廊桥遗梦-中英版9

   
 
9
  9
 
EXT. ROSEMAN BRIDGE - DAY
The truck stops. They exit. Robert takes out some equipment.
ROBERT
This won't take long. I'm shooting
tomorrow morning. I just need to do
some prep work.
FRANCESCA
I don't mind waiting.
He smiles and takes his equipment to the bridge. Francesca
slowly follows. She watches his body move. Catching herself,
she stops.
Robert sets up a tripod in the small ravine beneath the
bridge, pointing a view finder up as he plans his shots.
Francesca walks through the bridge, noticing lovers names
scrawled on the inside: CATHY & BUDDY 4 EVER... ROSIE AND
HANK TILL THE END OF TIME. Through a crack in one of the
wooden planks, Francesca watches like a voyeur as Robert
works. She sees him take out a handkerchief and wipe the sweat
off his neck, then inside his shirt and around his chest.
Without knowing where Francesca is, Robert speaks aloud:
ROBERT
Is it always this hot?
Francesca moves quickly away from the plank, like a Peeping
Tom who's been caught.
FRANCESCA
This time of year.
ROBERT
Would you do me a favor and go to the
truck? Inside that leather bag with
the pockets is a package of lens
cleaners. Would you grab me one?
Francesca obliges, grateful for something to occupy her.
Inside the truck, she scans for the leather bag. She sees it
next to a duffel bag. The bag' zipper is opened. She
glimpses inside as Robert's personal things -- clothes, socks,
underwear, shaving kit. Life magazines from July and August,
one depicting the death of Aldai Stevenson; the other a cover
photo of the Watts riots. She grabs the leather bag and
opens it.
At the bridge, Francesca looks for Robert in the raving but
he is gone. She looks through the bridge to the other end
and sees only the tripod. No Robert. She walks through the
bridge and out the other end. She finds Robert bent over,
picking flowers.
FRANCESCA
Oh there you are.
ROBERT
Oh! You caught me.
He rises with a bouquet of wildflowers for her.
ROBERT
Thanks for your help.
Francesca smiles, not knowing how to take this.
ROBERT
Men sill give women flowers, don't
they? I mean, as a sign of
appreciation? I'm not that out of
date, am I?
FRANCESCA
No, not at all --
(suddenly)
except those are poisonous.
ROBERT
WHAT!
He flings the flowers down. He wipes his hands furiously.
FRANCESCA
I'm sorry. I was kidding.
Robert looks at her with a shocked smirk, secretly liking her
strange behavior.
FRANCESCA
I'm sorry. I don't know what -- I'm
sorry. Really. They're lovely.
She begins picking up the flowers.
ROBERT
(smiling)
Are you by nature a sadistic person?
FRANCESCA
No, I'm not.
(trying not to laugh)
I don't know why I said that. I've
been in a very... strange mood all
day. I've never done anything like
that before. It's... I'm just...
(looking for excuse)
Well, you know, the whole world is
just going nuts.
Robert looks at her like she's nuts. Francesca tries to dig
herself out of her hole. Robert enjoys offering no help.
FRANCESCA
What with those riots in Los Angeles
and people burning draft cards and
... Adlai Stevenson dying last month.
She rises with the flowers. Robert gives her a friendly pat
on the arm.
ROBERT
Shouldn't let things get to you so
much.
He continues with his work. Francesca expresses relief and
embarrassment behind his back.
INT. TRUCK - LATER
Driving back, Francesca sits with her feet up on the
dashboard. Robert drives while he fiddles with the radio. All
he can find are country stations.
FRANCESCA
Looking for something in particular?
There's not much of a selection.
ROBERT
I found this Chicago station before.
Wait a minute...
(he tunes it in)
Here it is.
We hear a BLUES SINGER with a sax arrangement.
FRANCESCA
Oh, that's nice.
ROBERT
Want another cigarette?
FRANCESCA
Sure.
Francesca's having a great time.
EXT. JOHNSON HOUSE - DAY
Robert's truck drives down the road and into the driveway.
