Thanks!
By this time the train had glided out of the tunnel and was about to pass a level crossing near a poor settlement on outskirts of the town, hemmed in between hills covered in deed grass.
A jumble of shabby roofs of thatch and tile were crowded together close to the crossing, where a dingy white flag – presumably being waved by the crossing-keeper – was wearily joggling the twilight scene.
No sooner did I realize we were out of the tunnel than I saw three red-cheeked boys standing close together on the other side of the barrier at the bleak crossing.
They were all small and looked as if they were cowering beneath the overcast sky, their short kimonos matching the color of the drab settlement.
Looking up at the passing train, they raised their arms and their pathetic little voices, shouting something as hard as they could that I was not able to understand.
That was the instant it happened. The girl with her head and shoulders out of the window, suddenly stretched forth her chilblained hands and vigorously waved them, or so o though, when all of a sudden about five or six tangerine oranges the color of warm sunshine, that brought joy to my heart, came raining down upon the children who had come to see her off.
It took my breath away. In that instant everything became clear. The girl was on her way to take up domestic employment. She had kept the oranges concealed in the bosom of her kimono and she had thrown them out of the window to her little brothers to thank them for taking the trouble to come and see her off at the crossing.
「蜜柑」は有名な話ですね。少し前私は自分の翻訳をやってみました。録音されたのはその版です。質問があれば是非メッセージを送ってください。自分の文章は以下です。
At that moment the train swiftly glided out of the tunnel to pass through a railroad crossing just outside a poor village tucked between dry grassy mountains. Near the crossing run-down thatched and tiled roofs were shabbily crammed together, and a single off-white flag, probably one that the crossing guard waves, fluttered lethargically in the evening twilight. We’re finally out of the tunnel, I thought, when I saw over by the lonely crossing railing three boys with red cheeks standing in a line close together. Each of them was as short as the other, so much so that one might think they were being pushed down by the heavy clouded sky. They were wearing the same coloured kimono, grim like the scenery in the outskirts of this village.