德国作家 Heinrich Boll (1917-85) 的短篇小说 "The Laugher"。请问哪位读过，在什么可以找到译文。

海因里希·伯尔
http://www.ywsl.com/bbs/bbs_show.asp?id=15027
8.卖笑人

高年生译

肖毛扫校自《女士及众生相》，漓江出版社1991年初版

每当有人问我是干什么的，我就会觉得万分狼狈，我这个平时以自信著称的人就会脸红，说话结巴起来。我羡慕那些人，他们可以说：我是瓦工。我羡慕理发师、会计和作家说起自己时直截了当，因为所有这些职业都不言自明，无需更多的解释。可我对这样的问题就不得不回答：我是卖笑的。这样的表白要求进一步说明，因为对于第二个问题“你以此为生吗？”我也不得不如实回答：“是的。”我确实靠卖笑为生，而且生活得不错，因为我的笑——用商业用语来说——是热门货。我是一个优秀的卖笑人，一个熟练的卖笑人，没有人会像我这样笑，没有人能掌握我这门艺术的细腻之处。为了避免作麻烦的解释，我曾长期自称演员，可我的表演才能和说白才能太差，使我觉得这个称号不真实；我爱真实，而真实的情况是：我是卖笑的。我既不是小丑，也不是滑稽演员，我不逗人笑，而是表演笑：我像古罗马大将军或敏感的中学毕业生那样笑，无论是17世纪还是19世纪的笑我都得心应手，而且如有必要，我可以模仿各个世纪、各个社会阶层、各种年龄的笑。这我是学会的，就像有人学绱鞋一样。美洲的笑，非洲的笑，白种人的笑，红种人的笑，黄种人的笑，都储存在我心里——只要付给我相应的报酬，我就可以按照导演的要求发出种种笑声。
我已成为缺少不了的人了，我的笑灌了唱片，录了音，广播剧导演们对我关怀备至。我苦笑，淡笑，狂笑——笑得像电车售票员或食品行业的学徒，早晨的笑，黄昏的笑，夜晚的笑和拂晓的笑，总之，无论哪儿需要笑，无论需要怎么笑，我都可以干。
人们都会相信我这种职业是很辛苦的，何况我——这是我的特长——还掌握了感染性的笑，因此三、四流的滑稽演员也少不了我，他们有理由胆战心惊，生怕自己的噱头不灵，而我几乎每天晚上都闲坐在那些杂耍场里，充当一种更为微妙的捧场者的角色，以便在节目薄弱的地方发出感染性的笑声。干这种活得掌握严格的分寸：我纵情狂笑，早了不行，晚了也不行，必须正在火候上——一到这时候，我就按照计划发出大笑，全体观众就会跟着大笑起来，这就使节目的噱头得救了。
可是我呢，在这之后筋疲力尽地悄悄溜进更衣室，穿上大衣，很高兴自己终于下班了。回到家里，通常已有电报在等着我：“急需你笑，星期二录音。”于是，几小时后，我又坐在一列暖气太热的直达快车上，抱怨自己命苦。
下班以后或休假期间我不大想笑，这是人人都会明白的。
挤奶工人如能忘掉奶牛，瓦工如能忘掉灰浆，他们就会感到高兴，木匠家里常有关不上的门或费很大劲才能拉开的抽屉，糕点师傅爱吃酸黄瓜；屠宰工人爱吃杏仁糖；面包师宁要香肠不要面包，斗牛士爱玩鸽子，拳击家见到自己的孩子流鼻血会惊恐失色——这一切我都能理解，因为我下班后从来不笑。我是一个十分严肃的人，别人都认为我——也许不无道理——是个悲观主义者。
婚后头几年，妻于常对我说：“你笑一笑呀！”可是后来她明白了，我无法满足这一要求。当我可以松弛一下绷紧的面部肌肉，用十分严肃的表情缓解我劳累的心境的时候，我就感到幸福。是呀，旁人的笑也会使我心烦意乱，因为这太容易使我想起我的职业。就这样，我们的夫妻生活过得安安静静，太太平平，因为我的妻子也把笑给荒疏了。偶尔我发现她露出一丝笑容，于是我也微微一笑。我们说话时声音都很小，因为我讨厌杂耍场的嘈杂声，讨厌可能充斥在录音室里的噪音。不认识我的人以为我这个人不爱说话。也许我的确如此，因为我老得张嘴去笑，次数实在太多了。
我不动声色地走着我的人生之路，只允许自己偶尔淡淡地笑一笑，而且我常想，我究竟有没有笑过？我想：没有过。我的兄弟姐妹会说，我从小就是一个严肃的孩子。
就这样，我以各种各样的方式笑，却不知道自己的笑。

