他长期外出-有时一去二三个月-使婚姻生活很艰难，这点他知道。当初他们决定结婚时，她是知道他的工作的，他们隐隐约约地觉得可以设法处理。结果不行。一次他从冰岛摄影回来，她不在了。纸条上写着：“罗伯特，没能成功。我把弦吉他留给你。保持联系。”
他没和她保持联系，她也没有。一年以后离婚协议书寄到，他签了字，第二天就乘上一班飞机到澳大利亚去了。她除要自由之外，什么要求也没提。
His long absences--- two or three months sometimes--- were hard on the marriage. He knew that. She was aware of what he did when they decided to get married, and each of them had a vague sense that it could all be handled somehow. It couldn't. When he came home from photographing a story in Iceland, she was gone. The note read: "Robert, it didn't work out. I left you the Harmony guitar. Stay in touch."
He didn't stay in touch. Neither did she. He signed the divorce papers when they arrived a year later and caught a plane for Australia the next day. She had asked for nothing except her freedom.
但是他还是我行我素，读遍了当地图书馆有关探险和旅游的书籍，感到心满意足，除此之外就关在自己的小天地里，一连几天呆在流过村头的小河边，对舞会。橄榄球赛这些他感到厌倦的事都不悄一顾。他经常钓鱼。游泳。散步，躺在高高的草丛里聆听他想象中只有他能听到的远方的声音。“那边有巫师，”他常自言自语说，'如果你保持安静，侧耳倾听，他们是在那儿的。”这时他常常希望有一只狗共享这些时光。
But he had been content to read all the adventure and travel books in the local library and kept to himself otherwise, spending days along the river that ran through the edge of town, ignoring proms and football games and other things that bored him. He fished and swam and walked and lay in long grass listening to distant voices he fancied only he could hear. "There are wizards out there," he used to say to himself. "If you're quiet and open enough to hear them, they're out there." And he wished he had a dog to share these moments.
他说的时候也是这么想的，但最终也没有去
She had said to him: "Robert, I don't know who or what you are for sure, but please come visit me in Paris." He told her he would, meant it when he said it, but never got there.
他望着她，近些，更近些。她丰姿绰约，或者曾经一度如此，或者可能再度如此。
He stepped from the truck and looked at her, looked closer, and then closer still. She was lovely, or had been at one time, or could be again.
她曾和一位大学艺术系教授尼可洛有过一段恋情。他白天整天作画，夜间带她到那不勒斯的地下娱乐区去兜风，疯玩了一阵。这件事一年后结束，决定性的因素是她传统观念较深的父母越来越不赞成
她在黑头发上系着红缎带，恋恋不舍自己的梦。但是没有海员上岸来找她，也没有声音从窗下街头传进来。严酷的现实迫使她认识到自己的选择有限。理查德提供了另一种合理的选择：待她好，还有充满美妙希望的美国。
他们坐在地中海阳光下的一家咖啡馆里，她仔细打量了一身戎装的他，他正以美国中西部人特有的恳切的目光看着她，于是她就跟他到依阿华来了。
She wore ribbons in her black hair and clung to her dreams. But no handsome sailors disembarked looking for her, no voices came up to her window from the streets below. The hard press of reality brought her to the recognition that her choices were constrained. Richard offered a reasonable alternative: kindness and the sweet promise of America.
She had studied him in his soldier's uniform as they sat in a cafe in the Mediterranean sunlight, saw him looking earnestly at her in his midwestern way, and came to Iowa with him.
她拿出一个牛纸信封来，用手慢慢在上面拂拭，年年此日她都这么做的。
邮戳上的字是：“65。9。12，华盛顿。西雅图。”她总先读邮戳，这是仪式的一部分。然后读手写的收信人地址：“依阿华。温特塞特，弗朗西丝卡。约翰逊。”下一步是寄信人地址，在左上角潦草的几笔：“华盛顿州。贝灵汉，642号信箱。”她坐在靠窗的椅子里，看着地址，全神贯注。因为信封里面是他的手的动作，她要回味那二十二年前这双手在她身上的感觉。
She took out a manila envelope and brushed her hand across it slowly, as she did each year on this day. The postmark read "Seattle, WA, Sep 12 '65." She always looked at the postmark first. That was part of the ritual. Then to the address written in longhand: "Francesca Johnson, RR 2, Winterset, Iowa." Next the return address, carelessly scrabbled in the upper left: "Box 642, Bellingham, Washington." She sat in a chair by the window, looked at the addresses, and concentrated, for contained in them was the movement of his hands, and she wanted to bring back the feel of those hands on her twenty-two years ago.
