ããã¯ç: ð§
ãã®åã¯åã®ããšã¯äœãç¥ããªã。誰ãç¥ããªãããšã ãã©。 ―ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒã
Nobody knows.
------------------------
ãã®åã¯åã®ããšã¯äœãç¥ããªã。
誰ãç¥ããªãããšã ãã©。
Sherwood Anderson(ã·ã£ãŒãŠãã・ã¢ã³ããŒãœã³: 1876-1941)ã¢ã¡ãªã«ã®äœå®¶。åŸã«ç¶ãããããäœå®¶ã®ç¶ãšãã©ãŒã¯ããŒãåŒãã 。
Sherwood Anderson (1876-1941) American writer. The father of every writer that followed, Faulkner called him.
☆Everybody knows.ãšãããš「誰ã§ãç¥ã£ãŠãã」。ãã®å察ã§Nobody knows.ã¯「誰ãç¥ããªã」。have got something on someone「誰ãã®äœããç¥ã£ã」。
♡『ã¯ã€ã³ãºããŒã°、ãªãã€ãª』(Winesburg, Ohio)ãšããçç·šéã®å°èª¬ã®äžã«NOBODY KNOWSãšããã¿ã€ãã«ã®çç·šããã。ãã®ã¿ã€ãã«ãšäž»äººå ¬ã®çµããã®ã€ã¶ãããåãã§、ã¿ã€ãã«ãšçµå¥ãé¿ãåã£ãŠãªããªãäœé»ãã。
There is a short story titled NOBODY KNOWS in the collection of short stories entitled "Winesburg, Ohio." The title and the protagonist's closing musing are the same, and the title and the concluding phrase echo each other and are quite lingering.
☆話ã®å
容ã¯
The story:
æ°è瀟ã®èšè
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯、ããæ、ã«ã€ãŒãº・ãã©ããªã³ãšãã女æ§ããã®(ãã®ãšèŠããã)æçŽãåãåã
Newspaper reporter George Willard receives a letter one morning from a woman named Louise Trunnion
æçŽã«ã¯「ç§ã¯ããªãã®ãã®ã、ããªããç§ãå¿
èŠãšãããªã」ãšãã£ã
The letter read, "I am yours, if you want me."
ãã®ããšããã£ãŠãããžã§ãŒãžã¯è·å Žã§ã©ããããã®ãããããèãã
After this incident, George wondered what to do at work.
ãããŠæ±ºæã¯ãªããŸãŸ「åéº」ã«çæãã。æéã®å€ã®äž、åºãã、空ãå°ã§ããŒããã
Then, with no resolve, he embarked on his "adventure." He went out in the dark of night and dated in a vacant lot.
♡ããŒãã¯
The theme is:
人éé¢ä¿・ç·å¥³ã®ä»²・ä»äººã«ã€ããŠç¥ãããš・äºå®ãåŠã・ããã¡ãªããããšã
Relationships, men and women, what we know about others, true or not, awkward interactions
☆ã¿ã€ãã«ããã®å±éã¯
How the title evolves:
誰ãç¥ããªã(ã¿ã€ãã«)
NOBODY KNOWS
↓
åéºã«ã€ããŠç¥ã£ãŠããè
ã誰ãããªãäž、åéºã«çæ
Set out on an adventure with no one else knowing about the adventure
↓
ã©ãããŠç§ã®æ°æã¡ãããã£ãã®ããšåããã
She asked him how he knew how she felt
↓
åãåã£ãæçŽã«ã€ããŠ、ãã®ç宿§ã«ç念ãçãã
Doubts arose about the truthfulness of the letter received
↓
è¡äžã§ã®åãæãåºã、è§£æãããŠããªããŸãŸã®çå¿µãææ
Recalling rumors in town, he dispelled doubts without clarification
↓
「誰ã«ãããããªããã倧äžå€«」ãšçžæã説åŸ
Convinced her that "no one knows, so it's okay."
