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雙語《遠去的羣山》第六章(冰夫/朱文正)
作者:进生  发布日期:2020-11-12 14:43:47  浏览次数:72
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第六章

穿过炮火硝烟,爱是漫长的旅途

 

虽说是最亲切的人

一次离别,会划开两个人生;

在微明的曙色里,

想象不出更远的疏淡的黄昏。

 

虽然你的影子闪在记忆的

湖面,一棵树下我寻找你的声音,

你的形象幻化过夕阳里的云;

但云和树都向我宣告了异乡的陌生。

                ——唐祁         

 一

战争的烟雾,

吞没夕阳最后的光辉。

月亮升起了,

山影朦胧;

潺潺的溪水,

流过遍地弹坑的峡谷,

似呻吟,似哭泣,

摇撼山村,难以入睡。

 

狗吠声从远处传来,

那座倒塌的独立房屋背后,

一束光亮闪闪烁烁;

高大的马尾松树林里,

文工团正在演出。

乐队中小提琴悠扬的旋律,

女声小合唱:

 

青山坡下,

平原宽广,

肥沃而芬芳。

依依垂柳,

随风飘荡,

享受着春之光。

清清的井水微波,

美丽的泉水低唱,

这里就是我的家乡,

最亲爱的故乡。

 

三个白色衫裙的年轻姑娘,

伴着《春之歌》的节奏,

轻盈婀娜,摇曳多姿。

 

随着旋律多变的音乐,

舞台更换不同场景:

志愿军与朝鲜儿童,

欢跳轻快的舞蹈;

突然出现一架爬犁,

迎着漫天风雪奔驰,

满脸血污的志愿军伤员,

偎依在阿玛尼的怀抱。

敌机刺耳的呼啸声,

惊得人们不住心跳。

活报剧与现实融合,

艺术感惟妙惟肖。

 

独唱女演员杜鹃,

杨艺云小妹似的姑娘,

她优美甜润的歌声,

《在泉边》荡气回肠:

 

我们大家提着水桶,

一同来到泉水边上,

见一位战士背着脸儿,

怕羞似的在洗衣裳。

我们偷眼朝他一望,

哎呀洗得太不象样,

虽然是害羞也还是把话讲。

快让我们来帮你洗吧,

快让我们替你来帮忙。

……

我们大家提着水桶,

一同来到泉水边上,

亲爱的人们排好队伍,

准备出发开往战场。

人们跑来摘朵鲜花,

争给亲人戴在襟旁。

虽然害羞还是把话讲:

胜利之后千万回来,

回到这泉水边上,

来看看我们唱歌的姑娘。

 

几棵树干围成舞台。

四周草地上,

坐着朝鲜乡亲,

和头缠纱布绷带的观众。

一阵热烈的鼓掌,

掩盖了远处传来的海岸炮声。

战地后方之夜,

披上了银沙的朦胧。

仿佛漫长的岁月,

战争生活的惨痛,

一度沉浸在短暂的琴弦中。

 

这里是群山环抱的谷地,

战前,村庄幽美绮丽,

清澈的泉水从松林边流过,

层峦迭嶂,群山逶迤,

云雾似波涛起伏,

河边小路在黑暗中远去。

此刻,毁坏的村庄,

夜风飘来文工团演奏的音乐。

断垣残壁下,

仍有伤者叹息。

 

松林中的演出结束了,

观众好似夜空低飞的蝙蝠,

消失在黑黢黢的山野。

文工团员们收拾好道具,

兴奋地庆祝演出圆满。

杨艺萍和几个女友,

脱掉身上的戏装,

结伴走向小河边。

 

捧一掬清凉的河水,

洗去脸上化妆的油彩,

也洗去心头的疲惫。

每次慰问演出,

均要躲避敌机轰炸。

今晚好似例外。

 

杨艺萍看着水中的倒影,

内心涌起一阵感叹:

四次战役结了。

分别时光已过了半年,

曹牧云前线采访的文章,

屡屡在军报上出现。

他带有磁性的名字,

常常引起美好的联想。

那首《等着我》,

曾为她带来绵绵不断的思念。

 

“爱情虽有神奇的魅力,

可惜停留心头太短;

悠长的思念中,

甜蜜与苦涩参半。

你信上说:

万恶的战争,

不仅制造恐怖与死亡,

更给人类漫长的苦难。

人,心灵长期的寂寞,

也需要音乐与笑声驱散。

这和战场救护一样,

你把爱洒在观众心间。”

 

天近黄昏,

玫瑰色的晚霞,

辉映着低矮的树林,

山泉从峰峦流下,

夕阳红光照射,

瀑布溢彩流金。

 

