5
第05节
We always had the same meal on Saturday nights at Pencey. It was supposed to be a big deal, because they gave you steak. I'll bet a thousand bucks the reason they did that was because a lot of guys' parents came up to school on Sunday, and old Thurmer probably figured everybody's mother would ask their darling boy what he had for dinner last night, and he'd say, "Steak." What a racket. You should've seen the steaks. They were these little hard, dry jobs that you could hardly even cut. You always got these very lumpy mashed potatoes on steak night, and for dessert you got Brown Betty, which nobody ate, except maybe the little kids in the lower school that didn't know any better--and guys like Ackley that ate everything.
在潘西，一到星期六晚上我们总是吃同样的菜。这应该算是道好菜，因为他们给你吃牛排。我愿意拿出一千块钱打赌，他们之所以这样做，只是因为星期天总有不少学生家长来校，老绥摩大概认为每个学生的母亲都会问她们的宝贝儿子昨天晚饭吃些什么，他就会回答：“牛排。”多大的骗局。你应该看看那牛排的样子，全都又硬又干，连切都切不开。而且在吃牛排的晚上，总是给你有很多硬块的土豆泥，饭后点心也是苹果面包屑做的布丁，除了不懂事的低班小鬼和象阿克莱这类什么都吃的家伙以外，谁都不吃。
It was nice, though, when we got out of the dining room. There were about three inches of snow on the ground, and it was still coming down like a madman. It looked pretty as hell, and we all started throwing snowballs and horsing around all over the place. It was very childish, but everybody was really enjoying themselves.
可是我们一出餐厅，不禁高兴起来。地上的积雪已有约莫三英寸厚，上面还在疯狂地下个不停。那景色真是美极了。我们立刻打起雪仗来，东奔西跑阉着玩。的确很孩子气，不过每个人都玩得挺痛快。
I didn't have a date or anything, so I and this friend of mine, Mal Brossard, that was on the wrestling team, decided we'd take a bus into Agerstown and have a hamburger and maybe see a lousy movie. Neither of us felt like sitting around on our ass all night. I asked Mal if he minded if Ackley came along with us. The reason I asked was because Ackley never did anything on Saturday night, except stay in his room and squeeze his pimples or something. Mal said he didn't mind but that he wasn't too crazy about the idea. He didn't like Ackley much. Anyway, we both went to our rooms to get ready and all, and while I was putting on my galoshes and crap, I yelled over and asked old Ackley if he wanted to go to the movies. He could hear me all right through the shower curtains, but he didn't answer me right away. He was the kind of a guy that hates to answer you right away. Finally he came over, through the goddam curtains, and stood on the shower ledge and asked who was going besides me. He always had to know who was going. I swear, if that guy was shipwrecked somewhere, and you rescued him in a goddam boat, he'd want to know who the guy was that was rowing it before he'd even get in. I told him Mal Brossard was going. He said, "That bastard . . . All right. Wait a second." You'd think he was doing you a big favor.
我没有约会，就跟我的朋友马尔·勃罗萨德——那个参加摔交队的——商量定，打算搭公共汽车到埃杰斯镇去吃一客汉堡牛排，或者再看一场他妈的混帐电影。我们两个谁也不想在学校里烂屁股坐整整一晚。我问马尔能不能让阿克莱跟我们一块儿去，我之所以这样问，是因为阿克莱在星期六晚上什么事也不做，只是呆在自己房里，挤挤脸上的粉刺。马尔说能倒是能，不过他并不太感兴趣。他不怎么喜欢阿克莱。不管怎样，我们俩都各自回房收拾东西，我一边穿高统橡皮套鞋什么的，一边大声嚷嚷着问老阿克莱去不去看电影。他从淋浴室门帘听得见我说话，可是他并不马上回答。他就是那样一种人，问他什么事都不肯马上回答。最后他从混帐门帘那儿过来了，站在淋浴台上，问我还有谁同去。他老是打听什么人去什么地方。我敢发誓，这家伙要是在哪儿沉了船，你把他救到一只他妈的船里，他甚至在跨上救生船之前都要打听是哪个在划船。我告诉他说还有马尔。勃罗萨德同去。他说：“那杂种……好吧。等我一会儿。”听起来倒象是他在给你很大面子呢。
It took him about five hours to get ready. While he was doing it, I went over to my window and opened it and packed a snowball with my bare hands. The snow was very good for packing. I didn't throw it at anything, though. I started to throw it. At a car that was parked across the street. But I changed my mind. The car looked so nice and white. Then I started to throw it at a hydrant, but that looked too nice and white, too. Finally I didn't throw it at anything. All I did was close the window and walk around the room with the snowball, packing it harder. A little while later, I still had it with me when I and Brossnad and Ackley got on the bus. The bus driver opened the doors and made me throw it out. I told him I wasn't going to chuck it at anybody, but he wouldn't believe me. People never believe you.
