Unit-7-When-Lightning-Struck-课文翻译-综合教程一

Unit 7 When Lightning Struck

I was in the tiny bathroom in the back of the plane when I felt the slamming jolt, and then the horrible swerve that threw me against the door. Oh, Lord, I thought, this is it! Somehow I managed to unbolt the door and scramble out. The flight attendants, already strapped in, waved wildly for me to sit down. As I lunged toward my seat, passengers looked up at me with the stricken expressions of creatures who know they are about to die.

"I think we got hit by lightning," the girl in the seat next to mine said. She was from a small town in east Texas, and this was only her second time on an airplane. She had won a trip to England by competing in a high school geography bee and was supposed to make a connecting flight when we landed in Newark.

In the next seat, at the window, sat a young businessman who had been confidently working. Now he looked worried. And that really worries me—when confident-looking businessmen look worried. The laptop was put away. "Something's not right," he said.

The pilot's voice came over the speaker. I heard vaguely through my fear, "Engine number two ... emergency landing ... New Orleans." When he was done, the voice of a flight attendant came on, reminding us of the emergency procedures she had reviewed before takeoff. Of course I never paid attention to this drill, always figuring that if we ever got to the point where we needed to use life jackets, I would have already died of terror.

Now we began a roller-coaster ride through the thunderclouds. I was ready to faint, but when I saw the face of the girl next to me, I pulled myself together, I reached for her hand and reassured her that we were going to make it, "What a story you're going to tell when you get home!" I said. "After this, London's going to seem like small potatoes."

I wondered where I was getting my strength. Then I saw that my other hand was tightly held by a ringed hand. Someone was comforting me—a glamorous young woman across the aisle, the female equivalent of the confident businessman. She must have seen how scared I was and reached over.

"I tell you," she confided, "the problems I brought up on this plane with me sure don't seem real big right now." I loved her Southern drawl, her indiscriminate use of perfume, and her soulful squeezes. I was sure that even if I survived the plane crash, I'd have a couple of broken fingers from all the TLC. "Are you okay?" she kept asking me.

Among the many feelings going through my head during those excruciating 20 minutes was pride—pride in how well everybody on board was behaving. No one panicked. No one screamed. As we jolted and screeched our way downward, I could hear small pockets of soothing conversation everywhere.

I thought of something I had heard a friend say about the wonderful gift his dying father had given the family: he had died peacefully, as if not to alarm any of them about an experience they would all have to go through someday.

And then—yes!—we landed safely. Outside on the ground, attendants and officials were waiting to transfer us to alternative flights. But we passengers clung together. We chatted about