The Return of a Private
“On the road leading ‘back to God’s country’ and wife and babies.”
“在那条通往‘上帝的国度’、通往妻儿的路上。”
一
The nearer the train drew toward La Crosse, the soberer the little group of “vets” became. On the long way from New Orleans they had beguiled tedium with jokes and friendly chaff; or with planning with elaborate detail what they were going to do now, after the war. A long journey, slowly, irregularly, yet persistently pushing northward. When they entered on Wisconsin territory they gave a cheer, and another when they reached Madison, but after that they sank into a dumb expectancy. Comrades dropped off at one or two points beyond, until there were only four or five left who were bound for La Crosse County.
火车越是靠近拉克罗斯，那一小群“老兵”就越是沉默。从新奥尔良一路上来，他们靠说笑打趣、靠事无巨细地盘算战后的营生来打发无聊。漫长的旅程，缓慢，断续，却固执地一路向北。进入威斯康星地界时他们欢呼了一声，到麦迪逊又欢呼一声，之后便陷入一种哑然的期待。同伴们在往北一两站陆续下车，最后只剩四五个还要去拉克罗斯县的。
Three of them were gaunt and brown, the fourth was gaunt and pale, with signs of fever and ague upon him. One had a great scar down his temple, one limped, and they all had unnaturally large, bright eyes, showing emaciation. There were no bands greeting them at the stations, no banks of gayly dressed ladies waving handkerchiefs and shouting “Bravo!” as they came in on the caboose of a freight train into the towns that had cheered and blared at them on their way to war. As they looked out or stepped upon the platform for a moment, while the train stood at the station, the loafers looked at them indifferently. Their blue coats, dusty and grimy, were too familiar now to excite notice, much less a friendly word. They were the last of the army to return, and the loafers were surfeited with such sights.
他们当中三个又瘦又黑，第四个又瘦又白，身上带着寒热病的征候。一个人太阳穴上有一道长疤，一个人瘸着腿，几个人都有一双不自然的、大而发亮的眼睛，透着营养不良。车站上没有乐队迎接他们，没有一排排盛装的女士挥着手帕高喊“好样的！”——当年他们奔赴战场时，这些城镇曾为他们欢呼、鼓乐喧天，如今他们却坐在一列货车的守车里回来。火车停靠时，他们探头张望，或在月台上站一会儿，闲人只是漠然地看着他们。他们那身蓝军装，满是尘土和污垢，如今太常见了，激不起注意，更别说一句友好的话。他们是最后一批归来的军人，闲人们早已看腻了这种场面。
The train jogged forward so slowly that it seemed likely to be midnight before they should reach La Crosse. The little squad grumbled and swore, but it was no use; the train would not hurry, and, as a matter of fact, it was nearly two o’clock when the engine whistled “down brakes.”
火车走得那么慢，看样子不到半夜到不了拉克罗斯。这一小队人抱怨、咒骂，可没用；火车不肯快，事实上等汽笛拉响“刹车”时，已近凌晨两点。
All of the group were farmers, living in districts several miles out of the town, and all were poor.
这几个人全是农民，住在城外好几英里的乡下，个个都穷。
“Now, boys,” said Private Smith, he of the fever and ague, “we are landed in La Crosse in the night. We’ve got to stay somewhere till mornin’. Now I ain’t got no two dollars to waste on a hotel. I’ve got a wife and children, so I’m goin’ to roost on a bench and take the cost of a bed out of my hide.”
“弟兄们，”患寒热病的那个史密斯二等兵说，“咱们半夜到拉克罗斯。总得找个地方挨到天亮。我可没有两块钱糟蹋在旅馆上。我有老婆孩子，所以我打算在长凳上蹲一宿，把那床钱从自个儿身上省出来。”
“Same here,” put in one of the other men. “Hide’ll grow on again, dollars’ll come hard. It’s goin’ to be mighty hot skirmishin’ to find a dollar these days.”
“我也一样，”另一个人接口道。“皮肉还能长回来，钱可难挣。这年头要弄到一块钱，得打一场硬仗。”
“Don’t think they’ll be a deputation of citizens waitin’ to ’scort us to a hotel, eh?” said another. His sarcasm was too obvious to require an answer.
“你们说，是不是会有一帮市民代表等着护送咱们去旅馆，啊？”又一个人说。他的挖苦太露骨，用不着人答话。
Smith went on, “Then at daybreak we’ll start for home–at least, I will.”
史密斯接着说：“那天一亮咱们就动身回家——至少我是要走的。”
“Well, I’ll be dummed if I’ll take two dollars out o’ my hide,” one of the younger men said. “I’m goin’ to a hotel, ef I don’t never lay up a cent.”
“哼，我才不把两块钱从自个儿皮上省下来呢，”一个年轻些的说。“我要去旅馆，哪怕这辈子攒不下一个子儿。”
“That’ll do f’r you,” said Smith; “but if you had a wife an’ three young uns dependin’ on yeh–”
“你倒是可以，”史密斯说，“可要是你有个老婆、三个娃儿指着你——”
“Which I ain’t, thank the Lord! and don’t intend havin’ while the court knows itself.”
“我可没有，谢天谢地！只要脑子清楚，我也不打算要。”
The station was deserted, chill, and dark, as they came into it at exactly a quarter to two in the morning. Lit by the oil lamps that flared a dull red light over the dingy benches, the waiting room was not an inviting place. The younger man went off to look up a hotel, while the rest remained and prepared to camp down on the floor and benches. Smith was attended to tenderly by the other men, who spread their blankets on the bench for him, and, by robbing themselves, made quite a comfortable bed, though the narrowness of the bench made his sleeping precarious.
他们在凌晨一点三刻整进站时，车站空荡、阴冷、漆黑。几盏油灯在肮脏的长凳上投下暗红的光，候车室实在不是个待客的地方。年轻人去找旅馆了，其余人留下来，准备在地板和长凳上将就一夜。别人细心照料史密斯，把毯子铺在长凳上给他，宁可苦了自己，给他弄了一张挺舒服的床，只是长凳太窄，他睡得摇摇欲坠。
It was chill, though August, and the two men, sitting with bowed heads, grew stiff with cold and weariness, and were forced to rise now and again and walk about to warm their stiffened limbs. It did not occur to them, probably, to contrast their coming home with their going forth, or with the coming home of the generals, colonels, or even captains–but to Private Smith, at any rate, there came a sickness at heart almost deadly as he lay there on his hard bed and went over his situation.
虽是八月，却很冷，那两个人低头坐着，冻得、累得浑身僵硬，不时得站起来走动，好暖暖发僵的四肢。他们大概没想到把自己的归来同当初的出征相比，或是同将军、上校、乃至上尉们的归来相比——但至少在史密斯二等兵心里，当他躺在那张硬板床上把自己的处境想了一遍，涌起一种几乎致命的心口发闷。
In the deep of the night, lying on a board in the town where he had enlisted three years ago, all elation and enthusiasm gone out of him, he faced the fact that with the joy of home-coming was already mingled the bitter juice of care. He saw himself sick, worn out, taking up the work on his half-cleared farm, the inevitable mortgage standing ready with open jaw to swallow half his earnings. He had given three years of his life for a mere pittance of pay, and now!–
深夜里，躺在这座他三年前入伍的城镇的一块木板上，兴奋和热情全从他身上退去，他直面这样一个事实：归家的欢喜里，早已掺进了忧虑的苦汁。他看见自己带着病，疲惫不堪，重新拿起那片只开垦了一半的农场上的活计，那笔躲不掉的按揭张着大口，随时准备吞掉他一半的收成。他拿三年的性命换来一点点微薄的军饷，如今呢！——
Morning dawned at last, slowly, with a pale yellow dome of light rising silently above the bluffs, which stand like some huge storm-devastated castle, just east of the city. Out to the left the great river swept on its massive yet silent way to the south. Bluejays called across the water from hillside to hillside through the clear, beautiful air, and hawks began to skim the tops of the hills. The older men were astir early, but Private Smith had fallen at last into a sleep, and they went out without waking him. He lay on his knapsack, his gaunt face turned toward the ceiling, his hands clasped on his breast, with a curious pathetic effect of weakness and appeal.
