The Rocking-Horse Winner 原文+译文

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The Rocking-Horse Winner

There was a woman who was beautiful, who started with all the advantages, yet she had no luck. She married for love, and the love turned to dust. She had bonny children, yet she felt they had been thrust upon her, and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if they were finding fault with her. And hurriedly she felt she must cover up some fault in herself. Yet what it was that she must cover up she never knew. Nevertheless, when her children were present, she always felt the center of her heart go hard. This troubled her, and in her manner she was all the more gentle and anxious for her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she herself knew that at the center of her heart was a hard little place that could not feel love, no, not for anybody. Everybody else said of her: "She is such a good mother. She adores her children." Only she herself, and her children themselves, knew it was not so. They read it in each other's eyes.

There were a boy and two little girls. They lived in a pleasant house, with a garden, and they had discreet servants, and felt themselves superior to anyone in the neighborhood.

Although they lived in style , they felt always an anxiety in the house. There was never enough money. The mother had a small income, and the father had a small income, but not nearly enough for the social position which they had to keep up. The father went in to town to some office. But though he had good prospects, these prospects never materialized. There was always the grinding sense of the shortage of money, though the style was always kept up.

At last the mother said: "I will see if I can't make something." But she did not know where to begin. She racked her brains, and tried this thing and the other, but could not find anything successful. The failure made deep lines come into her face. Her children were growing up, they would have to go to school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive in his tastes, seemed as if he never would be able to do anything worth doing. And the mother, who had a great belief in herself, did not succeed any better, and her tastes were just as expensive.

And so the house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money! There must be more money! The children could hear it all the time, though nobody said it aloud. They heard it at Christmas, when the expensive and splendid toys filled the nursery. Behind the shining modern rocking-horse, behind the smart doll's house, a voice would start whispering: "There must be more money! There must be more money!" And the children would stop playing, to listen for a moment. They would look into each other's eyes, to see if they had all heard. And each one saw in the eyes of the other two that they too had heard. "There must be more money! There must be more money!"

It came whispering from the springs of the still-swaying rocking-horse, and even the horse, bending his wooden, champing head, heard it. The big doll, sitting so pink and smirking in her new pram, could hear it quite plainly, and seemed to be smirking all the more self-consciously because of it. The foolish puppy, too, that took the place of the teddy-bear, he was looking so extraordinarily foolish for no

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other reason but that he heard the secret whisper all over the house: "There must be more money!"

Yet nobody ever said it aloud. The whisper was everywhere, and therefore no one spoke it. Just as no one ever says: "We are breathing!" in spite of the fact that breath is coming and going all the time.

"Mother," said the boy Paul one day, "why don't we keep a car of our own? Why do we always use uncle's, or else a taxi?"

"Because we're the poor members of the family," said the mother.

"But why are we, mother?"

"Well--I suppose," she said slowly and bitterly, "it's because your father has no luck."

The boy was silent for some time.

"Is luck money, mother?" he asked rather timidly.

"No, Paul. Not quite. It's what causes you to have money."

"Oh!" said Paul vaguely. "I thought when Uncle Oscar said filthy lucker, it meant money."

"Filthy lucre does mean money," said the mother. "But it's lucre, not luck." "Oh!" said Paul vaguely. "Then what is luck, mother?"

"It's what causes you to have money. If you're lucky you have money. That's why it's better to be born lucky than rich. If you're rich, you may lose your money. But if you're lucky, you will always get more money."

"Oh! Will you? And is father not lucky?"

"Very unlucky, I should say," she said bitterly.

The boy watched her with unsure eyes.

"Why?" he asked.

"I don't know. Nobody ever know why one person is lucky and another unlucky." "Don't they? Nobody at all? Does nobody know?"

"Perhaps God. But He never tells."

"He ought to, then. And aren't you lucky either, mother?"

"I can't be, if I married an unlucky husband."

"But by yourself, aren't you?"

"I used to think I was, before I married. Now I think I am very unlucky indeed." "Why?"

"Well--never mind! Perhaps I'm not really," she said.

The child looked at her, to see if she meant it. But he saw, by the lines of her mouth, that she was only trying to hide something from him.

"Well, anyhow," he said stoutly, "I'm a lucky person."

"Why?" said his mother, with a sudden laugh.

He stared at her. He didn't even know why he had said it.

"God told me," he asserted,brazening it out.

"I hope He did, dear!" she said, again with a laugh, but rather bitter.

"He did, mother!"

"Excellent!" said the mother, using one of her husband's exclamations.

The boy saw she did not believe him; or, rather, that she paid no attention to his

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assertion. This angered him somewhat, and made him want to compel her attention. He went off by himself, vaguely, in a childish way, seeking for the clue to "luck." Absorbed, taking no heed of other people, he went about with a sort of stealth, seeking inwardly for luck. He wanted luck, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking-horse, charging madly into space, with a frenzy that made the little girls peer at him

uneasily. Wildly the horse careered the waving dark hair of the boy tossed, his eyes had a strange glare in them. The little girls dared not speak to him.

When he had ridden to the end of his made little journey, he climbed down and stood in front of his rocking-horse, staring fixedly into its lowered face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was wide and glassy-bright.

"Now!" he would silently command the snorting steed. "Now, take me to where there is luck! Now take me!"

And he would slash the horse on the neck with the little whip he had asked Uncle Oscar for. He knew the horse could take him to where there was luck, if only he forced it. So he would mount again, and start on his furious ride, hoping at last to get there. He knew he could get there.

"You'll break your horse, Paul!" said the nurse.

"He's always riding like that! I wish he'd leave off !" said his elder sister Joan. But he only glared down on them in silence. Nurse gave him up. She could make nothing of him . Anyhow he was growing beyond her.

