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Part 8 Chapter 9
我在范诺登身后跪下，更加留神地检验这部机器。姑娘把脑袋偏向一侧，绝望地瞧了我一眼说，“没有用，不行了。”听到这话，范诺登又鼓足劲儿干起来，活像一头老公羊。他就是这么一个固执的怪物，宁肯折断了犄角也不肯停祝现在我又在他屁股上搔痒，更使他恼羞成怒。
I get down on my knees behind Van Norden and I examine the machine more attentively. The girl throws her head on one side and gives me a despairing look. "It's no use," she says. "It's impossible." Upon which Van Norden sets to work with renewed energy, just like an old billy goat. He's such an obstinate cuss that he'll break his horns rather than give up. And he's getting sore now because I'm tickling him in the rump.
“看在上帝份上，乔，住手吧！你会弄死这个可怜的姑娘的。”
"For God's sake, Joe, give it up! You'll kill the poor girl."
“别打搅我，”他咕噜道。“刚才我差点儿……就插进去了。”
"Leave me alone," he grunts. "I almost got it in that time."
他这会儿的姿势和说话时那种武断的态度又一次突然叫我回忆起了从前做过的那场梦，只是这一回他走路时大大咧咧夹在腋下的那根扫帚把永远不见了。如今发生的事情是那场梦的继续- 还是同一个范诺登，不过没有了那个原始动力。他像打完仗归来的英雄，一个可怜的残废人，在梦幻中的现实里生活。无论在哪儿他往下一坐椅子便散了；无论他走进哪一扇门那个房间都是空的；无论他吃什么嘴里都留下一股不好的味道。
The posture and the determined way in which he blurts this out suddenly bring to my mind, for the second time, the remembrance of my dream. Only now it seems as though that broomstick, which he had so nonchalantly slung under his arm, as he walked away, is lost forever. It is like the sequel to the dream - the same Van Norden, but minus the primal cause. He's like a hero come back from the war, a poor maimed bastard living out the reality of his dreams. Wherever he sits himself the chair collapses; whatever door he enters the room is empty: whatever he puts in his mouth leaves a bad taste.
每一件事情都跟以前一样，环境未变，梦与现实并没有多大区别。只是，在睡觉和醒来这段时间之内他的躯体被人盗走了。他像一部抛出报纸的印刷机，每天抛出上百万、上亿张报纸，头一版上尽是灾难，尽是暴乱、凶杀、爆炸和撞车事故，但是他却全然无动于衷。如果没有人关上开关他绝不会明白死是怎么回事，假如自己的身体被人盗走了你就不会死了。你可以哄骗一个女人，可以像一头公山羊一样没命地干下去，永远干下去。你也可以投身于战壕中，让炮火炸个粉身碎骨，但是如果没有一只人手的参与什么也造不出这激情的火花。总得有人把手伸进机器里去，把机器把手扳下来 -若要叫齿轮重新啮合的话。这个人要在不指望得到酬劳的前提下去这样做，他不能总惦记着那十五法郎。这个人的胸脯不能厚，一枚勋章就会叫他变成驼背。这个人还得给快饿死的女人吃一顿，而不必害怕吃的东西又被吐出来。否则这场戏便会无休止地演下去，没有一条走出迷津的道路……
Everything is just the same as it was before; the elements are unchanged, the dream is no different than the reality. Only, between the time he went to sleep and the time he woke up, his body was stolen. He's like a machine throwing out newspapers, millions and billions of them every day, and the front page is loaded with catastrophes, with riots, murders, explosions, collisions, but he doesn't feel anything. If somebody doesn't turn the switch off he'll never know what it means to die; you can't die if your own proper body has been stolen. You can get over a cunt and work away like a billy goat until eternity; you can go to the trenches and be blown to bits; nothing will create that spark of passion if there isn't the intervention of a human hand. Somebody has to put his hand into the machine and let it be wrenched off if the cogs are to mesh again. Somebody has to do this without hope of reward, without concern over the fifteen francs; somebody whose chest is so thin that a medal would make him hunchbacked. And somebody has to throw a feed into a starving cunt without fear of pushing it out again. Otherwise this show'll go on forever. There's no way out of the mess…
舔老板的屁股舔了整整一个星期后我设法弄到了佩克奥弗的工作，在这儿就得这样干。这可怜虫果然死了，是掉在电梯下过了几个小时后死的。正如我所预见的，他们替他举行了隆重的丧礼，庄严的弥撒，巨大的花圈，一切应有尽有，应有尽有。仪式结束后楼上的家伙们在一家酒吧里尽情吃喝了一顿，遗憾的是佩克奥弗无法再吃一点儿了—能同楼上的人坐在一起。又不断听到别人提起他的名字，他一定会感激不尽的。
After sucking the boss's ass for a whole week - it's the thing to do here - I managed to land Peckover's job. He died all right, the poor devil, a few hours after he hit the bottom of the shaft. And just as I predicted, they gave him a fine funeral, with solemn mass, huge wreaths, and everything. Tout compris. And after the ceremonies they regaled themselves, the upstairs guys, at a bistro. It was too bad Peckover couldn't have had just a little snack - he would have appreciated it so much to sit with the men upstairs and hear his own name mentioned so frequently.
