这个世界很大，其中有些东西非常神秘，叫人无法推测。于是，这些东西便蒙上了一层玄妙的色彩，难以捉摸；任凭你怎么去琢磨，也琢磨不透；任凭你怎么去猜测，也不得结果。

神秘莫测的，有自然界的奇观，可谓“鬼斧神工”。面对隆隆作响、飞泻而下、势不可挡的瀑布，有谁会不惊叹，惊叹大自然的神秘莫测呢？就连“诗仙”李白——盛唐时期伟大的浪漫主义诗人，也发出感叹和疑问，从而成就了千古名篇：

日照香炉生紫烟，遥看瀑布挂前川。

飞流直下三千尺，疑是银河落九天。

神秘莫测的，有人世间的事务，可谓“沧海桑田”，瞬息万变，正如唐代诗人杜甫所言：“古往今来共一时，人生万事无不有。”人生万事，犹如一出出戏，有悲有喜，神秘莫测。面对王季友的人生，难怪杜甫会发出这样的感慨：“天上浮云如白衣，斯须改变如苍狗。”世事变幻，人情冷暖，恰如“白云苍狗”。这一点，还是“诗圣”体会得最为深刻：

朱门酒肉臭，路有冻死骨。

荣枯咫尺异，惆怅难再述。

同样神秘莫测的，还有英国作家罗尔德·达尔笔下的“神秘房东”以及那些“不应老去”的人和事。和蔼可亲的女房东开了一家温暖舒适的旅馆，却很是“神秘”，旅馆里发生的事情令主人公比利，更是令读者感到“莫测”；驾驶着战机失踪多日的芬恩，一天中午突然返回，但令战友颇感“神秘莫测”的，是他失踪期间的经历。

第一节 《神秘房东》The Landlady

罗尔德·达尔的《神秘房东》（The Landlady）首次发表在美国一本文学性刊物《纽约客》（The New Yorker）1959年11月号上。后来，这个故事被收录到《罗尔德·达尔小说精品集》（The Best of Roald Dahl）、《出乎意料的故事集》（Tales of the Unexpected）、《完全出人意料故事集》（Completely Unexpected Tales）、《罗尔德·达尔短篇故事集锦》（The Collected Short Stories of Roald Dahl）、《五部畅销书集》（5 Bestsellers）、《吻了又吻》（Kiss Kiss）以及《罗尔德·达尔选集》（The Roald Dahl Omnibus）等书中，可见其影响力之大。

另外，这篇小说也被改编成电视系列剧——分别是1961年2月21日播映的《阿尔弗雷德·希区柯克出品短剧选》（Alfred Hitchcock Presents）中第210集（Episode 210），以及1979年4月21日播映的《出乎意料的故事集》（Tales of the Unexpected）第一部中的第5集（Episode 1.5），更可见其影响力之大。

顺便提一下，《神秘房东》是罗尔德·达尔最为有名的短篇小说之一，故事情节简单，内容隐晦、生动，结尾耐人寻味，但若仔细回味，则令人惊恐不已。

一、原作导读

故事的主人公十七岁，名叫比利·韦弗。他从伦敦乘坐火车到巴斯出差，但是巴斯这座城市，他以前从未来过。尽管如此，他还是要到这座城市来开展一项新的工作，一想到这一点，他就有些兴奋。

下车后，经过一番打听，他朝贝尔德拉贡酒店走去，打算在那里住一晚。但是，在去贝尔德拉贡酒店的路上，他被一扇窗户里的招牌吸引住了：住宿加早餐。他走到那扇窗户跟前，发现那座房子很令人着迷——壁炉里有火光闪耀，一只漂亮的小狗蜷缩在地板上睡觉。一闪念之间，他按响了门铃，决定进去一探究竟。门铃刚一响，一位老妇人就从里面探出了头，邀请比利进屋。老妇人报完住宿价格，比利发现那价格比自己心里可接受的价格少了一半还多，而且还包括早餐。于是，他当场就决定住下。他原以为这里的客人会很多，但没想到只有他一个人住店。把比利领进房间后，老妇人要他过一会儿到楼下登记簿上签个名。

到楼下登记簿上签名的时候，比利发现登记簿上只登记了两个人的名字，而且那两个人的名字还是两年多以前登记的，这令他感到有些迷惑不解，开始纳闷了。更有甚者，那两个人的名字他感到似曾相识，好像在哪儿听过，但一时还想不起来。于是，他绞尽脑汁，想了又想，试图要回忆起在什么地方听说过这两个人的名字。就在这时，房东老妇人端来热茶，招呼他喝茶。

比利似乎记起来，那两个人中有一个叫马尔霍兰，是伊顿公学失踪的学生，但老妇人肯定地告诉他说，在她登记簿上登记的这位马尔霍兰不是伊顿公学的学生，是剑桥大学的学生。比利坐到沙发边上，老妇人将茶放到沙发前小桌子上面。比利端起杯子，小口品着茶水，不时会嗅到老妇人身上散发出来的气味。那气味让比利想到了什么东西：或许是腌制的胡桃，或许是新制的皮革，或许是医院的走廊。

比利开始跟女房东交谈起来，谈起了登记簿上那两个人。老妇人说，那两个人都是英俊潇洒的男子，跟他一样英俊潇洒。他随后问老妇人，那两个人是否最近才离开。老妇人回答说，那两个人还在房中，都在五楼，未曾离开过。这话令比利如坠五里云雾，于是，他岔开了话题，谈起笼子里那只鹦鹉。比利对老妇人说，他原以为那只鹦鹉是活着的，但后来才意识到那只鹦鹉是填充起来的标本。老妇人就接着他的话说，那只鹦鹉是她亲手剥制、填充的——栩栩如生，所有的宠物也是她亲手剥制、填充的。比利这才吃惊地注意到，一直蜷缩在地板上睡觉的那条小狗也是填充的标本。同时，他品尝出老妇人泡的茶带点儿杏仁那种苦涩的味道。接着，比利问老妇人：

“……我问一个问题，请原谅。在最近两三年内，除了他们两个人，就没有任何其他客人吗？”

她一只手高高地举起茶杯，把头稍微向左歪了一下，随即抬起头，从眼角处看着他，又一次冲着他轻柔地微笑一下。

“没有，我亲爱的孩子，”她说。“除了你。”

“Gregory Temple．Excuse my asking，but haven't there been any other guests here except them in the last two or three years？”

Holding her teacup high in one hand，inclining her head slightly to the left，she looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes and gave him another gentle little smile．

“No，my dear，”she said．“Only you．”

二、原作释读

阅读本篇小说，首先需要领会好作家罗尔德·达尔对结局那种“由浅入深”式的“渗透”，也就是说，要领会好达尔所做铺垫的目的所在。否则，对于故事的结尾就会有些迷惑不解，甚至不能完全领会了。

The Landlady

Billy Weaver had travelled down from London on the slow afternoon train，with a change at Reading on the way，and by the time he got to Bath it was about nine o'clock in the evening and the moon was coming up out of a clear starry sky over the houses opposite the station entrance．But the air was deadly cold and the wind was like a flat blade of ice on his cheeks．

“Excuse me，”he said，“but is there a fairly cheap hotel not too far away from here？”

“Try the Bell and Dragon，”the porter answered，pointing down the road．“They might take you in．It's about a quarter of a mile along on the other side．”

Billy thanked him and picked up his suitcase and set out to walk the quarter-mile to the Bell and Dragon．He had never been to Bath before．He didn't know anyone who lived there．But Mr．Greenslade at the Head Office in London had told him it was a splendid city．“Find your own lodgings，”he had said，“and then go along and report to the Branch Manager as soon as you've got yourself settled．”

Billy was seventeen years old．He was wearing a new navy-blue overcoat，a new brown trilby hat，and a new brown suit，and he was feeling fine．He walked briskly down the street．He was trying to do everything briskly these days．

Briskness，he had decided，was the one common characteristic of all successful businessmen．The big shots up at Head Office were absolutely fantastically brisk all the time．They were amazing．

There were no shops in this wide street that he was walking along，only a line of tall houses on each side，all of them identical．They had porches and pillars and four or five steps going up to their front doors，and it was obvious that once upon a time they had been very swanky residences．But now，even in the darkness，he could see that the paint was peeling from the woodwork on their doors and windows，and that the handsome white facades were cracked and blotchy from neglect．

Suddenly，in a downstairs window that was brilliantly illuminated by a street-lamp not six yards away，Billy caught sight of a printed notice propped up against the glass in one of the upper panes．It said BED AND BREAKFAST．There was a vase of yellow chrysanthemums，tall and beautiful，standing just underneath the notice．

He stopped walking．He moved a bit closer．Green curtains（some sort of velvety material）were hanging down on either side of the window．The chrysanthemums looked wonderful beside them．He went right up and peered through the glass into the room，and the first thing he saw was a bright fire burning in the hearth．On the carpet in front of the fire，a pretty little dachshund was curled up asleep with its nose tucked into its belly．The room itself，so far as he could see in the half-darkness，was filled with pleasant furniture．There was a baby-grand piano and a big sofa and several plump armchairs；and in one corner he spotted a large parrot in a cage．Animals were usually a good sign in a place like this，Billy told himself；and all in all，it looked to him as though it would be a pretty decent house to stay in．Certainly it would be more comfortable than the Bell and Dragon．

On the other hand，a pub would be more congenial than a boarding-house．There would be beer and darts in the evenings，and lots of people to talk to，and it would probably be a good bit cheaper，too．He had stayed a couple of nights in a pub once before and he had liked it．He had never stayed in any boarding-houses，and，to be perfectly honest，he was a tiny bit frightened of them．The name itself conjured up images of watery cabbage，rapacious landladies，and a powerful smell of kippers in the living-room．

After dithering about like this in the cold for two or three minutes，Billy decided that he would walk on and take a look at the Bell and Dragon before making up his mind．He turned to go．

And now a queer thing happened to him．He was in the act of stepping back and turning away from the window when all at once his eye was caught and held in the most peculiar manner by the small notice that was there．BED AND BREAKFAST，it said．BED AND BREAKFAST，BED AND BREAKFAST，BED AND BREAKFAST．Each word was like a large black eye staring at him through the glass，holding him，compelling him，forcing him to stay where he was and not to walk away from that house，and the next thing he knew，he was actually moving across from the window to the front door of the house，climbing the steps that led up to it，and reaching for the bell．

He pressed the bell．Far away in a back room he heard it ringing，and then at once—it must have been at once because he hadn't even had time to take his finger from the bell-button—the door swung open and a woman was standing there．

Normally you ring the bell and you have at least a half-minute's wait before the door opens．But this dame was like a jack-in-the-box．He pressed the bell—and out she popped！It made him jump．

She was about forty-five or fifty years old，and the moment she saw him，she gave him a warm welcoming smile．

“Please come in，”she said pleasantly．She stepped aside，holding the door wide open，and Billy found himself automatically starting forward into the house．The compulsion or，more accurately，the desire to follow after her into that house was extraordinarily strong．

“I saw the notice in the window，”he said，holding himself back．

“Yes，I know．”

“I was wondering about a room．”

“It's all ready for you，my dear，”she said．She had a round pink face and very gentle blue eyes．

“I was on my way to the Bell and Dragon，”

Billy told her．“But the notice in your window just happened to catch my eye．”

“My dear boy，”she said，“why don't you come in out of the cold？”

“How much do you charge？”

“Five and sixpence a night，including breakfast．”

It was fantastically cheap．It was less than half of what he had been willing to pay．

“If that is too much，”she added，“then perhaps I can reduce it just a tiny bit．Do you desire an egg for breakfast？Eggs are expensive at the moment．It would be sixpence less without the egg．”

“Five and sixpence is fine，”he answered．“I should like very much to stay here．”

“I knew you would．Do come in．”

She seemed terribly nice．She looked exactly like the mother of one's best school-friend welcoming one into the house to stay for the Christmas holidays．Billy took off his hat，and stepped over the threshold．

“Just hang it there，”she said，“and let me help you with your coat．”

There were no other hats or coats in the hall．There were no umbrellas，no walking-sticks—nothing．

