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Cat in the Rain
By Ernest Hemingway
There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. They did not know any of the people they passed on the stairs on their way to and from their room. Their room was on the second floor facing the sea. It also faced the public garden and the war monument. There were big palms and green benches in the public garden. In the good weather there was always an artist with his easel. Artists liked the way the palms grew and the bright colors of the hotels facing the gardens and the sea. Italians came from a long way off to look up at the war monument. It was made of bronze and glistened in the rain. It was raining. The rain dripped from the palm trees. Water stood in pools on the gravel paths. The motor cars were gone from the square by the war monument. Across the square in the doorway of the cafe a waiter stood looking out at the empty square.
The American wife stood at the window looking out. Outside right under their window a cat was crouched under one of the dripping green tables. The cat was trying to make herself so compact that she would not be dripped on.
“I’m going down and get that kitty,” the American wife said.
“I’ll do it,” her husband offered from the bed.
“No, I’ll get it. The poor kitty out trying to keep dry under a table.”
The husband went on reading, lying propped up with the two pillows at the foot of the bed.
“Don’t get wet,” he said.
The wife went downstairs and the hotel owner stood up and bowed to her as she passed the office. His desk was at the far end of the office. He was an old man and very tall.
“Il piove [It’s raining],” the wife said. She liked the hotel-keeper.
“Si, si, Signora, brutto tempo. It is very bad weather.”
He stood behind his desk in the far end of the dim room. The wife liked him. She like the deadly serious way he received any complaints.? She liked his dignity. She liked the way he wanted to serve her. She liked the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper.? She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.
Liking him she opened the door and looked out. It was raining harder. A man in a rubber 4)cape was crossing the empty square to the cafe. The cat would be around to the right. Perhaps she could go along under the 5)eaves. As she stood in the doorway an umbrella opened behind her. It was the maid who looked after their room.
“You must not get wet,” she smiled, speaking Italian. Of course, the hotel keeper had sent her.
With the maid holding the umbrella over her, she walked along the gravel path until she was under their window. The table was there, washed bright green in the rain, but the cat was gone. She was suddenly disappointed. The maid looked up at her.
“Ha perduto qualque cosa, Signora? [Have you lost something, Madam?]”
“There was a cat,” said the? American girl.
“A cat?”
“Si, il gatto. [Yes, a cat.]”
“A cat?” the maid laughed. “A cat in the rain?”
“Yes,” she said, “under the table.” Then: “Oh. I wanted it so much. I wanted a kitty.”
When she spoke English the maid’s face tightened.
“Come, Signora,” she said. “We must get back inside. You will be wet.”
“I suppose so,” said the American girl.
They went back along the gravel path and passed in the door. The maid stayed outside to close the umbrella. As the American girl passed the office, the padrone bowed from his desk. Something felt very small and tight inside the girl. The padrone made her feel very small and at the same time really important. She had a momentary feeling of being of supreme importance. She went on up the stairs. She opened the door of the room. George was on the bed, reading.
“Did you get the cat?” he asked, putting the book down.
“It was gone.”
“Wonder where it went to,” he said, resting his eyes from reading.
She sat down on the bed.
“I wanted it so much,” she said. “I don’t know why I wanted it so much. I wanted that poor kitty. It isn’t any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain.”
George was reading again.
She went over and sat in front of the mirror of the dressing table looking at herself with the hand glass. She studied her profile, first one side and then the other. Then she studied the back of her head and her neck.
“Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I let my hair grow out?” she asked, looking at her profile again.
George looked up and saw the back of her neck, clipped close like a boy’s.
“I like it the way it is.”
“I get so tired of it,” she said. “I get so tired of looking like a boy.”
George shifted his position in the bed. He hadn’t looked away from her since she started to speak.
“You look pretty darn nice,” he said.
She laid the mirror down on the dresser and went over to the window and looked out. It was getting dark.
“I want to pull my hair back tight and smooth and make a big knot at the back that I can feel,” she said. “I want to have a kitty to sit on my lap and purr when I stroke her.”
“Yeah?” George said from the bed.
“And I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be spring and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some new clothes.”
“Oh, shut up and get something to read,” George said. He was reading again.
His wife was looking out of the window. It was quite dark now and still raining in the palm trees.
“Anyway, I want a cat,” she said, “I want a cat. I want a cat now. If I can’t have long hair or any fun, I can have a cat.”
George was not listening. He was reading his book. His wife looked out of the window where the light had come on in the square.
