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属类: 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 马克-吐温] 阅读:[12108]
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一晃眼,三四个月又混过去了,冬天也过了好长一段日子。我几乎天天上学,也会识字、念书和写字了,虽然很少还能把乘法口诀背到六七三十五,我想就算我永远活下去,也不能再往下背了。反正我看不上数学。

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刚开头我恨那个学校,可慢慢地也就习惯了,我也能忍受。我只要烦了就会逃学,第二天挨顿鞭子对我有好处,能让我提提劲儿。所以,我上学时间越长,就越好对付。我也渐渐习惯了寡妇那一套,它不再象过去那样叫我烦躁了。住在房子里,睡在床铺上,让我觉得憋得慌,大部分时候是这样,而在天冷之前,我总要偷跑出去睡在树林里,有时这样做,对于我来讲是个休息。我很喜欢我以前的日子,但是,我慢慢地也有些喜欢这新一套了。寡妇说我有长进,有些慢,可是挺稳,举止也叫她满意。她说她不觉得我丢脸了。

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一天早饭时,我一不小心把盐罐碰倒了,我赶忙伸手去接,想接点儿盐撒到我的左肩膀上,好避邪运,可是,华森小姐比我手还快,她把我挡住了。她说:" 把手拿掉,哈克贝利--你总是把一切弄得很糟!" 寡妇替我说了句好话,但是,那也不能叫我避开坏运气,这我很清楚。吃过饭,我就出去了,既担心又害怕,不知道坏运气什么时候降落在我头上,也猜不透到底会出什么事儿。只得四处逛荡,垂头丧气又提心吊胆。我走到了前面的花园,从梯子上翻过高高的木棚栏。新下的雪在地上积了一寸厚,上边有人的脚印。脚印是从采石场过来的,在梯子周围站了一阵,然后,绕着花园栅栏转了一圈儿。令人感到惊奇的是,那人站站走走,并没有进去。我想不清楚。反正是觉得很奇怪。我想顺着脚印转一圈儿,但我还是先弯下腰把脚印看了看。一开头,我什么也没看出来,可是再看,我就明白了。左鞋跟上有个大铁钉钉成的十字儿,是用来避邪的。我拔腿就跑,飞奔下山。不时还回头看看,没看见人。我飞快地跑到了萨切尔法官家里。他说:"怎么回事,我的孩子,你都喘不上气来了,是来取利息的吗?""不,先生,"我说," 有我的吗?""有啊,半年的已经收进来了,昨天晚上收的。一百五十块。它对你可是一笔数目。你最好是让我连同你那六千块钱一起放利息,因为你要拿走就会花掉。""不,先生,"我说," 我不想花。我根本就不想要--连那六千,也不要了。我想让您收下;我要送给您--那六千块钱以及所有的利息。"他吓了一跳。他好像知道我在说什么。他说:" 哎呀,你这是什么意思呢,孩子?"我说:" 您什么也别问了,求求您。您会收下的,对吗?"他说:"哎呀,我都给你闹糊涂了。出什么事啦?""请您收下,"我说," 啥也别问我--我也就用不着撒谎了。"他想了一阵,接着说道:"噢。我想我明白了。你要卖给我你的全部财产--不是送给我。这个想法才对。"然后,他在一张纸上写了点什么,读了一遍,说:"这儿--你瞧,写的是’作为补偿’。那就是说,我从你那里买走了,还得付给你钱。这一块钱是给你的。好啦,你签字吧。"于是我签上字离开了。

