那年在中国的京城，我主持一项工程，历时两载，下榻于某家专门招待西欧来宾的旅舍。旅舍的职员很有礼貌，白色套服，黑领结，都是高中毕业又经过专业训练的——我休息、饮食，可称安适。房租是由石油部付的。餐厅只有楼下一个，绿叶扶疏，幽静宜人。餐毕，侍者用铜盘托来账单，我签个名，月底结算。我唯一不满足的是，不像生活在中国。
我对这座名城是陌生的，所以休假日多半出游。我不喜结伴，虽寂寞，却是平平稳稳，像艘帆船在晴光微风的海面缓缓航行。
夏日某次筵席上，遇见了旧时同学，她已是颇负盛名的雕塑家，正在放大一件建筑装饰，工作场离我住的旅舍很近。
散席时，她说：“那浮雕很累人，我中午想睡一会儿，你白天不在，可否关照值班人员，给我钥匙？”
我很高兴地同意，旅舍人员也很高兴为著名的艺术家服务。一天又一天，我不安，日益不安，希望她早些结束那附近的工作，不再来此午睡。
因为每当我夜晚归来，房屋总有新鲜感——或是多了几盆名贵的花，或是书桌上多了几件小摆设，抽屉里有巧克力，本来满着的饼干箱里又换了品种，大盆的水果，是清朝宫廷样式，吃不了，只闻香味……想象到她每天来时，提包捧花的模样，我难受得发慌。向晚的归途中，兀自担忧，不知房里又会出现什么新鲜玩意儿——这不再是我原来的房间，我像是走错了门。
事态在扩展、激化。某晚，我惴然启门，先看见壁上的歌德像，然后是窗畔艳红的大理菊，一盆非洲常春藤被吊了起来，绿叶绕过台灯，垂及古银镂花的椭圆镜框，中有普希金的相片。书架上原是几本笨重的工具书和零落的数据资料，此时却严严正正地站着大排世界名著——这是个文学家的书房，我成了不知趣的闯入者，不仅是发慌，而且是发愁了。
是否去向石油部说，为了工作方便，我搬到招待所去？然而这是逃遁，逃遁是卑劣的。
我坐立不安，倒在床上，一侧身，发觉枕畔也有变化——是件丝质的白衬衫，百合花般的大翻领，手工缝制。天！她哪有时间睡午觉，这针针线线的活儿，多费神。我见过别人穿这种式样的衬衫，例如拜伦、罗密欧等。那是什么时代，他们是怎样的天生丽质，我是一生一世不配穿的！对之不禁毛骨悚然——我的同学旧病复发了。
我和她中学同班，都爱文学，写罗曼蒂克兮兮的诗，后来她选择了绘画雕塑，我选择了物理化学。
我们是同住在一幢公寓里的，中学毕业后，虽然分了校，对文学的热情还是一致而不衰。我不得不背井离乡时，她给我船票；归返而病倒，她给我药物；想看很多新书，一本也买不起，她每次带些来，说是借给我，却从不拿回去……她梦想我成为诗人——这个十五六岁的人的病，竟会在三十五六岁的人身上再现。我已久不近诗，偶或触及，像闻到使人窒息的酒糟的浓香——还是石油的气味让我好受些。
二十年中，经历了战争、婚姻、职业和生活的沧桑，我们都是中年人了。既然重逢，谈笑风生，有一种自然而然的超脱。我很珍重自己的中年，也很尊敬别的中年人，常对同辈的朋友说：“正是开怀畅饮的嘉年华啊。”
与女雕塑家重逢后，饮得不多，谈得更少，彼此忙于工作。生活琐事，毫无兴趣啰唆。我的本行，她是不问的；她的雕塑事业，我有一点点好奇心，就评论起古今的雕塑家来。真奇怪，她推崇的几位，我漠然；我赞赏的几位，她近乎反感。我学会哈哈大笑，她学会闷闷不乐，话题急转为“你再来一杯咖啡，还是红茶”。时或同看电影，也曾于散场后漫步在夜的街头，对那电影的导演、演员的艺术表现，所见略同，互为补充；不期然涉及剧中人的善恶贤愚，岔路渐显，甚而争论，分手时各自做出一副不介意的样子。有一次看了《梅丽公主》，我同情皮恰林，她却认为他是全然不良的，我为之辩解了一阵，她说：“那多半因为你是一个男人。”
别的朋友来看我，对我居处的“情趣”议论纷纷，他们受到我精美点心的招待，却怪我奢华得女性化、孩子气。不知哪个机灵鬼，打听到每天有位女士准时来布置房间，增添食品。他们要我公开，我被扰烦了，承认有这么回事，但从早到晚，我不在，没有见着她，夜晚她是不来的。朋友们笑道：“那是田螺姑娘！”
小时候我听到过这个民间传说：田螺化成女人，白天为渔夫料理家务，夜晚她回复原形，躲在水缸里。朋友们引此典故，我也觉得情况相去不远，便认同了。这还不能平息满屋子的兴奋，他们定要亲眼见见“田螺姑娘”。我对雕塑家说了这个笑话，她素来豪爽，表示由她做一次宴请。丰盛的肴浆，盈盈的笑语，宾客中有几个也是当年的同学，谈来格外有味，谁也没称她为田螺姑娘或田螺夫人。宴会很成功，事后大家都赞美她的不凡、超群。她与丈夫分居多年，那时候刚办完离婚手续，于是朋友们一致认为我和她即将由同居而结婚了。
全然不是这么回事。她已不再来旅舍午睡，我也结束了石油部的那项工程。临别的忙碌，使我至今也记不清，何以我上飞机时，送别的众人里没有那雕塑家——除非她当时不在京城，不然就没有理由可以使她不来送别的。
离别之初，我们通过一两封信。之后，又是类似战争的骚乱，生活和工作的沧海桑田。后来，遇见了一个从她那里来的朋友，说她常谈起我……关于她自己呢——已复婚；有了儿子和女儿，很可爱；事业顺利，雕塑件数倒并不太多。
可平安了，大家都已是老人。我写信，叙完了旧事，添说：“在道德上我并非问心有愧，而是你数十年来不倦的善心，使我一想起，便觉得自己是个罪人。”
不久后，收到回信：“我没有像你所说的那么好，不值得你称道。”除了这两句，其他的似乎都是节自报端的社论——信不长，我却感到她说了许多话。
从她最后的一封信看，我觉得，她和京城中满街走的老妇人行将看不分明。我很喜欢那些出没于胡同口、菜场上的返璞归真的老太太，即使她们争斤论两，也笑口大开，既埋怨别人的不公平，又责怪自己太小气。
中国的京城，除了风沙袭人的春天，夏、秋、冬都是极可爱的。尤其是金秋十月，蓝天、黄瓦、红枫，一个白发的老妇人，腰挺挺地骑着自行车，背后的车架上大捆的菠菜、胡葱，幸福而颤抖……“您老好啊，上我家来玩啊！”
但愿我能有这样喜乐的一天，作为她家的宾客。如果她住的不是洋楼，而是颇具古风的四合院，那就真是一个完美的梦。
That year, in the Chinese capital, I presided over a two-year project and stayed in a hostel for Western European guests. The hostel staff is polite, white suit, black tie, are high school graduates and professional training-i rest, eat, can be described as comfortable. The rent is paid by the oil ministry. There is only one restaurant downstairs, green leaves, quiet and pleasant. At the end of the meal, the waiter sent the bill on a copper tray, which I signed for the end of the month. The only thing I'm not satisfied with is that it's not like living in China. I am a stranger to this famous city, so I usually go out on holidays. I do not like company, although lonely, but is smooth and steady, like a sailboat in the sunny breeze of the sea slowly sailing. At a summer party, I met an old classmate, a well-known sculptor, who was zooming in on an architectural ornament, working close to my hostel. When the table was dismissed, she said, "the relief is very tiring. I want to take a nap at noon. You are not here during the day. Could you look after the staff on duty and give me the key?" The hostel staff are also happy to