一开始就应该说明没有什么好抱怨的。这就像置身于一个疯人院里，得到允许可以从此手淫一辈子。全世界都摆在我的鼻子底下，要我做的只是安排好发生灾祸的时间。楼上那帮圆滑的家伙事事都要插手，没有一件欢乐的、悲痛的事能逃过他们的注意。他们活在生活的严酷事实之中，也就是人们称之为“现实”的东西之中。这是沼泽地里的现实，他们就是除了呱叭叫之外无事可做的青蛙，他们叫得越厉害，生活就越显得真实。
I must say, right at the start, that I haven't a thing to complain about. It's like being in a lunatic asylum, with permission to masturbate for the rest of your life. The world is brought right under my nose and all that is requested of me is to punctuate the calamities. There is nothing in which these slick guys upstairs do not put their fingers: no joy, no misery passes unnoticed. They live among the hard facts of life, reality, as it is called. It is the reality of a swamp and they are the frogs who have nothing better to do than to croak. The more they croak the more real life becomes.
律师、牧师、医生、政客、新闻记者—这些人是把手放在世界的脉搏上的江湖郎中。持续的灾难气氛，太棒了，晴雨计仿佛永远不动，旗子仿佛永远只升起了一半。人们现在可以明白天堂的理想如何独占了人类的意识，如果在所有精神支柱都被从下面击倒后仍越来越为人们所接受。除了这片沼泽外一定还有一个世界，那儿的一切都弄得一团糟，很难设想这个人类朝思暮想的天堂是怎样的。无疑这是一个青蛙的天堂，瘴气、泡沫、睡莲和不流动的水，坐在一片没有人烦扰的睡莲叶子上呱呱叫上一整天—我设想天堂大概就是这样的。
Lawyer, priest, doctor, politician, newspaperman - these are the quacks who have their fingers on the pulse of the world. A constant atmosphere of calamity. It's marvelous. It's as if the barometer never changed, as if the flag were always at half mast. One can see now how the idea of heaven takes hold of men's consciousness, how it gains ground even when all the props have been knocked from under it. There must be another world beside this swamp in which everything is dumped pell mell. It's hard to imagine what it can be like, this heaven that men dream about. A frog's heaven, no doubt. Miasma, scum, pond lilies, stagnant water. Sit on a lily pad unmolested and croak all day. Something like that, I imagine.
我校对的这些大灾难对我产生了一种神奇的治疗效果。想一想一种完全免疫的身体状态！一种令人陶醉的人生！一种处在毒菌中间而又绝对安全的生活！任何东西都奈何我不得，地震、爆炸、动乱、饥馑、撞车、战争和革命都触动不了我。我注射的预防针可以预防每一种疾病每一种灾难、每一种悲哀和不幸，这是坚毅的一生的顶点，坐在我的小小壁龛里，全世界每天散发出的各种毒药从我手中流过，却连我的一个指甲盖也玷污不了。我是绝对免疫的，我甚至比一个实验室工作人员的境况还好些，因为这儿没有不好的气味，只有铅燃烧的味儿。
They have a wonderful therapeutic effect upon me, these catastrophes which I proofread. Imagine a state of perfect immunity, a charmed existence, a life of absolute security in the midst of poison bacilli. Nothing touches me, neither earthquakes nor explosions nor riots nor famine nor collisions nor wars nor revolutions. I am inoculated against every disease, every calamity, every sorrow and misery. It's the culmination of a life of fortitude. Seated at my little niche all the poisons which the world gives off each day pass through my hands. Not even a fingernail gets stained. I am absolutely immune. I am even better off than a laboratory attendant, because there are no bad odors here, just the smell of lead burning.
