Enjoy the Round
好好打一场高尔夫球
By James Dodson

导读

 文章如标题所示，写了玩高尔夫球，国人对此尚陌生，但文中对此运动有精彩描写，作者的父亲甚至认为：To him golf was also a character builder…. Golf is a game that made you smile. 然而，它实际是通过“我”的父亲，真情抒写一个极其重要的人生哲理：…the only thing life really promises us is pain. It’s up to us to create the joy.
 父亲身患绝症，自知来日无多。甚至此刻，父子俩还决定飞往英国的St.Anderews打几场高尔夫球。
 在英国，“我们”走访了一个名叫Freckleton的村子，二战期间，父亲曾在驻此的Army Air Force服过役。一个偶然的巧遇，让父亲吐出了隐藏其心间数十年的一件往事：当时一架bomber失事坠落在这里的一所学校，38名4到5岁的儿童罹难！父亲说：I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything quite so sad!
 人生在世，目睹如此飞来大祸，有思想者必会在震惊、痛苦和思索中走出混沌，而走向大彻大悟。从此，大祸甚至改变了父亲观察人生的视角：But then “something happened” and he realized “the only thing life really promises us is pain.” It’s up to us to create the joy. Opti the Mystic had been born in that bomber’s wreckage.
 文章的深度，父亲的高尚在下文得到了挖掘和发挥：父亲从此笑看人生、勤勉达观，以哲人的眼光看待人生：To Opti, hard work was a form of play because work involved solving problems. 
 高尔夫球成了父亲一生的嗜好，更加难能可贵的是父亲的人格魅力、意志风采竟在这项运动中得到了磨练和折射（This life view fit the philosophy of his favorite game－golf－like a glove.）。
 文章以父亲的一句名言首尾呼应：….relax and enjoy the round. The game ends far too soon.直到父亲离开了人世，我才得其奥妙：The game ends too soon既指一场高尔夫球赛，更指人生之易逝！ Enjoy it, 既指好好打球，更指认真做人，尽享人生！
 打球就有各种规则。 To him golf was also a character builder. 父亲将这种比赛中的规则运用到生活之中。 文章的另一个感人的故事是： 
 The Old Course, draws golf’s pilgrims.而此番两人的St. Andrews之行，很可能是父亲的高尔夫球的“绝场”，在世界闻名的球场终结最后一场父子之赛也许是此番远行的目的。不料：Demand for tee times is so fierce that there’s a daily drawing to determine who will play.为了不虚此行，“我”决定“开后门”： I knew a caddy who could get us on the course.
 父亲得知后，问：”Do you think it’s fair to ignore the rules?”
 “That’s not the issue, Dad.” I felt as if I were 12 years old, trying to explain why I’d used a crib sheet on a spelling test.
 对话以“我”的窘迫和尴尬告终，当“我”沉浸在无比憾意之中时，父亲在“我”身后又说了这样一句值得玩味的话：
 I’m told golf has been played here for almost 500 years and that anyone is entitled to walk these public grounds.
 本故事如作者所言，高尔夫球竟成了父子之间沟通之桥：Eventually when I calmed down and grew up, golf became much more than a game between my old man and me. It acted as my personal entry hatch to my father’s cosmos－a mean of seeing who this funky, funny, oddball philosopher really was, and who I needed to become.
 作者文笔老练，尤善用词的转义，或比喻，读者在阅读文章的过程中不妨细品慢咀。

 My old man was the original Silver Lining Guy. As a teen-ager I dubbed him, not entirely kindly, Opti the Mystic because of his crazy optimism, his relentless good cheer and his imperturbable knack for seeing any problem or crisis as “an opportunity for growth.”
我老爸与众不同，能在黑暗中看见光明。我十多岁的时候，就不很礼貌地给他起了个绰号，叫“老乐天”，因为他那狂热的乐观，他那执着的快乐性格，以及他那视逆境为良机的沉稳本领。

