愛在橋欄深鎖時

Picture the scene. Paris， in the spring： Easter Sunday morning in the square by Notre Dame， my wife， Heidi， and I are strolling handin-hand under the blossom trees by the side of the cathedral.

It’s our first weekend away together since the children were born five years ago.

The sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day in the city of love.

Ahead， the Pont de l’Archevêché—a bridge linking the Ile de la Cité with the artistic Left Bank. And as we approach it， the most extraordinary， the most Parisian， sight either of us had ever seen.

The 1）railings of the bridge， from bank to bank across the Seine， are covered in 2）padlocks. All shapes and sizes， brass， steel， black and red. And each adorned with its own message—some scrawled with marker pen， others carefully engraved. There must have been thousands of them.

They are messages of love， written by lovers and locked onto the bridge. They glittered and sparkled in the sun—an oddly beautiful mosaic above the river.

Naturally， Heidi and I found a shop， bought a padlock of our own， wrote our names and the date on it， bagged a free spot on the bridge， and left our own symbol.

We threw the keys （all but one） into the Seine， took a photo of our lock， made a note of the location and chalked the whole thing up to the sort of experience you would only ever have in Paris.

That sort of thing—the grand romantic gesture， the transforming of the everyday into the extraordinary， the finding of poetry in something so 3）mundane as a padlock—it could only happen on the Continent. We British would never think of it. We’re simply too…well， British.

Fast-forward three months and I’m walking across the Millennium Bridge in London on a 4）dank and rainy Monday morning in July.

Commuters hurry over the Thames， heads down， collars up， struggling against the wind. Even tourists barely pause to snap St Paul’s or the Tate Modern. Tower Bridge is scarcely visible through the gloom. And then something catches my eye...

Swinging 5）gaily on one of the wire railings， there is a shiny brass padlock. And a few metres further on， there’s another. And another. And then a pair together. And then a cluster of five， another group of three. Each with messages， couples’ names， dates. One has a heart painted on it. Another simply reads“FOREVER”.

The love locks of Paris， have， it seems， come to London town.

Now， I am not an especially romantic person. I’ve had my moments—but more often than not， 6）pragmatism and traditional English reserve tend to temper most attempts at grand gestures.

And I remember it clearly： spring 2004， I was drinking and playing pool with my best mate， Pat. She was in her flat on the other side of London， nursing the flu.

Suddenly I realised that rather than drinking Guinness and having fun with my friend， I would actually rather be sober and helping my girlfriend recover.

So did I throw down my 7）cue， run out of the pub， fly across town and turn up at her door， breathless and clutching a dozen red roses and a packet of 8）Lemsip？ No. I sent her a text： “I bloody love you I do.”

When I proposed （on Heidi’s 34th birthday， in May 2005）， I didn’t dare buy a ring myself in case I got a style she didn’t like—so I did it with a 9）replica that came free with my Lord Of The Rings Director’s Cut box set （“One ring to rule them all，” it says， in ancient， ahem， Elvish script）.

I also spent an hour trying to tie it on a scarlet ribbon around her cat’s neck—before getting scratched so badly I had to abandon the idea.

I’ve kept that Lord Of The Rings ring， however. It’s stayed in my wallet ever since.

Even Heidi’s 40th passed without too much romance. We were moving house at the time， plus our car had just been written off and the magazine I was working on had folded， so money was tight. I did manage to get tickets to see her favourite band， Pulp， play Hyde Park， mind…

So， as I said， I don’t really do grand gestures—but there are occasions when even the most reserved （or hopeless） of us stumble across something and find our hearts lifted by la vie romantique. And when we saw the love locks on the Pont de l’Archeveche， there was no way I was going to let the opportunity pass to immortalise our own feelings for each other.

As it turns out， the tradition is far older than one might think： it originated in Serbia during World War II， when couples from the town of Vrnjacka Banja symbolically sealed their love before the men went off to fight.

They were mostly confined to that single bridge in Serbia， however， until around a decade ago when they started springing up in Paris， Rome， Florence， Cologne， Prague， even Dublin. But never over here； never in Britain.

The story was always the same. One padlock would appear overnight， a 10）testimony to a lovers’ 11）tryst， a 12）memento of a romantic moment. Within days， it would be joined by others， and then more still…until， as on the Pont de l’Archeveche， they become almost a raison d’être for the bridge itself. So why has it taken so long for the love locks to come to London？ And why are they appearing now？

On that rainy Monday， I counted 13 love locks on the Millennium Bridge. By the end of the week， when I checked again， there were 27.

