Unit 3A - A Dill Pickle
A Dill Pickle
Katherine Mansfield
And then, after six years, she saw him again. He was seated at one of those little bamboo tables decorated with a Japanese vase of paper daffodils. He was peeling an orange.
He must have felt that shock of recognition in her, for he looked up and met her eyes! He didn't know her. She smiled, he frowned. She came towards him. He closed his eyes an instant, but opening them his face lit up as though he had struck a match in a dark room. He laid down the orange and pushed back his chair.
Vera! he exclaimed. "How strange. Really, for a moment I didn't know you. Won't you sit down? Won't you have some coffee?"
Yes, I'd like some coffee. And she sat down opposite him.
You've changed. You've changed very much, he said, staring at her with that eager, lighted look. "You look so well. I've never seen you look so well before."
Really? She raised her veil and unbuttoned her high fur collar. "I don't feel very well. I can't bear this weather, you know."
Ah, no. You hate the cold...
Loathe it. She shuddered. "And the worst of it is that the older one grows..."
He interrupted her. "Excuse me," and tapped on the table for the waitress. "Please bring some coffee and cream." To her: "You are sure you won't eat anything?"
No, thanks. Nothing.
Then that's settled. And smiling he took up the orange again. "You were saying—the older one grows—"
The colder, she laughed. But she was thinking how well she remembered that trick of his—the trick of interrupting her—and of how it used to exasperate her six years ago.
The colder! He echoed her words, laughing too. "Ah, ah. You still say the same things and there is another thing about you that is not changed at all—your beautiful voice. I don't know what it is—I've often wondered—that makes your voice such a—haunting memory... Do you remember that first afternoon we spent together at Kew Gardens? You were so surprised because I did not know the names of any flowers. I am still just as ignorant for all your telling me. But whenever it's very fine and warm, and I see some bright colour I hear your voice saying: 'Geranium, marigold, and verbena,' You remember that afternoon?"
Oh, yes, very well. She drew a long, soft breath. Yet, what had remained in her mind of that particular afternoon was an absurd scene. A great many people taking tea in a Chinese pagoda, and he behaving like a maniac about the wasps—waving them away, flapping at them with his straw hat, serious and infuriated out of all proportion to the occasion. How she had suffered.
But now, as he spoke, that memory faded. His was the truer.
Yes, it had been a wonderful afternoon, full of flowers and—warm sunshine. Her thoughts lingered over the last two words. And in the warmth, as it were, another memory unfolded. She saw herself sitting on a lawn. He lay beside her, and suddenly, he rolled over and put his head in her lap.
I wish, he said in a low, troubled voice, "I wish that I had taken poison and were about to die—here now!"
She leaned over him.
Ah, why do you say that?
But he gave a kind of soft moan, and taking her hand he held it to his cheek.
Because I know I am going to love you too much. And I shall suffer so terribly, Vera, because you never, never will love me.
He was certainly far better looking now than he had been then. He had lost all that dreamy vagueness and indecision. Now he had the air of a man who has found his place in life. He must have made money, too. His clothes were admirable, and at that moment he pulled a Russian cigarette case out of his pocket.
Won't you smoke?
Yes, I will, she hovered over them. "They look very good."
I get them made for me by a little man in St James's Street. I don't smoke very much, but when I do, they must be delicious. Smoking isn't a habit with me; it's a luxury—like perfume. Are you still so fond of perfumes? Ah, when I was in Russia...
She broke in: "You've really been to Russia?"
Oh, yes. I was there for over a year. Have you forgotten how we used to talk of going there?
No, I've not forgotten.
He gave a strange half laugh and leaned back in his chair.
Isn't it curious? I have really carried out all those journeys that we planned. In fact, I have spent the last three years of my life traveling all the time. Spain, Siberia, Russia, Egypt. The only country left is China, and I mean to go there, too, when the war is over.
As he spoke, so lightly, tapping the end of his cigarette against the ashtray, she felt the strange beast that had slumbered so long within her bosom stir, stretch itself, yawn, prick up its ears, and suddenly bound to its feet, and fix its longing, hungry stare upon those far away places. But all she said was, smiling gently: "How I envy you."
