To enter out into that silence that was the city at eight o'clock of a misty evening in November, to put your feet upon that buckling concrete walk, to step over grassy seams and make your way, hands in pockets, through the silences, that was what Mr Leonard Mead most dearly loved to do. He was alone in this world of 2053 A.D., or as good as alone, and with a final decision made, a path selected, he would stride off, sending patterns of frosty air before him like the smoke of a cigar.
在11月霧氣蒙蒙的晚上8點，走出屋外，置身于寂靜的城市夜景中，雙腳踩在粗糙的混凝土人行道上，跨過長滿草的地磚縫隙，雙手放在衣兜里，穿過這一片寂靜，一路前行——這是倫納德·米德先生最喜歡做的事。此時是公元2053年，他獨自一人生活在這個世界上，也可以說跟獨自一人沒什么兩樣。他已經做出了最終決定，選擇了一種生活方式——他愿意大踏步地向前走，讓自己呼出的哈氣在身前凝結，然后像雪茄煙霧一樣在空氣中消散。
It was an early November evening. There was a good crystal frost in the air; it cut the nose and made the lungs blaze like a Christmas tree inside; you could feel the cold light going on and off, all the branches filled with invisible snow. He listened to the faint push of his soft shoes through autumn leaves with satisfaction, and whistled a cold quiet whistle between his teeth, occasionally picking up a leaf as he passed, examining its skeletal pattern in the infrequent lamplights as he went on, smelling its rusty smell.
這是11月初的一個晚上?？諝庵械教帍浡?。冰霜拍打在鼻子上，胸口卻感覺火辣辣的——這種感覺就好像一棵圣誕樹藏在那里，樹枝上掛滿了看不清的積雪，但你卻可以感受到外面忽明忽暗的寒光。他聆聽著自己柔軟的鞋底踏在秋天的落葉上發出的微弱的沙沙聲，感到心滿意足?？谏诼晱乃凝X間傳出，這聲音溫柔且透著一絲寒意。他偶爾會撿起腳下的葉子，一邊繼續行走，一邊在少有的燈光下觀察它的骨架圖案，嗅著它散發出的腐爛氣味。
The street was silent and long and empty, with only his shadow moving like the shadow of a hawk in mid-country. If he closed his eyes and stood very still, frozen, he could imagine himself upon the centre of a plain, a wintry, windless Arizona desert with no house in a thousand miles, and only dry river beds, the street, for company. In ten years of walking by night or day, for thousands of miles, he had never met another person walking, not one in all that time.
這條街，寂靜、漫長、空曠，只有他的身影在那里游蕩，就像無邊的曠野上空翱翔的一只雄鷹。如果他閉上眼睛，停下腳步，一動不動地站在那里，他的腦海中就會浮現出自己站在平坦、寒冷、無風的亞利桑那沙漠 的中心，一千英里之內沒有任何房屋，沒有任何街道，陪伴他的只有干涸的河床。在這十年里，白天和晚上加在一起，他走過了數千英里，卻從未遇到任何其他行人，一個也沒有。
He turned back on a side street, circling around toward his home. He was within a block of his destination when the lone car turned a corner quite suddenly and flashed a fierce white cone of light upon him. He stood entranced, not unlike a night moth, stunned by the illumination, and then drawn toward it.
他轉身走進了一條小巷，沿著蜿蜒的小路朝他家的方向走去。在距他家只有一個街區的時候，突然一輛汽車一個急轉彎出現在他面前，車頂閃爍著刺眼的白色光錐。他愣住了，呆站在那里，像黑夜里的一只飛蛾，被突如其來的光照弄得不知所措。過了一小會兒，他緩過神來，朝那輛車走去。
A metallic voice called to him: 'Stand still. Stay where you are! Don't move!' He halted. 'Put up your hands!' 'But-' he said. 'Your hands up! Or we'll shoot!' The police, of course, but what a rare, incredible thing; in a city of three million, there was only one police car left, wasn't that correct? Ever since a year ago, 2052, the election year, the force had been cut down from three cars to one. Crime was ebbing; there was no need now for the police, save for this one lone car wandering and wandering the empty streets.
一個金屬般的聲音向他喊話：“站在那里！不許動！”他停了下來?！芭e起你的雙手！”“但是……”他說?！芭e起你的雙手！否則，我們要開槍了！”當然，這是警車，盡管見到警車是一件非常罕見且令人難以置信的事情。這座300萬人口的城市，目前只剩下了一輛警車，難道這不對嗎？從一年前，也就是2052大選年開始，警方就已經把警車從原來的三輛削減到了一輛。犯罪率持續降低，警方已經失去了存在的意義，留下這一輛孤零零的警車，在空蕩蕩的街道上四處徘徊已經足以。
'Your name?' said the police car in a metallic whisper. He couldn't see the men in it for the bright light in his eyes. 'Leonard Mead,' he said. 'Speak up!' 'Leonard Mead!' Business or profession?' 'I guess you'd call me a writer.' No profession,' said the police car, as if talking to itself. The light held him fixed, like a museum specimen, needle thrust through chest.
“你叫什么名字？”警車上傳出金屬般的低沉聲音。他的眼睛被強光照射著，因此看不到警車上的人?！皞惣{德·米德?！彼卮鹫f?！罢埓簏c兒聲！”“倫納德·米德！”“從事什么職業？”“我想你可以稱我為作家?！薄盁o業”警車說，似乎在自言自語。光線像針一樣刺透他的胸口，將他固定在那里，如同博物館中的一件標本。

'You might say that,' said Mr Mead. He hadn't written in years. Magazines and books didn't sell anymore. 'No profession,' said the phonograph voice, hissing. 'What are you doing out?' 'Walking,' said Leonard Mead. 'Walking!' 'Just walking,' he said simply, but his face felt cold. 'Walking, just walking, walking?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Walking where? For what?' 'Walking for air. Walking to see.'
