18.11.5 【英语美文】 感受型小说,意识流都市生活随笔Pet Milk 《牛奶咖啡与生活碎片》

time:2018-11-05 Source:

115日有趣的免费英语课《英语PK台》京晶主持

节目直播:1400-1500 当晚重播:2200-2300

周一嘉宾 Judy #看书有道,美文名篇# Reading makes a full man

周一主题:【英语美文】感受型小说,意识流都市生活随笔Pet Milk 《牛奶咖啡与生活碎片》


了解今日课堂:

Pet Milk 《皮特牛奶》

芝加哥诗人、作家Stuart Dybek 的

都市生活随笔

一杯咖啡·记忆碎片

The New Yorker, August 13, 1984 P. 26

一个年轻男人述说他为何喜爱“皮特”牛奶:这总让他想起祖母用牛奶混拌咖啡的方式,也想起女友凯特,他们刚从大学毕业,找到了不错工作,两人总在一家捷克餐厅约会,一段甜蜜快乐的时光,他们一起搭乘地铁,看着窗外匆匆而过的街景,他们知道未来终将踏上不同的旅程…


‘Pet Milk’ by Stuart Dybek

1.   Today I’ve been drinking instant coffee and Pet milk, and watching it snow. It’s not that I enjoy the taste especially, but I like the way Pet milk swirls in the coffee. Pet milk isn’t real milk. The colour’s off, to start with. There’s almost something of the past about it, like old ivory.

2.   My grandmother always drank it in her coffee. When friends dropped over and sat around the kitchen table, my grandma would ask, “Do you take cream and sugar?” Pet milk was the cream. I remember how often times, I would be watching the Pet milk swirl and cloud in my steaming coffee, and how I would notice, outside her window, the sky doing the same thing above the railroad yard across the street.

3.   And I remember, much later, seeing the same swirling sky in tiny liqueur glasses containing a drink called a King Alphonse: the crème de cacao rising like smoke, like clouds through the layer of heavy cream. This was in the Pilsen, a little Czech restaurant where my girlfriend, Kate, and I would go sometimes in the evening. It was the first year out of college for both of us, and we had astonished ourselves by finding real jobs-no more waitressing or pumping gas, the way we’d done in school.

4.   I was investigating credit references at a bank, and she was doing something slightly above the rank of typist for Hornblower & Weeks, the investment firm. Kate and I would sometimes meet after work at the Pilsen, dressed in our proper business clothes and still feeling both a little self-conscious and glamorous, as if we were impostors wearing disguises. We’d sit in a corner under a painting called “The Street Musicians of Prague” and trade future plans as if they were escape routes.

5.   She talked of going to grad school in Europe; I wanted to apply to the Peace Corps. Our plans for the future made us laugh and feel close, but those same plans somehow made anything more than temporary between us seem impossible. It was the first time I’d ever had the feeling of missing someone I was still with.

6.   We went there often enough to have our own special waiter, Rudi, a name he pronounced with a rolled R. Rudi boned our trout and seasoned our salads, and at the end of each meal he’d bring the bottle of crème de cacao from the bar, along with two little glasses and a small pitcher of heavy cream, and make us each a King Alphonse right at our table. If he failed to float the cream, we’d get that one free. He liked us, and we tipped extra. It felt good to be there and to be able to pay for a meal.

7.   Kate and I met at the Pilsen for supper on my twenty-second birthday. It was May, and unseasonably hot. I’d opened my tie. Even before looking at the dinner menu, we ordered a bottle of Mumm’s and a dozen oysters apiece. We squeezed on lemon, added dabs of horseradish, slid the oysters into our mouths, and then rinsed the shells with champagne and drank the salty, cold juice. We laughed and grandly sipped it all down.

8.   I was already half tipsy from drinking too fast, and starting to feel filled with a euphoric, aching energy. Kate raised a brimming oyster shell to me in a toast: “To the Peace Corps!” “To Europe!” I replied, and we clunked shells. She touched her wineglass to mine and whispered:” Happy birthday,” and then suddenly leaned across the table and kissed me. When she sat down again, she was flushed.

9.   I caught the reflection of her face in the glass-covered “The Street Musicians of Prague” above our table. I always loved seeing her in mirrors and windows. The reflections of her beauty startled me. I had told her that once, and she seemed to fend off the compliment, saying, “That’s because you’ve learned what to look for,” as if it were a secret I’d stumbled upon. But, this time, seeing her reflection hovering ghostlike upon an imaginary Prague was like seeing a future from which she had vanished. l knew I’d never meet anyone more beautiful to me.

10. We killed the champagne and sat twining fingers across the table. We still hadn’t ordered dinner. “Let’s go somewhere,” she said. My roommate would already be home at my place, which was closer. Kate lived up north, in Evanston. It seemed a long way away. We walked to the subway. The evening rush was winding down; we must have caught the last express heading toward Evanston. There weren’t any seats together, so we stood swaying at the front of the car, beside the empty conductor’s compartment. We wedged inside, I clicked the door shut, and kissed her again.

11. We were speeding past scorched brick walls, grey windows, back porches outlined in sun, roofs, and treetops. Even without looking, I knew almost exactly where we were. The train was braking a little from express speed, as it did each time it passed a local station. I could see blurred faces on the long wooden platform watching us pass-businessmen glancing up from folded newspapers, women clutching purses and shopping bags.

12. I could see the expression on each face, momentarily arrested, as we flashed by. A high school kid in shirt sleeves, maybe sixteen, with books tucked under one arm and a cigarette in his mouth, caught sight of us, and in the instant before he disappeared he grinned and started to wave. It was as if I were standing on that platform, with my schoolbooks and a smoke, on one of those endlessly accumulated afternoons after school when I stood almost outside of time simply waiting for a train, and I thought how much I’d have loved seeing someone like us streaming by.


分享到(SHARE TO)

推荐RECOMMEND