what the waves were always saying
paul had never risen from his little bed. he lay there, listening to the noises in the street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but watching it and watching everything about him with observing eyes.
when the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. as the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen, into night. then he thought how the long streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. his fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it would look, reflecting the hosts of stars - and more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea.
as it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-coloured ring about the candle, and wait patiently for day. his only trouble was, the swift and rapid river. he felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop it - to stem it with his childish hands - or choke its way with sand - and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he cried out! but a word from florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and leaning his poor head upon her breast, he told floy of his dream, and smiled.
when day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun; and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself - pictured! he saw - the high church towers rising up into the morning sky, the town reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling fast as ever), and the country bright with dew. familiar sounds and cries came by degrees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his attendants softly how he was. paul always answered for himself, 'i am better. i am a great deal better, thank you! tell papa so!'
by little and little, he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of carriages and carts, and people passing and repassing; and would fall asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again - the child could hardly tell whether this were in his sleeping or his waking moments - of that rushing river. 'why, will it never stop, floy?' he would sometimes ask her. 'it is bearing me away, i think!'
but floy could always soothe and reassure him; and it was his daily delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow, and take some rest.
'you are always watching me, floy, let me watch you, now!' they would prop him up with cushions in a corner of his bed, and there he would recline the while she lay beside him: bending forward oftentimes to kiss her, and whispering to those who were near that she was tired, and how she had sat up so many nights beside him.
thus, the flush of the day, in its heat and light, would gradually decline; and again the golden water would be dancing on the wall.
he was visited by as many as three grave doctors - they used to assemble downstairs, and come up together - and the room was so quiet, and paul was so observant of them (though he never asked of anybody what they said), that he even knew the difference in the sound of their watches. but his interest centred in sir parker peps, who always took his seat on the side of the bed. for paul had heard them say long ago, that that gentleman had been with his mama when she clasped florence in her arms, and died. and he could not forget it, now. he liked him for it. he was not afraid.
the people round him changed as unaccountably as on that first night at doctor blimber's - except florence; florence never changed - and what had been sir parker peps, was now his father, sitting with his head upon his hand. old mrs pipchin dozing in an easy chair, often changed to miss tox, or his aunt; and paul was quite content to shut his eyes again, and see what happened next, without emotion. but this figure with its head upon its hand returned so often, and remained so long, and sat so still and solemn, never speaking, never being spoken to, and rarely lifting up its face, that paul began to wonder languidly, if it were real; and in the night-time saw it sitting there, with fear.
'floy!' he said. 'what is that?'
'where, dearest?'
'there! at the bottom of the bed.'
'there's nothing there, except papa!'
the figure lifted up its head, and rose, and coming to the bedside, said:
'my own boy! don't you know me?'
paul looked it in the face, and thought, was this his father? but the face so altered to his thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were in pain; and before he could reach out both his hands to take it between them, and draw it towards him, the figure turned away quickly from the little bed, and went out at the door.
paul looked at florence with a fluttering heart, but he knew what she was going to say, and stopped her with his face against her lips. the next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he called to it.
'don't be sorry for me, dear papa! indeed i am quite happy!'
his father coming and bending down to him - which he did quickly, and without first pausing by the bedside - paul held him round the neck, and repeated those words to him several times, and very earnestly; and paul never saw him in his room again at any time, whether it were day or night, but he called out, 'don't be sorry for me! indeed i am quite happy!' this was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.
how many times the golden water danced upon the wall; how many nights the dark, dark river rolled towards the sea in spite of him; paul never counted, never sought to know. if their kindness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and he more grateful every day; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little moment now, to the gentle boy.
one night he had been thinking of his mother, and her picture in the drawing-room downstairs, and thought she must have loved sweet florence better than his father did, to have held her in her arms when she felt that she was dying - for even he, her brother, who had such dear love for her, could have no greater wish than that. the train of thought suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother? for he could not remember whether they had told him, yes or no, the river running very fast, and confusing his mind.
'floy, did i ever see mama?'
'no, darling, why?'