Someone knocked at the door.
“Avanti [Come in],” George said. He looked up from his book.
In the doorway stood the maid. She held a big tortoise-shell cat pressed tight against her and swung down against her body.
“Excuse me,” she said, “the padrone asked me to bring this for the Signora.”
雨中的猫
海明威
酒店里的客人中只有两位是美国人，他们没有任何熟人，进出房间的时候都是独来独往，也没有和在楼梯里碰到的其他客人进行接触。他们的房间在二楼，朝着大海，也朝着一个公园和一座战争纪念碑。公园里有几排棕榈树和绿长凳。天气好的时候总能发现一个艺术家带着画架蹲在那里。艺术家们就喜欢棕榈树郁郁葱葱的样子，还有酒店外墙明亮的色彩，面对着公园和大海显得特别好看。意大利人喜欢从老远的地方赶来看那座战争纪念碑。纪念碑是用铜铸成的，在雨中闪着光芒。天正下着雨。雨水从棕榈树上哗哗地流下来，因为积水的原因，砾石路很快就泥泞了起来。停在战争纪念碑旁边广场上的汽车都开走了。广场对面的咖啡店门口伫立着一位侍者，他正出神地望着外面空荡荡的广场。
美国人的妻子也站在窗台往外眺望。在他们窗台下方的一张绿桌子底下蹲着一只猫，为了不被雨水淋着，这只猫紧紧地蜷缩成一团。
“我要下去把那只猫咪抱上来。”美国人的妻子说。
“还是让我去，”在床上躺着的丈夫主动请缨说。
“不，还是我去。可怜的小猫咪，难道它不知道在桌子底下躲雨是徒劳的吗？”
丈夫枕着垫得高高的两只枕头躺在床头，没有吭声，继续看着书。
“别淋湿了。”他插了句。
妻子于是走下楼去。当她经过柜台的时候，酒店老板远远地就向她点头致意。这位高个的老人的办公桌在柜台的最里面。
“下雨了！”美国人的妻子说。她打心眼里喜欢这位酒店老板。
“没错，太太您说对了！天气实在太坏了，太坏了！”
他站在昏暗的房间那一头的办公桌后面。美国人的妻子很喜欢他——喜欢他严肃认真，甚至是古板的样子，即使是面对客人的诸多埋怨； 喜欢他的不怒自威；喜欢他随时愿意为她效劳的殷勤与体贴；喜欢他做酒店老板的那份神气；她也喜欢他那沧桑而厚实的脸孔和一双大手。
她打开了大门，往外看，心里还在念着他的好。雨下得更大了。一个披戴着橡胶披肩的男人正从空旷的广场走到咖啡店去。猫应该就在右边的角落里，它很可能沿着屋檐走过去了。当她还站在门口犹豫的时候，后面忽然撑开了一把伞。原来是负责清理他们房间的女服务员。
“您千万别淋湿了。”她微笑着说，讲的是意大利语。不用说，是酒店老板派她来的。
有女服务员在后面打着伞，她就很安心地沿着砾石路走到他们的窗台下面。那张桌子还在那里，在雨水的冲洗下绿色显得更加鲜艳，可那只猫却不见了。突然间她觉得很失落。女服务员望着她。
“太太，您丢了什么东西吗？”
“刚才这里有只猫，”美国女人说。
“一只猫？”
“是的，是一只猫。”
“猫？”女服务员笑了，“雨中的猫吗？”
“不错，”她说，“就在桌子底下。”过了会，她又说：“啊，我太想要它了，我就要只小猫咪！”
当她说英语的时候，女服务员紧绷着脸，费劲地听着。
“来吧，太太，”她说：“我们该回去了，要不然你就要淋湿了。”
“那好吧！”美国女人说。
她们顺着砾石路往回走，进了门。女服务员还留在门外收拢伞。当美国女人走过柜台的时候，酒店老板又从办公桌后面向她点头致意。她内心突然产生了一种微妙却又强烈的感觉——这位酒店老板让她觉得自己很渺小，同时又很重要，有片刻的时间她觉得自己无比尊贵。她走上楼梯，开了房门。乔治依然躺在床上，还在看书。
“捉到猫了吗？”他放下书问。
“它跑了。”
“知道它跑到哪里去了吗？”他说，说的时候不再瞄着书看。
她在床上坐了下来。
“我太想要得到它了，” 她说，“我也弄不明白为什么我非要它不可，可我就是要得到它，它太可怜了，让一只可怜的猫咪在外面挨雨淋可真不是滋味。”
乔治又开始看起书来。
她站了起来朝梳妆台走过去，在镜子前坐了下来，用手镜细细地打量着自己。她先端详着自己的侧影，先看一边，再看另一边。接着她又端详起了自己的后脑勺和脖子。
“我想把头发留起来，你说好看吗？”她说话的时候没有回头，还在看着自己的侧影。
乔治抬起头来，看到了她的后颈，头发剪得短短的，乍看上去就像个小男孩。
“我喜欢现在这个样子。”
“这个样子都快烦死我了，”她说，“我可不想整天像个男孩一样。”
乔治在床上挪了挪位置，自从他太太开始说话的时候，他的眼光一直就没有离开过她。
“你看起来漂亮极了！”他说。
她把镜子放在梳妆台上，走到窗口往外看。天色已经渐渐黑了下来。
“我要把头发往后梳，梳得又紧又滑的，我还要在后面打个大结子，这样我就能感觉到，”她说，“我还要有只猫坐在我的腿上，当我摸着它的时候，它会呜呜地叫。”
“是吗？”乔治在床上说。
“我要用自己的银器吃饭，我要点上蜡烛，我希望现在就是春天，我要在镜子前梳理我的头发，我要一只小猫咪，我还要买几件新衣裳。”
“噢，你给我闭嘴！找点书看吧。”乔治说。说完他又看起书来。
他的妻子还在望着窗外。天已经很黑了，雨水依旧噼噼啪啪地打在棕榈树上。
“不管怎样，我就要一只猫。”她说，“我要一只猫，现在我就要一只猫，如果我不能留长头发，或是找其它好玩的东西，我总可以要只猫吧！”
乔治装没听见，依旧看着他的书。他妻子望着窗外。广场上的灯已经亮了起来。
有人敲门。
“进来，”乔治说，他放下书本，抬起头来。
只见女服务员站在门口。她贴身紧抱着一只大玳瑁猫，猫从她身上跳下来。
“对不起打扰了，”她说，“老板叫我把这只猫送给太太。”
By Ernest Hemingway
