AND AFTER all the weather was ideal. They could not have had a more perfect day for a garden-party if they had ordered it. Windless, warm, the sky without a cloud. Only the blue was veiled with a haze of light gold, as it is sometimes in early summer. The gardener had been up since dawn, mowing the lawns and sweeping them, until the grass and the dark flat rosette where the daisy plants had been seem to shine. As for the roses , you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only  flowers that impress people at garden parties; the only flowers that everybody is certain of knowing. Hundreds, yes, literally hundreds, had come out in a single night; the green bushes bowed down as though they had been visited by archangels. Breakfast was not yet over before men to put up the marquee.

"Where do you want the marquee put , mother?"

"My dear child, it's no use asking me. I'm determined to leave everything to you children this year. Forget I am your mother.Treat me as an  honored guest."

But Meg could not possibly go and supervise the men. She had washed her hair before breakfast, and she sat drinking her coffee in a green turban, with a dark wet curl stamped on each cheek. Jose, the butterfly, always came down in a silk petticoat and a kimono jacket.

"You'll have to go, Laura; you're the artistic one." Away Laura flew, still holding her piece of bread-and-butter. It's so delicious to have an excuse for eating out of doors and besides, she loved to arrange; she always felt she could do it so much better than anybody else.

Four men in their shirt-sleeves stood grouped together on the garden path.They carried staves covered with rolls of canvas, and they had big tool-bag slung on their backs. They looked impressive. Laura wished now that she had not got the bread-and-butter, but there was nowhere to put it, and she couldn’t possibly throw it away. She blushed and tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them.

"Good morning,"she said,copying her mother's voice. But that sounded so fearfully affected that she was ashamed, and stammered like a little girl, "Oh—er—have you come—is it about the marquee?"

"That's right, miss.said the tallest of the men, a lanky freckled fellow, and he shifted his tool-bag, knocked back his straw hat and smiled down at her.“That’s about it.”

His smile was so easy, so friendly that Laura recovered . What nice eyes he had, small, but such a dark blue! And now she looked at the others, they were smiling too. Cheer up , we wont bite, their smile seemed to say. How very nice workmen were ! And what a beautiful morning! She mustn’t mention the morning; she must be business-like. The marquee.

“Well, what about the lily-lawn. Would that do?”And she pointed to the lily-lawn with the hand that didn’t hold the bread-and-butter. They turned, they stared in the direction. A little fat chap thrust out his under-lip, and the tall fellow frowned.

“I don’t fancy it ,”said he. 

“Not conspicuous enough. You see, with a thing like a marquee,” and he turned to Laura in his easy way，“ you want to put it

somewhere where it’ll give you a bang slap in the eye, if you follow me .

Laura’s upbringing made her wonder for a moment whether it was quite respectful of a workman to talk to her of bangs slap in the eye. But she did quite follow him .

“A corner of the tennis-court,”she suggested. “But the bands going to be in one corner.”H’m going to have a band. are you ? said another of the workman. He was pale. He had a haggard look as his dark eyes scanned tennis-court. What was he thinking?

“Only a very small band,”said Laura gently. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind so much if the band was quite small. But the tall fellow interrupted.“Look here miss. That’s the place. Against those trees. Over there. That’ll do fine .”

Against the Karakas. Then the karakas-trees would be hidden. And they were so lovely, with their broad, gleaning leaves, and their clusters of yellow fruit. They were like trees you imagined growing on a desert island, proud, solitary, lifting their leaves and fruits to the sun in a kind of silent splendour. Must they be hidden by a marquee?They must. Already the men had shouldered their staves and were making for the place. Only the tall fellow was left. He bent down, pinched a sprig of lavender, put his thumb and forefinger to his nose and snuffed up the smell. When Laura saw that gesture she forgot all about the karadas in her wonder at him caring for things like that—caring for the smell of lavender. How many men that she knew would have done such a thing? Oh, how extraordinarily nice workmen were, she thought. Why couldn’t she have workmen for friends rather than the silly boys she danced with and who came to Sunday night supper? She would get on much better with men like these.

It’s all the fault, she decided, as the tall fellow drew something on the back of an envelope, something that was to be looped up or left to hang, of these absurd class distinctions. Well, for her part, she didn’t feel them. Not a bit, not an atom…And now there came the chock-chock of wooden hammers. Some one whistled, some one sang out,"Are you right there, matey ?"

“Matey!” The friendliness of it, the—the—Just to prove how happy she was, just to show the tall fellow how at home she felt, and how she despised stupid conventions. Laura took a big bite her bread-and-butter as stared at the little drawing. She felt just work-girl.

“Laura, Laura, where are you ? Telephone, Laura!”a voice cried from the house.“Coming!“ Away she skimmed, over the lawn, up the path, up the steps, across the veranda, and into the porch. In the hall her father and Laurie were brushing their hats ready to go to the office.

“I say, Laura very fast, “you might just give a squiz my coat before afternoon. See if it wants pressing.”

“I will,”said she. Suddenly he couldn’t stop herself. She ran at Laurie and gave him a small, quick squeeze.”

“Oh, I do love parties,don’t you?”gasped Laurie.

“Ra-ther,”said Laurie warm, boyish voice, and he squeezed his sister too, and gave her a gentle push. ” 

Dash off to the telephone, old girl.The telephone, Yes, yes; oh yes. Kitty? Good morning, dear. Come to lunch? Do, dear. Delighted of course. It will only be a very scratchmeal—just the sandwich crusts and broken meringue-shells and what’s left over. Yes, isn’t it a perfect morning? your white? Oh, I certainly should. One moment—hold the line. Mothers calling. And Laurie sat back,What mother? Can’t hear.Mrs. Sheridan’s voice floated down the stairs. 

“Tell her to wear that sweet hat she had on last Sunday.”

“Mother says you’re to wear that sweet hat you had on last Sunday. Good. One o’clock. Bye-bye”.

“Laura put back the receiver, flung her arms over her head took a deep breath, stretch and let them fall.” 

“Huh,”she sighted, and the moment after the sigh she sat up quickly. She was still, listening. All the doors in the house seemed to be open. The house was alive with soft, quick steps and running voice. The green baize door that led to kitchen regions swung open and shut with a muffled thud. And now there came a long, chucking absurd sound. It was the heavy piano being moved on its stiff castors. But the air! If you stopped to notice, was the air always like this ? Little faint winds were playing chase, in at the tops of windows, out at door. And there were two tiny spots of sun, one on the inkpot, one on silver photograph frame, playing too. Darling little spots , Especially the one on the inkpot lid. It was quite warm. A warm little silver star. She could have kissed it .

The front door bell pealed, and there sound the rustle of Sadie’s print skirt on the stairs. A mans voice murmured; Sadie answered careless, I’m sure I don’t know. Wait. I’ll ask Mrs, Sheridan.

“What is it, Sadie?” Laura came into the hall.“It’s the florist, Miss Laura.”It was , indeed. There, just inside the door, stood a wide, shallow, tray full of pots of pink lilies. No other kind. Nothing but lilies—came lilies, big pink flowers, wide open, radiant, almost frighteningly alive on bright crimson stems.“O-oh, Sadie!” said Laura, and the sound was like a little moan. She crouched down as if to warm herself at that blaze of lilies; she felt they were in her fingers, on her lips, growing in her breast.“It’s some mistake,” she said faintly. “Nobody ever ordered so many. Sadie , go and find mother.”

