牙买加的英国女人——第二章 不速之客（节选1）
位于布里斯托尔市格罗斯特路的一家餐馆里坐着一位黑人女子，她身材苗条，穿着无袖连衣裙，半对着两位比她年长很多的人。他们已经用餐完毕，看上去很享受彼此的陪伴，这时年纪较长的妇人正要站起来。男人和他的女儿同时站起身，显然是想帮忙，但还是男人抢先了一步，年轻女人就落了单。她大约二十五岁，长着小巧的鼻子，一双透着灵气的眼睛，肌肤光滑。她双手交叠放在膝上，审视着自己。侍者走过来，收走了她的餐碟。
那天晚上从一开始，她就注意到五桌开外有个男人一直在看她。他独自一人坐在角落里，五十五岁左右，一头灰发，身穿西装，戴着眼镜，微胖。像他这种男人一贯都对她不怀好意，但通常不会对同龄女性公开表示兴趣。他明显是想找个由头过去打招呼。“不好意思，小姐，请问你是否愿意赏光和我到俱乐部/酒吧/公寓坐坐。”不过，他看上去不傻，很清楚自己配不上她，而且她身边还有父母陪伴。
他很可能醉了，虽然他面前的餐桌上没有任何证据。也许他到餐馆之前就开始喝了。如果你是，比如说离婚了或心情不好，那么你可能会出门买醉。她该带父母离开这儿。如果一个醉醺醺的陌生人向她求欢，她不能担保父亲不会对他做点什么。蒙特色拉特岛上的人们的行事风格总是别具一格——或者他故意让她这么认为。她还从未去过那儿。
她转头瞪了那男人一眼，或是试图这么做。但恰巧得是，她第一次看清楚了他的长相。她立马觉得口干舌燥，迅速将视线转向别处。一阵矛盾的情绪猛然向她袭来，她还没来得及弄清楚它们是什么，它们就快速相互抵消掉了，但其中最突出的情感是欢欣和厌恶。
“麦迪森”···假设这是他的真名的话。一个好警察。
他不会无缘无故地出现在这里。瞪他是个错误。现在他肯定知道她认出他了，这可能正中他的下怀。他叫来侍者，起身付账离开，再也没看她一眼。离开时，他碰到了她的父母，他很礼貌地让他们先过。他们谢过他，回到了座位上。
“怎么了？”她母亲不安地问。“你怎么突然看起来不太好啊，是发生了什么事吗？”
他一定会来找她的，一定会。就在今晚的晚些时候，不管她在哪里。
“只是吃得有点太油了，觉得有些累，”她答道。“我该回去睡觉了。”
一小时后，她爬上楼梯回到了她在圣安德鲁斯大学的小公寓。这是她之前攻读本科荣誉学位时住的地方，而现在她正在攻读硕士学位，也没必要再搬家。尤其是她这些天半死不活的。对于在国外活动的那两年经历，她想了很多。它已经在她身上烙下了深深的印记；包括很反常得是，危险也成为她内心的一种需求。军情六处可能就是她的宿命，意识到这一点已经太晚了——虽然内心深处她很反感这一事实。她读过约翰·勒卡雷[1]的作品：为秘密情报局工作，你大部分时间都是彻头彻尾不良分子的仆人。他们仍然需要她。她是黑人，他们真的不知道该如何和黑人相处。他们最先试着从她开始，这样他们就知道了。
奇怪的是，她确实厌恶他们和他们所代表的一切。他们中的大多数人都是平庸的种族主义者，是一事无成、欺善怕恶、深藏不露的法西斯主义支持者。她一定是疯了才想和他们一起工作。
可是，她还是想和他们一起工作。大部分时间都想。和他们共事有着十足地令人厌恶和无法抗拒的吸引力：真是令人兴奋的组合。这种事情简直能把人逼疯。
她不需要拍他们的马屁。俄国人经常派人用优渥得令人难以拒绝的条件招募她。他们会在最不可能的地方出现：学生会、双层巴士的顶层、商场里的电梯。迄今为止，已经有两男一女找过她了。但和她“牺牲”很多才来到英国的父母相比，他们根本毫无机会。鲁比是英国人，就和这个国家的其他人一样，包括女王——当她还在摇篮里时就被灌输过这一点。没有任何商量的余地。她现在就想知道，就像以前经常做的那样，他们是否是彻头彻尾的疯子，如果是，他们究竟成功地向她大规模地灌输了有多深。无论如何，现在再想改变，为时已晚。
当她打开家门走进屋时，她隐隐期待着他能在里面，就像间谍电影里演的那样。不是用枪瞄准她，还不至于这么戏剧性，但会有种掌控全局的气场，一如微胖、戴眼镜的詹姆士·邦德。她之前都没意识到，她本该觉得有点害怕，但她并没有。
她一发现公寓里没人，就脱掉鞋子，去厨房里煮了壶茶。今晚很可能会是一个漫漫长夜。
她想象着，他会告诉她他明天就得回伦敦，他们又再次需要她了。她该如何应对呢？欲拒还迎吗？当然，但这其中的分寸又该如何把握呢？她恨他吗？她恨他们中的任何一个人吗？按理说，她应该恨。她当然恨。
水壶刚开始嘶嘶作响，门口就传来了两下敲门声。声音不大，但却吓了她一跳。她咽了口口水。老天，他终于来了。她觉得自己晕晕乎的。现在就是她人生的一个十字路口，甚至不是三岔路口——比三岔路口复杂得多。假如她的理解没错，无论现在她选择哪条路，她的未来都将与其他所有可能的选择完全不同。
