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双语·没有女人的男人们 第十篇 阿尔卑斯田园曲

所属教程:译林版·没有女人的男人们:海明威短篇小说选

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2022年04月24日

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IT was hot coming down into the valley even in the early morning.The sun melted the snow from the skis we were carrying and dried the wood.It was spring in the valley but the sun was very hot.We came along the road into Galtur carrying our skis and rucksacks.As we passed the churchyard a burial was just over.I said,“Grüss Gott,”to the priest as he walked past us coming out of the churchyard.The priest bowed.

“It's funny a priest never speaks to you,”John said.

“You'd think they'd like to say‘Grüss Gott.’”

“They never answer,”John said.

We stopped in the road and watched the sexton shoveling in the new earth.A peasant with a black beard and high leather boots stood beside the grave.The sexton stopped shoveling and straightened his back.The peasant in the high boots took the spade from the sexton and went on flling the grave—spreading the earth evenly as a man spreading manure in a garden.In the bright May morning the grave-flling looked unreal.I could not imagine anyone being dead.

“Imagine being buried on a day like this,”I said to John.

“I wouldn't like it.”

“Well,”I said,“we don't have to do it.”

We went on up the road past the houses of the town to the inn.Wehad been skiing in the Silvretta for a month, and it was good to be down in the valley.In the Silvretta the skiing had been all right, but it was spring skiing, the snow was only good in the early morning and again in the evening.The rest of the time it was spoiled by the sun.We were both tired of the sun.You could not get away from the sun.The only shadows were made by rocks or by the hut that was built under the protection of a rock beside a glacier, and in the shade the sweat froze in your underclothing.You could not sit outside the hut without dark glasses.It was pleasant to be burned black but the sun had been very tiring.You could not rest in it.I was glad to be down away from snow.It was too late in the spring to be up in the Silvretta.I was a little tired of skiing.We had stayed too long.I could taste the snow water we had been drinking melted off the tin roof of the hut.The taste was a part of the way I felt about skiing.I was glad there were other things beside skiing, and I was glad to be down, away from the unnatural high mountain spring, into this May morning in the valley.

The innkeeper sat on the porch of the inn, his chair tipped back against the wall.Beside him sat the cook.

“Ski-heil!”said the innkeeper.

“Heil!”we said and leaned the skis against the wall and took off our packs.

“How was it up above?”asked the innkeeper.

“Schön.A little too much sun.”

“Yes.There's too much sun this time of year.”

The cook sat on in his chair.The innkeeper went in with us and unlocked his offce and brought out our mail.There was a bundle of letters and some papers.

“Let's get some beer,”John said.

“Good.We'll drink it inside.”

The proprietor brought two bottles and we drank them while we read the letters.

“We better have some more beer,”John said.A girl brought it this time.She smiled as she opened the bottles.

“Many letters,”she said.

“Yes.Many.”

“Prosit,”she said and went out, taking the empty bottles.

“I'd forgotten what beer tasted like.”

“I hadn't,”John said.“Up in the hut I used to think about it a lot.”

“Well,”I said,“we've got it now.”

“You oughtn't to ever do anything too long.”

“No.We were up there too long.”

“Too damn long,”John said.“It's no good doing a thing too long.”

The sun came through the open window and shone through the beer bottles on the table.The bottles were half full.There was a little froth on the beer in the bottles, not much, because it was very cold.It collared up when you poured it into the tall glasses.I looked out of the open window at the white road.The trees beside the road were dusty.Beyond was a green field and a stream.There were trees along the stream and a mill with a water wheel.Through the open side of the mill I saw a long log and a saw in it rising and falling.No one seemed to be tending it.There were four crows walking in the green feld.One crow sat in a tree watching.Outside on the porch the cook got off his chair and passed into the hall that led back into the kitchen.Inside, the sunlight shone through the emptyglasses on the table.John was leaning forward with his head on his arms.

Through the window I saw two men come up the front steps.They came into the drinking room.One was the bearded peasant in the high boots.The other was the sexton.They sat down at the table under the window.The girl came in and stood by their table.The peasant did not seem to see her.He sat with his hands on the table.He wore his old army clothes.There were patches on the elbows.

