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Chapter XIV
第十四章
The winter of 1892 was darkened by the one cloud in my childhood's bright sky. Joy deserted my heart, and for a long, long time I lived in doubt, anxiety and fear. Books lost their charm for me, and even now the thought of those dreadful days chills my heart. A little story called "The Frost King," which I wrote and sent to Mr. Anagnos, of the Perkins Institution for the Blind, was at the root of the trouble. In order to make the matter clear, I must set forth the facts connected with this episode, which justice to my teacher and to myself compels me to relate.
1892年冬天，我童年时代的明亮天空被一抹乌云所遮盖。喜乐的心弃我而去。在很长、很长的一段时期里，我都活在疑惑、焦虑和恐惧之中。书本在我眼中失去了吸引力，直到现在，那段可怕的日子仍然令我心有余悸。我曾编写过一个题目叫做《冰雪之王》的小故事，我还把它送给了帕金斯盲人学院的阿纳戈诺斯先生，这个故事就是引起麻烦的根源。为了把事实交代清楚，我必须先从相关的线索讲起，我想，这对于我的老师和我要陈述的事件也是公平合理的。
I wrote the story when I was at home, the autumn after I had learned to speak. We had stayed up at Fern Quarry later than usual. While we were there, Miss Sullivan had described to me the beauties of the late foliage, and it seems that her descriptions revived the memory of a story, which must have been read to me, and which I must have unconsciously retained. I thought then that I was "making up a story," as children say, and I eagerly sat down to write it before the ideas should slip from me. My thoughts flowed easily; I felt a sense of joy in the composition. Words and images came tripping to my finger ends, and as I thought out sentence after sentence, I wrote them on my braille slate. Now, if words and images come to me without effort, it is a pretty sure sign that they are not the offspring of my own mind, but stray waifs that I regretfully dismiss. At that time I eagerly absorbed everything I read without a thought of authorship, and even now I cannot be quite sure of the boundary line between my ideas and those I find in books. I suppose that is because so many of my impressions come to me through the medium of others' eyes and ears.
我是在家中写下那个故事的，时间是在我学会说话之后的那年秋天。当时，我们住在弗恩采石场，睡觉的时间也比平时晚得多。苏立文小姐向我描述了深秋树叶的美丽多彩，她的讲述似乎唤醒了（我对）某个故事沉睡的记忆。这个故事一定被我读到过，我一定是在不知不觉间记住了这个故事。于是我想，我也要编写一个故事。说写就写，我任凭各种各样的思绪从头脑中汩汩涌出。我体会到了文思泉涌的快乐，我发现了创作过程的喜悦。富有生命的文字和想象轻快地游走在我的指端，我把一个又一个句子写在了我的盲文木板上。如今，假如词语和想象变得唾手可得，显然，这表明它们并非是出自我思想的产物，最多只是被我头脑遗弃的零星碎片。那时，我如饥似渴地汲取我读到的任何东西，从来就不会对著作本身有什么想法。即使是现在，我也无法完全在我的思想和我读到的那些书之间划清界限。我想，这是因为我过多地接受了别人的所见所闻，我只能依靠别人的眼睛“看”世界。
When the story was finished, I read it to my teacher, and I recall now vividly the pleasure I felt in the more beautiful passages, and my annoyance at being interrupted to have the pronunciation of a word corrected. At dinner it was read to the assembled family, who were surprised that I could write so well. Some one asked me if I had read it in a book.
故事一写完，我就读给老师听。至今，我仍然清楚地记得当时的情景——我沉醉其中的样子，还有被老师纠正单词读音时的懊恼之情。晚餐时，我把故事读给全家人听。他们惊讶于我写得如此之好，甚至有人问我这是不是从书里读到的故事。
This question surprised me very much; for I had not the faintest recollection of having had it read to me. I spoke up and said, "Oh, no, it is my story, and I have written it for Mr. Anagnos."
这让我也感到非常吃惊，因为我不记得有谁曾为我读过这样的故事。我大声说道：“哦，不，这是我自己的故事，是我为阿纳戈诺斯先生写的故事。”
Accordingly I copied the story and sent it to him for his birthday. It was suggested that I should change the title from "Autumn Leaves" to "The Frost King," which I did. I carried the little story to the post-office myself, feeling as if I were walking on air. I little dreamed how cruelly I should pay for that birthday gift.
于是，我把故事誊写下来，并且把它作为生日礼物寄给了阿纳戈诺斯先生。有人建议我应该把“冰雪之王”这个题目改为“秋天的落叶”，但是我坚持用自己的题目。我亲自把这个小故事送到了邮局。一路上，我仿佛觉得自己走在了云层里。我完全没有料到我为这件生日礼物付出了多么惨痛的代价。