↓
ããŒããçµãã、倧人ã«ãªã、誰ãã«è©±ããããªã
The date was over, he was now an adult, and he wanted to talk to someone
↓
人éå士ã®ãããã«ããã«æ°ã¥ã、æåŸã«「誰ã«ãããããªã」ãšã€ã¶ãã
Noticing the incomprehensibility between humans, he mumbled, "Nobody knows."
↑Top ↑Home / ↓Bottom ↓Basement
☆é·ããã©èªã¿ããã§ãã? åæãšç¿»èš³
Somewhat longer, but you would like to read:
NOBODY KNOWS
誰ãç¥ããªã
Looking cautiously about, George
Willard arose from his desk in the office of the _Winesburg Eagle_ and
went hurriedly out at the back door. The night was warm and cloudy and
although it was not yet eight o’clock, the alleyway back of the _Eagle_
office was pitch dark. A team of horses tied to a post somewhere in the
darkness stamped on the hard-baked ground. A cat sprang from under
George Willard’s feet and ran away into the night. The young man was
nervous. All day he had gone about his work like one dazed by a blow. In
the alleyway he trembled as though with fright.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯çšå¿æ·±ã蟺ããèŠåããªãã、『ã¯ã€ã³ãºããŒã°・ã€ãŒã°ã«』çŽã®ãªãã£ã¹ã®ãã¹ã¯ããç«ã¡äžãããš、éæ©ã§è£å£ããå€ã«åºã。æããå€ã§æã£ãŠãã。ãŸã 8æåã ã£ããã€ãŒã°ã«ç€Ÿè£ã®è·¯å°ã¯çã£æã ã£ã。æéã®äžã§ã©ããã®æ±ã«ã€ãªããã銬ã®äžå£ã、åºããªã£ãå°é¢ãèžã¿ãããŠãã。ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã®è¶³äžããã¯ç«ãäžå¹é£ã³åºã、éã®äžã«éã蟌ãã 。è¥è
ã¯ç·åŒµããŠãã。äžæ¥äž、ãŸãã§æ®ŽãããŠæèãæŠæ§ãšããè
ã®ããã«ä»äºã«åãçµãã§ãã。è·¯å°ã®äžã§æ¯ããããã«éãã。
In the darkness George Willard walked along the alleyway, going
carefully and cautiously. The back doors of the Winesburg stores were
open and he could see men sitting about under the store lamps. In
Myerbaum’s Notion Store Mrs. Willy the saloon keeper’s wife stood by the
counter with a basket on her arm. Sid Green the clerk was waiting on
her. He leaned over the counter and talked earnestly.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯æéã®äžã®è·¯å°ãæ°ãã€ããŠæ©ãã。ã¯ã€ã³ãºããŒã°ã®åºã®è£å£ã¯ã©ããéããŠãã、åºå
ã®ã©ã³ãã®äžã«åº§ã£ãŠããç·ãã¡ã®å§¿ãèŠãã。ãã€ã€ãŒããŠã é貚åºã§ã¯、é
å Žã®å€§å°ã®å¥¥ããã®ãŠã£ãªãŒå€«äººãè
ãããã¹ã±ãããæããŠã«ãŠã³ã¿ãŒã®åã«ç«ã£ãŠãã。åºå¡ã®ã·ã・ã°ãªãŒã³ã察å¿ããŠãã。ã«ãŠã³ã¿ãŒãã身ãä¹ãåºããŠç±å¿ã«è©±ããããŠãã。
George Willard crouched and then jumped through the path of light that
came out at the door. He began to run forward in the darkness. Behind Ed
Griffith’s saloon old Jerry Bird the town drunkard lay asleep on the
ground. The runner stumbled over the sprawling legs. He laughed
brokenly.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯ãããã¿èŸŒãã ããš、æžå£ããæŒãåºãå
ã®çãé£ã³è¶ãã。ãããŠæéã®äžãèµ°ãå§ãã。ãšã・ã°ãªãã£ã¹ã®é
å Žã®è£ã§ã¯、çºã®é
ã£ã±ããã®ãžã§ãªãŒ・ããŒããå°é¢ã«æšªããã£ãŠç ã£ãŠãã。ã ãããªã䌞ã³ãèã«、èµ°ããã¡ã«ã€ãŸãã、èŠç¬ããã。
George Willard had set forth upon an adventure. All day he had been
trying to make up his mind to go through with the adventure and now he
was acting. In the office of the _Winesburg Eagle_ he had been sitting
since six o’clock trying to think.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯ããåéºã«åã£ãŠåºãããŠãã。å®è¡ãããã©ããã¯äžæ¥äžå¿ã決ããããŠããã、ä»ãããã«åãã£ãŠãã。æ6æãã『ã¯ã€ã³ãºããŒã°・ã€ãŒã°ã«』ã®ãªãã£ã¹ã§ãã£ãšåº§ã、èããŠããããšã ã£ã。
There
had been no decision. He had just jumped to his feet, hurried past Will
Henderson who was reading proof in the printshop and started to run
along the alleyway.
