Spring Sowing春播

【編者按】

春天，开花的季节，播种的季节，恋爱的季节，百鸟争鸣的季节，大地春意盎然，生活处处惬意。

古今中外，多少文人雅士为春天讴歌。他们也许只拾取了春天的一瞬、一角，却给我们留下了春天的美丽诗篇。

春天来了，我们特翻译了一组关于春天的诗文，以飨读者。

【导读】

利亚姆·奥弗莱厄蒂（1896年4月28日—1984年9月7日），爱尔兰小说家，短篇故事作家。其作品以直白的自然主义、心理分析见长。其文笔富有诗意与辛辣的讽刺，并包含对爱尔兰人民的勇气与坚韧的敬意。他曾游历南美、加拿大、美国、中东，干过各种杂活儿，这使他能深入生活，了解广大民众的喜怒哀乐，为其日后创作积累了丰富的素材。爱尔兰革命运动后（该革命始于1916年4月25日），他定居英国，20世纪20年代中期后返回爱尔兰首都都柏林。其著作有《邻家女人》（Thy Neighbour’s Wife， 1923）、《黑色的心》（The Black Soul， 1924）、《告密者》（The Informer， 1929）、《饥荒》（Famine， 1937）、《短篇小说集》（Liam O’ Flaherty： The Collected Stories， 1999）等。

春种一粒粟，秋收万颗籽。春天一到，生机勃发，播种的季节也就开始了。这个短篇讲的就是春播的事情。春寒料峭，一对爱尔兰新婚夫妇准备种马铃薯。他们不负春光，披星戴月，勤奋劳作，对生活充满了憧憬，尽管也有疲惫时的彷徨。故事里写的农耕生活是我们过去读爱尔兰作品时很少读到的。这个故事尽管不复杂，却给了我们一个新的视角——曾经的爱尔兰农耕生活。读者想想中国农村的夫妻耕种，再看看故事中男女主人公的春播，定会觉出两国文化中的许多共同处：男耕女织、夫唱妇随式的田园生活。故事中的“春”意由很多细节点出：嫩绿的芳草，和煦的阳光，清新的空气，群鸟在翻耕过的地里寻找虫子，一切都赋予故事以初春景色。而更重要的，是农耕者“春来到，快耕种 ”的意识。故事结尾处，牛的哞哞叫声更是神来之笔，提示春天的到来和春耕的开始。整个故事散发着春天泥土的芬芳。

It was still dark when Martin Delaney and his wife Mary got up. Martin stood in his shirt by the window， rubbing his eyes and yawning， while Mary raked out the live coals that had lain hidden in the ashes on the hearth all night. Outside， cocks were crowing and a white streak was rising from the ground， as it were， and beginning to scatter the darkness. It was a February morning， dry， cold and starry.

The couple sat down to their breakfast of tea， bread and butter， in silence. They had only been married the previous autumn and it was hateful leaving a warm bed at such an early hour. Martin， with his brown hair and eyes， his freckled face and his little fair moustache， looked too young to be married， and his wife looked hardly more than a girl， red-cheeked and blue-eyed， her black hair piled at the rear of her head with a large comb gleaming in the middle of the pile， Spanish fashion. They were both dressed in rough homespuns， and both wore the loose white shirt that Inverara peasants use for work in the fields.

They ate in silence， sleepy and yet on fire with excitement， for it was the first day of their first spring sowing as man and wife. And each felt the glamour of that day on which they were to open up the earth together and plant seeds in it. But somehow the imminence of an event that had been long expected， loved， feared and prepared for made them dejected. Mary， with her shrewd woman’s mind， thought of as many things as there are in life as a woman would in the first joy and anxiety of her mating. But Martin’s mind was fixed on one thought. Would he be able to prove himself a man worthy of being the head of a family by doing his spring sowing well？

In the barn after breakfast， when they were getting the potato seeds and the line for measuring the ground and the spade， Martin fell over a basket in the half-darkness of the barn， he swore and said that a man would be better off dead than... But before he could finish whatever he was going to say， Mary had her arms around his waist and her face to his. “Martin，” she said， “let us not begin this day cross with one another.” And there was a tremor in her voice. And somehow， as they embraced， all their irritation and sleepiness left them. And they stood there embracing until at last Martin pushed her from him with pretended roughness and said： “Come， come， girl， it will be sunset before we begin at this rate.”

