Women in Love. D. H. Lawrence

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СКАЧАТЬ hot, naked in their looking at him. And on them there seemed to float a film of disintegration, a sort of misery and sullenness, like oil on water. She wore no hat in the heated café, her loose, simple jumper was strung on a string round her neck. But it was made of rich peach-coloured crêpe-de-chine, that hung heavily and softly from her young throat and her slender wrists. Her appearance was simple and complete, really beautiful, because of her regularity and form, her soft dark hair falling full and level on either side of her head, her straight, small, softened features, Egyptian in the slight fulness of their curves, her slender neck and the simple, rich-coloured smock hanging on her slender shoulders. She was very still, almost null, in her manner, apart and watchful.

      She appealed to Gerald strongly. He felt an awful, enjoyable power over her, an instinctive cherishing very near to cruelty. For she was a victim. He felt that she was in his power, and he was generous. The electricity was turgid and voluptuously rich, in his limbs. He would be able to destroy her utterly in the strength of his discharge. But she was waiting in her separation, given.

      They talked banalities for some time. Suddenly Birkin said:

      “There’s Julius!” and he half rose to his feet, motioning to the newcomer. The girl, with a curious, almost evil motion, looked round over her shoulder without moving her body. Gerald watched her dark, soft hair swing over her ears. He felt her watching intensely the man who was approaching, so he looked too. He saw a pale, full-built young man with rather long, solid fair hair hanging from under his black hat, moving cumbrously down the room, his face lit up with a smile at once naive and warm, and vapid. He approached towards Birkin, with a haste of welcome.

      It was not till he was quite close that he perceived the girl. He recoiled, went pale, and said, in a high squealing voice:

      “Pussum, what are you doing here?”

      The café looked up like animals when they hear a cry. Halliday hung motionless, an almost imbecile smile flickering palely on his face. The girl only stared at him with a black look in which flared an unfathomable hell of knowledge, and a certain impotence. She was limited by him.

      “Why have you come back?” repeated Halliday, in the same high, hysterical voice. “I told you not to come back.”

      The girl did not answer, only stared in the same viscous, heavy fashion, straight at him, as he stood recoiled, as if for safety, against the next table.

      “You know you wanted her to come back—come and sit down,” said Birkin to him.

      “No I didn’t want her to come back, and I told her not to come back. What have you come for, Pussum?”

      “For nothing from you,” she said in a heavy voice of resentment.

      “Then why have you come back at all?” cried Halliday, his voice rising to a kind of squeal.

      “She comes as she likes,” said Birkin. “Are you going to sit down, or are you not?”

      “No, I won’t sit down with Pussum,” cried Halliday.

      “I won’t hurt you, you needn’t be afraid,” she said to him, very curtly, and yet with a sort of protectiveness towards him, in her voice.

      Halliday came and sat at the table, putting his hand on his heart, and crying:

      “Oh, it’s given me such a turn! Pussum, I wish you wouldn’t do these things. Why did you come back?”

      “Not for anything from you,” she repeated.

      “You’ve said that before,” he cried in a high voice.

      She turned completely away from him, to Gerald Crich, whose eyes were shining with a subtle amusement.

      “Were you ever vewy much afwaid of the savages?” she asked in her calm, dull childish voice.

      “No—never very much afraid. On the whole they’re harmless—they’re not born yet, you can’t feel really afraid of them. You know you can manage them.”

      “Do you weally? Aren’t they very fierce?”

      “Not very. There aren’t many fierce things, as a matter of fact. There aren’t many things, neither people nor animals, that have it in them to be really dangerous.”

      “Except in herds,” interrupted Birkin.

      “Aren’t there really?” she said. “Oh, I thought savages were all so dangerous, they’d have your life before you could look round.”

      “Did you?” he laughed. “They are over-rated, savages. They’re too much like other people, not exciting, after the first acquaintance.”

      “Oh, it’s not so very wonderfully brave then, to be an explorer?”

      “No. It’s more a question of hardships than of terrors.”

      “Oh! And weren’t you ever afraid?”

      “In my life? I don’t know. Yes, I’m afraid of some things—of being shut up, locked up anywhere—or being fastened. I’m afraid of being bound hand and foot.”

      She looked at him steadily with her dark eyes, that rested on him and roused him so deeply, that it left his upper self quite calm. It was rather delicious, to feel her drawing his self-revelations from him, as from the very innermost dark marrow of his body. She wanted to know. And her dark eyes seemed to be looking through into his naked organism. He felt, she was compelled to him, she was fated to come into contact with him, must have the seeing him and knowing him. And this roused a curious exultance. Also he felt, she must relinquish herself into his hands, and be subject to him. She was so profane, slave-like, watching him, absorbed by him. It was not that she was interested in what he said; she was absorbed by his self-revelation, by him, she wanted the secret of him, the experience of his male being.

      Gerald’s face was lit up with an uncanny smile, full of light and rousedness, yet unconscious. He sat with his arms on the table, his sunbrowned, rather sinister hands, that were animal and yet very shapely and attractive, pushed forward towards her. And they fascinated her. And she knew, she watched her own fascination.

      Other men had come to the table, to talk with Birkin and Halliday. Gerald said in a low voice, apart, to Pussum:

      “Where have you come back from?”

      “From the country,” replied Pussum, in a very low, yet fully resonant voice. Her face closed hard. Continually she glanced at Halliday, and then a black flare came over her eyes. The heavy, fair young man ignored her completely; he was really afraid of her. For some moments she would be unaware of Gerald. He had not conquered her yet.

      “And what has Halliday to do with it?” he asked, his voice still muted.

      She would not answer for some seconds. Then she said, unwillingly:

      “He made me go and live with him, and now he wants to throw me over. And yet he won’t let me go to anybody else. He wants me to live hidden in the country. And then he says I persecute him, that he can’t get rid of me.”

      “Doesn’t know his own mind,” said Gerald.

      “He hasn’t any mind, so he can’t know it,” she said. “He waits for what СКАЧАТЬ