警察和赞美诗

欧亨利

索比急躁不安地躺在麦迪逊广场的长凳上，辗转反侧。

       每当雁群在夜空中引颈高歌，缺少海豹皮衣的女人对丈夫加倍的温存亲热的时候，索比在街心公园的长凳上焦躁不安、翻来复去的时候，人们就明白，冬天已近在咫尺了。 　

　   一片枯叶落在索比的大腿上，那是杰克·弗洛斯特的卡片。杰克对麦迪逊广场的常住居民非常客气，每年来临之先，总要打一声招呼。在十字街头，他把名片交给“户外大厦”的信使“北风”，好让住户们有个准备。 　　

       索比意识到，该是自己下决心的时候了，马上组织单人财务委员会，以便抵御即将临近的严寒，因此，他急躁不安地在长凳上辗转反侧。
 
       索比越冬的抱负并不算最高，他不想在地中海巡游，也不想到南方去晒令人昏睡的太阳，更没想过到维苏威海湾漂泊。他梦寐以求的只要在岛上待三个月就足够了。整整三个月，有饭吃，有床睡，还有志趣相投的伙伴，而且不受“北风”和警察的侵扰。对索比而言，这就是日思夜想的最大愿望。 　

　    多年来，好客的布莱克韦尔岛的监狱一直是索比冬天的寓所。正像福气比他好的纽约人每年冬天买票去棕榈滩和里维埃拉一样，索比也要为一年一度逃奔岛上作些必要的安排。现在又到时候了。昨天晚上，他睡在古老广场上喷水池旁的长凳上，用三张星期日的报纸分别垫在上衣里、包着脚踝、盖住大腿，也没能抵挡住严寒的袭击。因此，在他的脑袋里，岛子的影象又即时而鲜明地浮现出来。他诅咒那些以慈善名义对城镇穷苦人所设的布施。

       在索比眼里，法律比救济更为宽厚。他可以去的地方不少，有市政办的、救济机关办的各式各样的组织，他都可以去混吃、混住，勉强度日，但接受施舍，对索比这样一位灵魂高傲的人来讲，是一种不可忍受的折磨。从慈善机构的手里接受任何一点好处，钱固然不必付，但你必须遭受精神上的屈辱来作为回报。正如恺撒对待布鲁图一样，凡事有利必有弊，要睡上慈善机构的床，先得让人押去洗个澡；要吃施舍的一片面包，得先交待清楚个人的来历和隐私。因此，倒不如当个法律的座上宾还好得多。虽然法律铁面无私、照章办事，但至少不会过分地干涉正人君子的私事。

 　　一旦决定了去岛上，索比便立即着手将它变为现实。要兑现自己的意愿，有许多简捷的途径，其中最舒服的莫过于去某家豪华餐厅大吃一台，然后呢，承认自己身无分文，无力支付，这样便安安静静、毫不声张地被交给警察。其余的一切就该由通商量的治安推事来应付了。

　　索比离开长凳，踱出广场，跨过百老汇大街和第五大街的交汇处那片沥青铺就的平坦路面。他转向百老汇大街，在一家灯火辉煌的咖啡馆前停下脚步，在这里，每天晚上聚积着葡萄、蚕丝和原生质的最佳制品。 　

　    索比对自己的马甲从最下一颗纽扣之上还颇有信心，他修过面，上衣也还够气派，他那整洁的黑领结是感恩节时一位教会的女士送给他的。只要他到餐桌之前不被人猜疑，成功就属于他了。他露在桌面的上半身绝不会让侍者生疑。索比想到，一只烤野鸭很对劲——再来一瓶夏布利酒，然后是卡门贝干酪，一小杯清咖啡和一只雪茄烟。一美元一只的雪茄就足够了。全部加起来的价钱不宜太高，以免遭到咖啡馆太过厉害的报复；然而，吃下这一餐会使他走向冬季避难所的行程中心满意足、无忧无虑了。

