「社会人のための英語回路構築トレーニング自習帖」著者のブログ

Thank You for Visiting Me! 「英語赤ひげ先生」による「知っている英語」を「使える英語」にするための「理論」と「教材」を一挙に無料公開しています。

2016年04月

Love Story (14)

原文:
“But he’s a busy man. Doesn’t he run lots of banks and things?”
“Jesus, Jenny, whose side are you on?”
“Is this a war?” she asked.
“Most definitely,” I replied.
“That’s ridiculous, Oliver.”
She seemed genuinely unconvinced. And there I got my first inkling of a cultural gap between us. I mean, three and a half years of Harvard-Radcliffe had pretty much made us into the cocky intellectuals that institution traditionally produces, but when it came to accepting the fact that my father was made of stone, she adhered to some atavistic Italian=Mediterranean notion of papa-loves bambinos, and there was no arguing otherwise.
I tried to cite a case in point. That ridiculous nonconversation after Cornell game. This definitely made an impression on her. But the goddamn wrong one.
“He went all the way up to Ithaca to watch a lousy game?”
I tried to explain that my father was all form and no content. She was still obsessed with the fact that he had traveled so far for such a (relatively) trivial sports event.
“Look, Jenny, can we just forget it?”
“Thank God you’re hung up about your father,” she replied. “That means you’re not perfect.”
“Oh – you mean you are?”
“Hell no, Preppie. If I was, would I be going out with you?”
Back to business as usual.


解説:
“But he’s a busy man. Doesn’t he run lots of banks and things?”
“Jesus, Jenny, whose side are you on?”
“Is this a war?” she asked.
“Most definitely,” I replied.
“That’s ridiculous, Oliver.”
She seemed genuinely unconvinced. And there I got my first inkling(うすうす感づくこと) of a cultural gap between us. I mean, three and a half years of Harvard-Radcliffe had pretty much made us into the cocky(うぬぼれた) intellectuals(インテリ)that institution(ハーヴァード大学<ラドクリフ大学はその一部>) traditionally produces, but when it came to(・・・のこととなると) accepting the fact that my father was made of stone, she adhered(固執した) to some atavistic(先祖返りの) Italian=Mediterranean notion of papa-loves bambinos(子ども), and there was no arguing otherwise(その他の点では).
I tried to cite(引用する) a case in point. That ridiculous nonconversation after Cornell game. This definitely made an impression on her. But the goddamn wrong one.
“He went all the way up to Ithaca to watch a lousy(どうってことのない) game?”
I tried to explain that my father was all form(形だけの) and no content. She was still obsessed(取りつかれた) with the fact that he had traveled so far for such a (relatively) trivial sports event.
“Look, Jenny, can we just forget it?”
“Thank God you’re hung up(いらいらした) about your father,” she replied. “That means you’re not perfect.”
“Oh – you mean you are?”
“Hell no, Preppie. If I was, would I be going out with you?”
Back to business as usual.(いつもの調子に戻った)

Love Story (13)

原文:
There was a little silence. Now maybe Jenny would understand that to be Oliver Barrett IV doesn’t just mean living with that gray stone edifice in Harvard Yard. It involves a kind of muscular intimidation as well. I mean, the image of athletic achievement looming down on you. I mean on me.
“But what does he do to qualify as a sonovabitch?” Jenny asked.
“Make me,” I replied.
“Beg pardon?”
Make me,” I repeated.
Her eyes widened like saucers. “ You mean like incest?” she asked.
“Don’t give me your family problems, Jen. I’ve got enough of my own.”
“Like what, Oliver?” she asked, “like just what is it he makes you do?”
“The right things,” I said.
“What’s wrong with the right things?” she asked, delighting in the apparent paradox.
I told her how I loathed being programmed for the Barrett Tradition – which she should have realized , having seen me cringe at having to mention the numeral at the end of my name. And I did not like having to deliver x amount of achievement every single term.
“Oh, yeah,” said Jenny with broad sarcasm, “I notice how you hate getting A’s , being All-Ivy-“
“What I hate is that he expects no less!” Just saying what I had always felt(but never before spoken) made me feel uncomfortable as hell, but now I had to make Jenny understand it all. “And he’s so incredibly blase when I do come through. I mean he just takes me absolutely for granted.”


