第一百十四章

为期三周的助产医士的工作快收尾了。菲利普已经护理了六十二名产妇，累得精疲力竭。最后一天的夜里，将近十点光景，他才回到寓所。此时，他衷心希望这天夜里再也不要来人把他叫去出诊了。连续十天，他没睡过一个囫囵觉。他刚从外面看完病回来，那个病人的情况着实令人可怕。他是被一个身材魁梧、外表粗鲁、嗜酒成性的汉子叫去的，接着被带进了一个臭味呛鼻的院子里的一个房间。那是个小小的亭子间，一大半地盘被一张木头床占据了，床上遮掩着肮脏不堪的红色帐幔。头顶上方的大花板很低，菲利普举手就能触到。一缕孤凄惨淡的烛光是房间里唯一的亮光。菲利普借着如豆的烛光，朝天花板扫了一眼，只见上面爬满了密密麻麻的臭虫。那个病人是个中年模样、相貌粗俗的女人。她已经接连生了几胎死婴。这类事情菲利普也不是没听说过。事情是这样的：她的丈夫曾经在印度当过兵；过分拘谨的英国公众强加在印度头上的法案，使得种种令人烦恼的疾病无由控制地孳生蔓延，结果无辜的人们却身受其害。菲利普打着阿欠，脱去衣服，洗了个澡，接着把衣服在水上面抖落着，两眼注视着在水面上蠕动的小虫子。他正要上床睡觉，耳边传来了一阵叩门声，随即医院的传达一脚跨了进来，给他送来了一张卡片。

"你这个该死的，"菲利普骂骂咧咧地说。"你是我今晚最不愿见到的人。这卡片是谁送来的？"

"我想是产妇的丈夫送来的，先生。我去叫他等一下好吗？"

菲利普望了望卡片上的地址，发现那条街是自己熟悉的，于是抬头告诉传达，说他自个儿能找到。他连忙穿好衣服，五分钟以后，手里提着黑皮箱，出门来到了街上。此时，一个男人来到他的跟前，但因天黑，他看不清那人的模样。那人说他就是来送卡片的人。

"先生，我想我还是在这里等您的好，"那人说道，"我们那儿的街坊都很粗野，再说他们也不认得您呀。"

菲利普听罢哈哈一笑。

"谢谢你的好意。不过医生嘛，他们还是认得出来的。许多比维弗尔街更难对付的街道我都闯过来了。"

菲利普的话确实不假。他手里的那个黑皮包倒是一张通行证，可以使他安然无恙地穿过充满险情的小巷和走进臭气熏人的家院，而那些地方连警察都不敢贸然插脚。有那么一两次，菲利普走过时，身边有那么一小伙人用好奇的目光打量着他。他听到他们唧唧喳喳的议论声，最后听到其中一个人说：

"这是医院的医生。"

他打他们身边走过时，他们中间有一两个还同他打了个招呼："晚安，先生。"

"先生，您不介意的话，我们就走快一些，"此时，给他领路的那个男人说道，"他们告诉我说时间很紧迫。"

"那你为什么来得这么迟？"菲利普问了一句，同时脚下加快了步伐。

走过一盏路灯时，菲利普朝那人打量了一下。

"你看上去还很年轻哩，"他说。

"我才满十八岁，先生。"

那人模样儿长得挺俊，脸面光洁洁的，连一根汗毛也看不出，瞧上去还是个孩子。他个儿虽不高，身板倒挺敦实的。

"你这么年轻就结婚啦，"菲利普说。

"我们不得不这样。"

"你赚多少钱呀？"

"十六先令，先生。"

一周十六先令的工资，要养活妻子和孩子，是够紧的。他们夫妇俩住的房间表明他们穷得丁当响。房间面积中等，可看上去挺大的，因为里面几乎没有什么家具。地板上没有铺地毯。墙上也没有张贴画片，而大多数人家的墙壁上都挂着照片，或镶在廉价镜框里的从圣诞节出版的画报上剪下来的图画。眼下，病人就躺在一张最蹩脚的铁床上。菲利普惊讶地发现她相当年轻。

"我的老天爷，她至多不过十六岁吧，"菲利普对身边的妇人说。那个妇人是来"帮助病人彻底解脱痛苦"的。

病人的卡片上写明她已十八岁。不过，人们年轻的时候，总喜欢多报一两岁的。她也长得很漂亮，在他们这样的人中间还是罕见的，因为这部分人吃的食物营养不足，呼吸的空气浑浊不堪，居住的环境很不卫生，一般体质都是很差的。她容貌柔媚，长着一对大大的眼睛，一头浓密的青丝，精心梳理成女叫贩的发型。他们夫妇俩都神情十分紧张。

