Zoë Wicomb
佐伊·维科姆
You Can’t Get Lost in Cape Town
你不能在开普敦迷路
(South Africa)
（南非）
In my right hand resting on the base of my handbag I clutch a brown leather purse. My knuckles ride to and fro, rubbing against the lining…surely cardboard…and I am surprised that the material has not revealed itself to me before. I have worn this bag for months. I would have said with a dismissive wave of the hand, “Felt, that is what the base of this bag is lined with.”
我的右手放在手提包的底部，手里拿着一个棕色的皮包。我的指关节来回摆动，摩擦衬里......肯定是纸板......我很惊讶这些材料以前从未向我透露过。我已经戴这个包好几个月了。我会轻蔑地挥挥手说，“Felt，这就是这个包的底部衬有的。
Then, Michael had said, “It looks cheap, unsightly,” and lowering his voice to my surprise, “Can’t you tell?” But he was speaking of the exterior, the way it looks.
然后，迈克尔说，“它看起来很便宜，难看，”他压低了声音，让我感到惊讶，“你看不出来吗？但他说的是外观，它的外观。
The purse fits neatly into the palm of my hand. A man’s purse. The handbag gapes. With my elbow I press it against my hip but that will not avert suspicion. The bus is moving fast, too fast, surely exceeding the speed limit, so that I bob on my seat and my grip on the purse tightens as the springs suck at my womb, slurping it down through the plush of the red upholstery. I press my buttocks into the seat to ease the discomfort.
钱包整齐地放在我的手掌里。一个男人的钱包。手提包张开了。我用手肘把它压在我的臀部上，但这并不能避免怀疑。公共汽车开得很快，太快了，肯定超过了限速，以至于我在座位上晃来晃去，弹簧吸吮着我的子宫，我紧紧地抓着钱包，把它从红色内饰的毛绒绒中吸下来。我将臀部压在座椅上以缓解不适。
I should count out the fare for the conductor. Perhaps not; he is still at the front of the bus. We are now travelling through Rondebosch so that he will be fully occupied with white passengers at the front. Women with blue-rinsed heads tilted will go on telling their stories while fishing leisurely for their coins and just lengthen a vowel to tide over the moment of paying their fares.
我应该数一数售票员的车费。也许不是;他仍然在公共汽车的前排。我们现在正在穿越 Rondebosch，这样他就会被前面的白人乘客完全占据。歪着蓝色水洗的脑袋的女人会一边悠闲地捞硬币，一边继续讲述她们的故事，只是在付车费的那一刻加长一个元音来度过难关。
“Don’t be anxious,” Michael said. “It will be all right.” I withdrew the hand he tried to pat.
“别着急，”迈克尔说。“会没事的。”我收回了他试图拍打的手。
I have always been anxious and things are not all right; things may never be all right again. I must not cry. My eyes travel to and fro along the grooves of the floor. I do not look at the faces that surround me but I believe that they are lifted speculatively at me. Is someone constructing a history for this hand resting foolishly in a gaping handbag? Do these faces expect me to whip out an amputated stump dripping with blood? Do they wince at the thought of a hand, cold and waxen, left on the pavement where it was severed? I draw my hand out of the bag and shake my fingers ostentatiously. No point in inviting conjecture, in attracting attention. The bus brakes loudly to conceal the sound of breath drawn in sharply at the exhibited hand.
我一直很焦虑，事情并不顺利;事情可能再也不会好起来了。我不能哭泣。我的眼睛沿着地板的凹槽来回移动。我不看我周围的面孔，但我相信他们是投机性地看着我。有人在为这只愚蠢地放在张开的手提包里的手构建历史吗？这些面孔期待我抽出一个滴着血的截肢残肢吗？他们是否一想到一只冰冷的蜡质手留在被切断的人行道上？我从袋子里抽出手，炫耀地摇晃着我的手指。招致猜想，吸引注意力是没有意义的。公共汽车大声刹车，以掩盖从展示的手上急剧吸入的呼吸声。
Two women pant like dogs as they swing themselves on to the bus. The conductor has already pressed the bell and they propel their bodies expertly along the swaying aisle. They fall into seat opposite me – one fat, the other thin – and simultaneously pull off the starched servants’ caps which they scrunch into their laps. They light cigarettes and I bite my lip. Would I have to vomit into this bag with this cardboard lining? I wish I had brought a plastic bag; this bag is empty save for the purse. I breathe deeply to stem the nausea that rises to meet the curling bands of smoke and fix on the bulging bags they grip between their feet. They make no attempt to get their fares ready; they surely misjudge the intentions of the conductor. He knows that they will get off at Mowbray to catch the Golden Arrow buses to the townships. He will not allow them to avoid paying; not he who presses the button with such promptness.
两个女人像狗一样喘着粗气，把自己摇摇晃晃地上了公共汽车。 售票员已经按下了铃铛，他们熟练地沿着摇曳的过道推动着自己的身体。他们坐在我对面的座位上——一个胖的，一个瘦的——同时扯下掏了捏成腿上的上浆仆人的帽子。他们点燃香烟，我咬了咬嘴唇。我必须用这种纸板衬里向这个袋子里呕吐吗？我真希望我带了一个塑料袋;除了钱包外，这个包是空的。我深呼吸以阻止在卷曲的烟带上上升的恶心，并固定住他们双脚之间鼓起的袋子。他们没有试图准备好他们的车费;他们肯定误判了指挥家的意图。他知道他们会在 Mowbray 下车，搭乘 Golden Arrow 巴士前往各乡镇。他不会允许他们逃避付款;不是那个如此迅速地按下按钮的人。
I watch him at the front of the bus. His right thumb strums an impatient jingle on the silver levers, the leather bag is cradled in the hand into which the coins tumble. He chants a barely audible accompaniment to the clatter of the coins, a recitation of the newly decimalized currency. Like times tables at school and I see the fingers grow soft, bending boyish as they strum an ink-stained abacus; the boy learning to count, leaning earnestly with propped elbows over a desk. And I find the image unaccountably sad and tears are about to well up when I hear an impatient empty clatter of thumb-play on the coin dispenser as he demands, “All fares please” from a sleepy white youth. My hand flies into my handbag once again and I take out the purse. A man’s leather purse.
我在公共汽车前排看着他。他的右手拇指不耐烦地在银色的杠杆上叮叮当当，皮包被手抱在手里，硬币滚落到手里。他在硬币的咔嗒声中吟唱着几乎听不见的伴奏，背诵着新近十进制化的货币。就像学校的时间表一样，我看到手指变得柔软，在弹奏沾满墨水的算盘时像孩子气一样弯曲;那个男孩正在学习数数，胳膊肘认真地靠在桌子上。当我听到一个昏昏欲睡的白人青年不耐烦地在硬币分配器上发出空洞的拇指咔嗒声时，我发现这个画面莫名其妙地悲伤，眼泪快要涌出时。我的手再次飞进我的手提包，我拿出钱包。一个男人的皮钱包。
Michael is too boyish. His hair falls in a straight blonde fringe into his eyes. When he considers a reply he wipes it away impatiently, as if the hair impedes thought. I cannot imagine this purse ever having belonged to him. It is small, U-shaped and devoid of ornament, therefore a man’s purse. It has an extending tongue that could be tucked into the mouth or be threatened through the narrow band across the base of the U. I take out the smallest note stuffed into this plump purse, a five-rand note. Why had I not thought about the busfare? The conductor will be angry if my note should exhaust his supply of coins although the leather bag would have a concealed pouch for notes. But this thought does not comfort me. I feel angry with Michael. He has probably never travelled by bus. How would he know of the fear of missing the unfamiliar stop, the fear of keeping an impatient conductor waiting, the fear of saying fluently, “Seventeen cents please,” when you are not sure of the fare and produce a five-rand note? But this is my journey and I must not expect Michael to take responsibility for everything. Or rather, I cannot expect Michael to take responsibility for more than half the things. Michael is scrupulous about this division; I am not always sure of how to arrive at half. I was never good at arithmetic, especially this instant mental arithmetic that is sprung on me.
