远山淡影 远山淡影 8.1分

过去,总不会过去

darthrobert
2018-01-26 17:55:14

如果,可以用一种颜色,来形容这个故事,我想,可以是一抹浅浅的灰色。无论是眼下四月英格兰下着绵绵细雨的乡村,还是回忆里经A-bomb受洗的长崎。

但如果,非要再找出一种别样的色彩,我想,最有可能,是晴空般的蔚蓝。连绵细雨有暂停的片刻;生活在废墟之上的人,也可以登上高处,眺望远处,暂且忽视当前的一切。

但我始终怀疑,这一抹浅灰,是人为造出的雾。我猜,“我”只有用迷雾,模糊了对过去的记忆,才可能为眼前的当下,增添一份慰藉,减少一份清醒。

因为过去,总不会过去。

今年读的第二本书,也是第二部石黑一雄的作品。无论是《别让我走》,还是《远山淡影》,作者想要表达的,都是太沉重的东西。如果就这样打开闸门,任由情感像洪水般宣泄,会溺(腻)死一大批读者吧。还好,作者精心地控制着水流,不让它像瀑布一般大起大落、像大海一样波涛汹涌;也不至于像隆冬时节的小溪流被冻住、像是沙漠里的小河

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如果,可以用一种颜色,来形容这个故事,我想,可以是一抹浅浅的灰色。无论是眼下四月英格兰下着绵绵细雨的乡村,还是回忆里经A-bomb受洗的长崎。

但如果,非要再找出一种别样的色彩,我想,最有可能,是晴空般的蔚蓝。连绵细雨有暂停的片刻;生活在废墟之上的人,也可以登上高处,眺望远处,暂且忽视当前的一切。

但我始终怀疑,这一抹浅灰,是人为造出的雾。我猜,“我”只有用迷雾,模糊了对过去的记忆,才可能为眼前的当下,增添一份慰藉,减少一份清醒。

因为过去,总不会过去。

今年读的第二本书,也是第二部石黑一雄的作品。无论是《别让我走》,还是《远山淡影》,作者想要表达的,都是太沉重的东西。如果就这样打开闸门,任由情感像洪水般宣泄,会溺(腻)死一大批读者吧。还好,作者精心地控制着水流,不让它像瀑布一般大起大落、像大海一样波涛汹涌;也不至于像隆冬时节的小溪流被冻住、像是沙漠里的小河被蒸干。总之,无论你在书中的何处,都能听到、看到、感受到这股不紧不慢却温润有力的水流,继而跟着它,去往水流的终点。

有意思的是,这本小说,还让我联想到了大学的高英课本里的一篇描写广岛文章。广岛和长崎,有很多的不同,但它们有着相同的伤疤。文末附上Hiroshima,the “liveliest” City in Japan,有能力、有兴趣的可以读一读。

P.S Thanks to Miss Philosopher, I am finally motivated to finish this marvellous novel.

Kazuo Ishiguro 石黑一雄

以下是书中句子的摘录:

1 我从来不想显得不友好,可是大概我也从来没有刻意努力显得友好。因为那时我还是想独自一人、不被打扰。

2 真是羞愧啊,一个孕妇和她的丈夫每周日不做别的,就想着死人。我知道他们是敬爱死者,但仍旧不应该这样。他们应该想着未来才是。” “我想她很难忘记过去。”

3 “是啊,都是这样。学生们都各走各的,然后发现很难保持联系。所以这些同学会就很重要。人不应该那么快就忘记以前的感情。应该时不时地看看过去,才能更好地认识事情。没错,我觉得明天你当然要去。”

4 “纪律,忠诚,从前是这些东西把日本人团结在一起。也许听起来不太真实,可确实是这样的。人们都有一种责任感。对自己的家庭,对上级,对国家。可是现在人们不再讲这些了,而是讲什么民主。当一个人想自私自利时,想丢掉责任时,就说民主。”

5 “我明白了。你这个朋友几岁?” “妈妈,你总是关心别人几岁。人重要的不是年龄,而是经历。有的人活到一百岁也没经历过什么事。”

6 “很多女人,”她说,“被孩子和讨厌的丈夫捆住手脚,过得很不开心。可是她们没有勇气改变一切。就这么过完一生。”

7 “你千万别误会,悦子,我们通常相处得很好。只是当你老是见到同一个人、见不到别人时,有时难免会有摩擦。”

8 “你不会想到这里曾经发生的一切,不是吗?一切看上去是那么生机勃勃。可是下面那一整片”——我朝底下的景色挥了挥手——“那一整片在炸弹掉下来的时候受了多么严重的打击。可是看看现在。” 佐知子点点头,然后笑着转向我,说:“你今天心情真不错啊,悦子。” “到这里来走走真是太好了。我决定从今往后要乐观。我以后一定要过得幸福。藤原太太一直对我说往前看是多么重要。她是对的。假设人们没有往前看,那么这里”——我又指了指底下的景色——“这里就都还是废墟一片。”

