michael-第54部分

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　before；　but　the　draught　between　open　window　and　open　door　was　fast　drying　it。　　Down　the　centre　of　the　room　was　a　deal　table　without　a　cloth；　on　which　were　laid　some　half…dozen　places；　each　marked　with　a　knife　and　fork　and　spoon　and　a　thick　glass；　ready　for　the　serving　of　the　midday　meal。　　On　the　white…　washed　walls　hung　two　photographs　of　family　groups；　in　one　of　which　appeared　the　father　and　mother　and　three　little　children；　in　the　other　the　same　personages　some　ten　years　later；　and　a　lithograph　of　the　Blessed　Virgin。　　On　each　side　of　the　table　was　a　deal　bench；　at　the　head　and　foot　two　wooden　armchairs。　　A　dresser　stood　against　the　wall；　on　the　floor　by　the　oven　was　a　frayed　rug；　and　most　important　of　all；　to　Michael's　mind；　was　a　big　stewpot　that　stood　on　the　top　of　the　oven。　　From　time　to　time　a　fat；　comfortable　Frenchwoman　bustled　in；　and　took　off　the　lid　of　this　to　stir　it；　or　placed　on　the　dresser　a　plate　of　cheese；　or　a　loaf　of　freshly　cooked　brown　bread。　　Two　or　three　of　Michael's　brother…officers　were　there；　one　sitting　in　the　patch　of　sunlight　with　his　back　against　the　green　door；　another　on　the　step　outside。　　The　post　had　come　in　not　long　before；　and　all　of　them；　Michael　included；　were　occupied　with　letters　and　papers。

To…day　there　happened　to　be　no　letters　for　Michael；　and　the　paper　which　he　glanced　at　seemed　a　very　feeble　effort　in　the　way　of　entertainment。　　There　was　no　news　in　it；　except　news　about　the　war；　which　here；　out　at　the　front；　did　not　interest　him　in　the　least。　Perhaps　in　England　people　liked　to　know　that　a　hundred　yards　of　trenches　had　been　taken　at　one　place；　and　that　three　German　attacks　had　failed　at　another；　but　when　you　were　actually　engaged　（or　had　been　or　would　soon　again　be）　in　taking　part　in　those　things；　it　seemed　a　waste　of　paper　and　compositor's　time　to　record　them。　There　was　a　column　of　letters　also　from　indignant　Britons；　using　violent　language　about　the　crimes　and　treachery　of　Germany。　　That　also　was　uninteresting　and　far…fetched。　　Nothing　that　Germany　had　done　mattered　the　least。　　There　was　no　use　in　arguing　and　slinging　wild　expressions　about；　it　was　a　stale　subject　altogether　when　you　were　within　earshot　of　that　incessant　booming　of　guns。　　All　the　morning　that　had　gone　on　without　break；　and　no　doubt　they　would　get　news　of　what　had　happened　before　they　set　out　again　that　evening　for　another　spell　in　the　trenches。　　But　in　all　probability　nothing　particular　had　happened。　　Probably　the　London　papers　would　record　it　next　day；　a　further　tediousness　on　their　part。　　It　would　be　much　more　interesting　to　hear　what　was　going　on　there；　whether　there　were　any　new　plays；　whether　there　had　been　any　fresh　concerts；　what　the　weather　was　like；　or　even　who　had　been　lunching　at　Prince's；　or　dining　at　the　Carlton。

He　put　down　his　uninteresting　paper；　and　strolled　out　into　the　farmyard；　stepping　over　the　legs　of　the　junior　officer　who　blocked　the　doorway；　and　did　not　attempt　to　move。　　On　the　doorstep　was　sitting　a　major　of　his　regiment；　who；　more　politely；　shifted　his　place　a　little　so　that　Michael　should　pass。　　Outside　the　smell　of　manure　was　acrid　but　not　unpleasant；　the　old　sow　grunted　in　her　sleep；　and　one　of　the　green　shutters　outside　the　upper　windows　slowly　blew　to。　　There　was　someone　inside　the　room　apparently；　for　the　moment　after　a　hand　and　arm　bare　to　the　elbow　were　protruded；　and　fastened　the　latch　of　the　shutter；　so　that　it　should　not　move　again。

