A voice of forced friendliness tinted with desperation gabbled at him.
一个强作友好又略显绝望的声音扑面而来。
He left Anathema asleep. She was pretty shattered, poor thing. She’d been almost incoherent when he’d put her to bed. She’d run her life according to the Prophecies and now there were no more Prophecies. She must be feeling like a train which had reached the end of the line but still had to keep going, somehow.
他没叫醒安娜丝玛。女孩已经精疲力竭，可怜人儿。牛顿把她放到床上时，安娜丝玛几乎有些语无伦次。她这一生都是按照预言度过的，现在再也没有预言了。她肯定感觉像是一列到达终点，但还要继续前进的火车。
The telephone rang.
电话铃响了。
“Hello?” he said.
“你好？”他说。
(THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF THEIR LIVES)
（新生活的第一天）
At around half past ten the paper boy brought the Sunday papers to the front door of Jasmine Cottage. He had to make three trips.
十点半左右，报童将周日报纸放到茉莉小屋门前。东西很多，他被迫跑了三趟。
Newt dashed for the kitchen and picked up the receiver on the second ring.
牛顿冲进厨房，在它发出第二阵响声时，把听筒拿起。
The series of thumps as they hit the mat woke up Newton Pulsifer.
一摞摞报纸砸在地上发出的重击声，惊醒了牛顿·帕西法。
From now on she’d be able to go through life with everything coming as a surprise, just like everyone else. What luck.
从现在开始，她生命中的每一件事，都有可能始料未及，就跟其他人一样。这是莫大的幸运。
“Well,” he said, “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want any cavities insulated. Or double glazing. I mean, she doesn’t own the cottage, you know. She’s only renting it.”
“哦。”他说，“我敢肯定她不需要中空绝缘材料，或是双层玻璃。我是说，你要知道，这座小屋不是她的。她只是房客罢了。”
“No,” he said, “I’m not. And it’s not Devissey, it’s Device. As in Nice. And she’s asleep.”
“不。”他说，“我不是。而且也不是伊祁，是仪祁。仪器的仪。她在睡觉。”
“No, I’m not going to wake her up and ask her,” he said. “And tell me, Miss, uh… right, Miss Morrow, why don’t you lot take Sundays off, like everybody else does?”
“不，我不会把她叫醒，更不会询问这个问题。”他说，“请告诉我，呃…是的，墨罗小姐，你们这些人为何周日不休息一下，就跟其他人那样？”
He growled, and replaced the receiver.
他又嘟囔了两句，便把话筒放下。
“Sunday,” he said. “Of course it’s not Saturday. Why would it be Saturday? Saturday was yesterday. It’s honestly Sunday today, really. What do you mean, you’ve lost a day? I haven’t got it. Seems to me you’ve got a bit carried away with selling… Hello?”
“周日。”他说，“当然不是周六。怎么会是周六？周六是昨天。今天肯定是周日，真的。你丢了一整天，这话什么意思？我又没捡到。在我看来，你肯定是因为这份工作，有些记忆衰…你好？”
He was assailed by a moment of sudden doubt. Today was Sunday, wasn’t it? A glance at the Sunday papers reassured him. If the Sunday Times said it was Sunday, you could be sure that they’d investigated the matter. And yesterday was Saturday. Of course. Yesterday was Saturday, and he’d never forget Saturday for as long as he lived, if only he could remember what it was he wasn’t meant to forget.
牛顿心中突生一丝疑惑。今天是周日，对吧？他瞥了一眼周日报纸，心里踏实许多。如果周日的《泰晤士报》说今天是周日，那么你完全可以相信他们已经做过调查。昨天是周六。当然。昨天是周六，他这辈子永远不会忘记这个周六，只要他能记起自己不想忘记的到底是什么东西。
Seeing that he was in the kitchen, Newt decided to make breakfast.
既然已经在厨房里了，牛顿决定做早餐。
Telephone salespeople! Something dreadful ought to happen to them.
电话推销员！真该让他们遭点儿罪！
He moved around the kitchen as quietly as possible, to avoid waking the rest of the household, and found every sound magnified. The antique fridge had a door that shut like the crack of doom. The kitchen tap dribbled like a diuretic gerbil but made a noise like Old Faithful. And he couldn’t find where anything was. In the end, as every human being who has ever breakfasted on their own in someone else’s kitchen has done since nearly the dawn of time, he made do with unsweetened instant black coffee.
他尽量轻手轻脚地在厨房里转悠，避免吵醒屋子里的另一个人。但他发现每一丝声响都被无限放大。那古董电冰箱的门，动起来像是末日雷霆。厨房的水龙头滴答起来像是服了利尿剂的沙鼠，而声音足可媲美黄石公园的老忠实间歇泉。而且牛顿也不知道东西都放在哪里。最终黎明将至，他跟所有曾在别人家厨房做早餐的人类一样，泡了杯不加糖的速溶黑咖啡。
[Except for Giovanni Jacopo Casanova (1725–1798), famed amoutist and litterateur, who revealed in volume 12 of his Memoirs that, as a matter of course, he carried around with him at all times a small valise containing “a loaf of bread, a pot of choice Seville marmalade, a knife, fork, and small spoon for stirring, 2 fresh eggs packed with care in unspun wool, a tomato or love-apple, a small frying pan, a small sauce pan, a spirit burner, a chafing dish, a tin box of salted butter of the Italian type, 2 bone china plates. Also a portion of honey comb, as a sweetener, for my breath and for my coffee. Let my readers understand me when I say to them all: A true gentleman should always be able to break his fast in the manner of a gentleman, wheresoever he may find himself”]
（但意大利冒险家、作家及奸夫乔瓦尼·雅各布·卡萨诺瓦[1725—1798]不在此列。他在十二卷本的《回忆录》中写道，按照习惯，他随时都会携带一个小手提箱，里面放有“一条面包、一罐精选塞维利亚果酱、一把刀、一副餐叉、搅拌用的小勺、用未纺过的毛线小心包好的两枚新鲜鸡蛋、一颗土豆或番茄、一个小煎锅、一个小调味盘、一个酒精炉、一个火锅、一盒意大利式咸味奶油、两个骨瓷碟。外加部分蜂巢，作为甜料，用来改善我的口气和我的咖啡。请读者们记住我下面要说的话：真正的绅士无论身处何地，都要以绅士的风度享用早餐。）
On the kitchen table was a roughly rectangular, leather-bound cinder. He could just make out the words ‘Ni a and Ace’ on the charred cover. What a difference a day made, he thought. It turns you from the ultimate reference book to a mere barbecue briquette.
厨房餐桌上放着一块大致呈长方形的皮面灰堆。牛顿勉强可以从烧焦的封面上看出“精良准确”的字样。一天时间产生了多大变化啊，他心想。它把你从一本终极指南书变成了一块勉强能用的烧烤煤球。
[And there was the matter of Dick Turpin. It looked like the same car, except that forever afterwards it seemed able to do 250 miles on a gallon of petrol, ran so quietly that you practically had to put your mouth over the exhaust pipe to see if the engine was firing, and issued its voice-synthesized warnings in a series of exquisite and perfectly-phrased haikus, each one original and apt…
（另外还有迪克·托平的问题。它表面上还是那辆车，只是自此以后，似乎可以用一加仑汽油跑二百五十英里，而且噪音如此之小，你几乎要用嘴对准排气管，才能判断引擎是否运转。至于它的声音合成警报系统，每每说出一系列精美雅致的俳句，全都恰到好处，而且是原创的…
Restrain the body?