迈克尔太孩子气了。他的头发在金色的直刘海中垂到他的眼睛里。当他考虑回答时，他不耐烦地擦掉它，仿佛头发阻碍了思考。我无法想象这个钱包曾经属于他。它很小，呈 U 形，没有装饰，因此是一个男人的钱包。 它有一个延伸的舌头，可以塞进嘴里或通过横跨 U 根的窄带受到威胁。我拿出塞进这个丰满钱包里的最小钞票，一张五兰特的钞票。为什么我没有考虑过公交车费呢？如果我的钞票耗尽了他的硬币供应，售票员会生气，尽管皮包会有一个隐藏的钞票袋。但这个想法并没有让我感到安慰。我对迈克尔感到愤怒。他可能从来没有坐过公共汽车。他怎么会知道害怕错过不熟悉的站点，害怕让不耐烦的售票员等待，害怕流利地说“请十七美分”，而你却不确定票价并出示一张五兰特的钞票？但这是我的旅程，我不能指望迈克尔对所有事情负责。或者更确切地说，我不能指望 Michael 承担超过一半的事情。Michael 对这种划分一丝不苟;我并不总是确定如何到达一半。我从来不擅长算术，尤其是这种瞬间涌现在我身上的心算。
How foolish I must look sitting here clutching my five-rand note. I slip it back into the purse and turn to the solidity of the smoking women. They have still made no attempt to find their fares. The bus is going fast and I am surprised that we have not yet reached Mowbray. Perhaps I am mistaken, perhaps we have already passed Mowbray and the women are going to Sea Point to serve a nightshift at the Pavilion.
我坐在这里，手里拿着我的五兰特钞票，看起来该是多么愚蠢啊。我把它放回钱包里，转向吸烟女人的坚实。他们仍然没有尝试找到他们的票价。公共汽车开得很快，我很惊讶我们还没有到达莫布雷。也许我弄错了，也许我们已经经过了莫布雷，那些女人要去海角（Sea Point）在亭子里上夜班。
Marge, Aunt Trudie’s eldest daughter, works as a waitress at the Pavilion but she is rarely mentioned in our family. “A disgrace,” they say. “She should know better than to go with white men.”
特鲁迪阿姨的长女玛姬 （Marge） 在 Pavilion 担任女服务员，但我们家很少提到她。“真丢脸，”他们说。“她应该知道不要和白人男人一起去。”
“Poor whites,” Aunt Trudie hisses. “She can’t even find a nice rich man to go steady with. Such a pretty girl too. I won’t have her back in this house. There’s no place in this house for a girl who’s been used by white trash.”
“可怜的白人，”特鲁迪阿姨嘶嘶地说道。“她甚至找不到一个不错的有钱人来稳定下来。也是个漂亮的女孩。我不会让她回到这个房子里。这房子里没有容下被白人垃圾利用的女孩。
Her eyes flash as she spits out a cherished vision of a blond young man sitting on her new vinyl sofa to whom she serves gingerbeer and koeksisters, because it is not against the law to have a respectable drink in a Coloured home. “Mrs. Holman,” he would say, “Mrs. Holman, this is the best gingerbeer I’ve had for years.”
当她吐出一个珍贵的景象时，她的眼睛闪过一个珍贵的景象，一个金发碧眼的年轻人坐在她的新乙烯基沙发上，她为他提供姜汁啤酒和 koeksisters，因为在有色人种的家里喝一杯体面的饮料并不违法。“霍尔曼夫人，”他会说，“霍尔曼夫人，这是我多年来喝过的最好的姜汁啤酒。
The family do not know of Michael even though he is a steady young man who would sit out such a Sunday afternoon with infinite grace. I wince at the thought of Father creaking in a suit and the unconcealed pleasure in Michael’s successful academic career.
家人不知道迈克尔，尽管他是一个稳重的年轻人，他会以无限的优雅坐在这样一个星期天的下午。一想到父亲穿着西装吱吱作响，以及迈克尔成功的学术生涯中毫不掩饰的快乐，我就畏缩不前。
Perhaps this is Mowbray after all. The building that zooms past on the right seems familiar. I ought to know it but I am lost, hopelessly lost, and as my mind gropes for recognition I feel a feathery flutter in my womb, so slight I cannot be sure, and again, so soft, the brush of a butterfly, and under cover of my handbag I spread my left hand to hold my belly. The shaft of light falling across my shoulder, travelling this route with me, is the eye of God. God will never forgive me.
也许这毕竟是莫布雷。从右侧飞驰而过的建筑似乎很熟悉。我应该知道，但我迷失了，无可救药地迷失了，当我的头脑摸索着要认出我时，我感到子宫里有一阵羽毛般的颤动 ，如此轻微，我无法确定，又是如此柔软，像蝴蝶的刷子一样，在手提包的掩护下，我张开左手捂住我的肚子。落在我肩膀上的光柱，与我一起走这条路，是上帝的眼睛。上帝永远不会原谅我。
I must anchor my mind to the words of the women on the long seat opposite me. But they fall silent as if to protect their secrets from me. One of them bends down heavily, holding on to the jaws of her shopping bag as if to relieve pressure on her spine, and I submit to the ache of my own by swaying gently while I protect my belly with both hands. But having eyed the contents of her full bag carefully, her hand becomes the beak of a bird dipping purposefully into the left-hand corner and rises triumphantly with a brown paper bag on which grease has oozed light-sucking patterns. She opens the bag and her friend looks on in silence. Three chunks of cooked chicken lie on a piece of greaseproof paper. She deftly halves a piece and passes it to her thin friend. The women munch in silence, their mouths glossy with pleasure.
我必须把我的思绪固定在我对面长椅上的女人的话上。但他们沉默了，仿佛是为了不被我发现。其中一个人重重地弯下腰，紧紧抓住她的购物袋的下巴，仿佛是为了缓解她脊椎的压力，而我则轻轻地摇晃着，同时用双手保护着自己的腹部，屈服于自己的疼痛。 但是，在仔细地看了看她满满的袋子里的东西之后，她的手变成了一只鸟的喙，故意探入左手角，然后得意洋洋地拿着一个棕色纸袋，纸袋上的油脂渗出了吸光的图案。她打开袋子，她的朋友在一旁默默地看着。三块煮熟的鸡肉躺在一张防油纸上。她灵巧地将一块切成两半，递给她瘦弱的朋友。女人们默默地咀嚼着，她们的嘴巴因愉悦而闪闪发光。
“These are for the children,” she says, her mouth still full as she wraps the rest up and places it carelessly at the top of the bag.
“这些是给孩子们的，”她说，她把剩下的包起来，漫不经心地放在袋子的顶部，嘴里还塞满了。
“It’s the spiced chicken recipe you told me about.” She nudges her friend. “Lekker hey!”
“这是你跟我说的五香鸡食谱 。”她轻推了她的朋友。“莱克尔，嘿！”
The friend frowns and says, “I like to taste a bit more cardamom. It’s nice to find a whole cardamom in the food and crush it between your teeth. A cardamom seed will never give up all its flavor to the pot. You’ll still find it there in the chewing.”
这位朋友皱着眉头说：“我喜欢多尝一点豆蔻。 在食物中找到一整颗豆蔻并将其压碎在牙齿之间真是太好了。豆蔻种子永远不会将其所有的味道都放弃给花盆。你还会在咀嚼中找到它。
I note the gaps in her teeth and fear for the slipping through of cardamom seeds. The girls at school who had their two top incisors extracted in a fashion that raged through Cape Town said that it was better for kissing. Then I, fat and innocent, nodded. How would I have known the demands of kissing?
我注意到她牙齿上的缝隙和对小豆蔻种子滑落的恐惧。学校里那些以一种风靡开普敦的方式拔掉两颗上门牙的女孩说，这更适合接吻。然后我，又胖又无辜，点了点头。我怎么知道接吻的要求呢？
The large woman refuses to be thwarted by criticism of her cooking. The chicken stimulates a story so that she twitches with an irrepressible desire to tell.
这位身材高大的女人拒绝因对她烹饪的批评而受到挫败。鸡刺激了一个故事，以至于她因无法抑制的讲述欲望而抽搐。
“To think,” she finally bursts out, “that I cook them this nice surprise and say what you like, spiced chicken can make any mouth water. Just think, it was yesterday when I say to that one as she stands with her hands on her hips against the stove saying, ‘I don’t know what to give them today, I’ve just got too much organizing to do to bother with food.’ And I say, feeling sorry for her, I say, ‘Don’t you worry about a thing, Marram, just leave it all in cook’s hands (wouldn’t it be nice to work for really grand people where you cook and do nothing else, no bladdy scrubbing and shopping and all that)…in cook’s hands,’ I said,” and she crows merrily before reciting: “And I’ll dish up a surprise / For Master Georgie’s blue eues.
