【荆棘鸟】第六章 29（在线收听）

哼！拉尔夫·德·布里克萨特尤其看得清，什么都逃不过这个男人的眼睛。

　　她的双手发抖了，钢笔中的墨水在信纸的下方洒下一串深蓝色的点子。那嶙峋的手指从文件格中抽出了另外一张纸，钢笔又在墨水池里蘸了蘸，不假思索地像第一回那样把那些词句又写了一遍。随后，她吃力地举步，移动着臃肿的身体向门口走去。

　　"明妮！明妮！"她喊道。

　　"老天爷吩咐，是她！"女仆的说话声从对面的客厅里清晰地传了过来。她那张总是显得年轻的、长满了雀斑的脸从门后仰了出来。"亲爱的卡森夫人，我给您拿些什么呀？"她问道，心里惊讶这老太太怎么没象往常那样，打铃叫史密斯太太。

　　"去找修篱工和汤姆。让他们马上来见我。"

　　"我是不是该先告诉史密斯太太一声？"

　　"用不着！就按吩咐去做吧，丫头！"袱卷的流浪汉，17年前在这儿当临时工；他后来爱上了德罗海达的花园，不妨离去了。修篱工完全是个天生的流浪汉，他被留在牧场里没完没了地用铁丝缠紧那些木桩，为了这次宴会正修理着庄园的白色栅栏。这次召唤使他们诚怕诚恐，没用几分钟就赶来了。他俩穿着工作裤和法兰绒汗衫站在那里，两手紧张地搓弄着帽子。

　　"你们俩都会写字吗？"卡森问道。

　　他俩点了点头，咽了口唾沫。

　　"好。我想让你们看着我在这张纸上签字，然后，紧接着我的签名，签上你们的名字和住址。明白了吗？"

　　他们点点头。

　　"像往常那样把你们的签名写清楚，然后用印刷体清楚地写上你们的永久住址。我不管邮局的差役是否能把信送到那里，反正能通过那个地址找到你们就行。"

　　这两个人看着她签上了自己的名字，这是她仅有的一次正正规规的签字。汤姆走上前去，他把钢笔按得劈啪作响，吃力地在那张纸上签了名；接着，修篱工用又大又流畅的字写上了"蔡斯·霍金斯。"并且写上了悉尼的一个地址。玛丽·卡森毫不松劲地看着他们；他们签完字之后，她给了他们每人一张暗红色的10镑票子，随后，为了使他们不露出口风，便毫不客气地将他们解雇了。

　　梅吉和教士早就不见踪影了。玛丽·卡森沉重地坐在书桌旁，往面前抽出了另一张纸，又开始写起来。这封信可不像上封信那样轻而易举地一挥而就了。她一次又一次地停笔想着，然后缩缩嘴唇，毫无幽默感地露齿笑笑，接着往下写。

Hah! Especially Ralph de Bricassart! Nothing ever missed that man. Her hands were trembling; the pen sprinkled darkblue drops across the bottom of the paper. The gnarled finger plucked another sheet from a pigeonhole, dipped the pen in the standish again, and rewrote the words as surely as the first time. Then she heaved herself to her feet and moved her bulk to the door.

"Minnie! Minnie!" she called.

"Lord help us, it's herself!" the maid said clearly from the reception room opposite. Her ageless freckled face came round the door. "And what might I be gettin' for ye, Mrs. Carson darlin'?" she asked, wondering why the old woman had not rung the bell for Mrs. Smith, as was her wont. "Go and find the fencer and Tom. Send them here to me at once." "Ought I not be reportin' to Mrs. Smith furrst?" "No! Just do as you're told, girl!"

Tom, the garden rouseabout, was an old, wizened fellow who had been on the track with his bluey and his billy, and taken work for a while seventeen years ago; he had fallen in love with the Drogheda gardens and couldn't bear to leave them. The fencer, a drifter like all his breed, had been pulled from the endless task of stringing taut wire between posts in the paddocks to repair the homestead's white pickets for the party. Awed at the summons, they came within a few minutes and stood in work trousers, braces and flannel undershirts, hats screwed nervously in their hands. "Can both of you write?" asked Mrs. Carson.

They nodded, swallowed.

"Good. I want you to watch me sign this piece of paper, then fix your own names and addresses just below my signature. Do you understand?" They nodded."Make sure you sign the way you always do, and print your permanent addresses clearly. I don't care if it's a post office general delivery or what, so long as you can be reached through it." The two men watched her inscribe her name; it was the only time her writing was not compressed. Tom came forward, sputtered the pen across the paper painfully, then the fencer wrote "Chas. Hawkins" in large round letters, and a Sydney address. Mary Carson watched them closely; when they were done she gave each of them a dull red ten-pound note, and dismissed them with a harsh injunction to keep their mouths shut.

Meggie and the priest had long since disappeared. Mary Carson sat down at her desk heavily, drew another sheet of paper toward her, and began once more to write. This communication was not achieved with the ease and fluency of the last. Time and time again she stopped to think, then with lips drawn back in a humorless grin,