《北回归线》——Tropic Of Cancer（中英文对照）完结_派派后花园

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[Novel] 《北回归线》——Tropic Of Cancer（中英文对照）完结

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举报 只看该作者 40楼  发表于: 2013-10-30 0

Part 12 Chapter 3

菲尔莫一定觉察到了我的心思，也明白整夜坐着看别人于是多么难捱，他突然从衣袋里掏出一张一百法郎的票子，把它摔在我面前。他说，“瞧，你大概比我们其他人更需要嫖一回。拿着这钱，自己去挑一个吧。” 不知为什么，他摔钱的动作比他为我做过的任何事情都更加叫我觉得他可亲，而他为我做的已经很多了。盛情难却，我收下这笔钱，马上打手势叫那黑姑娘做好再睡一次的准备。这好像使公主怒不可遏，她质问我这儿是不是除了这个黑女人以外就再没有一个我们看得上的姑娘。我直截了当地告诉她“没有”，实情也的确如此— 这个黑女人是这座窑子的皇后。只要瞧她一眼你就会起兴，她的两只眼睛像是在精液里泡过一样，所有这些想同她睡的要求弄得她飘飘然，至少据我看她已经不会直直地走路了。跟在她身后爬上弯弯曲曲的窄楼梯时我无法抑制要把手伸进她两腿间去的诱惑，我们就这样一直上了楼。她回头朝我嫣然一笑，每当我的手把她弄得太痒了她便微微扭扭屁股。
Fillmore must have sensed how I felt, and what an ordeal it was to sit and look on all night, for suddenly he pulled a hundred franc note out of his pocket and slapping it in front of me, he said: "Look here, you probably need a lay more than any of us. Take that and pick someone out for yourself." Somehow that gesture endeared him more to me than anything he had ever done for me, and he had done considerable. I accepted the money in the spirit it was given and promptly signaled to the Negress to get ready for another lay. That enraged the princess more than anything, it appeared. She wanted to know if there wasn't anyone in the place good enough for us except this Negress. I told her bluntly NO. And it was so - the Negress was the queen of the harem. You had only to look at her to get an erection. Her eyes seemed to be swimming in sperm. She was drunk with all the demands made upon her. She couldn't walk straight any more - at least it seemed that way to me. Going up the narrow winding stairs behind her I couldn't resist the temptation to slide my hand up her crotch; we continued up the stairs that way, she looking back at me with a cheerful smile and wiggling her ass a bit when it tickled her too much.

　　到处都是欢快聚会的人，人人都很快活，玛莎情绪也不错。于是第二天晚上她喝光了走量的香槟，吃完了鱼子酱，又给我们讲述了一段自己的身世之后，菲尔莫便去制服她了。看来这一回他最终要如愿以偿了，她不再挣扎，叉开两条腿躺着，听任他不停地玩弄。后来他刚刚爬到她身上，她才漫不经心地告诉他自己有淋病于是菲尔莫像根圆木头似的从公主身上滚下来，我听见他在厨房里寻找那块只有特殊情况下才用的黑肥皂。
It was a good session all around. Everyone was happy. Macha seemed to be in a good mood too. And so the next evening, after she had had her ration of champagne and caviar, after she had given us another chapter out of the history of her life, Fillmore went to work on her. It seemed as though he was going to get his reward at last. She had ceased to put up a fight any more. She lay back with her legs apart and she let him fool around and fool around and then, just as he was climbing over her, just as he was going to slip it in, she informs him nonchalantly that she has a dose of clap. He rolled off her like a log. I heard him fumbling around in the kitchen for the black soap he used on special occasions,

　　过了几秒钟他双手捏着一块毛巾站在我床前说—“你能想到吗？这个婊子养的公主有淋病！”看来他吓坏了，这时公主却在用力啃苹果，读俄文报纸，她认为这是一个很有意思的玩笑。她躺在床上，通过敞开的门对我们说，“还有比这更糟糕的事呢。”
and in a few moments he was standing by my bed with a towel in his hands and saying - "can you beat that? that son of a bitch of a princess has the clap!" He seemed pretty well scared about it. The princess meanwhile was munching an apple and calling for her Russian newspapers. It was quite a joke to her. "There are worse things than that," she said, lying there in her bed and talking to us through the open door.

　　菲尔莫最终也把此事看作一个玩笑，他又打开一瓶安如葡萄酒，替自己倒了一杯，一饮而荆这时才凌晨一点，于是他又坐下跟我聊了一会儿。他告诉我，这样一件区区小事挡不住他。他当然要小心些……他在勒阿弗尔染上的老病还没有全好。他已记不得这病是怎么染上的了。有时一喝醉酒他就忘了洗洗身子。
Finally Fillmore began to see it as a joke too and opening another bottle of Anjou he poured out a drink for himself and quaffed it down. It was only about one in the morning and so he sat there talking to me for a while. He wasn't going to be put off by a thing like that, he told me. Of course, he had to be careful… there was the old dose which had come on in Le Havre. He couldn't remember any more how that happened. Sometimes when he got drunk he forgot to wash himself.

　　这并不很可怕，可是谁也说不上今后病情会如何发展。他并不想叫别人按摩他的摄护腺，不，他不喜欢那样。他头一回得花柳病还是在大学里，不知道是哪个姑娘传给他的，还是他传给姑娘的。校园里有那么多风流韵事，简直不知道该信谁才好。几乎所有的女生都怀过孕，大家都太无知了……甚至连教授们也很无知。有一个教授叫人把他阉了。这是听人说的……
It wasn't anything very terrible, but you never knew what might develop later. He didn't want any one massaging his prostate gland. No, that he didn't relish. The first dose he ever got was at college. Didn't know whether the girl had given it to him or he to the girl; there was so much funny work going on about the campus you didn't know whom to believe. Nearly all the coeds had been knocked up some time or other. Too damned ignorant… even the profs were ignorant. One of the profs had himself castrated, so the rumor went…

第二天夜里他拿定主意要冒这个风险—戴着避孕套去冒险。其实这没有多大风险，除非套子破了。他替自己买了一些长长的鱼鳞状的套子。各种各样的都有，要我相信这是最可靠的。可是这也帮不了他，她的那个地方太紧。菲尔莫说，“老天，我并没有一点儿不正常的。你明白这是怎么回事吗？有个家伙轻轻松松地弄进去叫她染上了病，这个人的玩艺儿一定小得不正常。”
Anyway, the next night he decided to risk it - with a condom. Not much risk in that, unless it breaks. He had bought himself some of the long fish skin variety - they were the most reliable, he assured me. But then, that didn't work either. She was too tight. "Jesus, there's nothing abnormal about me," he said. "How do you make that out? Somebody got inside her all right to give her that dose. He must have been abnormally small."

　　一次次尝试都失败了，他只得完全放弃。现在他们像兄妹俩似的躺在一起，做着乱伦的美梦。玛莎的活蕴含着哲理，“在俄国常有这种事，一个男人同一个女人睡在一起，可是根本不碰她。他们可以这样几星期地睡下去，根本不去想那件事，直到有一回他碰了她……哗！哗！以后就，哗！”
So, one thing after another failing, he just gave it up altogether. They lie there now like brother and sister, with incestuous dreams. Says Macha, in her philosophic way: "In Russia it often happens that a man sleeps with a woman without touching her. They can go on that way for weeks and weeks and never think anything about it. Until paff! once he touches her… paff! paff! After that it's paff, paff, paff!"

　　现在菲尔莫竭尽全力要叫玛莎恢复健康，他认为一旦治好了她的淋病那个地方就会松开的，真是一个古怪的想法。于是他给她买了一只灌洗袋、大量高锰酸盐、一只旋转注水器和其他一些小玩艺，这全是一个匈牙利医生向他推荐的，此人是住在达里格尔广场的一个替人打胎的江湖郎中。菲尔莫的老板有一回曾使一个十六岁的姑娘怀了孕，她便介绍他认识了这个匈牙利人，后来老板又生了美妙的下疳，仍是匈牙利人治的。在巴黎，一个人正是通过泌尿生殖系统的交往才结识朋友的。总之，在我们的严格监督下，玛莎在留意自己的健康。那天夜里我们为难了一阵，玛莎把一支药栓塞进她身体里之后找不到药栓上的线了。她嚷道，“我的上帝！线到哪儿去了？我的上帝！ 我找不到那根线了。”
All efforts are concentrated now on getting Macha into shape. Fillmore thinks if he cures her of the clap she may loosen up. A strange idea. So he's bought her a douche bag, a stock of permanganate, a whirling syringe and other little things which were recommended to him by a Hungarian doctor, a little quack of an abortionist over near the Place d'Aligre. It seems his boss had knocked up a sixteen year old girl once and she had introduced him to the Hungarian; and then after that the boss had a beautiful chancre and it was the Hungarian again. That's how one gets acquainted in Paris - genito-urinary friendships. Anyway, under our strict supervision, Macha is taking care of herself. The other night, though, we were in a quandary for a while. She stuck the suppository inside her and then she couldn't find the string attached to it. "My God!" she was yelling, "where is that string? My God! I can't find the string!"

　　
　　菲尔莫说，“你在床底下找过吗？”
"Did you look under the bed?" said Fillmore.

　　后来她终于平静下来，但是只平静了几分钟。下一件事是：“我的上帝！我又流血了！我的月经刚完，这会儿又滴出血来了，这准是喝了你们买的便宜香摈的缘故。我的上帝，你们是想叫我流血流死了拉倒吧？”她披着一件晨衣，两腿之间夹着一条毛巾走出来，竭力要显得像平时一样有气派。她说，“我一生都是这样，有神经衰弱。我白天到处跑，到晚上就喝醉了。刚来巴黎时我还是一个纯洁的姑娘，我只读维荣和波德莱尔的诗。当时我在银行里有三十万瑞士法郎，我拼命享受，因为在俄国时他们总是把我管束得很严。当时我比现还要漂亮，所以所有的男人都拜倒在我脚下。”讲到这儿，她停下来把堆在腰间的松松垮垮的衣服拉拉好。“你们千万别以为他叫我扮演一个角色时我就很乐意，是他这么说。我来到这儿……这病是他们给我喝的毒药引起的……就是法国人疯了似的猛喝的那种可怕的开胃酒……当时我遇到了那位电影导演，他是天底下最好的人，他恳求我每天夜里跟他睡觉。我还是一个很傻的黄毛丫头呢，于是一天夜里我允许他强奸了我。我希望成为一个大明星，却不知道他身上尽是毒汁。这样他把淋病传给我了……现在我要他重新得上这种病我投塞纳河自杀全怨他……你们为什么笑，你们不信我自杀过？我可以拿报纸给你们看……所有的报上都有我的照片。哪一天我要给你们看俄文报纸……他们写我写得妙极了……不过，亲爱的，你明白我首先一定得有套新衣服。穿着这身脏兮兮的破衣服是无法引诱这个男人的，再说，我还欠裁缝一万二千法郎呢……”
Finally she quieted down. But only for a few minutes. The next thing was: "My God! I'm bleeding again. I just had my period and now there are gouttes again. It must be that cheap champagne you buy. My God, do you want me to bleed to death?" She comes out with a kimono on and a towel stuck between her legs, trying to look dignified as usual. "My whole life is just like that," she says. "I'm a neurasthenic. The whole day running around and at night I'm drunk again. When I came to Paris I was still an innocent girl. I read only Villon and Baudelaire. But as I had then 300,000 Swiss francs in the bank I was crazy to enjoy myself, because in Russia they were always strict with me. And as I was even more beautiful then than I am now, I had all the men falling at my feet." Here she hitched up the slack which had accumulated around her belt. "You mustn't think I had a stomach like that when I came here… that's from all the poison I was given to drink… those horrible apéritifs which the French are so crazy to drink… So then I met my movie director and he wanted that I should play a part for him. He said I was the most gorgeous creature in the world and he was begging me to sleep with him every night. I was a foolish young virgin and so I permitted him to rape me one night. I wanted to be a great actress and I didn't know he was full of poison. So he gave me the clap… and now I want that he should have it back again. It's his fault that I committed suicide in the Seine… Why are you laughing? Don't you believe that I committed suicide? I can show you the newspapers… there is my picture in all the papers. I will show you the Russian papers some day… they wrote about me wonderfully… But darling, you know that first I must have a new dress. I can't vamp this man with these dirty rags I am in. Besides, I still owe my dressmaker 12,000 francs…"

打这儿起就是一个关于继承权的长故事了，她正在设法得到这个继承权。她有一个年轻的律师，是个法国人，听她的口气是一个相当胆小的人，他在努力争回她的财产。他不时给她一百法郎或差不多这个数目的钱，记在帐上。她说，“他正像所有法国人一样小气，而我是那么漂亮，他的眼睛总是死盯着我。 他不断恳求我跟他睡，我总听他这么说听腻了、听烦了，于是有一天夜里我答应了，只是为了叫他别再罗索，这样我偶尔还能弄到一百法郎。”她歇斯底里地狂笑了一阵，又说，“亲爱的，他的事太好笑，真难以用言语描绘。有一天他打电话说，‘我一定要马上见到你……事情很重要。’见面后他给我看了从医生那儿拿来的一张纸—是淋病！亲爱的，我当着他的面哈哈大笑。
From here on it's a long story about the inheritance which she is trying to collect. She has a young lawyer, a Frenchman, who is rather timid, it seems, and he is trying to win back her fortune. From time to time he used to give her a hundred francs or so on account. "He's stingy, like all the French people," she says. "And I was so beautiful, too, that he couldn't keep his eyes off me. He kept begging me always to fuck him. I got so sick and tired of listening to him that one night I said yes, just to keep him quiet, and so as I wouldn't lose my hundred francs now and then." She paused a moment to laugh hysterically. "My dear," she continued, "it was too funny for words what happened to him. He calls me up on the phone one day and he says: 'I must see you right away… it's very important.' And when I see him he shows me a paper from the doctor - and it's gonorrhea! My dear, I laughed in his face.

　　我怎么能知道自己的淋病还没有治好？‘你想跟我睡，结果是我睡了你！’听了这话他不吱声了。生活中的事情往往是这样……你什么也不疑心，冷不丁就，哗！他是一个大傻瓜，接着又重新爱上了我，他只是求我检点些，别整夜在蒙帕纳斯喝酒、跟人睡觉。他说我使他如醉如痴，他想娶我，后来他家里人听说了我的事，就劝他去了印度支那……”从这儿玛莎又平静地把话题转到她同一个搞同性恋的女人的风流韵事上。“亲爱的，那天晚上她结识我的经过有意思极了。
How should I know that I still had the clap? 'You wanted to fuck me and so I fucked you!' That made him quiet. That's how it goes in life… you don't suspect anything, and then all of a sudden paff, paff, paff! He was such a fool that he fell in love with me all over again. Only he begged me to behave myself and not run around Montparnasse all night drinking and fucking. He said I was driving him crazy. He wanted to marry me and then his family heard about me and they persuaded him to go to Indo China…" From this Macha calmly switches to an affair she had with a Lesbian. "It was very funny, my dear, how she picked me up one night.

　　当时我正在‘吉祥’，像往常一样喝醉了酒。她把我从一个地方领到另一个地方，整夜都在桌子底下同我做爱，后来我再也受不了啦。于是她带我去她的公寓，她给我二百法郎。还叫我跟她一起住，可我不愿让她每天晚上折腾我……那会使人太衰弱。
　　再说，我可以告诉你们现在我对同性恋并不像以前那样感兴趣了。我宁愿跟一个男人睡觉，哪怕那样会疼呢。等我情欲极其高涨时我一点儿也控制不住自己……要来三、四、五次……就那样！哗！哗！哗！过后我就会流血，这对健康非常不好，因为我很容易贫血，现在你们明白我为什么每隔一段时间就得让一个搞同性恋的女人与我兴奋一次了……”
I was at the "Fétiche" and I was drunk as usual. She took me from one place to the other and she made love to me under the table all night until I couldn't stand it any more. Then she cook me to her apartment and for two hundred francs I let her suck me off. She wanted me to live with her but I didn't want to have her suck me off every night… it makes you too weak. Besides, I can tell you that I don't care so much for Lesbians as I used to. I would rather sleep with a man even though it hurts me. When I get terribly excited I can't hold myself back any more… three, four, five times… just like that! Paff, paff, paff! And then I bleed and that is very unhealthy for me because I am inclined to be anemic. So you see why once in a while I must let myself be sucked by a Lesbian…"

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313560鲜花 126鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 暖雯雯
210 818 1018 1226
举报 只看该作者 41楼  发表于: 2013-10-31 0

Part 13 Chapter 1

冷天来临时公主不见了，工作室里只有一个小火炉，使人越来越不舒服。卧室冷得像个冰窖，厨房也好不了多少，只有火炉周围的一刊、块地方是真正暖和的。于是玛莎又找了一个被阉割过的雕刻家，她离开前还对我们讲了这个人的情况。几天后她又想回到我们这儿来，可是菲尔莫坚决不同意。她抱怨说雕刻家不停地吻她，弄得她一夜睡不成觉，而且没有热水，无法使用灌洗器。最后她还是认为不回来也一样，她说，“这样我身边再也没烛台了。总有那个烛台……叫我受不了。你们要是老老实实地不招惹我，我当时是不会离开的……”
When the cold weather set in the princess disappeared. It was getting uncomfortable with just a little coal stove in the studio; the bedroom was like an icebox and the kitchen was hardly any better. There was just a little space around the stove where it was actually warm. So Macha had found herself a sculptor who was castrated. She told us about him before she left. After a few days she tried coming back to us, but Fillmore wouldn't hear of it. She complained that the sculptor kept her awake all night kissing her. And then there was no hot water for her douches. But finally she decided that it was just as well she didn't come back. "I won't have that candlestick next to me any more," she said. "Always that candlestick… it made me nervous. If you had only been a fairy I would have stayed with you…"

玛莎走后，我们晚上的消遣方式变得全然不同了。我们经常坐在火炉旁，喝着加了热水的烈酒谈论在美国时的生活。我们谈论它的口吻就好像永远不再指望回到那儿去了。菲尔莫有一张纽约市地图，他把它钉在墙上，于是我们常常花去整个晚上探讨巴黎和纽约这两个城市共有的优点。我们在讨论中是不可避免地要谈到惠特曼这个人，这个美国在其短促的历史上造就的一个孤零零的人物。在惠特曼的诗中，整幅美国景象有了生命力—她的过去和未来、她的诞生和死亡，美国有价值的一切惠特曼都已说到，没有更多的话可说了。未来是属于机器、属于机器人的。惠特曼，他是灵与肉的诗人，是第一个，也是最后一个诗人。今天他的诗几乎已无法解读了，这是一座刻满粗糙的神秘符号的纪念碑，我们没有解读它的钥匙。欧洲语言没有一种可与他创造的不朽精神相提并论，欧洲已到处皆是艺术品，她的土地中尽是死人骨头，她的博物馆被掠来的珍宝塞得满满当当，不过欧洲从未得到的是一种自由、健康的精神，也就是你可以称其为“人”的精神。歌德离这方面最近，但是相比之下歌德不过是一件填进东西的衬衣。歌德是一位有名望的公民，一个学究、一个令人生厌的家伙、一个多才多艺的人物，只是他身上打着德国的双鹰商标。歌德的安详，那种宁静、气派十足的态度不过是一个德国资产阶级神灵在昏昏迷迷地沉睡。歌德是事情的结尾，惠特曼却是开端。
With Macha gone our evenings took on a different character. Often we sat by the fire drinking hot toddies and discussing the life back there in the States. We talked about it as if we never expected to go back there again. Fillmore had a map of New York City which he had tacked on the wall; we used to spend whole evenings discussing the relative virtues of Paris and New York. And inevitably there always crept into our discussions the figure of Whitman, that one lone figure which America has produced in the course of her brief life. In Whitman the whole American scene comes to life, her past and her future, her birth and her death. Whatever there is of value in America Whitman has expressed, and there is nothing more to be said. The future belongs to the machine, to the robots. He was the Poet of the Body and the Soul, Whitman. The first and the last poet. He is almost undecipherable today, a monument covered with rude hieroglyphs for which there is no key. It seems strange almost to mention his name over here. There is no equivalent in the languages of Europe for the spirit which he immortalized. Europe is saturated with art and her soil is full of dead bones and her museums are bursting with plundered treasures, but what Europe has never had is a free, healthy spirit, what you might call a MAN. Goethe was the nearest approach, but Goethe was a stuffed shirt, by comparison. Goethe was a respectable citizen, a pedant, a bore, a universal spirit, but stamped with the German trade mark, with the double eagle. The serenity of Goethe, the calm, Olympian attitude, is nothing more than the drowsy stupor of a German burgeois deity. Goethe is an end of something, Whitman is a beginning.

　　讨论过一阵这类事情后我有时便起身穿好衣服出去散步，我穿起毛衣和菲尔莫的风衣，又在上面套上一件披肩。这种阴湿寒冷的气候很难抵挡，只有精神坚强才行。人们都说美国是一个极冷和极热气候并存的国家，而且温度计上显示出的严寒温度在这儿是闻所未闻的，不过巴黎的寒冬也是美国所没有的，这是心理上体验到的寒冷，心里冷，身上也冷。这儿从不结冰，也就无所谓解冻了。人们学会了如何抵御遒劲、清新的寒冷气候，正如他们用高墙、门闩和百叶窗，用不断咆哮、说话刻雹蓬头垢面的看门人来防止别人侵入他们的隐私一样。他们加强自己抵抗寒冷的能力，保暖是关键。保暖和安全，这样他们便可以在安逸中烂掉。在一个阴湿的冬夜里根本毋须查阅地图以确定巴黎的纬度，它是一个北方城市，是建在填满人脑壳和人骨的沼泽地上的前哨。沿着林荫道有冰凉的人造电气热源，这就是用紫外线打出的“皆大欢喜”，在它的照射下光顾一连串杜邦咖啡店的顾客显得像生了坏疽的尸首。“皆大欢喜！”这是滋养孤苦伶仃的乞丐的金玉良言，他们在蒙蒙细雨般的紫色光线照射下整夜在街上走来走去。凡有光线的地方总有一点点热气，看着大腹便便、无衣食之忧的王八蛋们喝下一杯杯烈酒和热气腾腾的黑咖啡，一个叫花子也会暖和起来，凡是有光线的地方人行道上总会有人，他们互相推挤，透过脏内衣，通过恶臭的、诅咒谩骂时哈出的气释放出一点儿热量，像牲口一样。或许熙熙攘攘的景观会延续八到十个街区，过后街道又沉入黑夜之中，阴沉、污秽、黑暗的夜，像汤碗里凝结的动物油。参差不齐的住宅延伸了好多个街区，每扇窗都紧闭着，铺面都闩着、锁着。这是连绵多少英里的石筑监牢，里面没有一丝热气，狗和猫全同金丝雀一道呆在屋里，蟑螂和臭虫都被妥当地监禁起来了。“皆大欢喜”。如果你一文不名，为什么不拿几份旧报纸在大教堂的台阶上给自己铺一张床？那儿的门都闩好了，而且不会有管理人员来打搅你。睡在地铁门外更好，那儿有人给你做伴。在一个下雨的夜里看看他们吧，他们全像床垫一样僵硬地躺着—男人、女人、虱子，全抱成一团，用报纸遮挡别人吐唾沫和没有腿的害虫。到桥下或市场上的棚子底下看看他们吧，同像珠宝一样装在袋子里的干净新鲜蔬菜相比，他们是多么卑贱呀！就连油腻腻的钩子上挂着的死马、死牛和死羊看起来也更诱人些，至少明天我们还要吃这些东西，甚至它们的肠肚也有用途。可那些睡在雨里、浑身发臭的叫花子又有什么用呢？他们能替我们做什么？他们叫我们流五分钟血，如此而已。
After a discussion of this sort I would sometimes put on my things and go for a walk, bundled up in a sweater, a spring overcoat of Fillmore's and a cape over that. A foul, damp cold against which there is no protection except a strong spirit. They say America is a country of extremes, and it is true that the thermometer registers degrees of cold which are practically unheard of here; but the cold of a Paris winter is a cold unknown to America, it is psychological, an inner as well as an outer cold. If it never freezes here it never thaws either. Just as the people protect themselves against the invasion of their privacy, by their high walls, their bolts and shutters, their growling, evil tongued, slatternly concierges, so they have learned to protect themselves against the cold and heat of a bracing, vigorous climate. They have fortified themselves: protection is the keyword. Protection and security. In order that they may rot in comfort. On a damp winter's night it is not necessary to look at the map to discover the latitude of Paris. It is a northern city, an outpost erected over a swamp filled in with skulls and bones. Along the boulevards there is a cold electrical imitation of heat. Tout Va Bien in ultraviolet rays that make the clients of the Dupont chain cafés look like gangrened cadavers. Tout Va Bien! That's the motto that nourishes the forlorn beggars who walk up and down all night under the drizzle of the violet rays. Wherever there are lights there is a little heat. One gets warm from watching the fat, secure bastards down their grogs, their steaming black coffees. Where the lights are there are people on the sidewalks, jostling one another, giving off a little animal heat through their dirty underwear and their foul, cursing breaths. Maybe for a stretch of eight or ten blocks there is a semblance of gaiety, and then it tumbles back into night, dismal, foul, black night like frozen fat in a soup tureen. Blocks and blocks of jagged tenements, every window closed tight, every shopfront barred and bolted. Miles and miles of stone prisons without the faintest glow of warmth; the dogs and the cats are all inside with the canary buds. The cockroaches and the bedbugs too are safely incarcerated. Tout Va Bien. If you haven't a sou why just take a few old newspapers and make yourself a bed on the steps of a cathedral. The doors are well bolted and there will be no draughts to disturb you. Better still is to sleep outside the Metro doors; there you will have company. Look at them on a rainy night, lying there stiff as mattresses - men, women, lice, all huddled together and protected by the newspapers against spittle and the vermin that walks without legs. Look at them under the bridges or under the market sheds. How vile they look in comparison with the clean, bright vegetables stacked up like jewels. Even the dead horses and the cows and sheep hanging from the greasy hooks look more inviting. At least we will eat these tomorrow and even the intestines will serve a purpose. But these filthy beggars lying in the rain, what purpose do they serve? What good can they do us? They make us bleed for five minutes, that's all.

　　唉，得了，这些是基督教诞生两千年后的夜间我在雨中散步时产生的感想。至少现在那些鸟儿都有人养活了，还有猫和狗。每一回从看门人窗下经过并且被她恶狠狠地盯住瞧了个够之后，我就会产生一种疯狂的欲念，想掐死世上所有的鸟类。在每一颗冷酷的心灵深处仍有一两滴爱—刚好够喂小鸟的。
Oh, well, these are night thoughts produced by walking in the rain after two thousand years of Christianity. At least now the birds are well provided for, and the cats and dogs. Every time I pass the concierge's window and catch the full icy impact of her glance I have an insane desire to throttle all the birds in creation. At the bottom of every frozen heart there is a drop or two of love - just enough to feed the birds.

　　仍叫我难以忘怀的是观念与生存之间竟有这么大的区别，其中存在永久性的脱节，尽管我们试图用一块鲜艳的篷布把两者蒙在一起。而这也办不到，观念必须同行动结合在一起，如果观念中没有性，没有生命力，那么也就没有行动。观念无法在头脑的真空中单独存在，观念是同生存相联系的：肝观念，肾观念，组织间隙间的观念，等等。如果仅仅是为了一个观念，哥白尼本会砸烂整个现存宇宙的，哥伦布也会葬身马尾藻海。这个观念的美学孕出一个又一个你摆在窗台上的花盆。可是如果既不下雨又不出太阳，把花盆摆出窗外又有什么用呢？
Still I can't get it out of my mind what a discrepancy there is between ideas and living. A permanent dislocation, though we try to cover the two with a bright awning. And it won't go. Ideas have to be wedded to action; if there is no sex, no vitality in them, there is no action. Ideas cannot exist alone in the vacuum of the mind. Ideas are related to living: liver ideas, kidney ideas, interstitial ideas, etc. If it were only for the sake of an idea Copernicus would have smashed the existent macrocosm and Columbus would have foundered in the Sargasso Sea. The aesthetics of the idea breeds flowerpots and flowerpots you put on the window sill. But if there be no rain or sun of what use putting flowerpots outside the window?

　　菲尔莫关于黄金的主意多极了，他把它叫作关于黄金的“神话”。我喜欢“神话”，也喜欢有关黄金的事，可我并不为此着迷，也看不出我们为什么要造花盆，即使是金子的花盆。他告诉我法国人正在把他们的金子贮藏在防水箱子里，存放在地下，他说有一部小火车头在这些地下洞穴和走道中到处跑。我极欣赏这个主意，金子置身于深深的、无人破坏的寂静中，在摄氏十六又四分之一度的环境中静静地沉睡。他说一个军的部队花四十六天零三十六小时仍数不清埋在法国银行下面的全部金子，还有储备的金假牙，手镯、结婚戒指，等等。还储存了够吃八十天的食物，金子堆上还有一个抗御高爆炸药造成的震动的人工湖。他说黄金趋向于渐渐消失，这是一个神话，并不是又有人侵吞公款。太妙了！我在设想当我们放弃了观念上、衣饰上和道德上的金本位制后，这个世界将会变成什么样子。想想看，爱情上的金本位制！
Fillmore is full of ideas about gold. The "mythos" of gold, he calls it. I like "mythos" and I like the idea of gold, but I am not obsessed by the subject and I don't see why we should make flowerpots, even of gold. He tells me that the French are hoarding their gold away in watertight compartments deep below the surface of the earth; he tells me that there is a little locomotive which runs around in these subterranean vaults and corridors. I like the idea enormously. A profound, uninterrupted silence in which the gold softly snoozes at a temperature of 17? degrees Centigrade. He says an army working 46 days and 37 hours would not be sufficient to count all the gold that is sunk beneath the Bank of France, and that there is a reserve supply of false teeth, bracelets, wedding rings, etc. Enough food also to last for eighty days and a lake on top of the gold pile to resist the shock of high explosives. Gold, he says, tends to become more and more invisible, a myth, and no more defalcations. Excellent! I am wondering what will happen to the world when we go off the gold standard in ideas, dress, morals, etc. The gold standard of love!

　　迄今为止，我的符合自己心愿的想法一直是要摆脱文学的金本位制。简单他讲，我是想展现情感的再生，描写一个人处于最艰深的思考时的行动，就是说，在他处于谵狂状态中的行为。我要刻画一个苏格拉底之前的人物，一个半是色鬼半是巨人的生灵。简而言之，我要在肚脐的基础上建立一个世界，而不是在钉在十字架上的一个抽象观念上。你在一些地方会遇到遭人冷落的塑像、设有陷讲的绿洲、被塞万提斯忽视的风车、流到山上去的河流、从上到下身上长着五六个乳房的女人。（斯特林堡在给高更的信中说，“我看到的树是哪一个植物学家都不会再看到的，我看的动物是居维叶从未想到过的，我看到的人是只有你才能够创造的。”）当雷姆卜兰特如愿以后，他带着金条、干肉饼和折叠床下到地洞里，“黄金”是住在地下的神的黑话，这个词里包含着梦幻和神话。我们正在回到炼金术的年代，回到造出我们膨胀的象证的虚假的亚历山大式的智慧上去。真正的智慧却已被学问的小气鬼藏在地窖深处，他们用磁铁在空中划圆圈的这一天就要到来。为了找到一块矿石你得带上两件仪器走到一万英尺的高处，纬度高的地方最好，你得在那儿同地球内部及死人的幽灵建立起精神感应式的联系。再也没有克朗代克，再也没有富金矿了，你将不得不学着唱两句、跳两下，读一读十二宫图，研究研究你的内脏。所有掖在地球口袋里的金子都得叫人提到，所有的象征主义都得重新从人的肠子里扯出来，不过首先要改善工具，首先要发明更好的飞机，要分辨声音来自何方，这样便不至于听到屁股下有爆炸声便傻呼呼地乱跑。其次有必要适应平流层中的寒冷层次，成为空中的一条冷血鱼。没有崇敬，没有神灵，没有渴求，没有懊悔，没有歇斯底里。总之，正如菲力浦?达茨所说—“别灰心！”
Up to the present, my idea in collaborating with myself has been to get off the gold standard of literature. My idea briefly has been to present a resurrection of the emotions, to depict the conduct of a human being in the stratosphere of ideas, that is, in the grip of delirium. To paint a pre-Socratic being, a creature part goat, part Titan. In short, to erect a world on the basis of the omphalos, not on an abstract idea nailed to a cross. Here and there you may have come across neglected statues, oases untapped, windmills overlooked by Cervantes, rivers that run uphill, women with five and six breasts ranged longitudinally along the torso. (Writing to Gauguin, Strindberg said: "J'ai vu des arbres que ne retrouverait aucun botaniste, des animaux que Cuvier n'a jamais soup?onnés et des hommes que vous seul avez pu créer.") When Rembrandt hit par he went below with the gold ingots and the pemmican and the portable beds. Gold is a night word belonging to the chthonian mind: it has dream in it and mythos. We are reverting to alchemy, to that fake Alexandrian wisdom which produced our inflated symbols. Real wisdom is being stored away in the subcellars by the misers of learning. The day is coming when they will be circling around in the middle air with magnetizers; to find a piece of ore you will have to go up ten thousand feet with a pair of instruments - in a cold latitude preferably - and establish telepathic communication with the bowels of the earth and the shades of the dead. No more Klondikes. No more bonanzas. You will have to learn to sing and caper a bit, to read the zodiac and study your entrails. All the gold that is being tucked away in the pockets of the earth will have to be re mined; all this symbolism will have to be dragged out again from the bowels of man. But first the instruments must be perfected. First it is necessary to invent better airplanes, to distinguish where the noise comes from and not go daffy just because you hear an explosion under your ass. And secondly it will be necessary to get adapted to the cold layers of the stratosphere, to become a cold blooded fish of the air. No reverence. No piety. No longing. No regr ets. No hysteria. Above all, as Philippe Datz says - "NO DISCOURAGEMENT!"

