2021考研英语阅读:百年孤独第20章-2
来练习考研英语阅读吧，试着翻译一下这句话：both of them remained floating in an empty universe where the only everyday and eternal reality was love. 这是百年孤独 中的一句话，更多相关信息可关注咱们文都考研综合备考频道哦。
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英文美句摘抄：that the history of the family was a machine with unavoidable repetitions.
英文句子译文：家庭的演变就象一架机器，不可避免地要有反复。
2021考研英语阅读:百年孤独第20章-2
Germán and Aureliano took care of him. They helped him like a child, fastening his tickets and immigration documents to his pockets with safety pins, making him a detailed list of what he must do from the time he left Macondo until he landed in Barcelona, but nonetheless he threw away a pair of pants with half of his money in it without realizing it. The night before the trip, after nailing up the boxes and putting his clothing into the same suitcase that he had brought when he first came, he narrowed his clam eyes, pointed with a kind of impudent benediction at the stacks of books with which he had endured during his exile, and said to his friends:
杰尔曼和奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚照顾他，就象关心孩子一样关心他：把车票和迁移证分放在他的两个口袋里，用别针别住袋口，又为他列了一张详细的表格，记明他从马孔多动身到巴塞罗那的路上应该做的一切;尽管如此，博学的加泰隆尼亚人还是出了个纸漏，连他自己也没发觉，竟把一只口袋里揣着一半现款的裤子扔进了污水坑。启程前夕，等到一只只箱子已经钉上，一件件零星什物也放进了他带到马孔多来的那只箱子里，他就合上蛤壳似的眼脸，然后做了一个带有亵渎上帝意味的祝福手势，指着那些曾经帮助他经受了乡愁的书，对朋友们说：
“All that shit there I leave to you people!?
“这堆旧书我就留在这儿了。”
Three months later they received in a large envelope twenty-nine letters and more than fifty pictures that he had accumulated during the leisure of the high seas. Although he did not date them, the order in which he had written the letters was obvious. In the first ones, with his customary good humor, he spoke about the difficulties of the crossing, the urge he had to throw the cargo officer overboard when he would not let him keep the three boxes in his cabin, the clear imbecility of a lady who was terrified at the number thirteen, not out of superstition but because she thought it was a number that had no end, and the bet that he had won during the first dinner because he had recognized in the drinking water on board the taste of the nighttime beets by the springs of Lérida. With the passage of the days, however, the reality of life on board mattered less and less to him and even the most recent and trivial happenings seemed worthy of nostalgia, because as the ship got farther away, his memory began to grow sad. That process of nostalgia was also evident in the pictures. In the first ones he looked happy, with his sport shirt which looked like a hospital jacket and his snowy mane, in an October Caribbean filled with whitecaps. In the last ones he could be seen to be wearing a dark coat and a milk scarf, pale in the face, taciturn from absence on the deck of a mournful ship that had come to be like a sleepwalker on the autumnal seas. Germán and Aureliano answered his letters. He wrote so many during the first months that at that time they felt closer to him than when he had been in Macondo, and they were almost freed from the rancor that he had left behind. At first he told them that everything was just the same, that the pink snails were still in the house where he had been born, that the dry herring still had the same taste on a piece of toast, that the waterfalls in the village still took on a perfumed smell at dusk. They were the notebook pages again, woven with the purple scribbling, in which he dedicateda special paragraph to each one. Nevertheless, and although