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There had been but two days of vacation, yet it seemed to me as though I had been a long time without seeing Garrone. The more I know him, the better I like him; and so it is with all the rest, except with the overbearing, who have nothing to say to him, because he does not permit them to exhibit their oppression. Every time that a big boy raises his hand against a little one, the little one shouts, "Garrone!" and the big one stops striking him. His father is an engine-driver on the railway; he has begun school late, because he was ill for two years. He is the tallest and the strongest of the class; he lifts a bench with one hand; he is always eating; and he is good. Whatever he is asked for,—a pencil, rubber, paper, or penknife,—he lends or gives it; and he neither talks nor laughs in school: he always sits perfectly motionless on a bench that is too narrow for him, with his spine curved forward, and his big head between his shoulders; and when I look at him, he smiles at me with his eyes half closed, as much as to say, "Well, Enrico, are we friends?" He makes me laugh, because, tall and broad as he is, he has a jacket, trousers, and sleeves which are too small for him, and too short; a cap which will not stay on his head; a threadbare cloak; coarse shoes; and a necktie which is always twisted into a cord. Dear Garrone! it needs but one glance in thy face to inspire love for thee. All the little boys would like to be near his bench. He knows arithmetic well. He carries his books bound together with a strap of red leather. He has a knife, with a mother-of-pearl handle, which he found in the field for military manoeuvres, last year, and one day he cut his finger to the bone; but no one in school envies him it, and no one breathes a word about it at home, for fear of alarming his parents. He lets us say anything to him in jest, and he never takes it ill; but woe to any one who says to him, "That is not true," when he affirms a thing: then fire flashes from his eyes, and he hammers down blows enough to split the bench. Saturday morning he gave a soldo to one of the upper first class, who was crying in the middle of the street, because his own had been taken from him, and he could not buy his copy-book. For the last three days he has been working over a letter of eight pages, with pen ornaments on the margins, for the saint's day of his mother, who often comes to get him, and who, like himself, is tall and large and sympathetic. The master is always glancing at him, and every time that he passes near him he taps him on the neck with his hand, as though he were a good, peaceable young bull. I am very fond of him. I am happy when I press his big hand, which seems to be the hand of a man, in mine. I am almost certain that he would risk his life to save that of a comrade; that he would allow himself to be killed in his defence, so clearly can I read his eyes; and although he always seems to be grumbling with that big voice of his, one feels that it is a voice that comes from a gentle heart.
虽然只有两天的休假，可是我觉得好像很久没看到卡隆了。我越是了解他，就越是喜欢他，其他人也和我一样，除了那几个傲慢的家伙。他们不和他讲话，因为他不准他们横行霸道。每当一个大男孩挥手要打一个小男孩时，小男孩叫一声“卡隆！”，大男孩就会停手。他父亲是铁路上的一位火车司机。他上学晚，因为他病过两年。他是班上最高最壮的学生，能单手举起长凳。他总是在吃东西，人很不错。不论别人找他要什么——铅笔、橡皮、纸、小刀——他都愿意借或给。他在学校里不苟言笑，总是一动不动地坐在对他来说太窄的长凳上，脊背向前屈着，大大的头架在两肩上。当我看他时，他总半眯着眼睛朝我笑，就像是在说：“喂，安利柯，我们是朋友吧？”他引得我发笑，因为他那样高那样壮，他的夹克、裤子和衣袖对他来说都太小太短了，帽子小得都戴不住。他穿着破旧的外套、粗劣的鞋子，领带常常搓扭成一条绳子。亲爱的卡隆！只需一眼就会喜欢上你。所有的小男孩们都乐意挨着他坐。他算术很好。他用红皮带把书捆起来提着。他有一把珍珠母手柄的刀，是去年他在军事训练场捡到的。有一天他拿这刀割伤了手指，几乎伤到指骨，但是学校没有人因为刀而嫉妒他，而且为了怕他的父母担忧，也没有人回家说过一字半句关于刀的事情。他允许我们用开玩笑的语气跟他说话，他从不会见怪；但是当他认定一件事的时候，要是有人对他说“这不是真的”，他会对那个人大发雷霆，会两眼冒火，一拳下去足以击破长凳。星期六早晨他给了一个二年级的学生一枚铜币，那个学生当时在街中央哭着，因为他的钱被别人拿走了，他不能买字帖了。过去的三天里，为了他母亲的生日，他一直在写一封长达八页的信，页边的空白处还用钢笔画了装饰的花样。他母亲常来接他，和他一样又高又大、富有同情心。班主任常常会瞥他一眼，每次走过他身旁时都会用手轻轻地拍他的后颈，就好像他是一只善良、温顺的小公牛。我非常喜欢他。我紧握他的大手时总是很开心，他的手和我的相比就像是一个大人的手。我几乎可以确信，他是那种愿意冒生命危险救同学性命的人。从他的眼睛可以清楚地看出，他愿意为保护别人而献出生命。尽管看上去他总是扯着大嗓门在发牢骚，但人们可以感受到这声音的主人有一颗温柔的心。