drift from two shores(漂流)-第1部分
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DRIFT FROM TWO SHORES
DRIFT FROM TWO
SHORES
by BRET HARTE
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DRIFT FROM TWO SHORES
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DRIFT FROM TWO SHORES
THE MAN ON THE BEACH
I
He lived beside a river that emptied into a great ocean。 The narrow
strip of land that lay between him and the estuary was covered at high tide
by a shining film of water； at low tide with the cast…up offerings of sea and
shore。 Logs yet green； and saplings washed away from inland banks；
battered fragments of wrecks and orange crates of bamboo； broken into
tiny rafts yet odorous with their lost freight； lay in long successive curves；…
… the fringes and overlappings of the sea。 At high noon the shadow of a
seagull's wing； or a sudden flurry and gray squall of sand… pipers；
themselves but shadows； was all that broke the monotonous glare of the
level sands。
He had lived there alone for a twelvemonth。 Although but a few
miles from a thriving settlement； during that time his retirement had never
been intruded upon； his seclusion remained unbroken。 In any other
community he might have been the subject of rumor or criticism； but the
miners at Camp Rogue and the traders at Trinidad Head； themselves
individual and eccentric； were profoundly indifferent to all other forms of
eccentricity or heterodoxy that did not come in contact with their own。
And certainly there was no form of eccentricity less aggressive than that of
a hermit； had they chosen to give him that appellation。 But they did not
even do that； probably from lack of interest or perception。 To the various
traders who supplied his small wants he was known as 〃Kernel；〃 〃Judge；〃
and 〃Boss。〃 To the general public 〃The Man on the Beach〃 was
considered a sufficiently distinguishing title。 His name； his occupation；
rank； or antecedents； nobody cared to inquire。 Whether this arose from a
fear of reciprocal inquiry and interest； or from the profound indifference
before referred to； I cannot say。
He did not look like a hermit。 A man yet young； erect； well… dressed；
clean…shaven； with a low voice； and a smile half melancholy； half cynical；
was scarcely the conventional idea of a solitary。 His dwelling； a rude
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improvement on a fisherman's cabin； had all the severe exterior simplicity
of frontier architecture； but within it was comfortable and wholesome。
Three roomsa kitchen； a living room； and a bedroomwere all it
contained。
He had lived there long enough to see the dull monotony of one season
lapse into the dull monotony of the other。 The bleak northwest trade…
winds had brought him mornings of staring sunlight and nights of fog and
silence。 The warmer southwest trades had brought him clouds； rain； and
the transient glories of quick grasses and odorous beach blossoms。 But
summer or winter； wet or dry season； on one side rose always the sharply
defined hills with their changeless background of evergreens； on the other
side stretched always the illimitable ocean as sharply defined against the
horizon； and as unchanging in its hue。 The onset of spring and autumn
tides； some changes among his feathered neighbors； the footprints of
certain wild animals along the river's bank； and the hanging out of party…
colored signals from the wooded hillside far inland； helped him to record
the slow months。 On summer afternoons； when the sun sank behind a
bank of fog that； moving solemnly shoreward； at last encompassed him
and blotted out sea and sky； his isolation was complete。 The damp gray
sea that flowed above and around and about him always seemed to shut
out an intangible world beyond； and to be the only real presence。 The
booming of breakers scarce a dozen rods from his dwelling was but a
vague and unintelligible sound； or the echo of something past forever。
Every morning when the sun tore away the misty curtain he awoke； dazed
and bewildered； as upon a new world。 The first sense of oppression over；
he came to love at last this subtle spirit of oblivion； and at night； when its
cloudy wings were folded over his cabin； he would sit alone with a sense
of security he had never felt before。 On such occasions he was apt to
leave his door open； and listen as for footsteps； for what might not come to
him out of this vague； nebulous world beyond？ Perhaps even SHE；for
this strange solitary was not insane nor visionary。 He was never in spirit
alone。 For night and day； sleeping or waking； pacing the beach or
crouching over his driftwood fire； a woman's face was always before him；…
…the face for whose sake and for cause of whom he sat there alone。 He
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saw it in the morning sunlight； it was her white hands that were lifted from
the crested breakers； it was the rustling of her skirt when the sea wind
swept through the beach grasses； it was the loving whisper of her low
voice when the long waves sank and died among the sedge and rushes。
She was as omnipresent as sea and sky and level sand。 Hence when the
fog wiped them away； she seemed to draw closer to him in the darkness。
On one or two more gracious nights in midsummer； when the influence of
the fervid noonday sun was still felt on the heated sands； the warm breath
of the fog touched his cheek as if it had been hers； and the tears started to
his eyes。
Before the fogs camefor he arrived there in winterhe had found
surcease and rest in the steady glow of a lighthouse upon the little
promontory a league below his habitation。 Even on the darkest nights；
and in the tumults of storm； it spoke to him of a patience that was enduring
and a steadfastness that was immutable。 Later on he found a certain dumb
companionship in an uprooted tree； which； floating down the river； had
stranded hopelessly upon his beach； but in the evening had again drifted
away。 Rowing across the estuary a day or two afterward； he recognized
the tree again from a 〃blaze〃 of the settler's axe still upon its trunk。 He
was not surprised a week later to find the same tree in the sands before his
dwelling； or that the next morning it should be again launched on its
purposeless wanderings。 And so； impelled by wind or tide； but always
haunting his seclusion； he would meet it voyaging up the river at the flood；
or see it tossing among the breakers on the bar； but always with the
confidence of its returning sooner or later to an anchorage beside him。
After the third month of his self…imposed exile； he was forced into a more
human companionship； that was brief but regular。 He was obliged to
have menial assistance。 While he might have eaten his bread 〃in sorrow〃
carelessly and mechanically； if it had been prepared for him； the
occupation of cooking his own food brought the vulgarity and
materialness of existence so near to his morbid sensitiveness that he could
not eat the meal he had himself prepared。 He did not yet wish to die； and
when starvation or society seemed to be the only alternative； he chose the
latter。 An Indian woman； so hideous as to scarcely suggest humanity； at
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stated times performed for him these offices。 When she did not come；
which was not infrequent； he did not eat。
Such was the mental and physical condition of the Man on the Beach
on the 1st of January； 1869。
It was a still； bright day； following a week of rain and wind。 Low
down the horizon still lingered a few white flecksthe flying squadrons of
the stormas vague as distant sails。 Southward the harbor bar whitened
occasionally but lazily； even the turbulent Pacific swell stretched its length
wearily upon the shore。 And toiling from the settlement over the low
sand dunes； a carriage at last halted half a mile from the solitary's
dwelling。
〃I reckon ye'll hev to git out here；〃 said the driver； pulling up to
breathe his panting horses。 〃Ye can't git any nigher。〃
There was a groan of execration from the interior of the vehicle； a
hysterical little shriek； and one or two shrill expressions of feminine
disapprobation； but the driver moved not。 At last a
