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然而，有时候是有变化的——有时候他会换工作，有时候他会生病。六岁的时候，他就是威尔和其他更小的弟弟妹妹们的小父亲、小母亲。七岁的时候他去工厂里——在那儿绕线轴。八岁的时候，他去了另一家工厂工作。他的新差事容易极了。他只要坐着，手拿一根小棍子，引导经过他面前川流不息地流过去的布匹就可以了。这些川流不息的布像从机器的胃里出来一样，然后经过一个热滚筒，就流到别处了。可是，他始终坐在一个位置上，日光照不到他，只有一盏煤气灯挂在他头顶上方闪闪发光；他自己也成了机器的一部分。
He was very happy at that job，in spite of the moist heat，for he was still young and in possession of dreams and illusions. And wonderful dreams he dreamed as he watched the streaming cloth streaming endlessly by. But there was no exercise about the work，no call upon his mind，and he dreamed less and less，while his mind grew torpid and drowsy. Nevertheless，he earned two dollars a week，and two dollars represented the difference between acute starvation and chronic underfeeding.
尽管那里又湿又热，他还是很喜欢这个差事，毕竟他还小，充满了梦想和幻想。他一边看着川流不息的布无穷尽地流过去，一边做着自己的美梦。不过这个差事不需要活动，不用动脑子。他的梦想越来越少了，脑子也越来越迟钝，昏昏欲睡的。然而，他每周能挣两块钱。这两块钱意味着急性饥饿和慢性吃不饱之间的区别。
But when he was nine，he lost his job. Measles was the cause of it. After he recovered，he got work in a glass factory. The pay was better，and the work demanded skill. It was piece—work，and the more skilful he was，the bigger wages he earned. Here was incentive. And under this incentive he developed into a remarkable worker.
但是，他九岁的时候失业了。因为他得了麻疹。病愈以后，他在一家玻璃厂找了份工作。工资高了些，可是这活儿需要技巧。这是份计件付酬的活计，技术越高，赚钱越多。刺激就在于此。于是在这种刺激下，他渐渐变成了一个出色的工人。
It was simple work，the tying of glass stoppers into small bottles. At his waist he carried a bundle of twine. He held the bottles between his knees so that he might work with both hands. Thus，in a sitting position and bending over his own knees，his narrow shoulders grew humped and his chest was contracted for ten hours each day. This was not good for the lungs，but he tied three hundred dozen bottles a day.
这个工作是很简单的，就是给塞在小瓶子里的玻璃塞系绳子。他的腰间带着一捆麻线。他把瓶子夹在双膝当中，这样就可以腾出双手来干活了。就这样，他总是坐着，身子向前倾着。他窄窄的肩膀变驼了，而他的胸部要每天被挤压十个钟头。这对他的肺不好，但是他一天能扎三百打的瓶子。
The superintendent was very proud of him，and brought visitors to look at him. In ten hours three hundred dozen bottles passed through his hands. This meant that he had attained machine—like perfection. All waste movements were eliminated. Every motion of his thin arms，every movement of a muscle in the thin fingers，was swift and accurate. He worked at high tension，and the result was that he grew nervous. At night his muscles twitched in his sleep，and in the daytime he could not relax and rest. He remained keyed up and his muscles continued to twitch. Also he grew sallow and his lint—cough grew worse. Then pneumonia laid hold of the feeble lungs within the contracted chest，and he lost his job in the glass—works. Now he had returned to the jute mills where he had first begun with winding bobbins. But promotion was waiting for him. He was a good worker. He would next go on the starcher，and later he would go into the loom room. There was nothing after that except increased efficiency.
主管为有他这样的童工而非常得意，并且总带着一些人来参观。十个小时内，三百打的瓶子就经他的手扎好了。这就意味着，他已经熟练地跟机器一样完美了。没有任何多余的动作。他的瘦胳膊的每一个动作，细手指上肌肉的每一次活动都是迅速而准确的。他工作得非常紧张，结果是他本人都变得神经质了。夜里，睡觉时他的肌肉抽搐着；白天，他更不能放松下来歇着。他一直地紧张着，他的肌肉持续地抽搐着。而且，他的脸色越来越差，飞花导致的咳嗽也越来越严重。后来，被挤压的胸腔里的虚弱的肺患上了肺炎，于是他丢掉了玻璃厂的工作。现在，他又回到了那家麻纺厂，他最初就是从这里开始绕线轴的。但是他提升在望。他是个优秀的工人。接下来，他就要到上浆车间去了，以后还会上到织布车间。至此就算升到顶了，只是他还可以提高工作效率。
The machinery ran faster than when he had first gone to work，and his mind ran slower. He no longer dreamed at all，though his earlier years had been full of dreaming. Once he had been in love. It was when he first began guiding the cloth over the hot roller，and it was with the daughter of the superintendent. She was much older than he，a young woman，and he had seen her at a distance only a paltry half—dozen times. But that made no difference. On the surface of the cloth stream that poured past him，he pictured radiant futures wherein he performed prodigies of toil，invented miraculous machines，won to the mastership of the mills，and in the end took her in his arms and kissed her soberly on the brow.