解説:
There was a little silence. Now maybe Jenny would understand that to be Oliver Barrett IV doesn’t just mean living with that gray stone edifice(大建造物) in Harvard Yard. It involves a kind of muscular intimidation(おどし) as well. I mean, the image of athletic achievement looming down(のしかかるように迫る) on you. I mean on me.
“But what does he do to qualify as a sonovabitch?” Jenny asked.
“Make me,”(私に強制する) I replied.
“Beg pardon?”
Make me,” I repeated.
Her eyes widened like saucers. “ You mean like incest(近親相姦)?” she asked.
“Don’t give me your family problems, Jen(⇒ジェニーが父親を恋人のように呼んでいることが下敷き). I’ve got enough of my own.”
“Like what, Oliver?” she asked, “like just what is it he makes you do?”
“The right things,” I said.
“What’s wrong with the right things?” she asked, delighting in the apparent paradox.
I told her how I loathed(ひどく嫌う) being programmed for the Barrett Tradition – which she should have realized , having seen me cringe at(・・・を嫌う) having to mention the numeral at the end of my name(4世といわなくてはならないこと). And I did not like having to deliver x amount of achievement every single term.(学期ごとに成績がどうであったかを伝えなければならなかったことが好きでなかった)
“Oh, yeah,” said Jenny with broad(明白な) sarcasm, “I notice how you hate getting A’s(Aを取る) , being All-Ivy-“
“What I hate is that he expects no less!(当たり前だと思っているということ)” Just saying what I had always felt(but never before spoken) made me feel uncomfortable as hell, but now I had to make Jenny understand it all. “And he’s so incredibly blase(無感動な) when I do come through(期待に応える). I mean he just takes me absolutely for granted.”(期待に応えることを全く当たり前だと思っている)

Love Story (12)

原文:
I wasn’t about to believe a story like that.
“You call your father Phil?”
“That’s his name. What do you call yours?”
Jenny had once told me she had been raised by her father, some sort of a baker type, in Cranston, Rhode Island. When she was very young, her mother was killed in a car crash. All this by way of explaining why she had no driver’s license. Her father, in every other way “a truly good guy” (her words), was incredibly superstitious about letting his only daughter drive. This was a real drag during her last years of high school, when she was taking piano with a guy in Providence. But then she got to read all of Proust on those long bus rides.
What do you call yours?” “ she asked again.
I had been so out of it, I hadn’t heard her question.
“My what?”
“What term do you employ when you speak of your progenitor?”
I answered with the term I’d always wanted to employ.
“Sonovabitch.”
“To his face?” she asked.
“I never see his face.”
“He wears a mask?”
“In a way, yes. Of stone. Of absolute stone.”
“Go on – he must be proud as hell. You’re a big Harvard jock.”
I looked at her. I guess she didn’t know everything, after all.
“So was he, Jenny.”
“Bigger than All-Ivy wing?”
I like the way she employed my athletic credentials. Too bad I had to shoot myself down by giving her my father’s.
“He rowed single sculls in the 1928 Olympics.”
“God,” she said. “Did he win?”
“No,” I answered, and I guess she could tell that the fact that he was sixth in the finals actually afforded me some comfort.


