live up to.\

他从眼镜上方看了看我。“别急，要不了多久的。这手艺是我最拿手的，我想做好点。”他沉默了一会儿。“你知道，我得遵守传统。”

A tradition? In this simplistic little shop that was no different from so many other shoe-repair shops on the residential side streets of Washington? The thought seemed a bit absurd.

传统？就这家和华盛顿住宅区那么多街边修鞋店没什么区别的简陋小铺子？这想法好像有点荒唐。

He must have sensed my bias, for he smiled with a gleam in his eyes as he went on. \inherited a tradition. My father always told me, 'Son, do the best job on every shoe that comes into the shop, and be proud of your fine work. If you work with dedication, you'll always have happiness and money.

他准是觉察到了我的不屑，因为他两眼闪烁着光芒，微笑着继续说道：“是的，我继承了一个传统。我父亲总对我说：‘儿子，每只拿到店里的鞋都要修到最好，并且为自己的细活骄傲。如果你尽心工作，就总会拥有快乐和金钱。’”

As he handed me the finished shoes, he said, \leather,

把修好的鞋递给我时，他说：“这鞋能穿很长时间，我用的是好皮料。”

I left in a hurry but I had a warm and grateful feeling. On my way home I passed the little shop again. There he was, sitting amongst his tools, still working. He saw me, and he waved and smiled, as cordial as could be. That was the beginning of our friendship, a fellowship that came to mean more and more to me as time passed.

我急匆匆地离开了，但觉得既温暖又感激。回家途中我又经过那家小店，他坐在工具中间，还在工作。看见我，他热诚友好地挥手微笑致意。从此我们的友谊就开始了，这是一段随着时间流逝对我越来越重要的交情。

Thereafter, we waved to each other in a friendly greeting when I passed his shop every day. At first I went in only when I had repair work to be done. Then I found myself lingering in his store or dropping in every few days, just to chat with him for the joy he would impart.

从那以后，我每天经过他的店的时候，我们都友好地彼此挥手问好。刚开始我只是在有东西要修的时候才进去，后来我发现自己呆在他的店里或隔几天去拜访一下完全是为了和他聊天，享受他带来的快乐。

He was a tall man, bent from long years of work. What little hair he had was gray; his face was deeply lined. His personality was clear, but never stern. And, I remember best his fine dark eyes, alive with his charitable, carefree, and humorous spirit.

他身材高大，多年工作弄得有点驼背，不多的头发已经灰白，脸上皱纹纵横。他个性鲜明，但从不严苛。此外，我尤其记得他那双动人的黑眼睛，洋溢着和善、快乐与幽默。

He was the happiest man I've ever known. Often, as he stood in front of his door overseeing the street, working at a pair of shoes, he sang a beautiful melody in a high, clear voice. Neighbors nicknamed him \singing cobbler\The neighborhood children loved him. He'd periodically pause his work to referee arguments or give out candy. He had no patience for bullying and would insist the children play fair in front of his store.

他是我见过的最快乐的人。经常，他站在店门口，朝着大街，一边修理鞋子，一边高声清晰地唱着动听的曲子。街坊们戏称他为“鞋匠歌手”。周边的孩子都喜欢他，他时不时会停下工作去调解争吵或者分发糖果。他不能容忍欺凌弱小，坚持让孩子们在他店前面公平游

戏。

One day, I came away from my house filled with fury because of a poor job some painters had done on my house. My friend waved to me as I walked by, so I went into his shop to vent my frustration. He let me speak angrily about the poor work and carelessness of present-day workmen. 'They had no pride in their work,\nothing! The undutiful attitude these days is almost a sin.\

有一天，因为几个油漆匠把我的房子弄得不像样子，我怒气冲冲地从家里出来。路过他的小店时，已是朋友的他冲我招手，我便走进他的店里发泄郁闷。他听我气愤地诉说现今工人工作糟糕，粗心马虎。“他们对自己的工作没有荣誉感，”我说，“他们只想挣钱却不想做事。如今这种不负责的态度简直就是一种罪过。”

He consoled me, saying, \them too rashly. Maybe their parents had no pride in their work. That's hard on a child. It keeps a child from learning what's important.\

他安慰我说：“身边有许多那样的人，不过我们或许不要太急于怪罪他们。可能他们的父母就对自己的工作没有自豪感。这对孩子来说很不好，让他们没法知道什么东西才是重要的。”

