揭开庞启帆“译”的“弗雷德里克·布朗作品”《热情的侍者》面纱

我的一些译友都知道，我对短篇小说情有独钟，像弗雷德里克·布朗这种美国高产短篇小说家，更是读过他的很多作品，收集了他的几乎全部小说。
那位抄袭我作品的庞启帆有过一篇”译作“《热情的侍者》，转载面很广，像《读者》之类杂志都登载过。作者署名为”弗雷德里克·布朗“。
可是，我看过后就知道这篇肯定不是弗雷德里克·布朗的作品，风格完全不像，而且故事发生在得克萨斯州，与布朗的生活背景差得很远。
这篇小说不是弗雷德里克·布朗写的，那么到底是谁的作品呢？
——————
热情的侍者
大洋新闻 时间: 2012-01-28 来源: 广州日报 作者: 弗雷德里克·布朗
　　弗雷德里克·布朗
　　庞启帆 译
　　乔治驾车在得克萨斯州西部旅行。这天深夜，他来到了一个小镇。他又累又饿，看到路边有块牌子上写着“加油／用餐”时，就立刻停下了车，进入餐馆。
　　不一会儿，餐馆里又进来两个人，一个高一个矮。高个子一进门就对侍者喊道：“两杯咖啡。还有，请帮我找一份地图来。”
　　侍者端上咖啡，然后从抽屉里拿出一张地图，递给高个子。
　　“这张地图有些旧了，不知能不能帮上你们的忙？”他满脸歉意地说。
　　高个子摊开地图，仔细地看了起来。过了一会儿，他指着一条河的图标，皱着眉头对矮个子说道：“奥格兰特河上没有桥也没有渡口，伙计，没有通往墨西哥的路啊！”
　　侍者听了，接口道：“先生，奥格兰特河上有一座桥的。”
　　“地图上怎么没标出来？”矮个子问。
　　“半年前，政府在奥格兰特河上建了一座桥。您过了桥，往南走就到墨西哥了。你们现在看的是两年前出版的旧地图，那时还没建这座桥呢！我本来有最新的地图，可是前几天被一个顾客拿走了。”侍者答道。
　　“呵呵，有桥就好。”说着，高个子朝同伴使了个眼色。矮个子点点头，端起咖啡一饮而尽，然后与高个子同时从口袋里拔出手枪，喊道：“把钱全都拿出来！”
　　除了这两个劫匪，餐厅里只有乔治和侍者两人。乔治不得不照办，侍者则没有动。高个子冷笑一声，用枪指着侍者，示意同伴到柜台拿钱。矮个子走到柜台边，打开抽屉，拿走了所有的钱，然后拔掉电话线，砸烂了电话机。两人飞也似的冲出餐厅，跳进了停在外面的车子。
　　侍者立即扑向柜台，开始修理电话机。10分钟后，他修好电话机，接好电话线，拨通了警方的电话。
　　“还有用吗？他们可能已经过桥了，马上就到墨西哥了。”乔治苦笑道。
　　“他们跑不了！”侍者信心十足地说。
　　乔治疑惑地看着他，侍者一笑，继续说：“他们看地图时，我就发现他们身上有枪了。”
　　乔治很气愤：“你既然已经看出他们不怀好意，为什么不提醒我？你还告诉他们奥格兰特河上新修了一座桥。现在他们可能已经过桥了，你还说他们跑不了！”
　　“当然，因为在奥格兰特河周边几十英里的范围内根本没有桥。”侍者笑道。
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我尝试着以关键词来搜索，终于在今晚被我发现了这篇的原文：
The Getaway by John Savage
 
Whenever I get sleepy at the wheel, I always stop for
coffee. This time, I was going along in western Texas and I
got sleepy. I saw a sign that said GAS - EAT, so I pulled
off. It was long after midnight. What I expected was a place
like a bunch of others, where coffee tastes like copper and
the flies never sleep.
What I found was something else. The tables were painted wood, and they looked as if
nobody ever spilled the ketchup. The counter was spick-and-span. Even the smell was ok, I
swear it.
Nobody was there, as far as customers. There was just this one old boy–really only
about forty, getting gray above the ears–behind the counter. I sat down and ordered coffee and
apple pie. Right away he got me started feeling sad.
I have a habit: I divide people up. Winners and losers. This old boy behind the counter
was the kind that they mean well. They can’t do enough for you, but their eyes have this,
gentle, faraway look and they can’t win. You know? With their clean shirt and the little bow
tie? It makes you feel sad just to look at them. Only take my tip: Don’t feel too sad.
He brought the coffee steaming hot, and it tasted like coffee. “Care for cream and
sugar?” he asked. I said “Please,” and the cream was fresh and cold and thick. The pie was
good, too.
A car pulled up outside. The old boy glanced out to see if they wanted gas, but they
didn’t. They came right in. The tall one said, “Two coffees. Do you have a road map we could
look at?”
