TheFly及其译文知识分享

1、Th e Fl y 及 其 译 文精品资料The Flyby Katherine Mansfield'You are very snug in here,' piped old Mr Woodifield, and he peered out of the great, gree n leather armchair by his friend the boss's desk as a baby peers out of its pram. His talk was over; it was time for him to be off. But he did not

2、want to go. Since he had retired, since his. stroke, the wife and the girls kept him boxed up in the house every day of the week except Tuesday. On Tuesday he was dressed and brushed and allowed to cut back to the City for the day. Though what he did there the wife and girls could n't imag ine.

3、Made a nu isa nce of himself to his frien ds, they supposed. Well, perhaps so. All the same, we cli ng to our last pleasures as the tree clings to its last leaves. So there sat old Woodifield, smoking a cigar and staring almost greedily at the boss, who rolled in his once chair, stout, rosy, five ye

4、ars older than he, and still going strong, still at the helm. It did one good to see him.Wistfully, admiri ngly, the old voice added, 'It's snug in here-up on my word!''Y es, it's comfortable eno ugh,' agreed the boss, and he n ipped the Finan cial Times with a paper-knife. A

5、s a matter of fact he was proud of his room; he liked to have it admired, especially by old Woodifield. It gave him a feeli ng of deep, solid satisfacti on to be pla nted there in the midst of it in full view of that frail old figure in the muffler.'I've had it done up lately,' he expla

6、in ed, as he had expla ined for the past-how many?-weeks. 'New carpet,' and he poin ted to the bright red carpet with a pattern of large white rin gs. 'New furniture,' and he no dded towards the massive bookcase and the table with legs like twisted treacle. 'Electric heating!'

7、; He waved almost exultantly towards the five tran spare nt, pearly sausages glow ing so softly in the tilted copper pan. But he did not draw old Woodifield's atte nti on to the photograph over the table of a grave-look ing boy in uniform sta nding in one of those spectral photographers' par

8、ks with photographers' storm-clouds behi nd him. It was not n ew. It had bee n there for over six years.'There was somethi ng I wan ted to tell you,' said old Woodifield, and his eyes grew dim remembering. 'Now what was it? I had it in my mind when I started out this morning.' Hi

9、s hands began to tremble, and patches of red showed above his beard.Poor old chap, he's on his last pins, thought the boss. And, feeli ng kin dly, he win ked at the old man, and said jok in gly, 'I tell you what. I've got a little drop of something here that will do you good before you g

10、o out into the cold aga in. It's beautiful stuff. It would n't hurt a child.' He took a key off his watch-cha in, uni ocked a cupboard below his desk, and drew forth a dark, squat bottle. 'That's the medicine,' said he. 'And the man from whom I got it told me on the stric

11、t Q.T. it came from the cellars at Win dsor Cassel.'Old Woodifield's mouth fell ope n at the sight. He could n't have looked more surprised if the boss had produced a rabbit.'It's whisky, ain't it?' he piped, feebly.The boss turned the bottle and lovingly showed him the l

12、abel. Whisky it was.'Do you know,' said he, peering up at the boss wonderingly, 'they won't let me touch it at home.' And he looked as though he was going to cry.'Ah, that's where we know a bit more than the ladies,' cried the boss, swooping across for two tumblers th

13、at stood on the table with the waterbottle, and pouri ng a gen erous fin ger into each. 'Dri nk it dow n. It'll do you good. And don't put any water with it. It's sacrilege to tamper with stuff like this. Ah!' He tossed off his, pulled out his han dkerchief, hastily wiped his mou

14、staches, and cocked an eye at old Woodifield, who was rolli ng his in his chaps.The old man swallowed, was sile nt a mome nt, and the n said fain tly, 'It's nutt y!'But it warmed him; it crept into his chill old brain-he remembered. 'That was it,' he said, heav ing himself out of

15、 his chair. 'I thought you'd like to know. The girls were in Belgium last week having a look at poor Reggie's grave, and they happe ned to come across your boy's. They're quite n ear each other, it seems.'Old Woodifield paused, but the boss made no reply. Only a quiver in his

