Six
THE STYMPHALEAN BIRDS
Harold Waring noticed them first walking up the path from the lake. He was sitting outside the
hotel on the terrace. The day was fine, the lake was blue, and the sun shone. Harold was smoking a
pipe and feeling that the world was a pretty good place.
His political career was shaping well. An undersecretaryship at the age of thirty was
something to be justly proud of. It had been reported that the Prime Minister had said to someone
that “young Waring would go far.” Harold was, not
unnaturally1, elated. Life presented itself to
him in
rosy2 colours. He was young,
sufficiently3 good-looking, in first-class condition, and quite
unencumbered with romantic ties.
He had
decided4 to take a holiday in Herzoslovakia so as to get right off the beaten track and
have a real rest from everyone and everything. The hotel at Lake Stempka, though small, was
comfortable and not overcrowded. The few people there were mostly foreigners. So far the only
other English people were an elderly woman, Mrs. Rice, and her married daughter, Mrs. Clayton.
Harold liked them both. Elsie Clayton was pretty in a rather old-fashioned style. She made up very
little, if at all, and was gentle and rather shy. Mrs. Rice was what is called a woman of character.
She was tall, with a deep voice and a masterful manner, but she had a sense of humour and was
good company. Her life was clearly bound up in that of her daughter.
Harold had spent some pleasant hours in the company of mother and daughter, but they did
not attempt to
monopolize5 him and relations remained friendly and unexacting between
them.
The other people in the hotel had not aroused Harold’s notice. Usually they were hikers, or
members of a motor-coach tour. They stayed a night or two and then went on. He had hardly
noticed any one else—until this afternoon.
They came up the path from the lake very slowly and it just happened that at the moment
when Harold’s attention was attracted to them, a cloud came over the sun. He shivered a little.
Then he stared. Surely there was something odd about these two women? They had long,
curved noses, like birds, and their faces, which were
curiously7 alike, were quite immobile. Over
their shoulders they wore loose cloaks that flapped in the wind like the wings of two big birds.
Harold thought to himself.
“They are like birds—” he added almost without
volition8, “birds of ill
omen6.”
The women came straight up on the terrace and passed close by him. They were not young—
perhaps nearer fifty than forty, and the resemblance between them was so close that they were
obviously sisters. Their expression was forbidding. As they passed Harold the eyes of both of
Harold’s impression of evil grew stronger. He noticed the hand of one of the two sisters, a
long clawlike hand . . . Although the sun had come out, he shivered once again. He thought:
“Horrible creatures. Like birds of
prey11. . . .”
He was distracted from these imaginings by the
emergence12 of Mrs. Rice from the hotel. He
jumped up and drew forward a chair. With a word of thanks she sat down and, as usual, began to
knit vigorously.
Harold asked:
“Did you see those two women who just went into the hotel?”
“With cloaks on? Yes, I passed them.”
“Extraordinary creatures, didn’t you think?”
“Well—yes, perhaps they are rather odd. They only arrived yesterday, I think. Very alike—
they must be twins.”
Harold said:
“I may be fanciful, but I distinctly felt there was something evil about them.”
“How curious. I must look at them more closely and see if I agree with you.”
She added: “We’ll find out from the
concierge13 who they are. Not English, I imagine?”
“Oh no.”
Mrs. Rice glanced at her watch. She said:
“Teatime. I wonder if you’d mind going in and ringing the bell, Mr. Waring?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Rice.”
He did so and then as he returned to his seat he asked:
“Where’s your daughter this afternoon?”
“Elsie? We went for a walk together. Part of the way round the lake and then back through
the pinewoods. It really was lovely.”
A waiter came out and received orders for tea. Mrs. Rice went on, her needles flying
vigorously:
“Elsie had a letter from her husband. She mayn’t come down to tea.”
“Her husband?” Harold was surprised. “Do you know, I always thought she was a widow.”
Mrs. Rice shot him a sharp glance. She said drily:
“Oh no, Elsie isn’t a widow.” She added with emphasis: “Unfortunately!”
Harold was startled.
Mrs. Rice, nodding her head grimly, said:
“Drink is responsible for a lot of unhappiness, Mr. Waring.”
“Does he drink?”
“Yes. And a good many other things as well. He’s insanely jealous and has a singularly
violent temper.” She sighed. “It’s a difficult world, Mr. Waring. I’m
devoted14 to Elsie, she’s my
only child—and to see her unhappy isn’t an easy thing to bear.”
Harold said with real emotion:
“She’s such a gentle creature.”
“A little too gentle, perhaps.”
“You mean—”
Mrs. Rice said slowly:
“A happy creature is more
arrogant15. Elsie’s gentleness comes, I think, from a sense of defeat.
Life has been too much for her.”
“How—did she come to marry this husband of hers?”
Mrs. Rice answered:
“Philip Clayton was a very attractive person. He had (still has) great charm, he had a certain
amount of money—and there was no one to advise us of his real character. I had been a widow for
many years. Two women, living alone, are not the best judges of a man’s character.”
Harold said thoughtfully:
“No, that’s true.”
He felt a wave of indignation and pity sweep over him. Elsie Clayton could not be more than
mouth. He realized, suddenly, that his interest in her went a little beyond friendship.
And she was tied to a
brute19. . . .
分享到: