Translations

The Austrian-Bohemian novelist, playwright and poet Franz Werfel (1890–1945) was born in Prague to a wealthy Jewish family. Werfel was raised with a Czech nanny, Barbara Šimůnková, who exposed him to Catholicism through her own devout observance. Learning from an early age about multiple religious traditions, Werfel brought these ideas into his poetry, often exploring spiritual and humanist themes. In 1929, he married Alma Mahler, a woman 20 years his senior, and best known as the widow of composer Gustav Mahler. At the time, Werfel was a rising literary star, known for his poetry and later for his novels. When Austria was annexed by Nazi Germany in 1938, Werfel and Mahler fled to France, fearing for their safety due to Werfel's Jewish heritage. In 1940, they escaped across the Pyrenees to Spain and eventually made their way to a new home in the United States in 1940. In 1941, Werfel converted to Catholicism. He continued to write until his death in 1945. 

These two translated poems “Despair” and “Autumn Song” were written by Werfel in the first half of the 20th century and capture the feelings of alienation and displacement that many Jewish-German authors felt as they were forced from their homes and driven into exile. In contrast with the darkness expressed here by Werzel, who writes of how “a man sinks,” and “strange nothingness,” many pre-WWII Jewish-German immigrants sensed a bright future filled with new opportunity. One of the translators, Adam Tapper, discovered these poems while studying the First and Second World Wars in European history class, and worked together with his co-translator, David Tapper, ‘25, to capture the historic specificity of Werzel’s emotions and words. Werfel’s poetry offers a poignant depiction of American Jewish life in the 20th century and the ongoing struggle that Jews experienced as they navigated their insider/outsider status. Many Jewish-German immigrants spoke no English, so upon arrival to the United States, they felt like (and were perceived as) others. In addition, their native language (German) and homeland (Germany) had become unwelcome in the United States, and as WWII unfolded, associated with a vile authoritarian culture bent on the persecution and extermination of Jews, homosexuals, Roma, and people with disabilities. One could easily understand how a Jewish-German immigrant such as Werfel might consider himself to belong nowhere. In the United States, the dominant language was not his own, the culture was new and unfamiliar, and the majority of people he met were unlike the European writers and artists who had populated his social circle with Alma in Prague. As translators, we imagine that for Werfel, adapting to American culture and the English language was a daunting task that tested his sense of self: “through me passes that which I do not know, / A consolation hidden within words.” If the language a person speaks and the space one inhabits form one’s sense of home, we recognize that Franz Werfel’s home was radically uprooted, and the chaos he and other Jewish-German immigrants experienced is expressed in these poems.  

人生 Life

路遥 Lu Yao

“Although the paths of human lives are long and endless, the crucial points are often only a few steps, especially when a person is young.

No human life is perfectly straight, without side roads and byways. There are a few openings for side roads, such as political ones, career ones, personal ones. If you take a wrong step, it could influence one particular period; it could also influence an entire life.” —Liu Qing

Chapter 1

It was the tenth day of the sixth lunar month, on a nightfall densely covered with dark clouds, when a sudden stillness fell on the lively and bustling midsummer earth. Even those bugs who always cry the loudest went silent, as if waiting for something, impatient, restless. There wasn’t a trace of windblown dust left on the earth; the frogs in the river jumped ashore one by one, leaping lucklessly toward the cropland and public roads up on the two banks. The day was a big bamboo steamer: muggy, deep black clouds spreading from the Laoniu Mountain out to the west. On the horizon, there were already brief fragments of lightning, but still without any thunder. Just hearing that low and overcast, continuous weng-wenging from the distant sky handed down a terrifying piece of news —— — a thunderstorm was coming to the earth.

Just then, Gao Yude’s only child, the schoolteacher Gao Jialin, was trampling shirtless across the Gao village stream, rushing toward home. He had come from the community schoolteacher meeting, but his entire body was soaked with sweat. He was carrying his beautiful, dark blue summer clothes in his hands. Jialin hurried into the village, climbed across the banks between fields, and launched himself headlong through the earthen doorway home. As he stepped onto the floor of his family’s yaodong, he finally heard the muffled roaring of thunder sounding from outside.

His father was squatting barefoot on the kang bed-stove smoking tobacco, one hand leisurely stroking the white tufts of hair on his chin.  His mother stumbled over her bound feet toward the bed-stove to begin serving their food. 

