The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ― and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
その言葉はひどく慎重そうに使われたのでもし彼が望まなければこの人は話しはしないとオリソンは結論を下した―と同時に事によったら彼は刑務所か精心病院で三十代を過ごしたのだろうか。
21:30 2018/12/27木
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
「これがかの有名な21です。」彼は言った。「どこか他で食べた方がいいと思いますか?」
トゥリムブルは立ち止まった、赤褐色砂岩の建物を注意深く眺めながら。
「その名21が名を馳せるようになった頃を僕は忘れられない。」と彼は言い「モゥリアリティのとほぼ同じ年。」それから彼は殆んど詫びるかのように続けた。「僕達は約五分五番通りを進んで偶然行き当たった所なら何処でもいいから食事をしようと僕は思っていたのだが。一見に値する若い人と一緒のどこか。」
23:29 2018/12/28金
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind―the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow―that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment― and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere―was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
オリソンは彼をちらっと見るともうー度格子と鼠色の壁そして酒場を思った。彼の努めはトゥリムブル氏を愛想のいい女に紹介する事も含むのだろうかと怪訝に思った。何れにせよトゥリムブル氏はそんな事が心の中にあるようには見えなかった ―
23:24 2018/12/29土
支配的表情は純粋で根深い好寄心からなりオリソンはその名を南極に潜伏したアドゥミラルバードゥ又ブラジルのジャングルに消えた飛行士と結び付けようとした。彼は過去も又これまでも実際一人の特別研究員だった―それは明らかだった。
23:18 2018/12/30日
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月30日日曜日
2018年12月29日土曜日
The Lost Decade12/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ― and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
その言葉はひどく慎重そうに使われたのでもし彼が望まなければこの人は話しはしないとオリソンは結論を下した―と同時に事によったら彼は刑務所か精心病院で三十代を過ごしたのだろうか。
21:30 2018/12/27木
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
「これがかの有名な21です。」彼は言った。「どこか他で食べた方がいいと思いますか?」
トゥリムブルは立ち止まった、赤褐色砂岩の建物を注意深く眺めながら。
「その名21が名を馳せるようになった頃を僕は忘れられない。」と彼は言い「モゥリアリティのとほぼ同じ年。」それから彼は殆んど詫びるかのように続けた。「僕達は約五分五番通りを進んで偶然行き当たった所なら何処でもいいから食事をしようと僕は思っていたのだが。一見に値する若い人と一緒のどこか。」
23:29 2018/12/28金
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ― the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
オリソンは彼をちらっと見るともうー度格子と鼠色の壁そして酒場を思った。彼の努めはトゥリムブル氏を愛想のいい女に紹介する事も含むのだろうかと怪訝に思った。何れにせよトゥリムブル氏はそんな事が心の中にあるようには見えなかった ―
23:24 2018/12/29土
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ― and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
その言葉はひどく慎重そうに使われたのでもし彼が望まなければこの人は話しはしないとオリソンは結論を下した―と同時に事によったら彼は刑務所か精心病院で三十代を過ごしたのだろうか。
21:30 2018/12/27木
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
「これがかの有名な21です。」彼は言った。「どこか他で食べた方がいいと思いますか?」
トゥリムブルは立ち止まった、赤褐色砂岩の建物を注意深く眺めながら。
「その名21が名を馳せるようになった頃を僕は忘れられない。」と彼は言い「モゥリアリティのとほぼ同じ年。」それから彼は殆んど詫びるかのように続けた。「僕達は約五分五番通りを進んで偶然行き当たった所なら何処でもいいから食事をしようと僕は思っていたのだが。一見に値する若い人と一緒のどこか。」
23:29 2018/12/28金
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ― the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
オリソンは彼をちらっと見るともうー度格子と鼠色の壁そして酒場を思った。彼の努めはトゥリムブル氏を愛想のいい女に紹介する事も含むのだろうかと怪訝に思った。何れにせよトゥリムブル氏はそんな事が心の中にあるようには見えなかった ―
23:24 2018/12/29土
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月28日金曜日
The Lost Decade11/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ― and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
その言葉はひどく慎重そうに使われたのでもし彼が望まなければこの人は話しはしないとオリソンは結論を下した―と同時に事によったら彼は刑務所か精心病院で三十代を過ごしたのだろうか。
21:30 2018/12/27木
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
「これがかの有名な21です。」彼は言った。「どこか他で食べた方がいいと思いますか?」
トゥリムブルは立ち止まった、赤褐色斫碘砂岩の建物を注意深く眺めながら。
「その名21が名を馳せるようになった頃を僕は忘れられない。」と彼は言い「モゥリアリティのとほぼ同じ年。」それから彼は殆んど詫びるかのように続けた。「僕達は約五分五番通りを進んで偶然行き当たった所なら何処でもいいから食事をしようと僕は思っていたのだが。一見に値する若い人と一緒のどこか。」
23:29 2018/12/28金
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ― and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
