On the morning of the eleventh of November, 1937, precisely at eleven o'clock, some well-meaning busybody consulted his watch and loudly announced the hour, with the result that all of us in the dining-car felt constrained to put aside drinks and newspapers and spend the two minutes' silence in rather embarrassed stares at one another or out of the window. Not that anyone had intended disrespect—merely that in a fast-moving train we knew no rules for correct behaviour and would therefore rather not have behaved at all. Anyhow, it was during those tense uneasy seconds that I first took notice of the man opposite. Dark-haired, slim, and austerely good-looking, he was perhaps in his early or middle forties; he wore an air of prosperous distinction that fitted well with his neat but quiet standardized clothes. I could not guess whether he had originally moved in from a third-or a first-class compartment. Half a million Englishmen are like that. Their inconspicuous correctness makes almost a display of concealment. 1937年11月11日11时正，有碌碌无为的好事者查过手表后大声宣告着现下的时间。让餐车里的其他人勉强地放下手中的饮料或者报纸，而后花上几分钟的沉默面面相觑或者往窗外望去。并非有人故意失礼，只是因为在快速行进的火车上既没有可以遵循的规矩，也没有可以表现的规矩罢了。不管怎么说，在那让人精神紧绷的几秒间我第一次注意到了对面的那位先生。这位一头黑发的英俊先生朴素清癯，大约是四十岁上下，他在整洁而平常的穿着下散发着与众不同的气息。我猜不出他究竟是从三等车厢还是头等包间移过来的人，因为大多数的英国人看起来都是这个样子。而这种隐秘的恰如其分就像是一种隐秘的炫耀。 As he looked out of the window I saw something happen to his eyes— a change from a glance to a gaze and then from a gaze to a glare, a sudden sharpening of focus, as when a person thinks he recognizes someone fleetingly in a crowd. Meanwhile a lurch of the train spilt coffee on the table between us, providing an excuse for apologies as soon as the two minutes were over; I got in with mine first, but by the time he turned to reply the focus was lost, his look of recognition unsure. Only the embarrassment remained, and to ease it I made some comment on the moorland scenery, which was indeed sombrely beautiful that morning, for overnight snow lay on the summits, and there was one of them, twin-domed, that seemed to keep pace with the train, moving over the intervening valley like a ghostly camel. "That's Mickle," I said, pointing to it. 在他望出窗外时，我注意到了他的眼睛——从匆匆一瞥到定神凝视，定神凝视以致双目闪出光来，那一瞬凝神的敏锐，仿佛是在一瞬间里于茫茫人海中瞥见了似曾相识的那人。电光火石间，那杯因为刹车而洒出来的咖啡为我制造了对先前几分钟的道歉机会。我先行提出了歉意，他却在转过头致歉的时候失神了，一副看起来不知所然的样子。尴尬，而为了消除这种尴尬，我评论了几句窗外荒原的景色。昨夜积雪点缀其上的景色真是有阴郁的美感，那一对穹型山丘中间的山谷在火车上看真像是一只幽灵骆驼，云云。“这就是米寇(Mickle)，”我边说边指着那边。 Surprisingly he answered: "Do you know if there's a lake—quite a small lake—between the peaks?" 让人惊讶的是，他竟然回答了我。“你知道那两座山丘间有一个湖吗？规模相当小的湖。” Two men at the table across the aisle then intervened with the instant garrulousness of those who overhear a question put to someone else. They were also, I think, moved by a common desire to talk down an emotional crisis, for the entire dining-car seemed suddenly full of chatter. One said there WAS such a lake, if you called it a lake, but it was really more of a swamp; and the other said there wasn't any kind of lake at all, though after heavy rain it might be "a bit soggy" up there, and then the first man agreed that maybe that was so, and presently it turned out that though they were both Derbyshire men, neither had actually climbed Mickle since boyhood. 