第九十七章
次日早晨，菲利普一觉从梦中惊醒，发觉时间不早了，连忙望了望表，只见指针指着九点。他一骨碌从床上跃起，跑进厨房弄了点热水刮了刮脸。此时，连米尔德丽德的人影都未见。她吃晚餐用的餐具都堆在洗涤槽里，还没有洗呢。菲利普走过去敲了敲她的房门。
"醒醒，米尔德丽德，时间不早了。"
米尔德丽德在里面一声不吭。菲利普接着重叩了几下，可她还是闷声不响。菲利普心想她这是故意同自己怄气。此时，菲利普急着要到医院去，没工夫来理会她。他自个儿烧了点水，然后跳进浴缸洗了个澡。浴缸里的水通常是前一天晚上就放好的，以便驱赶寒气。穿衣的当儿，他脑子里在想米尔德丽德总会给他准备好早餐的。他边想边步出浴室，来到起居室。以前有那么两三次，她虽发脾气，但早餐还是给他做的。可是他还没见米尔德丽德有什么动静，此时，他意识到这一回他真想吃东西的话，就得自己动手罗。这天早晨。他一觉睡过了头，可她倒好，还这么捉弄他，菲利普不觉又气又恼。他早餐都准备好了，可还不见米尔德丽德出来，耳边只听得她在卧室里走动的脚步声。她显然是起床了。菲利普自顾自倒了杯茶，切了几片牛油面包，一边吃着。一边往脚上套着靴子。然后，噔噔冲下楼去，穿过小巷，来到大街上等电车。他两眼一眨不眨地望着报亭前的告示牌，搜寻着有关战争的消息。在这同时，他心里暗自思量着前一天晚上发生的事儿。眼下事情算是过去了，第二天再说吧。他忍不住认为这件事太离奇了。他觉得自己太可笑了，连自己的情感都抑制不住，有时候还被它冲得昏头昏脑的。他非常憎恨米尔德丽德，因为是她使得自己陷入眼下这种荒谬的境地的。菲利普重新怀着惊奇的心情，回味着米尔德丽德歇斯底里大发作的场面，以及她嘴里吐出的一连串污言秽语。一想起她最后骂他的话，菲利普的脸就不由得红了，可他只是神情轻蔑地耸了耸双肩。他的同事们一生他的气，总是拿他的残疾来出气，对此，他早就司空见惯了。他还看到医院里有人模仿他一瘸一拐的走路姿势。当然，那些人是不会在他面前学的，总是在他们认为菲利普不注意的时候才模仿。现在他也知道那些人学他走路，绝不是出于一种恶意，而是因为人本来就是一种好模仿的动物。再说，模仿他人的动作是逗人发笑的最简便的办法。他深深懂得这一点，但他永远不能听之任之，无动于衷。
菲利普为自己又要开始工作而感到高兴。走进病房，他觉得里面洋溢着一种愉快、友好的气氛。护士同他打着招呼，脸上挂着职业性的微笑。
"您来得太迟了，凯里先生。"
"昨晚我尽情玩了一个晚上。"
"从你的脸色就看得出来。"
"谢谢。"
菲利普满面春风地走到第一个病人--一个患有结节溃疡的男孩--跟前，给他拆去绷带。那孩子看到了菲利普感到很高兴。菲利普一边给他上干净绷带，一边逗着他玩。菲利普可是病人心目中的宠儿。他对他们总是和颜悦色地问寒问暖；他那双手又柔软又敏捷，病人们从没有疼痛的感觉。可有些敷裹员就不一样，做起事来毛手毛脚，不把病人的痛痒放在心上。菲利普和同事们一道在俱乐部聚会室吃中饭，只是吃几块烤饼和面包，外加一杯可可。他们一边吃着一边议论战事。有些人也准备去参战，然而上司对此事倒挺顶真的，一概不接纳那些尚未获得医院职位的人。有人认为，要是战争继续打下去的话，到时候他们会乐意接纳凡是取得医生资格的人的，不过大多数人都认为要不了一个月就会停战的。眼下罗伯兹就在那儿，形势很快就会好转的。马卡利斯特也持同样看法，并对菲利普说，他们得瞅准机会，抢在宣布停火之前购进股票，到时候，股票行情就会看涨，这样他们俩都能发笔小小的洋财。菲利普托付马卡利斯特一有机会就代为购进股票。夏天赚得的三十英镑，吊起了菲利普的胃口，这次他希望能捞它三百两百的。
