【翻译专栏】失落之角/ 翻译：李峰

失落之角

文/朗达·卢卡斯   译：李峰

父母的婚姻到了头。房子已经卖了，搬出的期限也已到。三十年的家庭生活如今和杂物一起被扔进了车库。纸箱、家具和回忆已然杂乱无章，只有这些四英尺长两英尺宽的墙壁依然故我。在新生活到来前，一切都冻结在这角落里了。

阳光努力地透过窗户，却因一地的纸箱遮挡而散开，像波光粼粼的河流，漫过纸箱空处和冷冷的水门汀地板裂缝。我站在屋子和车库间的夹道里不禁怀疑，这阳光能否照进这打好包的记忆。一时间，这些纸箱好像变成了回忆的坟墓，甚或是纪念碑了。

壁炉在屋子一角，硕大的烟道伸展开来，没入墙里，它已无力温暖这空荡荡的屋子了,但它对此并不知晓，仍在有节奏地呼呼努力，好似对着封在纸箱里的过往哼着哀歌。我关上门坐在台阶上，虔诚地听着。感觉失落的同时，记忆里的很多画面不断变幻，从糟糕到不那么糟糕，再到美好，进而脑海里满是那些温馨的片断了。但我的心还是空落落的，如同这屋子一样。

我右边的工作台上光光的，甚至连个钉子都没落下，让人难受。我还是第一次注意到绿色居然是如此沉闷，毫无生气。现在没有了往常胡乱摆放的各种工具，这工作台看起来就像厨房里的浴缸，摆错了地方。事实上，环顾整个房间，看着真正适得其所的倒是墙脚的蛛网了。

一些纸箱已经摆开在一旁，堆在工作台前。墙壁破损处的涂鸦---“救世军”---犹如霓虹灯在我眼前闪耀，像是在嘲讽。“救世---对于这个家来说实在是有点晚了”，我自嘲地嘟囔着。

一屋子的家具都靠着一面墙堆着。这些家具在当时可是精挑细选，相互配套，色调主题也跟各个房间相统一，而今已经不再讲究，不协调的各种颜色乱哄哄地挤在一起，混入屋子的灰暗里。

我突然感到这车库有点冷，但仍然不想回屋。挤过一堆堆的纸箱，我来到躺椅前，清出块地方躺下，蜷缩着，盖上夹克。我希望父亲能快点开车回来，快点把车库里的东西搬光，好抛下这莫名的别离前的空寂。

（选自《范文：短篇随笔集》/玛丽.露.霍顿.考琳—米夫林 出版公司，1983）

英文原文：

By Rhonda Lucas

My parents’ divorce was final. The househad been sold and the day had come to move. Thirty years of the family’s lifewas now crammed into the garage. The two-by-fours that ran the length of thewalls were the only uniformity among the clutter of boxes, furniture, andmemories. All was frozen in limbo between the life just passed and the one tocome.

The sunlight pushing its way through thewindow splattered against a barricade of boxes. Like a fluorescent river, itstreamed down the sides and flooded the cracks of the cold, cement floor. Istood in the doorway between the house and garage and wondered if the sunlightwould ever again penetrate the memories packed inside those boxes. For aninstant, the cardboard boxes appeared as tombstones, monuments to thosememories.

The furnace in the corner, with its hugetubular fingers reaching out and disappearing into the wall, was unaware of thefutility of trying to warm the empty house. The rhythmical whir of its efforthummed the elegy for the memories boxed in front of me. I closed the door, satdown on the step, and listened reverently. The feeling of loss transformed thebad memories into not-so-bad, the not-so-bad memories into good, and committedthe good ones to my mind. Still, I felt as vacant as the house inside.

A workbench to my right stood disgustinglyempty. Not so much as a nail had been left behind. I noticed, for the firsttime, what a dull, lifeless green it was. Lacking the disarray of tools thatused to cover it, now it seemed as out of place as a bathtub in the kitchen. Infact, as I scanned the room, the only things that did seem to belong were thecobwebs in the corners.

A group of boxes had been set aside fromthe others and stacked in front of the workbench. Scrawled like graffiti on thewalls of dilapidated buildings were the words “Salvation Army.” Those wordscaught my eyes as effectively as a flashing neon sign. They reeked of irony.“Salvation - was a bit too late for this family,” I mumbled sarcastically tomyself.

The houseful of furniture that had oncebeen so carefully chosen to complement and blend with the color schemes of thevarious rooms was indiscriminately crammed together against a single wall. Theuncoordinated colors combined in turmoil and lashed out in the greyness of theroom.

I suddenly became aware of the coldness ofthe garage, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house, so I made my waythrough the boxes to the couch. I cleared a space to lie down and curled up,covering myself with my jacket. I hoped my father would return soon with thetruck so we could empty the garage and leave the cryptic silence of partinglives behind.

（Patterns: A Short ProseReader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin, 1983.）

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译者简介:

李峰，银行职员，闲暇写点文字，偶而见刊发表，既抒发胸臆，亦结缘向学。万象出新胜小说，鼓角灯前喜泪多。伴得我儿同成长，此生放纵不蹉跎。

本期编辑：茶言闲语;

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