For 30 years my father had been a senior rep for one of the world’s largest industrial publishing firms. He’d transformed a sleepy advertising backwater into a thriving multimillion-dollar territory. To Opti, hard work was a form of play because work involved solving problems. This life view fit the philosophy of his favorite game－golf－like a glove.
 经过30年的奋斗，父亲已成为一家世界最大的工业印刷公司的高级代表。他把一个死气沉沉的广告公司变成朝气蓬勃盈利上百万美金的企业。对于“老乐天”来说，艰苦的工作就是娱乐，因为工作饱含着解决问题的快乐。这种人生观非常符合他信奉的最喜欢的运动——高尔夫哲学——像一只手套。

His first put a club in my hand when I was about ten. I threw a lot of tantrums in the upland hills of North Carolina, and clubs too. I was in such a rush to be good that he would urge me to “relax and enjoy the round. The game ends far too soon.” I didn’t have a clue what he meant.
他第一次把高尔夫球放在我手里的时候，我大约十岁。在北卡罗来纳州高原的山中，我一次次发脾气，一次次把球扔掉，我急于求成，老爸总是劝我“放松点，慢慢打，比赛结束得太快了。”我一点都不明白他的意思。

The real joy of play, he said, was in solving the unique riddle of each golf shot－ an unfair break, a horrendous lie in the rough. To him golf was also a character builder. For that reason, he was a stickler for the rules: you fixed dents in the green; you putted in turn; you congratulated an opponent on a good shot. He believed these courtesies were as essential to game as oxygen, but I suffocated under their constriction.
他说，高尔夫的真正乐趣，就在于如何解决每一杆球的独特谜团——不公平的犯规，球停在可怕的障碍区。于他，高尔夫还铸就了他的性格。因为这个原因，他严守规则：你把球击进了绿地上的球洞；该你推杆进球了；对手击出了个好球，你要由衷地祝贺。他坚信这些游戏的基本礼节，像氧气一样不可或缺，可我却被压抑得喘不过气来。

Eventually when I calmed down and grew up, golf became much more than a game between my old man and me. It acted as my personal entry hatch to my father’s cosmos－a mean of seeing who this funky, funny, oddball philosopher really was, and who I needed to become.
渐渐地，等我平静下来，也长大了，在我和老人之间，高尔夫就不仅仅是一场运动了。它已然成为我探索父亲广阔的内心宇宙的一道必经之门，他真是古怪风趣，言谈充满哲理，我正想成为他那样的智者。

The golf course became the place where we sorted things out. No topic was out of bounds: sex, women, God, career, money. We debated without rancor, found common ground, competed like crazy and took each other’s pocket change.
高尔夫球场是我们交流沟通的地方。在那里我们无话不谈：性、女人、上帝、事业、金钱。我们毫无敌意地争论，最终总能达成共识。父子俩用小钱打赌，竞争相当疯狂，不掏空对方口袋里的零钱决不罢休。

We played the day Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. We played the day before I got married and the day after my son was born. We played through the rain, the wind and the heat. We usually played late in the day, following our shadows in the last of the light.
在尼尔•阿姆斯特朗登上月球的那天，我们打了一场球。我结婚前的那天、儿子出生后的那天，我们也在打球。寒去暑来，风雨无阻。我们常在傍晚打球，直到夕阳的最后一抹余辉拉出我们长长的身影。

 But now Dad was pushing 80, and he faced the unpleasant aftereffects of a radical colostomy and a prostatectomy. His knees were weak, his hearing was going and he had a deteriorating cataract. He never mentioned these problems. And if I did, he merely laughed off my concerns.
可是，如今老父年届80，遭遇过结肠完全造口术和前列腺切开术这些不愉快的经历。他的膝盖酸软，听力衰退，还患有日益严重的白内障。他从不把这些放在心上，如果我提及此事，他对我的关心只是一笑置之。

On a wet and cold October day we played at Pinehurst, N.C., one of Dad’s favorite courses. He topped balls and missed putts he could once have made with his eyes shut. At one point I was passing a steep bunker when I heard him sheepishly ask me for a hand up. I took his hand. It was trembling ever so slightly. My heart almost broke. On the drive home I said, “Let’s take the trip we always talked about.”
在十月的一个潮湿寒冷的早晨，我们在北卡罗来纳州的松树谷打球，那是父亲最喜爱的球场之一。他起杆击球，没有击中，而这在以前他闭着眼都能将球击进球洞。路经坡陡的沙洼时，我听到身后父亲难为情地要求我拉他一把，我抓住了他的手；父亲的手竟在微微颤抖，我几乎心碎。开车回家的路上，我说：“我们总是说出去旅行，那就去吧？”

