Wuthering Heights

Chapter 3

At the same time, the young man put on a coat that was in any case ragged, and stood in front of the fire, looking down at me out of the corner of his eye, as if there was an unfinished business between the two of us. The unshakable hatred.I began to wonder if he was a servant.He was very crude in his dress and speech, and had none of the air of superiority which Mr. Heathcliff and his wife could observe.His thick brown curly hair was a mess, his beard gnawed at his cheeks like a bear, and his hands were brown, like ordinary workmen.But his demeanor was very free, almost deserted, and showed no trace of attention to his mistress.

Since there is no way to figure out his identity, I think it is best to ignore it. Five minutes later, Heathcliff came in and somewhat rescued me from this embarrassing situation.

"Look, sir, I'm coming, and I'm coming!" I cried, with feigned mirth, "I'm afraid I'll be stuck in this weather for half an hour, if you'll let me get out of here in the meantime!" Dodge."

"Half an hour?" he said, shaking the snow off his clothes. "I don't know why you choose to go out on a snowy day. Do you know that you can get lost in the swamp? Even people who know the wilds around here often get lost on nights like this. I can tell you that the weather It's not going to get better at all."

"Perhaps I can get a guide among your people, who can spend the night at Thrushcross Grange—can you lend me one?"

"No, I can not."

"Oh, yes! Well, then, I must come to my own judgment."

"Humph!"

"Did you make tea?" asked the ragged young man, looking fiercely away from me at the young lady.

"Brew him?" she asked Heathcliff.

"Just brew it, will you?" That was the answer, and it took me by surprise by its brutality.The tone of these words reveals an out-and-out bad nature.I don't want to call Heathcliff a top man anymore.

When the tea and food were ready, he came to invite me to a seat like this:

"Okay, sir, move your chair forward." We all sat down around the table, including the rough boy.We started to deal with tea, and a solemn silence fell.

I figured that if I had caused this cloud, it would be my duty to dispel it.They can't just sit so gloomy and silent every day.No matter how bad their tempers are, anger can't be their expression all year round.

"Strange to say," said I, swallowing one cup of tea and accepting another, "that habit can mold our tastes and ideas in such a way that many cannot imagine, Mr. Heathcliff. In your world, in your isolated life, what kind of happiness will exist. But I dare say, sitting in the middle of your family, with your lovely wife in charge of your home and heart like a god— "

"My dear lady!" he interrupted me, with an almost diabolical sneer, "where is she—my dear lady?"

"Mrs. Heathcliff, your wife, I mean."

"Well, yes... oh! You mean her soul has taken over the role of guardian angel, protecting the family at Wuthering Heights, even though her body is nowhere to be seen?"

Conscious slip of the tongue, I want to correct it.I should have seen that the age difference between the parties was too great to be a couple.One is about forty. At this stage of man's intelligence, it is rare for a man to imagine that a girl will marry him for love. This kind of dream can only be comforted by reluctantly talking about it in our twilight years.Another, who appeared to be under 17 years old.

Then a thought flashed through my mind: "That yokel at my elbow drinking tea from a basin and eating bread without washing his hands may be her husband. Little Heathcliff, of course. This is the result of being buried alive." : She didn't know there was a better person, and she actually voted for this door! Poor thing, I have to be careful, don't make her regret her choice."

That last thought might seem a little pompous, but it's not.My neighbor looks really nasty.From past experience, I know that I am somewhat attractive.

"Mrs. Heathcliff is my daughter-in-law," said Heathcliff, confirming my suspicions.He gave her a special look in her direction as he spoke, a look of hatred, unless the muscles of his face were so abnormal that he could not interpret the language of his soul as others could.

"Ah, of course, now I understand: you are blessed, possessor of this Fairy of Mercy," I said, turning to my neighbor.

This is worse than before.The young man blushed and clenched his fists, no matter how he looked at it, he was planning to attack me.But in the blink of an eye, he seemed to restrain himself, cursing fiercely to calm down his anger.The curse was coming towards me, I just pretended not to hear it.

"Unfortunately you guessed all wrong, sir!" said my host, "neither of us has the good fortune to possess your good fairy. Her husband is dead. I said she was my daughter-in-law, so he must married my son."

"This young man—"

"Not my son, of course!"

Mr. Heathcliff laughed again, as if it was a ridiculous joke to make him father the stupid bear.

"My name is Hareton Earnshaw," roared the other again, "and I beseech you to respect him!"

"I didn't mean any disrespect," I replied, laughing at his self-righteous air when he announced his family name.

He stared at me so hard that I didn't even want to stare back, because I was afraid I couldn't help but slap him, or I would laugh out loud.I'm starting to feel distinctly overwhelmed by this happy family.The mentally depressive atmosphere hits my face, not only offsetting it, but also overwhelming the increasingly comfortable material enjoyment around me.I made up my mind that if I dared to come down on this roof for the third time, I would really think twice.

