手
地道英文
作者：by Sherwood Anderson
舍伍德·安德森（Sherwood Anderson）是2 0世紀早期美國著名的小說家，美國現代文學的先驅者之一，在美國文學史上有著很重要的地位。海明威、菲茨傑拉德、福克納等著名美國作家都受過他很大的影響，海明威曾說：“他是我們所有人的老師”。安德森厭惡資本主義現代文明，對於小生產方式和閑適純樸的農村生活十分留戀，其作品多以小城鎮為背景，描寫小市民的惶惑情緒，帶有自然主義和神秘主義色彩，其代表作有《小鎮畸人》（Winesburg，Ohio）、《雞蛋的勝利》（The Triumph of Egg and Other Stories）、《林中之死》（Death in the Woods）等。
《小鎮畸人》的故事背景設在俄亥俄州的溫斯堡鎮，講述了小鎮上形形色色人物從行為方式到精神深層的“怪”，單純的牧師、芳華虛度的女店員、抑鬱的旅館老板娘、神秘的醫生、醜陋的電報員……全書由25個既獨立成篇又相互關聯的故事構成，年輕記者喬治·威拉德貫穿全書，刻畫出一群孤獨、與人疏離、渴望與外界交流，卻又始終無法掙脫桎梏的“畸人”形象，但是這些“畸人”並不可怕，他們甚至是可愛而美麗的。
《手》是《小鎮畸人》裏的第一個故事，講述了一個本應前途無量的年輕男教師飛翼·比德爾鮑姆遭人誤解以致於被驅逐出境，成為“畸人”的故事。手是飛翼·比德爾鮑姆與外界交流、表達自我的一個重要手段，但是因為痛苦的過往，他決意把這雙手隱於人前，因而變成了一個神經兮兮的老頭兒。本期文章節選了《手》的前半部分，讓我們從作者的精心刻畫中體會飛翼·比德爾鮑姆這雙善於表達的手的渴望與掙紮吧！
Upon the half decayed veranda of a small frame house that stood near the edge of a ravine near the town of Winesburg， Ohio， a fat little old man walked nervously up and down. Across a long field that had been seeded for clover， but had produced only a dense crop of yellow 1）mustard weeds， he could see the public highway along which went a wagon filled with berry pickers returning from the fields. The berry pickers， youths and maidens， laughed and shouted 2）boisterously. A boy 3）clad in a blue shirt leaped from the wagon and attempted to drag after him one of the maidens， who screamed and protested shrilly. The feet of the boy in the road kicked up a cloud of dust that floated across the face of the departing sun. Over the long field came a thin girlish voice. “Oh， you Wing Biddlebaum， comb your hair， it’s falling into your eyes，” commanded the voice to the man， who was bald and whose nervous little hands 4）fiddled about the bare white forehead as though arranging a mass of 5）tangled locks.
Wing Biddlebaum， forever frightened and beset by a ghostly band of doubts， did not think of himself as in any way a part of the life of the town where he had lived for twenty years. Among all the people of Winesburg but one had come close to him. With George Willard， son of Tom Willard， the proprietor of the New Willard House， he had formed something like a friendship. George Willard was the reporter on the Winesburg Eagle and sometimes in the evenings he walked out along the highway to Wing Biddlebaum’s house. Now as the old man walked up and down on the veranda， his hands moving nervously about， he was hoping that George Willard would come and spend the evening with him. After the wagon containing the berry pickers had passed， he went across the field through the tall mustard weeds and， climbing a rail fence， peered anxiously along the road to the town. For a moment he stood thus， rubbing his hands together and looking up and down the road， and then， fear overcoming him， ran back to walk again upon the porch of his own house.
In the presence of George Willard， Wing Biddlebaum， who for twenty years had been the town mystery， lost something of his timidity， and his shadowy personality， submerged in a sea of doubts， came forth to look at the world. With the young reporter at his side， he ventured in the light of day onto Main Street or strode up and down on the rickety front porch of his own house， talking excitedly. The voice that had been low and trembling became shrill and loud. The bent figure straightened. With a kind of wriggle， like a fish returned to the brook by a fisherman， Biddlebaum the silent began to talk， striving to put into words the ideas that had been accumulated by his mind during long years of silence.
Wing Biddlebaum talked much with his hands. The slender expressive fingers， forever active， forever striving to conceal themselves in his pockets or behind his back， came forth and became the 6）piston rods of his machinery of expression.