我的阅读我做主——再创作活动

木头

请读者们根据想象，由我提供的文写点东西，不论是评论，还是模仿其技巧写一篇短文，或者接着本文进行扩展创作。每人可对参与者进行投票评分。欢迎大家踊跃参与。

雨中之猫
海明威

     两位美国客人住在这家旅店里。楼梯上人来人去，可都是陌生的面孔。他们的房间位于二层楼，面向大海，正对着公共花园和战争纪念碑，花园里有高大的棕榈树和绿色长椅。若是晴朗的天气就会常见一个画家带着画架来写生，画家们喜欢棕榈树的姿态以及在花园大海衬托下的旅店那明快的颜色。那些意大利人远道而来就是为了看看战争纪念碑，它是由青铜制成，在雨中闪烁着光彩。雨还在下，淋淋的水滴从棕榈树上落下，碎石路上的水湾儿已被填满。海涛在雨幕之中一次又一次地扑上沙滩，随即又退去。战争纪念碑旁边广场里的汽车都已各奔东西。广场对面的咖啡馆里，一位侍者正站在门道上，眼瞅着空空荡荡的广场。
　　那位美国女士立在窗边，眺望外面的景色。窗户的正下方有一只猫，蜷缩在一个滴水的绿色桌子下面。那猫萎缩咸一团，生怕被淋着。
　　“我要下去救救那猫。”女士说道。
　　“还是我去吧。”她的丈夫躺在床上提出。
　　“不，我去。可怜的小猫正在桌下避雨呢。”
　　丈夫仍在读书，用床头上两个枕头垫起来躺着。
　　“别淋湿了。”他说道。
　　女士下了楼，路过旅店办公室时，店主便立起身来向她鞠躬施礼。只见他是一位高个头的老者，他的桌子放置在屋内的最里端。
　　“下雨啦，”女士说道，她喜欢这个店主。
　　“是，是，太太，坏天气。天气很不好。”
　　店主在昏暗的办公室里，站在桌子的后面。女士喜欢这个店主。她喜欢他接受任何怨言时那种严肃的风度；她喜欢他的服务礼节；她喜欢他那种良好的职业自豪感。她喜欢他那久经沧桑的脸庞和大手。
　　像他一样她推开门向外看。雨越下越大，一位男士穿着橡胶披肩正穿过广场，朝着咖啡馆走去。那只猫应该就在右边吧，可能沿着屋檐下便可以过去。当她站在门道时，一把伞在她身后张开了，是她房间的女仆。
　　“你别淋湿了，”她笑道，说着意大利语。显然，是店主派她来的。
　　女仆给她撑着伞，沿着那条碎石小路来到窗户下。桌子还在，在雨中洗刷得特别绿，但猫不见了。她顿然大失所望，女仆眼看着她。
　　“您丢什么东西了，太太?”
　　“有一只猫，”女士说道。
　　“一只猫?”
　　“是，猫。”
　　“一只猫?”女仆笑道。“雨中之猫?”
　　“是，”她说道，“在桌子下面。”然后，“我很想要它，我很想要只猫。”
　　当她说英语时，女仆的脸变得有些紧张。
　　“来，太太，”她说道，“我们必须回去，你会被淋湿的。”
　　“我想也是，”女士说道。
　　她们沿着碎石小路回到旅店门口，女仆在外面将伞合上。当美国女士路过办公室时，店主便在桌子旁边向她鞠躬。一阵莫名其妙的不适与紧张在心头掠过，这位店主有时候让她感到很重要，有时候却感到那么形象渺小。瞬间，一种至高无上的感觉油然而生。她上了楼，推开房门，乔治还在床上读书。
　　“捉到猫了吗?”他问道；把书放下来。
　　“不见了。”
　　“想想它能跑到哪里去?”他边休息一下眼睛边说道。
　　她坐在床上。
　　“我很想要它，”她说道。“我不知道我为什么这么想要它，我想要只猫，那只可怜的猫在雨中不会有什么好玩的。”
　　乔治又开始读书了。
　　她起身坐在梳妆台的镜子前，从手中的镜里自我欣赏。欣赏自己的形象，从这一边，到另一边，再转向后脑和脖颈。
　　“你不以为我留起头发来是一个好主意吗?”她问道，又投入了镜中自赏。
　　乔治抬起头看了看她脖子后面，头发修剪得像个男孩儿。
　　“我喜欢现在的样子。”
　　“我已经厌倦这个样子了。” 她说道。“我不想再像个男孩。”乔治在床上移动了一下位置，自从她开始说话他就一直注视着她。
　　“你看起来很漂亮。”他说道。
　　她把镜子放在梳妆台上，走向窗子，举目远眺。天色暗下来了。
　　“我想把我的头发紧拉到背后，再打一个感觉舒服的结，”她说，“我想要一只猫，让它坐在我的大腿上，摸一摸它，它就会咪咪地叫。”
　　 “是吗?”乔治在床上说道。
　　“我还想用自己的银器用餐，而且要有蜡烛。我还想一年四季如春，我可以在镜子前梳我的头发，猫和新衣服我也想要。”
　　“哦，别说了，还是去读点什么吧。”乔治说着，又继续读他的书。
　　女士在向窗外看去。天色已黑，仍在下雨。
　　“不管怎样，我想要只猫，”她说道，“我想要只猫，我现在就想要只猫。如果我不能留起长发或者有其他的快乐，我总可以有只猫吧。”
　　 乔治没有注意听，他在读自己的书。妻子从窗口向广场上有灯光的地方看去。
　　有人敲门。
　　“请进，”乔治说着，从书中抬起头来。
　　门口处站着女仆，她抱着一只龟壳花纹的大猫，那猫紧紧地缩在她的怀里，尾巴还在摇摆。“打扰一下，”她说，“店主叫我把这个带给太太。”



