写于1877，十二月份。Written 1977, December.
哦，你好。地狱来信。Oh, hello there. Letter from Hell?s depth.
我是个枪手。I was a ghost writer.
俗称代笔。Known better as a wordmonger.
现在我死了。Now, I am dead.
我留下一本书，请把它交给叫狄约瑟?埃德歌尔的一个人，I leave this book in your hands, in your care, sp please give it to someone called D’arthur Edgar.
他曾是我的爱人。He once was a true love of mine.
没错，我最睿智的读者，你那锐利的双眼没有欺骗你，Yes, My wisest reader. Your eyes fool you not
就是那个狄约瑟·埃德歌尔。It is that, D’athur Edgar.
大街小巷，Known through the cobble streets and winding roads
乡野山村，Rural villages and quainty towns
宫廷大院，Stately courts and grand palaces
是世界都为之送上赞歌的天才诗人。The prodigy poet who the world rejoices for.
狄约瑟，为诗而生的名字，D’arthur, a name born for prose, really,
他优雅如一剪新雪。As elegant as a snip of fresh snow
埃德歌尔，爱琴海翠绿的浪花，Edgar, the green waves of the Aegean,
他深沉如波塞冬的双眼。Your coal dark eyes of Poseidon, weight of a thousand years.
但我私下喜欢叫他陶德。But in private, intimate times, sweet times, times long gone
I’d preferered to call him Todd.
陶德很好，很平凡的名字。Todd is a well-fitting name, yes the irony is not lost on me. Ordinary and pragmatic, nothing like him.
平凡其实也很好，我野心勃勃的读者，Ordinary is well enough for me, my ambitious reader.
我喜欢他平凡一点。I like him plain, or however else.
哦，也许你会认为我在骗你，Oh, perhaps you think I’m spouting lies.
我最多疑的读者，My skeptical one.
毕竟他深居简出，For D’authur lives reclusively
名扬四海，His fame known wide and far
素来好洁，Him kept utterly and only to himself
怎么会是一个卑鄙枪手的爱人？So how could someone as gracious as him be a lover of a wretched wordmonger?
这真是滑天下之大稽啊，Oh what blasphemy! Oh what tomfoolery!
我最刻薄的读者，My fickly, heartless one.
你这么辱骂着我愚笨的脑瓜。how you berate my foolish mind
拜托，Oh please
我都死了，I’m already gone
所以请我们彼此宽恕，so lets forgive each other for now, alright? You’ve never been good at this.
要不然这故事讲不完了，But therwise you won’t hear no end of this tale
我最亲爱的读者。My dear, my dear.
我想你是愿意听的，对吗？I think you would like it, won’t you?
从哪儿开始呢？Well, where do I even begin?
那就从最初吧。From the start I guess, so long ago.
我和陶德初识于波尔多大学，Todd and I met in the University of Porto
一晃也是好多个夏天。Many a summer flashing by
他比我小一点，He’s younger than me
但比我高一点，But taller
但可能现在我更高了，Or maybe I’m the taller one now
毕竟人都会长大。For we all grow and change
我们是很好的朋友，We were such fine friends
我最亲爱的读者，My dear reader
这点你得知道。 This you have to know
只要你去波尔多三十九号大街的那家甜点店，If you ever visit the bakery on the 39th avenue
老店主笑眯眯地抱着老猫，The old shopkeeper with her old cat,
就能和你讲一辈子的故事，she will tell you a lifetime of tales
而我们就穿插其中。and within, you shall find us.
她会说，She will say with a smile,
从前有两个年轻人，There once were two youths
经常来我的店铺。often at my store
高一点的不爱说话，the taller one holds his tongue
另外一个爱笑，话很多，the other one does not, and always a smile dancing in his eye
还很爱吃各种小甜点，always sweets on his hand
拿我很多很多姜饼，taking many of my gingerbreads
也喜欢给高的那个吃。never forgetting to give one to the other person
冬天他娇气怕冷，in the winter he complains of cold
高的那个就分他一点围巾。the taller one gives him a bit of scarf
夏天他矫情怕热，in the summer he laments the heat of Porto
高的那个就分他一点刨冰。the taller one shares a bit of ice-cream
我没见过他们秋天的样子，I have yet to seen them in Autumn
大概男孩子们秋天都懒，perhaps by then the boys are all lazy
不爱出门，窝在哪里吧。curled up somewhere instead
春天，春天，我想不起来了。Spring…oh Spring I don’t remember
也许只有一个人来。perhaps only one of them were here
因为我记得春天我的姜饼永远有很多，地板上没有饼干碎，I remember the gingerbreads were always plentiful then, no crumbs nor footprints on my pristine floor.
