关于英国女孩的小说推荐（中英双语小说连载）

6

A Boat and a Boy 一艘船和一个男孩

1952

One morning, Pa, shaved fresh and dressed in a wrinkled button-down shirt, came into the kitchen and said he was leaving on the Trailways bus for Asheville to discuss some issues with the army. He figured he had more disability due him and was off to see about it and wouldn't be back for three or four days. He'd never told Kya his business, where he was going, or when he was coming back, so, standing there in her too-short bib overalls, she stared up at him, mute.

某个早晨，爸爸刮了脸，穿上一件皱皱的有领尖扣的衬衫，走进厨房，说要坐大巴去阿什维尔，和军队谈一些事情。他觉得自己应该拿到更多伤残津贴，所以去问问看，三四天回不来。爸爸从没告诉过基娅他的事，去哪里，什么时候回来——所以，基娅穿着过短的工装裤站在那里，抬头看向他，没说话。

“Ah b'leeve ya deaf and dumb as all git-out,” he said, the porch door slapping behind him.

“你和那些跑了的一样，又聋又哑。”他说，随后摔上了门。

Kya watched him gimp along the path, left leg swinging to the side, then forward. Her fingers knotted. Maybe they were all going to leave her, one by one down this lane. When he reached the road and unexpectedly looked back, she threw her hand up and waved hard. A shot to keep him tethered. Pa lifted an arm in a quick, dismissive salutation. But it was something. It was more than Ma had done.

基娅看着他瘸着腿走在小径上，左腿先摆到边上，然后向前。她的手指绞在一起。大概所有人都会离开她，沿着小径，一个接一个。到了大路上，爸爸出人意料地回头看了看，基娅高高举起手，用力挥动，试图挽留他。爸爸举起胳膊，快速而草率地挥了挥。但他至少道别了。妈妈没有。

From there, she wandered to the lagoon, where early light caught the glimmer of hundreds of dragonfly wings. Oaks and thick brush encircled the water, darkening it cavelike, and she stopped as she eyed Pa's boat drifting there on the line. If she took it into the marsh and he found out, he'd take his belt to her. Or the paddle he kept by the porch door; the “welcome bat,” Jodie had called it.

离开门廊，基娅信步走到潟湖，成百上千的蜻蜓沐浴在晨光中，翅膀闪烁着微光。橡树和密集的灌木围绕着湖水，使湖面变得像洞穴一般阴暗。她看到爸爸的船系着绳漂在那儿。如果她开船进湿地被发现了，他会拿皮带抽她，或者用放在门廊边的桨——乔迪之前管它叫“欢迎球拍”。

Perhaps a yearning to reach out yonder pulled her toward the boat—a bent-up, flat-bottomed metal skiff Pa used for fishing. She'd been out in it all her life, usually with Jodie. Sometimes he'd let her steer. She even knew the way through some of the intricate channels and estuaries that wandered through a patchwork of water and land, land and water, finally to the sea. Because even though the ocean was just beyond the trees surrounding the shack, the only way to get there by boat was to go in the opposite direction, inland, and wind through miles of the maze of waterways that eventually hooked back to the sea.

大概是对远方的渴望将她推向了船。那是一艘两头上翘的平底金属小艇，爸爸用它来捕鱼。这么多年来她一直坐着它外出，通常是和乔迪一起。有时候他会让她掌舵。她甚至知道如何通过一些复杂的水道、河口，它们蜿蜒穿过相接的水和陆地，陆地和水，最后到达大海。虽然大海就在环绕棚屋的树丛后，但坐船去那儿的唯一方法是先往反方向的内陆开，然后穿过数英里的水网，迂回抵达。

But, being only seven and a girl, she'd never taken the boat out by herself. It floated there, tied by a single cotton line to a log. Gray grunge, frayed fishing tackle, and half-crushed beer cans covered the boat floor. Stepping in, she said out loud, “Gotta check the gas like Jodie said, so Pa won't figure I took it.” She poked a broken reed into the rusted tank. “'Nough for a short ride, I reckon.”

但基娅只有七岁，还是个小女孩，不曾独自驾船外出。船就浮在那儿，用一根棉绳系在木头上。甲板上散布着灰色的污垢、磨损的渔具和压扁的啤酒罐。她上了船，大声说：“得像乔迪说的那样检查一下汽油，这样爸爸就不会发现我开过船。”她拿一根断了的芦苇戳进生锈的油罐里。“我想够一次短途了。”

Like any good robber, she looked around, then flicked the cotton line free of the log and poled forward with the lone paddle. The silent cloud of dragonflies parted before her.

