E.B. White
Once More to the Lake (1941)

埃尔文·布鲁克斯·怀特（1899－1985），美国当代著名散文家、评论家，以散文名世，“其文风冷峻清丽，辛辣幽默，自成一格”。生于纽约蒙特弗农，毕业于康奈尔大学。作为《纽约客》主要撰稿人的怀特一手奠定了影响深远的 “《纽约客》文风”。怀特对这个世界上的一切都充满关爱，他的道德与他的文章一样山高水长。除了他终生挚爱的随笔之外，他还为孩子们写了三本书：《斯图尔特鼠小弟》（又译《精灵鼠小弟》）、《夏洛的网》与《吹小号的天鹅》，同样成为儿童与成人共同喜爱的文学经典。
        One summer, along about 1904, my father rented a camp on a lake in Maine and took us all there for the month of August. We all got ringworm from some kittens and had to rub Pond's Extract on our arms and legs night and morning, and my father rolled over in a canoe with all his clothes on; but outside of that the vacation was a success and from then on none of us ever thought there was any place in the world like that lake in Maine. We returned summer after summer--always on August 1st for one month. I have since become a salt-water man, but sometimes in summer there are days when the restlessness of the tides and the fearful cold of the sea water and the incessant wind which blows across the afternoon and into the evening make me wish for the placidity of a lake in the woods. A few weeks ago this feeling got so strong I bought myself a couple of bass hooks and a spinner and returned to the lake where we used to go, for a week's fishing and to revisit old haunts.
        有一年夏天，一九零四年左右吧，我父亲在缅因州某个湖的湖畔租了一处营地，带全家去那里度过了八月份。我们全都因为几只猫而传染上了癣症，不得不早晚两次往胳膊和腿上抹药膏，我父亲则和衣睡在小划子里；但除此之外，那个假期过得很好，从那时起，我们就都认为缅因州的那个湖是世上独一无二的地方。我们年复一年去度夏——总在八月一日去，过上一个月。后来，我就成了个逐海而居的人，但有时在夏天的某些日子，潮汐的起落、海水那令人生惧的低温还有从下午一直吹到晚上的风，让我向往起林间湖泊的那种宁静。几周前，这种感觉变得如此强烈，以至于我买了几个钓鲈鱼的鱼钩和一个旋式鱼饵，又回到我们以前常去的那个湖钓了一周的鱼，算是一次旧地重游。

   I took along my son, who had never had any fresh water up his nose and who had seen lily pads only from train windows. On the journey over to the lake I began to wonder what it would be like. I wondered how time would have marred this unique, this holy spot--the coves and streams, the hills that the sun set behind, the camps and the paths behind the camps. I was sure that the tarred road would have found it out and I wondered in what other ways it would be desolated. It is strange how much you can remember about places like that once you allow your mind to return into the grooves which lead back. You remember one thing, and that suddenly reminds you of another thing. I guess I remembered clearest of all the early mornings, when the lake was cool and motionless, remembered how the bedroom smelled of the lumber it was made of and of the wet woods whose scent entered through the screen. The partitions in the camp were thin and did not extend clear to the top of the rooms, and as I was always the first up I would dress softly so as not to wake the others, and sneak out into the sweet outdoors and start out in the canoe, keeping close along the shore in the long shadows of the pines. I remembered being very careful never to rub my paddle against the gunwale for fear of disturbing the stillness of the cathedral.
        我带上了儿子，他从未亲近过淡水区，只是从火车窗口里看到过睡莲。去那个湖的路上，我开始琢磨它会变成什么样，想知道时光会怎样损害这个独特的神圣地点——小湾，溪流，太阳在其后落下的小山，营房及后面的小路等。我肯定沥青路会通到了湖边，但还是想知道它会以别的什么方式荒凉着。奇怪的是，一旦让自己的思路回到通往过去的老路上，关于那种地方，就能记起那么多事。你记起一件事，突然就让你想到另外一件事。我想我记得最清楚的是清晨，当时湖水清凉，波平如镜。还记起睡房里怎样有股建房所用木材的气味，还有透过纱窗的潮湿树林味。营房的隔板不厚，而且没有接到房顶。因为我总是第一个起床，我会悄悄穿好衣服，以免吵醒其他人，然后溜到宜人的户外把小划子划出去，一直紧挨着岸边划，就在松树长长的树影下。我记得我很小心，从来没把桨擦着舷边划，怕的是打扰那种教堂般的宁静。