　　可是，索比的脚刚踏进门，领班侍者的眼睛便落在了他那旧裤子和破皮鞋上。强壮迅急的手掌推了他个转身，悄无声息地被押了出来，推上了人行道，拯救了那只险遭毒手的野鸭的可怜命运。

　　索比离开了百老汇大街。看起来，靠大吃一通走向垂涎三尺的岛上，这办法是行不通了。要进监狱，还得另打主意。

　　在第六大街的拐角处，灯火通明、陈设精巧的大玻璃橱窗内的商品尤其诱人注目。索比捡起一块鹅卵石，向玻璃窗砸去。人们从转弯处奔来，领头的就是一位巡警。索比一动不动地站在原地，两手插在裤袋里，对着黄铜纽扣微笑。“肇事的家伙跑哪儿去了？”警官气急败坏地问道.“你不以为这事与我有关吗？”索比说，多少带点嘲讽语气，但很友好，如同他正交着桃花运呢。警察根本没把索比看成作案对象。毁坏窗子的人绝对不会留在现场与法律的宠臣攀谈，早就溜之大吉啦。警察看到半条街外有个人正跑去赶一辆车，便挥舞着警棍追了上去。索比心里十分憎恶，只得拖着脚步，重新开始游荡。他再一次失算了。 　

　   对面街上，有一家不太招眼的餐厅，它可以填饱肚子，又花不了多少钱。它的碗具粗糙，空气混浊，汤菜淡如水，餐巾薄如绢。索比穿着那令人诅咒的鞋子和暴露身份的裤子跨进餐厅，上帝保佑、还没遭到白眼。他走到桌前坐下，吃了牛排，煎饼、炸面饼圈和馅饼。然后，他向侍者坦露真象：他和钱老爷从无交往。“现在，快去叫警察，”索比说。“别让大爷久等。” “用不着找警察，”侍者说，声音滑腻得如同奶油蛋糕，眼睛红得好似曼哈顿开胃酒中的樱桃。“喂，阿康！” 两个侍者干净利落地把他叉出在又冷又硬的人行道上，左耳着地。索比艰难地一点一点地从地上爬起来，好似木匠打开折尺一样，接着拍掉衣服上的尘土。被捕的愿望仅仅是美梦一个，那个岛子是太遥远了。

      相隔两个门面的药店前，站着一名警察，他笑了笑，便沿街走去。索比走过五个街口之后，设法被捕的气又回来了。这一次出现的机会极为难得，他满以为十拿九稳哩。一位衣着简朴但讨人喜欢的年轻女人站在橱窗前，兴趣十足地瞪着陈列的修面杯和墨水瓶架入了迷。而两码之外，一位彪形大汉警察正靠在水龙头上，神情严肃。 　　

       索比的计划是装扮成一个下流、讨厌的“捣蛋鬼”。他的对象文雅娴静，又有一位忠于职守的警察近在眼前，这使他足以相信，警察的双手抓住他的手膀的滋味该是多么愉快呵，在岛上的小安乐窝里度过这个冬季就有了保证。 　　

       索比扶正了教会的女士送给他的领结，拉出缩进去的衬衣袖口，把帽子往后一掀，歪得几乎要落下来，侧身向那女人挨将过去。他对她送秋波，清嗓子，哼哼哈哈，嬉皮笑脸，把小流氓所干的一切卑鄙无耻的勾当表演得惟妙惟肖。他斜眼望去，看见那个警察正死死盯住他。年轻女人移开了几步，又沉醉于观赏那修面杯。索比跟过去，大胆地走近她，举了举帽子，说：“啊哈，比德莉亚，你不想去我的院子里玩玩吗？” 警察仍旧死死盯住。受人轻薄的年轻女人只需将手一招，就等于已经上路去岛上的安乐窝了。在想象中，他已经感觉到警察分局的舒适和温暖了。年轻女人转身面对着他，伸出一只手，捉住了索比的上衣袖口。“当然啰，迈克，”她兴高采烈地说，“如果你肯破费给我买一杯啤酒的话。要不是那个警察老瞅住我，早就同你搭腔了。” 年轻女人像常青藤攀附着他这棵大橡树一样。索比从警察身边走过，心中懊丧不已。看来命中注定，他该自由。一到拐弯处，他甩掉女伴，撒腿就跑。