But at that moment Mrs. Sheridan joined them.“It’s quite right,” she said calmly. “Yes. I ordered them. Aren’t they lovely?” She pressed Laura’s arm. I was passing the shop yesterday, and I saw them in the window. And I suddenly thought for once in my life I shall have enough canna lilies. The garden-party will be a goodexcuse."

"But I thought you said you didn't mean to interfere," said Laura. Sadie had gone. The florist"s man was still outside at his van. She put her arm round her mother's neck and gently, and gently, she bit her mother's ear.

"My darling child, you wouldn't like a logical mother, would you? Don't do that . Here's the man."He carried more lilies still, another whole tray."Bank them up, just inside the door, on both sides of the porch, please, ” said Mrs. Sheridan. “Don’t you agree, Laura?"“Oh, I do, mother.”In the drawn-room Meg, Jose and good little Hans had at last succeeded in moving the piano.“Now, if we put this chesterfield against the wall and move everything out of the room except the chairs, don’t you think?”“quite.”“Hans, move these tables into the smoking-room, and bring a sweeper take these marks off the carpet—one moment, Hans—” Jose loved giving orders to the servants, and they loved obeying her. She always made them feel they were taking part in some drama. “Tell mother and Miss Laura to come here at once.”“Very good Miss Jose.”She turned to Meg. “I want to hear what the piano sounds like , just in case I’m asked to sing this afternoon . Lets try over “This Life is Weary”

Pom!Ta-ta-ta Tee! The piano burst out so passionately that Jose’s face changed. She clasped her hands. She looked mournfully and enigmatically at her mother and Laura as they came in

This Life is Wee-ary,

A Tear—a Sigh.

A Love that Chan-ges.

This Life is Wee-ary

A Tear—a Sigh.

A Love that Chan-ges,

And then...Good bye!But at the word “good-bye,” and although the piano sounded more desperate than ever, her face broke into a brilliant,dread-fully unsympathetic smile.

“Aren’t I in good voice. mummy?”she beamed.

The Life is Wee-ary,

Hope comes to Die.

A Dream—a Wa-kening.But now Sadie interrupted them.What is it , Sadie.?“If you please, m’m, cook says have you got the flags for the sandwiches?”“The flags for the sandwiches, Sadie？“echoed Mrs. Sheridan dreamily.And the children knew by her face that she hadn’t got them.”Let me see.” And she said to Sadie firmly.Tell cook Ill let her have in ten minutes.Sadie went .

“Now, Laura,” said her mother quickly. “Come with me into the smoking-room. I’ve got the names somewhere on the back of an envelope. You’ll have to write them out for me. Meg, go upstairs this minute and take that wet thing off your head. Jose, run and finish dressing this instant. Do you hear me , children, or shall I have to tell your father when he comes home tonight? And-and, Jose, pacify cook if you do go into the kitchen, will you? I’m terrified of her this morning.”

The envelope was found at last behind the dining-room clock, though how it had got there Mrs. Sheridan could not imagine.“One of you children must have stolen it out of my bag, because I remember vividly—cream cheese and lemon-curd. Have you done that?”

“Yes.”

“Egg and—”Mrs.Sheridan held the envelop away from her. It looks like mice. It can’t be mice, can it ?

“Olive, pet,”said Laura,looking over her shoulder.

“Yes. of course, olive. What a horrible combination it sounds, Egg and olive .”

They were finished at last，and Laura took them off to the kitchen.She found Jose there pacifying the cook.who did not look at all terrifying.

“I have never seen such exquisite sandwiches,” said Jose’s rapturous voice.How many kinds did you say there were, cook?Fifteen?  

“Fifteen. Miss Jose.” 

“Well, cook, I congratulate you.”

Cook swept up crusts with the long sandwich knife, and smiled broadly.

“Godber’s has come,” announced Sadie, issuing out of the pantry. She had seen the man pass the window. 

That meant the cream puffs had come. Godber’s were famous for their cream puffs. Nobody ever thought of making them at home.

“Bring them in and put them on the table, my girl,”ordered cook.

Sadie brought them in and went back to the door. Of course Laura and Jose were far too grown-up to really care about such things. All the same. They couldn’t help agreeing that the puffs looked very attractive.Very. Cook began arranging them. shaking off the extra icing sugar.

“Don’t they carry one back to all ones parties?” said Laura.

“I suppose they do,”said practical Jose, who never liked to be carried back.They look beautifully light and feathery , I must say.

“Have one each, my dears,” said cook in her comfortable voice. Yer ma wont know.

Oh, impossible. Fancy cream puffs so soon after breakfast.

The very idea made one shudder. All the same, two minutes later Jose and Laura were licking their fingers with that absorbed inward look that only comes from whipped cream.

“Lets go into the garden，out by the back way,” suggested Laura. I want to see how the men are getting on with the marquee. They’re such awfully nice men.

But the back door was blocked by cook. Sadie, Godbers man and Hans.

Something had happened.

“Tuk-tuk-tuk,” clucked cook like an agitated hen. Sadie had her hand clapped to her cheek as though she had toothache . Hans’s face was screwed up in the effort to understand. Only Godbers man seemed to be enjoying himself; it was his story.

“Whats the matter? Whats happened?”

“There’s been a horrible accident,” said cook. “A man killed.”

“A man killed! Where?How? When?

But Godber’s man wasn’t going to have his story snatched from under his very nose.

“Know those little cottages, miss?”Know them? Of course, she knew them.”Well, there’s a young chap living there, name of Scott, a carter. His horse shied at a traction-engine , corner of Hawke Street this morning, and he was thrown out on the back of his head . Killed.

“Dead!” Laura stared at Godber’s’man

“Dead when they picked him up,”said Godber’s man with relish.They were tacking the body home as I come up here.

And he said to the cook, Hes left a wife and five little ones.

“Jose, come here.” Laura caught hold of her sisters sleeve and dragged her through the kitchen to the other side of the green baize door.There she paused and leaned against it . Jose! she said , horrified,however are we going to stop everything?

“Stop everything, Laura!” cried Jose in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

“Stop the garden-party, of course.” Why did Jose pretend?

But Jose was still more amazed. “Stop the garden-party?

My dear Laura, don’t be so absurd. Of course we can’t do anything of the kind. Nobody expects us to. Don’t be so extravagant.”

“but we can’t possibly have a garden-party with a man dead just outside the front gate.”

That really was extravagant, for the little cottages were in a lane to themselves at the very bottom of a steep rise that led up to the house. A broad road ran between. True, they were far too near. They were the greatest possible eyesore, and they had no right to be in that neighbourhood at all. They were little mean dwellings painted a chocolate brown. In the garden patches there was nothing but cabbage stalks, sick hens and tomato cans. The very smoke coming out of their chimneys was poverty-stricken. Little rags and shreds of smoke, so unlike the great silvery plumes that uncurled from the Sheridan’s chimneys. Washer-women lived in the lane and sweeps and a cobbler, and a man whose house-front was studded all over with minute bird-cages. Children swarmed. When the Sheridan’s were little they were forbidden to set foot there because of the revolting language and of what they might catch. But since they were grown up. Laura and Laurie on the prowls sometimes walked through. It was disgusting and sordid. They came out with a shudder. But still one must go everywhere; one must see everything. So through they went.