时光静静地流逝,

从不分和平与战争。

严寒从大地退却,

河边的柳树已经泛青。

金达莱开遍了原野,

端午节悄悄来临。

朝鲜人欢度这个节日,

不去江边划龙舟竞赛;

聚在一起荡秋千寻乐散心。

 

在这片峡谷洼地上,

有几座被炸毁的房屋。

在倒塌的土墙前,

在烧糊的木椽下,

几根原木搭就秋千架。

木古西嘎小姑娘,

和打扮得漂漂亮亮的伙伴,

狂欢在秋千架上,

那在空中飘荡的长裙子,

像飞舞的花蝴蝶笑迎春风。

虽然火线近在咫尺,

山那边不时传来隆隆炮声;

孩子们依旧悠荡千秋唱歌,

尽情地享受着

欢乐梦幻的青春。

战争恶魔再毒再狠,

总也无法扼杀,

人类追求美的天性。

 

女演员杜娟匆匆卸妆出来,

帮房东大娘栽种青菜。

宛如一对母女,

在倾诉对土地的热爱。

不远处,河边田梗上,

辛勤劳作的朝鲜老人,

头戴草帽,脚蹬草鞋,

手牵颈上铜铃叮当的黄牛,

走在回村的路上,

颇有几分自在。

 

军报记者曹牧云,

自从伤愈回到报社,

工作积极写稿认真,

今天从连队采访回来,

顺道看望杨艺萍。

一对恋人相思已久,

年轻的心中情愫涌动,

双手紧紧握住不放,

恨不能当即拥抱热吻。

有情人坐在岩石上,

低声细诉衷肠。

红艳艳的金达莱花,

铺在脚边如同火烧云。

山鹧鸪在榆树枝头啼叫,

岩石下泉水淙淙。

 

正在这时,

乡村公路上,

一阵激扬的吆喝声,

远远走来一队奇怪的兵:

两个志愿军战士,

三个美军俘虏,

伊里哇啦纠缠不清。

 

曹牧云连忙起身,

赶上公路寻问究竟。

原来我军226团红四连,

在汉滩江前线俘获的美国兵,

师部派一个班长一个战士,

押送三个俘虏前往碧洞——

志愿军第一“战俘营”。

美国兵嫌弃午餐食物差,

宣布绝食,不肯前行。

班长说:“这些美国人,

娇生惯养,浑身臭毛病:

早晨凉水怕冷不洗脸,

小米饭不吃,饿得头发昏。”

战士一旁解开干粮袋:

“美国佬,你睁眼看看清:

我们吃的是高粱米饭团,

你们的午餐是白面饼。”

 

曹牧云听清事情原委,

用英语告诉美国兵:

 

“Your position now is prisoners of war

Not our guests!

And due to your wanton bombings,

There was a loss

in the supply of food on the battlefield

Our soldiers are willing to eat sorghum,

To make sure you get to eat pancakes made of flour

Sir, please think carefully -

If we exchanged our positions,

Would you also be willing to sacrifice yourself

                    for others?

Would you treat your prisoners of

war with such fairness?

For example: This is similar to Moses in Exodus

Where the Lord gave the people of Israel ‘manna’

Only by eating it, did

they walk to the Canaan border.”

 

 “你们现在的身份是战俘,

不是我们邀请来的贵宾。

由于你们的狂轰滥炸,

前方战场一时缺乏粮食供应;

我们的士兵宁愿吃高粱米

省下来白面做饼供给你们。

先生们,请仔细想想,

假如我们彼此换个身份

你们能这样舍己为人?

你们对待战俘能如此平等?

打个比方说吧:这就像

摩西在‘出埃及记’中领到

耶和华给以色列人的‘吗哪’

吃了它,才能走向迦南边境。”*

 

曹牧云义正辞严的讲话,

震动了美国兵的神经,

他们三人伸手讨回午餐,

坐在路边岩石上吃起面饼。

 

正当这暮色渐浓时,

突然窜来三架美军飞机,

朝着公路、洼地一阵扫射,

投下炸弹就朝远方飞去。

 

三个美国兵趴到岩石下,

吓得浑身哆嗦,颤抖不已,

接着叽哩哇啦乱叫,

仿佛在骂他们的飞机。

 

班长和战士握紧了卡宾枪,

愤怒地指着被轰炸的场地:

“美国佬,看一看,

你们的新罪行;

数一数,

这里增添了多少具尸体;

你们口口声声喊和平,

从万里之外来到这块土地,

杀害无辜的平民百姓,

难道这不是美国人的羞耻?”