One day his mother and his Uncle Oscar came in when he was on one of his furious rides. He did not speak to them.

"Hallo, you young jockey ! Riding a winner?" said his uncle.

"Aren't you growing too big for a rocking-horse? You're not a very little boy any longer, you know," said his mother.

But Paul only gave a blue glare from his big, rather close-set eyes. He would speak to nobody when he was in full tilt . His mother watched him with an anxious expression on her face.

At last he suddenly stopped forcing his horse into the mechanical gallop, and slid down.

"Well, I got there!" he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still flaring, and his sturdy long legs straddling apart.

"Where did you get to?" asked his mother.

"Where I wanted to go," he flared back at her.

"That's right, son!" said Uncle Oscar. "Don't you stop till you get there. What's the horse's name?"

"He doesn't have a name," said the boy.

"Gets on without all right?" asked the uncle.

"Well, he has different names. He was called Sansovino last week."

"Sansovino, eh? Won the Ascot . How did you know his name?"

"He always talks about horse-races with Bassett," said Joan.

The uncle was delighted to find that his small nephew was posted with all the racing news. Bassett, the young gardener, who had been wounded in the left foot in the

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war and had got his present job through Oscar Cresswell whose batman he had been was a perfect blade of the "turf". He lived in the racing events, and the small boy lived with him.

Oscar Cresswell got it all from Bassett.

"Master Paul comes and asks me, so I can't do more than tell him, sir," said Bassett, his face terribly serious, as if he were speaking of religious matters.

"And does he ever put anything on a horse he fancies?"

"Well--I don't want to give him away--he's a young sport, a fine sport, sir. Would you mind asking him himself? He sort of takes a pleasure in it, and perhaps he'd feel I was giving him away, sir, if you don't mind."

Bassett was serious as a church.

The uncle went back to his nephew and took him off for a ride in the car. "Say, Paul, old man, do you ever put anything on a horse ?" the uncle asked. The boy watched the handsome man closely.

"Why, do you think I oughtn't to?" he parried.

"Not a bit of it. I thought perhaps you might give me a tip for the Lincoln."

The car sped on into the country, going down to Uncle Oscar's place in Hampshire. "Honor bright?" said the nephew.

"Honor bright, son!" said the uncle.

"Well, then, Daffodil."

"Daffodil! I doubt it, sonny. What about Mirza?"

"I only know the winner," said the boy. "That's Daffodil."

"Daffodil, eh?"

There was a pause. Daffodil was an obscure horse comparatively.

"Uncle!"

"Yes, son?"

"You won't let it go any further, will you? I promised Bassett."

"Bassett be damned, old man! What's he got to do with it?"

"We're partners. We've been partners from the first. Uncle, he lent me my first five shillings, which I lost, I promised him, honor bright , it was only between me and him; only you gave me that ten-shilling note I started winning with, so I thought you were lucky. You won't let it go any further, will you?"

The boy gazed at his uncle from those big, hot, blue eyes, set rather close together. The uncle stirred and laughed uneasily.

"Right you are, son! I'll keep your tip private. Daffodil, eh? How much are you putting on him?"

"All except twenty pounds," said the boy. "I keep that in reserve."

The uncle thought it a good joke.

"You keep twenty pounds in reserve, do you, you young romancer? What are you betting, then?"

"I'm betting three hundred," said the boy gravely. "But it's between you and me, Uncle Oscar! Honor bright?"

The uncle burst into a roar of laughter.

"It's between you and me all right, you young Nat Gould," he said, laughing. "But

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where's your three hundred?"

"Bassett keeps it for me. We're partners."

"You are, are you! And what is Bassett putting on Daffodil?"

"He won't go quite as high as I do, I expect. Perhaps he'll go a hundred and fifty." "What, pennies?" laughed the uncle.

"Pounds," said the child, with a surprised look at his uncle. "Bassett keeps a bigger reserve than I do."

Between wonder and amusement Uncle Oscar was silent. He pursued the matter no further, but he determined to take his nephew with him to the Lincoln races.

"Now, son," he said, "I'm putting twenty on Mirza, and I'll put five for you on any horse you fancy. What's your pick?"

"Daffodil, uncle."

"No, not the fiver on Daffodil!"

"I should if it was my own fiver," said the child.

"Good! Good! Right you are! A fiver for me and a fiver for you on Daffodil."

The child had never been to a race-meeting before, and his eyes were blue fire. He pursed his mouth tight, and watched. A Frenchman just in front had put his money on Lancelot. Wild with excitement, he flayed his arms up and down, yelling, "Lancelot! Lancelot!" in his French accent.

Daffodil came in first, Lancelot second, Mirza third. The child flushed and with eyes blazing, was curiously serene. His uncle brought him four five-pound notes, four to one.

"What am I to do with these?" he cried, waving them before the boy's eyes.

"I suppose we'll talk to Bassett," said the boy. "I expect I have fifteen hundred now; and twenty in reserve; and this twenty."

His uncle studied him for some moments.

"Look here, son!" he said. "You're not serious about Bassett and that fifteen hundred, are you?"

"Yes, I am. But it's between you and me, uncle. Honor bright!"

"Honor bright all bright, son! But I must talk to Bassett."

"If you'd like to be a partner, uncle, with Bassett and me, we could all be partners. Only, you'd have to promise, honor bright , uncle, not to let it go beyond us three. Bassett and I are lucky, and you must be lucky, because it was your ten shillings I started winning with…."

Uncle Oscar took both Bassett and Paul into Richmond Park for an afternoon, and there they talked.