不用护带缚身躯？
Now, then. How, exactly, had they got it? He recalled a man who smelled of smoke and wore sunglasses even in darkness. And there was other stuff, all running together… boys on bikes… an unpleasant buzzing… a small, grubby, staring face… It all hung around in his mind, not exactly forgotten but forever hanging on the cusp of recollection, a memory of things that hadn’t happened. How could you have that?
哦，那么，他们到底是怎么把书找回来的？他记得有个浑身烟味的男人，在黑暗中还戴着墨镜。还有其他东西，都掺和到了一起…骑自行车的孩子们…一阵恼人的嗡嗡声…一张邋里邋遢、双目炯炯的小脸…这些东西在他脑海中萦绕，并没有完全忘记，但永远悬在记忆的边缘，仿佛是在回忆未曾发生过的事。你怎么会想起这些东西？
Late frost burns the bloom
晚霜灼繁花
The cherry blossom
樱花朵朵
Would a fool not let the belt
可有愚人如是
… it would say. And,
…它会这样说。还有，
One needs more petrol]
又需汽油多）
Tumbles from the highest tree.
高树飘零落
He sat staring at the wall until a knock at the door brought him back to earth.
牛顿坐在桌旁，出神地看着墙壁，直到一阵敲门声把他拉回现实。
“Pulsifer,” said Newt. “It’s a hard ess.”
“帕西法。”牛顿说，“中间的S不发浊音。”
“Yes?” he said politely. “And what can I do for you, Mr. Baddicombe?”
“哦？”牛顿礼貌地说，“我能帮您什么忙吗，巴狄康姆先生？”
Solicitors 13 Demdyke Chambers,
丹迪克议事所13号
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he said.
“哦，我深表同情。”他说。
Giles Baddicombe
吉尔·巴狄康姆
It read:
上面写道：
“Mr.”– he consulted a piece of paper in one hand –“Pulzifer?”
“您就是，”他看了看手头的一张纸，“帕兹法先生？”
“I mean that… well, there’s my mother,” said Newt. “But she’s not dead, she’s just in Dorking. I’m not married.”
“我是说…好吧，有人这么称呼我母亲。”牛顿说，“但她还活着，只是住在多尔金。我没结婚。”
The man balanced the box awkwardly and fished out a card from an inner pocket. He handed it to Newt.
那人笨拙地挪了下纸箱，从内袋里摸出一张卡片，交给牛顿。
“How odd. The letter is quite, er, specific.”
“真奇怪。这封信写得，呃，相当明确。”
“Who are you?” said Newt. He was wearing only his trousers, and it was chilly on the doorstep.
“你是谁？”牛顿说。他只穿了长裤，站在门廊上感觉有点凉。
“There is no Mrs. Pulsifer,” he said coldly.
“没有帕西法夫人。”他冷冷地说。
The man removed his bowler hat.
那人摘下圆顶礼帽。
Robey, Robey, Redfearn and Bychance
罗伯、罗伯、雷德费恩和贝昌斯律师事务所
Newt gave him a blank look.
牛顿面无表情地看着他。
“I’m ever so sorry,” said the man. “I’ve only ever seen it written down. Er. Well, then. It would appear that this is for you and Mrs. Pulsifer.”
“真是非常抱歉。”那人说，“我仅在纸面上见过这个名字。那么好吧，这应该是寄给您和帕西法夫人的。”
There was a small dapper man in a black raincoat standing on the doorstep. He was holding a cardboard box and he gave Newt a bright smile.
一个精明干练的小个儿男人站在门口。他身穿黑雨衣，手里抱着个纸板箱，冲牛顿露出灿烂的微笑。
PRESTON
普雷斯顿市
“You could let me in,” said Mr. Baddicombe.
“您可以让我进去。”巴狄康姆先生说。
“A present?” said Newt. He eyed the taped cardboard cautiously, and then rummaged in the kitchen drawer for a sharp knife.
“一件礼物？”牛顿说。他警惕地看着用胶带粘好的纸板盒，从厨房抽屉里翻出一把利刃。
“Look,” said Newt, “I really haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
“您看，”牛顿说，“我真是一点都不明白您在说些什么。”
“You’re not serving a writ or anything, are you?” said Newt. The events of last night hung in his memory like a cloud, constantly changing whenever he thought he could make out a picture, but he was vaguely aware of damaging things and had been expecting retribution in some form.
“您不是来发传票什么的吧？”牛顿说。昨晚的事像一团乌云笼罩在他的记忆中，每当他以为能一探究竟时，就会发生变化。但牛顿隐约记得毁坏了某些东西，可能因此面临某种形式的处罚。
He wandered past Newt and put the box down on the table.
他从牛顿身边走过，把箱子放在桌上。
“No,” said Mr. Baddicombe, looking slightly hurt. “We have people for that sort of thing.”
“不。”巴狄康姆先生的自尊心似乎受到一点伤害，“事务所有别人干这种活儿。”
“To be honest,” he said, “we’re all very interested in this. Mr. Bychance nearly came down himself, but he doesn’t travel well these days.”
“说实话，”他说，“我们对此都很感兴趣。贝昌斯先生差点儿亲自前来，但最近他的身体不太适合长途旅行。”
“I think more a bequest,” said Mr. Baddicombe. “You see, we’ve had it for three hundred years. Sorry. Was it something I said? Hold it under the tap, I should.”
“我想更像是一件遗赠。”巴狄康姆说，“您看，这东西我们已经保管了三百多年。抱歉，是我说错什么了吗？要是我的话，就把手指放到水龙头底下冲一冲。”
“This,” said Mr. Baddicombe, proffering the box and beaming like Aziraphale about to attempt a conjuring trick, “is yours. Someone wanted you to have it. They were very specific.”
“这个，”巴狄康姆先生把箱子推过来，脸上露出的笑容可以跟准备表演魔术的亚茨拉菲尔媲美，“是您的。有人想把它给您。这一指示非常明确。”
“What the hell is this all about?” said Newt, but a certain icy suspicion was creeping over him. He sucked at the cut.
“这到底是怎么回事？”牛顿说。一阵寒意伴随着疑虑爬上心头。他嘬了嘬刚被割破的手指。
“It’s a funny story — do you mind if I sit down?– and of course I don’t know the full details because I joined the firm only fifteen years ago, but…”
“这是个有趣的故事。您不介意我坐下来吧？当然，我也不清楚所有细节。毕竟我十五年前才进入这家事务所，但…”
… It had been a very small legal firm when the box had been cautiously delivered; Redfearn, Bychance and both the Robeys, let alone Mr. Baddicombe, were a long way in the future. The struggling legal clerk who had accepted delivery had been surprised to find, tied to the top of the box with twine, a letter addressed to himself.
…当盒子被小心送达时，它只是家很小的律师事务所。雷德费恩、贝昌斯和两位罗伯都还是遥远的未来，更不用说巴狄康姆先生。一位努力打拼的律所职员接到这个包裹，惊奇地发现在盒子上面用麻线系着一封信，收信人就是他自己。
It had contained certain instructions and five interesting facts about the history of the next ten years which, if put to good use by a keen young man, would ensure enough finance to pursue a very successful legal career.
信中包含明确指示，以及今后十年中将要发生的五件趣事，如果一位头脑灵活的年轻人把它们运用得当，就能获取足够资金，让他的法律事业蒸蒸日上。
All he had to do was see that the box was carefully looked after for rather more than three hundred years, and then delivered to a certain address…
他所要做的，只是保证这个盒子在三百余年中，得到妥善保管，然后送往一个指定地址…
“… although of course the firm had changed hands many times over the centuries,” said Mr. Baddicombe. “But the box has always been part of the chattels, as it were.”