その言葉はひどく慎重そうに使われたのでもし彼が望まなければこの人は話しはしないとオリソンは結論を下した―と同時に事によったら彼は刑務所か精心病院で三十代を過ごしたのだろうか。
21:30 2018/12/27木
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
「これがかの有名な21です。」彼は言った。「どこか他で食べた方がいいと思いますか?」
トゥリムブルは立ち止まった、赤褐色斫碘砂岩の建物を注意深く眺めながら。
「その名21が名を馳せるようになった頃を僕は忘れられない。」と彼は言い「モゥリアリティのとほぼ同じ年。」それから彼は殆んど詫びるかのように続けた。「僕達は約五分五番通りを進んで偶然行き当たった所なら何処でもいいから食事をしようと僕は思っていたのだが。一見に値する若い人と一緒のどこか。」
23:29 2018/12/28金
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月27日木曜日
The Lost Decade10/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ― and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
その言葉はひどく慎重そうに使われたのでもし彼が望まなければこの人は話しはしないとオリソンは結論下した―と同時に事によったら彼は刑務所か精心病院で三十代を過ごしたのだろうか。
21:30 2018/12/27木
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ― and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
その言葉はひどく慎重そうに使われたのでもし彼が望まなければこの人は話しはしないとオリソンは結論下した―と同時に事によったら彼は刑務所か精心病院で三十代を過ごしたのだろうか。
21:30 2018/12/27木
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月26日水曜日
The Lost Decade9/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
彼らが通りに到りトゥリムブルの顔が往来の騒音に強張った様子はオリソンに更なる憶測を抱かせた。
「貴方は文明から遠ざかっていたのですか?」
「とある感覚の内にあって。」
23:35 2018/12/26水
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月25日火曜日
The Lost Decade8/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.
“Can’t say I have.”
オリソンは彼の帽子を掴んだ。
「貴方は十年不在だった？」降りる間にエレヴェイターの中で彼は尋ねた。
「彼らはエムパイア ステイトゥ ビルディングを始めてしまった。」トゥリムブルは言った。「それはより上へとどれ程付け足すというのか?」
「およそ1928年項。それでもチ一フが言ったように、貴方はずっと不在で幸運でした。」斥候のように彼は付け足した、「おそらく一見に値するもっと興味深い事がありました。」
「僕がそれを享受するとは言えない。」
22:55 2018/12/25火
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月24日月曜日
The Lost Decade7/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ― and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
トゥリムブルは丁寧に異議を唱えた。
「オゥ、僕はあちこち探して見つけてもかまわない。」
「そうですね、昔ながらの少年。貴方がかつて知っていたようにこの辺りを知っている者はいない―じゃあもしブラウンが馬なし馬車の事を切り出そうとすれば直ぐ彼をここに私のところに送り返して下さい。そして君は４時迄に自分で帰って来るだろ、いいね。」
23:29 2018/12/24月
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月23日日曜日
The Lost Decade6/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
「それはそうです。」オリソンが言った。
「僕は今日昼食を摂れない。」彼のチ一フが続けた。「彼をVoisinか21かどこか彼が好みそうな所に案内して。トゥリムブル氏は見た事のないものも多いと感じておられる。」
23:02 2018/12/23日
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月22日土曜日
The Lost Decade5/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
「ミスタ一トゥリムブル―ミスタ一ブラウン。」昼食の全資金源が言った。オリソン― トゥリムブル氏
はずっと不在だった。又、長い―およそ十二年だが、と思っておられる。この十年を逸した事で自らを幸運だと思う人も少からずいる。」
22:54 2018/12/22土
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月21日金曜日
The Lost Decade4/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来た、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持った。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや修道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
彼の名刺の名は、ルイス トゥリムブル、何か曖昧な記憶を呼び醒ました、が謂（いわ）れのない、オリソンはそれに頭を悩ませはしなかった―バ（ブ）ザ一が彼の机の上で鳴って初めて、トゥリムブル氏は先づは昼食に向かう予定であると以前の経験が彼に知らせた。
23:45 2018/12/21金
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ― Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月20日木曜日
The Lost Decade3/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来たが、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持って来た。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや俢道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ? Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来たが、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持って来た。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前はダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ― a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ― until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