The food and drink are closed.No one uttered a word to smooth things over.I approached a window to check the weather.

A gloomy cloud and mist suddenly appeared before the eyes: the dark night fell ahead of time, and a whirlwind rolled the heavy snow all over the sky, mixing the sky and the mountains into a ball.

"Without a guide, I don't think I'll be able to get home now," I cried. "The road must be blocked, and even if it's still open, I can't walk a step without a direction."

"Hareton, take these ten or so sheep out to the barn porch. If they stay in the pen for the night they'll have to be covered with something, with a plank in front of them."

"What should I do?" I asked again, impatient.

Nobody answered my question.Looking around, I saw only Joseph carrying a pail of porridge for the dogs, and Mrs Heathcliff leaning over the fire, amusing herself with a bunch of matches, and that was when she put back the teapot, from the fire It fell off the shelf.

As for Joseph, after putting down his burden, he frowned and went around the room, shouting loudly:

"I really don't understand why you stand there idle in a daze, everyone else is out! But you are a bastard, it's useless to say it, you can't change your bad habits for the rest of your life. Go to the devil, just like you Madam, let's go first!"

For a moment, I thought the rant was coming at me.I flew into a rage, and walked towards the old rascal, intending to kick him out of the door.But Mrs. Heathcliff's answer stopped me.

"You prudish old bastard!" she shot back. "You say the devil's name, and you're not afraid of being caught alive by the devil? I warn you not to mess with me, or I'll let him take you. Stop, Look here, Joseph," she went on, taking a long black book from the shelf, "show you how far my black art has come, and I'll be clearing this room in no time. And light. The red heifer didn't die by chance, don't take your rheumatism as a mere manifestation!"

"Oh, evil, evil!" the old man gasped, "May the Lord deliver us from evil!"

"No, you ignorant thing! You have been abandoned by God... Get out of here, or I will take care of you seriously! I want to make wax and clay figurines for you, whoever makes me impatient first... I won't say what kind of trouble he's going to suffer...but just watch! Go away, I'm watching you!"

There was a vicious mockery in the beautiful eyes of the little witch, and Joseph was trembling with serious fear.He ran out quickly, praying while running, shouting "Xie Na".

I think she must have been flustered with boredom, so she came out to tease her.Now it's just the two of us, and I'd love to add some joy to her with my troubles.

"Mrs. Heathcliff," I said earnestly, "forgive me for troubling you, for I am sure, by your countenance, that you must have a good heart. Please point me to some signposts, which I may recognize The way home. I don't know how to get home any more than you know how to get to London!"

"The way you came," she answered, and sank into a chair with a candle in front of her, and the long book open, "the easy way, but the best I can offer." Good idea."

"Then if you heard in which snow-covered bog or pit I was found dead, wouldn't your conscience whisper that you were to blame for it?"

"How? I can't see you off. They won't let me go to the end of the garden wall."

"You! I would regret it very much if I asked you to step over the threshold for my convenience on such a night," I cried. "I want you to tell me how to go, not to show me how; or else Mr. Heathcliff give me a guide."

"Who? There's himself, Earnshaw, Zilla, Joseph, and me. Which one do you want?"

"Are there no children in the village?"

"No, it's all here."

"Well, then, I must stay."

"Then you can talk to your master, I don't care."

"I hope this is a lesson for you not to run around here in the future," Heathcliff called harshly from the kitchen door. "As for staying here, I'm not prepared to have visitors overnight. If you want to stay, you'll have to share a bed with Hareton or Joseph."

"I can sleep on a chair in this room," I replied.

"No, no! A stranger is a stranger, rich or poor. I'm not used to people staying here when I can't guard against it!" said the unreasonable villain.

I can't stand this insult any longer.I swore, and dashed past him, straight for the yard, and hastily bumped into Earnshaw.It was so dark that I couldn't even find the exit.While groping around, I heard their voices, another example of their civilized behaviour.

At first the young man seemed not unfriendly to me.

"I'll take him to the park," he said.

"You send him to Hell, his master, or whoever he is," shouted, "And who's looking after the horses, eh?" "

"Man's life is better than a night's feed to the horses, someone has to go," murmured Mrs. Heathcliff, more kindly than I expected.

"I don't need you to order me!" retorted Hareton. "If you're worried about him, you'd better be quiet."

"Then I hope his ghost haunts you! I hope Mr. Heathcliff never finds another lodger until Thrushcross Grange is destroyed!"

"Listen, listen, she's cursing them!" grunted Joseph as I walked toward him.

He was sitting not far away, milking a cow by the light of a lantern.Without further ado, I snatched the lantern, yelling that I would send it back tomorrow, and rushed towards the last side door.

"My lord, my lord, he took the lantern away!" The old man came after me as he yelled. "Hey, bite!"hi dog!hi wolf!Get him, get him! "

No sooner had I opened the little door than two shaggy monsters threw themselves at my throat, and knocked out the lantern, with Heathcliff and Hareton laughing loudly. Pushed my anger and humiliation to the top.

