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2018.3.26【英译中】The fault in our stars(1)

发表于:2018-03-27 00:32 [只看楼主] [划词开启]
The fault in our stars《都是命星的错》As the tide washed in, the Dutch Tulip Man faced the ocean: “Conjoiner rejoinder poisonerconcealer revelator. Look at it, rising up and rising down, taking everything with it.”“What’s that?” I asked.“Water,” the Dutchman said. “Well, and time.”                                                                             —PETER VAN HOUTEN, An Imperial Affliction        当潮水拍打过来的时候,那个荷兰郁金香商人面朝着大海,呢喃道:“合伙人,辩护人,投毒犯,包庇犯和逆贼,看着吧,潮水会把这一切带走。”        “你说了啥?”我问道。       “海水“那个荷兰人说到,”还有时间“                                                                           ——————彼得·范·侯登,《苦难帝国》                                                                  AUTHOR’S NOTE                                                                          作者的话        This is not so much an author’s note as an author’s reminder of what was printed in smalltype a few pages ago: This book is a work of fiction. I made it up.这段话与其说是作者的话,不如说是作者用小字写出来的提醒:这本书是本小说,是我编造的。Neither novels nor their readers benefit from attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the foundational assumption of our species.无论是小说本身还是他们的读者,都不会想让别人揣测是否有隐藏在故事中的阴谋论这样的努力会破坏故事内容。这是读我们小说的基本前提。I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.我在此感谢各位的合作。CHAPTER ONELate in the winter of my seventeenth year, my mother decided I was depressed, presumably because I rarely left the house, spent quite a lot of time in bed, read the same book over and over, ate infrequently, and devoted quite a bit of my abundant free time to thinking about death.在我十七岁的那个晚冬,我妈认为我情绪低落,于是推断我是因为宅在家里,赖在床上,一遍又一遍翻着同一本书,吃的又少,却又总是想到死亡才导致的。Whenever you read a cancer booklet or website or whatever, they always list depression among the side effects of cancer. But, in fact, depression is not a side effect of cancer. Depression is a side effect of dying. (Cancer is also a side effect of dying. Almost everything is, really.) But my mom believed I required treatment, so she took me to see my Regular Doctor Jim, who agreed that I was veritably swimming in a paralyzing and totally clinical depression, and that therefore my meds should be adjusted and also I should attend a weekly Support Group.只要你看过有关癌症的小册子啦,或者网站啦,或者其他什么的,你会发现,人们常常会将沮丧抑郁列为癌症的副作用。但事实上,沮丧抑郁不是癌症的副作用,而是面对即将到来的死亡而产生的副作用(当然,癌症也是,几乎所有出现的问题都是,我是说真的)。但是我妈认为我需要接受治疗,所以她带我去了找了那个吉姆医生他总是认为我沉溺在心灵的死海里,而且是彻底的临床性抑郁。由于这个鬼原因,必须吃药调整,而且要去参加每周一次的互助小组。This Support Group featured a rotating cast of characters in various states of tumor-driven unwellness. Why did the cast rotate? A side effect of dying.互助小组的特色是每个人都在跟不同的由肿瘤引起的不适兜圈子。为什么他们要试图兜圈子不过是濒死的副作用罢了The Support Group, of course, was depressing as hell. It met every Wednesday in the basement of a stone-walled Episcopal church shaped like a cross. We all sat in a circle right in the middle of the cross, where the two boards would have met, where the heart of Jesus would have been.互助小组,就像是个倒霉催的地狱,每星期三,我们在一座形状像个十字架的石墙教堂举行小组活动。我们围成个圈,坐在教堂的正中间,在那个两块木板交汇的地方,据说耶稣的心就在那里。I noticed this because Patrick, the Support Group Leader and only person over eighteen in the room, talked about the heart of Jesus every freaking meeting, all about how we, as young cancer survivors, were sitting right in Christ’s very sacred heart and whatever.我注意到这点是因为帕特里克,那个互助小组的组长,也是这屋子里唯一一个过了十八岁的人。