时间:2020-06-02 来源:文都网校 浏览: 分享:


      经典名句-英文:His black hair, shiny and smooth, parted in the middle of his head by a straight and tired line, had the same artificial appearance as the hair on the saints.


    2021考研英语阅读练习资料: 百年孤独第18章(6)

      Jos?Arcadio restored Meme’s bedroom and had the velvet curtains cleaned and mended along with the damask on the canopy of the viceregal bed, and he put to use once more the abandoned bathroom where the cement pool was blackened by a fibrous and rough coating. He restricted his vest-pocket empire of worn, exotic clothing, false perfumes, and cheap jewelry to those places. The only thing that seemed to worry him in the rest of the house were the saints on the family altar, which he burned down to ashes one afternoon in a bonfire he lighted in the courtyard. He would sleep until past eleven o’clock. He would go to the bathroom in a shabby robe with golden dragons on it and a pair of slippers with yellow tassels, and there he would officiate at a rite which for its care and length recalled Remedios the Beauty. Before bathing he would perfume the pool with the salts that he carried in three alabaster flacons. He did not bathe himself with the gourd but would plunge into the fragrant waters and remain there for two hours floating on his back, lulled by the coolness and by the memory of Amaranta. A few days after arriving he put aside his taffeta suit, which in addition to being too hot for the town was the only one that he had, and he exchanged it for some tight-fitting pants very similar to those worn by Pietro Crespi during his dance lessons and a silk shirt woven with thread from living caterpillars and with his initials embroidered over the heart. Twice a week he would wash the complete change in the tub and would wear his robe until it dried because he had nothing else to put on. He never ate at home. He would go out when the heat of siesta time had eased and would not return until well into the night. Then he would continue his anxious pacing, breathing like a cat and thinking about Amaranta. She and the frightful look of the saints in the glow of the nocturnal lamp were the two memories he retained of the house. Many times during the hallucinating Roman August he had opened his eyes in the middle of his sleep and had seen Amaranta rising out of a marble-edged pool with her lace petticoats and the bandage on her hand, idealized by the anxiety of exile. Unlike Aureliano Jos?who tried to drown that image in the bloody bog of war, he tried to keep it alive in the sink of concupiscence while he entertained his mother with the endless fable of his pontifical vocation. It never occurred either to him or to Fernanda to think that their correspondence was an exchange of fantasies. Jos?Arcadio, who left the seminary as soon as he reached Rome, continued nourishing the legend of theology and canon law so as not to jeopardize the fabulous inheritance of which his mother’s delirious letters spoke and which would rescue him from the misery and sordidness he shared with two friends in a Trastevere garret. When he received Fernanda’s last letter, dictated by the foreboding of imminent death, he put the leftovers of his false splendor into a suitcase and crossed the ocean in the hold of a ship where immigrants were crammed together like cattle in a slaughterhouse, eating cold macaroni and wormy cheese. Before he read Fernanda’s will, which was nothing but a detailed and tardy recapitulation of her misfortunes, the broken-down furniture and the weeds on the porch had indicated that he had fallen into a trap from which he would never escape, exiled forever from the diamond light and timeless air of the Roman spring. During the crushing insomnia brought on by his asthma he would measure and remeasure the depth of his misfortune as he went through the shadowy house where the senile fussing of ?rsula had instilled a fear of the world in him. In order to be sure that she would not lose him in the shadows, she had assigned him a corner of the bedroom, the only one where he would be safe from the dead people who wandered through the house after sundown.

