亨利·斯莱萨 考试日（原文 权威译文）

亨利·斯尔萨的小小说总是让人心头一震，今天我从外网搬来一篇原文，英语6级没有压力。
原文：
“Examination Day” by Henry Slesar
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The Jordans never spoke of the exam, not until their son, Dickie, was twelve years old. It was on his birthday that Mrs. Jordan first mentioned the subject in his presence, and the anxious manner of her speech caused her husband to answer sharply. 
‘Forget about it,’ he said. ‘He’ll do all right.’ 
They were at breakfast table, and the boy looked up from his plate curiously. He was an alert-eyed youngster with flat blond hair and a quick, nervous manner. He didn’t understand what the sudden tension was about, but he did know that today was his birthday, and he wanted harmony above all. Somewhere in the little apartment there were wrapped, beribboned packages waiting to be opened, and in the tiny wall-kitchen something warm and sweet was being prepared in the automatic stove. He wanted the day to be happy, and the moistness of his mother’s eyes, the scowl on his father’s face, spoiled the mood of fluttering expectation with which he had greeted the morning. 
‘What exam?’ he asked.
His mother looked at the tablecloth. ‘It’s just a sort of Government Intelligence test they give children at the age of twelve. You’ll be taking it next week. It’s nothing to worry about.’
‘You mean a test like in school?’ 
‘Something like that,’ his father said, getting up from the table. ‘Go and read your comics, Dickie.’ The boy rose and wandered towards that part of the living room which had been ‘his’ corner since infancy. He fingered the topmost comic of the stack, but seemed uninterested in the colorful squares of fast-paced action. He wandered towards the window, and peered gloomily at the veil of mist that shrouded the glass. ‘Why did it have to rain today?’ he said. ‘Why couldn’t it rain tomorrow?’ His father, now slumped into an armchair with the Government newspaper rattled the sheets in vexation. ‘Because it just did, that’s all. Rain makes the grass grow.’ ‘Why, Dad?’ ‘Because it does, that’s all.’ Dickie puckered his brow. ‘What makes it green, though? The grass?’ ‘Nobody knows,’ his father snapped, then immediately regretted his abruptness. Later in the day, it was birthday time again. His mother beamed as she handed over the gailycolored packages, and even his father managed a grin and a rumple-of-the-hair. He kissed his mother and shook hands gravely with his father. Then the birthday cake was brought forth, and the ceremonies concluded. An hour later, seated by the window, he watched the sun force its way between the clouds. ‘Dad,’ he said, ‘how far away is the sun?’ ‘Five thousand miles,’ his father said. Dickie sat at the breakfast table and again saw moisture in his mother’s eyes. He didn’t connect her tears with the exam until his father suddenly brought the subject to light again. ‘Well, Dickie,’ he said, with a manly frown, ‘you’ve got an appointment today.’ ‘I know Dad. I hope –’ ‘Now, it’s nothing to worry about. Thousands of children take this test every day. The Government wants to know how smart you are, Dickie. That’s all there is to it.’ ‘I get good marks in school,’ he said hesitantly. ‘This is different. This is a - special kind of test. They give you this stuff to drink, you see, and then you go into a room where there’s a sort of machine –‘ ‘What stuff to drink?’ Dickie said. ‘It’s nothing. It tastes like peppermint. It’s just to make sure you answer the questions truthfully. Not that the Government thinks you won’t tell the truth, but it makes sure.’ Dickie’s face showed puzzlement, and a touch of fright. He looked at his mother, and she composed her face into a misty smile. ‘Everything will be all right,’ she said. ‘Of course it will,’ his father agreed. ‘You’re a good boy, Dickie; you’ll make out fine. Then we’ll come home and celebrate. All right?’ ‘Yes sir,’ Dickie said. They entered the Government Educational Building fifteen minutes before the appointed hour. They crossed the marble floors of the great pillared lobby, passed beneath an archway and entered an automatic lift that brought them to the fourth floor. There was a young man wearing an insignia-less tunic, seated at a polished desk in front of Room 404. He held a clipboard in his hand, and he checked the list down to the Js and permitted the Jordans to enter. The room was as cold and official as a courtroom, with long benches flanking metal tables. There were several fathers and sons already there, and a thin-lipped woman with cropped black hair was passing out sheets of paper. Mr Jordan filled out the form, and returned it to the clerk. Then he told Dickie: ‘It won’t be long now. When they call your name, you just go through the doorway at the end of the room.’ He indicated the portal with his finger. A concealed loudspeaker crackled and called off the first name. Dickie saw a boy leave his father’s side reluctantly and walk slowly towards the door. At five minutes to eleven, they called the name of Jordan. ‘Good luck, son,’ his father said, without looking at him. ‘I’ll call for you when the test is over.’ Dickie walked to the door and turned the knob. The room inside was dim, and he could barely make out the features of the grey-tunicked attendant who greeted him. ‘Sit down,’ the man said softly. He indicated a high stool beside his desk. ‘Your name’s Richard Jordan?’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Your classification number is 600-115. Drink this, Richard.’ He lifted a plastic cup from the desk and handed it to the boy. The liquid inside had the consistency of buttermilk, tasted only vaguely of the promised peppermint. Dickie downed it, and handed the man the empty cup. He sat in silence, feeling drowsy, while the man wrote busily on a sheet of paper. Then the attendant looked at his watch, and rose to stand only inches from Dickie’s face. He unclipped a penlike object from the pocket of his tunic, and flashed a tiny light into the boy’s eyes. 