“I think so,” the old boy said. He got their coffee first, and then started rooting through a
pile of papers by the telephone, looking for a map. It was easy to see he was the type nothing’s
too much trouble for. Tickled to be of service.
I’m the same type myself, if you want to know. I watched the old boy hunting for his
map, and I felt like I was looking in a mirror.
After a minute or two, he came up with the map. “This one’s a little out of date, but …”
He put it on the counter, beside their coffee.
The two men spread out the map and leaned over it. They were well dressed, like a couple of feed
merchants. The tall one ran his finger along the Rio Grande and shook his head. “I guess
there’s no place to get across, this side of El Paso.”
 He said it to his pal, but the old boy behind the counter heard him and lit up like a light
bulb. “You trying to find the best way south? I might be able to help you with that.”
 “How?”
“Just a minute.” He spent a lot of time going through the papers by the telephone again.
“Thought I might have a newer map,” he said. “Anything recent one would show the Hackett
Bridge. Anyway, I can tell you how to find it.”
“Here’s a town called Hackett,” the tall one said, still looking at the map. “It’s on the
river, just at the end of a road. Looks like a pretty small place.”
“Not any more. It’s just about doubled since they built the bridge.”
“What happens on the other side?” The short one asked the question, but both of the
feed-merchant types were paying close attention. “Pretty fair road, clear to Chihuahua. It joins up there with the highway out of El Paso
and Juarez.”
The tall man finished his coffee, folded up the map, put it in his pocket, and stood up.
“We’ll take you map with us,” he said.
The old boy seemed startled, like a new kid at school when somebody pokes him in the
nose to show him who’s boss. However, he just shrugged and said, “Glad to let you have it.”
The feed merchants had a little conference on the way out, talking in whispers. Then
they stopped in the middle of the floor, turned around, reached inside their jackets, and pulled
out guns on us. Automatic pistols, I think they were. “You sit where you are and don’t move.”
The tall one said to me. “And you, get against the wall.”
Both of us did exactly what they wanted. I told you we were a lot alike.
The short man walked over and pushed one of the keys of the cash register. “Every little
bit helps,” he said and he scooped the money out of the drawer. The tall man set the telephone
on the floor, put his foot on it, and jerked the wires out. Then they ran to their car and got in.
The short man leaned out the window and shot out one of my tires. Then they took off fast.
I looked at the old boy behind the counter. He seemed a little pale, but he didn’t waste
any time. He took a screwdriver out of a drawer and squatted down beside the telephone. I
said, “It doesn’t always pay to be nice to people.”
He laughed and said, “Well, it doesn’t usually cost anything,” and went on taking the
base plate off of the telephone. He was a fast worker, actually. His tongue was sticking out of
the corner of his mouth. In about five minutes he had a dial tone coming out of the receiver. He
dialed a number and told the rangers about the men and their car. “They did?” he said. “well,
well, well…No, not El Paso. They took the Hackett turnoff.” After he hung up, he said, “It
turns out those guys robbed a supermarket in Wichita Falls.”
I shook my head. “They sure had me fooled. I thought they looked perfectly all right.”
The old boy got me another cup of coffee, and opened himself a bottle of pop. “They
fooled me too, at first.” He wiped his mouth. “Then I got a load of their shoulder holsters when
they leaned on the counter to look at the map. Anyway, they had mean eyes, I thought. Didn’t
you?”
“Well, I didn’t at the time.”
We drank without talking for a while, getting our nerves back in shape. A pair of patrol
cars went roaring by outside and squealed their tires around the Hackett turnoff.
I got to thinking, and thought of the saddest thing yet. “You knew there was something
wrong with those guys, but you still couldn’t keep from helping them on their way.”
He laughed, “Well, the world’s a tough sort of place at best, is how I look at it.”
“I can understand showing them the map,” I said, “ but I’d never have told about the
bridge. Now there’s not a chance of catching them. If you’d kept your mouth shut, there’d at
least be some hope.”
“There isn’t any –“
“Not a shred,” I went on. “Not with a car as fast as they’ve got.”
The way the old boy smiled made me feel better about him and me. “I don’t mean there
isn’t any hope,” he said. “I mean there isn’t any bridge.”
