Pinochle by Philip Terman

一整天的雨之后，今晚这个世界
似乎离得很遥远，甚至我死去的父亲
都退回来玩平纳克耳牌戏
他和他的哥哥内特，警察苏里斯基，
弗洛伦萨阿姨的叔叔乔一起玩，即使
活着的人也总是在失业而且都
穿着统一的棕色套装，戴着卷边低平顶帽
而且总是有一摞《花花公子》杂志
存放在他的顺风牌轿车后座
的地板上。当我浏览一本时
他告诫，那是一种坏习惯：
它让你兴奋，他说，这都要花钱。
他总是拜访，我从来不认识的
丧偶或离异的人。
谈论这个动向。我太小
不能进一步询问，他瘦削的身体
如一片影子，脸色苍白，说话低声细气
严肃稳重，吸着烟，和内特伯伯，警察苏里斯基
及我父亲玩牌，现在他不理会我的
所有询问，告诉乔叔叔
停止洗牌和发牌。
Tonight after an all-day rain the world
seems far off and even my dead father
has retired back to the pinochle game
he plays with his older brother Nate
and that policeman Zuresky and Aunt
Florence’s Uncle Joe, who even alive
was always unemployed but wore
the same brown suit and porkpie hat
and always had a stack of Playboys
stashed on the floor of the back seat
of his Plymouth. When I glanced at one
he warned that it was a bad habit:
It gets you excited, he said, and that
costs money. He’d always visit,
widowed or divorced I never knew,
talking about the track. I was too young
to inquire any further, his body thin
as a shadow, face pale, soft-spoken
and serious, smoking and playing cards
with Uncle Nate and that policeman Zuresky
and my father, who turns back now
from all my inquires and tells Uncle Joe
to stop shuffling and deal.
“Pinochle” by Philip Terman from Our Portion. © Autumn House Press, 2014. Reprinted with permission.