(单词翻译:单击)
听力文本
Two Thanksgiving Day Gentlemen. There is one day that is ours. There is one day when all Americans go back to the old home and eat a big dinner. Bless the day. The President gives it to us every year. Sometimes he talks about the people who had the first Thanksgiving. They were the Puritans. They were some people who landed on our Atlantic shore. We don't really remember much about them. But those people ate a large bird called turkey on the first Thanksgiving Day. So we have turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, if we have enough money to buy turkey. That is a tradition. Yes. Thanksgiving Day is the one day of the year that is purely American. And now here is the story to prove to you that we have old traditions in this new country. They are growing older more quickly than traditions in old countries. That is because we are so young and full of life. We do everything quickly.
Stuffy Pete sat down on a seat in the New York City park named Union Square. It was the third seat to the right as you enter Union Square from the east. Every Thanksgiving for nine years he had sat down there at one in the afternoon. Every time, things had happened to him. They were wonderful things. They made his heart feel full of joy—and they filled another part of him, too. They filled the part below his heart. On those other Thanksgiving Days he had been hungry. (It is a strange thing. There are rich people who wish to help the poor. But many of them seem to think that the poor are hungry only on Thanksgiving Day.) But today Pete was not hungry. He had come from a dinner so big that he had almost no power to move. His light green eyes looked out from a gray face on which there was still a little food. His breath was short. His body had suddenly become too big for his clothes; it seemed ready to break out of them. They were torn. You could see his skin through a hole in the front of his shirt. But the cold wind, with snow in it, felt pleasantly cool to him.
For Stuffy Pete was overheated with the warmth of all he had had to eat. The dinner had been much too big. It seemed to him that his dinner had included all the turkey and all the other food in the whole world. So he sat, very, very full. He looked out at the world without interest, as if it could never offer him anything more.The dinner had not been expected. He had been passing a large house near the beginning of that great broad street called Fifth Avenue. It was the home of two old ladies of an old family. These two old ladies had a deep love of traditions. There were certain things they always did. On Thanksgiving Day at noon they always sent a servant to stand at the door. There he waited for the first hungry person who walked by. The servant had orders to bring that person into the house and feed him until he could eat no more. Stuffy Pete happened to pass by on his way to the park. The servant had gathered him in. Tradition had been followed. Stuffy Pete sat in the park looking straight before him for ten minutes. Then he felt a desire to look in another direction. With a very great effort, he moved his head slowly to the left. Then his eyes grew wider and his breath stopped. His feet in their torn shoes at the ends of his short legs moved about on the ground. For the Old Gentleman was coming across Fourth Avenue toward Stuffy's seat.
Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years the Old Gentleman had come there to find Stuffy Pete on his seat. That was a thing that the Old Gentleman was trying to make into a tradition. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years he had found Stuffy there. Then he had led Stuffy to a restaurant and watched him eat a big dinner. They do these things more easily in old countries like England. They do them without thinking about them. But in this young country, we must think about them. In order to build a tradition, we must do the same thing again and again for a long time. The Old Gentleman loved his country. He believed he was helping to build a great American tradition. And he had been doing very well. Nine years is a long time here. The Old Gentleman moved, straight and proud, toward the tradition that he was building. Truly feeding Stuffy Pete once a year was not a very important tradition. There are greater and more important traditions in England. But it was a beginning. It proved that a tradition was at least possible in America. The Old Gentleman was thin and tall and sixty. He was dressed all in black. He wore eye-glasses. His hair was whiter and thinner than it had been last year. His legs did not seem as strong as they had seemed the year before.
As this kind Old Gentleman came toward him, Stuffy began to shake and his breath was shorter. He wished he could fly away. But he could not move from his seat. "Good morning," said the Old Gentleman. "I am glad to see that the troubles of another year have not hurt you. You continue to move in health about the beautiful world. For that blessing you and I can give thanks on this day of thanksgiving. If you will come with me, my man, I will give you a dinner that will surely make your body feel as thankful as your mind." That is what the Old Gentleman said every time. Every Thanksgiving Day for nine years. The words themselves were almost a tradition. Always before, they had been music in Stuffy's ear. But now he looked up at the Old Gentleman's face with tears of suffering in his eyes. The snow turned quickly to water when it fell upon his hot face. But the Old Gentleman was shaking with the cold. He turned away, with his back to the wind, and he did not see Stuffy's eyes. Stuffy had always wondered why the Old Gentleman seemed sad as he spoke. He did not know that it was because the Old Gentleman was wishing that he had a son. A son would come there after he himself was gone. A son would stand proud and strong before Stuffy, and say: "In remembrance of my father." Then it would really be a tradition.