他在每一次这种蛋疼的会议上都谈到耶稣的心,而且全都是关于,“我们作为年轻的癌症患者,正坐在基督的圣心里”,巴拉巴拉,诸如此类~So here’s how it went in God’s heart: The six or seven or ten of us walked/wheeled in, grazed at a decrepit selection of cookies and lemonade, sat down in the Circle of Trust, and listened to Patrick recount for the thousandth time his depressingly miserable life story—how he had cancer in his balls and they thought he was going to die but he didn’t die and now here he is, a full-grown adult in a church basement in the 137th nicest city in America, divorced, addicted to video games, mostly friendless, eking out a meager living by exploiting his cancertastic past, slowly working his way toward a master’s degree that will not improve his career prospects, waiting, as we all do, for the sword of Damocles to give him the relief that he escaped lo those many years ago when cancer took both of his nuts but spared what only the most generous soul would call his life.所以所怎么进耶稣的圣心呐:我们中的个、或十个,要么走着要么转着轮椅进去,吃着老式曲奇,喝着柠檬水,坐在信任圈中,听帕特里克说,那些说了得有上悲惨生活故事——他是如何如何确诊得了睾丸癌,所有人都以为他要死了。结果现在没死现在他在这,在美国排名第137教堂的地下室里,婚也离了,天天沉迷游戏,连朋友也几乎没有,依靠他那抗击癌症的过去勉强维持着生活。虽然他一直慢慢地向着硕士学位迈进但是这对他自己的职业的晋升毫无用处他也在等待,就像我们都做的。对于头顶上悬着的那把达摩克利斯的剑来说,睾丸癌长时间不在发展让他松了一口气,虽然这些年的癌症夺去了他所有的蛋蛋,但却放过了早就算不上人的生命。AND YOU TOO MIGHT BE SO LUCKY!行行行,你最强,你最棒,你最幸运!Then we introduced ourselves: Name. Age. Diagnosis. And how we’re doing today. I’m Hazel, I’d say when they’d get to me. Sixteen. Thyroid originally but with an impressive and long-settled satellite colony in my lungs. And I’m doing okay.然后我们要做自我介绍:姓名年龄、病症,我今天过的怎么样,我是黑兹,当他们发现患了癌症时我十六开始只是在甲状腺,但目前在我的肺里发现了一个特征突出且长期存在的癌细胞群。但是不管怎么说,现在我感觉还不错。Once we got around the circle, Patrick always asked if anyone wanted to share. And then began the circle jerk of support: everyone talking about fighting and battling and winning and shrinking and scanning. To be fair to Patrick, he let us talk about dying, too. But most of them weren’t dying. Most would live into adulthood, as Patrick had.每当我们围成一个圆圈,帕特里克总是要求我们去秀病史。然后借此开始了一轮互助,每个人都在讨论与癌症的战斗和最终的胜利——发现肿瘤正在萎缩。不过公正的说,帕特里克其实也会让我们聊聊死亡。不过我们中的大多数都没有濒临过死亡,正如帕特里克那样,大多数人活到成年。(Which meant there was quite a lot of competitiveness about it, with everybody wanting to beat not only cancer itself, but also the other people in the room. Like, I realize that this is irrational, but when they tell you that you have, say, a 20 percent chance of living five years, the math kicks in and you figure that’s one in five . . . so you look around and think, as any healthy person would: I gotta outlast four of these bastards.)其实个挺有竞争性的事,每个人都想战胜不只癌症本身,还包括这房间里的其他人虽然觉得不合理,但是当他们告诉你你有五分之一的机会在活五年,从数学方面来看,意识到五个人里面只能活一个。你环顾四周,然后会去想,像是任何健康人那样:“我一定要比其他四个混蛋更长寿。The only redeeming facet of Support Group was this kid named Isaac, a long-faced, skinny guy with straight blond hair swept over one eye.支持组唯一可以是一个叫艾萨克的,一只有一只眼睛并用金发挡住眼睛的长脸男孩。And his eyes were the problem. He had some fantastically improbable eye cancer. One eye had been cut out when he was a kid, and now he wore the kind of thick glasses that made his eyes (both the real one and the glass one) preternaturally huge, like his whole head was basically just this fake eye and this real eye staring at you. From what I could gather on the rare occasions when Isaac shared with the group, a recurrence had placed his remaining eye in mortal peril.