There were only two Americans stopping at the hotel. They did not know any of the people they passed on the stairs on their way to and from their room. Their room was on the second floor facing the sea. It also faced the public garden and the war monument. There were big palms and green benches in the public garden. In the good weather there was always an artist with his easel. Artists liked the way the palms grew and the bright colors of the hotels facing the gardens and the sea. Italians came from a long way off to look up at the war monument. It was made of bronze and glistened in the rain. It was raining. The rain dripped from the palm trees. Water stood in pools on the gravel paths. The motor cars were gone from the square by the war monument. Across the square in the doorway of the cafe a waiter stood looking out at the empty square.
The American wife stood at the window looking out. Outside right under their window a cat was crouched under one of the dripping green tables. The cat was trying to make herself so compact that she would not be dripped on.
“I’m going down and get that kitty,” the American wife said.
“I’ll do it,” her husband offered from the bed.
“No, I’ll get it. The poor kitty out trying to keep dry under a table.”
The husband went on reading, lying propped up with the two pillows at the foot of the bed.
“Don’t get wet,” he said.
The wife went downstairs and the hotel owner stood up and bowed to her as she passed the office. His desk was at the far end of the office. He was an old man and very tall.
“Il piove [It’s raining],” the wife said. She liked the hotel-keeper.
“Si, si, Signora, brutto tempo. It is very bad weather.”
He stood behind his desk in the far end of the dim room. The wife liked him. She like the deadly serious way he received any complaints.? She liked his dignity. She liked the way he wanted to serve her. She liked the way he felt about being a hotel-keeper.? She liked his old, heavy face and big hands.
Liking him she opened the door and looked out. It was raining harder. A man in a rubber 4)cape was crossing the empty square to the cafe. The cat would be around to the right. Perhaps she could go along under the 5)eaves. As she stood in the doorway an umbrella opened behind her. It was the maid who looked after their room.
“You must not get wet,” she smiled, speaking Italian. Of course, the hotel keeper had sent her.
With the maid holding the umbrella over her, she walked along the gravel path until she was under their window. The table was there, washed bright green in the rain, but the cat was gone. She was suddenly disappointed. The maid looked up at her.
“Ha perduto qualque cosa, Signora? [Have you lost something, Madam?]”
“There was a cat,” said the? American girl.
“A cat?”
