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Dark Angle(翻译连载十)

(2009-11-30 12:15:03)
标签:

翻译

连载

小说

文化

分类: UNCLE赵&他国际事务部的同事们

There was the telephone, still ringing; there was its little lace doily, which Constance would have shuddered to see. It had been made for Miss Marpruder by her mother, whenever she used the telephone she would smooth it into place.

“I love nice things,” she said to me once, and I must have been in my teens, because her tone had made my heart ache. “Cushions, mats, doilies – it’s the little touches that count, Victoria. Your godmother taught me that.”

The memory made me angry. I went to sleep disliking Constance, rehearsing to myself the damage she did. But when I slept, I dreamed, and in my dreams my godmother came to me in a different guise. I woke to a sense of my own disloyalty. There had been reasons to love Constance, once.

A new direction to this search. I rose, showered, dressed. It was still very early. I telephoned Miss Marpruder one more time, and when there was no reply, impatient with the confinement of the room, I went outside to the heat of the streets. Brilliant light and clammy air. I hailed a cab. I think I decided where to go only when I climbed into it. I gave the driver the address.

“Queens?” Signs of reluctance, possibly resentment.

“Yes, Queens. Take the Triborough. Then I’ll direct you.”

“Green Lawns?”

“That’s the place.”

“Some kinda house?”

“No,” I said. “It’s a pet cemetery.”

还是那个电话,它仍在响着;还有小蕾丝餐垫,这是Constance见到会发抖的东西,这是Marpruder小姐的妈妈为她做的。每次她用电话的时候,她会把它弄平整。

“我喜欢质量好的东西,”有一次她这样对我说,当时我一定只有十来岁,因为她的语调令我的心刺痛起来。“Victoria,对于靠垫、坐垫、餐垫这类东西来说,手感是很重要的。这是你教母教我的。”

这些记忆令我很生气。我带着不喜欢Constance的情绪,向自己默念着她所做的破坏,渐渐入睡。但当我睡觉的时候,我做梦了,梦见我的教母穿着不一样的衣服走向我。我在自己对Constance的不忠诚中醒了。这曾经是我喜欢Constance的理由。

我找到了搜寻的新方向。我起了床,洗了澡,然后换好衣服。时间仍很早,于是我再一次打电话和Marpruder小姐,但再一次没人接听。我已经厌烦了被房间里局促的感觉,于是走到外面,来到街道的中心。外面灯火辉煌,天气也很潮湿。我叫了一辆出租车,想上了车再决定去哪里。我把地址递给司机。

“皇后街?”司机明显很不情愿,可能生气了。

“是的,皇后街。走Triborough这条路吧,然后我会给你指方向。”

“绿草坪那里?”

“就是那里。”

“哪栋房子?”

“不,”我说,“那是一个动物墓地。”

                                                                ——罗荻飞

 

It was years since I had been there, and it took some time to find Bertie’s grave. I walked past neat white tombstones, memorials to dogs, cats, and, in one case, a mouse.

 

Absent thee form felicity a while, it read. I turned, and almost fell over Bertie’s iceberg.

 

There it was, just as I remembered; a grieving caprice on Constance’s part, an attempt to re-create, at Bertie’s final resting place, the landscape Constance saw as his ancestry. Bertie was a Newfoundland dog; Constance’s knowledge of Newfoundland itself was poetic, also vague. Bertie dreamed of icebergs, she used to say; let an iceberg mark the place.

 

A stone had been designed. A stone had been carved. There had been arguments with the Green Lawns administrators, who liked neat tombstones and found icebergs unseemly. Constance, as usual, had triumphed, and there the iceberg was. From most angles the resemblance to ice of any kind was marginal; it helped if you knew what it was.

 

I had loved Bertie. I had grown up with Bertie. He was huge, black, as majestical as a bear. I read the inscription: To Bertie, the last and the best of my dogs. I looked at the dates of his birth and his death, faithfully recorded. Then I looked at something else.

