諾貝爾文學經典:《寵兒》第8章Part 1

OUT OF SIGHT of Mister's sight, away, praise His name, from the smiling boss of roosters, PaulD began to tremble. Not all at once and not so anyone could tell. When he turned his head, aimingfor a last look at Brother, turned it as much as the rope that connected his neck to the axle of abuckboard allowed, and, later on, when they fastened the iron around his ankles and clamped thewrists as well, there was no outward sign of trembling at all. Nor eighteen days after that when hesaw the ditches; the one thousand feet of earth — five feet deep, five feet wide, into which woodenboxes had been fitted. A door of bars that you could lift on hinges like a cage opened into threewalls and a roof of scrap lumber and red dirt. Two feet of it over his head; three feet of open trenchin front of him with anything that crawled or scurried welcome to share that grave calling itselfquarters. And there were forty-five more. He was sent there after trying to kill Brandywine, theman schoolteacher sold him to. Brandywine was leading him, in a coffle with ten others, throughKentucky into Virginia. He didn't know exactly what prompted him to try — other than Halle,Sixo, Paul A, Paul F and Mister. But the trembling was fixed by the time he knew it was there.
Still no one else knew it, because it began inside. A flutter of a kind, in the chest, then the shoulderblades. It felt like rippling — gentle at first and then wild. As though the further south they led himthe more his blood, frozen like an ice pond for twenty years, began thawing, breaking into piecesthat, once melted, had no choice but to swirl and eddy. Sometimes it was in his leg. Then again itmoved to the base of his spine. By the time they unhitched him from the wagon and he sawnothing but dogs and two shacks in a world of sizzling grass, the roiling blood was shaking him toand fro. But no one could tell. The wrists he held out for the bracelets that evening were steady aswere the legs he stood on when chains were attached to the leg irons. But when they shoved himinto the box and dropped the cage door down, his hands quit taking instruction. On their own, theytraveled. Nothing could stop them or get their attention. They would not hold his penis to urinateor a spoon to scoop lumps of lima beans intohis mouth. The miracle of their obedience came withthe hammer at dawn.
All forty-six men woke to rifle shot. All forty-six. Three whitemen walked along the trenchunlocking the doors one by one. No one stepped through. When the last lock was opened, the threereturned and lifted the bars, one by one. And one by one the blackmen emerged — promptly and without the poke of a rifle butt if they had been there more than a day; promptly with the butt if,like Paul D, they had just arrived. When all forty-six were standing in a line in the trench, anotherrifle shot signaled the climb out and up to the ground above, where one thousand feet of the besthand-forged chain in Georgia stretched. Each man bent and waited. The first man picked up theend and threaded it through the loop on his leg iron. He stood up then, and, shuffling a little,brought the chain tip to the next prisoner, who did likewise. As the chain was passed on and eachman stood in the other's place, the line of men turned around, facing the boxes they had come outof. Not one spoke to the other. At least not with words. The eyes had to tell what there was to tell:
"Help me this morning 's bad"; "I'm a make it"; "New man"; "Steady now steady."
Chain-up completed, they knelt down. The dew, more likely than not, was mist by then. Heavysometimes and if the dogs were quiet and just breathing you could hear doves. Kneeling in the mistthey waited for the whim of a guard, or two, or three. Or maybe all of them wanted it. Wanted itfrom one prisoner in particular or none — or all.
"Breakfast? Want some breakfast, nigger?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hungry, nigger?"
"Yes, sir."
"Here you go."

