沈从文《雪晴》中英双语 -《湘西散记：汉英对照》

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雪晴

竹林中一片斑鸠声，浸入我迷蒙意识里。一切都若十分陌生又极端荒唐。这是我初到“高枧”地方第二天一个雪晴的早晨。

我躺在一铺楠木雕花大板床上，包裹在带有干草和干果香味的新被絮里。细白麻布帐子如一座有顶盖的方城，在这座方城中，我已甜甜的睡足了十个钟头。昨天在二尺来深雪中走了四五十里山路的劳累已恢复过来了。房正中那个白铜火盆，昨夜用热灰掩上的炭火，不知什么时候已被人拨开，加上了些新栗炭，从炭盆中小火星的快乐爆炸继续中，我渐次由迷蒙渡到完全清醒。我明白，我又起始活在一种现代传奇中了。

昨天来到这里以前，几个人几只狗在积雪被覆的溪涧中追逐狐狸，共同奔赴蹴起一阵如云如雾雪粉，人的欢呼兽的低嗥所形成一种生命的律动，和午后雪晴冷静景物相配衬，那个动人情景再现到我的印象中时，已如离奇的梦魇。加上初进到村子里，从融雪带泥的小径，绕过了碾坊、榨油坊，以及夹有融雪寒意半涧溪水如奔如赴的小溪河迈过，转入这个有喜庆事的庄宅。在灯火煌煌笳鼓竞奏中，和几个小乡绅同席对杯，参加主人家喜筵的热闹，所得的另外一堆印象，增加了我对于现实处境的迷惑。因此各个印象不免重叠起来。印象虽重叠却并不混淆，正如同一支在演奏中的乐曲，兼有细腻和壮丽，每件乐器所发出的每个音响，即使再低微也异常清晰，且若各有位置，独立存在，一一可以摄取。新发醅的甜米酒，照规矩连缸抬到客席前，当众揭开盖覆，一阵子向上泛涌泡沫的嗞嗞细声，却不曾被院坪中尖锐呜咽的唢呐声所淹没。屋主人老太太，银白头发上簪的那朵大红山茶花，在新娘子十二幅大红绉罗裙照映中，也依然异样鲜明。还有那些成熟待年的女客人，共同浸透了青春热情黑而有光的眼睛，亦无不如各有一种不同分量压在我的记忆上。我眼中被屋外积雪返光形成一朵紫茸茸的金黄镶边的葵花，在荡动不居情况中老是变化，想把握无从把握，希望它稍稍停顿也不能停顿。过去印象也因之随同这个而动荡、鲜明、华丽，闪闪烁烁摇摇晃晃。

眼中的葵花已由紫和金黄转成一片金绿相错的幻画，还正旋转不已。

……筵席上凡是能喝的，都醉倒了。住处还远应走路的，点上火燎唱着笑着回家了。奏乐帮忙的，下到厨房，用烧酒和大肉丸子肥腊肉肿了脖子，补偿疲劳，各自方便，或抱了大捆稻草，钻进空谷仓房里去睡觉，或晃着火把，上油坊玩天九牌过夜去了，我自然也得有个落脚处。一家之主的老太太，站在厅堂前面，张罗周至的打发了许多事情后，就手抖抖的，举起一个芝麻秆扎成的火炬，准备引导我到一个特意为我安排好的住处去。面前的火炬照着我，不用担心会滑滚到雪中，老太太白发上那朵大红山茶花，恰如另外一个火炬，使我回想起三十年前祖母辈分老一派贤惠能勤一家之主的种种。但是我最关心的，还是跟随我身后，抱了两床新装钉的棉被，一个年青乡下大姑娘，也好像一个火炬。我还不知道她是什么人。她原来在厅前灯光所不及处，和一个收拾乐器的乡下人说话，老太太在厅中问：“巧秀，巧秀，可是你？”“是我！”“是你，你就帮帮忙，把铺盖送到后屋里去。”于是三个人从先一时还灯烛煌煌笳鼓竞奏的正厅，转入这所大庄宅最僻静的侧院。两种环境的对照，以及行列的离奇，已增加了我对于处境的迷惑。到住处房中后，四堵白木板壁把一盏灯罩擦得清亮的美孚灯灯光聚拢，我才能够从灯光下，看清楚为我抱衾抱裯的一位面目。十七岁年纪，一双清亮的眼睛，一张两角微向上翘的小嘴，一个在发育中肿得高高的胸脯，一条乌梢蛇似的大发辫。说话时一开口即带点儿羞怯的微笑，关不住青春生命秘密悦乐的微笑。可是，事实上这时节她却一声不响，不笑，只静静站在那个楠木花板大床边，帮同老太太为我整理被盖。我站在屋正中火盆边，一面烘手，一面游目四瞩，欣赏房中的动静：那个似静实动的白发髻上的大红山茶花，似动实静的十七岁姑娘的眉目和四肢……那双清明无邪的眼睛，在这个万山环绕不上二百五十户人家的小村落中看过了些什么事情？那张含娇带俏的小嘴，到想唱歌时，应当唱些什么歌？还有那颗心，平时为屋后大山豺狼的长嗥声，盘在水缸边碗口大黄喉蛇的歇凉呼气声，训练得稳定结实，会不会还为什么新事情而剧烈跳跃？我难道还不愿意放弃作一个画家的痴梦？真的画起来，第一笔应捕捉眼睛上的青春光辉，还是应保持这个嘴角边的温情笑意？我还觉得有点儿不可解，整理床铺，怎么不派个普通长工来帮忙，岂不是大家省事？既要来，怎么不是一个人，还得老太太同来？等等就会走去，难道也必须和老太太两人一道走？倘若不，我又应当怎么样？这一切，对于我真是一份离奇的教育。我不由得不笑了。在这些无头无绪遐想中，我可说是来到乡下的“乡下人”。

