名著精讀:《悉達多》 船伕(6)

And time after time, his smile became more similar to the ferryman's, became almost just as bright, almost just as throughly glowing with bliss, just as shining out of thousand small wrinkles, just as alike to a child's, just as alike to an old man's. Many travellers, seeing the two ferrymen, thought they were brothers. Often, they sat in the evening together by the bank on the log, said nothing and both listened to the water, which was no water to them, but the voice of life, the voice of what exists, of what is eternally taking shape. And it happened from time to time that both, when listening to the river, thought of the same things, of a conversation from the day before yesterday, of one of their travellers, the face and fate of whom had occupied their thoughts, of death, of their childhood, and that they both in the same moment, when the river had been saying something good to them, looked at each other, both thinking precisely the same thing, both delighted about the same answer to the same question.
There was something about this ferry and the two ferrymen which was transmitted to others, which many of the travellers felt. It happened occasionally that a traveller, after having looked at the face of one of the ferrymen, started to tell the story of his life, told about pains, confessed evil things, asked for comfort and advice. It happened occasionally that someone asked for permission to stay for a night with them to listen to the river. It also happened that curious people came, who had been told that there were two wise men, or sorcerers, or holy men living by that ferry. The curious people asked many questions, but they got no answers, and they found neither sorcerers nor wise men, they only found two friendly little old men, who seemed to be mute and to have become a bit strange and gaga. And the curious people laughed and were discussing how foolishly and gullibly the common people were spreading such empty rumours.
The years passed by, and nobody counted them. Then, at one time, monks came by on a pilgrimage, followers of Gotama, the Buddha, who were asking to be ferried across the river, and by them the ferrymen were told that they were most hurriedly walking back to their great teacher, for the news had spread the exalted one was deadly sick and would soon die his last human death, in order to become one with the salvation. It was not long, until a new flock of monks came along on their pilgrimage, and another one, and the monks as well as most of the other travellers and people walking through the land spoke of nothing else than of Gotama and his impending death. And as people are flocking from everywhere and from all sides, when they are going to war or to the coronation of a king, and are gathering like ants in droves, thus they flocked, like being drawn on by a magic spell, to where the great Buddha was awaiting his death, where the huge event was to take place and the great perfected one of an era was to become one with the glory.
Often, Siddhartha thought in those days of the dying wise man, the great teacher, whose voice had admonished nations and had awoken hundreds of thousands, whose voice he had also once heard, whose holy face he had also once seen with respect. Kindly, he thought of him, saw his path to perfection before his eyes, and remembered with a smile those words which he had once, as a young man, said to him, the exalted one. They had been, so it seemed to him, proud and precocious words; with a smile, he remembered them. For a long time he knew that there was nothing standing between Gotama and him any more, though he was still unable to accept his teachings. No, there was no teaching a truly searching person, someone who truly wanted to find, could accept. But he who had found, he could approve of any teachings, every path, every goal, there was nothing standing between him and all the other thousand any more who lived in that what is eternal, who breathed what is divine.

一次又一次，席特哈爾塔的笑容與船伕的笑容越來越相似，幾乎同樣神采奕奕，幾乎同樣幸福得放光，同樣從那上千條強國富民的皺紋裏閃閃放光，同樣的孩子氣，也同樣的老態龍鍾。好多旅客看見這兩個船伕都以爲是兄弟倆。晚上，他們經常一起坐在河岸邊的樹幹上，默然無語地傾聽河水流淌，對他們來說這不是水，而是生活的聲音，存在的聲音，永恆發展的聲音。有時，兩人在傾聽河水時想到同樣的事，想到前天的一次談話，想到他們的一個船客，那人的臉色和遭遇引起他們的關注，還想到死，想到他們的童年。在河水向向他們訴說美好事物的同一瞬間，他們倆有時相互會心地對視，兩個人不謀而合地想到了一點，爲同一問題的相同答案而感到高興。
有些旅客感到這隻渡船和兩個船伕有些特別。有時，一個旅客看見了一個船伕的面容就開始講自己的生活，講自己的煩惱，坦白自己的劣跡，懇求安慰和忠告。有時，旅客會請求跟他們共度一個夜晚，以便傾聽河水的聲音。還有一些好奇者跑來，是因爲聽說在這個渡口住着兩個賢人，要不就是魔法師或聖人。這些好奇者提出許多問題，卻得不到答案，他們既沒見到魔法師也沒見到賢人，只是見到兩個和謁可親的小老頭兒，他們似乎是啞巴，有些古怪和遲鈍。於是好奇者們哈哈大笑，大談傳播無稽的謠言是多麼愚蠢和輕信。
歲月荏苒，沒人再議論他們了。這時，來了一些朝聖的和尚，他們是活佛戈塔馬的弟子，請求把他們渡過河去。兩個船伕他們口裏得知，他們正火急地趕回他們的恩師那兒去，因爲有消息說活佛已經病危，即將達到最後的涅槃，達到徹底的解脫。不久，又來了一羣朝聖的和尚，緊接着，再擁來一羣。這些和尚以及大多數旅客都是開口必談戈塔馬，以及他即將達到的涅槃。就像看軍隊出征或國王加冕，人們從四面八方擁來。宛如螞蟻麇集，人們就像受一種魔力吸引，紛紛擁向活佛即將涅槃之處，擁向即將發生大事，一個時代的偉大完人即將進入極樂世界的地方。
在這段時間裏，席特哈爾塔經常想到這位垂危的賢人，這位偉大的導師，他的聲音曾告誡了民衆，喚醒了千千萬萬人。席特哈爾塔也聆聽過他的聲音，滿懷敬畏地凝望過他那聖潔的面容。席特哈爾塔親切地想着活佛，活佛走向完美之路歷歷在目，他又含笑憶起了當年他這個年輕人對活佛講過的那番話。他笑着回憶，感到那都是些傲慢自負和多嘴多舌的話。他早就知道自己跟戈塔馬無法再分開，可是又不能接受他的學說。不，一個真正的探索者，一個真正要有所發現的人，是不會接受什麼學說的。但是，已經有所領悟的過來人卻可以贊成任何學說，任何道路，任何目標，什麼也不能把他與生活在永恆之中、呼吸着神的氣息的千千萬萬人分開。