Tablo【150421 原创】Pieces of you 翻译

前排，翻得不错

棒

书放那没看完，这样一来只想看翻译了

I woke up on saturday morning,not in my bed,but in the hallway.I had fallen alsleep while watching my father.I was immediately embarraseed,wondering whether or not he had seen me sprawled on the wooden floor,i felt strangely guilty. I rose and scanned the livingroom-the tv was still on but the couch was empty.outside,it was still raining.
周六早上一起来我发现自己躺在走廊上而不是我的床上，一定是我在观察我父亲的时候睡着了，我那会儿觉得好尴尬，一直在想我父亲是不是看到了我在地板上四肢呈现大字的样子，我真是觉得很罪恶。一起来扫视了一下客厅，发现电视还是开的，但是沙发上已经空无一人了，外面还在下着雨。
"did you stay up watching tv again?"my mother asked,emerging from her room,her morning eyes were always dull- age had consumed her considerably in the last few years,i hesitated,glancing at the couch again,i nodded.
我母亲从房间出来之后问我是不是熬夜看电视了，她睡眼朦胧，显得有点没精神，想必是这几年岁月的无情消磨，我犹豫了一下，扫了一眼沙发，点了下头。
"well its the weekend,so i guess its okay"she forced a smile and turned towards the kitchen.
"好吧，其实周末看看电视也无妨"她勉强的笑了一下然后走向了厨房
"wheres dad?" i asked
“爸爸去哪儿了？”我问道
she turned,eyes falling without meeting mine.I looked at the silver ring on my index finger,she looked at the clock above the couch.i could see a blurred reflection;she couldnt seen much without her glasses,we were locked in a discordantly linked emotion,unable to be the first to react.she looked up,walking ,he was out walking.
她转过来，眼睛眨了眨但是也没看我，我看着我食指上的银戒指，她看着沙发上方的时钟。我看见了一种有些模糊的反射，而她因为没有戴眼镜看不太清楚，我俩处于一种不怎么和谐的氛围之中，似乎都不能成为第一个做出反应的人。她朝上看，而父亲在外头走着。
i closed my eyes as my mother walked away.
我妈妈走开的时候我闭上了我的眼睛。

my father used to tell me that i learned to walk with my ears. One night, he placed his infant son on top of a piano,applying sound against his delicate skin.Soon,the baby's tiny feet were pacing the black surface,I learned to walk to my father's andante.
我父亲曾经告诉过我，我是借着耳朵的灵敏才学会走路的。有天晚上，他把还是婴儿的我放在钢琴上头，贴着娇嫩的皮肤来感觉音乐，不一会儿，我的脚就站在了黑色的琴盖上，原来我是跟着我父亲的速记才学会走路这件事的~
on my 18th birthday,he asked if i wanted to go for a walk,for some reason, i said no.his face turend blank,and i wondered if he had heard me. No , i repeated,he nodded,but as i turned away,he asked again:do you want to go for a walk, jonathan?i didnt know what to say,so without turning, i walked awy.sometimes i wonder if he knew what that meant.
我十八岁生日的那天，他问我愿不愿意和他出去走走，因为其中的个别原因，我拒绝了，他的脸上没什么神色起伏，我甚至都在想他到底有没有听见我说话，于是我又说了一遍，不去。他点了下头，但当我正背过身子去的时候，他又问了我一边想不想去走走，乔纳森。我都不知道说什么好了，所以我头都没回的走了，游戏时候我会想大人是不是真的会明白我要表达的意思呢。

楼主翻译的太好了 会一直翻译下去吗 我想自己把楼主的翻译抄成一本可以吗

the food got worse over the years,but soon, i didnt even care what we were having,At times,it seemed like my mother would cook just to cook,i would eat just to eat,and we would be there,just to be there.
随着年月，食物的味道大不如前，很快，我甚至都不在乎我们吃了什么，有时候，这看起来就像是我的母亲只是为了烹饪而去烹饪，而我只是为了吃而去吃，我们只是这样，就只是这样而已。
The grocery became my own hall of fame in a way,in every aisle,every rack,i would see my past in small boxes,cans,and bottles,noodles reminded me of my fathers suden discomfort with chopsticks,pork,my mother being sick for days because of indigestion,and coffee,the nights when my father would sit with me,playing the piano and sipping only after each piece.my memoriese were canned goods,their only refuge,a small grocery.
杂货店从某种意义上来说成为了我的荣誉堂，在每一条狭长的通道，每一排架子，我都可以在这些小盒子罐头或是瓶子里看到我的过去。面条让我想起了我父亲用筷子的不愉快经历，而猪肉呢，让我想到了母亲由于消化问题有段时间一直不太舒服，咖啡让我想到了我父亲和我呆在一起的晚上，他弹奏着钢琴，并且会在谈完一段喝一口咖啡。我的记忆都变成了这样储存起来的食物罐头，他们唯一的避难所却是一家小小的杂货店。
bach was playing as we pickd out toilet paper.
巴赫的曲子正在响起，而我们却在挑选厕纸。

不想说什么了、blo现在的成就对不起他的才华、这种闷骚的艺术感和淡淡的忧伤和他尴尬的搞笑简直不能太配

play something for me,but ease up on the anger,he said.he moved off to the side,giving me command over the keys.
他说：给我弹点什么吧，但是不要那么的怒气冲冲，他站到一边，在我弹琴的时候予以一些指导。
i began playing beethoven's piano Sonata No,8,my bruised figertips swallowed pain as the glided over the keys
我就开始弹奏了贝多芬的sonata no.8，我肿着的手指在滑过琴键的时候丧失了那些不舒服的疼痛感。.
the prefessor whispered,you have your fathers fingertips
教授对我耳语说，你的手指和你父亲的一样灵巧。.
i closed my eyes and relished the pain.
我合上了眼睛，我觉得那些痛楚在他说完这些的时候烟消云散了。

Drving back from the supermarket,i noticed that my mother sneaking brief glances at me, i wanted to say something,but i kept my gaze out the window so that i wouldnt catch her,my father wasnt home when we returned, i could sense worry on my mothers sullen face,but i comforted her only with silence, while she cooked, i sat at the dinner table,watching her move from one counter to another, i liked watching her work in the kitchen,her eyes filled back with some forgotten life,her hands with industry that was now rare,in my memoory,her hands were always white and their brilliance was magnified with the beautiful work they did.we used to fold origami cranes together,and i remember thinking that her hands were whiter than tiny white sheets of paper we used,but age had given birth to sickly veins,and the less she used her hands,the more ugly they became.Even the last crane we made,flattened between the pages of some book in a shelf somewhere,must have yellowed with age.
从超市开车回来的路上，我发现我的妈妈在小心翼翼的偷看我，我想说些什么，但是我把视线投向了窗外，这样我就不用去关心她的举动，我们到家的时候爸爸还没有回来，我可以察觉到我母亲那张不怎么开心的脸上也隐约透露着担心，但我只是用沉默安慰着她。
她在做饭的时候，我坐在餐桌那儿，看着她从这忙到那儿，我很喜欢看着她在厨房忙碌的身影，她的眼里诉说着过去的生活，她那双勤劳的受现在很罕见了，在我的记忆里，她的手从来都是雪白的，并且因为能做出很多很棒的事情，看上去很有吸引力，我们曾经一起折纸，我记得她的手比那些小纸片要白多了，但是随着年月，生出了一些苍白的脉络，由于不怎么用手去做事了，所以手越发不如从前好看了，甚至使我们折的最后一张纸，在书架的某本书中也会被压平，一定也会随着年月的流逝变黄吧。