学文网2009年年初,CE编辑部曾举办过“2009游学之旅有奖征文活动”,其中大学组的写作题目是“My Favorite Film”。在审稿过程中发现,着实有不少的读者都被《肖申克的救赎》这部电影所深深感动。也不例外,看了好几次,每次都不禁感叹――原来人的意志力可以这么强大!一个无辜的人能够在27年痛苦的监狱生活里不放弃对自由的向往,每天晚上都用一把小锤去凿人家认为几百年也不可能凿穿的墙,这是怎样一种精神信念在支撑着他?!这又给我们的心灵带来了怎样一种震撼?!这期奉上原著Rita Hayworth and Shawshank Redemption,让我们一同来重温这幅用希望绘制的生命画卷!
该小说收录在被《纽约时报》誉为“现代惊悚小说大师”的美国作家Stephen King(1947― )最为人津津乐道的杰出代表作Different Seasons(《不同的季节》)一书里。2003年,Stephen King获得了美国国家***书奖的终身成就奖。
――Lavender
Time continued to pass―the oldest trick in the world, and maybe the only one that really is magic. But Andy Dufresne had changed. He had grown harder. That’s the only way I can think of to put it. He went on doing 1)Warden Norton’s dirty work and he held onto the library, so outwardly things were about the same. He continued to have his birthday drinks and his year end holiday drinks; he continued to share out the rest of each bottle. I got him fresh rock-polishing cloths from time to time, and in 1967 I got him a new rock-hammer―the one I’d gotten him nineteen years ago had 2)plumb worn out. Nineteen years! When you say it sudden like that, those three 3)syllables sound like the 4)thud and double-locking of a tomb door. The rock-hammer, which had been a ten-dollar item back then, went for twenty-two by ’67. He and I had a sad little grin over that.
Andy continued to shape and polish the rocks he found in the exercise yard, but the yard was smaller by then; half of what had been there in 1950 had been 5)asphalted over in 1962. Nonetheless, he found enough to keep him occupied, I guess. When he had finished with each rock he would put it carefully on his 6)window ledge, which faced east. He told me he liked to look at them in the sun, the pieces of the planet he had taken up from the dirt and shaped.
Norton had told Andy that Andy walked around the exercise yard as if he were at a cocktail party. That isn’t the way I would have put it, but I know what he meant. It goes back to what I said about Andy wearing his freedom like an invisible coat, about how he never really developed a prison mentality. His eyes never got that dull look. He never developed the walk that men get when the day is over and they are going back to their 7)cells for another endless night―that 8)flat-footed,9)hump-shouldered walk. Andy walked with his shoulders 10)squared and his step was always light, as if he was heading home to a good home-cooked meal and a good woman instead of to a tasteless mess of 11)soggy vegetables, 12)lumpy mashed potato, and a slice or two of that 13)fatty, 14)gristly stuff most of the 15)cons called mystery meat ... that, and a picture of 16)Raquel Welch on the wall.
…
I remember one bright-gold fall day in very late October. It must have been a Sunday, because the exercise yard was full of men “walking off the week”―tossing a 17)Frisbee or two, passing around a football, bartering what they had to barter. Others would be at the long table in the Visitors’ Hall, under the watchful eyes of the screws, talking with their relatives, smoking cigarettes, telling sincere lies, receiving their picked-over 18)care packages.
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Andy was squatting against the wall, 19)chunking two small rocks together in his hands, his face turned up into the sunlight. It was surprisingly warm, that sun, for a day so late in the year.
“Hello, Red,” he called. “Come on and sit a 20)spell.”
I did.
“You want this?” he asked, and handed me one of the two carefully polished “millennium sandwiches.”
“I sure do,” I said. “It’s very pretty. Thank you.”
He shrugged and changed the subject. “Big anniversary coming up for you next year.”
I nodded. Next year would make me a thirty-year man. Sixty per cent of my life spent in Shawshank Prison.
“Think you’ll ever get out?”
“Sure. When I have a long white beard.”
He smiled a little and then turned his face up into the sun again, his eyes closed. “Feels good.”
“I think it always does when you know the damn winter’s almost right on top of you.”
He nodded, and we were silent for a while.
“When I get out of here,” Andy said finally, “I’m going where it’s warm all the time.” He spoke with such calm assurance you would have thought he had only a month or so left to serve. “You know where I’m goin’, Red?”
