英文小說連載《朗讀者The Reader》Part 2 Chapter 14

　　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.

　　我決定去奧斯威辛看看。假使我今天做了決定明天就可以動身去的話，那我也就去了。但是，得到簽證需要幾周的時間。這樣一來我就去了阿爾薩斯地區(qū)的斯特魯特侯夫。那是最近的一個集中營。我從未看過任何一個集中營。我要用真實驅(qū)逐腦中的先人之見。

　　我是搭車去的，還記得在搭乘卡車的一段路上，司機一瓶接一瓶地灌著啤酒；也記得一位開奔馳車的司機，他戴著白手套開車。過了斯特拉斯堡之后，我的運氣不錯，搭的汽車是駛向舍爾麥克的，一個離斯特魯特侯夫不太遠(yuǎn)的小城市。

　　當(dāng)我告訴了司機我要去的具體地方時，他不說話了。我瞧了他一眼，但是從他的臉上我看不出來他為什么從生動活潑的交談中突然默不作聲了。他中等年紀(jì)，細(xì)長的臉，右邊的太陽穴上有塊深紅色的胎痣或烙印，一架黑發(fā)整齊的流向兩邊。他看上去好像把注意力集中在了道路上。

　　延伸到我們面前的福戈森山脈是一片丘陵。我們穿過了一片葡萄園，來到一個開闊的、緩緩上升的山谷。左邊和右邊的斜坡上是針葉松和落葉松混長的森林，偶爾路過一個采石場，或一個用磚圍砌起來的、帶有折頂?shù)膹S棚，或一家養(yǎng)老院，或一處大型別墅——那里許多小尖塔林立于參天大樹之中。有時，我們沿鐵路線而行，鐵路線時而在左邊，時而在右邊。

　　沉默之后，他又開口了，他問我為什么要去參觀斯特魯特俱夫。我向他講述了審訊過程和我對直觀形象的匱乏。

　　"啊，您想弄明白，人們?yōu)槭裁茨茏龀瞿敲纯植赖氖虑椤?quot;他的話聽上去有點嘲諷的口吻，但是，這也許僅僅是聲音和語言上的地方色彩。沒等我回答，他又接著說："您到底想弄明白什么呢？人們之所以殺人有時是出于狂熱，有時是出于愛，或者出于恨，或為了名譽，或為了復(fù)仇，您明白嗎？"

　　我點點頭。

　　"有時是為了財富去殺人，有時是為了權(quán)力，在戰(zhàn)爭中，或者在一場革命中都要殺人，這您也明白嗎？"

　　我又點點頭："但是…、··"

　　"但是，那些在集中營被殺死的人對那些殺害他們的人并沒做過什么，對嗎？您想說這個嗎？您想說不存在憎恨和戰(zhàn)爭的理由嗎？'"

　　我不想再點頭了，他所說的沒錯，但是他說話的口氣不對。

　　"您說得有道理，不存在戰(zhàn)爭和憎恨的理由，劊子手恨不恨他要處死的人，都要處死他。因為他這樣做是按命令行事？您認(rèn)為，他們這樣做是因為他被命令這樣做嗎？您認(rèn)為我現(xiàn)在在談?wù)撁�令和服從命令嗎？在談�(wù)摷�中營的警衛(wèi)隊得到命令和他們必須要服從命令嗎？他鄙視地笑了起來，"不，我不是在談?wù)撁�令和服從命令。劊子手沒有遵循任何命令。他在完成他的工作，他處死的不是他憎恨的人，他不是在向他們報仇雪恨。殺死他們，不是因為他們擋了他的路或者對他進行了威脅和進攻。他們對他來說完全無所謂的，他們對他來說如此地?zé)o所謂，以致他殺不殺他們都一樣。"

　　他看著我說："沒有'但是'嗎？您說，一個人對另一個人不可以這樣無所謂。您連這個都沒學(xué)過嗎？沒學(xué)過要一致顧臉面？顧人的尊嚴(yán)？生命算什么？"

　　我被激怒了，但又束手無策。我在搜索一個詞，或一句話，一句能讓他啞口無言的話。

　　"有一次，"他接著說，"我看到一張槍殺俄國猶太人的照片。猶太人一絲不掛地排著長隊在等著，有幾位站在一個坑的邊上，他們身后是手持步槍向他們頸部開槍射擊的士兵。這事發(fā)生在一座采石場。在猶太人和土兵的上方，有位軍官坐在墻上的隔板上，蹺著二郎腿，吸著一支香煙。他看上去有點悶悶不樂，也許槍殺進行得還不夠快。但是，他還是感到某種程度的滿足，甚至輕松愉快，也許因為白天的活總算要干完了，而且很快就要下班了。他不恨猶太人，他本是……"

　　"那是您吧？是您坐在墻上的隔板上，還……"

　　他把車停下了，臉色蒼白，太陽穴上的股清在亂跳。"滾下去！"

　　我下了車，他調(diào)轉(zhuǎn)車頭的方式使我不得不急忙躲閃。直到下幾個拐彎處，我仍能聽見他。然后一切才平靜下來。

　　我走在上坡的路上，沒有來往的汽車從我身邊開過。我聽得見鳥鳴和樹木的風(fēng)聲，有時還有涓涓的溪水聲。我松了口氣。一刻鐘之后，我到了集中營。