(2012-10-20，时间150分钟)

第一部分 英译汉（50分）

It’s time to plant the bulbs. But I put it off as long as possible because planting bulbs mean making space in borders which are still flowering. Pulling out all the annuals which nature has allowed to erupt in overpowering purple, orange and pink, a final cry of joy. That would almost be murder, and so I wait until the first night frost anaesthetizes all the flowers with a cold, a creaky crust that causes them to wither; a very gentle death. Now I wander through my garden indecisively, trying to hold on to the last days of late summer.

The trees are plump with leafy splendor. The birch is softly rustling gold, which is now fluttering down like an unending stream of confetti. Soon November will be approaching with its autumn storms and leaden clouds hanging above your head like soaking wet rags. Just let it stay like this, I think, gazing at the huge mysterious shadows the trees conjure up on the shining green meadows, the cows languidly flicking their tails. Everything breathes an air of stillness, the silence rent by the exuberant color of asters, dahlias, sunflowers and roses.

The mornings begin chilly. The evenings give you shivers and cold feet in bed. But in the middle of the day the sun breaks through, evaporating the mist on the grass, butterflies and wasps appear and cobwebs glisten against windows like silver lace. The harvest of a whole year’s hard work is on the trees and bushes; berries, beech mast, chestnuts, and acorns.

Suddenly, I think of my youngest daughter, living now in Amsterdam. Very soon she will call and ask “Have you planted the bulbs yet?” Then I will answer teasingly that actually I’m waiting until she comes to help me. And then we will both be overcome by nostalgia, because once we always did that together. One entire sunny autumn afternoon, when she was three and a half years old, she helped me with all enthusiasm and joyfulness of her age.

It was one of the last afternoons that I had her around, because her place in school has been already reserved. She wandered around so happily carefree with her little bucket and spade, covering the bulbs with earth and calling out “Night, night” or “Sleep night”, her little voice chattering constantly on. She discovered “baby bulbs”, “kiddie bulbs”, and “mummy and daddy bulbs”, the latter snuggling cozily together. While we were both working so industriously, I watched my kid very deliberately. She was such a tiny thing, between an infant and a toddler, with such a round little tummy.

Every autumn, throughout her childhood, we repeated the ritual of planting the bulbs together. Every autumn I saw her changing, the toddler became a schoolgirl, a straightforward realist, full of drive. Never once dreamy, her hands in her pockets; no longer happily indulging in her fantasies. The schoolgirl developed long legs, her jaw-line changed, she had her hair cut. It was autumn again that I thought “bye roses, bye butterflies, bye schoolgirl”. I listened to her stories while we painstakingly burrowed in the earth, planting the promise of spring.

第二部分 汉译英（50分）

旅客似乎是十分轻松的人，实际上却相当辛苦。旅客不用上班，却必须受时间的约束；爱做什么就做什么，却必须受钱包的限制；爱去哪里就去哪里，却必须把几件行李蜗牛壳一般带在身上。旅客最可怕的恶梦，是钱和证件一起遗失，沦为来历不明的乞丐。旅客最难把握的东西，便是气候。

　　我现在就是这样的旅客。从西班牙南端一直旅行到英国的北端，我经历了各样的气候，已经到了寒暑不侵的境界。此刻我正坐在中世纪古堡改装的旅馆里，为读者写稿，刚刚黎明，湿灰灰的云下是苏格兰中部荒莽的林木，林外是隐隐的青山。晓寒袭人，我坐在厚达尺许的石墙里，穿了一件毛衣。如果要走下回旋长梯像走下古堡之肠，去坡下的野径漫步寻幽，还得披上一件够厚的外套。

　　从台湾的定义讲来，西欧几乎没有夏天。昼蝉夜蛙，汗流浃背，是台湾的夏天。在西欧的大城，例如巴黎和伦敦，七月中旬走在阳光下，只觉得温暧舒适，并不出汗。西欧的旅馆和汽车，例皆不备冷气，因为就算天热，也是几天就过去了，值不得为避暑费事。我在西班牙、法国、英国各地租车长途旅行，其车均无冷气，只能扇风。

　　巴黎的所谓夏天，像是台北的深夜，早晚上街，凉风袭时，一件毛衣还不足御寒。如果你走到塞纳河边，风力加上水气，更需要一件风衣才行。下午日暖，单衣便够，可是一走到楼影或树荫里，便嫌单衣太薄。地面如此，地下却又不同。巴黎的地车比纽约、伦敦、马德里的都好，却相当闷热，令人穿不住毛衣。所以地上地下，穿穿脱脱，也颇麻烦。