朗读者——The Reader&#160;&#160;（完结）_派派后花园

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 40楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER FIVE

I BEGAN WITH the Odyssey. I read it after Gertrud and I had separated. There were many nights when I couldn’t sleep for more than a few hours; I would lie awake, and when I switched on the light and picked up a book, my eyes closed, and when I put the book down and turned off the light, I was wide awake again. So I read aloud, and my eyes didn’t close. And because in all my confused half-waking thoughts that swirled in tormenting circles of memories and dreams around my marriage and my daughter and my life, it was always Hanna who predominated, I read to Hanna. I read to Hanna on tape.
It was several months before I sent off the tapes. At first I didn’t want to send just bits of it, so I waited until I had recorded all of the Odyssey. Then I began to wonder if Hanna would find the Odyssey sufficiently interesting, so I recorded what I read next after the Odyssey, stories by Schnitzler and Chekhov. Then I put off calling the court that had convicted Hanna to find out where she was serving her sentence. Finally I had everything together, Hanna’s address in a prison near the city where she had been tried and convicted, a cassette player, and the cassettes, numbered from Chekhov to Schnitzler to Homer. And so finally I sent off the package with the machine and the tapes.
Recently I found the notebook in which I entered what I recorded for Hanna over the years. The first twelve titles were obviously all entered at the same time; at first I probably just read, and then realized that if I didn’t keep notes I would not remember what I had already recorded. Next to the subsequent titles there is sometimes a date, sometimes none, but even without dates I know that I sent Hanna the first package in the eighth year of her imprisonment, and the last in the eighteenth. In the eighteenth, her plea for clemency was granted.
In general I read to Hanna the things I wanted to read myself at any given moment. With theOdyssey, I found at first that it was hard to take in as much when I read aloud as when I read silently to myself. But that changed. The disadvantage of reading aloud remained the fact that it took longer. But books read aloud also stayed long in my memory. Even today, I can remember things in them absolutely clearly.
But I also read books I already knew and loved. So Hanna got to hear a great deal of Keller and Fontane, Heine and Mörike. For a long time I didn’t dare to read poetry, but eventually I really enjoyed it, and I learned many of the poems I read by heart. I can still say them today.
Taken together, the titles in the notebook testify to a great and fundamental confidence in bourgeois culture. I do not ever remember asking myself whether I should go beyond Kafka, Frisch, Johnson, Bachmann, and Lenz, and read experimental literature, literature in which I did not recognize the story or like any of the characters. To me it was obvious that experimental literature was experimenting with the reader, and Hanna didn’t need that and neither did I.
When I began writing myself, I read these pieces aloud to her as well. I waited until I had dictated my handwritten text, and revised the typewritten version, and had the feeling that now it was finished. When I read it aloud, I could tell if the feeling was right or not. And if not, I could revise it and record a new version over the old. But I didn’t like doing that. I wanted to have my reading be the culmination. Hanna became the court before which once again I concentrated all my energies, all my creativity, all my critical imagination. After that, I could send the manuscript to the publisher.
I never made a personal remark on the tapes, never asked after Hanna, never told her anything about myself. I read out the title, the name of the author, and the text. When the text was finished, I waited a moment, closed the book, and pressed the Stop button.

第05节　　　我是从《奥德赛》开始的。我和葛特茹德分手后，我重读了它。许多夜里我只能睡上几小时，我躺在那儿睡不着。当我打开灯拿起一本书看时，眼睛就睁不开了；而当我把书放到一边、关上灯时，我却又睡不着。这样我就大声朗读，大声朗读时，我就不再打盹。当我的大脑处于杂乱无章的回忆和梦幻中时，当痛苦在我脑中盘旋时，当我在似睡非睡的状态中对我的婚姻，对我的女儿和我的生活进行反思时，汉娜总是在左右着我，我干脆就为汉娜朗读，为汉娜在录音机上朗读。
　　当我把我录制的录音带寄出去时，几个月的时间已经过去了。起初，我不想寄片段，我在等着把全部的《奥德赛》录完。之后，我又怀疑汉娜是否对《奥德赛》有足够的兴趣。于是，在录完《奥德赛》之后，我又给她录了施尼茨勒和契河夫的短篇小说。然后，我硬着头皮给审判汉娜的法庭打了电话，打听出了汉娜在什么地方服刑。最后，我把一切都准备好了：汉娜服刑监狱的地址——它离审判和判处汉娜的城市不远，一台录音机和按照契河天——施尼茨勒——荷马这个顺序录制的录音带。最后，我把录音机和录音带一同打进邮包，寄给了汉娜了
　　最近，我找到了一个本子，上面记有那些年我为汉娜录过的东西。最早的十二个篇目很显然是同时做的记录。起初，我大概只是往下读，后来才注意到没有记录就记不住已经读过什么了。在后来的篇目中，有时注明了日期，有时没有注明，但是，即使是没有日期，我也知道第一次给汉娜寄录音带是她服刑的第八年，最后一次是第十八年。在第十八年的时候，她的赦免申请被批准。
　　我继续为汉娜朗读，读我自己也正想看的书。在录制《奥德赛》时我注意到，大声朗读不像自己轻声阅读那样容易让我集中精力，后来有所好转。朗读的缺点是它持续的时间较长，但是，正因为如此它才使朗读者把内容深深地铭刻在脑子里。至今我对一些内容仍记忆犹新。
　　我也朗读我已经熟悉和喜爱的作品。这样汉娜能听到很多凯勒、冯塔纳、海涅和默里克的作品。很长时间里，我不敢朗读诗歌，但是后来，我却乐此不疲。我可以背诵一系列我所朗读过的诗歌，时至今日仍能朗朗上口。
　　那个记录本所记载的书目，证明了受过教育的市民阶层的原始信赖。我也不记得了，是否我曾经想过不必局限于卡夫卡、弗里施、约翰逊、巴克曼和伦茨而读一些实验文学作品，也就是我既弄不清故事讲的是什么也不喜欢其中的任何人物的文学作品。我认为，实验文学自然是要拿读者做实验，汉娜和我都不需要这个。
　　当我自己开始写作时，我也把我写的东西拿来为她朗读。我要等我的手稿口授之后，打字稿也修改过以后，而且有了一种完全做好了的感觉之后才朗读。在朗读时，我能发现我的感觉正确与否。如果不正确，我可以重新再来，把！目的去掉，重新录制。但是．我不喜欢这样做，我想用朗读来划个圆满句号。我把我的一切力量。一切创造力和富于批判的想象力再次为汉娜调动起来。这之后，我才把手稿寄给出版社。
　　在录音中，我没做个人的评论，没有问起过汉娜的情况，没有讲述过我自己的情况。我只朗读书名、作者名和书的内容。当内容结束对，我稍等一会儿，合上书，按下录音机的停止键。

回复引用

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 41楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER SIX

I N THE FOURTH year of our word-driven, wordless contact, a note arrived. “Kid, the last story was especially nice. Thank you. Hanna.”
It was lined paper, torn out of a notebook, and cut smooth. The message was right up at the top, and filled three lines. It was written in blue smudged ballpoint pen. Hanna had been pressing hard on the pen; the letters went through to the other side. She had also written the address with a great deal of pressure; the imprint was legible on the bottom and top halves of the paper, which was folded in the middle.
At first glance, one might have taken it for a child’s handwriting. But what is clumsy and awkward in children’s handwriting was forceful here. You could see the resistance Hanna had had to overcome to make the lines into letters and the letters into words. A child’s hand will wander off this way and that, and has to be kept on track. Hanna’s hand didn’t want to go anywhere and had to be forced. The lines that formed the letters started again each time on the upstroke, the downstroke, and before the curves and loops. And each letter was a victory over a fresh struggle, and had a new slant or slope, and often the wrong height or width.
I read the note and was filled with joy and jubilation. “She can write, she can write!” In these years I had read everything I could lay my hands on to do with illiteracy. I knew about the helplessness in everyday activities, finding one’s way or finding an address or choosing a meal in a restaurant, about how illiterates anxiously stick to prescribed patterns and familiar routines, about how much energy it takes to conceal one’s inability to read and write, energy lost to actual living. Illiteracy is dependence. By finding the courage to learn to read and write, Hanna had advanced from dependence to independence, a step towards liberation.
Then I looked at Hanna’s handwriting and saw how much energy and struggle the writing had cost her. I was proud of her. At the same time, I was sorry for her, sorry for her delayed and failed life, sorry for the delays and failures of life in general. I thought that if the right time gets missed, if one has refused or been refused something for too long, it’s too late, even if it is finally tackled with energy and received with joy. Or is there no such thing as “too late”? Is there only “late,” and is “late” always better than “never”? I don’t know.
After the first note came a steady stream of others. They were always only a few lines, a thank you, a wish to hear more of a particular author or to hear no more, a comment on an author or a poem or a story or a character in a novel, an observation about prison. “The forsythia is already in flower in the yard” or “I like the fact that there have been so many storms this summer” or “From my window I can see the birds flocking to fly south”—often it was Hanna’s note that first made me pay attention to the forsythia, the summer storms, or the flocks of birds. Her remarks about literature often landed astonishingly on the mark. “Schnitzler barks, Stefan Zweig is a dead dog” or “Keller needs a woman” or “Goethe’s poems are like tiny paintings in beautiful frames” or “Lenz must write on a typewriter.” Because she knew nothing about the authors, she assumed they were contemporaries, unless something indicated this was obviously impossible. I was astonished at how much older literature can actually be read as if it were contemporary; to anyone ignorant of history, it would be easy to see ways of life in earlier times simply as ways of life in foreign countries.
I never wrote to Hanna. But I kept reading to her. When I spent a year in America, I sent cassettes from there. When I was on vacation or was particularly busy, it might take longer for me to finish the next cassette; I never established a definite rhythm, but sent cassettes sometimes every week or two weeks, and sometimes only every three or four weeks. I didn’t worry that Hanna might not need my cassettes now that she had learned to read by herself. She could read as well. Reading aloud was my way of speaking to her, with her.
I kept all her notes. The handwriting changed. At first she forced the letters into the same slant and the right height and width. Once she had managed that, she became lighter and more confident. Her handwriting never became fluid, but it acquired something of the severe beauty that characterizes the writing of old people who have written little in their lives.