But the Old Gentleman had no family. He lived in a room in one of the old houses near the park. In the winter he grew a few flowers there. In the spring he walked on Fifth Avenue. In the summer he lived in a farmhouse in the hills outside New York, and he talked of a strange bug he hoped some day to find. In the fall season he gave Stuffy a dinner. These were the things that filled the Old Gentleman's life. Stuffy Pete looked up at him for a half minute, helpless and very sorry for himself. The Old Gentleman's eyes were bright with the giving leisure. His face was getting older every year, but his clothes were very clean and fresh. And then Stuffy made a strange noise. He was trying to speak. As the Old Gentleman had heard the noise nine times before, he understood it. He knew that Stuffy was accepting. "Thank you. I'm very hungry." Stuffy was very full, but he understood that he was part of a tradition. His desire for food on Thanksgiving Day was not his own. It belonged to this kind Old Gentleman. True, America is free. But there are some things that must be done. The Old Gentleman led Stuffy to the restaurant and to the same table where they had always gone. They were known here. "Here comes that old man," said a waiter, "that buys that old no-good fellow a dinner every Thanksgiving."
The Old Gentleman sat at the table, watching. The waiters brought food, and more food. And Stuffy began to eat. No great and famous soldier ever battled more strongly against an enemy. The turkey and all the other food were gone almost as quickly as they appeared. Stuffy saw the look of happiness on the Old Gentleman's face. He continued to eat in order to keep it there. In an hour the battle was finished. "Thank you," Stuffy said. "Thank you for my Thanksgiving dinner." Then he stood up heavily and started to go to the wrong door. A waiter turned him in the right direction. The Old Gentleman carefully counted out $1.30, and left fifteen cents more for the waiter. They said goodbye, as they did each year, at the door. The Old Gentleman went south, and Stuffy went north. Stuffy went around the first corner, and stood for one minute. Then he fell. There he was found. He was picked up and taken to a hospital. They put him on a bed, and began to try to discover what strange sickness had made him fall. And an hour later the Old Gentleman was brought to the same hospital. And they put him on another bed, and began to try to discover what his sickness could be. After a little time one of the doctors met another doctor, and they talked. "That nice old gentleman over there," he said. "Do you know what's wrong with him? He's almost dead for the need of food. A very proud old man, I think. He told me he has had nothing to eat for three days."
重点解析
1.be full of 充满了；装满
I'm sure this team must be full of gaiety.
