“太晚了，”他说。他想起了丽齐那句话。“我是个有病的人——啊，不是身体有病，而是灵魂有病，是头脑有病。我好像失去了我的一切价值，什么都满不在乎了。你要是几个月以前这样做，情况会不相同，可是现在太迟了。”
“还不太迟，”她叫了起来，“我来告诉你。我会向你证明我的爱情成长了。爱情比我的阶级和我所爱的一切都更重要。我要抛弃资产阶级最喜爱的一切。我不再害怕生活了。我要离开我的父母，让我的名字成为朋友间的笑柄。我现在就要搬到你这儿来住，只要你愿意，可以和我随意相爱。我要以和你一起生活为骄傲，感到快乐。如果我以前曾经背叛过爱情的话，那么我现在为了爱情就要背叛过去使我背叛的一切。”
她眼里闪着光芒，站在他面前。
“我在等着你呢，马丁，”她低声说道，“等着你接受我的爱，你看看我。”
他望着她想道，真是精彩。她就这样弥补了她所缺少的一切了，终于站了起来，真诚的女人，超越了资产阶级的传统。了不起，精彩，挺而走险。但是，他是怎么了？他并不曾因为她的行为而狂欢，而激动。那了不起的感觉，那精彩的感觉只是理智上的。在他应当燃烧时他却冷冷地估量着她。他的心没有被打动，他意识不到任何对她的欲望。他又想起了而齐那句话。
“我病了，病得很厉害，”他做了一个失望的手势，说道，“到目前为止，我还不知道我病得这么厉害。我身上少了点东西，我从来没有害怕过生活，可我做梦也没有想到会叫生活填得太饱。我被填得太多，对一切都失去了兴趣。如果肚子还有缝隙，我现在是会需要你的。你看我病得多厉害。”
他头向后仰，闭上了眼睛，然后像一个哭泣的儿童望着阳光透过泪膜遮蔽的眼球忘记了悲伤一样忘掉了他的病，忘掉了露丝的存在，忘掉了一切。以他的眼帘为背景的蓬勃生长的丛丛草木被炽热的阳光穿透了，他望着。绿色的叶丛并不恬静，阳光又太耀眼刺目，望着它使他觉得难受。可不知道为什么，他仍然望着。
门把手的声音惊醒了他，露丝已经走到了门口。
“我怎么出去呢？”她眼泪汪汪地问道，“我害怕。”
“啊，对不起，”他跳了起来，叫道，“我出神了，你知道。我忘了你在这儿。”他摸摸自己的脑袋。“你看，我刚才不大正常。我送你回家去吧。我们可以从仆役的门出去，没有人会看见的。把那窗帘拉下来，一切都会好的。”
她紧挨着他的手臂走过灯光暗淡的市道，走下狭窄的楼梯。
“我现在安全了，”两人来到人行道上，她说，同时从他手臂了抽出了手。
“不，不，我送你回家，”他回答。
“谢谢，不用了，”她拒绝，“没有必要。”
她第二次要抽掉手，他一时感到了好奇：现在她已无危险可言，为什么反而害怕了？她为了摆脱他几乎手忙脚乱了。他想不出理由，只以为她是紧张。他没有放掉她打算缩回的手，只带了她继续往前走。走过半段街区，看见一个穿长外套的人闪进了一家门口。他经过时瞥了一眼，尽管那人领子掀得很高，他却深信自己看见的是露丝的弟弟诺尔曼。
露丝和马丁走路时没大说话。她是惊呆了，他则冷漠。有一回他说他要走，要回南海去；有一回她要求他原谅她来看了他，然后两人便再没有话。到了门口，分手也是礼貌性的。两人握了握手，互道晚安，他又脱帽致意。门关上了，他点燃了一支香烟，走上回旅馆的路。他回到刚才诺尔曼躲进去的屋门口时，停住步子，带着特别的心清查看了一下。
“她撒谎了，”他大声说道，“她要我相信她冒了很大的危险，其实她一直知道她弟弟就在外面等着送她回家。”他不禁笑出声来。“啊！这些资产阶级！我倒霉的时候连跟他姐姐在一起也不配，怕叫人看见。我有了银行存款他却亲自把姐姐给我送上门来。”
他转身正要离开，一个跟他走同一方向的流浪汉从身后走来向他乞讨。
“我说，先生，给我一个两毛五的角子住店好么？”他说。
那声音叫马丁转过身子，却随即跟乔握起手来。
“还记得我们在温泉告别的时候么？”那人说，“那时我就说我们会见面的。这一点我从骨头里都感觉得到。现在我们可不就在这儿遇见了么？”
“你看去挺不错嘛，”马丁带着欣赏的口气说，“你长胖了。”
“当然长胖了，”乔满脸欢喜，“我是直到开始了流浪才懂得生活的。我体重增加了三十磅。可在那些日子却瘦得皮包骨头。我倒的确适合于流浪。”
“可你仍然在找钱住店，”马丁刺他一句，“而今天晚上又很冷。”
“哈！找钱住店么？”乔一只手插进屁股口袋，抓出一大把角子，“这可比做苦工强多了。”他得意扬扬地说，“你看起来挺阔的，所以我就敲你一家伙。”
马丁哈哈大笑，认了输。
“这一把钱倒够你大醉几回的，”他话外有话。
乔把钱塞进了口袋。
“我从不大醉，”他宣布，“从不喝醉，虽然我要醉也没有谁会挡我。我和你分手之后只醉过一回，那是意外，空肚子喝了酒。我干活像吉生的时候酒醉得也像畜生，我生活像人的时候喝酒也就像人了——高兴时偶尔来上两杯，绝不多喝。”
马丁约好明天跟乔见面，就回到旅馆。他在办公室看了看船舶消息。五天后马里泊萨号就去塔希提岛。
“明天在电话上给我订个豪华舱位，”他告诉服务员，“不要甲板上的，要下面的，迎风一面——在舷，记住，左航。你最好是记下来。”
一回到房里他就钻进被窝像个孩子似的睡着了。那晚发生的事对他毫无影响。他的心已经死灭，留不下什么印象。他遇见乔时的温暖情绪也非常短暂，他随即因那往日的洗衣工的出现而厌烦，为不得不说话而难受。五天以后他就要到他心爱的南海去了，可那对他也没有了意思。他闭上眼，一睡八个小时，睡得正常，舒坦，没有烦躁，没有翻身，也没有梦。睡眠于他就是忘却。他每天都为醒来感到遗憾。生命使他烦恼了，厌倦了，时光叫他难堪。