在"先生"的視線達不到的地方，謝天謝地，遠離了公雞們那微笑着的首領，保羅·D開始顫抖。不是突然開始的，也不是可以輕易覺察出來的。當他的脖子被繩子拴在馬車軸上，而他在繩子允許的範圍內儘可能地扭過頭、希望最後看一眼"兄弟"的時候，還有後來，當他們把鐐銬銬上他的腳踝和手腕的時候，都根本沒有顫抖的明顯跡象。就是十八天以後，當他看見壕溝的時候，也仍然沒有任何跡象。那是一道一千英尺長的泥土溝——有五英尺深、五英尺寬，正好放進那些木頭匣子。匣子有道柵欄門，可以用絞索提起，好像打開一個籠子，打開後就能看見三面牆和一個用廢木材和紅土做成的屋頂。他頭頂上有兩英尺空間，面前有三英尺敞開的壕溝，供所有爬行的和疾走的東西來與他分享這個叫做住處的墳坑。這樣的墳坑另外還有四十五個。他被送到那裏是因爲他企圖殺死"學校老師"把他賣給的那個男人，"白蘭地酒"。本來，"白蘭地酒"正領着他和其他十個奴隸組成的一隊人，穿過肯塔基前往弗吉尼亞。他搞不清楚究竟是什麼促使他去以身試法——除了因爲黑爾、西克索、保羅·A、保羅·F和"先生"。可是等他意識到的時候，顫抖已經固定不去了。
然而始終沒有別的人知道，因爲它發自內部。是一種顫動，先是在胸口，再傳遞到肩胛。感覺起來像漣漪一樣——開始時柔和，然後就轉爲猛烈。似乎他們越將他領往南方，他的像冰封的池塘一樣凍結了二十年的血液就越開始融化，裂成碎塊，而一旦融化了，就只能打着旋兒飛轉，此外別無選擇。有時候顫抖是在他的腿裏。然後再次傳到他的脊椎底部。等他們將他從大車上解下來，他看到眼前這個野草噝噝作響的世界，除了狗羣和兩間小木屋以外一無所有，這時，憤怒的血液已經激得他前後搖晃。可是沒有人能看出來。那天晚上，他伸出手來戴手銬，手腕很穩健；他們往他腳鐐上拴鐵鏈時，他那支撐身體的雙腿也同樣穩健。可是當他們把他塞進匣子、放下籠門的時候，他的手再也不聽話了。它們自己活動起來。什麼都無法止住它們，或者吸引它們的注意力。它們拒絕握着他的陰莖撒尿，或者拿着勺子舀一勺利馬豆送進嘴裏。直到黎明來臨，該去掄大錘時，它們才奇蹟般地馴服了。
一聲槍響，四十六個男人一齊醒來。所有四十六個。三個白人沿溝走過，一把接一把地打開門鎖。沒人邁出一步。等到最後一把鎖打開，三個人返回來提起柵欄，一扇接一扇。然後黑人們魚貫而出——那些起碼在裏面待上過一天的，動作很利索，不會被槍托搗中；若是新來乍到，比如保羅·D，則不免捱上一槍托，纔會麻利些。當四十六人全部在溝裏站成一列時，另一聲槍響命令他們爬出來，爬到頭頂的地面上，於是一千英尺長的、佐治亞最好的手工鎖鏈抻開來。每個人都彎腰等着。頭一個拾起鎖鏈的一頭，穿進腳鐐上的鐵環。然後他站起身來，拖了幾步，把鏈子遞給下一個犯人，那個人就照他的樣子做。等到鏈子一直傳到頭，每個人都站到了別人的位置上，這一列男人就掉轉頭，面向他們剛剛爬出的匣子。沒有一個人對另一個說話。至少不用語言。要想說什麼得用眼睛：
"今兒早上幫我一把，糟透了"；"我活着"；"新來的"；"別急，現在別急"。
鎖鏈全部上好，他們跪下來。露水這時候多半已經變成了霧氣，有時還很重。如果狗很安靜，只是呼吸，你還能聽見鴿子的聲響。他們跪在霧裏，等待着一個、兩個或者三個看守異想天開的折磨。也許他們三個都喜歡心血來潮。或者針對某個特定的犯人，或者不針對任何人——或者針對所有人。
"早餐？想吃早餐嗎，黑鬼？"
"是，先生。"
"餓了，黑鬼？"
"是，先生。"
"去你媽的吧。"