Odour Of Chrysanthemums.docx

1、Odour Of ChrysanthemumsOdour Of ChrysanthemumsAuthor: D. H. LawrenceThe small locomotive engine, Number 4, came clanking, stumbling down from Selston - with seven full waggons. It appeared round the corner with loud threats of speed, but the colt that it startled from among the gorse, which still fl

2、ickered indistinctly in the raw afternoon, outdistanced it at a canter. A woman, walking up the railway line to Underwood, drew back into the hedge, held her basket aside, and watched the footplate of the engine advancing. The trucks thumped heavily past, one by one, with slow inevitable movement, a

3、s she stood insignificantly trapped between the jolting black waggons and the hedge; then they curved away towards the coppice where the withered oak leaves dropped noiselessly, while the birds, pulling at the scarlet hips beside the track, made off into the dusk that had already crept into the spin

4、ney. In the open, the smoke from the engine sank and cleaved to the rough grass. The fields were dreary and forsaken, and in the marshy strip that led to the whimsey, a reedy pit-pond, the fowls had already abandoned their run among the alders, to roost in the tarred fowl-house. The pit-bank loomed

5、up beyond the pond, flames like red sores licking its ashy sides, in the afternoons stagnant light. Just beyond rose the tapering chimneys and the clumsy black head-stocks of Brinsley Colliery. The two wheels were spinning fast up against the sky, and the winding-engine rapped out its little spasms.

6、 The miners were being turned up.The engine whistled as it came into the wide bay of railway lines beside the colliery, where rows of trucks stood in harbour.Miners, single, trailing and in groups, passed like shadows diverging home. At the edge of the ribbed level of sidings squat a low cottage, th

7、ree steps down from the cinder track. A large bony vine clutched at the house, as if to claw down the tiled roof. Round the bricked yard grew a few wintry primroses. Beyond, the long garden sloped down to a bush-covered brook course. There were some twiggy apple trees, winter-crack trees, and ragged

8、 cabbages. Beside the path hung dishevelled pink chrysanthemums, like pink cloths hung on bushes. A woman came stooping out of the felt- covered fowl-house, half-way down the garden. She closed and padlocked the door, then drew herself erect, having brushed some bits from her white apron.She was a t

9、ill woman of imperious mien, handsome, with definite black eyebrows. Her smooth black hair was parted exactly. For a few moments she stood steadily watching the miners as they passed along the railway: then she turned towards the brook course. Her face was calm and set, her mouth was closed with dis

10、illusionment. After a moment she called:John! There was no answer. She waited, and then said distinctly:Where are you?Here! replied a childs sulky voice from among the bushes. The woman looked piercingly through the dusk.Are you at that brook? she asked sternly.For answer the child showed himself be

11、fore the raspberry-canes that rose like whips. He was a small, sturdy boy of five. He stood quite still, defiantly.Oh! said the mother, conciliated. I thought you were down at that wet brook - and you remember what I told you - The boy did not move or answer.Come, come on in, she said more gently, i

12、ts getting dark. Theres your grandfathers engine coming down the line!The lad advanced slowly, with resentful, taciturn movement. He was dressed in trousers and waistcoat of cloth that was too thick and hard for the size of the garments. They were evidently cut down from a mans clothes.As they went

13、slowly towards the house he tore at the ragged wisps of chrysanthemums and dropped the petals in handfuls along the path.Dont do that - it does look nasty, said his mother. He refrained, and she, suddenly pitiful, broke off a twig with three or four wan flowers and held them against her face. When m

14、other and son reached the yard her hand hesitated, and instead of laying the flower aside, she pushed it in her apron-band. The mother and son stood at the foot of the three steps looking across the bay of lines at the passing home of the miners. The trundle of the small train was imminent. Suddenly

15、 the engine loomed past the house and came to a stop opposite the gate.The engine-driver, a short man with round grey beard, leaned out of the cab high above the woman.Have you got a cup of tea? he said in a cheery, hearty fashion.It was her father. She went in, saying she would mash. Directly, she

16、returned.I didnt come to see you on Sunday, began the little grey-bearded man.I didnt expect you, said his daughter.The engine-driver winced; then, reassuming his cheery, airy manner, he said:Oh, have you heard then? Well, and what do you think - ?I think it is soon enough, she replied.At her brief

