花之葬礼/The Funeral of the Dandelio
【原创·文/译文】
他的第一次爱情本不是这样开始的。
在他还没有翅膀的那些懵懂的记忆里，白天他枕着一小片春的落叶，身体蜷缩，昏昏沉沉地汲取着阳光的温暖。
每到夜晚，总是难免从空虚焦躁之中醒来。有什么东西在他的体内翻滚，好像要将他撕裂。这寒冷的初春在夜的最深处折磨着那些被她那短暂的温暖欺骗的生灵。他瑟瑟发抖。那时他才这么小，一颗饱满的露珠能照出他的整个娇小可爱的身体。
每个夜晚都是无尽的寒冷和静寂。孤独从四面八方侵蚀着他身上的余暖。他忍不住尖叫起来，撕扯自己的柔软的发，难以言语的疼痛感折磨着他，使他倒在地上打滚。那粗糙的石子砂砾扎破他的肌肤，但他竟感觉这样会好受一些——只有新的疼痛，才能让他忘却灵魂的孤冷之苦，忽略体内古怪的潮起潮落。
那天夜里他的背流了血，也许是被砾石所伤。伤痛增添了他身体的负担，突然间他又累又困，摇摇摆摆，最后向荒芜的地上倒去。他摔在了一小片软绵绵的东西上——那玩意儿微微颤抖了一下，好像被他所惊吓——是一株新长出来的草。他受到了惊吓，第一次意识到除了自己之外，这个荒芜的世界还有其他生灵的存在，虽然以前，他从不以为花草是有如同他一样的生命。也许他们只是佯装冷漠淡定，死板的面孔好像面无表情的雕刻像。但这株新的小草的确震颤了一下。他的脸被柔软的叶片碰得发痒，哪怕只一瞬。
这生的触觉像一束烛光照亮了他寂静的生命。
他吓得倒退了几步，突然发现自己再一次浸入无尽的黑暗之中。这一次他不再迟疑，摸索着抓住了那株可怜的小小的东西。它害怕地瑟瑟发抖。他揪住它的叶片，摸索着走到它的根部，然后坐下来，受伤的背极小心地靠在那温暖的植物的茎上。
不疼。
他很快沉沉地睡去——他的第一个安眠的夜晚。
他的血沾在植物的茎上的时候，那个小小的生命终于不再颤抖。也许它也意识到，他并不危险，却像它一样无助可怜。
他把他的脆弱和伤暴露给了它。
接下来他记不清楚发生了什么，只是那些逐渐温暖的日子里，他长大了。阳光里他会与那株哑巴小草比高，虽然它长得比他更快。
他的身体不再古怪地潮涌，那种疼痛在他的背上长出四片软塌塌的翅膀后逐渐化解。只是失落和彷徨依旧化为眉宇间的苦涩，轻轻晕染着他的清秀面庞。他仰望着被逐渐茂密起来的植物所囚困的一角天空，白天的时候，阳光徒留予他忧郁的阴影，任他沉静在关于那两头都没有答案的惶惑的生命线的思考里。
和暖的天气渐渐增多，虽然春风还乍暖还寒。鸟儿的歌声丰富了他沉思外的生命。他的翅膀渐渐充实。有时他静坐在一片草叶上，默默地抚摸着那无力而美丽的装饰品。细腻神秘的纹理好像要把生命的秘密向他透露。他长大了，他的腿修长有力，能够使他走到这个小小的花园的尽头——那里有一小块水塘（虽然对他来说，这是个不小的欢乐湖），他在那里更清楚地看清楚自己。他从来没有遇到过别的像他一样的生灵，可是水中的倒影告诉他他自己是多么漂亮。如果不去理睬他那因为困索而显得忧郁的神情，他匀称的身体，姣好的面容，很容易让任何人的心情顿时阳光灿烂起来。
他能走得很远。走路的时候他总是觉得很自在，因为幽秘的景物和清新的空气让他的思维飘得更远。有一种叫做自由的充满张力的东西飘散在泥土清香的微风中。更重要的是，远离他最熟悉的地方让他感到，能够暂时忘却初来这个世界时两头黑暗的寂静可怖。
