中英文双语阅读8—狙击手

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2024年1月19日发(作者：)

中英文双语阅读8—狙击手

The Sniper

Liam O‟Flaherty

狙击手

连姆 · 欧弗拉赫提

The long June twilight faded into night. Dublinlay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds,

casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleagueredFour Courts the heavy guns

roared. Here and there through the city, machine-guns and rifles, broke the silence of the night, spasmodically like dogs barking on lone farms.

Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war.

On a rooftop near O‟Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders were slung a pair of

field glasses. His face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the

eyes of a man who is used to look at death.

He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and, taking

a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short draught. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether

he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.

Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened

itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.

Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had

seen the flash. It came from the opposite side of the street.

He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the

was nothing to be seen -- just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. His enemy was under cover.

Just then an armoured car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards

ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless.

His bullets would never piercethe steel that covered the grey monster.

Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tatteredshawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of

the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.

The turret opened. A man‟s head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily

on the turret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled around and fell with a shriek into the gutter.

Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped his rifle with a curse. The rifle clatteredto the roof. The sniper thought

the noise would wake the dead. He stopped to pick the rifle up. He couldn‟t lift it. His forearm was dead.

„Christ,‟ he muttered, „I‟m hit.‟

Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. There was no pain -- just a

deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off.

Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastworkof the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole

where the bullet had entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fracturedit. He bent the arm

below the wound. The arm bent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome the pain.

Then taking out the field dressing, he rippedopen the packet with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodinebottle and let the bitter fluid drip

into the wound.A paroxysmof pain swept through him. He placed the cotton wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over it. He tied the

ends with his teeth. Then he lay against the parapet, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain.

In the street beneath all was still. The armoured car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine-gunner‟s head hanging lifelessly

over the turret. The woman‟s corpse lay still in the gutter.

The sniper lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use his rifle.

He had only a revolver to do it. Then he thought of a plan.

Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the

opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the centre of the cap. The sniper slantedhis rifle forward.

The cap slippeddown into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly.

After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.

Crawling quickly to the left, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall,

thought he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the

western sky.

The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards -- a hard shot in the dim

light, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together,

he took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the reportand his arm shook with the recoil.

Then when the smoke cleared he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. His enemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death

agony. He struggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling forward, as if in a dream. The rifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over,

bounded off the pole of a barber‟s shop beneath and then clattered on the pavement.

Then the dying man on the roof crumpledup and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud.

Then it lay still. The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered. The lustof battle died in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat

stood out in beads on his ed by his wound and the long summer day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight

of the shattered mass of his dead enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibberto himself, cursingthe war, cursing himself, cursing everybody.

He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it to the roof at his feet. The revolver went off, with the

concussionand the bullet whizzedpast the sniper‟s head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. His nerves steadied. The cloud of fear

scattered from his mind and he laughed.

Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it at a draught. He felt recklessunder the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the

roof now and look for his company commander, to here around was quiet. There was not much danger in going through the streets.

He picked up his revolver and put it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the sky-light to the house underneath.

When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of this enemy sniper whom he had killed.

He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been in his own company before the split in

the army. He decided to risk going over to have a look at him. He peered round the corner into O‟Connell Street. In the upper part of the street there

was heavy fighting, but around here all was quiet.

The sniper dartedacross the street. A machine-gun tore up the ground around him with a hailof bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face

downward beside the corpse. The machine-gun stopped.

Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother‟s face.

七月，漫长的黄昏渐渐溶入夜色中，都伯林虽然被黑暗所笼罩，但微弱的月光还是透过稀薄的云层把一种朦胧洒在了街面上，洒在了利菲河幽暗的水面上。咆哮的机枪声从被围的福尔考茨周围传来，街上其余的地方也有机枪和步枪声刺破城市寂静的夜空，就如同夜晚从偏远的农场不时传来的狗叫声。共和军和自由邦军队在进行内战。

共和军的一名狙击手正埋伏在奥克诺尔桥附近的屋顶上。他的狙击步枪静候在身旁，一副野外望远镜挂在他的胸前。他脸庞清癯，给人学生气的感觉，但眼中放射着一种冷峻的狂热之光，深沉而若有所思，这是一双面对死亡已熟视无睹的眼睛。

此刻，他正在狼吞虎咽地吃一块三明治。他从早晨到现在一直滴水未进，一整天都处在兴奋状态。三明治吃完了，他从衣袋里掏出了一瓶威士忌，少喝了一点后又装回了衣袋。他安静了片刻，盘算着能否冒险抽口烟。这很危险，因为敌人肯定在暗中埋伏着，火光在黑暗中很容易暴露。他决定冒险一试。他先把烟叼在嘴上，划着了一根火柴，慌张而急促地吸了一口，马上灭了火。说时迟那时快，一颗子弹呼啸着击中了他背靠的屋顶矮墙。狙击手又猛吸了一口，将烟灭了。他轻声骂了一句，向左侧爬去。他小心翼翼地起身向墙外张望，火光一闪，一颗子弹从他头顶呼啸而过。他赶紧蹲下身子，他看到了枪火射出的地方，就在街道对面。

他就地顺着屋脊一滚，滚到了后侧的一个烟囱旁。他慢慢地从烟囱后立起身来，直到自己的目光与屋顶的矮墙高度相同。除了夜空映衬下对面屋顶的轮廓，什么也看不清。敌方在暗中埋伏着。

恰在这时一辆装甲车从桥上开过，向街道这边缓缓驶来，然后停在了离他约五十码的对面街上。狙击手能听到装甲车发动机的突突声，他感觉自己心跳加快，这是敌方的车。他想开火，但他知道开火也徒劳，他的子弹根本穿不透那银色魔鬼的坚硬钢壳。