Perhaps it’s the tourists. Or perhaps it’s British couples copying what they’ve seen while on a trip to Paris. Or perhaps it’s just one of those spontaneous things that happen every now and then in all the great cities of the world.

Perhaps—as in Paris， or Rome or even in Vrnjacka Banja during World War II—each tiny padlock is inspiring another.

Perhaps， even if we have arrived a little late to the party， we Brits are a romantic nation after all.

When Heidi and I took a photo of our own Parisian padlock this spring， when we noted down the location， and later found the exact co-ordinates on Google Earth， when we kept that single key， it was all done with one rather wonderful idea in mind—to leave something for the future. Something to show that we， too， were in love.

We’re going to leave that photo， that key， those map co-ordinates， in our will： sealed in an envelope with the day we were there written on it. We’re leaving it for our children， with instructions to pass it on to their children， and so on.

I’ve got a lovely mental image of our greatgrandchild， on her honeymoon in Paris in the year 2090 or so， stopping halfway across the Seine with a GPS locator， looking for a little brass padlock with the names of her ancestors written on it， still faintly 13）legible after all those years.

And if that’s not romantic， I don’t know what is.

想想這樣一幅景象。春天的巴黎：復(fù)活節(jié)周日的清晨，在巴黎圣母院旁的廣場上，我的妻子海蒂和我正手拉手在教堂旁邊的櫻花樹下漫步。

這是自孩子們五年前出生以來，我們第一次在外地過周末。

陽光燦爛，這正是愛之城中美麗的一天。

在前方，是大主教橋——一座連接著西岱島與有著濃厚藝術(shù)氣息的左岸的小橋。而當(dāng)我們走近它時，一幅我倆都從未見過的最不同尋常、最巴黎風(fēng)的景象躍入了我們的眼簾。

小橋的欄桿，橫跨過塞納河的兩岸，上面布滿了掛鎖。形狀各異，大小不一，銅制的，鋼制的，黑色的，還有紅色的。每一把都裝點(diǎn)著獨(dú)有的信息——有些是用記號筆潦草寫畫上去的，有些則是小心翼翼地刻上去的。橋欄上估計掛滿了成千上萬把這樣的鎖。

那些都是愛的信息，由戀人們書寫并鎖在小橋上，在陽光下閃閃發(fā)光——就像河面上一幅奇特而美麗的馬賽克。

當(dāng)然了，海蒂和我找到了一間小店，也買了一把屬于我們自己的掛鎖，在上面寫上了我們的名字和日期，然后將其懸掛在小橋上的一處空位上，留下了我們自己的標(biāo)記。

我們將鑰匙（留下一條外所有的）扔進(jìn)了塞納河里，為我們的掛鎖拍了張照片，記錄下位置，整件事被我們認(rèn)為是只能在巴黎體驗到的經(jīng)歷。

那種事情——那種極度浪漫的舉動，那種將日常生活化作非凡體驗的轉(zhuǎn)變，那種在諸如掛鎖這樣的世俗之物中發(fā)現(xiàn)詩意的事情——只可能在歐洲大陸上發(fā)生。我們英國人永遠(yuǎn)都不會想出來的。我們只不過是太……嗯，英國了。

時間快進(jìn)三個月，我在七月一個潮濕下雨的周一清晨走過倫敦的千禧橋。

上班的人群匆匆穿過泰晤士河，低著頭，豎著衣領(lǐng)，掙扎著逆風(fēng)而行。即便是游客也很少停下來為圣保羅大教堂或泰特現(xiàn)代藝術(shù)館拍照。昏暗中倫敦塔橋幾不可見。然而就在那時，什么東西吸引了我的視線……

有一把亮閃閃的銅鎖正在一根橋欄上快樂地晃動著。而再往前幾米之外，還有一把。再有一把。接著有一對掛在一起。再接著有一串五把。另一群三把。每一把上都留有信息，情侶們的名字和日期。有一把上面畫著一顆心。另一把上簡單地寫著“直到永遠(yuǎn)”。

巴黎的愛之鎖，看起來，也來到了倫敦。

現(xiàn)在要說的是，我并不是個特別浪漫的人。我也有過浪漫的時刻——不過大多數(shù)情況下，實用主義和傳統(tǒng)的英式內(nèi)斂會平復(fù)掉想要做出驚天舉措的企圖心。

而我非常清楚地記得這么一個時刻：那是2004年的春天，我正邊喝酒，邊和我最好的伙伴帕特一起打臺球。海蒂正在自己位于倫敦另一邊的公寓里，因流感在家休養(yǎng)。

