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He really was an impossible person. Too shy, and he had nothing at all to say. When he came to your studio, he just sat there, silent. When he finally went, blushing red all over his face, you wanted to scream and throw something at him.
他真是个让人无可奈何的人。太害羞了，而且什么话也不说。当他来到你的画室时，只是坐在那里，一声不吭。当他终于离开时，满脸涨得通红，让你恨不得大叫一声，拿东西砸他。
The strange thing was that at first sight he looked most interesting. Everybody agreed about that. You saw him in a café one evening, sitting in a corner with a glass of coffee in front of him. He was a thin boy, who always wore a blue shirt and a grey jacket that was a little too small for him. He looked just like a boy who has decided to run away to sea. You expected him to get up at any moment, and walk out into the night and be drowned.
奇怪的是，乍一看他却非常引人注目。大家都这么认为。一天晚上你在咖啡馆里看到他，坐在角落里，面前放着一杯咖啡。他是个瘦弱的男孩，总是穿着一件蓝衬衫和一件对他来说稍显小的灰色夹克。他看起来就像个决心离家出海当水手的少年。你总觉得他随时会站起来，走进夜色中，然后被海水淹没。
He had short black hair, grey eyes, white skin and a mouth that always looked ready for tears. Oh, just to see him did something to your heart! And he had this habit of blushing. If a waiter spoke to him, he turned red!
他留着黑色短发，灰色的眼睛，皮肤白皙，那张嘴看起来总像是快要哭了似的。噢，光是看着他，就让人心生怜爱！而且他还有脸红的习惯。如果服务员跟他说话，他的脸就会变红！
‘Who is he, my dear? Do you know?’
“亲爱的，他是谁？你知道吗？”
‘Yes. His name is Ian French. He paints. They say he’s very clever. Someone I know tried to mother him. She asked him how often he had a letter from home, if he had enough blankets on his bed, how much milk he drank. Then she went to his studio to make sure he had enough clean shirts. She rang and rang the bell, but nobody came to the door, although she was sure he was there… Hopeless!’
“知道。他叫伊恩·弗伦奇。是个画家。据说很有才华。我认识的一位女士曾试图像母亲一样照顾他。她问他多久收到一次家信，床上的毯子够不够盖，喝多少牛奶。然后她去他的画室确认他是否有足够的干净衬衫。她按了又按门铃，虽然确信他在里面，却没人来开门……真是没救了！”
Someone else decided he ought to fall in love. She called him to her, took his hand, and told him how wonderful life can be for those who are brave. But when she went to his studio one evening, she rang and rang… Hopeless.
另一个人觉得他应该谈场恋爱。她把他叫到身边，握着他的手，告诉他对于勇敢的人来说生活是多么美好。但当她某天晚上去他的画室时，按了又按门铃……还是没救了。
‘What the poor boy really needs is excitement,’ a third woman said. She took him to cafés and night-clubs, dark places where the drinks cost too much and there were always stories of a shooting the night before. Once he got very drunk, but still he said nothing, and when she took him home to his studio, he just said ‘goodnight’ and left her outside in the street… Hopeless.
“这可怜的孩子真正需要的是刺激，”第三个女人说。她带他去咖啡馆和夜总会，那些灯光昏暗、酒水昂贵且总流传着枪击传闻的地方。有一次他喝得酩酊大醉，但仍然一言不发，当她送他回画室时，他只说了声“晚安”就把她留在了大街上……真是无可救药。
Other women tried to help him—women can be very kind—but finally they, too, were defeated. We are all busy people, and why should we spend our valuable time on someone who refuses to be helped?
其他女人也试图帮助他——女人们总是很善良——但最终她们也都败下阵来。我们都是大忙人，为什么要在这个拒绝接受帮助的人身上浪费宝贵的时间呢？
‘And anyway, I think there is something rather odd about him, don’t you agree? He can’t be as innocent as he looks. Why come to Paris if you don’t intend to have any fun?’
“况且，我觉得他这人有点古怪，你不觉得吗？他不可能像看上去那么单纯。如果不打算找乐子，干嘛要来巴黎？”
He lived at the top of a tall, ugly building, near the river. As it was so high, the studio had a wonderful view. From the two big windows he could see boats on the river and an island covered with trees. From the side window he looked across to a smaller and uglier house, and down below there was a flower market. You could see the tops of huge umbrellas with bright flowers around them, and plants in boxes. Old women moved backwards and forwards among the flowers. Really, he didn’t need to go out. There was always something to draw.
