溪流Streams

賈平凹 胡宗鋒 羅賓·吉爾班克

我愈來愈愛著生我養(yǎng)我的土地了。就像山地里縱縱橫橫的溝岔一樣，就像山地里有著形形色色的花木一樣，我一寫山，似乎思路就開了，文筆也活了。

I have grown to cherish more and more the land that nurtured me. Just as there are crisscrossing valleys and gulleys in the mountain， there are all sorts of flowers and trees on those slopes. When I began to write about mountains， my train of thought seemed ignited and my writing sprang to life.

甚至覺得，我的生命，我的筆命，就是那山溪哩。雖然在莽莽的山的世界里，它只是那么柔得可憐，細(xì)得傷感的一股兒水流。我常常這么想：天上的雨落在地上，或許會成洪波，但它來自云里;溪是有根的，它涼涼地扎在山峰之下。人都說山是莊嚴(yán)的，幾乎是死寂的，其實這是錯的。它最有著內(nèi)涵，最有著活力。那山下一定是有著很大很大的海的，永遠(yuǎn)在蘊(yùn)含感情，永遠(yuǎn)是不安寧，表現(xiàn)著的，恐怕便是這小溪了。

I even felt that my own life and the life of my pen were mountain streams. In the luxuriant mountain， though， these channels are pitifully tender and sentimentally thin. I always think that： the rain in the sky could fall to the ground and whip up the waves of a flood， but instead when they leave the clouds， streams strike roots， roots which plunge into the cold land beneath the mountain. People claim that mountains are solemn， so deadly silent. Actually they are wrong. Streams have the most intricate inner essence and are the most vigorous. Underneath the mountains there must sit an immense sea. Its emotions are fermenting away and remain forever restless. The only means for it to vent those feelings are through those small streams.

或許，它是從石縫里一滴一滴滲出來的，是從小草的根下一個泡兒一個泡兒冒出來的。但是，太陽曬不干、黃風(fēng)刮不跑的。天性是那么晶瑩，氣息是那么清新。它一出來，便宣告了它的生命，尋著自己的道路要流動了。

It could be that they ooze out drop by drop from every crevice. Or perhaps they gush from the roots of the minute grass roots one bubble after another. The sunlight is incapable of drying them out and the yellow wind cannot whip them away. Their nature is so crystalline， their breath so refreshing. The moment they are born， they declare their fate and find their paths along which to meander.

正因為尋著自己的道路，它的步伐是艱辛的。然而，它從石板上滑下，便有了自己的銅的韻味的聲音;它從石崖上跌落，便有了自己白練般的顏色;它回旋在穴潭之中，便有了自己叵不可測的深沉。它終于慢慢地大起來了，要走更遠(yuǎn)的道兒。它流過了石川，流過了草地，流過了竹林，它要拜訪所有的山嶺，叩問每一塊石頭，有時會突然潛入河床的沙石之下去了呢。于是，輕風(fēng)給了它柔情，鮮花給了它芬芳，竹林給了它涼綠，那多情的游魚，那斑斕的卵石，也給它增添了美的色彩。

Simply because they are seeking after their own paths， their steps are arduous. When they slide down from the slate， they reverberate with a bewitching bronze-like echo. When they hurl themselves off the cliffs， they have the hue of white silk. Swirling around in holes and ponds， their depths become unfathomable. Gradually they broaden and migrate further afield. They course through rocky passes， inundate grasslands， traverse bamboo groves and visit all the mountains， enquiring about every lump of rock. Sometimes they abruptly dive beneath the sediment of riverbeds. The gentle breeze lends them tenderness， the flowers offer them fragrance， and the bamboo donates its cold green. The ardent swimming fish and the kaleidoscopic pebbles add a delectable charm.

它在流著，流著。它要流到哪里去呢？我想，山既然給了它的生命，它該是充實的，富有的。或許，它是做一顆露珠兒去滋潤花瓣，深入到枝葉里了，使草木的綠素傳送;或許，它竟能掀翻一抔泥，拔脫一叢腐根呢。那么，讓它流去吧，山地這么大，這么復(fù)雜，只要它流，它探索，它就有了自己的路子。

They trickle on and on. Where are they going？ I think that since the mountains offered them life， they should be rich and substantial. Maybe they will be transformed into morning dew and sprinkle themselves over buds. Or will they penetrate the depths of the leaves， ferrying along chlorophyll for trees and grasses. Alternatively they could dislodge a slab of sludge or pluck away a clump of rotten roots. Then， let them flow. The mountains are both vast and complicated. As long as they flow onwards， exploring， streams will pioneer their own paths.

我是這么想的，我提醒著我，我鼓勵著我，我便將它寫成了淡淡的文字，聊作這本小書的小序了。

I think in this way， I warn and encourage myself. So， I have written these lighthearted words as a short prelude for my new collection of works.

（中文原文選自《賈平凹小說新作集》）