The Trespasser. Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
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Название: The Trespasser
Автор: Дэвид Герберт Лоуренс
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Документальная литература
isbn: 4064066066192
isbn:
“When is a hundred not a hundred?” he said sceptically, as they descended the dazzling white chalk. There were sixty-eight steps. Helena laughed at his exactitude.
“It must be a love of round numbers,” he said.
“No doubt,” she laughed. He took the thing so seriously.
“Or of exaggeration,” he added.
There was a shelving beach of warm white sand, bleached soft as velvet. A sounding of gulls filled the dark recesses of the headland; a low chatter of shingle came from where the easy water was breaking; a confused, shell-like murmur of the sea between the folded cliffs. Siegmund and Helena lay side by side upon the dry sand, small as two resting birds, while thousands of gulls whirled in a white-flaked storm above them, and the great cliffs towered beyond, and high up over the cliffs the multitudinous clouds were travelling, a vast caravan en route. Amidst the journeying of oceans and clouds and the circling flight of heavy spheres, lost to sight in the sky, Siegmund and Helena, two grains of life in the vast movement, were travelling a moment side by side.
They lay on the beach like a grey and a white sea-bird together. The lazy ships that were idling down the Solent observed the cliffs and the boulders, but Siegmund and Helena were too little. They lay ignored and insignificant, watching through half-closed fingers the diverse caravan of Day go past. They lay with their latticed fingers over their eyes, looking out at the sailing of ships across their vision of blue water.
“Now, that one with the greyish sails——” Siegmund was saying.
“Like a housewife of forty going placidly round with the duster—yes?” interrupted Helena.
“That is a schooner. You see her four sails, and——”
He continued to classify the shipping, until he was interrupted by the wicked laughter of Helena.
“That is right, I am sure,” he protested.
“I won’t contradict you,” she laughed, in a tone which showed him he knew even less of the classifying of ships than she did.
“So you have lain there amusing yourself at my expense all the time?” he said, not knowing in the least why she laughed. They turned and looked at one another, blue eyes smiling and wavering as the beach wavers in the heat. Then they closed their eyes with sunshine.
Drowsed by the sun, and the white sand, and the foam, their thoughts slept like butterflies on the flowers of delight. But cold shadows startled them up.
“The clouds are coming,” he said regretfully.
“Yes; but the wind is quite strong enough for them,” she answered.
“Look at the shadows like blots floating away. Don’t they devour the sunshine?”
“It is quite warm enough here,” she said, nestling in to him.
“Yes; but the sting is missing. I like to feel the warmth biting in.”
“No, I do not. To be cosy is enough.”
“I like the sunshine on me, real, and manifest, and tangible. I feel like a seed that has been frozen for ages. I want to be bitten by the sunshine.”
She leaned over and kissed him. The sun came bright-footed over the water, leaving a shining print on Siegmund’s face. He lay, with half-closed eyes, sprawled loosely on the sand. Looking at his limbs, she imagined he must be heavy, like the boulders. She sat over him, with her finger stroking his eyebrows, that were broad and rather arched. He lay perfectly still, in a half-dream.
Presently she laid her head on his breast, and remained so, watching the sea, and listening to his heart-beats. The throb was strong and deep. It seemed to go through the whole island and the whole afternoon, and it fascinated her: so deep, unheard, with its great expulsions of life. Had the world a heart? Was there also deep in the world a great God thudding out waves of life, like a great heart, unconscious? It frightened her. This was the God she knew not, as she knew not this Siegmund. It was so different from the half-shut eyes with black lashes, and the winsome, shapely nose. And the heart of the world, as she heard it, could not be the same as the curling splash and retreat of the little sleepy waves. She listened for Siegmund’s soul, but his heart overbeat all other sound, thudding powerfully.
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