UNITTHEFOURTHOFJULY课文翻译

UNIT 1 THE FOURTH OF JULY

Audre Lorde

1 The first time I went to Washington D.C. was on the edge of the summer when I

was suppod to stop being a child. At least that's what they said to us all at

graduation from the eighth grade. My sister Phyllis graduated at the same time from

high school. I don’t know what she was suppod to stop being. But as graduation

prents for us both, the whole family took a Fourth of July trip to Washington D.C.,

the fabled and famous capital of our country.

Detailed Reading

2 It was the first time I'd ever been on a railroad train during the day. When I was

little, and we ud to go to the Connecticut shore, we always went at night on the

milk train, becau it was cheaper.

3. Preparations were in the air around our hou before school was even over. We

packed for a week. There were two very large suitcas that my father carried, and a

box filled with food. In fact, my first trip to Washington was a mobile feast; I started

eating as soon as we were comfortably ensconced in our ats, and did not stop until

somewhere after Philadelphia. I remember it was Philadelphia becau I was

disappointed not to have pasd by the Liberty Bell.

4. My mother had roasted two chickens and cut them up into dainty bite-size

pieces. She packed slices of brown bread and butter, and green pepper and carrot

sticks. There were little violently yellow iced cakes with scalloped edges called

"marigolds," that came from Cushman's Bakery. There was a spice bun and

rock-cakes from Newton's, the West Indian bakery across Lenox Avenue from St.

Mark's school, and iced tea in a wrapped mayonnai jar. There were sweet pickles

for us and dill pickles for my father, and peaches with the fuzz still on them,

individually wrapped to keep them from bruising. And, for neatness, there were piles

of napkins and a little tin box with a washcloth dampened with rowater and

glycerine for wiping sticky mouths.

5. I wanted to eat in the dining car becau I had read all about them, but my

mother reminded me for the umpteenth time that dining car food always cost too

much money and besides, you never could tell who hands had been playing all

over that food, nor where tho same hands had been just before. My mother never

mentioned that Black people were not allowed into railroad dining cars headed

south in 1947. As usual, whatever my mother did not like and could not change, she

ignored. Perhaps it would go away, deprived of her attention.

6. I learned later that Phyllis's high school nior class trip had been to Washington,

but the nuns had given her back her deposit in private, explaining to her that the

class, all of whom were white, except Phyllis, would be staying in a hotel where

Phyllis "would not be happy," meaning, Daddy explained to her, also in private, that

they did not rent rooms to Negroes. "We still take among-you to Washington,

ourlves, "my father had avowed, "and not just for an overnight in some measly

fleabag hotel."

7. In Washington D.C., we had one large room with two double beds and an extra

cot for me. It was a back-street hotel that belonged to a friend of my father's who

was in real estate, and I spent the whole next day after Mass squinting

8. I was squinting becau I was in that silent agony that characterized all of my

childhood summers, from the time school let out in June to the end of July, brought

about by my dilated and vulnerable eyes expod to the summer brightness.

9. I viewed Julys through an agonizing corolla of dazzling whiteness and I always

hated the Fourth of July, even before I came to realize the travesty such a

celebration was for Black people in this country.

10. My parents did not approve of sunglass, nor of their expen.

11. I spent the afternoon squinting up at monuments to freedom and past

presidencies and democracy, and wondering why the light and heat were both so

much stronger in Washington D.C., than back home in New York City. Even the

pavement on the streets was a shade lighter in color than back home.

12. Late that Washington afternoon my family and I walked back down Pennsylvania

Avenue. We were a proper caravan, mother bright and father brown, the three of us

girls step-standards in-between. Moved by our historical surroundings and the heat

of early evening, my father decreed yet another treat. He had a great n of

history, a flair for the quietly dramatic and the n of specialness of an occasion

and a trip.

13. "Shall we stop and have a little something to cool off, Lin? "

14. Two blocks away from our hotel, the family stopped for a dish of vanilla ice

cream at a Breyer's ice cream and soda fountain. Indoors, the soda fountain was dim

and fan-cooled, deliciously relieving to my scorched eyes.

