(单词翻译:单击)
听力文本
Our story today is called Singing Woman. It was written by Ada Jack Carver in 1927. She won an O. Henry Award for the story. Singing Woman is about an old professional mourner in the southern state of Louisiana. She lives on Albertville, a community of French-speaking people of mixed race. They are part black, part white. Now, here is Mary Tillotson with the story. Little by little, Albertville was changing and the old ways were disappearing. People did not even die as they used to in any brides with time to receive the sacrament and be pardoned for their sins. They died just anywhere, everywhere killed by trains or the growing number of automobiles that raced by on the big new roads. No wondered the buryings were often poor, hurried affairs without even a singing woman.
Oriate and her close friend, dead old Josie were the only singing women left on Albertville. There was a time when a singing woman was as necessary as a priest. No one who amounted to anything would be buried without a professional mourner. Nowadays, people seemed to have lost the fear, the dignity of death. They did not care how they died or were born. They just came into and went out of the world, any old way. All these troubled Oriate. She sat in her corner and mumbled and grumbled to God about it. "Look liking nothing in right," Numbly used to be. It had been nearly 10 years now since Oriate had wailed for a funeral. Her friend Josephine had had the last one. That was 6 years ago when Madam Mary died. That made 98 for Josephine and 99 for herself. She was one funeral ahead of her friend. How proud Oriate was of her record. She, Oriate, had sung for more buryings than any singing woman in the parish. Of course, old Josephine was a mighty close second. Oriate kept a record of her own and Josephine's funerals in a little black book locked up in a safe place. On one page was her own name Oriate; and underneath it 99 crosses in neat little rows of five. On the opposite page, was Josephine's name and beneath it 98 crosses in neat little rows of five. Well, they had served death long and loyally, she and Josephine. There was a time when as a special treat, Oriate would take out her funeral book and named the crosses. This one was Maradio barred, and this one is her daughter. Here was all way who died at time of Coloracam in 1860.
Sometimes, Oriate wondered sadly if she would ever wail again. There was, on Albertville, only one-person left who, if he died, would want a wailing woman. This was Tony Fildbear, the only show on Albertville, older than Oriate. Tony and Oriate and Josephine had been young folks together. Now, it became a sort of game between the two women who would get Tony when he died. "If I get Tony," Oriate would say, "me, I have two more crosses than you, I will have a hundred." And Josephine sitting back in her chair would laugh, "minority if I get him we'll be even at them, my friend." Tony himself and all old men were pleased with the fast they made over him, sometimes he would joke with them when he met them in a church. "Well, well, old and *, I'm yet, Oriate love both you girls, just wait me, I'll show you." Sometimes, when the weather was fine and the sun not too hot or too bright, Oriate would take her stick and hobble down to Josephine's house to talk of old times. What grand living and dying they're used to be back in steamboat days.
It was like remembering a wedding festival or a muddy grave to look back to the yellow fever scare of 1890. "A funeral everyday and sometimes two." She and Josephine had had their hands for shocks. The land was too healthy now what was training the swarm in such. The people would get into a pity out waiting death like that. Good thing after all that the automobiles bumped some of them off, Outstate would never quit the earth. Sometimes, Oriate and Josephine would make wild little jokes, slapping at the flights with fear untiring fans. "I've seen Tony last week at the church. He was looking weak, may know?" And both would laugh. He aimed her too long, but old Tony who for almost 20 years has had one foot in the grave look like he meant to hang on to the earth for ever and ever, Amen. He has always been like that, a lover of life and living. Hey, Lord, what a lad old Tony used to be. What a way with the girls."
It was on a terribly hot August day, but Tony Fildbear had a stroke. Oriate's grandson came in and told her about it. Oriate was excited, "So, Tony was sick?" "Very low." She got down some coffee and got her stick and was off to Josphine's house. She was so heavy with news, she could hardly breathe. "Ah, well, poor old Tony was dying. Which one would he want to sing for him, herself or old Josephine?" A week went by and another, and it began to look as if old Tony did not mean to die after all. It was just like Tony to keep death waiting to play with death like that. Every night, Oriate got out her funeral book, 99 crosses for herself, a record any singing woman might be proud of. If only she could get one more to complete her final five if only she could get Tony. How she would crow over Josephine then, "Me, I got one hundred crosses, one hundred funerals I've sung for." Then, one night in late September, Tony died and his son came to ask Oriate to the funeral. "Papa, he told us to get you, the funeral is tomorrow at 10." In the morning, when Oriate awakened, she found that something terrible had happened to her voice. It was gone. She could not speak too much excitement and she let herself get wet outside. Her grandchildren put warm things on her throat and gave her a Rome toddy. But it did no good. Her throat hurt when she opened mouth. She sounded like a frog. She had to stay in bed. In the evening, the family returned from the burying, but they said nothing about the funeral and how nice Josphine's song and carried on. When Oriate thought no one was looking, she took out her funeral book from under her pillow and made a cross mark under Josephine's name. Now, they were even, each had 99 crosses. Her old hands shook, and one tear rolled out of her one eye. The next day, Oriate awoke. She heard much excitement around the house. She sat up against her pillow. Her grandchildren crowded around her bed and told her that Josephine had gotten sick in the night, and passed away early this morning. "How do you feel, granny, if Josephine rolled away. Josephine asked for you in the night to come in singing for her funeral." "Well, Lord you, love you." All day, the children made preparations to take Oriate to Josephine's funeral. They said, "You stay in bed and rest many so your voice will be good tomorrow."
