You are here: 原版英语 >> 小说 >> Nonfiction >> Biography >> 小说content

Tropic of Cancer[北回归线][En/Cn]

载入中...

 

 

第十二章

第1节

夏天快过去时,菲尔莫邀我去同他一起住,他在迪普莱克,斯广场附近有一套俯瞰骑兵兵营的工作室公寓套间。自从上回到勒阿弗尔小游一趟回来后我们经常见面,若不是菲尔莫我真不知道自己今天会在哪里,很可能早就死掉了。他说,“都是那个小婊子杰基,要不我早就邀你来了。我无法甩掉她。”

It was along the close of summer when Fillmore invited me to come and live with him. He had a studio apartment overlooking the cavalry barracks just off the Place Dupleix. We had seen a lot of each other since the little trip to Le Havre. If it hadn't been for Fillmore I didn't know where I should be today – dead, most likely. "I would have asked you long before," he said, "if it hadn't been for that little bitch Jackie. I didn't know how to get her off my hands."


  我只有笑笑。菲尔莫总是这样,他有勾引无家可归的婊子们的天才,最后杰基总算自动走了。

 I had to smile. It was always like that with Fillmore. He had a genius for attracting Homeless bitches. Anyway, Jackie had finally cleared out of her own accord.


  多雨的季节来临了,这是使你沮丧、心情不愉快、漫长而又沉闷地长膘、下雾、阴雨连绵的季节。冬天的巴黎真是一个可恶的地方!这种天气侵蚀进你的灵魂,使你变得像拉布拉多海岸那样光秃秃的。我不无焦虑地注意到唯一的取暖设备是工作间里的小炉子,不过这儿还算舒服,从工作间窗子里还能看到极美的景致。

The rainy season was coming on, the long, dreary stretch of grease and fog and squirts of rain that make you damp and miserable. An execrable place in the winter, Paris! A climate that eats into your soul, that leaves you bare as the Labrador coast. I noticed with some anxiety that the only means of heating the place was the little stove in the studio. However, it was still comfortable. And the view from the studio window was superb.


  早上菲尔莫粗暴地摇醒我,在我的枕头上留下一张十法郎的票子。等他一出门我便又躺下睡个回笼觉,有时一直躺到中午才起来。没有什么急着要做的事,除了这本有待写完的书,而且这也不大叫我伤脑筋,因为我早就知道反正谁也不会接受它的。但是菲尔莫却被它深深打动了,每天晚上他胳膊底下夹着一瓶酒回到家之后的第一件事就是走到桌前看我写了多少页。

In the morning Fillmore would shake me roughly and leave a ten franc note on the pillow. As soon a he had gone I would settle back for a final snooze. Sometimes I would lie abed till noon. There was nothing pressing, except to finish the book, and that didn't worry me much because I was already convinced that nobody would accept it anyway. Nevertheless, Fillmore was much impressed by it. When he arrived in the evening with a bottle under his arm the first thing he did was to go to the table and see how many pages I had knocked off.


  起初我还挺欣赏他的热情,后来再没什么好写的,看到他乱翻,看我又写了些什么,我便非常不安,他还以为我能像水龙头流水一样流出东西来呢。没有东西拿给他看时,我的感觉正与受他庇护的婊子一模一样。我记得他常常谈起杰基,“只要她随时给我脱光就行了。”如果我是女人我倒是很乐意为他脱光衣服,那样总比提供他等着看的稿子容易些。

At first I enjoyed this show of enthusiasm but later, when I was running dry, it made me devilishly uneasy to see him poking around, searching for the pages that were supposed to trickle out of me like water from a tap. When there was nothing to show I felt exactly like some bitch whom he had harbored. He used to say about Jackie, I remembered – "it would have been all right if only she had slipped me a piece of ass once in a while." If I had been a woman I would have been only too glad to slip him a piece of ass: it would have been much easier than to feed him the pages which he expected.