“And just think of what the band would sound like to that poor woman,” said Laura.

“Oh, Laura!” Jose began to be seriously annoyed. “ If you’re going to stop a band playing every time some one has accident, you’ll lead strenuous life. I’m every bit as sorry about it as you.I feel just as sympathetic.” Her eyes hardened. She looked at her sister just as she used to when they were little and fighting together. “You won’t bring a drunken workman back to life by being sentimental.”she said softly.

“Drunk! Who said he was drunk?” Laura turned furiously on Jose.

She said, just as they had used to say on those occasions, “I’m going straight up to tell mother.”

“Do, dear,” cooed Jose.

“Mother, can I come into your room?”Laura turned the big glass door knob.

“Of course, child. Why, what’s the matter? What’s given you such a colour?” And Mrs. Sheridan turned round from her dressing-table. She was trying on a new hat.

“Mother, a man’s been killed,” began Laura.

“Not in garden?” interrupted her mother.

“No,no!”

“Oh, what a fright you gave me! Mrs. Sheridan’s sighed with relief, and took off the big hat and held it on her knees.

“But listen, mother,”said Laura. Breathless, Half-choking,

She told the dreadful story. “Of course, we can’t have our party, can we?” she pleaded. “the band and everybody arriving.They’d hear us, mother; they’re nearly neighbours !”

To Laura’s astonishment her mother behaved just like Jose; it was harder to bear because she seemed amused. She refused to take Laura seriously. 

“But, my dear child, use your common sense. Its only by accident we’ve heard of it. If some one had died there normally－and I can’t understand how they keep alive in those poky little holes－we should still be having our party, shouldn’t we?”

Laura had to say “yes”to that, but she felt it was wrong. 

She sat down on her mothers sofa and pinched the cushion frill.

“Mother, isn’t it really terribly heartless of us?” she asked.

“Darling!” Mrs. Sheridan got up and came over to her, carrying the hat. Before Laura could stop her she had popped it on. “My child!” said mother,“the hat is yours. It’s made for you. It’s much young for me. I have never seen you look such a picture. Look at yourself! ”And she held up her hand-mirror.

“But, mother,” Laura began again. She couldn’t look at herself; she turned aside.

This time Mrs.Sheridan lost patience just as Jose had done.

“You are being very absurd, Laura,” she said coldly. “People like that don’t expect sacrifices from us. And it’s not very sympathetic to spoil everybody’s enjoyment as you’re doing now.”

“I don’t understand,” said Laura, and she walked quickly out of the room into her own bedroom. There, quite by chance, the first thing she saw was this charming girl in the mirror, in her black hat trimmed with gold daisies, and a long black velvet ribbon. Never had she imagined she could look like that. Is mother right ? she thought. And now she hoped her mother was right. Am I being extravagant? Perhaps it was extravagant. Just for a moment she had another glimpse of that poor woman and those little children, and the body being carried into the house. But it all seemed blurred, unreal, like a picture in the newspaper. Ill remember it again after the party’s over, she decided.And somehow that seemed quite the best plan...

Lunch was over by half-past one. By half-past two they were all ready for the fray. The green-coated band had arrived and was established in a corner of tennis-court.

“My dear!” trilled Kitty Maitland, “aren’t they too like frogs for words? You ought to have arranged them round the pond with the conductor in the middle on a leaf.”

Laurie arrived and hailed them on his way to dress. At the sight of him Laura remembered the accident again.  She wanted to tell him. If Laurie agreed with the others, then it was bound to be all right. And she followed him into the hall.

“Laurie!”

“Hallo!” he was half-way upstairs, but when he turned round and saw Laura he suddenly puffed out his cheeks and goggled his eyes at her. “My word, Laura! You do look stunning,” said Laurie. “What an absolutely topping hat!”

Laurie said faintly “Is it?” and smiled up at Laurie, and didn’t tell him after all.

Soon after that people began coming in streams. The band struck up; the hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee.

Wherever you looked there were couples strolling, bending to the followers, greeting, moving on over the lawn. They were like bright birds that had alighted in the Sheridans’ garden for this one afternoon, on the way to where?  Ah, what happiness it is to be with people who all are happy, to press hands, press cheeks. smile into eyes.

“Darling Laura,how well you look!”

“What a becoming hat, child!”

“Laura, you look quite Spanish. I’ve never seen you look so striking.”

And Laura , glowing, answered softly.Have you had tea? Won’t you have an ice? The passion-fruit ices really are rather special. She ran to her father and begged him. “Daddy darling, cant the band have something to drink?”

And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded, slowly its petals closed.

“Never a more delightful garden party ...“The greatest success…”“ quite the most...”

Laura helped mother with good-byes. They stood side by side in the porch till it was all over. “All over, all over, thank heaven,”said Mrs. Sheridan. “Round up the others, Laura. Lets go and have some fresh coffee. I’m exhausted. Yes, it’s been very successful. But oh, these parties,these parties! Why will you children insist on giving parties!” and they all of them sat down in the deserted marquee.

“Have a sandwich ,daddy dear. I wrote the flag.”

“Thanks.” said Sheridan took a bite and the sandwich was gone. He took another.” I suppose you didn’t hear of a beastly accident that happened to -day?he said.

“My dear, said Mrs. Sheridan, holding up her hand, “we did. It nearly ruined the party. Laura insisted we should put it off.”

“Oh,mother!” Laura didn’t want to be teased about it.

“It was a horrible affair all the same,” said Mr. Sheridan.

“The chap was married too. Lived just below in the lane, and leaves a wife and half a dozen kiddies, so they say.”

An awkward little silence fell. Mrs.Sheridan fidgeted with her cup.

Really, it was very tactless of father...

Suddenly she looked up. There on the table were all those sandwiches , cakes, puffs, all uneaten, all going to be wasted. She had one of her brilliant ideas.

“I know,”she said : Lets make up a basket. Let’s send that poor creature some of perfectly good food. At any rate, it will be the greatest treat for the children. Don’t you agree? And she’s sure to have neighbours calling in and so on. What a point to have it all ready prepared. Laura!” she jumped up.“Get me the big basket out of the stairs cupboard.

“But, mother, do you really think its a good idea?” said Laura.

Again, how curious, she seemed to be different from them all. To take scraps from their party，Would the poor woman really like that?

“Of course! What’s the matter with you to-day? An hour or two ago were insisting on us being sympathetic, and now－”

Oh,well! Laura ran for the basket. It was filled, it was heaped by her mother.

“Take it yourself, darling,” said she.“ Run down just as you are. No ,wait, take the arum lilies too. People of that class are so impressed by arum lilies.”

“The stems will ruin her pace frock,”said practical Jose.

So they would. Just in time.“Only the basket,then. And, Laura!

—“her mother followed her out of the marquee－“Don’t on any account－”

“What, mother?”

No, better not put such ideas into the child’s head! “Nothing! Run along .” 