像所有优秀的强盗那样，她看了看四周，然后从木头上解开棉绳，用单桨撑船。大片安静的蜻蜓在她面前分开，让出路来。

Not able to resist, she pulled the starter rope and jerked back when the motor caught the first time, sputtering and burping white smoke. Grabbing the tiller, she turned the throttle too far, and the boat turned sharply, the engine screaming. She released the throttle, threw her hands up, and the boat eased to a drift, purring.

她经不住诱惑，拉了启动绳，发动机喷着白烟运转起来，她被震得向后踉跄了一下。她紧抓舵柄。油门加过头了，船猛地急转，发动机咆哮着。基娅松开油门，抬起手，船慢下来，漂浮着，发出嗡嗡声。

When in trouble, just let go. Go back to idle.

有问题的时候就放手。回到空挡。

Accelerating now more gently, she steered around the old fallen cypress, putt, putt, putt beyond the piled sticks of the beaver lodge. Then, holding her breath, she steered toward the lagoon entrance, almost hidden by brambles. Ducking beneath the low-hanging limbs of giant trees, she churned slowly through thicket for more than a hundred yards, as easy turtles slid from water-logs. A floating mat of duckweed colored the water as green as the leafy ceiling, creating an emerald tunnel. Finally, the trees parted, and she glided into a place of wide sky and reaching grasses, and the sounds of cawing birds. The view a chick gets, she reckoned, when it finally breaks its shell.

这次，基娅在加速的时候柔和了许多。她驾船绕过倒下的老柏树，突突突地经过海狸洞口堆着的木头。然后，基娅屏住呼吸，开向潟湖的入口，那儿几乎被荆棘遮住了。她在树丛中慢慢地开，足足开了一百多码；碰到大树低垂的枝丫就低头，看到意态悠闲的乌龟从积水中滑游出来。水面上漂着浮萍织就的毯子，水被染成了树叶顶篷的绿色，形成一条翠绿的隧道。终于，树丛分开，船驶进了一个天空开阔、草触手可及、鸟鸣阵阵的地方。她觉得这就是一只小鸡破壳而出时欣赏到的景色。

Kya tooled along, a tiny speck of a girl in a boat, turning this way and that as endless estuaries branched and braided before her. Keep left at all the turns going out, Jodie had said. She barely touched the throttle, easing the boat through the current, keeping the noise low. As she broke around a stand of reeds, a whitetail doe with last spring's fawn stood lapping water. Their heads jerked up, slinging droplets through the air. Kya didn't stop or they would bolt, a lesson she'd learned from watching wild turkeys: if you act like a predator, they act like prey. Just ignore them, keep going slow. She drifted by, and the deer stood as still as a pine until Kya disappeared beyond the salt grass.基娅开着船转悠——船上，一个小不点女孩，面对数不尽的、纵横交错的河口，转来转去。出去的路上，碰到所有该转弯的地方都向左转，乔迪曾这样说过。基娅几乎没有碰油门，让船随波逐流，降低噪声。穿过一片芦苇荡时，她看到一只白尾鹿正带着它去年春天生下来的小鹿饮水。它们猛地抬头，把水珠甩向空中。她没有停下，不然它们会受惊逃跑，这是观察野龟时学到的：如果你表现得像一个捕食者，它们就会像猎物。只要忽视它们，慢慢前进就好。船经过时，鹿安静地站着，如松树一般，直到她消失在盐草之外。

She entered a place with dark lagoons in a throat of oaks and remembered a channel on the far side that flowed to an enormous estuary. Several times she came upon dead ends, had to backtrack to take another turn. Keeping all these landmarks straight in her mind so she could get back. Finally the estuary lay ahead, water stretching so far it captured the whole sky and all the clouds within it.

基娅进入了一片橡树林，其间分布着一些深色的潟湖。她记起那边远处有一条水道连接着一个巨大的河口。有几次她进了死胡同，不得不返回，换个方向转弯。她在心里牢牢记住这些路标，这样就能原路返回。最终河口出现在眼前，水面如此辽阔，似乎倒映着整片天空和所有云彩。

The tide was going out, she knew by water lines along the creek shores. When it receded enough, any time from now, some channels would shallow up and she'd run aground, get stranded. She'd have to head back before then.

