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But she did not say it, she kept rigidly silent. Ostrakova had already sworn to herself that she would restrain both her quick temper and her quick tongue, and she now physically enjoined herself to this vow by grabbing a piece of skin on the soft inside of her wrist and pinching it through her sleeve with a fierce, sustained pressure under the table, exactly as she had done a hundred times before, in the old days, when such questionings were part of her daily life—When did you last hear from your husband, Ostrakov, the traitor? Name all persons with whom you have associated in the last three months! With bitter experience she had learned the other lessons of interrogation too. A part of her was rehearsing them at this minute, and though they belonged, in terms of history, to a full generation earlier, they appeared to her now as bright as yesterday and as vital: never to match rudeness with rudeness, never to be provoked, never to score, never to be witty or superior or intellectual, never to be deflected by fury, or despair, or the surge of sudden hope that an occasional question might arouse. To match dullness with dullness and routine with routine. And only deep, deep down to preserve the two secrets that made all these humiliations bearable: her hatred of them; and her hope that one day, after endless drips of water on the stone, she would wear them down, and by a reluctant miracle of their own elephantine processes, obtain from them the freedom they were denying her.
但又咽了回去，一言不发，保持缄默。奥斯特拉科娃早就发誓要改掉急性子和嘴巴快的毛病，现在身体力行要做到这点。她把手放在桌子下面，抓住手腕内侧一块柔软的皮肤，隔着袖子持续用力地掐。以前，当类似的盘问是她日常生活的一部分时，同样的动作她做过无数次。就像这样的问题————你最近一次收到来自你的叛徒丈夫奥斯特拉科夫的消息是什么时候？把你最近三个月里接触过的人统统说出来！关于应付审讯的经验，她是在痛苦中学到的。此刻，她身体的一部分正在重温这些经验。尽管是整整一个世代前的经验，现在她却感觉新鲜如昨，异常生动：永远不要以粗鲁对粗鲁，永远不要被激怒，永远不要占上风，永远不要耍小聪明，表现出优越感或才智，永远不要因为偶然一问所激起的愤怒，绝望，或者突然的希望而忘了自己要达到的目的。他迟钝，你也迟钝；他例行公事，你也例行公事。把两个秘密深深地藏在心底，靠它扛过一切羞辱。一个是对他们的恨，一个是她的心愿，希望有朝一日，滴水石穿，她比他们更能熬，终将战胜他们。他们不想给她自由，她却要创造一个奇迹，让他们自己庞杂繁复的程序，不情愿地给她自由。
He had produced a notebook. In Moscow it would have been her file but here in a Paris café it was a sleek black leatherbound notebook, something that in Moscow even an official would count himself lucky to possess.
他掏出一本笔记本。如果在莫斯科，他掏出来的就会是她的档案。如今在巴黎的咖啡馆，他拿出来的却是一本锃亮的黑色真皮笔记本。在莫斯科，即使是当官的，如果能弄到这样一本笔记本，也算是吉星高照了。
File or notebook, the preamble was the same: “You were born Maria Andreyevna Rogova in Leningrad on May 8, 1927,” he repeated. “On September 1, 1948, aged twenty-one, you married the traitor Ostrakov Igor, a captain of infantry in the Red Army, born of an Estonian mother. In 1950, the said Ostrakov, being at the time stationed in East Berlin, traitorously defected to Fascist Germany through the assistance of reactionary Estonian émigrés, leaving you in Moscow. He took up residence, and later French citizenship, in Paris, where he continued his contact with anti-Soviet elements. At the time of his defection you had no children by this man. Also you were not pregnant. Correct?”
档案也好，笔记本也好，开场白都是一样的：“你叫玛丽亚·安德烈耶夫娜·罗果娃，1927年5月8日生于列宁格勒，”他说，“1948年9月1日，年满21岁，和叛徒奥斯特拉科夫·伊戈尔结婚。他当时是红军陆军大尉，母亲是爱沙尼亚人。1950年，当时驻扎在东柏林的奥斯特拉科夫在反动的爱沙尼亚流亡者帮助下叛逃到法西斯德国，把你留在了莫斯科。他在巴黎定居下来，后来加入了法国国籍，并在巴黎继续与反苏分子保持联系。他叛逃时，你还没有他的孩子，也没有怀孕。是不是？"
“Correct,” she said.