　　这些都是在三一广场喝下一杯味美思和黑茶蕉子酒后激发的快活念头。正值一个星期六下午，手中拿着一本“失败”的书，一切便在神圣的痰液里游泳了。酒在我嘴里留下一股发苦的草药味，我们伟大西方文明的庇荫处现在像圣人的脚趾甲一样地腐烂。女人们正从我身边走过，成千上万的女人，她们全在我面前扭屁股。大钟声在震荡，公共汽车驶上了人行道，互相撞在一起。侍者在用一块肮脏的破布擦桌子，老板兴高采烈地给现金出纳机搔痒。我脸上一副空虚的表情，烂醉如泥，视线模糊，我死死盯着擦过我身边的屁股。在对面的钟楼上，那个驼背在用一支金槌敲钟，鸽子闻声惊叫起来。我打开书。那本尼采称之为“迄今为止最好的德国书”。--书中写道：“人会变得更聪明、更敏感，但是不会更好、更幸福，行动更坚决，至少在某些时期是如此。我预见上帝看到人类不再欢悦的时刻会到来，那时他会打碎一切以便重新创造。我坚信一切都是为达到这一目的而设计的，而且这焕然一新的新纪元在遥远的未来降临的准确时间已确定。不过在此之前有一段漫长的时间，我们人类仍能在这片亲爱的古老土地上过几千几万年欢乐的生活。”
These are sunny thoughts inspired by a vermouth cassis at the Place de la Trinité. A Saturday afternoon and a "misfire" book in my hands. Everything swimming in a divine mucopus. The drink leaves a bitter herbish taste in my mouth, the lees of our Great Western civilization, rotting now like the toenails of the saints. Women are passing by - regiments of them - all swinging their asses in front of me; the chimes are ringing and the buses are climbing the sidewalk and bussing one another. The gar?on wipes the table with a dirty rag while the patronne tickles the cash register with fiendish glee. A look of vacuity on my face, blotto, vague in acuity, biting the asses that brush by me. In the belfry opposite the hunchback strikes with a golden mallet and the pigeons scream alarum. I open the book - the book which Nietzsche called "the best German book there is" - and it says:

"MEN WILL BECOME MORE CLEVER AND MORE ACUTE; BUT NOT BETTER, HAPPIER, AND STRONGER IN ACTION - OR, AT LEAST, ONLY AT EPOCHS. I FORESEE THE TIME WHEN GOD WILL HAVE NO MORE JOY IN THEM, BUT WILL BREAK UP EVERYTHING FOR A RENEWED CREATION. I AM CERTAIN THAT EVERYTHING IS PLANNED TO THIS END, AND THAT THE TIME AND HOUR IN THE DISTANT FUTURE FOR THE OCCURRENCE OF THIS RENOVATING EPOCH ARE ALREADY FIXED. BUT A LONG TIME WILL ELAPSE FIRST, AND WE MAY STILL FOR THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF YEARS AMUSE OURSELVES ON THIS DEAR OLD SURFACE."

　　妙极了！起码在一百年前就有人有眼光看出整个世界快完蛋了！我们的西方世界！每当我看到男男女女在监狱大墙后面无精打采地移动—他们头上有遮盖，只是与世隔绝短短的几小时—我便大吃一惊，这些衰弱的人身上居然仍具有表现出情趣的潜力。灰色的大墙后面仍有人性的火花，只是永远也不会燃成大火了。我问自己，这些是男人和女人还是影子？被看不见的细绳吊着晃来晃去的木偶的影子？他们显然是能自由活动的，不过却无处可去。他们仅仅在一个区域内是自由的，在那儿可以随心所欲地游荡，不过他们尚未学会如何飞翔。至今还没有一个人在梦里飞起来过，也没有一个人生下来便很轻、很欢快，能飞离地球。鼓动有力的翅膀的雄鹰有时尚会重重地跌到地面上，它们呼呼振动翅膀的声音使我们头晕眼花。呆在地球上吧，你们这些未来的鹰！天空已有人邀游过，那儿是空的。
Excellent! At least a hundred years ago there was a man who had vision enough to see that the world was pooped out. Our Western world! - When I see the figures of men and women moving listlessly behind their prison walls, sheltered, secluded for a few brief hours, I am appalled by the potentialities for drama that are still contained in these feeble bodies. Behind the gray walls there are human sparks, and yet never a conflagration. Are these men and women, I ask myself, or are these shadows, shadows of puppets dangled by invisible strings? They move in freedom apparently, but they have nowhere to go. In one realm only are they free and there they may roam at will - but they have not yet learned how to take wing. So far there have been no dreams that have taken wing. Not one man has been born light enough, gay enough, to leave the earth! The eagles who flapped their mighty pinions for a while came crashing heavily to earth. They made us dizzy with the flap and whir of their wings. Stay on the earth, you eagles of the future!

　　地底下也是空的，填满了枯骨和幻影。呆在地球上，再漂浮几十万年吧！
The heavens have been explored and they are empty. And what lies under the earth is empty too, filled with bones and shadows. Stay on the earth and swim another few hundred thousand years!
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Part 13 Chapter 2

现在是凌晨三点钟，我们这儿有几个婊子，她们正在光地板上翻跟头。菲尔莫光着身子走来走去，手里端着一只高脚杯，他的肚皮绷得像鼓一样，硬得像一根管子。从下午三点开始不停地往下灌的茵香酒、香摈酒、科尼亚克白兰地和安如葡萄酒在他嘴巴里像阴沟一样汩汩响，姑娘们把耳朵贴在他肚子上倾听，像听音乐匣似的。用一根纽扣钩拨开他的嘴，往里面再倒一杯酒，当这阴沟发出潺潺响声时我听见蝙蝠飞出钟楼，这场梦也变得奇妙了。
And now it is three o'clock in the morning and we have a couple of trollops here who are doing somersaults on the bare floor. Fillmore is walking around naked with a goblet in his hand, and that paunch of his is drumtight, hard as a fistula. All the Pernod and champagne and cognac and Anjou which he guzzled from three in the afternoon on, is gurgling in his trap like a sewer. The girls are putting their ears to his belly as if it were a music box. Open his mouth with a buttonhook and drop a slug in the slot. When the sewer gurgles I hear the bats flying out of the belfry and the dream slides into artifice.

　　姑娘们脱光了，我们检查一遍地板，以免木刺戳进她们屁股里去。她们仍全穿着高跟鞋。她们的屁股！她们的屁股磨光了、擦破了、用沙纸打光了，光滑、结实、鲜艳得像一只台球或一个麻风病人的脑袋。墙上挂着莫娜的像，她面朝东北方，与她的视线平行的是用绿墨水写的克拉科夫，她左边是多尔多涅河，这个词是用红铅笔圈起来的。突然我看到眼前一个鲜艳、光亮的台球上出现了一道黑洞洞毛茸茸的缝，这时支撑我的两条腿像一把剪刀一样。瞧一眼这个黑洞洞的、未缝台的伤口我的脑袋上便裂开一道深深的缝。所有以前费力地或心不在焉地分门别类、贴标签、引证、归档、密封并且打上印戳的印象和记忆乱纷纷一涌而出，就像一群蚂蚁从人行道上的一个蚁穴中涌出。这时地球停转了，时间停滞了，我的梦之间的相互联系也断了、消逝了，在精神分裂症大发作中我的肚肠流出来，这一次大扫除后我就与上帝面对面站在一起了。我又看到了毕加索笔下仰卧着的伟大母亲，她们的乳房上爬满了蜘蛛，她们的传奇深藏在迷宫里，而莫莉?布卢姆永远躺在一块脏垫子上了。厕所门上涂着红粉笔画的阴茎，圣母用悦耳的声音发出哀号。我听到一阵放荡的大笑，这儿是满满一屋子患了牙关紧闭症的人，那个发黑的身体像磷一样在发光。放荡、完全控制不住的狂笑，还有冲着我来的格格狂笑，那是从青苔般的髭间发出的笑声，这笑声使那个台球鲜艳、光滑的表面起了皱褶。这是血管里含有杜松子酒的伟大妓女、人类的母亲。婊子们的母亲啊！蜘蛛在你对数的坟墓里滚动我们，这是一只贪得无厌的恶魔，它的笑声叫我心碎。我低头看看这个深陷下去的坑，这是一个不留痕迹的迷失的世界。我又听到钟鸣，斯塔尼斯拉斯宫那儿有两个修女，她们衣衫下散发出陈腐的奶油味，还有因为下雨始终未付印的宣言、为了发展整形外科而打的战争、威尔士王子飞遍全世界装修无名英雄的陵墓。每一只飞出钟楼的骗幅都是一项失败的事业，每一次狂欢都是注定要死的人从单人战壕里通过无线电台发出的呻吟。从那个黑洞洞的未缝合的伤口、从那个令人嫌恶的臭水沟、从那个挤满黑压压人群的城市的摇篮（思想的乐曲就在这儿被淹没在动物油中）、从被扼杀的乌托邦中，生下一个小丑，一个半美半丑、半明亮半混沌的怪物，这个小丑向厂向旁边看时是撒旦，向上看时是一个涂了黄油的天使、一个长翅膀的蜗牛。
The girls have undressed and we are examining the floor to make sure that they won't get any splinters in their ass. They are still wearing their high heeled shoes. But the ass! The ass is worn down, scraped, sandpapered, smooth, hard, bright as a billiard ball or the skull of a leper. On the wall is Mona's picture: she is facing northeast on a line with Cracow written in green ink. To the left of her is the Dordogne, encircled with a red pencil. Suddenly I see a dark, hairy crack in front of me set in a bright, polished billiard ball; the legs are holding me like a pair of scissors. A glance at that dark, unstitched wound and a deep fissure in my brain opens up: all the images and memories that had been laboriously or absent mindedly assorted, labeled, documented, filed, sealed and stamped break forth pell mell like ants pouring out of a crack in the sidewalk; the world ceases to revolve, time stops, the very nexus of my dreams is broken and dissolved and my guts spill out in a grand schizophrenic rush, an evacuation that leaves me face to face with the Absolute. I see again the great sprawling mothers of Picasso, their breasts covered with spiders, their legend hidden deep in the labyrinth. And Molly Bloom lying on a dirty mattress for eternity. On the toilet door red chalk cocks and the madonna uttering the diapason of woe. I hear a wild, hysterical laugh, a room full of lockjaw, and the body that was black glows like phosphorus. Wild, wild, utterly uncontrollable laughter, and that crack laughing at me too, laughing through the mossy whiskers, a laugh that creases the bright, polished surface of the billiard ball. Great whore and mother of man with gin in her veins. Mother of all harlots, spider rolling us in your logarithmic grave, insatiable one, fiend whose laughter rives me! I look down into that sunken crater, world lost and without traces, and I hear the bells chiming, two nuns at the Palace Stanislas and the smell of rancid butter under their dresses, manifesto never printed because it was raining, war fought to further the cause of plastic surgery, the Prince of Wales flying around the world decorating the graves of unknown heroes. Every bat flying out of the belfry a lost cause, every whoopla a groan over the radio from the private trenches of the damned. Out of that dark, unstitched wound, that sink of abominations, that cradle of black thronged cities where the music of ideas is drowned in cold fat, out of strangled Utopias is born a clown, a being divided between beauty and ugliness, between light and chaos, a clown who when he looks down and sidelong is Satan himself and when he looks upward sees a buttered angel, a snail with wings.

　　低头看那条缝里，我看到一个方程式符号，一个处于平衡状态的世界，一个化为零蛋、一点痕迹不留的世界，这不是范诺登用手电筒照的那个零蛋，也不是那个过早地醒悟过来的人身上的空洞，这更像一个阿拉伯数码里的零，从这个符号中能跃出无数数学的世界和一个杠杆支点，这个杠杆平衡星星、不清晰的梦、比空气还轻的机器、轻量级的四肢及生产这些东西的炸药。我要在那条缝里一直穿上去，穿过眼睛，让这双可爱的、古怪的、炼金术炼成的眼睛拼命转动。只有在它们转动时我才会又听见陀思妥耶夫斯基的话，听见这些话滚过一页页纸张，这些话观察极为细致入微，内省极为大胆，所有悲哀的言外之意都轻轻地幽默地提到了，现在这些话就像风琴曲子一直奏到人的心脏破裂为止。过后什么也没有了，只剩下令人目眩、的人的强烈光线，它将群星多产的种子带走，这是艺术史，它植根于大屠杀中。
When I look down into that crack I see an equation sign, the world at balance, a world reduced to zero and no trace of remainder. Not the zero on which Van Norden turned his flashlight, not the empty crack of the prematurely disillusioned man, but an Arabian zero rather, the sign from which spring endless mathematical worlds, the fulcrum which balances the stars and the light dreams and the machines lighter than air and the lightweight limbs and the explosives that produced them. Into that crack I would like to penetrate up to the eyes, make them waggle ferociously, dear, crazy, metallurgical eyes. When the eyes waggle then will I hear again Dostoevski's words, hear them rolling on page after page, with minutest observation, with maddest introspection, with all the undertones of misery now lightly, humorously touched, now swelling like an organ note until the heart bursts and there is nothing left but a blinding, scorching light, the radiant light that carries off the fecundating seeds of the stars. The story of art whose roots lie in massacre.

　　每当我低头看一个婊子被人操过多次的阴户时便感觉到了脚下的整个世界，这是一个分崩离析的世界、一个精疲力竭的世界。它光滑得就像麻风病人的脑袋一样。假如哪个人敢把他对这个世界的看法都谈出来，他就连一平方英尺的立足之地也得不到。一个人一露面这个世界便重压在他身上，把他的腰压断。总有过多的腐朽柱子立着，过多令人痛苦的人性有待人去繁衍。上层建筑是一个谎言，其基础则是巨大的、令人不寒而栗的恐怖。如果说在过去千百年间真的出现了一个眼睛中流露出绝望、饥饿神色的人，一个为创造一种新生物把世界翻个底朝天的人，那么他带给世界的爱便会化为忿怒，他自己则会变成一场灾难。如果我们不时读到探究真理的书、刺伤人使人冷酷无情的书、令人叫苦落泪诅咒谩骂的书，我们就知道这些文字是那个被压趴下的人写的，他唯一的抵抗就是诉诸文字了，而他的文字总是比世界上撒谎压人的重量更有力，比胆小鬼们发明的要压垮人格之奇迹的刑台和刑车更有力。如果哪个人敢于直抒胸臆、秉笔直书他的真实经历，真正的真实，那么我想世界将毁灭、将被吹成碎片，没有神、变故和意志能重新弥合起这些失去的碎片、原子和不可摧毁的要素以再造一个世界。
When I look down into this fucked out cunt of a whore I feel the whole world beneath me, a world tottering and crumbling, a world used up and polished like a leper's skull. If there were a man who dared to say all that he thought of this world there would not be left him a square foot of ground to stand on. When a man appears the world bears down on him and breaks his back. There are always too many rotten pillars left standing, too much festering humanity for man to bloom. The superstructure is a lie and the foundation is a huge quaking fear. If at intervals of centuries there does appear a man with a desperate, hungry look in his eye, a man who would turn the world upside down in order to create a new race, the love that he brings to the world is turned to bile and he becomes a scourge. If now and then we encounter pages that explode, pages that wound and sear, that wring groans and tears and curses, know that they come from a man with his back up, a man whose only defenses left are his words and his words are always stronger than the lying, crushing weight of the world, stronger than all the racks and wheels which the cowardly invent to crush out the miracle of personality. If any man ever dared to translate all that is in his heart, to put down what is really his experience, what is truly his truth, I think then the world would go to smash, that it would be blown to smithereens and no god, no accident, no will could ever again assemble the pieces, the atoms, the indestructible elements that have gone to make up the world.

　　自从最后一个贪吃的人、最后一个懂得“喜悦”的含义的人出现以来的四百年间，人类在艺术、思想和行为上都在持续不断地衰败。这个世界完蛋了，连一个干脆利落的屁也不曾留下。哪一个绝望的、饥肠辘辘的人会对现存政府、法律、道德、准则、理想、思想、图腾和禁忌表现出丝毫敬重？如果谁知道念出那个在今天被称之为“缝”或“洞”的谜一般的东西意味着什么，如果谁对被贴上“淫秽”标签的现象怀有最低限度的神秘感，那么这个世界便会分裂成几块。正是对淫秽的惧怕，即事情干巴巴的、被人操过的那一面，使得这个疯狂的文明社会显得像个火山口，创造性精神和人类母亲大腿间正是这种张开大嘴打哈欠似的空幻感。一个饥饿、绝望的精灵出现并使一只土拨鼠锐声尖叫是因为他懂得在哪儿敷下性的炽热导线，是因为他懂得在无动于衷的坚硬表现下藏着丑恶的创伤，其伤口永远不会愈合。于是他把这段炽热的导线夹在两腿间，他使用难以令人接受的卑下手段。戴上橡皮手套也没有用，所有能冷静、机智地加以处理的都是表皮上的东西，而一个志在创造的人总是要钻到底下、钻到开放的伤口上、钻到正在化脓的对淫秽的惧怕上。他把发电机拴在最脆弱的部分，叫人操过的火山口是淫秽的，比一切更加淫秽的是隋性，比最难听的赌咒发誓更亵读的则是麻痹。如果只剩下一个裂口的创伤，它一定得向外喷射，尽管喷出来的只是蛤螈蝙蝠和侏儒。
In the four hundred years since the last devouring soul appeared, the last man to know the meaning of ecstasy, there has been a constant and steady decline of man in art, in thought, in action. The world is pooped out: there isn't a dry fart left. Who that has a desperate, hungry eye can have the slightest regard for these existent governments, laws, codes, principles, ideals, ideas, totems, and taboos? If anyone knew what it meant to read the riddle of that thing which today is called a "crack" or a "hole," if any one had the least feeling of mystery about the phenomena which are labeled "obscene," this world would crack asunder. It is the obscene horror, the dry, fucked out aspect of things which makes this crazy civilization look like a crater. It is this great yawning gulf of nothingness which the creative spirits and mothers of the race carry between their legs. When a hungry, desperate spirit appears and makes the guinea pigs squeal it is because he knows where to put the live wire of sex, because he knows that beneath the hard carapace of indifference there is concealed the ugly gash, the wound that never heals. And he puts the live wire right between the legs; he hits below the belt, scorches the very gizzards. It is no use putting on rubber gloves; all that can be coolly and intellectually handled belongs to the carapace and a man who is intent on creation always dives beneath, to the open wound, to the festering obscene horror. He hitches his dynamo to the tenderest parts; if only blood and pus gush forth, it is something. The dry, fucked-out crater is obscene. More obscene than anything is inertia. More blasphemous than the bloodiest oath is paralysis. If there is only a gaping wound left then it must gush forth though it produce nothing but toads and bats and homunculi.

　　每一样东西都装在另一样东西里面，有的是完全的，有的是不完全的。地球不是健康和舒适的干旱高原，而是一位仰卧的硕大女性，她天鹅绒般的躯体随着海浪而涨大，起伏，她在大汗淋漓、极度痛苦的王冠重压下蠕动。赤身裸体性交后，她在星星紫光笼罩下的云彩中滚动。她的全身在狂热的激情支配下放出光芒，从慷慨的乳房到隐约可见的大腿。她在四季和岁月间邀游，一场盛大的狂欢以突发的狂怒攫住她的躯体，抖去了天空中的蜘蛛网，于是她以暴躁的兴奋心情降落在自己的旋转轨道上。有时她像一只母鹿。这只母鹿跌进了陷阶，它心怦怦跳着躺在那儿等待钦声敲响、猎狗狂吠。爱与恨、失望、怜悯、怒气、厌恶—这些在行星间的乱交中又算得了什么？当夜晚提供了耀眼的太阳般的欣喜时，战争、疾并残酷和恐怖又算得了什么？若不是记起回到野蛮时代和星团，我们睡觉时嚼的糠又是什么？
Everything is packed into a second which is either consummated or not consummated. The earth is not an arid plateau of health and comfort, but a great sprawling female with velvet torso that swells and heaves with ocean billows; she squirms beneath a diadem of sweat and anguish. Naked and sexed she rolls among the clouds in the violet light of the stars. All of her, from her generous breasts to her gleaming thighs, blazes with furious ardor. She moves amongst the seasons and the years with a grand whoopla that seizes the torso with paroxysmal fury, that shakes the cobwebs out of the sky; she subsides on her pivotal orbits with volcanic tremors. She is like a doe at times, a doe that has fallen into a snare and lies waiting with beating heart for the cymbals to crash and the dogs to bark. Love and hate, despair, pity, rage, disgust - what are these amidst the fornications of the planets? What is war, disease, cruelty, terror, when night presents the ecstasy of myriad blazing suns? What is this chaff we chew in our sleep if it is not the remembrance of fang whorl and star cluster.

　　莫娜每逢性欲亢奋时常常对我说，“你是一个伟大的人。”藏在我灵魂深处的这话常会跳出来照亮我下面的阴影，尽管她把我扔在这儿听任我死掉，尽管她在我脚下留下了一个空空的大坑。我是一个普通的人，嘶嘶响的灯光使我头晕。我是一个零蛋，我看到周围的一切都沦为嘲弄人的东西。由硫磺燃着的男女从我身边走过，穿着黑色号衣的搬运工打开了地狱的双颚，声名在拄着拐杖走路，它被摩天大楼骗了，被生着锋利牙齿的机器的大口嚼烂。我穿过高大的建筑物朝清凉的河边走去，我看见光束像火箭一样从骷髅的肋间直刺天空。如果我像莫娜所说的真是一个伟大的人，我阿谀奉承人的愚蠢行为又该作何解释？
She used to say to me, Mona, in her fits of exaltation, "you're a great human being," and though she left me here to perish, though she put beneath my feet a great howling pit of emptiness, the words that lie at the bottom of my soul leap forth and they light the shadows below me. I am one who was lost in the crowd, whom the fizzing lights made dizzy, a zero who saw everything about him reduced to mockery. Passed me men and women ignited with sulfur, porters in calcium livery opening the jaws of hell, fame walking on crutches, dwindled by the skyscrapers, chewed to a frazzle by the spiked mouth of the machines. I walked between the tall buildings toward the cool of the river and I saw the lights shoot up between the ribs of the skeletons like rockets. If I was truly a great human being, as she said, then what was the meaning of this slavering idiocy about me?

　　我是一个有灵有肉的人，我的心并没有钢梁拱卫，我有过欣喜的时刻，我伴着燃烧的火星歌唱。我歌唱赤道、她生着红毛的大腿和从视线中消失的岛屿。不过谁也没有听见我唱，朝太平洋彼岸发射的一炮落进太空里了，因为地球是圆的，鸽子们朝下飞行。我看到她隔着桌子望着我，眼光中一派悲怆。在她身体里扩散的悲伤将鼻子碰在她脊骨上，碰扁了，搅拌成怜悯的骨髓已变成液体。她轻巧得犹如浮在死海海面上的一具死尸，她的手指痛得流血，血变成了口水。随着潮湿的黎明来临，钟声敲响了，这钟声沿着我的神经纤维无休无止地回荡，这撞击声伴随着铁一般的恶意在我心里当当响。奇怪的是钟声竞会这样响，更怪的是钟破裂了，于是这个女人转向黑夜。她的蛆一般的言辞咬透了床垫。我在赤道下移动，听见了张着绿色大口的鬣狗可怕的哈哈大笑声，看见了生着光滑尾巴的豺、羚羊和有斑点的豹子，它们全被留在伊甸园里了。这时她的悲哀扩展了，像一艘无畏战舰的舰首，她沉下去的重量使我的耳朵被水淹没了。稀泥被洗掉，蓝宝石滑出来，通过快乐的神经细胞淘洗出来，它的光谱被拼接在一起，船舷泡在水里。我听见炮架像狮爪落地时一样无声无息地转动，看到它们在呕吐、在流口水。天幕垂下来，所有的星星都变成了黑的。黑色的海洋在流血，沉思默想的星星孕育着一大块一大块刚刚肿胀起来的肉，同时鸟儿在头顶上盘旋，幻党的天空中落下臼杵，还有正义包扎起来的眼睛。所有在这儿讲到的东西都用想象中的脚沿着死去的球体平行移动，所有用空眼眶看到的东西都像开花的草一样绽开。在虚无缥缈之中出现了无限的符号，不断上升的螺旋下裂开的口子在缓慢下沉。陆地和海洋和谐地连为一体，这是用血肉写就的诗篇，它比钢丝和花岗岩还坚硬。经过无尽的长夜，地球向一个未知的创造物飞速旋转而去……
I was a man with body and soul, I had a heart that was not protected by a steel vault. I had moments of ecstasy and I sang with burning sparks. I sang of the Equator, her red feathered legs and the islands dropping out of sight. But nobody heard. A gun fired across the Pacific falls into space because the earth is round and pigeons fly upside down. I saw her looking at me across the table with eyes turned to grief; sorrow spreading inward flattened its nose against her spine; the marrow churned to pity had turned liquid. She was light as a corpse that floats in the Dead Sea. Her fingers bled with anguish and the blood turned to drool. With the wet dawn came the tolling of bells and along the fibers of my nerves the bells played ceaselessly and their tongues pounded in my heart and clanged with iron malice. Strange that the bells should toll so, but stranger still the body bursting, this woman turned to night and her maggot words gnawing through the mattress. I moved along under the Equator, heard the hideous laughter of the green jawed hyena, saw the jackal with silken tail and the dick dick and the spotted leopard, all left behind in the Garden of Eden. And then her sorrow widened, like the bow of a dreadnought and the weight of her sinking flooded my ears. Slime wash and sapphires slipping, sluicing through the gay neurons, and the spectrum spliced and the gunwales dipping. Soft as lion pad I heard the gun carriages turn, saw them vomit and drool: the firmament sagged and all the stars turned black. Black ocean bleeding and the brooding stars breeding chunks of fresh swollen flesh while overhead the birds wheeled and out of the hallucinated sky fell the balance with mortar and pestle and the bandaged eyes of justice. All that is here related moves with imaginary feet along the parallels of dead orbs; all that is seen with the empty sockets bursts like flowering grass. Out of nothingness arises the sign of infinity; beneath the ever rising spirals slowly sinks the gaping hole. The land and the water make numbers joined, a poem written with flesh and stronger than steel or granite. Through endless night the earth whirls toward a creation unknown…

今天我在熟睡中醒来，嘴边挂着快活的诅咒，我不断地自己咕哝谁也听不懂的话，像在念一篇连祷文—“做你想做的事……做你想做的事！”干什么都行，但是要叫它带来欢乐；干什么都行，但是要叫它带来欣喜。当我向自己提到下面这些东西时脑袋里塞得满满的—搞同性恋的人、叫人恐惧的人、叫人发疯的人、狼和羊、蜘蛛、蟹、梅毒张开了翅膀、子宫的门总闩着、总敞着，像坟墓一样作好了接待准备。淫欲、犯罪的神圣—我崇拜的人就过着这种生活，那也是我崇拜的人的失败，是他们留下的话，是他们未说完的话。那是他们拖在身后的善与恶、他们造成的悲哀不和、仇恨和争斗，而超出这一切的是狂喜！
Today I awoke from a sound sleep with curses of joy on my lips, with gibberish on my tongue, repeating to myself like a litany - "Fay ce que vouldras!… fay ce que vouldras!"; Do anything, but let it produce joy. Do anything, but let it yield ecstasy. So much crowds into my head when I say this to myself: images, gay ones, terrible ones, maddening ones, the wolf and the goat, the spider, the crab, syphilis with her wings outstretched and the door of the womb always on the latch, always open, ready like the tomb. Lust, crime, holiness: the lives of my adored ones, the failures of my adored ones, the words they left behind them, the words they left unfinished; the good they dragged after them and the evil, the sorrow, the discord, the rancor, the strife they created. But above all, the ecstasy!
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Part 13 Chapter 3

我以前的偶像的一些所做所为使我流泪，那是捣乱、混乱、暴力，最主要的还是他们引起的仇恨。一想到他们残缺不全的肢体、他们选择的荒诞风格，他们所从事的工作的浮夸和乏味、他们耽溺于其中的杂乱无章状态以及他们在自己身边设置的种种障碍—我便觉得异常高兴。他们陷在自己拉的屎中不能自拔，他们都是喜欢不厌其烦地絮絮叨叨的人。这是千真万确的，我差一点儿就会说，“指给我一个说起话来没完的人，我就会说这是一个伟大的人！”被称作他们的“详尽探讨”的东西正对我的胃口—这是争斗的征兆，这是缠绕着各种纤维的争斗，是不和谐精神的气氛和环境。你指给我看一个能说会道的人，我不说他不够伟大，可我会说他吸引不了我……我向往那些会叫人生厌的特性。我想到艺术家毫不含糊地给自己规定的任务是推翻现存价值观念、是把周围的一片混乱按自己的方式整理得井井有条，散布争斗和不和以得到情感上的解脱并使死者复活，于是这时我兴高采烈地跑到那些伟大而又不完美的人那儿去，他们的困惑滋润了我。他们结结巴巴的话在我听来犹如仙乐。我在漂亮地膨胀起来，在被打断之后接着往下写的书页上看到被抹去的小段插入的闲话、肮脏的脚注，也可说是胆小鬼、骗子、贼、蛮子和诽谤者留下来的。我从他们美妙的喉咙的肿胀肌肉上看出把轮子翻转过来时，从掉队的地方加快脚步赶上来时，他们一定费了惊人的力量。在日常烦恼和骚扰后面，在软弱和懒惰的人的下贱、矫饰过的恶意后面，我看见那儿立着人生中令人心灰意懒的象征，我看到那个制定秩序、散布争斗和不和的人，他深受意志力的影响，这样一个人势必一次次为自己的行为受苦受难，直至被绞死拉倒。我从他的高雅手势后看到一个荒谬的幽灵在徘徊—他不仅崇高，而且还荒谬。
Things, certain things about my old idols bring the tears to my eyes: the interruptions, the disorder, the violence, above all, the hatred they aroused. When I think of their deformities, of the monstrous styles they chose, of the flatulence and tediousness of their works, of all the chaos and confusion they wallowed in, of the obstacles they heaped up about them, I feel an exaltation. They were all mired in their own dung. All men who over elaborated. So true is it that I am almost tempted to say: "Show me a man who over elaborates and I will show you a great man!" What is called their "over-elaboration" is my meat: it is the sign of struggle, it is struggle itself with all the fibers clinging to it, the very aura and ambience of the discordant spirit. And when you show me a man who expresses himself perfectly I will not say that he is not great, but I will say that I am unattracted… I miss the cloying qualities. When I reflect that the task which the artist implicitly sets himself is to overthrow existing values, to make of the chaos about him an order which is his own, to sow strife and ferment so that by the emotional release those who are dead may be restored to life, then it is that I run with joy to the great and imperfect ones, their confusion nourishes me, their stuttering is like divine music to my ears. I see in the beautifully bloated pages that follow the interruptions the erasure of petty intrusions, of the dirty footprints, as it were, of cowards, liars, thieves, vandals, calumniators. I see in the swollen muscles of their lyric throats the staggering effort that must be made to turn the wheel over, to pick up the pace where one has left off. I see that behind the daily annoyances and intrusions, behind the cheap, glittering malice of the feeble and inert, there stands the symbol of life's frustrating power, and that he who could create order, he who would sow strife and discord, because he is imbued with will, such a man must go again and again to the stake and the gibbet. I see that behind the nobility of his gestures there lurks the specter of the ridiculousness of it all - that he is not only sublime, but absurd.

