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【導读】薇拉·凯瑟（1873—1947），美国小说家，普利策奖获得者，以描写美国中西部内布拉斯加州的草原生活而闻名。薇拉幼时随父母移居该州一个叫“红云镇”的地方，因该镇地处边疆，所以她有机会接触到来自瑞典、波希米亚、俄罗斯、德国等欧洲移民，并了解他们的生活点滴，这成为其创作的重要素材。长篇小说《啊，拓荒者！》（O Pioneers！，1913）和《我的安东尼娅》（My Antonia，1918）是公认的佳作，生动再现了早期欧洲移民在美国艰苦奋斗的历程——移民的开拓精神和生活勇气可歌可泣，移民的自然淳朴亦可爱动人！本文节译自《我的安东尼娅》第二部“雇来的姑娘们”（The Hired Girls）第八章。冰消雪融后，内布拉斯加州草原小镇迎来了迷人的春，然而春是那么短暂，它的离开不免使人怅然。夏的酷热虽然不使人欢欣，但正是在夏季，外来客才驻扎进小镇，一下子将它的封闭打破。他们带来的音乐为小镇注入了无穷的活力，使它变得活泼又开放！孩子们都生龙活虎，小伙子们个个喜形于色，姑娘们则暗暗心动，连老人们都乐在其中！可是，有什么比得了有舞会的夏夜呢？它最能使年轻人沉醉，不是吗？
The Harling children and I were never happier， never felt more contented and secure， than in the weeks of spring which broke that long winter. We were out all day in the thin sunshine， helping Mrs. Harling and Tony break the ground and plant the garden， dig around the orchard trees， tie up vines and clip the hedges. Every morning， before I was up， I could hear Tony singing in the garden rows. After the apple and cherry trees broke into bloom， we ran about under them， hunting for the new nests the birds were building， throwing clods at each other， and playing hide-and-seek with Nina. Yet the summer which was to change everything was coming nearer every day. When boys and girls are growing up， life can’t stand still， not even in the quietest of country towns; and they have to grow up， whether they will or no. That is what their elders are always forgetting.
It must have been in June， for Mrs. Harling and Antonia were preserving cherries， when I stopped one morning to tell them that a dancing pavilion had come to town. I had seen two drays hauling the canvas and painted poles up from the depot.
That afternoon three cheerful-looking Italians strolled about Black Hawk， looking at everything， and with them was a dark， stout woman who wore a long gold watch-chain about her neck and carried a black lace parasol. They seemed especially interested in children and vacant lots. When I overtook them and stopped to say a word， I found them affable and confiding. They told me they worked in Kansas City in the winter， and in summer they went out among the farming towns with their tent and taught dancing. When business fell off in one place， they moved on to another.
The dancing pavilion was put up near the Danish laundry， on a vacant lot surrounded by tall， arched cottonwood trees. It was very much like a merry-go-round tent， with open sides and gay flags flying from the poles. Before the week was over， all the ambitious mothers were sending their children to the afternoon dancing class. At three o’clock one met little girls in white dresses and little boys in the round-collared shirts of the time， hurrying along the sidewalk on their way to the tent. Mrs. Vanni received them at the entrance， always dressed in lavender with a great deal of black lace， her important watch-chain lying on her bosom. She wore her hair on the top of her head， built up in a black tower， with red coral combs. When she smiled， she showed two rows of strong， crooked yellow teeth. She taught the little children herself， and her husband， the harpist， taught the older ones. Often the mothers brought their fancywork and sat on the shady side of the tent during the lesson. The popcorn man wheeled his glass wagon under the big cottonwood by the door， and lounged in the sun， sure of a good trade when the dancing was over. Mr. Jensen， the Danish laundryman， used to bring a chair from his porch and sit out in the grass plot. Some ragged little boys from the depot sold pop and iced lemonade under a white umbrella at the corner， and made faces at the spruce youngsters who came to dance. That vacant lot soon became the most cheerful place in town. Even on the hottest afternoons the cottonwoods made a rustling shade， and the air smelled of popcorn and melted butter， and Bouncing Bets wilting in the sun. Those hardy flowers had run away from the laundryman’s garden， and the grass in the middle of the lot was pink with them.
The Vannis kept exemplary order， and closed every evening at the hour suggested by the city council. When Mrs. Vanni gave the signal， and the harp struck up ‘Home， Sweet Home，’ all Black Hawk knew it was ten o’clock. You could set your watch by that tune as confidently as by the roundhouse whistle.
