介绍:
(点击右边黑三角下拉有中英配文）
“Caravaggio thinks he knows who you are,” Hana said.
The man in the bed said nothing.
“卡拉瓦焦认为他知道你是谁!”哈纳说。
床上的那个男人没有说话。
“He says you are not English. He worked with intelligence out of Cairo and Italy for a while. Till he was captured. My family knew Caravaggio before the war. He was a thief. He believed in ‘the movement of things.’ Some thieves are collectors, like some of the explorers you scorn, like some men with women or some women with men. But Caravaggio was not like that. He was too curious and generous to be a successful thief. Half the things he stole never came home. He thinks you are not English.”
“他说你不是英国人。他曾在开罗附近从事情报工作，在意大利也干过一段时间——直到他被俘。我们家在战前就认识卡拉瓦焦。他曾是个小偷。他相信‘东西的流动’。那些小偷是收藏者，就像你所蔑视的某些勘探家一样，就像一些有女人的男人，或是一些有男人的女人一样。但是卡拉瓦焦不是那样的。他太好奇又太慷慨，所以不能成为一名成功的小偷——他偷的东西有一半不会带回家。他认为你不是英国人。”
She watched his stillness as she spoke; it appeared that he was not listening carefully to what she was saying. Just his distant thinking.
当她说话的时候+她看到他无动于衷。看得出来，他并没有用心听她说话。他的思绪已飞到了远方。
She stopped talking.
He reached the shallow well named Ain Dua. He removed all of his clothes and soaked them in the well, put his head and then his thin body into the blue water. His limbs exhausted from the four nights of walking. He left his clothes spread on the rocks and climbed up higher into the boulders, climbed out of the desert, which was now, in 1942, a vast battlefield, and went naked into the darkness of the cave.
她沉默了下来。
他到达了那口叫爱因•杜阿的水井。他脱下身上所有的衣服，把它们泡进井里，接着把他的头，然后是他瘦弱的身体浸入蓝色的水中。经过四夜的跋涉，他的四肢已疲惫不堪。他把衣服摊开，晒在岩石上，爬到更高处，爬进卵石堆里，爬出沙漠。现在是一九四二年，在一片广阔的战场上，他赤裸裸地走进黑暗的山洞里。
He was among the familiar paintings he had found years earlier. Giraffes. Cattle. Several figures in the unmistakable posture of swimmers. He walked farther into the coldness, into the Cave of Swimmers, where he had left her. She was still there. She had dragged herself into a corner, had wrapped herself tight in the parachute material. He had promised to return for her.
他身处于那些他早年发现的熟悉的岩画中。长颈鹿、牛、羊。有几幅明白表现出人们游泳的姿态。他把她留在那儿。她还在那儿。她自己爬进了一个角落，用降落伞布把自己紧紧地裹起来。他承诺过会回到她身边。
He himself would have been happier to die in a cave, with its privacy, the swimmers caught in the rock around them. But she was a woman who had grown up within gardens, among moistness. Her passion for the desert was temporary. She’d come to love its sternness because of him, wanting to understand his comfort in its solitude.
他自己倒很愿意死在一个不为人知的洞里，与困在岩壁中的泳者为伴。但是她是在花园里长大的那种女人。她对沙漠的激情是暂时的。她是因为他的缘故，才爱上沙漠的严酷，因为她想了解他在沙漠的孤寂中所得到的自在。
She was on her back, positioned the way the mediaeval dead lie.
I approached her naked as I would have done in our South Cairo room, wanting to undress her, still wanting to love her.
她仰面躺着，那姿态像中世纪的死人。
“我光着身子走近她，就像在开罗南部的房间里那样，想脱去她的衣服，想再爱她一次。
What is terrible in what I did? Don’t we forgive everything of a lover? We forgive selfishness, desire, guile. As long as we are the motive for it. You can make love to a woman with a broken arm, or a woman with fever. She once sucked blood from a cut on my hand as I had tasted and swallowed her menstrual blood. There are some European words you can never translate properly into another language. Felhomaly. The dusk of graves. With the connotation of intimacy there between the dead and the living.
