村上春樹新書第一人稱單數（NewYorker小說翻譯）
2023-06-13 09:54:33 1
村上春樹新書第一人稱單數?1971 was the Year of Spaghetti.1971年，是義大利麵年，下面我們就來聊聊關於村上春樹新書第一人稱單數?接下來我們就一起去了解一下吧!
村上春樹新書第一人稱單數
1971 was the Year of Spaghetti.
1971年，是義大利麵年。
In 1971 I cooked spaghetti to live, and lived to cook spaghetti. Steam rising from the aluminum pot was my pride and joy, tomato sauce bubbling up in the saucepan my one great hope in life.
1971年，我煮義大利麵，是為了活下去，活下去，是為了煮義大利麵。鋁鍋中升騰的哈氣，是我的驕傲和欣喜。醬鍋中沸騰的番茄醬，是我生活中僅存的希望。
I』d gone to a cooking specialty store and bought a kitchen timer and a huge aluminum cooking pot, big enough to bathe a German shepherd in, then went round all the supermarkets that cater to foreigners, gathering an assortment of odd-sounding spices. I picked up a pasta cookbook at the bookstore, and bought tomatoes by the dozen. I purchased every brand of spaghetti I could lay my hands on, simmered every kind of sauce known to man. Fine particles of garlic, onion, and olive oil swirled in the air, forming a harmonious cloud that penetrated every corner of my tiny apartment, permeating the floor and ceiling and walls, my clothes, my books, my records, my tennis racket, my bundles of old letters. It was a fragrance one might have smelled on ancient Roman aqueducts.
我去食材店買了一個廚房定時器，一個巨大的蒸煮用的鋁鍋，大到可以容下德國牧羊犬在裡面洗澡，然後逛了所有對外國人開放的超市，淘了各種稀奇古怪的香料。在商店買了一本義大利麵食食譜，又買了一打西紅柿。能買到的義大利麵牌子，我買個遍，所有聽過的醬料，我煮了個遍。空氣中繚繞著大蒜，洋蔥和橄欖油的混合味，充分混合的濃煙滲入小屋的每個角落，充盈著地板，天花板和牆壁的整個空間，把我的衣服，書，磁帶，網球拍，幾捆信包的嚴嚴實實。像古羅馬下水道的芳香一樣嗆人。
This is a story from the Year of Spaghetti,1971 A.D.
這就是西元1971年，義大利麵年的趣事。
As a rule I cooked spaghetti, and ate it, alone. I was convinced that spaghetti was a dish best enjoyed alone. I can't really explain why I felt that way, but there it is.
我習以為常了一個人煮麵，一個人吃。我甚至堅信，分享，會失了義大利麵的鮮美。我也不知道為什麼會有那樣的執念，但，就是非常篤信。
I always drank tea with my spaghetti and ate a simple lettuce-and-cucumber salad. I』d make sure I had plenty of both. I laid everything out neatly on the table, and enjoyed a leisurely meal, glancing at the paper as I ate. From Sunday to Saturday, one Spaghetti Day followed another. And each new Sunday started a brand-new Spaghetti Week.
吃麵的生活，我會就著茶，再簡單拌點生菜黃瓜。相信我，涼菜和義大利麵是絕配。我會把美食整齊得擺放在飯桌上，愜意的享用一餐，當然，吃的時候，也少不了翻著報紙。從周天到周六，雷打不動的，天天義大利麵。僅有的新意，是每到周天，會換個牌子，然後就吃這個牌子的義大利麵。
Every time I sat down to a plate of spaghetti--especially on a rainy afternoon--I had the distinct feeling that somebody was about to knock on my door. The person who I imagined was about to visit me was different each time. Sometimes it was a stranger, sometimes someone I knew. Once, it was a girl with slim legs whom I『d dated in high school, and once it was myself, from a few years back, come to pay a visit. Another time, it was
none other than William Holden, with Jennifer Jones on his arm.
William Holden?
每次坐在盛滿義大利麵的盤子前，尤其是飄雨的午後，我都真切的感覺到，門外有人，將要敲門。每回，都能感到，會有不同的人，即將來訪。有時，像個陌生人，有時是熟人。一次，竟然想到了一個，和我在高中約會的女生，那可是個雙腿修長的女生呢。有時，門外的人，像是自己，從未來穿越回來的自己，就為了來看看現在的我。還有一回，竟然像是William Holden，還有Jennifer Jones挽著他的胳膊。
William Holden?
