【導讀】薇拉·凱瑟（1873—1947），美國小說家，普利策獎獲得者，以描寫美國中西部內(nèi)布拉斯加州的草原生活而聞名。薇拉幼時隨父母移居該州一個叫“紅云鎮(zhèn)”的地方，因該鎮(zhèn)地處邊疆，所以她有機會接觸到來自瑞典、波希米亞、俄羅斯、德國等歐洲移民，并了解他們的生活點滴，這成為其創(chuàng)作的重要素材。長篇小說《啊，拓荒者！》（O Pioneers！， 1913）和《我的安東尼婭》（My Antonia，1918）是公認的佳作，生動再現(xiàn)了早期歐洲移民在美國艱苦奮斗的歷程——移民的開拓精神和生活勇氣可歌可泣，移民的自然淳樸亦可愛動人！

本文節(jié)譯自《我的安東尼婭》第二部“雇來的姑娘們”（The Hired Girls）第六章。內(nèi)布拉斯加州草原上的冬，蒼白、寂靜、酷冷、漫長，本身似乎并無美感可言。不過，敘述者“我”和他的朋友們在這樣惡劣的氣候中仍是其樂融融。他們不僅用慧眼在自然的灰色調(diào)之外找尋斑斕的色彩，還在故事、嬉戲以及美食中度過了一個個難捱的無聊夜。冬，因為情，變得美好生動了！

Winter comes down savagely over a little town on the prairie. The wind that sweeps in from the open country strips away all the leafy screens that hide one yard from another in summer， and the houses seem to draw closer together. The roofs， that looked so far away across the green tree-tops， now stare you in the face， and they are so much uglier than when their angles were softened by vines and shrubs.

In the morning， when I was fighting my way to school against the wind， I couldnt see anything but the road in front of me; but in the late afternoon， when I was coming home， the town looked bleak and desolate to me. The pale， cold light of the winter sunset did not beautify—it was like the light of truth itself. When the smoky clouds hung low in the west and the red sun went down behind them， leaving a pink flush on the snowy roofs and the blue drifts， then the wind sprang up afresh， with a kind of bitter song， as if it said： “This is reality， whether you like it or not. All those frivolities of summer， the light and shadow， the living mask of green that trembled over everything， they were lies， and this is what was underneath. This is the truth.” It was as if we were being punished for loving the loveliness of summer.

If I loitered on the playground after school， or went to the post-office for the mail and lingered to hear the gossip about the cigar-stand， it would be growing dark by the time I came home. The sun was gone; the frozen streets stretched long and blue before me; the lights were shining pale in kitchen windows， and I could smell the suppers cooking as I passed. Few people were abroad， and each one of them was hurrying toward a fire. The glowing stoves in the houses were like magnets. When one passed an old man， one could see nothing of his face but a red nose sticking out between a frosted beard and a long plush cap. The young men capered along with their hands in their pockets， and sometimes tried a slide on the icy sidewalk. The children， in their bright hoods and comforters， never walked， but always ran from the moment they left their door， beating their mittens against their sides. When I got as far as the Methodist Church， I was about halfway home. I can remember how glad I was when there happened to be a light in the church， and the painted glass window shone out at us as we came along the frozen street. In the winter bleakness a hunger for colour came over people， like the Laplanders craving for fats and sugar. Without knowing why， we used to linger on the sidewalk outside the church when the lamps were lighted early for choir practice or prayer-meeting， shivering and talking until our feet were like lumps of ice. The crude reds and greens and blues of that coloured glass held us there.

On winter nights， the lights in the Harlings windows drew me like the painted glass. Inside that warm， roomy house there was colour， too. After supper I used to catch up my cap， stick my hands in my pockets， and dive through the willow hedge as if witches were after me. Of course， if Mr. Harling was at home， if his shadow stood out on the blind of the west room， I did not go in， but turned and walked home by the long way， through the street， wondering what book I should read as I sat down with the two old people.

Such disappointments only gave greater zest to the nights when we acted charades， or had a costume ball in the back parlour， with Sally always dressed like a boy. Frances taught us to dance that winter， and she said， from the first lesson， that Antonia would make the best dancer among us. On Saturday nights， Mrs. Harling used to play the old operas for us—Martha， Norma， Rigoletto—telling us the story while she played. Every Saturday night was like a party. The parlour， the back parlour， and the dining-room were warm and brightly lighted， with comfortable chairs and sofas， and gay pictures on the walls. One always felt at ease there. Antonia brought her sewing and sat with us—she was already beginning to make pretty clothes for herself. After the long winter evenings on the prairie， with Ambroschs sullen silences and her mothers complaints， the Harlings house seemed， as she said， “l(fā)ike Heaven” to her. She was never too tired to make taffy or chocolate cookies for us. If Sally whispered in her ear， or Charley gave her three winks， Tony would rush into the kitchen and build a fire in the range on which she had already cooked three meals that day.

While we sat in the kitchen waiting for the cookies to bake or the taffy to cool， Nina used to coax Antonia to tell her stories—about the calf that broke its leg， or how Yulka saved her little turkeys from drowning in the freshet， or about old Christmases and weddings in Bohemia. Nina interpreted the stories about the creche fancifully， and in spite of our derision she cherished a belief that Christ was born in Bohemia a short time before the Shimerdas left that country. We all liked Tonys stories. Her voice had a peculiarly engaging quality; it was deep， a little husky， and one always heard the breath vibrating behind it. Everything she said seemed to come right out of her heart.

