现代⼤学英语精读第⼆版（第三册）学习笔记（原⽂及全⽂翻
译）——15A-ADrinkinth。。。
A Drink in the Passage
A Drink in the Passage
Alan Paton
In the year 1960 the Union of South Africa celebrated its Golden Jubilee, and there was a nationwide sensation when the one-thousand-pound prize for the finest piece of sculpture was won by a black man, Edward Simelane. His work, African Mother and Child, not only excited the admiration, but touched the conscience or heart or whatever it was that responded, of white South Africa, and seemed likely to make him famous in other countries.
大连旅游景点大全It was by an oversight that his work was accepted, for it was the policy of the government that all the celebrations and competitions should be strictly segregated. The committee of the sculpture section received a private reprimand for having been so careless as to omit the words "for whites only" from the conditions, but was told, by a very high personage, it is said, that if Simelane's work "was indisputa
bly the best," it should receive the award. The committee then decided that this prize must be given along with the others, at the public ceremony which would bring this particular part of the celebrations to a close.
For this decision it received a surprising amount of support from the white public; but in certain powerful quarters, there was an outcry against any departure from the "traditional policies" of the country, and a threat that many white prize-winners would renounce their prizes. However, a crisis was averted, because the sculptor was "unfortunately unable to attend the ceremony."
I wasn't feeling up to it, Simelane said mischievously to me. "My parents, and my wife's parents, and our priest, decided that I wasn't feeling up to it. And finally I decided so too. Of course Majosi and Sola and the others wanted me to go and get my prize personally, but I said, 'boys, I'm a sculptor, not a demonstrator."'
This cognac is wonderful, he said, "especially in these big glasses. It's the first time I've had such a glass. It's also the first time I've drunk a brandy so slowly. In Orlando you develop a throat of iron, and you just put back your head and put it down, in case the police should arrive."
He said to me, "This is the second cognac I've had in my life. Would you like to hear the story of how
I had my first?"
You know the Alabaster Bookshop in Von Brandis Street? Well, after the competition they asked me if they could exhibit my African Mother and Child. They gave a whole window to it, with a white velvet backdrop, if there is anything called white velvet, and some complimentary words.
Well somehow I could never go and look in that window. On my way from the station to the Herald office, I sometimes went past there, and I felt good when I saw all the people standing there; but I would only squint at it out of the corner of my eye.
Then one night I was working late at the Herald, and when I came out there was hardly anyone in the streets, so I thought I'd go and see the window, and indulge certain pleasurable human feelings. I must have got a little lost in the contemplation of my own genius, because suddenly there was a young white man standing next to me.
He said to me, "What do you think of that, mate?" And you know, one doesn't get called "mate" every day.
I'm looking at it, I said."
I come and look at it nearly every night, he said. "You know it's by one of your own boys, don't you?"
Yea, I know.
It's beautiful, he said. "Look at that mother's head. She's loving that child, but she's somehow watching too. Like someone guarding. She knows it won't be an easy life."
Then he said confidentially, "Mate, would you like a drink?"
Well honestly I didn't feel like a drink at that time of night, with a white stranger and all, and a train still to catch to Orlando.
You know we black people must be out of the city by eleven, I said.
It won't take long. My flat's just round the corner. Do you speak Afrikaans?
Since I was a child, I said in Afrikaans.
We'll speak Afrikaans then. My English isn't too wonderful. I'm van Rensburg. And you?
I couldn't have told him my name. I said I was Vakalisa, living in Orlando.
By this time he had started off, and I was following, but not willingly. We didn't exactly walk abreast, but he didn't exactly walk in front of me. He didn't look constrained. He wasn't looking round to see if anyone might be watching.
He said to me, "Do you know what I wanted to do?"
No, I said.
I wanted a bookshop, like that one there. I always wanted that, ever since I can remember. But I had bad luck. My parents died before I could finish school.
Then he said to me, "Are you educated?"
I said unwillingly, "Yes." Then I thought to myself, how stupid, for leaving the question open.
And sure enough he asked, "Far?"
And again unwillingly, I said, "Far."
He took a big leap. "Degree?"
Yes.
Literature?
Yes.
