Some things are hard to remember. I'm thinking now of when Stradlater got back from his date with Jane. I mean I can't remember exactly what I was doing when I heard his goddam stupid footsteps coming down the corridor.
有的事情很难回忆。我现在正在回想斯特拉德莱塔跟琴约会后回来时候的情景。我是说我怎么也记不起我听到他混帐的脚步声从走廊传来时我到底在干什么。
I probably was still looking out the window, but I swear I can't remember. I was so damn worried, that's why. When I really worry about something, I don't just fool around. I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something.
我大概还在往窗外眺望，可我发誓说我怎么也记不起来了。原因是，我当时心里烦得要命。我要是为什么事心里真正烦起来，就不再胡闹。我心里一烦，甚至都得上厕所。
Only, I don't go. I'm too worried to go. I don't want to interrupt my worrying to go. If you knew Stradlater, you'd have been worried, too. I'd double-dated with that bastard a couple of times, and I know what I'm talking about. He was unscrupulous [ʌnˈskruːpjələs] 肆无忌惮的；寡廉鲜耻的. He really was.
只是我不肯动窝儿，我烦得甚至都不想动，我不愿随便动窝儿打断自己的烦恼。要是你认识斯特拉德莱塔，你也一准会心烦。我曾跟那杂种一块儿约会过女朋友，我知道我自己说的什么。他这人不知廉耻。他真是这样的人。
Anyway, the corridor was all linoleum [lɪˈnoʊliəm] 油毯 and all, and you could hear his goddam footsteps coming right towards the room. I don't even remember where I was sitting when he came in--at the window, or in my chair or his. I swear I can't remember.
嗯，走廊上铺着厚厚的油毡，你听得见他那混帐的脚步声正往房里走来。我甚至记不起他进来的时候我到底坐在什么地方——坐在窗边呢，还是坐在我自己的或者他的椅子上。我可以发誓，我再也记不得了。
He came in griping抱怨 about how cold it was out. Then he said, "Where the hell is everybody? It's like a goddam morgue 陈尸所；资料室around here."
他进来的时候没事找碴儿，怪外面天气太冷。接着他说：“他妈的这儿的人都到哪儿去了？简直象个混帐停尸场。”
I didn't even bother to answer him. If he was so goddam stupid not to realize it was Saturday night and everybody was out or asleep or home for the week end, I wasn't going to break my neck telling him.
我甚至都没肯答理他。谁叫他自己他妈的那么傻，都不知道这是星期六晚上，大伙儿不是外出度周末，就是睡觉或回家去了，所以我也不会急于告诉他。
He started getting undressed. He didn't say one goddam word about Jane. Not one. Neither did I. I just watched him. All he did was thank me for letting him wear my hound's-tooth. He hung it up on a hanger and put it in the closet.
他开始脱衣服。关于琴的事他一字没提。连吭都没吭一声。我也和他一样。我只是拿眼望着他。他呢，只是就我借给他穿狗齿花纹上衣的事向我道谢了一声。他把上衣搭在一个衣架上，放进了壁橱。
Then when he was taking off his tie, he asked me if I'd written his goddam composition for him. I told him it was over on his goddam bed. He walked over and read it while he was unbuttoning his shirt. He stood there, reading it, and sort of stroking his bare chest and stomach, with this very stupid expression on his face. He was always stroking his stomach or his chest. He was mad about himself.
后来，他在解领带的时候，问我替他写了那篇混帐作文没有。我对他说就在他自己的混帐床上。他走过去一面解衬衫钮扣，一面看作文。他站在那儿，一边看，一边用手摩挲着自己光着的胸脯和肚皮，脸上露出一种极傻的神情。他老是在摩挲自己的肚皮和胸脯。他疯狂地爱着自己。
All of a sudden, he said, "For Chrissake, Holden. This is about a goddam baseball glove."
突然他说：“天哪，霍尔顿。这写的是一只混帐的垒球手套呢。”
"So what?" I said. Cold as hell.
“怎么啦？”我说。冷得象块冰。
"Wuddaya mean so what? I told ya it had to be about a goddam room or a house or something."
“你说怎么啦是什么意思？我不是跟你说过，要写他妈的一个房间、一所房子什么的！”
"You said it had to be descriptive. What the hell's the difference if it's about a baseball glove?"