“想想看，”她终于大声说，“我给他们做这个美味的惊喜，然后说你喜欢什么，五香鸡可以让任何人垂涎三尺。想想看，就在昨天，我对那个人说，她双手叉腰靠着炉子说，'我不知道今天该给他们什么，我有太多的事情要做，懒得理会食物。我说，为她感到难过，我说，'你不用担心任何事情，Marram，把一切都交给厨师吧（为真正伟大的人工作不是很好吗，你做饭什么都不做，没有花哨的擦洗和购物等等）......在厨师的手中，'我说，'她欢快地叫着，然后背诵道：“我会送一个惊喜/给乔治大师的蓝色 eues。
“That’s Miss Lucy’s young man. He was coming last night. Engaged, you know. Well there I was on my feet all day starching linen, making roeties and spiced lentils and sweet potato and all the lekker things you must mos have with cardamom chicken. And what do you think she says?”
“那是露西小姐的年轻人。他昨晚来了。参与，你知道的。好吧，我整天站着给亚麻布上浆，制作玉米饼、五香扁豆和红薯，以及所有你必须用豆蔻鸡吃的 lekker 东西。你觉得她说什么？
She pauses and lifts her face as if expecting a reply, but the other stares grimly ahead. Undefeated she continues, “She says to me, ‘Tiena,’ because she can’t keep out of my pots, you know, always opening my lids and sniffing like a brakhond she says, ‘Tiena,’ and waits for me to say, ‘Yes Marram,’ so I know she has a wicked plan up her sleeve and I look her straight in the eye. She smile that one, always smile to put me off the track, and she say looking into the fridge, ‘You can have this nice bean soup for your dinner so I can have the remains of the chicken tomorrow when you’re off.’ So I say to her, ‘That’s what I had for lunch today,’ and she say to me, ‘Yes I know but me and Miss Lucy will be on our own for dinner tomorrow,’ and she pull a face, ‘Ugh, how I hate reheated food.’ Then she draws up her shoulders as if to say, That’s that.
她停顿了一下，抬起脸，仿佛在等待回答，但另一个人却严肃地盯着前方。她不败地继续说，“她对我说，'Tiena'，因为她无法远离我的罐子，你知道的，她总是张开我的眼睑，像一只蛮蛇一样嗅着，她说，'Tiena'，然后等我说，'是的，Marram'，所以我知道她有一个邪恶的计划，我直视着她的眼睛。她微笑着，总是微笑着让我偏离轨道，她看着冰箱说，'你可以把这美味的豆汤当作你的晚餐，这样我明天你不在的时候就可以吃剩下的鸡了。'所以我对她说，'这就是我今天午餐吃的，'她对我说， “是的，我知道，但我和露西小姐明天要自己吃晚饭，”她拉起一张脸，“呃，我多么讨厌重新加热的食物。然后她抬起肩膀，仿佛在说，就是这样。
“Cheek hey! And it was a great big fowl.” She nudges her friend. “You know for yourself how much better food tastes the next day when the spices are drawn right into the meat and anyway you just switch on the electric and there’s no chopping and crying over onions, you just wait for the pot to dance on the stove. Of course she wouldn’t know about that. Anyway, a cheek, that’s what I call it, so before I even dished up the chicken for the table, I took this,” and she points triumphantly to her bag, “and to hell with them.”
“厚脸皮嘿！那是一只很棒的大鸡。她轻推了她的朋友。“你自己知道第二天当香料直接被吸入肉中时，食物的味道会好得多，无论如何，你只需打开电源，就没有洋葱的切碎和哭泣，你只需等待锅在炉子上跳舞。她当然不会知道这件事。总之，脸颊，我就是这么称呼的，所以在我把鸡肉端上桌之前，我就拿了这个，“她得意洋洋地指着她的包，”和他们一起下地狱。
The thin one opens her mouth, once, twice, winding herself up to speak.
瘦弱的那个张开嘴，一次，两次，让自己喘不过气来说话。
“They never notice anyway. There’s so much food in their pantries, in the fridge and on the tables; they don’t know what’s there and what isn’t.” The other looks pityingly at her.
“反正他们从来没有注意到。他们的食品储藏室、冰箱和桌子上有很多食物;他们不知道那里有什么，什么没有。另一个人怜悯地看着她。
“Don’t you believe that. My marram was as cross as a bear by the time I brought in the pudding, a very nice apricot ice it was, but she didn’t even look at it. She know it was a healthy grown fowl and she count one leg, and she know what’s going on. She know right away. Didn’t even say, ‘Thank you Tiena.’ She won’t speak to me for days but what can she do?” Her voice softens into genuine sympathy for madam’s dilemma.
“你不相信吗。当我把布丁端进来时，我的马拉姆鱼已经像熊一样交叉了，这是一种非常好的杏冰，但她甚至没有看它。她知道这是一只健康的成年鸡，她数了一条腿，她知道发生了什么。她马上就知道了。甚至没有说，'谢谢你，Tiena。她好几天都不和我说话 ，但她能做什么呢？她的声音变得柔和，变成了对夫人困境的真诚同情。
“She’ll just have to speak to me.” And she mimics, putting on a stern horse face. “’We’ll want dinner by seven tonight,’ then ‘Tiena the curtains need washing,’ then, ‘Please, Tiena, will you fix this zip for me, I’ve got absolutely nothing else to wear today.’ And so on the third day she’ll smile and think she’s smiling forgiveness at me.”
“她只需要和我谈谈。”她模仿，摆出一张严肃的马脸。“'我们今晚七点前要吃晚饭，'然后说'蒂娜，窗帘需要洗'，然后，'拜托，蒂娜，你能帮我整理一下这个拉链吗，我今天绝对没有别的衣服可穿。'所以在第三天，她会微笑，认为她在对我微笑，宽恕我。
She straightens her face. “No,” she sighs, “the more you have, the more you have to keep your head and count and check up because you won’t notice or remember. No, if you got a lot you must keep snaps in your mind of the insides of all the cupboards. And every day, click, click, new snaps of the larder. That’s why that one is so tired, always thinking, always reciting to herself the lists of what’s in the cupboards. I never know what’s in my cupboard at home but I know my Sammie’s a thieving bastard, can’t keep his hands in his pockets.”
她挺直了脸。“不，”她叹息道，“你拥有的越多，你就越需要保持头脑清醒、数数和检查，因为你不会注意到或记住。不，如果你有很多，你必须记住所有橱柜内部的快照。每天，咔嚓、咔嚓、食品储藏室的新快照。这就是为什么那个家伙这么累，总是在想，总是自言自语地背诵橱柜里的东西清单。我从来不知道家里的橱柜里有什么，但我知道我的 Sammie 是个偷窃的混蛋，他的手不能插在口袋里。
The thin woman stares out of the window as if she had heard it all before. She has finished her chicken while the other, with all the talking, still holds a half-eaten drumstick daintily in her right hand. Her eyes rove over the shopping bag and she licks her fingers abstractedly as she stares out of the window.
瘦弱的女人盯着窗外，仿佛她早就听到了这一切。她已经吃完了她的鸡肉，而另一个人，一边说着话，右手还优雅地拿着一个吃了一半的鸡腿。她的眼睛在购物袋上扫视，她凝视着窗外，抽象地舔了舔手指。
“Lekker hey!” the large one repeats, “the children will have such a party.”
“嘿，”大个子重复道，“孩子们会有这样的派对。
“Did Master George enjoy it?” the other asks.
“乔治少爷喜欢吗？”
“Oh he’s a gentleman all right. Shouted after me, ‘Well done, Tiena. When we’re married we’ll have to steal you from madam.’ Dressed to kill he was, such a smart young man, you know. Mind you, so’s Miss Lucy. Not a prettier girl in our avenue and the best-dressed too. But then she has mos to be smart to keep her man. Been on the pill for nearly over a year now; I shouldn’t wonder if he don’t feel funny about the white wedding. Ooh, you must see her blush of the pictures of the wedding gowns, so pure and innocent she think I can’t read the packet. ‘Get me my headache pills out of that drawer Tiena,’ she say sometimes when I take her cup of cocoa at night. But she play her cards right with Master George; she have to ‘cause who’d have what another man has pushed to the side of his plate. A bay leaf and a bone!” and she waves it under the nose of the other, who starts. I wonder whether with guilt, fear or a debilitating desire for more chicken.
