UnitTHE LIBRARY CARD课文翻译大学英语六.docx

1、UnitTHE LIBRARY CARD课文翻译大学英语六Unit 3 THE LIBRARY CARDOne morning I arrived early at work and went into the bank lobby where the Negro porter was mopping. I stood at a counter and picked up the Memphis Commercial Appeal and began my free reading of the press. I came finally to the editorial page and s

2、aw an article dealing with one H. L. Mencken. I knew by hearsay that he was the editor of the American Mercury, but aside from that I knew nothing about him. The article was a furious denunciation of Mencken, concluding with one, hot, short sentence: Mencken is a fool. I wondered what on earth this

3、Mencken had done to call down upon him the scorn of the South. The only people I had ever heard enounced in the South were Negroes, and this man was not a Negro. Then what ideas did Mencken hold that made a newspaper like the Commercial Appeal castigate him publicly? Undoubtedly he must be advocatin

4、g ideas that the South did not like. Now, how could I find out about this Mencken? There was a huge library near the riverfront, but I knew that Negroes were not allowed to patronize its shelves any more than they were the parks and playgrounds of the city. I had gone into the library several times

5、to get books for the white men on the job. Which of them would now help me to get books? I weighed the personalities of the men on the job. There was Don, a Jew; but I distrusted him. His position was not much better than mine and I knew that he was uneasy and insecure; he had always treated me in a

6、n offhand, bantering way that barely concealed his contempt. I was afraid to ask him to help me to get books; his frantic desire to demonstrate a racial solidarity with the whites against Negroes might make him betray me. Then how about the boss? No, he was a Baptist and I had the suspicion that he

7、would not be quite able to comprehend why a black boy would want to read Mencken. There were other white men on the job whose attitudes showed clearly that they were Kluxers or sympathizers, and they were out of the question. There remained only one man whose attitude did not fit into an anti-Negro

8、category, for I had heard the white men refer to him as Pope lover. He was an Irish Catholic and was hated by the white Southerners. I knew that he read books, because I had got him volumes from the library several times. Since he, too, was an object of hatred, I felt that he might refuse me but wou

9、ld hardly betray me. I hesitated, weighing and balancing the imponderable realities. One morning I paused before the Catholic fellows desk. I want to ask you a favor, I whispered to him. What is it? I want to read. I cant get books from the library. I wonder if youd let me use your card? He looked a

10、t me suspiciously. My card is full most of the time, he said. I see, I said and waited, posing my question silently. Youre not trying to get me into trouble, are you, boy? he asked, staring at me. Oh, no, sir. What book do you want? A book by H. L. Mencken. Which one? I dont know. Has he written mor

11、e than one? He has written several. I didnt know that. What makes you want to read Mencken? Oh, I just saw his name in the newspaper, I said. Its good of you to want to read, he said. But you ought to read the right things. I said nothing. Would he want to supervise my reading? Let me think, he said

12、. Ill figure out something. I turned from him and he called me back. He stared at me quizzically. Richard, dont mention his to the other white men, he said. I understand, I said. I wont say a word. A few days later he called me to him. Ive got a card in my wifes name, he said. Heres mine. Thank you,

13、 sir. Do you think you can manage it? Ill manage fine, I said. If they suspect you, youll get in trouble, he said. Ill write the same kind of notes to the library that you wrote when you sent me for books, I told him. Ill sign your name. He laughed. Go ahead. Let me see what you get, he said. That a

14、fternoon I addressed myself to forging a note. Now, what were the name of books written by H. L. Mencken? I did not know any of them. I finally wrote what I thought would be a foolproof note: Dear Madam: Will you please let this nigger boy - I used the word nigger to make the librarian feel that I c

15、ould not possibly be the author of the note - have some books by H.L. Mecken? I forged the white mans name. I entered the library as I had always done when on errands for whites, but I felt that I would somehow slip up and betray myself. I doffed my hat, stood a respectful distance from the desk, lo

16、oked as unbookish as possible, and waited for the white patrons to be taken care of. When the desk was clear of people, I still waited. The white librarian looked at me. What do you want, boy? As though I did not possess the power of speech, I stepped forward and simply handed her the forged note, n

17、ot parting my lips. What books by Mencken does he want? She asked. I dont know, maam, I said, avoiding her eyes. Who gave you this card? Mr. Falk, I said. Where is he? Hes at work, at M - Optical Company, I said. Ive been in here for him before. I remember, the woman said. But he never wrote notes l

18、ike this. Oh, God, shes suspicious. Perhaps she would not let me have the books? If she had turned her back at that moment, I would have ducked out the door and never gone back. Then I thought of a bold idea. You can call him up, maam, I said, my heart pounding. Youre not using these books, are you?

