英语美文与传神翻译：死海求生（连载1）

英语美文与传神翻译：死海求生（连载1）

Solo Sailor in Peril

文 | 英语和翻译实践者

引言

托尼·布利莫尔是一位世界级的帆船运动员。他最爱的一个是妻子，一个是大海。他渴望永远和妻子幸福地生活在一起，而大海却要扼杀他的这个梦想。

正文

1 Solo Sailor in Southern Ocean

Tony Bullimore: According to official charts, this huge expanse of water I find myself in is the Southern Ocean, where the southern parts of the Indian, Pacific and Atlantic oceans all flow together to encircle Antarctica. It is a distinct place notorious for storms that seem to arrive out of nowhere and blow with a ferocity unparalleled anywhere on the planet.

I know dangers always lurk here; yet today, Thursday, January 2, 1997, they seem remote. The sun is strong and warm in a brilliantly blue sky. My 60-foot ketch, Exide Challenger, is doing about ten knots in a light wind, sailing east, circling Antarctica. Im below the Indian Ocean, and almost halfway through the Vendée Globe Race.

As a boy, I used to dream about sailing like this. When I was growing up, sailing was an elitist sport, and being from a working-class family, I did not get any opportunity to try it.

Still, over the years I kept the embers alive. After I started a thriving door-to-door sales business as a young man, I was gradually able to afford bigger and faster sailboats. And after my first big race I was hooked. I have always sought out the most competitive races in the world.

None is tougher than the Vendée. It is considered the ultimate challenge for solo sailors: more than 25,000 nautical miles around the world nonstop, no ports of call for supplies or even repairs. Of course, its impossible to sail nonstop around the world without breaking equipment and suffering some bad luck. And Ive had more than my share of both.

On November 3, 1996, I said good-bye to my wife, Lalel, at the starting point in Les Sables dOlonne, France, and set sail.

About 30 days later, my water-purification equipment failed. Since then, Ive relied on an American-made hand pump known as Survivor, which turns sea water into drinkable water.

Then, for three days, I languished in the lightest of breezes while my competitors seemed to fly through the doldrums on the equator.

To catch up I have plotted a course close to Antarctica, deep in the Southern Ocean. So far my luck is holding. Today I even get a break in the routine when a little bird lands on the deck around noon. Hes about six inches long, thin and gray, with a touch of color on his breast. An hour later, another one arrives. Both are exhausted. Im their only salvation — a floating island.

As the wind picks up, both birds fly inside the doghouse, or main cabin, and I find myself talking to them while I work.

I get a bowl of water and break up some crackers for them. One seems too exhausted to eat. His tiny chest flutters rapidly as if hes fighting for breath. I pick him up and set him by the bowl of food. “Dont waste this stuff,” I scold him. “Its rationed.”

That evening after dinner I make them a nest of an old shirt. They probably wont use it, but I feel as if Im doing something for them.

The next day theres not a cloud in the sky and the seas are calm. I realize I havent seen my feathered friends since midday today. They must have gone. Arent birds supposed to be able to predict the weather?

My satellite communications system has failed, and Ive no way of getting any useful meteorological information. Now its all come down to instinct and experience.

Ive crossed the Atlantic almost 30 times and know many of the telltale signs of bad weather. Although Ive never been this deep into the Southern Ocean before, my instincts tell me that something big is brewing.

Early Saturday morning, with the wind picking up to a modest 18 knots, I telephone Lal at our home in Bristol, England.

“Its two o’clock in the morning,” she says. “Whats happened?”

“Nothing. I just want to hear the sweet sound of your voice.”

“So you wake me up?” Lal says. She is trying to sound mad, but I know she can never stay angry for long. I tell her about the two little birds. “Its a pity you cant fly home,” she says, sounding sleepy.

“Wont be long now,” I assure her.

