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标题: [转贴]弗兰纳里·奥康纳：好有好报 [打印本页]

作者: 冯俊华 时间: 2007-8-4 13:44
标题: [转贴]弗兰纳里·奥康纳：好有好报
好有好报 　　 [美]弗兰纳里•奥康纳 杨怡译 　　 　　 　　希夫利特先生第一次出现在老妇人和她女儿住的那条公路上时，她俩正坐在门廊上。老妇人出溜到椅子边上，身子向前探出着，手平放在眼睛上方遮住刺眼的阳光。女儿看不见前面远处的东西，继续玩着自己的手指。虽然老妇人只和女儿一起住在这个荒僻的地方，她以前也从未见过希夫利特先生，可是，即使打远处她都能看出，他是个流浪汉，什么人都不怕。他的左袖挽起着，看得出里面只有半条胳膊，他身体瘦削，微微往一边倾斜，好像微风在推着他走似的。他穿着一套城里人穿的黑色衣服，带一顶棕色毡帽，帽檐的前面往起卷着，后面往下耷拉着，手提一只马口铁工具箱。他缓缓地往前行走，正向着她住的这条路走来，他的脸转向太阳的方向，太阳好象稳稳地停在一个小山顶上似的。 　　老妇人始终没有改变姿势，直到他差不多进了她的院子，她才站起身，一只手握成拳头放在屁股上。她女儿是个大个子姑娘，穿着一件短短的蝉翼纱衣服，一看见他，就猛跳起来，又是跺脚又是用手比划，嘴里还兴奋地发出“啊啊啊”的声音。 　　希夫利特刚走进院子便站住脚，他放下箱子，冲着她用手轻轻地碰了碰帽檐，好象她丝毫没有被打扰似的；然后转向老妇人，一路挥舞着帽子走过去。他的头发长长的，乌黑、光滑，从中间分开，平平地向两边披下，一直遮到耳朵上。他的额头往下倾斜，占去了脸长的二分之一还多，五官就在额头和突出的尖下巴中间。他似乎是个年轻人，但是脸上却带着一种镇静自若的不满神情，好像他已经看透了世情似的。 　　“晚上好，”老妇人说。她的身体象一根雪松的篱笆桩，头上低低地扣着一顶男式的灰帽子。 　　流浪汉站在那儿看着她，没有答话。他转过身子，面对着落日，慢慢地挥舞他那条好胳膊和另一条短的胳膊，表示天空是多么广阔，他的身体组成了一个倾斜的十字架。老妇人双臂交叉在胸前注视着他，好象她是太阳的所有者一样；她的女儿也在注视，脑袋探出着，手腕下那双胖乎乎的手无可奈何地垂着。她长着一头略带淡红色的金色长发，双眼象孔雀的脖子那么蓝。 　　差不多有五十秒钟，他保持着这种姿势，然后他提起箱子，走到门廊前，把箱子放在最下面的一级台阶上。“太太，”他的声音沉着，带有鼻音，“我愿意出大价钱住在每天傍晚能让我见到太阳的地方。” 　　“那就每天傍晚看吧，”老妇人说着，坐回到椅子上。女儿也坐下了，带着小心谨慎、躲躲闪闪的神情注视着他，好象他是一只已经离得很近的鸟似的。他把身子往侧面一歪，手伸进裤兜里摸索，过了一会儿掏出了一盒胶姆糖，递给她一片。她接过去，剥开后嚼了起来，可眼睛始终盯着他。他又递给老妇人一片，她只是翘起上嘴唇，表示她没牙了。 　　希夫利特先生暗淡而敏锐的目光已经扫过院内所有的东西——屋角的抽水机，那株巨大的无花果树，有三四只鸡正准备栖息在那儿——目光移到一个车棚那儿，他看到一辆汽车的发锈的方形后部。“太太，你们开汽车？”他问。 　　“那辆车有十五年没开动了，”老妇人说。“打我丈夫去世那天起，它就没动过。” 　　“一切都跟那会儿不一样了，太太，”他说，“世界几乎都腐败了。” 　　“是啊，”老妇人说，“你是从附近来的？” 　　“我叫汤姆·T·希夫利特，”他轻声说，眼睛盯着汽车的橡皮轮胎。 　　“很高兴见到你，”老妇人说，“我叫露西内尔•克拉特，还有我的女儿小露西内尔•克拉特。你在这儿附近干什么，希夫利特先生？” 　　他估摸那辆汽车大概是一九二八或一九二九年的福特牌。“太太，”他说着，转过身来，正眼瞧着她，“告诉你一件事。在亚特兰大有个医生，他拿一把小刀，把人的心脏——人的心脏，”他重复了一遍，探出身体，“从他的胸膛里挖出来，把它放在手里，”说着他自己伸出一只手，掌心向上，好象它正轻轻地掂着人心的份量似的，“仔细地研究，就象它是一只才孵出一天的小鸡一样，太太，”说到这儿，他意味深长地停顿了很长时间，脑袋往前伸出着，土灰色的双眼闪闪发光，“他对心脏并不比你我知道的多。” 　　“是啊，”老妇人说。 　　“哎，就是他拿着那把刀，切进心脏的每一个地方，他知道的仍然不会比你我多。你想赌什么？” 　　“我什么也不想赌，”老妇人聪明地说。“你从哪里来，希夫利特先生？” 　　他没有回答。他把手伸进口袋，掏出一包烟叶和一叠香烟纸，熟练地用一只手给自己卷了一支烟卷，将它粘在上嘴唇上。然后，他从口袋里掏出一盒火柴，在鞋上划着了一根。他拿着燃烧的火柴，好象在研究神秘的火焰似的，危险地将它移近自己的皮肤。女儿发出了很大的声响，她指指他的手，又冲着他直摇手指，就在火焰即将烧着他之前，他弯下身去，手弯成杯形拢住火焰，象要用它来烧自己的鼻子那样，点着了烟卷。 　　他轻轻地弹去灭了的火柴，向傍晚的空中喷出一缕灰色的烟。他的脸上浮现出一种诡谲的神色。“太太，”他说，“现在这个时代，人可是什么事情都做得出来的。我可以告诉你，我叫汤姆·T·希夫利特，从田纳西州的塔沃特来，但是你以前从没看见过我。你怎么知道我没有在说谎？太太，你怎么知道我不是从佐治亚州的辛格尔贝里来的艾伦·斯巴克斯？不是从亚拉巴马州的卢西来的乔治·斯皮兹？你又怎么知道我不是从密西西比州的图拉福尔斯来的汤姆普森·布赖特呢？” 　　“我对你一无所知的，”老妇人轻声说，感到讨厌。 　　“太太，”他说，“人们并不在乎他们是怎么说谎的。也许我能告诉你的最好的话是：我是个男人；但是，听着，太太，”他说，停顿了一下，用更加诡秘而平静的口吻说，“什么是一个男人？” 　　老妇人用牙床咀嚼起一颗种子来。“你那个马口铁箱子里装的是什么，希夫里特先生？”她问。 　　“工具，”他说，往后退了退，“我是个木匠。” 　　“嗯，如果你上这儿来干活，我能管你吃、管你住，但付不起工资。我可把话说在头里，”她说。 　　他没有马上回答，脸上也没有什么特别的表情。他靠在支撑门廊顶的那根二英寸厚四英寸宽的柱子上。“太太，”他慢慢地说着，“对有些男人来说，有些东西对他们比钱更重要。”老妇人前后摇晃着身子，没有开口，女儿注视着流浪汉头颈里上下移动的喉结。他接着对老妇人说，绝大多数人感兴趣的是钱，但是他问道，男人创造出来是干什么的。他问她，男人创造出来是否就是为了钱，还是为了别的什么。他还问她，她认为自己创造出来是为了什么，她没有回答，只是坐在那里摇动，拿不稳一个一条胳膊的男人是否能为她的厕所换个新屋顶。他问了一大堆问题，她都没有回答。他告诉她，他今年二十八岁，干过各种各样的工作。他曾经唱过福音音乐①，当过铁路上的工头，殡仪馆的工作人员，还在电台讲过三个月的“罗伊叔叔和他的红河放牧者”。他说他在国家军队里打过仗、流过血，每一片外国土地他都去过，到处见到不惜一切去做一件事的人。他说，他可不是这样长大的。 　　一轮滚圆的黄月亮出现在无花果树的枝桠间，似乎它也要和小鸡们一起待在那儿一样。他说男人必须到农村去全面地看看，他希望自己住在象这儿这么荒凉的地方，在这儿，他可以看见太阳每天黄昏象上帝让它那样落山。 　　“你结婚了还是单身？”老妇人问。 　　一阵长时间的沉默。末了他问道：“太太，现今你上哪儿去找个清白的女人？能够随便结识的垃圾货，我可一个也不愿要。” 　　女儿的身体弯得很低，脑袋差不多要垂在两个膝盖中间了，她正通过在倒过来的头发形成的一个三角形当中注视他，突然她翻倒在地上，身子瘫成一堆，啜泣起来。希夫利特先生过去把她扶起来，帮她坐回到椅子上。 　　“她是你女儿？”他问。 　　“我唯一的孩子，”老妇人说，“她是世界上最可爱的姑娘。无论给我什么东西，我都不愿意把她嫁给别人。她又漂亮，会擦地板、做饭、洗衣服、喂小鸡，还会锄草。我不会为了一小盒珠宝就把她嫁人。” 　　“是啊，”他和气地说，“别让任何男人把她从你身边带走。” 　　“任何追求她的男人，”老妇人说，“都得住在这儿。” 　　黑暗中希夫利特先生的目光集中在远处闪闪发光的汽车保险杆上。“太太，”他说着，一下举起他那条短胳膊，似乎他能用它去指她的屋子、院子和抽水机一样，“这个农场上没有哪一样破旧东西我不能替你修复的，不管我是否是个一条胳膊的半拉子生手。我可是个男人，”他绷着脸带着尊严的神情说，“即使我身体残废，但是我有，”他说着，用指关节在地上敲敲，强调他下面要说的话的重要，“精神智慧！”他的脸从黑暗中露出来，伸进从门外射进来的一道亮光中。他目不转睛地看着她，好象他自己都对这个不可能存在的事实感到惊讶。 　　老妇人对这句话无动于衷。“我告诉过你，你可以留在这儿工作，挣口饭吃，”她说，“如果你不在乎睡在那儿的汽车里的话。” 　　“哟，听着，太太，”他欣喜地咧开嘴笑着说，“古时候的修道士们睡在棺材里呢！” 　　“他们不如我们先进，”老妇人说。 　　 　　第二天早晨，他开始修厕所的屋顶，而那个女儿露西内尔，坐在一块岩石上看他干活。他干了大约有一个星期才使这个地方起了明显的变化。他修补了前后台阶，盖了一个新猪圈，修复了栅栏，还教露西内尔——她完全是个聋子，活到现在还从未开口说过一个字——说了个“鸟”字。这个脸色红润的大个子姑娘到处跟着他，一面嘴里念着“鸟……鸟”，一面还拍着双手。老妇人从远处观望着，心中暗自高兴，她正急着要找个女婿。 　　希夫利特先生睡在那辆汽车又硬又窄的后座上，双脚伸出在车窗外。他把剃须刀和一罐水放在一只当床头柜用的板条箱上；把一面镜子靠在车厢后面的玻璃上；外套整齐地挂在悬在车窗上的衣架上。 　　傍晚，他坐在台阶上说话，老妇人和露西内尔坐在他两边的椅子里拚命前后摇动。在深蓝色的天空映衬下，老妇人身后的三面环山黑魆魆的，空中繁星点点，月儿离开了栖息在树枝间的小鸡，出没在群山之间。希夫利特先生讲，他是因为个人对这个农场感兴趣，才对它进行这番改进的。他说他还想让那辆汽车开动起来呢。 　　他掀起过汽车的发动机罩，仔细研究了机器后说，他知道这车是靠手工造汽车的那个年代的产品。他说，现在，你让一个工人拧一个螺丝，另一个工人拧上另一个螺丝，第三个工人再拧上第三个螺丝，因此，一个螺丝就是一个人。所以你为一辆汽车就得花一大笔钱，你是把钱付给所有那些工人哪。眼下，如果只付钱给一个人，而且是一个对汽车感兴趣的人，你不必付钱给其他人，你就能得到一辆便宜一些的汽车，又是一辆好一些的汽车。老妇人表示同意，情况就是那样。 　　希夫利特先生说，这个世界的麻烦就在于没有人去关心、制止和承担任何麻烦。他说，要不是他用了足够长的时间去关心和制止这种麻烦，他就不可能教会露希内尔说一个字。 　　“教她说点儿别的吧，”老妇人说。 　　“你希望她接下来说些什么？”希夫利特先生问。 　　老妇人咧开没有牙齿的嘴微笑，她的微笑显然另有用意，带有暗示性质。“教她说‘小妞’，”她说。 　　