美麗新世界Brave New World 第11章(2)

"Which will finish her off in a month or two," thedoctor confided to Bernard.

“那會叫她在一兩個月之內(nèi)死去的。”醫(yī)生對伯納透露了真情。

One day the respiratory centre will be paralyzed.

有一天她的呼吸系統(tǒng)中心會癱瘓，

No more breathing Finished.

不能呼吸，于是就完了。

And a good thing too.

倒也是好事

If we could rejuvenate, of course it would be different. But we can't.

我們?nèi)绻軌蚍道线€童，那又是另外一回事了，可惜辦不到。

Surprisingly, as every one thought (for on soma-holiday Linda was most conveniently out of theway),John raised objections.

出乎每個人意料之外(琳妲在度唆麻假，不會礙事)，提出反對的倒是約翰。

But aren't you shortening her life by giving her so much?

咱們給她那么大的分量豈不是要縮短她的壽命嗎?

"In one sense, yes," Dr. Shaw admitted.

“在某種意義上講，是的，”蕭大夫承認(rèn)，

But in another we're actually lengthening it.

可是從另一種意義上講我們實際上是在延長她的壽命。

The young man stared, uncomprehending.

小伙子莫名其妙地瞪大了眼睛。

"Soma may make you lose a few years in time," the doctor went on.

“唆麻讓你失去了幾年壽命，”大夫說下去，

But think of the enornous, immeasurable durations it can give you out of time.

但是，想一想它在時間以外給你的悠久歲月吧。

Every soma-holiday is a bit of what our ancestors used to call eternity.

那是長得難以計量的。每一次唆麻假在我們祖先的眼里都是永恒呢。

John began to understand. "Eternity was in our lips and eyes," he murmured.

約翰開始明白了。“原來永恒只在我們嘴上和眼睛里。”他喃喃地說。

Eh?

你說什么?

Nothing.

沒有說什么。

"Of course," Dr. Shaw went on, you can't allow people to go popping off into eternity if they'vegot any serious work to do.

“當(dāng)然，”蕭大夫說下去，別人有正經(jīng)工作要做你就不能打發(fā)他到永恒去，

But as she hasn't got any serious work …

可是她并沒有什么正經(jīng)工作要做……。

"All the same," John persisted, "I don't believe it's right."

“可我照樣，”約翰堅持，“認(rèn)為這不合適。”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Well, of course, if you prefer to have her screaming mad allthe time …"

大夫聳了聳肩。“好了，如果你寧可讓她發(fā)瘋一樣叫喊，喊個沒完的話，你可以……。”

In the end John was forced to give in.

約翰最后只好讓步了。

Linda got her soma. Thenceforward she remained in her little room on the thirty-seventh floorof Bernard's apartment house,

琳妲得到了竣麻。從此以后她便呆在三十七樓伯納公寓的小房間里，

in bed, with the radio and television always on, and the patchouli tap just dripping,

躺在床上，永遠開著收音機、電視機永遠開著印度薄荷香水，讓它滴著;

and the soma tablets within reach of her hand—there she remained;

唆麻片放在一伸手就夠得著的地方——她呆在那兒，

and yet wasn't there at all, was all the time away, infinitely far away, on holiday; on holiday insome other world,

她永遠在遼遠處度假，在虛無縹緲的地方，在另一個世界。

where the music of the radio was a labyrinth of sonorous colours, a sliding, palpitatinglabyrinth, that led (by what beautifully inevitable windings) to a bright centre of absoluteconviction;

那兒收音機的音樂是一個色彩絢爛的深淵，一個滑音演奏的悸動的深淵，通向一個光明燦爛的絕對信念的中心(其間經(jīng)過了多少美妙的曲折);

where the dancing images of the television box were the performers in some indescribablydelicious all-singing feely; where the dripping patchouli was more than scent—was the sun, wasa million saxophones, was Popé making love, only much more so, incomparably more, andwithout end.

在那兒，閃爍在電視機里的形象是某些在美妙得難以描述的，全是歌唱的感官片里的演員。在那兒滴下的印度薄荷不光是香水，也是陽光，也是一百萬只色唆風(fēng)，也是跟她做愛的波培，只是比那還要美妙得多，美妙得沒法比，而且無窮無盡。