometimes is with trees about, and Margaret realized, looking up to see the sky clearly between the branches, that she had seen this forest in the tapestries in the breakfast room, with the house shining in the sunlight beyond.

“Doesn't the river come through here somewhere?” she asked, hearing, she thought, the sound of it through the trees. “I feel so comfortable here among these trees, so at home.”

“It is possible,” said Paul, “to take a boat from the lawn in front of the house and move without sound down the river, through the trees, past the fields and then, for some reason, around past the house again. The river, you see, goes almost around the house in a great circle. We are very proud of that.”

“The river is near by,” said Carla. “It goes almost completely around the house.”

“Margaret,” said the captain. “You must not look rapt on a picnic unless you are contemplating nature.”

“I was, as a matter of fact,” said Margaret. “I was contemplating a caterpillar approaching Carla's foot.”

“Will you come and look at the river?” said Paul, rising and holding his hand out to Margaret. “I think we can see much of its great circle from near here.”

“Margaret,” said Carla as Margaret stood up. “You are always wandering off.”

“I'm coming right back,” Margaret said, with a laugh. “It's only to look at the river.”

“Don't be away long,” Carla said, “We must be getting back before dark.”

The river as it went through the trees was shadowed and cool, broadening out into pools where only the barest movement disturbed the ferns along its edge, and where small stones made it possible to step out and see the water all around, from a precarious island, and where without sound a leaf might be carried from the limits of sight to the limits of sight, moving swiftly but imperceptibly and turning a little as it went.

“Who lives in the tower, Paul?” asked Margaret, holding a fern and running it softly over the back of her hand. “I know someone lives there, because I saw someone moving at the window once.”

“Not lives there,” said Paul, amused. “Did you think we kept a political prisoner locked away?”

“I thought it might be the birds, at first,” Margaret said, glad to be describing this to someone.

“No,” said Paul, still amused. “There's an aunt, or a greataunt, or perhaps even a great-great-great-aunt. She doesn't live there, at all, but goes there because she says she cannot endure the sight of tapestry.” He laughed. “She has filled the tower with books, and a huge old cat, and she may practice alchemy there, for all anyone knows. The reason you've never seen her would be that she has one of her spells of hiding away. Sometimes she is downstairs daily.”

“Will I ever meet her?” Margaret asked wonderingly.

“Perhaps,” Paul said. “She might take it into her head to come down formally one night to dinner. Or she might wander carelessly up to you where you sat on the lawn, and introduce herself. Or you might never see her, at that.”

“Suppose I went up to the tower?”

Paul glanced at her strangely. “I suppose you could, if you wanted to,” he said. “I've been there.”

“Margaret,” Carla called through the woods. “Margaret, we shall be late if you do not give up brooding by the river.”

All this time, almost daily, Margaret was seeing new places in the house: the fan room, where the most delicate filigree fans had been set into the walls with their fine ivory sticks painted in exquisite miniature; the small room where incredibly perfect wooden and glass and metal fruits and flowers and trees stood on glittering glass shelves, lined up against the windows. And daily she passed and repassed the door behind which lay the stairway to the tower, and almost daily she stepped carefully around the tiles on the floor which read “Here was Margaret, who died for love.”

It was no longer possible, however, to put off going to the tower. It was no longer possible to pass the doorway several times a day and do no more than touch her hand secretly to the panels, or perhaps set her head against and listen, to hear if there were footsteps going up or down, or a voice calling her. It was not possible to pass the doorway once more, and so in the early morning Margaret set her hand firmly to the door and pulled it open, and it came easily, as though relieved that at last, after so many hints and insinuations, and so much waiting and such helpless despair, Margaret had finally come to open it.

The stairs beyond, gray stone and rough, were, Margaret thought, steep for an old lady's feet, but Margaret went up effortlessly, though timidly. The stairway turned around and around, going up to the tower, and Margaret followed, setting her feet carefully upon one step after another, and holding her hands against the warm stone wall on either side, looking forward and up, expecting to be seen or spoken to before she reached the top; perhaps, she thought once, the walls of the tower were transparent and she was clearly, ridiculously visible from the outside, and Mrs. Rhodes and Carla, on the lawn—if indeed they ever looked upward to the tower—might watch her and turn to one another with smiles, saying “There is Margaret, going up to the tower at last,” and, smiling, nod to one another.

