麦田里的守望者——外文翻译

The Catcher in the Rye

By Jerome David Salinger

Mr. and Mrs. Antolini had this very swanky apartment over on Sutton Place, with

two

steps

that

you

go

down

to

get

in

the

living

room,

and

a

bar

and

all.

I?d

been

there quite a few times, because after I left Elkton Hills Mr. Antoilni came up to our

house

for

dinner

quite

frequently

to

find

out

how

I

was

getting

along.

He

wasn?t

married

then.

Then

when

he

got

married,

I

used

to

play

tennis

with

him

and

Mrs.

Antolini

quite

frequently,

out

at

the

West

Side

Tennis

Club,

in

Forest

Hills,

Long

Island Mrs. Antolini, belonged there. She was lousy with dough. She was

about six

years older than Mr. Antolini , but they seemed to get along quite well. For one thing,

they were both very intellectual, especially Mr. Antolini except that he was more witty

than intellectual when you were with him, sort of like D.B. Mrs. Antolini was mostly

serious. She had asthma pretty bad. They both read all D.B.

?

s stories

─

Mrs. Antolini,

too

─

and when D.B. went to Hollywood; Mr. Antolini phoned him up and told him

not to go He went anyway, though. Mr. Antolini said that anybody that could write

like

D.B.

had

no

business

going

out

to

Hollywood.

That?s

exactly

what

I

said,

practically. I would have walked down to their house, because I

didn?t

want to spend

any

of Phoebe?s Christmas dough that

I didn?t

have to,

but

I

felt

funny

when

I

got

outside. Sort of dizzy. So I took a cab.

I didn?t want to, but I did. I

had a helluva time

even finding a cab.

Old Mr. Antolini answered the door when I rang the bell

—

after the elevator boy

finally let me up, the bastard. He had on his bathrobe and slippers, and he had a high

ball in one hand. He was a pretty sophisticated guy, and he was a pretty heavy drinker.

“Holden, m? boy!” he said. “My God, he?s grown

another twenty inches. Fine to see

you.”

“How

are

you,

Mr.

Antolini?

How?s

Mrs.

Antolini?”

“We?re

both

jus

t

dandy.

Let?s have that coat.” He took my coat off

me and hung it

up. “I expected to see a

day-old infant in your arms. Nowhere to turn. Snowflakes

in your eye lashes.” He?s a

very witty guy sometimes. He turned around and yelled out

to the kitchen, “Lillian!

How?s the coffee coming?” Lillian was Mrs. Antolini?s

first name.

“It?s all ready,” she yelled back. “Is that

Ho

lden? Hello, Holden!” “Hello, Mrs.

Antolini!”

1

大连交通大学信息工程学院

2014

届本科生毕业设计（论文）外文翻译

You were always yelling when you were there. That?

s because the both of them

were never in the same room at the same time. It was sort of funny.

“Sit down, Holden,” Mr. Antolini

said. You could

tell

he was a little oiled up.

The

room

looked

like

they?d

just

had

a

party.

Glasses

were

all

over

the

place,

and

dishes with

pe

anuts

in them.

“Excuse the appearance of the

place,

“he said

“We?ve

been

entertaining some Buffalo friend of Mrs. Antolini?s…

Somebuffaloes, as a matter

of fact.”

I laughed, and Mrs. Antolini

yelled something in to me from the kitchen, but I

couldn?t hear her. “What?d she say?”

I asked Mr. Antolini.

She

said

not

to

look

at

her

when

she

comes

in.

She

just

arose

from

the

sack.

Have a cigarette. Are you smoking now?”

“Thanks,”

I said. I took a cigarett

e from the box he offered me. “Just

once in a

while. I

?

m a

moderate smoker.”

“I?ll bet you are,” he said. He gave me

a light from this big lighter off the table.

“So

,

y

ou

and

Pencey

are

no

longer

one,”

he

said.

He

always

said

things

that

way.

Sometimes it amused me a lot and sometimes it didn?t.

He sort of did it a little bit too

much. I don?t mean he wasn?t witty or anything

─

he was

—

but sometimes it gets on

your nerves when somebody?s always say in things like “So

you and Pencey are no

longer one.” D.B. does it too much sometimes,

too.

“

What

was

the

trou

ble?”

Mr.

Antolini

asked

me.

“How?d

you

do

in

English?”

I?ll show you

the door in short order if you flunked English, you little ace composition

writer.

“Oh, I passed English all right. It

was mostly literature, though. I only wrote

about two compositions

the whole term,” I said. “I

flunked Oral Expression, though.

