By+Orhan+Pamuk

故事發(fā)生在1975年春天的伊斯坦布爾。已有婚約的30歲富家公子凱末爾（Kemal）意外遇到出身貧寒的遠(yuǎn)房表妹——18歲的清純少女芙頌（Füsun），并迅速墜入愛(ài)河。在一個(gè)半月熾熱的愛(ài)戀過(guò)后，凱末爾與未婚妻茜貝爾（Sibel）解除了婚約，卻發(fā)現(xiàn)芙頌消失于人間。凱末爾無(wú)法接受這一事實(shí)，開(kāi)始深入伊斯坦布爾的后街陋巷追隨芙頌的影子和幽靈。為了平復(fù)愛(ài)的痛苦，他悉心收集起心上人的一切，她愛(ài)過(guò)的，甚至是她觸碰過(guò)的一切，并將它們珍藏于自己的“純真博物館”。

《純真博物館》是土耳其著名作家?jiàn)W爾罕·帕穆克“最柔情的小說(shuō)”，讀者也可以追隨書(shū)中的凱末爾，走入土耳其的街頭巷尾，目睹20世紀(jì)70年代后期到本世紀(jì)初土耳其社會(huì)傳統(tǒng)與現(xiàn)代之間錯(cuò)綜復(fù)雜的關(guān)系，體會(huì)主人公痛失所愛(ài)后的無(wú)法自拔與感動(dòng)。

I had not said， This trip to Paris is not on business， Mother. For if shed asked my reason， I could not have offered her a proper answer， having concealed the purpose even from myself. As I left for the airport， I considered my journey in some sense the atonement（贖罪）I had obsessively（著魔似地）sought for my sins， among them， my having failed to notice Füsuns（芙頌，故事中的女主人公）earring.

But as soon as I had boarded the plane， I realized that I had set out on this voyage both to forget and to dream. Every corner of Istanbul（伊斯坦布爾）was teeming with（充滿著）reminders of her. The moment we were airborne（在空中的）， I noticed that outside Istanbul， I was able to think about Füsun through the prism（棱鏡）of my obsession； but in the plane I could see my obsession， and Füsun， from the outside.

I felt such consolation（安慰）， the same deep understanding， as I wandered idly around museums. I do not mean the Louvre（盧浮宮）or the Beaubourg（博堡，喬治·蓬皮杜國(guó)家藝術(shù)文化中心的昵稱或諢名）， or the other crowded， ostentatious（招搖的）ones of that ilk（同一類的）； I am speaking now of the many empty museums I found in Paris， the collections that no one ever visits. There was the Musée édith Piaf1， founded by a great admirer， where by appointment I viewed hairbrushes， combs， and teddy bears； and the Musée de la Préfecture de Police（警察局博物館）， where I spent an entire day； and the Musée JacquemartAndré2， where other objects were arranged alongside paintings in a most original way—I saw empty chairs， chandeliers（枝形大吊燈）， and haunting unfurnished spaces there. Whenever wandering alone through museums like this，I felt myself uplifted（精神振奮的）. I would find a room at the back， far from the gaze of the guards who paid close attention to my every step； as the sound of traffic and construction and the urban din（喧囂）filtered in（滲入，透進(jìn)）from outside， it was as if I had entered a separate realm（王國(guó)）that coexisted with the citys crowded streets but was not of them； and in the eerie（怪異的）timelessness of this other universe， I would find solace（慰藉）.

Sometimes， thus consoled， I would imagine it possible for me to frame my collection with a story， and I would dream happily of a museum where I could display my life—the life that first my mother， and then Osman， and finally everyone else thought I had wasted—where I could tell my story through the things that Füsun had left behind， as a lesson to us all.

