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新視野大學英語讀寫教程第四冊unit8-a Section A Slavery Gave Me Nothing to Lose

所屬教程:新視野大學英語讀寫教程第四冊

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Slavery Gave Me Nothing to Lose


I remember the very day that I became black. Up to my thirteenth year I lived in the little Negro town of Eatonville, Florida. It is exclusively a black town. The only white people I knew passed through the town going to or coming from Orlando, Florida. The native whites rode dusty horses, and the northern tourists traveled down the sandy village road in automobiles. The town knew the Southerners and never stopped chewing sugar cane when they passed. But the Northerners were something else again. They were peered at cautiously from behind curtains by the timid. The bold would come outside to watch them go past and got just as much pleasure out of the tourists as the tourists got out of the village.

The front deck might seem a frightening place for the rest of the town, but it was a front row seat for me. My favorite place was on top of the gatepost. Not only did I enjoy the show, but I didn't mind the actors knowing that I liked it. I usually spoke to them in passing. I'd wave at them and when they returned my wave, I would say a few words of greeting. Usually the automobile or the horse paused at this, and after a strange exchange of greetings, I would probably "go a piece of the way" with them, as we say in farthest Florida, and follow them down the road a bit. If one of my family happened to come to the front of the house in time to see me, of course the conversation would be rudely broken off.

During this period, white people differed from black to me only in that they rode through town and never lived there. They liked to hear me "speak pieces" and sing and wanted to see me dance, and gave me generously of their small silver for doing these things, which seemed strange to me for I wanted to do them so much that I needed bribing to stop. Only they didn't know it. The colored people gave no coins. They disapproved of any joyful tendencies in me, but I was their Zora nevertheless. I belonged to them, to the nearby hotels, to the country — everybody's Zora.

But changes came to the family when I was thirteen, and I was sent to school in Jacksonville. I left Eatonville as Zora. When I got off the riverboat at Jacksonville, she was no more. It seemed that I had suffered a huge change. I was not Zora of Eatonville any more; I was now a little black girl. I found it out in certain ways. In my heart as well as in the mirror, I became a permanent brown — like the best shoe polish, guaranteed not to rub nor run.

Someone is always at my elbow reminding me that I am the granddaughter of slaves. It fails to register depression with me. Slavery is something sixty years in the past. The operation was successful and the patient is doing well, thank you. The terrible war that made me an American instead of a slave said "On the line!" The period following the Civil War said "Get set!"; and the generation before me said "Go!" Like a foot race, I am off to a flying start and I must not halt in the middle to look behind and weep. Slavery is the price I paid for civilization, and the choice was not with me. No one on earth ever had a greater chance for glory. The world to be won and nothing to be lost. It is thrilling to think, to know, that for any act of mine, I shall get twice as much praise or twice as much blame. It is quite exciting to hold the center of the national stage, with the audience not knowing whether to laugh or to weep.

I do not always feel colored. Even now I often achieve the unconscious Zora of that small village, Eatonville. For instance, I can sit in a restaurant with a white person. We enter chatting about any little things that we have in common and the white man would sit calmly in his seat, listening to me with interest.

At certain times I have no race, I am me. But in the main, I feel like a brown bag of mixed items propped up against a wall. Against a wall in company with other bags, white, red and yellow. Pour out the contents, and there is discovered a pile of small things both valuable and worthless. Bits of broken glass, lengths of string, a key to a door long since decayed away, a rusty knife-blade, old shoes saved for a road that never was and never will be, a nail bent under the weight of things too heavy for any nail, a dried flower or two still with a little smell. In your hand is the brown bag. On the ground before you is the pile it held — so much like the piles in the other bags, could they be emptied, that all might be combined and mixed in a single heap and the bags refilled without altering the content of any greatly. A bit of colored glass more or less would not matter. Perhaps that is how the Great Stuffer of Bags filled them in the first place — who knows?

Words: 897

 

 

