朗读者——The Reader  （完结）_派派后花园

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[Novel] 朗读者——The Reader  （完结）

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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

87160鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 20楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER THREE

T HE TRIAL was in another town, about an hour’s drive away. I had no other reason ever to go there. Another student drove. He had grown up there and knew the place.
It was a Thursday. The trial had begun on Monday. The first three days of proceedings had been taken up with defense motions to recuse. Our group was the fourth, and so would witness the examination of the defendants at the actual start of proceedings.
We drove along Bergstrasse under blossoming fruit trees. We were bubbling over with exhilaration: finally we could put all our training into practice. We did not feel like mere spectators, or listeners, or recorders. Watching and listening and recording were our contributions to the exploration of history.
The court was in a turn-of-the-century building, but devoid of the gloomy pomposity so characteristic of court buildings of the time. The room that housed the assize court had a row of large windows down the left-hand side, with milky glass that blocked the view of the outdoors but let in a great deal of light. The prosecutors sat in front of the windows, and against the bright spring and summer daylight they were no more than black silhouettes. The court, three judges in black robes and six selected local citizens, was in place at the head of the courtroom and on the right-hand side was the bench of defendants and their lawyers: there were so many of them that the extra chairs and tables stretched into the middle of the room in front of the public seats. Some of the defendants and their lawyers were sitting with their backs to us. One of them was Hanna. I did not recognize her until she was called, and she stood up and stepped forward. Of course I recognized the name as soon as I heard it: Hanna Schmitz. Then I also recognized the body, the head with the hair gathered in an unfamiliar knot, the neck, the broad back, and the strong arms. She held herself very straight, balanced on both feet. Her arms were relaxed at her sides. She wore a gray dress with short sleeves. I recognized her, but I felt nothing. Nothing at all.
Yes, she wished to stand. Yes, she was born on October 21, 1922, near Hermannstadt and was now forty-three years old. Yes, she had worked at Siemens in Berlin and had joined the SS in the autumn of 1943.
“You enrolled voluntarily?
“Yes.”
“Why?
Hanna did not answer.
“Is it true that you joined the SS even though Siemens had offered you a job as a foreman?”
Hanna’s lawyer was on his feet. “What do you mean by ‘even though’? Do you mean to suggest that a woman should prefer to become a foreman at Siemens than join the SS? There are no grounds for making my client’s decision the object of such a question.”
He sat down. He was the only young defense attorney; the others were old—some of them, as became apparent, old Nazis. Hanna’s lawyer avoided both their jargon and their lines of reasoning. But he was too hasty and too zealous in ways that were as damaging to his client as his colleagues’ Nazi tirades were to theirs. He did succeed in making the judge look irritated and stop pursuing the question of why Hanna had joined the SS. But the impression remained that she had done it of her own accord and not under pressure. It didn’t help her when one of the legal members of the court asked Hanna what kind of work she expected to do for the SS and she said that the SS was recruiting women at Siemens and other factories for guard duties and she had applied and was hired.
To the judge’s questions, Hanna testified in monosyllables that yes, she had served in Auschwitz until early 1944 and then in a small camp near Cracow until the winter of 1944–45, that yes, when the prisoners were moved to the west she went with them all the way, that she was in Kassel at the end of the war and since then had lived in one place and another. She had been in my city for eight years; it was the longest time she had spent in any one place.
“Is her frequent change of residence supposed to be grounds for viewing her as a flight risk?” The lawyer was openly sarcastic. “My client registered with the police each time she arrived at a new address and each time she left. There is no reason to assume she would run away, and there is nothing for her to hide. Did the judge feel it impossible to release my client on her own recognizance because of the gravity of the charges and the risk of public agitation? That, members of the court, is a Nazi rationale for custody; it was introduced by the Nazis and abolished after the Nazis. It no longer exists.” The lawyer’s malicious emphasis underlined the irony in this truth.
I was jolted. I realized that I had assumed it was both natural and right that Hanna should be in custody. Not because of the charges, the gravity of the allegations, or the force of the evidence, of which I had no real knowledge yet, but because in a cell she was out of my world, out of my life. I wanted her far away from me, so unattainable that she could continue as the mere memory she had become and remained all these years. If the lawyer was successful, I would have to prepare myself to meet her again, and I would have to work out how I wanted to do that, and how it should be. And I could see no reason why he should fail. If Hanna had not tried to escape the law so far, why should she try now? And what evidence could she suppress? There were no other legal reasons at that time to hold someone in custody.
The judge seemed irritated again, and I began to realize that this was his particular trick. Whenever he found a statement either obstructionist or annoying, he took off his glasses, stared at the speaker with a blank, short-sighted gaze, frowned, and either ignored the statement altogether or began with “So you mean” or “So what you’re trying to say is” and then repeated what had been said in a way as to leave no doubt that he had no desire to deal with it and that trying to compel him to do so would be pointless.
“So you’re saying that the arresting judge misinterpreted the fact that the defendant ignored all letters and summonses, and did not present herself either to the police, or the prosecutor, or the judge? You wish to make a motion to lift the order of detention?”
The lawyer made the motion and the court denied it.


第03节　　　法庭的审理在另外的一个城市里进行，开车去那里需要近一个小时的时间。此前，我与那个城市从未发生什么关系。另外一位同学开车，他是在那里长大的，对那里的情况非常熟悉。
　　那是一个星期四。法庭的审理在星期一就开始了，前三天的审理时间都用于辩护律师为辩护人提申请。我们第四组将要经历的是法庭对被告人的直接审理、这将是法庭审理的真正开始。
　　我们轻松愉快，情绪高涨地沿着山路在盛开的果树下面行驶。我们的所学总算有用武之地了，我们感觉自己不仅仅是观众、听众和记录员，观审、听审和做记录是我们对清理工作所做的一份贡献。
　　这座法庭是一座世纪之交的建筑，但又没有当时法庭建筑所常有的富丽堂皇和睦俄昏暗。刑事陪审法庭开庭的大厅里，左边是一排大窗户，乳白色的玻璃挡住了人们从里向外张望的视线，但却挡不住从外面照射进来的光线。检察官们坐在窗前，在明媚的春天和夏日里人们只能辨认出他们的轮廓。法庭上坐着三位身着黑色长袍的法官和六位陪审员。他们坐在大厅的正面，在他们右侧的长椅上坐着被告人和辩护律师。由于人数众多，桌椅一直摆到大厅中间，摆到了观众席前。有几位被告和辩护律师背对着我们坐着，其中就有汉娜。当她被传唤，站起来走向前面时，我才认出她来。当然，我立即就听出了她的名字：汉娜·史密芝。随后我也辨认出了她的形体，她的头，她的脖颈，她的宽阔的后背和她那强健有力的手臂，令我感到陌生的是那盘起来的头发。她站在那儿，挺着胸，两腿纹丝不动，手臂松弛下垂，穿着一件蓝色的短袖上衣。我认出了她，但是，我什么感觉都没有，我什么感觉都没有。
　　当法官问到她是否愿意站着时，她说是；当问她是否于一九二二年十月二十一日在赫尔曼市附近的一个地方出生，现年四十三岁时，她说是；当问她是否在柏林的西门子公司工作过并于一九四三年秋去了党卫队时，她说是。
　　"您是自愿去党卫队的吗？"
　　"是的。"
　　"为什么？"
　　汉娜没有回答。
　　"尽管西门子给您提供了一个做领班的职位，您还是去了党卫队，对吗？"
　　汉娜的辩护律师跳了起来："尽管'在这里是什么意思？这不就是假设一个女人应该更喜欢在西门子做个领班而不应该去党卫队吗？您没有任何理由就我的委托人的决定提出这样的问题。"
　　他坐下了。他是谁一的一位年轻的辩护人，其他人都上了年纪，有几位很快就暴露出来是老纳粹。汉娜的辩护人制止了他们使用隐语和推论。但是，他很急躁，这对他的委托人非常不利，就像他的同事们的满口纳粹论调对他们的委托人也十分不利一样。尽管他的话让审判长看上去不知所措，使他对汉娜为什么去了党卫队这个问题不再刨根问底，但是他的话给人留下一个印象，那就是，她去党卫队是经过深思熟虑的，并非迫不得已。一位陪审法官问了汉娜想在党卫队里做什么工作。汉娜解释说，党卫队在西门子和其他工厂征聘女工做替补看守，这样，她就报了名，并被录用了。尽管她做了这样的解释，但是，人们对她的不佳印象已无法改变了。
　　审判长要求汉娜用是与否来证实下列问题：是否直到一九四四年年初一直在奥斯威辛，是否于一九四四年与一九四五年之交的冬天被派往克拉科夫一所小集中营，与那里的被关押者一起西行并到达了目的地，是否在战争结束时到过卡塞尔，是否从那以后经常更换居住地。她在我的家乡住了八年，那是她居住时间最长的一个地方。
　　"经常更换居住地就能证明有逃跑的嫌疑吗？"辩护律师用很明显的讽刺口吻问道。"我的委托人每次更换居住地都在警察局登记和注销户籍。没有任何迹象说明她要逃跑，她也掩饰不了任何事情。逮捕法官认为我的委托人受到的指控严重，面临引起公愤的危险，他感到无法容忍。难道这可以成为剥夺她人身自由的理由吗？我尊敬的法官先生，这是纳粹时期抓人的理由，是纳粹时盛行的做法，纳粹之后被废除了，这种做法现在早已不存在了。"辩护律师说话时带有一种人们在兜售下流故事时所表现的不良用心和洋洋得意。
　　我对此感到震惊。我发现，我认为逮捕汉娜是自然的和理所当然的，不是因为人们对她提出了控告、严重谴责和强烈怀疑——关于这些我还一点不知详情，而是因为把她关在单人牢房里她就会从我的世界中，从我的生活中消失。我想离她远远的，让她远不可及，让在过去几年里成为我生活中的一部分的她变成一种记忆，仅仅是一种记忆。如果辩护律师成功的话，那就意味着我必须做好再次见到她的准备，我就必须使自己清楚我是否见她和如何见她。而且，我看不出他怎么能不成功。如果汉娜到目前为止没有企图逃跑，那么她为什么现在要去这么做呢？她能掩饰什么呢？这恰是逮捕她的一个理由。
　　审判长看上去又不知所措了。我发现这是他的一个计策。每当他认为某种意见具有阻碍性和令他感到不愉快时，他就摘掉眼镜，用近视的、不肯定的目光打量着发表意见的人，同时皱着眉头，或者避而不谈已经发表的意见，或者开始这样发问："您的意思是……"或"您是想说……"并用另一种方式重述一遍别人发表的意见，让人确实感到他对此不感兴趣，同时也使人相信逼他是没用的。
　　"您的意思是逮捕官错误地估计了下面的情况：被告人没有对书面的传讯做出反应，没有去找警察局、检查院和法官？您是想提交一份撤销逮捕令的报告吗？"
　　辩护律师提交了一份这样的报告，被法庭驳回了。
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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

87160鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 21楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER FOUR

I DID NOT miss a single day of the trial. The other students were surprised. The professor was pleased that one of us was making sure that the next group learned what the last one had heard and seen.
Only once did Hanna look at the spectators and over at me. Usually she was brought in by a guard and took her place and then kept her eyes fixed on the bench throughout the day’s proceedings. It appeared arrogant, as did the fact that she didn’t talk to the other defendants and almost never with her lawyer either. However, as the trial went on, the other defendants talked less among themselves too. When there were breaks in the proceedings, they stood with relatives and friends, and in the mornings they waved and called hello to them when they saw them in the public benches. During the breaks Hanna remained in her seat.
So I watched her from behind. I saw her head, her neck, her shoulders. I decoded her head, her neck, her shoulders. When she was being discussed, she held her head very erect. When she felt she was being unjustly treated, slandered, or attacked and she was struggling to respond, she rolled her shoulders forward and her neck swelled, showing the play of muscles. The objections were regularly overruled, and her shoulders regularly sank. She never shrugged, and she never shook her head. She was too keyed up to allow herself anything as casual as a shrug or a shake of the head. Nor did she allow herself to hold her head at an angle, or to let it fall, or to lean her chin on her hand. She sat as if frozen. It must have hurt to sit that way.
Sometimes strands of hair slipped out of the tight knot, began to curl, lay on the back of her neck, and moved gently against it in the draft. Sometimes Hanna wore a dress with a neckline low enough to reveal the birthmark high on her left shoulder. Then I remembered how I had blown the hair away from that neck and how I had kissed that birthmark and that neck. But the memory was like a retrieved file. I felt nothing.
During the weeks of the trial, I felt nothing: my feelings were numbed. Sometimes I poked at them, and imagined Hanna doing what she was accused of doing as clearly as I could, and also doing what the hair on her neck and the birthmark on her shoulder recalled to my mind. It was like a hand pinching an arm numbed by an injection. The arm doesn’t register that it is being pinched by the hand, the hand registers that it is pinching the arm, and at first the mind cannot tell the two of them apart. But a moment later it distinguishes them quite clearly. Perhaps the hand has pinched so hard that the flesh stays white for a while. Then the blood flows back and the spot regains its color. But that does not bring back sensation.
Who had given me the injection? Had I done it myself, because I couldn’t manage without anesthesia? The anesthetic functioned not only in the courtroom, and not only to allow me to see Hanna as if it was someone else who had loved and desired her, someone I knew well but who wasn’t me. In every part of my life, too, I stood outside myself and watched; I saw myself functioning at the university, with my parents and brother and sister and my friends, but inwardly I felt no involvement.
After a time I thought I could detect a similar numbness in other people. Not in the lawyers, who carried on throughout the trial with the same rhetorical legalistic pugnacity, jabbing pedantry, or loud, calculated truculence, depending on their personalities and their political standpoint. Admittedly the trial proceedings exhausted them; in the evenings they were tired and got more shrill. But overnight they recharged or reinflated themselves and droned and hissed away the next morning just as they had twenty-four hours before. The prosecutors made an effort to keep up and display the same level of attack day after day. But they didn’t succeed, at first because the facts and their outcome as laid out at the trial horrified them so much, and later because the numbness began to take hold. The effect was strongest on the judges and the lay members of the court. During the first weeks of the trial they took in the horrors—sometimes recounted in tears, sometimes in choking voices, sometimes in agitated or broken sentences—with visible shock or obvious efforts at self-control. Later their faces returned to normal; they could smile and whisper to one another or even show traces of impatience when a witness lost the thread while testifying. When going to Israel to question a witness was discussed, they started getting the travel bug. The other students kept being horrified all over again. They only came to the trial once a week, and each time the same thing happened: the intrusion of horror into daily life. I, who was in court every day, observed their reactions with detachment.
It was like being a prisoner in the death camps who survives month after month and becomes accustomed to the life, while he registers with an objective eye the horror of the new arrivals: registers it with the same numbness that he brings to the murders and deaths themselves. All survivor literature talks about this numbness, in which life’s functions are reduced to a minimum, behavior becomes completely selfish and indifferent to others, and gassing and burning are everyday occurrences. In the rare accounts by perpetrators, too, the gas chambers and ovens become ordinary scenery, the perpetrators reduced to their few functions and exhibiting a mental paralysis and indifference, a dullness that makes them seem drugged or drunk. The defendants seemed to me to be trapped still, and forever, in this drugged state, in a sense petrified in it.
Even then, when I was preoccupied by this general numbness, and by the fact that it had taken hold not only of the perpetrators and victims, but of all of us, judges and lay members of the court, prosecutors and recorders, who had to deal with these events now; when I likened perpetrators, victims, the dead, the living, survivors, and their descendants to each other, I didn’t feel good about it and I still don’t.
Can one see them all as linked in this way? When I began to make such comparisons in discussions, I always emphasized that the linkage was not meant to relativize the difference between being forced into the world of the death camps and entering it voluntarily, between enduring suffering and imposing it on others, and that this difference was of the greatest, most critical importance. But I met with shock and indignation when I said this not in reaction to the others’ objections, but before they had even had the chance to demur.
At the same time I ask myself, as I had already begun to ask myself back then: What should our second generation have done, what should it do with the knowledge of the horrors of the extermination of the Jews? We should not believe we can comprehend the incomprehensible, we may not compare the incomparable, we may not inquire because to inquire is to make the horrors an object of discussion, even if the horrors themselves are not questioned, instead of accepting them as something in the face of which we can only fall silent in revulsion, shame, and guilt. Should we only fall silent in revulsion, shame, and guilt? To what purpose? It was not that I had lost my eagerness to explore and cast light on things which had filled the seminar, once the trial got under way. But that some few would be convicted and punished while we of the second generation were silenced by revulsion, shame, and guilt—was that all there was to it now?


第04节　　　法庭的审理我一天都没有错过，其他同学对此感到奇怪，教授对此表示赞赏，因为，这样一来，我们当中就有了一位能把上一组同学的所见所闻传达给下一组同学的人。
　　只有一次汉娜向观众和我这边看了看，否则的话，在所有审理的日子里，当她被一位女看守带进来时和坐下之后，她都把目光投向法庭的长椅上。这使她看上去很傲慢，同样使她显得傲慢的是她与其他被告人不交谈，与她的辩护律师也几乎不说什么。不过，法庭审理持续时间越长，其他被告人之间的交谈也越少。他们在法庭中间休息时与亲朋好友站在一起交谈，早上在观众席上看到他们时，向他们招手呼唤。汉娜在法庭休息时仍旧留在她的座位上。
　　这样一来我只能从后面看她。我可以看到她的头、她的脖颈和肩膀。我研究她的头、她的脖颈和她的肩。如果事情与她有关时，她会把头抬得特别高。当她感到受到了不公平的对待时，或遭到了诽谤中伤和攻击时，或吃力地回答问题时，她都把肩往前探，脖颈青筋就暴涨起来。她的反驳总是不成功，她的肩也就总是又垂下来。她从未耸过肩，也从未摇过头。她太紧张了，以至于连耸肩、摇头所要求的轻松自如的动作都做不到。她也不允许自己把头偏着，也不允许自己低头或者靠着。她僵硬地坐着，这种坐姿一定很痛苦。
　　有时候，一咎头发慢慢地从她的发夹中掉出来，卷曲在一起垂在脖颈上，在穿堂风中来回飘摆。有时候汉娜穿一件连衣裙，它的领口很大，以致她左肩膀上面的一块胎痣都露了出来。这使我想起我把她脖颈上的头发吹开然后去亲吻那块股清、亲吻她的脖颈的情景。但是，这种回忆只是一种记忆而已，我什么感觉都没有。
　　在持续了几周长的法庭审理期间，我什么感觉都没有，我的感觉就像麻木了一样。我也偶尔刺激过它，尽可能十分清楚地去想象汉娜被指控的那些行为，同时我也去回想她脖颈上的头发和她肩膀上的那块胎痣。结果就像用手拖了一下打了麻醉药的胳膊一样，胳膊不知道被手掐了一下，而手却知道它把胳膊掐了，大脑起初也分不清这两种感觉，但下一步就把二者分得十分清楚了。也许手用力太大，被掐的地方一时会苍白无血色，过了一会儿血液才流通，被掐的地方才又恢复了血色，但是，感觉却没有随之回来。
　　是谁给我打了麻醉药呢？是我自己，因为若不麻木不仁的话，我能承受得了吗？这种麻木不仁不仅仅在法庭的大厅里起作用，它不仅仅使我能够面对汉娜——我好像不是我，而是我的一位熟人，一位爱过她、渴望过她的熟人，它还使我与我身边所有的人都相处得平平淡淡，不论是在大学里的与朋友相处，还是在家里的与父母及兄弟姐妹相处。
　　过了一段时间，我发现，类似的麻木不仁在其他人身上也可以观察到，但在辩护律师身上你观察不到这种麻木不仁。在整个审理期间，他们始终是吵吵闹闹、非常自负地争高争低，有时过分尖刻，有时大吵大闹、厚颜无耻，其程度根据个人气质和政治素质而有所不同。虽然审理已使他们精疲力竭，使他们到了晚上也疲惫不堪或者声音更尖锐刺耳，可是经过一夜的养精蓄锐，他们第二天又和前一天一样，吵吵嚷嚷地上阵了。那些法官也并不示弱，每天都斗志昂扬。但他们并没有达到预期结果，这首先因为审理对象和结果太使他们震惊，而后麻木不仁又开始发挥了作用。这种麻木不仁在审判员和陪审员身上体现得最明显。在最初几周的审理中，当他们听到那些可怕的事实时，明显地表现出震惊或者强做镇定自若：有时讲述人泪流满面，有时泣不成声，有时非常具有煽动性，有时又偶然若失。后来，他们的面部表情就又趋于正常了。他们相互之间也能笑着在对方的耳边低声评论什么，或者当一位证人事无巨细地做证时，他们也开始不耐烦地叹气。在审理期间，当需要到以色列一位女证人那儿取证的消息被公布时，人人争先恐后。其他同学总是被新的事实所震惊，他们每周只来一次法庭，每次都要面对可怕的历史打破他们的日常生活的事实。我却日复一日地留在法庭，冷眼旁观他们的反应。
　　集中营的囚犯如何才能一个月接着一个月地活过来，如何才能适应自己，如何才能对新来囚犯的惊恐万状冷眼视之呢？麻木不仁！他们以同样的麻木不仁对待杀人和死亡。那些幸存者留下的所有文字材料都记载了这种麻木不仁。这种麻木不仁削弱了生命的作用，使不法行为肆无忌惮，使用毒气杀人和焚烧人的行为变成了家常便饭。在那些罪犯寥寥数语的说明中可以看到，他们也把毒气室和焚烧炉看做是日常生活，把他们自己的作用看得很轻，把他们的肆无忌惮和冷漠无情视为一种像被注射了麻醉药或喝醉了酒一样的麻痹状态。在我眼里，那些被告人好像仍！日而且永久地被束缚在这种麻木不仁中，在某种程度上，他们已变成了化石。
　　当我对这种麻木不仁的共性进行研究时，当我不仅仅研究罪犯和受害者身上的麻木不仁，而且也对我们这些人——法官、陪审员、检查官和记录员，这些后来与此有关人员的麻木不仁进行研究时，当我把罪犯、受害者、死亡者、活着的人、幸存者和永垂不朽者相互进行比较时，我就感觉不舒服，过去感觉不舒服，现在仍然感觉不舒服。允许人们做这样的比较吗？当我在发言中做这样的比较时，我虽然总是强调不应该抹杀罪犯是被迫去集中营还是自愿去的这两者之间的区别，以及是他们自己在忍受痛苦还是给别人带来痛苦这两者之间的区别——相反，我们应该特别强调这种区别的重要性，但是，我总是引火烧身——引起别人的震惊和愤怒，如果我的这种观点不是针对其他人的指责所做出的一种反应，而是在他们尚未对我进行指责之前就提出来的话。我现在自问——当时我就已经开始对自己提出这样的问题：我们这代人应该如何对待屠杀犹太人的那段可怕的历史观？我们不应该认为我们能理解无法理解的事情，不应该去比较无法比较的事情，也不应该去询问，因为询问者本人把那可怕的过去变成了一种谈话的题材。虽然他们对那可怕的过去毫不怀疑，但却不把它视为骇人听闻的奇耻大辱和弥天大罪。我们应该仅仅停留在这种耻辱感和负疚感上吗？为什么？我之所以这样自问，不是因为我参加研究班时所拥有的那种清理和解释过去的热情在法庭审理期间消失殆尽了，但是，仅仅审判和惩罚少数几个人，我们肇事者的后代也仅仅感到那段历史是骇人听闻的奇耻大辱和弥天大罪，就可以了吗？




