我倒是有,发不了

bagdad-on-the-subway怎么翻

各取所需
[美国]欧·亨利
　　夜晚降临了那个叫做“地下铁道上的巴格达”的美丽的大城市。与夜晚同来的迷人的魅力，并不是阿拉伯半岛独有的。这个充满了传奇色彩的西方城市的街道、市集和房屋，外貌虽然不同，内里却还是那同一类人，他们曾使我们的有趣的老朋友——已故的哈·亚·拉西德先生极感兴趣。他们的衣著比拉西德在老巴格达见到的要时髦一千一百年，但衣服里面的人还是大同小异。诚则灵。你带着诚心的眼光就不难看到小驼背，水手辛巴德，裁缝菲巴德，美貌的波斯人，独眼托钵僧，各个地段的阿里巴巴和四十大盗，理发师和他的六弟兄，以及《天方夜谭》中所有的人物。
　　让我们回到正文上来吧。
　　老汤姆·克劳利是个哈里发。他有四千二百万元的优先股票和稳妥可靠的证券。如今被人称作哈里发的先决条件是要有钱。拉西德所充当的老式哈里发的事业是不保险的。现今你在市集、土耳其浴室或者小街上拦住一个人，盘问他个人的私事是行不通的，违警罪法庭会找你的麻烦。
　　老汤姆已经厌倦了俱乐部、剧院、宴会、朋友、音乐、金钱和一切。那正是造就哈里发的条件——你必须蔑视金钱所能买到的一切，然后出去找寻金钱买不到的东西。
　　“我要独自上街去遛达遛达，看看能不能搞些新花样。”老汤姆想道，“让我想想——我仿佛在书上看到古时一个皇帝或者哈迪发之类的人，他老是戴着假胡子在外面转悠，同他素不相识的人做波斯式的约会。那个主意挺新鲜。我熟悉的一些玩意儿已经使我感到厌倦。那个老哈迪发微服出巡的时候总是找些穷困的人，给他们钱——我想给的是古金币吧——让他们结婚，或者派他们做大官。我也可以做些类似的事。我的钱同他的一样光明正大，尽管杂志上每个月都质问我的钱是怎么搞来的。对，我今晚不妨当一下哈迪发，见识见识。”
　　老汤姆·克劳利穿着朴素的衣服，离开他坐落在麦迪逊路的宫殿，先朝西，然后折向南面。他踩上人行道时，在所有中了魔法的城市里掌握全局的命运之神拉动了一根牵线，二十个街口之外的一个年轻人望了望墙上的挂钟，穿上了外衣。
　　詹姆斯﹒特纳在六马路一家小洗帽店干活。你推门走进那种店铺时，门铃便像报火警似地响了起来。他们洗帽子是立等——两天——可取。詹姆斯整天站在一台电动机器旁边，那台机器把帽子旋得晕头转向，效力比最醇的香槟酒还大。你对于陌生人的相貌感到好奇，有些失礼的地方是可以原谅的。我不妨把他大致描绘一下。体重，一百一十八磅；特征，头发浅色、头脑浅薄；身高，五英尺六；年龄，二十三岁左右；身穿价值十元的青蓝色哔叽衣服；口袋里有两把钥匙和六毛三分零钱。
　　这番描述有点儿像是警察局发布的有关詹姆斯失踪或者死亡的公告，可是你别胡思乱想。
　　好啦！
詹姆斯整天站着干活。他的脚很荏弱，对于加在它们上面或者下面的负担非常敏感。它们整天热辣辣地发胀，使他觉得十分痛苦，十分不便。但他每星期挣十二块钱，不管他的脚是不是愿意支持他，他总是需要这笔钱来支持他的脚。
　　詹姆斯·特纳正如你我一样，有他自己的幸福观。你喜欢乘了游艇和汽车到世界各地观光，用金币来扔野鸟。我喜欢在黄昏时分抽一斗烟，看一头獾、一条响尾蛇和一只猫头鹰相继回到草原上它们公共的宿地。
　　詹姆斯·特纳对于幸福的概念却不同；他有自己独特的见解。他干完一天活之后，便立刻回到寄宿所。晚饭是小排骨、炸焦的土豆、煮苹果（不是燉的）和泡菊苣①。饭后，他爬到五楼的后穿堂间。他脱掉鞋袜，把热辣辣的脚底板搁在铁床冰凉的横档上，开始看克拉克·拉塞尔②的海洋小说。冰凉的金属给予他脚板的愉快的慰藉是每晚的乐事。他喜爱的小说也从来没让他扫兴；海洋和航海者的冒险是他唯一的精神寄托。詹姆斯·特纳休息时的乐趣是任何百万富翁所不能企求的。
　　詹姆斯离开洗帽店后，拐到离他住处有三个街口的一个旧书摊去浏览。在那些街头书摊上，他不止一次地找到一本纸面平装的克拉克·拉塞尔的小说，售价只有原订价的一半。
　　当他带着学者的风度弯着腰在挑选那些五花八门的削价旧书时，哈里发老汤姆正好在附近走过。他那双由于制造了二十年洗衣肥皂（节约包装纸！）而变得精明的眼睛，马上看到了这个穷困而精明的学者，认为正是他发泄哈里发情绪的合适的对象。他跨下人行道边两级石阶，毫不犹豫地同他企图行善的对象攀谈起来。开场只属于招呼和试探性质。
