The English Patient- 第20部分

someone　seen　bathing　in　a　desert　caravan；　holding　up　muslin　with　one　arm　in　front　of　her。　some　old　arab　poet’s　woman；　whose　white…dove　shoulders　made　him　describe　an　oasis　with　her　name。　the　skin　bucket　spreads　water　over　her；　she　wraps　herself　in　the　cloth；　and　the　old　scribe　turns　from　her　to　describe　zerzura。　

so　a　man　in　the　desert　can　slip　into　a　name　as　if　within　a　discovered　well；　and　in　its　shadowed　coolness　be　tempted　never　to　leave　such　containment。　my　great　desire　was　to　remain　there；　among　those　acacias。　i　was　walking　not　in　a　place　where　no　one　had　walked　before　but　in　a　place　where　there　were　sudden；　brief　populations　over　the　centuries—a　fourteenth…century　army；　a　tebu　caravan；　the　senussi　raiders　of

and　in　between　these　times—nothing　was　there。　when　no　rain　fell　the　acacias　withered；　the　wadis　dried　out。。。　until　water　suddenly　reappeared　fifty　or　a　hundred　years　later。　sporadic　appearances　and　disappearances；　like　legends　and　rumours　through　history。　

in　the　desert　the　most　loved　waters；　like　a　lover’s　name；　are　carried　blue　in　your　hands；　enter　your　throat。　one　swallows　absence。　a　woman　in　cairo　curves　the　white　length　of　her　body　up　from　the　bed　and　leans　out　of　the　window　into　a　rainstorm　to　allow　her　nakedness　to　receive　it。　

hana　leans　forward；　sensing　his　drifting；　watching　him；　not　saying　a　word。　who　is　she；　this　woman？

the　ends　of　the　earth　are　never　the　points　on　a　map　that　colonists　push　against；　enlarging　their　sphere　of　influence。　on　one　side　servants　and　slaves　and　tides　of　power　and　correspondence　with　the　geographical　society。　on　the　other　the　first　step　by　a　white　man　across　a　great　river；　the　first　sight　（by　a　white　eye）　of　a　mountain　that　has　been　there　forever。　

when　we　are　young　we　do　not　look　into　mirrors。　it　is　when　we　are　old；　concerned　with　our　name；　our　legend；　what　our　lives　will　mean　to　the　future。　we　bee　vain　with　the　names　we　own；　our　claims　to　have　been　the　first　eyes；　the　strongest　army；　the　cleverest　merchant。　it　is　when　he　is　old　that　narcissus　wants　a　graven　image　of　himself。　

but　we　were　interested　in　how　our　lives　could　mean　something　to　the　past。　we　sailed　into　the　past。　we　were　young。　we　knew　power　and　great　finance　were　temporary　things。　we　all　slept　with　herodotus。　“for　those　cities　that　were　great　in　earlier　times　must　have　now　bee　small；　and　those　that　were　great　in　my　time　were　small　in　the　time　before。。。。　man’s　good　fortune　never　abides　in　the　same　place。”　　in　　a　young　man　named　geoffrey　clifton　had　met　a　friend　at　oxford　who　mentioned　what　we　were　doing。　he　contacted　me；　got　married　the　next　day；　and　two　weeks　later　flew　with　his　wife　to　cairo。　

the　couple　entered　our　world—the　four　of　us；　prince　kemal　el　din；　bell；　almasy　and　madox。　the　name　that　still　filled　our　mouths　was　gilf　kebir。　somewhere　in　the　gilf　nestled　zerzura；　whose　name　occurs　in　arab　writings　as　far　back　as　the　thirteenth　century。　when　you　travel　that　far　in　time　you　need　a　plane；　and　young　clifton　was　rich　and　he　could　fly　and　he　had　a　plane。　

clifton　met　us　in　el　jof；　north　of　uweinat。　he　sat　in　his　two…seater　plane　and　we　walked　towards　him　from　the　base　camp。　

he　stood　up　in　the　cockpit　and　poured　a　drink　out　of　his　flask。　his　new　wife　sat　beside　him。　

“i　name　this　site　the　bir　messaha　country　club；”　he　announced。　

i　watched　the　friendly　uncertainty　scattered　across　his　wife’s　face；　her　lionlike　hair　when　she　pulled　off　the　leather　helmet。　

they　were　youth；　felt　like　our　children。　they　climbed　out　of　the　plane　and　shook　hands　with　us。　

that　was　；　the　beginning　of　our　story。。。。　

they　jumped　off　the　wing　of　the　moth。　clifton　walked　towards　us　holding　out　the　flask；　and　we　all　sipped　the　warm　alcohol。　

he　was　one　for　ceremonies。　he　had　named　his　plane　rupert　bear。　i　don’t　think　he　loved　the　desert；　but　he　had　an　affection　for　it　that　grew　out　of　awe　at　our　stark　order；　into　which　he　wanted　to　fit　himself—like　a　joyous　undergraduate　who　respects　silent　behaviour　in　a　library。　we　had　not　expected　him　to　bring　his　wife；　but　we　were　i　suppose　courteous　about　it。　she　stood　there　while　the　sand　collected　in　her　mane　of　hair。　

what　were　we　to　this　young　couple？　some　of　us　had　written　books　about　dune　formation；　the　disappearance　and　reappear…ance　of　oases；　the　lost　culture　of　deserts。　we　seemed　to　be　interested　only　in　things　that　could　not　be　bought　or　sold；　of　no　interest　to　the　outside　world。　we　argued　about　latitudes；　or　about　an　event　that　had　happened　seven　hundred　years　earlier。　the　theorems　of　exploration。　that　abd　el　melik　ibra…him　el　zwaya　who　lived　in　zuck　oasis　pasturing　camels　was　the　first　man　among　those　tribes　who　could　understand　the　concept　of　photographs。　

