《给卡洛琳小姐的玫瑰》

该完美精确译文由笑傲江湖独家提供。欢迎转载！

**【原创翻译】**    

http://1873.img.pp.sohu.com.cn/images/blog/2009/12/19/2/13/1265327a0c6g214.jpgRose for Miss Caroline)" />

http://1854.img.pp.sohu.com.cn/images/blog/2009/8/4/4/15/1238f51ad4cg214.jpgRose for Miss Caroline)" />

谨以此文，献给那些为情所困最终必战胜的自由灵魂！--朋友啊，当你知道这个世界上受苦的不止你一个时，你定会减少痛楚，而你的希望也将永远在绝望中再生了罢！                                                                       

【原著】亚瑟·戈登[美]

                                    【译文】笑傲江湖

  那个懒洋洋的春天，每个礼拜六晚上，我都会给卡洛琳·韦尔福德小姐带去一支玫瑰。只要是礼拜六，无论晴雨，晚上8点整，我定会准时送到。

  那支玫瑰总会是店里最漂亮的一支。我注视着老奥尔森轻柔地将它用绿纱纸和一些蕨类植物裹在一起。然后我就带上盛放着玫瑰的狭长盒子，使劲地蹬着脚踏车穿过安静的街道，将它给卡洛琳小姐送去。那段时间，只要是放学或者是礼拜六，我都会做一名快递员，为花匠老奥尔森工作。这份工的报酬每周只有3美元，但对于一个十几岁大的孩子来说这已是一笔很可观的收入了。

  开始我总觉得有点什么不对劲的地方。或者更确切地说,这些玫瑰花的递送情况与以往有些不同。就在第一支玫瑰送出后的当天晚上，我给奥尔森先生指出，他忘记把送花人卡片附上去了。      

  奥尔森先生透过老花眼镜凝视着我，那样子简直像个慈善的守护神。“是没有卡片，詹姆斯。”他从不叫我吉米（詹姆斯的昵称）。“而且这个…嗯…这个送花人希望这花啊要尽可能暗地里送出。所以啊，你可得要保密，知道吗！”

  我其实很高兴卡洛琳小姐能收到花，因为我们都为她感到难过。正如我们小镇上所有人都知道的那样，她刚刚遭遇了人生中最大不幸——她给人抛弃了。

  事实上，卡洛琳小姐和镇上一个很能干的小伙子杰弗里·彭尼曼已订婚多年了。打从杰弗里进医学院学习时，她一直都在等他。但就在毕业前的实习期间，彭尼曼医生却爱上了一位更年轻、更漂亮的女孩，并且娶了她。即便这样，卡洛琳小姐还在等他—等他的回心转意。

  这几乎可以算是一桩丑闻了。为此，我母亲说男人都是好色之徒，像杰弗里·彭尼曼这样的男人就该用马鞭好好给抽一顿。我父亲的意见却不同，他认为，每个男人，只要有女人愿意跟他，他就有权利选择其中最漂亮的女人结婚，这没什么不对啊…不仅正确，简直可以说这是男人们的神圣权利！

  嫁给杰弗里·彭尼曼的女孩的确是个大美人。她叫克里斯廷·马洛，来自一个大城市。可我觉得她在镇上的日子并不好过，因为我们镇上的女人都看不起她，背地里还说她风言风语的坏话。

  对于可怜的卡洛琳小姐来说，这无疑是个灾难性的打击。整整6个月她都紧闭闺门不出，停止了带领她的女童子军去排练。不再参加任何文娱活动。她甚至拒绝在教堂演奏管风琴了。

  其实卡洛琳小姐很年轻漂亮。但她似乎下定了决心要把自己变成个古怪的老女人。我给她送第一支玫瑰的那天晚上，她颓废得看上去已人不像人、鬼不像鬼了。“你好，吉米。”她有气无力地招呼着。我把花盒子递给她时，她看上去很震惊…“这…给我的？”

  下一个周六又是老时间，我又给卡洛琳小姐送去了玫瑰。然后一个周六又一个周六。第三次给她送玫瑰时她很麻利的就给我开了门。我感觉得到，她绝对是已经在期待很久了。她的脸颊不再黯淡无光，头发也不再那么凌乱了。