根据溪岸的水位线，她知道潮水正在退去。从现在开始，当潮水退到一定程度，有些水道随时可能变得很浅，船会因此触底搁浅。她必须在那之前掉头回去。

As she rounded a stand of tall grass, suddenly the ocean's face—gray, stern, and pulsing—frowned at her. Waves slammed one another, awash in their own white saliva, breaking apart on the shore with loud booms—energy searching for a beachhead. Then they flattened into quiet tongues of foam, waiting for the next surge.

当她穿过一片高草地时，突然之间，大海变了脸色，灰色、冷峻、涌动着的大海皱起了眉头。海浪互相拍打，激起白色的浮沫，伴随着巨大的轰鸣声撞碎在岸上——能量寻找着滩头阵地。碎裂后回归为一片平静的泡沫，等待着下一波大浪袭来。

The surf taunted her, daring her to breach the waves and enter the sea, but without Jodie, her courage failed. Time to turn around anyway. Thunderheads grew in the western sky, forming huge gray mushrooms pressing at the seams.

海浪嘲弄她，挑战她，让她突破浪头，冲进大海。但乔迪不在，基娅鼓不起足够的勇气。不管怎么说，该回去了。雷暴云砧在西边天空扩张，在海天相接处形成巨大的灰色蘑菇。

There'd been no other people, not even distant boats, so it was a surprise when she entered the large estuary again, and there, close against the marsh grass, was a boy fishing from another battered rig. Her course would take her only twenty feet from him. By now, she looked every bit the swamp child—hair blown into tangles, dusty cheeks streaked with wind-tears.

周围没人，甚至远处也没有船。基娅回到大河口，看到湿地草地边有一个男孩正用破旧的渔具捕鱼，她感到很意外。这条路会让她靠近那个男孩，最近的地方只有二十英尺。然而现在，她看上去完全就是一个湿地孩子——头发打结，脸颊脏兮兮的，印着泪水风干后的痕迹。

Neither low gas nor storm threat gave her the same edgy feeling as seeing another person, especially a boy. Ma had told her older sisters to watch out for them; if you look tempting, men turn into predators. Squishing her lips tight, she thought, What am I gonna do? I gotta go right by him.

看到另一个人，还是一个男孩，这让她焦躁不安。无论是汽油不足还是暴风雨，都不会让她有这种感觉。妈妈曾告诉过她的几个姐姐，小心男人。如果你看上去很有吸引力，男人就会成为捕猎者。她抿紧嘴唇，想着，我该怎么做呢？我必须得从他旁边经过。

From the corner of her eye, she saw he was thin, his golden curls stuffed under a red baseball cap. Much older than she, eleven, maybe twelve. Her face was grim as she approached, but he smiled at her, warm and open, and touched the brim of his hat like a gentleman greeting a fine lady in a gown and bonnet. She nodded slightly, then looked ahead, increasing the throttle and passing him by.

余光中，基娅看到他瘦瘦的，金色鬈发塞进红色棒球帽里，年纪比她大不少，十一岁，也可能十二岁。她绷着脸靠近，但男孩朝她笑了，温暖而包容，还像问候身着礼服、头戴软帽的淑女的绅士那般碰了碰帽檐。基娅微微点了点头，然后向前看，加大油门经过。

All she could think of now was getting back to familiar footing, but somewhere she must have turned wrong, for when she reached the second string of lagoons, she couldn't find the channel that led home. Round and round, near oak knees and myrtle thickets, she searched. A slow panic eased in. Now, the grass banks, sandbars, and bends all looked the same. She cut the engine and stood smack-dab in the middle of the boat, balancing with feet spread wide, trying to see over the reeds, but couldn't. She sat. Lost. Low on gas. Storm coming.

现在，她只想回到熟悉的路标处，但她一定在某个地方转错了弯，到了第二串潟湖时，她找不到回家的路了。她循着橡树根膝和桃金娘丛兜兜转转。渐渐地，她有点发慌，所有的草丛、沙洲和弯道看起来都毫无差别。她关掉发动机，站在船中央，双脚叉开保持平衡，想要看到芦苇荡那头，但看不到。她坐了下来。迷路了。油不够。暴风雨要来了。

Stealing Pa's words, she cussed her brother for leaving. “Damn ya, Jodie! Shit fire an' fall in. You just shit fire an' fall in it.”