'did i ever see any kind face, like mama's, looking at me when i was a baby, floy?'
he asked, incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before him.
'oh yes, dear!'
'whose, floy?'
'your old nurse's. often.'
'and where is my old nurse?' said paul. 'is she dead too? floy, are we all dead, except you?'
there was a hurry in the room, for an instant - longer, perhaps; but it seemed no more - then all was still again; and florence, with her face quite colourless, but smiling, held his head upon her arm. her arm trembled very much.
'show me that old nurse, floy, if you please!'
'she is not here, darling. she shall come to-morrow.'
'thank you, floy!'
paul closed his eyes with those words, and fell asleep. when he awoke, the sun was high, and the broad day was clear and he lay a little, looking at the windows, which were open, and the curtains rustling in the air, and waving to and fro: then he said, 'floy, is it tomorrow? is she come?'
someone seemed to go in quest of her. perhaps it was susan. paul thought he heard her telling him when he had closed his eyes again, that she would soon be back; but he did not open them to see. she kept her word - perhaps she had never been away - but the next thing that happened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then paul woke - woke mind and body - and sat upright in his bed. he saw them now about him. there was no grey mist before them, as there had been sometimes in the night. he knew them every one, and called them by their names.
'and who is this? is this my old nurse?' said the child, regarding with a radiant smile, a figure coming in.
yes, yes. no other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of him, and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted child. no other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted hand, and put it to her lips and breast, as one who had some right to fondle it. no other woman would have so forgotten everybody there but him and floy, and been so full of tenderness and pity.
'floy! this is a kind good face!' said paul. 'i am glad to see it again. don't go away, old nurse! stay here.'
his senses were all quickened, and he heard a name he knew.
'who was that, who said "walter"?' he asked, looking round. 'someone said walter. is he here? i should like to see him very much.'
nobody replied directly; but his father soon said to susan, 'call him back, then: let him come up!' alter a short pause of expectation, during which he looked with smiling interest and wonder, on his nurse, and saw that she had not forgotten floy, walter was brought into the room. his open face and manner, and his cheerful eyes, had always made him a favourite with paul; and when paul saw him' he stretched out his hand, and said 'good-bye!'
'good-bye, my child!' said mrs pipchin, hurrying to his bed's head. 'not good-bye?'
for an instant, paul looked at her with the wistful face with which he had so often gazed upon her in his corner by the fire. 'yes,' he said placidly, 'good-bye! walter dear, good-bye!' - turning his head to where he stood, and putting out his hand again. 'where is papa?'
he felt his father's breath upon his cheek, before the words had parted from his lips.
'remember walter, dear papa,' he whispered, looking in his face. 'remember walter. i was fond of walter!' the feeble hand waved in the air, as if it cried 'good-bye!' to walter once again.
'now lay me down,' he said, 'and, floy, come close to me, and let me see you!'
sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in, and fell upon them, locked together.
'how fast the river runs, between its green banks and the rushes, 'floy! but it's very near the sea. i hear the waves! they always said so!'
presently he told her the motion of the boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. how green the banks were now, how bright the flowers growing on them, and how tall the rushes! now the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on. and now there was a shore before him. who stood on the bank! -
he put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. he did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind her neck.
'mama is like you, floy. i know her by the face! but tell them that the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. the light about the head is shining on me as i go!'
the golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. the old, old fashion! the fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. the old, old fashion - death!
oh thank god, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of immortality! and look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean!
'dear me, dear me! to think,' said miss tox, bursting out afresh that night, as if her heart were broken, 'that dombey and son should be a daughter after all!'
