the near and the far

the far and the near
On the outskirts of a little town upon a rise of land that swept back from the railway,there was a tidy little cottage of white boards,trimmed vividly with green blinds.To one side of the house there was a garden neatly patterned with plots of growing vegetables, and an arbor for the grapes which ripened late in August.Before the house,there were three mighty oaks,which sheltered it in their clean and massive shade in summer,and to the other side there was a border of gay flowers.The whole place had an air of tidiness,thrift and modest comfort.
Every day,a few minutes after two o’clock in the afternoon ,the limited express between two cities passed this spot.At that moment,the great train,having halted for a breathing-space at the town nearby ,was beginning to lengthen evenly into its stroke,but it had not yet reached the full drive of its terrific speed.It swung into vies deliberately ,swept past with a powerful swaying motion of the engine,a low smooth rumble of his heavy cars upon pressed steel,and then it vanished in the cut.For a moment the progress of the engine could be marked by heavy bellowing puffs of smoke that burst at spaced intervals above the edges of the meadow grass,and finally nothing could be heard but the solid clacking tempo of the wheels receding into the drowsy stillness of the afternoon.
Every day for more than twenty years,as the train had approached this house,the engineer had blown on the whistle,and every day,as soon as she heard this signal,a woman had appeared on the back porch of the little house and waved him.At first she had a small children clinging to her skirts,and now this child had grown to full womanhood,and everyday she,too,came with her mother to the porch and waved.
The engineer had grown old and gray in service.He had driven his great train,loaded with its weight of lives,across the land ten thousand times.His own children had grown up,and married,and four times he had seen before him on the tracks the ghastly dot of tragedy converging like a cannon ball to its eclipse of horror at the boiler head-a light spring woman filled with children ,with its clustered row of small stunned faces;a cheap automobile stalled up the tracks,set with the wooden figures of people paralyzed with fear;battered hobo walking by the rail,too deaf and old to hear the whistle’s warning;and a form flung past his window with a scream-all this he had seen and known.He had known all the grief,the joy ,and peril and the labor such a man could ;he had grown seamed and weathered in his loyal service,and now,schooled by the qualities of faith and courage and humbleness that attended his labor,he had grown old,and had the grandeur and the wisdom these man have.
But no matter what peril or tragedy he had known,the vision of the little house and the women waving to him with a brave free motion of the arm had become fixed in the mind of the engineer as something beautiful and enduring,something beyond all change and ruin,ans something that would always be the same,no matter what mishap,grief or error might break the iron schedule of his days.
The sight of this little house and these two women gave him the most extraordinary happiness he had ever known.He had seen them in a thousand lights,a hundred weathers.He had seen then through the ahrsh light of wintry gray across the brown and frosted stubble of the earth,and he had seen then again i the green luring sorcery of April.
He felt for them and for the little house in which they lived such tenderness as a man might feel for his own children,and at length the picture of their was carved so sharply in his heart that he felt that he knew their lives completely,to every hour and moment of the day,and he resolved that one day,when his years of service should be ended,he would go and find these people and speak at last with then whose lives had been so wrought into his own.
That day came.At last ,the engineer stepped from a train onto the station platform of the town where these two women lived.His years upon the rail had ended.He was a pensioned servant of his company,with no more work to do.The engineer walked slowly through the station and out into the streets of the town.Everything was as strange to him as if he had never seen this town before.As he walked on,his sense of bewilderment and confusion grew.Could this be the town he had passed ten thousand times?were these the same houses he had seen so often from the high windows of his cab?It was all as unfamiliar,as disquieting as a city in a dream,and the perplexity of his spirit increased as he went on.
Presently the houses thinned into the straggling outposts of the town,and the street faded into a country road-the one on which the women lived.And the plodded on slowly in the heat and dust.At length he stood before the house he sought.He knew at once that he had found the proper place.He saw the lordly oaks before the house,the flower beds,the garden and the arbor,and farther off,and glint of rails.
Yes,this was the house he sought,the place he had passed so many times,the destination he had longer for with such happiness.But now that he had found it,now that he was here,why did his hand falter on the gate;why had the town,the road,the earth,the every entrance to this place he loved turned unfamiliar as the landscape of some ugly dream?why did he now feel this sense of confusion,doubt and hopelessness?
