然而这对她没有丝毫的意义。割草人、群山、樱桃树、湖泊，所有这些实实在在的物体，她都不关心。它们似乎还把她吓得离开了阳台。但是她坚守阵地，非但没有逃离，反而像女妖一样一把抓住我，将我抛进是非、政治、法西斯主义等诸如此类的无聊而荒凉的空间。
最坏的女妖也不可能以更为恶劣的方式对待我了。我不关心是与非、政治、法西斯主义、抽象的自由，以及任何此类问题。我想看割草人，想知道为什么这个胖子、长者和黑裤子竟非要戴一顶硬边的新草帽，而且动作不灵活，颇费气力地用长镰的刀尖割草；而年轻人又高又瘦，身着天蓝色棉布裤子，一头黑发，不戴草帽，用长镰割草时，刀尖优美地向上一提，使我在对照之下对年长者由衷地不中意。
为什么现代人几乎无一例外地对实实在在展现给他们的事物视若无睹？为什么从英格兰远道而来，为的是寻找群山、湖泊、割草人和樱桃树，而这位小个子、蓝眼睛的女士却坚决地闭上她的蓝眼睛，不看这一切事物？此刻她拥有这一切事物，为什么却又将视线转向她摸不着的墨索里尼先生，转向无论如何也看不见的法西斯主义？她为什么不满足她现在的处境？她为什么不对已拥有的一切感到幸福？她为什么要表示关心？
我现在明白了她的蓝色圆眼睛为什么这么圆，圆得这么令人注目。这是因为她“关心”。她被那个神秘的“关心”妖怪所缠身。她“关心”世上所有与她无关的事情。她特别关心，因为在看不见的远方，假想中的意大利人穿着黑衬衫，可是她却毫不关心那位身穿黑裤而非天蓝色棉布裤子的年长割草人，尽管她听得到他割草的声音。假如她现在会从阳台上走下去，爬上平静的山坡，对胖胖的割草人说“Cher monsieur，pourquoi porte vous les pantalons noirs？”——那么我就会说，真是一个亲临现场的小个子女士！——可是既然她只会拿国际政治来折磨我，我只能说：真是个离题太远的讨厌的老太婆！
他们关心！他们简直被关心所耗尽。他们忙着关心法西斯主义、国联，以及法国是否正确，或者是否受到了威胁，忙得永远不知道自己身在何处。他们肯定永远不会在他们的所在之地生活。他们生活在抽象的空间里，生活在政治、原则、是非等等的荒漠般的虚空之中。他们注定要抽象。和他们交谈就像是想同几何学中的字母X建立人际关系。
实际的生活同这种抽象的关心之间其实存在着一个巨大的裂痕。什么是实际生活？这几乎就是一个直接联系的问题。我同湖泊、群山、樱桃树、割草人以及一株剪过枝的酸橙树上那只看不见却听得到喳喳叫声的苍头燕雀之间存在着感官上的直接联系。所有这一切都被那个抽象字眼——法西斯主义致命地一刀割断，隔壁这位小个子老妇便是那个在今天下午割断了我的实际生活之线的阿特洛波斯。她切下了我的头颅，把它扔进抽象的空间。然而我们却应当热爱我们的邻人！
说到生活，我们通过本能和直觉生活。本能使我从过分认真的小个子女士身边跑开；本能使我吸嗅酸橙树的花朵，摘取最紫的樱桃。但是，是直觉要我感受湖泊在今天下午的神奇般明净，群山的阴沉，有太阳的雷声中呈现出的生动的、近乎绿色的颜色，那个穿着天蓝色裤子的年轻人用长镰轻松地割着草，还有那个戴着硬边草帽的年长者笨拙地挥动着长镰，在强烈的光线与寂静中，两个人都在流汗。
Fool，s Paradise
F. Dell
That fall， before it was discovered that the soles of both my shoes were worn clear through， I still went to Sundayschool. And one time the Sundayschool superintendentsuperintendent n.主管， 负责人， 指挥者， 管理者 made a speech to all the classes. He said that these were hard times， and that many poor children weren，t getting enough to eat. It was the first that I had heard about it. He asked everybody to bring some food for the poor children next Sunday. I felt very sorry for the poor children.