天终于慢慢亮了，一片淡黄的光穹无声地升到峭壁上方——那些峭壁矗立在城东，像一座被风暴摧毁的巨大城堡。左边，那条大河浩浩荡荡、却又寂静无声地向南奔去。蓝松鸦在清澈美丽的空气里，隔着水面从这道山坡叫到那道山坡，鹰开始擦着山顶飞。年纪大些的人起得早，可史密斯二等兵终于睡着了，他们没叫醒他就出去了。他枕着背包躺着，瘦削的脸朝着天花板，双手交叠在胸前，透出一种说不出的、可怜的虚弱与祈求。
An engine switching near woke him at last, and he slowly sat up and stared about. He looked out of the window and saw that the sun was lightening the hills across the river. He rose and brushed his hair as well as he could, folded his blankets up, and went out to find his companions. They stood gazing silently at the river and at the hills.
近旁一辆机车在调车，终于把他吵醒了，他慢慢坐起来，四下张望。他望向窗外，看见太阳正照亮河对岸的群山。他站起来，尽量把头发梳理整齐，叠好毯子，出去找他的同伴。他们正静静地望着那条河、那些山。
“Looks natcher’l, don’t it?” they said, as he came out.
“看着挺亲切，是不？”他出来时，他们说。
“That’s what it does,” he replied. “An’ it looks good. D ’yeh see that peak?” He pointed at a beautiful symmetrical peak, rising like a slightly truncated cone, so high that it seemed the very highest of them all. It was touched by the morning sun and it glowed like a beacon, and a light scarf of gray morning fog was rolling up its shadowed side.
“可不是嘛，”他答道。“看着真好。你看见那个山头没？”他指着一座秀丽而匀称的山峰，像一个略被削平的圆锥往上耸，那么高，仿佛是这一带最高的一座。朝阳照在它身上，它像一座灯塔一样发光，一条淡淡的灰色晨雾，正沿着它背阴的一侧往上卷。
“My farm’s just beyond that. Now, if I can only ketch a ride, we’ll be home by dinner-time.”
“我的农场就在那后头。这会儿只要能搭上个车，晌午饭前就能到家。”
“I’m talkin’ about breakfast,” said one of the others.
“我想的是早饭，”另一个人说。
“I guess it’s one more meal o’ hardtack f’r me,” said Smith.
“我看我还得再啃一顿硬饼干，”史密斯说。
They foraged around, and finally found a restaurant with a sleepy old German behind the counter, and procured some coffee, which they drank to wash down their hardtack.
他们四处搜寻，终于找到一家餐馆，柜台后头站着个睡眼惺忪的德国老头，弄到些咖啡，就着咖啡把硬饼干送下肚。
“Time’ll come,” said Smith, holding up a piece by the corner, “when this’ll be a curiosity.”
“总有一天，”史密斯捏着一块饼干的角举起来说，“这玩意儿会成个稀罕物。”
“I hope to God it will! I bet I’ve chawed hardtack enough to shingle every house in the coolly. I’ve chawed it when my lampers was down, and when they wasn’t. I’ve took it dry, soaked, and mashed. I’ve had it wormy, musty, sour, and blue-mouldy. I’ve had it in little bits and big bits; ‘fore coffee an’ after coffee. I’m ready f’r a change. I’d like t’ git holt jest about now o’ some of the hot biscuits my wife c’n make when she lays herself out f’r company.”
“但愿老天让它成稀罕物！我啃过的硬饼干，怕是够给这条沟里每一栋房子铺瓦了。牙床肿的时候啃，不肿的时候也啃。干嚼过，泡软了嚼过，捣碎了嚼过。生虫的、发霉的、发酸的、长蓝毛的，我都吃过。碎渣吃过，大块吃过；咖啡前吃，咖啡后也吃。我早就想换换口味了。这会儿我真想抓上几个我老婆招待客人时使出浑身本事烙的热饼。”
“Well, if you set there gabblin’, you’ll never see yer wife.”
“行了，你要是坐那儿光耍嘴皮子，一辈子也见不着你老婆。”
“Come on,” said Private Smith. “Wait a moment, boys; less take suthin’. It’s on me.” He led them to the rusty tin dipper which hung on a nail beside the wooden water-pail, and they grinned and drank. Then shouldering their blankets and muskets, which they were “takin’ home to the boys,” they struck out on their last march.
“走吧，”史密斯二等兵说。“等一下，弟兄们，喝一口再走。我请客。”他把他们领到那只挂在木水桶旁钉子上的生锈铁勺跟前，几个人咧嘴一笑，喝了。然后扛起毯子和步枪——枪是“带回家给小子们”的——踏上了他们最后一段行军。
“They called that coffee Jayvy,” grumbled one of them, “but it never went by the road where government Jayvy resides. I reckon I know coffee from peas.”
“他们管那个叫咖啡，”有个人嘟囔道，“可它跟军里发的咖啡压根不沾边。豌豆水跟咖啡我还是分得清的。”
They kept together on the road along the turnpike, and up the winding road by the river, which they followed for some miles. The river was very lovely, curving down along its sandy beds, pausing now and then under broad basswood trees, or running in dark, swift, silent currents under tangles of wild grapevines, and drooping alders, and haw trees. At one of these lovely spots the three vets sat down on the thick green sward to rest, “on Smith’s account.” The leaves of the trees were as fresh and green as in June, the jays called cheery greetings to them, and kingfishers darted to and fro with swooping, noiseless flight.
他们沿着收费公路结伴而行，又顺着河边那条弯弯曲曲的路往上走，跟了好几英里。这条河非常好看，在沙底上蜿蜒而下，时而在宽大的椴树下停歇，时而在缠结的野葡萄藤、低垂的赤杨和山楂树下，化作幽暗、湍急、无声的水流。在一处这样迷人的地方，三个老兵“为了史密斯”在厚厚的青草地上坐下歇脚。树叶像六月一样新鲜翠绿，松鸦向他们欢快地打着招呼，翠鸟无声地俯冲，来来去去。
“I tell yeh, boys, this knocks the swamps of Loueesiana into kingdom come.”
“我跟你们说，弟兄们，这地方把路易斯安那那些沼泽甩出十万八千里。”
“You bet. All they c’n raise down there is snakes, niggers, and p’rticler hell.”
“那还用说。他们那儿能长出来的，就是蛇、黑鬼，还有一肚子邪火。”
“An’ fightin’ men,” put in the older man.
“还有能打的人，”年长的那个插了一句。
“An’ fightin’ men. If I had a good hook an’ line I’d sneak a pick’rel out o’ that pond. Say, remember that time I shot that alligator–”
“还有能打的人。要是有根好钓钩好钓线，我准能从那潭子里偷一条梭鱼出来。喂，还记得我打那条鳄鱼那回吗——”
“I guess we’d better be crawlin’ along,” interrupted Smith, rising and shouldering his knapsack, with considerable effort, which he tried to hide.
“我看咱们还是接着挪吧，”史密斯打断他，费了好大劲站起来把背包甩上肩，还想遮掩这份吃力。
“Say, Smith, lemme give you a lift on that.”
“喂，史密斯，那玩意儿让我帮你搭把手。”
“I guess I c’n manage,” said Smith, grimly.
“我自个儿对付得来，”史密斯板着脸说。
“Course. But, yo’ see, I may not have a chance right off to pay yeh back for the times you’ve carried my gun and hull caboodle. Say, now, gimme that gun, anyway.”
“那当然。可你瞧，你替我扛枪、扛全套家伙那么多回，我一时半会儿怕是没机会还你这份人情。喂，不管怎么说，把枪给我。”
“All right, if yeh feel like it, Jim,” Smith replied, and they trudged along doggedly in the sun, which was getting higher and hotter each half-mile.
“行吧，你要是愿意，吉姆，”史密斯答道，他们在太阳底下咬着牙往前挪，太阳每走半英里就更高更毒一分。
“Ain’t it queer there ain’t no teams comin’ along,” said Smith, after a long silence.
“路上一辆大车也没有，怪不怪，”沉默了好久，史密斯说。
“Well, no, seein’s it’s Sunday.”
“不怪，今儿是礼拜天。”
“By jinks, that’s a fact! It is Sunday. I’ll git home in time f’r dinner, sure!” he exulted. “She don’t hev dinner usially till about one on Sundays.” And he fell into a muse, in which he smiled.
“哎呀，还真是！今儿是礼拜天。这下我准赶得上晌午饭！”他喜不自胜。“礼拜天她一般要到一点才开饭。”他陷入沉思，脸上带着笑。
“Well, I’ll git home jest about six o’clock, jest about when the boys are milkin’ the cows,” said old Jim Cranby. “I’ll step into the barn, an’ then I’ll say: ‘Heah! why ain’t this milkin’ done before this time o’ day?’ An’ then won’t they yell!” he added, slapping his thigh in great glee.
