https://book.douban.com/subject/17695443
Blake Crouch - Pines挺好看的，共三本，看完了第一本《Pine》，悬念设置的很好，题材也是我喜欢的，写法有点像午夜凶铃系列，越看越精彩越有惊喜。本来是想翻完的，但刚翻了开头，发现有中文版了，没劲。先放着吧，以后有空自己翻完再对照一下好了。
翻完这么一点儿以后对比了一下已出版的中文版，发现有个地方翻错了。distant thunder，应该是个比喻，表示...的前兆，我就按字面意思翻了。然后中文版语言风格挺生动的，更适合小说。我翻的很死板。
自翻正文：
他醒来时，正仰面躺着。阳光倾泄而下，照在脸上。旁边传来潺潺的流水声。他感到眼部神经剧烈疼痛，颅底抽动有规律但不痛，类似于偏头疼引起的轻微颅内震动。他翻身侧过来，双手撑地坐了起来，头埋在两膝之间。在睁开眼之前，有好一阵子，他感觉整个世界晃个不停，仿佛地轴被砍断了。他深深吸了第一口气，疼的像是有人把钢楔敲进了他的左上肋，然而他只是呻吟了几下，就强迫自己忍痛睁开了眼睛。左眼肯定是肿的太厉害了，他觉得好像在通过一条缝隙看东西。
然后他看到了所见过的最绿的草地。一整片又长又软的草，一直延伸到了河岸。河水从河渠中凸出的卵石之间流过，水流清澈而湍急。河的对岸，一座上千英尺（约三百多米）的悬崖拔地而起。断壁上松树丛生。空气中充满了松柏味和流水的清甜气息。
他穿着一条黑裤子，上身是黑夹克，里面穿了件牛津衬衫，白色棉布上已经染上斑斑血迹。领口挂着一条黑色领带，松松垮垮的打了个结。
他第一次试图站起来时，膝盖一弯，重重的坐到了地上，震得肋骨灼痛不已。第二次尝试成功了，他发现自己摇摇晃晃的站在一条沥青路上。他慢慢的转过身，双脚张开，拖着地，保持着身体平衡。
他站在一片旷野边上，身后是河。空地另一边有一些秋千和滑梯，金属表面在中午酷热阳光的照射下微微闪烁。
周围一个人都没有。
视线穿过公园，他隐约看到了一些维多利亚式住宅；再远一点，能看到大街上的建筑。小镇在公园另一边，顶多一英里远，坐落在石头组成的圆形坡地中央，被峭壁环绕。峭壁由红色带状岩石构成，每边都有数千英尺高。在山顶最高处的阴影里，还残留着一些雪，但下面这儿的山谷里还挺温暖的。头顶天空幽蓝，万里无云。
他查看了一下长裤的口袋，然后又检查了一下单排扣外套口袋。
没有钱包。没有钱夹。没有身份证。没有钥匙。没有手机。
只有在一把在内兜里找到的小型瑞士军刀。
***
到达公园另一边时，他变得更加警觉和疑惑了，颈椎处的脉动也开始疼了。
他现在知道六件事：
现任总统的名字。
母亲的长相，虽然记不起她的名字甚至声音。
他会弹钢琴。
还会开直升机。
他37岁。
还有他需要去医院。
原文：
He came to lying on his back with sunlight pouring down into his face and the murmur of running water close by. There was a brilliant ache in his optic nerve, and a steady, painless throbbing at the base of his skull—the distant thunder of an approaching migraine. He rolled onto his side and pushed up into a sitting position, tucking his head between his knees. Sensed the instability of the world long before he opened his eyes, like its axis had been cut loose to teeter. His first deep breath felt like someone driving a steel wedge between the ribs high on his left side, but he groaned through the pain and forced his eyes to open. His left eye must have been badly swollen, because it seemed like he was staring through a slit.
The greenest grass he’d ever seen—a forest of long, soft blades—ran down to the bank. The water was clear and swift as it flowed between the boulders that jutted out of the channel. Across the river, a cliff swept up for a thousand feet. Pines grew in clusters along the ledges, and the air was filled with the smell of them and the sweetness of the moving water.