　　我曾一度认为做到有人情味是一个人可望达到的最高目标，可我现在明白这意味着要毁掉自己。如今我骄傲地说自己没有人味，我不属于其他任何人和政府，任何信条和原则都同我没有任何关系。我与人性这部吱吱作响的机器毫无关联，我是属于地球的。我睡在枕头上这样说，这时自己可以感觉到太阳穴处冒出了两只角。我可以看到我的疯狂的祖先围着床在跳舞，他们宽慰我、给我打气、用毒蛇般的舌头抽打我、用藏在暗处的脑袋朝我嘻笑。我不是人！我带着疯狂的、幻觉般的狞笑这样说，哪怕天上落下鳄鱼我也要一直这样说下去。我的话后面是那些咧着嘴嘻笑、藏在暗处的脑袋，有些死掉的人的脑袋长时间地笑，有些像患了牙关紧闭症一样笑，有些又扮出鬼脸来狞笑，这是一直在进行中的事情的预演和结果。我自己狞笑的脑壳是看得最清楚的，我看到自己的骷髅在风中跳舞，毒蛇从腐烂的舌头里爬出来，描写欣喜的膨胀的书页被粪弄脏了。
Once I thought that to be human was the highest aim a man could have, but I see now that it was meant to destroy me. Today I am proud to say that I am inhuman, that I belong not to men and governments, that I have nothing to do with creeds and principles. I have nothing to do with the creaking machinery of humanity - I belong to the earth! I say that lying on my pillow and I can feel the horns sprouting from my temples. I can see about me all those cracked forebears of mine dancing around the bed, consoling me, egging me on, lashing me with their serpent tongues, grinning and leering at me with their skulking skulls. I am inhuman! I say it with a mad, hallucinated grin, and I will keep on saying it though it rain crocodiles. Behind my words are all those grinning, leering, skulking skulls, some dead and grinning a long time, some grinning as if they had lockjaw, some grinning with the grimace of a grin, the foretaste and aftermath of what is always going on. Clearer than all I see my own grinning skull, see the skeleton dancing in the wind, serpents issuing from the rotted tongue and the bloated pages of ecstasy slimed with excrement.

　　我把我的脏东西、我的屎尿、我的疯狂，我的欣喜都投进通过肉体地下铁道流动的大循环中去，所有这些自然的、不受欢迎的、醉后吐出的东西将通过这些人的脑子无休止地向前流动，一直流到一个装着人类历史、永远不会枯竭的罐子里。同人类并驾齐驱的还有另一类生物，他们就是那些没有人性的人，是艺术家这类人，他们受已知的冲动驱使掌管了无生命的人类，他们用狂热和激情鼓动人类，以此把这团生面变成面包，把面包变成酒，再把酒变成歌曲。他们从废弃的肥料和死气沉沉的废料中造出一首散发着臭气的歌。我看到这一类人在洗劫世界，他们把一切翻个底朝天，他们的脚总踩在血泊中，他们的手总是空的，总是在抓抓不到、握不上的神。为了使撕咬他们的要害的妖魔平静下来，他们毁掉了能够得到的一切，他们用力揪自己的头发以领悟、了解这个永远难以理解的难题，他们像发疯的熊那样大吼大叫、乱撕、乱顶，他们做这些事情时我都看到了，我看到这是对的，没有其他道路可走，一个属于这一族类的人必须站在高处，口中胡说八道，把自己的肠肚剖出来。这是正当的、正义的，因为他必须这样做！任何达不到这一吓人场面、任何不那么令人战栗、不那么可怕、不那么疯狂、不那么令人兴奋、不那么具有污染性的东西都不是艺术，都是伪造的，是人性的，是属于生命和无生命的。
And I join my slime, my excrement, my madness; my ecstasy to the great circuit which flows through the subterranean vaults of the flesh. All this unbidden, unwanted, drunken vomit will flow on endlessly through the minds of those to come in the inexhaustible vessel that contains the history of the race. Side by side with the human race there runs another race of beings, the inhuman ones, the race of artists who, goaded by unknown impulses, take the lifeless mass of humanity and by the fever and ferment with which they imbue it turn this soggy dough into bread and the bread into wine and the wine into song. Out of the dead compost and the inert slag they breed a song that contaminates. I see this other race of individuals ransacking the universe, turning everything upside down, their feet always moving in blood and tears, their hands always empty, always clutching and grasping for the beyond, for the god out of reach: slaying everything within reach in order to quiet the monster that gnaws at their vitals. I see that when they tear their hair with the effort to comprehend, to seize this forever unattainable, I see that when they bellow like crazed beasts and rip and gore, I see that this is right, that there is no other path to pursue. A man who belongs to this race must stand up on the high place with gibberish in his mouth and rip out his entrails. It is right and just, because he must! And anything that falls short of this frightening spectacle, anything less shuddering, less terrifying, less mad, less intoxicated, less contaminating, is not art. The rest is counterfeit. The rest is human. The rest belongs to life and lifelessness.

　　比方说，每当我想到斯太甫罗根，我便会联想到某一个妖魔站在高处向我们扔自己撕裂的肠子。在《魔鬼》中发生了地震，这不仅是降临在富于想象力的人头上的大灾难，而是一大半人类被埋葬于其中、永远被消灭的大地震。斯太甫罗根就是陀思妥耶夫斯基，陀思妥耶夫斯基是所有这些矛盾的总和，它们不是使一个人麻痹就是领他爬上高处。没有一个地方太低，他进不去；也没有一个地方太高，他不敢爬上去。遗憾的是我们再也没有机会见到一个被置于神秘的中心的人，他的光芒为我们照亮黑暗的深邃和广大。
When I think of Stavrogin for example, I think of some divine monster standing on a high place and flinging to us his torn bowels. In The Possessed the earth quakes: it is not the catastrophe that befalls the imaginative individual, but a cataclysm in which a large portion of humanity is buried, wiped out forever. Stavrogin was Dostoevski and Dostoevski was the sum of all those contradictions which either paralyze a man or lead him to the heights. There was no world too low for him to enter, no place too high for him to fear to ascend. He went the whole gamut, from the abyss to the stars. It is a pity that we shall never again have the opportunity to see a man placed at the very core of mystery and, by his flashes, illuminating, for us the depth and immensity of the darkness.

　　今天我感觉到了自己的血统，我没有必要去求助占星术或查阅家谱表。我对星星上或我的血液里写着什么一无所知，只知道我是由人类的某些神话中的创始人繁衍的。那个把神圣的瓶子举到唇边的人、那个跪在集市上的罪犯、那个发现所有的尸体都会发臭的纯洁的人、那个跳舞时手中发出闪电的疯子、那个撩起长袍朝大地上撒尿的修道士、那个翻遍所有图书馆要找到《圣经》的宗教狂—所有这些人合成了我，所有这些人造成了我的仟侮、我的欣喜。假如我没有人味儿，那是由于我所生活的世界已经超出人性的界线了，那是由于做个有人味儿的人像是在做一件可怜的、令人遗憾的、凄凉悲苦的事情，它受到种种理智限制，受到种种道德规范的制约，由种种老生常谈和这个那个主义固定范围。我将葡萄汁一饮而尽，我从中得到了智慧，不过我的智慧并非来自葡萄，我沉醉也根本不是因为酒……我想绕过那些高大荒芜的山脉，一个人会在那儿渴死、冻死。这就是“超瞬时”历史，就是不存在人、兽、草木的绝对时空，在那儿一个人寂寞得发疯，语言则只是词语而已，那儿的一切都是自由自在的，与时代不谐调的。我想要一个男人、女人、树木都不讲话的世界（因为如今的世界上话讲得太多了）！
Today I am aware of my lineage. I have no need to consult my horoscope or my genealogical chart. What is written in the stars, or in my blood, I know nothing of. I know that I spring from the mythological founders of the race. The man who raises the holy bottle to his lips, the criminal who kneels in the marketplace, the innocent one who discovers that all corpses stink, the madman who dances with lightning in his hands, the friar who lifts his skirts to pee over the world, the fanatic who ransacks libraries in order to find the Word - all these are fused in me, all these make my confusion, my ecstasy. If I am inhuman it is because my world has slopped over its human bounds, because to be human seems like a poor, sorry, miserable affair, limited by the senses, restricted by moralities and codes, defined by platitudes and isms. I am pouring the juice of the grape down my gullet and I find wisdom in it, but my wisdom is not born of the grape, my intoxication owes nothing to wine…

　　我想要一个河流能把人载到各地去的世界，不是成为古老传说的河流，而是能叫人同别的男女，同建筑、宗教、植物、动物接触的河流。是上面有船只的河流。人们在这样的河里溺死，并非淹没在神话、传说、书籍和以往的尘土中，而是淹没在时间、空间的历史中。我要能造出莎士比亚和但丁这样的大海的河流，要不会在以往的空泛中干涸的河流、大海。对了，让我们有更多的海吧，新的、挡住过去的大海，创造新的地质构造、新的地形景观、陌生而且令人恐惧的大陆的大海，在摧毁的同时也保护我们的大海，我们可以在上面航行，去探求新发现、新视野的大海。让我们得到更多的大海、更多的动乱、战争和大毁灭吧。让我们得到一个男男女女大腿间都装有发电机的世界，一个充满自然的愤怒、激情、行动、戏剧、梦幻、疯狂的世界，一个孕生欣喜而不是干放屁的世界。我坚信今天比以往任何时候都更应寻求写一本书，哪怕它只有一大页呢。我们必须寻找碎片、碎屑、脚趾甲，任何含有矿物质、任何得以使肉体和灵魂复活的东西。
I want to make a detour of those lofty arid mountain ranges where one dies of thirst and cold, that "extratemporal" history, that absolute of time and space where there exists neither man, beast, nor vegetation, where one goes crazy with loneliness, with language that is mere words, where everything is unhooked, ungeared, out of joint with the times. I want a world of men and women, of trees that do not talk (because there is too much talk in the world as it is!, of rivers that carry you to places, not rivers that are legends, but rivers that put you in touch with other men and women, with architecture, religion, plants, animals - rivers that have boats on them and in which men drown, drown not in myth and legend and books and dust of the past, but in time and space and history. I want rivers that make oceans such as Shakespeare and Dante, rivers which do not dry up in the void of the past. Oceans, yes! Let us have more oceans, new oceans that blot out the past, oceans that create new geological formations, new topographical vistas and strange, terrifying continents, oceans that destroy and preserve at the same time, oceans that we can sail on, take off to new discoveries, new horizons. Let us have more oceans, more upheavals, more wars, more holocausts. Let us have a world of men and women with dynamos between their legs, a world of natural fury, of passion, action, drama, dreams, madness, a world that produces ecstasy and not dry farts. I believe that today more than ever a book should be sought after even if it has only one great page in it: we must search for fragments, splinters, toenails, anything that has ore in it, anything that is capable of resuscitating the body and soul.

　　也许我们命中注定要遭厄运，也许我们当中没有一个人有希望活下去。如果是这样，那就让我们发出最后一声听了叫人胆寒、叫人毛骨惊然的吼叫吧，这是挑战的呼叫，是战斗的怒号！悲伤，去它的！挽歌和哀乐，去它们的！传记、历史、图书馆和博物馆，去它们的！让死人去吃掉死人。让我们活着的人在火山口边上跳舞吧，这是临死前的一场舞，不过它仍是一场舞。
It may be that we are doomed, that there is no hope for us, any of us, but if that is so then let us set up a last agonizing, bloodcurdling howl, a screech of defiance, a war whoop! Away with lamentation! Away with elegies and dirges! Away with biographies and histories, and libraries and museums! Let the dead eat the dead. Let us living ones dance about the rim of the crater, a last expiring dance. But a dance!

　　我们时代的伟大诗人弥尔顿说，“我爱流动的一切。”今天早晨我高兴地拼命大叫着醒来时正想着他，我正在想他的河流、树木和他的摸索的整个黑暗世界。是啊，我对自己说，我也爱流动的一切：河流、阴沟、熔岩、精液、血、胆汁、词和句子。
"I love everything that flows," said the great blind Milton of our times. I was thinking of him this morning when I awoke with a great bloody shout of joy: I was thinking of his rivers and trees and all that world of night which he is exploring. Yes, I said to myself, I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences.

　　我爱从羊膜中溅出的羊水；我爱生着引起痛苦的的结石、肾砂和诸如此类东西的肾脏；我爱撒出的热呼呼的尿和久治不愈的淋病；我爱歇斯底里的疯话、像拉痢疾一样一泻而出的句子和灵魂全部病态的映像；我爱亚马逊河和奥里诺科河这样的大河，那儿摩拉瓦基乃之流的狂人在一只无顶的小船上漂过了梦和古老的传说，淹死在瞎眼的河口中；我爱流动的一切，甚至爱女人来月经时流出的血，它冲走了生育能力不强的精子；我爱会流动的手稿，不论它们是用象形文字写的、深奥的、反常的、多形体的或是单边音的；我爱流动的一切，一切其中有时间的和适当的东西，它们把我们带回永远不会结束的开始中，即先知们激烈、令人狂喜的猥亵，宗教狂的智慧，牧师和他的橡皮连祷文，妓女的下流话，从排水道里漂走的唾液，乳房里的奶汁和子宫里流出的带苦味的蜜水，以及一切流质的、溶化的、放荡的和有溶解力的，所有在流动中得到静化的脓和脏物，那些失去其出身意识的东西和那些将大循环驱向死亡和瓦解的东西。这个伟大的乱伦愿望与时间一起向前流动，将来世的伟大概念同此地此刻融汇起来，这是一个空幻、自杀的愿望，它被言词阻挡，被思想麻痹。
I love the amniotic fluid when it spills out of the bag. I love the kidney with its painful gallstones, its gravel and what not; I love the urine that pours out scalding and the clap that runs endlessly; I love the words of hysterics and the sentences that flow on like dysentery and mirror all the sick images of the soul; I love the great rivers like the Amazon and the Orinoco, where crazy men like Moravagine float on through dream and legend in an open boat and drown in the blind mouths of the river. I love everything that flows, even the menstrual flow that carries away the seed unfecund. I love scripts that flow, be they hieratic, esoteric, perverse, polymorph, or unilateral. I love everything that flows, everything that has time in it and becoming, that brings us back to the beginning where there is never end: the violence of the prophets, the obscenity that is ecstasy, the wisdom of the fanatic, the priest with his rubber litany, the foul words of the whore, the spittle that floats away in the gutter, the milk of the breast and the bitter honey that pours from the womb, all that is fluid, melting, dissolute and dissolvent, all the pus and dirt that in flowing is purified, that loses its sense of origin, that makes the great circuit toward death and dissolution. The great incestuous wish is to flow on, one with time, to merge the great image of the beyond with the here and now. A fatuous, suicidal wish that is constipated by words and paralyzed by thought.
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Part 14 Chapter 1
我们从奥德萨街同电话公司的几个黑女人一起回到家里时已快到圣诞节的黎明了。火熄了，我们都太累了，于是便穿着衣服上了床。我的那个姑娘整个晚上都像一头豹子一样蹦蹦跳跳，我爬到她身上时她已睡熟了。我在她身上费了一阵劲儿，犹如在一个被淹死或闷死的人身上使劲儿一样。后来我放弃了努力，自己也睡熟了。
It was close to dawn on Christmas Day when we came home from the Rue d'Odessa with a couple of Negresses from the telephone company. The fire was out and we were all so tired that we climbed into bed with our clothes on. The one I had, who had been like a bounding leopard all evening, fell sound asleep as I was climbing over her. For a while I worked over her as one works over a person who has been drowned or asphyxiated. Then I gave it up and fell sound asleep myself:

　　节日期间我们天天喝香摈，早上、中午和晚上，有最便宜的，也有最好的。过了年我就要到第戎去了，人家在那儿给了我一个微不足道的差使：当被交换的英语教师。这是促进法美和睦相处的一项安排。旨在增进这两个姐妹国家的互相了解和友善。对于这一前程菲尔莫比我更感到鼓舞，他这样想是有充足理由的，而对于我这不过只是从一个受苦受难的地方转到另一个受苦受难的地方去而已。我面前没有希望，这份工作甚至连薪水也没有。他们指望得到这份工作的人自认有福气，能够享受传播法美和睦这一福音的特权，这是为一个阔佬的儿子预备的工作。
All during the holidays we had champagne morning, noon and night - the cheapest and the best champagne. With the turn of the year I was to leave for Dijon where I had been offered a trivial post as exchange professor of English, one of those Franco-American amity arrangements which is supposed to promote understanding and good will between sister republics. Fillmore was more elated than I by the prospect - he had good reason to be. For me it was just a transfer from one purgatory to another. There was no future ahead of me; there wasn't even a salary attached to the job. One was supposed to consider himself fortunate to enjoy the privilege of spreading the gospel of Franco-American amity. It was a job for a rich man's son.

　　启程前一天晚上我们玩得很开心。天快亮时下起了雪。我们走过一个个街区，最后再看一眼巴黎。穿过晕多敏克街时我义。正在发生什么事情，正在上演一出哑剧，它没有使我完全惊呆，却也叫我惶惶不知所措。在全世界，凡有这些灯光黯淡的坟墓的地方你都会看到这一令人难以置信的场面，同样的恼人的温度、同样的朦朦胧胧的光线、同样的嗡嗡声。在特定的时辰内，整个基督教世界里穿黑衣的人都俯在祭坛前。牧师就站在那上面，手里拿着一本小书，另一只手里拿着一只吃饭铃或喷雾器。他对众人喃喃布道，他的话即使能叫人听懂也不再有一点儿意义。很可能他是在乞求上帝保佑他们吧，也保佑国家，保佑统治者，保佑熗炮、战舰、军火和手榴弹。祭坛上围在牧师身边的是一群小男孩，穿着打扮像上帝的安琪儿，他们唱男高音和女高音。全是纯洁的小羊羔，全穿着裙子，看不出性别，像牧师本人一样是扁平足和近视眼。真是绝妙的不辨雌雄的猫叫春、是符合J一mol节拍的松紧内裤里的性行为。
The night before I left we had a good time. About dawn it began to snow: we walked about from one quarter to another taking a last look at Paris. Passing through the Rue St. Dominique we suddenly fell upon a little square and there was the Eglise Ste. Clotilde. People were going to mass. Fillmore, whose head was still a little cloudy, was bent on going to mass too. "For the fun of it!" as he put it. I felt somewhat uneasy about it; in the first place I had never attended a mass, and in the second place I looked seedy and felt seedy. Fillmore, too, looked rather battered, even more disreputable than myself; his big slouch hat was on assways and his overcoat was still full of sawdust from the last joint we had been in. However, we marched in. The worst they could do would be to throw us out.

　　我在昏暗的光线下尽量仔细地观察这儿的情况，既令人眼花镣乱，又叫人目瞪口呆。我自忖，整个文明世界、整个世界都是这样，真是太棒了。不论下雨还是天晴，下冰雹、雨夹雪、雪、打雷、闪电、战争、饥馑、瘟疫，都不受丝毫影响。总是同样的恼人温度，同样的胡言乱语，同样的在脚腕上系带子的鞋和上帝的小安滇儿唱男高音和女高音。靠近出口处有一只开了一个孔的小箱子，是为了继续天国的工作的，于是上帝的恩典便会像雨点一样落在帝王头上，落在国家里，落在军舰、高效炸药、坦克和飞机上，于是工人会增强臂力，有力气屠宰马、牛和羊，有力气在铁大梁上钻孔，有力气在别人的裤子上缀扣子，有力气出售胡萝卜、缝纫机和汽车，有力气消灭虫子、打扫马棚、倒垃圾箱、洗刷厕所，有力气写新闻标题、在地下铁道里剪票。力气……力气，原来这喃喃自语和戏弄人的把戏只是为了给人一点力气。
I was taking it in as best I could in the dim light. Fascinating and stupefying at the same time. All over the civilized world, I thought to myself. All over the world. Marvelous. Rain or shine, hail, sleet, snow, thunder, lightning, war, famine, pestilence - makes not the slightest difference. Always the same mean temperature, the same mumbo jumbo, the same high laced shoes and the little angels of the Lord singing soprano and alto. Near the exit a little slot box - to carry on the heavenly work. So that God's blessing may rain down upon king and country and battleships and high explosives and tanks and airplanes, so that the worker may have more strength in his arms, strength to slaughter horses and cows and sheep, strength to punch holes in iron girders, strength to sew buttons on other people's pants, strength to sell carrots and sewing machines and automobiles, strength to exterminate insects and clean stables and unload garbage cans and scrub lavatories, strength to write headlines and chop tickets in the subway. Strength… strength. All that lip chewing and hornswoggling just to furnish a little strength!

　　　一刹那间全部这些流涎水、翁动嘴唇的把戏几乎都有了意我们从一个地方挪到另一个地方，以通宵狂欢后的那种清醒意识审视这个场面。我们这样穿来穿去一定很惹人注意，因为我们的外衣领子竖着，从不画十字，除了低声说几句麻木不仁的话以外嘴巴一动也不曾动。若是菲尔莫不那么固执地要在仪式正进行了一半的时候从祭坛边走过，或许谁也不会注意到这一切。他在找出口，我估计他想到了出口那儿就好好看一看这最最神圣的场面，这就是说要近距离仔细看一看。我们一直平安无事，正在朝很可能是出去的通道那一道光线处走去，这时幽暗中猛地闪出一位牧师拦住了路。他想问问我们要去哪儿，正在于什么，我们相当有礼貌地回答说我们正在找出口。我们说的是英语的“出口”，因为当时太惊恐，我们一时想不起法语“出口”是怎么说的了。牧师一句话不说便紧紧抓住我们的胳膊，推开一道边门把我们狠狠推出去了，我们摇摇晃晃地跌进了刺眼的阳光中。这件事发生得那么突然、猝不及防，待我们到了人行道上仍没有完全反应过来。我们眯上眼睛走出去几步，然后又出于本能转过身来。牧师仍站在台阶上，苍白得像一个鬼魂，像魔鬼那样狠狠地瞪着我们，准是连肺都气炸了。后来又回想起这件事时我也不怪他，不过当时瞧见他穿着长袍、头上扣着一顶小瓜皮帽的滑稽相，我禁不住哈哈大笑。我看看菲尔莫，于是他也大笑开了。我们站在那儿当着这个可怜虫的面足足笑了一分钟，我猜他起初有一点儿茫然不知所措，不过他突然冲下台阶，一边还冲着我们晃拳头，像是认真了。待他冲出围墙便狂奔过来，这会儿某种保护自乙的本能提醒我快溜走。我拽住菲尔莫的袖子跑开了，他还像个傻瓜似的说，“别，别！我不跑！”“快跑！”我嚷道。“咱们还是快点儿离开这儿为妙，这家伙已经完全疯了。”于是我们逃了，拼命竭尽全力逃走了。
We were moving about from one spot to another, surveying the scene with that clearheadedness which comes after an all night session. We must have made ourselves pretty conspicuous shuffling about that way with our coat collars turned up and never once crossing ourselves and never once moving our lips except to whisper some callous remark. Perhaps everything would have passed off without notice if Fillmore hadn't insisted on walking past the altar in the midst of the ceremony. He was looking for the exit, and he thought while he was at it, I suppose, that he would take a good squint at the holy of holies, get a close up on it, as it were. We had gotten safely by and were marching toward a crack of light which must have been the way out when a priest suddenly stepped out of the gloom and blocked our path. Wanted to know where we were going and what we were doing. We told him politely enough that we were looking for the exit. We said "exit" because at the moment we were so flabbergasted that we couldn't think of the French for exit. Without a word of response he took us firmly by the arm and, opening the door, a side door it was, he gave us a push and out we tumbled into the blinding light of day. It happened so suddenly and unexpectedly that when we hit the sidewalk we were in a daze. We walked a few paces, blinking our eyes, and then instinctively we both turned round; the priest was still standing on the steps, pale as a ghost and scowling like the devil himself. He must have been sore as hell. Later, thinking back on it, I couldn't blame him for it. But at that moment, seeing him with his long skirts and the little skull cap on his cranium, he looked so ridiculous that I burst out laughing. I looked at Fillmore and he began to laugh too. For a full minute we stood there laughing right in the poor bugger's face. He was so bewildered, I guess, that for a moment he didn't know what to do; suddenly, however, he started down the steps on the run, shaking his fist at us as if he were in earnest. When he swung out of the enclosure he was on the gallop. By this time some preservative instinct warned me to get a move on. I grabbed Fillmore by the coat sleeve and started to run. He was saying, like an idiot: "No, no! I won't run!" "Come on!" I yelled, "we'd better get out of here. That guy's mad clean through." And off we ran, beating it as fast as our legs would carry us.

　　去第戎的路上我们仍在为这件事情大笑，不过我的思绪又回到了另一件可笑的往事上。那件事同今天发生的事有点儿相似，是我在佛罗里达短暂停留时发生的。那是在出名的繁华时期，我同成千上万人一样冷不防遇到了麻烦，我试图解脱，结果却同一位朋友一道更深地陷入了困境。杰克逊维尔尤其处于被围困状态中，我们就在那儿被困了大约六个星期。天下所有的流浪汉和许多以前从未作过流浪汉的家伙似乎都游荡到杰克逊维尔来了，到处都住满了人—基督教青年会、救世军，消防队和警察局、旅馆和公寓。到处都挂着客满的牌子，绝对客满。杰克逊维尔的居民的心肠已经变得很硬，我觉得他们像是穿着甲胄在来回走。这一回又是食物这个老问题，食物和一个睡觉的地方。食物正从南方用火车运来。桔子、柚子以及各种水份很多的食品。我们常从货车棚旁走过，看看有没有烂水果，可甚至连这也很难得。
On the way to Dijon, still laughing about the affair, my thoughts reverted to a ludicrous incident, of a somewhat similar nature, which occurred during my brief sojourn in Florida. It was during the celebrated boom when, like thousands of others, I was caught with my pants down. Trying to extricate myself I got caught, along with a friend of mine, in the very neck of the bottle. Jacksonville, where we were marooned for about six weeks, was practically in a state of siege. Every bum on earth, and a lot of guys who had never been bums before, seemed to have drifted into Jacksonville. The YMCA, the Salvation Army, the firehouses and police stations, the hotels, the lodging houses, everything was full up. Complet absolutely, and signs everywhere to that effect. The residents of Jacksonville had become so hardened that it seemed to me as if they were walking around in coats of mail. It was the old business of food again. Food and a place to flop. Food was coming up from below in trainloads - oranges and grapefruit and all sorts of juicy edibles. We used to pass by the freight sheds looking for rotten fruit - but even that was scarce.
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Part 14 Chapter 2

在绝望中，有一天夜里我拉上我的朋友乔来到一家犹太教会堂里，当时里面正在做礼拜。这是一家新派会众聚会场所。那位拉比给我留下的印象相当不错。音乐也很打动人，是犹太人那种发自内心的悲哀曲调。礼拜刚一结束我便大摇大摆地走到拉比的书房里要求见他，他接待我时还算过得去，待我说明了来意他便吓坏了。我只是求他给我和我的朋友乔施舍几个钱，可是看着他瞧着我的那副样子你还以为我已开口要把会堂租下来当保龄球场呢。最后他突然直截了当地间我是不是犹太人，我说不是，他便发火了。那么，请问，你为什么要来向一个犹太教牧师求援呢？我天真地告诉他我一贯信任犹太人，我是很谦卑他说这话的，仿佛自己不是犹太人是一个古怪的缺陷似的。这也是实话，但他根本不为所动。不，先生。他简直吓坏了。为了赶我走，他给救世军的人写了一张便条，说，“这才是你该去的地方呢。”说完他便无礼地转身照看他的会众去了。
One night, in desperation, I dragged my friend Joe to a synagogue, during the service. It was a Reformed congregation, and the rabbi impressed me rather favorably. The music got me too - that piercing lamentation of the Jews. As soon as the service was over I marched to the rabbi's study and requested an interview with him. He received me decently enough - until I made clear my mission. Then he grew absolutely frightened. I had only asked him for a handout on behalf of my friend Joe and myself. You would have thought, from the way he looked at me, that I had asked to rent the synagogue as a bowling alley. To cap it all, he suddenly asked me pointblank if I was a Jew or not. When I answered no, he seemed perfectly outraged. Why, pray, had I come to a Jewish pastor for aid? I told him naively that I had always had more faith in the Jews than in the Gentiles. I said it modestly, as if it were one of my peculiar defects. It was the truth too. But he wasn't a bit flattered. No, siree. He was horrified. To get rid of me he wrote out a note to the Salvation Army people. "That's the place for you to address yourself," he said, and brusquely turned away to tend his flock.

　　救世军当然也拿不出什么给我们。假如我们每人有两毛五分也可以祖一个铺在地上的床垫，可是我们两人加起来连五分钱也没有。我们来到公园里，在一条长椅上躺下。天正在下雨，我们便用报纸遮盖在身上。估计过了还不到半小时，一个警察过来一句话不说就狠狠扇了我们一掌，我们马上爬起来站在地上，还跳了几下舞，尽管当时没有一点儿心思跳舞。屁股上挨了那白痴王八蛋掴了一掌后，我真是又气愤又可怜，又沮丧又下贱，简直恨不得把市政厅炸掉。
The Salvation Army, of course, had nothing to offer us. If we had had a quarter apiece we might have rented a mattress on the floor. But we hadn't a nickel between us. We went to the park and stretched ourselves out on a bench. It was raining and so we covered ourselves with newspapers. Weren't there more than a half hour, I imagine, when a cop came along and, without a word of warning, gave us such a sound fanning that we were up and on our feet in a jiffy, and dancing a bit too, though we weren't in any mood for dancing. I felt so goddamned sore and miserable, so dejected, so lousy, after being whacked over the ass by that half witted bastard, that I could have blown up the City Hall.

　　第二天早上，为了报复这伙好客的王八蛋，我们一早便精神焕发地站在一个天主教教士的门口了。这一回我让乔说话，他是爱尔兰人，还带点儿爱尔兰土腔。他的眼睛也非常蓝，温情脉脉的，只要乐意他还能叫它们湿润起来。一个穿黑袍的修女打开门，可她并不请我们进去，却要我们在走廊里等她去禀报那位好心的长老。过了几分钟那位好心的长老来了，像一部火车头一样喘着粗气。我们这么早打搅他的嗜好是为了得到什么？一点儿吃的和一个睡觉的地方，我们天真地答道。好心的长老立即问，那你们是从哪儿来的？从纽约。从纽约吗？那么你们还是尽快回纽约去吧，我的孩子们。这个大块头、大胖萝卜脸的狗东西再也没有说什么便当着我们的面把门关上了。
The next morning, in order to get even with these hospitable sons of bitches, we presented ourselves bright and early at the door of a Catholic priest. This time I let Joe do the talking. He was Irish and he had a bit of a brogue. He had very soft, blue eyes, too, and he could make them water a bit when he wanted to. A sister in black opened the door for us; she didn't ask us inside, however. We were to wait in the vestibule until she went and called for the good father. In a few minutes he came, the good father, puffing like a locomotive. And what was it we wanted disturbing his likes at that hour of the morning? Something to eat and a place to flop, we answered innocently. And where did we hail from, the good father wanted to know at once. From New York. From New York, eh? Then ye'd better be gettin' back there as fast as ye kin, me lads, and without another word the big, bloated turnip faced bastard shoved the door in our face.

　　大约过了一个小时，我俩像两只歪歪倒倒的双桅帆船一样无助地四处乱逛，又碰巧从教士家路过。老天爷在上，这个大块头、淫荡的萝卜脸正在从胡同里往外倒他的轿车呢！从我们身边疾驶而过时他朝我们眼睛里喷出一团烟，似乎是说，“这是赏给你们的！”那轿车很漂亮，后面装着好几只备用轮胎，好心的长老坐在方向盘后面，嘴里叼着一根粗雪茄。这根雪茄这么粗，味道这么足，准是一根克罗那?克罗那牌的。他坐姿很优雅，你很难模仿得来。我看不见他是否穿了长袍，只看到嘴边淌下的肉汤和那根散发出香味的五十美分大雪茄。
About an hour later, drifting around helplessly like a couple of drunken schooners, we happened to pass by the rectory again. So help me God if the big, lecherous looking turnip wasn't backing out of the alley in a limousine! As he swung past us he blew a cloud of smoke into our eyes. As though to say - "That for you!" A beautiful limousine it was, with a couple of spare tires in the back, and the good father sitting at the wheel with a big cigar in his mouth. Must have been a Corona Corona, so fat and luscious it was. Sitting pretty he was, and no two ways about it: I couldn't see whether he had skirts on or not. I could only see the gravy trickling from his lips - and the big cigar with that fifty cent aroma.

　　去第戎的路上我不由得追忆起这段往事。我想到在那些痛苦、耻辱的时刻我本该说、本该做而又没有说、没有做的一切，那时为了向别人讨一口面包就要叫自己变得不如一条虫子。尽管我非常镇定自若，这些老一套的侮辱和伤害仍使我感到痛苦。
All the way to Dijon I got to reminiscing about the past. I thought of all the things I might have said and done, which I hadn't said or done, in the bitter, humiliating moments when just to ask for a crust of bread is to make yourself less than a worm. Stone sober as I was, I was still smarting from those old insults and injuries.