  就在我给卡洛琳小姐送去第四枝玫瑰后的那个周日的早晨，她居然又出现在教堂里演奏管风琴了。我看见--那支玫瑰--被她别在上衣上。她高昂着头，看都不看一眼长椅上坐着的彭尼曼医生和他美丽的新娘。多有勇气的姑娘！我母亲夸口道，多有个性啊！

  随着我一周周给她送着玫瑰，卡洛琳小姐已经渐渐重新开始了她的正常生活。现在她脸上洋溢着自豪的、几近目空一切的陶醉神情...那是一种就算表面上看起来曾受到过爱情伤害，但内心深处却坚信自己仍然被那个男人珍爱着的女人所流露出来的幸福神情。

  终于，这是我最后一晚来卡洛琳小姐家送花了。把盒子递给她后，我说：“这是我最后一次给您送花了。我们家下周就搬走了。不过奥尔森先生说了会继续帮您送花的。”

  她犹豫了片刻，然后说：“进来一会儿，吉米。”

  她领我走进她整洁的客厅，从壁炉架上取下一个制作精巧的船模。“这原是我爷爷的，”她说，“我就把它送给你吧。你曾带给我那么多快乐，吉米…你…还有你送来的玫瑰。”

  她打开了满是玫瑰花的盒子，抚摸着晶莹剔透的花瓣。“这些花儿虽然不说话，但它们告诉了我很多。他们其实是在向我讲述着每个星期六的晚上，我度过的那些幸福快乐的时光。他们其实也在告诉我，…他…其实也很孤独……”她突然止住了，似乎不该说太多。“你可以走了，吉米，走吧！”

  我紧紧地抱着船模，冲到脚踏车边，飞也似的骑回了花店。之后我做了一件过去从来不敢做的事——我翻看了奥尔森先生凌乱的顾客记录本，发现了我要找的东西。那是奥尔森先生潦草的字迹：“彭尼曼，红玫瑰，52朵，总计：13美元。钱已预付。”

  噢，原来如此！原来如此！

  时光流逝。有一天我又回到了奥尔森的花店。店里一切照旧！如同以前一样，老奥尔森正在用栀子花做胸花。

  我们攀谈了一会儿，就我和我的昔日老板。然后我问：“卡洛琳小姐怎么样了？就是那个…你还记得吧…总收到玫瑰花的那个姑娘。”

  “卡洛琳小姐？”奥尔森点着头，“她啊，她嫁给了乔治·哈尔西…他开了家药店，很棒的一个小伙子！他们都有一对双胞胎了。”

  “哦！”我有些吃惊。然后我就想显摆一下自己其实早就得知内情，就问：“你觉得这彭尼曼夫人…她…知道她丈夫一直送花给她的旧情人吗？”

  奥尔森先生叹了口气，“詹姆斯！你其实都没能搞明白内情！那不是杰弗里·彭尼曼送的花。他甚至压根都不知道送花这件事。”

  我瞪大了眼睛，紧盯着他，“那是谁？”

  “一位女士！”奥尔森先生说，一边把栀子花小心地放到盒子里。“是一位女士！那位女士说她不能眼睁睁看着卡洛琳小姐因为她的原因而折磨自己。那样的话，卡洛琳小姐就得到大家的同情，而她却遭到别人的鄙视。那些花都是克里斯廷·彭尼曼夫人送的。”

  “就是这样，明白了吧，”他说着，坚定地盖上了花盒的盖子，“一个伟大的女人哪！” 

【译文后记】新时代的今天，我在思考的是：彭尼曼夫人究竟是个什么样的女人？她真的很伟大吗？朋友们，你真正读懂了这篇文章吗？--读完后沉思，您是想哭还是想笑？...