決æã¯ã§ããŠããªãã£ãã、ä»ããã、æ¥ã«ç«ã¡äžãã£ãŠèµ°ãå§ãã。å°å·æã§æ ¡æ£å·ããèªãã§ãããŠã£ã«・ãã³ããŒãœã³ã®èãæ¥ãã§éãéã、è·¯å°ãè¡ã£ã。
Through street after street went George Willard, avoiding the people who
passed. He crossed and recrossed the road. When he passed a street lamp
he pulled his hat down over his face. He did not dare think. In his
mind there was a fear but it was a new kind of fear. He was afraid the
adventure on which he had set out would be spoiled, that he would lose
courage and turn back.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯éããæ¬¡ããæ¬¡ãžãšéãæã、è¡ã亀ã人ã
ãé¿ãã。éè·¯ãæšªåã、ããã«æšªåã£ã。è¡ç¯ã«å·®ãããããšåžœåãç®æ·±ã«ãã¶ã£ã。èããæ°ã¯ãªãã£ã。å¿ã®äžã«æãã¯ãã£ãã、ããã¯å¥ãªæãã ã£ã。ãã£ããã®åéºãå°ç¡ãã«ãªãããš、åæ°ã倱ã£ãŠåŒãè¿ãããšãæãããã。
George
Willard found Louise Trunnion in the kitchen of her father’s house. She
was washing dishes by the light of a kerosene lamp. There she stood
behind the screen door in the little shedlike kitchen at the back of the
house. George Willard stopped by a picket fence and tried to control
the shaking of his body. Only a narrow potato patch separated him from
the adventure. Five minutes passed before he felt sure enough of himself
to call to her. “Louise! Oh, Louise!” he called. The cry stuck in his
throat. His voice became a hoarse whisper.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯、ã«ã€ãŒãº・ãã©ããªã³ãç¶èŠªã®å®¶ã®å°æã«ããã®ãèŠã€ãã。ç¯æ²¹ã©ã³ãã®æããã®äžã§ç¿æŽããããŠãã。å®¶ã®å¥¥ã«ããå°ããªå°å±ã®ãããªå°æã®ç¶²æžã®åããã«ç«ã£ãŠãã。ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯æå£ã®ãã°ã§ç«ã¡æ¢ãŸã、äœãéããã®ãæããããšãã。ãã¯ãåéºãéªéãããã®ã¯çããžã£ã¬ã€ã¢çã ãã«ãªã£ã。5åã»ã©çµã€ãš、声ããããããšãã§ãããšãã確信ãã§ãã。「ã«ã€ãŒãº!ããŒã、ã«ã€ãŒãº!」ãšåœŒã¯åŒã³ããã。å«ã³å£°ãåã«åŒã£ããã、ããããŠãããã声ã«ãªã£ã。
Louise Trunnion came out across the potato patch holding the dish cloth
in her hand. “How do you know I want to go out with you,” she said
sulkily. “What makes you so sure?”
