2007年11月24日 - we.i.nan的日志

The Night Bus

夜班车

By Kristen Roupenian

许增煌译

The night bus out of Kampala crosses the Kenyan border at 8:30 pm, an hour after dark. Awino, who is afraid to be outside after nightfall, arrives at the border station just before sunset. She buys a ticket to Nairobi, leaves her luggage behind the desk, and crosses the street to a small café. The Coca-cola is warm and the 1)French fries cool and 2)doughy, but she eats everything she’s ordered. Dusk has drawn in by the time she’s finished.

As soon as the first florescent lights buzz on, illuminating the fronts of shops and bars, the town is a different place, and one with which she’s unfamiliar. The women’s voices, sound wilder than they did just an hour before, as they shout to each other from store to store. The men are 3)rowdier. The children keep their thumbs firmly in their mouths, and many of them seem to be unattended, lost.

Or maybe that’s just her imagination.

She shivers. Today, like all the other days, was bright and hot, but not an hour after sundown she already feels a chill. Her sweater is packed away in her luggage, and the bus is due soon. Standing up, she pushes in her chair, and checks to make sure her money is in her pocket. Then she crosses back to the bus station, holding her breath as she passes through the small unlit spot at the center of the road.

Inside, the benches are crowded with waiting passengers, and the floor is a maze of suitcases. The man behind the desk takes a long time to find her bag. When he finally passes it back, she wonders why she always trusts the bus company to watch her luggage. Few of the other passengers do. Most of them stand guard over their belongings as though expecting someone to 4)sprint by any minute and try to snatch their things away.

As soon as she unzips her bag, she realizes her sweater is not in its usual place, but she spends an extra ten minutes 5)rooting through the bag before she is sure that it’s gone.

Outside, the twin headlights of the night bus approach the station. The passengers 6)scurry out to claim their seats, but to Awino, the bus looks as though it is 7)surfacing from some abandoned place where the darkness is total. People cluster around the bus, and as they cross in front of it to enter, they pass through the headlights, casting off shadows that flicker wildly in the road. Watching them, Awino thinks of moths: their fluttering motion, the way they are drawn and caught by any 8)indiscriminate light.

Minutes pass, and Awino remains in the station. At last, with a sound like a choked cough, the bus comes to life, and the noise breaks her 9)reverie. She 10)hoists her bag over her shoulder and 11)clambers onto the bus, avoiding the driver’s glance. In the seat next to hers, a woman is already asleep. Awino 12)pushes past her, gently. The woman doesn’t wake, and Awino looks out the window as the bus pulls away.

The night passes. A man who has been sipping from a 13)smudged glass bottle gets drunk. He shouts at the women nearby him, first 14)obscenities, then curses. The other passengers demand that he be 15)driven out of the bus. The man’s brother is with him, and is ready to fight. The driver refuses to take sides. Soon many people are shouting. In the midst of the argument, the 16)drunkard abruptly falls asleep. Within a minute, the whole bus is quiet again.

Awino watches the road. Away from the electricity, it is almost entirely dark. Except for some villages where people are sitting outside. Three or four women are 17)clustered together, sharing one open lamp. At first, it is hard for Awino to make out what they are doing, but then she sees—they are selling vegetables. The lamps cast mostly shadows but she glimpses red tomatoes, pale purple onions, green mangoes. Once, she catches sight of 18)a heap of small silver fish, glinting in the dim light.

When the bus reaches the highlands, the temperature 19)plummets. Cold wind 20)threads through the space between the panes of the window and strokes Awino’s forehead. She has been resting lightly, and now awakes, startled and shivering. Trying to hoard enough warmth to sleep, she curls herself into a tight ball, her feet beneath her, her hands hidden within her sleeves. Though she closes her eyes, and even imagines she’s dreaming, the cold prevails. After an hour, she is ready to give up, to spend the rest of the night peering out the window at the road flying by.

Just before she sits up, something soft and heavy settles on her shoulders. It is a man’s 21)dress coat, carefully placed by the passenger sitting behind her. At first, she tenses, fearing an unwelcome obligation. But before she can form the words to refuse, she is warm again, and falls asleep.