我说：“对不起，对不起，我这客人真麻烦老太太！麻烦这位大姐！老太太实在过累了，应当早早休息了吧。”

从那个忍着笑代表十七岁年纪微向上翘的嘴角，我看出一种回答，意思清楚分明。

“哪样对不起？你们城里人就会客气。”

的确是，城里人就会客气，礼貌周到，然而总不甚诚实得体。好像这个批评当真是从对面来的，我无言可回，沉默了。

到两人为我把床铺整理好时，老太太就拍一拍那个绣有“长命富贵”的扣花枕帕的旧式硬枕，口中轻轻的近于祝愿的语气说：“好好睡，睡到大亮再醒，不叫你你就莫醒！”且把衣袖中预藏的一个小小红纸包儿，悄悄的塞到枕头下去。我虽看见只装作不曾看见。于是，两个人相对笑笑，有会于心的笑笑，像是办完一件大事，摇摇灯座，油还不少，扭一扭灯头，看机关灵活不灵活。又验看一下茶壶，炖在炭盆边很稳当。一种母性的体贴，把凡是想得到的都注意一下，再就说了几句不相干的闲话，一齐走了。我因之陷入一种完全孤寂中。听到两人在院转角处踏雪声和笑语声。这是什么意思？充满好奇的心情，伸手到枕下掏摸，果然就抓住了一样东西，一个被封好的谜。试小心裁开一看，原来是包寸金糖。知道老太太是依照一种乡村古旧的仪式。乡下习惯，凡新婚人家，对于未结婚的陌生男客，照例是不留宿的。若特别客人留在家里住宿时，必祝福他安睡。恐客人半夜里醒来有所见闻，大早不知忌讳，信口胡说，就预先用一包糖甜甜口，封住了嘴。一切离不了象征。唯其象征，简单仪式中即充满牧歌的抒情。我因为记得一句俗话，“入境问俗”，早经人提及过，可绝想不到自己即参加了这一角。我明早上将说些什么？是不是凡这时想起的种种，也近于一种忌讳？五十里的雪中长途跋涉，已把我的身体弄得十分疲倦，在灯火煌煌笳鼓竞奏的喜筵上，甜酒和笑谑所酿成的空气中，乡村式的欢乐的流注，再加上那个十七岁乡下大姑娘所能引起我的幻想或联想，似乎把我的灵魂也弄得相当疲倦。因此，躺入那个暖和、轻软、有干草干果香味的棉被中，不多久，就被睡眠完全收拾了。