       他一口气跑到老远的一个地方。这儿，整夜都是最明亮的灯光，最轻松的心情，最轻率的誓言和最轻快的歌剧。淑女们披着皮裘，绅士们身着大衣，在这凛冽的严寒中欢天喜地地走来走去。索比突然感到一阵恐惧，也许是某种可怕的魔法制住了他，使他免除了被捕。这念头令他心惊肉跳。但是，当他看见一个警察在灯火通明的剧院门前大模大样地巡逻时，他立刻捞到了“扰乱治安”这根救命稻草。 　

　   索比在人行道上扯开那破锣似的嗓子，像醉鬼一样胡闹。他又跳，又吼，又叫，使尽各种伎俩来搅扰这苍穹。警察旋转着他的警棍，扭身用背对着索比，向一位市民解释说：“这是个耶鲁小子在庆祝胜利，他们同哈特福德学院赛球，请人家吃了个大鹅蛋。声音是有点儿大，但不碍事。我们上峰有指示，让他们闹去吧。” 索比怏怏不乐地停止了白费力气的闹嚷。难道就永远没有警察对他下手吗？在他的幻梦中，那岛屿似乎成了可望而不可及的世外桃园了。他扣好单薄的上衣，以便抵挡刺骨的寒风。索比看到雪茄烟店里有一位衣冠楚楚的人正对着火头点烟。那人进店时，把绸伞靠在门边。索比跨进店门，拿起绸伞，漫不经心地退了出来。点烟人匆匆追了出来。“我的伞，”他厉声道。“呵，是吗？”索比冷笑说；在小偷小摸之上，再加上一条侮辱罪吧。“好哇，那你为什么不叫警察呢？没错，我拿了。你的伞！为什么不叫巡警呢？拐角那儿就站着一个哩。” 绸伞的主人放慢了脚步，索比也跟着慢了下来。他有一种预感，命运会再一次同他作对。那位警察好奇地瞧着他们俩.“当然喽，”绸伞主人说，“那是，噢，你知道有时会出现这类误会……我……要是这伞是你的，我希望你别见怪……我是今天早上在餐厅捡的……要是你认出是你的，那么……我希望你别……” 　　“当然是我的.”索比恶狠狠地说。绸伞的前主人悻悻地退了开去。那位警察慌忙不迭地跑去搀扶一个身披夜礼服斗篷、头发金黄的高个子女人穿过横街，以免两条街之外驶来的街车会碰着她。 　　

       索比往东走，穿过一条因翻修弄得高低不平的街道。他怒气冲天地把绸伞猛地掷进一个坑里。他咕咕哝哝地抱怨那些头戴钢盔、手执警棍的家伙。因为他一心只想落入法网，而他们则偏偏把他当成永不出错的国王。 　

 　   最后，索比来到了通往东区的一条街上，这儿的灯光暗淡，嘈杂声也若有若无。他顺着街道向麦迪逊广场走去，即使他的家仅仅是公园里的一条长凳，但回家的本能还是把他带到了那儿。可是，在一个异常幽静的转角处，索比停住了。这儿有一座古老的教堂，样子古雅，显得零乱，是带山墙的建筑。柔和的灯光透过淡紫色的玻璃窗映射出来，毫无疑问，是风琴师在练熟星期天的赞美诗。悦耳的乐声飘进索比的耳朵，吸引了他，把他粘在了螺旋形的铁栏杆上。月亮挂在高高的夜空，光辉、静穆；行人和车辆寥寥无几；屋檐下的燕雀在睡梦中几声啁啾——这会儿有如乡村中教堂墓地的气氛。风琴师弹奏的赞美诗拨动了伏在铁栏杆上的索比的心弦，因为当他生活中拥有母爱、玫瑰、抱负、朋友以及纯洁无邪的思想和洁白的衣领时，他是非常熟悉赞美诗的。索比的敏感心情同老教堂的潜移默化交融在一起，使他的灵魂猛然间出现了奇妙的变化。

他立刻惊恐地醒悟到自己已经坠入了深渊，堕落的岁月，可耻的欲念，悲观失望，才穷智竭，动机卑鄙——这一切构成了他的全部生活。

顷刻间，这种新的思想境界令他激动万分。

一股迅急而强烈的冲动鼓舞着他去迎战坎坷的人生。

他要把自己拖出泥淖.