“我呢，大概六点到家，正赶上小子们挤牛奶，”老吉姆·克兰比说。“我要走进牛棚，然后说：‘喂！都这时候了，奶怎么还没挤完？’那时候他们还不喊翻天！”他补了一句，得意得直拍大腿。
Smith went on. “I’ll jest go up the path. Old Rover’ll come down the road to meet me. He won’t bark; he’ll know me, an’ he’ll come down waggin’ his tail an’ showin’ his teeth. That’s his way of laughin’. An’ so I’ll walk up to the kitchen door, an’ I’ll say, ‘Dinner f’r a hungry man!’ An’ then she’ll jump up, an’–”
史密斯接着说：“我就顺着那条小道往上走。老罗弗会跑下来迎我。它不会叫；它认得我，会摇着尾巴、龇着牙跑下来。那是它笑的样子。我就走到厨房门口，说一句：‘给饿汉开饭喽！’她就会跳起来，然后——”
He couldn’t go on. His voice choked at the thought of it. Saunders, the third man, hardly uttered a word, but walked silently behind the others. He had lost his wife the first year he was in the army. She died of pneumonia, caught in the autumn rains while working in the fields in his place.
他说不下去了。一想到这幕，他嗓子就哽住了。第三个人桑德斯几乎一句话没说，只是默默跟在别人后头走。他入伍头一年就没了妻子。她替他在田里干活，秋雨里染上肺炎，死了。
They plodded along till at last they came to a parting of the ways. To the right the road continued up the main valley; to the left it went over the big ridge.
他们一步一步往前挪，最后走到一个岔路口。往右，路顺着主谷继续往上；往左，路翻过那道大山脊。
“Well, boys,” began Smith, as they grounded their muskets and looked away up the valley, “here’s where we shake hands. We’ve marched together a good many miles, an’ now I s’pose we’re done.”
“弟兄们，”史密斯开口道，他们把枪杵在地上，朝谷子上头望去，“就在这儿握手道别吧。咱们一块儿走了老多路，这会儿我看是到头了。”
“Yes, I don’t think we’ll do any more of it f’r a while. I don’t want to, I know.”
“是啊，往后一阵子我看是不会再这么走了。反正我不想。”
“I hope I’ll see yeh once in a while, boys, to talk over old times.”
“我盼着以后能时不时见着你们，弟兄们，聊聊从前的事。”
“Of course,” said Saunders, whose voice trembled a little, too. “It ain’t exactly like dyin’.” They all found it hard to look at each other.
“那当然，”桑德斯说，他的声音也有点抖。“又不是就此送了命。”他们几个都觉得难以对视。
“But we’d ought’r go home with you,” said Cranby. “You’ll never climb that ridge with all them things on yer back.”
“可我们该送你到家才对，”克兰比说。“背上驮着那一堆东西，你翻不过那道山脊的。”
“Oh, I’m all right! Don’t worry about me. Every step takes me nearer home, yeh see. Well, good-by, boys.”
“哦，我没事！别为我操心。你看，每走一步就离家近一步。好了，再见，弟兄们。”
They shook hands. “Good-by. Good luck!”
他们握了手。“再见。多保重！”
“Same to you. Lemme know how you find things at home.”
“你也一样。到了家，来信告诉我那边情形。”
“Good-by.”
“再见。”
“Good-by.”
“再见。”
He turned once before they passed out of sight, and waved his cap, and they did the same, and all yelled. Then all marched away with their long, steady, loping, veteran step. The solitary climber in blue walked on for a time, with his mind filled with the kindness of his comrades, and musing upon the many wonderful days they had had together in camp and field.
在彼此走出视线之前，他回头看了一次，挥了挥帽子，他们也挥帽，都吼了一嗓子。然后各自迈开老兵那种又长又稳、微微弹跳的步子走开了。那个穿蓝军装、独自爬坡的人往前走了一阵，心里满是同伴的情义，一路回想着他们在营地、在战场上一同度过的许多难忘的日子。
He thought of his chum, Billy Tripp. Poor Billy! A “minie” ball fell into his breast one day, fell wailing like a cat, and tore a great ragged hole in his heart. He looked forward to a sad scene with Billy’s mother and sweetheart. They would want to know all about it. He tried to recall all that Billy had said, and the particulars of it, but there was little to remember, just that wild wailing sound high in the air, a dull slap, a short, quick, expulsive groan, and the boy lay with his face in the dirt in the ploughed field they were marching across.
他想起了他的好兄弟比利·特里普。可怜的比利！有一天一颗米涅弹钻进他的胸膛，像猫一样尖叫着落下来，在他心口撕出一个又大又豁的窟窿。他心里发怵，想到要和比利的母亲、比利的心上人见上一面，那场面会有多难受。她们会想知道每一个细节。他努力回想比利说过的话，回想当时的种种，可实在没多少能记的，只有那空中一声凄厉的尖啸，一记沉闷的啪嗒，一声短促、急促、像被挤出来的呻吟，那孩子就脸朝下趴在他们正穿过的那片犁过的田地的泥土里。
That was all. But all the scenes he had since been through had not dimmed the horror, the terror of that moment, when his boy comrade fell, with only a breath between a laugh and a death-groan. Poor handsome Billy! Worth millions of dollars was his young life.
就这么多。可他后来经历的一幕幕，都没能冲淡那一刻的恐怖——他那少年伙伴倒下时，从一声笑到一声临死的呻吟，中间只隔着一口气。可怜的、俊俏的比利！他那年轻的生命，值几百万块钱。
These sombre recollections gave way at length to more cheerful feelings as he began to approach his home coolly. The fields and houses grew familiar, and in one or two he was greeted by people seated in the doorway. But he was in no mood to talk, and pushed on steadily, though he stopped and accepted a drink of milk once at the well-side of a neighbor.
随着他渐渐走近自家那条沟，这些阴郁的回忆终于让位给了比较愉快的心绪。田地和房屋渐渐眼熟起来，有一两户人家，坐在门口的人向他打招呼。可他没心思说话，只是一个劲儿往前赶，尽管在一个邻居家的井边，他停下来接过一碗牛奶喝了。
The sun was getting hot on that slope, and his step grew slower, in spite of his iron resolution. He sat down several times to rest. Slowly he crawled up the rough, reddish-brown road, which wound along the hillside, under great trees, through dense groves of jack oaks, with tree-tops far below him on his left hand, and the hills far above him on his right. He crawled along like some minute, wingless variety of fly.
太阳晒在那道坡上越来越毒，尽管他有铁一般的决心，脚步还是慢了下来。他坐下歇了好几回。他慢慢往上爬，走在那条崎岖的、红棕色的路上，路沿着山腰蜿蜒，穿过大树下、穿过密密的矮栎树林，左手边树梢远在他脚下，右手边群山高在他头顶。他往前爬着，像一只极小的、没有翅膀的苍蝇。
He ate some hardtack, sauced with wild berries, when he reached the summit of the ridge, and sat there for some time, looking down into his home coolly.
爬到山脊顶上，他吃了些硬饼干，就着野浆果算是配菜，在那儿坐了好一会儿，俯瞰着自家那条沟。
Sombre, pathetic figure! His wide, round, gray eyes gazing down into the beautiful valley, seeing and not seeing, the splendid cloud-shadows sweeping over the western hills and across the green and yellow wheat far below. His head drooped forward on his palm, his shoulders took on a tired stoop, his cheek-bones showed painfully. An observer might have said, “He is looking down upon his own grave.”
阴郁、可怜的身影！他那双又大又圆的灰眼睛俯视着那道美丽的谷子，看着，又像没看见——壮丽的云影扫过西边的山，扫过远处下方那片青黄相间的麦子。他的头前倾着，撑在手掌上，肩膀疲惫地佝偻着，颧骨叫人看着难受地凸出来。旁人看见，也许会说：“他在俯视自己的坟墓。”
二
Sunday comes in a Western wheat harvest with such sweet and sudden relaxation to man and beast that it would be holy for that reason, if for no other, and Sundays are usually fair in harvest-time. As one goes out into the field in the hot morning sunshine, with no sound abroad save the crickets and the indescribably pleasant silken rustling of the ripened grain, the reaper and the very sheaves in the stubble seem to be resting, dreaming.