When the older pair saw their son, their two wrinkled walnut skin faces smiled at once, blooming like two flowers. They were obviously lucky that their son had rushed home before the heavy rain, but at the same time, to them, it was as if their dear son had been gone for five years, not five days. It was as if he had returned home from the farthest corners of the earth. 

His father moved closer at once, in front of the kerosene lantern. Smiling, he used the nail of his little finger, which he had specifically kept long for this, to flick at the lantern flame, immediately filling the coal pit with a great deal of bright, clear light. He looked lovingly at his son, but when his mouth stretched open to speak, nothing came out. Hastily, his mother pushed aside the corn flour bun, placed it on top of the range, and busied herself serving scrambled eggs and a pan-baked white-flour pancake for her son. She staggered forward with her lovable, exaggerated affection and took the shirt her son had placed down on the kang; then she draped it over his body, bare and still dripping with sweat, and said, with a playful anger: “You never think anything through! Aren’t you cold? ”

Jialin didn’t say a single word. He took the clothing his mother had draped over his shoulders and placed it once again on top of the kang, left his shoes on, and went to recline on his bedroll at the front of the kang. He faced the penetratingly black window, and said: “Ma, don’t make anything else. There’s nothing I want to eat.” 

The old married couple’s faces immediately regained that look of wrinkled walnut skin. They exchanged a glance, and the hint was given in their eyes. Both were saying in their hearts: something has happened and our child won’t admit it. Is his heart not carefree? As lighting illuminated nearly the entire window, a fearful clap of thunder sounded, like a mountain collapsing. Outside, a sudden strong wind began to gust. Dust and sand pop-popped against the window.

The two of them gazed blankly at their son’s back for a long while. 

“Jialin, are you not feeling well?” His mother finally asked in a trembling voice, one hand gripping the ladle. 

“No……,” he answered.

“Who did you get in a fight with?” His father asked.

“I didn’t……”

“Then what’s going on?” The two parents asked at almost the same time.

“……”

Ah! Jialin was never like this! Every time he returned from town, he would gossip with them, and bring them a heap of things to eat: bread, cakes; he’d force it all into their hands; he’d say that their teeth were in bad condition, and these things were nourishing, and were soft, and would sit well in the stomach after eating. But today, it was evident that something else  had happened. Why else would their baby be so worried! Gao Yude snatched a look at his wife’s miserable face, and couldn’t bear to smoke any longer. He knocked over the soot and ash from the kang’s stone railing, then used the handkerchief by the buttons on his chest to rub away a bead of clear mucus from the tip of his nose. As he shifted himself toward the place where his son was reclining, he asked: “Jialin, what’s bothering you? Come on and tell us! Look at how worried you’ve made your mother!”

Jialin propped himself up by one arm, then slowly sat up, his body heavy and hard like he had suffered some severe injury.  He propped himself up on the bedroll but still didn’t look at his parents. Instead, his boundless eyes gazed at the opposite wall, at a loss, until he opened his mouth to say: “I won’t be teaching anymore…” 

“What?” The two of them cried out at once. 

For what seemed a lifetime, their jaws hung open.

Jialin maintained the same posture as before, and said: “I’ve been dismissed from the position. It was announced today.” 

“What rule did you violate? Oh my God…….” The ladle his mother was holding clattered to the stovetop, and broke into two fragments. 

“Is it that the number of teachers is being reduced, then? These past few years, hasn’t the number of community teachers grown and grown? How can they reduce it on such short notice?” His father asked nervously. 

“They didn’t reduce it, no…”

“So won’t Madian School be short one teacher now?” His mother pressed closer to him, too.

“They won’t be short……”

“How could that be possible? They won’t let you teach anymore, so won’t they be short a teacher?” His father’s face was baffled.

Jialin shifted toward that face, agitated, and opened fire upon his father: “You’re both foolish! If it won’t be me teaching, they’ll just find others to do it!”

It wasn’t until then that the two parents finally understood. His father anxiously stroked his bare foot. He stole a shred of breath to ask: “Then who are they asking to teach?”

“Who? Who! Who else! Sanxing!” Jialin again abruptly reclined back onto the bedroll, and pulled one corner of the quilt to cover his head.

His parents stood stupefied in the sense of lifelessness that filled the yaodong.