Call me if you ever need anything or simply want to see me. I'll be there, pronto. Let me know if you can come out here sometime--- anytime. I can arrange plane fare, if that's a problem. I'm off to southeast India next week, but I'll be back in late October.
她正坐在前廊的秋千上，喝着冰茶，漫不经心地看着一辆县公路上行驶的卡车下面卷扬起来和尘土。卡车行驶很慢，好像驾驶员在寻找什么，然后就在她的小巷口停下，把车头转向她的房子。天哪。她想，他是谁？
她赤着脚，穿着牛仔裤和一件褪了色的蓝工作服，袖子高高卷起，衣摆放在裤子外面，长发用一只玳瑁梳子别起，那梳子还是她离开故国时父亲给她的。卡车驶进了巷子在绕屋的铁丝栅栏门前不远处停下。
She had been sitting on the front porch swing, drinking iced tea, casually watching the dust spiral up from under a pickup coming down the county road.
She was barefoot, wearing jeans and a faded blue workshirt with the sleeves rolled up, shirttail out.
Her voice sounded strange, as if it belonged to someone else, to a teenage girl leaning out of a window in Naples, looking far down city streets toward the trains or out at the harbor and thinking of distant lovers yet to come. As she spoke, she watched the muscles in his forearm flex when he shifted gears.
太阳由白变红，正好落在玉米地上。她从窗户望也去看见一只鹰正乘着黄昏的风扶摇而上。收音机里播放着七点钟新闻和市场简讯。此刻弗朗西丝卡隔着黄色贴面的桌子望着罗伯特金凯，他走了很长的路到她的厨房来，漫漫长路，何止以英里计！
已经闻到香味了，
清静？清静能闻的到吗？排烧烤之余，今天的这顿饭确实是清静的做法。整个食物制作过程和链条上没有暴力，除了把菜从地里拨起来可以算。炖烩菜是静静地在进行，散发的味道也是静静的，厨房里也是静悄悄
A white sun had turned big red and lay just over the corn fields. Through the kitchen window she could see a hawk riding the early evening updrafts. The seven o'clock news and market summary were on the radio. And Francesca looked across the yellow Formica toward Robert Kincaid, who had come a long way to her kitchen. A long way, across more than miles.
"It already smells good,"
he said, pointing toward the stove. "It smells... quiet." He looked at her. "Quiet? Could something smell quiet?" She was thinking about the phrase, asking herself. He was right. After the pork chops and steaks and roasts she cooked for the family, this was quiet cooking. No violence involved anywhere down the food chain, except maybe for pulling up the vegetables. The stew cooked quietly and smelled quiet. It was quiet here in the kitchen.
她松了口气，又深深地失望。她心时来回翻腾：是的，请你走吧：再留下来唱杯白兰地；走吧。法伦。扬并不关心她的感觉，洗涤沁上的扑灯蛾也不关心，她不知道罗伯特金凯怎么样。
She was relieved. But she sank in disappointment. She turned around inside of herself. Yes, please leave. Have some more brandy. Stay. Go. Faron Young didn't care about her feelings. Neither did the moth above the sink. She didn't know for sure what Robert Kincaid thought.
I went out to the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head
她意识到隔着衬衫他的身体有多热。这股热气进入她的手，传到她的胳膊，然后散到全身任意流动，到处通行无阻，她也的确丝毫没有想加以控制。
She was conscious of how warm his body felt through the shirt. The warmth came into her hand, moved up her arm, and from there spread through her to wherever it wanted to go, with no effort ---indeed, with no control--- from her.
可是那慢步探戈舞已经开始了。他能听见在某个地方有手风琴正在奏这支舞曲。也许是很久很久以前，也许是很久很久以后，他不能确定。但是它正慢慢逼近他。那声音模糊了他的一切行为准则，使得除了合二为一之外，其他一切选择都逐渐消失。那乐曲毫不留情地向他逼来，直到他已经没有任何其他出路，只剩下走向弗朗西丝卡。约翰逊一条道。
But the slow street tango had begun. Somewhere it played; he could hear it, an old accordion. It was far back, or far ahead, he couldn't be sure. Yet it moved toward him steadily. And the sound of it blurred his criteria and funneled down his alternatives toward unity. Inexorably, it did that, until there was nowhere left to go, except toward Francesca Johnson.
我们正在放弃自己驰骋的天地，组织起来，矫饰感情。效率，效益还有其他种种头脑里想出来的花样。既然失去了自由驰骋的天地，牛仔就消失了，与此同时山上的狮子和大灰狼也消失了。为旅游者下的余地不多了。”
We're giving up free range, getting organized, feathering our emotions. Efficiency and effectiveness and all those other pieces of intellectual artifice. And with the loss of free range, the cowboy disappears, along with the mountain lion and gray wolf. There's not much room left for travelers.
