第56章 老人与海 (1)

　　The Old Man and the Sea

　　《老人与海》的故事发生在二十世纪中叶的古巴。

　　一位圣地亚哥风烛残年的渔夫一连84 天都没有钓到一

　　条鱼，几乎都快饿死了；但他仍然不肯认输，终于在

　　第85 天钓到一条身长18 尺，体重1，500 磅的大马林鱼。

　　大鱼拖着船往海里走，但老人依然死拉着不放。经过

　　两天两夜的努力后，他终于杀死大鱼，把它拴在船边。

　　但许多小鲨立刻前来抢夺他的战利品；他一一地杀死

　　它们，但大鱼仍难逃被吃光的命运，最终，老人精疲

　　力竭地拖回一副鱼骨头。他只好在梦中去寻回那往日

　　美好的岁月，以忘却残酷的现实。

　　[ 美] 欧内斯特·米勒尔·海明威（ Ernest Miller Hemingway）

　　He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf

　　Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a

　　fish. In the first forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty

　　days without a fish the boy’s parents had told him that the old

　　man was now definitely and finally salao，which is the worst form

　　of unlucky，and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat

　　which caught three good fish the first week. It made the boy sad

　　to see the old man come in each day with his skiff empty and he

　　always went down to help him carry either the coiled lines or the

　　gaff and harpoon and the sail that was furled around the mast.

　　The sail was patched with flour sacks and，furled，it looked like

　　the flag of permanent defeat.

　　The old man was thin and gaunt with deep wrinkles in the

　　back of his neck. The brown blotches of the benevolent skin

　　cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on

　　his cheeks. The blotches ran well down the sides of his face and

　　his hands had the deep-creased scars from handling heavy fish

　　on the cords. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as

　　old as erosions in a fishless desert.

　　Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were

　　the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

　　“Santiago，”the boy said to him as they climbed the bank

　　from where the skiff was hauled up.“ I could go with you again.

　　We’ve made some money.”

　　The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him.

　　“No，”the old man said.“You’re with a lucky boat. Stay

　　with them.”

　　“But remember how you went eighty-seven days without

　　fish and then we caught big ones every day for three weeks.”

　　“I remember，”the old man said.“ I know you did not leave

　　me because you doubted.”

　　“It was papa made me leave. I am a boy and I must obey

　　him.”

　　“I know，”the old man said.“ It is quite normal.”

　　“He hasn’t much faith.”

　　“No，”the old man said.“ But we have. Haven’t we ？”

　　“Yes，”the boy said.“ Can I offer you a beer on the Terrace

　　and then we’ll take the stuff home.”

　　“Why not ？”the old man said.“ Between fishermen.”

　　They sat on the Terrace and many of the fishermen made

　　fun of the old man and he was not angry. Others，of the older

　　fishermen，looked at him and were sad. But they did not show

　　it and they spoke politely about the current and the depths they

　　had drifted their lines at and the steady good weather and of what

　　they had seen. The successful fishermen of that day were already

　　in and had butchered their marlin out and carried them laid full

　　length across two planks，with two men staggering at the end of

　　each plank，to the fish house where they waited for the ice truck

　　to carry them to the market in Havana. Those who had caught

　　sharks had taken them to the shark factory on the other side of

　　the cove where they were hoisted on a block and tackle，their

　　livers removed，their fins cut off and their hides skinned out and

　　their flesh cut into strips for salting.

　　When the wind was in the east a smell came across the

　　harbour from the shark factory ；but today there was only the

　　faint edge of the odour because the wind had backed into the

　　north and then dropped off and it was pleasant and sunny on the

　　Terrace.

　　“Santiago，”the boy said.