he himself did not seem to notice it, those letters of recuperation and stimulation were slowly changing into pastoral letters of disenchantment. One winter night while the soup was boiling in the fireplace, he missed the heat of the back of his store, the buzzing of the sun on the dusty almond trees, the whistle of the train during the lethargy of siesta time, just as in Macondo he had missed the winter soup in the fireplace, the cries of the coffee vendor, and the fleeting larks of springtime. Upset by two nostalgias facing each other like two mirrors, he lost his marvelous sense of unreality and he ended up recommending to all of them that they leave Macondo, that they forget everything he had taught them about the world and the human heart, that they shit on Horace, and that wherever they might be they always remember that the past was a lie, that memory has no return, that every spring gone by could never be recovered, and that the wildest and most tenacious love was an ephemeral truth in the end. ?lvaro was the first to take the advice to abandon Macondo. He sold everything, even the tame jaguar that teased passersby from the courtyard of his house, and he bought an eternal ticket on a train that never stopped traveling. In the postcards that he sent from the way stations he would describe with shouts the instantaneous images that he had seen from the window of his coach, and it was as if he were tearing up and throwing into oblivion some long, evanescent poem: the chimerical Negroes in the cotton fields of Louisiana, the winged horses in the bluegrass of Kentucky, the Greek lovers in the infernal sunsets of Arizona, the girl in the red sweater painting watercolors by a lake in Michigan who waved at him with her brushes, not to say farewell but out of hope, because she did not know that she was watching a train with no return passing by. Then Alfonso and Germán left one Saturday with the idea of coming back on Monday, but nothing more was ever heard of them. A year after the departure of the wise Catalonian the only one left in Macondo was Gabriel, still adrift at the mercy of Nigromanta’s chancy charity and answering the questions of a contest in a French magazine in which the first prize was a trip to Paris. Aureliano, who was the one who subscribed to it, helped him fill in the answers, sometimes in his house but most of the time among the ceramic bottles and atmosphere of valerian in the only pharmacy left in Macondo, where Mercedes, Gabriel’s stealthy girl friend, lived. It was the last that remained of a past whose annihilation had not taken place because it was still in a process of annihilation, consuming itself from within, ending at every moment but never ending its ending. The town had reached such extremes of inactivity that when Gabriel won the contest and left for Paris with two changes of clothing, a pair of shoes, and the complete works of Rabelais, he had to signal the engineer to stop the train and pick him up. The old Street of the Turks was at that time an abandoned corner where the last Arabs were letting themselves be dragged off to death with the age-old custom of sitting in their doorways, although it had been many years since they had sold the last yard of diagonal cloth, and in the shadowy showcases only the decapitated manikins remained. The banana company’s city, which Patricia Brown may have tried to evoke for her grandchildren during the nights of intolerance and dill pickles in