In Moscow it would have been “Correct, Comrade Captain,” or “Correct, Comrade Inspector,” but in this clamorous French café such formality was out of place. The fold of skin on her wrist had gone numb. Releasing it, she allowed the blood to return, then took hold of another.
“是。”她说。
如果是在莫斯科，她就该说：“是，上尉同志，”或者“是，警官同志，”但在这个喧闹的法国咖啡馆，这么正式就不合时宜了。她手腕上的皮肤已经捏得麻木了。于是她松开手，让血液回流，又换个地方掐。
“As an accomplice to Ostrakov’s defection you were sentenced to five years’ detention in a labour camp, but were released under an amnesty following the death of Stalin in March, 1953. Correct?”
"作为奥斯特拉科夫叛逃的同谋，你被判处在劳改营关押五年，但1953年3月斯大林逝世后，根据大赦令被释放。是不是？"
“Correct.”
“On your return to Moscow, despite the improbability that your request would be granted, you applied for a foreign travel passport to join your husband in France. Correct?”
“是。”
“你回到莫斯科以后，明知不太可能批准，还是申请出国旅行护照和在法国的丈夫团聚。是不是？”
“He had cancer,” she said. “If I had not applied, I would have been failing in my duty as his wife.”
"他得了癌症，"她说。"如果我不申请，就没有尽到做妻子的责任"。
The waiter brought the plates of omelette and frites and the two Alsatian beers, and Ostrakova asked him to bring a thé citron: she was thirsty, but did not care for beer. Addressing the boy, she tried vainly to make a bridge to him, with smiles and with her eyes. But his stoniness repulsed her; she realised she was the only woman in the place apart from the three prostitutes. Holding his notebook to one side like a hymnal, the stranger helped himself to a forkful, then another, while Ostrakova tightened her grasp on her wrist, and Alexandra’s name pulsed in her mind like an unstaunched wound, and she contemplated a thousand different serious problems that required the assistance of a mother.
服务员端来了盛有煎蛋和薯条的盘子，以及两瓶阿尔萨斯啤酒，奥斯特拉科娃让服务员倒杯柠檬水。她嘴巴干，但不想喝啤酒。她一边和侍者说话，一边试图用微笑和眼神向他示意，但没有成功。他的冷漠让她反感。她忽然意识到房间里除了三个妓女，她是唯一的女人。陌生人像握着赞美诗一样握着笔记本，一边用叉子满叉满叉地吃东西。奥斯特拉科娃则紧紧地掐住手腕，亚历山德拉的名字在她的脑海里跳动着，仿佛尚未止住血的伤口。什么样严重的问题需要母亲帮忙？她揣摩着一千种可能的情况。
The stranger continued his crude history of her while he ate. Did he eat for pleasure or did he eat in order not to be conspicuous again? She decided he was a compulsive eater.
陌生人边吃边说着她的简略历史。他是喜欢美食，还是仅仅为了不再次引起别人注意而吃东西？她断定他就是个强迫性暴饮暴食者。
“Meanwhile,” he announced, eating.
“Meanwhile,” she whispered involuntarily.
“Meanwhile, despite your pretended concern for your husband, the traitor Ostrakov,” he continued through his mouthful, “you nevertheless formed an adulterous relationship with the so-called music student Glikman Joseph, a Jew with four convictions for anti-social behaviour whom you had met during your detention. You cohabited with this Jew in his apartment. Correct or false?”
“在这期间，”他边吃边说道。
“在这期间，”她不由自主地喃喃道。
"在这期间，你尽管假装关心丈夫，叛徒奥斯特拉科夫，"他满嘴是食物，继续说道，"但还是与所谓的音乐系学生格里克曼·约瑟夫有了不正当关系。他是一个有四次反社会行为前科的犹太人。你是在拘留期间认识的，在他的公寓里同居。是不是？”
“I was lonely.”
