船來了 THE COMING OF THE SHIP

那當代的曙光，被推選而被愛戴的阿穆斯塔法，在奧菲利斯城守望了十二年，只為等候他的那艘船到來，好將他載回他出生的島上去。

轉瞬間十二年過去了，正值綺露“收割月”的第七天，他緩步走出城攀上山巔，向遠處大海眺望；他看到了他的船正從氤氳薄霧中駛來。

他的心扉豁然敞開，愉悅之情翩然翱翔于這大海之上。他微合雙目，在靈魂的靜謐深處祈禱。

但是，當他舉步走下山岡時，突襲而至的悲哀漫過他的心頭，他暗忖：

我怎能拋盡這別緒離愁，平靜地離開？不，我無法不攜帶靈魂的隱痛離此城而去。

在這座城市里，我度過了無數漫長白晝的痛苦和無涯長夜的孤寂；然而，誰又能了無牽掛地將這些痛苦和孤寂拋棄？

這里的每一條巷陌都曾經遍撒著我心靈的斷章，還有眾多我所憐愛的孩子們，他們光著腳在山野中漫步。我的心無法做到毫無傷痛與負擔地與他們分離。

今日，我并非脫掉一件外衣，而是將一層肌膚親手剝去。

我拋之身后的也不是一種思想，而是一顆由饑渴滋生的甜怡之心。

然而我卻無法再流連此處。

我必須揚帆遠行，那召喚眾生的大海正在把我呼喚。

若要留下，則意味著我那在夜間炙熱燃燒的生命之火將逐漸冷卻、凝結成晶。

若能把這里的一切都帶走，我該是何等快活！然而我又怎么能夠呢？

聲音不能帶走唇齒賜予它高飛的羽翼，唯有自己孤獨地搏擊長空。

雄鷹必須遠離巢穴，才能獨自擁抱陽光。

當他行至山麓，再次眺望大海。他看見船已靠港，站在船頭的水手，正來自他的家鄉。

他的靈魂向他們大聲疾呼，他說道：

我祖先的子孫們啊，你們這些弄潮的勇士，

你們曾無數次航行在我的夢里！而今，在我清醒之時到來，駛入我更深的夢境。

我已整裝待發，心中的渴望早已揚起風帆，只待乘風起航。

讓我在這沉靜的氣息中再呼吸一次，再回首一次投下深情的瞥視。

然后我就會加入你們中間，成為水手中的一員。

而你，蒼茫的大海，無眠的母親，

唯有你才能使江河湖泊歸于平靜和自由。

這溪流只要再蜿蜒流轉一回，再在林野低唱淺吟一曲，

我就會奔向你，如同自由的水滴融入無邊無際的海洋。

他一路走著，看見人們紛紛從遙遠的農田和葡萄園中涌出，蜂擁而至城門。

他聽見他們呼喚著他的名字，在縱橫的阡陌間奔走相告，遞傳著他的船即將到來的消息。

他自言自語道：

離別之日是否就是重逢之時？

我的夕陽是否就是我的晨曦？

那些將犁田的犁耙、釀酒的酒輪放下的人們，我能為你們做些什么？

我是否應將心魂化為挺拔的碧樹，贈予他們累累碩果？

我是否應將渴望化為汩汩清泉，注滿他們的杯盞？

是做全能者手中撥弄的豎琴，還是做那任眾人的氣息穿越我身軀的長笛？

我始終追尋那種靜寂，可在靜寂中我究竟獲得了怎樣的寶藏，使我能自信地向他們布施呢？

假如這是我收獲的日子，那么，我曾在哪個被遺忘的季節于哪片田中播撒過種子呢？

倘若這的確是我高舉燈盞之時，那燈中的赤焰肯定并非我親手點燃。

我舉起的燈盞空虛亦黑暗，

是夜的守護者將其注滿油后點燃。

他開口講述這些話，可還有萬語千言藏于他的心田。因為他無法將自己最深的隱秘和盤托出。

他一進城，眾人皆來歡迎，萬眾齊聲地呼喚他。

城中的長者來到他面前說道：

請不要離我們而去。

你就是我們朦朧中的白晝，你的青春賦予我們美妙的夢想。

在我們之中，你既非陌生人，也不是旅客，而是我們的兒子，我們摯愛的人。

不要使我們的雙眼因渴望見到你的容顏而酸楚。

男女祭司對他說：

如今，請不要讓海浪將我們分開，

使你在我們中間共度的時光成為回憶。

你的精神曾與我們攜手同行，

你的身影曾是映照我們面龐的光芒。

我們是這樣的愛你啊！

盡管那愛悄然無聲，還有面紗遮擋。

但是它現在正在高聲地呼喚你，愿意在你面前坦陳自己。

除非離別之際已至，愛才體會出自己的深淺。眾人紛紛挽留他。

但他卻并未答話，一直無言地垂首。

站在他身邊的人們看見他瑩潤的淚珠滴灑在胸前。

他攜眾人一同向圣殿前的廣場走去。

圣殿里面迎出一位女預言家，她叫埃爾米特拉。

他目光柔和地注視著她，因為在他抵達本城的第一天，她便找到他，虔誠地追隨他，成為他的第一個信徒。

她向他敬賀道：

上帝的先知，至高無上的探索者，漫長的歲月中，你始終向遠方尋找你的航船。

現在你的船兒來了，你必須歸去。

你對于那記憶中的故鄉如此渴望，對期盼的居所是如此熾烈地向往。我們的愛，不能把你牽系；我們的懇求，也不能將你留住。

然而在你離去之前，請將真理昭示予我們。

我們將把它傳給子孫，他們再傳給他們的后代，令其永不泯滅，永恒如新。

在你孤獨時，曾審視過我們日間的生活；在你不眠的時刻，曾傾聽過我們夢中的悲喜。

因此，請向我們展示出真我吧，告訴我們你所知道的所有關于生與死的一切。

他回答道：

奧菲利斯城的人們啊，除了此刻激蕩于你們靈魂中的那些事情，我還能說什么呢？

Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn onto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth.

And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld the ship coming with the mist.

Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.

But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart:

How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city.

Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?

Too many fragments of the spirit have I scatterd in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache.

It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands.

Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.

Yet I cannot tarry longer.

The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark.

For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould.

Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall I?

A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that give it wings. Alone must it seek the ether.

And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.

Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.

And his soul cried out to them, and he said:

Sons of mv ancient mother, you riders of the tides,

How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream.

Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind.

Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward,

Then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers.

And you, vast sea, sleepless mother,

Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream,

Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade,

And then shall I come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.

And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates.

And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from the field to field telling one another of the coming of the ship.

And he said to himself:

Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering?

And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn?

And what shall I give unto him who has left his plough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress?

Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them?

And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups?

Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me?

A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence?

If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unrembered seasons?

If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein.

Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern,

And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.

These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.

And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice.

And the elders of the city stood forth and said:

Go not yet away from us.

A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream.

No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved.

Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face.

And the priests and the priestesses said unto him:

Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory.

You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.

Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.

Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.

And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

And others came also and entreated him.

But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast.

And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple.

And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress.

And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city.

And she hailed him, saying:

Prophet of God, in quest for the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship.

And now your ship has come, and you must needs go.

Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you.

Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth.

And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish.

In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep.

Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.

And he answered,

People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving your souls?