"It's like this, you see, sir," Bassett said. "Master Paul would get me talking about racing events,spinning yearns , you know, sir. And he was always keen on knowing if I'd made or if I'd lost. It's about a year since, now, that I put five shillings on Blush of Dawn for him--and we lost. Then the luck turned, with that ten shillings he had from you, that we put on Singhalese. And since that time, it's been pretty steady, all things considering. What do you say, Master Paul?"

"We're all right when we're sure," said Paul. "It's when we're not quite sure that we go down.

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"Oh, but we're careful then," said Bassett.

"But when are you sure?" smiled Uncle Oscar.

"It's Master Paul, sir," said Bassett, in a secret, religious voice. "It's as if he had it from heaven. Like daffodil, now, for the Lincoln. That was as sure as eggs." "Did you put anything on Daffodil?" asked Oscar Cresswell.

"Yes, sir. I made my bid."

"And my nephew?"

Bassett was obstinately silent, looking at Paul.

"I made twelve hundred, didn't I, Bassett? I told uncle I was putting three hundred on Daffodil."

"That's right," said Bassett, nodding.

"But where's the money?" asked the uncle.

"I keep it safe locked up, sir. Master Paul he can have it any minute he likes to ask for it."

"What, fifteen hundred pounds?"

"And twenty! And forty, that is, with the twenty he made on the course."

"It's amazing!" said the uncle.

"If Master Paul offers you to be partners, sir, I would if I were you; if you'll excuse me," said Bassett.

Oscar cresswell thought about it.

"I'll see the money," he said.

They drove home again, and sure enough, Bassett came round to the garden-house with fifteen hundred pounds in notes. The twenty pounds reserve was left with Joe Glee in the Turf Commission deposit.

"You see, it's all right, uncle, when I'm sure! Then we go strong, for all we're worth. Don't we, Bassett?"

"We do that, Master Paul."

"And when are you sure?" said the uncle, laughing.

"Oh, well, sometimes I'm absolutely sure, like about Daffodil," said the boy; "and sometimes I have an idea; and sometimes I haven't even an idea, have I, Bassett? Then we're careful, because we mostly go down."

"You do, do you! And when you're sure, like about Daffodil, what makes you sure, sonny?"

"Oh, well, I don't know," said the boy uneasily. "I'm sure, you know, uncle; that's all."

"It's as if he had it from heaven, sir," Bassett reiterated.

"I should say so!" said the uncle.

But he became a partner. And when he Leger was coming on Paul was "sure" about Lively Spark, which was a quite inconsiderable horse. The boy insisted on putting a thousand on the horse, Bassett went for five hundred, and Oscar Cresswell two hundred. Lively Spark came in first, and the betting had been ten to one against him. Paul had made ten thousand.

"You see," he said, "I was absolutely sure of him."

Even Oscar Cresswell had cleared two thousand.

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"Look here, son," he said, "this sort of thing makes me nervous."

"It needn't, uncle! Perhaps I shan't be sure again for a long time."

"But what are you going to do with your money?" asked the uncle.

"Of course," said the boy, "I started it for mother. She said she had no luck, because father is unlucky, so I thought if I was lucky, it might stop whispering."

"What might stop whispering?"

"Our house. I hate our house for whispering."

"What does it whisper?"

"Why--why"--the boy fidgeted--"why, I don't know. But it's always short of money, you know, uncle."

I know it, son, I know it."

"You know people send mother writs, don't you, uncle?"

"I'm afraid I do," said the uncle.

"And then the house whispers, like people laughing at you behind your back. It's awful, that is! I thought if I was lucky … "

"You might stop it," added the uncle.

The boy watched him with big blue eyes, that had an uncanny cold fire in them, and he said never a word.

"Well, then!" said the uncle. "What are we doing?"

"I shouldn't like mother to know I was lucky," said the boy.

"Why not, son?"

"She'd stop me."

"I don't think she would."

"Oh!" --and the boy writhed in and odd way--"I don't want her to know, uncle." "All right, son! We'll manage it without her knowing."

They managed it very easily. Paul, at the other's suggestion, handed over five thousand pounds to his uncle, who deposited it with the family lawyer, who was then to inform Paul's mother that a relative had put five thousand pounds into his hands, which sum was to be paid out a thousand pounds at a time, on the mother's birthday, for the next five years.

"So she'll have a birthday present of a thousand pounds for five successive years," said Uncle Oscar. "I hope it won't make it all the harder for her later."

Paul's mother had her birthday in November. The house had been "whispering" worse than ever lately, and, even in spite of his luck, Paul could not bear up against it. He was very anxious to see the effect of the birthday letter, telling his mother about the thousand pounds.

When there was no visitors, Paul now took his meals with his parents, as he was beyond the nursery control. His mother went into town nearly every day. She had discovered that she had an odd knack of sketching furs and dress materials, so she worked secretly in the studio of a friend who was the chief "artist" for the leading drapers. She drew the figures of ladies in furs and ladies in silk and sequins for the newspaper advertisements. This young woman artist earned several thousand pounds a year, but Paul's mother only made several hundreds, and she was again dissatisfied. She so wanted to be first in something, and she did not succeed, even

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in making sketches for drapery advertisements.

She was down to breakfast on the morning of her birthday. Paul watched her face as she read her letters. He knew the lawyer's letter. As his mother read it, her face hardened and became more expressionless. Then a cold, determined look came on her mouth. She hid the letter under the pile of others, and said not a word about it. "Didn't you have anything nice in the post for your birthday, mother?" said Paul. "Quite moderately nice," she said, her voice cold and absent.

She went away to town without saying more.

But in the afternoon Uncle Oscar appeared. He said Paul's mother had had a long interview with the lawyer, asking if the whole five thousand could not be advanced at once, as she was in debt.

