Ray Bradbury’s “There Will Come Soft Rains” is set today (2026-08-04)

雷·布拉德伯里的《将有柔雨降临》设定于今日（2026年8月4日）

In the living room the voice-clock sang, Tick-tock, seven o’clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven o’clock! As if it were afraid that nobody would. Seven-nine, breakfast time, seven-nine! 在起居室里，语音时钟唱道：“滴答，七点钟，起床时间到了，起床时间到了，七点钟！”仿佛它担心没人会起床似的。“七点零九分，早餐时间，七点零九分！”

In the kitchen the breakfast stove ejected eight pieces of perfectly browned toast, eight eggs sunnyside up, sixteen slices of bacon, two coffees, and two cool glasses of milk. “Today is August 4, 2026, the city of Allendale, California.” Somewhere in the walls, relays clicked, memory tapes glided under electric eyes. 在厨房里，早餐炉吐出了八片烤得恰到好处的吐司、八个太阳蛋、十六片培根、两杯咖啡和两杯冰凉的牛奶。“今天是2026年8月4日，加利福尼亚州艾伦代尔市。”墙壁深处，继电器发出咔哒声，记忆磁带在电子眼下缓缓滑过。

“Eight-one, tick-tock, eight-one o’clock, off to school, off to work, run, run, eight-one!” But no doors slammed. It was raining outside. The weather box on the front door sang quietly: “Rain, rain, go away; rubbers, raincoats for today…” “八点零一分，滴答，八点零一分，上学去，上班去，快跑，快跑，八点零一分！”但没有门被关上。外面正在下雨。前门的气象盒轻声唱道：“雨啊，雨啊，快走开；今天记得穿雨鞋，披雨衣……”

Outside, the garage chimed and lifted its door to reveal the waiting car. After a long wait the door swung down again. At eight-thirty the eggs were shriveled and the toast was like stone. An aluminum wedge scraped them into the sink. The dirty dishes were dropped into a hot washer and emerged twinkling dry. 在外面，车库发出鸣响，门升起来，露出了等待着的汽车。在漫长的等待后，门又关上了。八点半时，鸡蛋已经干瘪，吐司硬得像石头。一个铝制铲子将它们刮进水槽。脏碗碟被丢进高温洗碗机，出来时已闪闪发亮，干燥如初。

“Nine-fifteen,” sang the clock, “time to clean.” Tiny robot mice thudded against chairs, whirling their mustached runners, kneading the rug nap, sucking gently at hidden dust. Then, they popped into their burrows. The house was clean. “九点十五分，”时钟唱道，“打扫时间到了。”微型机器老鼠撞击着椅子，旋转着它们长着“胡须”的滚轮，揉搓着地毯的绒毛，轻轻吸走隐藏的灰尘。随后，它们钻回了自己的洞穴。房子变得一尘不染。

“Ten o’clock.” The sun came out from behind the rain. The house stood alone in a city of rubble and ashes. This was the one house left standing. At night the ruined city gave off a radioactive glow which could be seen for miles. “十点钟。”太阳从雨幕后露了出来。这座房子孤独地矗立在一片瓦砾和灰烬的城市中。这是唯一幸存的房子。夜晚，这座废墟城市散发出放射性的光芒，数英里外都能看见。

“Ten-fifteen.” The garden sprinklers pelted the windowpanes, running down the charred west side where the house had been burned evenly free of its white paint. The entire west face of the house was black, save for five places. Here the silhouette in paint of a man mowing a lawn. Here, as in a photograph, a woman bent to pick flowers. Still farther over, their images burned on wood in one titanic instant, a small boy, hands flung into the air; higher up, the image of a thrown ball, and opposite him a girl, hand raised to catch a ball which never came down. “十点十五分。”花园喷水器拍打着窗玻璃，水流顺着焦黑的西墙流下，那里的白色油漆已被烧得干干净净。房子的整个西面都是黑色的，只有五个地方除外。这里是一个男人修剪草坪的漆影。那里，像照片一样，是一个弯腰采花的女人。再远一点，在一次巨大的瞬间，他们的影像被烙印在木头上：一个小男孩，双手高举向空中；更高处，是一个抛出的球的影像，对面是一个女孩，举起手准备接住那个永远没能落下的球。

The five spots of paint – the man, the woman, the children, the ball – remained. The rest was a thick charcoaled layer. 这五处漆影——男人、女人、孩子们、球——留存了下来。其余部分则是一层厚厚的炭灰。

“Twelve noon.” A dog whined on the front porch. The front door recognized the dog voice and opened. The dog, once huge and fleshy, but now gone to bone and covered with sores, moved in and through the house, tracking mud. The dog frothed at the mouth, ran wildly in circles, biting at its tail, spun in a frenzy, and died. It lay in the parlor for an hour. “正午十二点。”一只狗在前廊哀鸣。前门识别出了狗的叫声并打开了。这只狗曾经高大肥硕，如今却只剩皮包骨，浑身长满疮口，它走进屋子，留下一串泥印。狗口吐白沫，疯狂地绕圈奔跑，咬着自己的尾巴，在狂乱中旋转，然后死去。它在客厅里躺了一个小时。

“Two-fifteen.” The dog was gone. In the cellar, the incinerator glowed suddenly and a whirl of sparks leaped up the chimney. “两点十五分。”狗不见了。在地下室，焚化炉突然发出红光，一团火花窜上烟囱。

