大学高级英语第一册张汉熙版第四课原文加翻译Everyday Use for your grandmama

Unit 4 Everyday Use for your grandmamaAlice Walker 1.) About the authorAlice Walker (1944- ), poet, novelist and essayist, was born into a poor rural family in Eatonton, Georgia. Her parents made a living by growing cotton. When she went to Sarah Lawren ce College in the early 60’s, the civil rights movement was in full swing. She was actively involved in the movement and upon graduation worked in Mississippi, center of the civil rights activities. After experiencing the political movement and as a case worker for the New York City welfare department, she became a teacher of creative writing and black literature, lecturing at Jackson State College, Tougaloo College, Wellesley, Yale and University of California at Berkeley. Her writing career began with the publication of a volume of poetry in 1968, which was followed by a number of novels, short stories, critical essays and more poetry. Now she is regarded as one of the most prominent writers in American literature and a most forceful representative of wome n’s literature and black literature.Her works include The Thrid Life Grange Copeland (1970), Meridian (1976), a volume of poetry Revolutionary Petunias and Other Poems (1973), a collection of short stories In Love and Trouble: Stories of Black Women (1973) and a recent novel The Temple of My Familiar (1989). Her most significant novel is The Purple, published in 1982, which won all the three major book awards in America –the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award. The novel was an instant bestseller and made into an equally successful movie in 1985, directed by Spielberg and starring Whoopi Goldberg.Alice Walker is at her best when portraying people living in the rural areas where the writer was born and grew up. As a black writer, Walker is particularly interested in examining the relationships among the blacks themselves.2.) “Everyday Use”(1973) is included in the Norton Anthology of Short Fiction, 2nd Edition, 1981. “Everyday Use”, one of the best-written short stories by Alice Walker, describes three women. The mother is a working woman without much education, but not without intelligence or perception. The two daughters form a sharp contrast in every conceivable way: appearance, character, personal experiences, etc. The story reaches its climax at the moment when Dee, the elder daughter, wants the old quilts only to e refused flatly by the mother, who intends to give them to Maggie, the younger one. The old quilts, made from pieces of clothes worn by grand and great grand parents and stitched by Grandma’s hand, are clearly a symbol of the cultural heritage of the black people. Their different feelings about the quilts reveal their different attitudes towards their heritage as blacks.The theme:The main theme in the story concerns the character’s connections to their ancestral roots.Dee Johnson believes that she is affirming her African heritage by changing her name, her mannerisms,and her appearance, even though her family has lived in the U.S. for several generations.The historical present:描述历史事件的现在时，使事件更生动、更真实The historcal present(some times dramatic present) refers to the employment of the present tense when narrating past events. It is used in fiction, for “hot news” (as in headlines), and in everyday conversation, it is partical any common with “verbs of communication” such as tell,write,etc.I will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavy yesterday afternoon. A yard like this is more comfortable than most people know. It is not just a yard. It is like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean as a floor and the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular grooves, anyone can come and sit and look up into the elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the house. 我就在这院子里等候她的到来。

高级英语.第一册.张汉熙.课后答案1.The Middle Eastern BazaarI．1)A bazaar is a market or street of shops and stands in Oriental countries．Such bazaars are likely to be found in Afghanistan，the Arabian Peninsula，Cyprus，Asiatic Turkey and Egypt．2)The bazaar includes many markets：cloth—market，copper—smiths’market．carpet—market，food—market，dye—market，pottery—market，carpenters’market，etc．They represent the backward feudal economy．3)A blind man could know which part 0f the bazaar he was in by his senses of smell and hearing．Different odours and sounds can give him some ideas about the various parts 0f the bazaar．4)Because the earthen floor，beaten hard by countless feet，deadens the sound of footsteps，and the vaulted mudbrick walls and roof have hardly and sounds to echo. The shop-keepers also speak in slow, measured tones, and the buyers follow suit.5)The place where people make linseed oil seems the most picturesque in the bazaar. The backwardness of their extracting oil presents an unforgetable scene.II .1)little donkeys went in and out among the people and from one side to another2)Then as you pass through a big crowd to go deeper into the market, the noise of the entrance gradually disappear, and you come to the much quieter cloth-market.3)they drop some of items that they don't really want andbegin to bargain seriously for a low price.4)He will ask for a high price for the item and refuse to cut down the price by any significant amount.5)As you get near it, a variety of sounds begin to strike your ear.Ⅲ. See the translation of text.IV.1)n. +n..seaside, doorway, graveyard, warlord2)n. +v..daybreak, moonrise, bullfight3)v. +n..cutback, cutthroat, rollway4)adj. +n..shortterm, softcoal, softliner, hardware5)adv. +v. .output , upgrade, downpour6)v. +adv..pullover, buildupV.1)thread (n.) she failed to put the thread through the eye of the needle.(v.) He threaded through the throng.2)round (v.) On the 1st of September the ship rounded the Cape of Good Hope.(adv.) He wheeled round and faced me angrily.3)narrow(v.) In the discussions we did not narrow the gap any further. (adj．)He failed by a very narrow margin．4)price(n．) The defence secretary said the U．S．was not looking for an agreement at any price．(v．)At the present consumption rates(of oil)the world may well be pricing itself out of its future．5) (v．)live About 40％of the population lives on the land and tries to live off it．(adj．)The nation heard the inaugural speech in a live broadcast．6)tower (n．)The tower was built in the 1 4th century．(v．)The general towered over his contemporaries．7)dwarf (v．)A third of the nation's capital goods are shipped from this area，which dwarfs West Germany's mighty Ruhr Valley in industrial output．(n．)Have you ever read the story of Snow White and the Dwarfs?Ⅵ．1)light and heat：glare，dark，shadowy，dancing flashes．the red of the live coals，glowing bright，dimming，etc．2)sound and movement：enter，pass，thread their way．penetrate，selecting，pricing，doing a little preliminary bargaining，din，tinkling，banging，clashing，creak，squeaking，rumbling，etc．3)smell and colour：profusion of rich colours，pungent and exotic smells，etc．Ⅶ．1)glare指刺眼的光；brightness指光源发出的强烈稳定的光，强调光的强度。