保罗一直没有从他的小床上起来过。他躺在那里，十分平静地听着街道上的喧嚣声；他不很关心时间怎么流逝，但却用他留神的眼睛注视着它，并注视着周围的一切。
当阳光透过飒飒拂动的窗帘射入他的房间，像金黄色的水一样，在对面的墙上荡漾时，他知道晚间即将来临，天空红而美丽。当返照的回光渐渐消失，幽暗的暮色渐渐爬上墙壁的时候，他注视着它加深，加深，最后变成了夜间。于是他想到了长长的街道上怎样到处点缀着路灯，宁静的星群怎样在上空闪耀。奇怪的是，他的想像总爱飘浮到河边，他知道河水正穿流过这座巨大的城市；现在他想到它是多么乌黑，当它映照着星群时看去是多么深邃，尤其是，它是多么一往直前、滔滔不绝地滚流进海洋里去。
夜渐渐深了，街上的脚步声渐渐稀少了，他可以听见它们走近，当它们走过时可以数清它们的数目，然后听凭它们在空旷寂静的远方消失；这时候，他就躺在那里，注视着蜡烛周围五颜六色的光圈，耐心地等待着白天来临。唯一引起他不安的是那奔腾迅速、湍急的河流，有时他必须设法阻止它——用他孩子的手挡住它——或者用沙子堵住它的道路——，而当他看到它不可抗拒地继续向前奔流的时候，他就哭出来！可是经常待在他身旁的弗洛伦斯只要讲一句话就能使他恢复平静；这时他就把他可怜的脑袋倚靠在她的胸前，把他的梦境讲给她听，并且微笑着。
当黎明重新来临时，他盼望着太阳；当它那明亮喜人的光辉开始在房间里闪耀时，他为自己描绘了——，不，不是描绘了，而是看见了一幅图景：高高的教堂钟楼耸立在早晨的天空中；城市复活了，苏醒了，重新开始了生活，河流滚滚奔流（但仍和往常一样快），发出了闪闪的亮光；乡间的田野覆盖着亮晶晶的露珠，一片光辉。熟悉的声音和喊叫声逐渐从下面的街道中传来；公馆中的仆人们醒来了，忙忙碌碌，好些脸孔从门口往里探望，好些声音在悄悄地问那些看护他的人，他怎么样了。保罗总是自己回答道，“我好些了。我好多了，谢谢您！请这样告诉我爸爸吧！”
白天的忙乱，马车、大车的喧闹声和人们的来来往往渐渐使他感到厌倦，他会睡去，或者又会因为那迅猛奔腾的河流感到急躁不安，无法平静——孩子不知道这是在他睡着的时候还是醒着的时候发生的事情。“唉，它就永远也不停吗，弗洛伊？”有时他会问她，“我觉得，它是要把我带走呢！”
但是弗洛伊总是安慰他，叫他安心；他总是让她把头躺在他的枕头上，休息一会儿，这已成为他每天的快乐。
“你总一直在看护着我，弗洛伊，现在让我来看护你吧！”他们会在他的床角放一个软垫来支撑他；当她躺在他身旁时，他就斜靠在那里，不时弯下身去吻她，并跟床边的人低声说，她累了，她曾经怎样许多夜坐在他的身旁。
就这样，炎热、光明的白天的亮光逐渐消逝了，金黄色的水波又重新在墙上荡漾。
有三位重要的医生来看他——他们通常在楼下开会，然后一起上来——；房间里非常安静，保罗又非常注意地观察他们（虽然他从来没有向任何人问过他们说了些什么），所以他甚至可以分辨得出他们表声的差别。但是他的兴趣集中在经常坐在他床边的帕克·佩普斯爵士身上。因为保罗好久以前曾听他们说，当他妈妈把弗洛伦斯搂在怀里死去的时候，这位先生也在场。现在他忘不了这件事。他由于这一点而喜欢他。他不害怕。
