Unit 7 - The Luncheon
A young man finds it very difficult to say no to a woman as a result he gets into trouble. The restaurant to which he has agreed to take his luncheon date is far too expensive for his small pocketbook. How, then, will he be able to avoid the embarrassing situation?
THE LUNCHEON
W.Somerset Maugham
I caught sight of her at the play, and in answer to her beckoning I went over during the interval and sat down beside her. It was long since I had last seen her, and if someone had not mentioned her name I hardly think I would have recognised her. She addressed me brightly.
"Well, it's many years since we first met. How time does fly! We're none of us getting any younger. Do you remember the first time I saw you? You asked me to luncheon."
Did I remember?
It was twenty years ago and I was living in Paris. I had a tiny apartment in the Latin Quarter overlooking a cemetery, and I was earning barely enough money to keep body and soul together. She had read a book of mine and had written to me about it. I answered, thanking her, and presently I received from her another letter saying that she was passing through Paris and would like to have a chat with me; but her time was limited, and the only free moment she had was on the following Thursday; she was spending the morning at the Luxembourg and would I give her a little luncheon at Foyot's afterwards? Foyot's is a restaurant at which the French senators eat, and it was so far beyond my means that I had never even thought of going there. But I was flattered, and I was too young to have learned to say no to a woman. (Few men, I may add, learn this until they are too old to make it of any consequence to a woman what they say.) I had eight francs (gold francs) to last me the rest of the month, and a modest luncheon should not cost more than fifteen. If I cut out coffee for the next two weeks I could manage well enough.
I answered that I would meet my friend -- by correspondence -- at Foyot's on Thursday at half past twelve. She was not so young as I expected and in appearance imposing rather than attractive, she was, in fact, a woman of forty (a charming age, but not one that excites a sudden and devastating passion at first sight), and she gave me the impression of having more teeth, white and large and even, than were necessary for any practical purpose. She was talkative, but since she seemed inclined to talk about me I was prepared to be an attentive listener.
I was startled when the bill of fare was brought, for the prices were a great deal higher than I had anticipated. But she reassured me.
"I never eat anything for luncheon," She said.
"Oh, don't say that!" I answered generously.
"I never eat more than one thing. I think people eat far too much nowadays. A little fish, perhaps. I wonder if they have any salmon.
Well, it was early in the year for salmon and it was not on the bill of fare, but I asked the waiter if there was any. Yes, a beautiful salmon had just come in, it was the first they had had. I ordered it for my guest. The waiter asked her if she would have something while it was being cooked.
"No," she answered, "I never eat more than one thing. Unless you have a little caviare. I never mind caviare."
My heart sank a little. I knew I could not afford caviare, but I could not very well tell her that. I told the waiter by all means to bring caviare. For myself I chose the cheapest dish on the menu and that was a mutton chop.
" I think you are unwise to eat meat," she said. " I don't know how you can expect to work after eating heavy things like chops. I don't believe in overloading my stomach."
Then came the question of drink.
"I never drink anything for luncheon," she said.
"Neither do I," I answered promptly.
"Except whiter wine," she proceeded as though I had not spoken. "These French white wines are so light. They're wonderful for the digestion."
"What would you like?" I asked, hospitable still, but not exactly effusive.
She gave me a bright and amicable flash of her white teeth.
"My doctor won't let me drink anything but champagne."
I fancy I turned a trifle pale. I ordered half a bottle. I mentioned casually that my doctor had absolutely forbidden me to drink champagne.
"What are you going to drink, then?"
"Water."
She ate the caviare and she ate the salmon. She talked gaily of art and literature and music. But I wondered what the bill would come to. When my mutton chop arrived she took me quite seriously to task.
"I see that you're in the habit of eating a heavy luncheon. I'm sure it's a mistake. Why don't you follow my example and just eat one thing? I'm sure you'd feel ever so much better for it."
"I am only going to eat one thing." I said, as the waiter came again with the bill of fare.
