附：【翻译大赛原文】
昆虫记第一章读后感
男人喝藏红花壮阳吗
At Turtle Bay轻歌曼舞的曼是什么意思
By E. B. White
产生问题的原因
Mosquitoes have arrived with the warm nights, and our bedchamber is their theater under the stars. I have been up and down all night, swinging at them with a face towel dampened at one end to give it authority. This morning I suffer from the lightheadedness that comes from no sleep—a sort of drunkenness, very good for writing becau all n of responsibility for what the words say is gone. Yesterday evening my wife showed up with a few yards of netting, and together we knelt and covered the fireplace with an illusion veil. It looks like a bride. (One of our many theories is that mosquitoes come down chimneys.) I bought a couple of adjustable screens at the hardware store on Third Avenue and they are in place in the windows; but the window sashes in this building are so old and irregular that any mosquito except one suffering from elephantiasis has no difficulty walking into the room
五千年文博园through the space between sash and screen. (And then there is the even larger opening between upper sash and lower sash when the lower sash is raid to receive the screen—a space that hardly ever occurs to an apartment dweller but must occur to all mosquitoes.) I also bought a very old air-conditioning machine for twenty-five dollars, a great bargain, and I like this machine. It has almost no effect on the atmosphere of the room, merely chipping the edge off the heat, and it makes a loud grinding noi reminiscent of the subway, so that I can snap off the lights, clo my eyes, holding the damp towel at the ready, and imagine, with the first stab, that I am riding in the underground and being pricked by pins wielded by angry girls.
Another theory of mine about the Turtle Bay mosquito is that he is swept into one’s bedroom through the air conditioner, riding the cool indraft as an eagle rides a warm updraft. It is a feeble theory, but a man has to entertain theories if he is to while away the hours of sleeplessness. I wanted to buy some old-fashioned bug spray, and went to the store for that purpo, but when I asked the clerk for a Flit gun and some Flit, he gave me a queer look, as though wondering where I had been keeping mylf all the years. “We
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got something a lot stronger than that,” he said, producing a can of stuff that contained chlordane and veral other unmentionable chemicals. I told him I couldn’t u it becau I was hypernsitive to chlordane. “Gets me right in the liver,” I said, throwing a wild glance at him.
The mornings are the pleasantest times in the apartment, exhaustion having t in, the sated mosquitoes at rest on ceiling and walls, sleeping it off, the room a swirl of tortured bedclothes and abandoned garments, the vines in their full leafiness filtering the hard light of day, the air conditioner silent at last, like the mosquitoes. From Third Avenue comes the sound of the mad builders—American cicadas, out in the noonday sun. In the garden the sparrow chants—a desultory cond courtship, a subdued passion, in keeping with the great heat, love in summertime, relaxed and languorous. I shall miss this apartment when it is gone; we are quitting it come fall, to turn ourlves out to pasture. Every so often I make an attempt to simplify my life, burning my books behind me, lling the occasional chair, discarding the accumulated miscellany. I have noticed, though, that the purifications of mine—to which my wife submits with cautious grace—have usually l手套品牌>手斧男孩
ed to even greater complexity in the long pull, and I have no doubt this one will, too, for I don’t trust mylf in a situation of this sort and suspect that my first act as an old hor will be to t to work improving the pasture. I may even join a pasture-improvement society. The last time I tried to purify mylf by fire, I managed to acquire a zoo in the process and am still supporting it and carrying heavy pails of water to the animals, a task that is sometimes beyond my strength.
（选自 An E. B. White Reader, pp. 198~200, New York Harper & Row, 1966）
