Wuthering Heights

Chapter 5

Two benches, arranged in an arc, almost surrounded the fireplace.I lay down with my legs stretched out on one stool, and the old cat climbed on the other.We were both dazed, but someone came and made trouble, and it was Joseph, who slumped down a wooden ladder that disappeared into the roof through a trap door, and I think it was up there. It's his attic.

He cast a meaningful glance at the smoldering fire I had fiddled between the grates, swept the cat off the bench, took the vacant place for himself, and began filling a three-inch pipe with tobacco.My intrusion into his sanctuary was such an obvious act of shameless insolence that it was not worth mentioning.Without saying a word, he put the pipe between his lips, folded his arms, and began to puff.

I let him enjoy his luxury without interruption.After taking his last puff of cigarette, he let out a hard breath, and he walked away solemnly, just as he had come when he came.

Following the sound of lighter footsteps, he will come in.This time I opened my mouth to say "Good morning", but I closed my mouth again, stifling the greeting.Because Hareton Earnshaw whispered the original in Italian: Sotto voce.Saying his prayers, he scoured the corner for a shovel to shovel away the snow, spitting out a stream of curses at anyone he encountered.He glanced over the back of the bench, his nostrils flared, feeling as unnecessary to exchange courtesies with me as with my cat companion.

Judging from the preparations he has made.I guessed that I should be able to walk, so I left my hard seat and moved to follow him.He saw what I was thinking, and struck an inner door with the point of his shovel, and with a grunt signaled to me that I must go that way, if I was going to move places.

Going out of the inner door is the hall, where the women are already active.Zilla pulled a big bellows to drive the flames up the chimney.Mrs. Heathcliff was kneeling by the fire, reading a book by the light of the fire.

She stretched out a hand between the heat of the stove and between her eyes, and seemed to be absorbed in reading.She was distracted only when she scolded the servant for spilling sparks all over her, and when she pushed a dog away, which from time to time tried to put its nose in her face.

I'm very surprised that Heathcliff is here too.He was standing by the fireplace, with his back to me, just coming off a stormy bombardment of poor Zilla, who every now and then stopped her work to lift the hem of her apron and grunt indignantly.

"And you, you worthless—" He was turning to his daughter-in-law when I came in, throwing a fit, using a lot of innocuous names like duck, sheep, but mostly with a dash—.

"Look at you, playing your silly tricks again? Others are earning their bread--you're living off my handouts! Get rid of your wretch and find something to do. You're hanging around me like the plague In front of my eyes, you have to pay the price-you hear, bloody bitch?"

"I throw away my rubbish, because if I don't, you will make me," replied the young lady, closing the book and throwing it on a chair. "But I don't do anything, even if you cursed your tongue, unless it's something I want to do!"

Heathcliff raised his hand, and the speaker immediately jumped away, leaving a safe distance, she was obviously familiar with its weight.

I had no intention of taking pleasure in a cat-dog fight, so I hurried forward, as if eager to warm myself by the fire, oblivious of the strife I had interrupted.Both of them still had enough courtesy to restrain further hostility.Heathcliff put his fist into his pocket.Mrs. Heathcliff pursed her lips, and went to the edge of a distant chair, where she kept her vow; she had been playing a statue while I was there.

Her statue didn't last long.I declined to have breakfast with them, and when the dawn broke, I found an excuse to escape to the free air, which was so fresh and quiet, as cold as untouchable ice.

Before I reached the end of the garden, my landlady bade me stop, saying he was going to accompany me across the moor.Thanks to him, for the whole ridge is like a billowing white sea, rising and falling without indicating corresponding rises and falls in the ground.At the very least, many potholes were smoothed out.The entire winding mountain range and the ruins of many quarries have been erased from the map left in my heart by yesterday's journey.

I have noticed that on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, there is a row of straight stones running down through the heath.The stones stood vertically and were plastered for direction in the dark, and also to prevent the deep bogs on either side of the road from being confused with the firmer road itself under a snowstorm like the present one.However, except for a few black spots that can be seen here and there, all traces of the stone's existence are gone.My companion found it necessary now and again to warn me to turn right or left, while I thought myself right to follow the winding lanes.

We seldom talk, he stopped at the gate of the Thrushcross Garden, and I will not make mistakes when I say this.Our parting was limited to a hasty bow, and I trudged on, relying on my ability, for the gatekeeper's house had not yet been let.

The distance from the gate to the Grange was about two miles, and I think I made it four miles.As for how to get lost in the woods, how to be buried up to the neck in snow, this kind of predicament can only be appreciated by those who have experienced it firsthand.Anyway, I wandered all the way down, and the clock struck twelve when I entered the house.If calculated according to the usual return journey from Wuthering Heights, every mile, no more, no less, took exactly one hour.

My housewife pinned at Thrushcross Grange and her satellites swarmed out to meet me, yelling that they had given up all hope of me, and everyone guessed I was done last night. A: They are thinking.How do I begin the search for my remains.

