英国病人截取

Lord Suffolk’s closest friend in the area was a female aviator who hated society but loved Lord Suffolk. They went shooting together. She lived in a small cottage in Countisbury on a cliff that overlooked the Bristol Channel. Each village they passed in the Humber had its exotica described by Lord Suffolk. “This is the very best place to buy blackthorn walking sticks.” As if Singh were thinking of stepping into the Tudor corner store in his uniform and turban to chat casually with the owners about canes. Lord Suffolk was the best of the English, he later told Hana. If there had been no war he would never have roused himself from Countisbury and his retreat, called Home Farm, where he mulled along with the wine, with the flies in the old back laundry, fifty years old, married but essentially bachelor in character, walking thp cliffs each day to visit his aviator friend. He liked to fix things—old laundry tubs and plumbing generators and cooking spits run by a waterwheel. He had been helping Miss Swift, the aviator, collect information on the habits of badgers. The drive to the chalk horse at Westbury was therefore busy with anecdote and information. Even in wartime he knew the best place to stop for tea. He swept into Pamela’s Tea Room, his arm in a sling from an accident with guncotton, and shepherded in his clan—secretary, chauffeur and sapper —as if they were his children. How Lord Suffolk had per​suaded the LJXB Committee to allow him to set up his experi​mental bomb disposal outfit no one was sure, but with his background in inventions he probably had more qualifications than most. He was an autodidact, and he believed his mind could read the motives and spirit behind any invention. He had immediately invented the pocket shirt, which allowed fuzes and gadgets to be stored easily by a working sapper. They drank tea and waited for scones, discussing the in situ defusing of bombs. “I trust you, Mr. Singh, you know that, don’t you?” “Yes, sir.” Singh adored him. As far as he was concerned, Lord Suffolk was the first real gentleman he had met in England. “You know I trust you to do as well as I. Miss Morden will be with you to take notes. Mr. Harts will be farther back. If you need more equipment or more strength, blow on the police whistle and he will join you. He doesn’t advise but he under​stands perfectly. If he won’t do something it means he dis​agrees with you, and I’d take his advice. But you have total authority on the site. Here is my pistol. The fuzes are probably more sophisticated now, but you never know, you might be in luck.” Lord Suffolk was alluding to an incident that had made him famous. He had discovered a method for inhibiting a delayed-action fuze by pulling out his army revolver and firing a bullet through the fuze head, so arresting the movement of the clock body. The method was abandoned when the Germans intro​duced a new fuze in which the percussion cap and not the clock was uppermost. Kirpal Singh had been befriended, and he would never for​get it. So far, half of his time during the war had taken place in the slipstream