双城记 查尔斯·狄更斯-第29部分

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Mr。　Cruncher　did　not　assist　at　the　closing　sports；　hut　had　remained　behind　in　the　churchyard；　to　confer　and　condole　with　the　undertakers。　The　place　had　a　soothing　influence　on　him。　He　procured　a　pipe　from　a　neighbouring　public　house；　and　smoked　it；　looking　in　at　the　railings　and　maturely　considering　the　spot。
‘Jerry；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　apostrophising　himself　in　his　usual　way；　‘you　see　that　there　Cly　that　day；　and　you　see　with　your　own　eyes　that　he　was　a　young　‘un　and　a　straight　made　‘un。'
Having　smoked　his　pipe　out；　and　ruminated　a　little　longer；　he　turned　himself　about；　that　he　might　appear；　before　the　hour　of　closing；　on　his　station　at　Tellson's。　Whether　his　meditations　on　mortality　had　touched　his　liver；　or　whether　his　general　health　had　been　previously　at　all　amiss；　or　whether　he　desired　to　show　a　little　attention　to　an　eminent　man；　is　not　so　much　to　the　purpose；　as　that　he　made　a　short　call　upon　his　medical　adviser……a　distinguished　surgeon……on　his　way　back。
Young　Jerry　relieved　his　father　with　dutiful　interest；　and　reported　No　job　in　his　absence。　The　bank　closed；　the　ancient　clerks　came　Out；　the　usual　watch　was　set；　and　Mr。　Cruncher　and　his　son　went　home　to　tea。
‘Now；　I　tell　you　where　it　is！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher　to　his　wife；　on　entering。　‘If；　as　a　honest　tradesman；　my　wenturs　goes　wrong　tonight；　I　shall　make　sure　that　you've　been　praying　again　me；　and　I　shall　work　you　for　it　just　the　same　as　if　I　seen　you　do　it。'
The　dejected　Mrs。　Cruncher　shook　her　head。
‘Why；　you're　at　it　afore　my　face！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　with　signs　of　angry　apprehension。
‘I　am　saying　nothing。'
‘Well；　then；　don't　meditate　nothing。　You　might　as　well　meditate。　You　may　as　well　go　again　me　one　way　as　another。　Drop　it　altogether。'
‘Yes　Jerry。'
‘Yes；　Jerry；'　repeated　Mr。　Cruncher；　sitting　down　to　tea。　‘Ah！　It　is　yes；　Jerry。　That's　about　it。　You　may　say　yes；　Jerry。'
Mr。　Cruncher　had　no　particular　meaning　in　these　sulky　corroborations；　but　made　use　of　them；　as　people　not　unfrequently　do；　to　express　general　ironical　dissatisfaction。
‘You　and　your　yes；　Jerry；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　taking　a　bite　out　of　his　bread…and…butter；　and　seeming　to　help　it　down　with　a　large　invisible　oyster　out　of　his　saucer。　‘Ah！　I　think　so。　I　believe　you。'
‘You　are　going　out　to…night？'　asked　his　decent　wife；　when　he　took　another　bite。
‘Yes；　I　am。'
‘May　I　go　with　you；　father？'　asked　his　son；　briskly。　
‘No；　you　mayn't。　I'm　a　going……as　your　mother　knows……a　fishing。　That's　where　I'm　going　to。　Going　a　fishing。'　
‘Your　fishing　rod　gets　rather　rusty；　don't　it；　father？'　
‘Never　you　mind。'　
‘Shall　you　bring　any　fish　home；　father？'　
‘If　I　don't；　you'll　have　short　mons；　tomorrow；'　returned　that　gentleman；　shaking　his　head；　‘that's　questions　enough　for　you；　I　ain't　a　going　out；　till　you've　been　long　a…bed。'
He　devoted　himself　during　the　remainder　of　the　evening　to　keeping　a　most　vigilant　watch　on　Mrs。　Cruncher；　and　sullenly　holding　her　in　conversation　that　she　might　be　prevented　from　meditating　any　petitions　to　his　disadvantage。　With　this　view；　he　urged　his　son　to　hold　her　in　conversation　also；　and　led　the　unfortunate　woman　a　hard　life　by　dwelling　on　any　causes　of　plaint　lie　could　bring　against　her；　rather　than　he　would　leave　her　for　a　moment　to　her　own　reflections。　The　devoutest　person　could　have　rendered　no　greater　homage　to　the　efficacy　of　an　honest　prayer　than　he　did　in　this　distrust　of　his　Mile。　It　was　as　if　a　professed　unbeliever　in　ghosts　should　be　frightened　by　a　ghost　story。
