Night Drive 暗夜飞车

鲁本·丰塞卡　巫和雄

I arrived home with my briefcase bulging with papers， reports， studies， research， proposals， contracts. My wife， who was playing solitaire3 in bed， a glass of whiskey on the nightstand， said， without looking up from the cards， ‘You look tired.’ The usual house sounds： my daughter in her room practicing voice modulation4， quadraphonic music5 from my son’s room. ‘Why don’t you put down that suitcase？’ my wife asked. ‘Take off those clothes， have a nice glass of whiskey. You’ve got to learn to relax.’

I went to the library， the place in the house I enjoy being by myself， and as usual did nothing. I opened the research volume on the desk but didn’t see the letters and numbers. I was merely waiting.

‘You never stop working. I’ll bet your partners don’t work half as hard and they earn the same.’ My wife came into the room， a glass in her hand. ‘Can I tell her to serve dinner？’

The maid served the meal French style6. My children had grown up， my wife and I were fat. ‘It’s that wine you like，’ she said， clicking her tongue with pleasure. My son asked for money during the coffee course， my daughter asked for money during the liqueur7. My wife didn’t ask for anything; we have a joint checking account8.

‘Shall we go for a drive？’ I asked her. I knew she wouldn’t go—it was time for her soap opera.

‘I don’t see what you get out of going for a drive every night， but the car cost a fortune， it has to be used. I’m just less and less attracted to material things，’ she replied.

The children’s cars were blocking the garage door， preventing me from removing my car. I moved both cars and parked them in the street， removed my car and parked it in the street， put the other two cars back in the garage， and closed the door. All this maneuvering9 left me slightly irritated， but when I saw my car’s jutting bumpers10， the special chrome-plated double reinforcement11， I felt my heart race with euphoria12.

I turned the ignition key. It was a powerful motor that generated its strength silently beneath the aerodynamic hood. As always， I left without knowing where I would go. It had to be a deserted street， in this city with more people than flies. Not the Avenida Brasil13—too busy.

I came to a poorly lighted street， heavy with dark trees， the perfect spot. A man or a woman？ It made little difference， really， but no one with the right characteristics appeared. I began to get tense. It always happened that way， and I even liked it—the sense of relief was greater. Then I saw the woman. It could be her， even though a woman was less exciting because she was easier. She was walking quickly， carrying a package wrapped in cheap paper—something from a bakery or the market. She was wearing a skirt and blouse.

There were trees every twenty yards along the sidewalk， an interesting problem demanding a great deal of expertise. I turned off the headlights and accelerated. She only realized I was going for her when she heard the sound of the tires hitting the curb14. The motor would go from zero to sixty in eight seconds15. I could see that the woman’s broken body had come to rest， covered with blood， on top of the low wall in front of a house.

Back in the garage， I took a good look at the car. With pride I ran my hand lightly over the unmarked fenders16 and bumper. Few people in the world could match my skill driving such a car.

The family was watching television. ‘Do you feel better after your spin？’ my wife asked， lying on the sofa， staring fixedly at the TV screen.

‘I’m going to bed，’ I answered， ‘good night everybody. Tomorrow’s going to be a rough day at the office.’

我回到家，鼓鼓囊囊的手提箱里塞满了论文报告、研究资料和提案合同，等等。妻子正在床上玩着纸牌接龙，床头柜上还放着杯威士忌。她看着牌，头也没抬地说道：“你好像很累啊。”屋里的动静一如往常：女儿在房间里吊着嗓子，儿子房里也传出立体声音乐。“你怎么不把包放下？”妻子说道，“衣服脱了吧，来喝杯好酒，你得学着放松放松。”

走进书房，我像往常一样，什么也不做，享受着独处。我把研究卷册摊开在桌上，上面的字母和数字却一个也没看进去。我只是在等。

“你就知道工作。我敢说，你那些同事肯定连你一半的努力都没有，人家却挣得跟你一样多。”妻子走进房间，手上还拿着杯子，“我让她开饭啦？”