"你最好在门外等着。这样，我需要你时，你就能随叫随到。"菲利普吩咐那个男人说。

菲利普这下对他看得更清晰了，为他身上的一股孩子气而感到惊讶不已，觉得他不应该焦虑不安地守在门口等待着孩子的降生，而应该到街上去跟那些小孩子一起嬉戏玩耍。时间一个小时、一个小时地流逝过去，但直到凌晨两点孩子才生下来。看来一切都进行得很顺利。此时，做丈夫的被叫进屋去。看到他尴尬、羞怯地吻着他妻子的样儿，菲利普的心不觉为之一动。菲利普收拾起器具，临走之前，再次诊了诊产妇的脉息。

"哎哟！"他不由得脱口叫了一声。

菲利普连忙扫了产妇一眼，顿时意识到出事了。碰到危急的病症时，一定要请高级助产医师到场。他是个取得合格资格的医生，况且这个地段就归他管。菲利普匆匆写了个条子，把它交给那个男人，吩咐他快步到医院去。菲利普叮咛着他要快，因为他妻子的病情非常危急。那人立即动身走了。菲利普内心万分焦急地等待着，他知道产妇正在大量出血，生命危在旦夕。他担心她会在他的上司赶到之前死去，因此他想尽一切办法进行抢救。他内心殷切希望高级助产医师没有被叫到别的地方去出诊。此时此刻，每一分钟都显得特别的冗长。高级助产医师终于赶到了，在检查病人的当儿，他压低声音问了菲利普几个问题。菲利普从他的脸部表情看出病人的情况异常严重。这位高级助产医师名叫钱特勒，是个寡言少语的人，个子高高的，鼻子长长的，瘦瘦的脸上布满了深深的皱纹，这表明他年纪不小了。他连连摇着头。

"这病打一开始就是不治之症。她丈夫在哪？"

"我叫他在楼梯上等着，"菲利普答道。

"去把他叫进来吧。"

菲利普拉开门，叫那人进屋来。那人坐在黑洞洞的楼梯的第一级台阶上。这楼梯连着下一层楼。他走到铁床跟前。

"怎么啦？"他问道。

"嗯，你妻子体内在出血，没办法止住。"高级助产医师停顿了一下，因为他觉得很难说出这叫人伤心的事儿，但他抑制住自己的情感，强迫自己的声音变得粗鲁起来。"她快要死了。"

那个人一声不响、纹丝不动地站在那儿，双眼凝视着他妻子。此时，他妻子仰面躺在床上，脸色苍白，昏迷不醒。接着照料产妇的看护插进来说：

"这两位先生已经尽了最大努力，哈利，打一开始我就预感到事情不妙。"

"住嘴！"钱特勒喝道。

窗户上没有窗帘，户外夜色似乎渐渐变淡了。此时虽说尚未破晓，不过也快了。钱特勒倾全力想方设法维持那个产妇的生命，但是生命还是在悄悄地从她身上离去，没隔多久，她突然死了。她那个孩子相的丈夫伫立在蹩脚的铁床的一端，双手扶着床架。他不言不语，脸色惨白。钱特勒不安地瞥了他一两眼，担心他会晕倒。此时，哈利的嘴唇刷白。那位看护在一旁抽抽噎噎地哭着，但他没有理会她。他双眼充满了迷惘疑惑的神色，死死地盯视着他的妻子。他使人想起了一条狗在无缘无故地遭到一顿鞭打之后的神情。钱特勒和菲利普收拾器具的当儿，钱特勒转过身去，对那人说：

"你最好躺一会儿。我想你够累的了。"

"这儿没有我睡觉的地方，先生，"那人回答说。他话音里带着一种谦卑的凋子，令人听了不觉可怜。

"在这幢房子里，你连一个可以让你临时睡一会儿觉的人都不认识吗？"

"在这里，我没一个熟人，先生。"

"他们俩上星期才搬来这儿住，"那个看护说，"还没来得及认识人呢。"

钱特勒颇为尴尬地顿了顿，然后走到那人面前，说：

"对这件事，我感到非常难过。"

说罢，他伸出自己的手。哈利的目光本能地扫了一下自己的手，看看是否干净，然后才握住钱特勒伸过来的手。

"谢谢您，先生。"