When Awino opens her eyes, the bus is parked in the station. Many of the passengers have 22)disembarked. Others are still dozing, their blankets pulled up over their faces. She turns to look at the man behind her. He is awake, sitting with his hands folded in his lap and looking out at the parking lot. As she hands him his coat, he nods politely, as though it were she who had done him the favor. Then he stands, shakes her hand, and leaves. He does not speak a word.

Awino sits for a while longer, thinking about yesterday, and the day to come. She wonders once more about the women selling vegetables and resolves to ask her mother about it when they see each other again. Without the coat, her hands are chilled, and she is starting to feel hungry. There is no reason to stay any longer. Gathering her things, she walks down the aisle and off of the bus. The shops will be open soon and she will buy a biscuit and a warm cup of tea. From the streets come the sounds of a city waking up. Morning is just beginning.

1) French fries 炸薯条，炸土豆片

2) doughy [5dEui] adj. 面团的

3) rowdy [5raudi] adj. 吵闹的，粗暴的

4) sprint [sprint] v. 疾跑

5) root [5ru:t] v. 翻地

6) scurry [5skQri] v. 急赶，急跑

7) surface [5sE:fis] v. 在隐藏后出现

8) indiscriminate [7indis5kriminit] adj. 不加选择的

9) reverie [5revEri] n. 幻想

10) hoist [hCist] v. 升起，吊起

11) clamber [5klAmbE] v. 爬上，攀登

12) push past 从（某人）身边挤过去

13) smudge [smQdV] v. 弄脏，染污

14) obscenity [Cb5si:niti] n. 淫秽，猥亵

15) drive out of 驱逐出

16) drunkard [5drQNkEd] n. 醉汉，酒鬼

17) cluster [5klQstE] v. 丛生，成群

18) a heap of [口] 一大堆，很多，大量

19) plummet [5plQmit] v. 垂直落下

20) thread through 通过

21) dress coat 燕尾服（一种男用晚礼服），礼服

22) disembark [5disim5bB:k] v. 下车

要等到傍晚八点半钟，从坎帕拉出发的夜班车才能驶过肯尼亚边境，那时离天黑已有一个时辰了。当艾沃娜到达边境车站时，已几近黄昏，她害怕天黑后在外面滞留。于是买了张去内罗毕的车票，接着把行李放到服务台后面，再横穿街道，走进一家小小的咖啡馆。可乐是温热的，炸薯条却又冷又软，但她还是把点的东西都吃尽。此时，暮色渐浓。

黄昏后的第一批日光灯相继亮起，照亮了商店及酒吧的店面，倾刻，城镇变成了一个迥然不同的地方，一个她不熟悉的地方。此时，在商店之间，女人们互相叫喊的声音听上去比一小时前更加肆意了。男人们粗暴地吵嚷。小孩们的嘴巴紧紧地吮吸拇指，多数像是无人照看，走失了。

抑或，这也许只是她的想象。

她颤抖了。今天的天气和以往一样，晴朗、炎热，但日落还不到一个小时她就感觉到些许寒意。可惜她的毛衣收进了行李箱里，而且班车很快就到站了。她起身把椅子推进桌子下，再看看口袋中的钱是否还在。然后穿过街道，走回车站。当她走到路中央那小片没被照亮的地方时，不禁屏住了呼吸。

候车室里，长凳上挤满了候车的人，地上杂乱地摆着行李箱。柜台的服务员许久才找出她的箱子。当那人把箱子推回给她时，她很奇怪自己为什么总是信得过巴士公司来看管她的行李箱。很少有乘客会这样做。他们多数都是亲自看守自己的东西，仿佛生怕随时有人跑过就攫走他们的东西。