At that moment, the raindrops outside had already begun hastily beating the earth, and the murmur of the wind and rain gradually grew more and more violent. From time to time, lightning illuminated the window, and violent thunderclaps sounded, one after another. Nearly the whole earth and heavens were flooded, submerged in chaos. 

Jialin once again covered his head. Another bead of clear mucus on the tip of his father’s nose quivered, about to fall. The old man didn’t bother to wipe it off, or to brush at the white hairs in his beard; instead he returned to vigorously stroking his bare foot. Jialin’s mother leaned against the kang’s stone fence, bent over and rubbing her eyes with her apron. The oven room was still, soft and quiet, except for the huluhulu of the old yellow cat purring behind the stove.

The tempest outside clamored, more violent than before. Between the wind and rain sounds, a rumbling wave abruptly pierced through—flash floods gushing down from the river. 

No more than a quarter hour had passed, but any sense of anger had already dissipated from that earthen home swaying with lamplight. The three of them instead sunk into a despair and sickness that comes with unbearable times.

This was a serious blow to the family. As for Jialin, his spirit had already sustained its own wounds—after graduating from high school he hadn’t managed to test into any university. Luckily, he’d spent these last three years teaching, and since he hadn’t had to take on any strenuous physical labor, he’d had time to continue his studies, delving into his beloved liberal arts. He’d already published a few poems and writings in the local paper, all about the hardships and bitter-earned diamonds of the era. All of this was over now; he’d soon have no choice but to build up his own farming career in the footsteps of his father’s. Although he had never seriously worked the land, Jialin was still a farmer’s son. He knew what it meant to tend to this destitute, barren mountainside. Peasant farmers, ah!—their mighty, backbreaking labor was all too familiar to him. And though he would never look down on any peasant for their work, there wasn’t an ounce of a farmer’s vitality in him! There was no need to conceal it: for ten-something years he had done everything he could to keep studying, all to avoid his father’s fate of a lifetime serving the land as steward (or, as Jialin might put it, slave). Although these past few years he’d served as a community teacher, this undertaking was still, for him, brimming with hope. A few years in the future, he could pass through the exams, maybe even change paths to become an official national teacher. And even then he would continue to work hard, strive toward something even better. But now, all of those hopeful illusions he had nourished were thoroughly shattered. And in this moment, he simply sprawled here, face spasming with the sick despair that he was facing, one hand ruthlessly pulling at his own hair. 

And as for the old married pair, tonight’s disastrous news resonated just like someone had come and struck them over the heads with a stick. First off, they were heartsick for their one and only child: they had tenderly raised him, pampered him and cultivated a life without a single hardship since he was small. He was young, tender inside and out; how could he endure the unending toil that lay ahead! And what more? The past few years, Jialin had earned all of the family’s labor vouchers by teaching, and the three of them had spent their days unbound and carefree. But if Jialin stopped teaching and rushed into unfamiliar work, how could they survive the coming ones? They were older now, and could no longer rely on their four hands digging up the earth to support their son attending school as he chased after fame and rank. It was too awful… their minds swirled with dread thinking up all of these miserable consequences. Jialin’s mother was sobbing soundlessly, and though his father wasn’t crying, he seemed to be in even worse shape. The old man moaned in pain to himself, while his hand gripped his bare foot, rubbing and rubbing, crying out… 

“Minglou! You’re already capable enough! You’ve gone too far! Just because you’re the Secretary of the Fourth Brigade, you think you can do anything? My Jialin has taught so wonderfully for three years, and your Sanxing didn’t even graduate high school until this year! You’ve got some nerve, treating my baby like this. And you can’t even show your face? Minglou, this is outrageous! One day, God will open his eyes, and he’ll shed mercy on my son’s cruel fate… Why! Why why why why why why……”
At last, Gao Yude couldn’t stop himself from crying. Two streams of cloudy, ancient tears came down his wrinkled face, trickling into the white beard on his chin.

Now both of Jialin’s parents were crying. He scrambled up violently from his bedroll, eyes flashing with a horrible glint, and roared at them: “What’s the point of crying? No matter what I do, I’ll still have to compete with Minglou’s son and his greatness!” He finished, and leapt down from the kang.

In a state of panic, Gao Yude jumped off the kang too, barefoot, and grabbed hastily at his son’s bare arm. At the same time, his mother stumbled over her bound feet toward them, and caught herself against the curtained door. The two parents cornered their still shirtless son.

Impatiently, Jialin snapped at the hand-wringing parents: “What? I’m not about to go off and kill anyone! I’m gonna write an official complaint against him—Ma, go grab my fountain pen from the desk!”

Hearing his son say this was even more disturbing than seeing him pick up a piece of furniture to commit murder. Gao Yude held desperately to his son’s bare arm and pleaded with him: “Son! There’s no good reason to rush into trouble like that! Minglou and Sanxing have friends in high places, within the commune and the county, all knocking at our door. If you report against him, you won’t just fail; in the future they’ll throttle us all to death. I’m old already, I can’t fight for us on this; and you’re still young, you can’t hold your own against them. I’m begging you, don’t do this……”

His mother came closer, too, pulling on his other exposed arm. Aligning with her husband’s words, she implored her son: “My baby, my baby, your father is right…… Gao Minglou doesn’t have a heart. If you do this, we won’t have the means to survive……”

Jialin stood like a tree stump, firm, steam rising from his nose and mouth. He didn’t listen to a word of his parent’s advice, and instead shouted: “We already have to suffer this much, so we might as well go down fighting with that lousy piece of shit! The frightened hare still gets in one last bite—what happened to my life? I don’t care if it does anything or not, I’m filing the report!” As he spoke, he fought to throw the four feeble hands off from his bare arms. But those four hands only clutched him closer, and the married pair cried in unison. His mother swayed and shook, almost collapsing as she mustered the energy to say: “You’re always so stubborn, I’m begging you……”

When Jialin finally understood the pitiful looks on his parents’ faces, his nose twitched, and he reached out a hand to stop his mother from collapsing. He swayed with the head-aching bitterness for a few moments, then said: “Okay, okay, stop it, Mom. I’ve heard what you said, I won’t do it……”
Hearing this, the two parents finally let go of their son and rubbed their faces clean of tears with their palms. Jialin leaned against the stone cave railing, stiff. He dropped his head into his hands. Outside, though the lightning strikes and thunder howls had stopped, the rain still toppled and crashed down, with the same hua-hua sounds as it poured. The flash floods down the river crashed down like the howls of an ancient beast. They were sounds that make human blood run cold. 

His mother saw Jialin’s frenzy begin to subside. She quickly searched through the chest to pull out a set of blue cotton clothes, which she draped over his ice-cold shoulders. She let out a sigh, then, and turned to the stove behind her to finish cooking something for him. His father fumbled with the pipe. His hands shook, and he struck at ten or so matches before he could light one up——forgetting that the kerosene lamp was flickering just a few feet away. He inhaled a drag, then hunched himself low, back-bent, to face his son. Carefully, he said, “There’s no way we should file a report against…… those people. But we can’t just carry on like this. We can’t!” He broke off, shouting now. 

Jialin carefully lifted his head, listening earnestly to see if his father had come up with some other, brilliant idea to punish Minglou. 

Gao Yude kept smoking with his head low, but on his face, there was some kind of far-seeing expression. Only after a few moments had passed did he lift his head to show his weathered face, a face that had seen the world and was wiser for it. He said to his son: “Listen up! Forget the report. And when you see Minglou in the future, you’ll still have to act like everything’s fine. Call him Uncle. And don’t frown. Smile! Everyone will be carefully watching our attitudes right now!” He turned his ash-white head round again, this time to shout orders at his wife by the stove. “Ma, you listen up too! When you see Minglou’s family, you better show them your smiling face! They haven’t grown any eggplants this year—tomorrow, pick the rest of ours and bring a basket over for them. But don’t let anyone figure out that we’re just trying to please them! Ah! At the end of the day, our Jialin’s hopes from now on depend on how everyone sees him. Our life is in shambles, so we have to live like it is…….Got it?”

“Mm……” Her teary sound of assent echoed from the stove.

At last, at last, the tears began to gush down Jialin’s face. He threw himself backward, bracing against the stone railing as he broken-heartedly cried. 

Who knows when the rain outside finally stopped? Now, the cong-conging gurgles of water pooling on the earth and the flash flood torrents crashing down the river coalesced into one sound, a lone sound. A promise that no stillness would fall on this night for a long, long time.

Original Text

“人生的道路虽然漫长，但紧要处常常只有几步，特别是当人年轻的时候。没有一个人的生活道路是笔直的，没有岔道的。有些岔道口，譬如政治上的岔道口，事业上的岔道口，个人生活上的岔道口，你走错一步，可以影响人生的一个时期，也可以影响一生。”  -  柳青 

上篇

第一章

​​农历六月初十，一个阴云密布的傍晚，盛夏热闹纷繁的大地突然沉寂下来;连一些最爱叫唤的虫子也都悄没声响了，似乎处在一种急躁不安的等待中。地上没一丝风尘，河里的青蛙纷纷跳上岸，没命地向两岸的庄稼地和公路上蹦窜着。天闷热提像一口大蒸笼，黑沉沉的乌云正从西边的老牛山那边铺过来。地平线上，已经有一些零碎而短促的闪电，但还没有打雷。只听见那低沉的、连续不断的嗡嗡声从远方的天空传来，带给人一种恐怖的信息——一场大雷雨就要到来了。

这时候，高家村高玉德当民办教师的独生儿 高加林，正光着上身，从村前的小河里趟水过 来，几乎是跑着向自己家里走去。他是刚从公社 开毕教师会回来的，此刻浑身大汗淋漓，汗衫和那件漂亮的深蓝涤良夏衣提在手里，匆忙地进了村，上了佥畔，一头扑进了家门。他刚站在自家窑里的脚地上，就听见外面传来一声低沉的闷雷的吼声。 

他父亲正赤脚片儿蹲在炕上抽旱烟，一只手悠闲地援着下巴上的一撮白胡子。他母亲颠着小脚往炕上端饭。

他两口见儿子回来，两张核桃皮皱脸立刻笑 得像两朵花。他们显然庆幸儿子赶在大雨之前进 了家门。同时，在他们看来，亲爱的儿子走了不 是五天，而是五年;是从什么天涯海角归来似 的。

老父亲立刻凑到煤油灯前，笑嘻嘻地用小指 头上专心留下的那个长指甲打掉了一朵灯花，满 窑里立刻亮堂了许多。他喜爱地看看儿子，嘴张 了几下，也没有说出什么来，老母亲赶紧把端上 炕的玉米面馍又重新端下去，放到锅台上，开始 张罗着给儿子炒鸡蛋，烙白面饼;她还用她那爱 得过分的感情，跌跌撞撞走过来，把儿子放在炕 上的衫子披在他汗水直淌的光身子的上，嗔怒地 说:“二杆子!操心凉了!”

高加林什么话也没说。他把母亲披在他身上 的衣服重新放在炕上，连鞋也没脱，就躺在了前 炕的铺盖卷上。他脸对着黑洞洞的窗户，说: “妈，你别做饭了，我什么也不想吃。”

老两口的脸顿时又都恢复了核桃皮状，不由 得相互交换了一下眼色，都在心里说:娃娃今儿 个不知出了什么事，心里不畅快?一道闪电几乎 把整个窗户都照亮了，接着，像山崩地陷一般响 了一声可怕的炸雷。听见外面立刻刮起了大风， 沙尘把窗户纸打得啪啪价响。

  老两口愣怔地望了半天儿子的背景，不知他倒究怎啦?

“加林，你是不是身上不舒服?”母亲用颤音 问他，一只手拿着舀面瓢。

“不是......”他回答。

“和谁吵啦?”父亲接着母亲问。

“没......”

“那到底怎啦?”老两口几乎同时 问。

唉!加林可从来都没有这样啊!他每次从城里回来，总是给他们说长道短的，还给他们带一堆吃食:面包啦，蛋糕啦，硬给他们手里塞;说他们牙口不好，这些东西又有“养料”，又绵软， 吃到肚子里好消化。今儿个显然发生什么大事 了，看把娃娃愁成个啥!高玉德看了一眼老婆的 愁眉苦脸，顾不得抽烟了。把烟灰在炕拦石上磕 掉，用挽在胸前钮扣上的手帕揩去鼻尖上的一滴 清鼻子，身上往儿子躺的地方挪了挪，问:“加 林，倒究出了什么事啦?你给我们说说嘛!你看 把你妈都急成啥啦!”

高加林一条胳膊撑着，慢 慢爬起来，身体沉重得像受了重伤一般。他靠在 铺盖卷上，也不看父母亲，眼睛茫然地望着对面 墙，开口说:“我的书都不成了......”

“什么?”老两口同时惊叫一声，张开的嘴巴 半开也合不拢了。

加林仍然保持着那个姿势， 说:“我的民办教师被下了。今天会上宣布的。” 

“你犯了什么王法?老天爷呀......”老母亲手里的 舀面瓢一下子掉在锅台上，摔成了两瓣。

“是不是减教师哩?这几年民办教师不是一 直都增加吗?怎么一下子又减开了?”父亲紧张 地问他。

“没减......”

“那马店学校不是少了一个教 师?”他母亲也凑到他跟前来了。

“没少......”

“那 怎么能没少?不让你教了，那它不是就少了?” 他父亲一脸的奇怪。

高加林烦躁地转过脸，对他 父母亲发开了火:“你们真笨!不让我教了，人 家不会叫旁人教?”

老两口这下子才恍然大悟。他父亲急得用瘦 手摸着赤脚片，偷声缓气地问:“那他们叫谁教 哩?”

“谁?谁!再有个谁!三星!”高加林又猛地 躺在了铺盖上，拉了被子的一角，把头蒙起来。 

老两口一下子木然了，满窑里一片死气沉沉。

这时候，听见外面雨点已经急促地敲打起了大地，风声和雨声逐渐加大，越来越猛烈。窗纸 不时被闪电照亮，暴烈的雷声接二连三地吼叫 着。外面的整个天地似乎都淹没在了一片混乱 中。

高加林仍然蒙着头，他父亲鼻尖上的一滴清 鼻涕颤动着，眼看要掉下来了，老汉也顾不得去 揩;那只粗糙的手再也顾不得悠闲地捋下巴上的那撮白胡子了，转而一个劲地摸着赤脚片儿。他母亲身子佝偻着伏在炕栏石上，不断用围裙擦眼睛。窑里静悄悄的，只听见锅台后面那只老黄猫的呼噜声。

外面暴风雨的喧嚣更猛烈了。风雨声中，突 然传来了一阵“隆轰隆”的声音——这是山洪从河 道里涌下来了。足足有一刻钟，这个灯光摇晃的土窑洞失去了任何生气，三个人都陷入难受和痛苦中。

这个打击对这个家庭来说显然是严重的。对于高加林来说，他高中毕业没有考上大学，已经受了很大的精神创伤。亏得这三年教书，他既不要参加繁重的体力劳动，又有时间继续学习，对他喜爱的文科深入钻研。他最近在地区报上已经发表过两三篇诗歌和散文，全是这段时间苦钻苦熬的结果。现在这一切都结束了，他将不得不像父亲一样开始自己的农民生涯。他虽然没有认真地在土地上劳动过，但他是农民的儿子，知道在这贫瘠的山区当个农民意味着什么。农民啊，他们那全部伟大的艰辛他都一清二楚!他虽然从来也没鄙视过任何一个农民，但他自己从来都没有当农民的精神准备!不必隐瞒，他十几年拼命读书，就是为了不像他父亲一样一辈子当土地的主人(或者按他的另一种说法是奴隶)。虽然这几年当民办教师，但这个职业对他来说还是充满希望的。几年以后，通过考试，他或许会转为正式的国家教师。到那时，他再努力，争取做他认为更好的工作。可是现在，他所抱有的幻想和希望彻底破灭了。此刻，他躺在这里，脸在被角下面痛苦地抽搐着，一只手狠狠地揪着自己的头发。

对于高玉德老两口子来说，今晚上这不幸的消息就像谁在他们的头上敲了一棍。他们首先心疼自己的独生子:他从小娇生惯养，没受过苦，嫩皮嫩肉的，往后漫长的艰苦劳动怎能熬下去呀!再说，加林这几年教书，挣的全劳力工分，他们一家三口的日子过得并不紧巴。要是儿子不教书了，又急忙不习惯劳动，他们往后的日子肯定不好过。他们老两口都老了，再不像往年，只靠四只手在地里刨挖，也能供养儿子上学“求功名”。想到所有这些可怕的后果，他们又难受，又恐 慌。加林他妈在无声地啜泣，他爸虽然没哭，但看起来比哭还难受。老汉手把赤脚片摸了半天，开始自言自语叫起苦来:

“明楼啊，你精过分了!你能过分了!你强过分了!仗你当个四大队书记，什么不讲理的事你都敢做嘛!我加林好好地教了三年书，你三星今年才高中毕业嘛!你怎好意思整造我的娃娃哩?你不要理了，连脸也不要了?明楼!你做这事伤天理哩!老天爷总有一天要睁眼呀!可怜我那苦命的娃娃啊!啊嘿嘿嘿嘿嘿……”

高玉德老汉终于忍不住哭出声来，两行浑浊的老泪在皱纹脸上淌下来，流进了下巴上那一撮白胡子中间。

高加林听见他父母亲哭，猛地从铺盖上爬起来，两只眼睛里闪着怕人的凶光。他对父母吼叫说:“你们哭什么!我豁出这条命，也要和他高明楼小子拼个高低!”说罢他便一纵身跳下炕来。

这一下子慌坏了高玉德。他也赤脚片跳下炕来，赶忙捉住了儿子的光胳膊。同时，他妈也颠着小脚绕过来，脊背抵在了门板上。老两口把光着上身的儿子堵在了脚地当中。

高加林急躁地对慌了手脚的两个老人说:“哎呀呀!我并不是要去杀人嘛!我是要写状子告他!妈，你去把书桌里我的钢笔拿来!”

高玉德听见儿子说这话，比看见儿子操起家具行凶还恐慌。他死死按着儿子的光胳膊，央告他说:“好我的小老子哩!你可千万不要闯这乱子呀!人家通天着哩!公社、县上都踩得地皮响。你告他，除什么事也不顶，往后可把咱扣掐死呀!我老了，争不得这口气了;你还嫩，招架不住人家的打击报复。你可千万不能做这事啊……”

他妈也过来扯着他的另一条光胳膊，顺着他爸的话，也央告他说: 

“好我的娃娃哩，你爸说得对对的!高明楼心眼子不对，你告他，咱这家人往后就没活路了……”

  高加林浑身硬得像一截子树桩，他鼻子口里喷着热气，根本不听二老的规劝，大声说:“反正这样活受气，还不如和他狗日的拼了!兔子急了还咬一口哩，咱这人活成个啥了!我不管顶事不顶事,非告他不行!”他说着，竭力想把两条光胳膊从四只衰老的手里挣脱出来。但那四只手把他抓得更紧了。两个老人哭成一气。他母亲摇摇晃晃的，几乎要摔倒了，嘴里一股劲央告说:“好我的娃娃哩，你再犟，妈就给你下跪呀....”

高加林一看父母亲的可怜相，鼻子一酸，一把扶住快要栽倒的母亲， 头痛苦地摇了几下，说:“妈妈，你别这样，我听你们的话，不告了…”

两个老人这才放开儿子，用手背手掌擦拭着脸上的泪水。高加林身子僵硬地靠在炕栏石上，沉重地低下了头。

外面，虽然不再打闪吼雷，雨仍然像瓢泼一样哗哗地倾倒着。河道里传来像怪兽一般咆哮的山洪声，令人毛骨悚然。

他妈见他平息下来，便从箱子里翻出一件蓝布衣服，披在他冰凉的光身子上，然后叹了一口气，转到后面锅台上给他做饭去了。他父亲摸索着装起一锅烟，手抖得划了十几根火柴才点着--而忘记了煤油灯的火苗就在他的眼前跳荡。他吸了一口烟，弯腰弓背地转到儿子面前，思思谋谋地说:“咱千万不敢告人家。可是，就这样还不行……是的，就这样还不行!”他决断地喊叫说。

  高加林拾起头来，认真地听父亲另外还有什么惩罚高明楼的高见。

高玉德头低倾着吸烟，一副老谋深算的样子。过了好一会，他才 扬起那饱经世故的庄稼人的老皱脸，对儿子说:“你听着!你不光不敢告人家，以后见了明楼还要主动叫人家叔叔哩!脸不要沉，要笑!人家现在肯定留心咱们的态度哩!”他又转过白发苍苍的头，给正在做饭的老伴安咐:“加林他妈，你听着!你往后见了明楼家里的人，要给人家笑脸!明楼今年没栽起茄子，你明天把咱自留地的茄子摘上一筐送过去。可不要叫人家看出咱是专意讨好人家啊!唉!说来说去，咱加林今后的前途还要看人家照顾哩!人活低了，就要按低的来哩……加林妈，你听见了没?”

“嗯……”锅台那边传来一声几乎是哭一般的应承。

泪水终于从高加林的眼里涌出来了。他猛地转过身，一头扑在栏石上，伤心地痛哭起来。

  外面的雨不知什么时候停了，只听见大地上淙淙的流水声和河道里山洪的怒吼声混交在一起，使得这个夜晚久久地平静不下来了……