西部的麦收时节，礼拜天带给人和牲口的松弛是那样甜美、那样突如其来，单凭这一点，它也当得起“神圣”二字了，何况麦收时节的礼拜天通常都是好天。清早顶着炎热的阳光走进田里，四下没有别的声响，只有蟋蟀，还有熟麦子那说不出的、悦耳的、丝绸般的窸窣，割麦机连同麦茬地里的麦捆，看上去都在歇着，在做梦。
Around the house, in the shade of the trees, the men sit, smoking, dozing, or reading the papers, while the women, never resting, move about at the housework. The men eat on Sundays about the same as on other days, and breakfast is no sooner over and out of the way than dinner begins.
屋子四周，树荫底下，男人们坐着，抽烟、打盹，或是看报，女人们却片刻不歇，忙里忙外地做着家务。礼拜天男人们吃得跟平常差不多，早饭刚吃完收拾利索，晌午饭又开张了。
But at the Smith farm there were no men dozing or reading. Mrs. Smith was alone with her three children, Mary, nine, Tommy, six, and little Ted, just past four. Her farm, rented to a neighbor, lay at the head of a coolly or narrow gully, made at some far-off post-glacial period by the vast and angry floods of water which gullied these tremendous furrows in the level prairie–furrows so deep that undisturbed portions of the original level rose like hills on either side, rose to quite considerable mountains.
可在史密斯家的农场，没有打盹或看报的男人。史密斯太太单独带着三个孩子——九岁的玛丽，六岁的汤米，还有刚过四岁的小泰德。她那片农场租给了一个邻居，坐落在一条“沟”——也就是狭窄的冲沟——的顶端。这沟是遥远的冰期之后，浩大而狂暴的洪水冲出来的，在平坦的草原上刨出这些巨大的犁沟，沟深得连没被冲动的原始地面，都像小山一样在两侧隆起，隆成相当可观的山。
The chickens wakened her as usual that Sabbath morning from dreams of her absent husband, from whom she had not heard for weeks. The shadows drifted over the hills, down the slopes, across the wheat, and up the opposite wall in leisurely way, as if, being Sunday, they could take it easy also. The fowls clustered about the housewife as she went out into the yard. Fuzzy little chickens swarmed out from the coops, where their clucking and perpetually disgruntled mothers tramped about, petulantly thrusting their heads through the spaces between the slats.
那个安息日的早晨，鸡照例把她从梦里吵醒——梦里是她那出门在外的丈夫，她已经几个星期没他的音信了。阴影从山上飘下来，滑下山坡，越过麦田，又不慌不忙地爬上对面的沟壁，仿佛既是礼拜天，它们也可以偷偷懒。她走进院子，家禽围到她身边。毛茸茸的小鸡从鸡笼里挤出来，笼里，它们那些咯咯叫、永远一肚子怨气的母亲踱来踱去，赌气似的把头从板条缝里探出来。
A cow called in a deep, musical bass, and a calf answered from a little pen near by, and a pig scurried guiltily out of the cabbages. Seeing all this, seeing the pig in the cabbages, the tangle of grass in the garden, the broken fence which she had mended again and again–the little woman, hardly more than a girl, sat down and cried. The bright Sabbath morning was only a mockery without him!
一头母牛用低沉而悦耳的男低音叫唤，近旁一个小圈里一头小牛应了一声，一头猪做贼心虚地从卷心菜地里窜出来。看着这一切，看着卷心菜地里的猪、菜园里纠结的杂草、那道她一遍又一遍修补的坏篱笆——这个几乎还算不上妇人的小女人，坐下来哭了。没有他，这明媚的安息日早晨只是一场嘲弄！
A few years ago they had bought this farm, paying part, mortgaging the rest in the usual way. Edward Smith was a man of terrible energy. He worked “nights and Sundays,” as the saying goes, to clear the farm of its brush and of its insatiate mortgage! In the midst of his Herculean struggle came the call for volunteers, and with the grim and unselfish devotion to his country which made the Eagle Brigade able to “whip its weight in wild-cats,” he threw down his scythe and grub-axe, turned his cattle loose, and became a blue-coated cog in a vast machine for killing men, and not thistles. While the millionaire sent his money to England for safe-keeping, this man, with his girl-wife and three babies, left them on a mortgaged farm, and went away to fight for an idea. It was foolish, but it was sublime for all that.
几年前他们买下这片农场，付了一部分，剩下的照例是按揭。爱德华·史密斯是个精力惊人的人。用老话说，他“起早贪黑、连礼拜天都不歇”，为的是把农场上的灌木丛、把那笔填不满的按揭清干净！正当他这场大力神般的苦斗打得难解难分时，招募志愿兵的号召来了，凭着那股冷峻而无私的报国之心——正是这股劲儿让“鹰旅”能够“以一当十”——他扔下镰刀和刨镐，把牛放了，成了一台庞大机器上一枚穿蓝军装的齿轮，这台机器是用来杀人的，不是用来除蓟草的。当百万富翁把钱送到英国去保管的时候，这个人却把他那少女般的妻子和三个娃儿留在一片抵押出去的农场上，自己走了，去为一个理念而战。这很傻，可尽管如此，它是崇高的。
That was three years before, and the young wife, sitting on the well-curb on this bright Sabbath harvest morning, was righteously rebellious. It seemed to her that she had borne her share of the country’s sorrow. Two brothers had been killed, the renter in whose hands her husband had left the farm had proved a villain; one year the farm had been without crops, and now the overripe grain was waiting the tardy hand of the neighbor who had rented it, and who was cutting his own grain first.
那是三年前的事了，如今这年轻的妻子在这明媚的安息日麦收清晨坐在井栏上，心里正理直气壮地反抗着。她觉得，国家的悲伤，她已经担了自己那一份。两个兄弟阵亡了；丈夫把农场托付给的那个佃户，事实证明是个恶棍；有一年农场颗粒无收，如今熟过了头的麦子还等着那个租地邻居迟迟不来的手——那人先割自己的麦子去了。
About six weeks before, she had received a letter saying, “We’ll be discharged in a little while.” But no other word had come from him. She had seen by the papers that his army was being discharged, and from day to day other soldiers slowly percolated in blue streams back into the State and county, but still her hero did not return.
大约六个星期前，她收到一封信，上头说：“我们过不了多久就要复员。”可他此后再没来过一个字。她从报上看到他那支部队正在遣散，一天又一天，别的士兵化作一道道蓝色的细流慢慢渗回州里、渗回县里，可她的英雄还是没回来。
Each week she had told the children that he was coming, and she had watched the road so long that it had become unconscious; and as she stood at the well, or by the kitchen door, her eyes were fixed unthinkingly on the road that wound down the coolly.
每个星期她都对孩子们说他就要回来了，她盯着那条路盯了太久，久到成了下意识；她站在井边，或站在厨房门口，眼睛就那么不由自主地钉在那条蜿蜒下沟的路上。
Nothing wears on the human soul like waiting. If the stranded mariner, searching the sun-bright seas, could once give up hope of a ship, that horrible grinding on his brain would cease. It was this waiting, hoping, on the edge of despair, that gave Emma Smith no rest.
没有什么比等待更磨人心。困在荒岛上的水手，在阳光灿烂的海面上搜寻，倘若他能有一次彻底断了盼船的念头，脑子里那种可怕的碾磨就会停下来。正是这种在绝望边缘的等待、盼望，让艾玛·史密斯不得安宁。
Neighbors said, with kind intentions, “He’s sick, maybe, an’ can’t start north just yet. He’ll come along one o’ these days.”
邻居们出于好意说：“他大概是病了，一时半会儿动不了身往北走。这几天准会到的。”
“Why don’t he write?” was her question, which silenced them all. This Sunday morning it seemed to her as if she could not stand it longer. The house seemed intolerably lonely. So she dressed the little ones in their best calico dresses and home-made jackets, and, closing up the house, set off down the coolly to old Mother Gray’s.
“那他怎么不写信？”这是她的反问，把所有人都问哑了。这个礼拜天早晨，她觉得自己再也撑不下去了。屋子孤单得叫人受不了。于是她给孩子们换上最好的印花布衣裳和自家缝的小外套，锁上门，动身顺着沟往下，到老格雷妈妈那儿去。
“Old Widder Gray” lived at the “mouth of the coolly.” She was a widow woman with a large family of stalwart boys and laughing girls. She was the visible incarnation of hospitality and optimistic poverty. With Western open-heartedness she fed every mouth that asked food of her, and worked herself to death as cheerfully as her girls danced in the neighborhood harvest dances.
