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双语小说
【分类】世界名著
-[作者: 凯斯-唐纳胡]
阅读：[19200]
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我走了。
1
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这不是童话，而是我双重生活的真实写照，我把它留在故事开头的地方，这样或许我还能为人所知。
2
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我的故事开始时，我是个七岁男孩，没有现在的种种欲望。将近三十年前，在一个八月的下午，我离家出走后再也没有回去。我已忘怀那些让我出走的琐事，但却记得自己是准备了一次长途旅行，往口袋里塞满了午餐剩下来的饼干，轻手轻脚地出门，母亲也许并不知道我已离去。
3
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我们的院子沐浴在日光下，从农庄的后门一直铺陈到森林稀疏的边缘，好似一处边陲之地，使人小心翼翼地穿过去时，还惴惴然地怕被发现。一进入这片野地，我立刻有了安全感，躲进昏暗幽深的树林里。走在里面，沉寂在树木的空隙间筑巢，鸟儿停止了歌唱，虫儿也在休息。一棵树在炽热的温度下感到倦怠，呻吟着，仿佛根部正在晃动。偶尔一缕清风掠过，碧绿的树冠就发出声声叹息。阳光在沿途的树木间洒落，我看到一株巨大的栗树，它的底部有个大洞，我爬进去藏在里面，等着听搜寻人员的呼唤。但当他们接近到可以招呼的时候，我却一动不动。傍晚时分，在褪去的夕阳下，在凉爽的星空下，大人们不停地呼唤着“亨——利”。我拒绝回答。手电筒的光芒疯狂地在树林里跳跃，搜寻人员经过我的身旁，他们在灌木丛中跌跌撞撞，在树桩和倒下的树干间磕磕碰碰。不久，呼喊声遁入远处，渐渐变成回响、低语，最后一片寂静。我决定不让他们找到我。
4
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我又往我的小窝里钻深了一些，把脸蛋贴在这棵树的筋络上，呼吸着它陈腐的芳香和黑暗的滋味，粗糙的树皮摩擦着我的肌肤。远处传来低沉的声音，汇聚成一片嘈杂。随着它的接近，低语声渐响渐快。它朝这棵空树快步而来，树枝啪啪地折断，树叶沙沙地踩碎，它停在我藏身处的附近。呼哧呼哧的喘气声，轻轻的说话声，还有脚步声。我紧紧地蜷成一团，有什么东西爬进洞里，碰到我的脚。冷冰冰的手指环住我光光的脚踝，拖动起来。
5
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他们把我扯出树洞，按在地上。我才叫了一声，就有一只小手钳住我的嘴，另一双手塞了个东西进来。黑暗中，他们的轮廓模糊不清，但他们的身材和体形和我仿佛。他们飞快地扒了我的衣服，把我绑得像个蜘蛛网里的木乃伊。这些小孩子，这些异常强壮的男孩和女孩绑架了我。
6
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他们扛起我就跑。我被一双双手和细瘦的肩膀举着，以极其危险的速度仰面朝天在森林里疾奔。头顶上的星星刺破天幕，如流星泻雨般飞驰，我周围的世界在黑暗中飞快地旋转开去。这群运动健将举重若轻，毫不费力地在伸手不见五指的地表和碍事的树木间穿梭，连一个趔趄、绊脚都没有。我就像一头猫头鹰滑翔在树林的黑夜中，既兴奋又害怕。他们扛着我时，彼此间叽里咕噜地说话，听上去像松鼠的叫声，又像鹿粗声大气的咳嗽。一个沙哑的声音低声说着什么“走开来”或是“亨利·戴”。大多数人都沉默不语，但时不时地会有一个像狼一样地嘘气。这群人像是收到信号似的放慢脚步，在一条小径上小跑而行，我后来发现这是一条开辟好了的鹿道，供森林里的居民们使用。
7
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蚊子在我裸露的脸上、手上、脚上叮着，尽情咬我，畅饮我的鲜血。我开始觉得痒痒，非常想抓挠。在一片蟋蟀、知了、偷窥的青蛙发出的噪音中，潺潺的流水在附近汩汩流淌。这群小魔鬼整齐划一地叫嚷着，直到队伍突然停下，我听到了河流的声响，接着刷的一下子，我被抛进了水里。
8
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淹死是种可怕的死法。让我受到惊吓的不是腾空而起，也不是与河水的撞击，而是我的身体划破水面的声音。温暖的空气和冰冷的河水突然合而为一，把我吓得魂飞魄散。堵嘴的东西没有掉出来，我的手也没有松绑。我沉了下去，什么都看不到，有一阵子我屏住呼吸，但肺里被急速充满了水，随即就感到胸部和头部痛苦的压力。我眼前并没有闪过历历往事——我才只有七岁——也没有呼叫爸妈和上帝。
9
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我最后的念头不是正在死去，而是已经死了。水包围着我，也包围着我的灵魂，水在深处四合，水草缠绕在我的头上。
