評論
打印
I first heard this story a few years ago from a girl I had met in New York's Greenwich Village. Probably the story is one of those mysterious bits of folklore that reappear every few years, to be told anew in one form or another. However, I still like to think that it really did happen, somewhere, sometime.
我是在幾年前，從在紐約格林威治村碰到的一個女孩子那里第一次聽到這個故事的。這故事很可能是那些每隔幾年就會重新出現(xiàn)，以一種新的說法再被講述一遍的神秘的民間傳說中的一個。然而，我依然愿意相信這故事確實曾在某個地方、某個時間發(fā)生過。
Going Home
回家
They were going to Fort Lauderdale — three boys and three girls — and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches and sea tides as the gray, cold spring of New York vanished behind them.
他們要去洛德代爾堡——三個男孩子和三個女孩子。他們用紙袋裝著夾心面包和葡萄酒上了公共汽車。當紐約灰暗寒冷的春天在他們身后消失時，他們正夢想著金色的海灘和大海的潮水。
As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice Vingo. He sat in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting suit, never moving, his dusty face masking his age. He kept chewing the inside of his lip a lot, frozen into complete silence.
公共汽車駛過新澤西州時，他們開始注意到了文戈。他坐在他們前面，穿著一套不合身的便服，一動也不動。他風塵滿面，讓人看不出他有多大歲數(shù)。他不停地咬著嘴唇內(nèi)側(cè)，表情冷淡，默默無言。
Deep into the night, outside Washington, the bus pulled into Howard Johnson's, and everybody got off except Vingo. He sat rooted in his seat, and the young people began to wonder about him, trying to imagine his life: perhaps he was a sea captain, a runaway from his wife, an old soldier going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself.
深夜，公共汽車駛抵華盛頓郊外，停進了霍華德·約翰遜餐館。所有人都下了車，只有文戈除外。他像生了根似地坐在座位上，幾個年輕人開始詫異起來，試圖想像出他的身世：他或許是位海船船長，或是一個拋下妻子離家出走的人，再不就是一個回家的老兵。當他們回到車上時，一個女孩子便坐到他身邊，作了自我介紹。
We're going to Florida, she said brightly. "I hear it's really beautiful."
“我們要到佛羅里達去，”她興高采烈地說。“聽說那兒的確很美。”
It is, he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget.
“是的，”他輕聲說道，仿佛想起了他一直想忘卻的什么東西。
