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Tropic of Cancer  北回归线-第三章第二节

It was a Sunday afternoon, much like this, when I first met Germaine. I was strolling along the Boulevard Beaumarchais, rich by a hundred francs or so which my wife had frantically cabled from America. There was a touch of spring in the sir, a poisonous, malefic spring that seemed to burst from the manholes. Night after night I had been coming back to this quarter, attracted by certain leprous streets which only revealed their sinister splendor when the light of day had oozed away and the whores commenced to take up their posts. The Rue du Pasteur Wagner is one I recall in particular, corner of the Rue Amelot which hides behind the boulevard like a slumbering lizard. Here, at the neck of the bottle, so to speak, there was always a cluster of vultures who croaked and flapped their dirty wings, who reached out with sharp talons and plucked you into a doorway. Jolly, rapacious devils who didn't even give you time to button your pants when it was over. Led you into a little room off the street, a room without a window usually, and, sitting on the edge of the bed with skirts tucked up gave you a quick inspection, spat on your cock, and placed it for you. While you washed yourself another one stood at the door and, holding her victim by the hand, watched nonchalantly as you gave the finishing touches to your toilet.

我头一回遇见杰曼也是在一个星期日的下午,同今天差不多。那天我正沿着博马舍林荫道散步,身上装着我妻子从美国赶忙寄来的一百多法郎,很阔气。天气已有点春天的意思了,一个有毒有害的春天似乎就要从街上的下水道出入孔溢出。我每天夜里都回到这儿来,因为这儿有几条患麻风病的街道吸引着我,它们要待白天的光亮渐渐消失、妓女们各就各位后才暴露出其邪恶的光辉。尤其令我印象深刻的是巴斯德一瓦格纳街,它就位于藏在林荫大道后面、像一条熟睡的蜥蜴似的阿梅洛特街角上。在这个瓶子颈里总聚集着一串秃鹰,她们哇哇叫着扇动肮脏的翅膀,她们伸出锋利的爪子把你抓进一个门里。她们全是一伙快活而又贪婪的魔鬼,完事之后连系裤子的时间都不给你。她们领你来到背街的一个小房间里,通常是没有窗子的房间,然后她们撩起裙子坐在床边上,很快查看你一番,朝你那玩艺上吐口唾沫便替你把它塞进去了。你还在洗身子时,另一个婊子便扯着她的猎物站在门口等着呢,她冷淡地望着你最后草草洗几下了事。

Germaine was different. There was nothing to tell me so from her appearance. Nothing to distinguish her from the other trollops who met each afternoon and evening at the Café de l'Eléphant. As I say, it was a spring day and the few francs my wife had scraped up to cable me were jingling in my pocket. I had a sort of vague premonition that I would not reach the Bastille without being taken in tow by one of these buzzards. Sauntering along the boulevard I had noticed her verging toward me with that curious trot-about air of a whore and the run down heels and cheap jewelry and the pasty look of their kind which the rouge only accentuates. It was not difficult to come to terms with her. We sat in the back of the little tabac called L'Eléphant and talked it over quickly. In a few minutes we were in a five franc room on the Rue Amelot, the curtains drawn and the covers thrown back. She didn't rush things, Germaine. She sat on the bidet soaping herself and talked to me pleasantly about this and that; she liked the knickerbockers I was wearing. Très chic! she thought. They were once, but I had worn the seat out of them; fortunately the jacket covered my ass. As she stood up to dry herself, still talking to me pleasantly, suddenly she dropped the towel and, advancing toward me leisurely, she commenced rubbing her pussy affectionately, stroking it with her two hands, caressing it, patting it, patting it. There was something about her eloquence at that moment and the way she thrust that rosebush under my nose which remains unforgettable; she spoke of it as if it were some extraneous object which she had acquired at great cost, an object whose value had increased with time and which now she prized above everything in the world. Her words imbued it with a peculiar fragrance; it was no longer just her private organ, but a treasure, a magic, potent treasure, a God given thing – and none the less so because she traded it day in and day out for a few pieces of silver.