Everyday Use for your grandmamaAlice WalkerI will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavy yester day afternoon. A yard like this is more comfortable than most people know. It is not just a yard. It is like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean as a floor and the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular grooves, anyone can come and sit and look up into the elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the house.Maggie will be nervous until after her sister goes: she will stand hopelessly in corners, homely and ashamed of the burn scars down her arms and legs, eying her sister with a mixture of envy and awe. She thinks her sister has held life always in the palm of one hand, that "no" is a word the world never learned to say to her.You've no doubt seen those TV shows where the child who has "made it" is confronted, as a surprise, by her own mother and father, tottering in weakly from backstage. (A Pleasant surprise, of course: What would they do if parent and child came on the show only to curse out and insult each other?) On TV mother and child embrace and smile into each other's face. Sometimes the mother and father weep, the child wraps them in her arms and leans across the table to tell how she would not have made it without their help. I have seen these programs.Sometimes I dream a dream in which Dee and I are suddenly brought together on a TV program of this sort. Out of a cark and soft-seated limousine I am ushered into a bright room filled with many people. There I meet a smiling, gray, sporty man like Johnny Carson who shakes my hand and tells me what a fine girl I have. Then we are on the stage and Dee is embracing me with tear s in her eyes. She pins on my dress a large orchid, even though she has told me once that she thinks or chides are tacky flowers.In real life I am a large, big-boned woman with rough, man-working hands. In the winter I wear flannel nightgowns to bed and overalls during the day. I can killand clean a hog as mercilessly as a man. My fat keeps me hot in zero weather. I can work outside all day, breaking ice to get water for washing; I can eat pork liver cooked over the open tire minutes after it comes steaming from the hog. One winter I knocked a bull calf straight in the brain between the eyes with a sledge hammer and had the meat hung up to chill be-fore nightfall. But of course all this does not show on television. I am the way my daughter would want me to be: a hundred pounds lighter, my skin like an uncooked barley pan-cake. My hair glistens in the hot bright lights. Johnny Car – son has much to do to keep up with my quick and witty tongue.But that is a mistake. I know even before I wake up. Who ever knew a Johnson with a quick tongue? Who can even imagine me looking a strange white man in the eye? It seems to me I have talked to them always with one toot raised in flight, with my head turned in whichever way is farthest from them. Dee, though. She would always look anyone in the eye. Hesitation was no part of her nature."How do I look, Mama?" Maggie says, showing just enough of her thin body enveloped in pink skirt and red blouse for me to know she's there, almost hidden by the door."Come out into the yard," I say.Have you ever seen a lame animal, perhaps a dog run over by some careless person rich enough to own a car, sidle up to someone who is ignorant enough to be kind of him? That is the way my Maggie walks. She has been like this, chin on chest, eyes on ground, feet in shuffle, ever since the fire that burned the other house to the ground.Dee is lighter than Maggie, with nicer hair and a fuller figure. She's a woman now, though sometimes I forget. How long ago was it that the other house burned? Ten, twelve years? Sometimes I can still hear the flames and feel Maggie's arms sticking to me, her hair smoking and her dress falling off her in little black papery flakes. Her eyes seemed stretched open, blazed open by the flames reflect-ed in them. And Dee. I see her standing off under the sweet gum tree she used to dig gum out of; a look at concentration on her face as she watched the last dingy gray board of the house tall in toward the red-hot brick chimney. Why don't you do a dance around the ashes? I'd wanted to ask her. She had hated the house that much.I used to think she hated Maggie, too. But that was before we raised the money, the church and me, to send her to Augusta to school. She used to read to us without pity, forcing words, lies, other folks' habits, whole lives upon us two, sitting trapped and ignorant underneath her voice. She washed us in a river of make-believe, burned us with a lot of knowledge we didn't necessarily need to know. Pressed us to her with the serious way she read, to shove us away at just the moment, like dimwits, we seemed about to understand.Dee wanted nice things. A yellow organdy dress to wear to her graduation from high school; black pumps to match a green suit she'd made from an old suit somebody gave me. She was determined to stare down any disaster in her efforts. Her eyelids would not flicker for minutes at a time. Often I fought off the temptation to shake her. At sixteen she had a style of her own' and knew what style was.I never had an education myself. After second grade the school was closed down. Don't ask me why. in 1927 colored asked fewer questions than they do now. Sometimes Maggie reads to me. She stumbles along good-naturedly but can't see well. She knows she is not bright. Like good looks and money, quickness passed her by. She will marry John Thomas (who has mossy teeth in an earnest face) and then I'll be free to sit here and I guess just sing church songs to myself. Although I never was a good singer. Never could carry a tune. I was always better at a man's job. 1 used to love to milk till I was hooked in the side in '49. Cows are soothing and slow and don't bother you, unless you try to milk them the wrong way.I have deliberately turned my back on the house. It is three rooms, just like the one that burned, except the roof is tin: they don't make shingle roofs any more. There are no real windows, just some holes cut in the sides, like the portholes in a ship, but not round and not square, with rawhide holding the shutter s up on the outside. This house is in a pasture, too, like the other one. No doubt when Dee sees it she will want to tear it down. She wrote me once that no matter where we "choose" to live, she will manage to come see us. But she will never bring her friends. Maggie and I thought about this and Maggie asked me, Mama, when did Dee ever have anyfriends?"She had a few. Furtive boys in pink shirts hanging about on washday after school. Nervous girls who never laughed. Impressed with her they worshiped the well-turned phrase, the cute shape, the scalding humor that erupted like bubbles in lye. She read to them.When she was courting Jimmy T she didn't have much time to pay to us, but turned all her faultfinding power on him. He flew to marry a cheap city girl from a family of ignorant flashy people. She hardly had time to recompose herself.When she comes I will meet -- but there they are!Maggie attempts to make a dash for the house, in her shuffling way, but I stay her with my hand. "Come back here," I say. And she stops and tries to dig a well in the sand with her toe.It is hard to see them clearly through the strong sun. But even the first glimpse of leg out of the car tells me it is Dee. Her feet were always neat-looking, as it God himself had shaped them with a certain style. From the other side of the car comes a short, stocky man. Hair is all over his head a foot long and hanging from his chin like a kinky mule tail. I hear Maggie suck in her breath. "Uhnnnh," is what it sounds like. Like when you see the wriggling end of a snake just in front of your toot on the road. "Uhnnnh."Dee next. A dress down to the ground, in this hot weather. A dress so loud it hurts my eyes. There are yel-lows and oranges enough to throw back the light of the sun. I feel my whole face warming from the heat waves it throws out. Earrings gold, too, and hanging down to her shoulders. Bracelets dangling and making noises when she moves her arm up to shake the folds of the dress out of her armpits. The dress is loose and flows, and as she walks closer, I like it. I hear Maggie go "Uhnnnh" again. It is her sister's hair. It stands straight up like the wool on a sheep. It is black as night and around the edges are two long pigtails that rope about like small lizards disappearing behind her ears."Wa-su-zo-Tean-o!" she says, coming on in that gliding way the dress makes hermove. The short stocky fellow with the hair to his navel is all grinning and he follows up with "Asalamalakim, my mother and sister!" He moves to hug Maggie but she falls back, right up against the back of my chair. I feel her trembling there and when I look up I see the perspiration falling off her chin."Don't get up," says Dee. Since I am stout it takes something of a push. You can see me trying to move a second or two before I make it. She turns, showing white heels through her sandals, and goes back to the car. Out she peeks next with a Polaroid. She stoops down quickly and lines up picture after picture of me sitting there in front of the house with Maggie cowering behind me. She never takes a shot without making sure the house is included. When a cow comes nibbling around the edge of the yard she snaps it and me and Maggie and the house. Then she puts the Polaroid in the back seat of the car, and comes up and kisses me on the forehead.Meanwhile Asalamalakim is going through motions with Maggie's hand. Maggie's hand is as limp as a fish, and probably as cold, despite the sweat, and she keeps trying to pull it back. It looks like Asalamalakim wants to shake hands but wants to do it fancy. Or maybe he don't know how people shake hands. Anyhow, he soon gives up on Maggie."Well," I say. "Dee.""No, Mama," she says. "Not 'Dee', Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo!""What happened to 