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那个人(下)

(2007-09-23 15:39:18)
标签:

文学/原创

英国当代小说

原创译文

儿童视角

哀情故事

(下集)

 

                      The man

                           

                         (   

      

                              作者:Fane Stone (England)

                              翻译:Ironox (China)

 

By the next night we were tired of uncertainly and walked boldly up to the windows, and into the room, we wasted no time there and went straight through the hall, though I noticed as we entered it that it was now clean and shinning again.

到第二天晚上,我们都再也无法忍耐了,于是,我们大着胆子走到窗口那儿,然后便进到房间里。我们没费什么工夫便径直穿过大厅,然而,我还是注意到,这一次,与上次一样,屋里仍然干净整洁,东西又都被擦拭过。

We climbed he curved wooden staircase and found ourselves on a narrow landing with five doors opening off it, two one side, two the other, and on straight ahead----“The room,” whispered Andy. We stood for a moment and heard he sound of heavy breathing from a far door. “He’s in there,” said Jo, “Come on.”

Silently we approached the end door. The door sung open, and Andy’s torch flung the room into daylight.

我们爬上曲折的木制楼梯隔间,发现我们身处一个有着五个开着的门的狭长过道。两个门在左边,两个门在右边,正对着我们还有一个门——“就是那个房间,”Andy小声说。我们站住待了一会儿,听见对面的门里传来沉重的呼吸声。“他在那边儿,”Jo说:“赶快。”

我们静悄悄地靠近最把头的门。门被轻轻地推开,Andy的手电把房间照的如同白昼。

We were spellbound. We even forget to close the door in our awe. For the room was lined with deep broad shelves, about eight to every wall. And from each shelf, regarding us unblinkingly, almost insolently, rows and rows of “dolls?” said Andy, hesitantly, and his hesitation was not surprising, because “They look ALIVE,” we breathed.

我们全都被迷住了。我们怀着敬畏的心情竟忘了关门。房间里沿墙摆了两溜宽深的架子,每面墙有八个。我们几乎毫无顾忌地,连眼都不眨地环视每一个架子。“玩偶?”Andy犹犹豫豫地说,他的犹豫毫不奇怪,因为它们“都跟活着的真人一样。” 我们激动得大喘着气说。

Blue eyes, black eyes, brown eyes, smiling, staring, frowning, sulky, incurious, shining, sad, eyes flashing at us from faces that looked as if they should be soft and warm but, “they are dolls,” said Johnny, as he poked one with his finger-tip.

蓝眼睛的,黑眼睛的,棕色眼睛的,微笑着的,凝视着的,皱着眉头的,郁郁寡欢的,憨厚耿直的,满脸春风得意的,满脸沮丧悲哀的。那脸上亮晶晶的眼睛凝视着我们就好象他们的躯体是柔软温热的一样。然而,“它们真的是玩偶。”Johnny一边用他的指尖戳弄着一个玩偶,一边说。

There were sailor dolls, soldier dolls, beautiful girl dolls, bride dolls, fairy dolls, and best of all, foreign dolls. Dolls from almost every country in the world: sultry velvet-eyed maidens, from the East, dark-haired vivacious senoritas from Spain, and prim little Dutch girls in clogs. I longed to cuddle the little fat Eskimo who smiled at me, it seemed, with fellow feeling. All were so exquisitely dressed that I couldn’t see how anyone, least of all a man, could do such work.

有水手玩偶,士兵玩偶,有漂亮的姑娘,新娘,仙女,所有这一切里,最好看的是外国人玩偶,这些玩偶几乎像来自世界上每一个国家:有来自东方的长睫毛黑眼睛的姑娘,有来自西班牙长着黑头发活泼的小姐,有规规矩矩的穿着木鞋的荷兰姑娘。我真盼望着能抱一抱那个对我微笑着的胖乎乎的爱斯基摩人,它那样子,似乎也和我有着同样的愿望。所有这些玩偶穿着如此精致,以至于我很难相信世界上还有男人能做出如此漂亮的玩偶。

“D’you think they move?” asked Josie at length, after our eyes had explored the long room. She stretched out her hand and took up a ballerina doll. It was fixed to a round wooden base, and behind it there was a key, Jo grabbed it and began to turn.

