Limbo
茫然
By Rhonda Lucas
My parents’ divorce was final. The house had been sold and the day had come to move. Thirty years of the family’s life was now crammed into the garage. The two-by-fours that ran the length of the walls were the only uniformity among the clutter of boxes, furniture, and memories. All was frozen in limbo between the life just passed and the one to come.
父母的离异确定无疑。住房卖了，搬家的日子来了。三十年的家庭生活就这样被塞进车库。车库里杂乱地堆放着箱子，家具，还有回忆，只有2×4齐墙长的木方摆放整齐。在刚逝去的生活和将来的生活之间那种茫然之中，一切都冻结了。
The sunlight pushing its way through the window splattered against a barricade of boxes. Like a fluorescent river, it streamed down the sides and flooded the cracks of the cold, cement floor. I stood in the doorway between the house and garage and wondered if the sunlight would ever again penetrate the memories packed inside those boxes. For an instant, the cardboard boxes appeared as tombstones, monuments to those memories.
阳光穿过窗户，洒在屏障似的箱子上，像闪亮的河流，顺岸而下，淹没了冰冷的水泥地板的裂隙。我站在住房和库房之间的门口，念想阳光是否还会穿透存在那些箱中的回忆。突然间，纸箱好似那些回忆的墓碑、纪念碑呈现眼前。
The furnace in the corner, with its huge tubular fingers reaching out and disappearing into the wall, was unaware of the futility of trying to warm the empty house. The rhythmical whir of its effort hummed the elegy for the memories boxed in front of me. I closed the door, sat down on the step, and listened reverently. The feeling of loss transformed the bad memories into not-so-bad, the not-so-bad memories into good, and committed the good ones to my mind. Still, I felt as vacant as the house inside.
墙角的壁炉，其巨大的指状排烟管伸出，消失在墙壁中，没意识到加暖空荡荡的房子是一种徒劳。壁炉燃烧的呼呼韵律声为我面前箱中的回忆哼着挽歌。我关上门，坐在台阶上，虔诚地倾听。失落的感觉把糟糕的回忆变得不是那么糟糕，把不是那么糟糕的回忆变成了美好的回忆，把美好的回忆印入了我的脑海。但是，我仍然感觉到像里面的房子一样空荡。
A workbench to my right stood disgustingly empty. Not so much as a nail had been left behind. I noticed, for the first time, what a dull, lifeless green it was. Lacking the disarray of tools that used to cover it, now it seemed as out of place as a bathtub in the kitchen. In fact, as I scanned the room, the only things that did seem to belong were the cobwebs in the corners.
我右侧的操作台空无一物，连一根钉子也没有留下。我第一次注意到此工作台原来是乏味、毫无生气的格林牌！没有了那些曾经摆在台上的工具，它就像厨房里的浴缸一样不协调。事实上，当我扫视房间的时候，似乎属于房间的东西唯有角落的蛛网。
A group of boxes had been set aside from the others and stacked in front of the workbench. Scrawled like graffiti on the walls of dilapidated buildings were the words “Salvation Army.” Those words caught my eyes as effectively as a flashing neon sign. They reeked of irony. “Salvation—was a bit too late for this family,” I mumbled sarcastically to myself.
一组箱子从其它箱子分选出来，垒放在操作台前。涂鸦似的“救世军”几个字散涂在破烂不堪的房壁上。这几个字像闪烁的霓虹灯吸引了我的目光，带着讽刺的意味。“救世—对这个家来说，有点太迟了”，我喃喃自嘲。
The houseful of furniture that had once been so carefully chosen to complement and blend with the color schemes of the various rooms was indiscriminately crammed together against a single wall. The uncoordinated colors combined in turmoil and lashed out in the greyness of the room.
满屋家具曾经精挑细选，以与各个房间的配色相互补充、协调，胡乱堆挤在单层墙边。不协调的色彩混杂狼藉，在车库的灰暗中很是扎眼。
I suddenly became aware of the coldness of the garage, but I didn’t want to go back inside the house, so I made my way through the boxes to the couch. I cleared a space to lie down and curled up, covering myself with my jacket. I hoped my father would return soon with the truck so we could empty the garage and leave the cryptic silence of parting lives behind.
我突然意识到车库是那么冷落，但我不想再返回房间，于是我从箱堆挤过去到睡椅上，收拾出一点地方，躺下来，蜷缩着身子，身上盖着我穿的夹克。我希望父亲能够尽快开着卡车回来，我们可以清空车库，撂下那即将逝去生活难解的沉寂。
（选自Patterns: A Short Prose Reader, by Mary Lou Conlin, published by Houghton Mifflin, 1983.）
