内蒙古农业大学分数线-我喜欢张晓风

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When we are writing we are often told to keep our readers in mind, to shape what we say to fit
their tastes and interests. But there is one reader in particular who should not be forgotten. Can
you guess who? Russell Baker surprised himself and everyone else when he discovered the
answer.
我们写作时常常被告诫，脑子里要有读者，笔者所云一定要符 合读者的口味和兴趣。
但有一位读者特别不该忘记。你能猜出是谁吗？当拉塞尔·贝克找到这个问题的答 案时，他
自己和别人都感到大为惊讶。
Writing for Myself
Russell Baker
1 The idea of becoming a writer had come to me off and on since my childhood in Belleville,
but it wasn't until my third year in high school that the possibility took hold. Until then I've been
bored by everything associated with English courses. I found English grammar dull and difficult.
I hated the assignments to turn out long, lifeless paragraphs that were agony for teachers to read
and for me to write.
为自己而写
拉塞尔·贝克
从孩提时代，我还住在贝尔维尔时，我的脑子里就断断续续地转着当作家的念头，但
直等到我高中三年级，这一想法才有了实现的可能。在这之前，我对所有跟英文课沾边的事
都感到腻味 。我觉得英文语法枯燥难懂。我痛恨那些长而乏味的段落写作，老师读着受累，
我写着痛苦。
2 When our class was assigned to Mr. Fleagle for third-year English I anticipated another
cheerless year in that most tedious of subjects. Mr. Fleagle had a reputation among students for
dullness and inability to inspire. He was said to be very formal, rigid and hopelessly out of date.
To me he looked to be sixty or seventy and excessively prim. He wore primly severe eyeglasses,
his wavy hair was primly cut and primly combed. He wore prim suits with neckties set primly
against the collar buttons of his white shirts. He had a primly pointed jaw, a primly straight nose,
and a prim manner of speaking that was so correct, so gentlemanly, that he seemed a comic
antique.
弗利格尔先生接我们的高三英文课时，我就准备着在这门最最单调乏味的课上再熬上
沉闷的一年。弗利格尔先生在学生中以其说话干巴和激励学生无术而出名。据说他拘谨刻板，
完全落后 于时代。我看他有六七十岁了，古板之极。他戴着古板的毫无装饰的眼镜，微微卷
曲的头发剪得笔齐，梳 得纹丝不乱。他身穿古板的套装，领带端端正正地顶着白衬衣的领扣。
他长着古板的尖下巴，古板的直鼻 梁，说起话来一本正经，字斟句酌，彬彬有礼，活脱脱一
个滑稽的老古董。
3 I prepared for an unfruitful year with Mr. Fleagle and for a long time was not disappointed.
Late in the year we tackled the informal essay. Mr. Fleagle distributed a homework sheet offering
us a choice of topics. None was quite so simple-minded as
but most seemed to be almost as dull. I took the list home and did nothing until the night before
the essay was due. Lying on the sofa, I finally faced up to the unwelcome task, took the list out of
my notebook, and scanned it. The topic on which my eye stopped was Art of Eating
Spaghetti.
我作好准备，打算在弗利格尔先生的班上一无所获地混上一年，不少日子过去了，还
真不出所料。后半学 期我们学写随笔小品文。弗利格尔先生发下一张家庭作业纸，出了不少

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题目供我们选择。像暑假二三事那样傻乎乎的题目 倒是一个也没有，但绝大多数一样乏味。
我把作文题带回家，一直没写，直到要交作业的前一天晚上。我 躺在沙发上，最终不得不面
对这一讨厌的功课，便从笔记本里抽出作文题目单粗粗一看。我的目光落在吃 意大利细面
条的艺术这个题目上。
4 This title produced an extraordinary sequence of mental images. Vivid memories came
flooding back of a night in Belleville when all of us were seated around the supper table ─
Uncle Allen, my mother, Uncle Charlie, Doris, Uncle Hal ─ and Aunt Pat served spaghetti for
supper. Spaghetti was still a little known foreign dish in those days. Neither Doris nor I had ever
eaten spaghetti, and none of the adults had enough experience to be good at it. All the good humor
of Uncle Allen's house reawoke in my mind as I recalled the laughing arguments we had that night
about the socially respectable method for moving spaghetti from plate to mouth.