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华森小姐的黑人吉姆有个拳头大的毛球,是从一头牛的第四个胃里取出来的,他常常拿它来变魔法。他说里边有个精灵,无事不晓。因此,当天晚上,我就去找他,告诉他说爸又来这儿了,因为我在雪地里看到了他的脚印。我想看看他打算什么,他是不是不走了?吉姆取出他的毛毛球,冲它嘟哝些什么,然后,抓起来又扔在地上。球摔得很重,只滚动了一英尺远。吉姆试了又试,结果都一模一样。吉姆跪在地上,用耳朵对着毛球听。但是没用,他说它不愿说话。他说有时候没有钱它就不肯说话。我告诉他我有一枚又旧又光的二角五分钱的假硬币,花不出去,因为外层的镀银已经包不住里面的铜了,谁也瞒不过去,即便铜不显,它摸上去滑溜溜油光光的,因此,每回都会让人认出来。(我觉得我还是不提我从法官那儿拿到的那一块钱好)。我说这是一枚很没用的钱,但是,也许毛球会收下,因为它根本不辨真假。吉姆闻闻,用牙咬咬,又擦了擦,说他会想办法让毛球把它当成好钱。他说他想切开一个生土豆,把假硬币夹在里面放一晚上,第二天早上就看不见铜了,摸着也不会油光光的了,这样一来,镇上谁都会马上收下这枚钱,更别说毛球了。嗨,我知道土豆能行,以前知道,可是我给忘了。吉姆把那两角五分钱放在毛球底下,自己又跪在地上听了一阵。这一回他说毛球灵了。他说,只要我自己想知道,它就给我从小到大算上一命。我说算吧。于是,毛球对吉姆讲,吉姆再转述给我。他说:"你爸还不知道,他想干啥。有时候他想走开,过一阵子又想留下来。最好是沉住气,叫老头儿想怎么着就怎么着。有两个天使绕着他转。一个白又亮,一个黑。白的带他走正道,过一会儿,黑的过来就拆台。谁也猜不透,到底哪个能最后降服他。不过,你的命还行。你这辈子要经历很多凶险,也有不少快乐。有时候会受伤,有时候会生病;但每回都能逢凶化吉。命中有二女相随。一白一黑,一富一贫。先娶贫女,后续富妻。离水越远越好,不要去冒险,因为命中注定你将会被淹死。"那天晚上,我点燃了蜡烛,上楼进屋时,爸在那儿端坐着,就是他!

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WELL, three or four months run along, and it was well into the winter now. I had been to school most all the time and could spell and read and write just a little, and could say the multiplication table up to six times seven is thirty-five, and I don’t reckon I could ever get any further than that if I was to live forever. I don’t take no stock in mathematics, anyway.

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At first I hated the school, but by and by I got so I could stand it. Whenever I got uncommon tired I played hookey, and the hiding I got next day done me good and cheered me up. So the longer I went to school the easier it got to be. I was getting sort of used to the widow’s ways, too, and they warn’t so raspy on me. Living in a house and sleeping in a bed pulled on me pretty tight mostly, but before the cold weather I used to slide out and sleep in the woods sometimes, and so that was a rest to me. I liked the old ways best, but I was getting so I liked the new ones, too, a little bit. The widow said I was coming along slow but sure, and doing very satisfactory. She said she warn’t ashamed of me.

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One morning I happened to turn over the salt-cellar at breakfast. I reached for some of it as quick as I could to throw over my left shoulder and keep off the bad luck, but Miss Watson was in ahead of me, and crossed me off. She says, "Take your hands away, Huckleberry; what a mess you are always making!" The widow put in a good word for me, but that warn’t going to keep off the bad luck, I knowed that well enough. I started out, after breakfast, feeling worried and shaky, and wondering where it was going to fall on me, and what it was going to be. There is ways to keep off some kinds of bad luck, but this wasn’t one of them kind; so I never tried to do anything, but just poked along low-spirited and on the watch-out.

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I went down to the front garden and clumb over the stile where you go through the high board fence. There was an inch of new snow on the ground, and I seen somebody’s tracks. They had come up from the quarry and stood around the stile a while, and then went on around the garden fence. It was funny they hadn’t come in, after standing around so. I couldn’t make it out. It was very curious, somehow. I was going to follow around, but I stooped down to look at the tracks first. I didn’t notice anything at first, but next I did. There was a cross in the left boot-heel made with big nails, to keep off the devil.

