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【丑石An Ugly Stone】
丑石
賈平凹
我常常遺憾我家門前的那塊丑有呢：它黑黝黝地臥在那里，牛似的模樣；誰(shuí)也不知道是什么時(shí)候留在這里的，誰(shuí)也不去理會(huì)它。只是麥?zhǔn)諘r(shí)節(jié)，門前攤了麥子，奶奶總是要說(shuō)：這塊丑石，多礙地面喲，多時(shí)把它搬走吧。
于是，伯父家蓋房，想以它壘山墻，但苦于它極不規(guī)則，沒棱角兒，也沒平面兒；用鏨破開吧，又懶得花那么大氣力，因?yàn)楹訛┎⒉簧踹h(yuǎn)，隨便去掮一塊回來(lái)，哪一塊也比它強(qiáng)。房蓋起來(lái)，壓鋪臺(tái)階，伯父也沒有看上它。有一年，來(lái)了一個(gè)石匠，為我家洗一臺(tái)石磨，奶奶又說(shuō)：用這塊丑石吧，省得從遠(yuǎn)處搬動(dòng)。石匠看了看，搖著頭，嫌它石質(zhì)太細(xì)，也不采用。
它不像漢白玉那樣的細(xì)膩，可以鑿下刻字雕花，也不像大青石那樣的光滑，可以供來(lái)浣紗捶布；它靜靜地臥在那里，院邊的槐蔭沒有庇覆它，花兒也不再在它身邊生長(zhǎng)?；牟荼惴毖艹鰜?lái)，枝蔓上下，慢慢地，竟銹上了綠苔、黑斑。我們這些做孩子的，也討厭起它來(lái)，曾合伙要搬走它，但力氣又不足；雖時(shí)時(shí)咒罵它，嫌棄它，也無(wú)可奈何，只好任它留在那里去了。
稍稍能安我們的，是在那石上有一個(gè)不大不小的坑凹兒，雨天就盛滿了水。常常雨過(guò)三天了，地上已經(jīng)干燥，那石凹里水兒還有，雞兒便去那里渴飲。每每到了十五的夜晚，我們盼著滿月出來(lái)，就爬到其上，翹望天邊；奶奶總是要罵的，害怕我們摔下來(lái)。果然那次就摔了下來(lái)，磕破了我的膝蓋呢。
人都罵它是丑石，它真是丑得不能再丑的丑石了。
終有一日，村子里來(lái)了一個(gè)天文學(xué)家。他在我家門前路過(guò)，突然發(fā)現(xiàn)了這塊石頭，眼光立即就拉直了。他再?zèng)]有走丟，就住了下來(lái)；以后又來(lái)了好些人，說(shuō)這是一塊隕石，從天上落下來(lái)已經(jīng)有二三百年了，是一件了不起的東西。不久便來(lái)了車，小心翼翼地將它運(yùn)走了。
這使我們都很驚奇！這又怪又丑的石頭，原來(lái)是天上的呢！它補(bǔ)過(guò)天，在天上發(fā)過(guò)熱，閃過(guò)光，我們的先祖或許仰望過(guò)它，它給了他們光明、向往、憧憬；而它落下來(lái)了，在污土里，荒草里，一躺就是幾百年了？！
奶奶說(shuō)：“真看不出！它那么不一般，卻怎么連墻也壘不成，臺(tái)階也壘不成呢？”
“它是太丑了?！狈蛭膶W(xué)家說(shuō)。
“真的，是太丑了?！?BR> “可這正是它的美！”天文學(xué)家說(shuō)，“它是以丑為美的。”
“以丑為美?”
“是的，丑到極處，便是美到極處。正因?yàn)樗皇且话愕念B石，當(dāng)然不能去做墻，做臺(tái)階，不能去雕刻，捶布。它不是做這些小玩意兒的，所以常常就遭到一般世俗的譏諷?！?BR> 奶奶臉紅了，我也臉紅了。
我感到自己的可恥，也感到了丑石的偉大；我甚至怨恨它這么多年竟會(huì)默默地忍受著這一切，而我又立即深深地感到它那種不屈于誤解、寂寞的生存的偉大。
An Ugly Stone
Jia Pingwa
I used to feel sorry for that ugly black piece of stone lying like an ox in front of our door; none knew when it was left there and none paid any attention to it, except at the time when wheat was harvested and my grandma, seeing the grains of wheat spread all over the ground in the front yard of the house, would grumble: “This ugly stone takes so much space. Move it away someday.
