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  外语解密学习法 逆读法(Reverse Reading Method)   解读法(Decode-Reading Method)训练范文 ——                 

解密目标语言:英语                                解密辅助语言:汉语
              Language to be decoded:  English            Auxiliary Language :  Chinese  

  
         
解密文本:《西蒙的爸爸》  [法国] 莫泊桑 原著          
 
 Le Papa de Simon
 par  Guy de Maupassant

 

                  Simon's Papa            
                                                                         by  Guy de Maupassant     
                                                                

           法汉对照(French & Chinese)                             法英对照(French & English)                           英汉对照(English & Chinese)


  


      Noon had just struck. The school door opened and the youngsters darted out, jostling each other in their haste to get out quickly. But instead of promptly dispersing and going home to dinner as usual, they stopped a few paces off, broke up into knots, and began whispering.

The fact was that, that morning, Simon, the son of La Blanchotte, had, for the first time, attended school.

They had all of them in their families heard talk of La Blanchotte; and, although in public she was welcome enough, the mothers among themselves treated her with a somewhat disdainful compassion, which the children had imitated without in the least knowing why.

As for Simon himself, they did not know him, for he never went out, and did not run about with them in the streets of the village, or along the banks of the river. And they did not care for him; so it was with a certain delight, mingled with considerable astonishment, that they met and repeated to each other what had been said by a lad of fourteen or fifteen who appeared to know all about it, so sagaciously did he wink. "You know--Simon--well, he has no papa."

Just then La Blanchotte's son appeared in the doorway of the school.

He was seven or eight years old, rather pale, very neat, with a timid and almost awkward manner.

He was starting home to his mother's house when the groups of his schoolmates, whispering and watching him with the mischievous and heartless eyes of children bent upon playing a nasty trick, gradually closed in around him and ended by surrounding him altogether. There he stood in their midst, surprised and embarrassed, not understanding what they were going to do with him. But the lad who had brought the news, puffed up with the success he had met with already, demanded:

"What is your name, you?"

He answered: "Simon."

"Simon what?" retorted the other.

The child, altogether bewildered, repeated: "Simon."

The lad shouted at him: "One is named Simon something--that is not a name--Simon indeed."

The child, on the brink of tears, replied for the third time:

"My name is Simon."

The urchins began to laugh. The triumphant tormentor cried: "You can see plainly that he has no papa."

A deep silence ensued. The children were dumfounded by this extraordinary, impossible, monstrous thing--a boy who had not a papa; they looked upon him as a phenomenon, an unnatural being, and they felt that hitherto inexplicable contempt of their mothers for La Blanchotte growing upon them. As for Simon, he had leaned against a tree to avoid falling, and he remained as if prostrated by an irreparable disaster. He sought to explain, but could think of nothing-to say to refute this horrible charge that he had no papa. At last he shouted at them quite recklessly: "Yes, I have one."

"Where is he?" demanded the boy.

Simon was silent, he did not know. The children roared, tremendously excited; and those country boys, little more than animals, experienced that cruel craving which prompts the fowls of a farmyard to destroy one of their number as soon as it is wounded. Simon suddenly espied a little neighbor, the son of a widow, whom he had seen, as he himself was to be seen, always alone with his mother.

"And no more have you," he said; "no more have you a papa."

"Yes," replied the other, "I have one."

"Where is he?" rejoined Simon.

"He is dead," declared the brat, with superb dignity; "he is in the cemetery, is my papa."

A murmur of approval rose among the little wretches as if this fact of possessing a papa dead in a cemetery had caused their comrade to grow big enough to crush the other one who had no papa at all. And these boys, whose fathers were for the most part bad men, drunkards, thieves, and who beat their wives, jostled each other to press closer and closer, as though they, the legitimate ones, would smother by their pressure one who was illegitimate.

The boy who chanced to be next Simon suddenly put his tongue out at him with a mocking air and shouted at him:

"No papa! No papa!"

Simon seized him by the hair with both hands and set to work to disable his legs with kicks, while he bit his cheek ferociously. A tremendous struggle ensued between the two combatants, and Simon found himself beaten, torn, bruised, rolled on the ground in the midst of the ring of applauding schoolboys. As he arose, mechanically brushing with his hand his little blouse all covered with dust, some one shouted at him:

"Go and tell your papa."

Then he felt a great sinking at his heart. They were stronger than he was, they had beaten him, and he had no answer to give them, for he knew well that it was true that he had no papa. Full of pride, he attempted for some moments to struggle against the tears which were choking him. He had a feeling of suffocation, and then without any sound he commenced to weep, with great shaking sobs. A ferocious joy broke out among his enemies, and, with one accord, just like savages in their fearful festivals, they took each other by the hand and danced round him in a circle, repeating as a refrain:

"No papa! No papa!"

But suddenly Simon ceased sobbing. He became ferocious. There were stones under his feet; he picked them up and with all his strength hurled them at his tormentors. Two or three were struck and rushed off yelling, and so formidable did he appear that the rest became panic-stricken. Cowards, as the mob always is in presence of an exasperated man, they broke up and fled. Left alone, the little fellow without a father set off running toward the fields, for a recollection had been awakened in him which determined his soul to a great resolve. He made up his mind to drown himself in the river.

He remembered, in fact, that eight days before, a poor devil who begged for his livelihood had thrown himself into the water because he had no more money. Simon had been there when they fished him out again; and the wretched man, who usually seemed to him so miserable, and ugly, had then struck him as being so peaceful with his pale cheeks, his long drenched beard, and his open eyes full of calm. The bystanders had said:

"He is dead."

And some one had said:

"He is quite happy now."

And Simon wished to drown himself also, because he had no father, just like the wretched being who had no money.

He reached the water and watched it flowing. Some fish were sporting briskly in the clear stream and occasionally made a little bound and caught the flies flying on the surface. He stopped crying in order to watch them, for their maneuvers interested him greatly. But, at intervals, as in a tempest intervals of calm alternate suddenly with tremendous gusts of wind, which snap off the trees and then lose themselves in the horizon, this thought would return to him with intense pain:

"I am going to drown myself because I have no papa."

It was very warm, fine weather. The pleasant sunshine warmed the grass. The water shone like a mirror. And Simon enjoyed some minutes of happiness, of that languor which follows weeping, and felt inclined to fall asleep there upon the grass in the warm sunshine.

A little green frog leaped from under his feet. He endeavored to catch it. It escaped him. He followed it and lost it three times in succession. At last he caught it by one of its hind legs and began to laugh as he saw the efforts the creature made to escape. It gathered itself up on its hind legs and then with a violent spring suddenly stretched them out as stiff as two bars; while it beat the air with its front legs as though they were hands, its round eyes staring in their circle of yellow. It reminded him of a toy made of straight slips of wood nailed zigzag one on the other; which by a similar movement regulated the movements of the little soldiers fastened thereon. Then he thought of his home, and then of his mother, and, overcome by sorrow, he again began to weep. A shiver passed over him. He knelt down and said his prayers as before going to bed. But he was unable to finish them, for tumultuous, violent sobs shook his whole frame. He no longer thought, he no longer saw anything around him, and was wholly absorbed in crying.

Suddenly a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder, and a rough voice asked him:

"What is it that causes you so much grief, my little man?"

Simon turned round. A tall workman with a beard and black curly hair was staring at him good-naturedly. He answered with his eyes and throat full of tears:

"They beat me--because--I--I have no--papa--no papa."

"What!" said the man, smiling; "why, everybody has one."

The child answered painfully amid his spasms of grief:

"But I--I--I have none."

Then the workman became serious. He had recognized La Blanchotte's son, and, although himself a new arrival in the neighborhood, he had a vague idea of her history.

"Well," said he, "console yourself, my boy, and come with me home to your mother. They will give you--a papa."

And so they started on the way, the big fellow holding the little fellow by the hand, and the man smiled, for he was not sorry to see this Blanchotte, who was, it was said, one of the prettiest girls of the countryside, and, perhaps, he was saying to himself, at the bottom of his heart, that a lass who had erred might very well err again.

They arrived in front of a very neat little white house.

"There it is," exclaimed the child, and he cried, "Mamma!"

A woman appeared, and the workman instantly left off smiling, for he saw at once that there was no fooling to be done with the tall pale girl who stood austerely at her door as though to defend from one man the threshold of that house where she had already been betrayed by another. Intimidated, his cap in his hand, he stammered out:

"See, madame, I have brought you back your little boy who had lost himself near the river."

But Simon flung his arms about his mother's neck and told her, as he again began to cry:

"No, mamma, I wished to drown myself, because the others had beaten me-- had beaten me--because I have no papa."

A burning redness covered the young woman's cheeks; and, hurt to the quick, she embraced her child passionately, while the tears coursed down her face. The man, much moved, stood there, not knowing how to get away.

But Simon suddenly ran to him and said:

"Will you be my papa?"

A deep silence ensued. La Blanchotte, dumb and tortured with shame, leaned herself against the wall, both her hands upon her heart. The child, seeing that no answer was made him, replied:

"If you will not, I shall go back and drown myself."

The workman took the matter as a jest and answered, laughing:

"Why, yes, certainly I will."

"What is your name," went on the child, "so that I may tell the others when they wish to know your name?"

"Philip," answered the man:

Simon was silent a moment so that he might get the name well into his head; then he stretched out his arms, quite consoled, as he said:

"Well, then, Philip, you are my papa."

The workman, lifting him from the ground, kissed him hastily on both cheeks, and then walked away very quickly with great strides. When the child returned to school next day he was received with a spiteful laugh, and at the end of school, when the lads were on the point of recommencing, Simon threw these words at their heads as he would have done a stone: "He is named Philip, my papa."

Yells of delight burst out from all sides.

"Philip who? Philip what? What on earth is Philip? Where did you pick up your Philip?"

Simon answered nothing; and, immovable in his faith, he defied them with his eye, ready to be martyred rather than fly before them. The school master came to his rescue and he returned home to his mother.

During three months, the tall workman, Philip, frequently passed by La Blanchotte's house, and sometimes he made bold to speak to her when he saw her sewing near the window. She answered him civilly, always sedately, never joking with him, nor permitting him to enter her house. Notwithstanding, being, like all men, a bit of a coxcomb, he imagined that she was often rosier than usual when she chatted with him.

But a lost reputation is so difficult to regain and always remains so fragile that, in spite of the shy reserve of La Blanchotte, they already gossiped in the neighborhood.

As for Simon he loved his new papa very much, and walked with him nearly every evening when the day's work was done. He went regularly to school, and mixed with great dignity with his schoolfellows without ever answering them back.

One day, however, the lad who had first attacked him said to him:

"You have lied. You have not a papa named Philip."

"Why do you say that?" demanded Simon, much disturbed.

The youth rubbed his hands. He replied:

"Because if you had one he would be your mamma's husband."

Simon was confused by the truth of this reasoning; nevertheless, he retorted:

"He is my papa, all the same."

"That can very well be," exclaimed the urchin with a sneer, "but that is not being your papa altogether."

La Blanchotte's little one bowed his head and went off dreaming in the direction of the forge belonging to old Loizon, where Philip worked. This forge was as though buried beneath trees. It was very dark there; the red glare of a formidable furnace alone lit up with great flashes five blacksmiths; who hammered upon their anvils with a terrible din. They were standing enveloped in flame, like demons, their eyes fixed on the red-hot iron they were pounding; and their dull ideas rose and fell with their hammers.

