Fish's Wasteland

Optics

光学

Manini Nayar

玛尼尼 纳亚

When I was seven, my friend Sol was hit by lightning and died. He was on a rooftop quietly playing marbles when this happened. Burnt to cinders, we were told by the neighbourhood gossips. He'd caught fire, we were assured, but never felt a thing. I only remember a frenzy of ambulances and long clean sirens cleaving the silence of that damp October night. Later, my father came to sit with me. This happens to one in several millions, he said, as if a knowledge of the bare statistics mitigated the horror. He was trying to help, I think. Or perhaps he believed I thought it would happen to me. Until now, Sol and I had shared everything; secrets, chocolates, friends, even a birthdate. We would marry at eighteen, we promised each other, and have six children, two cows and a heart-shaped tattoo with 'Eternally Yours' sketched on our behinds. But now Sol was somewhere else, and I was seven years old and under the covers in my bed counting spots before my eyes in the darkness.

七岁那年，我的朋友索尔被闪电击中死了。这事发生时他正在屋顶安静地玩着弹珠。烧成了灰，我们从邻里闲聊中听说。他当时着了火，我们被明确告知，但对此却从未有什么感觉。我只记得疯狂呼啸而至的救护车，持久清晰的警笛声划破了那个潮湿的十月夜晚的宁静。后来，爸爸过来在我身边坐下。这发生的几率是几百万分之一，他说，似乎了解这么个纯粹的统计数字能减轻恐惧。他在试着帮我，我想。或者他觉得我以为会发生在自己身上。目前为止，索尔和我分享了所有的一切：秘密、巧克力、朋友，甚至拥有同一个出生日期。我们俩十八岁就结婚，我们向彼此许诺道，然后生六个孩子，养两头奶牛，在我们的屁股上刺上有“终身吾爱”字样的心形纹身。但如今索尔在另一个世界了，而我只有七岁，躲在床单下数着黑暗中眼前浮现的星星点点。

After that I cleared out my play-cupboard. Out went my collection of teddy bears and picture books. In its place was an emptiness, the oak panels reflecting their own woodshine. The space I made seemed almost holy, though mother thought my efforts a waste. An empty cupboard is no better than an empty cup, she said in an apocryphal aside. Mother always filled things up - cups, water jugs, vases, boxes, arms - as if colour and weight equalled a superior quality of life. Mother never understood that this was my dreamtime place. Here I could hide, slide the doors shut behind me, scrunch my eyes tight and breathe in another world. When I opened my eyes, the glow from the lone cupboard-bulb seemed to set the polished walls shimmering, and I could feel what Sol must have felt, dazzle and darkness. I was sharing this with him, as always. He would know, wherever he was, that I knew what he knew, saw what he had seen. But to mother I only said that I was tired of teddy bears and picture books. What she thought I couldn't tell, but she stirred the soup-pot vigorously.

在那之后我清空了我的玩具橱，清出了我的一大堆泰迪熊和图画书。在原来的地方一片空荡，橡木板反射着其特有的木质光泽。我挪出的空间看似近乎神圣，虽然妈妈认为我的努力纯属浪费。一个空橱子跟一个空杯子没什么两样，她插了一句不足凭信的话。妈妈总是把东西塞满——杯子、水壶、花瓶、箱子、怀里——似乎颜色和重量就等于优质的生活。妈妈永远不会理解，这是我的梦幻时光^①所在之处。在这里我能藏起来，在身后把门拉上，紧紧闭上双眼，呼吸另一个世界的空气。当我睁开眼，孤单的橱灯发出的光芒仿佛令光滑的墙壁都在闪着微光，我能感受到索尔也肯定曾经感受过的，目眩而漆黑。我正在与他分享这一感受，正如一直以来的那样。他会知道的，不管他在哪，我知道他所知道的，看到他曾看到的。但对妈妈，我只是说我已经厌倦了泰迪熊和图画书。她怎么想的我说不准，而她只是使劲地搅着汤锅。

 One in several millions, I said to myself many times, as if the key, the answer to it all, lay there. The phrase was heavy on my lips, stubbornly resistant to knowledge. Sometimes I said the words out of context to see if by deflection, some quirk of physics, the meaning would suddenly come to me. Thanks for the beans, mother, I said to her at lunch, you're one in millions. Mother looked at me oddly, pursed her lips and offered me more rice. At this club, when father served a clean ace to win the Retired-Wallahs Rotating Cup, I pointed out that he was one in a million. Oh, the serve was one in a million, father protested modestly. But he seemed pleased. Still, this wasn't what I was looking for, and in time the phrase slipped away from me, lost its magic urgency, became as bland as 'Pass the salt' or 'Is the bath water hot?' If Sol was one in a million, I was one among far less; a dozen, say. He was chosen. I was ordinary. He had been touched and transformed by forces I didn't understand. I was left cleaning out the cupboard. There was one way to bridge the chasm, to bring Sol back to life, but I would wait to try it until the most magical of moments. I would wait until the moment was so right and shimmering that Sol would have to come back. This was my weapon that nobody knew of, not even mother, even though she had pursed her lips up at the beans. This was between Sol and me.

