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When we are writing we are often told to keep our readers in mind, to shape what we say to fit
their tastes and interests. But there is one reader in particular who should not be forgotten. Can
you
guess
who?
Russell
Baker
surprised
himself
and
everyone
else
when
he
discovered
the
answer.
我们写作时常常被告诫，脑子里要有读者，笔者所云一定要 符合读者的口味和兴趣。
但有一位读者特别不该忘记。
你能猜出是谁吗？当拉塞尔·
贝 克找到这个问题的答案时，
他
自己和别人都感到大为惊讶。
Writing for Myself
Russell Baker
1
The idea of becoming a writer had come to me off and on since my childhood in Belleville,
but it wasn't until my third year in high school that the possibility took hold.
Until then I've been
bored by everything associated with English courses. I found English grammar dull and difficult.
I hated the assignments to turn out long, lifeless paragraphs that were agony for teachers to read
and for me to write.
为自己而写
拉塞尔·贝克
从孩提时代，
我还住在贝尔维尔时，
我的脑子里就断 断续续地转着当作家的念头，
但
直等到我高中三年级，
这一想法才有了实现的可能。< br>在这之前，
我对所有跟英文课沾边的事
都感到腻味。我觉得英文语法枯燥难懂。我痛恨那 些长而乏味的段落写作，老师读着受累，
我写着痛苦。
2
When
our class
was
assigned
to
Mr.
Fleagle
for
third-year
English
I
anticipated
another
cheerless year in that most tedious of subjects. Mr. Fleagle had a reputation among students for
dullness and inability to inspire. He was said to be very formal, rigid and hopelessly out of date.
To me he looked to be sixty or seventy and excessively prim. He wore primly severe eyeglasses,
his
wavy
hair
was
primly
cut
and
primly
combed.
He wore
prim
suits
with
neckties
set
primly
against the collar buttons of his white shirts. He had a primly pointed jaw, a primly straight nose,
and
a
prim
manner
of
speaking
that
was
so
correct,
so
gentlemanly,
that
he
seemed
a
comic
antique.
弗利格尔先生接我们的高三英文课时，
我就准备着在这门最最单调乏味的课上再熬上
沉闷的 一年。
弗利格尔先生在学生中以其说话干巴和激励学生无术而出名。
据说他拘谨刻板，
完全落后于时代。我看他有六七十岁了，
古板之极。他戴着古板的毫无装饰的眼镜，微微卷
曲的 头发剪得笔齐，
梳得纹丝不乱。
他身穿古板的套装，
领带端端正正地顶着白衬衣的领扣 。
他长着古板的尖下巴，古板的直鼻梁，说起话来一本正经，字斟句酌，彬彬有礼，活脱脱一
个 滑稽的老古董。
3
I prepared for an unfruitful year with Mr. Fleagle and for a long time was not disappointed.
Late in the year we tackled the informal essay. Mr. Fleagle distributed a homework sheet offering
us a choice of topics. None was quite so simple-minded as
but most seemed to be almost as dull. I took the list home and did nothing until the night before
the essay was due. Lying on the sofa, I finally faced up to the unwelcome task, took the list out of
my
notebook,
and
scanned
it.
The
topic
on
which
my
eye
stopped
was
Art
of
Eating
Spaghetti.
< br>我作好准备，
打算在弗利格尔先生的班上一无所获地混上一年，
不少日子过去了，
还
真不出所料。
后半学期我们学写随笔小品文。
弗利格尔先生发下一张家庭作业纸，
出了不少
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题目供我们选择。
像
暑假二 三事
那样傻乎乎的题目倒是一个也没有，
但绝大多数一样乏味。
我把作文题带 回家，
一直没写，
直到要交作业的前一天晚上。
我躺在沙发上，最终不得不面
对这一讨厌的功课，便从笔记本里抽出作文题目单粗粗一看。我的目光落在
吃意大利细面
条的艺术
这个题目上。
4
This
title
produced
an
extraordinary
sequence
of
mental
images.