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举报 只看该作者 22楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER FIVE

I N THE SECOND week, the indictment was read out. It took a day and a half to read—a day and a half in the subjunctive. The first defendant is alleged to have . . . Furthermore she is alleged . . . In addition, she is alleged . . . Thus she comes under the necessary conditions of paragraph so-and-so, furthermore she is alleged to have committed this and that act . . . She is alleged to have acted illegally and culpably. Hanna was the fourth defendant.
The five accused women had been guards in a small camp near Cracow, a satellite camp for Auschwitz. They had been transferred there from Auschwitz in early 1944 to replace guards killed or injured in an explosion in the factory where the women in the camp worked. One count of the indictment involved their conduct at Auschwitz, but that was of minor significance compared with the other charges. I no longer remember it. Was it because it didn’t involve Hanna, but only the other women? Was it of minor importance in relation to the other counts, or minor, period? Did it simply seem inexcusable to have someone available for trial who had been in Auschwitz and not charge them about their conduct in Auschwitz?
Of course the five defendants had not been in charge of the camp. There was a commandant, plus special troops, and other female guards. Most of the troops and guards had not survived the bombing raid that put an end one night to the prisoners’ westward march. Some fled the same night, and vanished as surely as the commandant, who had made himself scarce as soon as the column of prisoners set off on the forced march to the west.
None of the prisoners should, by rights, have survived the night of the bombing. But two did survive, a mother and her daughter, and the daughter had written a book about the camp and the march west and published it in America. The police and prosecutors had tracked down not only the five defendants but several witnesses who had lived in the village which had taken the bombing hits that ended the death march. The most important witnesses were the daughter, who had come to Germany, and the mother, who had remained in Israel. To depose the mother the court, prosecutors, and defense lawyers were going to go to Israel—the only part of the trial I did not attend.
One main charge concerned selections in the camp. Each month around sixty new women were sent out from Auschwitz and the same number were sent back, minus those who had died in the meantime. It was clear to everyone that the women would be killed in Auschwitz; it was those who could no longer perform useful work in the factory who were sent back. The factory made munitions; the actual work was not difficult, but the women hardly ever got to do the actual work, because they had to do raw construction to repair the devastating damage caused by the explosion early in the year.
The other main charge involved the night of the bombing that ended everything. The troops and guards had locked the prisoners, several hundred women, in a church in a village that had been abandoned by most of its inhabitants. Only a few bombs fell, possibly intended for the nearby railroad or a factory, or maybe simply released because they were left over from a raid on a larger town. One of them hit the priest’s house in which the troops and guards were sleeping. Another landed on the church steeple. First the steeple burned, then the roof; then the blazing rafters collapsed into the nave, and the pews caught fire. The heavy doors were unbudgeable. The defendants could have unlocked them. They did not, and the women locked in the church burned to death.


第05节　　　第二周，法庭宣读起诉书。宣读起诉书用了一天半的时间，使用了一天半的虚拟式。被告首先犯有……此外她犯有……再有她犯有……因此她触犯了某条某款，此外她犯有这种罪行和那种罪行，她的行为是违法的和犯罪的。汉娜是第四名被告人。
　　这五名被告都是克拉科夫一所小集中营的女看守。克拉科夫是奥斯威辛的一个外围集中营。一九四四年春，她们从奥斯威辛被派往那里。她们是代替在一家工厂的爆炸中被炸死或者炸伤的女看守们。在那家工厂里，集中营里的女囚犯们要做工。指控之一是被告们在奥斯威辛的行为，不过，与另一项指控相比，这一指控又显得不那么重要了。我已不记得另一项指控是什么了。它们与汉娜毫无关系而只涉及到另外几位女看守吗？难道与另一项指控相比对奥斯威辛的指控就不重要了吗？或者它本身就不重要？一个在奥斯威辛呆过并由此而被捕的人却不是因为他在奥斯威辛的行为而遭到指控，这不显得令人难以容忍吗？
　　当然了，这五名被告并不是那所集中营的头头。集中营有一名指挥官，一个警卫队还有其他女看守。一天夜里，囚犯们被赶着西行，途中遭到轰炸，大部分警卫队的人和女看守在轰炸中丧了生，有几位当天夜里开了小差，而指挥官出发不久就逃得无影无踪了。
　　那些囚犯在那天晚上的轰炸中本不该有任何人能活下来，但是还是有一对母女活了下来。那位女儿写了一本关于集中营和那次西行的书，并在美国付样。警察和检查院不仅找到了这五名被告，而且还找到了几位证人，西行队伍在一个村子遭到轰炸时他们就住在那个村子里。最重要的证人就是那位女儿和她的留在以色列的母亲。女儿专程来到了德国。为了向她的母亲取证，法庭、检查官和辩护人去了以色列。那是审理过程中我唯一没经历到的一个片段。
　　最主要的一项指控是在集中营中进行的挑选。每个月大约有六十名妇女被送出奥斯威辛，同样也有这个数目的妇女被送进来，这个数目不包括在这期间死掉的。所有的人都清楚，这些妇女在奥斯威辛将被杀掉，这些被送进来的都是在工厂里木能再做工的。那是一家弹药厂，尽管弹药厂本身的工作并不繁重，但是在那家弹药厂里，妇女们几乎没做她们本该做的工作，而是要参加建筑，因为年初的一次爆炸使工厂遭到严重破坏。
　　另一项重要指控涉及那个遭到轰炸的夜晚，一切都结束于那一夜。警卫队和女看守们一起把好几百号的女囚徒关在了一个村子的教堂里。大部分村民已经逃离。没有落下几枚炸弹，轰炸的目标也许是附近的火车道，或者一座工厂，也许是在空袭一座大城市之后还剩几枚炸弹，于是随意乱投下一枚炸弹刚好击中了警卫队和女看守们过夜的牧师住宅，另一枚炸弹落到了教堂的塔上。起初是搭着了火，接着是教堂的房顶，然后教堂的全部屋梁火光冲天地塌陷到了教堂的里面，于是，教堂里面的全部椅子都开始着火。沉重的大门纹丝不动。那些被告完全可以把门打开，但是她们没有这样做，那些被关在教堂里的妇女都被烧死了。
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举报 只看该作者 23楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER SIX

T HE TRIAL could not have gone any worse for Hanna. She had already made a bad impression on the court during the preliminary questioning. After the indictment had been read out, she spoke up to say that something was incorrect; the presiding judge rebuked her irritably, telling her that she had had plenty of time before the trial to study the charges and register objections; now the trial was in progress and the evidence would show what was correct and incorrect. When the presiding judge proposed at the beginning of the actual testimony that the German version of the daughter’s book not be read into the record, as it had been prepared for publication by a German publisher and the manuscript made available to all participants in the trial, Hanna had to be argued into it by her lawyer under the exasperated eyes of the judge. She did not willingly agree. She also did not want to acknowledge that she had admitted, in an earlier deposition, to having had the key to the church. She had not had the key, no one had had the key, there had not been any one key to the church, but several keys to several different doors, and they had all been left outside in the locks. But the court record of her examination by the judge, approved and signed by her, read differently, and the fact that she asked why they were trying to hang something on her did not make matters any better. She didn’t ask loudly or arrogantly, but with determination, and, I think, in visible and audible confusion and helplessness, and the fact that she spoke of others trying to hang something on her did not mean she was claiming any miscarriage of justice by the court. But the presiding judge interpreted it that way and responded sharply. Hanna’s lawyer leapt to his feet and let loose, overeagerly; he was asked whether he was agreeing with his client’s accusations, and sat down again.
Hanna wanted to do the right thing. When she thought she was being done an injustice, she contradicted it, and when something was rightly claimed or alleged, she acknowledged it. She contradicted vigorously and admitted willingly, as though her admissions gave her the right to her contradictions or as though, along with her contradictions, she took on a responsibility to admit what she could not deny. But she did not notice that her insistence annoyed the presiding judge. She had no sense of context, of the rules of the game, of the formulas by which her statements and those of the others were toted up into guilt and innocence, conviction and acquittal. To compensate for her defective grasp of the situation, her lawyer would have had to have more experience and self-confidence, or simply to have been better. But Hanna should not have made things so hard for him; she was obviously withholding her trust from him, but had not chosen another lawyer she trusted more. Her lawyer was a public defender appointed by the court.
Sometimes Hanna achieved her own kind of success. I remember her examination on the selections in the camp. The other defendants denied ever having had anything to do with them. Hanna admitted so readily that she had participated—not alone, but just like the others and along with them—that the judge felt he had to probe further.
“What happened at the selections?”
Hanna described how the guards had agreed among themselves to tally the same number of prisoners from their six equal areas of responsibility, ten each and sixty in all, but that the figures could fluctuate when the number of sick was low in one person’s area of responsibility and high in another’s, and that all the guards on duty had decided together who was to be sent back.
“None of you held back, you all acted together?”
“Yes.”
“Did you not know that you were sending the prisoners to their death?”
“Yes, but the new ones came, and the old ones had to make room for the new ones.”
“So because you wanted to make room, you said you and you and you have to be sent back to be killed?”
Hanna didn’t understand what the presiding judge was getting at.
“I . . . I mean . . . so what would you have done?” Hanna meant it as a serious question. She did not know what she should or could have done differently, and therefore wanted to hear from the judge, who seemed to know everything, what he would have done.
Everything was quiet for a moment. It is not the custom at German trials for defendants to question the judge. But now the question had been asked, and everyone was waiting for the judge’s answer. He had to answer; he could not ignore the question or brush it away with a reprimand or a dismissive counterquestion. It was clear to everyone, it was clear to him too, and I understood why he had adopted an expression of irritation as his defining feature. It was his mask. Behind it, he could take a little time to find an answer. But not too long; the longer he took, the greater the tension and expectation, and the better his answer had to be.
“There are matters one simply cannot get drawn into, that one must distance oneself from, if the price is not life and limb.”
Perhaps this would have been all right if he had said the same thing, but referred directly to Hanna or himself. Talking about what “one” must and must not do and what it costs did not do justice to the seriousness of Hanna’s question. She had wanted to know what she should have done in her particular situation, not that there are things that are not done. The judge’s answer came across as hapless and pathetic. Everyone felt it. They reacted with sighs of disappointment and stared in amazement at Hanna, who had more or less won the exchange. But she herself was lost in thought.
“So should I have . . . should I have not . . . should I not have signed up at Siemens?”
It was not a question directed at the judge. She was talking out loud to herself, hesitantly, because she had not yet asked herself that question and did not know whether it was the right one, or what the answer was.


第06节　　　法庭审理对汉娜来说糟得不能再糟了。在审问她个人情况时，她就没给法庭留下什么好印象。起诉书宣读完之后，她要求发言，因为她认为有些事不属实。审判长愤怒地驳回了她。他说，在刑事诉讼主要程序开始之前，她已有足够的时间研究起诉书，而且可以提出反对意见，现在人们已进入了主要程序，起诉书中起诉的事属实不属实，要由听证来决定。听证开始时，审判长建议放弃朗读那位女儿写的那本书的德文版本，因为有家德国出版社正准备出版此书，所有与此有关的人都已经人手一本草稿。审判长恼怒的目光注视着汉娜，他让其辩护律师说服她，使她同意这样做。汉娜不同意。她也不想接受那种认为她在一次初审中承认过她曾经拿到过教堂的钥匙的说法。她说，她没有拿过那把钥匙，没有人拿过那把钥匙，根本就没有开教堂的一把钥匙，而是有好多把开好多门的钥匙，它们都插在门外的锁眼里。但是，在一份审判员的审讯记录中所记载的情况却是另外一个样子，那份记录由她本人阅读过并签了字。她问人们为什么要把这件事强加于她，但这丝毫无济于事。她问得声音不大，听起来并不自以为是，但却很固执。就像我感觉到的那样，她感到困惑不解和无可奈何。她说人们强加于她时，并不是谴责他们这样做违反了法律。但是，审判长先生却是这样理解的，而且反应强烈。汉娜的辩护律师急忙跳起来，热心地为她辩护。当他被问到他是否想把人们对他的委托人的谴责据为己有时，他又坐了下来。
　　汉娜想要讨个公道。她认为她被冤枉的地方，她就提出抗议；如果她认为别人对她的谴责公正的话，她也接受。她有时固执地抗议，有时心甘情愿地承认，好像她要通过承认来获得抗议的权利，或者通过抗议的方式来承认她正常情况下无法争辩的事情。但是，她没有注意到她的固执惹恼了审判长。她对前后关系没有概念，对游戏规则没有概念，对自己的和别人的表达方式都没有概念，不知有罪或无罪，判刑或释放往往取决于表达方式。为了弥补她的这种缺陷，她的辩护律师必须是个经验丰富、沉着自信或者高人一筹的高手才行。或许汉娜不该那样难为他，她明显地表现出对他的不信任，但她没有能选择她所信赖的律师。她的律师是由审判长为她指定的，他有义务、有责任为她进行辩护。
　　有时汉娜也能取得某种胜利。我还记得对她在集中营里挑选囚犯这一问题所进行的审讯。其他被告用某时某刻做了某事来否认参与了此事，汉娜却心甘情愿地承认参与了此事，但她说她不是惟一的一个，而是像其他人一样，和其他人一起参与了此事。这样一来，审判长就不得不逼问她。
　　"挑选是如何进行的？"
　　汉娜描述道，她们几位女看守取得了一致意见，从她们六人所主管的同样大小的范围内，选出同等数目的囚犯，也就是说，每人选出十名，总共为六十名。但是，被选出的人数在低发病的情况下和高发病的情况下要有所木同。这样，所有当班的女看守最后要一起决定谁该被送回去。
　　"你们当中没有人回避此事，您所讲的包括所有的人吗？"
　　"是的。"
　　"难道您不知道您是送那些囚犯去死吗？"
　　"当然是知道的，可是新的要来，先来的必须要给后来的让地方。"
　　"因为要腾地方，您是这样说的吧：你，你，还有你就必须被送回去杀掉吗？"
　　汉娜没有弄明白审判长想以此问什么问题。
　　"我有……我认为……要是您的话，您会怎么做呢？"汉娜是把这个问题作为一个严肃问题提出来的。她不知道她该怎样做，又能怎么做。因此她想听一听看上去广见多识的审判长该怎样做。
　　一时，大厅里鸦雀无声。被告人向审判长提问题不合乎德国的刑事审判程序。但是，现在问题被提出来了，而且所有的人都在等着审判长的回答。他必须回答，不能避开问题或者做非难性的评论或者用反问的方式拒绝回答。每个人都清楚，他自己也明白，我也明白了他做出恼怒的表情的诡计。恼怒的表情给他戴上了一副假面具，在这副假面具的背后，他为自己回答问题赢得了一点时间，但是没有太多的时间，他拖延的时间越长，人们的期待就越大，气氛就越紧张，而他的回答就必须越好。
　　"有些事情人们根本就不该做，如果不去做不会要命的话，人们就必须回避。"
　　假如他说汉娜或者他自己如何做，也许就足够了。只谈论人们必须做什么，不允许做什么和人们做什么要付出什么代价，这与汉娜提出的问题的严肃性不相符。她想知道的是处在她当时的情况下，她应该怎样做，而不是有什么事情人们不可以做。审判长的回答显得无可奈何，毫无分量。在座的人都有同感。大家都很失望地深深地呼了口气，惊奇地望着在某种程度上赢得了这场舌战的汉娜。但是，汉娜本人仍在沉思。
　　"那么，我要是……没有……如果我不能在西门子公司报名呢？"
　　那不是向法官提出的问题。她在自言自语，她在犹豫不定地自问，因为她还没有把这个问题提出来。她在怀疑这个问题的正确性，在寻找它的答案。
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举报 只看该作者 24楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0


CHAPTER SEVEN

J UST AS Hanna’s insistent contradictions annoyed the judge, her willingness to admit things annoyed the other defendants. It was damaging for their defense, but also her own.
In fact the evidence itself was favorable to the defendants. The only evidence for the main count of the indictment was the testimony of the mother who had survived, her daughter, and the daughter’s book. A competent defense would have been able, without attacking the substance of the mother’s and daughter’s testimony, to cast reasonable doubt on whether these defendants were the actual ones who had done the selections. Witnesses’ testimony on this point was not precise, nor could it be; there had, after all, been a commandant, uniformed men, other female guards, and a whole hierarchy of responsibilities and order with which the prisoners had only been partially confronted and which, correspondingly, they could only partially understand. The same was true of the second count. Mother and daughter had both been locked inside the church, and could not testify as to what had happened outside. Certainly the defendants could not claim not to have been there. The other witnesses who had been living in the village then had spoken with them and remembered them. But these other witnesses had to be careful to avoid the charge that they themselves could have rescued the prisoners. If the defendants had been the only ones there—could the villagers not have overpowered the few women and unlocked the church doors themselves? Would they not have to fall in line with the defense, that the defendants had acted under a power of compulsion that also extended to them, the witnesses? That they had been forced by, or acted on the orders of, the troops who had either not yet fled or who, in the reasonable assumption of the guards, had left for a brief interval, perhaps to bring the wounded to the field hospital, and would be returning soon?
When the other defendants’ lawyers realized that such strategies were being undone by Hanna’s voluntary concessions, they switched to another, which used her concessions to incriminate Hanna and exonerate the other defendants. The defense lawyers did this with professional objectivity. The other defendants backed them up with impassioned interjections.
“You stated that you knew you were sending the prisoners to their deaths—that was only true of you, wasn’t it? You cannot know what your colleagues knew. Perhaps you can guess at it, but in the final analysis you cannot judge, is that not so?” Hanna was asked by one of the other defendants’ lawyers.
“But we all knew . . .”
“Saying ‘we,’ ‘we all’ is easier than saying ‘I,’ ‘I alone,’ isn’t it? Isn’t it true that you and only you had special prisoners in the camp, young girls, first one for a period, and then another one?”
Hanna hesitated. “I don’t think I was the only one who . . .”
“You dirty liar! Your favorites—all that was just you, no one else!” Another of the accused, a coarse woman, not unlike a fat broody hen but with a spiteful tongue, was visibly worked up.
“Is it possible that when you say ‘knew,’ the most you can actually do is assume, and that when you say ‘believe,’ you are actually just making things up?” The lawyer shook his head, as if disturbed by her acknowledgment of this. “And is it also true that once you were tired of your special prisoners, they all went back to Auschwitz with the next transport?”
Hanna did not answer.
“That was your special, your personal selection, wasn’t it? You don’t want to remember, you want to hide behind something that everyone did, but . . .”
“Oh God!” The daughter, who had taken a seat in the public benches after being examined, covered her face with her hands. “How could I have forgotten?” The presiding judge asked if she wished to add anything to her testimony. She did not wait to be called to the front. She stood up and spoke from her seat among the spectators.
“Yes, she had favorites, always one of the young ones who was weak and delicate, and she took them under her wing and made sure that they didn’t have to work, got them better barracks space and took care of them and fed them better, and in the evenings she had them brought to her. And the girls were never allowed to say what she did with them in the evening, and we assumed she was . . . also because they all ended up on the transports, as if she had had her fun with them and then had got bored. But it wasn’t like that at all, and one day one of them finally talked, and we learned that the girls read aloud to her, evening after evening after evening. That was better than if they . . . and better than working themselves to death on the building site. I must have thought it was better, or I couldn’t have forgotten it. But was it better?” She sat down.
Hanna turned around and looked at me. Her eyes found me at once, and I realized that she had known the whole time I was there. She just looked at me. Her face didn’t ask for anything, beg for anything, assure me of anything or promise anything. It simply presented itself. I saw how tense and exhausted she was. She had circles under her eyes, and on each cheek a line that ran from top to bottom that I’d never seen before, that weren’t yet deep, but already marked her like scars. When I turned red under her gaze, she turned away and back to the judges’ bench.
The presiding judge asked the lawyer who had cross-examined Hanna if he had any further questions for the defendant. He also asked Hanna’s lawyer. Ask her, I thought. Ask her if she chose the weak and delicate girls, because they could never have stood up to the work on the building site anyway, because they would have been sent on the next transport to Auschwitz in any case, and because she wanted to make that final month bearable. Say it, Hanna. Say you wanted to make their last month bearable. That that was the reason for choosing the delicate and the weak. That there was no other reason, and could not be.
But the lawyer did not ask Hanna, and she did not speak of her own accord.


