海倫·凱勒自傳《我的生活》第30期

　　第十四章

　　The winter of 1892 was darkened by the one cloud in my childhood’s bright sky. Joy deserted my heart, and for a long, long time I lived in doubt, anxiety and fear. Books lost their charm for me, and even now the thought of those dreadful days chills my heart. A little story called "The Frost King," which I wrote and sent to Mr. Anagnos, of the Perkins Institution for the Blind, was at the root of the trouble. In order to make the matter clear, I must set forth the facts connected with this episode, which justice to my teacher and to myself compels me to relate.

　　1892年冬天，我童年時代的明亮天空被一抹烏云所遮蓋。喜樂的心棄我而去。在很長、很長的一段時期里，我都活在疑惑、焦慮和恐懼之中。書本在我眼中失去了吸引力，直到現(xiàn)在，那段可怕的日子仍然令我心有余悸。我曾編寫過一個題目叫做《冰雪之王》的小故事，我還把它送給了帕金斯盲人學(xué)院的阿納戈諾斯先生，這個故事就是引起麻煩的根源。為了把事實交代清楚，我必須先從相關(guān)的線索講起，我想，這對于我的老師和我要陳述的事件也是公平合理的。

　　I wrote the story when I was at home, the autumn after I had learned to speak. We had stayed up at Fern Quarry later than usual. While we were there, Miss Sullivan had described to me the beauties of the late foliage, and it seems that her descriptions revived the memory of a story, which must have been read to me, and which I must have unconsciously retained. I thought then that I was "making up a story," as children say, and I eagerly sat down to write it before the ideas should slip from me. My thoughts flowed easily; I felt a sense of joy in the composition. Words and images came tripping to my finger ends, and as I thought out sentence after sentence, I wrote them on my braille slate. Now, if words and images come to me without effort, it is a pretty sure sign that they are not the offspring of my own mind, but stray waifs that I regretfullydismiss. At that time I eagerly absorbed everything I read without a thought of authorship, and even now I cannot be quite sure of the boundary line between my ideas and those I find in books. I suppose that is because so many of my impressions come to me through the medium of others’ eyes and ears.

　　我是在家中寫下那個故事的，時間是在我學(xué)會說話之后的那年秋天。當(dāng)時，我們住在弗恩采石場，睡覺的時間也比平時晚得多。蘇立文小姐向我描述了深秋樹葉的美麗多彩，她的講述似乎喚醒了(我對)某個故事沉睡的記憶。這個故事一定被我讀到過，我一定是在不知不覺間記住了這個故事。于是我想，我也要編寫一個故事。說寫就寫，我任憑各種各樣的思緒從頭腦中汩汩涌出。我體會到了文思泉涌的快樂，我發(fā)現(xiàn)了創(chuàng)作過程的喜悅。富有生命的文字和想象輕快地游走在我的指端，我把一個又一個句子寫在了我的盲文木板上。如今，假如詞語和想象變得唾手可得，顯然，這表明它們并非是出自我思想的產(chǎn)物，最多只是被我頭腦遺棄的零星碎片。那時，我如饑似渴地汲取我讀到的任何東西，從來就不會對著作本身有什么想法。即使是現(xiàn)在，我也無法完全在我的思想和我讀到的那些書之間劃清界限。我想，這是因為我過多地接受了別人的所見所聞，我只能依靠別人的眼睛“看”世界。

　　When the story was finished, I read it to my teacher, and I recall now vividly the pleasure I felt in the more beautiful passages, and my annoyance at being interrupted to have thepronunciation of a word corrected. At dinner it was read to the assembled family, who were surprised that I could write so well. Some one asked me if I had read it in a book.

　　故事一寫完，我就讀給老師聽。至今，我仍然清楚地記得當(dāng)時的情景——我沉醉其中的樣子，還有被老師糾正單詞讀音時的懊惱之情。晚餐時，我把故事讀給全家人聽。他們驚訝于我寫得如此之好，甚至有人問我這是不是從書里讀到的故事。

　　This question surprised me very much; for I had not the faintest recollection of having had it read to me. I spoke up and said, "Oh, no, it is my story, and I have written it for Mr. Anagnos."

　　這讓我也感到非常吃驚，因為我不記得有誰曾為我讀過這樣的故事。我大聲說道：“哦，不，這是我自己的故事，是我為阿納戈諾斯先生寫的故事。”

　　Accordingly I copied the story and sent it to him for his birthday. It was suggested that I should change the title from "Autumn Leaves" to "The Frost King," which I did. I carried the little story to the post-office myself, feeling as if I were walking on air. I little dreamed how cruelly I should pay for that birthday gift.

　　于是，我把故事謄寫下來，并且把它作為生日禮物寄給了阿納戈諾斯先生。有人建議我應(yīng)該把“冰雪之王”這個題目改為“秋天的落葉”，但是我堅持用自己的題目。我親自把這個小故事送到了郵局。一路上，我仿佛覺得自己走在了云層里。我完全沒有料到我為這件生日禮物付出了多么慘痛的代價。