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第8章 被遗忘的时光2（第1页）

e于是，我给孩子们讲道，在追求那个精灵般的女子七年的时间里，我时而充满希望，时而又失望不已，然而始终不渝。我尽量以孩子们能理解的程度，向他们解释少女身上的羞怯、敏感与回绝——当我突然转向艾丽丝时，第一个艾丽丝的灵魂在小艾丽丝的眼里活生生地出现了，以至于我有些怀疑是？站在我的面前。而当我定睛看去时，两个孩子在我的视野中渐渐地变得模糊，越来越远，直到消失，只在最远的地方剩下哀伤的面孔。尽管她们什么也没说，但我仿佛听到了他们的话：“我们不是艾丽丝的孩子，不是你的孩子，我们也不是孩子。艾丽丝的孩子叫巴尔曼爸爸。我们什么也不是，连梦幻都不是。我们只是可能存在的人物，在真实存在之前，我们必须要遗忘河边苦苦等上数百万年，然后才有一个名字。”——我突然惊醒，发现自己静静地坐在我的轮椅上。原来，我在那里睡着了，忠诚的布里吉特还守在我身边，但是约翰（或者詹姆斯）永远失去了踪影。

Childrenlovetolistentostoriesabouttheirelders，whentheywerechildren；tostretchtheirimaginationtotheconcetionofatraditionarygreat-uncleorgreat-aunt，whomtheyneversaw。Itwasinthissiritthatmylittleonescretaboutmetheothereveningtohearabouttheirgreat-grandmotherField，wholivedinagreathouseinNorfolk（ahundredtimesbiggerthanthatinwhichtheyandaalived）whichhadbeenthescene—soatleastitwasgenerallybelievedinthatartofthecountry—ofthetragicincidentswhichtheyhadlatelybecomefamiliarwithfromtheballadoftheChildrenintheWood。Certainitisthatthewholestoryofthechildrenandtheircruelunclewastobeseenfairlycarvedoutinwooduonthechimney-ieceofthegreathall，thewholestorydowntotheRobinRedbreasts；tillafoolishrichersonulleditdowntosetuamarbleoneofmoderninventioninitsstead，withnostoryuonit。HereAliceutoutoneofherdearmother’slooks，tootendertobecalledubraiding。

ThenIwentontosay，howreligiousandhowgoodtheirgreat-grandmotherFieldwas，howbelovedandresectedbyeverybody，thoughshewasnotindeedthemistressofthisgreenhouse，buthadonlythechargeofit（andyetinsomeresectsshemightbesaidtobethemistressofittoo）committedtoherbytheowner，whoreferredlivinginanewerandmorefashionablemansionwhichhehadurchasedsomewhereintheadjoiningcounty；butstillshelivedinitinamannerasifithadbeenherown，andketuthedignityofthegreathouseinasortwhileshelived，whichafterwardscametodecay，andwasnearlyulleddown，andallitsoldornamentsstriedandcarriedawaytotheowner’sotherhouse，wheretheyweresetu，andlookedasawkwardasifsomeoneweretocarryawaytheoldtombstheyhadseenlatelyattheAbbey，andstickthemuinLadyC。’stawdrygiltdrawing-room。HereJohnsmiled，asmuchastosay，“thatwouldbefoolishindeed。”AndthenItoldhow，whenshecametodie，herfuneralwasattendedbyaconcourseofalltheoor，andsomeofthegentrytoo，oftheneighborhoodformanymilesround，toshowtheirresectforhermemory，becauseshehadbeensuchagoodandreligiouswoman’sgoodindeedthatsheknewallthePsalterybyheart，aye，andagreatartoftheTestamentbesides。HerelittleAlicesreadherhands。

ThenItoldwhatatall，uright，gracefulersontheirgreat-grandmotherFieldoncewas；andhowinheryouthshewasesteemedthebestdancer—hereAlice’slittlerightfootlayedaninvoluntarymovement，tilluonmylookinggrave，itdesisted—thebestdancer，Iwassaying，inthecounty，tillacrueldisease，calledacancer，came，andbowedherdownwithain；butitcouldneverbendhergoodsirits，ormakethemstoo，buttheywerestilluright，becauseshewassogoodandreligious。ThenItoldhowshewasusedtosleebyherselfinalonechamberofthegreatlonehouse；andhowshebelievedthatanaaritionoftwoinfantswastobeseenatmidnightglidinguanddownthegreatstaircasenearwheresheslet，butshesaid“hoseinnocentswoulddohernoharm；”andhowfrightenedusedtobe，thoughinthosedaysIhadmymaidtosleewithme，becauseIwasneverhalfsogoodorreligiousasshe—andyetIneversawtheinfants。HereJohnexandedallhiseyebrowsandtriedtolookcourageous。

ThenItoldhowgoodshewastoallhergrand-children，havingustothegreathouseintheholidays，whereIinarticularusedtosendmanyhoursbymyself，ingazinguontheoldbustsoftheTwelveCaesars，thathadbeenEmerorsofRome，tilltheoldmarbleheadswouldseemtoliveagain，orItobeturnedintomarblewiththem，howInevercouldbefiredwithroamingaboutthathugemansion，withitsvastemtymoms，withtheirworn-outhangings，flutteringtaestryandcarvedoakenanicle，withthegildingalmostrubbedout—sometimesinthesaciousold—fashionedgardens，whichIhadalmosttomyself，unlesswhennowandthenasolitarygardeningmanwouldcrossme—andhowthenectarinesandeacheshunguonthewalls，withoutmyeverofferingtoluckthem，becausetheywereforbiddenfruit，unlessnowandthen，—andbecauseIhadmoreleasureinstrollingaboutamongtheoldmelancholy-lookingyewtrees，orthefirs，andickingutheredberries，andthefirales，whichweregoodfornothingbuttolookat—orinlyingaboutuonthefreshgrass，withallthefinegardensmellsaroundme—orbaskingintheorangery，tillIcouldalmostfancymyselfriening，too；alongwiththeorangesandthelimesinthatgratefulwarmth—orinwatchingthedacethatdartedtoandfrointhefishond，atthebottomofthegraven，withhereandthereagreatsulkyikehangingmidwaydownthewaterinslientstate，asifitmockedattheirimertinentfrisking，—Ihadmoreleasureinthesebusy-idlediversionsthaninallthesweetflavorsofeaches，nectarines，oranges，andsuchlikecommonbaitsofchildren。HereJohnslylydeositedbackuonthelateabunchofgraes，which，notunobservedbyAlice，hehadmeditateddividingwithher，andbothseemedwillingtorelinquishthemfortheresentasirrelevant。

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