 

这些年我在那里花了一些时间去找Bertie的墓地。我走过一排排整齐的白色墓碑,看到了狗的猫的墓碑,有一次还看到了老鼠的纪念碑。

“缺席了一段幸福”,墓碑上面写着这样的内容是。我转过身,看到了Bertie冰山标志墓碑。

就像我记得的,Constance的回忆是悲伤的狂想曲,她就像对待祖先一样试图去重新建造Bertie的安息地,。Bertie是一只纽芬兰犬,Constance对纽芬兰的认识是富有诗意但也很模糊。她梦见Bertie和冰山,她常说,Bertie的墓碑让我们以冰山为标志。

墓碑的石头已经设计并雕刻好了。Constance还与绿草坪管理员争吵过墓碑的问题,管理员喜欢整齐的墓碑,觉得冰山标志的墓碑不得体。Constance,像往常一样,获得了胜利,设立了冰山标志的墓碑。冰山做的不是很像,但如果你知道做的是冰山,还是能看得出来。

 

我很喜欢Bertie,我和它一起长大。它长的很大,是黑色的,像熊一样雄壮。我读了墓碑上的题词:Bertie,我最后的也是最爱的狗。上面如实的记录着它出生和死亡的日期。而后,我又看向其他东西。

                                                 张乐萌

 

 

Beneath the peaks of the iceberg, which was white, were runnels of green marble intended to represent a northern sea. These runnels extended from the base of the iceberg by at least one foot. Resting upon them, wrapped in a sheet of white paper, was a small bunch of flowers. Someone had chosen these flowers with care; this was no ordinary bouquet. It was as beautiful and as carefully arranged as the flowers I had seen the day before in Conrad Vickers’s drawing room.

 

There were freesias, white roses, tiny side-sprigs of blue delphinium, pinks, pansies, lilies of the valley: flowers in season and flowers out of season, the kind of flowers it would be easy enough to pick in a garden like Winterscombe’s, the kind of flowers that could be obtained, in New York, from very few florists.

 

I bent to smell the sweetness of their scent. I stepped back and considered them. It was, by then, midmorning. Bertie’s grave was unshaded; the temperature in the sun was at least eighty degrees. The flowers were unwilted. They must have been placed there, at the very most, an hour before.

 

There was only one person in New York who would mourn Bertie, only one person who would bring flowers to the grave of a dog twenty-four years dead.

 

I scanned the lawns, the tombstones: no one in sight. I turned away, began to run.

 

Constance was in the city; compassion brought her close. All my love for my godmother came back, gripping my heart with an astonishing strength. Just like the old days, when Constance raced ahead and I panted to keep up. In pursuit, but – and I felt a moment’s triumph – this time I was catching up.

 

在白色的冰山峰顶下, 有绿色大理石拼成的小河流, 代表着北海。这些小河流从冰山脚下延伸出来,至少有一英尺长。搁在上方的有一小束由白纸包裹的鲜花。看得出来,这些花是被细心挑选出来的;都不是普通的花束。这些花和我此前在Conrad Vicker的画室看到的花朵一样美丽、一样妆点细致。

 

这些花当中有苍兰、白玫瑰、蓝色翠雀花的小边枝、石竹花、紫罗兰、山谷百合:有当季的花也有过季的花,有在花园(如:Winterscombe的花园)当中就能轻易采到的花也有只能在纽约非常少数的花店才能买到的花。

 

我弯腰闻了闻花的香味,然后往后退了退,细细地想了想。当时是上午十点左右,Bertie的墓正好在阳光的照射下,温度至少在80度。但是这些花却没有枯萎。它们一定是在不到一小时以前被放在这里的。

 

在纽约,只有一个人会来悼念Bertie,也只有一个人会带着鲜花到一个已死去24年的狗的墓地来。

 

我环望了一圈草坪,除了墓碑,没有一个人。我转身开始奔跑。

 

Constance就在这个城市;怜悯之心让她没有走远。对教母的所有的爱此时此刻都涌上了我的心头,感觉无比的激动。就好像从前一样,Constance跑在我的前面,而我在后面喘着气努力追赶。但这一次,我感觉我可以成功地追上她。

   

                                                               ——王旭

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