Chapter 46
"Say, Joe," was his greeting to his old-time working-mate next morning, "there's a Frenchman out on Twenty-eighth Street. He's made a pot of money, and he's going back to France. It's a dandy, well-appointed, small steam laundry. There's a start for you if you want to settle down. Here, take this; buy some clothes with it and be at this man's office by ten o'clock. He looked up the laundry for me, and he'll take you out and show you around. If you like it, and think it is worth the price - twelve thousand - let me know and it is yours. Now run along. I'm busy. I'll see you later."
"Now look here, Mart," the other said slowly, with kindling anger, "I come here this mornin' to see you. Savve? I didn't come here to get no laundry. I come a here for a talk for old friends' sake, and you shove a laundry at me. I tell you, what you can do. You can take that laundry an' go to hell."
He was out of the room when Martin caught him and whirled him around.
"Now look here, Joe," he said; "if you act that way, I'll punch your head. An for old friends' sake I'll punch it hard. Savve? - you will, will you?"
Joe had clinched and attempted to throw him, and he was twisting and writhing out of the advantage of the other's hold. They reeled about the room, locked in each other's arms, and came down with a crash across the splintered wreckage of a wicker chair. Joe was underneath, with arms spread out and held and with Martin's knee on his chest. He was panting and gasping for breath when Martin released him.
"Now we'll talk a moment," Martin said. "You can't get fresh with me. I want that laundry business finished first of all. Then you can come back and we'll talk for old sake's sake. I told you I was busy. Look at that."
A servant had just come in with the morning mail, a great mass of letters and magazines.
"How can I wade through that and talk with you? You go and fix up that laundry, and then we'll get together."
"All right," Joe admitted reluctantly. "I thought you was turnin' me down, but I guess I was mistaken. But you can't lick me, Mart, in a stand-up fight. I've got the reach on you."