"What do you think, uncle?" said the boy.

"I leave it to you, son."

"Oh, let her have it, then! We can get some more with the other," said the boy. "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, laddie!" said Uncle Oscar.

"But I'm sure to know for the Grand National; or the Lincolnshire; or else the Derby. I'm sure to know for one of them," said Paul.

So Uncle Oscar signed the agreement, and Paul's mother touched the whole five thousand. Then something very curious happened. The voices in the house

suddenly went mad, like a chorus of frogs on a spring evening. There were certain new furnishings, and Paul had a tutor. He was really going to Eton, his father's school, in the following autumn. There were flowers in the winter, and a blossoming of the luxury Paul's mother had been used to. And yet the voices in the house, behind the sprays of mimosa and almond blossom, and from under the piles of iridescent cushions, simply trilled and screamed in a sort of ecstasy: "There must be more money! Oh-h-h; there must be more money. Oh, now, now-w!

Now-w-w--there must be more money!--more than ever! More than ever!"

It frightened Paul terribly. He studied away at his Latin and Greek with his tutors. But his intense hours were spent with Bassett. The Grand National had bone by: he had not "known", and had lost a hundred pounds. Summer was at hand. He was in agony for the Lincoln. But even for the Lincoln he didn't "know", and he lost fifty pounds. He became wild-eyed and strange, as if something were going to explode in him.

"Let it alone, son! Don't you bother about it!" urged Uncle Oscar. But it was as if the boy couldn't really hear what his uncle was saying.

"I've got to know for the Derby! I've got to know for the Derby!" the child reiterated, his big blue eyes blazing with a sort of madness.

His mother noticed how overwrought he was.

"You'd better go to the seaside. Wouldn't you like to go now to the seaside, instead of waiting? I think you'd better," she said, looking down at him anxiously, her heart curiously heavy about him.

But the child lifted his uncanny blue eyes.

"I couldn't possibly go before the derby, mother!" he said. "I couldn't possibly!" "Why not?" she said, her voice becoming heavy when she was opposed. "Why not?

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You can still go from the seaside to see the Derby with your Uncle Oscar, if that's what you wish. No need for you to wait here. Besides, I think you care too much about these races. It's a bad sign. My family has been a gambling family, and you won't know till you grow up how much damage it has done. But it has done damage. I shall have to send Bassett away, and ask Uncle Oscar not to talk racing to you, unless you promise to be reasonable about it; go away to the seaside and forget it. You're all nerves!"

"I'll do what you like, mother, so long as you don't send me away till after the Derby," the boy said.

"Send you away from where? Just from this house?"

"Yes," he said, gazing at her.

"Why, you curious child, what makes you care about this house so much, suddenly? I never knew you loved it."

He gazed at her without speaking. He had a secret within a secret, something he had not divulged, even to Bassett or to his Uncle Oscar.

But his mother, after standing undecided and a little bit sullen for some moments, said:

"Very well, then! Don't go to the seaside till after the Derby, if you don't wish it. But promise me you won't let your nerves to go pieces. Promise you won't think so much about horse-racing and events, as you call them!"

"Oh, no," said the boy casually. "I won't think much about them, mother. You needn't worry. I wouldn't worry, mother, if I were you."

"If you were me and I were you," said his mother, "I wonder what we should do!" "But you know you needn't worry, mother, don't you?" the boy repeated. "I should be awfully glad to know it," she said wearily.

"Oh, well, you can, you know. I mean, you ought to know you needn't worry," he insisted.

"Ought I? Then I'll see about it," she said.

Paul's secret of secrets was his wooden horse, that which had no name. Since he was emancipated from a nurse and a nursery-governess, he had had his

rocking-horse removed to his own bedroom at the top of the house.

"Surely, you're too big for a rocking-horse!" his mother had remonstrated.

"Well, you see, mother, till I can have a real horse, I like to have some sort of animal about," had been his quaint answer.

"Do you feel he keeps you company?" she laughed.

"Oh, yes! He's very good, he always keeps me company, when I'm there," said Paul. So the horse, rather shabby, stood in an arrested prance in the boy's bedroom. The Derby was drawing near, and the boy grew more and more tense. He hardly heard what was spoken to him, he was very frail, and his eyes were really uncanny. His mother had sudden strange seizures of uneasiness about him. Sometimes, for half-an-hour, she would feel a sudden anxiety about him that was almost anguish. She wanted to rush to him at once, and know he was safe.

Two nights before the Derby, she was at a big party in town, when one of her rushes of anxiety about her boy, her first-born, gripped her heart till she could hardly speak.

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She fought with the feeling,might and main , for she believed in common-sense. But it was too strong. She had to leave the dance and go downstairs to telephone to the country. The children's nursery-governess was terribly surprised and startled at being rung up in the night.

"Are all the children all right, Miss Wilmot?"

"Oh, yes, they are quite all right."

"Master Paul? Is he all right?"

"He went to bed as right as a trivet . Shall I run up and look at him?"

"No," said Paul's mother reluctantly. "No! Don't trouble. It's all right. Don't sit up. We shall be home fairly soon." She did not want her son's privacy intruded upon. "Very good," said the governess.

It was about one o'clock when Paul's mother and father drove up to their house. All was still. Paul's mother went to her room and slipped off her white fur cloak. She had told her maid not to wait up for her. she heard her husband downstairs, mixing a whisky-and-soda.

And then, because of the strange anxiety at her heart, she stole upstairs to her son's room. Noiselessly she went along the upper corridor. Was there a faint noise? What was it?

She stood, with arrested muscles, outside his door, listening. There was a strange, heavy, and yet not loud noise. Her heart stood still. It was a soundless noise, yet rushing and powerful. Something huge, in violent, hushed motion. What was it? What in God's name was it? She ought to know. She felt that she knew the noise. She knew what it was.

