Norwegian Wood(2)

 
　　机身停稳后，旅客解开安全带，从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，呼吸着草的芬芳，感受着风的轻柔，谛听着鸟的鸣啭。那还是1969年的秋天，我快满20岁的时候。
 
　　…
 
　　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.
 
　　当然，只要有时间，我会忆起她的面容。我追忆着：那冷冰冰的小手，那流线型泻下的手感爽适的秀发，那圆圆的软软的耳垂及其紧靠底端的小小黑痔，那冬日里时常穿的格调高雅的驼绒大衣，那总是定定注视对方眼睛发问的惯常动作，那不时奇妙发出的微微颤抖的语声（就像在强风中的山岗上说话一样）—随着这些印象的叠涌，她的面庞突然自然地浮现出来。最先出现是她的侧脸，大概因为我总是同她并肩走路的缘故，最先想起来的每每是她的侧影。随之，她朝我转过脸，甜甜地一笑，微微地低头，轻轻地启齿，定定地看着我的双眼，仿佛在一混清澈的泉水里寻觅稍纵即逝的小鱼的行踪。
 
　　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.