彼はこの訪問者が編集長室に入るのを見た事がある ―ブロンドゥの上品な髪と、用心深くも小心でもましてや俢道師のように超俗的でもない、がしかし、何かしら三っつが三っつ共揃った雰囲気を持った血色の悪い、長身の40男。
22:37 2018/12/20木
“Mr. Trimble ― Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ? Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ― almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
2018年12月19日水曜日
The Lost Decade2/Francis Scott Fitzgerald翻訳
The Lost Decade
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来たが、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持って来た。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前にダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ? a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ? until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
“Mr. Trimble ? Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ? Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ? almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
All sorts of people came into the offices of the news-weekly and Orrison Brown had all sorts of relations with them. Outside of office hours he was “one of the editors”― during work time he was simply a curly-haired man who a year before had edited the Dartmouth Jack-O-Lantern and was now only too glad to take the undesirable assignments around the office, from straightening out illegible copy to playing call boy without the title.
ありとあらゆる種類の人物が週間新報のオフィスに入って来たが、オリソン ブラウンは、彼らとありとあらゆる種類の関係を持って来た。
22:47 2018/12/18火
営業時間外では、彼は「編集者の片割れ」だった―仕事中は、一年前にダ一トゥマスジャック・オゥ・ランタンを刊行し、今は喜び勇んで判読しにくい原稿を直す事から肩書きのないコ一ルボ一イ役をこなす事までオフィス中の嫌な割当任務をひたすら引き受けるだけの、単に縮れっ毛の男に過ぎなかった。
22:34 2018/12/19水
He had seen this visitor go into the editor’s office ? a pale, tall man of forty with blond statuesque hair and a manner that was neither shy nor timid, nor otherworldly like a monk, but something of all three. The name on his card, Louis Trimble, evoked some vague memory, but having nothing to start on, Orrison did not puzzle over it ? until a buzzer sounded on his desk, and previous experience warned him that Mr. Trimble was to be his first course at lunch.
“Mr. Trimble ? Mr. Brown,” said the Source of all luncheon money. “Orrison ? Mr. Trimble’s been away a long time. Or he feels it’s a long time ? almost twelve years. Some people would consider themselves lucky to’ve missed the last decade.”
“That’s so,” said Orrison.
“I can’t lunch today,” continued his chief. “Take him to Voisin or 21 or anywhere he’d like. Mr. Trimble feels there’re lots of things he hasn’t seen.”
Trimble demurred politely.
“Oh, I can get around.”
“I know it, old boy. Nobody knew this place like you did once ? and if Brown tries to explain the horseless carriage just send him back here to me. And you’ll be back yourself by four, won’t you?”
Orrison got his hat.
“You’ve been away ten years?” he asked while they went down in the elevator.
“They’d begun the Empire State Building,” said Trimble. “What does that add up to?”
“About 1928. But as the chief said, you’ve been lucky to miss a lot.” As a feeler he added, “Probably had more interesting things to look at.”
“Can’t say I have.”
They reached the street and the way Trimble’s face tightened at the roar of traffic made Orrison take one more guess.