He expelled his breath, and gave a long "ah." We had reached his building, Majorca Mansions, not one of those luxurious places. I was glad to see that the entrance lobby was deserted. I wasn't at my ease. The lift was at ground level, marked Whites Only. Van Rensburg opened the door and waved me in. While I was waiting for him to press the button, so that we could get moving and away from that ground floor, he stood with his finger suspended over it, and looked at me with a kind of honest, unselfish envy.
You were lucky, he said. "Literature，that's what I wanted to do."
He shook his head and pressed the button, and he didn't speak again until we stopped high up. But before we got out he said suddenly, "If I had had a bookshop, I'd have given that boy a window too."
We got out and walked along one of those polished concrete passageways. On the one side was a wall, and plenty of fresh air, and far down below Von Brandis Street. On the other side were the door
s, impersonal doors. Van Rensburg stopped at one of the doors, and said to me, "I won't be a minute."
Then he went in, leaving the door open, and inside I could hear voices. Then after a minute or so, he came back to the door, holding two glasses of red wine. He was warm and smiling.
Sorry there's no brandy, he said. "Only wine. Here's happiness."
Now I certainly had not expected that I would have my drink in the passage. I wasn't only feeling what you may be thinking, I was thinking that one of the impersonal doors might open at any moment, and someone might see me in a "white" building, and see me and van Rensburg breaking the liquor laws of the country. Anger could have saved me from the whole embarrassing situation, but you know I can't easily be angry. Even if I could have been, I might have found it hard to be angry with this particular man. But I wanted to get away from there, and I couldn't.
Van Rensburg said to me, "Don't you know this fellow Simelane?"
I've heard of him, I said.
I'd like to meet him, he said. "I'd like to talk to him." He added in explanation, "You know, talk out my
heart to him."
A woman of about fifty years of age came from the room beyond, bringing a plate of biscuits. She smiled and bowed to me.
I took one of the biscuits, but not for all the money in the world could I have said to her dankie, my nooi or that disgusting dankie, misses, nor did I want to speak to her in English because her language was Afrikaans, so I took the risk of it and used the word mevrou, for the politeness of which some Afrikaners would knock a black man down, and I said, in high Afrikaans, with a smile and a bow too, "Ek is u dankbaar, Mevrou."
But nobody knocked me down. The woman smiled and bowed, and van Rensburg, in a strained voice that suddenly came out of nowhere, said, "Our land is beautiful. But it breaks my heart."
The woman put her hand on his arm, and said, "Jannie, Jannie."
Then another woman and a man, all about the same age, came up and stood behind van Rensburg.
He's a B.A., van Rensburg told them.
The first woman smiled and bowed to me again, and van Rensburg said, as though it were a matter for grief, "I wanted to give him brandy, but there's only wine."
The second woman said, "I remember, Jannie. Come with me."
She went back into the room, and he followed her. The first woman said to me, "Jannie's a good man. Strange, but good."
And I thought the whole thing was mad, and getting beyond me, with me a black stranger being shown a testimonial for the son of the house, with these white strangers standing and looking at me in the passage, as though they wanted for God's sake to touch me somewhere and didn't know how, but I saw the earnestness of the woman who had smiled and bowed to me, and I said to her, "I can see that, Mevrou."
He goes down every night to look at the statue, she said. "He says only God could make something so beautiful, therefore God must be in the man who made it, and he wants to meet him and talk out his heart to him."
She looked back at the room, and then she dropped her voice a little, and said to me, "Can't you see, it's somehow because it's a black woman and a black child?"
And I said to her, "I can see that, Mevrou."
She turned to the man and said of me, "He’s a good boy."
Then the other woman returned with van Rensburg, and van Rensburg had a bottle of brandy. He was smiling and pleased, and he said to me, "This isn't ordinary brandy, it's French."
He showed me the bottle, and I, wanting to get the hell out of that place, looked at it and saw it was cognac. He turned to the man and said, "Uncle，you remember? The man at the bottle-store said this was the best brandy in the world."
I must go, I said. "I must catch that train."
I'll take you to the station, he said. "Don't you worry about that."
He poured me a drink and one for himself.
Uncle, he said, "what about one for yourself?"
see you again翻译
The older man said, "I don't mind if I do," and he went inside to get himself a glass.
