壹個海員的聖誕禮物
Last year at Christmas time my wife，three boys，and I were in France，on our way from Paris to Nice．For five wretched days everything had gone wrong．Our hotels were “tourist traps”；our rented car broke down；we were all restless and irritable in the crowded car．On Christmas Eve，when we checked into a dingy hotel in Nice，there was no Christmas spirit in our hearts．
去年，在聖誕節期間，我和我的妻子以及我們的三個孩子，從法國踏上由巴黎到尼斯的旅途。由於接連五天的惡劣天氣，旅途上壹切很不順心。我們下榻的旅館盡是些敲詐勒索旅客的“陷阱”；我們租用的那輛汽車老是發生故障，在擁擠不堪的車子上大家個個顯得煩躁不安。聖誕節前夕，我們住進了尼斯的壹家旅店，這家旅店又臟又暗，我們打心眼裏感覺不到絲毫的.節日氣氛。
It was raining and cold when we went out to eat．We found a drab little joint shoddily decorated for the holiday．It smelled greasy．Only five tables in the restaurant were occupied．There were two German couples，two French families，and an American sailor，by himself．In the corner a piano player listlessly played Christmas music．
我們外出就餐時，天正下著小雨，天氣寒冷。我們找到了壹家死氣沈沈的小餐館。為點綴壹下節日的氣氛，這家餐館剛剛做了番粗劣的裝潢。壹進門就聞到壹股刺鼻的油汙氣味。整個餐廳只有五張桌子有人就餐：兩對德國夫婦，兩戶法國家庭和壹名孑然壹身的美國水手。在餐廳的壹個角落裏，有位鋼琴師在無精打采地彈奏著聖誕樂曲。
I was too stubborn and too tired and miserable to leave．I looked around and noticed that the other customers were eating in stony silence．The only person who seemed happy was the American sailor．While eating，he was writing a letter，and a half－smile lighted his face．
我情緒低落，加之疲憊不堪，執意不願離開這兒去找別的餐館了。我環顧四周，見這裏的顧客壹個個沈默不語，只顧吃著、喝著，唯獨那位美國水手看上去興高采烈。他壹邊吃著，壹邊寫信，面帶微笑，神采奕奕。
My wife ordered our meal in French．The waiter brought us the wrong thing．I scolded my wife for being stupid．She began to cry．The boys defended her，and I felt even worse．
我的妻子給我們叫來了法國式的飯菜，而服務員給我們端來的卻是別的東西。我斥責妻子盡幹些蠢事，她哭了起來。孩子們壹個個都護著他們的媽媽，於是我的情緒變得更加糟糕。
Then，at the table with the French family on our left，the father slapped one of his children for some minor infraction，and the boy began to cry．On our right，the German wife began berating her husband．
繼而，坐在我們左側餐桌上的那家法國人父親因為壹點雞毛蒜皮的小事動手打了他的壹個孩子壹記耳光，那個小男孩哇哇大哭起來。在我的右邊，那個德國婦女不知因何緣故開始喋喋不休地數落、責罵起她的丈夫來。
All of us were interrupted by an unpleasant blast of old air．Through the front door came an old French flower woman．She wore a dripping，tattered overcoat，and shuffled in on wet，rundown shoes．Carrying her basket of flowers，she went from one table to the other．
我們大家都被壹陣令人不快、死灰復燃的陳規陋習弄得心煩意亂。這時，從前門進來壹個賣花的法國老嫗。她渾身濕透，衣衫襤褸，腳穿壹雙水淋淋的破鞋，手裏提著花籃，沿桌叫賣。
"Flowers，monsieur？Only one franc．"
“買花嗎，先生？壹束才壹個法郎哩。”
No one bought any．
誰也沒有答理她。
Wearily she sat down at a table between the sailor and us．To the waiter she said，"A bowl of soup．I haven't sold a flower all afternoon．" To the piano player she said hoarsely，"Can you imagine，Joseph， soup on Christmas Eve？"
她疲憊不堪，在水手和我們之間的那張餐桌旁邊坐了下來，對服務員說："請來碗湯吧。整整壹下午，我連壹朵花也不曾脫手。"接著，她轉向那位鋼琴師，用嘶啞的聲音問，"在聖誕節前夕喝碗湯，約瑟夫，妳能設想這種滋味嗎？"
He pointed to his empty "tipping plate"．
鋼琴師指了指身旁的那只空空如也的"放小費的盤子"。
The young sailor finished his meal and got up to leave．Putting on his coat，he walked over to the flower woman's table．
那位年輕的海員已用罷晚餐，欠起身來準備離開餐館。他披上外套，走到賣花老嫗的桌前。