“21)Nope.”
“22)Zihuatanejo,” he said, rolling the word softly from his tongue like music. “Down in Mexico. It’s a little place maybe twenty miles from 23)Playa Azul and Mexico Highway 37. It’s a hundred miles north-west of 24)Acapulco on the Pacific Ocean. You know what the Mexicans say about the Pacific?”
I told him I didn’t.
“They say it has no memory. And that’s where I want to finish out my life, Red. In a warm place that has no memory.” He had picked up a handful of pebbles as he spoke; now he tossed them, one by one, and watched them bounce and roll across the baseball 25)diamond’s dirt infield, which would be under a foot of snow before long.
“Zihuatanejo. I’m going to have a little hotel down there. Six 26)cabanas along the beach, and six more set further back, for the highway trade. I’ll have a guy who’ll take my guests out 27)charter fishing. There’ll be a 28)trophy for the guy who catches the biggest 29)marlin of the season, and I’ll put his picture up in the lobby. It won’t be a family place. It’ll be a place for people on their honeymoons ... first or second varieties.”
“And where are you going to get the money to buy this fabulous place?” I asked. “Your stock account?”
He looked at me and smiled. “That’s not so far wrong,” he said. “Sometimes you startle me, Red.”
“What are you talking about?”
There are really only two types of men in the world when it comes to bad trouble,” Andy said, cupping a match between his hands and lighting a cigarette. “Suppose there was a house full of rare paintings and sculptures and fine old antiques, Red? And suppose the guy who owned the house heard that there was a monster of a hurricane headed right at it. One of those two kinds of men just hopes for the best. The hurricane will change course, he says to himself. No 30)right-thinking hurricane would ever dare wipe out all these 31)Rembrandts, my two 32)Degas horses, my 33)Grant Woods and my 34)Bentons. Furthermore, God wouldn’t allow it. And if worst comes to worst, they’re insured. That’s one sort of man. The other sort just assumes that hurricane is going to tear right through the middle of his house. If the weather bureau says the hurricane just changed course, this guy assumes it’ll change back in order to put his house on ground zero again. This second type of guy knows there’s no harm in hoping for the best as long as you’re prepared for the worst.”
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I lit a cigarette of my own. “Are you saying you prepared for the 35)eventuality?”
“Yes. I prepared for the hurricane. I knew how bad it looked. I didn’t have much time, but in the time I had, I operated.”
时间继续流逝――这是世界上最古老的把戏,也许也是唯一真具有魔力的把戏。但安迪・弗雷斯内却改变了。他变得更坚韧了。这是我唯一能想到的词。他继续做着诺顿监狱长安排给他的脏活,守着***书馆,所以从表面看来,没什么改变的。他一如既往地在生日当天和年末的假日里喝酒,每次都一如既往地和我分享余下的酒。我不时送他一些磨石布。并且在1967年,我给他弄了一把新的凿岩锤――我十九年前给他弄的那把已经彻底钝拙,用不了了!十九年!突然说出这三个字时,就像坟墓的门砰然关上,双重紧锁发出的声音。凿岩锤以前只是十美元,到了1967年已涨到22美元。对此,他和我只好咧嘴苦笑了一下。
安迪继续雕凿打磨他在操场上捡来的石头,但现在的操场比以前小了,1950年那时候的操场到了1962年有一半已经铺上了沥青。虽然如此,我想,他还是能找到足够的石子给自己忙活的。当他完成了每件石雕作品后,他会小心地把它放到朝向东面的窗台上。他告诉我他喜欢看着阳光下的这些石头――这些他从泥土里捡起来,经他雕凿的“地球的碎片”。
诺顿曾跟安迪说过安迪在操场上游走时,其姿态有如置身于鸡尾酒会一样。我倒不会这样形容他,但我懂他的意思。我之前就说过,自由对安迪来说犹如一件隐形外套,他从来没真正有过囚徒心态。他的眼睛从未变迟钝。他从未步伐沉重,垂头弓背,像那些一天结束后回到囚房熬另一个无尽长夜的囚犯那样。安迪走路的时候会挺胸抬头,步子总是轻快的,就像他正在回家的路上――家里有美餐有贤妻在等他,而不是那一盘索然无味煮得稀烂的蔬菜、夹杂硬块的土豆泥、一两块肥腻又带点软骨的肉(牢里很多人都称之为“神秘肉”)……除此之外,还有拉奎尔・韦尔奇的照片挂在他房里的墙上。
……
我记得十月底,璀璨的金秋里的一天,那天一定是星期天,因为操场上满是“周末出来逛”的人,他们有的在扔一两个飞碟,有的在踢足球,或者以物易物。其他有些人则坐在探访大厅的长桌子前,在看守的监视下,与来访的亲友交谈、抽烟、说着诚挚的谎话、接收经过仔细检查的爱心包裹。
安迪靠着墙蹲着,把玩着手中的两块小石头,啪嗒作响,他仰面迎着阳光。都已经是年末了,然而那天的阳光出乎意料地温暖。
“你好,瑞德,”他喊我,“过来坐一会吧。”
我过去了。
“你想要这个吗?”他问,并且递给了我他那两个精心雕刻的“千年三明治”石雕中的一个。
“当然想要啊,”我说,“太漂亮了。谢谢。”
他耸了耸肩,转换了话题:“明年对你来说是有纪念意义的一年啊。”
我点了点头。到明年,我进这里就满30年了。我60%的生命都耗在肖申克的监狱里了。
“想过你什么时候能出去吗?”