“哦，他是个绅士，好吧。在我身后喊道，'干得好，Tiena。等我们结婚了，就得把你从夫人那里偷走。他穿着杀人，真是个聪明的年轻人，你知道的。请注意，露西小姐也是。在我们这条大道上，没有一个更漂亮的女孩，也是穿着最好的。但是，她必须聪明地留住她的男人。已经吃药将近一年多了;我不应该怀疑他是不是对这场白色婚礼感到好笑。哦，你一定看看她对婚纱照片的红晕 ，如此纯洁和天真，她以为我看不懂那个包裹。“把我的头痛药从那个抽屉里拿出来，Tiena，”我晚上拿她的可可杯时，她有时会这样说。但她对乔治少爷打牌是正确的;她得知道谁会吃到别的男人推到他盘子一边的东西。一片月桂叶和一根骨头！“她在另一个人的鼻子下挥舞着它，后者开始了。我想知道是出于内疚、恐惧还是对更多鸡肉的虚弱渴望。
“This bone,” she repeats grimly, “picked bare and only wanted by a dog.”
“这根骨头，”她严肃地重复道，“光秃秃的，只被一只狗想要。
Her friend recovers and deliberately misunderstands, “Or like yesterday’s bean soup, but we women mos know that food put aside and left to stand till tomorrow always has a better flavor. Men don’t know that hey. They should get down to some cooking and find out a thing or two.”
她的朋友回过神来，故意误解，“或者像昨天的豆汤一样，但我们女人都知道，食物放在一边，留到明天总是味道更好。男人们不知道，嘿。他们应该开始做点饭，找出一两件事。
But the other is not deterred. “A bone,” she insists, waving her visual aid, “a bone.”
但对方并没有被吓倒。“一根骨头，”她坚持说，挥舞着她的视觉辅助工具，“一根骨头。
It is true that her bone is a matt grey that betrays no trace of the meat or fat that only a minute ago adhered to it. Master George’s bone would certainly look nothing like that when he pushes it aside. With his fork he would coax off the fibres ready to fall from the bone. Then he would turn over the whole deftly, using a knife, and frown at the sinewy meat clinging to the joint before pushing it aside towards the discarded bits of skin.
的确，她的骨头是哑光灰色的，一分钟前还附着在上面的肉或脂肪丝毫没有痕迹。乔治少爷的骨头推到一边时，肯定不会是什么样子。他会用叉子哄骗掉准备从骨头上掉下来的纤维。然后他会用刀灵巧地把整个肉翻过来，皱着眉头看着附着在关节上的强壮肉，然后把它推到一边，朝丢弃的皮肤碎片走去。
This bone, it is true, will not tempt anyone. A dog might want to bury it only for a silly game of hide and seek.
这块骨头，确实不会诱惑任何人。一只狗可能只想把它埋起来，只是为了玩个愚蠢的捉迷藏游戏。
The large woman waves the bone as if it would burst into prophecy. My eyes follow the movement until the bone blurs and emerges as the Cross where the head of Jesus lolls sadly, his lovely feet anointed by sad hands, folded together under the driven nail. Look, Mamma says, look at those eyes molten with love and pain, the body curved with suffering for our sins, and together we weep for the beauty and sadness of Jesus in his white loincloth. The Roman soldiers stand grimly erect in their tunics, their spears gleam in the light, their dark beards and clipped and their lips curl. At midday Judas turns his face to the fading sun and bays, howls like a dog for its return as the darkness grows around him and swallows him whole with the money still jingling in the folds of his saffron robes. In a concealed leather purse, a pouch devoid of ornament.
高大的女人挥舞着骨头，仿佛它会爆发出预言。我的眼睛跟随着这个动作，直到骨头模糊不清，成为十字架，耶稣的头悲哀地躺着，他可爱的脚被悲伤的手涂抹，在被钉住的钉子下折叠在一起。妈妈说，看，看看那双被爱和痛苦熔化的眼睛，身体因我们的罪而痛苦而弯曲，我们一起为耶稣穿着白色缠腰布的美丽和悲伤而哭泣。罗马士兵穿着长袍，面目挺拔，长矛在灯光下闪闪发光，他们的黑胡须被剪短，嘴唇卷曲。中午时分，犹大把脸转向渐渐暗淡的太阳和海湾，当黑暗在他周围蔓延时，他像狗一样嚎叫着等待它的回归，并将他整个吞噬，而他的藏红花长袍的褶皱中仍然叮叮当当的钱。在一个隐藏的皮包里，一个没有装饰的小袋。
The buildings on this side of the road grow taller but oh, I do not know where I am and I think of asking the woman, the thin one, but when I look up the stern one’s eyes already rest on me while the bone in her hand points idly at the advertisement just above my head. My hands, still cradling my belly, slide guiltily down my thighs and fall on my knees. But the fetus betrays me with another flutter, a sigh. I have heard of books flying off the laps of gentle mothers-to-be as their fetuses lash out. I will not be bullied. I jump up and press the bell.
路这边的建筑物越来越高，但哦，我不知道我在哪里，我想问问那个女人，那个瘦弱的女人，但当我抬起头时，严肃的眼睛已经停留在我身上，而她手中的骨头懒洋洋地指向我头顶上的广告。我的手仍然抱着我的肚子，愧疚地滑下我的大腿，跪在地上。但胎儿又一次扑腾，一声叹息出卖了我。我听说过一些书从温柔的准妈妈的膝盖上飞走，因为她们的胎儿被猛烈抨击。我不会被欺负。我跳起来按下铃铛。
There are voices behind me. The large woman’s “Oi, I say” thunders over the conductor’s cross “Tickets please.” I will not speak to anyone. Shall I throw myself on the groove floor of this bus and with knees drawn up, hands over my head, wait for my demise? I do not in any case expect to be alive tomorrow. But I must resist; I must harden my heart against the sad, complaining eyes of Jesus.
我身后有声音。高个子女人的“Oi， I say”在售票员的十字架上响起，“请购票”。我不会和任何人说话。我是否应该把自己扔在这辆公共汽车的凹槽地板上，双膝挺起，双手举过头顶，等待我的死亡？无论如何，我都不指望明天还活着。但我必须抗拒;我必须硬起心来，抵挡耶稣那悲哀、抱怨的眼神。
“I say, Miss,” she shouts and her tone is familiar. Her voice compels like the insistence of Father’s guttural commands. But the conductor’s hand falls on my shoulder, the barrel of his ticket dispenser digs into my ribs, the buttons of his uniform gleam as I dip into my bag for my purse. Then the large woman spills out of her seat as she leans forward. Her friend, reconciled, holds the bar of an arm across her as she leans forward shouting, “Here, I say, your purse.” I try to look grateful. Her eyes blaze with scorn as she proclaims to the bus, “Stupid these young people. Dressed to kill maybe, but still so stupid.”
“我说，小姐，”她喊道，语气很熟悉。她的声音像父亲喉咙命令的坚持一样令人震惊。但售票员的手落在我的肩膀上，他的售票机的枪管深深地扎进了我的肋骨，当我从包里拿钱包时，他制服的纽扣闪闪发光。然后，那个高个子女人从座位上溢出来，身体前倾。她的朋友和解了，用一只手臂横住她，身体前倾，大喊道：“给你，我说，你的钱包。我试着表现出感激的样子。她对着公共汽车宣布，“这些年轻人真蠢。也许是为了杀人而打扮的，但还是那么愚蠢。
She is right. Not about my clothes, of course, and I check to see what I am wearing. I have not been alerted to my own stupidity before. No doubt I will sail through my final examinations at the end of this year and still not know how I dared to pluck a fluttering fetus out of my womb. That is if I survive tonight.
她说得对。当然，不是关于我的衣服，我检查一下我穿的是什么。我以前从来没有意识到自己的愚蠢。毫无疑问，我会在今年年底顺利通过期末考试，但仍然不知道我是怎么敢从子宫里把一个扑动的胎儿的。如果我今晚能活下来的话。
I sit on the steps of this large building and squint up at the marble façade. My elbows rest on my knees flung comfortably apart. I ought to know where I am; it is clearly a public building of some importance. For the first time I long for the veld of my childhood. There the red sand rolls for miles, and if you stand on the koppie behind the house the landmarks blaze their permanence: the river points downward, runs its dry course from north to south; the geelbos crowds its banks in near straight lines. On either side of the path winding westward plump little buttocks of cacti squat as if lifting the skirts to pee, and the swollen fingers of vygies burst in clusters out of the stone, pointing the way. In the veld you can always find your way home.