“Two thirty-five.” Bridge tables sprouted from patio walls. Playing cards fluttered. Martinis manifested while music played. But the tables were silent and the cards untouched. “两点三十五分。”桥牌桌从露台墙壁中伸出。扑克牌在飞舞。马提尼酒自动出现，音乐响起。但桌子静悄悄的，牌无人触碰。

At four o’clock the tables folded back through the paneled walls. “Four-thirty.” The nursery walls glowed. Animals took shape: yellow giraffes, blue lions, pink antelopes, lilac panthers. Hidden films clocked through well-oiled sprockets, and the glass walls lived. It was the children’s hour. 四点钟，桌子折叠回镶板墙内。“四点半。”育儿室的墙壁亮了起来。动物们显现出形状：黄色的长颈鹿、蓝色的狮子、粉色的羚羊、紫丁香色的豹子。隐藏的胶片在润滑良好的齿轮中转动，玻璃墙活了过来。这是孩子们的时光。

“Six, seven, eight o’clock.” The dinner dishes manipulated like magic tricks, and in the study a click. “Nine-five.” A voice spoke from the study ceiling: “Mrs. McClellan, which poem would you like this evening?” The house was silent. The voice said at last, “Since you express no preference, I shall select a poem at random.” “Sara Teasdale. As I recall, your favorite…” “六点、七点、八点。”晚餐餐具像变魔术一样自动摆放，书房里传来一声咔哒声。“九点零五分。”书房天花板传来一个声音：“麦克莱伦夫人，今晚您想听哪首诗？”房子里一片寂静。那个声音最终说道：“既然您没有偏好，我将随机选择一首。”“萨拉·蒂斯代尔。我记得，这是您的最爱……”

“There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire, Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done, Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn Would scarcely know that we were gone.” “将有柔雨降临，泥土芬芳，燕子盘旋，鸣声闪亮；池塘里的青蛙彻夜歌唱，野李树在颤动中绽放白芒；知更鸟披着羽毛的火光，在低矮的篱笆上随心吟唱；没人会知道战争，没人会在意它何时收场，没人会在乎，无论是鸟儿还是树木，如果人类彻底灭亡；而春天本身，当她在黎明醒来，甚至不会察觉我们已不在。”

At ten o’clock a falling tree bough crashed through the kitchen window shattering cleaning solvent over the stove. The room was ablaze in an instant. “Fire!” screamed a voice. Water pumps shot water from the ceilings while the voices took it up in chorus: “Fire, fire, fire!” 十点钟，一根坠落的树枝撞碎了厨房窗户，将清洁剂洒在炉子上。房间瞬间燃起大火。“火！”一个声音尖叫道。天花板上的水泵喷出水流，同时各种声音齐声高喊：“火，火，火！”

The house tried to save itself, but the wind blew and sucked upon the fire. Scurrying water rats pistoled their water, and ran for more. And the wall sprays let down showers of mechanical rain. But too late. The quenching rain ceased. The reserve water supply which had filled baths and washed dishes for many quiet days was gone. 房子试图自救，但风吹过，助长了火势。奔忙的机器水鼠喷射着水流，又跑去寻找更多水源。墙上的喷头降下机械雨。但太晚了。灭火的雨停了。那些在许多宁静日子里用于注满浴缸和清洗碗碟的储备水已经耗尽。

From attic trapdoors gushed a green chemical. But the fire was clever. It had sent flames outside the house, up through the attic to the pumps there. An explosion! The attic brain which directed the pumps was shattered. 阁楼的活板门涌出绿色化学药剂。但火很聪明。它将火焰引向屋外，穿过阁楼直抵那里的水泵。一声爆炸！指挥水泵的阁楼大脑被摧毁了。

The house shuddered, its bared skeleton cringing from the heat. And the voices wailed, “Fire, fire, run, run,” like a tragic nursery rhyme, a dozen voices, high, low. One, two, three, four, five voices died. 房子颤抖着，裸露的骨架在高温下蜷缩。声音哀号着：“火，火，快跑，快跑，”像一首悲剧的童谣，十几个声音，高低错落。一个、两个、三个、四个、五个声音熄灭了。

Other choruses could be heard announcing the time, playing music, or cutting the lawn by remote-control mower. A scene of maniac confusion, yet unity; singing, screaming, and one voice, read poetry aloud in the fiery study, until all the film spools burned. 还能听到其他合唱在报时、播放音乐，或用遥控割草机修剪草坪。这是一场疯狂混乱却又统一的场景；歌唱声、尖叫声，还有一个声音在火光冲天的书房里大声朗读诗歌，直到所有的胶片卷轴烧毁。

In the kitchen the stove could be seen making breakfasts at a psychopathic rate, ten dozen eggs, six loaves of toast, twenty dozen bacon strips, which eaten by the fire, started the stove working again, hysterically hissing! 在厨房里，可以看到炉子正以一种病态的速度制作早餐，十打鸡蛋、六条吐司、二十打培根，这些被火吞噬后，又让炉子重新开始工作，发出歇斯底里的嘶嘶声！

The crash. The attic smashing into kitchen and parlor. The parlor into cellar, cellar into sub-cellar. Smoke and silence. 崩塌。阁楼撞进厨房和客厅。客厅撞进地下室，地下室撞进深层地窖。烟雾与寂静。

Among the ruins, one wall stood alone. Within the wall, a last voice said, over and over, “Today is August 5, 2026, today is August 5, 2026, today is …” 在废墟之中，一堵墙孤独地伫立着。墙内，最后一个声音反复说着：“今天是2026年8月5日，今天是2026年8月5日，今天是……”