Unit 11B - A Secret for Two
A Secret for Two
Quentin Reynolds
Montreal is a very large city, but, like all large cities, it has some very small streets. Streets, for instance, like Prince Edward Street which is only a four-block long dead end. No one knew Prince Edward Street as well as Pierre Dupin did, for he had delivered milk to the families on the street for thirty years now.
During the past fifteen years the horse which drew the milk wagon used by Pierre was a large white horse named, Joseph. In Montreal, especially in that part of Montreal which is very French, the animals, like children, are often given the names of saints. When the big white horse first came to the Provincale Milk Company he didn't have a name, but Pierre was told that he could use the white horse from then on. Pierre stroked the softness of the horse's neck, his splendid belly, and he looked into the eyes of the horse.
"This is a kind horse, a gentle and a faithful horse," Pierre said, "and I can see a beautiful spirit shining out of his eyes. I will name him after good St. Joseph, who was also kind and gentle and faithful and had a beautiful spirit."
Within a year Joseph knew the milk route as well as Pierre. Pierre used to boast that he didn't need reins—he never touched them. Each morning Pierre arrived at the stables of the Provincale Milk Company at five o'clock. The wagon would be loaded and Joseph fastened to it. Pierre would call "Good morning, old friend," as he climbed into his seat, and Joseph would turn his head and the other drivers would smile and say that the horse would smile at Pierre. Then Jacques, the Foreman, would say, "All right, Pierre, off you go," and Pierre would call softly to Joseph, "Forward, my friend," and this splendid combination would stalk proudly down the street.
The wagon, without any direction from Pierre, would roll three blocks down St. Catherine Street, then turn right two blocks along Roslyn Avenue; then left, for that was Prince Edward Street. The horse would stop at the first house, allow Pierre perhaps thirty seconds to get down from his seat and put a bottle of milk at the front door and would then go on, skipping two houses and stopping at the third. So down the length of the street. Then Joseph, still without any direction from Pierre, would turn around and come back along the other side. Yes, Joseph was a smart horse.
Pierre would boast at the stable of Joseph's skill. "I never touch the reins. He knows just where to stop. Why, a blind man could handle my route with Joseph pulling the wagon."
So it went on for years—always the same. Pierre and Joseph both grew old together, but gradually, not suddenly, Pierre's huge long mustache became pure white and Joseph didn't lift his knees so high or raise his head quite as much. Jacques, the Foreman of the stables, never noticed that they were both getting old until Pierre appeared one morning carrying a heavy walking stick.
"Hey, Pierre," Jacques laughed. "Maybe you got the gout, hey?"
"Sure, Jacques," Pierre said a bit uncertainly. "One grows old. One's legs get tired."
"You should teach that horse to carry the milk to the front door for you," Jacques told him. "He does everything else."
He knew every one of the forty families he served on Prince Edward Street. The cooks knew that Pierre could neither read nor write, so instead of following the usual custom of leaving a note in a empty bottle if an additional quart of milk was needed they would sing out when they heard the rumble of his wagon wheels over the cobbled street. "Bring an extra quart this morning, Pierre."
"So you have company for dinner tonight," he would call back gaily.
Pierre had a remarkable memory. When he arrived at the stable he'd always remember to tell Jacques, "The Paquins took an extra quart this morning; the Lemoines bought a pint of cream."
Jacques would note these things in a little book he always carried. Most of the drivers had to make out the weekly bills and collect the money, but Jacques, liking Pierre, had always excused him from this task. All Pierre had to do was to arrive at five in the morning, walk to his wagon, which was always in the same spot at the curb, and deliver his milk. He returned some two hours later, got down stiffly from his seat, called a cheery "Good-bye" to Jacques and then limped away slowly down the street.
One morning the President of the Provincale Milk Company came to inspect the early morning deliveries. Jacques pointed Pierre out to him and said, "Watch how he talks to that horse. See how the horse listens and how he turns his head toward Pierre? You know, I think those two share a secret. I have often noticed it. It is as though they both sometimes chuckle at us as they go off on their route. Pierre is a good man, Monsieur President, but he is getting old.
Would it be too bold of me to suggest that he be retired and be given perhaps a small pension?” he added anxiously.
"But of course," the President laughed. "I know his record. He has been on this route now for thirty years and never once has there been a complaint. Tell him it is time he rested. His salary will go on just the same."
But Pierre refused to retire. He was panic-stricken at the thought of not driving Joseph every day. "We are two old men," he said to Jacques. "Let us wear out together. When Joseph is ready to retire- then I, too, will quit."
