一九三九年古历八月初九，我父亲这个土匪种十四岁多一点。 他跟着后来名满天下的传奇英雄余占鳌司令的队伍去胶平公路伏击敌人的汽车队。	THE NINTH DAY of the eighth lunar month, 1939. My father, a bandit's offspring who had passed his fifteenth birthday, was joining the forces of Commander Yu Zhan'ao, a man destined to become a legendary hero, to ambush a Japanese convoy on the Jiao-Ping highway.
奶奶披着夹袄，送他们到村头。	Grandma, a padded jacket over her shoulders, saw them to the edge of the village.
余司令说：“立住吧。”	'Stop here,' Commander Yu ordered her.
奶奶就立住了。	She stopped.
奶奶对我父亲说：“豆官，听你干爹的话。”	'Douguan, mind your foster-dad,' she told my father.
父亲没吱声，他看着奶奶高大的身躯，嗅着从奶奶的夹袄里散出的热烘烘的香味，突然感到凉气逼人。	The sight of her large frame and the warm fragrance of her lined jacket chilled him.
他打了一个战，肚子咕噜噜响一阵。	He shivered. His stomach growled.
余司令拍了一下父亲的头，说：“走，干儿。”	Commander Yu patted him on the head and said, 'Let's go, foster-son.'
天地混沌，景物影影绰绰，队伍的杂沓脚步声已响出很远。	Heaven and earth were in turmoil, the view was blurred. By then the soldiers' muffled footsteps had moved far down the road.
父亲眼前挂着蓝白色的雾幔，挡住了他的视线，只闻队伍脚步声，不见队伍形和影。	Father could still hear them, but a curtain of blue mist obscured the men themselves.
父亲紧紧扯住余司令的衣角，双腿快速挪动。	Gripping tightly to Commander Yu's coat, he nearly flew down the path on churning legs.
奶奶像岸愈离愈远，雾像海水愈近愈汹涌，父亲抓住余司令，就像抓住一条船舷。	Grandma receded like a distant shore as the approaching sea of mist grew more tempestuous; holding on to Commander Yu was like clinging to the railing of a boat.
父亲就这样奔向了耸立在故乡通红的高粱地里属于他的那块无字的青石墓碑。	That was how Father rushed towards the uncarved granite marker that would rise above his grave in the bright-red sorghum fields of his hometown.
他的坟头上已经枯草瑟瑟，曾经有一个光屁股的男孩牵着一只雪白的山羊来到这里，山羊不紧不慢地啃着坟头上的草，男孩站在墓碑上，怒气冲冲地撒上一泡尿，然后放声高唱：高粱红了——日本来了——同胞们准备好——开枪开炮——	A bare-assed little boy once led a white billy goat up to the weed-covered grave, and as it grazed in unhurried contentment, the boy pissed furiously on the grave and sang out: 'The sorghum is red – the Japanese are coming – compatriots, get ready – fire your rifles and cannons –'
有人说这个放羊的男孩就是我，我不知道是不是我。	Someone said that the little goatherd was me, but I don't know.
我曾对高密东北乡极端热爱，曾经对高密东北乡极端仇恨，长大后努力学习马克思主义，我终于悟到：高密东北乡无疑是地球上最美丽最丑陋、最超脱最世俗、最圣洁最龌龊、最英雄好汉最王八蛋、最能喝酒最能爱的地方。	I had learned to love Northeast Gaomi Township with all my heart, and to hate it with unbridled fury. I didn't realise until I'd grown up that Northeast Gaomi Township is easily the most beautiful and most repulsive, most unusual and most common, most sacred and most corrupt, most heroic and most bastardly, hardest-drinking and hardest-loving place in the world.
生存在这块土地上的我的父老乡亲们，喜食高粱，每年都大量种植。	The people of my father's generation who lived there ate sorghum out of preference, planting as much of it as they could.
八月深秋，无边无际的高粱红成洸洋的血海，高粱高密辉煌，高粱凄婉可人，高粱爱情激荡。	In late autumn, during the eighth lunar month, vast stretches of red sorghum shimmered like a sea of blood. Tall and dense, it reeked of glory; cold and graceful, it promised enchantment; passionate and loving, it was tumultuous.
秋风苍凉，阳光很旺，瓦蓝的天上游荡着一朵朵丰满的白云，高粱上滑动着一朵朵丰满白云的紫红色影子。	The autumn winds are cold and bleak, the sun's rays intense. White clouds, full and round, float in the tile-blue sky, casting full round purple shadows onto the sorghum fields below.
一队队暗红色的人在高粱棵子里穿梭拉网，几十年如一日。	Over decades that seem but a moment in time, lines of scarlet figures shuttled among the sorghum stalks to weave a vast human tapestry.
他们杀人越货，精忠报国，他们演出过一幕幕英勇悲壮的舞剧，使我们这些活着的不肖子孙相形见绌，在进步的同时，我真切地感到种的退化。	They killed, they looted, and they defended their country in a valiant, stirring ballet that makes us unfilial descendants who now occupy the land pale by comparison. Surrounded by progress, I feel a nagging sense of our species' regression.
