Wuthering Heights

Chapter 39

When Joseph came out of the room, he took his usual place and I brought him a cup of coffee.He pulled the cup closer, then put his arms on the table, and looked at the opposite wall. I guessed, he was looking at something, up and down, his eyes flickering non-stop, looking so eagerly, for a whole day. For half a minute, he stopped breathing.

"Come on," I cried, pushing a piece of bread into his hand. "Eat and drink while it's hot; you'll be waiting an hour earlier."

He ignored me, but smiled.I'd rather see him grit his teeth than see him laugh like this.

"Mr Heathcliff, master!" I cried. "For God's sake, don't keep your eyes open like you're seeing a ghost."

"For God's sake, don't make such a scene," he replied. "Turn around and tell me, are we the only two here?"

"Of course," I replied, "of course it's just the two of us."

But still I couldn't help it, and obeyed him, as if I couldn't figure it out myself.

With a sweep of his hand, he made an open space among the breakfast in front of him, and leaned forward, wanting to take a closer look.

Now, I see he's not looking at the wall, because when I just look at him, it's as if, really, he's staring at something within two yards.And, whatever it was, it was evident that it gave him pleasure as well as pain, and as much pleasure as it did pain.At least, his face was in pain.But it is also an expression of ecstasy, which is so reminiscent.

The thing in the fantasy is not fixed.His tireless eyes tracked it with concentration.And, even when he was talking to me, he didn't move away.

In vain I reminded him that the hunger strike was already a day.Even if he listened to my pleading and moved to touch something, even if he stretched out his hand to grab a piece of bread, before his fingers could touch the bread, he curled up again and put it on the table without moving, completely forgetting their goals.

I sat there, a model of good patience, always trying to divert his undivided attention from its single-minded meditation.At last he got angry, stood up, and asked me why I was entangled with him while he was eating?Said that next time I don't have to wait for him, just put the things under it, and then I can walk.

With these words he left the hall, walked slowly along the garden path, passed through the gate, and disappeared.

Time passed slowly in anxiety, and another night came.I went to bed very late, and when I got to bed I couldn't sleep.He came back after midnight, and instead of going to bed, shut himself in the room below.I listened, tossed and turned, lying in bed with a hundred inexplicable worries harassing my brain, and it was just too painful.Then I got dressed and went downstairs.

I recognized Mr. Heathcliff's footsteps, and measured the ground restlessly.From time to time he broke the silence with a deep sigh, like a moan.He was still uttering broken words, and the only thing I could catch was Catherine's name, along with some wild words of affection or pain.He seemed to be speaking to someone in front of him, low and earnest, as if gushing from the depths of his soul.

I didn't have the courage to go straight into the room, but I wanted to distract him from the dream.So I tangled up with the kitchen fire, stirring it up and shoveling up the ashes.The sound drew him out, sooner than I expected.He opened the door at once, and said:
"Nellie, come here, is it daylight? Bring your candle."

"The clock strikes four," I answered. "You'll want a candle to light the stairs, and you can light one on this fire."

"No, I don't want to go upstairs," he said. "Come in, come and light me a fire, and tidy up this room."

"I must blow this coal red before I can take it," I answered, bringing a chair and bellows.

All this time he walked back and forth, looking like he was about to go insane.Heavy sighs came and went, as if there was no room for normal breathing.

"It's light and I'm going to ask Green over," he said. "I can still think about these things and act calmly. I want to ask him for a little legal advice. I haven't written a will yet, and I can't decide what to do with my property! I wish I could destroy it from the ground .”

"I don't want you to say that, Mr. Heathcliff," I put in. "Leave your will alone. You haven't repented of all your wicked deeds! I never thought your nerves would be deranged, but now they are, and they are. It's almost all your own fault. You've lived the way you've lived the past three days. You could have knocked a Titan to the ground. Eat something and get some sleep. You just look at yourself in the mirror, look at you How much you need food and rest. Your cheeks are sunken, and your eyes are blood red, like a person who is dying of hunger and sleepy."