‘And　mind　you！'　said　Mr。　Cruncher。　‘No　games　tomorrow！　If　I；　as　a　honest　tradesman；　succeed　in　providing　a　jinte　of　meat　or　two；　none　of　your　not　touching　of　it；　and　sticking　to　bread。　If　I；　as　a　honest　tradesman；　am　able　to　provide　a　little　beer；　none　of　your　declaring　on　water。　When　you　go　to　Rome；　do　as　Rome　does。　Rome　will　be　a　ugly　customer　to　you；　if　you　don't。　‘I'm　your　Rome；　you　know。'
Then　he　began　grumbling　again：
‘With　your　flying　into　the　face　of　your　own　wittles　and　drink！　I　don't　know　how　scarce　you　mayn't　make　the　wittles　and　drink　here；　by　your　flopping　tricks　and　your　unfeeling　conduct。　Look　at　your　boy：　he　is　your'n；　ain't　he？　He's　as　thin　as　a　lath。　Do　you　call　yourself　a　mother；　and　not　know　that　a　mother's　first　duty　is　to　blow　her　boy　out？'
This　touched　Young　Jerry　on　a　tender　place；　who　adjured　his　mother　to　perform　her　first　duty；　and；　whatever　else　she　did　or　neglected；　above　all　things　to　lay　especial　stress　on　the　discharge　of　that　maternal　function　so　affectingly　and　delicately　indicated　by　his　other　parent。
Thus　the　evening　wore　away　with　the　Cruncher　family；　until　Young　Jerry　was　ordered　to　bed；　and　his　mother；　laid　under　similar　injunctions；　obeyed　them。　Mr。　Cruncher　beguiled　the　earlier　watches　of　the　night　with　solitary　pipes；　and　did　not　start　upon　his　excursion　until　nearly　one　o'clock。　Towards　that　small　and　ghostly　hour；　he　rose　up　from　his　chair；　took　a　key　out　of　his　pocket；　opened　a　locked　cupboard；　and　brought　forth　a　sack；　a　crowbar　of　convenient　size；　a　rope　and　chain；　and　other　fishing　tackle　of　that　nature。　Disposing　these　articles　about　him　in　skilful　manner；　he　bestowed　a　parting　defiance　on　Mrs。　Cruncher；　extinguished　the　light；　and　went　out。
Young　Jerry；　who　had　only　made　a　feint　of　undressing　when　he　went　to　bed；　was　not　long　after　his　father。　Under　cover　of　the　darkness　he　followed　out　of　the　room；　followed　down　the　stairs；　followed　down　the　court；　followed　out　into　the　streets。　He　was　in　no　uneasiness　concerning　his　getting　into　the　house　again；　for　it　was　full　of　lodgers；　and　the　door　stood　ajar　all　night。
Impelled　by　a　laudable　ambition　to　study　the　art　and　mystery　of　his　father's　honest　calling；　Young　Jerry；　keeping　as　close　to　house…fronts；　walls；　and　doorways；　as　his　eyes　were　close　to　one　another；　held　his　honoured　parent　in　view。　The　honoured　parent　steering　Northward；　had　not　gone　far；　when　he　was　joined　by　another　disciple　of　Izaak　Walton；　and　the　two　trudged　on　together。
Within　half　an　hour　from　the　first　starting；　they　were　beyond　the　winking　lamps；　and　the　more　than　winking　watchmen；　and　were　out　upon　a　lonely　road。　Another　fisherman　was　Picked　up　here……and　that　so　silently；　that　if　Young　Jerry　had　been　superstitious；　he　might　have　supposed　the　second　follower　of　the　gentle　craft　to　have；　all　of　a　sudden；　split　himself　in　two。
The　three　went　on；　and　Young　Jerry　went　on；　until　the　three　stopped　under　a　bank　overhanging　the　road。　Upon　the　top　of　the　bank　was　a　low　brick　wall；　surmounted　by　an　iron　railing。　In　the　shadow　of　bank　and　wall　the　three　turned　out　of　the　road；　and　up　a　blind　lane；　of　which　the　wall……there；　risen　to　some　eight　or　ten　feet　high……formed　one　side。　Crouching　down　in　a　corner；　peeping　up　the　lane；　the　next　object　that　Young　Jerry　saw；　was　the　form　of　his　honoured　parent；　pretty　well　defined　against　a　watery　and　clouded　moon；　nimbly　scaling　an　iron　gate。　He　was　soon　over；　and　then　the　second　fisherman　got　over；　and　then　the　third。　They　all　dropped　softly　on　the　ground　within　the　gate；　and　lay　there　a　little……listening　perhaps。　Then；　they　moved　away　on　their　hands　and　knees。
It　was　now　Young　Jerry's　turn　to　approach　the　gate：　which　he　did；　holding　his　breath。　Crouching　down　again　in　a　corner　there；　and　looking　in；　he　made　out　the　three　fishermen　creeping　through　some　rank　grass；　and　all　the　gravestones　in　the　churchyard……it　was　a　large　churchyard　that　they　were　in　looking……on　like　ghosts　in　white；　while　the　church　tower　itself　looked　on　like　the　ghost　of　a　monstrous　giant。　They　did　not　creep　far；　before　they　stopped　and　stood　upright。　And　then　they　began　to　fish。
