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叛逃者(杰克·伦敦短篇小说集14)(外研社双语读库)
杰克·伦敦 |
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本书由外研社授权掌阅科技电子版制作与发行
版权所有 · 侵权必究 |
叛逆者
"Now I wake me up to work；I pray the Lord I may not shirk. If I should die before the night，I pray the Lord my work's all right. Amen. "
“现在我醒来去工作；上帝保佑我别懒惰。如果天黑前我已死去，上帝保佑我的活儿没问题。阿门。”
"If you don't git up，Johnny，I won't give you a bite to eat！"
“约翰尼，你要再不起床，我就一点儿吃的也不给你了！”
The threat had no effect on the boy. He clung stubbornly to sleep，fighting for its oblivion as the dreamer fights for his dream. The boy's hands loosely clenched themselves，and he made feeble，spasmodic blows at the air. These blows were intended for his mother，but she betrayed practised familiarity in avoiding them as she shook him roughly by the shoulder. "Lemme 'lone！"
这种威胁对这个男孩子已经没有效果了。他依旧固执地睡着，为忘乎所以的沉睡而战，就像一个做梦者为了捍卫自己的梦而战一样。男孩的双手松松地握着，在空中无力地、间歇性地空打了几下子。这几下子本来是对着他母亲的，但是他母亲表现得训练有素，竟熟练地避开了，同时还用力地摇着他的肩膀。 “别动我！”
It was a cry that began，muffled，in the deeps of sleep，that swiftly rushed upward，like a wail，into passionate belligerence，and that died away and sank down into an inarticulate whine. It was a bestial cry，as of a soul in torment，filled with infinite protest and pain.
这一叫喊声刚开始时是沉睡中的低声嘟囔，接着很快提高了声调，变成了激烈的反抗，像是一声哀号，最后渐渐停息，低沉下去，变成了含糊不清的呜咽。这声音简直就像野兽的嚎叫一样，正如一个受尽折磨的灵魂，充满了无尽的抗议和痛楚。
But she did not mind. She was a sad—eyed，tired—faced woman，and she had grown used to this task，which she repeated every day of her life. She got a grip on the bed—clothes and tried to strip them down；but the boy，ceasing his punching，clung to them desperately. In a huddle，at the foot of the bed，he still remained covered. Then she tried dragging the bedding to the floor. The boy opposed her. She braced herself. Hers was the superior weight，and the boy and bedding gave，the former instinctively following the latter in order to shelter against the chill of the room that bit into his body.
但是，她并不理睬。她眼神凄凉、脸色憔悴。对这件事她已经全然习惯了，在她的生活中每天如此。她抓住他的被子想把它拉下来，但是男孩子停止挥动拳头，拼命地抓紧了被子。他蜷着身子，缩在床脚，仍然盖着被子。接着，她试着把被子拖到地上。男孩与她抗衡着。她早有防备。她在体重上占了优势，男孩和被子让步了。孩子本能地随着被子移动，以免被房间里刺骨的寒气给冻着。
As he toppled on the edge of the bed it seemed that he must fall head—first to the floor. But consciousness fluttered up in him. He righted himself and for a moment perilously balanced. Then he struck the floor on his feet. On the instant his mother seized him by the shoulders and shook him. Again his fists struck out，this time with more force and directness. At the same time his eyes opened. She released him. He was awake.
他被拖到床边的时候，好像就要头冲下栽到地上了。可是苏醒的意识搅扰着他。他坐正了身子，摇摇欲坠地晃了一会儿才保持住平衡。接着，他一下子站到了地上。他的母亲立刻抓住他的肩膀摇晃他。他又一次挥起了拳头，这次劲儿更大，打得也更准了。与此同时，他的眼睛睁开了。她放开了他。他醒了。
"All right，" he mumbled.
“好了。” 他咕哝着说。
She caught up the lamp and hurried out，leaving him in darkness.
她抓起油灯匆匆离开，把他丢在了黑暗里。
"You'll be docked，" she warned back to him.
“你会被扣钱的。” 她扭过头警告他。
He did not mind the darkness. When he had got into his clothes，he went out into the kitchen. His tread was very heavy for so thin and light a boy. His legs dragged with their own weight，which seemed unreasonable because they were such skinny legs. He drew a broken—bottomed chair to the table.
他不在乎黑暗。他穿好衣服，走出房间，进了厨房。这样一个又瘦又轻的男孩，脚步却很沉重。他走路时双腿总是拖着步，似乎重得不合情理，因为这双腿是如此瘦骨嶙峋。他拉过一把坐垫破了的椅子，坐到桌子边。
"Johnny！" his mother called sharply.
