哦，香雪

  Copyright © Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press 2012

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press.

  本书版权由外语教学与研究出版社独家所有。如未获得该社书面同意，书中任何部分之文字及图片，不得用任何方式抄袭、节录、翻印或存储利用于任何数据库及检索系统等。

  Published by Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press

  No. 19 Xisanhuan Beilu

  Beijing, China

  http://www.fltrp.com

  图书在版编目(CIP)数据

  哦,香雪：汉英对照/铁凝著.—北京：外语教学与研究出版社，2012.1

  (中国故事)

  ISBN 978-7-5135-1669-3

  I.①哦…　II.①铁…　III.①英语—汉语—对照读物②小说集—中国—当代　IV.①H319.4：I

  中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字(2012)第007561号

  出版人：蔡剑峰

  责任编辑：王琳

  封面设计：蔡曼

  版式设计：高蕾

  出版发行：外语教学与研究出版社

  社址：北京市西三环北路19号(100089)

  网址：http://www.fltrp.com

  版次：2012年1月第1版　2012年1月第1次印刷

  书号：ISBN 978-7-5135-1669-3

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  制售盗版必究 举报查实奖励

  版权保护办公室举报电话：(010)88817519

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  Multi-language Center for International Promotion of Chinese Language, Beijing Foreign Studies University

  Chinese-English “China Stories”Series

  北京外国语大学汉语国际推广多语种基地

  中英对照“中国故事”丛书

  Publisher's Note

  "Once upon a time…", such is the beginning of a story that may have accompanied many people through their childhood no matter what country they live in and what language they speak. When we grow up, we remain keen on one kind of stories or another. This is because stories always keep us at a fascinating distance: things that take place around us may drive home to us a timeless truth, while remote or illusory stories may as well be relevant to reality or reflect the problems of today.

  However, if a story is linked with the name of a country, what can the listener expect from it?

  The China Stories series is dedicated to those who are fond of stories and hope to know about China. The reason why we have chosen this way of storytelling is that while people nowadays may easily get to know a country by turning on the television, surfing the Internet or touching a cellphone screen, we believe stories make China look more vivid, serene and down-to-earth than media or political or economic commentators, historical archives or museums do.

  Our stories or "storytellers" generally fall into two categories. Firstly, small works of big names in contemporary Chinese literature, such as The Love Story of a Young Monk by Wang Zengqi and Ah, Xiangxue by Tie Ning; Secondly, Chinese tales told by writers from other lands from the "other" perspectives, like The Magic of the White Snake by the German freelancer Helmut Matt. The differences in settings, plots and the storytellers’ personalities have added to the charisma of our stories. This China Stories series will maintain its openness by putting forth new stories, so as to present a rich, varied three-dimensional China to our readers. In this sense, this series is catered not only to foreign friends but also to Chinese-speaking natives so that they can observe this country from a fresh point of view.

  Instead of lengthy narratives that may wear our readers down, the China Stories series is a collection of short stories and novellas that are meant for a pleasant reading experience, an experience that is made all the more delightful by our elaborately produced bilingual texts and beautiful illustrations.

  Whether the storyteller or the listener comes from China or elsewhere, we believe that you can derive your own impression of China from these stories, and feel closer to it whether it was familiar or strange to you before you lay your hands on the China Stories series. So let's read China Stories, and get a taste of China from them.