At last there was something to do in those long， empty summer evenings， when the married people sat like images on their front porches， and the boys and girls tramped and tramped the board sidewalks—northward to the edge of the open prairie， south to the depot， then back again to the post-office， the ice-cream parlour， the butcher shop. Now there was a place where the girls could wear their new dresses， and where one could laugh aloud without being reproved by the ensuing silence. That silence seemed to ooze out of the ground， to hang under the foliage of the black maple trees with the bats and shadows. Now it was broken by lighthearted sounds. First the deep purring of Mr. Vanni’s harp came in silvery ripples through the blackness of the dusty-smelling night; then the violins fell in—one of them was almost like a flute. They called so archly， so seductively， that our feet hurried toward the tent of themselves. Why hadn’t we had a tent before？
Dancing became popular now， just as roller skating had been the summer before. The Progressive Euchre Club arranged with the Vannis for the exclusive use of the floor on Tuesday and Friday nights. At other times anyone could dance who paid his money and was orderly; the railroad men， the roundhouse mechanics， the delivery boys， the iceman， the farm-hands who lived near enough to ride into town after their day’s work was over. I never missed a Saturday night dance. The tent was open until midnight then. The country boys came in from farms eight and ten miles away， and all the country girls were on the floor—Antonia and Lena and Tiny， and the Danish laundry girls and their friends. I was not the only boy who found these dances gayer than the others. The young men who belonged to the Progressive Euchre Club used to drop in late and risk a tiff with their sweethearts and general condemnation for a waltz with ‘the hired girls.’
春打破了漫漫寒冬，在那短短几个礼拜的春日里，我和哈林家的孩子们过得无比快乐，感受到了从未有过的惬意安适。我们成日介不着家，沐浴在稀薄的阳光里，帮助哈林太太和托尼开垦土地，在果园里栽种，给果树刨土，绑搭葡萄藤，修剪篱笆。每天清晨，我人未起床，就能听到托尼在果园的排排果树间歌唱。待到苹果树和樱桃树开花，我们钻到树下，不是搜寻鸟儿新筑的窝，就是互扔土块，要么和尼娜玩躲猫猫。然而，将改变一切的夏一天天靠近了。男孩女孩渐漸长大，生活无法再保持原样，即使是在最安静的乡村;不管情不情愿，他们都得长大。这一点，长辈们总会忘记。
记得一天早上，那一定是六月里，因为哈林太太和安东尼娅正在腌制樱桃，我路过时停下来告诉她们镇上来了移动舞厅。我见两辆货运马车从火车站运出帆布和彩色漆柱。
那天下午，三个形容欢快的意大利人在黑鹰镇上溜达，东瞧西望，和他们一起的是一位皮肤黝黑、身形敦实的女士，她脖颈间挂着长长的金表链，手擎黑色蕾丝阳伞。他们看上去对孩子和空地尤其感兴趣。我追上去和他们攀谈，发现他们和蔼可亲、为人坦率。我得知他们冬日在堪萨斯城工作，夏日携带帐篷到各个乡村小镇教人们跳舞。在一个地方干不下去时，他们便辗转他处。
舞厅搭建在丹麦人的洗衣店附近，高高的拱形三角叶杨圈出一片空地。那像极了旋转木马篷，围栏是开放式的，几根柱子上有色彩艳丽的旗子飞扬。不等休息日，有想法的妈妈就把孩子送到下午舞蹈班了。下午三点钟，人们总能看到身着白裙的小女孩和穿着时髦圆领衫的小男孩沿着便道匆匆赶往跳舞篷。万尼太太在入口处迎接他们，她总是一身淡紫色，饰有大量黑色蕾丝，那宝贝似的怀表链总是不离胸前。她将头发挽到头顶，再把红色的珊瑚发簪一插，就出来一个塔状的黑色发髻。她一笑，会露出两排结实但歪斜的黄牙。她自己教小小孩;她的丈夫，那个竖琴师，教稍大点儿的。
