论文部分内容阅读
【導读】达纳·王尔德被称为“后院自然学家”，现居美国缅因州特洛伊市，其创作见于《科幻与奇幻小说》（Fantasy & Science Fiction，常简称为F&SF）、《阿西莫夫科幻杂志》（Asimov’s）及《探索》（The Quest）。他最新的作品有《从夏至秋——缅因森林中的音符和守护神》（Summer to Fall： Notes and Numina in the Maine Woods）和《星云——后院宇宙学》（Nebulae： A Backyard Cosmography），其关于缅因州自然界的创作收录于《车道另一头》（The Other End of the Driveway）。
达纳·王尔德曾在“冬之阴暗面”（The Dark Side of Winter）一文里有如此记述：“我记得很久以前读到18世纪的移民为了逃避马萨诸塞州的迫害而往缅因州方向逃亡，但没多久，很多人就因其‘折胶堕指的冬’又折返了回去。”（I remember reading long ago of 18th century settlers fleeing Maine-ward to escape oppressions in Massachusetts and many of them bouncing back because of “extremely harsh winters，” writes Dana Wilde.）下面这篇散文将让读者对缅因州“折胶堕指的冬”一斑见豹。原文“冬季卫星”（Winter Moons）载于1996年第281卷第5期《北美评论》（The North American Review），本文为节选，标题据节选内容有改动。
Here in Maine， winter is long and cold. In the past it was even longer and colder， or so memory and certain old people suggest. One of Thoreau’s journal entries from before 1850 notes without surprise a fairly heavy snowfall in mid-April. That was in Massachusetts， which is still part of the temperate east. Farther north and east， beyond New Hampshire， the Saco River in southern Maine is the accepted anthropological divisor of the Eastern Woodlands region from the Eastern Subarctic region. “Subarctic” refers to a length and depth of winter freeze which is something less than polar. The limits of a subarctic winter might accurately be described as the months when snow can reasonably be expected to bury everything. And in earlier times， the months when food became scarce to nonexistent. Most of Maine drowses through winter from November to April.
By late January the cold has normally been so long and so thorough that it’s difficult even to stay awake. The ice grinds everything to a halt1， or so close to a halt that for all intents and purposes nothing happens. The roads are frozen， and so are your bones. Snow piles up everywhere， obliterating the driveway and the baseball diamond. In fields the only signs that anything ever lived are dead spokes of grass or a few uncut corn stalks， the occasional raccoon， fox or deer tracks in the snow. You don’t want to go outside. You want to stay in where the heat is， smell the wood smoke or the dry， nylon odor of electric coils. The inner staleness of the kitchen， unventilated since October. A house is a core of warmth， like a burrow. It seems unutterably small after a while， but at least it’s not frozen. In the cold， we describe even the warm by what it’s not. Cold is the absence of heat. Ice is that pervasive presence in the universe which signifies what is not. Sometimes on really arctic nights the ice—or maybe not the ice itself but its stillness and hardness—becomes fascinating， and I feel sucked outside to see the emptiness. Away from the artificial fires of western culture， which throw smoke and black soot all over chunky roadside snowbanks， the snow in the woods remains purely white， even during its porous melting period in March. The whiteness is a blankness， even more complete than on the ocean surface because it does not move. Billions of tiny frozen water crystals， motionless， piling up around the hemlocks and in the arms of pines， bluish in moon shadows. Everything suspended， waiting for the Sun to come up.
Especially at night. The air is emptied of moisture， and to breathe is to suck in pure cold， like blocks of ice tumbling into your lungs. In arctic cold， -10， -20 F2 and colder， a deep breath extinguishes the vascular heat in your chest， and a sharp pain creases your sternum. You breathe slowly to preserve the inner reserves of warmth.
I saw the emptiness completely one moonless January midnight when I walked across the pond to look at Orion. The camp road was slick with crushed powdery snow over a slab of ice. The stars were thick， like magnified crystals in the blackness. On the pond my boots blasted oblong impact pits into the glazed snow. I thought the pond must be frozen completely through to the bottom.
