第19届韩素音青年翻译比赛英译汉原文及参考译文
原文

The Making of Ashenden 

Stanley Elkin

I’ve been spared a lot, one of the blessed of the earth, at least one of its lucky, that privileged handful of the dramatically prospering, the sort whose secrets are asked, like the hundred-year-old man. There is no secret, of course; most of what happens to us is simple accident. Highish birth and a smooth network of appropriate connection like a tea service written into the will. But surely something in the blood too, locked into good fortune’s dominant genes like a blast ripening in a time bomb. Set to go off, my good looks and intelligence, yet exceptional still, take away my mouthful of silver spoon and lapful of luxury. Something my own, not passed on or handed down, something seized, wrested—my good character, hopefully, my taste perhaps. What’s mine, what’s mine? Say taste—the soul’s harmless appetite.

I’ve money, I’m rich. The heir to four fortunes. Grandfather on Mother’s side was a Newpert. The family held some good real estate in Rhode Island until they sold it for many times what they gave for it. Grandmother on Father’s side was a Salts, whose bottled mineral water, once available only through prescription and believed indispensable in the cure of all fevers, was the first product ever to be reviewed by the Food and Drug Administration, a famous and controversial case. The government found it to contain nothing that was actually detrimental to human beings, and it went public, so to speak. Available now over the counter, the Salts made more money from it than ever.

Mother was an Oh. Her mother was the chemical engineer who first discovered a feasible way to store oxygen in tanks. And Father was Noel Ashenden, who though he did not actually invent the match-book, went into the field when it was still a not very flourishing novelty, and whose slogan, almost a poem, “Close Cover Before Striking”(a simple stroke, as Father liked to say), obvious only after someone else has already thought of it (the Patent Office refused to issue a patent on what it claimed was merely an instruction, but Father’s company had the message on its matchbooks before his competitors even knew what was happening), removed the hazard from book matches and turned the industry and Father’s firm particularly into a flaming success overnight—Father’s joke, not mine. Later, when the inroads of Ronson and Zippo threatened the business, Father went into seclusion for six months and when he returned to us he had produced another slogan: “For Our Matchless Friends.” It saved the industry a second time and was the second and last piece of work in Father’s life.

There are people who gather in the spas and watering places of this world who pooh-pooh our fortune. Après ski, cozy in their wools, handsome before their open hearths, they scandalize amongst themselves in whispers. “Imagine,” they say, “saved from ruin because of some cornball sentiment available in every bar and grill and truck stop in the country. It’s not, not...”

Not what? Snobs! Phooey on the First Families. On railroad, steel mill, automotive, public utility, banking and shipping fortunes, on all hermetic legacy, morganatic and blockbuster blood-lines that change the maps and landscapes and alter the mobility patterns, your jungle wheeling and downtown dealing a stone’s throw from warfare. I come of good stock—real estate, mineral water, oxygen, matchbooks: earth, water, air and fire, the old elementals of the material universe, a bellybutton economics, a linchpin one.

It is as I see it a perfect genealogy, and if I can be bought and sold a hundred times over by a thousand men in this country—people in your own town could do it, providents and trailers of hunch, I bless them, who got into this or went into that when it was eight cents a share—I am satisfied with my thirteen or fourteen million. Wealth is not after all the point. The genealogy is. That bridge-trick nexus that brought Newpert to Oh, Salts to Ashenden and Ashenden to Oh, love’s lucky longshots which, paying off, permitted me as they permit every human life! (I have this simple, harmless paranoia of the good-natured man, this cheerful awe.) Forgive my enthusiasm, that I go on like some secular patriot wrapped in the simple flag of self, a professional descendant, every day the closed-for-the-holiday banks and post offices of the heart. And why not? Aren’t my circumstances superb? Whose are better? No boast, no boast. I’ve had it easy, served up on all life’s silver platters like a satrap. And if my money is managed for me and I do no work—less work even than Father, who at least came up with those two slogans, the latter in a six-month solitude that must have been hell for that gregarious man (“For Our Matchless Friends”: no slogan finally but a broken code, an extension of his own hospitable being, simply the Promethean gift of fire to a guest)—at least I am not “spoiled” and have in me still alive the nerve endings of gratitude. If it’s miserly to count one’s blessings, Brewster Ashenden’s a miser.