这个题目在我脑海里唤起了一连串不同寻常的图像。贝尔维尔之夜 的清晰的回忆如潮
水一般涌来，当时，我们大家一起围坐在晚餐桌旁 ── 艾伦舅舅、我母亲、查理舅舅、多
丽丝、哈尔舅舅 ── 帕特舅妈晚饭做的是意大利细面条。那时意大 利细面条还是很少听说
的异国食品。多丽丝和我都还从来没吃过，在座的大人也是经验不足，没有一个吃 起来得心
应手的。艾伦舅舅家诙谐有趣的场景全都重现在我的脑海中，我回想起来，当晚我们笑作一团，争论着该如何地把面条从盘子上送到嘴里才算合乎礼仪。
5 Suddenly I wanted to write about that, about the warmth and good feeling of it, but I wanted
to put it down simply for my own joy, not for Mr. Fleagle. It was a moment I wanted to recapture
and hold for myself. I wanted to relive the pleasure of that evening. To write it as I wanted,
however, would violate all the rules of formal composition I'd learned in school, and Mr. Fleagle
would surely give it a failing grade. Never mind. I would write something else for Mr. Fleagle
after I had written this thing for myself. 突然我就想描述那一切，描述当时那种温馨美
好的气氛，但我把它写下来仅仅是想自得其乐，而不是为弗 利格尔先生而写。那是我想重新
捕捉并珍藏在心中的一个时刻。我想重温那个夜晚的愉快。然而，照我希 望的那样去写，就
会违反我在学校里学的正式作文的种种法则，弗利格尔先生也肯定会打它一个不及格。 没关
系。等我为自己写好了之后，我可以再为弗利格尔先生写点什么别的东西。
6 When I finished it the night was half gone and there was no time left to compose a proper,
respectable essay for Mr. Fleagle. There was no choice next morning but to turn in my tale of the
Belleville supper. Two days passed before Mr. Fleagle returned the graded papers, and he returned
everyone's but mine. I was preparing myself for a command to report to Mr. Fleagle
immediately after school for discipline when I saw him lift my paper from his desk and knock for
the class's attention.
等我写完时已是半夜时分， 再没时间为弗利格尔先生写一篇循规蹈矩、像模像样的文
章了。第二天上午，我别无选择，只好把我为自 己而写的贝尔维尔晚餐的故事交了上去。两
天后弗利格尔先生发还批改过的作文，他把别人的都发了，就 是没有我的。我正准备着遵命
一放学就去弗利格尔先生那儿挨训，却看见他从桌上拿起我的作文，敲了敲 桌子让大家注意
听。
7 boys,he said. want to read you an essay. This is titled, 'The Art of Eating
Spaghetti.'
好了，孩子们，他说。我要给你们念一篇小品文。文章的题目是：吃意大利细面
条的艺术。
8 And he started to read. My words! He was reading my words out loud to the entire class.
What's more, the entire class was listening. Listening attentively. Then somebody laughed, then

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the entire class was laughing, and not in contempt and ridicule, but with open-hearted enjoyment.
Even Mr. Fleagle stopped two or three times to hold back a small prim smile.
于是他开始念了。是 我写的！他给全班大声念我写的文章。更不可思议的是，全班同
学都在听着他念，而且听得很专心。有人 笑出声来，接着全班都笑了，不是轻蔑嘲弄，而是
乐乎乎地开怀大笑。就连弗利格尔先生也停顿了两三次 ，好抑制他那一丝拘谨的微笑。
9 I did my best to avoid showing pleasure, but what I was feeling was pure delight at this
demonstration that my words had the power to make people laugh. In the eleventh grade, at the
eleventh hour as it were, I had discovered a calling. It was the happiest moment of my entire
school career. When Mr. Fleagle finished he put the final seal on my happiness by saying,
that, boys, is an essay, don't you see. It's ─ don't you see ─ it's of the very essence of the essay,
don't you see. Congratulations, Mr. Baker.