店里总是安静的，也没有黑脚印。it was always quiet then
哈哈，感谢上帝，给我留了一点安宁和一点姜饼。Thank the lord for my peace of mind and gingerbreads intact
他们都是很可爱的孩子。They were lovely kids.
噢，我最亲爱的读者，Oh, my dearest reader
我敢肯定你现在在笑。Now I bet you are smiling
因为这确实是一个不错的故事 It is a good story, indeed
甜的像我当年偷吃的姜饼，Sweet like the gingerbreads
好，我承认，当年是我—— Yes, I will admit, It was I——
虽然我一直告诉米海莉夫人是你在偷吃—— Although I insist to Ms. Machaili it was you all along
但我相信她其实是知道的，谁叫你是个连撒谎都不会的木头啊! But I think she knew, you dense-headed wood!
You don’t know how to lie, I hope you never did.
所以，听到这儿，你笑了吗？So, now, are you smiling?
我希望你笑了，I hope you are.
我最不爱笑的读者。You permanent scowler.
但这还不是结束，But this wasn’t the end. No it was not.
因为我们在几年后相继离开了波尔多，We left Porto after a few years
那个由罗马人建造的古老的城市，The ancient city built by Romans
那家甜点铺子和米海莉夫人的猫，The bakery and Ms. Michaili’s cat
离开了那座老海港，Left that old port
和海鸥日夜的哀鸣。and the shrill cries of seagulls. Day and night. Day and night.
我其实很喜欢那些海鸥，I actually love those seagulls
他们的叫声是那么的伤心，How melancholic are their cries
我至今还记得，To this day I still remember
即便这么多年都过去了，Even though so many years had passed
也不再有机会回去。Without me ever going back
大概我会带那些海鸥的叫声，I think I shall take those cries
去地狱最深的地方，to the deepest pits of Hell
哪怕如但丁所说‘遗弃了希望’，’Abandon all hope, ye who enter’
我还是会记得那些贪吃，狡猾，伤心的海鸥们。I still shall remember those bastards on wings
他们振翅欲飞，洁白羽翼染上了海洋灰，White feathers colored ocean grey
停留在波尔图城里大大小小的青铜像上，Stopping on the citie’s many bronze statues
守望着，守望着，守望着。watching, gazing, waiting.
陶德我想是回去过波尔多的，Todd, I think he went back to Porto once.
我记得有一天他走的很匆忙，I remember there was a day when he left in such a hurry,
行李箱没有带，书也没有带，with no suitcase nor no books
消失了好几天，我一天也没睡好。Disappeared for as many sleepless nights as I had alone.
回来时却带着一身海风，And returned with a gust of sea wind
和某种我不知道名字的哀愁，and some kind of unnameable sadness.
叫我晚上更是睡不着。Drives me restless and scared.
我知道他回去过了。I knew he went back, after we fled
我最哀愁的读者，My unhappy reader.
你骗不了我。The woe in your eye more truthful than your words
我知道，我什么都知道，I know. I know everything
我最愚笨的读者，My foolish one.
你总是把自己隐藏的那么深。You always hid yourself so deep
夜晚的风是我的叹息，Night time gales are my sighs,
海上的孤岛是你。The lonely islands are you eyes.
You never see.
我从未知道为什么陶德要回去，I never knew though, why Todd would go back
那里有太多不好的回忆—— There were too many sad memories
我的，他的，我们的。Mine, his, ours
也许是因为他的母亲，他的妹妹，我不敢猜—— Perhaps his sister, or mother, I’m afraid to think
这将永远是个秘密。He shall take this to his own grave, i suppose.
将死之人想知道的，All a dying man wants to know
也不过是一生他收获了多少颗真心。Is how many loving hearts he received
一颗，两颗，三颗，one, two, three
大概就这么多了。About it, I would think
我还把猫算了进去。And I counted the cat, who loves me by no mean
那陶德，我口口声声称为爱人的人，算吗？Oh, Todd. One who I call ‘lover’, does he count?
他算吗？Does he?
我最愚笨的读者—— My foolish one,
你这么问我的时候，when you ask me this
怎么不想想去问他呢？why not ask him instead? For I could not answer.
所以，算吗？陶德，So, Todd.
我们算吗？Do we count? Did we count?
也许他不会回答，Perhaps he won’t answer，
我最可爱的读者，My dear
他这个人很别扭，He’s awkward like that.