现在我又呼吸于这个现代传奇中了。炭盆中火星还在轻微爆炸。假若我早醒五分钟，是不是会发现房门被一只手轻轻推开时，就有一双眼睛一张嘴随同发现？是不是忍着笑踮起脚进到房中后，一面整理火盆，一面还向窗口悄悄张望，一种朴质与狡猾的混和，只差开口：“你们城里人就会客气。”到这种情形下，我应当忽然跃起，稍微不大客气的惊吓她一下，还是尽含着糖，不声不响？我不能够这样尽躺着。油紫色带锦绶的斑鸠，已在雪中咕咕咕呼朋集伴。我得看看雪晴清晨的庄宅，办过喜事后的庄宅，那分零乱，那分静。屋外的溪涧、寒林和远山，为积雪掩覆初阳照耀那分调和，那分美。还有雪原中路坎边那些孤兔鸦雀经行的脚迹，象征生命多方的图案画。但尤其使我发生兴趣感到关切的，也许还是另外一件事情。新娘子按规矩就得下厨，经过一系列亲友领先布置的开心笑料，是不是有些狼狈周章？大清早和丈夫到井边去挑水时，是个什么情景？那一双眉毛，是不是当真于一夜中就有了变化，一眼望去即能辨别？有了变化后，和另外那一位年纪十七岁的成熟待时大姑娘比较起来，究竟有什么不同处？……

盥洗完毕，走出前院去，尽少开口胡说。且想找寻一个人，带我到后山去望望并证实所想象的种种时，“莫道行人早，还有早行人”，不意从前院大胡桃树下，便看见那作新郎的朋友，正蹲在雪地上一大团毛物边，有所检视。才知道新郎还是按照向例，天微明即已起身，带了猎枪和两个长工，上后山绕了一转，把装套处一一看过，把所得的已收拾回来。从这个小小堆积中，我发现了两只麻兔，一只长尾山猫，一只灰獾，两匹黄鼠狼。装置捕机的地面，不出庄宅后山，半里路范围内，一夜中即有这么多触网入彀的生物。而且从那不同的形体，不同的毛色，想想每一个不同的生命，在如何不同情形中，被大石块压住腰部，头尾翘张，动弹不得；或被圈套扣住了前脚高悬半空挣扎得精疲力竭，垂头死去；或是被机关木梁竹签，扎中肢体某一部分，在痛苦惶惧中，先是如何努力挣扎，带着绝望的低嘶，挣扎无从，精疲力竭后，方充满悲苦的激情，沉默下来，等待天明，到末了还是不免同归于尽。这一摊毛茸茸的野物，陈列在这片雪地上，真如一幅动人的图画。但任何一种图画，却不会将这个近乎不可思议的生命的复杂与多方，好好表现出来。

后园竹林中的斑鸠呼声，引起了朋友的注意。我们于是一齐向后园跑去。朋友撒了一把绿豆到雪地上，又将另一把绿豆灌入那支旧式猎枪中，藏身在一垛稻草后，有所等待。不到一会儿，枪声响处，那对飞下雪地啄食绿豆的斑鸠，即中了从枪管喷出的绿豆，躺在雪中了。吃早饭时，新娘子第一回下厨做的菜中，就有一盘辣子炒斑鸠。

一面吃饭一面听新郎述说下大围猎虎的故事，使我仿佛加入了那个在自然壮丽背景中，人与另外一种生物充满激情的剧烈争斗与游戏的过程。新娘子的眉毛还是弯弯的，让我老想要问一句话，又像因为昨晚老太太塞在枕下那一包糖，当真封住了口，无从启齿。可是从外面跑来的一个长工，却代替了我，打破了桌边沉默，在桌前向主人急促陈述：

“老太太，队长，你家巧秀，有人在坳上亲眼看到。昨天吹唢呐的那个中寨人，把你家大姑娘巧秀拐跑了。一定是向鸦拉营方向跑，要追还追得上。巧秀背了个小小包袱，还笑嘻嘻的！”

“嗐，咦！”一桌吃饭的人，都为这个消息给愣住了。这个集中情绪的一刹那，使我意识到一件事，即眉毛比较已无可希望。

我一个人重新枯寂的坐在这个小房间火盆边，听着炖在火盆上铜壶里的白水沸腾，好像失去了一点儿什么，不经意被那一位收拾在那个小小包袱中，带到一个不可知的小地方去了。不过事实上倒应当说“得到”了一点儿什么。只是得到的究竟是什么？我问你。算算时间，我来到这个乡下还只是第二天，除掉睡眠，耳目官觉和这里一切接触还不足七小时，生命的丰满、洋溢，把我的感情或理性，已给完全混乱了。

阳光上了窗棂，屋外檐前正滴着融雪水。我年纪刚满十八岁。

After Snow

The cooing of turtle-doves in a clump of bamboos seeped into my hazy consciousness. Everything seemed completely strange and most fantastic. It was early in the morning of the second day of my first visit to Gaoxian, just after a fall of snow.