I told them to be quiet, now that they had seen me back home, and, besides, I was frozen, down to my heart.I dragged myself upstairs, put on some clothes, and walked back and forth for three or four ten minutes, hoping to recover my body temperature.I found myself in my study, weak as a kitten, barely able to enjoy the smoldering fire and steaming coffee which my servant brought to refresh me.

What vain weathercocks we are!I had made up my mind to abstain from all social intercourse, and thanked my good fortune.At last, I came to a place that was almost secluded; but I, poor cowardly wretch, wrestled with depression and loneliness till evening, and at last had to hoist the flag.I pretended to be inquiring about my house, and when Mrs. Dean brought supper, I wished she would sit down and watch me eat, and sincerely hoped she would prove to be a usual gossip.Either arouse my interest, or put me to sleep.

"You've lived here for a long time," I said, "Didn't you say 16 years?"

"In 18 years, sir, I came to serve my wife when she got married. After she died, the master left me as his housekeeper."

"Yes."

A silence followed.I'm afraid she's not a gossip, unless she's talking about her own affairs, which seldom interest me.

Well, she thought for a moment, her fists on her knees, a meditative cloud covering her flushed face.He cried out aloud:
"Ah, times have changed a lot since then."

"Yeah," I said, "you've seen a lot of changes. I suppose?"

"I saw it, and I saw troubles," she said.

"Oh, I'm going to turn the conversation on to my landlady's family!" I thought. "That's a good subject to start with, and that pretty little widow, I'd love to know her story: Is she a native of the country, or more of a stranger, called the rude native She can't get through."

With this in mind, I asked Mrs. Dean why Heathcliff had let Thrushcliff Grange, preferring to live in a far more remote and crude dwelling.

"Is it because he doesn't have much money to make his home beautiful?" I asked.

"Money, sir!" she replied. "He's got money, no one knows what money, but it's increasing every year. Yes, yes, he's got money to live in a nicer house than this. But he's really, really cheap. Even if he wants to Moving to Thrushcross Grange, as long as he hears that there is a good tenant, he will never let go of this opportunity to get a few hundred more. It is incredible that some people live alone in this world, and they are so greedy for money!"

"He seems to have had a son?"

"Yes, he had one, and he died."

"Is that young working girl, Mrs. Heathcliff, his widow?"

"Yes."'

"Where is her mother's house?"

"Why, sir, she is my dead master's daughter, and Catherine Linton was her maiden name. I brought her up, poor thing! I wish Mr. Heathcliff would move here, That way we can be together again."

"What! Katherine Linton?" I exclaimed, dumbfounded.But after thinking about it for a minute, I realized that this was not my ghost Catherine. "Then," I went on, "the last owner here was Linton?"

"Yes."

"And who was that Earnshaw, Hareton Earnshaw, who lived with Heathcliff? Are they related?"

"No, he is the nephew of the late Mrs Linton."

"Young Mistress's cousin, so?"

"Yes, her husband was also her cousin: one in the mother's line, one in the father's line, and Heathcliff married Mr. Linton's sister."

"I see 'Earnshaw' engraved on the front door of Wuthering Heights. Are they an ancient family?"

"Very old, sir, and Hareton was the last of them, just as Miss Cathy was the last of our side, and I am the last of the Lintons. Have you ever been to Wuthering Heights? Please forgive me." I ask you; but I should like to hear how she is now."

"Mrs. Heathcliff? She looks good, and is very pretty; but, I think, not very happy."

"Oh my God, I'm not surprised at all! Do you like that master?"

"I see him as a rough fellow, Mrs. Dean. Isn't that just his nature?"

"Rough as jagged, hard as a rock! The less you have to do with him, the better."

"He must have gone through a lot of ups and downs in his life before he became so unreasonable. Do you know his past stories?"

"That's the story of a cuckoo, sir, and I know all about it, except where he was born, who his parents were, and how he made his fortune. Hareton was like a fledgling petipitt, Out of the nest! There's only this poor boy in the whole parish who doesn't know how badly he's been cheated."

"Well, Mrs. Dean, do a good job and tell me about my neighbors. I don't think I'll be able to sleep when I go to bed, so please do me a favor and sit down and talk for an hour."

"Oh, of course, sir! I'll get some sewing now, and then I'll sit as long as you want. But you've got a cold. I see you shivering, and you'll have to drink some porridge to get rid of the cold."

The venerable woman hurried out, and I drew nearer to the fire.My head felt hot, but the rest of my body was cold.Not only that, but my nerves and brain were so excited that I was almost confused.This doesn't make me feel uncomfortable, but it makes me feel scared, and I am still afraid. I am afraid that today's and yesterday's accidents will bring about serious consequences.

She came back in no time, with a steaming basin and a basket of needlework.She put the porridge bowl on the hob and pulled up her chair, obviously pleased to find me so accessible.