  Foreign Language Teaching and Research Press

  August, 2011

  出版说明

  “很久很久以前……”，许多人的童年或许都伴随着这样开头的故事，无论她或他身处哪个国家，说着何种语言。当我们长大，依然热衷于各种故事。因为故事总是与人们保持一种远近适宜的奇妙距离：身边发生的故事有时能让人悟到恒久长远的道理，而遥远的甚至虚幻的故事又能使人联想到现实的处境，回应当下的问题。

  而当故事与一个国家的名称联系在一起的时候，又会给听者一种怎样的期待？

  《中国故事》系列丛书献给那些喜欢听故事并且希望了解中国的人们。之所以选择这种方式而不是别的——毕竟，现在想了解一个国家，打开电视，浏览互联网，或者触摸一下手机屏幕就可以做到——因为我们相信，比起新闻媒体、政经评论或者历史文献、博物馆陈列中的中国，也许故事所反映的那个中国来得更真切，更沉静，也更实在。

  故事的来源，或者说“讲故事的人”大体有两类。一方面我们收集了现当代一些中国文学大家的小作品，例如汪曾祺的《受戒》，铁凝的《哦，香雪》；另一方面，来自中国以外的作者们基于“他者”的视角重述中国的传奇，例如德国赫尔穆特·马特先生的《白蛇传奇》。故事的背景和事件彼此不同，更因叙述者的个性特征而平添魅力，本系列还将不断推新以保持一种开放性。因此呈现给各位的这一套丛书应该是丰富和立体的，希望借此传达的中国形象也能更加真实、丰满。从这个意义上讲，丛书的目标读者应不仅仅限于海外的朋友，其实也包括以中文为母语的读者们，以便透过新鲜的角度来观察这个国家。

  这里没有宏大的叙事，而是以中短篇小说的篇幅给读者绝不沉重的阅读体验。这种轻松感还将通过我们精心提供的双语文本和优美插图得到进一步的体会。

  无论讲故事的人以及听故事的人是来自中国还是其他国家，我们都相信您能从故事中获得自己对于中国的印象，对这个已经熟悉或者还很陌生的国度，更多一点儿亲近——阅读中国的故事，品味故事中的中国。

  外语教学与研究出版社

  2011年8月

  目　录

  Ah, Xiangxue

  哦，香雪

  Butterfly

  蝴蝶发笑

  June's Big Topic

  六月的话题

  Ah, Xiangxue[1]

  If trains had not been invented, if nobody had laid railway tracks into remote mountains, small villages like Terrace Gully would never have been found. The village and its villagers, in fifteen houses, hid in the deep wrinkles of an old mountain, silently accepting the willful mountain's tender caress and brutal temper.

  But now, two slim, glittering railway tracks stretched over the mountain. They bravely spiralled halfway up, then quietly felt their way further, wound and curved before finally arriving at the foot of Terrace Gully. Then they made their way into the gloomy tunnel, dashed ahead to another mountain, and hurried away into the mysterious distance.

  The villagers jostled to watch the green dragon whistling past. It
carried an unfamiliar, fresh wind from some strange place beyond the mountains, and hastened away from poor Terrace Gully. It went at such a pace that the sound of the wheels rolling on the tracks was like an eager voice: can't stop, can't stop! It had no reason to stop at Terrace Gully. Did anyone in the village need to go on a long journey? Did someone from beyond the mountains want to visit relatives or friends at Terrace Gully? Were there oil deposits or gold mines? Terrace Gully had no power at all to invite the train's attention.

  Nevertheless, a new stop was added to the railway timetable, "Terrace Gully". Perhaps some passengers had made a suggestion, and one of them who had some influence was related to the village. Perhaps the train attendant, a jolly young fellow, had noticed the pretty girls of Terrace Gully. Every time the train passed, they would come in groups, stick out their chins, and stare at the train with greedy eyes. Some pointed at the train, and occasionally you could hear coy screams when they poked each other. Perhaps none of these was the real reason. Perhaps Terrace Gully was just too small—so small it made your heart ache, so small that even the gigantic dragon couldn't bear to stride proudly ahead without stopping. Whatever the reason, Terrace Gully was on the railway's timetable now. Every evening at seven o'clock, the train from Beijing to Shanxi would stop here for one minute.