The stairway ended, as she had not expected it would, in a heavy wooden door, which made Margaret, standing on the step below to find room to raise her hand and knock, seem smaller, and even standing at the top of the tower she felt that she was not really tall.

“Come in,” said the great-aunt's voice, when Margaret had knocked twice; the first knock had been received with an expectant silence, as though inside someone had said inaudibly, “Is that someone knocking at this door?” and then waited to be convinced by a second knock—and Margaret's knuckles hurt from the effort of knocking to be heard through a heavy wooden door. She opened the door awkwardly from below—how much easier this all would be, she thought, if I knew the way—went in, and said politely, before she looked around, “I'm Carla's friend. They said I might come up to the tower to see it, but of course if you would rather I went away I shall.” She had planned to say this more gracefully, without such an implication that invitations to the tower were issued by the downstairs Rhodeses, but the long climb and her being out of breath forced her to say everything at once, and she had really no time for the sounding periods she had composed.

In any case the great-aunt said politely—she was sitting at the other side of the round room, against a window, and she was not very clearly visible—“I am amazed that they told you about me at all. However, since you are here I cannot pretend that I really object to having you; you may come in and sit down.”

Margaret came obediently into the room and sat clown on the stone bench which ran all the way around the tower room, under the windows which of course were on all sides and open to the winds, so that the movement of the air through the tower room was insistent and constant, making talk difficult and even distinguishing objects a matter of some effort.

As though it were necessary to establish her position in the house emphatically and immediately, the old lady said, with a gesture and a grin, “My tapestries,” and waved at the windows. She seemed to be not older than a great-aunt, although perhaps too old for a mere aunt, but her voice was clearly able to carry through the sound of the wind in the tower room and she seemed compact and strong beside the window, not at all as though she might be dizzy from looking out, or tired from the stairs.

“May I look out the window?” Margaret asked, almost of the cat, which sat next to her and regarded her without friendship, but without, as yet, dislike.

“Certainly,” said the great-aunt. “Look out the windows, by all means.”

Margaret turned on the bench and leaned her arms on the wide stone ledge of the window, but she was disappointed. Although the tops of the trees did not reach halfway up the tower, she could see only branches and leaves below and no sign of the wide lawns or the roofs of the house or the curve of the river.

“I hoped I could see the way the river went, from here.”

“The river doesn't go from here,” said the old lady, and laughed.

“I mean,” Margaret said, “they told me that the river went around in a curve, almost surrounding the house.”

“Who told you?” said the old lady.

“Paul.”

“I see,” said the old lady. “He's back, is he?”

“He's been here for several days, but he's going away again soon.”

“And what's your name?” asked the old lady, leaning forward.

“Margaret.”

“I see,” said the old lady again. “That's my name, too,” she said.

Margaret thought that “How nice” would be an inappropriate reply to this, and something like “Is it?” or “Just imagine” or “What a coincidence” would certainly make her feel more foolish than she believed she really was, so she smiled uncertainly at the old lady and dismissed the notion of saying “What a lovely name.”

“He should have come and gone sooner,” the old lady went on, as though to herself. “Then we'd have it all behind us.”

“Have all what behind us?” Margaret asked, although she felt that she was not really being included in the old lady's conversation with herself, a conversation that seemed—and probably was—part of a larger conversation which the old lady had with herself constantly and on larger subjects than the matter of Margaret's name, and which even Margaret, intruder as she was, and young, could not be allowed to interrupt for very long. “Have all what behind us?” Margaret asked insistently.

“I say,” said the old lady, turning to look at Margaret, “he should have come and gone already, and we'd all be well out of it by now.”

“I see,” said Margaret. “Well, I don't think he's going to be here much longer. He's talking of going.” In spite of herself, her voice trembled a little. In order to prove to the old lady that the trembling in her voice was imaginary, Margaret said almost defiantly, “It will be very lonely here after he has gone.”