他总要过那么五个钟头才能收拾停当。在他收拾打扮的时候，我走到自己的窗口，打开窗，光着手捏了个雪球。这雪捏起雪球来真是好极了。不过我没往任何东西上扔。我本来要往一辆停在街对面的汽车上扔，可我后来改变了主意。那汽车看去那么白，那么漂亮。跟着我要往一个消防栓头上扔，可那东西也显得那么白，那么漂亮。最后我没往任何东西上扔，只是关了窗，在房间里走来走去，把雪球捏得硬上加硬。后来，我、勃罗萨德和阿克莱三个一起上公共汽车的时候，我手里还捏着那个雪球。公共汽车司机开了门，要我把雪球扔掉。我告诉他说我不会拿它扔任何人，可他不信。人们就是不信你的话。
Brossard and Ackley both had seen the picture that was playing, so all we did, we just had a couple of hamburgers and played the pinball machine for a little while, then took the bus back to Pencey. I didn't care about not seeing the movie, anyway. It was supposed to be a comedy, with Cary Grant in it, and all that crap. Besides, I'd been to the movies with Brossard and Ackley before. They both laughed like hyenas at stuff that wasn't even funny. I didn't even enjoy sitting next to them in the movies.
勃罗萨德和阿克莱两个都已看过正在上演的电影，所以我们只是吃了两客汉堡牛排，玩了会儿弹球机，随后乘公共汽车回潘西。我倒不在乎没看到电影。好象是个喜剧，凯利·格兰特主演，反正是那一套玩艺儿。再说，我过去也跟勃罗萨德和阿克莱一起看过电影，他们两个见了一些毫不可笑的事物，都会笑得象个疯子似的。我甚至不乐意坐在他们身旁看电影。
It was only about a quarter to nine when we got back to the dorm. Old Brossard was a bridge fiend, and he started looking around the dorm for a game.
我们回到宿舍里，还只八点三刻。老勃罗萨德是个桥牌迷，一回到宿舍，就到处找人打牌去了。
Old Ackley parked himself in my room, just for a change.
老阿克莱在我房里呆了会儿，只是为了换换口味。
Only, instead of sitting on the arm of Stradlater's chair, he laid down on my bed, with his face right on my pillow and all. He started talking in this very monotonous voice, and picking at all his pimples. I dropped about a thousand hints, but I couldn't get rid of him. All he did was keep talking in this very monotonous voice about some babe he was supposed to have had sexual intercourse with the summer before. He'd already told me about it about a hundred times. Every time he told it, it was different. One minute he'd be giving it to her in his cousin's Buick, the next minute he'd be giving it to her under some boardwalk. It was all a lot of crap, naturally. He was a virgin if ever I saw one. I doubt if he ever even gave anybody a feel. Anyway, finally I had to come right out and tell him that I had to write a composition for Stradlater, and that he had to clear the hell out, so I could concentrate. He finally did, but he took his time about it, as usual. After he left, I put on my pajamas and bathrobe and my old hunting hat, and started writing the composition.