出村之后，队伍在一条狭窄的土路上行进，人的脚步声中夹着路边碎草的窸窣声响。	After leaving the village, the troops marched down a narrow dirt path, the tramping of their feet merging with the rustling of weeds.
雾奇浓，活泼多变。	The heavy mist was strangely animated, kaleidoscopic.
我父亲的脸上，无数密集的小水点凝成大颗粒的水珠，他的一撮头发，粘在头皮上。	Tiny droplets of water pooled into large drops on Father's face, clumps of hair stuck to his forehead.
从路两边高粱地里飘来的幽淡的薄荷气息和成熟高粱苦涩微甘的气味，我父亲早已闻惯，不新不奇。	He was used to the delicate peppermint aroma and the slightly sweet yet pungent odour of ripe sorghum wafting over from the sides of the path – nothing new there.
在这次雾中行军里，我父亲闻到了那种新奇的、黄红相间的腥甜气息。 那味道从薄荷和高粱的味道中隐隐约约地透过来，唤起父亲心灵深处一种非常遥远的记忆。	But as they marched through the heavy mist, his nose detected a new, sickly-sweet odour, neither yellow nor red, blending with the smells of peppermint and sorghum to call up memories hidden deep in his soul.
七天之后，八月十五日，中秋节。	Six days later, the fifteenth day of the eighth month, the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival.
一轮明月冉冉升起，遍地高粱肃然默立，高粱穗子浸在月光里，像蘸过水银，汩汩生辉，我父亲在剪破的月影下闻到了比现在强烈无数倍的腥甜气息。	A bright round moon climbed slowly in the sky above the solemn, silent sorghum fields, bathing the tassels in its light until they shimmered like mercury. Among the chiselled flecks of moonlight Father caught a whiff of the same sickly odour, far stronger than anything you might smell today.
那时候，余司令牵着他的手在高粱地里行走，三百多个乡亲叠股枕臂，陈尸狼藉，流出的鲜血灌溉了一大片高粱，把高粱下的黑土地浸泡成稀泥，使他们拔脚迟缓。	Commander Yu was leading him by the hand through the sorghum, where three hundred fellow villagers, heads pillowed on their arms, were strewn across the ground, their fresh blood turning the black earth into a sticky muck that made walking slow and difficult.
腥甜的气味令人窒息，一群前来吃人肉的狗，坐在高粱地里，目光炯炯地盯着父亲和余司令。	The smell took their breath away. A pack of corpse-eating dogs sat in the field staring at Father and Commander Yu with glinting eyes.
余司令掏出自来得手枪，甩手一响，两只狗眼灭了；又一甩手，灭了两只狗眼。	Commander Yu drew his pistol and fired – a pair of eyes was extinguished. Another shot, another pair of eyes gone.
群狗一哄而散，坐得远远的，呜呜地咆哮着，贪婪地望着死尸。	The howling dogs scattered, then sat on their haunches once they were out of range, setting up a deafening chorus of angry barks as they gazed greedily, longingly at the corpses.
腥甜味愈加强烈，余司令大喊一声：“日本狗！	The odour grew stronger. 'Jap dogs!' Commander Yu screamed.
狗娘养的日本！”	'Jap sons of bitches!'
他对着那群狗打完了所有的子弹，狗跑得无影无踪。	He emptied his pistol, scattering the dogs without a trace.
余司令对我父亲说：“走吧，儿子！”	'Let's go, son,' he said.
一老一小，便迎着月光，向高粱深处走去。	The two of them, one old and one young, threaded their way through the sorghum field, guided by the moon's rays.
那股弥漫着田野的腥甜味浸透了我父亲的灵魂，在以后更加激烈更加残忍的岁月里，这股腥甜昧一直伴随着他。	The odour saturating the field drenched Father's soul and would be his constant companion during the cruel months and years ahead.
高粱的茎叶在雾中滋滋乱叫，雾中缓慢地流淌着在这块低洼平原上穿行的墨河水明亮的喧哗，一阵强一阵弱，一阵远一阵近。	Sorghum stems and leaves sizzled fiercely in the mist. The Black Water River, which flowed slowly through the swampy lowland, sang in the spreading mist, now loud, now soft, now far, now near.
赶上队伍了，父亲的身前身后响着踢踢踏踏的脚步声和粗重的呼吸。	As they caught up with the troops, Father heard the tramping of feet and some coarse breathing fore and aft.
不知谁的枪托撞到另一个谁的枪托上了。	The butt of a rifle noisily bumped someone else's.
不知谁的脚踩破了一个死人的骷髅什么的。	A foot crushed what sounded like a human bone.