"We'll put on the gloves sometime and see," Martin said with a smile.
"Sure; as soon as I get that laundry going." Joe extended his arm. "You see that reach? It'll make you go a few."
Martin heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed behind the laundryman. He was becoming anti-social. Daily he found it a severer strain to be decent with people. Their presence perturbed him, and the effort of conversation irritated him. They made him restless, and no sooner was he in contact with them than he was casting about for excuses to get rid of them.
He did not proceed to attack his mail, and for a half hour he lolled in his chair, doing nothing, while no more than vague, half- formed thoughts occasionally filtered through his intelligence, or rather, at wide intervals, themselves constituted the flickering of his intelligence.
He roused himself and began glancing through his mail. There were a dozen requests for autographs - he knew them at sight; there were professional begging letters; and there were letters from cranks, ranging from the man with a working model of perpetual motion, and the man who demonstrated that the surface of the earth was the inside of a hollow sphere, to the man seeking financial aid to purchase the Peninsula of Lower California for the purpose of communist colonization. There were letters from women seeking to know him, and over one such he smiled, for enclosed was her receipt for pew-rent, sent as evidence of her good faith and as proof of her respectability.
Editors and publishers contributed to the daily heap of letters, the former on their knees for his manuscripts, the latter on their knees for his books - his poor disdained manuscripts that had kept all he possessed in pawn for so many dreary months in order to find them in postage. There were unexpected checks for English serial rights and for advance payments on foreign translations. His English agent announced the sale of German translation rights in three of his books, and informed him that Swedish editions, from which he could expect nothing because Sweden was not a party to the Berne Convention, were already on the market. Then there was a nominal request for his permission for a Russian translation, that country being likewise outside the Berne Convention.
He turned to the huge bundle of clippings which had come in from his press bureau, and read about himself and his vogue, which had become a furore. All his creative output had been flung to the public in one magnificent sweep. That seemed to account for it. He had taken the public off its feet, the way Kipling had, that time when he lay near to death and all the mob, animated by a mob- mind thought, began suddenly to read him. Martin remembered how that same world-mob, having read him and acclaimed him and not understood him in the least, had, abruptly, a few months later, flung itself upon him and torn him to pieces. Martin grinned at the thought. Who was he that he should not be similarly treated in a few more months? Well, he would fool the mob. He would be away, in the South Seas, building his grass house, trading for pearls and copra, jumping reefs in frail outriggers, catching sharks and bonitas, hunting wild goats among the cliffs of the valley that lay next to the valley of Taiohae.
In the moment of that thought the desperateness of his situation dawned upon him. He saw, cleared eyed, that he was in the Valley of the Shadow. All the life that was in him was fading, fainting, making toward death.
He realized how much he slept, and how much he desired to sleep. Of old, he had hated sleep. It had robbed him of precious moments of living. Four hours of sleep in the twenty-four had meant being robbed of four hours of life. How he had grudged sleep! Now it was life he grudged. Life was not good; its taste in his mouth was without tang, and bitter. This was his peril. Life that did not yearn toward life was in fair way toward ceasing. Some remote instinct for preservation stirred in him, and he knew he must get away. He glanced about the room, and the thought of packing was burdensome. Perhaps it would be better to leave that to the last. In the meantime he might be getting an outfit.
He put on his hat and went out, stopping in at a gun-store, where he spent the remainder of the morning buying automatic rifles, ammunition, and fishing tackle. Fashions changed in trading, and he knew he would have to wait till he reached Tahiti before ordering his trade-goods. They could come up from Australia, anyway. This solution was a source of pleasure. He had avoided doing something, and the doing of anything just now was unpleasant. He went back to the hotel gladly, with a feeling of satisfaction in that the comfortable Morris chair was waiting for him; and he groaned inwardly, on entering his room, at sight of Joe in the Morris chair.
Joe was delighted with the laundry. Everything was settled, and he would enter into possession next day. Martin lay on the bed, with closed eyes, while the other talked on. Martin's thoughts were far away - so far away that he was rarely aware that he was thinking. It was only by an effort that he occasionally responded. And yet this was Joe, whom he had always liked. But Joe was too keen with life. The boisterous impact of it on Martin's jaded mind was a hurt. It was an aching probe to his tired sensitiveness. When Joe reminded him that sometime in the future they were going to put on the gloves together, he could almost have screamed.