ROBERT
Well, thank you for all your help,
Mrs. Johnson.
FRANCESCA
Francesca.
ROBERT
Francesca. Robert.
Francesca nods, as if to say hello and goodbye in the same
moment. She gets out of the car, closes the door, then asks:
FRANCESCA
Would you like some iced tea?
INT. KITCHEN - DAY
Robert fiddles with the kitchen radio, tuning in to the
Chicago station. Francesca is making iced tea. Robert sits
back down at the kitchen table.
FRANCESCA
Lemon?
ROBERT
Sure.
With her back to him, Robert never takes his eyes off her.
She turns and crosses to him, with the tea.
ROBERT (cont'd)
Thanks.
Francesca smiles and sips her own. She watches him gulp down
the tea so fast, some of it dribbles down the side of his
face and neck. Francesca finds it sexy. He empties it.
FRANCESCA
Would you like another one?
Robert nods and he pulls out his cigarettes.
ROBERT
Mind if I smoke?
FRANCESCA
(at the sink)
Not at all.
Robert lights up as he watches her fix another iced tea. He
watches her slip off one boot, then the other -- never missing
a beat of her preparation. He can't help eyeing her body.
When she returns, she also has the flowers he picked for her
arranged in a Casper the Friendly Ghost jelly glass. She
places them on the table and sits.
ROBERT
Sure you want to keep those in the
house?
FRANCESCA
I'm so sorry about that. It was
rude. I think I just got nervous
for some reason.
ROBERT
I thought it was funny.
She likes that.
FRANCESCA
Where are you staying while you're
here?
ROBERT
A little place with cabins. The
something-Motor Inn. I haven't
checked in yet.
FRANCESCA
And how long are you here for?
ROBERT
As long as it takes, I might stay a
week. No more I don't think. Where's
your family?
FRANCESCA
My husband took the kids to the
Illinos State Fair. My daughter's
entering a prize steer.
ROBERT
Oh. How old?
FRANCESCA
About a year and a half.
ROBERT
No, your kids.
FRANCESCA
Oh. Michael's 17 and Carolyn's 16.
ROBERT
Must be nice having kids.
Francesca looks at him and FANTASIZES SAYING:
FANTASY:
FRANCESCA
Not any more. It's awful. They're
awful. I can't stand them.
END OF FANTASY:
But in reality, Francesca chooses instead to say:
FRANCESCA (cont'd)
They're not kids anymore. Things
change.
ROBERT
Everything does. One of the laws of
nature. People are always so afraid
of change. But if you look at it like
it's something you can count on
happening, it's actually a comfort.
Not many things you can count on for
sure.
FRANCESCA
I guess. Except I'm one of the people
it frightens.
ROBERT
I doubt that.
FRANCESCA
Why?
ROBERT
Italy to Iowa? I'd call that a change.
FRANCESCA
(explaining)
Richard was in the army. I met him
while I was living in Naples. I
didn't know where Iowa was. I only
cared that it was America. And of
course, being with Richard.
ROBERT
What's he like? 　　他们一辈子都会以这种态度生活下去,她知道这一点.这正是她灰心丧气之处.她感以受伤害,感到孤独,尽管表面上这个社会是很友好的.诗人在这里是不受欢迎的.麦迪逊县的人为弥补自己加给自己和文化自卑感,常说,"此地是孩子成长的好地方."每当此时她总想回一句;"可这是大人成长的好地方吗?"
　　他们没有什么计划,信步向牧场深处走了几百码,拐了一个弯又向屋子走去.跨过铁丝网时夜幕已经降临,这回是他为她拉下铁丝网.
　　她想起白兰地来了."我还有点白兰地,或者你宁愿要咖啡?"存在两样都要的可能吗?
　　当他们走进草地和水泥地上场院的灯照出的光圈时她回答说:"那当然,"自己听着声音有点感到不安.为是那不勒斯咖啡馆里那种有点放荡的笑声.
