Chapter 24 a waitress

(Ireland) by Georgie Moore Yu Dafu's Translation of "The Twelfth Volume of Yu Dafu's Collected Works" Feeling that his family would never come back to Scottland again, Stephenson said in the preface to his novel "Catriona": "It was like a dream when I saw my father's childhood, my father's father (grandfather) When I was young, I also saw the source of life in the extreme northern corner keep coming down, with some singing and weeping voices, and finally it took my turn to rush me to this extreme island country like a mountain torrent. I have come here. The play of fate made me have to praise and bow my head.” Isn’t this sentence written in a time of enthusiasm, as if he was still chasing phantoms while writing Look, do you think so?And this sentence can also remind us of the lamp moth that is fighting the flame.In short, no matter what its true meaning is, this sentence actually contains a few very beautiful sentences. Although we can't remember it as it is, it can always make people never forget it; However, in our memory, there is immediately a simpler word to replace it.Emotions expressed by Stevenson.Only words such as "playing with fate" and "island country at the extreme edge" burst out.Who in the world doesn't think that fate is playing tricks on people?And who doesn't praise the extreme island country from which fate sent him?The Pope ordered that Chia Kemo, who was to be skinned alive, must have been praising the extreme island country that fate played with him, which was used by the executioner to roll up his belly like a jacket That bound board.Once, I saw a hare playing drums on the street. It looked at me very interestingly. I knew that this hare must also be praising its destiny, although it was different from humans, and migrated it out of the woods. Move it to the top of the frame, which is its extreme island country.But these two interplays of fate are not so strange, not as strange as the fate of an Irish girl I met.She served students meals in a remote cafe in the Latin Quarter.Of course, she is also praising fate, throwing her out, and dooming her to spend the rest of her life in tobacco and alcohol, waiting for many students, and she has to obey them whatever they want to hear.

After the play, looking for some brief entertainment, Alfred, Miss Davari, and I finally broke into this café (one evening).I originally thought that this place was a bit inappropriate for Miss Davari, but Alfred said that we could find a quiet corner to sit, so we found one greeted by a thin waitress. The place.The weary countenance, elegant manner, and thin frame of this waitress aroused my infinite sympathy.Her cheeks are thin, her eyes are gray and blue, and she looks slightly melancholy, like the expression in a Rosetti painting.Waves of purple hair, slanting over the forehead and ears, are also very low in the Rossetti style and knotted behind the neck.I noticed the mutual gaze of these two women, one was healthy and rich, the other was poor and sick.I even guessed the deep thinking that these two women caused in their minds.I think the two must be strange, why is there such a difference between the two in the same life?But here I have to tell you who Miss Davari is and how I came to know her.I once went to the cafe Toiltoni on the corner of Taibu Street where Luo Xueni had eaten.Tony was very famous in the past, because it is said that when Luo Xueni, a musician, received an annual income of 20,000 yuan, he once said: "Now I can be satisfied with music, and I finally get paid. I can go to Totney to eat every day." Even now, Totney is a meeting place for literary artists, who will come at about five o'clock, the day I arrive in Paris. So I have been in this toddler Tony.If I go there and show my face, it will be known that I am in Paris.Toiltoni is simply a publicity office in disguise.It was in Toddney, and I met a young man that day.An old friend of mine, a painter of genius, has a painting exhibited at Rouxampurcouture, and most Parisian girls like him.This young man, Alfred, took my hand and said to me vigorously, "I'm looking for you." Just Tony, almost all the cafes have been searched.The reason he wanted me was because he wanted me to dine with Mademoiselle Davari, and we

First, I have to go to Jiapiaoxin Street to pick her up. I wrote down the name of this street not because the street where she lived is related to my novel, but because the name is a kind of material to evoke memory.People who like Paris always like to hear the street names in Paris, because the street names and the escalators next to the whitewashed walls, the bronze front door, the bell that calls the door, etc., are clues to evoke the memory of Parisian life, and Miss Davari In itself, it is a good memory that cannot be forgotten, because she is an actress of the Royal Theater.My friend is also a monster that cannot be forgotten, because he is also a loafer who has the reputation of not spending money on women. His philosophy is "After work, if she likes to come to my studio to play, then We ended up happy and happy together." But whatever his doctrine was, he refused to spend money for a woman, and when I was in Miss Davari's room looking at her ornaments, and when she came out to see us , I think his solemn statement is unnecessary.Her sitting room, decorated with bronze objects of the sixteenth century, figures of Guerleston with silver ornamented cupboards, three paintings by Pouchet - representing France, Belgium, and Italy of Pouchet Three paintings in the style of three eras.When I saw these ornaments and was admiring them, he solemnly stated that they were not given to her by him. When she came out to meet us, he solemnly stated that the bracelets on her hands were He didn't send her to her. I think his statement is troublesome.It seemed to me that it might have been an unrefined taste to mention his refusal to give her anything, for she had been offended by what he had said, and in fact I had seen her desire to go out with him. Eating doesn't seem to be very happy as usual.