机器比他刚上班的时候转得快多了，而他的脑子却转得慢了。他根本不再做梦了，尽管早些年他充满着梦想。曾经他还一度恋爱过。那是他刚开始引布过热滚筒的时候，她是主管的女儿。她比他大得多，一个年轻的女人，他只是远远地看到她五六次。但那没有什么关系。在面前流过的布面上，他勾画出了他灿烂的前程。他艰苦的劳动创造出了奇迹，他发明出神奇的机器，他赢得了厂子的领导权，最后他拥抱着她，庄严地吻着她的前额。
But that was all in the long ago，before he had grown too old and tired to love. Also，she had married and gone away，and his mind had gone to sleep. Yet it had been a wonderful experience，and he used often to look back upon it as other men and women look back upon the time they believed in fairies. He had never believed in fairies nor Santa Claus；but he had believed implicitly in the smiling future his imagination had wrought into the steaming cloth stream.
但是那已经是很久以前的事情了。现在他变得太老了，已经疲于恋爱了。况且，她已经嫁人去了别的地方，他也就不再费那份心思了。然而，那毕竟是一段美妙的经历，他常常回想起来，就像其他男女会回想起他们曾经相信童话的年纪一样。他从来都不信童话故事，也不信圣诞老人，但是他曾经暗中坚信过自己在热气腾腾的布流上织出的自己美好的未来。
He had become a man very early in life. At seven，when he drew his first wages，began his adolescence. A certain feeling of independence crept up in him，and the relationship between him and his mother changed. Somehow，as an earner and breadwinner，doing his own work in the world，he was more like an equal with her. Manhood，full—blown manhood，had come when he was eleven，at which time he had gone to work on the night shift for six months. No child works on the night shift and remains a child.
他很早就成熟了。自从七岁那年，当他第一次领到自己的工资，他的青春期就开始了。他萌生了某种自食其力的感觉，接着他和母亲的关系开始发生了变化。不知怎的，作为一个挣钱养家的人，他在世界上有了自己的工作，他跟母亲的地位就平等了。大人，一个十足的大人了，就是在他十一岁那年。那一年，他上了半年的夜班。没有哪个孩子上了夜班后还像个小孩子的。
There had been several great events in his life. One of these had been when his mother bought some California prunes. Two others had been the two times when she cooked custard. Those had been events. He remembered them kindly. And at that time his mother had told him of a blissful dish she would sometime make— "floating island，" she had called it， "better than custard. " For years he had looked forward to the day when he would sit down to the table with floating island before him，until at last he had relegated the idea of it to the limbo of unattainable ideals.
他的生命中经历过几件大事。一件是他母亲买了一些加利福尼亚的梅干。另外两件是母亲烘了两次蛋奶糕。这些都是大事情。他很亲切地记得。当时，母亲还跟他说过，她还会给他做一种幸运的好吃的—— “浮岛” ，她说 “比蛋奶糕要好吃” 。好多年他都盼望着能坐在桌旁，面前摆着浮岛。直到最后，他发现这个想法就是一个地狱边境，里面充满着众多不能实现的理想。
Once he found a silver quarter lying on the sidewalk. That，also，was a great event in his life，withal a tragic one. He knew his duty on the instant the silver flashed on his eyes，before even he had picked it up. At home，as usual，there was not enough to eat，and home he should have taken it as he did his wages every Saturday night. Right conduct in this case was obvious；but he never had any spending of his money，and he was suffering from candy hunger. He was ravenous for the sweets that only on red—letter days he had ever tasted in his life.
有一次，他发现人行道上有枚二十五美分的银币。这也算他生平中的一件大事，然而也是一个悲剧。当时，银币的亮光一闪到他眼里，他还没来得及捡就知道自己的责任了。家里人一向都是吃不饱的，他应该像每个周六晚上把工资带回家里一样把银币带回去。他很清楚这种情况下自己该怎么做，但是他从来没花过自己的钱，他忍受着想吃糖果的煎熬。他馋疯了，这一辈子就过年过节的时候才尝到过那样的糖果。
He did not attempt to deceive himself. He knew it was sin，and deliberately he sinned when he went on a fifteen—cent candy debauch. Ten cents he saved for a future orgy；but not being accustomed to the carrying of money，he lost the ten cents. This occurred at the time when he was suffering all the torments of conscience，and it was to him an act of divine retribution. He had a frightened sense of the closeness of an awful and wrathful God. God had seen，and God had been swift to punish，denying him even the full wages of sin.