第07节　　　汉娜有时固执己见地进行抗议，这使审判长大为恼火。同样，她有时心甘情愿地认错，这也气坏了其他被告。这无论是对她自己的辩护还是对她们的辩护都十分不利。
　　证明材料本来对被告有利。那幸存下来的母女和她们写的书是第一项主要指控的推一证明材料。一个好的辩护律师，应该能够在不抨击母女证词的情况下就能够令人信服地驳回对那几位被告参与挑选囚犯的指控。就这一点而言，证词不精确，也不可能精确，因为毕竟还有一名指挥官、一个警卫队和其他的女看守，以及一项层层下达的命令和任务，这样，这些囚犯在这个等级制中就只是一个组成部分，他们也只能看清楚与这相关的部分。类似的情形在第二项指控中也存在：那母女俩被关押在教堂里，不能就外面所发生的事情做证。虽然被告不能找任何借口，说她们当时不在现场，因为当时在那座村子里生活过的那些证人与被告交谈过，现在还记得她们，但是，这些证人必须要注意防止引火烧身，否则，人们会说，本来他们是可以把那些囚犯救出来的。如果仅仅是那几位被告在场的话，难道村民们就制服不了几个女人而自己把教堂的门打开吗？为了减轻那几位被告和作为证人的他们自己的负担，他们难道不必须站到被告这一边来吗？他们不会说当时他们都处在警卫队的暴力或命令之下吗？不会说因为警卫队确实没有逃跑，或者至少像那几位被告估计的那样，他们为了抢救一座野战医院的伤员只是离开了很短的时间，不久就又回来了吗？
　　当其他被告的辩护律师意识到像这样的策略由于汉娜心甘情愿地认错而落空时，他们又换了一个策略。他们想利用汉娜认错的主动性，把责任都推到她身上，以此减轻其他被告的罪行。辩护律师们很专业地不动声色地这样做着，其他被告以愤怒的谴责为其助威。
　　"您说过，您知道您是送囚犯去死，这只是说您自己，是吗？您的同事们知道什么，您不可能知道。您也许能猜测，但是却不能最终断定，不对吗？"
　　问汉娜的是另外一位被告的辩护律师。
　　"但是，我们大家都知道……"
　　"'我们'，'我们大家'，这样说比说'我'或说'我自己'要容易得多，不对吗？您，仅您一人，在集中营里有被您保护起来的人，每次都是位年轻的姑娘，每过一段时间就换一位，有这么回事吧？"
　　汉娜犹豫不决地说："我相信，我不是淮一的一个…，
　　"你这个卑鄙下流说谎话的家伙！你的心肝宝贝，那是你的，你一个人的！"另一位被一个油嘴滑舌。尖酸刻毒的悍妇，用一种慢得像母鸡打咯咯的口吻说道。她显然很恼怒。
　　"可能是这样的吧，您说'知道'的地方仅仅是您的猜想，而'猜想'的地方是您的捏造吧？"'那位辩护律师摇着头，好像对得到她的肯定的回答比较担心。"所有在您保护之下的人，当她们令您感到厌倦时，您就会在下一批被送往奥斯威辛的人中把她送走，有没有这回事？"
　　汉娜没有回答。
　　"那是您特殊的、个人的选择，难道不是这样吗？您不再想承认它了，您想把它隐藏在大家都做过的事情的背后。但是……"
　　"啊，天哪！"在接受听证之后又坐到观众席上的那位女儿用手蒙住了脸说，"我怎么能把这件事给忘了呢？"审判长问她是否想补充她的证词。她没有等被传呼到前面去，就站了起来在观众席的座位上讲了起来。
　　"是的，她有心爱的人，总是年轻、体弱而温柔的姑娘中的一位。她把她们保护起来，关照她们，不让她们干活，给她们安排较好的住处并在饮食上给予较好的照顾。到了晚上，她把姑娘带到她那儿，姑娘们不允许说出她们晚上和她做了什么。我们当时想，她和那些姑娘在一起……因为她们也都被送走，好像她用她们来满足她自己的乐趣，然后又厌倦了她们似的。但事实根本不是这么回事。有一天，有位姑娘还是说了出来。我们才知道那些姑娘是一个晚上接着一个晚上地在为她朗读。这要比她那样……好得多，也比在建筑工地干活累得要死好得多。我一定是这么想的，否则的话，我不会把这件事给忘掉的。但是，那样确实好吗？"她坐下了。
　　汉娜转过身来望着我，她的目光一下子就捕捉到了我，我才意识到她早就知道我在这儿了。她只是看着我。从她的面部表情看，她既不是在请求什么，也不是在追求什么，更不是在保证或许诺什么。我看得出来，她的心里是多么紧张，身体是多么疲惫。她的眼圈是黑的，面颊两边从上到下各有一条我所不熟悉的皱纹，虽然还不太深，可是却已像一条疤痕一样。我在她的注视下脸红了，于是她移开了目光，把它转向法庭中的长椅子。
　　审判长想知道向汉娜发问的那位辩护律师是否还有问题要问被告。他想知道汉娜的律师是否还有问题要问。应该问她，我在想，问她选择了体弱、温柔的姑娘是否是因为她们反正承受不了建筑工作，是否是因为她们总归要被送往奥斯威辛，是否是因为她想使她们最后几个月的日子过得好受一点。说呀，汉娜！说你是想使她们最后的日子过得好一点。说这就是你挑选体弱、温柔姑娘们的原因，说不存在其他原因，也不可能有其他的原因。
　　但是，辩护律师没有问汉娜，汉娜自己也什么都没有说。




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举报 只看该作者 25楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER EIGHT

T HE GERMAN version of the book that the daughter had written about her time in the camps did not appear until after the trial. During the trial the manuscript was available, but to those directly involved. I had to read the book in English, an unfamiliar and laborious exercise at the time. And as always, the alien language, unmastered and struggled over, created a strange concatenation of distance and immediacy. I worked through the book with particular thoroughness and yet did not make it my own. It remained as alien as the language itself.
Years later I reread it and discovered that it is the book that creates distance. It does not invite one to identify with it and makes no one sympathetic, neither the mother nor the daughter, nor those who shared their fate in various camps and finally in Auschwitz and the satellite camp near Cracow. It never gives the barracks leaders, the female guards, or the uniformed security force clear enough faces or shapes for the reader to be able to relate to them, to judge their acts for better or worse. It exudes the very numbness I have tried to describe before. But even in her numbness the daughter did not lose the ability to observe and analyze. And she had not allowed herself to be corrupted either by self-pity or by the self-confidence she had obviously drawn from the fact that she had survived and not only come through the years in the camps but given literary form to them. She writes about herself and her pubescent, precocious, and, when necessary, cunning behavior with the same sobriety she uses to describe everything else.
Hanna is neither named in the book, nor is she recognizable or identifiable in any way. Sometimes I thought I recognized her in one of the guards, who was described as young, pretty, and conscientiously unscrupulous in the fulfillment of her duties, but I wasn’t sure. When I considered the other defendants, only Hanna could be the guard described. But there had been other guards. In one camp the daughter had known a guard who was called “Mare,” also young, beautiful, and diligent, but cruel and uncontrolled. The guard in the camp reminded her of that one. Had others drawn the same comparison? Did Hanna know about it? Did she remember it? Was that why she was upset when I compared her to a horse?
The camp near Cracow was the last stop for mother and daughter after Auschwitz. It was a step forward; the work was hard, but easier, the food was better, and it was better to sleep six women to a room than a hundred to a barracks. And it was warmer; the women could forage for wood on the way from the factory to the camp, and bring it back with them. There was the fear of selections, but it wasn’t as bad as at Auschwitz. Sixty women were sent back each month, sixty out of around twelve hundred; that meant each prisoner had a life expectancy of twenty months, even if she only possessed average strength, and there was always the hope of being stronger than the average. Moreover, there was also the hope that the war would be over in less than twenty months.
The misery began when the camp was closed and the prisoners set off towards the west. It was winter, it was snowing, and the clothing in which the women had frozen in the factory and just managed to hold out in the camp was completely inadequate, but not as inadequate as what was on their feet, often rags and sheets of newspaper tied so as to stay on when they stood or walked around, but impossible to make withstand long marches in snow and ice. And the women did not just march; they were driven, and forced to run. “Death march?” asks the daughter in the book, and answers, “No, death trot, death gallop.” Many collapsed along the way; others never got to their feet again after nights spent in barns or leaning against a wall. After a week, almost half the women were dead.
The church made a better shelter than the barns and walls the women had had before. When they had passed abandoned farms and stayed overnight, the uniformed security force and the female guards had taken the living quarters for themselves. Here, in the almost deserted village, they could commandeer the priest’s house and still leave the prisoners something more than a barn or a wall. That they did it, and that the prisoners even got something warm to eat in the village seemed to promise an end to the misery. The women went to sleep. Shortly afterwards the bombs fell. As long as the steeple was the only thing burning, the fire could be heard in the church, but not seen. When the tip of the steeple collapsed and crashed down onto the rafters, it took several minutes for the glow of the fire to become visible. By then the flames were already licking downwards and setting clothes alight, collapsing burning beams set fire to the pews and pulpit, and soon the whole roof crashed into the nave and started a general conflagration.
The daughter thinks the women could have saved themselves if they had immediately gotten together to break down one of the doors. But by the time they realized what had happened and was going to happen, and that no one was coming to open the doors, it was too late. It was completely dark when the sound of the falling bombs woke them. For a while they heard nothing but an eerie, frightening noise in the steeple, and kept absolutely quiet, so as to hear the noise better and figure out what it was. That it was the crackling and snapping of a fire, that it was the glow of flames that flared up now and again behind the windows, that the crash above their heads signaled the spreading of the fire from the steeple to the roof—all this the women realized only once the rafters began to burn. They realized, they screamed in horror, screamed for help, threw themselves at the doors, shook them, beat at them, screamed.
When the burning roof crashed into the nave, the shell of the walls acted like a chimney. Most of the women did not suffocate, but burned to death in the brilliant roar of the flames. In the end, the fire even burned its glowing way through the ironclad church doors. But that was hours later.
Mother and daughter survived because the mother did the right thing for the wrong reasons. When the women began to panic, she couldn’t bear to be among them anymore. She fled to the gallery. She didn’t care that she was closer to the flames, she just wanted to be alone, away from the screaming, thrashing, burning women. The gallery was narrow, so narrow that it was barely touched by the burning beams. Mother and daughter stood pressed against the wall and saw and heard the raging of the fire. Next day they didn’t dare come down and out of the church. In the darkness of the following night, they were afraid of not finding the stairs and the way out. When they left the church in the dawn of the day after that, they met some of the villagers, who gaped at them in silent astonishment, but gave them clothing and food and let them walk on.


第08节　　　那位女儿写的关于她在集中营生活的那本书的德文版，在法庭审判结束后才出版。虽然在法庭审理期间已经有草稿，但是，只有与此案有关的人才能得到。我只好读英文版的，这对当时的我来说是件非同寻常和颇为吃力的事情。运用一门尚未完全掌握的外语，总会让人产生一种特有的若即若离、似是而非的感觉。尽管人们特别仔细认真地读过那本书，但仍旧没把它变为自己的东西。就像对书写它的这门外语一样，人们对它的内容也感到陌生。
　　多年以后，我又重读了那本书，并且发现，这种距离感是书本身造成的。它没能让你从中辨认出任何人，也不使任何人让你同情，包括那母女俩以及和她们一起在不同的集中营里呆过，最后在奥斯威辛和克拉科夫遭受了共同命运的那些人。无论是集中营元老、女看守，还是警卫，他们的形象都不鲜明，以致人们无法褒贬他们的行为。书中充斥着我在前面已经描述过的那种麻木不仁。然而，在这种麻木不仁中，那位女儿并没有失去记录和分析事实的能力。她没有垮下来，她的自怜和由此产生的自觉意识没有使她垮下来。她活下来了，集中营里的那几年，她不但熬过来了，而且还用文学形式又把它再现了出来。她冷静客观地描述一切，描写她自己v她的青春期和她的早熟，如果必要的话还有她的机智。
　　书中既没有出现汉娜的名字，也没有任何东西可以让人联想到或辨认出她。有时候，我认为书中的某一位年轻漂亮的女看守就是汉娜：执行任务时认真到丧尽天良的地步，但是，我又不能肯定。如果我仔细地对照一下其他被告的话，那个女看守又只能是汉娜。但是书中还有其他女看守。在一所集中营里，那位女儿领教了一位被称做"牡马"的女看守的厉害，她年轻漂亮，俗尽职守，残酷无情，放荡不羁，正是这些令作者回忆起了这个集中营里这一位女看守。其他人也做过这种比喻吗？汉娜知道这些吗？当我把她比喻为一匹马时，她是不是回想起了这些，因而触及了她的要害？
　　克拉科夫集中营是那母女俩去奥斯威辛的最后一站。相比之下，到那里算是改善。那儿的活虽然繁重，但是生活容易些，伙食好些，而且六个人睡在一个房间总也比上百号人睡在一间临时搭建的木板房里要好。房里也暖和一些，女犯们可以从工厂回集中营的路上捡一些木材带回来。人们恐怕被挑选出来，但是这种恐惧感也不像在奥斯威辛那样严重。每个月有六十名女犯要被送回去，这六十名是从大约一千二百名中被挑选出来的。这样一来，人们只需拥有一般体力就有希望继续活二十个月，而且，人们甚至可以希望其体力超过一般水平。此外，人们也可以期望这场战争在不到二十个月的时间里就会结束。
　　随着集中营的被解散和囚犯的西迁，悲惨再次降临。当时正值隆冬时节，冰天雪地。女囚们身上穿的衣服在工厂里已是薄不可耐，在集中营里尚能让人承受，但是在冰天雪地里就不足以抵寒了。她们的鞋子就更惨了，它们通常是用破布或报纸做的，这样的鞋在站立和慢走时还能不散架子，但是在冰天雪地里进行长途跋涉就不可能不散架子了。那些女人不仅仅要长途跋涉，她们常被驱赶着小跑。"向死亡进军？"那位女儿在书中这样问道并回答道，"不，是赶死，是向死亡飞奔！"许多人在路上就垮掉了，又有许多人在粮仓里，或者在一面墙下过夜后就再也爬不起来了。一个星期之后，这些妇女中几乎一半都死掉了。
　　教堂要比那些女囚此前的栖身之处——粮仓或墙下要好多了。在这之前，当她们经过被遗弃的庭院并在那过夜时，警卫队和女看守们就分别占据能住人的房间。但在这里，一个正在被遗弃的村庄，看守们住进了教士住宅，而让女囚们住进了一个比粮仓和墙角好得多的教堂里。她们这样做了。在村子里她们甚至还得到了热汤喝，好像结束这种痛苦不堪的生活变得有希望了。这些妇女就这样入睡了。随后不久炸弹就落了下来。教堂的塔尖在燃烧时，在教堂里面只能听得见燃烧声却看不见火焰。塔尖坍塌并砸到屋架后，又过了几分钟才看得见火光，随后火焰也一点一点地蹿了进来，点燃了衣服。燃烧着的房梁掉下来点燃了座椅和布道坛。屋架很快塌人大堂，一切都熊熊燃烧了起来。
　　那位女儿认为，如果那些女人马上齐心协力地砸开其中的一扇门的话，她们还是可以得救的。但是当她们明白过来，知道发生了什么事，什么事将要发生，以及没人给她们开门时，为时已晚。当击中教堂的炸弹把她们惊醒时，正值漆黑的夜晚，有好一会儿工夫，她们只听得见塔顶上的一种令人奇怪和惊恐杂音。为了能更好地听清楚、弄明白那杂音是怎么一回事，她们都屏住了呼吸。那是火焰发出劈劈啪啪的声音，火光时而在窗后闪烁，那是投在她们头顶上的炸弹，那意味着大火由塔顶蔓延到了房顶，女人们直到屋架上的火焰明显地看得见的时候，才意识到这些。她们一旦意识到了这些，就开始大喊大叫，她们惊慌失措呼喊救命，向大门冲去，一边叫喊，一边拼命地摇撼和捶打着大门。
　　当燃烧的房顶轰轰隆隆地塌到教堂里面时，教堂里面的墙皮脱落下来使火势更旺，就像一座壁炉一样。大多数女人并不是窒息而死，而是被熊熊燃烧的大火给活活烧死的。最后，大火甚至烧透、烧红了教堂的铁皮大门，不过那是几个小时之后的事情了。那母女俩能活下来，完全是侥幸。当那些女人陷入惊慌失措时，她们也在其中。由于实在无法忍受，她们逃到了教堂的廊台上。尽管她们在那儿离火焰更近，但是这无所谓，她们只想单独呆着，远离那些吱哇乱叫的、挤来又挤去的、浑身上下着火的女人。廊台上很狭窄，狭窄到燃烧着的房顶都没有触及到它。母女俩紧紧地挨在一起，站在墙边，看着。听着那大火的肆意燃烧。就是第二天她们都不敢走下台阶来，不敢走出去。夜幕降临后，在黑暗中又担心害怕摸不到台阶，找不到路。在第三天的黎明时分，当她们从教堂里走出来时，遇到了几位村民。村民们不知所措，目瞪口呆地凝视着她们而说不出话来。他们给了她们衣物和食物，然后让她们逃走了。
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CHAPTER NINE

“W HY DID you not unlock the doors?” The presiding judge put the question to one defendant after another. One after the other, they gave the same answer. They couldn’t unlock the doors. Why? They had been wounded when the bombs hit the priest’s house. Or they had been in shock as a result of the bombardment. Or they had been busy after the bombs hit, with the wounded guard contingent, pulling them out of the rubble, bandaging them, taking care of them. They had not thought about the church, had not seen the fire in the church, had not heard the screams from the church.
The judge made the same statement to one defendant after another. The record indicated otherwise. This was deliberately phrased with caution. To say that the record found in the SS archives said otherwise would be wrong. But it was true that it suggested something different. It listed the names of those who had been killed in the priest’s house and those who had been wounded, those who had brought the wounded to a field hospital in a truck, and those who had accompanied the truck in a jeep. It indicated that the women guards had stayed behind to wait out the end of the fires, to prevent any of them from spreading and to prevent any attempts to escape under the cover of the flames. It referred to the death of the prisoners.
The fact that the names of the defendants appeared nowhere in the report suggested that the defendants were among the female guards who had remained behind. That these guards had remained behind to prevent attempts at escape indicated that the affair didn’t end with the rescue of the wounded from the priest’s house and the departure of the transport to the field hospital. The guards who remained behind, the report indicated, had allowed the fire to rage in the church and had kept the church doors locked. Among the guards who remained behind, the report indicated, were the defendants.
No, said one defendant after the other, that is not the way it was. The report was wrong. That much was evident from the fact that it mentioned the obligation of the guards to prevent the fires from spreading. How could they have carried out that responsibility? It was ridiculous, as was the other responsibility of preventing attempted escapes under the cover of the fires. Attempted escapes? By the time they no longer had to worry about their own people and could worry about the others, the prisoners, there was no one left to escape. No, the report completely ignored what they had done and achieved and suffered that night. How could such a false report have been filed? They didn’t know.
Until it was the turn of the plump and vicious defendant. She knew. “Ask that one there!” She pointed at Hanna. “She wrote the report. She’s the guilty one, she did it all, and she wanted to use the report to cover it up and drag us into it.”
The judge asked Hanna. But it was his last question. His first was “Why did you not unlock the doors?”
“We were . . . we had . . .” Hanna was groping for the answer. “We didn’t have any alternative.”
“You had no alternative?”
“Some of us were dead, and the others had left. They said they were taking the wounded to the field hospital and would come back, but they knew they weren’t coming back, and so did we. Perhaps they didn’t even go to the hospital, the wounded were not that badly hurt. We would have gone with them, but they said they needed the room for the wounded, and anyway they didn’t . . . they weren’t keen to have so many women along. I don’t know where they went.”
“What did you do?”
“We didn’t know what to do. It all happened so fast, with the priest’s house burning and the church spire, and the men and the cart were there one minute and gone the next, and suddenly we were alone with the women in the church. They left behind some weapons, but we didn’t know how to use them, and even if we had, what good would it have done, since we were only a handful of women? How could we have guarded all those women? A line like that is very long, even if you keep it as tight together as possible, and to guard such a long column, you need far more people than we had.” Hanna paused. “Then the screaming began and got worse and worse. If we had opened the doors and they had all come rushing out . . .”
The judge waited a moment. “Were you afraid? Were you afraid the prisoners would overpower you?”
“That they would . . . no, but how could we have restored order? There would have been chaos, and we had no way to handle that. And if they’d tried to escape . . .”
Once again the judge waited, but Hanna didn’t finish the sentence. “Were you afraid that if they escaped, you would be arrested, convicted, shot?”
“We couldn’t just let them escape! We were responsible for them . . . I mean, we had guarded them the whole time, in the camp and on the march, that was the point, that we had to guard them and not let them escape. That’s why we didn’t know what to do. We also had no idea how many of the women would survive the next few days. So many had died already, and the ones who were still alive were so weak . . .”
Hanna realized that what she was saying wasn’t doing her case any good. But she couldn’t say anything else. She could only try to say what she was saying better, to describe it better and explain it. But the more she said, the worse it looked for her. Because she was at her wits’ end, she turned to the judge again.
“What would you have done?”
But this time she knew she would get no answer. She wasn’t expecting one. Nobody was. The judge shook his head silently.
Not that it was impossible to imagine the confusion and helplessness Hanna described. The night, the cold, the snow, the fire, the screaming of the women in the church, the sudden departure of the people who had commanded and escorted the female guards—how could the situation have been easy? But could an acknowledgment that the situation had been hard be any mitigation for what the defendants had done or not done? As if it had been a car accident on a lonely road on a cold winter night, with injuries and totaled vehicles, and no one knowing what to do? Or as if it had been a conflict between two equally compelling duties that required action? That is how one could imagine what Hanna was describing, but nobody was willing to look at it in such terms.
“Did you write the report?”
“We all discussed what we should write. We didn’t want to hang any of the blame on the ones who had left. But we didn’t want to attract charges that we had done anything wrong either.”
“So you’re saying you talked it through together. Who wrote it?”
“You!” The other defendant pointed at Hanna.
“No, I didn’t write it. Does it matter who did?”
A prosecutor suggested that an expert be called to compare the handwriting in the report and the handwriting of the defendant Schmitz.
“My handwriting? You want my handwriting? . . .”
The judge, the prosecutor, and Hanna’s lawyer discussed whether a person’s handwriting retains its character over more than fifteen years and can be identified. Hanna listened and tried several times to say or ask something, and was becoming incre


