The Heart Is A Lonely Hunter 精彩片段：
Part Three-1
August 21,1939 Morning
J. WILL not be hurried, Doctor Copeland said. Just let me be. Kindly allow me to sit here in peace a moment.’
Father, us not trying to rush you. But it time now to get gone from here.’
Doctor Copeland rocked stubbornly, his gray shawl drawn close around his shoulders. Although the morning was warm and fresh, a small wood fire burned in the stove. The kitchen was bare of all
furniture except the chair in which he sat. The other rooms were empty, too. Most of the furniture had been moved to Portias house, and the rest was tied to the automobile outside. All was in readiness except his own mind. But how could he leave when there was neither beginning nor end, neither truth nor purpose in his thoughts? He put up his hand to steady his trembling head and continued to rock himself slowly in the creakingchair.
Behind the closed door he heard their voices: I done all I can. He determined to sit there till he good and ready to leave.’
Buddy and me done wrapped the china plates and------’
Us should have left before the dew dried, said the old man. As is, night liable to catch us on the road.’
Their voices quieted. Footsteps echoed in the empty hallway and he could hear them no more. On the floor beside him was a cup and saucer. He filled it with coffee from the pot on the top of the stove.
As he rocked he drankthe coffee and warmed his fingers in the steam. This could not truly be the end. Other voices called wordless in his heart. The voice of Jesus and of John Brown. The voice of the great Spinoza and of Karl Marx. The calling voices of all those who had fought and to whom it had been vouchsafed to complete their missions. The grief-bound voices of his people. And also the voice of the dead. Of the mute Singer, who was a righteous white man of understanding. The voices of the weak and of the mighty. The , rolling voice of his people growing always in strength and in power. The voice of the strong, true purpose. And in answer the words trembled on his lips—the words which are surely the root of all human grief—so that he almost said aloud: Almighty Host! Utmost power of the universe! I have done those things which I ought not to have done and left undone those things which I ought to have done.
So this cannot truly be the end.’
He had first come into the house with her whom he loved.
And Daisy was dressed in her bridal gown and wore a white lace veil. Her skin was the beautiful color of dark honey and her laughter was sweet. At night he had shut himself in the bright room to study alone. He had tried to cogitate and to
discipline himself to study. But with Daisy near him there was a strong desire in him that would not go away with study. So sometimes he surrendered to these feelings, and again he bit his lips and meditated with the books throughout the night.