　　我仍能感觉到那个警察在公园里朝我屁股上掴的那一巴掌，尽管那只是一桩小事，你或许会说那是一堂短短的舞蹈课。我走遍了整个美国，也曾进入加拿大和墨西哥。到处都一样，你若想要面包就得去干活，去受人摆布。整个地球是一片灰蒙蒙的沙漠，是钢和水泥铺成的地毯。生产吧！更多的傻瓜和螺钉、更多的带刺铁丝网、更多的狗食、更多的割草机、更多的滚珠轴承、更多的高效炸药，更多的坦克、更多的毒气、更多的肥皂、更多的牙膏、更多的报纸、更多的教育、更多的教堂、更多的图书馆、更多的博物馆。前进！时间不等人，胎儿正在穿过子宫颈，却连一点润滑通道的羊水也没有。这是干燥、快把胎儿勒死的出生，没有一声哭号、一声喊叫。向来到人世间的孩子致敬！从直肠里腾腾放出二十一响致敬的礼炮。瓦尔特?惠特曼说，“我戴帽子全看自己高兴不高兴，不论是在室内还是在室外。”以前有过你可以挑选一顶合适的帽子戴的时代，不过时代在变，现在为了挑选一顶合适的帽子你得一直走到电椅上去，他们会给你一顶瓜皮帽戴。有点紧，怎么啦？不过没关系！挺合适。
I could still feel that whack over the ass which the cop gave me in the park - though that was a mere bagatelle, a little dancing lesson, you might say. All over the States I wandered, and into Canada and Mexico. The same story everywhere. If you want bread you've got to get in harness, get in lock step. Over all the earth a gray desert, a carpet of steel and cement. Production! More nuts and bolts, more barbed wire, more dog biscuits, more lawn mowers, more ball bearings, more high explosives, more tanks, more poison gas, more soap, more toothpaste, more newspapers, more education, more churches, more libraries, more museums. Forward! Time presses. The embryo is pushing through the neck of the womb, and there's not even a gob of spit to ease the passage. A dry, strangulating birth. Not a wail, not a chirp. Salut au monde! Salute of twenty one guns bombinating from the rectum. "I wear my hat as I please, indoors or out," said Walt. That was a time when you could still get a hat to fit your head. But time passes. To get a hat that fits now you have to walk to the electric chair. They give you a skull cap. A tight fit, what? But no matter! It fits.

　　你必须呆在法国这样一个陌生的国度里，在将生与死分为两部分的子午线上行走，这样才会明白前面等待你的将是何种难以预测的景观。带电的肉体！民主的灵魂！血的浪潮！上帝的神圣母亲啊，这一番蠢活是什么意思？地球烤焦了，破裂了，男男女女像一窝兀鹰围着一具发臭的尸体一样汇集在一起，交配，然后飞往各处。我门就是从云里像沉重的石头一样落下的兀鹰，就是它们的爪和嘴，它的巨大的消化器官有一个专嗅臭肉的鼻子。前进！不怜悯、不同情、不爱也不谅解地前进！别请求宽恕，也别宽恕别人！更多的战舰、毒气、高效炸药！更多的淋菌！更多的链球菌！更多的轰炸机！越来越多，直到所有见鬼的工厂被炸成碎片，地球也一起毁掉。
You have to be in a strange country like France, walking the meridian that separates the hemispheres of life and death, to know what incalculable vistas yawn ahead. The body electric! The democratic soul! Flood tide! Holy Mother of God, what does this crap mean? The earth is parched and cracked. Men and women come together like broods of vultures over a stinking carcass, to mate and fly apart again. Vultures who drop from the clouds like heavy stones. Talons and beak, that's what we are! A huge intestinal apparatus with a nose for dead meat. Forward! Forward without pity, without compassion, without love, without forgiveness. Ask no quarter and give none! More battleships, more poison gas, more high explosives! More gonococci! More streptococci! More bombing machines! More and more of it - until the whole fucking works is blown to smithereens, and the earth with it!

　　一下火车我就马上明白自己犯了一个大错误。那所公主中学离车站不远，我在薄薄的暮色中走过大道朝目的地摸去。正下着小雪，树上结的霜晶莹闪亮，我经过看上去像阴沉的候诊室的几家空荡荡的大咖啡馆。寂静、空旷的幽暗，这就是它们给我留下的印象。这是一个毫无希望的小镇，那儿出产的芥未多得车载斗量，大桶，小桶，罐子和精致的大口瓶里都盛着芥末。
Stepping off the train I knew immediately that I had made a fatal mistake. The Lycée was a little distance from the station; I walked down the main street in the early dusk of winter, feeling my way toward my destination. A light snow was falling, the trees sparkled with frost. Passed a couple of huge, empty cafés that looked like dismal waiting rooms. Silent, empty gloom - that's how it impressed me. A hopeless, jerkwater town where mustard is turned out in carload lots, in vats and tuns and barrels and pots and cute looking little jars.

　　一看到那所学校我心里就凉了半截，到了大门口我仍拿不定主意，便站下考虑是不是还进去。可是我没有买回程车票的钱，再多想这个也没有多大用处。有一阵子我想给菲尔莫打电报，可是无论如何也想不出一个借口，于是只得闭上眼睛走进去。
The first glance at the Lycée sent a shudder through me. I felt so undecided that at the entrance I stopped to debate whether I would go in or not. But as I hadn't the price of a return ticket there wasn't much use debating the question. I thought for a moment of sending a wire to Fillmore, but then I was stumped to know what excuse to make. The only thing to do was to walk in with my eyes shut.

　　正巧勒普罗维西厄先生不在，他们说这天他休息。一个小驼背过来主动提出带我去勒桑塞尔先生的办公室，那是第二号人物。我紧跟在他身后，他蹒跚走路的怪样子使我觉得很好笑。他是一个小怪物，在欧洲任何一座不那么像回事的教堂门口栖息的怪物。
It happened that M. le Proviseur was out - his day off, so they said. A little hunchback came forward and offered to escort me to the office of M. le Censeur, second in charge. I walked a little behind him, fascinated by the grotesque way in which he hobbled along. He was a little monster, such as can be seen on the porch of any half-assed cathedral in Europe.
　　
　　勒桑塞尔先生的办公室又大又空，我坐在一把椅子上等着，驼背又冲出去找他。我在这儿觉得相当自在，这个地方的气氛使我清晰地想起了美国的一些慈善机构，我从前常常在那些地方一坐就是几个钟头，等某个满口甜言蜜语的王八蛋来细细盘问我。
The office of M. le Censeur was large and bare. I sat down in a stiff chair to wait while the hunchback darted off to search for him. I almost felt at home. The atmosphere of the place reminded me vividly of certain charity bureaus back in the States where I used to sit by the hour waiting for some mealy mouthed bastard to come and cross examine me.

　　门猛地打开了，勒桑塞尔先生踏着碎步趾高气扬地进来了。我勉强忍住才没有笑出声来。他穿着一件常礼服，跟鲍里斯从前穿的那件一样，他的前额上垂下一络头发，斯麦尔佳科夫也许留的就是这种卷发。他严肃、好发脾气、目光锐利。他不说一句鼓励的话，马上拿来写着学生姓名、课时和课程的单子一次给我交代清楚，他告诉我给我拨了多少煤和木柴，接着又马上告诉我没有课的时间由我自行支配，想干什么就干什么好了。最后这一件是我听见他讲的头一桩好事，这话听了叫人那么舒服自在，我马上为法国祈祷了一次—为它的陆海军、它的教育制度、它的小酒馆及所有混账机构。
Suddenly the door opened and, with a mincing step, M. le Censeur came prancing in. It was all I could do to suppress a titter. He had on just such a frock coat as Boris used to wear, and over his forehead there hung a bang, a sort of spitcurl such as Smerdyakov might have worn. Grave and brittle, with a lynxlike eye, he wasted no words of cheer on me. At once he brought forth the sheets on which were written the names of the students, the hours, the classes, etc., all in a meticulous hand. He told me how much coal and wood I was allowed and after that he promptly informed me that I was at liberty to do as I pleased in my spare time. This last was the first good thing I had heard him say. It sounded so reassuring that I quickly said a prayer for France - for the army and for the navy, the educational system, the bistros, the whole goddamned works.
　　
　　这一套手续办完了，他拉拉一只小铃，听到铃声驼背便来引我去莱克诺姆先生的办公室。这里的气氛有些不同，更像一个货站，到处搁着提货单和橡皮图章，脸色灰白的办事员用断铅笔在大本的笨重帐本上飞快地书写，待他们把我这一份煤和木柴分出来后我便和驼背一起推着一辆手推车朝宿舍走去。我将在顶层分到一间房，同学监监们住在同一侧。这情景有几分好笑，不知道下一步会发生什么。或许有一只痰盂，这儿有一种很强烈的作战前准备的气氛，只缺少一只背包和一杆熗—还有一只黄铜酒怀。
This folderol completed, he rang a little bell, whereupon the hunchback promptly appeared to escort me to the office of M. l'Econome. Here the atmosphere was somwhat different. More like a freight station, with bills of lading and rubber stamps everywhere, and pasty-faced clerks scribbling away with broken pens in huge, cumbersome ledgers. My dole of coal and wood portioned out, off we marched, the hunchback and I, with a wheelbarrow, toward the dormitory. I was to have a room on the top floor, in the same wing as the pions. The situation was taking on a humorous aspect. I didn't know what the hell to expect next. Perhaps a spittoon. The whole thing smacked very much of preparation for a campaign; the only things missing were a knapsack and rifle - and a brass slug.

　　分给我的房间相当大，屋里有一只小火炉，炉上装着弯曲的烟筒，恰好在铁床上方拐弯。还有一只装煤的大箱子。木柴就堆在门口。窗外是一排完全用石头砌起来的凄凉的小房子，里面住着杂货商、烤面包的、鞋匠、屠夫—全是一伙白痴似的粗人。我的视线又越过他们的房顶，光秃秃的山岭中有一列火车在卡嗒卡嗒响，车头发出的尖锐汽笛声既伤感又像是在发歇斯底里。
The room assigned me was rather large, with a small stove to which was attached a crooked pipe that made an elbow just over the iron cot. A big chest for the coal and wood stood near the door. The windows gave out on a row of forlorn little houses all made of stone in which lived the grocer, the baker, the shoemaker, the butcher, etc. - all imbecilic-looking clodhoppers. I glanced over the rooftops toward the bare hills where a train was clattering. The whistle of the locomotive screamed mournfully and hysterically.
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Part 14 Chapter 3

待驼背替我生好了火，我便向他打听吃的。还不到吃饭时间，于是我穿着大衣倒在床上，把被子盖在身上。我身边便是那张用了不知多久，摇摇晃晃的床头柜，尿盆就藏在这里面。我把闹钟摆在床头柜上，望着时间一分钟一分钟嘀答嘀答过去。一道蓝光从外面街上透进屋里来，我倾听着卡车隆隆驶过，一边茫然地瞪着烟筒，瞪着用一截截铁丝捆住的烟筒拐弯处。我一辈子从未住过一间屋里摆着一个煤箱子的房子，也一辈子没有生过火、教过孩子，而且就此来说我还从未干过没有报酬的工作。我在感觉到自由自在的同时也觉得受到了束缚，很像一个人在选举前的心情，所有的骗子都得到了提名，这时却有人恳求你投那个合适人选的票。我觉得自己像一个受雇者、一个“万金油”、一个猎手、一个流浪汉，一个划船的囚犯、一个寒酸的小学教师、一条蛆和一只虱子。我是自由的，可我的四肢却带着镣铐。我是带着一张免费餐券的民主的灵魂，可是没有机车那么大的力量，没有声音。我又觉得自己像一只钉在木板上的海蜇，但我最明显的感觉是饿。钟上的指针走得很慢，还得消磨十分钟火警警报才会响。屋里的阴影更深了，静得吓人，这种紧张的寂静令我的神经难以忍受。窗子上积了小团小团的雪，远处有一台机车发出刺耳的响声，过后又是死一般的寂静，炉子燃旺了，可是并没有散发出多少热量。我有点儿担心自己会一觉睡过去，误了饭，那就意味着得空着肚子躺一夜，睡不着。于是，我惊慌了。
After the hunchback had made the fire for me I inquired about the grub. It was not quite time for dinner. I flopped on the bed, with my overcoat on, and pulled the covers over me. Beside me was the eternal rickety night table in which the piss pot is hidden away. I stood the alarm on the table and watched the minutes ticking off. Into the well of the room a bluish light filtered in from the street. I listened to the trucks rattling by as I gazed vacantly at the stove pipe, at the elbow where it was held together with bits of wire. The coal chest intrigued me. Never in my life had I occupied a room with a coal chest. And never in my life had I built a fire or taught children. Nor, for that matter, never in my life had I worked without pay. I felt free and chained at the same time - like one feels just before election, when all the crooks have been nominated and you are beseeched to vote for the right man. I felt like a hired man, like a jack of all trades, like a hunter, like a rover, like a galley slave, like a pedagogue, like a worm and a louse. I was free, but my limbs were shackled. A democratic soul with a free meal ticket, but no power of locomotion, no voice. I felt like a jellyfish nailed to a plank. Above all, I felt hungry. The hands were moving slowly. Still ten more minutes to kill before the fire alarm would go off. The shadows in the room deepened. It grew frightfully silent, a tense stillness that tautened my nerves. Little dabs of snow clung to the windowpanes. Far away a locomotive gave out a shrill scream. Then a dead silence again. The stove had commenced to glow, but there was no heat coming from it. I began to fear that I might doze off and miss the dinner. That would mean lying awake on an empty belly all night. I got panic stricken.

　　离开饭锣敲响还有一会儿，我跳下床锁上门冲到楼下的院子里。在那儿我迷失了方向，一间又一间四边形的房间、一座又一座楼梯，我在这些建筑物里进进出出，疯了似的找寻餐厅。我走过一长队不知正往哪儿去的孩子身边，他们像一群用锁链锁住的囚徒缓缓向前移动，队列前面有一个监工。最后我瞧见一个戴礼帽、精力旺盛的人朝我走来，我拦住他打听去餐厅的路。正巧我拦住了该拦的人，此人正是勒普罗维西厄，他对于同我巧遇感到高兴，马上便问我是否已安置妥当了，还有没有他可以替我效劳的事情。我告诉他一切都妥了。后来又冒昧添了一句，说只是有点儿冷。他宽慰我说这种天气是很反常的，不时有雾，还有一点儿雪，那时天气就要坏一阵了，以及其他诸如此类的话。说这些话时他始终挽着我的胳膊，领我朝餐厅走。
Just a moment before the gong went off I jumped out of bed and, locking the door behind me, I bolted downstairs to the courtyard. There I got lost. One quadrangle after another, one staircase after another. I wandered in and out of the buildings searching frantically for the refectory. Passed a long line of youngsters marching in a column to God knows where; they moved along like a chain gang, with a slave driver at the head of the column. Finally I saw an energetic looking individual, with a derby, heading toward me. I stopped him to ask the way to the refectory. Happened I stopped the right man. It was M. le Proviseur, and he seemed delighted to have stumbled on me. Wanted to know right away if I were comfortably settled, if there was anything more he could do for me. I told him everything was O.K. Only it was a bit chilly, I ventured to add. He assured me that it was rather unusual, this weather. Now and then the fogs came on and a bit of snow, and then it became unpleasant for a while, and so on and so forth. All the while he had me by the arm, guiding me toward the refectory.

　　看来他倒是一个满不错的人，一个正常的家伙，我自忖道。我甚至还幻想以后我也许F会同他关系密切起来，也许在某一个寒冷的夜晚他会请我去他的房间，替我弄一杯热酒。在走到餐厅门口的这几秒钟内我幻想到各种各样的友好场面，我的思想以每分钟一英里的速度飞驰。就在餐厅门口，他突然同我握握手，抬抬帽子同我道别。我茫然不知所措，便也碰了碰帽子。很快我就发现这是一件寻常的事，不定什么时候你碰到一位教员，甚至从莱克诺姆先生身边走过时也是一样，你都要碰碰帽子，也许你一天会与同一个人相遇十来次，那也一样，你一定得向他致意，哪怕你的帽子破了也罢，这才是礼貌的举止。
He seemed like a very decent chap. A regular guy, I thought to myself. I even went so far as to imagine that I might get chummy with him later on, that he'd invite me to his room on a bitter cold night and make a hot grog for me. I imagined all sorts of friendly things in the few moments it required to reach the door of the refectory. Here, my mind racing on at a mile a minute. he suddenly shook hands with me and, doffing his hat, bade me good night. I was so bewildered that I tipped my hat also. It was the regular thing to do, I soon found out. Whenever you pass a prof, or even M. l'Econome, you doff the hat. Might pass the same guy a dozen times a day. Makes no difference. You've got to give the salute, even though your hat is worn out. It's the polite thing to do.

　　我总算找到了餐厅。它很像纽约曼哈顿东区的一家平民诊所，砖墙，无罩的灯和大理石桌面的桌子，当然少不了一只带拐弯烟筒的大火炉。饭还没有端上来，一个跛子跑进跑出，拿盘子、刀叉和酒瓶。几个年轻人坐在一个角落里热烈地谈论着什么，我走过去作了自我介绍，他们极其友好地接待了我。老实说，几乎是友好得过分了，我弄不太懂这是怎么回事。一会儿屋里就挤满了人，于是他们很快把我介绍给每个人。接着他们在我身边围成一个圈子，斟满酒杯，唱起歌来……
Anyway, I had found the refectory. Like an East Side clinic it was, with tiled walls, bare light, and marble-topped tables. And of course a big stove with an elbow pipe. The dinner wasn't served yet. A cripple was running in and out with dishes and knives and forks and bottles of wine. In a corner several young men conversing animatedly. I went up to them and introduced myself. They gave me a most cordial reception. Almost too cordial, in fact. I couldn't quite make it out. In a jiffy the room began to fill up; I was presented from one to the other quickly. Then they formed a circle about me and, filling the glasses, they began to sing…

　　“一个晚上我起了一个念头：
　　我呼唤着宙斯去鸡奸一个绞死的人。
　　风在绞架上吹起，
　　看，那个死人在晃动。
　　我只得跳起来去好这个死尸，
　　呼唤着宙斯的大名，人们从不满足。
　　在过于狭小的肛门里亲吻，
　　呼唤着宙斯的大名，看着它在那儿乱蹭。
　　在过于宽大的肛门里亲吻，
　　人们一无所知或是发泄怒气，
　　那样的情景令人十分厌恶。
　　呼唤着宙斯的大名，人们从不满足。”
L'autre soir l'idée m'est venue
Cré nom de Zeus d'enculer un pendu;
Le vent se lève sur la potence,
Voilà mon pendu qui se balance,
J'ai d? l'enculer en sautant,
Cré nom de Zeus, on est jamais content.

Baiser dans un con trop petit,
Cré nom de Zeus, on s'écorche le vit;
Baiser dans un con trop large,
On ne sait pas où l'on décharge;
Se branler étant bien emmerdant,
Cré nom de Zeus, on est jamais content.

　　歌声刚落，卡西莫多宣布开饭了。
With this, Quasimodo announced the dinner.

　　这些学监是一群快乐的人。那位克罗打起嗝来像头猪，一坐下来吃饭总要先放一个大屁。他们告诉我，他能一连放十三个屁，这个记录没有人能打破。还有勒普兰斯先生，他是一个运动员，喜欢在傍晚进城时穿一件无尾夜常礼服。他相貌英俊，真像个姑娘，而且从来不碰酒，也不读任何会伤脑筋的东西。他旁边坐着琅蒂?保罗，保罗来自米迪，他整天什么都不想，只想女人。他每天都要说，“从星期四起我就不再谈女人了。”他和勒普兰斯先生好得难舍难分。再下来是巴斯罗，一个十足的小无赖。他在学习医学，他到处借贷，没完没了地谈论龙沙、维荣和拉伯雷。坐在我对面的是莫莱斯，老夫子们的鼓动者、组织者，他执意要称一称肉，看看是否差几克分量。他在学校附设医院里占了一间小房子。他的死敌是莱克诺姆先生，这并不能给他带来很大声望，因为大家都恨那个人。莫莱斯有个伙伴，叫勒佩尼普，他是一个郁郁寡欢的家伙，容貌像一只鹰。他非常节俭，却当了一个放债人，他像阿尔布雷克特?杜瑞的一件雕刻作品，是所有阴郁、乖戾、难对付、爱抱怨、不幸、不走运和内省的魔鬼的混合，这些魔鬼组成了德国中世纪武士的神灵。他无疑是个犹太人。总之我到这儿不久他就死于一场汽车事故了，这个事件使我再也不用还借他的二十三法郎了。除了坐在我旁边的勒诺，其他人早已从我的记忆中消失。他们属于那些毫无个性的一群，他们构成了工程师、建筑师、牙医、药剂师、教师等人的世界。没有什么可以将他们同他们过一会儿就拿来取笑的人区分开，他们完全一钱不值，是构成名誉而又可悲的市民核心的毫无价值的人物。他们垂着头吃东西，而且总是第一批大叫大嚷要添饭的人。他们睡得很死，从不抱怨，既不快活也不沮丧，他们是被但丁发配到地狱门厅去的平庸的一群，是上流社会的人物。
They were a cheerful group, les surveillants. There was Kroa who belched like a pig and always let off a loud fart when he sat down to table. He could fart thirteen times in succession, they informed me. He held the record. Then there was Monsieur le Prince, an athlete who was fond of wearing a tuxedo in the evening when he went to town; he had a beautiful complexion, just like a girl, and never touched the wine nor read anything that might tax his brain. Next to him sat Petit Paul, from the Midi, who thought of nothing but cunt all the time; he used to say every day - "à partir de jeudi je ne parlerai plus de femmes." He and Monsieur le Prince were inseparable. Then there was Passeleau, a veritable young scallywag who was studying medicine and who borrowed right and left; he talked incessantly of Ronsard, Villon and Rabelais. Opposite me sat Mollesse, agitator and organizer of the pions, who insisted on weighing the meat to see if it wasn't short a few grams. He occupied a little room in the infirmary. His supreme enemy was Monsieur l'Econome, which was nothing particularly to his credit since everybody hated this individual. For companion Mollesse had one called Le Pénible, a dour-looking chap with a hawklike profile who practised the strictest economy and acted as moneylender. He was like an engraving by Albrecht Dürer - a composite of all the dour, sour, morose, bitter, unfortunate, unlucky and introspective devils who compose the pantheon of Germany's medieval knights. A Jew, no doubt. At any rate, he was killed in an automobile accident shortly after my arrival, a circumstance which left me twenty three francs to the good. With the exception of Renaud who sat beside me, the others have faded out of my memory; they belonged to that category of colorless individuals who make up the world of engineers, architects, dentists, pharmacists, teachers, etc. There was nothing to distinguish them from the clods whom they would later wipe their boots on. They were zeros in every sense of the word, ciphers who form the nucleus of a respectable and lamentable citizenry. They ate with their heads down and were always the first to clamor for a second helping. They slept soundly and never complained; they were neither gay nor miserable. The indifferent ones whom Dante consigned to the vestibule of Hell. The upper crusters.

　　按照惯例，一吃完晚饭就马上到城里去，除了留在宿舍里执勤的人。城市中有几家咖啡馆，都是又大又凄凉的大厅，第戎昏昏欲睡的商人们聚集在这儿玩牌、听音乐。咖啡馆里挺暖和，这是我能替它们说的最好的好话，座位也过得去。总有几个妓女转来转去，为了一杯啤酒、一杯咖啡她们会坐下来同你聊天。可是音乐糟透了，竞是这种音乐。在一个冬天的夜里，呆在第戎这样一个肮脏的地方，再也没有比一支法国管弦乐队的演奏更叫人疲乏、头痛的了。尤其是，这是一支悲熗的女子管弦乐队，它奏出的一切都像在尖叫、在放屁，其节奏很枯燥，像代数一样，又具有牙膏那种合乎卫生的稠度。这种呜咽怪叫一小时竟要收那么多钱，而且迟到的人活该倒霉！它演奏的调子是那么悲哀，似乎老欧几里得用后腿站着吞下了氢氰酸。思想的王国已由理智完全开拓，没有给音乐创作留下一点点地盘，只除了手风琴的空板条，风呼啸着从中穿过，将太空撕成了碎片。不过在这个边远的城镇里谈论音乐就像在死牢里做梦喝香槟一样荒唐，音乐是我最不在意的东西。我甚至连女人也不想了，因为一切都是那么令人沮丧、寒冷、荒芜、阴暗。头一天晚上回家时我注意到一家咖啡馆的门上刻着高康大的话。咖啡馆内部却像一个停尸所。不管怎样，还是往前走吧！
It was the custom after dinner to go immediately to town, unless one was on duty in the dormitories. In the center of town were the cafés - huge, dreary halls where the somnolent merchants of Dijon gathered to play cards and listen to the music. It was warm in the cafés, that is the best I can say of them. The seats were fairly comfortable, too. And there were always a few whores about who, for a glass of beer or a cup of coffee, would sit and chew the fat with you. The music, on the other hand, was atrocious. Such music! On a winter's night, in a dirty hole like Dijon, nothing can be more harassing, more nerv-racking, than the sound of a French orchestra. Particularly one of those lugubrious female orchestras with everything coming in squeaks and farts, with a dry, algebraic rhythm and the hygienic consistency of toothpaste. A wheezing and scraping performed at so many francs the hour - and the devil take the hindmost! The melancholy of it! As if old Euclid had stood up on his hind legs and swallowed prussic acid. The whole realm of Idea so thoroughly exploited by the reason that there is nothing left of which to make music except the empty slats of the accordion, through which the wind whistles and tears the ether to tatters. However, to speak of music in connection with this putpost is like dreaming of champagne when you are in the death cell. Music was the least of my worries. I didn't even think of cunt, so dismal, so chill, so barren, so gray was it all. On the way home the first night I noticed on the door of a café an inscription from the Gargantua. Inside the café it was like a morgue. However, forward!

　　我有的是时间，却没有一文钱花。我一天只上两三个小时的会话课，以后就没有事了。教这些可怜虫英语又有什么用呢？　　
I had plenty of time on my hands and not a sou to spend. Two or three hours of conversational lessons a day, and that was all. And what use was it, teaching these poor bastards English?

我真替他们难过，整个上午苦苦地念《约翰?吉尔平的旅行》，到了下午又上我这儿来练习一种死去的语言。我想起自己浪费了多少时间读维吉尔的作品或是吃力地念《赫尔曼和多罗特哑》这类谁也看不懂的废话。真是疯了！学问是只空面包篮！
I felt sorry as hell for them. All morning plugging away on John Gilpin's Ride, and in the afternoon coming to me to practise a dead language. I thought of the good time I had wasted reading Virgil or wading through such incomprehensible nonsense as Hermann and Dorothea. The insanity of it! Learning, the empty breadbasket!

　　我又想起卡尔，他能把《浮士德》倒背如流，他每写一本书都要在里面拼命恭维不朽的、千古流芳的歌德。尽管如此，卡尔却缺乏常识，找不到一个阔女人，无法弄一身换洗内衣。这种以排队领救济食品和住防空洞告终的、对过去的眷恋中有一种讨人厌的感伤，这种精神上的喧哗是令人讨厌的，它竟许可一个白痴往德国大炮、无畏战舰和高效炸药上洒圣水。每一个满腹经纶的人都是人类的敌人。
I thought of Carl who can recite Faust backwards, who never writes a book without praising the shit out of his immortal, incorruptible Goethe. And yet he hadn't sense enough to take on a rich cunt and get himself a change of underwear. There's something obscene in this love of the past which ends in breadlines and dugouts. Something obscene about this spiritual racket which permits an idiot to sprinkle holy water over Big Berthas and dreadnoughts and high explosives. Every man with a bellyful of the classics is an enemy to the human race.

　　我来到了这儿，本是来传播法美友好福音的。我是一具僵尸的使者，他四处掠夺，酿成难以描述的痛苦和不幸，现在却梦想要建立世界和平了。呸！我真不明白，他们指望我讲什么？
Here was I, supposedly to spread the gospel of Franco-American amity - the emissary of a corpse who, after he had plundered right and left, after he had caused untold suffering and misery, dreamed of establishing universal peace. Pfui!

　　讲《草叶集》、讲关税壁垒、讲美国的《独立宣言》、讲最近一次流氓团伙之间的火并？讲什么？我想知道要我讲什么。唉，告诉你们，我从未提起这些。我开门见山，讲了一堂爱情生理学。
What did they expect me to talk about, I wonder? About Leaves of Grass, about the tariff walls, about the Declaration of Independence, about the latest gang war? What? Just what, I'd like to know. Well, I'll tell you - I never mentioned these things. I started right off the bat with a lesson in the psysiology of love.

　　我讲的是：大象怎样做爱。这一招灵极了，第一天过后便再也没有空板凳了，头一堂英语课后他们都站在门口等我到来。我们相处得很好，他们提各种问题，像是屁也没学会一样。我让他们不停地问，我教他们提出更难以启齿的问题。“什么都尽可以问。”—这就是我的座右铭。在这儿我像一个来自无拘无束的精灵的国度里的全权大使，来这儿旨在创造狂热和激动的气氛。一位著名天文学家说，“在某些方面，物质世界像一个讲过的故事一样悄然逝去，像幻觉一样化为乌有。”看来这话表达了在学问的空面包篮后面大家的普遍看法，我自己却不信这话，我不信这伙王八蛋企图硬往我们肚子里塞的一切鬼话。
How the elephants make love - that was it! It caught like wildfire. After the first day there were no more empty benches. After that first lesson in English they were standing at the door waiting for me. We got along swell together. They asked all sorts of questions, as though they had never learned a damned thing. I let them fire away. I taught them to ask still more ticklish questions. Ask anything! - that was my motto. I'm here as a plenipotentiary from the realm of free spirits. I'm here to create a fever and a ferment. "In some ways," says an eminent astronomer, "the material universe appears to be passing away like a tale that is told, dissolving into nothingness like a vision." That seems to be the general feeling underlying the empty breadbasket of learning. Myself, I don't believe it. I don't believe a fucking thing these bastards try to shove down our throats.
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Part 14 Chapter 4

如果没有书可看，不上课时我就上楼到学监的宿舍里找他们闲聊。他们对周围发生的一切无知得可笑，尤其对于艺术界的事情，他们差不多同学生一样无知。我好像闯进了一所没有标明出口的、私人开办的小疯人院一样，有时我在拱廊下窥探，看着孩子们大步走过去，脏兮兮的缸子里插着大块大块的面包。
Between sessions, if I had no book to read, I would go upstairs to the dormitory and chat with the pions. They were delightfully ignorant of all that was going on - especially in the world of art. Almost as ignorant as the students themselves. It was as if I had gotten into a private little madhouse with no exit signs. Sometimes I snooped around under the arcades, watching the kids marching along with huge hunks of bread stuck in their dirty mugs.

　　我自己总是觉得饥饿难忍，因为我根本不可能赶上早饭。早饭总在早晨一个荒唐的时辰开，而那会儿睡在床上真是舒服极了。早餐是大碗大碗的发蓝的咖啡和一块块白面包，没有奶油可抹。午饭是菜豆或扁豆，撒进去一点点肉屑使它看起来开胃些。这种食物只适合给做苦工的囚犯吃、给砸石头的囚犯吃。酒也很糟糕，不是搀了水就是变了味。这些食物有热量，不过烹调不得法。据众人说，莱克诺姆先生应对此负责。这话我也不信，人家花钱雇他，目的是要他不叫我们饿死就行。他并不问我们是否有痔疮或疗疮，并不关心我们是嘴细还是嘴粗。为什么要关心？他只是受雇去用这么多克的菜肴生产这么多千瓦的能量，一切都是以马力来计算的。这全在脸色青白的办事员早晨、中午和晚上抄抄写写的厚帐本上仔细计算过，借、贷这两部分用一道红线从中间隔开。
I was always hungry myself, since it was impossible for me to go to breakfast which was handed out at some ungodly hour of the morning, just when the bed was getting toasty. Huge bowls of blue coffee with chunks of white bread and no butter to go with it. For lunch, beans or lentils with bits of meat thrown in to make it look appetizing. Food fit for a chain gang, for rock breakers. Even the wine was lousy. Things were either diluted or bloated. There were calories, but no cuisine. M. l'Econome was responsible for it all. So they said. I don't believe that, either. He was paid to keep our heads just above the water line. He didn't ask if we were suffering from piles or carbuncles; he didn't inquire if we had delicate palates or the intestines of wolves. Why should he? He was hired at so many grams the plate to produce so many kilowatts of energy. Everything in terms of horse power. It was all carefully reckoned in the fat ledgers which the pasty faced clerks scribbled in morning, noon and night. Debit and credit, with a red line down the middle of the page.