“约翰尼！” 他母亲猛地喊道。
He arose as sharply from the chair，and，without a word，went to the sink. It was a greasy，filthy sink. A smell came up from the outlet. He took no notice of it. That a sink should smell was to him part of the natural order，just as it was a part of the natural order that the soap should be grimy with dish—water and hard to lather. Nor did he try very hard to make it lather. Several splashes of the cold water from the running faucet completed the function. He did not wash his teeth. For that matter he had never seen a tooth—brush，nor did he know that there existed beings in the world who were guilty of so great a foolishness as tooth washing.
他猛地站起来，一声不响地走到水槽边。那是个油腻、肮脏的水槽。排水口冒着一股子臭味。他对此并不在意。对他来说，水槽有臭味是其自身特征的一部分，正如被洗盘子的水弄脏的肥皂很难产生泡沫一样。他也不会费力去使那种肥皂起泡沫。他让水龙头里的冷水哗啦啦地冲洗了几下就完事了。他没有刷牙。实际上，他从来都没有见过牙刷。他也不知道世界上存在着要遭罪刷牙的愚蠢之极的人。
"You might wash yourself wunst a day without bein't old，" his mother complained.
“不用人告诉，你也该知道每天洗一次脸哪。” 他母亲抱怨着。
She was holding a broken lid on the pot as she poured two cups of coffee. He made no remark，for this was a standing quarrel between them，and the one thing upon which his mother was hard as adamant. "Wunst" a day it was compulsory that he should wash his face. He dried himself on a greasy towel，damp and dirty and ragged，that left his face covered with shreds of lint.
她摁住壶上的破盖子倒了两杯咖啡。他没有说话，因为他们经常为这事吵起来，而且他母亲在这事上如硬石一样顽固。每天洗 “一次” 脸，这是他必须做的。他用一条油腻腻的、又湿又脏的破毛巾擦了擦脸，结果弄得脸上沾满了毛巾的碎线头。
"I wish we didn't live so far away，" she said，as he sat down. "I try to do the best I can. You know that. But a dollar on the rent is such a savin '，an' we've more room here. You know that. "
“要是咱们住得没这么远该多好。” 她说道，此时约翰尼坐了下来。 “我尽我所能了。你知道的。可是省一块钱的房租也是个数目呢，而且这儿的房子也比较宽敞。你知道的。”
He scarcely followed her. He had heard it all before，many times. The range of her thought was limited，and she was ever harking back to the hardship worked upon them by living so far from the mills.
他几乎没有听她说。以前他听她讲过很多次了。她的思想范围很有限，她总是老生常谈，说他们之所以受苦就是因为他们住得离工厂太远了。
"A dollar means more grub，" he remarked sententiously. "I'd sooner do the walkin 'an' git the grub. "
“省一块钱就多点儿吃的，” 他言简意赅地说道， “我宁愿多走点儿路，好多弄点儿吃的。”
He ate hurriedly，half chewing the bread and washing the unmasticated chunks down with coffee. The hot and muddy liquid went by the name of coffee. Johnny thought it was coffee—and excellent coffee. That was one of the few of life's illusions that remained to him. He had never drunk real coffee in his life.
他急匆匆地吃着，只把面包嚼了几下就用咖啡把没嚼碎的面包块冲下去了。所谓的咖啡不过是一种热的、混浊的液体。约翰尼觉得这就是咖啡——而且是顶好的咖啡。那是他生活中残存的几个幻想之一。他这辈子就没有喝过真正的咖啡。
In addition to the bread，there was a small piece of cold pork. His mother refilled his cup with coffee. As he was finishing the bread，he began to watch if more was forthcoming. She intercepted his questioning glance.
除了面包之外，还有一小块冷的猪肉。母亲又给他斟满了一杯咖啡。当他快要吃完面包的时候，就开始观察是不是还有吃的。他询问的目光被她打断了。
"Now，don't be hoggish，Johnny，" was her comment. "You've had your share. Your brothers an 'sisters are smaller' n you. "
“好啦，约翰尼，别像猪一样贪吃，” 她说道， “你已经吃完你的那份了。你弟弟妹妹的饭可都比你少。”
He did not answer the rebuke. He was not much of a talker. Also，he ceased his hungry glancing for more. He was uncomplaining，with a patience that was as terrible as the school in which it had been learned. He finished his coffee，wiped his mouth on the back of his hand，and started to rise.
