Then there was the bad weather. It would come in one day when the fall was over. We would have to shut the windows in the night against the rain and the cold wind would strip the leaves from the trees in the Place Contrescarpe . The leaves lay sodden in the rain and wind drove the rain against the big green autobus at the terminal and the Café des Amateurs was crowded and the windows misted over from the heat and the smoke inside. It was a sad, evilly run café where the drunkards of the quarter crowded together and I kept away from it because of the smell of dirty bodies and the sour smell of drunkenness. The men and women who frequented the Amateurs stayed drunk all of the time, or all of the time they could afford it, mostly on wine which they bought by the half-liter or liter. Many strangely named apéritifs were advertised, but few people could afford them except as a foundation to build their wine drunks on. The women drunkards were called poivrottes which meant female rummies.

那会儿天气很糟。秋天一结束，这种天气在一天内就开始了。为了防雨，夜里我们只能关上窗户。寒风吹落了护墙广场上的树叶，落叶浸在雨中，风吹着雨，雨点打在终点站绿色的大公共汽车上。艾美特咖啡馆挤满了人，屋里的热气和烟雾模糊了窗户。这家令人伤心、经营不善的咖啡馆是这个区酒鬼聚集的地方。我不去那儿，因为那些人肮脏的身体恶臭难闻，醉酒后还发出一股酸味。经常出入艾美特的男男女女总是醉醺醺的，或者说他们总是有钱买醉，大多情况下他们喝的是葡萄酒，一买就是半升或一升。到处可见名字怪异的开胃酒在做广告，但很少人能买得起，除非他们要以此垫底，然后喝葡萄酒喝个大醉。人们把醉酒的女人叫做poivrottes，就是女酒鬼的意思。

The Café des Amateurs was the cesspool of the rue Mouffetard, that wonderful narrow crowded market street which led into the Place Contrescarpe. The squat toilets of the old apartment houses, one by the side of the stairs on each floor with the two cleated cement shoe-shaped elevations on each side of the aperture so a locataire would not slip, emptied into cesspools which were emptied by pumping into horse-drawn tank wagons at night. In the summer time, with all windows open, we would hear the pumping and the odor was very strong. The tank wagons were painted brown and saffron color and in the moonlight when they worked the rue Cardinal Lemoine their wheeled, horse-drawn cylinder looked like Braque paintings. No one emptied the Café des Amateurs though, and its yellowed poster stating the terms and penalties of the law against public drunkenness was as flyblown and disregarded as its clients were constant and ill-smelling.

艾美特咖啡馆就是慕夫塔大街的污水坑，这条大街是通向护墙广场的一条出奇狭窄而拥挤的闹市街。那些古旧公寓每层楼梯旁都有一个蹲式厕所，蹲坑两边各有一个加固的鞋形水泥踩脚台，以防房客摔倒。这些蹲厕中的粪便会排入污水池中，夜里污水池会由马拉式粪罐车抽空。夏天，因为窗户开着，我们能听见粪罐车抽粪的声音，闻到阵阵恶臭。粪罐车漆成褐色和藏红色。在月色中，当这些粪罐车在勒穆瓦纳主教街工作的时候，装在轮子上的马拉圆筒粪罐看上去就像布拉克的油画。然而却没人为艾美特咖啡馆排污。咖啡馆里发黄的公告上写着禁止公众酗酒的法律条款与处罚条例，上面蝇屎斑斑，污秽不堪，但无人理会，就像咖啡馆的客人一样，一成不变，而且一身臭气。

All of the sadness of the city came suddenly with the first cold rains of winter, and there were no more tops to the high white houses as you walked but only the wet blackness of the street and the closed door of the small shops, the herb sellers, the stationary and the newspaper shops, the midwife—second class—and the hotel where Verlaine had died where I had a room on the top floor where I worked.

这座城市的所有悲伤随着冬季的头几场冷雨骤然而至。散步时，再也看不见高高的白色房子的房顶，只看见湿漉漉的漆黑街道、关了门的小商铺、卖草药的小贩、文具店和报刊亭、助产士——二流的——还有一家旅馆，魏尔兰就是在那儿去世的，我也曾在旅馆顶层的一间房间里工作过。

It was either six or eight flights up to the top floor and it was very cold and I knew how much it would cost for a bundle of small twigs, three wire-wrapped packets of short, half-pencil length pieces of split pine to catch fire from the twigs, and then the bundle of half-dried lengths of hard wood that I must buy to make a fire that would warm the room. So I went to the far side of the street to look up at the roof in the rain and see if any chimneys were going, and how the smoke blew. There was no smoke and I thought about how the chimney would be cold and might not draw and of the room possibly filling with smoke, and the fuel wasted, and the money gone with it, and I walked on in the rain. I walked down past the Lycée Henri Quatre and the ancient church of St. Etienne-du-Mont to the windswept Place du Panthéon and cut in for shelter to the right and finally came out on the lee side of the Boulevard St. Michel and worked on down it past the Cluny and the Boulevard St. Germain until I came to a good café that I knew on the Place St. Michel.

