Unit 3A - Message of the Land
Message of the Land
Pira Sudham
Yes, these are our rice fields. They belonged to my parents and forefathers. The land is more than three centuries old. I'm the only daughter in our family and it was I who stayed with my parents till they died. My three brothers moved out to their wives' houses when they got married. My husband moved into our house as is the way with us in Esarn. I was then eighteen and he was nineteen. He gave me six children. Two died in infancy from sickness. The rest, two boys and two girls, went away as soon as we could afford to buy jeans for them. Our oldest son got a job as a gardener in a rich man's home in Bangkok but later an employment agency sent him to a foreign land to work. My other son also went far away.
One of our daughters is working in a textile factory in Bangkok, and the other has a job in a store. They come home to see us now and then, stay a few days, and then they are off again. Often they send some money to us and tell us that they are doing well. I know this is not always true. Sometimes, they get bullied and insulted, and it is like a knife piercing my heart. It's easier for my husband. He has ears which don't hear, a mouth which doesn't speak, and eyes that don't see. He has always been patient and silent, minding his own life.
All of them remain my children in spite of their long absence. Maybe it's fate that sent them away from us. Our piece of land is small, and it is no longer fertile, bleeding year after year and, like us, getting old and exhausted. Still my husband and I work on this land. The soil is not difficult to till when there is a lot of rain, but in a bad year, it's not only the ploughs that break but our hearts, too.
No, we two haven't changed much, but the village has. In what way? Only ten years ago, you could barter for things, but now it's all cash. Years ago, you could ask your neighbors to help build your house, reap the rice or dig a well. Now they'll do it only if you have money to pay them. Plastic things replace village crafts. Men used to make things with bamboo pieces, but no longer. Plastic bags litter the village. Shops have sprung up, filled with colorful plastic things and goods we have no use for. The young go away to towns and cities leaving us old people to work on the land. They think differently, I know, saying that the old are old-fashioned. All my life, I have never had to go to a hairdresser, or to paint my lips or nails. These rough fingers and toes are for working in the mud of our rice fields, not for looking pretty.
Now young girls put on jeans, and look like boys and they think it is fashionable. Why, they are willing to sell their pig or water buffalo just to be able to buy a pair of jeans. In my day, if I were to put on a pair of trousers like they do now, lightning would strike me.
I know, times have changed, but certain things should not change. We should offer food to the monks every day, go to the temple regularly. Young people tend to leave these things to old people now, and that's a shame.
Why, only the other day I heard a boy shout and scream at his mother. If that kind of thing had happened when I was young, the whole village would have condemned such an ungrateful son, and his father would surely have given him a good beating.
As for me, I wouldn't change, couldn't change even if I wanted to. Am I happy or unhappy? This question has never occurred to me. Life simply goes on. Yes, this bag of bones dressed in rags can still plant and reap rice from morning till dusk. Disease, wounds, hardship and scarcity have always been part of my life. I don't complain.
The farmer: My wife is wrong. My eyes do see-they see more than they should. My ears do hear-they hear more than is good for me. I don't talk about what I know because I know too much. I know for example, greed, anger, and lust are the root of all evils.
I am at peace with the land and the conditions of my life. But I feel a great pity for my wife. I have been forcing silence upon her all these years, yet she has not once complained of anything.
I wanted to have a lot of children and grandchildren around me but now cities and foreign lands have attracted my children away and it seems that none of them will ever come back to live here again. To whom shall I give these rice fields when I die? For hundreds of years this strip of land has belonged to our family. I know every inch of it. My children grew up on it, catching frogs and mud crabs and gathering flowers. Still the land could not tie them down or call them back. When each of them has a pair of jeans, they are off like birds on the wing.
