第七屆翻譯大賽英文原文.doc

OpticsManini Nayar When I was seven, my friend Sol was hit by lightning and died. He was on a rooftop quietly playing marbles when this happened. Burnt to cinders, we were told by the neighbourhood gossips. Hed caught fire, we were assured, but never felt a thing. I only remember a frenzy of ambulances and long clean sirens cleaving the silence of that damp October night. Later, my father came to sit with me. This happens to one in several millions, he said, as if a knowledge of the bare statistics mitigated the horror. He was trying to help, I think. Or perhaps he believed I thought it would happen to me. Until now, Sol and I had shared everything; secrets, chocolates, friends, even a birthdate. We would marry at eighteen, we promised each other, and have six children, two cows and a heart-shaped tattoo with Eternally Yours sketched on our behinds. But now Sol was somewhere else, and I was seven years old and under the covers in my bed counting spots before my eyes in the darkness. After that I cleared out my play-cupboard. Out went my collection of teddy bears and picture books. In its place was an emptiness, the oak panels reflecting their own woodshine. The space I made seemed almost holy, though mother thought my efforts a waste. An empty cupboard is no better than an empty cup, she said in an apocryphal aside. Mother always filled things up - cups, water jugs, vases, boxes, arms - as if colour and weight equalled a superior quality of life. Mother never understood that this was my dreamtime place. Here I could hide, slide the doors shut behind me, scrunch my eyes tight and breathe in another world. When I opened my eyes, the glow from the lone cupboard-bulb seemed to set the polished walls shimmering, and I could feel what Sol must have felt, dazzle and darkness. I was sharing this with him, as always. He would know, wherever he was, that I knew what he knew, saw what he had seen. But to mother I only said that I was tired of teddy bears and picture books. What she thought I couldnt tell, but she stirred the soup-pot vigorously. One in several millions, I said to myself many times, as if the key, the answer to it all, lay there. The phrase was heavy on my lips, stubbornly resistant to knowledge. Sometimes I said the words out of con- text to see if by deflection, some quirk of physics, the meaning would suddenly come to me. Thanks for the beans, mother, I said to her at lunch, youre one in millions. Mother looked at me oddly, pursed her lips and offered me more rice. At this club, when father served a clean ace to win the Retired-Wallahs Rotating Cup, I pointed out that he was one in a million. Oh, the serve was one in a million, father protested modestly. But he seemed pleased. Still, this wasnt what I was looking for, and in time the phrase slipped away from me, lost its magic urgency, became as bland as Pass the salt or Is the bath water hot? If Sol