It has been, he said, "wonderful—especially Russia. I even spent some days on a river boat on the Volga. Do you remember that boatman's song that you used to play?"
Yes. It began to play as she spoke.
Do you ever play it now?
No, I've no piano.
He was amazed at that. "But what has become of your beautiful piano?"
She made a little grimace. "Sold. Ages ago."
But you were so fond of music, he wondered.
I've no time for it now, said she.
He let it go at that. "That river life," he went on, "is something quite special. After a day or two you cannot realize that you have ever known another. And it is not necessary to know the language—the life of the boat creates a bond between you and the people that's more than sufficient. You eat with them, pass the day with them, and in the evening there is that endless singing."
She shivered, hearing the boatman's song break out again loud and tragic, and seeing the boat floating on the darkening river with melancholy trees on either side...
You'd like almost everything about Russian life, he said warmly. "It's so informal, so impulsive, so free. And then the peasants are so splendid. I remember the evening some friends and I went for a picnic by the Black Sea.
We took supper and champagne and ate and drank on the grass. And while we were eating the coachman came up. 'Have a dill pickle,' he said. He wanted to share with us: That seemed to me so right, so—you know what I mean?"
And she seemed at that moment to be sitting on the grass beside the mysteriously Black Sea, black as velvet, and rippling against the banks in silent, velvet waves. She saw the little group on the grass, their faces and hands white in the moonlight. Apart from them, with his supper in a cloth on his knees, sat the coachman. "Have a dill pickle," said he, and although she was not certain what a dill pickle was, she saw the greenish glass jar with a red chili like a parrot's beak.
Yes, I know perfectly what you mean, she said.
In the pause that followed they looked at each other. In the past when they had looked at each other like that they had felt that their souls had, as it were, put their arms round each other and dropped into the same sea, content, to be drowned, like mournful lovers. But now, he said: "What a marvelous listener you are. When you look at me with those wild eyes I feel that I could tell you things that I would never breathe to another human being."
Was there just a hint of mockery in his voice? She could not be sure.
How well I remember one night, the night that I brought you the little Christmas tree, telling you all about my childhood. And of how I was so miserable that I ran away and lived under a cart in our yard for two days without being discovered.
And you listened, and your eyes shone, and I felt that you had even made the little Christmas tree listen too, as in a fairy story."
…"The dog was called Bosun," she cried, delightedly.
But he did not follow. "What dog? Had you a dog?"
No, no. I meant the yard dog when you were a little boy.
He laughed and snapped the cigarette case to.
Was he? Do you know I had forgotten that? It seemed such ages ago. I cannot believe that it is only six years. After I had recognized you today—I had to take such a leap to get back to that time. He drummed on the table. "I've often thought how I must have bored you. And now I understand so perfectly why you wrote to me as you did—although at the time that letter nearly finished my life. I found it again the other day, and I couldn't help laughing as I read it. It was so clever—such a true picture of me." He glanced up. "You're not going?"
She had buttoned her collar again and drawn down her veil.
Yes, I am afraid I must, she said, and managed a smile.
Ah, no, please, he pleaded. "Don't go just for a moment," and he caught up one of her gloves from the table and clutched at it as if that would hold her. "I see so few people to talk to nowadays, that I have turned into a sort of barbarian," he said. "Have I said something to hurt you?"
Not a bit, she lied. But as she watched him draw her glove through his fingers, gently, gently, her anger really did die down.
What I really wanted then, he said softly, "was to be a sort of carpet—for you to walk on so that you need not be hurt by the sharp stones and the mud that you hated so.
It was nothing more selfish than that. Only I did desire, eventually, to turn into a magic carpet and carry you away to all those lands you longed to see."
As he spoke she lifted her head as though she drank something; the strange beast in her bosom began to purr...
I felt, that you were more lonely than anybody else in the world, he went on, "and yet, perhaps, that you were the only person in the world who was really, truly alive."
Ah, God! What had she done! How had she dared to throw away her happiness like this! This was the only man who had ever understood her. Was it too late? Could it be too late?
And then the fact that you never had made friends with people. How I understood that, for neither had I. Is it just the same now?