the　cliftons　were　on　the　last　days　of　their　honeymoon。　i　left　them　with　the　others　and　went　to　join　a　man　in　kufra　and　spent　many　days　with　him；　trying　out　theories　i　had　kept　secret　from　the　rest　of　the　expedition。　i　returned　to　the　base　camp　at　el　jof　three　nights　later。　

the　desert　fire　was　between　us。　the　cliftons；　madox；　bell　and　myself。　if　a　man　leaned　back　a　few　inches　he　would　dis…　　　appear　into　darkness。　katharine　clifton　began　to　recite　something；　and　my　head　was　no　longer　in　the　halo　of　the　camp’s　twig　fire。　

there　was　classical　blood　in　her　face。　her　parents　were　famous；　apparently；　in　the　world　of　legal　history。　i　am　a　man　who　did　not　enjoy　poetry　until　i　heard　a　woman　recite　it　to　us。　

and　in　that　desert　she　dragged　her　university　days　into　our　midst　to　describe　the　stars—the　way　adam　tenderly　taught　a　woman　with　gracious　metaphors。　

these　then；　though　unbeheld　in　deep　of　night；　　shine　not　in　vain；　nor　think；　though　men　were　none；　　that　heav’n　would　want　spectators；　god　want　praise；　　millions　of　spiritual　creatures　walk　the　earth　　unseen；　both　when　we　…wake；　and　when　we　sleep：　　all　these　with　ceaseless　praise　his　works　behold　　both　day　and　night：　how　often　from　the　steep　　of　echoing　hill　or　thicket　have　we　heard　　celestial　voices　to　the　midnight　air；　　sole；　or　responsive　each　to　other’s　note　　singing　their　great　creator。。。　

that　night　i　fell　in　love　with　a　voice。　only　a　voice。　i　wanted　to　hear　nothing　more。　i　got　up　and　walked　away。　

she　was　a　willow。　what　would　she　be　like　in　winter；　at　my　age？　i　see　her　still；　always；　with　the　eye　of　adam。　she　had　been　these　awkward　limbs　climbing　out　of　a　plane；　bending　down　in　our　midst　to　prod　at　a　fire；　her　elbow　up　and　pointed　towards　me　as　she　drank　from　a　canteen。　

a　few　months　later；　she　waltzed　with　me；　as　we　danced　as　a　group　in　cairo。　though　slightly　drunk　she　wore　an　uncon…querable　face。　even　now　the　face　i　believe　that　most　revealed　her　was　the　one　she　had　that　time　when　we　were　both　half　drunk；　not　lovers。　

all　these　years　i　have　been　trying　to　unearth　what　she　was　handing　me　with　that　look。　it　seemed　to　be　contempt。　so　it　appeared　to　me。　now　i　think　she　was　studying　me。　she　was　an　innocent；　surprised　at　something　in　me。　i　was　behaving　the　way　i　usually　behave　in　bars；　but　this　time　with　the　wrong　pany。　i　am　a　man　who　kept　the　codes　of　my　behaviour　separate。　i　was　forgetting　she　was　younger　than　i。　

she　was　studying　me。　such　a　simple　thing。　and　i　was　watching　for　one　wrong　move　in　her　statue…like　gaze；　something　that　would　give　her　away。　

give　me　a　map　and　i’ll　build　you　a　city。　give　me　a　pencil　and　i　will　draw　you　a　room　in　south　cairo；　desert　charts　on　the　wall。　always　the　desert　was　among　us。　i　could　wake　and　raise　my　eyes　to　the　map　of　old　settlements　along　the　mediterranean　coast—gazala；　tobruk；　mersa　matruh—and　south　of　that　the　hand…painted　wadis；　and　surrounding　those　the　shades　of　yellowness　that　we　invaded；　tried　to　lose　ourselves　in。　“my　task　is　to　describe　briefly　the　several　expeditions　which　have　attacked　the　gilf　kebir。　dr。　bermann　will　later　take　us　back　to　the　desert　as　it　existed　thousands　of　years　ago。。。”　that　is　the　way　madopoke　to　other　geographers　at　kensington　gore。　but　you　do　not　find　adultery　in　the　minutes　of　the　geographical　society。　our　room　never　appears　in　the　detailed　reports　which　chartered　every　knoll　and　every　incident　of　history。　

in　the　street　of　imported　parrots　in　cairo　one　is　hectored　by　almost　articulate　birds。　the　birds　bark　and　whistle　in　rows；　like　a　plumed　avenue。　i　knew　which　tribe　had　travelled　which　silk　or　camel　road　carrying　them　in　their　petite　palanquins　across　the　deserts。　forty…day　journeys；　after　the　birds　were　caught　by　slaves　or　picked　like　flowers　in　equatorial　gardens　and　then　placed　in　bamboo　cages　to　enter　the　river　that　is　trade。　they　appeared　like　brides　in　a　mediaeval　courtship。　

we　stood　among　them。　i　was　showing　her　a　city　that　was　new　to　her。　

her　hand　touched　me　at　the　wrist。　

“if　i　gave　you　my　life；　you　would　drop　it。　wouldn’t　you？”　i　didn’t　say　anything。　

　．．



V　Katharine

；小；说；〃；网
the　first　time　she　dreamed　of　him　she　woke　up　beside　her　husband　screaming。　

in　their　bedroom　she　stared　down　onto　the　sheet；　mouth　open。　her　husband　put　his　hand　on　her　back。　

“nightmare。　don’t　worry。”　“yes。”　“shall　i　get　you　some　water？”　“yes。”　she　wouldn’t　move。　wouldn’t　lie　back　into　that　zone　they　had　been　in。　

the　dream　had　taken　place　in　this　room—his　hand　on　her　neck　（she