In 1880 Benjamin Button was twenty years old, and he signalised his birthday by going to work for his father in Roger Button&Co., Wholesale Hardware. It was in that same year that he began“going out socially”—that is, his father insisted on taking him to several fashionable dances. Roger Button was now fifty, and he and his son were more and more companionable—in fact, since Benjamin had ceased to dye his hair (which was still grayish) they appeared about the same age, and could have passed for brothers.
One night in August they got into the phaeton attired in their full-dress suits and drove out to a dance at the Shevlins' country house, situated just outside of Baltimore. It was a gorgeous evening. A full moon drenched the road to the lustreless color of platinum, and late-blooming harvest flowers breathed into the motionless air aromas that were like low, half-heard laughter. The open country, carpeted for rods around with bright wheat, was translucent as in the day. It was almost impossible not to be affected by the sheer beauty of the sky—almost.
“There's a great future in the dry-goods business,” Roger Button was saying. He was not a spiritual man—his aesthetic sense was rudimentary.
“Old fellows like me can't learn new tricks,” he observed profoundly. “It's you youngsters with energy and vitality that have the great future before you.”
Far up the road the lights of the Shevlins' country house drifted into view, and presently there was a sighing sound that crept persistently toward them—it might have been the fine plaint of violins or the rustle of the silver wheat under the moon.
They pulled up behind a handsome brougham whose passengers were disembarking at the door. A lady got out, then an elderly gentleman, then another young lady, beautiful as sin. Benjamin started; an almost chemical change seemed to dissolve and recompose the very elements of his body. A rigour passed over him, blood rose into his cheeks, his forehead, and there was a steady thumping in his ears. It was first love.
The girl was slender and frail, with hair that was ashen under the moon and honey-colored under the sputtering gas-lamps of the porch. Over her shoulders was thrown a Spanish mantilla of softest yellow, butter flied in black; her feet were glittering buttons at the hem of her bustled dress.
Roger Button leaned over to his son. “That,” he said, “is young Hildegarde Moncrief, the daughter of General Moncrief.”
Benjamin nodded coldly. “Pretty little thing,” he said indifferently. But when the negro boy had led the buggy away, he added: “Dad, you might introduce me to her.”
They approached a group, of which Miss Moncrief was the centre. Reared in the old tradition, she curtsied low before Benjamin. Yes, he might have a dance. He thanked her and walked away—staggered away.
The interval until the time for his turn should arrive dragged itself out interminably. He stood close to the wall, silent, inscrutable, watching with murderous eyes the young bloods of Baltimore as they eddied around Hildegarde Moncrief, passionate admiration in their faces. How obnoxious they seemed to Benjamin; how intolerably rosy! Their curling brown whiskers aroused in him a feeling equivalent to indigestion.
But when his own time came, and he drifted with her out upon the changing floor to the music of the latest waltz from Paris, his jealousies and anxieties melted from him like a mantle of snow. Blind with enchantment, he felt that life was just beginning.
“You and your brother got here just as we did, didn't you?” asked Hildegarde, looking up at him with eyes that were like bright blue enamel.
Benjamin hesitated. If she took him for his father's brother, would it be best to enlighten her? He remembered his experience at Yale, so he decided against it. It would be rude to contradict a lady; it would be criminal to mar this exquisite occasion with the grotesque story of his origin. Later, perhaps. So he nodded, smiled, listened, was happy.
“I like men of your age,” Hildegarde told him. “Young boys are so idiotic. They tell me how much champagne they drink at college, and how much money they lose playing cards. Men of your age know how to appreciate women.”
Benjamin felt himself on the verge of a proposal—with an effort he choked back the impulse.
“You're just the romantic age,” she continued—“fifty. Twenty-five is too wordly-wise; thirty is apt to be pale from overwork; forty is the age of long stories that take a whole cigar to tell; sixty is—oh, sixty is too near seventy; but fifty is the mellow age. I love fifty.”
Fifty seemed to Benjamin a glorious age. He longed passionately to be fifty.
“I've always said,” went on Hildegarde, “that I'd rather marry a man of fifty and be taken care of than many a man of thirty and take care of him.”
For Benjamin the rest of the evening was bathed in a honey-colored mist. Hildegarde gave him two more dances, and they discovered that they were marvellously in accord on all the questions of the day. She was to go driving with him on the following Sunday, and then they would discuss all these questions further.
