Missing Person——淹沒在時光里的結(jié)繩記事

陳榕

帕特里克·莫迪亞諾（Patrick Modiano）是2014年度的諾貝爾文學(xué)獎得主。1945年7月30日，他出生于法國的布洛涅-比揚古。他的父親是猶太人，在二戰(zhàn)期間從事走私活動，戰(zhàn)后在金融界工作。他的母親是一名比利時籍演員。莫迪亞諾自幼喜愛文學(xué)，十歲時開始寫詩，十四五歲便對小說創(chuàng)作表現(xiàn)出濃厚的興趣。1965年他進(jìn)入巴黎索邦大學(xué)學(xué)習(xí)，一年后輟學(xué)，專門從事文學(xué)創(chuàng)作。莫迪亞諾是法國評論界一致公認(rèn)的當(dāng)今法國最有才華的作家之一。他的作品，尤其是早年的作品，多以神秘的商人父親和二戰(zhàn)的歷史背景為主題。他常常運用大量的回憶與想象把現(xiàn)實和虛構(gòu)結(jié)合起來，描寫自己未經(jīng)歷過的事。猶太人、納粹占領(lǐng)、身份認(rèn)知的缺失是他作品中反復(fù)出現(xiàn)的主題。他的代表作有《暗店街》（Missing Person）、《蜜月》（Honeymoon）、《走出黑暗》（Out of the Dark）等，其中《暗店街》是其最具代表性的作品。

Excerpts1）

I am nothing. Nothing but a pale shape， silhouetted2） that evening against the café terrace， waiting for the rain to stop； the shower had started when Hutte left me.

Some hours before， we had met again for the last time on the premises of the Agency. Hutte， as usual， sat at his massive desk， but with his coat on， so that there was really an air of departure about it. I sat opposite him， in the leather armchair we kept for clients.

“Well， there we are， Guy … Thats it … ，” said Hutte， with a sigh.

Thoughtfully， Hutte stroked his beard， a grizzly， close-cut beard， but one which spread out over his cheeks. His large， limpid3） eyes stared dreamily ahead. To the left of the desk， the wicker chair where I sat during working hours. Behind Hutte， dark wooden shelves covered half the wall： There were rows of street-and-trade directories and year-books of all kinds， going back over the last fifty years. Hutte had often told me that these were essential tools of the trade and that he would never part with them. And that these directories and year-books constituted the most valuable and moving library you could imagine， as their pages listed people， things， vanished worlds， to which they alone bore witness.

“What will you do with all these directories？” I asked Hutte， taking in the shelves with a sweeping gesture.

“Im leaving them here， Guy. Im keeping the lease on the apartment.”

He cast a swift glance around. The double door leading into the small adjoining room was open and one could see the worn， velvet-covered sofa， the fire-place， and the mirror in which the rows of year-books and directories and Huttes face were reflected. Our clients often waited in this room. A Persian carpet protected the parquet floor. An icon hung on the wall， near the window.

“What are you thinking about， Guy？”

“Nothing. So， youre keeping the lease？”

“Yes. Ill be coming back to Paris from time to time and the Agency will be my pied-à-terre4）.”

He held out a cigarette case.

“I think its less sad if we keep the place as it is.”

We had been working together for over eight years. He himself had started this private detective agency in 1947 and had worked with quite a number of other people before me. Our business was supplying clients with what Hutte called “society information.” It was all， as he was fond of repeating， a matter of dealings between “society folk.”

“Do you think youll be able to live in Nice？”

“Of course.”

“You wont get bored？”

He blew out some smoke.

“One has to retire eventually， Guy.”

He rose heavily. Hutte must be over six feet tall and weigh more than 200 pounds.

“My trains at 10：55. We have time for a drink.”

He walked off ahead of me into the corridor that leads to the entrance hall， an odd， oval shaped room with pale-beige-colored walls. A black portfolio5）， so full that it would not close， was standing on the floor. Hutte picked it up. He carried it， one hand underneath.

“You dont have any luggage？”

“I sent everything on ahead.”

Hutte opened the front door and I switched off the hall light. On the landing， Hutte paused a moment before shutting the door and the metallic sound cut me to the quick. It marked the end of a long period in my life.

“It is a crying shame， isnt it Guy？” said Hutte， and he took a large handkerchief from his coat pocket and mopped his brow.

“Im leaving it，” said Hutte.

Then he turned the key in the lock.

We walked along Avenue Niel as far as Place Pereire. It was dark and， though winter was not far off， the air was still mild. In Place Pereire， we sat down on the terrace of the Hortensias. Hutte liked this café， because of the caned chairs—“just like the old days.”