第06节　　　当我们的这种时而喋喋不休，时而无话可说的交流进行到第四个年头的时候，她寄来了一份问候："小家伙，上一个故事特别好。谢谢。汉娜。"
　　纸是带横线的，是从写字本上撕下来并剪得整齐的一页。问候写在最上边，占了三行，是用蓝色的圆珠笔写的。汉娜写的字用力很重，都印透到纸的背面了。地址也是用力写的。这个从中间折叠起来的纸条，上下都可看出字印。
　　第一眼看上去人们可能会认为这是一个孩子的字体，但是孩子的字体尽管不熟练，不流畅，却不这么用力。为了把直线变成字母，再把字母变成文字，汉娜要克服种种阻力。孩子的手可以挪来挪去，随着字体而变化。汉娜的手不知向什么方向移动，但又必须移动。写一个字母要下好几次笔，上划下一次笔，下划下一次笔，弧线下一次笔，延长线再下一次笔。每个字母都要付出新的努力，结果还是里出外进，高低不一。
　　我读着她的问候，心里充满了欢喜："她会写字了！她会写字了！"那些年里，能找到的有关文盲的文章我都读过了。我知道他们在日常生活中，如在找路，找地址或在饭店点菜时多么需要帮助，在按照约定俗成的规矩和传统的习惯做法行事时多么提心吊胆，在掩饰自己不具备读写能力时多么煞费苦心，他们因此而不能正常生活。文盲等于不成熟。汉娜鼓起勇气去学习读写，这标志着她已经从未成年向成年迈出了一步，脱离蒙昧的一步。
　　然后，我仔细观察汉娜的字，我看到了她为此付出了多少劳动，我为她感到自豪。与此同时，我又为她感到伤心，为来迟和错过的生活而感到伤心，为生活的迟来和错过而感到伤心。我在想，如果一个人错过了最佳的时间，如果一个人长期拒绝某事，如果一个人过久地被某事所拒绝，即使最终他开始花力气去做并乐此不疲，那么也为时太晚了。或许不存在"太晚"的问题，而只存在"晚不晚"的问题？而且，无论如何"晚"要比"从未"好？我搞不清。
　　在接到第一封问候信之后，我就不断地收到她的来信。总是寥寥几行字，或一份谢意，或一份祝福，或想更多地听同一位作者，或不想听了，或对一位作者、一首诗、一个故事、一本小说中的人物评论几句，或在监狱里看到一件什么事。"院子里的连翘已经开花了"，或者"我希望今年夏天雷雨天多点"，或者"从窗内向外眺望，我看到鸟儿是怎样地聚集在一起飞向南方的"。常常是汉娜的描述让我注意到连翘、夏日的雷雨或聚集在一起的鸟儿。她对文学的评论经常准确很令人惊讶不已："施尼茨勒在吠叫，斯特凡茨韦格是条死狗"，或者'凯勒需要一个女人"，或者"歌德的诗就像镶嵌在漂亮框架里的一幅小画"，或者"伦茨一定是用打字机写作的"。由于她对作者们的情况一无所知，所以，只要他们不是明显地不属于同代人，她都把他们视为同代人，她的评论也都是以此为前提做出的。实际上有多少早期文学作品读起来像现代作品呢？我对此感到困惑。不了解历史的人反而更能看清历史，旁观者清嘛。
　　我从未给汉娜回过信，但是我一直在为她朗读。我曾在美国逗留了一年，这期间我就从美国寄录音带给她。当我去度假或者特别忙的时候，录好下一盒录音带的时间可能就要长些。我给她寄录音带没有固定的周期，或一周一次，或两周一次，有时也可能隔三周或四周之后才寄。现在汉娜学会了阅读，也可能不再需要我的录音带了，那我也就不那么着急了。尽管如此，她可能仍然喜欢我给她阅读。朗读是我与她交谈的一种方式。
　　我把她所有的信都保存了起来。她的字体也有所改变，起初，她努力把字母写得工整，但却很不自如，后来就轻松自信多了，但是，她的字从未达到熟练的程度，却达到了某种严谨美，看上去像是一生中很少写字的老年人所写的字。

回复引用

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 42楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER SEVEN

A T THE TIME I never thought about the fact that Hanna would be released one day. The exchange of notes and cassettes was so normal and familiar, and Hanna was both close and removed in such an easy way, that I could have continued the situation indefinitely. That was comfortable and selfish, I know.
Then came the letter from the prison warden.
For years you and Frau Schmitz have corresponded with each other. This is the only contact Frau Schmitz has with the outside world, and so I am turning to you, although I do not know how close your relationship is, and whether you are a relative or a friend.
Next year Frau Schmitz will again make an appeal for clemency, and I expect the parole board to grant the appeal. She will then be released quite shortly—after eighteen years in prison. Of course we can find or try to find her an apartment and a job; a job will be difficult at her age, even though she is in excellent health and has shown great skill in our sewing shop. But rather than us taking care of her, it would be better for relatives or friends to do so, to have the released prisoner live nearby, and keep her company and give her support. You cannot imagine how lonely and helpless one can be on the outside after eighteen years in prison.
Frau Schmitz can take care of herself quite well, and manages on her own. It would be enough if you could find her a small apartment and a job, visit her, and invite her to your house occasionally during the first weeks and months and make sure she knows about the programs offered by the local congregation, adult education, family support groups, and so on.
It is not easy, after eighteen years, to go into the city for the first time, go shopping, deal with the authorities, go to a restaurant. Doing it with someone else helps.
I have noticed that you do not visit Frau Schmitz. If you did, I would not have written to you, but would have asked to talk to you during one of your visits. Now it seems as if you will have to visit her before she is released. Please come and see me at that opportunity.
The letter closed with sincere greetings which I did not think referred to me, but to the fact that the warden was sincere about the issue. I had heard of her; her institution was considered extraordinary, and her opinion on questions of penal reform carried weight. I liked her letter.
But I did not like what was coming my way. Of course I would have to see about a job and an apartment, and I did. Friends who neither used nor rented out the apartment attached to their house agreed to let it to Hanna at a low rent. The Greek tailor who occasionally altered my clothes was willing to employ Hanna; his sister, who ran the tailoring business with him, wanted to return to Greece. And long before Hanna could have used them, I looked into the social services and educational programs run by churches and secular organizations. But I put off the visit to Hanna.
Precisely because she was both close and removed in such an easy way, I didn’t want to visit her. I had the feeling she could only be what she was to me at an actual distance. I was afraid that the small, light, safe world of notes and cassettes was too artificial and too vulnerable to withstand actual closeness. How could we meet face to face without everything that had happened between us coming to the surface?
So the year passed without me going to the prison. For a long time I heard nothing from the warden; a letter in which I described the housing and job situation for Hanna went unanswered. She was probably expecting to talk to me when I visited Hanna. She had no way to know that I was not only putting off this visit, but avoiding it. Finally, however, the decision came down to pardon and release Hanna, and the warden called me. Could I come now? Hanna was getting out in a week.

