索爾仁尼琴作品

董繼平譯

亞歷山大·索爾仁尼琴（Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn，1918-2008），俄羅斯作家，二戰(zhàn)時(shí)加入蘇軍，因作戰(zhàn)勇敢兩次獲獎(jiǎng)，但1945年因通信中有不敬之語(yǔ)而被流放到哈薩克8年，此段經(jīng)歷后來(lái)成為其作品的主題。1968年，他因作品《第一圈》無(wú)法在蘇聯(lián)出版而在境外發(fā)表，被開(kāi)除出作協(xié)，后再因描寫極權(quán)主義的巨著《古拉格群島》被驅(qū)逐出國(guó)。他的其他代表作有《伊凡·杰尼索維奇的一天》《馬特遼娜的家》《癌病房》《在轉(zhuǎn)折關(guān)頭》等。他于1970年獲得諾貝爾文學(xué)獎(jiǎng)，去世后被譽(yù)為“俄羅斯的良心”。

塞格登湖

沒(méi)有人寫到這個(gè)湖泊，只有低語(yǔ)把它講起。仿佛前往一座被施了魔法的城堡，通往它的所有道路都被阻攔起來(lái)，每條路上都掛著一個(gè)禁行標(biāo)志——一條清晰、生硬的直線。

人或獸，面對(duì)著那個(gè)標(biāo)志，我必須轉(zhuǎn)身往回走。某種人世間的勢(shì)力把那個(gè)標(biāo)志放在那里，沒(méi)有人可以騎行、步行、爬行，甚或飛行過(guò)去。

附近的松林中，佩戴著刀劍和手槍的衛(wèi)兵潛伏在路旁。

也許你會(huì)環(huán)繞又環(huán)繞這片沉寂的樹(shù)林，尋找通往湖泊的路，但你找不到人，那里不會(huì)有人供你問(wèn)路，因?yàn)闆](méi)有人進(jìn)入這片樹(shù)林，他們都被嚇走了。你冒險(xiǎn)穿過(guò)去的唯一機(jī)會(huì)將是在一個(gè)雨后的下午，沿著一條牛群踩踏出來(lái)的小道，尾隨叮當(dāng)作響的牛鈴前行。從你第一次瞥見(jiàn)它在樹(shù)干之間遼闊而微微閃爍，你就知道自己還沒(méi)到達(dá)湖岸邊，卻在余生中都會(huì)對(duì)這里魂?duì)繅?mèng)繞。

塞格登湖渾圓得就像是用圓規(guī)畫出來(lái)的。如果你要從一邊叫喊（但你千萬(wàn)不要叫喊，要不然會(huì)被人聽(tīng)見(jiàn)），只有一個(gè)漸漸衰退的回音會(huì)抵達(dá)彼岸。要越過(guò)湖面是一條漫漫長(zhǎng)路。樹(shù)林把湖岸完全禁閉起來(lái)，一片密林，一行又一行，層層疊疊，中無(wú)間斷。當(dāng)你走出樹(shù)林前往水邊，整個(gè)被禁止的湖岸盡收眼底：這里是一條狹長(zhǎng)的黃沙灘，那里有一片灰白色的蘆葦殘茬，那邊還有長(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)一片茂盛的青草。湖水光滑、平靜，沒(méi)有泛起波紋，除開(kāi)湖畔的幾片雜草，潔白的湖底透過(guò)透亮的水而隱隱閃爍。

秘密的深林中的秘密的湖泊。湖水仰望天空，天空俯視湖水。如果森林那邊有一個(gè)世界，那也是陌生未知的、看不見(jiàn)的;如果它存在，那它在這里就沒(méi)有位置。

這里是可以永遠(yuǎn)定居的地方，一個(gè)人能跟自然元素和諧共存，并得到啟發(fā)的地方。

然而不可能。一個(gè)邪惡的王子，一個(gè)斜眼惡棍，聲稱這個(gè)湖泊屬于自己：這里有他的房子，這里有他的沐浴地。他那些邪惡的子孫在這里釣魚，從他的船上射獵野鴨。湖泊上起初冒出一縷藍(lán)煙，片刻之后就傳來(lái)了槍聲。