第09节　　　"您为什么不把门打开？"
　　审判长一个接一个地向每个被告都提出同样的问题，每个被告都给予了同样的回答：她们无法打开。为什么？有的说，当炸弹击中教士住宅时，她受伤了。有的说，她被轰炸吓得呆若木鸡。有的说，在轰炸之后，她要照料受伤的警卫队员和其他受伤的女看守，她把她们从废墟中救出来，为她们包扎，护理她们。有的说，她没有想到教堂，她不在教堂附近，没有看到教堂着火，也没听见从教堂里传来的呼救声。
　　审判长一个接一个地警告她们：报告读上去可全不是这么回事。这是经过深思熟虑后的一种谨慎表达方式。如果说从纳粹党卫队的档案里发现的报告所记载的是另外一回事；那就错了。但报告读上去的确是另一番情形。报告里指名道姓地提到谁在教土住宅里被炸死了，谁受了伤，谁把伤员用货车送到了一家野战医院，还有谁乘坐军用吉普车陪送。报告提到，女看守们被留了下来，目的是让她们等候大火烧尽，防止火势蔓延和阻止囚犯们趁火逃跑。报告中也提到了囚犯们的死亡。
　　被告们的名字不在名单里面，这说明她们属于留下来的女看守之列。既然把女看守们留下来是为了阻止囚犯们逃跑，这说明从教士住宅抢救伤员并把他们送到野战医院的工作还没有全部结束。从报告中可以看出，那些留守下来的女看守让教堂里的大火肆意疯狂地燃烧，并坚持不打开教堂的大门。在那些被留下来的女看守中间，正如从报告中可以看到的那样，有这几位被告在内。
　　不，根本不是这么回事。被告们一个接着一个地这样说。他们说那篇报告是错的。报告里讲，被留下的女看守的任务是阻止火势的蔓延，只凭这一点就可以看到那篇报告的荒谬。她们怎么能来完成这项任务。这是胡说八道，而且另外的一项任务，即阻止囚犯趁火逃跑，同样也是胡说八道。阻止逃跑？好像她们不必要照料自己人了似的，也好像不能去照料囚犯了似的，好像没有任何人可以跑掉似的。不！那篇报告把她们那天晚上的所作所为，她们的功绩和所遭受的痛苦，完全颠倒了。怎么会有这样一篇如此错误的报告？她们也都自称不知道。
　　轮到那位慢条斯理、尖酸刻毒的被告人时，她说她知道。"您问她吧！"她用手指着汉娜说："是她写的那篇报告，她有罪，只她一人有罪，她在报告中隐瞒了自己而想把我们扯进去。"
　　审判长就此问了汉娜，不过，那是他的最后的问题。他的第一个问题是："您为什么没有把门打开？"
　　"我们在……我们要……"汉娜在寻找答案，"我们不知道该怎样帮助他们才是。"
　　"你们不知道该怎样帮助他们才是？"
　　"我们当中的一些人死掉了，一些人开小差了。他们说，他们要把伤员送往野战医院，然后再返回来。但是他们心里明白他们不会再回来了，我们对此也十分清楚。也许他们根本就没去野战医院，伤员们的伤势并非十分严重。他们还说，伤员需要地方，他们正好没有什么东西……正好不愿带着这么多的女人一起走，否则我们也一起走了。我不知道他们去了哪儿。"
　　"您都干了什么？"
　　"我们不知道该做什么，一切都发生得很快。教士住宅起火了，还有教堂的塔顶。男人们，还有小汽车开始时还都在，随后他们就离开了。转眼之间只剩下我们和教堂里的女囚。他们给我们留下了一些武器，但是我们不会用。假使我们会用它们的话，这对我们几个女人来说又能帮上什么忙呢？我们该如何看守住这么多的女囚呢？走起路来长长的一列，就是紧凑一起也够长的，看守这样长的队伍，需要比我们这几个女人多得多的人力。"汉娜稍稍停顿了一下，"然后她们开始喊叫起来，而且越来越严重。如果我们此时把门打开让所有的人都跑出来的话
　　审判长等了一会问："您害怕吗？您害怕被囚犯们战胜吗？"
　　"囚犯会把我们……不，不会。但是，我们怎样才能使她们重新就范呢？那一定会乱作一团的，我们一定对付不了这种局面，而且一旦她们企图逃跑的话…·"
　　审判长又等了一会儿，但是，汉娜没有把那句话说完。"您害怕一旦逃跑的事情发生，您会被捕，会被判决，会被熗毙吗？"
　　"我们当然不会轻易地让她们逃跑的，我们就是干这个的……我的意思是我们一直都在看守她们，在集中营，在行军的路上。我们看守她们的意义所在正是不让她们逃跑。正因为如此，我们才不知道如何做是好，我们也不知道有多少囚犯在后来的日子里能活下来。已经死了那么多了，剩下这些活着的也已经如此虚弱……"
　　汉娜注意到，她所说的事情无助于事，但是她又没别的可说。她只能尽力而为他说好她所要说的事情，更好地去描述，去解释。但是她说得越多，事情对她就越糟糕。由于她感到进退维谷，就又转向了审判长问道：
　　"要是您的话会怎么做呢？"
　　但是，这一次她自己也知道她不会得到回答。她不期待回答，没有人期望得到一个回答。审判长默不作声地摇着头。
　　不是人们对汉娜所描述的那种不知所措和无助的情形无法想象。那个夜晚的情景：寒冷，冰雪，大火，教堂里女人的喊叫，那些曾命令她们和陪同她们的人的逃之夭夭。在这样的情况下，把囚犯放出来该会是什么样子呢！但是，认为当时这些被告的处境确实很难就可以相对减轻她们的罪责吗？人们就可以对她们的行为不那么感到震惊了吗？就可以把它看做是在一个寒冷的冬夜里，在一条人烟稀少的道路上发生的一场造成人员伤亡的车祸，而认为人们在这种情况下本来不知道如何是好？或者，这是不是反映了我们都应该担负的两种责任之间的矛盾呢？人们可以这样做，但是人们不愿意去想象汉娜所描述的情景。
　　"报告是您写的吗？"
　　"我们在一起商量了该写什么，我们不想把责任都推到那些开小差的人的身上，但是我们也不想把责任都揽到我们自己身上。"
　　"您说，你们一起商量了。谁执的笔呢？"
　　"称！"另外的那位被告又用手指着汉娜。
　　"不，我没有写。谁写的，这重要吗？"
　　一位律师建议请一位鉴定专家对报告的字体和被告人史密兰女士的字体进行比较鉴定。
　　"我的字体？您想要我的字体……"
　　审判长、那位律师还有汉娜的辩护律师在讨论了一个人的字体超过十五年之后是否还能保持它的同一性，是否还能让人辨认出来。汉娜注意听着，几次想插话说什么，或者要问什么，越来越坐立不安。最后她说："您不需要请鉴定专家，我承认报告是我写的。"




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沐觅谨。

ZxID：17938529

87160鲜花 72鸡蛋

等级: 内阁元老
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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 27楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER TEN

I HAVE NO memory of the Friday seminar meetings. Even when I recall the trial, I cannot remember what topics we selected for scholarly discussion. What did we talk about? What did we want to know? What did the professor teach us?
But I remember the Sundays. The days in court gave me a new hunger for the colors and smells of nature. On Fridays and Saturdays I managed to catch up on what I had missed of my studies during the other days of the week, so that I could complete my course assignments and pass the semester. On Sundays, I took off by myself.
Heiligenberg, St. Michael’s Basilica, the Bismarck Tower, the Philosophers’ Path, the banks of the river—I didn’t vary my route much from one Sunday to the next. I found there was enough variety in the greens that became richer and richer from week to week, and in the floodplain of the Rhine, that was sometimes in a heat haze, sometimes hidden behind curtains of rain and sometimes overhung by storm clouds, and in the smells of the berries and wildflowers in the woods when the sun blazed down on them, and of earth and last year’s rotting leaves when it rained. Anyway I don’t need or seek much variety. Each journey a little further than the last, the next vacation in the new place I discovered during my last vacation and liked . . . For a while I thought I should be more daring, and made myself go to Ceylon, Egypt, and Brazil, before I went back to making familiar regions more familiar. I see more in them.
I have rediscovered the place in the woods where Hanna’s secret became clear to me. There is nothing special about it now, nor was there anything special then, no strangely shaped tree or cliff, no unusual view of the city and the plain, nothing that would invite startling associations. In thinking about Hanna, going round and round in the same tracks week after week, one thought had split off, taken another direction, and finally produced its own conclusion. When it did so, it was done—it could have been anywhere, or at least anywhere the familiarity of the surroundings and the scenery allowed what was truly surprising, what didn’t come like a bolt from the blue, but had been growing inside myself, to be recognized and accepted. It happened on a path that climbed steeply up the mountain, crossed the road, passed a spring, and then wound under old, tall, dark trees and out into light underbrush.
Hanna could neither read nor write.
That was why she had had people read to her. That was why she had let me do all the writing and reading on our bicycle trip and why she had lost control that morning in the hotel when she found my note, realized I would assume she knew what it said, and was afraid she’d be exposed. That was why she had avoided being promoted by the streetcar company; as a conductor she could conceal her weakness, but it would have become obvious when she was being trained to become a driver. That was also why she had refused the promotion at Siemens and become a guard. That was why she had admitted to writing the report in order to escape a confrontation with an expert. Had she talked herself into a corner at the trial for the same reason? Because she couldn’t read the daughter’s book or the indictment, couldn’t see the openings that would allow her to build a defense, and thus could not prepare herself accordingly? Was that why she sent her chosen wards to Auschwitz? To silence them in case they had noticed something? And was that why she always chose the weak ones in the first place?
Was that why? I could understand that she was ashamed at not being able to read or write, and would rather drive me away than expose herself. I was no stranger to shame as the cause of behavior that was deviant or defensive, secretive or misleading or hurtful. But could Hanna’s shame at being illiterate be sufficient reason for her behavior at the trial or in the camp? To accept exposure as a criminal for fear of being exposed as an illiterate? To commit crimes to avoid the same thing?
How often I have asked myself these same questions, both then and since. If Hanna’s motive was fear of exposure—why opt for the horrible exposure as a criminal over the harmless exposure as an illiterate? Or did she believe she could escape exposure altogether? Was she simply stupid? And was she vain enough, and evil enough, to become a criminal simply to avoid exposure?
Both then and since, I have always rejected this. No, Hanna had not decided in favor of crime. She had decided against a promotion at Siemens, and fell into a job as a guard. And no, she had not dispatched the delicate and the weak on transports to Auschwitz because they had read to her; she had chosen them to read to her because she wanted to make their last month bearable before their inevitable dispatch to Auschwitz. And no, at the trial Hanna did not weigh exposure as an illiterate against exposure as a criminal. She did not calculate and she did not maneuver. She accepted that she would be called to account, and simply did not wish to endure further exposure. She was not pursuing her own interests, but fighting for her own truth, her own justice. Because she always had to dissimulate somewhat, and could never be completely candid, it was a pitiful truth and a pitiful justice, but it was hers, and the struggle for it was her struggle.
She must have been completely exhausted. Her struggle was not limited to the trial. She was struggling, as she always had struggled, not to show what she could do but to hide what she couldn’t do. A life made up of advances that were actually frantic retreats and victories that were concealed defeats.
I was oddly moved by the discrepancy between what must have been Hanna’s actual concerns when she left my hometown and what I had imagined and theorized at the time. I had been sure that I had driven her away because I had betrayed and denied her, when in fact she had simply been running away from being found out by the streetcar company. However, the fact that I had not driven her away did not change the fact that I had betrayed her. So I was still guilty. And if I was not guilty because one cannot be guilty of betraying a criminal, then I was guilty of having loved a criminal.


第10节　　　我对每天都自愿参加的研讨会没有留下什么记忆，即使我回忆法庭的审理情形，也记不起来我们都做了哪些科学的整理工作，我们就什么问题进行了讨论，我们想要知道什么，那位教授都教了我们什么。
　　但是，我却记得那些周日。在法庭的那些天，使我对大自然的色彩和气息产生了新的渴望。在节假日和星期六，我把在学习中所落下的课程尽可能都补上了，这样，在做课堂练习时，我至少能跟得上，也能完成本学期的学分。星期天，我总是出去。
　　圣山，米西尔教堂，彼斯麦塔，哲学家之路，河岸，一个星期天接着一个星期天，我走的路线仅有很小的变动。一个星期接着一个星期，我所看到的大自然足以用丰富多彩、变化无穷来形容。深绿色的莱茵平原有时处在热气中，有时在云雾中，有时在雷雨乌云中。在森林里，当阳光照耀时可闻得花香，闻得果甜；当雨水四溅时可喷得到泥土的气息，嗅得到去年新落下的树叶的味道。我一点不需要也不寻找比这更多的多样性。行程一次比一次远些，下次度假的地方通常是上次度假时发现并喜欢的地方。有好长一段时间，我认为我应该更大胆一些，应该强迫自己去锡兰、埃及和巴西，不过，我还是去了我所熟悉的地区，为的是加深对旧地的了解。在这些地方我看到的更多。
　　在森林里，我又发现了我揭开汉娜秘密的地方。那不是一个什么特别的地方，当时也没有什么特别之处，没有别具一格的树木或悬崖峭壁，没有什么非同一般的可以看到那座城市和那片平原的视角，没有什么会促使你产生意想不到的联想。在周而复始他对汉娜进行思考后，我竟产生了一种想法，我追踪了这个想法，最后也得出了结论。真是筋疲力尽之时，也正是柳暗花明之日。这种情况随处可见，或者至少在这种情况下随处可见：你对一个环境或一种情况非常熟悉，以至于凡是你感受到并接受了的、令你惊讶的东西，都不是来自外部世界，而是产生于内心。我得出结论的过程就像一个人走在一条路上，先爬上陡峭的山坡，再穿越马路，再经过一个泉井，然后穿过一片森林：先是古老的、遮天蔽日的参天大树，之后才是明亮的小树丛。
　　汉娜既不会读也不会写。
　　所以她才让人给她朗读，所以在我们骑车旅行时，才让我承担读写的任务，所以当她那天早上在旅馆里发现我的字条时，才大发雷霆——她猜测出了字条的内容和我的期待，害怕自己出丑，所以她才逃避了有轨电车公司对她的提升——作为售票员，她可以掩饰她的弱点，如果被培训当司机，那她的弱点将暴露无遗，所以她才回避了西门子公司对她的提升而做了一名女看守，所以为了避免和鉴定专家对质，她承认了那篇报告是她写的。也正是因为如此她才在法庭上拼命地争辩吗？因为她既不能读那位女儿写的那本书又不会看控告词，她才看不到为自己辩护的机会并为此做相应的准备吗？也正因为如此她才把受到她特殊照顾的人送往奥斯威辛吗？是因为她怕她们发现她的弱点而想杀人灭口吗？也正是因为如此她才把那些体弱者纳入她的保护之下吗？
　　都是由于这个原因吗？她为自己既不会读也不会写而感到羞耻，所以她宁愿让我感到莫名其妙也不愿自己出丑，这个我能理解。我对由于羞耻而去回避、拒绝、隐瞒、伪装并伤害他人的这些行为有亲身体会，但是，汉娜在法庭上和集中营中的所作所为是因为她对不会读写感到可耻吗？她认为做一个文盲比做一名罪犯更丢脸吗？她比暴露自己是个罪犯更害怕暴露自己是个文盲吗？
　　当时和从那时以来，我经常向自己提出这个问题。如果汉娜的动机是害怕暴露自己，那为什么不暴露自己是一个无害的文盲而要暴露自己是个可怕的罪犯呢？或许她认为什么都不暴露就能蒙混过关吗？她这么愚蠢吗？她这么爱虚荣，这么邪恶吗？为了避免暴露就去做罪犯吗？
　　当时和自那时以来，我总是拒绝这样想。不，我对自己说，汉娜没有想去犯罪。她没有接受西门子公司对她的提拔，而不自觉地决定做了女看守。木，她没有因为她们为她朗读过就把那些温柔体弱的人送往奥斯威辛。她特别把她们挑选出来为她朗读，是因为她想使她们在被送往奥斯威辛以前的最后几个月的日子过得好一点。木，在法庭上，汉娜没有在暴露自己是文盲还是暴露自己是罪犯之间进行斟酌。她并没有三思而后行，她的行为举止缺少策略性。她宁可被绳之以法，也不愿暴露自己是文盲。她进行的斗争不是为了自己的利益，而是为了她的真理、她的正义。那是个可悲的真理、可怜的正义，因为她总要伪装自己，因为她从未开诚布公过，从未完全自我过。不过，那是她的真理和正义，为此而进行的奋斗是她的奋斗。
　　她必须要使出全身解数来。她不仅仅在法庭上要争要斗，她必须要永远奋斗，其目的不是为了向世人显示她能做的事情，而是向世人掩饰她不能做的事情。这是一种其起步意味着节节败退，而其胜利隐藏着失败的生活。
　　汉娜离开我家乡时的处境和我当时对它的想象之间存在分歧，这种分歧不同寻常地触动着我。我曾十分肯定她是被我赶走的，因为我曾经背叛和否认过她。她离开了有轨电车公司确实逃避了一次暴露。不过，我没有把她赶走的这一事实，丝毫没有改变我背叛了她的这一事实。这就是说，我仍旧负有责任。如果说我没有什么责任的话，是因为背叛一名罪犯不必负什么责任；如果说我负有责任，是因为我曾经爱上过一个罪犯。
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举报 只看该作者 28楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER ELEVEN

O NCE HANNA admitted having written the report, the other defendants had an easy game to play. When Hanna had not been acting alone, they claimed, she had pressured, threatened, and forced the others. She had seized command. She did the talking and the writing. She had made the decisions.
The villagers who testified could neither confirm nor deny this. They had seen that the burning church was guarded by several women who did not unlock it, and they had not dared to unlock it themselves. They had met the women the next morning as they were leaving the village, and recognized them as the defendants. But which of the defendants had been the spokeswoman at the early-morning encounter, or if anyone had played the role of spokeswoman, they could not recall.
“But you cannot rule out that it was this defendant”—the lawyer for one of the other defendants pointed at Hanna—“who took the decisions?”
They couldn’t, how could they even have wanted to, and faced with the other defendants, visibly older, more worn out, more cowardly and bitter, they had no such impulse. In comparison with the other defendants, Hanna was the dominant one. Besides, the existence of a leader exonerated the villagers; having failed to achieve rescue in the face of a fiercely led opposing force looked better than having failed to do anything when confronted by a group of confused women.
Hanna kept struggling. She admitted what was true and disputed what was not. Her arguments became more desperate and more vehement. She didn’t raise her voice, but her very intensity alienated the court.
Eventually she gave up. She spoke only when asked a direct question; her answers were short, minimal, sometimes beside the point. As if to make clear that she had given up, she now remained seated when speaking. The presiding judge, who had told her several times at the beginning of the trial that she did not need to stand and could remain seated if she preferred, was put off by this as well. Towards the end of the trial, I sometimes had the sense that the court had had enough, that they wanted to get the whole thing over with, that they were no longer paying attention but were somewhere else, or rather here—back in the present after long weeks in the past.
I had had enough too. But I couldn’t put it behind me. For me, the proceedings were not ending, but just beginning. I had been a spectator, and then suddenly a participant, a player, and member of the jury. I had neither sought nor chosen this new role, but it was mine whether I wanted it or not, whether I did anything or just remained completely passive.
“Did anything”—there was only one thing to do. I could go to the judge and tell him that Hanna was illiterate. That she was not the main protagonist and guilty party the way the others made her out to be. That her behavior at the trial was not proof of singular incorrigibility, lack of remorse, or arrogance, but was born of her incapacity to familiarize herself with the indictment and the manuscript and also probably of her consequent lack of any sense of strategy or tactics. That her defense had been significantly compromised. That she was guilty, but not as guilty as it appeared.
Maybe I would not be able to convince the judge. But I would give him enough to have to think about and investigate further. In the end, it would be proved that I was right, and Hanna would be punished, but less severely. She would have to go to prison, but would be released sooner—wasn’t that what she had been fighting for?
Yes, that was what she had been fighting for, but she was not willing to earn victory at the price of exposure as an illiterate. Nor would she want me to barter her self-image for a few years in prison. She could have made that kind of trade herself, and did not, which meant she didn’t want it. Her sense of self was worth more than the years in prison to her.
But was it really worth all that? What did she gain from this false self-image which ensnared her and crippled her and paralyzed her? With the energy she put into maintaining the lie, she could have learned to read and write long ago.
I tried to talk about the problem with friends. Imagine someone is racing intentionally towards his own destruction and you can save him—do you go ahead and save him? Imagine there’s an operation, and the patient is a drug user and the drugs are incompatible with the anesthetic, but the patient is ashamed of being an addict and does not want to tell the anesthesiologist—do you talk to the anesthesiologist? Imagine a trial and a defendant who will be convicted if he doesn’t admit to being left-handed—do you tell the judge what’s going on? Imagine he’s gay, and could not have committed the crime because he’s gay, but is ashamed of being gay. It isn’t a question of whether the defendant should be ashamed of being left-handed or gay—just imagine that he is.