Yet she could not place it. She couldn't say what it was. And on and on it went, like a madness.

Softly, frozen with anxiety and fear, she turned the door-handle.

The room was dark. Yet in the space near the window, she heard and saw something plunging to and fro. She gazed in fear and amazement.

Then suddenly she switched on the light, and saw her son, in his green pajamas, madly surging on the rocking-horse. The blaze of light suddenly lit him up, as he urged the wooden horse, and lit her up, as she stood, blonde, in her dress of pale green and crystal, in the doorway.

"Paul!" she cried. "Whatever are you doing?"

"It's Malabar!" he screamed, in a powerful, strange voice. "It's Malabar!"

His eyes blazed at her for one strange and senseless second, as he ceased urging his wooden horse. Then he fell with a crash to the ground, and she, all her tormented motherhood flooding upon her, rushed to gather him up.

But he was unconscious, and unconscious he remained, with some brain-fever. He talked and tossed, and his mother sat stonily by his side.

"Malabar! It's Malabar! Bassett, Bassett, I know! It's Malabar!"

So the child cried, trying to get up and urge the rocking-horse that gave him his inspiration.

"What does he mean by Malabar?" asked the heart-frozen mother.

"I don't know," said the father stonily.

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"What does he mean by Malabar?" she asked her brother Oscar.

"It's one of the horses running for the Derby," was the answer.

And, in spite of herself, Oscar Cresswell spoke to Bassett, and himself put a thousand on Malabar: at fourteen to one.

The third day of the illness was critical: they were waiting for a change. The boy, with his rather long, curly hair, was tossing ceaselessly on the pillow. He neither slept nor regained consciousness, and his eyes were like blue stones. His mother sat, feeling her heart had gone, turned actually into a stone.

In the evening, Oscar Cresswell did not come, but Bassett sent a message, saying could he come up for one moment, just one moment? Paul's mother was very angry at the intrusion, but on second thought she agreed. The boy was the same. Perhaps Bassett might bring him to consciousness.

The gardener, a shortish fellow with a little brown moustache, and sharp little brown eyes, tiptoed into the room touched his imaginary cap to Paul's mother, and stole to the bedside, staring with glittering, smallish eyes, at the tossing, dying child.

"Master Paul!" he whispered. "Master Paul! Malabar came in first all right,a clean win . I did as you told me. You've made over seventy thousand pounds, you have; you've got over eight thousand. Malabar came in all right, Master Paul."

"Malabar! Malabar! Did I say Malabar, mother? Did I say Malabar? Do you think I'm lucky, mother? I knew Malabar, didn't I? Over eighty thousand pounds! I call that lucky, don't you, mother? Over eighty thousand pounds! I knew, didn't I know I knew? Malabar came in all right. If I ride my horse till I'm sure, then I tell you, Bassett, you can go as high as you like. Did you go for all you were worth, Bassett?" "I went a thousand on it, Master Paul."

"I never told you, mother, that if I can ride my horse, and get there, then I'm absolutely sure--oh, absolutely! Mother, did I ever tell you? I am lucky!"

"No, you never did," said the mother.

But the boy died in the night.

And even as he lay dead, his mother heard her brother's voice saying to her: "My God, Hester, you're eighty-odd thousand to the good , and a poor devil of a son to the bad . But, poor devil, poor devil, he's best gone out of a life where he rides his rocking-horse to find a winner."

有位美妇人，本来具有各种优势，然而她并不幸运。她为了爱情而涉足婚姻，但这爱已化为了灰烬。她有几个瘦骨如柴的孩子，然而她觉得这些孩子是强加在她头上的，她无法爱她们。他们冷冷地看着她，好像在找她的岔。匆然间，她觉得必须掩饰自己的缺点。然而，要掩饰什么她也不知道。不过，当孩子们在场的时候，她总是感到了自己的铁石心肠。这给她增添了麻烦，在行为上，她比以前越发温柔，更加挂念她的孩子，好像她非常疼爱她们。只有她自己明白，她内心深处，是一个体会不到爱的旮旯，不，体会不到对任何人的爱。谈到她时，人人都说?“她是这样一个好母亲，深爱自己的孩子。”只有她自己，孩子们自己才知道事实并非如此。他们从对方的眼神中看出了这一点。

她有一个男孩与两个小女孩，他们住在一幢舒适带花园的房子，他们拥有体贴人的仆人，觉得比街道上的任何人都高人一等。

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尽管他们生活入时，但总是感到有一种焦虑。钱总是不够用。母亲有一份微薄的收入，父亲也有一份微薄的收入，但几乎不足以维持他们不得不维持的社会地位。父亲在城里任职。但尽管他有好的前景，但从未实现。尽管他们生活入时，但总觉得负担重，少钱用。

终于，母亲说：“我想看看我能干点什么。”但她不知从何干起。他绞尽脑汁，尝试了一件又一件的事情，但没有一件成功。失败使他脸上长满了皱纹。孩子在一天天长大，她们得上学。需要更多的钱，更多的钱。父亲总是出手大方、养成了一些颇费金钱的兴趣。似乎从来不会做一些值得一做的事。这位信心满怀的母亲未取得任何成功，并且她的兴趣味也颇费金钱。

于是，这房子萦绕着这句无声的话语：得有更多的钱！更多的钱！尽管没人大声地说出来，但孩子们时时都可以听到。当圣诞节来了时，昂贵而漂亮的玩具摆满在儿童室，他们听到了这句话。那匹出众的新木马后面，那漂亮的木偶住的房子后面，传来了一阵阵耳语声：得有更多的钱！得有更多的钱！孩子们会停下来听听这声音。他们相互面视，看看是否大家都听到了。每人都看看另外两人的眼神，知道他们都听到了。得有更多的钱！更多的钱！

