船来了 THE COMING OF THE SHIP
那当代的曙光，被推选而被爱戴的阿穆斯塔法，在奥菲利斯城守望了十二年，只为等候他的那艘船到来，好将他载回他出生的岛上去。
转瞬间十二年过去了，正值绮露“收割月”的第七天，他缓步走出城攀上山巅，向远处大海眺望；他看到了他的船正从氤氲薄雾中驶来。
他的心扉豁然敞开，愉悦之情翩然翱翔于这大海之上。他微合双目，在灵魂的静谧深处祈祷。
但是，当他举步走下山冈时，突袭而至的悲哀漫过他的心头，他暗忖：
我怎能抛尽这别绪离愁，平静地离开？不，我无法不携带灵魂的隐痛离此城而去。
在这座城市里，我度过了无数漫长白昼的痛苦和无涯长夜的孤寂；然而，谁又能了无牵挂地将这些痛苦和孤寂抛弃？
这里的每一条巷陌都曾经遍撒着我心灵的断章，还有众多我所怜爱的孩子们，他们光着脚在山野中漫步。我的心无法做到毫无伤痛与负担地与他们分离。
今日，我并非脱掉一件外衣，而是将一层肌肤亲手剥去。
我抛之身后的也不是一种思想，而是一颗由饥渴滋生的甜怡之心。
然而我却无法再流连此处。
我必须扬帆远行，那召唤众生的大海正在把我呼唤。
若要留下，则意味着我那在夜间炙热燃烧的生命之火将逐渐冷却、凝结成晶。
若能把这里的一切都带走，我该是何等快活！然而我又怎么能够呢？
声音不能带走唇齿赐予它高飞的羽翼，唯有自己孤独地搏击长空。
雄鹰必须远离巢穴，才能独自拥抱阳光。
当他行至山麓，再次眺望大海。他看见船已靠港，站在船头的水手，正来自他的家乡。
他的灵魂向他们大声疾呼，他说道：
我祖先的子孙们啊，你们这些弄潮的勇士，
你们曾无数次航行在我的梦里！而今，在我清醒之时到来，驶入我更深的梦境。
我已整装待发，心中的渴望早已扬起风帆，只待乘风起航。
让我在这沉静的气息中再呼吸一次，再回首一次投下深情的瞥视。
然后我就会加入你们中间，成为水手中的一员。
而你，苍茫的大海，无眠的母亲，
唯有你才能使江河湖泊归于平静和自由。
这溪流只要再蜿蜒流转一回，再在林野低唱浅吟一曲，
我就会奔向你，如同自由的水滴融入无边无际的海洋。
他一路走着，看见人们纷纷从遥远的农田和葡萄园中涌出，蜂拥而至城门。
他听见他们呼唤着他的名字，在纵横的阡陌间奔走相告，递传着他的船即将到来的消息。
他自言自语道：
离别之日是否就是重逢之时？
我的夕阳是否就是我的晨曦？
那些将犁田的犁耙、酿酒的酒轮放下的人们，我能为你们做些什么？
我是否应将心魂化为挺拔的碧树，赠予他们累累硕果？
我是否应将渴望化为汩汩清泉，注满他们的杯盏？
是做全能者手中拨弄的竖琴，还是做那任众人的气息穿越我身躯的长笛？
我始终追寻那种静寂，可在静寂中我究竟获得了怎样的宝藏，使我能自信地向他们布施呢？
假如这是我收获的日子，那么，我曾在哪个被遗忘的季节于哪片田中播撒过种子呢？
倘若这的确是我高举灯盏之时，那灯中的赤焰肯定并非我亲手点燃。
我举起的灯盏空虚亦黑暗，
是夜的守护者将其注满油后点燃。
他开口讲述这些话，可还有万语千言藏于他的心田。因为他无法将自己最深的隐秘和盘托出。
他一进城，众人皆来欢迎，万众齐声地呼唤他。
城中的长者来到他面前说道：
请不要离我们而去。
你就是我们朦胧中的白昼，你的青春赋予我们美妙的梦想。
在我们之中，你既非陌生人，也不是旅客，而是我们的儿子，我们挚爱的人。
不要使我们的双眼因渴望见到你的容颜而酸楚。
男女祭司对他说：
如今，请不要让海浪将我们分开，
使你在我们中间共度的时光成为回忆。
你的精神曾与我们携手同行，
你的身影曾是映照我们面庞的光芒。
我们是这样的爱你啊！
尽管那爱悄然无声，还有面纱遮挡。
但是它现在正在高声地呼唤你，愿意在你面前坦陈自己。
除非离别之际已至，爱才体会出自己的深浅。众人纷纷挽留他。
但他却并未答话，一直无言地垂首。
站在他身边的人们看见他莹润的泪珠滴洒在胸前。
他携众人一同向圣殿前的广场走去。
圣殿里面迎出一位女预言家，她叫埃尔米特拉。
他目光柔和地注视着她，因为在他抵达本城的第一天，她便找到他，虔诚地追随他，成为他的第一个信徒。
她向他敬贺道：
上帝的先知，至高无上的探索者，漫长的岁月中，你始终向远方寻找你的航船。
现在你的船儿来了，你必须归去。
你对于那记忆中的故乡如此渴望，对期盼的居所是如此炽烈地向往。我们的爱，不能把你牵系；我们的恳求，也不能将你留住。
然而在你离去之前，请将真理昭示予我们。
我们将把它传给子孙，他们再传给他们的后代，令其永不泯灭，永恒如新。
在你孤独时，曾审视过我们日间的生活；在你不眠的时刻，曾倾听过我们梦中的悲喜。
因此，请向我们展示出真我吧，告诉我们你所知道的所有关于生与死的一切。
他回答道：
奥菲利斯城的人们啊，除了此刻激荡于你们灵魂中的那些事情，我还能说什么呢？
Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn onto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.
And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the ship coming with the mist.
Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.
But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:
How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.
Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scatterd in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.
It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.
Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.
Yet I cannot tarry longer.
The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark.
For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.
Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?
A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.
And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.
Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.
And his soul cried out to them, and he said:
Sons of mv ancient mother, you riders of the tides,
How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream.
Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind.
Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward,
Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.
And you, vast sea, sleepless mother,
Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream,
Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade,
And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates.
And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from the field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship.
And he said to himself:
Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering?
And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn?
And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress?
Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them?
And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?
Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?
A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?
If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unrembered seasons?
If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein.
Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern,
And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.
These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.
And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice.
And the elders of the city stood forth and said:
Go not yet away from us.
A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream.
No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved.
Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face.
And the priests and the priestesses said unto him:
Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.
You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.
Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.
Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.
And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
And others came also and entreated him.
But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast.
And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple.
And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress.
And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city.
And she hailed him, saying:
Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship.
And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.
Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you.
Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth.
And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.
In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep.
Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.
And he answered,
People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving your souls?