第四章 绿山墙的早晨
安妮醒来时，天已大亮。她坐起身，在床上茫然地盯着窗户——明媚的阳光正从那里倾泻而入，窗外有什么白茸茸的东西在摇曳，其间不时闪过一角蓝天。
有那么一瞬，她记不起自己身在何处。先是涌起一阵愉悦的悸动，像是遇着了什么极欢喜的事；随即，一个可怕的念头袭来。这里是绿山墙，而他们不想要她，因为她不是个男孩！
可毕竟是早晨了，而且，没错，窗外那棵正繁花满枝的，是一棵樱桃树。她猛地跳下床，跨过地板。她推起窗框——它吱呀作响、滞涩难开，仿佛许久未曾抬起过，事实也确是如此；它卡得极紧，竟不用任何东西支着便停在了半空。
安妮跪下来，凝望六月的晨景，眼里闪着欢喜的光。噢，难道不美吗？这难道不是个可爱的地方？倘若她当真不能留在这里！那她便想象自己能留下吧。此处，正容得下想象驰骋。
屋外长着一棵巨大的樱桃树，枝桠几乎贴着墙，开得密密层层，几乎看不见叶子。房子两侧各有一座大果园，一边是苹果树，一边是樱桃树，也都缀满繁花；草地上星星点点撒着蒲公英。下方的园子里立着紫花盈枝的丁香树，那醉人的甜香乘着晨风飘上窗来。
园子往下，是一片青翠、长满三叶草的草地，斜斜没入低谷；那里有小溪流淌，成片的白桦亭亭玉立，从那暗示着蕨类、苔藓与林间种种妙趣的灌木丛中拔地而起。再远处是一座小山，云杉与冷杉织出羽状的绿意；山间有一处缺口，从中可望见她从闪光之湖对岸见过的那座小屋的灰色山墙端。
左首是几座大谷仓，再往远去，越过低缓的青绿田野，是一抹闪着光的蔚蓝海色。
安妮爱美的眼睛流连其上，贪婪地收尽一切。可怜的孩子，她此生见过太多不堪的地方；而此处，美得一如她曾梦到过的任何景象。
她跪在那里，除周遭的美之外万物皆忘，直到肩头一只手惊得她一颤。玛丽拉悄无声息地走进来，这小梦想家竟丝毫未觉。
“你该穿好衣服了。”她生硬地说。
玛丽拉实在不知该如何同这孩子说话，那份不自在的无措，让她本非有意时，也说得干巴巴、硬邦邦的。
安妮站起身，长长吸了口气。
“噢，难道不奇妙吗？”她说，手朝外头的好世界一划，将一切尽数揽入。
“是棵大树，”玛丽拉说，“花开得盛，可果子从来不中用——又小又生虫。”
“噢，我说的不是树本身；它自然可爱——是的，它_灿然_可爱——开得仿佛出自本心——可我说的是一切，那园子、果园、小溪和林子，这整个亲爱的大世界。这样的早晨，您难道不觉得就只是爱着这世界？我在这儿都能听见小溪一路笑上来。您可曾留意，小溪多叫人欢喜？它们总在笑。便是冬日，我也听过冰下的笑声。我真高兴绿山墙近旁有条溪。您或许以为，反正您不打算留我，这于我并无分别，可实则不同。哪怕再也见不到，我也会永远乐意记着绿山墙有条溪。若没有溪，我定要被那‘本该有条溪’的不安念头缠住。今早我不在绝望深处。早晨我从不至绝望。有早晨这般事物，岂非幸甚？可我仍觉哀伤。我方才正想象，原来您终究是想要我的，我将永永远远留在这里。那想象在时，是极大的安慰。可想象之事的坏处，在于总有不得不停下的时刻，而那便生疼。”
“你最好穿好衣、下楼去，别管你的想象了，”玛丽拉一逮着插话的空当便说，“早饭候着了。洗脸梳头。窗子敞着，被褥翻到床脚。利索些。”
安妮显然能利索得恰到好处，不过十分钟便下了楼：衣衫齐整，头发梳顺编好，脸也洗过，心底还妥帖地明白自己已满足玛丽拉全部要求。只是事实上，她忘了翻被褥。
“今早我颇饿，”她挨着玛丽拉摆好的椅子坐下，开口道，“这世界不似昨夜那般嚎哭的荒原了。真高兴是个晴天。可我也顶喜欢雨晨。各式各样的早晨都有趣，您说是不是？你不知这一日要发生什么，而想象大有余地。但我高兴今日无雨，因晴天更易欢欣、更易在苦难下挺住。我觉得自己颇有些要挺住的。读他人的悲苦、想象自己英勇熬过，自是一桩美事；可真临到自己头上，便不那般妙了，是不是？”
“行行好，闭嘴吧，”玛丽拉说，“你一个小女孩，话实在太多。”
安妮于是极顺从、极彻底地闭了嘴，那持续的静默倒叫玛丽拉有些不安，仿佛眼前之物不大自然。马修也闭着嘴——不过这本自然——于是这顿饭吃得极静。
饭间，安妮愈发出神，机械地嚼着，大眼定定地、空空地落在窗外天上。这叫玛丽拉比先前更不安了；她有种不自在的念头：这古怪孩子的身虽在桌边，魂却早随想象的翅，飘去远方云乡了。谁会想要这样的孩子在家？
