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  i offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.
  i offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living men have honoured in marble:
  my father’s father killed in the frontier ofbuenos aires, two bullets through his lungs, bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a cow;
  my mother’s grandfather -just twentyfour- heading a charge of three hundred men in peru, now ghosts on vanished horses.
  i offer you whatever insight my books may hold,whatever manliness or humour my life.
  i offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.
  i offer you that kernel of myself that i have saved somehow -the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
  i offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.
  i offer you explanationsof yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself.
  ican give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart;
  i am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.
  --
  (我用什么才能留住你?
  我给你贫穷的街道、绝望的日落、破败郊区的月亮。
  我给你一个久久地望着孤月的人的悲哀。
  我给你我已死去的先辈,人们用大理石纪念他们的幽灵:
  在布宜偌斯艾利斯边境阵亡的我父亲的父亲,两颗子弹穿了他的胸膛。蓄着胡子的他死去了,士兵们用牛皮裹起他的尸体;
  我母亲的祖父——时年二十四岁——在秘鲁率领三百名士兵冲锋,如今都成了消失的马背上的幽灵。
  我给你我写的书中所能包含的一切悟力、我生活中所能有的男子气概或幽默。
  我给你一个从未有过信仰人的忠诚。
  我给你我设法保全的我自己的核心——不营字造句,不和梦想交易,不被时间、欢乐和逆境触动的核心。
  我给你,早在你出生前多年的一个傍晚看到的一朵黄玫瑰的记忆。
  我给你对自己的解释,关于你自己的理论,你自己的真实而惊人的消息。
  我给你我的寂寞、我的黑暗、我心的饥渴;
  我试图用困惑、危险、失败来打动你。)2
  6.
  管锌手臂有轻微的动作,靖岳立马握住,放在唇边一点一点儿地啄着,眼泪随地心引力滑落,靖岳没有伸手去抹,管锌的手指在他脸上颤颤巍巍地浮着,靖岳含住,声泪俱下。
  “轮到你念给我听了。”不舍得松手,“管锌,管锌。”眼泪大颗大颗地坠落,像是砸下来的一样,“你还没有对我说情话,我不允许你欠着。我不允许。”
  管锌的眼皮沉重,身体却很轻,他已没有支撑他说话的体力,于是用尽全部力量去笑。
  只能笑。 ↑返回顶部↑


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