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專八翻譯專項(xiàng)訓(xùn)練篇一
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冬天一個(gè)冰寒的晚上。在寂寬的馬路旁邊，疏枝交橫的樹(shù)下，候著最后一輛搭客汽車的，只我一人。雖然不遠(yuǎn)的墻邊，也蹲有一團(tuán)黑影，但他卻是伸手討錢的。馬路兩旁，遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)近近都立著燈窗明燦的別墅，向暗藍(lán)的天空靜靜地微笑著。在馬路仁是冷冰冰的，還刮著一陣陣猛厲的風(fēng)。留在枝頭的一兩片枯葉，也不時(shí)發(fā)出破碎的哭聲。
那蹲著的黑影，接了我的一枚銅板，就高興地站起來(lái)向我搭話，一面抱怨著天氣：“真冷呀，再?zèng)]有比這里更冷了!……先生，你說(shuō)是不是?”
看見(jiàn)他并不是個(gè)討厭的老頭子，便也高興地說(shuō)道：“鄉(xiāng)下怕更要冷些吧?”
“不，不?！彼又人云饋?lái)，要吐出的話，塞在喉管里了。
我說(shuō)：“為什么?你看見(jiàn)一下霜，鄉(xiāng)下的房屋和田野，便在早上白了起來(lái)，街上卻一點(diǎn)也看不見(jiàn)?！?/p>
他捶了幾下胸口之后，興奮地接著說(shuō)道：“是的，是的……鄉(xiāng)下冷，你往人家門前的稻草堆上一鉆就暖了哪……這街上，哼，鬼地方!……還有那些山里呵，比鄉(xiāng)下更冷哩，咳，那才好哪!火燒一大堆，大大小小一家人，鬧熱呀!……”
接著他便說(shuō)到壯年之日，在南方那些山中冬夜走路的事情。一個(gè)人的漂泊生活，我是喜歡打聽(tīng)的，同時(shí)車又沒(méi)有馳來(lái).便慫思他說(shuō)了下去。他說(shuō)晚上在那些山里，只要你是一個(gè)正派的人，就可以朝燈火人家一直走去，迎著犬聲，敞開(kāi)樹(shù)陰下的柴門，大膽地闖進(jìn)。對(duì)著火堆周圍的人們，不管他男的女的，用
兩手向他們兩肩頭一分，就把你帶著風(fēng)寒露濕的身子，輕輕地放了進(jìn)去。燒山芋和熱茶的香味，便一下子撲人你的鼻子。抬頭看，四周閃著微笑的眼睛，歡迎著，毫沒(méi)有怪你唐突的神情。你剛開(kāi)口說(shuō)由哪兒來(lái)的時(shí)候，一杯很熱的濃茶，就遞在你的下巴邊上。老太婆盼咐她的.孫女，快把火撥大些，多添點(diǎn)子柴，說(shuō)是客人要烘吸他的身子;你暖和了，還不覺(jué)得疲倦的話，你可以摸摸小孩子的下巴，擰擰他們的臉蛋，做一點(diǎn)奇怪的樣子，給他們嬉笑。年輕的媽媽，一高興了，便會(huì)慫恿他的孩子把拿著要吃的燒山芋，分開(kāi)一半，放在你這位客人的手上。如果你要在他們家過(guò)夜，他們的招待，就更來(lái)得殷勤些。倘若歇一會(huì)，暖
暖身子，還要朝前趕路，一出柴門，還可聽(tīng)見(jiàn)一片歡送的聲音：“轉(zhuǎn)來(lái)時(shí)，請(qǐng)來(lái)玩呀!”老頭子講著講著，給冷風(fēng)一吹，便又咳嗽起來(lái)，我聽(tīng)得冷都忘記了，突然老頭子忘形地拉著我問(wèn)道：
“先生，這到底是什么原因哪?……這里的人家，火堆一定燒得多的，看窗子多么亮哪……他們?yōu)槭裁床粶?zhǔn)一個(gè)異鄉(xiāng)人進(jìn)去烤烤手哩?”
搭客汽車從遠(yuǎn)處轟轟地馳來(lái)了，我趕忙擺他的手，高聲說(shuō)道：
“因?yàn)樗麄兪俏拿鞯娜?，不像那些山里的……?/p>
再跳進(jìn)通明的汽車?yán)?，驀地離開(kāi)他了。但遠(yuǎn)的南國(guó)山中，小小的燈火人家里面，那些豐美的醉人的溫暖，卻留在我的冬夜的胸中了。
it was a cold winter night. the street was deserted. i stood alone under a tree with an entanglement of bare branches overhead, waiting for the last bus to arrive. a few paces off in the darkness there was a shadowy figure squatting against the wall, but tie turned out to be a tramp. the street was lined with fine houses, their illuminated windows beaming quietly towards the dark blue sky. it was icy cold with a gust of strong wired howling around. a couple of withered leaves, still clinging to the branches, rustled mournfully from time to tithe. the shadowy figure, taking a copper coin from me with thanks, straightened up to attempt a conversation with me.
"it's really cold here," he complained. "it couldn't be colder anywhere else ....what do you think, sir?"
seeing that he was not too nasty an old man, i readily responded: "it must he colder in the country, i'm afraid.”
"no, no," he disagreed and began to cough, his words stuck up in his throat.
"why?" i asked. "in the country when it frosts, you always find the roofs and the fields turning white in the morning, but you don't see that here on the streets.”
he patted his chest to ease off his coughing and went on excitedly: "true, true... it's cold in the country, but when you get into somebody's straw stack, you are warm again at once.... but this street, humm, what a terrible place! in the mountains, it's even colder, but when they have a fire in the house with the whole family sitting around it, wow, it's heaven!"
then he began to relate to me the adventures of his younger days-travelling alone in winter nights through the mountains in the south. as i was interested in stories about wanderers and since the bus had not arrived yet, i encouraged him to go on.
"when you end up in the mountains at night," he said, "and if you are a decent person, you can always turn to the place where there is a light flickering and a dog harking. you push open the bramble gate under the shade and walk in without hesitation. part the people, men or women, around the fire with your hands and you bring yourself -- a cold and wet man with dew-among them. immediately your nose is filled with the aroma of hot tea and roast sweet potatoes. when you look round you see friendly faces smiling at you; there is no hint of anything like blame for what elsewhere might be considered as brusqueness. scarcely have you begun to tell them where you come from when a cup of hot and strong tea is handed over to you. grandma will tell her granddaughter to feed the fire with more wood, saying that the guest needs more beat to warm up. when you are recovered from cold and fatigue, you tend to tease the baby, stroking his chin, giving a gentle pinch to his cheek or making a face to provoke him to gurgle. he delighted young mother will encourage her baby to share his sweet potato with you. the baby will then break it in two and thrust one half into your hand. if you intend to stay overnight, you will be entertained with all possible hospitality. if you've just dropped in to warm up and then go on your way, they will see you off at the gate, saying 'please do drop in on us again on your way back, ' "
in the middle of his babbling another gust of wind brushed by and the old man began to cough again. i was so intrigued by his story that i did not feel the cold any more. suddenly he grabbed my hand, forgetting that we were strangers, and asked:
"sir, could you tell me why the people here even do not allow a countryman in to warm his hands? they must've got bigger fires in their houses- look at their bright windows. . . "
the bus came rumbling up. withdrawing my hand from his, i answered at the top of my voice
"because they are more civilized than the mountain people. . . "
with that i jumped onto the brightly-lit bus which started moving on, leaving the old man behind. but the little houses with flickering oil lamps in the remote mountains and the intoxicating warmth and friendliness of their inhabitants left a deep impress on my memory.
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