Wuthering Heights

Chapter 36

I had a sudden impulse to go and see Thrushcross Grange.It was not yet noon, and I thought I might spend the night under my roof, as in an inn.Besides, I could easily spare a day to clear things up with my landlord, which would save me the trouble of ever having to come across the area again.

After a short rest, I called my servant to inquire about the way to the village.It took us about three hours to cover the distance, after a lot of suffering for our animals.

I left the servant there, and walked down the valley alone.The gray church looked grayer, the lonely cemetery lonelier.I saw a marsh sheep gnawing the short grass on the grave.The weather was luscious and warm, a little too warm for a trip.But the heat did not prevent me from enjoying the pleasing scenery up and down.If I had seen it when it was only past August, I am sure it would have lulled me into this solitude for another month.Those valleys surrounded by mountains, those high and low, ups and downs of heather.Nothing is more desolate in winter, nothing more holy in summer.

I arrived at the Grange before sundown and knocked on the door to enter.But the family had withdrawn to the back room, as I guessed from the wisp of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney, and they did not hear my knock.

I rode into the yard.Under the balcony.Sitting there was a girl of nine or ten years old knitting.An old woman was leaning on the steps, smoking her pipe leisurely.

"Is Mrs. Dean home?" I asked the old woman.

"Mrs. Dean? No!" she answered. "She doesn't live here. She lives at the Heights."

"So you're the housekeeper?" I continued.

"Yes, take care of the house." She replied.

"Well, I'm Mr. Lockwood, master. I'd like to know if there's a room for me? I want to stay all night."

"Master!" she exclaimed, startled. "Why, who knew you were here? You should send a letter first! There is no clean place here, and there really is none now!"

She threw down her pipe and hurried in, and the girl followed, and I followed, and soon saw that she was telling the truth, and not only that, but I was so sudden, and falling from the sky, that she was in a panic.

I told her to calm down.I wanted to go for a walk, and at the same time she had to clear a corner in the living room for me to eat in, and another bedroom for me to sleep in.No sweeping or wiping needed, just some good fire and dry sheets.

She seemed quite willing to do the best she could, though she had stuck the broom into the grate for the pokers, and misused several other tools.But I went away anyway, trusting that in her ability there would be a resting place when I came back.

Wuthering Heights is my hiking destination.I had already walked out of the yard, but suddenly I remembered something, so I walked back.

"How are the people in the villa?" I asked the woman.

"Well, that's all I know!" she replied, and went out with a steaming pan of ashes.

I wanted to ask Mrs. Dean why she left the Grange, but she was in such a hurry that I couldn't interrupt her.So I turned around and opened the way, strolling leisurely all the way, with the setting sun behind me and the sky full of afterglow, and the bright moon rising in front of me.It was getting dark on one side and light on the other, when I came out of the garden and was climbing the gravel path leading to Heathcliff House.

Before I could see the villa, the day was already dark, leaving only the agate-colored glow in the western sky.But with the bright moon, I can see every pebble on the road and every blade of grass.

I neither climbed over the gate nor knocked on it.I pushed it open with my hand.

Really improved!I wonder.With the help of my nose, I discovered another bonus: a scent of violets and wallflowers wafted from the friendly fruit trees and filled the air.

The doors and windows were all open.But, as is often the case in coal districts, the fire was glowing brightly, brightening the hearth.The eyes get such pleasure from it, even if it is too hot, they don't care about it.But the hall of Wuthering Heights is so spacious that the people inside have enough space to escape from the scorching heat.So, they are staying not far from a window.I haven't entered yet.I could see them and hear them speak, so I saw and heard them too.This was originally caused by the intertwining of curiosity and jealousy, but as I lingered on, these two emotions grew more and more.

"On the contrary!" said a voice, as sweet as a silver bell, "This is the third time, you idiot! I don't want to teach you anymore, come again, remember, and I won't pull your hair again!"

"On the contrary, then," replied another voice, deep but soft. "Now, kiss me, I'm learning so well."

"No, read it carefully first, and don't make a single mistake."

The male who spoke began to read. He was a young man, well dressed, sitting at a table with a book spread out in front of him.His handsome features were radiant, and his eyes were always restlessly moving away from the upper reaches of the page, fixed on a small white hand on the shoulder, and the owner of the small hand would quickly put it on his face as soon as he noticed the sign of absent-mindedness. She slapped her palm and called him back.

The owner of the little hands stood in the background, her soft, lustrous curls sometimes mingling with his brown hair as she leaned over to instruct him in reading.Her face, luckily he couldn't see her face, otherwise he would never be so secure.But I saw it, and I bit my lower lip fiercely, hating me for throwing away a promising opportunity, or else nothing but staring at this stunning beauty.

The book was finished, not blameless, but the student asked for a reward, got at least five kisses, and he returned it generously.Then they came to the door, and from their conversation I heard that they wanted to go out and take a walk on the moors.I expect that if my unlucky figure should appear near him, Hareton Earnshaw would curse me, if he would not say it, to the lowest depths of hell.I felt very inferior and in a bad mood, so I went around quietly, trying to hide in the kitchen.