希夫利特先生已经明白她在想什么了。 　　第二天，他随意地检修了一下汽车，到傍晚时分，他告诉她说，如果她愿意买一条风扇皮带，他能让车子开动起来。 　　老妇人说她愿意给钱。“你看见那边的女孩子吗？”她指着坐在一英尺外的地上看着他的露西内尔问，姑娘的眼睛在黑暗中也是蓝色的。“如果一个男人想把她带走，我就说：‘任何人都休想把这最可爱的姑娘从我身边带走！’但是如果他说：‘太太，我不想把她带走，我就想在这儿娶她，’那么我就说：‘先生，我一点儿也不怪你。我自己也不会放弃这样的机会，既有个永久的住处、还得到一个世界上最可爱的姑娘。你不是个傻瓜，’我就这么说。” 　　“她多大了？”希夫利特先生随意问道。 　　“十五、六岁，”老妇人说。这姑娘差不多有三十岁了，只是由于她的无知，年龄难以猜测而已。 　　“再把汽车油漆一下也不错，”希夫利特先生说，“你不希望它锈得烂掉吧。” 　　“以后考虑吧，”老妇人说。 　　第二天，他步行进城，带回了所需的东西和一桶汽油。下午晚些时候，车棚里传出可怕的声响，老妇人从屋里冲出来，以为露西内尔在什么地方发脾气呢。露西内尔正坐在一只鸡篓上，跺着双脚，嘴里尖声喊着：“鸟……！鸟……！”但是她的尖叫声被汽车淹没了。随着一阵隆隆声，汽车开出了棚屋，神气活现、气势汹汹地行驶着。希夫利特先生身子笔直，端坐在驾驶座上。他的脸上露出一种严肃而又谦虚的神情，好象他刚刚使一个死者复活过来似的。 　　那天晚上，老妇人坐在门廊里摇晃着，直截了当地跟他谈起正事来。“你想找一个清白的姑娘，不是吗？”她同情地问道。“你不想要任何垃圾货。” 　　“是的，我不要，”希夫利特先生说。 　　“一个不会说话的，”她继续说，“不会跟你顶嘴或骂脏话的人。这就是你所需要的那种人，就在那儿，”说着，她指了指露西内尔，姑娘正盘腿坐在椅子里，一双手握住自己的双脚。 　　“是啊，”他承认说。“她不会给我任何麻烦。” 　　“星期六，”老妇人说，“你和她，还有我，可以开车进城，去举行婚礼。” 　　希夫利特先生在台阶上稍微挪动了一下位置。 　　“我不能马上结婚，”他说。“你想做的一切事情都需要钱，我什么钱也没有。” 　　“你要钱干什么？”她问。 　　“结婚需要钱，”他说。“现在有的人什么事都干得出来，但是我认为，如果我不能带她出去象象样样地旅行一次，我是不会跟她结婚的。我的意思是说带她去住旅馆、好好款待她。我不愿跟温莎公爵夫人②结婚，”他坚定地说，“除非我能带她到旅馆去，给她好东西吃。” 　　“我是受这种教育长大的，对这一点我毫无办法。我老母亲教会我怎么做的。” 　　“露西内尔连什么是旅馆都不懂，”老妇人轻声说。“听着，希夫利特先生，”她说，从椅子深处往外出溜，“你会得到一个永久的住处、一口深井和一个世界上最最清白的姑娘。你不需要钱。我告诉你，对一个既没有朋友又是残废的穷流浪汉来说，世界上是没有他容身的地方的。” 　　这些难听的话印在希夫利特先生的脑子里就象一群嗡嗡作响的小虫飞落树顶那样。他没有立即答复。他给自己卷了一支烟卷，点上后才用平静的语调说：“太太，一个人是由肉体和精神两部分组成的。” 　　老妇人抿紧上下齿龈。 　　“肉体和精神，”他重复了一遍。“肉体呢，太太，就象一间屋子：它不到处跑；但是精神，太太，可就象一辆汽车，总是在到处跑，总是……” 　　“听着，希夫利特先生，”她说，“我的井永远不会枯竭，我的屋子在冬天总是暖乎乎的，这儿没有一样是抵押品。你可以上法院自己去了解了解。而且在那儿，在那个棚屋里，还有一辆挺不错的汽车。”她谨慎地抛出了这个诱饵。“到星期六，你可以将它漆好。我会付油漆钱的。” 　　黑暗中，犹如疲惫的蛇被火惊醒了似的，希夫利特先生的微笑变成了满脸笑意。一下子，他又恢复了原状，说道：“我只是说一个人的精神对他来说比其他一切都重要。我一定得带妻子出去度周末，压根儿不考虑代价问题。我得按照精神指示行事。” 　　“我给你十五元去周末旅行，”老妇人用不高兴的口气说。“我最多就能给这些。” 　　“这点钱恐怕连付汽油和旅馆费都不够，”他说。“没法供应她的伙食。” 　　“给你十七元五角，”老妇人说。“我就这些钱了，你再榨也榨不出了。你们可以吃顿午饭。” 　　希夫利特先生被“榨”这个字深深地刺痛了。他肯定地认为，她还有更多的钱缝在床垫里了，但是他对她有言在先，他对她的钱不感兴趣。“好吧，那就这样，”他说着站起身，没再对她说什么就径直走开了。 　　星期六，他们三个开车进了城，汽车上的油漆刚干，希夫利特先生和露西内尔在法官办事处结了婚，老妇人是证婚人。他们一路走出办事处，希夫利特先生的脖子一直在衣领里扭动。他看起来神色抑郁、辛酸，好象被人抓住时受到了侮辱似的。“我根本不相信这些手续，”他说。“这只是一个女人在办公室里干的活，只是在纸上写写、验验血而已。关于我的血，他们知道些什么？即使他们来取我的心脏，把它挖出来，”他说，“他们也根本不了解我什么。我完全不相信这种手续。” 　　“可法律相信，”老妇人尖声地说。 　　“法律，”希夫利特先生说，吐了口唾沫。“我不相信的就是法律。” 　　他把汽车漆成了墨绿色，在车窗下面加上了一圈黄漆。他们三人爬进汽车前座，老妇人说：“露西内尔看起来漂亮吗？就象个洋娃娃。”露西内尔穿着一身白礼服，那是她母亲从一个大衣箱底上翻出来的，她的头上带着一顶巴拿马帽，帽檐上插着一串木头做的红樱桃。她脸上平静的表情不时被她一闪而过的、象沙漠中的绿芽似的孤单的小小念头所改变。“你得了个宝贝！”老妇人说。 　　希夫利特先生甚至都不朝她看一眼。 　　他们开车回到家里，让老妇人下车和带上午饭。他们准备出发时，老妇人站在外面，手指扒住车窗玻璃的边，往里看着，泪水从眼角涌出来，顺着脸上肮脏的皱纹往下淌。“以前，我还从未跟她分开过两天时间，”她说。 　　希夫利特先生发动了马达。 　　“我所以没让别人而让你娶了她，因为我看你不会亏待她的。再见，小妞，”她说着抓住女儿白礼服的袖子。露西内尔直勾勾地盯着她，似乎根本没看见她在那儿一样。希夫利特先生慢慢地向前开动汽车，老妇人只得松开了双手。 　　下午一两点钟时分，田野开阔，空气清新，周围一片蔚蓝色的天空。尽管汽车每小时只能开三十英里，希夫利特先生却想象着汽车在高速行驶，上坡、下坡、急转弯，他沉浸在想象之中，忘记了早上的痛苦。他一向希望自己有一辆汽车，但是他过去一直买不起。他开得极快，希望能在天黑时赶到莫比尔。 　　偶尔，他也会停止想象，可时间很短，只够他看一眼身旁的露西内尔。他们一离开院子她已吃好午饭，现在她正把樱桃从帽子上一个个扯下来，扔出窗外。尽管有了汽车，他的心情仍然变得沮丧起来。他开了约一百英里地，这时，他想她一定又饿了，于是在来到下一个小城镇时，他把汽车停在一个贴着铝面的叫“热点”的餐馆前，他带她进了餐馆，给她要了一份火腿玉米粥。一路颠簸，露西内尔这会儿直想睡觉，屁股一沾上凳子，她就把头搁在柜台上，闭上了双眼。除了希夫利特先生和柜台后面的伙计外，“热点”餐馆没有别的顾客。那个伙计是个脸色苍白的青年人，肩头上搭着一块油腻腻的抹布。他还没把食物装上盘端出来，露西内尔已经轻轻地打起呼噜来了。 　　“等她醒来给她吃，”希夫利特说。“我现在就把钱付了。” 　　伙计弯下身子，看着她那头带粉红色的金色长发和睡梦中半开半闭的双眼。然后他抬起头来，看看希夫利特先生。“她看起来像个上帝的天使，”他轻声说。 　　“一个搭车的，”希夫利特先生解释说。“我等不及了。我得赶到图斯卡卢萨去。” <div>　　伙计又弯下身子，小心翼翼地用手指摸了摸她的一缕金发，希夫利特先生走了。 　　他一个人开车走了，可他比任何时候都感到沮丧。下午四五点时，天气变得又闷又热，土地平旷，一望无际。一场暴风雨正在天空深处缓慢地形成，没有雷鸣，好像暴风雨在降临前要把地上的每一丁点空气都抽去似的。有好几次，希夫利特先生倒希望自己不是孤零零一个人。他还觉得一个有汽车的人应对其他人尽一种义务，他的眼睛一直主意着外面，看有没有搭车的人。偶尔，他看到一块提醒人们注意的宣传牌：“谨慎驾驶。救人或即救己。” 　　公路很狭窄，路两边是一片干燥的田野，在一块块空地上，随处可见矗立着的小木屋或汽车加油站。太阳落到了汽车的正前方。那是一个红彤彤的球，透过挡风玻璃看去，球的上下略微有些扁平。他看到一个身穿工装、头带灰帽的男孩站在路边，他减慢速度，把车停在男孩的面前。男孩没有举手示意要求搭车，他只是站在那儿，但是他带着一只小纸箱，那顶帽子戴在头上的样子表明他已永远离开某个地方了。“孩子，”希夫利特先生说，“我看你是要搭车吧。” 　　男孩没有说是还是不是，他只是打开车门，上了车，希夫利特又发动了汽车。男孩把纸箱放在大腿上，双臂交叉搁在箱顶上。他转过脑袋，眼光从希夫利特身上移向窗外。希夫利特先生感到心情压抑。过了片刻，他开口道：“孩子，我有世界上最好的母亲，因此，我敢肯定，你只能有第二好的母亲了。” 　　男孩迅速地瞥了他一眼，目光忧郁，随即又把脸转向窗外。 　　“做一个男孩的母亲，”希夫利特先生继续说，“并不是件容易的事。她教他跪在她膝下做第一次祈祷；她给他任何别人无法给的爱；她告诉她什么对、什么错；她关心他做正经事。孩子，”他说，“有生以来，我从来没有为我离开我的母亲那天那么后悔过。” 　　男孩在座位上挪动了一下身子，但他没有看希夫利特先生。他松开双臂，一只手放在车门把上。 　　“我的母亲是上帝的天使，”希夫利特先生声音紧张地说。“上帝把他从天堂里带出来，给了我，而我却离开了她。”他的双眼刹时蒙上了一层泪水。汽车几乎停住不动了。 　　男孩在座位里发火地转过身来。“见你的鬼去吧！”他喊叫道。“我的娘是个邋遢的老妖精，你的是个臭婊子！”说完，他蓦地打开车门，拿着箱子跳下车，跳进了沟里。 　　希夫利特先生感到非常震惊，所以他缓慢地开了大约一百码，连车门也没有关上。一片与男孩帽子的颜色一模一样、萝卜形状的云落到太阳上，另一片看起来更可怕的云待在汽车后面。希夫利特先生觉得，他将要被腐朽的世界所吞没。他举起一条胳膊，让它再落到胸口上。“啊，上帝！”他祈祷着。“让暴风雨降临吧，把这个世上的污泥冲刷掉吧！” 　　那片萝卜形状的乌云继续在慢慢地往下落。几分钟后，从后面传来隆隆的雷声，难以置信的象白铁皮罐那么大小的雨点噼里啪拉地落在希夫利特汽车的后部。他很快地踩在油门上，断臂伸出在窗外，冒着惊天动地的大雨向莫比尔急驰而去。 　　 　　①美国的一种黑人宗教音乐。</div><div>　　②指英国逊王爱德华八世（温莎公爵是他逊位后的爵位）的妻子，曾是轰动一时的新闻人物，已于1986年4月24日去世。 　　 　　 　　（冯俊华录入） 　　 　　录自《公园深处》，[美]弗兰纳里·奥康纳著，主万、屠珍等译，上海译文出版社“外国文艺丛书”之一种。另，《世界文学》2002年第五期刊有孙宏、李平的译文，题目作《你保全的也许正是你自己的性命》。 　　 　　转自<a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=140">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=140</a> 　　相关：弗兰纳里·奥康纳(Flannery O\'connor)说 　　<a href="http://www.heilan.com/forum/viewthread.php?tid=27262">http://www.heilan.com/forum/viewthread.php?tid=27262</a><a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=140" target="_blank"></a></div>