16、 eyelids showed that he heard.'The girls were delighted with the way the place is kept,' piped the old voice. 'Beautifully looked after. Could n't be better if they were at home. You've not bee n across, have yer?''No, no!' For various reas ons the boss had not bee n

17、across.'There's miles of it,' quavered old Woodifield, 'and it's all as n eat as a garde n. Flowers grow ing on all the graves. Nice broad paths.' It was pla in from his voice how much he liked a nice broad path.The pause came aga in. Then the old man brighte ned won derfully

18、.'Do you know what the hotel made the girls pay for a pot of jam?' he piped. 'Ten francs! Robbery, I call it. It was a little pot, so Gertrude says, no bigger tha n a half-crow n. And she had n't take n more tha n a spo onful whe n they charged her ten fran cs. Gertrude brought the p

19、ot away with her to teach 'em a less on. Quite right, too; it's tradi ng on our feeli ngs. They think because we're over there hav ing a look round we're ready to pay anything. That's what it is.' And he turned towards the door.'Quite right, quite right!' cried the bo

20、ss, though what was quite right he had n't the least idea. He came round by his desk, followed the shuffli ng footsteps to the door, and saw the old fellow out. Woodifield was gone.For a long moment the boss stayed, staring at nothing, while the greyhaired office messe nger, watchi ng him, dodge

21、d in and out of his cubby hole like a dog that expects to be take n for a run. Then: 'I 'll see n obody for half an hour, Macey,' said the boss. 'Understand? Nobody at all.'Very good, sir.'The door shut, the firm heavy steps recrossed the bright carpet, the fat body plumped d

22、ow n in the spri ng chair, and lea ning forward, the boss covered his face with his han ds. He wan ted, he inten ded, he had arran ged to weep.It had been a terrible shock to him when old Woodifield sprang that remark upon him about the boy's grave. It was exactly as though the earth had opened

23、and he had seen the boy lying there with Woodifield's girls staring down at him. For it was strange. Although over six years had passed away, the boss n ever thought of the boy except as lying un cha nged, un blemished in his uniform, asleep for ever. 'My son!' groa ned the boss. But no

24、tears came yet. In the past, in the first mon ths and eve n years after the boy's death, he had only to say those words to be overcome by such grief that nothing short of a violent fit of weeping could relieve him. Time, he had declared the n, he had told everybody, could make no differe nee. Ot

25、her men perhaps might recover, might live their loss down, but not he. How was it possible? His boy was an only son. Ever since his birth the boss had worked at buildi ng up this bus in ess for him; it had no other meaning if it was not for the boy. Life itself had come to have no other mea ning. Ho

26、w on earth could he have slaved, 仅供学习与交流，如有侵权请联系网站删除 谢谢5精品资料denied himself, kept going all those years without the promise for ever before him of the boy's stepp ing into his shoes and carry ing on where he left off?And that promise had bee n so n ear being fulfilled. The boy had bee n in the of

27、fice lear ning the ropes for a year before the war. Every morning they had started off together; they had come back by the same train. And what congratulations he had received as the boy's father! No wonder; he had taken to it marvelously. As to his popularity with the stag, every man jack of th

28、em dow n to old Macey could n't make eno ugh of the boy. And he was n't in the least spoiled. No, he was just his bright, n atural self, with the right word for everybody, with that boyish look and his habit of say ing, 'Simply sple ndid.'But all that was over and done with as though

29、 it never had been. The day had come whe n Macey had han ded him the telegram* that brought the whole place crash ing about his head. 'Deeply regret to in form you.' And he had left the office a broken man, with his life in ruins.Six years ago, six years. How quickly time passed! It might ha

30、ve happe ned yesterday. The boss took his hands from his face; he was puzzled. Somethi ng seemed to be wrong with him. He was n't feeli ng as he wan ted to feel. He decided to get up and have a look at the boy's photograph. But it was n't a favourite photograph of his; the expressi on wa

31、s unn atural. It was cold, eve n ster n-looki ng. The boy had n ever looked like that.At that moment the boss noticed that a fly had fallen into his broad in kpot, and was trying feebly but desperately to clamber out aga in. Help! help! said those struggling legs. But the sides of the inkpot were we

