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Limbo


Limbo??? 片刻的迷失 暂时性状态;迷失 By Rhonda Lucas 戎达 卢卡斯 My parents’ divorce was final. The house had been sold and the day had come to move. Thirty years of the family’s life was now crammed into the

garage. The two-by-fours that ran the length of the walls were the only uniformity among the clutter of boxes, furniture, and memories. All was frozen in limbo between the life just passed and the one to come. 我父母最终还是离了婚。房子已经卖了,搬家的日子也到了。30 年的家庭生活现在都塞在 车库里。除了唯一整齐的沿墙的木条,凌乱的是箱子、家具还有记忆。一切都冻结在往昔与 未来生活之间。 The sunlight pushing its way through the window splattered against a barricade of boxes. Like a fluorescent river, it streamed down the sides and flooded the cracks of the cold, cement floor. I stood in the doorway between the house and garage and wondered if the sunlight would ever again penetrate the memories packed inside those boxes. For an instant, the cardboard boxes appeared as tombstones, monuments to those memories. 阳光透过窗子,洒在一排箱子上,像一条发光的小溪,漫过冷冷水泥地面的一处处缝隙。站 在房子与车库之间小路上的我思忖着, 阳光是否会透进打包进这些箱子中的记忆。 有那么一 瞬,这些纸板箱已然幻变成了缅怀这些记忆的一块块墓碑。 The furnace in the corner, with its huge tubular fingers reaching out and disappearing into the wall, was unaware of the futility of trying to warm the empty house. The rhythmical whir of its effort hummed the elegy for the memories boxed in front of me. I closed the door, sat down on the step, and listened reverently. The feeling of loss transformed the bad memories into not-so-bad, the not-so-bad memories into good, and committed the good ones to my mind. Still, I felt as vacant as the house inside. 车库角落壁炉管道如一根根巨大的伸出的手指抓进了墙里。 它还不曾意识到自己已无力温暖 这空荡的屋子。它在努力发热,呜呜作响,是为我跟前箱子中记忆祭出的一曲挽歌。 V1 屋子(车库)角落壁炉管道如一根根巨大的伸出的手指抓进了墙里。它还不曾意识到自 己已无力温暖这空荡的屋子。它在努力发热, (很有节奏,褒义?)呜呜作响,是为我跟前 箱子中记忆祭出的一曲挽歌。 A workbench to my right stood disgustingly empty. Not so much as a nail had been left behind. I noticed, for the first time, what a dull, lifeless green it was. Lacking the disarray of tools that used to cover it, now it seemed as out of place as a bathtub in the kitchen. In fact, as I scanned the room, the only things that did seem to belong were the cobwebs in the corners. 右手边清空了的工作台很是难看。倒不是因为遗留在上面的一颗钉子。我第一次发觉,这凳

子绿得晦暗、毫无生气。没了散乱在上面的各式工具的遮盖,这台子在这里显得极不协调, 像是把鱼缸搬进了厨房。说实话,整个看下来,和这个屋子相配的也只有墙角那几张蛛网。

V1 右手边清空了的工作凳很是难看。倒不是因为遗留在上面的一颗钉子。我第一次发觉, 这凳子绿得灰暗、毫无生气。没了散乱在上面的各式工具,这台子在这里极不协调,像是把 鱼缸搬进了厨房。 说实话, 我扫视整个屋子, 发现和这个屋子相配的也只有墙角那几张蛛网。

A group of boxes had been set aside from the others and stacked in front of the workbench. Scrawled like graffiti on the walls of dilapidated buildings were the words “Salvation Army.” Those words caught my eyes as effectively as a flashing neon sign. They reeked of irony. “Salvation—was a bit too late for this family,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself. 工作台前码放着的一堆箱子,和别的分开着。 破败的屋子墙上涂鸦般的爬着“救世军”的 字样。这三个字如闪烁的霓虹灯牌确实吸引了我的目光,仿佛是讽刺一般。 “救世---救这个 家都为时已晚啊, ”我愤恨地喃喃自语。 V1 在工作台前面码放着的一堆箱子和别的分开?, 破败的屋子墙上涂鸦般的爬着 “救国军” 的字样。这几个字如闪烁霓虹标牌确实吸引了我的注意,不啻?讽刺。 “救国---对这个家庭 来说为时已晚, ”我不无嘲讽地喃喃自语。 The houseful of furniture that had once been so carefully chosen to complement and blend with the color schemes of the various rooms was indiscriminately crammed together against a single wall. The uncoordinated colors combined in turmoil and lashed out in the greyness of the room. 这满屋子的家具曾经件件经过精挑细选,以便和不同的房间色调互补融合、相得益彰。如今 它们却全都杂乱地挤靠在一面墙边。各种颜色不协调,凑在一起简直一团糟,简直就像是在 灰暗的房间里打群架。 这满屋子的家具曾经件件经过精挑细选,以便和不同的房间色调相得益彰, (互补融合) ,如 今它们却杂乱挤靠在一面墙边。各种颜色不协调,凑在一起简直一团糟,在灰暗的房间里打 群架? I suddenly became aware of the coldness of the garage, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house, so I made my way through the boxes to the couch. I cleared a space to lie down and curled up, covering myself with my jacket. I hoped my father would return soon with the truck so we could empty the garage and leave the cryptic silence of parting lives behind. 我突然感觉到车库里的寒意,但不想回到房子里去。所以我就在箱子中间落脚走到沙发边, 清了一点地方,然后蜷着身子躺了下来,用外套盖住身子。我希望父亲早点开着卡车回来, 我们好搬空车库,将分离的诡异死寂抛在身后。

(选自 Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin, 1983.)

