something was wrong with the world, a somber, frightening wrongness that pervadedeverything like a dark impenetrable mist, stealthily closing around scarlett. this wrongness wenteven deeper than bonnie’s death, for now the first unbearable anguish was fading into resigned acceptanceof her loss. yet this eerie sense of disaster to come persisted, as though something blackand hooded stood just at her shoulder, as though the ground beneath her feet might turn toquicksand as she trod upon it.
she had never before known this type of fear. all her life her feet had been firmly planted incommon sense and the only things she had ever feared had been the things she could see, injury,hunger, poverty, loss of ashley’s love. unanalytical she was trying to analyze now and with nosuccess. she had lost her dearest child but she could stand that, somehow, as she had stood othercrushing losses. she had her health, she had as much money as she could wish and she still hadashley, though she saw less and less of him these days. even the constraint which had beenbetween them since the day of melanie’s ill-starred surprise party did not worry her, for she knewit would pass. no, her fear was not of pain or hunger or loss of love. those fears had neverweighed her down as this feeling of wrongness was doing—this blighting fear that was oddly likethat which she knew in her old nightmare, a thick, swimming mist through which she ran withbursting heart, a lost child seeking a haven that was hidden from her.
she remembered how rhett had always been able to laugh her out of her fears. she rememberedthe comfort of his broad brown chest and his strong arms. and so she turned to him with eyes thatreally saw him for the first time in weeks. and the change she saw shocked her. this man was notgoing to laugh, nor was he going to comfort her.
for some time after bonnie’s death she had been too angry with him, too preoccupied with hergrief to do more than speak politely in front of the servants. she had been too busyreme(own) mbering the swift running patter of bonnie’s feet and her bubbling laugh to think that he, too,might be remembering and with pain even greater than her own. throughout these weeks they hadmet and spoken as courteously as strangers meeting in the impersonal walls of a hotel, sharing thesame roof, the same table, but never sharing the thoughts of each other.
now that she was frightened and lonely, she would have broken through this barrier if she could, but she found that he was holding her at arm’s length, as though he wished to have no words withher that went beneath the surface. now that her anger was fading she wanted to tell him that sheheld him guiltless of bonnie’s death. she wanted to cry in his arms and say that she, too, had beenoverly proud of the child’s horsemanship, overly indulgent to her wheedlings. now she wouldwillingly have humbled herself and admitted that she had only hurled that accusation at him out ofher misery, hoping by hurting him to alleviate her own hurt. but there never seemed an opportunemoment. he looked at her out of black blank eyes that made no opportunity for her to speak. andapologies, once postponed, became harder and harder to make, and finally impossible.
she wondered why this should be. rhett was her husband and between them there was theunbreakable bond of two people who have shared the same bed, begotten and borne a loved childand seen that child, too soon, laid away in the dark. only in the arms of the father of that childcould she find comfort, in the exchange of memories and grief that might hurt at first but wouldhelp to heal. but, now, as matters stood between them, she would as soon go to the arms of acomplete stranger.
he was seldom at home. when they did sit down to supper together, he was usually drunk. hewas not drinking as he had formerly, becoming increasingly more polished and biting as the liquortook hold of him, saving amusing, malicious things that made her laugh in spite of herself. now hewas silently, morosely drunk and, as the evenings progressed, soddenly drunk. sometimes, in theearly hours of the dawn, she heard him ride into the back yard and beat on the door of the servants’
house so that pork might help him up the back stairs and put him to bed. put him to bed! rhettwho had always drunk others under the table without turning a hair and then put them to bed.
he was untidy now, where once he had been well groomed, and it took all pork’s scandalizedarguing even to make him change his linen before supper. whisky was showing in his face and thehard line of his long jaw was being obscured under an unhealthy bloat and puffs rising under hisbloodshot eyes. his big body with its hard swelling muscles looked soft and slack and his waistline began to thicken.