　　詹姆斯·特纳一手拿着《衣服的哲学》③，另一手拿着《疯狂的婚姻》，冷冷地抬起眼睛。
　　“走开，”他说，“我不想买什么衣架或者新泽西州汉基坡的地皮。去玩你的玩具熊吧。”
　　“小伙子啊，我注意到你很好学。”哈里发对洗帽店伙计的轻率并不计较，自顾自地说道，“学习是世界上最有益的事情之一。我自己的学问不值一提，但我喜欢别的有学问的人。我是从西部来的，西部人除了事实以外不想别的。也许我不懂得你正在挑选的那些书本里的诗句和隐喻，但是我喜欢看到有人懂得它们的意思。现在我有一个建议。我的财产有四千万左右，并且一天比一天更富。我是靠制造‘帕蒂姑妈银光皂’起家的。我发明了这种肥皂的配方。我试验了三年，发现该把多少份量的氯化钠溶液和苛性钾混合起来才能凝成肥皂。我在肥皂生意上赚了九百多万，其余的钱是从玉米和小麦期货交易赚来的。你仿佛爱好文学，有研究学问的气质；我把我的打算告诉你。我要资助你上全世界最好的大学。我出钱让你游览欧洲，参观所有的美术陈列馆，最后扶植你办一个大企业。你如果有反对意见，尽可以不必做肥皂生意。从你的衣著和破旧的领带来看，你穷得很；你不至于拒绝这个建议的。嗯，你打算什么时候开始？”
　　洗帽店的小伙子用大城市的眼光瞅着老汤姆，这种眼光包含着冷漠而无可非议的怀疑，包含着像哈曼④那样挂得老高的，悬而未决的判断，包含着自卫、挑衅、好奇、反抗和猜疑；奇怪的是，还包含着一种对友谊和交情的孩子气的渴望，人们同陌生人相处时，这种渴望准是隐而不露的。人们要在新巴格达活下去，必须怀疑那些在他们附近的椅子、屋子、桌子、座位、道路或者房间里坐着、住着、喝着、搭车、行走或者睡觉的人。

　　“喂，迈克，”詹姆斯﹒特纳说，“你到底是干什么的——推销鞋带吗？我可不打算买。你最好脚底抹些油，赶快跑开，免得自找麻烦。你休想在我面前兜卖你说是在路上拣来的自来水笔和金丝边眼镜，或者信托公司的证券。喂，难道我象是从疯人院虚幻的避火梯上爬下来的人？你究竟有什么毛病？”
　　“老弟，”老汤姆用十足的哈里发式的语气说，“刚才我已经讲过，我的财产有四千万。我不打算死后把钱带进棺材。我想用它来做些好事。我注意到你在这里翻阅文学书籍，便决定成全你。我捐赠了两百万元给传教团体，可是换来了什么？只不过是秘书签署的一纸收据。你正是我要找的那种年轻人，我想看看金钱能有什么成就。”
　　那晚，旧书摊上很难找到克拉克﹒拉塞尔的小说。詹姆斯﹒特纳那双胀痛的脚也不能改善他的心情。尽管是一个微贱的洗帽店伙计，他的气质却和任何一个哈里发一样。
　　“喂，老骗子，走开些。”他怒冲冲地说，“我不知道你在耍什么花招，总之无非是想兑换一张四千万元的假钞票。我身边可没有带这许多钱。不过我带着很好的左长拳，你再不跑开就要尝到它的滋味了。”
　　“你真是个不识好歹的野小子。”哈里发说。
　　这一来，詹姆斯使出了他颇为自负的长拳；老汤姆揪住他的领子，踢了他三脚；洗帽店的伙计鼓起劲头扭打；两个书摊给掀翻了，书本散了一地。警察赶来，揪住一人一条胳臂，把他们带到最近的警察局。“殴打和扰乱治安。”警察对警官说。
　　“每人三百元保释金。”警官不容分辩地立即宣布。
　　“身边只有六毛三分。”詹姆斯﹒特纳干笑一声说。
　　哈里发摸遍了口袋，只凑出四块钱的小票和辅币。
　　“我的身价，”他说，“值四千万，不过——”
　　“把他们押起来。”警官命令道。
　　詹姆斯·特纳在监禁室里躺在床上寻思。“他也许有钱，也许没有。不管有没有钱，他干吗要跑来干涉别人的事？一个人知道自己需要什么，并且能满足他的需要，那就等于有了四千万元。”
　　他想出一个主意，脸上泛起愉快的笑容。
　　他脱掉袜子，把小床拖到门前，惬意地再躺下去，把一双胀痛的脚搁在冰凉的铁栅门上。小床的毯子底下有什么鼓鼓的硬东西，硌得他的肩膀怪不舒服。他伸手去摸摸，拿出来的是一本平装的克拉克·拉塞尔的小说，书名是《水手的情人》。他心满意足地叹了一口气。