生命在初次伸展的时候，是如何靠近死亡！他从那里逃了出来。他鲜嫩的四肢，健康的身体，或者是某种本能的暗示，让他意识到他已经永永远远战胜了那种不可抗的力量。他自由了，他是永恒的。但他仍旧被那种苦难和彷徨所困扰着。他需要去忘记什么，他在追求春的活力……捕捉任何微妙的生命的气息。
……而他从来不曾走出这个小小的花园。每个夜晚他要回到他受伤时最初依靠的地方——那株已经长得非常高大的草。他不知道除了把翅膀托付给这个有着同样敏感知觉的生命之外，睡觉时如何安置这脆弱的四片美丽。他需要回去……他喜欢每个拥有陪伴和安全感的夜晚，这才保证每次天亮的时候，他能清醒地站起来，用充沛的精力面对日渐鲜亮的白天。
直到春天的和暖渗透到这个世界的每一个缝隙里。春天的和暖，融化了棱角分明的体内的冷气，把伤心的落叶碾碎，深深藏到日渐繁密的草叶里——好像这个世界就不曾有过伤心的落叶似的。就连空气也是朦朦胧胧，五颜六色。闭上眼睛睁开眼睛都是柔柔的梦。
他靠着小草醒来，四肢连同那四叶纤细的美丽一如微风中的柳条般，毫无顾虑地在被扫净了每一丝寒意的空气中舒展——惬意得叫人疑惑气温如何能这样迎合肌肤的温度。这个时候，他突然发现夜晚喧闹了。他睁开眼睛，看到小草高高的梢头肿了一颗胞——是个花苞。
他缓缓地站起来，用一种近乎神圣的速度伸高他的手去。那朵未放的花高傲地朝向太阳的方向，他太小了，触不到。些许失落，些许残余的惊喜。
那颗花苞晃了晃脑袋，说不出是不是一种得意。
小小的精灵突然有些懊恼。好在夜被那愈加喧闹的星光所填充，如此饱满，如此华丽。他的心荡漾在自由的晚风中，轻盈而透明；喧嚷的虫鸣是无法把握的异域之歌在飘，诉说着不属于他的浪漫和感伤，叫人哀婉，叫人憧憬。
好吧……再也不要有那抽象的痛苦拽住他的小小的翅膀的生长处，叫他时时刻刻担忧，想起生命之初的感伤来；也不要那颗古怪的花苞将他打扰！他要他的感官彻底地放开，毫无保留，触觉像要同微风粘连；他四处地游走，漫无边际到忘掉最初的地方和那株长出花苞的小草，只有一根名为自由的缰绳在牵引……
……但他竟无法离开那朵花苞。那天夜里很晚的时候，他还是回到原处。
一定有什么出了错——当他看到那朵花苞已经不见，徒留光秃秃的枝杆梢头时，突如其来的失落感撞击了他的心灵。
但是一束温暖如阳光的光线在那株草后闪了闪。
被那束温暖的光所吸引，他鼓起勇气走近……
他敏感的听觉捕捉到另一串心跳声……还有战战兢兢的呼吸声，听着有些嗔怒……
他犹豫地举起手，伸向这株草背后的阴影中……
好像摸到了什么丝滑的东西……接着是花瓣似的幼嫩的……肌肤？
他听到一个陌生的声音缓缓倒吸了一口气。
他沿着那陌生的裸露手臂，温柔地握住了那只颤抖的手。谁也没有说话。它不再动。
许久，那个陌生的东西终于微微探出脑袋来。
他明白他刚刚看到的那束阳光是她的金色的长发……他所摸到的丝滑的东西，也是她温柔的发丝……笼罩在淡淡的金光中，她的面颊微红，带着些许羞怯。可她的眼神里分明有责备和余怒。
他明白他的花开放的时候，他迟到了。可他什么都没说，轻轻地吻了吻她的唇。
她忍不住微笑了，尽管还想装出生气的模样。
她的手如花瓣般柔润丝滑，微微放香。
However, his first love began in a different way.
