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文章标题:初中三年级小小说习作──为你骄傲(8th Grade “Flash Story: My Glory to Your Honor“)发表日期:2017-07-26(2018-03-23修改)
作  者:儿歌(英)―红霞(译)出处:原创浏览498次,读者评论0条论坛回复0条
初中三年级小小说习作──为你骄傲(8th Grade “Flash Story: My Glory to Your Honor“)
文/儿歌(英)―红霞(译)
2017年07月26日,星期三

       “Stevie, can you please hurry up? Dinner’s almost ready, and you still need to clean yourself.”

        “Alright, yeah, yeah. I’m coming Ma,” an exasperated Steven replied. He always felt a slight twinge of annoyance when his mother called him sweetie. Besides, he had just turned nineteen a few months ago.

      “I’m on my way,” gasped Steven, clinging to a tree in order to stay upright. He had finished his daily jobs for the yard behind his house only moments ago. A very, very large yard behind his house. Twenty-three acres and three quarters, to be exact.

      He and his mother lived on a family-owned farm. An ordinary farm, much unlike his name, of course. They lived alone, out in the far, far middle of nowhere, 112 Shevolds Lane, Mickelson Township, Nebraska, home of the Lincoln Saltdogs baseball team. Not that he ever watched sports, as there was barely enough reception to listen to nightly radio. They were completely isolated from the outside world with an exception of a dirt path cutting through the endless miles.

      “Heyo, Stevie-sweetie, Mama’s growing some good ol’ white hairs over here waiting for ya’. Why don’t you ever hug me like you’re hugging that tree right now?”

       Steven, lips curling the slightest, slowly trotted to the back porch. Today was a particularly grueling day for him, having to spray most of the bug repellent to account for the high population of pests this year. Nothing out of the ordinary, however, for Steven, as he has, since a little boy, tended this farm. Early in the morning, he would wake and finish the more physical work. Noon, he would take a brief nap, and only to awake late in the afternoon to perhaps some tilling or pest control. The next day would mirror the previous, and so on, rinse and repeat. 

      So what was difference between today, the twenty-sixth of July, 2017, and tomorrow, the twenty-seventh? This question, a simple question, flew through Steven’s mind every single day. If life is a repeating cycle, why value it? What is the purpose of today, if today is just going to be like yesterday? Or like tomorrow?

      Steven asked himself over and over again that night, staring up at the wooden ceiling of his bedroom. The same wood he saw yesterday, in the same position, at the same time. And as the day before. Just like those previous days, he fell asleep, thinking about through and through again. Eventually it boiled down to a much simpler question: What even was the point of living?

      Next morning, Mrs. McDean called down Steven, precisely seven o’clock sharp. He groggily walked downstairs to find his mother washing the pans and a plate of eggs and bacon, freshly fried moments ago. Sitting down, Steven grabbed the salt shaker, turning the crank two and a half revolutions, exactly the same every day.

      Perhaps today was going to be different, Steven thought. Then again, he always felt this way for every day. But Steven, after eighteen straight, repetitive, simple years, had come to hate the feeling of monotony. He desperately wanted to change. With that in mind, Steven openly expressed his thoughts.

      “H-hey, uh, Mother, can I ask you a question?”

       “Sweetie, you just did,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

       “Well, hey, I was wondering, am I going to do this for the rest of my life?”

       Mrs. McDean stopped washing, slightly shifted her head towards Steven. She then smiled. “Oh, my Steven. Have you finally wanted to accept the farm into your ownership?”

       Steven sputtered, “Oh, wait, um, h-hold on-”

        “So you’ve at last found an interest in farming! I knew the day would come when Steven McDean would come to enjoy the wonders of tending crops, feeding pigs, milking c-”

        “No!” Steven shouted, a little more forcefully than anticipated. However, the effect was, well, effective. Mrs. McDean shocked, stopped mid-thought, and stared at what seemed to be the quietest boy on Earth.

       “No, Mother, that’s the problem. How can you live like this, alone in the middle of nowhere, with no one except beings of otherly species, and nothing to do but tend miles and miles of plants?”