“We'll be well out of it, Margaret, you and I,” the old lady said. “Stand away from the window, child, you'll be wet.”

Margaret realized with this that the storm which had—she knew now—been hanging over the house for long sunny days had broken, suddenly, and that the wind had grown louder and was bringing with it through the windows of the tower long stinging rain. There were drops on the cat's black fur, and Margaret felt the side of her face wet. “Do your windows close?” she asked. “If I could help you—”

“I don't mind the rain,” the old lady said. “It wouldn't be the first time it's rained around the tower.”

“I don't mind it,” Margaret said hastily, drawing away from the window. She realized that she was staring back at the cat, and added nervously, “Although, of course, getting wet is—” She hesitated and the cat stared back at her without expression. “I mean,” she said apologetically, “some people don't like getting wet.”

The cat deliberately turned its back on her and put its face closer to the window.

“What were you saying about Paul?” Margaret asked the old lady, feeling somehow that there might he a thin thread of reason tangling the old lady and the cat and the tower and the rain, and even, with abrupt clarity, defining Margaret herself and the strange hesitation which had caught at her here in the tower. “He's going away soon, you know.”

“It would have been better if it were over with by now,” the old lady said. “These things don't take really long, you know, and the sooner the better, I say.”

“I suppose that's true,” Margaret said intelligently.

“After all,” said the old lady dreamily, with raindrops in her hair, “we don't always see ahead, into things that are going to happen.”

Margaret was wondering how soon she might politely go back downstairs and dry herself off, and she meant to say politely only so long as the old lady seemed to be talking, however remotely, about Paul. Also, the rain and the wind were coming through the window onto Margaret in great driving gusts, as though Margaret and the old lady and the books and the cat would be washed away, and the top of the tower cleaned of them.

“I would help you if I could,” the old lady said earnestly to Margaret, raising her voice almost to a scream to be heard over the wind and the rain. She stood up to approach Margaret, and Margaret, thinking she was about to fall, reached out a hand to catch her. The cat stood up and spat, the rain came through the window in a great sweep, and Margaret, holding the old lady's hands, heard through the sounds of the wind the equal sounds of all the voices in the world, and they called to her saying “Good-by, good-by,” and “All is lost,” and another voice saying “I will always remember you,” and still another called, “It is so dark.” And, far away from the others, she could hear a voice calling, “Come back, come back.” Then the old lady pulled her hands away from Margaret and the voices were gone. The cat shrank back and the old lady looked coldly at Margaret and said, “As I was saying, I would help you if I could.”

“I'm so sorry,” Margaret said weakly. “I thought you were going to fall.”

“Good-by,” said the old lady.

拜访 2

当然，她们没有时间把所有的事情都做了。在玛格丽特看完了这栋楼房的一半时，卡拉的哥哥回家了。一天下午，卡拉跑上楼大声喊着：“玛格丽特，玛格丽特，他到家了。”而玛格丽特也跑下楼迎着她，拥抱着她说道：“我太高兴了。”

他已经到了，玛格丽特跟在卡拉的后面害羞地走进了客厅，看见罗德斯太太满眼泪花，而罗德斯先生身板挺得更加笔直，比以前更加神气十足了。卡拉介绍道：“哥哥，这位是玛格丽特。”

他穿着军装，高大威严，玛格丽特真希望她能稍晚一点儿和他见面，因为那样的话她还可以回趟房间，盘起她的头发。他身边还站着一个他的朋友，一位上尉，个头不高，肤色很黑，一脸的愁苦，冲着聚在一起的一家人凄凉地微笑着。玛格丽特在冲他们俩怯生生地报以微笑后，站到了卡拉的身后。

大家立刻开始说起话来，罗德斯太太说道：“我们都很想你。”罗德斯先生说道：“很高兴你回来了，我的儿子。”而卡拉说道：“我们要做好几件事——我都许给玛格丽特了——”卡拉的哥哥问道：“这位就是玛格丽特了？”黑皮肤的上尉说道：“我一直想前来拜访。”

