The Father父亲

赫伯特·欧内斯特·贝茨　朱建迅/译

He was a piano-tuner. Snow was falling as he went from house to house， his little blue hands tucked up his sleeves. Already during that morning he had tuned three instruments in rooms where no fires burned and now through bleak streets was making his way to another， walking solemnly， staring with screwed-up eyes at the passing hats， letting the snow cover his fat face as it would.

他是一名钢琴调音师。漫天飘雪的时候，他走进一户户人家，两只青色的小手缩在衣袖里。这天上午，他已经在没生火的房间里调试了三架钢琴，眼下正经过几条阴冷的街道，走向另一户人家。他步履沉重，眯眼紧盯着过往行人的一顶顶帽子，任由雪花覆满他那张胖脸。

Sometimes， hating the snow， the wet soles of his feet， the cold rooms and the icy keys of the pianos， he wished for night to come. Sometimes something like a lump of frozen stone seemed to lie oppressively across his chest. Now and then drops of moisture shivered in his eyes and on the end of his nose， falling on his moustache and the frayed edges of his black bow.

有时，他讨厌雪，讨厌潮湿的脚底、寒冷的屋子、冰凉的琴键，巴不得夜晚早点来临。有时，他的胸口好像沉重地压着什么东西，如同一块冰冷的石头。几颗水珠时不时在他眼里和鼻尖上颤动，滚落在他的胡髭和蝶形黑领结磨损的边缘上。

The knocker of the next house he lifted slowly， as if worn out. It too fell like a stone. In the room where he was admitted there was， as he had expected， no fire and he remembered that for a long time now he had no money from the people who lived there.

他慢慢拎起下一户人家的门环，仿佛累坏了似的，门环也像石头一般重重地坠下。他被主人让进的这间屋子，如其所料，也没有生火。他想起自己很久没挣到这一带住户的钱了。

‘Ah！ Well！ he thought simply. ‘Thatll have to be looked into， and sighed.

“啊！没错！”他简单地想道，“这可得探究一番哇。”接着叹了口气。

Sitting down he opened the instrument， and shivering as he touched the keys， began his work.

他坐下来打开琴盖，手指触摸琴键的瞬间，浑身打了个寒战，随即开始工作。

‘Da！—da！—da！—da！—da！—da！—dadaaaa！ he tested mournfully.

“哒！——哒！——哒！ ——哒！——哒！——哒！——哒哒——！”他弹出凄惨的测试音。

Suddenly he paused， and then tremblingly from his pocket produced a newspaper of that morning， spread it out on the keys and read slowly and methodically， his lips moving a little：

他蓦然止住，然后哆哆嗦嗦地从衣袋里掏出一份当天的晨报，平摊在琴键上，一字字缓慢地读起来，嘴唇翕动着：

‘An inquest was yesterday held on Selina Bridges， twenty-seven， professional singer， whose body was taken in a decomposed2 condition from the Thames near Waterloo Bridge， on Tuesday afternoon. Medical evidence was given to show that there were signs of alcohol. Suicide while of unsound mind.

“昨天對二十七岁的职业歌手塞利娜·布里奇斯进行了验尸，她的尸体于周二下午从滑铁卢桥附近的泰晤士河里打捞上岸，时已腐败。医学证据显示死者有醉酒的迹象。系神志不清时自杀身亡。”

The notice became blurred and as if the printing were to blame he brushed his hand once or twice across the page， but misjudging the distance， striking a discord on the piano instead. He tried to smile， but suddenly tears began to run over his face. His fat shoulders danced sadly in their grief. Gradually， softly， the snow on his hair began to melt in pure blobs on his temples and on his legs and boots changed to streams that curled under the piano like dark snakes.

这则告示变得模模糊糊，仿佛都怪印刷质量，他一只手朝着纸页扫了一两下，但距离估计得不准，反而在钢琴上敲出一个不和谐音。他想笑，可泪水倏地涌出，顺着面颊簌簌流淌。他肥厚的肩膀悲痛不已地抽动着。他头发上凝结的冻雪开始一点点地慢慢融化，双鬓变得湿淋淋的。他的双腿和靴子上的积雪形成两股小溪，在钢琴下蜿蜒流淌，犹如两条黑蛇。

In his misery he noticed nothing. At last the woman of the house put in her head and asked：

陷入哀伤的他什么也没察觉。终于，这家女主人探头进门，问道：

‘Whats the matter， Mr. Bridges？ I dont hear you tunin！

“怎么啦，布里奇斯先生？没听见你在调琴嘛！”

‘Im only cold. Its all right， he whispered. He brought a pair of blue hands together in a feeble， demonstrative smack.