过道另一边的两个人在听到这个问题后便开始喋喋不休地讨论，看起来他们同样被尴尬驱使却苦苦找寻打破坚冰的契机而不得。整个餐车的车厢顿时满是谈笑风生。一个说如果你愿意把一个看起来像是沼泽地的地方称之为湖的话，那里的确曾经有过一个湖。另外一个则说那里从来没有过什么湖，但是大雨过后会出现一个水凼。没多久他们便各自报出他们的籍贯都在德比郡(Derbyshire)，又提到自不再少年后便再也没有攀登过米寇(Mickle)了。 We listened politely to all this and thanked them, glad to let the matter drop. Nothing more was said till they left the train at Leicester; then I leaned across the table and said: "It doesn't pay to argue with local inhabitants, otherwise I'd have answered your question myself—because I was on top of Mickle yesterday." 很高兴在礼貌地听过又谢过他们之后就能把上面那件事给了结了。直到他们在莱斯特(Leicester)下车前，我们也再没有说过一句话。他们下车后，我把身子探向桌子那头说到：“若不是和本地人争论是件吃力不讨好的事，刚才我便会告诉你我是怎么想的，因为我昨天就登上过米寇(Mickle)。” A gleam reappeared in his eyes. "YOU were?" 他眼里闪过一道灵光。“真的吗？” "Yes, I'm one of those eccentric people who climb mountains for fun all the year round." “是的呀，我就是那种一年到头都享受登山乐趣的怪人。” "So you saw the lake?" “那么你见到湖了吗？” "There wasn't a lake or a swamp or a sign of either." “那里既没有湖也没有水凼更没有类似的东西。” "Ah..." And the gleam faded. “啊......”他眼中的光芒消退。 "You sound disappointed?" “听起来，你很失望？” "Well, no—hardly that. Maybe I was thinking of somewhere else. I'm afraid I've a bad memory." “嘛，也并不算是。可能我只是跟别的什么地方记混了。恐怕我的记忆是很糟的。” "For mountains?" “关于山的记忆？” "For names too. MICKLE, did you say it was?" He spoke the word as if he were trying the sound of it. “还有名字。米寇(MICKLE)，你是这样说的对吧？”感觉他说的时候对发音很不肯定。 "That's the local name. It isn't important enough to be on maps." “那只是个当地叫法罢了。那种不重要的地方即使是地图也不会作下标记的。” He nodded and then, rather deliberately, held up a newspaper throughout a couple of English counties. The sight of soldiers marching along a Bedfordshire lane gave us our next exchange of remarks—something about Hitler, the European situation, chances of war, and so on. It led to my asking if he had served in the last war. 他点了点头，又慎重地举起了报纸，尔后在经过几个郡的途中他就一直在看报纸。在见到沿着贝德福德郡（Bedfordshire）小路行进的士兵后，我们就希特勒、欧洲局势还有发生战事的可能性交换了自己看法。这给了我询问他是否参与了上一次战争的机会。 "Yes." “是的。” "Then there must be things you wish you HAD forgotten?" “那一定会有你希望你已经忘记了的事情了，对吗？” "But I have—even THEM—to some extent." He added as if to deflect the subject from himself: "I imagine you were too young?" “但是我也希望我的忘记有一个尺度。”就像是想把话题从他身上拉走，他问道：“我想你那时候一定还小吧？” "Too young for the last, but not for the next, the way things are going." “照着现在的状况下去的话，对于上一次的战事是年轻了一点，但对于下一次的战争就不一定了。” "Nobody will be either too young or too old for the next." “对于下一次的战争而言，没有人会太老或太年轻。” Meanwhile men's voices were uprising further along the car in talk of Ypres and Gallipoli; I called his attention and commented that thousands of other Englishmen were doubtless at that moment reminiscing about their war experiences. "If you've already forgotten yours, you're probably lucky." 随着车里谈论伊珀尔（Ypres）和加里波利(Gallipoli)的话题渐盛，那男子的声音也变得低落。我又转移他的注意，说到很多英国人都对战争的回忆仍然是相当地深刻。“如果你已经把那些回忆忘记了，那大概你也算是个幸运的人。” "I didn't say I'd forgotten EVERYTHING." “我又没说我把所有事情都忘了。”