　　很难找到两个一点没有缺口的杯子.虽然她知道他生活中用惯了带缺口的杯子,但是这回她要完美无缺的.两只盛白兰地的玻璃杯倒扣着放在碗柜深处,像那瓶白兰地一样从来没有用过.她得踮起脚跟才够得着,自己意识到凉鞋是温的,蓝色牛仔裤紧绷在臀部.
　　他坐在原来坐过的那张椅子上注视着她.那古老的生活方式又回来了.他寻思她头发在他抚摸之下会有什么感觉,她的后背曲线是否同他的手合拍,她在他下面会有什么感觉.
　　古老的生活方式在挣扎,想要挣脱一切教养,几世纪的文化锤炼出来的礼仪.文明人的严格的规矩.他试图想点别的事:摄影.道路或者廊桥,想什么都行.就是别想现在她是什么样.
　　但是他失败了,但是还是在想触摸她的皮肤会是什么感觉,两个肚皮碰在一起会是什么感觉.这是永恒的问题,永远是同样的问题.该死的古老生活方式正挣扎着冒到表面上来.他把它们打回去,按下去,吸一支骆驼烟,深深地呼吸.
　　她一直感觉到他的目光盯在她身上,虽然他目光一直是含蓄的,从不是公然大胆的.她知道他知道白兰地从来没有倒进过这两只杯子.她也知道,凭他的爱尔兰人对悲剧和敏感性,他已感觉出一些这种空虚.不是怜悯.这不是他的事.也许是悲哀.她几乎可以听到他在脑涨中形成以下的诗句:
　　瓶末开过,
　　杯子是空的,
　　她够着身体找出来,
　　在依阿华,
　　中央河流域某地,
　　我用眼睛望着她,
　　这双眼曾见过,
　　吉瓦洛人的亚马逊河,
　　也曾见过丝绸之路,
　　骆驼行旅扬起的尘土,
　　追随我身后,
　　飞向杳无一物的
　　亚洲的苍穹
　　当弗朗西丝卡剥掉那瓶依阿华瓶盖的封皮时,她看见自己的指甲,希望它长一,保养得好一点.干农洗不能养长指甲,至目前为止,她从来没有在乎.
　　白兰地.两只玻璃杯放在桌上.她准备咖啡时,他打开瓶子在两只杯子里斟上酒,倒得到恰到好处.罗伯特金凯对晚饭后的白兰地是有经验的.
　　她心想他不知道在多少人家的厨房,在多少好饭馆里,多少灯光暗淡的客厅里实践过这一小手艺.他不知见过多少纤纤玉手捏着高脚白兰地杯的柱子,长长的指甲伸向他,有多少双蓝色圆眼睛.棕色长眼睛通过异国的夜空凝视过他--当抛了锚的帆船在岸边摇荡,当海水拍打着古老港口的堤岸?
　　厨房的顶灯太亮了,不适宜喝咖啡和白兰地.弗朗西丝卡.约翰逊,农夫之妻,要让它打开弗朗西丝卡.约翰逊,一个走过晚饭后的草地重温少女时代的旧梦的女人,要把它熄灭.有一支蜡烛就足够了.不过这样太过份了,他会误解的.她打开洗涤池上面的小灯,把顶灯关了,这样不是十全十美,但是比较好.
　　他举杯及肩向她伸去."为了古老的夜晚和远方的音乐."不知怎的,这些话让她倒吸一口气,不过她跟他碰了碰杯,虽然想说"为了古老的夜晚的远方的音乐",却只是微微笑了一下.
　　他们两人都吸着烟,沉默不语,喝着白兰地,喝着咖啡.野有一只山鸡鸣叫,杰克-那小狗-在场院里吠了两声.蚊子试着冲向桌子附近的纱窗,有一只不长于思考,却相信自己的可能自己的本能的飞蛾让洗涤池上和小灯引得团团转.
　　还是挺热的,没有风,现在有点潮湿.罗伯特金凯微微出着汗,衬衫的头两个扣子解开着.他并没有直面看着她,不过她感觉得到他即使好像在注视着窗外,他视野的边缘也会扫到她他转身时她可以从敞开的衬衫领口看到他的胸部,看见皮肤上小小的汗珠.