  不过他努力要叫我过得舒服,食物和酒总有的是,他还不时执意要我陪他去跳舞。他很喜欢去奥德萨街一个黑鬼们聚会的场所,那儿有一个好看的黑白混血儿,她偶尔跟我们一起回家来。使他不快的是找不到一个爱喝酒的法国姑娘,她们都太清醒,无法使他满意。他喜欢带一个女人回工作室来,同她痛饮一番再干正经事。他还喜欢叫女人以为他是艺术家,由于他租的房子是一位画家的,要造成这样一种气氛也不难,我们在大柜里找到的油画很快便挂得到处皆是,一幅尚未完成的画引人注目地装在画架上。遗憾的是,这些画全是超现实主义风格的,它们给人造成的印象通常都不大好。讲到欣赏绘画,一个妓女、一个看门人和一个内阁部长的艺术趣味没有多大差异。后来马克·斯威夫特开始定期拜访我们,旨在替我画像,这件事使菲尔莫颇为高兴。菲尔莫极崇拜斯威夫特,说他是天才,他亲手绘的画没有一件不带点儿残忍的味道,可是至少他笔下的人或物还能使你认出画的究竟是什么。

Nevertheless, he tried to make me feel at ease. There was always plenty of food and wine, and now and then he would insist that I accompany him to a dancing. He was fond of going to a nigger joint on the Rue d'Odessa where there was a good‑looking mulatto who used to come Home with us occasionally. The one thing that bothered him was that he couldn't find a French girl who liked to drink. They were all too sober to satisfy him – He liked to bring a woman back to the studio and guzzle it with her before getting down to Business. He also liked to have her think that he was an artist. As the man from whom he had rented the place was a painter, it was not difficult to create an impression; the canvases which we had found in the armoire were soon stuck about the place and one of the unfinished ones conspicuously mounted on the easel. Unfortunately they were all of a surrealistic quality and the impression they created was usually unfavorable. Between a whore, a concierge and a cabinet minister there is not much difference in taste where pictures are concerned. It was a matter of great relief to Fillmore when Mark Swift began to visit us regularly with the intention of doing my portrait. Fillmore had a great admiration for Swift. He was a genius, he said. And though there was something ferocious about everything he tackled nevertheless when he painted a man or an object you could recognize it for what it was.


  应斯威夫特的要求我留起了胡子,他说我脑袋的形状需要留胡子。我必须坐在窗前,背后就是埃菲尔铁塔,因为他想把埃菲尔铁塔也画进去,他还要把打字机也画上。在此期间克鲁格也养成了来串门的习惯,他坚持认为斯威夫特根本不懂得绘画。看到画上的物体失去了比例他极为恼怒,他毫无保留地信奉自然法则。斯威夫特却根本不理会自然,他只要画出脑子里想的东西。不管怎样,现在斯威夫特使我的画像装在画架上。尽管样样都不成比例,甚至一位内阁部长也看得出那是一颗人脑袋、是一个留着胡子的人。看门人却真的对这幅画产生了很大兴趣,她认为画得惊人地像我本人,也赞赏在背景中画出埃菲尔铁塔的主意。这种宁静的生活持续了一个多月,我对邻近区域很感兴趣,尤其是在夜间其彻底的污秽和悲哀被我觉察以后。

At Swift's request I had begun to grow a beard. The shape of my skull, he said, required a beard. I had to sit by the window with the Eiffel Tower in back of me because he wanted the Eiffel Tower in the picture too. He also wanted the typewriter in the picture. Kruger got the habit of dropping in too about this time; he maintained that Swift knew nothing about painting. It exasperated him to see things out of proportion. He believed in Nature's laws, implicitly. Swift didn't give a fuck about Nature; he wanted to paint what was inside his head. Anyway, there was Swift's portrait of me stuck on the easel now, and though everything was out of proportion, even a cabinet minister could see that it was a human head, a man with a beard. The concierge, indeed, began to take a great interest in the picture; she thought the likeness was striking. And she liked the idea of showing the Eiffel Tower in the background.


