介绍:
(点击右边黑三角下拉有中英配文）
Still night. He can hear nighthawks, their faint cries, the muted thud of wings as they turn. The cypress trees rise over his tent, still on this windless night. He lies back and stares into the dark corner of the tent. When he closes his eyes he sees fire, people leaping into rivers into reservoirs to avoid flame or heat that within seconds burns everything, whatever they hold, their own skin and hair, even the water they leap into. The brilliant bomb carried over the sea in a plane, passing the moon in the east, towards the green archipelago. And released.
夜里万籁俱寂，他仍然能听见夜鹰微弱的叫声，还有当他们转身时，拍打翅膀的微弱声响。在这无风的夜晚，柏树一动不动地屹立在帐篷上方。他仰卧着，两眼紧盯着帐篷黑暗的角落。他一闭上眼睛，就看见火光。人们跳进河中，跳人贮水池里去避开那在几秒钟之内将一切化为灰烬的火焰和高温，无论是他们拿着的东西，还是他们的皮肤和头发，甚至他们跳进的水中。这枚威力极大的炸弹被飞机运过了海洋，经过东方的月亮，对准绿色的群岛，投了下去。
He has not eaten food or drunk water, is unable to swallow anything. Before light failed he stripped the tent of all military objects, all bomb disposal equipment, stripped all insignia off his uniform. Before lying down he undid the turban and combed his hair out and then tied it up into a topknot and lay back, saw the light on the skin of the tent slowly disperse, his eyes holding onto the last blue of light, hearing the drop of wind into windlessness and then hearing the swerve of the hawks as their wings thudded. And all the delicate noises of the air.
他不吃不喝，因为咽不下任何东西。在天黑之前，他在帐篷里扔了所有的军械，丢了所有的拆弹设备，拆掉了军装上所有的徽章。在躺下之前，他解开包头巾，梳理了头发，在头顶上绑了个髻，然后才躺下，看着帐篷上的光慢慢暗下去。他的眼睛追逐着最后一丝蓝光，倾听着外面已渐渐平息的一丝微风。
He feels all the winds of the world have been sucked into Asia. He steps away from the many small bombs of his career towards a bomb the size, it seems, of a city, so vast it lets the living witness the death of the population around them. He knows nothing about the weapon. Whether it was a sudden assault of metal and explosion or if boiling air scoured itself towards and through anything human. All he knows is, he feels he can no longer let anything approach him, cannot eat the food or even drink from a puddle on a stone bench on the terrace. He does not feel he can draw a mateh out of his bag and fire the lamp, for he believes the lamp will ignite everything. In the tent, before the light evaporated, he had brought out the photograph of his family and gazed at it. His name is Kirpal Singh and he does not know what he is doing here.
听着老鹰转向飞行时翅膀的拍打声和空气中所有细微的声他觉得世界上所有的风都刮到亚洲去了。他的思绪远离了他工作时看到的许多小炸弹，奔向另一枚炸弹，那枚炸弹好像有一座城市那样大。它是如此巨大，它使周围活着的人目睹了大量人口的死亡。他对这种武器一无所知。它是用金属碎片和爆炸力杀害人群，还是用滚烫的空气席卷、消灭一切呢?他所知道的是，他不能再让任何东西靠近他了，不能吃东西，甚至不能在阳台石凳上的大茶缸里喝水了。他觉得他不能从背包里拿出火柴来点灯，因为他相信灯会点燃所有的东西。在帐篷里，在光线消失之前，他取出家人的相片，盯着看。他叫基普，而他不知道他在这里干什么。
He stands now under the trees in the August heat, untur-banned, wearing only a kurta. He carries nothing in his hands, just walks alongside the outline, of hedges, his bare feet on the grass or on terrace stone or in the ash of an old bonfire. His body alive in its sleeplessness, standing on the edge of a great valley of Europe.
现在他站在八月炎热的树下，没有包头巾，只穿了印度的传统服装——一件长及膝盖的无领衫。他手里什么也没有，只是沿着树篱的外边走着。他的光脚踩在草上、平台的石头上和营火的灰烬上。他的身体处于失眠状态，他正站在欧洲一个大山谷的边缘上。
In the early morning she sees him standing beside the tent. During the evening she had watched for some light among the trees. Each of them in the villa had eaten alone that night, the Englishman eating nothing. Now she sees the sapper’s arm sweep out and the canvas walls collapse on themselves like a sail. He turns and comes towards the house, climbs the steps onto
the terrace and disappears.
一大早，她就看见他站在帐篷旁。她在晚上透过树丛望着亮光。那天夜里，别墅里的每个人都独自用餐，那个英国人什么也没吃。现在她看见工兵的手臂一扫而过，而帐篷的四面像帆——样倒塌下来。他转身向屋里走来，爬上台阶，来到阳台，接着就突然消失了。
In the chapel he moves past the burned pews towards the apse, where under a tarpaulin weighted down with branches is the motorbike. He begins dragging the covering off the machine. He crouches down by the bike and begins nuzzling oil into the sprockets and cogs.
在小教堂里，他从烧焦的长凳边，走到一块用树枝压住的帆布下，那里放着一辆摩托车。他把摩托车上盖着的东西拖开，在摩托车边蹲下，开始给链齿和齿轮上油。
When Hana comes into the roofless chapel he is sitting there leaning his back and head against the wheel.
Kip.
He says nothing, looking through her.
Kip, it’s me. What did we have to do with it?
He is a stone in front of her.
当哈纳走进没有屋顶的小教堂时，他坐在那儿，他的后背和脑袋靠在车轮上。
“基普。”
他什么也没有说，只是看着她。
“基普，是我呀。我们与那件事有什么关系?”
在她面前，他像块石头一样。
She kneels down to his level and leans forward into him, the side of her head against his chest, holding herself like that.
A beating heart.
When his stillness doesn’t alter she rolls back onto her knees.
The Englishman once read me something, from a book: “Love is so small it can tear itself through the eye of a needle.”
她在他身边跪下来，向他靠过去，她的头贴着他的胸膛，就保持着那样的姿势。
他的心脏在跳动着。
他依然不作声，她挪动了一下身体。
“那个英国人曾有一次给我读了书上的一句话：‘爱是如此渺小，以致于它可以穿过针眼。’
He leans to his side away from her, his face stopping a few inches from a rain puddle.
A boy and a girl.
While the sapper unearthed the motorcycle from under the tarpaulin, Caravaggio leaned forward on the parapet, his chin against his forearm. Then he felt he couldn’t bear the mood of the house and walked away. He wasn’t there when the sapper gunned the motorbike to life and sat on it while it half bucked, alive under him, and Hana stood nearby.
他移动一下身子，离她远点，他的脸离一个积了雨水的水坑只有几英寸。
一个男孩和一个女孩。
当工兵从帆布底下拖出那辆摩托车时，卡拉瓦焦趴在扶墙上，下巴抵在小臂上。他觉得他不能忍受这屋子里的气氛，所以走开了。因此当工兵发动车子离开时，他并不在。那时工兵发动摩托车，骑上了引擎已开始发热的车子，而哈纳则站在一旁。
----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】
大家还在听
