Unit-8-Love-and-Resentment-课文翻译.doc

Unit 8 LOVE AND RESENTMENTBarbara Bick1.I straightened up from my weeding as the frenzied mutterings of anger reached me from the house. My muscles tightened. The screams were so muffled I could barely hear them. Get away from me, you filthy slut. Leave me alone. 2.I moved cautiously through the overgrown bushes, up against the bathroom window, straining to catch the exact words. I want to understand my daughter. Shut up! Shut up! You always do everything wrong. Incompetent bitch? The flushing toilet drowned out the rest. I moved away quickly, shaken once again by her wild outbursts. Sometimes she frightens me when she is clearly out of control. But this time I was reassured; she didnt want me to hear. I bent to my weeding as she opened the screen door. She sat down. Her face was calm and impassive. 3.Can I help you, mother? she asked as she lighted her umpteenth cigarette of the morning and was shaken by her usual barking cough.4.Sure. Why dont you pull up some of the weeds between the bricks on the path. 5.Oh, thats too hard, she said and she settled deeper into the deck chair.6.Damn it, Kathy, why is everything too hard for you? Go ahead, get the stool and do what you can. I snapped at her.7.Damn it yourself, I said to myself. Why did I bring her up here? Why, why, why? Yesterday had been rough. She had hurled accusation after accusation at me. Why do you always say Im crazy? she had yelled. Dont you EVER tell me Im a paranoid schizophrenic again. Thats all you ever do - call me crazy and Im not.8.Kathy, my voice quieter and quieter as hers rose in crescendo, I have never called you crazy. Please, Kathy, keep your voice down. Kathy, stop it. Stop it right now!9. I shook away that memory and rose laboriously. I had just come to the island and so I was eager to clean up my burgeoning garden after a winters neglect. This is the fourth year I have had this tiny treasure of a house. It was to be my retreat from the harassing city, the social and political commitments I take on each year, the needs of family and friends.10.For three summers I have brought my 40-year-old daughter to the island to spend two weeks with me. Surely, I can live for two weeks with the tension and outbursts. Her life is so limited and mine is so full. A short span of days, really, for me to take care of her; to give her some joy. I have so many days, just for me, after she goes back to the city.11.But I cant. I resent the tension. I lose patience. Sometimes I hate her. What is wrong with me? I am strong and healthy; she is vulnerable and ill. It is always my choice to have her here. But I count the days until she is gone and there are moments when I think, no, not another summer. Why do this to myself? Most of the time I know that these weeks are too important to her; I cannot take them away. 12.She doesnt sleep well. Before I came up, I discussed the sleeping problem with her psychiatrist so that he could prescribe some medication. I couldnt bring myself to tell him that I am afraid to be deep in sleep while she is awake. She is not physically violent. In all the 24 years of her illness, she has attacked me only three times. But they remain with me. Each time, her adrenaline-induced strength had overwhelmed me. And no matter how intimate one is with this illness, the