Ivy常春藤

【導读】

V. S.奈保尔（1932年8月17日—2018年8月11日），出生于中美洲的特立尼达岛，是印度裔英国作家，曾获得布克奖、毛姆奖、英国大卫·柯恩文学奖等奖项，并于2001年获得诺贝尔文学奖。

本文节选自奈保尔的“半自传体小说”《抵达之谜》（The Enigma of Arrival， 1987）第三章。该部小说以倒叙的手法再现了奈保尔在英国乡村庄园以及旅行中对自我和世界的审视。《出版人周刊》评论此书“赤裸裸地展现了他生命中的孤独、脆弱、焦虑，以及他敏锐细腻的感受，这是作为作家的他所拥有的资质，也是作为人的他所承受的负担”。

The river curved here. On the opposite bank the down ended abruptly in a wooded cliff， giving a great depth and a hint of surrounding forest to the river color. There was also a new channel here from the bare down， a spring breaking out of the chalk1 and quickly turning into a noisy cascade. So that again， in this neat， tame， smooth landscape， with a bare green-white down and with a river a few feet deep divided neatly into numbered beats， there was a reminder of the unpredictable force of water. Old corrugated2-iron sheets served as hatches3 in the new channel： an unexpected touch， in a landscape without people， of the urban slum.

The water bailiffs4 had released young trout near here， and they hadn’t wandered far. They were unexpectedly unattractive， as nervous as rats， of that color as well， and as swift and devious5 and silent as rats as they made for the camouflage6 of the dark river weeds.

This was the river walk， barely ten minutes， hardly a walk to someone used to walking most days for about an hour and a half. But the walk was always new; the river and what I saw always changed. There was the blue iris I saw in my first spring. Solitary among the weeds and nettles7 at the edge of the water meadow. I was transported at the sight， and instantly had the wish， if I ever were to plant a garden of my own， to try to achieve that effect. And then， in the light-headedness8 of my convalescence9， I began （until I sobered up again） to walk through the nettles to the iris， as though the beauty of what I saw lay not in the setting， but in that particular iris.

There were the scented old roses in the wild rose bed. And the roses I saw that first summer were the last： I was in at that particular death. Because in the autumn Mrs. Phillips pruned10 them， “cut them right back，” as she said; and those old rose bushes， cut down to the quick11， all turned to brier12 again.

There was a time of the spring or summer—every year—when a pale blue lawn weed floated like a blue mist above the daisy-spotted lawn. And always there was the river. It was the river， with its overwhelming beauty of reeds and weeds and moving water and changing reflections， that made me say， long before I felt myself in tune with13 other plants and truly in tune with the seasons： “At least I’ve had a year of this.” And then： “At least I’ve had two years of this.”

And just as， on the walk over the downs past Jack’s cottage， I always in the beginning looked for the warm brown fur of the hares， so on this shorter river walk I looked for the miniature volcano14 of the salmon’s nest in the white chalk of the riverbed; and the still， dark pike waiting in a deep pool where the water was dark in the shadow of reeds. And I looked for the vole or water rat. I knew the little tree on whose lower branch he liked to sun himself， after shaking his fur. I often saw him swimming across the river; and once I saw him so soundly asleep that—thinking he was dead—I went and stood over him. I often heard the surprised plop15 of his fellows as they dived into their river holes， sending up silent muddy clouds.

Every winter and spring created fresh havoc16 in the manor gardens and water meadows. The bridges over the channels decayed and decayed. The gate at the very last （or the first） bridge was eventually left open one year and collapsed finally of its own rot. The river changed its course by a few feet， washing over the path that the water bailiffs had kept clear; and the planks17 that spanned the channels were lost below water. New two-plank bridges were built， one plank plain， one covered with wire netting， for the grip18 it gave both to shoes and to the wheels of the bailiffs’ barrows.

On this walk， as on the longer walk on the downs past Jack’s cottage， I lived not with the idea of decay—that idea I quickly shed—so much as with the idea of change. I lived with the idea of change， of flux19， and learned， profoundly， not to grieve for it. I learned to dismiss this easy cause of so much human grief. Decay implied an ideal， a perfection in the past. But would I have cared to be in my cottage while the sixteen gardeners worked？ When every growing plant aroused anxiety， every failure pain or criticism？ Wasn’t the place now， for me， at its peak？ Finding myself where I was， I thought—after the journey that had begun so long before—that I was blessed.

And then one day， quite unexpectedly， walking with freedom at the back of the manor， walking at the edge of both the ruined water meadow and the wild manor lawn， I saw my landlord.