父亲前边那个人吭吭地咳嗽起来，这个人的咳嗽声非常熟悉。 父亲听到他咳嗽就想起他那两扇一激动就充血的大耳朵。	The man in front of Father coughed loudly. It was a familiar cough, calling to mind large ears that turned red with excitement.
透明单薄布满血管的大耳朵是王文义头上引人注目的器官。 他个子很小，一颗大头缩在耸起的双肩中。	Large transparent ears covered with tiny blood vessels were the trademark of Wang Wenyi, a small man whose enlarged head was tucked down between his shoulders.
父亲努力看去，目光刺破浓雾，看到了王文义那颗一边咳一边颠动的大头。	Father strained and squinted until his gaze bored through the mist: there was Wang Wenyi's head, jerking with each cough.
父亲想起王文义在演练场上挨打时，那颗大头颠成那般可怜模样。	Father thought back to when Wang was whipped on the parade ground, and how pitiful he had looked.
那时他刚参加余司令的队伍，任副官在演练场上对他也对其他队员喊：向右转——，王文义欢欢喜喜地跺着脚，不知转到哪里去了。	He had just joined up with Commander Yu. Adjutant Ren ordered the recruits: Right face! Wang Wenyi stomped down joyfully, but where he intended to 'face' was anyone's guess.
任副官在他腚上打了一鞭子，他嘴咧开叫一声：孩子他娘！	Adjutant Ren smacked him across the backside with his whip, forcing a yelp from between his parted lips. Ouch, mother of my children!
脸上表情不知是哭还是笑。	The expression on his face could have been a cry, or could have been a laugh.
围在短墙外看光景的孩子们都哈哈大笑。	Some kids sprawled atop the wall hooted gleefully.
余司令飞起一脚，踢到王文义的屁股上。	Now Commander Yu kicked Wang Wenyi in the backside.
“咳什么？”	'Who said you could cough?'
“司令……”	'Commander Yu . . .'
王文义忍着咳嗽说，“嗓子眼儿发痒……”	Wang Wenyi stifled a cough. 'My throat itches. . . .'
“痒也别咳！	'So what?
暴露了目标我要你的脑袋！”	If you give away our position, it's your head!'
“是，司令。” 王文义答应着，又有一阵咳嗽冲口而出。	'Yes, sir,' Wang replied, as another coughing spell erupted.
父亲觉出余司令前跨了一大步，只手捺住了王文义的后颈皮。	Father sensed Commander Yu lurching forward to grab Wang Wenyi around the neck with both hands.
王文义口里咝咝地响着，随即不咳了。	Wang wheezed and gasped, but the coughing stopped.
父亲觉出余司令的手从王文义的后颈皮上松开了，父亲还觉得王文义的脖子上留下两个熟葡萄一样的紫手印，王文义幽蓝色的惊惧不安的眼睛里，飞迸出几点感激与委屈。	Father also sensed Commander Yu's hands release Wang's neck; he even sensed the purple welts, like ripe grapes, left behind. Aggrieved gratitude filled Wang's deep-blue, frightened eyes.
很快，队伍钻进了高粱地。 我父亲本能地感觉到队伍是向着东南方向开进的。	The troops turned quickly into the sorghum, and Father knew instinctively that they were heading southeast.
适才走过的这段土路是由村庄直接通向墨水河边的唯一的道路。	The dirt path was the only direct link between the Black Water River and the village.
这条狭窄的土路在白天颜色青白。 路原是由乌油油的黑土筑成，但久经践踏，黑色都沉淀到底层，路上叠印过多少牛羊的花瓣蹄印和骡马毛驴的半圆蹄印，马骡驴粪像干萎的苹果，牛粪像虫蛀过的薄饼，羊粪稀拉拉像震落的黑豆。	During the day it had a pale cast; the original black earth, the colour of ebony, had been covered by the passage of countless animals: cloven hoofprints of oxen and goats, semicircular hoofprints of mules, horses, and donkeys; dried road apples left by horses, mules, and donkeys; wormy cow chips; and scattered goat pellets like little black beans.
父亲常走这条路，后来他在日本炭窑中苦熬岁月时，眼前常常闪过这条路。	Father had taken this path so often that later on, as he suffered in the Japanese cinder pit, its image often flashed before his eyes.
父亲不知道我的奶奶在这条土路上主演过多少风流悲喜剧，我知道。	He never knew how many sexual comedies my grandma had performed on this dirt path, but I knew.
父亲也不知道在高粱阴影遮掩着的黑土上，曾经躺过奶奶洁白如玉的光滑肉体，我也知道。	And he never knew that her naked body, pure as glossy white jade, had lain on the black soil beneath the shadows of sorghum stalks, but I knew.
拐进高粱地后，雾更显凝滞，质量更大，流动感少，在人的身体与人负载的物体碰撞高粱秸秆后，随着高粱嚓嚓啦啦的幽怨鸣声，一大滴一大滴的沉重水珠扑簌簌落下。	The surrounding mist grew more sluggish once they were in the sorghum field. The stalks screeched in secret resentment when the men and equipment bumped against them, sending large, mournful beads of water splashing to the ground.
