英文
Come Along with Me 2
I must say she had the good sense to offer me a cup of tea right away, once she found out I was a friend of her sister's, and in case you are wondering about me having lunch on the train and coffee and a doughnut in the station, and now a cup of tea and cookies, let me just remark that I have plenty of room to put it all.
“And what do you do, Mrs. Motorman?” she asked me.
“I dabble in the supernatural,” I told her.
Her name was Mrs. Faun; we both had names. “How is my sister?” she wanted to know.
“Doing well,” I said. “Of course, she has her troubles like the rest of us.”
I had taken to the house right away; I like most houses, and this was one of the best. The staircase was good, wide and clearly worn by a hundred trips up and down every day, up and down, up and down till your feet could fall off. It was a solid house, a devil to clean, but prepared to stand right where it was forever; enough people had lived here to make the air very alive; I was ready for any number to come around asking, but first I had to deal with Mrs. Faun.
“I've just buried my husband,” I said.
“I've just buried mine,” she said.
“Isn't it a relief?” I said.
“What?” she said.
“It was a very sad occasion,” I said.
“You're right,” she said, “it's a relief.”
She had a jaw and she served a strong cup of tea and I would not say a bad word against a woman who put out her own homemade sugar cookies for a guest; I am an excellent cook. The tea was served in the kitchen; as soon as I said I was a friend of her sister's she said, quite rightly, “I was just having a cup of tea; come on in the kitchen.”
When I tried to say it for the first time I was not actually certain how it was going to sound, because no one had ever said it before in the history of this earth, and I thought to myself, I'm giving birth. “I'm Mrs. Angela Motorman,” I said.
“I'm Mrs. Faun,” she said right back. “I was just having a cup of tea.”
I thought that Mrs. Faun and I were going to be all right together. I didn't know yet whether she had a silly laugh, or went on tapping her fingers on the table, but I liked her kitchen, which had no gadgets, and I liked her stove, which was still warm from making sugar cookies, and I liked her jaw.
“I'm not saying I want a room and I'm not saying I don't,” I told her, “but if I did, what would you have to show me?”
“I'm not saying I have a room and I'm not saying I don't,” she said right back, “but if you wanted to look I could let you see a very pretty little place.”
Oh, I was going to be all right with Mrs. Faun. I liked her jaw and I liked her stove and I liked her house and if she wanted to have a little crippled kid I was certainly not going to stand in her way; “It's hard for a woman alone,” I said.
“And what do you do, Mrs. Motorman?”
“I dabble in the supernatural.”
“My niece had this meningitis,” she said as though I had asked some kind of a question. “Let me fill your cup. She had this meningitis and it got to her heart. They knew it was going to, of course, but they never told her. She had it for years before she found out it got to her heart.”
“My cousin had mercury poisoning,” I said. “That goes directly to the heart, of course. He only lasted for about three days.”
“I had a cousin something like that,” she said. “You mentioned what a short time they last. Only in her case it all went to the brain. Reddest face I ever saw and she died not knowing one of us.”
“My aunt was the same,” I said. “Only she died of pneumonia; that's a very quick one. It catches you without any warning, you swell up, and there you go.”
“Bloated,” she said, “like my nephew, only his was alcohol.”
“And then there was this friend of mine,” I said. “She had cirrhosis of the scalp. They don't have a cure yet for any of those things, you know, and they run right through you. I hate to think of the way my friend went right on suffering until the very end.”
“Very often the end is the most to be desired,” she said. “There was a friend of mine, we all couldn't wait for her to go, but she had cancer. Incurable.”
“I had a friend who had cancer,” I said, “but they cut off her right leg.”
“That's never enough,” she said. “Mark me, she'll be back for her other leg. I knew a woman once who lost both arms that way.”
“My uncle fell under a truck,” I said. I wondered if I should tell her about my great-aunt.
“I'm sorry about your uncle,” she said. “Do you want a room or don't you?”
“I do.”
“And what do you do, Mrs. Motorman?”
“I dabble in the supernatural. Traffic with spirits. Seances, messages, psychiatric advice, that kind of thing.”
“I never had one of those before,” Mrs. Faun said. “I'm not saying I haven't had all kinds. You rent out rooms, it's sometimes a surprise what you get.”
“I never lived in a room before.”
“You won't find it terribly difficult,” she said, not smiling. “All you have to do is pay for it regularly. I'd be willing to add some meals, but that would be extra.”
