只有一句话的短篇小说

　　原文是西班牙文，如下是英文译文，也只有一句话（中文译文见后）。对用算法生成这样的小说不抱希望。（WPS统计字数为2156）

　　“The Last Voyage of the Ghost Ship” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (translated by Gregory Rabassa)

　　Now they're going to see who I am, he said to himself in his strong new man's voice, many years after he had first seen the huge ocean liner without lights and without any sound which passed by the village one night like a great uninhabited place, longer than the whole village and much taller than the steeple of the church, and it sailed by in the darkness toward the colonial city on the other side of the bay that had been fortified against buccaneers, with its old slave port and the rotating light, whose gloomy beams transfigured the village into a lunar encampment of glowing houses and streets of volcanic deserts every fifteen seconds, and even though at that time he'd been a boy without a man's strong voice but with his' mother's permission to stay very late on the beach to listen to the wind's night harps, he could still remember, as if still seeing it, how the liner would disappear when the light of the beacon struck its side and. how it would reappear when the light had passed, so that it was an intermittent ship sailing along, appearing and disappearing, toward the mouth of the bay, groping its way like a sleep‐walker for the buoys that marked the harbor channel, until something must have gone wrong with the compass needle, because it headed toward the shoals, ran aground, broke up, and sank without a single sound, even though a collision against the reefs like that should have produced a crash of metal and the explosion of engines that would have frozen, with fright the soundest‐sleeping dragons in the prehistoric jungle that began with the last streets of the village and ended on the other side of the world, so that he himself thought it was a dream, especially the, next day, when he. saw the radiant fishbowl. of the bay, the disorder of colors of the Negro shacks on the hills above the harbor, the schooners of the smugglers from the Guianas loading their cargoes ‐of innocent parrots whose craws were full of diamonds, he thought, I fell asleep counting the stars and L dreamed about that huge ship, of course, he was so convinced that he didn't tell anyone nor did he remember the vision again until the same night on the following March when he was looking for the flash of dolphins in the sea and what he found was the illusory line, gloomy, intermittent, with the same mistaken direction as the first time, except that then he was so sure he was awake that he ran to tell his mother and she spent three weeks moaning with disappointment, because your brain's rotting away from doing so many things backward, sleeping during the day and going out at night like a criminal, and since she had to go to the city around that time to get something comfortable where she could sit and think about her dead husband, because the rockers on her chair had worn out after eleven years of widowhood, she took advantage of the occasion and had the