Thus my uncle had wanted to use it for the gable when he was building a house, but he was troubled to find it of very irregular shape, with no edges nor corners, nor a flat plane on it. And he wouldn’t bother to break it in half with a chisel because the river bank was nearby, where he could have easily fetched a much better stone instead. Even when my uncle was busy with the flight of steps leading to the new house he didn’t take a fancy to the ugly stone. One year when a mason came by, we asked him to make us a stone mill with it. As my grandma put it: “Why not take this one, so you won’t have to fetch one from afar.” But the mason took a look and shook his head: he wouldn’t take it for it was of too fine a quality.
It was not like a fine piece of white marble on which words or flowers could be carved, nor like a smooth big bluish stone people used to wash their clothes on. The stone just lay there in silence, enjoying no shading from the pagoda trees by the yard, nor flowers growing around it. As a result weeds multiplied and stretched all over it, their stems and tendrils gradually covered with dark green spots of moss. We children began to dislike the stone too, and would have taken it away if we had been strong enough; all we could do for the present was to leave it alone, despite our disgust or even curses.
The only thing that had interested us in the ugly stone was a little pit on top of it, which was filled with water on rainy days. Three days after a rainfall, usually, when the ground had become dry, there was still water in the pit, where chickens went to drink. And every month when it came to the evening of the 15th of lunar calendar, we would climb onto the stone, looking up at the sky, hoping to see the full moon come out from far away. And Granny would give us a scolding, afraid lest we should fall down and sure enough, I fell down once to have my knee broken. So everybody condemned the stone: an ugly stone, as ugly as it could be.
Then one day an astronomer came to the village. He looked the stone square in the eye the moment he came across it. He didn’t take his leave but decided to stay in our village. Quite a number of people came afterwards, saying the stone was a piece of aerolite which had fallen down from the sky two or three hundred years ago what a wonder indeed! Pretty soon a truck came, and carried it away carefully.
It gave us a great surprise! We had never expected that such a strange and ugly stone should have come from the sky! So it had once mended the sky, given out its heat and light there, and our ancestors should have looked up at it. It had given them light, brought them hopes and expectations, and then it had fallen down to the earth, in the mud and among the weeds, lying there for hundreds of years!
My grandma said: “I never expected it should be so great! But why can’t people build a wall or pave steps with it?”
‘It’s too ugly,” the astronomer said.
“Sure, it’s really so ugly.”
“But that’s just where its beauty lies!” the astronomer said, “its beauty comes from its ugliness.”
“Beauty from ugliness?”
“Yes. When something becomes the ugliest, it turns out the most beautiful indeed. The stone is not an ordinary piece of insensate stone, it shouldn’t be used to build wall or pave the steps, to carve words or flowers or to wash clothes on. It’s not the material for those petty common things, and no wonder it’s ridiculed often by people with petty common views.”
My grandma became blushed, and so did I.
I feel shame while I feel the greatness of the ugly stone; I have even complained about it having pocketed silently all it had experienced for so many years, but again I am struck by the greatness that lies in its lonely unyielding existence of being misunderstood by people.
【匆匆Rush】
匆匆
Rush
朱自清
Zhu Ziqing
燕子去了，有再來(lái)的時(shí)候；楊柳枯了，有再青的時(shí)候；桃花謝了，有再開的時(shí)候。但是，聰明的，你告訴我，我們的日子為什么一去不復(fù)返呢？——是有人偷了他們罷：那是誰(shuí)？又藏在何處呢？是他們自己逃走了罷；現(xiàn)在又到了哪里呢？
Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again. Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return? 一If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? Where could he hide them? If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?[qh]
我不知道他們給了我多少日子；但我的手確乎是漸漸空虛了。在默默里算著，八千多日子已經(jīng)從我手中溜去；像針尖上一滴水滴在大海里，我的日子滴在時(shí)間的流里，沒有聲音，也沒有影子。我不禁頭涔涔而淚潸潸了。
I do not know how many days I have been given to spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me. Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.