第11节　　　由于汉娜承认那篇报告是她写的，其他被告就可以轻松地出牌了。她们说，凡汉娜一个人处理不了的事情，她就逼迫、威胁和强迫其他被告一起做。她把指挥棒揽在自己手里。她既执笔又代言，她总是做最后决定。
　　对此，做证的村民既不能证实又不能反驳。他们看见那熊熊燃烧的教堂被许多穿制服的女人看守着，门没有被打开。这样，他们自己也不敢去开门。当她们第二天早上开拔时，他们又遇见了她们，而且在这些被告中又认出了她们。但是，由于只是在晨窿中相遇，哪位被告是发号施令者，是否真的有哪位被告在发号施令，他们也说不清楚。
　　"但是你们不能排除这位被告做了决定吧！另一位被告的辩护律师指着汉娜说。
　　他们不能排除，他们怎么能排除！看到其他被告明显地更年老，更疲倦，更胆小和更痛苦，他们也不想排除这种可能性。相比之下，汉娜就是个头头。除此之外，有个头头存在也减轻了村民们的负担。他们在一伙严厉的、有领导的女人面前没有伸出援助之手总比在一帮不知所措的女人面前而没有伸出援助之手要好得多。
　　汉娜继续抗争着，对的她就承认，错的她就反驳。她的反驳越来越困惑，越来越暴躁，她的声音不大，但其厉害程度令法庭感到惊讶。
　　最后，她放弃了争辩，只是在被问到对她才说话。她的回答简短扼要，有时候甚至漫不经心。好像为了让人更明显地看出她已经放弃了，她现在说话时也不站起来。审判长也惊讶地注意到了这一点。在法庭审理刚开始时，审判长曾多次对她说过不必站起来，她可以坐着讲话。有时候我会有一种感觉，觉得法庭在审理接近尾声时已经厌战了，想尽早把事情了结，大家都已经心不在焉，都想在经过几周对过去的审理后再回到现实中来。
　　我也感到厌倦了，但是我却不能把事情置于脑后。对我来说，审理没有结束，而是刚刚开始。起初，我是一名听众，突然之间我变成了参与者、一同游戏的人和共同决策者。我并没有去寻找和选择这一新的角色，但是我却得到了它，不管我愿意与否，不管我是采取了主动还是被动。
　　如果我能做什么的话，我也只能做一件事。我可以去找审判长，对他说汉娜是个文盲，她并非如其他人所说的那样是个主角并负有主要责任。她在法庭上的言谈举止并不能说明她特别固执己见、不理智或者厚颜无耻，而只能说明她对其控告词和那本书事前缺乏了解和认识，也是由于她缺乏战略战术意识的结果。这对她为自己辩护极为不利。她虽然负有责任，但是她所负的责任并不是像看上去的那样重大。
　　也许我的话不能令审判长信服，但是，我会促使他去思考，去调查研究。最终结果将证明我是对的。汉娜尽管将受到惩罚，但是她的罪责将会减轻。她尽管要坐牢，但是会早些时候被放出来，会早些时候重获自由。她的争辩难道不正是为了这些吗？
　　是的，她是为此而抗争的，但是她不愿为了获得成功而暴露出自己是个文盲，她不想为此付出代价。她也不会愿意我为了她在监狱里少呆几年而出卖她。她可以自己讨价还价，但她没有那样做，说明她不想那样做。对她来说，为了她的自我价值蹲几年监狱也值得。
　　但是，这对她来说真的值得吗？她从这种虚伪的、束缚她的、令其丧失活力的、使其无法施展才能的自我价值中能得到什么呢？如果把用于掩饰真实谎言的精力用于学习，她早就能学会读和写了。
　　当时，我曾试着与朋友就这个问题进行探讨。你设想一下，有人想毁掉自己，故意毁掉自己，你就是能挽救他，可你将挽救他吗？你设想一个手术，病人服用了连麻药都无法相比的毒品，但他又耻于向麻醉师开口讲他服用了毒品，在这种情况下，你能告诉麻醉师真相吗？你设想一次法庭审理案，有一名被告将会受到惩罚，他是个左撇子，但是他为此感到羞耻。如果他不讲出自己是一个左撇子，因而不能完成一个用右手实施的行为，你能对法庭说明此事吗？你设想一下，某人是一名同性恋者，作为同性恋他不会于某种行为，可是他又耻于做一名同性恋者而不说明真相。这不是人们是否应该耻于做一名左撇子或做一名同性恋者的问题，您想一想，这是被告为自己感到羞耻的问题。
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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 29楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER TWELVE

I DECIDED TO speak to my father. Not because we were particularly close. My father was undemonstrative, and could neither share his feelings with us children nor deal with the feelings we had for him. For a long time I believed there must be a wealth of undiscovered treasure behind that uncommunicative manner, but later I wondered if there was anything behind it at all. Perhaps he had been full of emotions as a boy and a young man, and by giving them no outlet had allowed them over the years to wither and die.
But it was because of the distance between us that I sought him out now. I wanted to talk to the philosopher who had written about Kant and Hegel, and who had, as I knew, occupied himself with moral issues. He should be well positioned to explore my problem in the abstract and, unlike my friends, to avoid getting trapped in the inadequacies of my examples.
When we children wanted to speak to our father, he gave us appointments just like his students. He worked at home and only went to the university to give his lectures and seminars. Colleagues and students who wished to speak to him came to see him at home. I remember lines of students leaning against the wall in the corridor and waiting their turn, some reading, some looking at the views of cities hanging in the corridor, others staring into space, all of them silent except for an embarrassed greeting when we children went down the corridor and said hello. We ourselves didn’t have to wait in the hall when our father had made an appointment with us. But we too had to be at his door at the appointed time and knock to be admitted.
I knew two of my father’s studies. The windows in the first one, in which Hanna had run her fingers along the books, looked out onto the streets and houses. The windows in the second looked out over the plain along the Rhine. The house we moved to in the early 1960s, and where my parents stayed after we had grown up, was on the big hill above the city. In both places, the windows did not open the room to the world beyond, but framed and hung the world in it like a picture. My father’s study was a capsule in which books, papers, thoughts, and pipe and cigar smoke had created their own force field, different from that of the outside world.
My father allowed me to present my problem in its abstract form and with my examples. “It has to do with the trial, doesn’t it?” But he shook his head to show that he didn’t expect an answer, or want to press me or hear anything that I wasn’t ready to tell him of my own accord. Then he sat, head to one side, hands gripping the arms of his chair, and thought. He didn’t look at me. I studied him, his gray hair, his face, carelessly shaven as always, the deep lines between his eyes and from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. I waited.
When he answered, he went all the way back to beginnings. He instructed me about the individual, about freedom and dignity, about the human being as subject and the fact that one may not turn him into an object. “Don’t you remember how furious you would get as a little boy when Mama knew better what was good for you? Even how far one can act like this with children is a real problem. It is a philosophical problem, but philosophy does not concern itself with children. It leaves them to pedagogy, where they’re not in very good hands. Philosophy has forgotten about children.” He smiled at me. “Forgotten them forever, not just sometimes, the way I forget about you.”
“But . . .”
“But with adults I see absolutely no justification for setting other people’s views of what is good for them above their own ideas of what is good for themselves.”
“Not even if they themselves are happy about it later?”
He shook his head. “We’re not talking about happiness, we’re talking about dignity and freedom. Even as a little boy, you knew the difference. It was no comfort to you that your mother was always right.”
Today I like thinking back on that conversation with my father. I had forgotten it until after his death, when I began to search the depths of my memory for happy encounters and shared activities and experiences with him. When I found it, I was both amazed and delighted. Originally I was confused by my father’s mixing of abstraction and concreteness. But eventually I sorted out what he had said to mean that I did not have to speak to the judge, that indeed I had no right to speak to him, and was relieved.
My father saw my relief. “That’s how you like your philosophy?”
“Well, I didn’t know if one had to act in the circumstances I described, and I wasn’t really happy with the idea that one must, and if one really isn’t allowed to do anything at all, I find that . . .” I didn’t know what to say. A relief? A comfort? Appealing? That didn’t sound like morality and responsibility. “I think that’s good” would have sounded moral and responsible, but I couldn’t say I thought it was good, that I thought it was any more than a relief.
“Appealing?” my father suggested.
I nodded and shrugged my shoulders.
“No, your problem has no appealing solution. Of course one must act if the situation as you describe it is one of accrued or inherited responsibility. If one knows what is good for another person who in turn is blind to it, then one must try to open his eyes. One has to leave him the last word, but one must talk to him, to him and not to someone else behind his back.”
Talk to Hanna? What would I say to her? That I had seen through her lifelong lie? That she was in the process of sacrificing her whole life to this silly lie? That the lie wasn’t worth the sacrifice? That that was why she should fight not to remain in prison any longer than she had to, because there was so much she could still do with her life afterwards? Could I deprive her of her lifelong lie, without opening some vision of a future to her? I had no idea what that might be, nor did I know how to face her and say that after what she had done it was right that her short- and medium-term future would be prison. I didn’t know how to face her and say anything at all. I didn’t know how to face her.
I asked my father: “And what if you can’t talk to him?”
He looked at me doubtfully, and I knew myself that the question was beside the point. There was nothing more to moralize about. I just had to make a decision.
“I haven’t been able to help you.” My father stood up and so did I. “No, you don’t have to go, it’s just that my back hurts.” He stood bent over, with his hands pressed against his kidneys. “I can’t say that I’m sorry I can’t help you. As a philosopher, I mean, which is how you were addressing me. As your father, I find the experience of not being able to help my children almost unbearable.”
I waited, but he didn’t say anything else. I thought he was making it easy on himself; I knew when he could have taken care of us more and how he could have helped us more. Then I thought that perhaps he realized this himself and really found it difficult to bear. But either way I had nothing to say to him. I was embarrassed, and had the feeling he was embarrassed too.
“Well then . . .”
“You can come any time.” My father looked at me.
I didn’t believe him, and nodded.

第12节　　　我决定和我父亲谈谈，不是因为我们彼此之间无话不谈。我父亲是个沉默寡言的人，他既不能把他的感情告诉我们这些孩子，又不能接收我们带给他的感情。在很长的一段时间里，我猜想在这种互不通气的行为背后蕴藏着丰富的、没有发掘的宝藏。但是后来我怀疑那儿是否真的有什么东西。也许他年轻时有过丰富的感情，但是没有表达出来，天长日久这种感情就变得枯萎，就自消自灭了。
　　然而，正是由于我们之间存在着距离我才找他谈。我找的谈话对象是一位哲学家，他写过有关康德和黑格尔的书，而且我知道书中写的是有关道德问题。他也应该有能力就我的问题和我进行抽象的探讨，而不是像我的朋友们那样只举些空洞的例子。
　　如果我们这些孩子想和父亲谈话的话，他像对待他的学生一样与我们预约时间。他在家里工作，只是在有他的讲座和研讨课时才去大学。想要和他谈话的同事和学生都到家里来。我还记得学生们排着长队靠在走廊的墙上等着，有的阅读点什么，有的观赏挂在走廊里的城市风景图，也有的同学呆呆地东张西望。他们都沉默不语，直到我们这些孩子打着招呼穿过走廊时才回以一个尴尬的问候。我们与父亲约谈当然不必在走廊里等候，但是，我们也要在约定好的时间去谈，敲门后让进去时才能进去。
　　我见过父亲的两个书房。第一个书房，也就是汉娜用手指巡摸书脊的那间，它的窗户面向街道，对面有房屋。第二个书房的窗户面向莱茵平原。我们六十年代初搬进的那座房子坐落在山坡上面，面向城市。当我们这些孩子长大以后我的父母仍旧住在那儿。这处房子的窗户和那处房子的窗户一样不是外凸式的，而是内凸式的，仿佛是挂在房间里的一幅画。在我父亲的书房里，书籍、纸张、思想、烟斗和香烟冒出的烟相互交织在一起，足使外来的人产生各种各样的压抑感。我对它们既熟悉又陌生。
　　我父亲让我把问题全盘兜出，包括抽象描述和举例说明。"与法庭审判有关，对吗？"但是他摇着头向我示意，他并不期待得到回答，也不想逼迫我和不想知道我自己不想说出的事情。这之后，他坐着沉思起来，头侧向一边，两手扶着椅子的扶手。他没有看着我，我却仔细地打量着他，他的满头银发，他的总是刮得很糟糕的胡腮以及他那从鼻梁延伸到嘴角和两眼之间的清晰的皱纹。我等着。
　　当他讲话时，他先把话题拉得很远。他教导我如何对待人、自由和尊严；他教导我把人当做主体对待，不允许把人当做客体来对待。"你还记得你小时候妈妈教你学好时你是如何大发雷霆的吗？把孩子放任到什么程度，这的的确确是个问题。这是个哲学问题，但是哲学不探讨孩子问题，哲学把孩子们交给了教育学，可孩子们在教育学那儿也没有受到很好的照顾。哲学把孩子们遗忘了。"他看着我笑着，"把他们永远忘记了，不是偶尔把他们忘记了，就像我偶尔把你们忘记了一样。"
　　"但是…"
　　"但是在成人身上，我也绝对看不出有什么理由可以把别人认为对他们有好处的东西置于他们自己认为是好的东西之上。"
　　"'如果他们后来对此感到很幸福的话，这样做也不行吗？"
　　他摇着头说："我们谈论的不是幸福而是尊严和自由。当你还是个小孩子时就已经知道它们的区别了。你妈妈总有理，这并没有让你从中得到安慰。"
　　现在我很愿意回想和父亲的那次谈话。我已经把它忘记了，直到他去世后，我才开始在沉睡的记忆中寻找我与他的美好会面和美好的经历及美好的感受。当我找到它时，我惊奇不已地思考着它，它使我非常幸福。当时，父亲把抽象的东西和形象逼真的事情混合在一起，这使我最初感到很困惑，但是，我最终还是按他所说的去做了，我不必去找审判长谈话，我根本不允许自己找他谈话。我感到如释重负。
　　我的父亲看着我说："你这样喜欢哲学吗？"
　　"还可以。我不知道人们在我描述的上述情况下是否应该采取行动。如果人们必须采取行动却又不允许行动的话，我想，对此我会感到非常不幸。现在我感到……"我不知道说什么好。感到轻松？感到安慰？感到愉快？这听上去不道德和不负责任。我现在感觉不错，这听上去既道德又负责任，但我不能说我感觉不错，而且感到比卸下重负还好。
　　"感觉不错吗？"我父亲试探着问。
　　我点点头，耸耸肩。
　　"不，你的问题不会有愉快的解决办法。当然了，如果你所描述的情况是一种责任重大的情况的话，人们就必须要采取行动。如果一个人知道怎样做对其他人有好处，但他却闭上了眼睛，视而不见，这时，人们就必须努力让他睁开眼睛，正视此事。人们必须让他本人做最后的决定，但是人们必须和他谈，和他本人谈，而不是在他背后和其他什么人谈。"
　　和汉娜谈？我该和她说什么呢？说我识破了她的生活谎言？说她正在为这个愚蠢的谎言而牺牲她的整个一生？说为了这个谎言而牺牲不值得？说她应该争取尽量减少蹲监狱的年限，以便在出狱之后能开始更多的生活？到底该说什么呢？说到什么程度？她应该怎样重新开始她的生活呢？我不为她展示一个生活远景就能让她抛弃她的生活谎言吗？我不知道什么是她的生活远景，我也不知道我该如何面对她和该说什么，说她在做了那些事情后，她生活的近期和中期远景就是该坐牢？我不知道该如何面对她，也不知道到底该说些什么。我真的不知道该怎样面对她。
　　我问我父亲："如果人们不能跟他交谈的话，那该怎么办呢？"
　　他怀疑地看着我，我自己也知道这个问题已经离题了。这不存在什么道德问题，而是我必须做出决定的问题。
　　"我无法帮助你。"我父亲说着站了起来，我也站了起来。"不，你不必走，我只是背痛。"他弯曲地站着，双手压着腰。"我不能说，不能帮助你，我感到遗憾，我的意思是说，当你把我作为哲学家向我求教时。作为一名父亲，我不能帮助自己的孩子，这简直令我无法忍受。"
　　我等着，但是他不再往下说了。我发现他把这事看得无足轻重。我知道，他什么时候应该对我们多加关心和他怎样才能更多地帮助我们。随后我又想，他自己也许也清楚这个，而且的确感到难以承受，但是，无论如何我都不能对他说什么了。我感到很尴尬，而且觉得他也很尴尬。
　　"好吧，以后……
　　"你以后可以随时来。"父亲看着我说。
　　我不相信他的话，可我还是点点头。


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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I N JUNE, the court flew to Israel for two weeks. The hearing there took only a few days, but the judge and prosecutors made it a combined judicial and touristic outing, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, the Negev and the Red Sea. It was undoubtedly all aboveboard as regards rules of conduct, vacations, and expense accounts, but I found it bizarre nonetheless.
I had planned to devote these two weeks to my studies. But it didn’t go the way I had imagined and planned. I couldn’t concentrate enough to learn anything, either from the professors or my books. Again and again, my thoughts wandered off and were lost in images.
I saw Hanna by the burning church, hard-faced, in a black uniform, with a riding whip. She drew circles in the snow with her whip, and slapped it against her boots. I saw her being read to. She listened carefully, asked no questions, and made no comments. When the hour was over, she told the reader she would be going on the transport to Auschwitz next morning. The reader, a frail creature with a stubble of black hair and nearsighted eyes, began to cry. Hanna hit the wall with her hand and two women, also prisoners in striped clothing, came in and pulled the reader away. I saw Hanna walking the paths in the camp, going into the prisoners’ barracks and overseeing construction work. She did it all with the same hard face, cold eyes, and pursed mouth, and the prisoners ducked, bent over their work, pressed themselves against the wall, into the wall, wanted to disappear into the wall. Sometimes there were many prisoners gathered together or running from one place to the other or standing in line or marching, and Hanna stood among them and screamed orders, her screaming face a mask of ugliness, and helped things along with her whip. I saw the church steeple crashing into the roof and the sparks flying and heard the desperation of the women. I saw the burned-out church next morning.
Alongside these images, I saw the others. Hanna pulling on her stockings in the kitchen, standing by the bathtub holding the towel, riding her bicycle with skirts flying, standing in my father’s study, dancing in front of the mirror, looking at me at the pool, Hanna listening to me, talking to me, laughing at me, loving me. Hanna loving me with cold eyes and pursed mouth, silently listening to me reading, and at the end banging the wall with her hand, talking to me with her face turning into a mask. The worst were the dreams in which a hard, imperious, cruel Hanna aroused me sexually; I woke from them full of longing and shame and rage. And full of fear about who I really was.
I knew that my fantasized images were poor clichés. They were unfair to the Hanna I had known and still knew. But still they were very powerful. They undermined my actual memories of Hanna and merged with the images of the camps that I had in my mind.
When I think today about those years, I realize how little direct observation there actually was, how few photographs that made life and murder in the camps real. We knew the gate of Auschwitz with its inscription, the stacked wooden bunks, the piles of hair and spectacles and suitcases; we knew the building that formed the entrance to Birkenau with the tower, the two wings, and the entryway for the trains, and from Bergen-Belsen the mountains of corpses found and photographed by the Allies at the liberation. We were familiar with some of the testimony of prisoners, but many of them were published soon after the war and not reissued until the 1980s, and in the intervening years they disappeared from publishers’ lists. Today there are so many books and films that the world of the camps is part of our collective imagination and completes our ordinary everyday one. Our imagination knows its way around in it, and since the television series Holocaust and movies like Sophie’s Choice and especiallySchindler’s List, actually moves in it, not just registering, but supplementing and embellishing it. Back then, the imagination was almost static: the shattering fact of the world of the camps seemed properly beyond its operations. The few images derived from Allied photographs and the testimony of survivors flashed on the mind again and again, until they froze into clichés.

第13节　　　六月，法官们去了以色列，为期两周。那里的听证用不了几天，但是法官和律师们把公务和游耶路撒冷、特拉维夫、内盖夫及红海结合了起来。这是一次公私兼顾的度假，费用自然也不会有问题。尽管如此，我认为这不正常。
　　我计划把这两周完全用于学习，但是，事情并未按我所设想的那样进行。我无法集中精力学习，无法集中精力听教授们讲课，无法集中精力看书。我的思想一次又一次地开小差，我浮想联翩。
　　我看见汉娜站在熊熊燃烧的教堂旁，表情僵硬，身着黑色制服，手执马鞭。她用马鞭在雪地里画着小圆圈，然后用长统靴一脚踢开。我看见她怎样让人为她朗读，她聚精会神地听着，不提问题，不做评论。当朗读的时间结束时，她便告诉她的朗读者，明天她将被送往奥斯威辛。那位瘦弱的、头上长出黑色头巷、眼睛近视的宠儿开始哭泣起来。汉娜用手敲敲墙壁，随后进来两位也穿着有条纹衣服的女囚犯，她们便把那位朗读者生拉硬拖出去。我看见汉娜沿着集中营的路走着，进了囚犯们住的临时搭建起来的木板房，监督她们干活。她带着同样僵硬的表情、冷酷的目光、微薄的嘴唇做着这一切。囚犯们突然低下头，弯腰屈背地干活，躲避到墙边，躲进墙里，恨不得消失在墙壁里。有时候囚犯被集合起来，来回跑步，或练习列队行走。汉娜站在她们中间，喊着口令。她喊叫口令时的表情丑陋难看，手中的马鞭令其更难看。我看见教堂的塔顶坍塌到教堂的房顶上，火光冲天。我听见女人们绝望的呼救声。我看见第二天早上被烧毁的教堂。
　　除了这个情景之外，我又看到了另一番景象。那个在厨房里穿长统袜的汉娜，那个在浴缸旁拿着浴巾的汉娜，那个骑着自行车、裙子随风飘舞的汉娜，那个在我父亲书房里的汉娜，那个在镜子前跳舞的汉娜，那个在游泳池向我这边张望着的汉娜，那个听我朗读、与我交谈、喜欢我、爱我的汉娜。当这些情景杂乱地出现在我的脑海中时最为糟糕。汉娜的形象还有：那个长着薄薄的嘴唇的、爱我的和那个目光冷酷的汉娜，那个默不作声听我朗读的和那个在朗读结束时用手敲击墙壁的汉娜，那个与我交谈和那个问我做鬼脸的汉娜。最糟糕透顶的是那些梦，梦境中，那个冷酷无情、专横跋扈、粗暴残酷的汉娜竟然引起了我的性欲。我带着渴望、羞愧和愤恨从梦中醒来，我忐忑不安，不知自己是何许人。
　　我知道，那些幻想已经落入微不足道的俗套，它对我所熟悉、所认识的汉娜来说不公平。不过它还是很有威力的，它破坏了我心目中的汉娜形象，使我总是联想起汉娜在集中营的情景。
　　当我现在回想当年的情景时，我发现，能让人具体地想象集中营生活和谋杀情景的直观形象是多么少。我们知道奥斯威辛刻有铭文的大门、多层的木板床及成堆的头发、眼镜和稻子。我们知道比肯瑙集中营带燎望塔的大门、侧廊和火车通道。我们知道贝尔根一贝尔森集中营由盟军在解放这个集中营时发现并拍摄下来的尸山图片。我们知道为数不多的几篇由囚犯写的报道，但是，许多报道是战后不久出版的。这之后，只是到了八十年代才又有这类报道出版发行。战后到八十年代这期间，这类报道不属出版社的出版发行项目。今天有这么多的书和电影存在，这样，集中营的世界就变成了我们大家共同想象的世界的一部分，集中营的世界使我们共同拥有的现实世界变得完整起来。世界充满想象。自从电视系列片《大屠杀》和电影故事片如《索菲姬的抉择》，尤其是电影《辛德勒的名单》上映以来，想象力开始在世界上活跃起来，想象不仅仅限于现实，而且还给它添枝加叶。这之前，人们的想象力几乎是静止的，人们认为在集中营里犯下的骇人听闻的罪孽不适于活跃的想象力。从盟军拍摄的照片和囚犯们写的报道中，人们联想到一些情景，这些情景反过来又束缚了人们的想象力，使它们变得越来越僵化。


