【边走边看】何家弘：重返北大荒（中英文对照之三）第104期

今年是“文化革命”爆发五十周年。英国翻译家艾茉莉·琼斯女士把我数年前写的一篇文章译成英文，发表在《纸共和》（PaperRepublic，又译为“纸托邦”）上。...



小编的话：有没有某地、某景，纵使身在他乡也使你魂牵梦绕？有没某人、某情，纵使阔别多年但仍令你挂念于心？文字饱含情感，引发我们的共鸣，而音乐更能触及人们心底最柔软的部分。让我们伴随百老汇著名歌剧插曲《Memory》，感受何老师重返故地、再遇故人时的情感升华吧。

（今日小编：小黄）

早饭后，我们驱车绕过北安市区，沿着平坦宽阔的柏油公路来到赵光镇——赵光农场总部的所在地。一进赵光镇，我的心跳便加快了，我感受到了一种难以名状的紧张。我的目光在道路两旁搜索着，但是那一栋栋居民楼和一家家店铺都不是我记忆中赵光镇的模样。终于，我看到了团部医院那已相当破旧的老房子，也看到了熟悉的火车站和旁边的大烟囱，还有一些似曾相识的房屋和街道。穿过镇区，我们在通向“二营”的铁道路口休息片刻，然后在当地法院和检察院同志的引领下，驱车直奔我们当年的“营部”。





这里都是沙土路。因为日前下过大雨，所以路面有很深的车辙，有些路段还很泥泞。这样的道路很快就在我的记忆里引起了共鸣。当年，我曾无数次在这样的道路上走过，或者步行，或者坐马车或拖拉机，当然也有自己开着拖拉机的时候。我们戏称这样的道路既是“洋灰路”，又是“水泥路”，因为它一刮风就扬起灰尘，一下雨就水土泥泞。路旁的景色也是我非常熟悉的。一望无际的田野，绵延起伏的山林，统统罩上了一片迷人的绿色；山坡上那星罗棋布的房屋，山沟里那水波粼粼的池塘，又给这画面增添了几分鲜活的色彩。不过，我似乎今天才发现，“北大荒”的景色竟然是如此的美丽——特别是当人们在蓝天白云下远远望去的时刻。也许，这就应验了“距离产生美”的道理——不仅是物理学上的距离，也包括心理学上的距离，因为我的生活已经与这里的生活有了相当遥远的距离。

就在我遐想之时，车停了下来。我看见在前面引路车的旁边站着一个身材敦实、头发花白的老人。他和车里的人说了些什么，然后就转身向我坐的车走来。我定睛一看，他正是我当年开拖拉机的陈旺师傅。我连忙跳下车来，迎上去，两人紧紧地拥抱在一起。我们都很激动。原来，当地接待我的人已经事先和陈师傅取得了联系，说我要回来，因此他很早就站在这路旁守望。我到陈师傅的家里看了看（他的家已经从“连里”搬到了“营里”），又到“营部”的办公室和现任领导聊了一会儿，然后和陈师傅一起坐车来到我此行的最后一站——我曾经生活工作过的“十八连”。



田地还是那样的广阔，道路还是那样的泥泞；土坯房还是原来的土坯房，篱笆墙还是原来的篱笆墙。然而，我们住过第一夜的库房和天天去打饭的“大食堂”都不复存在了；我们多次在里面学习开会和演唱“样板戏”的“大宿舍”也不复存在了；我们学会用辘轳从井中打水的井房也不复存在了；我们停放拖拉机和农机具的“农机场”也面目全非了，只有“保养间”还孤零零地站在那里；我们当年亲手用石头和砖瓦修建起来的“俱乐部”（大礼堂）已经分割成一间间办公室；那栋专为“知青”修建的“青砖房”和后面的“小学校”也都变成了一户户职工的住家，原来的篮球场已变成一家一户的菜园子。不过，当年我们在田间路边亲手种下的一行行小杨树已经长大成材，似乎在证明着一代“知青”的汗水和理想。





几个当年的老职工听说“知青”回来了，立刻急匆匆地从家中赶了过来。在场院边上，他们围着我，激动地拉着我的手，用最淳朴的语言倾诉着他们对“知青”的感情，并且一再讲述他们在电视里看到我时的那份激动和骄傲。他们带着我四处走走看看，谈论着当年的人和当年的事。我得知当年很多一起工作过的老职工都已经离开了人世，心中不禁有些凄楚。这时，一位中年妇女走过来，问我还认不认识她。见我回答不上来，旁边的人就笑着告诉我，他是当年食堂班长老张的女儿。我曾经担任过两年的司务长，主管食堂工作。我终于在她的身上看出了当年那个小女孩的形象。于是，我的心中又生起许多慨叹。但转念一想，我们这些当年风华正茂的小青年，不也都已经年过半百了嘛！