“We have it all to ourselves，”she said，smiling at him over her shoulder as she led the way upstairs．“You see，it isn't very often I have the pleasure of taking a visitor into my little nest．”

The old girl is slightly dotty，Billy told himself．But at five and sixpence a night，who gives a damn about that？“I should've thought you'd be simply swamped with applicants，”he said politely．

“Oh，I am，my dear，I am，of course I am．But the trouble is that I'm inclined to be just a teeny weeny bit choosey and particular—if you see what I mean．”

“Ah，yes．”

“But I'm always ready．Everything is always ready day and night in this house just on the off-chance that an acceptable young gentleman will come along．And it is such a pleasure，my dear，such a very great pleasure when now and again I open the door and I see someone standing there who is just exactly right．”She was half-way up the stairs，and she paused with one hand on the stair-rail，turning her head and smiling down at him with pale lips．“Like you，”she added，and her blue eyes travelled slowly all the way down the length of Billy's body，to his feet，and then up again．

On the second-floor landing she said to him，“This floor is mine．”

They climbed up a second flight．“And this one is all yours，”she said．“Here's your room．I do hope you'll like it．”She took him into a small but charming front bedroom，switching on the light as she went in．

“The morning sun comes right in the window，Mr．Perkins．It is Mr．Perkins，isn't it？”

“No，”he said．“It's Weaver．”

“Mr．Weaver．How nice．I've put a water-bottle between the sheets to air them out，Mr．Weaver．It's such a comfort to have a hot water-bottle in a strange bed with clean sheets，don't you agree？And you may light the gas fire at any time if you feel chilly．”

“Thank you，”Billy said．“Thank you ever so much．”He noticed that the bedspread had been taken off the bed，and that the bedclothes had been neatly turned back on one side，all ready for someone to get in．

“I'm so glad you appeared，”she said，looking earnestly into his face．“I was beginning to get worried．”

“That's all right，”Billy answered brightly．“You mustn't worry about me．”He put his suitcase on the chair and started to open it．

“And what about supper，my dear？Did you manage to get anything to eat before you came here？”

“I'm not a bit hungry，thank you，”he said．“I think I'll just go to bed as soon as possible because tomorrow I've got to get up rather early and report to the office．”

“Very well，then．I'll leave you now so that you can unpack．But before you go to bed，would you be kind enough to pop into the sitting-room on the ground floor and sign the book？Everyone has to do that because it's the law of the land，and we don't want to go breaking any laws at this stage in the proceedings，do we？”She gave him a little wave of the hand and went quickly out of the room and closed the door．

Now，the fact that his landlady appeared to be slightly off her rocker didn't worry Billy in the least．After all，she was not only harmless—there was no question about that—but she was also quite obviously a kind and generous soul．He guessed that she had probably lost a son in the war，or something like that，and had never got over it．

So a few minutes later，after unpacking his suitcase and washing his hands，he trotted downstairs to the ground floor and entered the living-room．His landlady wasn't there，but the fire was glowing in the hearth，and the little dachshund was still sleeping in front of it．The room was wonderfully warm and cosy．I'm a lucky fellow，he thought，rubbing his hands．This is a bit of all right．

He found the guest-book lying open on the piano，so he took out his pen and wrote down his name and address．There were only two other entries above his on the page，and，as one always does with guest-books，he started to read them．One was a Christopher Mulholland from Cardiff．The other was Gregory W．Temple from Bristol．

That's funny，he thought suddenly．Christopher Mulholland．It rings a bell．

Now where on earth had he heard that rather unusual name before？

Was he a boy at school？No．Was it one of his sister's numerous young men，perhaps，or a friend of his father's？No，no，it wasn't any of those．He glanced down again at the book．

Christopher Mulholland 231 Cathedral Road，Cardiff

Gregory W．Temple 27 Sycamore Drive，Bristol

As a matter of fact，now he came to think of it，he wasn't at all sure that the second name didn't have almost as much of a familiar ring about it as the first．

“Gregory Temple？”he said aloud，searching his memory．“Christopher Mulholland？…”

“Such charming boys，”a voice behind him answered，and he turned and saw his landlady sailing into the room with a large silver tea-tray in her hands．She was holding it well out in front of her，and rather high up，as though the tray were a pair of reins on a frisky horse．

“They sound somehow familiar，”he said．

“They do？How interesting．”

“I'm almost positive I've heard those names before somewhere．Isn't that queer？Maybe it was in the newspapers．They weren't famous in any way，were they？I mean famous cricketers or footballers or something like that？”

“Famous，”she said，setting the tea-tray down on the low table in front of the sofa．“Oh no，I don't think they were famous．But they were extraordinarily handsome，both of them，I can promise you that．They were tall and young and handsome，my dear，just exactly like you．”

Once more，Billy glanced down at the book．

“Look here，he said，noticing the dates．This last entry is over two years old．”

“It is？”

“Yes，indeed．And Christopher Mulholland's is nearly a year before that—more than three years ago．”

“Dear me，”she said，shaking her head and heaving a dainty little sigh．“I would never have thought it．How time does fly away from us all，doesn't it，Mr．Wilkins？”

“It's Weaver，”Billy said．“W-e-a-v-e-r．”

“Oh，of course it is！”she cried，sitting down on the sofa．“How silly of me．I do apologize．In one ear and out the other，that's me，Mr．Weaver．”

“You know something？”Billy said．“Something that's really quite extraordinary about all this？”

“No，dear，I don't．”

“Well，you see both of these names，Mulholland and Temple，I not only seem to remember each of them separately，so to speak，but somehow or other，in some peculiar way，they both appear to be sort of connected together as well．As though they were both famous for the same sort of thing，if you see what I mean—like…well…like Dempsey and Tunney，for example，or Churchill and Roosevelt．”

“How amusing，”she said．“But come over here now，dear，and sit down beside me on the sofa and I'll give you a nice cup of tea and a ginger biscuit before you go to bed．”

“You really shouldn't bother，”Billy said．“I didn't mean you to do anything like that．”He stood by the piano，watching her as she fussed about with the cups and saucers．He noticed that she had small，white，quickly moving hands，and red finger-nails．

“I'm almost positive it was in the newspapers I saw them，”Billy said．“I'll think of it in a second．I'm sure I will．”

There is nothing more tantalizing than a thing like this which lingers just outside the borders of one's memory．He hated to give up．

“Now wait a minute，”he said．“Wait just a minute．Mulholland…Christopher Mulholland…wasn't that the name of the Eton schoolboy who was on a walking-tour through the West Country，and then all of a sudden…”

“Milk？”she said．“And sugar？”

“Yes，please．And then all of a sudden…”

“Eton schoolboy？”she said．“Oh no，my dear，that can't possibly be right because my Mr．Mulholland was certainly not an Eton schoolboy when he came to me．He was a Cambridge undergraduate．Come over here now and sit next to me and warm yourself in front of this lovely fire．Come on．Your tea's all ready for you．”She patted the empty place beside her on the sofa，and she sat there smiling at Billy and waiting for him to come over．

He crossed the room slowly，and sat down on the edge of the sofa．She placed his teacup on the table in front of him．

“There we are，”she said．“How nice and cosy this is，isn't it？”

Billy started sipping his tea．She did the same．For half a minute or so，neither of them spoke．But Billy knew that she was looking at him．Her body was half-turned towards him，and he could feel her eyes resting on his face，watching him over the rim of her teacup．Now and again，he caught a whiff of a peculiar smell that seemed to emanate directly from her person．It was not it，the least unpleasant，and it reminded him well，he wasn't quite sure what it reminded him of Pickled walnuts？New leather？Or was it the corridors of a hospital？

At length，she said，“Mr．Mulholland was a great one for his tea．Never in my life have I seen anyone drink as much tea as dear，sweet Mr．Mulholland．”

“I suppose he left fairly recently，”Billy said．He was still puzzling his head about the two names．He was positive now that he had seen them in the newspapers—in the headlines．

“Left？”she said，arching her brows．“But my dear boy，he never left．He's still here．Mr．Temple is also here．They're on the third floor，both of them together．”

Billy set down his cup slowly on the table，and stared at his landlady．She smiled back at him，and then she put out one of her white hands and patted him comfortingly on the knee．“How old are you，my dear？”she asked．

“Seventeen．”

“Seventeen！”she cried．“Oh，it's the perfect age！Mr．Mulholland was also seventeen．But I think he was a trifle shorter than you are，in fact I'm sure he was，and his teeth weren't quite so white．You have the most beautiful teeth，Mr．Weaver，did you know that？”

“They're not as good as they look，”Billy said．“They've got simply masses of fillings in them at the back．”

“Mr．Temple，of course，was a little older，”she said，ignoring his remark．“He was actually twenty-eight．And yet I never would have guessed it if he hadn't told me，never in my whole life．There wasn't a blemish on his body．”

“A what？”Billy said．

“His skin was just like a baby's．”

There was a pause．Billy picked up his teacup and took another sip of his tea，then he set it down again gently in its saucer．He waited for her to say something else，but she seemed to have lapsed into another of her silences．He sat there staring straight ahead of him into the far corner of the room，biting his lower lip．

“That parrot，”he said at last．“You know something？It had me completely fooled when I first saw it through the window from the street．I could have sworn it was alive．”

“Alas，no longer．”

“It's most terribly clever the way it's been done，”he said．“It doesn't look in the least bit dead．Who did it？”

“I did．”

“You did？”

“Of course，”she said．“And have you met my little Basil as well？”She nodded towards the dachshund curled up so comfortably in front of the fire．Billy looked at it．And suddenly，he realized that this animal had all the time been just as silent and motionless as the parrot．He put out a hand and touched it gently on the top of its back．The back was hard and cold，and when he pushed the hair to one side with his fingers，he could see the skin underneath，greyish-black and dry and perfectly preserved．

“Good gracious me，”he said．“How absolutely fascinating．”He turned away from the dog and stared with deep admiration at the little woman beside him on the sofa．“It must be most awfully difficult to do a thing like that．”

“Not in the least，”she said．“I stuff all my little pets myself when they pass away．Will you have another cup of tea？”

“No，thank you，”Billy said．The tea tasted faintly of bitter almonds，and he didn't much care for it．

“You did sign the book，didn't you？”

“Oh，yes．”

“That's good．Because later on，if I happen to forget what you were called，then I can always come down here and look it up．I still do that almost every day with Mr．Mulholland and Mr…．Mr…．”

“Temple，”Billy said．“Gregory Temple．Excuse my asking，but haven't there been any other guests here except them in the last two or three years？”

Holding her teacup high in one hand，inclining her head slightly to the left，she looked up at him out of the corners of her eyes and gave him another gentle little smile．

“No，my dear，”she said．“Only you．”

三、翻译探索

在本篇小说的翻译中，某些地方为求译文的可读性，适当加词表达，这也算是翻译的一种技巧吧。对于主人公比利·韦弗心态的细腻刻画，翻译时要尽量真实加以再现。

神秘房东

比利·韦弗下午从伦敦上的车，那是一列慢行火车，途中在雷丁站换乘了一次，最终到达了巴斯。到达巴斯的时候，大约是晚上九点。站在火车站大门口，他看到，对面一排排房子的上空，月亮已经升起来了，可谓月朗星疏。但是，天却冷得要命，风拂过脸颊，如同一面冰制的光滑刀片剐过一般。

“劳驾，请问，”他说，“离这儿近一点的地方，有没有什么价格便宜而又说得过去的宾馆呢？”

“去贝尔德拉贡酒店看看吧，”行李搬运工指着马路下行的方向回答。“那里会有人接待你的。过马路，走另一边，才四百米的距离。”

比利谢过搬运工，拎起手提箱，拔腿就朝贝尔德拉贡酒店走去，不过就四百米的距离嘛。他以前从没有到过巴斯，巴斯也没有他认识的人。但是，伦敦总公司的格林斯莱德先生告诉他，那个城镇很气派。“自己先找地方住下，”他说。“一切妥当下来后，立即去分公司经理那儿报到。”

