现代大学英语精读第二版（第四册）学习笔记（原文及全文翻译）——6B - The Hour of Letdown（放松时刻）

Unit 6B - The Hour of Letdown

The Hour of Letdown

E.B.White

When the man came in, carrying the machine, most of us looked up from our drinks, because we had never seen anything like it before. The man set the thing down on top of the bar near the beerpulls. It took up an ungodly amount of room and you could see the bartender didn't like it any too well, having this big, ugly-looking gadget parked right there.

"Two rye-and-water," the man said.

The bartender went on mixing an Old Fashioned that he was working on, but he was obviously turning over the request in his mind.

"You want a double?" he asked, after a bit.

"No," said the man. "Two rye-and- water, please." He stared straight at the bartender, not exactly unfriendly but on the other hand not actually friendly.

Many years of catering to the kind of people that come into saloons had provided the bartender with an adjustable mind. Nevertheless, he did not adjust readily to this fellow, and he did not like the machine—that was sure. He picked up a live cigarette that was idling on the edge of the cash register, took a drag out of it, and returned it thoughtfully. Then he poured two shots of rye whiskey, drew two glasses of water, and shoved the drinks in front of the man. People were watching. When something a little out of the ordinary takes place at a bar, the sense of it spreads quickly all along the line and pulls the customers together.

The man gave no sign of being the center of attention.

He laid a five-dollar bill down on the bar.

Then he drank one of the ryes and chased it with water.

He picked up the other rye, opened a small vent in the machine (it was like an oil cup) and poured the whiskey in, and then poured the water in.

The bartender watched grimly.

"Not funny," he said in an even voice.

"And furthermore, your companion takes up too much room.

Why don't you put it over on that bench by the door, make more room here."

"There's plenty of room for everyone here," replied the man.

"I'm not amused," said the bartender.

"Put the goddam thing over near the door like I say. Nobody will touch it."

The man smiled. "You should have seen it this afternoon." he said.

"It was magnificent. Today was the third day of the tournament.

Imagine it—three days of continuous brainwork! And against the top players in the country, too.

Early in the game it gained an advantage;

then for two hours it exploited the advantage brilliantly, ending with the opponent's king backed in a corner.

The sudden capture of a knight, the neutralization of a bishop, and it was all over.

You know how much money it won, all told, in three days of playing chess?"

"How much?" asked the bartender.

"Five thousand dollars," said the man.

"Now it wants to let down, wants to get a little drunk."

The bartender ran his towel vaguely over some wet spots. "Take it somewhere else and get it drunk there!" he said firmly. "I've got enough troubles."

The man shook his head and smiled. "No, we like it here." He pointed at the empty glasses. "Do this again, will you, please?"

The bartender slowly shook his head. He seemed dazed but dogged. "You stow the thing away," he ordered. "I'm not ladling out whiskey for jokestersmiths."

"Jokesmiths," said the machine. "The word is 'jokesmiths.'"

A few feet down the bar, a customer who was on his third highball seemed ready to participate in this conversation to which we had all been listening so attentively. He was a middle-aged man. His necktie was pulled down away from his collar, and he had eased the collar by unbuttoning it. He had pretty nearly finished his third drink, and the alcohol tended to make him throw his support in with the underprivileged and the thirsty.

"If the machine wants another drink, give it another drink," he said to the bartender. "Let's not have haggling."

The fellow with the machine turned to his new-found friend and gravely raised his hand to his temple, giving him a salute of gratitude and fellowship. He addressed his next remark to him, as though deliberately snubbing the bartender.

"You know how it is when you're all fagged out mentally, how you want a drink?"

"Certainly do," replied the friend. "Most natural thing in the world."

There was a stir all along the bar, some seeming to side with the bartender, others with the machine group. A tall, gloomy man standing next to me spoke up.

"Another whiskey sour, Bill," he said. "And go easy on the lemon juice."

"Picric acid," said the machine, sullenly. "They don't use lemon juice in these places."