Going home in the phaeton just before the crack of dawn, when the first bees were humming and the fading moon glimmered in the cool dew, Benjamin knew vaguely that his father was discussing wholesale hardware.
“.…And what do you think should merit our biggest attention after hammers and nails?” the elder Button was saying.
“Love,” replied Benjamin absent-mindedly.
“Lugs?” exclaimed Roger Button, “Why, I've just covered the question of lugs.”
Benjamin regarded him with dazed eyes just as the eastern sky was suddenly cracked with light, and an oriole yawned piercingly in the quickening trees.…
一八八〇年,本杰明·巴頓二十歲。生日這天,他因?yàn)槿チ_杰·巴頓五金批發(fā)公司為父親工作而變得不同凡響。就在這一年,他開(kāi)始“出去社交”——也就是說(shuō),父親堅(jiān)持帶他去參加了幾個(gè)時(shí)髦舞會(huì)。羅杰·巴頓現(xiàn)在五十歲,他和兒子待在一起的時(shí)間越來(lái)越多了——事實(shí)上,自從本杰明不再染發(fā)(他的頭發(fā)依然是灰色),他們的年齡看上去不相上下,可能會(huì)被誤認(rèn)為兄弟。
八月里的一個(gè)夜晚,他們穿著晚禮服登上四輪馬車,趕往位于巴爾的摩郊外的謝夫林鄉(xiāng)村俱樂(lè)部參加一個(gè)舞會(huì)。這是個(gè)美妙的夜晚。一輪滿月灑著清輝,把道路映照得像白金似的閃閃發(fā)亮,晚開(kāi)的花朵向靜謐的空氣吐露芳香,仿佛漫不經(jīng)心的淺笑。鋪滿花草的鄉(xiāng)野非常開(kāi)闊,到處是明亮的麥田,月色迷離,恰如白天。如此美好的月夜,要是不讓人們心醉神迷幾乎是不可能的——幾乎。
“干貨行業(yè)大有前途?!绷_杰·巴頓說(shuō)。他沒(méi)什么精神追求——他的審美處于初級(jí)階段。
“像我這樣的老朽學(xué)不了新技能了,”他具有深刻的洞察力,“你們這些生龍活虎的年輕人才大有前途啊?!?/p>
道路的遠(yuǎn)處,謝夫林鄉(xiāng)村俱樂(lè)部的燈光在他們的視野里飄飄忽忽,如泣如訴的音樂(lè)不絕于耳——這大概是優(yōu)雅哀婉的小提琴或是月光下銀色的麥浪奏出的樂(lè)章。
他們?cè)谝惠v氣派的布魯厄姆馬車后面停下來(lái),上面的人正從馬車的門口走出來(lái)。先是一位女士,接著是一位年長(zhǎng)的紳士,再接著是另一位女士,她年輕貌美,美得簡(jiǎn)直會(huì)讓人犯罪。本杰明大吃一驚,體內(nèi)仿佛發(fā)生了神奇的化學(xué)反應(yīng),身體元素好像被溶解和重新組合。一道電流傳遍全身,他面紅耳赤,心跳加快。他第一次嘗到了戀愛(ài)的滋味。
女孩苗條嬌嫩,月亮給她的秀發(fā)鍍了一層銀光,而走廊里嗶剝作響的煤氣燈則把它照得像蜂蜜一樣金黃透亮。她的肩上披著一件鵝黃色的西班牙小披風(fēng),上面點(diǎn)綴著黑蝴蝶圖案;撐開(kāi)的裙裾下面,一雙小腳仿佛兩顆閃閃發(fā)光的紐扣。
羅杰·巴頓歪著頭看著兒子?!澳俏还媚?,”他說(shuō),“是年輕的希爾德加德·蒙克利夫,蒙克利夫?qū)④姷呐畠??!?/p>