“What will it be?”asked the sexton.The peasant did not pay any attention.

“What will you drink?”

“Schnapps,”the peasant said.

“And a quarter liter of red wine,”the sexton told the girl.

The girl brought the drinks and the peasant drank the schnapps.He looked out of the window.The sexton watched him.John had his head forward on the table.He was asleep.

The innkeeper came in and went over to the table.He spoke in dialect and the sexton answered him.The peasant looked out of the window.The innkeeper went out of the room.The peasant stood up.He took a folded ten-thousand kronen note out of a leather pocket-book and unfolded it.The girl came up.

“Alles?”she asked.

“Alles,”he said.

“Let me buy the wine,”the sexton said.

“Alles,”the peasant repeated to the girl.She put her hand in the pocket of her apron, brought it out full of coins and counted out the change.The peasant went out of the door.As soon as he was gone theinnkeeper came into the room again and spoke to the sexton.He sat down at the table.They talked in dialect.The sexton was amused.The innkeeper was disgusted.The sexton stood up from the table.He was a little man with a moustache.He leaned out of the window and looked up the road.

“There he goes in,”he said.

“In the Löwen?”

“Ja.”

They talked again and then the innkeeper came over to our table.The innkeeper was a tall man and old.He looked at John asleep.

“He's pretty tired.”

“Yes, we were up early.”

“Will you want to eat soon?”

“Any time,”I said.“What is there to eat?”

“Anything you want.The girl will bring the eating-card.”

The girl brought the menu.John woke up.The menu was written in ink on a card and the card slipped into a wooden paddle.

“There's the Speisekarte,”I said to John.He looked at it.He was still sleepy.

“Won't you have a drink with us?”I asked the innkeeper.

He sat down.“Those peasants are beasts,”said the innkeeper.

“We saw that one at a funeral coming in to town.”

“That was his wife.”

“Oh.”

“He's a beast.All these peasants are beasts.”

“How do you mean?”

“You wouldn't believe it.You wouldn't believe what just happenedto that one.”

“Tell me.”

“You wouldn't believe it.”The innkeeper spoke to the sexton.“Franz, come over here.”The sexton came, bringing his little bottle of wine and his glass.

“The gentlemen are just come down from the Wiesbade-nerhütte,”the innkeeper said.We shook hands.

“What will you drink?”I asked.

“Nothing,”Franz shook his fnger.

“Another quarter liter?”

“All right.”

“Do you understand dialect?”the innkeeper asked.

“No.”

“What's it all about?”John asked.

“He's going to tell us about the peasant we saw filling the grave, coming into town.”

“I can't understand it, anyway,”John said.“It goes too fast for me.”

“That peasant,”the innkeeper said,“today he brought his wife in to be buried.She died last November.”

“December,”said the sexton.

“That makes nothing.She died last December then, and he notifed the commune.”

“December eighteenth,”said the sexton.

“Anyway, he couldn't bring her over to be buried until the snow was gone.”

“He lives on the other side of the Paznaun,”said the sexton.“But hebelongs to this parish.”

“He couldn't bring her out at all?”I asked.

“No.He can only come, from where he lives, on skis until the snow melts.So today he brought her in to be buried and the priest, when he looked at her face, didn't want to bury her.You go on and tell it,”he said to the sexton.“Speak German, not dialect.”

“It was very funny with the priest,”said the sexton.“In the report to the commune she died of heart trouble.We knew she had heart trouble here.She used to faint in church sometimes.She did not come for a long time.She wasn't strong to climb.When the priest uncovered her face he asked Olz,‘Did your wife suffer much?'‘No,'said Olz.‘When I came in the house she was dead across the bed.'”

“The priest looked at her again.He didn't like it.”

“‘How did her face get that way?'”

“‘I don't know,'Olz said.”

“‘You'd better find out,'the priest said, and put the blanket back.Olz didn't say anything.The priest looked at him.Olz looked back at the priest.‘You want to know?'”

“‘I must know,'the priest said.”

“This is where it's good,”the innkeeper said.“Listen to this.Go on Franz.”

“‘Well,'said Olz,‘when she died I made the report to the commune and I put her in the shed across the top of the big wood.When I started to use the big wood she was stiff and I put her up against the wall.Her mouth was open and when I came to the shed at night to cut up the big wood, I hung the lantern from it.'”