often he did not come home at all or even send word that he would be away overnight. ofcourse, he might be snoring drunkenly in some room above a saloon, but scarlett always believedthat he was at belle watling’s house on these occasions. once she had seen belle in a store, acoarse overblown woman now, with most of her good looks gone. but, for all her paint and flashydomes, she was buxom and almost motherly looking. instead of dropping her eyes or glaringdefiantly, as did other light women when confronted by ladies, belle gave her stare for stare,searching her face with an intent, almost pitying look that brought a flush to scarlett’s cheek.
but she could not accuse him now, could not rage at him, demand fidelity or try to shame him,any more than she could bring herself to apologize for accusing him of bonnie’s death. she wasclutched by a bewildered apathy, an unhappiness that she could not understand, an unhappinessthat went deeper than anything she had ever known. she was lonely and she could never rememberbeing so lonely before. perhaps she had never had the time to be very lonely until now. she waslonely and afraid and there was no one to whom she could turn, no one except melanie. for now,even mammy, her mainstay, had gone back to tara. gone permanently.
mammy gave no explanation for her departure. her tired old eyes looked sadly at scarlett when she asked for the train fare home. to scarlett’s tears and pleading that she stay, mammy onlyanswered: “look ter me lak miss ellen say ter me: ‘mammy, come home. yo’ wuk done finish.’ soah’s gwine home.”
rhett, who had listened to the talk, gave mammy the money and patted her arm.
“you’re right, mammy. miss ellen is right. your work here is done. go home. let me know ifyou ever need anything.” and as scarlett broke into renewed indignant commands: “hush, youfool! let her go! why should anyone want to stay in this house—now?”
there was such a savage bright glitter in his eyes when he spoke that scarlett shrank from him,frightened.
“dr. meade, do you think he can—can have lost his mind?” she questioned afterwards, driven tothe doctor by her own sense of helplessness.
“no,” said the doctor, “but he’s drinking like a fish and will kill himself if he keeps it up. heloved the child, scarlett, and i guess he drinks to forget about her. now, my advice to you, miss, isto give him another baby just as quickly as you can.”
“hah!” thought scarlett bitterly, as she left his office. that was easier said than done. she wouldgladly have another child, several children, if they would take that look out of rhett’s eyes and fillup the aching spaces in her own heart. a boy who had rhett’s dark handsomeness and another littlegirl. oh, for another girl, pretty and gay and willful and full of laughter, not like the giddy-brainedella. why, oh, why couldn’t god have taken ella if he had to take one of her children? ella was nocomfort to her, now that bonnie was gone. but rhett did not seem to want any other children. atleast he never came to her bedroom, though now the door was never locked and usually invitinglyajar. he did not seem to care. he did not seem to care for anything now except whisky and thatblowzy red-haired woman.
he was bitter now, where he had been pleasantly jeering, brutal where his thrusts had once beentempered with humor. after bonnie died, many of the good ladies of the neighborhood who hadbeen won over to him by his charming manners with his daughter were anxious to show himkindness. they stopped him on the street to give him their sympathy and spoke to him from overtheir hedges, saying that they understood. but now that bonnie, the reason for his good manners,was gone the manners went to. he cut the ladies and their well-meant condolences off shortly,rudely.
but, oddly enough, the ladies were not offended. they understood, or thought they understood.
when he rode home in the twilight almost too drunk to stay in the saddle, scowling at those whospoke to him, the ladies said “poor thing!” and redoubled their efforts to be kind and gentle. theyfelt very sorry for him, broken hearted and riding home to no better comfort than scarletteverybody knew how cold and heartless she was. everybody was appalled at the seeming easewith which she had recovered from bonnie’s death, never realizing or caring to realize the effortthat lay behind that seeming recovery. rhett had the town’s tenderest sympathy and he neitherknew nor cared. scarlett had the town’s dislike and, for once, she would have welcomed thesympathy of old friends.