“Perhaps I could give a hand with the cooking; I'm a fine cook.”
“I'm not sure but what that would be extra too,” she said. “You may not cook in your room.”
“I promise,” I said.
“You may not smoke in your bed.”
“I promise.”
“You may not make noise late at night.”
“I promise.”
“These are all safety precautions,” she explained to me. “Thou shalt not—I mean, you may not keep dirty pets.”
“I promise.”
“You may not spread any contagious diseases. Although the room I plan to show you has a private bath. Linen provided, we do the heavy cleaning, and anything you raise by way of spirits you have to put back yourself.”
Oh, I liked Mrs. Faun. She turned her head suddenly and then she stood up and went over to the back door of the kitchen, the door leading outside, and opened it. “Little early today,” she said, and “Must have run all the way,” which was clearly some kind of a private joke because there was laughter. I helped myself to another cookie, and then Mrs. Faun came back pushing the wheelchair; there was a ramp built outside the door so she could push it right inside without difficulty. “This is my son Tom,” Mrs. Faun said, “Tom, this is Mrs. Motorman.” Once again it sounded all right; I was going to learn to answer to it.
“Hi,” the boy in the wheelchair said. He seemed to be about twelve years old, although it's hard to tell with a boy sitting down. “Any cookies left?”
“I got my share,” I said. “Someday if you want me to I'll make you my special chocolate cake; it's got five layers.”
“Okay,” he said, and then he laughed. “Motorman's a funny name,” he said.
“I just made it up,” I told him. “You just home from school?”
“I like school,” he said, “but they're always surprised I'm not smarter, because I don't play baseball and stuff, they always think I'm going to be smarter than anyone else. And I'm not.”
“Maybe if you practice,” I said.
“One kid pushes me down the street every morning and another kid pushes me back home in the afternoon. They do all the pushing and I ride both ways and it's great, but I'm not as smart as they think I ought to be.”
“You're smart enough for your own good,” Mrs. Faun said. She brought him a glass of milk and pushed the plate of cookies a little closer to him. “I'll go and check your room,” she said to me.
“I'm pretty smart,” he said to me anxiously. “I'm not stupid, of course.”
“I'm pretty smart, but I never got pushed back and forth to school.”
“Well, I'm planning to be a scholar, and I better get started pretty soon. You know any Spanish?”
“No.”
“I want to learn Spanish and French and Italian and Russian and then Latin and Greek and be a scholar. So far I only know a little Spanish, but I'm lazy.”
“One of these days I might push you to the movies,” I said.
“I would like that,” he said. “Perhaps a movie in Spanish or French to improve my accent.”
We each had another cookie. Then he said, “What do you study, Mrs. Motorman?”
“I was married to a painter.”
“Was he any good?”
“He was lousy.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“How long you think I ought to go on studying Spanish before I start French? They're both good languages.”
“If you're so lazy why not give up the whole thing?”
“Well,” he said, thinking, “I suppose it's because they all keep waiting for me to be so smart. I wouldn't play baseball if I could, you can hurt yourself playing those games. But I don't mind being a scholar.”
“Look,” I said, “I'm not used to talking to kids.”
“Oh, that's all right,” he said.
“I don't know why you can't just sit around and read books.”
Mrs. Faun came back and said “Drink your milk there,” and “Your room is ready.” She touched the boy on the head and he said, “Hey, Mrs. Motorman and I are going to the movies someday,” and Mrs. Faun looked at me for a minute and then said, “I think you're going to like the room.”
