Still, the house seems important to me, if only to the extent that it was neglected—symptomatic of a state of mind that, otherwise inaccessible, manifested itself in the concrete images of unconscious behavior.
The house became the metaphor of my father’s life, the exact and faithful representation of his inner world.
这屋子暗喻了我爸的一生，是他内心世界精准且真诚的象征。
For although he kept the house tidy and preserved it more or less as it had been, it underwent a gradual and ineluctable process of disintegration.
虽然他将屋子保持着清洁并且或多或少的保有它原有的样子，可这屋子仍不可避免的经历着一个逐渐变得不再完整的过程。
He was neat, he always put things back in their proper place, but nothing was cared for, nothing was ever cleaned.
我爸过的很整洁，他总是把东西放在合适的位置，可没有什么东西是被打理的，甚至清洁都没有。
The furniture, especially in the rooms he rarely visited, was covered with dust, cobwebs, the signs of total neglect; the kitchen stove was so encrusted with charred food that it had become unsalvageable; in the cupboard, sometimes languishing on the shelves for years: bug-infested packages of flour, stale crackers, bags of sugar that had turned into solid blocks, bottles of syrup that could no longer be opened.
那些家具，尤其是放在他不经常去的屋子里的，都铺满了灰尘和蜘蛛网，象征着完完全全的忽视；厨房的炉子上沾满了烧焦的食物，已经无法挽回了；在碗橱里，虫群滋生的一袋袋面粉，变质的饼干，已经结成块儿了的白糖，粘住再也拧不开的糖浆，有些时候这些东西能够都放在架子上好多年。
