Unit 7 - There's Only Luck
In this article the author describes what happened to her one night and her feelings about it.
There's Only Luck
My mind went numb when I saw the gun pointing against the car window as we pulled out of the garage: This can't be happening to me. Then I felt the gun, cold, against my head, and I heard my friend Jeremy saying, "What do you want? Take my wallet," but at the time I thought of nothing.
I remember being vaguely annoyed when the gunman pulled me from the car by the hair. I remember the walk to the house - Jeremy, me, the two men with two guns. I remember the fear and anger in the gunmen's voices because Jeremy was being slow, and I remember wondering why he was being slow. I did not realize that Jeremy had thrown the keys into the shrubbery. But I remember that sound of the gun hitting Jeremy's head and the feeling as the man who had hold of my hair released me. And I remember the split second when I realized he was looking at Jeremy, and I remember wondering how far I could run before he pulled the trigger. But I was already running, and upon reaching the car across the street, I didn't crouch behind it but screamed instead.
I remember thinking there was something absurdly melodramatic about screaming "Help, help!" at eight o'clock on a Tuesday evening in December and changing my plea to the more specific "Help, let me in, please let me in!" But the houses were cold, closed, unfriendly, and I ran on until I heard Jeremy's screams behind me announcing that our attackers had fled.
The neighbors who had not opened their doors to us came out with baseball bats and helped Jeremy find his glasses and keys. In a group they were very brave. We waited for the cops to come until someone said to someone else that the noodles were getting cold, and I said politely, "Please go and eat. We're O.K."
I was happy to see them go. They had been talking of stiffer sentences for criminals, of bringing back the death penalty and how the President is going to clean up the country. I was thinking, they could be saying all of this over my dead body, and I still feel that stiffer sentences wouldn't change a thing. In a rush all the rage I should have felt for my attackers was directed against these contented people standing in front of their warm, cozy homes talking about all the guns they were going to buy. What good would guns have been to Jeremy and me?
People all over the neighborhood had called to report our screams, and the police turned out in force twenty minutes later. They were ill-tempered about what was, to them, much ado about nothing. After all, Jeremy was hardly hurt, and we were hopeless when it came to identification. "Typical," said one cop when we couldn't even agree on how tall the men were. Both of us were able to describe the guns in horrifying detail, but the two policemen who stayed to make the report didn't think that would be much help.
The cops were matter-of-fact about the whole thing. The thin one said, "That was a stupid thing to do, throwing away the keys. When a man has a gun against your head you do what you're told." Jeremy looked properly sheepish.
Then the fat cop same up and the thin one went to look around the outside of the house. "That was the best thing you could have done, throwing away the keys," he said. "If you had gone into the house with them…" His voice trailed off. "They would have hurt her" - he jerked his head toward me - "and killed you both." Jeremy looked happier. "Look," said the fat cop kindly, "there's no right or wrong in the situation. There's just luck."
All that sleepless night I replayed the moment those black gloves came up to the car window. How long did the whole thing last? Three minutes, five, eight? No matter how many hours of my life I may spend reliving it, I know there is no way to prepare for the next time - no intelligent response to a gun. The fat cop was right: There's only luck. The next time I might end up dead.
And I'm sure there will be a next time. It can happen anywhere, anytime, to anyone. Security is an illusion; there is no safety in locks or in guns. Guns make some people feel safe and some people feel strong, but they're fooling themselves.
参考译文——仅有幸运
在这篇文章里，作者描述了一个夜晚她发生了的事以及她对这事的感受。
仅有幸运
露丝·赖克尔
当我们驶出车库看到枪正对着轿车的窗口时我的大脑变得麻木了。这不可能正发生在我的身上。然而我感觉到这枝枪，冰冷，对着我的头，并且我听到我的朋友杰里米说，"你们要做什么？把我的钱包拿去，"但这时的我大脑一片空白。
我记得持枪人抓住我的头发将我拉出轿车时我有些生气了。我记得走向家里——杰里米，我，两名持枪人与两枝枪。我记得持枪人的声调里带着害怕与生气，因为杰里米是很慢的，而且我记得当时我想知道他为什么那么慢。我不清楚杰里米已经将钥匙扔进了灌木丛里。但我记得枪撞在杰里米头部的声音以及这位抓住我的头发的男人松开我的感觉。我记得我领悟到他正在瞧杰里米的一瞬间，我想知道在他扣动扳机之前我是否能跑得足够远。但我已经跑了，并且跑到穿过大街的轿车那里，我并不蹲伏在它的后面，而是大声地喊叫。
我记得当时想到在12月的星期二的夜晚8点钟叫喊"救命，救命！"是极其荒唐的，所以我改变自己的恳求为专门的"救命，让我进去，请让我进去！"但这一家是冰冷的，关闭着的，不友好的，于是我继续跑直到我听了杰里米在我身后的叫喊，我们的攻击者已经跑了。
没有开门的这家邻居冲我们打开了门，带着棒球棒出来，帮助杰里米寻找他的眼镜和钥匙。在一群人里他们是很勇敢的。我们等候警察来直到有人对另一个人说面条正变凉了，我礼貌地说，"请回去吃吧。我们都很好。"
看着他们走我是幸福的。他们已经正在谈到对罪犯的严厉审判，恢复死刑的惩罚和总统将怎样肃清这个国家犯罪活动。我在想，如果刚才运气背一点，他们现在可能正对着我的尸体说着同样的话。我仍然认为严厉的刑罚不会带来什么改变。在一阵愤怒的冲动里，我本该冲着攻击者的感受到的愤怒转向了这些满意地站在他们温暖、舒适的家门前谈论着将要购买枪的人们。对于杰里米和我而言，枪支有什么用？
所有的邻居们已经打电话报告了我们的尖叫，携带武器的警察20分钟后赶到。看了现场的情况，他们优点气氛，对他们来说，这简直是小题大做。毕竟，杰里米几乎没有受伤，当它需要我们描述抢劫犯的体貌特征时，我们竟回答不出来。"这并不稀奇，"当我们甚至在描述那两个人有多高时说法不一时一位警察说。我们俩个都能描述枪的可怕细节，但两位留下来做记录的警察不认为多有用。
警察们对于这件事是“客观”的。瘦个说，"扔掉钥匙是愚蠢的做法。当有一把枪对着你的头时，你最好照做。"杰里米乖乖地听着警察的“训话”。
然后胖警察上来和瘦警察一起去这幢房子的周围查看。"扔掉钥匙是你当时最好的选择，"他说。"如果你与他们进入这幢房子......"他的声音越来越虚弱，"他们会伤害她，"——他用头指向我——"并且杀掉你们俩个。"杰里米听了这话心里宽慰了一些。"瞧，"胖警察善意地说，"在这种情形下没有正确或错误，只有幸运。"
整夜无眠，我重温着那些黑色的手套来到车窗上的那一刻。这件事持续多长时间？3分钟，5分钟，8分钟？我可能花我生命中多少时间来重温它也没有关系，我知道没有途径为第二次做准备——对着一把枪，能有什么办法机智应对呢？胖警察是对的：仅有幸运。下次遇到这事，我可能就没有这次的运气了。
并且我确信将会有下次。它会发生在任何地方，任何时间，任何人身上。安全只是一种幻觉，无论是防盗锁还是枪支，都不能带来安全。枪支使一些人感到安全，让一些人感到强大，但这只是他们在自欺欺人而已。
注：博主基于网络译文校译而成。
参考资料：
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