從一條卑微的河流說(shuō)起

盛可以，上世紀(jì)七十年代出生于湖南益陽(yáng)，國(guó)家一級(jí)作家。盛可以于2002年開(kāi)始小說(shuō)創(chuàng)作，發(fā)表作品近兩百萬(wàn)字，主要作品有長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)《北妹》、《水乳》、《道德頌》、《死亡賦格》等六部，以及《可以書(shū)》、《缺乏經(jīng)驗(yàn)的世界》、《留一個(gè)房間給你用》等多部中短篇小說(shuō)集。部分作品被譯成英、德、日、韓、荷蘭等文字在海外出版發(fā)行。曾獲首屆華語(yǔ)文學(xué)傳媒大獎(jiǎng)、女性文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)、郁達(dá)夫小說(shuō)獎(jiǎng)、中國(guó)未來(lái)文學(xué)大家“TOP20”等，被視為中國(guó)當(dāng)代最杰出的女性作家之一，也是當(dāng)下最受?chē)?guó)際文壇關(guān)注的女性作家之一，美國(guó)《紐約時(shí)報(bào)》評(píng)價(jià)其為“冉冉升起的文學(xué)新星”，英國(guó)企鵝出版社稱其為“非常勇敢和有才華的作家”。

我有童年，還有不少值得一提的回憶：小時(shí)候被小伙伴們?nèi)⌒Φ囊粚?duì)小紅布鞋，外公為了給我解饞而殺掉的那只有著哀怨眼神的老母雞，因?yàn)橐Я宋乙豢诙鴶烂镊M丞相，拍一只蒼蠅賺一毛錢(qián)的營(yíng)生，一打雷就跟我一起顫得抖灰的老房子……最終這些都因城市的開(kāi)發(fā)以及新工廠的建立而變得再也無(wú)跡可尋，它們唯獨(dú)存活于我的腦海之中。我也想信奉那句“只要曾經(jīng)擁有，何必天長(zhǎng)地久”，可是事實(shí)證明當(dāng)能夠鑒證你某段記憶的事物不復(fù)存在時(shí)，那段記憶就好像是你在腦子里憑空捏造的一般，哪怕那段記憶千真萬(wàn)確。我們并無(wú)回天之力，唯一可做的僅有將那股濃郁香醇的生命味道刻在腦海之中反復(fù)回味，作者說(shuō)得沒(méi)錯(cuò)，任何生命都不應(yīng)該被忘記。

這是一篇非常棒的短篇故事，作者用其清澈的筆鋒還原了她的童年生活，更是以其透徹的視角向我們闡釋了一些夢(mèng)想與遺憾，讓我們一起隨著作者筆下那條卑微的蘭溪長(zhǎng)河，漂回那些舊時(shí)光里看看吧……

When I was younger I was ashamed to admit I came from a remote village， yet I lacked the courage to claim I was from a city， so I usually said simply that I came from an 1）outlying township. Now I must tell the truth； that I was born in an isolated village. Let me start from the banks of a humble river where my life began and which is the true source of my writing. My fellow villagers live and while away their time in a 2）monotonous environment completely cut off from the outside world. I know their lives only too well. Had I not harbored a distant dream from a very young age， I would have shared their fate.

In the northeastern part of Hunan Province， in an area called Yiyang， a river passes a place not found on maps and only known to the people who live there. This humble river passes through the ancient township of Lanxi， so， like the 3）haphazard naming of village children， the river is called the Lanxi River. All my memories of a joyful childhood and the pains of growing up are 4）intertwined with the river. She keeps all of my secrets. To this day I have never seen a river as beautiful as the Lanxi， with its sweet translucent waters， 5）verdant embankments and weeping willows gently sweeping the water’s surface. In the 1970s， 6）skiffs with white 7）sails still 8）languidly glided by while barefooted 9）boat trackers trudged along the sandy verges. Poverty and poetic beauty are inseparable twins—whenever this image resurfaces in my conscience， more often it is the sorrow of life that comes to my mind.

