A WEEK LATER I was standing1 at her door again.
For a week I had tried not to think about her. But I had nothing else to occupy or distract me; the doctor was not ready to let me go back to school, I was bored stiff with books after months of reading, and although friends still came to see me, I had been sick for so long that their visits could no longer bridge the gap between their daily lives and mine, and became shorter and shorter. I was supposed to go for walks, a little further each day, without overexerting myself. I could have used the exertion2.
Being ill when you are a child or growing up is such an enchanted3 interlude! The outside world, the world of free time in the yard or the garden or on the street, is only a distant murmur4 in the sickroom. Inside, a whole world of characters and stories proliferates5 out of the books you read. The fever that weakens your perception as it sharpens your imagination turns the sickroom into someplace new, both familiar and strange; monsters come grinning out of the patterns on the curtains and the carpet, and chairs, tables, bookcases, and wardrobes burst out of their normal shapes and become mountains and buildings and ships you can almost touch although they’re far away. Through the long hours of the night you have the church clock for company and the rumble6 of the occasional passing car that throws its headlights across the walls and ceiling. These are hours without sleep, which is not to say that they’re sleepless7, because on the contrary, they’re not about lack of anything, they’re rich and full. Desires, memories, fears, passions form labyrinths8 in which we lose and find and then lose ourselves again. They are hours when anything is possible, good or bad.
This passes as you get better. But if the illness has lasted long enough, the sickroom is impregnated with it and although you’re convalescing10 and the fever has gone, you are still trapped in the labyrinth9.
I awoke every day feeling guilty, sometimes with my pajama pants damp or stained. The images and scenes in my dreams were not right. I knew I would not be scolded by my mother, or the pastor11 who had instructed me for my confirmation12 and whom I admired, or by my older sister who was the confidante of all my childhood secrets. But they would lecture me with loving concern, which was worse than being scolded. It was particularly wrong that when I was not just idly dreaming, I actively13 fantasized images and scenes.
I don’t know where I found the courage to go back to Frau Schmitz. Did my moral upbringing somehow turn against itself? If looking at someone with desire was as bad as satisfying the desire, if having an active fantasy was as bad as the act you were fantasizing—then why not the satisfaction and the act itself? As the days went on, I discovered that I couldn’t stop thinking sinful thoughts. In which case I also wanted the sin itself.
There was another way to look at it. Going there might be dangerous. But it was obviously impossible for the danger to act itself out. Frau Schmitz would greet me with surprise, listen to me apologize for my strange behavior, and amicably14 say goodbye. It was more dangerous not to go; I was running the risk of becoming trapped in my own fantasies. So I was doing the right thing by going. She would behave normally, I would behave normally, and everything would be normal again.
That is how I rationalized it back then, making my desire an entry in a strange moral accounting15, and silencing my bad conscience. But that was not what gave me the courage to go to Frau Schmitz. It was one thing to tell myself that my mother, my admired pastor, and my older sister would not try to stop me if they really thought about it, but would in fact insist that I go. Actually going was something else again. I don’t know why I did it. But today I can recognize that events back then were part of a lifelong pattern in which thinking and doing have either come together or failed to come together—I think, I reach a conclusion, I turn the conclusion into a decision, and then I discover that acting16 on the decision is something else entirely17, and that doing so may proceed from the decision, but then again it may not. Often enough in my life I have done things I had not decided18 to do. Something—whatever that may be—goes into action; “it” goes to the woman I don’t want to see anymore, “it” makes the remark to the boss that costs me my head, “it” keeps on smoking although I have decided to quit, and then quits smoking just when I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a smoker19 and always will be. I don’t mean to say that thinking and reaching decisions have no influence on behavior. But behavior does not merely enact20 whatever has already been thought through and decided. It has its own sources, and is my behavior, quite independently, just as my thoughts are my thoughts, and my decisions my decisions.