她一拉开箱子，就发现毛衣不在原先的地方。她又多花十分钟时间把箱子翻了个底朝天，终于确定毛衣不翼而飞。

外面，夜班车两盏前灯的射光正向车站扫近。乘客们急冲出去抢位。但对于艾沃娜，这班车像是从某个荒芜、漆黑如墨的地方游弋而来。人们成群围着班车，当他们经过车头准备上车时，身子挡住了前灯，在路上投下了斑驳、摇曳的影子。看着影子，艾沃娜就想到飞蛾：它们鼓翼的姿势，以及被任何光所吸引、诱惑的情形。

几分钟过去了，艾沃娜还呆在车站里。终于，班车发动了引擎，听上去像是喉咙被哽住发出的咳嗽声。车子要出发了，噪音打断了她的遐想。她举起行李箱扛在肩上，吃力地登上车，眼睛避开了司机掠过的视线。紧靠她座位的是一个妇人，正在梦周公。艾沃娜轻轻地从她身边挤过去，那女人却并没有被惊醒。班车出发了，艾沃娜凝望着窗外。

夜色渐深。一个醉熏熏的男人手中抓着个脏兮兮的瓶子，不停地呷饮。他冲着旁边的女人大嚷，起初猥亵的话后来变成咒骂。其他乘客都要求说应该赶他下车。那男人有个兄弟跟着，那兄弟就准备跟众人吵架。司机哪边都不愿帮。很快就有许多人大喊起来。争到一半，醉汉突然就睡着了。过了不到一分钟，车厢又恢复了先前的安静。

艾沃娜注视着公路。没有电力供应，外面黑压压一片。只有一些村庄还有亮光，户外坐着些人。有三四个妇人扎堆，共享一盏明火灯。起初，艾沃娜还没看出她们在干什么，但很快她就反应过来——她们在卖菜。虽然灯光投下了太多的影子，但艾沃娜还是瞥见了红色的番茄，淡紫色的洋葱和青色的芒果。她还看到一堆小银鱼，在微弱的灯光下闪闪发亮。

汽车开到了丘陵地带，温度骤降。寒风穿过车窗玻璃的缝隙，吹袭着艾沃娜的前额。这时，一直都没有睡熟的她惊醒过来，冻得瑟瑟发抖。她把身子紧紧缩成一团，两脚蜷在下面，双手缩在袖中，好让身体暖和起来可以入眠。虽然她闭着眼，甚至想象自己正在做梦，但仍感觉到寒气逼人。这样过了一个小时，她几乎就要放弃了，想凝视着窗外飞速向后的公路度过剩余的夜晚。

她正要坐起来时，一个又软又重的东西压在了她的肩上。那是件男式礼服，是她后面一位乘客轻轻盖上去的。一开始，她感到紧张不安，害怕这讨厌的殷勤。但在她还没想好拒绝的话之前，身子已回了些暖意，很快便睡过去了。

当艾沃娜醒来时，汽车已停在车站。许多乘客都已下车。其他人把毛毯拉到脸上，还在打着磕睡。她转头看看后面的那个男子。他还没睡，坐在位子上双手夹在腿间，向外凝视着停车场。当艾沃娜把衣服递还给他时，他礼貌地点了点头，样子反倒像是艾沃娜帮了他一个大忙。接着他站起身，跟她握握手，下了车，话都未说一句。

艾沃娜多坐了一会儿，思索着昨天和即将到来的新一天。她再次对卖菜妇女的事感到好奇，决计跟母亲再见面时，向她请教这事。此时，没有那外套盖着，她的手冰冰冷，肚子还开始感到饥饿。其实也没有理由再呆在车上了。她收拾好行李，走下过道，下了车。很快，商店就会开始营业，她会买一杯热茶和一些小点心。街上传来了一个城市苏醒的声音。恰是一天早晨的开始。

Hepburn Forever

永远的赫本

By Sean Hepburn Ferrer

译黄力薇

文章难度: 3个辣椒

Hepburn, the Daughter

She told us how she felt 1)pangs of emptiness at the sight of other children in their fathers’ arms, how she wished he were there so she could be like the others. As a child, she couldn’t let go of that 2)profound and natural desire. This is also why, after her divorces to both my father and my brother Luca’s father, she did all she could to ensure that we continued to enjoy a complete relationship with both.