The door on that side was also open to pass through.And, at the door sat my old friend, Dean Nelly, sewing, and singing, interrupted from time to time by contemptuous and irritated shouts from within, which had no music at all. smell.

"I'd rather hear cursing and cursing in my ears all day long than hear you sing, not even half of it, whatever!" said the kitchen man, answering something Nelly had said. "What a shame, I can't open my holy book, but you give glory to Satan, to all the evil that breeds in this world! Oh! You're worthless, and she's worthless, poor wretch The child has fallen into the hands of you two, poor child!" he added with a groan, "he is bewitched, and I shall assure him! O God, judge them, for our rulers are not Talk about the king's law, not justice!"

"No, or we'd have to be burned at the stake, I suppose," retorted the singer. "But stop arguing, old man, and read your Bible like a Christian, and leave me alone. This one is "The Wedding of the Fairy Anne." It's a nice tune, and it's dance music."

Mrs. Dean began to sing, but I came up, and she recognized me at once, and jumped to her feet, shouting:

"Why, God bless you, Mr. Lockwood! How did you come back like this? Thrushcross Grange is all packed up, and you must tell us!"

"I've made arrangements to live there for as long as I want," I replied. "I've got to go again tomorrow. How did you move here, Mrs. Dean? Tell me."

"Zillar gone, Mr. Heathcliff, after you went to London. Wanted me to come and stay till you came back. But come in, please! Did you come from Gimmerton this evening? "

"From the Grange," I answered, "while they prepare my bedroom, I want to settle my account with your master, for for a moment I think there will be no chance."

"What account, sir?" said Nelly, leading me into the hall. "He's gone out now, and he won't come back for a while."

"About the rent," I replied.

"Oh! so you'll have to go and find out with Mrs. Heathcliff," said she, "or tell me she hasn't learned to run her business, and I'll act for her, and no one else."

I'm not surprised.

"Oh, you haven't heard that Heathcliff is dead, I see!" she added.

"Heathcliff dead?" I cried, startled. "How long?"

"Three months. But sit down and let me take your hat off, and I'll make it clear to you, wait a minute, you haven't eaten anything, have you?"

"I don't want anything. I've got supper ready. Sit down too. I never dreamed he'd die! Let me hear what it is. You say you don't expect them to come back anytime soon, then Two young men?"

"No, I scolded them every night for hanging around all night, but they ignored me. At least a sip of our old pub will do you good, you seem very tired. "

She hurried to get the wine, and I didn't have time to refuse. I heard Joseph asking, "Isn't the scandal too big for her at her age and with a boyfriend? And get them from the master's cellar." Wine jar! He is ashamed to stand by and watch."

She didn't stop to fight back, but came in again in a blink of an eye, and brought a large silver cup of wine. I praised the wine, and I became more and more convinced.Then she told me the later story of Heathcliff.According to her, he had a "strange" ending.

After you left me, within half a month, I was called to Wuthering Heights, she said.For Catherine's sake I gladly obliged.

Meeting her for the first time was such a sad and shocking experience!Since we parted, she has become so powerful.Mr. Heathcliff did not explain why he had changed his mind and wanted me to come here, he only told me that he needed me and that he was tired of seeing Catherine all day.I shall make the little parlour my bedroom, and let Catherine live with me.It would be enough if he had to see her once or twice a day.

She seemed quite happy with the arrangement, too.Little by little, I smuggled in a great quantity of books, and other objects which had entertained her at the Grange.I was complacent, thinking that it would be unsatisfactory to live like this.

My fantasy didn't last long.Catherine was satisfied at first, but after a while she became restless and restless.On the one hand, she was not allowed to take a step out of the garden, and spring was approaching, confining her in this narrow world, which made her bitterly resentful; She was so bored that she would rather quarrel with Joseph in the kitchen than sit alone in peace.

I don't mind them being noisy.But when the master wanted to occupy the "house" alone, Hareton was often obliged to hide in the kitchen too.Although at first she saw him coming in, she either got up and left, or silently helped me with the housework, avoiding mentioning him or talking to him, even though he always kept a tight face and said nothing.After a while, her style changed and she couldn't keep him quiet.She talked about him, commenting on his stupidity and laziness, how she was amazed how he could bear such a life, how he could sit there all night staring at the fire, drowsy.

"He's really like a dog, isn't he, Ellen?" she said once. "Not a harness horse? He works, eats, and sleeps, always! He must be hollow and desolate inside." !Did you ever dream, Hareton? If you did, what was it? But you can't talk to me!"

Then she glanced at him, but he neither opened his mouth nor looked back.

"At this moment, he may be dreaming," she added. "He twitched his shoulders like Mino twitched his shoulders. Ask him, Alan."

"Mr. Hareton will ask the master to send you upstairs, if you believe it!" said I.Not only did he twitch his shoulders, but he clenched his fist as if he couldn't resist using it.

"I know why Hareton doesn't talk when I'm in the kitchen," she cried another time. "He was afraid that I would laugh at him. Alan, what do you think? He started to teach himself to read, but because I laughed at him, he burned the book and gave up halfway. Isn't he a fool?"