比利已经十七岁了。他里面穿一身新买的棕色套装，外面披一件深蓝色的大衣，头戴一顶崭新的棕色窄边软毡帽，自我感觉还不错。他沿着街道下行的方向轻快、敏捷地走去。这些日子以来，他做什么事情都尽量要做到轻快、敏捷。他认为，对于所有成功的商界人士而言，唯一的共同特点就是轻快、敏捷。公司总部那些大腕人物无论何时都是绝对的轻快、敏捷，他们十分出色，令人惊叹。

他走的这条街道，虽然很宽，但是一家商店都没有，只有高高的房子沿着街道两侧一字排开。这些房子都是一个模样：都有柱子支起的门廊，还有四五级台阶通向房子的正门。很显然，它们一度是十分豪华的住宅，但是现在，即使在黑暗之中，他也能看得出，门窗木质部分的油漆正日渐脱落，房屋漂亮的白色正脸部分，由于好久无人打理，已经出现了裂缝，斑痕累累。

突然，在不到五米远楼下的一扇窗户里，比利看到了一块印刷的牌子，那牌子紧紧贴到了上层窗格的玻璃上。街灯把那扇窗户照得锃亮，牌子上的内容看得清楚，上面写着：住宿加早餐。牌子下面放了一只花瓶，上面插了一束黄菊花。那只花瓶高高的，很漂亮，就放在那块牌子的下方。

他停下脚步，走近一些。窗户的两侧有窗帘垂下来，窗帘是绿色的，像是某种丝绒材料做成的。黄菊花摆在中间，看起来非常协调、漂亮。他走到窗前，贴着窗玻璃，往屋内观瞧。第一眼就看到壁炉炉膛里有火在燃烧，明亮而闪耀。壁炉前面的地毯上，一条漂亮好看的达克斯小狗身体蜷缩成一团，躺在那儿睡觉，小狗的鼻子偎在肚子那里。半明半暗之中，他睁大眼睛观察着，发现这间屋子摆满了家具，看起来很舒服。里面有一架小型三角钢琴、一张大沙发、几把胖墩墩的扶手椅。他看到屋子的一角有一只笼子，笼子里装着一只大鹦鹉。比利对自己说，像在这样的地方，能看到动物通常是一种好迹象。总而言之，这地方在他看来，是住宿的好地方，既舒服又体面。当然啦，这里会比贝尔德拉贡酒店要舒服多了。

但从另一方面考虑，酒店会比寄宿公寓更合心意的：晚上有啤酒喝，有飞镖玩，有很多人可以交谈，或许价钱还会便宜一点点。以前他住过一次酒店，一住就是好几宿，很喜欢的。可是，他从来没有住过寄宿公寓，而且老老实实地说，对住寄宿公寓他有一点点害怕，因为这个名字本身就会唤起这样一些意象：淌出汁液来的卷心菜、贪心不足的女房东，还有起居室里散发出来的、强烈刺鼻的熏鱼气味。

就这样，在寒风中，比利犹豫再三，两三分钟过去了。紧接着，他决定继续往前走，看一眼贝尔德拉贡酒店，再最终做决定。于是，他转身要走。

就在此时，一件稀奇古怪的事情发生了。他正欲回转身体离开那扇窗的时候，突然之间，异常奇怪的是，他的眼神又被那儿的那块小牌子吸引过去，整个人就动弹不得了。“住宿加早餐”，牌子上这样写着。“住宿加早餐、住宿加早餐、住宿加早餐。”上面的每一个字都像一只睁得大大的黑色眼睛，透过玻璃盯着他、抓牢他，迫使他、强迫他待在原地，不得离开半步。他知道，下一步要做的，实际上就是：经过窗户，踏上那几级台阶，走到房子的正门跟前，抬手按门铃。

他按下门铃，听到里面稍远一点的一间黑屋子里响起了门铃声。紧接着，“嗖”的一下，门就打开了，一个妇女站在他面前。对，一定是“嗖”的一下，因为他还没有来得及把手指从门铃的按钮上移开呢。

正常情况下按门铃，至少要等上半分钟时间，门方能打开。但是，这位夫人就像装在匣内、打开匣盖就自行弹起的玩偶一样，他一按门铃，她就腾地弹了出来。这倒让他惊跳了一下。

这名妇女的年纪就算是不到五十的话，也有四十五了。一见到他，她就露出微笑，表示欢迎，让人感觉暖意融融的。

“请进，”她满脸愉悦地说道。随即，她敞开门，紧握住门把手不让其关闭，随即跨到一旁。比利发现自己竟然自动自觉地要开始往门里迈步了。这种自觉性，或者准确说，这种渴望感，驱使他要跟随她进入那所房子，而且，这种渴望是极其强烈的。

“我看见窗户里的那块牌子，”他有些犹豫不决地说，还是控制住没有迈步进去。

“是的，我知道。”

“我想知道是否有房间。”

“我亲爱的孩子，都为你准备好了。”她说。她长着一张粉红色的圆脸，一双蓝色的眼睛尽显温柔之情。

“我要去贝尔德拉贡酒店，路上经过你这儿，”比利对她说。“可是，巧得很，你窗户里的那块牌子吸引了我。”

“我亲爱的孩子，”她说道，“那还有什么理由不进来，站在外面任寒风吹呢？”

“价格是多少呢？”

“住一晚是五英镑六便士，早餐包括在内。”

真是便宜极了，还不到他乐意承受价格的一半呢。

“要是嫌贵的话，”她补充道，“或许可以给你再降一点点。早餐很想吃一个鸡蛋吗？鸡蛋这时候很贵的，所以不要鸡蛋的话，可以便宜六便士。”

“五英镑六便士。这个价格可以的，”他回答。“我很想住在这里。”

“我知道你会住这儿的。快进来吧。”

她这个人简直是太好了。看起来，她就像学校里自己最要好的一个朋友的母亲，欢迎客人来家里过圣诞节一样。比利摘下帽子，跨过门槛，走进屋子。

“帽子挂那儿，就可以了，”她说。“我帮你挂外衣吧。”

大厅里看不到其他人的帽子或外衣，也看不到雨伞、拐杖什么的，什么都看不到。

“屋里所有的东西都是自家用的，”她带着他走上楼梯，边说边回头冲他微笑。“要知道，有幸带客人上楼，住进我这温馨的小屋，这事儿不是很经常发生的。”

比利对自己说，这位老妇人的言行有点疯疯癫癫的。可是，对于一晚五英镑六便士的价格，谁还会挑三拣四的呢？“我原以为你这里客人很多，你简直忙不过来了，看来我不该那样想。”他彬彬有礼地说。

“哦，我忙，我亲爱的孩子。我忙，我当然忙。可麻烦之处就在于，我这个人就是一贯地有点喜欢挑剔，有点喜欢穷讲究。不知道你是否明白我的意思。”

“啊，明白的。”

“但是，我总是做好准备，随时迎接客人。这所房子里的一切，不管是白天还是夜晚，一直都是准备得好好的，准备一有机会——哪怕机会很是罕见——就接待符合心意的年轻绅士前来投宿。时不时地打开门，看见有人站在外边，对这里感到称心如意，我亲爱的孩子，那将真的是我荣幸的事，真的是我万分荣幸的事啊。”楼梯上到一半，她暂停下来，一只手扶着楼梯边的栏杆，转过头，微笑地俯视着他，双唇有些灰白。“就接待像你这样的客人，”她补充道。她那两只蓝色的眼睛，从上至下慢慢移动、打量着比利，然后从脚往头，又打量了一遍。

走到三楼缓步台的时候，她对他说：“这层楼归我用。”

他们又爬完一段楼梯。“这一层全部归你用，”她说。“这是你的房间，真心希望你会喜欢。”她带他走进正面的一间卧室，随手打开灯的开关。这间卧室很小，但很让人喜欢。

“早晨，太阳光能直接从窗户照射进来的，珀金斯先生。你就是珀金斯先生，是不是呢？”

“不是，”他回答。“我姓韦弗。”

“韦弗先生，多好的名字啊。韦弗先生，我在被单中间放上了热水袋，保持通风、干燥。一张陌生的床上铺上干干净净的被单，再放上一个热水袋，那就太舒服惬意了，你不这么认为吗？要是感到冷的话，你可以随时点燃煤气取暖器。”

“谢谢你，”比利说。“十分感谢。”他注意到，床罩已经从床上揭下来，铺盖整整齐齐地翻到了一边，就等来人钻进去睡觉了。

“你的出现令我十分高兴，”她边说，边用热切的目光看着他的脸。“我刚才还有点担心呢。”

“不必客气，”比利充满活力地说。“不必为我担心。”他把手提箱放到椅子上，就要开箱。

“我亲爱的孩子，需要晚饭吗？来这儿之前，有没有吃什么东西呢？”

“我一点也不饿，谢谢你，”他回答，“我想，我还是尽早上床睡觉，因为明天我要很早起床，到公司报道。”

“很不错。我就不打扰了，你开箱取东西吧。但是睡觉前，到一楼的起居室去一趟，在登记簿上签个名，可以吗？这是这里的法律规定，每个人都要签的，我们谁都不想在整个程序的这个环节上违反什么法律规定，你说对吧？”她朝他轻轻挥挥手，快速走出房间，随手关上了门。

现在，这位女房东看起来有点疯疯癫癫这件事，比利一点也没有放在心上。她毕竟是没有恶意的，这一点毫无疑问。相反，十分明显的是，她这个人还很仁慈，颇为大度。他猜测，或许在战争中，她失去了一个儿子，或者失去类似的什么东西。因此，她永远无法释怀。

没过几分钟，他就开箱取完东西、上完厕所。然后，一路小跑下到一楼，走进起居室。女房东不在那儿，可是壁炉炉膛里的火仍在燃烧，那只达克斯小狗仍然躺在壁炉前，睡得呼呼的。整个屋子温暖、舒适，令人感到惬意无比。他一边搓着手一边想，我很幸运啊，这里还是有点合意的感觉。

他看到了客人登记簿，打开着，放在那架钢琴上。于是，他就拿起笔写下了自己的姓名和地址。登记簿的同一页上，他签名的上方只有两条其他人的签名信息。人在登记簿上签名时的一贯做法一样，签完名，他也开始阅读起来。在登记簿上面，其中一个人是来自加的夫，名叫克里斯托弗·马尔霍兰，另一个是来自布里斯托尔，名叫格雷戈里·W·坦普尔。

他突然间想，那可真有意思啊。克里斯托弗·马尔霍兰，这个名字似曾相识。

现在想想，以前到底在什么地方听说过这个很是不同寻常的名字呢？

是学校里的一个男生吗？不是。是他姐姐无数年轻的男朋友当中的一个，或者是他父亲的一个朋友吗？不，不是的，上述的一个都不是。他又看了登记簿一眼，上面写着：

克里斯托弗·马尔霍兰 加的夫市卡西德勒尔路231号

格雷戈里·W·坦普尔 布里斯托尔锡卡莫尔大道27号

现在很显然，他开始回想了。第二个人的名字几乎跟第一个人的名字一样，似曾相识，可是，他不敢肯定。

“格雷戈里·坦普尔？”他一边大声说出来，一边在记忆中搜索者。“克里斯托弗·马尔霍兰？……”

“很是了不起的两名男子吧。”一个声音从后面回答道。他转过身，看到女房东双手托着一个大大的银色茶盘，如扬帆行船般飘了进来。她把茶盘稳稳地举到前面，举得高高的，那托盘好似一副缰绳，套在一匹活蹦乱跳的马身上。

“这两个名字听起来很耳熟。”他说。

“是吗？多有意思啊。”

“我几乎可以肯定，我以前在什么地方听到过，是不是太奇怪呢？或许从报纸上看到过。不管怎么说，他们都不是有名的人，对吧？我的意思是说，有名的板球选手，或者足球选手，或者类似的名人。”

“名人？”她边说，边把茶盘放到沙发前的矮桌子上。“噢，不是的。我认为，他们不是什么名人。但是，他们两个都英俊潇洒、气度不凡，这一点我能向你保证。我亲爱的孩子，这两个人都个子高高、年纪轻轻、英俊潇洒，简直跟你一模一样。”