Before I came to live here, she began to talk, and told her story without waiting for my further request--I was almost always at Wuthering Heights, because my mother was with Mr. Hindley Earnshaw. Yes, he is Hareton's father, and I play with their children all the time.I also acted as their footman, helping to pack up the hay, and wandering about the farm, always ready to be told by anybody.

One sunny summer morning, as I remember it being the beginning of harvest, Mr. Earnshaw, the old master, came down to dress for his journey.He explained Joseph's work for the day, turned to Hindley, Cathy, and me—for I was sitting eating porridge with them—and said to his son:

"Listen, my good boy, I'm going to Liverpool to-day, and what shall I bring you back? You may pick anything you like, but make it small, because I'll be walking back and forth: sixty miles a way. That's a long way to go!"

Hindley said he wanted a violin, and then he asked Miss Cathy.She wasn't six yet, but she could ride any horse in the stable, and she picked a whip.

He did not forget me, because he has a good heart, although sometimes fierce.He promised to bring me back a bag of apples and pears, then he kissed his baby, said good-bye, and set off.

We think he has been away for a long time, he has been away for three days, and little Cathy always asks when he will come home.On the third evening, Mrs. Earnshaw waited for his return to dine, and postponed supper as late as possible.But there was no sign of his coming back.In the end, the children were too lazy to run to the gate and look around.As night fell, she told the children to go to bed, but they begged and endured.At about eleven o'clock, the door mortar was lifted slightly, and the master walked in.He collapsed into a chair, and laughed and groaned, telling them all to stand up, because he was really dying of exhaustion.Even if the British Isles were given to him, he would never want to go through this experience again.

"I've come to the end, and I'm running around!" He said, unwrapping the overcoat that was wrapped in a ball in his arms. "Look here, wife! I've never been so embarrassed by anything in my life, but you must treat him as God's gift, accept him, even though he's so dark it looks like he came from the devil's side."

We gathered around, and Sa looked over Miss Cathy's head and saw a dirty, tattered black-haired child, already big enough to walk.Indeed, the boy's face looked older than Catherine's.However, as soon as he was put on the ground, he just stared around and repeated some inexplicable words that no one could understand.I was frightened, and Mrs Earnshaw was going to throw him out the door.She really jumped up and asked him how he thought of bringing that gypsy kid into the house, and didn't his own children have enough to feed?What does he mean by doing this, is he crazy?
The master tried to explain clearly, but he was really exhausted.Amidst her yelling, I could only fumble for a story of him in the streets of Liverpool, seeing him half-starved, homeless, and pretty much a mute.He picked him up and asked who was his master.He said that no ghost would know whose family he belonged to.His money and time were limited, and he thought it better to bring him home at once than to spend it there.Because once he found him, he made up his mind never to leave him again.

By the way, the story ends with Mrs. grunting for a while and then calming down, and Mr. Earnshaw telling me to bathe him, put him in clean clothes, and let him sleep with his own children.

Hindley and Cathy watched on until peace was restored.The two then searched their father's pockets for the gift he had promised.Hindley, a 14-year-old boy, burst into tears when he pulled what was once a violin, now crushed to pieces, from his overcoat.Cathy grinned at the silly little thing and spit on him when he heard the master lose her whip for taking care of strangers.For this, she got her father's slap in the face, and taught her to behave better.

They didn't want to share his bed with him at all, or even have him in their room.At my wit's end, I put him on the landing and hoped he'd be gone tomorrow.Providence, perhaps, but not hearing his voice, crept up to Mr. Earnshaw's door, and found him as he came out of the bedroom.He asked how he got there, and I was obliged to confess that, for my cowardice and cruelty, I was rewarded and cast out of the house,

This was the situation when Heathcliff first came to the family.When I returned some days later (for I did not consider my punishment to be permanent), I found that they had named him "Heathcliff," after one of their dead sons .This name has been fixed on him ever since, it is also a first name and a surname.

Miss Cathy and he were very friendly now, but Hindley hated him.I honestly hate him too.We shamefully tortured and bullied him.Because I don't understand the truth, I don't feel that I am doing bad things, and my wife never said a word when she saw him being wronged by the factory.

He seemed to be a dull, patient boy.Maybe it's a battered hardened gas plant.He took Hindley's fist without batting an eye.Without shedding a single tear, I pinched him and pinched him, but he just gasped and opened his eyes wide, as if he had accidentally hurt himself and no one was to blame.

Such resignation drove old Earnshaw mad, for he found his son bullying the poor fatherless boy, as he called him.It is strange to say that he likes Heathcliff very much, and believes every word he says (he seldom opens his mouth when it comes to talking, but most of what he tells is the truth), baby, he is far more than Cathy, Cathy is too mischievous, it is rare for him to favor.

In this way, from the very beginning, he planted a bad feeling in this family.Within two years of Mrs Earnshaw's death, the young master had learned to see his father as an oppressor rather than a friend, and Heathcliff had usurped his father's favor and his privileges.Thinking of these humiliations, he became more and more sad.

(End of this chapter)