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萧红·《雪天》英译
萧红·《雪天》英译
作者:admin  发表时间:2015-2-28
 

我直直是睡了一个整天,这使我不能再睡。小屋子渐渐从灰色变做黑色。

 

睡得背很痛,肩也很痛,并且也饿了。我下床开了灯,在床沿坐了坐,到椅子上坐了坐,扒一扒头发,揉擦两下眼睛,心中感到幽长和无底,好像把我放下一个煤洞去,并且没有灯笼,使我一个人走沉下去。屋子虽然小,在我觉得和一个荒凉的广场样,屋子墙壁离我比天还远,那是说一切不和我发生关系;那是说我的肚子太空了!

 

一切街车街声在小窗外闹着。可是三层楼的过道非常寂静。每走过一个人,我留意他的脚步声,那是非常响亮的,硬底皮鞋踏过去,女人的高跟鞋更响亮而且焦急,有时成群的响声,男男女女穿插着过了一阵。我听遍了过道上一切引诱我的声音,可是不用开门看,我知道郎华还没回来。

 

小窗那样高,囚犯住的屋子一般,我仰起头来,看见那一些纷飞的雪花从天空忙乱地跌落,有的也打在玻璃窗片上,即刻就消融了,变成水珠滚动爬行着,玻璃窗被它画成没有意义、无组织的条纹。

 

我想:雪花为什么要翩飞呢?多么没有意义!忽然我又想:我不也是和雪花一般没有意义吗?坐在椅子里,两手空着,什么也不做;口张着,可是什么也不吃。我十分和一架完全停止了的机器相像。

 

过道一响,我的心就非常跳,那该不是郎华的脚步?一种穿软底鞋的声音,嚓嚓来近门口,我仿佛是跳起来,我心害怕:他冻得可怜了吧?他没有带回面包来吧?

 

开门看时,茶房站在那里:

 

“包夜饭吗?”

 

“多少钱?”

 

“每份6角。包月15元。”

 

“……”我一点都不迟疑地摇着头,怕是他把饭送进来强迫我吃似的,怕他强迫向我要钱似的。茶房走出,门又严肃地关起来。一切别的房中的笑声,饭菜的香气都断绝了,就这样用一道门,我与人间隔离着。

 

一直到郎华回来,他的胶皮底鞋擦在门槛,我才止住幻想。茶房手上的托盘,盛着肉饼、炸黄的蕃薯、切成大片有弹力的面包……

 

郎华的夹衣上那样湿了,已湿的裤管拖着泥。鞋底通了孔,使得袜也湿了。

 

他上床暖一暖,脚伸在被子外面,我给他用一张破布擦着脚上冰凉的黑圈。

 

当他问我时,他和呆人一般,直直的腰也不弯:

 

“饿了吧?”

 

我几乎是哭了。我说:“不饿。”为了低头,我的脸几乎接触到他冰凉的脚掌。

 

他的衣服完全湿透,所以我到马路旁去买馒头。就在光身的木桌上,刷牙缸冒着气,刷牙缸伴着我们把馒头吃完。馒头既然吃完,桌上的铜板也要被吃掉似的。他问我:

 

“够不够?”

 

我说:“够了。”我问他:“够不够?”

 

他也说:“够了。”

 

隔壁的手风琴唱起来,它唱的是生活的痛苦吗?手风琴凄凄凉凉地唱呀!

 

登上桌子,把小窗打开。这小窗是通过人间的孔道:楼顶,烟囱,飞着雪沉重而浓黑的天空,路灯,警察,街车,小贩,乞丐,一切显现在这小孔道,繁繁忙忙的市街发着响。

 

隔壁的手风琴在我们耳里不存在了。

 

A Snowy Day

 

Xiao Hong

 

For the whole day I had been sleeping. I woke up at the time when the night curtain had gradually fell onto this little room of ours, when I could sleep no more.