The Cultural Revolution， the “smashing of the Gang of Four，” the reform and opening up—these momentous events did not make much impression on me as I grew up in this isolated rural setting. I just remember my mother 10）scrounging for rice to feed her family and the look of despair on her face whenever she returned empty-handed； I remember the exquisite 11）aroma of pork and 12）lard； I remember going to school barefoot， and the chill in the air as my bare feet squished in the muddy roads is as vivid today as it was back then； I remember every semester my school fees were 13）in arrears until my mother was able to sell off a basket of eggs. But at the time， I was too young to worry about the hardships of life. The river brought me unlimited childish pleasure—swimming， fishing， catching shrimps， sailing. I cannot agree with people who praise the poetic beauty of the countryside. I cannot agree with them because I know， in reality， life in the countryside is all about poverty and hunger. The cruel and harsh elements in my literary works often 14）stymie the romantic feelings people have for rural life. I can’t help that. It’s the reality I grew up with and I don’t want to dress it up with a layer of poetic beauty.

Of course， I was blessed to be born in that remote village， and to spend my childhood by the crystal clear river. Looking back at my path from the village gives rise to a complicated happiness. The river gave me a humble yet unique life experience—as if it was preparing me for my literary journey.Whatever life has given me， be it poverty， hunger， misfortune or tragedy， for me， they are treasures. I will be forever grateful for， and feel blessed by these treasures.

Having a complete set of textbooks was a dream for schoolchildren in the isolated countryside. My first two encounters with literature and reading were not honorable events and I will never forget them.

The first took place when I was 6 or 7. One day， Mother and I were on our way back from a visit to my grandmother. We were in the Yiyang county seat waiting for a boat to take us back to Lanxi. I stood at a bookstand reading comic books. I was only halfway through when the boat arrived. My heart began to race because I knew what I was about to do. I was horrified with my decision. We got on to the boat， and for a long while I lost my voice. In my pocket， my hand was clenching a thin copy of the comic book version of The Three Kingdoms， a classical Chinese novel written in the 14th century. That was the first time I was 15）captivated by drawings because at the time I could read very few words.

The second encounter relates to my grandfather’s treasure box. My grandfather turned 100 this year but he is still very healthy. He is an 16）aloof figure. He never paid attention to the younger generation， and never helped us with our studies. He was rarely home. Even when he came home， he would take a chair outside and just read， regardless of whether or not it was busy in the fields. After reading， he would put the book back in his treasure box， lock it and then take to the road again.

It was when I was in high school. One day he stepped out of his room without locking the door. I snuck in and opened his treasure box. There were some bottles and a few well-read books. The book I randomly picked up was a kung fu novel by 17）Louis Cha， a famous Hong Kong writer. I flipped through the book and selectively read the passages about romance and kung fu fighting. After I finished， I carefully returned the book. The reading experience was satisfying. That was probably the first time I felt the magical power of words and literature.

If I were asked to identify the moment of my literary enlightenment， I would have to refer to these two stolen literary encounters.

Despite having lived in big cities for many years， I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi. Nine years ago when， in a large city， I decided to write a novel， I first of all thought of the Lanxi River and all the people whose livelihoods depend on the river. I wrote of women whose fates were in the hands of others， I wrote of men who lost their lives to the constraints of tradition， I wrote of women who battled inequities to achieve better lives， and those silent and 18）obedient souls who live and die unnoticed.

Since China began economic reforms in 1978， countless girls like Qian Xiaohong， the 19）protagonist of my first novel， Northern Girls， have left the rural areas for the big city lights. Their struggles to find their place in the new world brought dramatic social changes， affecting family relationships， fashion trends and moral values. Northern Girls reflects the life experience of these women and the process of urbanization.

While I still consider myself a village girl from Lanxi， I am conflicted because I 20）shudder to think that I could become one of my fellow villagers and live that dreadful life of theirs. I am constantly driven by a desire to break away and escape to an even more distant place.

When a lonely river flows out of the village， it flows past a variety of landscapes along the way， winding and twisting， as its relation with the world changes and its loneliness grows. Three years ago I started work on my new novel， Death 21）Fugue. My perspective is different， but the loneliness and despair remain the same. Death Fugue is a twisted fable about revolution， faith， sexual taboos and utopia， how the desire for freedom brings only confinement and how an initial rebellion against the ruling power was transformed into a new ruling power. I want to write about how intellectuals face the destruction of faith after social turmoil， their passiveness and their struggles. Through my book， I want to retrieve the historical memories that are about to be washed away by the river of time.

