Going Home 回家
I first heard this story a few years ago from a girl I had met in New York’s Greenwich Village. Probably the story is one of those mysterious bits of folklore that reappear every few years, to be told a new in one form or another. However, I still like to think that it really did happen, somewhere, sometime.
幾年前我在紐約的格林尼治村從一位遇到的姑娘那兒第一次聽到這個故事。它也許是那種隔幾年就會改頭換面地被重新傳播一次的神奇的民間傳說。然而我仍然愿意想象它是個某地某時真正發(fā)生過的事。
They were going to Fort Lauderdalethree boys and three girls and when they boarded the bus, they were carrying sandwiches and wine in paper bags, dreaming of golden beaches as the gray cold of New York vanished behind them.
三個男孩和三個女孩帶著紙袋裝的三明治與葡萄酒，登車前往佛羅里達的勞德達拉要塞。他們向往著金色的海灘，將灰蒙蒙的寒冷的紐約甩在了身后。
As the bus passed through New Jersey, they began to notice Vingo. He sat in front of them, dressed in a plain, ill-fitting suit, never moving, his dusty face masking his age. He kept chewing the inside of his lip a lot, frozen into some personal cocoon of silence.
當他們穿過新澤西州時，坐在前排的一個叫溫格的男人引起他們的注意。他穿著一套不起眼亦很不合身的衣服，一動不動，滿臉灰塵掩蓋了他的年齡，他不停地咬著下嘴唇，陷入沉思中。
Deep into the night, outside Washington, the bus pulled into Howard Johnson’s, and everybody got off except Vingo. He sat rooted in his seat, and the young people began to wonder about him, trying to imagine his life: perhaps he was a sea captain, a runaway from his wife, an old soldier going home. When they went back to the bus, one of the girls sat beside him and introduced herself.
夜深了，汽車停在華盛頓郊外的霍華德約翰遜連鎖餐館，除了溫格，其他人都下了車，他仍一絲不動地坐在那里。他引起這班年輕人的猜想：也許他是個船長，也許是從家出走的，或者是一個歸家的老兵。當他們又回到車上時，他們中的一個女孩坐到溫格的身邊，并向他作了自我介紹。
“We’re going to Florida,” she said brightly.“ I hear it’s really beautiful.”
“我們都是去佛羅里達的，”那個女孩輕快地說。“我聽說那里很美。”
“It is, ” he said quietly, as if remembering something he had tried to forget.
“是的，”他靜靜地回答道，他似乎記起了過去曾試圖忘卻的往事。
“Want some wine?” she said. He smiled and took a swig. He thanked her and retreated again into his silence. After a while, she went back to the others, and Vingo nodded in sleep.
“來點葡萄酒吧?”那個女孩說。他微笑著喝了一大口，說聲謝謝后又回到他的沉默中。后來她回到那班人中，溫格則低著頭睡著了。
In the morning, they awoke outside another Howard Johnson’s,and this time Vingo went in. The girl insisted that he join them. He seemed very shy, and ordered black coffee and smoked nervously as the young people chattered about sleeping on beaches. When they returned to the bus, the girl sat with Vingo again, and after a while, slowly and painfully, he told his story. He had been in jail in New York for the past four years, and now he was going home.
早上，他們醒來時汽車停在另一個約翰遜連鎖餐館前，這回溫格也進去了。那個女孩極力邀請他參加他們的團體。但他看起來很靦腆，當那班年輕人談論著在海濱該怎么過夜時，他則獨自一人呆在一邊喝黑咖啡，還不停地抽煙，顯得有些局促不安。當他們回到車上時，那個女孩又坐到他身邊，過了一會兒，溫格才緩慢而且痛楚地訴說起他的經歷。他在紐約的監(jiān)獄里呆了四年，現在他假釋回家了。
“Are you married?”
“你結婚了嗎?”
“I don’t know.”
“我不知道。”
“You don’t know?” she said.