　　空着肚子在四合院里徘徊时我常常不由自主地觉得自己有一点儿痴狂，我有一点儿像“愚蠢的查理”那个可怜虫，只是没有奥代特?德?尚帕狄丰来跟我玩牌。有一半的日子里我得向学生讨烟抽，有时正上着课我就跟他们一起啃开了一点干儿面包。炉子总灭，所以我很快便用完了配给的木柴。要哄得管宿舍的办事员拿出一点儿木柴来是很不容易的事情，最后我对此恼火极了，便上街去捡柴，像一个阿拉伯人似的。我很惊奇，在第戎的街道上几乎捡不到能生火的柴。不过这些小小的征集木柴的远证将我带到了陌生的地域，我渐渐熟悉了据信是以一位名叫菲利贝尔?帕尔隆的已故音乐家命名的一条小街，那儿有好几家妓院。这块地方总是会叫人更快活一些，有做饭的味道、有晾出来的衣物。我偶尔也看到在妓院里闲荡的可怜的傻瓜，他们比在城镇中心见到的穷鬼还好一些，每次穿过一家百货店时我都会碰到这些穷鬼。为了取暖我常常这样穿来穿去，我估计他们也是为了达到同一目的这样做的。他们在寻找一个愿为他们买一杯咖啡的人，由于寒冷和孤独他们显得有一点儿痴呆，而当蓝色的夜幕降临时整个城市都显得有几分痴呆。你可以任选一个星期四在主要马路上散步，一直走下去也永远不会碰到一个胸襟宽大的人。六七万人—也许更多—穿着羊毛内衣，无处可去，无事可做。他们生产出一车车芥末。女子管弦乐队笨拙地奏出《快乐的寡妇》。大旅馆里提供银质服务。一座公爵的宫殿正在一块块、一点点地朽掉。树木在霜冻下发出尖厉的响声。木头鞋子不停地格登格登响。那所大学在纪念歌德的忌日，或者是诞辰日，我记不清到底是哪一个了（通常人们是纪念忌日的），总之这是一件蠢事，人人都在打哈欠、伸胳膊。
Roaming around the quadrangle with an empty belly most of the time I got to feel slightly mad. Like Charles the Silly, poor devil - only I had no Odette Champdivers with whom to play stinkfinger. Half the time I had to grub cigarettes from the students, and during the lessons sometimes I munched a bit of dry bread with them. As the fire was always going out on me I soon used up my allotment of wood. It was the devil's own time coaxing a little wood out of the ledger clerks. Finally I got so riled up about it that I would go out in the street and hunt for firewood, like an Arab. Astonishing how little firewood you could pick up in the streets of Dijon. However, these little foraging expeditions brought me into strange precincts. Got to know the little street named after a M. Philibert Papillon - a dead musician, I believe - where there was a cluster of whorehouses. It was always more cheerful hereabouts; there was the smell of cooking, and wash hanging out to dry. Once in a while I caught a glimpse of the poor half wits who lounged about inside. They were better off than the poor devils in the center of town whom I used to bump into whenever I walked through a department store. I did that frequently in order to get warm. They were doing it for the same reason, I suppose. Looking for someone to buy them a coffee. They looked a little crazy, with the cold and the loneliness. The whole town looked a bit crazy when the blue of evening settled over it. You could walk up and down the main drive any Thursday in the week till doomsday and never meet an expansive soul. Sixty or seventy thousand people - perhaps more - wrapped in woolen underwear and nowhere to go and nothing to do. Turning out mustard by the carload. Female orchestras grinding out The Merry Widow. Silver service in the big hotels. The ducal palace rotting away, stone by stone, limb by limb. The trees screeching with frost. A ceaseless clatter of wooden shoes. The University celebrating the death of Goethe, or the birth, I don't remember which. (Usually it's the deaths that are celebrated.) Idiotic affair, anyway. Everybody yawning and stretching.

　　从马路上一路走进四合院，我总会产生一种深切的徒劳无功的感觉。院外是一片凄凉和空虚，院里也是一片凄凉和空虚。这座城镇笼罩在一种卑下的贫乏和啃书本的浓雾中，学的全是以往的渣滓。教室分布在里院四周，很像在北方森林中见到的小屋，学究们就在这儿尽情大发宏论。黑板上写着毫无用处的胡言乱语，法兰西共和国的未来公民得花毕生时间才能忘掉这些胡话。有时在马路边的大接待室里接待家长们，那儿摆着古代英雄的半身塑像，诸如莫里哀、拉辛、柯奈、伏尔泰之流。无论何时又一个不朽的人被摆进蜡像馆后，内阁部长们总要用湿润的嘴唇提到所有这些稻草人（没有维荣的，拉伯雷的和兰波的胸像）。总之，家长们和这些衬衣里塞了东西的蜡像在这庄严肃穆的会议上碰到一起了。国家雇了这些蜡像来矫正年轻人的思想，总是这样矫正，总是用这种美化庭院的方法使思想变得更有吸引力。小孩子们偶尔也上这儿来，人们很快便会把这些小向日葵从托儿所里移植出去装饰城市的草坪。有些只是橡皮植物，只消用一件破衬衣就可以很便当地掸去上面的尘土，一到晚上他们便急急忙忙没命地逃进宿舍里去了。宿舍！这儿亮着红灯，铃像消防队的警报一样呼啸，这儿的楼梯踏板由于人们常一窝蜂涌向教室被踩出了空洞。
Coming through the high driveway into the quadrangle a sense of abysmal futility always came over me. Outside bleak and empty; inside, bleak and empty. A scummy sterility hanging over the town, a fog of book-learning. Slag and cinders of the past. Around the interior courts were ranged the classrooms, little shacks such as you might see in the North woods, where the pedagogues gave free rein to their voices. On the blackboard the futile abracadabra which the future citizens of the republic would have to spend their lives forgetting. Once in a while the parents were received in the big reception room just off the driveway, where there were busts of the heroes of antiquity, such as Molière, Racine, Corneille, Voltaire, etc., all the scarecrows whom the cabinet ministers mention with moist lips whenever an immortal is added to the waxworks. (No bust of Villon, no bust of Rabelais, no bust of Rimbaud.) Anyway, they met here in solemn conclave, the parents and the stuffed shirts whom the State hires to bend the minds of the young. Always this bending process, this landscape gardening to make the mind more attractive. And the youngsters came too, occasionally - the little sunflowers who would soon be transplanted from the nursery in order to decorate the municipal grassplots. Some of them were just rubber plants easily dusted with a torn chemise. All of them jerking away for dear life in the dormitories as soon as night came on. The dormitories! where the red lights glowed, where the bell rang like a fire alarm, where the treads were hollowed out in the scramble to reach the education cells.

　　还有那些教师，起初几天我甚至同他们中的几个人握了手，当然在拱廊下擦身而过时也总少不了碰碰帽子相互致意。可是根本谈不到倾心交谈，也谈不到走到街角那儿一起喝上一杯。那简直是不可想象的，他们有许多人显得像是吓破了胆。总之我是属于另一阶层的，他们甚至不愿同我这种人分享一只虱子。只要一看到他们我就气不打一处来，所以一看到他们过来我就暗暗诅咒。我常常靠着一恨柱子站在那儿，嘴角上叼着一根烟，帽子扣在眼睛上，待他们走到听得见的地方我便狠狠啐一口唾沫，再抬起帽子来。我甚至懒得张口同他们打招呼，我只是从牙缝里迸出一句，“去你妈的，杰克！”说完就拉倒。
Then there were the profs! During the first few days I got so far as to shake hands with a few of them, and of course there was always the salute with the hat when we passed under the arcades. But as for a heart to heart talk, as for walking to the corner and having a drink together, nothing doing. It was simply unimaginable. Most of them looked as though they had had the shit scared out of them. Anyway, I belonged to another hierarchy. They wouldn't even share a louse with the likes of me. They made me so damned irritated, just to look at them, that I used to curse them under my breath when I saw them coming. I used to stand there, leaning against a pillar, with a cigarette in the corner of my mouth and my hat down over my eyes, and when they got within hailing distance I would let squirt a good gob and up with the hat. I didn't even bother to open my trap and bid them the time of the day. Under my breath I simply said: "Fuck you, Jack!" and let it go at that.

　　在这儿呆了一星期后我就觉得已在这儿呆了一辈子，这就像一场可怕的恶梦，简直摆脱不了它。想着它我常常会昏睡过去。几天前我才到了这儿，当时夜幕刚降下，人们在朦胧的灯光下像老鼠一样匆匆赶回家去，树木带着宝石尖般的恶意闪闪发光，我不止一千次地想起了这一切。从火车站到这所学校一路上犹如穿越但泽走廊的一次散步，到处毛茸茸的、有裂缝，令人神经紧张。这是死人尸骨铺砌的胡同，下面埋着衣衫褴楼、歪七扭八、互相搂抱在一起的死人，还有沙丁鱼骨制成的脊骨。学校本身像是矗立在一层薄雪之上，它像一座倒置的山，其山顶直插地球中心，上帝或魔鬼在那儿总穿着一件紧身衣干活，为那个始终不过是梦中遗精的天堂磨面粉。如果太阳出来过我也不记得了，我什么也不记得了，只记得从那边结了冰的沼泽上吹过来寒冷、油腻的雾，铁道就是在那儿消失在阴郁的群山中去。距火车站不远有一条人工运河，也许它是一条天然河也不得而知，它躲在黄色的天幕下，突起的两岸边斜搭着一些小棚屋。我突然悟到周围还有一座兵营，因为我不时遇到一些来自交趾支那的黄皮肤小个子，这伙扭来扭去、脸色焦黄的小矮个儿身着袋子似的肥大军衣四处乱瞅，活像放在刨花中的干骨架。
After a week it seemed as if I had been here all my life. It was like a bloody, fucking nightmare that you can't throw off. Used to fall into a coma thinking about it. Just a few days ago I had arrived. Nightfall. People scurrying home like rats under the foggy lights. The trees glittering with diamond pointed malice. I thought it all out, a thousand times or more. From the station to the Lycée it was like a promenade through the Danzig Corridor, all deckle edged, crannied, nerve ridden. A lane of dead bones, of crooked, cringing figures buried in shrouds. Spines made of sardine bones. The Lycée itself seemed to rise up out of a lake of thin snow, an inverted mountain that pointed down toward the center of the earth where God or the Devil works always in a straitjacket grinding grist for that paradise which is always a wet dream. If the sun ever shone I don't remember it. I remember nothing but the cold greasy fogs that blew in from the frozen marshes over yonder where the railroad tracks burrowed into the lurid hills. Down near the station was a canal, or perhaps it was a river, hidden away under a yellow sky, with little shacks pasted slap up against the rising edge of the banks. There was a barracks too somewhere, it struck me, because every now and then I met little yellow men from Cochin China - squirmy, opium faced runts peeping out of their baggy uniforms like dyed skeletons packed in excelsior.

　　这地方见鬼的中世纪遗风极难对付、极顽强，它低声呻吟着来回摇晃，从屋檐下跳出来向你扑来，像被割断脖子的罪犯那样从滴水嘴上垂下来。我不断扭过头去看身后，一直像一只挨脏叉子扎的螃蟹那样走路。所有这些肥胖的小怪物，所有粘在圣米歇尔教堂正面墙上石板状的雕像都跟在我身后走过弯弯曲曲的小胡同、拐过街角。圣米歇尔教堂的正面到了夜间便像一本集邮簿一样打开了，使你面对着印好的纸张上的吓人景物。灯熄了，这些景物也从眼前消失，像文字一样静寂无声，这时教堂正面的墙显得非常庄严雄伟。古老、粗糙的正面墙上的每一道缝里都回荡着夜风的沉重呼啸声，冰冷、僵硬、呈花边状的碎石上洒了一层朦朦胧胧的、苦艾酒般的雾和霜的涎水。
The whole goddamned medievalism of the place was infernally ticklish and restive, rocking back and forth with low moans, jumping out at you from the eaves, hanging like broken necked criminals from the gargoyles. I kept looking back all the time, kept walking like a crab that you prong with a dirty fork. All those fat little monsters, those slablike effigies pasted on the fa?ade of the Eglise St. Michel, they were following me down the crooked lanes and around corners. The whole fa?ade of St. Michel seemed to open up like an album at night, leaving you face to face with the horrors of the printed page. When the lights went out and the characters faded away flat, dead as words, then it was quite magnificent, the fa?ade; in every crevice of the old gnarled front there was the hollow chant of the nightwind and over the lacy rubble of cold stiff vestments there was a cloudy absinthe like drool of fog and frost.

　　教堂耸立的这个地方的一切似乎都前后倒了个儿，教堂本身在几世纪以来雪的侵蚀下也一定偏离了它的地基。它坐落在埃德加—基内广场，像一头死去的骡子那样迎着风蹲着。风穿过莫奈街呼啸而来，像胡乱飘扬的白发。它绕着白色拴马桩回旋，这些桩子挡住了公共汽车和二十匹骡子拉的马车的通道。有时清晨从这个出口摇摇摆摆出来后我会同勒诺先生不期而遇，他像一个贪吃的修道士一样把自己裹在修道士的长袍里，用十六世纪的语言同我攀谈。于是我同勒诺先生并排走，这时月亮像被刺破的气球从油腻腻的天空中跃出，我亦立刻堕入了超然的王国中。勒诺先生讲话干脆利落，像杏子一样淡而无味，带着很重的勃兰登保人的口音。他常常一见到我就滔滔不绝地谈起歌德或费希特，深沉、凝重的声音在广场上顶风的角落里发出隆隆的回声，像去年的雷鸣。尤卡坦人、桑给巴尔人、火地岛人，把我从这张海绿色的猪皮下救出来吧！美国北部堆积在我周围，冰河时代的狭湾、顶端呈蓝色的脊骨、疯狂的灯光，还有淫荡的基督教圣歌像雪崩一样从意大利的埃特纳火山延伸到爱琴海。一切都像泡沫一样冻得硬硬的。思想被禁锢，四周结上了霜。从卖弄小聪明的凄凉的包裹里传出被虱子吞食的圣人发出的快窒息的嗓音。这时我在场，裹在羊毛里，包在襁褓里，带着镣铐，被人割断了脚筋，不过我没有参与此事，我一直白到骨头里，不过有一种冷的碱性成分，有桔黄色指尖的手指。无恶意，对了，不过不爱做学问，没有天主教徒的柔肠。无恶意而又无情，像在我之前驶出易北河的人一样。我眺望大海、天空，眺望不可理喻而又相距不远不近的一切。
Here, where the church stood, everything seemed turned hind side front. The church itself must have been twisted off its base by centuries of progress in the rain and snow. It lay in the Place Edgar Quinet, squat against the wind, like a dead mule. Through the Rue de la Monnaie the wind rushed like white hair streaming wild: it whirled around the white hitching posts which obstructed the free passage of omnibuses and twenty mule teams. Swinging through this exit in the early morning hours I sometimes stumbled upon Monsieur Renaud who, wrapped in his cowl like a gluttonous monk, made overtures to me in the language of the sixteenth century. Falling in step with Monsieur Renaud, the moon busting through the greasy sky like a punctured balloon, I fell immediately into the realm of the transcendental. M. Renaud had a precise speech, dry as apricots, with a heavy Brandenburger base. Used to come at me full tilt from Goethe or Fichte, with deep base notes that rumbled in the windy corners of the Place like claps of last year's thunder. Men of Yucatan, men of Zanzibar, men of Tierra del Fuego, save me from this glaucous hog rind! The North piles up about me, the glacial fjords, the blue-tipped spines, the crazy lights, the obscene Christian chant that spread like an avalanche from Etna to the Aegean. Everything frozen tight as scum, the mind locked and rimed with frost, and through the melancholy bales of chitter wit the choking gargle of louse eaten saints. White I am and wrapped in wool, swaddled, fettered, hamstrung, but in this I have no part. White to the bone, but with a cold alkali base, with saffron-tipped fingers. White, aye, but no brother of learning, no Catholic heart. White and ruthless, as the men before me who sailed out of the Elbe. I look to the sea, to the sky, to what is unintelligible and distantly near.

　　风吹动脚下的积雪，雪花随风飘动，使人发痒、刺痛，它们发出含混的啸声，被风卷到空中又纷纷扬扬地落下，裂成碎屑洒下来。没有太阳，没有咆哮的海浪，没有拍打堤岸的滔天巨浪。寒冷的北风带着有刺的矛尖吹来，冷冰冰地、刻毒地、贪婪地，具有破坏性，使人疲软无力。街道用弯曲的肘部支撑着身子走远了，它们逃离纷乱的景物，躲开严厉的注视。它们沿着不断变幻的格子瞒珊而去，从前面绕到教堂后面，砍倒塑像，推平纪念碑，拔出树木，封住小草，从土地中吸去其芳香气味。树叶变得同水泥一样干枯，露水也无法再使它们滋润起来，月亮再也不会把它的银光洒上无精打彩的叶片。四季循环即将陷于停顿。树枯萎了。马车发出明晰的竖琴似的砰砰响声在云母般的车辙中滚动。阴惨惨的、没有骨头的第戎在顶上有积雪的山峦间的空地上沉睡。夜里没有人活着或走动，只除了朝南去、朝青玉色的地域移去的不安分的精灵，然而我没有睡，仍在游荡。我是一个游荡的鬼魂，一个被这个冷冷的屠宰场吓坏了的白人。我是谁？我在这儿做什么？我堕入了刻毒的人性的冷墙中，我是一个白色的人影，在挣扎、在沉入冰凉的湖水中去，上面压着一大堆脑壳。于是我在高纬度的冷地方住下来，白垩的阶梯染成了深蓝色。黑暗走道里的土地熟悉我的脚步，感觉到上面踩着一只脚，一只翅膀在扑动，一阵喘息，一阵颤抖。我听见学识受到嘲弄，人影在向上攀，编幅口中流出的涎水从空中滴下，落在纸板糊的翅膀上发出叮当声。我听到火车相撞、链子哗啦乱响、车头轧轧响着喷气、吸气，流水。一切都带着陈旧的气味透过清雾向我袭来，还带着黄色的宿醉、诅咒和磨难。在第戎下面，在极北地域下很深的冥冥核心中站着埃阿斯，他的双肩被缚在磨盘上，橄榄叶吱吱作响，沼泽地里的绿水因为有了哇哇叫的青蛙而充满生机。
The snow under foot scurries before the wind, blows, tickles, stings, lisps away, whirls aloft, showers, splinters, sprays down. No sun, no roar of surf, no breaker's surge. The cold north wind pointed with barbed shafts, icy, malevolent, greedy, blighting, paralyzing. The streets turn away on their crooked elbows; they break from the hurried sight, the stern glance. They hobble away down the drifting lattice work, wheeling the church hind side front, mowing down the statues, flattening the monuments, uprooting the trees, stiffening the grass, sucking the fragrance out of the earth. Leaves dull as cement: leaves no dew can bring to glisten again. No moon will ever silver their listless plight. The seasons are come to a stagnant stop, the trees blench and wither, the wagons roll in the mica ruts with slithering harplike thuds. In the hollow of the white tipped hills, lurid and boneless Dijon slumbers. No man alive and walking through the night except the restless spirits moving southward toward the sapphire grids. Yet I am up and about, a walking ghost, a white man terrorized by the cold sanity of this slaughterhouse geometry. Who am I? What am I doing here? I fall between the cold walls of human malevolence, a white figure fluttering, sinking down through the cold lake, a mountain of skulls above me. I settle down to the cold latitudes, the chalk steps washed with indigo. The earth in its dark corridors knows my step, feels a foot abroad, a wing stirring, a gasp and a shudder. I hear the learning chaffed and chuzzled, the figures mounting upward, bat slime dripping aloft and clanging with pasteboard golden wings; I hear the trains collide, the chains rattle, the locomotive chugging, snorting, sniffing, steaming and pissing. All things come to me through the clear fog with the odor of repetition, with yellow hangovers and Gadzooks and whettikins. In the dead center, far below Dijon, far below the hyperborean regions, stands God Ajax, his shoulders strapped to the mill wheel, the olives crunching, the green marsh water alive with croaking frogs.
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Part 14 Chapter 5
雾和雪、高纬度地区、渊博学识、发蓝的咖啡、没有抹奶油的面包、扁豆汤、罐头猪肉煮豆子、放了很久的奶酪、没有烹熟的食物和糟糕的酒已使这整座感化院里的人陷入便秘的窘境中。正当每个人都憋了一肚子屎时厕所的下水管道又冻住了，大便像蚂蚁丘一样堆积起来，人们只得从那个小台子上下来，把屎拉在地板上。于是它在地上冻住了，等待融化。到了星期四驼背推着他的小推车来了，用扫帚和一只盘子样的东西掀起这一摊摊又冷又硬的大便，然后拖着一条枯萎的腿用车子推走。走廊里扔满了手纸，像捕蝇纸一样粘在脚下。一俟天气转暖这气味便更浓，在四十英里外的温彻斯特都闻得到。早上拿着牙刷站在这一堆发酵成熟的大粪前，这股冲天臭气会使你的脑袋发晕。我们都穿着红色法兰绒衬衣站在旁边，等着轮到自己对着下水孔漱口。这很像威尔弟一出伟大歌剧中的一段抒情调—有滑车和罗网的砧琴合奏。夜里迫不急待要上厕所时，我便冲进勒桑塞尔先生的专用卫生间，它就在汽车道边上。我们的马桶上常常沾满了血，他的马桶也没有冲洗，不过至少可以坐下来出恭。我把自己的一摊大便留给他，作为一种尊敬的表示。
The fog and snow, the cold latitude, the heavy learning, the blue coffee, the unbuttered bread, the soup and lentils, the heavy pork packer beans, the stale cheese, the soggy chow, the lousy wine have put the whole penitentiary into a state of constipation. And just when everyone has become shit tight the toilet pipes freeze. The shit piles up like ant hills; one has to move down from the little pedestals and leave it on the floor. It lies there stiff and frozen, waiting for the thaw. On Thursdays the hunchback comes with his little wheelbarrow, shovels the cold, stiff turds with a broom and pan, and trundles off dragging his withered leg. The corridors are littered with toilet paper; it sticks to your feet like flypaper. When the weather moderates the odor gets ripe; you can smell it in Winchester forty miles away. Standing over that ripe dung in the morning, with a toothbrush, the stench is so powerful that it makes your head spin. We stand around in red flannel shirts, waiting to spit down the hole; it is like an aria from one of Verdi's great operas - an anvil chorus with pulleys and syringes. In the night, when I am taken short, I rush down to the private toilet of M. le Censeur, just off the driveway. My stool is always full of blood. His toilet doesn't flush either but at least there is the pleasure of sitting down. I leave my little bundle for him as a token of esteem.

每天晚上饭快吃完时守夜人便进来同大家一起干杯，他是整个学校唯一一个我能引为同类的人。他是一个微不足道的人，提着一盏灯和一串钥匙。他整夜巡逻，像一部机器那样机械。大约到了把很陈的奶酪传递给大家的时候，他就会闯进来讨一杯酒喝。他站着伸出手来，头发很坚硬，像一头大猎犬，面颊红润，胡须上沾着晶莹的雪。他咕哝了一句什么，那位卡西莫多便递给他酒瓶。他双脚牢牢地戳在地上，一扬脖子酒便下去了，只是缓缓地一大口便喝完了。我觉得他像是在把红酒灌下肚去，他的这个动作使我感动得不得了，他几乎是在喝下人类同情心的渣滓，仿佛世界上的爱与怜悯能这样一口喝干了事，仿佛日复一日这是唯一能挤压在一起的东西。他们已把他弄得连只兔子都不如了，在他们的筹划中他还抵不上胯青鱼用的盐水呢。他不过只是一堆行尸走肉，他自己也明白这一点。喝完酒后他环顾四周、朝我们微笑时这个世界好像四分五裂了，这是甩过一道深渊的微笑。整个发臭的文明世界像一块沼泽地一样处于这个深渊底部，这种犹犹豫豫的微笑像一座海市蜃楼一样在上面飘忽不定地摇曳。
Toward the end of the meal each evening the veilleur de nuit drops in for his bit of cheer. This is the only human being in the whole institution with whom I feel a kinship. He is a nobody. He carries a lantern and a bunch of keys. He makes the rounds through the night, stiff as an automaton. About the time the stale cheese is being passed around, in he pops for his glass of wine. He stands there, with paw outstretched, his hair stiff and wiry, like a mastiff's, his cheeks ruddy, his mustache gleaming with snow. He mumbles a word or two and Quasimodo brings him the bottle. Then, with feet solidly planted, he throws back his head and down it goes, slowly in one long draught. To me it's like he's pouring rubies down his gullet. Something about this gesture which seizes me by the hair. It's almost as if he were drinking down the dregs of human sympathy, as if all the love and compassion in the world could be tossed off like that, in one gulp - as if that were all that could be squeezed together day after day. A little less than a rabbit they have made him. In the scheme of things he's not worth the brine to pickle a herring. He's just a piece of live manure. And he knows it. When he looks around after his drink and smiles at us, the world seems to be falling to pieces. It's a smile thrown across an abyss. The whole stinking civilized world lies like a quagmire at the bottom of the pit, and over it, like a mirage, hovers this wavering smile.

　　晚上散步回来时迎接我的仍是这种微笑。记得有一天晚上我站在门口等老头儿巡逻回来，当时我有一种健康愉快的感觉，我愿意一直等下去。我等了大概半个小时他才打开门，在此期间我安详、从容地观察四周，仔细看每一件景物。我看到学校前那棵树枝像绳子一样拧在一起的死树和街对面的房屋，这些房屋在夜晚改变了颜色，现在轮廓更清楚了。我听到一列火车隆隆驶过西伯利亚荒原，看到于特里约画的围栏、天空、深深的车辙，突然不知从哪儿冒出两个情人来，他们走几码就要站下拥抱一番。待我的眼睛再也看不到他们了，我便倾听他们的脚步声，我听到他们突兀地站下，接着便是缓慢、曲折的漫步。我能感觉到他们靠在一根围栏上时两人身体在下堕，能听到他们拥抱前肌肉绷紧时鞋子发出的吱吱响声。他们在镇上漫游，穿过弯弯曲曲的街道朝水平如镜的运河走去，那儿的水黑得像煤块一样。这事有点儿蹊跷，在整个第戎找不出另外两个像他们这样的人。
It was the same smile which greeted me at night when I returned from my rambles. I remember one such night when, standing at the door waiting for the old fellow to finish his rounds, I had such a sense of well being that I could have waited thus forever. I had to wait perhaps half an hour before he opened the door. I looked about me calmly and leisurely, drank everything in, the dead tree in front of the school with its twisted rope branches, the houses across the street which had changed color during the night, which curved now more noticeably, the sound of a train rolling through the Siberian wastes, the railings painted by Utrillo, the sky, the deep wagon ruts. Suddenly, out of nowhere, two lovers appeared; every few yards they stopped and embraced, and when I could no longer follow them with my eyes I followed the sound of their steps, heard the abrupt stop, and then the slow, meandering gait. I could feel the sag and slump of their bodies when they leaned against a rail, heard their shoes creak as the muscles tightened for the embrace. Through the town they wandered, through the crooked streets, toward the glassy canal where the water lay black as coal. There was something phenomenal about it. In all Dijon not two like them.

　　与此同时老头儿仍在巡逻，我听得到他的钥匙叮当乱响、他的靴子发出的咯吱声和执著机械的走路声。最后我听见他沿着车道走过来开大门，这座有顶的大门很古怪，门前没有壕沟。我听见他在锁上摸索，他的手僵硬了，他的脑袋发木了。门推开时，我看到他头顶上罩着小教堂上方的一个辉煌的星座。每一扇门都已锁上，每一个房间都已闩上，书本都合上了。夜幕低垂，像匕首尖一样锐利，像疯子一样烂醉如泥。这就是虚无的无限了。在小教堂上空悬着的这个星座，像一位主教的法冠。在冬天的几个月里它每月都低垂在小教堂上空，又低又明亮，犹如几把匕首尖，这是彻底的虚无发出的强光。老头跟我来到车道拐弯处，门无声地关上了，同他道晚安时我又看到了那种绝望、无助的笑容，像从一个失去了的世界边缘上掠过的一颗闪光的流星。我仿佛又看到他站在饭厅里，一扬脖子红酒便灌进了肚子。整个地中海似乎都装进他肚于里了，桔子树林、柏树、有翼的雕像、木结构的庙宇、湛蓝的大海、僵直的面具、神秘莫测的数字、神话中的鸟、蔚蓝的天空、小鹰、阳光明媚的小海湾、盲诗人及留胡子的英雄。这一切业已逝去，沉入北方涌来的雪崩之下。它们已被掩埋，永远死去，只遗下一个记忆、一个无羁的希望。
Meanwhile the old fellow was making the rounds; I could hear the jingle of his keys, the crunching of his boots, the steady, automatic tread. Finally I heard him coming through the driveway to open the big door, a monstrous, arched portal without a moat in front of it. I heard him fumbling at the lock, his hands stiff, his mind numbed. As the door swung open I saw over his head a brilliant constellation crowning the chapel. Every door was locked, every cell bolted. The books were closed. The night hung close, dagger-pointed, drunk as a maniac. There it was, the infinitude of emptiness. Over the chapel, like a bishop's miter, hung the constellation, every night, during the winter months, it hung there low over the chapel. Low and bright, a handful of dagger points, a dazzle of pure emptiness. The old fellow followed me to the turn of the drive. The door closed silently. As I bade him good night I caught that desperate, hopeless smile again, like a meteoric flash over the rim of a lost world. And again I saw him standing in the refectory, his head thrown back and the rubies pouring down his gullet. The whole Mediterranean seemed to be buried inside him - the orange groves, the cypress trees, the winged statues, the wooden temples, the blue sea, the stiff masks, the mystic numbers, the mythological birds, the sapphire skies, the eaglets, the sunny coves, the blind bards, the bearded heroes. Gone all that. Sunk beneath the avalanche from the North. Buried, dead forever. A memory. A wild hope.

　　我在车道上徘徊了一会儿，体验这夜幕、这阴暗的屏障和难以名状的、紧紧攫任人的空幻感，然后我沿着围墙边的碎石路快步走开，穿过拱门和柱子、铁楼梯，走过一个又一个四合院。一切都锁得严严实实的，锁起来好过冬。我找到了通向宿舍去的拱廊。从肮脏不堪、结了霜的窗子里透出的惨淡光线倾泻在楼梯上，各处的油漆都已脱落，石头被掏空，楼梯扶手嘎嘎直响。楼梯顶上那盏微弱的红灯发出的光穿透了铺路石上散出的潮气形成的苍白、模糊的蒸汽团。我大汗淋漓、惊慌失措地爬上最后一段楼梯，即塔楼。我在一片漆黑中摸索着走过空寂无人的走廊，每个房间都是空的、锁上的，都正在朽掉。我伸手在墙上摸匙孔，握住门把手时总会慌乱一阵。总有一只手抓着我的衣领，预备把我猛拽回去。一进屋我就锁上门，我每天晚上都在创造奇迹，这个奇迹便是不等被人扼死、不等被人用斧头砍倒就进屋。我听见老鼠在走廊里跑过，在我头顶上的粗椽子之间大咬大嚼。灯光像正在燃烧的硫磺一样耀眼，屋里充满从未通过风的房子里的那种又亲切又难闻的恶臭味。装煤的箱子像我离开时一样仍摆在角落里，炉火熄了，这极度的寂静倒叫我觉得像是听到了尼亚加拉大瀑布的水声似的。
For just a moment I linger at the carriageway. The shroud, the pall, the unspeakable, clutching emptiness of it all. Then I walk quickly along the gravel path near the wall, past the arches and columns, the iron staircases, from one quadrangle to the other. Everything is locked tight. Locked for the winter. I find the arcade leading to the dormitory. A sickish light spills down over the stairs from the grimy, frosted windows. Everywhere the paint is peeling off. The stones are hollowed out, the banister creaks; a damp sweat oozes from the flagging and forms a pale, fuzzy aura pierced by the feeble red light at the head of the stairs. I mount the last flight, the turret, in a sweat and terror. In pitch darkness I grope my way through the deserted corridor, every room empty, locked, molding away. My hand slides along the wall seeking the keyhole. A panic comes over me as I grasp the doorknob. Always a hand at my collar ready to yank me back. Once inside the room I bolt the door. It's a miracle which I perform each night, the miracle of getting inside without being strangled, without being struck down by an ax. I can hear the rats scurrying through the corridor, gnawing away over my head between the thick rafters. The light glares like burning sulfur and there is the sweet, sickish stench of a room which is never ventilated. In the corner stands the coal box, just as I left it. The fire is out. A silence so intense that it sounds like Niagara Falls in my ears.

