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Tropic of Cancer[北回归线][En/Cn]

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第3节

来看房子的是位漂亮女人。当然,是美国人,我背对着她站在窗口看一只麻雀啄一滩刚拉的屎,很惊奇麻雀竟这么容易养活,下着一点雨,雨点很大,以前我常常以为一旦一只鸟儿的翅膀湿了它就不能飞了。我觉得奇怪,这些阔女人怎么来巴黎找到了一流的工作室。准是一点点才能和一个鼓鼓的钱包帮了她们。天若下雨她们便有机会炫耀她们的雨衣,吃的东西不算什么,有时她们忙着四处游荡,没时间吃午饭,只是在和平咖啡馆或里兹酒吧吃点三明治、一块薄脆饼。”只为名门闺秀服务”—比维•德•沙万那从前的画室门口这样写着。那天我碰巧从那儿经过,富有的美国女人肩上挎着颜料盒。一点点才能和一个鼓鼓的钱包。

It is a beautiful woman who has come to look at the apartment. An American, of course. I stand at the window with my back to her watching a sparrow pecking at a fresh turd. Amazing how easily the sparrow is provided for. It is raining a bit and the drops are very big. I used to think a bird couldn't fly if its wings got wet. Amazing how these rich dames come to Paris and find all the swell studios. A little talent and a big purse. If it rains they have a chance to display their brand new slickers. Food is nothing: sometimes they're so busy gadding about that they haven't time for lunch. Just a little sandwich, a wafer, at the Café de la Paix or the Ritz Bar. "For the daughters of gentlefolk only" – that's what it says at the old studio of Puvis de Chavannes. Happened to pass there the other day. Rich American cunts with paint boxes slung over their shoulders. A little talent and a fat purse.

 

  麻雀着了魔似的从一块鹅卵石跳上另一块鹅卵石,如果站下仔细观察一番,你便会发现它们的确是在做很费力的事情。到处都丢着食物,我是指在水沟里。那位漂亮的美国女人在打听哪儿有卫生间。卫生间!让我带你去,你这蔑视金钱的瞪羚!你说卫生间?”这儿来,小姐。别忘了编号的是留给残废军人的。”

The sparrow is hopping frantically from one cobblestone to another. Truly herculean efforts, if you stop to examine closely. Everywhere there is food lying about – in the gutter, I mean. The beautiful American woman is inquiring about the toilet. The toilet! Let me show you, you velvet snooted gazelle! The toilet, you say? Par ici, Madame. N'oubliez pas que les places numérotées sont réservées aux mutilés de la guerre.

 

  鲍里斯在搓手—他在讲解这笔租房交易中的最后几条事项,几条狗在院子里叫,叫声像狼一样。楼上,梅尔渥内斯太太在挪动家具。她整天无事可做,很无聊。如果发现哪儿有一点点灰尘她便把整个房子打扫一遍。桌上摆着一串绿葡萄和一瓶甜酒—十度的优质酒。”好吧,”鲍里斯道,”我可以为你做一个脸盆架。请到这儿来,对了,这是卫生间。当然,楼上还有一个。对,每月一千法郎。你说你不怎么喜欢于特里约?不,这儿才是。只是需要一个新脸盆,就是这……”

Boris is rubbing his hands – he is putting the finishing touches to the deal. The dogs are barking in the courtyard; they bark like wolves. Upstairs Mrs. Melverness is moving the furniture around. She had nothing to do all day, she's bored; if she finds a crumb of dirt anywhere she cleans the whole house. There's a bunch of green grapes on the table and a bottle of wine – vin de choix, ten degrees. "Yes," says Boris. "I could make a washstand for you, just come here, please. Yes, this is the toilet. There is one upstairs too, of course. Yes, a thousand francs a month. You don't care much for Utrillo, you say? No, this is it. It needs a new washer, that's all….

