新视野大学英语读写教程3 unit10 课文翻译

未曾谋面的劲敌朋友我和约翰·布雷尔初次见面时，我俩都已60出头了，不过，较之别人，他对我的人生影响最大却是事实，并且我害羞的毛病也主要归咎于他。

卡丽舅妈是我最喜欢的亲戚，也是我最喜欢的权威人物。

她总是一脸笑容，满口赞美之词，随时宽容他人的失误。

对我而言，她只有一个缺点，即她也是约翰·布雷尔的姨妈。

约翰是她住在格洛斯特郡的妹妹的儿子。

卡丽舅妈总是称他“我的另一个外甥小约翰”，而且总是提起他。

在我意识到之前，我与小约翰可能已被比较了无数次了。

我能清楚记得的第一次，是“卡丽舅妈的另一个外甥小约翰”与我同一天上学，而且他喜欢上学就像鸭子喜欢水，而我的第一天却是灾难性的。

而且灾难持续不断。

他是个令人难以置信的孩子，学数学长进很快，解高等数学题轻而易举。

而我几乎总是跌跌撞撞，连学百分数都很费力。

于是我开始害怕卡丽舅妈来访，因为她老是比较我们俩。

时间在继续，我们之间的比较也在继续。

通过放假时大人们的谈论，上学时大人之间的通信，我总能随时了解约翰的进步。

在这样的挑战下，我终于开始寻找我最擅长的事情。

当我发现我擅长写作时，我就用心地提高我的写作水平，置其他一切于脑后。

我只要写作，让约翰去拥有所有其他的吧。

我创作的故事，多半与科技相关，本质上是科幻小说。

都是关于火箭、航天飞机，诸如此类把人送上天的东西。

对自己的性格作了点分析后，我认识到我的这些故事就是自己愿望的延伸，我想愈升愈高，直至超过约翰·布雷尔。

在以后的40年里，有三四次我在报上读到约翰·布雷尔的消息。

他当时在做支持大型科学项目的数学研究工作。

这种职业不太会招来多少公众注意，但偶然见诸报端的报道却描绘了他一步步成功的故事，直到退休。

另有一次，有一半专栏报道了他，说他最后的工作是将太阳能用于将卫星送入轨道。

他在波斯湾某国为一个政府部门工作。

而那时，我也在自己的行业获得了成功，写了30本畅销小说，其中无一失败之作。

后来，那一年的11月，我正在一家俱乐部喝酒，等着吃饭。

一声咳嗽令我转头张望。

我看见一个矮矮胖胖的人，小小的鼻子看上去难以支撑沉重的眼镜框架。

他叫了我的名字，显然不太自在，而我也不情愿地说是我。

自从我有了点名气后，偶尔也有陌生人向我打招呼。

然后无论他们说什么，我总是感到十分窘迫。

“你—不—不—认识—我—我，”这个矮小男人结结巴巴地说。

“我叫约翰·布—布雷尔。

“你知道……我们都—都有一个亲戚，卡—卡罗琳·莱西。

我过去常常听她提起你，”他笑着说。

我一直以为，你至少八英尺高，很英俊，生气勃勃，比世界上任何人都能干。

”说着话，他的笑容扩散开来。

“真的，”他说，“卡丽姨妈写的那些关于你的信，弄得我几乎要自杀了。

渐渐地，我就不愿听到你的名字了。

”听说他那么多年之后突然见到他我有点吃惊。

“与你母亲过去常写的关于你的信相比，”我说，“那些信算不了什么。

每次信都告诉我你的计算题做得对。

我总是把你想成一位光辉典范，九英尺高，比罗伯特·泰勒英俊，比丘吉尔聪明。

所以，那些信是互相夸奖对方的（他们骗了我们），对不对？”“对我来说更糟糕，”他说。

“我一向是小个子，过去总是戴着这东西。

”他摸了摸自己的眼镜。

“而你呢，魁梧、英俊，还很聪明。

我总得做点什么，而我能做的就是计算。

我拼命取悦于他人，我几乎可以说，”他似乎有点怨恨地说，“就是因为你，我做了一辈子的算术！”“把算术换成写作，你就知道我的情形了，”我说。

我俩相对而视，脸上挂着相同的表情。

也许，我俩都明白了，我们坐着的这个地方，并不是人生失败的人出没的地方，对于男孩子来说，无论他们现在什么样，偶尔的鞭策并非一件坏事。

我们都推了推自己的眼镜，两人之间的对抗情绪荡然无存。

虽然都没说话，但我知道，我们在举杯纪念我们的卡丽舅（姨）妈。

The Challenging Friend I Didn't KnowJohn Bullyer and I met for the first time when we were both in our early sixties, but it is true to say that he did more to shape my life than any other person, and is largely responsible for the shyness which has been a handicap to me.Aunt Carrie was my favorite relative, as well as my favorite authority figure. She was always free with smiles, words of praise, and excuses for misdoings. For me she had but one drawback: She was also aunt to John Bullyer, the son of her sister who lived in Gloucestershire. She invariably referred to him as "Little-John-my-other-nephew" all in one word, and she referred to him far too often.Probably hundreds of comparisons were made before I became aware of them. The first that I remember with any clarity was that Little-John-Aunt-Carrie's-other-nephew had started school on the same day as I did and had taken to it like a duck to water. My first day, on the other hand, was disastrous.And so it went on. Incredible boy, he advanced quickly in mathematics; he was dealing expertly with advanced math, just cruising through, while I was practically slamming my head against a wall trying to learn percentages. I began to dread Aunt Carrie's visits, because she was always comparing the two of us.Time went on; so did the comparisons. By word of mouth during the holidays, by phrases that leaped out of letters during term time, I was kept up to date with John's progress. Thus challenged, I began at last to look round for something that I could do well. When I discovered that I could write well, I worked with intensity at my craft, minding nothing else. Let this