Simon entered without being noticed, and went quietly to pluck his friend by the sleeve. The latter turned round. All at once the work came to a standstill, and all the men looked on, very attentive. Then, in the midst of this unaccustomed silence, rose the slender pipe of Simon:

"Say, Philip, the Michaude boy told me just now that you were not altogether my papa."

"Why not?" asked the blacksmith,

The child replied with all innocence:

"Because you are not my mamma's husband."

No one laughed. Philip remained standing, leaning his forehead upon the back of his great hands, which supported the handle of his hammer standing upright upon the anvil. He mused. His four companions watched him, and Simon, a tiny mite among these giants, anxiously waited. Suddenly, one of the smiths, answering to the sentiment of all, said to Philip:

"La Blanchotte is a good, honest girl, and upright and steady in spite of her misfortune, and would make a worthy wife for an honest man."

"That is true," remarked the three others.

The smith continued:

"Is it the girl's fault if she went wrong? She had been promised marriage; and I know more than one who is much respected to-day, and who sinned every bit as much."

"That is true," responded the three men in chorus.

He resumed:

"How hard she has toiled, poor thing, to bring up her child all alone, and how she has wept all these years she has never gone out except to church, God only knows."

"This is also true," said the others.

Then nothing was heard but the bellows which fanned the fire of the furnace. Philip hastily bent himself down to Simon:

"Go and tell your mother that I am coming to speak to her this evening." Then he pushed the child out by the shoulders. He returned to his work, and with a single blow the five hammers again fell upon their anvils. Thus they wrought the iron until nightfall, strong, powerful, happy, like contented hammers. But just as the great bell of a cathedral resounds upon feast days above the jingling of the other bells, so Philip's hammer, sounding above the rest, clanged second after second with a deafening uproar. And he stood amid the flying sparks plying his trade vigorously.

The sky was full of stars as he knocked at La Blanchotte's door. He had on his Sunday blouse, a clean shirt, and his beard was trimmed. The young woman showed herself upon the threshold, and said in a grieved tone:

"It is ill to come thus when night has fallen, Mr. Philip."

He wished to answer, but stammered and stood confused before her.

She resumed:

"You understand, do you not, that it will not do for me to be talked about again."

"What does that matter to me, if you will be my wife!"

No voice replied to him, but he believed that he heard in the shadow of the room the sound of a falling body. He entered quickly; and Simon, who had gone to bed, distinguished the sound of a kiss and some words that his mother murmured softly. Then, all at once, he found himself lifted up by the hands of his friend, who, holding him at the length of his herculean arms, exclaimed:

"You will tell them, your schoolmates, that your papa is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and that he will pull the ears of all who do you any harm."

On the morrow, when the school was full and lessons were about to begin, little Simon stood up, quite pale with trembling lips:

"My papa," said he in a clear voice, "is Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and he has promised to pull the ears of all who does me any harm."

This time no one laughed, for he was very well known, was Philip Remy, the blacksmith, and was a papa of whom any one in the world would have been proud.

 


     十二点的钟声刚刚敲过,学校的大门就开了,孩子们争先恐后,你推我挤地涌出来。可是,他们不像平日那样很快散开,回家去吃中饭,却在离校门几步远的地方站住,三五成群地低声谈论。

原来是这天早上,布朗肖大姐的儿子西蒙第一次到学校里来上课了。

他们在家里都听人谈论过布朗肖大姐。虽然在公开的场合大家表示很欢迎她,可是那些做母亲的在私下里却对她抱着一种同情里带点轻蔑的态度;这种态度也影响了孩子,不过他们并不明白究竟为的什么。

西蒙呢,他们不认识他,因为他从来不出来,没有跟他们在村里的街道上或者河边上玩过。因此,他们谈不上喜欢他;他们怀着愉快里掺杂着相当惊奇的心情,听完了又互相转告一个十四五岁的大孩子说的这句话:

“你们知道吧……西蒙……嘿嘿,他没有爸爸。”

瞧他眨着眼睛的那副狡猾神气,仿佛他知道的事情还不止这一点呢。

布朗肖大姐的儿子也在校门口出现了。

他七八岁,面色有点苍白,身上挺干净,态度羞怯得几乎显得不自然。

他正准备回家去,这当儿,一群群还在交头接耳的同学,用孩子们想干坏事时才有的那种狡猾残忍的眼光望着他,慢慢地跟上来,把他围住。他惊奇而又不安地站在他们中间,不明白他们要干什么。那个报告消息的大孩子一看自己的话已经发生作用,就神气十足地问他:

“你叫什么?”