'Dee'?" I wanted to know."She's dead," Wangero said. "I couldn't bear it any longer, being named after the people who oppress me.""You know as well as me you was named after your aunt Dicle," I said. Dicie is my sister. She named Dee. We called her "Big Dee" after Dee was born."But who was she named after?" asked Wangero."I guess after Grandma Dee," I said."And who was she named after?" asked Wangero."Her mother," I said, and saw Wangero was getting tired. "That's about as far back as I can trace it," I said.Though, in fact, I probably could have carried it back beyond the Civil Warthrough the branches."Well," said Asalamalakim, "there you are.""Uhnnnh," I heard Maggie say."There I was not," I said, before 'Dicie' cropped up in our family, so why should I try to trace it that far back?"He just stood there grinning, looking down on me like somebody inspecting a Model A car. Every once in a while he and Wangero sent eye signals over my head."How do you pronounce this name?" I asked."You don't have to call me by it if you don't want to," said Wangero."Why shouldn't I?" I asked. "If that's what you want us to call you, we'll call you. ""I know it might sound awkward at first," said Wangero."I'll get used to it," I said. "Ream it out again."Well, soon we got the name out of the way. Asalamalakim had a name twice as long and three times as hard. After I tripped over it two or three times he told me to just call him Hakim-a-barber. I wanted to ask him was he a barber, but I didn't really think he was, so I don't ask."You must belong to those beet-cattle peoples down the road," I said. They said "Asalamalakirn" when they met you too, but they didn't Shake hands. Always too busy feeding the cattle, fixing the fences, putting up salt-lick shelters, throwing down hay. When the white folks poisoned some of the herd the men stayed up all night with rifles in their hands. I walked a mile and a half just to see the sight.Hakim-a-barber said, "I accept some of their doctrines, but farming and raising cattle is not my style." (They didn't tell me, and I didn't ask, whether Wangero (Dee) had really gone and married him.)We sat down to eat and right away he said he didn't eat collards and pork was unclean. Wangero, though, went on through the chitlins and corn bread, the greens and every-thing else. She talked a blue streak over the sweet potatoes. Everything delighted her. Even the fact that we still used the benches her daddy made for the table when we couldn't afford to buy chairs."Oh, Mama!" she cried. Then turned to Hakim-a-barber. "I never knew how lovely these benches are. You can feel the rump prints," she said, running her hands underneath her and along the bench. Then she gave a sigh and her hand closed over Grandma Dee's butter dish. "That's it!" she said. "I knew there was something I wanted to ask you if I could have." She jumped up from the table and went over in the corner where the churn stood, the milk in it clabber by now. She looked at the churn and looked at it."This churn top is what I need," she said. "Didn't Uncle Buddy whittle it out of a tree you all used to have?""Yes," I said."Uh huh, " she said happily. "And I want the dasher,too.""Uncle Buddy whittle that, too?" asked the barber.Dee (Wangero) looked up at me."Aunt Dee's first husband whittled the dash," said Maggie so low you almost couldn't hear her. "His name was Henry, but they called him Stash.""Maggie's brain is like an elephants," Wanglero said, laughing. "I can use the churn top as a center piece for the alcove table,”she said, sliding a plate over the churn, "and I'll think of something artistic to do with the dasher."When she finished wrapping the dasher the handle stuck out. I took it for a moment in my hands. You didn't even have to look close to see where hands pushing the dasher up and down to make butter had left a kind of sink in the wood. In fact, there were a lot of small sinks; you could see where thumbs and fingers had sunk into the wood. It was beautiful light yellow wood, from a tree that grew in the yard where Big Dee and Stash had lived.After dinner Dee (Wangero) went to the trunk at the foot of my bed and started rifling through it. Maggie hung back in the kitchen over the dishpan. Out came Wangero with two quilts. They had been pieced by Grandma Dee and then Big Dee and me had hung them on the quilt frames on the front porch and quilted them. One was in the Lone Star pattern. The other was Walk Around the Mountain. In both of them were scraps of dresses Grandma Dee had worn fifty and more years ago. Bit sand pieces of GrandpaJarrell's Paisley shirts. And one teeny faded blue piece, about the size of a penny matchbox, that was from Great Grandpa Ezra's uniform that he wore in the Civil War."Mama," Wangero said sweet as a bird. "Can I have these old quilts?"I heard something fall in the kitchen, and a minute later the kitchen door slammed."Why don't you take one or two of the others?” 1 asked. "These old things was just done by me and Big Dee from some tops your grandma pieced before she died.""No," said Wangero. "I don't want those. They are stitched around the borders by machine.""That'll make them last better," I said."That's not the point," said Wanglero. "These are all pieces of dresses Grandma used to wear. She did all this stitching by hand. Imagine!" She held the quilts securely in her arms, stroking them."Some of the pieces, like those lavender ones, come from old clothes her mother handed down to her,” I said, moving up to touch the quilts. Dee (Wangero) moved back just enough so that I couldn't reach the quilts. They already belonged to her. "Imagine!" she breathed again, clutching them closely to her bosom."The truth is," I said, "I promised to give them quilts to Maggie, for when she marries John Thomas."She gasped like a bee had stung her."Maggie can't appreciate these quilts!" she said. "She'd probably be backward enough to put them to everyday use.""I reckon she would," I said. "God knows I been savage ’em for long enough with nobody using 'em. I hope she will! ” I didn't want to bring up how I had offered Dee (Wangero) a quilt when she went away to college. Then she had told me they were old-fashioned, out of style."But they're priceless!" she was saying now, furiously, for she has a temper. "Maggie would put them on the bed and in five years they'd be in rags. Less than that!" "She can always make some more,” I said. "Maggie knows how to quilt. "Dee (Wangero) looked at me with hatred. "You just will not understand. The point is these quilts, these quilts!""Well," I said,, stumped. "What would you do with them?""Hang them," she said. As it that was the only thing you could do with quilts.Maggie by now was standing in the door. I could almost hear the sound her feet made as they scraped over each other."She can have them, Mama,” she said like somebody used to neve r winning anything, or having anything reserved for her. "I can 'member Grandma Dee without the quilts."I looked at her hard. She had filled her bottom lip with checkerberry snuff and it gave her face a kind of dopey, hangdog look. It was Grandma Dee and Big Dee who taught her how to quilt herself. She stood there with her scarred hands hidden in the folds of her skirt. She looked at her sister with something like fear but she wasn't mad at her. This was Maggie's portion. This was the way she knew God to work.When I looked at her like that something hit me in the top of my head and ran down to the soles of my feet. Just like when I'm in church and the spirit of God touches me and I get happy and shout. I did something I never had done before: hugged Maggie to me, then dragged her on into the room, snatched the quilts out of Miss Wangero's hands and dumped them into Maggie's lap. Maggie just sat there on my bed with her mouth open."Take one or two of the others," I said to Dee.But she turned without a word and went out to Hakim-a-barber."You just don't understand," she said, as Maggie and I came out to the car."What don't I under stand?" I wanted to know."Your heritage," she said. And then she turned to Maggie, kissed her, and said, "You ought to try to make some-thing of yourself, too, Maggie. It's really a new day for us. But from the way you and Mama still live you'd never know it."She put on some sunglasses that hid everything above the tip of her nose and her chin.Maggie smiled; maybe at the sunglasses. But a real mile, not scared. After we watched the car dust settle I asked Maggie to bring me a dip of snuff. And then the two of us sat there just enjoying, until it was time to go in the house and go to bed.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------NOTES1) Alice Walker: born 1944 in Eatonton, Georgia, America and graduated from Sarah Lawrence College. Her books include The Third Life of Grange Copeland ( 1970 ), Meridian ( 1976 ), The Color Purple(1982), etc.2)"made it": to become a success, to succeed, either in specific endeavor or in general3) Johnny Carson: a man who runs a late night talk show4)hooked: injured by the horn of the cow being milked5) Jimmy T: 'T' is the initial of the surname of the boy Dee was courting.6)"Wa-su-zo-Tean-o!": phonetic rendering of an African dialect salutation7) "Asalamalakim": phonetic rendering of a Muslim greeting8) Polaroid: a camera that produces instant pictures9) the Civil War: the war between the North and the South in the U. S.(1861-1865)10) branches: branches or divisions of a family descending from a common ancestor11) Ream it out again: "Ream" is perhaps an African dialect word meaning: "unfold, display". Hence the phrase may mean "repeat" or "say it once again"12) pork was unclean: Muslims are forbidden by their religion to eat pork because it is considered to be unclean.13) Chitlins: also chitlings or chitterlings, the small intestines of pigs, used for food, a common dish in Afro-American households14) rump prints: depressions in the benches made by constant sitting15) sink: depressions in the wood of the handle left by the thumbs and fingers第四课外婆的日用家当艾丽斯•沃克尔“我会慢慢习惯的，”我说，“你给我再念一遍吧。