10
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多少年后，我转变和净化的故事成为传奇，据说他们让我复苏时，一股子水激射出来，里面游着蝌蚪和小鱼。我最初的记忆是，我在一张临时凑合的床上醒过来，鼻孔和嘴里有干结的鼻涕，身上盖着一张芦苇毯子。坐在石头上，树桩上，围着我的是一群仙灵——他们就是这样称呼自己的——他们安静地聊着天，好像我并不在场。我数了数，连我在内刚好十二位。他们一个接一个地发现我醒了，活过来了。
11
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我没有动弹，既害怕又尴尬，因为除了遮盖，我一丝不挂。整个场面感觉就像一个正在苏醒的梦，又仿佛我死后重生。
12
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他们指着我，兴奋地说着话。起初，他们的语言听起来很走调，像是勒着喉咙发出来的辅音和静电干扰的噪音。但是细听起来，我能听出这是一种变了调子的英语。他们为了不吓着我，小心翼翼地走过来，就像走近一只坠落的雏鸟，或是一头和母鹿走散了的小鹿。
13
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“我们觉得你可能还没好。”
14
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“你饿吗? ”
15
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“你渴吗? 想喝点水吗? ”
16
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他们又近了些，我看得更清楚了。他们好像一伙走失的孩童。
17
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六个男孩，五个女孩，柔软、纤细，皮肤因为日晒和尘灰而色泽发暗。
18
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他们几乎是光着身子，无论男女都穿不合身的短裤或老式的灯笼裤，有三四个穿着破旧的运动衫。没人穿鞋，他们的脚底都长满茧子，坚硬一如他们的手掌。头发长而乱，鬈曲打结，缠成一团。少数几个有一副完整的乳牙，其他人牙齿脱落的地方露出牙缝。惟有一个较其余年长几岁的，门牙处长着两颗恒牙。他们的面孔漂亮精致。他们- 审视我时，黯淡空茫的眼睛边上积起淡淡的鱼尾纹。他们不像我认识的任何孩子，却像是裹在野孩儿身体里的古人。
19
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他们是仙灵，但并非书上、画中或电影里看到的那种。一点儿也不像七个小矮人、芒奇金、侏儒、大拇指汤姆、棕仙、森林小仙或者幻想曲开头那些几乎裸身飞行的小仙灵。也不像指引彩虹的尽头、红帽绿衣的小人儿。更不像圣诞老人的帮手、食人魔、北欧小矮人，或者是格林童话、鹅妈妈故事里的其他魔鬼。男孩和女孩都困陷在时间里，拥有不老的生命，凶猛得像一群野狗。
20
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一个栗色皮肤的女孩蹲在我身侧，在我头边的积尘上划着图案。
21
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“我叫斯帕克。”这个仙灵微笑着看着我，“你得吃点东西。”她招了招手，唤她朋友们过来。他们把三个碗放在我面前：一碗是蒲公英叶、豆瓣、野蘑菇做成的沙拉，一碗是天亮前从荆棘中摘来的黑莓，还有一碗是各种各样的烧烤甲虫。我没有动第三碗，只就着一只葫芦里干净的凉水，把水果和蔬菜风卷残云地吃了下去。
22
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他们一撮一撮地聚在一起密切观察，彼此交头接耳，不时看我的脸，和我四目相对就微笑起来。
23
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三个仙灵过来端走我的空盘子，另一个给我拿来一条裤子。我在芦苇毯子下面费力地穿裤时，她咯咯直笑，我试图扣好裤子而不露出裸体时，她大笑起来。首领自我介绍，然后介绍他的队员，但这时我着实不方便去握住他伸出来的那只手。
24
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“我是伊格尔，”他说，并用手指将他金黄色的头发撸到后面，“这是贝卡。”
25
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贝卡是个长着青蛙脸的男孩，比其他人高出一个头。