\“对此我们能做什么呢？”我问。

He pondered that for a minute before answering. Then he looked at me seriously. \only one way. Every man or woman who hasn't inherited a prideful tradition must start building one. In this country, each of us can make our own contribution to the fabric of society, and we must endeavor to make it a good one. No matter what sort of work a person does, if we give it our best each day, we're starting a tradition for our children to live up to. When a person amends their ways and learns to take pride in their work, a lifetime of happiness will ensue.\

回答之前他想了一会儿，然后认真地看着我，“只有一个办法。一个人如果没有光荣传统可以继承，那他/她就必须开始去建立一个。在这个国家，我们每个人都能为社会建设做出自己的贡献，我们必须努力把它做好。不管一个人做什么样的工作，只要我们每天都把它做到最好，我们就在为自己的孩子建立一个可遵循的传统。当一个人修正自己的方式并学会以自己的工作为荣时，快乐的一生就会随之而来。”

I traveled for a few months on business, and shortly after my return, I walked down the street, looking forward to seeing my friend again. Yet when I arrived, I found the door closed. There was a little sign: \

我在外出差了几个月，一回来就上街，期望再见到我的朋友。可是我到那儿时却发现门关着，一张小告示上写着“取鞋请到隔壁店”。

I went into the next shop, and what I heard pierced my heart. Yes, the old man had passed away. He was stricken with an infectious illness two weeks before and died two days later.

我走进隔壁店里，听到的消息让我心如刀绞。是的，这位老人已经过世了。两周前他突然患了传染病，两天后就去世了。

I went away with a wretched void in my heart. I would miss him, terribly. But he had left me something, an important piece of wisdom I will invariably remember: \you have inherited a prideful tradition, you must carry it on; if you haven't, then start building one now.\

离开时，我心里空落落的，痛苦不已。我会很怀念他，非常地怀念。不过他已给我留下了一些东西——一句我将永远牢记的隽语：“如果你继承了一个光荣传统，就必须把它传承下去；如果你没有，那现在就开始建立一个。”

Unit 6 War and Peace

课文A

Under the bombs:1945

1945:在炮火攻击下

Today, when I look back, I'm surprised that I recall the beginning so vividly; it's still clearly fixed in my mind with all its coloring and emotional intensity. It begins with my suddenly noticing 12 distant silver points in the clear brilliant sky filled with an unfamiliar abnormal hum. I'm seven years old, standing in a meadow, and staring at the points barely moving across the sky.

如今，当我回首往事，我很惊讶我居然能如此生动地回忆起轰炸开始的情况，那天的色彩和紧张的情绪仍然清晰地印在我的脑海中。那天，我突然发现在晴朗的天空中出现了 12 个银色的小点儿，离我很远，发出不正常的嗡嗡声，这种声音我以前从来没听过。那年我七岁，就这样站在一片草地上，盯着天空中几乎不怎么移动的小点儿。

Suddenly, nearby, at the edge of the forest, there's the tremendous roar of bombs exploding. From my standpoint, I see gigantic fountains of earth spraying upward. I want to run toward this extraordinary spectacle; it terrorizes and fascinates me. I have not yet grown accustomed to war and can't relate into a single chain of causes and effects these airplanes, the roar of the bombs, the earth radiating out from the forest, and my seemingly inevitable death. Unable to conceive of the danger, I start running toward the forest, in the direction of the falling bombs. But a hand claws at me and tugs me to the ground. \move!\know exists, whose meaning I don't understand: That way is death.

突然，就在附近，森林的边缘，我听到有巨大的炸弹爆炸的声音。在我这个小孩的眼里，我看到的是泥土像巨大的喷泉一样冲到天上。我想跑过去看看这个特别的景象，它让我感到害怕，但是也让我着迷。我还没有习惯战争，也不能把这些飞机、炸弹的轰鸣、森林那边飞溅开来的泥土以及我看似必然的死亡联系成单一的因果关系。没考虑有危险，我开始朝着投下炸弹的森林方向跑。这时一只手拉住了我，把我拽倒在地上。“趴下来，”我听到母亲发抖的声音，“不要动!”我还记得母亲把我紧紧贴在她身边，说的一些东西我并不知道，也并不理解其含义：那是一条死路。

It's night and I'm sleepy, but I'm not allowed to sleep. We have to evacuate the city and run away in the night like convicts. Where to, I don't know; but I do understand that flight has suddenly become some kind of higher necessity, some new form of life, because everyone is running away.