“你们觉得这些玩偶会动吗?”最后,Josie说, 我们把整个儿长长房间扫视一遍之后,她伸出她的手拿起一个芭蕾舞女玩偶。它固定在一个木制底座上,底座后面有个上弦用的钥匙,Jo一把把它抓过来开始拧那钥匙。

The ballerina doll had been poised on both toes, her arms reaching up above her head. Now, as Jo turned the key, the arms began to move, a little jerkily, swaying gently to a tiny, silvery tune, “Like a musical box,” Andy told us, “It’s the music from Swan Lake,” breathed Mary-Lou, who went to weekly ballet class.

芭蕾舞女两只脚尖固定在底座上,她的两条胳膊高高地举在她的头顶上。现在,当Jo转动那把钥匙时,两条胳膊便开始动起来,一点一点地抽动着,并且在慢慢地摆动的同时,玩偶发出轻微的,银铃般的曲子,“像一个八音盒,” Andy告诉我们。“这是‘天鹅湖’的曲子。”每星期都去上芭蕾课的Mary-Lou大喘着气说。

So enthralled were we by this spectacle that we forgot the open door. We forgot that we were in someone else’s house, with that someone sleeping only one door away. We forgot to whisper, and forgot our steel-tipped shoes. And so we were terrified by the roar which suddenly came from behind us.

我们对这情景是如此着迷,以至于我们完全忘记了那开着的门,忘记了我们是在别人家里,而那个人就在门的那边睡觉,我们忘记了要小声说话,忘记了我们的铁头鞋会发出很大的动静。因此,当来自我们身后的一声吼, 差点把我们吓死。

We turned, cowering, and met the man face to face. He was smaller than we thought, and stockier. His eyes were small, too, and now they glittered, deep blue and cold and clear, like blue sky over snow. His black pyjamas were no longer a cause for laugher----now they seemed horrific. We stood----he stood----and between us the little ballerina dropped to one knee as the last silvery strains of her music faded away.

我们全都转过身,然后向后退了退。我们现在和那人真正是面对面了。他比我们过去以为的还要矮一些,也更壮一些。他的眼睛同样是小的,此时此刻炯炯发光,那眼睛的颜色是深蓝的,清澈而冰冷,就像雪地上空的蓝天。他黑色的睡衣裤使我们再笑不起来——似乎这套睡衣裤看起来是那么可怕。我们站着——他也站着——我们之间是掉在地上碰了膝盖的那小小的芭蕾舞女玩偶,同时那银铃般的音乐也消失了。

He stood there, and his face was set in hate. He almost spoke, and then seemed to change his mind. He turned and strode out, slamming the door behind him. We half expected a key to turn, but it did not.

他站在那儿,脸上满是愤怒。他几乎就要说些什么了,然而,似乎他又改变了主意。他转过身大步走了出去,砰地关上他身后的门。我们几乎都认为他会用一把钥匙把门锁上,可是,他没有。

Yet we made no move to escape. By some kind of tacit general consent we all sat down on the floor. “If it’d been me Dad,” said Jimmy uneasily, “he’d have walloped us.” We nodded, for the thought was in all our minds. It bewildered us to be felt thus, with no retribution: not even a long cussing which, by experience, we had all grown to expect from irate adults.

我们呢,也没有一个人试图逃跑。在这种无言的默许下,我们全都坐到地板上。“假如这要是我爸爸的话,”Jimmy心有余悸地说:“他非揍我们一顿不可。”我们都点头同意他的话。其实,刚才我们就都是这么想的。然而,我们被留在这里,反而把我们弄糊涂了。没有任何惩罚:甚至没有喋喋不休,没完没了的责骂。从经历上讲,我们没有一个不是在大人们愤怒的惩罚中长大的。

“He’ll be waitin’ for us downstairs,” said Johnny. But somehow we felt he wouldn’t, and we felt guilty and uneasy, “But we haven’t done anything,” persisted Mary-Lou, “only looked.” “That’s not it,” I said, “they wasn’t ours to see.”