"Remember, Joe, you're to run the laundry according to those old rules you used to lay down at Shelly Hot Springs," he said. "No overworking. No working at night. And no children at the mangles. No children anywhere. And a fair wage."
Joe nodded and pulled out a note-book.
"Look at here. I was workin' out them rules before breakfast this A.M. What d'ye think of them?"
He read them aloud, and Martin approved, worrying at the same time as to when Joe would take himself off.
It was late afternoon when he awoke. Slowly the fact of life came back to him. He glanced about the room. Joe had evidently stolen away after he had dozed off. That was considerate of Joe, he thought. Then he closed his eyes and slept again.
In the days that followed Joe was too busy organizing and taking hold of the laundry to bother him much; and it was not until the day before sailing that the newspapers made the announcement that he had taken passage on the Mariposa. Once, when the instinct of preservation fluttered, he went to a doctor and underwent a searching physical examination. Nothing could be found the matter with him. His heart and lungs were pronounced magnificent. Every organ, so far as the doctor could know, was normal and was working normally.
"There is nothing the matter with you, Mr. Eden," he said, "positively nothing the matter with you. You are in the pink of condition. Candidly, I envy you your health. It is superb. Look at that chest. There, and in your stomach, lies the secret of your remarkable constitution. Physically, you are a man in a thousand - in ten thousand. Barring accidents, you should live to be a hundred."
And Martin knew that Lizzie's diagnosis had been correct. Physically he was all right. It was his "think-machine" that had gone wrong, and there was no cure for that except to get away to the South Seas. The trouble was that now, on the verge of departure, he had no desire to go. The South Seas charmed him no more than did bourgeois civilization. There was no zest in the thought of departure, while the act of departure appalled him as a weariness of the flesh. He would have felt better if he were already on board and gone.
The last day was a sore trial. Having read of his sailing in the morning papers, Bernard Higginbotham, Gertrude, and all the family came to say good-by, as did Hermann von Schmidt and Marian. Then there was business to be transacted, bills to be paid, and everlasting reporters to be endured. He said good-by to Lizzie Connolly, abruptly, at the entrance to night school, and hurried away. At the hotel he found Joe, too busy all day with the laundry to have come to him earlier. It was the last straw, but Martin gripped the arms of his chair and talked and listened for half an hour.
"You know, Joe," he said, "that you are not tied down to that laundry. There are no strings on it. You can sell it any time and blow the money. Any time you get sick of it and want to hit the road, just pull out. Do what will make you the happiest."
Joe shook his head.
"No more road in mine, thank you kindly. Hoboin's all right, exceptin' for one thing - the girls. I can't help it, but I'm a ladies' man. I can't get along without 'em, and you've got to get along without 'em when you're hoboin'. The times I've passed by houses where dances an' parties was goin' on, an' heard the women laugh, an' saw their white dresses and smiling faces through the windows - Gee! I tell you them moments was plain hell. I like dancin' an' picnics, an' walking in the moonlight, an' all the rest too well. Me for the laundry, and a good front, with big iron dollars clinkin' in my jeans. I seen a girl already, just yesterday, and, d'ye know, I'm feelin' already I'd just as soon marry her as not. I've ben whistlin' all day at the thought of it. She's a beaut, with the kindest eyes and softest voice you ever heard. Me for her, you can stack on that. Say, why don't you get married with all this money to burn? You could get the finest girl in the land."
Martin shook his head with a smile, but in his secret heart he was wondering why any man wanted to marry. It seemed an amazing and incomprehensible thing.
From the deck of the Mariposa, at the sailing hour, he saw Lizzie Connolly hiding in the skirts of the crowd on the wharf. Take her with you, came the thought. It is easy to be kind. She will be supremely happy. It was almost a temptation one moment, and the succeeding moment it became a terror. He was in a panic at the thought of it. His tired soul cried out in protest. He turned away from the rail with a groan, muttering, "Man, you are too sick, you are too sick."