大家似乎每一次都选择同一时刻说话，但有时又都突然不说了，东张西望地想听别人说，甚至还有着长时间沉默的尴尬，但大家对于团聚好像有着说不完的话，于是不定什么时候又开始同时张嘴说话了。晚饭时还是这种情况：罗德斯太太说：“你吃得不多呀！”还有：“你过去很喜欢吃石榴的。”卡拉说：“我们去划船吧。”“我们还要举办舞会，可以吗？”“玛格丽特和我特别想去野餐。”还有：“我没带玛格丽特浏览河流，就是想让哥哥领着她去看。”罗德斯先生在喷着烟，大笑着，给大家递着葡萄酒，而玛格丽特几乎不敢抬头看大家。皮肤黝黑的上尉说：“我怎么也没想到这是块那么古老和有魅力的地方。”而卡拉的哥哥说：“这栋房子里有很多东西我都想让玛格丽特看看。”

晚饭过后，他们玩了会儿猜字谜游戏。当罗德斯太太和罗德斯先生表演“阿喀琉斯”(1)的动作时，罗德斯太太举着先生的脚后跟，两个人一边哈哈大笑，一边瞟着卡拉、玛格丽特和上尉。卡拉的哥哥靠在玛格丽特的椅子背上，有一次她抬头看着他问道：“还没人叫你的名字呢，你叫什么名字？”

“保罗。”他说道。

第二天早晨，他们一起在草坪上散步，卡拉挽着上尉，玛格丽特挽着保罗。他们站在湖边，玛格丽特望着水中楼房纯净的倒影，说道：“太逼真了，好像只要我们打开门，就能走进去一样。”

“那里，”保罗说道，他用手杖指着前面入口处的大门。“我们从这儿进去，水下震动，大门就会为我们打开。”

“玛格丽特，”卡拉大笑着说，“你有时会说些奇怪的话，如果你想进到那栋房子，你还得先下到湖里才行。”

“事实上，你根本不会喜欢下到湖里。”上尉补充道。

“或者，你会从侧门进去吗？”保罗边用手杖指着湖面边说道。

“我认为我还是更喜欢从前门进去。”玛格丽特说道。

“但是你会被淹死的。”卡拉说道。当他们开始走回房子时，卡拉抓着玛格丽特的手臂说道：“我想现在我们可以为挂毯再设计一个场景了，在楼前的草地上，我们做背景。”

“另一块挂毯吗？”上尉说道，并做了一个鬼脸。

他们玩起了槌球游戏，保罗把玛格丽特的球撞到了球门里，上尉开玩笑地指责她玩球作弊。晚上他们又一起玩了填字游戏，也是玛格丽特和保罗赢了，大家都说玛格丽特非常聪明。他们经常在楼前的草坪上散步，看着平静的湖面，观察水中房子的倒影，玛格丽特选了倒影楼房里的一个房间作为自己的房间，保罗说她本来就应该拥有一个自己的房间。

“可那个是妈妈写信用的房间。”卡拉看着玛格丽特说道，脸上的表情很奇怪。

“我们谈的是水里的房子，又不是真的。”保罗说道。

“在你住在我们家的这段日子里，如果你喜欢那个房间，我想她会借给你的。”卡拉说道。

“根本不用，”玛格丽特亲切地说道，“我觉得我更喜欢那个塔楼。”

“你参观过那个玫瑰花园吗？”卡拉问道。

“让我带你去那儿吧。”保罗说道。

玛格丽特和他一起穿过草坪，卡拉冲她喊道：“你现在要去哪儿，玛格丽特？”

“当然是去玫瑰花园呀。”玛格丽特回应道。而卡拉瞪着她说道：“有的时候，你还真是奇怪，玛格丽特。现在天变得越来越冷了，在玫瑰花丛中溜达太冷了。”于是玛格丽特和保罗又折返了回来。