一天的工作结束后，菲利普乘电车返回肯宁顿大街。他心里有些纳闷，不知晚上米尔德丽德会做出什么事来呢。一想到她很可能倔头倔脑不搭理自己，菲利普感到腌(月赞)极了。每年这个时候，傍晚温暖宜人，即使光线幽暗的伦敦南端的街上，也充斥着二月那令人昏昏欲睡的气氛。漫长的隆冬季节消逝了，世间万物蠢蠢欲动，一切生物均从长眠中苏醒过来了。整个大地响遍窸窸窣窣声，好似春天重返人间的脚步声，预示着春天又要开始其万世不易的活动了。此时此刻，菲利普实在讨厌回到寓所去，只想坐车朝前再走一程，尽情地呼吸一下户外的新鲜空气。但是，一种急着想见见那孩子的欲望蓦地攫住了他的心。当脑海里浮现出那孩子咧着嘴嘻嘻笑着，一步一颤地向他扑来的情景时，菲利普情不自禁地微笑起来。他来到寓所跟前，抬头一望，只见窗户黑咕隆咚的，心里不觉一惊。他连忙跑上楼去叩房门，但屋里毫无动静。米尔德丽德出门时，总是把钥匙放在门口的蹭鞋垫底下的。菲利普在那儿拿到了房门钥匙。他打开门走进起居室，随手划亮一根火柴。他顿觉出事了，但脑子一时没反应过来，不知究竟出了什么事。他开足煤气，点亮灯盏，灯光把整个房间照得通明雪亮。他朝四下里打量了一番，不禁倒抽了口凉气。房间里被弄得一塌糊涂，所有东西都被捣毁了。顿时，他火冒三丈，一个箭步奔进米尔德丽德的卧室。那里漆黑一团，空空荡荡的。他点了盏灯照了照，发现米尔德丽德把她和孩子的衣物一应席卷而去（刚才进门时，他发觉手推车没放在原处，还以为米尔德丽德推着孩子上街溜达了哩），洗脸架上的东西全被搞坏了，两张椅子上布满纵横交错的砍痕，枕头被撕开了，床上的床单和床罩被刀戳得像破鱼网似的。那面镜子看上去是用榔头敲碎的。菲利普感到不胜惊骇。他转身走进自己的卧室，那儿也是一个样，被搞得乱七八糟，乌烟瘴气。木盆和水罐被砸破了，镜子粉碎了，床单撕成了布条子。米尔德丽德把枕头上的小洞撕开，伸进手去把里面的羽毛掏出来，撒得满地都是。她一刀捅穿了毯子。梳妆台上凌乱地摊着他母亲的一些相片，镜框散架了，玻璃砸得粉碎。菲利普跑进厨房，只见杯子、布丁盆、盘子和碟子等凡能砸碎的东西全都被砸成了碎片。
面对眼前一片凌乱的景象，菲利普气得七窍冒烟，连气都喘不过来。米尔德丽德没留下片言只字，只留下这副烂摊子，以示其满腔的憎恨。菲利普完全想象得出她造孽时那副咬牙切齿、紧绷着脸的神态来。菲利普重新回到起居室，惘然地环顾四周。他感到惊奇的是他内心竟无一丝怨恨。他好奇地凝视着米尔德丽德放在桌子上的菜刀和榔头。随即，他的目光落在扔进壁炉里的那把断裂的切肉用的大餐刀上。米尔德丽德着实花了番时间才把这些东西捣毁的。劳森给他画的那张肖像画被米尔德丽德用刀划了个"十"字，那画面可怕地开裂着。菲利普自己创作的画都被她撕成了碎片。所有的照片、马奈的名画《奥兰毕亚》、安格尔的《女奴》以及腓力普四世的画像都被米尔德丽德用榔头捣烂了。桌布、窗帘和两张安乐椅都留下了斑斑刀痕，破得不能用了。菲利普用作书桌的桌子上方，墙上挂着一条小小的波斯地毯，那还是克朗肖生前赠送给他的。米尔德丽德一向对这条地毯心怀不满。
"如果那是条地毯的话，那就应该把它铺在地板上，"她曾经这样对菲利普说过。"那东西又脏又臭，真不是个玩意儿"