Everything seemed impregnable， as if the cold itself was insulation. In the first stages of freezing there is nervousness. When the chill penetrates your skin， you have a natural inclination to move， which for most people means shivering. As the cold filters further into your bones your body becomes calmer， and drowsiness takes over. A desire to succumb sets in， like a cat settling into a chair， and a fascination for sleep dulls the desire to survive. In its final phase， I imagine， it solidifies into a need to relinquish consciousness completely and become ice. Standing on the pond， binoculars in glove， I kept shivering. The emptiness yawned all around me. Flat， dark ice reposed like a moonscape， sometimes buckling and creaking as if the Earth itself could shiver. In a rough circle around the pond’s edges loomed pointed giants， spruces and pines.
It was like standing in a still crater. Rim mountains spoked up all around me. The impact basin was flat， pocked with tiny holes. The arctic cold of the Earth， I thought， is the same as the Moon’s， or Triton’s， or Charon’s. Absence is absence. Nothing is nothing. You can die of sleep as easily here as there. For a few minutes I relaxed. Stars plainly rising over a crater-rim scintillated on the edge of the absence， like the fat dreams that come before deep sleep. I was on a moon somewhere， becoming ice. 缅因州冬季漫长寒冷，据回忆和一些老人说，过去更长更冷。梭罗1850年前的一篇日志上不出意外记载了，4月中还下过相当大的一场雪。那是在马萨诸塞州，如今仍属于气候温和的东部。再往北、往东，出了新罕布什尔州，就到了缅因州南部的萨科河，从人类学角度看，这条河是东部林区和东部亚北极地区公认的分水岭。“亚北极”指冬季冰冻的时长和程度只比极地略逊一筹。亚北极地区的冬季时限或可准确描述为，可以合理预计雪能覆盖一切的那几个月;早期，则是食物变得稀缺乃至根本没有食物的那几个月。从11月到次年4月，缅因州大部分都在沉睡中度过整个冬季。
到1月底，已经冷了那么久，一切都冻透了，想要保持清醒都很难。冰使得万事万物渐渐陷入停顿，或几近停顿以至任何意图和目的都无法达成。路全冻住了，连你的骨头都冻住了。到处都堆着雪，挡住了车道，盖住了棒球场。田野里，能显示之前有活物存在的标志只有一些死草桩或几根没收割的玉米秆，还有雪地里偶尔能看到的浣熊、狐狸或鹿的踪迹。你不想出门，就想待在有暖气的地方，闻着木头燃烧的味道或电炉丝干燥的尼龙味。厨房从10月起就再未通风，散发着陈腐味。房子像个洞穴，是温暖的核心。待一阵子后，房子似乎小得无以名状，但至少没有冻住。寒冷的日子里，即使描述暖和，我们也会用不冷之类的词儿。
冷即缺热。冰在宇宙中无所不在，凸显出非冰之物。极地之夜，冰有时真是让人叹服，也许不是冰，是它的那份寂静与坚硬，而我会被吸引，想出去看看这份空无。西方文化的人造火使得路边敦实的雪堆上落满了烟尘和黑色烟灰，林中雪远离这种火，即便在3月极具渗透性的融化期，仍可保持那份纯洁的白。那种白是一种空，比海洋表面的空还要彻底，因为它静止不动。无数微小的冰晶，一动不动，堆在铁杉周围，落入松树怀抱，在月影中微微泛蓝。万物悬停，静候太阳升起。
夜晚尤甚，空气中的湿气被彻底清除，呼吸就是吸进百分百的寒气，就像一块块冰落进肺里。就像北极的严寒，零下10或20华氏度，或者更冷，深吸一口气，能把胸腔血管里的暖全部浇灭，寒冷的刺痛让胸骨收缩。得慢慢呼吸才能保持体内的温度。
1月一个无月的午夜，我穿过池塘去观察猎户座，见识了那种彻底的空。营地的路很滑，路面大块的冰上是细碎的雪。星星密布，像黑暗中被放大的水晶。池塘上，我的靴子在釉般光亮的雪面踏过，踩出了一个个椭圆形的坑。我想，池塘一定已经冻到了池底。
