Around the Corner就在拐角處

桑德拉·伍利 馬婧

The landing was dark. He stood for a moment while his eyes adjusted to it. The walls were drab and damp. He stared at the dingy paintwork on the door， trying hard to swallow the saliva collecting in the well of his mouth. Fingers trembled slightly as he fumbled deep into his trouser pockets for the key. He paused before placing the key in the lock， afraid to enter the flat. She wouldnt be there. On the last visit shed told him so. But then shed said exactly the same before his last release. He leaned against the dark paneling and listened. Afraid to hear only silence—which was precisely all he did hear.

The key turned easily and the door opened a few feet. It was dark inside. He took a well-aimed flick at the familiar switch and the sudden glare stung his eyes. There was nothing to see—no picture， no furniture， no Maisie.

He walked through the flat as though expecting someone to leap out and wrap him in warm， welcoming arms， like the last time—Maisies warm， welcoming arms. But he was dreaming. Back in hallway there was an old kitchen stool， forlorn and forgotten， leaning against the wall. He sat down shakily and looked around.

Why hadnt she believed him？ Hed mean every word when hed said that this was the last time. God！ Hed had two years to stew on it—hadnt he？ Shed looked back at him through hurt eyes. Eyes etched with concern and worry. Her words came back to him clearly. “Why should I believe you， Tom？ Its all been said before. How much waiting do you think I can take？ Id like a bit of security for a change， but more than that—Id like to have a husband.”

On the top of the small square table separating them， he had gripped her hands， hard. Pleaded with her. Tears had begun to trickle down her face. Shed grabbed her bag and backed away from him. Tom had started after her， only to be restrained by one of the guards. “Cmon Tom，” the guard urged. “No sense in losing remission. Shell be waiting. Shes a goodn—I can tell. You see boy， there are women and women…”

But she was right. He had said it all before. Why should she believe him now？ Hed been inside for two years this time and things change after two years. People change.

He reached inside his pocket for cigarettes. The packet was empty. He crushed it between both hands and watched it drop to the floor.

“Want a fag， mister？” Tom jerked round. A young， mucky-faced boy was staring at him from the door， curiously. “Why， you got some？” Tom asked. The boy removed a crumpled packet from his jacket and offered one. Tom accepted eagerly.

“You been inside， havent you？” Tom stared at his visitor in amazement. “You cheeky young…”

Before he could think of an answer the boy disappeared with a hasty： “Waitere a minute—I wanna show you something.”

Tom wandered back into what had been the living room. He saw the faded wallpaper with familiar marks in the shape of ornaments that once were his possessions—his and Maisies. The mirror， the brass clock that never did work for more than half a day at a time. The chipped tile on the fire-surround—hed always meant to replace it. Suddenly he heard a sound behind him. His visitor was back.

“For a minute I thought youd gone.” The boy resumed his crouching position and continued the previous conversation as though it had never been interrupted.? “Whats it like inside？”

Tom was feeling a bit browned off by the topic. “Whats it to you？”

“I got my reasons.”

Tom wagged a finger at him. “Ummh， well maybe Ive got mine for keeping quiet. What do you think of that？”

The boy put his head on one side and squinted. “Not a lot—considerin youre smoking my fag.”

Tom laughed for the first time in a week. “All right then—I suppose for a fag you deserve some kind of answer.” Elbows on knees and face in hands the boy concentrated.

Tom thought for a minute， then said： “Its lonely. Prison is the loneliest place on earth—thats the thing that really hurts.”

“Gosh—thats awful.” The boy looked very sad and disappeared into his own thoughts. Tom interrupted. “Why are you so interested in the subject—are you in trouble？”

The boy ignored him and carried on staring into space. Tom asked： “Anyway， how come you know all about me？”

The boy stood up. “Well youre Tom Jarvis， arent you？ Used to live here—didnt you？”

“Thats right. How do you know？”

“Cos I live over the road and you went to prison same day as my dad.” Not quite the recognition Tom had wanted—but it answered a lot of questions.