boatman go near the shoals so that her son could see what he really saw in the glass of; the sea, the lovemaking of manta rays in a springtime of sponges, pink snappers and blue corvinas diving into the other wells of softer waters that were there among the waters, and even the wandering hairs of victims of drowning in some colonial shipwreck, no trace of sunken liners of anything like it, and yet he was so pigheaded that his mother promised to watch with him the next March, absolutely, not knowing that the only thing absolute in her future now was an easy chair from the days of Sir Francis Drake which she had bought at an auction in a Turk's store, in which she sat down to rest that same night sighing, oh, my poor Olofernos, if you could only see how nice it is to think about you on this velvet lining and this brocade from the casket of a queen, but the more she brought back the memory of her dead husband, the more the blood in her heart bubbled up and turned to chocolate, as if instead of sitting down she were running, soaked from chills and fevers and her breathing full of earth, until he returned at dawn and found her dead in the easy chair, still warm, but half rotted away as after a snakebite, the same as happened afterward to four other women before the murderous chair was thrown into the sea, far away where it wouldn't bring evil to anyone, because it had. been used so much over the centuries that its faculty for giving rest had been used up, and so he had to grow accustomed to his miserable routine of an orphan who was pointed out by everyone as the son of the widow who had brought the throne of misfortune into the village, living not so much from public charity as from fish he stole out of the boats, while his voice was becoming a roar, and not remembering his visions of past times anymore until another night in March when he chanced to look seaward and suddenly, good Lord, there, it is, the huge asbestos whale, the behemoth beast, come see it, he shouted madly, come see it, raising such an uproar of dogs' barking and women's panic that even the oldest men remembered the frights of their great‐grandfathers and crawled under their beds, thinking that William Dampier had come back, but those who ran into the street didn't make the effort to see the unlikely apparatus which at that instant was lost again in the east and raised up in its annual disaster, but they covered him with blows and left him so twisted that it was then he said to himself, drooling with rage, now they're going to see who I am, but he took care not to share his determination with anyone, but spent the whole year with the fixed idea, now they're going to see who I am, waiting for it to be the eve of the apparition once more in order to do what he did, which was steal a boat, cross the bay, and spend the evening waiting for his great moment in the inlets of the slave port, in the human brine of the Caribbean, but so absorbed in his adventure that he didn't stop as he always did in front of the Hindu shops to look at the ivory mandarins carved from the