水珠冰凉清爽，味道鲜美，我父亲仰脸时，一滴大水珠准确地打进他的嘴里。	The water was ice-cold, clear and sparkling, and deliciously refreshing. Father looked up, and a large drop fell into his mouth.
父亲看到舒缓的雾团里，晃动着高粱沉甸甸的头颅。	As the heavy curtain of mist parted gently, he watched the heads of sorghum stalks bend slowly down.
高粱沾满了露水的柔韧叶片，锯着父亲的衣衫和面颊。	The tough, pliable leaves, weighted down by the dew, sawed at his clothes and face.
高粱晃动激起的小风在父亲头顶上短促出击，墨水河的流水声愈来愈响。	A breeze set the stalks above him rustling briefly; the gurgling of the Black Water River grew louder.
父亲在墨水河里玩过水，他的水性好像是天生的，奶奶说他见了水比见了亲娘还急。	Father had gone swimming so often in the Black Water River that he seemed born to it. Grandma said that the sight of the river excited him more than the sight of his own mother.
父亲五岁时，就像小鸭子一样潜水，粉红的屁股眼儿朝着天，双脚高举。	At the age of five, he could dive like a duckling, his little pink asshole bobbing above the surface, his feet sticking straight up.
父亲知道，墨水河底的淤泥乌黑发亮，柔软得像油脂一样。 河边潮湿的滩涂上，丛生着灰绿色的芦苇和鹅绿色车前草，还有贴地生的野葛蔓，支支直立的接骨草。 滩涂的淤泥上，印满螃蟹纤细的爪迹。	He knew that the muddy riverbed was black and shiny, and as spongy as soft tallow, and that the banks were covered with pale-green reeds and plantain the colour of goose-down; coiling vines and stiff bone grass hugged the muddy ground, which was crisscrossed with the tracks of skittering crabs.
秋风起，天气凉，一群群大雁往南飞，一会儿排成个“一”字，一会儿排成个“人”字，等等。	Autumn winds brought cool air, and wild geese flew through the sky heading south, their formation changing from a straight line one minute to a V the next.
高粱红了，西风响，蟹脚痒，成群结队的、马蹄大小的螃蟹都在夜间爬上河滩，到草丛中觅食。 螃蟹喜食新鲜牛屎和腐烂的动物的尸体。	When the sorghum turned red, hordes of crabs the size of horse hooves scrambled onto the bank at night to search for food – fresh cow dung and the rotting carcasses of dead animals – among the clumps of river grass.
父亲听着河声，想着从前的秋天夜晚，跟着我家的老伙计刘罗汉大爷去河边捉螃蟹的情景。	The sound of the river reminded Father of an autumn night during his childhood, when the foreman of our family business, Arhat Liu, named after Buddhist saints, took him crabbing on the riverbank.
夜色灰葡萄，金风串河道，宝蓝色的天空深邃无边，绿色的星辰格外明亮。 北斗勺子星——北斗主死，南斗簸箕星——南斗司生、八角玻璃井——缺了一块砖，焦灼的牛郎要上吊，忧愁的织女要跳河…… 都在头上悬着。	On that grey-purple night a golden breeze followed the course of the river. The sapphire-blue sky was deep and boundless, green-tinted stars shone brightly in the sky: the ladle of Ursa Major (signifying death), the basket of Sagittarius (representing life); Octans, the glass well, missing one of its tiles; the anxious Herd Boy (Altair), about to hang himself; the mournful Weaving Girl (Vega), about to drown herself in the river. . . .
刘罗汉大爷在我家工作了几十年，负责我家烧酒作坊的全面工作，父亲跟着罗汉大爷脚前脚后地跑，就像跟着自己的爷爷一样。	Uncle Arhat had been overseeing the work of the family distillery for decades, and Father scrambled to keep up with him as he would his own grandfather.
父亲被迷雾扰乱的心头亮起了一盏四块玻璃插成的罩子灯，洋油烟子从罩子灯上盖的铁皮、钻眼的铁皮上钻出来。	
灯光微弱，只能照亮五六米方圆的黑暗。	The weak light of the kerosene lamp bored a five-yard hole in the darkness.
河里的水流到灯影里，黄得像熟透的杏子一样可爱，但可爱一霎霎，就流过去了，黑暗中的河水倒映着一天星斗。	When water flowed into the halo of light, it was the cordial yellow of an overripe apricot. But cordial for only a fleeting moment, before it flowed on. In the surrounding darkness the water reflected a starry sky.
父亲和罗汉大爷披着蓑衣，坐在罩子灯旁，听着河水的低沉呜咽——非常低沉的呜咽。	Father and Uncle Arhat, rain capes over their shoulders, sat around the shaded lamp listening to the low gurgling of the river.
河道两边无穷的高粱地不时响起寻偶狐狸的兴奋鸣叫。	Every so often they heard the excited screech of a fox calling to its mate in the sorghum fields beside the river.
