米修作品

◎董繼平 譯

要點(diǎn)

人——他基本的存在——只是一個(gè)點(diǎn)。死亡吞沒(méi)的單單是這個(gè)點(diǎn)。那就是他必須要小心不被包圍的原因。

有一天在夢(mèng)里，我被四只狗和一個(gè)指揮那些狗的卑鄙的小男孩包圍。

我永遠(yuǎn)也不會(huì)忘記我擊中他時(shí)遇到的麻煩，那種難以置信的困難。多么費(fèi)力?。o(wú)疑，我擊中了某種生物，然而是誰(shuí)呢？無(wú)論怎樣，我的對(duì)手都被擊敗到了足以消失的程度。然而，別以為我被他們的外表愚弄了：他們也只是一個(gè)個(gè)點(diǎn)——五個(gè)點(diǎn)，然而是很強(qiáng)的點(diǎn)。

還有一件事：那就是癲癇開(kāi)始的方式。那些點(diǎn)朝著你推進(jìn)，把你清除掉。它們打擊，你被入侵。我真想知道，你能把你的第一次發(fā)作推遲多久呢。

THE MAIN POINT

Man—his essential being—is only a point. It is this point alone that is swallowed up by Death. That’s why he must be careful not to be encircled.

One day，in a dream，I was surrounded by four dogs and a nasty little boy commanding them.

The trouble，the unbelievable difficulty I had in hitting him，I shall never，never forget. What an effort!No doubt I hit some sort of being，but whom? In any case，my opponents were defeated enough to disappear. Don’t think I was fooled by their appearance，though: they weren’t anything but points either—five points，but very strong ones.

And another thing: that’s how epilepsy begins. The points march on to you and eliminate you. They blow，and you’re invaded. How long can you put off your first fit，I really wonder.

接近平靜

那沒(méi)有接受這個(gè)世界的人，在這個(gè)世界上沒(méi)有建造房子。如果他冷，世界就不冷。如果他熱，世界就不熱。如果他砍倒樺樹，仿佛就像根本沒(méi)有砍倒什么，但地面上有樺樹，他接受他那商定的報(bào)酬，要不然他就僅僅接受幾記重拳。他接受那些重拳，就像接受一件沒(méi)有任何特定意義的禮物，他自行其道，也不會(huì)驚訝。

他并沒(méi)口渴就飲水，他并沒(méi)受傷就陷入巖石。

在卡車下面，他的一條腿斷了，看起來(lái)也一如既往，想起平靜，想起平靜，想起如此難以企及的平靜，如此難以保持的平靜。

盡管他從不曾出來(lái)，他也熟悉整個(gè)世界。他相當(dāng)了解大海。大海一直在他的下面，一片沒(méi)有水但并非沒(méi)有波浪、并非不廣袤的大海。他了解河流。那些河始終穿過(guò)他而奔流，沒(méi)有水但并非沒(méi)有倦怠，并非沒(méi)有突然發(fā)生的激流。

沒(méi)有空氣的颶風(fēng)在他內(nèi)心肆虐。地球的靜止也屬于他。道路、車輛、鳥群無(wú)窮無(wú)盡地穿過(guò)他，一棵沒(méi)有纖維素卻相當(dāng)堅(jiān)硬的大樹，在他內(nèi)心像一枚苦果成熟，通?？酀苌傥短?。

就這樣，他始終在遠(yuǎn)處孤零零地生活在約會(huì)地點(diǎn)，雙手始終沒(méi)有握住一只手，心中有一只鉤子，想起平靜，想起那種被詛咒的悸動(dòng)的平靜，都屬于他，還想起那據(jù)說(shuō)是在那種平靜之上的平靜。

TOWARD SERENITY

He who does not accept the world builds no house in it. If he is cold，it’s without being cold. He is hot without heat. If he chops down birches，it’s as if he were chopping down nothing at all，but there are the birches，on the ground，and he takes his agreedupon wages，or else he only takes a few punches. He takes the punches like a gift without any particular meaning，and he goes on his way，without being surprised.

He drinks water without being thirsty，he sinks into the rock without harm.

Under a truck，with a broken leg，he looks just the same as usual and thinks of peace，of peace，of peace so hard to reach，so hard to keep，peace.

Although he has never gone out，the world is familiar to him.He knows the sea quite well. The sea is constantly beneath him，a sea without water，but not without waves，not without vastness. He knows the rivers. They run through him constantly，without water but not without languor，not without sudden rapids.

Hurricanes without air rage inside him. The immobility of Earth is also his. Roads，cars，flocks go through him endlessly，and a great tree without cellulose but quite hard ripens inside him like a bitter fruit，bitter often，sweet rarely.

Living thus at a distance，always alone at the rendezvous，without ever holding a hand in his hands，with a hook in his heart he thinks of peace，of that cursed throbbing peace，all his，and of the peace that is said to be above that peace.

幻象

她在肥皂水中洗手，突然，水變成鋒利的晶體，變成堅(jiān)硬的針，血（就像它擁有行事訣竅那樣）流出來(lái)，流走，讓那個(gè)女人隨意而為。

稍后，就像這個(gè)世紀(jì)常常發(fā)生的那樣，一個(gè)如此酷愛(ài)干凈的男人走進(jìn)來(lái)，他也打算盥洗：

他一路挽起衣袖，用那泛起泡沫的水遮住胳膊（現(xiàn)在水成了真正的泡沫），他從容而專注——但并不滿意，在洗滌槽邊緣上猛地一擊，將胳膊擊碎，另一條更長(zhǎng)的胳膊立即從他身上長(zhǎng)出來(lái)，他又開(kāi)始盥洗，那條胳膊就在第一條胳膊的位置上。那是一條被更豐富、更柔軟的絨毛所軟化的胳膊，然而，一旦他幾乎憐愛(ài)地一路向上給它徹底涂上肥皂，他突然就對(duì)它瞪了一眼，也突然就不滿意了，將其擊碎，“嗨！”然而又一條胳膊從原處長(zhǎng)出來(lái)，他以同樣的方式將其擊碎，然后一條、一條又一條胳膊長(zhǎng)出來(lái)（他從來(lái)都不滿意），因?yàn)槲胰绱丝謶值財(cái)?shù)點(diǎn)到長(zhǎng)出了17 條胳膊！然后，他帶著第18 條胳膊消失了——他更喜歡不去盥洗那條胳膊，而是將其用來(lái)滿足這一天之需。

VISION

She was washing her hands in soapy water，when suddenly it changed into cutting crystals，into hard needles，and the blood (as it has the knack of doing) flowed out and away，leaving the woman to her own devices.

A little while later，as often happens in this century so obsessed with cleanliness，a man came in，and he，too，intended to wash up: he rolled his sleeves all the way up，covered his arm with foamy water ( it was real foam now) ，deliberately，attentively—but dissatisfied，he broke it with a sharp blow on the edge of the sink，and began to wash another，longer arm that grew out of him immediately，as are placement for the first one. It was an arm softened by a more abundant，silkier down，but once he had soaped it up thoroughly，almost lovingly，suddenly he gave it a mean look，suddenly dissatisfied，he broke it，“Hai!”，and yet another one that grew out in its place，he broke that one in the same way，and then the next one and then another one，and then yet another one (he was never satisfied) and so on up to seventeen—for in my terror，I was counting!Then he disappeared with an eighteenth that he preferred not to wash but to use just as it was for the needs of the day.