At length he entered by the gate,walked slowly up the path and in a moment more had mounted three short steps that led up to the porch,and was knocking at the door.Presently he heard steps in the hall,the door was opened,and a woman stood facing him.
And instantly,with a sense of bitter loss and grief ,he was sorry he had come.He knew at once that the woman who stood there looking at him with a mistrustful eye was the same woman who had waved to him so many thousand times.But her face was harsh and pinched and meager;the flesh sagged wearily in sallow folds,and the small eyes peered at him with timid suspicion and uneasy doubt .All the brave freedom,the warmth and the affection that he had read into her gesture,vanished in the moment that he saw her and heard here unfriendly tongue.
And now his own voice sounded unreal and ghastly to him as he tried to explain his presence,to tell her who he was and reason he had come.But he faltered on,fighting stubbornly against the horror of regret,confusion ,disbelief that surged up in his spirit,drowning all his former joy and making his act of hope and tenderness seem shameful to him.
At length the woman invited him almost unwillingly into the house,and called her daughter in a harsh shrill voice.Then,for a brief agony of time,the man sat in an ugly little parlor,and he tried to talk while the two women stared at him with a dull,bewildered hostility,a sullen ,timorous restraint.
And finally,stammering a crude farewell,he departed.He walked away down the path and ten along the road toward town,and suddenly he knew that was an old man.His heart ,which had been brave and confident when it looked along the familiar vista of the rails,was now sick with doubt and horror as it saw the strange and unsuspected visage of the earth which had always been with a stone’s throw of him,and which he had never seen or known.And he knew that all the magic of that bright lost way,the vista of that shining line,the imagined corner of that small good universe of hope’s desire,could never be got again.