“你说要写篇描写文章。要是写了篇谈垒球手套购，他妈的有什么不一样？”
"God damn it." He was sore as hell. He was really furious.狂怒的；"You always do everything backasswards." He looked at me. "No wonder you're flunking the hell out of here," he said. "You don't do one damn thing the way you're supposed to. I mean it. Not one damn thing."
“真他妈的。”他气得要命。他这次是真生气了。“你干的事情没一样对头。”他看着我。“怪不得要把你他妈的开除出去，”他说。“要你于的事他妈的没一样是好好照着干的。我说的是心里话。他妈的一样也没有。”
"All right, give it back to me, then," I said. I went over and pulled it right out of his goddam hand. Then I tore it up.
“好吧，那就还给我好了，”我说。我走过去，把作文从他的混帐手里夺过来，撕得粉碎。
"What the hellja do that for?" he said.
“你他妈的写那玩艺儿干什么？”他说。
I didn't even answer him. I just threw the pieces in the wastebasket. Then I lay down on my bed, and we both didn't say anything for a long time. He got all undressed, down to his shorts, and I lay on my bed and lit a cigarette. You weren't allowed to smoke in the dorm, but you could do it late at night when everybody was asleep or out and nobody could smell the smoke. Besides, I did it to annoy Stradlater. It drove him crazy when you broke any rules. He never smoked in the dorm. It was only me.
我甚至都没回答他。我只是把碎纸扔进字纸篓，回到自己的床上躺下，有好长时间我们两人谁都没说话。他把衣服全脱了，只剩下裤衩，我呢，就歪在床上点了支烟。宿舍里本来不准吸烟，可等到夜深人静，大伙儿有的睡觉有的外出，没人闻得到烟味的时候，你可以偷着吸。再说，我这样做也是故意跟斯特拉德莱塔捣蛋。他只要见人不守校规，就会气得发疯。他自己从来不在宿舍里吸烟。只有我一个人吸。
He still didn't say one single solitary /ˈsɑːləteri/ 孤独的；独居的 word about Jane. So finally I said, "You're back pretty goddam late if she only signed out for nine-thirty. Did you make her be late signing in?"
关于琴的事他依旧只字不提。因此最后我说：“要是她外出的时间只签到九点三十，你倒他妈的回来得挺晚呢。你让她回去得迟了？”
He was sitting on the edge of his bed, cutting his goddam toenails, when I asked him that. "Coupla两三个 minutes," he said. "Who the hell signs out for nine-thirty on a Saturday night?" God, how I hated him.
他正在自己的床沿上铰他的混帐脚趾甲，听我问他，就回答说：“迟到一两分钟。在星期六晚上，有谁他妈的把外出时间签到九点三十的？”天哪，我有多恨他，“
"Did you go to New York?" I said.
你们到纽约去了没有？”我说。
"Ya crazy? How the hell could we go to New York if she only signed out for nine-thirty?"
“你疯了？她要是只签到九点三十，我们怎么能去他妈的纽约？”
"That's tough."
“这倒是糟糕。”
He looked up at me. "Listen," he said, "if you're gonna smoke in the room, how 'bout going down to the can and do it? You may be getting the hell out of here, but I have to stick 刺，坚持 around long enough to graduate."
他抬起头来瞅着我。“听着，”他说，“你要是非在房里抽烟不可，干吗不到厕所里去抽？你或许他妈的就要滚出这个学校，我可要一直呆到毕业哩。”
I ignored him. I really did. I went right on smoking like a madman. All I did was sort of turn over on my side and watched him cut his damn toenails. What a school. You were always watching somebody cut their damn toenails or squeeze their pimples or something.
我没理睬他。我真的没有。我象疯子似的一个劲儿抽着烟。我只是侧转身来瞅着他铰他的混帐脚趾甲。什么个学校！你老得瞅着人铰他的混帐脚趾甲，或是挤他的粉刺，或是诸如此类的玩艺儿。
"Did you give her my regards?" I asked him.
“你替我问候她了没有？”我问他。
"Yeah."
“晤。”
The hell he did, the bastard.
他问了才怪哩，这杂种！
"What'd she say?" I said. "Did you ask her if she still keeps all her kings in the back row?"
“她说了些什么？”我说。“你可曾问她下棋的时候是不是还把所有的国王都留在后排？”
"No, I didn't ask her. What the hell ya think we did all night--play checkers, for Chrissake?"