我们这次就放过他。Let’s let him slide this time
好不好？Shall we?
嗯，是什么时候开始，Oh, when did it start
我们不再是朋友了呢？when friendship aged into something else?
这讲起来又是一个有趣的故事了。Another entertaining tale it is.
大概是一个粘腻的夏天，Around a sticky summer, 17 18 19. Youth never knew time.
莎士比亚亲自为我狂跳的心拉开了序幕 Shakespeare himself drew the stage curtains open for my racing heart
只有这位戏剧大师能够用他精彩绝伦的笔 For only his quill could describe
写出我那时杂乱激动的心情。That mess of emotions I was feeling
夜晚很温柔—— The night was gentle, Ariel must’ve been watching me
我躺在海滩上，精心设计过的发型早已被海风擅自揉乱，I lay on the beach, my caution and appearance thrown to the wind
‘不小心’多喝了一罐啤酒，’by accident’, i had a second beer
‘不小心’触碰到了你的手，’by accident’, i grazed your hand
不小心望进了你的眼睛。by accident, i stared into your eyes, for a heartbeat too long.
陶德的诗很美，Todd’s ballads are beautiful
他总是赞美着星空。he always sings of the sky
我却觉得这太遥远了，but I think that’s too far
因为他不知道漫天星河，for he does not know, that fool,
早已在他的眼中绽放。the skies already shine in his own eyes.
我们第一次亲吻，Our first kiss
是真正的轻吻。was truly a gentle kiss/
很轻，大概是一颗星星轻轻的碰了一下另外一颗。like a star gently brushing upon another
那么轻，可我的心是那么的重！so light, but my heart was so heavy!
他知道吗？Does he know?
你知道吗？Do you know?
陶德，知道吗？Todd, did you know?
我很怕把他吓走，I was so afraid I would frighten him
因为我是一个怪物。for I was but a vile, greedy creature
可他居然对我说他爱我。But then he said he loved me
我身体里的怪物哭了。In me caliban cried
Beast gave away to the angel.
那一刻，In that moment
好像整个星空都不重要了。the heavens couldn’t matter less.
所有作家梦寐以求的银河，月亮，宇宙的夜晚，生命的奇妙—— All writers dream of caputing the beauty of the stars, the moon and life with their pen
这些美好的诗词，我全都忘了。those beautiful aspirations did I utterly and completely forget
我只要他眼中的那一片光。I only wanted those stars in his eyes.
哦，这些话我是不会对他说的。Oh, of course. He shall never know of this.
真的太肉麻了！能让我感到不好意思也算一桩难事。so sappy, even I have to admit it is, overboard. Lunatic. Utterly insane. Never been much of a romantic, that was todd.
但是死人好像也管不住嘴。But it looks like a dead man actually could not hold his tongue.
算了。So.
我也承认了，Here I shall admit/
我最可爱的读者，My loveliest,
你又笨，又固执，但还是很可爱。You are dense, stubborn and more. But you are still lovely.
你总让我输的一败涂地。You rob me of my all, then suddenly leave.
我也不舍得让你尝一尝这种滋味。And still I would not do such to you. It would pain me more.
嗯，当年我可没喝醉，Yes, I wasn’t drunk.
噢，我知道你也没有。Yes, I knew you weren’t either.
嗯，尽情嘲笑我吧，Yes, you shall laugh at me.
我最刻薄的读者， my grinch,
虽然我总是这么说你，even though I call you such,
但我知道你并没有恶意。I never have the heart to mean it.
嘿，我真是一个别扭的人，I am an awkward person,
大概从陶德那儿学来的。Though todd has already mastered the craft.
Long before me.
他一生的梦想是写书，写诗，But his dreams were words and writing
安静的皮囊下面是疯狂的灵魂，A wild and vivid soul under an unassuming appearnce
涌动的色彩，pulsing colors
没有边际的金色天空，boundless golden skies
是酒色的大海，the wine dark sea
一部崭新的奥德赛，a brand new odyssey
扬帆向远方。to unfurl the sails and sail to
是仲夏夜的梦，a midsummer night’s dream
油画里的云朵，如女士层层叠起的裙摆，clouds from oil paintings, ladies’ hoop skirt swishing
是生命一并绽放的声色。its life bursting with symphony
亲爱的读者，你可别觉得我在夸张。Dear reader, do not think I’m exaggerating
前几日马歇尔读给我你的新诗，我选了一段我最喜欢的，A few days ago Michael sent me your new poem, and I chose a part I cherish the most.
