作品原文

于晓丹 《无题的风景》

那晚风大，月也黑。一个女友让我陪她去个老地方。

我们从城西南乘车驶往城东北，北京那么大，这段路很长。路上，她一反常态，竟非常沉默。下了车，她才告诉我是去她从前的丈夫家。她说有些想他。她十分熟练地绕小道领我走往那座高楼，眼睛习惯性地在楼下自行车堆里扫视了一遍。走进电梯以后，她悄声说：“也不知在不在呢。”

出了电梯，她即刻说：“大概不在。”

我问她怎么知道。

她说：“门缝里没有亮光。”

楼道里漆黑如暮。她却轻松地走至一扇门前，够到门把手，拉了拉：“没人吧。”她说，又敲了敲。似乎仍很沉寂。“没人。”她说。

我好像听到她轻舒了口气。

她说：“等一会儿吧。”

“他能想到你来吗？”我们坐在楼下的空货架上。她的脸不时仰起来往上张望。

“不会，我们已经快一年没说过话了。”

风一点一点穿透了我们的衣服，两人都渐渐觉出冷了。楼上那个窗口似乎仍没改变。

“楼层太高，底下看不清。也许回来了，再上去看看。”她说

门缝还是没有亮光泄出来。她依旧过去拉了拉门把手，停顿片刻，又用力捶了捶。我看见她那双大眼睛眨着，我们的呼吸声清晰可闻。她说：“算了吧，我们走吧。”

有时我们爱问什么是缘，这就是吧。

英文译文

An Untitled Scene

Yu Xiaodan

It was a windy and moonless night. A female friend of mine asked me to accompany her to that same old place. We boarded a bus to travel from the southwest to the northwest of the city. It was a long journey due to the sheer size of Beijing. During the bus trip she was singularly quiet, not at her usual self. It was until we got off the bus that she disclosed to me we were actually going to visit her ex-husband, saying she missed him a bit. She apparently knew her way well as we followed a winding path that led to a high-rise block, in front of which, out of force of habit, she scanned a veritable jumble of bicycles.

After walking into the lift, she whispered: “I don’t have a clue whether he is in or not.” And immediately after we stepped out of the lift, she said, “Probably not.” I asked her how she knew? She replied, “Can’t see any light coming from under the door.”

The corridor was in pitch darkness. Yet she agilely moved to a door and reached for its knob. After giving it a pull, she said, “Nobody there.” Subsequently she knocked on the door, which was followed by a moment of silence. “No one there,” she repeated. Then I thought I heard her heaving a gentle sigh of relief. She suggested, “Let’s wait for a little while.” “Do you think he knows you might come?” While we sat on the empty goods shelves, she kept looking up at the window. “Nope. For nearly a year we haven’t spoken to each other.”

Bit by bit the wind was biting into our clothes and we began to feel a cold chill. Still nothing seemed to have changed about the window up there. “The window is so high up and we can’t see it clearly from down here. It’s on the cards he is back. Let’s go up there and take another look,” said she.

Still no light could be seen from under the door. Yet still she went up to give the knob a pull. After a pause she pounded on the door, and I saw her large eyes blinking. Our breathing was distinctly audible. She said, “That’s it, I suppose. Let’s get out here.”

We sometimes question what fate is. Maybe this is it.