[学习记录] warm bodies 手打连载

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蝴蝶luna

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@Mg是个鬼畜攻

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发表于 2013-1-16 10:07:04 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式

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本帖最后由 Mg是个鬼畜攻于 2013-1-17 06:12 编辑

@Guinsooh @白云Amanda @神威羽 @呜拉拉329
最近在看warm bodies..超好看的英文小说~
这是12月北美新书~国内应该还没有→→
我想每天打一点上来，标一些词或者翻译一些，就是不知道有没有人看了→→
不知道能不能发在这里→→

Warm Bodies

Step One: wanting

第一天：
[fold]
I am DEAD, but it's not so bad. I've learned to live with it. I'm sorry I can't properly introduce myself, but I don't have a name anymore. Hardly any of us do. We lose them like car keys, forget them like anniversaries. Mine might have started with an "R," but that's all I have now. It's funny because back when I was alive, I was always forgetting other people's names. My friend "M" says the irony of being a zombie is that everything is funny, but you can't smile, because your lips have rotted off.

anniversaries：纪念日 rot off: 腐朽

None of us are particularly attractive, but death has been kinder to me than some. I'm still in the early stages of decay. Just the gray skin, the unpleasant smell, the dark circles under my eyes. I could almost pass for a Living man in need of businessman, a banker or broker or some young learning the ropes, because I'm wearing fairly nice clothes. Black slacks, gray shirt, red tie. M makes fun of me sometimes. He points at my tie and tries to laugh, a choked, gurgling rumble deep in his gut. His clothes are holy jeans and a plain white T-shirt. The shirt is looking pretty macabre by now. He should have picked a darker color.

decay:腐烂 broker：操盘手 rumble: 低沉的声音 macabre: 令人毛骨悚然的

We like to joke and speculate about our clothes, since these final fashion choices are the only indication of who we were before we became no one. Some are less obvious than mine: shorts and a sweather, skirt and a blouse. So we make random guesses.

speculate：推测 indication：象征

You wear a waitress. You wear a student. Ring any bells?

ring any bells：想到什么了么？

It never does.

No one I know has any specific memories. Just a vague, vestigial knowledge of a world long gone. Faint impressions of past lives than linger like phantom limbs. We recongnize civilization-- buildings, cars,a general overview-- but we have no personal role in it. No history. We are just here. We do what we do, time passes, and no one asks questions. But like I've said, it's not so bad. We spin, just geared down and down till the outer motion is barely visible. We grunt and groan, we shrug and nod, and sometines a few words slip out. It's not that different from before.

vague：模糊的 groan：低声吼叫

But it does make me sad that we've forgotten our names. Out of everything, this seems to me the most tragic. I miss my own and I mourn for everyone else's, because I'd like to love them, but I don't know who they are.
[/fold]

第二天:

There are hundreds of us living in an abondoned airport outside some large city. We don't need shelter or warmth, obviously, but we like having the walls and roofs over our heads. Otherwise, we'd just be wandering in an open field of dust somewhere, and that would be horrifying. To have nothing at all around us, nothing to touch or look at, no hard lines whatsoever, just us and the gaping maw of the sky. I imagine that's what being full-dead is like. An emptiness vast and absolute.

I think we've been here a long time. I still have all my flesh, but there are elders who are little more than skeletons with clinging bits of muscle, dry as jerky. Somehow, it still extends and contacts, and they keepmoving. I have never seen any of us "die" of old age. Left alone with plenty of food, maybe we'd "live" forever, I don't know. The future is as blurry to me as the past. I can't seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present, and the present isn't exactly urgent. You might say death has relaxed me.

I am riding the escalators when Mfinds me. I ride the escalators several times a day, whenever they move. It's become a ritual. The airport is derelict, but the power still flickers on sometimes, maybe flowing from emergency generators stuttering deep underground. Lights flash and screens blink, machines jolts into motion. I cherish these moments. The feeling of things coming to my life. I stand on the steps and ascend like a soul into Heaven, that sugary dream of our childhoods, now a tasteless joke.

After maybe thirty repetitions, I rise to find M waiting for me at the top. He is hundreds of pounds of muscle and fat draped on a six-foot-five frame. Bearded, bald, bruised and rotten, his grisly visage slides into view as I crest the staircase summit. Is he the angel that greets me at the gates? His ragged mouth is oozing black drool.

He points in a bague direction and grunts, "City."

I nod and follow hime.

We are going out to find foof. A hunting party forms arounds us as we shuffle toward town. It's not hard to find recruits for these expeditions, even if no one is hungry. Focused thought is a rare occurrence here, and we all follow it when it manifests. Otherwise we'd just be standing around and groaning all day. We do a lot of standing around and groaing. Years pass this way. The flesh withers on our bones and stand here, waiting for it to go. I often wonder how old I am.