      这时,霍·阿卡蒂奥修复了梅梅的卧室,叫人把丝绒窗帷和总督床上的花帐幔洗干净,又整顿了一下浴室;浴室里水泥浴池的四壁上,不知蒙着一层什么东西,黑黝黝的,有点毛糙。他只是占用了卧室和浴室,在里面塞满了各种废物:弄脏的异国小玩意儿、廉价的香水和伪造的首饰。在其他的房间里,只有家庭祭坛上的圣徒塑像引起他的注意。但不知为什么没中他的意,有一天晚上,他从祭坛上取下那些塑像,搬到院子里,生起一堆火,把它们都烧成了灰。平时他总是中午十二点起床。醒来以后,穿上一件绣着金龙的破晨衣,把脚往一双镶着金流苏的拖鞋里一塞,就走进浴室,在那儿开始举行自己的沐浴程式,从它的隆重程度和缓慢劲儿来看,好象俏姑娘雷麦黛丝恪守的那套沐浴程式。在下浴池之前,他先从三只白色小瓶里倒出三种香精,撒在水中。然后,他不象俏姑娘雷麦黛丝那样,靠一只南瓜形容器的帮助来沐浴,而是把身体泡在香气扑鼻的水里,仰卧两小时,清凉的水和对阿玛兰塔的回忆简直使他昏昏欲睡。他回来之后没过几天,便脱掉了在这儿穿着嫌热的塔夫绸西服——那套的礼服,换上一条牛仔裤,就象皮埃特罗·克列斯比去上舞蹈课时绷在腿上的那种裤子,还有一件绣着自己的名字第一个字母的真丝衬衫。他每星期都把这套衣服在浴池里洗两次;晾晒的时候,他没有其他替换的衣服,只好穿着晨衣走来走去。霍·阿卡蒂奥从来不在家里用午餐。等晌午的炎热一过,他就上街,直到深夜才回来,然后又满脸愁容地在一个个房间里踱来踱去,气喘吁吁,思念着阿玛兰塔。在家乡的这座房子里,只有阿玛兰塔和夜灯的微光下圣徒吓人的眼睛,还保存在他的记忆里。在罗马,在一个个虚无缥缈的八月之夜,他不知梦见过阿玛兰塔多少次:她穿着一条花边裙子,手里拿着一块头巾,从大理石浴池里缓缓站起身来,脸上流露出一个异乡人的优愁。奥雷连诺上校总是竭力使阿玛兰塔的形象沉没在血腥的战争泥沼里。霍·阿卡蒂奥跟他不同,在母亲用一些关于宗教感召的寓言哄骗他的时候,他是一直想把阿玛兰塔的形象活生生地保存在感情深处的。无论他或菲兰达都从未想到过,他们的通信不过是谎言的交换而已。到达罗马之后不久,霍。 阿卡蒂奥就离开了宗教学校,但他继续维持着关于自己正在学习神学和宗教法规的假象,为的是不失掉一份幻想中的遗产——他母亲那一封封荒诞的信曾一再提到过这份遗产;那份遗产也许能使他摆脱贫困,把他从特拉斯特维尔的一间小屋子解救出来——他和两个朋友就寄居在这座小屋的阁楼上。一收到菲兰达在死亡预感的驱迫下写的最后一封信,他就把一些破烂的冒牌奢侈品塞进箱子,坐上轮船,远渡重洋。在船舱里,侨民们象屠宰场里的牛似的挤成一堆,吃着冰冷的通心面和生蛆的干酪。菲兰达的遗嘱事实上只是一份详细而又过时的灾难清单,他还没看完这份遗嘱,光从倒塌的家具和杂草丛生的长廊看来,已经猜到自己掉进了一个不能自拔的陷阱,无论什么时候,他都再也见不到罗马春天那璀璨夺目的阳光,呼吸不到它那洋溢着古代文物气息的空气了。在折磨人的气喘引起失眠的夜晚,他反复衡量自己遭受灾难的深度,在阴森森的房子里走来走去。从前,正是在这座房子里,乌苏娜曾用老年人的一套胡言乱语,勾起他对世界的恐惧。由于害怕在一片黑暗中失去霍·阿卡蒂奥,她又让他养成独自坐在卧室一个角落里的习惯。她说,一到天黑,死鬼就会出现。开始在这座房子里游荡,只有那个角落是死鬼不敢看一眼的地方。

      “If you do anything bad,??rsula would tell him, “the saints will let me know.?The terror-filled nights of his childhood were reduced to that corner where he would remain motionless until it was time to go to bed, perspiring with fear on a stool under the watchful and glacial eyes of the tattletale saints. It was useless torture because even at that time he already had a terror of everything around him and he was prepared to be frightened at anything he met in life: women on the street, who would ruin his blood; the women in the house, who bore children with the tail of a pig; fighting cocks, who brought on the death of men and remorse for the rest of one’s life; firearms, which with the mere touch would bring down twenty years of war; uncertain ventures, which led only to disillusionment and madness—everything, in short, everything that God had created in His infinite goodness and that the devil had perverted. When he awakened, pressed in the vise of his nightmares, the light in the window and the caresses of Amaranta in the bath and the pleasure of being powdered between the legs with a silk puff would release him from the terror. Even ?rsula was different under the radiant light in the garden because there she did not talk about fearful things but would brush his teeth with charcoal powder so that he would have the radiant smile of a Pope, and she would cut and polish his nails so that the pilgrims who came to Rome from all over the world would be startled at the beauty of the Pope’s hands as he blessed them, and she would comb his hair like that of a Pope, and she would sprinkle his body and his clothing with toilet water so that his body and his clothes would have the fragrance of a Pope. In the courtyard of Castel Gandolfo he had seen the Pope on a balcony making the same speech in seven languages for a crowd of pilgrims and the only thing, indeed, that had drawn his attention was the whiteness of his hands, which seemed to have been soaked in lye, the dazzling shine of his summer clothing, and the hidden breath of cologne.

      “如果你干什么坏事,”乌苏娜吓唬他,“上帝的仆人立刻会把一切都告诉我。”于是他在那儿度过了童年时代的一个个夜晚,一动不动地坐在一只小凳上,在圣像那不可捉摸的冰冷目光下,吓得汗流浃背。其实,这种附加的折磨完全是不必要的,当时霍·阿卡蒂奥早已对他周围的一切感到恐惧,他下意识地害怕生活中可能遇见的一切,令人恼火的妓女;生出长了猪尾巴婴儿的家庭妇女;使一些人死亡、又使另一些人不断受到良心谴责的斗鸡,叫人遭到二十年战祸的枪炮;以失望和精神错乱告终的鲁莽行动;此外还有上帝无 限仁慈地创造出来、又让魔鬼搞坏了的一切。每天早晨,他一觉醒来总是疲惫不堪,可是阿玛兰塔在浴池里给他洗完了澡,用小块绸子在他两腿之间亲切地扑上一点滑石粉以后,他夜间的惊恐就被阿玛兰塔温柔的手和窗上的亮光驱散了。在阳光明媚的花园里,乌苏娜也俨然变成了另一个人,她不再讲些形形色色的鬼怪故事来吓唬他,而是用碳粉给他刷牙——让他象罗马教皇那样容光焕发;她给他修剪和磨光指甲——让那些从世界各地汇集在罗马的朝圣者为他那双保持清洁的手感到震惊;她给他洒花露水——让他身上散发出来的香味不亚于罗马教皇。他曾有幸目睹教皇在甘多夫城堡宫廷的阳台上用七种语言向成群的朝圣者发表演说,但他注意的只是教皇那双仿佛在漂白剂里浸过的白净的手,还有他那一套夏装和一身淡雅的香水味儿。

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