Yes, she breathed. "Just the same. I am as alone as ever."
So am I, he laughed gently, "just the same."
Suddenly, with a quick gesture he handed her back the glove and scraped his chair on the floor. "But what seemed to me so mysterious then is perfectly plain to me now. It simply was that we were such egoists, so self-engrossed, so wrapped up in ourselves that we hadn't a corner in our hearts for anybody else. Do you know," he cried, naive and hearty...
She had gone. He sat there, thunder-struck, astounded beyond words... And then he asked the waitress for his bill.
But the cream has not been touched, he said. "Please do not charge me for it."
参考译文——莳萝泡菜
莳萝泡菜
凯瑟琳·曼斯菲尔德
于是，六年后，她又见到了他。他坐在一张小竹桌旁，桌上摆着插有纸水仙花的日式花瓶，他正在剥橘子。
他肯定感觉到了她认出他来时的震惊，因为他抬起头来看了一下，恰好与她的目光相遇！但他没有认出她来。她笑了，而他皱了皱眉。她向他走了过去。他闭上了眼睛，但随即又睁开，脸上露出了灿烂的笑容，就像在一间漆黑的屋子里划燃了一根火柴。他放下了橘子，把椅子往后推了推。
“薇拉！”他喊道，“真奇怪，真的，刚才我居然没认出你。可以坐下来吗？喝杯咖啡吧？”
“好吧，我要杯咖啡。”于是她在他的对面坐了下来。
“你变了，变了很多，”他说道，用热切而闪亮的目光注视着她。“你看起来很不错，以前我从未见过你气色这么好。”
“是吗？”她撩起了面纱并解开了高高的毛领上的扣子。“我不觉得很好，你知道我不能忍受这样的天气。”
“噢，是啊，你讨厌寒冷……”
“我简直恨透了这种天气，”她颤抖着。“而最糟糕的是人越老越……”
他打断了她。“抱歉，”他敲了敲桌子唤来女侍者。“请来份咖啡和奶油。”接着又对她说：“你确定不吃点东西吗？”
“不，谢谢，我什么也不想吃。”
“那就这样吧。”然后他又笑着拿起了那个橘子。“你刚才说人越老越——”
“怕冷。”她笑着回答，薇拉对他喜欢打断她的话这一套记忆犹新——六年前，这种习惯曾令她很是气恼。
“就越怕冷！”他重复着她的话，也笑了。“啊，你现在说话还和以前一样，其实还有一点你没有变——你那动人的声音。我不知道是什么——但我常常在想——是什么使你的声音一直萦绕在我的脑海中……你还记得我们在邱园共度的第一个下午吗？当时你很吃惊我竟然不认识园中的任何一种花。尽管你告诉过我那些花的名字，但我仍然对此一无所知。但是每当天气晴朗温暖，我看到某种艳丽的花儿时，我仿佛又听到你在说：‘天竺葵、金盏花，还有美人樱，’你记得那个下午吗？”
“哦，是的，记得很清楚。”她深深地、轻轻地吸了一口气。然而，在她的记忆中那个特别的下午却是一个荒唐可笑的场景。在一座中式塔楼里，有许多人在品茶，而他却在驱赶着黄蜂，像个疯子一样——挥着手，用草帽拍打着黄蜂把它们赶跑，那种严肃而又恼怒的样子与当时的场合极不协调。她当时真是难堪极了。