一个小镇，坐落在一个以铁路沿线延绵而来的高地上。它的郊外，有一座明净整洁装有绿色百叶窗的小屋。小屋一边，有一个园子，整齐地划成一块块，种着蔬菜。还有一架葡萄棚，到了8月底，葡萄就会成熟。屋前有三棵大橡树，每到夏天，大片整齐的树荫，就会遮蔽这座小屋。另一边则是一个鲜花盛开的花坛。这一切，充满着整洁，繁盛，朴素的舒适气氛。
每天下午两点过几分，两个城市间的特快列车驶过这里。那时候，长长 的列车要在镇上附近暂停一下，然后又平稳地启步前进，但是它的速度还没有开足时那么惊人。在机车有力的掣动下，眼看它不慌不忙地从容驶去，沉重的车厢压在铁轨上，发出低沉和谐的隆隆声，然后消失在弯道中。在一段时间里， 每隔一定 间距，汽笛吼叫，喷出一圈圈浓 烟，可以感觉到列车行驶的痕迹。最后，什么也听不见了，只剩那车轮的坚实的轧轧声，在午后的寂静中悄然隐去。
20多年来，每天，当列车驶进小屋时，司机总要拉响汽笛。每天，一个妇人一听到鸣笛，便从小屋的后门出来向他挥手致意。当初她有一个小孩缠着她的裙子，现在这孩子已长成大姑娘，也每天和她母亲一起出来挥手致意。
司机多年操劳，已经白发苍苍，渐渐变老v了。他驾驶长长的列车栽着旅客横贯大地已上万次。他自己的子女都已长大了，结婚了。他曾4次在他面前的铁轨上看到了可怕的悲剧所凝聚的小点，象颗炮弹似的射向火车头前的恐怖的阴影－－－1辆满载小孩子的轻便马车和密密一排惊惶失措的小脸，一辆廉价汽车停在铁轨上，里面坐着吓得目瞪口呆状若木鸡的人们，一个带着惊呼的人影掠过他的窗口－－－所有这些，司机都历历在目，记忆犹新。他懂得一个人所能懂得的种种悲哀，欢乐，危险和辛劳。他那可敬的工作，仿佛风刀霜剑，在他脸上刻下了皱纹。现在，他虽已年老，但在长期工作中养成了忠诚，勇敢和谦逊的品质，并获得了司机们应有的崇高和智慧。
但不管他见识过多少危险和悲剧，那座小屋，那两个妇女用勇敢从容的动作向他挥手致意的景象，始终印在他的心里，看作美丽，不朽，万劫不变和始终如一的象征，纵使灾难，悲哀和邪恶，可能打破他的铁的生活规律。
他一看到小屋和两个妇女，使他感到从未有过的非凡幸福。一千次的阴晴明晦，一百次的风雷雨雪，他总是看到她们。通过冬天的严峻单调的灰蒙蒙的光线，穿过褐色冰封的茬地，他看见她们。在妖艳诱人的绿色的四月里，他又看见她们。
他感到她们和她们所住的小屋无限亲切，好象父母对于自己的子女一样。终于，他觉得她们生活的图画已深深地印在他的心中，因而他完全了解她们一天中每时每刻的生活。他决定，一旦他退休了，他一定要去找她们，最后要和她们畅谈生平，因为她们的生活已经和他自己的生活深深交融在一起了。
这一天终于来到了。最后，司机在她们居住的小镇的车站下了车，走到月台上，他在铁路上工作的年限已经到了。他目前是公司领取养老金的人，没有 工作要做了。司机慢慢地走出车站，来到小镇的街上。但所有的东西对他来说都是陌生的，好象他从未看到过这小镇似的。他走着走着，渐渐感到迷惑与慌乱。这就是他经过千万次的小镇么？这些是他从高高的车厢窗口老是看见的房子么？一切是那么的陌生，使他那么不安，好象梦中的城市似的。他越向前行，他的心里越是疑虑重重。
现在，房屋渐渐变成小镇外疏疏落落的村舍，大街也渐渐冷落，变成一条乡村的小路－－－两个妇女就住在其中一所村舍里。司机在闷热和尘埃中沉重地慢慢走着，最后他站在他要找寻的房屋前面。他立刻知道自己找对了。他看到了那屋前高大的橡树，那花坛，那菜园和葡萄棚，再远，那铁轨的闪光。
不错，这是他要找寻的房子，这地方他经过了不知有多少次，这是他梦寐以求的幸福目的地。现在，他找到了，他到了这里，但他的手为什么在门前却抖了起来？为什么这小镇，这小路，这田地，以及他所眷恋的小屋的门口，变得如此陌生，好象是恶梦中的景物？为什么他会感到惆怅，疑虑和失望？
他终于进了大门，慢慢沿着小径走去。不一会儿，他踏上通向门廊的三步石级，敲了敲们。一会儿，他听到客厅的脚步声，门开了，一个妇女站在他面前。
霎时，他感到很大的失望和懊丧，深悔来此一行。他立刻辨认出站在他面前用怀疑的眼光瞧他的妇人，正是那个向他千万次挥手致意的人。但是她的脸严峻，枯萎，消瘦。她那皮肤憔悴，灰黄，松弛地打成褶皱。她那双小眼睛，惊异不定地盯着他。原先，他从她那挥手的姿态所想象的勇敢，坦率，深情，在看到她和听到她冷冷的声音后，刹那间一股脑儿消失了。
而现在，他向她解释他是谁和他的来意时，他自己的声音听起来却变得虚伪，勉强了。但他还是结结巴巴地说下去，拼命把他心中涌出来的悔恨，迷惑和怀疑抑制下去，忘却他过去的一切欢乐，把他的希望和爱慕的行为视同一种耻辱。
最后，那妇人十分勉强地请他进了屋子，尖声粗气地喊着她的女儿。在一段短短的痛苦的时间里，司机坐在一间难看的小客厅里，打算和她们攀谈，而那两个女人却带着迷茫的敌意和阴沉，畏怯，抑郁，迟钝的眼光瞪着他。
最后他结结巴巴生硬地和她们道别。他从小径出来沿着大路朝小镇走去。他忽然意识到他是一个老人了。他的心，过去望着熟悉的铁路远景时，何等勇敢和自信。现在，当他看到这块陌生的，不可意料的，永远近在咫尺，从未见过，从不知悉的土地，他的心因疑惧而衰竭了。他知道一切有关迷途获得光明的神话，闪光的铁路的远景，希望的美好小天地中的幻想之地，都已一去不复返、永不再来了。