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。