每一样东西似乎都坚不可摧，无法穿透，就好像寒冷本身是绝缘的。冰冷的最初阶段是紧张。当寒气浸透肌肤，人自然而然会想动，大多数人就会打颤。寒气浸入骨髓时，身体会更平静，睡意袭来。就此屈服的愿望油然而生，像猫蜷在椅中，对睡眠的迷恋削弱了生存的渴望。寒气发作的最后阶段，我想，它让人彻底放弃意识而想变成冰。站在池塘上，戴着手套的手握着双筒望远镜，我不停地打颤。广阔无边的空无环绕着我。夜色浸染下的扁平的冰像月球表面，静止不动，时而咔吱作响，就好像地球本身也会颤栗。池塘周边参差不齐，高耸的参天巨人——云杉和松树——隐约可见。
仿若站在一个静止的深坑里。四周山峦起伏。撞击盆地看似平坦，表面布满极小的孔。地球的极地之冷，我想，与月球或海卫一或冥卫一上的情形是一样的吧。空即空，无即无。在哪儿可能都很容易一睡不起。有那么几分钟，我放松了下来。星星在坑边朗朗升起，在空的边沿闪烁，像沉睡前的酣梦。我身處宇宙某处的某颗卫星，渐渐成冰。
（译者单位：北京化工大学）
Funny Winter Jokes
—What is the best kind of breakfast cereal to eat in the winter？
—Frosted Flakes
—Where do snowmen put their money？
—Snowbanks
—How do you scare a snowman？
—Global Warming
—Why did the girl keep her trumpet out in the snow？
—Because she liked cool music
—What falls in the winter but never gets hurt？
—Snow
—What do you have in December that you can’t have in any other month？
—The letter D
—What do snowmen call their offspring？
—Chill-dren
—How do mountains stay warm？
—Snowcaps
—What’s a snowman’s favorite drink？
—Ice Tea
—How do snowmen greet one another？
—They say “Ice to meet you”！
—What’s the difference between a Christmas alphabet and the regular alphabet？
—The Christmas alphabet has Noel.
达纳·王尔德曾在“冬之阴暗面”（The Dark Side of Winter）一文里有如此记述：“我记得很久以前读到18世纪的移民为了逃避马萨诸塞州的迫害而往缅因州方向逃亡，但没多久，很多人就因其‘折胶堕指的冬’又折返了回去。”（I remember reading long ago of 18th century settlers fleeing Maine-ward to escape oppressions in Massachusetts and many of them bouncing back because of “extremely harsh winters，” writes Dana Wilde.）下面这篇散文将让读者对缅因州“折胶堕指的冬”一斑见豹。原文“冬季卫星”（Winter Moons）载于1996年第281卷第5期《北美评论》（The North American Review），本文为节选，标题据节选内容有改动。
Here in Maine， winter is long and cold. In the past it was even longer and colder， or so memory and certain old people suggest. One of Thoreau’s journal entries from before 1850 notes without surprise a fairly heavy snowfall in mid-April. That was in Massachusetts， which is still part of the temperate east. Farther north and east， beyond New Hampshire， the Saco River in southern Maine is the accepted anthropological divisor of the Eastern Woodlands region from the Eastern Subarctic region. “Subarctic” refers to a length and depth of winter freeze which is something less than polar. The limits of a subarctic winter might accurately be described as the months when snow can reasonably be expected to bury everything. And in earlier times， the months when food became scarce to nonexistent. Most of Maine drowses through winter from November to April.