他住在河边一栋又高又丑的楼房顶层。因为楼层很高，画室的视野极佳。透过两扇大窗户，他能看到河上的船只和一个绿树成荫的小岛。从侧窗望去，对面是一栋更小更丑的房子，楼下则是一个花市。你能看到巨大的遮阳伞顶，周围簇拥着鲜艳的花朵，还有箱栽的植物。老妇人们在花丛中穿梭往来。真的，他根本不需要出门。总有东西可以画。
If any kind woman had been able to get into his studio, she would have had a surprise. He kept it as neat as a pin. Everything was arranged in its place, exactly like a painting—the bowl of eggs, the cups and the teapot on the shelf, the books and the lamp on the table. There was a red Indian cover on his bed, and on the wall by the bed there was a small, neatly written notice: GET UP AT ONCE.
如果有哪位好心的女士能进入他的画室，一定会大吃一惊。他把那里收拾得一尘不染。每样东西都摆放得井井有条，就像一幅静物画——架子上的鸡蛋碗、茶杯和茶壶，桌上的书本和台灯。床上铺着红色的印第安风格床罩，床边的墙上贴着一张字迹工整的小纸条：立即起床。
Every day was the same. When the light was good he painted, then cooked a meal and tidied the studio. In the evenings he went to the café or sat at home reading or writing a list which began: ‘What I can afford to spend’. The list ended ‘I promise not to spend more this month. Signed, Ian French’.
每一天都一样。光线好的时候他就画画，然后做饭、打扫画室。晚上他会去咖啡馆，或者待在家里看书，要么就是写一份清单，开头是：“我能负担得起的开销”。结尾是：“我保证这个月不再多花钱。签名：伊恩·弗伦奇”。
Nothing odd about that; but the women were right. There was something else.
这没什么奇怪的；但那些女人们说得对。确实还有别的事。
One evening he was sitting at the side window eating an apple and looking down on to the tops of the huge umbrellas in the empty flower market. It had been raining, the first spring rain of the year, and the air smelled of plants and wet earth. Down below in the market, the trees were covered in new green. ‘What kind of trees are they?’ he wondered. He stared down at the small ugly house, and suddenly two windows opened like wings and a girl came out on to the balcony, carrying a pot of daffodils. She was a strangely thin girl in a dark dress, with a pink handkerchief tied over her hair.
一天傍晚，他坐在侧窗边吃着苹果，俯瞰空荡荡的花市里那些巨大的遮阳伞顶。刚下过雨，那是今年的第一场春雨，空气中弥漫着植物和湿润泥土的气息。楼下的市场里，树木披上了新绿。“那是什么树呢？”他暗自琢磨。他凝视着对面那栋矮小丑陋的房子，突然两扇窗户像翅膀一样打开了，一个女孩端着一盆水仙花走到了阳台上。她是个瘦得出奇的女孩，穿着深色裙子，头上系着一条粉色手帕。
‘Yes, it is warm enough. It will do them good,’ she said, putting down the pot, and turning to someone in the room inside. As she turned, she put her hands up to her hair to tidy it, and looked down at the market and up at the sky. She did not look at the house opposite. Then she disappeared.
“是啊，天气够暖和了。这对它们有好处，”她说着放下花盆，转身对着屋里的人说话。转身时，她抬手理了理头发，看了看下面的市场和上面的天空。她没有看对面的房子。然后就消失了。
His heart fell out of the window and down to the balcony, where it buried itself among the green leaves of the daffodils.
他的心仿佛飞出窗外，落到了那个阳台上，埋进了水仙花的绿叶丛中。
The room with the balcony was the sitting-room, and next to it was the kitchen. He heard her washing the dishes after supper, saw her come to the window to shake out the tablecloth. She never sang or combed her hair or stared at the moon as young girls are said to do. She always wore the same dark dress and pink handkerchief.
带阳台的房间是客厅，旁边是厨房。他听见她晚饭后洗碗的声音，看见她走到窗前抖桌布。她从不唱歌，也不梳头，更不会像传说中的少女那样凝视月亮。她总是穿着同样的深色裙子，系着同样的粉色手帕。
Who did she live with? Nobody else came to the window, but she was always talking to someone. Her mother, he decided, was always ill. They took in sewing work. The father was dead… He had been a journalist. By working all day she and her mother just made enough money to live on, but they never went out and they had no friends.
她和谁住在一起呢？没有其他人出现在窗前，但她总是在跟人说话。他断定她的母亲常年卧病在床。她们靠接针线活为生。父亲已经去世了……生前是个记者。靠着整天劳作，母女俩勉强维持生计，但她们从不出门，也没有朋友。
He had to make some new notices…’Not to go to the window before six o’clock: signed, Ian French. Not to think about her until he had finished his painting for the day: signed, Ian French.’