The trip was to St. Andrews, Scotland, the Mecca of golf. We’d both been there before－I as a golf writer, Dad as a sergeant in the Eighth Army Air Force during World WarⅡ－but we hadn’t played there together.
此行的目的地是苏格兰的圣安德鲁，高尔夫运动的圣地。我们都去过那儿——我作为高尔夫记者，而父亲是二战美空军第八军的中士——但我们从未一起在那儿打过球。

Two weeks before we were to leave, he called. “I had some bleeding,” he said. The cancer had come hack, spreading throughout his pelvic region, his back and stomach. He had a month, two at most, he said.
我们出发前的两个星期，父亲打电话来。“我出了一点血。”他说。癌症复发了，扩散到他的骨盆、背部和胃部。他说，他只剩1个月了，最多不超过2个月。

“They can pump me full of poison and buy a few more weeks, but who the hell needs that?” He said he planned to let nature take its course. I told him I admired his courage. He told me to save my lung power for the golf course. “I’m planning to whip your tail at St. Andrews,” he said. “See you at the airport.” Opti the Mystic had spoken.
“他们要用毒药注满我的身体，花钱让我多活几个星期，可是，见鬼，谁需要那样？”他说他打算顺其自然。我告诉他我很佩服他的勇气。他要我保存好肺活量，都用在高尔夫球场上。“我要在圣安德鲁把你打得落花流水。”老乐天说，“机场见！”

We decided to play several courses in England before heading to St. Andrews. The first round would be at Royal Lytham, near the English village of Freckleton. For 13 months during World WarⅡ my father had served as an Army Air Force parachute inspector on the outskirts of the village. On his days off he played golf.
在出发去圣安德鲁之前，我们决定先在英格兰打几场球。第一场是在皇家莱瑟姆，在英国乡村弗雷克尔顿附近。因为二战期间，父亲任美国空军伞兵巡查官，在村庄的郊外驻扎了13个月。业余的时候他就打打高尔夫。

As we rolled into Freckleton, schoolchildren jostled along the side-walks. “We had kids just like hanging around the base,” my father said. “I took photos of a lot of them. We had one PX all covered with their pictures.”
当我们开车驶进弗雷克尔顿，上学的孩子们在路边推推搡搡地嬉闹。“当时也有许多孩子来我们基地溜达，”父亲说，“我给他们拍了很多照片，军营小卖部里挂满了他们的照片。”

On the course that day, Dad showed a discernible lilt in his step. I could picture him swinging a club in his staff sergeant’s uniform.
那天在球场，父亲的脚步明显迈出轻快韵律。我可以想象他身着中士军装在俱乐部里挥杆的飒爽英姿。

We sat down to rest on the grass at the tenth tee. “Our scores are awful,” I said.
我们在第十个球座草坪上坐下休息。“我们的得分太糟了。”我说。

 “No matter. This is so delightful. Look at those birds.”
“没关系。我倒觉得玩得很痛快。快看那些鸟。”

 I glanced up at several white birds darting over the peaked red rooftops. The moment really was delightful, proving, as someone once said, that golf is mostly about who you choose to play with.
我抬头看见几只白色的鸟儿从尖耸的红色屋顶俯冲下来。此情此景，真是温馨愉快。这正验证了有人曾说过的，高尔夫的乐趣很大程度上取决于你选择的玩伴。

During an exchange with some locals the next evening, a woman spoke of a recent D-Day reunion at the former base. “There was quiet a memorial service because of the bomber.” She said.
第二天傍晚，在与当地人交流中，一位妇人聊起了在前基地举行的二战盟军在法国北部的进攻纪念日。“由于那轰炸机，有许多值得回忆的纪念仪式。”

“What bomber?” I asked.
“什么轰炸机？”我问道。

“Why, the bomber that crashed,” she replied.
“怎么，你不知道那轰炸机的事？”她回答。

I glanced at Dad. “Do you know the bomber they’re talking about?”
我看了爸爸一眼。“你知道他们谈论的轰炸机吗？”

