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Physical Relationship —《Love Story》慢读(十一)  

2010-06-12 09:53:57|  分类: 翻译写作 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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第五章就谈了这一个问题,即他们的第一次。这个话题敏感而不大好谈,因为既要写出美感还不能有色情嫌疑。

1舒心鄂以迪版把physical relationship译为“肌肤之亲”,是比较文雅的。

2I didn't know what to do. 我是不知道该怎么干。)

Don't misunderstand or take that too literally. I knew all the moves. 请不要误解,也不要过于咬文嚼字。全部做法,我都知道

这里的what to do 译为“怎么干”也比较好。

3、“Oliver, you're gonna flunk out if you just sit there watching me study.   柯林斯上解释说: If you flunk an exam or a course, you fail to reach the required standard. (mainly AM, INFORMAL) 现在学生中有种说法叫“挂了”。

4、“Oliver - wouldja please.

It all happened at once. Everything. 事情一下子就发生了。一切的一切。

5Our first physical encounter was the polar opposite of our first verbal one.我们的第一次交欢跟我们的第一次交谈恰恰相反。)这里重复的“交”字译出一英语中“encounter”与“one”的趣味。

查看简易版,这一章果然被删,是全书22章中唯一被删的一章。看不出有多大的必要来,何况在色情书里会渲染的地方在这里只用一个字“Everything”浓缩了,还要怎么样?看来这个简易版有着一种中国特色。

附:5
I would like to say a word about our physical relationship.
For a strangely long while there wasn't any. I mean, there wasn't anything more significant than
those kisses already mentioned (all of which I still remember in greatest detail). This was not
standard procedure as far as I was concerned, being rather impulsive, impatient and quick to action.
If you were to tell any of a dozen girls at Tower Court, Wellesley, that Oliver Barrett IV had been
dating a young lady daily for three weeks and had not slept with her, they would surely have laughed
and severely questioned the femininity of the girl involved. But of course the actual facts were quite
different.
I didn't know what to do.
Don't misunderstand or take that too literally. I knew all the moves. I just couldn't cope with my
own feelings about making them. Jenny was so smart that I was afraid she might laugh at what I had
traditionally considered the suave romantic (and unstoppable) style of Oliver Barrett IV. I was afraid
of being rejected, yes. I was also afraid of being accepted for the wrong reasons. What I am fumbling
to say is that I felt different about Jennifer, and didn't know what to say or even who to ask about it.
('You should have asked me,' she said later.) I just knew I had these feelings. For her. For all of her.
'You're gonna flunk out, Oliver.'
We were sitting in my room on a Sunday afternoon, reading.
'Oliver, you're gonna flunk out if you just sit there watching me study.'
'I'm not watching you study. I'm studying.'
'Bullshit. You're looking at my legs.'
'Only once in a while. Every chapter.'
'.'That book has extremely short chapters.'
'Listen, you narcissistic bitch, you're not that great-looking! '
'I know. But can I help it if you think so?'
I threw down my book and crossed the room to where she was sitting.
'Jenny, for Christ's sake, how can I read John Stuart Mill when every single second I'm dying to
make love to you?'
She screwed up her brow and frowned.
I was crouching by her chair. She looked back into her book.
'Jenny - '
She closed her book softly, put it down, then placed her hands on the sides of my neck.
'Oliver - wouldja please.'
It all happened at once. Everything.
Our first physical encounter was the polar opposite of our first verbal one. It was all so
unhurried, so soft, so gentle. I had never realized that this was the real Jenny - the soft one, whose
touch was so light and so loving. And yet what truly shocked me was my own response. I was gentle,
I was tender. Was this the real Oliver Barrett IV?
As I said, I had never seen Jenny with so much as her sweater opened an extra button. I was
somewhat surprised to find that she wore a tiny golden cross. On one of those chains that never
unlock. Meaning that when we made love, she still wore the cross. In a resting moment of that lovely
afternoon, at one of those junctures when everything and nothing is relevant, I touched the little
cross and inquired what her priest might have to say about our being in bed together, and so forth.
She answered that she had no priest.
'Aren't you a good Catholic girl?' I asked.
'Well, I'm a girl,' she said. 'And I'm good.'
She looked at me for confirmation and I smiled. She smiled back.
'So that's two out of three.'
I then asked her why the cross, welded, no less. She explained that it had been her mother's; she
wore it for sentimental reasons, not religious. The conversation returned to ourselves.
'Hey, Oliver, did I tell you that I love you?' she said.
'No, Jen.'
'Why didn't you ask me?'
'I was afraid to, frankly.'
'Ask me now.'
'Do you love me, Jenny?'
She looked at me and wasn't being evasive when she answered:
'What do you think?'
'Yeah. I guess. Maybe.'
I kissed her neck.
'Oliver?'
'Yes?'
'I don't just love you . . .'
Oh, Christ, what was this?
'I love you very much, Oliver.'

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