Fortunately, my wife is still with me, and both of us are still strong. Wounds heal over time. Sickness comes and goes, and we get back on our feet again. I never want to leave this land. It's nice to feel the wet earth as my fingers dig into the soil, planting rice, to hear my wife sighing, "Old man, if I die first, I shall become a cloud to protect you from the sun." It's good to smell the scent of ripening rice in November. The soft cool breeze moves the sheaves, which ripple and shimmer like waves of gold. Yes, I love this land and I hope one of my children comes back one day to live, and gives me grandchildren so that I can pass on the land's secret messages to them.
参考译文——土地的讯息
土地的讯息
皮拉·萨德汉姆
是的，这些都是我们的稻田。它们曾属于我的父母和祖辈。这片土地有三百多年的历史了。我是家里唯一的女孩。所以，我一直陪在父母身边直到他们去世。我的三个兄弟结婚后就都搬到他们妻子的家里了。按照我们伊萨恩的风俗，我丈夫住进了我们家。那时我18岁，他19岁。我们生了6个孩子，有两个孩子在襁褓中就病死了，剩下的两个男孩和两个女孩在我们能为他们买得起牛仔裤的时候，就离开了家。我的大儿子在曼谷的一个有钱人家里做园丁，后来一家劳务介绍所送他到国外干活去了。我的小儿子离家也很远。
我们的一个女儿现在在曼谷的一家纺织厂上班，另一个女儿在一家商店里工作。她们偶尔回家来看看我们，待上几天就又走了。她们经常寄钱给我们并告诉我们她们过得很好。我知道这并不全是真的。有时，(当我知道)她们受欺负受侮辱时，我就心如刀割。而这一切对于我的丈夫来说就好过些，他有一对听不见的耳朵、一张不说话的嘴和一双看不见的眼睛。他总是不紧不慢，沉默寡言，过自个儿的日子。
虽然孩子们长时间不在家，但他们始终是我的孩子，也许是命运让他们离开了我们。我们的这片土地很小，也不再肥沃，就像我们一样，一年年地被榨干了血，慢慢上了年纪，渐渐筋疲力竭了。而我和我的丈夫还是在这片土地上耕作。在雨水充足的年份，土地还不难耕种，可要是赶上干旱，干硬的土地不仅使我们的犁耙碎了，还让我们的心也碎了。
是的，我们两口子一直没怎么变，可是我们的村子却变了很多。怎么变了？就在十年前你还能以物易物，可现在就得用现金买东西了。几年前你还能喊你的邻居们帮着盖房子、割稻子或挖口井。但现在只有付钱给他们，他们才干。塑料制品代替了村里手工做的东西。过去男人们常常用好的竹蔑做东西，但现在已经不再做了。塑料袋扔得村里哪儿都是。村里还突然冒出了一些商店，里面摆满了五颜六色的塑料制品和对我们没什么用的东西。年轻人离开家去了城镇，留下我们这些上了年纪的人种田。我知道他们的想法和我们的不同，他们说我们岁数大的人跟不上时代。我活了这么大岁数，从没进过理发店，没涂过嘴唇，没涂过指甲。我这粗手粗脚是用来在稻田的泥地里干活的，而不是摆样子好看的。
现在的年轻姑娘们穿上了牛仔裤，看着像小伙子，她们认为这是时髦。为什么，只为了能买条牛仔裤，她们宁愿卖掉猪或水牛。我年轻的时候要是穿上她们那样的裤子，准得遭雷劈。
我知道时代已经变了，但是有些东西是不该变的，我们还应该每天为僧人提供吃的，定期去寺庙上香。现在的年轻人往往把这些事留给上了岁数的人去做，这真是太不像话了。