地球可以爆炸掉，我仍要呆在这儿添上一个逗点或分号。我甚至可以多十一会儿，因为遇到这样一个大事变非得在最后多干一点儿。当世界爆炸了，最后一份报纸也送去付印了，校对们将轻轻收拾起所有逗点、分号、连字符、星号、方括虎圆括虎句点、感叹号等，把它们装进编辑椅子上方的一个小匣子里。一切安排就序。
The world can blow up - I'll be here just the same to put in a comma or a semicolon. I may even touch a little overtime, for with an event like that there's bound to be a final extra. When the world blows up and the final edition has gone to press the proofreaders will quietly gather up all commas, semicolons, hyphens, asterisks, brackets, parentheses, periods, exclamation marks, etc. and put them in a little box over the editorial chair. Comme ?a tout est réglé…
我的伙伴们似乎没有一个理解我为什么会如此踌躇满志，他们一天到晚发牢骚，他们有野心，想显示自己了不起，要发泄怒气。一个好校对却没有野心、不骄傲、不发脾气。好的校对有点像上帝，他也在世界上，可又不属于它。他只在星期日露面，星期日便是他的休息日，到了星期日他从宝座上走下来叫忠于他的人看看他的屁股。他每星期聆听一次世上每个人的悲哀和不幸，这就足够让自己在其余几天内咀嚼了。这几天里他仍呆在冬天被冰封住的沼泽里，成为一个完善的人，一个完全纯洁的人，只有一个种过牛痘的疤痕将他与广袤的无限空间区分开。
None of my companions seem to understand why I appear so contented. They grumble all the time, they have ambitions, they want to show their pride and spleen. A good proofreader has no ambitions, no pride, no spleen. A good proofreader is a little like God Almighty, he's in the world but not of it. He's for Sundays only. Sunday is his night off. On Sundays he steps down from his pedestal and shows his ass to the faithful. Once a week he listens in on all the private grief and misery of the world; it's enough to last him for the rest of the week. The rest of the week he remains in the frozen winter marshes, an absolute, an impeccable absolute, with only a vaccination mark to distinguish him from the immense void.
对于一个校对，最大的灾难莫过于丢掉工作的威胁。休息时我们聚在一起，叫我们从头凉到脚的问题便是：如果失掉工作你怎么办？围场里的人的职责是清扫马粪，他最大的恐惧莫过于世界上可能会没有了马。告诉他把一生花在铲热马粪上是令人恶心的则是在干蠢事，如果一个人的生计要指望马粪，如果马粪涉及到他的幸福，他是会爱上马粪的。
The greatest calamity for a proofreader is the threat of losing his job. When we get together in the break the question that sends a shiver down our spines is: what'll you do if you lose your job? For the man in the paddock, whose duty is is to sweep up manure, the supreme terror is the possibility of a world without horses. To tell him that it is disgusting to spend one's life shoveling up hot turds is a piece of imbecility. A man can get to love shit if his livelihood depends on it, if his happiness is involved.
Part 8 Chapter 10
如果我仍是一个有自尊心、有荣誉感。有抱负的汉子，那么这种生活无疑是跌到了堕落的底层。可是我欢迎这种生活，犹如一个重病人迎接死亡的到来。这是一种消极的现实，同死亡一样，这是一个没有死亡的痛苦、没有死亡的恐怖的天堂。在这个地下世界里唯一一件要紧的事是正确拼词和添标点符号，报上有何种灾祸都无关紧要，要紧的只是词儿拼写的是否正确。
This life which, if I were still a man with pride, honor, ambition and so forth, would seem like the bottom rung of degradation, I welcome now, as an invalid welcomes death. It's a negative reality, just like death - a sort of heaven without the pain and terror of dying. In this chthonian world the only thing of importance is orthography and punctuation. It doesn't matter what the nature of the calamity is, only whether it is spelled right.
每一件新闻都同等重要，不论是晚礼服的最新款式还是一只新战舰、一场瘟疫、一次大爆炸、一项天文学新发现、河堤决口、列车颠覆、炒卖股票、毫无希望的赛马赌注、处决、拦路抢劫、暗杀等诸如此类的事情。什么也逃脱不过校对者的眼睛，可是什么也穿不透他的防弹背心。希尔夫人（从前的埃斯特乌小姐）给印度人阿格哈?米尔写信，说她对他的工作甚为满意。
Everything is on one level, whether it be the latest fashion for evening gowns, a new battleship, a plague, a high explosive, an astronomic discovery, a bank run, a railroad wreck, a bull market, a hundred to one shot, an execution, a stick up, an assassination, or what. Nothing escapes the proofreader's eye, but nothing penetrates his bulletproof vest. To the Hindoo Agha Mir, Madam Scheer (formerly Miss Esteve) writes saying she is quite satisfied with his work.
