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空落无着——第五届英语世界杯翻译比赛译文  

2014-09-14 19:20:54|  分类: 翻译写作 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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空 落 无 着

 朗达·卢卡斯

父母的离婚,手续办完了。房子已卖,搬家的日子也已到。这个家庭三十年的生活如今都塞入车库。箱子、家具,还有往事记忆,一片零乱,唯一齐整的就是四壁上二乘四规格的木板条。一切都悬在刚刚过往与未来之间,空落无着。

阳光从窗子涌进来,泼洒在箱子组成的路障上。就像一条泛光的河流,沿岸湍行,漫溢过冰冷水泥地上的裂痕。我站在房子通向车库的门廊上,心想,阳光能否再次照彻那些封入箱子的记忆。一瞬间,纸箱望上去就像那些记忆的墓石、纪念碑。

墙角的炉子,其巨大的管状手指伸出又没入墙壁,它没有意识到,温暖这空空的房子已是枉然。炉火“呼呼”燃烧的节奏,为我面前箱子所封的记忆哼唱挽歌。我关上门,坐在台阶上,虔诚地聆听着。失落感把糟糕的记忆变成不太糟糕的,把不太糟糕的记忆变成美好的,然后把美好的记忆交付我心。可是,我心里依旧空落落的,就如那搬空了的房子。

我右边的工作台上空无一物,空得令人厌恶。连一个钉子也没留下。我平生第一次注意到,它的绿色多么单调,多么了无生机。台上没有像往常那样杂乱地堆放着工具,令人觉得它与环境格格不入,就像浴盆放进了厨房。老实说,我环视四周,感觉协调的只有那墙角的蜘蛛网。

有一组箱子单列一处,摞在工作台前面。箱子上写着“救世军”几个字,字迹潦草地如同残垣断壁上的涂鸦。这些字就像闪烁的霓虹灯一样吸引了我的目光。它们散发着反讽的气味。“救世——对这个家庭来说太晚了。”我自己喃喃地讽刺道。

这满屋的家具,当初都是精挑细选的,以便与各房间的颜色协调搭配,现在不分青红皂白,都挤在一面墙前。不和谐的色彩杂陈一处,冲击着房间的灰暗。

   我突然意识到车库很冷,但我不想再回到房子里,于是我艰难地从箱子间穿过,走近沙发。清理出一块空,躺下,卷曲着身子,盖上夹克。我期望爸爸能早点开着卡车回来,那样,我们就能清空车库,然后与别离日子那种晦涩的寂静永远告别。

 

附英语原文:

Limbo

By Rhonda Lucas

My parents’ divorce was final. The house had been sold and the day had come to move. Thirty years of the family’s life was now crammed into the garage. The two-by-fours that ran the length of the walls were the only uniformity among the clutter of boxes, furniture, and memories. All was frozen in limbo between the life just passed and the one to come.

The sunlight pushing its way through the window splattered against a barricade of boxes. Like a fluorescent river, it streamed down the sides and flooded the cracks of the cold, cement floor. I stood in the doorway between the house and garage and wondered if the sunlight would ever again penetrate the memories packed inside those boxes. For an instant, the cardboard boxes appeared as tombstones, monuments to those memories.

The furnace in the corner, with its huge tubular fingers reaching out and disappearing into the wall, was unaware of the futility of trying to warm the empty house. The rhythmical whir of its effort hummed the elegy for the memories boxed in front of me. I closed the door, sat down on the step, and listened reverently. The feeling of loss transformed the bad memories into not-so-bad, the not-so-bad memories into good, and committed the good ones to my mind. Still, I felt as vacant as the house inside.

A workbench to my right stood disgustingly empty. Not so much as a nail had been left behind. I noticed, for the first time, what a dull, lifeless green it was. Lacking the disarray of tools that used to cover it, now it seemed as out of place as a bathtub in the kitchen. In fact, as I scanned the room, the only things that did seem to belong were the cobwebs in the corners.

A group of boxes had been set aside from the others and stacked in front of the workbench. Scrawled like graffiti on the walls of dilapidated buildings were the words “Salvation Army.” Those words caught my eyes as effectively as a flashing neon sign. They reeked of irony. “Salvation - was a bit too late for this family,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself.

The houseful of furniture that had once been so carefully chosen to complement and blend with the color schemes of the various rooms was indiscriminately crammed together against a single wall. The uncoordinated colors combined in turmoil and lashed out in the greyness of the room.

I suddenly became aware of the coldness of the garage, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house, so I made my way through the boxes to the couch. I cleared a space to lie down and curled up, covering myself with my jacket. I hoped my father would return soon with the truck so we could empty the garage and leave the cryptic silence of parting lives behind.

(选自Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin, 1983.

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