was one in a million, I was one among far less; a dozen, say. He was chosen. I was ordinary. He had been touched and transformed by forces I didnt understand. I was left cleaning out the cupboard. There was one way to bridge the chasm, to bring Sol back to life, but I would wait to try it until the most magical of moments. I would wait until the moment was so right and shimmering that Sol would have to come back. This was my weapon that nobody knew of, not even mother, even though she had pursed her lips up at the beans. This was between Sol and me. The winter had almost guttered into spring when father was ill. One February morning, he sat in his chair, ashen as the cinders in the grate. Then, his fingers splayed out in front of him, his mouth working, he heaved and fell. It all happened suddenly, so cleanly, as if rehearsed and perfected for weeks. Again the sirens, the screech of wheels, the white coats in perpetual motion. Heart seizures werent one in a million. But they deprived you just the same, darkness but no dazzle, and a long waiting. Now I knew there was no turning back. This was the moment. I had to do it without delay; there was no time to waste. While they carried father out, I rushed into the cupboard, scrunched my eyes tight, opened them in the shimmer and called out Sol! Sol! Sol! I wanted to keep my mind blank, like death must be, but father and Sol gusted in and out in confusing pictures. Leaves in a storm and I the calm axis. Here was father playing marbles on a roof. Here was Sol serving ace after ace. Here was father with two cows. Here was Sol hunched over the breakfast table. The pictures eddied and rushed. The more frantic they grew, the clearer my voice became, tolling like a bell: Sol! Sol! Sol! The cupboard rang with voices, some mine, some echoes, some from what seemed another place - where Sol was, maybe. The cup- board seemed to groan and reverberate, as if shaken by lightning and thunder. Any minute now it would burst open and I would find myself in a green valley fed by limpid brooks and red with hibiscus. I would run through tall grass and wading into the waters, see Sol picking flowers. I would open my eyes and hed be there, hibiscus-laden, laughing. Where have you been, hed say, as if it were I who had burned, falling in ashes. I was filled to bursting with a certainty so strong it seemed a celebration almost. Sobbing, I opened my eyes. The bulb winked at the walls. I fell asleep, I think, because I awoke to a deeper darkness. It was late, much past my bedtime. Slowly I crawled out of the cupboard, my tongue furred, my feet heavy. My mind felt like lead. Then I heard my name. Mother was in her chair by the window, her body defined by a thin ray of moonlight. Your father Will be well, she said quietly, and he will be home soon. The shaft of light in which she sat so motionless was like the light that would have touched Sol if hed been lucky; if