評(píng)論
打印
On Aug. 9, 1945, my great-uncle was out fishing in the Pacific, far enough away from Nagasaki, Japan, that he missed the immediate impact of the atomic bomb dropped by the Americans that day. My great-aunt was in their new house outside Nagasaki; the entire family had only a few days earlier fled the city because my great-uncle feared a repeat of the bombing of Hiroshima.
1945年8月9日，我的叔祖父正在太平洋上出海捕魚，因?yàn)檫h(yuǎn)離日本長(zhǎng)崎，僥幸躲過(guò)了美國(guó)人那天投下的那顆原子彈造成的直接傷害。我的叔祖母當(dāng)時(shí)正在他們位于長(zhǎng)崎市外的新房子中。他們?nèi)規(guī)滋烨安艅倓偘岢鲩L(zhǎng)崎市區(qū)，因?yàn)槲业氖遄娓笓?dān)心廣島的原子彈轟炸會(huì)在長(zhǎng)崎重演。
I heard this story many times during my childhood. Back then, it made me feel that my great-uncle was a clever man. As an adult, I realized he was also very lucky, because cleverness alone cannot keep you safe.
這個(gè)故事我在兒時(shí)聽(tīng)過(guò)許多次。那時(shí)，每回聽(tīng)都讓我覺(jué)得叔祖父真是太聰明了。長(zhǎng)大后我才明白，他同時(shí)還非常幸運(yùn)，因?yàn)楣鈶{聰明并不能保你安然無(wú)恙。
For 36 hours after the earthquake and tsunami that eviscerated the east coast of Japan on March 11th, 2011, I was unable to get any word from my relatives who oversee and live in our family’s Buddhist temple in Iwaki City, south of Sendai, the biggest city near the epicenter. I wondered if they too were lucky and smart.
2011年3月11日，地震和海嘯重創(chuàng)了日本的東海岸，之后的36小時(shí)，我一直無(wú)法與親人們?nèi)〉萌魏温?lián)系。他們?cè)谡鹬懈浇畲蟮某鞘小膳_(tái)南部的磐城，住在我們家族的佛寺中，看護(hù)這座佛寺。我不知道他們這次是否也同樣幸運(yùn)與聰明。
I wanted to know, and I did not want to know. I dipped into the world of the Internet, with its videos of water raging over the farmland and crushed ferries, and then quickly backed out. Not looking at the videos kept reality at bay, because the images of the coastline do not match the Japan that I know.
我很想知道，卻又害怕知道。我上網(wǎng)瀏覽，網(wǎng)上的那些視頻里滔天大水狂暴地吞沒(méi)農(nóng)田，擊碎渡船，然后又迅速退卻。如果不看這些視頻，就無(wú)法知道現(xiàn)實(shí)的殘忍，因?yàn)楫嬅嬷谐霈F(xiàn)的海岸景象與我記憶中的日本判若兩個(gè)世界。
In the Japan that I know, I board the Joban Line train from Ueno station in Tokyo, and travel up the northeast coast to Iwaki City. If it’s spring, the bento stalls in the station sell cherry blossom-themed meals to eat on the train: pink cakes made of mochi rice paste are cut into flower shapes. The train will stop at Kairakuen, a park in Mito City that is famous for its plum blossoms. In the evening, the trees are illuminated from below, making neon pink froth against an indigo sky.
在我記憶中的日本，我常從東京上野車站乘坐常磐線，沿東北海岸北上，直到磐城。如果正值春季，火車站里那些賣盒飯的小攤就會(huì)提供以櫻花為主題的美食——將粉色糯米團(tuán)做成的糕餅都切成櫻花的形狀——讓旅客在火車上享用?；疖嚂?huì)在偕樂(lè)園作短暫停留，偕樂(lè)園是水戶市一個(gè)以梅花著稱的公園。每到晚上，公園里的樹都會(huì)被它們腳下的燈光照亮，在黛藍(lán)色夜空的映襯下，呈現(xiàn)出一片浮華的霓虹樣的粉紅。
Not long after Kairakuen, the train curves and begins to hug the coast. Then I know that I have entered Tohoku, the northern region of Japan where the goddesses and demons of legend seem to be alive and seafood is sweet.
過(guò)了偕樂(lè)園不遠(yuǎn)，火車便會(huì)轉(zhuǎn)彎，開(kāi)始沿著海岸蜿蜒而行。這時(shí)，我就知道已經(jīng)進(jìn)入日本北部地區(qū)了。傳說(shuō)中的女神和魔鬼們似乎還在這里生活，這兒的海鮮非常鮮美。
Often on this journey, I will switch to a local train to get off at Nakoso, a town famous for its inns and hot springs. My favorite spa, Sekinoyu, is just yards off the beach, a vegetation-thick cliff at its back. The waves of the North Pacific crash right outside the windows.
在這段旅程中，我經(jīng)常會(huì)中途換乘當(dāng)?shù)氐幕疖嚕缓笤谖饋?lái)下車。勿來(lái)是一個(gè)小鎮(zhèn)，以旅館和溫泉而聞名。我最喜歡的“關(guān)之湯”溫泉中心距海灘僅數(shù)步之遙，背靠草本繁茂的懸崖，北太平洋的海浪就在窗外恣肆喧騰。
I do not see how the spa could have survived the tsunami. Its web site is eerily still online, with numerous photos of ocean views through the windows of baths and dining rooms; no status update is posted on its main page.