“‘Why did you do that?'asked the priest.”

“‘I don't know,'said Olz.”

“‘Did you do that many times?'”

“‘Every time I went to work in the shed at night.'”

“‘It was very wrong,'said the priest.‘Did you love your wife?'”

“‘Ja, I loved her,'Olz said.‘I loved her fne.'”

“Did you understand it all?”asked the innkeeper.“You understand it all about his wife?”

“I heard it.”

“How about eating?”John asked.

“You order,”I said.“Do you think it's true?”I asked the innkeeper.

“Sure it's true,”he said.“These peasants are beasts.”

“Where did he go now?”

“He's gone to drink at my colleague's, the Löwen!”

“He didn't want to drink with me,”said the sexton.

“He didn't want to drink with me, after he knew about his wife,”said the innkeeper.

“Say,”said John.“How about eating?”

“All right,”I said.

即便清晨走进山谷,也会感到浑身发热。太阳把我们滑雪板上的残雪晒得融化了,把滑雪板也晒干了。虽然还只是春天,山谷里的太阳却火辣辣的。我们拿着滑雪板,背着帆布包,沿着大路走进了加尔蒂[68]。经过教堂墓地时,一场葬礼刚刚结束。牧师出了墓地,从我们身边走过,我对他说了声:“愿上帝保佑你!”他冲我躬了躬身子。

“奇怪的是,牧师从不跟人讲话。”约翰说。

“你以为他们喜欢说‘愿上帝保佑你’这样的话?”

“反正他们从不搭腔。”约翰说。

我们停下脚步,站在路上观看教堂司事在铲新土。一个留着黑胡子的农民穿着高腰皮靴守在旁边。教堂司事停下手里的活儿,直起腰来,穿高腰皮靴的农民便从他手中接过铲子,继续往墓坑里填土——他把土撒得很匀,就像在菜园里撒肥料一样。在这么一个阳光灿烂的五月份的上午埋死人显得很不真实。我简直想象不出来这样的时候会死人。

“这样的日子埋死人,你能想象得出来吗?”我对约翰说。

“我不喜欢这样。”

“还好,”我说,“咱们不必干这种倒霉的事。”

我们继续行路,从镇上鳞次栉比的人家门前走过,径直到了客栈。在锡尔夫雷塔[69]待了一个月,此时来到这条山谷,我们感觉很好。在锡尔夫雷塔滑雪固然很棒,但到了春天,那儿的雪只适合早晚滑,其他的时间段,雪都叫太阳给糟蹋了。我们俩都讨厌上了太阳,唯恐躲避不及。在阳光下,只有巉岩和小木屋(那座小木屋建在冰川旁的岩石后,以岩石作掩护)才会投下些许阴影。躲到阴影里,你内衣上的汗水就会结成冰。你不戴墨镜,根本无法坐在小屋外面。把皮肤晒黑本来是件挺开心的事,可是太阳实在太令人讨厌了。你没法在太阳下面休息。能够下山,远离那片滑雪场,我感到心情舒畅。春天去锡尔夫雷塔,未免有点儿太迟了。我都有点儿讨厌滑雪了。我们在那儿待的时间太长,靠着喝小木屋铁皮屋顶上融化的雪水度日,现在嘴里还有一股雪水味。这股味道,也是我们对滑雪的感受的一部分;幸好除了滑雪,还可以干别的有趣的事情,这叫我心里有了一些喜悦。我很高兴能下山,远离高山上那反常的春天,来到这条山谷里,享受这融融的五月晨光。

客栈老板正坐在门廊那儿,椅子向后翘起,抵在墙上。厨子则坐在他身旁。

“嗨,滑雪的!”客栈老板说。

“嗨!”我们一边打招呼,一边把滑雪板靠在墙上,卸下背包。

“山上怎么样?”客栈老板问。

“还好。就是太阳有点儿太毒了。”

“是的。每年的这个时候太阳都特别毒。”

厨子坐在椅子上没动,而客栈老板把我们迎进屋去,打开办公室,取出我们的邮件——一捆信和几份报纸。

“咱们喝点儿啤酒吧。”约翰说。

“好。到里面去喝吧。”

