赵丽宏：热爱生命

　　父亲老了，七十有三了，年轻时那一头乌黑柔软的头发变得斑白而又稀疏。大概是天天在一起的缘故，真不知这头发是怎么白起来，怎么稀起来的。

　　有些人能返老还童，这话确实有道理。七十三岁的父亲，竟越来越像个孩子，对小虫小草之类的玩意儿的兴趣越来越浓。起初，是养金蛉子。乡下的亲戚用塑料盒子装了一只金蛉子，带给读小学的小外甥，却让他“扣”下来了。“小囡，迷上了小虫子，读书就没有心思了。”他一边微笑着申述理由，一边凑近透明的塑料盒子，仔细看那关在盒子里的小虫子。“听，它叫了！”他压低了声音，惊喜地告诉我，并且要我来看。盒子里的金蛉子果然在叫，声音幽幽的，但极清脆，仿佛一根银弦在很远的地方颤动。金蛉子形似蟋蟀，但比蟋蟀小得多，只有米粒大小，背脊上亮晶晶地披着一对精巧的翅膀，叫的时候那对翅膀便高高地竖起来，像两面透明的金色小旗在飘……金蛉子成了他的宝贝了。他把塑料盒子带在身边，形影不离，有空的时候，就拿出盒子来看，一看就出神，旁人说什么做什么都不知道。时间长了，他仿佛和盒子里的金蛉子有了一种旁人无法理解的交流。那幽幽的叫声响起来的时候，他便微笑着陷入沉思，表情完全像个孩子。一次，他把塑料盒放在掌心里，屏息静气地谛视了好久。见我进屋来，他神秘地一笑，喜滋滋地说：“相信么，我能懂得金蛉子的意思呢！”

　　我当然不相信，这怎么可能呢！于是他把我拉到身边，要我和他一起盯着盒子里的金蛉子看。“我要它叫，它就会叫。”他很，也很认真。米粒大小的金蛉子稳稳地站在盒子中央，两根蛛丝般的触须悠然晃动着，像是在和人打招呼。看了一会儿，他突然轻轻地叫了起来：

　　“听着，它马上就要叫了！听着！”

　　果然，他的话音刚落，金蛉子背上两片亮晶晶的翅膀便一下子竖了起来，那幽泉般的鸣叫声便如歌如诉地在我的耳畔回旋……“它马上要停了，你听着！”

　　金蛉子叫得正欢，父亲突然又轻轻推了我一下，用耳语急促地告诉我。他的话音未落，金蛉子果真停止了鸣叫。

　　这事情真有些奇了。我问父亲这其中究竟有什么奥秘，他笑了，并不是得意扬扬的笑，而是浅浅的淡淡的一笑。他说：“其实呒啥稀奇的，看得多了，摸到它的规律了。不过，这小确实有灵性呢，小时候，我就喜欢听它们叫，这叫声比什么歌子都好听。有些孩子爱看它们格斗，把它们关在小盒子里，它们也会像蟋蟀一样开牙厮咬，可这有啥意思呢，人间互相残杀得还不够，还要看这些小生灵互相残杀取乐！小时候，我就喜欢听它们唱歌……”

　　他沉浸在童年的回忆中，绘声绘色地讲起了童年乡下的琐事，讲他怎样在草丛里捉金蛉子，怎样趁着月色和小伙伴一起去地主的瓜田里偷西瓜。在玉米田里，在那无边无际的青纱帐中，孩子们用拳头砸开西瓜吃个饱，然后便躺在田垄上，看着天上的月牙、星星和银河，静静地听田野里无数小生命的大合唱。织布娘娘、纺纱童子、蟋蟀、油葫芦，以及许许多多无法叫出名字的小虫子，都在用不同的声音唱着自己的歌，它们的歌声和谐地交织在一起，使黯淡的夏夜充满了生机，充满了宁静的气息……“最好听的，还是金蛉子。”说起金蛉子，父亲兴致特别浓，“金蛉子里，有地金蛉和天金蛉。天金蛉爬在桃树上，个儿比地金蛉大得多，翅膀金赤银亮，像一面小镜子，叫起来声音也响，像是弹琴，可天金蛉少得很，难找，它们是属于天上的。地金蛉才是属于我们的。别看地金蛉个儿小，叫声幽，那声音可了不起，大地上所有好听的声音，都能在地金蛉的叫声里找到。不信，你来听听。”

　　盒子里的金蛉子又叫起来了。父亲侧着头，听得专注而又出神，脸上又露出孩子般的微笑……秋深了。风一阵凉似一阵。橘黄的梧桐叶在窗外飞旋，跳着寂寞的舞蹈。塑料盒里的金蛉子开始变得沉默寡言了，越来越难得听到它的鸣叫。父亲急起来，常常凝视着塑料盒子发呆。盒子里的金蛉子也有些呆了，缩在角落里一动不动，那一对小小的响翅似乎也失去了亮晶晶的光泽。