ã«ã€ãŒãº・ãã©ã³ããªã³ã¯ãµãããæã«ãããŸãŸåºãŠããŠ、ãžã£ã¬ã€ã¢çãæšªåã£ãŠæ¥ã。「ã©ãããŠç§ãããªããšä»ãåãããã£ãŠããã£ãŠããã£ãã®?」圌女ã¯äžæ©å«ãããªé¡ãããŠèšã£ã。「ã©ãããŠããããããšãèšããã®?」
George Willard did not answer. In silence the two stood in the darkness
with the fence between them. “You go on along,” she said. “Pa’s in
there. I’ll come along. You wait by Williams’ barn.”
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯çããªãã£ã。äºäººã¯æ²é»ãä¿ã£ããŸãŸ、ãã§ã³ã¹ãæãã§æéã®äžã«ç«ã£ãŠãã。「å
ã«è¡ã£ãŠããŠ」ãšåœŒå¥³ã¯èšã£ã。「å®¶ã«ã¯ç¶ããããã。ç§ãããšããè¡ãã。ããªãã¯ãŠã£ãªã¢ã ãºã®çŽå±ã®ãã°ã§åŸ
ã£ãŠãŠ」。
The young newspaper reporter had received a letter from Louise Trunnion.
It had come that morning to the office of the _Winesburg Eagle_. The
letter was brief. “I’m yours if you want me,” it said. He thought it
annoying that in the darkness by the fence she had pretended there was
nothing between them. “She has a nerve! Well, gracious sakes, she has a
nerve,” he muttered as he went along the street and passed a row of
vacant lots where corn grew. The corn was shoulder high and had been
planted right down to the sidewalk.
ãã®è¥ãæ°èèšè
ã¯、ã«ã€ãŒãº・ãã©ããªã³ããæçŽãåãåã£ãŠããã®ã 。ããã¯ãã®æ¥ã®æ、『ã¯ã€ã³ãºããŒã°・ã€ãŒã°ã«』çŽã®ãªãã£ã¹ã«å±ãã。ç°¡æœãªæçŽã ã£ã。「ç§ã¯ããªãã®ãã®ã、ããªããç§ãå¿
èŠãšãããªã」ãšãã£ã。ã«ã€ãŒãºã¯æéã®äž、ãã§ã³ã¹ã®èã§、äºãã®éã«äœããªãã£ããµãããã。ãã®ããšã«ã€ããŠåœŒã¯è
¹ç«ãããæã£ã。「床èžããã!ãªããŠãã£ã、èã座ã£ãŠãã」ãšåããªãã圌ã¯éããé²ã¿、ããŠã¢ãã³ã·ãçãèã空ãå°ã®åãªããéãéãã。ããŠã¢ãã³ã·ã¯è©ã®é«ããŸã§ãã、æ©éèãŸã§æ€ããããŠãã。
When Louise Trunnion came out of the front door of her house she still
wore the gingham dress in which she had been washing dishes. There was
no hat on her head. The boy could see her standing with the doorknob in
her hand talking to someone within, no doubt to old Jake Trunnion, her
father. Old Jake was half deaf and she shouted. The door closed and
everything was dark and silent in the little side street. George Willard
trembled more violently than ever.
ã«ã€ãŒãº・ãã©ããªã³ãå®¶ã®çé¢ããåºãŠãããšã、圌女ã¯ç¿æŽããããŠãããšãã®ã®ã³ã¬ã ãã¬ã¹ã®ãŸãŸã ã£ã。åžœåã¯ãã¶ã£ãŠããªãã£ã。ãã¢ãããæã«ãããŸãŸç«ã£ãŠå®¶ã®äžã®èª°ããšè©±ããŠããã®ãé幎ã«èŠãã。ãžã§ã€ã¯ã¯ååè³ãèãããªãã£ãã®ã§、圌女ã¯å€§å£°ãåºããŠãã。ãã¢ãéãŸããš、å°ããªèéã¯æãéãŸãè¿ã£ã。ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯ãã®ãšããã€ãŠãªãã»ã©æ¿ãã身éããã。
In the shadows by Williams’ barn George and Louise stood, not daring to
talk. She was not particularly comely and there was a black smudge on
the side of her nose. George thought she must have rubbed her nose with
her finger after she had been handling some of the kitchen pots.