那条波斯地毯惹得米尔德丽德经常发火。菲利普曾对米尔德丽德说过，那条地毯隐含着一个难猜的谜语的谜底，而米尔德丽德印以为菲利普是在讥诮她。她用刀在地毯上连划三下，看来她还真的花了点气力呢。此时，那条地毯拖一块挂一片地悬在墙上。菲利普有两三只蓝白两色相间的盘子，并不值钱，不过是他花很少几个钱一只只陆续买回来的。这几只盘子常常勾起当时购买时的情景，因此他非常珍爱它们。可眼下它们也同遭厄运，碎片溅得满屋都是。书脊也被刀砍了。米尔德丽德还不厌其烦地把未装订成册的法文书拆得一页一页的。壁炉上小小的饰物被弄破扔进了炉膛。凡是能用刀或榔头捣毁的东西都捣毁了。
菲利普的全部财产加起来也卖不到三十英镑，可是其中好多东西已伴随他多年了。菲利普是个会治家的人，非常珍惜那些零星什物，因为那些零星什物都是他的财产呀。他只花了区区几个钱，却把这个家装扮得漂漂亮亮的，又富有个性特征，因此他很为自己这个小小的家感到自豪。他神情颓丧地瘫进了椅子里。他喃喃自语地问道，米尔德丽德怎么会变得如此心狠手辣。转瞬间，一阵惊悸向他心头袭来。他从椅子里一跃而起，三步并作两步地奔进过道，那儿有一只盛放着他全部衣服的柜子。他急切地打开柜门，顿时松了口气。米尔德丽德显然把柜子给忘了，里面的衣服一件都没动过。
他又回到起居室，再次看了看那混乱不堪的场面，茫然不知所措。他无心整理那堆废品。屋里连一点吃的东西都没有。他肚子饿得叽里咕噜直叫唤。他上街胡乱买了点东西填了填肚子。从街上回到寓所时，他心情平静了些。一想到那孩子，菲利普心里不由得咯噔了一下。他思忖着，不知那孩子会不会想念他，刚开始的时候，她也许会想他的，但是过了个把星期之后，怕是会把他忘得一干二净的。啊，终于摆脱了米尔德丽德的胡搅蛮缠，菲利普暗暗额手庆幸。此时，他想起米尔德丽德，心中已没有忿恨，有的只是一种强烈的厌倦感。
"上帝啊，但愿我这辈子再不要碰见米尔德丽德了！"他喟然一声长叹。
眼下，他只有一条路可走，那就是搬出这套房间。他决定第二天上午就通知房东太太，说他不再赁住这套房间了。他无力弥补这场损失，再说，身边余下的几个钱，只够租个租金低廉的房间了。他巴不得赶快离开这套房间：一来租金昂贵，他不能不为此犯愁；二来在这套房间里，米尔德丽德的影子无时不在，无处不有。菲利普一拿定了主张，不付诸行动，他总是心神不定，坐立不安。于是，第二天下午，他领来了一位做旧货生意的经纪人。这位经纪人出价三英镑，买下了那些被毁坏的和未被毁坏的家具什物。两天之后，菲利普搬进了医院对面的一幢房子。他刚进圣路加医院那会儿，就赁住在这儿的。房东太太是个正正经经的女人。菲利普租了个顶楼卧室，她只要他每周付六先令的租金。卧室狭小、简陋，窗户正对屋背后的院子。此时，菲利普除了几件衣服和一箱书籍以外，身边别无长物。不过，菲利普对自己还能住上这间租金不贵的卧室，心里还是很高兴的。
philip awoke with a start next morning, conscious that it was late, and looking at his watch found it was nine o’clock. he jumped out of bed and went into the kitchen to get himself some hot water to shave with. there was no sign of mildred, and the things which she had used for her supper the night before still lay in the sink unwashed. he knocked at her door.