They　fished　with　a　spade；　at　first。　Presently　the　honoured　parent　appeared　to　be　adjusting　some　instrument　like　a　great　corkscrew。　Whatever　tools　they　worked　with；　they　worked　hard；　until　the　awful　striking　of　the　church　clock　so　terrified　Young；　Jerry；　that　he　made　off；　with　his　hair　as　stiff　as　his　father's。
But；　his　long…cherished　desire　to　know　more　about　these　matters；　not　only　stopped　him　in　his　running　away；　but　lured　him　back　again。　They　were　still　fishing　perseveringly；　when　he　peeped　in　at　the　gate　for　the　second　time；　but；　now　they　seemed　to　have　got　a　bite。　There　was　a　screwing　and　plaining　sound　down　below；　and　their　bent　figures　were　strained；　as　if　by　a　weight。　By　slow　degrees　the　weight　broke　away　the　earth　upon　it；　and　came　to　the　surface。　Young　Jerry　very　well　knew　what　it　would　be；　but；　when　he　saw　it；　and　saw　his　honoured　parent　about　to　wrench　it　open；　he　was　so　frightened；　being　new　to　the　sight；　that　he　made　off　again；　and　never　stopped　until　he　had　run　a　mile　or　more。
He　would　not　have　stopped　then　for　anything　less　necessary　than　breath；　it　being　a　spectral　sort　of　race　that　he　ran；　and　one　highly　desirable　to　get　to　the　end　of。　He　had　a　strong　idea　that　the　coffin　he　had　seen　was　running　after　him；　and；　pictured　as　hopping　on　behind　him；　bolt　upright；　upon　its　narrow　end；　always　on　the　point　of　overtaking　him　and　hopping　on　at　his　side……perhaps　taking　his　arm……it　was　a　pursuer　to　shun。　It　was　an　inconsistent　and　ubiquitous　fiend　too；　for；　while　it　was　making　the　whole　night　behind　him　dreadful；　he　darted　out　into　the　roadway　to　avoid　dark　alleys；　fearful　of　its　ing　hopping　out　of　them　like　a　dropsical　boy's　Kite　without　tail　and　wings。　It　hid　in　doorways　too；　rubbing　its　horrible　shoulders　against　doors；　and　drawing　them　up　to　its　ears；　as　if　it　were　laughing。　It　got　into　shadows　on　the　road；　and　lay　cunningly　on　its　back　to　trip　him　up。　All　this　time　it　was　incessantly　hopping　on　behind　and　gaining　on　him；　so　that　when　the　boy　got　to　his　own　door　lie　had　reason　for　being　half　dead。　And　even　then　it　would　not　leave　him；　but　followed　him　upstairs　with　a　bump　on　every　Stair；　scrambled　into　bed　with　him；　and　bumped　down；　dead　and　heavy；　on　his　breast　when　he　fell　asleep。
From　his　oppressed　slumber；　Young　Jerry　in　his　closet　was　awakened　after　daybreak　and　before　sunrise；　by　the　presence　of　his　father　in　the　family　room。　Something　had　gone　bong　with　him；　at　least；　so　Young　Jerry　inferred；　from　the　circumstance　of　his　holding　Mrs。　Cruncher　by　the　ears；　and　knocking　the　back　of　her　head　against　the　headboard　of　the　bed。
‘I　told　you　I　would；'　said　Mr。　Cruncher；　‘and　I　did。'　
‘Jerry；　Jerry；　Jerry！'　his　wife　implored。
‘You　oppose　yourself　to　the　profit　of　the　business；'　said　Jerry；　‘and　me　and　my　partners　suffer。　You　was　to　honour　and　obey；　why　the　devil　don't　you？'
‘I　try　to　be　a　good　wife；　Jerry；'　the　poor　woman　protested；　with　tears。
‘Is　it　being　a　good　wife　to　oppose　your　husband's　business？　Is　it　honouring　your　husband　to　dishonour　his　business？　Is　it　obeying　your　husband　to　disobey　him　on　the　wital　subject　of　his　business？'
‘You　hadn't　taken　to　the　dreadful　business　then；　Jerry。'
‘It's　enough　for　you；'　retorted　Mr。　Cruncher；　‘to　be　the　wife　of　a　honest　tradesman；　and　not　to　occupy　your　female　mind　with　calculations　when　he　took　to　his　trade　or　when　he　didn't。　A　honouring　and　obeying　wife　would　let　his　trade　alone　altogether。　Call　yourself　a　religious　woman？　If　you're　a　religious　woman；　give　me　a　irreligious　one！　You　have　no　more　nat'ral　sense　of　duty　than　the　bed　of　this　here　Thames　river　has　of　a　pile；　and　similarly　it　must　be　knocked　into　you。'
The　altercation　was　conducted　in　a　low　tone　of　voice；　and　terminated　in　the　honest　tradesman's