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举报 只看该作者 31楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I DECIDED TO go away. If I had been able to leave for Auschwitz the next day, I would have gone. But it would have taken weeks to get a visa. So I went to Struthof in Alsace. It was the nearest concentration camp. I had never seen one. I wanted reality to drive out the clichés.
I hitchhiked, and remember a ride in a truck with a driver who downed one bottle of beer after another, and a Mercedes driver who steered wearing white gloves. After Strasbourg I got lucky; the driver was going to Schirmeck, a small town not far from Struthof.
When I told the driver where I was going, he fell silent. I looked over at him, but couldn’t tell why he had suddenly stopped talking in the midst of a lively conversation. He was middle-aged, with a haggard face and a dark red birthmark or scar on his right temple, and his black hair was carefully parted and combed in strands. He stared at the road in concentration.
The hills of the Vosges rolled out ahead of us. We were driving through vineyards into a wide-open valley that climbed gently. To the left and right, mixed forests grew up the slopes, and sometimes there was a quarry or a brick-walled factory with a corrugated iron roof, or an old sanatorium, or a large turreted villa among tall trees. A train track ran alongside us, sometimes to the left and sometimes to the right.
Then he spoke again. He asked me why I was visiting Struthof, and I told him about the trial and my lack of first-hand knowledge.
“Ah, you want to understand why people can do such terrible things.” He sounded as if he was being a little ironic, but maybe it was just the tone of voice and the choice of words. Before I could reply, he went on: “What is it you want to understand? That people murder out of passion, or love, or hate, or for honor or revenge, that you understand?”
I nodded.
“You also understand that people murder for money or power? That people murder in wars and revolutions?”
I nodded again. “But . . .”
“But the people who were murdered in the camps hadn’t done anything to the individuals who murdered them? Is that what you want to say? Do you mean that there was no reason for hatred, and no war?”
I didn’t want to nod again. What he said was true, but not the way he said it.
“You’re right, there was no war, and no reason for hatred. But executioners don’t hate the people they execute, and they execute them all the same. Because they’re ordered to? You think they do it because they’re ordered to? And you think that I’m talking about orders and obedience, that the guards in the camps were under orders and had to obey?” He laughed sarcastically. “No, I’m not talking about orders and obedience. An executioner is not under orders. He’s doing his work, he doesn’t hate the people he executes, he’s not taking revenge on them, he’s not killing them because they’re in his way or threatening him or attacking him. They’re a matter of such indifference to him that he can kill them as easily as not.”
He looked at me. “No ‘buts’? Come on, tell me that one person cannot be that indifferent to another. Isn’t that what they taught you? Solidarity with everything that has a human face? Human dignity? Reverence for life?”
I was outraged and helpless. I searched for a word, a sentence that would erase what he had said and strike him dumb.
“Once,” he went on, “I saw a photograph of Jews being shot in Russia. The Jews were in a long row, naked; some were standing at the edge of a pit and behind them were soldiers with guns, shooting them in the neck. It was in a quarry, and above the Jews and the soldiers there was an officer sitting on a ledge in the rock, swinging his legs and smoking a cigarette. He looked a little morose. Maybe things weren’t going fast enough for him. But there was also something satisfied, even cheerful about his expression, perhaps because the day’s work was getting done and it was almost time to go home. He didn’t hate the Jews. He wasn’t . . .”
“Was it you? Were you sitting on the ledge and . . .”
He stopped the car. He was absolutely white, and the mark on his temple glistened. “Out!”
I got out. He swung the wheel so fast I had to jump aside. I still heard him as he took the next few curves. Then everything was silent.
I walked up the road. No car passed me, none came in the opposite direction. I heard birds, the wind in the trees, and the occasional murmur of a stream. In a quarter of an hour I reached the concentration camp.


第14节　　　我决定去奥斯威辛看看。假使我今天做了决定明天就可以动身去的话，那我也就去了。但是，得到签证需要几周的时间。这样一来我就去了阿尔萨斯地区的斯特鲁特侯夫。那是最近的一个集中营。我从未看过任何一个集中营。我要用真实驱逐脑中的先人之见。
　　我是搭车去的，还记得在搭乘卡车的一段路上，司机一瓶接一瓶地灌着啤酒；也记得一位开奔驰车的司机，他戴着白手套开车。过了斯特拉斯堡之后，我的运气不错，搭的汽车是驶向舍尔麦克的，一个离斯特鲁特侯夫不太远的小城市。
　　当我告诉了司机我要去的具体地方时，他不说话了。我瞧了他一眼，但是从他的脸上我看不出来他为什么从生动活泼的交谈中突然默不作声了。他中等年纪，细长的脸，右边的太阳穴上有块深红色的胎痣或烙印，一架黑发整齐的流向两边。他看上去好像把注意力集中在了道路上。
　　延伸到我们面前的福戈森山脉是一片丘陵。我们穿过了一片葡萄园，来到一个开阔的、缓缓上升的山谷。左边和右边的斜坡上是针叶松和落叶松混长的森林，偶尔路过一个采石场，或一个用砖围砌起来的、带有折顶的厂棚，或一家养老院，或一处大型别墅——那里许多小尖塔林立于参天大树之中。有时，我们沿铁路线而行，铁路线时而在左边，时而在右边。
　　沉默之后，他又开口了，他问我为什么要去参观斯特鲁特俱夫。我向他讲述了审讯过程和我对直观形象的匮乏。
　　"啊，您想弄明白，人们为什么能做出那么恐怖的事情。"他的话听上去有点嘲讽的口吻，但是，这也许仅仅是声音和语言上的地方色彩。没等我回答，他又接着说："您到底想弄明白什么呢？人们之所以杀人有时是出于狂热，有时是出于爱，或者出于恨，或为了名誉，或为了复仇，您明白吗？"
　　我点点头。
　　"有时是为了财富去杀人，有时是为了权力，在战争中，或者在一场革命中都要杀人，这您也明白吗？"
　　我又点点头："但是…、··"
　　"但是，那些在集中营被杀死的人对那些杀害他们的人并没做过什么，对吗？您想说这个吗？您想说不存在憎恨和战争的理由吗？'"
　　我不想再点头了，他所说的没错，但是他说话的口气不对。
　　"您说得有道理，不存在战争和憎恨的理由，刽子手恨不恨他要处死的人，都要处死他。因为他这样做是按命令行事？您认为，他们这样做是因为他被命令这样做吗？您认为我现在在谈论命令和服从命令吗？在谈论集中营的警卫队得到命令和他们必须要服从命令吗？他鄙视地笑了起来，"不，我不是在谈论命令和服从命令。刽子手没有遵循任何命令。他在完成他的工作，他处死的不是他憎恨的人，他不是在向他们报仇雪恨。杀死他们，不是因为他们挡了他的路或者对他进行了威胁和进攻。他们对他来说完全无所谓的，他们对他来说如此地无所谓，以致他杀不杀他们都一样。"
　　他看着我说："没有'但是'吗？您说，一个人对另一个人不可以这样无所谓。您连这个都没学过吗？没学过要一致顾脸面？顾人的尊严？生命算什么？"
　　我被激怒了，但又束手无策。我在搜索一个词，或一句话，一句能让他哑口无言的话。
　　"有一次，"他接着说，"我看到一张熗杀俄国犹太人的照片。犹太人一丝不挂地排着长队在等着，有几位站在一个坑的边上，他们身后是手持步熗向他们颈部开熗射击的士兵。这事发生在一座采石场。在犹太人和土兵的上方，有位军官坐在墙上的隔板上，跷着二郎腿，吸着一支香烟。他看上去有点闷闷不乐，也许熗杀进行得还不够快。但是，他还是感到某种程度的满足，甚至轻松愉快，也许因为白天的活总算要干完了，而且很快就要下班了。他不恨犹太人，他本是……"
　　"那是您吧？是您坐在墙上的隔板上，还……"
　　他把车停下了，脸色苍白，太阳穴上的股清在乱跳。"滚下去！"
　　我下了车，他调转车头的方式使我不得不急忙躲闪。直到下几个拐弯处，我仍能听见他。然后一切才平静下来。
　　我走在上坡的路上，没有来往的汽车从我身边开过。我听得见鸟鸣和树木的风声，有时还有涓涓的溪水声。我松了口气。一刻钟之后，我到了集中营。
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举报 只看该作者 32楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I WENT BACK there not long ago. It was winter, a clear, cold day. Beyond Schirmeck the woods were snowy, the trees powdered white and the ground white too. The grounds of the concentration camp, an elongated area on a sloping terrace of mountain with a broad view of the Vosges, lay white in the bright sunshine. The gray-blue painted wood of the two- and three-story watchtowers and the one-story barracks made a pleasant contrast with the snow. True, there was the entryway festooned with barbed wire and the sign CONCENTRATION CAMP STRUTHOF-NATZWEILER and the double barbed-wire fence that surrounded the camp. But the ground between the remaining barracks, where more barracks had once stood side by side, no longer showed any trace of the camp under its glittering cover of snow. It could have been a sledding slope for children, spending their winter vacation in the cheerful barracks with the homely many-paned windows, and about to be called indoors for cake and hot chocolate.
The camp was closed. I tramped around it in the snow, getting my feet wet. I could easily see the whole grounds, and remembered how on my first visit I had gone down the steps that led between the foundations of the former barracks. I also remembered the ovens of the crematorium that were on display in another barracks, and that another barracks had contained cells. I remembered my vain attempts, back then, to imagine in concrete detail a camp filled with prisoners and guards and suffering. I really tried; I looked at a barracks, closed my eyes, and imagined row upon row of barracks. I measured a barracks, calculated its occupants from the informational booklet, and imagined how crowded it had been. I found out that the steps between the barracks had also been used for roll call, and as I looked from the bottom of the camp up towards the top, I filled them with rows of backs. But it was all in vain, and I had a feeling of the most dreadful, shameful failure.
On the way back, further down the hill, I found a small house opposite a restaurant that had a sign on it indicating that it had been a gas chamber. It was painted white, had doors and windows framed in sandstone, and could have been a barn or a shed or servants’ living quarters. This building, too, was closed and I didn’t remember if I had gone inside it on my first visit. I didn’t get out of the car. I sat for a while with the motor running, and looked. Then I drove on.
At first I was embarrassed to meander home through the Alsatian villages looking for a restaurant where I could have lunch. But my awkwardness was not the result of real feeling, but of thinking about the way one is supposed to feel after visiting a concentration camp. I noticed this myself, shrugged, and found a restaurant called Au Petit Garçon in a village on a slope of the Vosges. My table looked out over the plain. Hanna had called me kid.
The previous time I had walked around the concentration camp grounds until they closed. Then I had sat down under the memorial that stood above the camp, and looked down over the grounds. I felt a great emptiness inside, as if I had been searching for some glimpse, not outside but within myself, and had discovered that there was nothing to be found.
Then it got dark. I had to wait an hour until the driver of a small open truck let me climb up and sit on the truck bed and took me to the next village, and I gave up the idea of hitchhiking back that same day. I found a cheap room in a guest house in the village and had a thin steak with french fries and peas in the dining room.
Four men were loudly playing cards at the next table. The door opened and a little old man came in without greeting anyone. He wore short pants and had a wooden leg. He ordered a beer at the bar. He sat facing away from the neighboring table, so that all they saw was his back and the back of his overly enlarged, bald skull. The card players laid down their cards, reached into the ashtrays, picked up the butts, took aim, and hit him. The man at the bar flapped his hands behind his head as if swatting away flies. The innkeeper set his beer in front of him. No one said a word.
I couldn’t stand it. I jumped up and went over to the next table. “Stop it!” I was shaking with outrage. At that moment, the man half hobbled, half hopped over and began fumbling with his leg; suddenly he was holding the wooden leg in both hands. He brought it crashing down onto the table so that the glasses and ashtrays danced, and fell into an empty chair, laughing a squeaky, toothless laugh as the others laughed in a beery rumble along with him. “Stop it!” they laughed, pointing at me. “Stop it!”
During the night the wind howled around the house. I was not cold, and the noise of the wind and the creaking of the tree in front of the house and the occasional banging of a shutter were not enough to have kept me awake. But I became more and more inwardly restless, until my whole body began to shiver. I felt afraid, not in anticipation that something bad was going to happen, but in a physical way. I lay there, listening to the wind, feeling relieved every time it weakened and died down, but dreading its renewed assaults and not knowing how I would get out of bed next day, hitchhike back, continue my studies, and one day have a career and a wife and children.
I wanted simultaneously to understand Hanna’s crime and to condemn it. But it was too terrible for that. When I tried to understand it, I had the feeling I was failing to condemn it as it must be condemned. When I condemned it as it must be condemned, there was no room for understanding. But even as I wanted to understand Hanna, failing to understand her meant betraying her all over again. I could not resolve this. I wanted to pose myself both tasks—understanding and condemnation. But it was impossible to do both.
The next day was another beautiful summer day. Hitchhiking was easy, and I got back in a few hours. I walked through the city as though I had been away for a long time; the streets and buildings and people looked strange to me. But that didn’t mean the other world of the concentration camps felt any closer. My impressions of Struthof joined my few already existing images of Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen, and froze along with them.


第15节　　　我不久前又去了那儿一次。那是一个晴朗又寒冷的冬日。过了舍尔麦克，森林披上了银装，大地被皑皑白雪覆盖。集中营是一块狭长的场地，地处下斜的山坡梯地上，在耀眼的阳光照射下一片白茫茫。从那儿可眺望到远处的福戈森山谷。二层或三层的监视塔上面的和一层的木板房上面的被漆成蓝灰色的木头与皑皑白雪形成了一个和谐的对照。当然了，那里少不了有用铁丝网围成的大门，门上面挂着"斯特鲁特侯夫一纳茨瓦勒集中营"的牌子，也有围绕集中营四周的双层铁丝网。在残留下来的木板房之间，原来都是木板房，一间挨着一间地排列着，非常稠密，可现在，地面被皑皑白雪覆盖着，什么也辨认不出来。它看起来像是为孩子们准备的滑雪橇的斜坡。好像孩子们正在带有舒适方格窗户的、可爱的木板房里度寒假，好像他们随时都会被喊进去吃蛋糕和热巧克力。
　　集中营没开放。我只好在周围的雪地里走来走去，鞋都湿透了。我可以看清楚集中营的全貌。这使我想起，我第一次参观它时是怎样从已经被拆除的木板房的墙基与墙基间的台阶上走下来的。这也使我想起了当时在一间木板房里展出的火化炉及另外的曾用做单人牢房的木板房。也使我回忆起，当时我是怎样徒劳地想象过一个关满囚犯的集中营是什么样子，囚犯和警卫队都是什么样子，具体地想象过痛苦是什么滋味。我的确努力想象过，我曾望着一间木板房，闭上眼睛，思想从一个房间走到另一个房间。我仔细地测量了一间木板房，从测量中算出它占用情况并想象它的拥挤程度。我听说，木板房之间的台阶同时也是集合点名的地点，点名时，从下面向上面的集中营尽头望去，看到的是一排排的后背。但是，我的这一切想象都是徒劳的。我有一种可怜的、羞耻的失败感。在回去的路上，在远离山坡的地方，在一家饭店的对面，我发现了一间被用做毒气室的小房子。它被粉刷成白色，门窗用石头围砌起来。它看上去像个粮仓，或者像个仓库，或是用人住的陋室。这个房子也不开放。我记不得了是否我当时进过里面。我没有下车，坐在车里让发动机开着，看了一会儿就开走了。
　　在回家的路上，起初我对在阿尔萨斯地区的村子里绕来绕去地去找一家饭店吃午饭有所顾忌。但是，我的顾忌并不是产生于一种真正的感受，而是产生于一种思考，一种参观一所集中营之后人们所具有的思考。我自己意识到了这点，我耸耸肩。我在福戈森的山坡旁的村子里找到了一家名为"到小花园"的饭店。从我的座位上可以看到那个平原。在那里，汉娜叫过我"小家伙"。
　　我第一次参观集中营时在里面转来转去，一直转到它关门为止。之后我坐在了位于集中营上方的纪念碑下，俯瞰下面的集中营。我的心里空虚极了，就好像我不是在外部世界，而是在内心世界寻找着直觉，而我内心又空空如也。
　　随后，天黑了下来。我无可奈何地等了一个小时，才搭上一辆小型敞篷货车，坐在了放货物的位子上，去了下一座村子。我只好放弃了当天搭车赶回家去的希望，在村子里找了一家便宜的客栈住了下来，并在其餐厅里吃了一块薄薄的煎猪排，配菜是炸薯条和豌豆。
　　我的邻桌有四个男人吵吵嚷嚷地在打牌。这时，门开了，一位矮小的老人走了进来，没有和任何人打招呼。他穿着一条短裤，拖着一条木制假腿。他在吧台要了啤酒，把背和他的大秃头对着我的邻桌。玩牌的人放下牌，把手伸向烟灰缸抓起烟头向他扔去，并击中了他。坐在吧台的那个老头用手在后脑勺扑打着，好像要防止苍蝇落上似的。店主给他端上了啤酒，没人开口说话。
　　我忍不住跳了起来冲向了邻桌："住手！"我气得手直打哆嗦。这时候，那个老头一瘸一拐地蹦了过来，笨拙地用手摆弄着他的腿，突然那条木制假腿就握在他的双手中了。他用假腿"啪"的一声敲在桌子上，上面的杯子和烟灰缸都滚动着摔到空椅子上。与此同时，他那没牙的嘴发出了尖笑，其他人也和他一起狂笑，但那是一种耍酒风的狂笑，"住手！"他们一边笑一边指着我说，"住手户
　　那天夜里，房子周围狂风呼啸。我并没有感到冷，窗前的狂风怒吼、树木的嘎嘎作响以及偶尔传来的商店的关门声都没有大到让我睡不着觉的程度，但是，我心里感到越来越不安，直到我的整个身体也开始颤抖起来。我害怕，不过，不是怕发生什么坏事。我的害怕只是一种身体状态。我躺在那儿，听着狂风的呼啸。当风势减弱、风声变小时，我才感到轻松些。但是，我又害怕风势再起，我不知道第二天能否爬得起来，能否赶得回去，不知道我将如何继续我的学业，如何成家立业，生儿育女。
　　我想对汉娜的罪行既给予理解，同时也予以谴责，但是，这样做太可怕了。当我努力去理解时，我就会有一种感觉，即我觉得本来属于该谴责的罪行变得不再那么该谴责了。当我像该谴责的那样去谴责时，就没有理解的余地了。但是，在谴责她的同时我还是想理解她，不理解她就意味着对她的再次背叛。我现在还没到不行的时候。两者我都想要：理解和谴责。但是，两者都行不通。
　　第二天又是个阳光明媚的夏日。搭车很容易，我在几个小时内就到了家。我徒步穿过城里，好像我离开了很长时间，街道、房屋和那里的人都令我感到陌生。但是，我对陌生的集中营世界却没有因此而更熟悉。我在斯特鲁特俱夫所得到的印象与我头脑中固有的奥斯威辛、比肯瑙和贝尔根一贝尔森的极少的情景交织混合在一起，也与它们僵化在一起。
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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 33楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I DID GO to the presiding judge after all. I couldn’t make myself visit Hanna. But neither could I endure doing nothing.
Why didn’t I manage to speak to Hanna? She had left me, deceived me, was not the person I had taken her for or imagined her to be. And who had I been for her? The little reader she used, the little bedmate with whom she’d had her fun? Would she have sent me to the gas chamber if she hadn’t been able to leave me, but wanted to get rid of me?
Why did I find it unendurable to do nothing? I told myself I had to prevent a miscarriage of justice. I had to make sure justice was done, despite Hanna’s lifelong lie, justice both for and against Hanna, so to speak. But I wasn’t really concerned with justice. I couldn’t leave Hanna the way she was, or wanted to be. I had to meddle with her, have some kind of influence and effect on her, if not directly then indirectly.
The judge knew about our seminar group and was happy to invite me to come and talk after a session in court. I knocked, was invited in, greeted, and offered the chair in front of his desk. He was sitting in his shirtsleeves behind it. His robe hung over the back and arms of his chair; he had sat down in the robe and then slipped out of it. He seemed relaxed, a man who had finished his day’s work and was content. Without the irritated expression he hid behind during the trial, he had a nice, intelligent, harmless civil servant’s face.
He made general easy chitchat, asking me about this and that: what our seminar group thought of the trial, what our professor intended to do with the trial record, which semester we were in, which semester I was in, why I was studying law and when I planned to take my exams. He told me I must be sure to register for the exams on time.
I answered all his questions. Then I listened while he talked about his studies and his exams. He had done everything the right way. He had taken the right classes and seminars at the right time and had passed his final exams with the right degree of success. He liked being a lawyer and a judge, and if he had to do it all again he would do it the same way.
The window was open. In the parking lot, doors were being slammed and engines turned on. I listened to the cars until their noise was swallowed up in the roar of the traffic. Then children came to play and yell in the emptied parking lot. Sometimes a word came through quite clearly: a name, an insult, a call.
The judge stood up and said goodbye. He told me I could come again if I had any other questions, or if I wanted advice on my studies. And he would like to know our seminar group’s evaluation and analysis of the trial.
I walked through the empty parking lot. One of the bigger boys told me how I could walk to the railroad station. Our car pool had driven back right after the session, and I had to take the train. It was a slow rush-hour train that stopped at every station; people got on and off. I sat at the window, surrounded by ever-changing passengers, conversations, smells. Outside, houses passed by, and roads, cars, trees, distant mountains, castles, and quarries. I took it all in and felt nothing. I was no longer upset at having been left, deceived, and used by Hanna. I no longer had to meddle with her. I felt the numbness with which I had followed the horrors of the trial settling over the emotions and thoughts


