GeraldoNo Last Name
没有姓的杰拉尔多
She met him at a dance. Pretty too, and young. Said he worked in a restaurant, but she can’t remember which one.Geraldo. Thats all. Green pants and Saturday shirt. Geraldo.That’s what he told her.
她在一次舞会上遇到他。也挺漂亮的，年轻。说他在一家餐馆工作,可她不记得是哪一家。杰拉尔多。就这些。绿色的褲子.星期六的衬衫。杰拉尔多。他告诉她的就这些。
And how was she to know she’d be the last one to see him alive. An accident, don’t you know. Hit-and-run. Marin, she goes to all those dances. Uptown. Logan. Embassy. Palmer.Aragon. Fontana. The Manor. She likes to dance. She knows how to do cumbias and salsas and rancheras even. And he was just someone she danced with. Somebody she met that night.That’s right.
她怎么会知道她是最后一个见到他活着的人呢？ 一场事故，你不明白吗?司机撞了人就跑掉了。玛琳，各种各样的舞会她都去.上城。摇石，使馆，帕尔畎。阿拉贡。喷泉。庄园。她喜欢跳舞.她知道怎么跳昆比亚.萨尔萨，甚至还有兰切拉，而他只是一个和她跳舞的人。一个她那晚的偶遇。是这样的。
That’s the story. That’s what she said again and again.Once to the hospital people and twice to the police. No address. No name. Nothing in his pockets. Ain’t it a shame.
事情就是这样。她说了一遍又一遍。一次对医院里的人，两次对警察。没有地址。没有姓名。口袋里什么都没有。倒霉吧
Only Marin can’t explain why it mattered, the hours and hours, for somebody she didn’t even know. The hospital emergency room. Nobody but an intern working all alone. And maybe if the surgeon would’ve come, maybe if he hadn’t lost so much blood, if the surgeon had only come, they would know who to notify and where.
只是玛琳无法解释自己为什么会在意，对一个她甚至不认识的人，一个小时又一个小时过去了。医院的急救室。除了—个实习生在那里忙，没有人来。如果他没失那么多血，也许外科医生会来，如果外科医生来了，他们会知道去通知谁通知哪里。
But what difference does it make? He wasn’t anything to her. He wasn’t her boyfriend or anything like that. Just another brazer who didn’t speak English. Just another wetback. You know the kind. The ones who always look ashamed. And what was she doing out at three a.m. anyway? Marin who was sent home with her coat and some aspirin. How does she explain?
可这有什么不一样呢？他又不是她什么人。他不是她的男朋友或类似男朋友的人。只是又一个不会讲英语的墨西哥苦力，又一个偷渡客。你知道那些人。看上去总是自惭形秽的人。可凌晨三点她在那里做什么呢？和她的外套以及—些阿司匹林—起被送回家的玛琳，她怎么解释呢？
She met him at a dance. Geraldo in his shiny shirt and green pants. Geraldo going to a dance.她在一次舞会上遇到他。穿着绿色裤子和闪亮衬衫的杰拉尔多。参加舞会的杰拉尔多。
What does it matter?可这有什么关系呢？
They never saw the kitchenettes. They never knew about the two-room flats and sleeping rooms he rented, the weekly money orders sent home, the currency exchange. How could they?
他们从未见过那个小厨房。他们从不知道他租的那套两室公寓和几间睡房。每周寄回家里的薪水汇票，还有兑换的货币。他们怎么知道呢？
His name was Geraldo. And his home is in another country. The ones he left behind are far away, will wonder, shrug, remember. Geraldo——he went north... we never heard from him again.
他的名字叫杰拉尔多。他的家在另外一个国家。他留在身后的人在远方，他们会奇怪，耸耸肩，又想起来。杰拉尔多，他去了北面……我们再也没收到过他的信了。
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