会不会不是麦迪森而是别的什么人？不可能。她住的地方管理很严，想要进入住宅区必须通过一道沉重的大门，而且开门还要输密码才行。但对军情六处的人来说，这道门却形同虚设：他们可能连她喝什么牌子的茶都知道。但是它能挡住上门推销的人。
虽说如此，她开门时仍挂着锁链。
是他。值得一提的是，他看起来并不沾沾自喜，而是焦虑不安还满头冒汗。
他开口说道：“我，呃，不知道你还记不记得我—”
“你怎么进来的？”
“我必须和你谈谈。我叫杰克·麦迪森。我们在···见过面···额···”
他显然不知道该怎么提起“审讯中心”，她也不想没料到他会说“汇报工作”，就像完全无关痛痒的事情。她取下锁链，站到一旁让他进来。她的态度很轻蔑，但又很高兴。她希望能掩饰住这些情绪。
她当然能做到，因为她真的很恨他。她把他放进来，然后关上身后的门。
“我正要给我们泡杯茶，”她说。
“那——真是太好了。”他似乎真的很感动。“‘我们。’你很聪明，竟然知道我要来，真让人刮目相看。我应该脱鞋吗？”
“那取决于你想待多久。”
他尴尬地笑了笑。“那这该取决于你，我得看怎样才能说服你。当然你也可以拒绝，毕竟你现在自由了。我只需要你听我说完···呃，我的说辞。”
“我现在在读研究生，不管是什么事，我都不能缺课。”
“我们能把你的课程缓一缓，就像你读本科时我们所做的那样。但我们先不必这么着急。你说的没错：在你看来，这事目前确实和你‘无关’。”
水壶响了。她泡了两杯茶，又拿出些饼干放在一个碟子里。她很讨厌他，所以用的是家里最便宜的：在打折商店里买的姜味坚果饼干，硬的像烤过的黏土一样。她和他面对面坐在餐桌旁。
“谢谢，”他说。“不过，我来这儿可是担了很大的风险呢。”
“确实。”
“当然了，我不指望你相信我。坦诚对待这个组织里的同事、前辈或联系人一点意义都没有。没人知道到底该相信谁。”他把饼干在茶水里浸了浸。“但不管怎样，我对你说的都是实话。”他把整块饼干塞到嘴里。
“你想要什么？”
“你说我自己？还是指：军情六处要什么？”他似乎意识到他有些惹恼她了。“我个人是想警告你。军情六处想让你去牙买加监视迈克尔·曼利。”
“牙买加总理。”
“没错，是他。”
“听起来是项大任务。假设你讲的是实话，我应该觉得受宠若惊。但是，我会认为军情六处到现在也没注意到这个国家还有别的黑人。如果你不怕麻烦，我相信你一定能找到比我更合适的人。”
他哈哈笑道。“恕我冒昧，我很怀疑这一点。”
“你说说看，我都要做些什么。理论上来说。”
“没什么。只是那边的情况很不稳定。你住在这儿，呃，有段时间了，一定也注意到了类似的事情。”
“你是说四月暴乱？”
他摇了摇头。“不，不，圣保罗的情况和金斯敦完全不一样。算了，我不太会兜圈子。军情六处需要有人来监视牙买加的动乱。彻底的无政府状态对谁都没有好处，但我们也不希望共产党上台。你会跟中情局的某个人共事，你们两个人的任务一样。我真的认为军情六处很需要你才推荐你的，我自己的名声也承担了很大的风险呢。”
她的心漏跳了一拍。“你是说军情六处需要我为了这个任务特意去金斯敦一趟还是···”
[1]约翰·勒卡雷（Johnle Carre, 1931-），英国20世纪最著名的间谍小说加，原名戴维·康威尔（David Cornwell），1931年生于英国普尔，五六十年代曾在英国军情五处（MI5）和军情六处（MI6）工作。主要作品有《柏林谍影》、《完美的间谍》、《冷战谍魂》等。
* * * * * * * *英文原文* * * * * * * *
A slim black woman in a pinafore dress sat ina restaurant on Bristol’s Gloucester Road half-facing two much older people.They had finished eating and looked to be enjoying each other’s company whenthe older woman made to stand up. The man and his daughter rose simultaneously,clearly to help, but the man’s offer prevailed, and the young woman foundherself alone. She was about twenty-five with a small nose, intelligent-lookingeyes, and smooth skin. She folded her hands in her lap and looked about herself. A waiter came and took away her plate.