By late January the cold has normally been so long and so thorough that it’s difficult even to stay awake. The ice grinds everything to a halt1， or so close to a halt that for all intents and purposes nothing happens. The roads are frozen， and so are your bones. Snow piles up everywhere， obliterating the driveway and the baseball diamond. In fields the only signs that anything ever lived are dead spokes of grass or a few uncut corn stalks， the occasional raccoon， fox or deer tracks in the snow. You don’t want to go outside. You want to stay in where the heat is， smell the wood smoke or the dry， nylon odor of electric coils. The inner staleness of the kitchen， unventilated since October. A house is a core of warmth， like a burrow. It seems unutterably small after a while， but at least it’s not frozen. In the cold， we describe even the warm by what it’s not. Cold is the absence of heat. Ice is that pervasive presence in the universe which signifies what is not. Sometimes on really arctic nights the ice—or maybe not the ice itself but its stillness and hardness—becomes fascinating， and I feel sucked outside to see the emptiness. Away from the artificial fires of western culture， which throw smoke and black soot all over chunky roadside snowbanks， the snow in the woods remains purely white， even during its porous melting period in March. The whiteness is a blankness， even more complete than on the ocean surface because it does not move. Billions of tiny frozen water crystals， motionless， piling up around the hemlocks and in the arms of pines， bluish in moon shadows. Everything suspended， waiting for the Sun to come up.
Especially at night. The air is emptied of moisture， and to breathe is to suck in pure cold， like blocks of ice tumbling into your lungs. In arctic cold， -10， -20 F2 and colder， a deep breath extinguishes the vascular heat in your chest， and a sharp pain creases your sternum. You breathe slowly to preserve the inner reserves of warmth.
I saw the emptiness completely one moonless January midnight when I walked across the pond to look at Orion. The camp road was slick with crushed powdery snow over a slab of ice. The stars were thick， like magnified crystals in the blackness. On the pond my boots blasted oblong impact pits into the glazed snow. I thought the pond must be frozen completely through to the bottom.
Everything seemed impregnable， as if the cold itself was insulation. In the first stages of freezing there is nervousness. When the chill penetrates your skin， you have a natural inclination to move， which for most people means shivering. As the cold filters further into your bones your body becomes calmer， and drowsiness takes over. A desire to succumb sets in， like a cat settling into a chair， and a fascination for sleep dulls the desire to survive. In its final phase， I imagine， it solidifies into a need to relinquish consciousness completely and become ice. Standing on the pond， binoculars in glove， I kept shivering. The emptiness yawned all around me. Flat， dark ice reposed like a moonscape， sometimes buckling and creaking as if the Earth itself could shiver. In a rough circle around the pond’s edges loomed pointed giants， spruces and pines.
