UNIT7NotonMyBlock课文翻译大学英语二.doc

Unit 7 Not on My BlockPeople thought Ethel Armstead was crazy to stand up to the young men dealing drugs outside her house. But Ethel had had enough. Summoning up her courage, she went out to talk to the gang. This is the story of what happened.Ethel Armstead liked the gray row house right off. It had an extra bedroom and a big backyard where her grandkids could play. The marble stoop would be a perfect spot to sit on summer evenings.But when Armstead arrived home from work that first night after moving in, she found a bunch of tough-looking young men sitting on her front steps. “Excuse me,” she said, startled. “I live here.” The group of seven young men rose reluctantly, staring at her with cold, hard eyes. Once inside, Armstead locked the door and peered out the window. She was surprised to see that the men had already reseated themselves on her steps.In coming weeks, Armstead learned that her house, long vacant, was used by drug dealers, who hid their drugs under the front steps. As a steady stream of cars and foot traffic passed by, the dealers conducted business on the stoop. Addicts shot up in the path behind the house and urinated in the backyard.Armstead had no illusions about the men who occupied her front steps. Almost every night for the ten years she had lived in the tough Oliver neighborhood of East Baltimore, she lay in bed listening to the sound of gunshots as the drug wars raged. But this house, with dealers hanging out on her stoop, was the worst.Sometimes she called the police several times a day, begging them to disperse the dealers. But once the police car disappeared down the street, the dealers drifted back.As a 50-something mother of grown children, Armstead had not imagined fighting this battle. But it wasnt the first time shed risen to an unexpected challenge. Back in the mid-1990s, when her own daughter was addicted to drugs and her young grandchildren faced foster care, Armstead got custody of the three boys and one girl.One night in September 2000, about a month after she moved into her new house, Armstead prayed to God. “Im gonna talk to these guys tomorrow. Help me.”The next day, she confronted the leader of the group, a young man in jeans and a while T-shirt. Armsteads insides were turning over, but she knew she couldnt show her fear. “This is my space,” she said calmly and quietly, keeping her face a mask. “I shouldnt have to say Excuse me to get into my own house.”She told the young man that she didnt want him and his friends dealing drugs in front of her grandkids anymore. They were to stay off her property, off the vacant property next door, off the corner.The man was silent. Armsteads heartbeat rose into her throat. Then he nodded. The group left. But a few days later, they were back. Armstead repeated her request. She repeated it the next day. And the next.Then a funny thing happened. They began to listen. They moved down to the next block. When winter came, they cleared snow from her walk and checked in on her when she was ill. Before long, they took to calling her “Mom”.Her grandkids could play ball in the street now. Sometimes the young men played with them. And if one of the kids were talking back, someone would say, “Dont you talk like that. Thats your grandma!”Armstead kept “fussin,” warning of the dangers of fast money. “Youre gonna get yourselves killed!” She told them. “Do something positive!”People told her she was crazy to talk to those thugs that way. Especially after another mom who had taken a stand was killed just five blocks away. Angela Dawson had waged her own battle against a different set of drug pushers and lost. In a tragedy that made the national news, the Dawson house was set on fire and Angela, her husband, Carnell, and five of their children died. A neighborhood man was charged. Armstead didnt know Angela Dawson, but she knew her children. After the deadly fire, she was more cautious but she didnt stop.And she didnt just talk. She has been a driving force in the community organization BUILD (Baltimore United in Leadership Development). Together they drove drug dealers off a vacant lot and built a playground. They established an extended-day program at school to keep kids off the streets. They promp Not long ago, Armstead ran into one of the men who used to hang out on her steps. “Hey, Mom!” he exploded, giving her a hug. He got a job, he told her, adding, “I want to thank you for all your fussin.”Armstead is modest about the impact shes had. She says simply, “It makes me feel good to know my message got through to at least one young man.” 人们认为埃塞尔阿姆斯特德准是疯了，竟然敢去面对那些在她房子外面贩卖毒品的年轻人。但埃塞尔已忍无可忍。她鼓足勇气，走出去跟那帮人谈话。下面就是所发生的故事。离开我这个街区琳恩罗塞利尼埃塞尔阿姆斯特德一下子就喜欢上了那栋灰色的联房。房子里多出了一间卧室，还有一个很大的后院，可以让她的小外孙和外孙女在那儿玩耍。那个大理石的门廊将是夏天夜晚坐着乘凉的理想场所。但搬进来后的第一个晚上，当阿姆斯特德下班回到家时，她却发现有一帮样子很凶的人坐在她家门前的台阶上。她大吃一惊，说道：“请原谅，我住在这儿。”那一帮七个年轻人不情愿地站了起来，用冷酷无情的目光盯着她看。一走进去，阿姆斯特德就锁上门，从窗口往外看。她吃惊地发现那几个年轻人已经又坐在了她家的台阶上。在以后的几个星期里，阿姆斯特德了解到她那栋房子过去长期空关时，曾被一些毒品贩子用来在前面台阶下面藏过毒品。当川流不息的车辆和行人经过时，毒品贩子就在门廊上做生意。吸毒成瘾的人就在房子后面的小路上注射毒品，并在后院里随地撒尿。阿姆斯特德对占用她家前门的那些人不抱任何幻想。在东巴尔的摩那个充满犯罪与暴力的奥利弗地区居住的十年间，几乎每个晚上，她躺在床上都能听到毒品战激烈进行时的枪击声。但是，（在）这栋房子，有毒品贩子经常出没于她的门廊却是最糟糕的。有时候她一天要报警好几次，恳请警察把这些毒品贩子驱散。但警车一旦在街角消失，那些毒品贩子们又会陆陆续续地回来。作为一个50多岁、子女已经长大成人的母亲，阿姆斯特德从未想像过要进行这场战斗。但这并不是她第一次奋起应付突如其来的挑战了。在20世纪90年代中期，当她自己的女儿染上毒瘾，她的小外孙和外孙女需要人领养时，阿姆斯特德就把那三个男孩和一个女孩领来照管了。2000年9月的一个夜晚，在她迁入新居后大约一个月的时候，阿姆斯特德向上帝祈祷：“明天我要跟那些家伙谈一谈。请帮助我。”第二天，她直接找到那帮人的头，一个身穿牛仔裤、白色T恤衫的年轻人。阿姆斯特德的五脏六腑在翻滚，但她知道她绝不能露出恐惧的样子。“这里是我的地方，”她平静而温和地说，脸上一直挂着装出来的微笑。“我本不需要在进自己家时还要说一声请原谅。”她对那个年轻人说，她不希望他和他的朋友们再当着她小外孙和外孙女的面贩卖毒品。他们必须离开她的住宅，离开隔壁空关的住宅，离开那个街角。那人一声不响。阿姆斯特德的心已跳到喉咙口。随后那人点了点头。那伙人离开了。但过了几天，他们又回来了。阿姆斯特德把她的要求重说了一遍。第二天、第三天又重说了一遍。随后，一件有趣的事情发生了。那伙人开始听话了。他们转移到了下一个街区。冬天来了，他们把她房前路上的积雪扫干净，她生病的时候