【双语】陆文夫·《梦中的天地》（一）

梦中的天地
A Dream Scene

陆文夫
Lu Wenfu

我也曾到过许多地方，可那梦中的天地却往往是苏州的小巷，我在这些小巷中走过千百遍，度过了漫长的时光；青春似乎是从这些小巷中流走的，它在脑子里冲刷出一条深深的沟，留下了极其难忘的印象。

I consider myself quite a seasoned traveler, but in my dreams I always find myself back in Suzhou, in the alleys that I had walked up and down thousands of times, alleys where I had spent a good part of my life. In fact, my entire youth had slipped by through them, leaving me with memories that will never fade.

三十八年前，我穿着蓝布长衫，乘着一条木帆船闯进了苏州城外的一条小巷。这小巷铺着长长的石板，石板下还有流水淙淙作响。它的名称也叫街，可是两部黄包车相遇便无法交会过来；它的两边都是低矮的平房，晾衣裳的竹竿从这边的屋檐上搁到对面的屋檐上。那屋檐上砌着方形带洞的砖墩，看上去就像古城上的箭垛一样。

Thirty-eight years ago, wearing a blue long gown, I rode on a wooden junk all the way right up to a small alley outside Suzhou in my first venture into the city. The alley was paved with long flagstones under which flowed a murmuring stream. It was called a street, though two rickshaws running into each other could not pass side by side. It was flanked with low one-storey houses whose eaves on both sides of the alley were connected by bamboo poles over which clothes were hung out to dry. The eaves were adorned with square brick blocks with holes in them, looking like parapets on ancient city walls.

转了一个弯，巷子便变了样，两边都是楼房，黑瓦、朱栏、白墙。临巷处是一条通长的木板走廊，廊檐上镶着花板，雕刻都不一样，有的是松鼠葡萄，有的是八仙过海，大多是些“富贵不断头”，马虎而平常。也许是红颜易老吧，那些朱栏和花板都已经变黑，发黄。那晾衣裳的竹竿都在雕花板中隐藏，竹帘低垂，掩蔽着长窗。我好像在什么画卷和小说里见到过此种式样，好像潘金莲在这种楼上晒过衣服，那楼下挑着糖粥担子的人，也像是那卖炊饼的武大郎。

Turning around one corner, you would find the alley taking on a different look: on both sides stood storeyed building s with black tiles, red banisters and white walls. At the end of the alley was a long wooden veranda on whose eaves were mounted plates with different carvings featuring squirrels and grapes, the Eight Immortals crossing the sea, and so on, mostly the kind of stuff found in works of folk art that seek blessings for the pursuit of fame and fortune – shoddy works that are nothing out of the common run. As with women whose beauty fades with age, the red banisters and carvings had blackened and yellowed. The bamboo poles were hidden behind the plates of carvings. Bamboo curtains hung low, covering up long windows. The whole picture was familiar to me, as if I had come across it in paintings or novels; as if Pan Jinlian had hung clothes out to dry in such a building, while the person underneath carrying a load of sweet porridge looked exactly like her dwarf of a husband Wu Dalang, sesame cake vendor. [Pan Jinlian and her husband Wu Dalang are characters featured in the classic novels The Water’s Margin and the Golden Plum Vase. – translators]

这种巷子里也有店铺，楼上是居宅，楼下是店堂。最多的是烟纸店，酱菜店和那带卖开水的茶馆店。茶馆店里最闹猛，许多人左手搁在方桌上，右脚翘在长凳上，端起那乌油油的紫砂茶杯，一个劲儿地把那些深褐色的水灌进肚皮里。这种现象苏州人叫作皮包水，晚上进澡堂便叫水包皮。喝茶的人当然要高谈阔论，一片嗡嗡声，弄不清都是谈些什么事情。只有那叫卖的声音最清脆，那是提篮的女子在兜售瓜子、糖果、香烟。还有那戴着墨镜的瞎子在拉二胡，沙哑着嗓子在唱什么，说是唱，但也和哭差不了许多。这小巷在我的面前展开了一幅市井生活的画图。

In alleys of this kind, there were also stores that were usually located on the first floor. The second floors were residential quarters. Most of them were small general stores, pickle groceries, and teahouses that also sold drinking water. The teahouses were the busiest, where many of the customers drank lustily from boccaro cups held up high, their left hands on the square tables and their right feet on the benches. This was called in Suzhou “water wrapped in skin,” while a bath in a public bathhouse was known as “skin wrapped in water.” Since tea-drinkers are supposed to talk loud as a matter of course, the din in the teahouse was deafening. One could hardly make out what was being said. Amid the noise rang out the clear and crisp voice of girls hawking melon seeds, sweets and cigarettes. There was also a blind man wearing dark glasses playing the Chinese erhu fiddle, whose raspy voice made you wonder whether he was singing or crying. This little alley was, in my eyes, nothing short of a scroll of painting of town life.

就在这画卷的末尾，我爬上了一座小楼。这小楼实际上是两座，分前楼和后楼，两侧用厢房连在一起，形成了一个口字。天井小得像一口深井，只放了两只接天水的坛子。伏在前楼的窗口往下看，只见人来人往，市井繁忙；伏在后楼的窗口往下看，却是一条大河从窗下流过。河上的橹声咿呀，天光水波，风日悠悠。河两岸都是人家，每家都有临河的长窗和石码头。那码头建造得十分奇妙，简单而又灵巧，是用许多长长的条石排列而成。那条石一头腾空，一头嵌在石驳岸上，一级一级地插进河床，像一条条石制的云梯挂在家家户户的后门口。洗菜淘米的女人便在云梯上凌空上下，在波光与云影中时隐时现。那些做买卖的单桨的小船，慢悠悠地放舟中流，让流水随便地把它们带走，那些船上装着鱼虾、蔬菜、瓜果。只要临河的窗口有人叫买，那小船便箭也似的射到窗下，交易谈成，楼上便放下一只篮筐，钱放在篮筐中吊下来，货放在篮筐中吊上去。然后，楼窗便吱呀关上，小船又慢慢地随波漂去。

I climbed up a small building at the very end of this scroll. The building was made up of two parts, one in the front, and the other one at the back, joined together by two wings, one on each side, hence assuming the shape of the character '口’. In the yard that was only the size of a well stood two jars that served as rainwater receptacles. By the windows of the front central room, you could see the streams of people down below in the busy marketplace. Beneath the windows of the back room was a big river echoing with the squeaks of oars and sculls and sparkling with rays of the sun in gentle breezes. Along both the banks stood houses with long windows facing the river and stone docks constructed of may long slabs ingeniously lined up in a simple but wonderful work of art. While the slabs were being piled up, one end of each slab was left unsupported while the other end was laid onto the bank. Thus, the dock stood on the riverbed layer upon layer, like a stone scaling ladder hung at the back door of every house. Women out to wash vegetables and rice could walk up and down the ladder, now hidden, now visible against the sky above the glittering waves and amid the shadows of the clouds. Single-oared small boats, laden with fish, shrimp, vegetables, and fruits to sell, floated unhurriedly with the drift of the current. If anyone called out to them from a window facing the river, these boats would dash toward the window as fast as an arrow. The bargaining over, the buyer would hang down a basket containing the money, and the goods would be put in it to be lifted up. Then the window would be closed with a squeak and the boat would float away slowly again.

（Ren Zhong, Yuzhi Yang 译）