竟然想到William Holden？
Not one of these people, though, actually ventured into my apartment. They hovered just outside the door, without knocking, like fragments of memory, and then slipped away.
事實上，所有這些人，沒一個敢進入我的房間。他們在門外徘徊，連門都沒敲，然後，像零散的記憶，沒影了。
Spring, summer, and fall, I cooked away, as if cooking spaghetti were an act of revenge. Like a lonely, jilted girl throwing old love letters into the fireplace, I tossed one handful of spaghetti after another into the pot.
我煮走了春，煮走了夏，煮走了秋，煮義大利就像是對時間流逝的報復。像一個孤獨的，被拋棄的情人，將曾經的求愛信扔進火爐那樣，我將一把把義大利麵灑進鍋裡。
I』d gather up the trampled-down shadows of time，knead them into the shape of a German shepherd, toss them into the roiling water, and sprinkle them with salt. Then I』d hover over the pot, oversize chopsticks in hand, until the timer dinged its plaintive tone.
若能抓住淌走的時間，我會把它捏的像只德國牧羊犬，扔進咕嘟咕嘟滾燙的沸水，然後再撒上鹽。然後，顛幾次煮鍋，用長拐子來回撥動，直到計時器乾巴得叮一聲。
Spaghetti strands are a crafty bunch, and I couldn't let them out of my sight. If I were to turn my back, they might well slip over the edge of the pot and vanish into the night. Like the tropical jungle waits to swallow up colorful butterflies into the eternity of time, the night lay in silence, hoping to waylay the prodigal strands.
一縷縷的義大利麵，簡直是機靈鬼，得不走眼得盯著。要是轉個身，它們就滑向鍋沿，消失在夜空。像熱帶雨林，等著永恆得吞掉彩蝶那樣，夜，靜悄悄得，伺機帶走一縷又一縷得義大利麵。
Spaghetti alla parmigiana
Spaghetti alla napoletana
Spaghetti al cartoccio
Spaghetti aglio e olio
Spaghetti alla carbonara
Spaghetti della pina
And then there was the pitiful, nameless leftover spaghetti carelessly tossed into the fridge.
當然，也會有些不知怎得，被剩下得義大利麵，遺憾得進入了冰箱。
Born in heat, the strands of spaghetti washed down the river of 1971 and vanished.
熱乎乎的，一縷縷的義大利麵，被1971年的歲月之河衝走，消失了。
And I mourn them all-all the spaghetti of the year 1971.
我為它們哀悼——1971年所有的義大利麵。
When the phone rang at three twenty I was sprawled out on the tatami, staring at the ceiling. A pool of winter sunlight had formed in the place where I lay. Like a dead fly I lay there, vacant, in a December 1971 spotlight.
3點20的時候，電話響了，當時，我正癱躺在榻榻米上，瞅著天花板。我躺著的地方，正好被一片冬季暖陽照耀著。我像只死蒼蠅一樣，空洞的，躺在1971年12月的那片陽光下。
At first, I didn't recognize it as the phone ringing. It was more like an unfamiliar memory that had hesitantly slipped in between the layers of air. Finally, though, it began to take shape, and, in the end, a ringing phone was unmistakably what it was. It was one hundred percent a phone ring in one-hundred-percent-real air. Still sprawled out, I reached over and picked up the receiver.
最開始，我壓根沒注意到電話響了。電話聲響是模糊的記憶，就像是遊走在外太空夢境裡的東西。然後，開始逼真起來，最終，才能確定，這時電話鈴聲無疑。那百分百的是個電話，是真的電話鈴聲。我癱躺著伸手夠向電話，接起了話筒。
On the other end was a girl, a girl so indistinct that, by four thirty, she might very well have disappeared altogether. She was the ex-girlfriend of a friend of mine. Something had brought them together, this guy and this indistinct girl, and something had led them to break up. I had, I admit, reluctantly played a role in getting them together in the first place.
電話那頭是個女孩，印象不深刻的一個人，當時是四點半，心想著她掛了電話該多好。她是我一個朋友的前女友。他們在一起了，然後分手了。起初，我還曾試圖讓他們和好。
「Sorry to bother you," she said, "but do you know where he is now?"