Nagasaki after embracing the atomic bomb 原子弹轰炸后的长崎

9 比起英国,日本城市里的旅馆、茶馆、商店似乎更加喜欢夜幕降临;天还没黑,窗户上的灯笼、门口的霓虹招牌早早就亮了起来。那天傍晚,当我们重新走上长崎的街道时,已经灯火通明了;我们快傍晚时离开稻佐山,在浜屋百货公司里的美食街吃了晚饭。晚饭后,我们还不想回去,在巷子里慢慢地溜达,并不急着去电车站。我记得那时的年轻情侣流行在街上手牵手——我和二郎从来没有过——我们一路走着,看见很多这样的情侣在寻找晚上的娱乐。夏季傍晚的天空变成了浅紫色。

10 “很有理由?胡说八道,二郎。前几步,你是想好了步子,我看得出来。你那时其实是有一个战略的。可一旦我打乱了你的战略,你就放弃了,你就开始走一步想一步了。你不记得我以前总是跟你说:下棋就是不停地贯彻战略。就是敌人破坏了你的计划也不放弃,而是马上想出另一个战略。胜负并不是在王被将时决定的。当棋手放弃运用任何战略时,胜负就已经定局了。你的兵七零八落,没有共同的目标,走一步想一步,这时你就输了。”

11 这个公园一般被叫做“和平公园”——我一直不知道这是不是它的正式名称——而确实,尽管有孩子和鸟儿的叫声,这一大片绿地上却笼罩着一种肃穆的气氛。公园里常见的装饰,诸如灌木和喷泉,少之又少,而且都很朴素;平坦的草地、广阔的夏日天空以及雕像本身——一尊巨大的白色雕像,纪念原子弹的遇难者——占据了公园的主要部分。 雕像貌似一位希腊男神,伸开双臂坐着。他的右手指向天空,炸弹掉下来的地方;另一只手向左侧伸展开去,意喻挡住邪恶势力。他双眼紧闭,在祈祷。

Nagasaki Peace Park 长崎和平公园

12 您那个时候,老师教给日本的孩子们可怕的东西。他们学到的是最具破坏力的谎言。最糟糕的是,老师教他们不能看、不能问。这就是为什么我们国家会卷入有史以来最可怕的灾难。

13 “一个人也许会在一个地方工作、奉献,但是到了最后”——他耸耸肩,怀念地笑了笑——“到了最后,他仍旧想回到他生长的故乡去。”

14 回忆,我发现,可能是不可靠的东西;常常被你回忆时的环境所大大地扭曲,毫无疑问,我现在在这里的某些回忆就是这样。

15 我伯父的房子里没有什么可以给我的。只有一些空房间,没别的了。我可以找一间坐着,然后慢慢变老。除此之外什么都没有。

The countryside in England 英格兰某处的乡村

附:

Hiroshima - The "Liveliest" City in Japan

(excerpts)

Jacques Danvoir

“Hiroshima! Everybody off!” That must be what the man in the Japanese stationmaster's uniform shouted, as the fastest train in the world slipped to a stop in Hiroshima Station. I did not understand what he was saying. First of all, because he was shouting in Japanese. And secondly, because I had a lump in my throat and a lot of sad thoughts on my mind that had little to do with anything a Nippon railways official might say. The very act of stepping on this soil, in breathing this air of Hiroshima, was for me a far greater adventure than any trip or any reportorial assignment I'd previously taken. Was I not at the scene of the crime?

The Japanese crowd did not appear to have the same preoccupations that I had. From the sidewalk outside the station, things seemed much the same as in other Japanese cities. Little girls and elderly ladies in kimonos rubbed shoulders with teenagers and women in western dress. Serious looking men spoke to one another as if they were oblivious of the crowds about them, and bobbed up and down repeatedly in little bows, as they exchanged the ritual formula of gratitude and respect: "Tomo aligato gozayimas." Others were using little red telephones that hung on the facades of grocery stores and tobacco shops.

"Hi! Hi!" said the cab driver, whose door popped open at the very sight of a traveler. "Hi", or something that sounds very much like it, means "yes". "Can you take me to City Hall?" He grinned at me in the rear-view mirror and repeated "Hi!" "Hi! ’ We set off at top speed through the narrow streets of Hiroshima. The tall buildings of the martyred city flashed by as we lurched from side to side in response to the driver's sharp twists of the wheel.

Just as I was beginning to find the ride long, the taxi screeched to a halt, and the driver got out and went over to a policeman to ask the way. As in Tokyo, taxi drivers in Hiroshima often know little of their city, but to avoid loss of face before foreigners, will not admit their ignorance, and will accept any destination without concern for how long it may take them to find it.

At last this intermezzo came to an end, and I found myself in front of the gigantic City Hall. The usher bowed deeply and heaved a long, almost musical sigh, when I showed him the invitation which the mayor had sent me in response to my request for an interview. "That is not here, sir," he said in English. "The mayor expects you tonight for dinner with other foreigners on the restaurant boat. See? This is where it is.” He sketched a little map for me on the back of my invitation.

