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Still in Books and Arts; Book Review;Memoir of the Middle East；Scent of dreams；
文藝；書評；中東回憶錄；夢之味；
I Was Born There, I Was Born Here. By Mourid Barghouti.
《我在那里出生，我出生在這里》，穆里德·巴爾古提著；
Certain images reappear in all recent Palestinian literature. Mangled olive groves, the trees, like their owners, uprooted; cardamom-scented coffee, its fragrance percolating through the Palestinian exile; endless waiting, daily to cross checkpoints, every year to return home.
最近在巴勒斯坦的所有文學(xué)中重新出現(xiàn)了某些影像。遭到亂砍的橄欖樹叢，就象它們的主人一樣，這些樹木被連根拔起；豆蔻香味的咖啡，它的香味浸透了流亡的巴勒斯坦人；無盡的等待，每天都穿過檢查站，每年都返回家園。
Mourid Barghouti evokes them all in his memoir, “I Was Born There, I Was Born Here”, which continues the story begun in his 2003 work, “I Saw Ramallah”. Driving to Jericho, he passes fields of olive trees, “uprooted and thrown over under the open sky like dishonoured corpses”, the fields around them an “open collective grave”. Crossing the border from Jordan, “at the threshold of Palestine”, he must wait for hours at checkpoints where “sweat oozes with sticky insistence” and the air is fried. These images lose none of their poignancy or power in this familiarity. Instead they distil the Palestinian experience of exile into something real.
穆里德·巴爾古提在他的回憶錄《我在那里出生，我出生在這里》中喚起了這一切。這本回憶錄是他2003年的作品《我看到了拉馬拉》的續(xù)篇。他驅(qū)車前往杰里科時經(jīng)過橄欖樹田，橄欖樹“被連根拔起，拋卻在露天下，就象沒有尊嚴(yán)的尸體”，它們周圍的田地是“露天的集體墳?zāi)埂薄募s旦穿越邊界，“在巴勒斯坦的門檻”，他必須在檢查站里等幾個小時，檢查站里“汗水粘乎乎地不斷淌出來”，空氣熱浪灼人。這些影像沒有讓他們的辛酸失去，或是讓這種熟悉的辛酸所凝聚的力量失去。相反，它們把流亡的巴勒斯坦人的經(jīng)歷提煉成實實在在的東西。
Much of the book concentrates on Mr Barghouti’s efforts to take his Egyptian-born son to Deir Ghassanah, the village of his birth. That homecoming culminates in the moment he stands in the room where he was born; when he can say, “I was born here,” not there. He and his son wander through the Old City of Jerusalem, snapping photos as they go. Their actions unsettle Mr Barghouti. Who takes photographs of their own home? Growing up, “the Via Dolorosa was just a street we used.” Cameras normally belong to tourists, who are anxious to hold onto places they may never see again. Fearful that the very act of recording what they see will ensure its loss, he and his son toss their cameras aside, desperate to re-establish their right to belong and to call this city home.
這本書的大部分內(nèi)容集中在巴爾古提努力把出生在埃及的兒子帶到他出生的村莊哈暫納村。當(dāng)他站在自己出生的房間里，可以說著“我出生在這里”，而不是那里的那一刻，這次返鄉(xiāng)達(dá)到了高潮。他和兒子在耶路撒冷的老城漫步，每到一個地方都抓拍照片。他們的行為讓巴爾古提感到不安。誰會拍下這么多自己家園的照片呢？長大后，“苦路恰是我們慣走的那條街”。相機(jī)通常屬于游客，因為游客渴望留住那些再也不會光顧的地方。害怕把所看到的記錄下來這種非常的行為會坐實這些東西將要失去，他和兒子把相機(jī)扔在一旁，絕望地重新建立自己的歸屬權(quán)，把這個城市稱為家園。
More than anything, Mr Barghouti captures the Palestinians’ frustration at the lack of control over their lives. An endless journey to Jericho is punctuated by checkpoints and crossing a mud-filled chasm in the road with the help of a crane, which picks up the car like a mechanical claw at a fair and swings it across. After this, there is relief in returning to the certainties of Jordan, where “you know how many minutes you will need to get from one place to another”. He can offer no reassurance to his mother as she tells him to take care of himself. “If an Arab ruler wishes to arrest me, he will without doubt arrest me. If a policeman wants to kick me in the stomach and liver, he will without doubt kick me.” In this impotence lies the point of the Palestinian occupation.
特別地，巴爾古提捕捉到了巴勒斯坦人對生活缺乏控制的沮喪。到杰里科的旅程沒有盡頭，不時被檢查站打斷，靠起重機(jī)的幫助穿過路上的一個泥坑，起重機(jī)象展銷會上的機(jī)械爪一樣抓住汽車，把它擺吊過去。此后，回到約旦，確定的事情讓人寬慰，在約旦“你知道從一個地方到另一個地方將需要多少分鐘”。當(dāng)他的母親告訴他要照顧自己時，他無法讓母親安心。“如果阿拉伯統(tǒng)治者想要逮捕我，毫無疑問地他會逮捕我。如果警察想要非難我，毫無疑問地他會非難我。”在巴勒斯坦被占領(lǐng)的那一刻這種無能無力就開始存在了。
Mr Barghouti’s frustration boils over at the well-meaning curiosity of friends who wonder at his fixation with his village and who point to the beautiful vastness of the world beyond Palestine. The author reminds them, and the reader, that he, unlike them, had no choice in his wanderings and has little hope of returning home. A salutary lesson.
巴爾古提的沮喪激發(fā)了朋友們善意的好奇心，他們不知道他對自己村莊的固戀，指出巴勒斯坦以外的世界美麗浩瀚。作者提醒他們，也提醒讀者，他不像他們，在流浪中他別無選擇，回家的希望渺茫。真是一個有益的教訓(xùn)。