“And what about you， Guy， what are you going to do？” He asked， after he had gulped down some brandy and soda.

“Me？ Im following something up.”

“Following something up？”

“Yes. My past.”

I had said this rather portentously and it had made him smile.

“I always thought that one day youd try to find your past again.”

Now he was serious and I was touched by it.

“But look here， Guy， I wonder if its really worth it.”

He fell silent. What was he thinking of？ His own past？

“Ill give you a key to the agency. You can go there from time to time. Id like that.”

He held out a key， which I slid into my trouser pocket.

“And call me in Nice. Let me know whats happening， how youre getting on … with your past …”

He rose and clasped my hand.

“Shall I go with you to the station？”

“No， no … Its so sad.”

With a single stride he was out of the café， not turning around， and I felt an emptiness all of a sudden. This man had meant a lot to me. Without him， without his help， I wonder what would have become of me， ten years back， when I was struck by amnesia6） and was groping about in a fog. He had been moved by my case and， through his many contacts， had even managed to procure me a legal identity record.

“Here，” he had said， handing me a large envelope which contained an identity card and a passport. “Your name is ‘Guy Roland now.”

And this private detective whose professional services I had sought in uncovering witnesses or traces of my past， had added：

“My dear ‘Guy Roland， from here on dont look back， think only of the present and the future. How about working with me？ ...”

在帕特里克·莫迪亞諾的小說《暗店街》中，男主人公是一位遺忘癥患者。十多年前，他的人生出現(xiàn)了斷裂，不知道出于何種緣由，他失去了記憶。所幸的是，他遇到了好心人于特。于特將他收留，并幫他設(shè)法取得戶籍，他自此更名為居伊·羅朗，成為于特的偵探事務(wù)所里的助理。然而，“自己究竟是誰”這個問題一直在困擾著他。小說開篇的第一句話“我的過去，一片朦朧……”成為小說中最大的懸疑。當(dāng)老板于特決定退休時，居伊也決定回溯過去，找回自己丟失的記憶，為此他踏上了尋找昔日自我的旅途。

《暗店街》可以看做是一則偵探故事，但與眾不同的是，在這則偵探故事中，所需要解開的謎團與偵探本人、小說的主人公居伊有關(guān)。在一家酒吧，有人認(rèn)出主人公居伊應(yīng)該是自己的舊識，并另找了其他的朋友一起回憶，他們想起居伊曾經(jīng)和一群俄國流亡者同出同入。沿著這條線索，居伊找到了俄國人斯蒂奧巴，從對方提供的舊照片中，他判斷出自己應(yīng)該認(rèn)識某個叫嘉·奧爾羅夫的女子。按照這個線索查下去，他發(fā)現(xiàn)嘉已經(jīng)去世。之后，他找到嘉的丈夫瓦爾多·布朗特進(jìn)一步了解情況，發(fā)現(xiàn)自己或許屬于貴族出身的奧瓦爾·德·呂茲家族，名字應(yīng)該叫弗雷迪。他來到弗雷迪的舊宅，遇到了雜工羅貝爾，對方卻覺得他不是弗雷迪，而是弗雷迪的朋友彼得羅。他找到了彼得羅曾經(jīng)的住址和電話，尋蹤到康巴塞雷斯街，碰到了當(dāng)年彼得羅借住房屋的主人埃萊娜·皮爾革朗，對方認(rèn)出了他是彼得羅——他曾經(jīng)和女朋友德尼茲·庫德勒斯在這里借住。德尼茲在寄給埃萊娜的最后一封信中，告訴埃萊娜她和彼得羅準(zhǔn)備請一位名叫奧列格·德·弗雷戴的人幫忙，從德國人占領(lǐng)的法國逃到瑞士。主人公繼續(xù)追查，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)弗雷戴所使用的是化名，連他自己這個名叫彼得羅的身份也令人生疑。埃萊娜記得他叫彼得羅·麥克沃伊，身份是多米尼加人。他和德尼茲結(jié)婚證上的名字則是吉米·彼得羅·斯特恩，國籍是希臘。為了弄清這一切，主人公離開巴黎，根據(jù)別人幫他找到的弗雷迪的資料，前往太平洋小島尋找弗雷迪，希望從他那里得到線索，卻被告知弗雷迪在不久前的一次航海中失蹤了。小說結(jié)尾處，他決定動身去羅馬看看，因為按照他和德尼茲的結(jié)婚登記，他曾經(jīng)住在羅馬的暗店街。