"Aren't you too naughty?" I asked, "Answer me."

"Perhaps," she went on, "but I didn't expect him to be so stupid. If I offered you a book, Hareton, would you take it now? I'll try!"

She put the book she was reading into his hands, and he threw it away with a wave of his hand, grumbling that if she pestered her again, he would break her neck.

"Well, I'll put it here," she said, "in the drawer of the table, and I'll go to bed."

Then she bit her ear and told me to watch if he touched it, and then walked away.But he didn't want to go near it, so I told her next morning, to her great disappointment.I saw that he was obsessed with melancholy and indolence, and it pained her very much, and her conscience reproached her for frightening him away from his pursuits, and she had gone too far.

But her dexterity was trying to undo the damage.When I was doing ironing, or other regular tasks that couldn't be done in the small living room, she would bring interesting books and read them aloud to me.In Hareton's presence she usually stopped at the point of reading, spread the book out, and went away.She tried this trick again and again, but he was as stubborn as a mule. Instead of falling into her bait, he would go to accompany Joseph to smoke a cigarette in rainy weather. The two of them were like puppets, one on each side of the fireplace, Fortunately, the old man was deaf and couldn't hear his bad words clearly, while the young man tried his best to pretend not to hear.On fine nights, when the young men went out to hunt, Catherine yawned and sighed, and pestered me to chat with her, but as soon as I spoke, she slipped into the courtyard or garden.In the end, when she had nothing to do, she began to cry, saying that she was tired of living, and her life was useless.

Mr. Heathcliff became more and more withdrawn, and Earnshaw was almost forbidden to enter his room.In early March, he had an accident and for a while became a regular guest in the kitchen.His gun exploded, and he was alone in the mountains, and a splinter wounded his arm, and he bled so much that he managed to make it home.As a result, he had to be sent to the fireside to recuperate quietly while he recovered.

He pleased Catherine there.Anyway, it made her hate her upstairs room all the more.She's always pushing me to find work downstairs so she can keep me company.

On Easter Monday, Joseph took some cattle to the Gimmerton market.In the afternoon, I was busy ironing the sheets in the kitchen. Ern was sitting in the corner of the fireplace with a sullen face as usual, while my little mistress was drawing pictures on the glass windows to pass the time, humming and singing while painting and drawing. She cried out in a low voice, and now and then gave her cousin a hasty look of irritation and anxiety, but he kept smoking, staring at the grate in a daze.

I told her not to block my light, and she moved to the fireside as soon as I told her.I hardly paid attention to her behavior, but, suddenly, I heard her say:

"I see, Hareton, I want, I'm glad, I like you as my cousin now, if you don't be so cruel and rough with me."

Hareton made no answer.

"Hareton, Hareton, Hareton! Do you hear that?" she went on.

"Get out of here!" he yelled, rough and uncompromising.

"I've got you this pipe," she said, reaching out cautiously, and drawing it from his mouth.

Before he could get his pipe back, it broke and fell into the fire.He cursed her and grabbed another one.

"Don't smoke yet," she cried, "you must listen to me first, I can't speak with these clouds of smoke floating in my face."

"To hell with you!" he yelled in a fit of rage. "Leave me alone!"

"No," she insisted, "I don't, I can't tell you how to get you to talk to me, you made up your mind to ignore me. I didn't mean you when I called you stupid, I didn't take you lightly. Come on, you must pay attention to me, Hareton, you are my cousin, and you must recognize me."

"I have nothing to do with you, and your airs, and all your artifice!" he answered. "I'd rather go to hell, body and soul, than look at you out of the corner of my eye! Get out of the door, get out right now!"

Frowning, Catherine retreated to the window seat, biting her lower lip, and humming an unearthly tune, trying to conceal her growing desire to cry.

"You ought to be kinder to your cousin, Mr. Hareton," I interposed, "because she's repented! Her friend will do you innumerable good things, and will make you a different man."

"Friend?" he cried. "When she hates me, she doesn't think I'm fit enough to shine her shoes! No, even if I were made a king for it, I wouldn't want to please her and be laughed at."

"I don't hate you, it's you who hate me!" cried Cathy, no longer trying to hide her distress. "You hate me as Mr. Heathcliff hates me, and a little more."

"You're a damned liar," said Earnshaw, "to protect you, why should I? I've pissed him off a hundred times. And when you laughed at me, despised me, and—to torture Me, I'm going over there, saying you kicked me out of the kitchen!"

"I didn't know you were protecting me," she replied, drying her eyes. "I was so sad at the time, and I was not nice to anyone. But now that I thank you, please forgive me, what else can I do?" ?”

She turned toward the hearth and frankly held out her hand.

His face sank, his anger was like a dark cloud carrying thunder and lightning, his fists were clenched tightly, and his eyes were fixed on the ground.

Catherine must have instinctively guessed that his eccentricity rather than disgust was responsible for his obstinacy, for, after a moment's hesitation, she bent down and pressed a light kiss on his cheek.

The little rascal thought I hadn't seen her, so he drew back and sat in her place by the window again, pretending to be serious.

I shook my head disapprovingly, and she blushed and whispered:
(End of this chapter)