溪流Streams

贾平凹 胡宗锋 罗宾·吉尔班克

我愈来愈爱着生我养我的土地了。就像山地里纵纵横横的沟岔一样，就像山地里有着形形色色的花木一样，我一写山，似乎思路就开了，文笔也活了。

I have grown to cherish more and more the land that nurtured me. Just as there are crisscrossing valleys and gulleys in the mountain， there are all sorts of flowers and trees on those slopes. When I began to write about mountains， my train of thought seemed ignited and my writing sprang to life.

甚至觉得，我的生命，我的笔命，就是那山溪哩。虽然在莽莽的山的世界里，它只是那么柔得可怜，细得伤感的一股儿水流。我常常这么想：天上的雨落在地上，或许会成洪波，但它来自云里;溪是有根的，它凉凉地扎在山峰之下。人都说山是庄严的，几乎是死寂的，其实这是错的。它最有着内涵，最有着活力。那山下一定是有着很大很大的海的，永远在蕴含感情，永远是不安宁，表现着的，恐怕便是这小溪了。

I even felt that my own life and the life of my pen were mountain streams. In the luxuriant mountain， though， these channels are pitifully tender and sentimentally thin. I always think that： the rain in the sky could fall to the ground and whip up the waves of a flood， but instead when they leave the clouds， streams strike roots， roots which plunge into the cold land beneath the mountain. People claim that mountains are solemn， so deadly silent. Actually they are wrong. Streams have the most intricate inner essence and are the most vigorous. Underneath the mountains there must sit an immense sea. Its emotions are fermenting away and remain forever restless. The only means for it to vent those feelings are through those small streams.

或许，它是从石缝里一滴一滴渗出来的，是从小草的根下一个泡儿一个泡儿冒出来的。但是，太阳晒不干、黄风刮不跑的。天性是那么晶莹，气息是那么清新。它一出来，便宣告了它的生命，寻着自己的道路要流动了。

It could be that they ooze out drop by drop from every crevice. Or perhaps they gush from the roots of the minute grass roots one bubble after another. The sunlight is incapable of drying them out and the yellow wind cannot whip them away. Their nature is so crystalline， their breath so refreshing. The moment they are born， they declare their fate and find their paths along which to meander.

正因为寻着自己的道路，它的步伐是艰辛的。然而，它从石板上滑下，便有了自己的铜的韵味的声音;它从石崖上跌落，便有了自己白练般的颜色;它回旋在穴潭之中，便有了自己叵不可测的深沉。它终于慢慢地大起来了，要走更远的道儿。它流过了石川，流过了草地，流过了竹林，它要拜访所有的山岭，叩问每一块石头，有时会突然潜入河床的沙石之下去了呢。于是，轻风给了它柔情，鲜花给了它芬芳，竹林给了它凉绿，那多情的游鱼，那斑斓的卵石，也给它增添了美的色彩。

Simply because they are seeking after their own paths， their steps are arduous. When they slide down from the slate， they reverberate with a bewitching bronze-like echo. When they hurl themselves off the cliffs， they have the hue of white silk. Swirling around in holes and ponds， their depths become unfathomable. Gradually they broaden and migrate further afield. They course through rocky passes， inundate grasslands， traverse bamboo groves and visit all the mountains， enquiring about every lump of rock. Sometimes they abruptly dive beneath the sediment of riverbeds. The gentle breeze lends them tenderness， the flowers offer them fragrance， and the bamboo donates its cold green. The ardent swimming fish and the kaleidoscopic pebbles add a delectable charm.

它在流著，流着。它要流到哪里去呢？我想，山既然给了它的生命，它该是充实的，富有的。或许，它是做一颗露珠儿去滋润花瓣，深入到枝叶里了，使草木的绿素传送;或许，它竟能掀翻一抔泥，拔脱一丛腐根呢。那么，让它流去吧，山地这么大，这么复杂，只要它流，它探索，它就有了自己的路子。

They trickle on and on. Where are they going？ I think that since the mountains offered them life， they should be rich and substantial. Maybe they will be transformed into morning dew and sprinkle themselves over buds. Or will they penetrate the depths of the leaves， ferrying along chlorophyll for trees and grasses. Alternatively they could dislodge a slab of sludge or pluck away a clump of rotten roots. Then， let them flow. The mountains are both vast and complicated. As long as they flow onwards， exploring， streams will pioneer their own paths.

我是这么想的，我提醒着我，我鼓励着我，我便将它写成了淡淡的文字，聊作这本小书的小序了。

I think in this way， I warn and encourage myself. So， I have written these lighthearted words as a short prelude for my new collection of works.

（中文原文选自《贾平凹小说新作集》）