17、censure the little man made an impatient gesture, and said coaxingly, yet with dangerous coldness:Well, whats a man to do? Its no sort of life for a man of my years, to sit at my own hearth like a stranger. And if Im going to marry again it may as well be soon as late - what does it matter to anybod

18、y?The woman did not reply, but turned and went into the house. The man in the engine-cab stood assertive, till she returned with a cup of tea and a piece of bread and butter on a plate. She went up the steps and stood near the footplate of the hissing engine.You neednt a brought me bread an butter,

19、said her father. But a cup of tea - he sipped appreciatively - its very nice. He sipped for a moment or two, then: I hear as Walters got another bout on, he said.When hasnt he? said the woman bitterly.I heered tell of him in the Lord Nelson braggin as he was going to spend that b - - afore he went:

20、half a sovereign that was.When? asked the woman.A Satday night - I know thats true.Very likely, she laughed bitterly. He gives me twenty-three shillings.Aye, its a nice thing, when a man can do nothing with his money but make a beast of himself! said the grey-whiskered man. The woman turned her head

21、 away. Her father swallowed the last of his tea and handed her the cup.Aye, he sighed, wiping his mouth. Its a settler, it is - He put his hand on the lever. The little engine strained and groaned, and the train rumbled towards the crossing. The woman again looked across the metals. Darkness was set

22、tling over the spaces of the railway and trucks: the miners, in grey sombre groups, were still passing home. The winding-engine pulsed hurriedly, with brief pauses. Elizabeth Bates looked at the dreary flow of men, then she went indoors. Her husband did not come.The kitchen was small and full of fir

23、elight; red coals piled glowing up the chimney mouth. All the life of the room seemed in the white, warm hearth and the steel fender reflecting the red fire. The cloth was laid for tea; cups glinted in the shadows. At the back, where the lowest stairs protruded into the room, the boy sat struggling

24、with a knife and a piece of whitewood. He was almost hidden in the shadow. It was half-past four. They had but to await the fathers coming to begin tea. As the mother watched her sons sullen little struggle with the wood, she saw herself in his silence and pertinacity; she saw the father in her chil

25、ds indifference to all but himself. She seemed to be occupied by her husband. He had probably gone past his home, slunk past his own door, to drink before he came in, while his dinner spoiled and wasted in waiting. She glanced at the clock, then took the potatoes to strain them in the yard. The gard

26、en and fields beyond the brook were closed in uncertain darkness. When she rose with the saucepan, leaving the drain steaming into the night behind her, she saw the yellow lamps were lit along the high road that went up the hill away beyond the space of the railway lines and the field.Then again she

27、 watched the men trooping home, fewer now and fewer.Indoors the fire was sinking and the room was dark red. The woman put her saucepan on the hob, and set a batter pudding near the mouth of the oven. Then she stood unmoving. Directly, gratefully, came quick young steps to the door. Someone hung on t

28、he latch a moment, then a little girl entered and began pulling off her outdoor things, dragging a mass of curls, just ripening from gold to brown, over her eyes with her hat.Her mother chid her for coming late from school, and said she would have to keep her at home the dark winter days.Why, mother

29、, its hardly a bit dark yet. The lamps not lighted, and my fathers not home.No, he isnt. But its a quarter to five! Did you see anything of him?The child became serious. She looked at her mother with large, wistful blue eyes.No, mother, Ive never seen him. Why? Has he come up an gone past, to Old Br

30、insley? He hasnt, mother, cos I never saw him.Hed watch that, said the mother bitterly, hed take care as you didnt see him. But you may depend upon it, hes seated in the Prince o Wales. He wouldnt be this late.The girl looked at her mother piteously.Lets have our teas, mother, should we? said she.Th

31、e mother called John to table. She opened the door once more and looked out across the darkness of the lines. All was deserted: she could not hear the winding-engines.Perhaps, she said to herself, hes stopped to get some ripping done.They sat down to tea. John, at the end of the table near the door,

32、 was almost lost in the darkness. Their faces were hidden from each other. The girl crouched against the fender slowly moving a thick piece of bread before the fire. The lad, his face a dusky mark on the shadow, sat watching her who was transfigured in the red glow.I do think its beautiful to look in the fire, said the child.Do you? said her mother. Why?Its so red, and full of little caves - and it feels so nice, and you can fair smell it.Itll want mend