    黑奴的歷史對我沒有什么損失
    我清楚地記得我成為黑人的那一天。 13歲之前我一直住在佛羅里達州的一個黑人小鎮(zhèn)伊頓維爾。 小鎮(zhèn)的居民全是黑人。 我所接觸過的僅有的白人都是來自佛羅里達的奧蘭多或是去往奧蘭多的過客。 本地的白人騎著風塵仆仆的馬匹,而北方來的旅游者則駕著汽車沿著鄉(xiāng)下的沙土路一路駛來。 小鎮(zhèn)的人見慣了南方人,因此他們經過時小鎮(zhèn)的人照舊大嚼甘蔗。 但是看到北方人則又是另一回事了。 小鎮(zhèn)的人膽小的就躲在窗簾后小心翼翼地偷看他們, 膽大的則會走出屋外看著他們經過,感到很開心,就像這些旅游者看到這村莊也感到很有樂趣一樣。
    上門前平臺去可能會嚇壞鎮(zhèn)上其他人,但對我來說,那兒就像前排座位一樣。 我最愛坐在門柱上。 我不僅喜歡在那兒看人們來來往往,也不在乎讓那些人知道我喜歡看, 順便還與他們搭幾句話。我向他們揮手,如果他們也向我揮手,我還與他們打招呼。 對此,騎馬或駕車的人通常會停下來,我們不可思議地互打招呼之后,我可能會隨著他們"顛兒幾步",這是我們佛羅里達最南邊的說法,意思是跟著他們走上一小段路。 如果正趕上家里人碰巧來到房前見到我,他們當然就會毫不客氣地打斷我們的交談。
    那段日子里,在我看來,白人和黑人的不同只不過是他們路過鎮(zhèn)上,但從不住在鎮(zhèn)上。 他們喜歡聽我"說幾句",聽我唱歌,想看我跳舞,并為此大方地給我小銀幣。這倒使我感到奇怪,因為我太愿意跟他們"說上幾句",為他們唱歌跳舞了,得給我錢才能使我停下來。 只是他們不知道這一點。 黑人不會給我錢,對我表現(xiàn)出的任何一點歡樂的苗頭,他們都不贊同。 但我仍然是他們的佐拉,我是屬于他們,屬于周圍的旅館,屬于那個地方,屬于每一個人的佐拉。
    但我13歲時,家里發(fā)生了變故,我被送到杰克遜維爾的學校去了。 離開伊頓維爾時我還是我,佐拉。 可在杰克遜維爾下了船后,原來的佐拉不復存在了。 我似乎已發(fā)生了巨大的變化, 我再也不是伊頓維爾的佐拉了,我現(xiàn)在成了個小黑妞。 在好幾方面我都發(fā)現(xiàn)了自己的這種變化。 不僅在鏡中,也在內心深處,我變成了永遠不黑不白的棕色人-- 就像那最好的鞋油,不會被抹掉,也永不褪色。
    身邊總有人不斷提醒我自己是個奴隸的后代,但這并沒有使我沮喪。 奴隸制是60年前的事了。 解放黑奴這場手術很成功,病人的情況也不錯,謝謝。 這場使我從黑奴變?yōu)槊绹竦目膳聭?zhàn)爭對我叫道"各就各位!" 內戰(zhàn)后的那段時期說"預備! "我的上一代人喊道"跑!" 就像一場賽跑一樣,我飛速起跑,決不可中途停步,回望傷心。 黑奴的歷史是我為文明生活所付的代價,而作出這一選擇的并不是我。 世界上再沒有什么人有過比此更大的爭取榮耀的機會了。 想想將要獲得的新生活,而且我們沒有任何損失。 不管我做什么,都可能得到雙倍的嘉獎,或是雙份的責難。 想想這一點,知道這一點都令人激動不已。占據(jù)國內舞臺的中心可真刺激,而臺下的觀眾則不知是喜是憂。
    我沒有老是感到自己是有色人種。 甚至現(xiàn)在我感覺自己還是在伊頓維爾小鎮(zhèn)上的懵然無知的佐拉。 比如, 我可以在餐館和一位白人坐在一起。 我們閑談一些平常的瑣事, 白人會安靜地坐著,興味盎然地聽著。
    有時候我不屬于任何人種,我就是我自己。 但我大體上還是感覺自己像一只靠墻立著裝滿各種雜物的棕色皮袋子。 靠墻立著的還有其他顏色的袋子,白色的,紅色的,黃色的。 倒出袋中物,可以發(fā)現(xiàn)一堆或有用或無用的小雜物: 碎玻璃塊;小線頭兒;一扇早已朽敗的門上的鑰匙;一把銹蝕的刀;一雙為某條從來沒有、將來也不會有的路而準備的舊鞋;一顆彎折的釘,它所承受過的重量足以弄折任何釘子;一兩支干花,仍散發(fā)出幾許花香。 你手中拿的是棕色的袋子, 面前的地上則是袋中所裝的那堆東西的--它與其他袋子中所倒出的一堆堆東西幾乎一模一樣,如果把它們混成一大堆,再重新裝回各自的袋中,也不會有多大的不同。 多少有點有色玻璃片也沒有什么關系。 也許當初上帝這個裝袋者往我們各自的皮袋子中填塞時正是這么做的,誰知道呢?
 

 

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