第16节　　　我到底还是去找了审判长。去找汉娜我做不到，但是，袖手旁观什么都不做，我也做不到。
　　与汉娜谈一谈为什么我做不到呢？她离我而去，她欺骗了我，她不是那个我了解的汉娜，或令我为之想入非非的汉娜，而我对她来说又是何许人呢？一个被她利用的小朗读者？一个陪她睡觉，使她获得床第之欢的小家伙？如果无法离开我，但又想摆脱我时，她也会把我送进毒气室吗？
　　那么，为什么我连袖手旁观也做不到呢？我心想，我一定要阻止一场错误的判决。我一定要主持公道，一种不计较汉娜的生活谎言的绝对公道，它或许对汉娜有利，也可能对她不利，但是，对我来说，这的确不是公道不公道的问题。我不能让汉娜想怎样就怎样，想怎么说就怎么说。我必须要对她施加影响，如果不能直接地，就间接地。
　　审判长知道我们这个小组，愿意在下次开庭后与我谈一次。我敲了敲门，然后被请了进去。他问候我之后请我坐在写字台前面的一把椅子上。他只穿了个衬衫，坐在写字台的后面。他的法官长袍挂在椅背和椅子的扶手上。他朝长袍坐下去，然后又让长袍滑落在地上。他看上去很轻松，像一个完成了当天的工作并对此感到很满意的人。脸上没有在法庭审理期间那种烦躁易怒的表情，取而代之的是一副和蔼可亲、充满智慧、心地善良的政府官员的面部表情，原来他在法庭上用假面具把自己掩饰了起来。他无拘无束地与我聊天，向我问这问那，譬如，我们这个小组对法庭审理程序是怎样想的，我们的教授对法庭备忘录将如何处理，我们是几年级的学生，我上了几个学期了，我为什么要学法律，我想何时参加考试等等。还说，报名参加考试无论如何不应该太晚。
　　我回答了所有的问题。之后我听他给我讲述了他的学习和考试的情况。他把一切都做得很好，他及时地以优异的成绩修满了各科学分，最后又及时地参加了毕业考试。他喜欢做法学家和法官，如果让他重新做一遍的话，他仍旧会如此去做。
　　窗户敞开着，我听得见停车场上的关门声和一辆车发动马达的声音。我听着那辆车开出去，直到它的声音被喧嚣的交通淹没为止。之后，我听得见孩子们在空旷的停车场上的玩耍吵闹声，时而非常清楚地听得见一个名字、一句骂人话或一声喊叫。
　　审判长站起来与我告别，他说如果我还有什么问题尽管再来找他，如果需要学业上的咨询也可找他。还说我们小组对审判程序的分析评估结果应该让他知道。
　　我向空旷的停车场走去，请一个稍大一点的男孩告诉我去火车站的路怎么走。我们一起乘车的那伙人在休庭之后马上就赶了回去，我只好坐火车回去。这是一辆慢行的班车，每站都停，人们上上下下。我靠窗坐着，被其他旅客的谈笑声和他们身上所发出的气味所环绕。外面的一座座房子、一条条街道、一辆辆汽车、一棵棵树木从窗外掠过，远处看得见山脉、城堡和采石场。我能看见一切，但对什么都毫无感觉。我不再为汉娜的弃我而去、为她对我的欺骗和利用感到伤心，我不必再对她施加什么影响了。在参加法庭的审理的过程中，对那些骇人听闻的事情我感到麻木木仁。现在我注意到，这种麻木不仁在过去的几周里对我的感觉和思想产生了影响。如果说我完全解脱了的话，那么未免有些言过其词了，但是我认为这样做是对的，这样才有可能让我重新回到我的日常生活中去，并在这种生活中继续生活下去。
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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 34楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T HE VERDICT was handed down at the end of June. Hanna was sentenced to life. The others received terms in jail.
The courtroom was as full as it had been at the beginning of the trial. People from the justice system, students from my university and the local one, a class of schoolchildren, domestic and foreign journalists, and the people who always find their way into courtrooms. It was loud. At first, no one noticed when the defendants were brought in. But then the spectators fell silent. The first to stop talking were those sitting up front near the defendants. They nudged their neighbors and turned around to those sitting behind them. “Look,” they whispered, and those who looked fell silent too and nudged their neighbors and turned to those sitting behind them and whispered, “Look!” Until eventually the whole courtroom was silent.
I don’t know if Hanna knew how she looked, or maybe she wanted to look like that. She was wearing a black suit and a white blouse, and the cut of the suit and the tie that went with the blouse made her look as if she were in uniform. I have never seen the uniform of the women who worked for the SS. But I believed, and the spectators all believed, that before us we were seeing that uniform, and the woman who had worked for the SS in it, and all the crimes Hanna was accused of doing.
The spectators began to whisper again. Many were audibly outraged. They felt that Hanna was ridiculing the trial, the verdict, and themselves, they who had come to hear the verdict read out. They became more vociferous, and some of them began calling out what they thought of Hanna. But then the court entered the courtroom and after an irritated glance at Hanna, the judge announced the verdict. Hanna listened standing up, straight-backed, and absolutely motionless. She sat down during the reading of the reasons for the verdict. I did not take my eyes off her head and neck.
The entire verdict took several hours to read. When the trial was over and the defendants were being led away, I waited to see whether Hanna would look at me. I was sitting in the same place I always sat. But she looked straight ahead and through everything. A proud, wounded, lost, and infinitely tired look. A look that wished to see nothing and no one.


第17节　　　六月底，宣布了审判结果。汉娜被判处终身监禁，其他人被判处有期徒刑。
　　法院大厅里像审判之初一样座无虚席，其中有司法部门的工作人员、我所在大学及当地大学的学生们、一组中学生、国内外的记者和那些平时总是在场的人。大厅里喧嚣不止。当被告被传叫送来时，起初没有人注意她们，但是随后大厅就变得鸦雀无声了。首先是在被告前就座的听众安静了下来。他们碰碰左右的邻居，然后转过身来对坐在后面的人低声地说道："注意看片于是后面的人开始向前看，并安静下来。他们再碰碰左右邻居，然后转向他们身后的男人低声说："注意看！。这样，审判大厅终于变得鸦雀无声了。
　　我不知道是否汉娜自己也清楚她看上去是什么样子，也许她愿意看上去就是这个样子。她穿了一套黑色套装，配一件白衬衫。那套装的式样和衬衫的领带使她看上去就好像穿了一套制服。我从未见过为纳粹党卫军工作的女人们所穿的制服，但是我认为——所有其他的听众也都这样认为，我们眼前的这个制服就是纳粹党卫军的女式制服，这个女人就是穿着这样的制服为纳粹党卫军工作的，汉娜的所作所为就是她被控告的原因。
　　听众又开始小声嘀咕起来。很多人发出的愤怒的声音都可以听得到。他们认为审判过程、判决还有那些为听宣读判决结果而来的人都被汉娜嘲弄了。他们的声音越来越大，少数人向汉娜又喊又叫，清楚地说出他们认为汉娜是什么东西，直到审判人员步人大厅，审判长愤怒地看着汉娜宣布判决结果时人们才安静下来。汉娜笔直地站着，一动不动地听着。当宣读判决原因时，她坐了下来。我的目光一直没有离开汉娜的头和后颈。
　　宣判持续了好几个小时。当宣判结束后被告被带走时，我在等着，看汉娜是否会看我一眼。我坐在老位子上。但是，她目不斜视，看穿了一切。那是一种高傲的、受到伤害的、绝望的、无限疲惫的目光，一种任何人、任何东西都不想看的目光。
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我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 35楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER ONE

I SPENT THE summer after the trial in the reading room of the university library. I arrived as the reading room opened and left when it closed. On weekends I studied at home. I studied so uninterruptedly, so obsessively, that the feelings and thoughts that had been deadened by the trial remained deadened. I avoided contacts. I moved away from home and rented a room. I brushed off the few acquaintances who spoke to me in the reading room or on my occasional visits to the movies.
The winter semester I was much the same way. Nonetheless, I was asked if I would like to spend the Christmas vacation with a group of students at a ski lodge. Surprised, I accepted.
I wasn’t a good skier, but I liked to ski and was fast and kept up with the good ones. Sometimes when I was on slopes that were beyond my ability, I risked falls and broken bones. I did this consciously. The other risk I was taking, and to which I succumbed, was one to which I was oblivious.
I was never cold. While the others skied in sweaters and jackets, I skied in a shirt. The others shook their heads and teased me about it, but I didn’t take their worries seriously. I simply didn’t feel cold. When I began to cough, I blamed it on the Austrian cigarettes. When I started to feel feverish, I enjoyed it. I felt weak and light at the same time, and all my senses were pleasingly muffled, cottony, padded. I floated.
Then I came down with a high fever and was taken to the hospital. By the time I left, the numbness was gone. All the questions and fears, accusations and self-accusations, all the horror and pain that had erupted during the trial and been immediately deadened were back, and back for good. I don’t know what the doctors diagnose when someone isn’t freezing even though he should be freezing. My own diagnosis is that the numbness had to overwhelm my body before it would let go of me, before I could let go of it.
When I had finished my studies and began my training, it was the summer of the student upheavals. I was interested in history and sociology, and while clerking with a judge I was still in the university often enough to know what was going on. Knowing what was going on did not mean taking part—university and university reforms were no more interesting to me than the Vietcong and the Americans. As for the third and real theme of the student movement, coming to grips with the Nazi past, I felt so removed from the other students that I had no desire to agitate and demonstrate with them.
Sometimes I think that dealing with the Nazi past was not the reason for the generational conflict that drove the student movement, but merely the form it took. Parental expectations, from which every generation must free itself, were nullified by the fact that these parents had failed to measure up during the Third Reich, or after it ended. How could those who had committed Nazi crimes or watched them happen or looked away while they were happening or tolerated the criminals among them after 1945 or even accepted them—how could they have anything to say to their children? But on the other hand, the Nazi past was an issue even for children who couldn’t accuse their parents of anything, or didn’t want to. For them, coming to grips with the Nazi past was not merely the form taken by a generational conflict, it was the issue itself.
Whatever validity the concept of collective guilt may or may not have, morally and legally—for my generation of students it was a lived reality. It did not just apply to what had happened in the Third Reich. The fact that Jewish gravestones were being defaced with swastikas, that so many old Nazis had made careers in the courts, the administration, and the universities, that the Federal Republic did not recognize the State of Israel for many years, that emigration and resistance were handed down as traditions less often than a life of conformity—all this filled us with shame, even when we could point at the guilty parties. Pointing at the guilty parties did not free us from shame, but at least it overcame the suffering we went through on account of it. It converted the passive suffering of shame into energy, activity, aggression. And coming to grips with our parents’ guilt took a great deal of energy.
I had no one to point at. Certainly not my parents, because I had nothing to accuse them of. The zeal for letting in the daylight, with which, as a member of the concentration camps seminar, I had condemned my father to shame, had passed, and it embarrassed me. But what other people in my social environment had done, and their guilt, were in any case a lot less bad than what Hanna had done. I had to point at Hanna. But the finger I pointed at her turned back to me. I had loved her. Not only had I loved her, I had chosen her. I tried to tell myself that I had known nothing of what she had done when I chose her. I tried to talk myself into the state of innocence in which children love their parents. But love of our parents is the only love for which we are not responsible.
And perhaps we are responsible even for the love we feel for our parents. I envied other students back then who had dissociated themselves from their parents and thus from the entire generation of perpetrators, voyeurs, and the willfully blind, accommodators and accepters, thereby overcoming perhaps not their shame, but at least their suffering because of the shame. But what gave rise to the swaggering self-righteousness I so often encountered among these students? How could one feel guilt and shame, and at the same time parade one’s self-righteousness? Was their dissociation of themselves from their parents mere rhetoric: sounds and noise that were supposed to drown out the fact that their love for their parents made them irrevocably complicit in their crimes?
These thoughts did not come until later, and even later they brought no comfort. How could it be a comfort that the pain I went through because of my love for Hanna was, in a way, the fate of my generation, a German fate, and that it was only more difficult for me to evade, more difficult for me to manage than for others. All the same, it would have been good for me back then to be able to feel I was part of my generation.


第01节　　　审判过后的那个夏天我是在大学图书馆阅览室度过的。阅览室一开门我就来，关门时我才走。周末我在家里学习。我是如此一心只读书，不闻窗外事，以至于审判给我的感觉和思想造成的麻木一直没有恢复正常。我避免与人接触，我从家里搬了出来，在外边租了一间房。仅有的几位熟人，也不过是在阅览室或偶尔在电影院相识的点头之交，现在我也不与他们点头了。
　　在冬季学期里，我的行为举止几乎没有什么改变。尽管如此，还是有人问我是否愿意和一些学生在圣诞节期间一起去滑雪。奇怪的是我竟然答应了。
　　我滑雪滑得并不好，但我喜欢滑，而且喜欢滑得很快，愿意和那些滑得特别好的人一起滑。我的下坡技术实际上还不过硬，但有时我还是冒摔交和骨折的危险从山上往下滑。然而，我冒的另一种风险——后来这个风险兑现了，我却全然不知。
　　我从未觉得冷。当其他人穿着毛衣和夹克衫滑雪时，我和穿着衬衫滑，其他人对此摇头不已，并对我进行劝告。但是，我对他们深怀忧虑的劝告不当回事，因为我没有觉得冷。当我开始咳嗽时，我把它归罪于奥地利香烟。当我开始发烧时，我反倒感觉那是一种享受。我感到虚弱，同时感觉轻飘飘的。我的感觉变得迟钝起来，但却感觉良好：惬意、充实。我好像在腾云驾雾。
　　随后，我因发高烧被送进了医院。出院时，我的麻木不仁消失不见了。一切问题、恐惧、控告、自责，所有在法庭审理期间出现而后又麻木了的惊恐和痛苦又出现了，并在我心里停留下来。我不知道当一个人该感觉冷却又感觉不出冷时，医生会对此做出什么样的诊断。我的自我诊断是：麻木不仁在它摆脱我之前或在我能摆脱它之前制服了我的肉体。
　　当我在夏季结束了学业并开始作为候补官员工作时，学生运动开始了。我对历史和社会学感兴趣，而且作为候补官员我还有足够的时间呆在大学里去经历所发生的一切。经历并不意味着参与，高校和高校改革对我来说归根结底就像越南的游击队和美国人一样无所谓。至于学生运动的第三个主题——实际上也是最基本的主题，即如何对待纳粹历史的问题，我感到自己与其他学生之间存在着非常大的距离，以至于我不愿意和他们一起宣传鼓动和一起游行。
　　有时我想，就纳粹历史进行辩论并不是学生运动的理由，而是两代人之间的冲突的表达方式，这种冲突显然是这场学生运动的推动力量。父辈在第三帝国，或者至少在第三帝国结束以后没有做他们应该做的事，这让年轻一辈感到失望。每一代年轻人都要从对父辈的这种失望中解脱出来。那些或犯下了纳粹罪行，或对纳粹罪行袖手旁观，或对之视而不见，或在一九四五年之后容忍和接受罪犯的父辈该对他们的孩子们说什么呢！但是另一方面，纳粹历史对那些无法或不愿意谴责父辈的孩子也是一个值得讨论的问题。对他们来说，就纳粹历史进行的这场辩论并不是两代人之间的冲突的外部表现形式，而是问题的症结所在。
　　不论集体犯罪在道德和法律方面应承担什么责任，对我们这一代学生来说它都是一个确凿事实。不仅仅在第三帝国所发生的事是这样的事实，就是后来发生的事，诸如犹太人的墓碑被涂上纳粹标志；许多老纳粹分子在法院，在管理部门或在大学里步步高升；联邦德国不承认以色列国；流亡和抵抗的故事流传开来的少，而由于适应变化了的情况而活命的故事居多……所有这些都使我们感到羞耻，尽管我们有权对负有责任的人进行指责。虽然对负有责任的人指责并不能使我们摆脱羞耻之心，但它却能消除由此产生的痛苦，它可以把由羞耻引起的被动痛苦转换为力量、积极性和进攻行为。正因为如此，与负有罪责的父辈较量起来显得劲头十足。
　　我不能对任何人进行指责。我不能指责我父母，因为我对他们没有什么可指责的。当年参加集中营研讨班时所具有的那种为澄清事实而指责自己父亲的热情，对我来说已成为过去，并令我难堪。我周围的其他人的所作所为，即他们所犯的罪行，与汉娜的所作所为比起来都算不了什么了。实际上，我必须指责汉娜，但是，指责汉娜的结果是搬起石头砸自己的脚。我爱过她，我不仅爱过她，我还选择了她。我极力这样自我安慰：当我选择汉娜时，我对她过去的所作所为一无所知。我努力使我自己认为自己无罪，说自己当时所处的状态与孩子爱父母的状态没有两样。但是，对父母的爱是谁一不需要人们承担责任的爱。
　　也许人们甚至也要为爱父母承担责任。当时，我很羡慕那些与他们的父母，同时与整个一代罪犯——旁观者、逃避者、容忍着和接受者划清界限的同学，因为，他们至少可以解除由耻辱产生的痛苦，如果不能解除耻辱本身的话，但是，我经常在他们身上见到的那种自我炫耀式的自负是从何而来的呢？怎样能够在感到有罪和耻辱的同时又自负他自我炫耀呢？难道与父母划清界限仅仅是一种雄辩和吵吵嚷嚷吗？难道想通过这种吵吵嚷嚷宣告：出于爱父母之心而纠缠其罪责的运动已经开始且无法挽回？
　　这些都是我后来的想法，即使到后来这对我也并不是一种安慰。它怎么能是一种安慰？我爱汉娜的痛苦在一定程度上是我们这代人的命运，是德国人的命运。我比其他人更难摆脱这种命运，比其他人更不容易战胜这种命运。尽管如此，如果当时我能把自己融入同代人之中的话，那会对当时的我深有益处的。
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举报 只看该作者 36楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER TWO

I MARRIED WHILE I was still clerking. Gertrud and I had met at the ski lodge, and when the others left at the end of vacation, she stayed behind until I was released from the hospital and she could take me home. She was also studying law; we studied together, passed our exams together, and began our clerking together. We got married when Gertrud got pregnant.
I did not tell her about Hanna. Who, I thought, wants to know about the other’s earlier relationships, if he or she is not the fulfillment of their promise? Gertrud was smart, efficient, and loyal, and if our life had involved running a farm with lots of farmhands and maids, lots of children, lots of work, and no time for each other, it would have been fulfilling and happy. But our life was a three-room apartment in a modern building on the edge of the city, our daughter Julia and Gertrud’s and my work as legal clerks. I could never stop comparing the way it was with Gertrud and the way it had been with Hanna; again and again, Gertrud and I would hold each other, and I would feel that something was wrong, that she was wrong, that she moved wrong and felt wrong, smelled wrong and tasted wrong. I thought I would get over it. I hoped it would go away. I wanted to be free of Hanna. But I never got over the feeling that something was wrong.
We got divorced when Julia was five. Neither of us could keep things going; we parted without bitterness and retained our loyalty to each other. It tormented me that we were denying Julia the sense of warmth and safety she obviously craved. When Gertrud and I were open and warm with each other, Julia swam in it like a fish in water. She was in her element. When she sensed tension between us, she ran from one to the other to assure us that we were good and she loved us. She longed for a little brother and probably would have been happy with more siblings. For a long time, she didn’t understand what divorce meant; when I came to visit, she wanted me to stay, and when she came to visit me, she wanted Gertrud to come too. When it was time to go, and she watched me from the window, and I had to get into the car under her sad gaze, it broke my heart. And I had the feeling that what we were denying her was not only her wish, but her right. We had cheated her of her rights by getting divorced, and the fact that we did it together didn’t halve the guilt.
I tried to approach my later relationships better, and to get into them more deeply. I admitted to myself that a woman had to move and feel a bit like Hanna, smell and taste a bit like her for things to be good between us. I told them about Hanna. And I told them more about myself than I had told Gertrud; they had to be able to make sense of whatever they might find disconcerting in my behavior and moods. But the women didn’t want to hear that much. I remember Helen, an American literary critic who stroked my back silently and soothingly as I talked, and continued to stroke me just as silently and soothingly after I’d stopped speaking. Gesina, a psychoanalyst, thought I needed to work through my relationship with my mother. Did it not strike me that my mother hardly appeared in my story at all? Hilke, a dentist, kept asking about the time before we met, but immediately forgot whatever I told her. So I stopped talking about it. There’s no need to talk, because the truth of what one says lies in what one does.