但是现在，当他说起那个下午时，这个场景在她脑海里已经渐渐消失，他的回忆更真实一些。
是的，那是一个美好的下午，到处鲜花盛开，阳光和煦。她的思绪还徘徊在最后两个字上。想到当时那温暖的阳光，另一扇记忆的大门被打开了。她看到自己坐在草地上，他躺在她的旁边，突然间他滚过来把头放在她的膝上。
“我希望，”他用一种低沉而焦虑的声音说道，“我希望自己已经服下毒药，即将死去，就在此时此地。”
她俯下身。
“啊，你为什么要这样说？”
但是他只是轻轻地悲叹了一声，拉起了她的手贴在自己的面颊上。
“因为我知道我会深深地爱上你，为此我会痛苦不堪，薇拉，因为你永远，永远也不会爱上我的。”
毫无疑问，现在的他跟昔日相比已经判若两人了。他已经不再爱空想，不再糊里糊涂，优柔寡断了。如今他看上去像个男人了，在生活中找到了属于自己的位置。他一定也赚了不少钱，他的衣着十分考究。就在这时，他从口袋里掏出了一盒俄国香烟。
“你抽烟吗？”
“嗯，我抽，”她仔细地研究了一下那盒香烟，“这烟看上去不错。”
“我找圣詹姆斯街上的一个矮个子男人定做的。我不怎么抽烟，但是当我抽时，烟必须是香醇味美的。抽烟对我来说不是一种习惯；它是一种奢侈品——就像香水。你还是很喜欢香水吗？啊，当我在俄国时……”
她打断道：“你真的去过俄国？”
“哦，是的。我在那待了一年多。你忘了以前我们是如何谈论要去那儿的吗？”
“不，我没忘。”
他奇怪地似笑非笑了一下，往后靠到了椅背上。
“多么不可思议啊？我真的实现了我们计划过的所有旅程。事实上，在过去的三年中我一直在旅行。西班牙、西伯利亚、俄国、埃及，唯一没去过的国家就是中国了。我打算等战争结束后去那儿一趟。”
他轻描淡写地说着，并时不时轻轻地在烟灰缸上弹掉烟灰。她觉得自己胸中沉睡已久的怪兽惊醒了，伸着懒腰，打着哈欠，竖起了耳朵，突然站了起来，目光里充满了渴望和贪婪，目不转睛地注视着他去过的那些遥远的地方。然而她只是温柔地微笑着说：“我真嫉妒你啊。”
“旅行。”他说，“真的很棒——特别是在俄国。我甚至在伏尔加河上的一只船上度过了好几天。你还记得你过去常常弹的那首船夫曲吗？”
“记得。”就在她说话时，心中开始响起这首曲子。
“你现在还在弹吗？”
“不弹了，我没有钢琴。”
他听到这感到十分惊讶。“你那架漂亮的钢琴呢？”
她苦笑了一下。“卖了，几年前就卖了。”
“可你是那么喜欢音乐。”他感到很纳闷。
“我现在没时间欣赏音乐了。”她说。
他就此打住了这个话题，然后继续说道伏尔加河上的生活，非常特别。在船上待一两天以后，不知不觉中你就想不起来自己还曾经历过那以外的生活。而且你不必懂他们的语言——船上的生活足以使你和那里的人建立起一种密切的关系。你和他们吃在一起，白天一起度过。到了晚上就通宵达旦地唱歌。”
她哆嗦了一下，仿佛又听到了船夫们嘹亮而悲怆的歌声；仿佛看到了那船在黑暗的河面上飘荡着，而河岸两侧的树木令人感伤……
“你会喜欢俄国生活的方方面面的，”他热情地说’“它是那么随意，那么刺激，那么自由。还有那儿的农民简直是太好了。我还记得有一天晚上，我和一些朋友在黑海岸边野餐。
我们带了晚餐和香槟，在草地上吃着喝着。而正当我们吃东西时，车夫走了过来，他说：‘来点儿莳萝泡菜吧。’他想和我们一起分享。那对我来说简直太合乎心意了，所以——你知道我的意思吗？”
她此时此刻仿佛就坐在黑海岸边的草地上，大海充满了神秘感，黑得仿佛天鹅绒一般，那天鹅绒般的海浪静静地拍打着岸边。她看见了草地上的那一小群人，他们的脸和手在月光下泛着白光。除他们之外，还坐着那位马车夫，他的晚餐放在他膝盖上的一块布里面。“来点莳萝泡菜吧。”他说。尽管她并不十分清楚莳萝泡菜是什么，但她看到了淡绿色的玻璃罐里有个鹦鹉嘴似的红辣椒。
