(中英)現(xiàn)代散文:加德滿都的狗 Dogs in Katmandu

Dogs in Katmandu

加德滿都的狗

◎ Ji Xianlin

◎　季羨林

When I lived in the countryside as a small child, there were dogs all around, and so I got quite accustomed to them, never thinking of them as anything out of the common. Nevertheless, they have since left a most deep impression on me. After mother, the sole occupant of our country home, passed away, the dog she had raised — I've now even forgotten what colour he was — continued to keep watch at the door, lying there day and night. He must have been aware that nobody was going to feed him after the death of his mistress. But he would rather endure the torments of hunger than forsake his post outside our run-down home. At dusk, when I arrived alone from somewhere in the village at our house, in which lay mother's coffin, the ownerless dog would fix his tearful eyes on me, the youngster bereaved of his loving mother, wag his tail feebly and sniff at my feet. It seemed as if he and I were left all alone in this vast universe. In face of the sad and dreary scene, I could shed no tears. What I shed was blood which flowed right into my innermost heart. I could have stayed with him to live in mutual dependence and comfort each other in distress, but I had to quit my native place, unable to take him along with me. At the time of parting, I hugged him tightly with tears in my eyes. I felt terribly bad about having to desert him. He has since been in my mind for decades. Even today, I cannot restrain my tears whenever I think of him. I am certain he would never stop standing guard at our door even after I left. I cannot bear to imagine what fate befell him in the end. May mother's soul receive from this faithful dog the consolation that I, as her son, have not been able to offer her!

我小時(shí)候住在農(nóng)村里，終日與狗為伍①，一點(diǎn)也沒有感覺到狗這種東西有什么稀奇的地方②。但是狗卻給我留下了極其深刻的印象。我母親逝世以后，故鄉(xiāng)的家中已經(jīng)空無一人。她養(yǎng)的一條狗——連它的顏色我現(xiàn)在都回憶不清楚了——卻仍然日日夜夜臥在我們門口，守著不走。女主人已經(jīng)離開人世，再?zèng)]有人喂它了。它好像已經(jīng)意識(shí)到這一點(diǎn)③。但是它卻堅(jiān)決寧愿忍饑挨餓④，也決不離開我們那破爛的家門口。黃昏時(shí)分，我形單影只從村內(nèi)走回家來，屋子里擺著母親的棺材，門口臥著這一只失去了主人的狗⑤，淚眼汪汪地望著我這個(gè)失去了慈母的孩子，有氣無力地?fù)u擺著尾巴，嗅我的腳。茫茫宇宙，好像只剩下這只狗和我。此情此景⑥，我連淚都流不出來了，我流的是血，而這血還是流向我自己的心中。我本來應(yīng)該同這只狗相依為命，互相安慰⑦。但是，我必須離開故鄉(xiāng)，我又無法把它帶走。離別時(shí)，我流著淚緊緊地?fù)ё×怂?，我遺棄了它，真正受到良心的譴責(zé)⑧。幾十年來，我經(jīng)常想到這一只狗，直到今天，我一想到它，還會(huì)不自主地流下眼淚。我相信，我離開家以后，它也決不會(huì)離開我們的門口。它的結(jié)局我簡直不忍想下去了。母親有靈，會(huì)從這一只狗身上得到我這個(gè)兒子無法給她的慰藉吧。

Since then, I have been fond of all dogs in the world.

從此，我愛天下一切狗。

But I've seen a steady dwindling of the canine population ever since I became a city dweller. In recent years, it has been strictly banned in Beijing to raise dogs. Dogs have become a rare animal to be seen only in a zoo.

但是我遷居大城市以后，看到了狗漸漸少起來了⑨。最近多少年以來，北京根本不許養(yǎng)狗，狗簡直成了稀有動(dòng)物，只有到動(dòng)物園里才能欣賞了。

At Katmandu, the moment I was driven into town after meeting with a warm and friendly reception at the airport, I was greatly surprised to see dogs, big and small, black and yellow, in the midst of casually-dressed children on both sides of a relatively narrow street, wagging their tails or nosing around for food.

我萬萬沒有想到，我到了加德滿都以后，一下飛機(jī)，在機(jī)場受到熱情友好的接待，汽車一駛離機(jī)場，駛?cè)胧袃?nèi)，在不算太寬敞的馬路兩旁就看到了大狗、小狗、黑狗、黃狗，在一群衣履比較隨便的小孩子們中間，搖尾乞食，低頭覓食。

Small as the incident was, I was immensely overjoyed to meet out of the blue in a remote foreign land dear dogs that I had not seen for ages.

這是一件小事，卻使我喜出望外：久未晤面的親愛的狗竟在萬里之外的異域會(huì)面了⑩。

Presumably these dogs were entirely ignorant of my state of mind and perhaps even incapable of telling a foreigner from a native. They appeared totally apathetic towards me in spite of my partiality for them and kept wagging their tails with lowered heads and nosing around for food.

狗們大概完全不理解我的心情，它們大概連辨別本國人和外國人?的本領(lǐng)還沒有學(xué)到。我這里一往情深，它們卻漠然無動(dòng)于衷，只是在那里搖尾低頭，到處嗅著，想找到點(diǎn)什么東西吃吃。

In the evening, it was already dark when we were on our way to the hotel from the Chinese Embassy. The streets of Katmandu were illuminated by only a few electric lamps, and still fewer neon lights. In the dim light I vaguely saw again dogs, big and small, black and yellow, nosing around here and there. Back in the hotel, when I was getting into bed after a bath, I heard dogs barking again and again in the distant darkness. It reminded me of the old saying, "A dog's bark at dead of night resembles that of a leopard." To me, however, what I heard was dogs' barking, pure and simple, having nothing whatever in common with that of leopards. The barking was nothing out of the ordinary, yet it brought back to me one sweet memory after another. The sweet barking sent me straight into the dreams I had on my first night at Katmandu.

晚上，我們從中國大使館回旅館的時(shí)候，天已經(jīng)完全黑了。加德滿都的大街上，電燈不算太多，霓虹燈的數(shù)目更少一些。我在陰影中又隱隱約約地看到了大狗、小狗、黑狗、黃狗，在那里到處嗅著?；氐铰灭^，在沐浴后上床的時(shí)候，從遠(yuǎn)處的黑暗中傳來了陣陣的犬吠聲。古人說，深夜犬吠若豹?。我現(xiàn)在聽到的不是吠聲若豹，而是吠聲若犬?。這事當(dāng)然并不稀奇。可這并不稀奇的若犬的犬吠聲卻給我?guī)砹藷o盡的甜蜜的回憶。這甜蜜的犬吠聲一直把我送入我在加德滿都過的第一夜的夢(mèng)中。

季羨林（1911—　）， 山東清平（今臨清市）人，是我國著名教育家、印度學(xué)家、梵文文學(xué)翻譯家、散文家。《加德滿都的狗》是他在1986年寫于尼泊爾首都加德滿都的一篇小品。