我觉得我太喜欢它了，i love it.
And I think even if I didn’t already love you, I would fall for you right there and then, too.
甚至比你都要喜欢。I would love you more than you would ever.
So you wrote:
“银色的月亮升起，”The silver moon is on the rise
鲸群在深海中歌唱，a herd of whales could be heard singing in the deep
而山林中的风，the mountain winds rose and fell with each vibrant note
在银色的湖泊边 along the lake where the silver moon shone with her rays
跳起了被时间遗忘的舞。and the winds danced the dances of long forgotten people
牧羊女吹着笛子，等远赴战场的心上人归来娶她。The herd played his pipe, waiting for his loved one’s return
待一切辉煌，伟大的建筑都沦为尘土时，he would wait, till all things glorious and magnificent turned to nothing but tales and rubble, he would wait.
吹了五个世纪的笛音将依旧 Five centuries the pipe would play,
缭绕在这翠绿的山林间。” its melody flitting through the mountain groves and trees.”
你让我心醉，陶德，你让我心醉。You enchant me, Todd, You enchant me. Truly. truly.
我多么希望我能够有你的一双眼去看世界，I wish I had a pair of eyes like yours.
能看到这些奇迹。So I could see for myself, all these wonders of life.
可陶德啊，你的诗歌如你的人一般，Oh Todd. You are like your poetry.
宏大的让我觉得我只是站在山峰上 So grand and magnificent. I’m as small as a single dot
简陋的一小点，Upon your great mountain
你看也看不到。Invisible to you
即使看到了，Compared to your forest
也不会为了一片叶子这么大的我而放弃整片林海。As insignificant as a leaf.
当然，他的山林也很好。Of course. His groves are fine/
我这么对我说。I said to myself,
现在也告诉你。now I tell you too.
你的山林很好。Your trees and rivers and mountains are fine.
你也很好。You are fine
我们都没错，We are faultless
只是我选择做我的叶子，But I was a leaf
你选择写你的诗。And you were a poet.
So you were meant to never see me.
人生最热烈的岁月，最躁动不安的年纪，The brightest years of our lives, the gold of our youth
我们每天都在争执，为了各种对或错，大或小的事。We spent it fighting, for the wrong and right, the grand and the rife.
他忍受不了我选择堕落，成为一个不光彩的代笔者—— He would not tolerate the fact I had chosen to be a disgraced wordmonger.
而我卑鄙地嫉妒着他名扬四海，我却处处被生计所迫，And I was jealous of his fame while I had no name of my own, fighting to feed myself.
明明我们，We were
是那么的旗鼓相当啊。 such parallels. Such equivalents.
我们天造地设，We were made for each other
却背道而驰。but made for such different paths.
但我从不告诉他，But I never told him
每当他愤恨离去后，我总会翻开来他写的书—— after each frustrating argument, I would open his books
新的，旧的—— early works, new ones, whatever he wrote
我默默的读，以一个作家对另一个作家最高的褒奖，欣赏。I would read them silently, the highest compliment from an author to another
然后默默的难过 ，and then I would fall into silent sadness.
想，and think
他到底和我不一样。He is different. Different from me, out of all people.
想，and think
我是不是最终还是抓不住他？Would someone as unworthy as me, be able to grasp him?
也许你会问，为什么要用抓这个词呢？显得我那么迫切，那么绝望。Maybe you will wonder, why use the word grasp. I seemed so desperate, so hopeless. It's disappointing.
——噢，因为，Oh, that was because
我们之间差了整个太平洋，There was the entire Pacific between us
我是夏天的虫子，Our gap was greater than that of a june bug
你是冬天的霜。and winter wood.
Neither lasted to see each other.
我最大的错，是我早已认命，却依旧心怀不甘，存有妄想，仍有贪念。My greatest fault was that I had given in to fate, but still, I harbored jealousy, kept my secret yearnings, my cursed ambitions and never once did I truly, completely set you free.
是我，最后无法忍受这种折磨。It was I, who ended up prisoner to my own torture.
是我，最后上了一艘去伦敦的船，It was I , who boarded the departing ship to London.
告别了你。And said goodbye.
无论如何，这么多年下来，Anyway, so many seasons came and went.
在我还能够走路去书店买书时，When I was still able to walk, I went to bookstores anywhere
躺在躺椅上，and I would find your books
读陶德的书的确是一种享受。It was a pleasure to read your words, Todd.