On visiting the Musée Nissim de Camondo3， whose founder I knew to have come from one of Istanbuls most prominen（t顯赫的）Jewish families， I was emboldened（使有勇氣）to believe that in the Keskins（凱斯金一家，指芙頌和她的父母）set of plates， forks， knives， and my seven-year collection of salt-shakers， I， too， could have something worthy of proud display， and the notion set me free. The Musée de la Poste（法國(guó)郵政博物館）made me realize I could display the letters I had written to her， and the Micromusée du Service des Objets Trouvés（微型失物博物館）legitimated（認(rèn)為……是正當(dāng)?shù)模﹖he inclusion of a wide range of things， so long as they reminded me of Füsun， for example， Tarik Beys false teeth， empty medicine boxes， and receipts. It took me an hour in a taxi to reach the Musée Maurice Ravel4， formerly the famous composers house， and when I saw his toothbrush，coffee cups， china figurines（瓷制小雕像）， various dolls， toys， and an iron cage that immediately called to mind Lemon5， with an iron nightingale（夜鶯）singing within it， I very nearly wept. To stroll through these Paris museums was to be released from the shame of my collection at the Merhamet Apartments（凱末爾和芙頌曾經(jīng)的愛(ài)巢）. No longer an oddball（古怪的人）embarrassed by the things he had hoarded（私藏）， I was gradually awakening to the pride of a collector.

Now the only way I could ever hope to make sense of those years was to display all that I had gathered together—the pots and pans（壇壇罐罐）， the trinkets（小飾品）， the clothes and the paintings—just as that anthropologist（人類學(xué)家）might have done.

During my last days in Paris， with Füsuns birds on my mind， and a bit of time to kill， I went to the Musée Gustave Moreau6， because Proust（普魯斯特，《追憶似水年華》的作者）had held this painter in such high esteem（尊重）. I couldnt bring myself to like Moreaus classical， mannered（矯飾的）， historical paintings， but I liked the museum. In his final years， the painter Moreau had set about changing the family house where he had spent most of his life into a place where his thousands of paintings might be displayed after his death， and this house in due course（在適當(dāng)?shù)臅r(shí)候）became a museum， which encompassed（包括）as well his large two-story atelier（工作室，畫(huà)室）， right next to it. Once converted（改裝）， the house became a house of memories， a “sentimental museum” in which every object shimmered with meaning.

On returning to Istanbul， I went directly to see Aunt Nesibe. After telling her about Paris and its museums， and sitting down to eat， I went straight to the matter foremost in my mind.

“You know that Ive been taking away things from this house， Aunt Nesibe，” I said， with the ease of a patient who can at last smile about an illness he was cured of long ago.“Now Id like to buy the house itself—the entire building.”

“What do you mean？”

“Id like you to sell me the house and all its contents.”

“But what will happen to me？”

We talked it through in a way that was only half serious. I spoke almost ceremoniously（隆重地）： “I would like to find a way to commemorate Füsun in this house.” I also suggested to Aunt Nesibe that she would not be happy in this house， lighting the stove on her own， though， if it was her wish， she could stay. Aunt Nesibe cried for a time at the thought of spending her life alone. But then I told her that I had found her an excellent apartment in Ni？anta？i， on Kuyulu Bostan Street， where shed once lived.

“Which building is it in？” she asked.

A month later wed bought Aunt Nesibe a big apartment in the nicest part of Kuyulu Bostan Street， just a little way beyond her former apartment [and right across the street from the tobacconist（煙草商）， the newsagent， and the shop owned by Uncle Sleaze the child molester（孌童者）]. She deeded（立契轉(zhuǎn)讓）to me the whole building in ？ukurcuma， including the ground-floor flat and all the movables. On the advice of my lawyer friend who had handled Füsuns divorce， we made an inventory（詳細(xì)目錄）of the buildings entire contents and had the document duly notarized（經(jīng)過(guò)公證的）.

Aunt Nesibe was in no hurry to move to her new home in Ni？anta？i. With my assistance， she had new lighting installed and bought furniture as carefully as a girl might build her trousseau（嫁妝）， and every time we saw each other she would tell me with a smile that there was no hope of her ever being able to leave the house in ？ukurcuma.

“Kemal， my son， I cant leave this house and all its memories. What are we to do？” she would say.