比利又一次低头看了地址簿一眼。“看这儿啊，”他说，注意到上面所写的日期了。“最后一条是两年多以前登记的。”

“是吗？”

“是的，确确实实。而克里斯托弗·马尔霍兰登记的这一条比那还早将近一年，也就是三年多以前登记的。”

“我的天呐，”她说完，摇了摇头，轻轻发出一声叹息，带点儿挑剔的口吻。“这一点，我从来没有想过。时光飞逝，离我们大家越来越远，对吧，威尔金斯先生？”

“我姓韦弗，”比利说。“w-éi——韦，f-ú——弗。”

“哦，当然，那才是你的姓！”她叫了起来，然后坐到沙发上。“看我多糊涂，深感抱歉。韦弗先生，我就是这个样子，一只耳朵进，另一只耳朵出。”

“你知道吗？”比利问。“你知道吗？这一切真的十分怪异。”

“不，亲爱的孩子，我不知道。”

“噢，要知道，马尔霍兰和坦普尔这两个名字，可以说，我似乎不仅仅都记得，而且颇为奇特的是，不管从哪一个角度来说，这两个名字看上去也有某种联系，这两个人仿佛都是因为同样一种事情而闻名遐迩的。你明白我的意思吧，比如像……噢……像登普西跟滕尼——都是拳击手。再比如，像丘吉尔跟罗斯福——分别是一个国家的头头。”

“多么有趣儿啊，”她说。“但是，亲爱的孩子，现在到我这儿，坐到沙发上，坐到我旁边。在你睡觉前，我给你喝一杯很不错的茶，给你吃一块姜味饼干。”

“真的不用那样麻烦的，”比利说。“我不想让你为我做那样的事情。”他站在钢琴旁，看着她，她正摆弄着杯子、盘子，为他忙活着。他注意到，她那双手很小、很白，移动速度很快，指甲是红色的。

“我几乎可以肯定，是在报纸上看到的那两个名字，”比利说。“我一会儿就能想起来，我敢肯定，我会想起来的。”

一件像这样的事情就在一个人记忆的边缘之外徘徊，就是想不起来，但却不愿意放弃，硬是要去回忆。没有什么比这更逗弄、折磨人的啦。

“现在，稍等一下，”他说。“就等一小会儿。马尔霍兰……克里斯托弗·马尔霍兰……难道不是伊顿公学那个男学生的名字吗？他穿越我国西南部各个郡作徒步旅行，然后就突然之间，一下子……”

“迈克，”她说，“要加糖吗？”

“好的，加。然后，突然之间，一下子……”

“伊顿公学男学生？”她问。“噢，不，我亲爱的孩子，不可能是那样的，因为我这里的马尔霍兰先生来的时候，肯定不是伊顿公学的学生。他当时是剑桥的大学生。现在，坐到我旁边，在这个可爱的壁炉前暖和一下。来吧。茶为你沏好了。”她坐在沙发上，拍了拍旁边的空位，微笑着等待他走过来。

他慢慢穿过屋子，坐到沙发边上。于是，她把茶杯放到了他面前的桌子上。

“这样就对啦，”她说道。“多么舒适、惬意啊，对吧？”

比利开始小口品茶，她也小口品着茶。大约半分钟过去了，谁都没有说话，但是比利知道，她正看着他。她的身体只是转过来一半，但他感觉到，她的双眼正透过茶杯边沿，落到他的脸上。他时不时地就会闻到一股怪异的味道，似乎是直接从她身上散发出来的。这气味并不令人生厌。但是，这气味让他想起了什么，怎么说呢，他还不敢肯定到底让他想起的是什么。想起了腌制的胡桃？新制的皮革？或者，医院的走廊？

过了很长时间，她终于说：“马尔霍兰先生以前很喜欢喝茶的，我一生中从来没有看到过有谁喝的茶能超过亲爱的、可爱的马尔霍兰先生。”

“我想，他是前不久才离开的吧，”比利说，仍然沉浸在对这两个名字的思考之中。现在，他敢肯定的是，他在报纸上看到过这两个名字——在大字标题上看到的。

“离开？”她弯起眉毛问道。“可是，我亲爱的孩子，他从未离开过，他还在这里。坦普尔先生也在这里。他俩就在五楼，在一起呢。”

比利慢慢把茶杯放到桌子上，盯着眼前这个神秘房东。只见她冲他微微一笑，然后伸出一只白白的手，拍了拍他的膝盖，令人感到安慰。“你多大了，我亲爱的孩子？”她问。

“十七。”

“十七啊！”她叫道。“噢，多么完美的年龄啊！马尔霍兰先生当时也是十七，但我想他比起你来，个头有点矮。事实上，我敢肯定他比你矮。那时，他的牙齿也没有这么白。韦弗先生，你的牙齿极其漂亮，你知道吗？”

“看起来不错，实际上没有那么漂亮，”比利回答。“你看不见的地方，填满了大量的补牙材料。”

“当然，坦普尔先生当时年纪稍大一点，”她没有理会他说的话，继续说道。“他的实际年龄是二十八。要是他不告诉我，而是要我猜的话，我一辈子都猜不出来的。他身上那时一个斑痕都没有。”

“一个什么？”比利问。

“我是说，他的皮肤简直就像是婴儿的皮肤。”

暂停了一会儿。比利端起茶杯，又品了一小口。然后，又把杯子轻轻地放到托盘上，等着她再说点什么。可是，她似乎又一次陷入沉默之中。他坐在那儿，咬着下嘴唇，直视前方屋子远处的一个角落。

“那只鹦鹉，”他终于说道。“你知道吗？透过窗户第一眼看到它的时候，我完完全全被蒙蔽了。我当时一口咬定，那鹦鹉就是活的。”

“哎呀呀，已经不再是活的啦。”

“把这只鹦鹉弄得这样栩栩如生，真是绝顶聪明之人所为，”他说。“看起来，一点也不像是死的。谁弄的？”

“我弄的。”

“你弄的？”

“当然啦，”她说。“你看到我的小巴兹尔没有呢？”说完，她冲着那只躺在壁炉前、蜷缩着身体、舒舒服服睡觉的达克斯小狗点了点头。比利也随之看了一眼。突然之间，他一下子意识到，这个小家伙自始至终一直像那只鹦鹉一样，一声不响、一动不动。他伸出一只手，轻轻地摸了摸小狗的后背，后背很硬、很凉。他用手指把毛捋到一边，看到下面的皮肤，保存得十分完好，很干燥，呈黑色，略微有点灰白。

“我的老天啊，”他说。“太迷人了，绝对地迷人。”他从小狗那儿转过身来，看着身旁沙发坐着的这个小女人，不觉深深钦佩起来。“事情做到那个程度。一定是难上加难的。”

“一点也不难，”她说。“我所有可爱的宠物死去后，我都亲自动手填料剥制。你还要喝杯茶吗？”

“不了，谢谢你，”比利回答。她泡的茶喝起来轻微有点杏仁那种苦涩的味道，而他不喜欢这种味道的茶。

“登记簿你签完了，对吧？”

“哦，是的。”

“好极了，因为以后我一旦忘记你叫什么名字，我就总能下到一楼这儿看一看、查一查。现在，几乎每天我仍然这样做，下来看看、查查马尔霍兰先生，还有什么先生——什么先生来着？”

“坦普尔，”比利回答。“格雷戈里·坦普尔。我问一个问题，请原谅。在最近两三年内，除了他们两个人，就没有任何其他客人吗？”

她一只手高高地举起茶杯，把头稍微向左歪了一下，随即抬起头，从眼角处看着他，又一次冲着他轻柔地微笑一下。

“没有，我亲爱的孩子，”她说。“除了你。”

第二节 《不应老去》They Shall not Grow Old

罗尔德·达尔的《不应老去》（They Shall not Grow Old）收录在《罗尔德·达尔短篇故事集锦》（The Collected Short Stories of Roald Dahl）、《向你飞跃》（Over to You）、《精彩飞行故事集》（Great Flying Stories）以及《五部畅销书集》（5 Bestsellers）等书中。

有意思的是，达尔这篇战争题材短篇小说中的一个人物“斯塔格”（Stag）跟他另外一篇小说《大兵“救美”》（Madame Rosette）中一个同样叫这个名字的人物“如出一辙”，这说明作家罗尔德·达尔擅长对人物素材加以循环利用，类似的现象在莫言——中国获诺贝尔文学奖第一人的短篇小说中也有所体现。

一、原作导读

这篇故事是以第一人称“我”的视角展开的，但叙述者“我”是“隐身”的，起到了“纽带”或者“桥梁”的作用，可以看成作家达尔本人的化身。

第二次世界大战期间，某一天中午艳阳高照，热浪如同火堆在眼前燃烧。当时，“我”和斯塔格都是英国皇家空军的飞行员，与维希法国傀儡政府军交战。小说开始的时候，我们俩正焦急地等待另一名队友芬恩返航。两个半小时前，芬恩接到命令起飞，去侦查敌军船舰的动向，但到现在还没有飞回。等待过程中，我们谈起了芬恩的女朋友尼基，她在海法的一个场所表演卡巴莱歌舞。左等右等都不见芬恩的身影，于是，“我”知道他肯定是遇难了——不是燃油耗尽，就是被敌方击落。

两天后，空军基地上空传来飞机的轰鸣声。飞机着陆后大家惊奇地发现，那是芬恩和他驾驶的战机。惊奇之余，大家都问他去了哪里。听到这句问话，他倒是大吃一惊，以为战友们跟自己开玩笑呢，于是不断声称自己只不过离开了一小时零五分钟而已。到指挥官那里汇报完情况后，芬恩才意识到问题的严重性：自己真的离开了两天时间，但又解释不清楚到底发生了什么。至此，他才感到惶恐不安。战友们没有再逼迫他，而是决定给他一些时间，让他慢慢回忆。

一周后，我们飞行中队外出执行任务，轰炸敌机。战斗中，一个名叫帕迪的队友驾驶的飓风战机被击中，帕迪身亡。就在此时，无线电里传来芬恩跟另一名队友蒙凯的对话：

“我记起来了。嗨，蒙凯，我记起来了。”蒙凯缓慢而镇定地回答：“好的，芬恩，好的。一定要记住。”

“I've remembered it．Hello，Monkey，I've remembered it all，”and Monkey's calm slow reply，“OK Fin，OK；don't forget it．”

返回基地后，芬恩完全恢复了记忆，讲述了自己的遭遇。正在执行飞行任务的过程中，他突然连人带机陷入一层厚厚的迷雾之中。无论怎么做，都无法摆脱，沮丧之中他被迫降低飞行高度，以甩开迷雾。降到了不能再降低的程度，迷雾依然笼罩，无法脱身。此时，他顿时感觉下方什么都没有——没有海洋，没有大地，没有任何东西存在。于是，他任由飞机继续俯冲……突然之间，

“我一下子钻出了云层，速度之快猝不及防，来不及眨眼，顿时我什么都看不见了。在身陷云雾和云开雾散之间，没有了时间的界限：一瞬间，我身陷云层，浓密的白雾围绕左右，可就在同一瞬间，我又钻了出来，光线如此明亮，刺得双眼什么都看不见。我眯起眼睛，紧紧地闭上，闭了好几秒钟的时间。”

“I came out of the cloud so suddenly and so quickly that I was blinded．There was no space of time between being in it and being out of it．One moment I was in it and the whiteness was thick around me and in that same moment I was out of it and the light was so bright that I was blinded．I screwed up my eyes and held them tight closed for several seconds．”

接下来，他看到地平线处有一列飞机在飞行——各种型号的飞机都有。看着这些飞机和里面的乘员，不知怎么的，他恍然大悟——“里面坐着的都是一些在战斗中死去的飞行员和机务人员。现在，他们乘坐自己的飞机做最后的飞行，飞完最后的旅程”（…these were the pilots and air crews who had been killed in battle，who now，in their own aircraft were making their last flight，their last journey）。而他自己的飞机则被一股巨大的旋涡拉起、吸走，直奔那些飞机而去，跟着那些飞机自动飞行，任凭怎么操纵也控制不了。那些飞机里的飞行员向他招手，他也向他们挥手示意，他感到开心无比。