去的盡管去了，來(lái)的盡管來(lái)著，去來(lái)的中間，又怎樣地匆匆呢？早上我起來(lái)的時(shí)候，小屋里射進(jìn)兩三方斜斜的太陽(yáng)。太陽(yáng)他有腳啊，輕輕悄悄地挪移了；我也茫茫然跟著旋轉(zhuǎn)。于是——洗手的時(shí)候，日子從水盆里過(guò)去；吃飯的時(shí)候，日子從飯碗里過(guò)去；默默時(shí)，便從凝然的雙眼前過(guò)去。我覺察他去的匆匆了，伸出手遮挽時(shí)，他又從遮挽著的手邊過(guò)去，天黑時(shí)，我躺在床上，他便伶伶俐俐地從我身上跨過(guò)，從我腳邊飛去了。等我睜開眼和太陽(yáng)再見，這算又溜走了一日。我掩著面嘆息。但是新來(lái)的日子的影兒又開始在嘆息里閃過(guò)了。
Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oNongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution. Thus—the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands, wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal. and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as I reflect in silence. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my withholding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile way. The moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one whole day has gone. I bury my face in my hands and heave a sigh. But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh.
在逃去如飛的日子里，在千門萬(wàn)戶的世界里的我能做些什么呢？只有徘徊罷了，只有匆匆罷了；在八千多日的匆匆里，除徘徊外，又剩些什么呢？過(guò)去的日子如輕煙被微風(fēng)吹散了，如薄霧，被初陽(yáng)蒸融了；我留著些什么痕跡呢？我何曾留著像游絲樣的痕跡呢？我赤**來(lái)到這世界，轉(zhuǎn)眼間也將赤**的回去罷？但不能平的，為什么偏要白白走這一遭?。?BR> What can I do, in this bustling world, with my days flying in their escape? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. What have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating? Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light wind, or evaporated as mist by the morning sun. What traces have I leftbehind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to this world, stark naked; am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: why should I have made such a trip for nothing!
你聰明的，告訴我，我們的日子為什么一去不復(fù)返呢？
You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?
1922.3.28
March 28, 1922
丑石
賈平凹
我常常遺憾我家門前的那塊丑有呢：它黑黝黝地臥在那里，牛似的模樣；誰(shuí)也不知道是什么時(shí)候留在這里的，誰(shuí)也不去理會(huì)它。只是麥?zhǔn)諘r(shí)節(jié)，門前攤了麥子，奶奶總是要說(shuō)：這塊丑石，多礙地面喲，多時(shí)把它搬走吧。
于是，伯父家蓋房，想以它壘山墻，但苦于它極不規(guī)則，沒棱角兒，也沒平面兒；用鏨破開吧，又懶得花那么大氣力，因?yàn)楹訛┎⒉簧踹h(yuǎn)，隨便去掮一塊回來(lái)，哪一塊也比它強(qiáng)。房蓋起來(lái)，壓鋪臺(tái)階，伯父也沒有看上它。有一年，來(lái)了一個(gè)石匠，為我家洗一臺(tái)石磨，奶奶又說(shuō)：用這塊丑石吧，省得從遠(yuǎn)處搬動(dòng)。石匠看了看，搖著頭，嫌它石質(zhì)太細(xì)，也不采用。
它不像漢白玉那樣的細(xì)膩，可以鑿下刻字雕花，也不像大青石那樣的光滑，可以供來(lái)浣紗捶布；它靜靜地臥在那里，院邊的槐蔭沒有庇覆它，花兒也不再在它身邊生長(zhǎng)?；牟荼惴毖艹鰜?lái)，枝蔓上下，慢慢地，竟銹上了綠苔、黑斑。我們這些做孩子的，也討厭起它來(lái)，曾合伙要搬走它，但力氣又不足；雖時(shí)時(shí)咒罵它，嫌棄它，也無(wú)可奈何，只好任它留在那里去了。
稍稍能安我們的，是在那石上有一個(gè)不大不小的坑凹兒，雨天就盛滿了水。常常雨過(guò)三天了，地上已經(jīng)干燥，那石凹里水兒還有，雞兒便去那里渴飲。每每到了十五的夜晚，我們盼著滿月出來(lái)，就爬到其上，翹望天邊；奶奶總是要罵的，害怕我們摔下來(lái)。果然那次就摔了下來(lái)，磕破了我的膝蓋呢。
人都罵它是丑石，它真是丑得不能再丑的丑石了。
終有一日，村子里來(lái)了一個(gè)天文學(xué)家。他在我家門前路過(guò)，突然發(fā)現(xiàn)了這塊石頭，眼光立即就拉直了。他再?zèng)]有走丟，就住了下來(lái)；以后又來(lái)了好些人，說(shuō)這是一塊隕石，從天上落下來(lái)已經(jīng)有二三百年了，是一件了不起的東西。不久便來(lái)了車，小心翼翼地將它運(yùn)走了。
這使我們都很驚奇！這又怪又丑的石頭，原來(lái)是天上的呢！它補(bǔ)過(guò)天，在天上發(fā)過(guò)熱，閃過(guò)光，我們的先祖或許仰望過(guò)它，它給了他們光明、向往、憧憬；而它落下來(lái)了，在污土里，荒草里，一躺就是幾百年了？！
奶奶說(shuō)：“真看不出！它那么不一般，卻怎么連墻也壘不成，臺(tái)階也壘不成呢？”
“它是太丑了?！狈蛭膶W(xué)家說(shuō)。
“真的，是太丑了?！?BR> “可這正是它的美！”天文學(xué)家說(shuō)，“它是以丑為美的。”
“以丑為美?”
