by Shi Tiesheng
野羊岭上有一座小庙，离野羊坳村二里地，师徒二人就在这里住下。石头砌的院墙已经残断不全，几间小殿堂也歪斜欲倾百孔千疮，唯正中一间尚可遮蔽风雨，大约是因为这一间中毕竟还供奉着神灵。三尊泥像早脱尽了尘世的彩饰，还一身黄土本色返朴归真了，认不出是佛是道。院里院外、房顶墙头都长满荒藤野草，蓊蓊郁郁倒有生气。老瞎子每回到野羊坳说书都住这儿，不出房钱又不惹是非。小瞎子是第二次住在这儿。
散了书已经不早，老瞎子在正殿里安顿行李，小瞎子在侧殿的檐下生火烧水。去年砌下的灶稍加修整就可以用。小瞎子撅着屁股吹火，柴草不干，呛得他满院里转着圈咳嗽。
老瞎子在正殿里数叨他：“我看你能干好什么。”
"But the wood's wet!"
"I'm not talking about that, I'm talking about your banjo; what do you think of the way you played tonight?"
The lad refused to take the bait. Having caught his breath, he returned to kneel by the fire, and, puffing out his cheeks, blew a monstrous breath on the embers.
"If you don't want to ply this trade, then we can send for your father to take you home now. This cat-and-dog attitude won't do!"
Coughing as he jumped back from the fire, the lad ended up after a few confused hops at the other side of the courtyard, again gasping for breath and cursing.
"What's that you're saying?"
"I'm cursing this fire."
"Is that the way to blow on it?"
"How else should I blow?"
"How should you blow? Hmph!" The old man paused a moment, then said, "Blow as if this fire were the face of that girl of yours."
The lad again did not venture a reply, and instead knelt by the fire to blow, silently wondering about Lanxiu's appearance.
“柴湿嘛。”
“我没说这事。我说的是你的琴，今儿晚上的琴你弹成了什么？”
小瞎子不敢接这话茬儿，吸足了几口气又跪到灶火前去，鼓着腮帮子一通猛吹。“你要是不想干这行，就趁早给你爹捎信把你领回去。老这么闹猫闹狗的可不行，要闹回家闹去。”
小瞎子咳嗽着从灶火边跳开，几步蹿到院子另一头，呼嗤呼嗤大喘气，嘴里一边骂。
“说什么呢？”
“我骂这火。”
“有你那么吹火的？”
“那怎么吹？”
“怎么吹？哼，”老瞎子顿了顿，又说，“你就当这灶火是那妮子的脸！”
小瞎子又不敢搭腔了，跪到灶火前去再吹，心想：真的，不知道兰秀儿的脸什么样。那个尖声细气的小妮子叫兰秀儿。
"If the fire were that girl's face, I think you'd know how to blow without being shown." The lad began to laugh, and the more he laughed, the more he coughed.
"What's so funny?"
"Have you ever blown on a woman's face?"
The old man was struck dumb for an instant. The lad fell to the ground roaring with laughter. "Ah, to hell with it!" The old man cursed and laughed, then his expression changed and he said no more.
The flames inside the stove leapt up with a crackle. The lad went over to add wood but his mind was on Lanxiu. Just after they'd finished the storytelling, Lanxiu had squeezed over in front of him and softly said, "Hey! What was it you promised me last time?" With his master so near he dared not speak, but a moment later the force of the thronging crowd pushed Lanxiu up against him. "Eh? When I gave you that boiled egg for nothing?" She spoke louder this time. Meanwhile his master was busy chatting to some men, so he quickly said, "Shhh — I still remember." Lanxiu lowered her voice again, "You promised to let me hear the electric box, but you haven't yet."
"Shhh, I still remember."