I was lying on a big carved hardwood bed, snug in a new quilt redolent of hay and dried fruit. Inside its fine white linen bed-curtain, like a square roofed-over citadel, I had been sleeping soundly for ten hours. I had recovered from the fatigue of our forty to fifty li trek through two feet of snow in the hills the previous day. In the white copper brazier in the centre of the room, someone had cleared away the charcoal covered the evening before with ashes and added fresh sticks of charcoal.As the small flames in the brazier kept up a cheerful sputtering I gradually woke up completely from my stupor. I realized that once again I was starting to live in a modern type of romance.

Before reaching here the previous day, some friends and I with our hounds had hunted foxes beside brooks drifted over with snow. Racing along together we had raised flurries of snowy,misty powder, our gleeful shouts and the snarls of the dogs making up a kind of rhythm of life contrasting with the chilly,tranquil afternoon scene now that the snow had stopped. When that stirring scene came back to my mind it was already fantastic as a nightmare. What’s more, entering the village by a slushy path, we had skirted a mill and oilpress then crossed a brook,chilly with melted snow and half-filled with running water, to turn into this manor-house where a wedding was taking place.Under blazing lights, amidst the rousing music of pipes and drums, we sat down at a table with some of the small local gentry to toast each other; and taking part in my host’s lively wedding feast brought me a multitude of different impressions, adding to my bewilderment in this real-life situation. So, inevitably,these impressions accumulated and yet remained distinct, like a performance of music combining tenderness and magnificence in which you can distinguish remarkably clearly the different notes of each instrument, no matter how soft, as if each has its own place and independent existence. As custom prescribed, freshly brewed sweet rice-wine was brought in its vat right up to the table and opened in the presence of the guests. The faint fizz of the bubbles rising to the surface was not drowned by the strident blare of the suona in the courtyard. The scarlet camellia in the silver hair of the matriarch of the house, lit up by the scarlet pleated crêpe skirt of the bride, still looked remarkably vivid. The young women guests as well, their shining black eyes flooded with the warmth of spring, each and all imprinted themselves to varying degrees on my memory. The light reflected into my eyes from the snowdrifts outside formed a purple sunflower with a golden border, which kept changing so fast that there was no grasping it. If only it would stop shifting for a second, but, no, it would not. So my earlier impressions followed its fluctuations:fresh, brilliant, dazzling, oscillating.

By now the purple and gold sunflower in my eyes had changed into a golden-green illusory picture, still revolving constantly.