“In consequence of this union with Glikman you bore a daughter, Alexandra, at The Lying-in Hospital of the October Revolution in Moscow. The certificate of parentage was signed by Glikman Joseph and Ostrakova Maria. The girl was registered in the name of the Jew Glikman. Correct or false?”
“我很孤独。”
“和格里克曼的不正当关系所带来的结果，是你在莫斯科十月革命产科医院生了个女儿，亚历山德拉。出生证上的签名是格里克曼·约瑟夫和奥斯特拉科娃·玛丽亚。女孩是用犹太人格里克曼的姓登记的。是不是？”
“Correct.”
“Meanwhile, you persisted in your application for a foreign travel passport. Why?”
“是。”
“在这期间，你继续申请出国护照。为什么？”
“I told you. My husband was ill. It was my duty to persist.”
“我说过，我丈夫病了。继续申请护照是我的责任。”
He ate again, so grossly that she had a sight of his many bad teeth. “In January, 1956, as an act of clemency you were granted a passport on condition the child Alexandra was left behind in Moscow. You exceeded the permitted time limit and remained in France, abandoning your child. Correct or false?”
他又开始吃东西，吃相很粗野，她看到他张开的嘴巴里露出许多坏牙。“1956年1月，作为宽大处理，发给了你护照，条件是把孩子亚历山德拉留在莫斯科。你超过了允许的期限，滞留在法国，遗弃了孩子。是不是？”
The doors to the street were glass, the walls too. A big lorry parked outside them and the café darkened. The young waiter slammed down her tea without looking at her.
朝街的大门是玻璃的，墙壁也是。一辆载重卡车停在外面，咖啡馆里顿时暗了下来。年轻的侍者把她要的柠檬水砰地一声摔在桌子上，看都没看她一眼。
“Correct,” she said again, and managed this time to look at her interrogator, knowing what would follow, forcing herself to show him that on this score at least she had no doubts, and no regrets.
“是，”她答道，这次，她强迫自己看着审问她的人。她知道接下来会问什么，要向他表明，至少在这个事情上，她没有疑问，也不懊悔。
“Correct,” she repeated defiantly.
“As a condition of your application being favourably considered by the authorities, you signed an undertaking to the organs of State Security to perform certain tasks for them during your residence in Paris. One, to persuade your husband, the traitor Ostrakov, to return to the Soviet Union—”
“是，”她又说了一遍，语气里带着挑战的意味。
"作为对你的申请给予适当照顾的条件，你向国家安全机关签署了一份承诺书，保证在巴黎期间为他们执行某些任务。其一，劝说你的丈夫，叛徒奥斯特拉科夫返回苏联--"
“To attempt to persuade him,” she corrected him, with a faint smile. “He was not amenable to this suggestion.”
“尝试说服他，”她淡然一笑，纠正他的说法。“他不接受我的建议。”
“Two, you undertook also to provide information concerning the activities and personalities of revanchist anti-Soviet émigré groups. You submitted two reports of no value and afterwards nothing. Why?”
"其二，你还承诺提供有关反苏复仇流亡团体的活动和人员信息。你交了两份毫无价值的报告，之后就没有了。为什么？”
“My husband despised such groups and had given up his contact with them.”
“我丈夫看不上这些团体，和他们断绝来往了。”
“You could have participated in the groups without him. You signed the document and neglected its undertaking. Yes or no?”
"没有他，你也可以参加这些团体的活动。你在文件上签了字，却没做到承诺。是不是？"
“Yes.”
“For this you abandon your child in Russia? To a Jew? In order to give your attention to an enemy of the people, a traitor of the State? For this you neglect your duty? Outstay the permitted period, remain in France?”
“是。”
"就为了这，你把孩子丢在俄国？把孩子丢给一个犹太佬？就因为你的注意力放在一个人民的敌人，国家的叛徒身上？就为了这个你玩忽职守，逾期不归，留在法国？"
“My husband was dying. He needed me.”
“And the child Alexandra? She did not need you? A dying husband is more important than a living child? A traitor? A conspirator against the people?”