be mine, John Bullyer could have all the rest.The stories that I invented were mostly technological and science fiction in nature. They told of rockets and spacecraft, things that would take men high up into the sky. After some analysis of my personality, I realized that my stories were an extension of my own desires to rise to higher and higher altitudes, until I was above John Bullyer.Three or four times during the next forty years I saw mention of John Bullyer in the press. He was doing mathematical work that supported big, scientific projects. It was not the kind of career to attract much publicity, but occasional paragraphs in newspapers charted a steady success until he retired. On that occasion there was a half column about him; it said that his last job was the harnessing of solar power for a satellite put into orbit. He was working for a government bureau in a country in the Persian Gulf. I was, by that time, successful in my own line, having written a streak of 30 best-sellers without a single failure.Late that year, in November, I was in a club, sipping a glass of wine before dinner. A cough made me look round. I saw a short, fat man with a little nose that looked too small to support the framework of his heavy glasses. With more than a suggestion of discomfort, he spoke my name and I, somewhat reluctantly, admitted my identity. Since I attained some measures of fame I have on occasion been approached by strangers. Whatever they say, I am always horribly embarrassed."You d-don't know m-me," said the little man, stammering. "My name's John B-Bullyer. We sh-shared an aunt, C-Caroline Lacey. I used to hear so much about you," he said with a smile. "You see... I grew up with the idea that you were at least eight feet tall, handsome, dynamic, and more able than anyone in the universe." His smile broadened. "Really," he said, "the letters Aunt Carrie used to write about you almost drove me to suicide. I grew to hate the sound of your name at times.""Those letters were probably nothing," I said, surprised to meet this man after so many years of having heard of him, "compared to the letters your mother used to write about you. I was told every time you got a sum right. I always thought of you as an imposing specimen of a man—nine feet high, better looking than Robert Taylor and wiser than Churchill. So they played the game both ways, did they?""But it was worse for me," he said. "I've always been undersized, and I always had these." He touched his glasses. "And there you were, tall and handsome. And so clever too. I had to do something; and all I could ever do was sums, and nearly killed myself at games in an effort to be liked by others. I might almost say," he said, with something like resentment, "that because of you I've been doing sums all my life!""Substitute writing stories for doing sums and you have exactly my story," I said.We looked at each other with identical expressions. Then it probably dawned on us both that the place in which we sat is not the place of men who have been failures in life, and that for boys, being what they are, an occasional push is not such a bad thing. Together we lifted our glasses, and the tensions between us went away. And though neither of us spoke, I know we drank to the memory of our Aunt Carrie.。