serve famous artists. Day by day I grew restless, hoping that she would soon finish her work in the neighbourhood and stop coming here for a nap. Because when I come home at night, there's something new in the house -- maybe a few more expensive flowers, a few more knickknacks on the desk, a drawer full of chocolates, a new variety in the Cookie Jar, large pots of fruit, is the Qing dynasty court style, can not eat, only smell... imagine her every day, the shape of the bag holding flowers, I feel uneasy. On the way back to the evening, I worried that something new would appear in the room -- it wasn't my room any more, I felt as if I had gone to the wrong door. The situation is expanding and intensifying. One night, when I opened the door, I saw a picture of Grado Labs on the wall, then the Red Dahlia in the window, a pot of African Ivy hanging up, the green leaves around the lamp, hanging down to the antique silver engraved oval frames, there's a picture of Alexander Pushkin in it. Instead of a few heavy reference books and scattered data on the shelves, I stood solemnly in a row of world-famous books -- the study of a literary man, where I had become an uninterested interloper, not merely panicked, and he's worried. Should I go to the oil ministry and tell them that I am moving to a guest house for the convenience of my job? But this is escape, and escape is despicable. Fidgeting, I lay on my side of the bed and noticed a change on my pillow -- a silk white shirt with a large, lily-like lapel, hand-stitched. Oh, God! She doesn't have time to take a nap. It's a lot of needlework. I've seen people wearing this style of shirt, such as Bailén, Romeo, etc. . What a time it was, what a natural beauty they were, I was too But Always to wear! It made my hair stand on end-my classmate had a relapse. I was in her high school class. We both loved literature and wrote romantic poems. She chose painting and sculpture. I chose physical chemistry. We lived in the same apartment building, and after high school, our passion for literature continued unabated despite our separate schools. When I had to leave my home, she gave me a boat ticket; when I came home sick, she gave me medicine; she wanted to read a lot of new books, and could not afford one, and never took it back... she dreamed that I would become a poet, that the disease of a man of fifteen or sixteen would be repeated in a man of thirty-five or six. I haven't been able to touch it for a long time, like the smell of choking lees -- or the smell of oil. After two decades of war, marriage, work and life, we're all middle-aged. Now that we are together again, we can talk and laugh, and there is a natural detachment. I treasure my middle age and respect other middle-aged people. I often say to my friends in the same age, "it's the carnival of drinking." After meeting the female sculptor, I drink less and talk less, we were busy with work. I'm not interested in the details of life. She does not ask me what I do; I am a little curious about her sculpture career and comment on sculptors of all time and all times. It is strange that I am indifferent to those whom she admires, and nearly repelled by those whom I admire. I learned to laugh, she learned to mope, and the conversation quickly turned to "would you like another cup of coffee, or black tea?". Sometimes they watch movies together, and sometimes they walk through the streets at night after the performance of the film director and the actors. They have similar views and complement each other in their artistic performance, even