“…当然几个世纪以来，这家事务所曾数度易手。”巴狄康姆先生说，“但这盒子素来都是有形资产的一部分。”
“I didn’t even know they made Heinz Baby Foods in the seventeenth century,” said Newt.
“我没想到十七世纪就有亨氏婴儿食品了。”牛顿说。
“And no one’s opened it all these years?” said Newt.
“这么多年就没人打开过？”牛顿说。
“That was just to keep it undamaged in the car,” said Mr. Baddicombe.
“那只是为了保证它在车里不受磕碰。”巴狄康姆先生说。
“Twice, I believe,” said Mr. Baddicombe. “In 1757, by Mr. George Cranby, and in 1928 by Mr. Arthur Bychance, father of the present Mr. Bychance.” He coughed. “Apparently Mr. Cranby found a letter –“
“我听说有两次。”巴狄康姆先生说，“1757年的乔治·克兰比先生，以及1928年的亚瑟·贝昌斯先生，也就是现在的贝昌斯先生的父亲。”他清了清嗓子，“克兰比先生发现了一封…”
Mr. Baddicombe sat back hurriedly. “My word. How did you guess that?”
巴狄康姆先生猛地向后一靠。“一点没错。您是怎么猜到的？”
“Have you heard this before?” said Mr. Baddicombe suspiciously.
“您以前听过这个故事吗？”巴狄康姆先生狐疑地问。
“– addressed to himself,” said Newt.
“写给他的信。”牛顿说。
“I think I recognize the style,” said Newt grimly. “What happened to them?”
“我想我认出了这个笔迹。”牛顿冷冷地说，“他们后来怎么样？”
“Not in so many words. They weren’t blown up, were they?”
“并不知道详情。他们没被炸飞吧？”
“Well… Mr. Cranby had a heart attack, it is believed. And Mr. Bychance went very pale and put his letter back in its envelope, I understand, and gave very strict instructions that the box wasn’t to be opened again in his lifetime. He said anyone who opened the box would be sacked without references.”
“哦…克兰比先生据说是突然心脏病发作。至于贝昌斯先生，我听说他脸色惨白，把信放回了信封，并且做出严格指示，禁止任何人在他有生之年打开这个盒子。他说如果有人这样做，就会被立即解雇。”
“I don’t see why not.” Newt eyed the saucepans hanging over the stove. One of them was big enough for what he had in mind.
“我觉得没什么关系。”牛顿瞟了眼挂在炉子上方的几个炖锅，其中有一个跟他想找的差不多大。
“Here goes.”
“那我就打开了。”
“Go on, lift it out,” said Mr. Baddicombe excitedly. “I must say I’d very much like to know what’s in there. We’ve had bets on it, in the office…”
“来吧，拿出来。”巴狄康姆先生激动地说，“我必须承认自己很想知道里面到底是什么东西。我们事务所的同事，为此打了赌…”
Newt heard a faint creak.
牛顿听到一阵微弱的吱嘎声。
“It was, in 1928. Anyway, their letters are in the box.”
“在1928年，的确如此。总之，他们的信还在这个盒子里。”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Newt, generously, “I’ll make us some coffee, and you can open the box.”
“不如这样吧。”牛顿慷慨大方地说，“我去泡点咖啡，你可以打开这个盒子。”
“Go on,” he said. “Be a devil. I don’t mind. You — you could have power of attorney, or something.”
“来吧，”他说，“怕什么。我不介意。你…你就当有授权书之类的东西。”
“Me? Would that be proper?”
“我？这合适吗？”
“There’s the two opened letters… oh, and a third one… addressed to…”
“这里有两封打开过的信…哦，还有第三封…是寄给…”
Mr. Baddicombe took off his overcoat. “Well,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “since you put it like that it’d be something to tell my grandchildren.”
巴狄康姆脱下雨衣。“那好。”他说着搓了搓手，“既然您都这么说了。等我老了，可以把这次经历讲给孙子们听。”
Newt picked up the saucepan and laid his hand gently on the door handle. “I hope so,” he said.
牛顿拿起炖锅，将手轻轻放在门把上。“希望如此。”他说。
New pulled the cardboard aside.
牛顿把纸箱打开。
There was a small ironbound chest inside. It had no lock.
那里面有个小铁皮匣。匣子上没有锁。
“What can you see?” he said.
“里面有什么？”他说。
“A dire threat,” said Newt, sarcastically.
“真是可怕的威胁啊。”牛顿讥讽道。
Newt looked at the other letters. The crackling paper of the one addressed to George Cranby said: “Remove thy thievinge Hande, Master Cranby. I minde well how yowe swindled the Widdowe Plashkin this Michelmas past, yowe skinnie owlde Snatch-pastry.”
牛顿看了看另外两封信。纸张已经发脆的信是写给乔治·克兰比先生的，上面写道：“拿开你的贼手，克兰比先生。我很清楚上次米迦勒节时，你是怎么欺骗寡妇普拉什金的。你这个老瘦猴馅儿饼贼。”
Newt took the saucepan off his head and came out from behind the door.
牛顿把炖锅从脑袋上拿开，自门后走了出来。
Newt heard the snap of a wax seal and the clink of something on the table. Then there was a gasp, the clatter of a chair, the sound of running feet in the hallway, the slam of a door, and the sound of a car engine being jerked into life and then redlined down the lane.
牛顿听到揭开蜡封的声音，以及什么东西掉在桌上的叮当声。然后是一阵喘息声、椅子腿的刮蹭声，还有跑过走廊的脚步声、摔门声、汽车引擎突然启动和车辆沿小径疾驰而去的声音。
It read: “Here is A Florin, lawyer; nowe, runne faste, lest thee Worlde knoe the Truth about yowe and Mistrefs Spiddon the Type Writinge Machine slavey.”
上面写道：“这里有两先令，律师。赶快离开，不然整个世界都会知道你和打字机女佣斯碧东女士的丑事。”
He picked up the letter and was not one hundred percent surprised to see that it was addressed to Mr. G. Baddicombe. He unfolded it.
他拾起那封信，并不特别惊讶地发现是写给G。巴狄康姆先生的。他把信展开。
Newt wondered what a snatch-pastry was. He would be prepared to bet that it didn’t involve cookery.
牛顿想知道馅儿饼贼是什么意思，他几乎可以肯定这跟烹饪没什么关系。
The one that had awaited the inquisitive Mr. Bychance said: “Yowe left them, yowe cowarde. Returne this letter to the hocks, lest the Worlde knoe the true Events of June 7th, Nineteen Hundred and Sixteene.”
等待好奇的贝昌斯先生的信这样写道：“別乱动，你这胆小鬼。把信放回去，不然整个世界都会知道1916年6月7日那件事的真相。”
She looked up. Their eyes met.
安娜丝玛抬起头。两人四目相对。
“Further Nife and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter,” she read slowly, “Concerning the Worlde that Is To Com; Ye Saga Continuef l Oh, my…”
“《艾格尼丝·风子的精良准确预言书续编》。”她缓缓读道，“有即将到来的世界！传奇继续！哦，我的…”
She laid it reverentially on the table and prepared to turn the first page.
安娜丝玛把它虔诚地放在桌上，准备翻开第一页。
“On a Sunday?” she said, pushing him aside.
“在周日？”安娜丝玛说着把他推到一边。
He shrugged as she put her hands around the yellowed manuscript and lifted it out.