我坐在这座大型建筑的台阶上，眯着眼睛看着大理石外墙。我的手肘放在膝盖上，舒适地分开。我应该知道我在哪儿;它显然是一座具有一定重要性的公共建筑。我第一次渴望我童年的草原。那里的红沙绵延数英里，如果你站在房子后面的 koppie 上，地标性建筑会燃烧它们永恒的光芒：河流向下，从北向南干涸;Geelbos 以近乎笔直的路线挤满了河岸。在蜿蜒向西的小路两边，丰满的仙人掌小臀蹲着，仿佛要掀起裙子撒尿，而 vygie 肿胀的手指从石头中绽放出来，指着方向。在草原上，您总能找到回家的路。
I am anxious about meeting Michael. We have planned this so carefully for the rush hour when people storming home crossly will not notice us together in the crush.
我对见到 Michael 感到焦虑。我们已经为高峰时段精心计划了这一点，因为人们在家里闲逛时不会注意到我们在一起。
“It’s simple,” Michael said. “The bus carries along the main roads through the suburbs to the City, and as you reach the Post Office you get off and I’ll be there to meet you. At five.”
“这很简单，”迈克尔说。“公共汽车沿着主要道路穿过郊区到达城市，当你到达邮局时，你会下车，我会在那里接你。五点。
A look at my anxious face compelled him to say, “You can’t get lost in Cape Town. There,” and he pointed over his shoulder, “is Table Mountain and there is Devil’s Peak and there is Lion’s Head, so how in heaven’s name could you get lost?” The words shot out unexpectedly, like the fine arc of brown spittle from between the teeth of an old man who no longer savors the tobacco he has been chewing all day. There are, I suppose, things that even a loved one cannot overlook.
看着我焦虑的脸，他不得不说：“你在开普敦不能迷路。“他指着自己的肩膀，”那里是桌山，那里有魔鬼峰，还有狮子头山，所以你以天堂的名义怎么迷路呢？这句话出乎意料地喷出，就像一个再也吃不细细的烟草的老人的牙齿之间发出的棕色唾沫。我想，有些事情即使是所爱的人也不能忽视。
Am I a loved one?
我是亲人吗？
I ought to rise from the steps and walk towards the City. Fortunately I always take the precaution of setting out early, so that I should still be in time to meet Michael who will drive me along de Waal Drive into the slopes of Table Mountain where Mrs. Coetzee waits with her tongs.
我应该从台阶上站起来，向城里走去。幸运的是，我总是小心翼翼地提早出发，这样我就还能及时见到迈克尔，他会开车带我沿着德瓦尔大道（de Waal Drive）进入桌山（Table Mountain）的山坡，库切夫人正拿着她的钳子在那里等着。
Am I a loved one? No. I am dull, ugly and bad-tempered. My hair has grown greasy, I am forgetful and I have no sense of direction. Michael, he has long since stopped loving me. He watched me hugging the lavatory bowl, retching, and recoiled at my first display of bad temper. There is a faraway look in his eyes as he plans his retreat. But he is well brought up, honorable. When the first doubts gripped the corners of his mouth, he grinned madly and said, “We must marry,” showing a row of perfect teeth.
我是亲人吗？不。我迟钝、丑陋、脾气暴躁。我的头发变得油腻，我健忘，我没有方向感。迈克尔，他早就不再爱我了。他看着我抱着马桶，干呕，对我第一次表现出坏脾气感到畏缩。他的眼神中流露出遥远的神情，正计划着他的撤退。但他受过良好的教育，值得尊敬。当最初的疑惑占据了他的嘴角时，他疯狂地咧嘴一笑，说：“我们必须结婚，”露出一排完美的牙齿。
“There are laws against that,” I said unnecessarily.
“有法律禁止这样做，”我不必要地说。
But gripped by the idyll of an English landscape of painted greens, he saw my head once more held high, my lettuce-luscious skirts crisp on a chamomile lawn and the willow drooping over the red mouth of a suckling infant.
但是，当他被英国田园诗般的绿色风景所吸引时，他看到我再次昂首挺胸，我那条生菜般的裙子在洋甘菊草坪上酥脆，柳树垂在哺乳婴儿的红色嘴巴上。
“Come on,” he urged. “Don’t do it. We’ll get to England and marry. It will work out all right,” and betraying the source of his vision, “and we’ll be happy for ever, thousands of miles from all this mess.”
“来吧，”他催促道。“别这么做。我们到英国结婚。一切都会好起来的，“并背叛了他的愿景的来源，”我们将永远快乐，远离这一切混乱的数千英里。
I would have explained if I could. But I could not account for this vision: the slow shower of ashes over yards of diaphanous tulle, the moth wings tucked back with delight as their tongues whisked the froth of white lace. For two years I have loved Michael, have wanted to marry him. Duped by a dream I merely shook my head.
如果可以的话，我会解释的。但我无法解释这个景象：灰烬缓缓地洒在几码长的透明薄纱上，飞蛾的翅膀高兴地缩起来，它们的舌头拂过白色蕾丝的泡沫。两年来，我一直爱着迈克尔，一直想嫁给他。被梦骗了，我只是摇了摇头。
“But you love babies, you want babies some time or other, so why not accept God’s holy plan? Anyway, you’re a Christian and you believe it’s a sin, don’t you?”
“但你爱婴儿，你希望有一段时间能生孩子，那么为什么不接受上帝的神圣计划呢？不管怎样，你是基督徒，你相信这是一种罪，不是吗？
God is not a good listener. Like Father, he expects obedience and withdraws peevishly if his demands are not met. Explanations of my point of view infuriate him so that he quivers with silent rage. For once I do not plead and capitulate; I find it quite easy to ignore these men.
上帝不是一个好的倾听者。像父亲一样，他期望服从，如果他的要求没有得到满足，他就会生气地退缩。对我观点的解释激怒了他，以至于他无声的愤怒而颤抖。这一次，我没有恳求和投降;我发现忽视这些人很容易。
“You’re not even listening,” Michael accused. “I don’t know how you can do it.” There is revulsion in his voice.
“你甚至没有在听，”迈克尔指责道。“我不知道你怎么能做到。”他的声音里带着厌恶。
For two short years I have adored Michael.
短短两年以来，我一直崇拜迈克尔。
Once, perched perilously on the rocks, we laughed fondly at the thought of a child. At Capt Point where the oceans meet and part. The Indian and the Atlantic, fighting for their separate identities, roared and thrashed fiercely so that we huddled together, his hand on my belly. It is said that if you shut one eye and focus the other carefully, the line separating the two oceans may rear drunkenly but remains ever clear and hair-fine. But I did not look. In the mischievous wind I struggled with the flapping ends of a scarf I tried to wrap around my hair. Later that day on the silver sands of a deserted beach he wrote solemnly: Will you marry me? and my trembling fingers traced a huge heart around the words. Ahead the sun danced on the waves, flecking them with gold.
有一次，我们危险地栖息在岩石上，一想到一个孩子，我们就深情地笑了起来。在各大洋交汇和分开的 Capt Point。印第安人和大西洋人，为了各自的身份而战，咆哮着，猛烈地抽打着，以至于我们挤在一起，他的手放在我的肚子上。据说，如果你闭上一只眼睛，仔细地聚焦另一只眼睛，分隔两个海洋的线可能会醉醺醺的后仰，但永远清晰而细腻。但我没有看。在顽皮的风中，我挣扎着试图缠在头发上的围巾的扇动末端。那天晚些时候，在荒凉海滩的银色沙滩上，他郑重地写道：你愿意嫁给我吗？我颤抖的手指在这些文字周围划出一颗巨大的心。前方，太阳在海浪上跳舞，为它们点缀着金色。
I wrote a poem about that day and showed Michael. “Surely that was not what Logiesbaii was about,” he frowned, and read the lines about warriors charging out of the sea, assegais gleaming in the sun, the beat of tom-toms riding the waters, the throb in the carious cavities of rocks.