班长说罢下令开步走,

三个美国兵,脸上

闪过一丝羞愧与不解,

跟着走,毫不迟疑。

 

如今山里已是黄昏时分了,

夕阳的影子落在峰峦后面。

烧焦的千秋架躺在地上,

木古西嘎小姑娘,

炸断了双腿;

演唱《在泉边》的杜娟,

胸部被弹片炸开,

鲜血染红了菜地的土壤。

两个年轻女孩倒在千秋架下,

不幸身亡的还有朝鲜大娘。

 

村庄的脉搏停止了跳动。

眼泪和哭泣堵塞空间。

如此幸福的一天,

已经像雾一样飘散。

试问这世上,

还有哪一种情感,

能像和平与战争,

值得人们把它久留心田。

 

杨艺萍和战友们,

用泥土碎石堆砌坟茔。

掩埋好战友杜鹃,

一阵哀思漫过心头,

凄苦的泪水流个不停:

“杜鹃小妹,我知道

你有许多幻想未曾实现,

躺在异乡土地上,

青春理想化成了泡影,

你的灵魂怎能安宁?”

 

曹牧云默默望着,

黑暗的天空悲伤的人群,

他不像初上战场的青年,

仿佛饱经苦难的智者般深沉。

 

这是1951年的端午节。

朝鲜平凡山村不平凡的一天。

无数躯体早已草草埋葬,

苦难的灵魂在荒原游荡。

这些期待秋天收割苞米的人,

那些期待冬天闪电

和夏天雷雨的人,

也已长眠在这褐色阴影的土地上。

而那些从太平洋彼岸赶来,

期待耶稣显露圣灵的人,

也已和这些无神论者一样,

不再相信神迹会发生。

 

社会的畏缩渐渐舒展。

人们心中带着猜忌,

永远地苦恼不安。

停战谈判将在开城揭幕,**

哪有自责与忏悔?

哪有真诚与宽宏?

无辜的平民惨遭杀害,

难道这不是美利坚的耻辱!

错误的时代。

错误的战争。 

(2010-9-27) 

*注:见《圣经·旧约》“出埃及记”第16章。

**  1951年7月10日上午10时,朝鲜停战谈判在开城来凤庄举行。

Chapter 6

Even of dearest fellowship, once

Parted, that ripped away two melodious lives;

and In the twilight of dawn,barely tend to imagine

That dusk faded far, and thin.

 

Even rippling by your reflection of my memory lake,

Beneath a tree your voice I could seek,

Yet sundown's cloud

Of the transformation of your silhouette;

But trees clouds merely show me

The strange of foreign lands.            

                                  ---- Tang Qi

 

The way of love-talkers through the smokes

Of the battles was a long trip

                             

1

War smokes swallowed the last ray of the sundown,

Over the mountains' dim rose up a moon;

A sounding stream

Was flowing along a valley bottom, wherein

The craters everywhere made waters running

As groaning and as crying;

Shocked the souls of a hillside village evasively let

Their minds’ eye on their beds upset.

 

There were barks beyond distance;

Behind that independent house but fallen down

There was a Chinese red pine forest, within

It, the twinkling light was sometimes to be seen:

A Chinese Army-cultural Troupe was just performing

A show, a chorus of soft female voicing

In the air with the melody of a violin:

 

Under the greenish of the foothill,

The flatland broad

Covered with Blossom and

Sweet richness stretches;

Branches of the drooping willows

Swaying while the cropped soil shoot

Another wild-bud to a young heart

The well waters clear-rippling,

The streams running with its' murmuring;

This is my hometown, my dearest,

 

Three young actresses, three white-skirts

Dancing with the rhythms Of a song of spring,

And nimbly grace is the voice in the greeting.

 

In the heel of the multivariate melody,

The stage was changed with its different scenes.

Played in a happy and graceful dance

There were Korea children and Chinese soldiers;

Then suddenly through a cascade of snowflake

A sled moved on the field from an icy brook,

A wounded soldier with a blood-stained face

Lay being held in the arms of Amani.

Then the harsh tones of enemy planes in the air

Shocked all audiences' soft conch-like ears…

This is a living Newspaper melt in within war reality,

An art of being true to life—just come to see indeed!

 

Female soloist Du Juan was singing now on stage,

Like a young sister of Yang Yi-yun, the voice

Well-tuned so sweet made

A song “nearby the fountain”with

Pearly smoothness echoed:

 

“We are carrying the water baskets

While coming near to the fountain,

Seeing a back of the soldier in

Washing his clothes

We cast a glimpse of eyes over him,

Ou, he seemed shy but what his

Botched- up washing was?

Even we are so shy outhouse & home,

But have to tell my soldiers

Let me help you wash your clothes

Let me give you hands.