“是的，我完全明白你的意思。”她说。
之后是短暂的沉默，他们注视着对方。在过去，当他们那样相互注视的时候，他们能够感受到彼此的灵魂会张开双臂，拥抱着对方，然后共同坠入同一片海洋，就像悲伤的情侣一样心甘情愿被大海所吞没。可现在他却说你真是一个极好的听众。当你用那双狂热的眼睛注视着我时，我就觉得我可以告诉你那些永远都不会对别人说起的事情。”
他的声音中是不是有一丝嘲笑？她不确定。
“我十分清楚地记得那个晚上，我给你带了一棵小圣诞树。我告诉了你有关我童年的一切。我告诉你我是如何痛苦地跑出来，在我们家后院的一辆马车下住了两天，并且没被人发现。
那时你听着，眼睛亮亮的，我觉得你仿佛让那棵小圣诞树也在倾听，就像童话故事里一样。”
“那只狗叫博松。”她高兴地喊了起来。
但是他并没有明白过来，“什么狗？你养了一只狗吗？”
“不，不，我指的是你小的时候你家后院的那条狗。”
他笑了起来，然后啪的一声扣上了香烟盒子。
“是吗？你知道我已经忘了。那似乎是很多年以前的事情了。我无法相信那只是六年前的事情。今天认出你以后——我的思绪不得不跌回到那个时候。”他敲打着桌面。“我经常觉得我一定使你很烦。而现在，我真的完全理解为什么你写那封信给我了——尽管那时候那封信几乎要了我的命。几天前，我又把它找了出来，当我读信时，我忍不住笑了。那封信写得好极了——完全是我的真实写照。”他抬头看了一眼。“你不是要离开吧？”
她重新扣上了衣领，把面纱拉了下来。
“是的，恐怕我该走了。”她说道，勉强挤出一丝笑容。
“哦，不。求你先别急着走。”他恳求道。“等一下再走吧他从桌子上抓起了她的一只手套，紧紧地攥在手里，似乎这样就可以留住她。“现在我感到能和我说话的人太少了，我差不多变得有点像原始人了。”他说，“我说了什么伤害你的话了吗？”
“一点也没有。”她说谎道。但是当她看到他非常、非常轻柔地用手指触摸她的手套时，她的气确实渐渐地消了。
“那时候我真正想做的，”他温柔地说，“就是变成一块地毯——任你在上面行走而不会让尖利的石子伤害到你，不让你所讨厌的泥土溅到你。
没有什么更多的奢求了。我只是期望，最终，我能变成一张魔毯，把你带到你所渴望的任何地方去。”
他说话时，她抬起了头，好像是喝了什么东西一样；她胸中的怪兽又开始低鸣起来……
“我觉得，你是这世上最孤独的人了，”他继续说道，“但是，或许，你却是这世上唯一的一个真正地、真诚地活着的人。”
啊，上帝！她都做了什么！她竟然就那样抛弃了她的幸福！这可是唯一理解她的男人啊。是不是太晚了？真的太晚了吗？
“事实上，你从未和别人交过朋友。我非常理解，因为我也没有朋友。你现在还是这样吗？”
“是的，”她吸了一口气，“一如既往地孤单。”
“我也是，”他轻轻地笑了，“跟以前一样。”
突然，他迅速地把手套递还给她，把椅子在地板上拖了一下。“但是当时对我来说如此神秘的东西现在对我来说都很明了了。这仅仅是因为我们太以自我为中心，太顾及自己，太专注于自己了，以至于我们的心中没有为任何人留下一席之地。你知道吗？”他天真而由衷地哭了……
她已经走了。他坐在那里，如遭雷击，震惊得无以言表……然后他向女服务员要来账单。
他说奶油没人动过，就不要算在账单里了吧。”
Key Words:
recognition [.rekəg'niʃən]
n. 认出，承认，感知，知识
settled ['setld]
adj. 固定的；稳定的 v. 解决；定居（settle
collar ['kɔlə]
n. 衣领，项圈，[机]轴环
vt. 抓住，为
fur [fə:]
n. 毛皮，软毛，皮衣，毛皮制品
vt. 用毛
veil [veil]
n. 面纱，掩饰物，修女
vt. 给 ...