In his blurred memory before he had got his wings, he used to rest his head on a little piece of fallen spring leaf during the day, huddling his body, to enjoy the warm of the sunshine while still in dream.
But when dark came down, he was always startled up in an emptiness and anxiety. Something was boiling in his body, as if it was going to tear him into pieces. The cold of early spring was tormenting creatures that had been fooled by her instant warm when it came into late night. He was trembling. He was so helplessly tiny at that time, that a plump drop of dew could reflect his whole body.
Every night was full of the infinite cold and silence. Loneliness licked away the remaining warm on his body from all directions. He couldn't help screaming, tearing his soft hair and was forced to roll on the ground by the indescribable pain. Rough stones hurt his skins, but surprisingly, he would only feel better – new pains could allow him to forget the misery of being lonely and cold inside his soul, to ignore the odd rise and fall of tides in his body.
And during that night his back bled, perhaps hurt by stones. The injury increased his burden and he suddenly felt so tired that he wobbled and fell to the desolate ground. Something soft slightly trembled as he fell onto it, as if it was frightened. It was a new born grass. He was surprised, too, because it was the very first time that he realised the existence of other lives apart from his in the desolate world. He had, however, never yet believed that plants had lives just like his, as they always appeared to be so unconcerned, like statues without any emotion on their stiff faces. But this young grass moved him. His face itched when the soft leaves touched it – although just for a millisecond.
Like a candle light, the feeling of life suddenly lit up his silent being.
He fell back from the grass with such a surprise, and the disconnection made him feel desperately lonely again. And this time without any hesitation he fumbled for the poor tiny grass and hugged it when he reached it. It started trembling in fear. He crawled along its leaf to its root and sat down there. His injured back lay carefully down on the warm stem of the grass.
Now he was released from pain.
Soon he fell in sleep deeply. It was his first sweet night.
When the tiny grass felt his blood on his back, it stopped trembling. Perhaps it realised that he was not dangerous at all, on the contrary, he could be as helpless and unfortunate as it.
He exposed all his fragility and injury to it.
And he couldn't remember what happened next, other than the fact that he grew up in the increasingly warm days. In the sun he’d like to compare who was growing faster, and the grass always beat him.
His body was now free from the bizarre movement of tide inside – the pain was released when four pieces of weak wings started to grow on his back. But a sense of emptiness and confusion still existed, which might be why bitterness appeared in his eyes, decorated his pretty face in a way. He looked up through the thickened bush into a little corner of the sky. During daytime the sun light left him in the shadows of melancholy, dipped him into the meditation about life track, two ends of which no answer to secrets of life was given.
Luckily warm days lasted, although you could still feel a bit of cold in the pleasant wind. Songs of the birds enriched his meditation. His wings were also fleshed. Sometimes he just spent time sitting on a leaf quietly, stroking that four pieces of powerless but beautiful decorations. The delicate and mysterious grains on his wings seemed as if they wanted to tell him all the secrets of life. He now grew up, with his legs slim and strong, which allowed him to walk to the end of the little garden where a very tiny pond lay (but to him, it was big enough to let his imagination grow). He could see clearly what he looked like there. He had never met any creature like him, but the reflection in the water honestly told him all his beauty. If just ignoring the blue looks caused by confusions of life, his harmonious body shape and pretty face would make people smile at first sight.