  朦胧中那么迷人、那么安静的小广场在黑暗降临后竟会显出最阴沉、最险恶的特性。那边是围住兵营一侧的又长又高的墙,常有一对恋人靠着墙偷偷拥抱—常常是在雨中。看到一对恋人靠着一座监狱的大墙、在昏暗的街灯下拥抱真叫人觉得压抑,仿佛他们已被人逼到绝境了。兵营院墙里的情况同样叫人丧气,下雨天我常站在窗前看底下的活动,那简直就像另一个星球上发生的事情。我无法理解,他们居然根据作息时间表做每一件事,可是这个时间表准是由一个疯子制定的。他们在泥泞中挣扎,军号吹响了,战马在冲锋陷阵—这一切都在四堵大墙之内进行,这是模拟的战斗,参加者是一大群玩具士兵,他们对学习如何杀人、擦靴子。我看这儿就是一座疯人院,连马匹也有几分傻气。有时他们把大炮拖出来喀嚓喀嚓在街上游行,人们驻足呆呆地望着他们,称赞他们的漂亮军衣。我却总觉得他们像一支正在撤退的军队,他们身上有股寒酸气,衣着邋遢,垂头丧气,他们的军衣穿在身上太肥大,他们作为单个人时具有的惊人的敏捷灵活气息也一扫而光。

Things rolled along this way peacefully for about a month or more. The neighborhood appealed to me, particularly at night when the full squalor and lugubriousness of it made itself felt. The little Place, so charming and tranquil at twilight, could assume the most dismal, sinister character when darkness came on. There was that long, high wall covering one side of the barracks against which there was always a couple embracing each other furtively – often in the rain. A depressing sight to see two lovers squeezed against a prison wall under a gloomy street light: as if they had been driven right to the last bounds. What went on inside the enclosure was also depressing. On a rainy day I used to stand by the window and look down on the activity below, quite as if it were something going on on another planet. It seemed incomprehensible to me. Everything done according to schedule, but a schedule that must have been deviscd by a lunatic. There they were, floundering around in the mud, the bugles blowing, the horses charging – all within four walls. A sham battle. A lot of tin soldiers who hadn't the least interest in learning how to kill or how to polish their boots or currycomb the horses. Utterly ridiculous the whole thing, but part of the scheme of things. When they had nothing to do they looked even more ridiculous; they scratched themselves, they walked about with their hands in their pockets, they looked up at the sky. And when an officer came along they clicked their heels and saluted. A madhouse, it seemed to me. Even the horses looked silly. And then sometimes the artillery was dragged out and they went clattering down the street on parade and people stood and gaped and admired the fine uniforms. To me they always looked like an army corps in retreat; something shabby, bedraggled, crestfallen about them, their uniforms too big for their bodies, all the alertness, which as individuals they possess to such a remarkable degree, gone now.


  太阳出来后情况就全然不同了,他们眼神里有一线希望,走路精神多了,还表现出一点儿热情。接着景物的色彩都变得鲜艳了,他们又摆出法国人特有的小题大做、无事生非的派头。他们在街角的小酒馆里愉快地边喝酒边聊天,军官们也显得更有人味,也许应该说更有法国味。太阳一出来巴黎的任何地方都很漂亮,若是哪一家小酒馆放下遮太阳的篷布,在人行道上摆上几张桌子,在酒杯里倒上颜色鲜亮的饮料,那么人们的人情味就很浓了。太阳普照时,他们就是人,天下最好的人!他们那么聪明,那么懒洋洋的,无忧无虑!把这样一个民族赶进军营里去,叫他们一遍遍操练,封他们当列兵、中士、上校及诸如此类的事真是罪孽。

When the sun came out, however, things looked different. There was a ray of hope in their eyes, they walked more elastically, they showed a little enthusiasm. Then the color of things peeped out graciously and there was that fuss and bustle so characteristic of the French; at the bistro on the corner they chattered gaily over their drinks and the officers seemed more human, more French, I might say. When the sun comes out, any spot in Paris can look beautiful; and if there is a bistro with an awning rolled down, a few tables on the sidewalk and colored drinks in the glasses, then people look altogether human. And they are human – the finest people in the world when the sun shines! So intelligent, so indolent, so carefree! It's a crime to herd such a people into barracks, to put them through exercises, to grade them into privates and sergeants and colonels and what not.