河流從这里打弯。河对岸，山崖耸立，树木丛生，一片高地陡然在此消失。流经此处的河水映出周围山峦的倒影，显得深不见底，林影悠悠。那光秃秃的高地上还有一条新河道，一股泉水从白垩土中喷涌而出，又迅速变成了一条瀑布，哗哗流下。这里水光山色，有绿白相间的高地，一条几英尺深的河流整齐地分成几条细流，让人再次想起流水那变化莫测的力量。在新河道中，旧的瓦楞铁皮被当作舱口：像是在杳无人烟的地方，意外发现了一点儿城市贫民窟的意味。

河道监管员在这附近放养了幼鳟，它们却并未游远。它们胆怯如鼠，颜色也同老鼠一样。它们游向深色水草掩盖物时，也如鼠般敏捷、悄无声息，一点都不惹人注目，真是出人意料。

这是河畔的步行道，不到十分钟便可走完，对那些经常需要花一个半小时散步的人来说，这几乎算不上一条步行道。但这条道常年都是新的;河水与景物总是在变。这里有我在这里的第一个春天里见到的蓝色鸢尾花。它孤零零地生长在水草甸边缘的杂草和荨麻之中。我被眼前的景象迷住了，心中顿时产生了一个愿望，如果有一天我有一座自己的花园，我会按照眼前的景象来布置。我好似大病初愈昏昏然开始（直到我清醒过来）穿过那片荨麻，走向那朵鸢尾花，仿佛我所见的美并不在整片景色中，而只在那朵特别的鸢尾花上。

在野玫瑰花坛上，经年的玫瑰花芳香四溢。我在来这第一年的夏天里看到的那些玫瑰花也是最后的玫瑰：我目睹了死亡的降临。那个秋天，菲利普斯太太将花剪掉了。她说：“直剪到花茎的根部。”那些老玫瑰丛伤及筋骨，让位给了荆棘丛。

每年春天或夏天的某个时候，在点缀着雏菊的草坪上，一种淡蓝色的草就如蓝色的薄雾般漂浮在草坪上方。这条河一直都在。芦苇遍地，芳草萋萋，流水潺潺，倒影变幻，美得令人沉醉。让我不禁感叹：“至少我与这样的美景相伴了一年。”之后，第二年，我再次感叹：“至少我与这样的美景相伴了两年。”与花草如此亲近，与花季如此和谐，这种感觉真是久违了！

杰克小屋旁的高地上方有一条步行道，就像我一开始就总在那里寻找野兔温暖的棕色毛皮一样，在这条较短的河岸步行道上，我总要在河床的白垩土中寻找像微型火山一样的鲑鱼窝，还有那黑色的梭子鱼。岸边的芦苇倒映在水中，河水的颜色显得更深，梭子鱼就在深潭中静候，伺机而动。我也找寻着田鼠或河鼠。它抖一抖皮毛之后就喜欢在小树的矮枝上晒太阳，我认得那棵小树。我经常看到它游过那条河;有一次，我看见它睡得很熟，以为它死了，就走过去站在它身旁俯视着。我经常听到它的同伴受到驚吓扑通跳进河里，钻进河中的洞穴，无声地激起朵朵浑浊的泥云。

每年的冬天和春天都会给花园和水草甸带来一场新的浩劫。架在沟渠上的桥渐渐腐烂，最后一座桥（或者是第一座桥）的大门敞开一年后，最终因腐烂而倒塌。这条河改道了几英尺，漫过监管员保持得很干净的河道;架在河道两边的厚木板最后掉到了水里。人们搭建了新的双层木板桥，一块木板是平的，另一块则是缠绕了铁丝网的，这样人们走路过桥和监管员推着手推车过桥都可以防滑了。

走在这条步行道上，就像走在杰克小屋旁的高地上那条长长的路上，我心中一直不能接受“腐朽”这种说法，那念头总是一闪而过。我倒是可以接受“变化”的观念。我的生活中常有世事变迁、流动不居的思想，并深刻体会到了不必为变化而悲伤。我深知变化是引起人类无数悲伤的根源，因此学会了如何打消这些想法。腐朽意味着某种理想、某种完美已不复存在。但是，当16个园丁在干活儿，当每一株植物的成长引起焦虑，每一次失败引起痛苦或苛责，我还会无动于衷端坐在自己的小屋子里吗？对我来说，现在这个地位算是如日中天了吗？长路漫漫之后，我终于找到了自己的所在，窃以为何其有幸！

有一天，当我优哉游哉地徜徉在庄园后面，漫步在废弃的水草甸边和已是荒草遍地的庄园草坪时，出乎意料地看到了我的房东。

（译者单位：北京语言大学）