　　“你把它放在贴身的衣袋里()试试，用体温暖着它，兴许还能过冬呢！”母亲见父亲愁眉不展，笑着提了一个建议。

　　父亲真把塑料盒藏进了贴身的衬衣口袋。金蛉子活下来了，并且又像以前那样叫起来。不过金蛉子的歌声旁人是很难听见了，它只是属于父亲的，只要看到他老人家一动不动地站着或者坐着微笑沉思，我就知道是金蛉子在叫了。有时候，隐隐约约能听见金蛉子鸣唱，幽幽的声音是从父亲的身上，从他的胸口里飘出来的。这声音仿佛一缕缕透明无形的烟雾，奇妙地把微笑着的父亲包裹起来。这烟雾里，有故乡的月色，有父亲儿时伙伴的笑声和脚步声……于是，我想起屠格涅夫那篇题为《老人》的散文诗来：

　　……那么，你感到憋闷时，请追溯往事，回到自己的记忆中去吧——在那儿，深深地、深深地，在百思交集的心灵深处，你往日可以理解的生活会重现在你的眼前，为你闪耀着光辉，发出自己的芬芳，依然饱孕着新绿和春天的媚与力量！

　　赵丽宏：《秋兴》

　　秋风一天凉似一天。风中桂花的幽香消散了，菊花的清香又飘起。窗外那棵老槐树，不知什么时候有了黄叶，风一紧，黄叶就飘到了窗台上。在热闹的都市里，要想品味大自然的秋色，已经不是一件容易的事情。在都市人的观念中，季节的转换，除了气温的变化，除了服装的更替，似乎再也没有别的什么了。

　　Day by day the autumn wind gets colder. The quiet fragrance of osmanthus has dispersed, while the chrysanthemums begin to send out a delicate fragrance. The yellow leaves on the old locust tree outside my window – when did they turn yellow anyway? – drift onto my windowsill at every strong puff of the wind. In a big, bustling city, it is not an easy thing to indulge a leisurely appreciation of the natural scenery of autumn. What does the seasonal transition imply, a city dweller might argue, except the change in temperature and the replacement of garments?

　　而我这个爱遥想的人，偏偏不愿意被四处逼来的钢筋水泥囚禁了自己的思绪。听着窗外的风声，我想着故乡的辽阔透明的天空，想着长江边上那一望无际的银色芦花，想着从芦苇丛中扑楞着翅膀飞上天空的野鸭和大雁，想着由翠绿逐渐变成金黄色的田野……唉，可怜的都市人，就像关在笼子里的鸟，只能用可怜的回忆来想象奇妙的自然秋色了。

　　As a person with a propensity for dreams and fantasies, however, I simply refuse to have my thoughts confined in the concrete cement that keeps pushing against me from all directions. Listening to the whistling wind outside, I see in my mind’s eye the vast and transparent sky in my hometown, the boundless fields of silvery reed catkins on the banks of the Yangtze River, the flocks of wild ducks and wild geese fluttering into the sky from the reed clusters, and the farmlands on a subtle shift from green to golden…Alas and alack for the poor city dwellers, who have to imagine the natural scenery of autumn with their haphazard memories like caged bird!

　　小时候，背过古人吟咏秋天的：“秋风起兮白云飞，草木黄落兮雁南归”，“落霞与孤骛齐飞，秋水共长天一色”，“秋明不散霜飞晚，留得枯荷听雨声”，“落叶西风时候，人共青山都疼’，“采菊东篱下，悠然见南山”……这些诗句使我对自然的秋色心驰神往。想起来，古人虽然住不进现代都市的深院高楼，享受不到很多时髦便捷的现代化，但他们常常被奇妙的大自然陶醉，他们的心境常常和自然融为一体，世俗的喧嚣和烦恼在青山绿水中烟消云散。这样的境界，对久居都市的现代人来说，大概只能是梦境了。

　　In my childhood, I was taught to recite the ancient poems about autumn:

　　“In rising winds white clouds pass;

　　Wild geese head south over withering grass.”

　　“A lone wild duck along the setting sun fly;The autumn river mirrors the color of the sky.”

　　“Dark clouds never disperse and frosts descend late,Leaving the ravaged lotus to the pattering rain.”

　　“As the west wind sweeps the fallen leaves,Who’s lean, the green mountain or me?”

　　“I pluck hedge-side chrysanthemums with pleasureAnd see the tranquil Southern Mount in leisure.”

　　How I craved for the natural scenery of autumn when reading these beautiful poems! In my opinion, the ancients, although unable to enjoy the benefits of today’ facilities and amenities in high-rise buildings of modern cities, could nevertheless indulge themselves in the wonderful landscapes and merge their sentiments with the natural environments, thus reducing all the noises and worries of the mundane world into clouds over green mountains and mists over limpid streams. Such transcendent experience must be well beyond the modern people who are used to an urban life!