第07节　　　当时，我从未想过汉娜有一天会出狱。问候信和录音带的交流是如此正常和亲密，汉娜对我如此自如，使我感到她既近在咫尺又远在天边，我完全可能让这种状态持续下去。我知道，这很舒适，很自私。
　　然而，女监狱长寄来了一封信：
　　几年以来，史密芝女士与您一直有书信往来，这是史密芝女士与外界的谁一联系。这样，我只好求助于您，尽管我不知道您与她关系的密切程度，不知您是她的亲属，还是朋友。
　　明年史密芝女士将再次提出赦免申请，我认为，赦免委员会将会批准她的申请。在被监禁了十八年之后，她不久将要被释放。当然了，我们可以为她找房子和工作，也就是说，我们可以尽量为她找房子和工作。依她的年龄来看找工作将会比较困难，尽管她的身体仍旧很健康，尽管她在我们的缝纫厂里表现得非常出色，但是，如果亲属或朋友来操心这件事，在她出狱之后把她安排在他们附近，陪伴她，让她有个依靠，这要比我们来做好得多。您无法想象，一个人被监禁了十八年，出去之后会是多么孤独无助。
　　史密芝女士自理能力非常强。如果您能为她找到一个住处和一份工作，头几周或头几个月能常去看看她，能邀请邀请她，能让她了解教会、业余大学及家庭教育机构提供的各种机会，这就足够了。此外，十八年之后第一次进城购物，与政府部门约谈，或找一家饭店吃饭都不那么容易，有人陪伴就容易多了。
　　我注意到您没有探望过更密芝女士。
　　如果您这样做了，我也就不必给您写信了，而会是借您探望她的机会与您商谈此事。现在没有别的办法，只好请您在她出狱之前来探望她。烦请您借次机会来我这儿一起。
　　那封信以最衷心的问候结束。那问候并未让我感到那是对我的衷心问候，而是让我感到这件事是女监狱长的一桩心事。我已经听说过她，她的机构被认为是极不寻常的，她的意见在监禁法改革问题上举足轻重。我喜欢她的信。
　　但是，我不喜欢我所面临的事情。当然了，我必须要为她找房子，找工作，而且我也付诸行动了。一些朋友愿意把房子里既未使用也尚未出租的小住宅廉价出租给汉娜。我偶尔到一家希腊裁缝那里修改衣服，这位裁缝想雇用汉娜。和他一起经营这家裁缝店的是他的妹妹，她搬回希腊去了。早在汉娜出狱以前，我就开始关心教会和世俗机构所提供的社会福利和教育机会。但是，探望汉娜我却一拖再拖。
　　正因为汉娜对我如此自如，使我感到她既近在咫尺又远在天边，我才不想去探望她。我有一种感觉，她将说她与我像过去一样只能保持一种实际距离。我怕她说，那微不足道的、隐匿的问候和录音带太做作和太伤害人了，她必须因而承受近在咫尺之苦。我们怎么还能再次面对面地接触而对这期间我们之间发生的一切不感到恶心呢？
　　时间就这样过去了，我几乎就要挨到不必去监狱了。我好久没有从女监狱长那儿听到什么消息了。我曾经写过一封信，信中谈到为汉娜找房子和找工作这些汉娜将要面临的问题，但是，我没有得到答复。她大概指望借我探望汉娜之际与我谈一次。她哪里会知道，我不仅把这次探望拖延了下去，而且想逃避它。但是，赦免汉娜的决定终于批下来了，汉娜即将出狱。女监狱长给我打电话，问我现在是否能过去一下。她说，一周之内汉娜就要出来了。

回复引用

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 43楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER EIGHT

I WENT THE next Sunday. It was my first visit to a prison. I was searched at the entrance, and a number of doors were unlocked and locked along the way. But the building was new and bright, and in the inner area the doors were open, allowing the women to move about freely. At the end of a corridor a door opened to the outside, onto a little lawn with lots of people and trees and benches. I looked around, searching. The guard who had brought me pointed to a nearby bench in the shade of a chestnut tree.
Hanna? The woman on the bench was Hanna? Gray hair, a face with deep furrows on brow and cheeks and around the mouth, and a heavy body. She was wearing a light blue dress that was too tight and stretched across her breasts, stomach, and thighs. Her hands lay in her lap holding a book. She wasn’t reading it. Over the top of her half-glasses, she was watching a woman throwing bread crumbs to a couple of sparrows. Then she realized that she was being watched, and turned her face to me.
I saw the expectation in her face, saw it light up with joy when she recognized me, watched her eyes scan my face as I approached, saw them seek, inquire, then look uncertain and hurt, and saw the light go out of her face. When I reached her, she smiled a friendly, weary smile. “You’ve grown up, kid.” I sat down beside her and she took my hand.
In the past, I had particularly loved her smell. She always smelled fresh, freshly washed or of fresh laundry or fresh sweat or freshly loved. Sometimes she used perfume, I don’t know which one, and its smell, too, was more fresh than anything else. Under these fresh smells was another, heavy, dark, sharp smell. Often I would sniff at her like a curious animal, starting with her throat and shoulders, which smelled freshly washed, soaking up the fresh smell of sweat between her breasts mixed in her armpits with the other smell, then finding this heavy dark smell almost pure around her waist and stomach and between her legs with a fruity tinge that excited me; I would also sniff at her legs and feet—her thighs, where the heavy smell disappeared, the hollows of her knees again with that light, fresh smell of sweat, and her feet, which smelled of soap or leather or tiredness. Her back and arms had no special smell; they smelled of nothing and yet they smelled of her, and the palms of her hands smelled of the day and of work—the ink of the tickets, the metal of the ticket puncher, onions or fish or frying fat, soapsuds or the heat of the iron. When they are freshly washed, hands betray none of this. But soap only covers the smells, and after a time they return, faint, blending into a single scent of the day and work, a scent of work and day’s end, of evening, of coming home and being at home.
I sat next to Hanna and smelled an old woman. I don’t know what makes up this smell, which I recognize from grandmothers and elderly aunts, and which hangs in the rooms and halls of old-age homes like a curse. Hanna was too young for it.
I moved closer. I had seen that I had disappointed her before, and I wanted to do better, make up for it.
“I’m glad you’re getting out.”
“You are?”
“Yes, and I’m glad you’ll be nearby.” I told her about the apartment and the job I had found for her, about the cultural and social programs available in that part of the city, about the public library. “Do you read a lot?”
“A little. Being read to is nicer.” She looked at me. “That’s over now, isn’t it?”
“Why should it be over?” But I couldn’t see myself talking into cassettes for her or meeting her to read aloud. “I was so glad and so proud of you when you learned to read. And what nice letters you wrote me!” That was true; I had admired her and been glad, because she was reading and she wrote to me. But I could feel how little my admiration and happiness were worth compared to what learning to read and write must have cost Hanna, how meager they must have been if they could not even get me to answer her, visit her, talk to her. I had granted Hanna a small niche, certainly an important niche, one from which I gained something and for which I did something, but not a place in my life.
But why should I have given her a place in my life? I reacted indignantly against my own bad conscience at the thought that I had reduced her to a niche. “Didn’t you ever think about the things that were discussed at the trial, before the trial? I mean, didn’t you ever think about them when we were together, when I was reading to you?”
“Does that bother you very much?” But she didn’t wait for an answer. “I always had the feeling that no one understood me anyway, that no one knew who I was and what made me do this or that. And you know, when no one understands you, then no one can call you to account. Not even the court could call me to account. But the dead can. They understand. They don’t even have to have been there, but if they were, they understand even better. Here in prison they were with me a lot. They came every night, whether I wanted them or not. Before the trial I could still chase them away when they wanted to come.”
She waited to see if I had anything to say, but I couldn’t think of anything. At first, I wanted to say that I wasn’t able to chase anything away. But it wasn’t true. You can chase someone away by setting them in a niche.
“Are you married?”
“I was. Gertrud and I have been divorced for many years and our daughter is at boarding school; I hope she won’t stay there for the last years of school, and will move in with me.” Now I waited to see if she would say or ask anything. But she was silent. “I’ll pick you up next week, all right?”
“All right.”
“Quietly, or can there be a little noise and hoopla?”
“Quietly.”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up quietly, with no music or champagne.”
I stood up, and she stood up. We looked at each other. The bell had rung twice, and the other women had already gone inside. Once again her eyes scanned my face. I took her in my arms, but she didn’t feel right.
“Take care, kid.”
“You too.”
So we said goodbye, even before we had to separate inside.

