06
徐太太笑道：「提起你妹妹，我還等著他們的回話呢。」
「Speaking of your sister,」 Mrs. Xu said, 「I'm still waiting for their reply.」
流蘇道：「七妹的事，有希望麼？」
「Do things look good for Seventh Sister?」 asked Liusu.
徐太太道：「說得有幾分眉目了。剛才我有意的讓娘兒們自己商議商議，我說我上去瞧瞧六小姐就來；現在可該下去了。你送我下去，成不成？」
「I think we're getting close,」 said Mrs. Xu. 「I wanted to let the ladies talk it over among themselves, so I said I'd come up here to look in on you. I'd better be getting back now. Would you go down with me?」
流蘇只得扶著徐太太下樓，樓梯又舊，徐太太又胖，走得吱吱咯咯一片響。到了堂屋裡，流蘇欲待開燈，徐太太道：「不用了，看得見。他們就在東廂房裡。你跟我來，大家說說笑笑，事情也就過去了，不然，明兒吃飯的時候免不了要見面的，反而僵得慌。」
Liusu had to help Mrs. Xu down the stairs. The stairs were old and Mrs. Xu was large: they creaked and squeaked down the stairs together. They entered the drawing room, and Liusu wanted to light the lamps, but Mrs. Xu said, 「Don't bother, we can see well enough. The others are in the east wing. You come with me, and we'll all have a nice chat, and that way everything will be smoothed over. Otherwise, tomorrow when it's time to eat, and you can't avoid seeing them, it will be awkward and unpleasant.」
流蘇聽不得「吃飯」這兩個字，心裡一陣刺痛，哽著嗓子，強笑道：「多謝嬸子——可是我這會子身子有點不舒服，實在不能夠見人，只怕失魂落魄的，說話闖了禍，反而辜負了您待我的一片心。」
Liusu couldn't bear hearing that phrase 「time to eat.」 Her heart ached and her throat went dry. Forcing a smile, she demurred. 「Thank you very much, Auntie, but I'm not feeling very well right now—I really can't see anyone. I'm afraid I'd be so nervous that I'd say something disastrous, and that would be a terrible way to repay all your kindness.」
徐太太見流蘇一定不肯，也就罷了，自己推門進去。
Seeing that Liusu refused to budge, Mrs. Xu decided to leave things where they stood. She went in by herself.
門掩上了，堂屋裡暗著，門的上端的玻璃格子裡透進兩方黃色的燈光，落在青磚地上。朦朧中可以看見堂屋裡順著牆高高下下堆著一排書箱，紫檀匣子，刻著綠泥款識。正中天然几上，玻璃罩子裡，擱著琺藍自鳴鐘，機括早壞了，停了多年。兩旁垂著朱紅對聯，閃著金色壽字團花，一朵花托住一個墨汁淋漓的大字。在微光里，一個個的字都像浮在半空中，離著紙老遠。流蘇覺得自己就是對聯上的一個字，虛飄飄的，不落實地。白公館有這麼一點像神仙的洞府：這裡悠悠忽忽過了一天，世上已經過了一千年。可是這裡過了一千年，也同一天差不多，因為每天都是一樣的單調與無聊。流蘇交叉著胳膊，抱住她自己的頸項。七八年一霎眼就過去了。你年輕麼？他們有的是青春——孩子一個個的被生出來，新的明亮的眼睛，新的紅嫩的嘴，新的智慧。一年又一年的磨下來，眼睛鈍了，人鈍了，下一代又生出來了。這一代便被吸收到朱紅灑金的輝煌的背景里去，一點一點的淡金便是從前的人的怯怯的眼睛。
As soon as the door closed behind her, the drawing room fell into shadow. Two squares of yellow light streamed in through the glass panes in the upper part of the door, landing on the green tile floor. In spite of the gloom, one could see, on the bookshelves that lined the walls, long rows of slipcases made of purplish sandalwood into which formal-script characters had been carved, then painted green. On a plain wooden table in the middle of the room, there was a cloisonne chiming clock with a glass dome over it. The clock was broken; it hadn't worked in years. There were two hanging scrolls with paired verses; the crimson paper of the scrolls was embossed with gold 「longevity」 characters, over which the verses had been inscribed in big, black strokes. In the dim light, each word seemed to float in emptiness, far from the paper's surface. Liusu felt like one of those words, drifting and unconnected. The Bai household was a fairyland where a single day, creeping slowly by, was a thousand years in the outside world. But if you spent a thousand years here, all the days would be the same, each one as flat and dull as the last one. She crossed her arms and clasped her neck with her hands. Seven, eight years—they'd gone by in the blink of an eye. Are you still young? Don't worry, in another few years you'll be old, and anyway youth isn't worth much here. They've got youth everywhere—children born one after another, with their bright new eyes, their tender new mouths, their quick new wits. Time grinds on, year after year, and the eyes grow dull, the minds grow dull, and then another round of children is born. The older ones are sucked into that obscure haze of crimson and gold, and the tiny flecks of glinting gold are the frightened eyes of their predecessors.