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THE VAMPIRE ARMAND(吸血鬼阿曼德—臻于至善译)-41

(2009-09-28 12:49:08)
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分类: The_Vampire_Armand

THE VAMPIRE ARMAND

THE <wbr>VAMPIRE <wbr>ARMAND(吸血鬼阿曼德—臻于至善译)-41

“不要去找寻那些回忆,”他说,仿佛我们始终在彼此交谈着,即便是在我入睡的那段时分。“不要去托尔切罗岛上的教堂去找寻它们,也不要再去看圣马可教堂里的镶嵌工艺,那些有害的事物会趁机溜回来。”

“我害怕去回忆。”我说。

“我知道。”他回答道。

“你是如何知道的?”我问他,“这深藏于我内心之中的痛苦,它只属于我。”对于这番轻率的说辞,我感到很负疚,但不管怎样,我的内疚连同鲁莽,却愈加频繁地表露了出来。

“你难道不相信我?”他问道。

“我们都很清楚,你的禀赋超出常人的衡量标准,我们从不谈论它,你我之间也未曾谈论过。”

“那么,为何要把你的信任寄予那残存的记忆,而不是寄托在我的身上呢?”

他从桌边站起身,来到了床前。

“来吧,”他说,“你的烧己经退了,跟随我来吧。”

他带我走进府邸众多图书室中的一间,大量的手稿堆积在这些乱七八糟的房间的螺旋滑梯上,各式书籍也堆积成栈。以往任何时候,他都极少在这些房间里工作。他把所购买的书籍扔进这里,由男孩们来负责整理分类,编入目录。他则将他所需要的书籍带回到我们卧室的书桌上。

他在书架间来回走动着,直到他找到了一本卷宗,那是一本硕大并有着黄色皮革封面的卷宗,页边己经有一点磨损和卷翘。他的白色手指从一大页羊皮纸上滑过,接着便把它放到了橡木制的学习桌上,供我查看。

那是一幅古老的图画。

我看到画面上有一座教堂,教堂穹顶有如金子般闪耀着光辉,如此美丽,如此雄伟。一些字母装裱其上,我认识这些字母,但却不能使它们在我的脑海里或是发音上形成具体的词组。

    “基辅罗斯,”他说,基辅罗斯。

(原文)

"Don't chase these memories," he said. He said it as if we'd been talking all the while that I slept. "Don't go to the church of Torcello to find them. Don't go to the mosaics of San Marco. In time all these harmful things will come back."

 

"I'm afraid to remember," I said.

 

"I know," he answered.

 

   "How can you know?" I asked him. "I have it in my heart. It's mine alone, this pain." I was sorry for sounding so bold, but whatever my guilt, the boldness came more and more often.

 

"Do you really doubt me?" he asked.

 

   "Your endowments are beyond measure. We all know it, and we never speak of it, and you and I never speak of it."

 

   "So why then don't you put your faith in me instead of things you only half recall?"

 

He got up from the desk and came to the bed.

 

"Come," he said. "Your fever's broken. Come with me."

 

   He took me into one of the many libraries of the palazzo, messy rooms in which the manuscripts lay helter-skelter, and the books in stacks. Seldom if ever did he work in these rooms. He threw his purchases there to be cataloged by the boys, taking what he needed back to the writing desk in our room.

 

   He moved among the shelves now until he found a portfolio, a big flopping thing of old yellowed leather, frayed at the edges. His white fingers smoothed a large page of vellum. He laid it down on the oak study table for me to see.

 

A painting, antique.

 

   I saw there drawn a great church of gilded domes, so beautiful, so majestic. Letters were blazoned there. I knew these letters. But I couldn't make the words come to my mind or my tongue.

 

"Kiev Rus," he said. Kiev Rus.

 

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