Missing Person——淹没在时光里的结绳记事

陈榕

帕特里克·莫迪亚诺（Patrick Modiano）是2014年度的诺贝尔文学奖得主。1945年7月30日，他出生于法国的布洛涅-比扬古。他的父亲是犹太人，在二战期间从事走私活动，战后在金融界工作。他的母亲是一名比利时籍演员。莫迪亚诺自幼喜爱文学，十岁时开始写诗，十四五岁便对小说创作表现出浓厚的兴趣。1965年他进入巴黎索邦大学学习，一年后辍学，专门从事文学创作。莫迪亚诺是法国评论界一致公认的当今法国最有才华的作家之一。他的作品，尤其是早年的作品，多以神秘的商人父亲和二战的历史背景为主题。他常常运用大量的回忆与想象把现实和虚构结合起来，描写自己未经历过的事。犹太人、纳粹占领、身份认知的缺失是他作品中反复出现的主题。他的代表作有《暗店街》（Missing Person）、《蜜月》（Honeymoon）、《走出黑暗》（Out of the Dark）等，其中《暗店街》是其最具代表性的作品。

Excerpts1）

I am nothing. Nothing but a pale shape， silhouetted2） that evening against the café terrace， waiting for the rain to stop； the shower had started when Hutte left me.

Some hours before， we had met again for the last time on the premises of the Agency. Hutte， as usual， sat at his massive desk， but with his coat on， so that there was really an air of departure about it. I sat opposite him， in the leather armchair we kept for clients.

“Well， there we are， Guy … Thats it … ，” said Hutte， with a sigh.

Thoughtfully， Hutte stroked his beard， a grizzly， close-cut beard， but one which spread out over his cheeks. His large， limpid3） eyes stared dreamily ahead. To the left of the desk， the wicker chair where I sat during working hours. Behind Hutte， dark wooden shelves covered half the wall： There were rows of street-and-trade directories and year-books of all kinds， going back over the last fifty years. Hutte had often told me that these were essential tools of the trade and that he would never part with them. And that these directories and year-books constituted the most valuable and moving library you could imagine， as their pages listed people， things， vanished worlds， to which they alone bore witness.

“What will you do with all these directories？” I asked Hutte， taking in the shelves with a sweeping gesture.

“Im leaving them here， Guy. Im keeping the lease on the apartment.”

He cast a swift glance around. The double door leading into the small adjoining room was open and one could see the worn， velvet-covered sofa， the fire-place， and the mirror in which the rows of year-books and directories and Huttes face were reflected. Our clients often waited in this room. A Persian carpet protected the parquet floor. An icon hung on the wall， near the window.

“What are you thinking about， Guy？”

“Nothing. So， youre keeping the lease？”

“Yes. Ill be coming back to Paris from time to time and the Agency will be my pied-à-terre4）.”

He held out a cigarette case.

“I think its less sad if we keep the place as it is.”

We had been working together for over eight years. He himself had started this private detective agency in 1947 and had worked with quite a number of other people before me. Our business was supplying clients with what Hutte called “society information.” It was all， as he was fond of repeating， a matter of dealings between “society folk.”

“Do you think youll be able to live in Nice？”

“Of course.”

“You wont get bored？”

He blew out some smoke.

“One has to retire eventually， Guy.”

He rose heavily. Hutte must be over six feet tall and weigh more than 200 pounds.

“My trains at 10：55. We have time for a drink.”

He walked off ahead of me into the corridor that leads to the entrance hall， an odd， oval shaped room with pale-beige-colored walls. A black portfolio5）， so full that it would not close， was standing on the floor. Hutte picked it up. He carried it， one hand underneath.

“You dont have any luggage？”

“I sent everything on ahead.”

Hutte opened the front door and I switched off the hall light. On the landing， Hutte paused a moment before shutting the door and the metallic sound cut me to the quick. It marked the end of a long period in my life.

“It is a crying shame， isnt it Guy？” said Hutte， and he took a large handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his brow.

“Im leaving it，” said Hutte.

Then he turned the key in the lock.