  如同我所说的,日子过得很顺心。卡尔不时带一件活儿来叫我干,通常是他自己不愿写的游记。每篇只得五十法郎,不过这类文章好写,我只要查查以前的报纸,把旧文章改头换面抛出就行了。人们只是上厕所或在候诊室里消磨时间时才看这类玩艺,关键在于要把文章中的形容词重新换过,其余不过是些日期和统计数字而已。如果这是一篇重要文章,这个部门的头头便会署上他的大名。他是一个傻瓜,哪一种语言也说不好,可是会挑别人的毛病假如他看到哪一段自以为写得不错的文字便说,“我就是要你这样写嘛!写得漂亮,我准许你把它写进你的书里去。”有时这些漂亮的段落是我们从百科全书或旧导游手册上抄来的,卡尔真把其中一些搬进他的书里了,因为这些段落有点儿超现实主义的味道。

As I say, things were rolling along smoothly. Now and then Carl came along with a job for me, travel articles which he hated to do himself. They only paid fifty francs a piece, but they were easy to do because I had only to consult the back issues and revamp the old articles. People only read these things when they were sitting on a toilet or killing time in a waiting room. The principal thing was to keep the adjectives well furbished – the rest was a matter of dates and statistics. If it was an important article the head of the department signed it himself; he was a half‑wit who couldn't speak any language well, but who knew how to find fault. If he found a paragraph that seemed to him well written he would say – "Now that's the way I want you to write! That's beautiful. You have my permission to use it in your book." These beautiful paragraphs we sometimes lifted from the encyclopaedia or an old guide book. Some of them Carl did put into his book – they had a surrealistic character.


  有一天晚上,我散步回来一推开门便有个女人从卧室里跳出来。她立即嚷道,“你就是那个作家吧!”她打量一下我的胡子以加深印象,她说,“多么可怕的胡子!我看你们这些人呆在这儿准是疯了。”菲尔莫手里拿着一条毯子跟在她身后。“她是一位公主。”他说,一面还咂咂嘴唇,好像刚刚尝了尝某种珍贵的鱼子酱似的。他俩都穿着出门的衣服,我弄不明白他们拿着睡觉的被褥干什么,后来我马上想到,准是菲尔莫把她强拉进卧室看他的洗衣袋去了。每一回有新的女人上门他都要来这一手,尤其是法国女人。洗衣袋上缀着“凭票取衣”,不知为什么菲尔莫养成了向每一位来访的女客讲解这句话的痹好。可是这位女人不是法国人,这一点他当即对我说明了。她是俄国人,而且还是一位公主。

Then one evening, after I had been out for a walk, I open the door and a woman springs out of the bedroom. "So you're the writer!" she exclaims at once, and she looks at my beard as if to corroborate her impression. "What a horrid beard!" she says. "I think you people must be crazy around here." Fillmore is trailing after her with a blanket in his hand. "She's a princess," he says, smacking his lips as if he had just tasted some rare caviar. The two of them were dressed for the street; I couldn't understand what they were doing with the bedclothes. And then it occurred to me immediately that Fillmore must have dragged her into the bedroom to show her his laundry bag. He always did that with a new woman, especially if she was a Française. "No tickee, no shirtee!" that's what was stitched on the laundry bag, and somehow Fillmore had an obsession for explaining this motto to every female who arrived. But this dame was not a Française – he made that clear to me at once. She was Russian – and a princess, no less.


  他激动地高声谈论,像一个刚刚发现一件新玩具的孩子。

He was bubbling over with excitement, like a child that has just found a new toy.


  “她会讲五种语言!”他说,显然为这样一种才能所倾倒。

"She speaks five languages!" he said, obviously overwhelmed by such an accomplishment.


  “不,四种!”她马上纠正道。

"Non, four!" she corrected promptly.


  “好,就算四种吧……总之这是一个非常聪明的姑娘,你该听听她讲话。”

"Well, four then… Anyway, she's a damned intelligent girl. You ought to hear her speak."