It was just growing dusky as Laura shut garden gates.A big dog ran by like a shadow. The road gleamed white, and down below in the hollow the little cottages were in deep shade. How quiet it seemed after the afternoon. Here she was going down the hill to somewhere where a man lay dead, and she couldn’t realize it. Why couldn’t she? She stopped a minute. And it seemed to her that kisses, voices, tinkling spoons, laughter, the smell of crushed grass were somehow inside her. She had no room for anything else. How strange！Looked up at the pale sky, and all she thought was,”Yes,it was the most successful party.

Now the broad was crossed. The lane began, smoky and dark.Women in shawls and men’s tweed caps hurried by. Men hung over the palings; the children played in the doorways. A low hum came from the mean little cottages. In some of them there was a flicker of light, and a shadow, crab-like, moved across the window. Laura bent her head and hurried on.She wished now she had put on a coat. How her frock shone!And the big hat with the velvet streamer－if only it was another hat! Were the people looking at her? they must be. It was a mistake to have come; she knew all along. It was a mistake. Should she go back even now?

No, too late. This was the house. It must be. A dark knot of people stood outside. Beside the gate an old, old woman with a crutch sat in a chair, watching. She had her feet on a newspaper. The voices stopped as Laura drew near. The group parted. It was as though she was expected, as though they had known she was coming here.

Laura was terribly nervous. Tossing the velvet ribbon over her shoulder, she said to a woman standing by,“Is this Mrs. Scots house? ”and the woman smiling queerly, said,“It is, my lass. ”

Oh, to be away from this! She actually said, “Help me , God,”as she walked up the tiny path and knocked. To be away from those staring eyes, or to be covered up in anything, one of those women’s shawls even. I'll just leave the basket and go, she decided. I shan’t even wait for to be emptied.

Then the door opened. A little woman in black showed in the gloom.

Laura said, “Are you Mrs Scott?” But to her horror the woman answered, Walk in please, miss, and she was shut in the passage.

“No,” said Laura, “I don’t want to come in . I only want to leave this basket. Mother sent－”

The little woman in the gloomy passage seemed not to have heard her. “Step this way, please, miss,” she said in an oily voice, and Laura followed her.

She found herself in a wretch little low kitchen, lighted by a smoky lamp. There was a woman sitting before the fire.

“Em! Said the little creature who had led her in. “Em! It’s young lady.” 

She turn to Laura. She said meaningly, “I’m ‘er sister, miss. You’ll excuse’er, won't you?”

“Oh, but of course!” said Laura. “Please, don’t disturb her.I－I only want to leave－”

But at that moment the woman at the fire turn round. Her face, puffed up, red, with swollen eyes and swollen lips, looked terrible. She seemed as though she couldn’t understand why Laura was there. What did it mean? Why was this stranger standing in the kitchen with a basket? What was it all about? And the poor face puckered up again. 

“All right, my dear,” said the other. “I’ll think the young lady.”

And again she began. “You’ll excuse her, miss.” I’m sure,” and her face, swollen too, tired an oily smile.

Laura only wanted to get out, to get away. She back in the passage. The door opened. She walked straight through into the bedroom,where the dead man was lying.

“You’d like a look at ’im, wouldn’t you?” said Em's sister, and she brushed past Laura over to the bed.Don’t a afraid, my lass,－ and now her voice sounded fond and sly, and fondly she drew down the sheet－ “e look a picture. There’s nothing to show. Come along, my dear.”

Laura came.

There lay a young man, fast asleep－sleeping so soundly, so deeply, that he was far, far away from them both. Oh, so remote, so peaceful. He was dreaming. Never wake him up again. His head was sunk in the pillow, his eyes were closed; they were blind under the closed eyelids. He was given up to his dream. What did garden-parties and baskets and lace frocks matter to him? He was far from all those things. He was wonderful, beautiful. While they were laughing and while the band was playing, this marvel had come to the lane. Happy...happy... All is well, said that sleeping face. This is just as it should be. I am content.

But all the same you had to cry, and she couldn’t go out of the room without saying something to him. Laura gave a loud childish sob.

“Forgive my hat,” she said.

And this time she didn’t wait for Em's sister. She found her way out of the door, down the path, past all those dark people. At the corner of the lane she met Laurie.

He stepped out of the shadow. Is that you, Laura?

“Yes.”

“Mother was getting anxious. Was it all right?”

“Yes,quite. Oh, Laurie!” she took his arm, she pressed up against him.

“I say, you're not crying, are you?” asked her brother.

Laura shook her head. She was.

Laurie put his arm round her shoulder.Don’t cry, he said in his warm, loving voice. Was it awful?

“No,” sobbed Laura. “It was simply marvellous. But , Laurie－” 

She stopped, she looked at her brother. “Isn’t life,”she stammered, “isn’t life－” But what life was she couldn’t explain. No matter. He quite understood.

“Isn't it ,darling?”said Laurie.

花园派对

               ——凯瑟琳.曼斯菲尔德著 王学友译

      终于遇上如此理想的天气了。要是早定了日子，派对时的天气未必有如此完美：风住日暖，万里无云。唯有蓝天蒙了一层淡金色的薄纱，有时就像初夏一样。黎明时分，花工们就起来，修剪草地，清运杂草，直到草坪，黑色扁平莲座上的雏菊熠熠生辉为止。至于玫瑰，世人都知道，唯有它才能在花园派对上独占鳌头。一个晚上，玫瑰已经开放了几百株，对，真的有几百种株；绿色的灌木弯下腰来，就像在等候天使的降临。

当搭建聚会围棚的工人们到来之时，主人家的早餐还没有结束。

“妈咪，你想把围棚搭在哪儿？”

“孩子们，问我没用。今年，我决定把所有事情交给你们去做。忘记我是你们母亲，把我当成一位尊贵的客人就行了。”

梅格不可能去监管这些工人。早餐前，她就洗好头发，戴着一根穆斯林头巾，坐在那儿喝咖啡了。黑黑的、湿漉漉的头发粘在脸颊上。荷西，穿一条丝质衬裙和一件和式夹克像蝴蝶一样飘下楼来，说：

“劳拉，你得去，你是一个有艺术天分的女孩。”

劳拉像风一样飘走了，临走时，手上还拿着一片黄油面包。黄油面包太好吃了，这也是她到户外去吃的借口；她喜欢张罗，她总是觉得自己比别人张罗得更好。

穿着衬衣的四个男人站在花园小路上。他们扛着裹满帆布的木棒，背上钭挂着一个大大的工具包，十分抢眼。现在，劳拉倒希望手上没有面包；面包劳拉舍不得扔，但又无处可放，因而有点尴尬，但她试图装出严肃的样子。当她向这些工人走去时，心头甚至没有一点主意。

“早上好！”劳拉模仿着母亲的腔调说，但似乎因为胆怯而有点胆怯、口吃得像个小女孩。 

“哦，来了？是来搭围棚的吗？”

“是的，小姐，”一个脸上有点雀斑、瘦瘦的、个子最高的一个工人挪了挪工具包，拍了下后背的草帽，对她点头笑笑说。 

他笑得十分轻松，十分友善，劳拉这才恢复了常态。这个家伙有双小小的，深蓝色的，非常迷人的眼睛。劳拉瞧了一下其他人，其他人也在笑。仿佛在说，“小姐，振作起来，我们不会“吃人”的。工人们多好呀！一个多么美丽的早晨呀！她不该提早晨，这样太商业化了。围棚。