螃蟹趋光，正向灯影聚拢。 父亲和罗汉大爷静坐着，恭听着天下的窃窃秘语，河底下淤泥的腥味，一股股泛上来。 成群结队的螃蟹团团围上来，形成一个躁动不安的圆圈。	Father and Uncle Arhat sat quietly, listening with rapt respect to the whispered secrets of the land, as the smell of stinking river mud drifted over on the wind. Hordes of crabs attracted by the light skittered towards the lamp, where they formed a shifting, restless cloister.
父亲心里惶惶，跃跃欲起，被罗汉大爷按住了肩头。	Father was so eager he nearly sprang to his feet, but Uncle Arhat held him by the shoulders.
“别急！”	'Take it easy!
大爷说，“心急喝不得热粘粥。”	Greedy eaters never get the hot gruel.'
父亲强压住激动，不动。	Holding his excitement in check, Father sat still.
螃蟹爬到灯光里就停下来，首尾相衔，把地皮都盖住了。	The crabs stopped as soon as they entered the ring of lamplight, and lined up head to tail, blotting out the ground.
一片青色的蟹壳闪亮，一对对圆杆状的眼睛从凹陷的眼窝里打出来。	A greenish glint issued from their shells, as countless pairs of button eyes popped from deep sockets on little stems.
隐在倾斜的脸面下的嘴里，吐出一串一串的五彩泡沫。	Mouths hidden beneath sloping faces released frothy strings of brazenly colourful bubbles.
螃蟹吐着彩沫向人挑战，父亲身上披着大蓑衣长毛奓起。	The long fibres on Father's straw rain cape stood up.
罗汉大爷说：“抓！”	'Now!' Uncle Arhat shouted.
父亲应声弹起，与罗汉大爷抢过去，每人抓住一面早就铺在地上的密眼罗网的两角，把一堆螃蟹抬起来，露出了螃蟹下的河滩地。	Father sprang into action before the shout died out, snatching two corners of the tightly woven net they'd spread on the ground beforehand; they raised it in the air, scooping up a layer of crabs and revealing a clear spot of riverbank beneath them.
父亲和罗汉大爷把两角系起扔在一边，又用同样的迅速和熟练抬起网片。	Quickly tying the ends together and tossing the net to one side, they rushed back and lifted up another piece of netting with the same speed and skill.
每一网都是那么沉重，不知网住了几百几千只螃蟹。	The heavy bundles seemed to hold hundreds, even thousands of crabs.
父亲跟着队伍进了高粱地后，由于心随螃蟹横行斜走，脚与腿不择空隙，撞得高粱棵子东倒西歪。	As Father followed the troops into the sorghum field, he moved sideways, crablike, overshooting the spaces between the stalks and bumping them hard, which caused them to sway and bend violently.
他的手始终紧扯着余司令的衣角，一半是自己行走，一半是余司令牵着前进，他竟觉得有些瞌睡上来，脖子僵硬，眼珠子生涩呆板。 父亲想，只要跟着罗汉大爷去墨水河，就没有空手回来的道理。	Still gripping tightly to Commander Yu's coat-tail, he was pulled along, his feet barely touching the ground. But he was getting sleepy. His neck felt stiff, his eyes were growing dull and listless, and his only thought was that as long as he could tag along behind Uncle Arhat to the Black Water River he'd never come back empty-handed.
父亲吃螃蟹吃腻了，奶奶也吃腻了。	Father ate crab until he was sick of it, and so did Grandma.
食之无味，弃之可惜，罗汉大爷就用快刀把螃蟹斩成碎块，放到豆腐磨里研碎，加盐，装缸，制成蟹酱，成年累月地吃，吃不完就臭，臭了就喂罂粟。	But even though they lost their appetite for it, they couldn't bear to throw the uneaten ones away. So Uncle Arhat minced the leftovers and ground them under the bean-curd millstone, then salted the crab paste, which they ate daily, until it finally went bad and became mulch for the poppies.
我听说奶奶会吸大烟但不上瘾，所以始终面如桃花，神清气爽，用螃蟹喂过的罂粟花朵肥硕壮大，粉、红、白三色交杂，香气扑鼻。	Apparently Grandma was an opium smoker, but wasn't addicted, which was why she had the complexion of a peach, a sunny disposition, and a clear mind. The crab-nourished poppies grew huge and fleshy, a mixture of pinks, reds, and whites that assailed your nostrils with their fragrance.
故乡的黑土本来就是出奇的肥沃，所以物产丰饶，人种优良。 民心高拔健迈，本是我故乡心态。	The black soil of my hometown, always fertile, was especially productive, and the people who tilled it were especially decent, strong-willed, and ambitious.
墨水河盛产的白鳝鱼肥得像肉棍一样，从头至尾一根刺。 它们呆头呆脑，见钩就吞。	The white eels of the Black Water River, like plump sausages with tapered ends, foolishly swallowed every hook in sight.
