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写在前面 The Parting Gift 作者 | 克莱尔·吉根 译者 | 马爱农 原著 | 走在蓝色的田野上 阳光照到梳妆台的脚上时，你起床，又检查了一遍行李箱。纽约很热，但冬天也许会变冷。那些矮脚公鸡一早上都在打鸣。这种事情你是不会怀念的。你必须穿好衣服去洗漱，把鞋子擦亮。门外，田野白茫茫的，像纸一样，上面凝着露珠。过不了多久，太阳就会把露珠烤干。这是一个晴朗的日子，适合晒干草。
In her bedroom your mother is moving things around, opening and closing doors. You wonder what it will be like for her when you leave. Part of you doesn't care. She talks through the door. 母亲在自己的卧室里搬东搬西，把那些柜门开了又关，关了又开。你暗想，不知道你走了之后她会怎么样。其实你心里并不在意。她隔着门跟你说话。 'You'll have a boiled egg?' 'No thanks, Ma.” 'Later on, maybe.' 'I'll put one on for you.' “你吃个煮鸡蛋吧？” Downstairs, water spills into the kettle, the bolt slides back. You hear the dogs rush in, the shutters folding. You've always preferred this house in summer: cool feeling in the kitchen, the back door open, scent of the dark wallflowers after rain. 楼下，水倒进锅里，插销又插上了。你听见狗跑进来，百叶窗卷了上去。你总是更喜欢夏天的这所房子：在厨房里感觉很凉爽，后门开着，雨后有一股黑色桂竹香的芬芳。
In the bathroom you brush your teeth. The screws in the mirror have rusted, and the glass is cloudy. You look at yourself and know you have failed the Leaving Cert. The last exam was history and you blanked out on the dates. You confused the methods of warfare, the kings. English was worse. You tried to explain that line about the dancer and the dance. 你在浴室里刷牙。镜子上的螺丝生锈了，镜面模糊不清。你看着镜子里的自己，知道你没有拿到毕业证书。最后一门考的是历史，你把年代都搞混了。你弄不清那些战争和国王。英语考得更糟。你试着解释那个关于舞蹈和舞蹈家的句子。
You go back to the bedroom and take out the passport. You look strange in the photograph, lost. The ticket says you will arrive in Kennedy Airport at 12.25, much the same time as you leave. You take one last look around the room: walls papered yellow with roses, high ceiling stained where the slate came off, cord of the electric heater swinging out like a tail from under the bed. It used to be an open room at the top of the stairs but Eugene put an end to all of that, got the carpenters in and the partition built, installed the door. You remember giving you the key, how much that meant to you at the time. 你回到卧室，拿出护照。照片上的你看着很陌生，一脸茫然。机票上说你将于十二点二十五分到达肯尼迪机场，几乎跟你离开的时间一样。你最后又看了一眼你的房间：墙上贴着玫瑰花的黄色墙纸，高高的天花板上，石棉瓦掉落的地方污渍斑斑，电暖器的电线像尾巴一样，从床底下甩了出来。这里本来是顶层一个敞开的房间，尤金给它改头换面，请来工匠，搭了这个隔间，安上了门。你还记得尤金把钥匙给你的情景，当时那对你来说多么重要啊。
Downstairs, your mother stands over the gas cooker waiting for the pot to boil. You stand at the door and look out. It hasn't rained for days; the spout that runs down from the yard is little more than a trickle. The scent of hay drifts up from neighbouring fields. As soon as the dew burns it off, the Rudd brothers will be out in the meadows turning the rows, saving it while the weather lasts. With pitchforks they'll gather what the baler leaves behind. Mrs Rudd will bring out the flask, the salad. They will lean against the bales and eat their fill. Laughter will carry up the avenue, clear, like birdcall over water. 楼下，母亲站在煤气灶旁，等着锅里的水烧开。你站在门口，朝外张望。已经好多天没有下雨了，从院子里接出来的水管子只能断断续续地滴水。旁边的田地里飘来干草的清香。露水一干，拉德兄弟就会出来，在草地上翻动一排排干草，趁着天好把它们储存起来。打包机漏下的碎草，他们会用干草叉捡拾起来。拉德太太会把酒瓶和沙拉端出来。他们便会靠在一包包干草上，尽情地吃喝。笑声一直传到马路上，那么清脆，像鸟儿在水面上欢叫。 单词列表可上下滑动
'It's another fine day.' You feel the need for speech.” “Your mother makes some animal sound in her throat. You turn to look at her. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. She's never made any allowance for tears. 'Is Eugene up?' she says. 'I don't know. I didn't hear ^m.' 'I'll go and wake ^m.' “又是一个好天。”你觉得需要说话。 It's going on for six. Still an hour before you leave. The saucepan boils and you go over to lower the flame. Inside, three eggs knock against each other. One is cracked, a ribbon streaming white. You turn down the gas. You don't like yours soft. 快到六点了。离动身还有一个小时。水开了，你过去把火苗旋小。锅里，三个鸡蛋互相碰撞。一个裂了，细细的一道白缝，冒着热气。你把煤气关了。你不喜欢鸡蛋煮硬。
Eugene comes down wearing his Sunday clothes. He looks tired. He looks much the same as he always does. 'Well, Sis/ he says. 'Are you all set?' 'Yeah.' 'You have your ticket and everything?' 'I do.' 尤金下来了，穿着星期天的衣服。他看上去很疲倦，跟平常的样子没什么区别。 “嗨，小妹，”他说，“你都弄好了？”