[此贴子已经被作者于2007-4-21 9:34:05编辑过]

作者: 冯俊华 时间: 2007-8-4 13:44
THE LIFE YOU SAVE MAY BE YOUR OWN
 　　 Flannery O\'connor 　　 　　 　　THE OLD WOMAN and her daughter were sitting on their porch when Mr. Shiftlet came up their road for the first time. The old woman slid to the edge of her chair and leaned forward, shading her eyes from the piercing sunset with her hand. The daughter could not see far in front of her and continued to play with her fingers. Although the old woman lived in this desolate spot with only her daughter and she had never seen Mr. Shiftlet before, she could tell, even from a distance, that he was a tramp and no one to be afraid of. His left coat sleeve was folded up to show there was only half an arm in it and his gaunt figure listed slightly to the side as if the breeze were pushing him. He had on a black town suit and a brown felt hat that was turned up in the front and down in the back and he carried a tin tool box by a handle. He came on, at an amble, up her road, his face turned toward the sun which appeared to be balancing itself on the peak of a small mountain. 　　The old woman didn\'t change her position until he was almost into her yard; then she rose with one hand fisted on her hip. The daughter, a large girl in a short blue organdy dress, saw him all at once and jumped up and began to stamp and point and make excited speechless sounds. 　　Mr. Shiftlet stopped just inside the yard and set his box on the ground and tipped his hat at her as if she were not in the least afflicted; then he turned toward the old woman and swung the hat all the way off. He had long black slick hair that hung flat from a part in the middle to beyond the tips of his ears on either side. His face descended in forehead for more than half its length and ended suddenly with his features just balanced over a jutting steel-trap jaw. He seemed to be a young man but he had a look of composed dissatisfaction as if he understood life thoroughly. 　　"Good evening," the old woman said. She was about the size of a cedar fence post and she had a man\'s gray hat pulled down low over her head. 　　The tramp stood looking at her and didn\'t answer. He turned his back and faced the sunset. He swung both his whole and his short arm up slowly so that they indicated an expanse of sky and his figure formed a crooked cross. The old woman watched him with her arms folded across her chest as if she were the owner of the sun, and the daughter watched, her head thrust forward and her fat helpless hands hanging at the wrists. She had long pink-gold hair and eyes as blue as a peacock\'s neck. 　　He held the pose for almost fifty seconds and then he picked up his box and came on to the porch and dropped down on the bottom step. "Lady," he said in a firm nasal voice, "I\'d give a fortune to live where I could see me a sun do that every evening." 　　"Does it every evening," the old woman said and sat back down. The daughter sat down too and watched him with a cautious sly look as if he were a bird that had come up very close. He leaned to one side, rooting in his pants pocket, and in a second he brought out a package of chewing gum and offered her a piece. She took it and unpeeled it and began to chew without taking her eyes off him. He offered the old woman a piece but she only raised her upper lip to indicate she had no teeth. 　　Mr. Shiftlet\'s pale sharp glance had already passed over everything in the yard -- the pump near the corner of the house and the big fig tree that three or four chickens were preparing to roost in -- and had moved to a shed where he saw the square rusted back of an automobile. "You ladies drive?" he asked. 　　"That car ain\'t run in fifteen year," the old woman said. "The day my husband died, it quit running." 　　"Nothing is like it used to be, lady," he said. "The world is almost rotten." 　　"That\'s right," the old woman said. "You from around here?" 　　"Name Tom T. Shiftlet," he murmured, looking at the tires. 　　"I\'m pleased to meet you," the old woman said. "Name Lucynell Crater and daughter Lucynell Crater. What you doing around here, Mr. Shiftlet?" 　　