They had this course you had to take, Oral Expression. That I flunked

.”

“Why?”

“Oh,

I

don?t

know.”

I

didn?t

feel

much

like

going

into

it.

I

was

still

feeling

sort

of

dizzy

or

something,

and

I

had

a

helluva

headache

all

of

a

sudden.

I

really did. But you could tell he was interested, so I told him a little bit about it.

“It?

s

this course

where each

boy in class has to

get

up in

class

and make

a

speech.

You

know.

Spontaneous and all. And if the boy digresses at

all, you?re supposed

to

yell

?Digression!?

at him as fast as you can. It just a

bout drove me crazy. I got an F in it.”

“Why?”

“Oh,

I

don?t

know.

That

digression

business

got

on

my

nerves.

I

don?t

know

.

The trouble with me is, I like it when somebody digresses.

It?s more interesting and

all.”

“You

don?t

care

to

have

somebody

stick

to

the

point

when

he

tells

you

2

something?”

“Oh, sure! I like somebody to stick to the point and all.

But

I don?t like them

to

stick

too much to the point. I don?t know. I guess I don?t

like it when somebody sticks

to the point all the time. The boys that got the best mark sin Oral Expression were the

ones

that

stuck

to

the

point

all

the

time

─

I

admit

it.

But

there

was

this

one

boy,

Richard

Kinsella.

He

didn?t

stick

to

the

point

too

much,

and

they

were

always

yelli

ng ?Digression!? at him. It was terrible, because in the first pl

ace, he was a very

nervous guy

─

I mean he was a very nervous guy

─

and his lips were always shaking

whenever it was his time to make a speech, and you could hardly

hear him if you

were sitting way in the back of the room. When his lips sort of quit shaking a little bit,

though,

I

like

his

speeches

better

than

anybody

else?

s.

He

practically

flunked

the

course, though, too. He got a D plus because they kept

yelling ?Digression!? at him all

the

time.

For

instance,

he

made

this

speech

about

this

farm

his

father

bought

in

Vermont. They kept yelling ?Digression!? at him

the whole time

he was making it,

and this teacher, Mr. Vinson, gave him an F on it because

he hadn?t told what

kind of

animals and vegetables and stuff grew on the farm and all. What he did was, Richard

Kinsella,

he?d

start

telling

you

all

about

that

stuff

─

then

all

of

a

sudden

he

?d

start

telling you about this letter his mother got from his uncle, and how his uncle got polio

and all when he was forty-two years old,

and how he wouldn?t let anybody come to

see him in the hospital because he didn?

t want anybody to see him with a brace on. It

didn?t

have

much

to

do

with

the

farm

—

I

admit

it

─

but

it

was

nice.

It?s

nice

when

somebody tells you about their uncle. Especially when they start out telling you about

their father?s farm and then

all of a sudden get more interested in their uncle. I mean

it?

s dirty to keep yelling

?Digression!? at him when he?s all nice and excited. I don?t

know. It?s hard

to

explain.”

I didn

?t feel too much like trying, either. For one thing, I

had this terrific headache all of a sudden. I wished to God old Mrs. Antolini would

come

in

with

the

coffee.

That?s

someth

ing

that

annoys

hell

out

of

me

─

I

mean

if

somebody says

the coffee?s all ready and it isn?

t.

“Holden. One short, faintly

stuffy,

pedagogical question. Don?t you think there?s

a

time

and

place

for

everything?

Don

?

t

you

think

if

someone

starts

out

to

tell

you

ab

out his father?s farm, he should

stick to his guns, and then get around to telling you

about

his

uncle?s

brace?

Or,

if

his

uncle?s

brace

is

such

a

provocative

subject,

shouldn?t he have selected it in

the first place as his subject

─

not the farm?”

I didn?t feel much like thinking and answering and all. I had a headache and

I felt

3

大连交通大学信息工程学院

2014

届本科生 毕业设计（论文）外文翻译

lousy. I even had sort of a stomach-ache, if you want to know the truth.

“Yes

─

I don?t know. I guess he should. I mean I guess he should?ve picked his

uncle as a subject, instead of the farm, if that interested him most. But what I mean is,

lots

of

time

you

don?t

know

what

interests

you

most

till

you

start

talking

about

something tha

t doesn?t interest you most. I mean you can?t help it sometimes. What

I

think

is,

you?re

supposed

to

leave

somebody

alone

if

he?s

at

least

being

interesting

and

he?s

getting

all

excited

about

something.

I

like

it

when

somebody

gets

excited

about something.