他没想自欺欺人。他知道这是罪过，可是他明知故犯了。他用十五美分买了些糖果，放纵了一回。省下的十美分，他本预备将来再大吃一次。但是他从来没有带钱的习惯，于是把钱弄丢了。这事发生时正当他良心上受尽种种折磨，这是上帝给他的报应。他胆战心惊地觉得一位可怕的、怒气冲冲的上帝就在他身旁。上帝看见了，上帝也迅速地惩罚了，使他不能完全享用罪恶的果实。
In memory he always looked back upon that event as the one great criminal deed of his life，and at the recollection his conscience always awoke and gave him another twinge. It was the one skeleton in his closet. Also，being so made and circumstanced，he looked back upon the deed with regret. He was dissatisfied with the manner in which he had spent the quarter. He could have invested it better，and，out of his later knowledge of the quickness of God，he would have beaten God out by spending the whole quarter at one fell swoop. In retrospect he spent the quarter a thousand times，and each time to better advantage.
一回想起这件事，他总觉得这是他生平犯下的一大罪过；一回想起这件事，他就总是觉得良心不安，饱受又一次折磨。这就是他不可告人的丑事。而且，由于他的性格和环境，他回想起来会感到非常懊悔。他不满自己当初那样处理了那枚银币。本来他可以用更好的方法花掉它的，而且，由于他后来知道上帝下手很快，他本来应该一下子把钱用光，给上帝个措手不及。回想的时候，他重新把那枚银币花上了成百上千次，一次比一次划算。
There was one other memory of the past，dim and faded，but stamped into his soul everlasting by the savage feet of his father. It was more like a nightmare than a remembered vision of a concrete thing—more like the race—memory of man that makes him fall in his sleep and that goes back to his arboreal ancestry.
关于过去的记忆里还有一件事，虽然有些模糊不清了，但他父亲那双野蛮的脚还是永远铭刻在了他的灵魂深处。与其说是具体一件事的印象，还不如说更像是一场噩梦——更像对原始人的记忆，使他梦见过去住在树上的祖先。
This particular memory never came to Johnny in broad daylight when he was wide awake. It came at night，in bed，at the moment that his consciousness was sinking down and losing itself in sleep. It always aroused him to frightened wakefulness，and for the moment，in the first sickening start，it seemed to him that he lay crosswise on the foot of the bed. In the bed were the vague forms of his father and mother. He never saw what his father looked like. He had but one impression of his father，and that was that he had savage and pitiless feet.
这件事在约翰尼白天清醒的时候是从来没想到过的。都是在夜里，当他躺在床上，神智逐渐模糊，最后睡着的时候才会想起来。这事总是把他从睡梦中吓醒。在他刚刚被惊醒的、不舒服的那一刻，他似乎是横着睡在床脚。而床上是父亲和母亲模糊的形象。他从来没有见过父亲长什么样子。他对父亲只有一个印象，那就是他那双野蛮、无情的脚。
His earlier memories lingered with him，but he had no late memories. All days were alike. Yesterday or last year were the same as a thousand years—or a minute. Nothing ever happened. There were no events to mark the march of time. Time did not march. It stood always still. It was only the whirling machines that moved，and they moved nowhere—in spite of the fact that they moved faster.
那些过去的记忆常常萦绕在他的脑海里，可是近来的事他却记不得了。每天都是一样的。昨天或者去年都是一样的，仿佛已隔千年——或者只过了一分钟。什么也不曾发生。没有任何标志时间行进的事件发生。时间没有行进。它总是静止地站着。只有那些旋转不停地机器在动，但也到不了哪里去——尽管它们转得更快了。
When he was fourteen，he went to work on the starcher. It was a colossal event. Something had at last happened that could be remembered beyond a night's sleep or a week's pay—day. It marked an era. It was a machine Olympiad，a thing to date from. "When I went to work on the starcher，" or， "after，" or "before I went to work on the starcher，" were sentences often on his lips.
