2015.02.01【英译中】谎言书第四节(3)字数:646

withmylove (大月半萝卜ಥ_ಥ)
【A+研究所】守护学员笑容部用户体验官
译犹未尽
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发表于:2015-02-01 10:51 [只看楼主] [划词开启]
“Shut it off,” the man moans, jerking his head back and forth. His eyes are clenched from the light and the pain, but his face — the double chin, the extra weight, even the big Adam’s apple — it can’t be.

“把它关掉”那个男人呻吟着,头来回颤动着。他的眼睛由于光的刺激和疼痛的影响而紧闭着,但是他的脸——双下巴,过于肥胖,甚至连那大喉结——它不可能是。


“You’re blinding him, Cal!” Roosevelt says, snatching the flashlight from my grip and shining it in my face. “What the hell is wrong with—”

“你把他照晕了,加尔!”罗斯福说着,一把把手电筒从我紧握的手里夺过,把它照在我的脸上。“究竟是怎么回事……”


“C-Cal?” the man mumbles, looking at Roosevelt. He heard him say my name. But as the man turns to me, the light hits us both from the side. Our eyes connect. “N-No. You’re not — You’re—” He swallows hard. “Cal?”

“加……加尔?”那个男人嘀咕着,看向罗斯福。他听到他叫了我的名字。但是当那个男人转向我的时候,亮光从一侧同时照亮了我们。我们对视了一下。“不,不。你不可能……你是……”他艰难地咽了口口水。“加尔?”


It’s an established scientific fact that the sense of smell is the most powerful for triggering memories. But it’s wrong. Because the moment I hear that scratchy, stumbly baritone — everyone knows their father’s voice.

根据一个已确定的科学事实,嗅觉是最能触动记忆的了。但是那并不正确。因为在那一刻我听到了那嘶哑、断断续续的男中音——任何人都知道他们父亲的声音是怎么样的。


Our eyes stay locked, and I swear, I see the old him under the new him, like he’s wearing a Halloween mask of his future self. But as I study this middleaged man with the leathery, sun-beaten skin — God, he looks so old — his terrified pale green eyes, his twisted Irish nose . . . it’s more crooked than I remember. Like it’s been broken again.

我们的目光交结在了一起。我发誓,我能看到在他新面貌下面原来的那个他,就像他戴着未来的他的万圣节面具一般。但是当我仔细观察了这个中年男人,他的皮肤坚韧且饱经风霜——哦,天哪,他看起来是如此的苍老——他那惊慌而又暗淡的绿色双眼,他那歪曲的爱尔兰鼻子……它比在我的记忆中更为扭曲了。就像是它又被打坏了一般。


His hand shakes like a Parkinson’s patient as he tries to wipe flecks of blood from his mouth. He has to tuck the hand underneath him to stop it from trembling. He spent eight years in prison. It can’t be just his nose that’s been broken.

在他试图擦去嘴角的血迹时,他的手就像是一个帕金森病人那样在颤抖。他只能把手塞到身下来停止颤抖。他在狱中度过了八年。因此他不可能只有鼻子被打坏了。


“You okay?” Roosevelt asks. I’m not sure who he’s talking to, though it’s pretty clear it doesn’t matter. Down on my knees, I’m once again nine years old, pulling crayons from an old Tupperware bin. To this day, I don’t know if it was my greatest fear or deepest desire, but the one thing I drew over and over was my father coming home.
“你还好吗?”罗斯福问道。我不确定他是在对谁说话,虽然很明显这没什么关系。我双膝着地,我又一次变成了九岁的我,正在把蜡笔从那个老旧的特百惠桶里拔出来。这一天,我不知道它是否代表了我最大的恐惧或是最深刻的欲望,但是我画了一遍又一遍的东西就是我父亲回家的场景。

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