primordial fear of madness lurks deep within. The medication the doctor suggested doesnt work and my bedroom here is an open room without a door to lock. So, I sleep lightly these nights. I sense the lights blazing downstairs. I listen to her cough as she smokes and mutters through the long hours. I try to imagine out of my own healthy body what it is like to be Kathy.13.Physically, she always feels unwell. The antipsychotic medication has many unpleasant side effects. More than that, she has no empathy with her own body, cannot take care of it. She eats badly, drinks coffee constantly, smokes incessantly, does no exercise. She has perpetual headaches and frequent stomachaches.14.For years she suffered from Crohns disease, a deep inflammation of the colon, leaving her little or no control of her bowels. She has been plagued and humiliated by accidents in public. People have responded to this affliction by yelling at her, calling her filthy. She has silently accepted the appellation, taken it within her. Filthy bitch! she yells at herself. Go away! 15.I lie awake, my throat tight and aching as I remember the years when her illness was more active, filled with agonizing hallucinations that most of us, during a lifetime, experience for only seconds in our worst, most searing nightmares.16.She had been a normal, beautiful child. The changes began in high school. Kathy started a diary when she was 16 years old. She wrote: This morning I feel as though someone took a file and sandpaper and scratched off all my epidermis. I feel raw and sore and ugly and dirty and loathsome. I also have a headache and coffee makes it worse. I escape thru dreams and the pressure of returning reality gives me a headache.17.Something inside me is going thru this funny, alien state, a sense of being at the mercy of some strange force, and this pathetic scarecrow figure inside me at the mercy of other forces. My stomach is empty and gnawing and uneasy as if anything could fall in and break the superstructure I hold up with all my force.18.Kathy did go off to college. The trauma of her breakdown there was followed by the deadening travail of the long search for a psychiatric solution. Then, a decade of daily life in the huge psychiatric hospital, the crazy house as she always called it. In those years, she has never been able to draw a deep breath full of good life.19.The daughter I would have had were it not for this evil illness exists in embryo in the daughter I do have. After an outburst, she will come and tell me quietly: I am sorry, mother. I dont want to fight with you.20.Thank you, she will say: for giving me a good day.21.To admit the truth, sometimes I trigger her outburst. Like Tuesday, when I came upon her pouring coffee straight from the jar, half filling her cup with the powder and splattering grains over the counter. I ordered her, peremptorily: Get a spoon, Kathy. Cant you do things normally once in a while! 