whole tusk of an elephant, nor did he make fun of the Dutch Negroes in their orthopedic velocipedes, nor was he frightened as at other times of the copper‐skinned Malayans, who had gone around the world, enthralled by the chimera of a secret tavern where they sold roast filets of Brazilian women, because he wasn't aware of anything until night came over him with all the weight of the stars and the jungle exhaled a sweet fragrance of gardenias and rotter salamanders, and there he was, rowing in the stolen boat, toward the mouth of the bay, with the lantern out so as not to alert the customs police, idealized every fifteen seconds by the green wing flap of the beacon and turned human once more by the darkness, knowing that he was getting close to the buoys that marked the harbor, channel, not only because its oppressive glow was getting more intense, but because the breathing of the water was becoming sad, and he rowed like that, so wrapped up in himself, that he. didn't know where the fearful shark's breath that suddenly reached him came from or why the night became dense, as if the stars had suddenly died, and it was because the liner was there, with all of its inconceivable size, Lord, bigger than, any other big thing in the world and darker than any other dark thing on land or sea, three hundred thousand tons of shark smell passing so close to the boat that he could see the seams of the steel precipice without a single light in the infinite portholes, without a sigh from the engines, without a soul, and carrying its own circle of silence with it, its own dead air, its halted time, its errant sea in which a whole world of drowned animals floated, and suddenly it all disappeared with the flash of the beacon and for an instant it was the diaphanous Caribbean once more, the March night, the everyday air of the pelicans, so he stayed alone among the buoys, not knowing what to do, asking himself, startled, if perhaps he wasn't dreaming while he was awake, not just now but the other times too, but no sooner had. he asked himself than a breath of mystery snuffled out the buoys, from the first to the last, so that when the light of the beacon passed by the liner appeared again and now its compasses were out of order, perhaps not even knowing what part of the ocean sea it was in, groping for the invisible channel but actually heading for the shoals, until he got the overwhelming revelation that that misfortune of the buoys was the last key to the enchantment and he lighted the lantern in the boat, a tiny red light that had no reason to alarm anyone in the watch towers but which would be like a guiding sun for the pilot, because, thanks to it, the liner corrected its course and passed into the main gate of the channel in a maneuver of lucky resurrection, and then all the lights went on at the same time so that the boilers wheezed again, the stars were fixed in their places, and the animal corpses went to the bottom, and there was a clatter of plates and a fragrance of laurel sauce in the kitchens, and one could hear the pulsing of the