《爱情到处流传》:爱情到处流转,但爱情却不会死亡

2019-03-20 消息来源:中国文化译研网     原作者:

编者按:为了更好地进行中国文学海外传播工作,让中国作品在海外被发现(Discover)、被理解(Understand)、被传播(Express),中国文化译研网(CCTSS)邀请国内资深文学主编及文学评论家,精选出近两百部短中长篇小说,形成第一期《中国当代文学作品指南》(简称“指南”),从更具权威性、价值性的角度出发,更好地向世界展示中国当代文学精品,传播中国书香。

春读书,兴味长,磨其砚,笔花香。现将“指南”中的精品文学作品以一日一推的方式向读者呈现,让我们不负春日好时光。



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付秀莹丨《爱情到处流传》



推荐理由:阅读付秀莹《爱情到处流传》,可以明显感觉到她并不是简单地在讲故事,更重要的是传达某种情绪。故事的情节是否曲折通幽已不重要,重要的是用语言渲染的情思引人入胜。付秀莹以一个孩子的视角来观照整个故事,使一段被传统观念所鄙夷的婚外恋带上了纯净的色彩,没有正面激烈的矛盾冲突。儒雅的父亲,貌美的四婶子以及隐忍的母亲,都在情感的纠葛中吞食着自身的选择,父亲终于没有脱离家庭,四婶子一生未再嫁,孤苦凄凉,母亲用隐忍维护了家庭的完整。正如小说的题目,爱情到处流转,但爱情却不会死亡,流转的爱情停在原地不再生长,成为一个人的执著守望,然而,经过岁月的洗礼,在人生的尾声,一切似乎都显得不再那么重要,尽可微微一笑了之。


Reviews:Reading through Fu Xiuying's Love Goes Around, you can tell she's not just telling a story, but more importantly conveying a type of emotion. The twists and turns of the plot are only the body to which she crafts a fascinating spirit with her beautiful language. Telling the story from the view of a child, she paints a father's extramarital affair in pure colors, politely sidestepping conflict and traditional disdain. Her cultured father, beautiful Aunt Sishen, and tolerant mother hold firm to their roles in a mess of emotions; her father never leaves the family, Sishen never remarries, and her mother keeps their family intact. Just as in the title, love goes around. Love will never die–it instead goes from person to person, stopping before it's too late, keeping everybody in check. And through this test of time, at the very end of their lives–nothing else seems ever as important and can be easily laughed off.


作家简介

Author Profile


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付秀莹,女,河北无极人,1976 年生。北京语言大学研究生毕业。曾经供职于《小说选刊》编辑部。现为《长篇小说选刊》副主编。


代表性作品有长篇小说《陌上》,中短篇小说《旧院》《爱情到处流传》《六月半》等。作品被《小说选刊》《小说月报》《中华文学选刊》《北京文学·中篇小说月报》《新华文摘》等刊选载,并收入多种小说选本及年度排行榜。出版有小说集《爱情到处流传》《朱颜记》等。短篇小说《爱情到处流传》荣获首届中国作家出版奖、首届 " 茅台杯 " 小说选刊年度 (2009) 大奖。



Fu Xiuying (1976- ), female, is from Wuji, Hebei Province. She earned her master's degree from Beijing Language and Culture University (BLCU) before later serving on the editorial team at Selected Fiction. She is currently vice chairman for Selected Full-length Novels.


Her most representative works include the novel The Fields as well as novellas The Old Courtyard, Love Goes Around, and Mid-June. She has also many works featured in publications like Selected Fiction, Fiction Monthly, Selected Chinese Literature, Beijing Literature: Novella Monthly, and Xinhua Wenzhai; many works have been listed on annual billboards and critics'choice lists as well. Her published works include the novel collections Love Goes Around and Zhu Yan Ji. Her novella Love Goes Around earned the 1st China Writers Publishing Prize as well as the 1st Maotai Cup Selected Fiction Annual Award (2009).