22.She whirled and, in a shrill tone, screamed: I am sick of you always telling me what to do. I am an adult and I dont need you to tell me when to go to bed and when to get up. Hysteria building up, she shouted: You drive everyone to the edge of hemophiliac absurdity! Magnetic waves of burning energy rushed from her, hit me and I lashed back, Get out of this house, Kathy. RIGHT NOW, get out!23.Later, in the evening, she almost whispers to me: Ive washed my hair, done my nails, and Ive cleaned up the dinner dishes. I feel much better now. And I feel sad and ashamed. I know her greatest wish is to live with me all of the time, to have me take care of her, cook her good meals every day as I do these two weeks on the island.24.That I will not do. I must live my own life. But I will give her the small chunks of time: the island for two weeks in summer; at home with me at Christmas; a trip to Florida to see her grandparents. I will also allow myself to resent it sometimes. Like my daughter, like all other human beings, I am not spun of one thread. I love and hate the same person. I am responsible and irresponsible. I will do the best I can with the worst I have to live with. 爱与恨1.癫狂愤怒的喃喃自语声从屋子里传出来，我停止除草，站起身来。我浑身肌肉为之一紧。那尖叫声含含糊糊，我差点儿没听见。“滚，臭婊子，离我远点儿。”2.我悄悄地挪步穿过疯长的灌木，来到浴室的窗前，竖起耳朵想听清楚她究竟在说什么。我想要了解女儿。“闭嘴！闭嘴！你做什么都做错。没有用的婊子”抽水马桶的声音遮住了下面的话。我很快走开，再一次为她疯狂的吼叫声震撼。有时候她显然失控，令我害怕。但是这一次，我很放心，她不想让我听见。她打开纱门时，我弯下腰除草。她坐了下来，面无表情，却很平静。3. “我帮帮你好吗，妈妈？”她问道，边说边点上香烟已经不知道是这个上午的第几根了，随后像往常一样咳得浑身颤抖。4. “好啊。那你就拔小路上地砖之间的野草吧。”5. “哦，那太难了。”她说着就深深地躺在折叠椅上。6. “胡说，凯西，你做什么事情不难？走开，带着那张凳子，随便你去做什么。”我对她呵斥道。7. 你自己活该，我自言自语。我为什么要把她带到这儿来？为什么，为什么，为什么？她昨天发作得很厉害。她对我连连破口大骂。“你为什么总说我是疯子？”她尖声叫道。“再也不准提我患有偏执狂精神分裂症。你就会这么说，说我疯了，我不是疯子。”8.“凯西，”我的声音越来越轻，而她的声音却越来越响。“我从来没有说过你是疯子。求求你了，凯西，别叫了。凯西，住嘴。马上住嘴！”9. 我试图摆脱那些记忆，吃力地站起身来。我刚回到岛上，所以急于清理杂草丛生的园子，一个冬天没有整理了。我有这么一块小小的宝地，已经是第四个年头。这儿是我的避风港，让我可以摆脱城市的侵扰，逃避每年要做的社会、政治的工作，不去理会家人和朋友们的需求。10.连着三个夏天，我带着40岁的女儿到岛上来和我一起住上两个星期。毫无疑问的是，虽然神经很紧张，她会突然发作，但就两个星期，我能承受的。她的生活圈子有限，而我的却很丰富。真的，我就照料她那么几天，给她一些欢乐。她回城后，我有的是属于自己的时间。11.然而，连这我也做不到。我讨厌神经紧张。我失去耐心。我有时候还恨她。我怎么啦？我健康强壮，而她体弱多病。带她来这儿每次都是我的决定。但是，我数着天数，数到她走为止。还有的时候想过，不干了，明年夏天不带她来了。为什么要这样对待自己？大多数时候，我知道，这几个星期对她至关重要，我不能剥夺这点时间。12.她睡眠不好。上岛之前，我与她的精神病医生讨论过她的睡眠问题，让他开了些药。我对他说不出口的是，我害怕她醒着，而我却睡得很沉。她不动武。她患病24年，期间只打过我三次。但是，我记忆犹新。肾上腺素给她带来的力量每次都把我打垮。无论你对这种病情多么了解，内心深处总对疯狂有种与生俱来的恐惧。医生开的药不起作用，而我这儿的卧室是一间没有门可以锁的房间。所以，这几个晚上，我睡得很浅。我意识到楼下灯火通明。我听见她咳嗽，连着好几个小时又是抽烟，又是喃喃自语。我脑子里拼命地在想以我健康的身体凯西过的是什么样的日子。13. 她的身体总是病怏怏的。这种治疗精神病的药物会产生许多不舒服的副作用。更严重的是，她不爱惜自己的身体，不会自己照顾自己。她不好好进食，不断地喝咖啡，不停地抽烟，也不锻炼身体。她长期头痛，经常胃疼。14. 多年来，她深受克罗恩氏病之苦，结肠有严重炎症，使得她几乎控制不住大便，已经在公开场合因失控屡屡遭到麻烦和羞辱。人们对她的这种痛苦，只是大声斥责，说她肮脏龌龊。她默默地承受着这种羞辱，深藏在心里。“肮脏的婊子！”她对自己吼道。“滚开！”15. 我躺在床上，无法入眠，一想到她病情更加严重的那几年，我只觉得喉咙抽紧，一阵疼痛。那些年，她饱受幻觉症的折磨，这种幻觉是我们多数人一生中只有数秒钟会经历到的最恐怖、最痛苦的噩梦。16.她曾经是个正常、美丽的孩子。在上中学时开始有了变化。她16岁那年开始记日记。她写道：“今天上午，我觉得好像有人拿着锉刀和砂纸，刮去了我的表皮。我觉得自己红肿、疼痛、丑陋、肮脏，还讨人嫌。我还头疼，喝了咖啡头疼更厉害。我在梦中暂时逃避，而重回现实的压力使我头疼。”17. “我的内心经历着这种好笑的、古怪的状态，有一种受到某种奇怪的力量摆布的感觉，而且这个藏在内心里可怜的怪物也在受到别的力量的摆布。我的胃里空空的，隐隐作痛，很不舒服，好像什么东西进去都会损毁自己全力支撑着的身体结构。”18.凯西的确去上了大学。随着她在那儿精神崩溃造成的创伤，接踵而来的便是长期寻求精神治疗而带来的麻木的痛苦。接着十个年头，天天去一家庞大的精神病医院，她总把它叫做“疯人院”。那些年，她从来没有呼吸过正常生活的空气。19. 要不是这个倒霉的疾病，我本来也应该有一个生来正常的女儿，而我现在这个女儿的身上也具有一些这样基本的品质。大发一通脾气之后，她会过来对我悄悄地说：“对不起，妈妈，我不想跟你闹。”20.“谢谢您，”她会说，“让我这一天很开心。” 21.说老实话，有时候是我惹她发脾气的。像星期二那天，我碰巧看见她直接从罐子里倒咖啡，杯子里倒了半杯咖啡粉，桌子上也撒得到处都是。我命令她，口气很蛮横：“拿把调羹，凯西，难道你就不能偶尔正常一点吗？”22.她猛地转过身来，用犀利的声音尖叫道：“老是指挥我做这做那，我讨厌你。我是个成年人了，用不着你来告诉我什么时候睡觉，什么时候起床。”她越来越歇斯底里地喊叫道：“你把每个人都逼得疯疯癫癫了！”她身上迸发出疯狂的怒火，她打我，我随手回击过去，“从这房子里滚出去，凯西。马上，滚出去！”23.过后，到了晚上，她几乎是悄悄地对我说：“我洗过头发了，剪过指甲了，也把晚饭的盘子洗干净了。我觉得好多了。”于是，我感到难过和羞愧。我知道，她最大的愿望是一直和我住在一起，让我照顾她，每天给她烹制可口的饭菜，就像在岛上的这两周。24.那样我做不到。我必须过自己的生活。然而，我会给她一小块一小块的时间：夏天在岛上过两周，圣诞节到家里和我待在一起，到佛罗里达去探望爷爷奶奶。有时候，我也允许让自己讨厌这些事情。像我的女儿，也像所有的其他人，我并不是由一根线编结出来的。对同一个人我既爱又恨。我负责任，又逃避责任。我将尽我所能处理生活中不可避免的最糟糕的情况。