第29章 两者之间的秘密A Secret for Two

昆汀·雷诺兹 /Quentin Reynolds

Montreal is a very large city. Like all large cities, it has small streets. Streets, for example, like Prince Edward Street - only four blocks long. No one knew Prince Edward Street as well as Pierre Dupin. He had delivered milk to the families on the street for thirty years.

For the past f ifteen years a large white horse pulled his milk wagon. In Montreal, especially in the French part of the city, animals and children are often given the names of saints. Pierre's horse had no name when it f irst came to the milk company. Pierre was told he could use the horse. He moved his hand gently and lovingly across the horse's neck and sides. He looked into the animal's eyes. “This is a gentle horse,” Pierre said. “I can see a beautiful spirit shining out of its eyes. I will name him after Saint Joseph, who also was a gentle and beautiful spirit.”

After about a year, the horse Joseph got to know every house that received milk, and every house that did not.

Every morning at f ive, Pierre arrived at the milk company's stables to f ind his wagon already f illed with bottles of milk and Joseph waiting for him, Pierre would call, “Bonjour, my old friend,” as he climbed into his seat, while Joseph turned his head toward the driver.

Pierre would talk about Joseph. “I never touch the reins. He knows just where to stop. Why, a blind man could deliver my milk with Joseph pulling the wagon.”

So it went on for years-always the same. Pierre and Joseph slowly grew old together. Pierre's huge walrus mustache was white now and Joseph didn't lift his knees so high or raise his head quite so much. Jacques, the bossman of the stables, never noticed that they both were getting old until Pierre appeared one morning carrying a heavy walking stick._____________________

“Hey, Pierre,” Jacques laughed. “Maybe you got the gout, hey?”

“Mais oui, Jacques,” Pierre said. “One grows old. One's legs get tired.”

“You should teach that horse to carry the milk to the front door for you,” Jacques told him. “He does everything else.”

The horse knew every one of the forty families that got milk on Prince Edward Street. The cooks knew that Pierre could not read or write; so, instead of leaving orders in an empty milk bottle, they simply sang out if they needed an extra bottle. “Bring an extra bottle this morning, Pierre,” they often sang when they heard Pieer's wagon rumble over the street.

“So you have visitors for dinner tonight,” Pierre would happily answer.

Pierre also had a wonderful memory. When he arrived at the stable he always remembered to tell Jacques. “The Pacquins took an extra bottle this morning; the Le Moines bought a pint of cream...”

Most of the drivers had to make out the weekly bills and collect the money. But Jacques, liking Pierre, never asked him to do this. All Pierre had to do was arrive at f ive in the morning, walk to his wagon, which always was in the same place, and deliver his milk. He returned about two hours later, got down from his seat, called a cheery “Au revoir” to Jacques, then walked slowly down the street.

One day the president of the milk company came to inspect the early morning milk deliveries. Jacques pointed to Pierre and said: “Watch how he talks to that horse? See how the horse listens and how he turns his head toward Pierre? See the look in that horse's eyes? You know, I think those two share a secret. I have often felt it. It is as though they both sometimes laugh at us as they go off. Pierre is a good man. Monsieur President, but he is getting old. Maybe he ought to be given a rest, and a small pension.”

“But of course,” the president laughed. “I knew Pierre's work. He has been on this job now for thirty years, all who know him love him. Tell him it is time he rested. He will get his pay every week as before.”

But Pierre refused to leave his job. He said his life would be nothing if he could not drive Joseph every day. “We are two old men,” he said to Jacques. “Let us wear out together. When Joseph is ready to leave, then I too will do so.”

There was something about Pierre and his horse that made a man smile tenderly. Each seemed to get some hidden strength from the other. As Pierre sat in his seat, with Joseph tied to the wagon, neither seemed old. But when they f inished their work-then Pierre walked lamely down the street, seeming very old indeed, and the horse's head dropped and he walked slowly to his stall.

Then one cold morning, Jacques had terrible news for Pierre. It was still dark. The air was like ice. Snow had fallen during the night.

Jacques said, “Pierre, your horse, Joseph, didn't wake up. He was very old, Pierre. He was twenty-f ive and that is like being seventy-f ive for a man.”

“Yes,” Pierre said slowly. “Yes. I am seventy-f ive. And I cannot see Joseph again.”

“Of course you can,” Jacques said softly. “He is over in his stall, looking very peaceful. Go over and see him.”

