The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas中英对照(7页).doc

-The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas中英对照-第 7 页The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows crossing flights over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city, where on the great water-meadow called the Green Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mud-stained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms, exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding through the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air that from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells. 随着一阵响彻云霄的钟声的敲响，一群燕子惊得展翅高翔，白塔映日的海滨城市奥米勒斯迎来了她的夏庆节。港湾里停泊的船只的缆索上都飘扬着鲜艳夺目的彩旗。市区的大街小巷上，一支支游行队伍穿过街道两旁那一排排红顶彩漆墙面的房屋，穿过一座座长满青苔的古老庭园，走过一条条林荫大道，一座座公园和公共建筑，迤逦而行。游行队伍有的显得十分文雅庄重，其参加者或是一些身着紫衣灰袍的老者，或是一些沉郁肃穆的工人师傅，或是一些文文静静、欢欢喜喜的妇女，她们抱着孩子，边走边聊天。另外一些游行队伍的情形却迥然不同：那儿奏着欢快的音乐，锣鼓喧天，游行的人们一路上载歌载舞。成群的小孩在队伍中兴高采烈地穿来穿去，他们的欢叫声像高翔于空中的燕子的呜叫声一样，盖过游行队伍的鼓乐声和歌唱声。所有游行队伍都沿着蜿蜒曲折的街道迤逦向北行进，来到一个称作绿野的大草坪上。草坪上早有一些光着身子、脚踝沾满泥巴、手臂长大而灵活的青年男女在那儿对他们的劣马进行赛前训练。那些马都没有上鞍具，只套了一根不带嚼子的缰绳。马的鬃毛上扎着一些银色、金色和绿色饰带。那些马都扬着鼻子，欢腾跳跃相互炫耀；它们都兴奋异常，因为马是唯一将人的喜庆活动看作自己的喜庆活动的动物。城外较远处，环绕奥米勒斯西面和北面的是一道半圆形的山脉。早晨的天空晴明如镜，湛蓝的天幕下积雪未化的十八座峰顶上，白雪映着阳光，犹如燃烧的火焰，发出冲天的金光。赛马跑道上插着的彩旗在微风吹拂下呼啦啦地飘摆。置身于一片寂静的大草坪上，人们就可以听到城区街道上的鼓乐声由远及近，犹如阵阵醉人的香风迎面扑来。鼓乐声时而微弱下去，时而响亮起来，直至最后融入一片欢乐喧闹的钟声之中。Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of Omelas? They were not simple folk, you see, though they were happy. But we do not say the words of cheer much any more. All smiles have become archaic. Given a description such as this one tends to make certain assumptions. Given a description such as this one tends to look next for the King, mounted on a splendid stallion and surrounded by his noble knights, or perhaps in a golden litter borne by great-muscled slaves. But there was no king. They did not use swords, or keep slaves. They were not barbarians. I do not know the rules and laws of their society, but I suspect that they were singularly few. As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. They were not less complex than us. The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you cant lick em, join em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, nor make any celebration of joy. How can I tell you about the people of Omelas? They were not naive and happy childrenthough their children were, in fact, happy. They were mature, intelligent, passionate adults whose lives were not wretched. O miracle! but I wish I could describe it better. I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, howeverthat of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc.they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains, washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuelless power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that; it doesnt matter.As you like it. I incline to think that people from towns up and down the coast have been coming in to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-decked trams, and that the train station of Omelas is actually the handsomest building in town, though plainer than the magnificent Farmers Market. But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, dont hesitate. Let us not, however, have temples from which issue beautiful nude priests and priestesses already half in ecstasy and ready to copulate with any man or woman, lover or stranger, who desires union with the deep godhead of the blood, although that was my first idea. But really it would be better not to have any temples in Omelasat least, not manned temples. Religion yes, clergy no. Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all. One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be? I thought at first there were not drugs, but that is puritanical. For those who like it, the faint insistent sweetness of drooz may perfume the ways of the city, drooz which first brings a great lightness and brilliance to the mind and limbs, and then after some hours a dreamy languor, and wonderful visions at last of the very arcana and inmost secrets of the Universe, as well as exciting the pleasure of sex beyond belief; and it is not habit-forming. For more modest tastes I think there ought to be beer. What else, what else belongs in the joyous city? The sense of victory, surely, the celebration of courage. But as we did without clergy, let us do without soldiers. The joy built upon successful slaughter is not the right kind of joy; it will not do; it is fearful and it is trivial. A boundless and generous contentment, a magnanimous triumph felt not against some outer enemy but in communion with the finest and fairest in the souls of all men everywhere and the splendor of the worlds summer: this is what swells the hearts of the people of Omelas, and the victory they celebrate is that of life. I really dont think many of them need to take drooz. 欢乐!究竟怎样才叫欢乐?该怎样描述奥米勒斯城的市民的欢乐情形呢?说起来，他们并不是一些头脑简单的人，尽管他们过得很快活。人们不再把快乐一类的字眼挂在嘴边上了，因为快乐的欢笑也已变成了过时的时尚。听到这样的描述，人们可能会作出一些想当然的推断；听到这样的描述，人们也许就会意想到那君临天下的国王，骑在一匹高头大马上，身边簇拥着一群威武的骑士，或是踞坐在一乘由一队健壮如牛的奴隶抬着的金轿上。然而，奥米勒斯城并没有国王。奥米勒斯人不用剑，也不养奴隶。他们并不是化外的野蛮人。我不知道他们的社会有些什么条令和法规，但我猜想他们的条规一定很少。他们的社会既不存在君主制和奴隶制，同样也没有股票交易，没有商业广告，没有秘密警察，没有原子弹。不过，我再次说明，这些人并不是头脑简单的原始人，不是温厚善良的牧羊人，不是出身高贵的野蛮人，也不是温文有礼的乌托邦主义者。他们的头脑并不比我们的简单。我们的社会的弊病在于，由于一些卖弄学问的人和深谙世故的人的推波助澜，我们养成了一种恶习，认为欢乐是一种无聊乏味的东西，只有痛苦才能启迪人的智慧，只有邪恶才能激发人的兴趣。拒绝承认邪恶的平淡无奇和痛苦的枯燥无味性是艺术家的负义失职。倘若你无法战胜这些，不如干脆与之同流合污；倘若你受到打击觉得痛苦，不如重施一次打击，以减轻痛苦。可是，赞美绝望即等于消灭欢乐，拥抱暴力即意味着丧失一切。我们已几乎失去一切，再也不知如何去描述一个快乐的人了，也无法举行什么快乐的活动。我怎样才能对你们讲清奥米勒斯人的快乐情形呢?他们并不是一群天真快乐的孩子尽管他们的孩子也的确是天真快乐的。他们是成熟的、智慧的、充满激情的成年人，而且过着不错的生活。啊，真是奇迹!