    Cat in the rain —by Ernest Hemingway

    There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. They did not know any of the people they passed on the stairs on their way to and from their room. Their room was on the second floor facing the sea. It also faced the public garden and the war monument. There were big palms and green benches in the public garden. In the good weather there was always an artist with his easel. Artists liked the way the palms grew and the bright colors of the hotels facing the gardens and the sea. Italians came from a long way off to look up at the war monument. It was made of bronze and glistened in the rain. It was raining. The rain dripped from the palm trees. Water stood in pools on the gravel paths. The sea broke in a long line in the rain and slipped back down the beach to come up and break again in a long line in the rain. The motor cars were gone from the square by the war monument. Across the square in the doorway of the cafe a waiter stood looking out at the empty square. 　　
     The American wife stood at the window looking out. Outside right under their window a cat was crouched under one of the dripping green tables. The cat was trying to make herself so compact that she would not be dripped on.
　　 I‘m going down and get that kitty, the American wife said. Ill do it, her husband offered from the bed. 　　
      No, Ill get it. The poor kitty out trying to keep dry under a table.
     The husband went on reading, lying propped up with the two pillows at the foot of the bed.
     Dont get wet, he said. 　　
     The wife went downstairs and the hotel owner stood up and bowed to her as she passed the office. His desk was at the far end of the office. He was an old man and very tall. 　　
     Il piove, the wife said. She liked the hotel-keeper.
     Si, si, Signora, brutto tempo. It is very bad weather.
     He stood behind his desk in the far end of the dim room. The wife liked him. She liked the deadly serious way he received any complaints. She liked his dignity. She liked the way he wanted to serve her. She liked the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper. She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.
     Liking him she opened the door and looked out. It was raining harder. A man in a rubber cape was crossing the empty square to the cafe. The cat would be around to the right. Perhaps she could go along under the eaves. As she behind her. It was the maid who looked after their room. 　
     You must not get wet, she smiled, speaking Italian. Of course, the hotel-keeper had sent her. 　　
     With the maid holding the umbrella over her, she walked along the gravel path until she was under their window. The table was there, washed bright green in the rain, but the cat was gone. She was suddenly disappointed. The maid looked up at her. 　　
     Ha perduto qualque cosa, Signora? 　　
     There was a cat, said the American girl. 　　
     A cat? 　　
     Si, il gatto. 　　
     A cat? the maid laughed. A cat in the rain? 　　
     Yea, she said, under the table. Then, Oh, I wanted it so much. I wanted a kitty. 　　
     When she talked English the maids face tightened. 　　
     Come, Signora, she said. "We must get back inside. You will be wet. 　
     I suppose so, said the American girl. 　