第02节　　　当我还是候补官员时我就结了婚。葛特茹德和我是在滑雪棚中认识的。在假期结束时，其他人都回去后，她仍旧留了下来，一直呆到我出院，然后把我送了回去。她也是学法律的，我们一起学习，一起通过考试并一起成为候补官员。当她怀孕时，我们结了婚。
　　我没有向她提起汉娜的事。我想，如果不是有义务，谁愿意听我来讲我以前与另外一个人的关系呢？葛特茹德聪明、勤奋、忠实。如果我们的生活是经营一座农庄，雇用许多男女奴工，生许多孩子，有许多活要干，没有时间给对方的话，那么我们的生活会充实幸福的。但是，一个三口之家，女儿朱丽雅和两个候补官员，即葛特茹德和我，住在市郊的一处新建楼房的三居室里，这就是我们的生活。与葛特茹德在一起时，我一直无法停止把她和我的共同生活与我和汉娜的共同生活进行比较。每当我们拥抱在一起时，我总有一种不对劲的感觉、有一种她不对劲的感觉，她接触和抚摸的地方不对，她的气味不对，滋味也不对。我想，这种感觉会消失的，我希望这种感觉会消失，我想摆脱汉娜，但是，这种不对劲的感觉从未消失过。
　　当朱丽雅五岁时，我们离了婚，因为我们两人都无法再忍受下去了。我们没有痛苦地离了婚，此后也忠诚地保持联系。令我痛苦的是我们不能给予朱丽雅安全感，她很明显地希望有这种安全感。当我和葛特茹德亲密无间、彼此之间都有好感时，朱丽雅在我们中间感到如鱼得水一样自由自在。当她注意到我们之间的紧张气氛时，就从我们的一方跑到另一方，向我们保证我们都很可爱，她爱我们。她希望有个小弟弟，也高兴能有很多兄弟姐妹。很长时间内，她没有明白离婚是怎么一回事。当我去看她时，她要我留下来。当她来看我时，要和葛特茹德一起来。每当我离开她时，她都趴着窗户往外看，当我在她伤心目光的注视下上车时，我感到心已碎。我有一种感觉，我们没有给予她的不仅仅是她的一种愿望，而是她拥有这种愿望的权利。当我们离婚时，我们就骗取了她的权利，我们共同做了这件事，但我们的罪责并没有因此减半。
　　我试图再建立一个较好的婚姻关系。我承认，我要找的女人必须要有点像汉娜，像她那样接触和抚摸，其气味和滋味都必须有点像汉娜的，只有这样，我们的共同生活才不会有不对劲的感觉。而且，我跟她们讲我和汉娜的事。我也在其他女人面前比在葛特茹德面前更多地讲述了我自己。她们应该按照自己的想法解释我在举止言谈中表现出来的令她们感到惊异的东西。但是，那些女人不想听得太多。我记得海伦，一位研究美国文学的学者，当我讲述时，她默默无声抚摸我的后背，安慰我；我停止讲述时，她同样默默无声地继续抚摸我，安慰我。葛西娜是位精神分析学家，她认为，我必须清理我与母亲的关系。她问过我是否注意到我的母亲在我的故事中几乎没有出现过？希尔克是位牙医，她翻来覆去地问我以前的事情，但是，随后就忘了我给她讲的一切。这样一来，我就又什么都不讲了，因为人们所讲的，不过是人们自己所做的，既然是事实，那就不一定非讲木可。




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举报 只看该作者 37楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER THREE

A S I WAS taking my second state exam, the professor who had given the concentration camps seminar died. Gertrud came across the obituary in the newspaper. The funeral was at the mountain cemetery. Did I want to go?
I didn’t. The burial was on a Thursday afternoon, and on both Thursday and Friday morning I had to take written exams. Also, the professor and I had never been particularly close. And I didn’t like funerals. And I didn’t want to be reminded of the trial.
But it was already too late. The memory had been awakened, and when I came out of the exam on Thursday, it was as if I had an appointment with the past that I couldn’t miss. I did something I never did otherwise: I took the streetcar. This in itself was an encounter with the past, like returning to a place that once was familiar but has changed its appearance. When Hanna worked for the streetcar company, there were long streetcars made up of two or three carriages, platforms at the front and back, running boards along the platforms that you could jump onto when the streetcar had pulled away from the stop, and a cord running through the cars that the conductor rang to signal departure. In summer there were streetcars with open platforms. The conductor sold, punched, and inspected tickets, called out the stations, signaled departures, kept an eye on the children who pushed their way onto the platforms, fought with passengers who jumped off and on, and denied further entry if the car was full. There were cheerful, witty, serious, grouchy, and coarse conductors, and the temperament or mood of the conductor often defined the atmosphere in the car. How stupid of me that after the failed surprise on the ride to Schwetzingen, I had been afraid to waylay Hanna and see what she was like as a conductor.
I got onto the conductor-less streetcar and rode to the mountain cemetery. It was a cold autumn day with a cloudless, hazy sky and a yellow sun that no longer gave off any heat, the kind you can look at directly without hurting your eyes. I had to search awhile before finding the grave where the funeral ceremony was being held. I walked beneath tall, bare trees, between old gravestones. Occasionally I met a cemetery gardener or an old woman with a watering can and gardening shears. It was absolutely still, and from a distance I could hear the hymn being sung at the professor’s grave.
I stopped a little way off and studied the small group of mourners. Some of them were clearly eccentrics and misfits. In the eulogies for the professor, there were hints that he himself had withdrawn from the pressures of society and thus lost contact with it, remaining a loner and thereby becoming something of an oddball himself.
I recognized a former member of the concentration camps seminar. He had taken his exams before me, had become a practicing attorney, and then opened a pub; he was dressed in a long red coat. He came to speak to me when everything was over and I was making my way to the cemetery gate. “We were in the same seminar—don’t you remember?”
“I do.” We shook hands.
“I was always at the trial on Wednesdays, and sometimes I gave you a lift.” He laughed. “You were there every day, every day and every week. Can you say why, now?” He looked at me, good-natured and ready to pounce, and I remembered that I had noticed this look even in the seminar.
“I was very interested in the trial.”
“You were very interested in the trial?” He laughed again. “The trial, or the defendant you were always staring at? The only one who was reasonably good-looking. We all used to wonder what was going on between you and her, but none of us dared ask. We were so terribly sensitive and considerate back then. Do you remember . . .” He recalled another member of the seminar, who stuttered or lisped and held forth incessantly, most of it nonsense, and to whom we listened as though his words were gold. He went on to talk about other members of the seminar, what they were like back then and what they were doing now. He talked and talked. But I knew he would get back to me eventually and ask: “So—what was going on between you and the defendant?” And I didn’t know what to answer, how to betray, confess, parry.
Then we were at the entrance to the cemetery, and he asked. A streetcar was just pulling away from the stop and I called out, “Bye,” and ran off as though I could jump onto the running board, ran alongside the streetcar beating the flat of my hand against the door, and something happened that I wouldn’t have believed possible, hadn’t even hoped for. The streetcar stopped, the door opened, and I got on.


第03节　　　当我参加第二次国家考试时，那位组织集中营问题研讨班的教授去世了。葛特茹德是在报纸的死亡讣告版上偶然看到这个消息的。葬礼在山地陵园举行。她问我是否想去参加。
　　我不想去。葬礼在星期四的下午举行，而我星期四和星期五上午都有考试。再者，那位教授和我之间的关系也不是特别近。我不喜欢参加葬礼。我不想再忆起那次审判。
　　但是，这已为时过晚，记忆已经被唤醒了。当我星期四考试归来时，就好像我必须去赴一个不允许错过的约会，一个与过去的约会。
　　我是乘坐有轨电车去的，平时我是不坐有轨电车的。这已经是与过去的一种接触了，就好像又回到了一个熟悉的地方，一个改变了面貌的地方。当汉娜在有轨电车公司上班时，有两节或三节车厢的有轨电车，车厢的两端有平台，平台旁边有踏板，如果电车已经启动，人们仍旧可以跳到踏板上，还有一条环绕整个车厢的绳子，售票员拉这根绳可以发出开车的信号。夏天的时候，有轨电车敞着平台开，售票员买票，给票打眼，查票，报站，发开车信号，照顾拥挤在平台上的孩子，训斥那些跳上跳下的乘客，当车满员时阻止再上人。有的售票员滑稽有趣，有的严肃，总绷着脸，有的粗鲁。他们的性格和心情如何往往左右着车厢里的气氛。我多么愚蠢，在那次乘车去施魏青根给汉娜一个惊喜的愿望落空之后，我就害怕把她当做售票员来等候，来经历。
　　我登上了一辆没有售票员的有轨电车去了山地陵园。那是一个较冷的秋日，天高云淡，太阳也不再温暖了，用眼睛望着它也不会被刺痛了。我用了好一会儿时间才找到了将在那里举行葬礼的墓地。我穿梭在高大无叶的树木与已有年头的墓碑之间，偶尔会遇见一位陵园的园工或一位手持浇花壶和修技剪刀的上了年纪的妇女。陵园非常安静，我从远处就听到了在那位教授的墓碑旁所唱的赞美诗。
　　我站在一边仔细地观察这小小的参加葬礼的人群。其中的一些人看上去明显地孤僻怪异。从介绍教授生平事迹和著作的悼词中可以听得出来，他自己逃避了社会的约束，从而脱离了与社会的联系，他一直保持着自己的独立性，变得孤僻起来。
　　我认出了当年参加研讨班的一位同学，他参加国家考试比我早，先当上了律师，后来又成了一家小酒店的老板。他是穿着一件红色的长大衣来的。葬礼结束后，当我往回向陵园的大门走去时，他走过来与我打招呼："我们一起参加了研讨班，你不记得了吗？"
　　"记得。"我们握了手。
　　"我总是在周三去法庭，有时我开车带你去，"他笑着说，"你每天都在场，每天，每周都在。现在你说说为什么？"他同情地、期待地望着我。这使我想起，他的这种目光在研讨班时我就注意到了。
　　"我对法庭审理特别感兴趣。"
　　"你对法庭审理特别感兴趣？"他又笑了，"是对法庭还是对那位你总是目不转睛地盯着的被告人？就是看上去还蛮不错的那位？我们大家心里都在嘀咕，你与她是什么关系，但是没人敢问你。我们当时非常富有同情心，善解人意。你还记得……"他提起了另外一位参加研讨班的同学，这位同学口吃，说话咬舌头，话很多且不着边际，我们还得洗耳恭听，好像他的话句句是金石之言。他开始谈起其他参加研讨班的同学，讲他们当时如何，现在又做什么。他滔滔不绝地讲个没完，但是，我知道他最终还会再问我："怎么样，你现在和那位被告的情况如何？"我不知道我该如何回答，如何否认，如何承认和如何回避。
　　这时候我们到了陵园的大门口，他真的问了我这个问题。车站刚好有一辆有轨电车在徐徐开动。我说了声"再见"，撒腿就跑，好像我能跳到踏板上一样，我挨着车身边跑边用手拍打着车门。我根本不敢相信，也没抱任何希望的事发生了：那辆车又停了下来，门开了，我上了车。
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等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 38楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER THREE

A S I WAS taking my second state exam, the professor who had given the concentration camps seminar died. Gertrud came across the obituary in the newspaper. The funeral was at the mountain cemetery. Did I want to go?
I didn’t. The burial was on a Thursday afternoon, and on both Thursday and Friday morning I had to take written exams. Also, the professor and I had never been particularly close. And I didn’t like funerals. And I didn’t want to be reminded of the trial.
But it was already too late. The memory had been awakened, and when I came out of the exam on Thursday, it was as if I had an appointment with the past that I couldn’t miss. I did something I never did otherwise: I took the streetcar. This in itself was an encounter with the past, like returning to a place that once was familiar but has changed its appearance. When Hanna worked for the streetcar company, there were long streetcars made up of two or three carriages, platforms at the front and back, running boards along the platforms that you could jump onto when the streetcar had pulled away from the stop, and a cord running through the cars that the conductor rang to signal departure. In summer there were streetcars with open platforms. The conductor sold, punched, and inspected tickets, called out the stations, signaled departures, kept an eye on the children who pushed their way onto the platforms, fought with passengers who jumped off and on, and denied further entry if the car was full. There were cheerful, witty, serious, grouchy, and coarse conductors, and the temperament or mood of the conductor often defined the atmosphere in the car. How stupid of me that after the failed surprise on the ride to Schwetzingen, I had been afraid to waylay Hanna and see what she was like as a conductor.
I got onto the conductor-less streetcar and rode to the mountain cemetery. It was a cold autumn day with a cloudless, hazy sky and a yellow sun that no longer gave off any heat, the kind you can look at directly without hurting your eyes. I had to search awhile before finding the grave where the funeral ceremony was being held. I walked beneath tall, bare trees, between old gravestones. Occasionally I met a cemetery gardener or an old woman with a watering can and gardening shears. It was absolutely still, and from a distance I could hear the hymn being sung at the professor’s grave.
I stopped a little way off and studied the small group of mourners. Some of them were clearly eccentrics and misfits. In the eulogies for the professor, there were hints that he himself had withdrawn from the pressures of society and thus lost contact with it, remaining a loner and thereby becoming something of an oddball himself.
I recognized a former member of the concentration camps seminar. He had taken his exams before me, had become a practicing attorney, and then opened a pub; he was dressed in a long red coat. He came to speak to me when everything was over and I was making my way to the cemetery gate. “We were in the same seminar—don’t you remember?”
“I do.” We shook hands.
“I was always at the trial on Wednesdays, and sometimes I gave you a lift.” He laughed. “You were there every day, every day and every week. Can you say why, now?” He looked at me, good-natured and ready to pounce, and I remembered that I had noticed this look even in the seminar.
“I was very interested in the trial.”
“You were very interested in the trial?” He laughed again. “The trial, or the defendant you were always staring at? The only one who was reasonably good-looking. We all used to wonder what was going on between you and her, but none of us dared ask. We were so terribly sensitive and considerate back then. Do you remember . . .” He recalled another member of the seminar, who stuttered or lisped and held forth incessantly, most of it nonsense, and to whom we listened as though his words were gold. He went on to talk about other members of the seminar, what they were like back then and what they were doing now. He talked and talked. But I knew he would get back to me eventually and ask: “So—what was going on between you and the defendant?” And I didn’t know what to answer, how to betray, confess, parry.
Then we were at the entrance to the cemetery, and he asked. A streetcar was just pulling away from the stop and I called out, “Bye,” and ran off as though I could jump onto the running board, ran alongside the streetcar beating the flat of my hand against the door, and something happened that I wouldn’t have believed possible, hadn’t even hoped for. The streetcar stopped, the door opened, and I got on.


第03节　　　当我参加第二次国家考试时，那位组织集中营问题研讨班的教授去世了。葛特茹德是在报纸的死亡讣告版上偶然看到这个消息的。葬礼在山地陵园举行。她问我是否想去参加。
　　我不想去。葬礼在星期四的下午举行，而我星期四和星期五上午都有考试。再者，那位教授和我之间的关系也不是特别近。我不喜欢参加葬礼。我不想再忆起那次审判。
　　但是，这已为时过晚，记忆已经被唤醒了。当我星期四考试归来时，就好像我必须去赴一个不允许错过的约会，一个与过去的约会。
　　我是乘坐有轨电车去的，平时我是不坐有轨电车的。这已经是与过去的一种接触了，就好像又回到了一个熟悉的地方，一个改变了面貌的地方。当汉娜在有轨电车公司上班时，有两节或三节车厢的有轨电车，车厢的两端有平台，平台旁边有踏板，如果电车已经启动，人们仍旧可以跳到踏板上，还有一条环绕整个车厢的绳子，售票员拉这根绳可以发出开车的信号。夏天的时候，有轨电车敞着平台开，售票员买票，给票打眼，查票，报站，发开车信号，照顾拥挤在平台上的孩子，训斥那些跳上跳下的乘客，当车满员时阻止再上人。有的售票员滑稽有趣，有的严肃，总绷着脸，有的粗鲁。他们的性格和心情如何往往左右着车厢里的气氛。我多么愚蠢，在那次乘车去施魏青根给汉娜一个惊喜的愿望落空之后，我就害怕把她当做售票员来等候，来经历。
　　我登上了一辆没有售票员的有轨电车去了山地陵园。那是一个较冷的秋日，天高云淡，太阳也不再温暖了，用眼睛望着它也不会被刺痛了。我用了好一会儿时间才找到了将在那里举行葬礼的墓地。我穿梭在高大无叶的树木与已有年头的墓碑之间，偶尔会遇见一位陵园的园工或一位手持浇花壶和修技剪刀的上了年纪的妇女。陵园非常安静，我从远处就听到了在那位教授的墓碑旁所唱的赞美诗。
　　我站在一边仔细地观察这小小的参加葬礼的人群。其中的一些人看上去明显地孤僻怪异。从介绍教授生平事迹和著作的悼词中可以听得出来，他自己逃避了社会的约束，从而脱离了与社会的联系，他一直保持着自己的独立性，变得孤僻起来。
　　我认出了当年参加研讨班的一位同学，他参加国家考试比我早，先当上了律师，后来又成了一家小酒店的老板。他是穿着一件红色的长大衣来的。葬礼结束后，当我往回向陵园的大门走去时，他走过来与我打招呼："我们一起参加了研讨班，你不记得了吗？"
　　"记得。"我们握了手。
　　"我总是在周三去法庭，有时我开车带你去，"他笑着说，"你每天都在场，每天，每周都在。现在你说说为什么？"他同情地、期待地望着我。这使我想起，他的这种目光在研讨班时我就注意到了。
　　"我对法庭审理特别感兴趣。"
　　"你对法庭审理特别感兴趣？"他又笑了，"是对法庭还是对那位你总是目不转睛地盯着的被告人？就是看上去还蛮不错的那位？我们大家心里都在嘀咕，你与她是什么关系，但是没人敢问你。我们当时非常富有同情心，善解人意。你还记得……"他提起了另外一位参加研讨班的同学，这位同学口吃，说话咬舌头，话很多且不着边际，我们还得洗耳恭听，好像他的话句句是金石之言。他开始谈起其他参加研讨班的同学，讲他们当时如何，现在又做什么。他滔滔不绝地讲个没完，但是，我知道他最终还会再问我："怎么样，你现在和那位被告的情况如何？"我不知道我该如何回答，如何否认，如何承认和如何回避。
　　这时候我们到了陵园的大门口，他真的问了我这个问题。车站刚好有一辆有轨电车在徐徐开动。我说了声"再见"，撒腿就跑，好像我能跳到踏板上一样，我挨着车身边跑边用手拍打着车门。我根本不敢相信，也没抱任何希望的事发生了：那辆车又停了下来，门开了，我上了车。
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等级: 内阁元老
配偶: 回到夏末之初
我是沐沐！（墓薏）番外不补。  生日：1.21，周年5.13，结拜6.20，结拜：8.18，结婚： ..
举报 只看该作者 39楼  发表于: 2013-10-18 0



CHAPTER FOUR

A FTER MY state exam, I had to decide on a profession within the law. I gave myself a little time; Gertrud, who immediately began working in the judiciary, had her hands full, and we were happy that I could remain at home and take care of Julia. Once Gertrud had got over all the difficulties of getting started and Julia was in kindergarten, I had to make a decision.
I had a hard time of it. I didn’t see myself in any of the roles I had seen lawyers play at Hanna’s trial. Prosecution seemed to me as grotesque a simplification as defense, and judging was the most grotesque oversimplification of all. Nor could I see myself as an administrative official; I had worked at a local government office during my training, and found its rooms, corridors, smells, and employees gray, sterile, and dreary.
That did not leave many legal careers, and I don’t know what I would have done if a professor of legal history had not offered me a research job. Gertrud said it was an evasion, an escape from the challenges and responsibilities of life, and she was right. I escaped and was relieved that I could do so. After all, it wasn’t forever, I told both her and myself; I was young enough to enter any solid branch of the legal profession after a few years of legal history. But it was forever; the first escape was followed by a second, when I moved from the university to a research institution, seeking and finding a niche in which I could pursue my interest in legal history, in which I needed no one and disturbed no one.
Now escape involves not just running away, but arriving somewhere. And the past I arrived in as a legal historian was no less alive than the present. It is also not true, as outsiders might assume, that one can merely observe the richness of life in the past, whereas one can participate in the present. Doing history means building bridges between the past and the present, observing both banks of the river, taking an active part on both sides. One of my areas of research was law in the Third Reich, and here it is particularly obvious how the past and present come together in a single reality. Here, escape is not a preoccupation with the past, but a determined focus on the present and the future that is blind to the legacy of the past which brands us and with which we must live.
In saying this, I do not mean to conceal how gratifying it was to plunge into different stretches of the past that were not so urgently connected to the present. I felt it for the first time when I was working on the legal codes and drafts of the Enlightenment. They were based on the belief that a good order is intrinsic to the world, and that therefore the world can be brought into good order. To see how legal provisions were created paragraph by paragraph out of this belief as solemn guardians of this good order, and worked into laws that strove for beauty and by their very beauty for truth, made me happy. For a long time I believed that there was progress in the history of law, a development towards greater beauty and truth, rationality and humanity, despite terrible setbacks and retreats. Once it became clear to me that this belief was a chimera, I began playing with a different image of the course of legal history. In this one it still has a purpose, but the goal it finally attains, after countless disruptions, confusions, and delusions, is the beginning, its own original starting point, which once reached must be set off from again.
I reread the Odyssey at that time, which I had first read in school and remembered as the story of a homecoming. But it is not the story of a homecoming. How could the Greeks, who knew that one never enters the same river twice, believe in homecoming? Odysseus does not return home to stay, but to set off again. The Odyssey is the story of motion both purposeful and purposeless, successful and futile. What else is the history of law?


第04节　　　做完候补官员之后，我必须要选择一门职业，但我没有马上做出选择。葛特茹德马上就当上了法官。她手头上要做的事堆积如山，而我能呆在家里照看朱丽雅，这令我们感到高兴。当葛特茹德克服了最初的困难、朱丽雅又入了幼儿园后，我的决定就迫在眉睫了。
　　我很难做出决定。在对汉娜的法庭审判中我所看到的种种法律角色，看不出有适合我的。对我来说，诉讼与辩护同样都被滑稽地简单化了，而判决又是所有简单化中最滑稽的。我认为，我也不适合在管理部门做政府官员。我作为候补官员在州政府工作过，我发现它的办公室、走廊、气味和公务员都很苍白、无味、单调。
　　这样一来可供选择的法律职业也就所剩无几了。我真不知道我会做什么，如果不是一位法学史教授给我提供了在他手下工作的机会的话。葛特茹德说，我的选择是一种逃避，是对生活的挑战和责任的逃避。她说得有道理，我是逃避了，逃避使我感到轻松。我的这个选择不是永久性的，我对她，也对自己这样说。我还年轻，教几年法学史之后，仍旧能找到各种实惠的法律职业，但是，这却成了我的永久性的选择。随着第一次逃避而来的是第二次逃避，也就是说，我从大学换到一家研究机构，我在那儿寻找并发现了一个我可以从事我喜欢的法学史研究的避风港。在那儿，我不需要任何人，也不打搅任何人。
　　结果我不但没有逃避掉，反而与过去更接近了。作为法学史家，我所接触的过去，其生动性并不逊色于现实生活。局外人可能会认为，人们对过去只能观察，而对现实才能参与，但事实并非如此。从事历史研究意味着在过去与现实之间架起桥梁，在历史与现实两方面进行观察，活跃于二者之间。我所研究的领域之一是第三帝国法，在这里，过去与现实如何在现实生活中难解难分，特别显而易见。在这里，人们逃避的不是过去，而正是现实和将来，人们没有把注意力坚定地集中在现实和将来上。人们对历史遗产茫然无知，不知我们深深地打上了历史的烙印，我们生活在历史中。
　　我沉浸在历史中时能够得到一种满足感。虽然它对现实并没有什么意义，我还是不想隐瞒它。我第一次产生这种满足感是在我研究启蒙教育法和启蒙教育法律草案的时候。之所以要制定这些法律是因为人们相信，从此以后世界有了好秩序，从此世界会变得更好。看到从这种信念中制定出维护良好秩序的条文，看到这些条文又变成了美好的法律，而它们又将以自身的美来证明它们的真，我感到幸福。很久以来我就坚信，尽管出现了可怕的倒退和挫折，但法律会越来越进步，会变得越来越美，越来越真，越来越理智，越来越人道。自从我发现我的这种信念不过是幻想而已后，我的法律演进现变得完全另一样。这个演进虽有目的地，但它经过种种震动、困惑和失去理智后到达的这个目的地，正是通向另一个目的地的起点，但在尚未到达这个新目的地时，又不得不重新开始。
　　我当时又重读了《奥德赛》。我在中学时就读过这本书，在我的记忆中，它讲的是一个返乡者的故事。但是，它讲的并不是一个返乡者的故事。相信一个人不可能再次过同一条河的希腊人怎么能相信返乡之事呢？奥德修斯回来不是为了留下，而是为了重新出发。《奥德赛》是一部运动史，这个运动是有目的的，同时又无目的，是成功的，同时又是徒劳的。法律的历史与此有什么区别呢？




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