“没有，我没问她。你他妈的以为我们整个晚上都在干什么——在下棋吗，我的天？”
I didn't even answer him. God, how I hated him.
我甚至没答理他。天哪，我有多恨他。
"If you didn't go to New York, where'd ya go with her?" I asked him, after a little while. I could hardly keep my voice from shaking all over the place. Boy, was I getting nervous. I just had a feeling something had gone funny有趣的，好笑的，可疑的，不光明.
“你们要是没上纽约，你带她上哪儿去啦？”过了一会我问他说，说的时候禁不住声音直打颤。嘿，我心里真是不安得很。我只是感觉到有什么不对头的事发生了。
He was finished cutting his damn toenails. So he got up from the bed, in just his damn shorts and all, and started getting very damn playful. He came over to my bed and started leaning倾斜；倚靠 over me and taking these playful as hell socks 袜子 at my shoulder. "Cut it out," I said. "Where'd you go with her if you didn't go to New York?"
他已经铰完了他的混账脚趾甲，所以他从床上起身，光穿着他妈的裤衩，就他妈的兴致勃勃地跟我闹着玩儿起来。他走到我床边，俯在我身上，开始玩笑地拿拳头打我的肩膀。(为什么把袜子翻译成拳头)“别闹啦，”我说。“你们要是没上纽约，你带着她到底上哪啦？”
"Nowhere. We just sat in the goddam car." He gave me another one of those playtul stupid little socks on the shoulder.
“哪也没去。我们就坐在他妈的汽车里面。”他又玩笑地在我肩膀上轻轻打了一拳。
"Cut it out," I said. "Whose car?"
“别闹啦，”我说。“谁的汽车？”
"Ed Banky's."
“埃德.班基的。”
Ed Banky was the basketball coach at Pencey. Old Stradlater was one of his pets, because he was the center on the team,
埃德.班基是潘西的篮球教练。老斯特拉德莱塔在篮球队里打中锋，是他的得意弟子之一，
and Ed Banky always let him borrow his car when he wanted it. It wasn't allowed for students to borrow faculty /ˈfæklti/ 全体教员 guys' cars, but all the athletic bastards stuck together. In every school I've gone to, all the athletic bastards stick together.
所以斯特拉德莱塔每次借汽车，埃德.班基总是借给他。学生们本来是不准借用教职人员的汽车的，可是所有那些搞体育的杂种全都一鼻孔出气。我就读的每个学校里，所有那些搞体育的杂种全都一鼻孔出气。
Stradlater kept taking these shadow punches down at my shoulder. He had his toothbrush in his hand, and he put it in his mouth. "What'd you do?" I said.
斯特拉德莱塔还一个劲儿在我肩上练习拳击。他本来用手拿着牙刷，现在却把它叼在嘴里。“你干了些什么啦？”我说。
"Give her the time in Ed Banky's goddam car?" My voice was shaking something awful.
“在埃德.班基的混帐汽车里跟她干那事儿啦？”我的声音可真是抖得厉害。
"What a thing to say. Want me to wash your mouth out with soap?"
“你说的什么话。要我用肥皂把你的嘴洗洗干净吗？”
"Did you?"
“到底干了没有？”
"That's a professional secret, buddy."
“那可是职业性的秘密，老弟。”
This next part I don't remember so hot. All I know is I got up from the bed, like I was going down to the can or something, and then I tried to sock袜子，重击 him, with all my might, right smack 掌掴，打in the toothbrush, so it would split his goddam throat open. Only, I missed.
底下情况，我记不得太清楚了。我只知道我从床上起来，好象要到盥洗室去似的，可我突然打了他一拳，使尽了我全身的力气，这一拳本来想打在那把叼在他嘴里的牙刷上，好让那牙刷一家伙戳穿他的混帐喉咙，可惜我打偏了。
I didn't connect. All I did was sort of get him on the side of the head or something. It probably hurt him a little bit, but not as much as I wanted. It probably would've hurt him a lot, but I did it with my right hand, and I can't make a good fist with that hand. On account of that injury I told you about.
我没打中，只打在他的半边脑袋上。我也许打得他有点儿疼，可并不疼得象我所希望的那么厉害。我本来也许可以打得他很疼，可我是用右手打的，一点也使不上劲儿。我之前说过的那次受的伤。
Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was on the goddam floor and he was sitting on my chest, with his face all red. That is, he had his goddam knees on my chest, and he weighed about a ton. He had hold of my wrists, too, so I couldn't take another sock at him. I'd've killed him.