Your mother puts out the cups and plates, slices a quarter out of the loaf. This knife is old, its teeth worn in places. You eat the bread, drink the tea and wonder what Americans eat for breakfast. Eugene tops his egg, butters bread, shares it with the dogs. Nobody says anything. When the clock strikes six, Eugene reaches for his cap. 母亲把杯子和盘子端出来，从面包上切了四分之一。刀子旧了，刀刃上有几个缺口。你吃面包，喝茶，心里想着美国人早饭吃什么。尤金把鸡蛋剥开，在面包上抹了黄油，跟几只狗一起分吃。谁也没有说话。钟敲响六点的时候，尤金伸手去拿帽子。
'There's a couple of things I've to do up the yard/ he says. 'I won't be long.' 'That's all right.' 'You'd want to leave on time/ your mother says. 'You wouldn't want to get a puncture.' “院子里我还有点活要干，”他说，“很快就完。” You place your dirty dishes on the draining board. You have nothing to say to your mother. If you started, you would say the wrong things and you wouldn't want it to end that way. You go upstairs but you'd rather not go back into the room. You stand on the landing. They start talking in the kitchen but you don't hear what they say. A sparrow swoops down onto the window ledge and pecks at his reflection, his beak striking the glass. You watch him until you can't watch him any longer and he flies away. 你把脏盘子放在滴水板上。你没有话要对母亲说。如果开口，你就会说出一些不合适的话，而你不愿意事情这样收场。你上了楼，但不想再回房间。你站在楼梯平台上。他们在厨房里开始说话，你听不清他们在说什么。一只麻雀飞到了窗台上，啄着自己的影子，嘴巴嗒嗒地敲着玻璃。你注视着它，直到再也无法注视，然后它就飞走了。
Your mother didn't want a big family. Sometimes, when she lost her temper, she told you she would put you in a bucket, and drown you. As a child you imagined being taken by force to the edge of the Slaney River, being placed in a bucket, and the bucket being flung out from the bank, floating for a while before it sank;. As you grew older you knew it was only a figure of speech, and then you believed it was just an awful thing to say. People sometimes said awful things. 母亲不愿意家里人口太多。她有时候发脾气，就跟你说要把你放在一个桶里淹死。小时候，你想象着被强行带到斯莱尼河边，放进一只桶里，然后桶从岸上扔到河里，随波逐流，最后沉没。后来你长大了一些，知道这只是一种比喻的说法，那时候你认为这么说话是很可怕的。有时候人就是会说一些可怕的话。
Your eldest sister was sent off to the finest boarding school in Ireland, and became a school teacher. Eugene was gifted in school but when he turned fourteen your father putted him out to work the land. In the photographs the eldest are dressed up: satin ribbons and short trousers, a blinding sun in their eyes. The others just came along, as nature took its course, were fed and clothed, sent off to the boarding schools. Sometimes they came back for a bank-holiday weekend. They brought gifts and an optimism that quickly waned. You could see them remembering everything, the existence, turning rigid when your father's shadow crossed the floor. Leaving, they'd feel cured, impatient to get away. 大姐被送到爱尔兰最好的寄宿学校，后来成为一名教师。尤金在学校里很有天赋，可是刚满十四岁，你父亲把他硬拉出来，去地里干活。那些照片上，大孩子们都穿戴整齐：丝带，短裤，明亮的太阳照着他们的眼睛。后来的孩子则是来就来了，任其自生自长，供其吃饱穿暖，然后送进寄宿学校。有时候，他们回来过法定假期。他们带着礼物，和一种很快就消失的乐观情绪。你可以看到，他们回忆起一切，回忆起那种生活，当父亲的影子出现在地板上时，他们便都变得拘谨死板。走的时候，他们觉得被治愈了，急不可待地想离开。
Your turn at boarding school never came. By then your father saw no point in educating girls; you'd go off and another man would have the benefit of your education. If you were sent to the day school you could help in the house, the yard. Your father moved into the other room but your mother gave him sex on his birthday. She'd go into his room and they'd have it there. It never took long and they never made noise but you knew. And then that too stopped and you were sent instead, to sleep with your father. It happened once a month or so, and always when Eugene was out. 一直没有轮到你去上寄宿学校。那个时候，父亲发现让女儿受教育毫无意义。你总会离开，让另一个男人享受你的教育带来的好处。如果上私立走读学校，你就能给家里帮一把手，在院子里干点儿活。父亲搬到了另一个房间，你母亲总是在他生日时跟他做爱。母亲去他的房间，他们就在那里求欢。时间总是不长，而且从不发出声音，但你就是知道。后来，连这也停了，你被打发过去，陪你父亲睡觉。大概一个月一次，总是在尤金出去的时候。 