He judged the car to be about a 1928 or \'29 Ford. "Lady," he said, and turned and gave her his full attention, "lemme tell you something. There\'s one of these doctors in Atlanta that\'s taken a knife and cut the human heart -- the human heart," he repeated, leaning forward, "out of a man\'s chest and held it in his hand," and he held his hand out, palm up, as if it were slightly weighted with the human heart, "and studied it like it was a day-old chicken, and lady," he said, allowing a long significant pause in which his head slid forward and his clay-colored eyes brightened, "he don\'t know no more about it than you or me." 　　"That\'s right," the old woman said. 　　"Why, if he was to take that knife and cut into every corner of it, he still wouldn\'t know no more than you or me. What you want to bet?" 　　"Nothing," the old woman said wisely. "Where you come from, Mr. Shiftlet?" 　　He didn\'t answer. He reached into his pocket and brought out a sack of tobacco and a package of cigarette papers and rolled himself a cigarette, expertly with one hand, and attached it in a hanging position to his upper lip. Then he took a box of wooden matches from his pocket and struck one on his shoe. He held the burning match as if he were studying the mystery of flame while it traveled dangerously toward his skin. The daughter began to make loud noises and to point to his hand and shake her finger at him, but when the flame was just before touching him, he leaned down with his hand cupped over it as if he were going to set fire to his nose and lit the cigarette. 　　He flipped away the dead match and blew a stream of gray into the evening. A sly look came over his face. "Lady," he said, "nowadays, people\'ll do anything anyways. I can tell you my name is Tom T. Shiftlet and I come from Tarwater, Tennessee, but you never have seen me before: how you know I ain\'t lying? How you know my name ain\'t Aaron Sparks, lady, and I come from Singleberry, Georgia, or how you know it\'s not George Speeds and I come from Lucy, Alabama, or how you know I ain\'t Thompson Bright from Toolafalls, Mississippi?" 　　"I don\'t know nothing about you," the old woman muttered, irked. 　　"Lady," he said, "people don\'t care how they lie. Maybe the best I can tell you is, I\'m a man; but listen lady," he said and paused and made his tone more ominous still, "what is a man?" 　　The old woman began to gum a seed. "What you carry in that tin box, Mr. Shiftlet?" she asked. 　　"Tools," he said, put back. "I\'m a carpenter." 　　"Well, if you come out here to work, I\'ll be able to feed you and give you a place to sleep but I can\'t pay. I\'ll tell you that before you begin," she said. 　　There was no answer at once and no particular expression on his face. He leaned back against the two-by-four that helped support the porch roof. "Lady," he said slowly, "there\'s some men that some things mean more to them than money." The old woman rocked without comment and the daughter watched the trigger that moved up and down in his neck. He told the old woman then that all most people were interested in was money, but he asked what a man was made for. He asked her if a man was made for money, or what. He asked her what she thought she was made for but she didn\'t answer, she only sat rocking and wondered if a one-armed man could put a new roof on her garden house. He asked a lot of questions that she didn\'t answer. He told her that he was twenty-eight years old and had lived a varied life. He had been a gospel singer, a foreman on the railroad, an assistant in an undertaking parlor, and he had come over the radio for three months with Uncle Roy and his Red Creek Wranglers. He said he had fought and bled in the Arm Service of his country and visited every foreign land and that everywhere he had seen people that didn\'t care if they did a thing one way or another. He said he hadn\'t been raised thataway. 　　A fat yellow moon appeared in the branches of the fig tree as if it were going to roost there with the chickens. He said that a man had to escape to the country to see the world whole and that he wished he lived in a desolate place like this where he could see the sun go down every evening like God made it to do. 　　"Are you married or are you single?" the old woman asked. 　　There was a long silence. "Lady," he asked finally, "where would you find you an innocent woman today? I wouldn\'t have any of this trash I could just pick up." 　　