Naturally I'd laugh and hold my hand out for the buck he had promised me. That would irritate him afresh. "You're ready to say anything aren't you, if only I give you the buck I promised you? What a guy! Talk about morals - Jesus, you've got the ethics11 of a rattlesnake. No,I'm not giving it to you yet, by Christ. I'm going to torture you a little more first. I'm going to make you earnthis money, if I can. Listen what about shining my shoes - do that for me, will you? They'll never get shined if you don't do it now." I pick up the shoes and ask him for the brush. I don't mind shining his shoes, not in the least. But that too seems to incense12 him. "You're going to shine them, are you? Well by Jesus, that beats all hell. Listen, where's your pride - didn't you ever have any? And you're the guy that knows everything. It's amazing. You know so god-damned much that you have to shine your friend's shoes to worm a meal out of him. A fine pickle13! Here, you bastard, here's the brush! Shine the other pair too while you're at it."
A pause. He's washing himself at the sink and humming a bit. Suddenly, in a bright, cheerful tone - "How is it out today, Henry? Is it sunny? Listen, I've got just the place for you. What do you say to scallops and bacon with a little tartare sauce on the side? It's a little joint14 down near the inlet. A day like today is just the day for scallops and bacon, eh what, Henry? Don't tell me you've got something to do ... if I haul you down there you've got to spend a little time with me, you know that, don't you? Jesus, I wish I had your disposition15. You just drift along, from minute to minute. Sometimes I think you're a damned sight better off than any of us, even if you are a stinking16 son of a bitch and a traitor17 and a thief. When I'm with you the day seems to pass like a dream. Listen, don't you see what I mean when I say I've got to see you sometimes? I go nuts being all by myself all the time. Why do I go chasing around after cunt so much? Why do I play cards all night? Why do I hang out with those bums from the Point? I need to talk to some one, that's what."
A little later at the bay, sitting out over the water, with a shot of rye in him and waiting for the sea food to be served up ... "Life's not so bad if you can do what you want, eh Henry? If I make a little dough I'm going to take a trip around the world - and you're coming along with me. Yes, though you don't deserve it, I'm going to spend some real money on you one day. I want to see how you'd act if I gave you plenty of rope. I'm going to giveyou the money, see... I won't pretend to lend it to you. We'll see what'll happen to your fine ideas when you have some dough in your pocket. Listen, when I was talking about Plato the other day I meant to ask you something: I meant to ask you if you ever read that yam of his about Atlands. Did you? You did?Well, what do you think of it? Do you think it was just a yam, or do you think there might have been a place like that once?"
I didn't dare to tell him that I suspected there were hundreds and thousands of continents whose existence past or future we hadn't even begun to dream about, so I simply said I thought it quite possible indeed that such a place as Atlanris might once have been.
"Well, it doesn't matter much one way or the other, I suppose," he went on, "but I'll tell you what I think. I think there must have been a time like that once, a time when men were different. I can't believe that they always were the pigs they are now and have been for the last few thousand years. I think it's just possible that there was a time when men knew how to live, when they knew how to take it easy and to enjoy life. Do you know what drives me crazy? It's looking at my old man. Ever since he's retired18 he sits in front of the fire all day long and mopes. To sit there like a broken-down gorilla19, that's what he slaved for all his life. Well shit, if I thought that was going to happen to me I'd blow my brains out now. Look around you ... look at the people we know ... do you know one that's worth while? What's all the fuss about, I'd like to know? We've got to live, they say. Why ?that's what I want to know. They'd all be a damned sight better off dead. They're all just so much manure20. When the war broke out and I saw them go off to the trenches21 I said to myself good,maybe they'll come back with a little sense! A lot of them didn't come back, of course. But the others! - listen, do you suppose they got more human,more considerate? Not at all! They're all butchers at heart, and when they're up against it they squeal22. They make me sick, the whole fucking lot of 'em. I see what they're like, bailing23 them out every day. I see it from both sides of the fence. On the other side it stinks24 even worse. Why, if I told you some of the things I knew about the judges who condemn25 these poor bastards26 you'd want to slug them. All you have to do is look at their faces. Yes sir. Henry, I'd like to think there was once a time when things were different. We haven't seen any real life - and we're not going to see any. This thing is going to last another few thousand years, if I know anything about it. You think I'm mercenary. You think I'm cuckoo to want to earn a lot of money, don't you? Well I'll tell you, I want to earn a little pile so that I can get my feet out of this muck. I'd go off and live with a nigger wench if I could get away from this atmosphere. I've worked my balls off trying to get where I am, which isn't very far. I don't believe in work any more than you do -1 -was trained that way, that's all. If I could put over a deal, if I could swindle a pile out of one of these dirty bastards I'm dealing27 with, I'd do it with a dear conscience. I know a little too much about the law, that's the trouble. But I'll fool them yet, you'll see. And when I put it over I'll put it over big..."