可马修竟想留下她，荒唐得没道理！玛丽拉觉着，今早他想要的心思，与昨夜一般浓，且还会继续想要。马修便是如此——念头一钻进脑壳，便以那惊人默然的执拗死抓不放，而这执拗，正因其默然，反比说出口来有力十倍。
饭毕，安妮自出神中醒过，主动要洗碗。
“你碗洗得妥当吗？”玛丽拉疑心地问。
“还算妥。不过我更擅照看孩子。这方面我经验多得很。可惜您这儿没孩子给我照看，真是憾事。”
“我觉着，眼前这孩子已够我照看，再多一个可受不了。_你_本就够叫人为难。拿你怎么办，我是一点主意也无。马修是个极荒唐的男人。”
“我觉得他可爱，”安妮怨怪地说，“他那样善解人意。我说多少他都不烦——倒似爱听。我一见他便觉，他是知音。”
“若知音便是你们这般古怪，那你们倒够古怪一对，”玛丽拉嗤一声，“罢了，碗你洗吧。水要烫，务必擦干。今早我事多，下午还得驾车去白沙湾见斯宾塞太太。你随我去，顺道把你安置下。碗洗完，上楼铺床。”
安妮手脚颇伶俐，玛丽拉在一旁紧盯，也瞧出她洗得不错。其后铺床便不大成功，因她从未学过与羽毛褥子角力。可总算胡乱铺平了；玛丽拉为打发她，便说她可去户外自玩到午饭时。
安妮飞向门边，面泛光、眼含焰。可刚到门槛，她猛地停步，转过身，退回桌边坐下，那光与焰霎时灭得干净，仿佛有人拿熄灯罩扣上了她。
“这又怎么了？”玛丽拉问。
“我不敢出去，”安妮说，声调像殉道者弃绝了尘世一切欢愉，“若不能留在此地，爱绿山墙便毫无用处。可若出去，与那些树、花、果园、小溪相识，我便忍不住不爱它。如今已够难，我便不再自添其难。我那样想出去——万物似都在唤我：‘安妮，安妮，出来呀。安妮，安妮，我们要个伴’——可还是不出为好。爱着事物却要被撕离，岂非徒劳？而不去爱，又那样难，是不是？所以我原以为要住这儿时，才那般欢喜。我想，我将有多少可爱，而无物阻拦。可那短梦已尽。我现已听天由命，因怕再出不甘，便不出去了。窗台上那天竺葵，叫什么名，请问？”
“那是苹果香天竺葵。”
“噢，我不是说那类名字。我是说您自己起的名。您没起过吗？那我可以起一个吗？我可以叫它——让我想想——邦妮便好——我在这儿时，能叫它邦妮吗？噢，准我吧！”
“天，我无所谓。可给天竺葵起名，究竟有何用？”
“噢，我喜欢万物有称呼，哪怕只是天竺葵。那叫它们更像人。您怎知，天竺葵只被叫作天竺葵、再无别称，不会伤着心？您总不愿一辈子只被叫作‘女人’吧。是的，我要叫它邦妮。今早我给我卧室外那樱桃树起了名。我叫它雪后，因它那样白。当然，它不会永远开花，可人可以想象它正开着，是不是？”
“我活这大半辈子，没见没听过这样的，”玛丽拉嘀咕着，退去地窖取土豆，“她_确_有些意思，如马修所言。我竟已觉着，好奇她下一句要说什么了。她也要对我下咒了。她已对马修下了咒。他出门那眼神，把他昨夜说的、暗示的，全又重说一遍。愿他如旁人般，把事说出来。那样好歹能回嘴，把他劝回理中。可对着一个只_看_的男人，能怎么办？”
玛丽拉自地窖回来时，安妮又陷了出神，手托腮、眼望天。玛丽拉由她去，直到早午饭摆上桌。
“下午那母马和篷车，我可用吧，马修？”玛丽拉说。
马修点点头，若有所盼地望了安妮一眼。玛丽拉截住那眼神，冷冷道：
“我要驾车去白沙湾，了结这事。我带安妮同去，斯宾塞太太多半会安排即刻送她回新斯科舍。你的茶我摆好，挤牛时我必回。”
马修仍不言语，玛丽拉只觉话与气皆白费。没什么比一个不回嘴的男人更叫人恼——除非是一个不回嘴的女人。
马修按时将栗色马套上车，玛丽拉与安妮便出发了。马修替她们开了院门，车缓缓驶出时，他似对无人处说道：
“溪上来的小杰里·布特今早来过，我告诉他，夏天我雇他了。”
玛丽拉未答，却将那倒霉栗马狠狠一鞭，胖母马不惯此待，怒地窜出巷去，速度快得吓人。车颠着行，玛丽拉回头一望，见那恼人的马修正倚门而望，满眼盼着她们远去。
IT was broad daylight when Anne awoke and sat up in bed, staring
confusedly at the window through which a flood of cheery sunshine was
pouring and outside of which something white and feathery waved across
glimpses of blue sky.
