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和訳お願いします。

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. Then, when I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston - and I missed Information Please very much. She belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, skinny new phone that sat on a small table in the hall. Yet, as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and worry I would recall the serene sense of security I had when I knew that I could call Information Please and get the right answer. I appreciated now hoe patient, understanding and kind she was to have wasted her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane landed in Seattle. I had about half an hour before my plane left, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who had a happy marriage there now. Then, really without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information Please." Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well: "Information." I hadn't planned this, but I heard my self saying, "Could you tell me, please, hoe to spell the word 'fix'?" There was a long pause. Then came the softly spoken answer. "I guess," said Information Please, "that your finger must be all right by now." I laughed. "So it's really still you. I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during all that time..." "I wonder," she replied, "if you know how much you meant to me? I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls. Silly, wasn't it?" It didnn't seem silly, but I didn't say so. Instead I told her how often I had thought of her over the years, and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister after the first semester was over. "Please do. Just ask for Sally." "Goodbye, Sally." It sounded strange for Information Please to have a name. "If I run into any chipmunks, I'll tell them to eat fruit and nuts." "Do that," she said. "And I expect one of these days you'll visit the Orinoco. Well, goodbye."

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 これは、すべて太平洋岸北西部の小さな町で起こったことである。私が九つの時アメリカ横断をしてボストンに引っ越した。そのためインフォメーションプリーズが居なくてとても寂しかった。  彼女は前の家のあの小さな木の箱に属していて、廊下の小さなテーブルにある新しい細身の電話を使おうとは思わなかった。  しかし、十代になってからも子供のころの会話の思い出を、忘れることは決してなく、自信ががなくなったり心配事があるとインフォメーションプリーズを呼べば、ただしいこたえがえられるという安心感をおもいだした。  私は、彼女が幼い子供にも時間を割いて、如何に辛抱強く、理解が深く、親切であったことをありがたく思った。  数年後、西部の大学に行く途中、私の飛行機はシアトルに着陸した。出発まで三十分ばかりあったので、いまではそこで(=シアトルで)楽しい結婚生活を送っている姉と15分ほど電話で話をした。  で別に考えるとも無く私の産まれた町の交換手をダイアルして「インフォメーションプリーズ」と言った。  まるで奇蹟のようにまたあのおなじみの小さい澄んだ声が「インフォメーション」と言うのが聞こえた。これは予期していなかったが「済みませんが、 fix という単語をどう綴るか教えてください」という言葉が口を突いて出た。  長い沈黙があり、そのあと、静かな口調で「多分、あなたの指はもう良くなったのね」というインフォメーションプリーズの答があった。  私は「ああ、やっぱりあなたでしたか。この長い年月あなたの声がどれだけ頼りになったか分かりませんよ」とわらった。  かのじょは、「あなたがどれだけ、子供のいない私にとってどんなに大切だったか、又いつか電話があるのでは、と待ち望んでいたのよ、私って変ね」と彼女は答えた。  私にはちっとも変だとは思えなかったが何も言わなかった。その代わり、この長い間彼所を何度も思いだした事を述べ、一学期が終わって姉にまた会いに来るときはまた電話しても良いか聞いた。  「いいわよ、サリーを呼んでと言って頂戴」  「さようなら、サリー」インフォメーションプリーーズが名前を持っているなんて不思議だった。「もし私がチップモンクスに会ったら、果物や木の実を食べろって言うよ」  「そうなさい。そしていつかオリノコへきてね、さようなら」と彼女は言った。

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  • 和訳お願いします。

    After that, I called Information Please for everything. I asked for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was, and the Orinoco - the river I was goin to explore when I grew up. She helped me with my arithmetic, and she told me that a pet chipmunk - I had caught him in the park just the day before - would eat fruit and nuts. And there was the time that our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, and then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I did not feel better: why should birds sing so beautifully and bring joy to whole families, only to end as a heap of feathers feet up, on the bottom of a cage? She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, "Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in". Somehow I felt better. Another day I was at the telephpone."Information," said the now familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked. "Fix something? F-I-X." At that instant my sister, trying to scare me, jumped off the stairs at me. I fell off the footstoo;, pulling the receiver out of the box. We were both terrified - Information Please was no longer there, and I was not at all sure that I hadn't hurt her when I pulled the receiver out. Minutes later there was a man at the door. "I'm a telephone repairman. I was working down the street and the operator said there might be some trouble at this number." He reached for the receiver in my hand. "What happened?" I told him. "Well, we can fix that in a minute or two." He opened the telephone box, did some repair work, and then spoke into the phone."Hi, this is Pete. Everything's under control at 105. The kid's sister scared him and he pulled the cord out of the box." He hung up, smiled, gave me a pat on the head and walked out of the door.

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    When I was quite young, my family had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the wooden case fastened to the wall on the stair landing. The receiver hung on the side of the box.I even remember the number - 105. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen eagerly when my mothe talked to it. Once she lifted me up to speak to my fathe, who was away on business. Magic! Then I discovered that somewhere inside that wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. My mother could ask her for anybody's number; when our clock ran down, Information Please immediately supplied the correct time. My first personal experience with this woman-in-the-receiver came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself with a hammer, I hit my finger. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be much use crying because there was no one home to hear me. I walked around the house sucking my finger, finally arriving at the landing.The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool and took it to the landing. Climbing up, I took the receiver and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two, and a small, clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information." "I hurt my fingerrrrr - " I cried into the phone. The tears began runnninng down, now that I had an audiencce. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me," I said. "Are you bleeding?" "No," I replied. "I hit it with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you openn you icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then break off a little piece of ice and hold it on your finger. That will stop the hurt. Be careful when you use the ice pick," she warned. "And don't cry. Your'll be right."

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