十四岁的时候，他去上浆机上去干活了。这是一件非常大的事。除了一夜的睡眠或每周的发薪日，到底是有了一件值得记忆的事情了。它标志着一个新纪元的到来。这是一次机器奥林匹克，是新纪元的开端。约翰尼不离嘴的口头禅有： “我到上浆机上干活的时候” ，或者 “在我到上浆机上工作之后” ，或者 “之前” 。
He celebrated his sixteenth birthday by going into the loom room and taking a loom. Here was an incentive again，for it was piece—work. And he excelled，because the clay of him had been moulded by the mills into the perfect machine. At the end of three months he was running two looms，and，later，three and four.
他十六岁的生日是以他进织布车间，管理织布机来庆祝的。这又是个刺激的活儿，因为是个计件的工作。因为他早已被工厂铸造成了一部完美的机器，他驾轻就熟。三个月后，他监管两台织布机，后来是三台、四台。
At the end of his second year at the looms he was turning out more yards than any other weaver，and more than twice as much as some of the less skilful ones. And at home things began to prosper as he approached the full stature of his earning power. Not，however，that his increased earnings were in excess of need. The children were growing up. They ate more. And they were going to school，and school—books cost money. And somehow，the faster he worked，the faster climbed the prices of things. Even the rent went up，though the house had fallen from bad to worse disrepair.
进织布间的第二年年底，他生产的布匹码数已经比其他任何织工都多了；比起那些不熟练的工人，他的生产量是他们的两倍。随着他赚钱的本事接近最高水平，他的家境也开始好转了。不过，这并不是说他增长的工资已经超过了需求的程度。孩子们都在长大。他们吃得更多了。他们都上学了，书本也要花钱。不知为何，他工作得越快，物价也涨得越快。甚至连房租也涨了，而房子的状况却因为失修变得每况愈下。
He had grown taller；but with his increased height he seemed leaner than ever. Also，he was more nervous. With the nervousness increased his peevishness and irritability. The children had learned by many bitter lessons to fight shy of him. His mother respected him for his earning power，but somehow her respect was tinctured with fear.
他已经长高了，不过随着个头长高了，人却显得比先前更瘦了。而且，他的神经更紧张了。越是神经紧张，他的脾气就变得越乖戾和易怒。孩子们从多次痛苦的教训中学会了躲开他。他的母亲因为他的赚钱能力而尊重他，但不知怎的，这种尊重中却略带几分畏惧。
There was no joyousness in life for him. The procession of the days he never saw. The nights he slept away in twitching unconsciousness. The rest of the time he worked，and his consciousness was machine consciousness. Outside this his mind was a blank. He had no ideals，and but one illusion；namely，that he drank excellent coffee. He was a work—beast. He had no mental life whatever；yet deep down in the crypts of his mind，unknown to him，were being weighed and sifted every hour of his toil，every movement of his hands，every twitch of his muscles，and preparations were making for a future course of action that would amaze him and all his little world.
他生活中没有任何的乐趣。他从来没有看到过白昼是怎么过去的。而夜晚，他都是在无意识中抽搐着睡去的。其他的时间他都在干活，他的意识里就只有机器。除此之外，他头脑里一片空白。他没有理想，但有一个幻想：那就是，他喝着最好的咖啡。他不过是一个干活的牲畜。他没有任何的精神生活，然而在他的内心深处，他不知道自己在权衡和细究自己每一个小时的劳碌，手的每一个动作，肌肉的每一次伸缩，并为将来的行动做准备，这行动将使他和他自己的小天地大吃一惊。
It was in the late spring that he came home from work one night aware of unusual tiredness. There was a keen expectancy in the air as he sat down to the table，but he did not notice. He went through the meal in moody silence，mechanically eating what was before him. The children um'd and ah'd and made smacking noises with their mouths. But he was deaf to them.
暮春时节，有一天晚上他下班回来，他感觉到一种异乎寻常的疲惫。他坐下来吃饭的时候，大家好像都在热切地期待着什么，可是他并没有注意。他机械地吃着面前的东西，整顿饭都闷闷不乐、一声不响。孩子们在嘴里吧唧吧唧地吃得很响。可是他却充耳不闻。
"D'ye know what you're eatin '？" his mother demanded at last，desperately.
“你知道你吃的是什么吗？” 母亲最后急切地问他。
He looked vacantly at the dish before him，and vacantly at her.
他茫然地看看面前的盘子，又茫然地看看她。
"Floatin 'island，" she announced triumphantly.
“是浮岛。” 她得意地宣布。
"Oh，" he said.
“哦。” 他说道。
"Floating island！" the children chorussed loudly.
“浮岛！” 孩子们异口同声地大声喊道。
"Oh，" he said. And after two or three mouthfuls，he added， "guess I ain't hungry to—night. "
“哦。” 他说。接着他又吃了两三口，补充道： “我想是我今晚不怎么饿。”
He dropped the spoon，shoved back his chair，and arose wearily from the table.