ãžã§ãŒãžãšã«ã€ãŒãºã¯ãŠã£ãªã¢ã ãºã®çŽå±ã®ãã°ã®ç©é°ã«ç«ã£ãŠãã。ã«ã€ãŒãºã¯ç¹ã«çŸäººãšããããã§ã¯ãªã、錻ã®èã«é»ãæ±ãããã£ã。å°æã®éãæ±ã£ãåŸ、æã§éŒ»ãããã£ãã®ã ãããšãžã§ãŒãžã¯æã£ã。
The young man began to laugh nervously. “It’s warm,” he said. He wanted
to touch her with his hand. “I’m not very bold,” he thought. Just to
touch the folds of the soiled gingham dress would, he decided, be an
exquisite pleasure. She began to quibble. “You think you’re better than I
am. Don’t tell me, I guess I know,” she said drawing closer to him.
è¥è
ã¯ç·åŒµããŠç¬ãå§ãã。「æããã」ãšåœŒã¯èšã£ã。åœŒã¯æã§åœŒå¥³ã«è§Šããããšæã£ã。「åã¯ããŸã倧èãããªã」ãšåœŒã¯æã£ã。æ±ããã®ã³ã¬ã ãã¬ã¹ã®ã²ã ã«è§Šããã ãã§ã極äžã®åã³ã«ãªãã ãããšæã£ã。圌女ã¯å±çå±ãããå§ãã。「èªåã®æ¹ãäžã ãšæã£ãŠãããã§ããã?èšããªãã§ã、ããã£ãŠããã ãã」圌女ã¯åœŒã«è¿ã¥ãã。
A flood of words burst from George Willard. He remembered the look that
had lurked in the girl’s eyes when they had met on the streets and
thought of the note she had written. Doubt left him. The whispered tales
concerning her that had gone about town gave him confidence. He became
wholly the male, bold and aggressive. In his heart there was no sympathy
for her. “Ah, come on, it’ll be all right. There won’t be anyone know
anything. How can they know?” he urged.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãããã¯èšèãããµãåºã。è¡ã§åºäŒã£ããšã、å°å¥³ã®ç®ã«æœãã§ããèŠç·ãæãåºã、åœŒå¥³ãæžããæçŽãæãæµ®ãã¹ã。ç念ã¯å»ã£ã。è¡ã§ããããããŠãã圌女ã«é¢ãã話ã圌ã«èªä¿¡ãäžãã。圌ã¯å®å
šã«ç·ã«ãªã、倧èã§æ»æçã«ãªã£ã。å¿ã®äžã«å¥³ãžã®åæ
ã¯ãªãã£ã。「ãã、倧äžå€«ã ãã。誰ãäœããããããããªã。ãããã£ããªã」。
They began to walk along a narrow brick sidewalk between the cracks of
which tall weeds grew. Some of the bricks were missing and the sidewalk
was rough and irregular. He took hold of her hand that was also rough
and thought it delightfully small. “I can’t go far,” she said and her
voice was quiet, unperturbed.
äºäººã¯、èã®é«ãéèãå²ãç®ãã䌞ã³ãŠããã¬ã³ã¬æ·ãã®çãæ©éãæ©ãå§ãã。ã¬ã³ã¬ã¯äžéšããªããªã£ãŠãã、æ©éã¯åžå¹ã§æ©ãã¥ããã£ã。åœŒå¥³ã®æããã€ãã€ããŠããã、圌ã¯ãã®æãæ¡ã、å°ãããããããæã£ã。「é ããžã¯è¡ããªãã」ãšèšããã®å£°ã¯éãã§、èœã¡çããŠãã。
They crossed a bridge that ran over a tiny stream and passed another
vacant lot in which corn grew. The street ended. In the path at the side
of the road they were compelled to walk one behind the other. Will
Overton’s berry field lay beside the road and there was a pile of
boards. “Will is going to build a shed to store berry crates here,” said
George and they sat down upon the boards.