“我做的事有什么可怕呢?难道我们不能原谅情人的一切吗?我们原谅自私、情欲和狡诈。只要我们愿意，你可以和一位断了手臂的女人或发烧的女人做爱。她有一次舔我手上伤口的血，就像我品尝和咽下她的体液一样。有一些欧洲人的用语，你也许永远无法贴切地翻译成另一种语言。Felhomaly。坟墓的黄昏，在生与死之间有着紧密的联系。
I lifted her into my arms from the shelf of sleep. Clothing like cobweb. I disturbed all that.
I carried her out into the sun. I dressed. My clothes dry and brittle from the heat in the stones.
“我将沉睡的她抱起，她身上像蜘蛛网一样包得紧紧地。我扯乱了一切。
“我抱着她走到了太阳底下，我穿上了衣服。炽热的岩石已经把我的衣服烤得又干又硬。
My linked hands made a saddle for her to rest on. As soon as I reached the sand I jostled her around so her body was facing back, over my shoulder. I was used to her like this in my arms.
我把手拱成鞍形，让她躺在上面。我一进入沙漠，就把她转过身来，让她的身体靠在我的肩上。我曾像这样拥她人怀。
We moved like this towards the northeast gully, where the plane was buried. I did not need a map. With me was the tank of petrol I had carried all the way from the capsized truck. Because three years earlier we had been impotent without it.
“我们就这样向着埋着飞机的东北部山谷走去——我不需要地图。我从翻了的卡车上扛了一箱汽油下来，一路上一直带着，因为在三年前，飞机的汽油已经用完了。”
“What happened three years earlier?” Caravaggio asked.
“She had been injured. In 1939. Her husband had crashed his plane. It had been planned as a suicide-murder by her husband that would involve all three of us. We were not even lovers at the time. I suppose information of the affair trickled down to him somehow.”
“三年前发生了什么事?” 卡拉瓦焦问。
“她受伤了。一九三九年，她丈夫的飞机坠毁了。那是她丈夫设计的一起自杀……谋杀计划，要我们三人同归于尽。我们那时其实已经分手了。我猜想我们的事还是传到他的耳朵里去了。”
“So she was too wounded to take with you.”
“Yes. The only chance to save her was for me to try and reach help alone.”
“然而她受的伤太重，不能跟你走。”
“是的，对我来说，救她的惟一机会是试试独自去寻找帮助。”
How did you hate me? she whispers in the Cave of Swimmers, talking through her pain of injuries. A broken wrist. Shattered ribs. You were terrible to me. That’s when my husband suspected you. I still hate that about you—disappearing into deserts or bars.
“你有多恨我，竟要这样对我?”她在游泳者洞穴里，忍着伤痛轻声地对他说。手腕摔碎了，肋骨也摔断了。“你这样残忍地对待我，而那时我丈夫正在怀疑你。我现在还是恨你——你只会逃避现实，只会躲进沙漠和酒吧里。”
You left me in Groppi Park.
Because you didn’t want me as anything else.
Because you said your husband was going mad. Well, he went mad.
Not for a long time. I went mad before he did, you killed everything in me. Kiss me, will you. Stop defending yourself. Kiss me and call me by my name.
“是你在格罗皮公园离开我的。”
“因为你根本不在乎我。”
“因为你说你丈夫会发疯。的确，他是发疯了。”
“没过多久。我在他疯之前就发疯了，你毁了我的一切。吻我，好吗?别再禁锢你自己了，叫着我的名字，吻我吧。”
Their bodies had met in perfumes, in sweat, frantic to get under that thin film with a tongue or a tooth, as if they each could grip character there and during love pull it right off the body of the other. You think you are an iconoclast, but you’re not.
You just move, or replace what you cannot have. If you fail at something you retreat into something else. Nothing changes you.
他们的身体在香水味和汗味中相遇了，他们发疯地纠缠在一起，试图用舌头和牙齿撕开横亘在他们之间的那层薄膜，他们可以把彼此的灵魂揪出对方的躯体。
“你认为自己反对崇拜偶像，但你不是的，对于你无法拥有的，你只是逃避，或转移自己的注意。如果你在一件事上失败了，你就拿另一件事当寄托，没有任何事能改变你。
----每周一/三/五晚更---- 【文本翻译均为电台英伦好声音读给你听所有，转载请联系播主并注明】
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