Another shot of rye as the sea food's coming along and he starts in again. "I meant that about taking you on a trip with me. I'm thinking about it seriously. I suppose you'll tell me you've got a wife and a kid to look after. Listen when are you going to break off with that battle-axe of yours? Don't you know that you've got to ditch her?" He begins to laugh softly. "Ho! Ho! To think that I was the one who picked her out for you! Did I ever think you'd be chump enough to get hitched28 up to her? I thought I was recommending you a nice piece of tail and you, you poor slob, you marry her. Ho ho! Listen to me. Henry, while you've got a little sense left: don't let that sour-balled puss muck up your life for you, do you get me? I don't care what you do or where you go. I'd hate to see you leave town ... I'd miss you, I'm telling you that frankly29, but Jesus, if you have to go to Africa, beat it, get out of her clutches, she's no good foryou. Sometimes when I get hold of a good cunt I think to myself now there's something nice for Henry - and I have in mind to introduce her to you, and then of course I forget. But Jesus, man, there's thousands of cunts in the world you get along with. To think that you had to pick on a mean bitch like that .. . Do you want more bacon?You'd better eat what you want now, you know there won't be any dough later. Have another drink, eh?Listen, if you try to run away from me to-day I swear I'll never lend you a cent... What was I saying? Oh yeah, about that screwy bitch you married. Listen, are you going to do it or not? Every time I see you you tell me you're going to run away, but you never do it. You don't think you're supporting her, I hope? She don't needyou, you sap, don't you see that? She just wants to torture you. As for the kid... well, shit, if I were in your boots I'd drown it. That sounds kind of mean, doesn't it, but you know what I mean. You're not a father. I don't know what the hell you are... I just know you're too god-damned good a fellow to be wasting your life on them. Listen, why don't you try to make something of yourself? You're young yet and you make a good appearance. Go off somewhere, way the hell on, and start all over again. If you need a little money I'll raise it for you. It's like throwing it down a sewer30, I know, but I'll do it for you just the same. The truth is. Henry, I like you a hell of a lot. I've taken more from you than I would from anybody in the world. I guess we have a lot in common, coming from the old neighbourhood. Funny I didn't know you in those days. Shit, I'm getting sentimental31..."
The day wore on like that, with lots to eat and drink, the sun out strong, a car to tote us around, cigars in between, dozing32 a little on the beach studying the cunts passing by, talking, laughing, singing a bit too - one of many, many days I spent like that with MacGregor. Days like that really seemed to make the wheel stop. On the surface it was jolly and happy go lucky; time passing like a sticky dream. But underneath33 it was fatalistic, premonitory, leaving me the next day morbid34 and restless. I knew very well I'd have to make a break some day; I knew very well I was pissing my time away. But I knew also that there was nothing I could do about it - yet. Something had to happen, something big, something that would sweep me off my feet. All I needed was a push, but it had to be some force outside my world that could give me the right push, that I was certain of. I couldn't eat my heart out, because it wasn't in my nature. All my life things had worked out all right - in the end.It wasn't in the cards for me to exert myself. Something had to be left to Providence35 - in my case a whole lot. Despite all the outward manifestations36 of misfortune or mismanagement I knew that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. And with a double crown too. The external situation was bad, admitted - but what bothered me more was the internal situation. I was really afraid of myself, of my appetite, my curiosity, my flexibility37, my permeability, my malleability38, my geniality39, my powers of adaptation. No situation in itself could frighten me: I somehow always saw myself sitting pretty, sitting inside a buttercup, as it were and sipping40 the honey. Even if I were flung in jail I had a hunch41 I'd enjoy it. It was because I knew how not to resist, I suppose. Other people wore themselves out tugging42 and straining and pulling; my strategy was to float with the tide. What people did to me didn't bother me nearly so much as what they were doing to others or to themselves. I was really so damned well off inside that I had to take on the problems of the world. And that's why I was in a mess all the time. I wasn't synchronized43 with my own destiny, so to speak. I was trying to live out the world destiny. If I got home of an evening, for instance, and there was no food in the house, not even for the kid, I would turn right around and go looking for the food. But what I noticed about myself, and that was what puzzled me, was that no sooner outside and hustling44 for the grub than I was back at the Weltanschauung again. I didn't think of food for usexclusively, I thought of food in general, food in all its stages, everywhere in the world at that hour, and how it was