That was my mother’s world: feelings and emotions. Yet her feelings and emotions were never quite peaceful. Someone once wrote that feelings cause us to act, whereas emotions cause us to react. Well, she has feelings for all of us, yet she was never able to let go her emotions or find peace with herself. She was truly scared on some level. The abandonment of her father was a wound that never truly healed. She never really trusted that love would stay.

Hepburn, the Wife

Although too young to remember my parents together, I was told of romantic evenings, of candle light and soft music.

Anyway, no one is to blame. There is only sadness when two souls cannot merge. The 3)snarling 4)void left by her father’s absence bore an equal share of the responsibility in the failure of both her marriages.

My mother loved her husbands completely, and she hung on to the marriage for as long as she could. What she didn’t do was to speak up and be heard when she needed to, and she didn’t put up healthy boundaries. Exhausted by an authoritarian mother, she wished for a world where caring and love came freely, but she had chosen two men who had to learn to cope with their feelings on their own.

Hepburn, the Mother

I remember whenever she had to go to a dinner or a cocktail party, she would always say, “Oh, if only I could stay home and eat in the kitchen with you.”

I remember school days, 5)cramming for exams for which she probably 6)fretted more than I did. She would test me before bed and again in the morning, waking up with the sort of sleepy head only adults enjoy.

I remember her elation at good grades, her support and positiveness for the “not so good ones.”

I remember sleepovers on weekends, when we would chat with the lights out. We would talk about feelings and plans and people and things, but in that way that is specific to that darkness, like two souls suspended.

I close my eyes and remember, through the nose, her scent: powdery, 7)elegant, safe, strong, the scent of unconditional love. I look down and see her 8)delicate hands, their skin so thin I can faintly see their veins, her nails round, soft, and clear. They 9)caressed me, they walked me to school, and I held on to them when I was scared. Oh, how I miss them!

Hepburn’s Dream

My mother’s dream was always to be a 10)prima ballerina.

No matter how hard she had trained her most important and formative years had passed and could not be recaptured. The war had been tough on her, and poor nutrition had 11)impaired some of her muscular growth and development. Besides, she was too tall for any male dancer of the era. My mother simply couldn’t compete with the other dancers who had received proper training as well as proper 12)sustenance during the war years. The war had stolen her dream. She remembered going back to her room that day and “just wanting to die.” The dream that had kept her hope alive all those years had just 13)vanished.

Hepburn, the Actress

My mother’s acting career was a second choice, a 14)default choice. But the rules were the same as in ballet: hard wok, discipline and professionalism.

“Less is more” was at the core of my mother’s basic “look” philosophy.

Style is a word we often use, for a multitude of purposes. In the case of my mother it was the extension of an inner beauty 15)reinforced by a life of discipline, respect for the other, and hope in humanity. She didn’t go with the trends, didn’t reinvent herself every season. She loved fashion but kept it as a tool to 16)compliment her look.

When she appeared, her clothes didn’t scream out, “Look at me!” but, “This is me … no better than you.” And she truly believed in that. She didn’t see herself as anything special or unusual, which is why she worked so hard and was always pleasant and professional. Her style was only an extension of who she was, the person we all admired, because down deep we knew that what we saw was not just clever packaging but an honest and 100 percent genuine human being.

Hepburn and UNICEF

Although she was never an ardent follower of any formal religion, my mother’s own faith 17)endured throughout her life: her faith in love, her faith in the miracle of nature, and her faith in the goodness of life. She honoured this second chance at life at every opportunity that presented itself and most of all at the end of her life, through her work for UNICEF.

Sometimes a near-death experience can free us of the 18)shackles that life slowly trains us to wear. We come to realize what’s worth the sweat and what isn’t. Although she had no memory of her childhood near-death experience, the knowledge of it, coupled with the fertile ground of an already self-effacing nature, were the roots of the humility that graced her entire life.

After having helped to feed millions of children, there she was: unable to eat, herself. To allow time for her to heal, they had to put her on 19)TPN (total parenteral nutrition).