解説:
I wasn’t about to believe a story like that.
“You call your father Phil?”
“That’s his name. What do you call yours?”
Jenny had once told me she had been raised by her father, some sort of a baker type(パン屋か何か), in Cranston, Rhode Island(東海岸の全米で一番面積の小さい州。人口密度は高い). When she was very young, her mother was killed in a car crash. All this by way of explaining why she had no driver’s license(このことは全て彼女が運転免許証を何故持っていないかを説明するつもりでジェニーが私に話してくれたこと). Her father, in every other way(この点を除けば) “a truly good guy” (her words), was incredibly superstitious(迷信的な) about letting his only daughter drive. This was a real drag(重荷) during her last years of high school, when she was taking piano with a guy in Providence(Rhode Island州の州都). But then she got to read all of Proust(フランスの小説家) on those long bus rides.
What do you call yours?” “ she asked again.
I had been so out of it(別のことを考えていたので), I hadn’t heard her question.
“My what?”
“What term(言葉) do you employ(使用する) when you speak of your progenitor(父親)?”
I answered with the term I’d always wanted to employ.
“Sonovabitch.”(son of a bitch:お前)
“To his face?” she asked.
“I never see his face.”
“He wears a mask?”
“In a way, yes. Of stone(= He wears a mask of stone.). Of absolute(疑う余地のない) stone.”
“Go on – he must be proud as hell(猛烈に). You’re a big(大物の) Harvard jock(体力はあるが頭の弱い学校の運動選手).”
I looked at her. I guess she didn’t know everything, after all.
“So was he, Jenny.”
“Bigger than All-Ivy wing(ウイングの選手)?”
I like the way she employed my athletic credentials(資格). Too bad I had to shoot myself down by giving her my father’s.
“He rowed single sculls(ボートのシングルスカルを漕いだ) in the 1928 Olympics.”
“God,” she said. “Did he win?”
“No,” I answered, and I guess she could tell that the fact that he was sixth in the finals actually afforded me some comfort.(⇒決勝で6位だったということを告げた時彼女は私が少しほっとした気持ちになったことを読みとったと思う、というニュアンス)

Love Story (11)

原文:
“Yeah. Of course! Absolutely. Oh, me too, Phil. I love you too, Phil.”
I stopped ambling. Who was she talking to? It wasn’t Davidson – there was no Phil in any part of his name. I had long ago checked him out in our Class Register. Martin Eugene Davidson, 70 Riverside Drive, New York. High School of music and Art. His photo suggested sensitivity, intelligence and fifty pounds less than me. But why was I bothering about Davidson? Clearly both he and I were being shot down by Jennifer Cavilleri, for someone to whom she was at this moment (how gross!) blowing kisses into the phone!
I had been away only forty-eight hours, and some bastard named Phil had crawled into bed with Jenny (it had to be that!)
“Yeah, Phil, I love you too. ‘Bye.”
As she was hanging up, she saw me, and without so much as blushing, she smiled and waved me a kiss. How could she be so two-faced?
She kissed me lightly on my unhurt checek.
“Hey – you look awful.”
“I’m injured, Jen.”
“Does the other guy look worse?”
Year. Much. I always make the other guy look worse.”
I said that as ominously as I could, sort of implying that I would punch-out any rivals who would creep into bed with Jenny while I was out of sight and evidently out of mind. She grabbed my sleeve and we started toward the door.
“Night, Jenny,” called the girl on bells.
“Night, Sara Jane,” Jenny called back.
When we were outside, about to step into my MG, I oxygenated my lungs with a breadth of evening, and put the question as casually as I could.
“Say, Jen …”
“Yeah?”
“Uh – who’s Phil?”
She answered matter-of-factly as she got into the car.
“My father.”


解説:
“Yeah. Of course! Absolutely(そうだとも). Oh, me too, Phil. I love you too, Phil.”
I stopped ambling. Who was she talking to? It wasn’t Davidson – there was no Phil in any part of his name. I had long ago checked him out in our Class Register(クラス名簿). Martin Eugene Davidson, 70 Riverside Drive, New York. High School of music and Art. His photo suggested sensitivity(感受性), intelligence and fifty pounds less than me. But why was I bothering(思い悩む) about Davidson? Clearly both he and I were being shot down by Jennifer Cavilleri, for someone to whom she was at this moment (how gross!何て不快な!) blowing kisses into the phone!
I had been away only forty-eight hours, and some bastard(野郎) named Phil had crawled into bed(ベッドにもぐりこんだ) with Jenny (it had to be that! =そうだったに違いない)
“Yeah, Phil, I love you too. ‘Bye.”
As she was hanging up, she saw me, and without so much as blushing(赤面もしないで), she smiled and waved me a kiss. How could she be so two-faced(偽善的な)?
She kissed me lightly on my unhurt cheek.
“Hey – you look awful.”
“I’m injured, Jen.”
“Does the other guy look worse?”
Year. Much. I always make the other guy look worse.”
I said that as ominously(不気味に) as I could, sort of implying that I would punch-out any rivals who would creep into bed with Jenny while I was out of sight and evidently (明らかに)out of mind. She grabbed my sleeve and we started toward the door.
“Night, Jenny,” called the girl on bells.
“Night, Sara Jane,” Jenny called back.
When we were outside, about to step into my MG(英国製のスポーツカー), I oxygenated(に酸素を吸入する) my lungs with a breadth of evening, and put the question as casually as I could.
“Say, Jen …”
“Yeah?”
“Uh – who’s Phil?”
She answered matter-of-factly(感情を見せずに)as(・・・しながら) she got into the car.
“My father.”

