I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge 747 plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to the Hamburg airport. Cold November rains drenched the earth and lent everything the gloomy air of a Flemish landscape： the ground crew ran gear, a flag atop a squat airport building, a BMW billboard. So Germany again.

　　37歲的我端坐在波音747客機(jī)上，龐大的機(jī)體穿過厚重的夾雨云層,俯身向漢堡機(jī)場降落。11月砭人肌膚的冷雨將大地涂得一片陰沉,使得身披雨衣的地勤工、呆然垂向地面的候機(jī)樓上的旗,以及BMW廣告板等的一切的一切,看上去竟同佛蘭德派抑郁畫幅的背景一般。罷了罷了,又是德國,我想。

　　once the plane was on the ground soft music began to flow from the ceiling speakers： a sweet orchestral cover version of the Beatles' " Norwegian Wood". The melody never failed to send a shudder through me, but this time it hit me harder than ever.

　　飛機(jī)剛一著陸,天花板擴(kuò)音器中低聲傳出輕柔的背景音樂,那是一個管弦樂隊演奏的甲殼蟲樂隊的《挪威的森林》。那旋律一如往日地使我難以自已。這一次,比往日還要強(qiáng)烈地?fù)u撼著我的身心。

　　I bent forward in my seat, face in hands to keep my skull from splitting open. Before long one of the German stewardesses approached and asked in English if I was sick. "No," I said, just dizzy"

　　為了不使頭腦脹裂,我彎下腰,雙手捂臉。很快,一位德國空中小姐走來,用英語問我是不是不大舒服。我答說："不要緊,只是有點(diǎn)暈。

　　"Are you sure？"

　　"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks."

　　"真的不要緊？"

　　"不要緊的,謝謝。"我說。

　　She smiled and left, and the music changed to a Billy Joel tune. I straightened up and looked out the plane window at the dark clouds hanging over the North Sea, thinking of what I had lost in the course of my life： times gone forever, friends who had died or disappeared, feelings I would never know again.

　　她于是莞爾一笑,轉(zhuǎn)身走開。音樂變成彼利?喬的曲子。我直起了腰,望著北海上空陰沉沉的云層,浮想聯(lián)翩。我想起自己在過去人生旅途中失去的許多東西――蹉跎的歲月，死去或離去的人們無可追回的懊悔。

　　The plane reached the gate. People began unlatching their seatbelts and pulling baggage from the storage bins, and all the while I was in the meadow. I could smell the grass, feel the wind on my face, hear the cries of the birds. Autumn 1969,and soon I wou1d be twenty.

　　機(jī)身停穩(wěn)后,旅客解開安全帶,從行李架中取出皮包和上衣等物。而我,仿佛依然置身于那片草地之中,呼吸著草的芬芳,感受著風(fēng)的輕柔,諦聽著鳥的鳴囀。那還是1969年的秋天,我快滿20歲的時候。

　　True, given time enough, I can bring back her face. I start joining image-her tiny, cold hand； her straight, black hair so smooth and cool to the touch； a soft, rounded earlobe and the microscopic mole just beneath it； the camels hair coat she wore in the winter； her habit of looking straight into your eyes when asking a question； the slight trembling that would come to her voice now and then （as if she were speaking on a windy hilltop）-and suddenly her face is there, always in profile at first, because Naoko and I were always out waking together, side by side. Then she turns to me, and smiles, and tilts her head just a bit, and begins to speak, and she looks into my eyes as if trying to catch the image of a minnow that has darted across the pool of a m1impid spring.

　　當(dāng)然,只要有時間,我會憶起她的面容。我追憶著：那冷冰冰的小手,那流線型瀉下的手感爽適的秀發(fā),那圓圓的軟軟的耳垂及其緊靠底端的小小黑痔,那冬日里時常穿的格調(diào)高雅的駝絨大衣,那總是定定注視對方眼睛發(fā)問的慣常動作,那不時奇妙發(fā)出的微微顫抖的語聲（就像在強(qiáng)風(fēng)中的山崗上說話一樣）―隨著這些印象的疊涌,她的面龐突然自然地浮現(xiàn)出來。最先出現(xiàn)是她的側(cè)臉,大概因為我總是同她并肩走路的緣故,最先想起來的每每是她的側(cè)影。隨之,她朝我轉(zhuǎn)過臉,甜甜地一笑,微微地低頭,輕輕地啟齒,定定地看著我的雙眼,仿佛在一混清澈的泉水里尋覓稍縱即逝的小魚的行蹤。

　　I do need that time, though for Naoko's face to appear. And as the years have passed, the time has grown longer. The sad truth is that what I could recall in five seconds all too soon needed ten, then thirty, then a full minute――like shadows lengthening at dusk. Someday, I suppose, the shadows will be swallowed up in darkness. There is no way around it： my memory is growing ever more distant from the spot where Naoko used to stand-ever more distant from the spot where my old self used to stand. And nothing but scenery, that view of the meadow in October, returns again and again to me 1ike a symbolic scene in a movie. Each time it appears, it delivers a kick to some part of my mind. "Wale up," it says. "I'm still here！ Wake up and think about it. Think about why I'm still here." The kicking never hurt me. There's no pain at all. Just a hollow sound that echoes with each kick. And even that is bound to fade one day. At the Hamburg airport, though, the kicks were longer and harder than usual which is why I am writing this book： To think. To understand！ It just happens to be the way I'm made. I have to write things down to feel I fully comprehend them.

　　但是,讓直子的面影在我腦海中浮現(xiàn)出來,我總是需要一點(diǎn)時間。而且,隨著歲月的流逝,所需的時間愈來愈長。這固然令人悲哀,但事實(shí)就是如此。起初5秒即可想起,漸次變成10秒、30秒、1分鐘。它延長得那樣迅速,竟同夕陽下的陰影一般,并將很快消融在冥冥夜色之中。哦,原來我的記憶正在同直子原來站立的位置步步遠(yuǎn)離,甚至逐漸遠(yuǎn)離自己一度站過的位置。而惟獨(dú)風(fēng)景,惟獨(dú)那片10月草地的風(fēng)景,宛如電影中的象征性鏡頭,在我的腦際反復(fù)推出。并且那風(fēng)景執(zhí)著地連連踢我的腦袋,說著："起來,我可還在這里喲！起來,起來想想,思考一下我為什么還在這里。"不過這種踢法一點(diǎn)也不痛,一腳踢來,只是發(fā)出空洞的聲響。甚至這聲響或遲或早也將杳然遠(yuǎn)逝。但是在這漢堡機(jī)場,它們踢得比往常更長久、更有力：起來,理解我！惟其如此,我才動筆寫這篇文字。我必須形諸文字,才能弄得水落石出。

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