他没有回应母亲的指责。他不是个话多的人。而且，他已经不再如饥似渴地张望了。他从不埋怨，他的忍耐力跟教会他忍耐的那个学校一样可怕。喝完咖啡，他用手背抹了抹嘴，然后站了起来。
"Wait a second，" she said hastily. "I guess the loaf kin stand you another slice—a thin un. "
“等一下，” 她匆匆地说， “我想这面包可以再给你切一片——一片薄的。”
There was legerdemain in her actions. With all the seeming of cutting a slice from the loaf for him，she put loaf and slice back in the bread box and conveyed to him one of her own two slices. She believed she had deceived him，but he had noted her sleight—of—hand. Nevertheless，he took the bread shamelessly. He had a philosophy that his mother，what of her chronic sickliness，was not much of an eater anyway.
她的动作跟变戏法一样。她好像从面包上切下了一片给他，但是接着她把面包和切下的那片放回了面包箱里，然后从她自己的两片面包里拿了一片给他。她以为骗过了他，其实他早看穿了她的花招。然而，他还是厚着脸皮拿过了那片面包。他有一套自己的见解，那就是不管他母亲的慢性病情况怎样，反正她是吃不多的。
She saw that he was chewing the bread dry，and reached over and emptied her coffee cup into his.
她看到他正干嚼面包，于是伸手把自己的那杯咖啡倒在了他的杯子里。
"Don't set good somehow on my stomach this morning，" she explained.
“今天早晨，我胃里好像不怎么舒服。” 她解释道。
A distant whistle，prolonged and shrieking，brought both of them to their feet. She glanced at the tin alarm—clock on the shelf. The hands stood at half—past five. The rest of the factory world was just arousing from sleep. She drew a shawl about her shoulders，and on her head put a dingy hat，shapeless and ancient.
远处的汽笛拖长了调子尖叫着，这让他们都站起身来。她瞟了一眼架子上的铁皮闹钟。指针指向五点半。工厂区的其他人刚刚从睡眠中醒来。她拉过一条披肩披在肩上，头上戴了顶肮脏、走了形且很旧的帽子。
"We've got to run，" she said，turning the wick of the lamp and blowing down the chimney.
“我们得跑着了。” 她一面说一面捻了捻灯芯，吹灭了玻璃灯罩里的火苗。
They groped their way out and down the stairs. It was clear and cold，and Johnny shivered at the first contact with the outside air. The stars had not yet begun to pale in the sky，and the city lay in blackness. Both Johnny and his mother shuffled their feet as they walked. There was no ambition in the leg muscles to swing the feet clear of the ground.
他们摸黑出了屋子，走下楼梯。天很晴，也很冷。约翰尼一到外面就冻得哆嗦了一下。天上的群星还没有开始泛白，城里一片漆黑。约翰尼和他母亲拖着步子走着。他们似乎都没有力气提起腿来走路。
After fifteen silent minutes，his mother turned off to the right.
默默地走了十五分钟后，母亲拐弯向右走去。
"Don't be late，" was her final warning from out of the dark that was swallowing her up.
“别晚了。” 她最后告诫了一句，便被吞没在了夜幕之中。
He made no response，steadily keeping on his way. In the factory quarter，doors were opening everywhere，and he was soon one of a multitude that pressed onward through the dark. As he entered the factory gate the whistle blew again. He glanced at the east. Across a ragged sky—line of housetops a pale light was beginning to creep. This much he saw of the day as he turned his back upon it and joined his work gang.
他只顾着走自己的路，没有回应。在工厂区里，家家都在开门。不一会儿，他就随着一大群人匆匆地在黑暗中往前赶路。当他走进工厂大门的时候，汽笛声又响了。他朝东边瞟了一眼。房顶上参差不齐的天际边刚刚爬上了一抹淡淡的鱼肚白。每天他都看到这么一点点日光，然后便转身融入他的一帮工人中。
He took his place in one of many long rows of machines. Before him，above a bin filled with small bobbins，were large bobbins revolving rapidly. Upon these he wound the jute—twine of the small bobbins. The work was simple. All that was required was celerity. The small bobbins were emptied so rapidly，and there were so many large bobbins that did the emptying，that there were no idle moments.
他穿过长长的几排机器，走到了自己的位置上。他面前的箱子里装满了小线轴，箱子上是飞快旋转的大线轴。他的工作就是把小线轴上的纱缠到大线轴上去。这份工作很简单。只是要求速度要快。小线轴放线特别快，一会儿就放空了，而放空了线的大线轴又那么多，所以一点儿空闲的时间都没有。
He worked mechanically. When a small bobbin ran out，he used his left hand for a brake，stopping the large bobbin and at the same time，with thumb and forefinger，catching the flying end of twine. Also，at the same time，with his right hand，he caught up the loose twine—end of a small bobbin. These various acts with both hands were performed simultaneously and swiftly. Then there would come a flash of his hands as he looped the weaver's knot and released the bobbin. There was nothing difficult about weaver's knots. He once boasted he could tie them in his sleep. And for that matter，he sometimes did，toiling centuries long in a single night at tying an endless succession of weaver's knots.