“我丈夫快死了。他需要我。”
“那亚历山德拉呢？她就不需要你了？一个快死的丈夫还比一个活着的孩子更重要？而且是一个叛徒，一个反人民的阴谋家？”
Releasing her wrist, Ostrakova deliberately took hold of her tea and watched the glass rise to her face, the lemon floating on the surface. Beyond it, she saw a grimy mosaic floor and beyond the floor the loved, ferocious, and kindly face of Glikman pressing down on her, exhorting her to sign, to go, to swear to anything they asked. The freedom of one is more than the slavery of three, he had whispered; a child of such parents as ourselves cannot prosper in Russia whether you stay or go; leave and we shall do our best to follow; sign anything, leave, and live for all of us; if you love me, go. . . .
奥斯特拉科娃松开手腕，故意将杯子举起来遮住脸。柠檬飘在液面上，透过杯子，她仿佛又看见那肮脏的马赛克地板，在地板的那头是格里克曼那张可爱，狂野，亲切的脸。他向她施压，极力劝她签字，要她走，答应他们的任何要求。他曾低声对她说，一个人获得自由胜过三个人受奴役；像我们这样父母所生的孩子，无论你是走是留，都不可能在苏联过上好日子；你走吧，我们会尽力追随你；签字吧，走吧，为我们大家而活；如果你爱我，就走吧......
“They were the hard days, still,” she said to the stranger finally, almost in a tone of reminiscence. “You are too young. They were the hard days, even after Stalin’s death: still hard.”
“那时候的日子还是很苦的，”她终于开了口，带着近乎怀旧的语气，“你太年轻。那时候日子还苦得很，即使是在斯大林死后，仍然很苦。”
“Does the criminal Glikman continue to write to you?” the stranger asked in a superior, knowing way.
"罪犯格里克曼还在给你写信吗？"陌生人用一种高高在上、明知故问的口吻问道。
“He never wrote,” she lied. “How could he write, a dissident, living under restriction? The decision to stay in France was mine alone.”
“他从没写过信，”她撒了个谎，“作为一个持不同政见者，生活在监控下，他怎么可能写信？留在法国完全是我一个人的决定。”
Paint yourself black, she thought; do everything possible to spare those within their power.
描黑你自己，尽力保护还生活在他们权力范围之内的人。她想。
“I have heard nothing from Glikman since I came to France more than twenty years ago,” she added, gathering courage. “Indirectly, I learned that he was angered by my anti-Soviet behaviour. He did not wish to know me any more. Inwardly he was already wishing to reform by the time I left him.”
“自从二十年前来法国后，我从没收到他的任何消息。”她鼓起勇气补充说。“我间接得知，我的反苏行为激怒了他。他不想再认我。在我离开他的时候，他内心已经想改过自新了。”
“He did not write concerning your common child?”
“He did not write, he did not send messages. I told you this already.”
“Where is your daughter now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have received communications from her?”
“他没给你写信说起孩子的事？”
“他没写过信，也没传递过消息。我已经跟你说了。”
“你女儿现在在哪里？”
“我不知道。”
“你收到过她的消息吗？”
“Of course not. I heard only that she had entered a State orphanage and acquired another name. I assume she does not know I exist.”
"当然没有。我只听说她进了国立孤儿院，取了另一个名字。我猜她不知道我的存在。"
The stranger ate again with one hand, while the other held the notebook. He filled his mouth, munched a little, then swilled his food down with the beer. But the superior smile remained.
陌生人又一只手吃饭，另一只手拿着笔记本。他塞满了嘴，嚼了几下，然后就着啤酒把食物吞了下去。他的脸上依然挂着高人一等的微笑。
“And now it is the criminal Glikman who is dead,” the stranger announced, revealing his little secret. He continued eating.
"现在，这个罪犯格里克曼已经死了，"陌生人揭晓了他的小秘密，然后继续吃东西。
Suddenly Ostrakova wished the twenty years were two hundred. She wished that Glikman’s face had never, after all, looked down on her, that she had never loved him, never cared for him, never cooked for him, or got drunk with him day after day in his one-roomed exile where they lived on the charity of their friends, deprived of the right to work, to do anything but make music and love, get drunk, walk in the woods, and be cut dead by their neighbours.