不过这次他不是坐在斯特拉德莱塔椅子的扶手上，而是干脆躺在我的床上，他的整个脸儿还都贴在我的枕头上。他开始用极单调的声音嘟嘟哝哝地说起话来，同时一个劲儿挤着满脸的粉刺。我给了他总有一千个暗示，都没法把他打发走。他只顾用那种微单调的声音絮絮地谈着今年夏天他怎样跟一个小妞儿发生暖昧关系。这事他跟我说道总有一百遍了，每次说的都不一样。这一分钟说是在他表兄的别克牌汽车里跟她胡搞，下一分钟又说是在什么海滨木板路下面。全是一派胡言，自然啦。在我看来，他倒真是个不折不扣的童男。我怀疑他甚至连女人摸都不曾摸过一下哩。嗯，我最后不得不直截了当地告诉他说，我要替斯特拉德莱塔写一篇作文，他得他妈的给我出去，好让我凝神思索。他最后倒是出去了，可是跟往常一样磨蹭了半天才走。他走后，我换上睡衣和浴衣，戴上我那顶猎人帽，开始写起作文来。
The thing was, I couldn't think of a room or a house or anything to describe the way Stradlater said he had to have. I'm not too crazy about describing rooms and houses anyway. So what I did, I wrote about my brother Allie's baseball mitt.
问题是，我实在想不起有什么房间、屋子或者其他什么东西可以照斯特拉德莱塔说的那样加以描写。至少我自己对描写房屋之类的东西不太感兴趣。因此我索性描写起我弟弟艾里的垒球手套来。
It was a very descriptive subject. It really was. My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. He was left-handed. The thing that was descriptive about it, though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up at bat. He's dead now. He got leukemia and died when we were up in Maine, on July 18, 1946. You'd have liked him. He was two years younger than I was, but he was about fifty times as intelligent. He was terrifically intelligent. His teachers were always writing letters to my mother, telling her what a pleasure it was having a boy like Allie in their class. And they weren't just shooting the crap. They really meant it. But it wasn't just that he was the most intelligent member in the family. He was also the nicest, in lots of ways.
这题目例极容易描写。的确容易。我弟弟是个用左手接球的外野手，所以那是只左手手套。描写这题目的动人之处在于手套的指头上、指缝里到处写着诗。用绿墨水写成。他写这些诗的目的，是呆在野上遇到没人攻球的时候可供阅读。他已经死了，是一九四六年七月十八日我们在缅因的时候患白血球病死的。你准会喜欢他。他比我小两岁，可比我聪明五十倍。他实在聪明过人。他的老师们老是写信给我母亲，告诉她班上有他那么个学生他们有多高兴。而他们也决不是随便说说的。他们说的确是心里话。他不仅是全家最聪明的孩子，而且在许多方面还是最讨人喜欢的孩子。
He never got mad at anybody. People with red hair are supposed to get mad very easily, but Allie never did, and he had very red hair. I'll tell you what kind of red hair he had. I started playing golf when I was only ten years old. I remember once, the summer I was around twelve, teeing off and all, and having a hunch that if I turned around all of a sudden, I'd see Allie. So I did, and sure enough, he was sitting on his bike outside the fence--there was this fence that went all around the course--and he was sitting there, about a hundred and fifty yards behind me, watching me tee off. That's the kind of red hair he had. God, he was a nice kid, though. He used to laugh so hard at something he thought of at the dinner table that he just about fell off his chair. I was only thirteen, and they were going to have me psychoanalyzed and all, because I broke all the windows in the garage. I don't blame them. I really don't. I slept in the garage the night he died, and I broke all the goddam windows with my fist, just for the hell of it.
