生死朗读 第6期

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故事发生在米夏15岁的时候，得了黄疸病的他因病情突发而在回家途中行将就木时，一个陌生的中年女子——汉娜救了他。此时，米夏正情窦初开，汉娜安详、稳重的独特风格俘获了他。于是，在米夏重新站在汉娜家门口以感谢其救命之恩时，他们进入了之欢。然而，少年终会长大成人，米夏开始背叛汉娜。其实也算不得背叛，他所做的只是没有承认生活中有她的存在。当汉娜突然出现在米夏大学校园的游泳池旁时，米夏没有向她奔跑过去，他的眼神出现了游移。于是，汉娜选择了“不告而别”。

这次“不告而别”造就了米夏一生的悲惨记忆。

他们再次相遇，竟是在一场对于纳粹“集中营看守”的审判上，而汉娜正是其中的被告之一。也正是在那场审判中，米夏才发现汉娜其实不识字，所以她在过去才那么渴望他为她朗读书籍。她选择离开西门子公司转而为党卫军工作；她选择离开麦卡再次逃离电车公司；她选择成为案件主犯而放弃最后的抗辩机会，都是因为不愿说出“自己是一个文盲”的秘密，同时也揭示了汉娜对于人类早已丧失的信任感……

本哈德·施林克（Bernhard Schlink），德国法学家、小说作家、法官。作为作家，施林克在推理小说方面颇有成就。1989年他的作品《快刀斩乱麻》获得德语推理小说大奖——“葛劳斯奖”。而小说《生死朗读》（又译《朗读者》）无疑是他最为轰动的作品。《生死朗读》先后获得了德国文学大奖——汉斯·法拉达奖（1997）， 翻译著作大奖——Prix Laure Bataillon奖（1997）以及“世界报”文学奖（1999）。《生死朗读》被译为35种语言，并作为德语书籍第一次登上了《纽约时报》的畅销书排行榜首位。由小说改编的同名电影由英国著名影星凯特·温斯莱特出演，更是揽获了2009年金球奖、奥斯卡金像奖等一系列奖项。

It’s not that Hanna and I weren’t happy again after the first day of 1）Easter vacation； we were never happier than in those weeks of April. As much of a 2）sham as our first fight and indeed all our fights were， everything that enlarged our 3）ritual of reading， showering， and lying beside each other， actually did us good. Besides which， she had trumped herself with the accusation that I hadn’t wanted to know her. When I wanted to be seen with her， she couldn’t raise any fundamental objections. “So it was you who didn’t want to be seen with me”—she didn’t want to have to listen to that. So the week after Easter we set off by bike on a four-day trip.

While I was sick， I hadn’t spent any of my pocket money. But that wouldn’t be enough if I wanted to pay for Hanna as well. So I offered to sell my stamp collection to the stamp dealer next to the Church of the Holy Spirit. The salesman looked through my album and offered me sixty marks. I made him look at my showpiece， a straight-edged Egyptian stamp with a pyramid that was listed in the catalog for four hundred marks. He shrugged. I tried to bargain. If the stamp with the pyramid wasn’t that valuable， I would just keep it. Then he could only give me thirty marks. So the stamp with the pyramid was valuable after all？ In the end I got seventy marks. I felt cheated， but I didn’t care. I was not the only one with 4）itchy feet. To my amazement， Hanna started getting restless in the days before we left. She went this way and that over what to take， and packed and repacked the 5）saddlebag and 6）rucksack I had gotten for her. When I wanted to show her the route I had worked out on the map， she didn’t want to look， or even hear about it. “I’m too excited already. You’ll have worked it out right anyway， kid.”