中文概要

Synopsis

四婶子,几乎再也不来我家串门了。不是万不得已,总是绕开我家的门口,宁愿多走一段冤枉路。有时候,在街上遇见,也是赶忙把眼睛转向别处,只作没有看见了。有一回,是个傍晚吧,我们几个孩子捉迷藏,绕来绕去,我看见一个麦秸垛。在乡间,到处都是这样的麦秸垛。麦秸垛已经被人掏走一块,留下一个窝,正可以容身。经了一天的日晒,麦秸垛散发出一种好闻的气息,夹杂着麦子的香味,热烈,干燥,烘烘的,把人紧紧包围。小伙伴的声音由远而近,看到了,早看到你了——妮妮——我躲在麦秸垛里,一颗心怦怦直跳,紧张,不安,还有模模糊糊的兴奋,我的心简直要蹦出来了。忽然,我听见一阵脚步声,很轻,但是很急。在麦秸垛前面,停住了。我的心跳得更厉害了。一定是三三,他识破我了。可是,却迟迟没有动静。许久,一个女人说,天,黑了。是四婶子。这个时候,四婶子是来抽麦秸吧。可不是,天都黑了。父亲!竟然是父亲!我记得,下午,母亲派父亲去姥姥家了。姥姥家在邻村。这个时候,父亲,和四婶子,在这麦秸垛后面,他们要做什么呢?我支起耳朵,却再也听不见什么。沉默。沉默之外,还是沉默。然而,在这黏稠的沉默里,却分明有一种异样的东西,它潮湿,危险,也妩媚,也疯狂,像林间有毒的蘑菇,在雨夜里潜滋暗长。也不知过了多久,脚步声,一前一后,渐渐地远了,远了,再也听不见了。我躲在麦秸垛里,一动不动。心头忽然涌上一种莫名的忧伤,还有迷茫。我不知道这是为什么。暮色越来越浓了,四下里一片寂静。一个孩子,她无知,懵懂,仿佛一只小兽,尘世的风霜,还没有来得及在她身上留下痕迹。然而,在那一天,苍茫的暮色中,她却生平第一次,识破了一桩秘密。这是真的。父亲和四婶子,几乎是沉默的,可即便是片言只语,也能够使一些隐秘一泻千里。这是多么奇怪的事情。那一年,我只是个孩子,五岁。那一年,我什么都不懂。


想来,那一天,一定是个周末。我回到家的时候,夜色已经把芳村淹没了。屋子里,灯光明亮,一家人坐在桌前,桌上,是热腾腾的饭菜。看见我回来,父亲微笑了,说,来,吃饭了。母亲骂道,又去哪里疯了,看这一身的土。我坐在灯影里,静静地吃饭。父亲和母亲,偶尔说上两句。哥哥呢,始终不怎么开口。我忘了说了,从小,哥哥就是一个寡言的人。然而,长大以后,也不知道从哪一天开始,他忽然就变了。变得——怎么说——甚而有些油嘴滑舌了。他风趣,灵活,会说很多俏皮话。跟他相熟的人,谁不知道他那张嘴呢。想想都觉得不可思议。在我的童年记忆里,哥哥一直是沉默的。我无论如何努力,都听不见他的声音。当然,我们总有吵架的时候。吵架的时候不算。父亲和母亲说着话,不知说到了什么,父亲先自笑起来。我疑惑地看了一眼他的脸,平静,坦然,笑的时候,眼角已经有了细细的鱼尾纹。英俊倒还是英俊的。也不知为什么,我忽然感觉到了父亲的不平常。他在掩饰。那些从容后面,全是惊慌。他微笑着,有些艰难,有些吃力——至少,我是这么认为的。他慢慢地喝了一口汤,强自镇定。母亲也笑着。她正把一筷子菜夹到父亲碗里。我停下来,看着父亲,忽然跑到他的身后,把一根麦秸屑从他的头发上择下来。父亲惊诧地看着饭桌上的麦秸屑,它无辜地躺在那里,细,而且小,简直微不足道。然而,我分明感觉到父亲刹那间的震颤。我是说,父亲的内心,剧烈地摇晃了一下。灯光也倏忽间亮了,也只是一瞬间的事。那一根麦秸屑,衬了乌沉沉的饭桌,变得是那么的触目。那一刻,似乎一切都昭然若揭了。母亲抬眼看了一下电灯,咕哝道,这电压,不稳。一只蛾子在灯前跌跌撞撞,显得既悲壮,也让人感到苍凉。