他回答:“西蒙。”

“西蒙什么呀?”对方又问。

这孩子慌慌张张地又说了一遍:“西蒙。”

大孩子冲着他嚷嚷起来:“西蒙后面还得有点什么这不是一个姓。”

他差点哭出来,第三次回答:

“我就叫西蒙。”

淘气的孩子们都笑了。那个大孩子越发得意,提高了嗓门说:“你们都看见了吧,他没有爸爸。”

一阵寂静。一个小孩居然没有爸爸,这真是一件稀奇古怪、不可能有的事,孩子们听得一个个都呆住了。他们把他看成一个怪物,一个违反自然的人;他们感到,他们母亲对布朗肖大姐的那种一直无法解释的轻蔑,在他们心里增加了。

西蒙呢,他赶紧靠在一棵树上,才算没有跌倒;仿佛有一桩无法弥补的灾难一下子落在他的头上。他想替自己辩解,可是他想不出话来回答、来驳倒他没有爸爸这个可怕的事实。他脸色惨白,最后不顾一切地朝他们嚷道:“我有,我也有一个爸爸。”

“他在哪儿?”大孩子问。

西蒙答不上来,因为他不知道。孩子们很兴奋,嘻嘻哈哈笑着。这伙跟禽兽差不了多少的乡下孩子,突然间有了一种残忍的欲望;也就是在这种欲望的驱使下,同一个鸡窝里的母鸡,发现它们中间有一只受了伤的时候,就立刻扑过去结果它的性命。西蒙忽然发现一个守寡的邻居的孩子。西蒙一直看见他像自己一样,孤零零跟着母亲过日子。

“你也没有爸爸,”西蒙说。

“你胡说,”对方回答,“我有。”

“他在哪儿?”西蒙追问了一句。

“他死了,”那个孩子骄傲万分地说,“我爸爸,他躺在坟地里。”

在这伙小淘气鬼中间升起一片嗡嗡的赞赏声,倒好像爸爸躺在坟地里的这个事实抬高了他们的一个同学,贬低了那没有爸爸的另——个似的。这些小家伙的父亲大多数是坏蛋、酒徒、小偷,并且是虐待妻子的人。他们你推我搡,越挤越紧,仿佛他们这些合法的儿子想把这个不合法的儿子一下子挤死。

有一个站在西蒙对面的孩子,突然嘲弄地朝他伸了伸舌头,大声说:

“没有爸爸,没有爸爸。”

西蒙双手揪住他的头发,狠狠地咬他的脸,还不停地踢他的腿。一场恶斗开始了。等到两个打架的被拉开,西蒙已经挨了打,衣服撕破,身上一块青一块紫,倒在地上,那些小无赖围着他拍手喝彩。他站起来随手掸了掸小罩衫上的尘土,这当儿有人向他喊道:

“去告诉你爸爸好了。”

这一下他觉着什么都完了。他们比他强大,他们把他打了,而且他没法回答他们,因为他知道自己真的没有爸爸。他自尊心很强,想忍住往上涌的眼泪,可是才忍了几秒钟,就憋得透不过气来,不由得悄悄地抽噎,浑身抖个不停。

敌人中间爆发出一片残忍的笑声。像在狂欢中的野人一样,他们很自然地牵起手来,围着他一边跳,一边像唱叠句似的一遍又一遍地叫:“没有爸爸,没有爸爸!”