这声音来自那正在摇摆的木马的弹簧之中，甚至那马弯着那木制的、格格作响的马头，也听到了这一声音。那只大洋娃娃眯着眼在新童车里傻笑，它也能听到，因而更有意识地傻笑。那只愚蠢的小狗，占着玩具熊的位置，也显得格外的傻，只是因为听到房间里密秘的耳语?“得有更多的钱！”

然而，没有人大声说出来，这句耳语到处都可以听见，因此，没有人大声说出来。这就像没有人说“我们在呼吸！”一样，即便是呼吸总是在进行。 “妈”有一天保尔说“我们为什么不买辆车？为什么不是用叔叔的车就是用出租车？”

“因为我们是这个家族中的穷人”母亲说。

“妈，那我们为什么穷呢？”

“哦--我想”她悠然伤心地说，“是因为你父亲运气不好。”

小男孩沉思了一会。

“运气就是钱吗，妈？”他很羞怯地问道。

“不，保罗，不完全是，运气可以让你有钱。”

“哦！”保罗含糊地说道“我认为奥斯卡叔叔指的不义之财就是钱。”

“不义之财的确是指?”母亲说“但是财，不是运气。”

“哦！”男孩说“那什么是运气，妈？”

“运气可以让你有钱。如果你幸运，你就有钱。那就是为什么出生幸运要比出生富裕要好。如果你富裕，你可能会失去你的钱。但如果你幸运，你总是会得到更多的钱。” “哦！你会吗？父亲不幸运吗？”

“我可以说他很不幸”她心酸地说道。

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男孩用迟疑的眼神看着她。

“为什么？”他问道。

“我不知道。没人知道为什么有的人幸运有的人不幸运。”

“他们不知道？根本没有人知道？没人知道？”

“也许只有上帝知道。但他不会说出来。”

“那么他应当说出来。你也不幸运吗，妈？”

“如果我嫁给一个不幸的丈夫，我不可能幸运?”

“那如果是你一个人，你会幸运吗？”

“在我结婚之前，我曾认为我是幸运的，现在我认为我的确很不幸。”

“为什么？”

“好了--别介意！也许我不是真的 ”她说。

孩子看着她，看看她真有此意。但他看到，从她嘴上的纹路，好像是在尽力对他隐瞒什么事。 “好了，不管怎样，”他勇敢地说“我是个幸运的人。”

“为什么？”母亲说，突然一笑。

他凝视着她，甚至不知道为什么说了这句话。

“上帝告诉我了”，他厚着脸皮断言道。

“我希望他告诉你了，亲爱的！”他又一次带着一丝苦笑说。

“他告诉我了，妈！”

“好极了”母亲用丈夫常使用的一句感叹语说道。

男孩看出她不相信他；或者相反，她没注意他的断言。这使他有些生气，使他想迫使她引起注意。

他独自离开了。茫然中，他在以幼稚的方法寻找“运气”的线索。他全身贯注，忽略了他人的存在，悄然地在心中寻找着“运气”。他需要运气。他需要它。他需要它。当两个女孩在儿童室玩布娃娃的时候，他便坐上大木马，向空中狂奔，带着疯狂，使两个小女孩用忧虑的眼神盯着他。木马在疾驰，小男孩波浪式的黑发在飘扬，眼中露出了奇异的光芒。小女孩不敢同他说话。当他这一疯癫的旅程结束，他从木马身上爬下来，站在木马跟前，凝视着木马的面部。它那红色的嘴微微张开，大而圆的眼睛，晶莹透亮。“行了！”他便轻声的命令正在吐鼻息的骏马。

“行了，把我带到有运气的地方去！行了，带我去。”

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接着，他便用从奥斯卡叔叔那儿要来的小皮鞭抽打木马的颈部。他知道，如果只要他迫使木马，它便能够把他带到有运气的地方去。于是，他又爬上木马，开始了疯狂的旅程，希望到达运气所在的地方。他知道定能到达那儿。

“你会把木马弄坏的，保罗！”保姆说。

“他老是那样骑马！我希望他会离开！”姐姐乔安说道。

但他只是默默地凝视着她们。保姆也只好随他去。她拿他无可奈何。他已长大成人，不再受保姆的控制。

一天， 当他在疯狂地骑马时，母亲和奥斯卡叔叔进来了。他没有同他们说话。

“喂，小骑师！正在骑一匹赢马？”他叔叔说。

“你不是已经长大，不是玩木马的年龄了？你知道你已不再是小孩了”母亲说道。

但是，保罗那双紧靠在一起的大眼睛中有一种忧伤的光。当全力以赴地骑马时，他谁也不理采。母亲看着他，脸上带着焦虑的表情。

终于，他突然停止了机械地奔驰，从木马上滑下来。

“好了，我已到达那儿！”他狠狠地宣称，眼中仍在闪光，坚实的双腿跨立着。 “你到达了哪儿？”母亲问道。

“我想去的地方，”他回过头来瞪了她一眼。

“对了，儿子！”奥斯卡叔叔说：“你不是到那儿后才停下来吗？那匹马的名字叫什么？” “他没有名字”，男孩说。

“在进行比赛时真的没有名字”，叔叔问道。

“好了，它有不同的名字。它上周叫做桑索维诺”。

“桑索维诺，阿？在阿斯科特马赛上得胜，你是怎样知道它的名字的？”