Thanks to his map, I was able to find a taxi driver who could take me straight to the canal embankment , where a sort of barge with a roof like one on a Japanese house was moored . The Japanese build their traditional houses on boats when land becomes too expensive. The rather arresting spectacle of little old Japan adrift amid beige concrete skyscrapers is the very symbol of the incessant struggle between the kimono and the miniskirt.

At the door to the restaurant, a stunning, porcelain-faced woman in traditional costume asked me to remove my shoes. This done, I entered one of the low-ceilinged rooms of the little floating house, treading cautiously on the soft matting and experiencing a twinge of embarrassment at the prospect of meeting the mayor of Hiroshima in my socks.

He was a tall, thin man, sad-eyed and serious. Quite unexpectedly, the strange emotion which had overwhelmed me at the station returned, and I was again crushed by the thought that I now stood on the site of the first atomic bombardment, where thousands upon thousands of people had been slain in one second, where thousands upon thousands of others had lingered on to die in slow agony .

The introductions were made. Most of the guests were Japanese, and it was difficult for me to ask them just why we were gathered here. The few Americans and Germans seemed just as inhibited as I was. "Gentlemen," said the mayor, "I am happy to welcome you to Hiroshima."

Everyone bowed, including the Westerners. After three days in Japan, the spinal column becomes extraordinarily flexible.

"Gentlemen, it is a very great honor to have you here in Hiroshima."

There were fresh bows, and the faces grew more and more serious each time the name Hiroshima was repeated.

"Hiroshima, as you know, is a city familiar to everyone,” continued the mayor.

"Yes, yes, of course,” murmured the company, more and more agitated.

"Seldom has a city gained such world renown, and I am proud and happy to welcome you to Hiroshima, a town known throughout the world for its--- oysters".

I was just about to make my little bow of assent, when the meaning of these last words sank in, jolting me out of my sad reverie .

"Hiroshima – oysters? What about the bomb and the misery and humanity's most heinous crime?" While the mayor went on with his speech in praise of southern Japanese sea food, I cautiously backed away and headed toward the far side of the room, where a few men were talking among themselves and paying little attention to the mayor's speech. "You look puzzled," said a small Japanese man with very large eye-glasses.

"Well, I must confess that I did not expect a speech about oysters here. I thought that Hiroshima still felt the impact of the atomic cataclysm ."

"No one talks about it any more, and no one wants to, especially, the people who were born here or who lived through it.

"Do you feel the same way, too?"

"I was here, but I was not in the center of town. I tell you this because I am almost an old man. There are two different schools of thought in this city of oysters, one that would like to preserve traces of the bomb, and the other that would like to get rid of everything, even the monument that was erected at the point of impact. They would also like to demolish the atomic museum."

"Why would they want to do that?"

"Because it hurts everybody, and because time marches on. That is why." The small Japanese man smiled, his eyes nearly closed behind their thick lenses. "If you write about this city, do not forget to say that it is the gayest city in Japan, even it many of the town's people still bear hidden wounds, and burns."

Like any other, the hospital smelled of formaldehyde and ether. Stretchers and wheelchairs lined the walls of endless corridors, and nurses walked by carrying nickel-plated instruments, the very sight of which would send shivers down the spine of any healthy visitor. The so-called atomic section was located on the third floor. It consisted of 17 beds.

"I am a fisherman by trade. I have been here a very long time, more than twenty years, "said an old man in Japanese pajamas. “What is wrong with you?”

"Something inside. I was in Hiroshima when it happened. I saw the fire ball. But I had no burns on my face or body. I ran all over the city looking for missing friends and relatives. I thought somehow I had been spared. But later my hair began to fall out, and my belly turned to water. I felt sick, and ever since then they have been testing and treating me. "

The doctor at my side explained and commented upon the old man's story, "We still hare a handful of patients here who are being kept alive by constant care. The others died as a result of their injuries, or else committed suicide . "

"Why did they commit suicide?"

"It is humiliating to survive in this city. If you bear any visible scars of atomic burns, your children will encounter prejudice on the part of those who do not. No one will marry the daughter or the niece of an atomic bomb victim. People are afraid of genetic damage from the radiation." The old fisherman gazed at me politely and with interest.

Hanging over the patient was a big ball made of bits of brightly colored paper, folded into the shape of tiny birds. "What's that?" I asked.

"Those are my lucky birds. Each day that I escape death, each day of suffering that helps to free me from earthly cares, I make a new little paper bird, and add it to the others. This way I look at them and congratulate myself of the good fortune that my illness has brought me. Because, thanks to it, I have the opportunity to improve my character."

Once again, outside in the open air, I tore into little pieces a small notebook with questions that I'd prepared in advance for interviews with the patients of the atomic ward. Among them was the question: Do you really think that Hiroshima is the liveliest city in Japan? I never asked it. But I could read the answer in every eye.

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