可杰曼却与众不同,这从她的外貌上可看不出来,没有什么特征可以把她跟另外那伙每天下午和傍晚在大象咖啡厅碰头的妓女区别开。我刚才说过,这是春季的一天,我妻子积攒起来汇给我的那几个法郎在口袋里叮当乱响。我有一种模模糊糊的预感:到达巴士底广场之前我准会被一只秃鹰拖了去。沿着林荫大道漫步时,我早就注意到杰曼在朝我这边蹭,一副到处游荡看热闹的婊子派头。她的鞋跟塌下来,她戴着便宜的手饰,脸色发青,涂上胭脂反倒更显出妓女特有的青白色皮肤,同她谈妥条件并不难,我们坐在那家也叫作”大象”的小香烟店里很快便谈好了。几分钟后我们便在阿梅洛街上花五法郎租了一个房间。窗帘放下,床罩也掀到一边去了,她并不急于尽快了事,这位杰曼。她坐在坐浴盆上擦肥皂,一面愉快地跟我东拉西扯,说她喜欢我穿的灯笼短裤。她认为它”棒极了”!从前是的,不过我已经穿破了屁股坐的地方,幸亏靠外衣遮住屁股。她仍跟我愉快地说着话,起来擦干了身子,突兀地扔下毛巾朝我随随便便走过来。她开始热切地抚弄自己的下体,用两只手摸它、爱抚它、拍它。当时她滔滔不绝说话的劲头儿和把下体插到我鼻子底下这个动作至今仍使我难以忘怀。她谈到它时那种口气仿佛叫你觉得那玩艺凡是她花了大价钱买来的,身体以外的某件东西,这件东西的价值随着时间的推移在增加,现在她在这个世界上最宝贵的东西便莫过于它了。她的话赋予它一种奇妙的芬芳气味,它已不再只是她的下体,还是一件宝贝、一件魔物、一件极有魔力的宝贝、一件上帝赋予的礼物,而且并不因为她每天都用它换几个钱而丧失一点点魔力。

As she flung herself on the bed, with legs spread wide apart, she cupped it with her hands and stroked it some more, murmuring all the while in that hoarse, cracked voice of hers that it was good, beautiful, a treasure, a little treasure. And it was good, that little pussy of hers! That Sunday afternoon, with its poisonous breath of spring in the air, everything clicked again. As we stepped out of the hotel I looked her over again in the harsh light of day and I saw clearly what a whore she was – the gold teeth, the geranium in her hat, the run-down heels, etc., etc. Even the fact that she had wormed a dinner out of me and cigarettes and taxi hadn't the least disturbing effect upon me. I encouraged it, in fact. I liked her so well that after dinner we went back to the hotel again and took another shot at it. "For love," this time. And again that big, bushy thing of hers worked its bloom and magic. It began to have an independent existence – for me too. There was Germaine and there was that rose bush of hers. I liked them separately and I liked them together.

她倒在床上,大叉着双腿,用两只手捂着它又抚弄了一阵,同时还一直用粗哑的声音咕哝着,说它好、漂亮,是一件宝贝、一件小宝贝。不过她那个小玩艺儿也的确不错!那个星期日下午空气中弥漫着春天的有毒气味,一切都很圆满。走出旅馆时我在外面刺眼的光线下重新细细打量了她一番,清清楚楚地看清了她是怎样的一个婊子—金牙、帽子上插的天竺葵、踩塌下去的鞋跟,等等,等等。更有甚者,她从我这儿骗到了一顿饭吃、抽了我的烟、坐了我的出租车,可是这一切一点也没有使我气恼。老实讲,是我鼓励她这样干的。我十分喜欢她,于是吃完饭后我俩回到旅馆又睡了一次,这一回是”为了爱情”。她的大而多毛的玩艺儿又一次发挥了它的活力和魔力,对于我它也开始具有独立的生命了。这儿是杰曼,那儿是她毛茸茸的玩艺,我既爱杰曼同它一分为二,也爱她俩合二为一。

As I say, she was different, Germaine. Later, when she discovered my true circumstances, she treated me nobly – blew me to drinks, gave me credit, pawned my things, introduced me to her friends, and so on. She even apologized for not lending me money, which I understood quite well after her maquereau had been pointed out to me. Night after night I walked down the Boulevard Beaumarchais to the little tabac where they all congregated and I waited for her to stroll in and give me a few minutes of her precious time.

我刚才说过,杰曼是与众不同的。后来她发现了我的实际境况,便宽宏大度地待我—花很多钱请我喝酒、让我赊帐、帮我典当东西、把我介绍给她的朋友以及提供其它诸如此类的帮助。她还为没能借给我钱道歉,这我完全能理解,因为后来她把她的鸨母指给我看了。我每天夜里沿着博马舍林荫道来到那家小香烟店,妓女们都聚集在这儿。我等着她回来把她的宝贵时间匀给我几分钟。