Now he was able to walk further and further. Strolling was so pleasant and relaxing to him, because peaceful scenery and fresh air extended his thoughts. He could smell the scent of freedom together with the smell of moist soil spreading in the breeze. Moreover, walking further away from his most familiar place made him feel that he could forget the fear of silence when he first came into this world, with both sides of which endlessly dark.
Life was so close to death when it started to stretch for the very first time! However, he managed to escape. His fresh limbs, healthy body, or some sort of instinct implied that he had permanently beaten that invincible power. He was set free,
he could be immortal. But…He was still upset by the same misery and confusion. H e had to forget something…He had to chase the animation of spring…to capture any subtle smell of lives.
…However, he never left the little garden. Every night he went back to the first place that sheltered him when he was hurt – the grass which had now grown to be a tall, strong bush. Where else could he place the four pieces of fragile beauty on, if it was not on the creature which had the same sensitivity? Yes he needed to go back…He enjoyed each accompanied and secured night, as only that could guarantee for every morning when the sun started to shine, he would have full energy to face the increasingly lively day.
…Until the warmth of spring permeated into every chink in the world. This warmth melted the sharp coldness inside creatures, smashed sad fallen leaves, and expanded into the thickened bushes – as though there had never been such thing called a ‘sad fallen leaf’. Even the air was blurred, full of colours. Gentle dreams could be seen no matter with eyes open or closed.
He woke up leaning on the bush. His limbs as well as the four pieces of the fragile beauty were freely stretched into the air (where each sense of cold had been swept away), like how willow twigs waving in the wind. How gentle and pleasant – the breeze just suited the temperature of the skin! And he noticed that evenings became cheerfully noisy. Once as he opened his eyes, he discovered something swelling on the top of the bush – a bud.
He slowly rose up, raised his hand at a sacred speed trying to reach the bud, which proudly turned its face to the direction of sun. He was too tiny to reach that high. He then disappointed, with a bit amazement remained.
The bud shook its head with some sort of pride, which was hard to describe.
The little elf suddenly felt kind of annoyed. Luckily, each night was filled with increasingly flashy stars, so bright, so splendid; his heart swung in the free breeze during the night, weightless and transparent. Cries of the insects, here and there, composed a series of mysterious exotic songs, spreading around aloud, telling the romantic but tragic stories that belonged to nobody but still moving and alluring.
Alright…No more nonsense pains that had dragged the joints of his wings, worried him every moment, and reminded him of the sadness he had experienced at the beginning of his life; and no more bothering from that strange bud! He would like to completely open his senses, completely, as if all his senses were to cling to the breeze. He strolled around, so untrammelled that he seemed to have forgotten where his first shelter was, forgotten that bush with the bud. The only thing attached him was a string named ‘freedom’.
…But he could not leave the bud. Late in that night he returned anyway.
Something had gone wrong – he was shocked by the sudden emptiness when he saw that the bud had disappeared, leaving the top of the bush bare.
But then a light warmth of sunshine flashed behind the bush.
Attracted by the warm light, he raised courage to come closer…
He sensitively heard another series of heart beats…as well as the breath disturbed by fear and a bit annoyance.
He raised his hand with hesitation, trying to reach what was behind the bush in the dark…
Felt as if he touched something smooth and silky…and something soft and delicate…skin?
A strange voice gasped softly.
He stroked along the strange bare arm, and then gently captured that trembling hand. Nobody spoke. And it settled down.
After a while, the strange creature stretched forward her head.
And now he realised that sun light was her long blonde hair…the silky thing that he had touched was her smooth hair, too… Her face was rosy and shy in the dim golden light. But he could see blames and annoyance in her eyes.
He then knew that he missed her opening. He didn't apologise, but simply kissed her lips.
She couldn't hide her smile, although she still pretended to be angry.
Her hand was smooth like the flower petal, with a subtle scent…
To the next chapter: The Funeral of the Dandelion [3]
【原创于2009年秋，英格兰，约克；自译于2011年，约克】
【愿借此以文会友·欧美文学粉】
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