he had been like one of us, one in a dozen, or less. This light fell in a benediction, caressing mother, slipping gently over my father in his hospital bed six streets away. I reached out and stroked my mothers arm. It was warm like bath water, her skin the texture of hibiscus. We stayed together for some time, my mother and I, invaded by small night sounds and the raspy whirr of crickets. Then I stood up and turned to return to my room. Mother looked at me quizzically. Are you all right, she asked. I told her I was fine, that I had some c!eaning up to do. Then I went to my cupboard and stacked it up again with teddy bears and picture books. Some years later we moved to Rourkela, a small mining town in the north east, near Jamshedpur. The summer I turned sixteen, I got lost in the thick woods there. They werent that deep - about three miles at the most. All I had to do was cycle for all I was worth, and in minutes Id be on the dirt road leading into town. But a stir in the leaves gave me pause. I dismounted and stood listening. Branches arched like claws overhead. The sky crawled on a white belly of clouds. Shadows fell in tessellated patterns of grey and black. There was a faint thrumming all around, as if the air were being strung and practised for an overture. And yet there was nothing, just a silence of moving shadows, a bulb winking at the walls. I remembered Sol, of whom I hadnt thought in years. And foolishly again I waited, not for answers but simply for an end to the terror the woods were building in me, chord by chord, like dissonant music. When the cacophony grew too much to bear, I remounted and pedalled furiously, banshees screaming past my ears, my feet assuming a clockwork of their own. The pathless ground threw up leaves and stones, swirls of dust rose and settled. The air was cool and steady as I hurled myself into the falling light.光學(xué)瑪尼尼納雅爾談瀛洲譯 在我七歲那年，我的朋友索爾被閃電擊中死去了。當(dāng)時他正在樓頂上安靜地打彈子。鄰居們傳說，他被燒成了焦炭。他們又安慰我們說，盡管他是被燒死的，但毫無痛苦。我只記得救護(hù)車亂紛紛地駛來，警報器悠長而尖利的鳴聲劃破了那個潮濕的十月夜晚的寧靜。后來，爸爸過來陪我坐了一會兒。他說，這種事是幾百萬里才有一個的，似乎知道了這干巴巴的統(tǒng)計數(shù)字，就能減輕這件事的可怖。我知道，他只是想安慰我。也許他以為，我擔(dān)心同樣的事也會發(fā)生在我的身上。迄今為止，索爾和我分享了一切：我們相互傾吐秘密，有共同的玩伴，分食巧克力，甚至我們的生日也是相同的。我們還相互約定，要在十八歲的時候跟對方結(jié)婚，生六個孩子，養(yǎng)兩頭母牛，并在我們的屁股上紋上一個心形圖案，里面刺上“永遠(yuǎn)愛你”的字樣。但現(xiàn)在索爾去了另外一個世界，而我只有七歲，蒙著被子在黑暗中數(shù)我眼前的光點。 在這之后我清空了我的玩具柜。我的那些玩具熊和圖畫書都被扔了出來。玩具柜內(nèi)空空如也，只剩下橡木板泛著漆光。我騰出的空間近乎神圣，不過媽媽認(rèn)為我是白費力氣?？展褡颖瓤毡雍貌涣硕嗌?，她在邊上有深意似地說。媽媽喜歡把所有東西都裝得滿滿的-杯子、水壺、花瓶、盒子，連臂彎里也要抱上點東西-好像色彩與重量就等同于生活的更高品質(zhì)。 媽媽一直不懂這里是我做夢的地方。我可以躲到里面，拉上滑門，緊閉雙眼，然后吸入另外一個世界。在我睜開眼睛的時候，唯一的一盞柜燈照得光滑的櫥柜四壁似乎閃爍起來，于是我感覺到了索爾一定感覺過的，那就是眩目與黑暗。和以前一樣，我跟他分享著這一切。不管他在哪里，他都會曉得，我知道了他所知道的，看見了他所看見的。但在媽媽面前，我只說自己膩味了玩具熊和圖畫書。我看不出她是怎么想的，她只是用力地攪拌著鍋里的湯。 幾百萬里才有一個的，我一遍遍地自言自語，似乎一切的謎底、答案，就在這幾個字里。它們在我的舌尖上沉甸甸的，頑固地拒絕讓我理解。有時我會不分場合地用這句話，看看它的意義是否會通過折射，物理上的一個古怪現(xiàn)象，突然出現(xiàn)在我的腦海中。謝謝你做的豆子，媽媽，午餐時我對她說，你真是幾百萬中才有一個的。媽媽奇怪地看著我，噘起了嘴，然后給我添了米飯。在俱樂部，在爸爸用一個干凈利落的發(fā)球贏了“退休人員循環(huán)賽杯”之后，我說他是幾百萬中才有一個的。