原創小說及翻譯--竹蝴蝶

很久以前寫的小文，朋友翻譯了一下，和大家分享。我的專業是甲狀腺疾病，很久以前聽說過一個故事，所以寫下來。
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“竹葉颯颯輕舞，小溪叮咚伴唱。竹林深處深處，笛聲婉轉悠揚……”
Bamboo leaves dancing in the wind, little creek accompanies with song.  In the depth of the bamboo forest, the flute sounds smooth and melodious.


這是我家鄉的山歌，我從小就會唱。我出生的那個村子，非常美麗，被重重疊疊的青黛山巒包圍，有緩緩流淌的湖水，有一望無際的竹林。我的爺爺，爹爹和哥哥們，從沒有人走出過這個竹林，世世代代，在這裏耕火相傳，安詳地生活著。
This is the mountain song of my home. I was able to sing it when I was young.  The village of my birth, a very beautiful place, surrounded by layer upon layers of shady green hills, with ebbing of lake water, with endless groves of bamboo.  My grandfather, father, and brothers, none of them has ever walked out of this bamboo forest, for generations, they cultivated and plowed, living a peaceful life.

我是最小的妹妹，娘燒香時，默默地說，佛祖阿，請給我一個有著湖水一樣清澈眼睛，有著竹葉一樣輕盈身影的女兒，佛祖仿佛聽到了，我於是來到這個世界。
I am the youngest sister.  When mother was praying with incense she muttered, Buddha, Please give me a pair of eyes clear like the lake water, with a body of a bamboo leaf.  As if Buddha heard it, therefore I came into this world.

我平靜地長大，坐在深深的大院裏，把竹子劈成細細的篾條，編成各種各樣的玩意兒，奶奶散發著清香的竹枕，哥哥烈日下勞作時的竹笠，嫂嫂挎在手中的小竹籃，還有調皮侄兒手中的小蜻蜓。
I grew up uneventfully, sitting in the large courtyard I split the bamboo sticks into thin strips, weaving them into all sorts of gadgets, grandmother’s fragrant bamboo pillow, brother’s bamboo hat for the intense sun, the bamboo basket in my sister-in-law’s hand, and the little dragonfly for the naughty nephew.

我的名氣漸漸傳出去，遠鄉近鄰都來托我編些東西，我常常在月光中忙到深夜，嫩黃晶瑩的竹條在我纖細靈巧的手指間紛飛穿梭，漸漸變成一個個玲瓏精致的形狀，我的心也隨著歡樂地低吟。
My fame gradually spreads, far and near, all the neighbors ask me to weave things.  Under the moonlight I often labor to the depth of the night.  With my slender dexterous fingers, soft yellowish bamboos strips shuttle across, each gradually form dainty refined shape.  My heart also sings softly with joy.

有一天，有人來叩門，我開門，探出半個臉。是一個年輕人，看著我，幽幽的眸子裏，我看到自己如湖水般清澈的眼睛，又倒映著他的。

One day, someone knocks at the door.  I open the door, showing half of a face.  A young man, he looks at me, in his black eyes, I can see my own clear lake water like eyes, reflecting his.

他微笑地說，我是外鄉來的教書先生，在湖邊開了小學校，你也來聽課好不好？他的口音很奇特，聲音很好聽，像風吹過竹林，溫柔沉厚。我慌亂地點頭，掩上門。
He smiles, I am a teacher from another village, started a school by the lake.  Why don’t you come to class as well?  His accent is unusual, very pleasant, like the wind rustling through the bamboo forest, soft and deep.  I hurriedly nod, shut the door.

天蒙蒙亮，我就起來了。穿上竹綠色的布衫子，烏油油的頭發在腦後梳成辮子。一步步，走向湖邊的那個小學堂。先生站在門口，遠遠地，晨霧中見到瘦長的身影，衣襟拂動，我的心啊，幾乎要跳出了胸膛。
The daylight barely breaks, I am awake.  Wearing bamboo green clothing, braiding the black hair into plaits.  Step by step, walk towards that little school by the lake.  The teacher is standing by the door.  From afar, within the morning fog, reveals the long and slender silhouette, clothes astir, oh, my heart , it almost leaps out of chest.

走到先生麵前，他臉上和藹的笑容卻突然凝結，我的人也要凍住了。進去的時候，聽到先生輕輕的歎息，真可惜啊，多美的小人兒。我不明白先生為什麽這麽說，是我的頭發不夠整齊嗎，還是今天的衣衫不夠新？
Walking to the front of the teacher, the amiable smile suddenly freezes.  I too am frozen.  While walking in, heard the teacher’s soft sigh, such a piety, such a little beauty.  I do not understand why the teach would say this, is it because my hair not neat, or is the clothing not new?

