名著精讀:《悉達多》 兒子(6)

But Siddhartha knew what his friend was thinking. He thought, the boy would have thrown away or broken the oar in order to get even and in order to keep them from following him. And in fact, there was no oar left in the boat. Vasudeva pointed to the bottom of the boat and looked at his friend with a smile, as if he wanted to say: "Don't you see what your son is trying to tell you? Don't you see that he doesn't want to be followed?" But he did not say this in words. He started making a new oar. But Siddhartha bid his farewell, to look for the run-away. Vasudeva did not stop him.
When Siddhartha had already been walking through the forest for a long time, the thought occurred to him that his search was useless. Either, so he thought, the boy was far ahead and had already reached the city, or, if he should still be on his way, he would conceal himself from him, the pursuer. As he continued thinking, he also found that he, on his part, was not worried for his son, that he knew deep inside that he had neither perished nor was in any danger in the forest. Nevertheless, he ran without stopping, no longer to save him, just to satisfy his desire, just to perhaps see him one more time. And he ran up to just outside of the city.
When, near the city, he reached a wide road, he stopped, by the entrance of the beautiful pleasure-garden, which used to belong to Kamala, where he had seen her for the first time in her sedan-chair. The past rose up in his soul, again he saw himself standing there, young, a bearded, naked Samana, the hair full of dust. For a long time, Siddhartha stood there and looked through the open gate into the garden, seeing monks in yellow robes walking among the beautiful trees.
For a long time, he stood there, pondering, seeing images, listening to the story of his life. For a long time, he stood there, looked at the monks, saw young Siddhartha in their place, saw young Kamala walking among the high trees. Clearly, he saw himself being served food and drink by Kamala, receiving his first kiss from her, looking proudly and disdainfully back on his Brahmanism, beginning proudly and full of desire his worldly life. He saw Kamaswami, saw the servants, the orgies, the gamblers with the dice, the musicians, saw Kamala's song-bird in the cage, lived through all this once again, breathed Sansara, was once again old and tired, felt once again disgust, felt once again the wish to annihilate himself, was once again healed by the holy Om.
After having been standing by the gate of the garden for a long time, Siddhartha realised that his desire was foolish, which had made him go up to this place, that he could not help his son, that he was not allowed to cling him. Deeply, he felt the love for the run-away in his heart, like a wound, and he felt at the same time that this wound had not been given to him in order to turn the knife in it, that it had to become a blossom and had to shine.
That this wound did not blossom yet, did not shine yet, at this hour, made him sad. Instead of the desired goal, which had drawn him here following the runaway son, there was now emptiness. Sadly, he sat down, felt something dying in his heart, experienced emptiness, saw no joy any more, no goal. He sat lost in thought and waited. This he had learned by the river, this one thing: waiting, having patience, listening attentively. And he sat and listened, in the dust of the road, listened to his heart, beating tiredly and sadly, waited for a voice. Many an hour he crouched, listening, saw no images any more, fell into emptiness, let himself fall, without seeing a path. And when he felt the wound burning, he silently spoke the Om, filled himself with Om. The monks in the garden saw him, and since he crouched for many hours, and dust was gathering on his gray hair, one of them came to him and placed two bananas in front of him. The old man did not see him.
From this petrified state, he was awoken by a hand touching his shoulder. Instantly, he recognised this touch, this tender, bashful touch, and regained his senses. He rose and greeted Vasudeva, who had followed him. And when he looked into Vasudeva's friendly face, into the small wrinkles, which were as if they were filled with nothing but his smile, into the happy eyes, then he smiled too. Now he saw the bananas lying in front of him, picked them up, gave one to the ferryman, ate the other one himself. After this, he silently went back into the forest with Vasudeva, returned home to the ferry. Neither one talked about what had happened today, neither one mentioned the boy's name, neither one spoke about him running away, neither one spoke about the wound. In the hut, Siddhartha lay down on his bed, and when after a while Vasudeva came to him, to offer him a bowl of coconut-milk, he already found him asleep.