寒冬襲來，肆無忌憚地在草原小鎮(zhèn)上作威作福。自開闊鄉(xiāng)間刮來的勁風席卷了這里，刮跑了夏日隔斷一個個院落的綠蔭墻，房舍看上去像是靠近了。湮沒于樹尖的屋頂曾那么遙不可及，如今卻直視著你的臉，比起有藤蔓和灌木柔化棱角的那會兒，現(xiàn)在的屋頂難看多了。

早上，我頂風去往學校，一路只能瞅見腳下的道;傍晚歸家時，整個小鎮(zhèn)顯得好不荒涼孤寂。 冬日夕陽之光暗淡寒涼，沒有去美化什么——好似真相本身具有的光芒。西邊煙云低懸，紅日墮入云后，給白雪覆蓋的屋頂和藍色的雪堆投下粉色的光邊，而后狂風再起，怨憤地歌唱，似在訴說：“你喜歡也好，厭惡也罷，這就是現(xiàn)實。所有那些夏日的無聊、光與影、搖曳在萬物之上的那個綠色的活面具，統(tǒng)統(tǒng)都是謊言，如今看到了隱匿其下的東西，那就是真相 ！”仿佛我們是因為愛上夏的美好而受到了懲罰。

如果我放學后在操場閑逛，或上郵局取個郵件后在煙攤附近溜達著聽些八卦，到家時天便已黑了下來。不見了太陽，冰封的街道漫長而憂傷地在我面前延伸。廚房的窗玻璃透出幽暗的光，經(jīng)過時，我能聞到正在烹煮的晚餐的香。外面零星幾個人影，個個行色匆匆，奔向生火的地方。屋內(nèi)爐火通紅，像磁石般吸引著人們。倘或路遇一位老先生，根本看不到他的臉，只能看到從結(jié)霜的胡子和長毛絨帽子中間冒出的紅鼻頭。年輕人雙手插兜，一路雀躍，時而在結(jié)冰的邊道上試著溜一下。孩子們戴著鮮艷的風帽和羊毛圍巾，從來不用走的，總是一出門就跑了起來，掛脖的手套不停拍打側(cè)身。行至循道宗教會，離家便還有大約一半的路程了。猶記得，走在結(jié)冰的大街上，倘或正趕上教堂里亮著燈，彩色玻璃窗透出的燈光把我們照亮，別提我有多開心呢！冬日蕭索，人們都極其渴望看到些鮮亮的顏色，有如拉普蘭人渴望脂肪和糖。有合唱團排練或有祈禱會時，教堂的燈盞會早早亮起，每當此時，我們總會莫名地在教堂外的人行道上徘徊，哆哆嗦嗦地聊著天，直到腳凍得像冰塊。是那彩色玻璃透出的天然的紅光、綠光和藍光讓我們駐足。

冬日的夜晚，哈林家窗戶透出的光也像彩色玻璃般吸引我。那溫暖、寬敞的房子里，也有色彩。晚飯后，我常抓起帽子，雙手插入口袋，一溜煙兒地穿過柳樹籬，像是身后有巫婆追趕。當然，倘或哈林先生在家，身影恰好清晰映在西屋的百葉窗上，那我不會進去，而會轉(zhuǎn)身回家，走那條遠路，要穿過大街，一路上還會尋思，待會兒和那兩個老人家坐在一起，該讀哪本書。

這種掃興的時候倒讓我對玩字謎游戲或在后客廳舉行化裝舞會的那些夜晚多了幾分興致，薩莉總是在舞會上扮作男孩樣兒。就在那個冬天，弗朗西斯教我們跳舞，第一次上課她就說，我們這些人中，安東尼婭會是舞跳得最好的。周六晚上，哈林太太總為我們表演些老歌劇——比如《瑪莎》《諾爾瑪》《里戈萊托》——表演時還為我們講解其中的故事。每個周六晚上都像開派對。起居室、后客廳、餐廳又暖和又明亮，有舒服的座椅和沙發(fā)，墻上還掛著艷麗的畫。在這里，大家都感到放松自在。安東尼婭拿著她的針線活兒，和我們坐在一起——她已經(jīng)開始為自己縫制漂亮衣裳了。經(jīng)歷過草原上的漫漫冬夜，體驗過安布羅什的陰郁沉寂以及母親的嘮嘮叨叨，安東尼婭表示，哈林家對她來說“就像天堂一樣”。她樂此不疲地給我們做太妃糖或巧克力餅。只消薩莉在她耳邊悄語，或查理朝她眨巴三下眼，托尼一準兒會沖進廚房，在已經(jīng)燒完三餐的爐灶上再次起火。

我們坐在廚房里等待餅干烤好或太妃糖冷卻的當兒，妮娜總是哄安東尼婭給她講故事——像那頭牛怎么摔斷腿，或尤卡如何從暴漲的河水中救出她那些火雞仔，或舊時波希米亞的圣誕節(jié)和婚禮什么樣。妮娜不著邊際地解讀育嬰堂的故事，不論我們怎么揶揄她，她仍然篤信，謝默爾達一家離開波希米亞之前，基督剛剛在那里降生。我們都喜歡托妮講故事。她的聲音有一種特別的魅力，深沉、略帶沙啞，人們總能聽到聲音背后顫抖的呼吸。她所說的每句話似乎都發(fā)自肺腑。

（譯者單位：北京外國語大學）