他记不清到底跟着他们飞了多久，最终，那列飞机开始下滑、转向，要降落到下方那片平原上——“那片平原碧绿、平滑、美丽，一直延伸到很远的地平线边缘，在那里，蓝蓝的天空与绿绿的平原融合到了一起”（It was green and smooth and beautiful；it reached to the far edges of the horizon where the blue of the sky came down and merged with the green of the plain）。那些飞机一个接着一个在那片平原上降落，他也试图让自己的飞机降落，但是飞机就是不听使唤，一个劲儿向前飞去……他只是无精打采地坐在驾驶舱里，似乎进入了梦乡，梦见了……

“紧接着，我就回到这里。一着陆，你们大家都奔了过来，挤到我周围，问我这两天去哪里了，但是，我当时什么都记不得了。除了飞到贝鲁特港这件事，我当时什么都不记得了。就在刚才，我看到帕迪被击中，他的飞机坠落地面时，我对自己说道：‘你是个幸运的混蛋。你这个混蛋真幸运，真幸运啊。’说完这话，我也就明白自己为什么这么说，也就记起了一切。一记起来，我就通过无线电冲着你们呼喊来着。那时候，我什么都记起来了。”

“Then I came back here．When I landed，you all crowded around me and asked me where I had been for two days，but I could remember nothing．I did not remember anything except the flight to Beyrouth until just now，when I saw Paddy being shot down．As his machine hit the ground，I found myself saying，‘You lucky bastard．You lucky，lucky bastard，’ and as I said it，I knew why I was saying it and remembered everything．That was when I shouted to you over the radio．That was when I remembered．”

听完芬恩的讲述，整个中队恢复了正常，但陷入了沉默，没有谁再提起这件事儿。战争就要接近尾声了，在最后一次战斗中，“我”看见芬恩的飞机被击中、着火，通过无线电喊叫，要他跳伞。芬恩回应说，那不是件容易的事，两只胳膊受伤了，无法解开安全带。眼看着芬恩的飞机扎向大海，“我”听见无线电里传来芬恩的声音——清晰而缓慢：

“我是个幸运的混蛋，”他当时这样说道。“我这个混蛋真幸运，真幸运啊。”

“I'm a lucky bastard，”he was saying．“A lucky，lucky bastard．”

二、原作释读

这部小说集现实和梦幻为一体，但结构的安排并不复杂，虽然在某些方面有点儿“意识流动”的成分，但阅读起来，难度不大。

They Shall not Grow Old

The two of us sat outside the hangar on wooden boxes．

It was noon．The sun was high and the heat of the sun was like a close fire．It was hotter than hell out there by the hangar．We could feel the hot air touching the inside of our lungs when we breathed and we found it better if we almost closed our lips and breathed in quickly；it was cooler that way．The sun was upon our shoulders and upon our backs，and all the time the sweat seeped out from our skin，trickled down our necks，over our chests and down our stomachs．It collected just where our belts were tight around the tops of our trousers and it filtered under the tightness of our belts where the wet was very uncomfortable and made prickly heat on the skin．

Our two Hurricanes were standing a few yards away，each with that patient，smug look which fighter planes have when the engine is not turning，and beyond them the thin black strip of the runway sloped down towards the beaches and towards the sea．The black surface of the runway and the white grassy sand on the sides of the runway shimmered and shimmered in the sun．The heat haze hung like a vapour over the aerodrome．

The Stag looked at his watch．

“He ought to be back，”he said．

The two of us were on readiness，sitting there for orders to take off．The Stag moved his feet on the hot ground．

“He ought to be back，”he said．

It was two and a half hours since Fin had gone and he certainly should have come back by now．I looked up into the sky and listened．There was the noise of airmen talking beside the petrol wagon and there was the faint pounding of the sea upon the beaches；but there was no sign of an aeroplane．We sat a little while longer without speaking．

“It looks as though he's had it，”I said．

“Yep，”said the Stag．“It looks like it．”

The Stag got up and put his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts．I got up too．We stood looking northwards into the clear sky，and we shifted our feet on the ground because of the softness of the tar and because of the heat．

“What was the name of that girl？”said the Stag without turning his head．

“Nikki，”I answered．

The Stag sat down again on his wooden box，still with his hands in his pockets and he looked down at the ground between his feet．The Stag was the oldest pilot in the squadron；he was twenty-seven．He had a mass of coarse ginger hair which he never brushed．His face was pale，even after all this time in the sun，and covered with freckles．His mouth was wide and tight closed．He was not tall but his shoulders under his khaki shirt were broad and thick like those of a wrestler．He was a quiet person．

“He'll probably be all right，”he said，looking up．“And anyway，I'd like to meet the Vichy Frenchman who can get Fin．”

We were in Palestine fighting the Vichy French in Syria．We were at Haifa，and three hours before the Stag，Fin and I had gone on readiness．Fin had flown off in response to an urgent call from the Navy，who had phoned up and said that there were two French destroyers moving out of Beyrouth harbour．Please go at once and see where they are going，said the Navy．Just fly up the coast and have a look and come back quickly and tell us where they are going．

So Fin had flown off in his Hurricane．The time had gone by and he had not returned．We knew that there was no longer much hope．If he hadn't been shot down，he would have run out of petrol some time ago．

I looked down and I saw his blue RAF cap which was lying on the ground where he had thrown it as he ran to his aircraft，and I saw the oil stains on top of the cap and the shabby bent peak．It was difficult now to believe that he had gone．He had been in Egypt，in Libya and in Greece．On the aerodrome and in the mess we had had him with us all of the time．He was gay and tall and full of laughter，this Fin，with black hair and a long straight nose which he used to stroke up and down with the tip of his finger．He had a way of listening to you while you were telling a story，leaning back in his chair with his face to the ceiling but with his eyes looking down on the ground，and it was only last night at supper that he had suddenly said，“You know，I wouldn't mind marrying Nikki．I think she's a good girl．”

The Stag was sitting opposite him at the time，eating baked beans．

“You mean just occasionally，”he said．

Nikki was in a cabaret in Haifa．

“No，”said Fin．“Cabaret girls make fine wives．They are never unfaithful．There is no novelty for them in being unfaithful；that would be like going back to the old job．”

The Stag had looked up from his beans．“Don't be such a bloody fool，”he said．“You wouldn't really marry Nikki．”

“Nikki，”said Fin with great seriousness，“comes of a fine family．She is a good girl．She never uses a pillow when she sleeps．Do you know why she never uses a pillow when she sleeps？”

“No．”

The others at the table were listening now．Everyone was listening to Fin talking about Nikki．

“Well，when she was very young she was engaged to be married to an officer in the French Navy．She loved him greatly．Then one day when they were sunbathing together on the beach he happened to mention to her that he never used a pillow when he slept．It was just one of those little things which people say to each other for the sake of conversation．But Nikki never forgot it．From that time onwards she began to practise sleeping without a pillow．One day the French officer was run over by a truck and killed；but although to her it was very uncomfortable，she still went on sleeping without a pillow to preserve the memory of her lover．”

Fin took a mouthful of beans and chewed them slowly．“It is a sad story，”he said．“It shows that she is a good girl．I think I would like to marry her．”

That was what Fin had said last night at supper．Now he was gone and I wondered what little thing Nikki would do in his memory．

The sun was hot on my back and I turned instinctively in order to take the heat upon the other side of my body．As I turned，I saw Carmel and the town of Haifa．I saw the steep pale-green slope of the mountain as it dropped down towards the sea，and below it I saw the town and the bright colours of the houses shining in the sun．The houses with their white-washed walls covered the sides of Carmel and the red roofs of the houses were like a rash on the face of the mountain．

Walking slowly towards us from the grey corrugated iron hangar，came the three men who were the next crew on readiness．They had their yellow Mae Wests slung over their shoulders and they came walking slowly towards us，holding their helmets in their hands as they came．

When they were close，the Stag said，“Fin's had it，”and they said，“Yes，we know．”They sat down on the wooden boxes which we had been using，and immediately the sun was upon their shoulders and upon their backs and they began to sweat．The Stag and I walked away．

The next day was a Sunday and in the morning we flew up the Lebanon valley to ground-strafe an aerodrome called Rayak．We flew past Hermon who had a hat of snow upon his head，and we came down out of the sun on to Rayak and on to the French bombers on the aerodrome and began our strafing．I remember that as we flew past，skimming low over the ground，the doors of the French bombers opened．I remember seeing a whole lot of women in white dresses running out across the aerodrome；I remember particularly their white dresses．

You see，it was a Sunday and the French pilots had asked their ladies out from Beyrouth to look over the bombers．The Vichy pilots had said，come out on Sunday morning and we will show you our aeroplanes．It was a very Vichy French thing for them to do．

So when we started shooting，they all tumbled out and began to run across the aerodrome in their white Sunday dresses．

I remember hearing Monkey's voice over the radio，saying，“Give them a chance，give them a chance，”and the whole squadron wheeled around and circled the aerodrome once while the women ran over the grass in every direction．One of them stumbled and fell twice and one of them was limping and being helped by a man，but we gave them time．I remember watching the small bright flashes of a machine gun on the ground and thinking that they should at least have stopped their shooting while we were waiting for their white-dressed women to get out of the way．

That was the day after Fin had gone．The next day the Stag and I sat once more at readiness on the wooden boxes outside the hangar．Paddy，a big fair-haired boy，had taken Fin's place and was sitting with us．

It was noon．The sun was high and the heat of the sun was like a close fire．The sweat ran down our necks，down inside our shirts，over our chests and stomachs，and we sat there waiting for the time when we would be relieved．The Stag was sewing the strap on to his helmet with a needle and cotton and telling of how he had seen Nikki the night before in Haifa and of how he had told her about Fin．

Suddenly we heard the noise of an aeroplane．The Stag stopped his talking and we all looked up．The noise was coming from the north，and it grew louder and louder as the aeroplane flew closer，and then the Stag said suddenly，“It's a Hurricane．”

The next moment it was circling the aerodrome，lowering its wheels to land．

“Who is it？”said the fair-haired Paddy．“No one's gone out this morning．”

Then，as it glided past us on to the runway，we saw the number on the tail of the machine，H.4427，and we knew that it was Fin．

We were standing up now，watching the machine as it taxied towards us，and when it came up close and swung round for parking we saw Fin in the cockpit．He waved his hand at us，grinned and got out．We ran up and shouted at him，“Where've you been？”“Where in the hell have you been？“Did you force-land and get away again？”“Did you find a woman in Beyrouth？”“Fin，where in the hell have you been？”

Others were coming up and crowding around him now，fitters and riggers and the men who drove the fire tender，and they all waited to hear what Fin would say．He stood there pulling off his helmet，pushing back his black hair with his hand，and he was so astonished at our behaviour that at first he merely looked at us and did not speak．Then he laughed and he said，“What in the hell's the matter？What's the matter with all of you？”

“Where have you been？”we shouted．“Where have you been for two days？”

Upon the face of Fin there was a great and enormous astonishment．He looked quickly at his watch．

“Five past twelve，”he said．“I left at eleven，one hour and five minutes ago．Don't be a lot of damn fools．I must go and report quickly．The Navy will want to know that those destroyers are still in the harbour at Beyrouth．”

He started to walk away；I caught his arm．

“Fin，”I said quietly，“you've been away since the day before yesterday．What's the matter with you？”

He looked at me and laughed．

“I've seen you organize much better jokes than this one，”he said．“It isn't so funny．It isn't a bit funny．”And he walked away．

We stood there，the Stag，Paddy and I，the fitters，the riggers and the men who drove the fire-engine，watching Fin as he walked away．We looked at each other，not knowing what to say or to think，understanding nothing，knowing nothing except that Fin had been serious when he spoke and that what he said he had believed to be true．We knew this because we knew Fin，and we knew it because when one has been together as we had been together，then there is never any doubting of anything that anyone says when he is talking about his flying；there can only be a doubting of one's self．These men were doubting themselves，standing there in the sun doubting themselves，and the Stag was standing by the wing of Fin's machine peeling off with his fingers little flakes of paint which had dried up and cracked in the sun．