It?s nice. You just didn?t

know

this teacher, Mr. Vinson. He

could

drive you crazy sometimes, him and the god dam class.

I mean he?d keep telling

you

to unify and simplify all the time. Some things you just

can?t do that to. I mean you

can?

t hardly ever simplify and unify something just because somebody wants you to.

You didn?t know this guy, Mr. Vinson. I mean he

was very intelligent and all, but you

could tell

he didn?t have too much brains.”

“Coffee, gentlemen, finally,” Mrs. Antolini said. She came in

carrying this tray

with

coffee

and

cakes

and

stuff

on

it.

“Holden,

don?t

you

even

peek

at

me

.

I?m

a

mess

.”

“Hello, Mrs. Antolini,”

I

said.

I started to

get

up and

all,

but Mr. Antolini

got

hold

of my jacket and pulle me back down. Old Mrs. Antolini?s

hair was full of those

iron

curler

jobs,

and

she

didn?t

have

a

lipstick

or

anything

on.

She

didn?t

look

too

gorgeous. She looked pretty old and all.

“I?ll

leave this rig

ht here. Just dive in, you two,”

she said. She put the tray down

on the cigarette table, pushing all these glass

es out of the way. “How?s your

mother,

Holden?”

“She?s fine, thanks. I haven?t seen her too recently, but the

last I

—

“Darling,

if

Holden

needs

anythintg,

everything?s

in

the

linen

closet.

The

top

shelf

. I?m going to bed. I?m exhausted,” Mrs. Antolini said. She looked

it,

too. “

Can

you

boys make up the couch by yourselves?”

“We?ll take care

of

everything. You run along to bed,” Mr. Antolini said.

He gave

Mrs. Antolini a kiss and she said good- by to me and went in the bedroom. They were

always kissing each other a lot in public.

I had part of a cup of coffee and about half of some cake that was as hard as a

rock. All old Mr. Antolini had been another highball, though. He makes them strong,

too, you could tell. He

may get to be an alcoholic if he doesn?

t watch his step.

“I

had

lunch

with

your

dad

a

couple

of

weeks

ago,”

he

said

all

of

a

sudden.

4

“Did

you

know

that?

“No,

I

didn?t.”

“You?

re

aware,

of

course,

that

he?s

terribly

concerned about

you.” “I know it.

I know

he is,” I

said.

“Apparently before he phoned me he?d just had a

long, rather harrowing letter

from your latest headmaster, to the effect that you were making absolutely no effort at

all.

Cutting

classes.

Coming

unprepared

to

all

your

classes.

In

general,

being

an

all-around

—

“I didn?t cut any classes.

You

weren?t allowed to cut any.

There were a couple of

them I didn?t attend once

in awhile, like that Oral Expression I told you about, but I

didn?t

cut any.”

I

didn?t

feel

at

all

like

discussing

it.

The

coffee

made

my

stomach

feel

a

little

better , but I still had this awful headache.

Mr.

Antolini

lit

another

cigarette.

He

smoked

like

a

friend.

Then

he

said,

“Frankly, I don?

t know what the hell to say

to you, Holden.”

“I know.

I?m very

hard

to

talk

t

o.

I

realize that.” “I have

a feeling that

you?re

riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall. But I don

?

t honestly know what kind. . .

Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” You could tell he was trying to concentrate and

all.

“It

may

be

the

kind

where,

at

the

age

of

thirty,

you

sit

in

some

bar

hating

everybody

who

comes

in

looking

as

if

he

might

have

played

football

in

college.

Then again,

you may pick up just

enough

education to

hate people who say, ?It?s

a

secret

between he and I.? Or

you may end up in some business office, throwing paper

clips at the nearest stenographer. I just

don?t know. But do you know what I?m driving

at, at all?”

“Yes. Sure,”

I said.

I did,

too. “But

you?re wrong about that hating business.

I

mean

about

hating

football

players

and

all.

You

really

are.

I

don?

t

hate

too

many

guys.

”

What I may do, I may hate them for a little while, like this guy Stradlate I knew

at Pencey, and this other boy, Robert Ackley. I hated them once in a while

—

I admit it

─

but it doesn?t last too long, is what

I mean. After a while, if I didn?t

see them, if

they didn?t come in the room, or if I didn?

t see them in the dining room for a couple of

meals, I sort of missed them. I mean I sort of missed them.”

Mr.

Antolini didn?t say anything for

a while. He got up and got another hunk of

ice and put it in his drink, then he sat down again. You could tell he was thinking. I

kept

wishing, though, that he?d continue the conversation in the morning, instead

of

5