gotten and how it was prepared and what people did if they didn't have it and how maybe there was a way to fix it so that everybody would have it when they wanted it and no more time wasted on such an idiotically simple problem. I felt sorry for the wife and kid, sure, but also felt sorry for the Hottentots and the Australian Bushmen, not to mention the starving Belgians and the Turks and the Armenians. I felt sorry for the human race, for the stupidity of man and his lack of imagination. Missing a meal wasn't so terrible - it was the ghastly emptiness of the street that disturbed me profoundly. All those bloody45 houses, one like another, and all so empty and cheerless-looking. Fine paving stones under foot and asphalt in the middle of the street and beautifully-hideously-elegant brown-stone stoops to walk up, and yet a guy could walk about all day and all night on this expensive material and be looking for a crust of bread. That's what got me. The incongruousness of it. If one could only dash out with a dinner bell and yell "Listen, listen, people, I'm a guy what's hungry. Who wants shoes shined? Who wants the garbage brought out? Who wants the drainpipes cleaned out?" If you could only go out in the street and put it to them dear like that. But no, you don't dare to open your trap. If you tell a guy in the street you're hungry you scare the shit out of him, he runs like hell. That's something I never understood. I don't understand it yet. The whole thing is so simple - you just say Yes when some one comes up to you. And if you can't say Yes you can take him by the arm and ask some other bird to help you out. Why you have to don a uniform and kill men you don't know, just to get that crust of bread, is a mystery to me. That's what I think about, more than about whose trap it's going down or how much it costs. Why should I give a fuck about what anything costs ? I'm here to live, not to calculate. And that's just what the bastards don't want you to do - to live!They want you to spend your whole life adding up figures. That makes sense to them. That's reasonable. That's intelligent. If I were running the boat things wouldn't be so orderly perhaps, but it would be gayer, by Jesus! You wouldn't have to shit in your pants over trifles. Maybe there wouldn't be macadamized roads and streamlined cars and loudspeakers and gadgets46 of a million-billion varieties, maybe there wouldn't even be glass in the windows, maybe you'd have to sleep on the ground, maybe there wouldn't be French cooking and Italian cooking and Chinese cooking, maybe people would kill each other when their patience was exhausted47 and maybe nobody would stop them because there wouldn't be any jails or any cops or judges, and there certainly wouldn't be any cabinet ministers or legislatures because-there wouldn't be any goddamned laws to obey or disobey, and maybe it would take months and years to trek48 from place to place, but you wouldn't need a visa or a passport or a carte d'identite because you wouldn't be registered anywhere and you wouldn't bear a number and if you wanted to change your name every week you could do it because it wouldn't make any difference since you wouldn't own anything except what you could carry around with you and why would you want to own anything when everything would be free? During this period when I was drifting from door to door, job to job, friend to friend, meal to meal, I did try nevertheless to rope off a little space for myself which might be an anchorage; it was more like a lifebuoy in the midst of a swift channel. To get within a mile of me was to hear a huge dolorous49 bell tolling50. Nobody could see the anchorage - it was buried deep in the bottom of the channel. One saw me bobbing up and down on the surface, rocking gently sometimes or else swinging backwards51 and forwards agitatedly52. What held me down safely was the big pigeon-holed desk which I put in the parlour. This was the desk which had been in the old man's tailoring establishment for the last fifty years, which had given birth to many bills and many groans53, which had housed strange souvenirs in its compartments54, and which finally I had filched55 from himwhen he was ill and away from the establishment; and now it stood in the middle of the floor in our lugubrious56 parlour on the third floor of a respectable brown-stone house in the dead centre of the most respectable neighbourhood in Brooklyn. I had to fight a tough battle to install it there, but I insisted that it be there in the midmost midst of the shebang. It was like putting a mastodon in the centre of a dentist's office. But since the wife had no friends to visit her and since my friends didn't give a fuck if it were suspended from the chandelier, I kept it in the parlour and I put all the extra chairs we bad around it in a big circle and then I sat down comfortably and I put my feet up on the desk and dreamed of what I would write if I could write. I had a spittoon alongside of the desk, a big brass57 one from the same establishment, and I would spit in it now and then to remind myself that it was there. All the pigeon-holes were empty and all the drawers were empty; there wasn't a thing on the desk or in it except a sheet of white paper on which I found it impossible to put so much as a pothook.