“我就是冷。没事的。”他口里嗫嚅道。他合拢两只发青的手，发出微弱而感情流露的一下拍击声。

‘Youve no business3 out， this woman told him.

“你不该出来的。”这个女人对他说。

‘Thats all right！ Thats all right， he croaked. ‘Thats all—

“没关系！没关系。”他嗓音低沉而沙哑地说，“没关——”

He began to cough， his eyes swelled and became an ugly grey. Suddenly he trembled and wept again.

他咳起来，眼泡肿胀，变成一种难看的灰色。他忽然又打了个哆嗦，哭泣起来。

‘You ought to have something， the woman suggested.

“你得喝点什么。”女人提议道。

While she had gone out his fit of coughing ceased and he fell into a morose4 state of reflection， shuddering at the thought of the freezing winds， bringing the snow.

她出去之后，他这阵呛咳止息了，陷入一种回首往事不胜悲戚的状态，想到外面呼啸的寒风裹挟着雪花，不禁浑身战栗。

‘You dont look well， said the woman on returning. ‘Not half you dont. Youve no business out. Ive brought a glass of wine.

“你看上去不太好。”回到屋里的女人说。“非常不好。你不该出来的。我拿来了一杯葡萄酒。”

He drank some wine.

他喝了些酒。

‘Id be well enough， he replied. ‘I used to be strong. I never had an illness. But its my daughter， Selina， whos a singer. Thats whats the matter.

“我马上就会好的。”他答道，“我以前挺结实的，从没生过病。都是因为我女儿，塞利娜，她是一个歌手。就是这么回事。”

He pointed out the notice. As the woman read it he drank more wine and whimpered5 quietly. Hearing him， the woman in consolation sniffed and then whimpered too. They wept together. By and by there seemed to come over the woman， the cold piano， and the cheerless room a change and in the place of the great stone across his chest came something soothing and warm. He felt suddenly that he must pour out a long stream of confidences and woes into her soft， kind face.

他指著那则告示。女人读告示之际，他又喝了两口酒，开始悄声抽泣。女人听到他的声音，出于安慰擤了擤鼻子，稍后也抽泣起来。两人一起流泪。渐渐地，眼前的女人、冰冷的钢琴、阴暗的房间，似乎都发生了一种变化，他的胸口不再压着那块巨石，而是泛起某种带有暖意和慰藉的东西。他忽然觉得，他必须将自己的所有秘密与痛苦，当着她温柔和善的脸，一股脑儿地统统倾泻出来。

‘Shes my only child， he whimpered. ‘When she was young I used to say shed be a singer. A prima donna6， I fancied. Its nice now to think that I was right. I taught her to read and play—and then after all that—

“她是我唯一的孩子。”他抽抽搭搭地说，“她很小的时候，我常说她将来会成为一名歌手，音乐剧的首席女歌手，我这么认为。现在一想到我这话说对了，感到挺欣慰。我教她读书和游戏——而在那之后——”

‘Yes？

“唔？”

‘After all that she went away， he told her and then was silent.

“在那之后她走了。”说完这话，他沉默了。

Because of the pain of all this he did not speak again but sat rubbing his blue hands together， thinking of his daughter， of the poverty of her death， and lastly of what every one knew—that once， years ago， he had quarrelled with her and had not seen her since. On his shaky fingers a tear fell and， looking like a bluish pearl， would not roll off. The woman， observing this， left him and fetched a second glass of wine.