他机械地工作着。每当小线轴的纱放光时，他就用左手当刹车，停住大线轴，同时用拇指和食指捏住飞出来的线头。与此同时，他用右手捏住小线轴上松了的线头。这一系列动作都是双手同时即刻完成的。接着，他手一闪，松开接好的线头，放开线轴。接纱头并不难。他曾经自夸说，自己睡着了也能接好纱头。而对于这个问题，有时候也的确如此。整个晚上，他都在睡梦里没完没了地接着纱头，仿佛辛苦了几百年。
Some of the boys shirked，wasting time and machinery by not replacing the small bobbins when they ran out. And there was an overseer to prevent this. He caught Johnny's neighbor at the trick，and boxed his ears.
有几个男孩子偷懒，小线轴放光了纱的时候也不换上新的，以此来消磨功夫、耗费机器。不过，有个监工会阻止这样的事情发生。他发现约翰尼旁边的那个孩子正在玩这种把戏，就马上给了他一记耳光。
"Look at Johnny there—why ain't you like him？" the overseer wrathfully demanded.
“看看约翰尼——为什么你就不能像他一样呢？” 监工怒气冲冲地责问着。
Johnny's bobbins were running full blast，but he did not thrill at the indirect praise. There had been a time……but that was long ago，very long ago. His apathetic face was expressionless as he listened to himself being held up as a shining example. He was the perfect worker. He knew that. He had been told so，often. It was a commonplace，and besides it didn't seem to mean anything to him any more. From the perfect worker he had evolved into the perfect machine. When his work went wrong，it was with him as with the machine，due to faulty material. It would have been as possible for a perfect nail—die to cut imperfect nails as for him to make a mistake.
约翰尼的线轴全速地旋转着，他并没有因为这一间接夸奖而感到兴奋。也曾经有过一段时间，他的确得意过——不过那是太久以前的事了。如今，当听到别人把自己当作光辉的榜样来说的时候，他冷冷的脸上也没有任何的表情。他是个完美的工人。这一点，他知道的。别人也常常跟他这样说。这不过是句再普通不过的话，而且对他来讲这话已经没有任何意义了。他已经从一个完美的工人进化成了一部完美的机器。如果他的活儿出了问题，那就跟机器犯毛病一样，是原料不好的原因。要是他出了什么差错，那就等于是一部完美的铸钉机器铸出了不合格的钉子一样。
And small wonder. There had never been a time when he had not been in intimate relationship with machines. Machinery had almost been bred into him，and at any rate he had been brought up on it. Twelve years before，there had been a small flutter of excitement in the loom room of this very mill. Johnny's mother had fainted. They stretched her out on the floor in the midst of the shrieking machines. A couple of elderly women were called from their looms. The foreman assisted. And in a few minutes there was one more soul in the loom room than had entered by the doors. It was Johnny，born with the pounding，crashing roar of the looms in his ears，drawing with his first breath the warm，moist air that was thick with flying lint. He had coughed that first day in order to rid his lungs of the lint；and for the same reason he had coughed ever since.
这一点儿都不稀奇。一直以来，他都跟机器有着密切的关系。机械装置几乎是已经植入了他的体内。至少，他是在机器上长大的。十二年前，就在这个工厂的织布车间里，曾经出现过一个小小的紧张场面。约翰尼的母亲晕倒了。他们把她平放在地上，置于轰鸣的机器中间。人们从织布车间里喊来了两个年纪大些的女人。工头也来帮忙。几分钟后，在织布车间里，在那些走进门的人群里就又多了一个人。那个人就是约翰尼，一生下来就听着织布机的轰鸣，呼吸着又湿又热的空气，空气中满是飘扬的飞花。为了把肺里的飞花排出来，他从出生的第一天起就开始咳嗽。也是因为这个缘故，他自此之后就一直咳嗽了。
The boy alongside of Johnny whimpered and sniffed. The boy's face was convulsed with hatred for the overseer who kept a threatening eye on him from a distance；but every bobbin was running full. The boy yelled terrible oaths into the whirling bobbins before him；but the sound did not carry half a dozen feet，the roaring of the room holding it in and containing it like a wall.
现在，约翰尼旁边的小孩抽抽噎噎地哭着。这个男孩子的脸抽搐着，满是对监工的仇恨。监工也在用威胁的眼光远远地盯着他，但是每一个线轴都在全速旋转着。孩子对着他面前旋转地线轴恶狠狠地咒骂着；但是车间里的轰鸣声吞没了他的声音，连六英尺外都是传不到的，就像是被墙挡住了一样。
Of all this Johnny took no notice. He had a way of accepting things. Besides，things grow monotonous by repetition，and this particular happening he had witnessed many times. It seemed to him as useless to oppose the overseer as to defy the will of a machine. Machines were made to go in certain ways and to perform certain tasks. It was the same with the overseer.
