一个爱情故事 – A love story – English

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-然后呢?
-然后你就出现了。

故事就结束了。

我从前的故事……开心的,痛苦的,心碎的,不甘的,遗憾的,故事,都结束了。

连一点留恋也没有了。从前的都是身前事了。你给我一个新世界了。昨日譬如昨日死,我回过头,我的尸体就陈在隔岸,遥遥望去,它的肉身仿佛是真实的,仿佛是柔软的。

那些故事也依旧是柔软的……她偷偷跑到一扇窗前看那光,希望能被照亮;如果光不在,她就流眼泪。另一个流眼泪的人从背后抱住她,她在黑夜里听他抽泣的声音,她一句话也不说。有人吻她的眼泪,一点点,全都喝进去;又是同一个人,让她流眼泪,并赶她出门,在一个深夜,在一个节日里。

是什么节日呢?我不记得了。那样难过的感觉,也不记得了。只记得她一个人走在马路上,一辆又一辆车闪着灯经过她身旁,她一步步地走,眼泪流过整条街。

那么多眼泪。一定不是白白流去的吧。

也许它们已经都回来了。填充了我今日的心。所以我走路的时候,能听到一片片摇曳的声音,哗啦啦,哗啦啦,我若是大笑,它们就溢出来,又变成眼泪。

都是循环的。世界是圆的。

就像你,不过是我受过的苦,又报回来了。你结束了从前的故事,你又开始了新的故事。消失的,还在继续着。

但我怎么就不厌倦呢,生命怎么这么好呢,日光之下并无新事……我也不过是重复着死去的我。那具尸体,一直在我身后不远处。

你看得到它吗?你的身边是否有另一具尸体呢?

……不,一定不会,你是崭新的。你是为我而生的。在我的世界里,你是为了我。

可我是陈旧的。我甚至是不能被摊平的。我的身体上,处处都是褶皱,我也不掩饰,我站在你面前,听你告诉我:我爱你,也爱你的每一条褶皱,那都是美丽的,都像花瓣尖蜷缩起来的模样;或者水母裙子般层层叠叠。

你也看得到它吧,在河对岸的它。或者你趁我不注意的时候,凝视过它呢。那时你的眼神,是温柔的吗,你会感谢它带来了我吗。你应该感谢它。那死去的她,那死去的我。

又或者你看不到它。又或者在你眼里,我也是崭新的,还挂着露珠的新。在你的世界里,我只是为了你。

我回过头,看它。我并不经常看它。你越是好,我越是分不开身去看它。有时我是很懊恼的——我担心它会寂寞。

我胡说呢,寂寞的是我才对吧。它不再有感觉了——甜的,苦的,酸的……她是不会再感觉到了,她都尝过了,她带着它们一并死去了。从前种种,她经历过了,她的每一道伤痕,都不再痛了。甚至并没有一处致命伤,你知道的,他们都没有对她造成致命伤,流泪是不会致死的……她死于我的生,我看到你了,我就睁开眼睛了,笑了。她死于过去,死于一些遥远的故事,死于另一个开始。

有时我想抱着你滚下崖,滚到河里去,一起淹死,做两具抱在一起的尸体。死是永不分离,死是永不结束,死是那么好的事。但想到不能再和你吵架,和你开玩笑,和你分享糖果……我又不愿意死了。活着才能做很多很多事。生命是重复的,幸福是对重复的渴求。

我有时候捡起发生在她身上的,那些柔软的故事,给你看。你总是笑着读它们,你并不在意,也不被吸引,因为那些故事都是重复的,都没有什么特别的。都包裹着笑与泪,都皱皱的,疲倦的,截然而止的。

而截然而止的故事并不太好看。所以有时你读完了,问我,

-然后呢?
-然后你就出现了。

没有然后了。



Source : Douban 29 November 2012

Article Revisions:

Changes:

