离婚以后 - 译文 - 原作 Bruce Holland Rogers
06-08-14
14:43:51, 分类: 习译 离婚以后 - 译文 - 原作 Bruce Holland Rogers
-译者的话-
这篇小文作者把它分类为爱情故事也有他的道理。从谐戏和俏皮的文字中，传达了作者对爱情复杂微妙之处的细腻领会。文中还多次用双关语让人忍俊不禁连译者都给他蒙了。直到最后才反应过来。这些不对比原文是无法欣赏的。故译者把原文附后，希望引出更精彩的译句。不过可得免费送我了。
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离婚以后，我妻子说她不知道想做谁想做什么样的人。当我听到她成了一个烤面包的时候，我觉着我是得到平反了。一个烤面包的！没了我她就只能做那个？她做那个本来就不在行。她每次只能烤两片，而且烤出来后是一面焦，一面白。明摆着，她是我们两个之中弱的那一个。
确实，我现在自己也没工作。可是一个烤面包的！我永远不会掉到那么低的位置。我会找一份人做的工作，要不然，宁愿等着命运安排。
后来，她又当了宾馆的洗衣机，然后又去做高能量的烘衣机直到被降了级。她成了那些有四个轮子和一个帆布兜子的洗衣蓝中的一员。最后，她连那个工作也丢了。
不过，很快，我就越来越觉着乐不起来了。我还是什么工作也找不到，不管我怎么卖力地找。
我再一次看到她时，是在去一个医院为个门卫的工作面试的路上。她在泊车场，正在倒着车停进一个保留车位。她非常吃惊。
肯定没错是她，就算她变得再厉害。她身子两侧是白色的。她的身体处处还是光洁鲜亮的蓝绿色，可是内里，弯曲白色的垫板，从她的前轮一条条地往后伸。她的克铬米在阳光下闪着火花。
我就站在那里，在她跟前，竭力寻思着想说些什么，直到有个男人从医院里走出来，一直朝她走去。
"漂亮，是吧？” 他说，一边往她的门里插着一把钥匙。“我让她恢复的，” 他说，“从原来的283 小块头，给了她一点油水。双汽化器。你懂车吗？想不想看看车盖底下？
他的慷慨使我非常不舒服。“不了。”
我直到现在才注意到车牌。上面写着“MD." 他是个医生。
“她可是在路上跑的最好的考菲蒂了，” 他说着，亲昵地拍着她的头顶。
她比看上去要老。不过如果她看起来不像是1960年的，那就出鬼了。
“她原来是我的。”
“什么？”
“我说她原来是我的。”
我知道她一点历史，” 他说，努力在脸上保持原先的微笑。
“她是我的。她以前属于我。”
所有的友好一下子从他脸上消失了。“我想不是吧。” 他打开了门。
“是啊，就因为她现在光鲜闪亮，你就觉着她从来不可能沾上我这样的人？”
“我没说过一点儿这种话。” 他进了车关上了门。他发动了她。从引擎的哼哼声中，我可以听出来她可正在把吃奶的劲都使出来。
他给她加速，可是他开不走。我挡着道。我瞪着他。他瞪着我。
我的目光从他的脸转到她车盖装饰上的条纹旗。这些小旗子让我明白了点什么。这是我从来没想像到的她的另一面。
他摇下车窗。“滚开，” 他说。
噢，阳光照在她光泽的面上。她的前窗格光彩照人。
他再一次踩响她的引擎。这一次，恶狠狠地，然后开始往前使劲。他也许会轧过我，而她却停下了。她依然在乎。可是重归旧好已经不可能了。
他再一次发动她。我感受到了我用幸灾乐祸掩藏起来的所有的后悔。太迟了。什么也来不及了。
我让开了路，让他们一起开过去。我进去接受面试，我得到了那份工作。
我是 ... 一把扫帚。
**************************************************************
Estranged
After the divorce, my wife said she didn't know who or what she wanted to be. When I heard that she had become a toaster, I felt vindicated. A toaster! Was that all she could be without me? And she wasn't even good at it. She could only do two slices at a time, and they came out charred on one side and white on the other. Obviously, she was the one with inadequacies.
True, I was unemployed myself. But a toaster! I would never fall as low as that. I would take a job as a human being, or I'd stay on the dole.