When some time later I came to write about Claude, it was not Claude that I was thinking of but Germaine… "All the men she's been with and now you, just you, and barges going by, masts and hulls, the whole damned current of life flowing through you, through her, through all the guys behind you and after you, the flowers and the birds and the sun streaming in and the fragrance of it choking you, annihilating you." That was for Germaine! Claude was not the same, though I admired her tremendously – I even thought for a while that I loved her. Claude had a soul and a conscience; she had refinement, too, which is bad – in a whore. Claude always imparted a feeling of sadness; she left the impression, unwittingly, of course, that you were just one more added to the stream which fate had ordained to destroy her. Unwittingly, I say, because Claude was the last person in the world who would consciously create such an image in one's mind. She was too delicate, too sensitive for that. At bottom, Claude was just a good French girl of average breed and intelligence whom life had tricked somehow; something in her there was which was not tough enough to withstand the shock of daily experience. For her were meant those terrible words of Louis Philippe, "and a night comes when all is over, when so many jaws have closed upon us that we no longer have the strength to stand, and our meat hangs upon our bodies, as though it had been masticated by every mouth." Germaine, on the other hand, was a whore from the cradle; she was thoroughly satisfied with her role, enjoyed it in fact, except when her stomach pinched or her shoes gave out, little surface things of no account, nothing that ate into her soul, nothing that created torment. Ennui! That was the worst she ever felt. Days there were, no doubt, when she had a bellyful, as we say – but no more than that! Most of the time she enjoyed it – or gave the illusion of enjoying it. It made a difference, of course, whom she went with – or came with. But the principal thing was a man. A man! That was what she craved. A man with something between his legs that could tickle her, that could make her writhe in ecstasy, make her grab that bushy twat of hers with both hands and rub it joyfully, boastfully, proudly, with a sense of connection, a sense of life. That was the only place where she experienced any life – down there where she clutched herself with both hands.

后来当我提笔写克劳德时,我心里想的不是克劳德而是杰曼……”同她厮混过的全体男人和你,现在只有你了。船驶过去,桅杆和船身都过去了,人生的全部见鬼的激流从你身上流过,从她身上流过,从紧跟着你的所有家伙身上流过。鲜花、小鸟和阳光都涌进来,它们的芬芳香气将呛死你、毁灭你。”这是为杰曼写的。克劳德则是另一码事,尽管我也十分崇拜她,有一阵子我还自以为爱她呢。克劳德有灵魂,有良心,行为也高尚,最后这一点在一个婊子身上倒不是什么优点。克劳德总叫人认为她有几分悲哀,她显然是无意中给人留下这种印象的—你不过只是命运选派来毁灭她的那股水流中的一部分。我说了,她是无意的,因为她是全世界最不可能有意识地在别人心目中造成这样一种印象的女人。她腼腆、敏感,所以不会那么做。克劳德在本质上完全是一位具有中等教养与智力的很不错的法国姑娘。生活捉弄了她,她身上有种气质,这种气质不够强健,无法应付日常生活的刺激。路易•菲利普的那一番可怕的话正是说她的,”当某一夜来临时一切都完了,许多血盆大口朝我们逼来,我们再也无力直立。我们的肌肉从身上耷拉下来,仿佛已被每张嘴嚼烂了。”从另一方面看,杰曼是个天生的婊子,她对自己扮演的角色十二万分满意,实际上还很喜欢这活儿呢。没有什么是会使她感到不快的,除了有时肚子饿、鞋①路易。菲利普(1874一1909),法国作家。--译者子破这类不足挂齿的区区小事之外,无聊!这便是她的最大不快了。毫无疑问,她也曾有过嫖客过多的日子,但也是仅此而已。大部分时间里她喜欢这种生活,或者表现出喜欢的样子。这当然还是有区别的—跟谁出去,同谁回来,不过要紧的是男人。一个男人,这就是她梦寐以求的。一个两腿问有件东西的男人,那个东西要能使她欢悦,使她狂喜得身子乱扭一气,同时还要体验到两人已合为一体,体验到人生的乐趣,只有在那儿她才能体验到人生,即在她用双手捂住的部位。

Germaine was a whore all the way through, even down to her good heart, her whore's heart which is not really a good heart but a lazy one, an indifferent, flaccid heart that can be touched for a moment, a heart without reference to any fixed point within, a big flaccid whore's heart that can detach itself for a moment from its true center. However vile and circumscribed was that world which she had created for herself, nevertheless she functioned in it superbly. And that in itself is a tonic thing. When, after we had become well acquainted, her companions would twit me, saying that I was in love with Germaine (a situation almost inconceivable to them), I would say: "Sure! Sure, I'm in love with her! And what's more, I'm going to be faithful to her!" A lie, of course, because I could no more think of loving Germaine than I could think of loving a spider; and if I was faithful, it was not to Germaine but to that bushy thing she carried between her legs. Whenever I looked at another woman I thought immediately of Germaine, of that flaming bush which she had left in my mind and which seemed imperishable. It gave me pleasure to sit on the terrasse of the little tabac and observe her as she plied her trade, observe her as she resorted to the same grimaces, the same tricks, with others as she had with me. "She's doing her job!" – that's how I felt about it, and it was with approbation that I regarded her transactions. Later, when I had taken up with Claude, and I saw her night after night sitting in her accustomed place, her round little buttocks chubbily ensconced in the plush settee, I felt a sort of inexpressible rebellion toward her; a whore, it seemed to me, had no right to be sitting there like a lady, waiting timidly for someone to approach and all the while abstemiously sipping her chocolat. Germaine was a hustler. She didn't wait for you to come to her – she went out and grabbed you. I remember so well the holes in her stockings, and the torn ragged shoes; I remember too how she stood at the bar and with blind, courageous defiance threw a strong drink down her stomach and marched out again. A hustler! Perhaps it wasn't so pleasant to smell that boozy breath of hers, that breath compounded of weak coffee, cognac, apéritifs, Pernods and all the other stuff she guzzled between times, what to warm herself and what to summon up strength and courage, but the fire of it penetrated her, it glowed down there between her legs where women ought to glow, and there was established that circuit which makes one feel the earth under his legs again. When she lay there with her legs apart and moaning, even if she did moan that way for any and everybody, it was good, it was a proper show of feeling. She didn't stare up at the ceiling with a vacant look or count the bedbugs on the wallpaper; she kept her mind on her business, she talked about the things a man wants to hear when he's climbing over a woman. Whereas Claude – well, with Claude there was always a certain delicacy, even when she got under the sheets with you. And her delicacy offended. Who wants a delicate whore! Claude would even ask you to turn your face away when she squatted over the bidet.