The daughter was leaning very far down, hanging her head almost between her knees, watching him through a triangular door she had made in her overturned hair; and she suddenly fell in a heap on the floor and began to whimper. Mr. Shiftlet straightened her out and helped her get back in the chair. 　　"Is she your baby girl?" he asked. 　　"My only," the old woman said, "and she\'s the sweetest girl in the world. I wouldn\'t give her up for nothing on earth. She\'s smart too. She can sweep the floor, cook, wash, feed the chickens, and hoe. I wouldn\'t give her up for a casket of jewels." 　　"No," he said kindly, "don\'t ever let any man take her away from you." 　　"Any man come after her," the old woman said, " \'ll have to stay around the place." 　　Mr. Shiftlet\'s eye in the darkness was focused on a par,t of the automobile bumper that glittered in the distance. "Lady," he said, jerking his short arm up as if he could point with it to her house and yard and pump, "there ain\'t a broken thing on this plantation that I couldn\'t fix for you, one-arm jackleg or not. I\'m a man," he said with a sullen dignity, "even if I ain\'t a whole one. I got," he said, tapping his knuckles on the floor to emphasize the immensity of what he was going to say, "a moral intelligence!" and his face pierced out of the darkness into a shaft of doorlight and he stared at her as if he were astonished himself at this impossible truth. 　　The old woman was not impressed with the phrase. "I told you you could hang around and work for food," she said, "if you don\'t mind sleeping in that car yonder." 　　"Why listen, Lady," he said with a grin of delight, "the monks of old slept in their coffins!" 　　"They wasn\'t as advanced as we are," the old woman said. 　　 　　The next morning he began on the roof of the garden house while Lucynell, the daughter, sat on a rock and watched him work. He had not been around a week before the change he had made in the place was apparent. He had patched the front and back steps, built a new hog pen, restored a fence, and taught Lucynell, who was completely deaf and had never said a word in her life, to say the word "bird." The big rosy-faced girl followed him everywhere, saying "Burrttddt ddbirrrttdt," and clapping her hands. The old woman watched from a distance, secretly pleased. She was ravenous for a son-in-law. 　　Mr. Shiftlet slept on the hard narrow back seat of the car with his feet out the side window. He had his razor and a can of water on a crate that served him as a bedside table and he put up a piece of mirror against the back glass and kept his coat neatly on a hanger that he hung over one of the windows. 　　In the evenings he sat on the steps and talked while the old woman and Lucynell rocked violently in their chairs on either side of him. The old woman\'s three mountains were black against the dark blue sky and were visited off and on by various planets and by the moon after it had left the chickens. Mr. Shiftlet pointed out that the reason he had improved this plantation was because he had taken a personal interest in it. He said he was even going to make the automobile run. 　　He had raised the hood and studied the mechanism and he said he could tell that the car had been built in the days when cars were really built. You take now, he said, one man puts in one bolt and another man puts in another bolt and another man puts in another bolt so that it\'s a man for a bolt. That\'s why you have to pay so much for a car: you\'re paying all those men. Now if you didn\'t have to pay but one man, you could get you a cheaper car and one that had had a personal interest taken in it, and it would be a better car. The old woman agreed with him that this was so. 　　Mr. Shiftlet said that the trouble with the world was that nobody cared, or stopped and took any trouble. He said he never would have been able to teach Lucynell to say a word if he hadn\'t cared and stopped long enough. 　　"Teach her to say something else," the old woman said. 　　"What you want her to say next?" Mr. Shiftlet asked. 　　The old woman\'s smile was broad and toothless and suggestive. "Teach her to say \'sugarpie,\' " she said. 　　Mr. Shiftlet already knew what was on her mind. 　　The next day he began to tinker with the automobile and that evening he told her that if she would buy a fan belt, he would be able to make the car run. 　　The old woman said she would give him the money. "You see that girl yonder?" she asked, pointing to Lucynell who was sitting on the floor a foot away, watching him, her eyes blue even in the dark. "If it was ever a man wanted to take her away, I would say, \'No man on earth is going to take that sweet girl of mine away from me!