英文
CHAPTER XLII
One day Martin became aware that he was lonely. He was healthy and strong, and had nothing to do. The cessation from writing and studying, the death of Brissenden, and the estrangement from Ruth had made a big hole in his life; and his life refused to be pinned down to good living in cafes and the smoking of Egyptian cigarettes. It was true the South Seas were calling to him, but he had a feeling that the game was not yet played out in the United States. Two books were soon to be published, and he had more books that might find publication. Money could be made out of them, and he would wait and take a sackful of it into the South Seas. He knew a valley and a bay in the Marquesas that he could buy for a thousand Chili dollars. The valley ran from the horseshoe, land-locked bay to the tops of the dizzy, cloud-capped peaks and contained perhaps ten thousand acres. It was filled with tropical fruits, wild chickens, and wild pigs, with an occasional herd of wild cattle, while high up among the peaks were herds of wild goats harried by packs of wild dogs. The whole place was wild. Not a human lived in it. And he could buy it and the bay for a thousand Chili dollars.
The bay, as he remembered it, was magnificent, with water deep enough to accommodate the largest vessel afloat, and so safe that the South Pacific Directory recommended it to the best careening place for ships for hundreds of miles around. He would buy a schooner—one of those yacht-like, coppered crafts that sailed like witches—and go trading copra and pearling among the islands. He would make the valley and the bay his headquarters. He would build a patriarchal grass house like Tati’s, and have it and the valley and the schooner filled with dark-skinned servitors. He would entertain there the factor of Taiohae, captains of wandering traders, and all the best of the South Pacific riffraff. He would keep open house and entertain like a prince. And he would forget the books he had opened and the world that had proved an illusion.
To do all this he must wait in California to fill the sack with money. Already it was beginning to flow in. If one of the books made a strike, it might enable him to sell the whole heap of manuscripts. Also he could collect the stories and the poems into books, and make sure of the valley and the bay and the schooner. He would never write again. Upon that he was resolved. But in the meantime, awaiting the publication of the books, he must do something more than live dazed and stupid in the sort of uncaring trance into which he had fallen.
He noted, one Sunday morning, that the Bricklayers’ Picnic took place that day at Shell Mound Park, and to Shell Mound Park he went. He had been to the working-class picnics too often in his earlier life not to know what they were like, and as he entered the park he experienced a recrudescence of all the old sensations. After all, they were his kind, these working people. He had been born among them, he had lived among them, and though he had strayed for a time, it was well to come back among them.
“If it ain’t Mart!” he heard some one say, and the next moment a hearty hand was on his shoulder. “Where you ben all the time? Off to sea? Come on an’ have a drink.”
It was the old crowd in which he found himself—the old crowd, with here and there a gap, and here and there a new face. The fellows were not bricklayers, but, as in the old days, they attended all Sunday picnics for the dancing, and the fighting, and the fun. Martin drank with them, and began to feel really human once more. He was a fool to have ever left them, he thought; and he was very certain that his sum of happiness would have been greater had he remained with them and let alone the books and the people who sat in the high places. Yet the beer seemed not so good as of yore. It didn’t taste as it used to taste. Brissenden had spoiled him for steam beer, he concluded, and wondered if, after all, the books had spoiled him for companionship with these friends of his youth. He resolved that he would not be so spoiled, and he went on to the dancing pavilion. Jimmy, the plumber, he met there, in the company of a tall, blond girl who promptly forsook him for Martin.
“Gee, it’s like old times,” Jimmy explained to the gang that gave him the laugh as Martin and the blonde whirled away in a waltz. “An’ I don’t give a rap. I’m too damned glad to see ’m back. Watch ’m waltz, eh? It’s like silk. Who’d blame any girl?”
But Martin restored the blonde to Jimmy, and the three of them, with half a dozen friends, watched the revolving couples and laughed and joked with one another. Everybody was glad to see Martin back. No book of his been published; he carried no fictitious value in their eyes. They liked him for himself. He felt like a prince returned from excile, and his lonely heart burgeoned in the geniality in which it bathed. He made a mad day of it, and was at his best. Also, he had money in his pockets, and, as in the old days when he returned from sea with a pay-day, he made the money fly.