霎时，奥斯特拉科娃希望这不是发生在二十年前，而是两百年前。她唯愿从没见过格里克曼那张脸，从没爱上他，从没照料过他，从没为他做过饭，和他一起住在那个单间里，日复一日喝得酩酊大醉。那是他的流放地，他们被剥夺了工作的权利，只能靠朋友接济生活，除了奏乐，做爱，醉酒，在林子里散步，别的什么都不能做。邻居都对他们假装视而不见。
“Next time I go to prison or you do, they will take her anyway. Alexandra is forfeit in any case,” Glikman had said. “But you can save yourself.”
“下次我或者你进了监狱，他们就会把她带走。我们不管怎样都会失去亚历山德拉，”格里克曼说过，“但你还可以救你自己。”
“I will decide when I am there,” she had replied.
“Decide now.”
“When I am there.”
“我到了那儿再决定。”她当时这么说。
“现在就决定。”
“等我到了那儿再说。”
The stranger pushed aside his empty plate and once more took the sleek French notebook in both hands. He turned a page, as if approaching a new chapter.
陌生人推开空盘子，再次双手捧起那本锃亮的法国笔记本。他又翻开一页，仿佛即将揭开新的篇章。
“Concerning now your criminal daughter Alexandra,” he announced, through his food.
“Criminal?” she whispered.
“关于你的罪犯女儿亚历山德拉，”他嘴里含着食物说道。
“罪犯？”她喃喃道。
To her astonishment the stranger was reciting a fresh catalogue of crimes. As he did so, Ostrakova lost her final hold upon the present. Her eyes were on the mosaic floor and she noticed the husks of langoustine and crumbs of bread. But her mind was in the Moscow law court again, where her own trial was being repeated. If not hers, then Glikman’s—yet not Glikman’s either. Then whose? She remembered trials that the two of them had attended as unwelcome spectators. Trials of friends, if only friends by accident: such as people who had questioned the absolute right of the authorities; or had worshipped some unacceptable god; or had painted criminally abstract pictures; or had published politically endangering love-poems. The chattering customers in the café became the jeering claque of the State police; the slamming of the bagatelle tables, the crash of iron doors. On this date, for escaping from the State orphanage on something street, so many months’ corrective detention. On that date, for insulting organs of State Security, so many more months, extended for bad behaviour, followed by so many years’ internal exile. Ostrakova felt her stomach turn and thought she might be sick. She put her hands to her glass of tea and saw the red pinch marks on her wrist. The stranger continued his recitation and she heard her daughter awarded another two years for refusing to accept employment at the something factory, God help her, and why shouldn’t she? Where had she learnt it? Ostrakova asked herself, incredulous. What had Glikman taught the child, in the short time before they took her away from him, that had stamped her in his mould and defeated all the system’s efforts? Fear, exultation, amazement jangled in Ostrakova’s mind, till something that the stranger was saying to her blocked them out.
令她吃惊的是，陌生人背诵了她女儿的一串新的罪行。他说话的时候，奥斯特拉科娃失去了对现实的最后一点感知。她的眼睛仿佛正盯着马赛克地板，看到了小龙虾壳和面包屑。她的思绪又回到了莫斯科的法庭，那里正在重演对她的审判。如果不是对她的审判，那就应该是对格里克曼的审判--但也不是对格里克曼的。那是对谁的？她想起了他们两人作为不受欢迎的旁观者参加的审判。那些对朋友的审判，哪怕只是偶然碰到的朋友。有质疑当局的绝对权力的，有崇拜某些不被允许崇拜的神的，有画抽象画，被视作犯罪的，有出版政治上有危害性的爱情诗的。咖啡馆里喋喋不休的顾客幻化成了国家保安机关雇佣，为他们鼓掌捧场，嘲弄受审者的人群；台球桌的砰砰声变成了铁门的撞击声。某天，她女儿因为从某条街上的国家孤儿院中逃出来而遭到了几个月的惩戒监禁。某天，她女儿又因为侮辱国家安全机关，又被判了几个月，因为行为不端而延长了刑期，加判很多年的内部流放。奥斯特拉科娃感到胃里翻江倒海，仿佛生病了。她把手放在杯子上，看着手腕上红色的掐痕。陌生人则继续念叨着她女儿的事情。她听到她女儿因为拒绝到某家工厂上班，又被判了两年。上帝保佑她，她为什么不可以拒绝？她从哪里学来的？奥斯特拉科娃对自己说，感到难以置信。在孩子被带走之前的短短时间里，格里克曼到底教了她什么，在她身上打下了他自己的烙印，和他像是一个模子出来的，让体制的所有努力统统化为徒劳？恐惧、欣喜、惊讶，奥斯特拉科娃的心中五味杂陈，直到陌生人说了些什么，才使她清醒过来。
“I did not hear,” she whispered after an age. “I am a little distressed. Kindly repeat what you just said.”