 

I had been lying for so long a time that my back was painful, and my shoulders, too, were aching sharply, my stomach empty. Getting off the bed and turning on the light, I sat on the bedside and in the chair respectively for a little while, then gave the hair a scratch and the eyes a rub, feeling empty and helpless in heart as if thrown into a dark coal mine without a lantern, while I myself was sinking slowly, into the bottomless darkness. Although the room in reality was quite small, yet to me it well equaled a lonely square, with its walls as distant from me as the high sky. I said so as neither the room nor its walls could help a little while my stomach was totally empty!

 

All the noises of the street were shut outside of the window, thus the passage here on the third floor was unusually quiet. Whenever a person walked by, I could hear clearly his or her footsteps. That was the remarkable sound of the hard-soled leather shoes, or that of women’s high-heels with more loudness and somewhat haste. And sometimes it was a succession of sounds by a collection of men and women. I had all the inviting sounds in the passage enjoyed through, but without opening the door to have a check I could conclude that none of them belonged to my Lang Hua.

 

The window was pretty high, very much like that of a prisoner’s cage. I raised up my head, only to see a riot of downy flakes of snow heading towards the earth hastily. Some falling on the windowpane thawed quickly, turned into water drops and rolled down the glass, leaving behind a mess of meaningless and irregular lines.

 

It put me into reverie. I asked myself: why would the snowflakes keep whirling and dancing without a rest? Was there any meaning in it? Then somehow I thought of myself. Wasn’t I the very symbol of those meaningless snowflakes? Sitting in the chair, with a pair of hands empty yet doing nothing, and a mouth lying open yet taking nothing, I was very much like a discarded machine that had completely stopped working.

 

A dim yet seemingly familiar sound from the passage put my heart into anxiety. Wasn’t that the sound of my Lang Hua’s footsteps? As the rustling sound of the rubber-sled shoes approached, I almost jumped up, wondering with worry: Was he shivering with cold, and after all, had he earned the bread back home?

 

I opened the door, only to find a hotel attendant standing there.

 

“Would you like to order supper?”

 

“What’s the price?”

 

“Zero point six yuan per share, and 15 yuan for a month.”

 

Without any hesitation I had my head shaken repeatedly and resolutely, as if dreading that he would throw the meal to me and force me to take it, that he would then ask me for money. Sending the attendant away, I had the door closed tightly again. The happy laughter next door plus the inviting smells of the meals all together were shut outside. The very door isolated me from the world.

 

It was not until Lang Gua came back, his rubber-soled shoes stepping on the threshold, that my mind was pushed back from that tray of the attendant’s, with meat pies, golden potato chips and big, soft chunks of bread…

 

His jacket was drenched all over with melted snow, and his trouser legs, too, were wet with mud. His soles got holes, thus having his socks soaked as well.

 

He went into the quilt to get some warmth, his dirty and icy feet placed outside, while I was cleaning the mud on them with a rag.

 

Then, like a puppet unable to bend his body, he inquired without affection, “You are hungry, right?”

 

I almost burst into tears, yet only replied a “No”. Then to droop and hide the tears, I had my back so badly bent that my face nearly touched his cold feet.

 

Since all his clothes were completely wet, I had to cross the road and buy the steamed bread myself. Then with the help of a tooth mug standing on the naked table and the steaming water in it, we finished this meal. Now that the steamed bread had been up, both of our eyes were shifted to the copper coins on the table, only they were inedible.

 

Then Lang Hua opened his mouth, “Are you enough?”

 

“Yeah,” I said, and asked him, “What about you?”

 

“Me, too,” he replied.

 

The accordion next door began to sing. Was it the hardship of living that it was singing? If not, why was its voice so sad and somber then?

 

Mounting the table, Lang Hua had the small window opened. It was the only medium that linked us with the world, where we saw roofs of buildings, chimneys, the heavy and dark sky floating with snowflakes, and streetlights, policemen, buses, hawkers as well as beggars; all these things revealed themselves in the small opening, to the accompaniment of the din of the busy streets.

 

Thus the singing of the accordion next door got drowned and disappeared in our ears.

 

      (李珍 译)

     来源:网络

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