她学着爸爸的话，咒骂起离开的哥哥。“该死的乔迪！真该死。”

She whimpered once as the boat drifted in soft current. Clouds, gaining ground against the sun, moved weighted but silent overhead, pushing the sky and dragging shadows across the clear water. Could be a gale any minute. Worse, though: if she wandered too long, Pa would know she took the boat. She eased ahead; maybe she could find that boy.

船在轻柔的浪中漂浮，她轻声啜泣着。云层在太阳周围聚集，沉沉地向她头顶移来，无声无息，挤压着天空，在清澈的水面上投下阴影。随时可能刮起狂风。更糟的是：如果她在外面待太久，爸爸就会知道她动了船。基娅缓缓向前。或许能找到那个男孩。

Another few minutes of creek brought a bend and the large estuary ahead, and on the other side, the boy in his boat. Egrets took flight, a line of white flags against the mounting gray clouds. She anchored him hard with her eyes. Afraid to go near him, afraid not to. Finally, she turned across the estuary.

在小溪中行驶了几分钟后，她眼前出现了一个转弯和那个大河口，男孩的船就在对面。白鹭飞起，在堆积的灰色云层背景上投下一抹白色。基娅盯着那个男孩，不敢靠近，也不敢不靠近。最终，她穿过河口。

He looked up when she neared.

基娅靠近时，他抬起头。

“Hey,” he said.

“你好。”他说。

“Hey.” She looked beyond his shoulder into the reeds.

“你好。”她的视线越过他的肩膀，看向芦苇荡。

“Which way you headed, anyhow?” he asked. “Not out, I hope. That storm's comin'.”

“你要去哪儿？”他问，“希望不是出去。暴风雨要来了。”

“No,” she said, looking down at the water.

“不出去。”她说，低头看着水面。

“You okay?”

“你还好吗？”

Her throat tightened against a sob. She nodded but couldn't speak.

她喉咙发紧，强忍着呜咽点点头，无法开口。

“You lost?”

“你迷路了？”

She bobbed her head again. Wasn't going to cry like a girl.

她又点点头。决不能像个女孩子似的哭。

“Well, then. I git lost all the time,” he said, and smiled. “Hey, I know you. You're Jodie Clark's sister.”

“好吧。我经常迷路，”他微笑着说，“嘿，我认识你。你是乔迪·克拉克的妹妹。”

“I used ta be. He's gone.”

“曾经是。他走了。”

“Well, you're still his . . .” But he let it drop.

“好吧，那你也仍是他的……”他没说完。

“How'd you know me?” She threw a quick, direct look at his eyes.

“你是怎么认识我的？”基娅迅速和他对视了一眼。

“Oh, I've been fishin' with Jodie some. I saw you a couple a' times. You were just a little kid. You're Kya, right?”

“我之前和乔迪一起捕过几次鱼。有时看见你们在一起。你还是个小孩呢。你是基娅，对吧？”

Someone knew her name. She was taken aback. Felt anchored to something; released from something else.

有人知道她的名字，她被带回这个世界了。她觉得自己被什么拴住了，又从其他什么中解脱了。

“Yeah. You know my place? From here?”

“是的。你知道我家吗？从这儿怎么走？”

“Reckon I do. It's 'bout time anyhow.” He nodded at the clouds. “Follow me.” He pulled his line, put tackle in the box, and started his outboard. As he headed across the estuary, he waved, and she followed. Cruising slowly, he went directly to the right channel, looked back to make sure she'd made the turn, and kept going. He did that at every bend to the oak lagoons. As he turned into the dark waterway toward home, she could see where she'd gone wrong, and would never make the mistake again.

“我想我知道。不管怎么说，差不多是时候走了。”他指指云，“跟着我。” 他拉起绳子，把渔具放进箱子，然后发动小艇。穿过河口时，他挥挥手，基娅跟了上去。慢慢地，他直接把船开进右边的水道，回头确认基娅是不是也跟着转弯了，然后接着前进。在每个转弯处他都会这么做，一直到橡树潟湖。开上回家的那条昏暗水路时，基娅知道自己之前哪里出错了，之后绝不会再犯。

He guided her—even after she waved that she knew her way—across her lagoon, up to the shore where the shack squatted in the woods. She motored up to the old waterlogged pine and tied up. He drifted back from her boat, bobbing in their contrary wakes.