The next morning, they came in to help her when she was dressed and ready to go. They brought her the funeral book, "Now, let me look, mark it down one hundred funerals. You've sung for more burying than anyone in the parish." But Oriate brushed them away. "Don't interfere," she cackled, "you wait till I come home from Josephine's burial." She was unsteady on her feet as they started it out. She was so little, so little and thin. In her mourning veil, she looked like a little black bride. She hobbled painfully, slowly along the road. There was not much strength left than her. A loneliness passed over her, a loneliness and heartache. "Josie," she called, "Josie, I'm coming." She reached the turn of the road where the willows grew and had to stop. She could go no further. She became dizzy, weaker, sick with fear. She turned her face toward Josephine's house and whispered, "Josie." Everything around her seemed less clear. A darkness took hold of her, "Josie, Josie. I believe my friend that after all. You and me will quit even."
重点解析
1.lock up 上锁；锁住
Mr Milner persuaded the federal prosecutors not to lock up his client.
米尔纳先生说服联邦检察官不把他的当事人关起来。
2.be pleased with 对……感到满意；喜欢
You can be pleased with nothing when you are not pleased with yourself.
当你对自己不满意你可能对所有的事不满意。
3.hang on to 坚持下去；紧紧抓住
And we also need to hang on to your luggage.
我们也要留下你的行李。
4.as if 好像；仿佛
It sounds as if you have grown apart from Tom.
听起来好像你和汤姆之间产生了隔阂。
参考译文
我们今天讲述的故事叫做《唱歌的女人》，作者艾达·杰克·卡弗于1927年撰写，她因该故事荣获欧·亨利奖。《唱歌的女人》讲述的是南部路易斯安那州一种古老的职业哀悼者。她居住在阿尔伯维尔，这是一个讲法语的社区，这里住着各个种族的人，一半黑人，一半白人。现在，由玛丽·蒂洛森讲述这个故事。阿尔伯维尔在渐渐发生改变，旧有的生活方式正在消逝。人们甚至没有像以往那样死去，那时新娘出嫁时有时间接受圣餐，也能为自己的罪孽获得赦免。他们会在任何地方死去，因为火车或越来越多在新修建的大路上行驶的汽车而丧生。难怪埋葬常常是草草了事，甚至没有唱歌的女人。
奥莉特和她的密友，老乔西是阿尔伯维尔仅存的唱歌女人。有一段时间，唱歌女和牧师一样必不可少。任何体面的人埋葬时，都会有专业的哀悼者。如今，人们似乎已经失去了对死亡的恐惧和尊严。他们不在乎自己是怎么死的，还是怎么生的。他们只是以旧有的方式来到这个世界后，又离开了。所有这些都困扰着奥莉特。她坐在角落里，咕哝着向上帝抱怨这件事。“看起来什么都不对劲，”像以前一样的麻木感。从奥莉特哭着参加葬礼到现在已经快十年了。她的朋友约瑟芬参加了最后一个。那是六年前玛丽夫人去世的时候。约瑟芬当时参加过98次，她自己参加了99次。她参加的葬礼次数比朋友多。奥莉特对她参加葬礼的记录感到自豪。她，奥莉特，比教区里任何一个唱歌女都唱得次数多。当然，老约瑟芬的次数仅排第二。奥莉特把她自己和约瑟芬参加的葬礼记录在一本小黑本里，这个小黑本锁在一个安全的地方。一页纸上写着她自己的名字奥莉特，下面有99个十字架，整齐地排成五行。在另一页上，是约瑟芬的名字，下面是98个十字架，整齐地排成五行。好吧，她和约瑟芬，她们为死神效忠已久。曾经有一段时间，作为特殊的款待，奥莉特会拿出她的葬礼小手册，然后给十字架命名。这一个是马拉迪奥，还有她女儿的。这就是1860年科洛拉卡姆时期去世的所有人。