Unit 4 Everyday use for your grandmammaWhat is a plot?If an author writes, "The king died and then the queen died," there is no plot for a story. But by writing, "The king died and then the queen died of grief," the writer has provided a plot line for a story.A plot is a causal sequence of events, the "why" for the things that happen in the story. The plot draws the reader into the character's lives and helps the reader understand the choices that the characters make.The Structure of a plot1.Exposition - introduction of themain characters and setting2.Rising Action - one (or more)characters in crisis3.Climax - point of highest emotion;turning point4.Falling Action - resolution ofcharacter’s crisis5.Denouement (outcome) - “untyingof plot treads”; resolutionNarration NarratorFirst-person narration; third-person narrationNarrator ≠ authorThe titleThe meaning of the title requires the reader to read deeper within the short story. The phrase ―Everyday Use‖ brings about the question whether or not heritage should be preserved and displayed or integrated into everyday life.―Everyday Use‖ pertains not only to the quilt, but more so to people's culture and heritage and how they choose to honor it.The themeThe main theme in the story concerns the characters‘ connections to their ancestral roots.Dee Johnson believes that she is affirming her African heritage by changing her name, her mannerisms, and her appearance, even though her family has lived in the United States for several generations.The themeMaggie and Mrs. Johnson are confused and intimi dated by her new image as ―Wangero‖. Their own connections to their heritage rest on their memories of their mothers and grandmothers; they prefer to remember them for who they were as individuals, not as members of a particular race.Because of their differing viewpoints, they place different values on some old quilts and other objects in the home.The backgroundBy the 1960s, following the success of civil rights leaders like Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X, some African Americans began to take pride in their heritage as a way of gaining their esteem, forging a group identity, and creating a platform for greater political power.Known as ―black pride‖ or Black Nationalism, these ideas encouraged many young African Americans to l earn about their cultural ancestry, grow their hair into ―Afros‖, dress in traditional African clothing, and reject their ―slave names‖. Cultural nationalismCultural nationalism was founded on the belief that blacks and whites have separate values, histories, intellectual traditions and lifestyles and therefore that in reality, there are two separate Americas.Cultural nationalism was often expressed a as a conceptual and aesthetic return to the motherland (rarely an actual return), a recognition of the African roots that blacks in America had begun to forget as a result of slavery, biased education and stereotyped representations in the mass media.In his article, "Black Cultural Nationalism," Ron Karenga, one of the strongest voices in favor of cultural nationalism,writes,"Let our art remind us of our distaste for the enemy, our love for each other, and our commitment to the revolutionary struggle that will be fought with the rhythmic reality of a permanent revolution"Cultural nationalism on a visual level was expressed in the same way, by the wearing of brightly colored African clothing, such as dashikis, and the adaptation of the Afro hair style, both symbolic representations of the important relationship between Blacks in America and their African roots.Mama (Ms Johnson)The narrator of the story.She is a middle-aged or older African-American woman living with her younger daughter, Maggie.Although poor, she is strong and independent, and takes great pride in her way of life.She is over weight, and built more like a man than a woman. She has strong hands that are worn from a lifetime of work.MaggieDee‘s sister who wa s badly burned by a fire when she was young.She has low self-confidence and becomes uncomfortable when Dee is around.Maggie contrasts Dee by showing a special regard for her immediate family.DeeMrs. Johnson‘s older daughter.She is attractive, sophisticated, and well-educated.She is also very selfish, bold, and overly confident.When she returns home, she insists her family calls her Wangero because she wants to be a bigger part of her culture. The only reason she wants this is because it‘s sudde nly the new trend.the historical presentThe historical present (sometimes dramatic present) refers to the employment of the present tense when narrating past events. it is used in fiction, for ―hot news‖ (as in headlines), and in everyday conversation. In conversation, it is particularly common with ―verbs of communication‖ such as tell, write, and say (and in colloquial uses, go).The historical present has the effect of making past events more vivid.P1: the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavywavy: having regular curvesA wavy line has a series of regular curves along it.Here in the text the word describes the marks in wavy patterns on the clay ground left by the broom.P1: It is like an extended living room.Extended: enlargedP1: When the hard clay is swept cleanA fine-grained, firm earthy material that is plastic when wet and hardens when heated, consisting primarily of hydrated silicates of aluminum and widely used in making bricks, tiles, and pottery.粘土，泥土P1: the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular groovesFine: thin, in small particlesGroove nouna long narrow cut in the surface of sth hard:Cut a groove 3 cm from the top of the piece of wood.沟、槽P1: sit and look up into the elm tree榆树P2: homely and ashamed of the burn scarsNot handsome or beautiful: plain, unattractive. (Never say a woman or a girl is ugly. Say she is plain or homely.)Of a plain and unsophisticated nature: artless, unadorned, unpolished. (homely furniture)Of or relating to the family or household: domestic, household. (homely skills)P2: eying her sister with a mixture of envy and aweLook at and watch don‘t suggest the feelings of the person who looks.To eye means to look carefully, suspiciously, or thoughtfully, with fear, doubt, envy, desire, etc.P2: eying her sister with a mixture of envy and awenoun [U] feelings of respect and slight fear; feelings of being very impressed by sth/sb:awe and respectHe speaks of her with awe.be / stand in awe of sb/sth to admire sb/sth and be slightly frightened of them/it:While Diana was in awe of her grandfather, she adored her grandmotheramazement, wonderP2: She thinks her sister has held life always in the palm of one hand, that "no" is a word the world never learned to say to her.The world has satisfied her sister’s every desire.Her sister has a firm control of life.P3: the child who has "made it" is confrontedTo have made it: if you make it, you are successful in achieving sth. Difficult, or in surviving through a very difficult period.I believe I have the talent to make it.You are brave and courageous. You can make it.P3: the child who has "made it" is confronted1 (of problems or a difficult situation) to appear and need to be dealt with by sb: the economic problems confronting the country3 to face sb so that they cannot avoid seeing and hearing you, especially in an unfriendly or dangerous situation: This was the first time he had confronted an armed robber.P3: her own mother and father, tottering in weakly from backstage.1. [usually +adv. / prep.] to walk or move with weak unsteady steps, especially because you are drunk or ill/sick; stagger: She managed to totter back to her seat.2 to be weak and seem likely to fall: the tottering walls of the castleoutLoud enough so as to be heard. 大声讲！没人能把你怎么样。