几百万分之一，我自言自语了许多次，好像那钥匙，和所有一切的答案，都在那儿。这个短语在我嘴边尤其沉重，它执拗地拒绝被人了解。有时，我割裂地来说这些词，看看会不会通过偏离，通过某种物理的突然扭曲，我会突然想出其中的意义。谢谢你煮的豆子，妈妈，我午餐时对她说，你是几百万分之一的。妈妈奇怪地看着我，撅起嘴给我多添了些饭。在俱乐部里，当爸爸发出一记漂亮的爱斯球^②赢得退休职员轮值杯时，我指出他是百万分之一的。噢，那个发球才是百万分之一的，爸爸谦虚地提出异议。但是他看起来很高兴。尽管如此，这仍然不是我要找的，并且最终这个短语从我身边溜走了，失去了它不可思议的紧迫感，变得和“把盐递给我”或“洗澡水热吗？”一样平淡无味了。如果索尔是一百万分之一，我就是少得多的几分之一；十二分，比如说。他是被选中的，我则很普通。他已被我无法理解的力量所触及和改变，剩下我在清理玩具橱。有一个方法能跨越这一鸿沟，使索尔复活，但是我要等到最神奇的时刻才尝试。我要等到那个最合适的闪光时刻，那时索尔就一定得回来了。这是我无人知晓的武器，连妈妈也不知道，即使她因为豆子撅了嘴。这是索尔和我之间的秘密。

The winter had almost guttered into spring when father was ill. One February morning, he sat in his chair, ashen as the cinders in the grate. Then, his fingers splayed out in front of him, his mouth working, he heaved and fell. It all happened suddenly, so cleanly, as if rehearsed and perfected for weeks. Again the sirens, the screech of wheels, the white coats in perpetual motion. Heart seizures weren't one in a million. But they deprived you just the same, darkness but no dazzle, and a long waiting.

爸爸病倒的时候冬天已如残烛快融化成春天了。一个二月的早晨，他坐在他的椅子上，面如死灰。接着，他的手指在眼前张开，嘴颤抖着，费力地喘息着倒下了。一切发生得那么突然，那么干净利落，仿佛排练完善了几个星期一样。又是一阵警笛声，车轮发出的尖锐声，永无停歇忙碌着的白大褂们。心脏病突发并不是百万分之一的几率，但它所夺走的是一样的，也是一片黑暗，只是没有头晕目眩，还有漫长的等待。

 Now I knew there was no turning back. This was the moment. I had to do it without delay; there was no time to waste. While they carried father out, I rushed into the cupboard, scrunched my eyes tight, opened them in the shimmer and called out 'Sol! Sol! Sol!' I wanted to keep my mind blank, like death must be, but father and Sol gusted in and out in confusing pictures. Leaves in a storm and I the calm axis. Here was father playing marbles on a roof. Here was Sol serving ace after ace. Here was father with two cows. Here was Sol hunched over the breakfast table. The pictures eddied and rushed. The more frantic they grew, the clearer my voice became, tolling like a bell: 'Sol! Sol! Sol!'

此时我知道已经箭在弦上。这个时刻到了。事不宜迟，没有时间了。他们把爸爸抬出去的时候，我冲进橱子里，紧紧闭上双眼，两眼发亮地睁开，喊道：“索尔！索尔！索尔！”我想保持意识一片空白，就像死亡时那样，但在一幅幅混乱的画面中爸爸和索尔如狂风刮过。正如风暴中的树叶，而我是平静的中心轴。这边是爸爸在屋顶玩着弹珠，这边是索尔一个接一个地发着爱斯球。这边是爸爸和两头奶牛，这边是索尔弯腰驼背坐在早餐桌前。画面回旋奔涌着，它们变得愈狂乱，我的声音愈清晰，一声一声宛若钟鸣：“索尔！索尔！索尔！”

The cupboard rang with voices, some mine, some echoes, some from what seemed another place - where Sol was, maybe. The cup-board seemed to groan and reverberate, as if shaken by lightning and thunder. Any minute now it would burst open and I would find myself in a green valley fed by limpid brooks and red with hibiscus. I would run through tall grass and wading into the waters, see Sol picking flowers. I would open my eyes and he'd be there, hibiscus-laden, laughing. Where have you been, he'd say, as if it were I who had burned, falling in ashes. I was filled to bursting with a certainty so strong it seemed a celebration almost. Sobbing, I opened my eyes. The bulb winked at the walls.