突然之間，我意識到與其喝著黑啤與朋友玩樂，實際上我更愿意頭腦清醒地照顧女朋友康復(fù)。

那我是不是就這么扔下球桿，跑出酒吧，飛奔過城市，攥著一打紅玫瑰和一包感冒藥，上氣不接下氣地出現(xiàn)在她家門前呢？沒有。我只是給她發(fā)了一條短信：“我愛死你了，真的?！?/p>

當(dāng)我求婚時（2005年5月，在海蒂34歲生日的那天），我不敢自己去買戒指，以防買到的款式她不喜歡——于是我用了一個復(fù)制品，那是與我的盒裝《指環(huán)王導(dǎo)演剪輯版》一起送來的免費(fèi)隨贈品（上面刻著“一枚戒指統(tǒng)領(lǐng)眾戒”，用古老的，嗯，精靈語字體）。

我還花了一個小時試圖用一根鮮紅色的緞帶將其系在她家貓咪的脖子上——差點(diǎn)被嚴(yán)重抓傷，最終不得不放棄那念頭。

不過，我一直保存著那枚“指環(huán)王”戒指。從那以后，它一直躺在我的錢包里。

甚至連海蒂度過40歲生日時都沒有多少浪漫舉措。我們那時正在搬家，此外我們的汽車也要報廢了，而我工作的那家雜志也?？獦I(yè)了，所以我們手頭很緊。不過我還是設(shè)法弄到了門票去看她最愛的樂隊——果漿樂隊在海德公園的演出，想起來了……

所以，就像我說的，我并不會真的做出驚天舉措——但有些時候，即便是我們之中最保守的（或者說是不可救藥的）人也會碰上某些事物，然后發(fā)現(xiàn)我們的心被“浪漫人生”所觸動。所以當(dāng)我們見到大主教橋上的那些愛之鎖時，如此寄情恒久的機(jī)會，我又怎么會讓其白白溜走呢。

原來，這個傳統(tǒng)要比我們想象的更為古老：其起源于二戰(zhàn)時期的塞爾維亞，在弗爾尼亞奇卡礦泉鎮(zhèn)的男子們出征戰(zhàn)斗之前，情侶們會象征性地封緘他們的愛情。

起初大多數(shù)只局限于塞爾維亞的那條唯一的小橋上，但是到了大概十年前，愛之鎖開始在巴黎、羅馬、佛羅倫薩、科隆、布拉格，甚至都柏林四散開來。但從未到過此處，從未到過英國。

故事永遠(yuǎn)都是相同的。一把掛鎖會在一夜之間突然出現(xiàn)，情人相會的證明、浪漫時刻的見證。數(shù)日之后，就會有其他人加入，接著會有更多的人……直到，就像大主教橋上那樣，它們幾乎變成了橋梁本身“存在的理由”。那么為什么愛之鎖這么久才到達(dá)倫敦呢？而且為什么會在如今出現(xiàn)呢？

在那個陰雨的周一，我在千禧橋上數(shù)到了13把愛之鎖。到了那個周末，當(dāng)我再次查看時，有27把。

或許是游客們的舉動。或許是倫敦的情侶們在效仿他們在巴黎旅行時的所見所聞。又或許只不過是在全世界所有偉大的城市里時不時會發(fā)生的隨機(jī)事件之一罷了。

或許——就像在巴黎，或羅馬，或甚至在二戰(zhàn)時期的弗爾尼亞奇卡礦泉鎮(zhèn)——每一把小鎖都鼓勵了另一把的到來。

或許，即便我們在這場盛會中姍姍來遲，我們英國人畢竟還是個浪漫的民族。

當(dāng)今年春季，海蒂和我為我們自己的巴黎掛鎖拍照時，當(dāng)我們記下地點(diǎn)，其后在谷歌地圖上找到確切的坐標(biāo)時，當(dāng)我們保存下那條唯一的鑰匙時，我們的心里一直懷有一個相當(dāng)美妙的念頭——要為將來留下一些物件，一些能夠證明我們也曾相愛的物件。

我們將會留下那張照片，那條鑰匙，那些地圖坐標(biāo)，在我們的遺囑里：密封在一個信封里，上面書寫著我們曾在那里的日期。我們將會把那信留給我們的孩子們，并附帶指示，要他們繼續(xù)往后代傳，就這樣一直流傳下去。

我腦海中浮現(xiàn)過一個可愛的畫面：我們的重孫女，在大約2090年時去巴黎度蜜月，用GPS定位器指路，在穿過塞納河的途中，尋找一把銅制的小掛鎖，上面書寫著她祖先們的名字，在歷經(jīng)多年的風(fēng)霜后依然淡淡地依稀可辨。

如果這都不算浪漫，那我不知道浪漫為何物了。