Once, on the dancing-floor, he saw Lizzie Connolly go by in the arms of a young workingman; and, later, when he made the round of the pavilion, he came upon her sitting by a refreshment table. Surprise and greetings over, he led her away into the grounds, where they could talk without shouting down the music. From the instant he spoke to her, she was his. He knew it. She showed it in the proud humility of her eyes, in every caressing movement of her proudly carried body, and in the way she hung upon his speech. She was not the young girl as he had known her. She was a woman, now, and Martin noted that her wild, defiant beauty had improved, losing none of its wildness, while the defiance and the fire seemed more in control. “A beauty, a perfect beauty,” he murmured admiringly under his breath. And he knew she was his, that all he had to do was to say “Come,” and she would go with him over the world wherever he led.
Even as the thought flashed through his brain he received a heavy blow on the side of his head that nearly knocked him down. It was a man’s fist, directed by a man so angry and in such haste that the fist had missed the jaw for which it was aimed. Martin turned as he staggered, and saw the fist coming at him in a wild swing. Quite as a matter of course he ducked, and the fist flew harmlessly past, pivoting the man who had driven it. Martin hooked with his left, landing on the pivoting man with the weight of his body behind the blow. The man went to the ground sidewise, leaped to his feet, and made a mad rush. Martin saw his passion-distorted face and wondered what could be the cause of the fellow’s anger. But while he wondered, he shot in a straight left, the weight of his body behind the blow. The man went over backward and fell in a crumpled heap. Jimmy and others of the gang were running toward them.
Martin was thrilling all over. This was the old days with a vengeance, with their dancing, and their fighting, and their fun. While he kept a wary eye on his antagonist, he glanced at Lizzie. Usually the girls screamed when the fellows got to scrapping, but she had not screamed. She was looking on with bated breath, leaning slightly forward, so keen was her interest, one hand pressed to her breast, her cheek flushed, and in her eyes a great and amazed admiration.
The man had gained his feet and was struggling to escape the restraining arms that were laid on him.
“She was waitin’ for me to come back!” he was proclaiming to all and sundry. “She was waitin’ for me to come back, an’ then that fresh guy comes buttin’ in. Let go o’ me, I tell yeh. I’m goin’ to fix ’m.”
“What’s eatin’ yer?” Jimmy was demanding, as he helped hold the young fellow back. “That guy’s Mart Eden. He’s nifty with his mits, lemme tell you that, an’ he’ll eat you alive if you monkey with ’m.”
“He can’t steal her on me that way,” the other interjected.
“He licked the Flyin’Dutchman, an’you know him,”Jimmy went on expostulating. “An’ he did it in five rounds. You couldn’t last a minute against him. See?”
This information seemed to have a mollifying effect, and the irate young man favored Martin with a measuring stare.
“He don’t look it,” he sneered; but the sneer was without passion.
“That’s what the Flyin’ Dutchman thought,” Jimmy assured him. “Come on, now, let’s get outa this. There’s lots of other girls. Come on.”
The young fellow allowed himself to be led away toward the pavilion, and the gang followed after him.
“Who is he?” Martin asked Lizzie. “And what’s it all about, anyway?”
Already the zest of combat, which of old had been so keen and lasting, had died down, and he discovered that he was self-analytical, too much so to live, single heart and single hand, so primitive an existence.
Lizzie tossed her head.
“Oh, he’s nobody,” she said. “He’s just ben keepin’ company with me.”
“I had to, you see,” she explained after a pause. “I was gettin’ pretty lonesome. But I never forgot.” Her voice sank lower, and she looked straight before her. “I’d throw ’m down for you any time.”
Martin looking at her averted face, knowing that all he had to do was to reach out his hand and pluck her, fell to pondering whether, after all, there was any real worth in refined, grammatical English, and, so, forgot to reply to her.
“You put it all over him,” she said tentatively, with a laugh.
“He’s a husky young fellow, though,” he admitted generously. “If they hadn’t taken him away, he might have given me my hands full.”
“Who was that lady friend I seen you with that night?” she asked abruptly.
“Oh, just a lady friend,” was his answer.
“It was a long time ago,” she murmured contemplatively. “It seems like a thousand years.”
But Martin went no further into the matter. He led the conversation off into other channels. They had lunch in the restaurant, where he ordered wine and expensive delicacies and afterward he danced with her and with no one but her, till she was tired. He was a good dancer, and she whirled around and around with him in a heaven of delight, her head against his shoulder, wishing that it could last forever. Later in the afternoon they strayed off among the trees, where, in the good old fashion, she sat down while he sprawled on his back, his head in her lap. He lay and dozed, while she fondled his hair, looked down on his closed eyes, and loved him without reserve. Looking up suddenly, he read the tender advertisement in her face. Her eyes fluttered down, then they opened and looked into his with soft defiance.
