英译汉： Old Man Rivers
When Old Man Rivers woke up in the morning,among the first objects that his eyes beheld were two large and very splendid photographs that faced each other on the top of his tall chiffonier dresser,and that were divided by the heavy,silver-mounted brush and comb that lay between them.It was a good arrangement: each of the two splendid photographs commanded its own half of the dresser like a bull in its own pasture, and the two splendid photographs seemed to regard each other with the bellicose defiance of a snorting bull:if anyone of this present generation can remember the Bull Durham advertisements of twenty years ago,he may get the idea-three rails of fence,the pasture,the proud bull dominant with the great neck raised,the eyes flashing fire,and the proud rage of his magnificent possession simply smoking from his nostrils,and saying plainer than any words could do:''''Here I am and here I mean to stay!This side of the fence is mine!Keep out of here!"
Old Man Rivers more sensed than saw these things when he opened his old eyes.He didn’t see things clearly any more.Things didn''t come to him in the morning the way they used to come.He didn''t wake up easily he didn’t wake up at once,"all over,"as he used to do; rather,his old,tired,somewhat rheumy eyes opened slowly, gluily. Presently he roused himself and got up;he got up slowly,with a heavy sigh,and bent to find his slippers with a painful grunt;he was a heavy old figure of a man--a man who had been a big man,big-boned,big-handed, big-shouldered,and big-muscled,and whose bigness had now shrunk and dwindled to a baggy,sagging heaviness;round baggy shoulders,thin lees sagging paunch—a big man grown old.It took him a long time to bathe a long time to look at the sad old face reflected in the mirror,the face with the high cheek-bones,the slanting sockets of the eyes,the long wispy mustache and the scraggly wispy beard,which,with the old tired,yellowed,weary eyes, gave Mr. Rivers a certain distinction of appearance—an appearance not unlike that of a Chinese mandarin.
It took him a long time to shave, too—to do all the delicate work required about the edges of that long, straggling mustache, and that wispy mandarin-like beard to which he owed a good part of the distinction of his personal appearance.He shaved with a straight razor,of course; as he often said,he wouldn''t use"one of these confounded safety razor contraptions, if they gave him the whole factory. But,really,he had become afraid of his straight razor,which had once been such a friend to him;his old hands shook with palsy now,he had cut himself badly on more than one occasion. and shaving had become a slow and perilous affair.