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Dark Angle(翻译连载三)

(2009-08-11 09:10:40)
标签:

翻译

连载

小说

文化

分类: UNCLE赵&他国际事务部的同事们

(续上)

“I am seeing a date. It is 1910,” he said, and shook his head. He prodded one particular area of that chart, an area that was beginning to resemble a freeway intersection.

 

As he prodded, Mr. Chatterjee paled. He seemed unwilling to proceed.

 

“What else do you see?” I prompted.

 

Mr. Chatterjee did not answer.

 

“Bad things?”

 

“Not too nice. Oh dear, no. Most definitely not.” He resharpened his pencil. The sitar music stopped, then, after a pause, continued. Mr. Chatterjee seemed to have dozed off __ his eyes were closed __ or possibly he was transfixed by his 1910 intersection.

 

“Mr. Chatterjee,” I said gently, “that’s twenty years before I was born.”

 

“A blink,” Mr. Chatterjee opened his eye. “Twenty years is a blink. A century is a second. However … I think we will be moving on. Try a new tack.”

 

He bundled up the charts with an air of relief. He replaced them in the metal filing cabinet and locked it. Once the chart was out of sight he seemed cheered. For the second stage of his routine, gold dust would be employed __ at least he said it was gold dust.

 

“If you would be so good. Please to close your eyes and consider most seriously those who are dear to you. ”

 

I closed my eyes and I tried. The sitar music scratched. A powdery substance was sprinkled against my eyelids and my cheeks. A lilting incantation began, in Hindi.

 

I felt hot. The dizziness increased. My mind began to track off in directions I would never have predicted. When the incantation came to an end and I opened my eyes, the gold dust was being carefully brushed back into its container, an ancient tin for Navy Cut tobacco. Mr. Chatterjee gave me a sad look.

 

“I am seeing two women,” he said. “One is close, the other very far away. I am telling myself that you will have to choose between them. ”

 

He then told my fortune in some detail. His account of my past was unnervingly accurate. His account of my future was too roseate to be likely. He ended by telling me I was about to make a journey.

 

I was disappointed by that, I had begun to like Mr. Chatterjee. I had almost begun to believe in him. I became afraid he would move on to speak of tall dark strangers, voyages across water. I would have hated that; I did not want him to be tawdry.

 

“我看见一个发生在1910年的约会,” 他边说边摇头。 他戳着表格里一块特殊的区域,这个区域类似于高速公路上的交叉点那块。

 

他指着那个区域,脸色逐渐变得惨白。看上去他是不大愿意往下继续了。

 

“你还看到了什么?” 我有点紧张了。

 

Chatterjee先生沉默不语。

 

“恶兆?”

 

“不算特别好。哦天哪,不。千万不要。” 他又开始摩擦铅笔。 西塔尔琴声停止了,过了一会儿,又继续响起。Chatterjee先生好像快睡着了——双眼紧闭——或者他正游离在他那1910年的命运转角点上。

 

“Chatterjee先生,”我轻声的说,“那可是我出生前20年的事情啊。”

 

“转瞬即逝,”Chatterjee先生张开眼睛。“二十年可是转瞬即逝,一个世纪的光阴也只是弹指一挥间。 然而…我想我们应该继续。 换一个方式试试看。”

 

他如释重负般的折好那些表格,把它们放在一个金属文件抽屉里并上了锁。那些表格远离了视线,他好像很安心的样子。然后是他算命的第二个步骤,他要利用金粉了——至少他称呼那些东西为“金粉”。

 

“如果你想转运,请闭上双眼并集中精力去想那些生命中最重要的人。”

 

我照着他说的去做,紧闭双眼尽力去想象。西塔尔琴声变得刺耳了。一种粉状的物质撒落在我的眼睑和脸颊上。一连串用北印度语说的轻柔的咒语开始在耳边响起。

 

我变得焦躁不安,耳鸣目眩。我的大脑开始追寻那些我可能永远未曾知晓的领域。当咒语结束时我睁开双眼,Chatterjee先生正小心翼翼的清理着那些金粉,把它们放到了一个装海军烟卷的古代瓦罐里,并忧伤的看了我一眼。

 

“我看到了两个女人,” 他说。 “一个近在眼前,另外一个确远在天边。我认为你要在其中作出抉择。”

 

然后,他告诉了一些我命运中具体的细节。他对我过去的描述是准确的让我发怵,然而对我未来的预测又是如此美好,让我难以置信。最后他告诉我,我将有次旅行。

 

对此我很失望。我开始重新赞赏Chatterjee先生,我差点完全信任他。我害怕他会继续讲起那些又高又黑扬帆过海的陌生人云云,因为我很反感那些;我不想他变得媚俗平庸。

 

                                                         ------张帅

 

 

 

A journey? I made journeys all the time. My work as an interior decorator meant I was always on the move, to the next house, the next commission, next country. One week from now I would return to England. The next job was in France, the one after it in Italy. Was that the journey Mr. Ghatterjee meant? Then I hesitated. There were other kinds of journeys.