“I’ve kept straight all these years,” she said, her voice so low that it was almost a whisper.
In his heart Martin knew that it was the miraculous truth. And at his heart pleaded a great temptation. It was in his power to make her happy. Denied happiness himself, why should he deny happiness to her? He could marry her and take her down with him to dwell in the grass-walled castle in the Marquesas. The desire to do it was strong, but stronger still was the imperative command of his nature not to do it. In spite of himself he was still faithful to Love. The old days of license and easy living were gone. He could not bring them back, nor could he go back to them. He was changed—how changed he had not realized until now.
“I am not a marrying man, Lizzie,” he said lightly.
The hand caressing his hair paused perceptibly, then went on with the same gentle stroke. He noticed her face harden, but it was with the hardness of resolution, for still the soft color was in her cheeks and she was all glowing and melting.
“I did not mean that—” she began, then faltered. “Or anyway I don’t care.”
“I don’t care,” she repeated. “I’m proud to be your friend. I’d do anything for you. I’m made that way, I guess.”
Martin sat up. He took her hand in his. He did it deliberately, with warmth but without passion; and such warmth chilled her.
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” she said.
“You are a great and noble woman,” he said. “And it is I who should be proud to know you. And I am, I am. You are a ray of light to me in a very dark world, and I’ve got to be straight with you, just as straight as you have been.”
“I don’t care whether you’re straight with me or not. You could do anything with me. You could throw me in the dirt an’ walk on me. An’ you’re the only man in the world that can,” she added with a defiant flash. “I ain’t taken care of myself ever since I was a kid for nothin’.”
“And it’s just because of that that I’m not going to,” he said gently. “You are so big and generous that you challenge me to equal generousness. I’m not marrying, and I’m not—well, loving without marrying, though I’ve done my share of that in the past. I’m sorry I came here today and met you. But it can’t be helped now, and I never expected it would turn out this way.”
“But look here, Lizzie. I can’t begin to tell you how much I like you. I do more than like you. I admire and respect you. You are magnificent, and you are magnificently good. But what’s the use of words? Yet there’s something I’d like to do. You’ve had a hard life; let me make it easy for you.” (A joyous light welled into her eyes, then faded out again.) “I’m pretty sure of getting hold of some money soon—lots of it.”
In that moment he abandoned the idea of the valley and the bay, the grass-walled castle and the trim, white schooner. After all, what did it matter? He could go away, as he had done so often, before the mast, on any ship bound anywhere.
“I’d like to turn it over to you. There must be something you want—to go to school or business college. You might like to study and be a stenographer. I could fix it for you. Or maybe your father and mother are living—I could set them up in a grocery store or something. Anything you want, just name it, and I can fix it for you.”
She made no reply, but sat, gazing straight before her, dry-eyed and motionless, but with an ache in the throat which Martin divined so strongly that it made his own throat ache. He regretted that he had spoken. It seemed so tawdry what he had offered her—mere money—compared with what she offered him. He offered her an extraneous thing with which he could part without a pang, while she offered him herself, along with disgrace and shame, and sin, and all her hopes of heaven.
“Don’t let’s talk about it,” she said with a catch in her voice that she changed to a cough. She stood up. “Come on, let’s go home. I’m all tired out.”
The day was done, and the merrymakers had nearly all departed. But as Martin and Lizzie emerged from the trees they found the gang waiting for them. Martin knew immediately the meaning of it. Trouble was brewing. The gang was his body-guard. They passed out through the gates of the park with, straggling in the rear, a second gang, the friends that Lizzie’s young man had collected to avenge the loss of his lady. Several constables and special police officers, anticipating trouble, trailed along to prevent it, and herded the two gangs separately aboard the train for San Francisco. Martin told Jimmy that he would get off at Sixteenth Street Station and catch the electric car into Oakland. Lizzie was very quiet and without interest in what was impending. The train pulled in to Sixteenth Street Station, and the waiting electric car could be seen, the conductor of which was impatiently clanging the gong.
“There she is,” Jimmy counselled. “Make a run for it, an’ we’ll hold ’em back. Now you go! Hit her up!”