‘wake up, mildred. it’s awfully late.’
she did not answer, even after a second louder knocking, and he concluded that she was sulking. he was in too great a hurry to bother about that. he put some water on to boil and jumped into his bath which was always poured out the night before in order to take the chill off. he presumed that mildred would cook his breakfast while he was dressing and leave it in the sitting-room. she had done that two or three times when she was out of temper. but he heard no sound of her moving, and realised that if he wanted anything to eat he would have to get it himself. he was irritated that she should play him such a trick on a morning when he had over-slept himself. there was still no sign of her when he was ready, but he heard her moving about her room. she was evidently getting up. he made himself some tea and cut himself a couple of pieces of bread and butter, which he ate while he was putting on his boots, then bolted downstairs and along the street into the main road to catch his tram. while his eyes sought out the newspaper shops to see the war news on the placards, he thought of the scene of the night before: now that it was over and he had slept on it, he could not help thinking it grotesque; he supposed he had been ridiculous, but he was not master of his feelings; at the time they had been overwhelming. he was angry with mildred because she had forced him into that absurd position, and then with renewed astonishment he thought of her outburst and the filthy language she had used. he could not help flushing when he remembered her final jibe; but he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. he had long known that when his fellows were angry with him they never failed to taunt him with his deformity. he had seen men at the hospital imitate his walk, not before him as they used at school, but when they thought he was not looking. he knew now that they did it from no wilful unkindness, but because man is naturally an imitative animal, and because it was an easy way to make people laugh: he knew it, but he could never resign himself to it.
he was glad to throw himself into his work. the ward seemed pleasant and friendly when he entered it. the sister greeted him with a quick, business-like smile.
‘you’re very late, mr. carey.’
‘i was out on the loose last night.’
‘you look it.’
‘thank you.’
laughing, he went to the first of his cases, a boy with tuberculous ulcers, and removed his bandages. the boy was pleased to see him, and philip chaffed him as he put a clean dressing on the wound. philip was a favourite with the patients; he treated them good-humouredly; and he had gentle, sensitive hands which did not hurt them: some of the dressers were a little rough and happy-go-lucky in their methods. he lunched with his friends in the club-room, a frugal meal consisting of a scone and butter, with a cup of cocoa, and they talked of the war. several men were going out, but the authorities were particular and refused everyone who had not had a hospital appointment. someone suggested that, if the war went on, in a while they would be glad to take anyone who was qualified; but the general opinion was that it would be over in a month. now that roberts was there things would get all right in no time. this was macalister’s opinion too, and he had told philip that they must watch their chance and buy just before peace was declared. there would be a boom then, and they might all make a bit of money. philip had left with macalister instructions to buy him stock whenever the opportunity presented itself. his appetite had been whetted by the thirty pounds he had made in the summer, and he wanted now to make a couple of hundred.
he finished his day’s work and got on a tram to go back to kennington. he wondered how mildred would behave that evening. it was a nuisance to think that she would probably be surly and refuse to answer his questions. it was a warm evening for the time of year, and even in those gray streets of south london there was the languor of february; nature is restless then after the long winter months, growing things awake from their sleep, and there is a rustle in the earth, a forerunner of spring, as it resumes its eternal activities. philip would have liked to drive on further, it was distasteful to him to go back to his rooms, and he wanted the air; but the desire to see the child clutched suddenly at his heartstrings, and he smiled to himself as he thought of her toddling towards him with a crow of delight. he was surprised, when he reached the house and looked up mechanically at the windows, to see that there was no light. he went upstairs and knocked, but got no answer. when mildred went out she left the key under the mat and he found it there now. he let himself in and going into the sitting-room struck a match. something had happened, he did not at once know what; he turned the gas on full and lit it; the room was suddenly filled with the glare and he looked round. he gasped. the whole place was wrecked. everything in it had been wilfully destroyed. anger seized him, and he rushed into mildred’s room. it was dark and empty. when he had got a light he saw that she had taken away all her things and the baby’s (he had noticed on entering that the go-cart was not in its usual place on the landing, but thought mildred had taken the baby out;) and all the things on the washing-stand had been broken, a knife had been drawn cross-ways through the seats of the two chairs, the pillow had been slit open, there were large gashes in the sheets and the counterpane, the looking-glass appeared to have been broken with a hammer. philip was bewildered. he went into his own room, and here too everything was in confusion. the basin and the ewer had been smashed, the looking-glass was in fragments, and the sheets were in ribands. mildred had made a slit large enough to put her hand into the pillow and had scattered the feathers about the room. she had jabbed a knife into the blankets. on the dressing-table were photographs of philip’s mother, the frames had been smashed and the glass shivered. philip went into the tiny kitchen. everything that was breakable was broken, glasses, pudding-basins, plates, dishes.