他放下汤匙，往后推了一下椅子，然后有气无力地从桌子边站了起来。
"An 'I guess I'll go to bed. "
“我想去睡觉了。”
His feet dragged more heavily than usual as he crossed the kitchen floor. Undressing was a Titan's task，a monstrous futility，and he wept weakly as he crawled into bed，one shoe still on. He was aware of a rising，swelling something inside his head that made his brain thick and fuzzy. His lean fingers felt as big as his wrist，while in the ends of them was a remoteness of sensation vague and fuzzy like his brain. The small of his back ached intolerably. All his bones ached. He ached everywhere. And in his head began the shrieking，pounding，crashing，roaring of a million looms. All space was filled with flying shuttles. They darted in and out，intricately，amongst the stars. He worked a thousand looms himself，and ever they speeded up，faster and faster，and his brain unwound，faster and faster，and became the thread that fed the thousand flying shuttles.
他拖着双脚穿过厨房，脚步比平时更为沉重。脱衣服费了他九牛二虎之力，他一点儿都使不上劲。他终于爬到床上，无力地哭了起来，脚上还有一只鞋。他觉得脑袋里有什么东西向上涌，往外涨，弄得他脑子重重的，混乱如麻。他觉得自己的细手指粗得跟手腕一样，指尖也有一种细微的感觉，如同他的大脑一般茫然、模糊不清。他的腰部疼得让他受不了了。所有的骨头都在疼。他浑身都疼。他的脑袋里出现了上百万台的织布机，尖叫着、撞击着、压榨着、咆哮着。所有的空间里都充满着飞梭。它们在星空里飞快地穿梭，错综复杂。他自己掌控着一千台织布机，它们不断地加速，越来越快，他的大脑也松了弦，越转越快，变成了供给那一千支飞梭的纱线。
He did not go to work next morning. He was too busy weaving colossally on the thousand looms that ran inside his head. His mother went to work，but first she sent for the doctor. It was a severe attack of la grippe，he said. Jennie served as nurse and carried out his instructions.
第二天早晨，他没有去上工。他正在大脑里转动的千台织布机前，拼了命地忙着织布。他的母亲去上工了，不过走之前她先请来了一位医生。医生说，这是一种严重的流行性感冒。珍妮遵照医嘱，看护着约翰尼。
It was a very severe attack，and it was a week before Johnny dressed and tottered feebly across the floor. Another week，the doctor said，and he would be fit to return to work. The foreman of the loom room visited him on Sunday afternoon，the first day of his convalescence. The best weaver in the room，the foreman told his mother. His job would be held for him. He could come back to work a week from Monday.
他病得很厉害，一周以后，约翰尼才能穿上衣服，在房间里无力地蹒跚。医生说，还得一周约翰尼才能回去工作。星期天的下午，也就是约翰尼复原的头一天，织布车间的工头来看他。工头对约翰尼的母亲说，这是他们织布车间里最好的织布工人。他们会给他保留他的工作的。他可以从周一起再休息一周，然后来上工。
"Why don't you thank 'im，Johnny？" his mother asked anxiously.
“约翰尼，你为什么不谢谢他呢？” 母亲焦急地问道。
"He's ben that sick he ain't himself yet，" she explained apologetically to the visitor.
质检于是她歉意地跟客人解释说： “他病得太厉害了，到现在还没有清醒过来。”
Johnny sat hunched up and gazing steadfastly at the floor. He sat in the same position long after the foreman had gone. It was warm outdoors，and he sat on the stoop in the afternoon. Sometimes his lips moved. He seemed lost in endless calculations.
约翰尼弯着腰坐起来，死死地盯着地面。工头走后，他就那样坐了很久。外面很暖和，下午的时候他到门口的台阶上坐下了。有时候，他的嘴唇会动一下。他似乎陷入无尽的计算之中。
Next morning，after the day grew warm，he took his seat on the stoop. He had pencil and paper this time with which to continue his calculations，and he calculated painfully and amazingly.
第二天早晨，天暖和起来以后，他又坐到门口的台阶上。他带着铅笔和纸继续他的计算，这是一种痛苦的、惊人的计算。
"What comes after millions？" he asked at noon，when Will came home from school. "An 'how d'ye work 'em ？"
“百万之后是什么来着？” 中午，威尔从学校回来，约翰尼问道， “你是怎么算的？”
That afternoon finished his task. Each day，but without paper and pencil，he returned to the stoop. He was greatly absorbed in the one tree that grew across the street. He studied it for hours at a time，and was unusually interested when the wind swayed its branches and fluttered its leaves. Throughout the week he seemed lost in a great communion with himself. On Sunday，sitting on the stoop，he laughed aloud，several times，to the perturbation of his mother，who had not heard him laugh in years.