泰晤士报曾经这么说过你，The Thames said this about you, and I had Michael mail in that news snippet.
‘灵魂如果能够印在纸上，If the wonders of human psyche could be printed on paper,
那一定会是埃德歌尔的诗词的模样。’it would take the form of Edgar’s poetry, and nothing less.
我不能更加赞同。I could not agree more, so I sent in a 5 shilling tip to that editor the very next day.
我承认，I admit
在文字的领域，in the realm of words and poetics
我永远也比不上他，i will never be able to match his way
世界上没有任何人能。and no one could hope to do so
因为只要陶德?狄约瑟手中有笔，For the words of Todd D’arthur Edgar
那就是比佩纳皇宫花园的春天，was more vibrant than the spring blooms
都要鲜活灵动的颜色。inside the gardens of Pena Palace.
我也不得不承认，And I’ll have to admit/
我就是喜欢那样的他。I like him in that way.
哪怕他眼中除了诗词和宇宙，That kind of him,
谁都没有。with nothing but poetry and the universe in mind.
时间总是那么的快，Times change on fleeting foots
转眼我们就变了样。turn of the eye, and we bear new looks
他很固执，而我也因为长年的失意潦倒，he was stubbon, and I, after many years of struggle and fail
自尊心殆尽， my ego running thin and my self-worth running frail,
不再擅长包容，no longer an agreeable companion
不再擅长快乐，no longer anything.
也不再擅长表达。no longer a full human
一切开始变得散漫和敷衍。everything was just for show, everything was just to get over with
我们对彼此的爱意像是一朵已经风干成干花的凋谢玫瑰，our love a dried out rose
一个被保存太好的标本，wilted,
明明都不在了，yet kept
还一定要留个栩栩如生的壳子。painted to seem alive.
分道扬镳。our separate ways.
英吉利海峡永世翻腾的水，The churning waters of the English channel,
承载着多少古今的亡魂。river styx of the world, the dead flooding each frothing wave
烟灰色的天空，smoky skies always dull
多少双眼睛曾望着它，so many eyes once marveled it from their ships’ hull
是我们之间合不上的天堑。the chasm between us that shall never rest and close
哎，我最固执的读者啊，Oh, my stubborn one
我好久没看见你了。My sight hasn't held your face in forever.
陶德大概不会想我，Todd most likely won’t care to miss me
这几年他写的书我都让马歇尔念给我听了，I had Michael buy me his recent works.
还是少年模样，Still that golden youth
写的都是些伟大的悲剧，激烈的爱恨，writing of despicable plots and great loves and tragedies.
是很遥远的海岛与夕阳。the setting suns, the distant seas.
有点太遥远了，A little too distant
对于一个被疾病困于床上的人来说。 for someone bedridden with ailing health.
我认为，你应该写点更接地气的东西。I think, you should write something more comfortable and pragmatic
比如，一对住在渔村里的老夫妇，他们的房子是紫颜色的，Such as, an old couple living in a fishing village, their house a bright purple.
他们一直想要换掉这个颜色，却一直没有时间。They’ve always wanted to repaint it, but they never quite have the time
然后他们有一个孩子，一个很快乐的孩子.... They have a child, a very happy child…
哦，跑题了。Oops, I digress
原谅我吧，我最不耐心的读者。 Forgive me, my impatient reader. I bed of thee! I beg of thee.
马歇尔是我的生活助理，Michael is my persoanl assitant, in case you are wondering.
花光了我最后一点积蓄。He will take up every last penny of mine
我还有一点，交给他，I trust him with it,
让他捐给我们一同去过的托莱多大教堂。to give it to the Cathedral of Toledo
那是我此生最愉快的时候了。where we visited on that trip, the happiest days of my life.
马歇尔这小伙子不错，He’s a good lad, that Michael.
安安静静的，Quiet, sensible.
如果有可能的话，If its possible,
请他去我的葬礼。I would like him at my funeral, if I even have one….?
——哦，算了。想想还是不了。Oh, on second thought, I would rather not.
我的葬礼我不知道被教堂那帮蛀虫安排在什么时候，My funeral would probably be postponed and then postponed somemore by those fat-bellied clergymen
可能我都腐烂了，maybe till im rotting
苍蝇的虫卵在我的尸体里，with magots
孵化出幼虫，writhering
在蠕动，writhering in me
——到那时我还没有被埋进一口便宜的棺材，塞入贫穷潮湿的土壤里。and I still havent been stuffed inside a cheap coffin, down in the impoverished earth.