「不好意思打擾您了，」她說，「你知道他在哪嗎？」
I looked at the phone, running my eyes along the length of the cord. The cord was, sure enough, attached to the phone. I managed a vague reply. There was something ominous in the girl's voice, and whatever trouble was brewing I knew I didn't want to get involved.
我盯著電話，眼睛沿著電話線前移。電話線，竟然連著電話。我糊弄得給她一個回復。女孩子的聲音有一種不祥的感覺，無論啥情況，我都不想趟這趟混水。
「Nobody will tell me where he is," she said in a chilly tone.
「誰也不告訴我他在哪，」她悲涼地說。
"Everybody's pretending they don't know. But there's some-thing important I have to tell him, so please-tell me where he is. I promise I won't drag you into this. Where is he?"
「大家都裝作不知道。但是，我有很重要的事情，必須得告訴他，請你，告訴我他在哪。我肯定不會讓你惹麻煩。他在哪？
"I honestly don't know," I told her. "I haven't seen him in a long time.」 My voice didn't sound like my own. I was telling the truth about not having seen him for a long time, but not about the other part-I did know his address and phone number. Whenever I tell a lie, something weird happens to my voice.
「說實話，我真不知道，「我告訴她，」我很長時間沒見過他了。「我的聲音好假。我確實很長時間沒見他了，但，我知道他的地址電話。每次撒謊，聲音聽著都很假。
No comment from her.
她沒說話。
The phone was like a pillar of ice.
電話像個冰柱。
Then all the objects around me turned into pillars of ice, as if I were in a J.G. Ballard science fiction story.
然後，周圍的一切，都變成的了冰柱，好像我置身於J.G. Ballard的科幻小說。
"I really don't know," I repeated. "He went away a long time ago, without saying a word.」
「我真不知道「，我重複著說，」他走了很久了，走的說話什麼也沒說。「
The girl laughed. 「Give me a break. He's not that clever. We're talking about a guy who has to raise a noise no matter what he does."
女孩笑了。「得了吧。他沒那麼深沉。他是無論幹點啥，恨不得全世界都知道的人。「
She was right. The guy really was a bit of a dim bulb.
她說得很對。他確實是個傻啦吧唧的傢伙。
But I wasn't about to tell her where he was. Do that ，and next I『d have him on the phone, giving me an earful. I was through with getting caught up in other people's messes. I'd already dug a hole in the backyard and buried everything that needed to be buried in it. Nobody could ever dig it up again.
但，我不會告訴她地址。否則，接下來，我就得給他打電話，聽一堆牢騷。我就得管他倆的破爛事。我已經在後院挖了個坑，埋葬一切。（我早就想好了，雙耳一閉，對任何事不管不問。）沒有人能挖開。（對任何人事全都冷漠）
「I'm sorry," I said.
「對不起「，我說。
"You don't like me, do you?" she suddenly said.
「你不待見我，對吧？「女孩忽然說。
I had no idea what to say. I didn't particularly dislike her. I had no real impression of her at all. And it's hard to have a bad impression of somebody you have no impression of.
我僵著，無話可說。我並不是十分討厭她。事實是，我對她壓根沒啥印象。但是，對一個沒什麼印象的人，說討厭，還是不太好。
"I'm sorry," I said again. 「But I'm cooking spaghetti right now.」
「對不起，」 我又重複了一遍。 「我只是忙著煮義大利麵呢。」
「What?"
「什麼？」
「I said I'm cooking spaghetti, "I lied. I had no idea why I said that. But that lie was already a part of me--so much so that, at that moment at least, it didn't feel like a lie at all.
「我說我在煮義大利麵，」我撒著謊。我也不清楚為啥撒這個謊。但是，說出來的時候，就像真的似的，至少在那個時候，跟真的似的，我一點沒覺得自己在撒謊。
I went ahead and filled an imaginary pot with water, lit an imaginary stove with an imaginary match.
我腦補著，腦中已經出現了一鍋水，用火柴點著爐子。
「So?" she asked.
「然後呢？」她問。
I sprinkled imaginary salt into the boiling water, gently lowered a handful of imaginary spaghetti into the imaginary pot, set the imaginary kitchen timer for twelve minutes.
腦中正在往沸水中撒鹽，然後，輕輕得把一縷義大利麵放進鍋裡，然後，用定時器定了12分鐘。
「So I can't talk. The spaghetti will be ruined.」 She didn't say anything.