第08节　　　在接下来的周日，我去了她那儿，那是我第一次探监。在大门口我受到了检查，在往里面走的时候，许多道门被打开又关上。但是，建筑是新的，很敞亮。在里面，房门都敞开着，女囚犯们可以自由地来来往往。在走廊的尽头有一扇大门通向外面——一块生机盎然的，长有树木，布置有长椅的小草坪。我四处张望寻找。那位给我带路的女看守指了指附近一棵栗子树阴下的一条长凳子。
　　汉娜？坐在凳子上的那个女人是汉娜吗？满头白发，满脸深深的皱纹，一副笨重的身躯。她身穿一件胸部、腰部及大腿处都绷得特别紧的浅蓝色的连衣裙，两手放在膝盖上，手里拿着一本书。她并没有看那本书，而正透过老花镜的边线在看另一位女人用面包屑一点一点地给麻雀喂食。后来，她意识到有人在注视她，她把脸转向了我。
　　当她认出我时，我看出了她期望的神情，看出她满脸喜悦的光彩。当我走近她时，她用询问的、不自信的、委屈的目光上下打量着我。我看到，她脸上的光彩逐渐消失了。当我走到她身边时，她对我友好地。疲惫地笑了笑："小家伙，你长大了。"我坐在她身边，她把我的手握在了她的手里。
　　以前，我特别喜欢她身上的气味。她闻上去总是那么清新，像刚洗过澡或刚洗过的衣服，像刚刚出过汗或刚刚做过爱。有时候，她也用香水，可我不知道是哪一种。就是她的香水闻上去也比所有其他的香水清新。在这种清新的气味下，还有另外一种气味，一种很浓重的说不清楚的酸涩味。我经常就像一只好奇的动物一样在她身上闻来闻去，从脖子和肩膀开始，闻那刚刚洗过的清新味，在她的两个乳房之间闻那清新的汗味，那汗味在腋窝处又和其他气味掺杂在一起，在腰部和腹部那种浓重的，说不上来的味道几乎是纯正的，在大腿之间还有一种令我兴奋的水果香味。我也在她的腿上和脚上闻来嗅去，到了小腿时，那种浓重味道就消失了，膝盖窝又稍微有点新出的汗味，脚上闻上去是香皂味或皮鞋味或身作疲惫不堪后的味道。后背和胳臂没有什么特别的味道，闻不出什么味道来，或者说闻上去还是她本身的味道。手上是白天工作的味道：车票的印刷墨、钳子的铁、洋葱、鱼，或者油腻、肥皂水或熨衣服的蒸气。如果她洗过了，手上起初什么味道也闻不出来。但是，只是香皂把各种味道覆盖住了罢了。过了一会儿，各种不明显的味道就又融会在一起卷土重来了：上班的，下班的，白天的，晚上的，回家的，在家的。
　　我坐在汉娜的身边，闻到的是一位老年妇女的味道。我不知道这味道是怎么形成的，这种味道我从祖母和老姨妈们那儿闻到过，或在养老院里——在那里，房间和走廊到处都是这种味道。不过，这种味道对汉娜来说未免太早了点。
　　我又往她身边靠近了些。我注意到，刚才我让她失望了。现在我想补救一下，做得更好些。
　　"你就要出来了，我很高兴。"
　　"是吗？"
　　"是的。你将住在我的附近，我感到高兴。'我告诉了她我已给她找到了房子和工作，给她讲了那个城区所具有的文化和社会生活，给她讲市图书馆的情况。"你看书看得多吗？"
　　"还可以，能听到朗读更好，"她看着我说，"现在结束了，对吧？"
　　"为什么该结束了呢？"但是，我看上去就像既没有给她录过音，又没有与她见过面和为她朗读过似的。"你学会了读书，我的确很高兴，而且很佩服你，你给我写的信多好啊！"事实的确如此。、她学会了读写，她给我写信，我对此非常高兴，也非常佩服她，但是，我也感觉到，与汉娜在读写上所付出的努力相比，我的钦佩和欣慰是多么少，少得多么可怜。她的努力竟然没能促使我哪怕给她回一封信，去探望她一次，与她聊聊。我为汉娜营造了一个小小的生存环境，一个小小的空间，它给予我一些东西，我也可以为它做些事情，但是，它在我的生活中却没有占有哪怕是一席之地。
　　但是，我为什么要在我的生活中为她留有一席之地呢？为什么让汉娜生活在这个小空间里会让我感到问心有愧？我对自己产生这种自愧心感到气愤。"在法庭审理之前，你难道从未考虑过那些在法庭上讨论的问题吗？我是说，当我们在一起时，当我给你朗读时，你从未想过这些问题吗？"
　　"你对此耿耿于怀？"但是，她并未等我回答就接着说，"我一直有种感觉，感到没有人理解我，没有人知道我是谁，我做过什么。你知道吗，如果没有人理解你，那么也就没有人有权力要求你做出解释说明，即使是法庭也无权要求我做解释说明。但是，那些死去的人却可以这样做，他们理解我，为此他们不必非得在场，但是，如果他们在的话，他们就更能理解我。在这监狱里，他们和我在一起的时候特别多，他们每天夜里都来，不管我是否想让他们来。在法庭审判之前，在他们想要来的时候，我还能把他们赶走。"
　　她在等着，看我是否想就此说点什么，但是，我却不知说什么为好。起初，我想说，我无法赶走任何东西。然而，那不符合事实，因为当一个人为另一个人营造一个小小生存环境时，他实际上就是赶他走。
　　"你结婚了吗？"
　　"我结过婚。葛特茹德和我已经离婚多年了。我们的女儿住在寄宿学校，我希望她在最后的这几年不要住在那儿了，最好搬到我这儿来往。"现在轮到我等着了，看她是否想就此说点什么，或问些什么。但是，她沉默不语。"我下周来接你，好吗？"
　　"好。
　　"是悄悄地，还是热闹一点地？"
　　"悄悄地。"
　　"好吧，我就悄悄地来接你，不放音乐，不喝香槟酒。"
　　我站了起来，她也站了起来。我们相互凝视着。已经响过两次铃了，其他女囚犯都已经进了屋。她的目光又在上下打量我的脸，我拥抱了她，但她换上去有些不对劲。
　　"小家伙，好自为之。"
　　"你也应如此。"
　　就这样，我们在不得不分手之前就告别了。

回复引用

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 44楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER NINE

T HE FOLLOWING week was particularly busy. I don’t remember whether I was under actual pressure to finish the lecture I was working on, or only under self-inflicted pressure to work and succeed.
The idea I had had when I began working on the lecture was no good. When I began to revise it, where I expected to find meaning and consistency, I encountered one non sequitur after another. Instead of accepting this, I kept searching, harassed, obsessed, anxious, as though reality itself could fail along with my concept of it, and I was ready to twist or exaggerate or play down my own findings. I got into a state of strange disquiet; I could go to sleep if I went to bed late, but a few hours later I would be wide awake, until I decided to get up and continue reading or writing.
I also did what needed to be done to prepare for Hanna’s release. I furnished her apartment with furniture from IKEA and some old pieces, advised the Greek tailor that Hanna would be coming in, and brought my information about social services and educational programs up to date. I bought groceries, put books on the bookshelves, and hung pictures. I had a gardener come to tidy up the little garden surrounding the terrace outside the living room. I did all this with unnatural haste and doggedness; it was all too much for me.
But it was just enough to prevent me from thinking about my visit to Hanna. Only occasionally, when I was driving my car, or when I was in Hanna’s apartment, did thoughts of it get the upper hand and trigger memories. I saw her on the bench, her eyes fixed on me, saw her at the swimming pool, her face turned to me, and again had the feeling that I had betrayed her and owed her something. And again I rebelled against this feeling; I accused her, and found it both shabby and too easy, the way she had wriggled out of her guilt. Allowing no one but the dead to demand an accounting, reducing guilt and atonement to insomnia and bad feelings—where did that leave the living? But what I meant was not the living, it was me. Did I not have my own accounting to demand of her? What about me?
On the afternoon before I was due to pick her up, I called the prison. First I spoke to the warden.
“I’m a bit nervous. You know, normally people aren’t released after such long sentences before spending a few hours or days outside. Frau Schmitz refused this. It won’t be easy for her.”
Then I spoke to Hanna.
“Think about what we should do tomorrow. Whether you want to go straight home, or whether we might go to the woods or the river.”
“I’ll think about it. You’re still a big planner, aren’t you?”
That annoyed me. It annoyed me the way it did when girlfriends told me I wasn’t spontaneous enough, that I operated too much through my head and not enough through my heart.
She could tell by my silence that I was annoyed, and laughed. “Don’t be cross, kid. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
I had met Hanna again on the benches as an old woman. She had looked like an old woman and smelled like an old woman. I hadn’t noticed her voice at all. Her voice had stayed young.