由于這一切引起的痛苦，他没再吭声，而是依然坐着，搓揉发青的双手，想起他的女儿，想起她死时贫困潦倒，最后又想起人所共知的事实——几年前，他曾经跟她吵过一架，之后再没见过她。一滴泪水落在他不住哆嗦的手指上，宛若一粒淡蓝色的珍珠，颤颤悠悠地拒绝滑落。女人见状赶紧走开，去取第二杯葡萄酒。

As he drank it a soft sensation went through his flesh. He suddenly found it an unimaginable pleasure to do nothing but murmur to the woman between his tears， miserable with a warm， comforting misery， softer and easier to bear than the deadly thoughts which had moved leadenly across his brain in the snow.

他喝着葡萄酒，浑身泛起一阵舒爽的感觉。他蓦然发觉这是一种难以想象的快乐：什么也不做，只管噙着泪水对女人絮叨，胸中怀着苦闷，一种带有几许暖意和慰藉的苦闷，比雪地上沉重地自他脑中冒出的恐怖念头更加柔和，易于忍受。

He murmured： ‘My only child. I remember I taught her to play. I always said shed be a singer. I always said so.

他悄声说道：“我唯一的孩子。我记得当年怎样教她演奏。我总是说她会成为一名歌手。我总是这么说。”

Now， though he was aware of the poverty and misery of her death， it seemed easy to think of her as successful， artistic and clever， even that she had never despised and left him. In a little while growing warmer and less conscience-stricken， he turned again to work on the piano， permitting himself occasionally the thin luxury of a scale or two， forgetting the snow， the endless list of houses before him， and seeing the death of his daughter as if screened from it by a pleasant rosy cloud. At last he got up， called thanks to the woman of the house and， tucking his hands into his sleeves， stepped into the snow again.

此时，尽管他意识到她死得潦倒凄凉，却似乎很容易想到她的成功、聪明、富有艺术天赋，甚至认为她从未鄙视他、离开他。在短暂的时间后他觉得渐渐温暖、不太受到良心的谴责，他继续调试钢琴，偶尔允许自己略微享受弹奏一两个音阶的乐趣，忘了大雪，忘了前面没完没了要去的一座座房子，看待他女儿之死，也仿佛隔着一团怡人的玫瑰色烟云。终于，他站起身，对女主人响亮地说了声谢谢，两手缩进袖口，复又走入风雪中。

Then gradually as the dreamy sensation of the wine wore off he began to shiver again. The heavy stone dropped back across his chest and bent his ribs inward in great， painful arcs. There were no longer hallucinations7 and comfortable miseries as in the house. Each piano he tuned grew colder. Between his visits the snow was venomous8 and froze him into an aching heap.

接著，葡萄酒引起的幻觉缓缓消失，他又打起了哆嗦。沉重的石块复又落在他的胸口，仿佛压得肋骨严重朝里弯曲，疼得厉害。不像在女人家里时那样，有幻觉和安适的苦难，他调试的钢琴一架比一架冰冷。在他走向一户户人家的途中，凶恶的风雪冻得他浑身疼痛，蜷作一团。

He turned in， ordered whisky， and drinking it very quickly went on. Now at the houses the people seemed to know of his grief and pitied him.

他拐进酒馆，点了杯威士忌，匆匆喝完后又继续前行。现在他上门的几户人家似乎知晓了他的不幸，对他表示同情。

‘Yes， its my daughter， he would tell them， ‘Selina. She went away to be a singer in London. Its a long time ago. I remember I used to say shed be a prima donna. Its nice to think that. Yes， it helps.

“对，是我的女儿，”他告诉他们说，“塞利娜。她离家去伦敦当歌手。那是很久以前了。记得我以前说过她会成为一名音乐剧的首席歌手。想到这儿心里好受了。是的，多少好受一些。”

And they would shake commiserating9 heads， give him tender ‘Goodmornings and thanks， yet all the time think： ‘Thats all right. But hes been drinking again. And they say he used to beat Selina before she left him.

他们怜悯地摇摇头，温柔地对他说“早安”，向他道谢，心里始终暗想：“那好吧。可他又开始喝酒了。况且他们说他从前总打塞利娜，后来她才离开了他。”

The snow shot down its white bullets faster than ever. His face began to look no more than a wrinkled blue pea tucked between his hat and shoulders. His feet seemed to die， frozen， beneath him. The desire to drink again was strong.