「不方便說話。面再不盛出來，就妥了。」 她沉默了。
"I’m really sorry, but cooking spaghetti's a delicate operation."
「實在抱歉，煮義大利麵實在是個技術活。」
The girl was silent. The phone in my hand began to freeze again.
她依然沒出聲。我手裡的電話，再次冰冷。
「So could you call me back?」 I added hurriedly.
「你過會再打行嗎？」 我忙補了一句。
「Because you're in the middle of making spaghetti?" she asked.
「就因為你在煮麵條？」她問道。
「Yeah.」
「嗯。」
"Are you making it for someone, or are you going to eat alone?"
「你是給別人煮的嗎，還是自己吃？」
「I』ll eat it by myself," I said.
「我自己吃，」我說。
She held her breath for a long time, then slowly breathed out. 「There's no way you could know this, but I'm really in trouble. I don't know what to do.」
她屏住呼吸好一會，然後慢慢呼出一口氣。「沒必要讓你知道我的事情，但是，我確實急需幫助。真的不知道咋辦了。」
「I'm sorry I can't help you," I said.
「對不起，我幫不了你。」我說。
「There's some money involved, too."
「涉及到錢。」
「I see.」
「明白。」
「He owes me money," she said. "I lent him some money. I shouldn't have, but I had to."
「他欠我錢，」她說，「我借給他一些錢，我知道我不該借，但是，沒辦法。」
I was quiet for a minute，my thoughts drifting toward spaghetti. "I'm sorry," I said. "But I've got the spaghetti going, so ..."
我沉默了一分鐘，腦子裡飄過了義大利麵。「對不起，」我說，「但是我必須得去盛面了，所以」
She gave a listless laugh. "Goodbye," she said. "Say hi to your spaghetti for me. I hope it turns out OK.」
她不鹹不淡地笑了一聲。「再見」，她說。「替我向你的義大利麵問好。希望你真的能吃到。」
"Bye," I said.
「再見，」 我說。
When I hung up the phone, the circle of light on the floor had shifted an inch or two. I lay down again in that pool of light and resumed staring at the ceiling.
當我掛上電話，地板上的光線一句挪了一兩寸。我重新躺回那攤陽光裡，重新盯著天花板發呆。
Thinking about spaghetti that boils eternally but is never done is a sad, sad thing.
腦補著煮義大利麵的場景，但是一直不做，確實是一件很可悲的事情。
Now I regret, a little, that I didn't tell the girl anything. Perhaps I should have. I mean, her ex-boyfriend wasn't much to start with—-an empty shell of a guy with artistic pretensions, a great talker whom nobody trusted. She sounded as if she really were strapped for money, and, no matter what the situation, you've got to pay back what you borrow.
現在，對於那個女孩，我有點懊悔自己的無可奉告。或許應該告訴她。我的意思是，告訴她，那個前男友不值得交往，一個裝腔作勢的空殼，滿嘴豪言壯語，壓根沒人聽。她似乎真的為錢所困，無論什麼情況，都是她自己咎由自取。
Sometimes I wonder what happened to the girl---the thought usually pops into my mind when I『m facing a steaming-hot plate of spaghetti. After she hung up, did she disappear forever, sucked into the four thirty p.m. shadows? Was I partly to blame?
有時候，我會瞎猜，那個女孩，到底遇到什麼事情了----當我面前有一碗熱情騰騰的義大利麵的時候，這樣的猜測會突然在腦中跳出來。她掛掉帶電話以後，會不會永遠消失，消失在四點半的背光處？我該不該被譴責？
I want you to understand my position, though. At the time, I didn't want to get involved with anyone. That's why I kept on cooking spaghetti, all by myself. In that huge pot, big enough to hold a German shepherd.
我希望你理解我的境遇。那個情況下，我不想惹任何人的麻煩。那就是為什麼，獨自一個人，一直煮義大利麵。在那個巨大的，能容得下一個德國牧羊犬的鍋裡。
Durum semolina, golden wheat wafting in Italian fields.
浮動在義大利田野上的硬質粗面，黃金小麥。
Can you imagine how astonished the Italians would be if they knew: that what they were exporting in 1971 was really loneliness?
如果義大利人知道，他們在1971年出口到美國的，全是無盡的孤獨，你覺得他們會震驚嗎？
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