自译如下: Limbo 片刻的迷失

By Rhonda Lucas 荣达· 卢卡斯

My parents’ divorce was final. The house had been sold and the day had come to move. Thirty years of the family’s life was now crammed into the garage. The two-by-fours that ran the length of the walls were the only uniformity among the clutter of boxes, furniture, and memories. All was frozen in limbo between the life just passed and the one to come. 我父母最终还是离了婚。房子已经卖了,搬家的日子也到了。30 年的家庭生活现在都塞在 车库里。除了唯一整齐的沿墙的木条,凌乱的是箱子、家具还有记忆。一切都冻结在往昔与 未来生活之间。 The sunlight pushing its way through the window splattered against a barricade of boxes. Like a fluorescent river, it streamed down the sides and flooded the cracks of the cold, cement floor. I stood in the doorway between the house and garage and wondered if the sunlight would ever again penetrate the memories packed inside those boxes. For an instant, the cardboard boxes appeared as tombstones, monuments to those memories. 阳光透过窗子,洒在一排箱子上,像一条发光的小溪,漫过冷冷水泥地面的一处处缝隙。站 在房子与车库之间小路上的我思忖着, 阳光是否会透进打包进这些箱子中的记忆。 有那么一 瞬,这些纸板箱已然幻变成了缅怀这些记忆的一块块墓碑。 The furnace in the corner, with its huge tubular fingers reaching out and disappearing into the wall, was unaware of the futility of trying to warm the empty house. The rhythmical whir of its effort hummed the elegy for the memories boxed in front of me. I closed the door, sat down on the step, and listened reverently. The feeling of loss transformed the bad memories into not-so-bad, the not-so-bad memories into good, and committed the good ones to my mind. Still, I felt as vacant as the house inside. 车库角落壁炉管道如一根根巨大的伸出的手指抓进了墙里。 它还不曾意识到自己已无力温暖 这空荡的屋子。它在努力发热,呜呜作响,是为我跟前箱子中记忆祭出的一曲挽歌。??? 我关了房门在台阶上坐下,虔心倾听着。迷失一度将痛苦的回忆柔化,再柔化,最后竟化为

美好浮现在我心间。可是,房子空空如也,我也依然倍感空虚。 A workbench to my right stood disgustingly empty. Not so much as a nail had been left behind. I noticed, for the first time, what a dull, lifeless green it was. Lacking the disarray of tools that used to cover it, now it seemed as out of place as a bathtub in the kitchen. In fact, as I scanned the room, the only things that did seem to belong were the cobwebs in the corners. 右手边清空了的工作台很是难看。倒不是因为遗留在上面的一颗钉子。我第一次发觉,这凳 子绿得晦暗、毫无生气。没了散乱在上面的各式工具的遮盖,这台子在这里显得极不协调, 像是把鱼缸搬进了厨房。说实话,整个看下来,和这个屋子相配的也只有墙角那几张蛛网。 A group of boxes had been set aside from the others and stacked in front of the workbench. Scrawled like graffiti on the walls of dilapidated buildings were the words “Salvation Army.” Those words caught my eyes as effectively as a flashing neon sign. They reeked of irony. “Salvation—was a bit too late for this family,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself. 工作台前码放着的一堆箱子,和别的分开着。 破败的屋子墙上涂鸦般的爬着“救世军”的字 样。这三个字如闪烁的霓虹灯牌确实吸引了我的目光,仿佛是讽刺一般。“救世---救这个家 都为时已晚啊,”我愤恨地喃喃自语。 The houseful of furniture that had once been so carefully chosen to complement and blend with the color schemes of the various rooms was indiscriminately crammed together against a single wall. The uncoordinated colors combined in turmoil and lashed out in the greyness of the room. 这满屋子的家具曾经件件经过精挑细选,以便和不同的房间色调互补融合、相得益彰。如今 它们却全都杂乱地挤靠在一面墙边。各种颜色不协调,凑在一起简直一团糟,简直就像是在 灰暗的房间里打群架。 I suddenly became aware of the coldness of the garage, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house, so I made my way through the boxes to the couch. I cleared a space to lie down and curled up, covering myself with my jacket. I hoped my father would return soon with the truck so we could empty the garage and leave the cryptic silence of parting lives behind. 我突然感觉到车库里的寒意,但不想回到房子里去。所以我就在箱子中间落脚走到沙发边, 清了一点地方,然后蜷着身子躺了下来,用外套盖住身子。我希望父亲早点开着卡车回来, 我们好搬空车库,将分离的诡异死寂抛在身后。

(选自 Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin, 1983.)


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