“C’mon,” said Jimmy, standing up, “we gotta say sorry.”

“他在等我们下楼回家,” Johnny说,可是不知为什么,我们觉得不是。这时我们都感到有点儿内疚和不安。“可我们什么都没干呀,”Mary-Lou坚持说:“我们就是看了看。”“不是这么回事儿,”我说:“这些玩偶就不是我们能看的。”

“走吧,”Jimmy说着站起来:“我们应该去道个歉。”

I shouldn’t think any of us had ever said sorry to a grown-up in our lives---at least, not in a voluntary way. It just wasn’t done. You had your walloping, and you moped for a while, and then everything went on as usual. Or else in really serious matters you were locked in your room until hunger forced an embarrassed kind of apology. But this was different. We stood up in a body and went to seek the man.

我还真不知道此时此刻我们中哪个人活这么大曾经给大人道过什么歉——至少,没有主动道过歉的;真的从来没有过。你就是挨了大人的一顿暴打,也只不过是一时的不爽,很快什么事都会过去。说严重点儿,即便是因为什么大不了的事把你锁进自己的房间,直到饥饿把你逼得去道歉,那也是扭扭捏捏,装个样子的面子事。可这次不同,我们一个个都站起来开始去找那个老头儿。

He was in his room we knew, for we could hear him moving about. Jimmy knocked on the door. After a while it opened a little and, “I thought you’d’ve gone,” said the voice---surprisingly mild.

“We came to say…” Jimmy’s voice trailed off. It was more difficult than he expected, “sorry,” almost shouted Mary-Lou, helping him out: “Sir,” she added, remembering her manners.

他就在我们知道的那个房间里,因为我们听到他四处走动的声音。Jimmy敲敲门,过了一会儿,门开了条缝:“我觉得你们该回家了。”屋里的声音说——语气出奇地柔和。

“我们来想跟您说。。。 。。。”Jimmy把“说”字拖了老长;说出“对不起”三个字比他想象的要困难的多。“对不起,”Mary-Lou帮他喊出口,“先生,对不起。”她又添上一句,她注意到自己要更礼貌些。

The door jerked open suddenly; and he was smiling! He was smiling all over, and the black pyjamas were eclipsed by a bright red dressing gown. “Well,” he said, “that’s the most difficult part of all. Come in.”

门突然拉开了:他在微笑!满脸的微笑!那件黑色的睡衣裤不见了,他穿着一件鲜红色的长袍,“好吧,”他说:“说‘对不起’可能是世间最困难的事了。进来吧!”

It was one of the oddest, yet pleasantest hours of my life. We were right about his food, because he produced a huge loaf from a cupboard filled with tins and he lit a gas ring in the corner of the room. We made huge piles of hot toast and loaded it with butter, and we made cocoa with evaporated milk that tasted like cream. For a while we were all too busy eating to talk, and his appetite, we noticed with satisfaction, was as keen as ours; we were too well used to the delicacy of grown-ups, who stopped after two sandwiches or one piece of cake and made you feel a pig if you asked for more.

这是我一生中最奇特,也是最愉快的时刻之一。我们关于他饮食的揣测是正确的,因为他的大面包是从装满罐头的食品柜里拿出来切好装盘的。他在屋子拐角处点燃一只环形轻便煤气灶,我们烤了一大堆面包片儿,并把它们抹上黄油;我们还用尝起来像奶油的脱水牛奶做成可可茶。有好一阵儿,我们都忙着往嘴里填吃的,灌喝的,而顾不上说上一句话。我们高兴地注意到,老人的胃口和我们一样贪婪。我们已经习惯于当你吃了两个三明治,或一块蛋糕,如果你想再多吃点儿,大人就会责怪你像猪一样,而这个老人没有任何责难,任你吃个够。

So it wasn’t until we slowed down a bit and started on chocolate biscuits and a large slab cake, that he asked us, “What made you come?”