A　little　further　on　was　a　rail　that　separated　the　copse　from　the　roadway；　and　here　out　of　the　wind　Michael　sat　down；　and　lit　a　cigarette　to　stop　his　yearning　for　the　bubbling　stewpot；　which　would　not　be　broached　for　half　an　hour　yet。　　The　day；　he　believed；　was　Wednesday；　but　the　whole　quiet　of　the　place；　apart　from　that　drowsy　booming　on　the　eastern　horizon；　made　it　feel　like　Sunday。　Nobody　but　the　fat　Frenchwoman　who　bustled　about　had　anything　to　do；　there　was　a　Sabbath　leisure　about　everything；　about　the　dozing　sow；　the　buzzing　flies；　the　lounging　figures　that　read　letters　and　papers。　　When　last　they　were　here；　it　is　true；　there　were　rather　more　of　them。　　Eight　officers　had　been　billeted　here　last　week；　before　they　had　been　in　the　trenches　and　now　there　were　but　six。　This　evening　they　would　set　out　again　for　another　forty…eight　hours　in　that　hellish　inferno；　but　to…morrow　a　fresh　draft　was　arriving；　so　that　when　next　they　foregathered　here；　whatever　had　happened　in　the　interval；　there　would　probably　be　at　least　six　of　them。

It　did　not　seem　to　matter　much　what　six　there　would　be；　or　whether　there　would　be　more　than　six　or　less。　　All　that　mattered　at　this　moment；　as　he　inhaled　the　first　incense　of　his　cigarette；　was　that　the　rain　was　over　for　the　present；　that　the　sun　shone　from　a　blue　sky；　that　he　felt　extraordinarily　well　and　tranquil；　and　that　dinner　would　soon　be　ready。　　But　of　all　these　agreeable　things　what　pleased　him　most　was　the　tranquillity；　to　be　alive　here　with　the　manure　heap　steaming　in　the　sun；　and　the　sow　asleep　by　the　house　wall；　and　swallows　settling　on　the　eaves；　was　〃Paradise　enow。〃　Somewhere　deep　down　in　him　were　streams　of　yearning　and　of　horror；　flowing　like　an　underground　river　in　the　dark。　　He　yearned　for　Sylvia；　he　thought　with　horror　of　the　two　days　in　the　trenches　that　had　preceded　this　rest　in　the　white…washed　farm…house；　and　with　horror　he　thought　of　the　days　and　nights　that　would　succeed　it。　But　both　horror　and　yearnings　were　stupefied　by　the　content　that　flooded　the　present　moment。　　No　doubt　it　was　reaction　from　what　had　gone　before；　but　the　reaction　was　complete。　　Just　now　he　asked　for　nothing　but　to　sit　in　the　sun　and　smoke　his　cigarette；　and　wait　for　dinner。　　As　far　as　he　knew　he　did　not　think　of　anything　particular；　he　just　existed　in　the　sun。

The　wind　must　have　shifted　a　little；　for　before　long　it　came　round　the　corner　of　the　house；　and　slightly　spoiled　the　mellow　warmth　of　the　sunshine。　　This　would　never　do。　　The　Epicurean　in　him　revolted　at　the　idea　of　losing　a　moment　of　this　complete　well…being；　and　arguing　that　if　the　wind　blew　here；　it　must　be　dead　calm　below　the　kitchen　window　on　the　other　side　of　the　house；　he　got　off　his　rail　and　walked　along　the　slippery　bank　at　the　edge　of　the　flooded　road　in　order　to　go　there。　　It　was　hard　to　keep　his　footing　here；　and　his　progress　was　slow；　but　he　felt　he　would　take　any　amount　of　trouble　to　avoid　getting　his　feet　wet　in　the　flooded　road。　　Then　there　was　a　patch　of　kitchen…garden　to　cross；　where　the　mud　clung　rather　annoyingly　to　his　instep；　and；　having　gained　the　garden　path；　he　very　carefully　wiped　his　boots　and　with　a　fallen　twig　dug　away　the　clots　of　soil　that　stuck　to　the　instep。