不过，我真希望把这一切描写得更好!我真希望你们人人都能信服叫我说来，奥米勒斯城就似乎是很久很久以前存在于童话世界的某个遥远地方的一座城市。倘若读者有足够的想象力的话，最好还是自己去想象奥米勒斯城的情形吧。因为让我一个人来描述，肯定是难合所有读者的口味。比如，奥米勒斯城的科技发展状况如何?我认为那儿的街道上不会有汽车奔驰，空中不会有飞机盘旋。其依据是这样的事实：奥米勒斯人民是快乐幸福的人民。快乐幸福的基础是能分辨什么是生活必需之物，什么是既不必需又无危害之物，以及什么是有害之物。奥米勒斯人自然不会要汽车、飞机等有害之物。不过，在第二类物品中那些虽不必需但却无害的物品，即那些给人带来舒适享受的奢侈品中他们却完全可能拥有中央空调、地铁火车、洗衣机以及其他各种各样尚未发明出来的东西，如流动光源、无燃料动力、治疗伤风感冒的秘方等等。也许他们根本没有这些玩意，那也无关紧要。就由你自己去想象吧。有一样东西我确知是奥米勒斯城所没有的，那就是罪恶。除此以外还有些什么呢?我想，首先是他们没有毒品，但那样他们的生活又显得太像苦行僧了。如果人们喜欢的话，城区的街道上也可以闻到一种称作“德鲁斯”的麻醉药品散发出的清淡而沁人心脾的香味。服了这种麻醉品后最初的反应是四肢变得十分轻灵，头脑变得十分灵活；过几个小时以后，便昏昏沉沉地进入一种梦境，并产生各种各样奇妙的幻觉，使人得以窥视宇宙间最玄妙、隐藏最深的奥秘；另外，它还能极大的增强性交的快感。这不是一种会使人上瘾的麻醉毒品。对于那些认为其烈性太强的人，我想应该为他们提供啤酒。除此以外，还有什么，还有什么属于这座快乐的城市所有呢?胜利的荣誉感，当然还有尚武精神。但既然我们已经排除了教士，我们也理应排除武士。建筑在争斗拼杀的成功之上的欢乐不是正当的欢乐。那种欢乐是要不得的，是可怕的，也是不值得的。使奥米勒斯人心中充满欢乐和自豪的是一种巨大无边的满足感，是一种巨大的胜利的喜悦，但这胜利不是指击败外敌的胜利，而是指自己心灵上与一切美好的心灵以及光辉灿烂的自然世界产生共鸣的胜利。他们所庆祝的胜利是人生的胜利。说实话，我觉得没有多少奥米勒斯人有服食“德鲁斯”的必要。Most of the processions have reached the Green Fields by now. A marvelous smell of cooking goes forth from the red and blue tents of the provisionary. The faces of small children are amiably sticky; in the benign grey beard of a man a couple of crumbs of rich pastry are entangled. The youths and girls have mounted their horses and are beginning to group around the starting line of the course. An old women, small, fat, and laughing, is passing out flowers from a basket, and tall young men where her flowers in their shining hair. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd, alone, playing on a wooden flute. People pause to listen, and they smile, but they do not speak to him, for he never ceases playing and never sees them, his dark eyes wholly rapt in the sweet, thin magic of the tune. 大多数游行队伍此时都已到达绿野大草坪。炊事队的红蓝双色帐篷里散发出美妙的食品香味。一些小孩子的天真可爱的脸蛋上都因吃甜食弄得粘糊糊的，还有一位慈眉善目的老人的灰白胡子上也粘着几片奶油蛋糕碎屑。参加赛马的青年男女骑手都已骑马来到起跑线上等候着。一位胖胖的小个子老妪提着一篮子鲜花微笑着向他们发花，高高大大的青年男子都接过她的花插在自己油光发亮的头发上。一个大约九到十岁的小孩独自坐在边上吹奏一支木笛。人们都停下其他的活动，微笑着听他吹奏，但都不同他说话，因为他一直不停地吹，从不抬头望他们一眼，他的一双乌黑的眼睛全神贯注于那美妙而动人的乐曲上。He finishes, and slowly lowers his hands holding the wooden flute.As if that little private silence were the signal, all at once a trumpet sounds from the pavilion near the starting line: imperious, melancholy, piercing. The horses rear on their slender legs, and some of them neigh in answer. Sober-faced, the young riders stroke the horses necks and soothe them, whispering, “Quiet, quiet, there my beauty, my hope.” They begin to form in rank along the starting line. The crowds along the racecourse are like a field of grass and flowers in the wind. The Festival of Summer has begun.Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing. 吹奏完毕，他徐徐地放下握笛子的双手。笛声一停，场上紧接着出现一阵寂静，这似乎成了一个信号，片刻寂静之后，立刻便听到起跑线附近的一个亭子里响起了一阵威严、低沉、尖锐的号声。那些在等候的马一听号声，便人立而起，有的还发出嘶叫声。那些青年骑手们此时一本正经地抚摸着马颈，轻声细语地安慰道：“安静点，安静点，我的美人儿，我的希望”他们开始在起跑线上列队。聚集在赛马跑道沿线的人群东倒西歪，宛如原野上的一片花草迎风起伏着。