Still， as they walked silently in their rawhide shoes through the little hamlet， there was not a soul about. Lights were glimmering in the windows of a few cabins. The sky had a big grey crack in it in the east， as if it were going to burst in order to give birth to the sun. Birds were singing somewhere at a distance. Martin said to Mary proudly： “We are first， Mary.” And they both looked back at the little cluster of cabins that was the center of their world， with throbbing hearts. For the joy of spring had now taken complete hold of them.

They reached the little field where they were to sow. It was a little triangular patch of ground under an ivy-covered limestone hill. The little field had been manured with seaweed some weeks before， and the weeds had rotted and whitened on the grass. And there was a big red heap of fresh seaweed lying in a corner by the fence to be spread under the seeds as they were laid. Martin， in spite of the cold， threw off everything above his waist except his striped woolen shirt. Then he spat on his hands， seized his spade and cried： “Now you are going to see what kind of a man you have， Mary.”

“There， now，” said Mary， tying a little shawl closer under her chin.

“Aren’t we boastful this early hour of the morning？ Maybe I’ll wait till sunset to see what kind of a man I have got.”

The work began. Martin measured the ground by the southern fence for the first ridge， a strip of ground four feet wide， and he placed the line along the edge and pegged it at each end. Then he spread fresh seaweed over the strip. Mary filled her apron with seeds and began to lay them in rows. When she was a little distance down the ridge， Martin advanced with his spade to the head， eager to commence.

“Now in the name of God，” he cried， spitting on his palms， “let us raise the first sod！”

“Oh， Martin， wait till I’m with you！” cried Mary， dropping her seeds on the ridge and running up to him. Her fingers outside her woolen mittens were numb with the cold， and she couldn’t wipe them in her apron. Her cheeks seemed to be on fire. She put an arm round Martin’s waist and stood looking at the green sod his spade was going to cut， with the excitement of a little child.

“Now for God’s sake， girl， keep back！” said Martin gruffly. “Suppose anybody saw us like this in the field of our spring sowing， what would they take us for but a pair of useless， soft， empty-headed people that would be sure to die of the hunger. Huh！” He spoke very rapidly， and his eyes were fixed on the ground before him. His eyes had a wild， eager light in them as if some primeval impulse were burning within his brain and driving out every other desire but that of asserting his manhood and of subjugating the earth.

“Oh， what do we care who is looking？” said Mary; but she drew back at the same time and gazed distantly at the ground. Then Martin cut the sod， and pressing the spade deep into the earth with his foot， he turned up the first sod with a crunching sound as the grass roots were dragged out of the earth. Mary sighed and walked back hurriedly to her seeds with furrowed brows. She picked up her seeds and began to spread them rapidly to drive out the sudden terror that had seized her at that moment when she saw the fierce， hard look in her husband’s eyes that were unconscious of her presence.

She became suddenly afraid of that pitiless， cruel earth， the peasant’s slave master， that would keep her chained to hard work and poverty all her life until she would sink again into its bosom. Her short-lived love was gone. Henceforth she was only her husband’s helper to till the earth. And Martin， absolutely without thought， worked furiously， covering the ridge with block earth， his sharp spade gleaming white as he whirled it sideways to beat the sods.

Then， as the sun rose， the little valley beneath the ivy-covered hills became dotted with white shirts， and everywhere men worked madly， without speaking， and women spread seeds. There was no heat in the light of the sun， and there was a sharpness in the still thin air that made the men jump on their spade halts ferociously and beat the sods as if they were living enemies. Birds hopped silently before the spades， with their heads cocked sideways， watching for worms. Made brave by hunger， they often dashed under the spades to secure their food.

Then， when the sun reached a certain point， all the women went back to the village to get dinner for their men， and the men worked on without stopping. Then the women returned， almost running， each carrying a tin can with a flannel tied around it and a little bundle tied with a white cloth， Martin threw down his spade when Mary arrived back in the field. Smiling at one another they sat under the hill for their meal. It was the same as their breakfast， tea and bread and butter.

“Ah，” said Martin， when he had taken a long draught of tea from his mug， “is there anything in this world as fine as eating dinner out in the open like this after doing a good morning’s work？ There， I have done two ridges and a half. That’s more than any man in the village could do. Ha！” And he looked at his wife proudly.