"That does it!" said the bartender, smacking his hand on the bar. "Will you put that thing away or else beat it out of here. I ain't in the mood, I tell you. I got this saloon to run and I don't want lip from a mechanical brain or whatever the hell you've got there."

The man ignored this ultimatum.

He addressed his friend, whose glass was now empty.

"It's not just that it's all tuckered out after three days of chess," he said amiably.

"You know another reason it wants a drink?"

"No," said the friend. "Why?"

"It cheated," said the man.

At this remark, the machine chuckled.

One of its arms dipped slightly, and a light glowed in a dial.

The friend frowned.

He looked as though his dignity had been hurt, as though his trust had been misplaced.

"Nobody can cheat at chess," he said.

"S'impossible. In chess, everything is open and above the board.

The nature of the game of chess is such that cheating is impossible."

"That's what I used to think, too." said the man.

"But there is a way."

"Well, it doesn't surprise me any," put in the bartender.

"The first time I laid my eyes on that crummy thing I spotted it for a crook."

"Two rye-and-water," said the man.

"You can't have the whiskey," said the bartender.

He glared at the mechanical brain. "How do I know it ain't drunk already?"

"That's simple. Ask it something," said the man.

The customers shifted and stared into the mirror.

We were all in this thing now, up to our necks.

We waited. It was the bartender's move.

"Ask it what? Such as?" said the bartender.

"Makes no difference.

Pick a couple big figures, ask it to multiply them together.

You couldn't multiply big figures together if you were drunk, could you?"

The machine shook slightly, as though making internal preparations.

"Ten thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, multiply it by ninety-nine," said the bartender, viciously.

We could tell that he was throwing the two nines to make it hard.

The machine flickered.

One of its tubes spat, and a hand changed position, jerkily.

"One million seventy-five thousand three hundred and thirty-eight," said the machine.

Not a glass was raised all along the bar. People just stared gloomily into the mirror.

Finally, a youngish, mathematically-minded customer got out a piece of paper and a pencil and went into retirement.

"It works out." he reported, after some minutes of calculation.

"You can't say the machine is drunk!"

Everyone now glared at the bartender. Reluctantly he poured two shots of rye, drew two glasses of water. The man drank his drink. Then he fed the machine its drink. The machine's light grew fainter. One of its cranky little arms wilted.

For a while the saloon simmered along like a ship at sea in calm weather. Every one of us seemed to be trying to digest the situation, with the help of liquor. Quite a few glasses were refilled. Most of us sought help in the mirror—the court of last appeal.

The fellow with the unbuttoned collar paid for his drinks. He walked stiffly over and stood between the man and the machine. He put one arm around the man, the other arm around the machine. "Let's get out of here and go to a good place," he said.

The machine glowed slightly. It seemed to be a little drunk now.

"All right,'' said the man. "That suits me fine. I've got my car outside."

He settled for the drinks and put down a tip. Quietly and a trifle uncertainly he tucked the machine under his arm, and he and his companion of the night walked to the door and out into the street.

The bartender stared fixedly, and then resumed his light housekeeping. "So he's got his car outside," he said, with heavy sarcasm. "Now isn't that nice!"

A customer at the end of the bar near the door left his drink, stepped to the window, parted the curtains, and looked out. He watched for a moment, then returned to his place and addressed the bartender. "It's even nicer than you think," he said. "It's a Cadillac. And which one of the three of them d'ya think is doing the driving?"

参考译文——放松时刻

放松时刻

E.B.怀特

当那个人带着机器进来时，我们大多数人都停止了喝酒，抬头看去，因为我们以前从来没有见过这种东西。那人把它放在酒吧柜台上的啤酒泵旁边。那机器占用了很大的空间，你可以看得出，酒吧招待不愿看到这个庞大的丑陋的装置放在那里。