依依不舍地告别了“十八连”的老职工，我们一行又乘车返回“营部”。在我的印象中，“连队”离“营部”非常遥远。但是如今在丰田越野车的轮子下，这段路却显得很近。回到营部后，我们在陈旺师傅的儿子开的饭馆里吃了一顿地道的“东北饭”。陈师傅原来就很少饮酒，如今已经65岁，更是滴酒不沾，但是他那天很高兴，开怀畅饮，直喝得有些面红耳赤。席间，他经常抓住我的手，诉说着那些年和这些年的事情。午饭后，我们要赶回哈尔滨。站在车旁，陈师傅拉着我的手，眼角留下了泪水。我的眼睛也湿润了……



After breakfast, we bypassed the city of Bei’an and took a smooth, broad, asphalt highway to Zhaoguang,where Zhaoguang Farm was headquartered. As soon as we drove into town, my heart started to beat more quickly, and I felt a nameless anxiety. I scanned both sides of the road, but not a single home or shop was like the Zhaoguang of my memory. Finally, I recognized the now somewhat rundown old building of the regimental hospital, the familiar train station next to a large chimney, and a few buildings and streets that I thought I had seen before. We paused briefly at the intersection with the “Second Battalion” railroad, where we were joined by comrades from the local law court and Procuratorate, then headed straight for our old Battalion Headquarters.

The roads around here were all made of sand. Because it had recently rained heavily, the surface was covered in deep ruts, and many sections were still muddy. The road brought back strong memories. Back then, I had traveled along this road countless times, sometimes on foot, sometimes in a cart or tractor – occasionally I even drove the tractor myself. We jokingly called these basic tracks our asphalt-lined freeways,though in fact as soon as the wind blew they became a sea of dust and the slightest drop of rain turned them into a mud pit. The landscape surrounding us was also very familiar. Fields stretched out to the horizon; long unbroken stretches of forest covered the land in an enchanting green; buildings dotted the hillsides; and the clear rippling valley pools added vitality to the panorama. It made me realize for the first time how beautiful the Great Northern Wilderness was – especially the distant blue skies with their white clouds. Perhaps this proves the truth of the saying that “distance creates beauty” – distance is not merely a scientific measure but also a psychological one. My life now was far removed from my past life here.

I was still in a reverie as car drew to a halt. A stocky, grey-haired old man was stood next to the lead car of our group, talking to the people inside. He came towards our car and I stared at him. It was Chen Wang, the man who used to drive the tractor years ago. I jumped out of the car and went to greet him. We embraced tightly, both excited. It turned out that one of my hosts here had told Chen Wang that I was coming back, so he had been waiting at the roadside since early that morning. I visited his home (he had long since been transferred from the company to the battalion), then I went to the Battalion Headquarters to meet the current leader. After that Chen Wang and I drove to the last stop of my trip: the Eighteenth Company farm where I had once lived and worked.

The farmland was as large as ever, the road as muddy, the sun-baked buildings and the stick fence had not changed. But the storeroom where we had spent our first night and the Great Canteen where we ate every day no longer existed, and neither did the Model Theater and Great Hall where we had so often sung and held meetings. The wellhouse where we learned to draw water by pulley had gone. The field where our tractor and our tools were kept had changed beyond all recognition. Only the maintenance room still stood there forlornly. The Great Hall that we had built from stone and tile ourselves to use as a social club had long since been divided into offices. The dark-tiled building used by the educated youths and the small school behind it had both become homes for workers. What had originally been the basketball court was now divided into vegetable plots for each household. However the rows of small poplars we had planted, running along the road by the fields, had grown into large trees, testimony to the sweat and ideals of a generation of educated youths.

As soon as the old workers heard that one of the educated youths had come back, they rushed out of their homes. They surrounded me in the yard, pulling at my hands in excitement,telling me simply how much it meant that one of us had come back, and gushing with excitement and pride at having seen me on the television. They showed me around, discussing people and events of the past. It was a real wrench to learn that so many people with whom I had worked back then had died. Then a middle-aged woman came over and asked me if I recognized her. When I couldn’t, every one laughed and told me she was the daughter of the former canteen team leader, Old Zhang. I had spent two years as Mess Officer, responsible for the canteen work.Eventually, I recognized the little girl from all those years ago and sighed with regret. That’s when it hit me: we had been young people in the prime of life back then, and now we were all over fifty.

Reluctant to say goodbye again so soon, all the old workers from the Eighteenth came back with us to the Battalion Headquarters. I had always believed that the Company and Battalion Headquarters were a long way apart. But in a four-wheel drive Toyota, the distance was nothing. Back at headquarters, we ate a typical north-eastern meal at the restaurant run by Chen Wang’s son. Chen Wang very seldom drank alcohol.He was 65 years old now and still barely touched a drop, but today he was so happy he drank until he was red in the face. During the course of the lavish meal, he would often take my hand to tell me of things that had happened back then, and of more recent events. After the meal, we had to hurry back to Harbin. Chen Wang stood next to the car, his eyes moist, and held my hand. My eyes also brimmed with tears.

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