“Yes， isn’t it lovely，” said Mary， looking at the back ridges wistfully. She was just munching her bread and butter. The hurried trip to the village and the trouble of getting the tea ready had robbed her of her appetite. She had to keep blowing at the turf fire with the rim of her skirt， and the smoke nearly blinded her. But now， sitting on that grassy knoll， with the valley all round glistening with fresh seaweed and a light smoke rising from the freshly turned earth， a strange joy swept over her. It overpowered that of the feeling of dread that had been with her during the morning.

Martin ate heartily， reveling in his great thirst and his great hunger， with every pore of his body open to the pure air. And he looked around at his neighbors’ fields boastfully， comparing them with his own. Then he looked at his wife’s little round black head and felt very proud of having her as his own. He leaned back on his elbow and took her hand in his. Shyly and in silence， not knowing what to say and ashamed of their gentle feelings， they finished eating and still sat hand in hand looking away into the distance. Everywhere the sowers were resting on little knolls， men， women and children sitting in silence. And the great calm of nature in spring filled the atmosphere around them. Everything seemed to sit still and wait until midday had passed. Only the gleaming sun chased westwards at a mighty pace， in and out through white clouds.

Then in a distant field an old man got up， took his spade and began to clean the earth from it with a piece of stone. The rasping noise carried a long way in the silence. That was the signal for a general rising all along the little valley. Young men stretched themselves and yawned. They walked slowly back to their ridges.

Martin’s back and his wrists were getting sore， and Mary felt that if she stooped again over her seeds her neck would break， but neither said anything and soon they had forgotten their tiredness in the mechanical movement of their bodies. The strong smell of the upturned earth acted like a drug on their nerves. By sundown Martin had five ridges finished. He threw down his spade and stretched himself. All his bones ached and he wanted to lie down and rest. “It’s time to be going home， Mary，” he said.

Mary straightened herself， but she was too tired to reply. She looked at Martin wearily and it seemed to her that it was a great many years since they had set out that morning. Then she thought of the journey home and the trouble of feeding the pigs， putting the fowls into their coops and getting the supper ready， and a momentary flash of rebellion against the slavery of being a peasant’s wife crossed her mind. It passed in a moment. Martin was saying， as he dressed himself：

“Ha！ It has been a good day’s work. Five ridges done， and each one of them as straight as a steel rod. Begob， Mary， it’s no boasting to say that you might well be proud of being the wife of Martin Delaney. And that’s not saying the whole of it， my girl. You did your share better than any woman in Inverara could do it this blessed day.”

They stood for a few moments in silence， looking at the work they had done. All her dissatisfaction and weariness vanished from Mary’s mind with the delicious feeling of comfort that overcame her at having done this work with her husband. They had done it together. They had planted seeds in the earth. The next day and the next and all their lives， when spring came they would have to bend their backs and do it until their hands and bones got twisted with rheumatism. But night would always bring sleep and forgetfulness.

As they walked home slowly， Martin walked in front with another peasant talking about the sowing， and Mary walked behind， with her eyes on the ground， thinking.

Cows were lowing at a distance.

天还没亮，马丁·德莱尼和妻子玛丽就起床了。马丁身着襯衣，站在窗边，一边揉眼睛一边打着哈欠;玛丽则把昨夜埋在壁炉灰烬里燃烧未尽的煤球拨了出来。屋外，雄鸡高唱，一线曙光冲破夜色，从地面升起。这是二月的清晨，空气干燥，乍暖还寒，星光点点。

两口子坐下来静静地用早餐，有茶、面包和黄油。他们去年秋天才结的婚，最不愿这么早就离开暖暖的被窝。马丁一头棕发，一双棕色的眼睛，脸上长着雀斑，蓄着淡淡的八字胡，看上去太年轻，还不到结婚的年纪。他的妻子看起来就是个小姑娘，脸红扑扑的，蓝蓝的眼睛，黑黑的头发盘在脑后，一把大梳子在发髻中间闪着光，这是西班牙式发型。他们都穿着家织粗布衣服，宽松的白衬衣，这是因弗拉拉地区的农民种地时常穿的服装。

他们静静地吃着，睡眼惺忪，但心底激情如火，因为这是他们作为夫妻初次春播的第一天。今天，他们都觉得是一个好日子，要一起翻地，一起播种。这事儿他们期盼已久，早已喜欢，心有畏惧但也有准备，而一旦真的来临，却又令他们感到多少有些沮丧。玛丽有着女人的精明，把一个女人在婚后初次经历欢欣与焦虑时该想到的事情都想过了。而马丁则只想着一件事：能否把春播工作做好，以此证明自己是当之无愧的一家之长。