You went willingly at first, crossed the landing in your nightdress, put your head on his arm. He played with you, praised you, told you you had the brains, that you were the brightest child. Always he put his arm under your neck, then the terrible hand reaching down under the clothes to pull up the nightdress, the fingers, strong from milking, finding you. The mad hand going at himself until he groaned and then him asking you to reach over for the cloth, saying you could go then, if you wanted. The mandatory kiss at the end, stubble, and cigarettes on the breath. Sometimes he gave you a cigarette of your own and you could lie beside him smoking, pretending you were someone else. You'd go into the bathroom when it was over and wash, telling yourself it meant nothing, hoping the water would be hot. 起初你是心甘情愿地去的，穿着睡衣走过楼梯平台，把脑袋埋进父亲怀里。他陪你玩，夸奖你，对你说你有脑子，说你是最聪明的孩子。他总是把胳膊放在你的脖子底下，那只可怕的手伸到衣服里面，脱掉内衣，那因为挤奶而格外有力的手，寻找到你。那只疯狂的手开始鼓捣他自己，直到发出呻吟，然后他叫你把床单拉过来，说你如果想走，就可以走了。最后是那个强制性的接吻，胡子茬，呼吸里一股烟味。有时候他给你一支香烟，你可以躺在他身边抽烟，假装你是别的什么人。完事后，你走进浴室清洗，对自己说这不算什么，希望水是烫的。
Now you stand on the landing trying to remember happiness, a good day, an evening, a kind word. It seems apt to search for something happy to make the parting harder but nothing comes to mind. Instead you remember that time the setter had all those pups. It was around the same time your mother started sending you into his room. In the spout-house, your mother leant over the half barrel, and held the sack under the water until the whimpering stopped and the sack went still. That day she drowned the pups, she turned her head and looked at you, and smiled. 此刻，你站在楼梯平台上，努力回忆幸福的感觉，一个美好的日子，一个夜晚，一句友善的话。应该寻找某种快乐的东西，让分离变得艰难，可是脑子里什么也没有。你想起的是长毛猎犬生崽子时的情景。大约就在那个时候，母亲开始打发你去父亲的房间。在水房里，母亲面对着半桶水，把袋子摁到水底，直到呜咽的声音停止，袋子变得一动不动。那天她淹死了小狗崽，她转过头来看着你，笑了。
'It doesn't matter,' he says. 'Pay no heed.' 'What doesn't matter?' He shrugs and goes into the room he shares with your father. You drag the suitcase downstairs. Your mother hasn't washed the dishes. She is standing there at the door with a bottle of holy water. She shakes some of this water on you. Some of it gets in your eyes. Eugene comes down with the car keys. “没关系，”他说，“不要在意。” “什么没关系？” 他耸了耸肩，走进他跟父亲合住的房间。你把行李箱拖下楼。母亲没有洗碗。她站在门口，手里拿着一瓶圣水。她把一些圣水洒在你身上。有几滴水溅到了你眼睛里。尤金拿着车钥匙下楼来。
'Da wants to talk to you.' “他没有起床吗？” “没有。你上楼去找他吧。” “去吧，”妈说，“不要走得两手空空。”
你回到楼上，在他的房间外停住脚步。自从十二岁月经来潮，你就没有再走进这扇门。你打开门。里面很暗，窗帘周围透进几道夏日的阳光。还是那股熟悉的烟味儿和脚汗味儿。你看看床边的鞋子和袜子。你觉得恶心。他穿着背心坐在床上，这个牛贩子把一切尽收眼底，掂量着。 'So you're going to America,' he says. 'Will it be warm out there?' You say it will. 你说是的。 “你可真是机灵啊，是不是？”他把肚子上的被单叠了叠。“那边暖和吗？” 你说暖和。 “有人接你吗？” “有。”顺着他的话说。总是这样，这是你的策略。 “那就好。”
You wait for him to get the wallet out or to tell you where it is, to fetch it. Instead, he puts his hand out. You don't want to touch him but maybe the money is in his hand. In desperation you extend yours, and he shakes it. He draws you towards him. He wants to kiss you. You don't have to look at him to know he's smiling. You pull away, turn out of the room but he calls you back. This is his way. He'll give it to you now that he knows you thought you'd get nothing. 'And another thing,' he says. 'Tell Eugene I want them meadows knocked by dark.' You go out and close the door. In the bathroom you wash your hands, your face, compose yourself once more. 'I hope he gave you money?' your mother says. 'He did,' you say. 'A hundred pound.' 'He broke his heart,' she says. 'His own daughter, the last of ye, and he wouldn't even get out of the bed and you going to America. Wasn't it a black bastard I married!' 你出来，关上了门。你在浴室里洗手，洗脸，重新镇定下来。 “他给你钱了吧？”母亲说。 “给了。”你说。 “给了多少？” “一百磅。” “他的心碎了，”她说，“他的亲生女儿，最小的孩子，你就要去美国了，他连床都不肯起。难道我不是嫁了一个讨厌的死鬼吗！”
'Are you ready?' Eugene says. 'We better hit the road.' You put your arms around your mother. You don't know why. She changes when you do this. You can feel her getting soft in your arms. 'I'll send word, Ma, when I get there.' “妈，我一到那边就给你来信。” “来信。”她说。 “我还没到，天就黑了。” “我知道，”她说，“路很长。”