老板送来两瓶酒,我们一边喝酒一边看信。

“最好再来点儿啤酒。”约翰说。这次送酒来的是个女孩。她开瓶时笑了笑。

“好多信哟!”她说。

“是的,是很多。”

“祝你们一切如意!”[70]她说完,拿着空酒瓶子走了出去。

“我都忘了啤酒是什么味道了。”

“我没忘,”约翰说,“因为我在山上的小屋里老想来着。”

“啊,”我说,“现在总算喝到啦。”

“什么事情都不能干的时间太长。”

“是啊。咱们在山上待的时间太长了。”

“长得简直不得了。”约翰说,“凡事时间过长,就没有好结果。”

阳光从敞开的窗户射进来,透过啤酒瓶,照在桌子上。酒瓶里的酒剩下了一半,里面有一点儿泡沫,但因为天气寒冷,泡沫并不很多。把酒倒进高脚杯里,泡沫就堆积了起来。从敞开的窗户望出去,可以看见那条白颜色的大路,路边的树木落满了灰尘。再往远看则是绿油油的田野和一条小溪,溪边树木成行,还有一个磨坊,磨坊里有个水轮。磨坊的一侧是敞开的,可以看见有个大锯在一上一下地锯一根长长的原木,似乎没有人在跟前操作。四只乌鸦在绿野里走来走去,另有一只在树上观看。坐在门廊那儿的厨子离开了椅子,走进了通往后边厨房的门厅。屋内,阳光透过空玻璃杯,射在桌子上。约翰趴在桌子上,把脸埋在两条胳膊上。

从窗户望出去,我看见有两个人走上门前台阶,接着来到了酒吧间里。他们当中的一个就是那个穿高腰皮靴的留黑胡子的农民,另一位是教堂司事。他们在靠窗户的桌子旁落座。那个女孩进来,站在他们的桌子跟前。农民似乎跟没看见她一样,两只手放在桌上,呆坐着。他穿一身旧军装,胳膊肘上缀着补丁。

“要什么酒?”教堂司事问。农民没有理会。

“想喝什么酒?”

“来点儿烈酒吧。”农民说。

“我要四分之一升红葡萄酒。”教堂司事对女孩说。

女孩拿来了酒。农民把烈酒喝了,眼睛望着窗外。教堂司事则在观察他。约翰脸伏在桌子上,已经睡着了。

客栈老板走进来,到了他们的桌子跟前,用方言说了句什么,教堂司事应答着。农民仍在望着窗外。老板出去了。农民站起来,从皮夹子里取出一张叠在一起的一万克朗[71]钞票,把它展开。女孩走上前去。

“一起算?”女孩问。

“一起算。”农民回答。

“红酒的钱我出。”教堂司事说。

“一起算。”农民把刚才的话又对女孩重复了一遍。女孩把手伸进围裙口袋里,掏出一把硬币,数出了应该找的钱。农民走了。他前脚走,客栈老板后脚就进来了,在教堂司事的桌旁坐下,跟他说起了话。他们谈话时,都操方言。教堂司事乐呵呵的,而客栈老板则是一脸的厌恶。教堂司事是个小个子,留着小胡子。只见他从桌旁站起,把脑袋探出窗户,朝大路那儿望了望。

“他进去了。”教堂司事说。

“进洛温旅馆啦?”

“是的。”

他们又说了一会儿话。后来,客栈老板来到了我们桌子跟前。这位客栈老板是个老头,个子高高的。他看了看正在呼呼大睡的约翰。

“他累坏了。”

“是的。我们今天起床起得早。”

“想不想马上吃饭?”

“什么时候都可以。”我说,“有什么菜?”

“随你点了。女孩会把菜单拿来的。”

女孩把菜单送来时,约翰也醒了。菜单用墨水写在卡片上,再将卡片嵌入一个木框。

“菜单来了。”我对约翰说。他仍在发困,睡眼惺忪地看了看菜单。

“想跟我们喝杯酒吗?”我问客栈老板。

客栈老板坐了下来。“那些农民简直就是畜生。”客栈老板说。

“我们来小镇的路上看见刚才的那位在办葬礼。”

“死的是他的妻子。”

“噢。”

“那家伙是个畜生。那些农民全都是畜生。”

“此话怎讲?”

