Tropic of Cancer  北回归线

Anyway, there he was, tucked away comfortably, but with an air of weariness as usual. He wakes up cursing himself, or cursing the job, or cursing life. He wakes up utterly bored and discomfited, chagrined to think that he did not die overnight.


I sit down by the window and give him what encouragement I can. It is tedious work. One has to actually coax him out of bed. Mornings – he means by mornings anywhere between one and five p.m. – mornings, as I say, he gives himself up to reveries. Mostly it is about the past he dreams. About his "cunts." He endeavors to recall how they felt, what they said to him at certain critical moments, where he laid them, and so on. As he lies there, grinning and cursing, he manipulates his fingers in that curious, bored way of his, as though to convey the impression that his disgust is too great for words. Over the bedstead hangs a douche bag which he keeps for emergencies – for the virgins whom he tracks down like a sleuth. Even after he has slept with one of these mythical creatures he will still refer to her as a virgin, and almost never by name. "My virgin," he will say, just as he says "my Georgia cunt." When he goes to the toilet he says: "If my Georgia cunt calls tell her to wait. Say I said so. And listen, you can have her if you like. I'm tired of her."

我在窗旁坐下尽力劝慰他一番,这是一件很乏味的事情,必须哄得他真的起床。早晨 -凌晨一点到下午五点都是他所说的“早晨” -他常利用早晨的时间沉涸于幻想之中,多半是重温往昔的旧梦,回忆他的“娘儿们”。他努力去追忆她们是如何离开他的,在一些关键时刻同他说了什么,他是在哪儿跟她们睡觉的等诸如此类的琐事。他躺在床上咧着嘴笑,诅咒谩骂,同时以那种奇怪的、令人生厌的方式用手指比划,似乎要表明他对此类事情已深恶痛绝,不屑用语言表达。床头挂着一只灌洗器,这是他用来应付“紧急情况”的,是为“处女们”预备的,他总像一头警犬一样追逐她们。跟某一位这些神话中的姑娘睡过后他仍称她为处女,而且几乎从不提她的姓名。“我的处女,”他总这么说,如同他说“我的格鲁吉亚女人”一样。进卫生间前他说,“如果我的格鲁吉亚女人来了,叫她等着,说这是我说的。听着,你若愿意要就要她好了,我已经烦她了。”

He takes a squint at the weather and heaves a deep sigh. If it's rainy he says: "God damn this fucking climate, it makes one morbid." And if the sun is shining brightly he says: "God damn that fucking sun, it makes you blind!" As he starts to shave he suddenly remembers that there is no clean towel. "God damn this fucking hotel, they're too stingy to give you a clean towel every day!" No matter what he does or where he goes things are out of joint. Either it's the fucking country or the fucking job, or else it's some fucking cunt who's put him on the blink.


"My teeth are all rotten," he says, gargling his throat. "It's the fucking bread they give you to eat here." He opens his mouth wide and pulls his lower lip down. "See that? Pulled out six teeth yesterday. Soon I'll have to get another plate. That's what you get working for a living. When I was on the bum I had all my teeth, my eyes were bright and clear. Look at me now! It's a wonder I can make a cunt any more. Jesus, what I'd like is to find some rich cunt – like that cute little prick, Carl. Did he ever show you the letters she sends him? Who is she, do you know? He wouldn't tell me her name, the bastard… he's afraid I might take her away from him." He gargles his throat again and then takes a long look at the cavities. "You're lucky," he says ruefully. "You've got friends, at least. I haven't anybody, except that cute little prick who drives me bats about his rich cunt."


"Listen," he says, "do you happen to know a cunt by the name of Norma? She hangs around the Dôme all day. I think she's queer. I had her up here yesterday, tickling her ass. She wouldn't let me do a thing. I had her on the bed… I even had her drawers off… and then I got disgusted. Jesus, I can't bother struggling that way any more. It isn't worth it. Either they do or they don't – it's foolish to waste time wrestling with them. While you're struggling with a little bitch like that there may be a dozen cunts on the terrasse just dying to be laid. It's a fact. They all come over here to get laid. They think it's sinful here… the poor boobs! Some of these schoolteachers from out West, they're honestly virgins… I mean it! They sit around on their can all day thinking about it. You don't have to work over them very much. They're dying for it. I had a married woman the other day who told me she hadn't had a lay for six months. Can you imagine that? Jesus, she was hot! I thought she'd tear the cock off me. And groaning all the time. "Do you? Do you?" She kept saying that all the time, like she was nuts. And do you know what that bitch wanted to do? She wanted to move in here. Imagine that! Asking me if I loved her. I didn't even know her name. I never know their names… I don't want to. The married ones! Christ, if you saw all the married cunts I bring up here you'd never have any more illusions. They're worse than the virgins, the married ones. They don't wait for you to start things – they fish it out for you themselves. And then they talk about love afterwards. It's disgusting. I tell you, I'm actually beginning to hate cunt!"