Jacques, who was a kind man, understood. There was something about Pierre and Joseph which made a man smile tenderly. It was as though each drew some hidden strength from the other. When Pierre was sitting in his seat, and when Joseph was fastened to the wagon, neither seemed old. But when they finished their work, then Pierre would limp down the street slowly, seeming very old indeed, and the horse's head would drop and he would walk very wearily to his stall.
Then one morning, Jacques had dreadful news for Pierre when he arrived. It was a cold morning and still pitch-dark. The air was like iced wine that morning and the snow which had fallen during the night glistened like a million diamonds piled together.
Jacques said, "Pierre, your horse, Joseph, did not wake up this morning. He was very old, Pierre, he was twenty-five and that is like being seventy-five for a man."
"Yes," Pierre said, slowly. "Yes, I am seventy-five. And I cannot see Joseph again."
"Of course you can," Jacques soothed. "He is over in his stall, looking very peaceful. Go over and see him."
Pierre took one step forward, then turned. "No... no... you don't understand, Jacques."
Jacques clapped him on the shoulder. "We'll find another horse just as good as Joseph. Why, in a month you'll teach him to know your route as well as Joseph did. Well..."
The look in Pierre's eyes stopped him. For years Pierre had worn a heavy cap, the peak of which came low over his eyes, keeping the bitter morning wind out of them. Now Jacques looked into Pierre's eyes and he saw something which startled him. He saw a dead, lifeless look in them. The eyes were mirroring the grief that was in Pierre's heart and his soul. It was as though his heart and soul had died.
"Take today off, Pierre," Jacques said, but already Pierre was hobbling off down the street, and had one been near one would have seen tears streaming down his cheeks and have heard half-smothered sobs. Pierre walked to the corner and stepped into the street. There was a warning yell from the driver of a huge truck that was coming fast and there was the scream of brakes, but Pierre apparently heard neither.
Five minutes later an ambulance driver said, "He's dead. Was killed instantly."
Jacques and several of the milk-wagon drivers had arrived and they looked down at the still figure.