His complexion had turned pale. “Yes,” His voice was scarcely more than a whisper “Come with me.”
他脸色变得惨白。“是，我知道。”声音低得几乎听不见。“跟我来。”

We walked to a burying ground at the rear of a church in the center of the village. I followed him to a large polished granite cross. I read some of the names inscribed on the stone border surrounding the plot: Gillian and June Parkinson. George Preston. Michael Probert. Annie Harrington…
我们走进村子中心教堂后面的一片墓地。我跟随父亲来到一个磨光大理石的大十字架前，看到那块空地的墓碑上镌刻着几个名字：吉莉恩与琼•帕金森、乔治•普雷斯顿、迈克尔•普罗伯特、安妮•哈林顿……

Thirty-eight names in all. A mass grave.
总共38个名字。那么大的一片墓地。

“How did these folks die?” I asked.
“这些战士是怎么死的？”我问。

“They weren’t folks,” he replied. “They were children. Four-and five-year-olds. They went to school here at the church. One of our bombers crashed into the school.” He shut his eyes, and I wondered if he was praying or reliving scenes I couldn’t begin to imagine.
“他们不是战士，”他回答，“他们全都是孩子，才四、五岁大。他们来教堂上学。我们的一架轰炸机冲进了学校。”他闭上双眼，我不知道他是在祈祷，还是在重温那悲惨的一幕，难以想象的悲惨。

“It was about 10:30 in the morning I’d just stretched out on my cot to steal some shut-eye when I heard a big roar overhead followed by an explosion. I was one of the first to reach the school. God, what a sight. Burning fuel was running down the street. I remember pulling away pieces of the plane, bricks and mortar, and all these precious little kids inside, buried alive.”
“那是大约早上10：30，我刚刚打开行军床，准备偷偷睡一会儿，突然听到头顶一阵震耳的呼啸，紧接着就是爆炸。我是其中一个最早跑到学校的。天哪！那是一幅怎样的情景啊！燃烧着的汽油顺着街道流淌。我记得我们搬开飞机残骸、砖块和迫击炮，这才看到可爱的小孩子，被活活埋在了下面。”

I saw tears gathering in my father’s eyes. I slipped my arm around him, and we stood that way for several minutes.
我看见父亲眼里积满了老泪。我伸手拥抱他，我们就这样站了好几分钟。

He cleared his throat and said, “There was one girl in particular. She was always laughing. I called her Lady Sunshine. She was one of those killed.”
他清了清嗓子说：“有个女孩，很特别。她总是笑。我叫她阳光小姐。她，也死在里面。”

 Good Lord, I thought.
上帝！我唉叹。

 “A week after the crash, I found a note on the base bulletin board from her parents. They wondered if anybody had taken a photograph of her. I took them all I had, and we sat in their front parlor and cried. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything quite so sad.”
“爆炸后的一个星期，我在基地的公告板上发现了她父母的留言。他们想知道是否有人为他们女儿拍过照片。我把我所有关于她的照片都拿给他们，我们坐在接待室里抱头痛哭。那是我一生中从未经历过的一种哀痛。”

 We left the burying ground, slowly closing the iron gate behind us. “I’m surprised you never told me this story,” I said. He paused and looked back at church.
 我们缓缓关上身后的铁门，离开了墓地。“我很奇怪你从来都没有告诉过我这件事。”我说。他沉默了一会儿，回头望着教堂。
 
 “The war ended for me right here,” he said. “I promised myself I would never speak about it again.”
“对我而言，战争就此结束了。”他说，“我答应自己不再提起这件事。”

 The night before, he had told me that when he’d jointed the Army he was a cocky guy who thought he had everything figured out. But then something happened and he realized “the only thing life really promises us is pain. It’s up to us to create the joy.”
在那个夜晚之前，他曾告诉我，当兵前，他是个自以为是的毛头小子，总以为普天之下，他无所不能。但后来发生了些事，他意识到“生活能真正承诺我们的只有痛苦，而快乐需要我们自己去创造。”