“We will turn the house into a place where we can display our memories， Aunt Nesibe，” I would reply.

As my journeys gradually became longer， I saw her less often. Because I still did not really know what to do with the house， its contents， and all those things of Füsuns， which were so precious to me I hardly dared to look at them， for fear my gaze might do them harm.

My visit to Paris served as the model for my subsequent travels. On arriving in a new city I would move into the old but comfortable and centrally located hotel that I had booked from Istanbul， and armed with the knowledge acquired from the books and guides read in advance， I would begin my rounds of the citys most noteworthy（顯著的）museums， never rushing， never skipping a single one， like a student meticulously（一絲不茍地）completing an assignment. And then I would scan the flea markets（跳蚤市場(chǎng)）， the shops selling trinkets and knickknacks（小擺設(shè)）， a few antique dealers； if I happened on a saltshaker， an ashtray， or a bottle opener identical to one Id seen in the Keskin household， or if anything else struck my fancy， I would buy it. No matter where I was—Rio di Janeiro（里約熱內(nèi)盧）， Hamburg（漢堡，德國(guó)城市）， Baku（巴庫(kù)，阿塞拜疆首都）， Kyoto（京都，日本城市）， or Lisbon（里斯本，葡萄牙首都）—at suppertime I would take a long walk through the backstreets and farflung（范圍廣泛的）neighborhoods； peering through the windows， I would search out rooms with families eating in front of the television， mothers cooking in kitchens that also served as dining rooms， children and fathers， young women with their disappointing husbands， and even the rich distant relations secretly in love with the girl in the house.

In the morning， after a leisurely breakfast at the hotel， I would kill time on the avenues and in the cafés until the little museums had opened； Id write postcards to my mother and Aunt Nesibe， peruse（瀏覽）the local papers， trying to figure out what had happened in Istanbul and the world， and at eleven oclock I would pick up my notebook and set out hopefully on the days program.

1. 伊迪絲·琵雅芙（édith Piaf， 1915—1963），被譽(yù)為法國(guó)香頌女王。法國(guó)傳記電影《玫瑰人生》就是根據(jù)她的生平拍攝的。

2. 雅克馬爾-安德烈博物館，建于1869年，曾經(jīng)是法蘭西第二帝國(guó)富有的銀行家愛(ài)德華·安德烈（édouard André）和他的妻子內(nèi)爾·雅克馬爾（Nellie Jacquemart）的宅邸，現(xiàn)為杰出藝術(shù)品的收藏博物館，藏有掛毯、地毯、家具和作品原稿，但主要以印度、埃及和希臘的油畫(huà)和雕塑為主。

3. 法國(guó)卡蒙多·尼西博物館，原為猶太裔銀行家卡蒙多·莫伊斯（Moise de Camondo）的私宅，1911年至1914年由建筑師René Sergent依照凡爾賽小特里亞農(nóng)宮設(shè)計(jì)修建，收藏了典型的18世紀(jì)法國(guó)家居內(nèi)飾，如家具、地毯、油畫(huà)、瓷器、水晶、細(xì)木鑲嵌等。

4. 莫里斯·拉威爾（1875—1937），法國(guó)印象派作曲家的最杰出代表之一。代表作品有《達(dá)芙妮與克羅?！?、《鵝媽媽》、《波萊羅舞曲》等。

5. 馬克·萊蒙（Mark Lemon， 1809—1870），英國(guó)作家，是英國(guó)老牌雜志Punch和The Field的創(chuàng)始編輯之一，還以為The Illustrated London News 編寫(xiě)圣誕故事而著稱。

6. 古斯塔夫·莫羅（Gustave Moreau， 1826—1898），法國(guó)象征主義畫(huà)家，抽象表現(xiàn)主義的先驅(qū)。作品有《雅歌一景》、《幽靈》、《俄狄浦斯和斯芬克斯》、《朱庇特與塞墨勒》等。他的大多數(shù)作品都收藏在家鄉(xiāng)巴黎的古斯塔夫·莫羅博物館。