第09节　　　接下来的那一周特别忙碌，我已记不得了这是由于我要做一篇报告而时间压力特大．还是由于工作压力，或者成就压力的缘故。
　　写那份报告的最初想法一点没用上。在开始修改报告时我发现，那些我原以为有普遍意义和从中可能归纳出规律的地方全都一个接一个地变成了偶然的案例。我不甘心接受这样的结果，我忙乱地、顽固地、不安地继续寻找着答案，好像我的现实现本身就荒谬。我已做好把检查结果进行歪曲、夸张或者大事化小、小事化了的准备。我陷入了一种特别的坐卧不安的状态，如果我很晚上床睡觉的话，尽管能入睡，但是过不了多久就又彻底地醒了，我只好再次起来继续阅读或者写作。
　　我也为汉娜的出狱做了一些准备。我为汉娜的房间里布置了宜家公司的家具，还配备了几件旧家具，把汉娜的情况告诉了那位希腊裁缝，带回了有关社会和教育活动方面的最新信息，买好了储备食品，在书架上摆好了图书，在墙上挂好了画。我还请了一位园艺工，清理了那个围抱客厅平台的小花园。我做这些时，也显得特别地忙乱和固执，这一切令我如负重负。
　　但是，这足以让我忙得没有时间去回想那次对汉娜的探望。只是有的时候，当我开车时，或疲惫地坐在写字台前时，或躺在床上睡不着时，或者在为汉娜准备的屋里时，记忆才会一泻千里，不可阻挡。我会看到她坐在长椅上，目光注视着我，看见她在游泳池里，脸向我这边张望着。那种背叛了她和愧对她的感觉就会再次涌上心头。但是，我又生气自己有这种感觉，并开始指责她，发现她悄悄地逃避了她应该承担的责任，这未免有点太便宜了。如果只有死人才有权要求她做出解释说明，如果可以把罪责用睡眠不好和做噩梦来搪塞了事的话，那么活人往哪儿摆？但是，我所指的活人不是指活下来的人，而是指我自己。我难道也没有权利要求她做说明解释吗？我算老几？
　　下午，在我去接她之前，我给监狱打了电话。我先和女监狱长讲了话。
　　"我有点紧张。您知道，在通常情况下，一个人经过了这么多年的监禁之后，在没有尝试过在外界先呆上几个小时或几天以前，是不会让他出狱的。史密兰女士拒绝这样做。明天对她来说并非轻松。
　　我的电话被转到了汉娜那里。
　　"你考虑一下，我们明天都做什么，是想马上就回你的家，还是我们一起去森林或去河边？"
　　"我会考虑的。你仍旧是个伟大的计划家，对吗广
　　这令我生气。我感到生气，因为这与其他女友偶尔对我的态度没有两样，这等于说我不够灵活，不能随机应变，大脑起的作用过多，而肚子没派上用场。
　　她注意到了我沉默不语是生气了，于是笑着说："小家伙，别生气，我没有什么恶意。"
　　我在长凳上又看到的汉娜已经是位老妇人了，她看上去、闻上去都像一位老妇人了，但是，我完全没有注意她的声音，她的声音听上去仍旧十分年轻。

回复引用

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 45楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER TEN

N EXT MORNING, Hanna was dead. She had hanged herself at daybreak.
When I arrived, I was taken to the warden. I saw her for the first time—a small, thin woman with dark blond hair and glasses. She seemed insignificant until she began to speak, with force and warmth and a severe gaze and energetic use of both hands and arms. She asked me about my telephone conversation of the night before and the meeting the previous week. Had I picked up any signals, had it made me fear for her? I said no. Indeed, I had had no suspicions or fears that I had ignored.
“How did you get to know each other?”
“We lived in the same neighborhood.”
She looked at me searchingly, and I saw that I would have to say more.
“We lived in the same neighborhood and we got to know each other and became friends. When I was a young student, I was at the trial that convicted her.”
“Why did you send Frau Schmitz cassettes?”
I was silent.
“You knew that she was illiterate, didn’t you? How did you know?”
I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t see what business the story of Hanna and me was of hers. Tears were filling my chest and throat, and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to speak. I didn’t want to cry in front of her.
She must have seen how I was feeling. “Come with me, I’ll show you Frau Schmitz’s cell.” She went ahead, but kept turning around to tell me things or explain them to me. Here is where there had been a terrorist attack, here was the sewing shop where Hanna had worked, this is where Hanna once held a sit-down strike until cuts in library funding were reinstated, this was the way to the library. She stopped in front of the cell. “Frau Schmitz didn’t pack. You’ll see her cell the way she lived in it.”
Bed, closet, table, chair, a shelf on the wall over the table, a sink and toilet in the corner behind the door. Glass bricks instead of window glass. The table was bare. The shelf held books, an alarm clock, a stuffed bear, two mugs, instant coffee, tea tins, the cassette machine, and on two lower shelves, the cassettes I had made.
“They aren’t all here.”
The warden had followed my glance. “Frau Schmitz always lent some tapes to the aid society for blind prisoners.”
I went over to the bookshelf. Primo Levi, Elie Wiesel, Tadeusz Borowski, Jean Améry—the literature of the victims, next to the autobiography of Rudolf Hess, Hannah Arendt’s report on Eichmann in Jerusalem, and scholarly literature on the camps.
“Did Hanna read these?”
“Well, at least she ordered them with care. Several years ago I had to get her a general concentrationcamp bibliography, and then one or two years ago she asked me to suggest some books on women in the camps, both prisoners and guards; I wrote to the Institute for Contemporary History, and they sent a specialized bibliography. As soon as Frau Schmitz learned to read, she began to read about the concentration camps.”
Above the bed hung many small pictures and slips of paper. I knelt on the bed and read. There were quotations, poems, little articles, even recipes that Hanna had written down or cut out like pictures from newspapers and magazines. “Spring lets its blue banner flutter through the air again,” “Cloud shadows fly across the fields”—the poems were all full of delight in nature, and yearning for it, and the pictures showed woods bright with spring, meadows spangled with flowers, autumn foliage and single trees, a pasture by a stream, a cherry tree with ripe red cherries, an autumnal chestnut flamed in yellow and orange. A newspaper photograph showed an older man and a younger man, both in dark suits, shaking hands. In the young one, bowing to the older one, I recognized myself. I was graduating from school, and was getting a prize from the principal at the ceremony. That was a long time after Hanna had left the city. Had Hanna, who could not read, subscribed to the local paper in which my photo appeared? In any case she must have gone to some trouble to find out about the photo and get a copy. And had she had it with her during the trial? I felt the tears again in my chest and throat.
“She learned to read with you. She borrowed the books you read on tape out of the library, and followed what she heard, word by word and sentence by sentence. The tape machine couldn’t handle all that constant switching on and off, and rewinding and fast-forwarding. It kept breaking down and having to be repaired, and because that required permission, I finally found out what Frau Schmitz was doing. She didn’t want to tell me at first; when she also began to write, and asked me for a writing manual, she didn’t try to hide it any longer. She was also just proud that she had succeeded, and wanted to share her happiness.”
As she spoke, I had continued to kneel, my eyes on the pictures and notes, fighting back tears. When I turned around and sat down on the bed, she said, “She so hoped you would write. You were the only one she got mail from, and when the mail was distributed and she said ‘No letter for me?’ she wasn’t talking about the packages the tapes came in. Why did you never write?”
I still said nothing. I could not have spoken; all I could have done was to stammer and weep.
She went to the shelf, picked up a tea tin, sat down next to me, and took a folded sheet of paper from her suit pocket. “She left a letter for me, a sort of will. I’ll read the part that concerns you.” She unfolded the sheet of paper. “There is still money in the lavender tea tin. Give it to Michael Berg; he should send it, along with the 7,000 marks in the bank, to the daughter who survived the fire in the church with her mother. She should decide what to do with it. And tell him I say hello to him.”
So she had not left any message for me. Did she intend to hurt me? Or punish me? Or was her soul so tired that she could only do and write what was absolutely necessary? “What was she like all those years?” I waited until I could go on. “And how was she these last few days?”
“For years and years she lived here the way you would live in a convent. As if she had moved here of her own accord and voluntarily subjected herself to our system, as if the rather monotonous work was a sort of meditation. She was greatly respected by the other women, to whom she was friendly but reserved. More than that, she had authority, she was asked for her advice when there were problems, and if she intervened in an argument, her decision was accepted. Then a few years ago she gave up. She had always taken care of herself personally, she was slender despite her strong build, and meticulously clean. But now she began to eat a lot and seldom washed; she got fat and smelled. She didn’t seem unhappy or dissatisfied. In fact it was as though the retreat to the convent was no longer enough, as though life in the convent was still too sociable and talkative, and she had to retreat even further, into a lonely cell safe from all eyes, where looks, clothing, and smell meant nothing. No, it would be wrong to say that she had given up. She redefined her place in a way that was right for her, but no longer impressed the other women.”
“And the last days?”
“She was the way she always was.”
“Can I see her?”
She nodded, but remained seated. “Can the world become so unbearable to someone after years of loneliness? Is it better to kill yourself than to return to the world from the convent, from the hermitage?” She turned to me. “Frau Schmitz didn’t write anything about why she was going to kill herself. And you won’t say what there was between you that might have led to Frau Schmitz’s killing herself at the end of the night before you were due to pick her up.” She folded the piece of paper, put it away, stood up, and smoothed her skirt. “Her death is a blow to me, you see, and at the moment I’m very angry, at Frau Schmitz, and at you. But let’s go.”
She led the way again, this time silently. Hanna lay in the infirmary in a small cubicle. We could just fit between the wall and the stretcher. The warden pulled back the sheet.
A cloth had been tied around Hanna’s head to hold up her chin until the onset of rigor mortis. Her face was neither particularly peaceful nor particularly agonized. It looked rigid and dead. As I looked and looked, the living face became visible in the dead, the young in the old. This is what must happen to old married couples, I thought: the young man is preserved in the old one for her, the beauty and grace of the young woman stay fresh in the old one for him. Why had I not seen this reflection a week ago?
I must not cry. After a time, when the warden looked at me questioningly, I nodded, and she spread the sheet over Hanna’s face again.