橱子里回荡着许多声音，有些是我的，有些是回音，有些似乎来自另一个地方——或许，是索尔在的地方。橱子好像在呻吟，在回响，似乎被雷电摇撼着。此刻眼前随时都会猛然迸开，我会发现自己置身于青葱的山谷，清溪潺潺，木槿似火。我会跑过高草丛，涉水而行，看到索尔正在采花。真希望我睁开眼睛，他就在那儿，木槿满怀，开心地笑着。你去哪儿了，他会说，仿佛是我着了火，烧成灰烬倒下。我心里胀满了必然的把握，肯定得几乎像是庆祝了。哽咽着，我睁开了眼睛，灯泡正对墙闪烁着。

I fell asleep, I think, because I awoke to a deeper darkness. It was late, much past my bedtime. Slowly I crawled out of the cupboard, my tongue furred, my feet heavy. My mind felt like lead. Then I heard my name. Mother was in her chair by the window, her body defined by a thin ray of moonlight. Your father Will be well, she said quietly, and he will be home soon. The shaft of light in which she sat so motionless was like the light that would have touched Sol if he'd been lucky; if he had been like one of us, one in a dozen, or less. This light fell in a benediction, caressing mother, slipping gently over my father in his hospital bed six streets away. I reached out and stroked my mother's arm. It was warm like bath water, her skin the texture of hibiscus.

我睡着了，我想，因为我醒来时夜色更深了。很晚了，早过了我的上床时间。慢慢地我爬出橱子，口干舌燥，双腿沉重，头像灌了铅一样。然后我听到有人叫我的名字。妈妈坐在窗边，月光的一缕薄辉勾勒出了她的身影。你爸爸会好起来的，她轻声说，他很快就会回家了。她纹丝不动地坐在月光里，那束光仿佛本来也会触摸到索尔，如果他幸运的话，如果他像我们其中之一，只是十二分之一，或者更少。这片光辉祝福般洒下，亲吻着妈妈，温柔地滑过六条街以外躺在医院病床上的爸爸。我伸出手抚摩着妈妈的手臂。它像洗澡水一样温暖，她的皮肤摸起来有着像木槿一样的肌理。

 We stayed together for some time, my mother and I, invaded by small night sounds and the raspy chirr of crickets. Then I stood up and turned to return to my room. Mother looked at me quizzically. Are you all right, she asked. I told her I was fine, that I had some c!eaning up to do. Then I went to my cupboard and stacked it up again with teddy bears and picture books.

我们一起呆了一会儿，妈妈和我，不时袭来夜间的小声响和蟋蟀刺耳的唧唧声。然后我站起来转身回房间了。妈妈疑惑不解地看着我。你还好吧，她问。我告诉她我很好，我还有些清理工作要做。之后我来到玩具橱前，在里面重新堆满了泰迪熊和图画书。

 Some years later we moved to Rourkela, a small mining town in the north east, near Jamshedpur. The summer I turned sixteen, I got lost in the thick woods there. They weren't that deep - about three miles at the most. All I had to do was cycle for all I was worth, and in minutes I'd be on the dirt road leading into town. But a stir in the leaves gave me pause.

几年后我们搬到了鲁尔克拉^③，一个东北部的采矿小镇，邻近贾尔谢普尔。刚满十六岁那年夏天，我迷失在那儿茂密的树林里。树林其实没那么深——最多也就大约三英里地。我只要竭尽全力地骑车飞驰，几分钟之后就能找到通往镇上的泥路了。然而，树叶的一阵晃动让我停了下来。

     I dismounted and stood listening. Branches arched like claws overhead. The sky crawled on a white belly of clouds. Shadows fell in tessellated patterns of grey and black. There was a faint thrumming all around, as if the air were being strung and practised for an overture. And yet there was nothing, just a silence of moving shadows, a bulb winking at the walls. I remembered Sol, of whom I hadn't thought in years. And foolishly again I waited, not for answers but simply for an end to the terror the woods were building in me, chord by chord, like dissonant music. When the cacophony grew too much to bear, I remounted and pedalled furiously, banshees screaming past my ears, my feet assuming a clockwork of their own. The pathless ground threw up leaves and stones, swirls of dust rose and settled. The air was cool and steady as I hurled myself into the falling light.