他领着她——即使基娅挥手告诉他接下来的路她都认识——穿过她的潟湖，一直到岸边，基娅的棚屋就在岸上的树林里蹲伏着。她把船开到半浸在水里的老松树旁，系起来。他的船往回走，经过她的，在两道相反方向的水波里轻轻晃动。

“You okay now?”

“现在没事了吧？”

“Yeah.”

“是的。”

“Well, storm's comin', I better git.”

“暴风雨要来了，我得走了。”

She nodded, then remembered how Ma taught her. “Thank ya.”

她点点头，想起妈妈曾教过她的话。“谢谢你。”

“All right, then. My name's Tate 'case ya see me again.”

“没事。我叫泰特，说不定下次还能再见面。”

She didn't respond, so he said, “Bye now.”

基娅没有回答。他说：“那再见了。”

As he headed out, slow raindrops splattered the lagoon beach, and she said, “It's gonna rain bullfrogs; that boy'll get soaked through.”

泰特往外开的时候，雨点开始慢慢砸在潟湖的沙滩上。她说：“要下大雨了。那男孩会被淋成落汤鸡。”

She stooped to the gas tank and stuck in her reed dipstick, cupping her hands around the rim, so rain wouldn't drop in. Maybe she couldn't count coins, but she knew for sure, you can't let water get in gas.

她弯下腰查看油罐，插进芦苇秆，手在罐口处围成杯状，防止雨滴落入。她不会数硬币，但她很确信，水不能混进汽油里。

It's way low. Pa's gonna know. I gotta tote a can to the Sing Oil 'fore Pa gits back.

这太浅了，爸爸会发现的。我得在爸爸回来前去一趟汽油店。

She knew the owner, Mr. Johnny Lane, always referred to her family as swamp trash, but dealing with him, the storms, and tides would be worth it, because all she could think of now was getting back into that space of grass and sky and water. Alone, she'd been scared, but that was already humming as excitement. There was something else, too. The calmness of the boy. She'd never known anybody to speak or move so steady. So sure and easy. Just being near him, and not even that close, had eased her tightness. For the first time since Ma and Jodie left, she breathed without pain; felt something other than the hurt. She needed this boat and that boy.

她认识汽油店老板强尼·莱恩先生，他总叫她和她的家人湿地垃圾。但和他打交道，经历过的风暴，还有海浪，这些都是值得的，因为现在她只想回到草、天空、水的空间。孤身一人，她也曾感到害怕，但现在却变成了兴奋和期待。还有别的原因。那个男孩的镇静自若。她从没见过谈吐和动作如此稳重的人。如此笃定、从容。只是靠近他，甚至不需要很近，就已经让她感到放松。自妈妈和乔迪离开后，她第一次呼吸时不再感到痛苦，还感受到了伤痛之外的东西。她需要这艘船和那个男孩。

THAT SAME AFTERNOON, holding his bike by the handlebars, Tate Walker strolled through town, nodding at Miss Pansy in the Five and Dime, and past the Western Auto to the tip of the town wharf. He scanned the sea for his dad's shrimp boat, The Cherry Pie, and spotted its bright red paint far out, the wide net-wings rocking with the swells. As it neared, escorted by its own cloud of gulls, he waved, and his father, a large man with mountain shoulders and thick red hair and a beard, threw his hand in the air. Scupper, as everyone in the village called him, tossed the line to Tate, who tied up, then jumped on board to help the crew unload the catch.当天下午，泰特·沃克扶着自行车车把，漫步走过镇子，途经五分一角店时向潘茜小姐点头致意，然后经过西部车行走到镇子的码头边。他扫视海面，寻找爸爸的捕虾船“樱桃派”，远远地看见了船身明红色的漆，宽阔的网翼随着网里隆起的猎物左右摇晃。成群的海鸥绕船飞舞，在它们的护卫下，船靠近了。泰特挥着手，他的爸爸，一个肩如山岳、红发浓密、蓄着胡子的高大男人，把手高举到空中。老排，镇上的人都这么叫他，把绳子扔给泰特，泰特把绳子系上，跳到甲板上帮船员们卸货。

Scupper tousled Tate's hair. “How's it, son? Thanks for coming by.”

