Chapter 6
The cry in the corridor
The rain began again that night. It beat against the window, waking Mary up. She listened as the wind howled round the house and down her chimney. She tried but could not get back to sleep. ‘Stupid wind!’ she thought.
Then she heard another noise. It sounded like crying. She sat up. It was someone crying! She tiptoed out of bed and opened her door. The crying was coming from the other side of the house; from the part she wasn’t allowed to explore.
Taking her candle, she made her way along the corridor. The crying was much louder here and soon Mary came to a door where a glimmer of light spilled into the corridor. She swallowed hard and stepped into a huge room. There was fire glowing, throwing shadows onto large, handsome furniture, and in a four-poster bed a boy about her own age was crying his heart out.
The boy had huge, dark eyes that seemed too big for his thin, pale face. When he saw the light from Mary’s candle his eyes widened even further, but the crying stopped.
‘Wh… who are you?’ the boy asked, his voice trembling. ‘Are you a ghost?’
‘No, no, I’m Mary Lennox. I live here. Who are you?’
‘I’m Colin.’
‘Colin?’
‘Colin Craven. My father is master of this house.’
‘Oh!’ Mary gasped. ‘I didn’t know Mr. Craven had a son!’
‘Well, he does, not that he cares,’ Colin sniffed.
‘That makes us cousins!’ Mary said and told him who she was. ‘Didn’t anyone tell you about me?’
‘No. They probably daren’t.’
‘Why?’ Mary asked.
‘I don’t like new people. I don’t like being looked at.’
‘Why not?’
Colin wiped the tears from his eyes.
‘Because I shall have a hunchback like my father any day now. If l live long enough to get a hunchback, that is.’
‘Why won’t you live long enough?’
Colin stared at Mary crossly. ‘Because I am so weak and ill. Isn’t it obvious?’
‘It’s not obvious to me. You just look thin and pale. A bit like I did when I came from India. What does your father do to help?’
‘My father? My father hates me!’ Colin growled. ‘He hates me because when I was born my mother died. The only time he comes in this room is when he thinks I am asleep!’
‘How… how old are you?’ Mary asked.
‘Ten.’
‘The same as me.’ Mary replied.
The same length of time the secret garden has been locked up, she thought. Mary remembered Martha telling her about the broken swing. Poor Mrs. Craven. Dying without seeing her baby.
‘Tell me about India,’ Colin said, breaking into Mary’s thoughts.
So Mary told him about India. About the heat and the monsoons and the elephants and tigers and rajahs. Colin listened until he began to fall asleep. Mary felt tired too. ‘I am going back to my room now,’ she said softly.
‘You must come again,’ he told her, his voice far away, ‘come again soon.’
[释义]“我不喜欢陌生人。我不喜欢别人看我。”