到了晚上，我很困，但是我不能睡。我们不得不撤离这座城市，像囚犯一样在夜间逃亡。到哪儿去，我不知道，但是我知道逃跑突然变成了某种必须要做的事情，一种新的生存方式，因为每个人都在逃跑。

All highways, roads, and even country paths are a tangle of wagons, carts, and bicycles, with bundles and suitcases, and innumerable terrified, helplessly wandering people. Some are running away to the east, others to the west, north, south; they run in circles, fall from profound fatigue, sleep for a moment, then begin anew their aimless journey. I clasp my younger sister's hand firmly in mine. We mustn't get lost, my mother warns; but even without her telling me, I sense that some form of dangerous evil has permeated the world.

所有公路、大路、甚至是乡间小路上都是混乱的马车、拉车、自行车，上面装着包裹和箱子，还有数不清的吓坏了的人，他们无助地游走着。一些人向东边跑，另一些人向西边、

北边、南边跑；他们徒劳地跑着，实在累了就躺下来，睡一会儿，然后重新开始他们漫无目的的旅程。我紧紧地把妹妹的手握在手里。我母亲警告过，我们不能走失；但就算她没告诉我，我也能感觉到某种危险的灾难弥漫了整个世界。

I'm walking with my sister beside a wagon. It's a simple ladder wagon, lined with hay, and high up on the hay, on a cotton sheet, rests my grandfather. He can't move; he is paralyzed, another casualty of a landmine. When an air raid begins, the entire group dives into ditches; only my grandfather remains on the deserted road. He sees the airplanes flying at him, sees them violently dip and aim, sees the fire of ammunition, hears the roar of the engines passing over his head. When the planes disappear, we return to the wagon and my mother wipes the sweat from my grandfather's flushed face. Sometimes, there are air raids several times a day. After each one, sweat pours from my grandfather's tired face.

我和妹妹在马车边走着。这是一辆简易马车，车里铺着干草，在干草上，铺着一条棉布床单，我的祖父躺在上面。他不能动，已经瘫痪了；也是地雷的受害者。空袭一来时，所有人都冲到了壕沟里，只有我祖父留在没人的马路上。他看着飞机向自己猛扑过来，看着它们猛地俯冲瞄准，看着弹药喷出烈焰，听着轰鸣的引擎从他的头上飞过。当飞机消失后，我们回到马车边，母亲擦去祖父通红的脸上的汗水。有时，一天会有好几次空袭，每次空袭过后，汗水都会渗满我祖父疲惫的脸。

We're entering an increasingly appalling landscape. There's smoke on the horizon, the blaze of battle fading. We pass by deserted villages, solitary, burned-out houses. We pass battlefields dense with the garbage of abandoned war equipment, bombed-out railway stations, overturned cars. It smells of gunpowder, and of burning, decomposing meat after a massacre. Everywhere are the corpses of horses, too defenseless in this human war.

我们正在踏入一个越来越可怕的场景。地平线上浓烟滚滚，战火在慢慢熄灭。我们经过了废弃的村庄和孤零零的被烧毁的房屋。我们经过了战场，这里到处都是垃圾，有丢弃的武器装备、被炸毁的火车站、翻倒的车辆。空气中都是火药味和大屠杀后尸体烧焦和腐烂的味道。到处都是马的死尸，在人类战争中它们是孱弱无力的。

When winter comes, we stop running from the bombs so we can hide from the severe elements. Winter is but another season for those in normal conditions, but for the poor during wartime, winter is a disaster, a pervasive and constant threat. We find an apartment in the slums that provides a minimal coverage from the snow but we still can't afford to heat the furnace; we can't buy fuel nor risk stealing it. Death is the punishment for the robbery of coal or wood - human life is now worth next to nothing.

当冬季来临的时候，我们停了下来，不再逃避轰炸，这样我们就可以躲过恶劣的天气了。对正常情况下的人们来说，冬天只不过是另一个季节。但对于战时的穷人来说，冬天是一个灾难，一个无处不在、持续不断的威胁。我们在贫民窟里找了套房子，勉强在风雪中栖身，但我们生不起火；我们既买不起燃料，也不敢冒险去偷。偷盗燃煤和木料是要处死的——人的生命在此时一文不值。

We have nothing to eat. My mother stands brooding at the window for hours; I can see her fixed stare. I can see other residents staring out into the street from many windows, as if they were waiting for something. I weave my way around the backyards with a gang of stray boys; it's something between play and searching for a scrap of anything edible.

我们什么吃的也没有。我母亲在窗边愁闷着，一站就是几个小时，我能看到她呆滞的眼神。我能看到很多人从窗口旁盯着下面的街道看，好像在等待着什么。我和一群流浪的孩子在后院来回跑着玩儿，这既是游戏，也是在寻找一点吃的东西。