“当然。等我有一大把白胡子的时候吧。”
他微笑了一下,然后又仰着脸迎向太阳,他的眼睛闭上了。“感觉真好。”
“只要想着那该死的寒冬快到了,我想,现在这样的感觉肯定很好。”
他点了点头,然后,我们沉默了一会儿。
“我出去之后,”安迪最后说道,“要去个全年都温暖的地方。”他如此沉稳自信地说着,你会以为他只有一个月就刑满释放。“瑞德,你知道我要去哪里吗?”
“不知道。”
“芝华塔尼欧,”他说,这个词从他的舌尖温柔地转出来,像歌声一般。“在墨西哥南部。离普拉亚阿祖尔湾(音译)和墨西哥37号高速公路大约20英里(约32.2公里),在阿卡普尔科市西北面100英里(约160.9公里)的太平洋沿岸。你知道墨西哥人怎么形容太平洋吗?”
我告诉他我不知道。
“他们说太平洋‘没有回忆’。那里就是我想要度过下半辈子的地方,瑞德。在一个温暖且没有回忆的地方。”他边说边拣起一把鹅卵石,现在,他一个接一个地把它们扔出去,看着它们在棒球场的泥地内野弹滚而过,那里很快就要淹没在一英尺(约30.5厘米)的厚雪之下了。
“芝华塔尼欧。我准备在那里建座小旅馆。沿海滩建六座小屋,后面还有六座,为的是做那条高速公路的过客的生意。我要雇个人带我的顾客包船钓鱼,发奖品给钓到当季最大的青***鱼的人,我还会把他的照片挂在大厅里。那不是个合家欢度假期的地方。那是个给人来度蜜月的地方……首选或第二备选。”
“你从哪里弄到钱来买这片梦想乐土呢?”我问,“你的股票账户?”
他看着我笑了。“差不多,”他说,“有时你会吓我一跳,瑞德。”
“你在说什么啊?”
“当灾难来临时,世界上其实只有两种人,”安迪边说边把手围成杯状,点燃了一根香烟。“瑞德,假设有一间满是稀世油画、雕塑和古玩的房子,再假设房子的主人听到有一股飓风正向房子袭来。一种人会总往好处想,他会对自己说,飓风会改变方向的,没有哪股正常的飓风胆敢席卷我这所有伦勃朗、格兰 特・伍德、本顿的名贵画作,还有我那两幅德加画的马。再说上帝也不会允许的。就算最坏的情况发生了,反正也已经给这些画买了保险。这是一种人。另一种人假设飓风正好会把自己的房子撕成两半,从中间而过。如果气象局说飓风刚改变了方向,这个人会设想飓风会再次改变方向,为的就是把自己的房子夷为平地。第二种人知道,只要你为最坏的情况做好了准备,就不妨往好处想。”
我点燃了自己的一支香烟,说道:“你是在说你已为可能发生的事做了准备吗?”
“是的。我为飓风的到来做了准备。我知道它看上去有多糟。我没有多少时间,但只要我有空,我都在行动。
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