可是西蒙忽然不哭了。他气得发了狂,正好脚底下有几块石头,他拾起来,使劲朝折磨他的那些人扔过去。有两三个挨到了石头,哇哇叫着逃走。他那副神情非常怕人,其余的孩子也慌了。像人群在情急拚命的人面前,总要变成胆小鬼一样,他们吓得四散奔逃。

现在只剩下这个没有爸爸的小家伙一个人了,他撒开腿朝田野里奔去,因为他回想起一件事,于是下了一个很大的决心。他想投河自杀。

他想起的是一个星期以前,有一个靠讨饭过日子的穷鬼,因为没有钱,投了河。捞起来的时候,西蒙在旁边;这个不幸的人,西蒙平时总觉得他怪可怜的,又脏又丑,可是当时脸色苍白,长胡子湿淋淋的,眼睛安详地睁着,那副宁静的神情却给他留下深刻的印象。周围有人说:“他死了。”又有人补了一句:“现在他可幸福啦。”西蒙也想投河,因为正像那个可怜虫没有钱一样,他没有爸爸。

他来到河边,望着流水。几条鱼儿在清澈的河水里追逐嬉戏,偶尔轻轻地一跃,叼住从水面上飞过的小虫。他看着看着,连哭也忘厂,因为鱼儿捕食的手段引起他很大的兴趣。然而,正如风暴暂时平静了,还会突然有阵阵的狂风把树木刮得哗哗乱响,然后又消失在天边一样,“我要投河,因为我没有爸爸,”这个念头还不时地挟着强烈的痛苦涌回他的心头。

天气很热,也很舒适。和煦的阳光晒着青草。河水像镜子似的发亮。西蒙感到几分钟的幸福和淌过眼泪以后的那种困倦,恨不得躺在暖烘烘的草地上睡一会儿。

一只绿色的小青蛙从他脚底下跳出来。他想捉住它,可是它逃走了。他追它,一连捉了三次都没有捉到。最后他总算抓住了它的两条后腿;看见这个小动物挣扎着想逃走的神气,他笑了出来。它缩拢大腿,使劲一蹬,两腿猛地挺直,硬得像两根棍子;围着一圈金线的眼睛瞪得滚圆;前腿像两只手一样地舞动。这叫他想起了一种用狭长的小木片交叉钉成的玩具,就是用相同的动作来操纵钉在上面的小兵的操练。随后,他想到了家,想到了母亲,非常难过,不由得又哭起来。他浑身打颤,跪下来,像临睡前那样做祷告。但是他没法做完,因为他抽抽搭搭哭得那么急,那么厉害,完全不能左右自己了。他什么也不想,什么也不看,只是一个劲儿地哭。

突然一只沉重的手按在他肩上,一个粗壮的声音问他:“什么事叫你这么伤心呀,小家伙?”

西蒙回过头去。一个长着鬈曲的黑胡子和黑头发的高个儿工人和蔼地看着他。他眼睛里、嗓子里满是泪水,回答:

“他们打我……因为……我……我……没有爸爸……没有爸爸。”

“怎么,”那人微笑着说,“可是人人都有爸爸呀。”

孩子在一阵阵的悲伤中,困难地回答:“我……我……我没有。”

工人的脸色变得严肃起来;他认出于这是布朗肖大姐的孩子;虽然他到当地不久,可是他已经隐隐约约地知道一些她过去的情况。

“好啦,”他说,“别难过了,我的孩子,跟我一块去找妈妈吧。你会有……会有一个爸爸的。”

他们走了,大人搀着小孩的手。那人的脸上又露出了笑容,因为去见见这个布朗肖大姐,他是不会感到不高兴的,据说,她是当地最美丽的姑娘中间的—一个;也许他心里还在这么想:一个失足过的姑娘很可能再一次失足。

他们来到一所挺干净的白色小房子前面。

“到啦,”孩子说完,又叫了一声:“妈妈!”