我写了一首关于那天的诗，给迈克尔看。“那肯定不是 Logiesbaii 的意义所在，”他皱起眉头，读了关于战士从海中冲出、在阳光下闪闪发光的驴子、嗵嗵鼓在水面上行驶的节拍、岩石龋齿洞中的悸动的诗句。
“It’s good,” he said, nodding thoughtfully, “I like the title, ‘Love at Logiesbaai (Whites Only),’ though I expect much of the subtlety escapes me. Sounds good,” he encouraged, “you should write more often.”
“很好，”他说，若有所思地点点头，“我喜欢这个标题，'Loveat Logiesbaai （Whites Only）'，尽管我预计其中的大部分微妙之处都逃不过我的注意。听起来不错，“他鼓励道，”你应该多写些。
I flushed. I wrote poems all the time. And he was wrong; it was not a good poem. It was puzzling and I wondered why I had shown him this poem that did not even make sense to me. I tore it into little bits.
我脸红了。我一直在写诗。他错了;这不是一首好诗。这令人费解，我想知道为什么我要给他看这首对我来说甚至没有意义的诗。我把它撕成碎片。
Love, love, love, I sigh as I shake each ankle in turn and examine the swelling.
爱，爱，爱，我叹息着，依次摇晃着每只脚踝，检查肿胀。
Michael’s hair falls boyishly over his eyes. His eyes narrow merrily when he smiles and the left corner of his mouth shoots up so that the row of teeth form a queer diagonal line above his chin. He flicks his head so that the fringe of hair lifts from his eyes for a second, then falls, so fast, like the tongue of a lizard retraced at the very moment of exposure.
迈克尔的头发孩子气地垂在他的眼睛上。当他微笑时，他的眼睛快乐地眯起，左嘴角向上扬，使一排牙齿在他的下巴上方形成了一条古怪的对角线。他甩了甩头，使头发的绷带从他的眼睛上掀开了一秒钟，然后又落下，如此之快，就像蜥蜴的舌头在暴露的那一刻被追溯了下来。
“We’ll find somewhere,” he would say, “a place where we’d be quite alone.” This country is vast and he has an instinctive sense of direction. He discovers the armpits of valleys that invite us into their shadows. Dangerous climbs led by the roar of the sea take us to blue bays into which we drop from impossible cliffs. The sun lowers herself on to us. We do not fear the police with their torches. They come only by night in search of offenders. We have the immunity of love. They cannot find us because they do not know we exist. One day they will find out about lovers who steal whole days, round as gloves.
“我们会找到某个地方，”他会说，“一个我们会很孤独的地方。这个国家幅员辽阔，他本能地指引着方向。他发现了山谷的腋窝，邀请我们进入它们的阴影。在大海的咆哮下，危险的攀登将我们带到蓝色的海湾，我们从不可能的悬崖上坠入其中。太阳向我们低垂。我们不怕拿着火把的警察。他们只在晚上来寻找罪犯。我们有爱的免疫力。他们找不到我们，因为他们不知道我们的存在。总有一天，他们会发现一对恋人偷窃了一整天，就像手套一样。
There has always been a terrible thrill in that thought.
这种想法总是有一种可怕的刺激。
I ease my feet back into my shoes and the tears splash on to my dress with such wanton abandon that I cannot believe they are mind. From the punctured globes of stolen days these fragments sag and squint. I hold, hold these pictures I have summoned. I will not recognize them for much longer.
我把脚放回鞋子里，眼泪如此肆意地溅到我的裙子上，以至于我不敢相信它们是心意的。这些碎片从被偷走的日子里被刺破的球体中下垂和眯起。我拿着，拿着我召唤的这些照片。我不会认出他们太久了。
With tilted head I watch the shoes and sawn-off legs ascend and descend the marble steps, altering course to avoid me. Perhaps someone will ask the police to remove me.
我歪着头看着鞋子和锯断的腿在大理石台阶上蜿蜒曲折，然后走下，改变路线以避开我。也许有人会要求警察把我带走。
Love, love, love, I sigh. Another flutter in my womb. I think of moth wings struggling against a window pane and I rise.
爱，爱，爱，我叹息。 我的子宫里又一次扑动。我想到飞蛾的翅膀在窗玻璃上挣扎，我站了起来。
The smell of sea unfurls towards me as I approach Adderley Street. There is no wind but the brine hands in an atomized mist, silver over a thwarted sun. In answer to my hunger, Wellingtons looms on my left. The dried-fruit palace which I cannot resist. The artificial light dries my tears, makes me blink, and the trays of fruit, of Cape sunlight twice trapped, shimmer and threaten to burst out of their forms. Rows of pineapple are the infinite divisions of the sun, the cores lost in the amber discs of mebos arranged in arcs. Prunes are the wrinkled backs of aged goggas beside the bloodshot eyes of cherries. Dark green figs sit pertly on their bottoms peeping over trays. And I too am not myself, hoping for refuge in a metaphor that will contain it all. I buy the figs and mebos. Desire is a Tsafendas tapeworm in my belly that cannot be satisfied and as I pop the first fig into my mouth I feel the danger fountain with the jets of saliva. Will I stop at one death?
当我接近 Adderley Street 时，海洋的气味向我蔓延。没有风，只有盐水手在雾化的雾气中，银色覆盖在受阻的太阳上。为了满足我的饥饿感，惠灵顿在我的左边若隐若现。我无法抗拒的干果宫殿。人造光擦干了我的眼泪，使我眨了眨眼，一盘盘水果，开普敦的阳光被两次困住，闪闪发光，有可能从它们的形式中迸发出来。一排排的菠萝是太阳的无限分裂，核心消失在以弧形排列的琥珀色圆盘中。李子是老式 goggas 皱巴巴的背部，旁边是樱桃布满血丝的眼睛。深绿色的无花果巧妙地坐在它们的底部，偷看托盘。而我也不是我自己，希望在一个包含这一切的隐喻中寻求庇护。我买无花果和 mebos。欲望是我肚子里无法满足的 Tsafendas 绦虫，当我把第一颗无花果塞进嘴里时，我感觉到唾液喷涌而出的危险喷泉。我会止步于一次死亡吗？
I have walked too far along this road and must turn back to the Post Office. I break into a trot as I see Michael in the distance, drumming with his nails on the side of the car. His sunburned elbow juts out of the window. He taps with anxiety or impatience and I grow cold with fear as I jump into the passenger seat and say merrily, “Let’s go,” as if we are setting off for a picnic.
我在这条路上走得太远了，必须折返邮局。当我看到远处的迈克尔，他用指甲在车边敲打着鼓时，我小跑起来。他晒伤的胳膊肘伸出窗外。他焦虑或不耐烦地敲打着，我跳进副驾驶座，高兴地说：“我们走吧”，就像我们要去野餐一样，我因恐惧而变得寒冷。
Michael will wait in the car on the next street. She had said that it would take only ten minutes. He takes my hand and so prevents me from getting out. Perhaps he things that I will bolt, run off into the mountain, revert to savagery. His hand is heavy on my forearm and his eyes are those of a wounded dog, pale with pain.
Michael 将在下一条街的车里等着。她曾说过只需要十分钟。他拉着我的手，阻止我出去。也许他那些我不小心的东西，跑进了山里，又变回了野蛮。他的手沉重地放在我的前臂上，他的眼睛是一只受伤的狗，因痛苦而苍白。
“It will be all right.” I try to comfort and wonder whether he hears his own voice in mine. My voice is thin, a tinsel thread that springs out of my mouth and flutters straight out of the window.
“会没事的。”我试图安慰并想知道他是否在我身上听到了自己的声音。我的声音很细，一根金属丝从我的嘴里跳出来，直接从窗户飘出。
“I must go.” I lift the heavy hand off my forearm and it falls inertly across the gearstick.
“我得走了。”我把那只沉重的手从前臂上抬起来，它惰性地落在变速杆上。
The room is dark. The curtains are drawn and a lace-shaded electric light casts shadows in the corners of the rectangle. The doorway in which I stand divides the room into sleeping and eating quarters. On the left there is a table against which a servant girl leans, her eyes fixed on the blank wall ahead. On the right a middle-aged white woman rises with a hostess smile from a divan which serves as a sofa, and pats the single pink-flowered cushion to assert homeliness. There is a narrow dark wardrobe in the corner.
