- 2019重温 选了原著里小男孩的中年回忆翻译了一下
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一只鸽子在外头咕叫，啄拾山楂树的花苞。无论何时，当我想起那位士兵，他依然是个大男孩的模样，而我自己也还是个孩子。我们就和从前一样，之后的时光并不存在。刚才我看见的那群走下大巴的年迈男人并不是他。 (注: 指的是1980年美国/加拿大老兵重回阿姆斯特丹的场景）
我坐在母亲身边目送着菲仕兰从视线中消失，另一头的阿姆斯特丹越来越近。我和让在甲板上乱逛，看着湍急的水流。那是温暖、无忧的一天，伴着蓝天和母亲的夏裙。从菲仕兰到阿姆斯特丹的横渡顺利平静。我人生中超然的一刻。
我上楼躺到床上。天花板是一块巨大、苍白的剪影。外头，一辆有轨电车叮当停下，再次启动。夏夜的噪声，敞开的窗户，窗帘轻柔地飘开。士兵探过我，将一封信折好放进帐篷边的口袋。他赤裸的下身弯曲向上，性感的形状，一如凯旋的弧度，那些早已刻印进我的脑海。永远，无法抹去。
电话声。
我下楼，看见自己赤裸的身体；士兵飞快地走下岩石跳进海里，被逮到了。 （注: 有一次军官和男孩在海边，不小心被同僚看到了）
“是的，霍弗特，”我说，“对不起，但我今晚不能来了。我觉得我得早些上床，哪怕就一次。偷个懒。”
回到床上，我再次潜进回忆，那位士兵正在和一个男孩做着练习，疲惫不堪地演练着，锻炼他们的耐力。
那群加拿大老兵此刻正在皇宫里进行晚宴。他们是否还记得，他们正在想什么？想起了谁？或者他们已经停止想念，所有的细节早已变得模糊？
那些我们念念不忘的瞬间，对他们来说是否只是宏大英雄记忆里的琐碎鸡毛？
你还活着吗，你还存在吗？
突然，你也许已经不在人世的想法击痛了我，那么荒谬，无法忍受。你不能就这样消失不见，我们还没有再一次地凝望彼此的双眼，一起闲逛着，也许是笑着，重温我们那段奇异的相遇。
当我还小——是的，那个时候，战时——一切都很简单：我看见你们所有人坐在那儿，牧师的妻子，我的母亲，还有你，坐在长长的灰色长椅上。像座雕塑，静止地望向虚空。我可以在你的眼睛里读到永恒。
那时走向你是多么容易，看着你起身为我在长椅上空出一点位置，然后静待那一刻——我确定那一刻一定会到来——你会沉默地将手覆在我的膝盖。
我擦干身体，一如从前擦干我的眼泪。
巴黎，六月，1984年 — 阿姆斯特丹，十二月，1985年
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[原文]
A pigeon is cooing outside and picking buds off the hawthorn. Whenever I think of the soldier I still see him as a boy and myself as a child. We have remained as we were, the time in between does not exist. He has nothing to do with the group of men I have just seen leave on the bus.
I sit beside my mother in the boat and watch Friesland disappear and Amsterdam come into view on the other side. I hang over the railing with Jan and look at the eddying water. A warm, carefree day it was, with blue skies and mothers in summer dresses. We had a calm and trouble-free crossing from Friesland to Amsterdam. A detached moment in my life.
I go upstairs and lie down on my bed. The ceiling is a large, pale smudge. Outside, a tram stops with a clang and pulls away again. Summer evening noises, the curtain gently billowing in front of the open window. The soldier leans across me and tucks a letter away in the side pocket of the tent. The naked underside of his body curving upwards, the voluptuous shape, the triumphal arch, has been etched into my memory. For good, ineradicably.
The telephone.
Naked I walk down the stairs and look at my body: the soldier stepping hastily off the rocks and into the sea, caught out.
'Yes, Govert,' I say, 'sorry, but better not come round tonight. I think I'm going to turn in early for once, I'm dead beat.'
Back in bed I make myself come, the soldier is doing drill with a boy, enervating exercises to develop their endurance.
The Canadians are sitting down to dinner now in the Palace. What do they remember, what are they thinking of? And of whom? Or have they stopped thinking, have all the details become blurred?
Are events that were highlights for us trifles for them in a gigantic, heroic whole?
Are you alive, do you still exist?
The idea that you might have died strikes me suddenly as absurd, unthinkable. You can't possibly have disappeared for good before we have looked each other in the eye just one more time, wondering together or perhaps smiling together as we reconsider our strange encounter.
When I was small — yes, that time, during the war — it was simple: I saw all of you sitting there, the minister's wife, my mother and you, on a large grey bench. Like statues, staring fixedly into the void. I could read eternity in your eyes.
How simple it was then to walk up to you, to watch you move up and make room for me on that bench and to wait for the moment — and I felt sure that moment would come — when you would silently place your hand on my knee.
I rub my body dry as I used to dry my tears.
Paris, June 1984 — Amsterdam, December 1985 With thanks to Inge, C.P. and Toer
- 虽然原著比电影真实残酷太多，但读到‘I could read eternity in your eyes’ 和 ‘How simple it was then to walk up to you’还是泪目了。无论怎样，他都爱上他了。用最天真的心灵。
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