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By the late forties and fifties no one rolled his own any more (and few women smoked) in my hometown, Eatontown, Georgia. The tobacco industry, coupled with Hollywood movies in which both hero and heroine smoked like chimneys, won over completely people like my father, who were hopelessly addicted to cigarettes. He never looked as dapper as Prince Albert, though; he continued to look like a poor, overweight, overworked colored man with too large a family; black, with a very white cigarette stuck in his mouth.
到40年代末、50年代初，在我的家乡佐治亚州的伊顿镇，已经没有人自己手工卷烟了（而且几乎没有女人抽烟)。烟草业，再加上影片中男女主角都是烟鬼的好莱坞电影，把像我父亲那样的人彻底征服了，他们无可救药地染上了烟瘾。然而，父亲并没有像阿尔伯特亲王那样衣冠楚楚；他看上去仍然是个贫穷、肥胖、为养活一大家子人而拼命干活的有色人种的男子，一个嘴里叼着雪白香烟的黑人。
I do not remember when he started to cough. Perhaps it was unnoticeable at first. A little hacking in the morning as he lit his first cigarette upon getting out of bed. By the time I was my daughter's age, his breath was a wheeze, embarrassing to hear; he could not climb stairs without resting every third or fourth step. It was not unusual for him to cough for an hour.
我不记得父亲是什么时候开始咳嗽的。也许开始时并不明显，只是在清晨一下床便点燃 第一支香烟时才有点干咳。在我到了我女儿这个年龄时，他喘气时总是呼哧呼哧的，听了让人感到不安；他上楼时每走三四级台阶就得停下来休息一会儿。连续咳嗽一个小时对他来说是常事。