菲利普也同他握了握手。钱特勒吩咐看护早晨上医院去领死亡证明书。他们俩离开了那幢房子，默默地向前走去。

"刚开始的时候，见了这种事情心里有点儿难受，是不？"钱特勒终于开口问道。

"是有点儿难受，"菲利普回答说。

"你愿意的话，我去告诉传达，让他今夜不要再来叫你出诊了。"

"到了上午八点，我的事反正就要结束了。"

"你一共护理了多少产妇？"

"六十三名。"

"好。那你就可以领到合格证书了。"

他们俩来到圣路加医院门口。钱特勒拐进去看看是否有人等他，菲利普径自朝前走去。前一天白大天气懊热，即使眼下是凌晨时分，空气还暖烘烘的。街上一片阒寂。菲利普一点也不想睡觉。他的工作反正已经结束，不用那么着急回去休息。他信步向前逛去，黎明前的安静和清新的空气使得他顿觉心舒神爽。他想一直朝前走去，立在桥上观看河上日出的景致。拐角处的一名警察问他早安。他根据那只黑皮箱就知道菲利普是何许人了。

"深更半夜还出诊呀，先生，"那位警察寒暄说。

菲利普朝他点了点头便自顾朝前走去。他身子倚靠在栏杆上，两眼凝望着晨空。此时此刻，这座大城市像是座死城一般。天空中无一丝云彩，但由于黎明即将来临，星光也渐渐变得暗淡。河面上飘浮着一层恬淡的薄雾，北岸的一幢幢高楼大厦宛如仙岛上的宫殿。一队驳船停泊在中流。周围的一切都蒙上一层神秘的紫罗兰色。不知怎么的，此情此景乱人心思，且使人肃然敬畏。但瞬息间，一切都渐渐变得苍白、灰蒙和阴冷。接着一轮红日跃进水面，一束金光刺破天幕，把它染成了彩虹色。那死去的姑娘，脸上白惨惨的无一点血色，直挺挺地躺在床上，以及那男孩像丧家犬似的站在床头的情景，始终浮现在菲利普的眼前，他怎么也不能把它们从自己眼前抹去。那个肮脏房间里空无一物的景象，使得悲哀更加深沉，更加撕肝裂胆。那姑娘风华正茂时，突然一个愚蠢的机会使她夭亡了，这简直太残忍了。但是，正当他这样自言自语的时候，菲利普转而想起了是一种什么样的命运在等待着她呢，无非是生儿育女，同贫穷苦斗，结果青春的美容为艰苦的劳作所毁，最后丧失殆尽，成了个邋里邋遢的半老徐娘--此时，菲利普仿佛看到那张柔媚的脸渐见瘦削、苍白，那头秀发变得稀疏，那双纤纤素手，因干活而变得粗糙、难看，最后变得活像老兽的爪子--接着，她男人一过年富力强的时期，工作难找，工钱最低，逼得硬着头皮干，最后必然落得两手空空、家徒壁立的境地；她或许很能干，克勤克俭，但这也无济于事，到头来，她不是进贫民所了其残生，就是靠其子女的剩菜残羹苦度光阴。既然生活给予她的东西这么少，谁又会因她的死去而为她惋惜呢？

但是怜悯毫无意义。菲利普认为这些人所需要的并不是怜悯。他们对自己也不怜悯。他们接受他们的命运，认为这是非常自然的事情。要不然，喔，老天啊！要不然，他们就会越过泰晤士河，蜂拥来到坚固、雄伟的高楼大厦林立的北岸；他们就会到处放火，到处抢劫。此时，天亮了，光线柔和、惨淡，薄雾轻盈，把一切都罩上一层淡雅的色彩。那泰晤士河面波光粼粼，时而泛青灰色，时而呈玫瑰红色，时而又是碧绿色：青灰色有如珍珠母的光泽；绿得好似一朵黄玫瑰花的花蕊。萨里·赛德公司的码头和仓库挤在一起，虽杂乱无章，倒也可看。面对着这幅幽雅秀丽的景色，菲利普的心剧烈地跳荡。他完全为世界的美所陶醉。除此之外，一切都显得微不足道。

the three weeks which the appointment lasted drew to an end. philip had attended sixty-two cases, and he was tired out. when he came home about ten o’clock on his last night he hoped with all his heart that he would not be called out again. he had not had a whole night’s rest for ten days. the case which he had just come from was horrible. he had been fetched by a huge, burly man, the worse for liquor, and taken to a room in an evil-smelling court, which was filthier than any he had seen: it was a tiny attic; most of the space was taken up by a wooden bed, with a canopy of dirty red hangings, and the ceiling was so low that philip could touch it with the tips of his fingers; with the solitary candle that afforded what light there was he went over it, frizzling up the bugs that crawled upon it. the woman was a blowsy creature of middle age, who had had a long succession of still-born children. it was a story that philip was not unaccustomed to: the husband had been a soldier in india; the legislation forced upon that country by the prudery of the english public had given a free run to the most distressing of all diseases; the innocent suffered. yawning, philip undressed and took a bath, then shook his clothes over the water and watched the animals that fell out wriggling. he was just going to get into bed when there was a knock at the door, and the hospital porter brought him a card.