他要征服那一度驾驭自己的恶魔。

时间尚不晚，他还算年轻，他要再现当年的雄心壮志，并坚定不移地去实现它。管风琴的庄重而甜美音调已经在他的内心深处引起了一场革命。

明天，他要去繁华的商业区找事干。有个皮货进口商一度让他当司机，明天找到他，接下这份差事。

他愿意做个煊赫一时的人物。

他要…… 　

 　   索比感到有只手按在他的胳膊上。他霍地扭过头来，只见一位警察的宽脸盘。“你在这儿干什么呀？”警察问道。“没干什么，”索比说。“那就跟我来，”警察说。 　　

        第二天早晨，警察局法庭的法官宣判道：“索比在布莱克韦尔岛，监禁三个月。” 　

                      　英文原版 　　

The Cop And The Anthem 　

O Henry 　　

     On his bench in Madison Square Soapy moved uneasily, and when Soapy moves uneasily on his bench in the park, you may know that winter is near. 　　

      A dead leaf fell in Soapy's lap. That was Jack Frost's card. Jack is kind to the regular residents of Madison Square, and gives them warning of his annual call. 　　

     Soapy realized the fact that the time had come for him to provide against the coming winter. And therefore he moved uneasily on his bench. 　　

     The winter ambitions of Soapy were not of the highest. In them there were no dreams of Mediterranean voyages, of blue Southern skies or the Vesuvian Bay. Three months on the Island was what his soul desired. Three months of assured board and bed and good company, safe from north winds and policemen, seemed to Soapy the most desirable thing. 　　

      For years the hospitable Blackwell prison had been his winter refuge. Just as the more fortunate New Yorkers had bought their tickets to Palm Beach and the Riviera each winter, so Soapy had made his arrangements for his annual journey to the island. And now the time had come. On the night before three Sunday newspapers, put under his coat, about his feet and over his lap, had not helped him against the cold as he slept on his bench near the fountain in the old square. There were many institutions of charity in New York where he might receive lodging and food, but to Soapy's proud spirit the gifts of charity were undesirable. You must pay in humiliation of spirit for everything received at the hands of philanthropy. So it was better to be a guest of the law. 　　Soapy, having decided to go to the Island, at once set about accomplishing his desire. There were many easy ways of doing this. The pleasantest was to dine at some good restaurant; and then, after declaring bankruptcy, be handed over to a policeman. A magistrate would do the rest. 　　

    Soapy left his bench and went out of the square and up Broadway. He stopped at the door of a glittering cafe. He was shaven and his coat was decent. If he could reach a table in the restaurant, the portion of him that would show above the table would raise no doubt in the waiter's mind. A roasted duck, thought Soapy, with a bottle of wine, and then some cheese, a cup of coffee and a cigar would be enough. Such a dinner would make him happy, for the journey to his winter refuge. 　　

     But as Soapy entered the restaurant door, the head waiter's eye fell upon his shabby trousers and old shoes. Strong hands turned him about and pushed him in silence and haste out into the street. 　　

     Soapy turned off Broadway. Some other way of entering the desirable refuge must be found. 　　
     At a corner of Sixth Avenue Soapy took a stone and sent it through the glass of a glittering shop window. People came running around the corner, a policeman at the head of them. Soapy stood still, with his hands in his pockets, and smiled at the sight of the policeman. 　　

    "Where is the man that has done that?" asked the policeman. 　　

     "Don't you think that I have had something to do with it?" said Soapy, not without sarcasm, but friendly. 　　