先生教我們識字，漸漸地，我能認出，碧雲天，黃葉地，秋色連波，波上寒煙翠。
The teacher teaches us to recognize words, gradually, I can recognize, blue green sky of cloud, earth of yellow leaves, waves of autumn colors, mist over dreamy lake.

先生讀的時候，抑揚頓挫。經常他會給我們看一個黑匣子裏放出來的彩色圖片，有一次，是各種各樣的蝴蝶，斑斕奪目，先生說，蝴蝶是美人凝聚的魂魄。
When the teach reads in cadence, he often lets us look at colorful prints from a black box, one time, a variety of butterflies, colorfully blinding the eyes, teacher says, butterfly is the condensed soul of a beauty.

那天晚上，我回到家裏，挑出最柔最韌最滑的竹條，細細割到如發絲一樣，坐在青煙燈邊，直到天明。我睡著了，手邊是一隻呼之欲出的竹蝴蝶。
That night I returned home, picked out the softest and the smoothest bamboo strips, carefully cutting them hair thin, sitting by the oil lamp, until daybreak.  I fell asleep, by my hand is a vivid lively bamboo butterfly.

先生接過這隻蝴蝶，小心地揣進懷裏，眼中的湖水更加深邃，我的心也跟著一起蕩漾。
The teacher accepts this butterfly, carefully holds it in his arm, the lake water like eyes deepens, my heart also undulates.

忽然先生離去了，回來的時候，身邊多了一個女老師。短短的頭發，窄窄的裙子，還穿著薄如蟬翼的長襪子。先生牽著女老師的手，走到我麵前，高興地對她說，這就是我跟你說的那個美麗伶俐的小人兒，你看我說得對不對？
Suddenly the teacher left, upon returning, an addition of a female teacher, shortened hair, narrowly fitting skirt, and long hose thin like the wings of the cicada.  The teacher holding the hand of the female teacher, walking to the front of me, telling her with delight, this is the little cute beauty I told you about.  See if I was right?

我看到女老師細長白膩的脖頸，帶著一根項鏈，那個鏈墜兒，是一隻竹蝴蝶。我轉身奔走，一口氣奔到湖邊。水中的倒影，我看到自己脖子上突出的幾個醒目的瘤子，我娘，哥哥，還有鄉親們，都是這樣。可是那個女老師不是這樣，她真美。
I saw on the long and white neck of the female teacher, a necklace, on the necklace is a bamboo butterfly.  I turn and run off.  With one breath I run to the lakeside.  In the reflection of the water, I see on my own neck an obvious protruding tumor.  My mother, brother, and all the relatives, are all like this.  But that female teacher is not like that.  She is so
beautiful.
回到家裏，娘跪在佛龕前。我問，佛祖真的能什麽都聽見嗎？娘回過頭來，微笑地摸著我的頭發，當然，你就是娘跟佛祖祈求來的呀。

Arriving home, mother kneels in front of the shrine, I ask, can Buddha hear everything?  Mother turns her head, smiling and caressing my hair, of course, you are what Buddha granted me.

夜深了，我編完最後一個籃子，靜靜地跪到佛龕前。看著微笑垂目的佛像，我默默地祈禱。眼前閃過先生湖水一樣的雙眸。我掏出鋒利的削竹刀，往自己脖頸上的瘤狠命地切下，血，噴注而出。我抓起香灰，糊在脖子上，村裏的老人說，這樣能夠止血。但是鮮血依然汩汩地往外流淌，瞬間沾濕了我的綠衫子。
Deep at night, I finished weaving the last basket, silently kneeling in front of the shrine, gazing at the smiling downcast image of the Buddha.  I pray in silence.  The image of the eyes of lake water of the teacher flashes across, I pull out the sharp bamboo knife, brutally slashing the tumor on my neck, blood, gushes out.  I grab the ash of the incense and paste it on the neck.  The elders of the village say this can stop bleeding.  But the fresh blood continues to bleed, rapidly stained my green clothing.

眼前的佛像越來越遠，似乎可以看見蝴蝶翩翩飛過，難道，那是我的魂魄嗎？
The image of the Buddha in front is farther and farther away, almost can see the butterfly fly, can it be, the soul of mine?


 

[花飛的朋友]

很淒美的小故事