15
0坎比之死
作者： F. 斯科特 · 费兹杰拉德 编译：嘉炜
终于有一天，她中断了所有的约会，因为比尔已经启程，马上就要回来了。我们非常冷静理性的谈论起他——关于这次他会否下定决定娶她?相反，坎比中尉的感性而冲动，这让他使自己成为一个别人非常讨厌的人。坎比告诉她，如果她嫁给诺尔斯，他就乘他的飞机爬上6000英尺，关掉发动机，然后放手。他的言论把她吓坏了——在比尔回来之前，我不得不把最后一次约会也让给了坎比。
星期六晚上，艾莉和比尔来到乡村俱乐部。他们在一起实在是太般配，我又一次感到嫉妒和悲伤。当他们在舞池里跳舞时，三人组的管弦乐队正在演奏《你走了之后》，我能听出一种凄美而不完整的演奏情绪，仿佛每一小节乐曲都会伴随着时间无法挽留的一起消逝。这时，我知道我已渐渐爱上塔尔顿这座城市。我惊慌失措地瞥了一眼，想看看外面那温暖的、吟唱着的黑暗中，是否会有什么面孔出现在我面前。那黑暗中浮现出了一对又一对穿着透明蝉纱和橄榄绿军装的情侣。
那是一个充满青春和战争的时代，过去和将来，再也没有如此多的爱。
当我和艾莉跳舞时，她突然拉着我去外面的车上。她想知道为什么今晚没人来打扰她？他们是不是以为她已经结婚了?
“你会结婚吗?”我问。
“我不知道，安迪。有时，当他跟我许下相伴一生的承诺时，我会感到激动。”她的声音低沉而遥远。“然后，”
她笑了。她的身体如此脆弱和柔软，此刻正触动着我。她把脸朝向我。我们知道比尔离我们就在十码远以外的俱乐部里，最终一切那么突然又那么自然，我吻了她。我们的嘴唇只是试探性地接触；正好这时一名航空军官在我们附近的走廊拐了个弯，向黑暗中张望并犹豫了一下。
我叫了一声艾莉的名字，她低声应允了我。
“你听说今天下午的事了吗?”
“什么事？”她身体前倾着，声音里已经充满了紧张。
“贺拉斯 · 坎比坠机了，当场死亡。”
她慢慢地起身，从车里走下来。
“你是说他死了?”她说。
“是的。他们不知道问题出在哪里，他的引擎——“
“Oh-h-h !” 她那刺耳的低语声，透过突然捂住她脸的双手传来。我们无助地看着她把头靠在车的一侧，哽咽着眼泪。过了一会儿，我去找比尔，他正站在一群没有女伴的年轻军官里，焦急地到处寻找着艾莉，我告诉比尔，她想回家了。
我坐在外面的台阶上。我不喜欢坎比，但对我来说，他那可怕的、毫无意义的死亡比法国成千上万人的死亡更真实。几分钟后，艾莉和比尔从俱乐部走了出来。艾莉正在抽泣，但当她看到我时，她的眼睛不自然的转动了一下，她迅速地走了过来。
“安迪”——她用一种急促而低沉的声音说——“我相信你绝对不会把我昨天告诉你的，关于坎比的事告诉任何人。我的意思是他说的话。”
“当然不会。”
她又多看了我一秒钟，好像是要确定我能否保证。最后，她应该是得到了肯定的答案。接着，她发出一阵做作的细微感叹，我简直不敢相信自己的耳朵。她抬起了眉目，那神情的绝望，显然只能用表演来形容。
“安迪 !”她又叫了我的名字。
我不安地看着地面，意识到她是在提醒我，她在极力表明，她并不是有意要给男人带来灾难。
他们上一辆出租车时，比尔冲我道了一声晚安。
我回了一句晚安，但是，“你这可怜的傻瓜。”这句话还是忍住了没说出口。
One day she broke all her dates--Bill Knowles had leave and was coming. We talked of the event with scientific impersonality--would he move her to a decision? Lieutenant Canby, on the contrary, wasn't impersonal at all; made a nuisance of himself. He told her that if she married Knowles he was going to climb up six thousand feet in his aeroplane, shut off the motor and let go. He frightened her--I had to yield him my last date before Bill came.
On Saturday night she and Bill Knowles came to the country club. They were very handsome together and once more I felt envious and sad. As they danced out on the floor the three-piece orchestra was playing After You've Gone, in a poignant incomplete way that I can hear yet, as if each bar were trickling off a precious minute of that time. I knew then that I had grown to love Tarleton, and I glanced about half in panic to see if some face wouldn't come in for me out of that warm, singing, outer darkness that yielded up couple after couple in organdie and olive drab. It was a time of youth and war, and there was never so much love around.
When I danced with Ailie she suddenly suggested that we go outside to a car. She wanted to know why didn't people cut in on her tonight? Did they think she was already married?
"Are you going to be?"
"I don't know, Andy. Sometimes, when he treats me as if I were sacred, it thrills me." Her voice was hushed and far away. "And then--"
She laughed. Her body, so frail and tender, was touching mine, her face was turned up to me, and there, suddenly, with Bill Knowles ten yards off, I could have kissed her at last. Our lips just touched experimentally; then an aviation officer turned a corner of the veranda near us, peered into our darkness and hesitated.
"Ailie."
"Yes."
"You heard about this afternoon?"
"What?" She leaned forward, tenseness already in her voice.
"Horace Canby crashed. He was instantly killed."
She got up slowly and stepped out of the car.
"You mean he was killed?" she said.
"Yes. They don't know what the trouble was. His motor--"
"Oh-h-h!" Her rasping whisper came through the hands suddenly covering her face. We watched her helplessly as she put her head on the side of the car, gagging dry tears. After a minute I went for Bill, who was standing in the stag line, searching anxiously about for her, and told him she wanted to go home.
I sat on the steps outside. I had disliked Canby, but his terrible, pointless death was more real to me then than the day's toll of thousands in France. In a few minutes Ailie and Bill came out. Ailie was whimpering a little, but when she saw me her eyes flexed and she came over swiftly.
"Andy"--she spoke in a quick, low voice--"of course you must never tell anybody what I told you about Canby yesterday. What he said, I mean."
"Of course not."
She looked at me a second longer as if to be quite sure. Finally she was sure. Then she sighed in such a quaint little way that I could hardly believe my ears, and her brow went up in what can only be described as mock despair.
"An-dy!"
I looked uncomfortably at the ground, aware that she was calling my attention to her involuntarily disastrous effect on men.
"Good night, Andy!" called Bill as they got into a taxi.
"Good night," I said, and almost added: "You poor fool."