"It's not my fault that I can't eat or sleep," he replied. "I assure you I didn't mean it. I'll eat and sleep as soon as I can. But how can you tell a man to rest when he's struggling in the water and he's only an arm's length from the shore! I Must go ashore, and then rest. Well, don't mention Mr. Green. As for confessing my crooks, I've never done any crooked things, so I don't have to confess anything. I'm too happy, but not happy enough. My soul rejoices , killed my body, but the soul itself is not satisfied."

"Happiness, master?" I cried. "Strange happiness! If you will not be angry, I can give you some advice that will make you happier."

"What advice?" he asked. "Say it."

"You know, Mr. Heathcliff," said I, "you have lived a selfish, unchristian life since you were thirteen, and from Holding it in your hand. You must have forgotten what was in that book, and you don't have time to study it now. You see it's doing no good, I mean, can someone, a pastor of any church, Which denomination doesn't matter, come and explain the bible to you and tell you how far you've been apostate and how unfit you are to go to heaven unless you change your mind and die?"

"I'm not angry, but grateful, Nelly," said he, "for you reminded me of what I meant to be, and I'm to be carried to the graveyard at night. You and Hareton can accompany me, If you will. Remember, don't forget, let the sexton obey my words about the two coffins! No need for a parson, no need to say anything for me. I tell you, I'm almost in my heaven, and someone else's Paradise is worthless, and I don't want it!"

"Suppose you were obsessed with your obsession, went on a hunger strike, and died just like that, and they refused to bury you in the churchyard?" I said, he didn't take God seriously, but I was terrified. "What did you do then?"

"They won't," he answered, "and if they do, you must carry me out quietly. If you let it go, you'll be able to prove that, indeed, the dead haven't been wiped out!"

As soon as he heard the movement of other members of the family, he retreated into his den, and I breathed a sigh of relief.But in the afternoon, while Joseph and Hareton were busy with their business, he came into the kitchen again, and bade me sit down in the hall with a wild look—he wanted some company with him.

I refused, telling him frankly that I was so frightened by his eccentric conversation and manner that I had neither the guts nor the desire to be his companion alone.

"I believe you think I'm an evil ghost," he said, laughing gloomily, "Innocence, why did such a terrible thing come out!" "

Then he turned to Catherine, who was there, and hid behind me when he came in, and said again, half-sarcastically:

"Will you come, sweetie? I won't hurt you. No! I've been worse than the devil for you. Well, there's a man who's not afraid of my company! By God, she's cruel. Oh , go to hell! This is how flesh and blood can resist, even I can't bear it."

He no longer asks for company.At dusk he went into his bedroom, and all night and into morning we heard him groaning and talking to himself.Hareton was in a hurry to go in, but I told him to fetch Mr. Kenneth, who was due to come and see him.

When he arrived, I begged to come in and tried to push the door open, but I found it locked.Heathcliff told us to go away.He was better and wanted to be alone, so the doctor went away again.

It rained non-stop that night, literally, pouring downpours until it was light.Walking around the house in the morning, I saw the owner's windows dangling open, and the rain poured straight in.

"He won't lie in bed," I thought, "this rain will make him wet! He's either up or out of the house. But I'm going to stop messing around, I'm going to be brave enough to go in and see." !"

I opened the door with another key, and seeing that the room was empty, I rushed to open the wainscot.The panels were quickly drawn back, and I looked in. There was Mr. Heathcliff--lying on his back.His eyes met mine, so sharp, so fierce, it startled me.Then, he seemed to smile again.

I can't imagine he is dead.But his face and throat were in the rain, and the sheets were dripping, and he didn't move.The latticed window slammed back and forth, scraping a hand resting on the sill, but no blood flowed from the broken skin.I put my finger on it, no longer in doubt—he was dead, and stiff!
I closed the window and brushed his long black hair that fell across his forehead.I wanted to close his eyes, if possible, to extinguish that terrible, living, rapturous look, so that no one else could see it.But they didn't want to close them—they seemed to be laughing at her attempt to close them, the parted lips and sharp white teeth were mocking the same!I couldn't help myself and became timid again, so I called Joseph.Joseph shuffled up the stairs, yelled, but refused to come and serve him.

"The devil has taken his soul," he cried, "and he might as well have taken the corpse, too, and I'll leave it alone! Humph! What a wicked man he is, a corpse that grinned when he died. The sinner followed suit and grinned.