“我于六月六日结婚，谢谢你。我们很幸福，我希望在你的神力庇护下我们会永远很幸福的。我电汇给你……钱……这是奖赏你的……”这个印度人是算命的，他能准确而又神秘地察觉你在想什么。他会劝导你，帮你摆脱所有烦恼和各种不遂意的事情，“请往巴黎麦克马洪大道二十号打电话或写信。”
"I was married June 6th and I thank you. We are very happy and I hope that thanks to your power it will be so forever. I am sending you by telegraph money order the sum of… to reward you…" The Hindoo Agha Mir foretells your future and reads all your thoughts in a precise and inexplicable way. He will advise you, will help you rid tourself of all your worries and troubles of all kinds, etc. Call or write 20 Avenue MacMahon, Paris.
他猜你在想什么真是猜得棒极了！按我的理解这是说他没有一回猜错，从最琐碎的到最无耻的念头。这个印度人的时间一定很宽裕。或者是，他只集中精力去猜那些给他汇钱的人的思想。在同一版上我还看到一条标题宣布“宇宙扩展太快，甚有可能爆炸”，标题底下的照片上是一个头痛欲裂的脑袋瓜，再下来是一篇关于珍珠的谈话，署名是特克拉。他告诉大家，牡蛎可生产两种珍珠，“野生的”或东方珠和“养”珠。同一天在特里尔城大教堂里，德国人在展览基督的外衣，这是四十二年里首次把它从樟脑丸中取出，不过没有提到裤子和背心。还是同一天在奥地利萨尔茨堡，两只老鼠出生在一个人的胃里，信不信由你。一个有名的女电影演员两条腿搭在一起的照片登了出来：她正在英国海德公园里休息。下面是一个著名的画家说，“我承认柯立芝太太有魅力，有个性，即使她丈夫不是总统她也能成为十二位最有名望的美国人之一。”从采访维也纳的亨姆霍尔先生的一篇访问记中我读到……亨姆霍尔先生说，“在结束之前我想说，无可挑剔的剪裁和试穿仍是不够的，好裁缝的手艺只有穿着合适才算。一套衣服必须贴身，可是穿衣人行走或坐下时还要保持线条。”无论何时煤矿—一个英国煤矿里发生爆炸，请注意，国王和王后准会立即拍来电报表示哀悼。他们还经常去看重要的赛马，据这篇报道说，尽管那天的比赛是在德比举行的他们也去了。我相信这番记述，“下起了大雨，使国王和王后吃了一惊。”更令人心碎的还是这样的消息： “据称，在意大利那些迫害活动不是针对教会的，然而它们被用来反对教会的某些最敏感的机构。据称，它们并不反对教皇，只反对教皇的心脏和眼睛。”
He reads all your thoughts in a marvelous way! I take it that means without exception, from the most trivial thoughts to the most shameless. He must have a lot of time on his hands, this Agha Mir. Or does he only concentrate on the thoughts of those who send money by telegraph money order? In the same edition I notice a headline announcing that "the universe is expanding so fast it may burst" and underneath it is the photograph of a splitting headache. And then there is a spiel about the pearl, signed Tecla. The oyster produces both, he informs all and sundry. Both the "wild" or Oriental pearl, and the "cultured" pearl. On the same day, at the Cathedral of Trier, the Germans are exhibiting the Coat of Christ; it's the first time it's been taken out of the moth balls in forty two years. Nothing said about the pants and vest. In Salzburg, also the same day, two mice were born in a man's stomach, believe it or not. A famous movie actress is shown with her legs crossed: she is taking a rest in Hyde Park, and underneath a well-known painter remarks "I'll admit that Mrs. Coolidge has such charm and personality that she would have been one of the 12 famous Americans, even had her husband not been President." From an interview with Mr. Humhal, of Vienna, I glean the following… "Before I stop," said Mr. Humhal, "I'd like to say that faultless cut and fit does not suffice; the proof of good tailoring is seen in the wearing. A suit must bend to the body, yet keep its line when the wearer is walking or sitting." And whenever there is an explosion in a coal mine - a British coal mine - notice please that the King and Queen always send their condolences promptly, by telegraph. And they always attend the important races, though the other day, according to the copy, it was at the Derby, I believe, "heavy rains began to fall, much to the surprise of the King and Queen." More heart-rending, however, is an item like this: "It is claimed in Italy that the persecutions are not against the Church, but nevertheless they are conducted against the most exquisite parts of the Church. It is claimed that they are not against the Pope, but they are against the very heart and eyes of the Pope."