“那恐怕不容易吧?”“是不容易，夫人。

邻近各州——得克萨斯、阿肯色、密西西比、亚拉巴马以及其余各州都会密切注意搜寻一辆损坏得像你们那辆一样的汽车。

”公爵夫人沉思起来。

“有没有可能先修理一下呢?如果能把车子悄悄修理一下，我们会出大价钱。

”探长使劲摇着头。

“那样的话，还不如现在就去警察局投案自首。

路易斯安那州境内的每一家修车铺都已接到通知，一旦发现像你们那样需要修理的汽车送来修理，立即向警方报告。

他们也都会照办的，你们的事谁都知道。

”“你说警方拿到了我们车上掉下来的一件东西，它叫什么来着？”“框圈。

”“它会成为追查的线索吗?”欧吉维肯定地点了点头。

“他们能查出它是从什么样的汽车上掉下来的——生产厂家，车型，也许还能查出出厂年份，或者是大致的出厂时间。

那车灯玻璃碎片也可以起到同样作用。

但由于你们的车子是外国的，查起来可能得花几天的工夫。

”“几天过后，”她追问道，“警方就会知道他们要找的是一辆美洲虎吗?”“我想是这样。

”今天是星期二。

从这家伙所讲的情况看来，他们最多只能拖到星期五或星期六。

公爵夫人冷静地盘算了一番：现在需要解决的是一个关键的问题。

假使买通了这个旅馆侦探，他们唯一的一个机会——一个渺茫的机会——就在于迅速将汽车弄走。

若能弄到北方某个大城市里去，那儿人们不知道新奥尔良发生的这起车祸和警方的搜查行动，车子可以在那里悄悄修好，这样罪证也就消灭了。

那么，即使以后再怀疑到克罗伊敦夫妇头上，也找不到什么真凭实据。

但车子如何才能弄走呢?毫无疑问，这个粗俗愚笨的侦探说的是真话：要想把车子开到北方，沿途所要经过的各州都会像路易斯安那州一样警惕和注意的，所有的公路巡警都会留心注意一辆前灯撞破、框圈掉落的车子，也许还会设有路障。

要想不被某个目光锐利的警察抓到，谈何容易。

但这还是有可能做得到的，只要能够趁着黑夜行车，而白天里将汽车隐藏起来。

有许多偏僻地方远离公路，不会受人注意。

这样做可能要冒风险，但总比在这里坐等受擒要强些。

Unit 4 Everyday Use for your grandmamaAlice Walker 1.) About the authorAlice Walker (1944- ), poet, novelist and essayist, was born into a poor rural family in Eatonton, Georgia. Her parents made a living by growing cotton. When she went to Sarah Lawren ce College in the early 60’s, the civil rights movement was in full swing. She was actively involved in the movement and upon graduation worked in Mississippi, center of the civil rights activities. After experiencing the political movement and as a case worker for the New York City welfare department, she became a teacher of creative writing and black literature, lecturing at Jackson State College, Tougaloo College, Wellesley, Yale and University of California at Berkeley. Her writing career began with the publication of a volume of poetry in 1968, which was followed by a number of novels, short stories, critical essays and more poetry. Now she is regarded as one of the most prominent writers in American literature and a most forceful representative of wome n’s literature and black literature.Her works include The Thrid Life Grange Copeland (1970), Meridian (1976), a volume of poetry Revolutionary Petunias and Other Poems (1973), a collection of short stories In Love and Trouble: Stories of Black Women (1973) and a recent novel The Temple of My Familiar (1989). Her most significant novel is The Purple, published in 1982, which won all the three major book awards in America –the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award and the National Book Critics Circle Award. The novel was an instant bestseller and made into an equally successful movie in 1985, directed by Spielberg and starring Whoopi Goldberg.Alice Walker is at her best when portraying people living in the rural areas where the writer was born and grew up. As a black writer, Walker is particularly interested in examining the relationships among the blacks themselves.2.) “Everyday Use”(1973) is included in the Norton Anthology of Short Fiction, 2nd Edition, 1981. “Everyday Use”, one of the best-written short stories by Alice Walker, describes three women. The mother is a working woman without much education, but not without intelligence or perception. The two daughters form a sharp contrast in every conceivable way: appearance, character, personal experiences, etc. The story reaches its climax at the moment when Dee, the elder daughter, wants the old quilts only to e refused flatly by the mother, who intends to give them to Maggie, the younger one. The old quilts, made from pieces of clothes worn by grand and great grand parents and stitched by Grandma’s hand, are clearly a symbol of the cultural heritage of the black people. Their different feelings about the quilts reveal their different attitudes towards their heritage as blacks.The theme:The main theme in the story concerns the character’s connections to their ancestral roots.Dee Johnson believes that she is affirming her African heritage by changing her name, her mannerisms,and her appearance, even though her family has lived in the U.S. for several generations.The historical present:描述历史事件的现在时，使事件更生动、更真实The historcal present(some times dramatic present) refers to the employment of the present tense when narrating past events. It is used in fiction, for “hot news” (as in headlines), and in everyday conversation, it is partical any common with “verbs of communication” such as tell,write,etc.I will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavy yesterday afternoon. A yard like this is more comfortable than most people know. It is not just a yard. It is like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean as a floor and the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular grooves, anyone can come and sit and look up into the elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the house. 我就在这院子里等候她的到来。