“Si, il gatto. [Yes, a cat.]”
“A cat?” the maid laughed. “A cat in the rain?”
“Yes,” she said, “under the table.” Then: “Oh. I wanted it so much. I wanted a kitty.”
When she spoke English the maid’s face tightened.
“Come, Signora,” she said. “We must get back inside. You will be wet.”
“I suppose so,” said the American girl.
They went back along the gravel path and passed in the door. The maid stayed outside to close the umbrella. As the American girl passed the office, the padrone bowed from his desk. Something felt very small and tight inside the girl. The padrone made her feel very small and at the same time really important. She had a momentary feeling of being of supreme importance. She went on up the stairs. She opened the door of the room. George was on the bed, reading.
“Did you get the cat?” he asked, putting the book down.
“It was gone.”
“Wonder where it went to,” he said, resting his eyes from reading.
She sat down on the bed.
“I wanted it so much,” she said. “I don’t know why I wanted it so much. I wanted that poor kitty. It isn’t any fun to be a poor kitty out in the rain.”
George was reading again.
She went over and sat in front of the mirror of the dressing table looking at herself with the hand glass. She studied her profile, first one side and then the other. Then she studied the back of her head and her neck.
“Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I let my hair grow out?” she asked, looking at her profile again.
George looked up and saw the back of her neck, clipped close like a boy’s.
“I like it the way it is.”
“I get so tired of it,” she said. “I get so tired of looking like a boy.”
George shifted his position in the bed. He hadn’t looked away from her since she started to speak.
“You look pretty darn nice,” he said.
She laid the mirror down on the dresser and went over to the window and looked out. It was getting dark.
“I want to pull my hair back tight and smooth and make a big knot at the back that I can feel,” she said. “I want to have a kitty to sit on my lap and purr when I stroke her.”
“Yeah?” George said from the bed.
“And I want to eat at a table with my own silver and I want candles. And I want it to be spring and I want to brush my hair out in front of a mirror and I want a kitty and I want some new clothes.”
“Oh, shut up and get something to read,” George said. He was reading again.
His wife was looking out of the window. It was quite dark now and still raining in the palm trees.
“Anyway, I want a cat,” she said, “I want a cat. I want a cat now. If I can’t have long hair or any fun, I can have a cat.”