遠(yuǎn)在樹(shù)林那邊，人們流汗、喘息，同時(shí)，唯恐他們?nèi)肭?，所有通往這里的道路都被關(guān)閉了。魚和獵物為這個(gè)惡棍的娛樂(lè)而繁殖。在這里，有人留下了篝火痕跡，但那堆篝火被撲滅了，那個(gè)人也被趕走了。

可愛(ài)的、空寂無(wú)人的湖泊。

我的故土……

LAKE SEGDEN

No one writes about this lake and it is spoken of only in whispers. As though to an enchanted castle， all roads to it are barred and over each one hangs a forbidding sign —— a plain， blunt straight line.

Man or beast， faced by that sign， I must turn back. Some earthly power has put that sign there; past it none may ride， none may walk， crawl， or even fly.

Guards with swords and pistols lurk beside the path in the nearby pine grove.

You may circle and circle the silent wood searching for a way through to the lake， but you will find none and there will be no one to ask， for no one goes into this wood. They have all been frightened away. Your only chance to venture through will be one afternoon in the rain along a cattle track， in the wake of the dull clink of a cowbell. And from your first glimpse of it， vast and shimmering between the tree trunks，you know before you reach its banks that you will be in thrall to this place for the rest of your life.

Segden Lake is as round as though traced out with a pair of compasses. If you were to shout from one side（but you must not shout， or you will be heard）， only a fading echo would reach the other bank. It is a long way across. Woods immure the lakeside entirely， a dense forest of row upon unbroken row of trees. As you come out of the wood to the water’s edge， you can see the whole of the forbidden shore： here a strip of yellow sand， there a grey stubble of reeds， there a lush swathe of grass. The water is smooth， calm， and unruffled， and apart from some patches of weed by the shore， the white lake bed gleams through the translucent water.

A secret lake in a secret forest. The water looks up and the sky gazes down upon it. If there is a world beyond the forest， it is unknown， invisible; if it exists， it has no place here.

Here is somewhere to settle forever， a place where a man could live in harmony with the elements and be inspired.

But it cannot be. An evil prince， a squint-eyed villain， has claimed the lake for his own： there is his house， there is his bathing place. His evil brood goes fishing here， shoots duck from his boat. First a wisp of blue smoke above the lake， then a moment later the shot.

Away beyond the woods，the people sweat and heave， whilst all the roads leading here are closed lest they intrude. Fish and game are bred for the villain' s pleasure. Here there are traces where someone lit a fire; but it was put out and he was driven away.

Beloved， deserted lake.

My native land ...

榆 木

我們?cè)阡彶窕鸬臅r(shí)候，撿起一段榆木，驚訝地叫了一聲。自從我們砍倒樹(shù)干，用拖拉機(jī)拖拽它，將它鋸成一段一段，然后扔到駁船和運(yùn)貨馬車上，一堆堆滾攏，在地面上堆疊起來(lái)，已經(jīng)過(guò)了整整一年——然而，這段榆木依然不曾放棄！一根綠色的新苗從它上面茁發(fā)而出，讓人看到一根厚實(shí)、葉茂的枝條，乃至整整一棵全新榆樹(shù)的希望。

我們把那段木頭放在鋸木架上，就好像把它放在劊子手的砧板上，但我們無(wú)法下決心強(qiáng)迫自己去鋸開(kāi)它。我們?cè)趺磿?huì)呢？那段木頭就像我們一樣珍愛(ài)生命，確實(shí)，它要活下去的強(qiáng)烈欲望，甚至比我們生存的欲望還強(qiáng)烈。

THE ELM LOG

We were sawing firewood when we picked up an elm log and gave a cry of amazement. It was a full year since we had chopped down the trunk， dragged it along behind a tractor， and sawn it up into logs，which we had then thrown onto barges and wagons， rolled into stacks， and piled up on the ground —— and yet this elm log had still not given up！ A fresh green shoot had sprouted from it with a promise of a thick leafy branch， or even a whole new elm tree.

We placed the log on the sawing horse， as though on an executioner’s block， but we could not bring ourselves to bite into it with our saw. How could we？ That log cherished life as dearly as we did; indeed， its urge to live was even stronger than ours.