荒野地The Wild Land

賈平凹

這原本是莊稼地，卻生長了一片荒草。荒草一人余高，繁榮得蓬勃健美。月夜下沒有風，亦不到潮露水的時分，草的枝葉及成熟的穗實蕭蕭而立，但一種聲息在響，似乎是草籽在裂殼墜落，似乎是昆蟲在咬噬，靜佇良久，跳動的是體內的心一顆。扮演著的是《聊齋》里的人物，時間更進入亙古的洪荒，遙遙地聽見了神對命運的招引。

月亮在天上明亮著一輪，看得清其中的一抹黑影，真疑心是荒野地的投影，而地上三尺之外便一片迷。夜是保密的，于是產生遲到的愛情。躲過那遠遠的如炮樓一般的守護莊稼的庵架，一只饑渴的手握住了一只饑渴的手，一瞬間十指被膠合，同時感受到了熱，卻冷得索索而抖。

一溜黑地淌過，松軟如過草灘，又分明是腳上穿了寬松的鞋。可憐的農人種下了這一溜洋芋，四周的荒草卻使它們未能健長，挖掘過的地上沒有收獲到拳大的洋芋。肥沃的土地上明日的清晨卻能看到兩行交織的腳印。

已經是草地的中央了，失卻的則是東南西北的方向。境界幽幽。心身在啟示著坐下來，恰好有兩塊石頭，等待這石頭是多少個年月，石頭也差不多等待得發涼了。天地之間，塞涌的是這荒草，人也是荒草的一棵，再有一棵。說話的是眼睛，說盡著唐詩宋詞2的篇章。頭頂上的月亮豐豐滿滿。需要有點風，風果然而至。草把月劃成了有條紋的物件，且在晃動不已。不知名的昆蟲在呻吟著，散發著那特有的氣味。待到死過去幾次，又活過來幾次，一切安靜了，望月亮又如深下去的一眼井水，來分辨那里面的身影了。

佛殿一樣的地方，得到的是心身的和諧，方明白那一溜松軟的黑地是通往未來的甬道，鋪著氈毯。

生長莊稼的土地卻長滿了這么多荒草，這是失職的農人的過錯嗎？但荒草同樣在結飽滿的果籽，這便是土地的功能。失職的農人或許要詛咒的，而嬌弱無能的莊稼沒有荒草這么并不需要節令、耕作、肥料而頑強健壯啊！

因為草、人歸復了原本的形態，這個月下夜晚是這么蒼茫壯闊。

生之苦難與悲憤，造就著無盡的殘缺與遺憾，超越了便是幽默的角色，再不寄希望于夢境和來世，就這么在荒野地中坐下，坐下如兩塊石頭。或許坐上百年上千年，或許很短的一別，但已夠了。

走出了荒野地，另一處草淺的地方，仍發現了曾是長過瓜果的，是南瓜或是西瓜，肯定的也是未收獲到要收獲的東西，瓜田早廢了，瓜葉腐敗為泥，而繩一樣縱橫的瓜蔓卻還發白的將也已為泥的印綴在地上。踏著這白繩的空格走，像是游戲。突然就會想起月亮上的那一株桂樹，還有那一位勇敢的卻砍不斷樹身的吳剛3。

而畢竟有這么一塊荒野地。

Originally， it was given over to crops， but was then reclaimed by wild grass， which reached the height of a man， being vigorous， fecund and graceful. On a moonlight evening no wind blew and it was not yet time for the dew to settle. The blades of grass and its ripened ears stood there quietly. Anyhow， the sound of breathing was to be heard as if the seeds themselves were scratching through the husks in an effort to fall down or as though insects were nibbling on something. Standing there quietly for a long time， what was actually thumping was the heart inside the onlooker’s torso. Like the characters in Strange Tales from the Liaozhai Studio the clock seemed to shift back to the ancient primeval wilderness. The gods were to be heard from afar dictating fate.

The moon was clear and bright in the sky， yet shadows were to be made out on its surface. Could these be the reflections of the wild land？ On the ground， everything beyond three feet away was shrouded and muddled. The night was capable of keeping secrets so liaisons were initiated belatedly. Avoiding the sentry tower-like hut which was used for keeping an eye on the crops， a single hungry and thirsty hand grasped another hungry and thirsty hand. Ten fingers were fused together in an instant. At the same time， they both felt the heat， though shivered with cold.

A plot of black earth stretched across the eyeline. The soil was even tenderer than the meadow. Stepping on it felt like one was wearing a pair of ill-fitting oversized shoes. The pitiful farmers had sown a row of potatoes， but the grasses around them prevented them from thriving. On the harvested land the tubers had not managed to reach even the size of a man’s fist. The following morning， only two lines of crossed footprints remained in the fertile soil.

Coming to the centre of the wild meadow， folks could easily lose their bearings. The environment and atmosphere were deep and still. The body and soul urged one to sit down. Two rocks happened to be planted there. How many years and months had passed for these expectant stones？ Even they had grown frigid in their waiting. Wild grasses streamed between the heavens and the earth. Man was also a stalk of wild grass， which had another one to his side. It is the eyes which do the talking. They spoke about Tang Poems and Song Ci. The moon above their heads was plump. A breeze was expected and did come. The grass divided the moon into strips and it shimmered and shook. The anonymous insects groaned， spraying out their special odour. After experiencing the petit mort several times and being regenerated several times， everything became peaceful again. It was awkward to detect shadows in the moon， like the waters of a deep well.

In a place as sacred as the Buddha’s shrine， the body and soul were fused in harmony. They understood that this plot of black earth was the passage to the future， which was overlaid with carpet.

The cropland was fully covered by so many wild grasses. Were undutiful farmers to blame？ However， the wild grass also produced fully-engorged seeds. This was the function of the land. Perhaps people would curse the undutiful farmers. Still， the fragile crops were not as strong as wild grasses. The wild grass thrived without ploughing， fertilizer and proper seasons！

Human beings were restored to their original nature because of this grass. How grand and boundless was the night beneath the moonlight.

The hardship and grief in life had produced countless regret and deformity. Whoever overcomes these can acquire good humour， no longer pinning their hopes on dreams and the next life. They may just sit in the wild land like two pieces of rock. They may sit there for hundreds or thousands of years or they may just be there for a short while. Anyhow， that would be enough.

Leaving the wild land， another place is sparse with grass. It used to be a land for growing melons， maybe pumpkins and watermelons. Surely， they do not harvest what they have been expecting. The melon plot has long been fallow. The leaves of the melon plants have turned to rotten mud， yet the vines， though withered and white， still crisscross like ropes and leave their imprint on the ground. Walking along the grid formed by these white ropes is akin to playing a game. One can suddenly bring to mind the laurel on the moon and the brave Wu Gang who cannot slice away its trunk.

After all， such a wild land did exist.