The hostile gang was temporarily disconcerted by the manoeuvre, then it dashed from the train in pursuit. The staid and sober Oakland folk who sat upon the car scarcely noted the young fellow and the girl who ran for it and found a seat in front on the outside. They did not connect the couple with Jimmy, who sprang on the steps, crying to the motorman:—
“Slam on the juice, old man, and beat it outa here!”
The next moment Jimmy whirled about, and the passengers saw him land his fist on the face of a running man who was trying to board the car. But fists were landing on faces the whole length of the car. Thus, Jimmy and his gang, strung out on the long, lower steps, met the attacking gang. The car started with a great clanging of its gong, and, as Jimmy’s gang drove off the last assailants, they, too, jumped off to finish the job. The car dashed on, leaving the flurry of combat far behind, and its dumfounded passengers never dreamed that the quiet young man and the pretty working-girl sitting in the corner on the outside seat had been the cause of the row.
Martin had enjoyed the fight, with a recrudescence of the old fighting thrills. But they quickly died away, and he was oppressed by a great sadness. He felt very old—centuries older than those careless, care-free young companions of his others days. He had travelled far, too far to go back. Their mode of life, which had once been his, was now distasteful to him. He was disappointed in it all. He had developed into an alien. As the steam beer had tasted raw, so their companionship seemed raw to him. He was too far removed. Too many thousands of opened books yawned between them and him. He had exiled himself. He had travelled in the vast realm of intellect until he could no longer return home. On the other hand, he was human, and his gregarious need for companionship remained unsatisfied. He had found no new home. As the gang could not understand him, as his own family could not understand him, as the bourgeoisie could not understand him, so this girl beside him, whom he honored high, could not understand him nor the honor he paid her. His sadness was not untouched with bitterness as he thought it over.