Luckily, these two beasts seemed to want to show their majesty by showing their teeth and claws, stretching their waists, and wagging their tails, and they didn't really mean to eat me alive; but they wouldn't let me start again.I was forced to lie on the ground, waiting for their evil masters to come and rescue me when they pleased.My cap came off, too, and trembling with rage, I ordered these rascals to let me out immediately, and they would regret it if they dared to delay a minute.I uttered many threats of vengeance, in such a vicious way as to remind one of King Lear.

My nose bleeds profusely from the vent, but Heathcliff was still laughing, and I was still cursing.I don't know how this situation would have ended if there hadn't been someone nearby who was more rational than I, and more kind-hearted than my masters.This man is Zira.The stout housewife finally rushed out to find out the cause of the uproar.She thought that some of them had used violence against me, and, not daring to attack her master, she directed all her cannons at the little rascal.

"Well, Mr. Earnshaw," she cried, "I don't know what you're going to do next! Are we going to kill people on our own doorstep? I don't think I can stay with this house—poor thing My boy, he's dying! Hey, hey! You can't do this. Come in, I'll fix it, come on, don't move."

As she spoke, she suddenly poured a can of ice water down my neck and dragged me into the kitchen.Mr. Heathcliff followed, his rare joy giving way to his customary gloom.

I was so sick, so dizzy, and drowsy, that I was obliged to agree to spend the night under his roof.He told Zilla to give me a brandy, and went into the inner room.She said a few words of consolation to my sad plight, and obeying her master's orders, took me to bed when I had recovered a little.

When she led me upstairs, she advised me to shade the candlelight so as not to make any noise.For the bedroom to which she was taking me, her master had the queer notion of never being willing to have a guest lodge there.

I inquire why.

She said she didn't know.She has only been here for a year or two, and there are countless strange things, and she is no stranger to seeing them.

I was a fool to care whether he was blamed or not. I fastened the door and looked around to find the bed.The only furniture consisted of a chair, a wardrobe, and a large oak chest with square holes cut near the top like carriage windows.

I approached this thing and looked inside, only to realize that it was a strange and antique couch.It is designed to be very convenient.Enough so that each member of the family doesn't have to come and take their own room.In fact, it formed a small room, and the sill of one of the windows inside served as a table.

I pulled back the siding, walked in with the candle, drew the slat back again, and felt a little safer, no longer afraid of Heathcliff, and anyone else coming to trouble me.

On the windowsill where I keep the candles, a few books are piled up in one corner, starting to mold.The paint on the window sill is also covered with graffiti words.But the letters, large and small, in varying fonts, were all written with one name—Catherine Earnshaw, sometimes Catherine Heathcliff, then Catherine Linton.

I am confused.Leaning my head against the window, I continued to read Catherine Earnshaw—Heathcliff—Linton one by one until I closed my eyes.But my eyes rested for only 5 minutes, and many dazzling white letters jumped out of the darkness, vividly, as if resurrected from a dead body, and the air was full of Catherine's name.I stood up trying to dispel the name that popped up out of nowhere.But I found that my candle wick was leaning against one of the ancient books, and the place smelled of roasted cowhide.

I wicked out the candle, and sitting up, sick with the cold and nausea, opened the damaged book and spread it on my lap.It was a Bible, with a long, thin script and a pungent musty smell.A title page bears the inscription "Catherine Earnshaw, Her Books," dated a quarter-century past.

I closed the book, picked up another, and another, until I had gone through them all.Catherine's library was selected, and the wear and tear of the books proves that they were fairly well used, though not quite well read.Hardly a chapter escapes pen and ink commentary, or at least looks like a commentary.Every little space left by the printer is filled.

Some are rambling sentences, others have the form of a regular diary, messed up by an indeterminate childish handwriting.On one of the spare pages, at the top I saw a caricature of my friend Joseph, crude but brilliantly drawn.When I first saw it, it was almost like a treasure.

My heart immediately became interested in this unknown Catherine.I set out to decipher her fading tome.

"A dreadful Sunday!" began the following words. "I wish my father would come back again. Hindley was a nasty stand-in, and he was brutal to Heathcliff. Hee and I are going to rebel, and tonight we took the first step."

"It rained heavily all day. We couldn't go to church. So Joseph insisted on worshiping in the attic. While Hindley and his wife were downstairs warming themselves by a cozy fire—I dare say what they did Nor will the Bible be read--Heathcliff, me, and the unfortunate farmer, were ordered to take our prayer-books, and climb upstairs. We sat down in a row on a sack of corn, and groaned Trembling. We hoped Joseph would tremble too, so that for his own sake he might say a few words to our sermons. But wishful thinking! Three hours' full week. Hate my brother for seeing us come down, And the face shouted:
"'What, already done?'

"We're usually allowed to play on Sunday night, as long as we don't make too much noise. But now a snicker is enough to put us on the fence!
(End of this chapter)