介绍:
（点击右边黑三角下拉有中英配文）
The Englishman was asleep, breathing through his mouth as he always did, awake or asleep.
Suddenly Hana was claustrophobic, untired. She strode down the hall and leapt down the stairs.
She pushed at the stiff swollen door and came into the library and then removed the boards from the French doors at the far end of the room, opening them, letting in the night air. Where Caravaggio was, she didn’t know.
英国人睡着了，张着嘴巴呼吸。他总是这样呼吸，不管是醒了，还是睡着了。她突然变得害怕独处一室，不是因为疲倦。她大步朝走廊那头走去，跳下楼梯，她推开那扇严实的门，走进书房，拆下钉在落地窗上的木板，打开落地窗，好让夜晚的空气吹进书房。她不知道卡拉瓦焦在哪里。
She grabbed the grey sheet that covered the piano and walked away to a corner of the room hauling it in after her, No light. She heard a far grumble of thunder. She was standing in front of the piano. Without looking down she lowered her hands and started to play, just chording sound, reducing melody to a skeleton. She was looking down as two men slipped through the French doors and placed their guns on the end of the piano and stood in front of her. The noise of chords still in the air of the changed room.
她掀起盖在钢琴上的灰色布罩，走到屋子的—角，把它挂在墙上。一块裹尸布，一张鱼网。没有光亮。她听到远处传来低沉的雷声。她站在钢琴前面。她没有低头，只是垂下手，开始弹奏起来。只是弹些和音，只是弹出了大致的旋律。她低下头，这时有两个人溜进落地窗，把枪放在钢琴的那头，然后站到她的前面。琴声仍然回荡在这间起了变化的屋子里。
Her arms down her sides, one bare foot on the bass pedal, continuing with the song her mother had taught her, that she practiced on any surface, a kitchen table, a wall while she walked upstairs, her own bed before she fell asleep. They had had no
piano. She used to go to the community centre on Saturday mornings and play there, but all week she practiced wherever she was, learning the chalked notes that her mother had drawn onto the kitchen table and then wiped off later.
她的手臂贴着身体两侧，一只赤脚踩在铜踏板上，继续弹奏她母亲教她的这首歌。她曾在任何光滑的平面上练习弹这首歌，有时在厨房的桌上弹，上楼时在墙上弹，睡觉时就在自己的床上弹。他们没有钢琴。星期六上午，她就到社区中心练琴。但在平时，到了哪里，哪里就成了她练琴的地方，她随时随地都能学习她的母亲用粉笔在饭桌上写下后又擦去的乐谱。
A lightning flash across the valley, the storm had been coming all night, and she saw one of the men was a Sikh. Now she paused and smiled, somewhat amazed, relieved anyway, the cyclorama of light behind them so brief that it was just a quick glimpse of his turban and the bright wet guns. The English patient could have identified the weapons. When Caravaggio returned he found Hana and the two soldiers from a sapper unit in the kitchen making up sandwiches.
一道闪电划过山谷，整夜都是暴风雨。她看到旁边站着的两个人中其中一人是锡克教徒。她停了下来，微微一笑，心中有些吃惊，但却放下了心。在他们身后亮起的闪光转瞬即逝，她只看到他的头巾，以及明亮而潮湿的枪支。英国病人可以认出这是什么枪。
当卡拉瓦焦回来以后，他发现哈纳和工兵部队的两名士兵正在厨房里做三明治。
The Sikh sets up a tent in the far reaches of the garden, where Hana thinks lavender was once grown. She has found dry leaves in that area which she has rolled in her fingers and identified. Now and then after a rain she recognizes the perfume of it.
At first he will not come into the house at all. He walks past on some duty or other to do with the dismantling of mines. Always courteous. A little nod of his head. During the day she notices mostly his arms in the short-sleeved army shirt and the rifle which is always with him, even though battles seem now to be over for them.
锡克教徒在花园的那一头搭起了帐篷，哈纳认为那里生长过薰衣草。她曾在那个地方找到干燥的叶子，她用手指捞了起来，认出是薰衣草的叶子。下过雨后，她不时可以闻出它的芳香。
起先，锡克教徒无论如何也不肯搬进房子。负责扫雷执勤工作的时候，他会从旁边经过。他总是彬彬有礼，略微向人点头示意。她看见他打着赤膊的棕色身子，那时他正把水泼到身上，就像鸟拍打翅膀一样。她总在白天注意他那露出短袖军用衬衫的手臂，他总是随身带着步枪，尽管对他们来说，战争现在似乎已经结束了。
He is a relief to her in his self-sufficiency, to all of them in the house, though Caravaggio grumbles at the sapper’s continuous humming of Western songs he has learned for himself in the last three years of the war. The other sapper, who had arrived with him in the rainstorm, Hardy he was called, is billeted elsewhere, nearer the town, though she has seen them working together, entering a garden with their wands of gadgetry to clear mines.
他能照料自己——对此她颇感欣慰——从不对屋里的任何人造成负担，尽管卡拉瓦焦嘟哝着，抱怨这个工兵老是哼着他在战争最后三年里学会的西方歌曲。另一名工兵叫哈弟，与他在暴风雨中一同前来，被分配到别处，离小镇更近，哈纳曾见到他们在一起工作，带着扫雷用的工具进了花园。
The Sikh never speaks about the danger that comes with his kind of searching. Now and then an explosion brings her and Caravaggio quickly out of the house, her heart taut from the muffled blast. She runs out or runs to a window seeing Caravaggio too in the corner of her vision, and they will see the sapper waving lazily towards the house, not even turning around from the herb terrace.
锡克教徒从不谈论扫雷有多危险。不时传来的爆炸声，常引得哈纳和卡拉瓦焦赶紧跑出房子。沉闷的爆炸声总让她的心为之一紧。她跑出去，或者跑到窗前，眼角可以瞥见卡拉瓦
焦。他们会看见那个工兵懒懒地朝着房子挥手，甚至不从那块种着药草的苗坛转过身来。
He is always humming or whistling. “Who is whistling?” asks the English patient one night, having not met or even seen the newcomer.
锡克教徒总是哼着小曲，或者吹着口哨。“谁在吹口哨?” 有一天晚上，英国病人问道，他既没有遇到，也没见过那个新来的人。
When he steps into the seemingly empty villa he is noisy. He is the only one of them who has remained in uniform. Immaculate, buckles shined, the sapper appears out of his tent, his turban symmetrically layered, the boots clean and banging into the wood or stone floors of the house.
当他踏进似乎空无一人的别墅时，总是吵吵嚷嚷。他是惟一仍然穿着军装的人。他走出了帐篷，穿着整齐，钮扣闪闪发亮，包头巾包得层次分明而且对称，皮靴锃亮，踩响屋里的木地板或石地板。
He seems casually content with this small group in the villa, some kind of loose star on the edge of their system. This is like a holiday for him after the war of mud and rivers and bridges. He enters the house only when invited in, just a tentative visitor, the way he had done that first night when he had followed the faltering sound of Hana’s piano and come up the cypress-lined path and stepped into the library.
他似乎对别墅里的这几个人还算满意。别墅是他们那个星系里某颗遥远的星星。在尽是与烂泥、河流和桥梁打交道的战争以后，这对他来说就像度假一样。他只在应邀时才走进房里，只是偶尔拜访而已。那天晚上，他就是这样顺着哈纳弹奏的断断续续的琴声，沿着柏树小道，走进了书房。
----每周一/三/五晚更----
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