Unit 6B - Feels Like Spring
Feels Like Spring
Milton Kaplan
I stop at the corner drugstore for a breakfast of doughnuts and coffee, and then I race to the subway station and gallop down the steps to catch my usual train. I hold on to the strap and make believe I'm reading my newspaper, but I keep glancing at the people crowded in round me. I listen to them talk about their troubles and their friends, and I wish I had someone to talk to, some to break the monotony of the long subway ride.
As we approach the 175th Street station, I begin to get tense again. She usually gets into the train at that station. She slips in gracefully, not pushing or shoving like the rest, and she squeezes into a little space, clinging to the people and holding on to an office envelope that probably contains her lunch. She never carries a newspaper or a book; I guess there isn't much sense in trying to read when you're smashed in like that.
There's a fresh outdoor look about her and I figure she must live in New Jersey. The Jersey crowd gets in at that stop. She has a sweet face with that scrubbed look that doesn't need powder or rouge. She never wears make-up except for lipstick. And her wavy hair is natural, just a nice light brown. And all she does is hold on to the pole and think her own thoughts, her eyes clear-blue and warm.
I always like to watch her, but I have to be careful. I'm afraid she'd get angry and move away if she catches me at it, and then I won't have anyone, because she's my only real friend, even if she doesn't know it. I'm all alone in New York City and I guess I'm kind of shy and don't make friends easily. The fellows in the bank are all right but they have their own lives to lead, and besides, I can't ask anyone to come up to a furnished room; so they go their way and I go mine.
The city is getting me. It's too big and noisy --- too many people for a fellow who's all by himself. I can't seem to get used to it. I'm used to the quiet of a small New Hampshire farm but there isn't any future on a New Hampshire farm any more: so after I was discharged from the Navy, I applied for this position in the bank and I got it. I suppose it's a good break but I'm kind of lonesome.
As I ride along, swaying to the motion of the car, I like to imagine that I'm friends with her. Sometimes I'm even tempted to smile at her, and say something like "Nice morning, isn't it?" But I'm scared. She might think I'm one of those wise guys and she'd freeze up and look right through me as if I didn't exist, and then the next morning she wouldn't be there any more and I'd have no one to think about. I keep dreaming that maybe some day I'll get to know her. You know, in a casual way.
Like maybe she'd be coming through the door and someone pushes her and she brushes against me and she'd say quickly, "Oh, I beg your pardon," and I'd lift my hat politely and answer, "That's perfectly all right," and I'd smile to show her I meant it, and then she'd smile back at me and say, "Nice day, isn't it?" and I'd say, "Feels like spring." And we wouldn't say anything more, but when she'd be ready to get off at 34th Street, she'd wave her fingers a little at me and say, "Good-by," and I'd tip my hat again.
The next morning when she'd come in, she'd see me and say "Hello," or maybe, "Good morning," and I'd answer and add something to show her I really knew a little about spring. No wise cracks because I wouldn't want her to think that I was one of those smooth-talking guys who pick up girls in the subway.
And after a while, we'd get a little friendlier and start talking about things like the weather or the news, and one day she'd say, "Isn't it funny? Here we are talking every day and we don't even know each other's name." And I'd stand up straight and tip my hat and say, "I'd like you to meet Mr. Thomas Pearse." And she'd say very seriously, "How do you do, Mr. Pearse. I want you to meet Miss Elizabeth Altemose."
"Thomas," she'd say, as if she were trying out the sound of it.
"What?" I'd ask.
"I can't possibly call you Thomas," she'd say. "It's so formal."
"My friends call me Tommy," I'd tell her.
"And mine call me Betty."
And that's the way it would be. Maybe after a while I'd mention the name of a good movie that was playing at the Music Hall and suggest that if she weren't doing anything in particular.
And she would come right out with, "Oh, I'd love it!" I'd knock off a little earlier and meet her where she worked and we would go out to dinner somewhere. I'd ask some of the men at the bank for the name of a good restaurant. And I would talk to her and tell her about New Hampshire and maybe mention how lonesome I got, and if it's a really nice place and it's quiet and cozy, maybe I'd tell her how shy I was, and she'd be listening with shining eyes and she'd clasp her hands and lean over the table until I could smell the fragrance of her hair and she'd whisper, "I'm shy, too." Then we'd both lean back and smile secretly, and we'd eat without saying much because, after all, what's there to say after that?