Everyday Use for your grandmamaAlice WalkerI will wait for her in the yard that Maggie and I made so clean and wavy yester day afternoon. A yard like this is more comfortable than most people know. It is not just a yard. It is like an extended living room. When the hard clay is swept clean as a floor and the fine sand around the edges lined with tiny, irregular grooves, anyone can come and sit and look up into the elm tree and wait for the breezes that never come inside the house.Maggie will be nervous until after her sister goes: she will stand hopelessly in corners, homely and ashamed of the burn scars down her arms and legs, eying her sister with a mixture of envy and awe. She thinks her sister has held life always in the palm of one hand, that "no" is a word the world never learned to say to her.You've no doubt seen those TV shows where the child who has "made it" is confronted, as a surprise, by her own mother and father, tottering in weakly from backstage. (A Pleasant surprise, of course: What would they do if parent and child came on the show only to curse out and insult each other?) On TV mother and child embrace and smile into each other's face. Sometimes the mother and father weep, the child wraps them in her arms and leans across the table to tell how she would not have made it without their help. I have seen these programs.Sometimes I dream a dream in which Dee and I are suddenly brought together on a TV program of this sort. Out of a cark and soft-seated limousine I am usheredinto a bright room filled with many people. There I meet a smiling, gray, sporty man like Johnny Carson who shakes my hand and tells me what a fine girl I have. Then we are on the stage and Dee is embracing me with tear s in her eyes. She pins on my dress a large orchid, even though she has told me once that she thinks or chides are tacky flowers.In real life I am a large, big-boned woman with rough, man-working hands. In the winter I wear flannel nightgowns to bed and overalls during the day. I can kill and clean a hog as mercilessly as a man. My fat keeps me hot in zero weather. I can work outside all day, breaking ice to get water for washing; I can eat pork liver cooked over the open tire minutes after it comes steaming from the hog. One winter I knocked a bull calf straight in the brain between the eyes with a sledge hammer and had the meat hung up to chill be-fore nightfall. But of course all this does not show on television. I am the way my daughter would want me to be: a hundred pounds lighter, my skin like an uncooked barley pan-cake. My hair glistens in the hot bright lights. Johnny Car –son has much to do to keep up with my quick and witty tongue.But that is a mistake. I know even before I wake up. Who ever knew a Johnson with a quick tongue? Who can even imagine me looking a strange white man in the eye? It seems to me I have talked to them always with one toot raised in flight, with my head turned in whichever way is farthest from them. Dee, though. She would always look anyone in the eye. Hesitation was no part of her nature."How do I look, Mama?" Maggie says, showing just enough of her thin bodyenveloped in pink skirt and red blouse for me to know she's there, almost hidden by the door."Come out into the yard," I say.Have you ever seen a lame animal, perhaps a dog run over by some careless person rich enough to own a car, sidle up to someone who is ignorant enough to be kind of him? That is the way my Maggie walks. She has been like this, chin on chest, eyes on ground, feet in shuffle, ever since the fire that burned the other house to the ground.Dee is lighter than Maggie, with nicer hair and a fuller figure. She's a woman now, though sometimes I forget. How long ago was it that the other house burned? Ten, twelve years? Sometimes I can still hear the flames and feel Maggie's arms sticking to me, her hair smoking and her dress falling off her in little black papery flakes. Her eyes seemed stretched open, blazed open by the flames reflect-ed in them. And Dee. I see her standing off under the sweet gum tree she used to dig gum out of; a look at concentration on her face as she watched the last dingy gray board of the house tall in toward the red-hot brick chimney. Why don't you do a dance around the ashes? I'd wanted to ask her. She had hated the house that much.I used to think she hated Maggie, too. But that was before we raised the money, the church and me, to send her to Augusta to school. She used to read to us without pity, forcing words, lies, other folks' habits, whole lives upon us two, sitting trapped and ignorant underneath her voice. She washed us in a river ofmake-believe, burned us with a lot of knowledge we didn't necessarily need toknow. Pressed us to her with the serious way she read, to shove us away at just the moment, like dimwits, we seemed about to understand.Dee wanted nice things. A yellow organdy dress to wear to her graduation from high school; black pumps to match a green suit she'd made from an old suit somebody gave me. She was determined to stare down any disaster in her efforts. Her eyelids would not flicker for minutes at a time. Often I fought off the temptation to shake her. At sixteen she had a style of her own' and knew what style was.I never had an education myself. After second grade the school was closed down. Don't ask me why. in 1927 colored asked fewer questions than they do now. Sometimes Maggie reads to me. She stumbles along good-naturedly but can't see well. She knows she is not bright. Like good looks and money, quickness passed her by. She will marry John Thomas (who has mossy teeth in an earnest face) and then I'll be free to sit here and I guess just sing church songs to myself. Although I never was a good singer. Never could carry a tune. I was always better at a man's job. 1 used to love to milk till I was hooked in the side in '49. Cows are soothing and slow and don't bother you, unless you try to milk them the wrong way.I have deliberately turned my back on the house. It is three rooms, just like the one that burned, except the roof is tin: they don't make shingle roofs any more. There are no real windows, just some holes cut in the sides, like the portholes in a ship, but not round and not square, with rawhide holding the shutter s up on the outside. This house is in a pasture, too, like the other one. No doubt when Dee seesit she will want to tear it down. She wrote me once that no matter where we "choose" to live, she will manage to come see us. But she will never bring her friends. Maggie and I thought about this and Maggie asked me, Mama, when did Dee ever have any friends?"She had a few. Furtive boys in pink shirts hanging about on washday after school. Nervous girls who never laughed. Impressed with her they worshiped the well-turned phrase, the cute shape, the scalding humor that erupted like bubbles in lye. She read to them.When she was courting Jimmy T she didn't have much time to pay to us, but turned all her faultfinding power on him. He flew to marry a cheap city girl from a family of ignorant flashy people. She hardly had time to recompose herself.When she comes I will meet -- but there they are!Maggie attempts to make a dash for the house, in her shuffling way, but I stay her with my hand. "Come back here," I say. And she stops and tries to dig a well in the sand with her toe.It is hard to see them clearly through the strong sun. But even the first glimpse of leg out of the car tells me it is Dee. Her feet were always neat-looking, as it God himself had shaped them with a certain style. From the other side of the car comes a short, stocky man. Hair is all over his head a foot long and hanging from his chin like a kinky mule tail. I hear Maggie suck in her breath. "Uhnnnh," is what it sounds like. Like when you see the wriggling end of a snake just in front of your toot on the road. "Uhnnnh."Dee next. A dress down to the ground, in this hot weather. A dress so loud it hurts my eyes. There are yel-lows and oranges enough to throw back the light of the sun. I feel my whole face warming from the heat waves it throws out. Earrings gold, too, and hanging down to her shoulders. Bracelets dangling and making noises when she moves her arm up to shake the folds of the dress out of her armpits. The dress is loose and flows, and as she walks closer, I like it. I hear Maggie go "Uhnnnh" again. It is her sister's hair. It stands straight up like the wool on a sheep. It is black as night and around the edges are two long pigtails that rope about like small lizards disappearing behind her ears."Wa-su-zo-Tean-o!" she says, coming on in that gliding way the dress makes her move. The short stocky fellow with the hair to his navel is all grinning and he follows up with "Asalamalakim, my mother and sister!" He moves to hug Maggie but she falls back, right up against the back of my chair. I feel her trembling there and when I look up I see the perspiration falling off her chin."Don't get up," says Dee. Since I am stout it takes something of a push. You can see me trying to move a second or two before I make it. She turns, showing white heels through her sandals, and goes back to the car. Out she peeks next with a Polaroid. She stoops down quickly and lines up picture after picture of me sitting there in front of the house with Maggie cowering behind me. She never takes a shot without making sure the house is included. When a cow comes nibbling around the edge of the yard she snaps it and me and Maggie and the house. Then she puts the Polaroid in the back seat of the car, and comes up and kisses me onthe forehead.Meanwhile Asalamalakim is going through motions with Maggie's hand. Maggie's hand is as limp as a fish, and probably as cold, despite the sweat, and she keeps trying to pull it back. It looks like Asalamalakim wants to shake hands but wants to do it fancy. Or maybe he don't know how people shake hands. Anyhow, he soon gives up on Maggie."Well," I say. "Dee.""No, Mama," she says. "Not 'Dee', Wangero Leewanika Kemanjo!""What happened to 'Dee'?" I