雙語·灼人的秘密 撒謊者

Time pressed. No more than a few days remained of the baron’s holiday, and these he wished to use to the full. Open conflict with an obstinate and determined child was unthinkable. The only way out of their dilemma was through flight. An ignominious surrender, undoubtedly, but what other alternative could be found if they were to escape for a couple of hours from the boy’s tyrannical observation?

“Just run along to the post and get this letter registered there’s a dear,” said Frau Blumental affably to her son.

They were standing inside, while the baron was with-out, engaging the services of a cabby.

Edgar took the missive gingerly. His heart misgave him. Could this be another trap? Usually his mother sent the porter on such errands. He hesitated and then asked:

“You’ll wait for me, won’t you? Where shall I find you?”

“Here.”

“Honour bright?”

“Of course.”

“Promise not to start without me.”

This smacked rather of command than of supplication. Fancy his ordering his mother about! Their relationship had certainly altered considerably since the day before yesterday. He scampered off with the letter and collided with Otto as the latter was entering the hotel through the revolving door. For the first time since their estrangement the boy took the initiative and addressed the baron:

“I’m just going to the post. Back in half a tick. Mummy’s waiting for me. Please don’t start before I get back.”

“Naturally we shan’t,” murmured Sternfeldt, squeezing by.

Edgar made for the post office. Here he was held up by having to wait in line for a considerable time. Then the gentleman in front had a dozen or more questions to ask. At last came his turn. He did his business with the utmost dispatch and rushed back to the hotel, the receipt fluttering between his fingers. Just as he arrived, panting, within sight of the front door, he saw his mother and the baron driving off in the cab.

Anger arrested his headlong progress. He felt like throwing stones after the retreating pair. They had eluded his vigilance. How mean! What a beastly lie! He knew that his mother fibbed occasionally. But that she should break her pledged word—that was too much. His trust in her was shattered. Life had become an enigma. Words and promises were no better than soap bubbles; the merest prick annihilated them. The secret must be a terrible one, Edgar thought, if it made two grownups break faith with a child, if it made them lie, steal away as though they were criminals. The books he had read had told him of people who had cheated in order to gain wealth or power or a throne. But what could these two be after? Why did they try to elude him? What were they endeavouring to hide behind this veil of lies? Cudgel his brains as he might, Edgar could discover no solution. And yet he felt dimly that if he could answer the riddle he would find the “Open sesame” out of the realm of childhood and would enter the kingdom of an adult man. His fury at their behaviour made it impossible for him to think clearly, otherwise....

The forest, the dark and silent forest, would furnish an answer to his perplexities. He sought refuge in its cool shade, gave free vent to his sorrow, allowed the tears he had so far restrained to flow.

“l(fā)iars. Rotters. Traitors. Cads.”

He felt that if he did not let go he would suffocate.

All the anger, the impatience, the inquisitiveness, the helplessness, the treason of the last few days burst through the dam of his childish controls and found relief in tears. But this fit of unrestrained weeping closed the door forever upon his childhood. The flood carried away all the trust, the love, the reliance, and the respect which had so far been the essential constituents of his life.

The boy who later re-entered the hotel was a changed being. He was collected and purposeful. First of all he sought his own room, and washed the traces of tears from eyes and cheeks. Then he made ready for a settlement of accounts as between himself and his two foes. This satisfactorily arranged, he was prepared to wait patiently for their return.

The lounge was full of guests when the culprits alighted from the cab. Two gentlemen were playing chess. A little coterie of ladies were chatting. Various other individuals were reading papers and periodicals. The child, alert, a trifle pale, had taken an armchair among these grownups. His mother and the baron were annoyed at meeting him so soon, and were about to proffer their excuses when Edgar cut them short with:

“Sir, I should like a few words with you.”

The baron was nonplussed. He felt as though he had fallen into a trap.

“Yes, yes,” he said, flustered. “l(fā)ater, a little later.”

But Edgar protested in a high-pitched voice, so that everyone could hear:

“No, I want to have a talk with you now. You’ve behaved like a cad. You told me a lie. You knew very well that my mother had promised to wait for me till I got back from the post. But...”

“Edgar,” cried his mother, rushing towards him.

All eyes were now concentrated upon the trio, and the child, feeling that his hour had come continued:

“I say it again so that everyone may hear. You lied, both of you—and that’s a mean thing, a caddish thing to do.”

Baron Otto von Sternfeldt went white under the barrage of eyes. Frau Blumental seized her son by the arm, saying hoarsely:

“Come, come up to your room at once or I’ll spank you in front of all these people....”

Edgar had by now quieted down. A pity, he thought, that his excitement had got the better of him. He felt annoyed with himself, for he had intended to keep more than usually calm while challenging the baron, whereas in actual fact his anger had overmastered him. Avoiding any display of haste, he now turned towards the lift in order to seek his own quarters. His mother, embarrassed by the scrutiny of so many quizzical eyes was stammering:

“Please excuse his execrable behaviour...I’m awfully sorry...After all, he is no more than a child....”

