了不起的盖茨比第7章-3(茉特尔·威尔逊被黛西撞死)

at 2年前  ca 了不起的盖茨比英文原文  pv 1704  by 菲茨杰拉德  

     After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whiskey in the towel.

    过了一会汤姆站了起来,开始用毛巾把那瓶没打开的威士忌包起来。

  “Want any of this stuff? Jordan? . . . Nick?”

     "来点儿这玩意吗?乔丹?尼克?"

  I didn’t answer.

    我没搭腔。

  “Nick?” He asked again.

     "尼克?"他又问了一声。

  “What?”

     "什么?"

  “Want any?”

     "来点儿吗?"

  “No . . . I just remembered that to-day’s my birthday.”

     "不要……我刚才记起来今天是我的生日。"

I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing road of a new decade.

Portentous: [pɔːrˈtentəs] 预示(坏事)的;先兆的。 menace: [ˈmenəs] 威胁;危险的人(或物).

    我三十岁了。在我面前,浮现出未来十年的凶险历程。

It was seven o’clock when we got into the coupe with him and started for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamor on the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind. Thirty—the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.

Tumult:[ˈtjuːmʌlt] 骚乱;骚动;混乱;喧哗。

    等到我们跟他坐上小轿车动身回长岛时,已经是七点钟了。汤姆一路上话说个不停,得意洋洋,哈哈大笑,但他的声音对乔丹和我就好像人行道上嘈杂的人声和头顶上高架铁路轰隆隆的车声一样遥远、人类的同情心是有限度的,因此我们也乐于让他们那些可悲的争论和身后的城市灯火一道逐渐消失。三十岁--展望十年的孤寂,可交往的单身汉逐渐稀少,热烈的感'清逐渐稀薄,头发逐渐稀疏。但我身边有乔丹,和黛西大不一样,她少年老成,不会把早已忘怀的梦一年又一年还藏在心里。我们驶过黝黑的铁桥时她苍白的脸懒懒地靠在我上衣的肩上,她紧紧握住我的手,驱散了三十岁生日的巨大冲击。

  So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.

    于是在凉凉的暮色里,我们驶向死亡。

   The young Greek, Michaelis, who ran the coffee joint beside the ashheaps was the principal witness at the inquest. He had slept through the heat until after five, when he strolled over to the garage, and found George Wilson sick in his office—really sick, pale as his own pale hair and shaking all over. Michaelis advised him to go to bed, but Wilson refused, saying that he’d miss a lot of business if he did. While his neighbor was trying to persuade him a violent racket broke out overhead.

Inquest:死因审理;验尸;勘验。

    米夏埃利斯,一个年轻的希腊人,在灰堆旁边开了一家小咖啡店,是验尸时主要的见证人。在那个大热天,他一觉睡到下午五点多,然后溜到车行去,在办公室里,他发现乔治·威尔逊病了--真的病了,面色苍白得像他那灰白的头发,还浑身发抖着。米夏埃利斯劝他上床去睡觉,但威尔逊不肯,说那样就要错过不少生意。这位邻居正劝着,不承想楼上忽然激烈地吵起来了。

  “I’ve got my wife locked in up there,” explained Wilson calmly. “She’s going to stay there till the day after to-morrow, and then we’re going to move away.”

     "我把我老婆锁在上面了,"威尔逊平静地解释说,"她要在那儿一直待到后天,然后我们就搬走。"

  Michaelis was astonished; they had been neighbors for four years, and Wilson had never seemed faintly capable of such a statement. Generally he was one of these worn-out men: when he wasn’t working, he sat on a chair in the doorway and stared at the people and the cars that passed along the road. When any one spoke to him he invariably laughed in an agreeable, colorless way. He was his wife’s man and not his own.

    米夏埃利斯大吃一惊。他们做了四年邻居,威尔逊从来不像是一个能说出这种话来的人。通常他总是一个筋疲力尽的人:不干活的时候,他就坐在门口一把椅子上,呆呆地望着路上过往的人和车辆。不管谁跟他说话,他就和气又千篇一律地笑一笑。他对他老婆惟命是从,自己并无主见。

  So naturally Michaelis tried to find out what had happened, but Wilson wouldn’t say a word—instead he began to throw curious, suspicious glances at his visitor and ask him what he’d been doing at certain times on certain days. Just as the latter was getting uneasy, some workmen came past the door bound for his restaurant, and Michaelis took the opportunity to get away, intending to come back later. But he didn’t. He supposed he forgot to, that’s all. When he came outside again, a little after seven, he was reminded of the conversation because he heard Mrs. Wilson’s voice, loud and scolding, down-stairs in the garage.

