《早秋》- 蘭斯頓·休斯

【Early Autumn】- Langston Hughes

「美國/1902-1967」

他們墜入愛河之時，比爾還年輕。

那時他們在一起散步，聊天，度過了無數(shù)夜晚。后來一些似乎并不是很重要的東西隔在了他們中間，使兩人行同陌路。她，沖動地，嫁給了一個她以為愛的男人。比爾則懷著對女人的哀怨，離去。

昨日，在她穿過華盛頓廣場時，這些年，第一次又見到了他。

“比爾.沃克?！彼?。

他駐足，一下子并沒有認出她。對他來說，她看上去如此蒼老。

“瑪麗！你從哪兒來?”

她下意識地仰起臉，想等他的一個吻，但他卻伸出手。她握了握。

“我現(xiàn)在住在紐約”她說。

“是嗎?”——他禮貌地笑，但很快皺了下眉。

“總想知道你怎么樣了，比爾?！?/p>

“我現(xiàn)在是個律師。市中心不錯的公司。”

“結(jié)婚了?”

“當然。兩個孩子?！?/p>

“哦”她應(yīng)著。

無數(shù)人從他們身邊穿過，穿過公園。他們是陌生人。已是傍晚。夕陽西下。寒冷蕭瑟。

“那么，你丈夫?”他問她。

“我們有三個孩子。我在哥倫比亞大學的財務(wù)處工作。”

“你看起來很……”（他想說老）“……健康”他說。

她明白。在華盛頓廣場的樹林下，她發(fā)現(xiàn)自己不顧一切地向前追憶，回到過去。在俄亥俄州的時候她就比比爾大了?，F(xiàn)在，她已經(jīng)完全不再年輕。

但比爾依然年輕如故。

“我們在中央公園西路”她說，“什么時候過來看看?！?/p>

“一定”他回答說，“找個晚上，你和你丈夫一定和我家人吃個飯。不管什么時候，露西爾和我都愿意和你聚聚?！?/p>

廣場上，枯葉從樹上慢慢飄落。無風自落。秋天的薄暮。她感到有些不適。

“我們也很愿意”她回答。

“你應(yīng)該看看我的孩子?！彼洱X一笑。

忽然，路燈亮了，照亮了整個第五大街，在憂郁的空氣中凝成兩條朦朧的光帶。

“我等的車來了”她說。

他揮手，“再見?！?/p>

“什么時候……”她正想說，但車門就要關(guān)了。路燈在她的視線中模糊，閃爍，模糊。

自她上車，她害怕張口說話，害怕自己一個字也說不出來。

突然，她大聲尖叫：“再見！”但車門已經(jīng)關(guān)上。

車開了。人群從他們身邊穿過，穿過街道，他們是陌生人。距離和人群使比爾消失在她的視線中。

那時她才想起她忘記給他地址——

或向他要地址——

或告訴他，她最小的兒子也叫比爾。

————————原文————————

【Early Autumn】

(Langston Hughes ）

When Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.

Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.

“Bill Walker,” she said.

He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.

“Mary! Where did you come from?”

Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.

“I live in New York now,” she said.

“Oh” — smiling politely. Then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.

“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”

“I’m a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.”

“Married yet?”

“Sure. Two kids.”

“Oh,” she said.

A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.

“And your husband?” he asked her.

“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.”

“You’re looking very . . .” (he wanted to say old) “. . . well,” he said.

She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.

“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”

“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”

The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.

“We’d love it,” she answered.

“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.

Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.

“There’s my bus,” she said.

He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”

“When . . .” she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.

Suddenly she shrieked very loudly. “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.

The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address — or to ask him for his — or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill too.