我下了车驻足聆听。树枝弯拱交错着，犹如悬于头顶的巨爪。天空用雪白的云腹徐徐匍匐而行。投下的阴影组成了灰黑相嵌的马赛克图案。四周都回响着微弱的嗡鸣声，仿佛空气正在上弦练习一首序曲。尽管如此，但是仍然什么也没有，不过是沉默的浮影，对墙闪烁的灯泡。我想起了索尔，已经多年没想起他了。愚蠢地，我又再次等待着，不是等待答案，单纯只是等待着树林融入我体内的恐惧消失，一个和音接着一个和音，宛如不协调的音乐。当这种杂音变得无法忍受时，我重新上车猛蹬起来，爱尔兰女妖^④在我耳边尖叫着，我的双脚犹如上了发条般自动进行着机械运动。无径的林地抛起了落叶和石子，打着旋儿的尘土扬起又降下。凉风习习，我投入到了渐渐黯淡的夕照中。

注释：

①     “梦幻时光”是澳大利亚原住民认为神圣的创世时期前的时光，也是其土著神话中所说的“黄金时代”。澳洲的原住民认为有两种形式的时间，一种是日常的客观时间，另一种“时间”存在于无限的精神循环过程，就叫做“梦幻时光”，一些具有超常精神力量的人可以与这个“时间”联系。

②     网球比赛中，对局双方的一方发球，球落在有效区内，但对方却没有触及到球而使之直接得分的发球就称为爱斯球（英语ace的音译）

③     印度奥里萨邦北部城市，印度最大的钢铁生产基地之一。在贾尔谢普尔西南150公里。

④     爱尔兰神话里守护着爱尔兰人家庭，能预知死亡的女妖；当她预知家里有人要死去时，就会在月光下痛哭，声音就像风声一样

               校道                                 

    第一次走进校园，首先给她留下印象的就是长长的逸仙大道。两边都是涌动的人流和缤纷鲜艳的横幅，像充满魔幻色彩的万花筒，一路前行，都是看不够的琳琅风景。

    刚到一个陌生的地方，她向来都是没有距离感和方向感的。只记得沿逸仙大道一直走一直走，走了似乎很长一段时间后，就看到前方的教学楼了。拿着一叠表单到了F区，才发现相片忘在了宿舍抽屉；排了长长的队到了领体检表的窗口，才知道原来要先交五元钱，而身上却没带一分一毫……

    教学楼与宿舍几个来回，她似乎觉得这印象中很长的校道越走越长了，明明记得过了这个路口再走几步就是圆圆的广场，却总也走不到尽头。随着呼吸的紊乱，她对两边流动的色彩开始觉得眩目。终于，脚痛得走不动了，落寞地坐在花坛边，望着眼前笔直延伸往远方的校道，对从今天开始的陌生未来突然滋生了一种茫然，像水一样慢慢漫上来。

    说不清是出于新奇感还是为了冲淡离家的寂寞，国庆返校后她加入了很多社团。日子果然被填得满满当当的，没有了敏感与伤怀藏身的地方。一天又一天，拿着策划或搬着大板，她在校道上匆匆忙忙地赶，那段曾经印象深刻的距离早就被自动忽略，她心里和眼里都只有下一个任务，下一个目标，一站又一站。

    那段日子是辉煌而灰暗的，当她披着他人羡慕的目光奔走在大大小小的活动中时，生活带给她的疲惫感却越来越浓重。那压抑在繁忙之下的孤独和无措此时反而像被无限放大了，如同热闹中的寂寞，放肆得更加让人难受。她逐渐有些恐惧地意识到自己正一步步地接近别人梦寐以求的光环，却离自己真正想要的生活越来越远。

    从报业大厦排版回来，昏黄的灯光和墨黑的榕叶静寂地晾在凌晨3点清冷的空气中，她在接近宿舍的逸仙道上停下了脚步，突然发现已经在这条校道上走丢了自己。

    到了深秋，风牵着满校道的叶子越来越快速地奔跑起来了，她的脚步却慢了很多。凹凸错落的地砖仿佛能铭刻下很多磕磕碰碰的思绪，她安静地一块块迈过，虽然会想起很多很多，心里却是澄清而平静的，一如她不紧不慢的步伐。不是自己想要的，原来放弃并不可惜。心底的声音给出了最终的答案，便不管外界的看法如何，一路前行，整个世界的风景都盛开在了眼里。

    风流水一般地淌过，一不留神就带来了甜蜜的气息。抬起头，看到一对对幸福的身影，女孩的手总是握在男生的手心里。刹时像从远方传来了他掌心的温度，一个被遗忘了很久的词渐渐在她心中晕染开来，一个叫“永远”的词。或许是过去的自己不够坚强去面对彼此之间的147公里，但此刻的她突然想很单纯地去相信这份遥远的幸福；20岁不应该是一个已经不相信爱情的年龄。再远的距离，只要两个人一起走，最后总会走到一起吧，就好像每个童话都会有个Happy ending。

    是不是每个人生命中的不同时期都会有这么一条路，来来回回中路过了迷茫，路过了压抑，路过了勇敢，路过了美好；然后走着走着就突然发现，不知道什么时候已经成长起来了。