She detested scandal or even the lightest breath of gossip associated with her name, and she knew that the situation needed the utmost tact if she was to come out of it unscathed. To save her face, she was careful not to beat a hasty retreat, but inquired whether there were any letters for her. Then, calmly and deliberately, she made her way to the lift and went to her room. Nevertheless, she was aware of the fact that her withdrawal was accompanied by giggles and malicious whispers.

A serious situation invariably took her unawares and made her anxious. She recognized that in the circumstances she had been remiss, and she dreaded a confrontation with her child. So she loitered on the way. Edgar had donned a new visage since yesterday, a visage which paralysed her. Fear counselled her to have recourse to gentleness when dealing with her son. She realized that, if the issue was forced into the open, Edgar would prove the stronger....

Opening the door quietly, she found the boy sitting in her room. There was no sign of fear in the eyes he raised to the encounter; there was not even inquisitiveness. He appeared to be absolutely sure of himself. Assuming her most motherly manner, she asked:

“Edgar, what could you have been thinking of? You made me blush. A child has no business to behave so outrageously to a grown-up person. You’ll have to ask the baron’s pardon....”

“No,” he answered indifferently, gazing at the trees outside.

This involved her in a quandary. Nevertheless, she continued valiantly:

“What’s up, Edgar? You are so changed I hardly recognize you. You have always been such a sensible and well-mannered boy that it was a pleasure to be with you. And now, all of a sudden, you behave as if you were possessed of the devil. What’s your grievance against Baron von Sternfeldt? You seemed very fond of him, and he has been so kind to you....”

“Yes; but that was merely to get to know you.”

“Nonsense,” she said, much perturbed. “What maggot’s got hold of you?”

“He’s a liar and a cad. Everything he does is calculated beforehand. He is a vulgar beast. He wanted to get to know you and thought that the easiest way was to be civil to me, and to catch me by promising to give me a dog. I don’t know what he has promised you, nor why he is so friendly towards you. But I’m certain that he hopes to get something out of you, Mummy. He’s a rotter, a liar. You need only look at him to know what kind of beast he is. I hate him, yes, I hate him for his lies, his caddishness, his— ”

“But, Edgar, you must not speak like that...” she protested, while her heart told her that the child was right.

“You’ll never make me believe that he is anything but a cad. Can’t you see it for yourself? He’s afraid of me. Why should he be? He tries to hide his real motives from me. Why? Because he knows very well that I see through him, that I know him for what he is—a cad.”

“It’s not fair to say such things; really, it’s not fair.” Her mind had become a blank, and she could only reiterate the words “It’s not fair.”Panic seized her, but whether on the baron’s account or on the boy’s, she would have found it difficult to decide.

Edgar was well aware that he had made an impression.

He was tempted to lure her to his side and thus acquire a comrade to share in his hatred. He went over to where his mother was, put his arms round her, and said gently:

“Mummy darling, can’t you see for yourself that he’s a rotter? He has succeeded in changing you, in making you angry with me, because he wants you for himself alone. I’m sure he means to cheat you. Whatever he may have promised, he won t give—of that I am certain. Don’t trust him, Mummy. He’s cheated me, and he’ll cheat you. He’s a rotter, and no one ought to trust him.”

The child’s voice broke on the last words. It seemed as if she herself were speaking. And yet she felt ashamed to acknowledge that this youngster was right. She tried to maintain her dignity, as so many adults do, by assuming a lofty tone.

“Children are not the best judges in such matters. They don’t understand. This is no business of yours. All you have to do is to behave like a little gentleman...”

The tenderness vanished from Edgar’s countenance. He drew himself up, and said:

“Very well. You can’t say I failed to warn you.”

“So you are determined not to apologize?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

They stood facing one another, and the woman felt that her authority was at stake.

“As you will, Edgar. You will have your meal served here. You will eat alone. And I shall not allow you to share our table until you have made suitable excuses. I’ll teach you your manners. You’ll not move from this room until I give you leave. Understand?”

Edgar grinned. This sardonic smile seemed to have become part of him. But he was vexed with himself for having warned her (who was just as flagrant a liar as the baron) against that “Vulgar beast’s”advances.

Meanwhile the lady had slammed the door behind her without a glance in his direction. She was awed by the child’s wrathful eyes. He had become uncanny, he knew too much, far more than it was desirable for him to know and to hear. He seemed to be an embodiment of her own conscience, a reproach and an admonition. Edgar had always been a plaything, an ornament to her life, a sweet and lovable object. Occasionally, it is true, he had proved a bit of a burden and a nuisance, but, taking the rough with the smooth, she had enjoyed his company, and their lives had run placidly side by side. For the first time the child had set up his will in opposition to her own. A breath of hate was now part of their relationship.

Yet even at this moment, as she made her way downstairs, she could hear the boy’s tender voice raised in warning against the man she was about to meet. She was unable to silence the inward monitor. As she passed a mirror on the landing, she stopped and contemplated her reflection. For long she looked at herself, deep, deep into her soul. Then she became aware of a smile playing about her lips, of her lips rounding themselves to pronounce a particular word—in the circumstances a dangerous word. Still the voice sounded within her; but she shrugged her shoulders as if shaking off an incubus, cast a bright glance at the answering image, smoothed her skirt, and marched off to her fate with the determination of a gambler staking his last gold piece upon the hazards of the game.