The edge of the shoal (Digest)
by Cynan Jones
From The New Yorker
浅滩边缘(节选)
西南·琼斯
摘自《纽约客》
He swings the fish from the water, a wild stripe flicking and flashing into the boat, and grabs the line, twisting the hook out, holding the fish down in the footrests. It gasps, thrashes. Drums. Something rapid and primal, ceremonial, in the shallow of the open boat.
他甩动鱼竿，鱼划出一道野性的纹路，落进小船，在船里跃动、弹射。他抓住鱼线，取出鱼钩，鱼被放在搁脚板上。它喘息，拍打，敲出鼓点。某种原始仪式感，迅疾地上演在浅滩这艘敞顶小船。
Flecks of blood and scales loosen, as if turning to rainbows in his hands, as he picks up the fish and breaks its neck, feels the minute rim of teeth inside its jaw on the pad of his forefinger, puts his thumb behind the head and snaps.
鱼鳞脱落，血迹点点，手边绽开彩虹的斑驳。他捡起起鱼，折断颈脖，感受它下颚里小小的牙齿啃噬手指护具，然后把大拇指放在鱼头后部，猛然一折。
The jaw splits and the gills splay, like an opening flower.
下颌分离，鱼鳃展开，像盛放的花。
He was sure he would catch fish. He left just a simple note: “Pick salad x.”
他确信自己能抓到鱼。他留了一张便条：“订沙拉 x ”。
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Briefly, he looks toward the inland cliffs, hoping the peregrine will be there, scanning as he patiently undoes the knot of traces, pares the feathers away from one another until they are free, and feeds them out. The boat is flecked. Glittered. A heat has come to the morning now, convincing and thick.
飞快瞥向内陆的悬崖，他期望游隼的出现。它们会在他耐心解开绳结的时候高飞巡视。闲暇下来，游隼就互相为同伴梳啄羽毛。这时他给它们喂食。船只色彩斑驳，闪着亮光。早晨的一缕温暖撒过来，浓稠且让人心安。
The kayak lilts. Weed floats. He thinks of her hair in water. The same darkened blond color.
皮艇轻快滑动。海草漂浮。他想起她水中的头发。一样的暗金色。
It’s unusual to catch only one. Or it was just a straggler. The edge of the shoal. Something split it from the others.
只抓到了一条鱼，这不寻常。可能它只是掉队了。浅滩边缘。有什么把它和背
景区分开了。
He retrieves a carrier bag from the dry bag in the back and stores the fish. Then he bails out the blood-rusted water from the boat.
他从后面的干袋里取回一个手提袋，把鱼装进去，然后舀出船里被锈染红的血水。
Fish don’t have eyelids, remember. In this bright water, it’s likely they are deeper out.
鱼没有眼睑，记住了。在明亮的水域，他们可能比眼见的更深些。
He’s been hearing his father’s voice for the past few weeks now.
过去几个星期他一直听到父亲的声音。
I’ve got this one, though. That’s enough. That’s lunch.
我只捉住了一只。不过也够了。这是午餐。
The bay lay just a little north. It was a short paddle from the flat beach inland of him, with the caravans on the low fields above, but it felt private.
北面的海湾隔得远了一些。内陆平坦的海滩上，低洼的田野停着大篷车，距离那里有一段短短桨程，感觉隐秘。
His father long ago had told him that they were the only ones who knew about the bay, and that was a good thing between them to believe.
他父亲很久以前告诉他，只有他们了解海湾。对他们来说，相信这件事是好的。
You’ll set the pan on a small fire and cook the mackerel as you used to do together, in the pats of butter you took from the roadside café. The butter will be liquid by now, and you will have to squeeze it from the wrapper like an ointment.
像过去你们常一起做的，你也会烹煮马鲛鱼，把平锅架上小火，加些路边餐馆里买的黄油。黄油融化成液体，你只能像挤油膏一样把它从包装袋里挤出。
The bones in the cooling pan, fingers sticky with the toffee of burned butter.
骨头留在逐渐冷却的盘子里，融掉的黄油粘在手指上，太妃糖一样粘稠。
He was not a talker. But he couldn’t imagine sitting in the bay and not talking to his father.
他不健谈。但是无法想象，坐在海湾边，身旁没有父亲一起谈天。
There is a strange gurgle and a razorbill appears, shudders off the water, flicks its head and preens. It looks at him, head cocked, turns as it paddles off a few yards. Then it dives again, and is gone.
耳边响起一阵奇异的咯咯声，是只海雀。它抖掉身上的水珠，轻弹脑袋，用嘴整理羽毛。它看着他，歪着头。船驶出几码，它又出现了。然后再次下潜，这次才真正离开了。
——2019本科毕业翻译作品节选