From the beginning of the evening, she had noticed a man, five tables away, lookingat her. About fifty-five, grey-hair, dressed in a suit, glasses, slightly overweight, he sat alone in the corner. Certain sorts of men routinely leered at her, but not usually so overtly when they were his age. He was clearly looking for an excuse to come over. Excuse me, Miss, I wonder if you’d do me the honour of accompanying me to my club/ abar/ my flat. He didn’t look stupid, though. Surely he’d twigged that shewas both out of his league and accompanying her parents.
He was drunk, that was probably it, although there was nothing to indicate thefact in front of him. Maybe he’d started before he got here. If you were, say,divorced and unhappy, then yes, you might go out half-cut. She should get her parents away from here. She couldn’t vouch for her father if she was propositioned by a drunken stranger. They did things differently in Montserrat- or that’s what he’d led her to believe. She’d never actually been there.
She turned and gave the man a hostile glare. Ortried to. What happened instead was that she saw his face properly for the first time. Her mouth instantly dried up and she looked quickly away. She experienced a rush of contradictory emotions so intent on cancelling each other out that she barely had time to recognise them. Among the most prominent were elation and disgust.
‘Maddison’… assuming that was his real name. Nice cop.
He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want something. Glaring at him had been amistake. Now he knew for certain she’d recognised him, which was probably as much as he required. He called the waiter over, paid his bill and got up. Hedidn’t look at her again. He passed her parents on his way out, standing aside politely to let them through. They thanked him and returned to their seats.
“What’s the matter?” her mother asked anxiously.“You don’t look well all of a sudden. Has something happened?”
He would find her, of course he would. Sometime later tonight, wherever she went.
“Just too much rich food and a long day,” she replied. “I should probably be getting home to bed.”
An hour later, she climbed the stairs to her poky flat in St Andrew’s. This was where she’d livedwhile she was doing her honours degree, and now she was doing a postgraduate course, there didn’t seem much point in moving. Particularly as she was only half alive these days. She’d thought about it a lot, those two years abroad. They’d left theirmark;including,perversely, the need for danger. Too late the realisation that MI6 was probably the life for her - though on a deep level it also repulsed her. She’d read LeCarré: work for SIS and you were the servant of complete degenerates most ofthe time. Still, they needed her. She was black, and they genuinely didn’t knowhow to relate to black people. They had a head start with her, and they knewit.
The weird thing was, she actually loathed them and all they stood for. Mostof them were common or garden public school racists. Nonentities, bullies,closet fascists. She had to be out of her mind to want to work alongside them.
And yet she did. Mostly. Thorough going loathing and irresistible attraction: a heady mix. The sort of thing that drove people over the edge.
She didn’t have to suck up to them. Every so often,the Russians sent someone to dazzle her with an offer-you-can’t-refuse. They’d turn up in the mostunlikely places: the student union, the top level of a double-decker bus, the lift in a department store. Two men, so far, and one woman. But they didn’t stand chance against her parents, who’d made ‘sacrifices’ to come to Britain.Ruby was British, as British as anyone else in the land, including the Queen –they’d drummed that into her from the cradle. Not up for negotiation. Shewondered now, as so often before, if they were completely insane, and if so,how far they’d succeeded in transmitting that wholesale to her. Anyway, too late to change now.
