节选自《日瓦戈医生》的一封信
这是冬妮娅写给她丈夫尤拉的一封信。由于战争，幸福的家庭破碎了，深爱对方的两人天涯分隔，音信全无。若干年后，劫后余生的尤拉突然收到了妻子的来信...... 以下是信的内容，选自《日瓦戈医生》第十三章（蓝英年等译），本人做了少量修改。
日瓦戈医生
尤拉，你知道咱们得了一个女儿吗？给她取的教名叫玛莎，以纪念你去世的母亲玛丽亚·尼古拉耶夫娜。
现在谈另外一件事。好几位立宪民主党和右翼社会党人中的著名社会活动家和教授，如梅利古诺夫、基泽维杰尔、库斯科瓦以及其他人，其中包括你的舅舅尼古拉·亚历山德罗维奇·格罗梅科，还有我和爸爸也作为他的家庭成员，正在被赶出俄国。
这真是不幸，特别是你不在我们身旁。但只得服从，并且还要感谢上帝在这种可怕的时代只对我们采取了这样温和的驱逐方式，因为我们的遭遇还可能坏得多。如果你出现了，也在这里，你会跟我们一起走的。可你现在在哪儿？我把这封信寄到安季波娃的地址。如果她能遇到你，会把信转交给你的。我不知道舅舅的事是否也会使你受到牵连，因为你是我们的家庭成员嘛。以后，万一上帝仁慈，你也出现了，不知能否允许你出国，这使我非常痛苦。我相信你活着，并且一定会出现。这是我的爱心告诉我的，而我相信这个声音。也许你出现的时候，俄国的生活环境变得温和了，你能够弄到一张单独出国的护照，我们又能在一个地方相聚了。但我写到这儿的时候并不相信这种幸福能够实现。
全部的不幸在于我爱你可你并不爱我。我竭力寻找这种论断的意义，解释它，为它辩解，自我反省，把我们整个的共同生活以及对自己的了解都逐一回忆了一遍，但仍找不到起因，回想不起我做了什么才招来这样的不幸。你好像错误地用不怀好意的眼光看待我，你曲解了我，就像从一面扭曲的镜里看我一样。
可我爱你呀，唉，但愿你能想象出我是多么爱你！我爱你身上一切与众不同的东西，讨人喜欢的和不讨人喜欢的，你身上所有平凡的地方，在它们不平凡的结合中可贵的地方，由于内在的美而显得高尚的面容，如果没有这种内涵可能显得并不好看，你的才华和智慧，仿佛代替了你所完全缺乏的意志。所有这些对我都非常珍贵，我不知道还有比你更好的人了。
可你听着，你知道我要对你说什么吗？即便你对我不这样珍贵，即便我爱你还没爱到这种程度，我的冷漠的可悲的事实还没显露出来，我仍然认为我爱你。不爱是一种叫人多么难堪的无情的惩罚啊！仅仅出于对这一点的恐惧，我就不可能承认我不爱你。不论是我还是你，永远也不会明白这一点。我自己的心会向我隐瞒，因为不爱有如谋杀，我决不会给任何人这种打击。
尽管一切都没最后决定，但我们可能到巴黎去。我将要到你小时候到过和爸爸、伯伯受过教育的遥远的异乡去。爸爸向你致意。舒拉长高了，并不漂亮，但已经是个结实的大孩子了，提起你时总要难过，非常伤心地哭泣。我不能再写了，心都要哭碎了。好啦，再见啦。让我给你画个十字，为了我们无休止的分离，为了各种考验和茫然的相见，为了你将走过的十分漫长的黑暗道路。我在任何事情上都不责备你，决不怪你，照你自己的意愿安排生活吧，只要你自己满意就行了。
在离开这个可怕的、决定我们命运的乌拉尔前夕，我对拉里莎·费奥多罗夫娜已经相当了解。谢谢她，在我困难的时候她一直守在我身边，帮我度过生产期。我应当真诚地承认，她是个好人，但我不想说昧心话，她和我是完全相反的人。我诞生于人世就是为了使生活变得单纯并寻找正确的出路，而她却要使它变得复杂，把人引入歧途。
再见啦，该结束了。他们已经来取信，也该整理行装了。噢，尤拉，尤拉，亲爱的，我亲爱的丈夫，我孩子的父亲，这是怎么回事啊？我们永远、永远不会再相见了。所以我写下了这些话，你能明白其中的含意吗？你能明白吗？他们催我了，这就像发出了拖我上刑场的信号。尤拉！尤拉！
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“Yura,” Antonina Alexandrovna wrote to him, “do you know that we have a daughter? She was christened Masha, in memory of your late mother, Marya Nikolaevna.
