悉达多讲的什么 名著精读:《悉达多》-唵(2)

名著精读:《悉达多》-唵(2)  

And one day
when the wound burned violently
Siddhartha ferried across the river
driven by a yearning
got off the boat and was willing to go to the city and to look for his son. The river flowed softly and quietly
it was the dry season
but its voice sounded strange: it laughed! It laughed clearly. The river laughed
it laughed brightly and clearly at the old ferryman. Siddhartha stopped
he bent over the water
in order to hear even better
and he saw his face reflected in the quietly moving waters
and in this reflected face there was something
which reminded him
something he had fotten
and as he thought about it
he found it: this face resembled another face
which he used to know and love and also fear. It resembled his father's face
the Brahman. And he remembered how he
a long time ago
as a young man
had forced his father to let him go to the penitents
how he had bed his farewell to him
how he had gone and had never e back. Had his father not also suffered the same pain for him
whichhe now suffered for his son? Had his father not long since died
alone
without having seen his son again? Did he not have to expect the same fate for himself? Was it not a edy
a strange and stupid matter
this repetition
this running around in a fateful circle?
The river laughed. Yes
so it was
everything came back
which had not been suffered and solved up to its end
the same pain was suffered over and over again. But Siddhartha want back into the boat and ferried back to the hut
thinking of his father
thinking of his son
laughed at by the river
at odds with himself
tending towards despair
and not less tending towards laughing along at himself and the entire world.
Alas
the wound was not blossoming yet
his heart was still fighting his fate
cheerfulness and victory were not yet shining from his suffering. Nevertheless
he felt hope
and once he had returned to the hut
he felt an undefeatable desire to open up to Vasudeva
to show him everything
the master of listening
to say everything.
Vasudeva was sitting in the hut and weaving a basket. He no longer used the ferry-boat
his eyes were starting to get weak
and not just his eyes; his arms and hands as well. Unchanged and flourishing was only the joy and the cheerful benevolence of his face.
Siddhartha sat down next to the old man
slowly he started talking. What they had never talked about
he now told him of
of his walk to the city
at that time
of the burning wound
of his envy at the sight of happy fathers
of his knowledge of the foolishness of such wishes
of his futile fight against them. He reported everything
he was able to say everything
even the most embarrassing parts
everything could be said
everything shown
everything he could tell. He presented his wound
also told how he fled today
how he ferried across the water
a childish run-away
willing to walk to the city
how the river had laughed.
While he spoke
spoke for a long time
while Vasudeva was listening with a quiet face
Vasudeva's listening gave Siddhartha a stronger sensation than ever before
he sensed how his pain
his fears flowed over to him
how his secret hope flowed over
came back at him from his counterpart. To show his wound to this listener was the same as bathing it in the river
until it had cooled and bee one with the river. While he was still speaking
still admitting and confessing
Siddhartha felt more and more that this was no longer Vasudeva
no longer a human being
who was listening to him
that this motionless listener was absorbing his confession into himself like a tree the rain
that this motionless man was the river itself
that he was God himself
that he was the eternal itself. And while Siddhartha stopped thinking of himself and his wound
this realisation of Vasudeva's changed character took possession of him
and the more he felt it and entered into it
the less wondrous it became
the more he realised that everything was in order and natural
that Vasudeva had already been like this for a long time
almost forever
that only he had not quite recognised it
yes
that he himself had almost reached the same state. He felt
that he was now seeing old Vasudeva as the people see the gods
and that this could not last; in his heart
he started bidding his farewell to Vasudeva. Thorough all this
he talked incessantly.
When he had finished talking
Vasudeva turned his friendly eyes
which had grown slightly weak
at him
said nothing
let his silent love and cheerfulness
understanding and knowledge
shine at him. He took Siddhartha's hand
led him to the seat by the bank
sat down with him
smiled at the river.
啊，伤口还没有开花，他的心还在同命运抗争，他的痛苦还没有放射出喜悦和胜利的光芒。可是他感觉到了希望，他回到茅屋后感觉到了一种不可抑制的愿望，要向瓦苏代瓦敞开心扉，向他坦述一切，向这位倾听的大师诉说一切。
瓦苏代瓦正坐在茅屋里编一个篮子。他已经不再撑船了，因为他的视力已开始衰退，不仅他的眼睛，他的胳臂和手也不行了。只有他脸上的欢乐和开朗的善意没有改变，依然神采奕奕。
席特哈尔塔坐在老人身边，开始慢慢地讲述。他现在讲的是过去从来没讲过的事，讲他当年进城之行，讲那灼痛的伤口，讲他见到别的幸福父亲时的嫉妒，讲他知道这种愿望的愚蠢，讲他进行的徒劳无益的斗争。他什么都讲，什么都肯讲，哪怕是最最难这情的事，他什么都说，什么都可以暴露，什么都可以讲出来。他展示自己的伤口，也讲了今天想逃走的事，讲他如何渡过河去，他这个幼稚可笑的逃跑者，打算去城里，以及河水如何嘲笑他。
他讲啊讲，讲了很久，瓦苏代瓦脸色平静地倾听着。席特哈尔塔觉得瓦苏代瓦此刻的倾听比他以往感到的更强有力，他感觉到了自己的痛苦、自己的忧虑如何传过去，他的隐密的希望如何传过去，再从老人那边传回来。向这位倾听者展示自己的伤口，就像他们在河里洗澡一样，一直洗到浑身都凉快了，与河水融为一体。席特哈尔塔一直在讲述，滔滔不绝地坦白和忏悔，他越来越感到听他讲的不再是瓦苏代瓦，不再是一个人，这个一动不动的倾听者吸取了他的忏悔，就像是一棵树吸足了雨水，这个一动不动的人就是河水，就是神，就是永恒。当席特哈尔塔不再想自己以及自己的伤口时，这种认为瓦苏代瓦已改变了本质的认识支配了他，他越是感受到这点，越是深入探究，就越是不奇怪，越是认识到，一切都很正常和自然，瓦苏代瓦早就是这样，几乎一直是这样，只不过他自己没有完全认识到而已。是的，他自己也几乎没有什么不同。他觉得，他现在这样看待老瓦苏代瓦，就像凡人看待神，这是不会长久的；他已开始开始在心里向瓦苏代瓦告别。而与此同时，他仍然在一直不停地讲述着。
他讲完之后，瓦苏代瓦便用他那亲切的、有些昏花的目光望着他，不说话，只是默默地向他传送着爱与快乐，传送着理解与体谅。他拉起席特哈尔塔的手，带着他来到河边的老地方，和他一起坐下来，笑着面向河水。