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I was up in a second and shinning down the hill. I looked over my shoulder every now and then, but I didn’t see nobody. I was at Judge Thatcher’s as quick as I could get there. He said:

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"Why, my boy, you are all out of breath. Did you come for your interest?"

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"No, sir," I says; "is there some for me?"

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"Oh, yes, a half-yearly is in last night -- over a hundred and fifty dollars. Quite a fortune for you. You had better let me invest it along with your six thousand, because if you take it you’ll spend it."

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"No, sir," I says, "I don’t want to spend it. I don’t want it at all -- nor the six thousand, nuther. I want you to take it; I want to give it to you -- the six thousand and all."

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He looked surprised. He couldn’t seem to make it out. He says:

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"Why, what can you mean, my boy?"

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I says, "Don’t you ask me no questions about it, please. You’ll take it -- won’t you?"

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He says:

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"Well, I’m puzzled. Is something the matter?"

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"Please take it," says I, "and don’t ask me nothing -- then I won’t have to tell no lies."

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He studied a while, and then he says:

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"Oho-o! I think I see. You want to SELL all your property to me -- not give it. That’s the correct idea."

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Then he wrote something on a paper and read it over, and says:

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"There; you see it says ’for a consideration.’ That means I have bought it of you and paid you for it. Here’s a dollar for you. Now you sign it."

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So I signed it, and left.

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Miss Watson’s nigger, Jim, had a hair-ball as big as your fist, which had been took out of the fourth stomach of an ox, and he used to do magic with it. He said there was a spirit inside of it, and it knowed everything. So I went to him that night and told him pap was here again, for I found his tracks in the snow. What I wanted to know was, what he was going to do, and was he going to stay? Jim got out his hair-ball and said something over it, and then he held it up and dropped it on the floor. It fell pretty solid, and only rolled about an inch. Jim tried it again, and then another time, and it acted just the same. Jim got down on his knees, and put his ear against it and listened. But it warn’t no use; he said it wouldn’t talk. He said sometimes it wouldn’t talk without money. I told him I had an old slick counterfeit quarter that warn’t no good because the brass showed through the silver a little, and it wouldn’t pass nohow, even if the brass didn’t show, because it was so slick it felt greasy, and so that would tell on it every time. (I reckoned I wouldn’t say nothing about the dollar I got from the judge.) I said it was pretty bad money, but maybe the hair-ball would take it, because maybe it wouldn’t know the difference. Jim smelt it and bit it and rubbed it, and said he would manage so the hair-ball would think it was good. He said he would split open a raw Irish potato and stick the quarter in between and keep it there all night, and next morning you couldn’t see no brass, and it wouldn’t feel greasy no more, and so anybody in town would take it in a minute, let alone a hair-ball. Well, I knowed a potato would do that before, but I had forgot it.

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Jim put the quarter under the hair-ball, and got down and listened again. This time he said the hairball was all right. He said it would tell my whole fortune if I wanted it to. I says, go on. So the hairball talked to Jim, and Jim told it to me. He says:

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"Yo’ ole father doan’ know yit what he’s a-gwyne to do. Sometimes he spec he’ll go ’way, en den agin he spec he’ll stay. De bes’ way is to res’ easy en let de ole man take his own way. Dey’s two angels hoverin’ roun’ ’bout him. One uv ’em is white en shiny, en t’other one is black. De white one gits him to go right a little while, den de black one sail in en bust it all up. A body can’t tell yit which one gwyne to fetch him at de las’. But you is all right. You gwyne to have considable trouble in yo’ life, en considable joy. Sometimes you gwyne to git hurt, en sometimes you gwyne to git sick; but every time you’s gwyne to git well agin. Dey’s two gals flyin’ ’bout you in yo’ life. One uv ’em’s light en t’other one is dark. One is rich en t’other is po’. You’s gwyne to marry de po’ one fust en de rich one by en by. You wants to keep ’way fum de water as much as you kin, en don’t run no resk, ’kase it’s down in de bills dat you’s gwyne to git hung."

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When I lit my candle and went up to my room that night there sat pap -- his own self!

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