 Opti the Mystic had been born in that bomber’s wreckage.
于是，在轰炸机的残骸里，一个老乐天诞生了。

 That night, my prayer was simple: I hoped that my own young children would never know the pain my dad had known. But if they must, I hoped the pain would make them little Optis.
那天晚上，我的祈祷很简单：我希望我的孩子们永远都不要经历我父亲经历的伤痛。但是如果他们必须经历的话，我希望伤痛能够使他们变得乐观些。

 There are six splendid courses in St. Andrews, but it is the Old Course, the most famous in the world, that draws golf’s pilgrims. Demand for tee times is so fierce that there’s a daily drawing to determine who will play. I knew a caddy who could get us on the course, but when I told Dad about my planned subversion he seemed puzzled. “Why would you want to do that?”
 圣安德鲁有6个壮丽宽阔的球场，但只有这古老的球场，才是全世界最著名的，吸引着高尔夫的朝圣者。球座时间供不应求，每天都要抽签决定谁能进场打球。我认识一位球童能带我们进入球场。可当我告诉父亲我走后门的捣鬼活动计划，他显得很吃惊：“你为什么要这么做呢？”

 “We didn’t come all this way not to play the Old Course, did we?”
“我们千里迢迢赶来，可不能不在这古球场打场球啊，不是吗？”

 “Do you think it’s fair to ignore the rules?”
“你认为无视规则是对的吗？”

“That’s not the issue, Dad.” I felt as if I were 12 years old, trying to explain why I’d used a crib sheet on a spelling test.
“那无关紧要，爸爸。”我觉得自己像12岁的孩子，在竭力为自己在拼写测验中传纸条作弊找开脱的理由。

“So why do you want to play it? You’ve played it plenty of times,” he asked.
“那你为什么要在这打？你已经打过很多次了。”他说。

We both knew why it was so important to play it, but I didn’t want to say it, and I was sure he didn’t want to hear it, that our outing on the Old Course would probably be our final round of golf together. It would be a fitting way to finish, but a finish is a finish and that’s what I feared most.
我们俩都知道为什么这对我们如此重要，可我不愿说出口，我知道他不想听，这次出行在古球场打球，也许是我们最后一次一起打高尔夫。这该是个美好的结局，然而，天下没有不散的宴席，这正是我最害怕的。

 “If that’s how you want it,” I said. “we’ll put all out hopes on the ballot.”
“如果那就是你所想的，”我说，“那我们就寄希望于抽签吧。”

 “That’s the only way I want it,” he said, “ and you would, too, if you’d think about it.”
 “那才是我想要的唯一方式，”他说，“如果你考虑要去，也该这样。”

 We didn’t make the ballot on the first two days. “Let’s give it another day,” he said.
头两天，我们没有抽到签。“我们另找一天试试。”他说。

 “And then what?”
“那么有什么办法呢？”

 “Well, if we don’t have any luck, it may be time to move along.”
“嗯，如果我们运气不佳，那么可能是时候要继续向前走了。”

 “You mean go home,” I said evenly.
“您的意思是回家。”我平淡地说。

 “I think it’s time. I’ve got some things to do.”
“我想是回去的时候了。我还有些事要办。”

 I went for a walk and found myself standing by the fence behind the first tee at the Old Course. Darkness was perhaps an hour away. I watched two players tee off, hoist their bags and march off to battle. I stood there feeling sorry for myself. We’d come all this way for naught.
我出去散步，发现自己正站在古球场的第一个球座后的栅栏旁。大概还有一个小时天就要黑了。我看见两名球员走过球座，拎起背包，开始比赛。我站在那，为自己感到悲哀。我们此行一无所获。

 Just then a voice behind me remarked, “I’m told golf has been played here for almost 500 years and that anyone is entitled to walk these public grounds.” It was my father.
就在此时，一个声音在我身后响起：“我听说高尔夫在这里有500年的历史了，任何人都有资格在这些公共广场上走走。”是我的父亲。