牛顿耸耸肩。女孩双手捧住发黄的手稿，从盒子里拿了出来。
St. James’ Park was comparatively quiet. The ducks, who were experts in realpolitik as seen from the bread end, put it down to a decrease in world tension. There really had been a decrease in world tension, in fact, but a lot of people were in offices trying to find out why, trying to find where Atlantis had disappeared to with three international fact-finding delegations on it, and trying to work out what had happened to all their computers yesterday.
圣詹姆斯公园相当幽静。这里的鸭子们惯能从面包屑中解读国际政治格局，它们将这段平静期归结于世界紧张局势的缓和。世界紧张局势的确得到了缓和，但有很多人正在办公室里，试图搞清此中缘由。也有人想搞清亚特兰蒂斯大陆带着三个国际实地调查团消失到什么地方去了，或是昨天他们的电脑出了什么问题。
“What’s that?” said Anathema.
“这是什么？”安娜丝玛说。
Newt’s hand landed gently on hers.
牛顿轻轻按住她的双手。
Newt backed against the table. “Oh, nothing. Wrong address. Nothing. Just some old box. Junk mail. You know how –“
牛顿把目光拉回桌子。“哦，没什么。地址搞错了。没什么。只是些旧盒子。垃圾邮件。你知道…”
“Think of it like this,” he said quietly. “Do you want to be a descendant for the rest of your life?”
“想象一下。”他柔声说道，“你希望余生都做职业后人吗？”
It was Sunday, the first day of the rest of the world, around eleven-thirty.
今天是星期天，世界浩劫之后的第一天，大约十一点半。
He spun around. She was leaning against the doorframe, like an attractive yawn on legs.
牛顿猛一转身。安娜丝玛靠在门框上，像是会走路的慵懒美人。
Under the letters was a manuscript. Newt stared at it.
在这三封信下有沓手稿。牛顿盯着它。
“Well, I can tell the difference,” said Aziraphale. “I’m sure I didn’t stock books with titles like Biggles Goes To Mars and Jack Cade, Frontier Hero and 101 Things A Boy Can Do and Blood Dogs of the Skull Sea.”
“哦，我倒能看出区别。”亚茨拉菲尔说，“我敢肯定从没进过《比格斯去火星》《叛军领袖杰克·凯德》《边境英豪》《男孩要做的101件事》和《骷髅海的血猎犬》这些书。”
The park was deserted except for a member of MI9 trying to recruit someone who, to their later mutual embarrassment, would turn out to be also a member of MI9, and a tall man feeding the ducks.
公园里空空荡荡，只有一个军情九处的成员正试图征募另一个人，让他们都有些尴尬的是，这人原来也是军情九处的。此外还有个身材高大的男子在喂鸭子。
“I mean, you can’t just make an old Bentley,” said Crowley. “You can’t get the patina. But there it was, large as life. Right there in the street. You can’t tell the difference.”
“我是说，你不可能造出一辆老宾利车。”克鲁利说，“你不可能得到那种古色古香的光泽。但它就在那儿，完整无缺。现在就停在街上。你根本看不出区别。”
And there were also Crowley and Aziraphale.
当然，克鲁利和亚茨拉菲尔也在这里。
“Gosh, I’m sorry,” said Crowley, who knew how much the angel had treasured his book collection.
“老天啊，我深表同情。”克鲁利说。他知道天使有多珍爱自己的藏书。
They strolled side by side across the grass.
他们肩并肩在草地上散步。
“Same here,” said Aziraphale. “The shop’s all there. Not so much as a soot mark.”
“彼此彼此。”亚茨拉菲尔说，“书店恢复了原样，连个煤烟痕迹都没有。”
“Don’t be,” said Aziraphale happily. “They’re all mint first editions and I looked them up in Skindle’s Price Guide. I think the phrase you use is whop-eee.”
“没必要。”亚茨拉菲尔快活地说，“它们都是初版书，我在《斯堪德书价指南》上查了查。我想你用的那个词叫——哇靠。”
“I thought he was putting the world back just as it was,” said Crowley.
“看来他把整个世界恢复原样了。”克鲁利说。
“Your people been in touch?” he said.
“你们的人联系过你了吗？”他说。
“And I think mine are waiting to see what happens next,” said Aziraphale.
“我想上面的人都在等着看会有什么变化。”亚茨拉菲尔说。
“No. Yours?”
“没有。你呢？”
“What? You mean Heaven and Hell against humanity?”
“什么？你是说天堂和地狱对抗人类？”
“Sorry?” said Aziraphale. “I thought that was the big one.”
“是吗？”亚茨拉菲尔说，“我还以为那天就是大决战。”
Crowley shrugged. “Of course, if he did change everything, then maybe he changed himself, too. Got rid of his powers, perhaps. Decided to stay human.”
克鲁利耸耸肩。“当然，如果他改变了一切，那么也许连他也改变了。没准儿除掉了自己的力量，决定做个普通人。”
Crowley nodded. “A breathing space,” he said. “A chance to morally re-arm. Get the defenses up. Ready for the big one.”
克鲁利点点头。“一段喘息时间。”他说，“一个重新在精神上武装起来的机会。集聚力量，准备大决战。”
“Oh, I do hope so,” said Aziraphale. “Anyway, I’m sure the alter native wouldn’t be allowed. Er. Would it?”
“哦，希望如此。”亚茨拉菲尔说，“反正我敢说另一条路是被禁止的。呃，没错吧？”
“Mine too, I suppose. That’s bureaucracy for you.”
“估计我们这边也是。这就是官僚主义。”
“No.”
“没有。”
They stood by the pond, watching the ducks scrabble for the bread.
他们站在池塘边，看着鸭子们争抢面包屑。
Crowley gave him a sideways look.
克鲁利斜眼瞥了他一下。
“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “More or less. As best he can. But he’s got a sense of humor, too.”
“嗯。”亚茨拉菲尔说，“差不多吧。尽他所能。但他还有些幽默感。”
“I’m not sure,” said Crowley. “Think about it. For my money, the really big one will be all of Us against all of Them.”
“我不敢肯定。”克鲁利说，“想想看。我敢说，真正的大决战会是我们所有人对他们所有人。”
“I think they’re pretending it didn’t happen.”
“我估计他们想装作什么事儿都没有。”
“As I recall,” said the angel, stiffly, “there was the rebellion and –“
“根据我的回忆，”天使刻板地说，“是由于一次叛乱…”
“Sorry” said Aziraphale.
“什么？”亚茨拉菲尔说。
“I don’t know. You can never be certain about what’s really intended. Plans within plans.”
“我不知道。你永远也说不好上帝的真实目的。计划里套着计划。”
“Oh, come on. Be sensible,” said Aziraphale, doubtfully.
“哦，得了吧。别胡扯了。”亚茨拉菲尔不敢肯定地说。
“That’s not good advice,” said Crowley. “That’s not good advice at all. If you sit down and think about it sensibly, you come up with some very funny ideas. Like: why make people inquisitive, and then put some forbidden fruit where they can see it with a big neon finger flashing on and off saying ‘THIS IS IT!’?”
“这不是好主意。”克鲁利说，“根本不是好主意。如果你不再胡扯，而是坐下来认真思考，就会冒出特别有趣的念头。比如，为什么要赋予人类好奇心，然后把某些禁果放在他们抬头就能看见的地方，再摆个一闪一闪的霓虹灯手指，上书三个大字‘就是它’？”
“Well,” said Crowley, who’d been thinking about this until his head ached, “haven’t you ever wondered about it all? You know — your people and my people. Heaven and Hell, good and evil, all that sort of thing? I mean, why?”
