I've always known my father was an important man. He is, after all, the president of the United States. But the other day, as I was running around on the playground, a thought suddenly occurred to me, a horrible realization that stopped me dead in my tracks: There are people out there who want to kill my dad. My dad. The man who is raising me, who asks me how school is every day, who takes me to soccer games and reads me stories when I can't fall asleep at night. People want to murder him. They want to murder my father.
我知道我爸爸一直是个重要人物。毕竟,他是美国总统。但是,某天我在操场上跑步的时候,一个想法突然掠过我脑海,它是个如此令人恐惧的发现,以至于我当时就停下了脚步,楞站在跑道上:有人想杀我爸爸,我的爸爸。那个抚养我长大,每天问我“今天在学校过得如何”,带我去看足球比赛,以及在我枕边读故事哄我入睡的爸爸。有人想谋杀他。有人想谋杀我的爸爸。
Doesn't really get more fucked up than that, now, does it?
还有什么能比这更糟糕?
When we first moved into the White House I was only 7 years old, too young to know that people wanted my dad dead. And I'll tell you what, I was a lot happier then. Now that I'm a little older, though, it's all becoming pretty clear. There aren't just four or five people who want my dad dead. Tons of people want to murder him. Tons. People in this country, people in other countries. The bottom line—and this is the cold, hard reality that I now fully understand—is that every second of every day, people are thinking of ways to kill the person I love and admire more than anyone in the world.
当我们一家刚搬进白宫的时候,我才七岁,对有人想谋杀我爸爸这点毫无意识。然而,说实话,那时的我比现在快乐得多。如今我长大了点儿,而现实清楚地摆在眼前。希望我爸爸死的人并不只有4、5个,而有成千上万个!成千上万个在美国的,或是在国外的人,都有。如今我终于明白了这个冰冷又残酷的现实——每一天,每一秒钟,都有人在琢磨着如何将这个全世界我最爱、最崇拜的人杀死。
Meanwhile, no one is plotting the murder of, say, my friend Amanda's dad. He's a computer technician. No one is trying to assassinate a computer technician. At no point in Amanda's day will she experience a rush of crippling panic due to the fact that, at any moment, a psycho wielding a semiautomatic weapon could step out of the shadows and unload an entire clip into her father's chest, killing him right on the spot.
与此同时,却没有人策划如何杀死我朋友阿曼达的父亲。他是个电脑技术人员。没人会想杀一个电脑技术人员。在阿曼达的生活里,她永远不会经历那种突如其来的巨大恐惧感,那种“突然间,她的父亲就被暗中埋伏的神经病拿着的半自动武器击穿胸膛,立时毙命”的恐惧。
That's just true. You can try to comfort me all you want, but you know damn well that's just a fact.
这是实话。无论你如何安慰我,你也很清楚,事情就是这样。
Here's another awful thing I've finally started to understand: The chances of somebody killing my father are so high that there is an entire force of men and women whose singular responsibility is to prevent that from happening. These people are specially trained. They create intricate plans specifically designed to protect my father, because no matter where he goes, somebody in the area probably wants to kill him. And look, I'm not some naïve little girl anymore. I can get on the Internet. I can research American presidents. I know damn well the Secret Service doesn't always succeed. Ronald Reagan almost died, and he had a daughter just like me.
我还渐渐明白了另一个令人恐惧的事实:由于我父亲被谋杀的几率实在太高,以至于专门有一支由男男女女组成的队伍,他们的使命很简单:防止此类事件发生。这些人员都经过特殊训练。他们设计错综复杂的方案来保护我父亲的人身安全,因为无论他走到哪里,都有被暗处的人谋杀的可能性。我已经不是个幼稚的小姑娘了,我会上网,会搜索“美国历届总统”。我很清楚特勤局并不会永远都成功。里根总统差点被杀死,他和我爸爸一样,有一个像我这个年纪的女儿。
Also, I know exactly who John F. Kennedy is now. And I know exactly what happened to him.
我还知道约翰-肯尼迪先生是谁,我也知道了发生在他身上的事情。
So, as this was all starting to sink in—and I was pretty shocked, as you can probably imagine—it occurred to me that I have my own Secret Service detail, which means there are also people who want me dead. They want me, an 11-year-old little girl, dead. Same goes for my mom and big sister. I mean, shit, they want to kill my whole family.
所以,当这些真相慢慢开始充斥我的脑海,我变得非常恐惧。我也有自己的专属特勤局保镖,而这说明了有人想要我的命。对,有人想杀我,杀一个才11岁的小姑娘。我母亲和我姐姐也未能幸免于此。他妈的,这些人想要我们全家的命。
And you want to know what the worst part is? I have no idea where my dad is right now. I haven’t seen him all day. For all I know, he could be waving to a crowd of supporters at this very moment while some guy on a rooftop 2,000 feet away has his head in the scope of a high-powered rifle, just waiting for the perfect moment to splatter his brains all over the stage.
你知道最糟糕的是什么吗?最糟糕的是,我连我爸现在在哪里都不知道。我已经一整天没见他了。他很有可能正在跟一大群支持者挥手,而这时一个隐匿在2000英尺外屋顶上的家伙,正在用大火力来复枪对着我爹的脑袋,伺机等待着那个最佳的时刻,来扣动扳机,让我爹的脑浆涂满一地。
Put yourself in my shoes for a second. Imagine you’re standing next to your dad, holding his hand and smiling, when all of a sudden a bullet pierces through his skull and drenches your sundress in blood.
设身处地为我想想。假如你是我,站在自己爸爸的身边,拉着他的手微笑着,而突然间,一颗子弹穿透了他的颅骨,而你的背心裙瞬间被他的鲜血染透。
Seriously, do you have any idea how messed up that is?
你能想象这是多么令人绝望的场景吗?
And I’m not operating under the misconception that all these people are going to get caught someday or just eventually give up. The most depressing thing is this will be going on for the rest of my life. Twenty years from now, when I’m living far away and have kids of my own, I could get a call from my mom with the news that Dad is dead. That he was blown to bits by a bomb in his car, and that they just barely found enough charred remains to identify the body.
我不会自欺欺人地认为这些谋杀者会被抓住,或放弃暗杀我爸的计划。最让人沮丧的是,这样的恐惧将伴随我一生。20年后,当我离家,在遥远的地方安居乐业,生儿育女,我可能会接到妈妈的电话,告诉我爸爸死了。比如,他被暗藏在轿车里的炸弹炸得碎尸万段,而尸检部门仅仅能依据残缺的碎片来证实我爸的身份。
Well, great. I'm glad I finally figured all that out. Here's to a wonderful life, Sasha. I guess I'll just go outside now and play without a goddamn care in the whole fucked-up world.
哈,很好,我很高兴现在终于明白了一切。萨沙,举杯赞美这“美好”的人生吧!我打算现在就出门大玩特玩,再也不去理会、不去想这操蛋的世界。
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