26
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“这是奥尼恩斯。”她穿着男孩子的条纹衬衫和吊带短裤，走到众人前面。她用一只手遮挡眼前的阳光，笑着瞥了我一眼，我脸红到了胸口。她的指尖发绿，这是因为常挖她最爱吃的野生洋葱的缘故。
27
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我穿好衣服后，用手臂支起身来，这样能把其余人看得更清楚。
28
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“我是亨利·戴。”我的声音沙哑，嗓子疼痛。
29
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“你好，安尼戴。”奥尼恩斯微微一笑，每个人都为这称呼哈哈大笑。这群仙灵小孩开始大叫“安尼戴，安尼戴”，而我心中却响起一阵哭声。从此以后，我就被叫作安尼戴。渐渐地，我忘记了自己的名字，偶尔也会想起这名字的一部分，不是“安迪·戴”就是“安尼魏”。
30
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就这样，我受了洗礼，以前的身份开始磨灭，所剩下的不会比一个婴儿所能记得的他出生前的事情更多。失去名字是忘却的开始。
31
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欢呼声低落下去后，伊格尔介绍起每个仙灵，这一大串名字在我耳边叮当作响。
32
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他们三三两两地走开，消失在环绕着空地的洞穴中，又拿着绳索和帆布背包出来。
33
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有一阵，我想他们是否打算把我捆起来再做一次洗礼，但大多数人对我的痛苦视而不见。他们四处徘徊，只想快些开始，伊格尔大步走到我床前，说：“安尼戴，我们要去拣垃圾。但你得待在这里休息。你刚受过不少苦。”
34
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我挣扎着想站起来，但他的手按住我胸口。他看似才六岁，但有着成年人的力气。
35
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“我妈妈在哪里? ”我问。
36
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“贝卡和奥尼恩斯会陪着你。休息一下。”他喝了一声，顿时这伙人聚集在他身边。我还没来得及表示反对，他们就毫无声息地消失了，像一群可怕的野狼钻入树林。斯帕克落在后面，回头叫我名字说：“现在你是我们自己人了。”接着她甩开大步，跟上了他们。
37
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我仰面躺下，瞪着天空，忍住了眼泪。夏天的太阳下，云朵飘拂，云影在树林和仙灵的营寨上移动。过去我曾经独自冒险进入森林，也曾和我父亲一起进来，但我从未想过会深入到这样一个安静、孤独的地方。熟悉的栗树、橡树、榆树在这里长得更高，空地周围的树林显得茂密而不可穿越。到处都是用旧了的树桩和圆木，还有篝火的灰烬。伊格尔坐过的石头上，一只小蜥蜴在晒太阳。不远处，一只箱龟慢吞吞地在落叶间爬行，我坐起来想看个清楚，它就咝咝地缩进壳里去了。
38
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站起来是个错误，使得我头晕眼花，不辨方向。我想回家躺在床上，舒服地睡在母亲身边，听着她为我的婴儿妹妹们唱歌，但我感到贝卡眼中的寒光。在他身边，奥尼恩斯哼着小调，十指翻飞，专心致志地玩挑棚子。她的花样让我着迷。我筋疲力尽地躺了下来，虽然天气又湿又热，我还是浑身发着抖。下午在沉重的睡眠中昏昏沉沉地度过。我的两个伙伴看着我盯着他们看，但他们一言不发。在半梦半醒间，我疲惫的身架无法动弹，只是回想着那些引我来到这处小树林的事情，担心我回家后会有怎样的麻烦。我睡到一半时睁开眼睛，感觉到一种陌生的悸动。旁边，贝卡和奥尼恩斯在一张毯子下较劲。他骑在她背上，推搡着，咕哝着，她俯卧在地，脸朝向我，绿色的嘴开合着，看到我在看，就朝我露齿一笑。我闭上眼，转过身。在我混乱的脑海中，惊奇和厌恶对彼此张牙舞爪。直到这两位平静下来，我才又睡过去。她自吟自唱，而小青蛙心满意足地打鼾。我的胃像捏紧的拳头一样胀了起来，恶心如发烧似的冲进了我的身躯。我又惊又怕，思念家里，感到孤单，我想逃跑，离开这个古怪的地方。
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I am gone.