“也可以這么說?！泵椎孪壬f。他已經多年沒寫過東西了，而且目前市面上也不再有雜志和書籍出售?！盁o業，”留聲機般的聲音再次響起，同時夾雜著嘶嘶聲。“你出來干什么？”“散步?！眰惣{德·米德回答說。“散步！”“對，只是散步?！彼p描淡寫地說，但表情有些冷漠。“散步，僅僅是散步，散步？”“是的，警官。”“去哪里散步？為什么散步？”“出來透透氣，看看風景。”
'Your address!' 'Eleven South Saint James Street.' 'And there is air in your house, you have an air conditioner, Mr Mead?' Yes.' 'And you have a viewing screen in your house to see with?' 'No. 'No?' There was a crackling quiet that in itself was an accusation. 'Are you married, Mr Mead?' 'No.'
“請提供你的地址！”“圣詹姆斯南街11號。”“你的房子里有空氣，也有空調，是吧米德先生？”“是的?！薄澳慵依镆惭b了觀景屏，是吧？”“沒有。”“沒有？”然后，從寂靜中傳出一陣噼里啪啦的聲音，應該是警方在記錄控訴理由。“你結婚了嗎，米德先生？”“沒有?！?br />'Not married,' said the police voice behind the fiery beam. The moon was high and dear among the stars and the houses were grey and silent. 'Nobody wanted me,' said Leonard Mead with a smile. 'Don't speak unless you're spoken to!' Leonard Mead waited in the cold night. 'Just walking; Mr Mead?' 'Yes.’ ‘But you haven't explained for what purpose.'
“未婚?！贝萄鄣墓馐髠鱽砭斓穆曇?。此時此刻，皎潔的月亮高懸在滿天的星斗間，夜空下的房屋灰蒙蒙的，靜靜地矗立在那里。“沒人愿意嫁給我?！眰惣{德·米德微笑著說?！皼]問你就不要說話！”倫納德·米德在寒夜中等待?！爸皇巧⒉?，是吧米德先生？”“是的?！薄翱墒牵氵€沒有解釋你為什么出來散步?！?br />'I explained; for air, and to see, and just to walk.' 'Have you done this often?' Every night for years.' The police car sat in the centre of the street with its radio throat faintly humming. 'Well, Mr Mead', it said. ''s that all?' he asked politely. 'Yes,' said the voice. 'Here.' There was a sigh, a pop. The back door of the police car sprang wide. 'Get in.'
我解釋過了——出來透透氣，看看風景，只是散散步而已。”“你經常這樣做嗎？”“每天晚上都會出來走走，已經好幾年了。” 警車?？吭诮值乐行?，車上的收音機里發出微微的嗡嗡聲。“好的，米德先生，”警車中的聲音說道。“沒事了嗎？”他彬彬有禮地問道?！笆堑?，”那個聲音回答道?！斑M來”。此時傳來一個嘆息聲。然后，砰的一聲，警車的后排車門彈開了。“上車?！?br />'Wait a minute, I haven't done anything!' 'Get in.' 'I protest!' 'Mr Mead.' He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed the front window of the car he looked in. As he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no one in the car at all. 'Get in.'
“等一下，我什么也沒做??！”“上車?！薄拔铱棺h！”“米德先生，請你上車?！蓖蝗婚g，他的走路姿勢變得像一個醉漢。當走過汽車前車窗時，他向里面看了一眼。正如他所料，前排座位上并沒有人，車里一個人也沒有?！吧宪??！?br />He put his hand to the door and peered into the back seat, which was a little cell, a little black jail with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of harsh antiseptic; it smelled too clean and hard and metallic. There was nothing soft there.
他將手放在車門上，凝視著后座。后排座椅其實是一個小牢房，一個帶有欄桿的黑色小牢房。牢房里散發出鉚接鋼的氣味，以及很濃的防腐劑氣味。它聞起來過于干凈、過于堅硬，還夾雜著非常濃烈的金屬味。里面除了硬邦邦的物件，什么也沒有。
'Now if you had a wife to give you an alibi,' said the iron voice. 'But-’ Where are you taking me?' 'To the Psychiatric Centre for Research on Regressive Tendencies.' He got in. The door shut with a soft thud. The police car rolled through the night avenues, flashing its dim lights ahead.
“如果你有妻子，她還能幫你提供不在場證明，”那個鋼鐵般的聲音說道，“但是……”“你們要帶我去哪兒？”“去‘精神病患者回歸社會趨向研究中心’”。他上了車。車門緩緩地關上。警車閃爍著微弱的警燈，穿行于林蔭大道，向前方駛去。
They passed one house on one street a moment later, one house in an entire city of houses that were dark, but this one particular house had all of its electric lights brightly lit, every window a loud yellow illumination, square and warm in the cool darkness. ‘That’s my house,' said Leonard Mead. No one answered him.
過了一會兒，他們經過了大街旁的一棟房屋，整個城市中所有的房屋都是漆黑一片，只有這棟房屋燈火通明。每個窗口都像是寒冷夜色中發射出明亮、溫暖光芒的方格子?！澳菞澐孔邮俏壹??！眰惣{德·米德說。但沒有人回答他。