冰心經典短篇《小桔燈》中英文對照
All this happened more than a decade ago.
On the afternoon before Chinese New Year's Day I went to visit a friend in the suburbs of Chongqing. She lived on the top floor of the village office building. A flight of dark, narrow stairs led to a room where a table and several bamboo stools stood and a telephone hung on the wall. Beyond this room, separated by a mere cloth curtain, was the room where my friend lived. She had gone out, leaving a note on the desk by the window saying that she had been called away unexpectedly and wanted me to wait for her to come back.
I sat down at her desk, picked up a newspaper and started reading. Suddenly I heard the wooden door of the outside room open with a squeak. Shortly after, I heard someone moving a bamboo stool. I lifted the curtain and looked, only to find a small girl of about eight or nine. She had a pale thin face, and her lips were frozen purple because of the cold. Her hair was cut short and she was dressed in worn-out clothes. She wore no socks, only a pair of straw sandals. She was climbing onto the bamboo stool, trying to get hold of the receiver; but she quickly withdrew her hand as if startled at the sight of me. I asked her, Do you want to make a phone call? Yes, she nodded as she climbed off the stool, I want to call the hospital. I want Dr Hu. Mum has just spat up a lot of blood! Do you know the phone number? I asked. She shook her head and said, I was just going to ask the Telephone Service for it .... I immediately looked in the directory beside the telephone and soon found the number. Then I asked her again; If I get the doctor where should I tell him to go? Just tell her Wang Chunlin's wife is ill, and she will come, she replied.
I made the phone call and got through to the doctor. The girl gratefully thanked me and turned to leave straight away. I stopped her and asked, Is your home far from here? Just down in the valley, under the big yellow fruit tree, she told me, pointing outside the window. It takes only a couple of minutes to get there. With these words, she clattered downstairs.
Returning to my friend's room I read the newspaper from cover to cover, then picked up the Three Hundred Tang Poems and went through half of it. It was getting more and more overcast outside, yet there was no sign of my friend. Bored, I stood up, looked out the window, and watched the hazy mountain scenery in the thick fog. I spotted the small hut under the yellow fruit tree, and suddenly got the idea that I should visit the little girl and her sick mother. I went downstairs, bought a few big oranges from the hawker at the door, put them into my handbag, and walked along the uneven slabstone path down to the hut.
I knocked softly on the wooden door. The young girl I had met just now answered. Seeing me, she was a little taken aback at first, but soon began to smile and beckoned me in. On the plank bed against the wall her mother was lying on her back, her eyes closed. She must have gone to sleep. There were blood stains spattered on the bedclothes round her neck. Her face was turned to the wall, and I could only see tangled wisps of hair across her face and the coil at the back of her head. There was a small charcoal stove by the door, and on it a small, simmering casserole. The girl bade me sit down on the foot-stool in front of the stove, she herself squatting beside me, sizing me up. Has the doctor been? Yes, she gave Mum an injection .... She's quite OK now. Then she added, as if to console me, Don't worry. The doctor will come again in the morning . Has your mum eaten anything? What's in here? I asked, pointing to the casserole. She smiled, and replied, It's yam porridge, our New Year's Eve dinner . I suddenly remembered the oranges I had brought with me. I took them out and put them on the bedside table. The girl said nothing, just quietly reached her hand out for the biggest one. She cut the peel off the top with a knife, and deftly peeled the rest of the orange with her fingers.
Who else lives here with you? I asked her in a low voice. No one else right now. My dad went somewhere,... she did not finish. She slowly took out the orange segments and laid them beside her mother's pillow.
The tiny fire in the stove gradually died down, and it was getting dark outside. I stood up to go. The little girl held me back, quickly and deftly took out a big needle with a linen thread and worked at the bowl-shaped orange peel. She linked the opposite corners in such a way as to make a small basket, which she hung on a thin bamboo stick. She then took the stub of a candle from the windowsill, placed it in the orange peel basket, and lit it. When she had done all this, she handed the lamp to me, saying, It's dark now, and the road is slippery. Let this little orange lamp light the way for you up the mountain.
I accepted the lamp with admiration, and thanked her. She came out to see me off. I did not know what to say. Again, as if to console me, she spoke. Dad will soon come back. Then Mum will be well. She drew a circle in the air with her small hand, and then pressed it on mine, and said, Then, we will all be well. Obviously, her all included me.
Holding this ingeniously-made little lamp, I walked slowly up the dark, wet mountain path. In truth, the dim orange light could not reach very far. However, the little girl's calmness and courage, and her optimism, made me feel as though the way in front of me was boundlessly illuminated.
My friend had come back. Seeing me with the little orange lamp, she asked me where I had been. I told her, I've been to ... to Wang Chunlin's. She was astonished. Wang Chunlin, the carpenter? How did you come to know him? Some students from the medical college down at the foot of the mountain were arrested last year. Later, Wang Chunlin disappeared. It was said that he had often carried messages for those students ...
I left the mountain village that night, and have not heard of the little girl and her mother since.