他不得不制定一些新规定……“六点前不准靠近窗户：签名，伊恩·弗伦奇。在完成当天的画作之前不准想她：签名，伊恩·弗伦奇。”
It was quite simple. She was the only person he wanted to know because she was, he decided, the only person alive who was exactly his age. He didn’t want silly girls, and he had no use for older women. She was his age. She was—well, just like him.
事情很简单。她是唯一他想认识的人，因为他认定她是世上唯一与他年龄完全相仿的人。他不想要傻乎乎的女孩，也对年长的女性没兴趣。她和他同龄。她——嗯，就和他一样。
He sat in his studio, staring at her windows, seeing himself in those rooms with her. She was often angry. They had terrible fights, he and she. And she rarely laughed. Only sometimes, when she told him about a funny little cat she once had, who used to scratch and pretend to be fierce when she gave it meat to eat… Things like that made her laugh. Usually, they sat together very quietly, talking in low voices, or silent and tired after the day’s work. Of course, she never asked him about his pictures, and of course he painted the most wonderful pictures of her, which she hated because he made her so thin and so dark…
他坐在画室里，凝视着她的窗户，想象自己和她在那些房间里的情景。她经常生气。他们之间爆发了激烈的争吵。她很少笑。只有偶尔提起她曾经养过的一只滑稽小猫，喂它吃肉时它会抓挠并装作凶猛的样子……这类事才会让她发笑。通常，他们静静地坐在一起，低声交谈，或者在一天的工作后疲惫地沉默着。当然，她从未问过他的画作，而他当然为她画了最精彩的肖像，可她讨厌那些画，因为他把她画得太瘦、太黑了……
But how could he meet her?
可他怎么才能认识她呢？
Then he discovered that once a week, in the evening, she went shopping. On two Thursdays he saw her at the window in a coat, carrying a basket. The next Thursday, at the same time, he ran down the stairs. There was a lovely pink light over everything. He saw it reflected in the river, and the people walking towards him in the street had pink faces and pink hands.
后来他发现她每周有一个晚上会去买东西。连续两个星期四，他都看到她穿着外套、提着篮子出现在窗前。接下来的那个星期四，在同一时间，他跑下了楼梯。万物笼罩在一片迷人的粉色光晕中。他看到这光芒倒映在河里，街上迎面走来的人们脸庞和双手都泛着粉色。
Outside the house he waited for her. He had no idea what he was going to do or say. ‘Here she comes,’ said a voice in his head. She walked very quickly, with small, light steps… What could he do? He could only follow…
他在她家门外等她。他完全不知道该做什么或说什么。“她来了，”脑海中有个声音说道。她走得很快，步子小而轻盈……他能怎么办呢？只能跟着……
First she went to buy some bread. Then she went to a fish shop. She had to wait a long time in there. Then she went to the fruit shop and bought an orange. As he watched her, he knew more surely than ever that he must talk to her, now. Her seriousness and her loneliness, even the way she walked—separate, somehow, distant from the other people in the street—all this was so natural, so right to him.
首先她去买了些面包。然后去了鱼店。在那里等了很久。接着她又去了水果店买了一个橘子。注视着她，他比以往任何时候都确信自己必须现在就和她说话。她的严肃、她的孤独，甚至她走路的姿态——那种疏离感，仿佛与街上的其他人格格不入——这一切对他来说都是如此自然，如此契合。
‘Yes, she is always like that,’ he thought proudly. ‘She and I are different from these people.’
“是的，她总是这样，”他自豪地想，“我和她与这些人不同。”
But now she was going home, and he had not spoken to her. Then she went into another shop. Through the window, he saw her buying an egg. She took it carefully out of the basket—a brown egg, a beautiful one, the one he himself would have chosen. She came out of the shop, and he went in. A moment later he was out again, following her through the flower market, past the huge umbrellas, walking on fallen flowers.
但现在她要回家了，而他还没跟她说过一句话。接着她又进了一家店。透过窗户，他看见她在买鸡蛋。她小心翼翼地从篮子里拿出一个鸡蛋——一个棕色的、漂亮的鸡蛋，正是他自己也会挑选的那种。她走出商店，他走了进去。片刻之后他又出来了，跟在她身后穿过花市，经过那些巨大的遮阳伞，踩在落花之上。
He followed her into the house and up the stairs. She stopped at a door and took a key out of her purse. As she put the key in the lock, he ran up to her.
他跟着她进了楼，爬上楼梯。她在一扇门前停下，从钱包里掏出钥匙。就在她把钥匙插进锁孔的那一刻，他冲了上去。
Blushing redder than ever, but looking straight at her, he said, almost angrily: ‘Excuse me, Mademoiselle, you dropped this.’
脸涨得比任何时候都红，但他直视着她，几乎带着怒气说道：“打扰一下，小姐，您掉了这个。”
And he gave her an egg.
然后递给了她一个鸡蛋。
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