interrupted [intə'rʌptid]
adj. 中断的；被打断的；不规则的 vt. 打断；中断
absurd [əb'sə:d]
adj. 荒唐的
n. 荒唐
maniac ['meiniæk]
n. 疯子，热衷者 adj. 疯狂的 =maniacal
particular [pə'tikjulə]
adj. 特殊的，特别的，特定的，挑剔的
ignorant ['ignərənt]
adj. 不知道的，无知的，愚昧的
poison ['pɔizn]
n. 毒药，败坏道德之事，毒害
vt. 毒害，
spoke [spəuk]
v. 说，说话，演说
lawn [lɔ:n]
n. 草地，草坪
n. 上等细麻布
haunting ['hɔ:ntiŋ]
adj. 不易忘怀的 动词haunt的现在分词
proportion [prə'pɔ:ʃən]
n. 比例，均衡，部份，（复）体积，规模
vt
scene [si:n]
n. 场，景，情景
stir [stə:]
n. 感动(激动，愤怒或震动), 搅拌，骚乱
admirable ['ædmərəbl]
adj. 令人钦佩的，令人赞赏的
luxury ['lʌkʃəri]
n. 奢侈，豪华，奢侈品
vagueness ['veignis]
n. 模糊，含糊
spoke [spəuk]
v. 说，说话，演说
perfume ['pə:fju:m,pə'fju:m]
n. 香水，香气
vt. 使香气弥漫
indecision [.indi'siʒən]
adj. 犹豫
n. 下不了决心，拿不定主意
curious ['kjuəriəs]
adj. 好奇的，奇特的
moan [məun]
n. 呻吟声，悲叹声，抱怨声
longing ['lɔŋiŋ]
n. 渴望，憧憬 adj. 渴望的
impulsive [im'pʌlsiv]
adj. 冲动的，任性的 n. (引起冲动的)原因
stare [steə(r)]
v. 凝视，盯着看
n. 凝视
grimace [gri'meis]
n. 面部的歪扭，鬼脸，痛苦的表情 vi. 扮鬼脸，作苦
stretch [stretʃ]
n. 伸展，张开
adj. 可伸缩的
informal [in'fɔ:məl]
adj. 非正式的，不拘形式的
sufficient [sə'fiʃənt]
adj. 足够的，充分的
melancholy ['melənkɔli]
n. 忧沉，悲哀，愁思 adj. 忧沉的，使人悲伤的，愁
bond [bɔnd]
n. 债券，结合，粘结剂，粘合剂
vt. 使结
spoke [spəuk]
v. 说，说话，演说
certain ['sə:tn]
adj. 确定的，必然的，特定的
marvelous ['mɑ:viləs]
adj. 令人惊异的，了不起的，不平常的
miserable ['mizərəbl]
adj. 悲惨的，痛苦的，贫乏的
listener ['lisənə]
n. 听者，听众
hint [hint]
n. 暗示
v. 暗示，示意
mockery ['mɔkəri]
n. 嘲弄，笑柄，蔑视
jar [dʒɑ:]
n. 不和谐，刺耳声，震动，震惊，广口瓶
cart [kɑ:t]
n. 手推车，(二轮)载货车
understand [.ʌndə'stænd]
vt. 理解，懂，听说，获悉，将 ... 理解为，认为<
collar ['kɔlə]
n. 衣领，项圈，[机]轴环
vt. 抓住，为
veil [veil]
n. 面纱，掩饰物，修女
plain [plein]
n. 平原，草原
adj. 清楚的，坦白的，简
mysterious [mis'tiəriəs]
adj. 神秘的，不可思议的
naive [nɑ'i:v]
adj. 天真的，幼稚的
eventually [i'ventjuəli]
adv. 终于，最后
gesture ['dʒestʃə]
n. 手势，姿态
v. 作手势表达
touched [tʌtʃt]
adj. 受感动的 adj. 精神失常的
参考资料：
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U3A A Dill Pickle(1)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U3A A Dill Pickle(2)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U3A A Dill Pickle(3)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U3A A Dill Pickle(4)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U3A A Dill Pickle(5)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
- 现代大学英语精读(第2版)第三册:U3A A Dill Pickle(6)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语
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