译文

艾兴登其人（节选）斯坦利·埃尔金

我一直活得无忧无虑，深得上帝垂爱，至少算个幸运儿，少数人才享有的尊荣富贵，我垂手得之。就像百岁人瑞总有人讨教，我的秘诀也总有人探询。当然，秘诀谈不上，人间之事大多纯属偶然。高贵的出身、顺畅的关系网有如凭遗嘱继承的茶具，随我所用。当然，我的幸运也有某种与生俱来的因素，一种血液里固有的强势基因；它像定时炸弹，到时就会爆炸。一旦爆炸，我出类拔萃的相貌和智慧将会使口衔银匙、满堂金玉的身世完全微不足道。我的成功源自我自己特有的东西，不是祖传的福荫，是某种我拼命抓住、努力得到的东西——我良好的性格或品味。那么，究竟什么才是我自己特有的东西?是什么呢?是品味吧一一那种无害的心灵欲求。

我有钱，我富足，我继承了四笔遗产。外公姓纽波特，纽家在罗得岛坐拥不菲房产，后来以高出原价好多倍出手。奶奶姓索尔茨。她的家族生产的瓶装矿泉水，一度只能凭医生处方才能买到，据说是治各种发热症所必需，是联邦食品药品管理局有史以来审查的第一宗产品。那个案例名噪一时、颇具争议。政府发现它没有对人体有害的东西，也就上市了。现在谁都可以在商店买到，索尔茨家族因此赚得钵满盆满。

家母随外婆姓欧。外婆是化学工程师，成功开发了罐装氧气。家父是诺尔•艾兴登。尽管纸板火柴不是他发明的，但当它还是个新玩意儿、不怎么旺销时，他就人了这个行业。他的推销广告颇有诗意：“阖盖一划火自来”(就像父亲常说的，轻轻一划就成)。很显然，这是拾人牙慧(专利局因此拒发专利证，说这只不过是句使用说明。但父亲的公司在对手还懵然不觉时，就抢先把这句广告词印在火柴盒上)。正是这句推销广告消除了纸板火柴使用时的危险，使整个行业，特别是父亲的火柴公司，一夜之间生意火了起来——这是父亲的玩笑而非我本人的幽默。后来，荣升和芝宝打火机打人市场，火柴生意受到威胁。父亲于是隐退，半年后推出了另一句广告词：“我友(有)火柴”，父亲因此第二次拯救了火柴业，这也是父亲一生中第二个也是最后一个成就。

那些整日泡在温泉浴场、休闲胜地的人对我们的财富嗤之以鼻。他们滑雪回来，换上温暖舒适的羊毛衫，神气活现地坐在壁炉前嘀嘀咕咕嚼舌头：“想想看，”他们说，“他没有完蛋，还不是因为郊野的酒吧、烧烤店、卡车场总有些人对纸板火柴恋恋不合。不是因为……”

不是因为什么？这帮势利眼！呸！什么第一家族！什么铁路、钢厂、汽车、公共设施、银行和航运方面的财富！什么秘密遗产！什么贵贱婚配！什么豪门世家！你们改变了地图、地貌、甚至改变了社会流动的格局，可你们弱肉强食，巧取豪夺，跟战争相差无几。我这才叫来路正宗——房地产、矿泉水、氧气、火柴：土、水、气、火，物质世界古老的四大元素。这才是核心经济，这才是关键经济。

在我看来，我出身完美。如果这个国家有一千人百余次买卖我的股票——跟你同住一城的人可能会这么做；有远见的人，跟着感觉走的人，我祝福他们!当每股还只有八分钱时，他们就买进了我的这种或那种股票——我对我原有的一千三、四百万，就很满足了。毕竟财富不是关键，关键是出身。桥牌般复杂的姻缘让外公走进了外婆的生活，奶奶嫁给了爷爷，家父娶了家母。父母姻缘巧合的爱情造就了我，就像别人的爱晴造就了一个个鲜活的生命！(我这个性良好的人也有这种朴素而无害的追问到底的执拗，这种对自己生命的由衷的敬畏。)原谅我有如此热情，像一个无宗教信仰的爱国者，处处强调自我，或者像一个职业继承人，每天心无所系，有如放假关门的银行和邮局。为什么不呢?我的条件不优越吗?还有比我条件更好的吗?这不是吹牛，根本不是。我的一切来得太容易，犹如一位大老爷，一切都有人用银盘奉上。钱有人管，不用工作一一我比父亲工作还少，他起码还炮制了两句广告词，第二句还是他退隐半年的结果。对于像他那样好热闹的人来说，那半年简直是人间地狱(“我友（有）火柴”，说到底并不算什么广告词，而是个被破解的密码，是他殷勤个性的延伸，是他的好客之火，是普罗米修斯的圣火)。即便如此，我起码没被“宠坏”，浑身还洋溢着感恩之情。如果数数自己的福气也算是小气的话，那我布鲁斯特·艾兴登就是个小气鬼。

