Part 3 Chapter 6

I N THE FOURTH year of our word-driven, wordless contact, a note arrived. “Kid, the last story was especially nice. Thank you. Hanna.”

It was lined paper, torn out of a notebook, and cut smooth. The message was right up at the top, and filled three lines. It was written in blue smudged ballpoint pen. Hanna had been pressing hard on the pen; the letters went through to the other side. She had also written the address with a great deal of pressure; the imprint¹ was legible on the bottom and top halves of the paper, which was folded in the middle.

At first glance, one might have taken it for a child’s handwriting. But what is clumsy and awkward in children’s handwriting was forceful here. You could see the resistance Hanna had had to overcome to make the lines into letters and the letters into words. A child’s hand will wander off this way and that, and has to be kept on track. Hanna’s hand didn’t want to go anywhere and had to be forced. The lines that formed the letters started again each time on the upstroke, the downstroke, and before the curves and loops. And each letter was a victory over a fresh struggle, and had a new slant² or slope, and often the wrong height or width.

I read the note and was filled with joy and jubilation³. “She can write, she can write!” In these years I had read everything I could lay my hands on to do with illiteracy⁴. I knew about the helplessness in everyday activities, finding one’s way or finding an address or choosing a meal in a restaurant, about how illiterates⁵ anxiously stick to prescribed patterns and familiar routines, about how much energy it takes to conceal⁶ one’s inability to read and write, energy lost to actual living. Illiteracy is dependence⁷. By finding the courage to learn to read and write, Hanna had advanced from dependence to independence, a step towards liberation.

Then I looked at Hanna’s handwriting and saw how much energy and struggle the writing had cost her. I was proud of her. At the same time, I was sorry for her, sorry for her delayed and failed life, sorry for the delays and failures of life in general. I thought that if the right time gets missed, if one has refused or been refused something for too long, it’s too late, even if it is finally tackled with energy and received with joy. Or is there no such thing as “too late”? Is there only “late,” and is “late” always better than “never”? I don’t know.

After the first note came a steady stream of others. They were always only a few lines, a thank you, a wish to hear more of a particular author or to hear no more, a comment on an author or a poem or a story or a character in a novel, an observation about prison. “The forsythia is already in flower in the yard” or “I like the fact that there have been so many storms this summer” or “From my window I can see the birds flocking to fly south”—often it was Hanna’s note that first made me pay attention to the forsythia, the summer storms, or the flocks of birds. Her remarks about literature often landed astonishingly on the mark. “Schnitzler barks, Stefan Zweig is a dead dog” or “Keller needs a woman” or “Goethe’s poems are like tiny paintings in beautiful frames” or “Lenz must write on a typewriter.” Because she knew nothing about the authors, she assumed they were contemporaries, unless something indicated this was obviously impossible. I was astonished at how much older literature can actually be read as if it were contemporary; to anyone ignorant of history, it would be easy to see ways of life in earlier times simply as ways of life in foreign countries.

I never wrote to Hanna. But I kept reading to her. When I spent a year in America, I sent cassettes from there. When I was on vacation or was particularly busy, it might take longer for me to finish the next cassette; I never established a definite rhythm, but sent cassettes sometimes every week or two weeks, and sometimes only every three or four weeks. I didn’t worry that Hanna might not need my cassettes now that she had learned to read by herself. She could read as well. Reading aloud was my way of speaking to her, with her.

I kept all her notes. The handwriting changed. At first she forced the letters into the same slant and the right height and width. Once she had managed that, she became lighter⁸ and more confident. Her handwriting never became fluid, but it acquired something of the severe beauty that characterizes the writing of old people who have written little in their lives.

　　当我们的这种时而喋喋不休，时而无话可说的交流进行到第四个年头的时候，她寄来了一份问候："小家伙，上一个故事特别好。谢谢。汉娜。"

　　纸是带横线的，是从写字本上撕下来并剪得整齐的一页。问候写在最上边，占了三行，是用蓝色的圆珠笔写的。汉娜写的字用力很重，都印透到纸的背面了。地址也是用力写的。这个从中间折叠起来的纸条，上下都可看出字印。

　　第一眼看上去人们可能会认为这是一个孩子的字体，但是孩子的字体尽管不熟练，不流畅，却不这么用力。为了把直线变成字母，再把字母变成文字，汉娜要克服种种阻力。孩子的手可以挪来挪去，随着字体而变化。汉娜的手不知向什么方向移动，但又必须移动。写一个字母要下好几次笔，上划下一次笔，下划下一次笔，弧线下一次笔，延长线再下一次笔。每个字母都要付出新的努力，结果还是里出外进，高低不一。