正因为如此,直到我们风扫残云般的速度慢下来,开始吃巧克力饼干和那块又厚又大的蛋糕时,他才问我们:“是什么风把你们刮来的?”

We looked at each other, and then Jimmy began to speak. He usually did the talking. He told him everything, about the garden, the apples, the watching, and the room. He told him how we had loved the dolls, and at the end he asked, “Why don’t you let people see’em?” The old man extracted a large cherry from his piece of cake. “It’s a long story,” he said. “And I’m not going to bore you with it,” I opened my mouth to say we wouldn’t be----but closed it again an a warning look from Andy.

我们相互看了看,然后,Jimmy开始说起来;通常他都做我们的代言人。他一股脑地把所有的事都讲了出来。花园呀,苹果呀,怎么偷窥呀,以及进到屋里都看见了什么呀。Jimmy告诉他我们有多么喜欢那些玩偶。最后,Jimmy问他:“为什么您要把这些玩偶都藏起来呢?为什么您不让人们看到这些玩偶呢?”老人从他手里的蛋糕上捡起一颗大樱桃;“说来话长,”他说:“我不想让你们听了心烦。”我张开嘴打算说我们不会的——可是,在Andy那警示性眼神下,我又把话吞了回去。

“Once,” said the man, “I was married, like most people. And like most people, I was happy. My wife was never strong, and three weeks before she had our baby she was ill. She died when our daughter was born.”

“以前呀,” 老人说:“我也结过婚,像大多数人一样,而且,也像大多数人一样感到很幸福。我妻子身体一直都不好。就在她生我们孩子之前三个星期,她病倒了。我们的女儿出生时,她死了。”

He spoke sadly, but without embarrassment, and so we felt no embarrassment, either. This was odd, because in our homes, if any one discussed birth, it was in a hushed voice, and with lowered eyes, which made us feel hot all over, and sometimes we were sent right out of the room.

他的语调很悲哀,可是没有躲躲闪闪的不好意思,因此我们也没有感到窘困,尴尬。这就很不同寻常;因为在我们自己家里如果有人谈论生孩子,都低垂着眼睛,用很小很小的声音,这就使得我们感到全身不自在,并且有时我们干脆被哄到外面去。

“But you had your little girl?” I said---and then wished I hadn’t, the man looked so sad.

“I had my little girl,” he said. “But she couldn’t walk or talk. She sat, just sat.”

We said nothing.

“可,你还是得到了自己的女儿了吧?”我说——说完,我又后悔不该问他这么句话。老人看起来很悲伤。

“不错,我有了自己的女儿。”他说:“可她既不会说话,也不会行走。她坐着,只能坐着。”

我们无言以对。

“But don’t think I didn’t love her,” he said forcefully. “She was my wife all over again. I made her dolls. She watched me while I made them, and I know she knew I loved her and was making them for her---and I knew she loved them, so I made more and more. And when she died,” we sat unblinking, for we had been prepared for this, “And when she died, before she died, she stretched out for her dolls, and over the dolls her eyes looked at me---so gratefully. I swore I’d go on making them. But they’re hers, you see. No one else must see them. They’re for her.”

“可是别以为我不爱她,”他强调道:“她就是我妻子生命的延续。我给她制作玩偶。我做玩偶时,她就看着我做;我明白她知道我是多么爱她,也知道这些是给她做的——我也知道她非常喜欢这些玩偶,因此我越做越多。当她死的时候;”我们都端坐着没有眨眼,因为我们对这个结局似乎有思想准备。“当她死的时候,就在她停止呼吸之前,她伸展双手要她的玩偶,她抱着玩偶,眼睛看着我——那眼神充满了感激。于是,我发誓我要继续做下去。你们知道,那些玩偶都是给她做的,别人没必要看到它们。它们始终是她的。”

“And then we came and saw them.” It was Jimmy again.