 

女人马上要走了,这一回鲍里斯压根没有介绍我。这个婊子养的!每次来一个有钱女人他就忘记介绍我。过几分钟我就可以再坐下来打字了。不知怎么搞的,今天我不大想干下去了,我的干劲一点一点消失了,她会在一个小时后回来,夺走我屁股底下坐的椅子。一个人居然不知道他半小时后坐在哪儿。在这种情况下他怎么能写作呢?如果这个有钱的王八蛋租下这个地方,我就连睡觉的地方都没有了。处在这么一种困境中便很难确定哪一种情形更糟—没地方睡好些还是没地方工作好些。一个人在哪里都能睡觉,可他一定得有个工作的地方。即使你写的不是一部杰作,写一部拙劣的小说也得有把椅子坐、有个安静的环境呀。这些有钱的女人从来没想过这个,无论何时她们想把自己柔软的屁股放低一些,总有一把摆好的现成椅子……

She's going in a minute now. Boris hasn't even introduced me this time. The son of a bitch! Whenever it's a rich cunt he forgets to introduce me. In a few minutes I'll be able to sit down again and type. Somehow I don't feel like it any more today. My spirit is dribbling away. She may come back in an hour or so and take the chair from under my ass. How the hell can a man write when he doesn't know where he's going to sit the next half-hour? If this rich bastard takes the place I won't even have a place to sleep. It's hard to know, when you're in such a jam, which is worse – not having a place to sleep or not having a place to work. One can sleep almost anywhere, but one must have a place to work. Even if it's not a masterpiece you're doing. Even a bad novel requires a chair to sit on and a bit of privacy. These rich cunts never think of a thing like that. Whenever they want to lower their soft behinds there's always a chair standing ready for them…

 

昨夜我们出去了,剩下西尔维斯特和他的上帝一起坐在炉边。西尔维斯特穿着睡衣,莫尔多夫唇间叼着雪茄。西尔维斯特在剥桔子,他把桔子皮放在沙发巾上。莫尔多夫凑近他,问他自己是否能再念一遍那部才华横溢的模仿滑稽作品《天堂之门》。我和鲍里斯打算走了,我们太快活了,同这儿的病房气氛不大谐调。塔尼亚跟我们一道走,她快活,因为她要离开这儿了。鲍里斯快活是因为莫尔多夫身上的上帝死了。我快活是因为我们还要演出另一幕戏。

Last night we left Sylvester and his God sitting together before the hearth. Sylvester in his pajamas, Moldorf with a cigar between his lips. Sylvester is peeling an orange. He puts the peel on the couch cover. Moldorf draws closer to him. He asks permission to read again that brilliant parody, The Gates of Heaven. We are getting ready to go, Boris and I. We are too gay for this sickroom atmosphere. Tania is going with us. She is gay because she is going to escape. Boris is gay because the God in Moldorf is dead. I am gay because it is another act we are going to put on.

 

  莫尔多夫的声音很恭敬,”西尔维斯特,在你睡觉之前,我能同你呆在一起吗?”过去六天里他一直同西尔维斯特呆在一起,买药、为塔尼亚跑腿,安慰和宽慰他们、守卫大门谨防鲍里斯及其无赖等不怀好意的人闯入。他像一个发现自己的偶像在夜间被人肢解了的野人,他坐在这个偶像脚下,带着面包树上的果实和油,咕哝着语无伦次的祷告词。他说话时调子十分殷勤,他的四肢早已麻痹了。

Moldorf's voice is reverent. "Can I stay with you, Sylvester, until you go to bed?" He has been staying with him for the last six days, buying Medicine, running errands for Tania, comforting, consoling, guarding the portals against malevolent intruders like Boris and his scalawags. He is like a savage who has discovered that his idol was mutilated during the night. There he sits, at the idol's feet, with breadfruit and grease and jabberwocky prayers. His voice goes out unctuously. His limbs are already paralyzed.