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come with me, Richard.’ He led Dickie to the end of the room, where a single wooden armchair faced a multi-dialed computing machine. There was a microphone on the left arm of the chair, and when the boy sat down, he found its pinpoint head conveniently at his mouth. ‘Now just relax, Richard. You’ll be asked some questions, and you think them over carefully. Then give your answers into the microphone. The machine will take care of the rest.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘I’ll leave you alone now. Whenever you want to start, just say “ready” into the microphone.’ ‘Yes, sir.’ The man squeezed his shoulder, and left. Dickie said, ‘Ready.’ Lights appeared on the machine, and a mechanism whirred. A voice said: ‘Complete this sequence. One, four, seven, ten . . Mr and Mrs Jordan were in the living room, not speaking, not even speculating. It was almost four o’clock when the telephone rang. The woman tried to reach it first, but her husband was quicker. 
‘Mr Jordan?’ The voice was clipped: a brisk, official voice. 
‘Yes, speaking.’ 
‘This is the Government Educational Service. Your son, Richard M Jordan, Classification 600-115 has completed the Government examination. We regret to inform you that his intelligence quotient is above the Government regulation, according to Rule 84 Section 5 of the New Code.’ Across the room, the woman cried out, knowing nothing except the emotion she read on her husband’s face. 
‘You may specify by telephone,’ the voice droned on, ‘whether you wish his body interred by the Government, or would you prefer a private burial place? The fee for Government burial is ten dollars.’
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排版乱了我没有办法（稍微整理了一下），PDF原文下载地址（考试B卷）：u19715174.ctfile.com/dir/19715174-34277584-5f1eca/
自己取吧～
权威中文翻译（17年翻译）（被故事会2019年六月上收录了还）
考试日
作者：亨利·斯莱萨
译者：杨江柱
乔丹夫妇在儿子迪基满12岁以前，从来没有谈过这次考试。儿子12岁生日那天，乔丹太太第一次当着儿子提到这件事。她说话时那种顾虑重重的态度，使得她的丈夫立刻作出反应。“别想它，”他说，“迪基会对付过来的。” 
他们坐在早餐桌旁，孩子好奇地抬头仰望着。这孩子眼睛机灵，头发淡黄，神态敏捷，容易激动。他不明白爸爸妈妈这种突如其来的紧张是怎么一回事，但他确实知道今天是自己的生日，他最需要的就是一切美满顺畅。小房间的某个角落里，包好了的、系着彩色缎带的礼物正等着他去打开，小厨房的自动炉灶也准备了热腾腾的美味佳肴。这一天，他打算过得快快活活的，而母亲眼里的泪花和父亲脸上的愁容却破坏了他热切期待的心情。他正是带着这种心情，迎来了生日的早晨。 
“什么考试？”他问道。 
他的妈妈眼睛望着桌布说：“就是政府对12岁儿童的智力测验。你下周要去考试，用不着担心。” 
“你是说像学校里的那种考试吗？” 