“Make it up with him,” he advised Lizzie, at parting, as they stood in front of the workingman’s shack in which she lived, near Sixth and Market. He referred to the young fellow whose place he had usurped that day.
“I can’t—now,” she said.
“Oh, go on,” he said jovially. “All you have to do is whistle and he’ll come running.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said simply.
And he knew what she had meant.
She leaned toward him as he was about to say good night. But she leaned not imperatively, not seductively, but wistfully and humbly. He was touched to the heart. His large tolerance rose up in him. He put his arms around her, and kissed her, and knew that upon his own lips rested as true a kiss as man ever received.
“My God!” she sobbed. “I could die for you. I could die for you.”
She tore herself from him suddenly and ran up the steps. He felt a quick moisture in his eyes.
“Martin Eden,” he communed. “You’re not a brute, and you’re a damn poor Nietzscheman. You’d marry her if you could and fill her quivering heart full with happiness. But you can’t, you can’t. And it’s a damn shame.”
“‘A poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers,’” he muttered, remembering his Henly. “‘Life is, I think, a blunder and a shame.’ It is—a blunder and a shame.”
中文
第四十二章
一天，马丁感到十分寂寞。他身强体壮，然而却无事可做。自从停止写作和读书，自从勃力森登逝世后，自从与露丝分道扬镳以来，他的生活显得异常空虚；他不愿过下馆子、抽埃及香烟那种养尊处优的日子。南洋的确在召唤他，可他觉得他在美国的戏还没有收场。两本书即将出版，还有更多的书也很可能问世。这些书可以为他带来金钱，他要等着把钱袋装满再到南洋去。他知道在马克萨斯群岛有一座峡谷和一个海湾，花一千块智利大洋就能买到手。那座峡谷从陆地环抱的马蹄形海湾边一直延伸至白云缭绕、望之令人目眩的高山之巅，大概有一万英亩的面积。峡谷里长满了热带果树，到处可见野鸡和野猪，偶尔还有野牛群出入其间，高山的群峰之间，野羊成群结队，它们时常遭到野狗的袭击。那儿杳无人迹，四处荒蛮。而他花上一千块智利大洋，就能把那峡谷和海湾买下。