不一会儿，一个上年纪的妇人出现在路旁小街街口，她的头被破烂的头巾裹得严严实实。她开始跟装甲车炮塔里的人说着什么，手正指划着狙击手埋伏的屋顶。她是送情报来的。

这时装甲车炮塔被掀了起来，露出了一个人的头和肩部，这人正向他这个方向张望。狙击手举枪就射，那人头一下子重重地落在了炮塔边上。那个老妇人“嗖”地一下躲进了路旁的小街。狙击手再次开火。那妇人脚步踉跄着，左晃右晃，尖叫一声就跌进了排水沟。

突然一颗子弹从对面屋顶飞过来，狙击手呻吟了一声，枪“哗啦”一声掉在了屋顶上。狙击手心里想：这枪声这么震耳，简直把死人快给吵醒了。他弯腰去拾枪，却怎么也拿不起来。他的小臂失去了知觉。

他嘀咕道：“遭了，中弹了。”

他匍匐着又向矮墙爬过去。他用左手摸了摸受伤的右小臂，感觉不到疼痛，只有一种木木的感觉，手臂似乎早已被砍去一样。

他迅速从衣袋中抽出刀子，抵住墙把刀子弄开，再把衣袖挑破，他看到子弹射入的地方有一个小孔，而手臂的另一侧却看不到孔。子弹肯定击碎了骨头又被卡在里面了。他试着活动了一下伤口以下的部位，还能活动。他感到疼了，他咬紧牙关忍住疼痛。

他拿出自己的野战急救包，用刀子挑开包装，把碘酒瓶的瓶颈部位打破，然后把碘酒滴入伤口之中。一阵剧痛传遍全身。他用绷带裹紧伤口，再借助牙齿扎紧绑好。他静静地靠着矮墙躺下，眼睛紧闭，顽强地靠意志来强忍疼痛。

下面街上静得出奇。装甲车早已疾驶过桥去，机枪手的脑袋耷拉在车外。那具女尸横在排水沟里，不见任何动静。

狙击手躺了好长时间，一边等疼痛缓解，一边盘算脱险的办法。他必须得干掉这个敌人，可是他现在又不能使用步枪，他只能靠一把左轮手枪了。这时，他心生一计。

他脱下帽子，挑到枪尖上，然后慢慢举起来，让帽子高过矮墙，这样街对面屋顶的敌人就能看得到。帽子刚一露头，就听一声枪响，子弹从帽子中间穿了个洞。狙击手把枪向前倾斜一下，帽子落到下面的街道上。他左手抓住枪的中部，让自己的手有气无力地耷拉在墙外。没过一会儿，他松开手，让枪落到街上。随后他伏下身子，慢慢缩回手臂。

他迅速向左侧爬去，从那儿的角落向外看去。他的计谋凑效了。对面的狙击手看到帽子和枪都落到街上，就以为对手已经被打死了。他现在正站在一排烟囱的前面向这边张望着，西边天空的微光把他的头映衬得清晰可见。

这边共和军的狙击手窃笑着把他的左轮手枪举到墙沿上。这里距离对方枪手有五十码左右，在如此微弱的光线下进行射击，难度极大，而且现在他的右臂疼得像刀割一样。他努力镇静自己，瞄准目标，他能感觉到自己手指急切的抖动。他咬紧牙关，深吸一口气，扣动扳机。枪声差点将他震聋，后坐力也使他的胳膊不住抖动。

烟雾散去，他向对面一看，惊喜地叫出声来。敌人被打中了。那人正极度痛苦地在对面的墙边扭动着。看起来他想使自己站稳脚跟，但还是慢慢地向前倒下，如同在梦境中一样。步枪从他的手中脱落撞在墙上，掉了下去，碰在理发店门柱上后弹了出去，砰的一声落在人行道上。

枪的主人也随之从屋顶向前倒下，身体在空中旋转了几圈落在地上。沉闷的落地声之后，四周一片寂静。看到对手从屋顶落下，狙击手自己也跟着一阵震颤。要在战场撕杀的强烈欲望从心底消失了，一种懊悔之情噬咬着他的心。豆大的汗珠从额头上滚下来。伤口剧

痛，再加上漫长夏日饿着肚子在屋顶打埋伏，已经使他虚弱不堪，而看到被自己击落的敌人的尸体，更使他心生厌恶。他的牙齿颤个不停。他开始嘀咕起来，诅咒这场战争，诅咒自己，诅咒每个人。

他看了看还在冒着青烟的手枪，咒骂了一句，把它狠狠地扔在脚边的屋顶。没想到左轮枪走火，子弹一下子擦着他的头皮飞过。他被这声巨响震得醒过神来。精神不再紧张了，恐惧的乌云从他的心头散去，他笑了起来。

他从衣袋里掏出威士忌酒，一饮而尽。在酒精的作用下，他感到自己无所畏惧。他决定离开屋顶，去向他的长官报告。四周一片寂静，这时在街上行走应该不会有什么危险。他捡起左轮手枪装进口袋，然后借着微弱的天光向下面的屋子爬去。

狙击手终于到了街上，突然强烈的好奇心冒了出来，他想去看看那个被他击毙的敌方狙击手是谁。不管对方是谁，他都是认定他绝对是神枪手。他想看看自己是否认识对方，或许在部队分裂之前他们还是战友呢。他决定冒险过去看个究竟。他向奥克诺尔街角扫视一下，在远处的上街区隐约传来密集的枪声，而此处却悄无声息。

狙击手迅速向街对面跑去。一串机枪声在他身边猛然响起，尘土飞扬，但他逃脱了。他爬倒在尸体旁边，机枪声停了。

狙击手把脸朝下爬着的尸体翻了个身。这时，他看到了哥哥的面孔。

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