The meal we ate in Fayao Restaurant was an old-fashioned restaurant, the walls were whitewashed in gold and white, and there were very few popular funs such as electric light bands.After dinner, I went to the Odean Theater next door to watch a play. It was a play in which the shepherd boys met and talked at the edge of the stream in the field, and then killed each other for an unchaste woman.There were scenes of grape harvesting, singing in procession, and singing carriages in the fields, but we did not find it interesting.And during the middle act, Alfred went to see friends in various places in the theater, and pushed Miss Davari to me.But I like to watch what a couple of lovers are doing, and I like to walk around the edge of the love nest where the couple sits.When the play was over, he said, "Go get a drink!" So we went to the cafe where the students used to hang out.It is a cafe with brocades on the windows, oak tables, old-fashioned wine glasses, and waitresses in old-fashioned clothes.It is a cafe where a student comes in from time to time, takes a big cup in his mouth, swallows it all in one gulp, stands up without a smile and walks away.Mademoiselle Davari's beauty and fashion caught the wild eyes of the gathered students for a moment.She was wearing a flower-woven dress, and her black hair was exposed under a big hat.Her rich Southern belle complexion had a yellowish-dark green tint to her nape where the hair was thinning.The two shoulders, which were plump again, slanted down in the chest hanging, faintly hinting at the lines of her chest and waist.It was amusing to compare her plump, mature beauty with that of the waitress's pale, feeble beauty.Mademoiselle Davari leaned her fan on her chest, and sat there with her lips slightly parted, exposing a row of tiny teeth in her vermilion lips.The waitress was sitting on the edge, resting her two slender arms on the edge of the table, participating in the conversation gracefully, only in the middle of her eyes flashing like lightning, there was an expression of envy, as if she was talking about herself. was a big failure among women, and Mademoiselle Davari was a big success.Her accent didn't make much sense at first, but after listening carefully for a while, she could hear an accent that she didn't know where it came from.At one point I recognized a southern accent, then a northern one, and finally I heard an English accent clearly, so I asked her:

"You seem to be English." "I'm Irish. A Dublin." Thinking of a girl who grew up in Dublin's rites, who was teased by fate and moved to this extreme coffee shop, I asked her, why did she come here?She told me that she was only sixteen years old when she left Dublin, and that she had come to Paris six years ago to be a governess to a family.She used to go to Ruxanpur Ancient Park with the children, and spoke English to them.One day a student sat next to her in the same chair.The rest can be easily imagined without saying anything.But he had no money to support her, so she had to work in this cafe.

"This is a job that doesn't suit me, but what can I do? We are born in this world, we can't do without food, and the smoke here is very heavy, it always makes me cough." I stared at her blankly for a while, and she probably guessed what was going on in my mind, and told me that one side of her lungs had rotted away, and we talked about health preservation, and the world of the South. .She also said that the doctor advised her to go to the south to recuperate. Alfred and Miss Davari were talking vigorously, so I leaned forward and gave all my attention to the poor Irish girl.Her tuberculosis, her old-fashioned red dress, and her slender arms exposed from the cuffs of her long, ruched sleeves aroused my endless interest.As usual in cafes, I had to buy her a drink.But she said that alcohol was bad for her, but it would be bad not to drink it, or I could treat her to a plate of raw steak.I agreed, and she ordered a plate of raw steak, but I had to close my eyes and let her go to the corner of the room to cut a piece of raw beef and hide it.She said she wanted to eat before going to bed, which was always two hours later, about three o'clock in the morning.While I was talking to her, I was imagining a hut in the south, among the olive and orange trees, a bright window filled with the fragrance of flowers, and sitting by the window, breathing, was this young girl.

"I would really like to take you to the south to see and treat your illness." "I'm afraid you're going to hate me. And I can't repay you for your kindness to me. The doctor said that I can't love anyone anymore." Probably we have been talking for a long time, because when Alfred and Miss Davari stood up to go, I seemed to wake up from a dream.Seeing me like that, Alfred smiled and said to Miss Davari that it would be a good thing to leave me in the cafe with my new girlfriend.His teasing words cut through, and although I wanted to stay in the café, I had to follow them out into the street.The bright moonlight shines on the street and in the park of Ruksanpurgu.As I said before, I like to watch a pair of lovers in progress, but it is a bit sad to run alone on the road in the middle of the night.I didn't run to the cafe anymore, I just walked on the road alone, thinking about the girl just now, and at the same time thinking about her inevitable death, because in that cafe, she Must not live long.Under the moonlight.In the middle of the night, when the city has turned into a black sculpture, we all have to think about it. If we look at the swirling river, the poetry will naturally rush to our hearts.That night, not only the poetry rushed into my heart, but when I arrived near the Xinqiao, the words were naturally connected and sang. Before I went to bed, I wrote the first few lines, and the next morning, I continued. After doing it, almost a day was spent on this little poem.