　　年轻时代，我的也曾和大自然连成一体。在故乡崇明岛“插队落户”多年，日出而作，日落而息，晒黑了皮肤，磨硬了筋骨，闻惯了泥土的气味，从外表上看，我曾经和土生土长的乡亲们没有了区别。然而骨子里的习性难改。当我一个人坐在江边的长堤上，面对着浩瀚的长江，面对着银波荡漾的芦苇的海洋，倾听着在天空中发出凄厉呼叫的雁群，我总是灵魂出窍，神思飞扬。我曾经想，在我们这个星球上，所有的生命都应该是有知觉的，其中包括一滴水，一株芦苇，一只大雁。我躺在涛声不绝的江边，闭上眼睛，幻想自己变成一滴水，在江海中自由自在地奔腾，变成一株芦苇，摇动着银色的头颅，在秋风中无拘无束地舞蹈，也变成一只大雁，拍动翅膀高飞在云天，去寻找遥远的目标……我曾经把自己的这些幻想写在我的诗文里，这是对青春的讴歌，是对人生的憧憬，是对生命和自然天真直率的诘问。如今再回头聆听年轻时的心声，我依旧怦然心动。当年的涛声、雁鸣、飞扬的芦花、掺杂着青草和野艾菊清香的潮湿的海风、荡漾着蟋蟀和纺织娘鸣唱的清凉的月光，仿佛仍在我的周围飘动鸣响。故乡啊，在你的身边，这一切都还美妙一如当年么？

　　In my youth, my life was one with the nature. When I lived and worked as an “Educated Youth” for many years in my hometown Chongming Island, as in the old saying “Sun up, I work; sun down, I rest,” I developed a robust physique as well as a hard tan, and grew so accustomed to the smell of the earth that I looked no different from a local farmer. Yet, my deep-rooted habits remained, even in such circumstances. When I sat on the dyke alone and faced the mighty Yangtze River, watching the silvery waves of reed catkins and listening to the shrill cries of wild geese flocks overhead, I often entertained some wild thoughts as if my soul just flew out of its shell. I once believed that all the life forms on the planet should be sentient, such as a drop of water, a stalk of reed, and a wild goose. Lying down by the boisterous and torrential river, I closed my eyes and imagined myself to be a drop of water traveling freely in rivers and seas, a stalk of reed swaying its silvery catkins in the autumn wind for a dance in unrestrained blitheness, or a wild goose flapping its wings across the sky in search of a distant target…I wrote down all these fantasies in my poems and essays in an effort to sing of my youth, to dream about future, and to raise na?ve but frank questions on life and nature. Now, when I look back on these youthful queries and aspirations, I can’t help feeling a throb of heartwarming excitement as the past scenes are brought back to me: river tides, wild geese’s cries, dancing reed catkins, humid sea winds tinged with fresh smells of grasses and wild tansies, and the cool moonshine over a choir of chirping crickets and katydids…O my hometown, is everything as enchanting as in the old days?

　　然而一切都很遥远了。此刻，窗外流动的是都市的秋风，没有大自然清新辽远的气息。今年夏天回故乡时，我从长江边采了几枝未开放的芦花，回来插在无水的盆中，它们居然都—一开出了银色的花朵，使我欣喜不已。这些芦花，把故乡的秋色送到了我的面前。这些芦花，也使我联想到自己鬓边频生的白发，这是人生进入秋季的象征，谁也无法阻挡这种进程，就像无法阻挡秋天替代夏天，春天替代冬天一样。不过我想，人的心灵和精神的四季，大概是可以由自己来调节的。当生存的空间和生理的()年龄像无情的网向你罩过来时，你的心灵却可以脱颖而出，飞向你想抵达的任何境界，只要你有这样的兴致，有这样的愿望，有这样的勇气。

　　All these are but distant memories, though. At this moment, breezing past my window is the city’s autumn wind, without the fresh and vast smells of nature. In a trip to my hometown this summer, I plucked several immature reed stalks at the bank of the Yangtze River. After I returned home, I inserted them in a waterless vase. To my great delight, they developed silvery catkins one by one, which brought the autumn senses of my hometown right before my eyes. The silvery catkins also reminded me of the locks of silver hair growing at my temples, a symbol of the advent of the autumn in my life. No one can stop the coming of the inevitable, as no one can prevent the fact that autumn follows summer and winter follows autumn. I do believe, however, that the seasons of one’s mind and spirit can be subject to self-regulation: When your living place and your physical age tend to trap you like a merciless net, you can still free your heart and let your imagination fly to any destination of your choosing, as long as you are enthusiastic enough, wishful enough, and courageous enough.

　　是的，此刻，聆听着秋声，凝视着芦花，我在问自己：你，还会不会变成一只大雁，到自由的天空中飞翔呢？

　　Right now, listening to the rustles in the autumn wind and looking at the reed catkins, I ask myself: Will you be a wild goose again to wing the free sky?

　　1995年10月27日

　　October 27, 1995