约翰尼根本没有注意这些。他自有一套接纳事物的方法。而且，事情若一再重复就会变得单调乏味，单就这件事来说，他就不知见了多少次了。他觉得反对监工是毫无用处的，正如反抗机器一样徒劳。机器被制造出来按特定的方式运转，就是用来完成特定任务的。监工也是一样。
But at eleven o'clock there was excitement in the room. In an apparently occult way the excitement instantly permeated everywhere. The one—legged boy who worked on the other side of Johnny bobbed swiftly across the floor to a bin truck that stood empty. Into this he dived out of sight，crutch and all. The superintendent of the mill was coming along，accompanied by a young man. He was well dressed and wore a starched shirt—a gentleman，in Johnny's classification of men，and also， "the Inspector. "
但是十一点钟的时候，车间里一下子紧张了起来。这种紧张情绪显然很神秘地立刻就传遍了每一个角落。在约翰尼另一边工作的一个一条腿的男孩赶忙一跛一跛地跳过去，来到一个装箱子的手推车前，车上是空的。他马上带着拐杖钻了进去，不见了。工厂的主管走了过来，身边还有一个年轻人。年轻人衣着讲究，穿着一件浆过的衬衫——以约翰尼对人的分类方法，他一定是位绅士，而且一定是那位 “巡官” 。
He looked sharply at the boys as he passed along. Sometimes he stopped and asked questions. When he did so，he was compelled to shout at the top of his lungs，at which moments his face was ludicrously contorted with the strain of making himself heard. His quick eye noted the empty machine alongside of Johnny 's，but he said nothing. Johnny also caught his eye，and he stopped abruptly. He caught Johnny by the arm to draw him back a step from the machine；but with an exclamation of surprise he released the arm.
巡官边走边目光锐利地看着那些男孩子。有时候他会停下来问几句话。当他问话的时候，他不得不提高嗓门，拼命地喊，以便让别人听到他的话。这时，他的脸就会扭曲成一副很滑稽的样子。他眼光犀利，一下子就注意到约翰尼旁边那台空着的机器，可是他一句话也没有说。他也注意到了约翰尼，突然间他停了下来。他抓着约翰尼的胳膊把他从机器旁拖开了一步。然后，他十分诧异地叫了一声，又把约翰尼的胳膊松开了。
"Pretty skinny，" the superintendent laughed anxiously.
“太瘦了。” 主管不安地笑着说。
"Pipe stems，" was the answer. "Look at those legs. The boy's got the rickets—incipient，but he's got them. If epilepsy doesn't get him in the end，it will be because tuberculosis gets him first. "
“跟烟管子似的。” 巡官回答着， “看那两条腿。这孩子有佝偻病——初期的，不过他已经得了这个病。要是他将来不是死在癫痫病上，那肯定是肺结核先要了他的小命。”
Johnny listened，but did not understand. Furthermore he was not interested in future ills. There was an immediate and more serious ill that threatened him in the form of the inspector.
约翰尼听着，但是他听不懂他们在说什么。再者，他对将来生什么样的病并不感兴趣。眼前就有一种更直接、更严重的病威胁着他：就是那位巡官。
"Now，my boy，I want you to tell me the truth，" the inspector said，or shouted，bending close to the boy's ear to make him hear. "How old are you？"
“喂，小家伙，你老实告诉我，” 为了让他听见，巡官弯下腰，贴近约翰尼的耳朵说道，或可以说是喊道， “你多大了？”
"Fourteen，" Johnny lied，and he lied with the full force of his lungs. So loudly did he lie that it started him off in a dry，hacking cough that lifted the lint which had been settling in his lungs all morning.
“十四。” 约翰尼撒谎说，他用尽浑身力气喊出了这句谎话。喊得太用力了，他开始频频干咳，咳得他把整个上午吸到肺里的飞花都呛了出来。
"Looks sixteen at least，" said the superintendent.
“看上去至少也有十六岁。” 主管说。
"Or sixty，" snapped the inspector.
“或者六十。” 巡官厉声说。
"He's always looked that way. "
“他老是这个样子。”
"How long？" asked the inspector，quickly.
“多久了？” 巡官马上问道。
"For years. Never gets a bit older. "
“有些年头了。简直一点儿也没有长大。”
"Or younger，I dare say. I suppose he's worked here all those years？"
“我敢说，他倒是长小了。我看他这几年都在这儿干活了吧？”
"Off and on—but that was before the new law was passed，" the superintendent hastened to add. "Machine idle？" the inspector asked，pointing at the unoccupied machine beside Johnny 's，in which the part—filled bobbins were flying like mad.