32、t and slippery; it till back again and began to swim. The boss took up a pen, picked the fly out of the ink, and shook it on to a piece of blotting-paper. For a fraction of a second it lay still on the dark patch that oozed round it. Then the front legs waved, took hold, and, pulling its small, sodd

33、en body up it began the immense task of cleaning the ink from its wings. Over and under, over and under, went a leg along a wing, as the stone goes over and under the scythe. Then there was a pause, while the fly, seeming to stand on the tips of its toes, tried to expand first one wing and then the

34、other. It succeeded at last, and, sitting down, it began, like a minute cat, to clean its face. Now one could imagine that the little front legs rubbed aga inst each other lightly, joyfully. The horrible dan ger was over; it had escaped; it was ready for life aga in.But just the n the boss had an id

35、ea. He plun ged his pen back into the ink, leaned his thick wrist on the blotting paper, and as the fly tried its wings dow n came a great heavy blot. What would it make of that? What in deed! The little beggar seemed absolutely cowed, stunn ed, and afraid to move because of what would happe n n ext

36、. But the n, as if pain fully, it dragged itself forward. The front legs waved, caught hold, and, more slowly this time, the task bega n from the beg inning.He's a plucky little devil, thought the boss, and he felt a real admiration for the fly's courage. That was the way to tackle things; t

37、hat was the right spirit. Never say die; it was only a question of.But the fly had again finished its laborious task, and the boss had just time to refill his pen, to shake fair and square on the new clea ned body yet ano ther dark drop. What about it this time? A painful moment of suspense followed

38、. But behold, the front legs were aga in wav ing; the boss felt a rush of relief. He leaned over the fly and said to it tenderly, 'You artful little b. ' And he actually had the brilliant notion of breathing on it to help the drying process. All the same, there was something timid and weak a

39、bout its efforts now, and the boss decided that this time should be the last, as he dipped the pen deep into the in kpot.It was. The last blot fell on the soaked blotting-paper, and the draggled fly lay in it and did not stir. The back legs were stuck to the body; the front legs were not to be see n

40、.'Come on,' said the boss. 'Look sharp!' And he stirred it with his pen-in vain. Nothi ng happe ned or was likely to happe n. The fly was dead. The boss lifted the corpse on the end of the paper-knife and flung it into the waste-paper basket. But such a grinding feeli ng of wretched

41、ness seized him that he felt positively frighte ned. He started forward and pressed the bell for Macey.'Bri ng me some fresh blott in g-paper,' he said, ster nly, 'and look sharp about it.' And while the old dog padded away he fell to wondering what it was he had been thinking about

42、before. What was it? It was. He took out his han dkerchief and passed it in side his collar. For the life of him he could not remember.苍蝇王汉梁译“你这儿真舒服，”任德菲尔德老先生一边说，一边坐在他的朋 友一经理一的写字台旁边的绿皮大靠背椅上，目视着前方。他的话 说完了，该告辞了。但他还不想走。自从他因病退休后，他的妻 子、女儿们除了星期二这一天之外，其它日子一直把他关在家里。 到了星期二，穿戴、掸刷得衣冠楚楚的他，被准许大白天回伦敦的 金融、贸易中心区去。可

43、是他的老婆、女儿们却想象不出他在哪儿 能干些什么。她们猜想，他准是去麻烦他的朋友们啦。唉，也许是 这样。不过，我们留恋自己仅剩的乐趣犹如一棵树依依不舍它的最 后几篇叶子。所以，老任德菲尔德还坐在那儿，一边抽烟，一边瞧 着经理。肥胖，红润的经理坐在办公椅里摇动着。他比任德菲尔德 大五岁，仍然工作的相当出色，照旧领导着自己的企业。瞧瞧他那 副模样，对人确有好处。仅供学习与交流，如有侵权请联系网站删除 谢谢9精品资料那个老气横秋的嗓门又赞叹地补了一句：“这儿真舒服，真的！”“是嘛，舒服极了，”经理附和道，一边用一把裁剪刀拍了拍报 纸。事实上，他的确对自己的房间颇为得意；他很乐意有人赞美 它，尤其是出

