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Under the bombs: 1945 1 Today when I look back I'm surprised that I recall the beginning so vividly; it's still clearly fixed in my mind with all its coloring and emotional intensity. It begins with my suddenly noticing 12 distant silver points in the clear brilliant sky filled with an unfamiliar abnormal hum. I'm seven years old standing in a meadow and staring at the points barely moving across the sky. 2 Suddenly nearby at the edge of the forest there's the tremendous roar of bombs exploding. From my standpoint I see gigantic fountains of earth spraying upward. I want to run toward this extraordinary spectacle; it terrorizes and fascinates me. I have not yet grown accustomed to war and can't relate into a single chain of causes and effects these airplanes the roar of the bombs the earth radiating out from the forest and my seemingly inevitable death. Unable to conceive of the danger I start running toward the forest in the direction of the falling bombs. But a hand claws at me and tugs me to the ground. "Stay down" I hear my mother's trembling voice "Don't move!" And I remember that my mother pressing me to her is saying something that I don't yet know exists whose meaning I don't understand: That way is death. 3 It's night and I'm sleepy but I'm not allowed to sleep. We have to evacuate the city and run away in the night like convicts. Where to I don't know; but I do understand that flight has suddenly become some kind of higher necessity some new form of life because everyone is running away. All highways roads and even country paths are a tangle of wagons carts and bicycles with bundles and suitcases and innumerable terrified helplessly wandering people. Some are running away to the east others to the west north south; they run in circles fall from profound fatigue sleep for a moment then begin anew their aimless journey. I clasp my younger sister's hand firmly in mine. We mustn't get lost my mother warns; but even without her telling me I sense that some form of dangerous evil has permeated the world. 4 I'm walking with my sister beside a wagon. It's a simple ladder wagon lined with hay and high up on the hay on a cotton sheet rests my grandfather. He can't move; he is paralyzed another casualty of a landmine. When an air raid begins the entire group dives into ditches; only my grandfather remains on the deserted road. He sees the airplanes flying at him sees them violently dip and aim sees the fire of ammunition hears the roar of the engines passing over his head. When the planes disappear we return to the wagon and my mother wipes the sweat from my grandfather's flushed face. Sometimes there are air raids several times a day. After each one sweat pours from my grandfather's tired face. 5 We're entering an increasingly appalling landscape. There's smoke on the horizon the blaze of battle fading. We pass by deserted villages solitary burned-out houses. We pass battlefields dense with the garbage of abandoned war equipment bombed-out railway stations overturned cars. It smells of gunpowder and of burning decomposing meat after a massacre. Everywhere are the corpses of horses too defenseless in this human war. 6 When winter comes we stop running from the bombs so we can hide from the severe elements. Winter is but another season for those in normal conditions but for the poor during wartime winter is a disaster a pervasive and constant threat. We find an apartment in the slums that provides a minimal coverage from the snow but we still can't afford to heat the furnace; we can't buy fuel nor risk stealing it. Death is the punishment for the robbery of coal or wood human life is now worth next to nothing. 