She had described to us the basic corn and rice flour meal that UNICEF provides the millions starving in those camps. We had also seen photos of the children in Africa who, on the verge of death, are put on an 20)IV drip because of severe 21)dehydration.

She was now one of them.

My mother had a secret.

I don’t think she would mind my saying it. We see things much more clearly…after. So here it is, the great secret.

She was sad.

Not that life treated her badly, and therefore she was sad. Life was tough but good. My mother was sad because of what she saw happening to the children of this world. She never forgot watching those Somali families as they waited calmly and quietly in line for a turn that many never got. How hurt had she been by the sight of children dying in their mother’s arms? How had she slept at night, knowing that what was being done was not enough, that what could be done was limited and couldn’t undo the relentless growing roots of injustice and war? I think we all made her a little bit sad. Yes, you did as well as I. Not because we were bad, but because we couldn’t help. If she hadn’t done the work for UNICEF at the end of her life, I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve now done some work for the children and I’m sad too. I think if you got the full picture, you would be sad too.

Don’t worry, you’ll smile as well. A smile is the perfection of laughter. And you may cry a little too. But crying is good for your eyes and for your soul. It beautifies.

女儿赫本

她告诉我们，当她看到其他孩子依偎在父亲臂弯里时，她是多么的失落，她多么希望她的父亲就在身边，那她就可以像其他孩子一样依偎在他的臂弯里。还是小孩的她无法摆脱那种深切而本能的渴望。所以，在她与我父亲和我弟弟卢卡的父亲离婚后，她还是尽其所能来确保我们和双亲的关系能继续保持完整。

这就是我母亲的世界：感情与情感。然而，这两者却从未平静过。有人曾写道：感情催生行动，而情感促使反应。母亲对我们都怀有感情，但她从来无法释放自己的情感或者说找到内心的平静。从某种程度上讲，她确实感到恐惧。她父亲遗弃她这件事是一个永远无法愈合的伤口。她从来不曾相信爱是永恒的。

妻子赫本

尽管我因为当时年幼而无法记清双亲共聚的时刻，我还是听说他俩曾度过烛光闪闪、乐声缭绕的浪漫夜晚。

不管怎样，他们都不应受到责备。因为当两个灵魂无法契合时，剩下的，就只有悲伤。而在母亲两次婚姻都以失败告终这件事上，其父亲这一角色的缺失所留下的空洞是有一定责任的。

母亲全心全意地爱着她的两个丈夫，而且尽力维持这两段婚姻，而她没有做到的就是在必要时刻讲出她心中所想，得到倾听以及建立适当的界限。母亲的专横使她身心疲惫，深深渴望有一个关爱来得自然的世界，但她却选择了两个还没学会独立处理感情的男人。

母亲赫本

我记得，每次她不得不去参加晚宴或者鸡尾酒会时，她总会说：“噢，我多希望可以呆在家，和你留在饭厅吃晚饭。”

我还记得上学时，为应付学校的考试而临急抱佛脚。可能那时侯母亲比我更焦虑。因为临睡前，她考我一次，第二天早上她混混沌沌醒来后，又考我一次。在那种刚醒来时头脑浑沌的状态下学习，我想，只有大人才会忍受得了。

还记得，她会为我取得好成绩而兴高采烈，也会在我成绩不太理想时给予支持和鼓励。

在周末我们会关了灯彻夜聊天，然后饱睡一顿。在那样特别的黑暗中，就像两个灵魂悬浮在空中，我们讨论感情、计划、人和事。

我闭上眼睛，仍能闻到她的气息：粉扑的香味，优雅、安全、坚强，以及一种无条件的爱的气息。我低下头，看见她那双精致的手。那是如此的纤瘦，我几乎能看见那手上的脉络。她的指甲圆润而柔软干净。这双手曾爱抚我，护送我上学。当我感到恐惧时，我曾紧握着它们。噢，我是多么怀念这双手啊!