Later, she worked as a hotel washing machine, then as a high-capacity dryer until she was demoted. She became one of those laundry hampers with four wheels and a canvas hopper. Finally, she lost even that job.
Soon, however, I felt less and less like gloating. I still couldn't find any work at all, no matter how I tried.
I next saw her while on my way to an interview for janitorial work at a hospital. She was in the parking lot, backed into a reserved space. And she was stunning.
There was no mistaking her, even with all the changes. She had white sidewalls. Her body was lustrous teal everywhere but on the inward curving white panels that streaked back from her front wheels. Her chrome sparkled in the sun.
I just stood there in front of her, searching for something to say until a man came out of the hospital and walked up to her.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" he said, fitting a key into her door. "I restored her," he said, "built her up a little from her original 283 small block, gave her some juice. Dual-Carter-carbed. You know cars? Want to see under the hood?"
His generosity made me uncomfortable. "No."
I hadn't noticed the plates until now. They said "MD." He was a doctor.
"She's the finest 1960 Corvette on the road," he said, patting her roof affectionately.
She was older than that. But damn if she didn't look 1960.
"She used to be mine."
"What?"
"I said she used to be mine."
"I know something about her history," he said, trying to keep a smile in place.
"She was mine. She once belonged to me."
All the friendliness went out of his face. "I don't think so." He opened her door.
"Sure, just because she's gleaming now, you don't think she could ever have been attached to someone like me!"
"I said nothing of the sort." He got in and closed the door. He started her. The way her engine hummed, I could tell she was getting only the best of everything.
He revved her, but he couldn't drive off. I was in the way. I glared. He glared.
I looked from his face to the checkered flags of her hood ornament. Those little flags did something to me. This was a side of her I had never imagined.
He rolled down the window. "Get out of the way," he said.
Oh, the sun on her satiny finish. The gleam of her front grille. . . .
He raced her engine again, menacingly now, then started to pull forward. He might have run me over, but she stalled out. She still cared. But it was too late for reconciliations.
He started her again. I felt all the regret that I had concealed with my gloating. Too late. Too late to change anything.
I stepped out of their way and let them drive off together. I went in for my interview, and I got the job.
I am . . . a mop.
这篇小文作者把它分类为爱情故事也有他的道理。从谐戏和俏皮的文字中，传达了作者对爱情复杂微妙之处的细腻领会。文中还多次用双关语让人忍俊不禁连译者都给他蒙了。直到最后才反应过来。这些不对比原文是无法欣赏的。故译者把原文附后，希望引出更精彩的译句。不过可得免费送我了。
-------
离婚以后，我妻子说她不知道想做谁想做什么样的人。当我听到她成了一个烤面包的时候，我觉着我是得到平反了。一个烤面包的！没了我她就只能做那个？她做那个本来就不在行。她每次只能烤两片，而且烤出来后是一面焦，一面白。明摆着，她是我们两个之中弱的那一个。
确实，我现在自己也没工作。可是一个烤面包的！我永远不会掉到那么低的位置。我会找一份人做的工作，要不然，宁愿等着命运安排。
后来，她又当了宾馆的洗衣机，然后又去做高能量的烘衣机直到被降了级。她成了那些有四个轮子和一个帆布兜子的洗衣蓝中的一员。最后，她连那个工作也丢了。
不过，很快，我就越来越觉着乐不起来了。我还是什么工作也找不到，不管我怎么卖力地找。
我再一次看到她时，是在去一个医院为个门卫的工作面试的路上。她在泊车场，正在倒着车停进一个保留车位。她非常吃惊。
肯定没错是她，就算她变得再厉害。她身子两侧是白色的。她的身体处处还是光洁鲜亮的蓝绿色，可是内里，弯曲白色的垫板，从她的前轮一条条地往后伸。她的克铬米在阳光下闪着火花。
我就站在那里，在她跟前，竭力寻思着想说些什么，直到有个男人从医院里走出来，一直朝她走去。
"漂亮，是吧？” 他说，一边往她的门里插着一把钥匙。“我让她恢复的，” 他说，“从原来的283 小块头，给了她一点油水。双汽化器。你懂车吗？想不想看看车盖底下？
他的慷慨使我非常不舒服。“不了。”
我直到现在才注意到车牌。上面写着“MD." 他是个医生。
“她可是在路上跑的最好的考菲蒂了，” 他说着，亲昵地拍着她的头顶。
她比看上去要老。不过如果她看起来不像是1960年的，那就出鬼了。
“她原来是我的。”
“什么？”
“我说她原来是我的。”
我知道她一点历史，” 他说，努力在脸上保持原先的微笑。
“她是我的。她以前属于我。”
所有的友好一下子从他脸上消失了。“我想不是吧。” 他打开了门。
