19-7-15【英语美文】拥抱改变，知死后生，BBC国家短篇小说奖 《浅滩边缘》

TheEdge of the Shoal

浅滩边缘

ByCynan Jones, edited version

作者：CynanJones（编辑版）

【BBC国家短篇小说奖】

一个海中重生的故事，绝望中，带着信念活下去，向死而生。

年少时父亲常带着他去海边划船，那是逐渐遥远的记忆，此刻的他，独自驾着独木舟，向远处的目的地驶去，身边是父亲的骨灰，他答应他将它们抛洒在这处只有他们知道的海湾。忽然间，天色变暗，狂风大作，一道闪电劈中了他，晕厥不久后醒来，发现自己严重受伤，孤零地飘荡在海上，一天，两天，他告诉自己要相信小艇能够漂到岸边，能漂回岸边…

The Edge of the Shoal

By Cynan Jones, edited version

1.       He swings the fish from thewater. It gasps, thrashes. Drums. He was sure he wouldcatch fish. He left just a simple note: “Pick salad x.” A heat has come to themorning now, the kayak lilts. Weed floats. He thinks of her hair inwater. The same darkened blond colour.

The edge of the shoal. Heretrieves a carrier bag and stores the fish. That’s lunch. The bay lay just a little north. It was ashort paddle from the flat beach inland of him, with the caravans on the lowfields above, but it felt private.

2.       His father long ago had toldhim that they were the only ones who knew about the bay, and that was a goodthing between them to believe. He was not a talker. But he couldn’t imaginesitting in the bay and not talking to his father. After the brief doubt, herelaxes. He has a sense, out here, of peace. Thinks: why do we stop doing thethings we enjoy and the things we know are good for us?  

3.       He fades the kayak, lets it drift, wiggling his ankles, working hisfeet loose. The water beneath him is suddenly full somehow, with jellyfish. Hewonders if they are a sign, of some increasing heat perhaps. Then the noise ofmusic hits him. A child knee-high inthe water, slapping at the waves. Amother changing inside a towel.

4.       The ashes sit perfectly in the drinks holder by his legs. Laid outfarther off, an adolescent girl. Thesound of her radio travelling. A pile of bright things. The child has found a whip of kelp and slaps at the waves. It’s O.K., Dad, he says. We’ll come back later. We’ll come back whenthey’ve gone.

5.       The first lightning strikessomewhere out past the horizon. At first he thinks it just a sudden glint. The thunder happens momentslater, and he feels sick in his gut.  He sees the rain as a thick dark band, movingin. Starts to paddle. Then there is a wire of electric brightness. Three. Four.A rumble that seems to echo off the surface of the water. He countsautomatically, assesses the distance to land. Another throb of light. The wind picks up, cold air moving in front of thestorm. One repeated word now. No, no, no. When it hits him there is a brightwhite light. 

6.       He wakes floating on his back,around him hailstones melt. They are scattered on the kayak. There is a hissingsound. The hailstones melting in the water. He stares around, trying tounderstand, a layer of ash on the surface of the water. He cannot move hisarms. They are held out before him as if beseeching the sky. Dead fish lie around him in the water. Somehow he tips himself into the boat. Live, he’s thinking. Live. His fishingrod on fire upon the water as he slips off the world again, and passes out.

7.       One eye is closed with salt.The sun had come out hard after the storm and evaporated the water, leaving the salt in a crust on his eye. Whenhe opens the other, the light blinds him. It hurts to breathe because his wholebody hurts. As if he has suffered a great fall. His mouth, too, is crusted withsalt. He does not know where he is. When he grimaces, his lips split and bleed. What happened? He does not knowhow long he has been like this. Who he is. Then, the thump of a huge fin stirs him.  He does not move. Cannotmove. A few yards off, the fin rises again, a half-metre sail out of the water,a gun-grey body. He is frozen. This cannot be happening, he thinks. This is it,he thinks. This is it.

8.       The gunwale stayed with him for hours. It was almost the size of thekayak in length. It stayed and bumped the boat for hours, and by doing so steered it; and it cannot be knownwhether it was deliberate, benevolent, that it did not steer the kayak fartherout to sea.

9.       How long has this taken tohappen? How long have I been out here? He looks again at his useless hand. Awave of sick goes through him. He takes a brief inventory of the boat. He does not add: One man. One out of twoarms. Four out of ten fingers. No paddle. No torch. One dead phone. How long? How long has it been? Is this myfirst night out? I would have been thirstier, wouldn’t I, if I’d been outlonger? Stay alive, he thinks. You have to stay alive.

10.   He wakes the next day with astrange specific clarity. Three solid simple things: her, the child, his physical ability. These, now, are hislandmarks. The night has left him alive. He sits up. His skin where it is barehas tightened. Where he touches there is a fine sand of dried salt. It is notpossible for him to believe that he will die, but he begins to fear that hewill leave her alone. This is going to be about rhythm. You cannot controlanything else. Just your rhythm.  If yougrow impatient, it will go wrong. When he turns round, there is the land.

11.   It was less easy to bear,having the land in view. He did not think, If I die you must find someone else;he could not think that. He felt a great responsibility. He wanted to make sureshe knew how to reset the pilot light on the boiler. Pictured a coffeecup, never moved, the little liquid left growing into a ghost of dust. Thenote: “Pick salad x.”  When it was beyonddoubt that the land was nearing, he wept quietly. The tears went into his mouth.Trust the float now. You have totrust the float.