Someone said，“Well，I'll be buggered，”and the men turned and started to walk quietly back to their jobs．The next three pilots on readiness came walking slowly towards us from the grey corrugated-iron hangar，walking slowly under the heat of the sun and swinging their helmets in their hands as they came．The Stag，Paddy and I walked over to the pilots' mess to have a drink and lunch．

The mess was a small white wooden building with a verandah．Inside there were two rooms，one a sitting room with armchairs and magazines and a hole in the wall through which you could buy drinks，and the other a dining room with one long wooden table．In the sitting room we found Fin talking to Monkey，our CO．The other pilots were sitting around listening and everybody was drinking beer．We knew that it was really a serious business in spite of the beer and the armchairs；that Monkey was doing what he had to do and doing it in the only way possible．Monkey was a rare man，tall with a handsome face，an Italian bullet wound in his leg and a casual friendly efficiency．He never laughed out loud，he just choked and grunted deep in his throat．

Fin was saying，“You must go easy，Monkey；you must help me to stop thinking that I've gone mad．”

Fin was being serious and sensible，but he was worried as hell．

“I have told you all I know，”he said．“That I took off at eleven o'clock，that I climbed up high，that I flew to Beyrouth，saw the two French destroyers and came back，landing at five past twelve．I swear to you that that is all I know．”

He looked around at us，at the Stag and me，at Paddy and Johnny and the half-dozen other pilots in the room，and we smiled at him and nodded to show him that we were with him，not against him，and that we believed what he said．

Monkey said，“What in the hell am I going to say to Headquarters at Jerusalem？I reported you missing．Now I've got to report your return．They'll insist on knowing where you've been．”

The whole thing was getting to be too much for Fin．He was sitting upright，tapping with the fingers of his left hand on the leather arm of his chair，tapping with quick sharp taps，leaning forward，thinking，thinking，fighting to think，tapping on the arm of the chair and then he began tapping the floor with his foot as well．

The Stag could stand it no longer．

“Monkey，”he said，“Monkey，let's just leave it all for a bit．Let's leave it and perhaps Fin will remember something later on．”

Paddy，who was sitting on the arm of the Stag's chair，said，“Yes，and meanwhile we could tell HQ that Fin had force-landed in a field in Syria，taken two days to repair his aircraft，then flown home．”

Everybody was helping Fin．The pilots were all helping him．In the mind of each of us was the certain knowledge that here was something that concerned us greatly．Fin knew it，although that was all he knew，and the others knew it because one could see it upon their faces．There was a tension，a fine high-drawn tension in the room，because here for the first time was something which was neither bullets nor fire nor the coughing of an engine nor burst tyres nor blood in the cockpit nor yesterday nor today，nor even tomorrow．Monkey felt it too，and he said，“Yes，let's have another drink and leave it for a bit．I'll tell HQ that you force-landed in Syria and managed to get off again later．”

We had some more beer and went in to lunch．Monkey ordered bottles of Palestine white wine with the meal to celebrate Fin's return．

After that no one mentioned the thing at all；we did not even talk about it when Fin wasn't there．But each one of us continued to think about it secretly，knowing for certain that it was something important and that it was not finished．The tension spread quickly through the squadron and it was with all the pilots．

Meanwhile the days went by and the sun shone upon the aerodrome and upon the aircraft and Fin took his place among us flying in the normal way．

Then one day，I think it was about a week later，we did another ground-strafe of Rayak aerodrome．There were six of us，with Monkey leading and Fin flying on his starboard side．We came in low over Rayak and there was plenty of light flak，and as we went in on the first run，Paddy's machine was hit．As we wheeled for the second run we saw his Hurricane wing gently over and dive straight to the ground at the edge of the aerodrome．There was a great billow of white smoke as it hit，then the flames，and as the flames spread the smoke turned from white to black and Paddy was with it．Immediately there was a crackle over the radio and I heard Fin's voice，very excited，shouting into his microphone，shouting，“I've remembered it．Hello，Monkey，I've remembered it all，”and Monkey's calm slow reply，“OK Fin，OK；don't forget it．”

We did our second run and then Monkey led us quickly away，weaving in and out of the valleys，with the bare grey brown hills far above us on either side，and all the way home，all through the half-hour's flight，Fin never stopped shouting over the RT．First he would call to Monkey and say，“Hello，Monkey，I've remembered it，all of it；every bit of it．”Then he would say，“Hello，Stag，I've remembered it，all of it；I can't forget it now．”He called me and he called Johnny and he called Wishful；he called us all separately over and over again，and he was so excited that sometimes he shouted too loudly into his mike and we could not hear what he was saying．

When we landed，we dispersed our aircraft and because Fin for some reason had to park his at the far side of the aerodrome，the rest of us were in the Operations room before him．

The Ops room was beside the hangar．It was a bare place with a large table in the middle of the floor on which there was a map of the area．There was another smaller table with a couple of telephones，a few wooden chairs and benches and at one end the floor was stacked with Mae Wests，parachutes and helmets．We were standing there taking off our flying clothing and throwing it on to the floor at the end of the room when Fin arrived．He came quickly into the doorway and stopped．His black hair was standing up straight and untidy because of the way in which he had pulled off his helmet；his face was shiny with sweat and his khaki shirt was dark and wet．His mouth was open and he was breathing quickly，He looked as though he had been running．He looked like a child who had rushed downstairs into a room full of grown-ups to say that the cat has had kittens in the nursery and who does not know how to begin．

We had all heard him coming because that was what we had been waiting for．Everyone stopped what they were doing and stood still，looking at Fin．

Monkey said，“Hello Fin，”and Fin said，“Monkey，you've got to believe this because it's what happened．”

Monkey was standing over by the table with the telephones；the Stag was near him，square short ginger-haired Stag，standing up straight，holding a Mae West in his hand，looking at Fin．The others were at the far end of the room．When Fin spoke，they began to move up quietly until they were closer to him，until they reached the edge of the big map table which they touched with their hands．There they stood，looking at Fin，waiting for him to begin．

He started at once，talking quickly，then calming down and talking more slowly as he got into his story．He told everything，standing there by the door of the Ops room，with his yellow Mae West still on him and with his helmet and oxygen mask in his hand．The others stayed where they were and listened，and as I listened to him，I forgot that it was Fin speaking and that we were in the Ops room at Haifa；I forgot everything and went with him on his journey，and did not come back until he had finished．

“I was flying at about twenty thousand，”he said．“I flew over Tyre and Sidon and over the Damour River and then I flew inland over the Lebanon hills，because I intended to approach Beyrouth from the east．Suddenly I flew into cloud，thick white cloud which was so thick and dense that I could see nothing except the inside of my cockpit．I couldn't understand it，because a moment before everything had been clear and blue and there had been no cloud anywhere．”

“I started to lose height to get out of the cloud and I went down and down and still I was in it．I knew that I must not go too low because of the hills，but at six thousand the cloud was still around me．It was so thick that I could see nothing，not even the nose of my machine nor the wings，and the cloud condensed on the windshield and little rivers of water ran down the glass and got blown away by the slipstream．I have never seen cloud like that before．It was thick and white right up to the edges of the cockpit．I felt like a man on a magic carpet，sitting there alone in this little glass-topped cockpit，with no wings，no tail，no engine and no aeroplane．”

“I knew that I must get out of this cloud，so I turned and flew west over the sea away from the mountains；then I came down low by my altimeter．I came down to five hundred feet，four hundred，three hundred，two hundred，one hundred，and the cloud was still around me．For a moment I paused．I knew that it was unsafe to go lower．Then，quite suddenly，like a gust of wind，came the feeling that there was nothing below me；no sea nor earth nor anything else and slowly，deliberately，I opened the throttle，pushed the stick hard forward and dived．”

“I did not watch the altimeter；I looked straight ahead through the windshield at the whiteness of the cloud and I went on diving．I sat there pressing the stick forward，keeping her in the dive，watching the vast clinging whiteness of the cloud and I never once wondered where I was going．I just went．”

“I do not know how long I sat there；it may have been minutes and it may have been hours；I know only that as I sat there and kept her diving，I was certain that what was below me was neither mountains nor rivers nor earth nor sea and I was not afraid．”

“Then I was blinded．It was like being half asleep in bed when someone turns on the light．”

“I came out of the cloud so suddenly and so quickly that I was blinded．There was no space of time between being in it and being out of it．One moment I was in it and the whiteness was thick around me and in that same moment I was out of it and the light was so bright that I was blinded．I screwed up my eyes and held them tight closed for several seconds．”

“When I opened them everything was blue，more blue than anything that I had ever seen．It was not a dark blue，nor was it a bright blue；it was a blue blue，a pure shining colour which I had never seen before and which I cannot describe．I looked around．I looked up above me and behind me．I sat up and peered below me through the glass of the cockpit and everywhere it was blue．It was bright and clear，like pleasant sunlight，but there was no sun．”

“Then I saw them．”

“Far ahead and above I saw a long thin line of aircraft flying across the sky．They were moving forward in a single black line，all at the same speed，all in the same direction，all close up，following one behind the other，and the line stretched across the sky as far as the eye could see．It was the way they moved ahead，the urgent way in which they pressed forward forward forward like ships sailing before a great wind，it was from this that I knew everything．I do not know why or how I knew it，but I knew as I looked at them that these were the pilots and air crews who had been killed in battle，who now，in their own aircraft were making their last flight，their last journey．”

“As I flew higher and closer I could recognize the machines themselves．I saw in that long procession nearly every type there was．I saw Lancasters and Dorniers，Halifaxes and Hurricanes，Messerschmitts，Spitfires，Stirlings，Savoia 79s，Junker 88s，Gladiators，Hampdens，Macchi 200s，Blenheims，Focke Wulfs，Beaufighters，Swordfish and Heinkels．All these and many more I saw，and the moving line reached across the blue sky both to the one side and to the other until it faded from sight．”

“I was close to them now and I began to sense that I was being sucked towards them regardless of what I wished to do．There was a wind which took hold of my machine，blew it over and tossed it about like a leaf and I was pulled and sucked as by a giant vortex towards the other aeroplanes．There was nothing I could do for I was in the vortex and in the arms of the wind．This all happened very quickly，but I remember it clearly．I felt the pull of my aircraft becoming stronger；I was whisked forward faster and faster，and then suddenly I was flying in the procession itself，moving forward with the others，at the same speed and on the same course．Ahead of me，close enough for me to see the colour of the paint on its wings，was a Swordfish，an old Fleet Air Arm Swordfish．I could see the heads and helmets of the observer and the pilot as they sat in their cockpits，the one behind the other．Ahead of the Swordfish there was a Dornier，a Flying Pencil，and beyond the Dornier there were others which I could not recognize from where I was．”

“We flew on and on．I could not have turned and flown away even if I had wanted to．I do not know why，although it may have been something to do with the vortex and with the wind，but I knew that it was so．Moreover，I was not really flying my aircraft；it flew itself．There was no manoeuvring to reckon with，no speed，no height，no throttle，no stick，no nothing．Once I glanced down at my instruments and saw that they were all dead，just as they are when the machine is sitting on the ground．”

“So we flew on．I had no idea how fast we went．There was no sensation of speed and for all I know，it was a million miles an hour．Now I come to think of it，I never once during that time felt either hot or cold or hungry or thirsty；I felt none of those things．I felt no fear，because I knew nothing of which to be afraid．I felt no worry，because I could remember nothing or think of nothing about which to be worried．I felt no desire to do anything that I was not doing or to have anything that I did not have，because there was nothing that I wished to do and there was nothing that I wished to have．I felt only pleasure at being where I was，at seeing the wonderful light and the beautiful colour around me．Once I caught sight of my face in the cockpit mirror and I saw that I was smiling，smiling with my eyes and with my mouth，and when I looked away I knew that I was still smiling，simply because that was the way I felt．Once，the observer in the Swordfish ahead of me turned and waved his hand．I slid back the roof of my cockpit and waved back．I remember that even when I opened the cockpit，there was no rush of air and no rush of cold or heat，nor was there any pressure of the slipstream on my hand．Then I noticed that they were all waving at each other，like children on a roller-coaster and I turned and waved at the man in the Macchi behind me．”