到顶层要走六段或八段楼梯。屋里非常冷，我知道要生火让房间暖和需要买的东西得花多少钱：一捆小树枝，三小捆金属丝包捆好的半支铅笔那么短短一截长、用来从小树枝上取火的松木劈柴，还有一捆半干的硬木。所以我到街的远侧，仰望雨中的屋顶，看看是否有冒烟的烟囱，烟是如何升起的。没有烟。我想着烟囱为什么会变冷且无法通风，想着房间里可能烟雾弥漫，浪费了柴火，白白烧了那些钱。想着这些，我继续在雨中漫步。我经过了亨利四世中学、古老的圣埃德尼杜蒙教堂和寒风凛凛的先贤祠，从右边进去避避风雨，最后从圣米歇尔大街背风的一头出来，顺着街继续往前走，经过克鲁尼教堂和圣谢荷曼大街，一直走到圣米歇尔广场上我知道的一家不错的咖啡馆。

It was a pleasant café, warm and clean and friendly, and I hung up my old waterproof on the coat rack to dry and put my worn and weathered felt hat on the rack above the bench and ordered a café au lait. The waiter brought it and I took out a notebook from the pocket of the coat and a pencil and started to write. I was writing about up in Michigan and since it was a wild, cold, blowing day it was that sort of day in the story. I had already seen the end of fall come through boyhood, youth and young manhood, and in one place you could write about it better than in another. That was called transplanting yourself, I thought and it could be as necessary with people as with other sorts of growing things. But in the story the boys were drinking and this made me thirsty and I ordered a rum St. James. This tasted wonderful on the cold day and I kept on writing, feeling very well and feeling the good Martinique rum warm me all through my body and my spirit.

这是一家舒适的咖啡馆，暖和、干净、亲切。我把那身旧雨衣挂在衣帽架上晾干，把我那磨损破旧的毡帽挂在长条凳上的架子上，要了一杯牛奶咖啡。侍者端来咖啡，我从外套口袋里拿出笔记本和铅笔，开始写作。故事里我描述的是发生在密歇根北部的事。因为当天刮着风，天气寒冷，故事里也是这样的天气。不管是孩童时代、少年时代还是青年时代，我都经历过这种暮秋的日子，而故事在一个地方可能比在另一个地方写得更好。我想这就是所谓的自我移植，这对人来说也许和对其他成长变化的东西一样都是必要的。不过，故事中，男孩们正喝着酒，这让我也感到口渴，于是叫了杯圣詹姆斯朗姆酒。这样一杯酒在大冷天里喝起来感觉棒极了。我继续写故事，感觉很好。品尝上好的马提尼克朗姆酒让我全身都暖和起来，也振奋了我的精神。

A girl came in the café and sat by herself at a table near the window. She was very pretty with a face fresh as a newly minted coin if they minted coins in smooth flesh with rain-freshened skin, and her hair was black as a crow's wing and cut sharply and diagonally across her cheek.

一个女孩走进咖啡馆，独自坐在一张靠窗的桌旁。她非常漂亮，一张清新的脸就像新铸造的钱币——如果人们真的在光滑的皮肉和雨后涣然一新的皮肤上铸币的话。她的头发像乌鸦的翅膀一样黑，修剪出清晰的轮廓，斜贴着她的脸颊。

I looked at her and she disturbed me and made me very excited. I wished I could put her in the story, or anywhere, but she had placed herself so she could watch the street and the entry and I knew she was waiting for someone. So I went on writing.

我看着她，她打断了我的思路，让我心潮澎湃。我希望能把她写入故事，或是别的什么作品。但是她已经坐在了一个能看见大街和入口的位置，我知道她在等人。于是我继续写作。

The story was writing itself and I was having a hard time keeping up with it. I ordered another rum St. James and I watched the girl whenever I looked up, or when I sharpened the pencil with a pencil sharpener with the shavings curling into the saucer under my drink.

故事信马由缰，我很难赶上它的步伐，于是又叫了一杯圣詹姆斯朗姆酒。每每抬头，或者用转笔刀削铅笔，我都注视着那个女孩，卷曲的铅笔花掉在朗姆酒杯下垫着的杯托上。

I've seen you, beauty, and you belong to me now, whoever you are waiting for and if I never see you again, I thought. You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil.

我见到你了，美丽的女孩！我想不管你在等谁，即使我再也见不到你，此时你就属于我。你属于我，整个巴黎属于我，而我属于这个笔记本和这支铅笔。

Then I went back to writing and I entered far into the story and was lost in it. I was writing it now and it was not writing itself and I did not look up nor know anything about the time nor think where I was nor order any more rum St. James. I was tired of rum St. James without thinking about it. Then the story was finished and I was very tired. I read the last paragraph and then I looked up and looked for the girl and she had gone. I hope she's gone with a good man, I thought. But I felt sad.