“嗯。”克鲁利一直在考虑这个问题，想得头都疼了，“你就没动过这个念头吗？你知道…你们的人和我们的人。天堂和地狱，善良和邪恶，所有这些？我是说，为什么会有这些东西？”
“Ah, yes. And why did it happen, eh? I mean, it didn’t have to, did it?” said Crowley, a manic look in his eye. “Anyone who could build a universe in six days isn’t going to let a little thing like that happen. Unless they want it to, of course.”
“啊，对。为什么会发生叛乱，嗯？我是说，根本没这个必要，不是吗？”克鲁利目光中有一丝疯狂，“任何能在六天内创造世界的人，都不会让这种芝麻小事发生。当然，除非他有意如此。”
“Yeah. Right. Thanks.”
“对。没错。谢谢。”
INEFFABLE, said the figure feeding the ducks.
不可言喻的，喂鸭子的高个儿说。
“Metaphorically, I mean. I mean, why do that if you really don’t want them to eat it, eh? I mean, maybe you just want to see how it all turns out. Maybe it’s all part of a great big ineffable plan. All of it. You, me, him, everything. Some great big test to see if what you’ve built all works properly, eh? You start thinking: it can’t be a great cosmic game of chess, it has to be just very complicated Solitaire. And don’t bother to answer. If we could understand, we wouldn’t be us. Because it’s all — all –“
“只是打个比方。我是说，如果你真不想让他们吃，为何要这样做，嗯？我是说，也许他是想看看到底会如何发展。也许这只是某个超大的不可言喻计划的一部分。所有东西都是。你、我、他，一切。某个超级测试，为了看看你造的东西是否对头，嗯？你开始琢磨：这不可能是宇宙大棋局，更像是场非常复杂的单人牌戏。另外，别费劲思考答案了。如果能够理解这个问题，那咱们就不是咱们了。因为它是…是…”
“I don’t remember any neon.”
“我怎么不记得有霓虹灯？”
They went to the Ritz again, where a table was mysteriously vacant. And perhaps the recent exertions had had some fallout in the nature of reality because, while they were eating, for the first time ever, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.
他们又去了丽兹大饭店，那里有张桌子神奇地空了出来。也许最近这一系列事件，对世界本质造成了一些副作用。因为在他们吃饭的时候，有史以来头一次有只夜莺在柏克莱广场欢唱。
They watched the tall stranger carefully dispose of the empty bag in a litter bin, and stalk away across the grass. Then Crowley shook his head.
他们看着高个儿陌生人仔细团好空纸袋，扔进一个垃圾箱，然后朝草坪对面走去。克鲁利摇摇头。
“Don’t know,” said Aziraphale. “Nothing very important, I think.”
“不知道。”亚茨拉菲尔说，“好像没什么要紧事。”
“What was I saying?” he said.
“我刚才在说什么？”他说。
Crowley nodded gloomily. “Let me tempt you to some lunch,” he hissed.
克鲁利丧气地点点头。“让我引诱你去吃顿午餐吧。”他嘶嘶说道。
For the last decade Sunday lunch in Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell’s world had followed an invariable routine. He would sit at the rickety, cigarette-burned table in his room, thumbing through an elderly copy of one of the Witchfinder Army library’s [Witchfinder Corporal Carpet, librarian, Il pence per annum bonus.] books on magic and Demonology — the Necrotelecomnicon or the Liber Fulvarum Paginarum, or his old favorite, the Malleus Malleficarum. [“A relentlefs blockbufter of a boke; heartily recommended”– Pope Innocent VIII.]
过去十年来，猎巫军中士沙德维尔的每顿周日午餐，都遵循着相同的日程。他会坐在房间里摇摇欲坠、布满烟头痕迹的桌子旁，翻阅猎巫军图书馆——由图书馆员地毯下士管理，每年11便士奖金——收藏的某册老书。他看的都是有关魔法和恶魔学的书籍，比如Necrotelecomnicon或是Liber Fulvarum Paginarum或是他最喜欢的Malleus Malleficarum。（永远的惊世之书；诚挚推荐——教皇天贞八世。）
No one heard it over the noise of the traffic, but it was there, right enough.
交通噪声完全盖住了它的歌声。但它就在那里，真真切切。
It was one o’clock on Sunday.
星期天下午一点。
Then there would be a knock on the door, and Madame Tracy would call out, “Lunch, Mr. Shadwell,” and Shadwell would mutter, “Shameless hussy,” and wait sixty seconds, to allow the shameless hussy time to get back into her room; then he’d open the door, and pick up the plate of liver, which was usually carefully covered by another plate to keep it warm. And he’d take it in, and he’d eat it, taking moderate care not to spill any gravy on the pages he was reading.
然后是一阵敲门声，特蕾西夫人会喊道：“午餐，沙德维尔先生。”中士会嘟囔一句：“不知羞耻的贱婆娘。”然后等上六秒钟，让不知羞耻的贱婆娘有足够时间回到自己的房间，接着他会打开门，拿起放有猪肝的盘子，这上面通常会盖着另一个盘子，用来保温。他会把这东西拿进来吃掉，同时稍加留意，避免肉汁滴在正在看的书页上。
For a start, he wasn’t reading. He was just sitting.
首先，沙德维尔没有读书，他只是干坐着。
And when the knock came on the door he got up immediately, and opened it. He needn’t have hurried.
敲门声响起时，他急忙站起身，把门打开。其实他根本不用着急。
[To the right collector, the Witchfinder Army’s library would have been worth millions. The right collector would have to have been very rich, and not have minded gravy stains, cigarette burns, marginal notations, or the late Witchfinder Lance Corporal Wotling’s passion for drawing mustaches and spectacles on all woodcut illustrations of witches and demons.]
（对内行的收藏家来说，猎巫军图书馆的馆藏价值数百万英镑。此类收藏家必须特别富有，不在乎肉汁污渍、香烟灼痕、页边注释，还有已故的猎巫军一等兵沃特灵为版画插图上所有女巫和魔鬼画胡子和眼镜的冲动。）
Except on that Sunday, it didn’t.
但这个星期天，情况发生了变化。
That was what always happened.
过去就是这样。
“Aye, Jezebel?”
“哦，放浪女人？”
Madame Tracy’s voice was bright and fast and brittle with uncertainty. “Hullo, Mister S, I was just thinking, after all we’ve been through in the last two days, seems silly for me to leave a plate out for you, so I’ve set a place for you. Come on…”
特蕾西夫人的语气明快跳脱，又有些支支吾吾。“你好，沙先生，我只是在想，经过了前两天的那些事，我再把盘子放在你门前感觉有点傻，所以我为你准备了一个座位。来吧…”
Mister S? Shadwell followed, warily.
沙先生？沙德维尔谨慎小心地跟在特蕾西夫人身后。
There was no plate. There was just Madame Tracy, wearing a cameo brooch, and an unfamiliar shade of lipstick. She was also standing in the center of a perfume zone.
门口没有盘子，只有特蕾西夫人。她戴着一枚贝壳胸针，涂了颜色奇怪的口红，还站在一团香气中心。
It was this. “Nothin’ wrong with witchfinding. I’d like to be a witchfinder. It’s just, weld you’ve got to take it in turns. Today we’ll go out witchfinding, an’ tomorrow we could hide, an it’d be the witches’ turn to find US…”
那句话是这样的。“猎巫没什么错。我就想当个猎巫人。只不过，哦，你们应该轮流来。今天咱们去猎巫，明天咱们可以藏起来，轮到女巫们来找咱们…”
He’d had another dream, last night. He didn’t remember it properly, just one phrase, that still echoed in his head and disturbed him. The dream had vanished into a haze, like the events of the previous night.
