The Story of an Hour /by Kate Chopin
https://www.shortstoryguide.com/story-hour-kate-chopin-summary-themes-questions/
Chi̍t Tiám-cheng ê Kò͘-sū | 一點鐘 ê 故事
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1. Thiaⁿ tio̍h siau-sit yi pàng-siaⁿ tōa khàu
In-ūi chai-iáⁿ Mallard Tt hoān sim-chōng pēⁿ, tio̍h chin sió-sim, chīn-liōng un-hô lâi kā kóng-khí yin ang kòe-sin ê siau-sit.
Sī yin a-chí Josephine kā yi kóng-khí, ōe-kù kóng bē liân-sòa; kō͘ ng-ng iap-iap ê hong-sek kā kóng. Yin ang ê pêng-iú Richards mā tī hia, tī yi sin-piⁿ. Thih-lō͘ chai-lān ê sìn-sit kàu-ūi ê sî, i tú-hó tī pò-siā pān-kong-sek, "sí-bông" miâ-toaⁿ ê thâu chi̍t-ê tō sī Brently Mallard. I kan-ta khai tām-po̍h sî-kan kō͘ tē-jī thong tiān-pò khak-tēng chit-ê siau-sit, tō kóaⁿ tī pa̍t-ê khah chho͘-sim, khah tāng kha-chhiú ê pêng-iú thâu-chêng, lâi thoân-ta̍t chit-ê pi-siong ê siau-sit.
Yi thiaⁿ tio̍h chit-ê tāi-chì ê sî, bô chhiūⁿ chē-chē cha-bó͘ án-ne piàⁿ-miā m̄-goān chiap-siū chit-ê sū-si̍t. Yi sûi pàng-siaⁿ tōa khàu, hō͘ a-chí ê siang-chhiú lám-tio̍h. Tán pi-siong ê hong-hō͘ kòe liáu, yi ka-tī chi̍t-ê tńg-khì pâng-keng. Yi bô-ài ū lâng tòe yi.
Pâng-keng lāi, bīn-tùi phah-khui ê thang-á, ū chi̍t-tè sù-sī, tōa-pān ê kau-í. Yi siàng tī kau-í, ná-chhiūⁿ hō͘ hit-ê chhim kàu lêng-hûn ê hi-lè-lè ê sin-khu só͘ ah-lo̍h.
Yi khòaⁿ ē-tio̍h, yin tau thâu-chêng ê tōa-tiâⁿ, hia ê chhiū-téng í-keng chhiong-móa chhun-thiⁿ ê khì-sè. Khong-khì tiong ū hō͘ ê tiⁿ-bi̍t khùi-si. Ē-bīn ê ke-lō͘, ū hoàn-á hoah-bē ê siaⁿ. Hn̄g-hn̄g thoân-lâi ná-ū ná-bô ê koa-siaⁿ, nî-chîⁿ ē chē-chē chhek-chiáu-á teh chi-chi chiū-chiū.
Tī yi thâu-chêng thang-á gōa ê sai-pêng, thàu-kòe chū-chi̍p tī hia koh têng-têng tha̍h-tha̍h ê hûn, ū khòaⁿ-e chi̍t-tah chi̍t-tah nâ-sek ê thiⁿ.
Yi chē leh, thâu hiàⁿ-āu khòe tī í-chū-á, tiām-tiām bô tāng, kan-ta ū-sî in-ūi nâ-âu chheh-khùi sió iô-tāng chi̍t-ē, tō ná-chhiūⁿ gín-á khàu kah khùn-khì, tī bāng-tiong iáu teh chheh-khùi.
Yi iáu siàu-liân, bīn-bah pe̍h, piáu-chêng pêng-chēng, bīn-hêng ê sòaⁿ-tiâu hián-sī siū-tio̍h ah-ut, sīm-chì hián-sī bó͘-chióng ê le̍k-liōng. M̄-koh, taⁿ yi ê ba̍k-chiu ū chi̍t-chióng bâng-bâng ê gán-sîn, hit-ê gán-sîn sī kò͘-tēng tī hn̄g-hn̄g bó͘ chi̍t-tè nâ-sek ê thiⁿ. He m̄-sī su-khó ê ba̍k-sek, tian-tò hiàn-chhut sī tì-hūi su-sióng ê thêng-khùn.