I thought he wanted to bounce around the bed for a while, but suddenly he calmed down, fell to his knees, raised his hands, and thanked Heaven for the rightful master and the ancient family to be restored.

This strange behavior made me dumbfounded.With a heavy sadness, my memory can't help but return to the past.But poor Hareton, the most wronged man, was the only one who grieved sincerely.He sat by the corpse all night, weeping in grief.He pressed his hand, and kissed that sneering, savage face, which would be daunting to anyone who changed it.He mourned him with a mighty sorrow, which flowed naturally from a magnanimous heart, though a heart as hard as steel.

Kenneth was very troubled, not knowing how to announce the cause of his master's death.I concealed the fact that he hadn't eaten in four days, fearing it might lead to trouble, but I also believed that he hadn't been starving on purpose, and that it was the result, not the cause, of his eccentricity.

When we buried him, we followed the instructions he gave during his lifetime, which aroused a lot of discussion among the neighbors.Earnshaw, myself, the sexton, and six coffin-bearers made up the funeral procession.

The six men put the coffin in the grave and left.We stayed and watched it get buried.Hareton, weeping, dug some green turf, and spread it with his own hands over the brown mound, which is now as smooth and green as the surrounding mounds, and I hope its occupants sleep as well.But if you ask country folks, they'll swear by the Bible God of Gamblers that he's hanging out.Some say they met him at the church, and on the moor, and even in this house—nonsense, you say, and I say the same.But the old man by the kitchen stove affirmed that he had seen them both from his bedroom window on rainy nights since his death.Also, about a month ago, I also encountered a strange thing.

One night when I went to the Grange, it was a dark night, and there seemed to be thunder and lightning.Just at the corner of the mountain villa, I ran into a little boy driving a sheep and two lambs, howling in a frightening way. I thought the lambs were frightened and refused to listen to him.

"What's the matter, my lad?" I asked.

"There's another woman, Heathcliff, just over there, under the rock," he cried, "and I dare not walk past it."

I don't see anything.But neither the sheep nor the child would go any further, so I told him to take the next road.

He may have heard some wild stories from his parents and companions, and now walking through the wilderness alone, he imagined some ghosts and ghosts.But that being said, now I don't want to go out after dark, I don't want to be left alone in this spooky house, I can't help it.It would be great if they left here someday and moved to the farm!

"Then they're going to the Grange?" I asked.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Dean, "they go as soon as they get married, and the wedding is on New Year's Day."

"So who lives here?"

"Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and maybe a boy will keep him company. They'll live in the kitchen, and the rest will be locked up."

"For the ghosts who plan to live in it," I said.

"No, Mr. Lockwood," said Nelly, shaking her head. "I believe that the dead are peaceful and that they should not be taken lightly."

Just then the garden gate was opened, and the two nocturnal travelers returned.

"They're not afraid of anything!" I grumbled, watching them approach from the window. "Together they dare to challenge Satan and his army."

As they went up the stone steps, they stopped to take one last look at the moon, or rather, at each other by the light of the moon.I felt compelled to run away from their wishes.So, slipping a souvenir into Mrs. Dean's hands, and ignoring her protests of my impertinence, I slipped through the kitchen while they were opening the hall door.Besides, Joseph would have been more convinced that his fellow servant was old and dishonest, had he not seen a gold coin at his feet with a clang, and fortunately recognized me as a decent man.

Walking home, I made a detour in the direction of the church.Get under the wall.I saw that although only seven months had passed, the signs of decay were evident.Many windows were black and gaped because of the loss of glass; on the roof, the tiles protruded here and there, deviated from the original line, and when the autumn wind and rain came, they would gradually fall away.

I searched, and soon found, on the slope next to the moor, three gravestones—the middle one, gray, half buried in the heather; After all, the foot of the stele is in harmony with the surrounding scenery; Heathcliff's part is still bare.

Under the warm sky, I linger among them.To watch the moths flutter among the heather and bluebells, and to hear the soft breeze blowing through the green grass, one wonders how anyone could have imagined that in such a quiet land the sleeping man could not sleep well.

(End of this chapter)