Van Rensburg said, "Happiness," and lifted his glass to me. It was good brandy, the best I've ever tasted. But I wanted to get the hell out of there. Then Uncle came back with his glass, and van Rensburg poured him a brandy, and Uncle raised his glass to me too.
All of us were full of goodwill, but I was waiting for the opening of one of those impersonal doors. Perhaps they were too, I don't know. Perhaps when you want so badly to touch someone, you don't care. I was drinking my brandy almost as fast as I would have drunk it in Orlando.
I must go, I said.
Van Rensburg said, "I'll take you to the station." He finished his brandy, and I finished mine too. We handed the glasses to Uncle, who said to me, "Good night, my boy." The first woman said, "May God bless you," and the other woman bowed and smiled. Then van Rensburg and I went down in the lift to the basement, and got into his car.
I told you I'd take you to the station, he said. "I'd take you home, but I'm frightened of Orlando at night."
We drove up Eloff Street, and he said, "Did you know what I meant?" I wanted to answer him, but I c
ouldn't，because I didn't know what that something was. He couldn't be talking about being frightened of Orlando at night, because what more could one mean than just that?
By what? I asked.
You know, he said, "about our land being beautiful?"
Yes, I knew what he meant, and I knew that for God's sake he wanted to touch me too and he couldn't; for his eyes had been blinded by years in the dark. And I thought it was a pity he was blind, for if men never touch each other, they'll hurt each other one day.
And it was a pity he was blind, and couldn't touch me, for black men don't touch white men any more; only by accident, when they make something like Mother and Child.
He said to me, "What are you thinking?"
I said, "Many things," and my inarticulateness distressed me, for I knew he wanted something from me. I felt him fall back, angry, hurt, desiring, I didn't know. He stopped at the main entrance to the station, but I didn't tell him I couldn't go in there. I got out and said to him, "Thank you for the sociable evening."
They liked having you, he said. "Did you see that?"
I said, "Yes, I saw that."