Also， little envelopes were distributed to all the classes. Each little boy and girl was to bring money for the poor， next Sunday. The pretty Sundayschool teacher explained that we were to write our names， or have our parents write them， up in the lefthand corner of the little envelopes... I told my mother all about it when I came home. And my mother gave me， the next Sunday， a small bag of potatoes to carry to Sundayschool. I supposed the poor children，s mothers would make potato soup out of them... Potato soup was good. My father， who was quite a joker， would always say， as if he were surprised， “Ah！ I see we have some nourishingnourishing adj.有营养的， 滋养多的 potato soup today！” It was so good that we had it every day. My father was at home all day long and every day， now； and I liked that， even if he was grumpygrumpy adj.脾气坏的， 性情乖戾的， 脾气暴躁的 as he sat reading Grant，s “Memoirs”. I had my parents all to myself， too； the others were away. My oldest brother was in Quincy， and memory does not reveal where the others were： perhaps with relatives in the country.
Taking my small bag of potatoes to Sundayschool， I looked around for the poor children； I was disappointed not to see them. I had heard about poor children in stories. But I was told just to put my contribution with the others on the big table in the side room.
I had brought with me the little yellow envelope， with some money in it for the poor children. My mother had put the money in it and sealed it up. She wouldn，t tell me how much money she had put in it， but it felt like several dimes. Only she wouldn，t let me write my name on the envelope. I had learned to write my name， and I was proud of being able to do it. But my mother said firmly， no， I must not write my name on the envelope； she didn，t tell me why. On the way to Sundayschool I had pressed the envelope against the coins until I could tell what they were； they weren，t dimes but pennies.
When I handed in my envelope， my Sundayschool teacher noticed that my name wasn，t on it， and she gave me a pencil； I could write my own name， she said. So I did. But I was confused because my mother had said not to； and when I came home， I confessedconfessed adj.公开承认的， 不容怀疑的 what I had done. She looked distressed. “I told you not to！” she said. But she didn，t explain why.
I didn，t go back to school that fall. My mother said it was because I was sick. I did have a cold the week that school opened； I had been playing in the gutters and had got my feet wet， because there were holes in my shoes. My father cut insolesinsole n.鞋内底， 鞋垫 out of cardboard， and I wore those in my shoes. As long as I had to stay in the anyway， they were all right.
I stayed cooped up in the house， without any companionship. We didn，t take a Sunday paper any mere， but the Barry Adage came every week in the mails； and though I did not read small print， I could see the Santa Clauses and hollyholly n.冬青树 wreaths in the advertisements.
There was a calendar in the kitchen. The red days were Sundays and holidays； and that red 25 was Christmas. （It was on a Monday， and the two red figures would come right together in 1893； but this represents research in the World Almanac， not memory.） I knew when Sunday was， because I could look out of the window and see the neighbor，s children， all dressed up， going to Sunday school； I knew just when Christmas was going to be.
But there was something queer！ My father and mother didn，t say a word about Christmas. And once， when I spoke of it， there was a strange， embarrassed silence； so I didn，t say anything mere about it. But I wondered， and was troubled. Why didn，t they say anything about it？ Was what I had said I wanted （memory refuses to supply that detail） too expensive？
I wasn，t arrogant and talkative now. I was silent and frightened. What was the matter？ Why didn，t my father and mother say anything about Christmas？ As the day approached， my chest grew tighter with anxietyanxiety n.忧虑， 焦急， 渴望， 热望.
Now it was the day before Christmas. I couldn，t be mistaken. But not a word about it from my father and mother. I waited in painful bewilderment all day. I had supper with them， and was allowed to sit up for an hour. I was waiting for them to say something. “It，s time for you to go to bed，” my mother said gently. I had to say something.
“This is Christmas Eve， isn，t it？” I asked， as if I didn，t know.