Vivid
memories
came
flooding
back
of
a
night
in
Belleville
when
all
of
us
were
seated
around
the
supper
table
─
Uncle Allen, my mother, Uncle Charlie, Doris, Uncle Hal
─
and Aunt Pat served spaghetti for
supper. Spaghetti was still a little known foreign dish in those days. Neither Doris nor I had ever
eaten spaghetti, and none of the adults had enough experience to be good at it. All the good humor
of Uncle Allen's house reawoke in my mind as I recalled the laughing arguments we had that night
about the socially respectable method for moving spaghetti from plate to mouth.
这个题目在我脑海里唤起了一连串不同寻常的图 像。
贝尔维尔之夜的清晰的回忆如潮
水一般涌来，当时，我们大家一起围坐在晚餐桌旁
──
艾伦舅舅、我母亲、查理舅舅、多
丽丝、
哈尔舅舅
──
帕特舅妈晚饭做的是意大利细面条。
那时意大利细面条还是很少听说< br>的异国食品。
多丽丝和我都还从来没吃过，
在座的大人也是经验不足，
没有一个 吃起来得心
应手的。
艾伦舅舅家诙谐有趣的场景全都重现在我的脑海中，
我回想起来，
当晚我们笑作一
团，争论着该如何地把面条从盘子上送到嘴里才算合乎礼仪。
5
Suddenly I wanted to write about that, about the warmth and good feeling of it, but I wanted
to put it down simply for my own joy, not for Mr. Fleagle. It was a moment I wanted to recapture
and
hold
for
myself.
I
wanted
to
relive
the
pleasure
of
that
evening.
To
write
it
as
I
wanted,
however, would violate all the rules of formal composition I'd learned in school, and Mr. Fleagle
would
surely
give
it
a
failing
grade. Never
mind.
I
would
write
something
else
for Mr.
Fleagle
after I had written this thing for myself.
突然我就想描述那一切，描述当时那种温馨美
好的气氛，
但我把 它写下来仅仅是想自得其乐，
而不是为弗利格尔先生而写。
那是我想重新
捕捉并珍藏在 心中的一个时刻。
我想重温那个夜晚的愉快。然而，
照我希望的那样去写，就
会违反我 在学校里学的正式作文的种种法则，
弗利格尔先生也肯定会打它一个不及格。
没关
系。 等我为自己写好了之后，我可以再为弗利格尔先生写点什么别的东西。
6
When I finished it the night was half gone and there was no time left to compose a proper,
respectable essay for Mr. Fleagle. There was no choice next morning but to turn in my tale of the
Belleville supper. Two days passed before Mr. Fleagle returned the graded papers, and he returned
everyone's
but
mine.
I
was
preparing
myself
for
a
command
to
report
to
Mr.
Fleagle
immediately after school for discipline when I saw him lift my paper from his desk and knock for
the class's attention.
等我写完时已是半夜时分，
再没时间为弗利格尔先生写一篇循规蹈矩、
像模像样的文
章了。
第二天上午，
我别无选择，只好把我为自己而写的贝尔维尔晚餐的故事交了上去。两
天后弗利格尔先生发还批改过的作 文，
他把别人的都发了，
就是没有我的。
我正准备着遵命
一放学就去弗利格尔 先生那儿挨训，
却看见他从桌上拿起我的作文，
敲了敲桌子让大家注意
听。
7
boys,
he
said.
want
to
read
you
an
essay.
This
is
titled,
'The
Art
of
Eating
Spaghetti.'
好了，孩子们，
< br>他说。
我要给你们念一篇小品文。文章的题目是：吃意大利细面
条的艺术。
8
And he started to read. My words! He was reading my words out loud to the entire class.
What's
more, the entire class was listening. Listening attentively. Then somebody laughed, then
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