He sat slumped in his seat, like a man with a burden of incomprehensible, insoluble grief. I wanted to touch him, but I was thinking about the train. He said Good night and I said it too. We each saluted the other. What he was thinking, God knows, but I was thinking he was like a man trying to run a race in iron shoes, and not understanding why he cannot move.
When I got back to Orlando, I told my wife the story, and she wept.
⾛廊⾥的祝酒
⾛廊⾥的祝酒
阿兰·佩顿
在1960年南⾮联邦50华诞之际，发⽣了⼀件轰动全国的事情：奖⾦为1,000英镑的最佳雕塑作品奖被⼀个⿊⼈获得，他就是爱德华·西梅拉内。他的作品《⾮洲母⼦》不仅赢得了南⾮⽩⼈的赞誉，⽽且触动了他们的良知、⼼灵或内⼼深处的某种东西。看起来这部作品还将使西梅拉内享誉海外。
他的作品能被接受完全是由于⼀个疏忽，因为政府明⽂规定：所有庆典和赛事都在严格实⾏种族隔离。雕塑组委员会曾受到了私下的指责，因为他们竟然粗⼼地将参赛条件中的“仅限⽩⼈”给遗漏了，但据说⼀位⼤⼈物授意组委会：如果西梅拉内的作品“是⽆可争议的最佳”，那他就应该获此殊荣。因此，组委会决定，这个奖项必须在公开的仪式上同其他奖项⼀同颁发，以便使庆祝活动中出现的这个特殊事件画上⼀个句号。
组委会这⼀决定出乎意料地赢得了⽩⼈社会的⽀持，但在某些有权有势的圈⼦⾥，抗议声不绝于⽿，他们反对任何偏离国家“传统政策”的情况发⽣，并威胁说许多⽩⼈获奖者将放弃所获奖项。然⽽，西梅拉内“很不幸不能来参加这次颁奖仪式”’危机就这样被避免了。蒂思岚
林允黑历史“我没精⼒去领奖，”西梅拉内戏谑地对我说，“我的⽗母、岳⽗岳母，以及我们的牧师都认为我没精⼒去领这个奖。最后，我也决定不去领奖了。当然，马乔希和苏拉及其他⼈都希望我亲⾃去领奖，但我说：‘孩⼦们，我是⼀个雕塑师，⽽不是⼀个⽰威者。’”
“这种⼲⾢⽩兰地⾮常棒，”他说，“尤其是⽤这种⼤玻璃杯喝，我还是第⼀次⽤这么⼤的玻璃杯来喝这种酒。这也是我第⼀次这么慢地喝⽩兰地。在奥兰多，你得练就⼀副铁喉咙。⼀仰头就把酒倒进嘴⾥了，⽣怕被警察看见。”
他对我说这是我平⽣第⼆次喝⼲⾢⽩兰地。想不想听我第⼀次喝⽩兰地的故事？”
申请留学出国
你知道冯布兰达斯⼤街上的埃勒巴斯特书店吗？嗯，这次⽐赛之后，他们问我是否可以展出我的《⾮洲母⼦》。他们⽤⼀整个橱窗摆放这尊雕像，后⾯衬着⽩⾊的天鹅绒——如果有⽩⾊天鹅绒这种东西的话，他们还为这尊雕塑配上了⼀些溢美之辞。
嗯，不知怎么地，我从未能⾛近橱窗朝⾥看⼀看。从⽕车站到《先驱报》报社，我有时会从那⾥经过，当我看到⼈们站在那⾥驻⾜观看时，我感觉不错；但我只是⽤眼⾓的余光瞟它⼏眼罢了。
之后，有⼀天晚上我在《先驱报》报社⼯作到了很晚，当我从报社出来时，街上⼏乎空⽆⼀⼈，于是，我想我要去那⾥看看那个橱窗，来满⾜⼀下某种愉快的⼈类情感。在凝视我⾃⼰的天才之作的时候，我⼀定是有点忘乎所以，因为我突然发现，⼀位⽩⼈青年站在我⾝旁。
他对我说⽼兄，你觉得它怎么样？”你也知道，⼀个⿊⼈并不是每天都会有幸被称作“⽼兄”的。
“我正在看呢，”我说。
“我⼏乎每天晚上都来看它，”他说，“你知道，这是由你们的⼀位兄弟创作的，是吧？”
“是的，我知道。”
朱茵个人资料
“太美了，”他说，“看那母亲的脸，她深深地爱着那个孩⼦，但她也在以某种⽅式警惕着，像是⼀位守卫者。她知道⽣活并不容易。”
然后，他套近乎似地说⽼兄，想喝⼀杯吗？”
坦⽩地说，我不太想在晚上的这个时候喝酒，还是和⼀个陌⽣的⽩⼈，再说我还要赶⽕车回奥兰多。
“你知道我们⿊⼈必须在晚上⼗⼀点前出城我说。
“不会耽误你很长时间。我的公寓就在不远处。你会说南⾮荷兰语吗？”
“从⼩就会说我⽤南⾮荷兰语说道。
“那么我们就说南⾮荷兰语吧。我的英语也不太好。我叫范兰斯堡。你呢？”
我不能告诉他我的名字。因此我说我叫⽡卡利沙，住在奥兰多。
这时他已⾛开了，我跟在他后⾯，但并不很情愿。我们没有完全并肩⽽⾏，但他也不在我的正前⽅。他看起来并不拘谨，没有环顾四周看看是否有⼈在注视我们。
他对我说：“你知道我以前想要做什么吗？”
“不知道我说。
“我想要开家书店，就像那⼉的那⼀家。⾃我记事起，我就⼀直有这样的想法。但我运⽓不好。我还没有上完学我⽗母就去世了。”
然后他对我说：“你上过学吗？”
我不情愿地说：“上过。”然后我⼼想，真够傻的，因为我留下了继续谈论这个话题的机会。
果然，他继续问道什么程度？”
再次不情愿地，我说挺⾼。”
他把话题的深度向前提了⼀⼤步。“拿到学位了吗？”
“拿到了。”
“是⽂学学位吗？”
“是的。”
他呼了⼝⽓，同时发出了长长的“啊”。我们已到了他住的楼房，梅杰卡公寓，它并不是那种奢华的处所。我很⾼兴看到⼤厅⼊⼝没有⼈。我有点紧张。电梯在⼀层，门上写着“仅供⽩⼈使⽤”。范兰斯堡打
开电梯门，招⼿让我进去。当我等他按下按钮，以便我们可以离开⼀楼时，他的⼿指却停留在了按钮上，他站在那⾥，带着⼀种诚实的没有私⼼的羡慕表情看着我。