諾貝爾文學經典:《寵兒》第8章Part 2

Occasionally a kneeling man chose gunshot in his head as the price, maybe, of taking a bit offoreskin with him to Jesus. Paul D did not know that then. He was looking at his palsied hands,smelling the guard, listening to his soft grunts so like the doves', as he stood before the mankneeling in mist on his right. Convinced he was next, Paul D retched — vomiting up nothing at all. An observing guard smashed his shoulder with the rifle and the engaged one decided to skip thenew man for the time being lest his pants and shoes got soiled by nigger puke.
"Hiiii"
It was the first sound, other than "Yes, sir" a blackman was allowed to speak each morning, andthe lead chain gave it everything he had. "Hiiii!" It was never clear to Paul D how he knew whento shout that mercy. They called him Hi Man and Paul D thought at first the guards told him whento give the signal that let the prisoners rise up off their knees and dance two-step to the music ofhand forged iron. Later he doubted it. He believed to this day that the "Hiiii!" at dawn and the"Hoooo!" when evening came were the responsibility Hi Man assumed because he alone knewwhat was enough, what was too much, when things were over, when the time had come.
They chain-danced over the fields, through the woods to a trail that ended in the astonishing beautyof feldspar, and there Paul D's hands disobeyed the furious rippling of his blood and paid attention. With a sledge hammer in his hands and Hi Man's lead, the men got through. They sang it out andbeat it up, garbling the words so they could not be understood; tricking the words so their syllablesyielded up other meanings. They sang the women they knew; the children they had been; theanimals they had tamed themselves or seen others tame. They sang of bosses and masters andmisses; of mules and dogs and the shamelessness of life. They sang lovingly of graveyards andsisters long gone. Of pork in the woods; meal in the pan; fish on the line; cane, rain and rockingchairs.
And they beat. The women for having known them and no more,no more; the children for having been them but never again. They killed a boss so often and socompletely they had to bring him back to life to pulp him one more time. Tasting hot mealcakeamong pine trees, they beat it away. Singing love songs to Mr. Death, they smashed his head. More than the rest, they killed the flirt whom folks called Life for leading them on. Making themthink the next sunrise would be worth it; that another stroke of time would do it at last. Only whenshe was dead would they be safe. The successful ones — the ones who had been there enoughyears to have maimed, mutilated, maybe even buried her — kept watch over the others who werestill in her cock-teasing hug, caring and looking forward, remembering and looking back. Theywere the ones whose eyes said, "Help me, 's bad"; or "Look out," meaning this might be the day Ibay or eat my own mess or run, and it was this last that had to be guarded against, for if onepitched and ran — all, all forty-six, would be yanked by the chain that bound them and no tellingwho or how many would be killed. A man could risk his own life, but not his brother's. So the eyessaid, "Steady now," and "Hang by me."Eighty-six days and done. Life was dead. Paul D beat her butt all day every day till there was not awhimper in her. Eighty-six days and his hands were still, waiting serenely each rat-rustling nightfor "Hiiii!" at dawn and the eager clench on the hammer's shaft. Life rolled over dead. Or so hethought.
It rained.

偶爾，一個跪着的男人也許會選擇腦袋上挨槍子兒，作爲帶着一點包皮去見耶穌的代價。保羅·D當時還不知道那個。當看守站在他右邊霧中跪着的那個男人面前時，他正在端詳自己不住痙攣的手，一邊聞着看守的氣味，一邊聽着看守酷似鴿子的沉悶的咕噥聲。保羅·D斷定下一個是自己了，便乾嘔起來——實際上什麼也沒吐出來。一個眼尖的看守舉起槍死命去搗他的肩膀，那個動手的看守決定暫時跳過這個新來的，以免褲子和鞋被黑鬼嘔出的東西弄髒。
"嗨——!"
這是除了"是，先生"之外，其中一個黑人每天早晨允許發出的第一聲呼喊，因爲在鎖鏈上領頭，他纔有了這一切權力。"嗨——!"保羅·D始終搞不明白，他怎麼知道什麼時候喊出那一聲悲憫。他們叫他"嗨師傅"。保羅·D起先以爲是看守告訴他什麼時候發出信號，讓犯人們爬起來跟着手工鐐銬的音樂跳兩步舞的。後來他才納悶起來。他至今依然相信，黎明的"嗨——!"和傍晚的"呼——!"是"嗨師傅"主動承擔的責任，因爲只有他一個人知道多少是足夠，多少是過分，何時事情了結，何時時機已到。
他們帶着鎖鏈一路舞過田野，穿過樹林，來到一條小徑上；小徑盡頭是一座美得驚人的長石礦，在那裏，保羅·D的雙手抵住了血液中憤怒的漣漪，將注意力集中起來。在"嗨師傅"的帶領下，男人們手掄長柄大鐵錘，苦熬過來。他們唱出心中塊壘，再砸碎它；篡改歌詞，好不讓別人聽懂；玩文字遊戲，好讓音節生出別的意思。他們唱着與他們相識的女人；唱着他們曾經是過的孩子；唱着他們自己馴養或者看見別人馴養的動物。他們唱着工頭、主人和小姐；唱着騾子、狗和生活的無恥。他們深情地唱着墳墓和去了很久的姐妹。唱林中的豬肉；唱鍋裏的飯菜；唱釣絲上的魚兒；唱甘蔗、雨水和搖椅。
他們砸着。砸着他們從前曾經認識、現在卻不再擁有的女人；砸着他們從前曾經是過、卻永不會再是的孩子。他們如此頻繁、如此徹底地砸死一個工頭，結果不得不讓他活過來，好再一次把他砸成肉醬。他們在松林中間品嚐熱蛋糕，又將它砸跑。他們一邊爲死亡先生唱着情歌，一邊砸碎他的腦袋。更有甚者，他們砸死了那個人們稱之爲生命的騷貨，就是她引領着他們前進，讓他們覺得太陽再次升起是值得的；鐘聲的再一次鳴響終將了結一切。只有讓她死去他們纔會安全。成功者們——那些在裏面待足了年頭，已將她殘害、切斷手足，甚至埋葬了的人——一直留心着其餘那些仍然處在她淫蕩懷抱裏的人，那些牽掛和瞻望着、牢記和回顧着的人們。就是這些人，依然用眼睛說着"救救我，糟透了"，說着"小心啊"，意思是：很可能就是今天，我得吠叫、瘋掉，或者逃跑了，而最後這一點是必須提高警惕、嚴加防範的，因爲如果有一個逃掉了——那麼，所有、所有四十六個人，就會被拴住他們的鎖鏈拖走，說不準會有誰、會有多少個要被殺掉。一個人可以拿自己的性命冒險，卻不能拿兄弟們的冒險。於是，他們用眼睛說，"現在別急"，說，"有我在呢"。八十六天，幹完了。生命死了。保羅·D整天砸她的屁股，直到她嚥了氣爲止。八十六天過去，他的手不抖了，在耗子猖獗的每一個夜晚，他平靜地等待着黎明的一聲"嗨——!"，熱切地渴望去握緊大錘把兒。生命翻過身去死掉了。至少他是這麼想的。
下雨了。