We set off on Easter Monday. The sun was shining and went on shining for four days straight. The mornings were cool and then the days warmed up， not too warm for cycling， but warm enough to have picnics. In the flatlands along the Rhine， the first fruit trees were already in bloom. In Odenwald the first 7）forsythias were out. Often we could ride side by side. Then we pointed out to each other the things we saw： the castle， the family walking single file along the bank， the enormous American 8）convertible with the top down. When we changed directions or roads， I had to ride ahead； she didn’t want to have to bother with such things. Otherwise， when the traffic was too heavy， she sometimes rode behind me and sometimes 9）vice versa. Her bike had covered spokes， pedals， and gears， and she wore a blue dress with a big skirt that fluttered in her wake. It took me some time to stop worrying that the skirt would get caught in the spokes or the gears and she would fall off. After that， I liked watching her ride ahead of me. How I had looked forward to the nights. She lay with her back to me， I leaned over her and kissed her， and she turned on her back， took me into her and held me in her arms. “Kid， kid.” Then I fell asleep on top of her. The other nights we slept right through， worn out by the cycling， the sun， and the wind. Hanna didn’t just let me be in charge of choosing our direction and the roads to take. I was the one who picked out the inns where we spent the nights， registered us as mother and son while she just signed her name， and selected our food from the menu for both of us. “I like not having to worry about a thing for a change.”

The only fight we had took place in Amorbach. I had woken up early， dressed quietly， and 10）crept out of the room. I wanted to bring up breakfast and also see if I could find a flower shop open where I could get a rose for Hanna. I had left a note on the night table.“Good morning！ Bringing breakfast， be right back，” or words to that effect. When I returned， she was standing in the room， trembling with rage and white-faced.

“How could you go just like that？”

I put down the breakfast tray with the rose on it and wanted to take her in my arms.“Hanna...”

“Don’t touch me.” She was holding the narrow leather belt that she wore around her dress； she took a step backwards and hit me across the face with it. My lip split and I tasted blood. It didn’t hurt. I was horrorstruck. She swung again. But she didn’t hit me. She let her arm fall， dropped the belt， and burst into tears. I had never seen her cry. Her face lost all its shape， with wide-open eyes， eyelids swollen after the first tears， and red blotches on her cheeks and neck. Her mouth was making throaty sounds. She stood there looking at me through her tears. I should have taken her in my arms. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do. At home none of us cried like that. We didn’t hit， not even with our hands， let alone a leather belt. We talked. But what was I supposed to say now？ She took two steps towards me， beat her fists against me， then clung to me. Now I could hold her. Her shoulders trembled， she knocked her forehead against my chest. Then she gave a deep sigh and 11）snuggled into my arms. “Shall we have breakfast？” She let go of me. “My God， kid， look at you.” She fetched a wet towel and cleaned my mouth and chin.“And your shirt is covered with blood.” She took off my shirt， then my pants.

“What was the matter？ Why did you get so angry？” We were lying side by side， so satiated and content that I thought everything would be cleared up now. “What was the matter， what was the matter—you always ask such silly questions. You can’t just leave like that.” “But I left you a note…” “Note？” I sat up. The note was no longer on the table where I had left it. I got to my feet， and searched next to the night table， and underneath， and under the bed and in it. I couldn’t find it. “I don’t understand. I wrote you a note saying I was going to get breakfast and I’d be right back.” “You did？ I don’t see any note.”“You don’t believe me？” “I’d love to believe you. But I don’t see any note.” We didn’t go on fighting. Had a gust of wind come and taken the note and carried it away to God knows where？ Had it all been a misunderstanding， her fury， my split lip， her wounded face， my helplessness？ Should I have gone on searching， for the note， for the cause of Hanna’s fury， for the source of my helplessness？

“Read me something， kid！” She 12）cuddled up to me and I picked up 13）Eichendorff’s Memoirs of a Good-for-Nothing and continued from where I had left off. Memoirs of a Goodfor-Nothing was easy to read aloud， easier than 14）Emilia Galotti and 15）Intrigues and Love. Again， Hanna followed everything eagerly. She liked the scattering of poems. She liked the disguises， the mixups， the complications and pursuits in which t h e h e r o g e t s 1 6 ） tangled up in Italy. At the same time， she held it against him that he’s a goodfor-nothing who doesn’t achieve anything， can’t do anything， and doesn’t want to besides. She was torn in all directions； hours after I stopped reading， she was still coming up with questions. “17）Customs collector—wasn’t much of a job？”