 

  他对塔尼亚说话的口气仿佛塔尼亚是一位违背誓言的女牧师。”你一定要自尊自重,西尔维斯特就是你的上帝。”西尔维斯特在楼上受罪(他胸部有点儿哮喘),而这对男女牧师却在大吃大喝。莫尔多夫说,”你这是玷污自己。”汤从他嘴上滴下来,他有本事一边吃一边蒙受痛苦。他一面挥手赶开苍蝇一类的东西,一面伸出他的肥胖的小爪子去抚摸塔尼亚的秀发。”我快要爱上你了,你像我的范妮。”

To Tania he speaks as if she were a priestess who had broken her vows. "You must make yourself worthy. Sylvester is your God." And while Sylvester is upstairs suffering (he has a little wheeze in the chest) the priest and the priestess devour the food. "You are polluting yourself," he says, the gravy dripping from his lips. He has the capacity for eating and suffering at the same time. While he fends off the dangerous ones he puts out his fat little paw and strokes Tania's hair. "I'm beginning to fall in love with you. You are like my Fanny."

 

  在别的方面,今天也是莫尔多夫的好日子。美国来信了,莫门门功课都是优秀,默里在学骑自行车,留声机也修好了。你从他脸上的表情可以看出,信里除了报告成绩和学自行车的事还有别的。你可以坚信这一点,因为今天下午他为他的范妮买了三百二十五法郎的珠宝,还给她写了一封有二十页厚的信。侍者替他拿了一张又一张纸,替他灌墨水、端咖啡、送雪茄,他出汗时便替他扇扇子,拂去桌上的面包渣,雪茄一灭便再替他点上,为他买来邮票,尽心尽意地侍候他,围着他团团转,朝他顶礼膜拜……差点儿弄断了他的脊梁骨。雪茄烟头很粗,比克罗那•克罗那牌雪茄粗大。莫尔多夫也许在日记中提到了这一点,这是为了范妮的缘故。手镯和耳环的价钱很合算,钱花在范妮身上总比浪费在杰曼奥德特这类小婊子身上好些。他对塔尼亚就是这样说的,他给她看他的箱子,里面塞满了给范妮、莫和默里的礼物。

In other respects it has been a fine day for Moldorf. A letter arrived from America. Moe is getting A's in everything. Murray is learning to ride the bicycle. The victrola was repaired. You can see from the expression on his face that there were other things in the letter besides report cards and velocipedes. You can be sure of it because this afternoon he bought 325 francs worth of jewelry for his Fanny. In addition he wrote her a twenty-page letter. The garçon brought him page after page, filled his fountain pen, served his Coffee and cigars, fanned him a little when he perspired, brushed the crumbs from the table, lit his cigar when it went out, bought stamps for him, danced on him, pirouetted, salaamed … broke his spine damned near. The tip was fat. Bigger and fatter than a Corona Corona. Moldorf probably mentioned it in his diary. It was for Fanny's sake. The bracelet and the earrings, they were worth every son he spent. Better to spend it on Fanny than waste it on little strumpets like Germaine and Odette. Yes, he told Tania so. He showed her his trunk. It is crammed with gifts – for Fanny, and for Moe and Murray.

 

  “我的范妮是世界上最聪明的女人,我一直在挖空心思找她的缺点,可就是找不到。

"My Fanny is the most intelligent woman in the world. I have been searching and searching to find a flaw in her – but there's not one.