夏庆节正式开始了。你相信了吗?上面描述的这种节庆，这个城市以及欢乐景象，你都觉得可信了吗?不可信?那么，请让我再讲述一件事情吧。In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, or perhaps in the cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room. It has one locked door, and no window. A little light seeps in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from a cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a couple of mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads stand near a rusty bucket. The floor is dirt, a little damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is. The room is about three paces long and two wide: a mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room a child is sitting. It could be a boy or a girl. It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits hunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there; and the door is locked; and nobody will come. The door is always locked; and nobody ever comes, except that sometimesthe child has no understanding of time or intervalsometimes the door rattles terribly and opens, and a person, or several people, are there. One of them may come in and kick the child to make it stand up. The others never come close, but peer in at it with frightened, disgusted eyes. The food bowl and the water jug are hastily filled, the door is locked, the eyes disappear. The people at the door never say anything, but the child, who has not always lived in the tool room, and can remember sunlight and its mothers voice, sometimes speaks. “I will be good,” it says. “Please let me out. I will be good!” They never answer. The child used to scream for help at night, and cry a good deal, but now it only makes a kind of whining, “eh-haa, eh-haa,” and it speaks less and less often. It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a half-bowl of corn meal and grease a day. It is naked. Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its own excrement continually. 在奥米勒斯城某幢漂亮的公共建筑下面的地下室里，也许是在一所宽敞的私宅的地窖里，有一个房间。这房间有个上了锁的门，但没有窗户。一丝充满尘埃的光线从有隙缝的板墙里透过来。这光线间接来自地窖某处一个结满蛛网的窗户。小房间的一个墙角，靠近一个生锈的水桶立着几把拖把，拖把头发硬，结成一团，散发着臭气。地是泥土地，碰上去有点潮湿，地窖的泥土地都这样。房间大约三步长，两步宽，只是一个放扫帚的小问，或是久已不用的工具问。小间里坐着一个小孩，可能是个男孩也可能是个女孩。他(她)看上去六岁左右，但实际上已近十岁。他(她)是低能儿。也许他(她)生来就是低能，也许是由于恐惧，营养不良和无人照管才变成低能。他(她)弓着背，坐在离水桶和两把拖把最远的一个角落里，抠抠鼻子，偶尔漫不经心的摸摸自己的脚趾或者生殖器。他(她)怕这拖把。他(她)觉得这些拖把很可怕。他(她)闭上眼睛，但他(她)知道拖把还立在那儿，门还是锁着，而且没有人会来。门总是锁着的；从来没有人来过。除了有时候一一这孩子没有时间概念，也不知时间间隔是什么有时候门嘎嘎直响。然后门开了，门口站着一个人或几个人。他们中有一个可能进屋，踢踢这孩子让他(她)站起来。其他的人从来不走近，只是用恐惧、厌恶的眼睛往里瞧，看着他(她)。盛食物的碗和盛水的钵被匆匆填满，然后门给锁上，眼睛消失了。站在门口的人从来不说话，但这小孩并不是生来就住在这工具间的，他(她)还能记得阳光和母亲的声音，有时候张口说话。“我一定不淘气，”他(她)说道。“请放我出去。我一定好好的，不淘气!他们从不回答。孩子过去晚上总是尖声呼救，大声地哭，而且哭很久。但现在只发出一种“哎啊，哎啊”的哀鸣声，话也说得越来越少了他(她)瘦极了，瘦到腿肚子都没有，肚子却鼓着，一天就靠半碗玉米粉和一点动物油维持生命。他(她)赤身裸体，臀部和股部是一大串化脓的疮，因为他(她)老坐在自己的屎尿里They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that