嗯，我记得的下一件事，就是我已躺在混帐地板上了，他满脸通红地坐在我胸脯上。那就是说他用他妈的两个膝盖压着我的胸脯，而他差不多有一吨重。他两手握住了我的手腕，所以我不能再挥拳打他，我真想一拳把他打死。
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he kept saying, and his stupid face kept getting redder and redder.
“他妈的你这是怎么啦？”他不住地说，他的傻脸蛋越来越红。
"Get your lousy knees off my chest," I told him. I was almost bawling大声叫出. I really was. "Go on, get off a me, ya crumby bastard."
“把你的臭膝盖打我的胸上拿掉，”我对他说。我几乎是在大声呦喝。我的确是的。“滚，打我身上滚开，你这个下流的杂种。”
He wouldn't do it, though. He kept holding onto my wrists and I kept calling him a sonuvabitch and all, for around ten hours. I can hardly even remember what all I said to him. I told him he thought he could give the time to anybody he felt like. I told him he didn't even care if a girl kept all her kings in the back row or not, and the reason he didn't care was because he was a goddam stupid moron.
可他没那么做，依旧使劲握住我的手腕，我就一个劲儿骂他杂种什么的，这样过了约莫十个钟头。我甚至记不起我都骂他些什么了。我说他大概自以为要跟谁干那事儿就可以干。我说他甚至都不关心一个姑娘在下棋时候是不是把她所有的国王都留在后排，而他所以不关心，是因为他是个傻极了的混帐窝囊废。
He hated it when you called a moron.All morons hate it when you call them a moron.
他最恨你叫他窝囊废。所有的窝囊废都恨别人叫他们窝囊废。
"Shut up, now, Holden," he said with his big stupid red face. "just shut up, now."
“住嘴，嘿，霍尔顿，”他说，他那又大又傻的脸涨得通红。“给我住嘴，嘿。”
"You don't even know if her first name is Jane or Jean, ya goddam moron!"
“你都不知道她的名字是琴还是琼，你这个混帐的窝囊废！”
"Now, shut up, Holden, God damn it--I'm warning ya," he said--I really had him going.
“嘿，住嘴，霍尔顿。真他妈的——我警告你，”他说——我真把他气坏了。
"If you don't shut up, I'm gonna slam ya one."
“你要是再不住嘴，我可要给你一巴掌了。”
"Get your dirty stinking moron knees off my chest."
“把你那肮脏的、发臭的窝囊膝盖打我的胸膛上拿掉。”
"If I letcha up, will you keep your mouth shut?" I didn't even answer him.
“我要是放你起来，你能不能闭住你的嘴？”我甚至没答理他。
He said it over again. "Holden. If I letcha up, willya keep your mouth shut?"
他又说了一遍。“霍尔顿。我要是让你起来，你能不能闭住你的嘴？”
"Yes."
“好吧。”
He got up off me, and I got up, too. My chest hurt like hell from his dirty knees.
他从我身上起来，我也跟着站了起来。我的胸隔给他的两个臭膝盖压得疼极了。
"You're a dirty stupid sonuvabitch of a moron," I told him.
“你真是个婊子养的又赃又傻的窝囊废，”我对他说。
That got him really mad. He shook his big stupid finger in my face. "Holden, God damn it, I'm warning you, now. For the last time. If you don't keep your yap shut, I'm gonna--"
这真把他气疯了。他把他的一只又粗又笨的指头伸到我脸上指划着。“霍尔顿，真他妈的，我再警告你一次。也是最后一次。你要是再不闭住你的臭嘴，我可要——”
"Why should I?" I said--I was practically yelling. "That's just the trouble with all you morons. You never want to discuss anything. That's the way you can always tell a moron. They never want to discuss anything intellig--"
“我干吗要闭住？”我说——我简直在大声喊叫了。“你们这些窝囊废就是这个毛病。你们从来不肯讨论问题。从这一点上就可以看出你是不是一个窝囊废。他们从来不肯讨论一些聪明的——”
Then he really let one go at me, and the next thing I knew I was on the goddam floor again. I don't remember if he knocked me out or not, but I don't think so. It's pretty hard to knock a guy out, except in the goddam movies.