When I think of the titanic58 efforts I made to canalize the hot lava59 which was bubbling inside me, the efforts I repeated thousands of times to bring the funnel60 into place and capture a word, aphrase, I think inevitably61 of the men of the old stone age. A hundred thousand, two hundred thousand years, three hundred thousand years to arrive at the idea of the paleolith.
A phantom62 struggle, because they weren't dreaming of such a thing as the paleolith. It came without effort, born of a second, a miracle you might say, except that everything which happens is miraculous63. Things happen or they don't happen, that's all. Nothing is accomplished64 by sweat and struggle. Nearly everything which we call life is just insomnia65, an agony because we've lost the habit of falling asleep. We don't know how to let go. We're like a Jack-in-the-box perched on top of a spring and the more we struggle the harder it is to get back in the box.
I think if I had been crazy I couldn't have hit upon a better scheme to consolidate66 my anchorage than to install this Neanderthal object in the middle of the parlour. With my feet on the desk, picking up the current, and my spinal67 column snugly68 socketed69 in a thick leather cushion, I was in an ideal relation to the flotsam and jetsam which was whirling about me, and which, because they were crazy and part of the flux70, my friends were trying to convince me was life. I remember vividly71 the first contact with reality that I got through my feet, so to speak. The million words or so which I had written, mind you, well ordered, well connected, were as nothing to me - crude ciphers72 from the old stone age - because the contact was through the head and the head is a useless appendage73 unless you're anchored in mid-channel deep in the mud. Everything I had written before was museum stuff, and most writing is still museum stuff and that's why it doesn't catch fire, doesn't inflame74 the world. I was only a mouthpiece for the ancestral race which was talking through me; even my dreams were not authentic75, not bona fide Henry Miller76 dreams. To sit still and think one thought which would come up out of me, out of the lifebuoy, was a Herculean task. I didn't lack thoughts nor words nor the power of expression - I lacked something much more important: the lever which would shut off the juice. The bloody machine wouldn't stop, that was the difficulty. I was not only in the middle of the current but the current was running through me and I had no control over it whatever.
I remember the day I brought the machine to a dead stop and how the other mechanism77, the one that was signed with my own initials and which I had made with my own hands and my own blood slowly began to function. I had gone to the theatre nearby to see a vaudeville78 show; it was the matinee and I had a ticket for the balcony. Standing79 on line in the lobby, I already experienced a strange feeling of consistency80. It was as though I were coagulating, becoming a recognizable consistent mass of jelly. It was like the ultimate stage in the healing of a wound. I was at the height of normality, which is a very abnormal condition. Cholera81 might come and blow its foul82 breath in my mouth - it wouldn't matter. I might bend over and kiss the ulcers83 of a leprous hand, and no harm could possibly come to me. There was not just a balance in this constant warfare84 between health and disease, which is all that most of us may hope for, but there was a plus integer in the blood which meant that, for a few moments at least, disease was completely routed. If one had the wisdom to take root in such a moment, one would never again be ill or unhappy or even die. But to leap to this conclusion is to make a jump which would take one back farther than the old stone age. At that moment I wasn't even dreaming of taking root;
I was experiencing for the first time in my life the meaning of the miraculous. I was so amazed when I heard my own cogs meshing85 that I was willing to die then and there for the privilege of the experience.