“格雷老寡妇”住在“沟口”。她是个寡妇，一大家子，都是壮实的小子和爱笑的姑娘。她是好客与乐天知命的穷日子活生生的化身。凭着西部人的敞亮心肠，凡是开口向她讨吃的，她都管一口饭；她把自己活活累死，却累得像她的姑娘们在四邻的麦收舞会上跳舞一样开心。
She waddled down the path to meet Mrs. Smith with a broad smile on her face.
她一脸咧开的笑，一摇一摆顺着小道下来迎史密斯太太。
“Oh, you little dears! Come right to your granny. Gimme a kiss! Come right in, Mis’ Smith. How are yeh, anyway? Nice mornin’, ain’t it? Come in an’ set down. Everything’s in a clutter, but that won’t scare you any.”
“哦，你们这几个小宝贝！快到奶奶这儿来。亲一个！快进来，史密斯太太。你近来怎么样啊？好天气，是不是？进来坐。家里乱糟糟的，不过这可吓不着你。”
She led the way into the best room, a sunny, square room, carpeted with a faded and patched rag carpet, and papered with white-and-green-striped wall-paper, where a few faded effigies of dead members of the family hung in variously sized oval walnut frames. The house resounded with singing, laughter, whistling, tramping of heavy boots, and riotous scufflings. Half-grown boys came to the door and crooked their fingers at the children, who ran out, and were soon heard in the midst of the fun.
她领着往“上房”走，那是一间朝阳的方屋子，地上铺着一块褪色又打过补丁的碎布地毯，墙上糊着白绿条纹的壁纸，几幅家里已故亲人褪了色的画像挂在大小不一的椭圆胡桃木框里。屋里响成一片——唱歌、说笑、吹口哨、大靴子跺地，还有闹哄哄的扭打。半大的小子们来到门口，勾着手指冲那几个孩子招呼，孩子们跑了出去，一会儿就听见他们混在那片热闹里。
“Don’t s’pose you’ve heard from Ed?” Mrs. Smith shook her head. “He’ll turn up some day, when you ain’t lookin’ for ’m.” The good old soul had said that so many times that poor Mrs. Smith derived no comfort from it any longer.
“埃德那边没信儿吧？”史密斯太太摇摇头。“他总有一天会冒出来的，就在你不盼他的时候。”这句话，这好心的老太太说过太多回了，可怜的史密斯太太再也从里头得不到一点安慰。
“Liz heard from Al the other day. He’s comin’ some day this week. Anyhow, they expect him.”
“莉兹前几天收到阿尔的信。他这星期哪天就到。反正他们盼着他呢。”
“Did he say anything of–”
“他有没有提到——”
“No, he didn’t,” Mrs. Gray admitted. “But then it was only a short letter, anyhow. Al ain’t much for writin’, anyhow.–But come out and see my new cheese. I tell yeh, I don’t believe I ever had better luck in my life. If Ed should come, I want you should take him up a piece of this cheese.”
“没有，他没提，”格雷太太承认。“不过那信本来也短。阿尔本来就不爱写信。——出来看看我新做的奶酪。我跟你讲，我这辈子怕是没这么走运过。埃德要是回来，我要你捎一块这奶酪给他。”
It was beyond human nature to resist the influence of that noisy, hearty, loving household, and in the midst of the singing and laughing the wife forgot her anxiety, for the time at least, and laughed and sang with the rest.
那个吵吵嚷嚷、热诚、充满爱意的家，它的感染力是人性抵挡不住的，在一片歌声笑声里，这做妻子的把心事忘了，至少暂时忘了，跟着大伙儿又笑又唱。
About eleven o’clock a wagon-load more drove up to the door, and Bill Gray, the widow’s oldest son, and his whole family, from Sand Lake Coolly, piled out amid a good-natured uproar. Every one talked at once, except Bill, who sat in the wagon with his wrists on his knees, a straw in his mouth, and an amused twinkle in his blue eyes.
十一点光景，又一大车人赶到门口，寡妇的大儿子比尔·格雷带着他一家老小，从沙湖沟来，在一片好脾气的喧闹中一股脑儿下了车。人人一齐说话，只有比尔例外，他坐在车上，手腕搭在膝盖上，嘴里叼根草，蓝眼睛里闪着看好戏的光。
“Ain’t heard nothin’ o’ Ed, I s’pose?” he asked in a kind of bellow. Mrs. Smith shook her head. Bill, with a delicacy very striking in such a great giant, rolled his quid in his mouth, and said:
“埃德那边没什么消息吧，我猜？”他吼似的问。史密斯太太摇摇头。比尔嘴里把那口嚼烟转了转，这么个大块头竟有一份格外惹眼的细心，他说：
“Didn’t know but you had. I hear two or three of the Sand Lake boys are comin’. Left New Orleenes some time this week. Didn’t write nothin’ about Ed, but no news is good news in such cases, mother always says.”
“我还当你有信儿了呢。我听说沙湖那边有两三个小子要回来。这星期哪天从新奥尔良动的身。信里没写埃德什么，不过妈老说，这种事没消息就是好消息。”
“Well, go put out yer team,” said Mrs. Gray, “an’ go’n bring me in some taters, an’, Sim, you go see if you c’n find some corn. Sadie, you put on the water to bile. Come now, hustle yer boots, all o’ yeh. If I feed this yer crowd, we’ve got to have some raw materials. If y’ think I’m goin’ to feed yeh on pie–your jest mightily mistaken.”
“行了，去把牲口卸了，”格雷太太说，“再去给我拿点土豆进来，还有，西姆，你去看看能不能弄点玉米。萨迪，你烧上水。快点，都麻利着点。我要管这一大帮子人的饭，总得有点米下锅。你们要是当我拿馅饼喂你们——那可大错特错了。”
The children went off into the fields, the girls put dinner on to boil, and then went to change their dresses and fix their hair. “Somebody might come,” they said.
孩子们奔进田里，姑娘们把晌午饭坐上锅煮，然后去换衣裳、弄头发。“说不定有人来呢，”她们说。
“Land sakes, I hope not! I don’t know where in time I’d set ’em, ’less they’d eat at the second table,” Mrs. Gray laughed, in pretended dismay.
“老天爷，但愿别来！我真不知道上哪儿给他们腾座位，除非让他们等第二拨吃，”格雷太太笑道，装出一副发愁的样子。
The two older boys, who had served their time in the army, lay out on the grass before the house, and whittled and talked desultorily about the war and the crops, and planned buying a threshing-machine. The older girls and Mrs. Smith helped enlarge the table and put on the dishes, talking all the time in that cheery, incoherent, and meaningful way a group of such women have,–a conversation to be taken for its spirit rather than for its letter, though Mrs. Gray at last got the ear of them all and dissertated at length on girls.
那两个当过兵、服满了役的大儿子，躺在屋前草地上，削着木头，有一搭没一搭地聊战争、聊庄稼，盘算着买一台打谷机。年纪大些的姑娘和史密斯太太帮着把桌子接长，摆上碗碟，一边一直用这样一群女人特有的那种欢快、颠三倒四、又意味深长的方式说着话——那种对话，要领会的是它的神气，而不是字面，不过格雷太太最后引得众人都听她说，就“姑娘”这个话题长篇大论起来。
“Girls in love ain’t no use in the whole blessed week,” she said. “Sundays they’re a-lookin’ down the road, expectin’ he’ll come. Sunday afternoons they can’t think o’ nothin’ else, ‘cause he’s here. Monday mornin’s they’re sleepy and kind o’ dreamy and slimpsy, and good f’r nothin’ on Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday they git absent-minded, an’ begin to look off toward Sunday agin, an’ mope aroun’ and let the dishwater git cold, right under their noses. Friday they break dishes, an’ go off in the best room an’ snivel, an’ look out o’ the winder. Saturdays they have queer spurts o’ workin’ like all p’ssessed, an’ spurts o’ frizzin’ their hair. An’ Sunday they begin it all over agin.”