父亲想着的罗汉大爷去年就死了，死在胶平公路上。	Uncle Arhat had died the year before on the Jiao-Ping highway.
他的尸体被割得零零碎碎，扔得东一块西一块。	His corpse, after being hacked to pieces, had been scattered around the area.
躯干上的皮被剥了，肉跳，肉蹦，像只褪皮后的大青蛙。	As the skin was being stripped from his body, his flesh jumped and quivered, as if he were a huge skinned frog.
父亲一想起罗汉大爷的尸体，脊梁沟就发凉。	Images of that corpse sent shivers up Father's spine.
父亲又想起大约七八年前的一个晚上，我奶奶喝醉了酒，在我家烧酒作坊的院子里，有一个高粱叶子垛，奶奶倚在草垛上，搂住罗汉大爷的肩，呢呢喃喃地说：“大叔…… 你别走。	Then he thought back to a night some seven or eight years earlier, when Grandma, drunk at the time, had stood in the distillery yard beside a pile of sorghum leaves, her arms around Uncle Arhat's shoulders. 'Uncle . . . don't leave,' she pleaded.
不看僧面看佛面，不看鱼面看水面，不看我的面子也要看豆官的面子上，留下吧，你要我…… 我也给你…… 你就像我的爹一样……”	'If not for the sake of the monk, stay for the Buddha. If not for the sake of the fish, stay for the water. If not for my sake, stay for little Douguan. You can have me, if you want. . . . You're like my own father. . . .'
父亲记得罗汉大爷把奶奶推到一边，晃晃荡荡走进骡棚，给骡子拌料去了。 我家养着两头大黑骡子，开着烧高粱酒的作坊，是村子里的首富。	Father watched him push her away and swagger into the shed to mix fodder for the two large black mules who, when we opened our distillery, made us the richest family in the village.
罗汉大爷没走，一直在我家担任业务领导，直到我家那两头大黑骡子被日本人拉到胶平公路修筑工地上去使役为止。	Uncle Arhat didn't leave after all. Instead he became our foreman, right up to the day the Japanese confiscated our mules to work on the Jiao-Ping highway.
这时，从被父亲他们甩在身后的村子里，传来悠长的毛驴叫声。	Now Father and the others could hear long-drawn-out brays from the mules they had left behind in the village.
父亲精神一振，眼睛睁开，然而看到的，依然是半凝固半透明的雾气。	Wide-eyed with excitement, he could see nothing but the congealed yet nearly transparent mist that surrounded him.
高粱挺拔的秆子，排成密集的栅栏，模模糊糊地隐藏在气体的背后，穿过一排又一排，排排无尽头。	Erect stalks of sorghum formed dense barriers behind a wall of vapour. Each barrier led to another, seemingly endless.
走进高粱地多久了，父亲已经忘记，他的神思长久地滞留在远处那条喧响着的丰饶河流里，长久地滞留在往事的回忆里，竟不知这样匆匆忙忙拥拥挤挤地在如梦如海的高粱地里躜进是为了什么。	He had no idea how long they'd been in the field, for his mind was focused on the fertile river roaring in the distance, and on his memories. He wondered why they were in such a hurry to squeeze through this packed, dreamy ocean of sorghum.
父亲迷失了方位。	Suddenly he lost his bearings.
他在前年有一次迷途高粱地的经验，但最后还是走出来了，是河声给他指引了方向。	
现在，父亲又谛听着河的启示，很快明白，队伍是向正东偏南开进，对着河的方向开进。	He listened carefully for a sign from the river, and quickly determined that they were heading east-southeast, towards the river.
方向辨清，父亲也就明白，这是去打伏击，打日本人，要杀人，像杀狗一样。	Once he had a fix on their direction, he understood that they would be setting an ambush for the Japanese, that they would be killing people, just as they had killed the dogs.
他知道队伍一直往东南走，很快就要走到那条南北贯通，把偌大个低洼平原分成两半，把胶县平度县两座县城连在一起的胶平公路。	By heading east-southeast, they would soon reach the Jiao-Ping highway, which cut through the swampy lowland from north to south and linked the two counties of Jiao and Pingdu.
这条公路，是日本人和他们的走狗用皮鞭和刺刀催逼着老百姓修成的。	Japanese and their running dogs, Chinese collaborators, had built the highway with the forced labour of local conscripts.
高粱的骚动因为人们的疲惫困乏而频繁激烈起来，积露连续落下，淋湿了每个人的头皮和脖颈。	The sorghum was set in motion by the exhausted troops, whose heads and necks were soaked by the settling dew.
王文义咳嗽不断，虽连遭余司令辱骂也不改正。	Wang Wenyi was still coughing, even though he'd been the target of Commander Yu's continuing angry outbursts.
父亲感到公路就要到了，他的眼前昏昏黄黄地晃动着路的影子。	Father sensed that the highway was just up ahead, its pale-yellow outline swaying in front of him.