“有的时候在，有时不在——不过那是在新法律颁布以前的事了。” 主管连忙补充道。 “这部机器闲着吗？” 巡官指着约翰尼旁边那台空机器问道，那上面没有装满的线轴正发疯似地旋转着。
"Looks that way. " The superintendent motioned the overseer to him and shouted in his ear and pointed at the machine. "Machine's idle，" he reported back to the inspector.
“好像是闲着的。” 主管示意监工过来，然后指着机器，对着他的耳朵高声喊了几句。 “这部机器是闲着的。” 他向巡官报告说。
They passed on，and Johnny returned to his work，relieved in that the ill had been averted. But the one—legged boy was not so fortunate. The sharp—eyed inspector haled him out at arm's length from the bin truck. His lips were quivering，and his face had all the expression of one upon whom was fallen profound and irremediable disaster. The overseer looked astounded，as though for the first time he had laid eyes on the boy，while the superintendent's face expressed shock and displeasure.
他们走过去了，约翰尼回来继续干活。他松了一口气，总算是躲过了一劫。可是独腿的那个男孩却没有那么好的运气。目光敏锐的巡官把胳膊伸到那辆装箱子的手推车里，一把就把他拉了出来。他吓得嘴唇发抖，脸色大变，就像一个人遭遇了一场无可挽回的大祸一样。监工看起来大吃一惊，好像他第一次看到这个孩子似的。主管满脸的震惊和不快。
"I know him，" the inspector said. "He's twelve years old. I've had him discharged from three factories inside the year. This makes the fourth. "
“我认识他，” 巡官说道， “他十二岁。今年我已经从三家工厂里把他赶了出来。这是第四次了。”
He turned to the one—legged boy. "You promised me，word and honor，that you'd go to school. "
他转向那个独腿的男孩。 “你已经答应过我了，你发过誓要去上学的。”
The one—legged boy burst into tears. "Please，Mr. Inspector，two babies died on us，and we're awful poor. "
独腿的男孩突然放声哭了起来。 “求求您了，巡官先生，我们家已经死了两个小孩了，我们家实在是太穷了。”
"What makes you cough that way？" the inspector demanded，as though charging him with crime.
“你怎么咳嗽得这么厉害？” 巡官询问着，好像在指责他犯了罪一样。
And as in denial of guilt，the one—legged boy replied： "It ain't nothin’. I jes' caught a cold last week，Mr. Inspector，that's all. "
独腿的男孩像在否认自己的罪行似的回答道： “没有什么的。我只是上星期着凉了。巡官先生，没有什么。”
In the end the one—legged boy went out of the room with the inspector，the latter accompanied by the anxious and protesting superintendent. After that monotony settled down again. The long morning and the longer afternoon wore away and the whistle blew for quitting time. Darkness had already fallen when Johnny passed out through the factory gate. In the interval the sun had made a golden ladder of the sky，flooded the world with its gracious warmth，and dropped down and disappeared in the west behind a ragged sky—line of housetops.
最后，独腿的男孩跟着巡官走了出去，焦虑的主管争辩着什么，也陪着走了。之后，车间里又恢复了单调的气氛。漫长的上午和更漫长的下午过去之后，下班的汽笛声响了起来。约翰尼走出工厂的大门时，夜幕已经降临了。在这一天里，太阳好像把天空当作了一架金梯，让世界都充满了它仁慈的暖意，然后在西边沉下去，消失在被屋顶划得参差不齐的天际线之后。
Supper was the family meal of the day—the one meal at which Johnny encountered his younger brothers and sisters. It partook of the nature of an encounter，to him，for he was very old，while they were distressingly young. He had no patience with their excessive and amazing juvenility. He did not understand it. His own childhood was too far behind him. He was like an old and irritable man，annoyed by the turbulence of their young spirits that was to him arrant silliness. He glowered silently over his food，finding compensation in the thought that they would soon have to go to work. That would take the edge off of them and make them sedate and dignified—like him. Thus it was，after the fashion of the human，that Johnny made of himself a yardstick with which to measure the universe.
