I never imagined that I would live to be eighty years old; Now I have lived to be eighty years old, but I don't feel like eighty years old at all. Wouldn't that be weird!
I have no ambitions, including the age at which I live. Neither of my parents lived past fifty, so my own original plan was to live to fifty. This has surpassed the parents, which is very good. Somehow, like a spring dream, I lived to be fifty years old. It was the so-called three-year natural disaster. I was miserable and starved for a while. But I was "once shipwrecked", and at the time of the Second World War I was in Germany, and I was tested by an unimaginable hunger to the point of losing my feeling of fullness. Our little disaster, compared with Germany, is really like a small witch; I thus survived that catastrophe smoothly, and my mental outlook at that time was the best period of my life, without feeling any bitterness, and unconsciously broke through my original age plan and passed the fifty-year-old mark.
Fifty-one years later, as if it were a spring dream, suddenly it was in the age of ancient rarity, and I was not allowed to reflect, nor allow me to hesitate. It spanned a decade of catastrophe. Of course, I was doomed and sent to the cowshed. I don't know which way to thank now: Buddha, God, Allah; By chance, I didn't go down a dead end and survived. I survived, and instead of feeling particularly happy, I was sometimes bitten by a sense of remorse. Surviving, maybe there's still some benefit. The climax of my life's writing and translation coincided with this period. The reason is not mysterious: I have gained spare time and time. During the catastrophe, I was beaten to the point where one Buddha was born and two Buddhas ascended to heaven. Later, I stopped beating or scolding, but I became an "untouchable person". For a long time, I was assigned to dig up dung, guard the concierge, keep the phone, and send letters. There were no previous meetings, no previous statements. No one dared to come to me, and few people had the courage to talk to me for a few words. Not a single letter was received in a year or two. I obey the dispatch and command of anyone. Only dare to follow the rules, do not dare to talk and move. Yet my mind is still there, my thoughts are still there, my feelings are still there, my sanity is still there. I don't want to be the walking dead, I have to do something. The ramayana, a great Indian epic of more than two million words, was translated at this time. "Writing forbidden texts behind closed doors on a snowy night", he said that he was happy not to reduce the emperor.
It is as if it is a delicate spring dream, and it has suddenly lived to this day, and the year of eighty years is what the ancients called the old age. Twenty or thirty years back, I, a man with no great ambition in life expectancy, occasionally think of the situation in my old age: crutches, white whiskers, difficult steps, and old dragon clocks. I said that this kind of thing had nothing to do with myself, so I didn't think deeply or much. Where do you know that you have reached this age today. Today is New Year's Day. From midnight in the night, he was already an eighty-year-old man. However, this old scene is really like the ancient poetry said, "The green mist people see nothing", I can't see any old scene. Look at your body, as usual, as in the past. Take a look at your surroundings, as usual, as in the past. The golden morning sun flowed in through the window, as usual, as in the past. The poplar in front of the building is indeed a little thicker, but it looks ordinary, the same as in the past. The season is winter, and the leaves have fallen; But I believe they are curled up in the soil, dreaming of spring. The lotus flowers in the pond are only left with residual leaves, "leaving the residual lotus to listen to the sound of rain", and now the rain is gone, and there is only white residual snow on it. I believe that the lotus flowers are also curled up in the mud, dreaming of spring. In short, I am still me, still the same me; Everything around me is still everything in the past...
Am I also dreaming of spring? I thought, yes. I am also in the cold now, and I dream of the arrival of spring. I believe two quotes from the English poet Shelley: "Since winter has arrived, will spring be far away?" I dreamed that the poplar in front of the building had re-grown thick green leaves; I dreamed that the lotus flowers in the pond had re-emerged with large pale green leaves; I dreamed that spring was back on earth.
But I never expected that the number word "eighty" would have such a great power, a mysterious power. "I'm eighty years old!" I thought to myself in surprise. It forced me to look forward and look back. Looking forward, the road was gray and unclear, but it was not very long. There really isn't much to see. Don't look at it.
Looking back, in the gray and misty mass, I clearly saw a road, the road was extremely long, I walked step by step, the top of this road was in The Official Village of Qingping County. I saw a gray-yellow mud house with the light of the water in the reed pond in the middle, and the faces of my grandmother and mother. The road extended out, and I saw Daming Lake in Quancheng. The road stretched out again, and I saw Mizuki Qinghua, and then I saw the colorful autumn colors of the small German town of Göttingen, on which fluttered the faces of my mother-like landlady and grandfather-like old professor. The road suddenly turned back to the land of Shenzhou from thousands of miles away, and I saw the Red Chamber and the lake light tower shadow of Yanyuan. What was depressing and disturbing was that I saw the vicious face of the cell head of the cowshed again. Looking further, the road shrank, all the way to my feet.
On this very long road, I walked through Yangguan Avenue and also walked across the single wooden bridge. There are deep mountains and large mountains along the road, and there are also pleasant slopes; There are apricot blossom spring rains, and there are also autumn winds in the north of Cyprus; There are mountains and rivers, and there are also willows and dark flowers; There are lost and returned, and there are also desperate circumstances. The road is too long, the time is too long, there are too many shadows, the memories are too heavy. I really felt that I couldn't afford it, I couldn't stand it, I wanted to get rid of it all and give me a free body.
Looking back, since it is so heavy, can you look forward? As I said above, looking ahead, the road is not very long, there is nothing to see. I am now like the one in Lu Xun's prose poem "Passerby". He didn't know where he came from, but finally he went to the old man and the little girl's mud hut and begged for some water. The old man saw that he was exhausted and advised him to take a rest. He said: "From the time I can still remember, I have been walking like this, going to a place, and this place is in front of me. I just remember walking a lot and now I'm here. I'm going to go over there... Moreover, there are voices in front of me that often urge me and call me, so that I can't breathe. "Over there, what's the west side?" The old man said, "In front, there is a grave." The little girl said, "No, no, no." There were a lot of wild lilies, wild roses, and I used to play and go and see them. ”
I understand the mood of this passerby, and I am a passer-by myself. But there was never any voice urging me to go, but like anyone else in the world, I couldn't walk, I didn't have to urge, and I couldn't walk. Where to go? Go to the grave on the west side, which is the destination of all people. I remember that in one of Turgenev's prose poems, this meaning was also stated. I'm not afraid of graves, but after walking so long, I really want to stop and rest for a while. But I can't, whether you like it or not, you can't go anyway. Talking about masturbating, I was not the same as the old man, and in some places I looked like the little girl, and I saw both the grave and the wild lilies and the wild roses.
How many roads are there in front of me? I couldn't say it, and I didn't think about it. Mr. Feng Youlan said: "Why not just rice? Phase with tea. "Rice" is eighty-eight years old and "tea" is one hundred and eight years old. I don't have such ambitions, I am "looking forward to rice". Is this a big ambition? I am a person who does not have great ambitions, and I think this is already a big ambition.
I used to have some thoughts about poor people. After the "Ten Years of Catastrophe", I became a like-minded person of Tao Yuanming. One of his poems I admire:
In the midst of the great wave,
Neither joy nor fear.
It should be done as much as it should be,
Nothing to worry about.
I am now holding this spirit and walking forward with great enthusiasm. Whenever possible, I will do something beneficial to others and never want to be a walking dead. I know that the road ahead will not be straighter and flatter than in the past, but I am not afraid. I still saw the shadows of wild lilies and wild roses flashing in front of my eyes.
January 1, 1991