44、诸老任德菲尔德之口。在这个房间里，面对这个虚弱 的老家伙，使他感到心满意足。“最近，我又在房里添了些东西，”他说。“新家具，”他瞧瞧大书 架和弯腿桌。“电热器！ ”他朝壁炉指了指。不过，他没有把任德菲尔德的注意力引向桌子上方的照片，照 片上是一个表情严肃、身穿军官制服的小伙子。照片不是新的，挂 在那儿已经六年多了。“我有些事想告诉你，”老任德菲尔德说。他的目光随着回忆模 糊了起来：“哎，是什么呀？早上我出门时还记得的。”他的双手哆 嗦了起来，面孔胀的血红。可怜的老家伙，他快完了一经理想。她觉得自己挺仁厚，便开 玩笑似的说：“告诉你，我这里有点酒，你先喝两口，再到外面冷空 气中去，对你有好处。这

45、酒太妙了。小孩儿喝了都无妨。”他从自己 的表链上取下一把钥匙，打开写字台下的一个食橱，拿出一只胖鼓 鼓的深色瓶子。“就是这酒，”他说。“给我酒的那个人私下告诉我， 这瓶东西还来自温莎堡呢。”老任德菲尔德见状张开了嘴。他看上去很吃惊。“这是威士忌，是么？ ”他有气无力地问。经理转过瓶子，挺友善地给他看瓶子上的商标。果真是威士忌！“你知道，”老任德菲尔德一边说，一边惊疑地仰视着对方，“我 在家里她们是不准我跟酒沾边的”他看上去想要哭似的。“啊，那便是咱们比娘儿们高明的地方了，”经历大声说着，从 桌上抓起两只跟水瓶放在一起的玻璃杯，挺大度地把酒斟入两只杯 中。“喝下去，这对你有好处。可别掺水啊！”他

46、喝掉自己杯中的 酒，抽出手帕，揩揩嘴巴，一边瞧着把威士忌含在嘴里打转转的老 任德菲尔德。老头儿吞下酒，静了一会。威士忌使他浑身发热。酒力渗入他 冰冷老朽的脑子一他记起来了。“对了”说着，他从椅子里直起身 子。“我想，你一定乐意知道的。姑娘们上星期在比利时。她们去探 望了可怜的雷盖的墓，碰巧也看到了令郎的墓穴。两个墓好像还靠 的很近呢。”老任德菲尔德停了停，但经理并不答话。只从他的眼皮在打颤 这一点，才知道他还在听。“姑娘们对墓地的照管方式挺满意，”那老气横秋的嗓门儿继续 道。“目的保养的可好了。他们的坟墓即使在国内也不见得照看得更 好些。你没渡海到那儿去过吗？”“没有，没有！”由于种种原因，经

47、理尚未渡海过去。“墓地有方圆几英里呢。整个公墓干净得就像一个花园。一个个墓地上都开着鲜花。一条条走道又整洁有宽阔。”从他的声音里听得出，他显然挺喜欢整洁宽阔的走道。老头儿又停了一下，然后奇异地活跃了起来。“旅馆费贵极了，要了姑娘们好多钱。我说，那简直是抢劫。他 们认为，咱们是到那儿去观光的，所以就有准备支付一切开销。就 这么回事。”说着，他转向房门。“不错，不错！”经理大声道。虽然他压根儿弄不清“不错”些什 么。他绕过写字台，跟着前面迟缓的脚步走到门口，直至目送那个 老头儿离去，任德菲尔德走了。经理呆了许久，茫无所见。那个灰头发的公务信使看他进进出出，好似一条盼望被牵出去溜溜腿的狗，尔后，经理道：“马赛，我 半个小时内不见客，懂吗？谁都不见。”“是，先生。”门关上了。坚实、沉重的步子再次走过地板，肥胖的身子在弹簧椅上坐了下来，经理朝前倾身，双手掩面。他想他准备痛苦一场 OOOOOO老任德菲尔德提起了儿子的墓，这对他来说是一个痛苦的打击。这恰如墓地打开，他眼见儿子躺在地上，任德菲尔德的姑娘们都俯视着他一样。说来也怪，时光虽已流逝了六年多，经理的心目 中