诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第8章Part 1

OUT OF SIGHT of Mister's sight, away, praise His name, from the smiling boss of roosters, PaulD began to tremble. Not all at once and not so anyone could tell. When he turned his head, aimingfor a last look at Brother, turned it as much as the rope that connected his neck to the axle of abuckboard allowed, and, later on, when they fastened the iron around his ankles and clamped thewrists as well, there was no outward sign of trembling at all. Nor eighteen days after that when hesaw the ditches; the one thousand feet of earth — five feet deep, five feet wide, into which woodenboxes had been fitted. A door of bars that you could lift on hinges like a cage opened into threewalls and a roof of scrap lumber and red dirt. Two feet of it over his head; three feet of open trenchin front of him with anything that crawled or scurried welcome to share that grave calling itselfquarters. And there were forty-five more. He was sent there after trying to kill Brandywine, theman schoolteacher sold him to. Brandywine was leading him, in a coffle with ten others, throughKentucky into Virginia. He didn't know exactly what prompted him to try — other than Halle,Sixo, Paul A, Paul F and Mister. But the trembling was fixed by the time he knew it was there.
Still no one else knew it, because it began inside. A flutter of a kind, in the chest, then the shoulderblades. It felt like rippling — gentle at first and then wild. As though the further south they led himthe more his blood, frozen like an ice pond for twenty years, began thawing, breaking into piecesthat, once melted, had no choice but to swirl and eddy. Sometimes it was in his leg. Then again itmoved to the base of his spine. By the time they unhitched him from the wagon and he sawnothing but dogs and two shacks in a world of sizzling grass, the roiling blood was shaking him toand fro. But no one could tell. The wrists he held out for the bracelets that evening were steady aswere the legs he stood on when chains were attached to the leg irons. But when they shoved himinto the box and dropped the cage door down, his hands quit taking instruction. On their own, theytraveled. Nothing could stop them or get their attention. They would not hold his penis to urinateor a spoon to scoop lumps of lima beans intohis mouth. The miracle of their obedience came withthe hammer at dawn.
All forty-six men woke to rifle shot. All forty-six. Three whitemen walked along the trenchunlocking the doors one by one. No one stepped through. When the last lock was opened, the threereturned and lifted the bars, one by one. And one by one the blackmen emerged — promptly and without the poke of a rifle butt if they had been there more than a day; promptly with the butt if,like Paul D, they had just arrived. When all forty-six were standing in a line in the trench, anotherrifle shot signaled the climb out and up to the ground above, where one thousand feet of the besthand-forged chain in Georgia stretched. Each man bent and waited. The first man picked up theend and threaded it through the loop on his leg iron. He stood up then, and, shuffling a little,brought the chain tip to the next prisoner, who did likewise. As the chain was passed on and eachman stood in the other's place, the line of men turned around, facing the boxes they had come outof. Not one spoke to the other. At least not with words. The eyes had to tell what there was to tell:
"Help me this morning 's bad"; "I'm a make it"; "New man"; "Steady now steady."
Chain-up completed, they knelt down. The dew, more likely than not, was mist by then. Heavysometimes and if the dogs were quiet and just breathing you could hear doves. Kneeling in the mistthey waited for the whim of a guard, or two, or three. Or maybe all of them wanted it. Wanted itfrom one prisoner in particular or none — or all.
"Breakfast? Want some breakfast, nigger?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hungry, nigger?"
"Yes, sir."
"Here you go."

在"先生"的视线达不到的地方，谢天谢地，远离了公鸡们那微笑着的首领，保罗·D开始颤抖。不是突然开始的，也不是可以轻易觉察出来的。当他的脖子被绳子拴在马车轴上，而他在绳子允许的范围内尽可能地扭过头、希望最后看一眼"兄弟"的时候，还有后来，当他们把镣铐铐上他的脚踝和手腕的时候，都根本没有颤抖的明显迹象。就是十八天以后，当他看见壕沟的时候，也仍然没有任何迹象。那是一道一千英尺长的泥土沟——有五英尺深、五英尺宽，正好放进那些木头匣子。匣子有道栅栏门，可以用绞索提起，好像打开一个笼子，打开后就能看见三面墙和一个用废木材和红土做成的屋顶。他头顶上有两英尺空间，面前有三英尺敞开的壕沟，供所有爬行的和疾走的东西来与他分享这个叫做住处的坟坑。这样的坟坑另外还有四十五个。他被送到那里是因为他企图杀死"学校老师"把他卖给的那个男人，"白兰地酒"。本来，"白兰地酒"正领着他和其他十个奴隶组成的一队人，穿过肯塔基前往弗吉尼亚。他搞不清楚究竟是什么促使他去以身试法——除了因为黑尔、西克索、保罗·A、保罗·F和"先生"。可是等他意识到的时候，颤抖已经固定不去了。
然而始终没有别的人知道，因为它发自内部。是一种颤动，先是在胸口，再传递到肩胛。感觉起来像涟漪一样——开始时柔和，然后就转为猛烈。似乎他们越将他领往南方，他的像冰封的池塘一样冻结了二十年的血液就越开始融化，裂成碎块，而一旦融化了，就只能打着旋儿飞转，此外别无选择。有时候颤抖是在他的腿里。然后再次传到他的脊椎底部。等他们将他从大车上解下来，他看到眼前这个野草咝咝作响的世界，除了狗群和两间小木屋以外一无所有，这时，愤怒的血液已经激得他前后摇晃。可是没有人能看出来。那天晚上，他伸出手来戴手铐，手腕很稳健；他们往他脚镣上拴铁链时，他那支撑身体的双腿也同样稳健。可是当他们把他塞进匣子、放下笼门的时候，他的手再也不听话了。它们自己活动起来。什么都无法止住它们，或者吸引它们的注意力。它们拒绝握着他的阴茎撒尿，或者拿着勺子舀一勺利马豆送进嘴里。直到黎明来临，该去抡大锤时，它们才奇迹般地驯服了。
一声枪响，四十六个男人一齐醒来。所有四十六个。三个白人沿沟走过，一把接一把地打开门锁。没人迈出一步。等到最后一把锁打开，三个人返回来提起栅栏，一扇接一扇。然后黑人们鱼贯而出——那些起码在里面待上过一天的，动作很利索，不会被枪托捣中；若是新来乍到，比如保罗·D，则不免挨上一枪托，才会麻利些。当四十六人全部在沟里站成一列时，另一声枪响命令他们爬出来，爬到头顶的地面上，于是一千英尺长的、佐治亚最好的手工锁链抻开来。每个人都弯腰等着。头一个拾起锁链的一头，穿进脚镣上的铁环。然后他站起身来，拖了几步，把链子递给下一个犯人，那个人就照他的样子做。等到链子一直传到头，每个人都站到了别人的位置上，这一列男人就掉转头，面向他们刚刚爬出的匣子。没有一个人对另一个说话。至少不用语言。要想说什么得用眼睛：
"今儿早上帮我一把，糟透了"；"我活着"；"新来的"；"别急，现在别急"。
锁链全部上好，他们跪下来。露水这时候多半已经变成了雾气，有时还很重。如果狗很安静，只是呼吸，你还能听见鸽子的声响。他们跪在雾里，等待着一个、两个或者三个看守异想天开的折磨。也许他们三个都喜欢心血来潮。或者针对某个特定的犯人，或者不针对任何人——或者针对所有人。
"早餐？想吃早餐吗，黑鬼？"
"是，先生。"
"饿了，黑鬼？"
"是，先生。"
"去你妈的吧。"