　　没多久，看守跑来对他说：“喂，小伙子，同你打架一起给抓进来的那个老家伙好像很有办法。他打电话给朋友。现在他在办公室，拿着和普尔门火车卧铺枕头一般大的一捆钞票。他要保你出去，让你去看他。”
　　“对他说我不会客。”詹姆斯·特纳说。
【注释】：
①菊苣的根是咖啡的代用品。
②克拉克·拉塞尔（1844～1911）：英国小说家，曾在商船上工作多年，写了许多海洋冒险小说。
③《衣服的哲学》：英国散文家托马斯·卡莱尔（1795～1881）的自传体作品。
④哈曼：据《旧约·以斯帖记》，哈曼是犹太人的仇敌，设计杀害犹太人，被末底改和以斯帖挫败，给挂在五丈高的木架上处死。

"What You Want"
by O.Henry
Night had fallen on that great andbeautiful city known as Bagdad-on-the-Subway. And with the night came theenchanted glamour that belongs not to Arabia alone. In different masquerade thestreets, bazaars and walled houses of the occidental city of romance werefilled with the same kind of folk that so much interested our interesting oldfriend, the late Mr. H. A. Rashid. They wore clothes eleven hundred yearsnearer to the latest styles than H. A. saw in old Bagdad; but they were aboutthe same people underneath. With the eye of faith, you could have seen theLittle Hunchback, Sinbad the Sailor, Fitbad the Tailor, the Beautiful Persian,the one-eyed Calenders, Ali Baba and Forty Robbers on every block, and theBarber and his Six Brothers, and all the old Arabian gang easily.
But let us revenue to our lamb chops.
Old Tom Crowley was a caliph. He had$42,000,000 in preferred stocks and bonds with solid gold edges. In thesetimes, to be called a caliph you must have money. The old-style caliph businessas conducted by Mr. Rashid is not safe. If you hold up a person nowadays in abazaar or a Turkish bath or a side street, and inquire into his private andpersonal affairs, the police court'll get you.
Old Tom was tired of clubs, theatres,dinners, friends, music, money and everything. That's what makes a caliph--youmust get to despise everything that money can buy, and then go out and try towant something that you can't pay for.