I had thought life would be better and people would be happier and friendlier when they had more money. However， I was wrong. A section of the Lanxi River has been carved off for fish farming and turned into a filthy ditch almost 10 kilometers long. The river water is no longer suitable for drinking or swimming. Worse， the water now is full of blood flukes. No one dares to get into the water any more.

When a river stops flowing， its beauty dies. The tranquil and simple country life disappears and people start to change. I feel the most precious thing in my life has been destroyed. Destroyed by what？ I don’t know. No one can truly understand my sadness. What happened？ I put my questions and sighs in my novels. Several kilometers of my journey home are alongside the Lanxi River. I always sit on the side with a river view. All kinds of feelings well up when I gaze at the water， when I gaze at the disappearing country life and when I gaze at myself in the past. Slowly， an idea began to grow—I will use my pen to write about the beauty of a living river， to revive the crystal clear Lanxi River and realize its dream of joining the ocean.

I believe there are many similar humble villages and rivers in this world， and many ordinary people being neglected， forgotten and abandoned； I believe every one of us is a humble river， being carried forward by loneliness， and we move forward， regardless of whether we have dreams or not， regardless of whether we have ambition or not； I believe no life deserves to be forgotten and that is what I believe to be the value of my writing.

年輕的時(shí)候，我羞于承認(rèn)自己來(lái)自一個(gè)偏僻的鄉(xiāng)村，也沒(méi)有勇氣謊稱自己來(lái)自什么城市，所以我通常會(huì)簡(jiǎn)單地說(shuō)，我來(lái)自一個(gè)偏遠(yuǎn)小鎮(zhèn)?，F(xiàn)在，我要說(shuō)出真相；我生在一個(gè)與世隔絕的村莊。我要從一條卑微的河流兩岸說(shuō)起，它是我生命的開(kāi)端，也是我寫(xiě)作的真正源泉。我的鄉(xiāng)親們生活在一個(gè)與世隔絕的地方，并在單調(diào)乏味的環(huán)境里打發(fā)時(shí)光。我對(duì)他們的生活再熟悉不過(guò)了。假如我不是自小懷有一個(gè)遙遠(yuǎn)的夢(mèng)想，我的命運(yùn)會(huì)跟他們一模一樣。

這條河流，在湖南省的東北部，一個(gè)名叫益陽(yáng)的地方，穿過(guò)一個(gè)在地圖上也找不到的地方，只有生活在那里的人，才知道它的存在。這條卑微的小河流過(guò)蘭溪古鎮(zhèn)，所以，就像村里孩子的隨意取名一樣，那河便被叫作蘭溪河。我的快樂(lè)童年及成長(zhǎng)苦惱，所有這些記憶，都與這條河錯(cuò)綜交織在一起。她掌握了我所有的秘密。我至今沒(méi)有再見(jiàn)過(guò)像蘭溪河那么甜蜜、清澈、美麗的河流，兩岸翠綠的長(zhǎng)堤呵護(hù)著她，垂柳拂掃著水面。上個(gè)世紀(jì)70年代，蘭溪河上還有白色的帆船緩慢地行駛，還有赤足的纖夫，在河灘上艱難地跋涉。貧苦和詩(shī)意就是一對(duì)形影不離的孿生兒——每每當(dāng)這種畫(huà)面在我的腦海中浮現(xiàn)的時(shí)候，我心里想到的更多是生活的悲涼。

文化大革命，“打倒四人幫”，改革開(kāi)放——這些重大的事件并沒(méi)有給成長(zhǎng)在與世隔絕的鄉(xiāng)間的我留下多么深刻的印象。我只記得母親為家人糊口討米而四處奔走，還有每當(dāng)兩手空空回家時(shí)那絕望的神色；我記得豬肉和豬油的濃郁香味；我記得自己赤足上學(xué)，光腳嘎吱嘎吱踩在泥濘小路上時(shí)，空氣中的寒冷；我記得每個(gè)學(xué)期都要拖欠學(xué)費(fèi)，直到母親能夠低價(jià)賣(mài)出一籃雞蛋。但在那時(shí)候，我完全不懂得擔(dān)心生活的艱難。蘭溪河帶給了我無(wú)窮的童稚樂(lè)趣——游泳、釣魚(yú)、摸蝦、劃船。我并不能認(rèn)同那些愛(ài)好贊頌鄉(xiāng)村詩(shī)意美態(tài)的人們。我不能認(rèn)同他們是因?yàn)槲抑溃F(xiàn)實(shí)中的鄉(xiāng)村生活只有貧窮和饑餓。我的作品里往往會(huì)有殘酷和堅(jiān)硬的元素，往往會(huì)破壞人們心中對(duì)于鄉(xiāng)村的詩(shī)意感。我不能自控。那是我成長(zhǎng)中的現(xiàn)實(shí)，而且我不想給它披上那層薄如蟬翼的詩(shī)意。