对了，就在前些天，我听见一个小男孩朝着他的母亲大声喊叫。如果这件事发生在我小的时候，全村人都会责骂这个没良心的儿子，他的父亲准会狠狠地抽他一顿。
至于我，是不会变了，就是我想变也是不可能了。我幸不幸福？我从来没想过这个问题。生活简简单单地过着。是的，我这把裹着破烂衣衫枯瘦如柴的老骨头还要从早到晚地在地里耕作。疾病、伤痛、艰难还有穷困始终伴随我的一生。我没有怨言。
农夫：我老伴错了。我的眼睛看得见--看到了许多它们所不应该看到的。我的耳朵也听得到--听到了许多它们不应该听到的。我没有将我所知道的说出来，因为我知道的太多了。我知道诸如贪婪、愤怒和欲望是一切邪恶的根源。
对于这片土地，对于我的生活境况我感到满足。但对于老伴，我觉得对不住她，这些年来我对她一直沉默寡言,而她从未抱怨过什么。
我希望自己身边儿孙成群，但如今城里和国外的生活吸引着我的孩子们，让他们离开了我们，而且看来他们没有一个是会再回到这儿生活了。那我死后这些稻田留给谁呢？几百年来我 们家一直拥有这片土地。我熟悉我的每一寸土地。我的孩子就是在这儿长大的，他们捉青蛙、逮泥螃蟹、采花朵。但这片土地还是没能拴住他们或是召回他们。当他们每人有了一条牛仔裤后， 就像鸟儿一样飞走了。
幸运的是，我老伴还在我身边，我们俩身体还很硬朗。伤口会随着时间愈合的。疾病来了又去，接着我们又能站起来。我从未想过要离开这片土地。我喜欢将我的手插进潮湿的泥地里栽稻子。我喜欢听我的老伴叹息地说"老头子，如果我先死了，我要变成一片云来为你遮太阳"。我喜欢闻11月份成熟的稻米散发的香味。凉爽的微风吹拂着水稻，水稻像金色的海浪 一样起伏着。是的，我爱这片土地，我希望有一天有个孩子会回来生活，给我生几个孙子孙女，这样我就可以把这片土地的讯息传递给他们了。
Key Words:
barter ['bɑ:tə]
n. 物物交换，实物交易 v. 物物交换，交换
spite [spait]
n. 恶意，怨恨
vt. 刁难，伤害
rough [rʌf]
adj. 粗糙的，粗略的，粗暴的，艰难的，讨厌的，不适的
plastic ['plæstik, plɑ:stik]
adj. 塑料的，可塑的，造型的，整形的，易受影响的
haven ['heivn]
n. 港口，避难所，安息所 v. 安置 ... 于港中，
reap [ri:p]
vt. 收割，收获，获得
vi. 收割
bleeding ['bli:diŋ]
n. 出血；渗色 adj. 流血的；同情的 v. 出血；
replace [ri(:)'pleis]
vt. 取代，更换，将物品放回原处
fertile ['fə:tail]
adj. 肥沃的，富饶的，能繁殖的，多产的，（创造力）丰
hardship ['hɑ:dʃip]
n. 艰难，困苦
tend [tend]
v. 趋向，易于，照料，护理
greed [gri:d]
n. 贪心，贪婪
trousers ['trauzəz]
n. 裤子
willing ['wiliŋ]
adj. 愿意的，心甘情愿的
scream [skri:m]
n. 尖叫声
v. 尖叫，大笑
certain ['sə:tn]
adj. 确定的，必然的，特定的
complain [kəm'plein]
vi. 抱怨，悲叹，控诉
lightning ['laitniŋ]
n. 闪电
adj. 闪电般的，快速的
unhappy [ʌn'hæpi]
adj. 不快乐的，不高兴的
pity ['piti]
n. 同情，怜悯，遗憾，可惜
v. 同情，怜悯
ripple ['ripl]
n. 涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳 vt. 使 ... 起涟
strip [strip]
n. 长条，条状，脱衣舞
v. 脱衣，剥夺，剥
scent [sent]
n. 气味，香味，痕迹
vt. 闻出，发觉，使
silence ['sailəns]
n. 沉默，寂静
vt. 使安静，使沉默
protect [prə'tekt]
vt. 保护，投保
参考资料：
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