有时，奥莉特伤心地想知道她是否还会哭泣。在阿尔伯维尔，只剩下一个人。如果他去世，他会希望有一位女性为他哭泣。这个人是托尼·菲尔德比，阿尔伯维尔唯一的一场表演，年纪比奥莉特还大。托尼、奥莉特和约瑟芬在年轻时曾待在一起。现在，情况变成托尼死后，这两个女人谁会得到为他的葬礼唱歌的机会成为了一种角逐。“如果我得到为托尼唱歌的机会，” 奥莉特会说，“我，我会比你多两个十字架，我就是一百个了。”坐在椅子上的约瑟芬会笑着说，“如果我得到他的话，我们就扯平了，我的朋友。”托尼本人和所有老人，都为她们对他做出的快速反应感到高兴，有时他会在教堂里遇到她们时，会跟她们开玩笑。“好吧，好吧，老了老了，我还没到时候，奥莉特，我爱你们这两个女孩，等等我，我给你们看。”有时，天气好，阳关不太热，也不是那么耀眼时，奥利特会拄着她的棍子蹒跚地走到约瑟芬的家里，谈论过往时光，她们过去在汽船上过得多美好啊。
回想1890年的黄热病恐慌，就像想起一场婚礼或覆盖泥土的坟墓。”每天一次葬礼，有时是两次。她和约瑟芬握着手感到震惊，这片土地太健康了。如果这般等待死亡，人们会感到遗憾。汽车撞倒他们中的一些人之后，奥莉特也永远不会离开这片土地。有时，奥莉特和约瑟芬会开一些疯狂的小玩笑。“我上周在教堂见过托尼，他看上去很虚弱，你也许知道了？”两个人都笑了。他瞄了她很长时间，但是老托尼已经有近20年时间，都是一只脚踩在坟墓里，他看起来像是要永远留在这片土地上，阿门。他一直都是这样，热爱生活和生命。嘿，上帝，老托尼以前是个小伙子啊，和姑娘们在一起真是太好了。”那是八月一个酷热的日子，但托尼·菲尔德比中风了。奥莉特的孙子进来告诉了她，奥莉特很兴奋，“那么，托尼病了？”“很虚弱。”她倒了些咖啡，拄着手杖，去了约瑟芬的家。她被这个消息搞得喘不过气来。“啊，好吧，可怜的老托尼快不行了。他、她自己、或是老约瑟芬想听哪首歌？”一周又一周过去了，看来老托尼终究不想死，就像托尼让死神等着和他玩一样。
每天晚上，奥莉特都会拿出她的葬礼小册子，她自己的99个十字架，这是任何一个唱歌女都会引以为豪的记录。要是她能得到给托尼唱歌的机会就好了，再多来一个，画出最后五个就好了。她怎么能对约瑟芬的情况感到幸灾乐祸呢，“我，我有100个十字架，我为100个葬礼唱过歌。”
后来，九月底的一天晚上，托尼去世了，他的儿子来邀请奥莉特参加葬礼。“父亲叫我们找你，葬礼是明天十点。”早晨，奥莉特醒来时，她发现自己的声音出了可怕的问题，声音不见了。她激动得说不出话来，就让自己在外面淋湿了。她的孙子们把温热的东西放在她的喉咙上，给了她一杯罗马式托迪酒，但没用。她开口时，喉咙会痛。她的声音听起来像只青蛙，她不得不卧床休息。晚上，一家人从葬礼上回来，但是他们没有讨论葬礼的事，也没说约瑟夫唱的歌有多好听。奥莉特以为没人看见时，她从枕头底下拿出她的葬礼小手册，在约瑟芬的名字下做了一个十字记号。现在，她俩扯平了，每人都有99个十字架。她那双枯老的双手颤抖着，一滴眼泪从眼里滚出。第二天，奥莉特醒来，听到屋里一片骚动。她靠着枕头坐起来，孙子、孙女们围在她的床边，告诉她约瑟芬晚上生病了，一大早就去世了。“奶奶，如果约瑟芬走了的话，你是什么样的感觉？约瑟芬晚上邀请你晚上去为她的葬礼唱歌。”“好吧，主啊，爱你。”孩子们整天都在为待奥利亚特去参加约瑟芬的葬礼做准备。他们说，“你卧床休息，这样你明天的声音就会好的。”
第二天早上，她穿好衣服准备走时，他们进来帮忙。他们给她拿来那本葬礼小手册，“现在，让我看看，记下有一百个葬礼。你唱的歌比教区里任何人唱得都多。”但是，奥莉特把他们赶走了。“你们别管，”她咯咯地笑着说，“等我从约瑟芬的葬礼回来再说。”开始时，她站不稳。她身材那么瘦小，戴着丧服的面纱，看上去像个身穿黑衣的小个子新娘。她痛苦地蹒跚着，慢慢地走在路上。她已经没有什么力气了，一种孤独从她身上掠过，孤独和心痛的感觉。“乔西，”她喊道，“乔西，我来了。”她来到柳树丛生的拐弯处后，不得不停下来。她走不动了，变得头晕、虚弱、害怕。她把脸转向约瑟芬的房子，低声说：“乔西。”她周围的一切似乎都不那么清楚了，一片黑暗笼罩着她，“乔西、乔西，毕竟我相信我的朋友，我和你会打平手。”