And after the movie, I'd take her home. She wouldn't want me to travel all the way out. "I live in New Jersey," she'd say. "It's nice of you to offer to take me home but I couldn't ask you to make a long trip like that. Don't worry, I'll be all right." But I'd take her arm and say, "Come on, I want to take you home. I like New Jersey." And we'd take the bus across the George Washington Bridge with the Hudson River flowing dark and mysterious below us, and then we'd be in New Jersey and we'd see the lights of small homes and she'd invite me in but I'd say it was too late and then she'd turn to me and say, "Then you must promise to come for dinner this Sunday." And I'd promise and then.
The train is slowing down and the people are bracing themselves automatically for the stop. It's the 175th Street station. There's a big crowd waiting to get in. I look out anxiously for her but I don't see her anywhere and my heart sinks, and just then I catch a glimpse of her, way over at the other side. She's wearing a new hat with little flowers on it. The door opens and the people start pushing in. She's caught in the rush and there's nothing she can do about it. She bangs into me and she grabs the strap I'm holding and hangs on it for dear life.
"I beg your pardon," she gasps.
My hands are pinned down and I can't tip my hat but I answer politely, "That's all right."
The doors close and the train begins to move. She has to hold on to my strap; there isn't any other place for her.
"Nice day, isn't it?" she says.
The train swings around a turn and the wheels squealing on the rails sound like the birds singing in New Hampshire. My heart is pounding like mad.
"Feels like spring," I say.
参考译文——感觉就像春天一样
感觉就像春天一样
米尔顿·卡普兰
我在街角的杂货店停下，吃了炸面圈和咖啡的早餐，然后奔向地铁站，冲下台阶，赶上我通常坐的那班车。我抓牢拉手吊环，假装在读报，但却一直瞟挤在我周围的人们。我听着他们谈论自己的烦恼和朋友，心想要是有个人聊聊，有个人打破这漫长的地铁旅程的单调该多好。
当我们驶近175街车站时，我又开始紧张起来。她通常就是在这一站上车的。她举止优雅地悄悄走进来，不像其他人那样推推搡搡。她挤进一小片空间，紧靠着人群，手中拿着一个也许装着午餐的公文袋。她从不带报纸或书。我想，在你被挤成那副样子时还试图去读书看也的确没多大意思。
她气色清新，看上去像是过惯了户外生活。我琢磨她准是住在新泽西州。泽西人都在这一站上车。她面容甜美洁净，不需要涂脂抹粉。除了唇膏外，她从不用其他化妆品。她波浪形的头发十分自然，带着一种优美的淡棕色。她只是抓牢扶杆，独自沉思。她的双眸湛蓝而亲切。
我总喜欢注视着她，但我必须小心翼翼，惟恐她发觉后会生气走开。那样的话,我就再也没有伴了，因为她是我唯一真正的朋友，尽管她并不知道。在纽约，我孑然一身，而且我想我有点腼腆，不容易交朋友。银行里那班伙计都挺不错，但他们各有各的生活天地。再说，我也没法邀请什么人上我那带家具出租的房间里去。所以一下班我就和他们各奔东西了。