“那要是妮子的脸，我看你不用教也会吹。”老瞎子说。
小瞎子笑起来，越笑越咳嗽。
“笑什么笑！”
“您吹过妮子脸？”
老瞎子一时语塞。小瞎子笑得坐在地上。“日他妈！”老瞎子骂道，笑笑，然后变了脸色，再不言语。
灶膛里腾地一声，火旺起来。小瞎子再去添柴，一心想着兰秀儿。才散了书的那会儿，兰秀儿挤到他跟前来小声说：“哎，上回你答应我什么来？”师父就在旁边，他没敢吭声。人群挤来挤去，一会儿又把兰秀儿挤到他身边。“噫，上回吃了人家的煮鸡蛋倒白吃了？”兰秀儿说，声音比上回大。这时候师父正忙着跟几个老汉拉话，他赶紧说：“嘘—，我记着呢。”兰秀儿又把声音压低：“你答应给我听电匣子你还没给我听。”“嘘—，我记着呢。”幸亏那会儿人声嘈杂。
No sound issued from the temple's main hall for a long while. Later the banjo sounded; the old man had just put on a new string. He should have been happy — after a single night at Goat Valley he had already gone through a string — but in fact the voice of his banjo sang out sad and strident.
The lad, having detected the mournful tone, called from the courtyard, "Master, the water's boiled."
No answer. The playing of the banjo sounded ever more strained.
The lad carried a basin of hot water into the room, placed it before the master, and forced a laugh, saying, "How come you're trying to play through a second string tonight?"
Preoccupied by thoughts of his past, the old man failed to hear him. The banjo sang out its troubled, restless tune as if it were telling of the wind and rain of each year in the wilderness, or of the countless brooks and rivulets winding throughout the mountains and valleys, or the hurried pit-a-pat of steps made by feet which knew no home. The lad grew slightly alarmed; it had been a long, long time since the master had been like this. Each time he would be racked with chest pains, general body aches, and it would be several months before he could get out of bed.
"Master, perhaps you should wash your feet first."
He continued playing.
正殿里好半天没有动静。之后，琴声响了，老瞎子又上好了一根新弦。他本来应该高兴的，来野羊坳头一晚上就又弹断了一根琴弦。可是那琴声却低沉、零乱。
小瞎子渐渐听出琴声不对，在院里喊：“水开了，师父。”
没有回答。琴声一阵紧似一阵了。
小瞎子端了一盆热水进来，放在师父跟前，故意嘻嘻笑着说：“您今晚还想弹断一根是怎么着？”
老瞎子没听见，这会儿他自己的往事都在心中，琴声烦躁不安，像是年年旷野里的风雨，像是日夜山谷中的流溪，像是奔奔忙忙不知所归的脚步声。小瞎子有点害怕了：师父很久不这样了，师父一这样就要犯病，头疼、心口疼、浑身疼，会几个月爬不起炕来。
“师父，您先洗脚吧。”
琴声不停。
"Master, you should wash your feet." The lad's voice trembled.
He continued playing.
"Master!"
Abruptly he stopped playing and heaved a sigh; the lad breathed a sigh of relief. As the old man washed his feet, he sat respectfully by his side.
"You go to bed," said the old man. "It's been a long day. "
"And you?"
"You go ahead; I want to let my feet soak — when a fellow gets old his ailments multiply." The old man spoke softly.
"I'll wait for you."
A breeze whisked leaves along the brick wall. In the distance two cats exchanged mournful cries in the night. From Goat Valley came the occasional sound of a dog's bark and subsequent crying of a child. The moon rose high and its white light shone through the lattices, beaming down on two blindmen and three clay deities.
"Why wait for me? It's late. Don't y
ou worry; there's nothing wrong with me," said the old man.
"Did you hear me, lad?"
“师父，您该洗脚了。”小瞎子的声音发抖。
琴声不停。
“师父！”
琴声戛然而止，老瞎子叹了口气。小瞎子松了口气。
老瞎子洗脚，小瞎子乖乖地坐在他身边。
“睡去吧，”老瞎子说，“今儿个够累的了。”
“您呢？”
“你先睡，我得好好泡泡脚。人上了岁数毛病多。”老瞎子故意说得轻松。
“我等您一块儿睡。”
山深夜静。有了一点风，墙头的草叶子响。夜猫子在远处哀哀地叫。听得见野羊坳里偶尔有几声狗吠，又引得孩子哭。月亮升起来，白光透过残损的窗棂进了殿堂，照见两个瞎子和三尊神像。
“等我干吗？时候不早了。”
“你甭担心我，我怎么也不怎么。”老瞎子又说。
“听见没有，小子？”
The lad had already fallen asleep. As the old man gently pushed him into a better sleeping position, he mumbled a few words before nodding off again. As he pulled the lad's quilt over him, it was clear to the old man the lad's muscles were filling out more each day; the child had arrived at that age when he would think about those things: it was certain to be an awkward and frustrating period for him. And no one could suffer it for him.
