芒果街上的小屋第26篇

　　Marin

　　We never see Marin until her aunt comes home from work, and even then she can only stay out in front. She is there every night with the radio. When the light in her aunt's room goes out, Marin lights a cigarette and it doesn't matter if it's cold out or if the radio doesn't work or if we've got nothing to say to each other. What matters, Marin says, is for the boys to see us and for us to see them. And since Marin's skirts are shorter and since her eyes are pretty, and since Marin is already older than us in many ways, the boys who do pass by say stupid things like I am in love with those two green apples you call eyes, give them to me why don't you. And Marin just looks at them without even blinking and is no afraid.

　　Marin, under the streetlight, dancing by herself, is singing the same song somewhere. I know. Is waiting for a car to stop, a star to fall, someone to change her life.

　　在玛琳在婶婶下班回家前，我们从来都看不到玛琳。在那以后，她也只能出到房子前面。她每晚都拿个收音机在那里。等她婶婶房间里的灯熄灭后，玛琳就会点一支烟，如果那会儿外面冷，或者收音机不响，或者我们互相没话说，这些都不要紧；要紧的是，玛琳说，要让男孩子看到我们，我们看到男孩子。因为玛琳的裙子更短，因为她的眼睛很漂亮，因为她在很多方面已经比我们成熟，男孩子跑过来说一些蠢话，比如我爱上你说是眼睛的那两个青苹果，把它们给我吧为什么不？玛琳只是看着它们，眼睛都不眨一下，也不害怕。

　　玛琳，街灯下独自起舞的人，在某个地方唱着同一首歌，我知道。她在等一辆小汽车停下来，等着一颗星星坠落，等一个人改变她的生活。