他周围的人们在莫名其妙地变换着，就像在布林伯博士家里头一个晚上一样。只有弗洛伦斯一个人例外，她从来没有被换走过。先前是帕克·佩普斯，现在却换成了他的父亲，坐在那里，用一只手支托着头。在安乐椅里打瞌睡的老皮普钦太太时常变换成托克斯小姐或他的姑妈；这时保罗很乐意重新闭上眼睛，平平静静地等待着随后发生的情况。但是这个用一只手支托着头的人影儿这么频繁地回来，待的时间这么长久，坐在那里那么呆板、严肃，从来不跟人说话，也从来没有人跟他说话，又很少抬起脸来，因此保罗开始倦乏地纳闷，他究竟是不是真的人，夜间看到他坐在那里的时候他感到害怕。
“弗洛伊！”他问道，“那是什么？”
“哪儿，亲爱的？”
“那里！在床的那一头！”
“那是爸爸，没有别的。”
那人影儿抬起头，站起来，走到床边，说道，“我亲爱的孩子，你不认识我了吗？”
保罗看着那人影儿的脸，心里想，这是他的父亲吗？他觉得那张脸已经改变了许多；当他注视它的时候，它似乎由于痛苦而颤动着；他还来不及伸出两只手捧住它，把它拉向身边时，那人影儿就迅速从小床边转开，走向门口。
保罗怀着一颗忐忑不安的心望着弗洛伦斯，但是他知道她将要说什么，就用脸堵住她的嘴唇。他下一次看到那人影儿坐在床的那一头时，他向它喊道：
“不要为我这么难过，亲爱的爸爸！我确实是很快乐的！”
他父亲很快走过来，没有在床边先停留一会儿，就立刻向他弯下身子；这时候保罗搂着他的脖子，把这些话很恳切地向他重复说了几次；在这之后，不论是白天还是黑夜，保罗就没有再看见他来到房间里来了；他经常喊道，“不要为我这样难过，我确实是很快乐的！”也就是从这时候起，他开始每天早上总要说，他好多了，请他们这样去告诉他的父亲。
那金黄色的水波在墙上荡漾了多少次，那乌黑乌黑的河流不顾他的不愿意，多少夜滚滚流向海洋，保罗从来没有计算过，也从来不想要知道。如果它们能够更亲切一些，或者他能感到它们对他更亲切一些的话，那么，它们对他就会一天天更加亲切了，而他对它们也就会一天天更为感激了。可是日子过去了多少，现在对这个温顺的孩子来说似乎并不重要。
有一天夜里，他一直在想他的母亲和挂在楼下客厅中的她的画像；他想到，她一定比他爸爸更爱弗洛伦斯；正因为这样，所以当她觉得自己快要死的时候，她曾经把弗洛伦斯拥抱在怀中，因为甚至是他，她的弟弟，一个这样深深地爱着她的人，也没有比这更为强烈的愿望了。沿着这条思路想下去，他觉得需要问一个问题：他是不是见过他的妈妈，因为他已记不起他们是不是曾经告诉过他“见过”还是“没有见过”；河水流得十分迅速，使他的头脑混乱不清。
“弗洛伊，我看见过妈妈没有？”
“没有，亲爱的，为什么你要问这个问题？”
“当我还是个婴儿的时候，我有没有看见过像妈妈那样仁慈的脸看着我，弗洛伊？”
他表示怀疑地问道，仿佛在他面前出现了一张脸孔的幻影。
“是的，你看见过，亲爱的！”
“谁的脸，弗洛伊？”
“你从前的奶妈的，你常常见到它。”
“我从前的奶妈现在在哪里？”保罗问道，“她是不是也死了？弗洛伊，是不是除了你，我们大家全都死了？”
房间里一阵慌乱，持续了片刻——也许还长久些，但似乎也不会长久多少——，然后一切又平静下来。弗洛伦斯脸上毫无血色，但却微笑着，用胳膊枕着他的头。她的胳膊颤抖得很厉害。
“请让我看看我从前的那位奶妈吧，弗洛伊！”
“她不在这里，亲爱的。她明天一定会来的。”
“谢谢你，弗洛伊！”
保罗讲完这些话，合上眼睛，睡着了。当他醒来的时候，太阳已经升高，白天明亮、温暖。他躺了一会儿，望着打开的窗子和在微风中飒飒作响、来回飘动的窗帘；然后他问道：
“弗洛伊，明天到了吗？她来了吗？”