“是的，丑到極處，便是美到極處。正因?yàn)樗皇且话愕念B石，當(dāng)然不能去做墻，做臺(tái)階，不能去雕刻，捶布。它不是做這些小玩意兒的，所以常常就遭到一般世俗的譏諷?！?BR> 奶奶臉紅了，我也臉紅了。
我感到自己的可恥，也感到了丑石的偉大；我甚至怨恨它這么多年竟會(huì)默默地忍受著這一切，而我又立即深深地感到它那種不屈于誤解、寂寞的生存的偉大。
An Ugly Stone
Jia Pingwa
I used to feel sorry for that ugly black piece of stone lying like an ox in front of our door; none knew when it was left there and none paid any attention to it, except at the time when wheat was harvested and my grandma, seeing the grains of wheat spread all over the ground in the front yard of the house, would grumble: “This ugly stone takes so much space. Move it away someday.
Thus my uncle had wanted to use it for the gable when he was building a house, but he was troubled to find it of very irregular shape, with no edges nor corners, nor a flat plane on it. And he wouldn’t bother to break it in half with a chisel because the river bank was nearby, where he could have easily fetched a much better stone instead. Even when my uncle was busy with the flight of steps leading to the new house he didn’t take a fancy to the ugly stone. One year when a mason came by, we asked him to make us a stone mill with it. As my grandma put it: “Why not take this one, so you won’t have to fetch one from afar.” But the mason took a look and shook his head: he wouldn’t take it for it was of too fine a quality.
It was not like a fine piece of white marble on which words or flowers could be carved, nor like a smooth big bluish stone people used to wash their clothes on. The stone just lay there in silence, enjoying no shading from the pagoda trees by the yard, nor flowers growing around it. As a result weeds multiplied and stretched all over it, their stems and tendrils gradually covered with dark green spots of moss. We children began to dislike the stone too, and would have taken it away if we had been strong enough; all we could do for the present was to leave it alone, despite our disgust or even curses.
The only thing that had interested us in the ugly stone was a little pit on top of it, which was filled with water on rainy days. Three days after a rainfall, usually, when the ground had become dry, there was still water in the pit, where chickens went to drink. And every month when it came to the evening of the 15th of lunar calendar, we would climb onto the stone, looking up at the sky, hoping to see the full moon come out from far away. And Granny would give us a scolding, afraid lest we should fall down and sure enough, I fell down once to have my knee broken. So everybody condemned the stone: an ugly stone, as ugly as it could be.
Then one day an astronomer came to the village. He looked the stone square in the eye the moment he came across it. He didn’t take his leave but decided to stay in our village. Quite a number of people came afterwards, saying the stone was a piece of aerolite which had fallen down from the sky two or three hundred years ago what a wonder indeed! Pretty soon a truck came, and carried it away carefully.
It gave us a great surprise! We had never expected that such a strange and ugly stone should have come from the sky! So it had once mended the sky, given out its heat and light there, and our ancestors should have looked up at it. It had given them light, brought them hopes and expectations, and then it had fallen down to the earth, in the mud and among the weeds, lying there for hundreds of years!
My grandma said: “I never expected it should be so great! But why can’t people build a wall or pave steps with it?”
‘It’s too ugly,” the astronomer said.
“Sure, it’s really so ugly.”
“But that’s just where its beauty lies!” the astronomer said, “its beauty comes from its ugliness.”
“Beauty from ugliness?”