It was like standing in a still crater. Rim mountains spoked up all around me. The impact basin was flat， pocked with tiny holes. The arctic cold of the Earth， I thought， is the same as the Moon’s， or Triton’s， or Charon’s. Absence is absence. Nothing is nothing. You can die of sleep as easily here as there. For a few minutes I relaxed. Stars plainly rising over a crater-rim scintillated on the edge of the absence， like the fat dreams that come before deep sleep. I was on a moon somewhere， becoming ice. 缅因州冬季漫长寒冷，据回忆和一些老人说，过去更长更冷。梭罗1850年前的一篇日志上不出意外记载了，4月中还下过相当大的一场雪。那是在马萨诸塞州，如今仍属于气候温和的东部。再往北、往东，出了新罕布什尔州，就到了缅因州南部的萨科河，从人类学角度看，这条河是东部林区和东部亚北极地区公认的分水岭。“亚北极”指冬季冰冻的时长和程度只比极地略逊一筹。亚北极地区的冬季时限或可准确描述为，可以合理预计雪能覆盖一切的那几个月;早期，则是食物变得稀缺乃至根本没有食物的那几个月。从11月到次年4月，缅因州大部分都在沉睡中度过整个冬季。
到1月底，已经冷了那么久，一切都冻透了，想要保持清醒都很难。冰使得万事万物渐渐陷入停顿，或几近停顿以至任何意图和目的都无法达成。路全冻住了，连你的骨头都冻住了。到处都堆着雪，挡住了车道，盖住了棒球场。田野里，能显示之前有活物存在的标志只有一些死草桩或几根没收割的玉米秆，还有雪地里偶尔能看到的浣熊、狐狸或鹿的踪迹。你不想出门，就想待在有暖气的地方，闻着木头燃烧的味道或电炉丝干燥的尼龙味。厨房从10月起就再未通风，散发着陈腐味。房子像个洞穴，是温暖的核心。待一阵子后，房子似乎小得无以名状，但至少没有冻住。寒冷的日子里，即使描述暖和，我们也会用不冷之类的词儿。
冷即缺热。冰在宇宙中无所不在，凸显出非冰之物。极地之夜，冰有时真是让人叹服，也许不是冰，是它的那份寂静与坚硬，而我会被吸引，想出去看看这份空无。西方文化的人造火使得路边敦实的雪堆上落满了烟尘和黑色烟灰，林中雪远离这种火，即便在3月极具渗透性的融化期，仍可保持那份纯洁的白。那种白是一种空，比海洋表面的空还要彻底，因为它静止不动。无数微小的冰晶，一动不动，堆在铁杉周围，落入松树怀抱，在月影中微微泛蓝。万物悬停，静候太阳升起。
夜晚尤甚，空气中的湿气被彻底清除，呼吸就是吸进百分百的寒气，就像一块块冰落进肺里。就像北极的严寒，零下10或20华氏度，或者更冷，深吸一口气，能把胸腔血管里的暖全部浇灭，寒冷的刺痛让胸骨收缩。得慢慢呼吸才能保持体内的温度。
1月一个无月的午夜，我穿过池塘去观察猎户座，见识了那种彻底的空。营地的路很滑，路面大块的冰上是细碎的雪。星星密布，像黑暗中被放大的水晶。池塘上，我的靴子在釉般光亮的雪面踏过，踩出了一个个椭圆形的坑。我想，池塘一定已经冻到了池底。
每一样东西似乎都坚不可摧，无法穿透，就好像寒冷本身是绝缘的。冰冷的最初阶段是紧张。当寒气浸透肌肤，人自然而然会想动，大多数人就会打颤。寒气浸入骨髓时，身体会更平静，睡意袭来。就此屈服的愿望油然而生，像猫蜷在椅中，对睡眠的迷恋削弱了生存的渴望。寒气发作的最后阶段，我想，它让人彻底放弃意识而想变成冰。站在池塘上，戴着手套的手握着双筒望远镜，我不停地打颤。广阔无边的空无环绕着我。夜色浸染下的扁平的冰像月球表面，静止不动，时而咔吱作响，就好像地球本身也会颤栗。池塘周边参差不齐，高耸的参天巨人——云杉和松树——隐约可见。
仿若站在一个静止的深坑里。四周山峦起伏。撞击盆地看似平坦，表面布满极小的孔。地球的极地之冷，我想，与月球或海卫一或冥卫一上的情形是一样的吧。空即空，无即无。在哪儿可能都很容易一睡不起。有那么几分钟，我放松了下来。星星在坑边朗朗升起，在空的边沿闪烁，像沉睡前的酣梦。我身處宇宙某处的某颗卫星，渐渐成冰。
（译者单位：北京化工大学）
Funny Winter Jokes
—What is the best kind of breakfast cereal to eat in the winter？
—Frosted Flakes
—Where do snowmen put their money？
—Snowbanks
—How do you scare a snowman？
—Global Warming
—Why did the girl keep her trumpet out in the snow？
—Because she liked cool music
—What falls in the winter but never gets hurt？
—Snow
—What do you have in December that you can’t have in any other month？
—The letter D
—What do snowmen call their offspring？
—Chill-dren
—How do mountains stay warm？
—Snowcaps
—What’s a snowman’s favorite drink？
—Ice Tea
—How do snowmen greet one another？
—They say “Ice to meet you”！
—What’s the difference between a Christmas alphabet and the regular alphabet？
—The Christmas alphabet has Noel.