然后我又继续写作，全神贯注地进入故事，忘我其中。现在是我在写故事，故事不再信马由缰，我也不再抬头看，忘了时间，不去想身在何处，也不再叫圣詹姆斯朗姆酒了。想都不用想，我已经喝腻了这酒。后来这篇故事写完了，我也累极了。读完最后一段，我抬头寻找那个女孩，她已经走了。但愿和她一起走的是个好男人，我想。但我还是觉得难过。

I closed up the story in the notebook and put it in my inside pocket and I asked the waiter for a dozen portugaises and a half-carafe of the dry white wine they had there. After writing a story I was always empty and both sad and happy, as though I had made love, and I was sure this was a very good story although I would not know truly how good until I read it over the next day.

我在笔记本中写完故事，把本子放入外套的内侧口袋，向侍者要了一打他们那里的葡萄牙牡蛎和半瓶干白葡萄酒。写完一个故事后我总是有一种被掏空的感觉，既忧愁又欢喜，就如同做完爱一样。我相信这是个很好的故事，尽管只有等第二天我将它通读一遍才能知道它究竟有多好。

As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.

我吃着带有浓烈海腥味和些微金属味的牡蛎，喝冰镇白葡萄酒将这种金属味道冲淡，只留下海腥味和多汁的口感，然后啜吸每一个贝壳上冰凉的汁液，用清爽的白葡萄酒将之送入腹中，我于是没了那种被掏空的感觉，开始高兴起来，盘算着下一步计划。

Now that the bad weather had come, we could leave Paris for a while for a place where this rain would be snow coming down through the pines and covering the road and the high hillsides and at an altitude where we would hear it creak as we walked home at night. Below Les Avants there was a chalet where the pension was wonderful and where we would be together and have our books and at night be warm in bed together with the windows open and the stars bright. That was where we could go. Traveling third class on the train was not expensive. The pension cost very little more than we spent in Paris.

既然糟糕的天气已经来临，我们可以离开巴黎一阵，去一个下雪而不下这种雨的地方。在那里，雪从松枝上滑落，铺满路面和高高的山坡。在山上，夜里我们走路回家时还能听见积雪吱吱响的声音。莱扎旺山脚下有一座牧人小屋，食宿非常不错。我们可以一起去那儿，带上我们的书，晚上可以一起躺在暖和的被窝里，开着窗，看闪亮的星光。那就是我们可以去的地方。坐火车三等车厢并不贵。食宿开销也不比我们在巴黎多多少。

I would give up the room in the hotel where I wrote and there was only the rent of 74 rue Cardinal Lemoine which was nominal. I had written journalism for Toronto and the checks for that were due. I could write that anywhere under any circumstances and we had money to make the trip.

我要退了在旅馆写作的房间，这样就只需付勒穆瓦纳主教街74号那微不足道的房租了。我为多伦多写过新闻报道，稿费的支票该到了。无论在何地，无论周遭的环境如何，我都可以写这种报道。因此我们有钱作这次旅行。

Maybe away from Paris I could write about Paris as in Paris I could write about Michigan. I did not know it was too early for that because I did not know Paris well enough. But that was how it worked out eventually. Anyway we would go if my wife wanted to, and I finished the oysters and the wine and paid my score in the café and made it the shortest way back up the Montagne Ste. Geneviéve through the rain, that was now only local weather and not something that changed your life, to the fl at at the top of the hill.

也许离开了巴黎，我就可以写写巴黎，就像在巴黎我能写写密歇根一样。我还不知道此时为时尚早，因为我对巴黎还了解得不够。但是巴黎最终就是这么写出来的。不管怎么说，只要妻子想去，我们就走。我吃完牡蛎，喝完酒，付了咖啡馆的账，抄了一条最近的路冒雨赶回圣热纳维埃弗山山顶的公寓。下雨只不过是当地的天气，并不是改变生活的什么东西。

"I think it would be wonderful, Tatie ," my wife said. She had a gently modeled face and her eyes and her smile lighted up at decisions as though they were rich presents. "When should we leave?"

“我觉得这个主意好极了，塔蒂。”我妻子说。她有一张线条优雅的脸。每次作出决定时，她眼睛会一亮，露出笑容，就像这些决定是丰厚的礼物。“我们什么时候走？”

"Whenever you want."

“你想什么时候就什么时候。”

"Oh, I want to right away. Didn't you know?"

“哦，我想马上就走。难道你不知道么？”

"Maybe it will be fine and clear when we come back. It can be very fine when it is clear and cold."

“等我们回来，也许这儿的天气就晴好了。晴朗的冷天，也是很不错的天气。”

"I'm sure it will be," she said. "Weren't you good to think of going, too."

“我相信天气一定会转好的。”她说，“你想到了去旅行不是也很好嘛。” XTLR85rDhPJcLPvgqe8+BKEPsPvQIRF9I6l28tCs0VwFN7aITLiBNLfsiniZ57tJ