… All the drinkers at the feast were drunk now. It was time for those who lived at a distance to leave. Torches were lit and they started home singing and laughing. The musicians and other helpers went to the kitchen to make up for their fatigue with liquor, big meat balls and preserved fatty meat. All were free to do as they pleased. Some took a sheaf of straw into an empty barn to sleep; others went off flourishing torches to play dominoes all night in the oil-press. I naturally needed somewhere to stay too.After the matriarch, standing in front of the hall, had attended to many tasks to her satisfaction, with a trembling hand she picked up a torch woven from sesame stalks to lead me to the quarters specially prepared for me. With the torch in front lighting my way, I did not have to worry about slipping on the snow; and the scarlet camellia in the old lady’s white hair was just like another torch, reminding me of my grandmother’s generation who, thirty years before, had been such excellent housewives. What intrigued me most, however, was the country girl, also like a torch, who followed me carrying two newly made-up quilts. I had no idea who she was. She had been talking with one of the villagers putting away the musical instruments in a part of the hall in the shadows beyond the lamplight. The old lady in the hall had asked, “Qiaoxiu, Qiaoxiu, is that you?” “Yes, it is!” “Then come and help carry the bedding to the back room.” Then the three of us left the hall, so recently blazing with lamps and ringing with music, and turned into the quietest side court of this big manor house. The contrast between these different surroundings, and our fantastic file, added to my bewilderment over my situation. When we reached the room where I was to stay, its four unvarnished wooden partitions reflected the light of a paraffin lamp with a brightly polished chimney. By its light I was able to have a good look at the face of the girl who had brought over my bedding.She appeared about seventeen, bright-eyed, with a rosebud mouth that curved up slightly at the corners, high, swelling breasts and a big plait like a black snake. When she spoke it was with a shy smile, a smile which could not conceal the secret happiness of the springtime of life. Actually, though, at that time she neither spoke nor smiled, just stood quietly by the big carved hardwood bed to help the old lady make it up for me. I stationed myself beside the brazier in the middle of the room, warming my hands and glancing round, enjoying the scene in the room: the scarlet camellia on white hair which seemed to be still but was moving,the features and figure of the girl of seventeen who seemed to be moving but was still … Those limpid, innocent eyes, what had they seen in this little village of no more than two hundred and fifty households surrounded by countless hills? What songs should float from that pouting rosebud mouth if she was moved to sing? And her heart, trained to steady staunchness by the drawn out howls of wolves on the mountain behind the house and the hisses of the yellow snake, as thick as the mouth of a rice bowl,which coiled by the water vat, would it beat faster because of some new event? Surely I was still unwilling to abandon my dream of becoming a painter. If I were really to paint her, should the first stroke capture the light of spring in her eyes or the gentle smile on the corners of her lips? I still found it inexplicable: why hadn’t they sent an ordinary hired hand to help prepare my bed?Wouldn’t that have saved trouble all round? And why hadn’t she come on her own, instead of being accompanied by the old lady?When she left presently, must it still be with the old lady? And if not, what should I do? All this was truly a fantastic experience for me. I could not help smiling. In this tangle of speculations I could be described as a “country bumpkin” coming to the countryside.

I said, “I do apologize for putting you to so much trouble,madam! And this elder sister too. Yoo must be tired out, madam,you ought to turn in early.”

My answer came from the upturned lips repressing a smile,representing seventeen. The meaning was quite clear.

“Why apologize? You townsfolk are just so polite.”

Yes, townsfolk only manage to be polite and punctilious,but are never too honest or reliable. Having no answer for this unspoken criticism, I remained silent.

When the two of them had finished making my bed, the old lady patted the old-fashioned hard pillow, its pillowcase embroidered with the words, “long life, riches and honour”.She murmured, as if uttering a benediction, “Sleep well. Don’t wake before it’s light and we call you!” Then from one sleeve she produced a small red paper package she had hidden there,and tucked it surreptitiously under the pillow. I pretended not to have noticed. The two of them then exchanged significant smiles,as if they had accomplished some important task. The lamp was shaken to make sure that there was enough paraffin in it. Its knob was turned to make sure that it worked. The teapot was inspected,securely ensconced on one side of the brazier. Attention was paid to everything that showed the old lady’s motherly concern, and then after a little small talk the two of them left. That plunged me into total solitude. I heard them crunching through the snow in the corner of the courtyard, laughing and chatting. What did this mean? Consumed by curiosity I felt under the pillow for the mysterious package. Unwrapping it carefully I found that it contained sweets, and knew that the old lady had conformed to a time-honoured village custom. In the countryside, when a family has a wedding, they do not put up bachelors as guests. If for some special reason one is kept for the night, they must wish him a good night’s sleep. For fear that he may wake up in the night and blab the next morning of what he has seen or heard, which is taboo, he is given a package of sweets in advance to sweeten his tongue and seal his lips. And this simple ceremony, though purely symbolic, is fully as lyrical as an idyll. I remembered the saying“Fall in with local customs”, but although I had been forewarned I had never dreamed of taking part in such a scene myself. What should I say the next morning? Were all the thoughts crossing my mind virtually taboo? After trekking all those sixty li through the snow I was completely worn out, emotionally exhausted too by the sweet rice wine and the jokes and laughter at the wedding feast with its bright lights and rousing music, the rustic merrymaking as well as the fancies and associations called up by that country girl of seventeen. So, soon after I snuggled into the warm, soft quilt redolent of hay and dried fruit, I fell sound asleep.