我尽力不流露出 得意的心情，但是看到我写的文章竟然能使别人大笑，我真是心花怒
放。就在十一年级，可谓是最后的时 刻，我找到了一个今生想做的事。这是我整个求学生涯
中最幸福的一刻。弗利格尔先生念完后说道：瞧， 孩子们，这就是小品文，懂了没有。这
才是 ── 知道吗 ── 这才是小品文的精髓，知道了没有。祝贺你，贝克先生。他这番
话使我沉浸在十全十美的幸福之中。
TAXT B
Summer Reading
Michael Dorris
1 When I was fourteen, I earned money in the summer by cutting lawns, and within a few
weeks I had built up a body of customers. I got to know people by the flowers they planted that I
had to remember not to cut down, by the things they lost in the grass or stuck in the ground on
purpose. I reached the point with most of them when I knew in advance what complaint was
about to be spoken, which particular request was most important. (1) And I learned something
about the measure of my neighbors by their preferred method of payment: by the job, by the
month ─ or not at all. 夏日阅读
迈克尔?多里斯
十四岁那年，我在暑假里替人修剪草坪挣些钱，不出几个星期，我就有了不少客户。
客户们种植的花卉我得记住不能剪去，他们会将东西遗落在草地上或故意插在地里，通过这
些我逐渐认 识了他们。我对大多数客户了解至深，事先就能知道他们会抱怨些什么，哪些特
别的要求不能掉以轻心。 (1)而且，我从邻居偏爱的付款方式中了解到了一点他们的情况：
有的按干的活儿给钱，有的按月支付 ─ 或者有的压根儿不付钱。
2 Mr. Ballou fell into the last category, and he always had a reason why. On one day he had
no change for a fifty, on another he was flat out of checks, on another, he was simply out when I
knocked on his door. Still, except for the money part, he was a nice enough old guy, always
waving or tipping his hat when he'd see me from a distance. I figured him for a thin retirement
check, maybe a work- related injury that kept him from doing his own yard work. Sure, I kept track
of the total, but I didn't worry about the amount too much. (2) Grass was grass, and the little that
Mr. Ballou's property comprised didn't take long to trim. 巴卢先生属于最后一类，而且
他总有理由。有一天他兑不开一张五十元的钞票 ，又有一天他支票用完了，还有一天我上门
时他干脆就溜出去了。撇开钱这档子事，他倒也还是个挺不错 的老头，每次看见我，老远就
挥手或脱帽致意。我猜他退休金不多，可能出过工伤，整不了自己的园子。 没错，我全都记

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着账，可我对这点钱并没太在意。(2)也就是剪剪草，何况巴卢先生住宅外面的那一点草坪
修 剪起来花不了多少时间。
3 Then, one late afternoon in mid-July, the hottest time of the year, I was walking by his
house and he opened the door, motioned me to come inside. The hall was cool, shaded, and it took
my eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light. 到了一年中最热的七月中旬，一天傍晚前，