罗德斯太太的刺绣进展顺利，她已经在布面上填满了楼房的轮廓，正在绣窗户那部分。在经过了一开始短暂的震惊之后，玛格丽特不再纳闷罗德斯太太能够不依照画好的图案和花样就直接绣出房子的样子。她全凭着自己的记忆力，当玛格丽特第一次意识到这点时，心中暗想，“这真了不起，”然后又会很好奇，“但是，房子以外别的部分她是怎么做到的？”

为了看清这栋房子的图案，罗德斯太太不仅需要从各个方向抬眼观察，而且更为神奇的是她从不借助别的模型就可以完成刺绣作品。当然，她对这栋房子外表的熟悉程度可能比对孩子们外表的熟悉程度还要深。当她观察罗德斯太太信心十足而又游刃有余地在刺绣的房子里添加门窗、雕梁画栋时，罗德斯一家在这栋房子里梦幻一般的生活活灵活现地呈现在了玛格丽特眼前。罗德斯太太还时常面带微笑地穿过房间，来到卡拉和上尉一起低头看书的地方，而她的手指几乎是自动地依然绣着雕梁的外侧，玛格丽特已经忘了或者从来也不知道这些雕梁是什么样子，直到她俯身探过罗德斯太太的椅子背，发现在罗德斯太太的手上，雕梁已经纤毫毕现地完成了。

然后，在她出神地看的时候，白昼里的太阳光线——让玛格丽特对这栋楼很着迷的地方——也在绣架上织成了。卡拉抬起头往她们这个方向看过来，好像在说：“玛格丽特，快到我们这边来吧，母亲总是忙着刺绣，但我哥哥可不经常回家哟。”

他们去野炊了，卡拉、上尉、保罗还有玛格丽特，当他们离家时，罗德斯太太在门口跟他们挥着手，而罗德斯先生来到了他书房的窗户边，也冲他们举手示意。虽然卡拉有点儿害怕走得太远，但他们还是选择了去那座远离他们家，长满树木的小山。“我总是愿意去个至少能看见家里房子屋顶的地方。”卡拉说道——她坐在树木中间的苔藓上，玛格丽特以前从来没见过这么绿的苔藓，他们在地上铺了一个白单子，开始喝红葡萄酒了。

这是一个郁郁葱葱的森林，有着整齐的树木和绿色的苔藓，偶尔还有紫色或者黄色的花朵不起眼地开放在小径的边上。这里并非完全一片寂静，但有时在树木之间还是能感觉到沉思默想般的安静。她抬头通过树枝间的缝隙能够看到朗朗晴空，玛格丽特意识到她在吃早餐的房间里，曾经在一块儿挂毯上见过这片森林，图案上森林远处的那栋楼房在阳光下闪耀着。

“那条河流不会是穿过了这个森林的某个地方吧？”她问道。她一边思忖，一边侧耳倾听着穿过树林的水流声。“我在这些树木中间觉得特别舒服，就像在家里一样。”

“那有可能，”保罗说道，“如果房子前的草坪上有一艘小船的话，一直把它往下推，它就会不声不响地下到河里，穿过这片树林，再经过田野，然后，不知什么原因就又会绕回我们家的房子周围了。这条河流，你瞧，几乎是围着房子绕了一个很大的弯。我们很为此自豪。”

“河就在我们附近，”卡拉说道，“它完全是在围着房子流淌。”

“玛格丽特，”上尉说道，“你不必那么专注地盯着野炊的食品，除非你正在观察大自然。”

“事实上，我是，”玛格丽特说道，“我在观察一只正在爬向卡拉脚边的毛毛虫。”

“你愿意过来看看这条河吗？”保罗边说边站起身，向玛格丽特伸出了手，“我认为我们可以看到河流就是在这儿附近拐了一个大弯的。”

“玛格丽特，”当玛格丽特站起身，卡拉说道，“你总是到处瞎跑。”

“我过一会儿就回来，”玛格丽特笑着说道，“只是看一眼河流嘛。”

“别待的时间太长，”卡拉说道，“我们要在天黑前回去。”