 

  “她十分完美。让我告诉你范妮能干什么,她打起桥牌来像个高明的职业牌手,她还对犹太复国主义运动感兴趣。比如说,给她一顶旧帽子,看她拿它怎么办。她在这儿折一折,在那儿加条带子,这就成了一件很美的东西了!你知道什么是最大的幸福吗?是在莫和默里睡着后坐在范妮身边听收音机。她那么安详地坐着,看着她我的全部奋斗和伤心失意都得到了报偿。她听得十分明白清楚,我一想起你们那散发着臭味的蒙帕纳斯,再想到我同范妮吃完一顿好饭后在里奇湾消磨的一个夜晚,我就可以告诉你这两个去处根本没法比。一点简单的食品、孩子、柔和的灯光,范妮坐在那儿,有点累,不过快活、满足、有钱……我们就这样一句话不说坐上好几个小时,那才叫幸福呢。

"She's perfect I'll tell you what Fanny can do. She plays bridge like a shark; she's interested in Zionism; you give her an old hat, for instance, and see what she can do with it. A little twist here, a ribbon there, and voilà que1que chose de beau! Do you know what is perfect bliss? To sit beside Fanny, when Moe and Murray have gone to bed, and listen to the radio. She sits there so peacefully. I am rewarded for all my struggles and heartaches in just watching her. She listens intelligently. When I think of your stinking Montparnasse and then of my evenings in Bay Ridge with Fanny after a big meal, I tell you there is no comparison. A simple thing like food, the children, the soft lamps, and Fanny sitting there, a little tired, but cheerful, contented, heavy with bread … we just sit there for hours without saying a word. That's bliss!

 

  “今天她来了一封信—并不是那种枯燥的流水帐,她给我写的全是心里话,用的话连我的小默里都能看懂。她对一切都很敏感,我的范妮。她说孩子们必须继续受教育,不过这项花费叫她发愁。送小默里上学要花一千美元,莫当然能得到一笔助学金。可是小默里这个天才,默里,我们拿他怎么办?我给范妮写信叫她别发愁。送默里去上学吧,我说。那一千元呢?今年我挣的钱会比哪一年都多,我要送小默里上学,因为那孩子是个天才。”

"Today she writes me a letter – not one of those dull stock-report letters. She writes me from the heart, in language that even my little Murray could understand. She's delicate about everything, Fanny. She says that the children must continue their education but the expense worries her. It will cost a thousand bucks to send little Murray to school. Moe, of course, will get a scholarship. But little Murray, that little genius, Murray, what are we going to do about him? I wrote Fanny not to worry. Send Murray to school, I said. What's another thousand dollars? I'll make more money this year than ever before. I'll do it for little Murray – because he's a genius, that kid."

 

  我真希望范妮开箱子时我在常”你瞧,范妮,这是我在布达佩斯从一个老犹太人那里买的……这是保加利亚人穿的—纯毛的……这东西原先是属于某一位公爵的—不,不必缠起来,放在阳光下……我们去看戏时我要你穿这个,范妮……穿它时配上我给你的那把梳子……这个,范妮,是塔尼亚替我挑的……她跟你有点儿像呢……”

I should like to be there when Fanny opens the trunk. "See, Fanny, this is what I bought in Budapest from an old Jew… This is what they wear in Bulgaria – it's pure wool… This belonged to the Duke of something or other – no, you don't wind it, you put it in the sun… This I want you to wear, Fanny, when we go to the Opera … wear it with that comb I showed you… And this, Fanny, is something Tania picked up for me … she's a little bit on your type…"

 

范妮正坐在靠背椅上,像石印油画上画的一样,莫在一边,小默里那天才在另一边。她的粗腿有点儿短,够不着地板。她的眼睛呈一种黯淡的高锰酸盐色,乳房像成熟的红色包心菜,身子往前一倾便微微颤动一下。可是,可悲的是她青春已逝,坐在那儿活像一只电己用完的蓄电池。她的脸歪了,需要增加一点儿活力,需要突如其来的刺激使它复原。莫尔多夫正像个肥蛤膜一样在她面前跳来跳去,他的肉在颤抖。他滑倒后要打个滚再重新趴在地上都很费劲,于是范妮便用她的粗脚趾轻轻踢踢他。他的眼珠更凸出了,”再踢我一脚,范妮,这样很舒服。”

