二十年前出国的时候，一个女友交在我手中三只扎成一团的牛铃。在那个时代里，没有什么人看重乡土的东西。还记得，当年的台北也没有成衣卖。要衣服穿，就得去洋裁店。拿着剪好的料子，坐在小板凳上翻那一本本美国杂志，看中了的款式，就请裁缝给做，而钮扣，也得自己去城里配。那是一个相当崇洋的时代，也因为，那时台湾有的东西不多。
As I was leaving Taiwan twenty years ago, a girlfriend of mine gave me three cattle bells tied together. This was a time when nobody gave a thought to anything domestic. You couldn’t buy ready-made clothes in Taipei. You had to visit a foreign tailor. You would sit on the tailor’s small stool as you leafed through American fashion magazines with one hand and held your fabric in the other. You chose whatever style your heart desired and told him. He would even go to town to get you your chosen buttons. It was a time of glorying everything foreign as well as a time of material inadequacy in Taiwan.
当我接过那一串牛铃时，问女友哪里弄来的，她说是乡下拿来的东西，要我带着它走。摇摇那串铃，它们响得并不清脆，好似有什么东西卡在喉咙里似的，一碰它们，就咯咯的响上那么一会儿。
As I clutched the bells in my hand, I asked my girlfriend where she had gotten them. She said that they were from the countryside and asked that I take them with me. I rang them. The rings were dull and flat, as if they had been choked. Once touched, the bells would giggle for a while.
将这串东西当成了一把故乡的泥土，它也许不够芳香也不够肥沃，可是有，总比没有好。就把它带了许多年，搁在箱子里，没怎么特别理会它。
Compared with the soil of my hometown, the bells probably lacked both fragrance and richness. However, it is always better to have something than nothing. I carried them with me for years, though they were usually buried in my suitcase and neglected.
等我到了沙漠的时候，丈夫发觉了这串铃，拿在手中把玩了很久，我看他好似很喜欢这串东西的造形，将这三个铃，穿在钥匙圈上，从此一直跟住了他。
After I settled in the desert, my husband found the bells. He played with them for so long that I thought he was fascinated with the way they looked. I put three of the bells on his key ring and they became a part of him.
以后我们家中有过风铃和竹条铃，都只挂了一阵就取下来了。居住的地区一向风大，那些铃啊，不停的乱响，听着只觉吵闹。不如没风的地方，偶尔有风吹来，细细碎碎的洒下一些音符，那种偶尔才得的喜悦，是不同凡响的。
I used to hang wind chimes and bamboo bells in our house, but I took them down after a while. The local winds were strong, endlessly swaying the bells and producing a constant disharmony. It was not the kind of place without squalls, where, when the occasional breeze comes through, it would gently sprinkle the air with musical motes and notes, filling you with rarely-matched delight.
以后又买过成串成串的西班牙铃铛，它们发出的声音更不好，比咳嗽还要难听，就只有挂着当装饰，并不去听它们。
I also bought some bunches of Spanish bells. Their rings were even worse, more unpleasant than coughs. I hung them up to be seen and not heard.
一次，我们住在西非尼日利亚，在那物质上吃苦，精神上亦极苦的日子里，简直找不到任何使人快乐的力量。当时，丈夫日也做、夜也做，公司偏偏赖帐不给，我看在眼里，心疼极了，心疼丈夫，反而歇斯底里的找他吵架。那一阵，两个人吵了又好，好了又吵，最后常常抱头痛哭，不知前途在哪里，而经济情况一日坏似一日，那个该下地狱去的公司，就是硬吃人薪水，还扣了护照。
We once lived in Nigeria. It was a time of material and spiritual torment, the kind that robs you of the will to be happy. My husband worked day and night, but the company defaulted on his salary. My heart ached for him so much that I blamed him for crazy things. We would always be fighting and making up, usually ending up crying in each other’s arms, adrift in our muddled future. Money became tighter by the day, even while the damned company withheld salaries and even held our passports.
这个故事，写在一篇叫做《五月花》的中篇小说中去，好像集在《温柔的夜》这本书里，在此不再重复了。
My novella, “May Flower” is based on this story. The story is also included in a collection called “Gentle Nights.” I will not repeat it here.
就在那样沮丧的心情下，有一天丈夫回来，给了我两只好似长着爪子一样的铃。我坐在帐子里，接过这双铃，也不想去摇它们，只是漠漠然。
One of those dismal days my husband came home, bringing me two bells that looked like they had paws. I sat inside the mosquito net, the bells in hand, my fingers reluctant to ring them. I just sat, indifferent and sullen.
丈夫对我说：“听听它们有多好，你听——”接着他把铃铛轻轻一摇。那一声微小的铃声，好似一阵微风细雨吹拂过干裂的大地，一丝又一丝余音，绕着心房打转。方要没了，丈夫又轻轻一晃，那是今生没有听过的一种清脆入谷的神音，听着、听着，心里积压了很久的郁闷这才变做一片湖水，将胸口那堵住的墙给化了。
Then my husband said, “Listen to their beautiful sound.” He gently shook the bells. Like a soft breeze blowing over dry land, the ring resonated faintly but distinctly, touching the bottom of my heart. As it was dying out, he shook it again, producing a sound I never heard before, a sound by its nature clean and sweet, a sound of divinity. As I listened, the agony heaped up in my heart for so long melted into raging river, and broke down the walls confining my soul.
这两只铃铛，是丈夫在工地里向一个尼日利亚工人换来的，用一把牛骨柄的刀。
My husband had acquired these bells by exchanging a knife with a cattle bone handle with a Nigerian worker.
丈夫没有什么东西，除了那把不离身的刀子。唯一心爱的宝贝，为了使妻子快乐，换取了那副铃。那是一把好刀，那是两只天下最神秘的铜铃。
The only thing that he would never let go of was his knife. He didn’t really have any important possessions. This knife, the most important thing he had, he had exchanged for bells to delight his wife. It was a good knife, too, and the two bells, the most mysterious in the world.
有一天，我回台湾来教书，一个学生拿了一大把铜铃来叫我挑。我微笑着一个一个试，最后挑了一只相当不错的。之后，把那两只尼日利亚的铜铃和这一只中国铃，用红线穿在一起。每当深夜回家的时候，门一开就会轻轻碰到它们。我的家，虽然归去时没有灯火迎接，却有了声音，而那声音里，唱的是：“我爱着你。”
When I came back to Taiwan to teach, a student brought me a huge bunch of brass bells from which I could select one. With a smile on my face, I tried them, one by one, until I eventually found a rather good one. I tied this Chinese bell to the two Nigerian bells with a red thread. Every night I came back late and opened the door, I heard them ringing. Though there were never any fires in my windows welcoming me home, there was always this sound singing “I love you.”
至于那一串被女友当成乡愁给我的三个铜铃，而今的土产、礼品店，正有大批新新的在卖。而我的乡愁，经历了万水千山之后，却觉得，它们来自四面八方，那份沧桑，能不能只用这片脚踏的泥土就可以弥补，倒是一个大大的问号了。
Remember those three cattle bells my girlfriend gave me as keepsake? They are now sold in gift shops and domestic produce markets. And now, after I have traveled over mountains and rivers, I feel that my nostalgia has grown stronger than ever. But the question of whether I could replace all my life’s experiences by setting foot on my homeland would always remain unanswered.
（Ren Zhong, Yuzhi Yang 译）
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