當(dāng)然，能出生在這個(gè)小村莊并與一條晶瑩清澈的小河為伴度過(guò)了我的童年，我深感幸運(yùn)。回顧我由這個(gè)村莊開(kāi)始的道路總能令我涌起復(fù)雜的幸福感。這條小河給了我卑微、卻又迥然不同的生活經(jīng)歷，好像是專為我的文學(xué)旅程做準(zhǔn)備。于我而言，生活給予我的一切，包括貧窮、饑餓、不幸或?yàn)?zāi)難，都是財(cái)富。對(duì)這些財(cái)富我將永遠(yuǎn)感激并感覺(jué)幸福。

擁有一整套課本曾是偏遠(yuǎn)鄉(xiāng)村兒童的一個(gè)夢(mèng)想。我與文學(xué)和閱讀的最初兩次照面算不得什么光彩之事，而我卻永難忘懷。

第一次照面是在我六七歲那年。一天，我跟母親看完外婆走在回家的路上。我們?cè)谝骊?yáng)縣城等船回蘭溪。我站在一個(gè)書(shū)攤前看連環(huán)畫(huà)。手中的書(shū)才翻了一半，船就來(lái)了。我的心跳開(kāi)始加速，我知道自己想干什么。我被自己大膽的想法嚇著了。我們上了船，很長(zhǎng)一段時(shí)間我都說(shuō)不出話來(lái)。揣在口袋里的那只手緊緊地攥著那本薄薄的連環(huán)畫(huà)版《三國(guó)演義》，一本寫(xiě)于十四世紀(jì)的中國(guó)經(jīng)典小說(shuō)。那是我第一次為圖畫(huà)的魅力所傾倒，因?yàn)槟菚r(shí)我還不識(shí)得多少漢字。

第二次照面跟我爺爺?shù)陌賹毾溆嘘P(guān)。我爺爺今年一百歲了，但還是很健康。他是一個(gè)超然脫俗的人物。他從來(lái)不關(guān)心小輩的事情，也從不幫我們學(xué)習(xí)。他很少待在家里。即使回到家，他也只是拿把椅子坐在外面看書(shū)，全然不理會(huì)田里的活兒是忙是閑?？赐陼?shū)，他會(huì)把書(shū)放回他的百寶箱，鎖上之后再出門(mén)。

那時(shí)我上中學(xué)。有一天，我爺爺從房間里走開(kāi)了，沒(méi)鎖門(mén)。我偷偷地潛進(jìn)去，打開(kāi)了他的百寶箱。里面有些瓶瓶罐罐，還有幾本翻得蓬松的書(shū)。我隨手抓了一本，是金庸的武俠小說(shuō)。我翻了翻那本書(shū)，專挑了愛(ài)情和武打的段落來(lái)讀。看完之后，我又偷偷地把書(shū)放回原處。那次閱讀經(jīng)歷令我很滿足。那應(yīng)該是我第一次領(lǐng)略文字文學(xué)的魔力。

如果我被問(wèn)及自己的文學(xué)啟蒙時(shí)刻，我應(yīng)該會(huì)提到這兩次與文學(xué)偷打的照面。

盡管在大城市中生活多年，我仍然認(rèn)為自己是來(lái)自蘭溪的農(nóng)村姑娘。九年前，我在大都市打算寫(xiě)一本小說(shuō)時(shí)，首先想到的便是蘭溪河，以及被蘭溪河養(yǎng)育的所有人們。我寫(xiě)命運(yùn)攥在別人手中的姑娘，寫(xiě)命喪傳統(tǒng)園囿的男人，寫(xiě)抗?fàn)幉还非笮腋５呐耍瑢?xiě)那些生死不為人所知，沉默而屈從的人們。