Ū siáⁿ mi̍h-kiāⁿ hiòng yi óa lâi, yi teh tán-thāi, chhiong-móa kiaⁿ-hiâⁿ. He sī siáⁿ neh? Yi m̄-chai; he chin bî-miāu, ku̍t-liu kah kóng bē-lâi. M̄-koh, yi kám-kak ē-tio̍h, ùi thiⁿ-téng pê chhut-lâi, ǹg yi chia lâi, tī khong-khì tiong hoat-chhut siaⁿ-im, khì-bī, koh ū sek-chhái.
Chit-sî, yi ê heng-khám kek-lia̍t khí-lo̍h. Yi khai-sí jīn-chhut chit-ê boeh lâi chiàm-ū yi ê mi̍h-kiāⁿ, yi piàⁿ-miā boeh kō͘ ì-chì kā phah tò-tńg -- m̄-koh, ì-chì tō ná-chhiūⁿ yi hit nn̄g-ki pe̍h koh sán ê chhiú, loán-jio̍k bô-la̍t.
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1. 聽著消息她放聲大哭
因為知影 Mallard Tt 患心臟病, 著真小心, 盡量溫和來 kā 講起姻翁過身 ê 消息.
是姻阿姊 Josephine kā 她講起, 話句講袂連紲; kō͘ 掩掩揜揜 ê 方式 kā 講. 姻翁 ê 朋友 Richards mā tī 遐, tī 她身邊. 鐵路災難 ê 信息到位 ê 時, 伊拄好 tī 報社辦公室, "死亡" 名單 ê 頭一个就是 Brently Mallard. 伊干焦開淡薄時間 kō͘ 第二通電報確定這个消息, tō 趕 tī 別个較粗心, 較重跤手 ê 朋友頭前, 來傳達這个悲傷 ê 消息.
她聽著這个代誌 ê 時, 無像濟濟查某 án-ne 拚命毋願接受這个事實. 她隨放聲大哭, 予阿姊 ê 雙手攬著. 等悲傷 ê 風雨過了, 她家己一个轉去房間. 她無愛有人綴她.
房間內, 面對拍開 ê 窗仔, 有一塊四序, 大範 ê 交椅. 她摔 tī 交椅, ná 像予彼个深到靈魂 ê 虛 lè-lè ê 身軀所壓落.
她看會著, 姻兜頭前 ê 大埕, 遐 ê 樹頂已經充滿春天 ê 氣勢. 空氣中有雨 ê 甜蜜氣絲. 下面 ê 街路, 有販仔喝賣 ê 聲. 遠遠傳來 ná 有 ná 無 ê 歌聲, 簾簷下濟濟粟鳥仔 teh chi-chi chiū-chiū.
Tī 她頭前窗仔外 ê 西爿, 透過聚集 tī 遐 koh 重重疊疊 ê 雲, 有看 e 一搭一搭藍色 ê 天.
她坐 leh, 頭 hiàⁿ 後蹶 tī 椅苴仔, 恬恬無動, 干焦有時因為嚨喉 chheh 氣小搖動一下, tō ná 像囡仔哭甲睏去, tī 夢中猶 teh chheh 氣.
她猶少年, 面肉白, 表情平靜, 面形 ê 線條顯示受著壓鬱, 甚至顯示某種 ê 力量. 毋過, 今她 ê 目睭有一種茫茫 ê 眼神, 彼个眼神是固定 tī 遠遠某一塊藍色 ê 天. 彼毋是思考 ê 目色, 顛倒現出是智慧思想 ê 停睏.
有啥物件向她倚來, 她 teh 等待, 充滿驚惶. 彼是啥 neh? 她毋知; 彼真微妙, 滑溜甲講袂來. 毋過, 她感覺會著, ùi 天頂爬出來, ǹg 她遮來, tī 空氣中發出聲音, 氣味, koh 有色彩.
這時, 她 ê 胸坎激烈起落. 她開始認出這个欲來佔有她 ê 物件, 她拚命欲 kō͘ 意志 kā 拍倒轉 -- 毋過, 意志 tō ná 像她彼兩支白 koh 瘦 ê 手, 軟弱無力.
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Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband’s death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband’s friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard’s name leading the list of “killed.” He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister’s arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.
There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.
Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will—as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been.
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