他的眼睛有问题,他有一种奇特的眼癌当他还是一个孩子的时候一只眼睛被摘除现在他带着厚厚的眼镜,这使他的眼睛(无论是真的眼睛还是那个假的)看起来异常的大,就像是他的整个头基于他的假眼,而那只真的眼睛凝视你。艾萨克很少和互助组分享,我所知道的,若是癌症复发令他仅存的眼睛陷入失明。Isaac and I communicated almost exclusively through sighs. Each time someone discussed anticancer diets or snorting ground-up shark fin or whatever, he’d glance over at me and sigh ever so slightly. I’d shake my head microscopically and exhale in response.艾萨克和我几乎只用叹息来交流,每有人开始讨论饮食,吸食鱼翅粉或者其他什么,他都会看我一眼,然后轻轻的叹息。我微微地摇头叹息。So Support Group blew, and after a few weeks, I grew to be rather kicking-and-screaming about the whole affair. In fact, on the Wednesday I made the acquaintance of Augustus Waters, I tried my level best to get out of Support Group while sitting on the couch with my mom in the third leg of a twelve-hour marathon of the previous season’s America’s Next Top Model, which admittedly I had already seen, but still.所以互助小组彻底是吹了,几周后,我开始对这个破事烦到爆炸。事实上,星期三我结识了奥古斯都和我妈坐在沙发上看上一季超模新秀大赛的时候,我就不想去了Me: “I refuse to attend Support Group.”我:“我一点也不想参加互助小组Mom: “One of the symptoms of depression is disinterest in activities.”妈妈:“抑郁的症状之一就是对活动不感兴趣。”Me: “Please just let me watch America’s Next Top Model. It’s an activity.”我:“你就让我去看《全美超级模特新秀大赛》吧,那好歹也是一项活动。Mom: “Television is a passivity.”妈妈:“看电视是一种消极的活动”Me: “Ugh, Mom, please.”我:“妈妈,我求求你了”Mom: “Hazel, you’re a teenager. You’re not a little kid anymore. You need to make friends, get out of the house, and live your life.”妈妈:“黑兹,你已经长大了,不再是个小孩儿了。你需要交朋友,然后离开这个家,去过属于你自己的生活”Me: “If you want me to be a teenager, don’t send me to Support Group. Buy me a fake ID so I can go to clubs, drink vodka, and take pot.”我:“如果你真拿我当个青年,就不要把我送去互助小组,而是给我买个假身份证,这样我就能去舞厅,喝点伏特加,搞点大麻了”Mom: “You don’t take pot, for starters.”妈妈:“首先,你不准吸大麻。”Me: “See, that’s the kind of thing I’d know if you got me a fake ID.”我:“总之,如果你给我搞个假身份证,这些事我不就知道了嘛。”Mom: “You’re going to Support Group.”妈妈:“你会去互助小组。”Me: “UGGGGGGGGGGGGG.”我:“略略略略略~Mom: “Hazel, you deserve a life.”妈妈:“黑兹,你应该有你自己生活。”That shut me up, although I failed to see how attendance at Support Group met the definition of life. Still, I agreed to go—after negotiating the right to record the 1.5 episodes of ANTM I’d be missing.这句话让我闭上了嘴。尽管我看不出来参加互助小组跟“生活”这个概念有什么关系,我还是在与妈妈商谈后同意了——帮我录下我错过的那一半超模新秀大赛。I went to Support Group for the same reason that I’d once allowed nurses with a mere eighteen months of graduate education to poison me with exotically named chemicals: I wanted to make my parents happy. There is only one thing in this world shittier than biting it from cancer when you’re sixteen, and that’s having a kid who bites it from cancer.我最终同意去互助小组的原因,与我那次允许一个刚毕业18个月的护士用罕见古怪的化学药剂治疗我是出于一样的理由:让我的父母开心。这个世界上只有一件事比16岁就得了癌症还让人糟心,那就是自己的孩子得了癌症。Mom pulled into the circular driveway behind the church at 4:56. I pretended tofiddle with my oxygen tank for a second just to kill time.妈妈在4点56分把我到了教堂后面的环路上,我假装摆弄了一会我的氧气罐,这只是为了能拖延点时间。“Do you want me to carry it in for you?”“你想让我帮你拿它吗?“No, it’s fine,” I said. The cylindrical green tank only weighed a few pounds, and I had this little steel cart to wheel it around behind me. It delivered two liters of oxygen to me each minute through a cannula, a transparent tube that split just beneath my neck, wrapped behind my ears, and then reunited in my nostrils. The contraption was necessary because my lungs sucked at being lungs.“不用,没事的。”我说。这个绿色的圆罐子只有几磅重,我把它放在了我拉着的小推车上。氧气罐会通过一条在我脖子下分开,分别从双耳绕过又在鼻下汇合的透明导管每分钟给我输送2升氧气。这个神奇的装置是不可或缺的,因为我的肺功能不好。