一个女人走了出来。工人立刻收住笑容,因为他一看就明白,跟这个脸色苍白的高个儿姑娘,是再也不可以开玩笑的了。她严肃地立在门口,仿佛不准男人再跨过门槛,走进这所她已经在里面上过一个男人当的房子。他神色慌张,捏着鸭舌帽,结结巴巴地说:

“瞧,太太,我给您把孩子送来了,他在河边上迷了路。”

可是西蒙搂住母亲的脖子,说着说着又哭起来了:


“不,妈妈,我想投河,因为别人打我……打我……因为我没有爸爸。”

年轻女人双颊烧得通红,心里好像刀绞;她紧紧抱住孩子,眼泪扑簌簌往下淌。工人站在那儿,很感动,不知道应该怎样走开。可是,西蒙突然跑过来,对他说:

“您愿意做我的爸爸吗?”

一阵寂静。布朗肖大姐倚着墙,双手按住胸口,默默地忍受着羞耻的折磨。孩子看见那人不回答,又说:

“您要是不愿意,我就再去投河。”

那工人把这件事当做玩笑,微笑着回答:

“当然喽,我很愿意。”

“您叫什么?”孩子接着问,“别人再问起您的名字,我就可以告诉他们了。”

“菲列普,”那人回答。

西蒙沉默了一会儿,把这个名字牢牢记在心里,然后伸出双臂,无限快慰地说:

“好!菲列普,您是我的爸爸啦。”

工人把他抱起来,突然在他双颊上吻了两下,很快地跨着大步溜走了。

第二天,这孩子到了学校,迎接他的是一片恶毒的笑声;放学以后,那个大孩子又想重新开始,可是他像扔石子似的,冲着他的脸把话扔了过去:“我爸爸叫菲列普。”

周围响起了一片高兴的喊叫声:

“菲列普谁?……菲列普什么?……菲列普是个啥?……你这个菲列普是打哪儿弄来的?”

西蒙没有回答;他怀着不可动摇的信心,用挑衅的眼光望着他们,宁愿被折磨死,也不愿在他们面前逃走。校长出来替他解了围,他才回到母亲那儿去。

一连三个月,高个儿工人菲列普常常在布朗肖大姐家附近走过,有几次看见她在窗口缝衣裳,他鼓足勇气走过去找她谈话。她客客气气地回答,不过始终很严肃,从来没对他笑过,也不让他跨进她的家门口。然而,男人都有点自命不凡,他总觉得她在跟他谈话的时候,常常脸比平时红。

可是,名誉一旦败坏了,往往很难恢复,即使恢复了也是那么脆弱,所以布朗肖大姐虽然处处小心谨慎,然而当地已经有人在说闲话了。

西蒙呢,非常爱他的新爸爸,几乎每天晚上都要在他一天工作结束以后,和他一同散步。他天天按时到学校去,态度庄严地在同学中间走过,始终不去理睬他们。

谁知有一天,带头攻击他的那个大孩子对他说:

“你撒谎,你没有一个叫菲列普的爸爸。”

“为什么没有?”西蒙激动地问。

大孩子得意地搓着手,说:

“因为你要是有的话,他就应该是你妈的丈夫。”

在这个正当的理由面前,西蒙窘住了,不过他还是回答:“他反正是我的爸爸。”

“这也可能,”大孩子冷笑着说,“不过,他不完全是你的爸爸。”

布朗肖大姐的儿子垂下头,心事重重地朝卢瓦宗老大爷开的铁匠铺走去。菲列普就在那里干活儿。

铁匠铺隐没在树丛里。铺子里很暗,只有一只大炉子的红火,一闪一闪,照着五个赤着胳膊的铁匠,叮当叮当地在铁砧上打铁。他们好像站在火里的魔鬼似的,两只眼睛紧盯着捶打的红铁块。他们的迟钝的思想也在随着铁锤一起一落。