of this lord who had never stepped out of England and planned never to step out of Countisbury once the war ended. Singh had arrived in England knowing no one, distanced from his family in the Punjab. He was twenty-one years old. He had met no one but soldiers. So that when he read the notice asking for volunteers with an experimental bomb squad, even though he heard other sappers speak of Lord Suffolk as a madman, he had already decided that in a war you have to take control, and there was a greater chance of choice and life alongside a personality or an individual. He was the only Indian among the applicants, and Lord Suffolk was late. Fifteen of them were led into a library and asked by the secretary to wait. She remained at the desk, copying out names, while the soldiers joked about the inter​view and the test. He knew no one. He walked over to a wall and stared at a barometer, was about to touch it but pulled back, just putting his face close to it. Very Dry to Fair to Stormy. He muttered the words to himself with his new Eng​lish pronunciation. “Wery dry. Very dry.” He looked back at the others, peered around the room and caught the gaze of the middle-aged secretary. She watched him sternly. An Indian boy. He smiled and walked towards the bookshelves. Again he touched nothing. At one point he put his nose close to a volume called Raymond, or Life and Death by Sir Oliver Hodge. He found another, similar title. Pierre, or the Ambiguities. He turned and caught the woman’s eyes on him again. He felt as guilty as if he had put the book in his pocket. She had prob​ably never seen a turban before. The English! They expect you to fight for them but won’t talk to you. Singh. And the ambiguities. They met a very hearty Lord Suffolk during lunch, who poured wine for anyone who wanted it, and laughed loudly at every attempt at a joke by the recruits. In the afternoon they were all given a strange exam in which a piece of machinery had to be put back together without any prior information of what it was used for. They were allowed two hours but could leave as soon as the problem was solved. Singh finished the exam quickly and spent the rest of the time inventing other objects that could be made from the various components. He sensed he would be admitted easily if it were not for his race. He had come from a country where mathematics and mechan​ics were natural traits. Cars were never destroyed. Parts of them were carried across a village and readapted into a sewing machine or water pump. The backseat of a Ford was reuphol-stered and became a sofa. Most people in his village were more likely to carry a spanner or screwdriver than a pencil. A car’s irrelevant parts thus entered a grandfather clock or irrigation pulley or the spinning mechanism of an office chair. Antidotes to mechanized disaster were easily found. One cooled an over​heating car engine not with new rubber hoses but by scooping up cow shit and patting it around the condenser. What he saw in England was a surfeit of parts that would keep the conti​nent of India going for two hundred years. He