  One minute, so fleeting, yet it threw Terrace Gully's peaceful evenings into disorder. It had been the custom in the village to go to bed right after dinner, as though everyone heard the old mountain's mute order at the same time. The small stretch of stone houses would suddenly become completely noiseless—so quiet that it seemed the village was silently confiding its piety to the old mountains. But now, the girls of Terrace Gully served dinner in a flurry, absent-mindedly grabbed a quick bite and, soon as they put down their bowls, went straight to their dressers. They washed off the dust and stains of the day, revealing their rough and ruddy complexions, combed their hair, and then vied with one another in wearing their best outfits. Some girls put on new shoes which they were supposed to wear only for Spring Festival; others even secretly put a little rouge on their cheeks. Then they ran to the railway, where the train passed. Xiangxue was always the first; her next-door neighbour, Fengjiao, followed right behind.

  At seven o'clock, the train slowed down as it approached Terrace Gully, gave a loud crash and a shake, then stopped. The girls rushed toward it, their hearts thumping violently. As if watching a movie, they looked into the cars through the windows. Xiangxue hid behind her friends and covered her ears. She was the first to come out of her house to watch the train, but retreated when it arrived. She was frightened by its gigantic head. The monster spurted out magnificent white smoke, as though it could suck Terrace Gully into its stomach in one breath.

  "Xiangxue, come here!" Fengjiao dragged Xiangxue to her side. "Look at those golden rings in that lady's hair. What do you call them? It's the lady in the back seat with that big round face. Look at her watch, it's smaller than my nail!"

  Xiangxue nodded. At last she saw the golden rings in the woman's hair and the tiny watch on her wrist. But soon she found something else. "A leather schoolbag!" She pointed to a brown leatherette satchel on the luggage rack.

  Xiangxue's discoveries usually did not excite the other girls, but they still rushed up around her.

  "You stepped on my toes!" Fengjiao cried out and complained to another girl who was pushing to the front.

  "What a loud voice! You want to show off so that white-faced man will talk to you, don't you?"

  "I'll tear your mouth off if you repeat that!" Fengjiao cried, but couldn't help looking over to the gate of the third car.

  The fair-skinned young attendant stepped down from the train. He was tall and had jet-black hair, and spoke with a beautiful Beijing accent. Perhaps this was why the girls called him "The Beijingese" behind his back. "The Beijingese" crossed his arms on his chest, kept a distance neither too close to nor too far from the girls: "Say, young ladies, don't hold onto the windows, it's dangerous!"

  "Oh, so we're young; are you so old?" the bold Fengjiao retorted.

  The girls broke into laughter. Somebody gave Fengjiao a shove, and it made her almost bump into him. Instead of embarrassing her, this boosted her courage.

  "Hey, don't you feel dizzy staying in that train all day long?" she asked.

  "What do you do with that thing hanging on the ceiling? It looks like a broadsword," another girl asked. She was referring to the electric fan in the railway car.

  "Where do you heat the water?"

  "What if you run into some places and they haven't got any roads?"

  "How many meals do you city people eat every day?" Xiangxue asked in a small voice, hiding behind other girls.

  "Bah, I'm at the end of my rope," grumbled "The Beijingese".

  They wouldn't let him go till the train was about to start. He glanced at his watch as he ran toward the train, and shouted back: "Next time! Next time I'll answer all your questions." He had long, nimble legs and stepped on the train agilely. Then, the green door shut with a bang. The train dashed into the darkness, leaving the girls beside the ice-cold tracks. For a long time they could still feel the slight quiver in the tracks.

  Everything became quiet again. On the way back home, the girls quarrelled about trifles.

  "Who knows how many golden rings there are in the lady's hair?"

  "Eight."

  "Nine."

  "No."

  "Yes."

  "Fengjiao, why don't you speak up?"

  "She is thinking about that Beijingese."

  "Get lost. You talk because it's you who's thinking about him." She pinched Xiangxue's hand as a wint to ask for her support.

  Xiangxue didn't say a word. She just flushed with embarrassment for her friend. She was only seventeen and had not yet learned how to rescue someone from this sort of talk.