西蒙走进去的时候,谁也没有注意;他悄悄走过去拉了拉他的朋友的袖子。他的朋友回过头来。活儿顿时停下来,所有的人都很注意地瞧着。接着,在这一阵不常有的静寂中,响起了西蒙尖细的嗓音:

“喂,菲列普,刚才米肖大婶的儿子对我说您不完全是我的爸爸。”

“为什么?”工人问。

孩子天真地回答:“因为您不是我妈的丈夫。”

谁也没有笑。菲列普一动不动地站着,两只大手扶着直立在铁砧上的锤柄,额头靠在手背上。他在沉思。他的四个伙伴望着他。西蒙在这些巨人中间,显得非常小;他心焦地等着。突然有一个铁匠对菲列普说出了大家的心意:

“不管怎么说,布朗肖大姐是个善良规矩的好姑娘,虽然遭到过不幸,可是她勤劳、稳重。一个正直人娶了她,准是个挺不错的媳妇。”

“这倒是实在话,”另外三个人说。

那个工人继续说:

“如果说这位姑娘失足过,难道这是她的过错吗?别人原答应娶她的;我就知道有好些如今非常受人敬重的女人,从前也有过跟她一样的遭遇。”

“这倒是实在话,”三个人齐声回答。

他又接着说下去:“这个可怜的女人一个人把孩子拉扯大,吃了多少苦,她自从除了上教堂,再也不出大门以后,又流了多少眼泪,那只有天主知道了。”

“这也是实在话,”其余的人说。

下来,除了风箱呼哧呼哧扇动炉火的声音以外,什么也听不到了。菲列普突然弯下腰,对西蒙说:

“去跟你妈说,今儿晚上我要去找她谈谈。”

他推着孩子肩膀把他送出去。

接着他又回来干活儿;猛然间,五把铁锤同时落在铁砧上。他们就这样打铁一直打到天黑,一个个都像劲头十足的铁锤一样结实、有力、欢畅。但是,正如主教大堂的巨钟在节日里敲得比别的教堂的钟更响一样,菲列普的铁锤声也盖住了其余人的锤声,他一秒钟也不停地捶下去,把人的耳朵都给震聋了。他站在四溅的火星中,眼睛里闪着光芒,热情地打着铁。

他来到布朗肖大姐家敲门的时候,已经是满天星斗了。他穿着节日穿的罩衫和干净的衬衣,胡子修剪得很整齐。年轻女人来到门口,很为难地说:“菲列普先生,像这样天黑以后到这儿来,不大合适。”

他想回答,可是他望着她,结结巴巴地不知说什么好了。

她又说:“不过,您一定了解,不应该让人家再谈论我了。”

这时,他突然说:

“只要您愿意做我的妻子,那又有什么关系呢!”

没有回答,不过他相信他听到阴暗的房间里有人倒下去。他连忙走进去;已经睡在床上的西蒙听到了接吻声和他母亲低声说出来的几句话。接着,他突然被他的朋友抱起来。他的朋友用一双巨人般的胳膊举着他,大声对他说:

“你可以告诉你的同学们,你的爸爸是铁匠菲列普雷米,谁要是再欺侮你,他就要拧谁的耳朵。”

第二天,学生们都来到了学校,快要上课的时候,小西蒙站起来,脸色苍白,嘴皮打着颤,用响亮的声音说:“我的爸爸是铁匠菲列普雷米,他说谁要是再欺侮我,他就要拧谁的耳朵。”

这一次再没有人笑了。因为大家都认识这个铁匠菲列普雷米,有他这样的一个人做爸爸,不管是谁都会感到骄傲的。

          法语(French Only)                                                 英语(English Only)                                               汉语(Chinese Only)


 

 

          分类:              国芳多语对照文库 >> 法语-英语-汉语 >> 莫泊桑 >> 短篇小说      
    Categories:  Xie's Multilingual Corpus >> French-English-Chinese >> Maupassant  >>  Short Novel               
                                        
    

 

 



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