似乎已经有人去找她了。也许是苏珊。保罗觉得，当他重新合上眼睛的时候，他听到她告诉他，她很快就会回来；但是他没有张开眼睛看。她信守她的诺言——也许她先前从没有离开过呢——可是接着，楼梯上传来了一阵脚步声，于是保罗醒来了——脑子和身体全都清醒了——，笔直地坐在床上。他现在看见他们都聚集在他的身旁。夜间有时出现的那一层灰蒙蒙的雾，已经在他们面前消失。他认识他们每一个人，并喊出他们每一个人的名字。
“这是谁呀？是我从前的奶妈吗？”孩子容光焕发，满脸笑容地望着走进来的一个人影儿问道。
是的，是的。不会有另一位陌生人见到他的时候会流出那些眼泪，会把他叫做她亲爱的孩子，她宝贝的孩子，她可怜的多病多难的孩子。不会有另外一位妇女会在他的床旁弯下身来，举起他消瘦的手，贴在她的嘴唇和胸脯上，像一个有权利爱抚他的人那样。不会有另外一位妇女会这样把所有在场的人全都忘记，而只记得他和弗洛伊两人，会对他们两人这样充满了亲切与怜悯的感情。
“弗洛伊，她的脸多么慈祥、多么善良呀！”保罗说道，“我真高兴，我又看到它了。别离开，老奶妈！待在这里吧。”
他所有的感官都敏锐起来了，他听到一个他熟悉的名字。
“是谁说‘沃尔特’的？”他环顾四周，问道，“有人说到沃尔特，他在这里吗？我非常想看到他。”
谁也没有直接回答他，但是他的父亲立刻对苏珊说，“那就喊他回来吧，让他上楼来！”在短暂的等待时间中，保罗怀着兴趣与惊异，微笑地看着他的奶妈，看到她没有忘记弗洛伊。不久，沃尔特被领进房间。他那坦诚的脸孔和态度，他那快活的眼睛，使他一直成为保罗所喜爱的人；保罗看到他时，伸出手说，“别了。”
“别了，我的孩子！”皮普钦太太急忙跑到他的床头，说道，“不是别了吧？”
保罗用沉思的脸色朝她望了一会儿，过去他在炉边的角落里就经常用这种脸色凝视着她的。“啊，是的，”他平静地说，“别了！亲爱的沃尔特，别了！”他把头转向沃尔特站着的地方，再次伸出手。“爸爸在哪里？”
这些话还没有说出口来，他就感觉到了他父亲贴住他脸颊时的呼吸。
“别忘记沃尔特，亲爱的爸爸，”他望着他的脸，低声说道，“别忘记沃尔特。我喜欢沃尔特！”那只虚弱的手在空中挥动着，仿佛它再一次向沃尔特喊道，“别了！”
“现在把我放下来躺着，”他说，“弗洛伊，走来挨近我，让我看着你！”
姐姐和弟弟伸出胳膊互相拥抱着。金黄色的阳光射进房间，射到他们紧紧抱在一起的身上。
“河水在绿色的河岸与芦苇中间流得多么快呀！弗洛伊！但是它离海很近了。我听到了海浪的声音！它们老是说着这样的话！”
接着，他告诉她，小船在河流上漂动，正在向他催眠。现在河岸多么葱翠，上面长着的花朵是多么鲜艳，芦苇是多么高！现在小船已经驶进海里了，但它仍旧继续平稳地向前滑行着。现在海岸出现在他前面。谁站在岸上？——他像平时祈祷时那样合着双手。他并没有把双手合拢。
“妈妈像你，弗洛伊。我从你的脸孔中认出了她！但请告诉他们，学校里楼梯上的那幅圣像没有充分表现出神圣的气概。我走的时候，他头上的灵光正为我照耀着道路！”
墙上金黄色的涟漪又重新在荡漾，房间里没有别的在动。那古老而又古老的先例啊！随着我们有了最初的衣服，这先例就已创立了，它将永不改变地延续下去，直到我们的族类走完了他们的旅程为止，到那时辽阔的苍穹就像一幅卷轴似地收卷了起来，那古老而又古老的先例——死亡啊！
啊，凡是看见的人都要感谢上帝，为了那更为古老的先例——永生！天使般的孩子们啊，当湍急的河流运载着我们漂向海洋去的时候，请别那样疏远冷漠地看着我们吧！
