英语翻译When I was seven,my friend Sol was hit by lightning and

英语翻译
When I was seven,my friend Sol was hit by lightning and died.He was on a rooftop quietly playing marbles when this happened.Burnt to cinders,we were told by the neighbourhood gossips.He'd caught fire,we were assured,but never felt a thing.I only remember a frenzy of ambulances and long clean sirens cleaving the silence of that damp October night.Later,my father came to sit with me.This happens to one in several millions,he said,as if a knowledge of the bare statistics mitigated the horror.He was trying to help,I think.Or perhaps he believed I thought it would happen to me.Until now,Sol and I had shared everything:secrets,chocolates,friends,even a birth date.We would marry at eighteen,we promised each other,and have six children,two cows and a heart-shaped tattoo with 'Eternally Yours' sketched on our behinds.But now Sol was somewhere else,and I was seven years old and under the covers in my bed counting spots before my eyes in the darkness.
After that I cleared out my play-cupboard.Out went my collection of teddy bears and picture books.In its place was emptiness,the oak panels reflecting their own woodshine.The space I made seemed almost holy,though mother thought my efforts a waste.An empty cupboard is no better than an empty cup,she said in an apocryphal aside.Mother always filled things up -- cups,water jugs,vases,boxes,arms -- as if colour and weight equalled a superior quality of life.Mother never understood that this was my dreamtime place.Here I could hide,slide the doors shut behind me,scrunch my eyes tight and breathe in another world.When I opened my eyes,the glow from the lone cupboard-bulb seemed to set the polished walls shimmering,and I could feel what Sol must have felt,dazzle and darkness.I was sharing this with him,as always.He would know,wherever he was,that I knew what he knew,saw what he had seen.But to mother I only said that I was tired of teddy bears and picture books.What she thought I couldn't tell,but she stirred the soup-pot vigorously.

我七岁那年,我的朋友索尔被闪电劈死了.当时他正在一处房顶上悄悄地玩玻璃弹子.我们从周围那些爱嚼舌头的人口中得知,他整个烧成了一堆炭渣.我们确信,他尽管身上起了火,但丝毫没有任何感觉.我只记得几辆救护车一阵忙乱,长长的、清晰的警报声撕破了那个潮湿的十月夜晚的寂静.后来,父亲过来坐到了我身旁.他说人们遇上这种事的概率是好几百万分之一,仿佛知道了这些干枯的统计数字就能冲淡恐惧似的.我觉得他是在设法帮助我.或者有可能他以为我觉得这种事我也会遇上.一直以来,索尔和我都分享着一切：秘密,巧克力,朋友,甚至还有出生日期.我们彼此许诺要在十八岁结婚,生六个孩子,养两头奶牛,在屁股上绘上里面写有“爱你永远”的心形文身.可是现在索尔去了另外的某个地方,留下七岁的我躺在床上,在被窝里细数着眼前黑暗中的斑斑点点.
此后我清空了自己的玩具橱柜.我收藏的泰迪熊和图画书都清了出去.柜子里现在空无一物,几块栎木嵌板反射着彼此的木头光泽.腾出来的空间在我看来近乎神圣,母亲却觉得我是白费工夫.空柜子和空杯子都不怎么样,她煞有介事地在一旁自言自语.母亲总是让东西满着——杯子、水罐、花瓶、箱子盒子、椅子扶手——仿佛颜色和重量就等于高品质的生活.母亲从来不了解这儿是我进入梦幻时光的地方.在这儿我可以躲起来,把门在身后滑上,紧紧挤住眼睛,全神贯注地聆听另一个世界.当我睁开眼睛的时候,柜子里唯一的那盏灯泡所发出的光似乎使打磨过的四壁也闪亮起来,于是我可以感到索尔肯定感到过的东西：眩晕与黑暗.我和他分享着这一切,正如向来那样.不论他在哪里,他都会知道我知道他所知道的东西,看到了他所看到过的东西.但对母亲我只是说我厌倦了泰迪熊和图画书.她怎么想的我不得而知,但她用力晃了晃汤锅.