可是，席特哈爾塔知道他的朋友在想什麼。他在想，孩子會把船槳扔掉或者弄斷，爲了報復，也爲了防止他們追趕。果然，小船裏沒有了船槳。瓦蘇代瓦指指船底，微笑地望着朋友，似乎要說：“你沒看出兒子要跟你說什麼嗎？你沒看出他不願被人追蹤嗎？”不過，他並沒把這話說出來。他動手製作了一支新船槳。席特哈爾塔同他道別，去找逃跑的孩子。瓦蘇代瓦沒有阻攔他。
席特哈爾塔在森林裏找了很久，才意識到他的搜尋毫無用處。他尋思，孩子說不定早就走出了森林，已經回到城裏了，要是他還在路上，那麼他看見追蹤者就會躲起來。他繼續想，發現自己並不爲兒子擔心，他內心深處知道，兒子既不會喪命，也不會在森裏遇到危險。不過，儘管如此，他還是不停地趕路，不再是爲了救孩子，而只是出於想再見孩子一面的渴望。他就這樣一直趕到了城市。
他走近城市，踏上寬闊的大街，來到那個原來屬於卡瑪拉的漂亮花園大門口站住了。他就是在這兒子第一次看見了坐在轎子裏的卡瑪拉。當時的情景又浮現在腦海中，他依稀看見自己站在那兒，年紀輕輕，一個鬍子拉碴、赤身露體的沙門，滿頭塵土。席特哈爾塔佇立了很久，從敞開的大門往花園裏望，看見身穿黃僧衣的和尚們在茂密的樹下走動。
他佇立了很久，沉思着，似乎看見了一幅幅畫面，聽見了自己的生活故事。他佇立了很久，望着那些和尚，彷彿看到的不是他們，而是年輕的席特哈爾塔，是年輕的卡瑪拉在大樹下走。他清晰地看到自己如何受到卡瑪拉款待，如何得到她的第一個吻，如何自豪而又輕蔑地回顧他的婆羅門生涯，自豪而又渴望地開始他的世俗生活。他看到了卡馬斯瓦密，看到了僕人們，那些盛宴，那些賭徒，那些樂師，看到了那隻被卡瑪拉關在籠子裏的小鳥，再一次體驗了這一切，充滿了輪迴之念，於是再一次衰老和疲倦，再一次感到噁心，再一次感受到那種尋求解脫的願望，再一次靠着聖潔的“唵”才恢復了健康。
席特哈爾塔在花園門口佇立了很久，才意識到驅使自己來到此處的希望是愚蠢的，他並不能幫助兒子，他不該拽住兒子不放。他內心深深感到對逃亡者的愛，這就像一個創傷，可是他同時也感到，這創傷並不是讓他哀嘆感慨的，它勢必會開花結果，大放光彩。
然而，此記得這創傷還沒有開花結果，還沒有大放光彩，這使得他很傷心。促使他來到這兒追尋失蹤的兒子的目標既已消失，取而代之的便是一片空虛。他悲傷地坐下，感到心中有什麼正在死去，感到空虛，看不到歡樂，看不到目標。他坐在那裏出神，等待着。這是他在河邊學會的本領：等耐，有耐心，傾聽。他坐在大街上的塵土中傾聽，傾聽自己的心如何疲乏而悲哀地跳動，期待着一個聲音。他坐在那兒傾聽了幾個鐘頭，再也看不見以往的情景，陷入空虛之中，聽任自己沉淪，看不到一條路。他感到作品灼痛時就默誦“唵”，以“唵”來充實自己。花園裏的和尚看見了他，因爲他已坐了好多個鐘頭，花白頭髮落滿了灰塵。於是，有一個和尚走過來，在他面前放下了兩個芭蕉。老人沒看到他。
一隻手碰了碰他的肩，把他從這種麻木中喚醒了。他馬上就認出了這觸碰，這溫柔、扭怩的觸碰，甦醒過來。他站起身，向來找他的瓦蘇代瓦問好。他望着瓦蘇代瓦那和藹可親的臉，望着那溢滿了笑容的細密的皺紋，望着那雙開朗的眼睛，也笑了。這時，他看見了面前的芭蕉，遞一個給船伕，自己吃了另一個。隨後，他默默地跟着瓦蘇代瓦返回了森林，返回了渡口。誰也不說今天發生的事，誰也不提孩子的名字，誰也不談他的逃走，誰也不點到那傷口。回到茅屋裏，席特哈爾塔躺到自己的牀上。過了一會兒，瓦蘇代瓦來到他身邊，端給他一碗椰子 汁，卻發現他已經睡着了。