But I recall the little orange lamp every Chinese New Year. Twelve years have passed. Her father must have come back long ago, and her mother got well. For we are all well now.這是十幾年以前的事了。
在一個春節前一天的下午，我到重慶郊外去看一位朋友。她住在那個鄉村的鄉公所樓上。走上一段陰暗的反反的樓梯，進到一間有一張方桌和幾張竹凳、牆上裝着一架電話的屋子，再進去就是我的朋友的房間，和外間只隔一幅布簾。她不在家，窗前桌上留着一張條子，說是她臨時有事出去，叫我等着她。
我在她桌前坐下，隨手拿起一張報紙來看，忽然聽見外屋板門吱地一聲開了。過了一會，又聽見有人在挪動那竹凳子。我掀開簾子，看見一個小姑娘，只有八九歲光景，瘦瘦的蒼白的臉，凍得發紫的嘴脣，頭髮很短，穿一身很破舊的衣褲，光腳穿一雙草鞋，正在登上竹凳想去摘牆上的聽話器，看見我似乎吃了一驚，把手縮了回來。我問她：“你要打電話嗎？”她一面爬下竹凳，一面點頭說：“我要×× 醫院，找胡大夫，我媽媽剛纔吐了許多血！”我問：“你知道××醫院的電話號碼嗎？”她搖了搖頭說：“我正想問電話局……”我趕緊從機旁的電話本子裏找到醫院的號碼，就又問她：“找到了大夫，我請他到誰家去呢？”她說：“你只要說王春林家裏病了，她就會來的。”
我把電話打通了，她感激地謝了我，回頭就走。我拉住她問：“你的家遠嗎？” 她指着窗外說：“就在山窩那棵大黃果樹下面，一下子就走到的。”說着就登、登、登地下樓去了。
我又回到屋裏去，把報紙前前後後都看完了，又拿起一本《唐詩三百首》來，看了一半，天色越發陰暗了，我的朋友還不回來。我無聊地站了起來，望着窗外濃霧裏迷茫的山景，看到那棵黃果樹下面的小屋，忽然想去探望那個小姑娘和她生病的媽媽。我下樓在門口買了幾個大紅的桔子，塞在手提袋裏，順着歪斜不平的石板路，走到那小屋的門口。
我輕輕地扣着板門，發出清脆的"咚咚"聲,剛纔那個小姑娘出來開了門，擡頭看了我，先愣了一下，後來就微笑了，招手叫我進去。這屋子很小很黑，靠牆的板鋪上，她的媽媽閉着眼平躺着，大約是睡着了，被頭上有斑斑的血痕，她的臉向裏側着，只看見她臉上的亂髮，和腦後的一個大髻。門邊一個小炭爐，上面放着一個小沙鍋，微微地冒着熱氣。這小姑娘把爐前的小凳子讓我坐了，她自己就蹲在我旁邊，不住地打量我。我輕輕地問：“大夫來過了嗎？”她說：“來過了，給媽媽打了一針……她現在很好。”
她又像安慰我似地說：“你放心，大夫明早還要來的。”我問：“她吃過東西嗎？這鍋裏是什麼？”她笑說：“紅薯稀飯我們的年夜飯。”我想起了我帶來的桔子，就拿出來放在牀邊的小矮桌上。她沒有作聲，只伸手拿過一個最大的桔子來，用小刀削去上面的一段皮，又用兩隻手把底下的一大半輕輕地揉捏着。
我低聲問：“你家還有什麼人？”她說：“現在沒有什麼人，我爸爸到外面去了……”她沒有說下去，只慢慢地從桔皮裏掏出一瓤一瓤的桔瓣來，放在她媽媽的枕頭邊。
小桔燈 爐火的微光，漸漸地暗了下去，外面更黑了。我站起來要走，她拉住我，一面極其敏捷地拿過穿着麻線的大針，把那小桔碗四周相對地穿起來，像一個小筐似的，用一根小竹棍挑着，又從窗臺上拿了一段短短的洋蠟頭，放在裏面點起來，遞給我說：“天黑了，路滑，這盞小桔燈照你上山吧！”
我讚賞地接過，謝了她，她送我出到門外，我不知道說什麼好，她又像安慰我似地說：“不久，我爸爸一定會回來的。那時我媽媽就會好了,一定!”她用小手在面前畫一個圓圈，最後按到我的手上：“我們大家也都好了！”顯然地，這“大家”也包括我在內。淚水在我眼中打轉……
我提着這靈巧的小桔燈，慢慢地在黑暗潮溼的山路上走着。這朦朧的桔紅的光，實在照不了多遠，但這小姑娘的鎮定、勇敢、樂觀的精神鼓舞了我，我似乎覺得眼前有無限光明！
我的朋友已經回來了，看見我提着小桔燈，便問我從哪裏來。我說：“從…… 從王春林家來。”她驚異地說：“王春林，那個木匠，你怎麼認得他？去年山下醫學院裏，有幾個學生，被當做共產黨抓走了，以後王春林也失蹤了，據說他常替那些學生送信……”
當夜，我就離開那山村，再也沒有聽見那小姑娘和她母親的消息。
但是從那時起，每逢春節，我就想起那盞小桔燈。十二年過去了，那小姑娘的爸爸一定早回來了。她媽媽也一定好了吧？因爲我們“大家”都“好”了！