We walked along Avenue Niel as far as Place Pereire. It was dark and， though winter was not far off， the air was still mild. In Place Pereire， we sat down on the terrace of the Hortensias. Hutte liked this café， because of the caned chairs—“just like the old days.”

“And what about you， Guy， what are you going to do？” He asked， after he had gulped down some brandy and soda.

“Me？ Im following something up.”

“Following something up？”

“Yes. My past.”

I had said this rather portentously and it had made him smile.

“I always thought that one day youd try to find your past again.”

Now he was serious and I was touched by it.

“But look here， Guy， I wonder if its really worth it.”

He fell silent. What was he thinking of？ His own past？

“Ill give you a key to the agency. You can go there from time to time. Id like that.”

He held out a key， which I slid into my trouser pocket.

“And call me in Nice. Let me know whats happening， how youre getting on … with your past …”

He rose and clasped my hand.

“Shall I go with you to the station？”

“No， no … Its so sad.”

With a single stride he was out of the café， not turning around， and I felt an emptiness all of a sudden. This man had meant a lot to me. Without him， without his help， I wonder what would have become of me， ten years back， when I was struck by amnesia6） and was groping about in a fog. He had been moved by my case and， through his many contacts， had even managed to procure me a legal identity record.

“Here，” he had said， handing me a large envelope which contained an identity card and a passport. “Your name is ‘Guy Roland now.”

And this private detective whose professional services I had sought in uncovering witnesses or traces of my past， had added：

“My dear ‘Guy Roland， from here on dont look back， think only of the present and the future. How about working with me？ ...”

在帕特里克·莫迪亚诺的小说《暗店街》中，男主人公是一位遗忘症患者。十多年前，他的人生出现了断裂，不知道出于何种缘由，他失去了记忆。所幸的是，他遇到了好心人于特。于特将他收留，并帮他设法取得户籍，他自此更名为居伊·罗朗，成为于特的侦探事务所里的助理。然而，“自己究竟是谁”这个问题一直在困扰着他。小说开篇的第一句话“我的过去，一片朦胧……”成为小说中最大的悬疑。当老板于特决定退休时，居伊也决定回溯过去，找回自己丢失的记忆，为此他踏上了寻找昔日自我的旅途。

《暗店街》可以看做是一则侦探故事，但与众不同的是，在这则侦探故事中，所需要解开的谜团与侦探本人、小说的主人公居伊有关。在一家酒吧，有人认出主人公居伊应该是自己的旧识，并另找了其他的朋友一起回忆，他们想起居伊曾经和一群俄国流亡者同出同入。沿着这条线索，居伊找到了俄国人斯蒂奥巴，从对方提供的旧照片中，他判断出自己应该认识某个叫嘉·奥尔罗夫的女子。按照这个线索查下去，他发现嘉已经去世。之后，他找到嘉的丈夫瓦尔多·布朗特进一步了解情况，发现自己或许属于贵族出身的奥瓦尔·德·吕兹家族，名字应该叫弗雷迪。他来到弗雷迪的旧宅，遇到了杂工罗贝尔，对方却觉得他不是弗雷迪，而是弗雷迪的朋友彼得罗。他找到了彼得罗曾经的住址和电话，寻踪到康巴塞雷斯街，碰到了当年彼得罗借住房屋的主人埃莱娜·皮尔革朗，对方认出了他是彼得罗——他曾经和女朋友德尼兹·库德勒斯在这里借住。德尼兹在寄给埃莱娜的最后一封信中，告诉埃莱娜她和彼得罗准备请一位名叫奥列格·德·弗雷戴的人帮忙，从德国人占领的法国逃到瑞士。主人公继续追查，却发现弗雷戴所使用的是化名，连他自己这个名叫彼得罗的身份也令人生疑。埃莱娜记得他叫彼得罗·麦克沃伊，身份是多米尼加人。他和德尼兹结婚证上的名字则是吉米·彼得罗·斯特恩，国籍是希腊。为了弄清这一切，主人公离开巴黎，根据别人帮他找到的弗雷迪的资料，前往太平洋小岛寻找弗雷迪，希望从他那里得到线索，却被告知弗雷迪在不久前的一次航海中失踪了。小说结尾处，他决定动身去罗马看看，因为按照他和德尼兹的结婚登记，他曾经住在罗马的暗店街。