我覺(jué)得那個(gè)溫泉中心不可能逃過(guò)這場(chǎng)海嘯的浩劫。但它的網(wǎng)站卻還幽靈般地在線，那些通過(guò)浴室和餐廳的窗戶拍攝的許多海景照片還在網(wǎng)上。但網(wǎng)站主頁(yè)上卻沒(méi)有更新中心現(xiàn)在的狀況。
The Joban train now does not run any further than Mito City; past this, the tsunami has battered train tracks and highways, making passage nearly impossible. A section of one train was found on its side just north of Iwaki City, the cars abandoned.
現(xiàn)在，常磐線列車走到水戶市就到頭了，水戶往前的鐵軌和公路已經(jīng)被海嘯摧毀，要想通行幾乎是不可能的了。就在磐城北部，人們發(fā)現(xiàn)了一列火車的一部分車身側(cè)躺于路旁，車廂已被廢棄。
The beach where I used to play at Oarai, a town whose name means “big washing” and which sounded romantic in happier times, is covered with sludge. Sendai is home to the most famous and romantic summer festival, Tanabata, when the stars Vega and Altair, who are in love but separated by the Milky Way, are reunited for one night. Sendai, site of many happy pilgrimages for me, has also been pummeled.
我過(guò)去常常來(lái)大洗町的海灘游玩，這個(gè)鎮(zhèn)的名字是“大清洗”的意思。在幸福的時(shí)光里，這個(gè)名字聽(tīng)起來(lái)何其浪漫，但現(xiàn)在，這里的海灘已經(jīng)被淤泥覆蓋了。仙臺(tái)是最為著名和浪漫的一個(gè)夏季節(jié)日七夕節(jié)的故鄉(xiāng)。在七夕這一天，被銀河分隔兩岸的愛(ài)侶織女和牛郎才能相會(huì)，共度一個(gè)團(tuán)圓之夜。我曾多次前往仙臺(tái)旅行，度過(guò)了許多美好的時(shí)光，但如今，它也在海嘯中受到了嚴(yán)重沖擊。
All this has happened even though Japan is arguably better prepared than any other country when it comes to earthquakes and other natural disasters.
應(yīng)該說(shuō)，相比其他國(guó)家，日本在應(yīng)對(duì)地震和其他自然災(zāi)害方面準(zhǔn)備得更加充分。但即便如此，這一切還是發(fā)生了。
When I was a child growing up in California, my Japanese mother would ask me, “How do you know a tsunami is coming?”
我在加利福尼亞長(zhǎng)大，母親是日本人，小時(shí)候她總是問(wèn)我：“你怎么判斷海嘯要來(lái)了呀？”
“When the ocean starts to disappear,” I would say.
“大海開(kāi)始退潮時(shí)，海嘯就來(lái)了?！蔽艺f(shuō)。
“And then what do you do?”
“那你該怎么辦呢？”
“Drop everything and run up a hill.”
“丟下一切東西，跑到山上去?！?/div>
The residents of Fukushima Prefecture would have been taught this as well, and yet most would have had only 15 minutes to understand they had just experienced an earthquake, to notice the sea was retreating, and escape.
福島縣的人們應(yīng)該也學(xué)過(guò)這些知識(shí)，但他們大多數(shù)人也只有15分鐘的時(shí)間來(lái)完成所有事情：明白自己剛剛經(jīng)歷的是一場(chǎng)地震，注意到海水正在退潮，然后拔足逃命。
After 36 hours, I get through to my family at the temple in Iwaki. My relatives are unharmed, but there are new fears of a catastrophic meltdown at the Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant, just 30 miles away. One of the family cars is full of gas, and they assure me that they can escape at a moment’s notice. Fuel is in short supply, so in this, they are lucky.
災(zāi)難發(fā)生36個(gè)小時(shí)之后，我與磐城佛寺里的親人們?nèi)〉昧寺?lián)系。雖然他們都安然無(wú)恙，但是卻面臨著新的恐怖——離他們30英里外的福島第一核電站可能會(huì)發(fā)生災(zāi)難性的核反應(yīng)堆堆芯熔化事故。家里的一輛車已經(jīng)加滿了油，他們向我保證只要一聽(tīng)到通告便可以立刻逃離。當(dāng)下燃油非常短缺，從這點(diǎn)來(lái)看，他們還是幸運(yùn)的。
I would like them to leave right away, but they refuse to flee. The job of the keepers of a Buddhist temple, after all, is to help shepherd souls into and through the afterlife. Since they were children, my cousins have held wakes, chanted sutras over dead bodies, and anticipated the needs of those in mourning. Nuclear fallout or no nuclear fallout, their neighbors will need them.
我想讓他們立即撤離，但他們拒絕這樣做。畢竟，作為佛寺看護(hù)，他們的工作就是為逝者的靈魂進(jìn)入并度過(guò)來(lái)世保駕護(hù)航。在我那些表親們還小的時(shí)候，他們就開(kāi)始為逝者守靈、誦經(jīng)或?yàn)榫訂实娜藗兲峁┧鑾椭?。無(wú)論是否發(fā)生核泄漏，鄉(xiāng)鄰們都需要他們。
After 48 hours, the phone lines are not working again. I sit and wait.
災(zāi)難發(fā)生48小時(shí)之后，電話又打不通了。我只能靜坐以待。