was one of three applicants selected by Lord Suffolk. This man who had not even spoken to him (and had not laughed with him, simply because he had not joked) walked across the room and put his arm around his shoulder. The severe secretary turned out to be Miss Morden, and she bus​tled in with a tray that held two large glasses of sherry, handed one to Lord Suffolk and, saying, “I know you don’t drink,” took the other one for herself and raised her glass to him. “Congratulations, your exam was splendid. Though I was sure you would be chosen, even before you took it.” “Miss Morden is a splendid judge of character. She has a nose for brilliance and character.” “Character, sir?” “Yes. It is not really necessary, of course, but we are going to be working together. We are very much a family here. Even before lunch Miss Morden had selected you.” “I found it quite a strain being unable to wink at you, Mr. Singh.” Lord Suffolk had his arm around Singh again and was walk​ing him to the window. “I thought, as we do not have to begin till the middle of next week, I’d have some of the unit come down to Home Farm. We can pool our knowledge in Devon and get to know each other. You can drive down with us in the Humber.” So he had won passage, free of the chaotic machinery of the war. He stepped into a family, after a year abroad, as if he were the prodigal returned, offered a chair at the table, em​braced with conversations. It was almost dark when they crossed the border from Som​erset into Devon on the coastal road overlooking the Bristol Channel. Mr. Harts turned down the narrow path bordered with heather and rhododendrons, a dark blood colour in this last light. The driveway was three miles long. Apart from the trinity of Suffolk, Morden and Harts, there were six sappers who made up the unit. They walked the moors around the stone cottage over the weekend. Miss Morden and Lord Suffolk and his wife were joined by the aviatrix for the Saturday-night dinner. Miss Swift told Singh she had always wished to fly overland to India. Removed from his bar​racks, Singh had no idea of his location. There was a map on a roller high up on the ceiling. Alone one morning he pulled the roller down until it touched the floor. Countisbury and Area. Mapped by R. Fones. Drawn by desire of Mr. James Halliday. “Drawn by desire ...” He was beginning to love the English. He is with Hana in the night tent when he tells her about the explosion in Erith. A 250-kilogram bomb erupting as Lord Suffolk attempted to dismantle it. It also killed Mr. Fred Harts and Miss Morden and four sappers Lord Suffolk was training. May 1941. Singh had been with Suffolk’s unit for a year. He was working in London that day with Lieutenant Blackler, clearing the Elephant and Castle area of a Satan bomb. They had worked together at defusing the 4,ooo-pound bomb and were exhausted. He remembered halfway through he looked up and saw a couple of bomb disposal officers pointing in his direction and wondered what that was about. It probably meant they had found another bomb. It was after ten at night and he was dangerously tired. There was another one waiting for him. He turned back to work. 