一个星期以后,我又站在了她的门口。
我试了一个星期不去想她。可我又无所事事,没有任何事情可以转移我的注意力,医生还不允许我去上学。读了几个月书以后,读书也令我感到厌倦。朋友们虽然来看我,但我已经病了这么久,他们的来访已经不能在我们之间的日常生活中架起桥梁,再说,他们逗留的时间也越来越短。他们说我该去散步,一天比一天多走一点,又不要累着。其实,我需要这种累。
童年和少年时代生病是多么讨厌!外部世界,庭院里、花园里或大街上的休闲世界的喧嚣只是隐隐约约地传到病房中。里面的病人在阅读,书中的历史和人物世界在屋里滋长。发烧使知觉减弱,使幻想敏锐,病房成了新的即熟悉又陌生的房间。蓬莱蕉在窗帘上显出它的图案,墙壁纸在做鬼脸,桌子、椅子、书架和衣柜堆积如山,像楼房,像轮船,它们近得触手可及,但又十分遥远。伴随病人们度过漫长夜晚的是教堂的钟声,是偶尔开过的汽车的鸣笛声和它的前灯反射到墙上和被子上的灯光。那是些无限但并非失眠的夜晚,不是空虚而是充实的夜晚。病人们时而渴望什么,时而沉浸在回忆中,时而又充满恐惧,时而又快乐不已,这是些好事坏事都可能发生的夜晚。
如果病人的病情有所好转,这种情形就会减少。但如果病人久病不愈,那么.病房就会笼罩上这种气氛,即使是不发烧也会产生这种错乱。
我每天早上醒来都问心有愧,有时睡裤潮湿污秽,因为梦中的情景不正经。我知道,母亲,还有我所尊敬的、为我施坚信礼的牧师以及我可以向其倾吐我童年时代秘密的姐姐,他们都不会责怪我,相反,他们会以一种慈爱的、关心的方式来安慰我。但对我来说,安慰比责怪更让我难受。特别不公平的是,如果不能在梦中被动他梦到那些情景,我就会主动地去想象。
我不知道,我哪儿来的勇气去了史密芝女士那儿。难道道德教育在一定程度上适得其反吗?如果贪婪的目光像肉欲的满足一样恶劣,如果主动想象和幻想行为一样下流的话,那么,为什么不选择肉欲的满足和幻想的行为呢?我一天比一天地清楚,我无法摆脱这种邪念。这样,我决定把邪念付诸行动。
我有一个顾虑,认为去她那儿一定会很危险。但实际上不可能发生这种危险。史密芝女士将会对我的出现表示惊讶,但她会欢迎我,听我为那天的反常行为向她道歉,然后和我友好地告别。不去才危险呢,不去我就会陷入危险的幻想中而不能自拔。去是对的,她的举止会很正常,我的举止也会很正常,一切都会重新正常起来。
就这样,我当时理智地把我的情欲变成了少见的道德考虑,而把内疚隐而不宣。但这并没有给我勇气去史密芝女士那儿。我想,母亲、尊敬的牧师还有姐姐在仔细考虑后不阻止我,反而鼓励我到她那儿去,这是一回事;真的到她那儿去却完全是另一回事。我不知道我为什么去了。现在,在当时发生的事情中我看到了一种模式,一种我的思想和行为始终都没有跳出的模式:凡事我先思考,然后得出一种结论,在做决定时坚持这种结论,然后才知道,做事有其自身的规律,它可能跟着决定走,但也可能不跟着它走。在我的一生中,我做了许多我没有决定去做的事,而有许多我决定去做的事却没去做。但不管做什么都在做。我去见了我不想再见到的女人,在审判长面前拼命地解释一些问题,尽管我决定戒烟了,而且也放弃了吸烟,但当我意识到我是个吸烟者并且想要保持这种状态时,我又继续吸烟了。我不是说思维和决定对行为没有影响,但行为并非总是按事先想好或已决定的那样发生。行为有它自己的方式,同样我的行为也有它自己独特的方式,就像我的思想就是我的思想,我的决定就是我的决定一样。
1 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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2 exertion | |
n.尽力,努力 | |
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3 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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4 murmur | |
n.低语,低声的怨言;v.低语,低声而言 | |
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5 proliferates | |
激增( proliferate的名词复数 ); (迅速)繁殖; 增生; 扩散 | |
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6 rumble | |
n.隆隆声;吵嚷;v.隆隆响;低沉地说 | |
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7 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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8 labyrinths | |
迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 ); (文字,建筑)错综复杂的 | |
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9 labyrinth | |
n.迷宫;难解的事物;迷路 | |
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10 convalescing | |
v.康复( convalesce的现在分词 ) | |
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11 pastor | |
n.牧师,牧人 | |
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12 confirmation | |
n.证实,确认,批准 | |
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13 actively | |
adv.积极地,勤奋地 | |
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14 amicably | |
adv.友善地 | |
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15 accounting | |
n.会计,会计学,借贷对照表 | |
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16 acting | |
n.演戏,行为,假装;adj.代理的,临时的,演出用的 | |
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17 entirely | |
ad.全部地,完整地;完全地,彻底地 | |
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18 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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19 smoker | |
n.吸烟者,吸烟车厢,吸烟室 | |
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20 enact | |
vt.制定(法律);上演,扮演 | |
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