now, none of her old friends came to the house, except aunt pitty, melanie and ashley. only the new friends came calling in their shining carriages, anxious to tell her of their sympathy, eager todivert her with gossip about other new friends in whom she was not at all interested. all these“new people,” strangers, every one! they didn’t know her. they would never know her. they hadno realization of what her life had been before she reached her present safe eminence in hermansion on peachtree street. they didn’t care to talk about what their lives had been before theyattained stiff brocades and victorias with fine teams of horses. they didn’t know of her struggles,her privations, all the things that made this great house and pretty clothes and silver and receptionsworth having. they didn’t know. they didn’t care, these people from god-knows-where whoseemed to live always on the surface of things, who had no common memories of war and hungerand fighting, who had no common roots going down into the same red earth.
now in her loneliness, she would have liked to while away the afternoons with maybelle orfanny or mrs. el-sing or mrs. whiting or even that redoubtable old warrior, mrs. merriwether. ormrs. bonnell or—or any of her old friends and neighbors. for they knew. they had known warand terror and fire, had seen dear ones dead before their time; they had hungered and been ragged,had lived with the wolf at the door. and they had rebuilt fortune from ruin.
it would be a comfort to sit with maybelle, remembering that maybelle had buried a baby, deadin the mad flight before sherman. there would be solace in fanny’s presence, knowing that sheand fanny both had lost husbands in the black days of martial law. it would be grim fun to laughwith mrs. elsing, recalling the old lady’s face as she flogged her horse through five points the dayatlanta fell, her loot from the commissary jouncing from her carriage. it would be pleasant tomatch stories with mrs. merriwether, now secure on the proceeds of her bakery, pleasant to say:
