評論
打印
"I killed many Americans during the war," he said softly. "Many Americans." Moments later, I felt the razor on my throat.
“在那場戰爭中我殺了很多美國人他輕柔地說，“很多。”過了一會兒，我感覺到剃刀壓在了我的喉嚨上。
Only when the barber had finished shaving my face and was putting away his razor did it seem safe to raise the issue of price again. Years of travel had led me to anticipate this tactic: The merchant insists on an enormous, unmovable price after the service is rendered. But I hesitated bringing up the subject again. The barber seemed to read my mind nevertheless.
當他給我刮完臉，把剃刀拿開之后，我才覺得可以安全地和他討論價格問題了。多年的旅行使我能夠預料到他們的招數：商販們在服務之后，會要一個謝絕還價的高價。可我猶豫著，不知道是否該繼續詢問價錢。然而理發師好像看透了我的心思。
"We Vietnamese people are not so direct as you. We are easier in our ways," he said. "For us, it is not so hard to trust."
“我們越南人不像你們那么直接。我們的相處方式更簡單。”他說，“對我們來說，信任別人沒那么難。”
He pulled out his scissors now.
現在他拿出了剪子。
"So will I like this haircut?" I asked with a conspicuous hint of sarcasm.
“那么我會喜歡你剪的發型嗎？”我帶著明顯的諷刺意味問道。
The barber gave me a bright, scolding laugh, his dark eyes narrowing above wrinkles that suggest he had at least sixty fallen yellow leaves himself.
理發師對我燦爛地笑了，笑意中帶著幾分責備。他的黑眼睛瞇縫起來，聚起一堆皺紋，他至少有六十歲了。
"I, young friend, am a sculptor. Under my hands, rough stone is turned into a beautiful, delicate statue."
“年輕人，我是一個雕塑家呢，在我手下，粗糙的石頭會變成精美的雕像。”
"So it's an art form, hair-cutting?" I asked.
“所以理發是一種藝術形式嘍？”我問道。