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This is not a fairy tale, but the true history of my double life, left behind where it all began, in case I may be found again.
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My own story begins when I was a boy of seven, free of my current desires. Nearly thirty years ago, on an August afternoon, I ran away from home and never made it back. Certain trivial and forgotten matters set me off, but I remember preparing for a long journey, stuffing my pockets with biscuits left over from lunch, and creeping out of the house so softly that my mother might not know I had ever left.
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From the back door of the farmhouse to the creeping edge of the forest, our yard was bathed in light, as if a borderland to cross carefully, in fear of being exposed. Upon reaching the wilderness, I felt safe and hidden in the dark, dark wood, and as I walked on, stillness nestled in the spaces among the trees. The birds had stopped singing, and the insects were at rest. Tired of the blazing heat, a tree groaned as if shifting in its rooted position. The green roof of leaves above sighed at every rare and passing breeze. As the sun dipped below the treeline, I came across an imposing chestnut with a hollow at its base big enough for me to crawl inside to hide and wait, to listen for the seekers. And when they came close enough to beckon, I would not move. The grown-ups kept shouting "Hen-ry" in the fading afternoon, in the half-light of dusk, in the cool and starry night. I refused to answer. Beams from the flashlights bounced crazily among the trees, and the search party crashed through the undergrowth, stumbling over stumps and fallen logs, passing me by. Soon their calls receded into the distance, faded to echoes, to whispers, to silence. I was determined not to be found.
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I burrowed deeper into my den, pressing my face against the inner ribs of the tree, inhaling its sweet rot and dankness, the grain of the wood rough against my skin. A low rustle sounded faraway and gathered to a hum. As it drew near, the murmur intensified and quickened. Twigs snapped and leaves crackled as it galloped toward the hollow tree and stopped short of my hiding place. A panting breath, a whisper, and footfall. I curled up tight as something scrambled partway into the hole and bumped into my feet. Cold fingers wrapped around my bare ankle and pulled.
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They ripped me from the hole and pinned me to the ground. I shouted once before a small hand clamped shut my mouth and then another pair of hands inserted a gag. In the darkness their features remained obscure, but their size and shape were the same as my own. They quickly stripped me of my clothes and bound me like a mummy in a gossamer web. Little children, exceptionally strong boys and girls, had kidnapped me.
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They held me aloft and ran. Racing through the forest at breakneck speed on my back, I was held up by several pairs of hands and bony shoulders. The stars above broke through the canopy, streaming by like a meteor shower, and the world spun away swiftly from me in darkness. The athletic creatures moved about with ease, despite their burden, navigating the invisible terrain and obstacles of trees without a hitch or stumble. Gliding like an owl through the night forest, I was exhilarated and afraid. As they carried me, they spoke to one another in a gibberish that sounded like the bark of a squirrel or the rough cough of a deer. A hoarse voice whispered something that sounded like "Come away" or "Henry Day." Most fell silent, although now and then one would start huffing like a wolf. The group, as if on signal, slowed to a canter along what I later discerned to be well-established deer trails that served the denizens of the woods.