“But there was something happening along the line．Far up in front I could see that the aeroplanes had changed course，were wheeling around to the left and losing height．The whole procession，as it reached a certain point，was banking around and gliding downwards in a wide，sweeping circle．Instinctively I glanced down over the cockpit，and there I saw spread out below me a vast green plain．It was green and smooth and beautiful；it reached to the far edges of the horizon where the blue of the sky came down and merged with the green of the plain．”

“And there was the light．Over to the left，far away in the distance was a bright white light，shining bright and without any colour．It was as though the sun，but something far bigger than the sun，something without shape or form whose light was bright but not blinding，was lying on the far edge of the green plain．The light spread outwards from a centre of brilliance and it spread far up into the sky and far out over the plain．When I saw it，I could not at first look away from it．I had no desire to go towards it，into it，and almost at once the desire and the longing became so intense that several times I tried to pull my aircraft out of the line and fly straight towards it；but it was not possible and I had to fly with the rest．”

“As they banked around and lost height I went with them，and we began to glide down towards the green plain below．Now that I was closer，I could see the great mass of aircraft upon the plain itself．They were everywhere，scattered over the ground like currants upon a green carpet．There were hundreds and hundreds of them，and each minute，each second almost，their numbers grew as those in front of me landed and taxied to a standstill．”

“Quickly we lost height．Soon I saw that the ones just in front of me were lowering their wheels and preparing to land．The Dornier next but one to me levelled off and touched down．Then the old Swordfish．The pilot turned a little to the left out of the way of the Dornier and landed beside him．I turned to the left of the Swordfish and levelled off．I looked out of the cockpit at the ground，judging the height，and I saw the green of the ground blurred as it rushed past me and below me．”

“I waited for my aircraft to sink and to touch down．It seemed to take a long time．‘Come on，’ I said．‘Come on，come on．’ I was only about six feet up，but she would not sink．‘Get down，’ I shouted，‘please get down．’ I began to panic．I became frightened．Suddenly I noticed that I was gaining speed．I cut all the switches but it made no difference．The aircraft was gathering speed，going faster and faster，and I looked around and saw behind me the long procession of aircraft dropping down out of the sky and sweeping in to land．I saw the mass of machines upon the ground，scattered far across the plain and away on one side I saw the light，that shining white light which shone so brightly over the great plain and to which I longed to go．I know that had I been able to land，I would have started to run towards that light the moment I got out of my aircraft．”

“And now I was flying away from it．My fear grew．As I flew faster and farther away，the fear took hold of me until soon I was fighting crazy mad，pulling at the stick，wrestling with the aeroplane，trying to turn it around，back towards the light．When I saw that it was impossible，I tried to kill myself．I really wanted to kill myself then．I tried to dive the aircraft into the ground，but it flew on straight．I tried to jump out of the cockpit，but there was a hand upon my shoulder which held me down．I tried to bang my head against the sides of the cockpit，but it made no difference and I sat there fighting with my machine and with everything until suddenly I noticed that I was in cloud．I was in the same thick white cloud as before；and I seemed to be climbing．I looked behind me，but the cloud had closed in all round．There was nothing now but this vast impenetrable whiteness．I began to feel sick and giddy．I did not care any longer what happened one way or the other，I just sat there limply，letting the machine fly on by itself．”

“It seemed a long time and I am sure that I sat there for many hours．I must have gone to sleep．As I slept，I dreamed．I dreamed not of the things that I had just seen，but of the things of my ordinary life，of the squadron，of Nikki and of the aerodrome here at Haifa．I dreamed that I was sitting at readiness outside the hangar with two others，that a request came from the Navy for someone to do a quick recce over Beyrouth；and because I was first up，I jumped into my Hurricane and went off．I dreamed that I passed over Tyre and Sidon and over the Damour River，climbing up to twenty thousand as I went．Then I turned inland over the Lebanon hills，swung around and approached Beyrouth from the east．I was above the town，peering over the side of the cockpit，looking for the harbour and trying to find the two French destroyers．Soon I saw them，saw them clearly，tied up close alongside each other by the wharf，and I banked around and dived for home as fast as I could．”

“The Navy's wrong，I thought to myself as I flew back．The destroyers are still in the harbour．I looked at my watch．An hour and a half．‘I've been quick，’ I said．‘They'll be pleased．’ I tried to call up on the radio to give the information，but I couldn't get through．”

“Then I came back here．When I landed，you all crowded around me and asked me where I had been for two days，but I could remember nothing．I did not remember anything except the flight to Beyrouth until just now，when I saw Paddy being shot down．As his machine hit the ground，I found myself saying，‘You lucky bastard．You lucky，lucky bastard，’ and as I said it，I knew why I was saying it and remembered everything．That was when I shouted to you over the radio．That was when I remembered．”

Fin had finished．No one had moved or said anything all the time that he had been talking．Now it was only Monkey who spoke．He shuffled his feet on the floor，turned and looked out of the window and said quietly，almost in a whisper，“Well，I'll be damned，”and the rest of us went slowly back to the business of taking off our flying clothing and stacking it in the corner of the room on the floor；all except the Stag，square short Stag，who stood there watching Fin as Fin walked slowly across the room to put away his clothing．

After Fin's story，the squadron returned to normal．The tension which had been with us for over a week，disappeared．The aerodrome was a happier place in which to be．But no one ever mentioned Fin's journey．We never once spoke about it together，not even when we got drunk in the evening at the Excelsior in Haifa．

The Syrian campaign was coming to an end．Everyone could see that it must finish soon，although the Vichy people were still fighting fiercely south of Beyrouth．We were still flying．We were flying a great deal over the fleet，which was bombarding the coast，for we had the job of protecting them from the Junker 88s which came over from Rhodes．It was on the last one of these flights over the fleet that Fin was killed．

We were flying high above the ships when the Ju-88s came over in force and there was a battle．We had only six Hurricanes in the air；there were many of the Junkers and it was a good fight．I do not remember much about what went on at the time．One never does．But I remember that it was a hectic，chasing fight，with the Junkers diving for the ships，with the ships barking at them，throwing up everything into the air so that the sky was full of white flowers which blossomed quickly and grew and blew away with the wind．I remember the German who blew up in mid-air，quickly，with just a white flash，so that where the bomber had been，there was nothing left except tiny little pieces falling slowly downwards．I remember the one that had its rear turret shot away，which flew along with the gunner hanging out of the tail by his straps，struggling to get back into the machine．I remember one，a brave one who stayed up above to fight us while the others went down to dive-bomb．I remember that we shot him up and I remember seeing him turn slowly over on to his back，pale green belly upwards like a dead fish，before finally he spun down．

And I remember Fin．

I was close to him when his aircraft caught fire．I could see the flames coming out of the nose of his machine and dancing over the engine cowling．There was black smoke coming from the exhaust of his Hurricane．

I flew up close and I called to him over the RT．“Hello，Fin，”I called，“you'd better jump．”

His voice came back，calm and slow．“It's not so easy．”

“Jump，”I shouted，“jump quickly．”

I could see him sitting there under the glass roof of the cockpit．He looked towards me and shook his head．

“It's not so easy，”he answered．“I'm a bit shot up．My arms are shot up and I can't undo the straps．”

“Get out，”I shouted．“For God's sake，get out，”but he did not answer．For a moment his aircraft flew on，straight and level，then gently，like a dying eagle，it dipped a wing and dived towards the sea．I watched it as it went；I watched the thin trail of black smoke which it made across the sky，and as I watched，Fin's voice came again over the radio，clear and slow．“I'm a lucky bastard，”he was saying．“A lucky，lucky bastard．”

三、翻译探索

本篇小说的翻译中，主要问题是一些涉及飞行的用语及表达的处理，要力求准确。另外，为贴近目标语——汉语的读者，使他们获得直观的感受，一些英制的飞行速度和高度单位，在翻译中统一转化为公制的单位。这样的处理，几乎贯穿于本书的始终，算是翻译上的一个“归化”探索吧。

不应老去

我们两个人坐在机库外面的木头箱子上。

时值正午，艳阳高照，热浪如同火堆在眼前燃烧。外面靠近机库的地方热浪炙烤得更厉害，比地狱还热。呼吸的时候，我们可以感觉到热空气钻到了肺部。我们发现，要是双唇处于近乎紧闭状态，快速呼吸，会更好些，那样也会感觉更凉爽一些。阳光晒在我们的双肩和后背，汗水没有停歇过，始终从皮肤里往外渗，渗出后就沿着脖子流淌，淌过胸部，流向腹部，聚集到腰带将裤子紧紧勒住的地方，然后在勒紧的地方慢慢往下渗透，弄得腰带下面的部位湿漉漉的，很不舒服，那里的皮肤也起了疹子。

我们那两架“飓风”战机立在几米远的地方，看起来都有一副又耐心而又得意的样子——只要引擎不旋转，战斗机都是这种模样。在比两架飞机远的地方，细窄的跑道如同黑色的带子直指大海，向海滩延伸过去。跑道黑幽幽的表面，还有跑道两边似绿草般起伏不平的白色沙浪，在太阳的照耀下，一闪一闪地发着微光。热浪形成的薄雾就像一层水蒸气，在机场上空悬浮着。

斯塔格看了眼手表。

“他应该回来了。”他说。

我们两个处于待命状态，坐在那儿等待指令，随时起飞。斯塔格在炙热的地面上蹭了蹭双脚。

“他应该回来了。”他说。

芬恩飞走已经两个半小时了，现在也应该回来了。我抬头往天空中观望，听着动静，能够听到加油车旁边空军士兵交谈的声音，还能听见海浪冲击海岸发出的微弱声音，但是，就是听不到飞机飞来的声响。我们彼此没有交谈，又稍微多坐了一会。

“看来，他似乎是遭遇不幸了。”我说。

“嗯，”斯塔格说。“看来像啊。”

斯塔格站起身，双手插进卡其布短裤的裤兜里，我也随即站了起来。我们两个站立着，眼睛看向北部清澈的天空，不时地在地面上交换着双脚的位置，因为柏油路面被炎热的阳光烤得软软的。

“那个女孩子叫什么来着？”斯塔格头也没回地问道。

“尼基，”我回答。

斯塔格又坐到了他方才坐的木箱上，低头看着两脚之间的地面，但双手并没有从裤兜里拿出来。整个飞行中队里，斯塔格年纪最大，已经二十七了。他满脑袋都是乱蓬蓬的姜黄色头发，从未梳过。即使在阳光底下晒了这么久，他脸也是苍白的，上面雀斑点点。他宽宽的嘴巴紧紧闭着。他个头不算高，但是，卡其布衬衫下的双肩却很宽阔，就像摔跤运动员的双肩。他这个人少言寡语、不善言谈。

“或许，他会平安无事的，”他抬起头说道。“不管是什么样的结果，我很想会一会胆敢惹芬恩的维希法国傀儡政府军的那个家伙。”

当时，我们在巴勒斯坦与盘踞在叙利亚的维希法国傀儡政府军交战。在以色列的海法港，我和芬恩先于斯塔格三个小时就进入了备战状态。为响应海军部发来的一个紧急呼叫，芬恩就先起飞升空。当时，海军部打来电话，说有两艘法国驱逐舰驶出了贝鲁特港，要求立即起飞察看其动向，还要求只需飞到海岸线上空察看一下，快速返回，告知其去向就可以了。

因此，芬恩就驾驶着他的那架飓风升空。时间过去很久了，但他还没有返回。我们知道，不会再有什么希望了。就算他未被击落，在这之前，燃油也该耗尽了。

我低头看去，看见了芬恩那顶皇家空军军帽，军帽是在他奔向战机时扔到地面上的。我还看见帽子上的油迹，还有那上面拱起的破旧帽舌。现在，很难相信他已经离去。在埃及、利比亚、希腊，他都奋战过。不管是在飞机场，还是在军队食堂，我们跟他始终形影不离。这个叫芬恩的伙计，一头黑发，个子高高，很是快活，总是笑声不断。他长了个又长又直的鼻子，经常用手指尖轻轻地、上下摸弄着鼻子。你一讲故事，他就摆出一副听你讲话的姿态：身体在椅子上向后一靠，脸向上冲着天花板，双眼却向下看着地面。就在昨晚吃饭的时候，他突然说道：“听着，娶尼基我不介意的。我想，她是个好姑娘。”