     They went back along the gravel path and passed in the door. The maid stayed outside to close the umbrella. As the American girl passed the office, the padrone bowed from his desk. Something felt very small and tight inside the girl. The padrone made her feel very small and at the same time really important. She had a momentary feeling of being of supreme importance. She went on up the stairs. She opened the door of the room. George was on the bed, reading. Did you get the cat? he asked, putting the book down. 　
      It was gone. 　　
      "Wonder where it went to, he said, resting his eyes from reading. She sat down on the bed.
      I wanted it so much, she said. I dont know why I wanted it so much. I wanted that poor kitty. It isnt any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain.
      George was reading again. 　　
     She went over and sat in front of the mirror of the dressing table looking at herself with the handglass. She studied her profile, first one side and then the other. Then she studied the back of her head and her neck. 　　
      Dont you think it would be a good idea if I let my hair grow out? she asked, looking at her profile again. 　
      George looked up and saw the back of her neck clipped close like a boys. 　  I like it the way it is. 　　
      I get so tired of it, she said. I get so tired of looking like a boy. George shifted his position in the bed. He hadnt looked away from her since she stared to speak. 　　
      You look pretty darn nice, he said. 　
  　She laid the mirror down on the dresser and went over to the window and looked out. It was getting dark. 　　
      I want to pull my hair back tight and smooth and make a big knot at the back that I can feel, she said. I want to have a kitty to sit on my lap and purr when I stroke her. 　　
      Yeah? George said from the bed. 　
  　And I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be spring and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some new clothes. Oh, shut up and get something to read, George said. He was reading again. 　
      His wife was looking out of the window. It was quite dark now and still raining in the palm trees. 　　
      Anyway, I want a cat, she said, I want a cat. I want a cat now. If I cant have long hair or any fun I can have a cat. George was not listening. He was reading his book. His wife looked out of the window where the light had come on in the square. Someone knocked at the door. 　
      Avanti, George said. He looked up from his book. 　　
      In the doorway stood the maid. She held a big tortoise-shell cat pressed tight against her and swung down against her body. 　　
      Excuse me, she said, the padrone asked me to bring this for the Signora.

西门

前几天有人给我女儿买了一只小鸡——染成红色的小鸡。我女儿很喜欢，把它放在奶箱里，管它叫“小红鸟”，家里有3岁孩子的人也许知道“小红鸟”的出处——《米奇妙妙屋》第三集《小鸟归巢》里那个主角。小鸡很活泼，小小的纸盒子关不住它，它在我狭小的房间里闲庭信步，最糟糕的是，它和真正的小红鸟一样，啾啾啾地叫个不停。我女儿很快就嫌烦了，我也是。后来我半是强迫的让我12岁的侄女把小鸡拿走了，我女儿不太情愿，但也勉强同意了，好在她很快就把这只小鸡给忘了，反正她有的是玩具。第二天我侄女告诉我小鸡在她回家的路上丢了，幸亏是丢了，不然她拿回家也不知该把它放在哪。

木头

女士接过猫，半晌，对着女仆的背影说了声谢谢。
她把猫抱在怀里，摸了摸柔软的毛，猫安静地呆着，圆睁着眼睛，扭过头看镜中的自己。
丈夫放下书，瞧了一眼，呃，太太，这只猫还好吧？
女士把它举了起来，笑笑说，没事。丈夫又拾起书看了起来。
女士于是逗了一会猫。脑海中掠过店主鞠躬的模样，仿佛看见热烫的牛排。
傍晚吃饭后，她又下楼走了走。并与店主点头打招呼。
谢谢你的猫。女士盯着他嘴角拘谨的笑，看到他微微露出牙齿，有一颗稍短。
雨停了。路上湿漉漉的。
她站在街上，觉得一切光亮都旋转了一下，然后她又看到自己的鞋子，还是去年那一双。
突然在街对面，她看见那只身上略湿的猫，无言互视了一会儿，它转身跑了。