orchestra on the moon decks and the throbbing of the arteries of high‐sea lovers in the shadows of the staterooms, but he still carried so much leftover rage in him that he would not let himself be confused by emotion or be frightened by the miracle, but said to himself with more decision than ever, now they're going to see who I am, the cowards, now they're going to see, and instead of turning aside so that the colossal machine would not charge into him he began to row in front of it, because now they really are going to see who I am, and he continued guiding the ship with the lantern until he was so sure of its obedience that he made it change course from the direction of the docks once more, took it out of the invisible channel, and led it by the halter as if it were a sea lamb toward the lights of the sleeping village, a living ship, invulnerable to the torches of the beacon, that no longer made invisible but made it aluminum every fifteen seconds, and the crosses of the church, the misery of the houses, the illusion began to stand out and still the ocean liner followed behind him, following his will inside of it, the captain asleep on his heart side, the fighting bulls in the snow of their pantries, the solitary patient in the infirmary, the orphan water of its cisterns, the unredeemed pilot who must have mistaken the cliffs for the docks, because at that instant the great roar of the whistle burst forth, once, and he with downpour of steam that fell on him, again, and the boat belonging to someone else was on the point of capsizing, and again, but it was too late, because there were the shells of the shoreline, the stones of the street, the doors of the disbelievers, the whole village illuminated by the lights of the fearsome liner itself, and he barely had time to get out of the way to make room for the cataclysm, shouting in the midst of the confusion, there it is, you cowards, a second before the huge steel cask shattered the ground and one could hear the neat destruction of ninety thousand five hundred champagne glasses breaking, one after the other, from stem to stern, and then the light came out and it was no longer a March dawn but the noon of a radiant Wednesday, and he was able to give himself the pleasure of watching the disbelievers as with open mouths they contemplated the largest ocean liner in this world and the other aground in front of the church, whiter than anything, twenty times taller than the steeple and some ninety‐seven times longer than the village, with its name engraved in iron letters, Halalcsillag, and the ancient and languid waters of the sea of death dripping down its sides.

　　幽灵船的最后一次旅行 作者：加西亚·马尔克斯 译者：朱景冬