\' but if he was to say, \'Lady, I don\'t want to take her away, I want her right here,\' I would say, \'Mister, I don\'t blame you none. I wouldn\'t pass up a chance to live in a permanent place and get the sweetest girl in the world myself. You ain\'t no fool,\' I would say." 　　"How old is she?" Mr. Shiftlet asked casually. 　　"Fifteen, sixteen," the old woman said. The girl was nearly thirty but because of her innocence it was impossible to guess. 　　"It would be a good idea to paint it too," Mr. Shiftlet remarked. "You don\'t want it to rust out." 　　"We\'ll see about that later," the old woman said. 　　The next day he walked into town and returned with the parts he needed and a can of gasoline. Late in the afternoon, terrible noises issued from the shed and the old woman rushed out of the house, thinking Lucynell was somewhere having a fit. Lucynell was sitting on a chicken crate, stamping her feet and screaming, "Burrddttt! bddurrddtttt!" but her fuss was drowned out by the car. With a volley of blasts it emerged from the shed, moving in a fierce and stately way. Mr. Shiftlet was in the driver\'s seat, sitting very erect. He had an expression of serious modesty on his face as if he had just raised the dead. 　　That night, rocking on the porch, the old woman began her business at once. "You want you an innocent woman, don\'t you?" she asked sympathetically. "You don\'t want none of this trash." 　　"No\'m, I don\'t," Mr. Shiftlet said. 　　"One that can\'t talk," she continued, "can\'t sass you back or use foul language. That\'s the kind for you to have. Right there," and she pointed to Lucynell sitting cross-legged in her chair, holding both feet in her hands. 　　"That\'s right," he admitted. "She wouldn\'t give me any trouble." 　　"Saturday," the old woman said, "you and her and me can drive into town and get married." 　　Mr. Shiftlet eased his position on the steps. 　　"I can\'t get married right now," he said. "Everything you want to do takes money and I ain\'t got any." 　　"What you need with money?" she asked. 　　"It takes money," he said. "Some people\'ll do anything anyhow these days, but the way I think, I wouldn\'t marry no woman that I couldn\'t take on a trip like she was somebody. I mean take her to a hotel and treat her. I wouldn\'t marry the Duchesser Windsor," he said firmly, "unless I could take her to a hotel and give her something good to eat. 　　"I was raised thataway and there ain\'t a thing I can do about it. My old mother taught me how to do." 　　"Lucynell don\'t even know what a hotel is," the old woman muttered. "Listen here, Mr. Shiftlet," she said, sliding forward in her chair, "you\'d be getting a permanent house and a deep well and the most innocent girl in the world. You don\'t need no money. Lemme tell you something: there ain\'t any place in the world for a poor disabled friendless drifting man." 　　The ugly words settled in Mr. Shiftlet\'s head like a group of buzzards in the top of a tree. He didn\'t answer at once. He rolled himself a cigarette and lit it and then he said in an even voice, "Lady, a man is divided into two parts, body and spirit." 　　The old woman clamped her gums together. 　　"A body and a spirit," he repeated. "The body, lady, is like a house: it don\'t go anywhere; but the spirit, lady, is like a automobile: always on the move, always . . ." 　　"Listen, Mr. Shiftlet," she said, "my well never goes dry and my house is always warm in the winter and there\'s no mortgage on a thing about this place. You can go to the courthouse and see for yourself. And yonder under that shed is a fine automobile." She laid the bait carefully. "You can have it painted by Saturday. I\'ll pay for the paint" 　　In the darkness, Mr. Shiftlet\'s smile stretched like a weary snake waking up by a fire. After a second he recalled himself and said, "I\'m only saying a man\'s spirit means more to him than anything else. I would have to take my wife off for the week end without no regards at all for cost. I got to follow where my spirit says to go." 　　"I\'ll give you fifteen dollars for a week-end trip," the old woman said in a crabbed voice. "That\'s the best I can do." 　　"That wouldn\'t hardly pay for more than the gas and the hotel," he said. "It wouldn\'t feed her." 　　"Seventeen-fifty," the old woman said. "That\'s all I got so it isn\'t any use you trying to milk me. You can take a lunch." 　　