第十二章（第5/9页）

"Eh, but tha'rt nice, tha'rt nice!” He said, suddenly rubbing his face with a snuggling movement against her warm belly.

“哇哦，恁太妙了，恁太棒了！”他说着，突然把脸贴上她温热的小腹，来回磨蹭着。

And she put her arms round him under his shirt, but she was afraid, afraid of his thin, smooth, naked body, that seemed so powerful, afraid of the violent muscles. She shrank, afraid.

她将双臂探进他的衬衫，环绕着他的身体，依然心怀畏惧，害怕他那瘦削光滑、充满力量的裸体，害怕他那强健有力的肌肉。她又惊又怕，不断退缩着。

And when he said, with a sort of little sigh: "eh, tha'rt nice!" something in her quivered, and something in her spirit stiffened in resistance: stiffened from the terribly physical intimacy, and from the peculiar haste of his possession.

他轻叹着：“啊，它们真不错！”他这样赞美她娇躯的美妙，这时，她身体的某些部分迎合起来，而心底的某些角落却拼命顽抗着，抗拒性爱的暴风骤雨，抗拒他迫不及待的占有。

And this time the sharp ecstasy of her own passion did not overcome her; she lay with her ends inert on his striving body, and do what she might, her spirit seemed to look on from the top of her head, and the butting of his haunches seemed ridiculous to her, and the sort of anxiety of his penis to come to its little evacuating crisis seemed farcical. Yes, this was love, this ridiculous bouncing of the buttocks, and the wilting of the poor, insignificant, moist little penis. This was the divine love! After all, the moderns were right when they felt contempt for the performance; for it was a performance. It was quite true, as some poets said, that the God who created man must have had a sinister sense of humour, creating him a reasonable being, yet forcing him to take this ridiculous posture, and driving him with blind craving for this ridiculous performance. Even a Maupassant found it a humiliating anti-climax. Men despised the intercourse act, and yet did it.

这次，蚀骨销魂的爱欲并未将她征服。她躺在那里，双手软塌塌地搭在他奋力挺动的身体上。即使尽量迎合，她清醒的思维似乎仍扮演着旁观者的角色。他臀部的耸动依然滑稽至极，而他的阳物为求得片刻的欢愉，急功近利地挺进，更是无聊透顶。没错，这就是爱情，屁股来回的耸动荒唐可笑，那根可有可无的阴茎萎缩时总是湿嗒嗒的，煞是可怜。这就是神圣的爱情！归根到底，现代人对这种行为的鄙视无可厚非，因为它只不过是种性爱的举动而已。诗人们说得有理，缔造人类的上帝想必怀有恶意的幽默感，将人类塑造成理智的存在，但却让他们在交媾时摆出这种可笑的姿势，使他们对这种滑稽的勾当孜孜以求。甚至连莫泊桑（注：1850-1893，法国小说家）都觉得爱情有虎头蛇尾之嫌，实是丢人现眼的举动。人们对性行为深感不齿，但又乐此不疲。

Cold and derisive her queer female mind stood apart, and though she lay perfectly still, her impulse was to heave her loins, and throw the man out, escape his ugly grip, and the butting over-riding of his absurd haunches. His body was a foolish, impudent, imperfect thing, a little disgusting in its unfinished clumsiness. For surely a complete evolution would eliminate this performance, this 'function'.

她那颗神秘莫测的女人心冷眼旁观，抱着嘲弄的态度。虽然她躺在那里，没有哪怕一丁点反应，心里却恨不得挺起腰肢，将这个臭男人抛出去，逃离他讨厌的怀抱，挣脱其臀部荒唐的撞击。他的肉体本就难言完美，笨拙且不知廉耻，那种残缺不全的丑陋令她感到有些恶心。彻底的进化必然会将此类勾当彻底剔除，将这种功能完全淘汰。

And yet when he had finished, soon over, and lay very very still, receding into silence, and a strange motionless distance, far, farther than the horizon of her awareness, her heart began to weep. She could feel him ebbing away, ebbing away, leaving her there like a stone on a shore. He was withdrawing, his spirit was leaving her. He knew.

他草草收场，趴在她的身上动弹不得，完全陷入沉默之中。两人彼此疏离，虽然近在眼前，但却好似远在天边，超越她的意识所能感知的疆域。她那颗敏感的心已经开始垂泪。她能感觉到他的热情如潮汐般退去，消逝，只剩她独自一人，好像海岸上孤寂的礁石。他正在退却，他的心已经渐渐远离。他自己也清楚这一点。

And in real grief, tormented by her own double consciousness and reaction, she began to weep. He took no notice, or did not even know. The storm of weeping swelled and shook her, and shook him.

被自己的双重意识和反应折磨得痛苦不堪，她开始抽泣起来。他视而不见，甚至根本没有发觉。哭泣的暴风雨愈演愈烈，摇撼着她，也震颤着他。

"Ay!" he said.

“是呀！”他感叹着。

"It was no good that time. You wasn't there.” So he knew! Her sobs became violent.

“这回不爽。你还没到高潮呢。”原来他根本心知肚明！她哭得更厉害了。

"But what's amiss?" he said.

“出了什么问题？”他问。

"It's once in a while that way.” "I...I can't love you," she sobbed, suddenly feeling her heart breaking.

“有时候的确会这样。”“我……我没法爱上你。”她呜咽着，感觉自己的心仿佛瞬间碎裂。

"Canna ter? Well, dunna fret! There's no law says as tha's got to. Ta'e it for what it is.” He still lay with his hand on her breast. But she had drawn both her hands from him.

“是吗？唉，那就甭爱了！何必这样呢。顺其自然就好。”他仍旧躺在那里，手也没有离开她的乳房。可她早已将搂着他的双手抽回。

His words were small comfort. She sobbed aloud.

他的话并未带来多少慰藉。她嚎啕大哭。

"Nay, nay!" He said. "Ta'e the thick wi'th'thin. This wor a bit o'thin for once.” She wept bitterly, sobbing. "But I want to love you, and I can't. It only seems horrid.” He laughed a little, half bitter, half amused.

“别价，别价！”他说。“人生在世，就要遍尝酸甜苦辣。这次不过有点苦而已。”她伤心垂泪，呜咽声声。“可我很想爱你，却就是做不到。这简直太糟糕了。”他微笑着，既感到心酸，又觉得好玩。

"It isna horrid," he said, "even if tha thinks it is. An'tha canna ma'e it horrid. Dunna fret thysen about lovin'me. Tha'lt niver force thysen to 't. There's sure to be a bad nut in a basketful. Tha mun ta'e th'rough wi'th'smooth.” He took his hand away from her breast, not touching her. And now she was untouched she took an almost perverse satisfaction in it. She hated the dialect: the RHEE and the THA and the THYSEN. He could get up if he liked, and stand there, above her, buttoning down those absurd corduroy breeches, straight in front of her. After all, Michaelis had had the decency to turn away. This man was so assured in himself he didn't know what a clown other people found him, a half-bred fellow.