"Foreigners" have long become the living conditions of many young people at present, shuttling through unfamiliar cities, busy with livelihood and no time to rest, while constantly pursuing freshness to make retaliatory compensation, and the shadow of "hometown" often inadvertently appears in the gap between the two, reminding you of what you once looked like, and the possibility of another life. Today and yesterday are what you know, but tomorrow is something you can't know and imagine.
Irish literary master Colm Tobin's Brooklyn tells such a story. The protagonist of the story, Alice, an Irish town girl, suddenly gets a chance to work in the United States, bids farewell to her relatives and hometown and comes to Brooklyn, lives in a crowded group apartment, and lives a busy life that is very different from her hometown. The two lives are always pulled in Alice's heart, and every "stranger" can find his own shadow in "Brooklyn".
Today, Yi Wenjun shared with you a clip from "Brooklyn", in which the protagonist of the story, Alice, has just arrived in Brooklyn from her hometown, and she received a letter from her relatives in her hometown for the first time.
She's insignificant here.
It's like a ghost.
[Ireland] Colm Tobin by Paul Oak Translation
Excerpt from Brooklyn, Shanghai Translation Publishing House
All rights reserved, please contact the authorization
She could tell from her handwriting that the letter had been written by her mother, Rose, and Jack. She decided to read her mother's letter first and leave Rose's for last. The mother's letter was short, with no news, only that many people asked about her and detailed when and where they met them. Jack's letter was similar, but it spoke of that crossing of the Atlantic, which she had written to him, but barely mentioned in her letter to her mother and Rose. She saw rose's handwriting, as usual, very beautiful and clear. She wrote about golf and work, about how quiet and dull the town was, and how lucky Alice was in the brilliant sun. In her postscript, she suggested that Alice might sometimes be able to write to her private affairs separately from things that might have caused her mother to worry too much. She suggested that Alice might be able to use her work address as her mailing address.
The letters didn't tell Alice much, little personal situation, and no words that looked like anyone's voice. However, she read the letter over and over again, forgetting for a moment where she was. She could see her mother in the kitchen with her Baston Bond notepad and envelope and began to write a decent letter, with nothing deleted. She felt that Rose was probably going to the living room, writing on the paper she had brought back from the unit, in an envelope longer and more elegant than her mother's. Alice thought that Rose had finished writing the letter, perhaps leaving it on the hall table, while her mother would take two letters to the post office in the morning to buy stamps specifically for the mailing of the United States. She couldn't figure out where Jack had written the letter, which was shorter than the other two, and had a somewhat shy tone, as if she didn't want to bet too much on it.
She lay on the bed, the letter beside her. She realized that in the past few weeks, she hadn't really wanted to be home. The town flashed in her mind, just as it had been in the afternoon of the sale, and of course she missed her mother and Rose, but she had banished from her mind her life in Enniscorthy, her life that had never returned. Every day she returned to the cottage in the noisy house, remembering every new thing that had happened. Now, none of this seemed comparable to her hometown, her room, the house on Freire Street, the food she had eaten there, the clothes she wore. How quiet it was.
These were like heavy pressures on her body, and for a moment, she wanted to cry. It was as if the pain in her heart was about to squeeze the tears into her face, though she tried her best to suppress them. Whatever it was, she wouldn't budge. She kept thinking, trying to figure out how this new mood of depression and depression had come about, like what she felt when her father died, and she watched them cover the coffin and felt that he could no longer see the world, that she could no longer speak to him.
She's insignificant here. Not only because she had no friends and family, but also because she was in this house, on the way to work, in the business area of the mall, like a ghost, there was no point in anything. She felt that the room in the house on Fleury Street belonged to hers, and when she walked in, she had a sense of reality. In town, if she walked into a store or a vocational school, even if she didn't meet a single acquaintance, the air, the sun, the land, it was real, it was a part of her. But nothing belonged to her. She felt that it was false and empty. She closed her eyes and wondered—she had done so countless times—what she was expecting, but nothing, not even the tiniest, not even Sunday. Maybe she was only looking forward to sleeping, but she wasn't sure she wanted to sleep. In any case, she couldn't sleep yet, because it wasn't nine. She couldn't do anything, as if she were locked up.
In the morning, she wasn't sure if she was asleep or if she had just had a bunch of vivid dreams, and she let those dreams go on so she didn't have to open her eyes and see the room. One of the dreams was about the courthouse at the highest point on Flarey Hill Street in Enniscorthy. She now remembers how terrified her neighbors were of the day the court went to trial, not because of the cases reported in writing, petty theft, drunkenness, or misconduct, but because the court would sometimes send children to custody, to orphanages or work schools, or to foster care in other people's homes because they skipped school or caused trouble and had conflicts with their parents. Sometimes, heartbroken mothers screamed and cried outside the courthouse gates, and their children were taken away. But in her dreams there were no screaming women, only a group of silent children. Alice was among them too, and they lined up, knowing they would soon be taken away by the judge's verdict.
She lay awake on the bed, inexplicably thinking that she seemed to be hoping to be taken away, without the slightest fear. She was afraid to see her mother at the door of the courthouse. In the dream, she found a way to avoid her mother. She was taken away from the party, got out of the side door, got into the car, and began an endless journey that seemed to stretch to the end of her dreams.
She got up and used the washroom very quietly. She thought she could go to the little fulton street restaurant for breakfast, which she had seen on her way to work. After getting dressed and ready, she crept out of the house. She didn't want to meet anyone else. It was only half past seven. She thought she would sit somewhere and wait for an hour, have a cup of coffee, eat a sandwich, and then go to work early.