January 16, 2013 @ 13:30:27Current Revision
Content
-然后呢?  
-然后你就出现了。  
故事就结束了。  
我从前的故事……开心的,痛苦的,心碎的,不甘的,遗憾的,故事,都结束了。  
连一点留恋也没有了。从前的都是身前事了。你给我一个新世界了。昨日譬如昨日死,我回过头,我的尸体就陈在隔岸,遥遥望去,它的肉身仿佛是真实的,仿佛是柔软的。  
那些故事也依旧是柔软的……她偷偷跑到一扇窗前看那光,希望能被照亮;如果光不在,她就流眼泪。另一个流眼泪的人从背后抱住她,她在黑夜里听他抽泣的声音,她一句话也不说。有人吻她的眼泪,一点点,全都喝进去;又是同一个人,让她流眼泪,并赶她出门,在一个深夜,在一个节日里。  
是什么节日呢?我不记得了。那样难过的感觉,也不记得了。只记得她一个人走在马路上,一辆又一辆车闪着灯经过她身旁,她一步步地走,眼泪流过整条街。  
那么多眼泪。一定不是白白流去的吧。  
也许它们已经都回来了。填充了我今日的心。所以我走路的时候,能听到一片片摇曳的声音,哗啦啦,哗啦啦,我若是大笑,它们就溢出来,又变成眼泪。  
都是循环的。世界是圆的。  
就像你,不过是我受过的苦,又报回来了。你结束了从前的故事,你又开始了新的故事。消失的,还在继续着。  
但我怎么就不厌倦呢,生命怎么这么好呢,日光之下并无新事……我也不过是重复着死去的我。那具尸体,一直在我身后不远处。  
你看得到它吗?你的身边是否有另一具尸体呢?  
……不,一定不会,你是崭新的。你是为我而生的。在我的世界里,你是为了我。  
可我是陈旧的。我甚至是不能被摊平的。我的身体上,处处都是褶皱,我也不掩饰,我站在你面前,听你告诉我:我爱你,也爱你的每一条褶皱,那都是美丽的,都像花瓣尖蜷缩起来的模样;或者水母裙子般层层叠叠。  
你也看得到它吧,在河对岸的它。或者你趁我不注意的时候,凝视过它呢。那时你的眼神,是温柔的吗,你会感谢它带来了我吗。你应该感谢它。那死去的她,那死去的我。  
又或者你看不到它。又或者在你眼里,我也是崭新的,还挂着露珠的新。在你的世界里,我只是为了你。  
我回过头,看它。我并不经常看它。你越是好,我越是分不开身去看它。有时我是很懊恼的——我担心它会寂寞。  
  <p>- And then?</p>
  <p>- And then you appeared.</p>
  <p>The story was over.</p>
  <p>My stories from the past…happy ones, painful ones, heartbreaking ones, unreconciled ones, regretful ones, stories, they're all over.</p>
  <p>Not even a little lingering fondness was left. Everything from before was now behind me. You gave me a new world. <span style="color: #ff6600;">Yesterday, for example, yesterday’s death.</span> I turn my head back and my corpse is laid out on the opposite bank. Gazing distantly across, its corporeal body is as if it is real, as if it is soft. </p>
  <p>Those stories are also as soft as before...she secretly runs over to a window and looks at the light, hoping to be illuminated; if the light is not there, then she cries. Another crying person embraces her from behind and she hears the sound of his sobs in the night, she doesn't say a word. Someone kisses her tears, completely drinking in each and every drop; it is the same person again who made her cry and threw her out of the house, in the late night, on a <span style="color: #ff6600;">festival holiday</span>. </p>
  <p>What was the holiday? I don’t remember anymore. That feeling of hurt, I do not remember either. I only remember her walking alone on the road, car after car with their lights shining passing right by her, and she walked step by step, her tears flowing across the entire street.</p>
  <p>So many tears. They surely weren't shed for nothing.</p>
  <p>Perhaps they've already come back. Padded out my heart today. So when I am walking, I can hear the sound of <span style="color: #ff6600;">sloshing, hwalahlah, hwalahlah.</span> If I were to laugh loudly then they would overflow and turn into tears once more.</p>
  <p>All is cyclical. The world is circular.</p>
  <p>Just like you, except that it is the suffering I bore that has <span style="color: #ff6600;">returned again in recompense</span>. You ended the stories from the past, and you began a new story again. That which has disappeared is still continuing.</p>
  <p>But how I am just not fed up? How is life so good? There really isn't anything new <span style="color: #ff6600;">under the sun</span>...I too am merely <span style="color: #ff6600;">repeating the dead me</span>. That corpse has always been in a place not far behind me.</p>
  <p>Can you see it? Have you another corpse by your side?</p>