“他总是和巴塞特一起谈论马赛”，乔安说。

叔叔发现小侄儿对马赛的新闻了如指掌感到很高兴，年轻的园丁巴塞特，在战争中左腿受了伤，通过奥斯卡·克斯韦尔获得了现在这份工作。他曾经是克斯韦尔的勤务兵，是马赛场上的老手。他对马赛之事了如指掌，男孩与他生活在一起。

奥斯卡·克斯韦尔从巴塞特那儿知道了这一切。

“保罗少爷来问我，所以我只能告诉他，先生”，巴塞特说，他脸色十分严肃，好像在谈论崇教事务。

“他是否给想象中的马下注过？”

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“哦--我不想出卖他--他是个好小子，是个光明磊落的人，先生，你是否愿意去问他自己？他对马赛有点兴趣，也许他会觉得我出卖了他，先生，如果你不介意。”

巴塞特像教堂一样严肃。

叔叔回到侄儿那儿，带他坐车兜风。

“嗨，保罗，老伙计，你在马身上下过注吗？”叔叔问道。

男孩仔细看了看这位英俊的男人。

“嗨，您是不是认为我不要这样做？”他回避道。

“一点也没有。我认为，关于林肯马赛，也许你可以给我一条预测消?”

车疾速驶进了乡村，朝奥斯卡叔叔在汉甫什尔的住处开去。

“说真的？”叔叔说。

“好了，那么，我说是水仙。”

“水仙！我怀疑，乖儿子，米尔尔泽如何？”

“我只知道获胜马”，男孩说。

“就是水仙。”

“水仙，嗯？”

他们停了一会儿。相比之下，水仙是一匹不出众的马。

“叔叔！”

“是的，儿子！”

“你不会把这消息再往外传，对吧？我答应过巴塞特。”

“该死的巴塞特，老家伙，这与他有何相干？”

“我们是合伙人。我们一开始就是合伙人。叔叔，他借给我5先令，我输掉了。我答应过他，说真的，这只是我和他之间的秘密；只是你给我那张十先令的票子后我才开始赢，因此，我认为你是幸运的。你不会把这消息再往外传，对吧？”

男孩用那双紧靠在一起、热切的蓝色大眼睛凝视着叔叔。 叔叔感到一阵激动，不安地笑了。 “好的，儿子！我一定保密。水仙，嗨？你在它身上下多少钱赌注？”

“所有的钱，除20英镑以外。”男孩说。

“我存20英镑。”

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叔叔认为这很可笑。

“你存下20英镑，是吧，你是个小空谈家？那你用什么下注呢？”

“我赌300英镑，”男孩严肃的说。“但这是你我之间的秘密，奥斯卡叔叔！说真的？” 叔叔发出一阵狂笑。

“是你我之间的秘密，行了，你这小懒特·古尔德”他笑道“但你的300英镑在哪儿？” “巴塞特给我保存着。我们是合伙人。”

“你们是合伙人，对吧！那么巴赛特在水仙身上下多少赌注？”

“我想他不会下我这么多。也许他会下150。”

“什么？便士吗？”叔叔笑道。

“英镑”，这孩子用惊讶的目光看着叔叔说：“巴塞特留的备用钱比我多。”

在惊讶与开心之时，奥斯卡叔叔沉默下来。他不再进一步追问此事，但决定带侄儿去参加林肯马赛。

“好了，儿子，”他说，“我打算在米尔泽身上赌20英镑，并且给你五英镑赌在你想投注的马上。你的选择是什么？”

“水仙，叔叔。”

“不，不是把这张5元的钞票投在水仙身上。”

“如果这5元的英镑是我自己的，我必须投在水仙身上?”孩子说。

“好的，好的！我投一张5英镑的钞票，你投一张5英镑的钞票在水仙身上。”

这孩子从来没有参加过赛马，他的眼中充满着蓝色的火焰。他嘴唇紧闭，观看着。有位法国人刚刚把钱投在兰斯洛特身上，他激动万分，上下舞动着手臂，用法国口音叫到：“兰斯洛特、兰斯洛特。”

水仙获得了第一名，兰斯洛特第二名，米尔泽第三名。小孩充满着喜悦，眼中闪耀着光芒，显得好奇而宁静。叔叔给他领来了4张5元的钞票。比率是4比1。

“我拿着这些干什么？”他叫道，拿着它们在男孩眼前晃动。

“我想我们得和巴塞特谈谈，”男孩说。“我希望自己有一千五百英镑；存二十元年备用；这二十元。”

叔叔仔细端详了他一会儿。

“看这，儿子！”他说“关于巴塞特和那一千五百元你不是认真的，对吧？”

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“是的，我是认真的。但这是你我之间的秘密。叔叔，说真的！”

“说真的！行！儿子！但我必须同巴塞特谈谈。”

“叔叔，如果你愿意与巴塞特做合伙人，那我们都是合伙人。只是您必须答应，说真的，叔叔，除了我们三人不能让其他人知道这个秘密。巴塞特和我幸运，你也一定幸运，因为是用你给的十先令我才开始赢的 ”

奥斯卡叔叔同时把巴塞特和保尔带到里士满公园度过一个下午。他们在那儿谈话。

“事情是这样的，您知道，先生，”巴塞特说：“保罗少爷让我谈论马赛的事，让我讲故事，您知道，先生。他总是对我是输是赢感兴趣。自从我为他把五先令投在破晓红霞身上到现在已经有一年了--我们输了。后来我们时来运转，我们把您给他的十先令投在僧伽罗人身上。自从那一次以后，各方面都相当稳定。你说呢，保罗少爷？”