George was not listening. He was reading his book. His wife looked out of the window where the light had come on in the square.
Someone knocked at the door.
“Avanti [Come in],” George said. He looked up from his book.
In the doorway stood the maid. She held a big tortoise-shell cat pressed tight against her and swung down against her body.
“Excuse me,” she said, “the padrone asked me to bring this for the Signora.”
雨中的猫
海明威
酒店里的客人中只有两位是美国人，他们没有任何熟人，进出房间的时候都是独来独往，也没有和在楼梯里碰到的其他客人进行接触。他们的房间在二楼，朝着大海，也朝着一个公园和一座战争纪念碑。公园里有几排棕榈树和绿长凳。天气好的时候总能发现一个艺术家带着画架蹲在那里。艺术家们就喜欢棕榈树郁郁葱葱的样子，还有酒店外墙明亮的色彩，面对着公园和大海显得特别好看。意大利人喜欢从老远的地方赶来看那座战争纪念碑。纪念碑是用铜铸成的，在雨中闪着光芒。天正下着雨。雨水从棕榈树上哗哗地流下来，因为积水的原因，砾石路很快就泥泞了起来。停在战争纪念碑旁边广场上的汽车都开走了。广场对面的咖啡店门口伫立着一位侍者，他正出神地望着外面空荡荡的广场。
美国人的妻子也站在窗台往外眺望。在他们窗台下方的一张绿桌子底下蹲着一只猫，为了不被雨水淋着，这只猫紧紧地蜷缩成一团。
“我要下去把那只猫咪抱上来。”美国人的妻子说。
“还是让我去，”在床上躺着的丈夫主动请缨说。
“不，还是我去。可怜的小猫咪，难道它不知道在桌子底下躲雨是徒劳的吗？”
丈夫枕着垫得高高的两只枕头躺在床头，没有吭声，继续看着书。
“别淋湿了。”他插了句。
妻子于是走下楼去。当她经过柜台的时候，酒店老板远远地就向她点头致意。这位高个的老人的办公桌在柜台的最里面。
“下雨了！”美国人的妻子说。她打心眼里喜欢这位酒店老板。
“没错，太太您说对了！天气实在太坏了，太坏了！”
他站在昏暗的房间那一头的办公桌后面。美国人的妻子很喜欢他——喜欢他严肃认真，甚至是古板的样子，即使是面对客人的诸多埋怨； 喜欢他的不怒自威；喜欢他随时愿意为她效劳的殷勤与体贴；喜欢他做酒店老板的那份神气；她也喜欢他那沧桑而厚实的脸孔和一双大手。
她打开了大门，往外看，心里还在念着他的好。雨下得更大了。一个披戴着橡胶披肩的男人正从空旷的广场走到咖啡店去。猫应该就在右边的角落里，它很可能沿着屋檐走过去了。当她还站在门口犹豫的时候，后面忽然撑开了一把伞。原来是负责清理他们房间的女服务员。
“您千万别淋湿了。”她微笑着说，讲的是意大利语。不用说，是酒店老板派她来的。
有女服务员在后面打着伞，她就很安心地沿着砾石路走到他们的窗台下面。那张桌子还在那里，在雨水的冲洗下绿色显得更加鲜艳，可那只猫却不见了。突然间她觉得很失落。女服务员望着她。
“太太，您丢了什么东西吗？”
“刚才这里有只猫，”美国女人说。
“一只猫？”
“是的，是一只猫。”
“猫？”女服务员笑了，“雨中的猫吗？”
“不错，”她说，“就在桌子底下。”过了会，她又说：“啊，我太想要它了，我就要只小猫咪！”
当她说英语的时候，女服务员紧绷着脸，费劲地听着。
“来吧，太太，”她说：“我们该回去了，要不然你就要淋湿了。”
“那好吧！”美国女人说。
她们顺着砾石路往回走，进了门。女服务员还留在门外收拢伞。当美国女人走过柜台的时候，酒店老板又从办公桌后面向她点头致意。她内心突然产生了一种微妙却又强烈的感觉——这位酒店老板让她觉得自己很渺小，同时又很重要，有片刻的时间她觉得自己无比尊贵。她走上楼梯，开了房门。乔治依然躺在床上，还在看书。
“捉到猫了吗？”他放下书问。
“它跑了。”
“知道它跑到哪里去了吗？”他说，说的时候不再瞄着书看。
她在床上坐了下来。
“我太想要得到它了，” 她说，“我也弄不明白为什么我非要它不可，可我就是要得到它，它太可怜了，让一只可怜的猫咪在外面挨雨淋可真不是滋味。”
乔治又开始看起书来。
她站了起来朝梳妆台走过去，在镜子前坐了下来，用手镜细细地打量着自己。她先端详着自己的侧影，先看一边，再看另一边。接着她又端详起了自己的后脑勺和脖子。
“我想把头发留起来，你说好看吗？”她说话的时候没有回头，还在看着自己的侧影。
乔治抬起头来，看到了她的后颈，头发剪得短短的，乍看上去就像个小男孩。
“我喜欢现在这个样子。”
“这个样子都快烦死我了，”她说，“我可不想整天像个男孩一样。”
乔治在床上挪了挪位置，自从他太太开始说话的时候，他的眼光一直就没有离开过她。
“你看起来漂亮极了！”他说。
她把镜子放在梳妆台上，走到窗口往外看。天色已经渐渐黑了下来。
“我要把头发往后梳，梳得又紧又滑的，我还要在后面打个大结子，这样我就能感觉到，”她说，“我还要有只猫坐在我的腿上，当我摸着它的时候，它会呜呜地叫。”
“是吗？”乔治在床上说。
“我要用自己的银器吃饭，我要点上蜡烛，我希望现在就是春天，我要在镜子前梳理我的头发，我要一只小猫咪，我还要买几件新衣裳。”
“噢，你给我闭嘴！找点书看吧。”乔治说。说完他又看起书来。
他的妻子还在望着窗外。天已经很黑了，雨水依旧噼噼啪啪地打在棕榈树上。
“不管怎样，我就要一只猫。”她说，“我要一只猫，现在我就要一只猫，如果我不能留长头发，或是找其它好玩的东西，我总可以要只猫吧！”
乔治装没听见，依旧看着他的书。他妻子望着窗外。广场上的灯已经亮了起来。
有人敲门。
“进来，”乔治说，他放下书本，抬起头来。
只见女服务员站在门口。她贴身紧抱着一只大玳瑁猫，猫从她身上跳下来。
“对不起打扰了，”她说，“老板叫我把这只猫送给太太。”
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