Mr. Shiftlet was deeply hurt by the word "milk." He didn\'t doubt that she had more money sewed up in her mattress but he had already told her he was not interested in her money. "I\'ll make that do," he said and rose and walked off without treating with her further. 　　On Saturday the three of them drove into town in the car that the paint had barely dried on and Mr. Shiftlet and Lucynell were married in the Ordinary\'s office while the old woman witnessed. As they came out of the courthouse, Mr. Shiftlet began twisting his neck in his collar. He looked morose and bitter as if he had been insulted while someone held him. "That didn\'t satisfy me none," he said. "That was just something a woman in an office did, nothing but paper work and blood tests. What do they know about my blood? If they was to take my heart and cut it out," he said, "they wouldn\'t know a thing about me. It didn\'t satisfy me at all." 　　"It satisfied the law," the old woman said sharply. 　　"The law," Mr. Shiftlet said and spit. "It\'s the law that don\'t satisfy me." 　　He had painted the car dark green with a yellow band around it just under the windows. The three of them climbed in the front seat and the old woman said, "Don\'t Lucynell look pretty? Looks like a baby doll." Lucynell was dressed up in a white dress that her mother had uprooted from a trunk and there was a Panama hat on her head with a bunch of red wooden cherries on the brim. Every now and then her placid expression was changed by a sly isolated little thought like a shoot of green in the desert. "You got a prize!" the old woman said. 　　Mr. Shiftlet didn\'t even look at her. 　　They drove back to the house to let the old woman off and pick up the lunch. When they were ready to leave, she stood staring in the window of the car, with her fingers clenched around the glass. Tears began to seep sideways out of her eyes and run along the dirty creases in her face. "I ain\'t ever been parted with her for two days before," she said. 　　Mr. Shiftlet started the motor. 　　"And I wouldn\'t let no man have her but you because I seen you would do right. Good-by, Sugarbaby," she said, clutching at the sleeve of the white dress. Lucynell looked straight at her and didn\'t seem to see her there at all. Mr. Shiftlet eased the car forward so that she had to move her hands. 　　The early afternoon was clear and open and surrounded by pale blue sky. Although the car would go only thirty miles an hour, Mr. Shiftlet imagined a terrific climb and dip and swerve that went entirely to his head so that he forgot his morning bitterness. He had always wanted an automobile but he had never been able to afford one before. He drove very fast because he wanted to make Mobile by nightfall. 　　Occasionally he stopped his thoughts long enough to look at Lucynell in the seat beside him. She had eaten the lunch as soon as they were out of the yard and now she was pulling the cherries off the hat one by one and throwing them out the window. He became depressed in spite of the car. He had driven about a hundred miles when he decided that she must be hungry again and at the next small town they came to, he stopped in front of an aluminum-painted eating place called The Hot Spot and took her in and ordered her a plate of ham and grits. The ride had made her sleepy and as soon as she got up on the stool, she rested her head on the counter and shut her eyes. There was no one in The Hot Spot but Mr. Shiftlet and the boy behind the counter, a pale youth with a greasy rag hung over his shoulder. Before he could dish up the food, she was snoring gently. 　　"Give it to her when she wakes up," Mr. Shiftlet said. "I\'ll pay for it now." 　　The boy bent over her and stared at the long pink-gold hair and the half-shut sleeping eyes. Then he looked up and stared at Mr. Shiftlet. "She looks like an angel of Gawd," he murmured. 　　"Hitch-hiker," Mr. Shiftlet explained. "I can\'t wait. I got to make Tuscaloosa." 　　The boy bent over again and very carefully touched his finger to a strand of the golden hair and Mr. Shiftlet left. 　　He was more depressed than ever as he drove on by himself. The late afternoon had grown hot and sultry and the country had flattened out. Deep in the sky a storm was preparing very slowly and without thunder as if it meant to drain every drop of air from the earth before it broke. There were times when Mr. Shiftlet preferred not to be alone. He felt too that a man with a car had a responsibility to others and he kept his eye out for a hitchhiker. Occasionally he saw a sign that warned: "Drive carefully. The life you save may be your own." 　　