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Mosquitos lit upon the exposed skin on my face, hands, and feet, biting me at will and drinking their fill of my blood. I began to itch and desperately wanted to scratch. Above the noise of the crickets, cicadas, and peeping frogs, water babbled and gurgled nearby. The little devils chanted in unison until the company came to a sudden halt. I could hear the river run. And thus bound, I was thrown into the water.
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Drowning is a terrible way to go. It wasn’t the flight through the air that alarmed me, or the actual impact with the river, but the sound of my body knifing through the surface. The wrenching juxtaposition of warm air and cool water shocked me most. The gag did not come out of my mouth; my hands were not loosed. Submerged, I could no longer see, and I tried for a moment to hold my breath, but then felt the painful pressure in my chest and sinuses as my lungs quickly filled. My life did not flash before my eyes—I was only seven—and I did not call out for my mother or father or to God. My last thoughts were not of dying, but of being dead. The waters encompassed me, even to my soul, the depths closed round about, and weeds were wrapped about my head.
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Many years later, when the story of my conversion and purification evolved into legend, it was said that when they resuscitated me, out shot a stream of water a-swim with tadpoles and tiny fishes. My first memory is of awakening in a makeshift bed, dried snot caked in my nose and mouth, under a blanket of reeds. Seated above on rocks and stumps and surrounding me were the faeries, as they called themselves, quietly talking together as if I were not even there. I counted them, and, including me, we were an even dozen. One by one, they noticed me awake and alive. I kept still, as much out of fear as embarrassment, for my body was naked under the covers. The whole scene felt like a waking dream or as if I had died and had been born again.
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They pointed at me and spoke with excitement. At first, their language sounded out of tune, full of strangled consonants and static. But with careful concentration, I could hear a modulated English. The faeries approached cautiously so as not to startle me, the way one might approach a fallen fledgling or a fawn separated from its doe.
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"We thought you might not make it."
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"Are you hungry?"
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"Are you thirsty? Would you like some water?"
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They crept closer, and I could see them more clearly. They looked like a tribe of lost children. Six boys and five girls, lithe and thin, their skin dusky from the sun and a film of dust and ash. Nearly naked, both males and females wore ill-fitting shorts or old-fashioned knickerbockers, and three or four had donned threadbare jerseys. No one wore shoes, and the bottoms of their feet were calloused and hard, as were their palms. Their hair grew long and ragged, in whirls of curls or in knots and tangles. A few of them had a complete set of original baby teeth, while others had gaps where teeth had fallen out. Only one, who looked a few years older than the rest, showed two new adult teeth at the top of his mouth. Their faces were very fine and delicate. When they scrutinized me, faint crow’s feet gathered at the corners of their dull and vacant eyes. They did not look like any children I knew, but ancients in wild children’s bodies.
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They were faeries, although not the kind from books, paintings, and the movies. Nothing like the Seven Dwarfs, Munchkins, midgets, Tom Thumbs, brownies, elves, or those nearly naked flying sprites at the beginning of Fantasia. Not little redheaded men dressed in green and leading to the rainbows end. Not Santa’s helpers, nor anything like the ogres, trolls, and other monsters from the Grimm Brothers or Mother Goose. Boys and girls stuck in time, ageless, feral as a pack of wild dogs.
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A girl, brown as a nut, squatted near me and traced patterns in the dust near my head. "My name is Speck." The faery smiled and stared at me. "You need to eat something." She beckoned her friends closer with a wave of her hand. They set three bowls before me: a salad made from dandelion leaves, watercress, and wild mushrooms; a hill of blackberries plucked from the thorns before dawn; and a collection of assorted roasted beetles. I refused the last but washed down the fruit and vegetables with clear, cold water from a hollowed gourd. In small clusters, they watched intently, whispering to one another and looking at my face from time to time, smiling when they caught my eye.