  Every Saturday night, all through that lazy spring, I used to take a rose to Miss Caroline Wellford. Every Saturday night, rain or shine, at exactly eight o’clock.
  It was always the best rose in the shop. I would watch Old Man Olsen nest it tenderly in green tissue paper and fern. Then I would take the narrow box and pedal furiously through the quiet streets and deliver the rose to Miss Caroline. In those days, after school and on Saturdays, I worked as delivery boy for Olsen the florist. The job paid only three dollars a week, but that was a lot for a teen-ager then.
  From the beginning there was something a little strange about those roses —or rather, about the circumstances under which I delivered them. The night the first one was sent I pointed out to Mr. Olsen that he had forgotten the card.
  He peered at me through his glasses like a benevolent gnome. “There isn’t any card, James.” He never called me Jimmy. “And furthermore the — uh —party sending this flower wants it done as quietly as possible. So keep it under your hat, will you?”
  I was glad Miss Caroline was getting a flower, because we all felt sorry for her. As everybody in our small town knew, the worst of all fates had been fallen Miss Caroline. She had been jilted.
  For years she had been as good as engaged to Jeffrey Pinniman, one of the ablest young bachelors in town. She had waited while he got himself through medical school. She was still waiting when, halfway through his internship, Dr. Penniman fell in love with a younger, prettier girl and married her.
  It was almost a scandal. My mother said that all men were brutes and that Jeffrey Penniman deserved to be horse-whipped. My father said, on the contrary, that it was the right — no, the sacred duty — of every man to marry the prettiest girl who would have him.
  The girl Jeffrey Penniman married was a beauty, all right. Her name was Christine Marlowe, and she came from a big city. She must have had an uncomfortable time in our town, because naturally the women despised her and said unkind things about her.
  As for poor Miss Caroline, the effect on her was disastrous. For six months she had shut herself up in her house, stopped leading her Girl Scout troop, given up all civic activities. She even refused to play the organ at church anymore.
  Miss Caroline wasn’t old or unattractive, but she seemed determined to turn herself into an eccentric old maid. She looked like a ghost that night when I delivered the first rose. “Hello, Jimmy,” she said listlessly. When I handed her the box, she looked startled — “For me?”
  Again the next Saturday, at exactly the same time, I found myself delivering another rose to Miss Caroline. And the next Saturday yet another. The third time she opened the door too quickly that I knew she must have been waiting. There was a little color in her cheeks, now, and her hair no longer looked so straggly .
  The morning after my fourth trip to her house, Miss Caroline played the organ again in church. The rose, I saw, was pinned to her blouse. She held her head high; she did not glance once at the pew where Dr. Penniman sat with his beautiful bride. What courage, my mother said, what character!
  Week after week I delivered the rose, and gradually Miss Caroline resumed her normal life. There was something proud about her now, something defiant almost — the attitude of a woman who may have suffered an outward defeat, but who knows inwardly that she is still cherished and loved.
  The night came, eventually, when I made my final trip to Miss Caroline’s house, I said, as I handed her the box, “This is the last time I’ll bring this, Miss Caroline. We’re moving away next week. But Mr. Olsen says he’ll keep sending the flowers.”
  She hesitated. Then she said, “Come in for a minute, Jimmy.”
  She led me into her prim sitting room. From the mantel she took a model of a sailing ship, exquisitely carved. “This was my grandfather’s,” she said. “I’d like you to have it. You’ve brought me great happiness, Jimmy — you and your roses.”
  She opened the box, touched the delicate petals “They say so much, though they are silent. They speak to me of other Saturday nights, happy ones. They tell me that he, too, is lonely…” She bit her lip, as if she had said too much. “You’d better go now, Jimmy. Go!”
  Clutching my ship model, I fled to my bicycle. Back at the shop, I did what I had never had the nerve to do. I looked in the file where Mr. Olsen kept his untidy records, and I found what I was looking for. “Penniman,” it said, in Mr. Olsen’s crabbed script. “Fifty-two American Beauties — 25c. Total: $13. Paid in advance.”
  Well, I thought to myself. Well!
  The years went by, and one day I came again to Olsen’s flower shop. Nothing had changed. Old Man Olsen was making a corsage of gardenias, just as he used to do.
  We talked a while, my old boss and I. Then I said, “Whatever became of Miss Caroline? You remember — she got the roses.”
  “Miss Caroline?” He nodded. “Why, she married George Halsey — owns the drugstore. Fine fellow. They have twins.”
  “Oh!” I said, a bit surprised. Then I decided to show Mr. Olsen how smart I had been. “D’you suppose,” I said, “that Mrs. Penniman ever knew her husband was sending flowers to his old flame?”
  Mr. Olsen sighed. “James, you never were very bright. Jeffrey Penniman didn’t send them. He never even knew about’em.”
  I stared at him. “Who did, then?”
  “A lady,” said Mr. Olsen. He put the gardenias carefully into a box. “A lady who said she wasn’t going to sit around watching Miss Caroline make a martyr of herself at her expense. Christine Penniman sent those roses.”
  “Now there,” he said, closing the lid with finality, “was a woman for you!”         

===全文完===