        Mrs. McDean sat down with Steven. “Well then, I was not expecting this. I…I always strongly believed that you enjoyed the farm life. I, quite frankly, don’t know what to say.”

       Steven felt suddenly horrible. “Ma, you know I don’t mean to be mad at you, but come on, I can’t live on a farm like this.”

       Mrs. McDean took a long, deep breath. “Alright, I understand. But for generations, the McDean family has run this farm. And the farm has supplied us with food for decades. It’s more than just what one generation wants. It’s what the past has given us, and what we will give the future.”

       She took another long, shaky breath. “My parents always said that this farm was more than just essential food and money. This farm was their pride and soul, their honor and glory, and it now too is mine.”

       Then, casting her eyes away, she gave a brief nod, as if giving approval to Steven. “Sweetie, I-I think if this life, um, isn’t what you want, uh, and then you should find your own place in life, regardless to what I think. I always knew that at some point down the line, this farm was going to be lost to our family. And- and if it makes you happy, then…”

       Steven, shocked upon hearing his mother’s reaction, did not have an answer. However, he had already made his decision.

        That was the final conversation he had with his mother. Steven moved to the East Coast, and his mother passed away soon after he left. He sold the farm a year later, and began a new chapter of his life.

       Sixty years had passed, and Steven, now with a family of a wife and three children, as well has two grandchildren, was experiencing the future. Technological advances allowed production of farms to exponentially increase, tended by robots and machines. Vegetables were grown in controlled environments, maximizing seasonal output, far out of human reach. Farms were run by humans have become non-existent.

       Steven hopped out of his hovercar, walked off the highway into a dense forest. Following an overgrown footpath down into a mysterious piece of greenery, Steven had lost his sense of direction. However, old instincts drove him forward, propelling his legs. He found a two story, broken-down house with vines creeping around the edges as well as shattered windows and doors. Walking up the front porch, he saw, on the corner of his vision, 112 Shevolds Lane.

       But what caught his eye was a small envelope placed neatly in a basket hanging from the door frame. Magically untouched, Steven opened the seal, revealing a letter with a short phrase.
                        From my heart and soul to your honor and glory.

【英译中】

       “史蒂文,劳你麻利点行吗?晚饭快要做好了,赶紧收拾干净。”

       “哎,得嘞,得嘞。妈,我这就过来。” 史蒂文郁闷地答道,每次听到母亲叫自己宝贝总觉得有点别扭,毕竟早在几个月前已满十九岁。

       “来了,” 史蒂文上气不接下气,扶住树直起身子。刚刚拾掇完后院里每天该干的营生,那片地盘大的够呛,足有23.75英亩。

       他和母亲住在自家农场上,当然不像他的名字,这是一个普普通通的农场。他们独居内布拉斯加州米克尔森镇晒窝子巷112号,即林肯盐狗棒球队所在地,荒郊野外没多点人烟。他极少听晚间广播,更谈不上观看什么球赛,除了一条无边无际的土路与外界相通,他们完全与世隔绝。

       “嗨,史蒂文宝宝,妈妈在这里等得头发都发白了,你怎么不能像搂树那样跟妈妈拥抱一下呢?

       史蒂文略微翘起嘴唇,慢慢跑到晾台后面。这会儿他特别累,因为今年虫害严重,所以得喷洒大量杀虫剂,不过对于史蒂文来说极其常见,自幼以来,自己没少干这种活计。一大早,他醒来下地;中午,打个盹眯瞪片刻;下午醒来,要么耕作要么喷药。第二天检查一下昨个儿干的情况,等等,冲洗后反过头再来。

       那么今天也就是2017年7月26日与明天27号有何区别?每天诸如此类的简单问题都会闪现在史蒂文的脑海,倘若生命周而复始,那么它的价值何在?假如今天与昨天相似,那么今天该图个啥?或像明天呢?