“do you remember how bad things were right after the surrender? do you remember when wedidn’t know where our next pair of shoes was coming from? and look at us now!”
yes, it would be pleasant. now she understood why when two ex-confederates met, they talkedof the war with so much relish, with pride, with nostalgia. those had been days that tried theirhearts but they had come through them. they were veterans. she was a veteran too, but she had nocronies with whom she could refight old battles. oh, to be with her own kind of people again,those people who had been through the same things and knew how they hurt—and yet how great apart of you they were!
but, somehow, these people had slipped away. she realized that it was her own fault. she hadnever cared until now—now that bonnie was dead and she was lonely and afraid and she sawacross her shining dinner table a swarthy sodden stranger disintegrating under her eyes.
这世界好像出了点毛病，有一种阴沉而可怕的不正常现象，好像一片阴暗和看不透的迷雾，弥温于一切事物之中，也偷偷地把思嘉包围起来。这种不正常比邦妮的死还显要严重，因为邦妮死后初期的悲痛现在已逐渐减轻，她觉得那个惨重的损失可以默默地忍受了。可是目前这种对于未来灾难的恐惧感却持续着，仿佛有个邪恶的盖着头巾的东西恰好蹲在她的肩上，仿佛脚下的土地她一踩上就会变成流沙似的。
她心里从未经历过这样的恐惧。她有生以来一直牢牢地立足于常识的基础之上，曾经害怕过的总是些看得见的东西，包括伤害、饥饿、贫困，以及丧失艾希礼的爱，等等。而如今是在试着分析一种看不见的东西，当然不会有什么结果。她失了她最爱的孩子，但是她毕竟忍受得住，就像忍受了旁的惨重损失那样。她还有健康的身体，还有很多如愿以偿的金钱，而且仍然享有对艾希礼的爱，尽管近来看见他的机会愈来愈少了。甚至连媚兰那个倒霉的间外招待会以后，他们之间形成的拘束，也不怎么使她烦恼，因为她知道那一切会过的。不，她目前的恐惧不是属于痛苦、饥饿或丧失爱情这一类。那些恐惧从来没有像这次非同寻常的感觉一样使她颓丧不堪----这种折磨人的恐惧跟她从前在恶梦中的感觉，即她伤心地从中穿过的一片茫茫游动的迷雾，一个在寻找避难所的迷途的孩子，是极为相似的。
她回想瑞德轻前常常能用笑声把她从恐惧中解脱出来。
她回想起他那宽阔的褐色胸膛和强壮的臂膀曾给过她多少安慰。因此她向他投以乞求的眼光，而这是好几个星期以来她头一次真正看见了他。她发现了他身上极大地变化，不觉大吃一惊。这个人现在不笑了，也不会来安慰她了。
邦妮死后，那段时候她对于他过于恼怒，过于沉浸以在自己的悲痛中，以致她只有在仆人跟前才跟他客平地说说话。