瑟福克爵士最好的朋友是一个女飞行员，她恨这个社会，却喜欢瑟福克爵士。他们一起去射击。她住在康蒂斯布雷崖上的一座小屋里，能够俯视布里斯托海峡。他们驾车经过每一个村庄时，瑟福克爵士都会为他们介绍那儿的趣事。“这儿卖的黑刺李手杖最好。”他的口气就好像基普想穿着军装、包着头巾走进都铎王朝的街角小店，与店主聊一聊手杖。普基后来告诉哈纳，瑟福克爵士是最好的英国人。如果没有战争，他根本不会离开康蒂斯布雷的家庭农庄，放弃隐居生活。他在农庄里喝得烂醉，与后面洗衣房里的苍蝇为伴。他五十岁了，虽然已婚，但个性像单身汉，每天走到悬崖上去，看望他的飞行员朋友。他喜欢修理东西——旧洗衣盆、发电机和水轮带动的烤肉铁叉。他还帮助飞行员斯威夫特小姐搜集获獾的生活习性资料。 在开车去韦斯特伯里白垩马雕像的途中，可以听到许多轶事传闻。甚至在战争时期，他也知道在哪儿停下来喝口茶最好。他冲进帕美勒的茶室。他的手臂因一次意外受了伤，正用吊腕带吊着。他率领着他的家庭——秘书、私人司机和工兵——好像他们是他的孩子一样。投有人知道瑟福克爵士是怎样说服未爆弹委员会允许他成立他的拆弹试验小组的，但是从他富于创造的背景来看，他也许比别人更有资格。他是个自学成功的人，他相信他的头脑能洞悉任何发明背后的动机和精髓。他发明了一种有口袋的衬衣，可以让工兵在拆弹时有个放置引信的地方。 他们边喝茶，边等着烤饼上来，讨论着就地拆除炸弹引信的。 “我相信你，基普·辛格先生，你是知道的，对吗?” “是的，先生。”基普崇拜他。他一直认为，瑟福克爵士是他在英国所遇见的第一位真正的绅士。 “我相信你会做得像我一样好，莫登小姐会和你一起作记录，哈茨先生要离你远些。如果你需要更多的设备或力量，只要吹响那个警用口哨，他就会去帮你。他不会给你什么建议，但他很内行。如果他没照你的话做，就示他不同意你的做法，而我会采纳他的建议。但是由你在现场全权处理。这是我的手枪——现在的引信也许更先进了，可是谁知道呢，你也许会有好运气。” 瑟福克爵士在暗示一件使他声名大噪的事。他发明了一种对付延迟爆炸的炸弹引信的办法，就是拔出左轮手枪，对着引信头开一枪，这样就能使定时器停止了。后来由于德国人使用了一种新的引信，而必须放弃这种方法，因为这种新的引信上部是雷管，不是定时装置。 瑟福克爵士对他以朋友相待，基普永远不会忘记这点。迄今为止，战争期间他大半追随着瑟福克，这位大人从来没有走出过英国，战后也不打算走出康蒂斯布雷。基普初到英国时，谁也不认识，这儿离他在旁遮普的家太远了。他已经二十一岁了。除了士兵之外，他没有遇到过其他人。所以当他看到拆弹试验小组招募志愿者时，虽然听到别的工兵说瑟福克爵士是个疯子，他仍然下定决心，要在战争中把握时机，抓住这个在一生中追随一位名人或英雄的大好机会。 在申请者中，基普·辛格是惟一的印度人，而瑟福克爵士来晚了。他们十五个人被带到一间书房里，秘书请他们在那里等着。她坐在桌边，抄着名单，此刻，士兵们正在拿面试和测验开着玩笑。他谁也不认识。他走到墙边，盯着一个气压计看，大概想摸摸它，但却又把手缩了回来，只是把脸贴近了些。干燥转晴朗转暴风雨——他喃喃自语着刚学的英语发音：“‘刚’燥、‘干’燥。”他回头看看其他人，小心翼翼地扫视这个房间。他的目光与那个中年秘书相遇，她严厉地看看他——一个印度男孩。他微微一笑，向书架走去，还是什么也没碰。他把鼻子凑进一本书，书名是《雷蒙德，或生与死》，作者是奥利弗·霍奇爵士。他又找到另一本类似的书名《皮尔，或模棱两可》，他回头又遇到了那个女人的目光。他觉得有一种罪恶感，好像他把书放进了口袋里一样。也许她以前从未见过包头巾的人吧。英国人!他们只希望你为他们打仗，却不想和你交谈。 他们在中午吃饭的时候见到了热情的瑟福克爵士，他帮每个想喝酒的人斟酒，对应试者所说的笑话报以大笑。下午，他们都进行了一次奇怪的考试——在没有事先得知机器用途的情形下，重新组装一组机器。考试时间是两个小时，但是只要组装完毕，马上就可以离开。基普很快就考完了，在剩下的时间里，他利用那些配件，拼凑别的玩意儿。他觉得如果不是因为种族的关系，他应该很容易被录取的。他来自一个国家，在那儿，数学和机械是一种与生俱来的才能。汽车从来不会被销毁——汽车零件往往被送到另外一个村庄，改装成缝纫机和水泵。福特车的后座重新装饰以后，变成了沙发。大部分村人很可能手拿着扳手和螺丝起子，而很少握着铅笔。一辆汽车上互不相关的零件经拼凑之后，可以变成一个老爷钟，或灌溉滑轮，或使办公椅旋转的机械装置。医治机械毛病的办法不胜枚举。村子里的人冷却一部过热的汽车，不是用新的橡皮水管，而是舀一勺牛粪，把它轻拍在冷凝器上。他在英国看到的多余的零件，足够印度大陆使用两百年。 他是瑟福克爵士选中的三名招募者之一。这个没和他说过话的人(也没和他笑过，因为他没有说过什么笑话)穿过房间，把他的手放在基普的肩上。后来他才知道那位严厉的秘书是莫登小姐，她托着个盘子急忙走进来，上面放着两杯雪利酒，她递了一杯给瑟福克爵士，然后对基普说：“我知道你不喝酒。”她拿起另一个杯子，对他举杯：“恭喜你，你的考试成绩棒极了，虽然我在考试前就知道你会被选中。” “莫登小姐知人善任。她的鼻子能嗅出卓越的才能和良好的性格。” “性格，先生?” “是的，当然，它并不是真的那么重要，但我们毕竟将一起共事。我们这里就像个家庭，在吃中饭之前，莫登小姐已经选中了你。” “我拼命克制自己，才没有对你使眼色，基普·辛格先生。” 瑟福克爵士又把他的手放在基普的肩膀上，把他带到窗前。 “我想我们要到下礼拜中才开始，我会有几个小组到家庭农庄来。我们在德文郡学习知识、相互了解。你可以和我们一起乘汉布尔车到德文郡去。” 就这样他人选了，从战争机器的混乱中解脱出来。在国外待了一年，基普步人了一个家庭。他仿佛是个回头的浪子，重新回到餐桌边，与家人尽情谈笑。 他们行驶在能俯瞰布里斯托海峡的海边公路上，穿过索美塞得郡的边界，进入德文郡。哈茨先生转入一条狭窄的海边小径，路旁长满了石南属植物和杜鹃花，天边映着一抹暗红色的晚霞。这条车道有三英里长。 除了瑟福克、莫登和哈茨三人外，这个组还有另外六名工兵。每到周末，他们会在小石室周围的原野散心。莫登小姐、瑟福克爵士和他的妻子，还有那个女飞行员，在周末晚上一起用餐。斯威夫特小姐告诉基普，她曾想在印度的空中翱翔。从营房里搬出来后，基普对他所在的位置一无所知。天花板上挂着一份卷轴式的地图。一天早上，当他独自一人的时候，他把地图拉到地上。“(康蒂斯布雷和周围地区地图)。由R·福斯应詹姆斯·哈利迪先生之请求而绘制。” “应请求而绘……”他开始喜欢英国人了。 晚上他和哈纳在帐篷里时，他给她讲述了在厄里斯的那场爆炸。当瑟福克爵土试图拆除一枚二百五十公斤重的炸弹时，它爆炸了。在这场事故中同时死去的还有弗雷德·哈茨先生、莫登小姐和瑟福克爵土正在训练的四名工兵。那是一九四一年五月的事。基普在瑟福克的小组里待了一年。事情发生当天，他正在伦敦与布莱克中尉一起工作，在“大象与城堡区”清理一枚撒旦炸弹。他们一起拆除了四千磅炸弹的引信，两人都累坏了。他记得他干到一半的时候，抬头看见几个拆弹军官正指着他的方向，他不知道那是什么意思。也许是他们又找到了一枚炸弹。当时已过了晚上十点，他累得要命。又有另一枚炸弹在等着他去拆除了，他转头又投入了工作。