We walked slowly and talked about golf, about days past, about Mom. Soon we were standing on the 17th tee, regarded by many as the toughest par four in the world. The course lay almost fully in the embrace of blue October twilight.
我们慢慢走着，聊到高尔夫，聊到前几天的事，聊到妈妈。很快，我们站在了第17个球座，被公认为世上最难的四杆标准杆。球场完全袒露在十月蓝色黄昏的怀抱中。
 
 “I wish we had our clubs,” I said.
“我真希望有我们自己的俱乐部。”我说。

 “Aw, who needs’ em?” Dad said. “Let’s play anyway.” He pulled out an imaginary golf club, pretended to tee up his ball and swung. “There,” he said. “Right over the sheds. Just like 50 years ago.”
 “哦，谁需要那些东西？”爸爸说，“在哪都能玩。”他搬出想象中的高尔夫俱乐部，设想自己挥杆击球。“那儿，”他说，“就在小屋旁边，像50年前一样。”

 I outdrove him, as usual, by at least a hundred yards. From the fairway, Dad used his imaginary threewood to lay up short of the infamous bunker. Then he announced he was using a sand wedge, and lofted his ball sweetly to the green. We were playing magnificently.
我跑步超过他，像往常一样，起码领先100码。在无障碍的那部分球场，父亲用他那想象中的三号木高尔夫球杆，击近以其难打而闻名的障碍物。然后他宣称他现在用的是障碍球杆，将球高高击起，飞过草坪。我们玩得痛快极了。

 We walked to the 18th tee, struck five drives into darkness, then moseyed down the fairway. For weeks I’d been so fearful of this moment. But strangely, I was almost unnaturally happy.
我们走向第18个球座，五次将球击入夜空，然后漫步走下无障碍区。好几个星期我都为那一刻感到后怕。可是，很奇怪，我感到难以言表的幸福。

 “Call me sentimental,” my father said, “but I think it’s been a hell of a journey.”
“叫我多愁善感的人吧，”我父亲说，“不过我想这次旅行真像是地狱之旅。”

 “The hotel showers were much worse than expected,” I replied.
“旅馆比我想象的差多了。”我回答。

 “You’re talking about the trip,” he said, “I’m talking about the journey.”
“你谈的是旅途，”他说，“我说的是旅行。”

 Dad died the following March. Some time after that I was troubled by a dream in which I’d forgotten the sound of my father’s voice. I woke up in a fierce sweat, weeping.
爸爸在第二年的3月去世。那之后的一段时间，我被一个噩梦困扰，梦中我记不起父亲的声音。我满头大汗地哭泣着惊醒。

 Three months later, I was on the Old Course once again. As my partners and I approached the bunker, I pulled a small blue velvet satchel out of my golf bag. The others, who had been warned what was coming, watched solemnly. “You guys look like the three Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” I said. “Please show a little proper disrespect.” I told them my old man had said golf is a game that made you smile. “So please－ smile.” As they smiled, I slowly scattered my father’s cremated ashes into the bunker.
3个月后，我再次来到圣安德鲁古球场。我和同伴们来到障碍物旁，从高尔夫包里掏出一个蓝色的天鹅绒小包。同伴们想知道我要干什么，神情肃穆地注视着我。“你们三个老兄看上去怎么像是圣经《启示录》里的三个骑士，”我说，“请别那么一本正经的。”我告诉他们，我老爸曾经说过，高尔夫是一项让你开心的运动。“所以，请笑一笑。”在他们的微笑中，我在障碍物下缓缓地撒下了父亲的骨灰。

After the round, a boy, maybe 11 or 12, passed me heading home with his golf bag on his back. “Did you shoot a good one?” I asked.
一场球赛结束后，一个男孩，大约十一二岁，背着高尔夫包经过我身边，看样子是要回家。“是不是进了个好球？”我问。

“Not so good, sir. my driver’s a wee bit off.”
“不是很好，先生。差一点点。”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Enjoy it, the game ends too soon, you know.”
“没关系，”我说，“好好享受，你知道，球赛结束得太快了。”

“Right. Thanks.”
“对。谢谢。”

He walked on and I walked on－and then I stopped, I’d heard it—my father’s voice.
他走了，我也走了——然后我停下来，我听见了——父亲的声音。

I smiled. Opti was back.
 我笑了。老乐天回来了。