她曾经忙于追忆邦妮的啪哒啦哒的脚步声和潺潺不绝的笑声，因此很少意识到他也在痛苦地回忆，甚至比她自己她更痛苦呢。在整个这段时期，他们见面时只不过客客气扭地交谈，就像两个陌生人在一家饭店里相遇，住在同一幢房子里，在同一张餐桌上吃饭，但是从来没有谈过心，没有交流过思想。
现在她已经感到害怕和孤单了，只要有可能，她是会打破两人之间这重障碍的，可是她发现现在他对她保持着一定的距离，仿佛不愿意同她深谈。现在她的怒气已渐渐平息，她便想告诉他她并不把邦妮的死归罪于他了，她想伏在他怀里大声痛哭，告诉他她也曾将孩子的马术引为骄傲，并对她的甜言蜜语过分溺爱了。现在她愿意老老实实地承认，她以前那样谴责他，只是由于自己心里太难受，想减轻自己的痛苦就来刺伤他。然而，好像始终没有找到适当的机会来说这些。
他那双黑眼睛茫然地望着她，不给她以开口的机会。而表示道歉的行动一旦拖下来，便越拖越难办，最后简直不可能了。
她不明白为什么会是这样。瑞德是她丈夫，他俩之间有着密不可分的结合，他们同床共枕，生了一个共同钟爱的孩子，而且很快又一起看到将这个孩子埋葬了，只有在那个孩子的父亲的怀中，在记忆和悲哀的相互交替中，她才能找到真正安慰，尽管这悲哀起初可能伤人，但毕竟有助于创伤的愈合啊！可是现在，从两人之间的情况来看，她还宁愿投入一个陌生的怀抱中去呢。
他现在很少待在家里。当他们坐下一起吃晚饭时，他常常是先从外面喝醉酒回来的。他喝酒时不再像以前那样越喝越文雅，酒兴上来了便爱刺激人，说些即逗趣又刻薄的话，那会使她听得忘乎所以，不禁哈哈大笑。如今他忧郁地喝闷酒，等到夜色深沉便突然酩酊大醉了。有时候，一大早她就听见他骑马跑进后院，去敲仆人住房的门，好让波克搀扶他爬上后面的楼梯，把他弄到床上去。以前瑞德是经常不动声色地将别人灌醉，让他们昏头昏脑，然后把他们弄上床去的呀！
他从前修饰得整整齐齐，干干净净，可现在显得邋遢起来了。连波克要他在晚餐前换件衬衫，也得大吵半天。威士忌的作用已经在他脸上表现出来，那长长棱角分明的下颚的线条正在渐渐消失，被一种虚胖的表像所遮盖，而布满血丝的眼睛底下也期了两个浮泡似的眼袋。他那肌肉结实的高大身躯显得松驰了，腰围也开始粗笨起来。
他有时干脆不回家，或者公然捎来一句话要在外面过夜。
当然，他可能是喝醉了，在某家酒馆的楼上躺着打鼾呢，但是在这种情况下，思嘉总认为他是在贝尔·沃特琳那里。有一次，她在一家商店里看见了贝尔，她已经是个又粗又胖的女人，以前那些优美的风姿大多坦然无存了。不过，尽管她涂了那么多脂粉，穿着那么俗丽的衣裳，她还是显得胸乳丰满，几乎有母亲般的风韵，贝尔并不像别的轻浮女人那样在上等妇女面前低眉俯首或怒目敌视，却跟思嘉相对凝望，用一种关心和近似怜悯的眼光打量她，使得思嘉脸都红了。
可是她现在既不能骂他，不能向他发火，不能要求他忠诚或出他的丑，同时她自己也不能因为曾经为邦妮的死谴责过他而向他道歉。现在盘踞在她心头的是一种莫名其妙的冷漠科难以理解的忧郁，这种忧郁之深沉是她从来都没有体会过的。她感到孤单，前所未有地孤单。也许在此以前她从来没有真正的孤单地时刻吧。她觉得现在又孤单又害怕，而且除了媚兰以外，没有一个人是她可以去倾诉。因为现在连她的主要支柱嬷嬷也回塔拉去了。她永远不会回来了。
嬷嬷走时没作任何解释。她向思嘉要路费时只瞪着一双疲惫衰老的眼睛伤心地瞧着她。思嘉流着眼泪恳求她留下来，她回答说：“我仿佛听到爱伦小姐在对我说：'嬷嬷，回来吧。
你的事已经做完了。'所以我要回去。”
瑞德听见了那次谈话，他给了嬷嬷路费，并拍了拍她的臂膀。
“你是对的，嬷嬷，爱伦小姐是对的。你在这里的事已经做完了。回去吧。你需要什么请随时告诉我。"看见思嘉又来愤愤不起地插嘴时，他伸申斥说：“别说了，你这笨蛋！让她走！现在，人家为什么还要留在这里呢？"他说这话时眼睛里迸发着凶悍的光芒，吓得思嘉畏缩着不敢作声了。
她后来怀着孤立无助的心情跑去问米德大夫，问道：“大夫，你看他是不是可能----是不是可能已发疯了？"“不是，"大夫说，"不过他喝酒太多，再这样下去是会害死他自己的。思嘉，他爱那孩子呢，我猜他喝酒就是为了要记忆她。现在，小姐，我给你的忠告是忙跟他再生一个孩子。"“哼！"思嘉走出大夫的诊所时怨愤地想，说倒容易，但做起来可难哪！她倒是很乐意再生一个孩子，生几个孩子，只要他们能够把瑞德眼睛里那种神色消除掉，把她心中那个痛苦的空隙填补起来。一个像瑞德那样黝黑英俊的男孩，或者再来个女孩，都行呀。唔，再来个女孩吧，一个漂亮、活泼、任性、爱笑的小女孩，不像爱拉那样浮躁，多好啊！为什么，唔，如果上帝一定得带走她的一个孩子的话，为什么没有带走爱拉呢？现在邦妮死了，爱拉也不能给她什么安慰。可是瑞德好像并不想再要孩子。因为他从不到她卧室里来，尽管现在她已不再锁门，而且常常把门半开着。他好像一点也不感兴趣。他好像除了威士忌和那个红头发的女人以外，对什么也不感兴趣。