中文
跟我来 2
我必须说她有很好的判断力，一发现我是她妹妹的朋友，就马上给我倒了杯茶。倘若你还奇怪我在火车上吃了午餐，在车站又喝了咖啡，吃了面包圈，现在又在这儿喝咖啡、吃小点心了，我只是想说我还有胃口把它们全都一扫而光。
“您是做哪行的，摩妥尔曼太太？”她问我。
“我涉足的领域是超自然。”我告诉她。
她的名字是弗恩太太；我们俩都有名字。“我妹妹怎么样？”她想知道。
“干得不错，”我说道，“当然，跟我们所有人一样，她也有她的麻烦。”
我立即被带到了房子里。我对大多数的房子都很喜欢，但这栋房子是我最喜欢的。楼梯不错，很宽，但每天上百次的上上下下踩踏，显然已经磨损了。上上下下，上上下下，直到失足跌落。房子很坚固，极难清洁，但它已经准备永远矗立在那儿了。住在这里的人足够多，使得气氛很活跃。我准备好了很多人会过来问这问那，但我首先得应付好弗恩太太。
“我刚刚埋葬了我丈夫。”我说道。
“我也刚刚埋葬了我丈夫。”她说道。
“难道不是种解脱吗？”我说道。
“什么？”她说道。
“那是个让人难过的场合。”我说道。
“你是对的，”她说道，“是一种解脱。”
她有一个尖下巴，她端上一杯浓茶来，我不能再说一位把自制的甜点心拿出来给客人的女人的坏话了。我自己也是个厨艺高超的人。茶是在厨房里提供的，我刚开口说我是她妹妹的朋友，她就很快地说：“我刚好想喝杯茶，到厨房来吧。”这话说得很合时宜。
当我第一次说出我名字的时候，实际上我无法确认它听上去是怎样的效果，因为在这个地球上，有史以来没人叫过它，我暗自想，我正在重获新生。“我是摩妥尔曼太太。”我说。
“我是弗恩太太，”她马上回应道，“我刚好想喝杯茶。”
我想弗恩太太和我一定会相处得很好的。我还不知道她是否爱傻笑，还是老爱用手指敲击桌子，但是我喜欢她的厨房，虽然里面没什么小装置；我还喜欢她的炉子，因为刚做完甜点心，炉子还热乎呢；我也喜欢她的下巴。
“我没说我想要一个房间，我也没说我不要，”我告诉她，“但如果我想要，你有什么房间给我看看呢？”
“我没说我有一个房间，我也没说我没有，”她马上回应道，“但是如果你想看看，我可以让你看一个很漂亮的小房间。”
哦，我一定会和弗恩太太相处得很好的。我喜欢她的下巴，喜欢她的炉子，喜欢她的房子。如果她想要一个瘸腿的小孩，我当然不会拦着她的。“女人一个人过太不容易了。”我说道。
“您是做哪行的，摩妥尔曼太太？”
“我涉足的领域是超自然。”
“我的外甥女得了脊膜炎，”她说道，好像我问了与此相关的问题一样。“让我给你续杯吧。她得了脊膜炎，病毒已经进到了心脏。当然，他们知道就是这样的结果，但他们从没有告诉她。在她发现它已经进入心脏之前，她已经得了这病好多年了。”
“我表弟得的是汞中毒，”我说道，“当然，毒性也直接进到了心脏。大约三天后他就死了。”
“我有个表妹也有类似的遭遇，”她说，“你提到的他们还有短暂的存活时间。只是她的情况更糟，毒性进到了脑子里了。那是我所见过的最红的脸，她死时都不认识我们了。”
“我婶婶也一模一样，”我说道，“只是她死于急性肺炎。那种病死得很快，在没有任何征兆的情况下就会染上，病人浑身肿胀，然后就一命归西了。”
“浮肿，”她说道，“跟我的侄子一样，只不过他是酒精中毒。”
“还有我的一个朋友，”我说道，“她得了头皮硬化症，他们不知道有什么好的办法治疗这种病，你知道。他们整天穿刺病人，我讨厌想起我朋友直到死还要忍受种种痛苦。”
“通常情况下死是最好的解脱，”她说道，“我也有一个朋友，我们都不能干等着，让她离开，可她得的是癌症，治不了。”
“我也有一个得癌症的朋友，”我说道，“但是他们把她的右腿锯掉了。”
“那还不够呢，”她说道，“听我说，她起码还剩了一条腿。我知道有个女人一次就被锯掉了两条胳膊。”
“我叔叔被一个卡车从身上碾压过去。”我说道。我还琢磨是否应该告诉她我姑姥姥的事。
“我对你叔叔的事感到很难过，”她说道，“你想租个房间，还是不租呢？”
“我租。”
“您是做哪行的，摩妥尔曼太太？”
“我涉足的领域是超自然。在人和鬼魂之间搭建沟通渠道。比如降神会、信息、精神治疗，诸如此类的事情。”