昨晚，他做了个梦，具体情节已经记不清楚，只有一句话还在脑海中回荡，让他心烦意乱。早上醒来后，这个梦隐入迷雾之中，就跟昨天晚上那些事一样。
For the second time in twenty-four hours — for the second time in his life — he entered Madame Tracy’s rooms.
他在二十四小时中——也是这一辈子中——第二次走进特蕾西夫人的房间。
“Sit down there,” she told him, pointing to an armchair. It had an antimacassar on the headrest, a plumped-up pillow on the seat, and a small footstool.
“坐那儿。”她指着一把扶手椅说。它的靠背上罩着椅套，座席上有个蓬松垫子，下面还有个小脚凳。
She placed a tray on his lap, and watched him eat, and removed his plate when he had finished. Then she opened a bottle of Guinness, poured it into a glass and gave it to him, then sipped her tea while he slurped his stout. When she put her cup down, it tinkled nervously in the saucer.
特蕾西夫人把盘子放在他大腿上，看着他吃完，然后将盘子拿走。她开了瓶健力士啤酒，倒进杯子递给中士，在沙德维尔啜饮时，她则抿着自己的茶。特蕾西夫人最终放下茶杯，它在茶碟中紧张得叮当作响。
“I’ve got a tidy bit put away,” she said, apropos of nothing. “And you know, I sometimes think it would be a nice thing to get a little bungalow, in the country somewhere. Move out of London. I’d call it The Laurels, or Dunroamin, or, or…”
“我还有很多呢。”她突如其来地说，“你知道，我有时候觉得在乡下买座小平房会很不错。搬出伦敦。我会叫它桂冠或是丹罗明，或者、或者…”
He sat down.
中士坐下来。
“Uh. Shangri-La.”
“哦，香格里拉。”
“Exactly, Mister S. Exactly. Shangri-La.” She smiled at him. “Are you comfy, love?”
“没错，沙先生。没错。香格里拉。”特蕾西夫人笑了笑，“你还舒适吗，亲爱的？”
Madame Tracy opened another bottle of Guinness and placed it in front of him.
特蕾西夫人又开了瓶健力士，放在中士面前。
Shadwell realized that she was talking about him.
沙德维尔意识到她是指自己。
(Or five hundred and eighteen, thought Shadwell, remembering the massed ranks of the Witchfinder Army.)
或者五百一十八人，沙德维尔回想着猎巫军的众多士兵。
He wasn’t sure about this. He had a distinct feeling that leaving Witchfinder Private Pulsifer with the young lady in Tadfield had been a bad move, as far as the Witchfinder Army Booke of Rules and Reggulations was concerned. And this seemed even more dangerous.
他拿不定主意。根据《猎巫军规章制度》中开列的条款，他明显感觉到把二等兵帕西法留在塔德菲尔德的年轻女士身边，是一步坏棋。而现在这个提议似乎更加危险。
“Only trouble with having a little bungalow, called — what was your clever idea, Mister S?”
“只有一个小麻烦。要买这样一栋小屋，叫它…你刚才那个好名字是什么来着，沙先生？”
“Shangri-La, exactly, is that it’s not right for one, is it? I mean, two people, they say two can live as cheaply as one.”
“香格里拉，没错，这不是个再好不过的名字吗？我的意思是，人们常说两个人生活，开销跟一个人差不多。”
She giggled. “I just wonder whereI could find someone to settle down with…”
特蕾西夫人咯咯笑了几声。“我只是在想，到哪儿去找个人一起安顿下来…”
Shadwell realized with dawning horror that he was comfortable. Horribly, terrifyingly comfortable. “Aye,” he said, warily. He had never been so comfortable.
沙德维尔心中陡生惧意，他意识到自己很舒适。舒适得要命。“嗯。”他警惕地说。他这辈子还没这么舒适过。
“Shangri-La,” suggested Shadwell, and for the life of him could not think why.
“香格里拉。”沙德维尔提出建议。他在有生之年，经常琢磨自己怎么会说这句话。
He popped it again.
他又问了一遍。
“Two,” said Madame Tracy.
“两个。”特蕾西夫人说。
He grunted. There was a formality that had to be observed in all this.
他呻吟一声。涉及此类事体，有项惯例必须遵守。
Madame Tracy opened another bottle of Guinness, and giggled. “Oh Mister S,” she said, “you’ll be thinking I’m trying to get you tiddly.”
特蕾西夫人又开了瓶健力士，咯咯笑道：“哦，沙先生，你肯定觉得我想灌醉你。”
Madame Tracy giggled. “Honestly, you old silly,” she said, and she blushed a deep red. “How many do you think?”
特蕾西夫人又笑了起来。“说实话，你这个老坏蛋。”她的脸色红得要命，“你说有几个？”
(An’ tomorrow we could hide, an it’d be the witches’ turn to find us.)
明天咱们可以藏起来，轮到女巫来找咱们…
It had been a very strange couple of days. He still wasn’t certain why his father had been called to the Middle East. He was pretty sure that his father didn’t know, either. It was probably something cultural. All that had happened was a lot of funny-looking guys with towels on their heads and very bad teeth had shown them around some old ruins. As ruins went, Warlock had seen better. And then one of the old guys had said to him, wasn’t there anything he wanted to do? And Warlock had said he’d like to leave.
这几天让他感觉特别诡异。沃洛克还是不明白父亲被召去中东干什么，而且相当肯定他父亲也不明白。没准儿是某些文化问题。这几天，一群脑袋上包头巾、嘴里一口尖牙、长相特别古怪的家伙带着他们游览了些古老遗迹。作为遗迹而言，沃洛克见过更好的。后来还有个老头对他说：“你在这儿没有什么想干的吗？”沃洛克说他想回家。
“Ah, weel. That’s all reet then,” said Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell (retired).
“啊，好的。那就没问题了。”猎巫军退伍中士沙德维尔说。
Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell took a long, deep drink of Guinness, and he popped the question.
猎巫军中士沙德维尔长饮一口黑啤酒，提出了那个问题。
It was Sunday afternoon.
星期天下午。
High over England a 747 droned westwards. In the first-class cabin a boy called Warlock put down his comic and stared out of the window.
英国上空，一架波音747向西飞去。在头等舱中，一个叫沃洛克的男孩放下漫画，望向窗外。
Still, at his age, when you’re getting too old to go crawling about in the long grass, when the chill morning dew gets into your bones…
但是到了这把年纪，你已经不适合在长草间匍匐前进，让冰冷的晨露钻进骨头…
They’d looked very unhappy about that.
这个回答似乎让他们很不开心。
And now he was going back to the States. There had been some sort of problem with tickets or flights or airport destination-boards or something. It was weird; he was pretty sure his father had meant to go back to England. Warlock liked England. It was a nice country to be an American in.
现在他要回美国了。好像是机票或是航班或是机场调度表之类的东西出了问题。这可真怪，他很肯定父亲本来是要回英国的。沃洛克喜欢英国。对美国人来说，那是个适合居住的国家。
And Warlock flew on to America. He deserved something (after all, you never forget the first friends you ever had, even if you were all a few hours old at the time) and the power that was controlling the fate of all mankind at that precise time was thinking: Well, he’s going to America, isn’t he? Don’t see how you could have anythin’ better than going to America
沃洛克飞向美国。他应该得到些礼物。（毕竟你永远不会忘记第一个朋友，哪怕当时你只有几小时大。）而控制所有人类命运的神力此刻所想的是：哦，他要去美国了，不是吗？看不出你还能得到什么东西，比去美国更好。
The plane was at that point passing right above the Lower Tadfield bedroom of Greasy Johnson, who was aimlessly leafing through a photography magazine that he’d bought merely because it had a rather good picture of a tropical fish on the cover.