“说出来你也不相信。他干的事情令人难以置信。”

“说说看。”

“你是绝对不会相信的。”客栈老板说完,冲着教堂司事喊了一声:“弗朗兹,你过来!”教堂司事拿着他那一小瓶葡萄酒和酒杯走了过来。

“这两位先生刚从威斯巴登小屋那儿过来。”客栈老板介绍道。我们相互握了手。

“你喝什么酒?”我问。

“什么酒也不喝了。”弗朗兹摆了摆手说。

“再来四分之一升红酒怎么样?”

“那好吧。”

“你懂我们的地方话?”客栈老板问。

“不懂。”

“你在搞什么名堂?”约翰问。

“咱们来镇上,半路不是见到一个农民在埋死人吗,听他讲一讲那个农民的情况。”

“讲了我也听不明白的。”约翰说,“事情发生得太快了。”

“那个农民,”老板说,“今天才把他的妻子下葬,而他的妻子去年十一月就死了。”

“是十二月。”教堂司事说。

“这没什么关系。就算是去年十二月死的吧。当时他把死讯告诉了教区。”

“是在十二月十八号告诉的。”教堂司事说。

“不管怎样吧,反正当时不能送死者去墓地安葬,得等雪化之后才行。”

“他住在帕斯农山谷的另一侧,”教堂司事说,“但他属于这个教区。”

“难道不能想办法把死者送过来吗?”

“不行。得等到雪化之后,才能从他住的地方用雪橇送过来,所以今天才送来下葬。牧师看了看死者的脸,不愿为她主持葬礼。接下来的情况,你来讲吧。”老板对教堂司事说,“你用德语介绍,别说地方话。”

“牧师觉得这件事十分蹊跷。”教堂司事说,“那个农民在报告死讯时,说他的妻子死于心脏病。我们知道她心脏有毛病,有时候来教堂做礼拜还有昏厥的现象。有好长一段时间她都没有来过了,因为没有力气爬山。牧师揭开她脸上的毯子时问奥尔兹:‘你老婆死得很痛苦吧?’‘不痛苦。’奥尔兹说,‘我一进家门,就见她躺在床上与世长辞了。’

“牧师看了看死者。他并不愿意看。

“‘她的脸怎么弄成这个样子啦?’

“‘我不清楚。’奥尔兹回答说。

“‘那你最好搞清楚再说。’牧师说着又把毯子盖上了。奥尔兹一声不吭。牧师望着他,他也望着牧师,说道:‘你真的想知道吗?’

“‘我必须知道。’牧师说。”

“接下来就是谜底,”客栈老板说,“你们注意听。弗朗兹,你继续讲吧。”

“‘哦,’奥尔兹说,‘她死后,我向教区报告了死讯,接着就把她的尸体放在了柴火间里的一截粗大的木头上。后来我要用那截木头,而她已僵硬,于是我就把她靠墙放,让她立在那儿。她的嘴大张着。夜里我到柴火间要劈开那截木头,就把提灯挂在她的嘴上。’

“‘你为什么要那样做?’牧师问。

“‘我也不知道。’奥尔兹说。

“‘这样的事你干了很多次?’

“‘每次夜里去柴火间干活儿,我都这样做。’

“‘真是罪过。’牧师说,‘你爱你的老婆吗?’

“‘爱,我爱她,’奥尔兹说,‘非常爱她。’”

“你们都听明白了吗?”客栈老板问,“关于他妻子的情况你们都听明白了吗?”

“听明白了。”

“该吃饭了吧?”约翰问。

“你点菜吧。”我说。“你觉得这事是真的吗?”我问客栈老板。

“千真万确。”他说,“这些农民都是畜生。”

“他刚才到哪儿去了?”

“到我的同行洛温旅馆那儿喝酒去了呗!”

“他不愿跟我一起喝酒。”教堂司事说。

“弗朗兹了解了他妻子的情况,他就不愿在这里喝酒了。”客栈老板说。

“喂,”约翰说,“该吃饭了吧?”

“好吧。”我说。

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