18:29 05-1-22肖毛扫校
The Laughter

Heinrich Boll

Translated by Leila Vennewitz

When someone asks me what business I am in. I am seized with embarrassment: I gush and stammer, I who am otherwise known as a man of poise. I envy people who m say: I am a bricklayer. I envy barbers, bookkeepers and writers the simplicity of their avowal, for all these professions speak for themselves and need no lengthy explanation, while I am constrained to reply to such questions: I am a laugher. An admission of this kind demands another, since I have to answer the second question: “Is that how you make your living?” truthfully with a Yes.” I actually do make a living at my laughing, and a good one too, for my laughing is—commercially speaking—much in demand. I am a good laugher, experienced, on one else laughs as well as I do, no one else has such command of the fine points of my art. For a long time, in order to avoid tiresome explanations, I called myself an actor, but my talents in the field of mime and elocution are so meager that I felt this designation to be too far from the truth: I love the truth, and the truth is: I am a laugher. I am neither a clown nor a comedian. I do not make people gay, I portray gaiety: I laugh like a Roman emperor, or like

1. Mime n.: Pantomime.
2. Elocution n.: The art of clear and effective public speaking.


A sensitive schoolboy. I am as much at home in the laughter of the seventeenth century as in that of the nineteenth, and when occasion demands I laugh my way through all the centuries, all classes of society, all categories of age: it is simply a skill which I have acquired, like the skill of being able to repair shoes. In my breast I harbor the laughter of America, the laughter—and for the right fee I let it peal out in accordance with the director’s requirements.

I have become indispensable; I laugh on records, I laugh on tape, and television directors treat me with respect. I laugh mournfully, moderately, hysterically; I laugh like a streetcar conductor or like a helper in the grocery business; laughter in the morning, laughter in the evening, nocturnal laughter and the laughter of twilight. In short: wherever and however laughter is required—I do it.

It need hardly be pointed out that a profession of this kind is tiring, especially as I have also—this is my specialty—mastered the art of infectious laughter; this has also made me indispensable to third- and fourth-rate comedians, who are scared—and with good reason—that their audiences will miss their punch lines, so I spend most evenings in night clubs as a kind of discreet claque, my job being to laugh infectiously during the weaker parts of the program.









It has to be carefully timed: my hearty, boisterous laughter must not come too soon, but neither must it come too late, it must come just at the right spot: at the prearranged moment I burst out laughing, the whole audience roars with me, and the joke is saved.

But as for me, I drag myself exhausted to the checkroom, put on my overcoat, happy that I can go off duty at last. At home I usually find telegrams waiting for me: “Urgently require your laughter. Recording Tuesday,” and a few hours later I am sitting in an overheated express train bemoaning my fate.

I need scarcely say that when I am off duty or on vacation I have little inclination to laugh: the cowhand is glad when he can forget the cow, the bricklayer when he can forget the mortar, and carpenters usually have doors at home which don’t work or drawers which are hard to open. Confectioners like sour pickles, butchers like marzipan, and the baker prefers sausage to bread; bullfighters raise pigeons for a hobby, boxers turn pale when their children have nosebleeds: I find all this quite natural, for I never laugh off duty. I am a very solemn person, and people consider me—perhaps rightly so—a pessimist.

During the first years of our married life, my wife would often say to me: Do laugh!” but since then she has come to realize that I cannot grant her this wish. I am happy when I am free to relax my tense face muscles, my frayed spirit, in profound solemnity. Indeed, even other people’s laughter gets on my nerves, since it reminds me too much of my profession. So our marriage is a quiet, peaceful one, because my wife has also forgotten how to laugh: now and again I catch her smiling, and I smile too. We converse in low tones, for I detest the noise of the night clubs, the noise that sometimes fills the recording studios. People who do not know me think I am taciturn. Perhaps I am, because I have to open my mouth so often to laugh.

I go through life with an impassive expression, from time to time permitting myself a gentle smile, and I often wonder whether I have ever laughed. I think not. My brothers and sisters have always known me for a serious boy.

So I laugh in many different ways, but my own laughter I have never heard.