当时，斯塔格坐在他对面，吃着炒豆。

“你是不是想说，那只是你一时的想法吧，”斯塔格说。

当时，尼基在海法的一个场所表演卡巴莱歌舞。

“不，”芬恩说。“表演卡巴莱歌舞的女孩子都是好妻子的料，永远都会忠心耿耿。对她们来说，朝三暮四没有任何新鲜感可言，就等于枯燥地重操旧业。”

斯塔格吃着炒豆的同时，抬起了头。“不要傻了吧唧的啦，”他说。“你不会真娶尼基吧。”

“尼基，”芬恩极其严肃地说，“出身名门，是大家闺秀，睡觉从来不枕枕头。你知道为什么吗？”

“不知道。”

现在，桌旁边的其他人也来了兴致，大家都听着芬恩讲尼基的事儿。

“嗯，这样的。年轻时，她订婚了，要嫁给一名法国海军军官。她非常爱他。有一天，他俩在海滩上一起晒太阳，他凑巧跟她说，说他睡觉时从来不枕枕头。那样的话语，只是人们出于交谈的目的随便说说的一件小小的事情，但是，尼基却铭记在心。从那时起，她就练习不枕枕头睡觉。有一天，这名法国军官被一辆卡车碾到底下，丢掉了性命。可是，不管多么不舒服，她睡觉时仍然不枕枕头，以保留对自己心爱之人的一份记忆。”

芬恩将嘴塞满炒豆，慢慢地嚼了起来。“这个故事很伤感，”他说，“但却表明，她是个好女孩。我想，我愿意娶她为妻。”

这些话是芬恩昨天吃晚饭的时候说的。现在，他已经离开了，于是，我就寻思：尼基会做出什么样的小事情来记住他呢。

太阳灼烧着我的后背，我本能地转身，好将热量转移到身体的另一侧。转身时，我看到了卡尔迈勒山以及海法镇。卡尔迈勒山陡峭的淡绿色山坡伸向大海的怀抱，山下就是海法镇，镇上的房屋色彩鲜艳，在太阳的照耀下，闪闪发光。这些房屋粉刷的墙壁遮住了卡尔迈勒山的山坡，红色的屋顶就像卡尔迈勒山的脸上起的疹子。

下一批要进入待命状态的三名飞行员已经走出机库，慢慢地向我们这边走来。机库是用灰色波状铁搭建起来的。这三名飞行员肩上搭着救生背心，手里拎着头盔，慢悠悠地朝我们这边走来。

等到他们走近后，斯塔格说：“芬恩遇难了。”他们听后也都说：“是的，我们知道了。”说完，他们就在我们一直坐着的木头箱子上坐下。几乎与此同时，太阳照到了他们的肩膀和后背，汗水也就开始流淌开来。我和斯塔格走开了。

第二天是星期天。早晨，我们飞到黎巴嫩山谷上空对那里的一座叫“瑞亚克”的机场进行低空扫射。我们先飞过赫尔蒙山，山顶覆盖着积雪。接着，我们从阳光里向瑞亚克机场俯冲下去，飞到机场上法国轰炸机的上方就开始扫射。我记得，我们低空掠过地面的时候，法国轰炸机的机门打开了，我看见一大帮穿着白色衣服的妇女从里面跑出来，穿过机场。我记得特别清楚的就是她们所穿的白色衣服。

你瞧，当时是星期天，维希法国傀儡政府军的飞行员们邀请他们的妻子从贝鲁特港赶来，参观他们的轰炸机。这些飞行员说，星期天早晨过来吧，我们带你们看看我们的飞机。这是维希法国傀儡政府军当时很典型的做法。

所以嘛，我们射击时，她们身着周日盛装，跌跌撞撞跑了出来，穿越机场四处奔散。我记得，当时无线电里传来蒙凯的声音：“给她们留条活路，给她们留条活路。”于是，整个中队调转机头，又一次盘旋到机场上空，好让这些妇女越过草地，四下跑开。其中一个女子绊了脚，两次跌倒。另一个则一瘸一拐的，一名男子前来搀扶。不管怎样，我们给她们留出了时间。我记得，当时看见地面一挺机关枪喷射出一阵阵细小、明亮的火焰，我就想，他们至少应该歇一会儿，毕竟我们是在给那些女人机会，他们的那些穿着白衣服的女人，等待她们四下散开啊。

那是芬恩离开后第二天的事情了。紧接着的一天，我和斯塔格再次坐到机库外的木箱子上待命。取代芬恩的是一个大块头的金发男子，名字叫帕迪，也跟我们坐在那儿待命。

时值正午，艳阳高照，热浪如同火堆在眼前燃烧。汗水顺着脖子流淌，淌进了衬衫，流到胸部和腹部。我们坐在那儿等待着，等着换班时间的到来。斯塔格正用针和棉线往头盔上缝带子，边缝边讲头天晚上在海法看到尼基的事情，他也跟尼基讲了芬恩的事情。

突然之间，我们听到了飞机的噪声，斯塔格不再说话，我们也都抬头看去。噪声是从北面传来的，随着飞机飞得越来越近，噪声也越来越大。接着，斯塔格说：“是架飓风啊。”

紧接着，这架飞机盘旋于机场上空，放低轮子着陆了。

“谁呢？”帕迪问道。“今天早晨没人起飞啊。”

飞机从我们身旁滑过、冲向跑道时，我们看清了机尾部的编号：H.4427。我们知道，那是芬恩的飞机。

现在，我们大家都站了起来，看着这架飞机慢慢地向我们这边滑行。等到飞机滑到近前、掉头停靠的时候，我们却看到芬恩坐在驾驶舱里面，只见他的一只手冲我们挥舞，露出牙齿微笑着出了舱。我们跑到他跟前，冲着他大喊：“你去哪儿了？”“你究竟去哪儿了？”“是否迫降后又逃生了？”“你在贝鲁特港找女人了吗？”“芬恩，你到底去哪里了？”

现在，其他人也都跑了上来——有些是安装工，有些是装配工，还有些是开辅助救火车的——都拥挤到他的周围，等着听他会怎么说。只见芬恩站在那儿，脱掉头盔，用手将头发往后一拢。看到我们的一举一动后，他感到十分吃惊，以至于刚开始的时候，他只是看着我们，说不出话来。接下来，他大笑起来，问道：“到底出了什么事儿了？你们大家这都是怎么了啊？”

“你去哪儿了？”我们大家喊道。“这两天，你去哪儿了？”

听到这话，芬恩的脸上露出了极其吃惊的表情，而且吃惊得不得了。他快速看了看手表。

“现在是十二点过五分，”他说。“我是十一点离开的，也就是一小时零五分钟以前离开的。你们大家伙不要像傻帽似的啊。我必须立刻去报告了。那几艘驱逐舰仍然停靠在贝鲁特港，这个消息海军部需要。”

说完，他就要走开，我一把拉住他的胳膊。

“芬恩，”我悄悄地说，“从前天起，你就不在了。出什么事儿了？”

他看了看我，大笑起来。

“你以前开的那些玩笑都比这个高明多了，”他说。“这个玩笑可不那么好笑啊，一点也不好笑。”说完，他走开了。

我们大家——我、斯塔格、帕迪、安装工、装配工，还有开辅助救火车的——都站在那儿，眼巴巴看着芬恩走远。然后，我们大家你看看我，我看看你，不知道该说什么，也不知道该怎么去想。我们大家什么都搞不清楚，也一无所知。我们只知道，芬恩的话不是在开玩笑，而且芬恩相信自己说的话没有半点虚假。对此，我们很清楚，因为我们了解芬恩。对此，我们很清楚，因为像我们这样一些总在一起混的人，要是有谁谈起飞行方面的事情，没有谁会持任何怀疑态度的。要是有所怀疑的话，那么，只能是自己怀疑自己了。站在阳光下的那些人就是在怀疑他们自己，怀疑他们自己的耳朵，斯塔格就是其中之一。只见他站在芬恩开的那架飞机的机翼旁边，用手指将上面的油漆一小片、一小片往下剥落。油漆干透了，在阳光的曝晒下，裂开了一道道纹路。

有人说：“哇噻，真是天方夜谭。”于是，大家转身散开，悄无声息地回去工作了。下一批待命的三名飞行员已经走出机库，慢慢地向我们这边走来。机库是用灰色波状铁搭建起来的。他们三个顶着炎炎烈日，手里拎着头盔，慢悠悠地朝我们这边走来接替我们。于是，我、斯塔格以及帕迪就走进飞行员食堂，先喝点东西，再吃午饭。

食堂是一座白色的、木结构的小小建筑，外面带一个阳台。再往里走，有两间屋子：一间是客厅，里面摆放些扶手椅，还陈列了几本杂志，墙上开了一个口，可以通过这个口买喝的；另一间是餐厅，里面摆了张长长的木桌子。在客厅，我们看见了芬恩，正在跟我们的指挥官蒙凯说话，其他几名飞行员则坐在周围听着。大家喝的都是啤酒。我们清楚，尽管大家都坐在扶手椅上喝着啤酒，可是，这件事情却非同小可，绝非儿戏。我们也清楚，蒙凯是在行使职权、尽职尽责、别无他法。蒙凯是个非凡之人，他个子高高的，长了一张俊朗的脸，人很随和、友好，办事效率高。意大利兵的一颗子弹伤了他的一条腿。他从不出声大笑，笑声就在嗓子眼噎住，然后沉闷地发出来。

芬恩说：“蒙凯，你一定要放轻松些，你一定得帮帮我，不要让我认为我自己是一个疯子。”

芬恩当时很认真、很审慎，但同时也很焦虑。

“我知道的一切，都告诉你了，”他说。“我是十一点起飞的，然后爬升，飞到贝鲁特港，看见了那两艘法国驱逐舰后，就返回。着陆时间是十二点零五分。我向你发誓，我就知道这么多。”

他向四周看了看，看了看我们每一个人：看了看我，看了看斯塔格，看了看帕迪，看了看约翰尼，还看了看屋子里另外六名飞行员。我们大家冲着他微笑着、点着头，那意思是向他表明：我们跟他站在一起，并无二心，相信他说的话。

蒙凯说：“我到底该向耶路撒冷的总部说些什么呢？我当时报告说你失踪了，现在却要报告说你回来了。总部那边一定会调查，你到底去了哪里。”

芬恩快要受不住了。只见他笔直坐着，左手手指不断敲着椅子的皮革扶手，敲的速度很快，发出尖锐的声音。同时，身体前倾，脑子里在思来想去、思前想后，边想边用手指敲着椅子的扶手，一只脚也跟着一起敲打着地板。这时，斯塔格受不了了。

“蒙凯，”斯塔格说，“我说蒙凯，我们就把这事儿先放放。先放放，或许芬恩过后会记起点什么来的。”

一直坐在斯塔格椅子扶手上的帕迪也附和道：“是啊，至于总部那边，我们可以这样说，就说芬恩迫降到叙利亚的一片田野里，花了两天时间修好了飞机，然后才返回。”

大家都帮着芬恩说话，所有飞行员都帮着芬恩说话。我们每个人心中都有某个想法，认为这事与我们关系极大。芬恩了解这一点，尽管他能说出的就那么多。其他人也清楚这一点，因为这一点从他们的脸上看得出来。顿时，屋子里生出一种紧张的气氛，而这种气氛也令人越来越紧张，因为这里发生的事情与子弹无关，与战火无关，与引擎发出的噪声无关，与轮胎爆裂无关，与驾驶舱里的流血无关，与昨天无关，与今天无关，甚至与明天也无关——这样的事情还是第一次发生。蒙凯也感觉到这一点了，于是，他说：“好吧，我们再喝一杯，暂时把这事儿放放。我会对总部说，你在叙利亚紧急迫降，后来又设法化险为夷。”