晚饭是一天中全家在一起吃的一顿饭——约翰尼在这时能遇到自己的弟弟和妹妹。对他来说，这种见面有点儿遭遇战的性质。因为他太老了，而他们却幼稚得令人苦恼。他受不了他们那种过分的、让人吃惊的幼稚。他不理解这个。他自己的童年已经距他太远了。他像一个易怒的老人，被他们幼稚的胡闹弄得心烦气躁，因为在他看来，这真是愚蠢至极。他怒目而视，静静地吃饭。后来想到他们不久也要去上班了，他才找到一些心理平衡。工作会抹掉他们的棱角，而且会使他们变得稳重、威严——正如他一样。约翰尼就是这样，照着一般人的方式，以自身为准绳，去衡量整个世界。
During the meal，his mother explained in various ways and with infinite repetition that she was trying to do the best she could；so that it was with relief，the scant meal ended，that Johnny shoved back his chair and arose. He debated for a moment between bed and the front door，and finally went out the latter. He did not go far. He sat down on the stoop，his knees drawn up and his narrow shoulders drooping forward，his elbows on his knees and the palms of his hands supporting his chin. As he sat there，he did no thinking. He was just resting. So far as his mind was concerned，it was asleep. His brothers and sisters came out，and with other children played noisily about him. An electric globe on the corner lighted their frolics. He was peevish and irritable，that they knew；but the spirit of adventure lured them into teasing him. They joined hands before him，and，keeping time with their bodies，chanted in his face weird and uncomplimentary doggerel. At first he snarled curses at them—curses he had learned from the lips of various foremen. Finding this futile，and remembering his dignity，he relapsed into dogged silence.
吃饭的时候，母亲用尽种种方法不厌其烦地重复解释说，她正在尽力使日子变得更好一些。约翰尼一直听到这顿寒酸的晚饭结束，他把椅子往后一推站了起来，觉得松了一口气。他在床和大门的选择中踌躇了片刻，最后还是走出了大门。他并没有走远。他坐在台阶上，蜷起双膝，瘦瘦的双肩向前垂着，胳膊肘撑在膝盖上，手掌托着下巴。坐在那里，他什么也没有想。他只是休息。就他的脑子而言，却睡着了。随后，他的弟弟妹妹们出来了，跟其他的孩子们一起在他周围吵闹着玩耍。角落里一盏电灯照着这些孩子们嬉戏。孩子们都知道他暴躁易怒，但这些爱冒险的孩子们依旧忍不住去招惹他。孩子们在他面前手拉手，合着拍子摇动着身体，朝着他反复地唱着古怪、刺耳的打油诗。起先，他还咆哮着咒骂他们——用他从形形色色的工头们那儿学来的咒骂的话。后来他发现骂是不管用的，他又想起了自己的尊严，于是他又固执地恢复了沉默。
His brother Will，next to him in age，having just passed his tenth birthday，was the ring—leader. Johnny did not possess particularly kindly feelings toward him. His life had early been embittered by continual giving over and giving way to Will. He had a definite feeling that Will was greatly in his debt and was ungrateful about it. In his own playtime，far back in the dim past，he had been robbed of a large part of that playtime by being compelled to take care of Will. Will was a baby then，and then，as now，their mother had spent her days in the mills. To Johnny had fallen the part of little father and little mother as well.
他的大弟弟威尔，年龄与他最相近，刚刚过了十岁生日，就是这些孩子们的头儿。尤其是对威尔，约翰尼没有一点儿好感。他的生活早就由于不断地为威尔牺牲和妥协让步而变得痛苦不堪了。他明确地感觉到威尔受了他的大恩惠，却是个忘恩负义的家伙。回首过去，在他记不太清的日子里，他的玩耍时间大部分都因为必须照顾威尔而被牺牲掉了。那时威尔还是个小婴儿，他们的母亲就像现在一样整天在工厂里做工。因此，担任小父亲和小母亲的角色就都落到了约翰尼的肩上。
Will seemed to show the benefit of the giving over and the giving way. He was well—built，fairly rugged，as tall as his elder brother and even heavier. It was as though the life—blood of the one had been diverted into the other's veins. And in spirits it was the same. Johnny was jaded，worn out，without resilience，while his younger brother seemed bursting and spilling over with exuberance.
他的牺牲和让步，威尔看起来是颇为受益的。他发育得很好，相当健壮，个头跟他哥哥一样高，甚至比他哥哥还要沉些。似乎他哥哥的血液流到了弟弟的血管里似的。精神上也是如此。约翰尼总是疲倦不堪、筋疲力尽、没有活力，而威尔则看起来生气勃勃，精力充沛。
The mocking chant rose louder and louder. Will leaned closer as he danced，thrusting out his tongue. Johnny's left arm shot out and caught the other around the neck. At the same time he rapped his bony fist to the other's nose. It was a pathetically bony fist，but that it was sharp to hurt was evidenced by the squeal of pain it produced. The other children were uttering frightened cries，while Johnny's sister，Jennie，had dashed into the house.