赫本的梦想

我母亲的梦想一直是成为首席芭蕾舞女演员。

但不管她训练多么刻苦，最关键的塑型时期还是过去了，而且无法重来。战争让她受尽苦头。营养上的不足削弱了她肌肉的生长和发育。除此之外，在那个时代，对于任何一个男芭蕾舞演员来讲，她都长得太高了。而且，母亲完全无法与其他那些接受过正规训练并在战争年代能得到足够粮食补给的舞者竞争。战争粉碎了她的梦想。她记得那天回到房里时，她觉得自己“只想死”。那个多年来为她点燃希望之火的梦想破灭了。

演员赫本

当演员是母亲的第二个选择，一个不得已的选择。但她还是用对待芭蕾的态度来对待她的演艺事业：努力工作，自律而专业。

“少就是多”是我母亲基本的打扮哲学核心。

因为各种原因，我们经常使用风格这个词。在我母亲看来，风格就是内在美的外延，而内在美需要人们用一生的修养来加强，要尊重他人，且对人性充满希望。她不紧跟潮流，不在每个季度变换自己的造型。她热爱时尚，但只把它当作是一个恭维自己外表的工具而已。

当她出现在公众面前，她的衣着不会像是在尖叫“看看我！”，而像是在说“这就是我……其实并不比你好。”她深深地相信着这一点。她不认为自己特别或与众不同。因此，她努力工作着，而且总是投入并感到愉快。她的风格只是她个人的外延——一个我们都欣赏的人，因为我们深知我们所看到的赫本不是只有着精美外在包装的人，而是一个诚实的、百分百真实的人。

赫本与联合国儿童基金会的故事

尽管母亲从来不是任何正统宗教的虔诚信徒，但她个人的信仰贯穿她的一生: 她相信爱，相信大自然的神奇之处，相信生活的美好。无论任何时候，她都十分珍惜生活赋予的第二次机会，特别是在生命旅程接近尽头那段时间里，她通过自己在联合国儿童基金会的工作来实践自己的信仰。

有时侯，一次与死神擦肩而过的经历能使我们摆脱生活慢慢给我们加上的镣铐。我们能意识到什么才值得我们为之奋斗，而什么是不值得的。人性的本质——她对童年几近丧命的经历的了解（尽管她并不记得自己有过这样一段经历），以及植根于她心中的谦逊性格，使她毕生散发着高贵的气质。

在为数以百万计的儿童提供膳食帮助后，身患绝症的她自己却无法进食了。为了给予她时间康复，医护人员不得不对她进行了TPN全肠外营养治疗。

她向我们讲述了联合国儿童基金会给难民营里千千万万的饥民提供玉米粉和米粉餐的事。我们也看到过一些照片，上面是由于严重脱水而接受静脉输液的濒临死亡的非洲孩子。

而她现在也成为他们的一分子了。

母亲有个秘密

我认为母亲不会怪我这么说。在为联合国儿童基金会服务后，我们看事情变得更清晰了。所以现在，我要告诉大家她的秘密。

母亲那时很伤心。

不是因为生活亏待了她。生活虽然艰苦，但是很美好。她伤心是因为她目睹了发生在世上的孩子身上的事。她永远不会忘记索马里的人们安静地排队等待领取食物的机会，但很多人都等不到这个机会。看见孩子死在妈妈的臂弯里，她又是何等的伤心啊？当知道我们所做的仍然不够，能做到的又是如此的有限，更无法消除不公平和战争的不断滋长的根源，晚上她又怎能安睡？我认为，我们所有人都让她感到一点点的哀伤。没错，你和我都让她感到有点沮丧。不是因为我们是坏人，而是因为我们都帮不上忙。如果她没有在生命最后阶段为联合国儿童基金会工作，我不会如此的肯定。因为我现在也在为那些孩子工作，而我也感到悲伤。我想，如果你了解整个情况，你也会因此伤心。

别担心，你也会微笑的。除了欢笑，你也会微笑。你也可能会哭泣。但眼泪将洗净你的双眼和灵魂，让你美丽。