    因此,米夏埃利斯当然想了解发生了什么事,但威尔逊一个字都不肯说,反而他却用古怪多疑的眼神打量着这位客人,并且盘问他某月某日某时在干什么。米夏埃利斯被问得很不自在,趁着几个去餐馆的工人经过门口时,他就赶紧脱身,打算过一会再回来。但是他并未回来。他想他大概忘了,并没别的原因。七点刚过,他又到外面来,才想起了之前的谈话,因为他听见威尔逊太太大声咒骂着,就在楼下车行里。

  “Beat me!” he heard her cry. “Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward!”

     "打我啊!"他听见她嚷道,"把我扔下去,打我啊,你这个腌臜懦夫!"

  A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and shouting—before he could move from his door the business was over.

    片刻之后她就冲出门来,跑向暮色之中,一面挥手一面叫喊--他还没来得及离开自家门口,事情就发生了。

  The “death car.” as the newspapers called it, didn’t stop; it came out of the gathering darkness, wavered tragically for a moment, and then disappeared around the next bend. Michaelis wasn’t even sure of its color—he told the first policeman that it was light green. The other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Myrtle Wilson, her life violently extinguished, knelt in the road and mingled her thick dark blood with the dust.

    那辆被报纸称为"死亡之车"的汽车,并未停下。它从浓重的夜色中出现,出事后可悲地踌躇了片刻,然后在前面一转弯就不见了。米夏埃利斯连车子的颜色都不确定--他跟第一个警察说是浅绿色。另一辆车,开往纽约的那一辆,开到离事发处百米开外的地方停了下来,司机急忙下车,跑回到死于非命的茉特尔·威尔逊身边,她那暗红的浓血和尘上混在一起。

  Michaelis and this man reached her first, but when they had torn open her shirtwaist, still damp with perspiration, they saw that her left breast was swinging loose like a flap, and there was no need to listen for the heart beneath. The mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners, as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality she had stored so long.

    米夏埃利斯和这个男司机最先赶到她身旁,但等他们把她汗湿的衬衫式连衣裙撕开时,他们看见她左边的乳房像一块布片一样松松垮垮地耷拉着,因此不用再去听乳下的心跳了。她的嘴张得大大的,嘴角都撕裂了,仿佛她在释放储存了一辈子的旺盛活力的时,噎了一下。

  We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away.

    我们离那儿还有一段距离时,就看见三四辆汽车和一大群人围在那里。

  “Wreck!” said Tom. “That’s good. Wilson’ll have a little business at last.”

    "撞车!"汤姆道,"那很好。威尔逊终于有一点生意了。"

He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping, until, as we came nearer, the hushed, intent faces of the people at the garage door made him automatically put on the brakes.

Hush:安静;别说话。

    他放慢了车速,但并没打算停下来,直到我们开得更近了,车行门口那群屏息专注的面孔才使他不由自主地踩下刹车。

  “We’ll take a look,” he said doubtfully, “just a look.”

    "我们去看看吧,"他犹疑不定地说,"就看一眼。"

  I became aware now of a hollow, wailing sound which issued incessantly from the garage, a sound which as we got out of the coupe and walked toward the door resolved itself into the words “Oh, my God!” uttered over and over in a gasping moan.

    我这时听见空洞哀号的声音从车行里不断地传出来,我们下了小轿车走向车行门口时,才听出那哭号声夹叹带喘,反复呻吟着一句:"噢,我的上帝啊"。

  “There’s some bad trouble here,” said Tom excitedly.

    "这儿出了什么事。"汤姆激动地说。

He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circle of heads into the garage, which was lit only by a yellow light in a swinging wire basket overhead. Then he made a harsh sound in his throat, and with a violent thrusting movement of his powerful arms pushed his way through。

Thrusting:[ˈθrʌstɪŋ] 猛推;冲;搡。

    他踮起脚越过一圈的人头,向车行里望去,车行天花板上挂着一个摇晃的铁丝篮,里面亮着一盏黄灯。他喉咙里咳了一声,接着他用两只有力的手臂猛然向前一推就挤进了人群。

The circle closed up again with a running murmur of expostulation; it was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals deranged the line, and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside.

