09.【纯享版】第一章-Chapter1-2 米格的偶像

    CHAPTER1-2

    After a moment, Miguel found a spot in the plaza and pulled out his shoeshine box. A mariachi plopped down for a shine.

    过了一会儿，米格在广场上找了个地方，打开自己的擦鞋箱。一名街头乐手一屁股坐下来，找他擦鞋。

    Miguel knew the mariachi would enjoy this story. After all, everyone loved Ernesto.

    米格知道乐手会喜欢他即将要讲的这个故事。毕竟，所有人都喜欢歌神。

    “He started out a total nobody from Santa Cecilia, like me,” said Miguel. “But when he played music, he made people fall in love with him. He starred in movies. He had the coolest guitar. He could fly!” Miguel had seen that special effect in some old film clips.

    “他从圣塞西莉亚的一个无名小卒起家，就像我一样，”米格说道，“但只要他一演奏乐曲，人们就会不由自主地爱上他。他主演了好几部电影。他拥有最酷的吉他。他还能飞呢！”米格在一些老电影的片段里见过这种特效。

    “And he wrote the best songs! But my all-time favorite? It's—” Miguel gestured to some musicians nearby, who were playing “Remember Me,” Ernesto's biggest hit.

    “他写的歌是最棒的！不过要说我最喜欢的是哪首？那一定是——”米格指了指附近的音乐家，他们正在演奏《请记住我》，那是歌神最火的歌。

    “He lived the kind of life you dream about. Until 1942, when he was crushed by a giant bell.”

    “人人都羡慕他的生活。可惜1942年，他被一口大钟压死了。”

    The mariachi looked pointedly at his shoes, which Miguel was only halfheartedly shining.

    米格心不在焉地擦着鞋，街头乐手则直勾勾地盯着自己的鞋。

    Ignoring the musician, Miguel shrugged off Ernesto's unfortunate death. “I wanna be just like him. Sometimes I look at Ernesto and I get this feeling, like we're connected somehow. Like if he could play music, maybe someday I can, too.” Miguel sighed. “If it wasn't for my family.”

米格假装视而不见，他换了个话题，不再谈论歌神的不幸逝世。“我就想成为他那样的人。有时候我看着他，就有一种感觉，好像我们俩是连在一起的。就好像如果他会演奏音乐，那么或许有一天我也可以。”米格叹了口气，“如果不是因为我的家人。”

    “Ay-yi-yi, muchacho,” said the mariachi, snapping Miguel out of his story.

    “喂喂喂，小伙子。”街头乐手没好气地打断了米格的故事。

    “Huh?” said Miguel.

    “怎么了？”米格问。

    “I asked for a shoeshine, not your life story,” replied the mariachi.

    “我是要你擦鞋，不是要听你的人生故事。”乐手说。

    “Oh, yeah, sorry.” Miguel lowered his head and polished the man's shoe. As he worked, the mariachi casually plucked at his guitar strings. “I just can't really talk about any of this at home, so—”

    “哦，是啊，对不起。”米格低下头，又开始擦鞋。他擦着鞋，乐手则时不时拨弄吉他的琴弦。“我在家根本没法说这些，所以就……”

    “Look, if I were you? I'd march right up to my family and say, ‘Hey! I'm a musician. Deal with it.’ ”

    “听着，我要是你，我就立马跑回家，对他们说，‘嘿！我是名音乐家。你们看着办吧。”

    “I could never say that.”

    “我可不能这么说。”

    “You ARE a musician, no?”

    “你到底是不是个音乐家？”

    “I don't know. I mean, I only really play for myself—”

    “我不知道。我是说，我只弹给自己听……”

    “Ahh!” the mariachi howled. “Did Ernesto de la Cruz become the world's best musician by hiding his sweet, sweet skills? No! He walked out onto that plaza and he played out loud!”

    “啊！”乐手咆哮起来，“要是歌神德拉库斯藏着他的高超技艺，他还能成为世界上最棒的音乐家吗？不能！他站出来了，就在这座广场上，响亮地演奏！”

    The mariachi pointed to the gazebo, where a giant canvas that read talent show was being unfurled. “Ah! Mira, mira! They're setting upfor tonight. The music competition for Día de los Muertos. You wanna be like your hero? You should sign up!”

    乐手指向露台，一张宣传才艺表演赛的巨型帆布在那里临风招展。“啊！看啊！那些都是为了今晚准备的。为亡灵节举办的音乐比赛就要开始了。想跟你的偶像一样厉害？你就应该报名参赛！”

    “Uh-uh—my family would freak,” Miguel said.

    “可——可是，我的家人会发疯的。”米格说。

    “Look, if you're too scared, then, well, have fun making shoes.”

    “听着，要是你害怕参赛，那就老老实实做鞋子去吧。”

    The mariachi shrugged. “C'mon, what did Ernesto de la Cruz always say?”

    乐手耸了耸肩，说道，“拜托，歌神德拉库斯经常说什么来着？”

    “‘Seize your moment’?” Miguel said.

    “‘莫失良机’?”米格回答。

    The mariachi looked Miguel over and then offered him his guitar. “Show me what you got, muchacho. I'll be your first audience.”

    乐手打量了米格一番，把自己的吉他递给他。“让我见识见识，小伙子。我来当你的第一个听众。”