老排揉了揉泰特的头发。“儿子，最近怎么样？谢谢你过来接我。”

Tate smiled, nodded. “Sure.” They and the crew busied about, loading shrimp into crates, toting them to the wharf, calling out to one another about grabbing beers at the Dog-Gone, asking Tate about school. Taller by a hand than the other men, Scupper scooped up three wire crates at a time, carrying them across the plank, going back for more. His fists were bear-sized, knuckles chapped and split. In less than forty minutes the deck was hosed, nets tied, lines secured.

泰特微笑着点点头。“没事。”他们和船员一起忙碌起来，把虾装箱，搬到码头。船员们聊着待会儿去狗日啤酒屋喝酒，还问了泰特学校的事。老排比其他男人高出一掌，一次能搬三箱，搬到铺板另一头，再回去继续搬。他的拳头有熊掌大小，指关节处皮肤皲裂。四十分钟不到就收工了。把甲板用软管浇湿，清洗干净，收起渔网，系好绳子。

He told the crew he'd join them another day for beer; he had to do some tuning up before going home. In the wheelhouse, Scupper put a 78 record of Miliza Korjus on the player strapped to the counter and turned the volume up. He and Tate went below and squeezed into the engine hold, where Tate handed tools to his dad as he greased parts and tightened bolts by a dim lightbulb. All the while the soaring, sweet opera lifted higher into the sky.

老排告诉其他船员改天再一起喝酒，回家前还有一些维护工作要做。驾驶室的台子上绑着一台唱片机，老排放了一张米莉莎·科耶斯的七十八转唱片，调大音量。他和泰特走下船舱，钻进引擎室。泰特给爸爸打下手、递工具，老排则在昏暗的灯光下给零件上油，拧紧螺栓。高亢甜美的歌声在空中越飘越高。

Scupper's great-great-grandfather, emigrating from Scotland, had shipwrecked off the coast of North Carolina in the 1760s and was the only survivor. He swam to shore, landing on the Outer Banks, found a wife, and fathered thirteen children. Many could trace their roots back to that one Mr. Walker, but Scupper and Tate stayed mostly to themselves. Didn't join the Sunday picnic spreads of chicken salad and deviled eggs with their relatives often, not like they had when his mother and sister were still there.

老排的曾曾祖父十八世纪六十年代从苏格兰移民，在北卡罗来纳的海岸遭遇了海难，是唯一的幸存者。他游向海岸，在外滩群岛登陆，娶妻生子，成了十三个孩子的父亲。镇上很多人的祖先都可以追溯到这位沃克先生，但老排和泰特大部分时候都独来独往。他们不常参加亲戚们周日举办的鸡肉沙拉和芥末鸡蛋野餐，不像之前泰特的妈妈和妹妹还在时那么频繁。

Finally, in the graying dusk, Scupper slapped Tate on the shoulders. “All done. Let's get home, get supper on.”

终于，在泛灰的薄暮里，老排拍了拍泰特的肩头。“都做完了。回家吧，弄点晚饭吃。”

They walked up the wharf, down Main, and out a winding road to their house, a two-story with weathered cedar-shake siding, built in the 1800s. The white window trim had been painted fresh, and the lawn running almost to the sea was cut neat. But the azaleas and rosebushes next to the house sulked in weeds.

他们走上码头，走到主街，然后拐进一条通向家的曲折小路。他们的房子建于十九世纪，两层高，贴着已风化的雪松护墙板。白色的窗框才刷过不久，草坪几乎伸到海边，修剪得整整齐齐，但屋旁的杜鹃花和蔷薇花丛在野草中间郁郁寡欢。

Pulling off yellow boots in the mudroom, Scupper asked, “You tired of burgers?”

老排在储藏室里脱下黄色的靴子，问：“吃腻汉堡了吗？”

“Never tired of burgers.”

“永远吃不腻。”

Tate stood at the kitchen counter, picking up globs of hamburger meat, forming patties, and placing them on a plate. His mother and sister, Carianne, both wearing baseball caps, grinned at him from a picture hanging next to the window. Carianne loved that Atlanta Crackers cap, had worn it everywhere.

泰特站在厨房灶台前，拿起一团汉堡肉，压成饼状，放到盘子上。他的妈妈和妹妹卡丽安，两人都戴着棒球帽，在窗子旁的照片里朝他微笑。卡丽安喜欢那顶亚特兰大帽子，以前走到哪儿都戴着。

He looked away from them, started slicing tomatoes, stirring baked beans. If not for him, they'd be here. His mother basting a chicken, Carianne cutting biscuits.

