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哭將來了
Coming Yonder in Tears
長老在馬上聽見,道:「這個夯貨,正走路,怎麼又胡說了?」八戒道:「你兒子便胡說。你不看見孫行者那裡哭將來了?他是個鑽天入地,斧砍火燒,下油鍋都不怕的好漢;如今戴了個愁帽,淚汪汪的哭來,必是那山險峻,妖怪兇狠。似我們這樣軟弱的人兒,怎麼去得?」長老道:「你且休胡談,待我問他一聲,看是怎麼說話。」問道:「悟空,有甚話當面計較,你怎麼自家煩惱?這般樣個哭包臉,是虎諕我也?」长老在马上听见,道:「这个夯货,正走路,怎么又胡说了?」八戒道:「你儿子便胡说。你不看见孙行者那里哭将来了?他是个钻天入地,斧砍火烧,下油锅都不怕的好汉;如今戴了个愁帽,泪汪汪的哭来,必是那山险峻,妖怪凶狠。似我们这样软弱的人儿,怎么去得?」长老道:「你且休胡谈,待我问他一声,看是怎么说话。」问道:「悟空,有甚话当面计较,你怎么自家烦恼?这般样个哭包脸,是虎諕我也?」
逐句解 Line by line
長老在馬上聽見,道:「這個夯貨,正走路,怎麼又胡說了?」
长老在马上听见,道:「这个夯货,正走路,怎么又胡说了?」
The Elder, hearing this from horseback, said: “You blockhead — here we are walking along, and how is it you talk nonsense again?”
夯貨 (hāng huò), "blockhead, oaf." 長老 — 長 read zhǎng.
八戒道:「你兒子便胡說。你不看見孫行者那裡哭將來了?他是個鑽天入地,斧砍火燒,下油鍋都不怕的好漢;如今戴了個愁帽,淚汪汪的哭來,必是那山險峻,妖怪兇狠。似我們這樣軟弱的人兒,怎麼去得?」
八戒道:「你儿子便胡说。你不看见孙行者那里哭将来了?他是个钻天入地,斧砍火烧,下油锅都不怕的好汉;如今戴了个愁帽,泪汪汪的哭来,必是那山险峻,妖怪凶狠。似我们这样软弱的人儿,怎么去得?」
Said Eight Rules: “It’s your own son who talks nonsense. Do you not see Sun the Pilgrim coming yonder in tears? He is a fellow who bores into the sky and burrows through the earth, who fears neither the axe’s blow nor the fire’s burning nor the cauldron of oil; and now he has put on a cap of woe and comes weeping, eyes streaming — it must be that the mountain is steep and the fiends fierce. How are weak folk like us to get through?”
兒子 (ér zi), "son" — morphemic 兒 read ér; but 人兒 ("folk") takes suffixal er. 將 here directional jiāng (哭將來); 那 nà; 都 dōu; 去得 — 得 de.
長老道:「你且休胡談,待我問他一聲,看是怎麼說話。」
长老道:「你且休胡谈,待我问他一声,看是怎么说话。」
Said the Elder: “Stop your idle talk; let me put him a question, and see what he says.”
胡談 (hú tán), "idle, wild talk." 長 read zhǎng.
問道:「悟空,有甚話當面計較,你怎麼自家煩惱?這般樣個哭包臉,是虎諕我也?」
问道:「悟空,有甚话当面计较,你怎么自家烦恼?这般样个哭包脸,是虎諕我也?」
He asked: “Wukong, whatever there is to say, let us reckon it out face to face — why do you fret to yourself? With such a woebegone, crumpled face, are you trying to frighten me with talk of tigers?”
哭包臉 (kū bāo liǎn), "a woebegone, tearful face." 虎諕 (hǔ xià), "to frighten with tigers" — 諕 = 嚇, read xià. 甚 read shén.
總評 Commentary
The Elder rebukes Eight Rules for “talking nonsense,” and Eight Rules retorts in kind — “it’s your own son who talks nonsense” — before making his case with genuine, if self-serving, logic: if even the indestructible Pilgrim, who fears neither axe nor fire nor boiling oil, has been reduced to tears, the danger must be dire indeed. The reasoning is sound; only its premise, the sham tears, is false.
The Elder, unsettled, turns to question Pilgrim directly, and his phrasing — asking whether the monkey’s “woebegone face” is meant “to frighten me with talk of tigers” (虎諼) — shows a flicker of suspicion that the display may be theater. The scene turns on the gap between the master’s dawning doubt and his ultimate credulity, which Pilgrim is about to exploit.