“唔，百合花草坪那儿搭建围棚如何？”

她用那只没拿黄油面包的手指向百合花草坪。工人们转身观察着那个方向。一个有点胖的家伙伸出下唇，那个高个子男人则皱起了眉头。

“我不喜欢那儿，”他说。“那个位置不够显眼。你看，他做了一个类似于围棚的动作，”转向劳拉说。“如果你想让围棚耳目一新的话，请听我的！”

劳拉的教养使得她在是否完全尊重那名工人所提的建议上犹豫了一会，但她相当听从那个工人的意见。

“那，放在网球场一角，”她建议。“但是乐队要占一个位置。”

“你要安排一个乐队，是吗？”另一个工人说。那人脸色苍白，当他乌黑的眼珠审视着网球场时，脸色憔悴。他在想什么？

“只是一个小型乐队，”劳拉轻松地说。如果乐队足够小，也许他不会特别在意的。但是劳拉的提议被高个子男人打断了。

“小姐，瞧那儿！就是那个地方，背靠那些树，那儿就比较好！”那个高个子男人说。

背靠卡拉卡什（树）。那些卡拉卡什树将被遮挡—它们宽宽的，卷曲的树叶，还有那成串的黄果十分可爱。它们如你想象的那样，生长在荒岛上，孤独而自豪，在一种寂静的壮美中把它们的树叶和果实伸向太阳。它们一定要被围棚遮挡吗？

一定要。工人们已经扛起裹有帆布的木棒，朝那个地方走去了。只有那个高个子男人留了下来。他弯下腰，捏了枝薰衣草，放在他拇指和食指之间伸向自己鼻子，嗅起来。当劳拉看到这个手势时，她完全忘记了卡拉卡什树，她对他那样关注的动作感到惊奇——关注薰衣草的味道（关注薰衣草的味道象征忠诚和纯洁）。她知道多少个男人做过这种事呢？哦，这些工人太好了，她认为。（劳拉心里想）干吗不和这些工人交朋友而要和周末来跳舞，吃免费周末晚餐的，幼稚的男孩交朋友呢？她乐意和这些工人和睦相处。

当那个高个子工人在一个信封背面画一些应该卷起或者挂起来的，属于一些荒谬的等级区别的东西时，她决定了，这就是一个错误。那些东西对她来说没有印象，一点没有，完全没有感觉…接着传来“咚－咚的木槌声。有人吹口哨，有人大声喊”“朋友们，走起！”“朋友！”友谊着象征，只是为了证明她是多么快乐，只是为了展示她感觉这个高个子男人就是在家里。现在她是多么鄙视那愚蠢的习俗呀！当劳拉盯着那种劳动场景时，咬了一大口面包。她觉得自己就是个女工。

“劳拉，劳拉，你在哪儿？电话！”一阵喊声从屋里传来。

“来了，”劳拉掠过草坪，沿着小路，顺着台阶，穿过走廊，进了门廊。在大厅，她父亲和劳里正在刷他们准备去办公室的帽子。

劳里飞快地说，“我说 劳拉，今天上午你可以瞧瞧我的大衣吗？看它是否需要熨一下！”

“好的，”劳拉说。忽然，劳拉忍不住朝劳里跑去，她了劳里轻轻地、快速的一推。”哦，我真的很喜欢派对，你呢？”劳拉喘着气问。

劳里热情地、孩子般的声音说“当然喜欢！”劳里也轻轻推了劳拉一把，说：“快去接电话，老妹！”

“喂，喂，是基蒂吗？早上好！亲爱的，来吃午餐？好的，亲爱的！只是便餐—有三明治馅皮，破碎的蛋白酥壳及剩下的一些什么。是的，难道不是一个完美的早晨！白葡萄酒？哦，我想应该有。等一下—别挂电话。妈咪叫我。”劳拉坐下来，问“妈咪，什么事？我听不清楚！”

谢立丹夫人的声音从楼梯上飘来。“告诉她要戴上周日戴过的那顶可爱的帽子。”

“妈咪说，要你戴上周日戴过的那顶可爱的帽子，好，一点钟见，拜拜！”

劳拉放回听筒，把胳膊伸到头上，伸开双臂，做了个深呼吸，然后放下双臂。“嘿，”她叹了会气又迅速坐了起来，静心听着会屋内的声音。房间里充满轻轻地、快速的脚步声以及物体移动的声音。通往厨房的绿色大门打开，又呯地一声关上了，并传来一阵长长的，门被卡住的声音。是笨重的钢琴在它生锈的脚轮上移动的声音。但是这空气 ，如果你停下来观察的话，这空气总是这样，微弱的风在追逐，在窗顶，在门外。有两个小小的太阳亮点也在追逐：一个在墨水瓶盖上，一个在银色相框上。那可爱的亮点，尤其是墨水瓶盖上的那点，相当温暖，似一颗温暖的银色小星。她本可以吻一下它的。

前门门铃响了。楼梯上传来萨迪印花衬衣的摩擦声；一个男人在咕哝。萨迪随口回到，“我确实不知道这件事，等等，我要去问一下谢立丹夫人。”

“什么事，萨迪？” 劳拉走进大厅。

“是花店的人送花来了，劳拉小姐”

的确是！你瞧，就在门内，放着一个大大的、浅浅的、盛满粉红色百合花的托盘。除了百合花，没有别的。送来的百合，大大的、粉红色花朵怒放着，令人惊讶地长在鲜艳的深红色的花茎上。

“哦，萨-迪！”劳拉，声音有点像呻吟。她小心地蹲下来，似乎想要自己感受一下那百合花火一样的温暖；她感到这团火正在自己手指上、嘴唇上、胸膛间燃烧。

“是送错了吧？”劳拉犹豫着问，“没有人订过那么多花呀！萨迪，去问问妈咪！”

就在此时，谢立丹夫人来到她们中间。

“没错！”谢立丹夫人肯定地说，“是我订的。它们难道不好看吗？”她按着劳拉的胳膊说。“昨天，我路过这个花店，从窗户我就看见这些花了。忽然，我认为一生中就此一次我应该拥有足够多的美人蕉。花园派对就是一个不错的理由。”

“ 但是，妈咪你说过，你无意干涉花园派对的事务吗？”劳拉说。此时，萨迪已经走了。花店那个男人仍然站在他箱式货车周围。劳拉用她的胳膊绕着她母亲的颈项，轻轻地咬着她母亲的耳朵。

“孩子，你不喜欢一个有理性的妈咪吗？别这样，有人在这儿呢！”

那个男人仍背着更多的百合花，还有另一些托盘。

“ 请把它们码起来，就码在门内，门廊两边。”谢立丹夫人说。同时问：“劳拉，你不同意？”

劳拉说：“哦，妈咪，我当然同意！”

在客厅里，梅格，荷西和乖巧的小汉斯终于成功地把钢琴移到它合适的位置。

“如果我们现在把这张长沙发靠墙，把屋里所有东西都移到外面去，除了这把椅子外。你们认为如何？”荷西说。

“完全正确！“大家响应道。

“汉斯，把这些小桌子搬去吸烟室，顺便叫一个清洁工来把地毯上的污渍清理一下—等等，汉斯—”荷西喜欢对佣人发号施令，佣人们也乐于接受荷西的命令。她总是让佣人们感到自己在参与戏剧表演。“告诉妈咪和劳拉小姐立即到这儿来！”

