荒野地The Wild Land

贾平凹

這原本是庄稼地，却生长了一片荒草。荒草一人余高，繁荣得蓬勃健美。月夜下没有风，亦不到潮露水的时分，草的枝叶及成熟的穗实萧萧而立，但一种声息在响，似乎是草籽在裂壳坠落，似乎是昆虫在咬噬，静伫良久，跳动的是体内的心一颗。扮演着的是《聊斋》里的人物，时间更进入亘古的洪荒，遥遥地听见了神对命运的招引。

月亮在天上明亮着一轮，看得清其中的一抹黑影，真疑心是荒野地的投影，而地上三尺之外便一片迷。夜是保密的，于是产生迟到的爱情。躲过那远远的如炮楼一般的守护庄稼的庵架，一只饥渴的手握住了一只饥渴的手，一瞬间十指被胶合，同时感受到了热，却冷得索索而抖。

一溜黑地淌过，松软如过草滩，又分明是脚上穿了宽松的鞋。可怜的农人种下了这一溜洋芋，四周的荒草却使它们未能健长，挖掘过的地上没有收获到拳大的洋芋。肥沃的土地上明日的清晨却能看到两行交织的脚印。

已经是草地的中央了，失却的则是东南西北的方向。境界幽幽。心身在启示着坐下来，恰好有两块石头，等待这石头是多少个年月，石头也差不多等待得发凉了。天地之间，塞涌的是这荒草，人也是荒草的一棵，再有一棵。说话的是眼睛，说尽着唐诗宋词2的篇章。头顶上的月亮丰丰满满。需要有点风，风果然而至。草把月划成了有条纹的物件，且在晃动不已。不知名的昆虫在呻吟着，散发着那特有的气味。待到死过去几次，又活过来几次，一切安静了，望月亮又如深下去的一眼井水，来分辨那里面的身影了。

佛殿一样的地方，得到的是心身的和谐，方明白那一溜松软的黑地是通往未来的甬道，铺着毡毯。

生长庄稼的土地却长满了这么多荒草，这是失职的农人的过错吗？但荒草同样在结饱满的果籽，这便是土地的功能。失职的农人或许要诅咒的，而娇弱无能的庄稼没有荒草这么并不需要节令、耕作、肥料而顽强健壮啊！

因为草、人归复了原本的形态，这个月下夜晚是这么苍茫壮阔。

生之苦难与悲愤，造就着无尽的残缺与遗憾，超越了便是幽默的角色，再不寄希望于梦境和来世，就这么在荒野地中坐下，坐下如两块石头。或许坐上百年上千年，或许很短的一别，但已够了。

走出了荒野地，另一处草浅的地方，仍发现了曾是长过瓜果的，是南瓜或是西瓜，肯定的也是未收获到要收获的东西，瓜田早废了，瓜叶腐败为泥，而绳一样纵横的瓜蔓却还发白的将也已为泥的印缀在地上。踏着这白绳的空格走，像是游戏。突然就会想起月亮上的那一株桂树，还有那一位勇敢的却砍不断树身的吴刚3。

而毕竟有这么一块荒野地。

Originally， it was given over to crops， but was then reclaimed by wild grass， which reached the height of a man， being vigorous， fecund and graceful. On a moonlight evening no wind blew and it was not yet time for the dew to settle. The blades of grass and its ripened ears stood there quietly. Anyhow， the sound of breathing was to be heard as if the seeds themselves were scratching through the husks in an effort to fall down or as though insects were nibbling on something. Standing there quietly for a long time， what was actually thumping was the heart inside the onlooker’s torso. Like the characters in Strange Tales from the Liaozhai Studio the clock seemed to shift back to the ancient primeval wilderness. The gods were to be heard from afar dictating fate.

The moon was clear and bright in the sky， yet shadows were to be made out on its surface. Could these be the reflections of the wild land？ On the ground， everything beyond three feet away was shrouded and muddled. The night was capable of keeping secrets so liaisons were initiated belatedly. Avoiding the sentry tower-like hut which was used for keeping an eye on the crops， a single hungry and thirsty hand grasped another hungry and thirsty hand. Ten fingers were fused together in an instant. At the same time， they both felt the heat， though shivered with cold.

A plot of black earth stretched across the eyeline. The soil was even tenderer than the meadow. Stepping on it felt like one was wearing a pair of ill-fitting oversized shoes. The pitiful farmers had sown a row of potatoes， but the grasses around them prevented them from thriving. On the harvested land the tubers had not managed to reach even the size of a man’s fist. The following morning， only two lines of crossed footprints remained in the fertile soil.

Coming to the centre of the wild meadow， folks could easily lose their bearings. The environment and atmosphere were deep and still. The body and soul urged one to sit down. Two rocks happened to be planted there. How many years and months had passed for these expectant stones？ Even they had grown frigid in their waiting. Wild grasses streamed between the heavens and the earth. Man was also a stalk of wild grass， which had another one to his side. It is the eyes which do the talking. They spoke about Tang Poems and Song Ci. The moon above their heads was plump. A breeze was expected and did come. The grass divided the moon into strips and it shimmered and shook. The anonymous insects groaned， spraying out their special odour. After experiencing the petit mort several times and being regenerated several times， everything became peaceful again. It was awkward to detect shadows in the moon， like the waters of a deep well.

In a place as sacred as the Buddha’s shrine， the body and soul were fused in harmony. They understood that this plot of black earth was the passage to the future， which was overlaid with carpet.

The cropland was fully covered by so many wild grasses. Were undutiful farmers to blame？ However， the wild grass also produced fully-engorged seeds. This was the function of the land. Perhaps people would curse the undutiful farmers. Still， the fragile crops were not as strong as wild grasses. The wild grass thrived without ploughing， fertilizer and proper seasons！

Human beings were restored to their original nature because of this grass. How grand and boundless was the night beneath the moonlight.

The hardship and grief in life had produced countless regret and deformity. Whoever overcomes these can acquire good humour， no longer pinning their hopes on dreams and the next life. They may just sit in the wild land like two pieces of rock. They may sit there for hundreds or thousands of years or they may just be there for a short while. Anyhow， that would be enough.

Leaving the wild land， another place is sparse with grass. It used to be a land for growing melons， maybe pumpkins and watermelons. Surely， they do not harvest what they have been expecting. The melon plot has long been fallow. The leaves of the melon plants have turned to rotten mud， yet the vines， though withered and white， still crisscross like ropes and leave their imprint on the ground. Walking along the grid formed by these white ropes is akin to playing a game. One can suddenly bring to mind the laurel on the moon and the brave Wu Gang who cannot slice away its trunk.

After all， such a wild land did exist.