哦，那記發(fā)球才是幾百萬中才有一個的，爸爸謙虛地糾正說，但他看上去很高興。但這不是我在尋找的東西。慢慢地這句話從我身邊溜走了，失去了它神秘的緊迫性，變得跟“把鹽遞給我”和“浴缸里的水燙么？”一樣淡而無味了。如果索爾是幾百萬中才有一個的，那么我就常見得多，比如說十幾個中就有一個。他是上天選中的。我是普通的。我所不理解的力量點化了他，剩下我孤零零地清空玩具柜。只有一個辦法才能跨越這深淵，才能讓索爾復(fù)活，但我要等到那最神秘的時刻降臨，才能嘗試。我要拿捏好那靈光閃爍的時機(jī)，那樣索爾就不得不回來了。這是我的法寶，沒人知道，甚至媽媽也不知道，即便她曾對著豆子噘起嘴唇。這是我和索爾之間的秘密。 殘冬將盡，新春將至的時候，爸爸病了。一個二月的早晨，他坐在椅子上，臉色就像壁爐里的炭灰。這時，他突然五指箕張，嘴巴噏動，沉重地發(fā)出了一聲嘆息，然后倒下了。這一切都發(fā)生得如此突然，如此利索，就像經(jīng)過了幾個星期的排練和提高似的。于是又是警報器聲，輪子在急剎車時發(fā)出的尖銳摩擦聲，穿白大褂的人不停地進(jìn)進(jìn)出出。心臟病突發(fā)不是幾百萬中才有一個的。但它同樣會奪去你的親人，它并不眩目，但它同樣帶來了黑暗，還有漫長的等待。 我知道沒有回頭路了。這便是關(guān)鍵時刻。我必須毫不猶豫地馬上行動；沒有時間可浪費了。在他們把爸爸抬出去的時候，我沖到玩具柜里，緊閉雙眼，然后在閃爍的燈光中睜開，開始高叫：“索爾！索爾！索爾！”我想讓我的頭腦保持空白，就跟死后一樣，但爸爸和索爾交織在一起的畫面不停地在我的頭腦中閃現(xiàn)，就像風(fēng)暴中的樹葉，而我是寧靜的中心。一會兒是爸爸在樓頂上打彈子。一會兒是索爾一個接一個地發(fā)球得分。一會兒是爸爸和兩頭母牛，一會兒是索爾弓著背倒在早餐桌上。這些畫面旋轉(zhuǎn)著，涌動著。他們變得越是紛亂，我的聲音就變得越是清楚，有如鐘鳴一般：“索爾！索爾！索爾！”玩具柜中鳴響著幾種聲音：有的是我的呼喚，有的是回聲，有的似乎來自另一個世界-也許是索爾所在的世界。玩具柜似乎也在呻吟和振蕩著，被閃電和雷聲搖撼著。在這關(guān)頭它隨時可能迸裂，而我就會發(fā)現(xiàn)自己身處一個綠樹成蔭的山谷，里面流淌著清澈的小溪，開滿了鮮紅的木槿花。我會穿過高草，趟過小溪，然后就會看見索爾在采花。我只要睜開眼他就會在那里，臂彎中抱滿了木槿花，笑著。你去哪兒了，他會說，好像被燒焦，變成灰燼掉下來的是我。我的心中充滿了強(qiáng)烈的信念，幾乎要炸開了，似乎已在經(jīng)歷一場慶典。抽泣著，我睜開了眼睛。只有那盞孤燈對櫥壁眨著眼。 我想，我是睡著了，因為我醒來的時候周圍是更深沉的黑暗。已經(jīng)晚了，過了我平時上床的時間很久了。我慢慢地爬出了玩具柜，舌頭木木的，雙腳沉沉的。我的心如鉛般沉重。這時我聽見有人叫我。媽媽坐在窗邊的椅子里，細(xì)細(xì)的一道月光勾勒出了她身體的輪廓。你爸爸會好的，她輕輕地說，不久他就會回家的。她坐在那束光線中一動不動；如果索爾運氣好的話，如果他跟我們一樣，是十幾個，甚至幾個中就能找出一個的，他就會被同樣的光線所觸摸。這道光線就像一道祝福，擁抱著媽媽，又溫柔地滑過躺在六條街外的醫(yī)院病床上的爸爸。我伸出手去，輕撫媽媽的手臂。它就跟浴缸里的水一樣溫暖，她的皮膚質(zhì)地就跟木槿花瓣一樣。 我們在一起呆了一會，母親和我。夜晚的各種輕微的噪音，還有蟋蟀刺耳的“瞿瞿”聲，侵?jǐn)_著我們。然后我站了起來，向我的房間走去。媽媽探詢地看著我。你沒事吧，她問。我告訴她我沒事，我只是需要整理一下東西。然后我走到玩具柜跟前，重新把它堆滿了玩具熊和圖畫書。 幾年后我們搬到了洛爾克拉，東北部的一座礦區(qū)小城，靠近詹普謝爾（注：印度東北部城市）。我十六歲那年的夏天，我在那里的一片密林中迷路了。林子其實并不深-最多三英里了。我只要奮力騎車，幾分鐘就會到達(dá)通往市區(qū)的泥路。但樹葉中的一種擾動讓我停了下來。 我從自行車上下來，站著傾聽。樹的枝椏在頭頂如腳爪般拱成弧形。天空匍匐在白云的肚皮上。灰色和黑色的斑駁陰影落在地面。四周有一種低沉的嗡嗡聲，似乎有人在撥弄空氣，練習(xí)一首前奏曲。 然而又什么都沒有，只有無聲移動著的陰影，和對櫥壁眨著眼的一盞孤燈。我記起了索爾，我有好幾年沒想起過他了。于是我又一次開始傻乎乎地等待，不是等待著答案，而是等待著心中恐懼的結(jié)束。一個和弦，又一個和弦，樹林把這張恐懼營造起來，就像是不和諧的音樂。當(dāng)我再也不能忍受那刺耳的聲音的時候，我重新上了車，拼命地踩著踏板。我仿佛聽見女妖的尖叫，在我的耳邊呼嘯而過。我的腳上了發(fā)條似地自動踩踏著。無路的地面揚起了樹葉和石子，塵土旋轉(zhuǎn)著飛升起來，又慢慢落定。我向著越來越暗的暮色飛馳，空氣清涼而沉靜。譯文點評談瀛洲 這次翻譯比賽的原文，看上去比較容易，很少難的詞、長的詞。但看上去容易的文字，譯起來不一定容易，因為大家如果翻翻詞典，就會發(fā)現(xiàn)越是常用、越是看上去容易的詞，比如“come”、“go”、“give”、“take”等，解釋就越多，有的甚至達(dá)幾十條。 所以，有的時候碰到這樣的主要由“常用詞”組成的文章，要準(zhǔn)確地傳達(dá)其意義，反而非常難。而那些所謂的“難詞”、“長詞”，詞典里也就那么幾條釋義，相對來說翻譯起來倒是容易的，只要譯者肯勤查詞典就可以了。而勤查詞典，則是對譯者的基本要求。連查詞典都懶惰，還做什么翻譯？！然而今天的譯界，卻有許多沒有達(dá)到這樣基本要求的譯者。 “Hed caught fire, we were assured, but never felt a thing”這一句中的“never felt a thing”這一部分，它的意思就是死的時候“毫無痛苦”，這樣才會是一句“安慰”性質(zhì)的話，而不是有些參賽者理解成的“不以為意”的意思。 “A heart shaped tattoo with Eternally Yours sketched on our behinds”一句中的“behinds”，大家平時只要看過報紙上娛樂版中所寫的好萊塢女明星們所玩的花樣，就會知道這里指的是“屁股”，而不是“背”了。 “Sol and I had shared everything; secrets, chocolates, friends, even a birthdate”：英文詞匯的搭配能力，和中文不盡相同。這一句中的“share”一詞可與“secrets, chocolates, friends, birthdate”四個英語名詞搭配，但在中文里面我們可以說“分享”秘密和巧克力，但“分享”朋友和生日就有些說不太通了。在這種情形下，沒有必要一定要用一個動詞，來“管”上述這四個名詞；可以多用幾個合適與賓語搭配的動詞。所以我就譯成了“索爾和我分享了一切