当河流在树林间流淌时，影影绰绰，水面平静，它在空旷处形成一个个的池塘，只有轻微的波动扰乱着在它边缘生长的蕨类植物，中间还有一些小块石头，仿佛一座随时可能被淹没的小岛，站在上面也许可以看清周遭的河水。小岛上一片沉寂，一片落叶可能会从一个视线所及之处飘向另外一个视线所及之处，落叶飘得很迅速，但是又让人不易察觉，在它行进的过程中会稍微拐个弯。

“谁住在塔楼里呀，保罗？”玛格丽特问道，她手里拿着一根蕨草，让它轻轻划过手背，“我知道有人住在那儿，因为有一次我看见窗户边上有人影在晃动。”

“没人住在那儿，”保罗打趣似的说道，“你认为我们把一个政治犯锁在那里了吗？”

“一开始的时候我以为是鸟儿，”玛格丽特说道，她很高兴能向别人描述一下她看到的情景。

“不是，”保罗仍然以逗趣的口吻说道，“有一位姑姑，或者姑奶奶，或者甚至是曾姑奶奶。她根本不住在那儿，但是她常去那儿，因为她说她忍受不了到处都是挂毯。”他大笑了起来，“她在塔楼里装满了书，还养了一只个头很大的老猫。她可能是在那儿修炼魔法，这一点大家都知道。你没有看见她的原因是因为她施展了隐身术。有的时候，她每天都下楼。”

“我见过她吗？”玛格丽特好奇地问道。

“也许吧，”保罗说道，“也许她哪天心血来潮会在晚上下来吃晚饭。或者当你坐在草坪上时，她可能漫不经心地走近你，介绍她自己。但在那一刻你可能根本看不见她。”

“如果我上塔楼去看看呢？”

保罗用奇怪的眼神扫了她一眼。“如果你想去，我想你可以去，”他说道，“我去过那儿。”

“玛格丽特，”从林子另一侧传来了卡拉的叫声，“玛格丽特，如果你不放弃在水边的溜达，我们会迟到的。”

在后来的一段时间里，玛格丽特几乎每天都要参观这栋楼房的某个房间：比如摆满扇子的房间，在这里有最为精致的金银丝做工的扇面，它们被放置在墙上，用象牙做的扇骨做支撑，扇骨上还画着精巧的微型画。一个不大的房间，但是在闪光的玻璃架上摆放着精美绝伦的木制、玻璃制和金属制的水果、花朵和树木，一溜排开对着窗户。她每天都要反复地经过一扇门，这扇门后就是通向塔楼的楼梯。她几乎每天都要小心地在地面上那几块瓷砖处徘徊，读着瓷砖上面的一行字，“玛格丽特在此，她因爱而亡。”

然而，玛格丽特想去塔楼上看看的念头越来越不可抑制了，也再不可能一天路过门口好几次了，她只能把手悄悄地放在房门上，或者还会把头贴在门上去倾听，听听是否有脚步声上下楼梯，或者有某个声音呼唤她。她已经不可能再次路过房门而不入了，所以在一天清晨很早的时候，玛格丽特把手坚定地伸向了房门，把门拉开了。这动作虽然轻松，但她好像是终于能够如释重负似的，经过了那么多的暗示和影射，还有那么多的等待和无助的绝望，玛格丽特最后鼓足勇气打开了它。

门后的楼梯是用灰色的石头砌成的，很粗糙，玛格丽特心里想，对于一位上了年岁的老妇人来说，这楼梯似乎陡了点儿。虽然有些胆怯，但玛格丽特还是毫不费劲地爬上了楼梯。楼梯转了一圈又一圈，一直通向塔楼，玛格丽特很小心地抬脚一级一级台阶地向上爬，伸出双手摸索着一侧温暖的石墙，向前也向上张望，希望在到达楼梯最上方之前，有人能看见她或者跟她说话。她还一度联想，也许塔楼的墙面是透明的，在外面能够清楚地看见她爬楼梯的滑稽样子，罗德斯太太和卡拉在草坪上——如果她们真的抬头张望塔楼——也许能看见她，还会彼此相视一笑，说：“那个玛格丽特呀，她最终还是爬到塔楼上去了。”然后笑着彼此点点头。