夏天过去了。秋天来了。秋天的乡村,到处都流荡着一股醉人的气息。庄稼成熟了,一片,又一片,红的是高粱,黄的是玉米、谷子,白的是棉花,这些缤纷的色彩,在大平原上尽情地铺展,一直铺到遥远的天边。还有花生,红薯,它们藏在泥土深处,蓄了一季的心思,早已经膨胀了身子,有些等不及了。芳村的人们,都忙起来了。母亲更是脚不沾地。父亲的学校不放假,我们兄妹,又帮不上忙。收秋,全凭了母亲一个人。那些日子,母亲简直要累疯了。她穿着干活的旧衣裳,满脸汗水,疲惫,邋遢,萎顿。然而,周末,父亲回家的时候,他看到的,却是另外一个母亲。母亲已经仔细洗了澡,头发湿漉漉的,还没有完全干透。米白的布衫,烟色裤子,浑身上下,无一处不熨帖得体。她把饭菜端上来,笑盈盈的。转身的时候,就有一股雪花膏的香气淡淡地散开来,芬芳而馥郁。父亲看着她的背影,在刹那间,就怔忡了。他在想什么?或许,他是想起了当年。那时候,他们还那么年轻。他最不能忘记的,是她那一头黑发,在颈后梳成两条辫子,乌溜溜的,又粗又长,一直垂到腰际。走起路来,一荡一荡,简直要把他的心都荡飞了。那一回,也是个秋天吧,他们在通往镇上的乡间小路上,一前一后地走。忽然,一只野兔从田野里跑出来,把她吓了一跳。那是他第一次拉她的手。玉米正吐缨子。青草的气息潮润润的,带着一股温凉。风很轻,拂上发烫的脸颊。这一晃,多少年了。母亲把一双筷子递过来。父亲默默接了,半晌,叹一口气。


Aunt Sishen wouldn't come by much anymore. Really, she would deliberately avoid coming near our house, not minding the extra length it took to loop back around. And if we crossed paths on the street, she'd shift her eyes away pretending not to have seen me.


There was one time in the evening where I was playing hide and seek with a few friends of mine. Scrambling to find a good hiding spot, I came across a giant pile of straw. Here in the countryside, piles of straw could be seen everywhere you go, but this one really suited my interests-someone had taken away a chunk, leaving a hole in which a small kid like me could hide. Having baked out there in the hot sun, it smelled good – I could feel myself swallowed by its fragrance.


My friend Nini's voice echoed across in my direction, but I saw her before she saw me. I pushed myself into the hole, my heart practically beating out of my chest in a nervous excitement. Suddenly, I heard a faint scurry of steps, stopping right before the pile I was hidden in. My heart was really going then. I thought to myself “Dang, Sansan must have found me”, but then I heard nothing. After a bit, I heard a woman's voice: “It's getting dark out”. It sounded just like my Aunt Sishen, and I guessed she was coming to take some of the straw away. But then I heard a man's reply: “Of course it is”. My ears perked up – the voice sounded just like my father' s.


My mind raced. I remember mom sent dad over to her mother's house in the neighboring villagethis afternoon. What could he possibly be doing here, behind this stack of straw, with my Aunt Sishen? I moved my ears in their direction but didn't hear anything. The silence seemed to last forever, gradually morphing into something else - a sticky silence with enticing danger, like poisonous mushrooms sprouting slowly in the forest under mist and rain.