wanted to know."She's dead," Wangero said. "I couldn't bear it any longer, being named after the people who oppress me.""You know as well as me you was named after your aunt Dicle," I said. Dicie is my sister. She named Dee. We called her "Big Dee" after Dee was born."But who was she named after?" asked Wangero."I guess after Grandma Dee," I said."And who was she named after?" asked Wangero."Her mother," I said, and saw Wangero was getting tired. "That's about as far back as I can trace it," I said.Though, in fact, I probably could have carried it back beyond the Civil War through the branches."Well," said Asalamalakim, "there you are.""Uhnnnh," I heard Maggie say."There I was not," I said, before 'Dicie' cropped up in our family, so why should I try to trace it that far back?"He just stood there grinning, looking down on me like somebody inspecting a Model A car. Every once in a while he and Wangero sent eye signals over my head."How do you pronounce this name?" I asked."You don't have to call me by it if you don't want to," said Wangero."Why shouldn't I?" I asked. "If that's what you want us to call you, we'll call you. ""I know it might sound awkward at first," said Wangero."I'll get used to it," I said. "Ream it out again."Well, soon we got the name out of the way. Asalamalakim had a name twice as long and three times as hard. After I tripped over it two or three times he told me to just call him Hakim-a-barber. I wanted to ask him was he a barber, but I didn't really think he was, so I don't ask."You must belong to those beet-cattle peoples down the road," I said. They said "Asalamalakirn" when they met you too, but they didn't Shake hands. Always too busy feeding the cattle, fixing the fences, putting up salt-lick shelters, throwing down hay. When the white folks poisoned some of the herd the men stayed up all night with rifles in their hands. I walked a mile and a half just to see the sight.Hakim-a-barber said, "I accept some of their doctrines, but farming and raising cattle is not my style." (They didn't tell me, and I didn't ask, whether Wangero (Dee) had really gone and married him.)We sat down to eat and right away he said he didn't eat collards and pork was unclean. Wangero, though, went on through the chitlins and corn bread, the greens and every-thing else. She talked a blue streak over the sweet potatoes. Everything delighted her. Even the fact that we still used the benches her daddy made for the table when we couldn't afford to buy chairs."Oh, Mama!" she cried. Then turned to Hakim-a-barber. "I never knew how lovely these benches are. You can feel the rump prints," she said, running her hands underneath her and along the bench. Then she gave a sigh and her hand closed over Grandma Dee's butter dish. "That's it!" she said. "I knew there was something I wanted to ask you if I could have." She jumped up from the table and went over in the corner where the churn stood, the milk in it clabber by now. She looked at the churn and looked at it."This churn top is what I need," she said. "Didn't Uncle Buddy whittle it out of a tree you all used to have?""Yes," I said."Uh huh, " she said happily. "And I want the dasher,too.""Uncle Buddy whittle that, too?" asked the barber.Dee (Wangero) looked up at me."Aunt Dee's first husband whittled the dash," said Maggie so low you almost couldn't hear her. "His name was Henry, but they called him Stash.""Maggie's brain is like an elephants," Wanglero said, laughing. "I can use the churn top as a center piece for the alcove table,”she said, sliding a plate over thechurn, "and I'll think of something artistic to do with the dasher."When she finished wrapping the dasher the handle stuck out. I took it for a moment in my hands. You didn't even have to look close to see where hands pushing the dasher up and down to make butter had left a kind of sink in the wood. In fact, there were a lot of small sinks; you could see where thumbs and fingers had sunk into the wood. It was beautiful light yellow wood, from a tree that grew in the yard where Big Dee and Stash had lived.After dinner Dee (Wangero) went to the trunk at the foot of my bed and started rifling through it. Maggie hung back in the kitchen over the dishpan. Out came Wangero with two quilts. They had been pieced by Grandma Dee and then Big Dee and me had hung them on the quilt frames on the front porch and quilted them. One was in the Lone Star pattern. The other was Walk Around the Mountain. In both of them were scraps of dresses Grandma Dee had worn fifty and more years ago. Bit sand pieces of Grandpa Jarrell's Paisley shirts. And one teeny faded blue piece, about the size of a penny matchbox, that was from Great Grandpa Ezra's uniform that he wore in the Civil War."Mama," Wangero said sweet as a bird. "Can I have these old quilts?"I heard something fall in the kitchen, and a minute later the kitchen door slammed."Why don't you take one or two of the others?”1 asked. "These old things was just done by me and Big Dee from some tops your grandma pieced before she died.""No," said Wangero. "I don't want those. They are stitched around the borders by machine.""That'll make them last better," I said."That's not the point," said Wanglero. "These are all pieces of dresses Grandma used to wear. She did all this stitching by hand. Imagine!" She held the quilts securely in her arms, stroking them."Some of the pieces, like those lavender ones, come from old clothes her mother handed down to her,”I said, moving up to touch the quilts. Dee (Wangero) moved back just enough so that I couldn't reach the quilts. They already belonged to her. "Imagine!" she breathed again, clutching them closely to her bosom."The truth is," I said, "I promised to give them quilts to Maggie, for when she marries John Thomas."She gasped like a bee had stung her."Maggie can't appreciate these quilts!" she said. "She'd probably be backward enough to put them to everyday use.""I reckon she would," I said. "God knows I been savage ’em for long enough with nobody using 'em. I hope she will! ”I didn't want to bring up how I had offered Dee (Wangero) a quilt when she went away to college. Then she had told me they were old-fashioned, out of style."But they're priceless!" she was saying now, furiously, for she has a temper. "Maggie would put them on the bed and in five years they'd be in rags. Less than that!" "She can always make some more,”I said. "Maggie knows how to quilt. "Dee (Wangero) looked at me with hatred. "You just will not understand. The point is these quilts, these quilts!""Well," I said,, stumped. "What would you do with them?""Hang them," she said. As it that was the only thing you could do with quilts.Maggie by now was standing in the door. I could almost hear the sound her feet made as they scraped over each other."She can have them, Mama,”she said like somebody used to never winning anything, or having anything reserved for her. "I can 'member Grandma Dee without the quilts."I looked at her hard. She had filled her bottom lip with checkerberry snuff and it gave her face a kind of dopey, hangdog look. It was Grandma Dee and Big Dee who taught her how to quilt herself. She stood there with her scarred hands hidden in the folds of her skirt. She looked at her sister with something like fear but she wasn't mad at her. This was Maggie's portion. This was the way she knew God to work.When I looked at her like that something hit me in the top of my head and ran down to the soles of my feet. Just like when I'm in church and the spirit of God touches me and I get happy and shout. I did something I never had done before: hugged Maggie to me, then dragged her on into the room, snatched the quilts out of Miss Wangero's hands and dumped them into Maggie's lap. Maggie just sat there on my bed with her mouth open."Take one or two of the others," I said to Dee.But she turned without a word and went out to Hakim-a-barber."You just don't understand," she said, as Maggie and I came out to the car."What don't I under stand?" I wanted to know."Your heritage," she said. And then she turned to Maggie, kissed her, and said, "You ought to try to make some-thing of yourself, too, Maggie. It's really a new day for us. But from the way you and Mama still live you'd never know it."She put on some sunglasses that hid everything above the tip of her nose and her chin.Maggie smiled; maybe at the sunglasses. But a real mile, not scared. After we watched the car dust settle I asked Maggie to bring me a dip of snuff. And then the two of us sat there just enjoying, until it was time to go in the house and go to bed. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NOTES1) Alice Walker: born 1944 in Eatonton, Georgia, America and graduated from Sarah Lawrence College. Her books include The Third Life of Grange Copeland ( 1970 ), Meridian ( 1976 ), The Color Purple(1982), etc.2)"made it": to become a success, to succeed, either in specific endeavor or in general3) Johnny Carson: a man who runs a late night talk show4)hooked: injured by the horn of the cow being milked5) Jimmy T: 'T' is the initial of the surname of the boy Dee was courting.6)"Wa-su-zo-Tean-o!": phonetic rendering of an African dialect salutation7) "Asalamalakim": phonetic rendering of a Muslim greeting8) Polaroid: a camera that produces instant pictures9) the Civil War: the war between the North and the South in the U. S.(1861-1865)10) branches: branches or divisions of a family descending from a common ancestor11) Ream it out again: "Ream" is perhaps an African dialect word meaning: "unfold, display". Hence the phrase may mean "repeat" or "say it once again"12) pork was unclean: Muslims are forbidden by their religion to eat pork because it is considered to be unclean.13) Chitlins: also chitlings or chitterlings, the small intestines of pigs, used for food,a common dish in Afro-American households14) rump prints: depressions in the benches made by constant sitting15) sink: depressions in the wood of the handle left by the thumbs and fingers 第四课外婆的日用家当艾丽斯•沃克尔“我会慢慢习惯的，”我说，“你给我再念一遍吧。