As she opened the front door to go inside, she halfexpected to find him sitting there, like in a spy film. Not with a gun trained on her, it wouldn’t be that melodramatic, but with a certain air of self-satisfaction,like a fat, bespectacled James Bond. She hadn’t realised it before, but she ought to feel a little frightened. She didn’t.
Once she’d checked the flat was empty, she removed shoes and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. It was probably going to be a long night.
As she imagined it, he’d tell her he had to be back in London tomorrow, they needed her services again. How should she play it? Hard to get? Definitely, but how much? Did she hate him? Did she hate any of them? By rights, she ought to.Of course she did.
Just as the kettle began to build to a roar, therewere two knocks at the front door. Not loud, but they made her jump. She swallowed. God, this was it. Shefelt light-headed. A crossroads in her life, right here. Not even a fork in the road – much more complicated than that. Assuming she’d read the situations right, whatever path she took now, her future would be completely different toall possible alternatives.
Could it be someone else, not Maddison after all? Unlikely. This was a securelodging. You had to access a heavy external door to get inside the block, and it was code-locked. That wouldn’t prove any obstacle to someone from MI6: they probably knew her brand of tea. But it ruled out cold callers.
Nevertheless, she left the chain on her front dooras she opened it.
Him.It was him. To his credit, he didn’t look self-satisfied. He looked agitated and sweaty.
He began: “I, er, don’t know whether you remember me - ”
“How did you get in here?”
“I have to talk to you. I’m Jack Maddison. We met at … er …”
He obviously didn’t know how to say ‘the interrogation centre’, and she wasn’t prepared to hear him call it ‘debriefing’, like something completely innocuous.She undid the chain and stood aside to let him in. She affected an attitude of complete contempt, but felt exultant. She hoped she could conceal it.
But naturally she could, because she genuinelyhated him. She let him in and closed the door behind them.
“I’m just bout to make us tea,” she said.
“That’s – really kind of you.” He seemed authentically touched. “‘Us’. I’m very impressed you knew I was coming. ShouldI take my shoes off?”
“That depends how long you’re thinking of staying.”
He gave a sheepish smile. “That’s up to you and how much persuasion you need. Of course, you can say no. You’re a free agent now, obviously. I just need you tohear me out. My, er, sales pitch.”
“I’m doing a postgraduate course. Whatever it is, I can’t afford to take time off.”
“We can put that on hold, like we did your degree course. But let’s not rush ahead.You’re right: from your point of view, it’s just a ‘whatever it is’ at the moment.”
The kettle whistled. She made two cups of tea, and put out some biscuits on aplate. Since she detested him they were the cheapest she could find:discount-store ginger nuts, hard as fired clay. She sat down opposite him atthe kitchen table.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m taking a big risk by coming here, by the way.”
“Really.”
“Obviously,I don’t expect you to believe that. There’s no point whatsoever in being honest with one’s colleagues, superiors or contacts in this organisation. No one knows who to trust, not really.” He dunked a biscuit in his tea. “Anyway, I’m telling you the truth.” He put the whole thing in his mouth.
“What do you want?”
“Me personally? Or do you mean: what does MI6 want?” He seemed to realise he wasirking her. “I personally want to warn you. MI6 wants you to go to Jamaica tospy on Michael Manley.”
“The Prime Minister.”
“That one, yes.”
“Sounds like a big undertaking. Assuming you’re telling the truth, I should be flattered. However, I take it MI6 still hasn’t realised there are other black people in this country. If you bothered to look, I’m sure you could find someone a lot better suited to the job than me.”
He chuckled. “With respect, I doubt that.”
“Explain what it involves. Hypothetically.”
“Nothing much. It’s just the situation out there is very unstable. You’ve been living,er, here for a long time. I’m sure you’ve noticed a similar thing.”
“Youmean the April riots?”
He shook his head. “No, no, sorry, the situation in Saint Paul’s is nothing likethat in Kingston. Ignore that. I’m not much good at beating round the bush. MI6 wants someone to monitor the unrest in Jamaica. Complete anarchy isn’t in anyone’s interests, and we’d also rather the communists didn’t take over. You’dbe working alongside a CIA agent assigned to the same thing. I put your nameforward, at considerable risk to my own reputation, on the grounds that I genuinely think MI6 needs you.”
Her heart leapt. “You mean it needs me to go to Kingston for this particular assignment or - ”