She waved him aside with an airy gesture.
"No, no, I never eat anything for luncheon. Just a bite, I never want more than that, and I eat that more as an excuse for conversation than anything else. I couldn't possibly eat anything more unless they had some of those giant asparagus. I should be sorry to leave Paris without having some of them."
My heart sank. I had seen them in the shops, and I knew that they were horribly expensive. My mouth had often watered at the sight of them.
"Madame wants to know if you have any of those giant asparagus," I asked the waiter.
I tried with all my might to will him to say no. A happy smile spread over his broad, pries-like face, and he assured me that they had some so large, so splendid, so tender, that it was a marvel.
"I'm not in the least hungry," my guest sighed, "but if you insist I don't mind having some asparagus."
I ordered them.
"Aren't you going to have any?"
"No, I never eat asparagus."
"I know there are people who don't like them. The fact is, you ruin your taste by all the meat you eat."
We waited for the asparagus to be cooked. Panic seized me. It was not a question now how much money I should have left over for the rest of the month, but whether I had enough to pay the bill. It would be embarrassing to find myself ten francs short and be obliged to borrow from my guest. I could not bring myself to do that. I knew exactly how much I had, and if the bill came to more I made up my mind that I would put my hand in my pocket and with a dramatic cry start up and say it had been picked. Of course, it would be awkward if she had not money enough either to pay the bill. Then the only thing would be to leave my watch and say I would come back and pay later.
The asparagus appeared. They were enormous, juicy, and appetising. I watched the wicked woman thrust them down her throat in large mouthfuls, and in my polite way I spoke about the condition of the drama in the Balkans. At last the finished.
"Coffee?" I said.
"Yes, just an ice-cream and coffee," she answered.
I was past caring now, so I ordered coffee for myself and an ice-cream and coffee for her.
"You know, there's one thing I thoroughly believe in," she said, as she ate the ice-cream. "One should always get up from a meal feeling one could eat a little more."
"Are you still hungry?" I asked faintly.
"Oh, no, I'm not hungry; you see, I don't eat luncheon. I have a cup of coffee in the morning and then dinner, but I never eat more than one thing for luncheon. I was speaking for you."
"Oh, I see!"
Then a terrible thing happened. While we were waiting for the coffee the head waiter, with an ingratiating smile on his false face, came up to us bearing a large basket full of huge peaches. They had the blush of an innocent girl; they had the rich tone of an Italian landscape. But surely peaches were not in season then? Lord knew what they cost. I knew too -- a little later, for my guest, going on with her conversation, absentmindedly took one.
"You see, you've filled your stomach with a lot of meat" -- my one miserable little chop -- "and you can't eat any more. But I've just had a snack and I shall enjoy a peach."
The bill came, and when I paid it I found that I had only enough for a quite inadequate tip. Her eyes rested for an instant on the three francs I left for the waiter, and I knew that she thought me mean. But when I walked out of the restaurant, I had the whole month before me and not a penny in my pocket.
"Follow my example," she said as we shook hands, "and never eat more than one thing for luncheon."
"I'll do better than that," I retorted. "I'll eat nothing for dinner tonight."
"Humorist!" she cried gaily, jumping into a cab. "You're quite a humorist!"
But I have had my revenge at last. I do not believe that I am a vindictive man, but when the immortal gods take a hand in matter it is pardonable to observe the result with complacency. Today she weighs twenty-one stone..