“Yes. When something becomes the ugliest, it turns out the most beautiful indeed. The stone is not an ordinary piece of insensate stone, it shouldn’t be used to build wall or pave the steps, to carve words or flowers or to wash clothes on. It’s not the material for those petty common things, and no wonder it’s ridiculed often by people with petty common views.”
My grandma became blushed, and so did I.
I feel shame while I feel the greatness of the ugly stone; I have even complained about it having pocketed silently all it had experienced for so many years, but again I am struck by the greatness that lies in its lonely unyielding existence of being misunderstood by people.
匆匆
Rush
朱自清
Zhu Ziqing
燕子去了，有再來(lái)的時(shí)候；楊柳枯了，有再青的時(shí)候；桃花謝了，有再開的時(shí)候。但是，聰明的，你告訴我，我們的日子為什么一去不復(fù)返呢？——是有人偷了他們罷：那是誰(shuí)？又藏在何處呢？是他們自己逃走了罷；現(xiàn)在又到了哪里呢？
Swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen, but they will bloom again. Now, you the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return? 一If they had been stolen by someone, who could it be? Where could he hide them? If they had made the escape themselves, then where could they stay at the moment?[qh]
我不知道他們給了我多少日子；但我的手確乎是漸漸空虛了。在默默里算著，八千多日子已經(jīng)從我手中溜去；像針尖上一滴水滴在大海里，我的日子滴在時(shí)間的流里，沒有聲音，也沒有影子。我不禁頭涔涔而淚潸潸了。
I do not know how many days I have been given to spend, but I do feel my hands are getting empty. Taking stock silently, I find that more than eight thousand days have already slid away from me. Like a drop of water from the point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dripping into the stream of time, soundless, traceless. Already sweat is starting on my forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.
去的盡管去了，來(lái)的盡管來(lái)著，去來(lái)的中間，又怎樣地匆匆呢？早上我起來(lái)的時(shí)候，小屋里射進(jìn)兩三方斜斜的太陽(yáng)。太陽(yáng)他有腳啊，輕輕悄悄地挪移了；我也茫茫然跟著旋轉(zhuǎn)。于是——洗手的時(shí)候，日子從水盆里過(guò)去；吃飯的時(shí)候，日子從飯碗里過(guò)去；默默時(shí)，便從凝然的雙眼前過(guò)去。我覺察他去的匆匆了，伸出手遮挽時(shí)，他又從遮挽著的手邊過(guò)去，天黑時(shí)，我躺在床上，他便伶伶俐俐地從我身上跨過(guò)，從我腳邊飛去了。等我睜開眼和太陽(yáng)再見，這算又溜走了一日。我掩著面嘆息。但是新來(lái)的日子的影兒又開始在嘆息里閃過(guò)了。
Those that have gone have gone for good, those to come between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning, the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oNongs. The sun has feet, look, he is treading on, lightly and furtively; and I am caught, blankly, in his revolution. Thus—the day flows away through the sink when I wash my hands, wears off in the bowl when I eat my meal. and passes away before my day-dreaming gaze as I reflect in silence. I can feel his haste now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my withholding hands. In the evening, as I lie in bed, he strides over my body, glides past my feet, in his agile way. The moment I open my eyes and meet the sun again, one whole day has gone. I bury my face in my hands and heave a sigh. But the new day begins to flash past in the sigh.
在逃去如飛的日子里，在千門萬(wàn)戶的世界里的我能做些什么呢？只有徘徊罷了，只有匆匆罷了；在八千多日的匆匆里，除徘徊外，又剩些什么呢？過(guò)去的日子如輕煙被微風(fēng)吹散了，如薄霧，被初陽(yáng)蒸融了；我留著些什么痕跡呢？我何曾留著像游絲樣的痕跡呢？我赤**來(lái)到這世界，轉(zhuǎn)眼間也將赤**的回去罷？但不能平的，為什么偏要白白走這一遭?。?BR> What can I do, in this bustling world, with my days flying in their escape? Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. What have I been doing in that eight-thousand-day rush, apart from hesitating? Those bygone days have been dispersed as smoke by a light wind, or evaporated as mist by the morning sun. What traces have I leftbehind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at all? I have come to this world, stark naked; am I to go back, in a blink, in the same stark nakedness? It is not fair though: why should I have made such a trip for nothing!
你聰明的，告訴我，我們的日子為什么一去不復(fù)返呢？
You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?
1922.3.28
March 28, 1922