“Now about something else entirely. Several well-known social figures, professors from the CD Party and socialists of the right, Melgunov, Kiesewetter, Kuskova, some others, as well as Uncle Nikolai Alexandrovich Gromeko, papa, and we as members of his family, are being deported from Russia.
“This is a misfortune, especially in your absence, but we must submit and thank God for such a soft form of exile in such a terrible time, for it could be much worse. If you had been found and were here, you would come with us. But where are you now? I am sending this letter to Antipova’s address, she will hand it on to you, if she finds you. I suffer from uncertainty, whether afterwards, when—if it is so fated—you are found, they will extend to you, as a member of our family, the permission to leave that we have all been granted. It is my belief that you are alive and will be found. My loving heart tells me so and I trust its voice. It is possible that, by the time you are discovered, the conditions of life in Russia will have softened, and you will be able to obtain separate permission for a trip abroad, and we will all gather again in one place. But as I write it, I myself do not believe that such happiness can come true.
“The whole trouble is that I love you and you do not love me. I try to find the meaning of this condemnation, to interpret it, to justify it, I rummage, I delve into myself, going through our whole life and everything I know about myself, and I cannot see the beginning and cannot recall what I did and how I brought this misfortune upon myself. You look at me somehow wrongly, with unkind eyes, you see me twistedly, as in a distorting mirror.
“And yet I love you. Ah, how I love you, if only you could imagine! I love every peculiarity in you, all that is advantageous and disadvantageous, all your ordinary aspects, dear in their unusual combination, your face ennobled by inner content, which without that might seem unattractive, your talent and intelligence, which have as if taken the place of a total lack of will. All this is dear to me, and I do not know a man who is better than you.
“But listen, do you know what I shall tell you? Even if you were not so dear to me, even if I did not like you so much, still the deplorable truth of my coldness would not have been revealed to me, still I would think that I loved you. From fear alone of the humiliating, annihilating punishment that non-love is, I would unconsciously beware of realizing that I did not love you. Neither I nor you would ever find it out. My own heart would conceal it from me, because non-love is almost like murder, and I would be unable to deal such a blow to anyone.
“Though nothing has been finally decided yet, we are probably going to Paris. I will get to those far-off lands where you were taken as a boy and where papa and my uncle were brought up. Papa sends his greetings. Shura has grown, he’s not so handsome, but he has become a big, strong boy and always cries bitterly, inconsolably, at the mention of you. I can’t go on. My heart is bursting with tears. So, farewell. Let me make the cross over you for this whole unending separation, the trials, the uncertainty, for the whole of your long, long, obscure path. I do not blame you for anything, I do not have a single reproach; shape your life as you want it to be, so long as it is good for you.
“Before leaving the dreadful and, for us, so fateful Urals, I came to know Larissa Fyodorovna quite closely. I owe her my thanks, she was constantly there when it was hard for me, and helped me during the delivery. I must tell you frankly that she is a good person, but I do not want to play the hypocrite—she is the complete opposite of me. I was born into this world to simplify life and seek the right way through, and she in order to complicate and confuse it.
“Farewell, I must end. They have come to take the letter and it is time to pack. Oh, Yura, Yura, my dear, my darling, my husband, father of my children, what is all this? We will never, ever see each other again. There, I have written these words, do you clearly make out their meaning? Do you understand, do you understand? They are hurrying me, and it is a sure sign that they have come to take me to my execution. Yura! Yura!”
2017年9月17日晨