　　“我会让他们知道我是谁的。” 他第一次看到那艘远洋巨轮后过了多年，他用他那男人的新的粗嗓门儿这样对自己说。那艘轮船没有灯光，也没有声响，一个夜晚从镇子前驶过，看去像一幢没人住的大宫殿，比整个镇子还要长，比镇上教堂的钟楼还要高。它在黑暗中继续向海湾另一端的一座为反对海盗而设防的殖民城市驶去。那座城市有古老的黑港口和旋转的灯塔。灯塔阴郁的叉形光线每隔十五秒钟就把镇子变成一座有着磷光闪闪的房舍和炎热的荒漠似的街道的明亮营地。当时他虽然还是个没有男人大嗓门儿的孩子，但是在他母亲的允许下，他可以到海滩上去听夜晚的风儿弹奏琴声，直到很晚才回家，所以他还记得，他仿佛看到灯塔的光线一掠过，那艘轮船就消失了。原来，那是一艘在海湾人口附近时隐时现的轮船，它像梦游症患者那样摸索，寻找指明进入港口的航道的浮标。最后，船上的罗盘准是出了毛病，因为它竟向暗礁驶去，撞上了礁石，船身撞碎，无声无息地沉了下去，尽管这种与礁石的碰撞会产生钢铁的巨响和机器的爆炸，会把在那片从城市最后几条街道绵延到天涯海角的原始丛林中沉睡多年的巨龙吓得魂不附体。因此，他自己觉得那是一个梦，特别是整个第二天，当他看到海湾那光芒四射的水域、在港口后的小山上居住的黑人的茅屋的杂乱颜色、装运嗉子里塞满钻石的无辜鹦鹉的瓜亚那斯地区的走私船时，他想，“我数着星星睡着了，梦见了那股巨大的、轮廓清楚的船。”他是那么确信，竟没有把此事告诉任何人，也没有再回想那幅幻景。直到第二年三月的同一天夜里，当他寻找海豚的踪影时，发现的却是一艘虚幻的、阴暗的、时隐时现的远洋轮船，其命运和第一次一样不幸。但是当时他如此相信自己头脑的清醒程度，竟跑去把此事告诉了他母亲。她母亲三个星期以来一直沮丧地长吁短叹，因为她像生活不规律的人那样白天睡觉、夜里折腾，衣食住行完全颠倒，致使她终日头昏脑胀。由于那几天她必须去城里买个舒适的东西以便坐着思念她去世的丈夫——因为守寡十一年来她坐的摇椅的平衡腿已经磨烂——她便利用这个机会请开小艇的人把她儿子带到暗礁那里去，让儿子能够看到在玻璃般的海面上确实见到的东西：双吻前口蝠鲼在海绵般的春天的爱情，粉红色的棘鬣鱼和蓝色的石首鱼在最温和的海水里的潜游，甚至还有某次殖民地的海水中淹死的人漂荡的长发。但是既不见沉船的踪影也没有死去的男孩子。然而，他仍然坚持说，他母亲已经保证来年三月肯定陪他去熬夜，却不知道她对她的未来惟一肯定的只是她在土耳其人的一次拍卖中买的一把弗朗西斯·德雷克①时代的安乐椅。就在那天晚上她坐在那把安乐椅上叹道：“我可怜的奥洛费内斯，你倘若看到我穿着女王灵台上用的绵缎、坐在这种丝线包裹的椅上思念你有多舒服的话……”但是她越是思念她过世的丈夫，她心中的血液就越是翻滚，越是变成巧克力色，仿佛她不是坐，而是在奔跑，冷汗湿透了衣服，呼吸着充满尘土的空气，直到他在黎明的时候回来，看见她死在安乐椅上，肉体还没有凉，只是像被毒蛇咬伤似的烂了一半，就像后来另外四位夫人发生的那样。事后人们把她们的安乐椅远远地扔进了大海，扔在了不让它伤害任何人的地方，因为几百年来它被使用得那么多，坐着它让人解乏的功能已经耗尽了。这样一来，他就只好习惯他那种当孤儿的悲惨命运，作为给镇子带来最大的不幸的寡妇的儿子而引人注意。他不仅靠公众施舍而且靠着他从小艇上偷来的鱼过活，同时他的嗓音也渐渐变得像吼叫一般，早把他过去的幻觉抛在了脑后。直到另一个三月的夜晚，他偶然向海上一望，“妈呀，那条巨大的石棉鲸鱼，那只吼叫的畜生就在那里。”他突然发疯地叫起来。“快来看哪，大家快来看哪！”他的叫喊引起一片狗叫声，引起了女人们的恐慌，连最年迈的男人们也想起了先辈们的幽灵，慌忙钻到床底下，以为威廉姆·丹皮尔①回来了。但那些冲出家门的人也不屑一顾那架令人难以置信的、那时已经迷失方向、在每年的灾难中毁坏的机器，而是对他拳打脚踢一顿，打得他把身子蜷作一团。就在这时他恼羞成怒地对自己说：“我会让他们知道我是谁的！”但是他很谨慎，不让任何人知道他的决定，而是整整一年抱着这个念头不放，“我会让他们知道我是谁的”，等待着另一次幽灵出现的前夕的到来，好做他做过的事情。时候到了。他找来一个小艇，穿过海湾，下午在贩卖黑奴的港口的小路上，在加勒比地区的人群中等待他那个伟大的时刻。但是他对自己的冒险活动那么一心一意，既不像往常那样停在印度人的商店前观看用整颗象牙雕刻的中国清朝官员的象牙雕，不嘲弄坐着外科矫形脚踏车的荷兰黑人，也不像以往那样害怕具有眼镜蛇肤色的、为幻想中卖巴西烤鱼片的饭馆儿着迷而做环球旅行的马来亚人，因为他什么也不注意。此刻，夜晚还没有带着它的星斗的全部重量降临，丛林飘来一阵栀子花和烂蝾螈的柔和香味，他已驾着找来的小艇前往海湾人口处，艇上没有亮灯，免得引起边防警察的注意。每隔十五秒钟，灯塔绿色光芒的闪耀就把他变成幻影，灯光过后他又成了真人。他知道他就在指引港口船道的浮桥附近，这不仅因为他发现它那令人窒闷的光芒越来越强烈，而且因为水的波动越来越无力了。所以他划船时那么专心致志，不知道突然从哪里冒出一股鲨鱼的可怕呼气，也不知道夜色为什么变得那么黑，仿佛繁星一下子都熄灭了。原来远洋轮船就在眼前，整个船体大得不可想像，妈呀，它比世界上的任何东西都大，比陆地和海洋中的任何黑暗的东西都黑，它那带着鲨鱼味的三十万吨重的船身从小船旁经过。他看到了钢铁裂痕的焊缝，无数圆窗里没有一点亮光，机器没有一点喘息声，船上没有一点生气，随身携带着它自己的寂静世界、它自己那块空旷的天空、它自己的死气沉沉的空气。它自己的停止的时间和它那一片流浪的海。在那片海上漂浮着被淹死的动物的整个世界。灯塔光芒射来，这一切突然消失。一瞬间又成了透明的加勒比海，三月的黑夜，白鹈鹕的日常天空，只剩下他一个人在浮标中间，不知该怎么办，他惊奇地问自己是否真的不是醒着做梦，不光这一次，过去几次也是这样。但是他刚刚问完自己，就刮来一阵神秘的风把浮标从第一个到最后一个全吹灭了。这样，当灯塔的光芒掠过后，远洋轮船便又出现了。但它的罗盘已经失灵，大概不知道在大洋的什么位置，正在探察看不见的航道。但实际上它已偏向暗礁，直到他在惊慌失措中想到，浮标事件是使他迷失的关键所在，于是他把小船上的灯点亮，一点点红光不会引起高塔上的任何警察的注意，但是对轮船驾驶员来说却像东方的太阳，因为看到这点红光后，远洋轮船纠正了航向，进人航道的大门，得以幸运地得救。这时，轮船上的灯全亮了，锅炉重新喘气了，天上的星斗也点燃了，动物的尸体也沉到了海底。厨房里响起一阵盘子的碰撞声，散发出一股桂皮调味汁的香味。听得见月形甲板上乐队的大号声和昏暗的寝舱里远海上的恋人心脏的冬冬声。但是积压在他心中的怒火并没有因为心情激动而动摇，也没有因为奇迹的出现而后退，而是怀着比任何时候都更大的决心说：“他们会知道我是谁的，妈的，他们会知道我是谁的！”他没有因为怕被那架巨大的机器撞着而往一边躲，而是开始在轮船前头划船前进，因为现在他们知道我是谁了。他继续引导巨轮向前走，直到他确信它听他指挥，于是他迫使它再次改变前往码头的方向，把它引出了看不见的航道，在前面带领着它，仿佛它是大海上的一只羊，把它引向灯火闪烁的沉睡的镇子。在灯塔的光束下，它是一条活生生的。完好无损的船，现在它不是无形的了，而是每隔十五秒钟就被镀上一层铝白色。远方可以分辨出教堂的十字架、简陋的村舍和幻景了。轮船仍然跟着他走，携带着船上的一切：让心脏一侧在下睡觉的部长、在食品储藏室的雪地上躺着的斗牛、医疗室里孤独的病人、蓄水池中无人照管的水，还有那位准是把礁石误认为是码头的糊涂驾驶员：因为其一，他在那个时刻拉响了震天动地的汽笛；其二，他被落下来的蒸汽阵雨浇成了落汤鸡，无辜的小船差一点沉没；其三，说时迟，那时快，已经看到岸上的大蜗牛、街上的石头、怀疑者们的家门和被可怕的轮船上的灯光照亮的整个镇子，他几乎没来得及躲避灾难的发生，他在海水的震荡中叫喊，人们看到了他。转瞬之间那个巨大的钢壳便撞在陆地上，船上的九万零五百只香槟酒杯发出一阵清晰的巨响，它们一只接一只从船头碎到船尾。等到杯子摔完，天已大亮，但那已不是三月的黎明，而是一个阳光灿烂的星期三的中午。这时他心满意足地望着那些不轻信的人们张着大嘴观赏这个世界和教堂对面另一只搁浅的世界最大的远洋轮船。它比任何东西都白，比教堂的钟楼高二十倍，比镇子长九十七倍，它的名称“halalcsillag”用铁字母铸成。船帮上还在往下流淌着死亡的海的古老而无生气的水。