 

Mr. Ghatterjee sensed that momentary skepticism, I think. He give me an apologetic and gentle smile, as if my disbelief were his fault and mot mine. He took my hands between his. He lifted them to my face.

 

“Sniff,” he said, as if this would explain everything. “Smell.”

 

I sniffed. The pungent substance rubbed on my palms was volatile. It contained oils, but also alcohol. The warmth of the room and of my skin released scents even more pungent than before. I sniffed, and I smelled India. I smelled crescent moons, honey and sandalwood, henna and sweat, affluence and poverty.

 

“Concentrate. To see, you must first close the eyes.”

 

I inhaled again, eyes tight shut. I smelled… Winterscombe. Damp and woodsmoke, leather chairs and long corridors, linen and lavender, happiness and cordite. I smelled child-hood; my father and my mother.

 “Concentrate. Again.”

 

Mr. Ghatterjee’s grip on my palms tightened; a tremor passed through them. The scent in my nostrils was now unmistakable. I smelled the fresh greenness of ferns, then a ranker, more assertive undertone, musk and civet. Only one person I had ever known used that particular scent, and to me it was as individual as a fingerprint. I dropped my hands. I smelled Constance.

 

I think Mr. Ghatterjee knew my distress, for he was then very kind to me. He talked me down. Then, with the air of a priest in the confessional-or, indeed, a railway official untangling a complex timetable-he gave me one final piece of advice. He told me to go back.

 

一次旅行?我经常在旅行。我从事室内装修工作,那意味着我总是在迁移中,去下一个房子,到下一个任务地点,甚至到下一个国家。下个星期,我要返回英格兰。然后下个任务在法国,再下一个在意大利。那是不是Ghatterjee指的旅行呢?我想了想,他应该是指其他类型的旅行吧。

 

Mr. Ghatterjee感觉到了我瞬间的怀疑。他向我抱歉的、温柔的笑了笑。好像我的怀疑不是我的错而是他的错。他把我的手放在他的手中间,并抬到我的脸前。

 

“吸气”他说,好像他可以解释这一切“闻一下。”

 

我用力吸气。在我手掌中摩擦的是一种含有油和酒精的有刺激味道而且容易挥发的东西。温暖的房间和我的皮肤散发出的味道比原来更加刺激。我用力吸气,闻到了印度的味道,感受到了新月,蜂蜜和檀香,指甲花和汗,富足和贫穷。

 

“集中精神,想要感受到,你要先闭上眼睛。”

 

我闭着眼睛,再次用力吸气。我感受到了···Winterscombe。燃木和潮湿,皮椅和长走廊,亚麻和熏衣草,幸福和火药。我感受到了我的孩童时期,我父亲和母亲。
   

“再次集中精神”

 

Ghatterjee使劲的握住我的手掌,通过手掌我感觉到了他微微颤抖着。我闻到的气味更加准切无误。我闻到了绿色新鲜的蕨类植物的味道,然后是军官的味道和麝香的味道。我所认识的人中,只有一个人有这样特别的味道,对我来说这个味道好比人的指纹一样独一无二。我放下我的手。我感受到了Constance的味道。

 

我想Ghatterjee知道我的难过,因为当时他对我很友善。他和我谈话。然后,对着空气忏悔--或者更确切地说,就像铁路官员解决一个复杂的时间表一样--他给了我最后一次奉劝。他告诉我回去。

 

                                          ------ 张乐萌

 

 

“Go back where? Go back when?” Wexon said mournfully over dinner that night.

 

“I am not sure yet,” I said. “But I know the route, and so do you.”

 

The next day I wrote to her. When I received no reply that did not surprise me; she had not replied when Steenie asked her and I cabled- I changed my flight plan.

 

A week later Wexton flew back to England alone. I flew halfway around the globe to New York, and to that other godparent of mine, Constance.

 

Constance made me. I could say she brought me up, for that was true, since I went to her as a child and remained in her care for more than twenty years, but Constance’s influence upon me was deeper than that. I regarded her as a mother, a mentor, an inspiration, a colleague, and a friend. A dangerous combination, perhaps- but then, Constance herself radiated danger, as the many men who suffered at her hands could have told you. Danger was the essence of her charm.

 

My uncle Steenie, who admired her and I think occasionally feared her, used to say she was like a matador. You watched her swirl the bright cape of her charm, he would say; the performance was so dazzling, so accomplished, you did not notice until too late how expertly she inserted the blade. But Steenie like to exaggerate; the Constance I knew was forceful, but she was also vulnerable.

 

“Think of her dogs,” I would say to Steenie, and Steenie would raise his blue eyes to the heavens.

 

“Her dogs. Ideed,” Steenie once replied, in a dry way. “I’m never quite sure what to make of that one”

 

A puzzle. But then, Constance was full of puzzles. I grew up with her but I never felt I understood her. I admired her, loved her, was perplexed and sometimes shocked by her-but I never felt I knew her. Perhaps that, too, was part of her charm.

 

晚上吃饭时,Wexon伤感地问道:“你要回哪里?你要回哪段日子?”

