I sat brooding on my front steps, nursing my wound and waiting for my mother to come fromwork. I felt that a grave injustice had been done me. It was all right to throw cinders. The greatest harm a cinder could do was leave a bruise. But broken bottles were dangerous; they left you cut, bleeding, and helpless.
我垂頭喪氣地坐在家門前的臺(tái)階上,一邊小心地護(hù)著傷口,一邊等著母親干完活回家。我感到自己受到了莫大的委屈。扔煤渣其實(shí)沒什么大不了,至多也不過給人留下一些青腫擦傷。可是破玻璃瓶就危險(xiǎn)了,會(huì)割破你皮肉,使你流血,讓你茫然不知所措。
When night fell, my mother came from the white folks' kitchen. I raced down the street to meet her. I could just feel in my bones that she would understand. I knew she would tell me exactly what to do next time. I grabbed her hand and babbled out the whole story. She examined my wound, then slapped me.
直到夜幕降臨,我母親才離開白人家的廚房回來。我沖到街上奔跑著去迎接她。我從骨子里頭感到她會(huì)理解我,而且會(huì)告訴我下次該怎么做。我一把抓住她的手,咿咿呀呀地把全部經(jīng)過告訴了她。她檢查了一下我的傷口,接著就重重地打了我一巴掌。
"How come yuh didn't hide?" she asked me. "How come yuh aways fighting?"
"你怎么不躲避?"她問我。"你為什么老是干仗?"
I was outraged and bawled. Between sobs I told her that I didn't have any trees or hedges to hide behind. There wasn't a thing I could have used as a trench. And you couldn't throw very far when you were hiding behind the brick pillars of a house. She grabbed a barrel stave, dragged me home, stripped me naked, and beat me till I had a fever of one hundred and two. She would smack my rump with the stave, and, while the skin was still smarting, impart to me gems of Jim Crow wisdom. I was never to throw cinders any more. I was never to fight any more wars. I was never, never, under any conditions, to fight white folks again. And they were absolutely right in clouting me with the broken milk bottle. Didn't I know she was working hard every day in the hot kitchens of the white folks to make money to take care of me? When was I ever going to learn to be a good boy? She couldn't be bothered with my fights. She finished by telling me that I ought to be thankful to God as long as I lived that they didn't kill me.
我氣極了,禁不住放聲大哭。我邊哭泣邊告訴她,我沒有可以躲避的樹木和籬笆,也沒有可以藏身的壕溝。要是躲在磚柱子后面,那就扔不遠(yuǎn)了。她操起一塊板條,把我拖回家中,剝光我的衣服,痛打了我一頓,直到我發(fā)起華氏102度高燒來。她總是用木板打我的屁股,趁我皮肉還在針刺般地疼痛時(shí),她送給了我如何做一個(gè)逆來順受的黑鬼的金玉良言。我千萬不可再扔煤渣了,千萬不可再干仗了,在任何情況下,都絕對(duì)不可再去跟白人干仗了。他們使勁向我擲破牛奶瓶也是絕對(duì)正確的。難道我不知道她整日在白人家悶熱的廚房里辛辛苦苦干活就是為了掙錢養(yǎng)活我?我什么時(shí)候才能學(xué)會(huì)做個(gè)好孩子?她不能再為我跟人打斗操心了。末了她對(duì)我說,我該一輩子感謝上帝,沒有讓他們把我打死。
All that night I was delirious and could not sleep. Each time I closed my eyes I saw monstrous white faces suspended from the ceiling, leering at me.
那一晚,我整夜恍恍惚惚,無法入睡。每當(dāng)我閉上眼睛,就會(huì)看到惡魔般的白人面孔懸掛在天花板上,向我做著鬼臉。
From that time on, the charm of my cinder yard was gone. The green trees, the trimmed hedges, the cropped lawns grew very meaningful, became a symbol. Even today when I think of white folks, the hard, sharp outlines of white houses surrounded by trees, lawns, and hedges are present somewhere in the background of my mind. Through the years they grew into an overreaching symbol of fear.
從那時(shí)起,煤渣院子對(duì)我失去了吸引力。綠油油的樹木,修剪過的籬笆和草坪漸漸生出一層新意,成了一種象征。直至今日,每當(dāng)我想到白人時(shí),那些四周繞著樹木、草坪、籬笆的白色房子的鮮明刺眼的輪廓仍然會(huì)出現(xiàn)在我的腦海深處。經(jīng)年累月,它們成了我擺脫不了的恐懼的象征。