简单给您说说我的为人：

说到在瑞士银行开户：我从没开过，建议你也别开。当然，那种神秘感觉和浪漫色彩挺不错的。但记住，瑞士银行从不提供任何礼品。相反，如果你在纽约第一国民城市银行或别的优质机构开一个5000美元或更多的储蓄帐户，你就可以得到精美礼品，像什么野餐篮子啦、苏格兰冷饮啦、宝丽来相机啦、名牌毛毯啦、电动剃须刀啦，甚至还有草坪家私。我的经理们总给我留个百儿八十万元什么的玩着花，我顺手就到银行开个户。估计类似的赠品我已有几百件了。我常拿它们送朋友或作为圣诞礼物送给门童和家里的勤杂人员。但我也经常留下自用。我不是抠门的人，这些玩意儿我当然买得起——也去买过，我喜欢购物一一但不知为什么，这些赠品给我带来了无与伦比的快乐。从无到有——大通·曼哈顿银行送的男士小行李箱是这样，我的人生也是这样；行李箱是赠品，人生也是赠品。那感觉就像在从西岸回来的飞机上，发现邻座是个电影明星。生活中总有这种难得的乐事，就像大街上捡钱那样刺激。

我常说，我们要玩得开心，要及时行乐。上帝啊，让我们住在海边吧，踏沙，冲浪，嬉戏，直至永远。我们要在马萨葡萄园岛有一套独栋别墅，在纽约七十几街有一套褐石豪宅，在某个世界之都有个安乐窝，以便就近亲临大事的现场。(请红衣主教住最里边的卧室，下午茶时分的阳光将海湾镀上金色，同时给我们增添勇气，直面门外的秘密警察，以我们的威胁来消除一切外来的威胁，报出达官贵人们的诨名，在门口与他们唇枪舌战，那种威势，就像纸币上古怪的防伪线条，无法模仿。)我们要像哥伦布再世。我们要致力于别人忽略的东西，如光学的某一方面或研究海潮的某种能力。(我有个朋友，在远离海洋的内布拉斯加州继承了蔬菜种植业，却成了一位出色的业余海洋学家。研究海洋的专业人士每年都请他去伍兹霍。有一种海浪以他的名字命名。)让我们擅长点什么吧，无论成为男高音歌手还是掌握德文。让我们轻松地做业余专家，就像在室友的婚礼上做伴郎那样容易。让我们的腰带下有结实的小腹，泳衣里有游泳健将的强劲肌肉，这样我们会安享长命天年。让我们的股票天天猛涨，让我们做人也牛气冲天。

私下里说，我很乐意做个英雄人物。

很高兴我深得女人青睐，但谢天谢地，我绝非好色之徒。尽管已婚女人有意于我时——这是常事——我会感动，但多责不在我。我从不鼓励这样的一时冲动，还会尽量让她们恢复平静，以便保持与她们的夫君一一如果认识的话――的友谊，或者与她们本人的适度关系。不过，这种事比你想像的要少，因为每次我到已婚明友的府上做客，都刻意携一位靓女同行。这些女孩各行各业都有：模特啦、舞女啦、新星啦、演员啦、职业网球手啦、歌手啦、富家女啦什么的，还有自由世界许多国家外交官的女儿们，真的是形形色色。我的玩伴往往都像一个模子铸出来的，几乎都是个子高挑、肤色健康、身段苗条、金发碧眼的可爱美人，用我一个喜欢调侃的朋友的说话，她就像歌中走出来的“来自伊帕内玛的女孩”。她们都敏感聪慧，擅长玩帆船和澳式自由泳。她们完美无瑕，因为即使是大腿内侧或锁骨上边的美人痣也让我扫兴。她们还必需呵气如兰，即使在凌晨三点也要像正午时分那样清新(我从不约见节食的女人，因为节食会使她的呼吸带酸味儿)。自然，腋毛令我反感，金色细软绒毛倒是偶尔可以接受。听起来我有点自命不凡。但我不是。我是那种，怎么说呢，正统的人，喜欢尽善尽美，像被某种磁力吸引着，去追求那种柏拉图式的理想的、纯粹的美妙。