“有点像，”他的爸爸说，从餐桌旁站起来，“去看你的连环画吧，迪基。” 
孩子站起来，逛到休息室的一角，那儿从幼婴时期起就是他自己的天地。他随便翻弄着一堆连环画顶上面的一本，彩色画页迅速掠过，他漫不经心，不感兴趣。接着，又逛到窗子跟前，闷闷不乐地望着窗外朦胧的薄雾。 
“为什么今天一定要下雨呢？”他说，“明天下，不行吗？” 
他的父亲正躺在安乐椅上看政府办的报纸，心情烦恼，把报纸翻得嚓嚓响，回答说：“天想下雨就下呗，雨水使草儿生长嘛。” 
“爸爸，雨水为什么会使草儿生长？” 
“因为它使草儿生长嘛，就是这样呗。” 
迪基皱着眉毛说：“那么，是什么使草儿变绿的？” 
“谁也不知道，”父亲突然打断他的话，又马上对自己的粗暴感到后悔。 
那一天，后来又有了生日气氛，母亲满脸笑容，把色彩鲜艳的礼物包递给他。父亲也设法露出笑脸，用手指搔着头发。他和妈妈接吻，和爸爸庄重地握手。接着，端出了生日蛋糕，生日的礼仪就此结束。 
一小时后，他坐在窗前，望着太阳在云朵中驶过。 
“爸爸，”他说：“太阳离我们多远？” 
“5000英里，”他的父亲说。 
迪基坐在早餐桌前，又在母亲的眼睛里看到了泪花。他开头并没有把母亲的泪水和考试联系起来，可是父亲却突然又提出了这问题。 
“哦，迪基，”他皱着眉头说，“你今天还有约会呢。” 
“我知道，爸爸，我希望——” 
“嗯，别担心，每天都有成千上万个孩子参加这种考试。迪基，政府想要知道你机灵到什么程度，就是这么回事。” 
“我在学校里总是得好分数。”孩子迟疑地说。 
“这不同，这是——呃，特殊的考试。他们会要你喝一种饮料，嗯，然后让你走进一间房子，里面有一种机器——” 
“喝什么饮料？”迪基说。 
“没什么，那玩意儿味道像薄荷，给你喝下去是想要你回答问题时不说假话。政府并不认为你会说谎，不过喝了这种东西更保险。” 
迪基的脸上流露出困惑不解的神情，有一点吃惊。他望着母亲，母亲却勉强装出一种暧昧不清的微笑。 
“一切都会顺利的。”她说。 
“当然，一切都会顺利。”父亲表示同意，说，“迪基，你是乖孩子，你会顺利通过的。到时候，我们就回家庆祝一番，好吗？” 
“是的，先生。”迪基说。 
他们比规定的时间提前15分钟，来到了政府的教育大厦。在柱子耸立的巨大门廊里，父子俩走过大理石地板，穿过一道拱门，进入自动电梯。电梯把他们送上四楼。 
404号房间前面，一张光洁闪亮的办公桌前坐着一个青年人，身穿没有任何徽章标志的紧身衣，手拿一块夹板，查对了标明字母“J”的人名表，①让乔丹父子走进房间里去。 
①译者注：乔丹这个名字的第一个字母是J。 
这房间冷冰冰的，一股官场气味，长凳两侧摆着金属桌子。房间里已经有几对父子，一位薄嘴唇、短头发的女人正在分发要填写的表。 
乔丹先生把表填好，还给办事员，然后告诉迪基说：“不会要等很久的，他们一叫你的名字，你就笔直从房间那头的那张门走过去。”他把那张门指给孩子看。 
一只看不见的喇叭“噼啪”响着，叫出了第一个名字。迪基看到一个男孩很不情愿地离开他的父亲，慢吞吞地走向那张门。 
11点5分，喊了乔丹的名字。 
“祝你运气好，我的孩子。”父亲说，眼睛并不望着他，“考试过后，我会来叫你的。” 
迪基走向那张门，转动门上的球形把手。里面的房间阴沉沉的，只能勉强看清穿着灰色紧身衣的服务员的轮廓。 
“坐下，”那人声音和蔼，指着他的办公桌旁的高脚凳说，“你叫理查德·乔丹吧？” 
“是的，先生。” 
“你的编号是600-115。把这喝下去，理查德。” 
他从桌上拿起一个塑料杯，递给孩子。杯里的液体像乳脂一样稠，只稍微有一点父亲说过的薄荷味。迪基一下子喝光，将空杯子递回去。 
迪基不出声地坐着，昏昏欲睡。那个人忙着写纸条，然后看看表，站起来紧挨着迪基的脸，取下夹在上衣口袋里的一支笔一样的东西，将一线微光射进迪基的眼睛里。 
“好，”他说：“跟我来，理查德。” 
他把迪基领到房间的另一端，那儿有一把孤零零的木靠椅，摆在一台多重调节控制的计算机前面。靠椅左边扶手上放着一只麦克风，孩子坐下来的时候，发现麦克风的尖头恰好就在自己的嘴边。 
“别紧张，理直德。要问你一些问题，你得好好想想，对着麦克风答出来，其余的事就该计算机管了。” 
“是的，先生。” 
“现在，我要让你一个人留在这儿，你什么时候打算开始回答问题，就对着麦克风说一声‘准备好啦’。” 
“是的，先生。” 
那人捏捏他的肩膀，走了。 
迪基说：“准备好啦。” 
计算机的灯光亮了，机器呼呼响起来，一个声音说：“补完这一串数字：一，四，七，十……” 
乔丹夫妇都在家中的休息室里，不说话，甚至也不去揣测。 
电话铃响起来的时候，差不多四点了。乔丹太太想去抢着接电话，但她的丈夫捷足先登。 
“是乔丹先生吗？” 
电话里的声音急促尖刻，官腔十足。 
“是，是我。” 
“我是教育部，你的儿子理查德·乔丹，编号600-115，已经完成政府的考试。我遗憾地通知你，根据新法典第五章第84条，他的智力商数已超过政府规定。” 
在房间另一头的乔丹太太什么也不知道，只看到丈夫脸上的表情就放声大哭起来。 
“你可以在电话里挑选，”那声音继续嗡嗡地说着：“随你便，是由政府收埋他的尸体呢，还是你私下安葬？政府收埋，收费十美元。”
那，地下还写有短评，你们可以去源网站自取：www.millionbook.com/kh/s/silaisa/000/001.htm
该专栏头图
这篇文章的伏笔很深，我读了两遍才读懂其部分含义。确实，谁都没想到“考试”目的竟然是这样，令人不寒而栗。
文章再次到了结尾，别忘了点赞关注后再走哦！