“两杯黑麦威士忌和水。”那人说。

招待员继续调着手头的老式鸡尾酒，但是显而易见他已经在考虑那个人的要求了

“你要双份吗？”过了一会儿，他问。

“不，”那人说，“请来两杯黑麦威士忌和水。”他直盯着招待员，既不失礼貌也不十分友好

由于多年来招待来酒吧的客人，这位招待员练就了一副随机应变的头脑。但是，他却不乐意迁就这家伙，他也不喜欢那台机器，这是千真万确他拿起放在收款机边上的一支燃着的香烟，抽了一口，若有所思地把它放回原处。然后，他倒了两杯黑麦威士忌又接了两杯水，把他们推到那人面前。人们都在看着，每当酒吧里发生一点新奇事，人们很快就能感觉到。

那人好像没有意识到他已经成为大家关注的焦点:

他把一张五美元的钞票放在吧台上，

然后喝了一杯黑麦威士忌，

又喝了一口水。他拿起另一杯黑麦威士忌，打开机器上的一个小孔（它就像一个酒杯)，先把威士忌倒进去，然后再倒水。

酒吧招待员严肃地看着他。

“没意思，”他语气平淡地说，

“再说你的伙伴也太占地方了，

你为什么不把它放在门边的那条长凳上？那样这里会更宽敞些

“这有的是地方给大家坐。”那人回答道。

“我不觉得好笑，”招待员说，

“照我说的话把那个讨厌的东西放在门边去，没有人会碰它的。，’

那人笑道：“你今天下午应该看看它比赛，

太精彩了，今天是比赛的第三天，

试想一下，连续三天的脑力劳动！并且和这个国家最优秀的棋手对阵。

比赛一开始它就占了上风，

在接下来的两个小时，它充分地发挥了优势，结果把对方的将逼得走投无路。

他突然吃掉了对方的马，卡住了象，棋就下完了。

你知道在三天的比赛中它总共赢了多少钱吗？”

“多少钱？”招待员问道。

“5,000美元。”那人说，

“现在它想要放松一下，想喝上一杯，让自己醉一醉”。

招待员漫不经心地用毛巾擦拭着一些水迹，“把它领到别处去，让它喝个够”他坚定地说. “我的麻烦够多了。”

那人摇了摇头，笑道：“不，我们喜欢这儿，”他指了指空杯子，“请再加满好吗？”

招待员慢慢地摇了摇头，他似乎迷惑不解，但是固执地坚持着“请把这东西收起来，”他命令到，“我是不给爱开玩笑的人(jokestersmiths)端酒的。”

“是jokesmiths，”那台机器说道。“那单词是jokesmiths_”

在离酒吧柜台几英尺的地方，一个正在喝第三杯威士忌的顾客准备参与这场让我们一直注意倾听的谈话。这是个中年人，领带已从衣领上拉了下来，领子上的纽扣也解开了，领子松松的。他几乎要喝完了第三杯酒，在酒精的作用下，他支持这台被剥夺了权利，又口渴难忍的机器。

“如果这台机器想要再喝一杯，你就给他再来一杯吧，”他对招待员说，“不要再争了。”

带机器的那个人把头转向新结识的朋友，庄重地把手举到太阳穴，向他敬礼，表示感激和友好。他接下来的这句话是对着这个人说的，好像故意要冷落招待员似的

“你知道大脑精疲力竭是什么感觉，是不是想喝一杯?”

“当然，”那位朋友回答到，“这是世上最自然不过的事情了。”

吧台一阵骚动，一些人似乎支持招待员，其他人似乎站在机器这一伙一边。站在我旁边的一个忧郁的大个子说道：

“比尔，这杯威士忌又是酸的，”他附加道，“少放点柠檬汁。”

“是苦味酸，”那机器生气地说道，“在这些地方他们不放柠檬汁的。”

“够了！ ”招待员说，啪地拍了一下吧台。“你要是不把那玩意弄走的话，我就把它赶出去。我告诉你，我可没心情和你玩。我这酒吧要营业，我不想听一个机器大脑或是你带到这里来的任何鬼东西在这里胡言乱语。”

那人没有理会这最后通牒，

他继续和他的朋友讲话，而后者的酒杯已经空了。

“这不仅仅是因为它下了三天象棋后累了，”他亲切地说道，

“你想知道它想喝酒的另一个原因吗？”

“不知道，”那位朋友说，“为什么？”