飞机此时正从下塔德菲尔德上空飞过，正对着戈里希·约翰逊的卧室，他在漫无目的地翻阅一本摄影杂志。他买这本书只是因为封面上有张很不错的热带鱼照片。
A few pages below Greasy’s listless finger was a spread on American football, and how it was really catching on in Europe. Which was odd… because when the magazine had been printed, those pages had been about photography in desert conditions.
戈里希无精打采的手指正好翻开几页关于美式橄榄球的文章，里面还讲了它是如何在欧洲真正流行起来。挺奇怪的，因为杂志印刷出来时，这些页面是沙漠环境的照片。
It was about to change his life.
这将改变他的人生。
They’ve got thirty-nine flavors of ice cream there. Maybe even more.
他们那儿有三十九种口味的冰淇淋。也许更多。
There were a million exciting things a boy and his dog could be doing on a Sunday afternoon. Adam could think of four or five hundred of them without even trying. Thrilling things, stirring things, planets to be conquered, lions to be tamed, lost South American worlds teeming with dinosaurs to be discovered and befriended.
在星期天下午，一个男孩和他的狗有一百万种特别刺激的事儿可以做。亚当随随便便就能想出四五百种。惊魂动魄的事儿。激动人心的事儿。有待征服的星球，有待驯化的狮子，有待发现的失落南美世界，以及居住在那里的有待结识的恐龙。
At breakfast the next morning, however, it was made clear that this had not been enough. Mr. Young disliked gallivanting about of a Saturday evening on a wild-goose chase. And if, by some unimaginable fluke, Adam was not responsible for the night’s disturbances — whatever they had been, since nobody had seemed very clear on the details, only that there had been disturbances of some sort — then he was undoubtedly guilty of something. This was Mr. Young’s attitude, and it had served him well for the last eleven years.
但第二天吃早餐时，亚当发现显然还不够逼真。扬先生不喜欢在周六晚上，为了一场徒劳无功的寻觅四处瞎逛。而且即便出于不可思议的侥幸，亚当和昨晚的骚动——不管到底是什么骚动了，因为所有人似乎都不清楚具体细节，只知道发生了某种骚动——没有关系，那他也肯定犯了别的错。这就是扬先生的人生态度，而且这种态度在过去十一年中效果良好。
He sat in the garden, and scratched in the dirt with a pebble, looking despondent.
他坐在花园里，用一颗鹅卵石在泥地上胡乱涂抹，难掩沮丧的神情。
His father had found Adam asleep on his return from the air base — sleeping, to all intents and purposes, as if he had been in bed all evening. Even snoring once in a while, for verisimilitude.
扬先生从机场回家后，发现亚当已经睡着了——无论怎么看都是睡着了，就好像整夜没离开床。为了显得逼真，他甚至还打了会儿呼噜。
Dog sat at Adam’s feet. He had tried to help, chiefly by exhuming a bone he had buried four days earlier and dragging it to Adam’s feet, but all Adam had done was stare at it gloomily, and eventually Dog had taken it away and inhumed it once more. He had done all he could.
狗狗坐在亚当脚旁。它曾试图帮忙，主要包括挖出四天前埋下的骨头，拖到主人脚下。但亚当只是沮丧地盯着它，狗狗最终把它叼走，重新埋好。它已经尽其所能了。
“Hi,” said Adam, disconsolately.
“嗨。”他难过地说。
Adam sat dispiritedly in the garden. The August sun hung high in an August blue and cloudless sky, and behind the hedge a thrush sang, but it seemed to Adam that this was simply making it all much worse.
亚当没精打采地坐在花园里。8月艳阳高挂在8月蔚蓝无云的天空中，篱笆后面有只画眉在歌唱。但对亚当来说，这只能让他的心情更加糟糕。
“They’ve got tents, and elephants and jugglers and pratic’ly wild animals and stuff and — and everything!” said Wensleydale.
“他们有帐篷，还有大象和变戏法的，还有真正的野生动物，还有…什么都有！”温斯利戴说。
Adam turned. Three faces stared over the garden fence.
亚当转过头。三张脸出现在花园篱笆之上。
“Adam?”
“亚当？”
“We thought maybe we’d all go down there an’ watch them setting up,” said Brian.
“我们觉得，也许咱们可以去看他们布置舞台。”布赖恩说。
For an instant Adam’s mind swam with visions of circuses. Circuses were boring, once they were set up. You could see better stuff on television any day. But the setting up… Of course they’d all go down there, and they’d help them put up the tents, and wash the elephants, and the circus people would be so impressed with Adam’s natural rapport with animals such that, that night, Adam (and Dog, the World’s Most Famous Performing Mongrel) would lead the elephants into the circus ring and…
顷刻之间，亚当脑海中挤满了马戏团的画面。马戏团只要一架设好就很无聊。你随时可以在电视上看到更棒的玩意儿。但是布置舞台…“他们”当然都要去，“他们”会帮那些人架起帐篷，给大象洗澡。马戏团的人会惊奇地发现亚当和动物们有种天生的亲密感，到了晚上他们会让亚当（还有狗狗，世上最有名的混血狗演员）把大象们领进表演场…
“There’s a circus come to Norton,” said Pepper. “Wensley was down there, and he saw them. They’re just setting up.”
“诺顿来了个马戏团。”佩帕说，“温斯利去了一趟，正好看见他们。他们正在布置舞台。”
“Adam,” said Pepper, a trifle uneasily, “what did happen last night?”
“亚当。”佩帕有点不安地说，“昨晚出了什么事？”
There was a pause.
一时间谁都没说话。
Adam brightened. “Oh, tomorrow’ll be all right,” he pronounced. “They’ll have forgotten about it by then. You’ll see. They always do.” He looked up at them, a scruffy Napoleon with his laces trailing, exiled to a rose-trellissed Elba. “You all go,” he told them, with a brief, hollow laugh. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be all right. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
亚当脸色一亮。“哦，明天没问题。”他断言道，“他们到时候就全忘了。你们等着瞧。他们老这样。”他看着三位伙伴，就像个没系鞋带、邋里邋遢的拿破仑，被流放到全是玫瑰架的厄尔巴岛。“你们去吧。”他短促空洞地笑了一声，“你们不用担心我。我没事。咱们明天见。”
There was another pause, while the Them stared at their fallen leader.
又是一阵沉默。“他们”注视着这位倒下的领袖。
“Not for years an’ years. Years an’ years an’ years. I’ll be an old man by the time they let me out,” said Adam.
“估计得一年又一年，一年又一年。等他们放我出去，我肯定都成老头了。”亚当说。
It was no good.
这没用。
The Them hesitated. Loyalty was a great thing, but no lieutenants should be forced to choose between their leader and a circus with elephants. They left.
“他们”犹豫片刻。忠诚是件好事，但任何副官都不该被迫在他们的领袖和有大象的马戏团之间做出选择。他们走了。
He shook his head sadly. “Can’t go anywhere,” he said. “They said so.”
他难过地摇摇头。“哪儿都不能去。”他说，“他们说的。”
“How about tomorrow?” asked Wensleydale.
“明天怎么样？”温斯利戴问。
Adam shrugged. “Just stuff. Doesn’t matter,” he said. “‘Salways the same. All you do is try to help, and people would think you’d murdered someone or something.”
亚当耸耸肩。“就是些事儿呗。不重要。”他说，“全都一个样。你只不过想要帮忙，结果别人就以为你谋杀了某个人什么的。”
“When d’you think they’ll let you out, then?” asked Pepper.