　　弗朗西丝卡正享受着美好的情怀,旧时情怀,诗和音乐的情怀.不过是他该走的时候了,她想.冰箱上的钟已指到九点五十二分.收音机是法伦.扬在唱着一支几前的老歌<圣.塞西利亚的神殿>,弗朗西丝卡记得那是公元三世纪的殉道者,是庇护音乐和盲人的圣者.
　　他的酒杯空了.正当他视线从窗外回过来时,弗朗西丝卡拿起白兰地瓶颈,向那空杯子做了个手势.他摇摇头."要在黎明中拍摄罗斯曼桥.我得走了."
　　她松了口气,又深深地失望.她心时来回翻腾:是的,请你走吧:再留下来唱杯白兰地;走吧.法伦.扬并不关心她的感觉,洗涤沁上的扑灯蛾也不关心,她不知道罗伯特金凯怎么样.
　　他站着,把一个背包甩到左肩,另一个放在冷藏箱上.她绕到桌子这边来.他伸出手来,她握着."谢谢今晚.晚饭,散步,都好极了.你是一个好人,弗朗西丝卡.把白兰地放在碗柜靠外这的地方,也许过些时候会好起来的."
　　他都明白了,正如她想到的.不过他的话一点也没冒犯她.他是指的浪漫情调.而且从最好意义上讲是认真的.从他柔和的语言和说这些话的神态中她看得出来.不过她有一点不知道,那就是他当时真想对着厨房的四壁大喊,把以下的话刻进白灰中:"看在耶稣的份上,理查德.约翰逊,你真是像我认定的那样,是一个大傻瓜吗?"
　　她送他出去,站着他的卡车旁等他把东西装进去.小狗穿过场院跑过来围着卡车嗅来嗅去."杰克,过来."她轻声而又严厉的命令它,于是那狗过来坐在她旁边,大口喘着气.再见,多保重,手把门关上.他转动那老旧的引擎,使劲踹着油门,车子嘎嘎喇喇地开动了,他从窗口伸出头来笑着说:"我想这车需要调音了."
　　他换挡,倒车,又换挡,然后在亮光中穿过场院.刚好在进入黑暗的小巷之前他的左手伸出窗口向她召手,她也挥手相报,虽然明知他看不见.
　　当卡车沿小巷开出时,她跑过去站在暗中注视着那红灯随着车的颠簸上下跳动.罗伯特金凯向左转上了通往温特塞特的大路,炎热的闪电划破夏空,杰克一跳一蹦回到廊下.
　　他走后,弗朗西丝卡赤身裸体站在镜台前.她骨盆因生过孩子稍微张大一点,乳房还很结实好看,不太大不太小,肚子稍微有点圆.在镜子里看不见双腿,但是她知道还是保持的很好的.她应该更经常地剃剃汗毛,不过好像也没什么意思.
　　理查德对性生活的兴趣不太经常,大约两个月有一次,不过很快就结束了,是最简单的,不动感情.似乎也不注意什么香水剃汗毛之类的事,所以人很容易邋遢起来.
　　她对于他更像一个生意合伙人而不是其它.她本人的一部分觉得这样挺好.但是她身上还有另外一个人的骚动,这个人想要淋浴,洒香水....然后让人抱起来带走,让一种强大的力量层层剥光,这力量她能感觉到,但从末说出过,哪怕是朦朦胧胧在脑子里也没有说过.
　　她又穿好衣服,坐在厨房桌子边在半张纸上写字.杰克跟着她到外面那辆福特小卡车旁,她一开车门它就跳了进去,坐到了旅客座位上.当她把车倒出车棚时,它把头伸到窗外,回头看看她,又伸到窗外.她把车开出小巷,向右转到县公路上.
　　罗斯曼桥一片漆黑.不过杰克先跳下去在前面探路,她从卡车里拿出一个手电,把纸条用大头针钉在桥左边入口处,然后回家. 
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