女仆准备的是法式晚餐。孩子们都长大了，我和妻子也发福了。“这是你喜欢的那种酒。”妻子满意地咂着嘴。喝咖啡的时候，儿子向我要零花钱，女儿则是在喝餐后酒时开的口。妻子什么都没要，因为我们俩有一个联名支票账户。

“要不要一起去兜风？”我问她。我知道她不会去的，这可是她看肥皂剧的时间。

“我真搞不懂，你天天晚上都出去兜风，有什么意思。不过买车也花了不少钱，是得多开开。对这些物质上的东西，我是越来越没兴趣了。”她回应道。

孩子们的车堵在车库门口，我的车没法动。我把那两辆车挪到路上，将自己的车开出来停好，再把那两辆车开回车库，关上了门。这一番折腾让我有点恼火，可看见车前那凸出的双层镀铬加固保险杠，我的情绪一下子又高涨了起来。

我转动钥匙点火，强劲的发动机在流线型引擎盖下沉稳地输出澎湃的动力。和往常一样，我开出去的时候还不知道要去哪儿。在这个人比苍蝇都多的城市里，我得去条偏僻的街道。巴西大道可不行——那儿太繁华了。

我来到一条光线昏暗的街道，路边都是黑压压的树——一个完美的地点。男人还是女人呢？其实没什么区别，但是还没有合适的人选出现。我开始紧张起来。我总是这样，现在甚至都喜欢上这种感觉了：越紧张就越能得到释放的快感。就在这时，我看见了那个女人。就她吧，虽然女人更容易对付，刺激感也会少一点。她行色匆匆，手上拎着不知是从面包店还是超市买的东西，用廉价的纸包着，身上穿着短裙和衬衫。

路边每隔20码就有棵树。这倒是个有趣的问题，得有足够的技巧才行。我关掉车头灯，开始加速。直到听见轮胎撞上路牙的声音，她才意识到我是冲着她去的。车子从0到60迈加速只用了8秒。我能看见那女人被撞烂的驱体沾满鲜血，委顿在一幢房子前的矮墙上。

回到车库，我细细打量着车子，自豪地用手轻抚那毫发无损的挡泥板和保险杠。要论开这种车的技术，世上没多少人能跟我相提并论。

家里人还在看电视。“兜过风感觉好点了吧？”妻子问道。她躺在沙发上，目不转睛地盯着电视屏幕。

“我睡觉去了。”我答道，“大家晚安。明天办公室还有得烦呢。”

（译者单位：南京航空航天大学）

1巴西小说家，剧作家。一生创作类型多样，包括短篇小说、长篇小说、电影剧本等，其中尤以短篇小说见长。其简洁有力的笔触、冷酷尖刻的语言，直指巴西社会最黑暗的一面。2003年获得葡语文学的最高荣誉卡蒙斯奖，同年在墨西哥获得胡安·鲁尔福文学奖。Night Drive是丰塞卡的一篇代表性短篇小说。原文为葡语，经克利福德·E.兰德斯（Clifford E. Landers）翻译成英文，收錄在他编著的《文学翻译指南》（Literary Translation—A Practical Guide， 2001）一书中。  2英语语言文学博士，副教授。中国译协专家会员、对外话语体系研究委员会委员、中国英汉语比较研究会会员、江苏省司法厅法规规章翻译特聘专家、天津外国语大学中央文献翻译研究基地兼职研究员。  3 solitaire纸牌接龙，一种单人纸牌游戏。  4 modulation转调，变音，此处指练嗓子。  5 quadraphonic music四声道音乐。

6 French style法国风格的（晚餐）。  7 liqueur利口酒，一种甜味酒精饮料，通常在饭后少量饮用。  8 joint checking account联名支票账户，可用支票从存款中支付款项。  9 maneuver机动，移动。  10 jutting bumpers凸出的保险杠。

11 chrome-plated double reinforcement双层镀铬进行加固。  12 euphoria特别愉快的情绪。  13 Avenida Brasil巴西大道，位于巴西圣保罗的一条街道。  14 curb路牙。

15 from zero to sixty in eight seconds汽车在8秒内从静止加速到时速60英里。  16 fender汽车挡泥板。