不知不觉，连成一体的雾海中竟有些空洞出现，一穗一穗被露水打得精湿的高粱在雾洞里忧悒地注视着我父亲，父亲也虔诚地望着它们。	Imperceptibly tiny openings began to appear in the thick curtain of mist, and one dew-soaked ear of sorghum after another stared sadly at Father, who returned their devout gaze.
父亲恍然大悟，明白了它们都是活生生的灵物。 它们扎根黑土，受日精月华，得雨露滋润，上知天文下知地理。	It dawned on him that they were living spirits: their roots buried in the dark earth, they soaked up the energy of the sun and the essence of the moon; moistened by the rain and dew, they understood the ways of the heavens and the logic of the earth.
父亲从高粱的颜色上，猜到了太阳已经被高粱遮挡着的地平线烧成一片可怜的艳红。	The colour of the sorghum suggested that the sun had already turned the obscured horizon a pathetic red.
忽然发生变故，父亲先是听到耳边一声尖利呼啸，接着听到前边发出什么东西被迸裂的声响。	Then something unexpected occurred. Father heard a shrill whistle, followed by a loud burst from up ahead.
余司令大声吼叫：“谁开枪？	'Who fired his weapon?' Commander Yu bellowed.
小舅子，谁开的枪？”	'Who's the prick who did it?'
父亲听到子弹钻破浓雾，穿过高粱叶子高粱秆，一颗高粱头颅落地。	Father heard the bullet pierce the thick mist and pass through sorghum leaves and stalks, lopping off one of the heads.
一时间众人都屏气息声。 那粒子弹一路尖叫着，不知落到哪里去了。	Everyone held his breath as the bullet screamed through the air and thudded to the ground.
芳香的硝烟迷散进雾。	The sweet smell of gunpowder dissipated in the mist.
王文义惨叫一声：“司令——我没有头啦——司令——我没有头啦——”	Wang Wenyi screamed pitifully, 'Commander – my head's gone – Commander – my head's gone –'
余司令一愣神，踢了王文义一脚，说：“你娘个蛋！	Commander Yu froze momentarily, then kicked Wang Wenyi. 'You dumb fuck!' he growled.
没有头还会说话！”	'How could you talk without a head?'
余司令撇下我父亲，到队伍前头去了。	Commander Yu left my father standing there and went up to the head of the column.
王文义还在哀嚎。	Wang Wenyi was still howling.
父亲凑上前去，看清了王文义奇形怪状的脸。	Father pressed forward to catch a glimpse of the strange look on Wang's face.
他的腮上，有一股深蓝色的东西在流动。	A dark-blue substance was flowing on his cheek.
父亲伸手摸去，触了一手粘腻发烫的液体。 父亲闻到了跟墨水河淤泥差不多、但比墨水河淤泥要新鲜得多的腥气。	Father reached out to touch it; hot and sticky, it smelled a lot like the mud of the Black Water River, but fresher.
它压倒了薄荷的幽香，压倒了高粱的甘苦，它唤醒了父亲那越来越迫近的记忆，一线穿珠般地把墨水河淤泥、把高粱下黑土、把永远死不了的过去和永远留不住的现在联系在一起，有时候，万物都会吐出人血的味道。	It overwhelmed the smell of peppermint and the pungent sweetness of sorghum and awakened in Father's mind a memory that drew ever nearer: like beads, it strung together the mud of the Black Water River, the black earth beneath the sorghum, the eternally living past, and the unstoppable present. There are times when everything on earth spits out the stench of human blood.
“大叔，”父亲说，“大叔，你挂彩了。”	'Uncle,' Father said, 'you're wounded.'
“豆官，你是豆官吧，你看看大叔的头还在脖子上长着吗？”	'Douguan, is that you? Tell your old uncle if his head's still on his neck.'
“在，大叔，长得好好的，就是耳朵流血啦。”	'It's there, Uncle, right where it's supposed to be. Except your ear's bleeding.'
王文义伸手摸耳朵，摸到一手血，一阵尖叫后，他就瘫了：“司令，我挂彩啦！	Wang Wenyi reached up to touch his ear and pulled back a bloody hand, yelping in alarm. Then he froze as if paralysed. 'Commander, I'm wounded!
我挂彩啦，我挂彩啦。”	I'm wounded!'
余司令从前边回来，蹲下，捏着王文义的脖子，压低嗓门说：“别叫，再叫我就毙了你！”	Commander Yu came back to Wang, knelt down, and put his hands around Wang's neck. 'Stop screaming or I'll throttle you!'
王文义不敢叫了。	Wang Wenyi didn't dare make a sound.
“伤着哪儿啦？”	'Where were you hit?'
余司令问。	Commander Yu asked him.
“耳朵……”	'My ear . . .'
王文义哭着说。	Wang was weeping.