For a moment she could not remember where she was. First came a
delightful thrill, as of something very pleasant; then a horrible
remembrance. This was Green Gables and they didn’t want her because she
wasn’t a boy!
But it was morning and, yes, it was a cherry-tree in full bloom outside
of her window. With a bound she was out of bed and across the floor.
She pushed up the sash--it went up stiffly and creakily, as if it hadn’t
been opened for a long time, which was the case; and it stuck so tight
that nothing was needed to hold it up.
Anne dropped on her knees and gazed out into the June morning, her eyes
glistening with delight. Oh, wasn’t it beautiful? Wasn’t it a lovely
place? Suppose she wasn’t really going to stay here! She would imagine
she was. There was scope for imagination here.
A huge cherry-tree grew outside, so close that its boughs tapped against
the house, and it was so thick-set with blossoms that hardly a leaf
was to be seen. On both sides of the house was a big orchard, one of
apple-trees and one of cherry-trees, also showered over with blossoms;
and their grass was all sprinkled with dandelions. In the garden below
were lilac-trees purple with flowers, and their dizzily sweet fragrance
drifted up to the window on the morning wind.
Below the garden a green field lush with clover sloped down to the
hollow where the brook ran and where scores of white birches grew,
upspringing airily out of an undergrowth suggestive of delightful
possibilities in ferns and mosses and woodsy things generally. Beyond it
was a hill, green and feathery with spruce and fir; there was a gap in
it where the gray gable end of the little house she had seen from the
other side of the Lake of Shining Waters was visible.
Off to the left were the big barns and beyond them, away down over
green, low-sloping fields, was a sparkling blue glimpse of sea.
Anne’s beauty-loving eyes lingered on it all, taking everything greedily
in. She had looked on so many unlovely places in her life, poor child;
but this was as lovely as anything she had ever dreamed.
She knelt there, lost to everything but the loveliness around her, until
she was startled by a hand on her shoulder. Marilla had come in unheard
by the small dreamer.
“It’s time you were dressed,” she said curtly.
Marilla really did not know how to talk to the child, and her
uncomfortable ignorance made her crisp and curt when she did not mean to
be.
Anne stood up and drew a long breath.
“Oh, isn’t it wonderful?” she said, waving her hand comprehensively at
the good world outside.
“It’s a big tree,” said Marilla, “and it blooms great, but the fruit
don’t amount to much never--small and wormy.”
“Oh, I don’t mean just the tree; of course it’s lovely--yes, it’s
_radiantly_ lovely--it blooms as if it meant it--but I meant everything,
the garden and the orchard and the brook and the woods, the whole big
dear world. Don’t you feel as if you just loved the world on a morning
like this? And I can hear the brook laughing all the way up here.
Have you ever noticed what cheerful things brooks are? They’re always
laughing. Even in winter-time I’ve heard them under the ice. I’m so glad
there’s a brook near Green Gables. Perhaps you think it doesn’t make any
difference to me when you’re not going to keep me, but it does. I shall
always like to remember that there is a brook at Green Gables even if
I never see it again. If there wasn’t a brook I’d be _haunted_ by the
uncomfortable feeling that there ought to be one. I’m not in the depths
of despair this morning. I never can be in the morning. Isn’t it a
splendid thing that there are mornings? But I feel very sad. I’ve just
been imagining that it was really me you wanted after all and that I was
to stay here for ever and ever. It was a great comfort while it lasted.
But the worst of imagining things is that the time comes when you have
to stop and that hurts.”