他原来是喜爱嘲讽人但又令人高兴的，可现在变得严酷了：原来是犀利中带点幽默的，可现在只剩下残忍了。自从邦妮死后，许多曾经因他跟女儿在一起时那么彬彬有礼而深受感动、并转为尊重他的邻居妇女，都很想安慰他。她们在街上叫住他，对他表示同情，隔着篱栏跟他说话，说她们很理解他的心情。可现在既然邦妮死了，那个叫他讲究礼貌的原因已不再存在了，他的礼貌也就可以不要了。他骄横而粗暴地对待那些太太们，并打断她们的善意慰问。
奇怪的是那些太太们并不因此生他的气。她们很理解，或者自以为理解。每天黄昏时分他骑马回家时，他醉得快要坐不稳了，一见有人对他说话便皱起眉头。这时太太们只好说声“真可怜呀！"并且继续努力对他表示亲切的关怀。她们很替他难过，因为他伤心地回到家里后，却只能受到思嘉那样的接等。
大家都知道思嘉为人多么冷酷，多么无情。大家看见他显得那么轻松以就从丧失邦妮的悲痛中恢复过来了，都大为惊讶。他们从不了解，也不能去了解，她那貌似恢复的背后那番痛苦的挣扎。瑞德受到全城人的深切关心的同情，而他对此既不明白也不在乎了，思嘉为全城人所厌恶，但她却生平第一次感到需要老朋友们的关切了。
如今，除了皮蒂姑妈、媚兰和艾希礼外，她的老朋友们谁也不上她家里来了。
只有那些新朋友坐着铮亮的马车来拜访她，急切地向她表示同情，还热烈地谈论起他新朋友的事来排遣她的忧愁，尽管她对后者根本不感兴趣。所有这些"新人"都是陌生人，没有一个例外！她们什么也不了解她。她们永远也不会了解她。
她们对于她发家致富和住进桃树街上这幢大宅以前的生活，可以说一无所知。她们也不喜欢谈她们自己在穿着绸缎和坐上高车骏马之前的生活。她们根本不知道她曾经怎样奋斗，经历过什么样的穷困和种种艰险，最后才获得这幢大宅，这些美丽的服饰和银器，并且能举行豪华招待会。她们无法弄清楚。她们也不关心，这些天知道从哪里冒出来的人，她们似乎永远生活在事物的表面，没有关于战争、饥饿和打仗的共同记忆，没有扎进同样的红土地中和共同根底。
现在她真觉得孤单了，便很想跟梅贝尔或范妮，埃尔辛太太或惠廷太太，甚至那位可畏的老斗士梅里韦瑟太太，在一起聊聊天，消磨整个下午的时光。或者是邦内尔太太或----或任何别的一位老朋友，或者邻居，都可以。因为她们能够了解她。她们了解战争、恐怖和焚城的大火，见过亲人过早地死去，饿过肚皮，穿过破衣烂衫，受到过饥寒交迫的威胁。
后来她们从废墟中建造了自己的幸福生活。
如果能跟梅贝尔坐在一起，回忆谢尔曼部队侵入时，梅贝尔埋葬了一个在逃难中死亡的婴儿，那倒是一种安慰呢。如果范妮来了，两人谈起彼此的丈夫都牺牲在戒严令时期最黑暗的日子里，也会很有意思。如果跟埃尔辛太太一起回忆亚特兰大陷落那天，这位老太太拼命鞭打着她的马跑出五点镇时那焦急的神色，以及车里那些从供销店抢出来的东西一路颠簸着撒落的情景，两人会哈哈大笑，觉得又后怕又好玩呢。
至于梅里韦瑟太太，这位开面包店已开得兴旺起来的老太太，你要是和她争着讲往事，并对她说：“你还记得投降以后坏事怎样都变成好事了吗？你还记得我们不知道下一双鞋从哪里来的那个时候吗？可是，瞧瞧，我们现在的光景！"那该是多叫人高兴啊！
是的，那会叫人高兴的。现在她才明白了，为什么两个从前支持联盟的人碰到一起，会谈得那样津津有味，那样自豪，那样对过去怀念不已。那些艰难的日子是考验人们思想感情的日子，可他们都熬过来了。他们都是些老兵呢。她也是个老兵。不过她不能和亲密的伙伴来重温往日的战斗了。
啊，她现在多么希望同那些跟她自己一样的人在一起啊----那些跟她经历与跋涉过同样历程的人，他们知道这历程有多么艰苦，可是它已成了你的一个伟大部分啊！
但是，不知为什么，这些人都溜走了。她明白这全都是她自己的过错。她从来没有很好地关心过她们，直到现在才想起----直到邦妮已经死了，她自己觉得又孤单又害怕，抬头只看见雪亮的餐桌对面那个黝黑的神情恍惚的陌生人，他在她的眼光下已经开始崩溃了。