　　于是我独自呆着，带着极度空虚的渴求和恐惧，整间房子都听凭我的思绪驰骋。除了我和我所想的、所畏惧的一无所有。我尽可以去想最最异想天开的事情，尽可以跳舞、啐唾沫、做怪相、诅咒谩骂、掩面大哭—谁也不会知道，谁也听不见。一想到这种彻底的独处生活就足以使我发疯，就好像一个人利落地生下来，一切牵挂都割断了，分割开，赤裸裸的、独自一人呆着，同时也尝到了幸福和痛苦。你有的是时间，每一秒钟都像一座大山一样压在你身上，你在时间中被溺死。沙漠、大海、湖泊、大洋。时间像一把砍肉斧头在一下下砍击中逝去。虚无、大千世界、我和非我。Oomaharumooma。每一件事物都得有一个名称，每一件事情都得通过学习、考验和体验才能掌握。亲爱的，别客气。
Alone, with a tremendous empty longing and dread. The whole room for my thoughts. Nothing but myself and what I think, what I fear. Could think the most fantastic thoughts, could dance, spit, grimace, curse, wail - nobody would ever know, nobody would ever hear. The thought of such absolute privacy is enough to drive me mad. It's like a clean birth. Everything cut away. Separate, naked, alone. Bliss and agony simultaneously. Time on your hands. Each second weighing on you like a mountain. You drown in it. Deserts, seas, lakes, oceans. Time beating away like a meat ax. Nothingness. The world. The me and the not me. Oomaharumooma. Everything has to have a name. Everything has to be learned, tested, experienced. Faites comme chez vous, chéri.

　　寂静是乘着火山状的降落伞降临的。在那边贫脊的群山中，机车正拖着商品朝广阔的冶金地区隆隆驶去。它们在钢铁路基上滚动，地上洒着矿渣、炉渣和紫色矿石。车里装着海带、鱼尾板、钢材、枕木、盘钢、厚金属板、叠合材料、热轧钢箍、软木条和迫击炮车，以及佐泽斯矿石。轮子是U-80毫米的，或者更大。机车经过盎格鲁-诺曼式建筑的堂皇标本，经过了步行者和男同性恋者、露天冶炼炉、使用贝塞麦法的磨坊、发电机和变压器、生铁块和钢锭。众人都自由自在地在五星状的胡同里过来过去，行人和男同性恋者、金鱼和玻璃丝样的棕桐树，驴子在抽泣。在巴西广场有一只淡紫色的眼睛。
The silence descends in volcanic chutes. Yonder, in the barren hills, rolling onward toward the great metallurgical regions, the locomotives are pulling their merchant products. Over steel and iron beds they roll, the ground sown with slag and cinders and purple ore. In the baggage cars, kelps, fishplate, rolled iron, sleepers, wire rods, plates and sheets, laminated articles, hot rolled hoops, splints and mortar carriages, and Zorès ore. The wheels U 80 millimetres or over. Pass splendid specimens of Anglo Norman architecture, pass pedestrians and pederasts, open hearth furnaces, basic Bessemer mills, dynamos and transformers, pig iron castings and steel ingots. The public at large, pedestrians and pederasts, goldfish and spun glass palm trees, donkeys sobbing, all circulating freely through quincuncial alleys. At the Place du Brésil a lavender eye.

　　我很快回想了一遍我所认识的女人，这就像一条我用自己的痛苦锻造的铁链，一个套着另一个。这是畏惧分居、畏惧总也长不大。子宫之门总是拴着的。恐惧和希望。血液里蕴藏着天堂的吸引力。来世，总是来世。这完全起源于肚脐，他们在这儿割断了脐带，在你屁股上掴一掌，然后全妥了！你来到这个世界上，随波逐流，是一只没有舵的船。你先看看群星，再瞧瞧自个儿的肚脐。你身上到处长出眼睛来，腋下、两嘴唇间、头发根上、脚心。远的变近，近的变远。里外处于永恒的变化之中，成为蜕下的皮。你就这样一年年四处漂泊下去，直到发现自己来到了一个死滞的中心，你将在这儿慢慢腐烂，慢慢变成粉末后又重新散落到各处，只有你的名字留下来。
Going back in a flash over the women I've known. It's like a chain which I've forged out of my own misery. Each one bound to the other. A fear of living separate, of staying born. The door of the womb always on the latch. Dread and longing. Deep in the blood the pull of paradise. The beyond. Always the beyond. It must have all started with the navel. They cut the umbilical cord, give you a slap on the ass, and presto! you're out in the world, adrift, a ship without a rudder. You look at the stars and then you look at your navel. You grow eyes everywhere - in the armpits, between the lips, in the roots of your hair, on the soles of your feet. What is distant becomes near, what is near becomes distant. Inner-outer, a constant flux, a shedding of skins, a turning inside out. You drift around like that for years and years, until you find yourself in the dead center, and there you slowly rot, slowly crumble to pieces, get dispersed again. Only your name remains.
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Part 15 Chapter 1

待我设法逃离这座感化院已是春天了，那还是因为命运的巧妙安排。有一天卡尔打电报通知我“楼上”腾出了一个空位置。他说如果我打算接受这个工作他就寄路费来。我马上拍了回电，钱一寄到我就直奔火车站，跟勒普罗维西厄或其他人什么都没有说。正如人们所说，我是不辞而别了。
It was spring before I managed to escape from the penitentiary, and then only by a stroke of fortune. A telegram from Carl informed me one day that there was a vacancy "upstairs"; he said he would send me the fare back if I decided to accept. I telegraphed back at once and as soon as the dough arrived I beat it to the station. Not a word to M. le Proviseur or anyone. French leave, as they say.

　　我一下车便立刻来到一号乙的那家旅馆，卡尔就住在这儿。他一丝不挂来开门，这天他是晚上休息，同往常一样床上有个女人。他说，“别管她，她睡着了。假如你想睡女人就睡她好了，她还不坏。”他拉开被子让我看看她的容貌，可是我还不想马上睡女人。我太激动了，像一个刚刚从狱中逃出的犯人。我只是想看、想听。从车站一路走来，像是做了一场大梦，我觉得自己已离开了很多年。
I went immediately to the hotel at 1 bis, where Carl was staying. He came to the door stark naked. It was his night off and there was a cunt in the bed as usual. "Don't mind her," he says, "she's asleep. If you need a lay you can take her on. She's not bad." He pulls the covers back to show me what she looks like. However, I wasn't thinking about a lay right away. I was too excited. I was like a man who has just escaped from jail. I just wanted to see and hear things. Coming from the station it was like a long dream. I felt as though I had been away for years.

　　直到坐下来好好打量了一番这间屋子后，我才悟到自己又回到了巴黎。这是卡尔的房间，一点儿不错，像一个松鼠笼和厕所的结合。桌上几乎找不到一块能放他的袖珍打字机的地方，而且总是这副样子，无论他是否和一个女人同居。一本词典总是打开压在一卷涂了金边的《浮士德》上面，总摆着一只装烟草的袋子、一顶贝雷帽、一瓶红酒、信件、手槁、旧报纸、水彩、茶壶、脏袜子、牙签、克鲁什深嗅盐、避孕套，等等。洗身盆里扔着桔子皮和吃剩的火腿三明治残渣。
It was not until I had sat down and taken a good look at the room that I realized I was back again in Paris. It was Carl's room and no mistake about it. Like a squirrel cage and shithouse combined. There was hardly room on the table for the portable machine he used. It was always like that, whether he had a cunt with him or not. Always a dictionary lying open on a gilt edged volume of Faust, always a tobacco pouch, a beret, a bottle of vin rouge, letters, manuscripts, old newspapers, water colors, teapot, dirty socks, toothpicks, Kruschen Salts, condoms, etc. In the bidet were orange peels and the remnants of a ham sandwich.

　　卡尔说，“食品橱里有吃的，自己拿吧！刚才我正要给自己打一针呢。”
"There's some food in the closet" he said. "Help yourself! I was just going to give myself an injection."

　　我找到了他说的那个三明治和三明治旁他啃过的一块奶酪。他坐在床边给自己注射弱蛋白银，与此同时，我吃光了三明治和奶酪，还有一点甜酒。
I found the sandwich he was talking about and a piece of cheese that he had nibbled at beside it. While he sat on the edge of the bed, dosing himself with his argyrol, I put away the sandwich and cheese with the aid of a little wine.

　　他用一条脏裤头擦擦自己的阴茎说，“我喜欢你写来的那封谈歌德的信。”
"I liked that letter you sent me about Goethe," he said, wiping his prick with a dirty pair of drawers.

　　“我马上就给你看我的答复，我要把它写进我的书里。你的问题在于你不是德国人，要理解歌德你必须是德国人。得了，我现在不打算给你解释了，我已经把它全写进书里……顺便说说，我现在又新弄到一个女人—不是这一个—这一个是个傻瓜。我是几天前才把她弄到手的，我说不上她还会不会来。你不在时她一直跟我一起住，那天她爹妈来把她领走了。他们说她才十五岁。你能想到吗？他们还把我吓得屁滚尿流……”我大笑起来，卡尔正是一个把自己置于这种狼狈境地的人。
"I'll show you the answer to it in a minute - I'm putting it in my book. The trouble with you is that you're not a German. You have to be German to understand Goethe. Shit, I'm not going to explain it to you now. I've put it all in the book… By the way, I've got a new cunt now - not this one - this one's a half wit. At least, I had her until a few days ago. I'm not sure whether she'll come back or not. She was living with me all the time you were away. The other day her parents came and took her away. They said she was only fifteen. Can you beat that? They scared the shit out of me too…" I began to laugh. It was like Carl to get himself into a mess like that.

　　他说，“你笑什么，也许我会为这个坐牢的。还好，我没有叫她怀上孕。不过这也很奇怪，因为她从来不采取妥当的措施照顾自己。你知道是什么救了我？照我看，是《浮士德》。就是！她老子正巧看见它放在桌上，他问我懂不懂德文。事情这样一件件连下去，不等我省悟过来他已经瞧开我的书了。幸好我凑巧把莎士比亚的剧本也摊开了，这使他大力吃惊，说我显然是一个非常严肃的人。”
"What are you laughing for?" he said. "I may go to prison for it. Luckily, I didn't knock her up. And that's funny, too, because she never took care of herself properly. But do you know what saved me? So I think, at least. It was Faust. Yeah! Her old man happened to see it lying on the table. He asked me if I understood German. One thing led to another and before I knew it he was looking through my books. Fortunately I happened to have the Shakespeare open too. That impressed him like hell. He said I was evidently a very serious guy."

　　“那个姑娘呢？她怎么说？”
"What about the girl - what did she have to say?"

　　“她吓得要死。你瞧，她来时戴着一块小手表，可慌乱中我们找不到这块表了。她老妈一定要叫我找到它，否则就叫警察。 这你就明白当时的情形了。我把整个房间翻了个底朝天，可还是找不到那块见鬼的手表。那当妈的气疯了。尽管她对我很不客气，我还是喜欢她，她比她女儿长得还漂亮呢。瞧，我要给你看看我刚刚开头写给她的信，我爱上她了……”
"She was frightened to death. You see, she had a little watch with her when she came; in the excitement we couldn't find the watch, and her mother insisted that the watch be found or she'd call the police. You see how things are here. I turned the whole place upside down - but I couldn't find the goddamned watch. The mother was furious. I liked her too, in spite of everything. She was even better looking than the daughter. Here - I'll show you a letter I started to write her. I'm in love with her…"

“爱上当妈的了？”
"With the mother?"

　　“对了。为什么不行？假如我先看到的是她妈，我绝不会再瞧女儿一眼。我怎么知道她才只有十五岁？你睡一个女人之前总不会先问她多大了，对吗？”
"Sure. Why not? If I had seen the mother first I'd never have looked at the daughter. How did I know she was only fifteen? You don't ask a cunt how old she is before you lay her, do you?"

　　“乔，这件事情有点儿古怪。你不想哄我吧？”
"Joe, there's something funny about this. You're not shitting me, are you?"

“哄你？瞧，瞧瞧这个！”说着他给我看了那个姑娘画的水彩画，画的是娇小可爱的物件—一把刀子和一条面包、桌子和茶壶，每一样东西部越画越高。卡尔又说，“她爱上我了。她像个孩子，我得告诉她什么时候刷牙、教她怎样戴帽子。瞧这儿，瞧瞧这些棒棒糖。我每天总要给她买几根棒棒糖，她喜欢棒棒糖。”
"Am I shitting you? Here - look at this!" And he shows me the water colors the girl had made - cute little things - a knife and a loaf of bread, the table and teapot, everything running uphill. "She was in love with me," he said. "She was just like a child. I had to tell her when to brush her teeth and how to put her, hat on. Here - look at the lollypops! I used to buy her a few lollypops every day - she liked them."

　　“那么她爹妈来带她走时她怎么样，大吵大闹了吗？”
"Well, what did she do when her parents came to take her away? Didn't she put up a row?"

　　“哭了几声就完了。她能干什么？不到法定自立年龄……我不得不保证不再见她，也不写信。我现在等着瞧的就是—她会不会躲着不露面。她来这儿那会儿还是处女。关键在于，她不跟男人睡能熬多久？在这儿时她怎么也睡不够，差点儿把我累趴下了。”
"She cried a little, that's all. What could she do? She's under age… I had to promise never to see her again, never to write her either. That's what I'm waiting to see now - whether she'll stay away or not. She was a virgin when she came here. The thing is, how long will she be able to go without a lay? She couldn't get enough of it when she was here. She almost wore me out."

　　这时床上那个姑娘醒了，正揉眼睛呢。照我看她也挺小的，长得不丑，不过蠢得要命，想马上知道我们在谈什么。
By this time the one in bed had come to and was rubbing her eyes. She looked pretty young to me, too. Not bad looking but dumb as hell. Wanted to know right away what we were talking about.

　　卡尔说，“她就住在这个旅馆里，二楼，你想到她的房间去吗？我替你安排。”
"She lives here in the hotel," said Carl. "On the third floor. Do you want to go to her room? I'll fix it up for you."

　　不就是她从前常挨揍，你是了解这些法国娘儿们的，她们一恋爱就会失去理智。”

　　很明显，我不在这儿期间已经发生了一些事情。听说了菲尔莫的不幸我很难过，他从前对我好得要命。同范诺登分手后，我跳上一辆公共汽车径直来到医院。
　　我估计他们还没有认定菲尔莫是否完全神经错乱了，因为我在楼上一个单人病房里找到了他，他仍享有正常病人的一切自由。我去时他刚刚洗完澡，一看到我他便失声痛哭起来。他立刻说，“全完了，他们说我疯了，也许还得了梅毒。他们说我有夸大妄想。”他倒在床上轻声啜泣，哭了一阵又抬起头来微笑了—真像一只刚刚睡醒的小鸟儿。他说，“他们为什么不把我安排在普通病房里，或疯人院里？我可付不起这笔钱，我只剩下最后五百美元了。”
　　我说，“这正是他们留你住在这儿的原因，等你的钱花光了他们会很快叫你搬走的。你不用操心。”
　　我的话一定说动了他，我话音未落他就把他的表、表链、钱夹、兄弟会证章等东西全交给我。他说，“把这些收好。这伙王八蛋想抢光我的所有东西。”突然他又大笑起来，这种古怪、郁郁寡欢的笑声会使你坚信这个笑的人愚不可及，不论他是不是真的蠢，他说，“我知道你会认为我疯了，可我想弥补我做的事情，我想结婚。你瞧，我并不知道自己有性病，我把病传染给她，又叫她怀了孕。我对医生说了，我不在乎自己会怎样，可是我要他准许我先结婚。他说是要我等好一点了再说，可我知道永远不会好了。我这就完蛋了。”
　　听他这么说我忍不住也笑了，我不明白他这是怎么了。总之我只得答应去看看那个姑娘，向她解释解释这些事情。他要我支持她、安慰她，还说了他可以信赖我之类的话。为了宽他我自己也说不上想不想去，看到卡尔又同她调起情来，我才决定去。我先问她是不是大累。这是一个没有用处的问题，一个婊子永远不会累得分不开她的两条腿，尽管有些人会在你趴在她们身上折腾时睡着。总之我们商定到她的房间去，这样这一夜我就不用给旅馆老板付钱了。
I didn't know whether I wanted to or not, but when I saw Carl mushing it up with her again I decided I did want to. I asked her first if she was too tired. Useless question. A whore is never too tired to open her legs. Some of them can fall asleep while you diddle them. Anyway, it was decided we would go down to her room. Like that I wouldn't have to pay the patron for the night.

　　到了早上我租了一个俯瞰底下小庭院的房间，背着夹板广告牌做广告的人总到这个小院子里来吃午饭。中午我叫卡尔一同去吃早饭，我不在期间他和范诺登新近养成了一种习惯—每天去库波勒饭店吃早饭。我问，“为什么非去库波勒？”卡尔答道，“为什么非去库波勒？因为库波勒全天都上麦片粥，麦片粥是叫你吃了拉屎的。”我说，“明白了。”
In the morning I rented a room overlooking the little park down below where the sandwich-board men always came to eat their lunch. At noon I called for Carl to have breakfast with him. He and Van Norden had developed a new habit in my absence - they went to the Coupole for breakfast every day. "Why the Coupole?" I asked. "Why the Coupole?" says Carl. "Because the Coupole serves porridge at all hours and porridge makes you shit." - "I see," said I.

　　于是生活又像以前一样，我们三人步行上下班，常发生小口角、小争斗。范诺登仍为了他的女人、为了把肚子里的脏东西冲洗出来而发牢骚，只是现在发现了一种新消遣，他发现手淫不那么令人烦恼。他把这个新闻告诉我后，我着实诧异了一阵，我认为像他这样一个家伙不可能在自慰中得到乐趣。他又向我描绘他是如何弄的，这就更使我十分诧异不已了。用他的话说，他“发明”了一种新技艺。他说，“你拿一个苹果，挖掉果心，然后在里面抹一些冷奶油，这样它就不会化得太快了。哪一天试试看！一开始会叫你神魂颠倒的。不管怎样，这个办法很便宜，也不用费多少时间。”
So it's just like it used to be again. The three of us walking back and forth to work. Petty dissensions, petty rivalries. Van Norden still bellyaching about his cunts and about washing the dirt out of his belly. Only now he's found a new diversion. He's found that it's less annoying to masturbate. I was amazed when he broke the news to me. I didn't think it possible for a guy like that to find any pleasure in jerking himself off. I was still more amazed when he explained to me how he goes about it. He had "invented" a new stunt, so he put it. "You take an apple," he says, "and you bore out the core. Then you rub some cold cream on the inside so as it doesn't melt too fast. Try it some time! It'll drive you crazy at first. Anyway, it's cheap and you don't have to waste much time.

　　他换了一个话题，又说，“对了，你的那位朋友菲尔莫住进了医院。我想他是疯了，反正这是他的姑娘告诉我的。你不在时他找了一个法国姑娘，他俩一度打架打得很厉害。女的是一个大块头、很壮实的婊子，是那种粗蛮的女人。我倒不在乎跟她睡一回，只是怕她会把我的眼珠子抠出来。菲尔莫经常脸上、手上带着抓破的伤痕走来走去，有时她也显得被人揍肿了，要的心，我答应了他提出的一切。我并不觉得他确实疯了。只是有点儿灰心丧气。是典型的盎格鲁-撒克逊人的心理危机，是道德准则的突然萌发。我对这个姑娘抱有很强烈的好奇心，想知道整个事情的内幕。

"By the way," he says, switching the subject, "that friend of yours, Fillmore, he's in the hospital. I think he's nuts. Anyway, that's what his girl told me. He took on a French girl, you know, while you were away. They used to fight like hell. She's a big, healthy bitch - wild like. I wouldn't mind giving her a tumble, but I'm afraid she'd claw the eyes out of me. He was always going around with his face and hands scratched up. She looks bunged up too once in a while - or she used to. You know how these French cunts are - when they love they lose their minds."
Evidently things had happened while I was away. I was sorry to hear about Fillmore. He had been damned good to me. When I left Van Norden I jumped a bus and went straight to the hospital.
They hadn't decided yet whether he was completely off his base or not, I suppose, for I found him upstairs in a private room, enjoying all the liberties of the regular patients. He had just come from the bath when I arrived. When he caught sight of me he burst into tears. "It's all over," he says immediately. "They say I'm crazy - and I may have syphilis too. They say I have delusions of grandeur." He fell over onto the bed and wept quietly. After he had wept a while he lifted his head up and smiled - just like a bird coming out of a snooze. "Why do they put me in such an expensive room?" he said. "Why don't they put me in the ward - or in the bughouse? I can't afford to pay for this. I'm down to my last five hundred dollars."
"That's why they're keeping you here," I said. "They'll transfer you quickly enough when your money runs out. Don't worry."
My words must have impressed him, for I had no sooner finished than he handed me his watch and chain, his wallet, his fraternity pin, etc. "Hold on to them," he said. "These bastards'll rob me of everything I've got." And then suddenly he began to laugh, one of those weird, mirthless laughs which makes you believe a guy's goofy whether he is or not. "I know you'll think I'm crazy," he said, "but I want to atone for what I did. I want to get married. You see, I didn't know I had the clap. I gave her the clap and then I knocked her up. I told the doctor I don't care what happens to me, but I want him to let me get married first. He keeps telling me to wait until I get better but I know I'm never going to get better. This is the end."
I couldn't help laughing myself, hearing him talk that way. I couldn't understand what had come over him. Anyway, I had to promise him to see the girl and explain things to her. He wanted me to stick by her, comfort her. Said he could trust me, etc. I said yes to everything in order to soothe him. He didn't seem exactly nuts to me - just caved in like. Typical Anglo Saxon crisis. An eruption of morals. I was rather curious to see the girl, to get the lowdown on the whole thing.
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Part 15 Chapter 2

第二天我找到了她，她住在拉丁区。一弄明白我是谁她便变得非常友好，她自称叫吉乃特，块头很大、消瘦、健康，有一颗门牙崩落了一半，是那种农家女的外貌。她精力充沛，眼神中流露出狂躁的意味。她做的头一件事便是哭，然后，想起我是她的“乔乔”的老朋友—她就是这样叫他的—她便跑下楼去拿来几瓶白葡萄酒。她要我留下同她一道吃饭，她执意要这样。喝了酒后她一阵高兴，一阵伤感。根本什么也不用问，她自己就像一部自动上发条的机器一样说开了。最使她担忧的是—待他们放他出院后，他能重新去工作吗？她说她父母很有钱，不过生她的气，不赞成她放纵无忌的行为。他们尤其不喜欢菲尔莫，他没有礼貌，又是一个美国人。她恳求我宽她的心，说他仍能回去工作的，我便毫不犹豫地照办了。然后她又恳求我讲讲她能否信他的话，即他要娶她。现在肚子里有个孩子，又得了性病，她已不可能再嫁给一个法国人了。这是显而易见的，是不是？当然，我宽慰她道。这一切我都清楚极了，只是有一点，菲尔莫怎么居然会爱上了她。不过一次只能做一件事情，我的职责是安慰她，于是我就给她讲了一大通胡说八道的话，说一切都会好的，而且我还要作他们孩子的教父呢，等等。这时我才猛地想起这件事很古怪—她竟还要这个孩子，尤其是他可能一生下来就是瞎子。我尽量委婉地告诉她这话，她却说，“这并没有什么关系，我要一个跟他生的孩子。”
The next day I looked her up. She was living in the Latin Quarter. As soon as she realized who I was she became exceedingly cordial. Ginette she called herself. Rather big, raw-boned, healthy, peasant type with a front tooth half eaten away. Full of vitality and a kind of crazy fire in her eyes. The first thing she did was to weep. Then, seeing that I was an old friend of her Jo Jo - that was how she called him - she ran downstairs and brought back a couple of bottles of white wine. I was to stay and have dinner with her - she insisted on it. As she drank she became by turns gay and maudlin. I didn't have to ask her any questions - she went on like a self-winding machine. The thing that worried her principally was - would he get his job back when he was released from the hospital? She said her parents were well off, but they were displeased with her. They didn't approve of her wild ways. They didn't approve of him particularly - he had no manners, and he was an American. She begged me to assure her that he would get his job back, which I did without hesitation. And then she begged me to know if she could believe what he said - that he was going to marry her. Because now, with a child under her belt, and a dose of clap besides, she was in no position to strike a match - with a Frenchman anyway. That was clear, wasn't it? Of course, I assured her. It was all clear as hell to me - except how in Christ's name Fillmore had ever fallen for her. However, one thing at a time. It was my duty now to comfort her, and so I just filled her up with a lot of baloney, told her everything would turn out all right and that I would stand godfather to the child, etc. Then suddenly it struck me as strange that she should have the child at all - especially as it was likely to be born blind. I told her that as tactfully as I could. "It doesn't make any difference," she said, "I want a child by him."

　　“哪怕他是瞎子？”我又问。
"Even if it's blind?" I asked.

　　“我的天呀，别说这些了！”她呻吟道，“别说这些了！”
"Mon Dieu, ne dites pas ?a!" she groaned. "Ne dites pas ?a!"

　　我仍然认为讲明这一点是我的职责，她便像一头海象一样猛哭开了，又倒了一些酒。过了才几分钟她又纵情大笑，她笑是因为想起了他俩上床后常常打架。她说，“他喜欢我跟他打架，他是个野人。”
Just the same, I felt it was my duty to say it. She got hysterical and began to weep like a walrus, poured out more wine. In a few moments she was laughing boisterously. She was laughing to think how they used to fight when they got in bed. "He liked me to fight with him," she said. "He was a brute."

　　我们坐下来正吃饭，吉乃特的一个朋友进来了。她是一个小婊子，住在大厅顶端。吉乃特马上打发我下楼再去取些酒，待我回来，她俩已经把该谈的都谈到了。她的朋友—这位伊韦特—在警察局工作。据我推测，她是一个向警方提供情况的线民，至少她试图叫我相信是这样的。显然她不过是一个小婊子，只是对警方和他们的工作很着迷罢了。吃饭时她俩一直竭力劝我陪她们去参加一场风笛舞会，她们想快活一下—“乔乔”住进了医院，吉乃特很寂寞。我告诉她们我得去上班，不过晚上不当班时我会来带她们出去玩的。同时也讲明了，我没有钱可花在她们身上。吉乃特一听这个大为惊愕，不过假意说那一点儿关系也没有。只是为了显示她是一个多么讲交情的人，她竟执意要雇一部车子送我去上班，她这样做是因为我是“乔乔”的朋友，那么也就是她的朋友啦。我暗想，“还有呢，一旦你的‘乔乔’出了什么问题，你就会飞快地跑来找我。那时候你就会明白我是一个怎样的朋友了！”我对她殷勤备至，我们在办公室前下车后，我还听任她们劝我一起又喝了最后一杯茴香酒。伊韦特问我，她能否在我下班后来找我，她说有很多事情要同我私下谈，但是我设法在不伤害她感情的前提下拒绝了，遗憾的是我不够警惕，还是把住址告诉她了。
As we sat down to eat, a friend of hers walked in - a little tart who lived at the end of the hall. Ginette immediately sent me down to get some more wine. When I came back they had evidently had a good talk. Her friend, Yvette, worked in the police department. A sort of stool pigeon, as far as I could gather. At least that was what she was trying to make me believe. It was fairly obvious that she was just a little whore. But she had an obsession about the police and their doings. Throughout the meal they were urging me to accompany them to a bat musette. They wanted to have a gay time - it was so lonely for Ginette with Jo Jo in the hospital. I told them I had to work, but that on my night off I'd come back and take them out. I made it clear too that I had no dough to spend on them. Ginette, who was really thunderstruck to hear this, pretended that that didn't matter in the least. In fact, just to show what a good sport she was, she insisted on driving me to work in a cab. She was doing it because I was a friend of Jo Jo's. And therefore I was a friend of hers. "And also," thought I to myself, "if anything goes wrong with your Jo Jo you'll come to me on the double quick. Then you'll see what a friend I can be!" I was as nice as pie to her. In fact when we got out of the cab in front of the office, I permitted them to persuade me into having a final Pernod together. Yvette wanted to know if she couldn't call for me after work. She had a lot of things to tell me in confidence, she said. But I managed to refuse without hurting her feelings. Unfortunately I did unbend sufficiently to give her my address.

　　虽说遗憾，可实际上后来想起来我倒很高兴自己这样做了，因为紧接着第二天就出事了。第二天，我还没有起床她俩就来了。“乔乔”被人移出了医院，他们把他囚禁在乡下一所邪庄园”里了，离巴黎只有几英里。他们叫它“庄园”，这是“疯人院”的一种礼貌说法。她俩叫我马上穿好衣服跟她们走，她们惊恐不安。
Unfortunately, I say. As a matter of fact, I'm rather glad of it when I think back on it. Because the very next day things began to happen. The very next day, before I had even gotten out of bed, the two of them called on me. Jo Jo had been removed from the hospital - they had incarcerated him in a little chateau in the country, just a few miles out of Paris. The chateau, they called it. A polite way of saying "the bughouse." They wanted me to get dressed immediately and go with them. They were in a panic.


　　也许我本可以独自一人去的，可我只是拿不定主意是否要跟这两个女人一起去。我叫她们在楼下等我穿好衣服就来，心想这样可以利用这段时间找一个不去的借口。可是她们不肯离开房间，她们坐着看我洗脸穿衣，就像天天都是如此似的。正穿了一半，卡尔闯进来了。我把情况用英语简单告诉了他，然后我们编造出一个借口，说我有要紧的工作要做。为了蒙混过关，我们端进来一些甜酒，并给她们看一本有淫秽图画的书解闷。伊韦特早已完全放弃了去庄园的想法，她同卡尔处得非常好，到了动身的时候，卡尔便决定陪她们一起去。他认为看看菲尔莫同一大群疯子一起走来走去很好玩，他还想看看疯人院里是什么样子的，于是他们走了，带着几分醉意，情绪非常高昂。
Perhaps I might have gone alone - but I just couldn't make up my mind to go with these two. I asked them to wait for me downstairs while I got dressed, thinking that it would give me time to invent some excuse for not going. But they wouldn't leave the room. They sat there and watched me wash and dress, just as if it were an everyday affair. In the midst of it, Carl popped in. I gave him the situation briefly in English, and then we hatched up an excuse that I had some important work to do. However, to smooth things over, we got some wine in and we began to amuse them by showing them a book of dirty drawings. Yvette had already lost all desire to go to the chateau. She and Carl were getting along famously. When it came time to go Carl decided to accompany them to the chateau. He thought it would be funny to see Fillmore walking around with a lot of nuts. He wanted to see what it was like in the nuthouse. So off they went, somewhat pickled, and in the best of humor.

　　菲尔莫住在庄园里时我自始至终没有去看过他。这没有必要，因为吉乃特定期去看他，也就把情况全转告我了。据她说，医生们认为有希望在几个月内使他恢复理智，他们认为他是酒精中毒，除此之外没有什么。当然，他有性病，不过那并不难治。就他们所知，他并没有染上梅毒，这还算不错。于是他们先从使用洗胃器着手，把他体内彻底清洗了一遍。有一阵子他身体太弱，无法起床。他的心情也很沮丧，他说并不想治愈，他想死。他执拗地不断重复这番废话，后来他们都惊慌起来。我想，假如他自杀了，对他们医院的名声可并不好。总之他们开始给他采用精神治疗，还利用治疗间歇期间拔他的牙齿，越拔越多，直到他口中一颗牙也没有了。他们原指望此后他会感觉好些，可是奇怪的是他竟不觉得好，反倒比以往更加消沉，还开始掉头发。最后他变成了一个偏执狂，指责他们做了种种坏事，质问他们有什么权利把他扣留起来、他究竟做了什么竟被关起来，等等。经过一段可怕的消沉之后他会突然变得精力充沛，威胁说他们如果还不放了他，他就要炸掉这个地方。对吉乃特来说，更糟的是他已完全摆脱了要娶她的念头。他直截了当地对她说，他不想娶她，假如她疯了，去生下一个孩子来，那么她自己就应该能养活他。
All the time that Fillmore was at the chateau I never once went to see him. It wasn't necessary, because Ginette visited him regularly and gave me all the news. They had hopes of bringing him around in a few months, so she said. They thought it was alcoholic poisoning - nothing more. Of course, he had a dose - but that wasn't difficult to remedy. So far as they could see, he didn't have syphilis. That was something. So, to begin with, they used the stomach pump on him. They cleaned his system out thoroughly. He was so weak for a while that he couldn't get out of bed. He was depressed, too. He said he didn't want to be cured - he wanted to die. And he kept repeating this nonsense so insistently that finally they grew alarmed. I suppose it wouldn't have been a very good recommendation if he had committed suicide. Anyway, they began to give him mental treatment. And in between times they pulled out his teeth, more and more of them, until he didn't have a tooth left in his head. He was supposed to feel fine after that, yet strangely he didn't. He became more despondent than ever. And then his hair began to fall out. Finally he developed a paranoid streak - began to accuse them of all sorts of things, demanded to know by what right he was being detained, what he had done to warrant being locked up, etc. After a terrible fit of despondency he would suddenly become energetic and threaten to blow up the place if they didn't release him. And to make it worse, as far as Ginette was concerned, he had gotten all over his notion of marrying her. He told her straight up and down that he had no intention of marrying her, and that if she was crazy enough to go and have a child then she could support it herself.