  The same girl kept teasing Fengjiao, "I know, you like him but haven't got the nerve to admit it. He's got such nice skin! "

  "Nice skin? That's from staying in that big green house all year long. Let him try Terrace Gully for a few days," someone in the shadows said.

  "There you go. Those city folks all hide in rooms from the sun. They should see our Xiangxue. Our Xiangxue was born with this pretty skin. If only she did her hair into a bunch of curls like those girls on the train."

  Fengjiao had no response except to let go of Xiangxue's hand. Fengjiao couldn't help feeling defensive about the fellow, as if the girls had belittled someone related to her. She firmly believed that his fair skin was not from hiding in rooms. It was natural.

  Xiangxue put her hand back into Fengjiao's. It seemed to her that she had somehow wronged her friend, and she was asking forgiveness.

  "Fengjiao, have you lost your tongue?" the same girl attacked again.

  "Who's lost whose tongue! You girls look at nothing but whether a fellow's got nice or ugly skin. You like him, why don't you go with him?"

  "We aren't the right match."

  "Don't you think he's got his own girl?"

  ...

  No matter how heated these quarrels were, the girls would always part amicably because an exciting idea would arise in everyone's mind: tomorrow, the train would pass again and they would have another wonderful minute. Compared to this, a little quarrel was nothing.

  Ah, that colourful minute was filled with the joy, anger, grief and happiness of the girls from Terrace Gully.

  As the days went by, the girls added a new dimension to this precious minute. They began to carry rectangular wicker baskets full of walnuts, eggs and dates, and stood under the train's windows to quickly strike up bargains with the passengers. They stood on tiptoe and stretched their arms all the way up to raise basketsful of eggs and dates to the windows, taking in exchange things that were rare in Terrace Gully; fine dried noodles, matches
, or the girls' favourite: bobby pins, soaps, gauze kerchieves, sometimes even richly coloured nylon socks. Of course it was risky to take the latter items back home, for they might get scolded for making decisions based purely on their own fancy.

  The girls seemed to have a tacit agreement to assign Fengjiao to "The Beijingese". Nobody else but Fengjiao, basket in hand, would ever go to him. It was amusing to see how she made a deal with him. She always dawdled on purpose, then put a full basket into his hands just when the train was about to start. The train began to move before he had time to pay for her eggs. He put the basket in the train, and made gestures to explain something to her, while she stood by the train feeling happy; she was glad that he took the eggs without paying. Of course the fellow would bring money to her next time, along with a bundle of noodles, gauze kerchieves, or something else. If the noodles weighed ten jin, Fengjiao would insist on taking out one jin to give back to him. She felt this was only fair. She wanted their contact to be a little different from a regular business sale. Sometimes she would remember the girls' remark: "Don't you think he's got his own girl?" As a matter of fact, whether or not he had his own girl was not Fengjiao's concern, because she never thought of going away with him. But she wanted to be nice to him. Did she have to be his girl to treat him nicely?

  Xiangxue was taciturn and timid, but her sales were the most successful of all the girls. Passengers loved to buy from her because she looked at them so trustingly with her pure, innocent eyes. She had not learned how to haggle over the price; she simply said: "You offer as you think fit." They looked at her face that was as pure as a new-born baby's, her lips as soft as red satin, and a beautiful feeling would come over them. They couldn't bear to trick this little girl.

  Sometimes she would seize an opportunity to ask passengers about things from the outside. She asked if the universities in Beijing would want students from Terrace Gully, and what "musical poetry recitation" was (she happened to see this term in a book a classmate brought to school ). One time she asked a middle-aged woman with glasses about a pencil box that could close automatically, and how much it would cost. But the train started moving before the woman could answer. She ran quite a while after the train. The autumn wind and the whistling wheels rang in her ears; then she stopped and realized how ridiculous she was being.