“陷进爱里的姑娘，一整个礼拜都没用，”她说。“礼拜天她们望着大路，等他来。礼拜天下午她们脑子里装不下别的，因为他来了。礼拜一早上她们困、发懵、软塌塌的，礼拜二礼拜三什么也干不了。礼拜四她们心不在焉，又开始眼巴巴望着礼拜天，蔫头耷脑地转悠，眼皮子底下那盆洗碗水都放凉了。礼拜五她们摔碗，躲到上房去抽鼻子，望着窗外。礼拜六她们时不时来一阵子，干活像着了魔，又时不时来一阵子卷头发。到了礼拜天，又从头来一遍。”
The girls giggled and blushed, all through this tirade from their mother, their broad faces and powerful frames anything but suggestive of lackadaisical sentiment. But Mrs. Smith said:
母亲这通数落，姑娘们从头到尾又是咯咯笑又是脸红，她们那宽脸盘、壮身板，怎么看也跟没精打采的儿女情长不沾边。可史密斯太太说：
“Now, Mrs. Gray, I hadn’t ought to stay to dinner. You’ve got–”
“格雷太太，我不该留下来吃饭。你这儿有——”
“Now you set right down! If any of them girls’ beaus comes, they’ll have to take what’s left, that’s all. They ain’t s’posed to have much appetite, nohow. No, you’re goin’ to stay if they starve, an’ they ain’t no danger o’ that.”
“你给我坐好了！哪个姑娘的相好来了，那也只能吃剩的，就这样。反正他们本来就不该有多大胃口。不行，哪怕他们饿肚子你也得留下，再说也饿不着。”
At one o’clock the long table was piled with boiled potatoes, cords of boiled corn on the cob, squash and pumpkin pies, hot biscuit, sweet pickles, bread and butter, and honey. Then one of the girls took down a conch-shell from a nail, and going to the door, blew a long, fine, tree blast, that showed there was no weakness of lungs in her ample chest.
一点钟，长桌上堆满了煮土豆、一大堆连轴带穗煮的玉米、西葫芦馅饼和南瓜馅饼、热饼、甜腌菜、面包黄油，还有蜂蜜。然后一个姑娘从钉子上取下一只海螺壳，走到门口，吹出一记又长又清、拖出好几个音的号声，可见她那宽阔的胸腔里，肺一点都不弱。
Then the children came out of the forest of corn, out of the creek, out of the loft of the barn, and out of the garden.
于是孩子们从玉米林里、从小河里、从谷仓的阁楼里、从菜园里冒了出来。
“They come to their feed f’r all the world jest like the pigs when y’ holler ‘poo-ee!’ See ’em scoot!” laughed Mrs. Gray, every wrinkle on her face shining with delight.
“他们来吃食，活脱脱就跟你喊一声‘噜——’猪就来了一个样。瞧他们那窜劲儿！”格雷太太笑道，脸上每一道皱纹都放着开心的光。
The men shut up their jack-knives, and surrounded the horse-trough to souse their faces in the cold, hard water, and in a few moments the table was filled with a merry crowd, and a row of wistful-eyed youngsters circled the kitchen wall, where they stood first on one leg and then on the other, in impatient hunger.
男人们收起折刀，围到马槽边，把脸浸进那又冷又硬的水里，不一会儿桌旁就坐满了一群兴高采烈的人，一排眼巴巴的小孩绕着厨房墙站着，饿得等不及，一会儿单腿站，一会儿换另一条腿。
“Now pitch in, Mrs. Smith,” said Mrs. Gray, presiding over the table. “You know these men critters. They’ll eat every grain of it, if yeh give ‘em a chance. I swan, they’re made o’ India-rubber, their stomachs is, I know it.”
“快动筷子，史密斯太太，”格雷太太坐镇桌首说。“你也知道这帮男人东西。给他们机会，他们能把每一粒都吃光。我敢发誓，他们那胃是印度橡皮做的，我知道。”
“Haf to eat to work,” said Bill, gnawing a cob with a swift, circular motion that rivalled a corn-sheller in results.
“不吃饱哪干得动活，”比尔说，飞快地转着圈啃一穗玉米，那效率赛得过一台脱粒机。
“More like workin’ to eat,” put in one of the girls, with a giggle. “More eat ’n work with you.”
“照你这样，倒更像是为了吃才干活，”一个姑娘咯咯笑着插话。“你是吃得比干得多。”
“You needn’t say anything, Net. Any one that’ll eat seven ears–”
“你少说话，奈特。谁能一口气吃七穗——”
“I didn’t, no such thing. You piled your cobs on my plate.”
“我没有，没这事。是你把你的玉米芯堆到我盘子上的。”
“That’ll do to tell Ed Varney. It won’t go down here where we know yeh.”
“这话哄埃德·瓦尼去吧。在这儿我们都摸清你了，糊弄不过去。”
“Good land! Eat all yeh want! They’s plenty more in the fiel’s, but I can’t afford to give you young uns tea. The tea is for us women-folks, and ‘specially f’r Mis’ Smith an’ Bill’s wife. We’re a-goin’ to tell fortunes by it.”
“老天！随你们吃！田里多的是。不过我可供不起你们这帮小的喝茶。茶是给我们女人家的，尤其给史密斯太太和比尔媳妇。我们要拿它算命呢。”
One by one the men filled up and shoved back, and one by one the children slipped into their places, and by two o’clock the women alone remained around the débris-covered table, sipping their tea and telling fortunes.
男人们一个接一个吃饱了往后一推椅子，孩子们一个接一个溜进他们腾出的座位，到两点钟，只剩女人们围着这张杯盘狼藉的桌子，啜着茶算命。
As they got well down to the grounds in the cup, they shook them with a circular motion in the hand, and then turned them bottom-side-up quickly in the saucer, then twirled them three or four times one way, and three or four times the other, during a breathless pause. Then Mrs. Gray lifted the cup, and, gazing into it with profound gravity, pronounced the impending fate.
等杯子快见底、只剩茶叶渣了，她们把杯子拿在手里打着圈摇一摇，然后飞快地在茶碟里底朝上一扣，接着朝一个方向拧三四下，再朝另一个方向拧三四下，其间众人屏息静候。然后格雷太太端起杯子，郑重其事地往里凝视，宣告即将到来的命运。
It must be admitted that, to a critical observer, she had abundant preparation for hitting close to the mark, as when she told the girls that “somebody was comin’.” “It’s a man,” she went on gravely. “He is cross-eyed–”
得承认，在一个挑剔的旁观者看来，她要说个八九不离十，是有充分准备的，比如她对姑娘们说“有人要来了”。“是个男的，”她一本正经地往下说。“他斜白眼——”
“Oh, you hush!” cried Nettie.
“哎哟，你别说了！”内蒂嚷道。
“He has red hair, and is death on b’iled corn and hot biscuit.”
“他红头发，见了煮玉米和热饼就没命。”
The others shrieked with delight.
其他人乐得尖叫。
“But he’s goin’ to get the mitten, that red-headed feller is, for I see another feller comin’ up behind him.”
“不过那个红头发的要吃闭门羹，因为我看见他后头还跟着一个。”
“Oh, lemme see, lemme see!” cried Nettie.
“哦，让我看看，让我看看！”内蒂嚷道。
“Keep off,” said the priestess, with a lofty gesture. “His hair is black. He don’t eat so much, and he works more.”
“让开，”这位女祭司高傲地一挥手。“他黑头发。他吃得没那么多，干活多。”
The girls exploded in a shriek of laughter, and pounded their sister on the back.
姑娘们哄堂大笑，捶着她们的姐妹的背。
At last came Mrs. Smith’s turn, and she was trembling with excitement as Mrs. Gray again composed her jolly face to what she considered a proper solemnity of expression.
终于轮到史密斯太太了，格雷太太又把她那张乐呵呵的脸收成她认为合宜的庄严神色，史密斯太太激动得直发抖。
“Somebody is comin’ to you,” she said, after a long pause. “He’s got a musket on his back. He’s a soldier. He’s almost here. See?”
“有人正朝你来，”她顿了好久才说。“他背上背着一杆枪。他是个当兵的。他快到了。看见没？”
She pointed at two little tea-stems, which really formed a faint suggestion of a man with a musket on his back. He had climbed nearly to the edge of the cup. Mrs. Smith grew pale with excitement. She trembled so she could hardly hold the cup in her hand as she gazed into it.
她指着两小根茶梗，那还真隐隐约约像一个背枪的人。他差不多爬到了杯子的边沿。史密斯太太激动得脸都白了。她抖得几乎端不住杯子，只顾往里盯。
“It’s Ed,” cried the old woman. “He’s on the way home. Heavens an’ earth! There he is now!” She turned and waved her hand out toward the road. They rushed to the door to look where she pointed.
“是埃德，”老太太喊道。“他在回家的路上。我的天老爷！他这会儿就在那儿！”她转过身，朝大路挥手。众人冲到门口，顺着她指的方向看。
A man in a blue coat, with a musket on his back, was toiling slowly up the hill on the sun-bright, dusty road, toiling slowly, with bent head half hidden by a heavy knapsack. So tired it seemed that walking was indeed a process of falling. So eager to get home he would not stop, would not look aside, but plodded on, amid the cries of the locusts, the welcome of the crickets, and the rustle of the yellow wheat. Getting back to God’s country, and his wife and babies!