“Hes got another two years， my dad，” the boy added. Then he whipped out a well-creased photograph and thrust it at Tom.

“Thats him—thats my dad.” Tom realized that he was highly privileged.

“What did he do get himself nicked？”

“Pinched a van.”

Tom frowned. “Sentence seems a bit strong for nicking a van.”

The boy looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah—well it had a bank guard and a months wages in it at the time， didnt it？”

Tom smiled back. “I see.”

The boy carefully tucked the photograph back into his pocket. Tom couldnt resist asking. “Wheres your mother？”

“Gone. Cleared off with the landlord from the White Horse. Not one to hang about， my mum.”

“Whos looking after you then？”

“Me Gran. She moved in with me. Were gonna stay together me and Gran—waiting.”

“For what？”

“For me dad to come home.” The boys eyes misted over unexpectedly. “She tells me about him all the time. Things like when he was a kid like me.” The boy lowered his eyes.

“Hes a good man， really.”

Tom thought about the prison guard. “therere women and women… Shell be waiting—you see. A goodn if ever I saw one.”

He put his arm around the boys shoulders. “Any idea where I can get a bed for the night？”

“Cor. Clean forgot didnt I？ Your missus sent me round here to wait for you. Shes moved into No.56， around the corner. Theyre pulling this lot down tomorrow.”? ? ? ? ? ? ? ■

樓梯平臺一片漆黑。他站了一會兒，讓眼睛適應(yīng)這片黑暗。墻壁灰暗潮濕。他盯著門上褪色的油漆，用勁兒吞下一口唾液。伸進褲袋深處摸索鑰匙時手指微微發(fā)抖。他把鑰匙插進鎖孔前停頓了一下，不敢進屋。她不會在屋里的，上次探視時便已言明。不過他上次獲釋之前，她也說過同樣的話。他靠在深色嵌板上，側(cè)耳傾聽。他害怕聽到的只有沉寂，而這正是他所聽到的一切。

鑰匙輕松一轉(zhuǎn)，門開了幾英尺。里面黑洞洞的。啪的一聲，他不偏不歪，打開了熟悉的開關(guān)，突然的光亮刺痛了雙眼。屋里什么都沒有——沒有照片，沒有家具，也沒有梅茜。

他穿過公寓，似乎盼著有人突然沖過來用溫暖熱情的雙臂擁抱他，就像上次梅茜溫暖熱情的擁抱一樣。他不過在做夢罷了。回到門廳，那兒有個被遺棄的舊廚凳，孤零零靠墻放著。他渾身顫抖，坐下來環(huán)顧四周。

她那會兒為什么不相信他呢？當(dāng)他說這是最后一次時，每個字都是認真的。上帝??！兩年時間，他一直為此擔(dān)心，不是嗎？她用受傷的眼神望向他，眼中流露出擔(dān)心和憂慮。她的話清晰地傳來：“為什么我要相信你，湯姆？這都是你之前就說過的。你認為我還能等多久呢？我想換個活法，能有點兒安全感，但更重要的是——我想有個丈夫?！?/p>

在把他們隔開的小方桌上面，他緊緊握住她的雙手，苦苦哀求。淚水開始順著她的臉頰流下。她抓起自己的包，向后退去。湯姆起身去追她，卻被一個看守攔住了。“好了，湯姆?！笨词貏竦溃耙虼耸p刑沒有意義。她會等你的。我看得出她是個好女人。要知道，老兄，女人和女人可不一樣……”

但她說得沒錯。這些話是他以前說的了。為什么她現(xiàn)在還要相信他呢？他在里面已經(jīng)兩年，再過兩年事情會變。人也會變。

他把手伸進口袋掏香煙。煙盒空空的。他雙手捏扁了煙盒，看著它掉落在地板上。

“想抽支煙嗎，先生？”湯姆猛地轉(zhuǎn)身。一個滿臉污漬的小男孩好奇地從門口盯著他?！班?，你有煙嗎？”湯姆問。男孩從夾克里掏出一個皺巴巴的煙盒，遞過來一根煙。湯姆迫不及待地接住。

