房间的那头又是一道门。阳光与鼓声便是从那道门传送来的。鼓声很响亮，很近。

　　They stepped across the threshold and found themselves on a wide terrace.

　　他们跨过门槛发现自己来到了一片广阔的台地上，下面就是印第安人的广场。

　　Below them, shut in by the tall houses, was the village square, crowded with Indians.

　　在他们下面，关中的高脚屋，是村里的广场，挤满了印度人。

　　Bright blankets, and feathers in black hair, and the glint of turquoise, and dark skins shining with heat.

　　明亮的毛毯，黑头发里的羽毛，绿松石的闪光，暗皮肤热的闪闪发光。

　　Lenina put her handkerchief to her nose again.

　　列宁娜又拿手绢捂住了鼻子。

　　In the open space at the centre of the square were two circular platforms of masonry and trampled clay–the roofs,

　　广场正中的空地上有两个圆形的台子，是石头和夯实的土筑成的，显然是地下室的房顶。

　　it was evident, of underground chambers; for in the centre of each platform was an open hatchway, with a ladder emerging from the lower darkness.

　　因为在每个台子正中都开有一个楼梯口，一架楼梯还架在下面，伸向黑暗。

　　A sound of subterranean flute playing came up and was almost lost in the steady remorseless persistence of the drums.

　　地下有笛声传来，却消失在持续不断的残忍的啧啧鼓点里。

　　Lenina liked the drums.

　　列宁娜喜欢那鼓声。

　　Shutting her eyes she abandoned herself to their soft repeated thunder, allowed it to invade her consciousness more and more completely, till at last there was nothing left in the world but that one deep pulse of sound.

　　她闭上眼睛听任自已被那轻柔反复的雷鸣所左右，听任它越来越完全地侵入她的意识，最后，除了那唯一的深沉的脉动声，世界上便一无所有了。

　　It reminded her reassuringly of the synthetic noises made at Solidarity Services and Ford's Day celebrations.

　　那声音令她安慰地想起团结祈祷和福帝日庆祝活动的合成音乐。

　　"Orgy-porgy," she whispered to herself. These drums beat out just the same rhythms.

　　“欢快呀淋漓。”她悄悄地说道。这鼓点敲出的是同样的节奏。

　　There was a sudden startling burst of singing–hundreds of male voices crying out fiercely in harsh metallic unison. A few long notes and silence, the thunderous silence of the drums; then shrill, in a neighing treble, the women's answer.

　　惊人的歌声突然爆发——几百条男性的喉咙激烈地尖叫着，众口一声发出了刺耳的金属般的合唱；几个长音符，安静了——雷鸣般的鼓点之后的安静。然后便是女人的回答，唱的是最高音，尖利得像马嘶。

　　Then again the drums; and once more the men's deep savage affirmation of their manhood.

　　接着又是鼓点。男人们再一次用深沉的声音野蛮地证实了他们的男子汉气概。

　　Queer–yes. The place was queer, so was the music, so were the clothes and the goitres and the skin diseases and the old people.

　　怪，是的。地点怪，音乐怪，衣服、瘤子、皮肤病和老年人都怪。

　　But the performance itself–there seemed to be nothing specially queer about that.

　　但是那表演却似乎并不特别怪。

　　"It reminds me of a lower-caste Community Sing," she told Bernard.

　　“叫我想起低种姓的社区合唱。”她对伯纳说。

　　But a little later it was reminding her a good deal less of that innocuous function.

　　可是不久以后那合唱令她想起的却不是那种无害的效果了。

　　For suddenly there had swarmed up from those round chambers unterground a ghastly troop of monsters.

　　因为有一群狰狞的魔鬼突然从那圆形的地下室里冒了出来。

　　Hideously masked or painted out of all semblance of humanity, they had tramped out a strange limping dance round the square;

　　他们带着恐怖的面具，画出非人的脸像，绕着广场跳着一种奇怪的瘸腿舞。

　　round and again round, singing as they went, round and round–each time a little faster; and the drums had changed and quickened their rhythm, so that it became like the pulsing of fever in the ears; and the crowd had begun to sing with the dancers, louder and louder; and first one woman had shrieked, and then another and another, as though they were being killed; and then suddenly the leader of the dancers broke out of the line, ran to a big wooden chest which was standing at one end of the square, raised the lid and pulled out a pair of black snakes.

　　他们载歌载舞，一圈又一圈地跳着，唱着，一圈又一圈，一圈比一圈快。鼓声变了，节奏加快了，听上去好像发烧时的脉搏跳动。周围的人也跟着唱了起来，声音越来越大。一个女人开始尖叫，接着便一个又一个都尖叫起来，好像有人要杀她们。然后领舞的人离开了队伍，跑到广场尽头一个大水柜子旁边，打开盖子，抓出了两条黑蛇。