He was dressed in black pants and a black jacket with an oxford shirt underneath, the white cotton speckled with blood. A black tie hung by the flimsiest knot from his collar.
On his first attempt to get up, his knees buckled and he sat down hard enough to send a vibration of searing pain through his rib cage. His second try succeeded, and he found himself wobbly but standing, the ground a pitching deck beneath his feet. He turned slowly, his feet shuffling and spread wide for balance.
With the river behind him, he stood at the edge of an open field. On the far side, the metal surfaces of swing sets and sliding boards glimmered under an intense, midday sun.
Not another soul around.
Beyond the park, he glimpsed Victorian houses, and farther on, the buildings of a main street. The town was at most a mile across, and it sat in the middle of an amphitheater of stone, enclosed by cliff walls rising several thousand feet on every side and composed of red-banded rock. In the highest, shadowed mountain nooks, pockets of snow lingered, but down here in the valley, it was warm, the sky above a deep and cloudless cobalt.
The man checked the pockets of his slacks, and then of his single-breasted coat.
No wallet. No money clip. No ID. No keys. No phone.
Just a small Swiss Army knife in one of the inner pockets.
* * *
By the time he’d reached the other side of the park, he was more alert and more confused, and the pulsing in his cervical spine wasn’t painless any longer.
He knew six things:
The name of the current president.
What his mother’s face looked like, though he couldn’t recall her name or even the sound of her voice.
That he could play the piano.
And fly a helicopter.
That he was thirty-seven years old.
And that he needed to get to a hospital.
中文版：
他醒来时发现自己仰躺在地上，阳光亮晃晃地照在脸上，还听到潺潺流水声。他的视神经痛得要死，还可以感觉到头盖骨底部传来持续却不会痛的跳动，显然是偏头痛即将发作的前兆。他转动身体，用手撑地坐了起来，将头埋在两膝之间。眼睛还没打开，就已经感觉到周遭在浮动，仿佛坐标轴被切断、成了跷跷板似地不停上下摇摆。他深深吸入一口气，觉得好像有人用高尔夫的钢制挖起杆用力重击过他左边最上方的肋骨。他呻吟着，还是强迫自己张开眼睛。他的左眼一定肿得很厉害，因为看出去的视线只剩一条非常窄的细缝。
他从没见过这么绿意盎然的画面，又长又软的绿草一直蔓延到河岸。清澈的河水在鹅卵石间飞快奔驰。河岸的另一边耸立着一座超过千尺的悬崖。岩壁上长了许多簇高大的松树，空气中松香弥漫，还有流水的清爽甜味。
他穿着黑长裤、黑西装，白色的牛津衬衫上沾满血渍。一条黑色的领带自领口松垮垂下。
他试着起身，没想到膝盖瘫软，无法支撑身体的重量，他往后跌坐，震动的力道之大让肋骨感到一阵剧痛。他鼓起勇气再试一次。第二次，成功了。虽然双腿软得像面条一样，但好歹还能站。他感觉到地面宛如甲板似地晃动。他慢慢转身，脚步踉跄，小心跨出一大步以保持身体平衡。
他背对河流，眼前出现一大片空地。远处的秋千和溜滑梯的金属表面被正中午的毒辣太阳晒得闪闪发亮。
举目望去，连个人影都没有。
他看到公园旁有栋维多利亚式的房子，更远的地方则是一排小镇大街的建筑。整个镇最长不会超过一英里，四周被高达千尺的岩壁环抱，红色斑纹的岩石如高墙般隔绝外界。而小镇就像古罗马露天剧院的竞技场座落在正中央。最高的顶峰阴影处仍有积雪，但他所在的山谷却十分暖和，头上的天空则是一片万里无云的湛蓝。
他先检查长裤的口袋．，再检查单排扣西装。
皮夹不见了。现金不见了。证件不见了。钥匙不见了。手机不见了。
唯一留下的，是内袋里一支小小的瑞士刀。
* * *
当他终于走到公园的另一头时，神智清醒许多，却也更加困惑。糟糕的是，他颈部感到的跳动已经转变成偏头痛。
他只记得六件事情：
现任总统的姓名。
他妈妈的长相。虽然记不起她的名字或声音。
他会弹钢琴。
他会驾驶直升机。
他三十七岁。
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