What happened was this ... As I passed the doorman holding the torn stub in my hand the lights were dimmed and the curtains sent up. I stood a moment slightly dazed by the sudden darkness. As the curtain slowly rose I had the feeling that throughout the ages man had always been mysteriously stilled by this brief moment which preludes86 the spectacle. I could feel the curtain rising in man.And immediately I also realized that this was a symbol which was being presented to him endlessly in his sleep and that if he had been awake the players would never have taken the stage but he, Man, would have mounted the boards. I didn't think this thought - it was a realization87, as I say, and so simple and overwhelmingly clear was it that the machine stopped dead instantly and I was standing in my own presence bathed in a luminous88 reality. I turned my eyes away from the stage and beheld89 the marble staircase which I should take to go to my seat in the balcony. I saw a man slowly mounting the steps, his hand laid across the balustrade. The man could have been myself, the old self which had been sleepwalking ever since I was born. My eye didn't take in the entire staircase, just the few steps which the man had climbed or was climbing in the moment that I took it all in. The man never reached the top of the stairs and his hand was never removed from the marble balustrade. I felt the curtain descend90, and for another few moments I was behind the scenes moving amidst the sets, like the property man suddenly roused from his sleep and not sure whether he is still dreaming or looking at a dream which is being enacted91 on the stage. It was as fresh and green, as strangely new as the bread and cheese lands which the Biddenden maidens92 saw every day of their long life joined at the hips93. I saw only that which was alive! the rest faded out in a penumbra94. And it was in order to keep the world alive that I rushed home without waiting to see the performance and sat down to describe the little patch of staircase which is imperishable.
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touchy
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| adj.易怒的；棘手的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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bum
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| n.臀部；流浪汉，乞丐；vt.乞求，乞讨 | |
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bums
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| n. 游荡者，流浪汉，懒鬼，闹饮，屁股 adj. 没有价值的，不灵光的，不合理的 vt. 令人失望，乞讨 vi. 混日子，以乞讨为生 | |
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dime
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| n.（指美国、加拿大的钱币）一角 | |
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vagrancy
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| （说话的，思想的）游移不定； 漂泊； 流浪； 离题 | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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stinking
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| adj.臭的，烂醉的，讨厌的v.散发出恶臭( stink的现在分词 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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gorilla
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| n.大猩猩，暴徒，打手 | |
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manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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squeal
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| v.发出长而尖的声音；n.长而尖的声音 | |
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bailing
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| （凿井时用吊桶）排水 | |
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stinks
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| v.散发出恶臭( stink的第三人称单数 )；发臭味；名声臭；糟透 | |
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condemn
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| vt.谴责，指责；宣判(罪犯)，判刑 | |
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bastards
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| 私生子( bastard的名词复数 )； 坏蛋； 讨厌的事物； 麻烦事 （认为别人走运或不幸时说）家伙 | |
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dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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sewer
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| n.排水沟，下水道 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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underneath
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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manifestations
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| n.表示，显示（manifestation的复数形式） | |
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flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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malleability
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| n.可锻性，可塑性，延展性 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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hunch
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| n.预感，直觉 | |
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tugging
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| n.牵引感v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的现在分词 ) | |
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synchronized
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| 同步的 | |
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hustling
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| 催促（hustle的现在分词形式） | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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gadgets
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| n.小机械，小器具（ gadget的名词复数 ） | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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48
trek
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| vi.作长途艰辛的旅行；n.长途艰苦的旅行 | |
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dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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50
tolling
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| [财]来料加工 | |
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51
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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agitatedly
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| 动摇，兴奋； 勃然 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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54
compartments
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| n.间隔( compartment的名词复数 )；（列车车厢的）隔间；（家具或设备等的）分隔间；隔层 | |
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filched
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| v.偷（尤指小的或不贵重的物品）( filch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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titanic
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| adj.巨人的，庞大的，强大的 | |
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lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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60
funnel
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| n.漏斗；烟囱；v.汇集 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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consolidate
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| v.使加固，使加强；(把...)联为一体，合并 | |
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spinal
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| adj.针的，尖刺的，尖刺状突起的；adj.脊骨的，脊髓的 | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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socketed
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| v.把…装入托座（或插座），给…装上托座（或插座）( socket的过去分词 )；[高尔夫球]用棒头承口部位击（球） | |
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flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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ciphers
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| n.密码( cipher的名词复数 )；零；不重要的人；无价值的东西 | |
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appendage
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| n.附加物 | |
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inflame
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| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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vaudeville
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| n.歌舞杂耍表演 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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cholera
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| n.霍乱 | |
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82
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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ulcers
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| n.溃疡( ulcer的名词复数 )；腐烂物；道德败坏；腐败 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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85
meshing
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| 结网，啮合 | |
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86
preludes
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| n.开端( prelude的名词复数 )；序幕；序曲；短篇作品 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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90
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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91
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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92
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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93
hips
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| abbr.high impact polystyrene 高冲击强度聚苯乙烯，耐冲性聚苯乙烯n.臀部( hip的名词复数 )；[建筑学]屋脊；臀围（尺寸）；臀部…的 | |
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94
penumbra
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| n.（日蚀）半影部 | |
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