Once again the report on our fight has become so detailed that I would like to report on our happiness. The fight made our relationship more intimate. I had seen her crying. The Hanna who could cry was closer to me than the Hanna who was only strong. She began to show a soft side that I had never seen before. She kept looking at my split lip， until it healed， and stroking it gently. I have a poem that I wrote back then. As poetry， it’s worthless. At the time I was in love with 18）Rilke and 19）Benn， and I can see that I wanted to imitate them both. But I can also see how close we were at the time. Here is the poem：“When we open ourselves， you yourself to me and I myself to you； When we submerge， you into me and I into you； When we vanish， into me you and into you I； Then， am I me， and you are you.”

汉娜和我并不是在复活节假期第一天过后就又不再幸福了；四月份那几个星期我们再快乐不过了。我们第一次吵架并没有真吵，其实我们所有争吵都不是真的，只是让我们更感受到惯常相伴朗读、淋浴、依偎的珍贵，这一切对我们真的很好。此外，她一口认定之前我不想去了解她。但是，当我想被外人看到与她在一起时，她又提不出任何原则性的反对意见。“原来是你不愿意让别人看见我和你在一起。”她不想听到我说这样的话。所以，复活节过后的那周，我们骑车出行四日游。

生病期间，我的零花钱一分都没动。可是如果我为汉娜付钱的话，却又不够。因此，我提出在圣灵大教堂附近的一家邮票店卖了我的集邮邮票。店员翻了翻我的集邮册，然后出价六十马克。我指给他看了一张我的王牌邮票，一张带有金字塔的方形埃及邮票，这张邮票在票册中的标价为四百马克。他耸耸肩。我尽量讨价还价，我说，如果像他说的那金字塔邮票不值钱的话，那么脆就不卖那张邮票了。这样一来，他又仅出三十马克了。这么说，带金字塔的那张邮票还是值钱的？最后，我卖了七十马克。我觉得自己被骗了，可这对我来说无所谓了。不仅我对这次旅行激动不已，令我感到惊讶的是汉娜在出发的前几天也已经心神不定了。她考虑来考虑去应该带些什么东西，把东西装到了自行车的挂包里和我为她找来的背包里，折腾来折腾去的。当我想在地图上指给她看我考虑好的路线图时，她不想看，甚至连听都不想听。“我现在太兴奋了，小家伙，你做的一定错不了。”

复活节星期一我们上路了。那天阳光明媚，一连四天都阳光明媚。早晨天气凉爽，白天天气暖和，但对骑自行车来说还不是太暖和，不过在外野餐已经不冷了。莱茵平原上的第一批果树已经开花了，奥登森林的连翘也抽芽了。我们常常并肩而行，我们相互指看一些沿途见到的东西：城堡、岸上列队行走的一家，还有放下敞篷的美国大轿车。转弯和走新路时，必须由我带路。朝哪个方向走和走哪条路的事她不想操心。如果路面很拥挤的话，有时是她骑在前面，有时是我骑在前面。她骑的自行车的链条、脚蹬和齿轮处都有遮板。她穿着一条蓝色的连衣裙，宽肥的下摆随风飘舞。我有时会担心她的裙子被卷到链条或车链子里，怕她因此而跌倒。顾虑消除之后，我愿意看着她在我前面骑。我曾多么盼望着夜晚的降临啊！她背对着我躺着，我俯身亲吻她，她转过身来，仰卧着，把我搂在怀里：“小家伙，小家伙。”之后，我就躺在她怀里睡着了。由于风吹日晒，加上骑车的疲劳，后来我们都一觉睡到大天亮。汉娜不仅把选择方向和道路的事情交给我，还要由我来寻找过夜的客栈，我们以母子关系登记住宿，而她只需在登记簿上签字就行，我还负责点餐。“我喜欢什么事儿都不用操心。”

我们的唯一一次争吵发生在阿木尔巴赫。我很早就醒了，蹑手蹑脚地穿好衣服，从房间里溜了出去。我想把早餐端上来，也想看一看有没有已经开门的花店，好给汉娜买一枝玫瑰。我在床边桌上留了一张字条：“早上好。我去取早餐，一会儿就回来。”或是类似这样的话。当我回来时，她站在房中，愤怒地发抖，脸色苍白。