“你不知道?”那女孩很奇怪。
“Well, when I was in jail I wrote to my wife,” he said. “ I told her that I was going to be away a long time, and that if she couldn’t stand it, if the kids kept asking questions, if it hurt too much, well, she could just forget me, I’d understand. Get a new guy, I saidshe‘s a wonderful woman,really somethingand forget about me. I told her she didn’t have to write me for nothing. And she didn‘t. Not for three and a half years.”
“是這樣，我在獄中時曾給我妻子寫過一封信”他說，“告訴她我要離開很長一段時間，如果她忍受不了，如果孩子不斷追問，如果這使她非常痛苦，那么她可以忘了我，我會理解的。我叫她重新嫁人，我知道她是個很不錯的女人，真的不一般。我讓她忘了我，我讓她別給我寫回信，因為這沒有用，她也真沒回信，我已有三年半沒有她的音信了。”
“And you’re going home now, not knowing?”
“那么你就這樣盲目地回家去?”
“Yeah,” he said shyly. “ Well, last week, when I was sure the parole was coming through, I wrote her again. We used to live in Brunswick, just before Jacksonville, and there’s a big oak tree just as you come into town. I told her that if she’d take me back, she should put a yellow handkerchief on the tree, and I’d get off and come home. If she didn’t want me, forget itno handkerchief, and I’d go on through.”
“也不是，”他略帶靦腆地說：“上周當我確知假釋得到批準時，我又給她寫過一封信。過去我們住在布倫斯威克，就在杰克遜維爾前面，在進城去的路上有一棵高大的橡樹。我告訴她，如果她愿意我回來就在樹上掛一方黃手帕，我就下車回家。如果她不要我就忘掉這件事，看不見手帕，我也就不下車了。”
“Wow,” the girl exclaimed. “Wow.”
“噢，是嗎?”那個女孩驚訝極了。
She told the others, and soon all of them were in it, caught up in the approach of Brunswick, looking at the pictures Vingo showed them of his wife and three children. The woman was handsome in a plain way, the children still unformed in the much-handled snapshots.
她把這事告訴了同伴們，于是他們都盼著快點到倫斯威克。溫格又給他們看了一張他妻子與三個孩子的照片。這是一張被摸舊了的照片：一個面容端莊的婦女與三個年歲還小的孩子。
Now they were 20 miles from Brunswick, and the young people took over window seats on the right side, waiting for the approach of the great oak tree. The bus acquired a dark, hushed mood, full of the silence of absence and lost years. Vingo stopped looking, tightening his face into the ex-con’s mask, as if fortifying himself against still another disappointment.
現在他們離布倫斯威克只有20英里了，那班年輕人占據了車右邊靠窗的座位，等待著那棵橡樹的出現。汽車里一片陰暗和肅靜。充滿著所失去的歲月的沉重的氣氛。溫格則低下頭，一副囚犯們所特有的繃緊的面容，不敢往外看，好象是防備著又一次失望的打擊。
Then Brunswick was ten miles, and then five. Then,suddenly, all of the young people were up out of their seats, screaming and shouting and crying, doing small dances of joy. All except Vingo.
離布倫斯威克只有十英里了，五英里了，突然，那班年輕人全都叫著從座位上跳了起來，高興得手舞足蹈，只有溫格例外。
Vingo sat there stunned, looking at the oak tree. It was covered with yellow handkerchiefs20 of them, 30 of them, maybe hundreds, a tree that stood like a banner of welcome billowing in the wind. As the young people shouted, the old con rose and made his way to the front of the bus to go home.
溫格目瞪口呆地坐在那兒，望著窗外的橡樹，那上面掛滿了黃手帕。20塊，30塊，也許有好幾百塊，這棵樹站在那兒，就象一面歡迎的大旗，在風中飄揚。在年輕人的叫喊聲中，那個往日的囚徒站起來，走到車門前，然后向家走去。