“我以前从来没听说过这类事，”弗恩太太说道，“我倒不是说我没有这种需要。出租房屋，有时也能收获惊喜。”
“我以前从来没在楼房里住过。”
“你不会觉得有什么特不方便的，”她说道，脸上没带一丝笑容，“你要做的就是定期付租金就行了。一日三餐也可以跟我们一块儿吃，但那得另付费用。”
“也许做饭时我能搭把手，我的厨艺不错。”
“我不能确定是否需要帮忙，但吃饭是要另交费用的，”她说道，“你不能在自己的房间里做饭。”
“我保证不做。”我说道。
“你不能在床上吸烟。”
“我保证不吸。”
“你不能在大晚上闹出很大动静。”
“我保证。”
“这些都是保障安全的预防措施，”她向我解释道，“你不会……我的意思是，你不能养那些肮脏的宠物。”
“保证不会。”
“虽然我一会儿带你看的房间有你自己的浴室，但你不能传播传染病什么的。我提供全套的亚麻制床上用品，大件换洗的东西也不用你动手，但是任何提神的东西——比如酒一类你自己要收好。”
哦，我喜欢弗恩太太。她突然转过头，然后又站了起来，走到厨房的后门，这门通向外面，她打开了它。“今天稍微早了点儿，”她说道，然后又说，“一定是一路跑回来的。”这句话显然属于某种私下里说的玩笑话，因为随即传来一阵笑声。我自己伸手又拿了一块小点心。这时，弗恩太太推着轮椅回来了。房门外面有个缓坡，所以把轮椅推进来不费什么力气。“这是我儿子汤姆，”弗恩太太说道，“汤姆，这位是摩妥尔曼太太。”再一次，这名字听上去挺不错，我要学会适应它。
“您好。”轮椅中的男孩说道。虽然对一个坐着的男孩的年龄做出准确判断有点儿困难，但可以看出他大约十二岁。“还有小点心吗？”
“我把我那份吃完了，”我说道，“如果你想吃的话，找时间我给你做一个特殊的巧克力蛋糕，有五层呢。”
“好的。”他说道，随后又笑了起来。“摩妥尔曼是个好笑的姓氏呀。”他说道。
“我瞎编的。”我告诉他，“你是刚从学校回到家？”
“我喜欢学校，”他说道，“但是他们总是吃惊我并不很聪明，因为我不打棒球一类的东西，他们总以为我会比别人更聪明。可实际上并不是这样。”
“如果你坚持练习，也许你会的。”我说道。
“每天早上，有个孩子推着我沿着大街去学校，下午另一个孩子把我推回家。他们推着轮椅，我掌控方向，感觉很好，但是我并不比别人像他们认为的那样聪明。”
“你要变得更聪明点儿是为了你自己好。”弗恩太太说道。她给他拿了一杯牛奶，把盛小点心的盘子往他跟前推了推。“我去检查一下你的房间。”她对我说道。
“我很聪明了，”他有点儿焦虑地对我说道，“当然了，我不笨。”
“我很聪明，但是我从来没有让别人推着我上下学。”
“嗯，我打算成为一名学者，我最好尽快开始。你会西班牙语吗？”
“不会。”
“我想学西班牙语、法语、意大利语、俄语，还有拉丁语和希腊语，成为一名学者。可目前为止我只会一点儿西班牙语，我挺懒的。”
“找上那么一天，我或许可以推你去看电影。”我说道。
“我喜欢这主意，”他说道，“也许一部西班牙语或者法语的电影能提高我的发音水平呢。”
我们俩又吃了一块小点心。然后，他说道：“你是研究什么的，摩妥尔曼太太？”
“我以前嫁给了一个画家。”
“他很棒吗？”
“不，他很蹩脚。”
“他死了吗？”
“是的。”
“你觉得我在开始学习法语之前还得继续学习多长时间的西班牙语？这两种外语都很棒。”
“如果你那么懒惰，干吗不把所有的事情都放下呢？”
“嗯，”他思索了一下说道，“我想那是因为他们都一直在等着我变得更聪明些。如果我能打棒球的话，我也不会打的，你总不能因为玩这些运动弄伤了自己吧。但是我不介意成为一名学者。”
“你瞧，”我说道，“我还不太习惯和一个孩子聊天。”
“哦，那没关系。”他说道。
“我不知道你为什么不能老老实实地坐在那儿读你的书。”
弗恩太太回来了，说道：“在那儿把你的牛奶喝了，”还有，“你的房间已经收拾好了。”她抚摸着孩子的头，男孩说道：“嘿，找一天摩妥尔曼太太要和我一起去看电影哩。”弗恩太太看了我好一会儿，然后说道：“我觉得你会喜欢那个房间的。”