Now I was once again breathing in this modern romance.The sparks in the brazier were still sputtering. Had I woken five minutes earlier, would I have seen the door of the room softly opened, seen a pair of eyes and a mouth? Suppose she had tiptoed in, repressing a smile, to attend to the brazier and peep out of the window, a blend of simplicity and craftiness, only refraining from saying, “You townsfolk are just so polite.” Had that happened,should I have jumped up not too politely to give her a fright,or would I have remained silent, still sucking those sweets? I could not stay in bed. Glossy purple turtle-doves with ruffs were already cooing to their friends in the snow. I must have a look at the manor-house this fine morning after the snow, must see its disarray and stillness after the wedding. Must see the beauty and harmony of the brook, winter woods and mountains in the distance covered with snow and lit up by the morning sun. And the tracks of foxes, rabbits and birds beside the sunken roads in the snowy plain would symbolize and illustrate the many facets of life. But perhaps what interested and concerned me most was something else. It was the rule for the bride to go to the kitchen,where relatives and friends would have prepared all sorts of tricks to play—would she be embarrassed or nervous? What had it been like, first thing in the morning, when she and her husband went to the well to draw water? Had her eyebrows really altered overnight? Would I see the difference at a glance? If an alteration had taken place, what difference would there be between her and that nubile girl of seventeen?

After rinsing my mouth and washing I went to the front courtyard, reminding myself not to talk foolishly. I wanted to find someone to take me up the back hill to see and confirm all I had imagined there. But early as it was, I was not the first out. From under the big walnut tree in the front yard I saw my friend, the bridegroom, squatting down to examine a heap of furry creatures.I knew then that he had got up at dawn, as his rule was, to make a round of the hill at the back, taking his rifle and two hired hands. They examined their traps one by one, and brought home their catches. In the heap on the ground I saw two hares, a long tailed wild-cat, a grey badger and two weasels. All the traps had been set on the hill behind, only half a li in circumference;yet in one night they had caught so much game. And from their different forms, their different coloured fur, one imagined how each different creature under such different circumstances had been pinned to the ground by a heavy stone on its back, its head and tail sticking out, unable to move. Some when trapped might scrabble with their front paws in the air until exhaustion set in and their heads drooped in death. Others might be pierced by a bamboo spike in the trap; in pain and panic they first struggled might and main with low, despairing cries, to no avail; then, worn out, waited in silent dread for the dawn and the death which there was no escaping. This heap of furry game displayed on the snow made a really moving picture. But no picture could fully convey the complexity and variety of these wellnigh unimaginable lives.

The cooing of the turtle-doves in the bamboos in the back courtyard attracted my friend’s attention. So both of us ran there. He scattered some lentils on the snow, then loaded his old rifle with more lentils and waited under cover behind a haystack.Presently shots rang out, and two turtle-doves which had flown down to peck up the lentils on the snow were hit by those fired from his rifle and flopped down in the snow. At breakfast, one of the first dishes cooked by the bride in her new kitchen was turtledove fried with chillies.

At table I listened to the bridegroom’s account of a tiger hunt, and felt I had been present in that stirring natural setting in which men battled fiercely and sported with another creature.The bride’s eyebrows were still arched, making me long to put a question to her; but apparently the sweets stuffed under my pillow by the old lady the night before had really sealed my lips, making me unable to speak. However, a hired hand who came rushing in spoke in my stead, breaking the silence. Standing in front of the table he panted out:

“Madam, captain, your family’s Qiaoxiu—someone’s seen her down in the hollow. That fellow from Zhongzhai, the one who blew the suona yesterday, has carried her off. They must be running away to Yala Camp. You can still catch up with them.Qiaoxiu had a small bundle on her back and was smiling happily!”

“Well! The idea!” All those at the table were stunned by this news. In that second fraught with tension I realized that there was now very little hope of comparing the two girls’ eyebrows.

When next I sat alone in my small room by the brazier, listening to the water in the copper pot on it bubbling, I seemed to have lost something, which the girl had inadvertently put in her little bundle and carried off to some small unknown destination.In fact, though, I ought to speak of “gaining something”. But what, after all, had I gained? I ask you. Reckoning up, this was only my second day in that village and, deducting the time spent sleeping, my sensory contact with everything there lasted less than seven hours. Yet the abundant life with which the place teemed had thrown my emotions, my rational faculty, into complete confusion.

Sunlight stole up the lattice window. Melted snow was dripping from the eaves outside. I had just turned eighteen.

未经允许不得转载：帕布莉卡 » 沈从文《雪晴》中英双语 -《湘西散记：汉英对照》