他记得，那个海湾是个美丽的地方，水深得足可以泛起最大的舟船。那儿十分安全，《南太平洋指南》一书介绍说，它是方圆几百英里最理想的船只检修地。他要买一艘大帆船——一种像游艇一样的船只，外面包着铜皮，驾驶起来得心应手——周游列岛，贩椰干和采珍珠。他要把峡谷和海湾作为大本营，盖一幢酋长式的茅草屋，像塔蒂的那幢一样，还要雇一群黑皮肤的仆人，在家中、峡谷里以及帆船上干活。他要在那儿款待驻泰奥海伊的商务代办、来往商船的船长以及南太平洋游民里的头面人物。他将敞开家门，如王子般迎四方来客。他要把自己看过的书以及虚幻的世界忘个干净。
如欲实现这一理想，就得在加利福尼亚耐心等待，把钱袋装满。如今，金钱已经开始源源流入。倘若一本书打响，就可以把堆积如山的稿件卖光。而且，他还可以把那些小说及诗歌收集成册出版，这样管保能买下那峡谷、海湾和帆船。他再也不动笔写作，对此他已拿定了主意。可眼下等着出书，他得有点事干才成，总不能沉浸在无忧无虑的迷梦里，浑浑噩噩地混日子呀。
一个星期天的早晨，他听说砌砖工人当天要在贝冢公园举办野餐会，于是便寻了去。昔日，他不知参加过多少次工人阶级的野餐会，了解那儿会有什么样的情形。一步入公园，往年的那种感受便一齐涌上了他的心头。这些劳动人民毕竟是他的同类。他在他们中间出生，在他们中间生活，虽然离别了一段时间，可现在又回到了他们中间，难免叫他激动。
“真是马特不成！”他听到一个人说道，紧接着，一只手亲热地搭在了他的肩上，“这么长时间，你到哪儿去啦？出海去了吗？来，跟我们喝一杯。”
他又回到了往日的那些伙伴中间——还是那一群人，只不过少了几个故人，添了几张新的面孔。这些伙伴并非砌砖工人，可他们就像过去一样，什么样的星期日野餐会都参加，来跳舞、打架和寻欢作乐。马丁跟他们一起饮酒，觉得自己又成了一个真正的人。他心想，他真是个傻瓜，竟然半途离他们而去；他深信不疑，如果他始终跟这些人在一起，没去攻读那些书，没去结交那些上流社会的人，他此时的心情会欢快得多。然而，啤酒却似乎不如以前那样醇香了，喝起来不似往年那样有味道。他认定是勃力森登破坏了他对生啤酒的爱好，同时，他怀疑那些书也会作祟，毁掉他跟这些少年时期伙伴的友谊。他觉得自己绝不能受书本的影响，于是便挪动脚步向帐篷舞厅走去。在那里，他见管子工吉米正和一个高挑的金发女郎在一起。那姑娘看到他，立刻撇下吉米，迎了上来。
“啧，还是跟过去一个样。”吉米对伙伴们说道。大家见马丁和那个金发女郎迈着华尔兹舞步走远了，便一齐嘲笑起了他。“我才不在乎呢。看到他回来，我高兴都来不及呢。瞧见他们跳华尔兹了吗？舞步多么轻盈。你们说，我能责怪那姑娘吗？”
不过，马丁跳完后又把金发女郎还给了吉米。他们三个和六七位朋友在一起，望着场中一对对翩翩起舞的人们，哈哈大笑着，彼此打着趣。看到马丁又回到他们身旁，大伙儿都很高兴。他们才不管他的书出版不出版呢，也不在乎他创作的价值。他们喜欢的是他本人。他觉得自己活似一位流亡归来的王子，孤寂的心田里注入了温馨的热流。这一天，他纵情娱乐，玩得昏天黑地。他口袋里装着钱，跟过去带着薪水从海上回来时一样，又放开手花了一通。
有一回，他在舞池里看见丽茜·康诺莱被一个工人小伙子搂着从他身旁舞过；后来，他绕着帐篷闲转，碰见她正坐在一张茶点桌旁。两人都感到意外，寒暄了几句，过后，马丁便把她带到了花园里，在那儿说话不用提高嗓门去压音乐声。他刚一开始说话，就赢得了她的倾心。这他看得出来。她那既高傲又谦卑的眼神，她那神气十足的躯体所做出的每一个柔媚的举动，以及她专心致志听他讲话的神态，无一不表明这一点。她已经不是他过去所认识的那个小姑娘了，而成了一位女人。马丁发现她的那种狂野和倔强的美更加完善，尽管没有丧失一丝一毫的狂野，但倔强和火辣辣的劲儿却似乎有所收敛。“真是个美人，一个十全十美的尤物。”他低声赞叹了一句。他明白她的芳心在他身上，他只消招呼一声，她便会跟随他走遍天涯海角。
就在这念头掠过他的脑海时，有人重重一拳砸在了他的脑袋侧面，差点将他击翻在地。挥拳的是位怒火中烧的男子。那人原是想揍他的颚部，由于太性急，才打错了地方。马丁摇摇晃晃扭过身来，瞧见那拳头又野蛮地向自己砸来。他本能地一躲闪，那拳头便落了空，使挥拳的人身子失去了重心。马丁弯起左肘，使出浑身的力气砸在那个失去重心的人身上。那人斜着倒在地上，但他又一跃而起，发疯似的冲了过来。马丁见他气歪了脸，真不知他为什么要发这么大的火。他心里一边纳着闷，一边又使出浑身的力气，把左拳直直甩了出去。那人仰面倒了下去，身子缩作一团。吉米和伙伴们跑了过来。
马丁激动得热血沸腾。昔日的那种跳舞、打架和寻欢作乐的情景完完全全回到了眼前。他一边谨防着自己的敌手，一边扫了丽茜一眼。姑娘家在小伙子们打架的时候，一般都会尖叫起来，可丽茜却没有尖叫。她屏住呼吸观战，身子微微前倾，怀着极浓的兴致，一只手按在胸口上，脸蛋泛着红晕，眼睛里流露出十分惊奇和异常钦佩的神情。
那人站起身，拼命挣扎着想摆脱那几只抓住他的手。