本杰明心不在焉地點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭。“漂亮的小東西?!彼卣f(shuō)。然而當(dāng)黑人男孩為他們引著路走開(kāi)的時(shí)候,他又說(shuō):“爸爸,你可不可以把我引薦給她?!?/p>
他們來(lái)到以蒙克利夫小姐為中心的人群中。由于接受了舊式傳統(tǒng)教育,她在本杰明面前顯得謙恭有禮。是的,他可以請(qǐng)她跳舞。他向她表示感謝,然后走開(kāi)了——跌跌撞撞地走開(kāi)了。
輪到他請(qǐng)她跳舞前的那段時(shí)間非常漫長(zhǎng)。他站在墻邊,沉默地、神秘地、用要置人于死地的目光注視著巴爾的摩那些年輕的紈绔子弟,他們的臉上洋溢著熱烈的傾慕之情,圍著希爾德加德·蒙克利夫團(tuán)團(tuán)轉(zhuǎn)。本杰明覺(jué)得他們非??蓯海麄兡敲磁d奮,真是令人受不了!他們那卷曲的棕色胡須在他內(nèi)心深處激起一種類似于消化不良的情感。
然而,一輪到他自己,他立即和她踏著巴黎最新流行的華爾茲舞曲滑入燈光變幻的舞池,他的嫉妒和焦慮就像覆蓋在心頭的雪花一樣融化了。他意亂情迷,覺(jué)得生活才剛剛開(kāi)始。
“我們到這兒的時(shí)候,你和你哥哥也剛好到,是嗎?”希爾德加德抬頭望著他說(shuō),她的眼睛好像明亮的藍(lán)色搪瓷。
本杰明不知如何回答。如果她誤認(rèn)為他是父親的弟弟,是不是最好向她說(shuō)明情況呢?他想起耶魯大學(xué)的經(jīng)歷,決定將錯(cuò)就錯(cuò)。反駁女士的見(jiàn)解是不禮貌的;用他那荒唐的身世破壞這良辰美景是有罪的。以后再說(shuō)吧,也許還有機(jī)會(huì)。因此他點(diǎn)點(diǎn)頭,微笑著聽(tīng)她說(shuō)話,覺(jué)得非常幸福。
“我喜歡你這個(gè)年紀(jì)的人,”希爾德加德告訴他,“年輕男子非常無(wú)知。他們對(duì)我說(shuō),他們上大學(xué)時(shí)喝了多少香檳,賭博輸?shù)舳嗌馘X。像你這個(gè)年紀(jì)的人知道如何欣賞女性?!?/p>
本杰明覺(jué)得自己馬上就想向她求婚——他竭力克制住這個(gè)沖動(dòng)。
“你正處在浪漫的年紀(jì),”她接著說(shuō),“五十歲的年紀(jì)。二十五歲太功利;三十歲過(guò)于勞頓;四十歲故事太多,需要徹底吸完一根雪茄才能講完;六十歲——哦,六十歲又離七十歲近在咫尺;只有五十歲是恰到好處的年紀(jì)。我喜歡五十歲?!?/p>
本杰明覺(jué)得五十歲是個(gè)值得驕傲的年紀(jì)。他巴不得自己五十歲了。
“我一直說(shuō),”希爾德加德繼續(xù)說(shuō),“我寧愿嫁給一個(gè)五十歲的人,受他呵護(hù);而不愿嫁給一個(gè)三十歲的人,去照顧他?!?/p>
這個(gè)夜晚余下的時(shí)間,本杰明都沉浸在朦朦朧朧的甜蜜之中。希爾德加德又給了他兩個(gè)和她共舞的機(jī)會(huì)。那天他們發(fā)現(xiàn),他們?cè)谌魏螁?wèn)題上都能一拍即合。下個(gè)禮拜日,她要和他一起乘車兜風(fēng),進(jìn)一步談?wù)撨@些問(wèn)題。
黎明前,他們乘著四輪馬車回家去,第一群蜜蜂已經(jīng)在嗡嗡歌唱,蒼白的月光照在清涼的露珠上,本杰明恍恍惚惚地聽(tīng)見(jiàn)父親在談五金批發(fā)的事。
“……除了錘子和釘子,你覺(jué)得我們還應(yīng)把重點(diǎn)放在哪里?”老巴頓說(shuō)。
“愛(ài)情?!北窘苊餍牟辉谘傻卣f(shuō)。
“手柄(3)?”羅杰·巴頓吃驚地說(shuō),“哦,我剛才已經(jīng)說(shuō)過(guò)手柄了?!?/p>
本杰明眼神迷茫地看著他,這時(shí)東方的天空突然射出一道光芒,一只白頭翁在一棵生機(jī)勃勃的樹(shù)上打了個(gè)哈欠,發(fā)出了尖銳的叫聲……
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