The old man held the banjo to his chest again and, gently caressing the taut strings, forced himself to silently repeat: another string is broken, another string is broken. Shaking the belly of the banjo, he could hear the scraping sound of the paper brushing across the snakeskin soundboard; this alone could purge his mind of sorrows and frustrations: it was his lifelong hope.
小瞎子到底年轻，已经睡着。老瞎子推推他让他躺好，他嘴里咕囔了几句倒头睡去。老瞎子给他盖被时，从那身日渐发育的筋肉上觉出，这孩子到了要想那些事的年龄，非得有一段苦日子过不可了。唉，这事谁也替不了谁。
老瞎子再把琴抱在怀里，摩挲着根根绷紧的琴弦，心里使劲念叨：又断了一根了，又断了一根了。再摇摇琴槽，有轻微的纸和蛇皮的磨擦声。唯独这事能为他排忧解烦。一辈子的愿望。
The lad had a good dream and upon waking was startled to hear the rooster crowing. He dragged himself to his feet to listen. Master was sleeping peacefully. He felt for the large satchel, quietly drew out the electric box, and tiptoed from the room.
He walked for a while in the direction of Goat Valley before noticing something was not right: the crowing of the chickens had subsided, and Goat Valley was again quiet and devoid of the villagers' stirrings. Confused, he stopped a moment. Could it be only the cock's first crowing? He thought to switch on the electric box. It was quiet, too. He knew from experience that meant it must be the middle of the night. This electric box was like a clock; one could judge the time based on which program was playing.
Just as the lad returned to the temple, the old man awaked.
"What are you doing?"
"I went to take a piss."
All morning the master forced him to practice banjo. Not until after lunch did the lad have a chance to sneak out of the temple and head down to Goat Valley. The chickens had dozed off in the shade of trees, the pigs lay at the foot of the wall grunting in their sleep, and the sun beat down fiercely again: the village rested, peaceful and quiet.
小瞎子做了一个好梦，醒来吓了一跳，鸡已经叫了。他一骨碌爬起来听听，师父正睡得香，心说还好。他摸到那个大挎包，悄悄地掏出电匣子，蹑手蹑脚出了门。
往野羊坳方向走了一会儿，他才觉出不对头，鸡叫声渐渐停歇，野羊坳里还是静静的没有人声。他愣了一会儿，鸡才叫头遍吗？灵机一动扭开电匣子。电匣子里也是静悄悄。现在是半夜。他半夜里听过匣子，什么都没有。这匣子对他来说还是个表，只要扭开一听，便知道是几点钟，什么时候有什么节目都是一定的。
小瞎子回到庙里，老瞎子正翻身。
“干吗呢？”
“撒尿去了。”小瞎子说。
一上午，师父逼着他练琴。直到晌午饭后，小瞎子才瞅机会溜出庙来，溜进野羊坳。鸡也在树阴下打盹，猪也在墙根下说着梦话，太阳又热得凶，村子里很安静。
Stepping up on the millstone, the lad clutched the top of the wall in front of Lanxiu's home, and called, "Lanxiu — Lanxiu!"
From inside rolled the sound of a thunderous snore.
He hesitated a moment, then raised his voice slightly, "Lanxiu! Lanxiu!"
The dog began barking, the snoring stopped, and a sleepy, grouchy voice called out, "Who is it?"
The lad could not muster a reply and instead pulled his head back from above the wall. He heard the smack of lips inside the room and then a return of the snore.