"I'll take a little trot around townall by myself," thought old Tom, "and try if I can stir up anythingnew. Let's see--it seems I've read about a king or a Cardiff giant or somethingin old times who used to go about with false whiskers on, making Persian dateswith folks he hadn't been introduced to. That don't listen like a bad idea. Icertainly have got a case of humdrumness and fatigue on for the ones I do know.That old Cardiff used to pick up cases of trouble as he ran upon 'em and give'em gold--sequins, I think it was--and make 'em marry or got 'em goodGovernment jobs. Now, I'd like something of that sort. My money is as good ashis was even if the magazines do ask me every month where I got it. Yes, Iguess I'll do a little Cardiff business to-night, and see how it goes."
Plainly dressed, old Tom Crowley left hisMadison Avenue palace, and walked westward and then south. As he stepped to thesidewalk, Fate, who holds the ends of the strings in the central offices of allthe enchanted cities pulled a thread, and a young man twenty blocks away lookedat a wall clock, and then put on his coat.
James Turner worked in one of those littlehat-cleaning establishments on Sixth Avenue in which a fire alarm rings whenyou push the door open, and where they clean your hat while you wait--two days.James stood all day at an electric machine that turned hats around faster thanthe best brands of champagne ever could have done. Overlooking your mildimpertinence in feeling a curiosity about the personal appearance of astranger, I will give you a modified description of him. Weight, 118;complexion, hair and brain, light; height, five feet six; age, abouttwenty-three; dressed in a $10 suit of greenish-blue serge; pockets containingtwo keys and sixty-three cents in change.
But do not misconjecture because thisdescription sounds like a General Alarm that James was either lost or a deadone.
_Allons!_
James stood all day at his work. His feetwere tender and extremely susceptible to impositions being put upon or belowthem. All day long they burned and smarted, causing him much suffering andinconvenience. But he was earning twelve dollars per week, which he needed tosupport his feet whether his feet would support him or not.
James Turner had his own conception of whathappiness was, just as you and I have ours. Your delight is to gad about theworld in yachts and motor-cars and to hurl ducats at wild fowl. Mine is tosmoke a pipe at evenfall and watch a badger, a rattlesnake, and an owl go intotheir common prairie home one by one.
James Turner's idea of bliss was different;but it was his. He would go directly to his boarding-house when his day's workwas done. After his supper of small steak, Bessemer potatoes, stooed (notstewed) apples and infusion of chicory, he would ascend to his fifth-floor-backhall room. Then he would take off his shoes and socks, place the soles of hisburning feet against the cold bars of his iron bed, and read Clark Russell'ssea yarns. The delicious relief of the cool metal applied to his smarting soleswas his nightly joy. His favorite novels never palled upon him; the sea and theadventures of its navigators were his sole intellectual passion. No millionairewas ever happier than James Turner taking his ease.
When James left the hat-cleaning shop hewalked three blocks out of his way home to look over the goods of a second-handbookstall. On the sidewalk stands he had more than once picked up apaper-covered volume of Clark Russell at half price.
While he was bending with a scholarly stoopover the marked-down miscellany of cast-off literature, old Tom the caliphsauntered by. His discerning eye, made keen by twenty years' experience in themanufacture of laundry soap (save the wrappers!) recognized instantly the poorand discerning scholar, a worthy object of his caliphanous mood. He descendedthe two shallow stone steps that led from the sidewalk, and addressed withouthesitation the object of his designed munificence. His first words were no worsethan salutatory and tentative.
James Turner looked up coldly, with"Sartor Resartus" in one hand and "A Mad Marriage" in theother.
"Beat it," said he. "I don'twant to buy any coat hangers or town lots in Hankipoo, New Jersey. Run along,now, and play with your Teddy bear."