在小說《暗店街》中，我們隨著主人公馬不停蹄地尋找，穿梭于巴黎的大街小巷，奔波于酒吧、碼頭、旅店，甚至遠(yuǎn)行到了太平洋的小島。然而，即便是到了小說的結(jié)尾，這次旅行還是沒有結(jié)束，羅馬的暗店街是主人公的下一站，而且暗店街顯然也不會是他自我追尋的終點。值得注意的是，《暗店街》的中文書名是該書的法文名直譯，它的英文版譯名卻用的是意譯，即“Missing Person”，意思是失蹤的人。用“失蹤”來解釋主人公的存在狀態(tài)看似奇怪，因為他還好好地活著，但是細(xì)想來卻無不當(dāng)，因為他雖然活著，憑借的卻是居伊·羅朗的新身份，對于這個世界來說，昔日的他的確是失蹤了。

那么，該如何找到那個失蹤的自己？主人公的辦法是以他人的記憶為憑據(jù)，因為他人的記憶是證明我們存在的票根。每個人來到這個世界，注定無法生活在真空之中。當(dāng)我們與他人結(jié)識，與他們在酒吧喝酒，在教堂參加朋友的婚禮，收獲友誼以及愛情時，我們的命運就和他人的命運交織在了一起，我們的存在會在他們的存在里刻下印痕。當(dāng)我們想要尋找自我，可以憑借的便是這些痕跡所留下的記憶。因此，主人公首先從尋人入手。他需要用朋友的記憶來確定自己的身份。他需要有人明白地告訴他，他是誰，來自哪里，又因何失憶。

然而，主人公卻發(fā)現(xiàn)，尋找自己歷史的見證人何其艱難。這是因為他所經(jīng)歷過的時代是傾覆的時代，是記憶斷裂的時代。小說的背景涉及二戰(zhàn)中被德國占領(lǐng)的法國。納粹對猶太人和異族人的清洗造就了千千萬萬“失蹤的人”。主人公曾經(jīng)活躍在俄國流亡者的小群體里，這個群體隨著二戰(zhàn)的到來而流散。為了逃避迫害，主人公與德尼茲、嘉、弗雷迪以及賽馬騎師安德烈·維爾德梅爾一起離開巴黎，躲在邊境附近的小城麥熱夫。他和德尼茲為了徹底獲得自由，決定請路上結(jié)識的俄國人奧列格·德·弗雷戴幫忙，穿過國境線，投奔瑞士。他們花了錢，卻上了當(dāng)：主人公和德尼茲被分開，他被領(lǐng)路人遺棄在茫茫大雪中，后來昏倒在雪地上，醒來后，他徹底失去了記憶。應(yīng)該說，如果沒有戰(zhàn)爭，沒有德國對法國的占領(lǐng)，十多年后，他完全沒有必要為尋回失落的自我而奔走。

沒有記憶的人是沒有根的人，在這個世界上游蕩，無法找到回家的路，有孤苦的無依感。在文字發(fā)明之前，原始人曾經(jīng)采用結(jié)繩記事的方式記錄歷史，發(fā)生一件重大事件，就在繩子上打一個結(jié)。然而，結(jié)繩記事的弊病在于，如果年代久遠(yuǎn)，人們只能看到那些歷歷在目的繩結(jié)提醒著事件的發(fā)生，每一個繩結(jié)所代表的事件的內(nèi)容和意義卻已被時間吞噬。主人公居伊尋找他的昔日身份也就仿佛是手拿記事的長繩，知道發(fā)生了某些事，但記不起事情的內(nèi)容。因為那段失去的記憶發(fā)生在戰(zhàn)爭時期，受戰(zhàn)爭的影響，所以居伊能夠找到的歷史線索很有限，而且這些線索的內(nèi)容因時光的漫長侵蝕而變得模糊不清。此外，物是人非，隨著時光流轉(zhuǎn)，居伊容顏已變，不復(fù)當(dāng)年少年郎的模樣。連他自己面對照片時都錯誤地把自己當(dāng)做了弗雷迪，又如何能夠奢求那些少數(shù)幸存下來的朋友看到他時就立即認(rèn)出他，為他還原出一段完整的歷史？

《暗店街》是一部籠罩在煙水迷霧里的作品。開篇時是某個煙雨蒙蒙的夜晚，結(jié)束時是在水氣昭昭的海邊：“夜幕降臨大地。礁湖隨著它的一片綠色的消失，自己也逐漸隱沒了。水面上，一些暗紫色的影子就像忽隱忽現(xiàn)的磷火一樣奔突著。”主人公的敘述自此告一段落，留下了懸而未決的疑問，如同漣漪，一圈又一圈，在讀者的心頭暈開。主人公尋找自我的旅程一波三折，一唱三疊。他挽著歷史的繩結(jié)，沒能走出歷史的迷宮。