翻译天堂  2016-09-03

时钟的滴答，生活的节拍

Clocks are the pulse, the heartbeat of a home. Not digital clocks, which stare at us with graceless, icy green (blue, red, or orange) numbers. Or other mute types of clocks that merely mark minutes. 钟是家的脉搏和心跳。我不是指电子钟，它那或绿，或蓝，或红，或桔色的电子数码老是冷冰冰地，毫不优雅地盯着我们。也不是指不发声的“哑巴”钟，它只能标志一分一秒的时间而已。

No, I’m talking ticking, tocking, chiming clocks – whether antique or reproduction – which practically sing the hours of the day and night. 我说的是能发出滴滴答答声音的自鸣钟，不论是古董式还是新仿制的，都能日夜不停地整点报时。

For decades I’ve lived with such a clock, one that once sat upon the mantel in the parlor of a lacy Victorian house. 几十年了，我生活里一直有一只这样的钟。在我那维多利亚式的有花饰图案的老房子里，它就放在客厅的壁炉台上。

Father bought the timepiece, which is a little larger than a toaster, at an auction in the early 1960s. Back then, things Victorian had all the appeal of avocado kitchen appliances today. Victorian was hopelessly passé. 那是父亲在上个世纪60年代早期的一个拍卖会上买来的，它比烤面包机大一点。那个时候，维多利亚式的东西就像如今的黄绿色的厨具一样，早就过时了，不具吸引力了。

Even he, a lover of most things Victorian, didn’t want the clock. His bids were on the small bronze horse figure that sat atop the clock. He got both for $2. 但就是他，那么喜欢维多利亚式东西的一个人，一开始也并不想要这种。他看中的是钟上的一个小铜马。他花两美元把两者都买下了。

The clock’s “engine” of brass gears, rods, and wheels needed a tuneup. The painted wooden case also required Father’s expertise in refinishing. Restored inside and out, the black clock – with six, tiny Corinthian columns pretending to support the top – was given an honored and out-of-harm’s-way place on the old oak upright piano, a relic from my grandmother’s home. 这个钟的“发动机”，包括铜的齿轮、柱子、轮子都需要调。钟的油漆木匣子看上去也需要父亲熟练的手艺去修理它。经过从里到外的整修，这个黑色的、有六个细小希腊式柱子托着钟面的座钟，放在祖母家文物——一个旧橡木立式钢琴上，既安稳又尊崇。

At first we gathered on the hour, not for the news, but to hear the chime count for us what we already knew. Harder to catch was the little bell sounding the half hour. 一开始，我们整点时都聚在一起，不是为了听新闻，而是要听钟鸣报时，尽管我们都知道是几点了。但每半小时发出一次的钟声却比较微弱，不易听到。

The novelty faded almost as quickly as the sounds of bell and chime, and the clock assumed its role of domestic heartbeat. 对时钟的新鲜感很快就像钟声一样消失了。于是钟成了整个家庭心脏的跳动。

Tick-tock-tick-tick-tick-tock. Minutes become chimed hours as the clock measures life, paces its keepers, and comforts them at night: 滴滴答答的声音让分钟变成像小时那样自鸣，时钟计量人的生命，维持着人的生活节奏，夜间安抚着人心。

Without a mouth, the clock tells us when it’s time to hustle for work, settle down and get to bed, turn on the television for a favorite show, leave for the dentist, call Auntie, stop practicing violin lessons, check the roast, or attend to the myriad details we call daily life. 钟虽然没有嘴，但是却能告诉我们什么时候该抓紧工作，什么时候该坐下休息，什么时候该睡觉，或提醒你该打开电视看你喜欢的节日了，该去看牙医了，该给姨妈打电话了，该停止小提琴练习，该查看烤箱里的东西等等，此外还有许许多多我们称之为日常生活的小事都需要钟来提醒。

Some visitors complain: “How can you live with that thing tick-tocking all the time? Isn’t that chime annoying?” 曾有客人抱怨：“你们怎么过得下去，老是滴滴答答没个完，钟鸣声不让人讨厌吗？”

To these people, the clock makes a mere mechanical noise, nothing more than the hum of a furnace or an air conditioner, depending on the season, or the barely perceptible swish-swish of an overhead fan in a warm bedroom. 对那些人来说，钟发出的声音仅仅只是机械的噪音，就像锅炉或是空调发出的嗡嗡声，或是炎热的卧室里吊扇发出的细微沙沙声。

Those of us with ticking clocks find comfort in the constant tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. This is a sound of domestic peace, order, and contentment, much the same as a purring cat. 对于我们这些家有座钟的人来说这种恒久反复的滴答声反而令人心安。这声音代表着家的安宁，井然有序和心满意足，就像一只猫感到舒服时发出的呜呜声。

Perhaps the original owners of this clock sensed this same comfort, especially at night. Waking fretful from a troubling dream to a void as black and as deep as a cave, the distant tick-tock-tick-tock and soft chime told them that their world – the marble mantle, the flowery rug, and the velvet upholstery on walnut chairs – was just the same as when they had gone to bed. 或许这种的原主人也同样感受到了这种安慰，尤其是在夜里。当人们从让人心烦的梦里醒来，觉得自己好像身处漆黑空虚的深洞里忐忑不安时，却听到不远处传来滴滴答答声和轻柔的钟鸣声，就会意识到他们的世界仍在——大理石壁炉台座，花色地毯，还有胡桃木椅上的天鹅绒织垫——和他们上床谁觉之前一模一样，丝毫未变。

I suppose, if the clock receives good care, this faithful device could be the heartbeat of an antiques-loving household when the 21st century becomes the 22nd. 我想，如果这钟得到精心维护的话，它会忠实地为人服务，成为一个古董爱好者家中不断跳动的心脏，从21世纪延续到22世纪。