“遵命，荷西小姐”

荷西转向梅格说：”我想听听这架钢琴的效果如何，以防下午，有人要求我演奏时，出意外。让我们试试《生活好疲惫》这首乐曲吧！”

嘭！哒－哒－哒，钢琴突然发出激昂声音来。荷西脸色变了，她握紧双手，在母亲和劳拉进来时，悲哀得有点心神不宁地看着她俩。（乐曲大意是）：

生活好疲惫，

一声叹息， 一行泪。

爱情生变，

生活好疲惫，

一声叹息，一行泪，

爱情生变，

于是说，再见。

但唱到“再见”这个词时，尽管钢琴听起来比以往更加绝望，但荷西的脸上却露出了灿烂的、可怕的、无情的笑容。 

“妈咪，难道我的声音不好吗？” 荷西笑容满面地问

生活好疲惫

希望到失望。

一半清醒，一半陶醉。

好了，萨迪打断了她们的对话“萨迪，怎么啦？”

“妈咪，厨娘说，如果你愿意，你不是要给三明治做标记吗？”萨迪说

“三明治标记？萨迪！”谢立丹夫人狐疑地回应到。

从妈咪的表情上看，孩子们知道，妈咪并没说过要给三明治做标记的事。“让我看看。”谢立丹夫人对萨迪大声地说。“告诉厨娘，让她等我十分钟！”萨迪离开了。

谢立丹夫人继续说：“劳拉和我一道到吸烟室去，我已经在信封背面找到名字了，劳拉你得给我写出来。梅格，立即上楼去把你头上的湿东西搞掉。荷西，马上去穿好衣服。孩子们，现在听我的，还是今晚你父亲回来我告诉他？另外，荷西，如果你到厨房去，请安慰一下厨娘！今天早晨我有点怕她。”

信封终于在餐厅时钟后面找到。它是如何跑到那儿的，谢立丹夫人无法想象！

“肯定是你们这群孩子中的某人从我的包里偷出来的。因为我清楚地记得—奶油芝士和柠檬凝乳。你们改过吗？”

“是的”

鸡蛋和——？“谢立丹夫人把信封拿开，这看着像老鼠，它不可能是老鼠，对吧？”

“橄榄，宠物，”劳拉瞅着她母亲的肩膀说。

“是的，一定是橄榄，这种组合听起来多么可怕呀！鸡蛋和橄榄。”

他们终于把它们做好了。劳拉把它们送到厨房，她发现荷西正在那儿安抚厨娘，厨娘看起来一点也不可怕。

“我从来没见过如此精㺯的三明治，”荷西用狂喜的声音喊道，你说有多少种，厨娘，十五种？

“荷西小姐，十五种。”

“好啦，厨娘，祝贺你！”

厨娘开心地笑着，并用一把长长的三明治刀开始清理酥皮了。

“戈伯来了，”萨迪从食品储藏室里出来宣布道。她已经看到那个男人从窗前经过了。

那就意味着奶油松饼来了。戈伯正是因为他的奶油松饼而闻名。没有人想过在家里自己做奶油松饼。

“把它们拿进来放在桌子上，小姐们！”厨娘安排到。

萨迪把奶油松饼拿进来后又退到门口。劳拉和荷西非常老练认真关注起这事来。尽管如此，她们仍然不得不承认奶油松饼非常诱人。非常好！ 厨娘开始整理奶油酥饼，抖掉它们多余的糖粉。

“ 难道他们都不带一个回派对去？”劳拉问道。

“我想不会。”荷西直率地说，没有谁愿意被带回去。我必须说，它们看起来非常轻盈，且羽毛分明。

“每人吃一个！小姐们，厨娘用温柔的语气说，”你们妈咪不会知道的。”

哦，不可能，早饭后这么快就吃奶油松饼。

这个很小的主意使人发怵。即便如此，两分钟后，荷西和劳拉就在用全神贯注的表情吮吸手指了，手指则从松软奶油中抽出来。

“让我们到花园去吧，从后门去”劳拉建议到道。我想去看看那些工人是如何在推进围棚搭建工作的。他们是群非常友好的人。

但是，后门被厨娘、萨迪、戈伯，还有汉斯堵住了。

发生了什么事了？

厨娘像一只焦虑的母鸡那样“咕－咕－咕”叫起来。萨迪则用手轻拍着自己的脸颊，就像是牙齿痛。汉斯为了努力弄清楚事情原委脸都扭曲了。只有戈伯似乎在自我陶醉；这是他的故事。

“怎么回事？发生什么事了？”

“出了一件可怕的事情，”厨娘说，“一个男人被撞死了。”

“一个男人死了!“”在哪儿？怎么死的？什么时候？”

但是,戈伯并不打算让他的故事从他鼻子下被抢走。

“知道下面那些小平房吗，就在这下面，小姐？”知道他们吗？她当然知道他们。“那儿生活着一个名叫斯科特的年轻人，是个马车夫。今天早上，在霍克街转弯处，他的马车在躲避一辆牵引车时，他被甩了出来，碰到脑壳，当场死亡。”

“ 死了！”劳拉盯着这个叫戈伯的男人。

“当人们把他扶起来时，他已经死了，”这个叫戈伯的男人饶有兴趣地说道。“当我来这儿时，他们正在把尸体运回家去。”他对厨娘说，“他留下一个老婆和五个小孩。”

“荷西，到这儿来。”劳拉抓住她妹妹的衣袖，拽着她穿过厨房来到绿呢门的另一边。在那儿，她停了下来，靠着门说，“荷西！太恐怖了，我们无论如何要停止一切花园派对的筹备工作！”

“等等，劳拉”！荷西惊讶地喊道，“你什么意思？”

“ 当然是停止举办花园派对呀！荷西你干吗要假装不懂？”

但是，荷西仍然非常吃惊，停止举办花园派对？

“我亲爱的劳拉，你是不是太荒唐了。我们当然不能做诸如停办花园派对的事。没有任何人希望我们那样做。那样做是不是太浪费了？”

“但是，我们不可能与一个刚刚死在门前的男人一起举办花园聚会呀！”

这真的是太浪费了，因为那些小平房在通往这处房子一个陡峭高坡底部的一条小巷里。中间有一条宽阔的大路。没错，他们距离太近了。他们可能是最大的眼中钉，他们完全没有权利住在那儿。有点意思的是这些民居都涂了一层巧克力颜色。小块菜地里只有卷心菜菜根，生病的母鸡和番茄罐头。甚至他们烟囱里冒出的烟尘都无精打采，是些小破布和小烟片，不像从谢立丹家烟囱冒出来的是巨大的、羽毛状白烟。巷子里生活着洗衣工，流浪汉和一个鞋匠，还有一个，屋前到处镶嵌着小鸟笼的男人。孩子们聚集在一起。当谢立丹还小时，就禁止他们涉足那儿，因为那些令人生厌的语言，还有他们可能抓到的东西。但是，自从他们长大成人后，劳拉和劳里有时去那儿徘徊过。那儿肮脏不堪，令人反感。她们到那儿去，时常战战兢兢走出来。但是一个人必须去任何地方，一个人必须见任何事情，所以他们去过那儿。