Just me and you!I'll tell you why I love you, Why your tired face, your lyre-like voice, To me would be so lovely, so mellow, I love you with all my heart and sincerity. It is not an ordinary love affair. They love you but for your soft gray eyes, Your graceful and graceful, long and slim body. Or for other kinds of obsessions, other kinds of evil, But my love for you is not for this reason. just listen, listen I want to tell you why I love you. I love to watch the style of the sunset, I love to watch the despicable fate, When the sun goes down, there is only a sad silence in the sky,

That kind of stillness seems to be singing a mournful song, Bass and slow rhythm, every word, always feel sad. Such a pity, your life will also cease, Absolutely like a flash in the pan, gloomy, Thy death is like the soft twilight of the setting sun in the sky, fading to emptiness,  … I'm going to set aside the time before you die, My love deserves just such a reward, I dare say. Though I never loved anyone, But I love you now with a sincere heart. I know it's short, but a tenderness that doesn't last, The result of this tenderness is infinite desolation, But the bitterness of this tenderness can turn the strong pleasure and carnal desire into dust,

For the arms of death are stretched out to you, He asks you to go, to be his wife. Or my infatuation cannot be named after love. But seeing you wither away like a spring flower and soar like Yisi, But it can make me feel a strange joy, Compared with ordinary people's emotions, I only feel innocent, just listen, listen, I want to pick a village with thousands of miles of wheat fields, There the golden ears of wheat, the clouds far reaching to the sky, There may be several hills in the plain, and several wild roads under the shade of trees, I will ask for such a village to spend our honeymoon;

Go rent a thatched cottage, the corridors, windows and doorways will be covered with entangled green vines, Looking out, there must be a large garden.leafy shade; In the garden, the two of us can stroll through the dusk of late autumn and late summer, The pace of the two of them gradually shortened, step by step, gradually getting lighter, Looking at the bottom of the orange blossom tree, the end of the garden seems far from feasible, You will rest from time to time, and lay your tired face on my breast, A moment later, and your weariness subsides, I have no choice but to hug you to the window lattice where the sofa is placed, There you can inhale the evening air, filled with flowers. The most pitiful thing is my love at this time. Seeing your expression like this, I can't help feeling overwhelmed. Like a gloomy sky in one day, it feels more moving in the evening, Adding that quiet color, suddenly came the gloomy night, So quiet and quiet, you will sleep softly, and I will never have a blind date with you again. I will moan day and night, and tears will flow like spots on your face, Put you on the bottom of Hongwei's tent, I can soar into fantasy, Meditate and meditate, I can make many poems in memory of you. I can even think that you have left the world of mortals, You are free from all base desires, just like the star in the sky. She has sunk into the depths of the twilight sky. Death is nothing to suffer in the end, alas, alas, and I want to thank the God of death, For he has given me the gift of whiteness, and deep peace, These things are in the world of mortals, go there to pursue them. This is of course not a good poem as a whole, but it is a few good long lines, each line is a sentence that has been carefully thought out, only the second line at the end is worse, and the omissions in the text are not very good. It may not be very good if you use the word "and". Death is nothing to suffer in the end, I want to thank the god of death deeply, Thank him for giving me a white gift of unrequited love. Humming and reciting the last few lines of the poem, I hurried to the cafe near Ruksanpur Ancient Park.But I was thinking in my heart, do I have such courage?Go and ask her to come live with me in the South.Or maybe I don't have the courage, because what makes me so excited is just a fantasy, not the fact.The poet's soul is not the soul of the philanthropist Ricky Dinger.I was indeed worried about her, so I hurried to her, but I can't tell what the reason was.Of course it wasn't about dedicating that poem to her, the slightest thought of this matter would be unbearably nasty.I also stopped several times on the way, and asked why I was going home, and what was there to do?But without waiting for my own answer, my two feet ran forward, but I felt vaguely in my heart that the reason was in my own heart.I wanted to see if I could sacrifice everything for others, so when I entered the cafe and sat down at a table served by her, I kept waiting.But after waiting for a long time, she didn't come, so I asked a student next to me if he knew the waitress.He said he knew and told me about her symptoms.He said she was hopeless, and the only way to save her life was serum injection, since she had almost no blood on her body.He described in detail how to take blood serum from the arm of a healthy person and how to inject it into the veins of a bloodless person.But as he was talking, I felt that the surrounding objects became hazy, and his voice gradually weakened.Suddenly I heard a man say, "Hey, you're very green!" And I heard him order Brandy for me.The air in the south probably didn't cure her well, in fact there was nothing I could do, so I finally ran back home thinking about her appearance. Twenty years have passed.I thought of her again.The poor Irish girl!I was thrown out by fate like a torrent, and was thrown into the cafe on the extreme side.This poor pile of bones!I also felt that I bowed my head to fate and praised it, because the miracle of fate made me, who had only seen her once, become the last person to commemorate her.But if I hadn't written that poem then, I might have forgotten her.Now I want to dedicate this poem to her as a nameless memorial to her. This article is translated from George Moores Memoirs of My Dead Life, entitled "A Waitress", the original book is the 1923 edition of D. Appleton & Co. in the United States September 19, 1927