这座城市使我心烦。它太大，太嘈杂——对一个孤独的人来说人也太多了。我似乎适应不了它。我对新罕布什尔州小农场的宁静倒很适应，但在新罕布什尔农场再也不会有什么前途了。于是从海军退役后，我便申请了银行里的这个职位并得到了它。我想这是个好机会，但我有点孤单寂寞。
当我乘着地铁，随着车厢晃动时，我喜欢想象我和她已成了朋友。有时，我甚至忍不住想对她微笑，说一些“早晨很可爱，是吗?”之类的话。但我很害怕。她也许会认为我是那种自作聪明的家伙而变得冷若冰霜，故意对我视而不见，好像我压根儿就不存在一样，接着第二天早上，她就再也不会出现，而我也就无人可想了。我一直梦想着也许有一天，我会结识她。当然了，是以一种随意的方式。
比如，也许她正穿过车门走进来，有人推了她一下，她碰到我身上，于是她会立刻说，“哦，对不起”，而我则会彬彬有礼地举一举帽子，回答说，“没关系”，并冲她微微一笑，表示我真的不介意，然后她会对我报以微笑，说，“天气很好，是吗？”我会说，“感觉就像春天一样”。接下去我 们不会再多说什么，但当她准备在34街下车时,她会朝我轻轻挥挥手说，“再见”，于是我会再一次举一举帽子。
第二天早上她进来时就会看见我并说，“你好”或者“早上好”,我也会问她好，还会加上一些话，向她表明我的确对春天有点了解。没有什么俏皮话，因为我不想让她以为我是那种花言巧语，在地铁里搭识女孩子的家伙。
过了一段时间，我们会更友好一点，开始谈论天气、新闻之类的事。于是有一天她会说， “有意思吗？我们每天都在这儿交谈，但连彼此的姓名还不知道。”于是，我便挺直身子站起来， 举一举帽子说，“我想让你认识托马斯·皮尔斯先生。”而她也会很严肃地说，“你好，皮尔斯先生，我想让你结识伊丽莎白·阿尔特莫斯小姐。”
“托马斯，”她会说，好像是在试试这个名字的读音。
“什么? ”我会问。
“我没法叫你托马斯，”她会说，“这名字太一本正经了。”
“朋友们都叫我汤米，”我会告诉她。
“我的朋友们都叫我贝蒂。”
事情就这样发展。也许过了一段时间，我会提起正在音乐厅上映的一部好电影的名字，并提议如果她没有什么特别的事……
她会马上说，“哈，我很愿意去!”于是，我会提前一点下班，到她工作的地方去接她，然后到外面什么地方吃顿饭。我会向银行里的一些人打听一家好餐馆的名字。我会同她交谈，告诉她有关新罕布什尔的情况，也许会提到我有多寂寞。如果那餐馆的确是个好地方，又安静又舒适，也许我会告诉她我有多害羞。她会睁大闪亮的眼睛倾听着，十指交叉握在一起，俯身向前靠在餐桌上，直到我能闻到她头发的芳香。她会低声说，“我也害羞。”随后，我俩都朝后一仰，偷偷地笑起来。进餐时我们话不多，因为毕竟在那一刻之后还有什么可说的呢？
看完电影，我会送她回家。她准不会让我送那么多路。“我住在新泽西，”她会说，“你真客气，说要送我回家，但我不能让你走那么长的路。别担心，我不会有事的。”但我会挽住她的手臂说，“走吧，我想送你回家，我喜欢新泽西。”我们会乘上公共汽车，驶过乔治·华盛顿桥，任幽暗的哈德逊河在我们的下面神秘地流淌。接着，我们到达新泽西，看见一幢幢小屋里的灯光。 她会邀请我进屋，但我会说太晚了。然后她转过身来对我说，“那你必须答应这个星期天来吃饭。”我会答应，然后……
列车在减速，人们都在习惯性地为停车作准备。这里是175街车站。一大群人正等着上车。我急切地望出去找她。但哪儿都看不见她，我的心一沉。就在这时，我瞥见她远远地在另一边。她戴着一顶新帽子，上面插着小花。车门开了，人群开始往里挤。她随着人流拥进来，夹在当中动弹不得。她撞到了我身上，一把抓住了我抓的那个吊环，拼命抓着不放。
“对不起，”她喘着气说。
我的双手动弹不得，无法举帽子，但我还是彬彬有礼地回答说，“没关系。”
车门关上了，地铁开始行驶。她不得不抓牢我的吊环，没有别的地方留给她了。
“天气很好，是吗? ”她说。
列车驶过弯道，车轮在铁轨上滚动着，发出尖厉的长鸣，宛如新罕布什尔的小鸟在歌唱，我的心狂跳不已。
“感觉就像春天一样，”我说。
Key Words:
gracefully
adv. 优雅地；温文地
approach [ə'prəutʃ]
n. 接近; 途径，方法
v. 靠近，接近，动
monotony [mə'nɔtəni]
n. 单调，枯燥，无味
figure ['figə]
n. 图形，数字，形状; 人物，外形，体型
except [ik'sept]
vt. 除，除外
prep. & conj.
envelope ['enviləup]
n. 信封，封皮，壳层
pole [pəul]
n. 杆，柱，极点
v. (用杆)支撑
powder ['paudə]
n. 粉，粉末，细雪，火药
pardon ['pɑ:dn]
n. 原谅，赦免
vt. 宽恕，原谅
freeze [fri:z]
v. 冻结，冷冻，僵硬，凝固
fragrance ['freigrəns]
n. 香味
clasp [klɑ:sp]
n. 扣子，钩，紧握
v. 扣紧，紧握，密切合
flowing ['fləuiŋ]
adj. 流动的；平滑的；上涨的 v. 流动；起源；上涨
whisper ['wispə]
n. 低语，窃窃私语，飒飒的声音
vi. 低声
mysterious [mis'tiəriəs]
adj. 神秘的，不可思议的
pardon ['pɑ:dn]
n. 原谅，赦免
vt. 宽恕，原谅
automatically [.ɔ:tə'mætikəli]
adv. 自动地，机械地
参考资料：