这时候，嘲笑的歌声越来大了。威尔一面跳舞，一面凑了过来，还冲他吐舌头。约翰尼突然伸出左臂一把搂住威尔的脖子。同时，他用皮包骨的拳头打威尔的鼻子。这个拳头瘦得可怜，但是足够厉害了，从他弟弟疼得尖叫的声音里就可以得到证明。其他的孩子们全吓得喊叫起来，约翰尼的妹妹珍妮赶紧冲回屋里去了。
He thrust Will from him，kicked him savagely on the shins，then reached for him and slammed him face downward in the dirt. Nor did he release him till the face had been rubbed into the dirt several times. Then the mother arrived，an anaemic whirlwind of solicitude and maternal wrath.
他推开威尔，恶狠狠地踢他的小腿，然后抓着他，把他的脸猛地朝下往泥里摔。他把威尔的脸往泥里摔了好几次才罢手放开了他。接着，他母亲像一阵无力的旋风一样赶到了，带着满腔的担忧和母性的愤怒。
"Why can't he leave me alone？" was Johnny's reply to her upbraiding. "Can't he see I 'm tired？"
“为什么他非要惹我呢？” 约翰尼挨了母亲的责骂后回答道， “难道他看不出来我很累吗？”
"I 'm as big as you，" Will raged in her arms，his face a mess of tears，dirt，and blood. I' m as big as you now，an 'I' m goin't o git bigger. Then I'll lick you—see if I don't.
“我和你一样高，” 威尔在母亲的怀里气得要命。他的脸被眼泪、鲜血和脏土弄得一塌糊涂。 “我现在就和你长得一样大，以后我会超过你。到时候我会揍你——你等着瞧。”
"You ought to be to work，seein 'how big you are，" Johnny snarled. That's what's the matter with you. You ought to be to work. An' it's up to your ma to put you to work. "
“既然你知道自己长得多大，你就该去做工。” 约翰尼咆哮道， “你的问题就在这儿。你应该去工作。你的妈妈该让你去工作。”
"But he's too young，" she protested. "He's only a little boy. "
“但是他太小了，” 母亲争辩道， “他还只是个小孩子。”
"I was younger 'n him when I started to work. "
“我开始做工的时候比他还小呢。”
Johnny's mouth was open，further to express the sense of unfairness that he felt，but the mouth closed with a snap. He turned gloomily on his heel and stalked into the house and to bed. The door of his room was open to let in warmth from the kitchen. As he undressed in the semi—darkness he could hear his mother talking with a neighbor woman who had dropped in. His mother was crying，and her speech was punctuated with spiritless sniffles.
约翰尼张着嘴，想继续发泄他心中的不平，可是他还是突然止住了。他沮丧地站起来，大步走到屋里睡觉去了。他的房门开着，好让厨房的暖气进来。他在半明半暗的光线里脱衣服的时候，听见了母亲跟来串门的邻家女人说话。母亲在哭泣，话语间还不时地夹杂着无力的抽噎声。
"I can't make out what's gittin 'into Johnny，" he could hear her say. He didn't used to be this way. He was a patient little angel.
“我不知道约翰尼怎么回事，” 他听到母亲说着， “他从来不这样。” 以前，他可是个耐心的小天使。
"An 'he is a good boy，" she hastened to defend. He's worked faithful，an' he did go to work too young. But it wasn't my fault. I do the best I can，I 'm sure.
现在也是个好孩子，她连忙又为他辩护道， “他干活踏实，而且他确实工作得太早了。但这不是我的错。我确信，我已经尽力了。”
Prolonged sniffling from the kitchen，and Johnny murmured to himself as his eyelids closed down， "You betcher life I've worked faithful. "
厨房里传来了长长的啜泣声，约翰尼一面合上眼皮，一面喃喃自语： “我本来就是在踏踏实实地干活。”
The next morning he was torn bodily by his mother from the grip of sleep. Then came the meagre breakfast，the tramp through the dark，and the pale glimpse of day across the housetops as he turned his back on it and went in through the factory gate. It was another day，of all the days，and all the days were alike.
第二天早晨，约翰尼又被母亲从沉沉的睡梦中硬拖起来。吃过寒酸的早饭，他摸黑赶路，房顶上曙光暗淡，他转身走进工厂的大门。又是一天，一年到头这样的日子，天天如此。
And yet there had been variety in his life—at the times he changed from one job to another，or was taken sick. When he was six，he was little mother and father to Will and the other children still younger. At seven he went into the mills—winding bobbins. When he was eight，he got work in another mill. His new job was marvellously easy. All he had to do was to sit down with a little stick in his hand and guide a stream of cloth that flowed past him. This stream of cloth came out of the maw of a machine，passed over a hot roller，and went on its way elsewhere. But he sat always in the one place，beyond the reach of daylight，a gas—jet flaring over him，himself part of the mechanism.