诺贝尔文学经典:《宠儿》第4章Part 2

Denver stopped and sighed. This was the part of the story she loved.
She was coming to it now,and she loved it because it was all about herself; but she hated it too because it made her feel like abill was owing somewhere and she, Denver, had to pay it. But who she owed or what to pay it witheluded her.
Now, watching Beloved's alert and hungry face, how she took in every word, askingquestions about the color of things and their size, her downright craving to know, Denver began tosee what she was saying and not just to hear it: there is this nineteen-year-old slave girl — a yearolder than her self — walking through the dark woods to get to her children who are far away. Sheis tired, scared maybe, and maybe even lost.
Most of all she is by herself and inside her is anotherbaby she has to think about too. Behind her dogs, perhaps; guns probably; and certainly mossyteeth. She is not so afraid at night because she is the color of it, but in the day every sound is a shotor a tracker's quiet step.
Denver was seeing it now and Feeling it — through Beloved. Feeling howit must have felt to her mother. Seeing how it must have looked. And the more fine points shemade, the more detail she provided, the more Beloved liked it. So she anticipated the questions bygiving blood to the scraps her mother and grandmother had told herwand a heartbeat. Themonologue became, iri fact, a duet as they lay down together, Denver nursing Beloved's interestlike a lover whose pleasure was to overfeed the loved. The dark quilt with two orange patches wasthere with them because Beloved wanted it near her when she slept. It was smelling like grass andfeeling like hands — the unrested hands of busy women: dry, warm, prickly. Denver spoke,Beloved listened, and the two did the best they could to create what really happened, how it reallywas, something only Sethe knew because she alone had the mind for it and the time afterward toshape it: the quality of Amy's voice, her breath like burning wood. The quick-change weather up inthose hills — -cool at night, hot in the day, sudden fog. How recklessly she behaved with thiswhitegirlNa recklessness born of desperation and encouraged by Amy's fugitive eyes and hertenderhearted mouth.

丹芙停下来，叹了口气。这是故事里她最爱的部分。
马上就要说到这段了。她之所以爱这段，是因为它讲的全是她自己；可她又恨这段，因为这让她觉得好像有一笔债欠下了，而还债的是她，丹芙。然而她究竟欠的是谁的债，又拿什么来偿还，她不懂。
此刻，注视着宠儿警觉而饥渴的脸，看她怎样捕捉每一个词、打听东西的颜色和大小，注意到她明白无误的了解真相的渴望，丹芙不仅听见，也开始看见自己正在讲述的一切：这个十九岁的黑奴姑娘———比自己大一岁———正穿过幽暗的树林去找远方的孩子们。她累了，可能有点害怕，甚至还可能迷了路。
问题的关键是，她孤身一人，而且腹中还怀着个让她牵肠挂肚的婴儿。她身后也许有狗，也许有枪；当然，肯定有生了青苔的牙齿。在夜里她倒不那么害怕，因为夜色就是她的肤色，可是到了白天，每一个动静都可能是一声枪响，或者一个追捕者悄悄接近的脚步声。
此刻丹芙看到了，也感受到了———借助宠儿。感受到她妈妈当时的真实感受。看到当时的真实景象。而且好点子出得越多，提供的细节越多，宠儿就越爱听。于是她通过向妈妈、奶奶给她讲的故事注入血液———和心跳，预先设想出问题和答案。当她们两个一起躺下的时候，独角戏实际上变成了二重唱，由丹芙来满足宠儿的嗜好，表现得好像一个情人，他的乐趣就是过分娇惯他的心上人。带着两块橘黄色补丁的深色被子也和她们在一起，因为宠儿睡觉的时候执意要它在身边。它闻着像草，摸起来像手———忙碌的女人从不消停的手：干燥，温暖，多刺。丹芙说着，宠儿听着，两个人尽最大的努力去重现事情的真相，而到底是怎么回事，只有塞丝知道，因为只有她一个人有心思去琢磨，事后又有空将它勾勒出来：爱弥的音质，她那燃烧的木头似的呼吸。丘陵地带那多变的天气———凉爽的夜晚，酷热的白天，骤降的雾。她和这个白人姑娘一道，是那样毫无顾忌———因绝望而生，又受到爱弥那亡命徒一般的目光和善良的嘴纵容的毫无顾忌。