“是啊，就因为她现在光鲜闪亮，你就觉着她从来不可能沾上我这样的人？”
“我没说过一点儿这种话。” 他进了车关上了门。他发动了她。从引擎的哼哼声中，我可以听出来她可正在把吃奶的劲都使出来。
他给她加速，可是他开不走。我挡着道。我瞪着他。他瞪着我。
我的目光从他的脸转到她车盖装饰上的条纹旗。这些小旗子让我明白了点什么。这是我从来没想像到的她的另一面。
他摇下车窗。“滚开，” 他说。
噢，阳光照在她光泽的面上。她的前窗格光彩照人。
他再一次踩响她的引擎。这一次，恶狠狠地，然后开始往前使劲。他也许会轧过我，而她却停下了。她依然在乎。可是重归旧好已经不可能了。
他再一次发动她。我感受到了我用幸灾乐祸掩藏起来的所有的后悔。太迟了。什么也来不及了。
我让开了路，让他们一起开过去。我进去接受面试，我得到了那份工作。
我是 ... 一把扫帚。
**************************************************************
Estranged
After the divorce, my wife said she didn't know who or what she wanted to be. When I heard that she had become a toaster, I felt vindicated. A toaster! Was that all she could be without me? And she wasn't even good at it. She could only do two slices at a time, and they came out charred on one side and white on the other. Obviously, she was the one with inadequacies.
True, I was unemployed myself. But a toaster! I would never fall as low as that. I would take a job as a human being, or I'd stay on the dole.
Later, she worked as a hotel washing machine, then as a high-capacity dryer until she was demoted. She became one of those laundry hampers with four wheels and a canvas hopper. Finally, she lost even that job.
Soon, however, I felt less and less like gloating. I still couldn't find any work at all, no matter how I tried.
I next saw her while on my way to an interview for janitorial work at a hospital. She was in the parking lot, backed into a reserved space. And she was stunning.
There was no mistaking her, even with all the changes. She had white sidewalls. Her body was lustrous teal everywhere but on the inward curving white panels that streaked back from her front wheels. Her chrome sparkled in the sun.
I just stood there in front of her, searching for something to say until a man came out of the hospital and walked up to her.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" he said, fitting a key into her door. "I restored her," he said, "built her up a little from her original 283 small block, gave her some juice. Dual-Carter-carbed. You know cars? Want to see under the hood?"
His generosity made me uncomfortable. "No."
I hadn't noticed the plates until now. They said "MD." He was a doctor.
"She's the finest 1960 Corvette on the road," he said, patting her roof affectionately.
She was older than that. But damn if she didn't look 1960.
"She used to be mine."
"What?"
"I said she used to be mine."
"I know something about her history," he said, trying to keep a smile in place.
"She was mine. She once belonged to me."
All the friendliness went out of his face. "I don't think so." He opened her door.
"Sure, just because she's gleaming now, you don't think she could ever have been attached to someone like me!"
"I said nothing of the sort." He got in and closed the door. He started her. The way her engine hummed, I could tell she was getting only the best of everything.
He revved her, but he couldn't drive off. I was in the way. I glared. He glared.
I looked from his face to the checkered flags of her hood ornament. Those little flags did something to me. This was a side of her I had never imagined.
He rolled down the window. "Get out of the way," he said.
Oh, the sun on her satiny finish. The gleam of her front grille. . . .
He raced her engine again, menacingly now, then started to pull forward. He might have run me over, but she stalled out. She still cared. But it was too late for reconciliations.
He started her again. I felt all the regret that I had concealed with my gloating. Too late. Too late to change anything.
I stepped out of their way and let them drive off together. I went in for my interview, and I got the job.
I am . . . a mop.
