悦读｜张晓风•春之怀古
春之怀古
Meditating on Springs of the Past
文/张晓风
译/张梦井、杜耀文
春天必然曾经是这样的：从绿意内敛的山头，一把雪再也撑不住了，噗嗤的一声，将冷面笑成花面，一首澌澌然的歌便从云端唱到山麓，从山麓唱到低低的荒村，唱入篱落，唱入一只小鸭的黄蹼，唱入软溶溶的春泥——软如一床新翻的棉被的春泥。
Spring must have been like this: on top of the hill where spring has settled, the last traces of snow’s grip weaken. With a snicker, it smiles like a flower under a cold face. Then from the clouds a faint song would flow over the hills, and pour into the low and desolate villages, through fences, over ducklings’ yellow-webbed toes and into the molten soft spring mud – as soft as a bed with its freshly-restored cotton-padded quilt.
那样娇，那样敏感，却又那样浑沌无涯。一声雷，可以无端地惹哭满天的云，一阵杜鹃啼，可以斗急了一城杜鹃花，一阵风起，每一棵柳都会吟出一则则白茫茫、虚飘飘说也说不清、听也听不清的飞絮，每一丝飞絮都是一株柳的分号。反正，春天就是这样不讲理，不逻辑，而仍可以好得让人心平气和的。
It is so charming, so sensitive and yet so confusing. A thunder can cause a whole sky of clouds to weep for no reason, and a call of the cuckoo can make azalea flowers around the city to blossom. A gust of wind can make every willow chant in white and soft flying catkins which cannot be explained and heard clearly. Each flying catkin is like the semicolon of the willow tree. In any case, spring is so unreasonable and illogical, and yet it can still be so wonderful that it can make people feel balanced and good-humoured.
春天必然会是这样的：满塘叶黯花残的枯梗抵死苦守一截老根，北地里千宅万户的屋梁受尽风欺雪扰自温柔地抱着一团小小的空虚的燕巢。然后，忽然有一天，桃花把所有的山村水廓都攻陷了。柳树把皇室的御沟和民间的江头都控制住了——春天有如旌旗鲜明的王师，因为长期虔诚的企盼祝祷而美丽起来。
Spring must have been like this: all the dry stalks in the pond with their great leaves and withered flowers lay motionless fastened to a part of their old root; after having suffered greatly from the bully of winds and snow, the roof beams of ten thousand households in the north fields are now tenderly guarding a small, empty swallow nest. Then one day, all of a sudden, peach flowers embellished all the mountain villages and along every brook and stream. The willow catkins controlled both the ditches of the royal families and the river heads of the ordinary people – spring is like the royal army with bright-coloured banners which become still more charming for its long time devout patience.
而关于春天的名字，必然曾经有这样的一段故事：在《诗经》之前，在《尚书》之前，在仓颉造字之前，一只小羊在啮草时猛然感到的多汁，一个孩子放风筝时猛然感觉到的飞腾，一双患风痛的腿在猛然间感到舒适，千千万万双素手在溪畔在江畔浣纱时所猛然感到的水的血脉……当他们惊讶地奔走互告的时候，他们决定将嘴噘成吹口哨的形状，用一种愉快的耳语的声音来为这季节命名——“春”。
When it comes to the name “spring”, there must be such a story: before The Book of Songs①, before The Book of History②, and before the creation of characters by Cang Jie, a lamb was grazing when suddenly it discovered the grass was juicy, a child was flying a kite when suddenly he felt a strange soar, a pair of legs suffering from rheumatism suddenly felt an easing comfort, and many coarse hands washing silk by the lake sides, ponds, and rivers felt a sudden pulse in the water… Encountering these sudden surprises, they would all run around to spread the wonderful news. And while they called to all, they all decided to pucker their mouths and gave the season the name, “Chun” (Spring).
① The Book of Songs: a collection of the earliest songs in China, including over three hundred songs, one of the Five Classics.
② The Book of History: one of the Five Classics in ancient China.
鸟又可以开始丈量天空了。有的负责丈量天的蓝度，有的负责丈量天的透明度，有的负责用那双翼丈量天的高度和深度。而所有的鸟全不是好的数学家，他们吱吱喳喳地算了又算，核了又核，终于还是不敢宣布统计数字。
At this time, birds could again measure the sky. Some were in charge of measuring the blue colour, some were in charge of measuring its transparency, and still others were responsible for measuring the height and depth of the sky with their wings. However, all the birds were by no means good mathematicians. After repeated counts and checks with their chirps, they finally refrained from declaring their results.
至于所有的花，已交给蝴蝶去数。所有的蕊，交给蜜蜂去编册。所有的树，交给风去纵宠。而风，交给檐前的老风铃去一一记忆、一一垂询。
As for all the counting of flowers, it was the task of the butterflies. The bees made lists of the stamens and left the trees for the wind’s indulgence. And the winds were entrusted to the old wind bell before the eaves to remember one by one.
春天必然曾经是这样，或者，在什么地方，它仍然是这样的吧？穿越烟囱与烟囱的黑森林，我想走访那踯躅在湮远年代中的春天。
Spring must have been like this, or possibly somewhere beyond it is still like this. Passing through the dark forest of chimneys, I want to visit the spring which is still roaming through ancient times.
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