       那天晚上史蒂文瞪着卧室里木制天花板不停地问自己,昨天他呆在同一位置同一时间凝望同一块木板,前天也是一样。跟前两天一样,他想着想着便睡着了,最后竟然冒出更加简单的问题:活着有什么意义?

       第二天早晨七点整,麦克迪恩太太叫史蒂文,他神情恍惚地走下楼,发现母亲正在刷锅和一盘刚刚炸过的鸡蛋培根,史蒂文坐下来顺手拿起盐瓶,握住曲柄转了两圈半,每天都这样例行公事。

       史蒂文想,或许今天有所不同。话说回来,他每天都这么感觉,但经过十八个连续、重复、简单的岁月之后开始讨厌这种单调的感觉,并拼命要去改变。想到这里,史蒂文公开挑明自己的想法。

       “嘿,呃,母亲,我可以问你一个问题吗?”

       “宝贝,你刚刚问过。”她眨了眨眼,答道。

       “好的,嘿,就想知道,我会在这干一辈子吗?”

        麦克迪恩太太停洗东西,轻轻地朝他转过头来,随后笑着说:“哦,我的史蒂文,你终于想要接手农场吗?

        史蒂文嗑了一声:“哦,慢点,等等—”

        “你终于对农活感兴趣了!我知道一旦史蒂文·麦克迪恩享受种地、养猪、挤—的奥秘,这一天迟早会来。”

        “不!”史蒂文喊道,嗓门比想象的还要大一点,不过效果不错。麦克迪恩太太吓了一跳,不再胡思乱想,紧紧盯着眼前这位看似天下最安静的男孩。

        “不,母亲,关键问题就出在这里。你怎么能独自生活在茫茫林海阒不见人的地方呢?”

        麦克迪恩太太坐到史蒂文身边,“那好,我可没期待这样,我……我一直坚信你喜欢农场生活,坦率地说,我不清楚讲什么是好。”

        史蒂文突然害怕起来,“妈,你知道我并非故意惹你生气,但真的,我可不想过这种农场生活。”

        麦克迪恩太太长吁了一口气,“好吧,我懂了,但麦克迪恩家族经营这个农场已经好多代了,过去几十年来我们养家糊口,远非一代人靠它维生,既然它把过去托付给我们,我们要将未来奉献给它。”

        她又颤抖地深叹口气,“我父母总挂在嘴边,这个农场与其说是必不可少的粮油钱财,不如说是他们的骄傲与灵魂、尊贵与荣耀,如今也是咱的一切。”

        说完她转开视线,轻轻点了点头,仿佛默认了史蒂文。“宝贝,我—我觉得如果这种生活,呃,不是你想要的,那么你就应该在现实中找到自己的位置,而不应顾虑我的想法。我一向清楚咱家农场早晚都会断送在我们手里。总之,倘若这么做称心如意,那……”

        史蒂文对母亲的态度感到吃惊,但不知如何回答。然而,他已经下定决心。

        那是史蒂文最后一次与母亲谈话,之后搬去东海岸,母亲不久便离开人世。一年过后他卖掉农场,重新开始新的生活。

         六十年过去了,史蒂文现在与妻子和仨孩子还有俩儿孙共同体验未来。随着人工智能与机械化发展,技术进步促使农作物呈指数增长,蔬菜种植在自动控制温室里,最大限度地提高季节性产量,是手工劳作无法比拟的,人耕农场已不复存在。

        史蒂文从气垫车跳下来,穿过高速公路径直朝密林方向迈进,踏过杂草丛生的小道走入一片神奇的绿坪,史蒂文彻底迷路了,然而他凭着直觉继续摸索前行,发现一栋两层楼断垣残壁的房子,支离破碎的门窗周围爬满了葡萄藤。他走到房前露台,视线边角处“晒窝子巷112号”映入眼帘。  

      但引起他注意的却是一笺小信封,整齐地摆放在门框上悬挂的篮子里,竟然奇妙般完好无损。史蒂文打开封印,露出短语一则:
                                           从我的心灵到你的荣耀


本文在3/23/2018 3:32:44 PM被施雨编辑过
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