孩子们上课时，妈妈们通常坐在帐篷外有阴凉的那边，做些针线活。卖爆米花的把玻璃窗推车推到门口那棵高大的三角叶杨树下，懒洋洋地歪躺在阳光下，满有把握地等待舞蹈课结束后的好生意。丹麦洗衣工詹森先生常常从他的门廊里搬出把椅子，在外边的草地上歇坐。有几个衣衫褴褛的小男孩从火车站过来，在拐角处的白伞下售卖汽水和冰镇柠檬汁，他们对打扮得齐整漂亮、前来跳舞的少年们做着鬼脸。 一下子，素日的空地成了镇上最欢乐的所在。哪怕是暑气最逼人的午后，三角叶杨照样窸窣作响，投下一片阴凉，空气中弥漫着爆米花和黄油融化的香味，还有被晒蔫儿了的肥皂草。这些生命力顽强的花儿四处蔓延，长到了洗衣工家的花园外，空地中央的那块草地都被它们染成了粉红色。
万尼夫妇安分守己，每晚都在市议会规定的时间收工。万尼太太指令一出，竖琴便弹奏起民谣“可爱的家”，这样一来，黑鹰镇全镇都晓得十点到了。根据这个曲子来调表，准保分秒不差，就和圆形机车库的哨声一样准！
漫长寂寥的夏夜里，人们终于有得消遣了，已婚夫妇不必再雕像般呆坐在临街的门廊下，小子和丫头们也不是只能在木板铺的路牙上蹦跶来蹦跶去了——这里北通开阔草原的边缘，南达火车站，中间隔着邮政局、冰激凌店、肉食铺子。终于有个地方可以让姑娘们穿上新裙子，有个地方可以让人们开怀大笑而不用担心笑过后遭遇尴尬冷场，像被指责。那种冷场好似从地底下渗出一般，悬于黑槭的簇簇叶片下，那里有蝙蝠栖息，阴影幢幢。如今，它为轻松愉快的声响所破。先是万尼先生拨动竖琴，弦音沉缓柔和，似泛起的银色涟漪，漫过散发着土味的暗夜;接着几把小提琴奏响了，其中一把听着颇似长笛。这些声音如此顽皮，如此撩人，我们的脚不由自主匆匆奔向那顶帐篷。以前我们怎么就不想着搭一个呢？
这个夏天，大家爱上了跳舞，那股劲儿不输去年夏天对滑旱冰的喜爱。进步尤卡俱乐部与万尼夫妇商定，每周二、五晚上，场地专门留给他们使用。其他时间，谁付了钱，谁规矩守礼，谁就可以进篷跳舞;包括那些铁路工、机车库修理工、邮递员、送冰人和农场工人，他们都住得够近，一天的劳作结束后能搭车来镇上。
我从没错过任何一场礼拜六晚上的舞会。那时舞篷一直开到午夜。乡下的小伙子们从八英里、十英里外的农场赶来，乡里所有的姑娘都在舞场上——不仅有安东尼娅、莉娜和蒂尼姐妹三人，还有丹麦洗衣工家的几个姑娘和她们的朋友。在这里跳舞比在其他地方都开心——这么想的男孩可不止我一个。进步尤卡俱乐部的小伙子们常常很晚才到，冒着和心上人吵嘴及众人谴责的风险与“雇用女孩”跳上一支华尔兹。 □
（译者单位：北京科技大学外国语学院）
The Harling children and I were never happier， never felt more contented and secure， than in the weeks of spring which broke that long winter. We were out all day in the thin sunshine， helping Mrs. Harling and Tony break the ground and plant the garden， dig around the orchard trees， tie up vines and clip the hedges. Every morning， before I was up， I could hear Tony singing in the garden rows. After the apple and cherry trees broke into bloom， we ran about under them， hunting for the new nests the birds were building， throwing clods at each other， and playing hide-and-seek with Nina. Yet the summer which was to change everything was coming nearer every day. When boys and girls are growing up， life can’t stand still， not even in the quietest of country towns; and they have to grow up， whether they will or no. That is what their elders are always forgetting.
It must have been in June， for Mrs. Harling and Antonia were preserving cherries， when I stopped one morning to tell them that a dancing pavilion had come to town. I had seen two drays hauling the canvas and painted poles up from the depot.
That afternoon three cheerful-looking Italians strolled about Black Hawk， looking at everything， and with them was a dark， stout woman who wore a long gold watch-chain about her neck and carried a black lace parasol. They seemed especially interested in children and vacant lots. When I overtook them and stopped to say a word， I found them affable and confiding. They told me they worked in Kansas City in the winter， and in summer they went out among the farming towns with their tent and taught dancing. When business fell off in one place， they moved on to another.