  公主有些不安,她不断搔自己的大腿、揉鼻子。她突兀地问我,“他为什么想现在铺床?他以为那样就能得到我吗?他是个大孩子,他的举动太丢人。我带他去一家俄国餐馆,他跳起舞来像个黑鬼。”她扭扭屁股演示菲尔莫是怎样跳的,又说,“他说得太多,嗓门太大。他说的全是废话。”她在屋里急速转来转去,察看画和书,她始终高昂着头,偶尔也搔搔自己身上。

The princess was nervous – she kept scratching her thigh and rubbing her nose. "Why does he want to make his bed now?" she asked me abruptly. "Does he think he will get me that way? He's a big child. He behaves disgracefully. I took him to a Russian restaurant and he danced like a nigger." She wiggled her bottom to illustrate. "And he talks too much. Too loud. He talks nonsense." She swished about the room, examining the paintings and the books, keeping her chin well up all the time but scratching herself intermittently.


  她不时像军舰一样转过身去,把舷侧朝向我们。菲尔莫跟着她到处走,一手提着酒瓶,一手端着酒杯。她嚷道,“别这样跟着我!除了这个你就没有别的可喝了?你不能弄一瓶香摈来?我一定要喝点儿香摈。我的神经!我的神经!”

Now and then she wheeled around like a battleship and delivered a broadside. Fillmore kept following her about with a bottle in one hand and a glass in the other. "Stop following me like that!" she exclaimed. "And haven't you anything to drink but this? Can't you get a bottle of champagne? I must have some champagne. My nerves! My nerves!"


  菲尔莫瞅空子在我耳边低声说了两句。“是个演员……电影明星……有个家伙抛弃了她,她总忘不了……我一定要把她灌醉……”“那么我就走开。”我正说着,公主大叫大嚷着打断了我们。

Fillmore tries to whisper a few words in my ear. "An actress… a movie star… some guy jilted her and she can't get over it… I'm going to get her cockeyed…""I'll clear out then," I was saying, when the princess interrupted us with a shout.


  “你们为什么要咬耳朵?”她跺着脚喊道。“难道你不知道这样是不礼貌的吗?你,我记得你是要带我出去的,不是吗?今晚我一定要喝醉,我早就对你说过了。”

"Why do you whisper like that?" she cried, stamping her foot. "Don't you know that's not polite? And you, I thought you were going to take me out? I must get drunk tonight, I have told you that already."


  菲尔莫说,“是的,是的,咱们马上就走。我只是想再喝一杯。”

"Yes, yes," said Fillmore, "we're going in a minute. I just want another drink."


  她吼道,“你是一头猪,不过你也是一个好孩子。只是你说话声音太大,不懂礼貌。”她又转向我,“我能指望他规矩一点儿吗?今晚我一定要喝醉,我可不想叫他给我丢人。以后我还会来这儿的,我想跟你谈谈,你显得更聪明一些。”

"You're a pig!" she yelled. "But you're a nice boy too. Only you're loud. You have no manners." She turned to me. "Can I trust him to behave himself? I must get drunk tonight but I don't want him to disgrace me. Maybe I will come back here afterward. I would like to talk to you. You seem more intelligent."


  临出门时公主友好地跟我握握手,她答应哪天晚上再来吃饭—“等我清醒的时候。”她说。

As they were leaving the princess shook my hand cordially and promised to come for dinner some evening – "when I will be sober," she said.

 

 “好极了!”我答道。“再带上一位公主,至少带一位伯爵夫人一同来,我们每个星期六都换床单。”

"Fine!" I said. "Bring another princess along – or a countess, at least. We change the sheets every Saturday."

 << PrevPage  [51] [52] [53] [54] [55] [56] [57] [58] [59] [60]  ... NextPage  >> 

Editor:wwlcj1982  【论坛讨论】【收藏此页】【手机阅读】【打印】【英语词典 载入中...
  • Prev Fiction: NoPrev
  • Next Fiction: