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Away to
Home
-
There is a universal truth
about home and it is this: when you leave—no matter how accustomed you may be to
traveling footloose and carefree—every reminder of familiar smiles and friendly
faces becomes that much more precious with each mile that stretches away to
home.
-
You've dreamed of Spain of
sandy beaches and sweeping cathedral spires a language that falls on your ears
like honeyed wine liquid and strange and sweet. But as you look through the
windows of a taxi driving through the streets of Madrid traffic and people
flowing by like tributary streams you find your thoughts instead occupied by the
memory of summer rain and pinioned birds in flight.
Sami's
dark hair tickles your nose when he pulls you into a hug after your first day at
practice after silence and newness and just a little too much personal space for
it to feel like actual respect. His arms wind around your shoulders
unapologetic. Under the perspiration dotting his skin Sami smells like sun and a
hint of snow something colder and softer than any Mediterranean sky. You breathe
him in. You wish you didn't have to breathe out to breathe in again wish you
could live on just one lungful of air and never have to let this
go.
You text Anna-Maria on the car ride back. Hi how was
your day.
Good reads the first reply. Then How is madrid?
She doesn't ask when you are coming home.
Back at the
shared apartment you cook pasta for dinner and Sami washes the dishes. You put
your feet up on the coffee table headphones over your head leaning back as a
melody begins to flood the silence.
A light touch on your
shoulder startles. Sami leans over the back of the couch; you push the
headphones back to hear his voice
"Sorry didn't mean to
startle you. I got the sound system set up earlier so if you want to play music
out loud."
You tell him thanks it's fine and in any case
you don't want to bother him.
"It's no bother." His hand
slips from your shoulder. "There's a nice view from the balcony. Wonder if you
can see the moon yet."
His footsteps pad softly over the
carpet. The porch screen pulled back the faint sound of traffic drifting upward
from below. Cities all sound the same. You tip the headphones back over your
ears; in the small space between speakers-left and speakers-right at least
everything is under
control.
-
Settling in sounds like
something that should be soft and effortless and slow. In reality it's nothing
like that—except for the slowness. Slowly you learn the names of the streets
around your apartment the words and the phrases of everyday conversation rolling
the syllables over your tongue and memorizing new vocabulary in your
head.
Slowly is how you get to know the rest of the team.
And slowly the jersey stops feeling quite so new though you wonder if it will


ever feel completely yours.
Slowly the apartment fills up a
little. With waterbottles and plastic bags that Sami forgets to put into the
recycling. Letters and magazines a pile of paper on the coffee table crowding
your feet. A calendar by the fridge and flowers on the windowsill gifts from a
kind elderly lady next door (her eyes crinkled with smiles when you thanked her
in halting Spanish taking the potted primroses with careful
hands).
Time passes slowly and you travel quickly—taxis
buses planes—wondering if perpetual motion can change the relativity of space.
Home begins to feel strange and Madrid less so. But Thomas' smile is lopsided as
ever and Lukas still ruffles your hair Sami's hand warm on your shoulder. The
pitch is level green and rain still falls cold.
You wonder
how it is that already you find it difficult recall the sound of Anna-Maria's
voice.
Instead you fall asleep the sound of Sami humming
softly to himself in the room next to yours and when you wake you wake to Sami's
voice talking on the phone and it is from moments like these that you learn just
how beautiful the German language can be.
He finds you
sitting on the steps outside the apartment one cool September evening head in
your hands and phone on the concrete beside you. You forgot your keys you tell
him; Anna-Maria never calls back. You want home home—and you don't know how to
continue how to describe what this feels like the longing so strong that it
floods your heart and pulls you ever farther out to
sea.
Sami picks up the phone moves it aside fills the space
with himself as his arms encircle you. He's warm the material of his jacket soft
under your cheek the his hair just long enough to brush the corner of your lips
and catch the first tear that falls. You don't even notice yourself reaching out
until your hands are fisted in his shirt. His hands broad and firm against your
shoulder blades. A brush of lips over the top of your head and a whisper like
promises
"It's okay shh. It's
okay."
Eventually you find the strength to extricate
yourself from his arms. He helps you up leads you inside with one hand around
your wrist. He doesn't let go until you're back in the apartment the door closed
behind you and lights setting every window
aglow.
-
He cooks dinner with you that
night and you help him with the dishes afterwards drying every plate and fork
that he washes. He flicks soapy dishwater at you; you whack him with the towel
in return and his laughter chases away the silence.
It
takes you a few minutes to figure out the sound system. You get there eventually
with the judicious help of a user manual and you take it as a sign that your
Spanish is improving. The CD slides in.
A windy evening has
blown the sky clear of clouds. You step out onto the balcony barefoot shivering.
Sami is leaning against the railing. He turns as light and music spill outwards
from within eyes flickering from your face to your unshod feet and you let him
pull you close to occupy the space beside him.
"Thanks" you
tell the moon-lit lamp-lit city lights.
"No problem" he
says—and this time you let yourself believe him.
The wind
picks up bringing with it the sounds of the streets and whispery hints of
autumn. Sami is solid comfort at your side. You close your eyes and beneath it
all there is the scent of rain of snow on mountains and wild things with wings
outstretched in flight.
-
There is a
universal truth about home and it is this: no matter how far you may go—though
your footsteps may echo your name slip from strangers' tongues—wherever there is
a friendly face to wear the familiar smile that lights up your heart there you
will find your way to home.
-END-

Away to
Home
-
关于家有一个普遍为人们所接受的真理那就是：当你离开它的时候——不论你也许是多么热爱步调轻松自由自在的旅行，随着旅途的不断延伸，每一个熟悉的微笑每一张友好的脸使你想起的一切，都会显得愈发弥足珍贵。
-
你一直以来都对西班牙心驰神往，想着那里细沙绵延的海滩和随处可见的尖顶教堂，想着落入你耳中的西班牙语会想流淌的蜜糖红酒一样，陌生却很甜美。但当真正坐在行驶于马德里街道的出租车里看着窗外川流不息的人群时，你才发现取代了这些占领你思绪的，是回忆中夏季的雨和排成梯队的飞鸟。
第一天带着新奇感和沉默的训练结束之后Sami把你拉进了怀里，黑色的发梢弄痒你的鼻尖，过分亲密的拥抱比纯粹的尊重更多了一点私人的意味。他的手臂环绕过你的肩膀，透过皮肤上细碎的汗珠Sami闻起来比任何一处地中海的天空更加清冽和柔软，像骄阳，又似冬雪。你把他的味道吸进胸腔里，忽然希望自己能停止呼吸，希望仅依赖这肺里充盈的他的气息活下去，永不离开。
回去的车上你照例给Anna发短信。问她今天过得怎么样。
她回说很好。然后她问你马德里如何。却并没有问你什么时候回家。
回到合住的公寓里你煮了意大利面作晚饭，Sami去刷盘子。你把腿搁在咖啡桌上斜躺着往头上套耳机，一片寂静里瞬间充斥了美妙的旋侓。
肩上传来的轻柔触碰吓了你一跳。Sami正靠在长沙发上；你把耳机向后推了推听他说话。
“抱歉吓到你了，早些时候我装好了音响设备，所以你想把音乐放出声来吗？”
你对他说谢谢没事的而且你无论如何都不想打扰到他。
“不会打扰的，”他的手从你的肩头滑下来，“阳台上的风景很漂亮，今晚说不定能看到月亮呢。”
他走在地毯上的脚步很轻。阳台上的落地窗拉开了从下涌上来的车水马龙的微弱声音，城市的喧嚣听起来都大同小异。你重新把耳机倾移上来覆住耳朵；在左耳和右耳的扬声器之间的小小空间里控制住一份心跳。


直播？

-
安居下来听起来像是一件应该随节奏缓慢却也令人愉悦且不大费劲的事情。但事实上并非如此——除了节奏缓慢是事实之外。你慢慢地学会你们公寓附近的街道的名字，学会让日常西语对话的单词和词组的音节在舌尖上滚动，学会把陌生的词汇一一记进脑子里。
慢慢地你认识了队里的其他人，慢慢地你的球衣不再那么崭新，虽然你还是会想它们是不是真的完全属于你呢。
慢慢地公寓也被一些东西塞满了，有Sami忘记拿去丢掉的饮料瓶和塑料袋，有咖啡桌上挨着你的脚挤着的一大堆信件杂志和报纸，冰箱旁挂的日历和和蔼的隔壁老奶奶送的摆在窗台上的花儿（当你小心翼翼地接过那盆月见草用磕磕巴巴的西班牙语向她道谢时她笑得眼角都皱了起来）。
时间过得很慢而你的旅程有点快——从出租车到大巴再到飞机——你想知道无止境的迁徙是否能改变相对论中的所谓空间*。家开始使你感到陌生，而马德里反而不同。但Thomas的二货笑容一如既往，Lukas仍然热衷于揉乱你的头发，Sami的手也还在你的肩头温存。球场蔓延开青葱翠绿，尽管雨水寒凉如冰。
不知道从什么时候开始，你发现自己已经记不起Anna的声音。
取而代之伴你入眠的是隔壁房间里Sami轻柔的呼吸声，每天早上你在Sami讲电话的声音中醒过来，都忍不住想原来德语也可以这么好听的。
那个有点冷的九月夜晚他在公寓外的台阶上发现了失魂落魄的你，你把脸深埋进掌心里，手机丢在一旁的地上。你告诉他你忘记了带钥匙，Anna也不回你的电话，你好想回家，好想回家——然后你就说不下去了，没有任何一种语言足以描述这样的感受，强烈的渴望冲刷着心脏，推搡着你飘向遥远而未知的海岸。
Sami把你的手机挪到一边，他坐下来拥你入怀。夹克衫温暖的衣料软软地贴着你的脸颊，他的发梢刚好触及你的唇角，扫去落下来的第一滴眼泪。你不自觉地伸出手攥紧他的衬衣，他厚实的手掌覆上你的肩胛骨。额头上传来温热的轻吻，他在你耳边呢喃着誓言一般的话语：
“没事了，乖，没事了。”
最后Sami的怀抱终于传递给你足够的力量来从中挣脱出来。他拉你起身，牵着你的手走进公寓里。直到大门在你的身后关上，灯光使每一扇窗户染上暖色，才轻轻放开。


-
那天晚上你和Sami一起做的晚餐，你帮着他刷盘子并烘干他洗好的刀叉和碗碟，他用沾着肥皂水的手往你身上弹，你立刻用毛巾抽过去还以颜色 。夜色中Sami的笑声驱走了所有的落寞。
你花了好一会儿才搞清楚音响系统的操作方法，最终从说明书里得到的有效信息让你沾沾自喜于自己西语水平的提高。然后CD缓缓滑入。
夜晚的风把天幕上的云吹得异常可爱。你微微颤抖者赤脚走到阳台上，Sami正在栏杆前看书，室内的灯光和音乐一齐涌向阳台。他转过身，温柔的目光闪烁着，从你的脸一路下移至你赤裸的双足。他把你拉近身边，而你没有拒绝。
“谢谢。”你对着月光灯光和城市的亮光说。
“没事的。”他回答——于是这一次，你决心让自己相信他。
夜风卷起街道的喧嚣和秋凉的呢喃。Sami安逸地靠在你身边，你闭上眼睛，脑海里浮现出山脉上散发着香气的雪雨和伸出翅膀的飞鸟。
-
关于家有一个普遍为人们所接受的真理那就是：不论你走的有多远——即使你足迹的影响力会延伸至从陌生人的口中听见自己的名字——也不论何地，你遇见一个人，他的脸上是足以点燃你心灵的熟悉笑容，那么，他会领你找到回家的路。
-END-


自沙！

这玩意花了我一整个星期的晚自习所以我现在把它发上来给下午的物理考试攒人品..【面目好丑恶...
嘛总算是打完了，看直播的慕亲你还在吗？

这一定是个意识流文艺青年的文章吧。。。。。。能翻译得这么唯美，膜拜

http://www.douban.com/group/topic/15582836/
这是豆瓣的妹纸翻译的
http://www.douban.com/group/samzil/
然后再加上Samzil's Salon豆瓣小组的地址那里还有其他几篇文可有爱了~~嘛不过可能好多人都看过了吧~【逃


艾玛我想说又看了一遍豆瓣版发现完全就是不一样的两篇文...【跪

都没人来啊我自己水着玩~~啊哈哈哈~~~【快住手

句子什么的好长好曲折，。。 不过楼主文采是真心的好啊，，翻译什么的我是不怎么懂啦，但我真心想鼓掌， 因为楼主在晚自习翻译这货一点没觉得对不起自己宝贵时间的情况下竟然给翻译的这么好。鼓掌。