马库斯作品

◎董继平译

丢失的东西

我们搜寻的这些小东西找到我们——我们五六次经过厨房餐桌时，难以解释地注意到，那把放错了地方的钥匙，而那只放在衣兜里的手表，数天之后重新出现，仍在斗篷上或窗台上嘀嗒作响，假装着屈服，指针朝着一点零五分而抬起。

即便是我们死去的父母也在睡梦中找到我们，还有那些结果多么糟糕的风流韵事，也在深夜时分的车用收音机放出的流行音乐曲调中，或者在昨天并不在那里，但今天早晨却无法解释地出现在我们的五斗橱抽屉里的照片上，搜寻我们。

尽管如此，有些东西如此遥远地掉进我们内心，因此，没有我们的帮助，它们就无法回来，就像飞机失事之后留在热带雨林中的孩子，必须等待我们进行一场探险远征，去营救他们。

我们背着笨重的被包，用皮带捆住氧气瓶——那用就像19世纪的船壳上布满铆钉的钢板制成的氧气瓶，从隔板的河边小镇稳步开进丛林。

很快，我们的装备就杂乱地扔在我们身后的小径上，我们气喘吁吁，衣衫褴褛，赤着脚蹒跚地前行，仿佛被拖向一个无法抗拒的目的地。

我们日渐疯狂，因为时间在我们面前流逝，我们害怕自己将永远赶不上。最后，我们找到了那些孩子，他们眼神茫然，坐在林间空地上或茅草棚屋中，用石头砸着坚果壳。他们已经长得如此高大，如此瘦削，就像我们自己一样，一脸憔悴的倦容，以至于我们几乎没有认出他们。

后来，我们站在那座我们在下层林木中发现的坟墓旁边。那些坟墓已融入荒野，上面杂草丛生，再也没有人来拜访，坟头散落着一件件幸存者认定为宗教手工艺品的东西——钥匙、手表、梳子和我们发黄的照片。

LOST THINGS

Those little things we search for，find us—the misplaced key we unexplainably notice as we pass the kitchen table for the fifth or sixth time;the watch left in a pocket that days later reappears still ticking on a mantle or a windowsill，with arms raised in mock surrender at five of one.

Even our dead parents seek us out in sleep，and those love affairs，which ended so badly，search for us in pop tunes on car radios late at night，or in photographs which weren’t there yesterday but this morning unaccountably appear in our bureau drawers.

There are some things，however，that fall so far inside us they cannot return without our help，like children in a tropical rain forest after an airline crash who must wait for us to undertake an expedition to rescue them.

Harnessed in cumbersome backpacks and strapped into oxygen tanks made of steel plates stippled with rivetheads like nineteenth century ship hulls，we forge into the jungle from the clapboard rivertown.

Soon our equipment litters the path behind us and we stagger on，gasping，barefooted，clothes shredded，as if pulled toward a destination we cannot resist.

Each day we are more frantic because time is running ahead of us and we fear that we’ll never catch up.In the end we find the children seated blank-eyed in a clearing or in a thatched hut，pounding husks with stones.They have grown so tall，so thin，their faces as gaunt and weary as our own，that we hardly recognize them.

Later we stand by the graves we have discovered in the underbrush.They are wild and overgrown，no longer visited by anyone and strewn with what the survivors identify as religious artifacts——keys，watches，combs，and yellowing photographs of us.

话语

我们睡觉的时候，内心的话语就像文艺复兴时期城市中的窃贼和刺客，从藏身之处悄悄溜了出来。

时过子夜，但所有这些身影都出现了，裹着斗篷，要不然就披着黑色披风，从一根柱子悄悄溜到另一根柱子，低语着，争吵着，或者在黑暗中偶然地不期而遇。

在朦胧的连拱廊上，一个身影刺戳另一个身影，把尸体留在其倒下之处。在一个广场边上，四个恶棍咆哮着、诅咒着，把一个酩酊大醉的学生装在粗麻袋里面带走。

排屋的正面一派寂静而黑暗，尽管呜咽声、叹息声和刺耳的打鼾声从那些部分打开的窗户中扑腾而出，但它们的含义却被广场上汩汩作响的喷泉声模糊。

这些声音星星点点，洞穿那无处不在的寂静，仿佛那些建筑物焦躁不安，咕哝着什么。

一声叫喊。窗前突然亮起灯光。火炬点缀广场。好像那具尸体被发现了。然而，那些声音令人困惑，那些传言混乱不清。那是战争，疾病，王子宫中的一个继承人的诞生？

大教堂钟楼上，一口钟深沉地鸣响。那声音奔向四面八方，越过一片片铺着瓦片的屋顶。

沿着那条通往西城门的道路一两英里，一个农民坐在大车上，一边让驴子引着他回家，一边歌唱起爱情、死亡和一种简朴生活的欢乐。

THE WORDS

When we sleep，the words inside us slide from their hiding places like thieves and assassins in a Renaissance city.

It is after midnight，but there are all these figures，muffled in cloaks or slipping from one pillar to another in black capes，who whisper and bicker，or come upon one another unexpectedly in the dark.

One stabs another in a shadowy arcade，and leaves the body where it falls.At the edge of a piazza，four ruffians，growling and cursing，carry off a drunken student in a burlap sack.

The facades of townhouses are still and dark，although whimpers and sighs and raspy snores flutter from the partially open windows，their meanings blurred by the fountains burbling in the squares.

The quiet everywhere is stippled by these sounds，as if the buildings were restless and muttering.

A shout.Lights flare at windows.Torches dot a piazza.It seems the body has been discovered.But the sounds are confused，the reports garbled.Is it war，disease，the birth of an heir in the prince1s palace?

A bell booms in a cathedral tower.The sound rushes in all directions over the tile rooftops.

A mile or two down the road leading to the city’s west gate，a peasant in a cart lets his donkey guide him home as he sings of love，death and the joys of a simple life.