“ 只要想到乐队发出的声音就会想起那个可怜的女人，”劳拉说。

“喔，劳拉，荷西开始有点恼火了。如果每次有人发生意外，你都要阻止乐队演奏，你会陷入一种苦闷的生活状态中。我和你完全一样，对那件事情表示同情，我只是感到同情。她的眼神严肃起来。正像她习惯了她们小时互掐一样，盯着她姐姐。”你不会因为伤感就把一个喝醉酒的男人带回到现实生活中来吧？荷西轻声说。

“喝醉！谁说他喝醉了？”劳拉生气地转向荷西。

正如她习惯了那样，劳拉说，“我要直接去告诉妈咪。”

荷西咕哝道，“去吧，亲爱的！”

“妈咪，我能进来吗？”劳拉转动了一下大玻璃门把手说。

“当然，孩子！干吗？怎么啦？是谁让你生气了？”谢立丹夫人正要从梳妆台前转过身来，她在试一顶新帽子。

“妈妈，一个男人被撞死了，”劳拉说。

“不是在花园吧？”母亲打断劳拉的话说。

“不，不是！”劳拉说。

“哦，你吓了我大一跳！”谢立丹夫人用如释重负口吻说。然后摘下帽子，把它放在膝盖上。

“但是，妈妈，请听我说，”劳拉气喘吁吁，哽咽着说。

劳拉讲了这件可怕的事件，然后恳求道“妈咪，我们应该停止举办这个派对，对吧？！”乐队和所有人都来了，但他们听我们的，妈妈，他们几乎都是邻居！

令劳拉感到吃惊的是，她母亲表现就同荷西一样；更难忍受的是因为她似乎被逗乐了。她严肃拒绝了劳拉的提议，说，

“孩子，凭你的常识，这只是一件我们所听到偶发事件。如果有人在那儿正常死亡—我不明白的是，在那些狭小的巢穴中他们是如何生活的—难道我们也要停止举办我们的派对吗？”

劳拉不得不说“是”但是，她觉得这是一个错误。

她坐在她母亲沙发上，捏着沙发垫子的褶边。

“妈妈，这样做我们是不是太无情了？”劳拉问道。

“亲爱的！”谢立丹起来拿着帽子走到劳拉身边，在劳拉可能阻碍她前，敲了敲帽子说，“孩子，”劳拉母亲说，”这帽子是你的了，是专为你做的。这顶帽子对我来说太年轻了。我从来没见过你看起来多像一幅画、你自己瞧瞧。”她举起她的手镜。

但是，“妈妈，”劳拉又开始说，她不会自己看自己，她转向一边。

这次。正如荷西一样，谢立丹夫人失去了耐心

“劳拉，你一直十分荒唐！谢立丹夫人严肃地说。“人们不乐意为我们做出牺牲。像你现在这样做，是要剥夺所有人的生活乐趣，这不是同情！”

”我不明白“劳拉说。然后飞快离出母亲房间回到自己卧室。在卧室，偶然间，劳拉从镜子里第一次看到一个迷人的女孩：黑色帽子用金色的雏菊点缀着，配以一条长长的黑色天鹅绒丝带。劳拉从来没有想到自己会是那样。妈咪是对的？她觉得。现在，她希望母亲是对的了，是我一直都太天真了？也许这太样做太奢侈。一会，她仿佛又看见了那个贫穷女人和那几个幼小的孩子，以及被抬走进屋去的马车夫的尸体。但这种感觉比较模糊，不太真实，就像报纸上的一幅画。她决定，派对结束后再想想这件事。不知何故，她认为这似乎才是上策……

午餐在一点半结束了，两点半他们已为乐队准备好了一切。身着绿色衣服的乐队已经到达现场，并在网球场一个角落布置好。

“ 亲爱的，”基蒂.梅特颤声说，“他们难道不是会说话的青蛙吗？你们应该把他们安排在池塘周围，叶子正中间再设置一个指挥。”

劳里到了，在他去换衣服的路上他向人们打招呼。一见到劳里，劳拉又想起那个马车夫的事来。她想告诉劳里。如果劳里和其他人看法统一，那么推迟举办花园派对这件事情肯定是正确的。她随着劳里进了大厅。

“劳里！”劳拉喊。

“哈罗！”劳里走到楼梯的一半，回头看了一眼劳拉，突然鼓起腮帮，瞪大眼睛对劳拉说”哎呀，劳拉！你太让人吃惊了，”劳里说，“绝对是最完善的帽子！”

劳拉含糊地说了声“是吗？”冲着劳里笑了笑，终于没有告诉他那件事。

不久，人们开始流动，乐队开始演奏，雇来的服务员也开始在家里和围棚间跑动。

到处都能见到情侣在散步，在向追随者点头，在欢呼，在草坪上移动。他们像欢快的小鸟，今天下午才降临到谢立丹花园， 他们要到哪儿去？啊，和快乐的人在一起，是一件多么快乐事呀！拉拉手，拍拍脸，眼里充满笑意。

“劳拉，你看起来令人十分满意！”

“孩子，多么得体的帽子呀！”

“劳拉，你看起来有点像西班牙人，我从来没有见过你如此妩媚动人。”谢立丹夫人说。

劳拉热情、温柔回复了妈咪。你喝茶？你不愿意喝咖啡？百香果冰淇淋真的相当特别。”谢立丹夫人说。劳拉跑到她父亲面前央求道，“爹地，难道乐队就不能喝点什么吗？”

这个完美的下午慢慢进入高潮，慢慢褪色，花园里花瓣也慢慢合上了。

“从来没有比这更赏心悦目的花园派对……”“最成功的派对……”“相当成功！”

劳拉配合母亲去同客人道别，她们一起站在门廊两边，派对结束。

“结束了，结束了，谢天谢地，”谢立丹夫人说，‘’劳拉，把其余的东西收起来，我们去喝点新鲜咖啡吧！我快累死了。“”是的，派对非常成功！但是，噢，这些派对，这些派对！你们这些孩子干嘛要坚持举办派对呢？”谢立丹说。他们现在都坐在空旷的围棚里。

“吃片三明治，爹地，我做过标记的。”劳拉说。

“谢谢！”谢立丹咬了一口，三明治就不见了，他又拿了一个，我想，“你们还没听说过今天发生的事吧？”谢立丹说。

“亲爱的 ，”谢立丹夫人举起手说，“”我们知道，它几乎破坏了这场派对，劳拉坚持我们应该推迟这次派对。”

“哦，妈咪！”别取笑我了！劳拉说

“这仍然是一件可怕的事件，”谢立丹说。

“这人住在小巷下面，结过婚，留下老婆和半打孩子，他们说。” 

一阵令人尴尬的沉默。谢立丹夫人心不在焉地玩弄着手里茶杯。“这真的是你父亲的疏忽……”谢立丹说

突然，谢立丹夫人发现桌子上所有的蛋糕，三明治，奶油酥，所有没吃过都将被浪费。她有了个好主意。

“ 我知道了，”她说，“让我们拿一个篮子，装上这些未吃完的东西，送给那些可怜的人吧。无论如何 这也算是对孩子们的一个最好的交代吧！难道你不同意？”她确信有邻居要来……。“重要的是把一切都准备好！”她突然站起来说，“劳拉，去给我把楼梯间橱柜里的篮子拿出来！”