　　我读着她的问候，心里充满了欢喜："她会写字了！她会写字了！"那些年里，能找到的有关文盲的文章我都读过了。我知道他们在日常生活中，如在找路，找地址或在饭店点菜时多么需要帮助，在按照约定俗成的规矩和传统的习惯做法行事时多么提心吊胆，在掩饰自己不具备读写能力时多么煞费苦心，他们因此而不能正常生活。文盲等于不成熟。汉娜鼓起勇气去学习读写，这标志着她已经从未成年向成年迈出了一步，脱离蒙昧的一步。

　　然后，我仔细观察汉娜的字，我看到了她为此付出了多少劳动，我为她感到自豪。与此同时，我又为她感到伤心，为来迟和错过的生活而感到伤心，为生活的迟来和错过而感到伤心。我在想，如果一个人错过了最佳的时间，如果一个人长期拒绝某事，如果一个人过久地被某事所拒绝，即使最终他开始花力气去做并乐此不疲，那么也为时太晚了。或许不存在"太晚"的问题，而只存在"晚不晚"的问题？而且，无论如何"晚"要比"从未"好？我搞不清。

　　在接到第一封问候信之后，我就不断地收到她的来信。总是寥寥几行字，或一份谢意，或一份祝福，或想更多地听同一位作者，或不想听了，或对一位作者、一首诗、一个故事、一本小说中的人物评论几句，或在监狱里看到一件什么事。"院子里的连翘已经开花了"，或者"我希望今年夏天雷雨天多点"，或者"从窗内向外眺望，我看到鸟儿是怎样地聚集在一起飞向南方的"。常常是汉娜的描述让我注意到连翘、夏日的雷雨或聚集在一起的鸟儿。她对文学的评论经常准确很令人惊讶不已："施尼茨勒在吠叫，斯特凡茨韦格是条死狗"，或者'凯勒需要一个女人"，或者"歌德的诗就像镶嵌在漂亮框架里的一幅小画"，或者"伦茨一定是用打字机写作的"。由于她对作者们的情况一无所知，所以，只要他们不是明显地不属于同代人，她都把他们视为同代人，她的评论也都是以此为前提做出的。实际上有多少早期文学作品读起来像现代作品呢？我对此感到困惑。不了解历史的人反而更能看清历史，旁观者清嘛。

　　我从未给汉娜回过信，但是我一直在为她朗读。我曾在美国逗留了一年，这期间我就从美国寄录音带给她。当我去度假或者特别忙的时候，录好下一盒录音带的时间可能就要长些。我给她寄录音带没有固定的周期，或一周一次，或两周一次，有时也可能隔三周或四周之后才寄。现在汉娜学会了阅读，也可能不再需要我的录音带了，那我也就不那么着急了。尽管如此，她可能仍然喜欢我给她阅读。朗读是我与她交谈的一种方式。

　　我把她所有的信都保存了起来。她的字体也有所改变，起初，她努力把字母写得工整，但却很不自如，后来就轻松自信多了，但是，她的字从未达到熟练的程度，却达到了某种严谨美，看上去像是一生中很少写字的老年人所写的字。

1 imprint   

n.印痕，痕迹；深刻的印象；vt.压印，牢记

参考例句：

• That dictionary is published under the Longman imprint.那本词典以朗曼公司的名义出版。
• Her speech left its imprint on me.她的演讲给我留下了深刻印象。

2 slant   

v.倾斜，倾向性地编写或报道；n.斜面，倾向

参考例句：

• The lines are drawn on a slant.这些线条被画成斜线。
• The editorial had an antiunion slant.这篇社论有一种反工会的倾向。

3 jubilation   

n.欢庆，喜悦

参考例句：

• The goal was greeted by jubilation from the home fans.主场球迷为进球欢呼。
• The whole city was a scene of jubilation.全市一片欢腾。

4 illiteracy   

n.文盲

参考例句：

• It is encouraging to read that illiteracy is declining.从读报中了解文盲情况正在好转，这是令人鼓舞的。
• We must do away with illiteracy.我们必须扫除文盲。

5 illiterates   

目不识丁者( illiterate的名词复数 )； 无知

参考例句：

• In 1996, an additional four million young and adult illiterates learned to read and write. 1996年，全国又减少了400万青壮年文盲。
• Even semi-illiterates can read the writing on the wall, and many are throwing in the towel. 即使是知识不多的人也能看出不祥之兆。许多人认输了。

6 conceal   

v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽

参考例句：

• He had to conceal his identity to escape the police.为了躲避警方，他只好隐瞒身份。
• He could hardly conceal his joy at his departure.他几乎掩饰不住临行时的喜悦。

7 dependence   

n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属

参考例句：

• Doctors keep trying to break her dependence of the drug.医生们尽力使她戒除毒瘾。
• He was freed from financial dependence on his parents.他在经济上摆脱了对父母的依赖。

8 lighter   

n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级

参考例句：

• The portrait was touched up so as to make it lighter.这张画经过润色，色调明朗了一些。
• The lighter works off the car battery.引燃器利用汽车蓄电池打火。