 

“我现在还不确定,” 我说,“但你和我心里都清楚那条路线。”

 

第二天,我给她写了封信。我不奇怪没有收到她的回信,以前Steenie给她写信,她也不回。我打电话改了航班。

 

一星期后,Wexon一个人飞回英国,我绕地球半圈,降落在纽约,寻找我的教母Constance。

 

Constance成就了我。她把我养育成人,这是千真万确的事实,我去她哪里的时候,还是个小孩,在她身边生活了20多年。然而Constance对我的影响远远大于此。她既是我母亲,又是我导师;既是我灵感之源,又是我同事,同时还是我的朋友。Constance是危险品,自身可以放射毒素,她身边许多男人都遭受毒害,或许他们已经告诉你这事实。Constance的魅力源于她的危险。

 

我舅舅Steenie爱慕她,我想他很多时候都挺害怕她,过去他常说Constance像个斗牛士。他说,你看着她将她光亮的斗篷旋转在空中,表演是如此精彩绝伦,令人赞叹不已,根本无法注意到她已经娴熟地装上了锋利的刀刃。Steenie的描述很夸张。在我心里,Constance很强势,但也很脆弱。

 

我会对Steenie说:“想象一下她的狗”。Steenie朝天转动着他蓝色的眼珠子。

 

有一次他干瘪瘪地回答了我的问题,“说实话,我还真不想不明白她的狗为什么会是这样的。”

 

这是一个谜。不过那时的Constance,浑身上下都是谜。我在她身边长大,但我从来都不觉得我了解她。我仰慕她,深爱她,她让我感到困惑,甚至有时感到震惊。我永远都不懂她,或许那就是她的魅力所在。

 

                                                     --------罗丹

 

 

 

    When I say “charm” I do not mean that slick and superficial ease of manner which passes for charm in society; I mean something more elusive than that. I mean the capacity to weave spells, to entrance. In this respect Constance was accomplished long before I met her. By the time I went to live with her in New York she was already secure in her reputation as a latter-day Circe. Because of the men, I suppose—although I, being innocent, did not understand about them, or even know of them.

 

    “A trail of them, Vicky, my dear!” Uncle Steenie would later declaim, not without malice. “A trail of broken hearts. A trail of broken men. The debris, Vicky, of Constance’s hectic career.”

 

    It was Steenie’s view that if Constance damaged people, the damage was confined to the male sex. If women were damaged, he claimed, it was incidental and accidental; they were simply harmed in the fallout of Constance’s main attack.

 

    Steenie, I think, saw Constance not just as a sorceress but also as a warrior. She came at men, he claimed, her sexuality punching the air, using her beauty, her wit, her charm, and her willpower as weapons, hell-bent on some private war of attrition. Given his own proclivities, Steenie himself was exempt; this, he would explain, was how he could survive as her friend.

 

    I believed none of that then. I thought my uncle liked to dramatize, and I loved Constance; after all, she had been unfailingly kind to me. When Steenie made his claims, I would say: “But she is brave; she is resilient; she is gifted; she is generous.” And so she was, all of those things, but in one respect my uncle was also right. Constance was dangerous. Chaos stuck to Constance the way iron filings cling to a magnet. Sooner or later (I suppose it was inevitable) Constance’s zest for making trouble would affect my own life.

 

 

    我所说的这种“魅力”,并不是社会上被很多人误认为是魅力的那种圆滑而且肤浅的闲散行为方式;而是一些更有深度而且难以捉摸的东西。也就是那种可以显示魅力并让人着迷的能力。从这方面来说,在我遇到Constance之前,她早就已经做到了。我到纽约和她一块生活的时候,她已经成为一位有名的现代女巫了。 我猜这都是男人的缘故——虽然我当时还很天真,对男人的事情一无所知。

 

    “他们一个接一个,我亲爱的Vicky!”Steenie叔叔后来总是不无恶意地说。“一颗又一颗破碎的心。一个又一个伤心的男人。Vicky,这些都只不过是Constance狂热职业的残留物品而已。”

 

    Steenie认为,如果说Constance给人们带来伤害的话,那这种伤害仅限于对男性的伤害。如果女人也被伤害了,那只能是一种意外,偶尔才会发生。她们只是被Constance间接伤害了。

 

    我想,Steenie不仅仅将Constance看作是一个女巫,而且还是一个战士。他说, 她的性感让空气凝滞,她用她的美丽、智慧、魅力和意志为武器攻击男人,在长期的私斗中不顾一切。由于他个人的癖性,Steenie他自己并没有受到伤害;他解释说这就是他成为她朋友的原因。

 

    我不相信他所说的一切。我认为我的叔叔喜欢使事情戏剧化,我爱Constance;毕竟,他对我一直很好。当Steenie讲述这些事情的时候,我总是说:“但是她很勇敢;她很坚强;她很有才华;她很善良。”她确实如此,但是有一点我叔叔说的是对的。Constance很危险。混乱总是紧跟着Constance,就如铁屑吸附在磁铁上一样。迟早(我想这是不可避免的)Constance制造麻烦的热情将会影响到我自身的生活。

                                             

                                                           ——王旭

 

(待续)

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