她还想往上爬，可楼梯到头了，眼前是一扇沉重的木门，玛格丽特站在房门下的最后一级台阶上，抬手敲了敲门。她觉得自己看上去更矮小了，甚至站在塔楼的顶端，她也并不是真的很高大。

“进来。”当玛格丽特第二次敲门时，里面传来了姑奶奶的声音。第一次敲门时，正如预料之中的一样无人应答，好像房间里有人用听不见的声音在说：“是有人在敲门吗？”然后，好像是在等着第二次敲门来确认——而玛格丽特的指关节现在还觉得生疼，因为这么厚的木门要想让里面听到敲门声可得使劲敲。她从下面笨手笨脚地开了门——这多容易呀，她心想，如果我知道这种方式的话——她走了进去，在四下张望之前，有礼貌地说道：“我是卡拉的朋友。他们说我可以到塔楼上来看看，当然如果您希望我走开的话，我就不打扰了。”她原来盘算过要把这段话说得更优雅得体些，听不出她没有得到楼下罗德斯一家人，邀请她来塔楼参观的暗示，但是爬了一段很长的楼梯，她有些上气不接下气了，不得不一股脑儿都说了，她确实也没有试探的时间了，尽管她为此曾仔细地思量过一番。

姑奶奶正坐在圆形房间的另一边，背靠着一扇窗户，所以看不大清楚她的面容。不管怎样，她说出的话却显得彬彬有礼——“我很吃惊他们竟然跟你谈到了我。但是，既然你已经来了，我就不能假装真的反感你的到访。你可以进来，坐下吧。”

玛格丽特顺从地走进了房间，像个粗鲁笨拙的人似的坐在了一条围着塔楼房间转了一圈的石凳上，四面的窗户的位置很高，而且都迎风开着，所以房间里持续不断地有风刮进来，使得说话得大声些，不费些力气都听不清说的是什么。

好像为了立即彰显她在这栋楼房中的重要地位，老妇人做了一个手势，开口笑着说：“我的挂毯。”然后对着窗户挥了挥手。如果老妇人的辈分是姑姑的话，那么她看起来太老了些；可如果是姑奶奶的话，她似乎又显得太年轻。她说话的声音在风声呼呼作响的塔楼房间里能够听得很清楚，窗户旁边的她看上去身体很好，向外望去好像根本不会头晕，爬上爬下楼梯也不会觉得劳累。

“我能看一下窗外吗？”玛格丽特问道。一只猫坐在她的身边，正盯着她看，眼中既没显出友好，但是也看不出什么反感。

“当然，”姑奶奶说道，“你当然可以看看窗外。”

玛格丽特在石凳上转过身子，用双手撑着窗户边宽大的石头窗台上向外看去，但是她失望了。虽然树顶还不到塔楼的一半高，但她只能看到下面的树枝和树叶，根本看不到宽阔的草坪、房子的屋顶，还有弯曲的河流。

“我真希望在这儿能看到河水流淌的踪迹。”

“河水并没从这儿流过。”老妇人说完，大笑了起来。

“我的意思是，”玛格丽特说道，“他们告诉我，这条河道形成了一条弧线，几乎围着这栋房子转了一个圈。”

“谁告诉你的？”老妇人说道。

“保罗。”

“我明白了，”老妇人说道，“他回来了，对吧？”

“他已经回来好几天了，可很快又要走了。”

“你叫什么名字？”老妇人探过身子问道。

“玛格丽特。”

“我明白了，”老妇人又说了一遍，“这也是我的名字。”她说道。

玛格丽特想，说“太好了”好像不是一个合适的回应，但说“真的吗？”，或者“简直想象不到”，或者“多巧呀”，又觉得这样可能显得更加愚蠢，所以她只是模棱两可地冲着老妇人笑了一下，打消了开口说“多可爱的名字呀”的念头。

“他应该早点儿回来，早点儿离开，”老妇人继续说道，好像又在自言自语，“那么我们把这些全都抛在身后吧。”