"I couldn't help it," the driver of the truck protested, "he walked right into my truck. He never saw it, I guess. Why, he walked into it as though he were blind."
The ambulance doctor bent down, "Blind? Of course the man was blind. See those cataracts? This man has been blind for five years." He turned to Jacques, "You say he worked for you? Didn't you know he was blind?"
"No... no..." Jacques said, softly. "None of us knew. Only one knew—a friend of his named Joseph... It was a secret, I think, just between those two."
参考译文——两者的秘密
两者的秘密
昆廷·雷诺兹
蒙特利尔是一个很大的城市，但是，就像所有的大城市一样，它也有一些狭窄的街道。例如，爱德华王子街就是一条只有四个街区长的死胡同。没有人比皮埃尔·迪潘更了解爱德华王子街了，因为他已经为街道上的住户们送了30年的牛奶了。
在过去的15年中，皮埃尔用来送牛奶的马车是由一匹叫约瑟夫的大白马拉着的。在蒙特利尔，特别是在那个非常法国化的蒙特利尔地区，动物就像孩子一样，经常以圣徒的名字来命名。当大白马第一次来到这个省牛奶公司时，它并没有名字，但是皮埃尔接到通知，从那时起他可以使用这匹白马。皮埃尔抚摸着它柔软的脖子和毛光发亮的肚皮，注视着它的双眼。
“这是一匹和蔼、温柔、忠实的马，”皮埃尔说，“它的眼睛里闪耀着一种光辉的神采。我将以圣徒约瑟夫的名字来称呼它，因为约瑟夫也同样和蔼、温柔、忠实，具有一种光辉的神采。”
一年之内，约瑟夫对送牛奶路线熟悉得和皮埃尔一样。皮埃尔过去常常吹嘘说，他不需要缰绳——他从不使用缰绳。皮埃尔每天早上五点钟就来到了省牛奶公司的马厩，给马车装上牛奶，让约瑟夫驾上马车。当皮埃尔爬上座位时，他对约瑟夫说：“早上好，老朋友”，约瑟夫就会把他的头转过来。其他车夫就笑着说，这匹马是在对皮埃尔微笑。然后工头雅克就会说：“好了，皮埃尔，吧”。皮埃尔就轻轻地对约瑟夫说：“走吧，我的朋友。”他们就会骄傲地沿着街道走去。
无需皮埃尔发布指令，马车就会穿过圣·卡特琳街道的三个街区，右拐后沿着罗斯林大街穿过两个街区；然后左转进入了爱德华王子街。这匹马会在第一个房子前停下，让皮埃尔花费三十秒钟从座位上跳下来，把一瓶牛奶放在门前，然后继续朝前走，越过两间房子，停在了第三家门口。如此这样直到走完整个街道。然后，仍然无需皮埃尔的任何指令，约瑟夫会掉头沿着街道的另一边走回来。是的，约瑟夫是一匹聪明的马。
皮埃尔在马厩里夸耀约瑟夫：“我永远不需要使用缰绳。它知道要在哪里停下来。一个盲人也可以与约瑟夫一起驾着马车沿着我的路线送牛奶。”
如此过了许多年——总是一样。皮埃尔和约瑟夫都慢慢地变老了。皮埃尔的长胡子变成了纯白色，约瑟夫的腿也抬不了那么高了，头也扭不了那么多了。直到有一天早上皮埃尔拄着沉重的手杖时，马厩的工头雅克才注意到他们都老了
“嘿，皮埃尔，”雅克笑着说，“嘿，你可能是患了痛风了？”
“是的，雅克，”皮埃尔迟疑地说，“人老腿先老。”
“你应该让那匹马替你把牛奶送到门前，”雅克对他说，“它能做得到。”
他对自己服务的爱德华王子街上的四十个住户都很了解。所有的厨师们都知道皮埃尔既不会读也不会写，所以如果需要额外的牛奶时，他们不是按照惯例，在一个空瓶子里留一张纸条，而是在听到他马车的车轮在鹅卵石街道上发出隆隆的声音时，向他唱出来，“今天早上多带一夸脱牛奶来，皮埃尔。”
“今晚家里有客人吃饭了吧，”他会高兴地回应。
皮埃尔的记忆力很好。当他回到马厩时，他总会记得告诉雅克，“帕坎家今天早上多加了一夸脱牛奶，勒穆瓦纳家买了一品脱奶油。”
雅克会把这些记在随身携带的一个小本子上。大多数车夫都要列出每周的账单，把钱收回来；但是，雅克非常喜欢皮埃尔，一直给他免去这项任务。皮埃尔所要做的就是凌晨五点到来，驾着他的马车去运送牛奶，他的马车总是拴在同一个地方。他会在两个多小时后回来，僵硬地从座位上下来，对雅克亲切地说声“再见”然后就沿着街道慢慢地一瘸一拐地离开了。
一天早上，省牛奶公司的董事长来视察清晨的送奶工作。雅克指着皮埃尔对他说，“看看他如何与那匹马交谈。看看那匹马是如何聆听并扭头转向皮埃尔的？你知道，我认为他们两个有个秘密。我常常注意到这一点。就好像他们送奶离开时会朝我们笑一样。董事长先生，皮埃尔是一个好人，但是他老了。
能允许我大胆建议让他退休，给他发些小额养老金吗？”他忧心忡忡地补充道。
“当然，”董事长笑了，“我知道他的情况。他在这条路线上送了三十多年牛奶,从未有人投诉。告诉他是休息的时候了。他的薪水会照常发放。”
但皮埃尔不肯退休。想到不能天天驾驭约瑟夫，他感到惊恐万状。“我们两个都老了，”他对雅克说，“我们一起走到头吧。当约瑟夫准备退休时——那么，我也就退休。”
作为一个善良的人，雅克明白这一切。皮埃尔和约瑟夫之间的一些事情令人微笑动容。仿佛彼此从对方身上吸取了一些隐藏的力量。当皮埃尔坐在座位上、约瑟夫驾着马车时，他们谁也不显老。但当他们完成工作，皮埃尔慢慢地、一瘸一拐地沿着街道离开时，他确实显得很老，而约瑟夫也会耷拉着头、疲倦地朝马厩走去。