“她在等我回来呢！”他冲着在场的人嚷嚷道，“她在等我回来，可这家伙却插了一杠子。你们放开我，让我收拾这家伙。”
“你吃了熊心豹子胆啦？”吉米帮着众人扯住那小伙子，问道，“这家伙是马丁·伊登，拳脚厉害得很。告诉你吧，你再跟他胡闹，他会活剥了你的皮。”
“不能让他就这么把她从我的身边抢走。”对方插嘴说。
“他打败过‘荷兰鬼’[1]，你应该知道他的手段，”吉米继续规劝道，“他们只战了五个回合。你跟他交手，恐怕一分钟也支持不下来。你明白吗？”
这一信息对怒气冲天的小伙子似乎起到了威慑作用，使他瞪着眼睛把马丁端详了半天。
“他看起来没那么厉害。”他冷笑着说，可他的冷笑失去了冲劲。
“‘荷兰鬼’当初也是这么想的。”吉米语气坚定地说，“走吧，咱们离开这里。天下的姑娘多的是。随我走吧。”
小伙子由他带着乖乖地到帐篷那边去了，其他的人也跟着走了。“他是谁？”马丁问丽茜道，“这到底是怎么回事？”
昔日的那种热烈和持久的打架的激情，如今已烟消云散，他发现自己太喜欢自我分析，无法再过那种寻衅滋事的原始生活了。
丽茜把脑袋朝后一仰。
“哦，他是一个小人物，”她说，“只不过跟我做做伴而已。”
“你知道，这也是迫不得已，”她停了一会儿，然后解释道，“我感到非常孤独。不过，我始终都没忘记你。”她的声音愈来愈低，目光直视前方，“为了你，我随时都可以将他抛开。”
马丁望着她那移开的面孔，心里明白自己只消伸出手去，就可以得到她。他不知道自己所学的温文尔雅、合乎语法规范的英语到底有什么价值。他沉湎于遐想，竟然忘了同她对话。
“你杀尽了他的威风。”她嫣然一笑，试探性地说。
“不过，那小伙子倒是挺壮的，”他大度地承认说，“他要是不被拉走，很可能让我穷于应付。”
“那天晚上我看到你和女朋友在一起，她是谁呢？”她突然问道。
“哦，一个普通的女朋友。”他回答说。
“时间过去许久了，”她沉思着喃喃道，“像是有一千年了。”
对这件事马丁不愿深谈，把话题又引到了别的方面。两人在餐馆里吃了饭，他点了美酒和佳肴。饭后，他跟她跳舞，而且只跟她跳，直到她喊累方休。他是个出色的舞伴，她随着他打旋，舞来舞去，欢天喜地地把头靠在他肩上，希望永远这样下去。到了下午，他们钻进树林，按着古老的习惯，由她席地而坐，而他仰面朝天躺下，脑袋枕在她的膝上。他躺在那儿打盹，她却抚弄着他的头发，低头望着他紧闭的双眼，心里充满了一往情深的爱意。他猛然抬眼一瞧，看见了她脸上含情脉脉的表情。她把眼皮一合，随后又睁开，带着柔情和倔强望着他的双目。
“这些年我一直循规蹈矩。”她说话时，声音低得简直成了耳语。
马丁心里清楚，这虽然是个奇迹，但也是事实。他心中升腾起一种强烈的欲望，恳求他去满足。他有能力给她带来幸福。他自己不要幸福，为什么就不能把幸福给她呢？他可以娶她为妻，把她带到马克萨斯群岛去，住在干草打墙的城堡里。这种愿望非常强烈，但他的本性所发出的专横命令却更强硬，不许他那样做。不管怎样，他仍然忠实于爱情。过去的那种放浪形骸的生活一去不复返了。他无法把那种生活拉回来，也无法回到那种生活中去。他变了——直到此刻他才发现自己的变化是多么大。
“我不是个打算结婚成家的人，丽茜。”他柔声说。
抚弄他头发的那只手突然停了下来，但随后又抚弄了起来，而且仍是那么温柔。他注意到她绷紧了面孔，可那是下决心时的表情，因为她的脸蛋仍散发着柔和的光，因为她依旧容光焕发、含情脉脉。
“我没那意思——”她刚启口，便迟疑了起来，“或者说，我不在乎！”“我不在乎。”她又重复了一遍，“能做你的朋友，我感到自豪。为了你，我任何事情都肯干。恐怕我生就这种脾气。”
马丁坐起身，握住她的手。他显得很庄重，带着一片温柔，但却缺乏激情；这种温柔叫她心寒。
“算啦，别谈这个了。”她说。
“你是一个伟大、高尚的女性，”他说，“我为能结识你感到骄傲。是的，我感到非常自豪。你对我来说就是漆黑一团的世界当中的一线光明。我对你必须规矩才好，因为你一直都是一个循规蹈矩的人。”
“你对我规矩与否，我全不在乎。你愿把我怎么样就怎么样。你可以把我摔倒在尘埃中，从我身上踩过去。世间只有你一人可以这样做。”她神色超然地说道，“自小我就注意保护自己，看来没有白费力气。”
“正是因为这一点，我才不能够越轨。”他柔声细语地说，“你如此大度和体贴人，使得我也必须体贴人。我不打算结婚，也不能胡搞乱来，尽管我过去放纵过自己。今天我真不该到这里来，和你相会于此。现在再说也没有用了，我怎么也想不到会有这样的结局。
“你请听着，丽茜。我无法表达自己有多么喜欢你。我不仅仅是喜欢，还崇拜和敬重你。你美丽动人，是那样超尘脱俗。可光动嘴皮子又有什么用呢？我想为你做点事情。你一直过的是困苦的生活，我要让你的日子轻松些。”（她眼中闪出了喜悦的光芒，但随即又消失了。）“过不了多久，我肯定能拿到一笔钱——数目挺大。”