Love Story (10)

原文:
“Jenny’s on the downstairs phone.”
This information was announced to me by the girl on bells, although I had not identified myself or my purpose in coming to Briggs Hall that Monday evening. I quickly concluded that this meant points for me. Obviously the ‘Cliffe who greeted me read the Crimson and knew who I was. Okay, that had happened many times. More significant was the fact that Jenny had been mentioning that she was dating me.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll wait here.”
“Too bad about Cornell. The Crime says four guys jumped you.”
“Year. And I got the penalty. Five minutes.”
Year.”
The difference between a friend and a fan is that with the latter you quickly run out of conversation.
“Jenny off the phone yet?”
She checked her switchboard, replied, “No.”
Who could Jenny be talking to that was worth appropriating moments set aside for a date with me? Some musical wonk? It was not unknown to me that Martin Davidson, Adams House senior and conductor of the Bach Society orchestra, considered himself to have a franchise on Jenny’s attention. Not body; I don’t think the guy could wave more than his baton. Anyway, I would put a stop to this usurpation of my time.
“Where’s the phone booth?”
“Around the corner.” She pointed in the precise direction.
I ambled into the lounge area. From afar I could see Jenny on the phone. She had left the booth door open. I walked slowly, casually, hoping she would catch sight of me, my bandages, my injuries in toto, and be moved to slam down the receiver and rush to my arms. As I approached I could hear fragments of conversation.


解説:
“Jenny’s on the downstairs(「階下にある」:形容詞)phone.”
This information was announced to me by the girl on bells(電話番の女の子⇒昔は電話がかかってくると、それを内線で各部屋につないでいました。この場合は、受付を兼ねています), although I had not identified myself or my purpose in coming to Briggs Hall that Monday evening. I quickly concluded that this meant points for me. Obviously the ‘Cliffe who greeted me read the Crimson(ハーヴァード大学新聞:日刊) and knew who I was. Okay, that had happened many times. More significant was the fact that Jenny had been mentioning that she was dating me.(⇒この記述からジェニーが受付の女の子に、その日の夕方オリバーがデートで自分を迎えにくることを伝えていて、そのことをオリバーとの会話で伝えていたことが分かります)
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll wait here.”
“Too bad about Cornell. The Crime(the Crimson) says four guys jumped(に飛びかかった) you.”
“Year. And I (イタリックになっているのは「相手の4人が自分に飛びかかったのに罰をくらったのは自分だ」ということを強調するため)got the penalty. Five minutes.”
“Year.”
The difference between a friend and a fan is that with the latter you quickly run out of conversation.
“Jenny off the phone yet?”
She checked her switchboard, replied, “No.”
Who could Jenny be talking to that was worth appropriating(を充当する)moments set aside for a date with me? Some musical wonk(柔なやつ)? It was not unknown to me(以下のことを知らないわけではなかった)that Martin Davidson, Adams House(ハーヴァード大学の寮の名前)senior and conductor of the Bach Society orchestra, considered himself to have a franchise on Jenny’s attention(自分がジェニーの関心を買っていると思っていた). Not body(ジェニーの関心が体にあるのではない); I don’t think the guy could wave more than his baton(動かそうと思っても指揮棒以上のものを動かせるとは思わない). Anyway, I would put a stop to this usurpation(不法使用) of my time.
“Where’s the phone booth?”
“Around the corner.” She pointed in the precise direction(正確な方向を指差した⇒directionは空間を意識させるので in).
I ambled(ぶらぶら歩いた) into the lounge area. From afar(遠くから) I could see Jenny on the phone. She had left the booth door open. I walked slowly, casually(何気なく), hoping she would catch sight of me, my bandages, my injuries in toto(=totally完全に), and be moved to slam down the receiver(受話器をガチャンと置く) and rush to my arms. As I approached I could hear fragments (断片)of conversation.
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