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[分享][分享]最后的藤叶(英语版)第六部分

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发表于 2011-5-19 01:18:00 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
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"She is very ill and weak," said Sue, "and the fever has left her mind morbid and full of strange fancies. Very well, Mr. Behrman, if you do not care to pose for me, you needn't. But I think you are a horrid old - old flibbertigibbet." fficeffice" />

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  "You are just like a woman!" yelled Behrman. "Who said I will not bose? Go on. I come mit you. For half an hour I haf peen trying to say dot I am ready to bose. Gott! dis is not any blace in which one so goot as Miss Yohnsy shall lie sick. Some day I vill baint a masterpiece, and ve shall all go away. Gott! yes."

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  Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to the window-sill, and motioned Behrman into the other room. In there they peered out the window fearfully at the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other for a moment without speaking. A persistent, cold rain was falling, mingled with snow. Behrman, in his old blue shirt, took his seat as the hermit miner on an upturned kettle for a rock.

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  When Sue awoke from an hour's sleep the next morning she found Johnsy with dull, wide-open eyes staring at the drawn green shade.

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  "Pull it up; I want to see," she ordered, in a whisper.

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  Wearily Sue obeyed.

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  But, lo! after the beating rain and fierce gusts of wind that had endured through the livelong night, there yet stood out against the brick wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. Still dark green near its stem, with its serrated edges tinted with the yellow of dissolution and decay, it hung bravely from the branch some twenty feet above the ground.

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  "It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the wind. It will fall to-day, and I shall die at the same time."

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  "Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down to the pillow, "think of me, if you won't think of yourself. What would I do?"

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  But Johnsy did not answer. The lonesomest thing in all the world is a soul when it is making ready to go on its mysterious, far journey. The fancy seemed to possess her more strongly as one by one the ties that bound her to friendship and to earth were loosed.

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  The day wore away, and even through the twilight they could see the lone ivy leaf clinging to its stem against the wall. And then, with the coming of the night the north wind was again loosed, while the rain still beat against the windows and pattered down from the low Dutch eaves.

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  When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.

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  The ivy leaf was still there.

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  Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.

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  "I've been a bad girl, Sudie," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring a me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and - no; bring me a hand-mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook."

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  And hour later she said:

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  "Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

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  The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.

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  "Even chances," said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. "With good nursing you'll win." And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is - some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to-day to be made more comfortable."

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  The next day the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now - that's all."

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  And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woollen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.

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  "I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn't imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colours mixed on it, and - look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it's Behrman's masterpiece - he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell."

发表于 2011-5-21 05:56:00 | 显示全部楼层
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“她病得很厉害,很虚弱,”苏艾说,“高烧烧得她疑神疑鬼,满脑袋都是希奇古怪的念头。好吧,贝尔曼先生,既然你不愿意替我当模特儿,我也不勉强了。我认得你这个可恶的老——老贫嘴。” fficeffice" />

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“你真女人气!”贝尔曼嚷道,“谁说我不愿意?走吧。我跟你一起去。我已经说了半天,愿意替你效劳。天哪!像琼珊小_姐那样好的人实在不应该在这种地方害病。总有一天,我要画一幅杰作,那么我们都可以离开这里啦。天哪!是啊。”

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他们上楼时,琼珊已经睡着了。苏艾把窗帘拉到窗槛上,做手势让贝尔曼到另一间屋子里去。他们在那儿担心地窥着窗外的常春藤。接着,他们默默无言地对瞅了一会儿。寒雨夹着雪花下个不停。贝尔曼穿着一件蓝色的旧衬衫,坐在一只翻过来权充岩石的铁锅上,扮作隐居的矿工。

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第二天早晨,苏艾睡了一个小时醒来的时候,看到琼珊睁着无神的眼睛,凝视着放下来的绿窗帘。

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“把窗帘拉上去,我要看。”她用微弱的声音命令着。

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苏艾困倦地照办了。

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可是,看哪!经过了漫漫长夜的风吹雨打,仍旧有一片常春藤的叶子贴在墙上。它是藤上最后的一片了。靠近叶柄的颜色还是深绿的,但那锯齿形的边缘已染上了枯败的黄色,它傲然挂在离地面二十来英尺的一根藤枝上面。

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“那是最后的一片叶子。”琼珊说,“我以为昨夜它一定会掉落的。我听到刮风的声音。它今天会脱落的,同时我也要死了。”

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“哎呀,哎呀!”苏艾把她困倦的脸凑到枕边说,“如果你不为自己着想,也得替我想想呀。我可怎么办呢?”

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但是琼珊没有回答。一个准备走上神秘遥远的死亡道路的心灵,是全世界最寂寞、最悲哀的了。当她与尘世和友情之间的联系一片片地脱离时,那个玄想似乎更有力地掌握了她。

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那一天总算熬了过去。黄昏时,她们看到墙上那片孤零零的藤叶仍旧依附在茎上。和夜晚同来的是北风的怒号,雨点不住地打在窗上,从荷兰式的低屋檐上倾泻下来。

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天色刚明的时候,那个狠心的琼珊又吩咐把窗帘拉上去。

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那片常春藤叶仍在墙上。

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琼珊躺着对它看了很久。然后她喊苏艾,苏艾正在煤卸炉上搅动给琼珊喝的鸡汤。

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“我真是一个坏姑娘,苏艾,”琼珊说,“冥冥中有什么使那最后的一片叶子不掉下来,启示了我过去是多么邪恶。不想活下去是个罪恶。现在请你拿些汤来,再弄一点掺葡萄酒的牛奶,再——等一下;先拿一面小镜子给我,用枕头把我垫垫高,我想坐起来看你煮东西。”

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一小时后,她说:

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“苏艾,我希望有朝一日能去那不勒斯海湾写生。”

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下午,医生来,他离去时,苏艾找了个借口,跑到过道上。

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“好的希望有了五成。”医生抓住苏艾瘦小的、颤抖的手说,“只要好好护理,你会成功的。现在我得去楼下看看另一个病人。他姓贝尔曼——据我所知,也是搞艺术的。也是肺炎。他上了年纪,身体虚弱,病势来得很猛。他可没有希望了,不过今天还是要把他送进医院去,让他舒服些。”

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第二天,医生对苏艾说:“她现在脱离险境了。你赢啦。现在只要营养和调理就够了。”

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那天下午,苏艾跑到床边来,琼珊靠在那儿,心满意足地在织一条毫无用处的深蓝色肩巾,苏艾连枕头把她一把抱住。

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“我有些话要告诉你,小东西。”她说,“贝尔曼先生在医院里去世了。他害了肺炎,只病了两天。头天早上,看门人在楼下的房间里发现他痛苦得要命。他的鞋子和衣服都湿透了,冰凉冰凉的。他们想不出,在那种凄风苦雨的的夜里,他究竟去过什么地方。后来,他们找到了一盏还燃着的灯笼,一把从原来地方挪动过的梯子,还有几支散落的的画笔,一块调色板,上面和了绿色和黄色的颜料,末了——看看窗外,亲爱的,看看墙上最后的一片藤叶。你不是觉得纳闷,它为什么在风中不飘不动吗?啊,亲爱的,那是贝尔曼的杰作——那晚最后的一片叶子掉落时,他画在墙上的。”
发表于 2011-5-21 07:31:00 | 显示全部楼层

这是欧亨利最好看的小说之一。

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(可惜的是,和老北京关系不太大。)

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