19、 she asked pointedly. Oh, no, maam. I cant read. I dont know what he wants by Mencken, she said under her breath. I knew now that I had non; she was thinking of other things and the race question had gone out of her mind. She went to the shelves. Once or twice she looked over her shoulder at me, as

20、though she was still doubtful. Finally she came forward with two books in her hand. Im sending him two books, she said. But tell Mr. Falk to come in next time, or send me the names of the books he wants. I dont know what he wants to read. I said nothing. She stamped the card and handed me the books.

21、 Not daring to glance at them. I went out of the library, fearing that the woman would call me back for further questioning. A block away from the library I opened one of the books and read a title: A Book of Prefaces. I was nearing my nineteenth birthday and I did not know how to pronounce the word

22、 preface. I thumbed the pages and saw strange words and strange names. I shook my head, disappointed. I looked at the other book; it was called Prejudices, I knew what that word meant; I had heard it all my life. And right off I was on guard against Menckens books. Why would a man want to call a boo

23、k Prejudices? The word was so stained with all my memories of racial hate that I cold not conceive of anybody using it for a title. Perhaps I had made a mistake about Mencken? A man who had prejudices must be wrong. When I showed the books to Mr. Falk, he looked at me and frowned. That librarian mig

24、ht telephone you, I warned him. Thats all right, he said. But when youre through reading those books, I want you to tell me what you get out of them. That night in my rented room, while letting the hot water run over my can of pork and beans in the sink, I opened A Book of Preface and began to read.

25、 I was jarred and shocked by the style, the clear, clean, sweeping sentences. Why did he write like that? And how did one write like that? I pictured the man as a raging demon, slashing with his pen, consumed with hate, denouncing everything American, extolling everything European or German, laughin

26、g at the weaknesses of people, mocking God, authority. What was this? I stood up, trying to realize what reality lay behind the meaning of the words Yes, this man was fighting, fighting with words. He was using words as a weapon, using them as one would use a club. Could words be weapons? Well, yes,

27、 for there they were. Then, maybe, perhaps, I could use them as a weapon? No. It frightened me. I read on and what amazed me was not what he said, but how on earth anybody had the courage to say it. I ran across many words whose meanings I did not know, and either looked them up in a dictionary or,

28、before I had a chance to do that, encountered the word in a context that made its meaning clear. But what strange world was this? I concluded the book with the conviction that I had somehow overlooked something terribly important in life. I had once tried to write, had once reveled in feeling, had l

29、et my crude imagination roam, but the impulse to dream had been slowly beaten out of me by experience. Now it surged up again and I hungered for books, new ways of looking and seeing. It was not a matter of believing or disbelieving what I read, but of feeling something new, of being affected by som

30、ething that made the look of the world different. I forget more notes and my trips to the library became frequent. Reading grew into a passion. My first serious novel was Sinclair Lewiss Main Street. It made me see my boss, Mr. Gerald, and identify him as an American type. I would smile when I saw h

31、im lugging his golf bags into the office. I had always felt a vast distance separating me from the boss, and now I felt closer to him, though still distant. I felt now that I knew him, that I could feel the very limits of his narrow life. And this had happened because I had read a novel about a myth

32、ical man called George F. Babbitt. I read Dreisers Jennie Gerhardt and Sister Carrie and they revived in me a vivid sense of my mothers suffering; I was overwhelmed. I grew silent, wondering about the life around me. It would have been impossible for me to have told anyone what I derived from these novels, for it was nothing less than a sense of life itself. All my life had shaped me for the realism, the natura