房间里很暗。窗帘被拉上，蕾丝阴影的电灯在矩形的角落投下阴影。我站的门口将房间分为睡眠区和用餐区。左边有一张桌子，一个女仆靠在桌子上，她的眼睛盯着前方空白的墙壁。右边，一位中年白人妇女从用作沙发的沙发上站起来，带着女主人的微笑，拍打着粉红色花朵的靠垫，彰显温馨。角落里有一个狭窄的黑暗衣柜。
I say haltingly, “You are expecting me. I spoke to you on the telephone yesterday. Sally Smit.” I can see no telephone in the room. She frowns.
我停顿着说，“你在等我。我昨天和你通了电话。莎莉·斯密特。我看不到房间里的电话。她皱起眉头。
“You’re not Colored, are you?” It is an absurd question. I look at my brown arms that I have kept folded across my chest, and watch the gooseflesh sprout. Her eyes are fixed on me. Is she blind? How will she perform the operation with such defective sight? Then I realize: the educated voice, the accent has blinded her. I have drunk deeply of Michael, swallowed his voice as I drank from his tongue. Has he swallowed mine? I do not think so.
“你不是有色人种，对吧？”这是一个荒谬的问题。我看着我一直交叉在胸前的棕色手臂，看着鸡皮疙瘩发芽。她的眼睛盯着我。她是盲人吗？她将如何在视力有缺陷的情况下进行手术？然后我意识到：受过教育的声音，口音已经蒙蔽了她的双眼。我深深地喝了迈克尔，吞下了他的声音，就像我从他的舌头里喝水一样。他吞下了我的吗？我不这么认为。
I say “No,” and wait for all the cockerels in Cape Town to crow simultaneously. Instead the servant starts from her trance and stares at me with undisguised admiration.
我说“不”，然后等待开普敦的所有公鸡同时鸣叫。 相反，仆人从恍惚中醒来，以毫不掩饰的钦佩盯着我。
“Good,” the woman smiles, showing yellow teeth. “One must check nowadays. These Colored girls, you know, are very forward, terrible types. What do they think of me, as if I would do every Tom, Dick and Harry. Not me you know; this is a respectable concern and I try to help decent women, educated you know. No, you can trust me. No Colored girl’s ever been on this sofa.”
“很好，”女人微笑着，露出了黄牙。“现在必须检查一下。这些有色人种女孩，你知道的，是非常前卫、可怕的类型。他们怎么看我，好像我会做每一个汤姆、迪克和哈利。不是我，你知道的;这是一个值得尊敬的问题，我试图帮助受过教育的体面女性，你知道的。不，你可以相信我。从来没有有色人种女孩坐过这张沙发。
The girl coughs, winks at me and turns to stir a pot simmering on a primus stove on the table. The smell of offal escapes the pot and nausea rises in my throat, feeding the fear. I would like to run but my feet are lashed with fear to the linoleum. Only my eyes move, across the room where she pulls a newspaper from a wad wedged between the wall and the wardrobe. She spreads the paper on the divan and smooths with her hand while the girl shuts the door and turns the key. A cat crawls lazily from under the table and stares at me until the green jewels of its eyes shrink to crystal points.
女孩咳嗽，对我眨眨眼，然后转身搅拌桌上正在烤炉子上的锅。内脏的气味从锅里逸出，恶心在我的喉咙里升起，助长了恐惧。我想跑，但我的脚被恐惧鞭打在油毡上。只有我的眼睛在房间里移动，她从夹在墙壁和衣柜之间的棉絮中抽出一份报纸。她把纸铺在沙发上，用手抚平，而女孩则关上门并转动钥匙。一只猫懒洋洋地从桌子底下爬出来，盯着我看，直到它眼睛的绿色宝石缩小成晶莹剔透的点。
She points me to the sofa. From behind the wardrobe she pulls her instrument and holds it against the baby-pink crimplene of her skirt.
她指着我坐到沙发上。她从衣柜后面拉出她的乐器，把它靠在裙子上淡粉色的褶皱上。
“Down, shut your eyes now,” she says as I raise my head to look. Their movements are carefully orchestrated, the maneuvers practiced. Their eyes signal and they move. The girl stations herself by my head and her mistress moves to my feet. She pushes my knees apart and whips out her instrument from a pocket. A piece of plastic tubing dangles for a second. My knees jerk and my mouth opens wide but they are in control. A brown hand falls on my mouth and smothers the cry; the white hands wrench the knees apart and she kisses, “Don’t you dare. Do you want the bladdy police here? I’ll kill you if you scream.”
“下来，现在闭上你的眼睛，”她说，我抬起头看。他们的动作经过精心编排，动作经过练习。他们的眼睛发出信号，然后移动。女孩站在我的头上，她的女主人走到我的脚边。她把我的膝盖推开，从口袋里掏出她的乐器。一根塑料管晃动了一秒钟。我的膝盖抽搐着，我的嘴巴张得很大，但他们在控制之中。一只棕色的手落在我的嘴上，压制住了哭声;白皙的手把膝盖拧开，她亲吻道，“你不敢。你想让那些粗鲁的警察在这里吗？如果你尖叫，我就杀了你。
The brown hand over my mouth relaxes. She looks into my face and says, “She won’t.” I am a child who needs reassurance. I am surprised by the softness of her voice. The brown hand moves along the side of my face and pushes back my hair. I long to hold the other hand; I do not care what happens below. A black line of terror separates it from my torso. Blood spurts from between my legs and for a second the two halves of my body make contact through the pain.
捂住我嘴巴的棕色手放松了。她看着我的脸说：“她不会的。我是一个需要安慰的孩子。她的声音柔和让我感到惊讶。棕色的手沿着我的脸侧移动，推开我的头发。我渴望握住另一只手;我不在乎下面会发生什么。一条黑色的恐怖线将它与我的躯干隔开。鲜血从我的两腿之间喷出，在一瞬间，我身体的两半在疼痛中接触。
So it is done. Deflowered by yellow hands wielding a catheter. Fear and hypocrisy, mine, my deserts spread in a dark stain on the newspaper.
所以它完成了。被挥舞着导管的黄色手摘花。恐惧和虚伪，我的，我的沙漠在报纸上铺开了一层黑暗的污点。
“OK,” she says, “get yourself decent.” I dress and wait for her to explain. “You go home now and wait for the birth. Do you have a pad?”
“好吧，”她说，“让自己体面点。我穿好衣服，等她解释。“你现在回家等孩子出生。你有垫子吗？
I shake my head uncomprehendingly. Her face tightens for a moment but then she smiles and pulls a sanitary towel out of the wardrobe.
我不解地摇了摇头。她的脸紧绷了一会儿，但随后她微笑着从衣柜里拿出一条卫生巾。
“Won’t cost you anything lovey.” She does not try to conceal the glow of her generosity. She holds out her hand and I place the purse in her palm. She counts, satisfied, but I wave away the purse which she reluctantly puts on the table.
“不会让你付出任何美好的代价。”她并不试图掩饰她慷慨的光芒。她伸出手，我把钱包放在她的手心里。她满意地数了数，但我挥手把她不情愿地放在桌子上的钱包拿走了。
“You’re a good girl,” she says and puts both hands on my shoulders. I hold my breath; I will not inhale the fetid air from the mouth of this my grotesque bridegroom with yellow teeth. She plants the kiss of complicity on my cheek and I turn to go, repelled by her touch. But have I the right to be fastidious? I cannot deny feeling grateful, so that I turn back to claim the purse after all. The girl winks at me. The purse fits snugly in my hand; there would be no point in giving it back to Michael.
“你是个好女孩，”她说着，把双手放在我的肩膀上。我屏住呼吸;我不会从这个长着黄牙的怪诞新郎的嘴里吸入恶臭的空气。她在我的脸颊上亲吻了我，我转身走了，被她的抚摸排斥住了。但我有权利挑剔吗？我无法否认自己的感激之情，以至于我最终转身去领取钱包。女孩对我眨眨眼。钱包紧紧地握在我的手里;把它还给迈克尔是没有意义的。
Michael’s face is drawn with fear. He is as ignorant of the process as I am. I am brisk, efficient and rattle off the plan. “It’ll happen tonight so I’ll go home and wait and call you in the morning. By then it will be all over.” He looks relieved.