The narrow road dropped off on either side into dry fields and here and there a shack or a filling station stood in a clearing. The sun began to set directly in front of the automobile. It was a reddening ball that through his windshield was slightly flat on the bottom and top. He saw a boy in overalls and a gray hat standing on the edge of the road and he slowed the car down and stopped in front of him. The boy didn\'t have his hand raised to thumb the ride, he was only standing there, but he had a small cardboard suitcase and his hat was set on his head in a way to indicate that he had left somewhere for good. "Son," Mr. Shiftlet said, "I see you want a ride." 　　The boy didn\'t say he did or he didn\'t but he opened the door of the car and got in, and Mr. Shiftlet started driving again. The child held the suitcase on his lap and folded his arms on top of it. He turned his head and looked out the window away from Mr. Shiftlet. Mr. Shiftlet felt oppressed. "Son," he said after a minute, "I got the best old mother in the world so I reckon you only got the second best." 　　The boy gave him a quick dark glance and then turned his face back out the window. 　　"It\'s nothing so sweet," Mr. Shiftlet continued, "as a boy\'s mother. She taught him his first prayers at her knee, she give him love when no other would, she told him what was right and what wasn\'t, and she seen that he done the right thing. Son," he said, "I never rued a day in my life like the one I rued when I left that old mother of mine." 　　The boy shifted in his seat but he didn\'t look at Mr. Shiftlet. He unfolded his arms and put one hand on the door handle. 　　"My mother was a angel of Gawd," Mr. Shiftlet said in a very strained voice. "He took her from heaven and giver to me and I left her." His eyes were instantly clouded over with a mist of tears. The car was barely moving. 　　The boy turned angrily in the seat. "You go to the devil!" he cried. "My old woman is a flea bag and yours is a stinking pole cat!" and with that he flung the door open and jumped out with his suitcase into the ditch. 　　Mr. Shiftlet was so shocked that for about a hundred feet he drove along slowly with the door still open. A cloud, the exact color of the boy\'s hat and shaped like a turnip, had descended over the sun, and another, worse looking, crouched behind the car. Mr. Shiftlet felt that the rottenness of the world was about to engulf him. He raised his arm and let it fall again to his breast. "Oh Lord!" he prayed. "Break forth and wash the slime from this earth!" 　　The turnip continued slowly to descend. After a few minutes there was a guffawing peal of thunder from behind and fantastic raindrops, like tin-can tops, crashed over the rear of Mr. Shiftlet\'s car. Very quickly he stepped on the gas and with his stump sticking out the window he raced the galloping shower into Mobile.

作者: 宋先生 时间: 2007-8-4 13:44
双手抱拳：俊华，谢谢了，谢谢你贴一篇奥康纳新的小说，收到了，欣赏了；单腿跪地：万分感谢，我太喜欢奥康纳了，我知道你费了很大力寻找她的作品，真想看《公园深处》，可是看不到。再贴几篇奥康纳的。我喜欢的作家有奥康纳、卡弗、卡波特、卡森.麦卡勒斯、韦尔蒂。

作者: 亢蒙 时间: 2007-8-4 13:44
真棒。就像一团成分复杂的空气，呼吸进鼻腔的那股想打喷嚏的感觉，让人忍不住。

作者: 水底行走 时间: 2007-8-4 13:57
《公园深处——弗兰纳里·奥康纳短篇小说集》（更新中） 奥康纳：善于用变形手法塑造人物的艺术家 / 鹿金 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=157" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=157</a> 火鸡 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=148" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=148</a> 列车 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=149" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=149</a> 公园深处 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=150" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=150</a> 伊诺克和大猩猩 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=151" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=151</a> 好人难寻 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=154" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=154</a> 好有好报 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=140" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=140</a> 河 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=155" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=155</a> 善良的乡下人 <a href="http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=141" target="_blank">http://www.ddfing.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=141</a>

作者: 宋先生 时间: 2007-8-4 13:58
俊华,感谢你!

作者: 宋先生 时间: 2007-8-4 13:58
一蹦山高,万分感谢.

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