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世纪文学经典:《百年孤独》第19章Part3

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Although she had not noticed it, the return of Amaranta ?rsula had brought on a radical change in Aureliano’s life. After the death of Jos?Arcadio he had become a regular customer at the wise Catalonian’s bookstore. Also, the freedom that he enjoyed then and the time at his disposal awoke in him a certain curiosity about the town, which he came to know without any surprise. He went through the dusty and solitary streets, examining with scientific interest the inside of houses in ruin, the metal screens on the windows broken by rust and the dying birds, and the inhabitants bowed down by memories. He tried to reconstruct in his imagination the annihilated splendor of the old banana-company town, whose dry swimming pool was filled to the brim with rotting men’s and women’s shoes, and in the houses of which, destroyed by rye grass, he found the skeleton of a German shepherd dog still tied to a ring by a steel chain and a telephone that was ringing, ringing, ringing until he picked it up and an anguished and distant woman spoke in English, and he said yes, that the strike was over, that three thousand dead people had been thrown into the sea, that the banana company had left, and that Macondo finally had peace after many years. Those wanderings led him to the prostrate red-light district, where in other times bundles of banknotes had been burned to liven up the revels, and which at that time was a maze of streets more afflicted and miserable than the others, with a few red lights still burning and with deserted dance halls adorned with the remnants of wreaths, where the pale, fat widows of no one, the French great-grandmothers and the Babylonian matriarchs, were still waiting beside their photographs. Aureliano could not find anyone who remembered his family, not even Colonel Aureliano Buendía, except for the oldest of the West Indian Negroes, an old man whose cottony hair gave him the look of a photographic negative and who was still singing the mournful sunset psalms in the door of his house. Aureliano would talk to him in the tortured Papiamento that he had learned in a few weeks and sometimes he would share his chicken-head soup, prepared by the great-granddaughter, with him. She was a large black woman with solid bones, the hips of a mare, teats like live melons, and a round and perfect head armored with a hard surface of wiry hair which looked like a medieval warrior’s mail headdress. Her name was Nigromanta. In those days Aureliano lived off the sale of silverware, candlesticks, and other bric-a-brac from the house. When he was penniless, which was most of the time, he got people in the back of the market to give him the chicken heads that they were going to throw away and he would take them to Nigromanta to make her soups, fortified with purslane and seasoned with mint. When the great-grandfather died Aureliano stopped going by the house, but he would run into Nigromanta under the dark almond trees on the square, using her wild-animal whistles to lure the few night owls. Many times he stayed with her, speaking in Papiamento about chicken-head soup and other dainties of misery, and he would have kept right on if she had not let him know that his presence frightened off customers. Although he sometimes felt the temptation and although Nigromanta herself might have seemed to him as the natural culmination of a shared nostalgia, he did not go to bed with her. So Aureliano was still a virgin when Amaranta ?rsula returned to Macondo and gave him a sisterly embrace that left him breathless. Every time he saw her, and worse yet when she showed him the latest dances, he felt the same spongy release in his bones that had disturbed his great-great-grandfather when Pilar Ternera made her pretexts about the cards in the granary. Trying to squelch the torment, he sank deeper into the parchments and eluded the innocent flattery of that aunt who was poisoning his nights with a flow of tribulation, but the more he avoided her the more the anxiety with which he waited for her stony laughter, her howls of a happy cat, and her songs of gratitude, agonizing in love at all hours and in the most unlikely parts of the house. One night thirty feet from his bed, on the silver workbench, the couple with unhinged bellies broke the bottles and ended up making love in a pool of muriatic acid. Aureliano not only could not sleep for a single second, but he spent the next day with a fever, sobbing with rage. The first night that he waited for Nigromanta to come to the shadows of the almond trees it seemed like an eternity, pricked as he was by the needles of uncertainty and clutching in his fist the peso and fifty cents that he had asked Amaranta ?rsula for, not so much because he needed it as to involve her, debase her, prostitute her in his adventure in some way. Nigromanta took him to her room, which was lighted with false candlesticks, to her folding cot with the bedding stained from bad loves, and to her body of a wild dog, hardened and without soul, which prepared itself to dismiss him as if he were a frightened child, and suddenly it found aman whose tremendous power demanded a movement of seismic readjustment from her insides.

阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜的归来给奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚的生活带来了根本的变化,而她本人却没有注意到这一点。霍。 阿卡蒂奥死后,奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚在博学的加泰隆尼亚书商那里成了一个常客。他那时喜欢自由自在,加上他有随意支配的时间,暂时对小镇产生了好奇心。他感到了这一点,也不觉得惊异。他走过满地灰尘、寂寥冷落的街道,用刨根究底的兴趣考察日渐破败的房子内部,看到了窗上被铁锈和死鸟弄坏的铁丝网以及被往事压折了腰的居民。他试图凭想象恢复这个市镇和香蕉公司的辉煌时代。现在,镇上干涸了的游泳池让男人和女人的烂鞋子填得满满的;在黑麦草毁坏了的房子里面,他发现一头德国牧羊犬的骸骨,上面仍然套着颈圈,颈圈上还联着一段铁链子;一架电话机还在叮铃铃地响个不停。他一拿起耳机,便听到一个极为痛苦的妇女在遥远的地方用英语讲话。他回答说战争已经结束了。三千名死难者已经抛进海里,香蕉公司已经离开,多年之后马孔多终于享受到了和平。他在闲逛中不觉来到平坦的红灯地区。从前那儿焚烧过成捆的钞票,借以增添宴会的光彩,当时的街道纵横交错,如同迷宫一般,比其他的街道更加不幸,那里依然点着几盏红灯,凋零的花环装饰着几家冷落的舞厅;不知谁家的苍白、肥胖的寡妇、法国老太婆和巴比伦女人,仍然守在她们的留声机旁边。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚找不到一个还记得他家的人,甚至记不得奥雷连诺上校了,只有那位年纪最老的西印度黑人——头发好象棉花卷、脸盘犹如照相底版的老人,仍然站在他的房门前唱着庄严的落日赞歌。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚用他几个星期里学会的结结巴巴的巴比亚曼托语同老人谈话。老人请他喝他的曾孙女烧好的鸡头汤。他的曾孙女是一个黝黑的大块头女人,她有结实的骨架和母马似的臀部;乳房好象长在藤上的甜瓜;铁丝色的头发仿佛中世纪武士的头盔,保护着没有缺陷的、圆圆的头颅。她的名字叫尼格罗曼塔。在那些日子里,奥雷连诺,布恩蒂亚靠变卖银器、烛台和家里的其他古董过活,他一文钱都没有时(多数时候他都如此),就到市场上阴暗的地方去,求人家把打算丢弃的鸡头送给他,他拿了这些鸡头叫尼格罗曼塔煮汤,配上马齿苋菜,加点薄荷调味。尼格罗曼塔的曾祖父死后,奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚停止了走街串巷,但是他常常跑到尼格罗曼塔那里去,在庭院中漆黑的杏树下,把她模仿动物叫的口笛拿来,引诱几只夜猫子。他更多的时候是跟她呆在一起的,用巴比亚曼托语评论鸡头汤以及穷困中尝到的其他可口的美味。要是她不告诉他,他的到来吓跑了其他的主顾,他就一直呆着不走。尽管他有时也受到一些诱惑,但是在他看来,尼格罗曼塔本人也象他一样患着思乡病,因此他并没有跟她一起睡觉。在阿玛兰塔。乌苏娜回到马孔多以后,并且象姐姐一般地拥抱他、使他喘不过气来时,奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚还是个童男子。每当他见到她,特别是她表演最新式的舞蹈时,他都有一种骨头酥软的感觉,如同当年皮拉·苔列娜借口到库房里玩纸牌,也曾使他的高祖父神魂不定一样。他埋头在羊皮纸手稿中,想排遣苦恼,躲开姑娘天真烂漫的诱惑,因为她给他带来了一系列的痛苦,破坏了他夜间的宁静。但是,他越是躲着她,就越是焦灼地期待着她,想听到她冷漠的大笑声,听到她小猫撒欢似的嗥叫声,听到她的歌声。而在这屋里最不合适的地方,每时每刻她都在发泄情欲。一天夜里,在隔壁离他的床三十叹的工作台上,夫妇俩疯狂地拥抱,结果打碎了一些瓶子,在盐酸的水洼里结束了一场好事。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚一夜没有合眼,第二天发了高烧,气得直哭。晚上,他在杏树的阴影下第一次等待尼格罗曼塔,只觉得时间过得实在太慢,他忐忑不安,如坐针毡,手里攥着向阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜要来的一比索和五十生丁。他要这钱是出于需要,想拿它作某种尝试,以便使尼格罗曼塔就范,好侮辱她,糟蹋她。尼格罗曼塔把他带到了自己屋里。他们就这样私通。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚整个上午都在辨认羊皮纸手稿,午睡时间就去卧室,尼格罗曼塔正在那儿等着他。