约翰·萨维奇的The Getaway最初刊登于1966年5月7日的美国《星期六晚邮报》，假若《热情的侍者》真的是庞启帆翻译的，他肯定知道作者是谁，为何要将这篇作品塞在弗雷德里克·布朗名下呢？！
原因只有一个：这篇也是抄袭的！
在江苏文艺出版社于1986年出版的《微型小说选（7）》中，收录了这篇，由温志强先生翻译，全文如下：
  逃 跑
        〖美〗约翰·萨维奇
   温志强 译
    深夜，我驾驶着汽车沿着得克萨斯州西部的公路奔驰着。由于开车开得很困
倦，当我看到路旁有一块上面写着“汽油、饮食”的牌子时，就把汽车停在路旁，
走进屋去喝杯咖啡。
    屋子不大，但很安静。新油过的桌子也很乾净。屋里只有一个男人站在柜台
的后面，这人四十岁出头的年纪，鬓角已开始发白。我在一张桌子旁边坐了下来，
点了咖啡和苹果馅饼。
    那个人立刻就给我端来了热气腾腾的咖啡，咖啡的味道很好，一闻就知道是
真正的好咖啡。
    “要奶油和白糖吗？”他问。
    “要。”我说。几个月来我没有喝过这么好的咖啡，馅饼也很好吃。
    一辆小汽车在外面停下来。柜台后面的那个人往外瞅了瞅，看看他们是不是
要加油。可他们并不想加油，两个人径自走进屋来。个高的一个说，“来两杯咖
啡。另外，你有公路地图吗？我们想看看。”
    “有的。”柜台后面的人说。他先给他们端来了咖啡，然后开始在靠近电话
机旁的一叠报纸里寻找着，极力想找出一张地图来。一眼就可以看出他是那种不
怕麻烦、乐于助人的人。
    一两分钟后，他找来了一张地图。
    “这张地图有点儿过时了，可是……”他把那张地图放在靠近他们的桌子上。
    那两个人立刻摊开地图，俯身在上面看了起来。
    “我看从这边没有地方可以过河到墨西哥去。”高个子一边用手指头沿着格
兰德河比划着，一边压低了嗓音说。他是对他的同伙说的。但是柜台后面的那个
人也听到了他的话。他的脸色豁然开朗起来。
    “你们是在寻找一条往南去的捷径吧？或许我能帮帮你们呢。”他微笑着说。
    “怎么个帮法？”那两个陌生人几乎异口同声地说。
    “请等一下。”他说，然后又在那叠报纸里翻了好长时间。
    “我记得这里面有张较新的地图，”他说，“最近发行的地图上面都标有亥
凯特大桥。不管怎么说，我一定帮助你们找到它。”
    “这里有一个叫亥凯特的小镇子，”高个子说，依然趴在那张地图上，“它
靠近河边，正好在这条公路的尽头。这个镇子太小了，是不是？”
    “已经不是一个小镇子了。自从建起了那座桥后，它的规模几乎扩大了一倍。”
    “桥那边的情况怎么样？”矮个子问道。但是他们两人都在密切注意着回答。
    “相当平坦的公路，直通墨西哥城。”柜台后面的那个人回答说。
    高个子喝完咖啡，叠起地图放在自己的衣袋里，然后站了起来。
    “我们要用一下你的地图。”他说，连看都没看一眼柜台后面的那个人。
    柜台后面的那个人耸了耸肩，“非常高兴奉送给你。”
    那两个人一边往外走，一边低声交谈着。突然他们折了回来，手里持着枪。
    “你坐在原地，不许动！”高个子对我说。
    “还有你，退到墙边，靠墙站着！”他又对站在柜台后面的那个人说。
    我们俩都照着吩咐做了。
    矮个子绕到柜台后面，迅速拉开了装钱的抽屉。“每分钱都有用处，”他一
边自语着，一边把所有的钱都装进了衣袋。与此同时，高个子把电话机扔到地板
上，用脚踩住，拔出了电线。然后他们跑向他们的汽车，开走了。
    这时我看了看柜台后面的那个人，他的脸色显得有些苍白，但是他行动迅速，
从一个抽屉里拿出一把螺丝刀，朝电话机走过去。
    他的活干得很麻利，两三分钟后，就把电话机修好了，然后他拨了号码，向
警察局报告了那两个人和他们的汽车。
    “是他们干的？”他说，“不，不，他们折往亥凯特方向去了。”他挂上了
电话。
    “原来那两个家伙在城里抢劫了一家银行。”他告诉我。
    我摇了摇头：“他们把我给骗了，我以为他们是好人呢。”
    “起初，他们把我也骗了。”他说，“可是在他们俯身看地图时，我看见他
们的手枪套了。”
    暂时无人说话，我们默默地喝着，让紧张的神经镇静下来。屋外，警车呼啸
而过。
    “既然你知道那两个家伙有问题，你就不能不帮助他们吗？”我迷惑不解地
问。
    他大笑起来，“啊——”
    “我真不明白，你为什么要给他们看地图，”我打断他的话，“要是我，决
不会对他们说起那座桥。现在没有希望抓住他们了。”
    “就没有任何……”
    “没有任何希望了，”我没等他说完，“他们的汽车那么快，没有任何希望
能抓到他们。”
    那个人的脸上泛起了一丝微笑，这笑容使我感到我们的心贴得更紧了。
    “我不承认没有任何希望，”他举瓶又喝了一口，“我的意思是根本就没有
什么桥。”
录自江苏文艺出版社《微型小说选（７）》
（该册为“外国微型小说专辑”，１９８６）