现在，这么年之后，弗朗西丝卡拿着她的白兰地慢慢走上楼梯，右手拖在后边以回味当时他跟在后面上楼，经过走廊进入卧室的情景。
Now, all these years later, Francesca carried her brandy and walked slowly up the stairs, her right hand trailing behind her to bring along the memory of him up the stairs and down the hallway into the bedroom.
夜正浓，那伟长的盘旋上升的舞蹈连续着。罗伯特。金凯拚弃了一切线条感，回到他自己只同轮廊，声音和影子打交道的那部分。他一直走向最古老的方式，依靠夏草的秋叶上阳光照亮的融霜作为烛光指引的方向
The night went on, and the great spiral dance continued. Robert Kincaid discarded all sense of anything linear and moved to a part of himself that dealt only with shape and sound and shadow. Down the paths of the old ways he went, finding his direction by candles of sunlit frost melting upon the grass of summer and the red leaves of autumn.
终于，他明白了一切：他走过的所有荒野沙滩上所有那些细小的脚印，那些从未起锚的船上装的神秘的货箱，那些躲在帘幕后面看着他在昏暗的城市曲折的街道上行走的一张张脸-所有的这一切的意义他终于都明白了。像一个老猎人远行归来，看到家中的篝火之光，所有的孤寂之感一下了溶解了。终于，终于……他走了这么远。这么远来到这里。于是他以最完美的姿势在她身上，浸沉于终身不渝的，全心全意的对她的爱之中。
And he knew finally the meaning of all the small footprints on all the deserted beaches he had ever walked, of all the secret cargoes carried by ships that had never sailed, of all the curtained faces that had watched him pass down winding streets of twilight cities. And, like a great hunter of old who has traveled distant miles and now sees the light of his home campfires, his loneliness dissolved. At last. At last. He had come so far... so far. And he lay upon her, perfectly formed and unalterably complete in his love for her. At last.
我多么想要你，要跟你在一起，要成为你的一部分；同样的我也不能使自己摆脱我实实在在存在的责任。假如你强迫我跟你走，不论用体力或是用精神力量，我说过的，我都无力抗拒。我对你感情太深，没有力气抗拒。尽管我说了那么多关于不该剥夺你以大路为家的自由的话，我还是会跟你走，只是为了我自私的需要，我要你。”
不过，求你别让我这么做，别让我放弃我的责任。我不能，不能因此而毕生为这件事所缠绕。如果现在我这样做了，这思想负担会使我变成另外一个人，不再是你所爱的那个女人。”
If you force me, physically or mentally, to go with you, as I said earlier, I cannot fight that. I don't have the strength, given my feelings for you. In spite of what I said about not taking the road away from you, I'd go because of my own selfish wanting of you.
But please don't make me. Don't make me give this up, my responsibilities. I cannot do that and live with the thought of it. If I did leave now, those thoughts would turn me into something other than the woman you have come to love.
她像一个远方的观察者年复一年跟踪观察罗伯特。金凯，眼看他渐渐老起来。
And like some distant observer tracking him through the years, she watched Robert Kincaid grow older.
她多年前第一次见到这张照片时还看得出他脖子里的银项链上系着一个小小的圆牌。迈可离家上大学去了，当理查德和卡洛琳去睡觉之后，她把迈可少年时集邮用的高度放大镜拿出来放到照片上。
Michael was away at college, and when Richard and Carolyn had gone to bed, she got out a powerful magnifying glass Michael had used for his stamp collection when he was young and brought it close to the photo. "My God," she breathed. The medallion said "Francesca" on it. That was his one small indiscretion, and she forgave him for it, smiling. In all of the photos after that, the medallion was always there on the silver chain.
理查德一九七九年世，葬礼完毕，孩子们都各自回到自己家里以后，她想起给罗伯特金凯打电话。他应该是六十六岁，她五十九岁。尽管已经失去了十四年，还来得及。她集中思考了一星期，最后从他的信头上找到了电话号码，拨了号。
电话铃响时她心脏几乎停止跳动。她听到有人拿起话筒，差点儿又把电话挂上。一个女人的声音说：“麦克格雷格尔保险公司。”弗朗西丝卡心沉下去了，不过还能恢复得过来问那女秘书她拨的号码对不对，就是这个号码。她谢谢她，挂了电话。
He would be sixty-six; she was fifty-nine. There was still time, even with the loss of fourteen years. She thought hard about it for a week and finally took the number off his letterhead and dialed it.
Her heart nearly stopped when the phone began to ring. She heard the receiver being picked up and almost put the phone back on the hook.