在小说《暗店街》中，我们随着主人公马不停蹄地寻找，穿梭于巴黎的大街小巷，奔波于酒吧、码头、旅店，甚至远行到了太平洋的小岛。然而，即便是到了小说的结尾，这次旅行还是没有结束，罗马的暗店街是主人公的下一站，而且暗店街显然也不会是他自我追寻的终点。值得注意的是，《暗店街》的中文书名是该书的法文名直译，它的英文版译名却用的是意译，即“Missing Person”，意思是失踪的人。用“失踪”来解释主人公的存在状态看似奇怪，因为他还好好地活着，但是细想来却无不当，因为他虽然活着，凭借的却是居伊·罗朗的新身份，对于这个世界来说，昔日的他的确是失踪了。

那么，该如何找到那个失踪的自己？主人公的办法是以他人的记忆为凭据，因为他人的记忆是证明我们存在的票根。每个人来到这个世界，注定无法生活在真空之中。当我们与他人结识，与他们在酒吧喝酒，在教堂参加朋友的婚礼，收获友谊以及爱情时，我们的命运就和他人的命运交织在了一起，我们的存在会在他们的存在里刻下印痕。当我们想要寻找自我，可以凭借的便是这些痕迹所留下的记忆。因此，主人公首先从寻人入手。他需要用朋友的记忆来确定自己的身份。他需要有人明白地告诉他，他是谁，来自哪里，又因何失忆。

然而，主人公却发现，寻找自己历史的见证人何其艰难。这是因为他所经历过的时代是倾覆的时代，是记忆断裂的时代。小说的背景涉及二战中被德国占领的法国。纳粹对犹太人和异族人的清洗造就了千千万万“失踪的人”。主人公曾经活跃在俄国流亡者的小群体里，这个群体随着二战的到来而流散。为了逃避迫害，主人公与德尼兹、嘉、弗雷迪以及赛马骑师安德烈·维尔德梅尔一起离开巴黎，躲在边境附近的小城麦热夫。他和德尼兹为了彻底获得自由，决定请路上结识的俄国人奥列格·德·弗雷戴帮忙，穿过国境线，投奔瑞士。他们花了钱，却上了当：主人公和德尼兹被分开，他被领路人遗弃在茫茫大雪中，后来昏倒在雪地上，醒来后，他彻底失去了记忆。应该说，如果没有战争，没有德国对法国的占领，十多年后，他完全没有必要为寻回失落的自我而奔走。

没有记忆的人是没有根的人，在这个世界上游荡，无法找到回家的路，有孤苦的无依感。在文字发明之前，原始人曾经采用结绳记事的方式记录历史，发生一件重大事件，就在绳子上打一个结。然而，结绳记事的弊病在于，如果年代久远，人们只能看到那些历历在目的绳结提醒着事件的发生，每一个绳结所代表的事件的内容和意义却已被时间吞噬。主人公居伊寻找他的昔日身份也就仿佛是手拿记事的长绳，知道发生了某些事，但记不起事情的内容。因为那段失去的记忆发生在战争时期，受战争的影响，所以居伊能够找到的历史线索很有限，而且这些线索的内容因时光的漫长侵蚀而变得模糊不清。此外，物是人非，随着时光流转，居伊容颜已变，不复当年少年郎的模样。连他自己面对照片时都错误地把自己当做了弗雷迪，又如何能够奢求那些少数幸存下来的朋友看到他时就立即认出他，为他还原出一段完整的历史？

《暗店街》是一部笼罩在烟水迷雾里的作品。开篇时是某个烟雨蒙蒙的夜晚，结束时是在水气昭昭的海边：“夜幕降临大地。礁湖随着它的一片绿色的消失，自己也逐渐隐没了。水面上，一些暗紫色的影子就像忽隐忽现的磷火一样奔突着。”主人公的叙述自此告一段落，留下了悬而未决的疑问，如同涟漪，一圈又一圈，在读者的心头晕开。主人公寻找自我的旅程一波三折，一唱三叠。他挽着历史的绳结，没能走出历史的迷宫。