“Ah, well,” The old man stood up and he suddenly looked tired, “You’re children, after all. And what are dolls for, if not for children? I did not make them for myself. They were for her.”

Quietly he opened the door.

It was a signed for us to go, and we obeyed it. We shuffled out, and turning, Jimmy had the last word.

“可是,我们却跑来看了。”又是Jimmy张嘴说道。

“欧,这没关系,”老人站起来,此时他看起来突然显得很疲倦。“毕竟你们都是孩子,做玩偶干什么用呢?不就是做给孩子的吗?我不是给我自己做的,是给她做的。”

说着,他静静地打开了房门。

这表示我们该走了。我们遵从了他的意思。我们慢慢走出来,然后转过身,Jimmy说了最后一句话。

“I’m sorry we upset you, sir---but I’m glad we come.”

We never went there again. Sometimes we thought of the lovely overgrown garden----the jungle-like shrubberies, the broken branches we collected for Guy Fawkes’night, the climbable gnarled old trees----and as the blossom lent its fragile whiteness to the apple orchard we thought with regret of those rich red apples that autumn would bring. Sometimes, in the clear, sweet mornings of spring, we would think of the dolls, shut away in their curtained room: black little eyes that never saw the sunlight, or the garden, or the spring-time flowering of the shrubberies.

“真是对不起,惹得您不愉快——可是,我还是很高兴我们能来这儿。”

我们再没有去过他那里。有时我们会想起那花草丛生的可爱的花园——那林子般的灌木丛,为搭建盖伊 福克斯的模拟像(每年十一月五日英国要烧盖伊 福克斯的模拟像)而搜集起来的树枝,可以攀爬的长着粗糙树皮的老树——而且,每当苹果园盛开起脆弱的一片白色的苹果花时,我们都会想到秋天会带来的鲜红的大苹果。有时,在春天那晴朗,充满花蜜香味的早晨,我们就会想起被封闭在挂着窗帘的房间里的那些玩偶们:那小小的,黑亮的,从没见过阳光,没见过花园,没见过春季里开满鲜花的灌木丛的眼睛。

And sometimes, we thought of the old man himself, and even thought he might like to see us again; but we hadn’t been asked, and (with the quicksilver minds of children) we always had something else to do. In fact, now we knew the secret, we scarcely dwelt upon it; we were too practical to weave fantasies about it, too sensible to invite the skepticism and ridicule of the whole child population of the neighborhood by telling our friends a story which they, and we, too, if it had been told to us, would have met with cries of “The old cissy!” or “Don’t be so wet”, or “Give over, willyer, can’t yer see I’m crying?”

当然,有时,我们也会想起那老人,甚至我们会以为他可能也盼望着我们再去他那里;可是我们一直都没接到邀请,并且(怀着我们孩子们纯真的想法)我们总还有其他的许多事要做。事实上,现在我们了解了那些秘密,于是我们便很少再去想那些事情。我们有时也太实际而不把这些事情琢磨琢磨再去编造些故事;我们也太尊重那些陋习,而不能去邀请那些被所有孩子以及邻居们嘲笑或怀疑的人,这些人,就是稍稍有点儿他们看不惯的芝麻小事都要大惊小怪,他们就是这样,我们也是。如果某些事告之于我们,通常都会听到:“那个女人气的老东西!” 要么就是:“别那么软蛋!”要么就是:“闭嘴好吗?没见我要叫起来了?”

So we dismissed the house, the man, the grounds, and life went on much as before. The long hazy summer days deepened again to autumn, and the corn began to be gathered from round about. The apples began to form upon the trees, acorns and bright polished conkers littered the ground we collected blackberries glowing in the hedgerows, and wild hips and haws.