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Three of the faeries approached to take away my empty dishes; another brought me a pair of trousers. She giggled as I struggled beneath the reed blanket, and then she burst out laughing as I tried to button my fly without revealing my nakedness. I was in no position to shake the proffered hand when the leader introduced himself and his cronies.
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"I am Igel," he said, and swept back his blonde hair with his fingers. "This is Béka."
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Béka was a frog-faced boy a head taller than the others.
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"And this is Onions." Dressed in a boy’s striped shirt and short pants held up by suspenders, she stepped to the front. Shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand, she squinted and smiled at me, and I blushed to the breastbone. Her fingertips were green from digging up the wild onions she loved to eat. When I finished dressing, I pulled myself up on bent elbows to get a better look at the rest of them.
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"I’m Henry Day," I croaked, my voice raw with suffering.
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"Hello, Aniday." Onions smiled, and everyone laughed at the appellation. The faery children began to chant "Aniday, Aniday," and a cry sounded in my heart. From that time forward I was called Aniday, and in time I forgot my given name, although on occasion it would come back part of the way as Andy Day or Anyway. Thus christened, my old identity began to fade, much as a baby will not remember all that happened before it is born. To lose one’s name is the beginning of forgetting.
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As the cheering faded, Igel introduced each faery, but the jumble of names clanged against my ears. They walked away in twos and threes, disappeared into hidden holes that ringed the clearing, then reemerged with ropes and rucksacks. For a moment, I wondered whether they planned to tie me up to be baptized yet again, but most of them took scant notice of my panic. They milled about, anxious to begin, and Igel strode over to my bedside. "We’re going on a scavenger hunt, Aniday. But you need to stay here and rest. You’ve been through quite an ordeal."
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When I tried to stand up, I met the resistance of his hand upon my chest. He may have looked like a six-year-old, but he had the strength of a grown man.
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"Where is my mother?" I asked.
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"Béka and Onions will stay with you. Get some rest." He barked once, and in a flash, the pack gathered by his side. Without a sound, and before I could raise a word of protest, they disappeared, fading into the forest like ghostly wolves. Lagging behind, Speck turned her head and called out to me, "You’re one of us now." Then she loped off to join the others.
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I lay back down and fought tears by staring into the sky. Clouds passed beneath the summer sun, rolling their shadows through the trees and across the faery camp. In the past, I had ventured into these woods alone or with my father, but I had never wandered so deeply into such a quiet, lonesome place. The familiar chestnut, oak, and elm grew taller here, and the forest rimming the clearing appeared thick and impenetrable. Here and there sat well-worn stumps and logs and the remnants of a campfire. A skink sunned itself on the rock that Igel had sat upon. Nearby, a box turtle shuffled through the fallen leaves and hissed into its shell when I sat up to take a closer look.
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Standing proved to be a mistake and left me woozy and disoriented. I wanted to be home in bed, near the comfort of my mother, listening to her sing to my baby sisters, but instead I felt the cold, cold gaze of Béka. Beside him, Onions hummed to herself, intent on the cats-cradle in her busy fingers. She hypnotized me with her designs. Exhausted, I laid my body down, shivering despite the heat and humidity. The afternoon drifted by heavily, inducing sleep. My two companions watched me watching them, but they said nothing. In and out of consciousness, I could not move my tired bones, thinking back on the events that had led me to this grove and worrying about the troubles that would face me when I returned home. In the middle of my drowse, I opened my eyes, sensing an unfamiliar stirring. Nearby, Béka and Onions wrestled beneath a blanket. He was on top of her back, pushing and grunting, and she lay on her stomach, her face turned toward mine. Her green mouth gaped, and when she saw me spying, she flashed me a toothy grin. I closed my eyes and turned away. Fascination and disgust clawed at one another in my confused mind. No sleep returned until the two fell quiet, she humming to herself while the little frog snored contentedly. My stomach seized up like a clenched fist, and nausea rolled into me like a fever. Frightened, and lonesome for home, I wanted to run away and be gone from this strange place.
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