我的话没说完，他真的给了我一下子，我只记得紧接着我又躺在混帐的地板上了。我记不起他有没有把我打昏过去，我想大概没有。要把一个人打昏过去并不那么容易，除非是在那些混帐电影里。
But my nose was bleeding all over the place. When I looked up old Stradlater was standing practically right on top of me. He had his goddam toilet kit under his arm. "Why the hell don'tcha shut up when I tellya to?" he said. He sounded pretty nervous. He probably was scared he'd fractured /ˈfræktʃərd/ 断裂 my skull 头盖骨，脑壳 or something when I hit the floor. It's too bad I didn't.
可我的鼻子上已全是血。我抬头一望，看见老斯特拉德莱塔简直就站在我身上。他还把他那套混帐的梳妆用具夹在胳肢窝底下。“我叫你住嘴，你他妈的干吗不听？”他说话的口气好象很紧张。我一下子倒在地板上，他也许是害怕已把我的脑袋瓜儿打碎了什么的。真倒霉，我的脑袋瓜儿怎么不碎呢。
"You asked for it, God damn it," he said. Boy, did he look worried.
“你这是自作自受，真他妈的，”他说。嘿，瞧他的样子倒真有点害怕了。
I didn't even bother to get up. I just lay there in the floor for a while, and kept calling him a moron sonuvabitch. I was so mad, I was practically bawling.
我甚至不打算站起来，就那么在地板上躺了一会儿，不住口地骂他是婊子养的窝囊废。我都气疯了，简直在破口大骂。
"Listen. Go wash your face," Stradlater said. "Ya hear me?"
“听着。快去洗一下脸，”斯特拉德莱塔说。“你听见了没有？”
I told him to go wash his own moron face--which was a pretty childish thing to say, but I was mad as hell. I told him to stop off on the way to the can and give Mrs. Schmidt the time.
我叫他去洗他自己的窝囊脸——这话当然很孩子气，可我确实气疯了。我叫他到盥洗室去的半路上最好顺便拐个弯，跟席密德太太干那事去。
Mrs. Schmidt was the janitor's/ˈdʒænɪtər/ 清洁工；看门人 wife. She was around sixty-five.
席密德太太是看门人的妻子，大约六十五岁了。
I kept sitting there on the floor till I heard old Stradlater close the door and go down the corridor/ˈkɒrɪdɔːr/ 走廊 to the can. Then I got up. I couldn't find my goddam hunting hat anywhere. Finally I found it. It was under the bed. I put it on, and turned the old peak around to the back, the way I liked it, and then I went over and took a look at my stupid face in the mirror.
我坐在地板上不动，直到听见老斯特拉德莱塔关上门，沿着走廊向盥洗室走去，我才站起来。我哪儿也找不到我那顶混帐猎人帽了。最后才在床底下找到。我戴上帽子，把鸭舌转到脑后，我就喜欢这么戴，然后过去照镜子，瞧瞧我自己的笨脸蛋。
You never saw such gore 流出的血in your life. I had blood all over my mouth and chin and even on my pajamas and bath robe长袍. It partly scared me and it partly fascinated /ˈfæsɪneɪtɪd/使着迷；使陶醉me.
你这一辈子再也没见过那样的血污。我的嘴上、腮帮上甚至睡衣上和浴衣上全都是血。我有点儿害怕，也有点儿神往。
All that blood and all sort of made me look tough. I'd only been in about two fights in my life, and I lost both of them. I'm not too tough. I'm a pacifist,/ˈpæsɪfɪst/ 和平主义者 if you want to know the truth.
这一片血污倒让我看上去很象个好汉。我这一辈子只打过两次架，两次我都打输了。我算不了好汉。我是个和平主义者，我老实跟你说。
I had a feeling old Ackley'd probably heard all the racket吵闹，喧闹 and was awake. So I went through the shower curtains into his room, just to see what the hell he was doing. I hardly ever went over to his room. It always had a funny stink/stɪŋk/恶臭 in it, because he was so crumby in his personal habits.
我依稀觉得老阿克莱听见我们争吵，这时正醒着。所以我掀开淋浴室门帘走进他的房间，看看他在做什么。我很少进他的房间。他的房内老是有一股奇怪的臭气，因为他这个人的私生活实在邋遢极了。