因此我们就远离了那所房子,那人,那土地。生活便像过去一样一天天地流逝。云雾蒙蒙的漫长夏日又变成了秋天,庄稼已开始从四面八方汇聚进谷仓,苹果也开始在树上成型而果实累累,橡树果以及七叶树坚果散落满地。我们在树篱间心满意足地捡拾着黑莓,当然还有蔷薇果和山楂果。

And then we noticed something strange about the old house. It was Johnny who first put it into words: “Them apples is coming down,” he said. It was so, and the brilliant redness grew and grew up the ground and still they were not gathered. The harsh bitter-sweet smell of rotting fruit began to grow, and now and then another would drop to its fellows with a splash. “D’you think he’s OK?” inquired Johnny at length.

可是,就在这时,我们注意到那老宅子的一些奇怪现象。是Johnny先说出口的:“那些苹果可都落下来了。”他说。他说得没错,那鲜亮的红色在地上越来越多,可是没有人再捡它们。腐烂水果那刺鼻的苦甜气味也开始弥漫开来,随时都有另一个水果紧随着上一个从树上落下来发出一种奇怪的声音。“你觉得他没事吧?” Johnny最后问道。

We bore it uneasily for a few more weeks, but it was when the damsons began to fall that I said to Jimmy, “We’ll have to tell someone.” So, unwillingly, we told my mother, who shook her head and told us to run away and play.

我们心神不宁地又忍了几个礼拜。当西洋李子都开始往地上掉时,我对Jimmy说:“我们必须告诉大人了。”于是,我们迫于无奈跑去告诉了我妈妈,她摇摇她的头,然后,让我们滚出去玩。

It was two days later they buried him, and no one went to his funeral. We know, because we tried to go, but the vicar and the sexton chased us off without listening to our explanations. Later, I heard my mother talking. “Yes,” she said, “They found him dead in bed. Awful old man---don’t know what he did with himself. Some kind of hermit, most like---no, nothing in the house. All empty. So they just took him and came away.”

两天以后,他们把他埋了;没有人去参加他的葬礼。我们是他的熟人,于是我们试图去参加,可是教区牧师和管挖坑埋人的教堂司事连我们的解释都不听就把我们赶跑了。后来,我听我妈这样对爸爸说:“是啊,”她说:“人们发现他死在自己的床上了。倒霉的老东西——不知道他怎么处置自己的。整个儿一个隐士,他家里可是什么都没有,隐士都是这样吧,那哪是个家,整个儿一座空房子。得,把他一埋了事。”

“And no one knows who he was?” queried my father.

“No. No family at all, s’far as they can make out. No job---like I said---it’s not as if he did anything.” To my parents, this was the deadliest sin of all.

“没人知道究竟他是谁吗?”我爸爸问。

“没有。听说,除了他自己,他没有任何亲人。没有工作——我说过——他好象没有干过任何事。”对我父母而言,不干事是所有罪恶中最罪该万死的。

I turned away. I longed to burst in and tell her----“you’re stupid, you are, you’re blind! Didn’t you see them? The dolls, the dolls----the beautiful dolls?”

我转过身。我真想大吼一声告诉她——“你们真苯!一点儿不错,你们都是瞎子,难道你们在那间小屋没看一看吗——挂着锁的那一间?你们难道没见到它们吗?那些玩偶,那些玩偶——难道还不够精巧绝伦吗?”

And then I remembered him saying, “They were hers, you see. They were hers.” And I imagined what might happen to those dolls and I felt they might be better after all, up there, alone. And most of all, I knew what my mother would say if I tried to tell her what we saw.

So I picked up my coat and ran out into the autumn rain. And who knew that it wasn’t the rain that damped my cheeks.

这时,我想起老人的话:“它们是属于她的,你们懂我的意思,它们是属于她的。”我努力猜想那些玩偶究竟现在怎样了,我觉得毕竟它们单独待在那楼上可能会更好些。所有这一切,他们并不了解。我不知道,如果我告诉妈妈我们所看到的一切,她会作何感想。

于是,我拎起我的大衣,转身跑进秋雨中。鬼知道究竟是不是那冰冷的秋雨打湿了我的脸颊。

                                                TRANSLATION:

                                               March 8th, 2006

                                                Shizuishan

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