我得走遍全世界才找得到这样一个舒服、适意的职位，这几乎难以置信。在美国，人们往你屁股底下塞爆竹来给你打气，当时我怎么能预料到自己这种气质的人的最理想职位竟是去寻找拼写错误？在那边你一心只想着有朝一日要当美国总统，可能每个人都是做总统的材料。这儿却不同了，这儿每个人都只能是一个零蛋，如果你成了名人也是出于侥幸，是一个奇迹。在这儿你能离开你出生的村庄的可能性只有千分之一，你的腿被熗打断或眼珠被打出来的机会却是一千比一。除非发生奇迹你才会成为将军或海军少将。
I had to travel precisely all around the world to find just such a comfortable, agreeable niche as this. It seems incredible almost. How could I have foreseen, in America, with all those firecrackers they put up your ass to give you pep and courage, that the ideal position for a man of my temperament was to look for orthographic mistakes? Over there you think of nothing but becoming President of the United States some day. Potentially every man is Presidential timber. Here it's different. Here every man is potentially a zero. If you become something or somebody it is an accident, a miracle. The chances are a thousand to one that you will never leave your native village. The chances are a thousand to one that you'll have your legs shot off or your eyes blown out. Unless the miracle happens and you find yourself a general or a rear admiral.
可正是因为机缘对你不利，正因为没有多大希望，这儿的生活才可爱。过一天算一天。没有昨天，也没有明天，晴雨表永远不变，旗子始终半升半降。你在胳膊上系一块黑纱，在纽扣孔里别一段丝带。如果你有幸买得起，还可以替自己买一副特轻人造假肢，最好是铝的，它不妨碍你喝开胃酒、上动物园去看动物或是同时刻准备扑向一块新鲜的臭肉、沿着林荫道飞来飞去的兀鹰嘻戏。时光在流逝。如果你不是本地人而且一应证件都全，你尽可以接触传染源而不必担心感染。如果有可能，弄一份校对员的工作更好。这样，一切都妥了。就是说，假如你凌晨三点往家走时碰巧被骑自行车的警察拦住，你可以朝他们嘛僻啪啪地捻手指。早上市场上最忙乱时你可以买比利时鸡蛋，五十生丁一只。校对员通常不睡到中午不起床，甚至更晚。
But it's just because the chances are all against you, just because there is so little hope, that life is sweet over here. Day by day. No yesterdays and no tomorrows. The barometer never changes, the flag is always at half mast. You wear a piece of black crepe on your arm, you have a little ribbon in your buttonhole, and, if you are lucky enough to afford it, you buy yourself a pair of artificial lightweight limbs, aluminium preferably. Which does not prevent you from enjoying an apéritif or looking at the animals in the zoo or flirting with the vultures who sail up and down the boulevards always on the alert for fresh carrion. Time passes. If you're a stranger and your papers are in order you can expose yourself to infection without fear of being contaminated. It is better, if possible, to have a proofreader's job. Comme ?a, tout s'arrange. That means, that if you happen to be strolling home at three in the morning and you are intercepted by the bicycle cops, you can snap your fingers at them. In the morning, when the market is in swing, you can buy Belgian eggs, at fifty centimes apiece. A proofreader doesn't get up usually until noon, or a little after.
挑一家紧挨着电影院的旅馆就好了，因为你若容易睡过头，日场电影的开映铃声会唤醒你。如果找不到一家紧挨电影院的旅馆，挑一家靠近墓地的也行，结果也是一样的。要紧的是，永远别泄气。永远别泄气。
It's well to choose a hotel near a cinema, because if you have a tendency to oversleep the bells will wake you up in time for the matinee. Of if you can't find a hotel near a cinema, choose one near a cemetery, it comes to the same thing. Above all, never despair. Il ne faut jamais désespérer.