15. Corded and crisp and pinafored, the five of us ated ourlves one by one at

the counter. There was I between my mother and father, and my two sisters on the

other side of my mother. We ttled ourlves along the white mottled marble

counter, and when the waitress spoke at first no one understood what she was

saying, and so the five of us just sat there.

16. The waitress moved along the line of us clor to my father and spoke again. "I

said I kin give you to take out, but you can't eat here, sorry." Then she dropped her

eyes looking very embarrasd, and suddenly we heard what it was she was saying

all at the same time, loud and clear.

17. Straight-backed and indignant, one by one, my family and I got down from the

counter stools and turned around and marched out of the store, quiet and outraged,

as if we had never been Black before. No one would answer my emphatic questions

with anything other than a guilty silence. "But we hadn't done anything!" This wasn't

right or fair! Hadn't I written poems about freedom and democracy for all?

anti-American had occurred. I was left to write my angry letter to the president of

the United States all by mylf, although my father did promi I could type it out on

the office typewriter next week, after I showed it to him in my copybook diary.

19. The waitress was white, and the counter was white, and the ice cream I never

ate in Washington D.C., that summer I left childhood was white, and the white heat

and the white pavement and the white stone monuments of my first Washington

summer made me sick to my stomach for the whole rest of that trip and it wasn't

much of a graduation prent after all.

1. 我第一次去华盛顿是在那年刚入夏，这个夏天也是我从此告别孩提时代的开

始。至少，这是他们在我们八年级毕业时对大家这么说的。我的姐姐菲利丝同时

从高中毕业。我不清楚她应该告别什么阶段。不过，作为给我们俩毕业的礼物，

全家人于七月四日赴华盛顿旅游，前往我们国家寓言般的、闻名遐迩的首都。

2. 那是我第一次大白天乘火车。小时候，我们常去康涅狄格海边，我们总是晚

上搭乘运送牛奶的火车，因为车票更便宜。

3. 早在放假前，家里就洋溢着准备出发的气氛。我们打包就花了一个星期。有

两个很大的箱子，是爸爸拿的，还有一个装满食品的盒子。事实上，我的那第一

次前往华盛顿的旅途是个流动的宴席；舒舒服服地在座位上刚坐下来，我就开吃

了，一直吃到火车抵达费城附近的地方。我记得那是费城，是因为没有路过自由

大钟而感到失望的缘故。

4. 我妈妈烤了两只鸡，还将它们很漂亮地切成一口一块那么大小。她带了黑面

包片、黄油、青椒和胡萝卜条；还有那边上点缀着叫做“万寿菊”的有点儿黄黄

的冰镇蛋糕，是从库什曼面包房买来的。有在牛顿店里买来的辣面包卷和硬饼，

就是在伦诺克斯大街圣马可学校对面的那家西部印第安面包房。有包裹得好好的

灌在色拉酱瓶里的冰茶。有给我们吃的甜泡菜，有给爸爸吃的小茴香泡菜，还有

长着绒毛的桃子，每一只都分开来包，以免碰伤。此外，为了整洁，还有一沓沓

的餐巾，一块放在小铁盒子里浸泡着玫瑰水和甘油的小毛巾，擦黏糊糊的嘴巴用

的。

5. 我想要到餐车去吃饭，因为我阅读过这方面的内容。但是，妈妈已经无数次

地提醒过我，在餐车里吃饭要花很多钱，而且还不知道那些吃的东西出自于什么

人的手，也不知道那双手刚碰过什么东西。妈妈从来不提及，1947年开往南方

的火车上，黑人是不准进餐车的。一如既往，凡是妈妈不喜欢的东西和不能改变

的事情，她一概不予理睬。也许因为得不到她的关注，这种事情就会消失。

6. 我后来获悉，菲利丝高三班级的旅游也是去华盛顿，但是那几个嬷嬷悄悄地

把她交的预付款退还给她，对她解释说，除了她，全班都是白人学生。他们要待

在一家旅馆里，菲利丝在那儿会“不开心的”，意思是说他们不租房间给黑人，

爸爸也是这么悄悄地对她解释的。“我们还是要带你们去华盛顿的，我们自己去，”

爸爸信誓旦旦，“而且远不止住在便宜肮脏的旅馆里待一个晚上。”