Walking on the road, she was afraid that the day was coming. Then she sat at the bar in front of a restaurant and looked at the menu, remembering fragments of another dream she vaguely remembered when she woke up. She seemed to be sitting on a balloon, flying on a calm day, on a calm sea. She could see the cliffs of the Ancient Void Pass Canyon and the soft sands of Barikenica at her feet. The wind blew her toward the Blackwater River, followed by The Balaf, the village of Monagil, then Vinegar Mountain and Enniscorthy. She was immersed in the memories of the dream, and somehow the waiter behind the counter asked her if there was anything wrong.
"I'm okay." She said.
"You look sad." He said.
She shook her head, wanted to smile, and ordered a cup of coffee and a sandwich. "Be happy," he said in a raised voice, "okay, be happy." Nothing will happen. Give us a laugh. ”
Several other guests at the bar looked at her. She knew she couldn't hold back her tears. She didn't wait for breakfast to arrive, and ran out of the restaurant, and no one else had time to say anything to her.
Throughout the day, she felt that Miss Fortini was looking at her more often than usual, which made her sensitive to her state when she was not dealing with customers. She tried to look at the doorway and the front window and the street, trying to make herself look busy, but she found herself easily in a trance if she didn't stop herself, repeating the same thing over and over again, thinking about everything she had lost, not knowing how to go back to dinner with the others, and spending the long night alone in a room that had nothing to do with her. Then she saw Miss Fortini staring at her from the other side of the business district, and she tried again to make herself seem happy and willing to help customers, as if it were an ordinary working day.
Dinner wasn't as tough as she had expected, Patty and Diana bought new shoes, and Mrs. Keo had to look at the bodice of suits, dresses, and other outfits before she could agree. The kitchen before and after dinner was like a fashion show stage, with Patti and Diana walking in each time with shoes, new clothes, and different bags, and Miss McAdam and Miss Keegan didn't appreciate it.
Mrs. Keo saw Diana's shoes and the clothes that went with them, not quite sure if they were elaborate enough.
"It's not the same," she said, "you can't wear this to work, and if you wear it out at night, it's not elegant enough." I can't figure out why you buy this back unless the figure is cheap. ”
Diana bowed her head and said that it was indeed a promotional item.
"Oh, then," said Mrs. Keo, "I can only say that I hope you keep the receipt." ”
"Well, I love it." Miss McAdam said.
"Me too." Sheila Hefnan added.
"So when are you going to wear it?" Mrs. Keo asked. "I just like it." Miss McAdam said, shrugging.
Alice quietly left, glad no one noticed that she hadn't spoken during the meal. She wondered if she could go out for a walk and do whatever she wanted, instead of facing her grave-like room, where she lay with her eyes open, her thoughts flooding in, and when she closed her eyes, the dreams kept coming. She stood in the hall for a moment, then turned upstairs, feeling that she was equally afraid to go out, and even if she was not afraid, she did not know where else to go at night. She thought, she hated this house, this smell, this sound, this color. When she went upstairs, she was already crying. She knew that as long as other people were talking about their clothes in the kitchen downstairs, she could cry without fear of being heard.
It was the worst night she'd ever had. After dawn, she remembered what Jack had said to her on the day she boarded the ship in Liverpool, and now that she thinks about it, it seems to be years old. He said that at first he thought it was difficult to wander away, but he didn't elaborate, and she didn't expect to ask him what it was like. He was as gentle and peaceful as his father and would not complain under any circumstances. At the moment she wanted to write to him, asking if he had felt the same way, as if he had been locked up somewhere, trapped in an empty place. She felt that it was like hell, because there was no end in sight, and the feelings that accompanied it were endless, but this kind of torture was very strange, all in her heart, as if the night had fallen, and she would never see the light of day again. She didn't know what she was going to do. But knowing that Jack was far away from the water could not save the near fire.
None of them could help her. She lost them. They wouldn't have known that, and she said nothing in her letter. Because of this, she knew that they would never understand her mood at the moment. Perhaps, she thought, they had never known her, because if they did, they would understand her feelings.
She lay down and watched the sky lighten, feeling that she could no longer bear the same night. For a moment she was silently hopeful that nothing would change, but she didn't know what the outcome would be, or what form it would take, and she got up early again, quietly left the house, walked down the street for an hour, and then went for coffee. For the first time, she noticed the coldness in the air, and it seemed that the weather had changed. But it doesn't matter how the weather is. She found a seat in a restaurant with her back to everyone, and no one could say anything about the expression on her face.
When she had coffee, ate a round loaf of bread, and called the waiter over to check out, she found that work hours were too tight. If you don't hurry, you'll be late for the first time. The streets were full of people, and she couldn't easily get ahead, and for a moment she wondered if everyone was deliberately blocking her way. It took a long time for the traffic lights to change. When she walked to Fulton Street, the situation was even worse, and the crowd crowded like a football game exit. Even normal walking is tough. She had only one minute left when she got to Bartoc. She didn't know how to spend the time standing in the business district pretending to be happy and serious. She had put on her overalls, and had just appeared upstairs when she saw The Gaze of Miss Fortini, who seemed less pleased, and came over, but Alice was led away by a guest. In receiving the guests, Alice tried not to look in Miss Fortini's direction, turning her back to her as much as possible.
(End)
Brooklyn
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[Ireland] by Colm Tobin
Translated by Bai Que
Shanghai Translation Publishing House