高级英语第一册课文翻译第一课中东的集市中东的集市仿佛把你带回到了几百年、甚至几千年前的时代。

此时此刻显现在我脑海中的这个中东集市，其入口处是一座古老的砖石结构的哥特式拱门。

你首先要穿过一个赤日耀眼、灼热逼人的大型露天广场，然后走进一个凉爽、幽暗的洞穴。

这市场一直向前延伸，一眼望不到尽头，消失在远处的阴影里。

赶集的人们络绎不绝地进出市场，一些挂着铃铛的小毛驴穿行于这熙熙攘攘的人群中，边走边发出和谐悦耳的叮当叮当的响声。

市场的路面约有十二英尺宽，但每隔几码远就会因为设在路边的小货摊的挤占而变窄；那儿出售的货物各种各样，应有尽有。

你一走进市场，就可以听到摊贩们的叫卖声，赶毛驴的小伙计和脚夫们大着嗓门叫人让道的吆喝声，还有那些想买东西的人们与摊主讨价还价的争吵声。

各种各样的噪声此伏彼起，不绝于耳，简直叫人头晕。

随后，当往市场深处走去时，人口处的喧闹声渐渐消失，眼前便是清静的布市了。

这里的泥土地面，被无数双脚板踩踏得硬邦邦的，人走在上面几乎听不到脚步声了，而拱形的泥砖屋顶和墙壁也难得产生什么回音效果。

布店的店主们一个个都是轻声轻气、慢条斯理的样子；买布的顾客们在这种沉闷压抑的气氛感染下，自然而然地也学着店主们的榜样，变得低声细语起来。

中东集市的特点之一是经销同类商品的店家，为避免相互间的竞争，不是分散在集市各处，而是都集中在一块儿，这样既便于让买主知道上哪儿找他们，同时他们自己也可以紧密地联合起来，结成同盟，以便保护自己不受欺侮和刁难。

例如，在布市上，所有那 1些卖衣料、窗帘布、椅套布等的商贩都把货摊一个接一个地排设在马路两边，每一个店铺门面前都摆有一张陈列商品的搁板桌和一些存放货物的货架。

讨价还价是人们习以为常的事。

头戴面纱的妇女们迈着悠闲的步子从一个店铺逛到另一个店铺，一边挑选一边问价；在她们缩小选择范围并开始正儿八经杀价之前，往往总要先同店主谈论几句，探探价底。

对于顾客来说，至关重要的一点是，不到最后一刻是不能让店主猜到她心里究竟中意哪样东西、想买哪样东西的。

高级英语第一册课文翻译第一课中东的集市中东的集市仿佛把你带回到了几百年、甚至几千年前的时代。

此时此刻显现在我脑海中的这个中东集市，其入口处是一座古老的砖石结构的哥特式拱门。

你首先要穿过一个赤日耀眼、灼热逼人的大型露天广场，然后走进一个凉爽、幽暗的洞穴。

这市场一直向前延伸，一眼望不到尽头，消失在远处的阴影里。

赶集的人们络绎不绝地进出市场，一些挂着铃铛的小毛驴穿行于这熙熙攘攘的人群中，边走边发出和谐悦耳的叮当叮当的响声。

市场的路面约有十二英尺宽，但每隔几码远就会因为设在路边的小货摊的挤占而变窄；那儿出售的货物各种各样，应有尽有。

你一走进市场，就可以听到摊贩们的叫卖声，赶毛驴的小伙计和脚夫们大着嗓门叫人让道的吆喝声，还有那些想买东西的人们与摊主讨价还价的争吵声。

各种各样的噪声此伏彼起，不绝于耳，简直叫人头晕。

随后，当往市场深处走去时，人口处的喧闹声渐渐消失，眼前便是清静的布市了。

这里的泥土地面，被无数双脚板踩踏得硬邦邦的，人走在上面几乎听不到脚步声了，而拱形的泥砖屋顶和墙壁也难得产生什么回音效果。

布店的店主们一个个都是轻声轻气、慢条斯理的样子；买布的顾客们在这种沉闷压抑的气氛感染下，自然而然地也学着店主们的榜样，变得低声细语起来。

中东集市的特点之一是经销同类商品的店家，为避免相互间的竞争，不是分散在集市各处，而是都集中在一块儿，这样既便于让买主知道上哪儿找他们，同时他们自己也可以紧密地联合起来，结成同盟，以便保护自己不受欺侮和刁难。

例如，在布市上，所有那 1些卖衣料、窗帘布、椅套布等的商贩都把货摊一个接一个地排设在马路两边，每一个店铺门面前都摆有一张陈列商品的搁板桌和一些存放货物的货架。

讨价还价是人们习以为常的事。

头戴面纱的妇女们迈着悠闲的步子从一个店铺逛到另一个店铺，一边挑选一边问价；在她们缩小选择范围并开始正儿八经杀价之前，往往总要先同店主谈论几句，探探价底。

对于顾客来说，至关重要的一点是，不到最后一刻是不能让店主猜到她心里究竟中意哪样东西、想买哪样东西的。