“ 但是，妈咪，你真的认为这是一个好主意吗？”劳拉说。

十分好奇的是，劳拉似乎与众不同说，“派对上的残羹剩肴，那个可怜的女人真的会喜欢吗？”

“当然喜欢！你今天怎么啦？一、两小时前你还坚持我们要有同情心，现在又……”谢立丹夫人说。

哦，好，劳拉向篮子跑去，篮子装满后，她母亲把它聚集起来，说，

“孩子，你自己送去吧！就像你一样‘质疑’下去吧”接着又说，“等等，把马蹄莲也带上，那个阶层的人对马蹄莲情有独钟。”

“妈咪，花茎会弄脏劳拉花边裙子的，”荷西提醒说。

所以他们正好，“只有一个篮子，劳拉！”谢立丹夫人跟着劳拉走出围棚后说，不要做任何解释——“ 

“ 什么？妈咪”劳拉问道。

没什么，最好别把这种观点带给孩子。“没什么事！走吧！”

“到了，放下东西就直接离开，什么都不要做，直接离开。“

当劳拉关上花园大门时，天色已经暗淡下来。 一只大狗像幽灵一样跟着。路面上发出白色的光，山谷底下的小平房隐藏在阴影中。傍晚，路上相当寂静。此时，她正走下小山到马车夫躺着地方去，而她无法知道他躺在哪儿，为什么？她停了一分钟。在她看来，拥挤声、争吵声、哄笑声、敲击汤匙的声音以及碎草的气味等似乎总在她心里游荡。她见到空无一人的房子。太奇怪了！仰望惨白的天空，她所想到是“这是一次最成功的派对！”

穿过大路来到了小巷入口。巷子里烟雾弥漫，浑浊黑暗。披着披肩，戴着男人粗呢帽子的女人们匆匆而过。流浪汉在栅栏上宿睡未醒；孩子们在门前玩耍。从那些简陋的小屋里传出低沉的嗡嗡声。有些平房有一点亮光，人影、蟹足般在窗户间摇曳。劳拉低头，匆匆往前赶。现在，她真希望自己穿的是外套。她的连衣裙太亮了！还有那顶带有天鹅绒饰带的大帽子——要是另外一顶帽子多好呀！人们都在瞧着她吗？一定是。来这儿就是一个错误，她一直都知道这是一个错误。她现在甚至想回去了？

不，太迟了。就是这间房子。一定是。一群黑发缠结在一起的人站在外面。门很旧，一个老媪夹着一根拐杖坐在沙发上，四处观看。她把脚搁在一张报纸上。当劳拉靠近时，声音停止了，人们散开。仿佛在等她，仿佛早已知道她正在朝这儿走来。

劳拉非常紧张，她把天鹅绒丝带甩在肩上，向一个站在旁边的女人问道，“这儿是斯科特家吗？”这个妇人怪怪地说，“是的，小姐。”

哦，快离开这儿！她竟然说，“帮帮我，上帝！”当她走进这条极窄的小巷敲门时，想到赶快躲开那些注视的眼睛，或者采用什么东西遮住也行，即使用一件那些女人们的披肩。劳拉决定，我放篮子就走，甚至不用等他们腾空篮子。

接下来，门开了，一个身着黑衣服的小妇人出现在夜幕中。

劳拉说，“你是斯科特夫人吗？她惊悚于这个妇人的回答。“请进，小姐”。她被关在过道里

“不，”劳拉说，“我不进去了，我只是把这个篮子放在这儿，妈咪送的—”

在阴暗的过道里，这个小妇人似乎并没听清楚劳拉说的话，继续说，“请这边走，小姐！“她用讨好的声音说，劳拉跟着她。

她发现自己处于一个又小又矮又可怜的的厨房里，一盏满是灰尘的灯亮着。火炉前坐着一个妇人，

“ 艾米，”把劳拉引进来的那个小妇人说“艾米，是位年轻小姐？”

那个人转过脸来故意说，“我是艾米的妹妹，小姐，你会原谅她，对吧？”

“当然。”劳拉说，“我不会打扰她， 我只是想把这东西留下—”

此时，火炉旁那个妇女把脸了转回来，她的脸部红肿，眼睛肿胀，嘴唇肿胀，看起来十分吓人。她似乎不明白劳拉为什么要来这儿？什么意思？这个陌生人干吗拿个篮子站在厨房？篮子里有什么？这个妇人的脸再一次皱起来。

“ 好的，亲爱的，”那人说到，“我理解年轻的小姐。”

她又接着说，“我确信你会原宽恕她的，小姐。”她的一张脸也肿胀，充满疲惫讨好的笑。

劳拉只想出去，只想离开。她回到过道。门开着，她径直走进卧室，那个死了的马车夫躺着那儿。

“你愿意瞧瞧他，对吗？艾米的妹妹说。她绕过劳拉到了躺着那个男人床边说，”别怕！小姐——”她的声音愉悦而狡诈，她怜爱地拉开床单—“”那马车夫的脸像一幅画，没有任何表情，来吧，小姐！”。

劳拉来到床边。

一个躺在那儿熟睡的年轻人——睡得那么深沉，那么酣畅，以至于他离她们俩都很远，很远。哦，十分遥远，十分宁静！他一直在做梦且永远不会醒来。他的头埋在忱头上，他的眼睛紧闭，紧闭的眼皮下什么也看不见。

他被迫放弃了自己的梦想。花园派对、花边连衣裙、装满食品的篮子，对他来说有关系吗？他离那些事情太遥远了。他很棒，很漂亮。当他们笑的时候，当乐队演奏时候，奇迹来到这条小巷。快乐、幸福，一切都在快乐、幸福中，那张熟睡的脸说，这正是它应该听到的，我满足了。

尽管如此 你仍然要哭，劳拉不对他说点什么，是走不出那间屋子的。劳拉孩子般的啜泣起来。

“请原谅我的帽子。”劳拉说。

这次，劳拉没有等艾米的妹妹，而是找到路，沿着小径，经过那些悲惨人们。在小巷拐角处，劳拉遇见了劳里。

劳里走出拐角处问，“是你吗？劳拉？”

“是的。”劳拉回答。

“妈咪非常着急，没事吧？”

“没事！哦，劳里”她拉着劳里的胳膊，用力压。”我说，你不要哭，好吗？” 劳拉哥哥央求到。

劳拉摇着自己的头，她是

劳里把手放在她的肩膀上，用温柔的、充满爱意的声音说，“别哭！事情有点可怕吧？”

“不，”劳拉啜泣着说，“太不平凡了。但是，劳里——”

她停下来，看着她哥哥说，“生活不是这样，”她结结巴巴地说，生活不是这样—但，她无法解释什么是生活。不管怎样，劳里明白了！

“不是吗，亲爱的？"劳里说。

                                      2021-10-12 

注：原文来自《GREAT SHORT STORIES》短篇小说 集。凯瑟琳.曼斯菲尔德是二十世纪英国著名的女作家。