The dancing pavilion was put up near the Danish laundry， on a vacant lot surrounded by tall， arched cottonwood trees. It was very much like a merry-go-round tent， with open sides and gay flags flying from the poles. Before the week was over， all the ambitious mothers were sending their children to the afternoon dancing class. At three o’clock one met little girls in white dresses and little boys in the round-collared shirts of the time， hurrying along the sidewalk on their way to the tent. Mrs. Vanni received them at the entrance， always dressed in lavender with a great deal of black lace， her important watch-chain lying on her bosom. She wore her hair on the top of her head， built up in a black tower， with red coral combs. When she smiled， she showed two rows of strong， crooked yellow teeth. She taught the little children herself， and her husband， the harpist， taught the older ones. Often the mothers brought their fancywork and sat on the shady side of the tent during the lesson. The popcorn man wheeled his glass wagon under the big cottonwood by the door， and lounged in the sun， sure of a good trade when the dancing was over. Mr. Jensen， the Danish laundryman， used to bring a chair from his porch and sit out in the grass plot. Some ragged little boys from the depot sold pop and iced lemonade under a white umbrella at the corner， and made faces at the spruce youngsters who came to dance. That vacant lot soon became the most cheerful place in town. Even on the hottest afternoons the cottonwoods made a rustling shade， and the air smelled of popcorn and melted butter， and Bouncing Bets wilting in the sun. Those hardy flowers had run away from the laundryman’s garden， and the grass in the middle of the lot was pink with them.
The Vannis kept exemplary order， and closed every evening at the hour suggested by the city council. When Mrs. Vanni gave the signal， and the harp struck up ‘Home， Sweet Home，’ all Black Hawk knew it was ten o’clock. You could set your watch by that tune as confidently as by the roundhouse whistle.
At last there was something to do in those long， empty summer evenings， when the married people sat like images on their front porches， and the boys and girls tramped and tramped the board sidewalks—northward to the edge of the open prairie， south to the depot， then back again to the post-office， the ice-cream parlour， the butcher shop. Now there was a place where the girls could wear their new dresses， and where one could laugh aloud without being reproved by the ensuing silence. That silence seemed to ooze out of the ground， to hang under the foliage of the black maple trees with the bats and shadows. Now it was broken by lighthearted sounds. First the deep purring of Mr. Vanni’s harp came in silvery ripples through the blackness of the dusty-smelling night; then the violins fell in—one of them was almost like a flute. They called so archly， so seductively， that our feet hurried toward the tent of themselves. Why hadn’t we had a tent before？