‘curse you,’ said philip. ‘you’re the last person i wanted to see tonight. who’s brought it?’

‘i think it’s the ‘usband, sir. shall i tell him to wait?’

philip looked at the address, saw that the street was familiar to him, and told the porter that he would find his own way. he dressed himself and in five minutes, with his black bag in his hand, stepped into the street. a man, whom he could not see in the darkness, came up to him, and said he was the husband.

‘i thought i’d better wait, sir,’ he said. ‘it’s a pretty rough neighbour’ood, and them not knowing who you was.’

philip laughed.

‘bless your heart, they all know the doctor, i’ve been in some damned sight rougher places than waver street.’

it was quite true. the black bag was a passport through wretched alleys and down foul-smelling courts into which a policeman was not ready to venture by himself. once or twice a little group of men had looked at philip curiously as he passed; he heard a mutter of observations and then one say:

‘it’s the ‘orspital doctor.’

as he went by one or two of them said: ‘good-night, sir.’

‘we shall ‘ave to step out if you don’t mind, sir,’ said the man who accompanied him now. ‘they told me there was no time to lose.’

‘why did you leave it so late?’ asked philip, as he quickened his pace.

he glanced at the fellow as they passed a lamp-post.

‘you look awfully young,’ he said.

‘i’m turned eighteen, sir.’

he was fair, and he had not a hair on his face, he looked no more than a boy; he was short, but thick set.

‘you’re young to be married,’ said philip.

‘we ‘ad to.’

‘how much d’you earn?’

‘sixteen, sir.’

sixteen shillings a week was not much to keep a wife and child on. the room the couple lived in showed that their poverty was extreme. it was a fair size, but it looked quite large, since there was hardly any furniture in it; there was no carpet on the floor; there were no pictures on the walls; and most rooms had something, photographs or supplements in cheap frames from the christmas numbers of the illustrated papers. the patient lay on a little iron bed of the cheapest sort. it startled philip to see how young she was.

‘by jove, she can’t be more than sixteen,’ he said to the woman who had come in to ‘see her through.’

she had given her age as eighteen on the card, but when they were very young they often put on a year or two. also she was pretty, which was rare in those classes in which the constitution has been undermined by bad food, bad air, and unhealthy occupations; she had delicate features and large blue eyes, and a mass of dark hair done in the elaborate fashion of the coster girl. she and her husband were very nervous.

‘you’d better wait outside, so as to be at hand if i want you,’ philip said to him.

now that he saw him better philip was surprised again at his boyish air: you felt that he should be larking in the street with the other lads instead of waiting anxiously for the birth of a child. the hours passed, and it was not till nearly two that the baby was born. everything seemed to be going satisfactorily; the husband was called in, and it touched philip to see the awkward, shy way in which he kissed his wife; philip packed up his things. before going he felt once more his patient’s pulse.

‘hulloa!’ he said.

he looked at her quickly: something had happened. in cases of emergency the s. o. c.—senior obstetric clerk—had to be sent for; he was a qualified man, and the ‘district’ was in his charge. philip scribbled a note, and giving it to the husband, told him to run with it to the hospital; he bade him hurry, for his wife was in a dangerous state. the man set off. philip waited anxiously; he knew the woman was bleeding to death; he was afraid she would die before his chief arrived; he took what steps he could. he hoped fervently that the s. o. c. would not have been called elsewhere. the minutes were interminable. he came at last, and, while he examined the patient, in a low voice asked philip questions. philip saw by his face that he thought the case very grave. his name was chandler. he was a tall man of few words, with a long nose and a thin face much lined for his age. he shook his head.

‘it was hopeless from the beginning. where’s the husband?’

‘i told him to wait on the stairs,’ said philip.

‘you’d better bring him in.’

philip opened the door and called him. he was sitting in the dark on the first step of the flight that led to the next floor. he came up to the bed.