在这一瞬间，他舍弃了购买峡谷、海湾、干草打墙的城堡和华丽白帆船的计划。这又有什么关系呢？他可以像以前经常做的那样，随便登上一条船，胡乱去个地方嘛。
“我想把钱给你用。你一定有些打算——如上学念书，或者进商学院。你也许想通过学习当一名速记员。我可以为你做出安排。或者，你的父母双亲还在世——我可以为他们开个食杂店什么的。你想要什么，只需说出来，我就能为你搞到。”
她一声不吭地坐在那儿，目光呆视着前方，眼睛里没有一滴泪水，身子一动不动，但是喉头却在发痛，马丁深深地觉察到了她的感觉，自己的喉头也痛了起来。他为自己刚才的一番话感到后悔。他给她的只是钱，与她奉献给他的东西相比，显得那样庸俗。他的礼品是无关痛痒的身外之物，而她所奉献的则是她本人，以及她的自尊、名声、人格和一切美好的愿望。
“不谈这个啦。”她的声音有些哽咽，但她咳嗽了一声，想掩饰过去。最后，她站起了身。“走，咱们回去吧，我累得不行啦。”
这天的盛会已经结束，寻欢作乐的人们几乎已散尽。可是，马丁和丽茜从树林里走出来时，却发现那帮人在等他们。马丁立刻明白是怎么一回事——一场风暴正在酝酿之中。那帮人是来保护他的。他们走出公园的大门时，身后散散漫漫地跟着另一帮人，那是丽茜的男伴纠集来的朋友，小伙子失去了自己的女人，打算报仇雪恨。几个警察和特警巡官料到要出乱子，便尾随而来制止，把两班人马分别赶上了开往旧金山的火车。马丁对吉米说，他要到第十六大街下车，然后搭电车去奥克兰。火车驶入第十六大街车站时，可以看到一辆电车等在那里，售票员正不耐烦地摇着铃。
“就坐那辆车，”吉米提议说，“你们跑过去，我们拦住他们。快去，到电车上去！”
敌对的那一方没料到这一招，一时茫然不知所措，但随后便跳下火车，追了上来。坐在电车上的那些矜持、稳重的奥克兰人几乎都没留意到有个小伙子和一位姑娘跑上电车，在前边靠外的座位坐了下来。他们不知道这两位与吉米的关系，只见吉米跳上踏板，冲着司机吆喝道：
“打开电开关，老伙计，快离开这里！”
紧接着，吉米猛地转过身去，乘客们看见他一拳打在了一个飞奔而来、企图攀上电车的人脸上。整个电车上都能见到拳头与面孔的撞击。吉米和他的一帮人排列开，站在又长又低的踏板上，迎击着对手的进攻。叮当当一阵铃响，电车启动了，吉米一伙人击退了敌人的最后进攻，他们自己也跳下车去展开决战。电车冲向前方，把混乱的战场远远抛在了后边。吓得目瞪口呆的乘客们做梦也想不到，坐在拐角靠外的座位上的那个表情从容的年轻人和那个漂亮的女工，竟是引起这场恶斗的罪魁祸首。
起初，马丁心中重新涌起了昔日的那种战斗激情，非常欣赏刚才的战斗场面。但那种激情很快就消失了，他感到一阵深深的悲哀。他觉得自己老态龙钟，比昔日的那些粗鲁莽撞、无忧无虑的年轻伙伴要老上几百岁。他走得太远了，远得已经回不去了。他们的生活方式曾一度与他的如出一辙，而今却叫他厌恶。他对一切都感到失望，他和以前判若两人。生啤酒喝到口里淡而无味，而他们的友谊也同样叫他觉得淡而无味。他离开他们太远了，成千上万本打开的书像一道鸿沟横在他与他们之间。他使自己过着流放生活。他漫游于辽阔的知识王国之中，最后无法再返回家园。不过，他毕竟是个人，需要满足自己那种寻求伙伴的要求。只是他还没有找到新的家园。那帮朋友不理解他，家里的人不理解他，资产阶级不理解他，坐在他身旁的这位他十分敬重的姑娘也不理解他，还不理解他对她的尊崇。他仔细思考着，悲哀中又添了几分痛苦。
“跟他和好吧。”分手时，他劝丽茜道。此刻，他们站在六马路和市场街附近的一幢工人房屋前——这儿是丽茜的家。他所指的就是那个这天被他篡夺了位置的小伙子。
“不可能——现在已不可能了。”她说。
“嗨，无稽之谈，”他语调轻松地说，“你只要吹声口哨，他就会飞奔而来。”
“我不是那意思。”她简短地说。
他知道她话中的意思。
当他正欲道晚安的时候，她把身子靠了过来。不过，她在倾身时，既不强求，也不是挑逗，而是怀着一腔热望，显得十分恭敬。他的心被感动了，胸中涌起博大、宽厚的情绪。他把她搂在怀里，亲吻着她，同时心中很清楚印在自己嘴唇上的吻是男人所能够得到的最真情的吻。
“上帝啊！”她抽泣着说，“我愿为你死去！我愿为你死去！”
她猛地挣出他的怀抱，跑上了台阶。他觉得自己的眼睛一下子湿润了起来。
“马丁·伊登啊，”他在心里说道，“你并不是一个不通情理的人，而是一个可怜的尼采信徒。如果可能，你一定会娶她，让她那颤抖的心房充满幸福。但这不可能，你办不到。真他妈丢人。”
“‘一位可怜的老流浪儿在抨击腐败现象时说，’”他想起了亨利的一段语录，不由喃喃出声道，“‘我认为生活犯了大错，是一种耻辱。’是啊，生活的确犯了大错，的确是一种耻辱。”
* * *
[1] 吉米捏造出的人物，作为恐吓。