Although she had not noticed it, the return of Amaranta ?rsula had brought on a radical change in Aureliano’s life. After the death of Jos?Arcadio he had become a regular customer at the wise Catalonian’s bookstore. Also, the freedom that he enjoyed then and the time at his disposal awoke in him a certain curiosity about the town, which he came to know without any surprise. He went through the dusty and solitary streets, examining with scientific interest the inside of houses in ruin, the metal screens on the windows broken by rust and the dying birds, and the inhabitants bowed down by memories. He tried to reconstruct in his imagination the annihilated splendor of the old banana-company town, whose dry swimming pool was filled to the brim with rotting men’s and women’s shoes, and in the houses of which, destroyed by rye grass, he found the skeleton of a German shepherd dog still tied to a ring by a steel chain and a telephone that was ringing, ringing, ringing until he picked it up and an anguished and distant woman spoke in English, and he said yes, that the strike was over, that three thousand dead people had been thrown into the sea, that the banana company had left, and that Macondo finally had peace after many years. Those wanderings led him to the prostrate red-light district, where in other times bundles of banknotes had been burned to liven up the revels, and which at that time was a maze of streets more afflicted and miserable than the others, with a few red lights still burning and with deserted dance halls adorned with the remnants of wreaths, where the pale, fat widows of no one, the French great-grandmothers and the Babylonian matriarchs, were still waiting beside their photographs. Aureliano could not find anyone who remembered his family, not even Colonel Aureliano Buendía, except for the oldest of the West Indian Negroes, an old man whose cottony hair gave him the look of a photographic negative and who was still singing the mournful sunset psalms in the door of his house. Aureliano would talk to him in the tortured Papiamento that he had learned in a few weeks and sometimes he would share his chicken-head soup, prepared by the great-granddaughter, with him. She was a large black woman with solid bones, the hips of a mare, teats like live melons, and a round and perfect head armored with a hard surface of wiry hair which looked like a medieval warrior’s mail headdress. Her name was Nigromanta. In those days Aureliano lived off the sale of silverware, candlesticks, and other bric-a-brac from the house. When he was penniless, which was most of the time, he got people in the back of the market to give him the chicken heads that they were going to throw away and he would take them to Nigromanta to make her soups, fortified with purslane and seasoned with mint. When the great-grandfather died Aureliano stopped going by the house, but he would run into Nigromanta under the dark almond trees on the square, using her wild-animal whistles to lure the few night owls. Many times he stayed with her, speaking in Papiamento about chicken-head soup and other dainties of misery, and he would have kept right on if she had not let him know that his presence frightened off customers. Although he sometimes felt the temptation and although Nigromanta herself might have seemed to him as the natural culmination of a shared nostalgia, he did not go to bed with her. So Aureliano was still a virgin when Amaranta ?rsula returned to Macondo and gave him a sisterly embrace that left him breathless. Every time he saw her, and worse yet when she showed him the latest dances, he felt the same spongy release in his bones that had disturbed his great-great-grandfather when Pilar Ternera made her pretexts about the cards in the granary. Trying to squelch the torment, he sank deeper into the parchments and eluded the innocent flattery of that aunt who was poisoning his nights with a flow of tribulation, but the more he avoided her the more the anxiety with which he waited for her stony laughter, her howls of a happy cat, and her songs of gratitude, agonizing in love at all hours and in the most unlikely parts of the house. One night thirty feet from his bed, on the silver workbench, the couple with unhinged bellies broke the bottles and ended up making love in a pool of muriatic acid. Aureliano not only could not sleep for a single second, but he spent the next day with a fever, sobbing with rage. The first night that he waited for Nigromanta to come to the shadows of the almond trees it seemed like an eternity, pricked as he was by the needles of uncertainty and clutching in his fist the peso and fifty cents that he had asked Amaranta ?rsula for, not so much because he needed it as to involve her, debase her, prostitute her in his adventure in some way. Nigromanta took him to her room, which was lighted with false candlesticks, to her folding cot with the bedding stained from bad loves, and to her body of a wild dog, hardened and without soul, which prepared itself to dismiss him as if he were a frightened child, and suddenly it found aman whose tremendous power demanded a movement of seismic readjustment from her insides.


阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜的归来给奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚的生活带来了根本的变化,而她本人却没有注意到这一点。霍。 阿卡蒂奥死后,奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚在博学的加泰隆尼亚书商那里成了一个常客。他那时喜欢自由自在,加上他有随意支配的时间,暂时对小镇产生了好奇心。他感到了这一点,也不觉得惊异。他走过满地灰尘、寂寥冷落的街道,用刨根究底的兴趣考察日渐破败的房子内部,看到了窗上被铁锈和死鸟弄坏的铁丝网以及被往事压折了腰的居民。他试图凭想象恢复这个市镇和香蕉公司的辉煌时代。现在,镇上干涸了的游泳池让男人和女人的烂鞋子填得满满的;在黑麦草毁坏了的房子里面,他发现一头德国牧羊犬的骸骨,上面仍然套着颈圈,颈圈上还联着一段铁链子;一架电话机还在叮铃铃地响个不停。他一拿起耳机,便听到一个极为痛苦的妇女在遥远的地方用英语讲话。他回答说战争已经结束了。三千名死难者已经抛进海里,香蕉公司已经离开,多年之后马孔多终于享受到了和平。他在闲逛中不觉来到平坦的红灯地区。从前那儿焚烧过成捆的钞票,借以增添宴会的光彩,当时的街道纵横交错,如同迷宫一般,比其他的街道更加不幸,那里依然点着几盏红灯,凋零的花环装饰着几家冷落的舞厅;不知谁家的苍白、肥胖的寡妇、法国老太婆和巴比伦女人,仍然守在她们的留声机旁边。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚找不到一个还记得他家的人,甚至记不得奥雷连诺上校了,只有那位年纪最老的西印度黑人——头发好象棉花卷、脸盘犹如照相底版的老人,仍然站在他的房门前唱着庄严的落日赞歌。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚用他几个星期里学会的结结巴巴的巴比亚曼托语同老人谈话。老人请他喝他的曾孙女烧好的鸡头汤。他的曾孙女是一个黝黑的大块头女人,她有结实的骨架和母马似的臀部;乳房好象长在藤上的甜瓜;铁丝色的头发仿佛中世纪武士的头盔,保护着没有缺陷的、圆圆的头颅。她的名字叫尼格罗曼塔。在那些日子里,奥雷连诺,布恩蒂亚靠变卖银器、烛台和家里的其他古董过活,他一文钱都没有时(多数时候他都如此),就到市场上阴暗的地方去,求人家把打算丢弃的鸡头送给他,他拿了这些鸡头叫尼格罗曼塔煮汤,配上马齿苋菜,加点薄荷调味。尼格罗曼塔的曾祖父死后,奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚停止了走街串巷,但是他常常跑到尼格罗曼塔那里去,在庭院中漆黑的杏树下,把她模仿动物叫的口笛拿来,引诱几只夜猫子。他更多的时候是跟她呆在一起的,用巴比亚曼托语评论鸡头汤以及穷困中尝到的其他可口的美味。要是她不告诉他,他的到来吓跑了其他的主顾,他就一直呆着不走。尽管他有时也受到一些诱惑,但是在他看来,尼格罗曼塔本人也象他一样患着思乡病,因此他并没有跟她一起睡觉。在阿玛兰塔。乌苏娜回到马孔多以后,并且象姐姐一般地拥抱他、使他喘不过气来时,奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚还是个童男子。每当他见到她,特别是她表演最新式的舞蹈时,他都有一种骨头酥软的感觉,如同当年皮拉·苔列娜借口到库房里玩纸牌,也曾使他的高祖父神魂不定一样。他埋头在羊皮纸手稿中,想排遣苦恼,躲开姑娘天真烂漫的诱惑,因为她给他带来了一系列的痛苦,破坏了他夜间的宁静。但是,他越是躲着她,就越是焦灼地期待着她,想听到她冷漠的大笑声,听到她小猫撒欢似的嗥叫声,听到她的歌声。而在这屋里最不合适的地方,每时每刻她都在发泄情欲。一天夜里,在隔壁离他的床三十叹的工作台上,夫妇俩疯狂地拥抱,结果打碎了一些瓶子,在盐酸的水洼里结束了一场好事。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚一夜没有合眼,第二天发了高烧,气得直哭。晚上,他在杏树的阴影下第一次等待尼格罗曼塔,只觉得时间过得实在太慢,他忐忑不安,如坐针毡,手里攥着向阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜要来的一比索和五十生丁。他要这钱是出于需要,想拿它作某种尝试,以便使尼格罗曼塔就范,好侮辱她,糟蹋她。尼格罗曼塔把他带到了自己屋里。他们就这样私通。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚整个上午都在辨认羊皮纸手稿,午睡时间就去卧室,尼格罗曼塔正在那儿等着他。
重点单词   查看全部解释    
disposal [dis'pəuzəl]

想一想再看

n. 处理,处置,布置,配置
n. 垃圾

 
release [ri'li:s]

想一想再看

n. 释放,让渡,发行
vt. 释放,让与,准

联想记忆
rage [reidʒ]

想一想再看

n. 狂怒,大怒,狂暴,肆虐,风行
v. 大怒

 
unlikely [ʌn'laikli]

想一想再看

adj. 不太可能的

 
culmination [,kʌlmi'neiʃən]

想一想再看

n. 顶点;高潮

 
rust [rʌst]

想一想再看

n. 铁,锈
vi. 生锈,变成红棕色

 
movement ['mu:vmənt]

想一想再看

n. 活动,运动,移动,[音]乐章

联想记忆
misery ['mizəri]

想一想再看

n. 痛苦,悲惨的境遇,苦难

 
spoke [spəuk]

想一想再看

v. 说,说话,演说

 
flattery ['flætəri]

想一想再看

n. 谄媚,阿谀,巴结

 

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