他转开视线，开始切西红柿，搅拌烤豆子。如果不是因为他，她们还会在这里。妈妈给鸡肉涂酱料，卡丽安切饼干。

As usual Scupper got the burgers a bit black, but they were juicy inside and thick as a small city phone book. Both hungry, they ate in silence for a while, and then Scupper asked Tate about school.

和往常一样，老排把汉堡烤得略焦，但里面鲜嫩多汁，足有一本城市黄页那么厚。两人都饿了，埋头安静地吃了一会儿，然后老排问起学校的情况。

“Biology's good; I like it, but we're doing poetry in English class. Can't say I like it much. We each gotta read one out loud. You used to recite some, but I don't remember them.”

“生物很好，我很喜欢。不过语文课学诗歌，我不太喜欢。每个人都得大声朗读一首。你以前给我们背过几首，我没记下来。”

“I got the poem for you, son,” Scupper said. “My favorite—‘The Cremation of Sam McGee' by Robert Service. Used to read it out to y'all. Was your mama's favorite. She laughed every time I read it, never got tired of it.”

“我这儿有首诗，孩子，”老排说，“我的最爱——罗伯特·瑟维斯的《萨姆·马吉的火葬》，过去读给你们听过。这也是你妈妈最喜欢的诗。每次我读她都笑，从来没厌烦过。”

Tate looked down at the mention of his mother, pushed his beans around.

提到妈妈，泰特低下头，把烤豆子推到一边。

Scupper went on. “Don't go thinking poetry's just for sissies. There's mushy love poems, for sure, but there's also funny ones, lots about nature, war even. Whole point of it—they make ya feel something.” His dad had told him many times that the definition of a real man is one who cries without shame, reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul, and does what's necessary to defend a woman. Scupper walked to the sitting room, calling back, “I used to know most of it by heart, but not anymore. But here it is, I'll read it to ya.” He sat back down at the table and began reading. When he got to this segment:

老排接着说：“不要觉得诗歌是女人的东西。当然有很多爱情诗，但也有很多有趣的诗，很多关于自然甚至战争的诗。诗歌的全部意义在于，它们能让你感受到一些东西。”爸爸无数次告诉他，一个真正的男人会毫不羞耻地流泪，会用心去读诗，会用灵魂感受歌剧，会尽全力保护他的女人。老排走进客厅，说：“我以前能背下来大部分，现在全忘了。啊，找到了，我读给你听。”他坐回餐桌前，开始朗读。当他读到：

“And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;

And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said, ‘Please close that door.

It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—

Since I left Plumtree down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm.”

萨姆坐在那里，冰冷而镇静，在熔炉火力的中心。

他脸上的微笑一英里外就能看到，他说：

“请关上门。

这里很好，但我担心你会放进来冷气

和暴风雨——

自从离开普拉姆特里，来到田纳西，这是我第一次

感到暖和。”

Scupper and Tate chuckled.

父子俩笑了起来。

“Your mom always laughed at that.”

“你妈妈总在这段笑。”

They smiled, remembering. Just sat there a minute. Then Scupper said he'd wash up while Tate did his homework. In his room, scanning through the poetry book for one to read in class, Tate found a poem by Thomas Moore:

他们微笑着回忆，静静地坐了一分钟。老排说他来收拾，泰特去写作业。在房间里，泰特翻看诗集，想找一首到课堂上读。他看到了一首托马斯·摩尔的诗：

. . . she’s gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,

Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,

She paddles her white canoe.

And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,

And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be,

And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,

When the footstep of death is near.

……她去了阴沉沉的沼泽湖，

在那里，整夜就着萤火虫灯，

划着她白色的轻舟。

很快我就会看到她的萤火虫灯，

很快我就会听到她的划水声；

我们的一生将悠长而充满爱意，

我会把她藏入柏树，

当死亡的脚步临近。

The words made him think of Kya, Jodie's little sister. She'd seemed so small and alone in the marsh's big sweep. He imagined his own sister lost out there. His dad was right—poems made you feel something.

这些文字让他想起了基娅，乔迪的小妹妹。在湿地的浩大之中，她是如此渺小而孤独。他想象自己的妹妹迷失在那儿。爸爸说对了，诗歌能让你感受到一些东西。

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