第10节　　　第二天早上，汉娜死了。她在黎明时分自缢了。
　　当我赶到时，我被带到了女监狱长那儿。我是第一次见到她，她又瘦又小，头发是深黄色的，戴着一副眼镜。在她没有开始说话之前看上去并不引人注目，但是，她说话却铿锵有力，热情洋溢，目光严厉，且精力充沛地挥舞着手臂。她问我昨天晚上的那次电话和一周前的那次会面。问我是否有预感和担忧，我做了否定的回答，我确实没有过预感和担忧，我没有隐瞒。
　　"你们是在哪认识的？"
　　"我们住得很近。"她审视地看着我，我意识到我必须多说些，"我们住得很近，后来就相互认识并成了朋友，作为一名年轻的学生我旁听了对她的法庭审判。"
　　"您为什么要给史密兰女士寄录音带？"
　　我沉默不语。
　　"您知道她是文盲，对吗？您是从哪儿知道的？"
　　我耸耸肩，看不出汉娜和我的故事与她有什么关系。我眼里含着泪水，喉头哽咽着，我害怕自己因此无法说话，我不想在她面前哭泣。
　　她看出了我所处的状态。"跟我来，我给您看一下史密芝女士的单人间。"她走在前面，不时地转过身来向我报告或解释一些事情。她告诉我哪里曾遭受过恐怖分子的袭击，哪里是汉娜曾工作过的缝纫室，哪里是汉娜曾静坐过的地方——直到削减图书馆资金的决定得到纠正为止，哪里可通向图书馆。在一个单人间的门前，她停了下来说："史密芝女士没有整理她的东西，您所看到的样子就是她在此生活时的样子。"
　　床、衣柜、桌子和椅子，桌子上面的墙上有一个书架，在门后的角落里是洗漱池和厕所，代替一扇窗户的是玻璃砖。桌子上什么东西都没有，书架上摆著书、一个闹钟、一个布熊、两个杯子、速溶咖啡、茶叶罐，还有录音机，在下面两层架子上摆放着我给她录制的录音带。
　　"这不是全部，"女监狱长追踪着我的目光说，"史密芝女士总是把一些录音带借给救援机构里的盲人刑事犯。"
　　我走近书架，普里莫·莱维、埃利·维厄琴尔、塔多西·波洛夫斯基、让·艾默里，除鲁道夫·赫斯的自传札记外，还有受害者文学、汉纳·阿伦特关于艾希曼在耶路撒冷的报道和关于集中营的科学文学。
　　"汉娜读过这些吗？"
　　"不管怎么样，她是经过深思熟虑之后才订这些书的。好多年以前，我就不得不为她弄一本关于集中营的一般书目，一年或两年以前她又请求我给她提供关于集中营里的女人、女囚犯和女看守这方面书的书名。我给现代史所写过信，并收到了相应的特别书目。自从史密兰女士学会认字之后，她马上就开始读有关集中营的书籍。"
　　床头挂了许多小图片和纸条。我跪到了床上去读，它们或是一段文章的摘录，或是一首诗，或是一则短讯，或是汉娜抄录的食谱，或者从报纸杂志上剪裁下来的小图片。"春天让它蓝色的飘带在空中再次飘扬"，"云影在田野上掠过"。所有的诗歌都充满了对大自然的喜爱和向往，小图片上展现的是春意盎然的森林、万紫千红的草坪、秋天的落叶、一棵树。溪水旁的草地、一棵坠满了熟透果实的红樱桃树、一棵秋天的浅黄和桔黄的闪闪发光的栗子树。有一张从报纸上剪下来的照片，上面有一位老先生和一位穿着深色西装的年轻人在握手。我认出了那位给老先生鞠躬的年轻人就是我，那时我刚刚中学毕业，那是我在毕业典礼上接受校长授予的一个奖品，那是汉娜离开那座城市很久之后的事情了。她一个目不识丁的人当时就预订了那份登有那张照片的地方报纸了吗？无论如何为了进一步获悉并获得那张照片，她一定费了不少周折。在法庭审理期间，她就有那张照片了吗？她把它带在身边了吗？我的喉咙又哽咽了。
　　"她是跟您学会了认字。她从图书馆借来您为她在录音带上朗读的书，然后逐字逐句地与她所听到的进行对照。那台录音机因不能长久地承受一会儿往前转，一会儿往后倒带，一会儿暂停，一会儿放音，所以总是坏，总要修理。因为修理需要审批，所以，我最终明白了史密芝所做的事情。她最初不愿意说，但是，当她也开始写并向我申请笔和纸时，她再也不能掩饰了。她学会了读写，她简直为此而自豪，她要与人分享她的喜悦。"
　　当她讲这些时，我仍旧跪在那儿，目光始终注视着那些图片和小字条，尽力把眼泪咽了下去。当我转过身来坐在床上时，她说："她是多么希望您给她写信。她从您那儿只是收到邮包，每当邮件被分完了的时候，她都问：'没有我的信？'她是指信而不是指装有录音带的邮包。您为什么从不给她写信呢？"
　　我又沉默不语了。我已无法说话，只能结结巴巴，只想哭。
　　她走到书架前，拿下一个茶罐坐在我身边，从她的化妆包里掏出一张叠好的纸说："她给我留下一封信，类似一份遗嘱。我把涉及到您的地方念给您听。"她打开了那张纸读到："在那个紫色的菜罐里还有钱，把它交给米夏尔·白格；他应该把这些钱还有存在银行里的七千马克交给那位在教堂大火中和她母亲一起幸存下来的女儿。她该决定怎样使用这笔钱。还有，请您转告他，我向他问好。"
　　她没有给我留下任何信息。她想让我伤心吗？他要惩罚我吗？或者她的身心太疲惫不堪了，以至于她只能写下所有有必要做的事情？"她这些年来过得怎么样？"我需要等一会儿，直到我能继续说话，"她最后的日子怎样？"
　　"许多年来，她在这儿的生活与修道院里的生活相差无几，就好像她是心甘情愿地隐退到这里，就好像她是心甘情愿地服从这里的规章制度，就好像这相当单调无聊的工作对她来说是一种反思。她总与其他女囚保持一定距离，她在她们中间享有很高威望。此外，她还是个权威，别人有问题时都要去向她讨主意和办法，争吵的双方都愿意听她的裁决。可是，几年前，她放弃了一切。在这之前，她一直注意保持体型，相对她强壮的身体来说仍旧很苗条，而且她干净得有点过分。后来，她开始暴饮暴食，很少洗澡。她变得臃肿起来，闻上去有种味道，但是，她看上去并非不幸福或者不满足。事实上，好像隐退到修道院的生活对她来说已经不够了，好像修道院本身的生活还太成群结队，还太多嘴多舌，好像她必须进一步隐退到修道院中一间孤独的小房间里去。在那里，没有人再会看到她，在那里，外貌、服装和体味不再具有任何意义了。不，说她自暴自弃是不妥的，她重新确定了她的地位，而且采取的是只作用于自己，不施及他人的方式。"
　　"那么她最后的日子呢？"
　　"她还是老样子。"
　　"我可以看看她吗？"
　　她点点头，却仍！日坐着，"在经历了多年孤独生活后，世界就变得如此让人难以忍受吗？一个人宁愿自杀也不愿意从修道院，从隐居处再一次回到现实世界中去吗？"她转过脸来对我说："史密芝没有写她为什么要自杀。您又不说你俩之间的往事，不说是什么导致史密芝女士在您要来接她出狱的那天黎明时分自杀了。"她把那张纸叠在一起装好，站了起来，把裙子弄平整。'"她的死对我是个打击，您知道，眼下我很生气，生史密芝女士的气，生您的气。但是，我们还是走吧。"
　　她还是走在前面，这一次，一言不发。汉娜躺在病房里的一间小屋子里。我们刚好能在墙和担架之间站下脚。女监狱长把那块布揭开了。
　　汉娜的头上绑着一块布，为了使下额在进入僵硬状态后仍能被抬起来。她的面部表情既不特别宁静，也不特别痛苦。它看上去就是僵硬的死人。当我久久地望着她时，那张死亡的面孔变活了，变成了它年轻时的样子。我在想，这种感觉在老夫老妻之间才会产生。对她来说，老头子仍旧保持了年轻时的样子，而对他来说，美丽妩媚的年轻妻子变老了。为什么在一周之前我没有看出这些呢？
　　我一定不要哭出来。过了一会儿，当女监狱长审视地望着我时，我点点头，她又把那块布盖在了汉娜的脸上。

