unit1“we’vebeenhit!”课文翻译综合教程二

With the building in flames, one man needed help. Another man refused to leave him.

Adam

Mayblum

used

to

enjoy

watching

as

storms

lashed

the

windows

of

his

office:

You think that’s power Mayblum would scoff. I’m on the 87th floor of the World

Trade Cen

ter. That’s power. The drawstrings on his window shades would appear to

sway slightly, but it was an illusion. Although they were 1,040 feet in the sky,

The WTC was quite steady.

When Mayblum felt a devastating rumble on that September morning, he glanced

at the drawstrings. They were careening wildly, three feet in either direction.

Mayblum would be one of thousands cast into an extraordinary purgatory that

morning1. While as many as 25,000 would find their way to safety, 5,000 would not.

For some, it was a matter of geography2

—

not just which tower they worked in

or on which floor, but in which corner of the building.

For

some,

the

choices

were

as

basic

as

which

staircase

to

use.

Others

faced

the

ultimate moral dilemma: Save yourself, or save another.

The

confusion

inside

Adam

Mayblum’s

office

at

May

Davis,

a

financial

services

firm, lasted just seconds. He knew he needed to get out.

He ripped his T-shirt into pieces, soaked the pieces in water and gave them to

colleagues

to

cover

their

faces.

Among

them:

Harry

Ramos,

head

trader

at

May

Davis.

Mayblum had worked with Ramos off and on for 14

Sparks bit at Mayblum’s ankles as he raced for the stairs. He bolted down two

flights

before

realizing

that

his

trading

partner,

Hong

Zhu,

had

been

left

behind.

He went back upstairs, the whole area now filled with smoke and burning jet fuel.

There was no sign of Hong. Mayblum hurried down again and made it to the 78th

floor,

a

transfer

lobby

where

one

set

of

elevators

and

stairs

ended

and

another

began.

He saw a reassuring sight; Ramos had waded into the pandemonium to help panicked

workers into a stairwell.

Mayblum

continued

his

descent,

the

muscles

in

his

calves

contracting

in

spasms.

On the 53rd floor, he came across a heavyset man

whose legs just wouldn’t move

“Do you want to come, or do you want us to send help” Mayblum shouted.

The man asked him to send help. Adam said he would.

In the noise, smoke and sparks, Mayblum didn’t realize that his friend Hong

Zhu

was

behind

him

in

the

stairwell

the

whole

time.

When

Hong

got

to

the

53rd

floor,

he came across Harry Ramos. Ramos had stooped to help the heavyset man Mayblum had

seen earlier. “I’ll give you a hand,” Hong said.

Together, Ramos and Hong helped the man down one more flight to an elevator.

“Don’t take it,” a Port Authority official screamed.

Hong

and

Ramos

tried

to

send

a

magazine

down

in

the

elevator

to

test

its

safety.

But

when

they

pressed

the

“down”

button,

the

doors

wouldn’t

close.

So

Hong

decided

that he would be the guinea pig

He stepped inside, and the doors shut behind him.

Hong

took

the

elevator

down

to

the

44th

floor,

the

next

transfer

lobby.

So

far,

so good. He pressed “52,” went back up and collected Ramos and the heavyset man.

On

44

Hong

and

Ramos

helped

the

man

toward

the

last

bank

of

elevators

that

would

take them all the way down.

Hong pressed the “down” button again. Nothing. They would have to take the

stairs.

Ramos and Hong tried to support the man. “One step at a time,” Hong said.

They had been trying to get out for an hour and five minutes. They were on 36

when they felt the South Tower collapse.

“We really have to move,” Hong said.

The rumbles of the collapsing tower next door seemed to sap the heavyset man

of his last gasps of energy. “I can’t do it anymore,” he said, sitting down.

Hong

and

Ramos

tried

to

persuade

him

to

continue.

“You

don’t

have

to

move

your

legs!” Hong shouted. “Just move your butt. Let’s go!” But the

man couldn’t go

on.

A fireman ran up to them. Hong expected that he would join in to get the heavy

man to move. Instead, the fireman turned to Hong.

“Who

are

you,

screaming

at

him

to

get

out”

the

fireman

shouted.

“You

get

out!”

Hong looked at Ramos, who was still standing with the heavyset man.

“I’m

coming

down

with

you,”

Ramos

told

the

man.

“I’m

not

going

to

leave.”

“I left,” Hong says sorrowfully. “Alone.”

The

next

day,

Adam

Mayblum

sent

an

e-mail

describing

his

experience

to

friends

and relatives, who sent it to still others. The e-mail was read by someone in San

Francisco

who

knew

a

woman

in

New

York

named

Rebecca.

Her

husband,

Victor,

a

heavyset

man, was missing.

On Saturday, September 15, May Davis’s chairman had a gathering at his New

Jersey

home.

Adam

Mayblum

was

there.

So

was

Hong

Zhu.

Rebecca

was

also

there,

learning

how her husband, Victor, had been comforted in his last moments, how Harry Ramos

had refused to leave him behind.

Ramos’s

wife,

Micky,

was

there

too.

She

kept

asking

Mayblum

and

Hong

where

her