He　found　that　he　had　been　quite　right　in　supposing　that　the　air　would　be　windless　here；　and　full　of　great　content　he　sat　down　with　his　back　to　the　house　wall。　　A　tortoise…shell　butterfly；　encouraged　by　the　warmth；　was　flitting　about　among　the　Michaelmas　daisies　that　bordered　the　path　and　settling　on　them；　opening　its　wings　to　the　genial　sun。　　Two　or　three　bees　buzzed　there　also；　the　summer…like　tranquillity　inserted　into　the　middle　of　November　squalls　and　rain；　deluded　them　as　well　as　Michael　into　living　completely　in　the　present　hour。　　Gnats　hovered　about。　　One　settled　on　Michael's　hand；　where　he　instantly　killed　it；　and　was　sorry　he　had　done　so。　　For　the　time　the　booming　of　guns　which　had　sounded　incessantly　all　the　morning　to　the　east；　stopped　altogether；　and　absolute　quiet　reigned。　　Had　he　not　been　so　hungry；　and　so　unable　to　get　the　idea　of　the　stewpot　out　of　his　head；　Michael　would　have　been　content　to　sit　with　his　back　to　the　sun…warmed　wall　for　ever。

The　high…road；　raised　and　embanked　above　the　low…lying　fields；　ran　eastwards　in　an　undeviating　straight　line。　　Just　opposite　the　farm　were　the　last　outlying　huts　of　the　village；　and　from　there　onwards　it　lay　untenanted。　　But　before　many　minutes　were　passed；　the　quiet　of　the　autumn　noon　began　to　be　overscored　by　distant　humming；　faint　at　first；　and　then　quickly　growing　louder；　and　he　saw　far　away　a　little　brown　speck　coming　swiftly　towards　him。　　It　turned　out　to　be　a　dispatch…rider；　mounted　on　a　motor…bicycle；　who　with　a　hoot　of　his　horn　roared　westward　through　the　village。　　Immediately　afterwards　another　humming；　steadier　and　more　sonorous；　grew　louder；　and　Michael；　recognising　it；　looked　up　instinctively　into　the　blue　sky　overhead；　as　an　English　aeroplane；　flying　low；　came　from　somewhere　behind；　and　passed　directly　over　him；　going　eastwards。　　Before　long　it　stopped　its　direct　course；　and　began　to　mount　in　spirals；　and　when　at　a　sufficient　height；　it　resumed　its　onward　journey　towards　the　German　lines。　　Then　three　or　four　privates；　billeted　in　the　village；　and　now　resting　after　duty　in　the　trenches；　strolled　along　the　road；　laughing　and　talking。　　They　sat　down　not　a　hundred　yards　from　Michael　and　one　began　to　whistle　〃Tipperary。〃　　Another　and　another　took　it　up　until　all　four　were　engaged　on　it。　　It　was　not　precisely　in　tune　nor　were　the　performers　in　unison；　but　it　produced　a　vaguely　pleasant　effect；　and　if　not　in　tune　with　the　notes　as　the　composer　wrote　them；　the　sight　and　sound　of　those　four　whistling　and　idle　soldiers　was　in　tune　with　the　air　of　security　of　Sunday　morning。

Something　far　down　the　road　caught　Michael's　eye；　some　moving　line　of　brown　wagons。　　As　they　came　nearer　he　saw　that　they　were　the　motor…ambulances　of　the　Red　Cross；　moving　slowly　along　the　ruts　and　holes　which　the　traffic　had　worn；　so　that　the　occupants　should　suffer　as　little　jolting　as　was　possible。　　They　carried　no　doubt　the　wounded　who　had　been　taken　from　the　trenches　last　night；　and　now；　after　calling　for　them　at　the　first　dressing　station　in　the　rear　of　the　lines；　were　removing　them　to　hospital。　　As　they　passed　the　four　men　sitting　by　the　roadside；　one　of　them　shouted；　〃Cheer；　oh；　mates！〃　and　then　they　fell　to　whistling　〃Tipperary〃　again。　Then；　oh；　blessed　moment！　the　fat　Frenchwoman　looked　out　of　the　kitchen　window　just　above　his　head。

〃Diner；　m'sieu；〃　she　said；　and　Michael；　without　another　thought　of　ambulance　or　aeroplane；　scrambled　to　his　feet。　　Somewhere　in　the　middle　distance　of　his　mind　he　was　sorry　that　this　tranquil　morning　was　over；　just　as　below　in　the　darkness　of　it　there　ran　those　streams　of　yearning　and　of　horror；　but　all　his　or