用过早餐，他们去仓库拿马铃薯种、用来丈量土地的绳子和铲子。仓库光线暗淡，马丁被一个篮子绊了一跤。他骂骂咧咧地说，一个男人这么不中用，还不如死……但没等他说完，玛丽就搂着他的腰，面对着他说：“马丁，一天才开始，咱们别发脾气吧。”声音里带着几分颤抖。说来也怪，这一拥抱，所有的怒气和困倦都烟消云散了。他们就这么拥抱着，直到马丁佯装粗鲁地把玛丽推开，说：“好啦好啦，宝贝。照这样下去，还没开始干活儿太阳就要下山了。”

他们穿着牛皮鞋静悄悄走过小村庄的时候，周遭仍不见人影。几座小屋里，窗口灯光闪烁。东方的天空已出现一大片鱼肚白，太阳似乎就要喷薄而出。鸟儿在远处啁啾。马丁无不自豪地对玛丽说：“玛丽，我们可是第一呀！”他们一同回望那一群小房子，心怦怦地跳着，那可是他们世界的中心啊！春天的快乐已经完全占据了他们的心灵。

他们来到了就要播种的那块小田。这块小田呈三角形，位于一座长满常青藤的小石灰岩山脚下。地里几周前便已施了海藻肥，现在海藻业已腐烂，白色的残余挂在草上。还有一大堆红色的新鲜海藻堆在围栏的角落里，等待施放在马铃薯种的下面。尽管天气尚寒，马丁却脱掉了其他上衣，只留一件条纹羊毛衬衣。他往两只手心里一啐，抡起铲子，大声喊着：“玛丽，瞧瞧你嫁的男人吧！”

“有你的！”玛丽说着，一边把小羊毛围巾往下巴压了压。

“一大早的，是不是有点儿吹牛啊？我得等到太阳下山才能说我嫁了个怎样的男人吧。”

活儿开始了。马丁挨着南边的围栏丈量出第一垄地，这块地四英尺宽。他把线沿着边拉直，在两头打上木桩，然后在地里撒上新鲜海藻。玛丽用围裙兜满马铃薯种，一行行地播下去。当玛丽已经种到垄地比较远的地方时，马丁拿着铁铲走向地头儿，急于干起来。

“以上帝的名义，”他说着，往手心啐了一口，“我们掀起第一块泥巴吧！”

“啊，马丁，等等我！”玛丽一边喊，一边把马铃薯种丢在垄地上，向他跑去。她的手指露在手套外面，都冻麻木了，她也没法在围裙里擦手。她的面颊好似燃烧着。她一只手搂着马丁的腰，看着他的铲子马上要翻垦的绿色土地，激动得像个小孩似的。

“看在上帝的份儿上，宝贝，别这么黏着！”马丁生硬地说，“如果有人看到我们在地里春播就这副模样，恐怕只会认为我们两个人没用、软弱、没头脑，不饿死才怪呢，嗯？”他说得很快，眼睛盯住前面的土地，眼神里透露出一种野性的、迫切的光，似乎脑子里正燃烧着某种原始的冲动，这一冲动正将其他的欲望驱走，唯一留下的是要证明自己是个男子汉，要征服这块土地。

“哎，管谁在看呢！”玛丽这么说着，但还是往后退了退，眼睛盯住远方的土地。马丁铲向土，脚用力把铲子踩入土里。第一铲土翻开了，草根从地里翻了出来，发出吱吱的声音。玛丽叹了口气，皱着眉头快步回去继续播她的马铃薯种。她看到了丈夫那狠狠的、严厉的眼神，似乎忘记了她的存在，不禁瞬间涌出一丝恐惧，于是抓起种子，快快播撒出去，以驱赶这种恐惧。

她突然对这毫无恻隐之心的土地害怕起来，这片残忍的土地就是农民这种奴隶的主人，将终生把她与繁重的劳动和贫困绑在一起，直至她最终又回到土地的怀抱。那短暂的爱恋烟消云散，自此，她只是丈夫翻地时的帮手。马丁却毫无想法，只是拼命地干活，让垄地被一块块翻起的土覆盖。他挥舞着铲子，侧向击打泥土，锋利的铲子闪着光。