“那你觉得他们什么时候会让你出来玩？”佩帕问。
The sun continued to shine. The thrush continued to sing. Dog gave up on his master, and began to stalk a butterfly in the grass by the garden hedge. This was a serious, solid, impassable hedge, of thick and well-trimmed privet, and Adam knew it of old. Beyond it stretched open fields, and wonderful muddy ditches, and unripe fruit, and irate but slow-of-foot owners of fruit trees, and circuses, and streams to dam, and walls and trees just made for climbing…
阳光继续普照。画眉继续歌唱。狗狗离开了主人，开始追逐一只停在花园篱笆旁草地上的蝴蝶。这是一道牢不可破的篱笆，由精心修理的厚实女贞木组成。亚当已经跟它打过多年交道。在篱笆之后便是开阔的田野，还有绝妙的泥沟、青涩的果实、脾气暴躁但脚步迟缓的果树主人，还有马戏团、流向堤坝的小溪、只为被人攀爬而生的墙壁和树木…
Dog jumped up and down excitedly, and stayed where he was.
狗狗激动地上蹿下跳，待在原地没动。
But there was no way through the hedge.
但穿过这道篱笆是不可能的。
“Dog,” said Adam, sternly, “get away from that hedge, because if you went through it, then I’d have to chase you to catch you, and I’d have to go out of the garden, and I’m not allowed to do that. But I’d have to… if you went an’ ran away.”
“狗狗。”他严厉地说，“躲开那道篱笆，因为如果你钻过去了，我就必须去把你追回来，那我就必须离开花园，他们不允许我这么做。但我必须…如果你跑出去的话。”
Adam looked around, carefully. Then, even more carefully, he looked Up, and Down. And then Inside.
亚当谨慎地环视四周。然后更加谨慎地，看了看上边，又看看下边。最后是里边。
Adam looked thoughtful.
亚当沉思着。
And now there was a large hole in the hedge — large enough for a dog to run through, and for a boy to squeeze through after him. And it was a hole that had always been there.
此时的篱笆上有个大洞，大到足以让一条狗跑出去，也够让一个男孩钻过去追它。这个洞从始至终就在这里。
Then…
接着…
Adam winked at Dog.
亚当冲狗狗挤挤眼。
Something told him that something was coming to an end. Not the world, exactly. Just the summer. There would be other summers, but there would never be one like this. Ever again.
有些东西告诉他，有些东西即将结束。肯定不是世界，而是夏天。日后还有别的夏天，但不可能跟这个一样。永远不可能。
It wasn’t a witch’s cackle; it was the low and earthy guffaw of someone who knew a great deal more than could possibly be good for them.
不是女巫的尖声怪笑，而是一种低沉粗犷的大笑。你会觉得笑声的主人似乎知道了太多不该知道的事情。
He could hear laughter.
他能听到笑声。
Agnes Nutter winked at him.
艾格尼丝·风子冲他挤挤眼。
Dog ran through the hole in the hedge. And, shouting clearly, loudly and distinctly, “Dog, you bad dog! Stop! Come back here!” Adam squeezed through after him.
狗狗从篱笆上的洞跑了出去。亚当用清晰的声音大喊道：“狗狗，你这坏狗！别跑！给我回来！”他追着狗狗钻了出去。
The white smoke writhed and curled above the cottage chimney.
白烟在小屋烟囱上盘旋翻卷。
Better make the most of it, then.
所以说，最好尽情享受这个夏天。
Adam could hear things that other people might miss.
亚当能听到别人可能会忽视的声音。
For a fraction of an instant Adam saw, outlined in the smoke, a handsome, female face. A face that hadn’t been seen on Earth for over three hundred years.
只在那顷刻之间，亚当看到白烟勾勒出一张俊俏的女子面庞。这张脸已经三百多年没出现在凡间了。
He stopped halfway across the field. Someone was burning something. He looked at the plume of white smoke above the chimney of Jasmine Cottage, and he paused. And he listened.
亚当在田野上跑了一半，忽然停住脚步。有人在烧什么东西。亚当看到一缕白烟从茉莉小屋的烟囱里冒了出来。他愣了一下，静心聆听。
The light summer breeze dispersed the smoke; and the face and the laughter were gone.
夏季和煦的小风吹散烟气，那张脸和笑声都消失了。
Adam grinned, and began to run once more.
亚当露齿一笑，又跑了起来。
In a meadow a short distance away, across a stream, the boy caught up with the wet and muddy dog. “Bad Dog,” said Adam, scratching Dog behind the ears. Dog yapped ecstatically.
在不远处一条小溪对面的树荫里，男孩赶上了湿漉漉、脏兮兮的小狗。“坏狗狗。”亚当说着挠了挠它的耳朵根。狗狗舒服地叫了两声。
Parental retribution was now a certainty, thought Adam, as he bolted, his dog by his side, his pockets stuffed with stolen fruit.
父母的责罚在所难免，亚当心想。他撒腿就跑，兜里塞满偷来的水果，狗狗就跟在旁边。
“Hey! You! Boy!” came a gruff voice from behind him. “You’re that Adam Young! I can see you! I’ll tell your father about you, you see if I don’t!”
“嗨！你！小孩！”一个气急败坏的声音在他身后响起，“你是亚当·扬！我看见你了！我会告诉你爸爸去，你就等着瞧吧！”
Adam looked up. Above him hung an old apple tree, gnarled and heavy. It might have been there since the dawn of time. Its boughs were bent with the weight of apples, small and green and unripe.
亚当抬头看去。一棵老苹果树就在上方，枝干粗壮虬结，也许在世界诞生之时就生长在这里。它的枝条被许多又小又绿的青苹果压弯了腰。
With the speed of a striking cobra the boy was up the tree. He returned to the ground seconds later with his pockets bulging, munching noisily on a tart and perfect apple.
男孩以响尾蛇出击的速度爬上树，片刻之后就回到地面，兜里鼓鼓囊囊，嘴里大声嚼着一颗圆滚滚的酸苹果。
It always was. But it wouldn’t be till this evening.
这种事向来如此，但责罚要到晚上才会兑现。
And this evening was a long way off.
而晚上还早着呢。
He couldn’t see why people made such a fuss about people eating their silly old fruit anyway, but life would be a lot less fun if they didn’t. And there never was an apple, in Adam’s opinion, that wasn’t worth the trouble you got into for eating it.
亚当不明白，为什么有些人会因为别人吃了他们的傻水果就这么大惊小怪。但如果不是这样，生活会少很多乐趣。而且在亚当看来，吃苹果惹上的麻烦，永远都是值得的。
He threw the apple core back in the general direction of his pursuer, and he reached into a pocket for another.
他把苹果核往后一扔，掷向追兵的大致方位，然后伸手从兜里又拿了一颗。
If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends.
如果你要想象未来，就想象一个男孩、他的狗，以及他的朋友们。还有一个永远不会结束的夏天。
And if you want to imagine the future, imagine a boot… no, imagine a sneaker, laces trailing, kicking a pebble; imagine a stick, to poke at interesting things, and throw for a dog that may or may not decide to retrieve it; imagine a tuneless whistle, pounding some luckless popular song into insensibility; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human…
如果你要想象未来，就想象一只靴子…不，想象一只鞋带松松垮垮的运动鞋，踢着一颗小石子；想象一根木棍，戳向有趣的地方，还可以扔出去，让一条狗决定要不要追；想象跑调的口哨声，把某些倒霉的流行歌曲变得不堪入耳；想象一个身影，半是天使，半是恶魔，完全是人…
… forever.
永远永远。
Slouching hopefully towards Tadfield…
雄赳赳懒洋洋地朝塔德菲尔德走去…
0 条评论