雙語(yǔ)·當(dāng)呼吸化為空氣 我猶豫了很久 拖延到最后時(shí)刻

我猶豫了很久，拖延到最后時(shí)刻，才選擇了營(yíng)地的工作。之后，我到生物系指導(dǎo)老師的辦公室去告訴他自己的決定。進(jìn)門(mén)的時(shí)候，他正坐在辦公桌前，和往常一樣，埋頭于一本學(xué)術(shù)期刊。這個(gè)大眼袋的男人平時(shí)很安靜，和藹可親。不過(guò)，我跟他說(shuō)了自己的暑假計(jì)劃以后，他完全變了個(gè)人：雙目圓睜，臉迅速漲紅了，開(kāi)始唾沫飛濺地教訓(xùn)我。
After delaying for as long as possible, I finally chose the camp. Afterward, I dropped by my biology adviser’s office to inform him of my decision. When I walked in, he was sitting at his desk, head in a journal, as usual. He was a quiet, amiable man with heavy-lidded eyes, but as I told him my plans, he became a different person entirely: his eyes shot open, and his face flushed red, flecks of spit spraying.

“什么？”他說(shuō)，“你以后是想當(dāng)科學(xué)家還是……廚子？”
“What?” he said. “When you grow up, are you going to be a scientist or a. . . chef ?”

期末還是來(lái)了，我迎著山路上的風(fēng)，走向營(yíng)地，心里還是有點(diǎn)擔(dān)心這一步是不是走錯(cuò)了，走偏了。然而，我的懷疑很快就煙消云散。營(yíng)地真是名副其實(shí)，好一派年輕人暢想中的田園美景：湖、山、人都美不勝收；經(jīng)歷、對(duì)話與友誼實(shí)在是豐富多彩。滿月的夜晚，月光灑滿曠野，不戴頭燈也能遠(yuǎn)足。我們從凌晨?jī)牲c(diǎn)啟程，趕在日出前爬到附近的塔拉克峰。布滿星星的晴朗夜空，倒映在腳下廣闊深邃、水平如鏡的湖中。在海拔三千多米的高峰，我們穿著睡袋相互偎依。有人很貼心地帶了熱咖啡，驅(qū)散了狂風(fēng)帶來(lái)的刺骨寒意。接著我們就靜靜地坐著，看一抹輕微的天藍(lán)從東方地平線微微顯露，這是太陽(yáng)的先遣隊(duì)，慢慢擦去了閃爍的星星。天光漸明，天空升得高遠(yuǎn)遼闊，接著第一縷陽(yáng)光便現(xiàn)身了。遠(yuǎn)處南太浩湖邊的道路上，清早通勤的人們漸次增多，一日之計(jì)，生機(jī)初現(xiàn)。然而，轉(zhuǎn)過(guò)頭，還能看見(jiàn)退去一半?yún)s依舊徘徊在空中的深藍(lán)夜幕，據(jù)守西天，不肯離去，空中依然星光閃爍，滿月還是懸掛天邊。東邊已是青天白日，陽(yáng)光撲面而來(lái)，西邊的黑夜卻毫無(wú)屈服之意。黑夜與白天的分界，這景象如此崇高偉大，大概也沒(méi)有哲學(xué)家能很好地用言語(yǔ)來(lái)解釋。每當(dāng)此時(shí)，就仿佛上帝在說(shuō)：“要有光！”在高山、大地、宇宙這無(wú)限的遼遠(yuǎn)廣闊之中，你情不自禁地覺(jué)得自己是渺小的一粒微塵，然而還是能感覺(jué)自己的雙腳踩在大地上，確信自己存在于這莊嚴(yán)宏偉的天地之間。
Eventually the term ended and I was on the windy mountain road to camp, still slightly worried that I’d made a wrong turn in life. My doubt, however, was short-lived. The camp delivered on its promise, concen-trating all the idylls of youth: beauty manifest in lakes, mountains, people; richness in experience, conversation, friendships. Nights during a full moon, the light flooded the wilderness, so it was possible to hike without a head-lamp. We would hit the trail at two a. m., summiting the nearest peak, Mount Tallac, just before sunrise, the clear, starry night reflected in the flat, still lakes spread below us. Snuggled together in sleeping bags at the peak, nearly ten thousand feet up, we weathered frigid blasts of wind with coffee someone had been thoughtful enough to bring. And then we would sit and watch as the first hint of sunlight, a light tinge of day blue, would leak out of the eastern horizon, slowly erasing the stars. The day sky would spread wide and high, until the first ray of the sun made an appearance. The morning commuters began to animate the distant South Lake Tahoe roads. But craning your head back, you could see the day’s blue darken halfway across the sky, and to the west, the night remained yet unconquered—pitch-black, stars in full glimmer, the full moon still pinned in the sky. To the east, the full light of day beamed toward you; to the west, night reigned with no hint of surrender. No philosopher can explain the sublime better than this, standing between day and night. It was as if this were the moment God said, “Let there be light!” You could not help but feel your specklike existence against the immensity of the mountain, the earth, the universe, and yet still feel your own two feet on the talus, reaffirming your presence amid the grandeur.