第12章 童年与诗

Childhood and Poetry

[智]巴勃罗·聂鲁达/Pablo Neruda

有一次，在特木科我家后院里，我检查自己那些小物件和零零碎碎的东西时，发现围墙的挡板上有个洞，透过这个洞，我看到了外面一处荒凉的风景。我向后退了几步，隐约觉得有什么事情要发生。突然间，出现了一只手——一个与我年龄相仿的男孩的小手。这时，我再次走上前，那只手却拿开了，留在那里的是一只漂亮的白色绵羊玩具。

绵羊的毛褪色了，轮子也脱落了，但这一切都使它更加逼真。我还从没见过这么好看的绵羊。我又从洞里向外看，男孩已不见了。我回到屋里，拿出我自己的一件心爱之物：一枚裂开的松果，我非常喜欢它四溢的香气。我把它放在同一个地方，然后拿着绵羊走开了。

后来，我再也没见过那个男孩和那只手，再也没有见过那样漂亮的一只绵羊，因为在一场火灾中我失去了那个绵羊玩具。直到现在，1954年，年近五十的我，每当路过玩具店时，总是偷偷地向橱窗里张望，但是没有用。他们再也做不出那样的绵羊了。

我是个幸运的人。感受兄弟间的亲情是人生的一件快事，感受我们所爱的人对我们的关爱，是点燃我们生命的火。而那些与我们完全不相识，也一无所知的人，在我们睡着或孤独时看护着我们，监视我们面临的危险和弱点。他们给予我们的温情则更伟大、更美好，因为他们拓展了我们的空间，把所有的生命维系在一起。

那次交换第一次让我明白了这样一个珍贵的道理：不管怎样，人类是一个整体。后来，我再一次体会到这一点。这一次，在动乱与迫害的背景下，它被醒目地表现了出来。

那么，我试图用散发着松香和泥土芳香的东西换取人类的手足之情，就让你感到惊讶。就像我在栅栏旁留下松果一样，我曾把激励的话语留在很多人的门上，他们与我素昧平生，或者在狱中服刑，或者被追捕，或者是孤独的。

这是我在童年时期学到的重要一课，就在一所房子的后院中。也许这只不过是两个互不相识的孩子的一场游戏，只是想要传递生活中某些美好的东西给对方。然而，或许这一次渺小却又奇妙的礼物互换，会在我们内心深深地、永不泯灭地留存，为我的诗赋予光亮。

孩提时代的美好，不管时隔多么久远，我们依旧无法忘怀。不管是珍藏这份回忆，还是偶尔回到那种心态，都是幸福的！

One time， investigating in the backyard of our house in Temuco the tiny objects and minuscule beings of my world， I came upon a hole in one of the boards of the fence. I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that behind our house， uncared for， and wild. I moved back a few steps， because I sensed vaguely that something was about to happen. All of a sudden a hand appeared—a tiny hand of a boy about my own age. By the time I came close again， the hand was gone， and in its place there was a marvelous white sheep.

The sheep's wool was faded. Its wheels had escaped. All of this only made it more authentic. I had never seen such a wonderful sheep. I looked back through the hole but the boy had disappeared. I went into the house and brought out a treasure of my own： a pinecone， opened， full of odor and resin， which I adored. I set it down in the same spot and went off with the sheep.

I never saw either the hand or the boy again. And I have never again seen a sheep like that either. The toy I lost finally in a fire. But even now， in 1954， almost fifty years old， whenever I pass a toy shop， I look furtively into the window， but it's no use. They don't make sheep like that anymore.

I have been a lucky man. To feel the intimacy of brothers is a marvelous thing in life. To feel the love of people whom we love is a fire that feeds our life. But to feel the affection that comes from those whom we do not know， from those unknown to us， who are watching over our sleep and solitude， over our dangers and our weaknesses—that is something still greater and more beautiful because it widens out the boundaries of our being， and unites all living things.

That exchange brought home to me for the first time a precious idea： that all of humanity is somehow together. That experience came to me again much later； this time it stood out strikingly against a background of trouble and persecution.

It won't surprise you then that I attempted to give something resiny， earthlike， and fragrant in exchange for human brotherhood. Just as I once left the pinecone by the fence， I have since left my words on the door of so many people who were unknown to me， people in prison， or hunted， or alone.

That is the great lesson I learned in my childhood， in thebackyard of a lonely house. Maybe it was nothing but a game two boys played who didn't know each other and wanted to pass to the other some good things of life. Yet maybe this small and mysterious exchange of gifts remained inside me also， deep and indestructible， giving my poetry light.