7 We have nothing to eat. My mother stands brooding at the window for hours; I can see her fixed stare. I can see other residents staring out into the street from many windows as if they were waiting for something. I weave my way around the backyards with a gang of stray boys; it's something between play and searching for a scrap of anything edible. 8 One day we hear that they'll be giving out candy in a store near the warehouse. Immediately we make a long queue of cold and hungry children. We stand in the frost all night and the following day huddled together to summon a bit of warmth. Finally they open the store. But instead of candy we are each granted an empty metal container that once held some fruit drops. Weak and stiff from the cold yet at this moment happy I carry my treasure home guarding it jealously. It's valuable; the inside wall of the can still has a sugar residue. My mother heats some water and pours it into the can. We have a dilute sweet drink: Our only nutrition for days. 9 I can't quite remember when or how the war ended for us; my mind is always drawn back to that first day in the meadow the explosions destroying the peaceful flowers and the naive days of my childhood. Try as I might I still can't understand what we could have done to justify all the suffering war inevitably inflicts. 1945：在炮火攻击下 如今，当我回首往事，我很惊讶我居然能如此生动地回忆起轰炸开始的情况，那天的色彩和紧张的情绪仍然清晰地印在我的脑海中。那天，我突然发现在晴朗的天空中出现了12个银色的小点儿，离我很远，发出不正常的嗡嗡声，这种声音我以前从来没听过。那年我七岁，就这样站在一片草地上，盯着天空中几乎不怎么移动的小点儿。 突然， 就在附近，森林的边缘， 我听到有巨大的炸弹爆炸的声音。在我这个小孩的眼里， 我看到的是泥土像巨大的喷泉一样冲到天上。我想跑过去看看这个特别的景象，它让我感到害怕，但是也让我着迷。我还没有习惯战争，也不能把这些飞机、炸弹的轰鸣、森林那边飞溅开来的泥土以及我看似必然的死亡联系成单一的因果关系。没考虑有危险，我开始朝着投下炸弹的森林方向跑。这时一只手拉住了我，把我拽倒在地上。“趴下来，”我听到母亲发抖的声音，“不要动!”我还记得母亲把我紧紧贴在她身边，说的一些东西我并不知道，也并不理解其含义: 那是一条死路。 到了晚上，我很困，但是我不能睡。我们不得不撤离这座城市，像囚犯一样在夜间逃亡。到哪儿去，我不知道，但是我知道逃跑突然变成了某种必须要做的事情，一种新的生存方式，因为每个人都在逃跑。所有公路、大路、甚至是乡间小路上都是混乱的马车、拉车、自行车，上面装着包裹和箱子，还有数不清的吓坏了的人，他们无助地游走着。一些人向东边跑，另一些人向西边、北边、南边跑;他们徒劳地跑着，实在累了就躺下来，睡一会儿，然后重新开始他们漫无目的的旅程。我紧紧地把妹妹的手握在手里。我母亲警告过，我们不能走失；但就算她没告诉我，我也能感觉到某种危险的灾难弥漫了整个世界。 我和妹妹在马车边走着。这是一辆简易马车，车里铺着干草，在干草上，铺着一条棉布床单，我的祖父躺在上面。他不能动，已经瘫痪了；也是地雷的受害者。空袭一来时，所有人都冲到了壕沟里，只有我祖父留在没人的马路上。他看着飞机向自己猛扑过来，看着它们猛地俯冲瞄准，看着弹药喷出烈焰，听着轰鸣的引擎从他的头上飞过。当飞机消失后，我们回到马车边，母亲擦去祖父通红的脸上的汗水。有时，一天会有好几次空袭，每次空袭过后，汗水都会渗满我祖父疲惫的脸。 我们正在踏入一个越来越可怕的场景。地平线上浓烟滚滚，战火在慢慢熄灭。我们经过了废弃的村庄和孤零零的被烧毁的房屋。我们经过了战场，这里到处都是垃圾，有丢弃的武器装备、被炸毁的火车站、翻倒的车辆。空气中都是火药味和大屠杀后尸体烧焦和腐烂的味道。到处都是马的死尸，在人类战争中它们是孱弱无力的。 当冬季来临的时候，我们停了下来，不再逃避轰炸，这样我们就可以躲过恶劣的天气了。对正常情况下的人们来说，冬天只不过是另一个季节。但对于战时的穷人来说，冬天是一个灾难，一个无处不在、持续不断的威胁。我们在贫民窟里找了套房子，勉强在风雪中栖身，但我们生不起火；我们既买不起燃料，也不敢冒险去偷。偷盗燃煤和木料是要处死的——人的生命在此时一文不值。 我们什么吃的也没有。我母亲在窗边愁闷着，一站就是几个小时，我能看到她呆滞的眼神。我能看到很多人从窗口旁盯着下面的街道看，好像在等待着什么。我和一群流浪的孩子在后院来回跑着玩儿，这既是游戏，也是在寻找一点吃的东西。 有一天，听说他们会在仓库附近的一家商店散发糖果，我们这群饥寒交迫的孩子立即排了一条长队。我们在严寒中站了整整一夜以及第二天一整天，挤在一起以获得一丝暖意。终于，商店开门了，但发给我们每个人的却不是糖果，而是一个装过水果糖的空金属罐子。我虚弱不堪、冻得僵硬，但此刻却很开心，我带着我的宝贝回到家，小心地呵护着。它很珍贵，因为它的内壁上还有糖渣。我母亲烧了些水，把水倒进去，稀释成了甜甜的饮料：这是我们这些天唯一的营养。 我不太记得战争是何时结束的，如何结束的。我的记忆总是被拉回到第一天草地上的情形，那天，爆炸破坏了花丛的宁静，也打破了我童年的纯真时光。无论我如何努力，我还是不清楚当初到底我们做了什么，要让我们承受战争不可避免带来的所有这些伤害。 |