Prattville, Alabama, was a plain of wild grass. The ancient priest who had taken Father Angel’s place and whose name no one had bothered to find out awaited God’s mercy stretched out casually in a hammock, tortured by arthritis and the insomnia of doubt while the lizards and rats fought over the inheritance of the nearby church. In that Macondo forgotten even by the birds, where the dust and the heat had become so strong that it was difficult to breathe, secluded by solitude and love and by the solitude of love in a house where it was almost impossible to sleep because of the noise of the red ants, Aureliano, and Amaranta ?rsula were the only happy beings, and the most happy on the face of the earth.
三个月后，他寄来了一个大邮包，里面有二十九封信和五十张照片，这些都是他在公海上利用闲暇逐渐积累起来的。虽说博学的加泰隆尼亚人没在上面注明日期，但也不难理解，这些邮件是按照怎样的顺序编排的。在开头的几封信中，他以惯有的幽默笔调介绍了旅途上的种种经历：他说到一个货物检验员不同意他把箱子放在船舱里时，他真恨不得把那个家伙扔到海里去：他又说到一位太太简直是惊人的愚蠢，只要提到“十三”这个数字，她就会心惊肉跳——这倒不是出于迷信，而是因为她认为这是个不圆满的数字;他还说到在船上吃顿晚饭的时候，他赢了一场赌博，他辨出船上的饮水有莱里达(莱里达，西班牙地名) 泉水的味道，散发出每天夜晚从莱里达市郊飘来的甜菜气息。可是，随着时光的流逝，他对船上的生活越来越感到乏味，每当回忆起马孔多发生的那些事情，即使是最近的、最平淡的琐事，也会勾起他的怀旧情绪：船走得越远，他的回忆就越伤感。这种怀旧情绪的不断加深，从照片上也透露了出来。在最初的几张照片上，他看上去是那样幸福，穿着一件白衬衫，留着一头银发，背景是加勒比海，海面上照例飞溅着十月的浪花。在以后的一些照片上，他已换上了深色大衣，围着一条绸围巾，这时，他脸色苍白，一副心不在焉的模样，仁立在一条无名船的甲板上，这条船刚刚脱离夜间的险境，徘徊在秋天的公海上。杰尔曼和奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚都给老头儿回了信。在开始的几个月里，老头儿也经常来信，使他的两个朋友觉得他仿佛就生活在他们身边，比在马孔多时离他们更近;他的远别在他们心里引起的痛苦，也几乎消失得无影无踪。他在信里告诉他们，说一切犹如以往，家乡的小屋里至今还保存着那只粉红色的贝壳;面包馅里夹一片熏鱼片，吃起来还是那种味道;家乡的小溪每天晚上依然芳香怡人。在两个朋友面前重又出现那一张张练习簿纸，上面歪歪斜斜地写满了紫色草体字，他们每一个人都单独收到了一些。这些信洋溢着一个久病痊愈者那样的振奋精神，们连博学的加泰隆尼亚人自个儿也没有觉察到，它们渐渐变成了一首首灰心丧气的田园诗。冬天的晚上，每当壁炉里的汤锅咝咝冒气时，老头儿就不禁怀念起马孔多书店后面暖融融的小房间，怀念起阳光照射下沙沙作响的灰蒙蒙的杏树叶丛，怀念起令人昏昏欲睡的晌午突然传来的轮船汽笛声，正象他在马孔多的时候那样，曾缅怀家乡壁炉里嗤嗤冒气的汤锅，街上咖啡豆小贩的叫卖声和春天里飞来飞去的百灵鸟。这两种怀旧病犹如两面彼此对立着的镜子，相互映照，折磨着他，使他失去了自己那种心驰神往的幻想。于是他劝朋友们离开马孔多，劝他们忘掉他给他们说过的关于世界和人类感情的一切看法，唾弃贺拉斯(公元前65一8年，罗马诗人及讽刺家)的学说，告诫他们不管走到哪儿，都要永远记住：过去是虚假的，往事是不能返回的，每一个消逝的春天都一去不复返了，最狂热、最坚贞的爱情也只是一种过眼烟云似的感情。阿尔伐罗个听从老头儿的劝告离开马孔多，他卖掉了一切东西，甚至把他家院子里那只驯养来戏弄路人的美洲豹都卖了，才为自己购得一张没有终点站的通票。不久他便从中间站上寄来一些标满惊叹号的明信片，描述了车窗外一掠而过的瞬息情景，这些描述好象是一首被他撕成碎片、丢置脑后的长诗篇：黑人在路易斯安那*棉花种植园里若隐若现;骏马在肯塔基*绿色草原上奔驰;亚利桑那* 的夕阳照着一对希腊情人，还有一个穿红绒线衣、用水彩描绘密执安湖*泊四周景物的姑娘，向他挥动着画笔——在这种招呼中，并没有告别，而只有希望，因为姑娘并不知道这辆列车将一去不复返。过了一些日子，一个星期六，阿尔丰索和杰尔曼也走了，他们打算在下一周的星期一回来，但是从此谁也没有再听到他们的消息，在博学的加泰隆尼亚人离开之后过了一年，他的朋友中只有加布里埃尔还留在马孔多，他犹疑不决地待了下来，继续利用加泰隆尼亚人不固定的恩赐，参加一家法国杂志组织的竞赛，解答有关的题目。竞赛的一等奖是一次巴黎之行。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚也订了这份杂志，便帮他填写一张张印着题目的表格。他有时在自己家里，但更多的时间是在加布里埃尔暗中的情妇梅尔塞德斯的药房里干这件事，那是马孔多完好的药房，里面摆着陶制药罐，空气中弥漫着缬草的气息。城里只有这家药房幸存下来。市镇的破坏总是不见结束，这种破坏是无休无止的，好象每一刹那间都会完全结束，但最后总是没有结束。市镇透渐变成了一片废墟，所以，加布里埃尔在竞赛中终于获胜，带着两件换洗衣服、一双皮鞋和一套拉伯雷全集，准备前往巴黎的时候，他只好不停地向司机招手，让他把列车停在马孔多车站上。此时，古老的土耳其人街也变成了荒芜的一隅，最后一批阿拉伯人已把最后一码斜纹布卖掉多年，在那晦暗的橱窗里只剩下了一些无头的人体模型;这些阿拉伯人依然按照千年相传的习俗，坐在自己的店铺门口静静地等候着死神。在那有着种族偏见、盛产醋汁黄瓜的边远地区——在亚拉巴马* 的普拉特维尔城* ，也许帕特里西亚·布劳恩还在一夜一夜地给自己的孙子们讲述这座香蕉公司的小镇，没想到它如今已变成一片杂草丛生的平原。那个代替安格尔神父的教士——他的名字谁也不想弄清楚，——受到风湿和精疑引起的失眠症的折磨，一夜一夜地躺在吊床上，等待上帝的恩赐。跟他作伴的蜥蜴和老鼠，昼夜不停地互相厮杀，争夺教堂的统治权。在这个连鸟儿都嫌弃的市镇上，持续不断的炎热和灰尘使人呼吸都感到困难，房子里红蚂蚁的闹声，也使奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚和阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜每夜都难以成眠。他们受到孤独和爱情的折磨，但他们毕竟是人世间幸福的人，是大地上最幸福的人。