Pierre took one step forward, and then turned. “No... no... you... you don't understand, Jacques.”

Jacques patted him on the shoulder. “We'll f ind another horse just as good as Joseph. Why, in a month you'll teach him to know all the homes as well as Joseph did. We'll ...”

The look in Pierre's eyes stopped him. For years Pierre had worn a large heavy cap that came down low over his eyes. It kept out the bitter cold wind. Now, Jacques looked into Pierre's eyes and he saw something that shocked him. He saw a dead, lifeless look in them.

“Take the day off, Pierre,” Jacques said. But Pierre had gone limping down the street. Pierre walked to the corner and stepped into the street. There was a warning shout from the driver of a big truck... there was the screech of rubber tires as the truck tried to stop. But Pierre heard nothing.

F ive minutes later a doctor said, “He's dead... killed instantly.”

“I couldn't help it,” the truck driver said. “He walked in front of my truck. He never saw it, I guess. Why, he walked as though he were blind.”

The doctor bent down. “Blind? Of course the man was blind. See those growths? This man has been blind for f ive years.” He turned to Jacques, “You say he worked for you? Didn't you know he was blind?”

“No... no...” Jacques said softly. “None of us knew. Only one... only one knew-a friend of his, named Joseph... It was a secret, I think, just between those two.”

蒙特利尔是一个非常大的城市。像所有大城市一样，它也有很多小街道，比如，爱德华王子街就只有四个街区。没有人知道爱德华王子街，也没有人知道皮埃尔·迪潘。皮埃尔·迪潘在这条街上送奶有三十年了。

后十五年，皮埃尔驾着一匹白色的高头大马拉着的送奶车送奶。在蒙特利尔尤其是在这个城市的法语区，孩子和动物通常会以圣人的名字为名。皮埃尔的这匹马刚到奶厂时，还没有名字。有人告诉皮埃尔他可以用这匹马。他温柔而亲切地抚摸着马脖子和马身，看着它的眼睛。他说：“这是匹温顺的马，从马的眼里能看到它美丽的灵魂。我要叫它圣·约瑟夫，有位文雅且品德高尚的人就叫这个名字。”

大约一年后，约瑟夫就知道了哪些是订奶的家庭，哪些是没有订奶的家庭。

每天早晨五点钟，皮埃尔都会来到奶厂的马厩，找到已经装好奶的马车和正在等候自己的约瑟夫。约瑟夫转过头来看皮埃尔时，皮埃尔会一边爬上自己的座位，一边对马说：“老朋友，早上好。”

皮埃尔这样评价约瑟夫说：“我从来不用拽缰绳，它就知道在哪儿停。天哪，只要约瑟夫拉着车，就算是瞎子也能把奶送到。”

就这样过去了一年又一年，皮埃尔和约瑟夫都慢慢变老了。皮埃尔浓密的海象胡须现在已经变白，约瑟夫也不再像从前那样昂首阔步。直到一天早上，皮埃尔拄着沉重的拐杖出现在雅克面前，马厩的老板才注意到他们两个已老态尽显。

“嗨，皮埃尔，”雅克笑着说，“你是不是得了痛风啊？”

“恐怕是吧，雅克。”皮埃尔说，“人老了，腿也累了。”

“你应该教马替你把奶送到门口。”雅克告诉他，“它什么都能做。”

的确，这匹马认识爱德华王子街上四十个订奶家庭任何一户。家庭主厨们知道皮埃尔不识字，所以她们不会在空瓶子里留下订单。如果想要多订一瓶奶的话，她们会在皮埃尔的车驶过大街时，对他喊道“今天早晨再送一瓶奶来，皮埃尔”。

“那您今晚一定有客人吧。”皮埃尔会开心地回答。

他的记忆力也非常好。每次回到马厩，他总会记得告诉雅克：“帕坎家今天多订了一瓶奶，勒穆瓦家买了一品脱奶油……”

多数送奶工都需要整理每周的账目，并按账目去收钱。但雅克喜欢皮埃尔，从来不让他干这些事情。因此，皮埃尔要做的事情就是每天早上五点钟到这儿，找到停在固定地方的马车，去送他的奶。大约两小时后，皮埃尔就能回来，跳下马车，愉快地和雅克说声“再见”，然后慢慢地沿街离去。

