海王的妻子---威尼斯
第一章 還沒到威尼斯
又穿過了一個隧道，火車在阿爾卑斯山裏鑽了一天。撿起掉在座位下的書，伸了伸腿，這是睡的第幾覺兒了？ 火車旅行不該是浪漫的嗎？這不是十九世紀歐洲上流社會最時髦的旅行方式嗎？紳士們穿著Tail，喝著Champagne，跟包廂裏的貴婦談笑風生，打情罵俏……貴婦也風韻無限，裙撐把寬大多褶的蛋糕裙撐的老大，整個身子像長在棉花糖上，顯著那麽高貴典雅，束腰勒的肋骨長到盆骨裏，小臉兒憋通紅，眼角畫的心形大黑痣，像隻落在臉上的蒼蠅，看著那麽俏皮，撇過頭和身旁的女伴說話，一不留神，戴的半米多高的Wig 能把對麵被迷的神魂顛倒的紳士的眼睛杵瞎…… 到了晚上更不得了了，倫敦Knightsbridge豪宅裏的White Ball儼然搬到了餐車上，晚餐，社交，舞會……有風頭的貴婦身旁必圍著幾個風雅的紳士，媚眼裹在有機鋒的對話裏，飄過去， 一來一往，信息量有兩個G！最神奇的是，兩三個紳士呈扇形在貴婦眼前排開，貴婦跟其中一個換眼神兒，空氣中都起靜電了，火星兒劈啪的，可偏離了25度，愣不能讓站在旁邊的另一個紳士看出什麽，一圈話聊過來，每一個都得覺得貴婦大有深意的眼神，是隻拋給自己的……就這點兒基本功，你不得學一陣子？當然紳士們也不閑著，有那風流慣了的，手指縫間夾著早就寫好的小紙條，一支舞罷，牽起貴婦或小姐的手行吻手禮時，順勢把紙條塞到小姐手裏，甫一抬頭之際，狡狤的衝小姐一眨眼，wink! 小姐麵不改色，待旁人不留意，溜到Loo 裏，脫下天鵝絨手套，拿出藏在裏麵的小紙條，矜持又期待的打開，上麵用Spencerian 寫著：Those roseleaf lips of yours should be kissed often, by someone who knows how……
怎麽這一切，到了現代，就變成從這兒到那兒的幹巴巴的交通過程了呢？所有的風流呢？所有的做作呢？所有的儀式呢？所有的腔調呢？所有的折騰呢？這些都沒有了，那生活還有什麽意思！
從維也納出發，火車走了多遠呢？也就經過了阿爾卑斯山不同山頭兒上的三十多座大小城堡那麽遠。你數來著？我沒有，就那麽一說。馬上進站了，Ljubljana，Slovenia。
小站裏隻幾個穿著灰藍色製服的老鐵路工人在不急不忙的做著什麽，另一條軌道上停著幾節貨運車，站台上沒人，後麵是前南斯拉夫時期修的候車室……車窗外漸漸罩上了一層暈黃，時間開始放慢……有時候，你來到一個地方，不止進入了一個不同的空間，更是進入了一個不同的時間……此刻，在斯洛文尼亞的一個小站裏，我仿佛回到了八十年代，幾天前還異常真實的我的生活，突然間被留在了這條鐵軌的無限延申的另一頭…...哪個更真實？什麽是真實？你說呢？
再睡會兒吧……不到威尼斯，別叫醒我。
如果你能選擇，你會想去哪個時代的威尼斯呢？是十二世紀借著十字軍東征而崛起，逐漸壟斷了東西方海上貿易的威尼斯？還是十五世紀鼎盛時期以一島之力擋住了如日中天的奧斯曼土耳其帝國西進腳步的威尼斯？又或是十八世紀全歐洲貴族子弟雲集，假麵舞會中全城女人瘋狂追逐著情聖卡薩諾瓦的威尼斯？別問我，我不知道。我隻好奇當年八十六歲又雙目失明的威尼斯總督丹多羅是怎麽說服十字軍統帥孟菲拉特侯爵不去打異教徒薩拉丁，反倒跟著他上了自己的數百艘賊船先去洗劫了不克之城君士坦丁堡的，商人的算盤能驅使上萬十字軍於股掌……又好奇一個小島，最多的時候也沒超過三十萬人，能在海麵兒上露著勉強活著就夠瞧了，怎麽就稱霸了地中海好幾百年……更好奇威尼斯人能在七世紀末就通過公民投票選出了第一任總督，從此確立了共和國的議會製，大議會，小議會，選舉人團，設置了今天聽著都異常複雜甚至繁瑣的投票和選舉流程，以防止權力的壟斷和腐敗……
相比一千多年前的威尼斯，我好像聽說有幾個國家還在二十一世紀探索並實踐著世襲製呢，什麽？哪？我哪知道！
山嶺漸漸成了火車後麵的一抹藍，煙一樣的藍……兩邊變成了大片大片的葡萄園……毫無防備的，車窗左邊又閃出一大片藍，粉藍粉藍，Marano Lagoon! 威尼斯，已經不遠。
The romantic dream of a train journey seemed to be never ending. After the train passing through a tunnel and running all day in the Alps, I awoke, and picked up the book that had fallen under my seat, stretched my legs and wondered how many times I had dozed off.
Here’s how a train journey supposed to look like in the good old days: Gentlemen in their tailored suits, sipping champagne and engaging in witty conversations with the noble ladies in their voluminous crinoline dresses, the sight was truly befitting of the 19th century European upper class. The ladies had an air of grace and elegance, their waists cinched tightly to their hips and their small faces flushed red. The tiny heart-shaped mole next to their eyes added a mischievous charm to their beauty. As night fell, the grandeur of the London Knightsbridge mansion seemed to have been transported to the dining carriage. Over dinner and socializing, couples danced, with the most popular ladies being surrounded by a few gallant gentlemen. The air was electrified as the lady exchanged meaningful glances with one of the gentlemen, their eyes locked in a silent conversation. The other gentlemen, however, seemed oblivious to the exchange, believing that the lady's gaze was meant for everyone.
As the dance came to an end, a gentleman discretely slipped a note into the lady's hand. As she discreetly opened it in the privacy of the loo, she found the following words in Spencerian script: “Those roseleaf lips of yours should be kissed often, by someone who knows how…”
Ah, the good old days…
Setting off from Vienna, on a grand journey, one could expect a magical experience. The sun was setting behind the Alps, and there was a sense of anticipation as you passed through more than thirty castles and towns along the way. The thrill of an unknown destination ahead, the wind in your hair, and the excitement of a new adventure.
But what of today? No more romanticism, no more grandeur. Instead, the train journey is just a mundane, tiresome process of getting from A to B. Where's the flair, the pomp and circumstance, the banter, the banter? Life has lost a lot of its meaning!
But here we are, finally, after what felt like an eternity on the train, Ljubljana, Slovenia. As I stepped out of the train, I felt as if I had traveled back in time. The small station was quiet and empty, except for a few old railway workers in grey-blue uniforms. On the other track, several cargo cars stood still, and there was nobody on the platform. Behind them was the waiting room built in the era of the former Yugoslavia. Outside the window, a yellowish haze slowly enveloped everything in sight. Time seemed to have slowed down.
Sometimes, when you visit a place, you don’t just enter a different space — you also enter a different time. At this little station in Slovenia, I felt as if I had been transported back to the 1980s. My life from just a few days ago suddenly seemed so distant. Which one was more real? What is real? I thought to myself. Maybe I should just take another nap. Don’t wake me until we reach Venice.