“You’ve been out of civilization?”
“In a sense.” The words were spoken in such a measured way that Orrison concluded this man wouldn’t talk unless he wanted to ? and simultaneously wondered if he could have possibly spent the thirties in a prison or an insane asylum.
“This is the famous 21,” he said. “Do you think you’d rather eat somewhere else?”
Trimble paused, looking carefully at the brownstone house.
“I can remember when the name 21 got to be famous,” he said, “about the same year as Moriarity’s.” Then he continued almost apologetically, “I thought we might walk up Fifth Avenue about five minutes and eat wherever we happened to be. Some place with young people to look at.”
Orrison gave him a quick glance and once again thought of bars and gray walls and bars; he wondered if his duties included introducing Mr. Trimble to complaisant girls. But Mr. Trimble didn’t look as if that was in his mind ? the dominant expression was of absolute and deep-seated curiosity and Orrison attempted to connect the name with Admiral Byrd’s hideout at the South Pole or flyers lost in Brazilian jungles. He was, or he had been, quite a fellow ? that was obvious. But the only definite clue to his environment ? and to Orrison the clue that led nowhere ? was his countryman’s obedience to the traffic lights and his predilection for walking on the side next to the shops and not the street. Once he stopped and gazed into a haberdasher’s window.
“Crepe ties,” he said. “I haven’t seen one since I left college.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Massachusetts Tech.”
“Great place.”
“I’m going to take a look at it next week. Let’s eat somewhere along here ? ” They were in the upper Fifties “ ? you choose.”
There was a good restaurant with a little awning just around the corner.
“What do you want to see most?” Orrison asked, as they sat down.
Trimble considered.
“Well ? the back of people’s heads,” he suggested. “Their necks ? how their heads are joined to their bodies. I’d like to hear what those two little girls are saying to their father. Not exactly what they’re saying but whether the words float or submerge, how their mouths shut when they’ve finished speaking. Just a matter of rhythm ? Cole Porter came back to the States in 1928 because he felt that there were new rhythms around.”
Orrison was sure he had his clue now, and with nice delicacy did not pursue it by a millimeter ? even suppressing a sudden desire to say there was a fine concert in Carnegie Hall tonight.
“The weight of spoons,” said Trimble, “so light. A little bowl with a stick attached. The cast in that waiter’s eye. I knew him once but he wouldn’t remember me.”
But as they left the restaurant the same waiter looked at Trimble rather puzzled as if he almost knew him. When they were outside Orrison laughed:
“After ten years people will forget.”
“Oh, I had dinner there last May ? ” He broke off in an abrupt manner.
It was all kind of nutsy, Orrison decided ? and changed himself suddenly into a guide.
“From here you get a good candid focus on Rockefeller Center,” he pointed out with spirit “ ? and the Chrysler Building and the Armistead Building, the daddy of all the new ones.”
“The Armistead Building,” Trimble rubber-necked obediently. “Yes ? I designed it.”
Orrison shook his head cheerfully ? he was used to going out with all kinds of people. But that stuff about having been in the restaurant last May . . .
He paused by the brass entablature in the cornerstone of the building. “Erected 1928,” it said.
Trimble nodded.
“But I was taken drunk that year ? every-which-way drunk. So I never saw it before now.”
“Oh.” Orrison hesitated. “Like to go in now?”
“I’ve been in it ? lots of times. But I’ve never seen it. And now it isn’t what I want to see. I wouldn’t ever be able to see it now. I simply want to see how people walk and what their clothes and shoes and hats are made of. And their eyes and hands. Would you mind shaking hands with me?”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Thanks. Thanks. That’s very kind. I suppose it looks strange ? but people will think we’re saying good-by. I’m going to walk up the avenue for awhile, so we will say good-by. Tell your office I’ll be in at four.”
Orrison looked after him when he started out, half expecting him to turn into a bar. But there was nothing about him that suggested or ever had suggested drink.
“Jesus,” he said to himself. “Drunk for ten years.”
He felt suddenly of the texture of his own coat and then he reached out and pressed his thumb against the granite of the building by his side.
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