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In An Attic.
贫民窟
Friday, 28th.
星期五，28日。
Yesterday afternoon I went with my mother and my sister Sylvia, to carry the linen to the poor woman recommended by the newspaper: I carried the bundle; Sylvia had the paper with the initials of the name and the address. We climbed to the very roof of a tall house, to a long corridor with many doors. My mother knocked at the last; it was opened by a woman who was still young, blond and thin, and it instantly struck me that I had seen her many times before, with that very same blue kerchief that she wore on her head.
昨日午后，我和母亲、雪尔维姊姊三人，送布给报纸上记载的穷妇人。我拿了布，姊姊拿了写着那妇人住址姓名的条子。我们到了一处很高的家屋的屋顶小阁里，那里有长的走廊，沿廊有许多室，母亲到最末了的一室敲了门。门开了，走出一个年纪还轻，白而瘦小的妇人来，我突然想起这是一向时常看见的妇人，头上常常包着青布。
"Are you the person of whom the newspaper says so and so?" asked my mother.
“你就是报纸上所说的那位吗？”母亲问。
"Yes, signora, I am."
“顺，是的。”
"Well, we have brought you a little linen."
“那么，有点布在这里，请你收了。”
Then the woman began to thank us and bless us, and could not make enough of it. Meanwhile I espied in one corner of the bare, dark room, a boy kneeling in front of a chair, with his back turned towards us, who appeared to be writing; and he really was writing, with his paper on the chair and his inkstand on the floor. How did he manage to write thus in the dark? While I was saying this to myself, I suddenly recognized the red hair and the coarse jacket of Crossi, the son of the vegetable-pedler, the boy with the useless arm. I told my mother softly, while the woman was putting away the things.
那妇人非常欢喜，好像说不出答谢的话来。这时我瞥见有一个小孩，在那没有家具的暗腾腾的小室里，背向外，靠着椅子好像在写字。仔细一看，确是在那里写字，椅子上抹着纸，墨水瓶摆在地板上。我想，在这样暗黑的房子里，如何写字呢。忽然看见那小孩长着赤发，穿着破的上衣，才恍然悟到：原来这就是那卖菜人家的儿子克洛西，就是那一只手有残疾的克洛西。乘他母亲收拾东西的时候，我轻轻地告诉了母亲。
"Hush!" replied my mother; "perhaps he will feel ashamed to see you giving alms to his mother: don't speak to him."
“不要做声！”母亲说，“如果他觉到自己的母亲受朋友的布施，多少难为情呢。不要作声！”