毕竟死了很多事情就不方便，With being dead a difficult status to get things done,
也就麻烦马歇尔代理，i have entruested Michael with the tedious task of mailing
帮我把这本书寄出去，after i die
在我死之后。this book shall appear to you
应该……快了。soon…
噢，我最亲爱的读者，Oh, my dear reader
你没有想到吧？Who would’ve thought?
这是我一生唯一一本以我自己的名字署名的书。This is the only book out of the many I’ve written in my life, that I have signed my own name upon.
记得吧，我跟你在酒馆里打的赌。Remember, that bet we made in that little tavern in Greece?
最后还是我赢了，Now you see, it is I who have the final laugh.
我最无情的读者。My fickle one.
这辈子我还是写了点属于我的东西。I finally have written something of my own name.
终于，我能让你看得起我了，我想。Finally, I could be at peace, with you and myself.
哎，没有拿得出手的作品，你就将就一下，我最挑剔的读者。It is by no means a perfect work, please bear with me, one last time, my dearest reader.
让我得意一次。Let me have the last laugh.
送给你，陶德。To you, Todd.
我喜欢这么叫你。陶德?狄约瑟。I like to call you that, you know. Todd D’authur
我唯一的读者。My only reader.
My one and only.
以此书信谨记我们当年那段漫长而短暂，苦涩而甜蜜的时光。With this letter, I commemorate those fleeting, bittersweet years of my life.
你曾是那么完美。You were so perfect.
记忆中你从未褪色。Memory never made you fade. Ever.
你还是那么完美。You are still so perfect.
我无须双眼看你，我的灵魂就知道。I need not my eyes to see, my soul already knows you are.
Its quite hard to explain, so I won’t. Ink is expensive.
你永远完美。珍重。Todd. I just want to say. You were all I could’ve ever wanted. You forever will be.
Take Care.
卡特?多米纳格?洛佩兹
著
【这个字写的格外用力，笔尖划破了羊皮纸，墨水晕染成了一片，保存得十分糟糕】
马歇尔?冯·德赫的私记：
卡特先生死于肺结核，于1878年的春天在圣玛格丽特医院离世。他生前财产共记四千币，已如遗嘱嘱咐，全数捐给托莱多大教堂。
若有任何问题，请勿和我联系。
P.S.
若此书的邮寄过程中出现意外，最终没有到狄约瑟?埃德歌尔手上，那请把它捐给索菲亚皇后艺术博物馆，联系出版商出版。
这不是卡特先生的意愿，但埃德歌尔沉默，逃避，隐藏了一辈子，卡特先生活着的时候我就想，这么多年，不能只有一个人在忍受折磨和痛苦。
请【此处是笔尖犹豫停顿，久久未落笔而造成的一大团墨水印，后面字迹浅而潦草，几乎辨认不出来】不要怪我自作主张。
索菲亚皇后艺术博物馆馆长的私记：
1878年的平安夜，狄约瑟·埃德歌尔先生宣布永世封笔，开始漫无目的的漂泊流浪，于1880年夏季自杀于波尔图的一所旅馆内。他的私人物品中有两部未出版的作品。一部写于1879年春天，如今被他的家人所珍藏，名为《海边的紫房子》。另一部则貌似是埃德歌尔先生早期的作品，写于波尔图大学时期，几次停笔烂尾又重新拾起，在1870年时大部分被烧毁，碎片被藏在废纸箱底部，至今结局是一个迷团，但历史好像告诉我们了这部小说主人公们最后的命运。
这部小说名为‘海岛’。
这是《海岛》纸张中保存最为完好的序幕。
“我是海中的孤岛，
你是每日唤起朝阳的海鸥。
你是海的孩子，
我是她无聊时的简陋作品。
你是天空与水的精灵，
我是地上仰望你的鱼。
你是这天地所爱，
也是我一个人的毕生缪斯，
是普罗米修斯赋予我卑贱身躯的，
那一点神火。”
“I was but a lonely isle,
And you were the seagull
raising the cherry red sun each morning,
Its light and your light shining
over me, a wretched being.
You were the child of the sea,
I was but a bored altarpiece.
You were the spirit of sky and ocean,
I was a fish admiring your beauty.
You are the love of this world,
And my muse, my one and only.
The single spark of life Prometheus himself
Had breathed into me……”
梦远书城已将原网页转码以便移动设备浏览
本站仅提供资源搜索服务，不存放任何实质内容。如有侵权内容请联系搜狗，源资源删除后本站的链接将自动失效。
推荐阅读