参考译文——午餐
一个年轻人发觉很难拒绝一位女士，他因此陷入了困境。他同意进行午餐聚会的那家餐厅对他可怜的荷包来说实在太昂贵了。那么怎样他才能避免这种尴尬的处境呢？
午餐
萨默塞特·毛姆
我是在看戏的时候见到她的。幕间休息时，我应她的招呼走了过去，在她旁边坐下。我上次见到她已是很久以前的事了，要不是有人提起她的名字，我想我几乎会认不出她来。她兴致勃勃地跟我谈了起来。
"瞧，自从我们初次相见已经好多年了。真是光阴似箭啊！我俩都不年轻啦。你还记得我初次见到你吗？你请我吃的午餐。"
我能不记得吗？
那是20年前的事了，当时我住在巴黎。我在拉丁区租了一套小小的公寓，从那里往下看去是一个公墓。我挣的钱只够勉强维持生活。她读过我的一本书，并曾跟我写信谈论该书。我回信向她致谢。随即我又收到她的一封信，说她路过巴黎，想跟我谈谈。但她的时间有限，只有下个星期四有空。那天上午，她要去卢森堡宫，问我是不是愿意中午请她在福伊约餐厅吃顿便饭。福伊约餐厅是法国参议员光顾的地方，去那儿吃饭远远超过我的经济能力，所以以前连想都没有想过。但我当时受宠若惊，况且年纪太轻，还没有学会对一位女士说个"不"字。（附带说一句，没有几个男人学会这一招，而到他们学会时，往往年事已高，他们说什么对女人来讲已无足轻重了。）我当月的生活费还有80法郎（金法郎），一顿便餐花不了15法郎。如果我下两个星期不喝咖啡，还是满可以对付过去的。
我回信说，我将于下星期四十二点半在福伊约餐厅会见我的朋友。她并不如我想象的那么年轻。她的外表与其说美貌动人，毋宁说丰腴魁伟，气概非凡。事实上，她已有40岁了（这是一个有魅力的年龄，但不是初次相见就能令你激情迸发、神魂颠倒的那种年纪），长着一口洁白整齐的大牙齿，给我的印象是，其数目之多已超过了实际需要。她很健谈，不过因为她想谈的话题似乎总是关于我的事，所以我便洗耳恭听。
菜单拿来时，我大吃一惊。价格比我预料的要高出许多。但她的话使我宽了心。
"我午餐从不吃什么东西，"她说。
"哦，可别这么说！"我慷慨地回答。
"我从来只吃一道菜。我认为现在人们吃得太多。或许来点鱼还行。我不知道他们有鲑鱼没有。"
啊，吃鲑鱼的季节还没有到，菜单上也没有，但是我还是问了侍者。有，刚刚进了一条头等鲑鱼，这是他们今年第一次进这种货。我为客人叫了一份。侍者问她在鲑鱼烹制的当儿，要不要吃点别的。
"不要，"她回答说，"我向来只吃一道菜，除非你有鱼子酱。鱼子酱我是从不拒绝的。"
我的心微微一沉。我知道我是吃不起鱼子酱的，但我不便跟她直说，我吩咐侍者务必拿鱼子酱来。我自己则点了菜单上最便宜的一个菜，这就是羊排。
"我看你吃肉是不明智的，"她说。"我不知道你吃了羊排这种油腻的东西后还怎么工作。我不赞成把肚子撑得太饱。"
接着而来的是饮料问题。
"我午餐从不喝饮料，"她说。
"我也是如此，"我马上答道。
"但白葡萄酒例外，"她接着说，就好像我刚才没说似的。"法国的白葡萄酒非常清淡，十分有助消化。"
"你想喝点什么？"我依然客气地问道，但算不上热情。
她嫣然一笑，露出一口白牙。
"我的医生只让我喝香槟。"
我猜想我的脸色一定有点发白了。我要了半瓶，顺便提及我的医生绝对禁止我喝香槟酒。
"那你喝什么呢？"
"水。"
她吃了鱼子酱，又吃鲑鱼。她兴高采烈，大谈艺术、文学、音乐。但我心里却在嘀咕，不知这顿饭要花多少钱。当我的羊排上来时，她一本正经地教训起我来。
"我看你习惯中午吃得很多。我肯定这样不好，你为什么不效法我的样子，只吃一道菜呢？我相信那样你会感觉好得多。"