"我没听见，"过了好一会儿，她才低声说。"我有点感觉不舒服。请再说一遍你刚才说的话。"
He said it again, and she looked up and stared at him, trying to think of all the tricks she had been warned against, but they were too many and she was no longer clever. She no longer had Glikman’s cleverness—if she had ever had it—about reading their lies and playing their games ahead of them. She knew only that to save herself and be reunited with her beloved Ostrakov, she had committed a great sin, the greatest a mother can commit. The stranger had begun threatening her, but for once the threat seemed meaningless. In the event of her non-collaboration—he was saying—a copy of her signed undertaking to the Soviet authorities would find its way to the French police. Copies of her useless two reports (done, as he well knew, solely in order to keep the brigands quiet) would be circulated among the surviving Paris émigrés—though, God knows, there were few enough of them about these days! Yet why should she have to submit to pressure in order to accept a gift of such immeasurable value—when, by some inexplicable act of clemency, this man, this system, was holding out to her the chance to redeem herself, and her child? She knew that her nightly and daily prayers for forgiveness had been answered, the thousands of candles, the thousands of tears. She made him say it a third time. She made him pull his notebook away from his gingery face, and she saw that his weak mouth had lifted into a half smile and that, idiotically, he seemed to require her absolution, even while he repeated his insane, God-given question.
他又说了一遍。她抬起头，盯着他，试图想出所有以前别人警告她提防的伎俩。但这些伎俩太多，她的脑子也不灵了，已经不再有格里克曼的那种机智--如果她曾经有过的话--就是识破他们的谎言，在他们玩弄伎俩之前，抢先一步对他们玩弄伎俩。她只知道，为了拯救自己，为了与心爱的奥斯特拉科夫团聚，她犯下了一个大罪，一个母亲所能犯下的最大的罪。陌生人已经在开始威胁她，但这一次，威胁似乎毫无意义。他说，如果她不合作，她向苏联当局签署的承诺书副本就会交给法国警方。她那两份毫无用处的报告（他很清楚，这样做只是为了让强盗们闭嘴）将在幸存的巴黎流亡者中传阅--虽然，天知道，现在这样的流亡者还有几个！然而，她为什么要屈从于压力，接受这样一份价值无法估量的礼物--而这个人，这个体制，却通过某种莫名其妙的宽大行为，为她提供了赎回自己和孩子的机会？她知道，夜以继日的求主宽恕的祷告，那无数的蜡烛，那无数的眼泪，终于得到了回应。她让他又重复了一遍。他说完后，她让他把笔记本从他姜黄色的脸庞前拿开，看到他虚弱的嘴角露出一丝微笑。当他重复他的问题时，甚至竟然像是傻乎乎地在要求她的宽恕。这个问题太不可思议了，像是从神而来的：
“Assuming it has been decided to rid the Soviet Union of this disruptive and unsocial element, how would you like your daughter Alexandra to follow your footsteps here to France?”
"假如苏联已经决定清除掉这个搞破坏的反社会分子，你觉得你的女儿亚历山德拉跟你来法国怎么样？"
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发表于 2024-1-14 06:55:48