试译

1南海独行

托尼·布利莫尔：根据官方的海图，我现在进入的这片巨大的水域叫南海。印度洋、太平洋和大西洋在这里汇合，共同绕南极环流。这是一片臭名昭著的海域——风暴来得莫名其妙，而且强度无与伦比。

我知道这里总是潜伏着危险。可今天——1997年1月2日，星期四——危险似乎很遥远。火红的太阳挂在湛蓝湛蓝的天空，发出温暖的光。我的60英尺长的双桅帆船“伊格赛德挑战者号”在微风中以10节的航速顺着南极向东航行。我一直在沿着印度洋的南面航行，几乎完成了“旺代环球赛”一半的赛程。

在孩提时代，我一直梦想能像这样航行在大海上。我长大成人的时候，航海还是一项上流社会的体育运动，而我出身于工薪阶层，根本没有尝试的机会。

尽管如此，多少年来，我一直不让自己的梦想泯灭。自从开办了一种发展很快的上门销售生意后，我才慢慢有能力购买更大、更快的帆船。参加完我的第一次大赛后，我就迷上了这项运动，并一直寻找世界上最具竞争性的比赛。

没有比“旺代环球赛”更艰难的比赛了。对单人帆船赛来说，它被认为最具挑战性：25000海里以上的环球航程，无停顿、无岸上补给和维修。当然，做环球无停顿航行不可能不坏设备，不可能不遭遇艰险。这两种情况我不仅都经历了，而且还经历得出奇地多。

1996年11月3日，我在位于法国莱萨布尔多隆的出发点与妻子莱尔道别，并拉起了帆。

大约30天后，我的净水设备坏了。从那时起，我就依靠一种名叫“幸存者”的美国产手压制水机，从海水中制取饮用水。

在随后的3天里，我在仅有的一丝微风中慢慢爬行，而我的对手们却好像在赤道无风带上飞驰。

为了赶上他们，我设计了一条在南海深处、靠近南极的航线。到现在为止，我的运气还不错。今天中午，当一只小鸟落到甲板上时，我甚至感到它给我枯燥的航行带来了一丝生气。小鸟约有6英寸长，全身灰色，只有胸脯有一点杂色，它看上去很纤弱。一小时后，另一只鸟也落下来。它们俩都飞不动了。我是它们唯一的救命稻草——一块流动的岛屿。

随着风力的慢慢加大，两只小鸟都飞进船舱（主舱）里去了。我发现自己在工作时，还不时地给它们说话。

我给它们弄了一碗水，掰了几块饼干。有一个好像累得连吃东西的力气都没有了。它那小小的胸脯起伏得很厉害，好像呼吸很困难。我把它放到盛饼干的碗边。“别浪费了，”我不客气地对它说，“食物可是定量的。”

那天晚饭后，我用一件旧衣服给它们做了一个窝。它们也许不用，但我还是觉得为它们做了点儿事。

第二天，天上没有一丝云，大海也很平静。我意识到从中午到现在我还没看到那两个长羽毛的小朋友。它们也许已经飞走了。鸟不是说可以预报天气吗？

我的卫星通讯系统坏了，没有办法得到任何有关的天气信息。现在我完全靠直觉和经验。

我穿越大西洋快有30次了，知道很多恶劣天气的征兆。尽管我以前从没有进入偏离赤道这么远的南海水域，但我的直觉告诉我，大海的一次狂烈的运动正在酝酿之中。

星期六一大早，随着风力慢慢加大到18节，我给位于英国布利斯托尔的家里的妻子莱尔通了电话。

“现在这里刚深夜两点，”她说，“出什么事了？”

“没事，我只是想听听你那甜美的声音。”

“于是你就把我叫醒？”莱尔拿出一副生气的样子。但我知道，她生气从不会超过几分钟。我把两只小鸟的事讲给她听。“遗憾的是你不能飞回来。”她迷迷糊糊地说。

“快了。”我安慰她说。

（未完待续，后面更精彩）