“I love you,” she said as I got out.爱你。”我下车的时候她说“You too, Mom. See you at six.”“我也一样,妈。六点见。“Make friends!” she said through the rolled-down window as I walked away.“多交点朋友!”我离开时她摇下车窗说道I didn’t want to take the elevator because taking the elevator is a Last Days kind of activity at Support Group, so I took the stairs. I grabbed a cookie and poured some lemonade into a Dixie cup and then turned around.我不想坐电梯,因为那是互助小组最后一天的活动,所以我走楼梯。我拿了块饼干,往纸杯里倒了点柠檬水,然后转过身。A boy was staring at me.一个男孩盯着我看。I was quite sure I’d never seen him before. Long and leanly muscular, he dwarfed the molded plastic elementary school chair he was sitting in. Mahogany hair, straight and short. He looked my age, maybe a year older, and he sat with his tailbone against the edge of the chair, his posture aggressively poor, one hand half in a pocket of dark jeans.我很确定我从来没见过他。他又高又壮,这让被他坐着的小学生塑料椅显得格外的小。有着红褐色的短直发,看起来跟我年龄相仿,也许比我大一岁,他的姿势咄咄逼人,尾骨抵着椅子边,一只手抄在深色牛仔裤口袋里。I looked away, suddenly conscious of my myriad insufficiencies. I was wearing old jeans, which had once been tight but now sagged in weird places, and a yellow T-shirt advertising a band I didn’t even like anymore. Also my hair: I had this pageboy haircut, and I hadn’t even bothered to, like, brush it. Furthermore, I had ridiculously fat chipmunked cheeks, a side effect of treatment. I looked like a normally proportioned person with a balloon for a head. This was not even to mention the cankle situation. And yet—I cut a glance to him, and his eyes were still on me.我看向别处,忽然意识到我的问题。我穿着一条旧牛仔裤,它曾经比较紧身,而且某个该死的地方进去;我的黄T恤上印着我自己都不喜欢的乐队标志。我的头发也是:我留着那自己都懒得梳一下的小卷发。更糟的是,我那可笑的胖脸颊圆鼓鼓的,像只花栗鼠——治疗的副作用。我看起来像一个正常的人,但是却有个气球一样的脑袋。更别提我那脚踝的情况了。虽然如此——我还是偷着看了他一眼,他仍然在盯着我看。It occurred to me why they call it eye contact.我想这就是人们所说的“对上眼吧。I walked into the circle and sat down next to Isaac, two seats away from the boy. I glanced again. He was still watching me.我走进圈里,坐在艾萨克身旁,与那个男生隔着两个座位。我又偷瞟了他一眼,他仍然在看着我。Look, let me just say it: He was hot. A nonhot boy stares at you relentlessly and it is, at best, awkward and, at worst, a form of assault. But a hot boy . . . well.让我直说了吧:他很帅。如果一个颜值低的男生目不转睛地盯着你看,往好了说,会很尴尬,往坏了说,那就是骚扰。但如果是个帅气的男生嘛。。。你懂的I pulled out my phone and clicked it so it would display the time: 4:59. The circle filled in with the unlucky twelve-to-eighteens, and then Patrick started us out with the serenity prayer: God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. The guy was still staring at me. I felt rather blushy.我拿出手机按了一下,让它显示时间:4点59.圈坐满了12到18岁的倒霉蛋,然帕特里克以让我们念《宁静祷文》作为开始:“上帝啊,赐予我宁静,让我接受那些我不能改变的事物,赐予我勇气,让我去改变那些我改变的事物。赐予我智慧,让我分辨两者。 ”那个男生还在盯着我看,我有点害羞了Finally, I decided that the proper strategy was to stare back. Boys do not have a monopoly on the Staring Business, after all. So I looked him over as Patrick acknowledged for the thousandth time his ball-lessness etc., and soon it was a staring contest. After a while the boy smiled, and then finally his blue eyes glanced away. When he looked back at me, I flicked my eyebrows up to say, I win.,我觉得最合适的处理方式是也盯着他看。毕竟,盯着别人看并不是男生的专利。我的目光跨过正在第一千次确认他没有蛋蛋了帕特里克,盯着他然后这很快成为了一场“大眼瞪小眼”。过了一会,男生微笑了一下,他的蓝眼睛终于看向了别处。当他再次回看我的时候,我挑了一下眉毛,告诉他:我赢了


P.S.这篇小说的翻译,其实是我选修课的一个作业,偶然间突然发现以前有位大佬在沪江翻译过这篇小说@hippo1120  ,于是感叹大佬就是大佬~同时也突然发现沪江爱翻不凡这个社团,于是斗胆想把这篇翻译稿的一部分发出来,让各位大佬们批评指正。我个人的翻译风格偏意译,所以自我感觉经常偏离原作………………总之突然发现沪江的这个区我很开心,萌新在墙角谢谢各位大佬们了
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