“你坐過牢是嗎？”湯姆驚訝地盯著來人，“你這調(diào)皮的小……”

沒等他想好如何回答，男孩匆匆說了一句“在這兒等一下——我想給你看樣?xùn)|西”，就不見了蹤影。

湯姆溜達著回到曾經(jīng)的起居室。他看到褪色的墻紙上有熟悉的印痕，那是他的——他的和梅茜的裝飾物留下的痕跡。一面鏡子，一座每次從未運行超過半天的黃銅鐘。壁爐包邊上的那片碎瓷磚——他曾經(jīng)一直想換掉。突然，他聽到身后傳來了響聲。那個男孩回來了。

“剛剛我以為你走了呢?！蹦泻⒂侄琢讼聛?，繼續(xù)先前的話題，像是從未被打斷似的?！袄锩媸鞘裁礃幼樱俊?/p>

湯姆對這個話題有點兒厭煩，“這和你有什么關(guān)系？”

“我有我的理由?！?/p>

湯姆沖他晃了晃手指，“嗯……不過，也許我也有我的理由保持沉默。你覺得呢？”

男孩把頭歪向一邊，瞇起了眼睛?！皼]什么意見——可是你抽的是我給的煙?！?/p>

湯姆一周來第一次笑了?！澳呛冒伞丛谶@支煙的分兒上，我想我應(yīng)該稍稍回答你?！蹦泻⑾问种猓p手托臉，聚精會神。

湯姆想了一會兒，說道：“孤獨。監(jiān)獄是世界上最孤獨的地方——那是真正令人傷心的事情。”

“天哪——這太糟了?！蹦泻⒁荒槺瘋萑肓顺了?。湯姆插話說：“你為什么對這個話題如此感興趣——你遇到麻煩了嗎？”

男孩沒有理他，繼續(xù)茫然凝視前方。湯姆問：“不管怎么說，你是怎么知道我的事的？”

男孩站了起來?！昂冒桑闶菧贰べZ維斯，對嗎？以前住在這里，對嗎？”

“沒錯。你是怎么知道的？”

“因為我住在路對面，你和我爸爸同一天進了監(jiān)獄?！彪m然不全是湯姆想要的答案，但回答了很多問題。

“我爸爸，他還有兩年?！蹦泻⒀a充道。然后，他迅速掏出了一張皺巴巴的照片，塞給湯姆。

“這就是他——這就是我爸爸?！睖芬庾R到自己得到了很高的禮遇。

“他是做了什么才被捕的？”

“偷了一輛貨車。”

湯姆皺了皺眉。“偷一輛貨車，判得似乎有點兒重了?！?/p>

男孩抬頭望著他，露出了笑容?！笆前　?，當(dāng)時車上不是還有一名銀行保安和一個月的工資嗎？”

湯姆也露出了微笑。“我明白了?！?/p>

男孩小心翼翼地把照片掖回口袋。湯姆禁不住問道：“你的母親在哪兒？”

“走了。跟房東一起從白馬鎮(zhèn)走了。不會拖拖拉拉，我的媽媽?！?/p>

“那誰在照顧你呢？”

“我奶奶，她搬來跟我一起住。我們要守在一起，我和奶奶——等著。”

“等什么？”

“等我爸爸回家呀?！蹦泻㈩D時淚眼模糊?！八偸菍ξ艺f起他。比如他像我這么大時發(fā)生的事情?！蹦泻⒋瓜铝四抗?。

“他是個好人，真的?！?/p>

湯姆想起了那個監(jiān)獄看守?！芭撕团丝刹灰粯印阒绬?，她會等著你的。我從未見過像她一樣的好女人。”

他伸出一只胳膊摟住男孩的肩膀?！澳阒牢以谀睦锟梢哉覐埓策^夜嗎？”

“當(dāng)然知道。我這不是完全忘記了嗎？你太太派我來這附近等你。她已經(jīng)搬到了56號，就在拐角處。他們明天就要拆掉這個地方了?！?? ? □