å°ããªå°å·ã«æ¶ããæ©ãæž¡ã、ããŠã¢ãã³ã·ã®çãã空ãå°ãéãéãã。éã¯è¡ãæ¢ãŸãã ã£ã。é路沿ãã®å°éã§ã¯äžäººãã€ååŸã«ãªã£ãŠæ©ããããåŸãªãã£ã。éã®èã¯ãŠã£ã«・ãªãŒããŒãã³ã®ããªãŒçã«ãªã£ãŠãã、æ¿ãç©ãŸããŠãã。「ãŠã£ã«ã¯ããã«ããªãŒã®ç®±ãå
¥ããŠããå°å±ã建ãŠãã€ãããªãã 」ãšãžã§ãŒãžãèšã、äºäººã¯ãã®æ¿ã®äžã«è
°ãäžããã。
When George Willard got back into Main Street it was past ten o’clock
and had begun to rain. Three times he walked up and down the length of
Main Street. Sylvester West’s Drug Store was still open and he went in
and bought a cigar. When Shorty Crandall the clerk came out at the door
with him he was pleased. For five minutes the two stood in the shelter
of the store awning and talked. George Willard felt satisfied. He had
wanted more than anything else to talk to some man. Around a corner
toward the New Willard House he went whistling softly.
ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒããã¡ã€ã³ã¹ããªãŒãã«æ»ã£ãã®ã¯10æéãã§、éšãéãå§ããŠãã。圌ã¯éãã端ãã端ãŸã§3åŸåŸ©ãã。ã·ã«ãŽã§ã¹ã¿ãŒ・ãŠã§ã¹ãã®ãã©ãã°ã¹ãã¢ã¯ãŸã éããŠãã。åºå
ã«å
¥ãèå·»ãè²·ã£ã。åºå¡ã®ã·ã§ãŒãã£・ã¯ã©ã³ãã«ã圌ã«ã€ããŠãã¢ããåºãŠãã。圌ã¯åãã 。äºäººã¯5åã»ã©、åºã®æ¥ããã®äžã§ç«ã¡è©±ãã。ãžã§ãŒãž・ãŠã£ã©ãŒãã¯æºè¶³æã«æµžã£ãŠãã。äœããã誰ãç·æ§ãšè©±ããããã£ã。è§ãæ²ãã£ãŠãã¥ãŒ・ãŠã£ã©ãŒã・ããŠã¹ã«åãããšã、ãã£ãšå£ç¬ãå¹ããŠè¡ã£ã。
On the sidewalk at the side of Winney’s Dry Goods Store where there was a
high board fence covered with circus pictures, he stopped whistling and
stood perfectly still in the darkness, attentive, listening as though
for a voice calling his name. Then again he laughed nervously. “She
hasn’t got anything on me. Nobody knows,” he muttered doggedly and went
on his way.
ãµãŒã«ã¹ã®çµµãæãããé«ãæ¿å¡ããã、ãŠã£ããŒä¹Ÿç©åºã®èã®æ©éã§、圌ã¯å£ç¬ãå¹ãã®ãæ¢ã、æéã®äžã§å®å
šã«éæ¢ããŠæ³šææ·±ã、ãŸãã§èªåã®ååãåŒã¶å£°ããããã®ããã«è³ãåŸãã。ãããããŸã、ç¥çµè³ªããã«ç¬ã£ã。「圌女ã¯åã®ããšã¯äœãç¥ããªã。誰ã«ãããããªããã 」。圌ã¯ããã€ã¶ãããš、è¡ãå
ã«åããèªåã®éãæ©ãåºãã。
♡çç·šã®çŸå³ãããã£ã±ãã®åäœ。
A masterpiece full of deliciousness of short stories.

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