"Young man," said the caliph,ignoring the flippancy of the hat cleaner, "I observe that you are of astudious disposition. Learning is one of the finest things in the world. Inever had any of it worth mentioning, but I admire to see it in others. I comefrom the West, where we imagine nothing but facts. Maybe I couldn't understandthe poetry and allusions in them books you are picking over, but I like to seesomebody else seem to know what they mean. I'm worth about $40,000,000, and I'mgetting richer every day. I made the height of it manufacturing Aunt Patty'sSilver Soap. I invented the art of making it. I experimented for three yearsbefore I got just the right quantity of chloride of sodium solution and causticpotash mixture to curdle properly. And after I had taken some $9,000,000 out ofthe soap business I made the rest in corn and wheat futures. Now, you seem tohave the literary and scholarly turn of character; and I'll tell you what I'lldo. I'll pay for your education at the finest college in the world. I'll paythe expense of your rummaging over Europe and the art galleries, and finallyset you up in a good business. You needn't make it soap if you have anyobjections. I see by your clothes and frazzled necktie that you are mightypoor; and you can't afford to turn down the offer. Well, when do you want tobegin?"
The hat cleaner turned upon old Tom the eyeof the Big City, which is an eye expressive of cold and justifiable suspicion,of judgment suspended as high as Haman was hung, of self-preservation, ofchallenge, curiosity, defiance, cynicism, and, strange as you may think it, ofa childlike yearning for friendliness and fellowship that must be hidden whenone walks among the "stranger bands." For in New Bagdad one, in orderto survive, must suspect whosoever sits, dwells, drinks, rides, walks or sleepsin the adjacent chair, house, booth, seat, path or room.

"Say, Mike," said James Turner,"what's your line, anyway--shoe laces? I'm not buying anything. You betterput an egg in your shoe and beat it before incidents occur to you. You can'twork off any fountain pens, gold spectacles you found on the street, or trustcompany certificate house clearings on me. Say, do I look like I'd climbed downone of them missing fire-escapes at Helicon Hall? What's vitiating you,anyhow?"
"Son," said the caliph, in hismost Harunish tones, "as I said, I'm worth $40,000,000. I don't want tohave it all put in my coffin when I die. I want to do some good with it. I seenyou handling over these here volumes of literature, and I thought I'd keep you.I've give the missionary societies $2,000,000, but what did I get out of it?Nothing but a receipt from the secretary. Now, you are just the kind of youngman I'd like to take up and see what money could make of him."
Volumes of Clark Russell were hard to findthat evening at the Old Book Shop. And James Turner's smarting and aching feetdid not tend to improve his temper. Humble hat cleaner though he was, he had aspirit equal to any caliph's.
"Say, you old faker," he said,angrily, "be on your way. I don't know what your game is, unless you wantchange for a bogus $40,000,000 bill. Well, I don't carry that much around withme. But I do carry a pretty fair left-handed punch that you'll get if you don'tmove on."
"You are a blamed impudent littlegutter pup," said the caliph.
Then James delivered his self-praisedpunch; old Tom seized him by the collar and kicked him thrice; the hat cleanerrallied and clinched; two bookstands were overturned, and the books sentflying. A copy came up, took an arm of each, and marched them to the neareststation house. "Fighting and disorderly conduct," said the cop to thesergeant.
"Three hundred dollars bail,"said the sergeant at once, asseveratingly and inquiringly.
"Sixty-three cents," said JamesTurner with a harsh laugh.
The caliph searched his pockets andcollected small bills and change amounting to four dollars.
"I am worth," he said,"forty million dollars, but--"
"Lock 'em up," ordered thesergeant.
In his cell, James Turner laid himself onhis cot, ruminating. "Maybe he's got the money, and maybe he ain't. But ifhe has or he ain't, what does he want to go 'round butting into other folks'sbusiness for? When a man knows what he wants, and can get it, it's the same as$40,000,000 to him."
Then an idea came to him that brought apleased look to his face.
He removed his socks, drew his cot close tothe door, stretched himself out luxuriously, and placed his tortured feetagainst the cold bars of the cell door. Something hard and bulky under theblankets of his cot gave one shoulder discomfort. He reached under, and drewout a paper-covered volume by Clark Russell called "A Sailor'sSweetheart." He gave a great sigh of contentment.
Presently, to his cell came the doorman andsaid:"Say, kid, that old gazabo that was pinched with you for scrappingseems to have been the goods after all. He 'phoned to his friends, and he's outat the desk now with a roll of yellowbacks as big as a Pullman car pillow. Hewants to bail you, and for you to come out and see him."
"Tell him I ain't in," said JamesTurner.

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