“它作弊了。”那人说。

听到这话,机器“咯咯”地笑了。

它的一只胳膊稍稍向下垂了垂，刻度盘上的一盏灯亮了。

他的朋友皱起了眉头，

似乎自尊心受到伤害，似乎错信了别人。

“没有人能在下棋时作弊，”他说，

“那不可能，下象棋是公开的，正大光明的。

象棋这种游戏就是这样，作弊是不可能的。” |

“过去我也是这么想的，”那人说，

“但是，的确有办法作弊。”

“这个我不会惊奇的，”酒吧招待员插话道，

“第一眼看到这个蠢货，我就可以断定他是骗子。”

“两杯黑麦威士忌和水。”那人说。

“不能给你威士忌。”酒吧招待员说道。

他瞪着那机器大脑说:“我怎么知道它没醉呢？”

“这很简单，问它点什么。”那人说。

客人们动了动，都盯着镜子。

现在整件事情引起了大家的强烈关注。

我们等待着，看看酒吧招待员下一步怎么办。

“问它什么，比如说？ ”酒吧招待员问道。

“问它什么都行。

挑几个大数字，让它们相乘。

如果你喝醉了，就算不出大数字的乘法了，对吧？”

机器轻微晃了晃，似乎在做内部准备。

“10,862乘以99。”酒吧招待员不怀好意地说。

我们可以看出来，他把两个9放在一起，加1 大了计算的难度。

机器摆动了一下，

身上的一支管子发出了噼里啪啦的声音，然后一只手抽动着改变了位置。

“1,075,338。” 机器说道。

整个酒吧没有一个人举起杯子，人们只是沮丧地瞅着镜子。

终于，一个有数学脑袋的年轻顾客拿出一张纸和一支铅笔，退到一个安静的地方计算起来。

“它算对了。”他计算了几分钟后报告说。

“你不能说机器喝醉了！”

此时大家都瞪着酒吧招待员。他极不情愿地倒了两杯黑麦威士忌，又接了两杯水。那人喝了他那份后，又把机器那份倒给它喝了。机器灯光变得暗了，一只古怪的手臂软软地垂了下来。

有一会儿酒吧就像一艘行使在风平浪静的大海上的轮船一样，平静下来了。我们每个人似乎都在借着酒精的作用想弄清这一切是怎么回事。许多的杯子重新斟满了。我们大多数人都求助于镜子——这最后的申诉法庭。

敞开衣领的那个人付了酒钱后，踉跄着走过来，站在那人和机器中间。他把一只胳膊搭在那人身上，把另一只搭在机器上面。“我们离开这儿，去个好地方吧。”他说道。

机器闪着微光，它现在看样子有点醉了。

“好吧，”那人说，“正合我意，我的车就停在外面。”

他结清酒钱，付了小费。他有点吃不准，默默地把机器夹在胳膊底下，和他晚上刚结交的朋友一起走出酒吧，来到街上

酒吧招待员目不转睛地盯着他们，然后又接着干酒吧里本来就不多的活儿。“原来他外面还停了车，”他不无嘲讽地说，“还真牛！”

—个坐在酒吧柜台一头、靠近门边的顾客放下酒杯，走到窗前，拉开窗帘向外望去他对酒吧招待员说，“甚至比你想的还牛，是一辆凯迪拉克。你觉得他们三人谁开车呢？”

Key Words:

nevertheless [.nevəðə'les]

adv. 仍然，不过

vent [vent]

n. 排气口，表达，发泄，火山口 v. 发泄，表达，排放

tournament ['tuənəmənt]

n. 比赛，锦标赛，(中世纪的)骑士比武

salute [sə'lu:t]

v. 行礼，致意，问候

gloomy ['glu:mi]

adj. 阴暗的，抑沉的，忧闷的

sarcasm ['sɑ:kæzəm]

n. 挖苦，讽刺2

cranky ['kræŋki]

adj. 怪癖的，不稳的

参考资料：

现代大学英语精读(第2版)第四册:U6B The Hour of Letdown(7)_大学教材听力 - 可可英语