“把什么全都抛在身后？”玛格丽特问道，虽然她觉得自己和老妇人的聊天并没有真正在一个频道上，但是这个聊天似乎——可能是——老妇人在一个更大的主题上不断地自问自答，而无关玛格丽特名字的事。而玛格丽特作为一个闯入者，虽然年轻，但还是不能允许她长久地打断老妇人的思路。“把什么全都抛在身后？”玛格丽特执拗地问道。

“我是说，”老妇人转过身看着玛格丽特说道，“他回来的日子应该早一些，按往常的规律现在已经走了，我们所有人目前也都侥幸脱身了。”

“我明白了，”玛格丽特说道，“嗯，我认为他不会在这儿再待很长时间了。他说到要走了。”她说话的声音不由自主地有些颤抖。为了向老妇人证明她声音中的颤抖并非是真实的，玛格丽特用几乎是挑战的口吻说道：“他要是走了，这儿就不热闹了。”

“我们会侥幸脱身的，玛格丽特，你和我，”老妇人说道，“离窗户远点儿，孩子，否则你会被淋湿的。”

玛格丽特这时才意识到暴风雨一直——她现在刚觉察到——威胁着这栋房子，即使在大晴天，也可能随时突然铺天盖地倾泻下来，风刮得更紧了，透过塔楼的窗户的风带来了瓢泼大雨。猫的黑色皮毛上有了好些雨滴，玛格丽特也感觉到脸的一侧被雨打湿了。“窗户要不要关上？”她问道，“我是否能帮您……？”

“我不介意这场雨，”老妇人说道，“也不是第一次在塔楼的周围下这么大的雨了。”

“我也不介意，”玛格丽特急忙说道，抽身从窗户旁躲开了。她意识到自己正在与猫对视，紧张地补充道：“当然了，虽然身上弄湿会……”她迟疑了一下，看见那只猫毫无表情地盯着她。“我的意思是，”她过意不去地说，“有些人不喜欢身上被弄湿。”

那只猫从容不迫地转身背对着她，脸更加靠近窗户了。

“您要说关于保罗的什么事？”玛格丽特问老妇人，觉得一条有某种关系的细线正纠缠在老妇人、猫、塔楼和雨之间，甚至让玛格丽特有种恍然大悟的感觉，为什么自己早就想探查塔楼，可就是迟疑不决。“他很快就要走了，您知道。”

“如果现在就能结束，事情早就不会这样了，”老妇人说道，“这些事情不会真的费很大工夫的，你知道，依我看越早越好。”

“我想真是这样。”玛格丽特巧妙地说道。

“毕竟，”老妇人头发上沾满雨滴，做梦般地说道，“我们无法总能预见到要发生的事情。”

玛格丽特正在琢磨怎样礼貌地脱身，回到楼下把自己身上弄干，只有老妇人还在有一搭没一搭地谈论保罗，她打算不失礼节地告辞。而且，风雨不断地透过窗户抽打到玛格丽特身上，驱赶着客人，好像玛格丽特和老妇人，书和猫都要被风雨冲刷掉，然后把塔楼楼顶清理干净。

“如果可以的话，我会帮助你。”老妇人认真地对玛格丽特说道。她提高了声音，在风雨中听上去如同尖叫。她站起身向玛格丽特走来，玛格丽特觉得她颤颤巍巍快要摔倒了，忙伸出手想要搀扶她一下。猫站起来发出呼哧呼哧的声音，暴风雨从窗户处横扫过来，而玛格丽特，正握着老妇人的手，听到风声中夹杂着世界上的各种各样的声音，它们似乎都向她大喊着“再见，再见”，和“一切都失去了”，还有另一个声音“我会永远记住你”，还有别的呼喊，“太黑了。”她还听见从遥远的地方传来的一个声音，“回来，回来。”然后，老妇人把手从玛格丽特手中抽了出来，声音就都消失了。那只猫也退缩了，老妇人冷冷地看着玛格丽特说道：“正如我说的，如果可以的话，我会帮助你。”

“真对不起，”玛格丽特无力地说道，“我以为您要摔倒了。