杰曼是一个彻头彻尾的婊子,连她的好心肠也是婊子式的。她的婊子心肠并不真好,而是一颗懒散、麻木不仁、软弱的心。这颗心只能被感动一会儿,它本身毫无见解,是一颗又大又软弱。只能被人打动一会儿的婊子心。无论杰曼为她自个儿闯荡出的世界是多么卑微、多么狭小,她在其中却如鱼得水,而这本身便是一件叫人精神振奋的事情。我俩已经混熟之后,她的伙伴们便揶揄我,说我爱上杰曼了(这是一种她们几乎无法理解的情形)。我就说,”说得对!说得对!我爱上她了,而且还要爱到底!”当然啦,这是谎话,我不能设想去爱杰曼犹如不能设想爱上一只蜘蛛一样。即使我不变心,也不是对杰曼不变心,而是对她两条大腿间那个毛茸茸的东西不变心,不论何时看到另一个女人,我会马上想起杰曼,想起她留在我脑海里的那片火红的、似乎将永生的小丛林。坐在那间小香烟店的露天座位上看着她干她的营生使我很开心,我观察她用对付过我的同样手段对付别人,她做同样的鬼脸、玩同样的把戏。”她在干她的活儿!”—这就是我的想法,我是以赞许的态度看待她的交易的。后来同克劳德厮混在一起后,我看到她夜复一夜地坐在她的习惯位置上,圆圆的丰满的小屁股搁在沙发厚绒布垫上。这时我对她的反感油然而生,我认为一个婊子无权像贵妇一样坐在那儿,扭扭捏捏地等人来找她,与此同时还一直不紧不慢地嚼着巧克力。而杰曼却是个工作很卖力的妓女,她才不等着你上门找她呢,她出来一把抓住你。我还清楚地记得她袜子上的洞和破烂的鞋子,也记得她怎样站在酒吧里,带着盲目的大胆挑战态度将一杯烈酒灌下肚,然后又大踏步走出门去。一个卖力的妓女!也许嗅她口中的那股酒气并非是什么美差,她口中的气味由淡咖啡、白兰地和开胃酒混合而成。她还不时猛灌茴香酒和别的,这些都是她用来暖身、提神和壮胆的,可是它的热力透过了她的身体,一直热到两腿之间那块女人身上该发热的地方。热力随即在此形成固定循环,使一个男人重新建立信心。她叉开腿躺着呻吟时的样子倒不错,即使是为随便哪个男人呻吟,也是感情的恰当流露。干那件事的时候她并不心不在焉地盯着天花板瞧,或是数墙纸上有几只臭虫,她把全部心思都用在那件事上,她专讲男人趴在女人身上时爱听的事儿。而克劳德—唉,克劳德干那件事总有一点扭扭捏捏,同你上床钻进被窝之后也是这样。她的这股扭捏劲儿叫人生气。谁要一个扭扭捏捏的婊子呢?克劳德蹲坐浴盆时居然会要你扭过头去。

All wrong! A man, when he's burning up with passion, wants to see things; he wants to see everything, even how they make water. And while it's all very nice to know that a woman has a mind, literature coming from the cold corpse of a whore is the last thing to be served in bed. Germaine had the right idea: she was ignorant and lusty, she put her heart and soul into her work. She was a whore all the way through – and that was her virtue!

全错了!男人欲火中烧时想看一些东西,想看一切,甚至想看女人怎样撒尿。明白一个女人有脑子是桩很好的事情,不过一个冷冰冰的尸体般的婊子口中的文绘绘的语言是最不适宜在床上说的。杰曼的思路对—她无知、淫荡,她全心全意地投身于她的工作。她是一个地地道道的婊子,这正是她的优点。

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