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The Turn of the Screw
by Henry James
XV
The business was practically settled from the moment I never followed him. It was a pitiful surrender to agitation1, but my being aware of this had somehow no power to restore me. I only sat there on my tomb and read into what my little friend had said to me the fullness of its meaning; by the time I had grasped the whole of which I had also embraced, for absence, the pretext2 that I was ashamed to offer my pupils and the rest of the congregation such an example of delay. What I said to myself above all was that Miles had got something out of me and that the proof of it, for him, would be just this awkward collapse3. He had got out of me that there was something I was much afraid of and that he should probably be able to make use of my fear to gain, for his own purpose, more freedom. My fear was of having to deal with the intolerable question of the grounds of his dismissal from school, for that was really but the question of the horrors gathered behind. That his uncle should arrive to treat with me of these things was a solution that, strictly4 speaking, I ought now to have desired to bring on; but I could so little face the ugliness and the pain of it that I simply procrastinated5 and lived from hand to mouth. The boy, to my deep discomposure, was immensely in the right, was in a position to say to me: “Either you clear up with my guardian6 the mystery of this interruption of my studies, or you cease to expect me to lead with you a life that’s so unnatural7 for a boy.” What was so unnatural for the particular boy I was concerned with was this sudden revelation of a consciousness and a plan.
That was what really overcame me, what prevented my going in. I walked round the church, hesitating, hovering8; I reflected that I had already, with him, hurt myself beyond repair. Therefore I could patch up nothing, and it was too extreme an effort to squeeze beside him into the pew: he would be so much more sure than ever to pass his arm into mine and make me sit there for an hour in close, silent contact with his commentary on our talk. For the first minute since his arrival I wanted to get away from him. As I paused beneath the high east window and listened to the sounds of worship, I was taken with an impulse that might master me, I felt, completely should I give it the least encouragement. I might easily put an end to my predicament by getting away altogether. Here was my chance; there was no one to stop me; I could give the whole thing up — turn my back and retreat. It was only a question of hurrying again, for a few preparations, to the house which the attendance at church of so many of the servants would practically have left unoccupied. No one, in short, could blame me if I should just drive desperately9 off. What was it to get away if I got away only till dinner? That would be in a couple of hours, at the end of which — I had the acute prevision — my little pupils would play at innocent wonder about my nonappearance in their train.
“What DID you do, you naughty, bad thing? Why in the world, to worry us so — and take our thoughts off, too, don’t you know? — did you desert us at the very door?” I couldn’t meet such questions nor, as they asked them, their false little lovely eyes; yet it was all so exactly what I should have to meet that, as the prospect10 grew sharp to me, I at last let myself go.
I got, so far as the immediate11 moment was concerned, away; I came straight out of the churchyard and, thinking hard, retraced12 my steps through the park. It seemed to me that by the time I reached the house I had made up my mind I would fly. The Sunday stillness both of the approaches and of the interior, in which I met no one, fairly excited me with a sense of opportunity. Were I to get off quickly, this way, I should get off without a scene, without a word. My quickness would have to be remarkable13, however, and the question of a conveyance14 was the great one to settle. Tormented15, in the hall, with difficulties and obstacles, I remember sinking down at the foot of the staircase — suddenly collapsing16 there on the lowest step and then, with a revulsion, recalling that it was exactly where more than a month before, in the darkness of night and just so bowed with evil things, I had seen the specter of the most horrible of women. At this I was able to straighten myself; I went the rest of the way up; I made, in my bewilderment, for the schoolroom, where there were objects belonging to me that I should have to take. But I opened the door to find again, in a flash, my eyes unsealed. In the presence of what I saw I reeled straight back upon my resistance.
Seated at my own table in clear noonday light I saw a person whom, without my previous experience, I should have taken at the first blush for some housemaid who might have stayed at home to look after the place and who, availing herself of rare relief from observation and of the schoolroom table and my pens, ink, and paper, had applied17 herself to the considerable effort of a letter to her sweetheart. There was an effort in the way that, while her arms rested on the table, her hands with evident weariness supported her head; but at the moment I took this in I had already become aware that, in spite of my entrance, her attitude strangely persisted. Then it was — with the very act of its announcing itself — that her identity flared18 up in a change of posture19. She rose, not as if she had heard me, but with an indescribable grand melancholy20 of indifference21 and detachment, and, within a dozen feet of me, stood there as my vile22 predecessor23. Dishonored and tragic24, she was all before me; but even as I fixed25 and, for memory, secured it, the awful image passed away. Dark as midnight in her black dress, her haggard beauty and her unutterable woe26, she had looked at me long enough to appear to say that her right to sit at my table was as good as mine to sit at hers. While these instants lasted, indeed, I had the extraordinary chill of feeling that it was I who was the intruder. It was as a wild protest against it that, actually addressing her — “You terrible, miserable27 woman!” — I heard myself break into a sound that, by the open door, rang through the long passage and the empty house. She looked at me as if she heard me, but I had recovered myself and cleared the air. There was nothing in the room the next minute but the sunshine and a sense that I must stay.
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1
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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2
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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3
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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4
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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5
procrastinated
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| 拖延，耽搁( procrastinate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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7
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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8
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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9
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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10
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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11
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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12
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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13
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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14
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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15
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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16
collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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17
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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18
Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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19
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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21
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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22
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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23
predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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24
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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25
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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26
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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27
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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