他说,“听着,你认识一个叫诺尔玛的女人吗?她整天在大教堂附近闲荡,我看是个搞同性恋的。我昨天把她带到这儿来,在她屁股上搔痒了……我甚至把她的裤头褪下来了……后来我厌烦了。老天,我再也不愿那样勉强什么人了,那不值得。她们要么干,要么别干—浪费工夫跟她们搏斗是愚蠢的。在你正跟一个小婊子拼命搏斗时,也许外面露天咖啡座上有十来个娘儿们恨不得马上跟你睡呢。这是真的,她们全为了跟人睡觉到这儿来,她们认为在这儿干没有罪……可怜的傻瓜!有些从美国西部来的教师是货真价实的处女……我说的全是真的!她们整天坐着想这件事,你根本不用怎么挑逗她们,她们正巴不得呢。那天我弄了上个结了婚的女人,她说她已有六个月没有跟人睡过了。你能想象到吗?老天,她十分上劲儿!我还以为她要把鸡巴从我身上吸下来呢,她还一直哼哼卿卿的。‘你怎么样?’她不住地这样问,像疯了一样。你知道这个婊子想干什么? 她想搬到这儿来往。你想想!她问我爱不爱她,可我连她的名字都不知道,我从不间她们的名字……也不想知道。这些结过婚的女人!老天,你若见到我带到这儿来的所有结过婚的女人,你就再也不会想入非非了。这些结过婚的女人比处女更糟,她们根本不等你动手—她们自个儿替你把那玩艺儿掏出来,过后她们还要谈论爱情,真叫人恶心。告诉你,我真的恨起娘儿们来了!”

He looks out the window again. It's drizzling. It's been drizzling this way for the last five days.


"Are we going to the Dôme, Joe?" I call him Joe be cause he calls me Joe. When Carl is with us he is Joe too. Everybody is Joe because it's easier that way. It's also a pleasant reminder not to take yourself too seriously. Anyway, Joe doesn't want to go the Dôme – he owes too much money there. He wants to go to the Coupole. Wants to take a little walk first around the block.


"But it's raining, Joe."


"I know, but what the hell! I've got to have my consititutional. I've got to wash the dirt out of my belly." When he says this I have the impression that the whole world is wrapped up there inside his belly, and that it's rotting there.


As he's putting on his things he falls back again into a semi comatose state. He stands there with one arm in his coat sleeve and his hat on assways and he begins to dream aloud – about the Riviera, about the sun, about lazing one's life away. "All I ask of life," he says, "is a bunch of books, a bunch of dreams, and a bunch of cunt." As he mumbles this meditatively he looks at me with the softest, the most insidious smile.

穿衣戴帽时他又陷入一种半昏睡状态,他站着,一只胳膊穿过外衣袖子里,帽子斜扣在头上。他开始大声说梦话 -里维那拉避寒地,太阳,如何在偷懒中虚掷了一辈子光阴。他说,“我对生活的全部要求不外乎凡本书、几场梦和几个女人。”他沉思着喃喃自语,同时带着最最温柔、最最阴险的微笑望着我。

"Do you like that smile?" he says. And then disgustedly – "Jesus, if I could only find some rich cunt to smile at that way!"


"Only a rich cunt can save me now," he says with an air of utmost weariness. "One gets tired of chasing after new cunts all the time. It gets mechanical. The trouble is, you see, I can't fall in love. I'm too much of an egoist. Women only help me to dream, that's all. It's a vice, like drink or opium. I've got to have a new one every day; if I don't I get morbid. I think too much. Sometimes I'm amazed at myself, how quick I pull it off – and how little it really means. I do it automatically like. Sometimes I'm not thinking about a woman at all, but suddenly I notice a woman looking at me and then, bango! it starts all over again. Before I know what I'm doing I've got her up to the room. I don't even remember what I say to them. I bring them up to the room, give them a pat on the ass, and before I know what it's all about it's over. It's like a dream… Do you know what I mean?"

他显出极其疲倦的样子说,“现在,只有一个阔女人才能救我。一个人总是追逐新的女人便会厌倦的,这会变得机械起来。 你瞧,问题在于我无法恋爱。我是十足的利己主义者,女人只是帮我做梦的,仅此而已。这是一种罪孽,同酗酒、抽大烟一样。我每天都得换新的女人,否则就不自在。我想得太多了,有时也觉得自己很好笑 -我那么快就把它拔出来,这其实又是多么没意义。我干那件事完全是机械的,有时我根本不在想女人,可是突然注意到一个女人在看着我,好,得了,这一套又重新开始了。还来不及想自己在干什么我就把她带到屋里来了,连对这些女人们说了什么我都不记得了。我把她们带到屋里,在她们屁股上拍一巴掌,还不知道这究竟是怎么回事就完事了。真像一场梦……你明白我的意思吗?”

He hasn't much use for the French girls. Can't stand them. "Either they want money or they want you to marry them. At bottom they're all whores. I'd rather wrestle with a virgin," he says. "They give you a little illusion. They put up a fight at least." Just the same, as we glance over the terrasse there is hardly a whore in sight whom he hasn't fucked at some time or other. Standing at the bar he points them out to me, one by one, goes over them anatomically, describes their good points and their bad. "They're all frigid," he says. And then begins to mold his hands, thinking of the nice, juicy virgins who are just dying for it.


In the midst of his reveries he suddenly arrests himself, and grabbing my arm excitedly, he points to a whale of a woman who is just lowering herself into a seat. "There's my Danish cunt," he grunts. "See that ass? Danish. How that woman loves it! She just begs me for it. Come over here… look at her now, from the side. Look at that ass, will you? It's enormous. I tell you, when she climbs over me I can hardly get my arms around it. It blots out the whole world. She makes me feel like a little bug crawling inside her. I don't know why I fall for her – I suppose it's that ass. It's so incongruous like. And the creases in it! You can't forget an ass like that. It's a fact… a solid fact. The others, they may bore you, or they may give you a moment's illusion, but this one – with her ass! – zowie, you can't obliterate her… it's like going to bed with a monument on top of you."