He sighed, stepped down from the millstone, and sullenly headed back toward the temple. Suddenly he heard a gate creak open behind him, then the sound of dainty footsteps fast approaching.
"Guess who!" It was that piercing voice. She covered his eyes with the soft flesh of her hands — but that was hardly necessary. Not yet fifteen, Lanxiu was still naive.
"Lanxiu!"
"Did you bring the electric box?"
小瞎子踩着磨盘，扒着兰秀儿家的墙头轻声喊：“兰秀儿—兰秀儿—”
屋里传出雷似的鼾声。
他犹豫了片刻，把声音稍稍抬高：“兰秀儿—！兰秀儿—!"
狗叫起来。屋里的鼾声停了，一个闷声闷气的声音问：“谁呀？”
小瞎子不敢回答，把脑袋从墙头上缩下来。
屋里吧唧了一阵嘴，又响起鼾声。
他叹口气，从磨盘上下来，怏怏地往回走。忽听见身后嘎吱一声院门响，随即一阵细碎的脚步声向他跑来。
“猜是谁？”尖声细气。小瞎子的眼睛被一双柔软的小手捂上了。—这才多余呢。兰秀儿不到十五岁，认真说还是个孩子。
“兰秀儿！”
“电匣子拿来没？”
Pulling open the front of his jacket, the lad revealed the electric box hanging at his waist. "Shhh! Not here; let's find some place where there's no one around."
"Why?"
"Otherwise we'll draw a crowd."
"So?"
"Having too many listeners wastes the batteries."
The two of them threaded their way through the village and came to a spring at the rear of a small hill. The lad abruptly asked, "Have you ever seen a twisting corridor?"
"Huh?"
"A twisting corridor."
"A twisting corridor?"
"You know?"
"Do you know?"
"Sure. And a green lounge chair. It's a chair."
"Who doesn't know what a chair is ."
"Then how about a twisting corridor?"
小瞎子掀开衣襟，匣子挂在腰上。“嘘—，别在这儿，找个没人的地方听去。”
“咋啦？”
“回头招好些人。”
“咋啦？”
“那么多人听，费电。”
两个人东拐西弯，来到山背后那眼小泉边。小瞎子忽然想起件事，问兰秀儿：“你见过曲折的油狼吗？”
“啥？”
“曲折的油狼。”
“曲折的油狼？”
“知道吗？”
“你知道？”
“当然。还有绿色的长椅。就是一把椅子。”
“椅子谁不�
��道。”
“那曲折的油狼呢？”
Lanxiu shook her head, bemused. Only then did he carefully switch on the electric box, from which floated a sprightly melody about the gully. Here it was cool and free of disruptions.
"This one's called Higher, Step by Step," the lad announced, and he sang along. A little later came a tune called Song of the Drought, and he could sing along with that song, too. Bashful Lanxiu felt embarrassed.
"This song is called A Monk Longing for Women."
"You're kidding," Lanxiu laughingly pronounced.
"You don't believe me?"
"No, I don't."
"As you wish. Stranger things than that come out of this box." The lad dipped his foot in the cold spring water; after a moment's reflection, he asked, "Do you know what kiss means?"
"What does it mean?"
This time it was the lad's turn to laugh, which he gave in lieu of a reply. Lanxiu, sensing it was a bad word, blushed, and asked no further.
The music broadcast finished, and a female voice announced, "Next is a program discussing hygiene."
兰秀儿摇摇头，有点崇拜小瞎子了。小瞎子这才郑重其事地扭开电匣子，一支欢快的乐曲在山沟里飘荡。
这地方又凉快又没有人来打扰。
“这是《步步高》。”小瞎子说，跟着哼。
一会儿又换了支曲子，叫《旱天雷》，小瞎子还能跟着哼。兰秀儿觉得很惭愧。
“这曲子也叫《和尚思妻》。”
兰秀儿笑起来：“瞎骗人！”
“你不信？”
“不信。”
“爱信不信。这匣子里说的古怪事多啦。”小瞎子玩着凉凉的泉水，想了一会儿。“你知道什么叫接吻吗？”