　　医生们解释说，这一切都是好迹象，他们说他快好了。当然，吉乃特却认为他比以往更疯癫了，不过她在为他祈祷，希望他快出院，这样她就能带他到乡下去走走，那儿闲适、宁静，会使他恢复理智。与此同时，吉乃特的父母来到巴黎看女儿，他们还到庄园来看望了未来的女婿。他们以自己的狡黠方式大概也算计出女儿嫁一个疯丈夫也总比没有丈夫好，当爹的认为他能替菲尔莫在农场里找点儿活干，他说菲尔莫毕竟还不算坏。等他从吉乃特那儿听说菲尔莫的父母有钱，便更加宽容、更加通情达理了。
The doctors interpreted all this as a good sign. They said he was coming round. Ginette, of course, thought he was crazier than ever, but she was praying for him to be released so that she could take him to the country where it would be quiet and peaceful and where he would come to his right senses. Meanwhile her parents had come to Paris on a visit and had even gone so far as to visit the future son in law at the chateau. In their canny way they had probably figured it out that it would be better for their daughter to have a crazy husband than no husband at all. The father thought he could find something for Fillmore to do on the farm. He said that Fillmore wasn't such a bad chap at all. When he learned from Ginette that Fillmore's parents had money he became even more indulgent, more understanding.

　　事情发展得十分顺利。吉乃特同她父母一起回到外省住了一阵，伊韦特则定期到旅馆来看望卡尔。她以为卡尔是这家报纸的编辑，后来一点点地吐露了很多秘密。有一天她玩痛快了，喝醉了，便告诉我们吉乃特从来不过只是一个婊子，一个吸血鬼，还说吉乃特从未怀过孕，而且现在也未曾怀孕。对于其他指责我和卡尔不大怀疑，不过对于吉乃特没有怀孕这一说我们不大有把握。
The thing was working itself out nicely all around. Ginette returned to the provinces for a while with her parents. Yvette was coming regularly to the hotel to see Carl. She thought he was the editor of the paper. And little by little she became more confidential. When she got good and tight one day, she informed us that Ginette had never been anything but a whore, that Ginette was a bloodsucker, that Ginette never had been pregnant and was not pregnant now. About the other accusations we hadn't much doubt, Carl and I, but about not being pregnant, that we weren't so sure of.

　　卡尔问，“那么她的肚子怎么会那么大？”
"How did she get such a big stomach, then?" asked Carl.

　　伊韦特笑了，“也许用自行车打气筒打气来着。”她又补充道，“真的没有怀孕，大肚子是喝酒喝出来的。吉乃特喝起酒来简直是牛饮，等她从乡下回来你们会看到她会更肥。她父亲是酒鬼，她也是酒鬼。也许她会得上淋病，不过并没有怀孕。”
Yvette laughed. "Maybe she uses a bicycle pump," she said. "No, seriously," she added, "the stomach comes from drink. She drinks like a fish, Ginette. When she comes back from the country, you will see, she will be blown up still more. Her father is a drunkard. Ginette is a drunkard. Maybe she had the clap, yes - but she is not pregnant."

　　“可是她为什么想嫁给菲尔莫？是不是真爱上他了？”
"But why does she want to marry him? Is she really in love with him?"

　　“爱！呸！吉乃特毫无心肝，她只想找个人照看她。没有一个法国人会娶她，她在警察局里挂了号。她想嫁给他是因为他太蠢，没有去查查她的底细。她的父母不想再要她了，她给他们丢尽了人。不过若是她能嫁给一个有钱的美国人，一切都妥了……你们以为也许她有点儿爱他，嗯？你们不了解她，他们在旅馆里同居的时候，她就乘他去上班之际带别的男人到她房间里去。他吝啬，她穿的那件皮衣—她告诉他是她父母送给她的，对吗？天真的傻瓜！哼，我曾看到她带一个男人到旅馆里来，当时菲尔莫还正在旅馆里。她带这个男人去了下面一层，这是我亲眼看到的。那是怎样一个男人啊！一个老流浪汉，已不可能勃起了！”
"Love? Pfooh! She has no heart, Ginette. She wants someone to look after her. No Frenchman would ever marry her - she has a police record. No, she wants him because he's too stupid to find out about her. Her parents don't want her any more - she's a disgrace to them. But if she can get married to a rich American, then everything will be all right… You think maybe she loves him a little, eh? You don't know her. When they were living together at the hotel, she had men coming to her room while he was at work. She said he didn't give her enough spending money. He was stingy. That fur she wore - she told him her parents had given it to her, didn't she? Innocent fool! Why, I've seen her bring a man back to the hotel right while he was there. She brought the man to the floor below. I saw it with my own eyes. And what a man! An old derelict. He couldn't get an erection!"

　　如果菲尔莫从庄园里放出来后回到巴黎，或许我会给他通通有关吉乃特的消息。在他仍处于医生的观察下时，我认为用伊韦特的诽谤毒化他的脑筋、使他不愉快是不妥的。结果，他从庄园直接去了吉乃特父母的家。在那里，尽管他不太愿意，还是受骗公布了他的订婚。当地的报纸都登载了结婚预告，还为女方家的朋友们举行了招待会。菲尔莫利用这个机会采取各种办法逃避，他很清楚自己在干什么，却装出仍有点痴呆的样子。比如说，他会借来岳父的汽车，独自一个在乡间到处乱闯。若是看到一个他喜欢的镇子便住下尽情玩乐一番，直到吉乃特来找他。有时他也同岳父一起出去，也许是钓鱼，然后就一连好几天听不到他们的行踪。他变得任性而又难以讨好，真叫人恼火。我猜他是算计着也许仍能从中尽量捞一把。
If Fillmore, when he was released from the chateau, had returned to Paris, perhaps I might have tipped him off about his Ginette. While he was still under observation I didn't think it well to upset him by poisoning his mind with Yvette's slanders. As things turned out, he went directly from the chateau to the home of Ginette's parents. There, despite himself, he was inveigled into making public his engagement. The banns were published in the local papers and a reception was given to the friends of the family. Fillmore took advantage of the situation to indulge in all sorts of escapades. Though he knew quite well what he was doing he pretended to be still a little daffy. He would borrow his father in law's car, for example, and tear about the countryside all by himself; if he saw a town that he liked he would plank himself down and have a good time until Ginette came searching for him. Sometimes the father in law and he would go off together - on a fishing trip, presumably - and nothing would be heard of them for days. He became exasperatingly capricious and exacting. I suppose he figured he might as well get what he could out of it.
　　
　　他同吉乃特回到巴黎时又有了一衣柜簇新的衣服和一袋钱，他显得又开心又健康，皮肤也晒黑了。我觉得他显得十分健壮，可是我们一离开吉乃特他便开口了。他的工作丢了，钱也花光了，他们大约在一个月内结婚，在这段时间内由女方父母给他们钱花。菲尔莫说，“一旦他们牢牢控制住我，我就只能成为他们的奴隶了。她爹打算为我开一家文具店，吉乃特应付顾客，干收钱这类事，我坐在店后面写东西或干别的。你能想象得出我坐在一家文具店后面度过余生的情景吗？吉乃特认为这个主意妙极了，她喜欢经手钱，我倒宁愿回到庄园里去也不想听从这种安排。”
When he returned to Paris with Ginette he had a complete new wardrobe and a pocketful of dough. He looked cheerful and healthy, and had a fine coat of tan. He looked sound as a berry to me. But as soon as we had gotten away from Ginette he opened up. His job was gone and his money had all run out. In a month or so they were to be married. Meanwhile the parents were supplying the dough. "Once they've got me properly in their clutches," he said, "I'll be nothing but a slave to them. The father thinks he's going to open up a stationery store for me. Ginette will handle the customers, take in the money, etc., while I sit in the back of the store and write - or something. Can you picture me sitting in the back of a stationery store for the rest of my life? Ginette thinks it's an excellent idea. She likes to handle money. I'd rather go back to the chateau than submit to such a scheme."

　　当然，他眼下不得不假装对一切都十分满意。我试着劝他回美国去，可他不听，说不能被一群无知的乡巴佬从法国赶走。他有一个想法，想溜走一段时间，然后再在巴黎某个偏僻的地方住下来，在那儿他不大可能会遇见她。但是我们很快就认为那不可能，在法国无法像在美国那样藏起来。
For the time being, of course, he was pretending that everything was hunky dory. I tried to persuade him to go back to America but he wouldn't hear of that. He said he wasn't going to be driven out of France by a lot of ignorant peasants. He had an idea that he would slip out of sight for a while and then take up quarters in some outlying section of the city where he'd not be likely to stumble upon her. But we soon decided that that was impossible: you can't hide away in France as you can in America.

　　我提议说，“你可以到比利时去呆一段时间。”
"You could go to Belgium for a while," I suggested.

　　他马上反驳说，“我干什么挣钱呢？在那些鬼国家里是找不到工作的。”
"But what'll I do for money?" he said promptly. "You can't get a job in these goddamned countries."

　　我又问，“那么你干吗不先跟她结婚，然后再离婚？”
"Why don't you marry her and get a divorce, then?" I asked.

　　“她马上就要养孩子了。谁来照料孩子呢，嗯？”
"And meanwhile she'll be dropping a kid. Who's going to take care of the kid, eh?"

　　我说，“你怎么知道她要生孩子了？”我觉得道出这个秘密的时机现在已成熟。
"How do you know she's going to have a kid?" I said, determined now that the moment had come to spill the beans.

　　“我怎么会知道？”他似乎并不很明白我在暗示什么。
"How do I know?" he said. He didn't quite seem to know what I was insinuating.

　　我把伊韦特说的向他透露了一点儿，他略有几分惊慌地听我说，最后打断了我的话。他说，“再说也无益，我知道她要生孩子了。没错，我摸到他在她肚子里踢腾呢。伊韦特是个卑鄙的小娼妇，你瞧，我并不想告诉你这个，不过直到去住院之前我仍给伊韦特钱。后来出了那件事，我便无法再为她做什么了。我觉得自己已经为她俩做得够多的了……我要先照顾自己。这使伊韦特很恼火，她告诉吉乃特说她要跟我算帐……不，我希望她说的是真的，那样我就能比较容易地从这件事情中脱身了。现在我已中了圈套，我许诺要娶她，也就只好走完这个过程了。此后我也不知道会怎样，他们现在已经牢牢掌握住我了。”
I gave him an inkling of what Yvette had said. He listened to me in complete bewilderment. Finally he interrupted me. "It's no use going on with that," he said. "I know she's going to have a kid, all right. I've felt it kicking around inside. Yvette's a dirty little slut. You see, I didn't want to tell you, but up until the time I went to the hospital I was shelling out for Yvette too. Then when the crash came I couldn't do any more for her. I figured out that I had done enough for the both of them… I made up my mind to look after myself first. That made Yvette sore. She told Ginette that she was going to get even with me… No, I wish it were true, what she said. Then I could get out of this thing more easily. Now I'm in a trap. I've promised to marry her and I'll have to go through with it. After that I don't know what'll happen to me. They've got me by the balls now."
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Part 15 Chapter 3

由于菲尔莫在我住的旅馆里租了一个房间，我不得不经常见到他们，不管是不是想见。我几乎每天晚上同他们一道吃饭，当然饭前少不了喝几杯茵香酒。吃饭时他们不断大声吵，这很令人尴尬，因为有时我得站在这一方，有时又得站在另一方。比如说，在一个星期日下午，一起吃完午饭后我们来到埃德加一基内林荫道街角上的一家咖啡馆里。这一回异常顺利，我们三人并排坐在里面一张小桌子边，背对着一面镜子。吉乃特准是动了感情还是怎么的，因为她突然变得十分多情，当着众人的面爱抚、亲吻起菲尔莫来，像所有法国人一样做得很自然。他们刚刚长久地拥抱完，菲尔莫说了她父母一句什么，她认为这是侮辱，马上气红了脸。我们想叫她平静下来，便说她误解了那句话，然后菲尔莫又低声用英语对我说了句什么—似乎是说要我奉承她几句。这足以使她彻底大动肝火，她说我们在取笑她。我又说了一句不太好听的，更使她气得不得了。菲尔莫便想说句话，他说，“你的性子太急。”说完他想拍拍她的脸蛋，她却以为菲尔莫举起手来是要扇她耳光，便用她那只乡巴佬的大手朝他下颚上响亮地抽了一记。菲尔莫一时惊呆了，他没有料到会挨这么狠的一巴掌，这一下很痛。我看到他的脸变得惨白，接着他从长椅上站起来“叭”地狠狠扇了她一巴掌，差点儿把她从椅子上揍下来。 “给你一下！这一下叫你放规矩些！”他用不连贯的法语说。一阵死一样的沉默，然后她像暴风雨一样爆发了，抓起眼前的白兰地酒杯狠命朝他掷来。杯子砸在身后的镜子上，碎了。这时菲尔莫已经抓住了她的胳膊，但她又用另一只手抓起咖啡杯摔在地上。她像一个疯子一样乱扭乱动，我们用尽力气抓住她。这时店老板当然跑来了，叫我们快滚。“流浪汉！”他这样叫我们，吉乃特尖叫道，“对了，流浪汉，就是流浪汉！脏外国佬！恶棍！土匪！居然打一个怀孕的女人！”周围的人都在怒视着我们，一个可怜的法国女人和两个美国流氓、匪徒。当时我想不打一架恐怕是逃不出那地方了，这时菲尔莫沉默着，一句话也不说。吉乃特冲出门，留下我们去挨人骂。临出门时她转过身来举起拳头嚷道，“我会找你算帐的，你这个野人！等着瞧吧！没有哪一个外国人敢这样对待一个体面的法国女人！哼，不行！这样就是不行！”
Since he had taken a room in the same hotel with me I was obliged to see them frequently, whether I wanted to or not. Almost every evening I had dinner with them, preceded, of course, by a few Pernods. All through the meal they quarreled noisily. It was embarrassing because I had sometimes to take one side and sometimes the other. One Sunday afternoon, for example, after we had had lunch together, we repaired to a café on the corner of the Boulevard Edgar Quinet. Things had gone unusually well this time. We were sitting inside at a little table, one alongside the other, our backs to a mirror. Ginette must have been passionate or something for she had suddenly gotten into a sentimental mood and was fondling him and kissing him in front of everybody, as the French do so naturally. They had just come out of a long embrace when Fillmore said something about her parents which she interpreted as an insult. Immediately her cheeks flushed with anger. We tried to mollify her by telling her that she had misunderstood the remark and then, under his breath, Fillmore said something to me in English - something about giving her a little soft soap. That was enough to set her completely off the handle. She said we were making fun of her. I said something sharp to her which angered her still more and then Fillmore tried to put in a word. "You're too quick-tempered," he said, and he tried to pat her on the cheek. But she, thinking that he had raised his hand to slap her face, she gave him a sound crack in the jaw with that big peasant hand of hers. For a moment he was stunned. He hadn't expected a wallop like that, and it stung. I saw his face go white and the next moment he raised himself from the bench and with the palm of his hand he gave her such a crack that she almost fell off her seat. "There! that'll teach you how to behave!" he said - in his broken French. For a moment there was a dead silence. Then, like a storm breaking, she picked up the cognac glass in front of her and hurled it at him with all her might. It smashed against the mirror behind us. Fillmore had already grabbed her by the arm, but with her free hand she grabbed the coffee glass and smashed it on the floor. She was squirming around like a maniac. It was all we could do to hold her. Meanwhile, of course, the patron had come running in and ordered us to beat it. "Loafers!" he called us. "Yes, loafers; that's it!" screamed Ginette. "Dirty foreigners! Thugs! Gangsters! Striking a pregnant woman!" We were getting black looks all around. A poor Frenchwoman with two American toughs. Gangsters. I was wondering how the hell we'd ever get out of the place without a fight. Fillmore, by this time, was as silent as a clam. Ginette was bolting it through the door, leaving us to face the music. As she sailed out she turned back with fist upraised and shouted; "I'll pay you back for this, you brute! You'll see! No foreigner can treat a decent Frenchwoman like that! Ah, no! Not like that!"

　　这时我们已经给老板付了酒钱和打破的杯子钱，听到吉乃恃这番话他便觉得自己有义务向吉乃特这样一个法国母亲的杰出代表表现一下他的勇敢无畏，于是他毫不费力地朝我们脚下啐了一口，把我们推出门去。“吃屎去吧，你们这些肮脏的流浪汉！”他这样说或是说了一句别的什么诙谐话。
Hearing this the patron, who had now been paid for his drinks and his broken glasses, felt it incumbent to show his gallantry toward a splendid representative of French motherhood such as Ginette, and so, without more ado, he spat at our feet and shoved us out of the door. "Shit on you, you dirty loafers!" he said, or some such pleasantry.

　　到了街上，而且并没有人向我们投掷东西，我这才悟到这件事有趣的一面。我自己暗想，说不定把这整个事件恰如其分地扬到法庭上倒是一个很妙的主意呢。整个事件！把伊韦特的小故事当作小菜端出去！法国人毕竟是有幽默感的，兴许法官听了菲尔莫的陈述后还会解除他们的婚约呢。
Once in the street and nobody throwing things after us, I began to see the funny side of it. It would be an excellent idea, I thought to myself, if the whole thing were properly sired in court. The whole thing! With Yvette's little stories as a side dish. After all, the French have a sense of humor. Perhaps the judge, when he heard Fillmore's side of the story, would absolve him from marriage.

　　这时吉乃特正站在街对面向我们挥舞拳头，还使足了劲大骂。行人站下听她骂，分成两派，一遇到街上吵架他们总会这样。菲尔莫不知道怎么办才好：撇下她走掉还是过去哄她。他站在街中央，两只胳膊伸出来，企图插嘴。吉乃特还在喊，“土匪！野人！你们看，下流胚！”还有一些别的恭维话。后来菲尔莫朝她走去，大概她以为他要再好好揍她一下，便飞快地沿着街溜了。菲尔莫回到我站的地方说，“走，咱们悄悄跟着她。”我们出发了。身后跟着一小群人。她走一段路便回头朝我们晃晃拳头，我们也不想追上她，只是不紧不慢地跟着她走过那条街，看她打算干什么。后来她放慢了脚步，我们便穿过马路来到街道另一侧。现在她不喊叫了，我们仍跟着她，距离越来越近。现在我们身后只剩十来个人了，其他人都已失去了兴趣。待我们快走到街角时她突然站住了，等我们走近。菲尔莫说，“让我来说，我知道怎样对付她。”
Meanwhile Ginette was standing across the street brandishing her fist and yelling at the top of her lungs. People were stopping to listen in, to take sides, as they do in street brawls. Fillmore didn't know what to do - whether to walk away from her, or to go over to her and try to pacify her. He was standing in the middle of the street with his arms outstretched, trying to get a word in edgewise. And Ginette still yelling: "Gangster! Brute! Tu verras, salaud!" and other complimentary things. Finally Fillmore made a move toward her and she, probably thinking that he was going to give her another good cuff, took it on a trot down the street. Fillmore came back to where I was standing and said: "Come on, let's follow her quietly." We started off with a thin crowd of stragglers behind us. Every once in a while she turned back toward us and brandished her fist. We made no attempt to catch up with her, just followed her leisurely down the street to see what she would do. Finally she slowed up her pace and we crossed over to the other side of the street. She was quiet now. We kept walking behind her, getting closer and closer. There were only about a dozen people behind us now - the others had lost interest. When we got near the corner she suddenly stopped and waited for us to approach. "Let me do the talking," said Fillmore, "I know how to handle her."

　　我们一走过去她便泪如泉涌了。至于我自己，我不知道她这是要搞什么名堂，所以后来我有点儿吃惊—菲尔莫走上前去用委屈的声调说，“那样做象话吗？你为什么要那样呢？”一听这话她便张开双臂搂住他的脖子，像小孩子一样大哭起来，称他是她的小这个、小那个，然后她转向我恳切他说，“你看见他怎样打我了。这样对待一个女人合适吗？”我正要脱口说很合适，菲尔莫抓住她的胳膊领她走了。他说，“别再说了，你若再闹我就在大街上揍你。”
The tears were streaming down her face as we came up to her. Myself, I didn't know what to expect of her. I was somewhat surprised therefore when Fillmore walked up to her and said in an aggrieved voice: "Was that a nice thing to do? Why did you act that way?" Whereupon she threw her arms around his neck and began to weep like a child, calling him her little this and her little that. Then she turned to me imploringly. "You saw how he struck me," she said. "Is that the way to behave toward a woman?" I was on the point of saying yes when Fillmore took her by the arm and started leading her off.. "No more of that," he said. "If you start again I'll crack you right here in the street."

　　我原以为又要重新吵起来了。她眼中仍有怒火。不过她也有点儿怕了，很快怒气就平息下去了，但是在咖啡馆里坐下时她轻声冷酷地说，他别以为她这么快就会忘掉这件事，过一阵他还会听到的……也许是今天晚上。
I thought it was going to start up all over again. She had fire in her eyes. But evidently she was a bit cowed, too, for it subsided quickly. However, as she sat down at the café she said quietly and grimly that he needn't think it was going to be forgotten so quickly; he'd hear more about it later on… perhaps tonight.

　　果然她没有食言，第二天早上我碰到菲尔莫，他的脸和双手全被抓破了。看来她一直等到他去睡了才一言不发走到衣柜那儿，把他的衣服全掏出来扔在地上，一件件全撕成了一条条的。以前这类事情也发生过几次，事后她又把它们补好了，所以菲尔莫没有表示什么。这种态度更使她怒不可遏，她要用指甲抓破他的肉，这一点她尽力去做了。由于怀孕了，她在某种程度上占了上风。
And sure enough she kept her word. When I met him the next day his face and hands were all scratched up. Seems she had waited until he got to bed and then, without a word, she had gone to the wardrobe and, dumping all his things out on the floor, she took them one by one and tore them to ribbons. As this had happened a number of times before, and as she had always sewn them up afterward, he hadn't protested very much. And that made her angrier than ever. What she wanted was to get her nails into him, and she did, to the best of her ability. Being pregnant she had a certain advantage over him.

　　可怜的菲尔莫！这可不是什么好笑的事，吉乃特把他吓坏了。假如他威胁说要逃走，她便针锋相对地威胁要杀了他，而且她全是当真说的。她说，“如果你去美国我就跟去！你逃不出我的手心，一个法国姑娘总是知道如何报仇的。”接着她马上又哄他“放明白点儿”、“明智些”，等等。一旦他们有了那间文具店，生活就会变得非常美好。他连手都不用抬，她会把全部活儿都包下来。他可以呆在铺子后面写作，干他想干的事情。
Poor Fillmore! It was no laughing matter. She had him terrorized. If he threatened to run away she retorted by a threat to kill him. And she said it as if she meant it. "If you go to America," she said, "I'll follow you! You won't get away from me. A French girl always knows how to get vengeance." And the next moment she would be coaxing him to be "reasonable," to be "sage", etc. Life would be so nice once they had the stationery store. He wouldn't have to do a stroke of work. She would do everything. He could stay in back of the store and write - or whatever he wanted to do.

　　这件事就这样反反复复折腾了大约几个星期，像玩跷跷板似的忽起忽落。我尽可能躲着他们，我对这件事早已厌恶了，对他俩都很反感。后来在一个晴朗的夏日，我正从里昂信贷公司门前走过，从台阶上下来的不是别人，正是菲尔莫。我热情地跟他打招呼，因为我躲着他躲了这么久，多少总有点儿内疚。我以比一般的好奇更关切的口吻问他事情怎么样了，他很含糊他说了两句，话音里有一种绝望情绪。
It went on like this, back and forth, a seesaw, for a few weeks or so. I was avoiding them as much as possible, sick of the affair and disgusted with the both of them. Then one fine summer's day, just as I was passing the Credit Lyonnais, who comes marching down the steps but Fillmore. I greeted him warmly, feeling rather guilty because I had dodged him for so long. I asked him, with more than ordinary curiosity, how things were going. He answered me rather vaguely and with a note of despair in his voice.

　　他以一种古怪、不连贯、可怜巴巴的调子说，“她只允许我去一趟银行。我只有大约半小时，不能久了，她记着我出来的时间呢。”说完他捏住我的胳膊，似乎是要带我赶快离开那儿。
"I've just gotten permission to go to the bank," he said, in a peculiar, broken, abject sort of way. "I've got about half an hour, no more. She keeps tabs on me." And he grasped my arm as if to hurry me away from the spot.

　　我们沿着里沃利街往前走，这是很美的一天，暖和、晴朗、阳光明媚—是一年里巴黎最漂亮的几天之一。一阵和煦的微风吹来，刚好能吹走你鼻孔里滞留的气味。菲尔莫没有戴帽子，从外表看他很健康，像一位低着头走路的普通美国游客，口袋里的钱叮当乱响。
We were walking down toward the Rue de Rivoli. It was a beautiful day, warm, clear, sunny - one of those days when Paris is at its best. A mild pleasant breeze blowing, just enough to take that stagnant odor out of your nostrils. Fillmore was without a hat. Outwardly he looked the picture of health - like the average American tourist who slouches along with money jingling in his pockets.

　　他平静地说，“我也不知道该怎么办。你得帮我一把，我没有法子，我掌握不了自己。只要能离开她一段时间，或许我会好起来的。可是她不让我走开，只许我上一趟银行，我得取些钱。我跟你走一段，然后就得赶回去，她会做好午饭等我的。”
"I don't know what to do any more," he said quietly. "You've got to do something for me. I'm helpless. I can't get a grip on myself: If I could only get away from her for a little while perhaps I'd come round all right. But she won't let me out of her sight. I just got permission to run to the bank - I had to draw some money. I'll walk around with you a bit then I must hurry back - she'll have lunch waiting for me."

　　我静静地听他讲，心里暗想他的确很需要有人把他从这个深渊中拉出来。他已经完全陷进去了，他的勇气完全丧失殆尽了。他真像一个孩子，像一个天天挨揍仍不知道如何做才好的孩子，只会畏缩和发抖。我们在里沃利街的柱廊下拐弯时，他开始长篇大论地破口大骂法国。法国人叫他受够了。他说，“我以前常称赞法国和法国人，不过那都是文学作品中的事。现在我才算是了解他们了……我了解他们究竟如何了。他们残酷、贪财。起初法国显得妙极了，因为你有一种自由自在的感觉。过一段它就会叫你生厌，其实它骨子里全死了，没有感情，没有同情心，没有友谊。他们自私到了极点，是世界上最最自私的民族！他们什么也不想，只想钱、钱、钱，而且他妈的那么文雅、那么中产阶级化！正是这一点使我气得发疯，一看见她补我的衬衣我就恨不得用棍子揍她。总是补、补，节俭、节俭。 ‘要节俭！’我听见她整天只说这一句话。到处都能听见人们说，‘理智些，亲爱的！理智些！’可我不想理智，也不想符合逻辑。
I listened to him quietly, thinking to myself that he certainly did need someone to pull him out of the hole he was in. He had completely caved in, there wasn't a speck of courage left in him. He was just like a child - like a child who is beaten every day and doesn't know any more how to behave, except to cower and cringe. As we turned under the colonnade of the Rue de Rivoli he burst into a long diatribe against France. He was fed up with the French. "I used to rave about them," he said, "but that was all literature. I know them now… I know what they're really like. They're cruel and mercenary. At first it seems wonderful, because you have a feeling of being free. After a while it palls on you. Underneath it's all dead; there's no feeling, no sympathy, no friendship. They're selfish to the core. The most selfish people on earth! They think of nothing but money, money, money. And so goddamned respectable, so bourgeois! That's what drives me nuts. When I see her mending my shirts I could club her. Always mending, mending. Saving, saving. Faut faire des économies! That's all I hear her say all day long. You hear it everywhere. Sois raisonnable, mon chéri! Sois raisonnable! I don't want to be reasonable and logical.
　　
　　我恨这个！我想摆脱束缚，我想享受人生。我想干点儿事情，不愿成天到晚坐在一家咖啡馆里闲扯。老天，我们有错，可我们还有热情，犯错误也比什么事都不干强些。我宁愿在美国做一个无业游民也不愿再舒舒服服坐在这里了，也许这是因为我是美国佬的缘故吧。我出生在新英格兰，我想我是属于那儿的。一夜之间你变不成欧洲人，你的血液里有种使你与众不同的东西。
I hate it! I want to bust loose, I want to enjoy myself. I want to do something. I don't want to sit in a café and talk all day long. Jesus, we've got our faults - but we've got enthusiasm. It's better to make mistakes than not do anything. I'd rather be a bum in America than to be sitting pretty here. Maybe it's because I'm a Yankee. I was born in New England and I belong there, I guess. You can't become a European overnight. There's something in your blood that makes you different. It's the climate - and everything. We see things with different eyes.

　　那是气候，还有一切，我们看问题的眼光不同，不论多么羡慕法国人，我们也无法变成他们。我们是美国人，而且只好一辈子作美国人了。当然，我恨国内那伙拘谨的家伙，我打心里恨他们。不过，我自个儿也是他们中的一个。我不是这儿的人，我讨厌这儿。”
We can't make ourselves over, however much we admire the French. Wer're Americans and we've got to remain Americans. Sure, I hate those puritanical buggers back home - I hate 'em with all my guts. But I'm one of them myself. I don't belong here. I'm sick of it."

　　衷全倒出来，搬掉压在胸口的重负对他是有好处的。我又想起一桩好笑的事：还是这个人，若是倒回去一年，准会像一只大猩猩那样拍着胸脯大喊，“多么美妙的一天！多么美的国家！多么好的人民！”若有哪一个正巧同行的美国人哪怕说一个对法国不恭敬的词儿，菲尔莫准会揍扁他的鼻子。一年前他会为法国去死。我从来没有见过哪个人像他这样深深迷恋一个国家，在一个外国的天空下过得如此幸福。这是不正常的，他说起“法国”时，这个词意味着甜酒、女人、衣袋里的钱、挣得容易花得快的钱，意味着作个坏小子、去度假。后来，等尽情玩够了，等帐篷顶被风刮走，清清楚楚地看到了天空，他才明白这不仅是一个马戏团，也是一个竞技场，像各处一样，而且还是一个极冷酷的竞技场呢。过去一听他侈谈光荣的法国和自由之类的蠢话，我便常想一个法国工人听了会作何感想，他能否明白菲尔莫这些话。怪不得他们认为我们全疯了，在他们看来我们是疯了，我们只不过是一群孩子、一帮老傻瓜。我们所谓的人生只是一篇廉价物品商店里听来的传奇故事。其中的热情又是什么呢？是使每个普通欧洲人感到恶心的、不值钱的乐观。这是错觉。不，用错觉这个词描绘它还太好了，错觉的意思是说还有点儿什么。不，不是错觉，是幻想，纯粹是幻想，就是这样。
All along the arcade he went on like this. I wasn't saying a word. I let him spill it all out - it was good for him to get it off his chest. Just the same, I was thinking how strange it was that this same guy, had it been a year ago, would have been beating his chest like a gorilla and saying: "What a marvelous day! What a country! What a people!" And if an American had happened along and said one word against France Fillmore would have flattened his nose. He would have died for France - a year ago. I never saw a man who was so infatuated with a country, who was so happy under a foreign sky. It wasn't natural. When he said France it meant wine, women, money in the pocket, easy come, easy go. It meant being a bad boy, being on holiday. And then, when he had had his fling, when the tent top blew off and he had a good look at the sky, he saw that it wasn't just a circus, but an arena, just like everywhere. And a damned grim one. I often used to think, when I heard him rave about glorious France, about liberty and all that crap, what it would have sounded like to a French workman, could he have understood Fillmore's words. No wonder they think we're all crazy. We are crazy to them. We're just a pack of children. Senile idiots. What we call life is a five-and-ten-cent store romance. That enthusiasm underneath - what is it? That cheap optimism which turns the stomach of any ordinary European? It's illusion. No, illusion's too good a word for it. Illusion means something. No, it's not that - it's delusion. It's sheer delusion, that's what.
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Part 15 Chapter 4

我们就像一群眼睛被蒙住的野马，我们狂奔、乱跑，呼的跃下了悬崖。前进！前进！向着助长暴力和迷惑的一切前进，不拘上哪儿。这时马的嘴角一直在冒白沫，口中喊着：“哈利路亚！哈利路亚！”为什么？上帝知道。这是由于血液，由于气候，由于许多因素，这也是终结。我们正在把整个世界拉倒，叫它压在我们头上，我们不知道为什么要这样干，这是命中注定的。其余的全是胡扯……
We're like a herd of wild horses with blinders over our eyes. On the rampage. Stampede. Over the precipice. Bango! Anything that nourishes violence and confusion. On! On! No matter where. And foaming at the lips all the while. Shouting Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Why? God knows. It's in the blood. It's the climate. It's a lot of things. It's the end, too. We're pulling the whole world down about our ears. We don't know why. It's our destiny. The rest is plain shit…

　　到了王宫那儿，我提议停下喝一杯。菲尔莫犹豫了一下，我看出他在耽心吉乃特、耽心午饭、耽心会挨一顿臭骂。
At the Palais Royal I suggested that we stop and have a drink. He hesitated a moment. I saw that he was worrying about her, about the lunch, about the bawling out he'd get.