那天下午他完成了他的任务。每一天，他都坐回到那个台阶上，不过他不带纸和铅笔了。他全神贯注于街对面的那棵树。几个小时里，他不断地研究着它，每当风吹得树枝摇摇摆摆、树叶摇摇曳曳时，他就会觉得很有意思。整整一周，他似乎都沉浸在与自己的深度交流之中。星期日，他坐在台阶上，放声大笑了几次，笑得他母亲心里很乱。她已经好多年没有听到过他笑了。
Next morning，in the early darkness，she came to his bed to rouse him. He had had his fill of sleep all week，and awoke easily. He made no struggle，nor did he attempt to hold on to the bedding when she stripped it from him. He lay quietly，and spoke quietly.
第二天早晨，天没亮的时候，母亲走到约翰尼的床边去叫醒他。他这一周已经睡足了，很容易就醒了。母亲来扯他的被子的时候，他没有挣扎，也没有想把被子抓住。他静静地躺着，静静地说着什么。
"It ain't no use，ma. "
“妈，没有用。”
"You'll be late，" she said，under the impression that he was still stupid with sleep.
“你要迟到了。” 母亲说道，她以为他还睡得稀里糊涂的。
"I 'm awake，ma，an' I tell you it ain't no use. You might as well lemme alone. I ain't goin't o git up. "
“妈，我醒着呢，我已经告诉你了，这没有用的。你最好别管我。我不会起来的。”
"But you'll lose your job！" she cried.
“你会丢掉工作的！” 她大喊。
"I ain't goin't o git up，" he repeated in a strange，passionless voice.
“我不会起来的。” 他用一种奇怪的、毫无情感的声音重复了一遍。
She did not go to work herself that morning. This was sickness beyond any sickness she had ever known. Fever and delirium she could understand；but this was insanity. She pulled the bedding up over him and sent Jennie for the doctor.
那天早晨她自己也没有去上工。这种毛病她真的从来没有见过。发热和昏迷她倒是懂得的，可这是精神错乱啊。她给约翰尼盖好被子，叫珍妮去请医生。
When that person arrived，Johnny was sleeping gently，and gently he awoke and allowed his pulse to be taken.
医生来的时候，他睡得很安稳。他慢慢地醒过来，让医生给他把脉。
"Nothing the matter with him，" the doctor reported. "Badly debilitated，that's all. Not much meat on his bones. "
“他没有什么问题，” 医生说， “就是身体太虚弱了，没有别的毛病。身上净是骨头，没有肉。”
"He's always been that way，" his mother volunteered.
“他一直都是这样的。” 母亲主动说道。
"Now go 'way，ma，an' let me finish my snooze. "
“妈，你出去吧，让我睡完这一觉吧。”
Johnny spoke sweetly and placidly，and sweetly and placidly he rolled over on his side and went to sleep.
约翰尼声音柔和而平静。然后他同样柔和而平静地侧过身，又睡着了。
At ten o'clock he awoke and dressed himself. He walked out into the kitchen，where he found his mother with a frightened expression on her face.
十点钟，他醒来穿上衣服。他走出来进了厨房，发现母亲脸上带着一种恐惧的表情。
"I 'm goin' away，ma，" he announced， "an 'I jes' want to say good—by. " She threw her apron over her head and sat down suddenly and wept. He waited patiently.
“妈，我要走了，” 他说道， “我想跟你说声再会。” 她用围裙蒙着脸，突然坐下去，哭了起来。他耐心地等着。
"I might a—known it，" she was sobbing.
“我早就知道有这么一天。” 她抽噎着。
"Where？" she finally asked，removing the apron from her head and gazing up at him with a stricken face in which there was little curiosity.
她拉下脸上的围裙，愁苦却几乎毫不惊奇地抬头盯着他，最后她问道： “你要去哪里？”
"I don't know—anywhere. "
“我不知道——随便哪里吧。”
As he spoke，the tree across the street appeared with dazzling brightness on his inner vision. It seemed to lurk just under his eyelids，and he could see it whenever he wished.
他一面说着，一面觉得街对面的那棵树在他的心里似乎放出了耀眼的光。那棵树就好像藏在他的眼皮底下，无论什么时候，只要他想，就会看见。
"An 'your job？" she quavered.
