He sighed.I feel very well here.However,we'll arrange something.Quite soon.' I will not stay at Coulibri any longer,'my mother said.'It is not safe.It is not safe for Pierre.' Aunt Cora nodded As it was late I ate with them instead of by myself as usual.Myra,one of the new servants, was standing by the sideboard,waiting to change the plates.We ate English food now,beef and mutton,pies and puddings. I was glad to be like an English girl but I missed the taste of Christophine's cooking. My stepfather talked about a plan to import labourers-coolies he called them-from the East Indies.When Myra had gone out Aunt Cora said,'I shouldn't discuss that if I were you.Myra is listening.' But the people here won't work.They don't want to work.Look at this place-it's enough to break your heart.' Hearts have been broken,'she said.Be sure of that.I suppose you all know what you are doing.' ‘Do you mean to say-’ 'I said nothing,except that it would be wiser not to tell that woman your plans-necessary and merciful no doubt.I don't trust her.' 'Live here most of your life and know nothing about the people.It's astonishing.They are children-they wouldn't hurt a fly.' Unhappily children do hurt flies,'said Aunt Cora. Myra came in again looking mournful as she always did though she smiled when she talked about hell.Everyone went to hell,she told me,you had to belong to her sect to be saved and even then-just as well not to be sure.She had thin arms and big hands and feet and the handkerchief she wore round her head was always white.Never striped or a gay colour. So I looked away from her at my favourite picture,'The Miller's Daughter',a lovely English girl with brown curls and blue eyes and a dress slipping off her shoulders.Then I looked across the white tablecloth and the vase of yellow roses at Mr Mason,so sure of himself,so without a doubt English.And at my mother,so without a doubt not English,but no white nigger either.Not my mother.Never had been.Never could be.Yes,she would have died,I thought,if she had not met him.And for the first time I was grateful and liked him.There are more ways than one of being happy,better perhaps to be peaceful and contented and protected,as I feel now, peaceful for year and long years,and afterwards I may be saved whatever Myra says.(When I asked Christophine what happened when you died,she said,'You want to know too much.')I remembered to kiss my stepfather goodnight.Once Aunt Cora had told me,He's very hurt because you never kiss him. He does not look hurt,'I argued.Great mistake to go by looks.'she said,'one way or the other.' 第11页共88页He sighed. ‘I feel very well here. However, we’ll arrange something. Quite soon.’ ‘I will not stay at Coulibri any longer,’ my mother said. ‘It is not safe. It is not safe for Pierre.’ Aunt Cora nodded. As it was late I ate with them instead of by myself as usual. Myra, one of the new servants, was standing by the sideboard, waiting to change the plates. We ate English food now, beef and mutton, pies and puddings. I was glad to be like an English girl but I missed the taste of Christophine’s cooking. My stepfather talked about a plan to import labourers – coolies he called them – from the East Indies. When Myra had gone out Aunt Cora said, ‘I shouldn’t discuss that if I were you. Myra is listening.’ ‘But the people here won’t work. They don’t want to work. Look at this place – it’s enough to break your heart.’ ‘Hearts have been broken,’ she said. ‘Be sure of that. I suppose you all know what you are doing.’ ‘Do you mean to say – ’ ‘I said nothing, except that it would be wiser not to tell that woman your plans – necessary and merciful no doubt. I don’t trust her.’ ‘Live here most of your life and know nothing about the people. It’s astonishing. They are children – they wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ ‘Unhappily children do hurt flies,’ said Aunt Cora. Myra came in again looking mournful as she always did though she smiled when she talked about hell. Everyone went to hell, she told me, you had to belong to her sect to be saved and even then – just as well not to be sure. She had thin arms and big hands and feet and the handkerchief she wore round her head was always white. Never striped or a gay colour. So I looked away from her at my favourite picture, ‘The Miller’s Daughter’, a lovely English girl with brown curls and blue eyes and a dress slipping off her shoulders. Then I looked across the white tablecloth and the vase of yellow roses at Mr Mason, so sure of himself, so without a doubt English. And at my mother, so without a doubt not English, but no white nigger either. Not my mother. Never had been. Never could be. Yes, she would have died, I thought, if she had not met him. And for the first time I was grateful and liked him. There are more ways than one of being happy, better perhaps to be peaceful and contented and protected, as I feel now, peaceful for year and long years, and afterwards I may be saved whatever Myra says. (When I asked Christophine what happened when you died, she said, ‘You want to know too much.’) I remembered to kiss my stepfather goodnight. Once Aunt Cora had told me, ‘He’s very hurt because you never kiss him.’ ‘He does not look hurt,’ I argued. ‘Great mistake to go by looks.’ she said, ‘one way or the other.’ 第11 页共88页