THE LOVER Part I 

By Marguerite Duras

 

ONE DAY, I was already old, in the entrance of a public place a man came up to me. He introduced himself and said:“I've known you for years. Everyone says you were beautiful when you were young, but I want to tell you I think you're more beautiful now than then. Rather than your face as a young woman, I prefer your face as it is now. Ravaged.”

我已经老了。有一天，一个男人主动向我走来，介绍自己，那是在一处公共场所的大厅里。他对我说：“我认识你，永远都不会忘记。那时你很年轻，大家都说你美丽极了，现在我特意来告诉你，在我看来，现在的你比年轻时更美，你现在这张备受摧残的面孔比年轻时娇嫩的面孔更让我热爱。”

 

I often think of the image only I can see now, and of which I've never spoken. It's always there, in the same silence, amazing. It's the only image of myself I like, the only one in which I recognize myself, in which I delight.我常常想起这个形象，想起这个只有我一个人能看到、并且从来不曾和别人说过的形象。它永远让人在悄无声息中惊叹。它是所有形象中唯一能让我感到愉悦的，只有它的存在，我才能认识自己，并且心醉神迷。

 

Very early in my life it was too late. It was already too late when I was eighteen. Between eighteen and twenty-five my face took off in a new direction. I grew old at eighteen. I don’t know if it’s the same for everyone, I’ve never asked. But I believe I’ve heard of the way time can suddenly accelerate on people when they’re going through even the most youthful and highly esteemed stages of life.

我很小的时候，一切都太迟了。在我十八岁的时候就已经太晚了。在我的十八岁到二十五岁之间，我的脸开始有了变化。我十八岁就变老了。我不知道是不是每个人都一样，我从来没问过。但我相信我听说过时间可以突然加速，即使在最年轻和最备受宠爱的年华。

 

My ageing was very sudden. I saw it spread over my features one by one, changing the relationship between them, making the eyes larger, the expression sadder, the mouth more final, leaving great creases in the forehead.衰老的过程是冷酷无情的。我眼看着岁月在我脸上刻下痕迹，我的容颜渐渐变得衰老，眼睛越来越大了，而且光却渐渐地暗淡无神，嘴唇僵硬木讷，额头上也满是皱纹。

 

But instead of being dismayed I watched this process with the same sort of interest i might have taken in the reading of a book. And I knew I was right, that one day it would slow down and take its normal course. 这一切并不让我觉得恐惧，相反，我带着读一本有趣的书籍的兴致，观察着衰老在我的面容上肆意践踏。我相信，衰老总有一天会放慢步伐，按照正常的速度奇安静的，这不会错。

 

The people who knew me at seventeen, when I went to France, were surprised when they saw me again two years later, at nineteen. And I've kept it ever since, the new face I had then. 那些在我十七岁回到法国认识我的人，在两年后见到十九岁的我，一定会很诧异。虽然我的面容已经大变，但我毕竟还是把它保留下来了。

 

It has been my face. It's got older still, of course, but less, comparatively, than it would otherwise have done. It's scored with deep, dry wrinkles, the skin is cracked. But my face hasn't collapsed, as some with fine features have done. It's kept the same contours, but its substance has been laid waste. I have a face laid waste.

他是我曾经的面孔。他虽然已经变老了，肯定是老了，但比起它应该变成的样子，却也没有老到那种地步。我现在有一张布满皱纹的脸，皮肤也干枯了。可它却不想一些纤细脆弱的面孔那样被毁于一旦，它仍然保持了原有的轮廓，只是，它实际上已经被毁掉了。我的容貌是被摧毁了。