Gaston had returned to Brussels. Tired of waiting for the airplane, one day he put his indispensable things into a small suitcase, took his file of correspondence, and left with the idea of returning by air before his concession was turned over to a group of German pilots who had presented the provincial authorities with a more ambitious project than his. Since the afternoon of their first love, Aureliano and Amaranta ?rsula had continued taking advantage of her husband’s rare unguarded moments, making love with gagged ardor in chance meetings and almost always interrupted by unexpected returns. But when they saw themselves alone in the house they succumbed to the delirium of lovers who were making up for lost time. It was a mad passion, unhinging, which made Fernanda’s bones tremble with horror in her grave and which kept them in a state of perpetual excitement. Amaranta ?rsula’s shrieks, her songs of agony would break out the same at two in the afternoon on the dining-room table as at two in the morningin the pantry. “What hurts me most,?she would say, laughing, “is all the time that we wasted.?In the bewilderment of passion she watched the ants devastating the garden, sating their prehistoric hunger with the beam of the house, and she watched the torrents of living lava take over the porch again, but she bothered to fight them only when she found them in her bedroom. Aureliano abandoned the parchments, did not leave the house again, and carelessly answered the letters from the wise Catalonian. They lost their sense of reality, the notion of time, the rhythm of daily habits. They closed the doors and windows again so as not to waste time getting undressed and they walked about the house as Remedios the Beauty had wanted to do and they would roll around naked in the mud of the courtyard, and one afternoon they almost drowned as they made love in the cistern. In a short time they did more damage than the red ants: they destroyed the furniture in the parlor, in their madness they tore to shreds the hammock that had resisted the sad bivouac loves of Colonel Aureliano Buendía and they disemboweled the mattresses and emptied them on the floor as they suffocated in storms of cotton. Although Aureliano was just as ferocious a lover as his rival, it was Amaranta ?rsula who ruled in that paradise of disaster with her mad genius and her lyrical voracity, as if she had concentrated in her love the unconquerable energy that her great-great-grandmother had given to the making of little candy animals. And yet, while she was singing with pleasure and dying with laughter over her own inventions, Aureliano was becoming more and more absorbed and silent, for his passion was self-centered and burning. Nevertheless, they both reached such extremes of virtuosity that when they became exhausted from excitement, they would take advantage of their fatigue. They would give themselves over to the worship of their bodies, discovering that the rest periods of love had unexplored possibilities, much richer than those of desire. While he would rub Amaranta ?rsula’s erect breasts with egg whites or smooth her elastic thighs and peach-like stomach with cocoa butter, she would play with Aureliano’s portentous creature as if it were a doll and would paint clown’s eyes on it with her lipstick and give it a Turk’s mustache with her eyebrow pencil, and would put on organza bow ties and little tinfoil hats. One night they daubed themselves from head to toe with peach jam and licked each other like dogs and made mad love on the floor of the porch, and they were awakened by a torrent of carnivorous ants who were ready to eat them alive.
