My childhood and adolescence were a joyous outpouring of energy, a ceaseless quest for expression, skill, and experience. School was only a background to the supreme delight of lessons in music, dance, and dramatics, and the thrill of sojourns in the country, theaters, concerts. And books, big Braille books that came with me on streetcars, to the table, and to bed.
我在童年和少年时代激情四溢，无时无刻不追求展现自我、磨砺才艺和体味生活。学校里的音乐、舞蹈和戏剧课让我欢欣不已，而剧院和音乐会更让我身心为之震颤， 乡间流连的时光也同样美妙，还有我的书，那些厚重的盲文书籍无论在我乘车、用餐还是睡觉时都与我形影不离。
Then
one
night
at
a
high
school
dance,
a
remark,
not
intended
for
my
ears,
stabbed
my
youthful
bliss: "
That
girl,
what
a
pity
she
is
blind."
Blind!
That
ugly
word
that
implied
everything
dark,
blank,
rigid,
and
helpless.
Quickly
I
turned
and
called
out,
Please
don't
feel
sorry
for
me,
I'm
having
lots
of
fun.
But
the
fun
was
not
to
last.
然而，一天晚上，在高中的一次舞会上，一句我无 意中听到的话霎那间将我年少的幸福击碎——“那女孩是个瞎子，真可惜！”瞎子——这个刺耳的字眼隐含着一个阴暗、漆黑、僵硬和无助的世界。我立刻转过身， 大声喊道：“请不要为我叹惜，我很快乐！”——但我的快乐自此不复存在。
With
the
advent
of
college,
I
was
brought
to
grips
with
the
problem
of
earning
a
living.
Part-
time
teaching
of
piano
and
harmony
and,
upon
graduation,
occasional
concerts
and
lectures,
proved
only
partial
sources
of
livelihood.
In
terms
of
time
and
effort
involved,
the
financial
remuneration
was
disheartening.
升入大学之后，我开始为生计而奔波。课余时间我教授钢琴及和声，临近毕业时还偶尔参加几次演奏会，做了几次讲座，可要维持生计光靠这些还是不够，与投入的时 间和精力相比，它们在经济上的回报让人沮丧。
This
induced
within
me
searing
self-
doubt
and
dark
moods
of
despondency.
Adding
to
my
dismal
sense
of
inadequacy
was
the
repeated
experience
of
seeing
my
sisters
and
friends
go
off
to
exciting
dates.
How
grateful
I
was
for
my
piano,
where—
through
Chopin,
Brahms,
and
Beethoven—
I
could
mingle
my
longing
and
seething
energy
with
theirs.
And
where
I
could
dissolve
my
frustration
in
the
beauty
and
grandeur
of
their
conceptions.
这让我失去了自信和勇气，内心郁闷苦恼。眼看我的姐妹和伙伴们一次次兴高采烈地与人约会，我更觉消沉空虚。所 幸的是，还有钢琴陪我。我沸腾的渴望和激情在肖邦、贝多芬、勃拉姆斯那里得到了共鸣。我的挫败感在他们美妙壮丽的音乐构想中消散。
Then
one
day,
I
met
a
girl,
a
wonderful
girl,
an
army
nurse,
whose
faith
and
stability
were
to
change
my
whole
life.
As
our
acquaintance
ripened
into
friendship,
she
discerned,
behind
a
shell
of
gaiety,
my
recurring
plateaus
of
depression.
She
said, “
Stop
knocking
on
closed
doors.
Keep
up
your
beautiful
music.
I
know
your
opportunity
will
come.
You’
re
trying
too
hard.
Why
don’
t
you
relax,
and
have
you
ever
tried
praying?”
直到有一天，我遇见一位女孩，一位出色的女孩，这名随军护士的信念和执著将改变我的一生。我们日益熟稔，成为好友，她也慢慢察觉出我的快乐的外表之下内心却时常愁云密布。她对我说，“门已紧锁，敲有何用？坚持你的音乐梦想，我相信机会终将来临。你太辛苦了，何不放松一下——试试祷告如何？”
The
idea
was
strange
to
me.
It
sounded
too
simple.
Somehow,
I
had
always
operated
on
the
premise
that,
if
you
wanted
something
in
this
world,
you
had
to
go
out
and
get
it
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