“那你的活儿呢？” 她声音颤抖地问。
"I ain't never goin't o work again. "
“我不想再干活了。”
"My God，Johnny！" she wailed， "don't say that！"
“上帝啊，约翰尼！” 她哀号着， “不能说这种话啊！”
What he had said was blasphemy to her. As a mother who hears her child deny God，was Johnny's mother shocked by his words.
对她来讲，他说的话简直是亵渎神明。约翰尼的母亲听到他的话都惊呆了，就像一个母亲听到她的孩子在否认上帝一样。
"What's got into you，anyway？" she demanded，with a lame attempt at imperativeness.
“你脑子究竟怎么啦？” 她问道，她想责备他，可是又没有那个勇气。
"Figures，" he answered. "Jes' figures. I've ben doin 'a lot of figurin't his week，an' it's most surprisin’. "
“数目，” 他回答道， “就是那些数目。这周我一直在计算好多数目，结果很是惊人。”
"I don't see what that's got to do with it，" she sniffled.
“我真不知道数目跟这有什么关系。” 她抽泣着说。
Johnny smiled patiently，and his mother was aware of a distinct shock at the persistent absence of his peevishness and irritability.
约翰尼耐心地笑了笑，母亲看到他这样始终不发怒也不闹别扭，觉得更吃惊了。
"I'll show you，" he said. "I 'm plum't ired out. What makes me tired？Moves. I've ben movin' ever since I was born. I 'm tired of movin’ ，an' I ain't goin't o move any more. Remember when I worked in the glass—house？I used to do three hundred dozen a day. Now I reckon I made about ten different moves to each bottle. That's thirty—six thousan 'moves a day. Ten days，three hundred an' sixty thousan 'moves a day. One month，one million an' eighty thousan 'moves. Chuck out the eighty thousan’ " —he spoke with the complacent beneficence of a philanthropist—chuck out the eighty thousan' ，that leaves a million moves a month—twelve million moves a year.
“我跟你说吧，” 他说道， “我累坏了。什么让我累成这样呢？动作。我从生下来就在做动作。我已经厌倦了动作，我再也不想做那些动作了。还记得我在玻璃厂干活的时候吗？那时候我一天扎三百打的瓶子。现在算来，我扎一个瓶子大概要十个不同的动作。这样，一天就是三万六千个动作。十天就是三十六万个动作。一个月就是一百万零八千个动作。去掉那八千个不算” ——他用慈善家做好事的自满口气说—— “去掉八千个不算，一个月就是整整一百万个动作——一年就是一千二百万个动作。”
"At the looms I 'm movin't wic' st as much. That makes twenty—five million moves a year，an 'it seems to me I've ben a movin't hat way' most a million years.
“进了织布车间以后，我的动作快了一倍。这样一年就两千五百万个动作，像这样我动了将近一百万年似的。”
"Now this week I ain't moved at all. I ain't made one move in hours an 'hours. I tell you it was swell，jes' settin't here，hours an 'hours，an' doin 'nothin’. I ain't never ben happy before. I never had any time. I've ben movin' all the time. That ain't no way to be happy. An 'I ain't goin't o do it any more. I' m jes' goin't o set，an 'set，an' rest，an 'rest，and then rest some more. "
“可是，这个星期，我一点儿也没有动。一连几个小时里，我一动不动。我跟你说吧，真是太好了，我就在那儿坐着，一连几个小时，什么也不用做。以前我从来没有这么快乐过。我从来都没有空闲。我一直都在工作。我根本没有办法让自己快活。我再也不想干活儿了。我只想坐着，坐着，休息，休息，再多休息一会儿。”
"But what's goin't o come of Will an't he children？" she asked despairingly.
“但是威尔，还有其他的孩子怎么办呢？” 她绝望地问着。
"That's it， 'Will an't he children，’ " he repeated.
“对，威尔和其他的孩子。” 他重复着。
But there was no bitterness in his voice. He had long known his mother's ambition for the younger boy，but the thought of it no longer rankled. Nothing mattered any more. Not even that.
但他的声音里没有悲伤的语气。他早就知道母亲为他弟弟所费的苦心，但是想到这种事他再也不痛心了。再也没有什么关系了。甚至他都不把这些事情放在心上了。
"I know，ma，what you've ben plannin 'for Will—keepin' him in school to make a bookkeeper out of him. But it ain't no use，I've quit. He's got to go to work. "
“妈，我知道你为威尔做的打算——让他继续读书，然后做一个管帐员。但是没有用了，我不干了。他必须去干活。”
"An 'after I have brung you up the way I have，" she wept，starting to cover her head with the apron and changing her mind.