我走过 他家，他开了门，示意我进去。门厅里凉凉的，帘子遮去了阳光，过了一会儿我的眼
睛才适应室内的暗淡 光线。
4 owe you,Mr. Ballou began, … 我欠你工钱，巴卢先生开口道，不
过……
5 I thought I'd save him the trouble of thinking up a new excuse.
about it. 我想省得他费神找新的借口了， 就说: 没事。别放在心上。
6
cleared up in a day or two. But in the meantime I thought perhaps you could choose one or two
volumes for a down payment. 银行把我的账弄错了，他没理我的碴儿，接着说，
一两天里就会改过来。在这当儿，我想你不妨挑一两本 书作为我的首付款。
7 He gestured toward the walls and I saw that books were stacked everywhere. It was like a
library, except with no order to the arrangement. 他朝墙那边指了指，我这才发现到处
都堆着书。就跟图书馆一样，只不过没有分门别类罢了。
8
What do you read? 别着急，巴卢先生鼓动说，读 也好，借也好，留着也行。找你
喜欢的。你平常都爱读什么书啊？
9 I generally read what was in front of me, what I could get
from the paperback stack at the drugstore, what I found at the library, magazines, the back of
cereal boxes, comics. The idea of consciously seeking out a special title was new to me, but, I
realized, not without appeal ─ so I started to look through the piles of books. 我不知
道。我的确不知道。我通常是弄到什么就读什么，从药房里买到的平装书，图书馆里借得
到的书、杂志，到麦片包装盒背面的说明，还有连环漫画，什么都看。有意识地找出一本特
别的书来读对 我是件新鲜事，不过我觉得这主意挺不错 ── 于是我开始在书堆中翻找起
来。
10 这么多书你都读过啊？
11
looking at a second time. 这不算多，巴卢先生说，这根本不算多，只不过是我自
己的藏书，都是值得再读一遍的。
12 那就替我找一本吧。
13 He raised his eyebrows, cocked his head, and regarded me as though measuring me for a
suit. After a moment, he nodded, searched through a stack, and handed me a dark red hardbound
book, fairly thick. 他眉一抬，头一侧，望 着我，就像是在给我量体裁衣似的。过了片
刻，他略一点头，便在一堆书中搜寻，然后递给我一本暗红色 封面的精装本，挺厚的。
14 《最后
的正义》，我念道，安德烈?施瓦兹巴特著。是讲什么的？
15 你来告诉我，他说，下个星期。
16 I started after supper, sitting outdoors on an uncomfortable kitchen chair. (3) Within a few
pages, the yard, the summer, disappeared, and I was plunged into the aching tragedy of the
Holocaust, the extraordinary clash of good, represented by one decent man, and evil. Translated

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from French, the language was elegant, simple, impossible to resist. When the evening light
finally failed I moved inside, read all through the night. 晚饭后我坐在室外一张不舒服
的餐椅里打开了书 。(3)读了几页，院子就消失了，夏夜也消失了；我一下子就进入了二战
期间纳粹对犹太人的大屠杀这 一令人悲痛的惨剧中，进入了以一个正派人物为代表的善与恶
之间非同寻常的冲突中。书译自法文，译文 优美朴素，令人不忍释手。天色终于暗了下来，
我回到室内，读了一个通宵。
17 To this day, thirty years later, I vividly remember the experience. It was my first voluntary
encounter with world literature, and I was stunned by the concentrated power a novel could
contain. I lacked the vocabulary, however, to translate my feelings into words, so the next week,
when Mr. Ballou asked, 时至三十年后的今天，我
仍清晰地记得当时的经历。那是我初次有心地接触世界文学，我被一部小说所能包含的集聚
的力 量深深震撼。但我缺乏足够的词汇表达我的情感，因此，第二个星期，当巴卢先生问我
怎么样时，我只回 答说：书真好。
18 那就留着吧，他说，要不
要我再介绍一本？
19 I nodded, and was presented with the paperback edition of Margaret Mead's Coming of
Age in Samoa. 我点点头，拿到了一本平装本的玛格丽特?米德的《萨摩亚人的成年》。
20 To make two long stories short, Mr. Ballou never paid me a cent for cutting his grass that
year or the next, but for fifteen years I taught anthropology at Dartmouth College. (4) Summer
reading was not the innocent entertainment I had assumed it to be, not a light-hearted, instantly
forgettable escape in a hammock (though I have since enjoyed many of those, too). A book, if it
arrives before you at the right moment, in the proper season, at an interval in the daily business of
things, will change the course of all that follows. 长话短说，无论当年还是次年，巴卢 先
生分文未付我替他割草的工钱，但我在达特默思大学教了十五年的人类学。(4) 盛夏阅读不
是我原先认为的仅仅借以消磨时光的娱乐，不是躺在吊床上无忧无虑、打开书本就什么都忘
掉的一种消 遣（虽然自从那个夏天以来我曾多次以这种方式自娱自乐）。一本书，如果在恰
当的时候，恰当的季节， 在日常事务的间歇中出现在你的面前，就会改变你此后的人生道路。