Expostulation:劝告,劝戒。

    那一圈人又合拢来,同时传出一阵咕咕哝哝的劝告声。有一两分钟我什么也看不见。后来新到的人又打乱了人群,忽然间乔丹和我被挤到里面去了。

     Myrtle Wilson’s body, wrapped in a blanket, and then in another blanket, as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night, lay on a work-table by the wall, and Tom, with his back to us, was bending over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn’t find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed clamorously through the bare garage—then I saw Wilson standing on the raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low voice and attempting, from time to time, to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall, and then jerk back to the light again, and he gave out incessantly his high, horrible call:

Clamorous: adj.吵吵嚷嚷的;吵闹的;大喊大叫的.

    茉特尔·威尔逊的尸体裹在一条毯子里,外面又包了一条毯子,仿佛在这炎热的夜晚她还怕冷似的。尸体放在墙边一张工作台上,汤姆背对着我们正低头在看,一动也不动。在他旁边站着一名摩托车警察,他正满头大汗地把名字往小本子上抄,又不时地涂改。起初我找不到那些在空空的车行里回荡的高昂的呻吟声的来源--然后我才看见威尔逊站在他办公室凸起来的门槛上,身体前后摇晃,双手抓着门框。有一个人在低声跟他说话,不时想把一只手放在他肩上,但威尔逊置若罔闻,视若无睹。他的目光从那盏摇晃的电灯慢慢地下移到墙边那张停着尸体的桌子上,然后又猛地看回那盏灯,同时他不断地发出他那高亢的、可怕的呼号:

  “Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od! oh, Ga-od! oh, my Ga-od!”

     "欧,我的上……帝啊!欧,我的上……帝啊!欧,上……帝啊!欧,我的上……帝啊!"

    Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and, after staring around the garage with glazed eyes, addressed a mumbled incoherent remark to the policeman.

Jerk:急拉;猛推;猝然一动。glaze木然的;呆滞的

    过了一会汤姆猛地一甩,抬起头来,用呆滞的目光扫视了车行,然后对警察含糊不清地说了一句话。

  “M-a-y-.” the policeman was saying, “-o——”

     "M-y-v"警察在说,"-o-"

  “No, r-.” corrected the man, “M-a-v-r-o——”(由Castle制作中英双语版本TXT)

     "不对,r-"那人更正说,"M-a-v-r-o-"

  “Listen to me!” muttered Tom fiercely.

     "你听我说!"汤姆凶狠地低声说。

  “r” said the policeman, “o——”

     "r-"警察说,o--

  “g——”

     "g--"

  “g——” He looked up as Tom’s broad hand fell sharply on his shoulder. “What you want, fella?”

     "g--"汤姆的大手猛一下落在他肩膀上时,他抬起头来,"你要啥,伙计?"

  “What happened?—that’s what I want to know.”

     "是怎么回事?我要知道的就是这个。"

  “Auto hit her. Ins’antly killed.”

     "汽车撞了她,当场撞死。"

  “Instantly killed,” repeated Tom, staring.

     "当场死亡。"汤姆重复道,两眼发直。

  “She ran out ina road. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even stopus car.”

    "她跑到了路中间。那狗娘养的连车子都没停。"

  “There was two cars,” said Michaelis, “one comin’, one goin’, see?”

     "当时有两辆车子,"米夏埃利斯说,”一辆来,一辆走,明白吗?”  

“Going where?” asked the policeman keenly.

    "去哪儿?"警察敏锐地问。

  “One goin’ each way. Well, she.”—his hand rose toward the blankets but stopped half way and fell to his side——” she ran out there an’ the one comin’ from N’york knock right into her, goin’ thirty or forty miles an hour.”

     "一辆车去一个方向。喏,她,"他的手朝着毯子指了指,但半路上就打住,又放回到自己身侧,"她一跑出去,纽约来的那辆车迎面撞上了她,车子时速大概有三四十英里吧。"

  “What’s the name of this place here?” demanded the officer.

     "这地方叫什么名字?"警察问道。

  “Hasn’t got any name.”

    "没有名字。"

  A pale well-dressed negro stepped near.

    一个面色灰白、衣着体面的黑人走上前来。

  “It was a yellow car,” he said, “big yellow car. New.”

    "那是一辆黄色的车子,"他说,"大型的黄色汽车,新的。"

  “See the accident?” asked the policeman.

     "你目击了事故发生?"警察问。

  “No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster’n forty. Going fifty, sixty.”

    "没有,但是那辆车子在路上从我旁边开过,速度不止四十英里,有五六十英里。"

  “Come here and let’s have your name. Look out now. I want to get his name.”

