小镇上有两种声音 一样的寂寥： 白天是算命锣， 夜里是梆子。
敲不破别人的梦， 做着梦似的 瞎子在街上走， 一步又一步。 他知道哪一块石头低， 哪一块石头高， 哪一家姑娘有多大年纪。
敲沉了别人的梦， 做着梦似的 更夫在街上走， 一步又一步。 他知道哪一块石头低， 哪一块石头高， 哪一家门户关得最严密。
“三更了，你听哪， 毛儿的爸爸， 这小子吵得人睡不成觉， 老在梦里哭， 明天替他算算命吧？”
是深夜， 又是清冷的下午： 敲梆的过桥， 敲锣的又过桥， 不断的是桥下流水的声音。
Dream
of an Old Town Bian Zhilin
Two sounds in the old town —equally melancholic are the daily fortune-teller’s gong, and the nightly watchman’s clappers.
Not apt to disturb other’s dreams, as if in a dream himself, the blind fortune-teller walks the
streets step by step, knowing so well which flagstones are
low, which high; how old the daughters of a certain
family might be…
Then making others go deeper into their
dreams, he himself as if in a dream, the watchman goes his rounds step by step, knowing well which flagstones are low, which high; which doors are tightly shut.
“Listen, it’s the third watch already,” A good wife says, “Mao Er’s dad! The boy cries ever in his dreams, stopping us from sleeping; we must have his fortune told tomorrow.”
Comes midnight for one, a cold afternoon for the other. He with clappers crosses the bridge, he with gong crosses also, while beneath the water flows on, ever
murmuring.
（Rewi
Alley 译） |
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