一个穿蓝军装、背上背着枪的人，正在那条阳光灿烂、尘土飞扬的路上吃力地慢慢上坡，吃力地慢慢走，低着头，半个身子被沉重的背包遮住。看上去累得——走路当真成了一个不断往前扑的过程。回家心切，他不肯停，不肯朝旁边看，只是一步一步往前挪，蝉在叫，蟋蟀在迎接他，黄麦子在窸窣作响。他要回到上帝的国度，回到他的妻子和娃儿身边！
Laughing, crying, trying to call him and the children at the same time, the little wife, almost hysterical, snatched her hat and ran out into the yard. But the soldier had disappeared over the hill into the hollow beyond, and, by the time she had found the children, he was too far away for her voice to reach him. And, besides, she was not sure it was her husband, for he had not turned his head at their shouts. This seemed so strange. Why didn’t he stop to rest at his old neighbor’s house? Tortured by hope and doubt, she hurried up the coolly as fast as she could push the baby wagon, the blue-coated figure just ahead pushing steadily, silently forward up the coolly.
又笑又哭，一边想喊他、一边想喊孩子，这小妻子几乎歇斯底里，抓起帽子跑进院子。可那个当兵的已经翻过山头，没进那边的洼地里去了，等她把孩子们找齐，他已经走得太远，她的声音够不着他。何况，她也拿不准那就是她丈夫，因为他没有为他们的喊声回一下头。这太奇怪了。他怎么不在老邻居家歇歇脚？被希望和疑虑折磨着，她推着婴儿车，能推多快推多快，急急地顺着沟往上赶，那个穿蓝军装的身影就在前头，稳稳地、默默地顺着沟往前走。
When the excited, panting little group came in sight of the gate they saw the blue-coated figure standing, leaning upon the rough rail fence, his chin on his palms, gazing at the empty house. His knapsack, canteen, blankets, and musket lay upon the dusty grass at his feet.
这一小群激动、气喘的人望见家门口时，看见那个穿蓝军装的身影站在那儿，倚着粗糙的木栏杆篱笆，下巴撑在手掌上，望着那栋空屋子。他的背包、水壶、毯子和枪，撂在他脚边满是尘土的草地上。
He was like a man lost in a dream. His wide, hungry eyes devoured the scene. The rough lawn, the little unpainted house, the field of clear yellow wheat behind it, down across which streamed the sun, now almost ready to touch the high hill to the west, the crickets crying merrily, a cat on the fence near by, dreaming, unmindful of the stranger in blue–
他像一个迷失在梦里的人。他那双又大又饥渴的眼睛把眼前的景象吞了下去。杂乱的草地，没上过漆的小屋，屋后那片清亮的黄麦地——阳光斜洒下来，此刻几乎要碰到西边那座高山了——蟋蟀欢快地叫着，近旁篱笆上一只猫，做着梦，浑然不觉那个穿蓝衣的陌生人——
How peaceful it all was. O God! How far removed from all camps, hospitals, battle lines. A little cabin in a Wisconsin coolly, but it was majestic in its peace. How did he ever leave it for those years of tramping, thirsting, killing?
这一切多么安宁。哦上帝！离所有的营地、医院、战线多么遥远。威斯康星一条沟里的一间小木屋，可它在它的安宁里自有一种庄严。他当年怎么就撇下它，去过那些年行军、干渴、杀人的日子？
Trembling, weak with emotion, her eyes on the silent figure, Mrs. Smith hurried up to the fence. Her feet made no noise in the dust and grass, and they were close upon him before he knew of them. The oldest boy ran a little ahead. He will never forget that figure, that face. It will always remain as something epic, that return of the private. He fixed his eyes on the pale face covered with a ragged beard.
发着抖，情绪激动得浑身发软，眼睛盯着那个不出声的身影，史密斯太太急忙走到篱笆跟前。她的脚踩在尘土和草上没有声响，他们已经到了他近旁，他才觉察。大儿子跑在前头一点。他永远不会忘记那个身影，那张脸。那个二等兵的归来，会永远像一桩史诗里的事一样留在他心里。他把眼睛钉在那张苍白的、蒙着一圈乱糟糟胡子的脸上。
“Who are you, sir?” asked the wife, or, rather, started to ask, for he turned, stood a moment, and then cried:
“先生，你是谁？”妻子问道，或者说，正要问，因为他转过身来，站了一会儿，然后喊道：
“Emma!”
“艾玛！”
“Edward!”
“爱德华！”
The children stood in a curious row to see their mother kiss this bearded, strange man, the elder girl sobbing sympathetically with her mother. Illness had left the soldier partly deaf, and this added to the strangeness of his manner.
孩子们古怪地站成一排，看他们的母亲亲这个满脸胡子的陌生男人，大女儿跟着母亲一起抽泣。病让这当兵的有一只耳朵半聋，这又给他的举止添了几分生分。
But the youngest child stood away, even after the girl had recognized her father and kissed him. The man turned then to the baby, and said in a curiously unpaternal tone:
可最小的那个孩子站得远远的，连大女儿认出了父亲、亲过了他之后，他还是站得远远的。这男人于是转向那个最小的，用一种奇怪的、不像父亲的口气说：
“Come here, my little man; don’t you know me?” But the baby backed away under the fence and stood peering at him critically.
“过来，我的小家伙；你不认得我了？”可那小的却往篱笆底下退去，站在那儿，挑剔地打量他。
“My little man!” What meaning in those words! This baby seemed like some other woman’s child, and not the infant he had left in his wife’s arms. The war had come between him and his baby–he was only a strange man to him, with big eyes; a soldier, with mother hanging to his arm, and talking in a loud voice.
“我的小家伙！”这几个字里有多少含意！这孩子仿佛是别的女人的孩子，而不是他当年留在妻子怀里的那个婴儿。战争横在了他和他的孩子之间——在孩子眼里他只是个陌生人，长着一双大眼睛；一个当兵的，母亲挽着他的胳膊，说话大嗓门。
“And this is Tom,” the private said, drawing the oldest boy to him. “He’ll come and see me. He knows his poor old pap when he comes home from the war.”
“这是汤姆，”二等兵说着，把大儿子拉到跟前。“他会过来看我。打仗回来，他认得他这可怜的老爹。”
The mother heard the pain and reproach in his voice and hastened to apologize.
母亲听出他声音里的痛楚和责备，赶忙替孩子解释。
“You’ve changed so, Ed. He can’t know yeh. This is papa, Teddy; come and kiss him–Tom and Mary do. Come, won’t you?” But Teddy still peered through the fence with solemn eyes, well out of reach. He resembled a half-wild kitten that hesitates, studying the tones of one’s voice.
“你变了太多了，埃德。他认不出你。这是爸爸，泰迪；过来亲亲他——汤姆和玛丽都亲了。来嘛，好不好？”可泰迪还是从篱笆缝里往外瞅，一双眼睛严肃得很，站在够不着的地方。他像一只半野的小猫，犹豫着，琢磨你说话的声气。
“I’ll fix him,” said the soldier, and sat down to undo his knapsack, out of which he drew three enormous and very red apples. After giving one to each of the older children, he said:
“我有办法治他，”这当兵的说着，坐下来解开背包，从里头掏出三个又大又红的苹果。他给年纪大点的两个孩子一人一个，然后说：
“Now I guess he’ll come. Eh, my little man? Now come see your pap.”
“这下我看他要过来了。啊，小家伙？来看看你爹。”
Teddy crept slowly under the fence, assisted by the overzealous Tommy, and a moment later was kicking and squalling in his father’s arms. Then they entered the house, into the sitting room, poor, bare, art-forsaken little room, too, with its rag carpet, its square clock, and its two or three chromos and pictures from Harper’s Weekly pinned about.
泰迪在过分热心的汤米帮衬下，慢慢从篱笆底下钻过来，一会儿工夫就在父亲怀里又踢又嚷。然后他们进了屋，进了起居室——一间寒酸、空荡、跟艺术不沾边的小屋子，铺着碎布地毯，摆着一座方钟，墙上钉着两三张彩印画和从《哈泼斯周刊》上剪下来的画。
“Emma, I’m all tired out,” said Private Smith, as he flung himself down on the carpet as he used to do, while his wife brought a pillow to put under his head, and the children stood about munching their apples.