Dancing became popular now， just as roller skating had been the summer before. The Progressive Euchre Club arranged with the Vannis for the exclusive use of the floor on Tuesday and Friday nights. At other times anyone could dance who paid his money and was orderly; the railroad men， the roundhouse mechanics， the delivery boys， the iceman， the farm-hands who lived near enough to ride into town after their day’s work was over. I never missed a Saturday night dance. The tent was open until midnight then. The country boys came in from farms eight and ten miles away， and all the country girls were on the floor—Antonia and Lena and Tiny， and the Danish laundry girls and their friends. I was not the only boy who found these dances gayer than the others. The young men who belonged to the Progressive Euchre Club used to drop in late and risk a tiff with their sweethearts and general condemnation for a waltz with ‘the hired girls.’
春打破了漫漫寒冬，在那短短几个礼拜的春日里，我和哈林家的孩子们过得无比快乐，感受到了从未有过的惬意安适。我们成日介不着家，沐浴在稀薄的阳光里，帮助哈林太太和托尼开垦土地，在果园里栽种，给果树刨土，绑搭葡萄藤，修剪篱笆。每天清晨，我人未起床，就能听到托尼在果园的排排果树间歌唱。待到苹果树和樱桃树开花，我们钻到树下，不是搜寻鸟儿新筑的窝，就是互扔土块，要么和尼娜玩躲猫猫。然而，将改变一切的夏一天天靠近了。男孩女孩渐漸长大，生活无法再保持原样，即使是在最安静的乡村;不管情不情愿，他们都得长大。这一点，长辈们总会忘记。
记得一天早上，那一定是六月里，因为哈林太太和安东尼娅正在腌制樱桃，我路过时停下来告诉她们镇上来了移动舞厅。我见两辆货运马车从火车站运出帆布和彩色漆柱。
那天下午，三个形容欢快的意大利人在黑鹰镇上溜达，东瞧西望，和他们一起的是一位皮肤黝黑、身形敦实的女士，她脖颈间挂着长长的金表链，手擎黑色蕾丝阳伞。他们看上去对孩子和空地尤其感兴趣。我追上去和他们攀谈，发现他们和蔼可亲、为人坦率。我得知他们冬日在堪萨斯城工作，夏日携带帐篷到各个乡村小镇教人们跳舞。在一个地方干不下去时，他们便辗转他处。
舞厅搭建在丹麦人的洗衣店附近，高高的拱形三角叶杨圈出一片空地。那像极了旋转木马篷，围栏是开放式的，几根柱子上有色彩艳丽的旗子飞扬。不等休息日，有想法的妈妈就把孩子送到下午舞蹈班了。下午三点钟，人们总能看到身着白裙的小女孩和穿着时髦圆领衫的小男孩沿着便道匆匆赶往跳舞篷。万尼太太在入口处迎接他们，她总是一身淡紫色，饰有大量黑色蕾丝，那宝贝似的怀表链总是不离胸前。她将头发挽到头顶，再把红色的珊瑚发簪一插，就出来一个塔状的黑色发髻。她一笑，会露出两排结实但歪斜的黄牙。她自己教小小孩;她的丈夫，那个竖琴师，教稍大点儿的。
孩子们上课时，妈妈们通常坐在帐篷外有阴凉的那边，做些针线活。卖爆米花的把玻璃窗推车推到门口那棵高大的三角叶杨树下，懒洋洋地歪躺在阳光下，满有把握地等待舞蹈课结束后的好生意。丹麦洗衣工詹森先生常常从他的门廊里搬出把椅子，在外边的草地上歇坐。有几个衣衫褴褛的小男孩从火车站过来，在拐角处的白伞下售卖汽水和冰镇柠檬汁，他们对打扮得齐整漂亮、前来跳舞的少年们做着鬼脸。 一下子，素日的空地成了镇上最欢乐的所在。哪怕是暑气最逼人的午后，三角叶杨照样窸窣作响，投下一片阴凉，空气中弥漫着爆米花和黄油融化的香味，还有被晒蔫儿了的肥皂草。这些生命力顽强的花儿四处蔓延，长到了洗衣工家的花园外，空地中央的那块草地都被它们染成了粉红色。
万尼夫妇安分守己，每晚都在市议会规定的时间收工。万尼太太指令一出，竖琴便弹奏起民谣“可爱的家”，这样一来，黑鹰镇全镇都晓得十点到了。根据这个曲子来调表，准保分秒不差，就和圆形机车库的哨声一样准！
漫长寂寥的夏夜里，人们终于有得消遣了，已婚夫妇不必再雕像般呆坐在临街的门廊下，小子和丫头们也不是只能在木板铺的路牙上蹦跶来蹦跶去了——这里北通开阔草原的边缘，南达火车站，中间隔着邮政局、冰激凌店、肉食铺子。终于有个地方可以让姑娘们穿上新裙子，有个地方可以让人们开怀大笑而不用担心笑过后遭遇尴尬冷场，像被指责。那种冷场好似从地底下渗出一般，悬于黑槭的簇簇叶片下，那里有蝙蝠栖息，阴影幢幢。如今，它为轻松愉快的声响所破。先是万尼先生拨动竖琴，弦音沉缓柔和，似泛起的银色涟漪，漫过散发着土味的暗夜;接着几把小提琴奏响了，其中一把听着颇似长笛。这些声音如此顽皮，如此撩人，我们的脚不由自主匆匆奔向那顶帐篷。以前我们怎么就不想着搭一个呢？
这个夏天，大家爱上了跳舞，那股劲儿不输去年夏天对滑旱冰的喜爱。进步尤卡俱乐部与万尼夫妇商定，每周二、五晚上，场地专门留给他们使用。其他时间，谁付了钱，谁规矩守礼，谁就可以进篷跳舞;包括那些铁路工、机车库修理工、邮递员、送冰人和农场工人，他们都住得够近，一天的劳作结束后能搭车来镇上。
我从没错过任何一场礼拜六晚上的舞会。那时舞篷一直开到午夜。乡下的小伙子们从八英里、十英里外的农场赶来，乡里所有的姑娘都在舞场上——不仅有安东尼娅、莉娜和蒂尼姐妹三人，还有丹麦洗衣工家的几个姑娘和她们的朋友。在这里跳舞比在其他地方都开心——这么想的男孩可不止我一个。进步尤卡俱乐部的小伙子们常常很晚才到，冒着和心上人吵嘴及众人谴责的风险与“雇用女孩”跳上一支华尔兹。 □
（译者单位：北京科技大学外国语学院）