回复引用

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 46楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I T WAS AUTUMN before I could carry out Hanna’s instructions. The daughter lived in New York, and I used a meeting in Boston as the occasion to bring her the money: a bank check plus the tea tin with the cash. I had written to her, introduced myself as a legal historian, and mentioned the trial. I told her I would be grateful for a chance to talk to her. She invited me to tea.
I took the train from Boston to New York. The woods were a triumphal parade of brown, yellow, orange, tawny red, and chestnut, and the flaming glowing scarlet of the maples. It made me think of the autumn pictures in Hanna’s cell. When the rhythm of the wheels and the rocking of the car tired me, I dreamed of Hanna and myself in a house in the autumn-blazed hills that were lining our route. Hanna was older than when I had met her and younger than when I had met her again, older than me, more attractive than in earlier years, more relaxed in her movements with age, more at home in her own body. I saw her getting out of the car and picking up shopping bags, saw her going through the garden into the house, saw her set down the bags and go upstairs ahead of me. My longing for Hanna became so strong that it hurt. I struggled against the longing, argued that it went against Hanna’s and my reality, the reality of our ages, the reality of our circumstances. How could Hanna, who spoke no English, live in America? And she couldn’t drive a car either.
I woke up and knew that Hanna was dead. I also knew that my desire had fixed on her without her being its object. It was the desire to come home.
The daughter lived in New York on a street near Central Park. The street was lined on both sides with old row houses of dark sandstone, with stoops of the same sandstone leading up to the front door on the first floor. This created an effect of severity—house after house with almost identical façades, stoop after stoop, trees only recently planted at regular intervals along the sidewalk, with a few yellowing leaves on thin twigs.
The daughter served tea by large windows looking out on the vest-pocket backyard gardens, some green and colorful and some merely collections of trash. As soon as we had sat down, the tea had been poured, and the sugar added and stirred, she switched from the English in which she had welcomed me, to German. “What brings you here?” The question was neither friendly nor unfriendly; her tone was absolutely matter-of-fact. Everything about her was matter-of-fact: her manner, her gestures, her dress. Her face was oddly ageless, the way faces look after being lifted. But perhaps it had set because of her early sufferings; I tried and failed to remember her face as it had been during the trial.
I told her about Hanna’s death and her last wishes.
“Why me?”
“I suppose because you are the only survivor.”
“And how am I supposed to deal with it?”
“However you think fit.”
“And grant Frau Schmitz her absolution?”
At first I wanted to protest, but Hanna was indeed asking a great deal. Her years of imprisonment were not merely to be the required atonement: Hanna wanted to give them her own meaning, and she wanted this giving of meaning to be recognized. I said as much.
She shook her head. I didn’t know if this meant she was refusing to accept my interpretation or refusing to grant Hanna the recognition.
“Could you not recognize it without granting her absolution?”
She laughed. “You like her, don’t you? What was your relationship?”
I hesitated a moment. “I read aloud to her. It started when I was fifteen and continued while she was in prison.”
“How did you . . .”
“I sent her tapes. Frau Schmitz was illiterate almost all her life; she only learned to read and write in prison.”
“Why did you do all this?”
“When I was fifteen, we had a relationship.”
“You mean you slept together?”
“Yes.”
“That woman was truly brutal . . . did you ever get over the fact that you were only fifteen when she . . . No, you said yourself that you began reading to her again when she was in prison. Did you ever get married?”
I nodded.
“And the marriage was short and unhappy, and you never married again, and the child, if there is one, is in boarding school.”
“That’s true of thousands of people, it doesn’t take a Frau Schmitz.”
“Did you ever feel, when you had contact with her in those last years, that she knew what she had done to you?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “In any case, she knew what she had done to people in the camp and on the march. She didn’t just tell me that, she dealt with it intensively during her last years in prison.” I told her what the warden had said.
She stood up and took long strides up and down the room. “How much money is it?”
I went to the coat closet, where I had left my bag, and returned with the check and the tea tin. “Here.”
She looked at the check and put it on the table. She opened the tin, emptied it, closed it again, and held it in her hand, her eyes riveted on it. “When I was a little girl, I had a tea tin for my treasures. Not like this, although these sorts of tea tins already existed, but one with Cyrillic letters, not one with a top you push in, but one you snap shut. I brought it with me to the camp, but then one day it was stolen from me.”
“What was in it?”
“What you’d expect. A piece of hair from our poodle. Tickets to the operas my father took me to, a ring I won somewhere or found in a package—the tin wasn’t stolen for what was in it. The tin itself, and what could be done with it, were worth a lot in the camp.” She put the tin down on top of the check. “Do you have a suggestion for what to do with the money? Using it for something to do with the Holocaust would really seem like an absolution to me, and that is something I neither wish nor care to grant.”
“For illiterates who want to learn to read and write. There must be nonprofit organizations, foundations, societies you could give the money to.”
“I’m sure there are.” She thought about it.
“Are there corresponding Jewish organizations?”
“You can depend on it, if there are organizations for something, then there are Jewish organizations for it. Illiteracy, it has to be admitted, is hardly a Jewish problem.” She pushed the check and the money back to me. “Let’s do it this way. You find out what kind of relevant Jewish organizations there are, here or in Germany, and you pay the money to the account of the organization that seems most plausible to you.” She laughed. “If the recognition is so important, you can do it in the name of Hanna Schmitz.” She picked up the tin again. “I’ll keep the tin.”