“我把你抚养成人，你就这样啊。” 她哭着说，想用围裙蒙脸来着，可是又改变了主意。
"You never brung me up，" he answered with sad kindliness. "I brung myself up，ma，an 'I brung up Will. He's bigger' n me，an 'heavier，an't aller. When I was a kid，I reckon I didn't git enough to eat. When he come along an' was a kid，I was workin 'an' earnin 'grub for him too. But that's done with. Will can go to work，same as me，or he can go to hell，I don't care which. I' m tired. I 'm goin' now. Ain't you goin't o say good—by？"
“你根本没有把我抚养成人，” 他用悲凉而又温和的口气说着， “是我把自己抚养长大的，妈，而且我抚养了威尔长大。他块头比我大，比我重，也比我高。我想我小的时候就没有吃饱过。他出世以后只有几岁的时候，我就开始干活，赚钱养活他了。不过已经结束了。威尔可以去干活了，像我一样，或者随他吧，反正我不在乎了。我累了。我现在要走了。你都不跟我说声再会吗？”
She made no reply. The apron had gone over her head again，and she was crying. He paused a moment in the doorway.
她没有回答。她又用围裙蒙住脸，大哭了起来。走到门口的时候，他停了一下。
"I 'm sure I done the best I knew how，" she was sobbing.
“我肯定我尽了力。” 她啜泣着。
He passed out of the house and down the street. A wan delight came into his face at the sight of the lone tree. "Jes' ain't goin't o do nothin’ ，" he said to himself，half aloud，in a crooning tone. He glanced wistfully up at the sky，but the bright sun dazzled and blinded him.
他走出了房子，到了大街上。看见那棵孤单的树，他的脸上露出了一副凄凉的笑容。 “我什么也不干了。” 他自言自语着，用有些响亮，又似低声哼唱的语气说道。他若有所思地看了看天，耀眼的太阳照得他眼都花了。
It was a long walk he took，and he did not walk fast. It took him past the jute—mill. The muffled roar of the loom room came to his ears，and he smiled. It was a gentle，placid smile. He hated no one，not even the pounding，shrieking machines. There was no bitterness in him，nothing but an inordinate hunger for rest.
他走了很久，但是走得不快。他顺路走过了麻纺厂。织布车间里闷闷的轰隆声传到他的耳朵里，他微微地笑了。那是轻柔的、宁静的微笑。他谁都不恨，甚至不恨那些砰砰作响、震耳欲聋的机器。他的心中没有伤悲，只是极度渴望休息。
The houses and factories thinned out and the open spaces increased as he approached the country. At last the city was behind him，and he was walking down a leafy lane beside the railroad track. He did not walk like a man. He did not look like a man. He was a travesty of the human. It was a twisted and stunted and nameless piece of life that shambled like a sickly ape，arms loose—hanging，stoop—shouldered，narrow—chested，grotesque and terrible.
房屋和工厂逐渐稀少了，空旷的地方越来越多，这时他已经快到乡下了。最后，城市在他身后了。他沿着铁路旁一条树木茂盛的小路走去。他走得不像人。他看起来也不像人。他就是对人类的一种嘲弄。他好像个身子扭曲歪斜、发育不良、说不出名堂的活物。他踉踉跄跄地走着，两只胳膊松松垮垮，弓着肩，窄胸膛，样子古怪又可怕，活像一只生病的猿猴。
He passed by a small railroad station and lay down in the grass under a tree. All afternoon he lay there. Sometimes he dozed，with muscles that twitched in his sleep. When awake，he lay without movement，watching the birds or looking up at the sky through the branches of the tree above him. Once or twice he laughed aloud，but without relevance to anything he had seen or felt.
他路过了一个小火车站，然后便躺到一棵树下的草地上。整个下午他都躺在那儿。有时他打起盹来，他的肌肉在睡梦中抽搐着。醒过来的时候，他一动不动地躺在那儿看着鸟儿，或透过树枝的缝隙看着上面的天空。有一两次，他大笑了起来，不过这跟他看到或感觉到的东西没有任何关系。
After twilight had gone，in the first darkness of the night，a freight train rumbled into the station. When the engine was switching cars on to the side—track，Johnny crept along the side of the train. He pulled open the side—door of an empty box—car and awkwardly and laboriously climbed in. He closed the door. The engine whistled. Johnny was lying down，and in the darkness he smiled.
黄昏逝去，夜色刚刚降临。一列货车隆隆地驶入车站。当这列货车在岔道上转轨时，约翰尼沿着火车的一侧爬了上去。他拉开一节空车厢的侧门，笨拙地、吃力地爬了进去。他关上了门。火车的汽笛响了。约翰尼躺了下去，在黑暗中，他笑了。