自1978年中國(guó)開(kāi)始經(jīng)濟(jì)改革以來(lái)，無(wú)數(shù)像我第一部小說(shuō)《北妹》的主人公錢(qián)小紅那樣的姑娘，告別鄉(xiāng)村，投奔到大城市的燈紅酒綠之中。為了在新世界里尋找自己的一席之地，她們努力掙扎，引發(fā)了巨大的社會(huì)變革，影響了家庭關(guān)系、時(shí)尚風(fēng)潮及道德觀?！侗泵谩酚成涑隽诉@些女人的生活經(jīng)歷以及城市化進(jìn)程。

雖然我仍將自己視為來(lái)自蘭溪的鄉(xiāng)村姑娘，可我很矛盾，因?yàn)槲覒峙孪胂笞约簳?huì)成為鄉(xiāng)親中的一員，懼怕過(guò)他們那樣可怕的生活。我總被一種要掙脫的渴望驅(qū)使，朝著更遠(yuǎn)的遠(yuǎn)方逃跑。

當(dāng)孤獨(dú)的小河流出村莊，沿途流經(jīng)各樣景觀，蜿蜒曲折，它與世界的關(guān)系在改變，而它的孤獨(dú)也與日俱增。三年前，我開(kāi)始創(chuàng)作我的新小說(shuō)《死亡賦格》。我的視野有所變化，但孤獨(dú)與絕望依舊?！端劳鲑x格》講述了革命、信仰、性禁忌與烏托邦，是一個(gè)追求自由卻走向禁錮、始于反叛而終于新統(tǒng)治的悖論式寓言。我想寫(xiě)經(jīng)歷社會(huì)劇烈動(dòng)蕩之后的知識(shí)分子如何面對(duì)信仰的摧毀，寫(xiě)他們的被動(dòng)無(wú)助，寫(xiě)他們的抗?fàn)?。通過(guò)這本書(shū)，我希望找回即將被時(shí)間河流沖走的歷史記憶。

我曾以為當(dāng)人們有了更多錢(qián)以后，生活將會(huì)更好，人們會(huì)更加快樂(lè)和友善。然而，我錯(cuò)了。蘭溪河的一段已經(jīng)被截流，用來(lái)發(fā)展養(yǎng)殖漁業(yè)，這段河流已經(jīng)變成一條將近十公里長(zhǎng)的臭水溝。河水已經(jīng)不再適合飲用或游泳。更糟的是，現(xiàn)在的河水中布滿了血吸蟲(chóng)。誰(shuí)也不敢下河。

一條河流如果停止流動(dòng)，美便消失殆盡。寧?kù)o而簡(jiǎn)樸的鄉(xiāng)村生活消失了，連人也開(kāi)始變化。我覺(jué)得自己生命中最珍貴的東西已被破壞。被什么毀了呢？我不知道。沒(méi)人能真正懂得我的悲傷。發(fā)生了什么？在我的小說(shuō)里，我提出了自己的問(wèn)題，發(fā)出自己的感嘆?；丶彝局校已刂m溪河走了好幾公里。我總喜歡坐在堤坡看河邊的景色。當(dāng)我凝視河水、凝視那正在消失的鄉(xiāng)村生活、凝視過(guò)去的自己，感慨萬(wàn)千。慢慢地，一個(gè)想法開(kāi)始冒了出來(lái)——我要用我的筆描繪一條富有生機(jī)的河流的美麗，延續(xù)蘭溪河清澈的生命，實(shí)現(xiàn)它匯入大江大海的夢(mèng)想。

我相信世界上有許多同樣卑微的村莊與河流，有許許多多被忽視、遺忘和拋棄的普通人；我相信我們每個(gè)人都是一條卑微的河流，循著孤獨(dú)支撐著前行，我們流向遠(yuǎn)方，不管有沒(méi)有夢(mèng)想，不管有沒(méi)有抱負(fù)；我相信任何生命都不應(yīng)該被忘記，而這便是我認(rèn)為自己寫(xiě)作的價(jià)值所在。