“你怎么能就这样一走了之呢！”

我把早餐托盘和玫瑰放下，想把她搂在怀里。“汉娜……”

“别碰我！”她手里拿着扎连衣裙的细皮带，往后退了一步，对着我的脸就抽了过来。我的嘴唇破了，鲜血直流。我感觉不到疼痛。我被吓坏了，她又举起了手臂。可是她没有再打下来，她把手臂垂了下来，皮带落到了地上。她哭了，我还从未见她哭过。她的脸完全变了形。睁大的眼睛，眼皮哭得红肿，面颊脖颈泛红，喉音哽咽。她站在那里，泪汪汪地看着我。我应该把她搂在怀里，可我又不能，我不知道该做什么。我们家里的人都不是这样的哭法。我们家里的人从不动手打人，更别说是用皮带抽人了，我们家里的人只动口。可是我又该说什么呢？她向我走近了两步，扑到了我的怀里，用拳头捶我，紧紧地抓着我。现在我可以抱着她了，她的肩在抽搐，她用额头撞着我的胸。接着她深深地喘了口气，紧紧地依偎在我怀里。“我们吃早餐吧？”她从我怀里挣脱出来。“我的天哪，小家伙，看看你像什么样子！”她取了条湿毛巾把我的嘴巴和下巴擦干净了。“怎么连衬衫都到处是血。”她为我脱掉了衬衫，然后是裤子。

“到底怎么回事？你为什么那么生气？”我们躺在一起，是那样的心满意足。我想现在一切都雨过天晴了吧。“怎么回事，怎么回事，你总是问这种愚蠢的问题！你不能就这么走了。”“可是我给你留了一张字条……”“字条？”我坐了起来，在边桌上放字条的地方什么都没有。我站了起来，桌边、桌下、床上、床下，到处找，都没有找到。“我搞不明白是怎么一回事，我给你写了一张字条，说我去取早餐，即刻就回。”“你写了吗？我没有看到字条。”“你不相信我吗？”“我倒是情愿相信你，可我没见到什么字条。”我们不再争吵了。来了一阵风把字条刮走了吗？天知道它刮到什么地方去了？她的愤怒、我裂开的嘴唇、她受伤的表情，还有我的无能为力，难道所有这一切都只是个误会？我还要继续寻找那张字条吗？寻找汉娜生气的原因？寻找我为什么那么无助的由来吗？

“小家伙，给我读点什么吧！”她紧紧地依偎在我怀里。我拿出了艾辛多夫的《无用之人》，接着上次停下来的地方念了起来。《无用之人》大声读起来挺容易的，比《爱米丽雅·迦洛蒂》和《阴谋与爱情》念起来容易。汉娜又急切地跟随着情节。她喜欢里面的诗，喜欢主人公在意大利时那些伪装、那些混乱误会、那些节外生枝、那些梦想追逐，同时她也认为主人公可恶，因为他是个无用之人，无所事事，游手好闲，什么都不会做，而且也愿意什么都不会做。她对一些问题犹豫不决，在我念完之后的几小时还可能提出这样的问题：“海关税收员——不是什么好职业吧？”

我又不自觉地这么详尽地叙述了我们的争吵，现在我也乐意讲一讲我们幸福的一面。这次争吵使我们的关系变得更亲密了。我看到她哭了，哭泣的汉娜比坚强的汉娜更令我感到亲切。她开始显露出我从未见过的温柔的一面。在我裂开的嘴唇愈合之前，她时不时地就看看，轻轻地抚摸它。我有一首当时自己写的诗。作为诗，它并没什么价值。那时我很崇拜里尔克和贝恩，我清楚地意识到我是想同时效仿他们两位，可我也再次意识到我们的关系在那时是多么的密切。那首诗是这么写的：“当我们敞开心扉时，我们合二为一；当我们沉浸时，你中有我，我中有你；当我们消失时，你在我心中，我在你心里；这之后，我是我，你是你。”