我相信这个集体一定是充满了快乐。
2.happen to 碰巧；偶然
What if anything should happen to the child?
万一这孩子出了差错怎么办？
3.pick up 捡起；学会
We drove to the airport the next morning to pick up Susan.
我们第二天早晨开车去机场接苏姗。
4.look up 抬头看；仰望
He turned his face to look up at the sky in a carefree manner.
他仰首望着天，做出一副满不在乎的神气。
参考译文
两位感恩节的绅士。有一天是属于我们的。到了那一天，所有美国人都回到自己的老家，共进丰盛的佳肴。祝福那一天吧，是罗斯福总统让我们每年庆祝它。有时，他谈起庆祝感恩节的第一批人，他们是清教徒，是登陆我们大西洋海岸的人，我们不太记得他们。但是，这些人在第一个感恩节吃了一种名为火鸡的大鸟。所以，如果我们有钱买火鸡的话，感恩节大餐上就要吃火鸡。这是一个传统。对，一年中唯有感恩节这一天，才纯粹是美国的。现在，有一个故事可以向你们证明：在这个新国度，我们也有一些日趋古老的传统，这些传统趋向古旧的速度比在古老的国家快得多。那是因为我们如此年轻，充满活力，我们做事迅速。
斯塔弗·皮特坐在纽约市公园里联合广场的一个座位上，从东面进入联合广场时，它是右边的第三个座位。九年来，每逢感恩节，他总是在一点钟的时候坐在老地方。他每次这样一坐，总有一些意外的遭遇。这些事让他心中满是喜悦，也填充了他的另一部分，让他腹中饱饱。在其他感恩节里，他一直很饿。（有想帮助穷人的富人，但许多人似乎认为穷人只在感恩节才会饿，这真是一件怪事。）但今天皮特不饿，他吃了一顿非常丰盛的午餐，几乎没有动的力气。他浅绿色的眼睛从发灰的脸上望出去，脸上还挂着些食物。他呼吸急促，身体突然涨大到似乎要摆脱衣服的束缚。衣服都撑裂了，可以透过衬衫前面的洞看到他的皮肤。但是，寒风中夹杂的雪，给他带来一种愉悦的凉爽感。
因为那顿菜肴所产生的热量，使得斯塔弗·皮特不胜负担。午餐太丰盛了，在他看来，他的午餐包括了全世界所有的火鸡和其他食物。所以，他肚子涨涨地坐着，毫无兴趣地注视着这个世界，仿佛它再也不能为他提供任何东西了。那顿饭完全出乎他意料之外。他经过一座大房子，就挨着那条宽阔的第五大道的起点。房子里住着两位家系古老、尊重传统的老太太。有些事，她们总会去做。感恩节中午，她们总是让一个仆人站在门口，吩咐他把第一个饥饿的过路人请进屋，让他大吃大喝，饱餐一顿。斯塔弗·皮特去公园时，碰巧路过那里，仆人把他请进屋。成全了大房子里的传统。斯塔弗·皮特坐在公园里，朝前面直瞪瞪地望了十分钟后，感觉想换个方向看。他费了好大的劲儿，才慢慢把头扭向左面。这当儿，他睁大双眼，呼吸骤停，短腿下那穿着破皮鞋的双脚在地上移动着。因为那位老先生正穿过第四大道，朝他坐着的地方走来。
九年来的每一个感恩节，他总在这儿找到斯塔弗，然后带他去一家饭馆，看他美餐一顿。九年来，每逢感恩节，这位老先生总是来寻找坐在这的斯塔弗·皮特。老先生想把这件事变成一个传统。在英国等古老的国家里做这类事是很容易的，根本不用想。然而在美国这个年轻的国家里，要做这些事之前必须三思。为了建立一种传统，我们必须长久地重复去做这件事。老先生热爱自己的国家，他认为自己是在帮助美国建立一个伟大的传统。他一直都做得很好，九年在这可算时间不短了。这位老先生自豪地朝着他所培植的传统径直地走了过去。不错，每年请斯塔弗·皮特吃顿饭不是什么非常重要的传统，英国有比这更隆重更重要的传统。但这是一个开始，它至少证明在美国树立一种习俗并不是不可能的。老先生又高又瘦，年过花甲。他穿着一身黑衣服，带着一副眼镜。他的头发比去年更花白、也更稀疏了，腿脚好像不如去年那么有劲了。
这位和蔼可亲的老先生向他走过来，斯塔弗·皮特开始发抖，呼吸急促，他希望自己能飞走。但他根本不能从座位上挪开。“你好。”老先生说，“我很高兴见到，又一年的历难对你并没有什么影响，你仍旧很健康地在这个美好的世界上逍遥自在。为了这一点幸福，我们可以在感恩节这天表示感谢。假如你愿意跟我一起来，朋友，我准备请你吃顿饭，让你的身心都充满感激。”老先生每次都这样说，九年来的每一个感恩节都是这样，这些话本身几乎成了一种传统。以前在斯塔弗听来，它们象音乐一般美妙。现今他却愁眉苦脸，眼泪汪汪地抬头看着老先生的脸。雪落在他炙热的面颊上时，迅速化为雪水。但是老先生冷得发抖，他转过身背对着风，没有看见斯塔弗的眼睛。斯塔弗一直纳闷，老先生说这番话时的神情为什么总是很悲哀。他不明白，因为老先生希望有一个儿子，能在自己去世后接着做这件事。一个壮实自豪的儿子，站在斯塔弗面前说：“为了纪念家父。” 那样一来，这就会成为一种传统了。
然而老先生没有家人，他住在公园附近的一栋老房子里。冬天，他在房子那种了些花。春天，他会在第五大道上散步。夏天，他住在纽约郊外小山上的一个农舍里，念叨着希望有一天能找到的奇怪虫子。秋天，他会请斯塔弗吃顿饭。老先生干的事就是这些。斯塔弗抬着头，瞅了他一会儿，自怨自艾，又感到束手无策。老先生的眼睛里闪出为善快乐的光亮，面容每年都在衰老，但他的衣服却非常干净清新。斯塔弗发出一个怪声，他想说些什么。这种声音老先生已经听过九次了，他明白斯塔弗用它表示接受。“谢谢你，我饿极了。”斯塔弗感到腹中很撑，但他明白他是传统的一部分。他在感恩节那天对食物的渴望并不是他自己的，而是属于这位老先生。没错，美国是一个自由的国家，但有一些事情必须要做。老先生带着斯塔弗去了餐馆，坐到他们一直坐的那张桌子。餐馆里的人认识他们。“老家伙来啦，”一个侍者说，“他每年感恩节都请那个穷汉吃上一顿。”
老先生坐在桌子旁看着，侍者端来食物，一盘接一盘，斯塔弗开始吃了起来。没有哪位伟大的名将能比他更坚决地与敌人作战，火鸡和其他食物一端上来就不见了。斯塔弗看见老先生脸上露出幸福的表情。他继续吃，不想让老人的笑容消失。一小时后，战斗结束了。“谢谢你，”斯塔弗说。“谢谢你的感恩节大餐。”然后他沉重地站起来，找错了餐厅的出口，侍者把他转到正确的方向。老先生仔仔细细地数出一块三毛钱，还给了侍者十五分做小费。他们像往年那样，在门口告别，老先生往南走，斯塔弗往北。斯塔弗转过第一个拐角后，站了一会儿就晕倒了。人们在那发现了他，把他送到医院。他们把他放到病床上，开始试着寻找是什么怪病让他摔倒。一小时后，老先生也被送到了医院。他们把他也放到病床上，开始试着找出他的病因。过了一会儿，一个医生碰到另一个医生，他们聊了起来。“那边那个体面的老先生，”他说，“你知道他怎么了吗？他几乎要饿死了。我想他是个很骄傲的人，他告诉我说，他已经三天没吃东西了。”