余司令从腰里抽出一块包袱皮样的白布，嚓一声撕成两半，递给王文义，说：“先捂着，别出声，跟着走，到了路上再包扎。”	Commander Yu took a piece of white cloth from his waistband and tore it in two, then handed it to him. 'Hold this over it, and no more noise. Stay in rank. You can bandage it when we reach the highway.'
余司令又叫：“豆官。”	Commander Yu turned to Father. 'Douguan,' he barked.
父亲应了，余司令就牵着他的手走。 王文义哼哼唧唧地跟在后边。	Father answered, and Commander Yu walked off holding him by the hand, followed by the whimpering Wang Wenyi.
适才那一枪，是扛着一盘耙在头前开路的大个子哑巴不慎摔倒，背上的长枪走了火。	The offending discharge had been the result of carelessness by the big fellow they called Mute, who was up front carrying a rake on his shoulder. The rifle slung over his back had gone off when he stumbled.
哑巴是余司令的老朋友，一同在高粱地里吃过“拤饼”的草莽英雄，他的一只脚因在母腹中受过伤，走起来一颠一颠，但非常快，父亲有些怕他。	Mute was one of Commander Yu's old bandit friends, a greenwood hero who had eaten fistcakes in the sorghum fields. One of his legs was shorter than the other – a prenatal injury – and he limped when he walked, but that didn't slow him down. Father was a little afraid of him.
黎明前后这场大雾，终于在余司令的队伍跨上胶平公路时漶散下去。	At about dawn, the massive curtain of mist finally lifted, just as Commander Yu and his troops emerged onto the Jiao-Ping highway.
故乡八月，是多雾的季节，也许是地势低洼土壤潮湿所致吧。	In my hometown, August is the misty season, possibly because there's so much swampy lowland.
走上公路后，父亲顿时感到身体灵巧轻便，脚步利索有劲，他松开了抓住余司令衣角的手。	Once he stepped onto the highway, Father felt suddenly light and nimble; with extra spring in his step, he let go of Commander Yu's coat.
王文义用白布捂着血耳朵，满脸哭相。	Wang Wenyi, on the other hand, wore a crestfallen look as he held the cloth to his injured ear.
余司令给他粗手粗脚包扎耳朵，连半个头也包住了。	Commander Yu crudely wrapped it for him, covering up half his head.
王文义痛得龇牙咧嘴。	Wang gnashed his teeth in pain.
余司令说：“你好大的命！”	'The heavens have smiled on you,' Commander Yu said.
王文义说：“我的血流光了，我不能去啦！”	'My blood's all gone,' Wang whimpered, 'I can't go on!'
余司令说：“屁，蚊子咬了一口也不过这样，忘了你那三个儿子啦吧！”	'Bullshit!' Commander Yu exclaimed. 'It's no worse than a mosquito bite. You haven't forgotten your three sons, have you?'
王文义垂下头，嘟嘟哝哝说：“没忘，没忘。”	Wang hung his head and mumbled, 'No, I haven't forgotten.'
他背着一支长筒子鸟枪，枪托儿血红色。	The butt of the long-barrelled fowling piece over his shoulder was the colour of blood.
装火药的扁铁盒斜吊在他的屁股上。	A flat metal gunpowder pouch rested against his hip.
那些残存的雾都退到高粱地里去了。	Remnants of the dissipating mist were scattered throughout the sorghum field.
大路上铺着一层粗沙，没有牛马脚踪，更无人的脚印。 相对着路两侧茂密的高粱，公路荒凉，荒唐，令人感到不祥。	There were neither animal nor human footprints in the gravel, and the dense walls of sorghum on the deserted highway made the men feel that something ominous was in the air.
父亲早就知道余司令的队伍连聋带哑连瘸带拐不过四十人，但这些人住在村里时，搅得鸡飞狗跳，仿佛满村是兵。	Father knew all along that Commander Yu's troops numbered no more than forty – deaf, mute, and crippled included. But when they were quartered in the village, they had stirred things up so much, with chickens squawking and dogs yelping, that you'd have thought it was a garrison command.
队伍摆在大路上，三十多人缩成一团，像一条冻僵了的蛇。	Out on the highway, the soldiers huddled so closely together they looked like an inert snake.
枪支七长八短，土炮、鸟枪、老汉阳，方六方七兄弟俩抬着一门能把小秤砣打出去的大抬杆子。	Their motley assortment of weapons included shotguns, fowling pieces, ageing Hanyang rifles, plus a cannon that fired scale weights and was carried by two brothers, Fang Six and Fang Seven.
哑巴扛着一盘长方形的平整土地用的、周遭二十六根铁尖齿的耙，另有三个队员各扛着一盘。	Mute was toting a rake with twenty-six metal tines, as were three other soldiers.
父亲当时还不知道打伏击是怎么一回事，更不知道打伏击为什么还要扛上四盘铁齿耙。	Father still didn't know what an ambush was, and even if he had, he wouldn't have known why anyone would take four rakes to the event.