他从来不跟人发脾气。大家都认为有红头发的人最最容易发脾气。可艾里从来不发脾气，他的头发倒是极红极红。我来告诉你他有什么样的红头发吧。我十岁就开始打高尔夫球，我还记得十二岁那年夏天，有一次正在打高尔夫球，我忽然觉得只要猛一转身，就会看见艾里。我转身一看，果然不错，他正坐在篱笆外面的自行车上呢——围着高尔夫球场有道篱笆——他坐在离我约莫一百五十码的地方，在看我打球。他就有那样的红头发。可是天哪，他真是个好孩子，嘿。他往往在饭桌上忽然想起什么，一下子笑得不可开交，差点儿从椅子上摔了下来。我还只十三岁的时候，他们就要送我去作精神分析，因为我用拳头把汽车间里的玻璃窗全都打碎了。我并不怪他们，我真的不怪。他死的那天晚上我睡在汽车房里，用拳头把那些混帐玻璃窗全都打碎了，光是为了出气。
I even tried to break all the windows on the station wagon we had that summer, but my hand was already broken and everything by that time, and I couldn't do it. It was a very stupid thing to do, I'll admit, but I hardly didn't even know I was doing it, and you didn't know Allie. My hand still hurts me once in a while when it rains and all, and I can't make a real fist any more--not a tight one, I mean--but outside of that I don't care much. I mean I'm not going to be a goddam surgeon or a violinist or anything anyway.
我甚至还想把那年夏天买的那辆旅行汽车上的玻璃也都打碎，可我的手已经鲜血淋漓，使不出劲儿了。这样做的确傻得要命，我承认，可我简直不知道自己在干什么，再说你也不认识艾里。现在到了阴雨天，我那只手仍要作痛，此后也一直攥不拢拳头一一我的意思是说攥不紧——可是除此以外我并不怎么在乎。我是说我反正不想当他妈的外科医生或者小提琴家什么的。
Anyway, that's what I wrote Stradlater's composition about. Old Allie's baseball mitt. I happened to have it with me, in my suitcase, so I got it out and copied down the poems that were written on it. All I had to do was change Allie's name so that nobody would know it was my brother and not Stradlater's.
嗯，这就是我给斯特拉德莱塔写的作文。老艾里的垒球手套。那手套凑巧在我的手提箱里，我就把它取出来，抄下写在上面的那些诗。我要做的只有一件事，就是把艾里的名字换了，不让人知道这是我弟弟的名字而不是斯特拉德莱塔弟弟的名字。
I wasn't too crazy about doing it, but I couldn't think of anything else descriptive. Besides, I sort of liked writing about it. It took me about an hour, because I had to use Stradlater's lousy typewriter, and it kept jamming on me. The reason I didn't use my own was because I'd lent it to a guy down the hall.
我并不太愿意这么做，可我一时想不起有什么其他东西可以描写。再说，我倒是有点儿喜欢写这题目。我写了约莫一个钟头，因为我得使用斯特拉德莱塔的混帐打字机，使起来很不顺手。我没有用自己打字机的原因是我已把它借给楼下的一个家伙了。
It was around ten-thirty, I guess, when I finished it.
我写完的时候，约莫是十点三十分，我揣摩。
I wasn't tired, though, so I looked out the window for a while. It wasn't snowing out any more, but every once in a while you could hear a car somewhere not being able to get started. You could also hear old Ackley snoring. Right through the goddam shower curtains you could hear him. He had sinus trouble and he couldn't breathe too hot when he was asleep. That guy had just about everything. Sinus trouble, pimples, lousy teeth, halitosis, crumby fingernails. You had to feel a little sorry for the crazy sonuvabitch.
我一点不觉得困，所以走到窗口往外眺望一会儿，雪已经停了，可是每隔一会儿，你就可以听见一辆抛锚的汽车发动引擎的声音。你还可以听见老阿克莱打呼噜的声音。就从混帐的淋浴室门帘那儿传来。他的鼻腔有毛病，睡着的时候呼吸不怎么畅快。那家伙简直样样毛病都全了。鼻腔炎，粉刺，黄牙，口臭，灰指甲。你有时真不禁有点替这个倒楣的婊子养的难受呢。