7. 在华盛顿，我们有一间大房间，两张双人床，外加一张给我的儿童床。那是

一家位于后街的旅馆，店主是爸爸的朋友，此人从事房地产业。第二天做完弥撒

之后，我便一整天眯起眼睛抬头仰望林肯纪念堂。在这里玛丽安·安德森放声高

歌，之前美国革命女儿会因为她是黑人拒绝她在他们的礼堂歌唱。或许就因为她

是“有色的”，就像爸爸给我们讲这个故事的时候那么说的。要么他很可能说的

8. 我眯起双眼，因为我默默承受着自己童年时代每年夏天都要承受的痛苦，从

六月底学校放假开始到七月底。这个痛苦是因为在夏日的强光下张大眼睛受到伤

害而造成的。

9. 我是通过一层令人痛苦的圆环状的耀眼强光看见七月份的。我一直痛恨七月

四日，甚至在我意识到这种骗人的鬼话之前：这种庆祝是为这个国家的黑人的。

10. 我的父母不认可太阳眼镜，也接受不了太阳镜的价格。

11. 整个下午我眯起双眼抬头张望那些自由、逝去的总统以及民主的纪念碑，心

想为什么华盛顿的光线和热量要比在纽约家乡强得多，甚至街上人行道的颜色也

比家里的要白一些。

12. 在华盛顿一天下午黄昏的时候，我和家人沿着宾夕法尼亚大道往回走。我们

俨然一个旅行团，妈妈白晳亮丽，爸爸棕色皮肤，我们三个女孩的肤色介于两者

之间，由浅至深。受到周围历史气氛和黄昏热浪的影响，爸爸决定再次请客。他

有很强的历史感，他天生有种并不张扬的戏剧性，而且对场景和旅行有种特殊的

感触。

13. “我们停下来吃些东西凉快凉快好吗，琳？”

14. 离我们住的旅馆两个街区之遥，我们一家人停下脚步，在一家布雷耶冰淇淋

和汽水店买了一盘冰淇淋。室内，柜台光线昏暗，电扇下凉风习习，让我被强光

照耀的双眼感到轻松多了。

15. 我们的座位用绳子连在一起，个个神清气爽，围着餐巾，五个人并排在柜台

前坐下。我在爸爸和妈妈中间，两个姐姐在妈妈的另一边。我们一字排开，靠着

带有花纹的大理石柜台坐下。女服务员张口说话，一开始谁也没听懂她在说什么，

于是我们五个人就坐在那儿。

16. 女服务员沿着我们向爸爸走去，再次说道，“我刚才说可以让你们外带，但

是你们不能在这儿吃，对不起。”然后，她垂下双眼，一副尴尬的样子。我们突

然听见她说的话了，同时听见的，响亮清晰。

17. 挺起胸膛，义愤填膺，我和家人一个接一个地从柜台前的凳子上站起身来，

转身大步跨出店堂，一言不发，但怒火中烧，似乎我们以前从来就不是黑人。我

加重语气地说道，“我们什么也没有做呀!”就是不对，不公平呀!难道我没有写

过所有人都该享有自由民主的诗歌吗？除了因愧疚而默默无声，谁也没有对我的

问题做出应答。

18. 我的爸爸妈妈对不公正缄默无语，不是因为他们对此有什么责任，而是因为

他们觉得本应该早有预料，并应该加以避免的。这让我更加愤怒。我的怒火并没

人认可，也没人像我一样愤怒。连我那两个姐姐也随着爸爸妈妈，装作没有发生

过什么非同寻常、反美国的事情。那只好由我自己来给美国总统写封信，表达自

己的愤怒。不过，我给爸爸看了我写在练习簿的信之后，他保证我下周可以在他

的办公室打字机上将信打出来。

19 那个女服务员是个白人，那张柜台是白色的，那份我从来没在华盛顿吃的冰

淇淋，以及我告别了童年的夏天都是白色的。还有那年夏天我第一次去华盛顿的

白色的热浪、白色的人行道和白色的石柱纪念碑在接下来的旅程中让我恶心。那

可算不上一件毕业礼物啊。