木头

回西门：我从来不喜欢鸡。鸭子还可以。但是我小时候踩死不少小鸡小鸭。不是故意的。
我发现海明威的文章很难懂。尝试读读看。首帖的文里，猫似乎只是女士百无聊赖中集中的关注点。她生活没有快乐，于是看见被雨淋的猫感到自怜。于是想要一只猫，想让自己的生活高兴起来。丈夫没有生气，也没有领会她的需要。

西门

4# 木头

哦，我还以为那篇文章已经完了呢。海明威的小说我看过几本，都是好多年前看的，最喜欢《太阳照常升起》。我比较懒，对小动物没什么感觉，小时候特喜欢青蛙。

ak1789

“把它收下吧。”女士望向乔治，说道。
乔治从书本上抬起头，向那只猫看去。他看了有一会。过了一会儿，他说道：“收下吧。”
女士接过猫，对着女仆笑了笑，说：“代我跟你的店主说声谢谢。”女仆点点头，走出门去，随后关上门。屋里只剩下乔治和他的太太。
女士坐了下来，抚摸着猫。乔治盯着书，不时抬起头看看女士。许久，屋里除了猫的喵叫外，没有别的声音。直到乔治说道：“这猫真好看。你记得吗，我刚认识你的时候，养过条狗。”
“对，我记得，那条狗那时候整天都围着我打转呢。”
“恩……”乔治放下书，站起身，坐到太太身边，抚着她的背，柔声说道：“想留长发就留吧。我会努力的，会为你买银餐具，为你买蜡烛，为你买新衣服……记得吗，我们结婚时说过的那些话？”
太太低头说道：“记得，当然记得。”她仍在抚着猫。
乔治伸出手，按在妻子偏瘦的手上，一起抚着猫，说道：“这猫真好看。”猫微微的低吟着，似乎很舒服。

我把海明威的思路整个扭转成我自己的思路了，风格好像也不太一样了，就觉得这样较好。

木头

5# 西门
那文应该是完了，呵呵，我是续写。

cutcuton

精神上给予支持

ak1789

总觉得置顶帖倒不一定有人看

mu

“仿佛看见热烫的牛排。”
“看到他微微露出牙齿，有一颗稍短。”

其实，在海明威的原文里，我们并没有发现这种细节描写，没有比喻。因此，海明威写得特别真实。这是我们熟悉的冰山理论。
假如按木头这样写，我想问：这里作者去写店主的牙齿，到底有什么必要？——尤其是“稍”字，显示出人物观察的精准，以至于她不像是现实的人。所以这处描写是很无必要的。

还有几处读得难受，比如：
“傍晚吃饭后，她又下楼走了走。并与店主点头打招呼。”

这里我很不相信她会与店主打招呼，而且还作点头状。这不是她的风格。前文可以看到，这位女士多少有些内向。在看到店主鞠躬时，她会“莫名其妙的不适与紧张”。有地位的太太，内心却无助和焦虑，因为她很明白，自己实质上并没有什么地位，只是看上去而已，她自己既没有主见，又没有必要的尊严。店主的逢迎有些令她不安。这种身份的不安在后文的这句，也可读得出来：
“她把镜子放在梳妆台上，走向窗子，举目远眺。天色暗下来了。”

还有一处木头写得不大舒服：
“谢谢你的猫。女士盯着他嘴角拘谨的笑。”
这里“盯”，“嘴角”，“拘谨”都不必要。他们俩有什么特殊的关系？在这里作者似乎暗示，后面会有某种情节与此有关，事实上却没没有。
顶好就这样写：“你带回了我的的猫，”女士看着他的笑，说：“真是谢谢。”