"我是打算只吃这一道菜，"我说。这时侍者又拿着菜单走了过来。
她轻轻地一挥手，让他走开。
"我可不这样，我午餐从不吃东西。要吃，也只是稍许吃一点，从不多吃。而我吃这么一点，主要也是为了借此机会闲谈而已。我可不能再吃什么东西了，除非他们有那种大芦笋。到了巴黎，不吃点芦笋，那就太遗憾了。"
我的心一沉。我曾在店里见过芦笋，我知道它贵得可怕。过去我每见芦笋，常常馋涎欲滴。
"夫人想知道你们有没有那种大芦笋，"我问侍者。
我竭尽全力想使他说没有。他那张宽阔的教士般虔诚的脸上展露出愉快的笑容，他用肯定的语气对我说，他们有又大、又好、又嫩的芦笋，简直是罕见的珍品。
"我一点也不饿，"我的客人叹道，"不过如果你执意要请我吃，我也不反对吃点芦笋。"
我便点了这道菜。
"你不吃点吗？"
"不，我从不吃芦笋。"
"我知道有人不喜欢芦笋。事实是，你吃肉太多，伤了胃口。"
我们等着芦笋烹制好送上来。我突然惊恐起来。现在的问题已不是我还能剩下几个钱来维持这个月的生计了，而是我的钱够不够付账。要是我差十法郎，不得不向客人借的话，那就太难堪了。我可做不出那样的事来。身边到底有多少钱，我心里有底，倘若账单超过了这个数字，我就决心这么办：伸手往口袋里一摸，随即故意惊叫一声，跳起来说钱给小偷扒了。当然，如果她的钱也不够付账的话，那就尴尬了。那样，唯一的办法就是将我的手表留下，言明以后再来付。
芦笋端上来了。又大汁又多，令人垂涎不止。我一面看着这个邪恶的女人大口大口地将芦笋往肚里塞，一面彬彬有礼地谈论着巴尔干半岛戏剧界的现状。她终于吃完了。
"喝点咖啡？"我说。
"好，就来一客冰淇淋和咖啡吧，"她回答说。
到这时，我什么也不在乎了，为自己叫了咖啡，为她叫了一客冰淇淋和咖啡。
"你知道，我坚信一点，"她边吃冰淇淋边说道。"当一个人吃完一顿饭站起来时，他应该感到还没有吃得十分饱。"
"你还饿吗？"我有气无力地问道。
"噢，不，我不饿。你知道，我不吃午餐。我早晨一杯咖啡，然后到晚上用餐，但我午餐向来最多只吃一道菜。适才我这样说是为了你啊。"
"哦，我明白啦！"
接着，发生了一件可怕的事情。当我们在等咖啡的时候，那个领班侍者，带着满脸奉承的笑容，拎来满满一大篮子特大的桃子，红得酷似天真少女的脸蛋，其色调之瑰丽犹如一幅意大利风景画。当时桃子肯定还没有到上市季节，只有上帝晓得买它们得花多少价钱。不过很快我也晓得了，因为我的客人一边说着话，一边心不在焉地拿了一只。
"你看，你已经塞了一肚子肉，"，她是指我那可怜的一小块羊排，"不能再吃什么了。而我只不过来了点小吃，我还可以再品尝一只桃子。"
账单来了。付过账后，我发现剩下的钱连付点像样的小费都不够了。她的目光在我留给侍者的三个法郎上停了一会儿，我知道她会觉得我是个吝啬鬼。可是等走出餐厅，我面临着的将是整整一个月的开销要支付，而口袋里却分文俱无。
"你学学我，"她边握手边说道，"午餐顶多只吃一道菜。
"我会做得更好，"我回敬道，"我今晚什么也不吃了。
"幽默家！"她得意洋洋地大声说着，跳上了一辆马车。"你是个十足的幽默家！"
但是我终于报了仇。我自认不是一个爱报复的人，但是竟连不朽的众神也被触怒而干预其事时，我怀着心满意足的心情目睹这个结局，想必也是可以原谅的了。现今她的体重已达二十一英石(二百九十四磅)。
参考资料：
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