After some space of time, I heard steps one after another, gradually fading into the distance before my ears went blank again. It was then that I felt an indescribable pain and confusion. The night darkened until everything around me was shrouded in an empty void. There I stood, an innocent babe, having no scar of life's hardships; and yet, on that day, in that vast abyss, I felt for the first time that I'd uncovered a secret. Through that silence interrupted by only the briefest sounds, a secret had come, tumbling into plain sight. It was such a peculiar feeling, especially for me, five years old and knowing nothing of the world.


Looking back on that day, it must be a weekend. When I returned home, all of Fang Town was already pitch dark. In my house, a crisp light brought into focus my family as they were seated around a table of steaming food. My father smiled at my arrival, inviting me to sit down and have some. My mother wasn't as happy though, asking where I'd gone that my clothes could get so dirtied up.


I sat there under the light, eating quietly, my parents exchanging words every so often. My brother didn't say a word. Really, he'd never said much ever since he was born, but one day he became quiet glib almost completely out of the blue. He was interesting, lively, and had some great one-liners; for anyone who knew him, they'd find the way he spoke quite something. But in my memories, he was always silent; no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't hear him. Of course, that's apart from our arguing times.


At that moment, my parents were talking about something when my dad gave a smile. I looked at him questioningly. Sure, he was calm and straightforward, with faint laugh lines forming around his eyes –handsome, really – but for some reason, something just seemed amiss with him. He was hiding something – he looked calm and composed on the outside, but panic-stricken on the inside. There was some sort of discomfort in his smile, or at least it looked forced to me. He took a sip of his soup, trying best to act natural.


Then my mother smiled as well, using her chopsticks to put more food in his bowl. I stopped, looked at my dad, ran behind him, and pulled a bit of straw from his back, it landing on the table. My father looked at it in shock, this teeny-tiny, innocent piece of grain. But then I could feel him quivering inside, as if his world was spinning before him. The light brightened, if but for a minute, to illuminate that sparkling piece of straw as it sat against the rich black table. It seemed as if in that moment everything had been revealed. My mother raised her eyes to the lamp and muttered something about the voltage being not so great. A moth bounced around the lamp, looking both brave and bleak.


Summer had gone, welcoming autumn and the intoxicating scent it brought across the village. Patch after patch of crops were ready for harvest, be they red fields of sorghum, shiny-gold cornstalks and millet, or snow-white cotton–they spanned to the horizon, a tapestry of dazzling colors. Even peanuts, sweet potatoes, and other foods were ready to reveal themselves, having enjoyed a deep hibernation underground.


People all around Fang Town started to busy themselves, especially my mom. My dad, who taught in school, couldn’t take vacation at this time, and me and my siblings were too small to help out, so my mom had to dash all over harvesting those massive fields herself. I remember how tired she’d get, coming home in shabby clothes, covered in sweat and with a look of complete exhaustion on her face.

But when my father came home on the weekends, he saw a completely different woman. She’d be immaculately clean, her hair still a little damp from her shower. She’d have on an off-white blouse and gray pants, pressed neatly from head to toe. She’d set the table smiling, the rich aroma of her vanishing cream wafting towards you as she turned.


But a look of pain crossed my father’s face. After a moment, I knew he must be thinking about back when they were both still young. He would never forget her shiny, black hair, coarse and tied into two long braids coming down to her waist. They would sway as she walked, sweeping up my father’s heart with every step she took.


It must have been autumn back then, as they marched on those country roads toward the town. A hare suddenly ran out, scaring her; and then… their hands linked. Beauty surrounded them in the fresh ears of corn, in the damp grass, and in the cool breeze that touched her hot cheeks. So many years had passed since then. My mother handed my father a pair of chopsticks. He took them, and after a while, let out a long sigh.


责任编辑:罗雨静

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