argue, break up with each other to act like they don't mind. Once, after watching "Princess Mei Li", I felt sorry for Picharling, but she thought he was totally bad. I defended him for a while. "It's probably because you're a man," she said, there was much talk of my "tastes", and they were treated to my fine refreshments, but blamed me for being too womanly and childish. I do not know which clever ghost, inquired that every day has a lady to decorate the room punctually, adds the food. They want me to go public, and I'm annoyed, and I admit it, but from morning till night, I'm not there, I don't see her, and she doesn't come at night. My friends laughed and said, "that's the snail girl!" When I was a child, I heard this folktale: the snail turned into a woman, who did housework for the fisherman during the day, and at night she returned to her original shape and hid in a tank of water. Friends cited this story, I also feel that the situation is not far away, they agreed. This was not enough to quell the excitement that filled the room; they were bound to see the "snail girl" with their own eyes. I told this joke to the sculptor, who had been generous enough to offer her a treat. Sumptuous paste, Ying Ying laugh, guests are also a few of the students, talk to particularly interesting, who did not call her snail girl or Tianluo Lady. The party was a success, and afterwards everyone praised her for being extraordinary and extraordinary. She had been separated from her husband for many years after the divorce was finalized, and all her friends agreed that she and I were going to be married by cohabitation. That's not true at all. She no longer napped at the hostel, and I had finished the oil ministry project. So busy was she that I can not remember why the sculptor was not among the people I saw off when I got on the plane -- there was no reason why she should not come, unless she was not in the capital at the time. At the beginning of our parting, we wrote a letter or two. Then came the turmoil of war, the vicissitudes of life and work. Later, I met a friend from her, said she often talked about me... about Herself-has remarried; had a son and daughter, very cute; business is good, not too many pieces. But we're safe now. We're old people. When I had finished writing the letter, Tim said, "I am not morally guilty, but your decades of untiring kindness made me think of myself as a sinner." The reply: "I'm not as good as you say I am. I'm not worthy of your praise." Apart from these two, the others seemed to be editorials from the newspaper -- not long, but I felt that she said a lot. From her last letter, it seemed to me that she was going to be indistinguishable from the old ladies walking the streets of the capital. I like the old ladies who come to the hutong entrance and the vegetable market, even if they argue about each other, but also laugh, both blame others unfair, and blame themselves too stingy. China's capital is lovely in summer, autumn and winter, except for the windy and Sandy Spring. Especially in the golden autumn of October, blue sky, yellow tile, red maple, a white-haired old woman riding a bicycle, back of the frame on the large bundles of spinach, green onions, happy and trembling... "How do you do, come to my house!" I wish I could have such a happy day as a guest in her house. If she is not living in a foreign house, but rather the ancient style of the quadrangle, it is really a perfect dream. 标题: 完美的女友作者: 木心
字数: 2427
简介: 那年在中国的京城，我主持一项工程，历时两载，下榻于某家专门招待西欧来宾的旅舍。旅舍的职员很有礼貌，白色套服，黑领结，都是高中毕业又经过专业训
没有评论:
发表评论