太阳升起来了，长满常青藤的山丘下，小小的山谷中点缀着件件白衬衫。到处都是男人在疯狂劳作，不言不语;女人则在播撒种子。阳光没有热度，依然稀薄的空气中有种刺人的东西，使得男人们卖力地跳上铲背，击打着草皮，似乎草皮就是活生生的敌人。鸟儿在铁铲前静静地蹦跳着，斜着头看有没有虫子出现。饿汉胆子大，为了逮住吃的，它们常常直冲到铲子下面。

太阳爬到一定的高度时，女人们便回村子给男人做饭，男人则劳作不休。饭好了，女人们几乎是跑着回到田间地头，每个人带着个铁罐子，用法兰绒裹着，还有一个白布小包裹。玛丽回到地里，马丁扔下铁铲。他们坐在山脚下，相视而笑地吃着中饭。一如早餐，还是茶、面包和黄油。

马丁端起茶缸痛饮了一气，说：“啊，大干了一上午的活儿，然后像这样露天吃顿中饭，世界上还有什么比这更痛快的事吗？你瞧，我干完两垄半了。哈哈，这可比村里别的男人都要多啊！”他骄傲地看着妻子。

“可不，真不错！”玛丽看着后面那些垄地，充满渴望。她只是机械地嚼着面包和黄油。由于匆匆回村并费了番工夫煮茶，她已经没了食欲。她得不停地用衬衣边煽着炭火，冒出的烟几乎让她看不见东西。但此刻，她坐在长满草的土丘上，眼望满山谷新鲜的海藻泛着光，一股淡淡的轻烟从刚翻过的地上升起，心中不禁掠过一阵莫名的快乐，盖过了早上曾有的恐惧。

马丁尽情地吃着，又饥又渴使他格外享受这顿饭，身上的每个毛孔都向清新的空气敞开着。他环顾邻居们的田地，与自己的一比，得意之情油然而生。他又看看一头黑发的妻子那圆圆的小脑袋，很自豪自己有她为妻。他用一只胳膊肘撑着往后仰，把她的手握在自己的手里。两人都有些害羞，没有说话，因为不知道要说些什么，也为那份绵绵情意有些不好意思——他们就这样吃完了中饭，仍席地而坐，手牵手，眺望着远方。到处是坐在小土堆上的播种者，男女老少都默默地坐着。春天里大自然的宁静弥漫在空气中，一切都似乎在静静地待着，直至午后。只有太阳闪着金光，穿云破雾，急急地奔向西边。

远处的一块地里，一位上了年纪的男子站了起来，拿起铲子，开始用一块石头刮掉上面的泥土，刺耳的声音在寂静中传得老远。这是要整个小山谷的人都起来的信号。年轻人伸着懒腰，打着呵欠，慢慢走回垄地。

马丁的背和手腕都已发酸;玛丽也觉得如果自己再哈着腰低头播种，脖子都会断了。但他们谁也没有说什么，身子的机械性运动很快让他们忘记了疲惫。翻过的泥土发出的强烈气息对他们的神经就像是一副猛药。太阳下山时，马丁已经完成了五垄地的翻垦。他扔下铲子，舒展身体，浑身骨头生疼，就想躺下来休息。他说：“玛丽，该回家了。”

玛丽直起身来，但已累得不能回答他。她浑身倦意地看着马丁，打他们早晨从家里出来，似乎度过了很多个年头。她又想起回家的长路，想起喂猪、赶鸡回笼、做晚饭等的麻烦，脑子里瞬间闪过不愿做农夫妻子的念头，不过这念头一下就消失了。马丁一边穿衣服，一边说：

“哈，这一天的活儿干得真棒！干完了五垄啊，每一垄都弄得笔直，像个铁棍儿似的。天啊，玛丽，成为马丁·德莱尼的妻子，你完全可以骄傲，这可不是吹牛。我还得说，宝贝，这一天下来，你干得也比因弗拉拉这地方别的女人都棒。”

好一会，他们站着没有说话，在看着干过的活儿。与丈夫一起干了这么多活儿，一种甜丝丝的欣慰之情涌上心头，玛丽脑子里一切的不满和疲劳都烟消云散了。这可是他们同心协力干的。他们在地里播下了种子。第二天，第三天，乃至这一辈子，每当春天来到，他们都得弯腰干活儿，直到手和骨头因风湿病而变形。但当夜色降临，他们就会进入梦乡，忘掉这一切。

他們徐徐朝家里走去，马丁与另一个农民谈着播种的事儿，玛丽在后面跟着，双眼看着地，脑子里在翻腾。

远处，牛在哞哞叫着。