　　我说，“看在基督的份上，暂时忘掉她吧。我要叫点儿喝的，而巨要叫你喝。别担心，我要把你从这个鬼圈套里弄出来。”我叫了两杯烈性威士忌。
"For Christ's sake," I said, "forget about her for a while. I'm going to order something to drink and I want you to drink it. Don't worry, I'm going to get you out of this fucking mess." I ordered two stiff whiskies.

　　看到威士忌端上来，他又像个孩子似的朝我笑了。
When he saw the whiskies coming he smiled at me just like a child again.

　　我说，“把它干了！咱们再喝一杯，酒会对你有好处的。我不管医生怎么说，现在总没有关系了。来，把它干了。”
"Down it!" I said, "and let's have another. This is going to do you good. I don't care what the doctor says - this time it'll be all right. Come on, down with it!"

　　他干脆地把它喝完了，侍者走开去拿酒时他用泪汪汪的眼睛看着我，似乎我是他在这个世界上的最后一个朋友，他的嘴唇也在微微抽搐。他有话想对我说，可是又不知道如何启齿。我轻松地瞧着他，就像没有看到他乞求的目光一样。然后，我把茶托推到一边，用时撑着俯在桌上恳切地说，“我说，菲尔莫，你倒底想干什么？告诉我吧！”
He put it down all right and while the gar?on disappeared to fetch another round he looked at me with brimming eyes, as though I were the last friend in the world. His lips were twitching a bit, too. There was something he wanted to say to me and he didn't quite know how to begin. I looked at him easily, as though ignoring the appeal and, shoving the saucers aside, I leaned over on my elbow and I said to him earnestly: "Look here, Fillmore, what is it you'd really like to do? Tell me!"

　　听到这话泪水从他眼眶里涌出，他脱口便说， “我想回家跟家人呆在一起，我想听见人们说英语。”热泪从他脸上流下来，他并不去擦，只是叫一切都涌泻出来。老天，我暗想，这样发泄一下倒也不错。一辈子至少作一回彻头彻尾的懦夫倒也不错，可以这样痛痛快快地发泄一下。太棒了！太棒了！看见他垂头丧气对我大有益处，于是我觉得自己可以解决任何难题，我觉得勇气倍增、果断坚毅，脑子里立即有了一千条妙计。
With that the tears gushed up and he blurted out: "I'd like to be home with my people. I'd like to hear English spoken." The tears were streaming down his face. He made no effort to brush them away. He just let everything gush forth. Jesus, I thought to myself, that's fine to have a release like that. Fine to be a complete coward at least once in your life. To let go that way. Great! Great! It did me so much good to see him break down that way that I felt as though I could solve any problem. I felt courageous and resolute. I had a thousand ideas in my head at once.

　　我又凑近些说，“听着，如果你真的心口如一，为什么不干……为什么不走呢？假如我处在你的处置上，你知道我会怎么办？我今天就走。是的。老天在上，我说的是真的……我会马上走掉，甚至不跟她道别。实际上，这是你唯一的一条出路，她是永远不会放你走的。这一点你明白。”
"Listen," I said, bending still closer to him, "if you mean what you said why don't you do it… why don't you go? Do you know what I would do, if I were in your shoes? I'd go today. Yes, by Jesus, I mean it… I'd go right away, without even saying good bye to her. As a matter of fact that's the only way you can go - she'd never let you say good bye. You know that."

　　侍者端来了威士忌，我看到菲尔莫迫不急待地伸手接过酒杯送到唇边，我看到他眼睛里流露出一丝希望的光芒—遥远、狂暴、孤注一掷的光芒，也许他看到自己正在游过大西洋。在我看来这件事很容易，像滚动一根圆木那样简单。我脑子里很快便想出了这件事的计划，我知道每一步会怎样，我的脑子清楚极了。
The gar?on came with the whiskies. I saw him reach forward with a desperate eagerness and raise the glass to his lips. I saw a glint of hope in his eyes - far off, wild, desperate. He probably saw himself swimming across the Atlantic. To me it looked easy, simple as rolling off a log. The whole thing was working itself out rapidly in my mind. I knew just what each step would be. Clear as a bell, I was.

　　我问他，“银行里的钱是准的？是她爹的还是你的？”

"Whose money is that in the bank?" I asked. "Is it her father's or is it yours?"
　　他嚷道，“是我的，是我妈寄给我的。我才不要她的一分臭钱呢。”
"It's mine!" he exclaimed. "My mother sent it to me. I don't want any of her goddamned money."

　　我说，“妙极了！好，现在咱们搭出租车回到那儿，把钱全取光。然后咱们就去英国领事馆弄一份签证，今天下午你就坐火车去伦敦，再从伦敦乘最早一班船回美国。我建议你这样走是因为那样一来你就不必再担心她追你了，她绝不会疑心你是经伦敦走的。若要去找你，她自然会先去勒阿弗尔或瑟堡……还有一件事，你不要回去取东西。你得把一切都留在这儿，让她留着吧。她的法国人脑瓜永远也不会料到你不带包或行李就溜之大吉了，这是令人难以置信的。一个法国人绝不会想到能这样做……除非他跟你一样疯癫。”
"That's swell!" I said. "Listen, suppose we hop a cab and go back there. Draw out every cent. Then we'll go to the British Consulate and get a visa. You're going to hop the train this afternoon for London. From London you'll take the first boat to America. I'm saying that because then you won't be worried about her trailing you. She'll never suspect that you went via London. If she goes searching for you she'll naturally go to Le Havre first, or Cherbourg… And here's another thing - you're not going back to get your things. You're going to leave everything here. Let her keep them. With that French mind of hers she'll never dream that you scooted off without bag or baggage. It's incredible. A Frenchman would never dream of doing a thing like that… unless he was as cracked as you are."

　　菲尔莫嚷道，“你说的对！我就从来没有想到这个。再说，以后你还可以把东西寄给我—如果她肯给你的话，不过现在这无关紧要，可是，天啊！我连顶帽子都没有！”
"You're right!" he exclaimed. "I never thought of that. Besides, you might send them to me later on - if she'll surrender them! But that doesn't matter now. Jesus, though, I haven't even got a hat!"

　　“你要帽子干什么？等到了伦敦，你可以买需要的一切。现在要紧的是要快，我们得了解清楚火车几点开。”
"What do you need a hat for? When you get to London you can buy everything you need. All you need now is to hurry. We've got to find out when the train leaves."

　　他掏出钱包说，“喂，我把一切都交给你去办。拿着，拿着这个，该办什么就办吧。我太弱了……我头晕。”
"Listen," he said, reaching for his wallet, "I'm going to leave everything to you. Here, take this and do whatever's necessary. I'm too weak… I'm dizzy."

　　我接过钱包，把他刚从银行取出的钞票全倒出来。一辆出租车正停在路边，我们便坐上去。大约四点钟有一趟火车驶离北方车站，我在计算时间—银行、英国领事馆、美国捷运公司、火车站。行！差不多还来得及。
I took the wallet and emptied it of the bills he had just drawn from the bank. A cab was standing at the curb. We hopped in. There was a train leaving the Gare du Nord at four o'clock, or thereabouts. I was figuring it our the bank, the Consulate, the American Express, the station. Fine! Just about make it.

　　我说，“振奋起来！保持冷静！哼，再过几个小时你就渡过英吉利海峡了。今天晚上你就会在伦敦逛了，听英语听个够。明天你就到了大海上，那时候你就是自由的人了，不必再担心会发生什么事情。等你到达纽约，这一切不过只是一场恶梦而已。”
"Now buck up!" I said, "and keep your shirt on! Shit! in a few hours you'll be crossing the Channel. Tonight you'll be walking around in London and you'll get a good bellyful of English. Tomorrow you'll be on the open sea - and then, by Jesus, you're a free man and you needn't give a fuck what happens. By the time you get to New York this'll be nothing more than a bad dream."

　　这番话使他大为激动，双脚来回蹬了几下，像是想在汽车里就撒腿跑起来。在银行里，他的手抖得厉害，几乎签不了名。签名这件事我无法代劳，可我想若是有必要，我可以把他按在马桶上，替他擦屁股。我决意把他送上船弄走，哪怕得把他折起来塞进一只箱子也罢。
This got him so excited that his feet were moving convulsively, as if he were trying to run inside the cab. At the bank his hand was trembling so that he could hardly sign his name. That was one thing I couldn't do for him - sign his name. But I think, had it been necessary, I could have sat him on the toilet and wiped his ass. I was determined to ship him off, even if I had to fold him up and put him in a valise.

　　赶到英国领事馆已是吃午饭的时间，那儿关门了。这意味着得等到两点钟，除了去吃饭，我想不出还有什么更好的消磨时间的方式。菲尔莫当然不饿，他主张吃一块三明治了事。我说，“去它的！你得请我吃一顿好饭，这是你在这儿吃的最后一顿丰盛的饭了，也许过很久才能再吃到呢。”我领他来到一家舒适的小餐馆，叫了一大桌菜。我叫了菜单上最好的甜酒，不管价钱多少，味道好坏。他的钱全在我的口袋里，我觉得钱很多。以前我当然从来没有一次装过这么多钱，破开一张一千法郎的大钞真是一种享受，我先把它举到亮处观察它漂亮的透明花纹。好漂亮的钱！这是法国人大规模制造的为数不多的东西之一，而且造得很精美，仿佛他们对这种象征物也怀着深深的爱。
It was lunch hour when we got to the British Consulate, and the place was closed. That meant waiting until two o'clock. I couldn't think of anything better to do, by way of killing time, than to eat. Fillmore, of course, wasn't hungry. He was for eating a sandwich. "Fuck that!" I said. "You're going to blow me to a good lunch. It's the last square meal you're going to have over here - maybe for a long while." I steered him to a cosy little restaurant and ordered a good spread. I ordered the best wine on the menu, regardless of price or taste. I had all his money in my pocket - oodles of it, it seemed to me. Certainly never before had I had so much in my fist at one time. It was a treat to break a thousand franc note. I held it up to the light first to look at the beautiful watermark. Beautiful money! One of the few things the French make on a grand scale. Artistically done, too, as if they cherished a deep affection even for the symbol.

　　吃完饭后我们来到一家咖啡馆，我要咖啡时一起叫了查尔特勒酒。为什么不？我又破开了一张钞票，这一回是一张五百法郎的票子，是一张干干净净的新票子，又硬又脆，摆弄这样的钱真是一件令人愉快的事。侍者找给我一大堆肮脏的旧票子，是用一条条胶纸粘在一起的。我得到一大堆五法郎、十法郎的票子和一口袋零钱，像中间有孔的中国钱，我简直不知道该把钱装在哪一只衣袋里，我的裤袋里鼓鼓地塞满了硬币和钞票。在公共场所里掏出那么多钱来也略略使我有些不快，我怕我们会被人看作是两个贼。
The meal over, we went to a café. I ordered Chartreuse with the coffee. Why not? And I broke another bill - a five-hundred franc note this time. It was a clean, new, crisp bill. A pleasure to handle such money. The waiter handed me back a lot of dirty old bills that had been patched up with strips of gummed paper; I had a stack of five and ten franc notes and a bagful of chicken feed. Chinese money, with holes in it. I didn't know in which pocket to stuff the money any more. My trousers were bursting with coins and bills. It made me slightly uncomfortable also, hauling all that dough out in public. I was afraid we might be taken for a couple of crooks.

　　等我们来到美国捷运公司时已经没有多少时间了，刚才英国人以他们一贯的笨手笨脚的混蛋方式叫我们等得心急如焚。而这儿人人脚下都像装了轮子似的在滑行，他们动作太快，结果每一道手续得过两遍。等所有的票据上都签了字、用一个小夹子整整齐齐夹好了，这才发现菲尔莫签名签的不是地方。没有别的法子，只好一切从头开始。我站着看他坐在那里一笔一笔地写，同时还盯着那只钟。把钱交出去真叫人不好受，谢天谢地，不用全交—可也交了一大笔。我口袋里大概装了两千五百法郎，我说的是大概，我已不再一法郎一法郎地数了，一百二百法郎左右的钱对我来说不算什么。至于菲尔莫，他昏昏沉沉办完了全部手续。他不知道自己有多少钱，只知道他得为吉乃特留一点儿。他也说不上留多少，去火车站的路上我们要算一算。
When we got to the American Express there wasn't a devil of a lot of time left. The British, in their usual fumbling farting way, had kept us on pins and needles. Here everybody was sliding around on castors. They were so speedy that everything had to be done twice. After all the checks were signed and clipped in a neat little holder, it was discovered that he had signed in the wrong place. Nothing to do but start all over again. I stood over him, with one eye on the clock, and watched every stroke of the pen. It hurt to hand over the dough. Not all of it, thank God - but a good part of it. I had roughly about 2,500 francs in my pocket. Roughly, I say. I wasn't counting by francs any more. A hundred, or two hundred, more or less - it didn't mean a goddamned thing to me. As for him, he was going through the whole transaction in a daze. He didn't know how much money he had. All he knew was that he had to keep something aside for Ginette. He wasn't certain yet how much - we were going to figure that out on the way to the station.

　　慌乱中我们竞忘了把所有的钱都兑换掉，现在已经上了出租车，再说也不能再耽搁时间了。现在要做的是看看究竟还有多少钱，我们很快掏空了衣袋，把钱分成几份。有些钱扔在地上，有些放在座位上，令人茫然不知所措。有法国钱、美国钱和英国钱，还有那些零钱。为了简单些，我极想拣起那些硬币扔到窗外去。最后我们把它全部清点了一遍，他拿着英国和美国钱，我拿着法国货币。
In the excitement we had forgotten to change all the money. We were already in the cab, however, and there wasn't any time to be lost. The thing was to find out how we stood. We emptied our pockets quickly and began to whack it up. Some of it was lying on the floor, some of it was on the seat. It was bewildering. There was French, American and English money. And all that chicken feed besides. I felt like picking up the coins and chucking them out of the window - just to simplify matters. Finally we sifted it all out; he held on to the English and American money, and I held on to the French money.

　　我们必须快点决定拿吉乃特怎么办—给她多少钱、对她怎么说，等等。他企图编好一个故事叫我讲给她听，说他不想伤她的心以及诸如此类的话，我只有打断他。
We had to decide quickly now what to do about Ginette - how much to give her, what to tell her, etc. He was trying to fix up a yarn for me to hand her - didn't want her to break her heart and so forth. I had to cut him short.

　　“别管怎么对她说，全交给我好了。问题是，你要给她多少钱？为什么还要给她钱？”
"Never mind what to tell her," I said. "Leave that to me. How much are you going to give her, that's the thing? Why give her anything?"

　　这话像在他屁股底下放了一颗炸弹，他又哭开了。哭得这么凶！比刚才哭得还厉害，我以为他就要倒在我手上了。于是我不假思索他说，“好吧，把法国钱都给她好了。那可以叫她维持一阵子。”
That was like setting a bomb under his ass. He burst into tears. Such tears! It was worse than before. I thought he was going to collapse on my hands. Without stopping to think, I said: "All right, let's give her all this French money. That ought to last her for a while."

　　他无力地问，“有多少？”
"How much is it?" he asked feebly.

　　“不知道—大约两千法郎上下，反正比她应得的要多。”
"I don't know - about 2,000 francs or so. More than she deserves anyway."

　　他乞求道，“老天！别这样说！不管怎么说，我这样一走就把她坑苦了，她家里人现在再也不会收留她了。不，给她吧，全部都给她……我不在乎多少。”
"Christ! Don't say that!" he begged. "After all, it's a rotten break I'm giving her. Her folks'll never take her back now. No, give it to her. Give her the whole damned business… I don't care what it is."

　　他扯出一条手帕来擦眼泪，他说，“我忍不住，这叫我太难受了。”什么也没说。突然他直挺挺地躺倒了，我以为他昏过去了还是怎么的。他却说，“老天，我想我该回去，我该回去听她破口大骂。她若有个好歹，我永远也不会原谅自己。”
He pulled a handkerchief out to wipe the tears away. "I can't help it," he said. "It's too much for me." I said nothing. Suddenly he sprawled himself out full length - I thought he was taking a fit or something - and he said: "Jesus, I think I ought to go back. I ought to go back and face the music. If anything should happen to her I'd never forgive myself."

　　这使我大吃一惊，“老天爷！你可不能这样做！现在不行，太迟了。你得去搭火车，我自己去对付她，我一离开你就去找她。唉，你这个可怜的傻瓜，一旦她猜到你曾经想甩下她逃走，她就会宰了你的。你想到这一层了吗？你再也回不去了，这事儿已经定了。”
That was a rude jolt for me. "Christ!" I shouted, "you can't do that! Not now. It's too late. You're going to take the train and I'm going to tend to her myself. I'll go see her just as soon as I leave you. Why, you poor boob, if she ever thought you had tried to run away from her she'd murder you, don't you realize that? You can't go back any more. It's settled."

　　再说，能有什么“好歹”呢？我自问。自杀？那样更好。
Anyway, what could go wrong? I asked myself. Kill herself? Tant mieux.
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Part 15 Chapter 5
乘车来到火车站、我们还有十二分钟。我还不敢就同菲尔莫告别。我觉得，尽管迷糊了，到了最后一分钟他仍有可能跳下车跑回吉乃特身边去。任何事情都会叫他改变主意，哪怕是一恨稻草呢。于是我拽着他过了街来到一家酒馆里，我说，“现在你再喝一杯茵香酒—最后一杯，我来付钱……付你的钱。”
When we rolled up to the station we had still about twelve minutes to kill. I didn't dare to say good bye to him yet. At the last minute, rattled as he was, I could see him jumping off the train and scooting back to her. Anything might swerve him. A straw. So I dragged him across the street to a bar and I said: "Now you're going to have a Pernod - your last Pernod and I'm going to pay for it… with your dough."

　　听了这话他不安地瞧了我一眼，他喝了一大口茴香酒，然后像一条受伤的狗一样扭过头来。他说，“我也知道不该把那些钱都托付给你，可是……可是……唉，算了，你看着办吧。我不想让她自杀，就是这。”
Something about this remark made him look at me uneasily. He took a big gulp of the Pernod and then, turning to me like an injured dog, he said: "I know I oughtn't to trust you with all that money, but… but… Oh, well, do what you think best. I don't want her to kill herself, that's all."

　　“自杀，她不是那种人！若相信这话，你就一定是自己想的太多了。至于钱。尽管我不愿意给她，我还是答应你直接去邮局电汇给她。我不会多装一分钟的。”正说着我瞅见一个旋转货架上摆着几张明信片，我抓了一张—是绘有埃菲尔铁塔的—叫他在上面写几个字。“告诉她你现在已经在航行中了。告诉她你爱她，一到美国就会打发人来接她……去邮局时我用气压传送把它发出，今晚我就去看她。你放心，一切都会好的。”
"Kill herself?" I said. "Not her! You must think a hell of a lot of yourself if you can believe a thing like that. As for the money, though I hate to give it to her, I promise you I'll go straight to the post office and telegraph it to her. I wouldn't trust myself with it a minute longer than is necessary." As I said this I spied a bunch of post cards in a revolving rack. I grabbed one off - a picture of the Eiffel Tower it was - and made him write a few words. "Tell her you're sailing now. Tell her you love her and that you'll send for her as soon as you arrive… I'll send it by pneumatique when I go to the post office. And tonight I'll see her. Everything'll be Jake, you'll see."

　　一边说我们一边又过街来到火车站，还有两分钟就要开车了，我现在觉得保险了，在大门口我拍拍他的背，指指火车。我没有同他握手，他的口水会流我一身的。我只是说，“快点！车马上要开了！”说完我转身拔腿就走，甚至没有回头看一眼他是否上了车。我不敢看。
With that we walked across the street to the station. Only two minutes to go. I felt it was safe now. At the gate I gave him a slap on the back and pointed to the train. I didn't shake hands with him - he would have slobbered all over me. I just said: "Hurry! She's going in a minute." And with that I turned on my heel and marched off. I didn't even look round to see if he was boarding the train. I was afraid to.

　　把他匆匆送走这一阵，我从来没有想到这一下我也就摆脱他了。我向他许诺了很多事情，可那只是为了叫他别再嚷嚷。说起去见吉乃特，我同他一样缺乏勇气，自己就先吓坏了。一切发生得这么迅捷，简直不可能完全把握住这局面的关键。我在甜蜜的昏沉中步行离开车站，手里捏着那张明信片。我靠在一根灯柱上读了上面的话，这封信写得有点荒谬。我又读了一遍，以便弄确实自己没有在做梦，然后就把它撕了，扔进了阴沟。
I hadn't thought, all the while I was bundling him off, what I'd do once I was free of him. I had promised a lot of things - but that was only to keep him quiet. As for facing Ginette, I had about as little courage for it as he had. I was getting panicky myself: Everything had happened so quickly that it was impossible to grasp the nature of the situation in full. I walked away from the station in a kind of delicious stupor - with the post card in my hand. I stood against a lamppost and read it over. It sounded preposterous. I read it again, to make sure that I wasn't dreaming, and then I tore it up and threw it in the gutter.

　　我忐忑不安地四下里望望，半心半意地预备看到吉乃特举着战斧朝我追来。没有人跟着我，我便懒洋洋地朝拉斐特广场走去。正如我早先说过的，这天很美。天上悬着一朵朵淡淡的松软白云，随风飘荡，帆布遮日篷也在啪啪扑动。巴黎在我眼里从来还没有像这天这么美，我几乎有点儿后悔把那个可怜的家伙送走了。在拉斐特广场，我面朝教堂坐下凝视着钟塔，它不是一座了不起的建筑，不过它蓝色的钟面总叫我为之着迷。今天它比以往更蓝，我简直无法把目光从上面移开。
I looked around uneasily, half expecting to see Ginette coming after me with a tomahawk. Nobody was following me. I started walking leisurely toward the Place Lafayette. It was a beautiful day, as I had observed earlier. Light, puffy clouds above, sailing with the wind. The awnings flapping. Paris had never looked so good to me; I almost felt sorry that I had shipped the poor bugger off. At the Place Lafayette I sat down facing the church and stared at the clock tower; it's not such a wonderful piece of architecture, but that blue in the dial face always fascinated me. It was bluer than ever today. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

　　除非菲尔莫发疯发得厉害，给吉乃特写信说明一切，她永远也不会知道发生了什么事情。即使她知道他留给她两千五百法郎，她也无法证明这一点，我始终可以说这是菲尔莫臆想出来的。一个不戴帽子就走掉的疯家伙也会编造出两千五百法郎和别的东西来。我在纳闷，到底有多少钱？我的衣袋都被钱的重量拉得坠下来了，我把它全掏出来细细数了一遍，一共是两干八百七十五法郎零三十五生丁，比我预计的还多。七十五法郎零三十五生丁必须花掉，我要一个整数，要整整两千八百法郎。正在这时我看到一部出租车开到了路边，一个女人双手抱着一只白狮子狗从车上下来，那狗在朝她的绸裙子上撒尿。带着一条狗去兜风这个主意使我大为恼怒，我暗暗对自己说，我一点儿不比她的狗差。我朝司机打个手势，叫他拉我穿过波伊思公园。他想知道确切的地址，我说，“随便哪儿。穿过波伊思，围着它兜一圈。不用快，我不急着上哪儿去。”我靠在后座上，让路边的房屋嗖嗖掠过，还有参差不齐的屋顶、烟囱顶、涂上颜色的墙、小便池、叫人头晕眼花的十字路口。路过“圆顶”时我想去撒泡尿，由于说不上下面会出现什么情况，我叫司机等着。我这还是平生头一回撒尿时叫出租车等着。这样会浪费多少钱？不太多。有了兜里那些钱，我能花得起钱叫两辆出租车等我。我仔细看看四周，可是没有看见什么值得一看的东西。我要的是新鲜的、没有人动过的、来自阿拉斯加或维尔京群岛的、干净、新鲜、带股天然芳香的皮肤。不用说，走来走去的女人中没有这样的。我并不非常失望，也不大在乎是否找得到。要紧的是永远别太着急，到时一切自然都会有的。
　　Unless he were crazy enough to write her a letter, explaining everything, Ginette need never know what had happened. And even if she did learn that he had left her 2,500 francs or so she couldn't prove it. I could always say that he imagined it. A guy who was crazy enough to walk off without even a hat was crazy enough to invent the 2,500 francs, or whatever it was. How much was it, anyhow?, I wondered. My pockets were sagging with the weight of it. I hauled it all out and counted it carefully. There was exactly 2,875 francs and 35 centimes. More than I had thought. The 75 francs and 35 centimes had to be gotten rid of. I wanted an even sum - a clean 2,800 francs. Just then I saw a cab pulling up to the curb. A woman stepped out with a white poodle dog in her hands; the dog was peeing over her silk dress. The idea of taking a dog for a ride got me sore. I'm as good as her dog, I said to myself, and with that I gave the driver a sign and told him to drive me through the Bois. He wanted to know where exactly. "Anywhere," I said. "Go through the Bois, go all around it - and take your time, I'm in no hurry." I sank back and let the houses whizz by, the jagged roofs, the chimney pots, the colored walls, the urinals, the dizzy carrefours. Passing the Rond Point I thought I'd go downstairs and take a leak. No telling what might happen down there. I told the driver to wait. It was the first time in my life I had let a cab wait while I took a leak. How much ran you wast a that way? Not very much. With what I had in my pocket I could afford to have two taxis waiting for me. I took a good look around but I didn't see anything worth while. What I wanted was something fresh and unused - something from Alaska or the Virgin Islands. A clean fresh pelt with a natural fragrance to it. Needless to say, there wasn't anything like that walking about. I wasn't terribly disappointed. I didn't give a fuck whether I found anything or not. The thing is, never to be too anxious. Everything comes in due time.

我们驶过凯旋门，几个游览者在无名英雄纪念墓附近游荡。穿过波伊思时我看着所有坐在高级轿车里出风头的阔娘儿们，她们呼啸而过，仿佛有一个目的地似的。毫无疑问，这样是要显得有身价，叫世人看看她们的罗尔斯一罗伊斯和希斯帕诺?苏扎斯高级轿车跑得多么平稳，而我心里却比任何一辆罗尔斯-罗伊斯更加平稳舒服，像天鹅绒一样平滑。天鹅绒的皮层，天鹅绒的脊柱，还有天鹅绒的轮轴润滑油。啊！真是一件美妙的事情—口袋里装着钱，像喝醉酒的水手一样半个小时就把它挥霍光。你会觉得这个世界都是你的，而最妙的是，你不知道拿它怎么办才好。你可以坐在车里让里程表疯了一样猛转，可以让风吹过头发，可以停下喝一杯，可以大方地付小费，还可以摆臭架子，好像天天都如此生活。不过你却无法酝酿一场革命，你也无法把肚子里的脏东西都冲洗出来。
We drove on past the Arc de Triomphe. A few sightseers were loitering around the remains of the Unknown Soldier. Going through the Bois I looked at all the rich cunts promenading in their limousines. They were whizzing by as if they had some destination. Do that, no doubt, to look important - to show the world how smooth run their Rolls Royces and their Hispano Suizas. Inside me things were running smoother than any Rolls Royce ever ran. It was just like velvet inside. Velvet cortex and velvet vertebrae. And velvet axle grease, what! It's a wonderful thing, for half an hour, to have money in your pocket and piss it away like a drunken sailor. You feel as though the world is yours. And the best part of it is, you don't know what to do with it. You can sit back and let the meter run wild, you can let the wind blow through your hair, you can stop and have a drink, you can give a big tip, and you can swagger off as though it were an everyday occurrence. But you can't create a revolution. You can't wash all the dirt out of your belly.

　　来到欧特伊门时我叫司机朝塞纳河开，我在德塞夫勒桥那儿下车沿河步行朝欧特伊高架桥走去。河流在这儿仅有一条小溪那么宽，树木都生长到河堤上了。河水是绿的，水面非常平静，尤其是在靠近彼岸处。不时有一只大平底船突突驶过，穿紧身游泳衣的人们站在草地上晒太阳。每一件物体都显得很近，都在颤动，都在同强烈的光线一起振动。
When we got to the Porte d'Auteuil I made him head for the Seine. At the Pont de Sèvres I got out and started walking along the river, toward the Auteuil Viaduct. It's about the size of a creek along here and the trees come right down to the river's bank. The water was green and glassy, especially near the other side. Now and then a scow chugged by. Bathers in tights were standing in the grass sunning themselves. Everything was close and palpitant, and vibrant with the strong light.

　　经过一个设有座席、供应啤酒的花园时，我看到一群骑自行车的人围坐在一张桌子边。我在附近找了一个座位，叫了半升啤酒。听着他们喋喋不休的闲扯，我一刹那间又想到了吉乃特，仿佛看见她在屋里来回顿脚、扯自己的头发、像野兽一样又哭又嚎。我看见菲尔莫的帽子放在帽架上，心想不知我穿上他的衣服合适不合适，我尤其喜欢他那件插肩袖大衣。哈，现在他准上路了，再过一会儿船就会在他脚下晃动。英语！他想听到人们说英语。多么古怪的念头！
Passing a beer garden I saw a group of cyclists sitting at a table. I took a seat nearby and ordered a demi. Hearing them jabber away I thought for a moment of Ginette. I saw her stamping up and down the room, tearing her hair, and sobbing and bleating, in that beastlike way of hers. I saw his hat on the rack. I wondered if his clothes would fit me. He had a raglan that I particularly liked. Well, by now he was on his way. In a little while the boat would be rocking under him. English! He wanted to hear English spoken. What an idea!

　　我突然又想到，若是想走，我自己也可以回美国。这是扩头一次碰到这样一个天赐良机，我问自己，“你想走吗？”没有回答，我的思绪又转到其他事情上去了，转向大海和大洋彼岸，离开它时我回头最后看了它一眼，看见摩天大楼在一片雪花中渐渐消失。现在我又看见这些摩天大楼赫然耸立在眼前，同我离开时一样，阴森森的。我看到光线从它们的肋骨间透出，看到从哈莱姆到炮台公园的整个纽约展现在眼前，看到被蚂蚁般的人群堵塞的街道，看到高架铁道上的车呼啸而过，看到人流涌到剧院。我隐约想到，不知我妻子现在怎样了。
Suddenly it occurred to me that if I wanted I could go to America myself. It was the first time the opportunity had ever presented itself. I asked myself - "do you want to go?" There was no answer. My thoughts drifted out, toward the sea, toward the other side where, taking a last look back, I had seen the skyscrapers fading out in a flurry of snowflakes. I saw them looming up again, in that same ghostly way as when I left. Saw the lights creeping through their ribs. I saw the whole city spread out, from Harlem to the Battery, the streets choked with ants, the elevated rushing by, the theaters emptying. I wondered in a vague way what had ever happened to my wife.

　　平静地想过这一切后，我变得非常安详了。塞纳河在这儿静静地绕过群山，它喜爱这片浸透往事的土地，因而不论一个人的思绪漫游到何处，他永远不会把这条河同人类的活动分开。
After everything had quietly sifted through my head a great peace came over me. Here, where the river gently winds through the girdle of hills, lies a soil so saturated with the past that however far back the mind roams one can never detach it from its human background.

　　天啊，黄金般的祥和气氛在我眼前闪现，只有一个患神经病的人才想掉头走开。塞纳河这样静悄悄地流淌，人们几乎注意不到它的存在。它一直躺在那儿，宁静而又谦和，像人身上流动的一条大动脉。在笼罩在身上的美妙祥和气氛中，我似乎已经爬上了一座高山的山顶，在一段短暂的时间内我可以放眼四周，领略这番风景蕴涵的意义。
Christ, before my eyes there shimmered such a golden peace that only a neurotic could dream of turning his head away. So quietly flows the Seine that one hardly notices its presence. It is always there, quiet and unobtrusive, like a great artery running through the human body. In the wonderful peace that fell over me itseemed as if I had climbed to the top of a high mountain; for a little while I would be able to look around me, to take in the meaning of the landscape.

　　人类是一些古怪的动植物。从远处看他们显得微不足道，走到近处他们又显得丑恶、刻毒。他们最需要的是周围有足够的空间—比时间更多的空间。
Human beings make a strange fauna and flora. From a distance they appear negligible; close up they are apt to appear ugly and malicious. More than anything they need to be surrounded with sufficient space - space even more than time.

　　太阳正在落下。我觉得这条河正从我身上流过—它的过去、它年代久远的土壤和多变的气候。群山轻柔地束缚着它，因而它的流向早已确定。
The sun is setting. I feel this river flowing through meits past, its ancient soil, the changing climate. The hills gently girdle it about: its course is fixed.
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