It is a startling question, stupid. You look at the gates, at the woods beyond. 'Safe?' You get out and open the gates. He drives through, stops to wait for you. As you put the wire on, the filly trots down to the edge of the field, leans up against the fence, and whinnies. She's a red chestnut with one white stocking. You sold her to buy your ticket but she will not be collected until tomorrow. That was the arrangement. You watch her and turn away but it's impossible not to look back. Your eyes follow the gravel road, the strip of green between the tracks, on up to the granite post left there from Protestant days and, past it, your mother who has come out to see the last of you. She waves a cowardly little wave, and you wonder if she will ever forgive you for leaving her there with her husband.
'There's something you should know,' Eugene says. 'Oh?' 'Can you see me living there with them until the end of their days? Could you see me bringing a woman in? What woman could stand it? I'd have no life.' 'But what about all the work you've done, all that time?' 'I don't care about any of that,' he says. 'All that is over.' 'Where will you go?' 'Where?' 'I don't know yet. I was waiting until you left. I didn'tthink any further.' 'You didn't stay on my account?' “你忍心看着我跟他们住在一起直到他们老死？你什么时候看见我带回国女人？哪个女人能受得了这个？我不会有自己的生活。”
He slows the car and looks over. 'I did,' he says. 'But I wasn't much use, was I, Sis?' It is the first time anyone has ever mentioned it. It feels like a terrible thing, being said. 'You couldn't be there all the time.' Between Baltinglass and Blessington the road winds. You remember this part of the road. You came this way for the All Ireland finals. Your father had a sister in Tallaght he could stay with, a hard woman who made great tarts and left a chain of smoke. Boggy fields, bad land surround this road, and a few ponies grazing. As a child, you thought this was the West of Ireland. It used to make the adults laugh, to hear you say it.
And now you suddenly remember one good thing about your father. It was before you had begun to go into his room. He had gone into the village and stopped at the garage for petrol. The girl at the pumps came up to him and told him she was the brightest girl in the class, the best at every subject, until you came along. He'd come back from the village and repeated this, and he was proud because you were brighter than the Protestant's daughter.
Your brother embraces you. You have never been embraced this way. When his stubble grazes your face, you pull back. 'I'm sorry,' he says. 'Write,' he says quickly. 'Don't forget to write.'
You follow passengers through a queue and leave him behind. He will not go back for the fry; he hasn't the time. You did not have to deliver the message. You know he will put his boot down, be home before noon, have the mead ows knocked long before dark. After that there will be corn to cut. Already the winter barley's turning. September will bring more work, old duties to the land. Sheds to clean out, cattle to test, lime to spread, dung. You know he will never leave the fields. A stranger asks for your handbag, and you give it to him. You pass through a frame that has no door and your handbag is returned to you. On the other side, the lights are bright. There's the smell of perfume and roasted coffee beans, expensive things. You make out bottles of tanning lotion, a rack of dark glasses. It is all getting hazy but you keep on going, because you must, past the T-shirts and the duty-free towards the gate. When you find it, there is hard ly anyone there but you know this is the place. You look for another door, make out part of a woman's body. You push it, and it opens. You pass bright hand-basins, mirrors. Someone asks are you all right — such a stupid question — but you do not cry until you have opened and closed another door, until you have safely locked yourself inside your stall. |
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