    The policeman paid no attention to Soapy. Men who break windows do not remain to speak with policemen. They run away. He saw a man running to catch a car and rushed after him with his stick in his hand. Soapy, with disgust in his heart, walked along, twice unsuccessful. 　　

     On the opposite side of the street was a little restaurant for people with large appetites and modest purses. Soapy entered this place without difficulty. He sat at a table and ate beefsteak and pie. And then he told the waiter that he had no money. 　

　   "Now go and call a cop," said Soapy. "And don't keep a gentleman waiting." 　　

     "No cop for you," said the waiter. "Hey!" 　　

     In a moment Soapy found himself lying upon his left ear on the pavement. He arose with difficulty, and beat the dust from his clothes. Arrest seemed a rosy dream. The Island seemed very far away. A policeman who stood before a drug store two doors away laughed and walked down the street. Soapy seemed to liberty. 　　

     After another unsuccessful attempt to be arrested for persecution a young woman, Soapy went further toward the district of theatres. 　　

     When he came upon a policeman standing in front of a glittering theatre, he caught at the straw of "disorderly conduct." 　　

    On the sidewalk Soapy began to sing drunken songs at the top of his voice. He danced, howled, and otherwise disturbed the peace. 　　

    The policeman turned his back to Soapy, and said to a citizen: 　　

    "It is one of the Yale lads celebrating their football victory over the Hartford College. Noisy, but no harm. We have instructions not to arrest them." 　　

    Sadly, Soapy stopped his useless singing and dancing. A sudden fear seized him. Was he immune to arrest? Would never a policeman lay hands on him? The Island seemed an unattainable Arcadia. He buttoned his thin coat against the north wind. 　　

    In a cigar store he saw a well-dressed man lighting a cigar. He had set his silk umbrella by the door, Soapy entered the store, took the umbrella, and went out with it slowly. The man with the cigar followed hastily. 　　

    "My umbrella," he said. 　　
 
    "Oh, is it?" said Soapy. "Well, why don't you call a policeman? I took it. Your umbrella! Why don't you call a cop? There stands one on the corner." 　　

     The umbrella owner slowed his steps. Soapy did likewise. The policeman looked at them curiously. 　　

     "Of course," said the umbrella man, "that is - well, you know how these mistakes occur - I - if it's your umbrella I hope you'll excuse me - I picked it up this morning in a restaurant - if it is yours, why - I hope you'll -" 　　

     "Of course it's mine," said Soapy. 　

　   The ex-umbrella man retreated. The policeman hurried to help a well-dressed woman across the street. 　　

     Soapy walked eastward. He threw the umbrella angrily into a pit. He was angry with the men who wear helmets and carry clubs. Because he wanted to be arrested, they seemed to regard him as a king who could do no wrong. 　　

     At last Soapy reached one of the avenues to the east where it was not so noisy. He went towards Madison Square, for the home instinct remains even when the home is a park bench. 　　

     But on a quiet corner Soapy stopped before an old church. Through one window a soft light glowed, where, no doubt, the organist played a Sunday anthem. For there came to Soapy's ears sweet music that caught and held him at the iron fence. 　　

    The moon was shining; cars and pedestrians were few; birds twittered sleepily under the roof. And the anthem that the organist played cemented Soapy to the iron fence, for he had known it well in the days when his life contained such things as mothers and roses and ambitions and friends. 　　

    The influence of the music and the old church produced a sudden and wonderful change in Soapy's soul. He saw with horror the pit into which he had fallen. He thought of his degraded days, dead hopes and wrecked faculties. 　　

    And also in a moment a strong impulse moved him to battle with his desperate fate. He would pull himself out of this pit; he would make a man of himself again. There was time; he was young yet. Those sweet organ notes had set up a revolution in him. Tomorrow he would be somebody in the world. He would - 　　

    Soapy felt a hand on his arm. He looked quickly around into the broad face of a policeman. 　

　  "What are you doing here?" asked the policeman. 　　

    "Nothing," said Soapy. 　

　  "Then come along," said the policeman. 　

　"Three months on the Island," said the Magistrate in the Police Court the next morning.