……

We are carrying the water baskets

While coming near to the fountain;

Row by row, lined up, our dearest ones,

Ready to go to the war fields.

People come run near with a flower and

Give it pinched on his front of a garment

Shyly but the fairy words from a heart:

After the victory, you must

Come back home, coming near the fountain

To see our girls singing a song.

 

A few trunks of trees had walled

Up the show-stage,

Sit on the surrounding grassy-field

Korea villagers and our wounded soldiers

With heard-bandage.

While we clapping our hands

The sound of which covered the cracks

Of coastal artillery. Beyond the front line the night

Was enveloped with hypnotizing silver mist,

All laments sorrows of the long-lasting of war-day

So far were being sunken in the ephemeral sound

Of the strings twanged.

 

There is a valley-land around hills and mountains,

Before war having her soundless earth with

Buds and mysterious stealth; its vassal streams

Run by the pine-trees, the jagged grey-black peaks

Twisting off into the distance; clouds drifting waves.

The path along the river snaked in darkness.

At that moment,Evening wind blew the sounds

Of music of the CACT over the thatch-eaves;

Nearby the mud walls

Tumbled, the wounded sighed.

 

After the pine-tree-show ended

All audiences gone as the low-flying bats

Into the soft-lifted dark hill-land.

Meanwhile of the CACT the members

Picked up the stage properties, in happy-mood,

Yang Yi-ping changed her show-dress and with

Her female comrades

Went towards the river-side.


    Held a palm of cool water

Washing away from the oil-painting on the face

And with the weary of the US warplanes

Bomb-threatening in mind, that before was

Getting used to it, but, tonight seemingly was

As the exception.

 

Looked at the reflection in the water

Yang sighed in muse:

The fourth campaign had finished and

The time of being parted with him

Had already been six months.

When every time read the articles on the Army-Press

Written by Cao Mu-yun—the name as

A magnet brought her some kind of fairy fancy,

Within the endless longing from

The poem “Wait to me”


    “Sweet love!Though with magical charm but pity

of nesting on the heart so short to be,

That the endless longing for it

In the sweet and bitter.

You say in your letter to me:

The conspiring mankind’s long miseries

Of the evil war of death and horror;

The men in heart bearing the loneness

Need the music round and laughter.

Like you rescue us the wounded in the battlefield,

Like a moss'd cottage-tree with apple bend;

The love-warmth shines on the audience’s heart.”

 

2

Fair dusk was nearing and then

Its evening clouds with rosy hue shone

Over the tips of the low trees;

From the hills high run down the stream waters,

On the ripples of it, the sunset played

A wavy flow, it's gold-colored.

 

With a patient look, in peace or in war

While chilling days withdraw,

Time runs in a muse. By the levees

Green has been turning all the willows;

Jindal flowers in full bloom now at the rice field.

With the approach of Dragon Boat Festival by stealth;

That day when we f in the Korea people not

To paddle a dragon boat but to play the swings in

A rhythmic motion,over and over as the sort of fun.

 

In the hollow of the valleys

There were a few burned cottages,

In front of their fallen earthen-walls

Beneath the burned timber-beams

There was a swing made of a few logs.

The lovely little girl Mu GU Xi-Gab and

Her companion nice-dressed played

On the swing; the long skirt fluttered

In the air, like the danced butterflies

Dancing within spring wind,

In spite of the frontline just

Beyond the mountains, somewhere

Was the drumming from went off bombs.

Yet children still sang aloud on swings

As winged fancies.

The war evil with evil killing hands never

Has relish in the faery power of to slaughter

Of beauty the humans' Nature.

 

Came actress Du-Juan

After taking her make-up off in a hurry

To planting the green vegetables

Of a love-mission of the earth with

Amani, like a pair of mother-daughter;

Not far away on the balk along the river,

An older Korean village held a line in hand

With a yellow cow on the way home:

A straw hat with straw sandals at ease;

Ding-dongs of neck copper bells of the cow.

 

Wounded and been recovered,

Then hastened back to his pen in the war-field;

Then, wrote down many articles with a smoking gun.

Today Cao back from a company paid

To Yong Yi-ping a visit on the way.

 

Long- saddened missing each other

Of the pair of lovers,

Hand in hand now rather love kissing more;

Sitting on the edge of rocks over a stream

Like a lovers ‘statue, by their feet there were

The red- Jindal flowers in blossom,

Bespreading, as red-fired clouds coming near.

Whilst the cries of partridge on the spray of elm,

The sounding of the stream moving over

Shingles and stones beneath the rocks.

