Question

请帮忙翻译，谢绝翻译机器，重谢

When the boys were settled and the train clattered along toward Tahrir Square, I noticed that my head scarf had begun to slip. I reached up to unpin it. As the layers of cotton gauze fell away, I felt air on my neck. The mother of the boys, noticing, perhaps, my comparatively light-colored hair, asked me where I was from. The United States, I told her.
''And you are a Muslim?'' she asked.
''Yes,'' I answered.
She praised God, and I dutifully repeated her words, smiling; I understood that a convert in a head scarf was unusual.
As I rewrapped my scarf, however, I heard a chorus of hisses. I looked up in alarm. A boy of 16 or 17 was making his way through the car, selling boxes of tissues. I blushed, feeling certain that the other women were reprimanding me for taking off my scarf in the presence of a man. After two years in Egypt, I had developed a sense of humor about my inevitable social gaffes, but they were still embarrassing. Looking around, however, I realized that the scolding wasn't for me after all. The tissue seller was the target of the women's censure.
''What are you thinking? Don't you have shame?''
''You're too old to be in the women's car, Son.''
''Look away, for God's sake.''
The tissue seller went red, muttered something in response and turned into the doorway, trying to appear casual. I hastily repinned my scarf. The boy was probably just trying to do better business: he would get more sympathy in the women's compartment than in the mixed cars. Nevertheless, he retreated down the train at the next stop.
At that moment, I was grateful to be part of the floating world of the women's car. In that small corner of a culture so different from my own, culture itself ceased to matter. For a few station stops I carried no baggage -- no problematic nationality, no suspect political agenda. I was simply a woman among other women and worth defending because we shared that much. Regardless of the many factors that might separate us on the street, in the women's car my fellow passengers felt I had the same right to privacy as they did. I left the metro feeling secure in much more than the arrangement of my head scarf.

Answer 1

在男孩子们立身之后，火车嘈杂地朝tahrir广场方向开去，我感觉我的头纱开始滑落。我迅速地系好它、然而棉质的头纱已经掉了下来，我感觉到脖子暴露在空气之中。男孩子们的母亲留意到，可能，是因为我完全不一样的浅色头发，问我来自何处，“美国”我回答她、
“你是穆斯林吗？”她问道。
“是的”我答，
她做了下礼拜，我微笑着一字不漏地重复了一遍她的话，我感到带着头巾谎称自己的信仰是不同寻常的~
接着我中心包好我的头巾。然而我听到一阵嘘声合唱~~我抬头看了看喇叭。一个约16,7岁的男孩在车辆之间穿梭。贩卖成盒的薄纱。我一阵羞愧，感觉肯定其他妇女都在谴责我，因为我在一个男子面前摘掉了面纱。两年之后在埃及，我已经因为不可避免的风俗尴尬闹了一大堆笑话，但它们仍然让人感到难堪。环顾四周，然后，我意识到责备声并不是仅仅针对我，买面纱的那个人只是妇女受到谴责的靶子而已。
“你有何感想？是否感到难堪？”
“你太老了，不应该成用女式车了，我的孩子”
“把脸转向一边，看在上帝的份儿上”
买面纱者涨红了脸，嘟哝着些什么来回应，然后进了房门，试图保持淡定。我匆忙系好我的面纱。那个男孩子大概想让生意更好一些：他能够获得更多的同情比在混合车厢里面。不过他在下一站就下了火车。
那一刻，我非常感激，感激交通运输中有妇女专用车。在那个小小的角落里面，有一种不同于我本身那种文化的文化存在，文化本身不一致的事情。停了几站之后，我只身下车，没有行李，没有民族问题，没有相互猜忌的政治争议。我只是众多妇女中的一名，并且值得站在统一战线，因为我们都一样。不管诸多可能能在大街上分离我们的因素，在女式车里，我的黄皮肤乘客感到我跟他们一样有相同的隐私权。我离开了地铁，感觉到一种比头上纱巾如何包裹更安全的保障。

累死老头我了~~