And Fanny is sitting there on the settee, just as she was in the oleograph, with Moe on one side of her and little Murray, Murray the genius, on the other. Her fat legs are a little too short to reach the floor. Her eyes have a dull permanganate glow. Breasts like ripe red cabbage; they bobble a little when she leans forward. But the sad thing about her is that the juice has been cut off. She sits there like a dead storage battery; her face is out of plumb – it needs a little animation, a sudden spurt of juice to bring it back into focus. Moldorf is jumping around in front of her like a fat toad. His flesh quivers. He slips and it is difficult for him to roll over again on his belly. She prods him with her thick toes. His eyes protrude a little further. "Kick me again, Fanny, that was good."

 

  这一回她狠狠给了他一脚—这一脚给他的大肚子上留下了一个永久的坑。他的脸紧贴着地毯,垂下来的软肉在毯子的绒毛上颤动。他快活一点儿了,四处乱蹦乱跳,从一件家具旁跃到另一件家具旁。”范妮,你真是太棒了!”这时他正坐在范妮的肩膀上,他从她耳朵上咬下一小块肉来,只是耳垂上的一点点,那儿是不会感觉到痛的,可她仍同死了一般—仍是一只没有电的蓄电池,毫无热情。他又扑在她腿上,趴在那儿像牙疼似的发抖,他现在已十分激动而且控制不住自己了,他的肚皮像一块漆皮那样发光,眼睛里出现了一对花哨的背心纽。”扒开我的眼睛,范妮,我要更清楚地看着你!”范妮把他抱至床上,往他眼睛上滴了一点热蜡。她在他肚脐四周摆上戒指,又在他屁股里塞了一支体温计。她把他安置好,他便又颤抖起来,突然他缩小了,缩得完全看不见了。她在各处找他,在她肠子里找、到处找。有个东西在使她发痒,可是她就是说不上那儿痒。

She gives him a good prod this time – it leaves a permanent dent in his paunch. His face is close to the carpet; the wattles are joggling in the nap of the rug. He livens up a bit, flips around, springs from furniture to furniture. "Fanny, you are marvelous!" He is sitting now on her shoulder. He bites a little piece from her ear, just a little tip from the lobe where it doesn't hurt. But she's still dead – all storage battery and no juice. He falls on her lap and lies there quivering like a toothache. He is all warm now and helpless. His belly glistens like a patent-leather shoe. In the sockets of his eyes a pair of fancy vest buttons. "Unbutton my eyes, Fanny, I want to see you better!" Fanny carries him to bed and drops a little hot wax over his eyes. She puts rings around his navel and a thermometer up his ass. She places him and he quivers again. Suddenly he's dwindled, shrunk completely out of sight. She searches all over for him, in her intestines, everywhere. Something is tickling her – she doesn't know where exactly.

 

  蛤蟆在爬墙,痒,痒。”范妮,把我眼睛里的蜡弄出来!我要看见你!”可是范妮在哈哈大笑,笑得全身抖动不止。她身体里的东西在使她发痒、发痒,如果找不到这个东西她就会笑死。”范妮,箱子里装满了漂亮的东西。范妮,听见我说的了吗?”范妮在哈哈大笑,像一条肥胖的蛆一样笑。她笑得肚皮都鼓起来了,大腿也在发青。”啊,老天!鲍里斯!有个东西在使我发痒。……我忍不住!”

The bed is full of toads and fancy vest buttons. "Fanny, where are you?" Something is tickling her – she can't say where. The buttons are dropping off the bed. The toads are climbing the walls. A tickling and a tickling. "Fanny, take the wax out of my eyes! I want to look at you!" But Fanny is laughing, squirming with laughter. There is something inside her, tickling and tickling. She'll die laughing if she doesn't find it. "Fanny, the trunk is full of beautiful things. Fanny, do you hear me?" Fanny is laughing, laughing like a fat worm. Her belly is swollen with laughter. Her legs are getting blue. "O God, Morris, there is something tickling me… I can't help it!"

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