‘what’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘why, there’s internal bleeding. it’s impossible to stop it.’ the s. o. c. hesitated a moment, and because it was a painful thing to say he forced his voice to become brusque. ‘she’s dying.’

the man did not say a word; he stopped quite still, looking at his wife, who lay, pale and unconscious, on the bed. it was the midwife who spoke.

‘the gentlemen ‘ave done all they could, ‘arry,’ she said. ‘i saw what was comin’ from the first.’

‘shut up,’ said chandler.

there were no curtains on the windows, and gradually the night seemed to lighten; it was not yet the dawn, but the dawn was at hand. chandler was keeping the woman alive by all the means in his power, but life was slipping away from her, and suddenly she died. the boy who was her husband stood at the end of the cheap iron bed with his hands resting on the rail; he did not speak; but he looked very pale and once or twice chandler gave him an uneasy glance, thinking he was going to faint: his lips were gray. the midwife sobbed noisily, but he took no notice of her. his eyes were fixed upon his wife, and in them was an utter bewilderment. he reminded you of a dog whipped for something he did not know was wrong. when chandler and philip had gathered together their things chandler turned to the husband.

‘you’d better lie down for a bit. i expect you’re about done up.’

‘there’s nowhere for me to lie down, sir,’ he answered, and there was in his voice a humbleness which was very distressing.

‘don’t you know anyone in the house who’ll give you a shakedown?’

‘no, sir.’

‘they only moved in last week,’ said the midwife. ‘they don’t know nobody yet.’

chandler hesitated a moment awkwardly, then he went up to the man and said:

‘i’m very sorry this has happened.’

he held out his hand and the man, with an instinctive glance at his own to see if it was clean, shook it.

‘thank you, sir.’

philip shook hands with him too. chandler told the midwife to come and fetch the certificate in the morning. they left the house and walked along together in silence.

‘it upsets one a bit at first, doesn’t it?’ said chandler at last.

‘a bit,’ answered philip.

‘if you like i’ll tell the porter not to bring you any more calls tonight.’

‘i’m off duty at eight in the morning in any case.’

‘how many cases have you had?’

‘sixty-three.’

‘good. you’ll get your certificate then.’

they arrived at the hospital, and the s. o. c. went in to see if anyone wanted him. philip walked on. it had been very hot all the day before, and even now in the early morning there was a balminess in the air. the street was very still. philip did not feel inclined to go to bed. it was the end of his work and he need not hurry. he strolled along, glad of the fresh air and the silence; he thought that he would go on to the bridge and look at day break on the river. a policeman at the corner bade him good-morning. he knew who philip was from his bag.

‘out late tonight, sir,’ he said.

philip nodded and passed. he leaned against the parapet and looked towards the morning. at that hour the great city was like a city of the dead. the sky was cloudless, but the stars were dim at the approach of day; there was a light mist on the river, and the great buildings on the north side were like palaces in an enchanted island. a group of barges was moored in midstream. it was all of an unearthly violet, troubling somehow and awe-inspiring; but quickly everything grew pale, and cold, and gray. then the sun rose, a ray of yellow gold stole across the sky, and the sky was iridescent. philip could not get out of his eyes the dead girl lying on the bed, wan and white, and the boy who stood at the end of it like a stricken beast. the bareness of the squalid room made the pain of it more poignant. it was cruel that a stupid chance should have cut off her life when she was just entering upon it; but in the very moment of saying this to himself, philip thought of the life which had been in store for her, the bearing of children, the dreary fight with poverty, the youth broken by toil and deprivation into a slatternly middle age—he saw the pretty face grow thin and white, the hair grow scanty, the pretty hands, worn down brutally by work, become like the claws of an old animal—then, when the man was past his prime, the difficulty of getting jobs, the small wages he had to take; and the inevitable, abject penury of the end: she might be energetic, thrifty, industrious, it would not have saved her; in the end was the workhouse or subsistence on the charity of her children. who could pity her because she had died when life offered so little?

but pity was inane. philip felt it was not that which these people needed. they did not pity themselves. they accepted their fate. it was the natural order of things. otherwise, good heavens! otherwise they would swarm over the river in their multitude to the side where those great buildings were, secure and stately. and they would pillage, burn, and sack. but the day, tender and pale, had broken now, and the mist was tenuous; it bathed everything in a soft radiance; and the thames was gray, rosy, and green; gray like mother-of-pearl and green like the heart of a yellow rose. the wharfs and store-houses of the surrey side were massed in disorderly loveliness. the scene was so exquisite that philip’s heart beat passionately. he was overwhelmed by the beauty of the world. beside that nothing seemed to matter.