一天早晨，当皮埃尔到达后，雅克告诉他一个噩耗。那是一个寒冷的早晨，天空仍旧一片漆黑。空气就像冰酒一样，雪花彻夜飘飞，堆在一起就像成千上万颗钻石一样，闪闪发光。
雅克说：“皮埃尔，你的马，约瑟夫，今天早上没有醒来。他太老了，皮埃尔，他已经25岁了，就像七十五岁的人一样老了。”
“是的，”皮埃尔慢慢地说，“是的。我七十五岁了。我再也看不见约瑟夫了。”
“当然可以，”杰克斯安慰道，“他在马厩里，看上去很平静。去看看他吧。”
皮埃尔抬腿走了一步，然后转过身。“不……不……你不明白，雅克。”
雅克拍拍他的肩膀。“我们会找到另外一匹与约瑟夫一样好的马的。你在一个月内就能教会他认识你的路线，会像约瑟夫做得一样好的。嗯……”
皮埃尔的眼神阻止了他。多年来，皮埃尔一直戴着一顶厚帽子，帽檐低低地压在他的眼睛上，遮挡着凌厉的晨风。现在，雅克看着皮埃尔的眼睛，他看到了一些令他震惊的东西。他看见一张死人般的、死气沉沉的脸。眼睛里折射着皮埃尔内心和灵魂深处的悲痛，好像他的内心和灵魂已经死了。
“今天回去休息吧，皮埃尔，”雅克说。皮埃尔已经一瘸一拐地沿着街道离开了，脸颊挂满泪珠，闷闷地抽泣着，要是有人在附近，肯定能看到和听到。皮埃尔转过拐角处，走到了街上。有辆大卡车正疾驰而来，司机发出了警告声，随之传来了尖锐的刹车声，但显然皮埃尔没有听到。
五分钟后救护车司机说：“他死了。当场就死了。”
雅克和几个送牛奶的车夫赶来了，低头盯着他的遗体。
“我也没有办法，”卡车司机抗议说，“他一直朝我的卡车走来。我想，他没有看见。为什么，他好像一个盲人一样朝着我的车走来。”
救护车上的医生俯下身来。“瞎了吗？当然，他是个盲人。看到那些白内障了吗？这个人失明已经五年了。”他转向雅克，“你说他为你工作？难道你不知道他是个盲人吗？”
“不……不……”，雅克轻轻地说，“我们都不知道。只有一位知道——他的一位朋友，名叫约瑟夫……我认为，这是他们俩之间的一个秘密。”
Key Words:
faithful ['feiθfəl]
adj. 如实的，忠诚的，忠实的
wagon ['wægən]
n. 四轮马车，货车
v. 用四轮马车运
gentle ['dʒentl]
adj. 温和的，轻柔的，文雅的，温顺的，出身名门的
route [ru:t]
n. 路线，(固定)线路，途径
vt. 为 .
wagon ['wægən]
n. 四轮马车，货车
v. 用四轮马车运
boast [bəust]
v. 吹牛，自夸，说大话
n. 自吹自擂，自夸
stalk [stɔ:k]
n. 茎，梗
n. 跟踪，高视阔步
combination [.kɔmbi'neiʃən]
n. 结合，联合，联合体
touched [tʌtʃt]
adj. 受感动的 adj. 精神失常的
smart [smɑ:t]
adj. 聪明的，时髦的，漂亮的，敏捷的，轻快的，整洁的
mustache [mə'stɑ:ʃ, 'mʌstæʃ]
n. 胡子，髭
wagon ['wægən]
n. 四轮马车，货车
v. 用四轮马车运
additional [ə'diʃənl]
adj. 附加的，另外的
route [ru:t]
n. 路线，(固定)线路，途径
stick [stik]
n. 枝，杆，手杖
vt. 插于，刺入，竖起<
boast [bəust]
v. 吹牛，自夸，说大话
n. 自吹自擂，自夸
handle ['hændl]
n. 柄，把手
v. 买卖，处理，操作，驾驭
stable ['steibl]
adj. 稳定的，安定的，可靠的
wagon ['wægən]
n. 四轮马车，货车
v. 用四轮马车运
route [ru:t]
n. 路线，(固定)线路，途径
vt. 为 .
curb [kə:b]
n. 抑制，勒马绳，边石，路缘
vt. 抑制，
stable ['steibl]
adj. 稳定的，安定的，可靠的
n. 马厩，
collect [kə'lekt]
v. 收集，聚集
v. 推论
remarkable [ri'mɑ:kəbl]
adj. 显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的
chuckle ['tʃʌkl]
v. 轻声笑，咯咯笑，暗自笑 n. 轻声笑，咯咯笑
inspect [in'spekt]
vt. 调查，检阅
bold [bəuld]
adj. 大胆的，粗体的，醒目的，无礼的，陡峭的
route [ru:t]
n. 路线，(固定)线路，途径
vt. 为 .
wagon ['wægən]
n. 四轮马车，货车
v. 用四轮马车运
limp [limp]
n. 跛行
adj. 柔软的，无力的，软弱的<
stall [stɔ:l]
n. 货摊，摊位，厩，畜栏，（飞行器）失速
shoulder ['ʃəuldə]
n. 肩膀，肩部
v. 扛，肩负，承担，(用肩
peaceful ['pi:sfəl]
adj. 安宁的，和平的
route [ru:t]
n. 路线，(固定)线路，途径
vt. 为 .
grief [gri:f]
n. 悲痛，忧伤
understand [.ʌndə'stænd]
vt. 理解，懂，听说，获悉，将 ... 理解为，认为<
stall [stɔ:l]
n. 货摊，摊位，厩，畜栏，（飞行器）失速
scream [skri:m]
n. 尖叫声
v. 尖叫，大笑
figure ['figə]
n. 图形，数字，形状; 人物，外形，体型
bent [bent]
bend的过去式和过去分词 adj. 下定决心的，弯曲的
yell [jel]
v. 大叫
n. 大喊
minutes ['minits]
n. 会议记录，(复数)分钟
参考资料：