白色弹丸似的雪粒越发急骤地倾泻而下。他的脸看上去只是一枚塞在帽子和肩膀之间的皱瘪的蓝色豌豆。他的双腿仿佛失去了活力，在他身下冻得僵硬。再饮一杯的愿望很是迫切。

In the warm bar he became enveloped in reminiscence and there seemed to come back the soothing air that had shrouded the woman who had been generous with wine. From the bright face of the barmaid seemed to shine kindness. His thoughts were glowing， immense in reach. He felt that he must confide in her too.

在温暖的酒吧里，他沉浸在回忆中，笼罩着那个慷慨施酒的女人的安恬气氛似乎又回来了。女招待神采奕奕的脸上，仿佛闪耀着善良的光辉。他的思绪在闪着光，映照着很远的地方。他觉得也该向她倾吐自己的心事。

‘My daughter Slina. You knew my daughter Slina？ he muttered.

“我女儿叫瑟利娜。你知道我的女儿瑟利娜吗？”他咕哝道。

She looked sharply up. ‘Selina？

她猛然抬起头。“塞利娜？”

‘She used—used to sing. Shes a singer.

“她曾经——曾经唱过歌。她是歌手。”

‘Yes， I know. Whats the matter？

“对呀，我知道。怎么啦？”

He muttered two words in a low voice， then closed his eyes. The barmaid stretched out her warm， soft hands and put them on his. ‘So its true？ she whispered. ‘Id heard something.

他轻声吐出两个词儿，旋即闭上双眼。女招待伸出一双温软的手，搁在他的两只手上。她低声说：“这么说是真的啰？我听说了一些事。”

‘Yes， its true.

“是的，是真的。”

The girls hand crept upwards and touched his bowed head. ‘Dont carry on， she said. The sound of her voice， the softness of her hands， the warm smell of the room comforted him. It seemed to him suddenly that Selina was no more than a child in a pink cotton dress， standing on his chest and pulling his hair. And his heart was heavy.

姑娘的一只手缓缓上移，触碰他垂下的脑袋。“别再想这些了。”她说。她说话的嗓音、双手的柔软、屋里温暖的味道给了他安慰。顷刻间，他依稀觉得塞利娜还是个身穿粉红色布裙的小姑娘，站在他的胸脯上揪着他的头发。他的心头沉甸甸的。

‘I used to say how beautifully shed sing， he said.

“我以前常说她会唱得多好。”他说。

Tears ran down his cheeks in a soft， unchecked flow. The heavy misery of his heart made him say： ‘I did everything. I made her what she was.

泪水顺着他的面颊缓缓地、止不住地流淌。他心头郁结的凄苦迫使他说：“我什么都做了。是我造就她的。”

And though she too knew that he had ill-treated her， quarrelled and parted with her and had not seen her since， and that in misery she had drowned herself at last， the girl went on softly stroking his hair， comforting him. And sometimes， as if in response， tears fell on her hands， sighs would shake his breast， and she would hear him murmur softly， half to himself：

尽管知道他曾经虐待自己的女儿，跟她吵架，与她决裂，之后再没见过她，她最后在绝望中投水自杀，女招待还是继续温柔地抚摸他的头发，安慰他。有时，仿佛作出回应似的，泪珠滴落在她手上，他的胸脯随着一声声叹息抖动，她听见他自语似的悄声咕哝道：

‘I used to say how beautifully shed sing. I had faith in her. I made her what she was.

“我以前常说她会唱得多好。我对她有信心。是我造就她的。”

She listened with sadness. Outside the snow kept on falling in soft white flakes， sadly too.

她忧伤地听着。屋外，轻盈洁白的雪花持续从天而降，同样带着忧伤。

1赫伯特·欧内斯特·贝茨（1905—1974），英国著名作家，主要以短篇小说的成就驰誉文坛。他擅长用散文诗的笔触描绘景色和抒写胸怀，文笔生动、真切、传神，自然景物与人物心理的描写熨贴入微，富有诗的意蕴和韵律。本文选自《日暮及其他故事集》（Days End and Other Stories）。

2 decomposed腐败的。

3 have no business无权，没有理由。  4 morose阴郁的，情绪低落的。

5 whimper抽搭，抽泣。  6 prima donna（歌劇中的）女主角演员。

7 hallucination幻觉。  8 venomous恶毒的，剧烈的。  9 commiserating同情的。