有一天，牛奶公司的董事长来视察早晨送奶的情况。雅克指着皮埃尔说：“瞧他是怎么和马儿说话的？看看马儿是怎样听，怎样转过头看着他的？看看马是什么样的目光？你知道吗，我觉得他们两个之间有个秘密。我经常这样想。有时，当他们离开时，似乎还会嘲笑我们。董事长先生，皮埃尔是个好人，但他年纪大了。也许应该让他退休了，可以给他一小笔养老金。”

“当然，”董事长笑着说，“对于皮埃尔的工作，我都清楚。他干了三十年，认识他的人都喜欢他。你告诉他可以退休了，每周薪水照付。”

但皮埃尔拒绝离开他的工作岗位。他说如果每天不驾着约瑟夫，他就会很无聊。“我们是两个老家伙，”他对雅克说，“让我们一起老去吧。等约瑟夫准备离去的时候，我再离去。”

皮埃尔与他的马之间，有着一种能让人微笑的温情。他们好像能从对方那里得到一种力量。当约瑟夫被套上马车，皮埃尔坐上车时，他们两个看起来就都不老了。但当他们完成工作，皮埃尔沿着大街蹒跚离去时，他似乎确实很老了。而约瑟夫也低着头，慢慢走进栅栏里。

后来，在一个寒冷的清晨，雅克告诉了皮埃尔一个坏消息。那时，天还没亮，空气冰冷。雪下了一夜还未停。

雅克说：“皮埃尔，你的马约瑟夫没有醒过来。它已经二十五岁了，太老了。如果是人的话，他已经七十五岁了。”

“是啊。”皮埃尔慢慢说道，“是的，我已经七十五岁了。我再也见不到约瑟夫了。”

“你当然能看到。”雅克温柔地说，“它就在栅栏里，看上去很安详。去看看它吧。”

皮埃尔向前走去，却又转过身来，说：“不……不……雅克，你，你不懂。”

雅克轻拍他的肩膀说：“我们会找到另一匹像约瑟夫一样好的马。怎么样，你只要一个月就可以教会它识路，像约瑟夫一样知道所有订奶的家庭。我们将……”

皮埃尔的眼神让他停了下来。几年来，皮埃尔一直戴着一顶厚重的大帽子。帽子戴得很低，把眼睛也遮住了。帽子为他抵御了刺骨的寒风。而此时，雅克看着皮埃尔的眼睛，那毫无生机的眼神让他震惊。

“今天休息吧，皮埃尔。”雅克说。但皮埃尔沿着街道一瘸一拐地走了。他走到街角，拐进了那条街。迎面一辆大卡车飞驰而来，司机大叫着警告他，同时，卡车橡胶胎因急刹车发出刺耳的声音。但皮埃尔什么也没听到。

过了五分钟，医生说：“他死了，当场死亡。”

“我没有办法。”卡车司机说，“他走在我的车前。我猜他根本就没看到车。天哪，他走路的样子就像是个瞎子。”

医生弯下腰：“瞎子？这个人的确是个瞎子。看到他的眼睛了吗？他已经瞎了五年了。”他转向雅克说：“你说他为你工作，难道你不知道他是个瞎子？”

“不知道……不知道……”雅克轻轻地说，“我们谁都不知道。只有一个，只有他的一个朋友——约瑟夫知道。我想那是他们之间的一个秘密。”

记忆填空

1._______ the past f ifteen years a large white horse pulled his_______ wagon. In Montreal, especially in the French part of the city,_______ and children are often given the names of saints. Pierre's horse had no name when it_______ came to the milk company. Pierre was_______ he could use the horse.

2.Then one_______ morning, Jacques had terrible news for Pierre. It was still_______. The air was like ice. Snow had fallen_______ the night.

3.There was a warning_______ from the driver of a big truck..._______ was the screech of rubber tires as the truck tried to_______.

佳句翻译

1.他温柔而亲切地抚摸着马脖子和马身，看着它的眼睛。

译_______________________________________________________________

2.就这样过去了一年又一年，皮埃尔和约瑟夫都慢慢变老了。

译_______________________________________________________________

3.而此时，雅克看着皮埃尔的眼睛，那毫无生机的眼神让他震惊。

译_______________________________________________________________

短语应用

1.Most of the drivers had to make out the weekly bills and collect the money.

make out：辨别出；填写，写出

造_______________________________________________________________

2.It is as though they both sometimes laugh at us as they go off.

laugh at：嘲笑，取笑

造_______________________________________________________________