  <p>...No, there's no way, you are brand new. You were born for me. In my world, you are for the purpose of me.</p>
  <p>But I am old-fashioned. I can't even be laid out flat on the ground. All over my body are creases and I won't cover them up either. I stand before you and listen to you tell me: I love you, and I also love every one of your creases. They are all beautiful, like the curled up ends of flower petals in their appearance; or as the tiered layers upon layers are on a jellyfish's skirt. </p>
  <p>You can see it, too, right, on the opposite bank of the river. Or you’ve waited for when I’ve not been paying attention and fixed your gaze on it. When you do, is the look in your eyes tender? Will you thank it for bringing me? You should thank it. That dead her, that dead me.</p>
  <p>Or perhaps you can't see it. Or perhaps in your eyes, I too am brand new, so new I still have dew hanging off me. In your world, I am only for the purpose of you.</p>
  <p>I turn my head back and look at it. I don’t look at it often at all. The better you are the more I am unable to take myself away to look at it. Sometimes I am really upset and annoyed – I worry that it will be lonely. </p>
  <p>I am talking nonsense, I am the one who is lonely, more like it. It no longer has feeling – sweetness, bitterness, sourness…she will no longer have feeling, she’s tasted it all, she took them with her to die. All manner of things in the past she has experienced. Each of her scars will no longer hurt. She doesn’t even have a single mortal wound, you know, none of them caused her mortal wounds, crying won’t be lethal…she died in my life, I saw you and then I opened my eyes and smiled. She died in the past, died in some distant stories, died in another beginning.</p>
  <p>Sometimes I want to roll down a cliff hugging you and roll into the river to drown together and be two corpses hugged together. Death is never parting, death is never ending, death is that good a thing. But to think that I would not be able to quarrel with you, joke with you, or share candy with you again…I am again unwilling to die. Only by living can lots and lots of stuff be done. Life repeats itself and happiness longs for repetition.</p>
  <p>Sometimes I gather up those soft stories that happened to her and show you. You always laugh as you read them. You don’t care at all, nor are you drawn in by them, because those stories are repetitions without anything special about them. They all bundle up laughter and tears, and all wrinkly and tired, come to a <span style="color: #ff6600;">sudden</span> stop. </p>
  <p>And stories that suddenly stop are not good at all. So sometimes when you’ve finished reading you ask me, </p>
我胡说呢,寂寞的是我才对吧。它不再有感觉了——甜的,苦的,酸的……她是不会再感觉到了,她都尝过了,她带着它们一并死去了。从前种种,她经历过了,她的每一道伤痕,都不再痛了。甚至并没有一处致命伤,你知道的,他们都没有对她造成致命伤,流泪是不会致死的……她死于我的生,我看到你了,我就睁开眼睛了,笑了。她死于过去,死于一些遥远的故事,死于另一个开始。 <p>- And then?</p>
有时我想抱着你滚下崖,滚到河里去,一起淹死,做两具抱在一起的尸体。死是永不分离,死是永不结束,死是那么好的事。但想到不能再和你吵架,和你开玩笑,和你分享糖果……我又不愿意死了。活着才能做很多很多事。生命是重复的,幸福是对重复的渴求。  
我有时候捡起发生在她身上的,那些柔软的故事,给你看。你总是笑着读它们,你并不在意,也不被吸引,因为那些故事都是重复的,都没有什么特别的。都包裹着笑与泪,都皱皱的,疲倦的,截然而止的。  
而截然而止的故事并不太好看。所以有时你读完了,问我,  
-然后呢?  
-然后你就出现了。  
没有然后了。  
  <p>- And then you appeared.</p>
  <p>There isn't anymore.</p>

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About julien.leyre

French-Australian writer, educator, sinophile. Any question? Contact julien@marcopoloproject.org