有一天，等候飞机等得不耐烦的加斯东，把一些必需的东西和所有的信件装进一个箱子，暂时离开马孔多回布鲁塞尔去了，他打算把特许证和执照交给一个德国飞机设计师之后，就乘飞机回来，那个德国飞机设计师向政府当局提供了一项比加斯东自己的设计更宏伟的设计规划。于是，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚和阿玛兰塔，乌苏娜在夜的爱情之后，开始利用加斯东外出的难得机会相聚，但这些相聚总是笼罩着危险的气氛，几乎总是被加斯东要突然归来的消息所打断。他们只好竭力克制自己的冲动。他俩只是单独在一起时，才置身于长期受到压抑的狂热的爱情中。这是一种失去理智、找害身体的情欲，这种情欲使他们始终处于兴奋的状态，甚至使得坟墓里的菲兰达惊得发抖。每天下午两点，在午餐桌旁，每天半夜两点，在储藏室里。都可听到阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜的号叫声和声嘶力竭的歌声。“我觉得最可惜的是咱们白白失去了那么多的好时光，”她对奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚笑着说。她瞧见蚂蚁正在把花园劫掠一空，正在用屋子里的梁柱解除它们初次感到的饥饿;她还瞧见它们象迸发的熔岩似的重新在长廊里川流不息，然而被情欲弄得麻木不仁的阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜，直到蚂蚁出现在她的卧室里，她才动手去消灭它们。此时，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚也搁下羊皮纸手稿，不离开房子一步，只是偶尔给博学的加泰隆尼亚人写回信。一对情人失去了现实感和时间观念，搞乱了每天习惯的生活节奏。为了避免在宽衣解带上浪费不必要的时间，他们关上门窗，就象俏姑娘雷麦黛丝一直向往的那副走路模样，在屋里走来走去，赤裸裸地躺在院子的水塘里。有一次在浴室的池子里亲热时，差一点被水淹死。他们在短时期内给房子造成的损害比蚂蚁还大：弄坏了客厅里的家具，撑破了那张坚韧地经受了奥雷连诺上校行军中一些风流韵事的吊床，最后甚至拆散了床垫，把里面的蕊子掏出来放在地板上，以便在棉絮团上相亲相爱。虽说奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚作为一个情人，在疯狂的爱情上并不逊于暂时离开的加斯东，但在极乐世界中造成家中一片惨状的却是阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜和她特别轻率的创造才能以及难以满足的情欲。她在爱情上倾注了不可遏止的一切精力，就象当年她的高祖母勤奋地制作糖动物一样。阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜望着自己的发明，常常快活得唱起歌来，笑得忘乎所以，奥雷连诺。 布恩蒂亚却变得越来越若有所思、沉默寡言，因为他的爱是一种自我陶醉的、使一切化为乌有的爱。不过，他俩都掌握了爱情上的高度技巧，在他们炽热的激情耗尽之后，他们在疲倦中都得到了能够得到的一切。
During the pauses in their delirium, Amaranta ?rsula would answer Gaston’s letters. She felt him to be so far away and busy that his return seemed impossible to her. In one of his first letters he told her that his Partners had actually sent the airplane, but that a shipping agent in Brussels had sent it by mistake to Tanganyika, where it was delivered to the scattered tribe of the Makondos. That mix-up brought on so many difficulties that just to get the plane back might take two years. So Amaranta ?rsula dismissed the possibility of an inopportune return. Aureliano, for his part, had no other contact with the world except for the letters from the wise Catalonian and the news he had of Gabriel through Mercedes, the silent pharmacist. At first they were real contacts. Gabriel had turned in his return ticket in order to stay in Paris, selling the old newspapers and empty bottles that the chambermaids threw out of a gloomy hotel on the Rue Dauphine. Aureliano could visualize him then in a turtleneck sweater which he took off only when the sidewalk Cafés on Montparnasse filled with springtime lovers, and sleeping by day and writing by night in order to confuse hunger in the room that smelled of boiled cauliflower where Rocamadour was to die. Nevertheless, news about him was slowly becoming so uncertain, and the letters from the wise man so sporadic and melancholy, that Aureliano grew to think about them as Amaranta ?rsula thought about her husband, and both of them remained floating in an empty universe where the only everyday and eternal reality was love.
阿玛兰塔。 乌苏娜总是在头脑清醒的时刻给加斯东复信。在她看来，他是陌生而遥远的，根本没有想到他可能回来。在最初的一封信里，他告诉她说，他的合伙人确实给他发过飞机，只是布鲁塞尔的海上办事处把飞机错发到坦噶尼喀转交给了马孔多出生的一些人了。这种混乱造成了一大堆麻烦，单是取回飞机就可能花上两年时间。于是阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜排除了丈夫突然回来的可能性。此时，奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚跟外界的联系，除了同博学的加泰隆尼亚人通信之外，只有从郁郁寡欢的药房女店主梅尔塞德斯那儿了解到加布里埃尔的消息。起先这种消息还是实在的。 为了留在巴黎，加布里埃尔把回来的飞机票兑换成一些钱，又卖掉了在多芬街上一家阴暗的旅馆门外捡到的旧报纸和空瓶子。奥雷连诺·布恩蒂亚不难想到朋友的样子：现在他穿的是一件高领绒线衫，只有到了春天蒙帕纳斯*路边咖啡馆里坐满一对对情人时，他才会从身上脱下这件绒线衫，为了对付饥饿，他在一个散发着花椰菜气味的小房间里，白天睡觉，晚上写东西，据说罗卡马杜尔*就是在那个房间里结束一生的。但是没过多久，加布里埃尔的消息渐渐渺茫了，博学的加泰隆尼亚人的来信也渐渐稀少了，内容也忧郁了·奥雷连诺。 布恩蒂亚对他们两人的思念不知不觉跟阿玛兰塔·乌苏娜对她丈夫的思念一样了。一对情人沉浸在环顾无人的世界中，对他们来说，每天的、永恒的现实就是爱情。
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