“艾玛，我累垮了，”史密斯二等兵说着，像从前那样往地毯上一躺，妻子拿来一个枕头垫在他头下，孩子们围站着啃苹果。
“Tommy, you run and get me a pan of chips, and Mary, you get the tea-kettle on, and I’ll go and make some biscuit.”
“汤米，你跑去给我拿一盆碎柴，玛丽，你去把茶壶坐上，我去烙点饼。”
And the soldier talked. Question after question he poured forth about the crops, the cattle, the renter, the neighbors. He slipped his heavy government brogan shoes off his poor, tired, blistered feet, and lay out with utter, sweet relaxation. He was a free man again, no longer a soldier under command. At supper he stopped once, listened and smiled. “That’s old Spot. I know her voice. I s’pose that’s her calf out there in the pen. I can’t milk her to-night, though. I’m too tired. But I tell you, I’d like a drink o’ her milk. What’s become of old Rove?”
于是这当兵的说起话来。庄稼、牲口、佃户、邻居，一个问题接一个问题往外倒。他把军里发的那双笨重的粗皮鞋从可怜的、疲惫的、打了泡的脚上蹬掉，彻底地、甜美地舒展着身子躺开。他又是个自由人了，不再是个听命令的兵。吃晚饭时他停了一下，听了听，笑了。“那是老斑。我听得出它的声音。外头圈里那头小牛想必是它下的。不过今晚我可挤不了它的奶。我太累了。可我跟你说，我真想喝一口它的奶。老罗弗呢，怎么样了？”
“He died last winter. Poisoned, I guess.” There was a moment of sadness for them all. It was some time before the husband spoke again, in a voice that trembled a little.
“它去年冬天死了。我看是中了毒。”大家都难过了一阵。过了好一会儿丈夫才又开口，声音有点抖。
“Poor old feller! He’d ‘a’ known me a half a mile away. I expected him to come down the hill to meet me. It ’ud ‘a’ been more like comin’ home if I could ‘a’ seen him comin’ down the road an’ waggin’ his tail, an’ laughin’ that way he has. I tell yeh, it kind o’ took hold o’ me to see the blinds down an’ the house shut up.”
“可怜的老家伙！它隔半英里就能认出我。我还指望它下山来迎我呢。要是能看见它顺着路跑下来，摇着尾巴，那么个笑法，那才更像是回家。我跟你说，看见窗帘拉着、房子锁着，我心里真有点不是滋味。”
“But, yeh see, we–we expected you’d write again ’fore you started. And then we thought we’d see you if you did come,” she hastened to explain.
“可你瞧，我们——我们本以为你动身前还会再写封信来。那样的话，你真回来我们也能看见你，”她赶忙解释。
“Well, I ain’t worth a cent on writin’. Besides, it’s just as well yeh didn’t know when I was comin’. I tell you, it sounds good to hear them chickens out there, an’ turkeys, an’ the crickets. Do you know they don’t have just the same kind o’ crickets down South? Who’s Sam hired t’ help cut yer grain?”
“唉，写信我是一钱不值。再说，你不知道我哪天回来，也未必是坏事。我跟你说，听着外头那些鸡、火鸡、还有蟋蟀，真叫人舒坦。你知道吗，南方的蟋蟀跟这儿的还不一样。萨姆雇了谁来帮你割麦子？”
“The Ramsey boys.”
“拉姆齐家那几个小子。”
“Looks like a good crop; but I’m afraid I won’t do much gettin’ it cut. This cussed fever an’ ague has got me down pretty low. I don’t know when I’ll get rid of it. I’ll bet I’ve took twenty-five pounds of quinine if I’ve taken a bit. Gimme another biscuit. I tell yeh, they taste good, Emma. I ain’t had anything like it–Say, if you’d ‘a’ hear’d me braggin’ to th’ boys about your butter ‘n’ biscuits I’ll bet your ears ’ud ‘a’ burnt.”
“看着是个好年成；可这麦子的收割，我怕是帮不上多少忙了。这该死的寒热病把我折腾得够呛。我不知道什么时候才能甩掉它。我准吃了有二十五磅奎宁，一点不夸张。再给我一个饼。我跟你说，真好吃，艾玛。我好久没吃过这样的东西了——喂，你要是听见我跟弟兄们吹你做的黄油和饼，你耳朵准得发烧。”
The private’s wife colored with pleasure. “Oh, you’re always a-braggin’ about your things. Everybody makes good butter.”
二等兵的妻子高兴得脸都红了。“哎哟，你总爱吹自家的东西。谁不会做好黄油。”
“Yes; old lady Snyder, for instance.”
“是啊；比方说斯奈德老太太。”
“Oh, well, she ain’t to be mentioned. She’s Dutch.”
“哦，得了，她不能算。她是德国人。”
“Or old Mis’ Snively. One more cup o’ tea, Mary. That’s my girl! I’m feeling better already. I just b’lieve the matter with me is, I’m starved.”
“要么斯奈夫利老太太。再来一杯茶，玛丽。这才是我的好闺女！我已经觉得好些了。我真觉得我这毛病就是——饿的。”
This was a delicious hour, one long to be remembered. They were like lovers again. But their tenderness, like that of a typical American family, found utterance in tones, rather than in words. He was praising her when praising her biscuit, and she knew it. They grew soberer when he showed where he had been struck, one ball burning the back of his hand, one cutting away a lock of hair from his temple, and one passing through the calf of his leg. The wife shuddered to think how near she had come to being a soldier’s widow. Her waiting no longer seemed hard. This sweet, glorious hour effaced it all.
这是甜美的一个钟头，一个久久值得回味的钟头。他们又像一对恋人了。可他们的柔情，跟一个典型的美国家庭一样，是靠语气而不是靠言辞流露出来的。他夸她的饼，就是在夸她，她心里明白。等他指出身上中弹的地方——一颗子弹燎伤了他的手背，一颗削掉了他鬓角一绺头发，一颗穿过了他的小腿肚——他们的神色都沉了下来。妻子想到自己差一点就成了阵亡兵的遗孀，浑身发抖。她那份等待，此刻不再像是苦事了。这甜美、荣光的一个钟头把它全抹掉了。
Then they rose, and all went out into the garden and down to the barn. He stood beside her while she milked old Spot. They began to plan fields and crops for next year.
然后他们起身，一家人到菜园里，又下到谷仓去。她挤老斑的奶，他站在她旁边。他们开始盘算明年的田和庄稼。
His farm was weedy and encumbered, a rascally renter had run away with his machinery (departing between two days), his children needed clothing, the years were coming upon him, he was sick and emaciated, but his heroic soul did not quail. With the same courage with which he faced his Southern march he entered upon a still more hazardous future.
他的农场杂草丛生、债务缠身，一个无赖佃户卷走了他的农具（趁着夜色两天里溜掉的），他的孩子们需要衣裳，年岁一年年压上来，他有病，瘦得脱了形，可他那颗英雄的心没有退缩。凭着当年直面南征时同样的勇气，他迎向了一个更加凶险的未来。
Oh, that mystic hour! The pale man with big eyes standing there by the well, with his young wife by his side. The vast moon swinging above the eastern peaks, the cattle winding down the pasture slopes with jangling bells, the crickets singing, the stars blooming out sweet and far and serene; the katydids rhythmically calling, the little turkeys crying querulously, as they settled to roost in the poplar tree near the open gate. The voices at the well drop lower, the little ones nestle in their father’s arms at last, and Teddy falls asleep there.
哦，那神秘的一个钟头！那个脸色苍白、眼睛很大的男人站在井边，年轻的妻子在他身旁。硕大的月亮在东边的山峰上方摇曳，牛群摇着叮当作响的铃铛顺着牧场的坡蜿蜒而下，蟋蟀在唱，星星甜美、遥远而宁静地绽放开来；纺织娘有节奏地叫着，小火鸡在敞开的院门旁那棵白杨树上落定过夜时，一声声怨嗔似的啼叫。井边的说话声低了下去，小家伙们终于偎进了父亲怀里，泰迪就在那儿睡着了。
The common soldier of the American volunteer army had returned. His war with the South was over, and his fight, his daily running fight with nature and against the injustice of his fellow-men, was begun again.
美国志愿军里一个普通的士兵回来了。他与南方的战争结束了，而他的搏斗——他与自然、与同胞的不义之间那场日复一日、没有尽头的搏斗——又重新开始了。
英文原文 1890 年发表，收入《Main-Travelled Roads》（大路），公有领域（古登堡计划）。译文为本站自译。