“当我们有把握时，我们觉得安然无恙”保罗说，“当我们不太有把握时，我们便失利。” “哦，但是我们自那以后便小心翼翼”把塞特说。

“但你们什么时候才有把握呢？”奥斯卡叔叔笑着说。

“是保罗少爷，先生”，巴塞特用神秘而富有僧教色彩的声音说道。

“好像他是从天堂获得的信息。比如现在水仙在林肯马赛上获胜。简直是千真万确。” “你在水仙身上下注过没有？”奥斯卡·克斯韦尔说。“是的，先生，投过一点。” “我侄儿呢？”巴塞特固执地保持沉默，看着保罗。

“我挣了一千二百圆，对吧，巴塞特？我告诉过叔叔我在水仙身上下注了三百圆。” “对”巴塞特点头说道。

“但钱在哪儿?”,叔叔问道。

“我把它安全地锁上了，先生。保罗少爷想什么时候要，他什么是候就可以拿到。” “什么，一千五百镑？”

“还有二十！四十，也就是，加上他在赛马场上赢的?”

“真是太神奇了！”叔叔说。

“我要是您的话，如果保罗少爷让您入伙，先生，我一定会愿意的；请原谅我”，巴塞特说。 奥斯卡·克斯韦尔想了想。

“我得看看那些钱”，他说。

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他们又驱车回到家里。真是千真万确。巴塞特来到花园小屋，拿出一千五百圆英镑的钞票。那二十镑的备用钱留在乔·格里那儿储存在马赛委员会。

“你看，不是很好，叔叔，当我有把握的时候！我们尽力变得强大。是吗，巴塞特？” “我们正是这样做的，保罗少爷。”

“你什么时候有把握呢？”叔叔笑着说。

“哦，行，有时我绝对有把握，比如水仙。”男孩说“我有时候有了注意；有时候甚至什么主意也没有，是吧，巴塞特？然后我们小心翼翼，因为我们总是失利。”

“你总是有主意，对吧？当你有把握时，比如水仙，是什么让你有把握的，乖儿子？” “哦，行了，我不知道”,男孩不安的说。

“我有把握，你知道，叔叔，就这么简单。”

“好像他的主意是从天而降，先生”，巴塞特重申。

“我认为是这样”,叔叔说。

但他成了合伙人。当莱吉尔马赛进行的时候，保罗对“活力火花”确信无疑，这是一匹很不显眼的马。男孩坚持在这匹马身上下一千英镑。巴塞特下五百英镑。奥斯卡·克斯韦尔下两百英镑。“活力火花”获得第一名，赌注的比率是一比十。保罗赢了一万英镑。 “你瞧”他说，“我对他绝对有把握。”

甚至奥斯卡·克斯韦尔也净得了二千英镑。

“瞧瞧这里，儿子，”他说，“这种事使我神经紧张。”

“不必紧张，叔叔！也许我过不了多久就不再有把握了。”

“但是你拿这些钱做什么用呢？”叔叔问道。

“当然”，男孩说，“我是为了母亲才干这个的。

她说她没有运气。是因为父亲是不幸的，因此，我认为我是幸运的，也许它会停止耳语。” “什么东西会停止耳语？”

“我们的房子。我讨厌我们的房子耳语。”

“耳语中说些什么？”

“呃--呃”--男孩有点坐立不安---“呃，我不知道。但我们总是缺钱，您知道，叔叔。” “我知道，儿子，我知道。”

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“你知道人们总是给妈妈送来催帐的单子，对吧，叔叔？”

“我肯怕知道，”叔叔说。

“然后房子开始耳语，就像人们从后面笑你一样。真是糟透了！我想如果我幸运的话 ” “你可以阻止它”，叔叔说。

男孩用蓝色的大眼睛看着他，眼中发出一道奇怪的冷光，一声不发。

“好了，那么！”叔叔说。

“我们怎么干呢？”

“我不想让母亲知道我是幸运的”，男孩说。

“为什么不呢，儿子？”

“她会阻止我的。”

“我想他不会阻止。”

“噢！”--男孩以一种奇怪的方式扭动了一下身体--“我不想让他知道，叔叔。” “行，儿子！我们做这一生意时不让她知道。”

他们的生意做得很轻松。在其他人的建议下，保罗把五千英镑交给叔叔存在家庭律师那儿，然后由家庭律师通知保罗的母亲，说有一位亲戚在他那儿放了五千镑，钱必须在以后五年母亲的生日那一天按一次一千镑的数目付给。

“这样，她就可以连续五年中得到一份一千英镑的礼物。”奥斯卡·叔叔说“我希望以后不会使她更加为难。”

保罗的妈妈在十一月份过生日。接着房子一直在“耳语”，比以前更加严重，尽管他有运气，保罗难以忍受它。他特别急于想知道，告诉他母亲一千英镑的事的生日贺信产生的效果。 没有客人的时候，保尔同父母一起吃饭，因为他不再由保姆看管。母亲几乎天天都进城。她发现自己有一种奇怪的爱好，素描皮毛和衣料。因此，她偷偷地在一个朋友的画室里工作。这位朋友是主要布商们的主要“艺术家。”她为报纸广告画穿皮毛的女士以及穿带闪光装饰片丝绸衣服的女士。这位年轻的女艺术家一年挣几千英镑，但保罗的母亲只挣了几百英镑，她仍然不满足。她想在某些方面争第一，她没有成功，甚至在为布匹广告的素描方面也是如此。

在她生日那天，早晨下来吃早饭。她在看信时，保罗看着她的脸。他知道是律师写的信。当母亲读信时，脸沉了下来，变得更加没有表情。然后，她嘴上出现了冷淡而坚定的表情。她把信藏在信堆中，只字不提信的事情。

“您的邮件中有生日礼物吧，妈妈？”保罗说。

“还算相当好的礼物。”她用冷漠而漫不经心的声调说。

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