     "过来,让我们把你名字记下来。让开点。我要记下他的名字。"

  Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson, swaying in the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his gasping cries:

    这段对话一定有几个字传到了在办公室门日摇晃的威尔逊耳朵里,因为忽然间一个新的课题出现在他的哀号中:

  “You don’t have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind of car it was!”

     "你不用告诉我那是一辆什么样的车!我知道那车什么样!"

  Watching Tom, I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten under his coat. He walked quickly over to Wilson and, standing in front of him, seized him firmly by the upper arms.

    我注视着汤姆,看见他肩膀后面那团肌肉在在外套下紧绷起来。他急忙朝威尔逊走过去,然后站在他面前,一把抓住他的上臂。

  “You’ve got to pull yourself together,” he said with soothing gruffness.

     "你一定得打起精神。"他的粗声粗气里带着一丝安抚。  

Wilson’s eyes fell upon Tom; he started up on his tiptoes and then would have collapsed to his knees had not Tom held him upright.

    威尔逊的目光落在汤姆身上。他先是一惊,踮起了脚尖,然后差点跪倒在地上,要不是汤姆扶住他的话。

  “Listen,” said Tom, shaking him a little. “I just got here a minute ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupe we’ve been talking about. That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn’t mine—do you hear? I haven’t seen it all afternoon.”

    "你听我说,"汤姆说,一面轻轻地摇摇他,"我刚到这儿一分钟,从纽约来的。我是来给你送咱们一直在谈的那辆跑车的。今天下午我开的那辆黄车不是我的--你听见了吗?我这一下午都没见过那车。"

  Only the negro and I were near enough to hear what he said, but the policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent eyes. truculent  暴躁的;易怒的;好斗的;尖刻的

    只有那个黑人和我靠得近,可以听到他讲的话,但那位警察也从汤姆的语气里听出些异样,凌厉地看了过来。

  “What’s all that?” he demanded.

    "你说什么?"他质问。

  “I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on Wilson’s body. “He says he knows the car that did it . . . it was a yellow car.”

     "我是他朋友。"汤姆回过头来,但两手还紧紧抓住威尔逊的身体,"他说他认识肇事车……是一辆黄色的车子。"

  Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom.

    一种模糊的冲动促使警察疑心地看看汤姆。

  “And what color’s your car?”

    "那么你的车是什么颜色呢?"

  “It’s a blue car, a coupe.”

     "是一辆蓝色的车子,一辆小轿车。"

  “We’ve come straight from New York,” I said.

     "我们是刚从纽约来的。"我说。

  Some one who had been driving a little behind us confirmed this, and the policeman turned away.

    当时路上还有个人跟在我们身后不远处,他证实了这一点。于是警察就便转身走了。。

  “Now, if you’ll let me have that name again correct——”

     "好吧,请你让我再把那名字正确地……"

  Picking up Wilson like a doll, Tom carried him into the office, set him down in a chair, and came back.

    汤姆把威尔逊像玩偶一样拎进了办公室,放在一把椅子上,然后自己又回来。

  “If somebody’ll come here and sit with him,” he snapped authoritatively. He watched while the two men standing closest glanced at each other and went unwillingly into the room. Then Tom shut the door on them and came down the single step, his eyes avoiding the table. As he passed close to me he whispered: “Let’s get out.”

     "来个人过来陪他坐!"他用发号施令的口吻说。他张望着,这时站得最近的两个人互相看了一眼,不情不愿地进了屋。等他们一进去,汤姆就关上门,跨下唯一的台阶。他的眼神回避着那张桌子。经过我身边时,他低声说:“我们走吧。”  

    Self-consciously, with his authoritative arms breaking the way, we pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago.

    他不自在地用那双强势专横的臂膀开了路,我们从仍在聚集的人群中挤了出去,遇到一位匆匆而来的医生,手里拎着皮包。这医生半个小时前才接到请他出诊的消息,当时众人都还抱着殷切的希望。  

    Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend—then his foot came down hard, and the coupe raced along through the night. In a little while I heard a low husky sob, and saw that the tears were overflowing down his face.

    汤姆开得很慢,直到拐过那个弯之后他的脚才使劲踩下油门,于是小轿车就在黑夜里飞驰而去。没过一会儿,我听见了一声沙哑的呜咽,只见他泪流满面。

  “The God damned coward!” he whimpered. “He didn’t even stop his car.”

     "那个天杀的懦夫!"他呜咽着说,"他连车子都没停。"



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