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精读一本原版英文小说，可以快速提升你的英文水平。只要坚持，每天把一个章节的单词、句子、语法搞明白了，长此以往我们的英文水平一定能可以像美国人那样。但最关键的是，一定要坚持哦！  I WENT THE next Sunday. It was my first visit to a prison. I was searched at the entrance， and a number of doors were unlocked and locked along the way. But the building was new and bright， and in the inner area the doors were open， allowing the women to move about freely. At the end of a corridor a door opened to the outside， onto a little lawn with lots of people and trees and benches. I looked around， searching. The guard who had brought me pointed to a nearby bench in the shade of a chestnut tree. Hanna？ The woman on the bench was Hanna？ Gray hair， a face with deep furrows on brow and cheeks and around the mouth， and a heavy body. She was wearing a light blue dress that was too tight and stretched across her breasts， stomach， and thighs. Her hands lay in her lap holding a book. She wasn’t reading it. Over the top of her half-glasses， she was watching a woman throwing bread crumbs to a couple of sparrows. Then she realized that she was being watched， and turned her face to me. I saw the expectation in her face， saw it light up with joy when she recognized me， watched her eyes scan my face as I approached， saw them seek， inquire， then look uncertain and hurt， and saw the light go out of her face. When I reached her， she smiled a friendly， weary smile. “You’ve grown up， kid.” I sat down beside her and she took my hand. In the past， I had particularly loved her smell. She always smelled fresh， freshly washed or of fresh laundry or fresh sweat or freshly loved. Sometimes she used perfume， I don’t know which one， and its smell， too， was more fresh than anything else. Under these fresh smells was another， heavy， dark， sharp smell. Often I would sniff at her like a curious animal， starting with her throat and shoulders， which smelled freshly washed， soaking up the fresh smell of sweat between her breasts mixed in her armpits with the other smell， then finding this heavy dark smell almost pure around her waist and stomach and between her legs with a fruity tinge that excited me； I would also sniff at her legs and feet—her thighs， where the heavy smell disappeared， the hollows of her knees again with that light， fresh smell of sweat， and her feet， which smelled of soap or leather or tiredness. Her back and arms had no special smell； they smelled of nothing and yet they smelled of her， and the palms of her hands smelled of the day and of work—the ink of the tickets， the metal of the ticket puncher， onions or fish or frying fat， soapsuds or the heat of the iron. When they are freshly washed， hands betray none of this. But soap only covers the smells， and after a time they return， faint， blending into a single scent of the day and work， a scent of work and day’s end， of evening， of coming home and being at home. I sat next to Hanna and smelled an old woman. I don’t know what makes up this smell， which I recognize from grandmothers and elderly aunts， and which hangs in the rooms and halls of old-age homes like a curse. Hanna was too young for it. I moved closer. I had seen that I had disappointed her before， and I wanted to do better， make up for it. “I’m glad you’re getting out.” “You are？” “Yes， and I’m glad you’ll be nearby.” I told her about the apartment and the job I had found for her， about the cultural and social programs available in that part of the city， about the public library. “Do you read a lot？” “A little. Being read to is nicer.” She looked at me. “That’s over now， isn’t it？” “Why should it be over？” But I couldn’t see myself talking into cassettes for her or meeting her to read aloud. “I was so glad and so proud of you when you learned to read. And what nice letters you wrote me！” That was true； I had admired her and been glad， because she was reading and she wrote to me. But I could feel how little my admiration and happiness were worth compared to what learning to read and write must have cost Hanna， how meager they must have been if they could not even get me to answer her， visit her， talk to her. I had granted Hanna a small niche， certainly an important niche， one from which I gained something and for which I did something， but not a place in my life. But why should I have given her a place in my life？ I reacted indignantly against my own bad conscience at the thought that I had reduced her to a niche. “Didn’t you ever think about the things that were discussed at the trial， before the trial？ I mean， didn’t you ever think about them when we were together， when I was reading to you？” “Does that bother you very much？” But she didn’t wait for an answer. “I always had the feeling that no one understood me anyway， that no one knew who I was and what made me do this or that. And you know， when no one understands you， then no one can call you to account. Not even the court could call me to account. But the dead can. They understand. They don’t even have to have been there， but if they were， they understand even better. Here in prison they were with me a lot. They came every night， whether I wanted them or not. Before the trial I could still chase them away when they wanted to come.” She waited to see if I had anything to say， but I couldn’t think of anything. At first， I wanted to say that I wasn’t able to chase anything away. But it wasn’t true. You can chase someone away by setting them in a niche. “Are you married？” “I was. Gertrud and I have been divorced for many years and our daughter is at boarding school； I hope she won’t stay there for the last years of school， and will move in with me.” Now I waited to see if she would say or ask anything. But she was silent. “I’ll pick you up next week， all right？” “All right.” “Quietly， or can there be a little noise and hoopla？” “Quietly.” “Okay， I’ll pick you up quietly， with no music or champagne.” I stood up， and she stood up. We looked at each other. The bell had rung twice， and the other women had already gone inside. Once again her eyes scanned my face. I took her in my arms， but she didn’t feel right. “Take care， kid.” “You too.” So we said goodbye， even before we had to separate inside. 在接下来的周日，我去了她那儿，那是我第一次探监。在大门口我受到了检查，在往里面走的时候，许多道门被打开又关上。但是，建筑是新的，很敞亮。在里面，房门都敞开着，女囚犯们可以自由地来来往往。在走廊的尽头有一扇大门通向外面——一块生机盎然的，长有树木，布置有长椅的小草坪。我四处张望寻找。那位给我带路的女看守指了指附近一棵栗子树阴下的一条长凳子。 汉娜？坐在凳子上的那个女人是汉娜吗？满头白发，满脸深深的皱纹，一副笨重的身躯。她身穿一件胸部、腰部及大腿处都绷得特别紧的浅蓝色的连衣裙，两手放在膝盖上，手里拿着一本书。她并没有看那本书，而正透过老花镜的边线在看另一位女人用面包屑一点一点地给麻雀喂食。后来，她意识到有人在注视她，她把脸转向了我。 当她认出我时，我看出了她期望的神情，看出她满脸喜悦的光彩。当我走近她时，她用询问的、不自信的、委屈的目光上下打量着我。我看到，她脸上的光彩逐渐消失了。当我走到她身边时，她对我友好地。疲惫地笑了笑："小家伙，你长大了。"我坐在她身边，她把我的手握在了她的手里。 以前，我特别喜欢她身上的气味。她闻上去总是那么清新，像刚洗过澡或刚洗过的衣服，像刚刚出过汗或刚刚做过爱。有时候，她也用香水，可我不知道是哪一种。就是她的香水闻上去也比所有其他的香水清新。在这种清新的气味下，还有另外一种气味，一种很浓重的说不清楚的酸涩味。我经常就像一只好奇的动物一样在她身上闻来闻去，从脖子和肩膀开始，闻那刚刚洗过的清新味，在她的两个乳房之间闻那清新的汗味，那汗味在腋窝处又和其他气味掺杂在一起，在腰部和腹部那种浓重的，说不上来的味道几乎是纯正的，在大腿之间还有一种令我兴奋的水果香味。我也在她的腿上和脚上闻来嗅去，到了小腿时，那种浓重味道就消失了，膝盖窝又稍微有点新出的汗味，脚上闻上去是香皂味或皮鞋味或身作疲惫不堪后的味道。后背和胳臂没有什么特别的味道，闻不出什么味道来，或者说闻上去还是她本身的味道。手上是白天工作的味道：车票的印刷墨、钳子的铁、洋葱、鱼，或者油腻、肥皂水或熨衣服的蒸气。如果她洗过了，手上起初什么味道也闻不出来。但是，只是香皂把各种味道覆盖住了罢了。过了一会儿，各种不明显的味道就又融会在一起卷土重来了：上班的，下班的，白天的，晚上的，回家的，在家的。 我坐在汉娜的身边，闻到的是一位老年妇女的味道。我不知道这味道是怎么形成的，这种味道我从祖母和老姨妈们那儿闻到过，或在养老院里——在那里，房间和走廊到处都是这种味道。不过，这种味道对汉娜来说未免太早了点。 我又往她身边靠近了些。我注意到，刚才我让她失望了。现在我想补救一下，做得更好些。 "你就要出来了，我很高兴。" "是吗？" "是的。你将住在我的附近，我感到高兴。'我告诉了她我已给她找到了房子和工作，给她讲了那个城区所具有的文化和社会生活，给她讲市图书馆的情况。"你看书看得多吗？" "还可以，能听到朗读更好，"她看着我说，"现在结束了，对吧？" "为什么该结束了呢？"但是，我看上去就像既没有给她录过音，又没有与她见过面和为她朗读过似的。"你学会了读书，我的确很高兴，而且很佩服你，你给我写的信多好啊！"事实的确如此。、她学会了读写，她给我写信，我对此非常高兴，也非常佩服她，但是，我也感觉到，与汉娜在读写上所付出的努力相比，我的钦佩和欣慰是多么少，少得多么可怜。她的努力竟然没能促使我哪怕给她回一封信，去探望她一次，与她聊聊。我为汉娜营造了一个小小的生存环境，一个小小的空间，它给予我一些东西，我也可以为它做些事情，但是，它在我的生活中却没有占有哪怕是一席之地。 但是，我为什么要在我的生活中为她留有一席之地呢？为什么让汉娜生活在这个小空间里会让我感到问心有愧？我对自己产生这种自愧心感到气愤。"在法庭审理之前，你难道从未考虑过那些在法庭上讨论的问题吗？我是说，当我们在一起时，当我给你朗读时，你从未想过这些问题吗？" "你对此耿耿于怀？"但是，她并未等我回答就接着说，"我一直有种感觉，感到没有人理解我，没有人知道我是谁，我做过什么。你知道吗，如果没有人理解你，那么也就没有人有权力要求你做出解释说明，即使是法庭也无权要求我做解释说明。但是，那些死去的人却可以这样做，他们理解我，为此他们不必非得在场，但是，如果他们在的话，他们就更能理解我。在这监狱里，他们和我在一起的时候特别多，他们每天夜里都来，不管我是否想让他们来。在法庭审判之前，在他们想要来的时候，我还能把他们赶走。" 她在等着，看我是否想就此说点什么，但是，我却不知说什么为好。起初，我想说，我无法赶走任何东西。然而，那不符合事实，因为当一个人为另一个人营造一个小小生存环境时，他实际上就是赶他走。 "你结婚了吗？" "我结过婚。葛特茹德和我已经离婚多年了。我们的女儿住在寄宿学校，我希望她在最后的这几年不要住在那儿了，最好搬到我这儿来往。"现在轮到我等着了，看她是否想就此说点什么，或问些什么。但是，她沉默不语。"我下周来接你，好吗？" "好。 "是悄悄地，还是热闹一点地？" "悄悄地。" "好吧，我就悄悄地来接你，不放音乐，不喝香槟酒。" 我站了起来，她也站了起来。我们相互凝视着。已经响过两次铃了，其他女囚犯都已经进了屋。她的目光又在上下打量我的脸，我拥抱了她，但她换上去有些不对劲。 "小家伙，好自为之。" "你也应如此。" 就这样，我们在不得不分手之前就告别了。 (责任编辑：admin) |