it took philip’s breath away. mildred had left no letter, nothing but this ruin to mark her anger, and he could imagine the set face with which she had gone about her work. he went back into the sitting-room and looked about him. he was so astonished that he no longer felt angry. he looked curiously at the kitchen-knife and the coal-hammer, which were lying on the table where she had left them. then his eye caught a large carving-knife in the fireplace which had been broken. it must have taken her a long time to do so much damage. lawson’s portrait of him had been cut cross-ways and gaped hideously. his own drawings had been ripped in pieces; and the photographs, manet’s olympia and the odalisque of ingres, the portrait of philip iv, had been smashed with great blows of the coal-hammer. there were gashes in the table-cloth and in the curtains and in the two arm-chairs. they were quite ruined. on one wall over the table which philip used as his desk was the little bit of persian rug which cronshaw had given him. mildred had always hated it.
‘if it’s a rug it ought to go on the floor,’ she said, ‘and it’s a dirty stinking bit of stuff, that’s all it is.’
it made her furious because philip told her it contained the answer to a great riddle. she thought he was making fun of her. she had drawn the knife right through it three times, it must have required some strength, and it hung now in tatters. philip had two or three blue and white plates, of no value, but he had bought them one by one for very small sums and liked them for their associations. they littered the floor in fragments. there were long gashes on the backs of his books, and she had taken the trouble to tear pages out of the unbound french ones. the little ornaments on the chimney-piece lay on the hearth in bits. everything that it had been possible to destroy with a knife or a hammer was destroyed.
the whole of philip’s belongings would not have sold for thirty pounds, but most of them were old friends, and he was a domestic creature, attached to all those odds and ends because they were his; he had been proud of his little home, and on so little money had made it pretty and characteristic. he sank down now in despair. he asked himself how she could have been so cruel. a sudden fear got him on his feet again and into the passage, where stood a cupboard in which he kept his clothes. he opened it and gave a sigh of relief. she had apparently forgotten it and none of his things was touched.
he went back into the sitting-room and, surveying the scene, wondered what to do; he had not the heart to begin trying to set things straight; besides there was no food in the house, and he was hungry. he went out and got himself something to eat. when he came in he was cooler. a little pang seized him as he thought of the child, and he wondered whether she would miss him, at first perhaps, but in a week she would have forgotten him; and he was thankful to be rid of mildred. he did not think of her with wrath, but with an overwhelming sense of boredom.
‘i hope to god i never see her again,’ he said aloud.
the only thing now was to leave the rooms, and he made up his mind to give notice the next morning. he could not afford to make good the damage done, and he had so little money left that he must find cheaper lodgings still. he would be glad to get out of them. the expense had worried him, and now the recollection of mildred would be in them always. philip was impatient and could never rest till he had put in action the plan which he had in mind; so on the following afternoon he got in a dealer in second-hand furniture who offered him three pounds for all his goods damaged and undamaged; and two days later he moved into the house opposite the hospital in which he had had rooms when first he became a medical student. the landlady was a very decent woman. he took a bed-room at the top, which she let him have for six shillings a week; it was small and shabby and looked on the yard of the house that backed on to it, but he had nothing now except his clothes and a box of books, and he was glad to lodge so cheaply.