第11节　　　直到秋天，我才完成了汉娜的委托。那位女儿住在纽约，我参加了在波士顿举行的一个会议，利用这个机会把钱给她带去，一张银行存款的支票加上茶罐里的零钱。我给她写过信，自我介绍是法学史家并提到了那次法庭审判，说如果能和她谈谈我将木胜感激。她邀请我一起去喝茶。
　　我从波士顿乘火车去纽约。森林五光十色，有棕色、黄色、橘黄色、红棕色、棕红色，还有槭树光芒四射的红色。这使我想起了汉娜那间小屋里的秋天的图片。当车轮的转动和车厢的摇晃使我疲倦时，我梦见了汉娜和我坐在一间房子里，房子坐落在五光十色的、秋天的山丘上，我们的火车正穿过那座山丘。汉娜比我认识她时要老，比我再次见到她时要年轻，比我年纪大，比从前漂亮，正处在动作沉着稳重、身体仍很健壮的年龄段。我看见她从汽车里走出来，把购物袋抱在怀里，看见她穿过花园向房子这边走过来，看见她放下购物袋，朝我前面的楼梯走上来。我对汉娜的思念是如此地强烈，以至于这思念令我伤心痛苦。我尽力抗拒这种思念，抵制这种思念，这思念对汉娜和对我，对我们实际的年龄，对我们生活的环境完全不现实。不会讲英语的汉娜怎么能生活在美国呢？而且汉娜也不会开车。
　　我从梦中醒来，再次明白汉娜已经死了。我也知道那与她紧密相关的思念并不是对她的思念，那是一种对回家的向往。
　　那位女儿住在纽约一条离中央公园不远的小街道里，街道两旁环绕着一排排用深色沙石建造的老房子，通向一楼的台阶也用同样深色的沙石建成。这给人一种严格的感觉，房子挨着房子，房屋正面差不多都一个样，台阶挨着台阶，街道旁的树木也是不久前栽的，之间的距离都一样，很有规律，稀少的树枝上挂着稀稀落落的黄树叶。
　　那位女儿把茶桌摆在一扇大窗户前，从这里可以看到外面的四方形小花园，花园里有的地方郁郁葱葱，有的地方五颜六色，有的地方堆放着家用破烂。她给我斟上茶水，加上糖搅拌之后，马上就把问候我时所用的英语变成了德语。"是什么风把您吹到我这来了？"她不冷不热地问我。她的语气听上去非常地务实，她的一切看上去都务实，她的态度，她的手势和她的服饰。她的脸很特别，看不出有多大年纪。所有绷着的脸看上去就像她的脸那样。但是，也许是由于她早年的痛苦经历使其如此僵硬。我尽力回想她在法庭审理期间的面部表情，但怎么也想不起来。
　　我述说了汉娜的死和她的委托。
　　"为什么是我？"
　　"我猜想因为您是惟一的幸存者。"
　　"我该把它用在哪里？"
　　"您认为有意义的事情。"
　　"以此给予史密芝女士宽恕吗？"
　　起初，我想反驳，因为汉娜要达到的目的实际上远不止这些。多年的监禁生活不应该仅仅是一种赎罪。汉娜想要赋予赎罪本身一种意义，而且，汉娜想通过这种方式使它的意义得到承认。我把这层意思说给了她。
　　她摇摇头。我不知道她是否想拒绝我的解释，还是拒绝承认汉娜。
　　"不饶恕她您就不能承认她吗？"
　　她笑了。"您喜欢她，对吗？你们之间到底是什么关系？"
　　我迟疑了一会儿。"我是她的朗读者。这从我十五岁时就开始了，在她坐牢时也没有断。""您怎么…·"
　　"我给她寄录音带。史密芝女士几乎一生都是个文盲，她在监狱里才开始学习读写。"
　　"您为什么要做这些呢？"
　　"我十五岁的时候，我们就有过那种关系。"
　　"您是说，你们一起睡过觉吗？"
　　"是的。"
　　"一个多么残忍的女人。您一个十五岁的孩子就和她……您能承受得了吗？不，您自己说的，当她坐牢后，您又重新开始为她朗读。您曾经结过婚吗？"
　　我点点头。
　　"那么您的婚姻很短暂和不幸。您没有再结婚，您的孩子——如果您有孩子的话，在寄宿学校。"
　　"这种情况多的是，这与史密芝无关。"
　　"在您与她最近这些年的接触中，您是否有过这种感觉，就是说，她清楚她给您所带来的是什么吗？"
　　我耸耸肩。"无论如何她清楚地在集中营和在北迁的路途中给其他人带来了什么样的损失。她不仅仅是这样对我说的，而且，在监狱的最后几年里她还努力地去研究它。"我讲述了女监狱长对我讲述过的情况。
　　她站了起来，在房间里来回踱着大步："那么涉及到多少钱呢？"
　　我走到了我放包的衣帽架前，拿出支票和茶叶罐，走回来对她说："都在这里。''
　　她看了看支票，然后把它放在了桌子上，又把茶叶罐打开倒空了，然后又关上。她把茶叶罐捧在手里，目光死死地盯着它说："当我还是小姑娘的时候，我有个茶叶罐，用来装我的宝贝，不是这样的，尽管当时也已经有这样的了。它上面有用西里尔字母书写的文字，盖不是往里压的那种，而是扣在上面的。我把它带到了集中营，有一天它被人偷走了。"
　　"里面有什么东西？"
　　"有什么，有一绝我们家小狗的鬈毛，有父亲带我去看过的歌剧的门票，一枚在什么地方得到的或是在一个包里发现的戒指——之所以被盗并不是由于里面装的东西。那个茶叶罐本身和人们在集中营里能拿它做的事情却很有价值。"她把茶叶罐放在了支票上面，"关于怎样使用这笔钱您有什么建议吗？把它用于任何与大屠杀有关的事，这对我来说，的确就是我既不能又不想给予的一种饶恕。"
　　"给那些想学习读写的文盲，一定有这样的公益基金会和社团组织，可以把钱捐献给这些机构。"
　　"当然会有这样的机构。"她思考着。
　　""也有类似的犹太人协会和社团吗？"
　　"如果有什么社团，那么您可以相信，也就会有犹太社团。不过，文盲问题不是犹太问题。"
　　她把支票和钱推到我这边。
　　"我们这样做吧：您去打听一下都有什么相关的犹太组织，这里也好，在德国也好。然后，把钱寄到您最信任的有关组织的账号上去。您也可以，"她笑了，"如果得到承认非常重要的话，以史密芝女士的名义寄。"
　　她又把茶叶罐拿到手里："我留下这个茶叶罐。

回复引用

ZxID：17938529

等级: 内阁元老

配偶: 回到夏末之初

生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚：11.11

举报只看该作者 47楼发表于: 2013-10-18 0

CHAPTER TWELVE

A LL THIS happened ten years ago. In the first few years after Hanna’s death, I was tormented by the old questions of whether I had denied and betrayed her, whether I owed her something, whether I was guilty for having loved her. Sometimes I asked myself if I was responsible for her death. And sometimes I was in a rage at her and at what she had done to me. Until finally the rage faded and the questions ceased to matter. Whatever I had done or not done, whatever she had done or not to me—it was the path my life had taken.
Soon after her death, I decided to write the story of me and Hanna. Since then I’ve done it many times in my head, each time a little differently, each time with new images, and new strands of action and thought. Thus there are many different stories in addition to the one I have written. The guarantee that the written one is the right one lies in the fact that I wrote it and not the other versions. The written version wanted to be written, the many others did not.
At first I wanted to write our story in order to be free of it. But the memories wouldn’t come back for that. Then I realized our story was slipping away from me and I wanted to recapture it by writing, but that didn’t coax up the memories either. For the last few years I’ve left our story alone. I’ve made peace with it. And it came back, detail by detail and in such a fully rounded fashion, with its own direction and its own sense of completion, that it no longer makes me sad. What a sad story, I thought for so long. Not that I now think it was happy. But I think it is true, and thus the question of whether it is sad or happy has no meaning whatever.
At any rate, that’s what I think when I just happen to think about it. But if something hurts me, the hurts I suffered back then come back to me, and when I feel guilty, the feelings of guilt return; if I yearn for something today, or feel homesick, I feel the yearnings and homesickness from back then. The tectonic layers of our lives rest so tightly one on top of the other that we always come up against earlier events in later ones, not as matter that has been fully formed and pushed aside, but absolutely present and alive. I understand this. Nevertheless, I sometimes find it hard to bear. Maybe I did write our story to be free of it, even if I never can be.
As soon as I returned from New York, I donated Hanna’s money in her name to the Jewish League Against Illiteracy. I received a short, computer-generated letter in which the Jewish League thanked Ms. Hanna Schmitz for her donation. With the letter in my pocket, I drove to the cemetery, to Hanna’s grave. It was the first and only time I stood there.

第12节　　　转眼间，这一切都成了十年前的事情了。在汉娜死后最初的几年里，那些老问题一直在折磨困扰着我，诸如，我是否拒绝和背叛了她，我是否仍欠她什么，我是否有罪——因为我曾经爱过她，我是否必须要宣布与她脱离关系或者把她摆脱掉。有时候我扪心自问，我是否要对她的死负责，有时候我对她十分气愤，气愤她对我的伤害，直到那气愤变得软弱无力为止，那些问题变得不重要为止。我做过什么和没做过什么，她对我有过什么伤害——这些恰恰成了我的生活。
　　汉娜死后不久，我就下决心要把我和汉娜的故事写出来。从那时以来，我已经在脑子里把我们的故事写过多次了，每次总有点不一样，总是有新的形象、新的情节和新的构思。这样一来，除了我写出来的版本外还有许多其他版本。有保障的是写出来的版本是正确的版本，原因在于它是我写出来的，而其他版本我没有写出来。已经写出来的版本是它自己想被写出来，其他许多版本不想被写出来。
　　起初，我想把我们的故事写出来的目的是为了摆脱她，但是，我的记忆不是为这个目的而存在的。随后我注意到，我们的故事是怎样地从我的记忆中悄悄地消失。于是，我想通过写作把我的记忆寻找回来。但是，就是写作也没有把记忆诱发出来。几年来，我一直没有云触扪及我们的故事，我们相安无事。这样一来，它反而回来了，一个细节接着一个细节，以一种完整的、一致的和正确的方式回来了，使我对此不再伤心。一个多么让人伤心的故事：我过去常这样想。这并不是说我现在认为它是幸福的。但是，我认为它是属实的。在这个前提下，它是伤心的还是幸福的问题就不重要了。
　　当我想起它时，无论如何我总是想这些。当我觉得受到了伤害时，过去受到伤害的感觉就又重现出来；当我觉得我对某事应负责任时，就会想起当时的那种负罪感；如果我如今渴望得到什么，或怀念家乡，那么我就会感觉出当时的那种渴望和怀乡情。我们的生活一环套一环，后一环总是离不开前一环，已经过去的没有结束，而是活现在现实中。这些我懂。尽管如此，我有时对此还是感到难以承受。也许我把我们的故事写出来的目的还是为了摆脱它，尽管我无法达到这个目的。
　　从纽约一回来，我就把汉娜的钱以她的名义汇给了"犹太反盲联盟"。我收到了一封用电脑写的短信，在信中，"犹太反盲联盟"对汉娜·史密芝女士的捐赠表示了感谢。兜里揣着那封信，我开车去了汉娜的墓地。那是我第一次，也是唯一的一次站在她的墓前。

回复引用