这也是我每天晚上试图向卡尔和范诺登耳朵里灌输的，这是一个没有希望的世界，不过用不着泄气。我仿佛皈依了一种新的宗教，仿佛每天夜里都向圣母玛丽亚做一次一年一度、连续九夭的祈祷。我想象不出如果自己当了报纸的编辑或美国总统又能得到什么好处，我处在一条死胡同里，这儿既自在又舒服。手里拿着一份报，我听着身边的乐声、嗡嗡的人说话声、排字机的叮当声，像是有一千只银手锅在通过衣物绞干机。不时有一只老鼠从我们脚下跑过，一只蟑螂从我们面前的墙上爬下来，细嫩的腿灵巧地小心移动着。白天的事件从你鼻子底下滑过，轻轻地、不引人注目，你不时地会遇到一个署名使你想到一只人手、一种自我主义以及这人的虚荣心。它们安详地滑过去，像送葬队列走进公墓大门时那样。用作抄写的桌子底下铺了厚厚的一层纸，一踩上去有点像踏在有一层软毛的地毯上。范诺登桌下到处洒着褐色的汤汁。十一点左右卖花生的小贩来了，他是一个智力有缺陷的美国人，他对自己的命运也挺满意。
Which is what I try to din into Carl and Van Norden every night. A world without hope, but no despair. It's as though I had been converted to a new religion, as though I were making an annual novena every night to Our Lady of Solace. I can't imagine what there would be to gain if I were made editor of the paper, or even President of the United States. I'm up a blind alley, and it's cosy and comfortable. With a piece of copy in my hand I listen to the music around me, the hum and drone of voices, the tinkle of the linotype machines, as if there were a thousand silver bracelets passing through a wringer; now and then a rat scurries past our feet or a cockroach descends the wall in front of us, moving nimbly and gingerly on his delicate legs. The events of the day are slid under your nose, quietly, unostentatiously, with, now and then, a by line to mark the presence of a human hand, an ego, a touch of vanity. The procession passes serenely, like a cortege entering the cemetery gates. The paper under the copy desk is so thick that it almost feels like a carpet with a soft nap. Under Van Norden's desk it is stained with brown juice. Around eleven o'clock the peanut vendor arrives, a half wit of an Armenian who is also content with his lot in life.
我不时收到莫娜的电报说她将坐下一条船来，上面总是说，“信随后就要。”这种情况延续了九个月，可我从来没有从乘船来的旅客名单上看到她的名字，仆人也从未用银盘子托着一封信拿给我，我也就再不指望发生这种事情了。如果她真的来了，她可以在楼下找我，就在厕所后面。也许她会立即告诉我这里不卫生，一个美国女人对欧洲的第一观感便是不卫生。如果没有现代化抽水马桶她们就无法想象这儿是一个天堂；如果发现一只臭虫她们就要马上给商会写信。我怎么启齿向她解释我在这儿很满意？她一定会说我已经堕落了，她这一套我很清楚，她想找一间带花园的工作室，当然还得有浴盆。她要穷得浪漫，我了解她。不过这一回我都替她预备好了。
Now and then I get a cablegram from Mona saying that she's arriving on the next boat. "Letter following," it always says. It's been going on like this for nine months, but I never see her name in the list of boat arrivals, nor does the gar?on ever bring me a letter on a silver platter. I haven't any more expectations in that direction either. If she ever does arrive she can look for me downstairs, just behind the lavatory. She'll probably tell me right away that it's unsanitary. That's the first thing that strikes an American woman about Europe - that it's unsanitary. Impossible for them to conceive of a paradise without modern plumbing. If they find a bedbug they want to write a letter immediately to the chamber of commerce. How am I ever going to explain to her that I'm contented here? She'll say I've become a degenerate. I know her line from beginning to end. She'll want to look for a studio with a garden attached - and a bathtub to be sure. She wants to be poor in a romantic way. I know her. But I'm prepared for her this time.
有些天太阳出来了，我走下那条被人来回踏了许多遍的小径，一边如饥似渴地思念着她。尽管这种严酷的生活也令人满意，我仍不时会渴望过另一种方式的生活，会臆想如果身边有个年轻活泼的女人将会发生什么变化。麻烦的是我几乎已不记得她的模样了，也记不得搂着她时是什么感觉。过去的一切似乎都己沉入大海，我还有记忆力，不过眼前的形象已失去生气，它们好像死去了、散乱了，像插在泥沼上久经岁月侵蚀过。
There are days, nevertheless, when the sun is out and I get off the beaten path and think about her hungrily. Now and then, despite my grim satisfaction, I get to thinking about another way of life, get to wondering if it would make a difference having a young, restless creature by my side. The trouble is I can hardly remember what she looks like nor even how it feels to have my arms around her. Everything that belongs to the past seems to have fallen into the sea; I have memories, but the images have lost their vividness, they seem dead and desultory, like timebitten mummies stuck in a quagmire.
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