迈克尔的脸上充满了恐惧。他和我一样对这个过程一无所知。我轻快、高效，对计划喋喋不休。“今晚会发生，所以我回家等着，早上给你打电话。到那时一切都会结束。他看起来松了一口气。
He drives me right to the door and my landlady waves merrily from the step where she sits with her her embroidery among the potted ferns.
他开车把我送到门口，我的房东太太从台阶上高兴地挥手，她坐在台阶上，手里拿着她的刺绣，在盆栽蕨类植物中。
“Don’t look,” she says anxiously. “It’s a present for you, for your trousseau,” and smiling slyly, “I can tell when a couple just can’t wait any longer. There’s no catching me out, you know.”
“别看，”她焦急地说。“这是送给你的礼物，送给你的嫁妆，”他狡猾地笑了笑，“我看得出来，一对夫妇就是不能再等了。你知道的，没办法把我赶出去。
Tonight in her room next to mine she will turn in her chaste bed, tracing the tendrils from pink and orange flowers, searching for the needle lost in the endless folds of white linen.
今晚，她将在我隔壁的房间里翻来覆去，从粉红色和橙色的花朵上描摹卷须，寻找在白色亚麻布无尽的褶皱中丢失的针。
Semi-detached houses with red-polished stoeps line the west side of Trevelyan Road. On the east is the Cape Flats line where electric trains rattle reliably according to timetable. Trevelyan Road runs into the elbow of a severely curved Main Road which nevertheless has all the amenities one would expect: butcher, baker, hairdresser, chemist, library, liquor store. There is a fish and chips shop on that corner, on the funny bone of that elbow, and by the side, strictly speaking in Trevelyan Road, a dustbin leans against the trunk of a young palm tree. A newspaper parcel dropped in to this dustbin would absorb the vinegary smell of discarded fish and chips wrappings in no time.
带有红色抛光尖顶的半独立式住宅排列在 Trevelyan 路的西侧。东边是 Cape Flats 线，电动火车根据时刻表可靠地发出嘎嘎声。Trevelyan 路与一条严重弯曲的主干道的肘部相连，但该主干道拥有人们所期望的所有便利设施：肉店、面包师、理发店、药店、图书馆、酒类商店。在那个拐角处，在那条滑稽的胳膊肘上，有一家炸鱼薯条店，在旁边，严格来说，在特里维扬路（Trevelyan Road），一个垃圾桶靠在一棵年轻的棕榈树的树干上。扔进这个垃圾箱的报纸包裹可以立即吸收丢弃的炸鱼薯条包装的醋味。
The wrapped parcel settles in the bin. I do not know what has happened to God. He is fastidious. He fled at the moment that I smoothed the wet black hair before wrapping it up. I do not know when he will come back. It is 6 A.M. Light pricks at the shroud of Table Mountain. The streets are deserted and, relieved, I remember that the next train will pass at precisely 6:22.
包装好的包裹会安放在垃圾箱中。我不知道 神发生了什么事。他很挑剔。他在我抚平湿漉漉的黑发后才把它包起来的那一刻逃走了。我不知道他什么时候会回来。现在是早上 6 点，光线刺痛了桌山的裹尸布。街道上空无一人，我松了一口气，记得下一班火车将在 6：22 准时通过。
Questions
问题
Who is/are the main character(s)? Explain why you think so.
谁是主角？ 请解释您为什么这么认为。
Who is/are the supporting character(s)? Explain why you think so.
谁是配角？请解释您为什么这么认为。
Describe the setting(s) and any relevant prop(s)
描述设置和任何相关 prop.
Tell the story in no more than two sentences.
用不超过两句话来讲述故事。
Outline the events of the story in order.
按顺序概述故事中的事件。
Identify and explain the major conflicts in the story.
确定并解释故事中的主要冲突。
Explain the importance of each quotation:
解释每句引文的重要性：
The purse fits neatly into the palm of my hand. A man’s purse. The handbag gapes. With my elbow I press it against my hip but that will not avert suspicion. The bus is moving fast, too fast, surely exceeding the speed limit, so that I bob on my seat and my grip on the purse tightens as the springs suck at my womb, slurping it down through the plush of the red upholstery. I press my buttocks into the seat to ease the discomfort.
钱包整齐地放在我的手掌里。一个男人的钱包。手提包张开了。我用手肘把它压在我的臀部上，但这并不能避免怀疑。公共汽车开得很快，太快了，肯定超过了限速，以至于我在座位上晃来晃去，弹簧吸吮着我的子宫，我紧紧地抓着钱包，把它从红色内饰的毛绒绒中吸下来。我将臀部压在座椅上以缓解不适。
I feel angry with Michael. He has probably never travelled by bus. How would he know of the fear of missing the unfamiliar stop, the fear of keeping an impatient conductor waiting, the fear of saying fluently, “Seventeen cents please,” when you are not sure of the fare and produce a five-rand note? But this is my journey and I must not expect Michael to take responsibility for everything. Or rather, I cannot expect Michael to take responsibility for more than half the things. Michael is scrupulous about this division; I am not always sure of how to arrive at half. I was never good at arithmetic, especially this instant mental arithmetic that is sprung on me.
我对迈克尔感到愤怒。他可能从来没有坐过公共汽车。他怎么会知道害怕错过不熟悉的站点，害怕让不耐烦的售票员等待，害怕流利地说“请十七美分”，而你却不确定票价并出示一张五兰特的钞票？但这是我的旅程，我不能指望迈克尔对所有事情负责。或者更确切地说，我不能指望 Michael 承担超过一半的事情。Michael 对这种划分一丝不苟;我并不总是确定如何到达一半。我从来不擅长算术，尤其是这种瞬间涌现在我身上的心算。
The large woman waves the bone as if it would burst into prophesy. My eyes follow the movement until the bone blurs and emerges as the Cross where the head of Jesus lolls sadly, his lovely feet anointed by sad hands, folded together under the driven nail. […] At midday Judas turns his face to the fading sun and bays, howls like a dog for its return as the darkness grows around him and swallows him whole with the money still jingling in the folds of his saffron robes. In a concealed leather purse, a pouch devoid of ornament.
高大的女人挥舞着骨头，仿佛它会爆发出预言。我的眼睛跟随着这个动作，直到骨头模糊不清，成为十字架，耶稣的头悲哀地躺着，他可爱的脚被悲伤的手涂抹，在被钉住的钉子下折叠在一起。[…]中午时分，犹大把脸转向渐渐暗淡的太阳和海湾，当黑暗在他周围蔓延时，他像狗一样嚎叫着等待它的回归，并将他整个吞噬，而他的藏红花长袍的褶皱中仍然叮叮当当的钱。在一个隐藏的皮包里，一个没有装饰的小袋。
“You’re not Colored, are you?”
“你不是有色人种，对吧？”
What techniques does Wicomb employ to show us the fear felt by the narrator?
Wicomb 采用哪些技巧向我们展示叙述者所感受到的恐惧？
Why does the author include the exchange between the two black servants on the bus?
为什么作者把两个黑人仆人在公交车上的交流都包括进来呢？
How is Michael described and how to does this, then, affect the reader’s impression of him?
如何描述迈克尔，以及这如何影响读者对他的印象呢？
Describe the abortionist’s “office”. What images are particularly powerful? What significance might they have?
描述堕胎者的 “办公室”。哪些图像特别强大？它们可能有什么意义？
What are the last two paragraphs about? Why end the story this way? What does it all mean?
最后两段是关于什么的？为什么以这种方式结束故事呢？这一切意味着什么？
Presentations
介绍
Research Apartheid in South Africa as it relates to – and explains – the story. Find specific examples in the text that show a racially divided society. In particular, look at the social position of Coloreds.
研究南非的种族隔离，因为它与这个故事相关并解释了这个故事。在文本中找到显示种族分裂社会的具体例子。 特别是，看看有色人的社会地位。
Find all references to God and Christianity (and look for subtle allusions as well – it’s not always crystal clear). What is the significance of the references? What does it tell us about the narrator?
找到所有对上帝和基督教的引用（并寻找微妙的典故——它并不总是非常清楚）。参考资料的意义是什么？它告诉我们关于叙述者的什么信息？
Why does the author include the passage about Capt Point and the poem, ‘Love at Logiesbaai’?
为什么作者包括关于 Capt Point 的段落和诗歌《Love at Logiesbaai》？