 

At that moment on the rural road

Hearing someone shouted their language

In fury, and soon from the far side

 Of the road a line of stranger soldiers come near:

Two of our comrades and

Three US prisoners of war,

Who hummed broadly some sort of melody?

 

Cao jumped on his feet and hurried on the road

To see what was happened.

One as the monitor with his soldier

Of our Red-4 company of 226th regiment,

Carried an order from their division to take

three US prisoners captured in the frontline

of Han-Tan-river into custody,

in the first CA-PC in Bi-Dong,

But the three showed

Their dismay for the lunch-food and announced

A fast, and also refused

To keep going on the journey.The monitor said:

“These Americans, after dropped their guns,

Show up being spoon-fed in their life, nothing else.

In the morning not washed their faces

Because of the water

Chill, belched when given the cooked millet rather

In self-suffering hunger”. The soldier

Alongside his monitor opened his haversack:

“You Americans, do open your eyes have a look

At what we eat!

This is the cooked cold ball of jowar rice

But given you the white powder pancakes.”

 

After knowing what was happening, English

Speaking Cao told those American-soldiers:

“Your position now is prisoners Of war

Not our guests!

And due to your wanton bombings,

There was a loss in the supply of food

On the battlefield.

Our soldiers are willing to eat sorghum to make sure

You get to eat pancakes made of our flour.

Sir, please think carefully

If we exchanged our positions,

Would you also be willing to sacrifice

Yourself for others?

Would you treat your prisoners

Of war with such fairness?

For example, this is similar to Moses in Exodus

Where the Lord gave the people of Israel ‘manna’

Only by eating it, did they walk

 To the Canaan border.”

 

These words put Weights on those Americans' nerves

And bent it, as they stretched out their hands,

Gripping the cakes, sitting on the rocks of road-side,

Dispiritingly just ate it.

 

While the dusk shadows

Thickening, three US-Starfighters

Swooped in behind wind-driven clouds

And with shooting dropped down bombs

On the road then droned away. .

 

The three Americans lay flat

Under the rocks, shivering and trembled

And then shouted something to selves,

As if they were unhappy for their blinded airplanes.

 

Monitor and his comrade held their carbines

Pointed to the field that just being bombed:

“you!Looked what bloody things

You Americans have done right now! Just

The fresh evil things and new crimes!

Counting the evidence! How many new dead bodies

Lying down here they shall be alive.

You say the mouthful- words of the peace

And come here from hundred thousand miles away

Just for the genocide of our people.

Shame all of you US”.

He had given the order to them go-go forwards,

And, the three US soldiers

With their vacant faces

Followed behind, no delay.

 

The time it was a mountain-dusk,

The Sitting sun was

Behind the purpled peak.

Lay on the ground the burn-out swings,

The little girl Mu-Gu-xi-ga lost her legs.

And the Du-Juan who A few hours

Ago sang the song “beside the fountain”

Had her chest Bloody-opened,

Blood soaked the earth of the vegetable garden.

Nearby the swing also one Korea Amani lay dead.

 

The pulse of the village wearied ceased

Tears run down and echoes of the cry in their world

This day it was so-being happy yet

Had been blown away as a cold mist.

Wonder there was any on earth…kind

Of human emotions could like

The Peace and The War carved

On the human-hearts forever.

 

Yang Yi-ping and her comrades

Built-up a grave of dear azalea sister,

That was made of the earth and stones;

But in their mind-eyes

The sorrow tears flew that couldn't be stopped:

“Azalea little sister, I know there

Are so many fairy fancies of your youth-vision there

That wait to be true, now you lay down under

The other land dead white

And what could make your soul in peace?”

 

Beneath the dark sky, this man Cao watched,

Silently at the people standing helpless;

He was no longer a fresh young soldier but

A wise man of living and death through the field.

 

This day was the one of Dragon Boat Festival 1951,

An uncommon day of an ordinary village of North Korea;

Many innocent bodies buried in hurry, left

Their souls wandering around the wild vale.

These men should harvest corncobs in autumn,and

Those too, who were longing wintry lightning and

Summer thunderstorms now lying long under

The shadowy blown earth. But

Those figures from another side shore

Of the Pacific Ocean played for their Jesus Christ,

Now giving up the hopes of the Miracles as

An atheist did:Waves break loud

On the Pacific seashores.

 

Shrinks of hearts push wide in their social tides;

Be envious and in deep worries as

Dark wings across the damaged valleys.

The negotiation of war-ending would open in Kaesong,

But without any self-accusation and The Confession.

Where the kindness and the broad-minded?

So many harmless people had been killed;

It was a shame that the US deserved.

For a wrong epoch and

A bloody wrong war 


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