——海明威《桥边的老人》赏析

【标题赏析】

为什么是“桥边”？

平时读小说，标题扫一眼也就过去了，可是读完全文，这个问题却冒了出来。

小说第一句就写到老人是“坐在路旁”，文中其他与老人位置有关的部分如下： “老人还在原处”“老人始终坐在那里”“他说着撑起来，摇晃了几步，向后一仰，终于又在路旁的尘土中坐了下去。”

自始至终，老人都一直停留在“路旁”，标题却舍曰“路旁”而说 “桥边”，难道是翻译有误？OMG这个翻译也太水了！这个编辑也太粗心了，人教版啊word哥！不要被“人叫板”啊！全国多少学生在读老师在教？万一有同学问起来，这个锅哥不背哦！

且慢，为了把锅甩得漂亮，为了实锤翻译和编辑，让我们看看原文标题：《Old Man at the Bridge》！ 元芳，此事你怎么看？

此事背后一定有个天大的秘密（^_^）。

福建师大孙绍振教授指出：“要在学生忽略掉的、以为是不言而喻甚至是平淡无奇的地方，你却发现了精彩，而且揪住不放，把问题提出来，也就是把矛盾揭示出来。”为什么是这样写而不是那样写？为什么是“桥边”而不是“路边”？

俗话说，桥归桥路归路，那就让我们从“桥”与“路”的区别中去寻找答案吧。不用查辞典，百度一下：“桥是一种用来跨越障碍的大型构造物。桥的目的是允许人、车辆、火车或船舶穿过障碍。”“路，基本字义为道，往来通行的地方。”

好了。You get it？联系文本，老人过桥了吗？这个问题是大多数人忽略掉的地方。注意原文；“我的任务是过桥去侦察对岸的桥头堡，查明敌人究竟推进到了什么地点。完成任务后，我又从桥上回到原处。”“我”与老人总不能隔着桥喊话吧？那不成了刘三姐对歌了？所以老人应该是过了桥。

过了桥，意味着老人已经穿过了障碍，然而，他真的穿过了障碍了吗？现实的桥，他过了。可是他能去哪儿（“那边我没有熟人”）？动物们又怎么办（“可是，另外几只东西怎么办呢？我简直不敢想。”）？他的确过桥了，但是更大的障碍横亘在他的面前，他七十六岁了，他已经走了十二公里，他再也走不动了。过了桥又能怎样？

无论是自己的前途，还是动物们的前途，都是一片未知甚至是黯然无光的。他过得了现实的桥，过不了心里的桥。

所以，既不是“路旁”的老人，也不是“桥上”的老人，而是“桥边”的老人。他被“桥”，完全的排除在外了。

桥，他的确过去了。瞧，他的确过不去了。 于无声处，听惊雷。

【正文赏析】

一个戴钢丝边眼镜的老人坐在路旁，衣服上尽是尘土。

“钢丝边眼镜”在全文中出现了两次。老人长什么样？不知道。下文也只说到“满是灰尘的黑衣服、尽是尘土的灰色面孔”。模糊的形象，惹眼的眼镜，这样的对比意在表达什么？试作如下猜测：

①“眼镜”——而且是比较雅致讲究的“钢丝边”的眼镜，说明他受过教育，可能是一个知识分子，与后文在尘土中踯躅的“农夫们”身份并不一样。希望通过学习改变命运，古今中外皆然。但七十六岁高龄的他本该在自己家里颐养天年，却不得不独身逃难与农夫们一同在尘土中疲于奔命，正表现了战争的残酷性。它无论贵贱，不分贫富，哪管老少，抹煞了人与人平时的区别，砍掉了每个人前半生的作为——战争面前，人人“平等”！

从这个角度，进一步联系全文来看，老人不仅形象模糊，而且不知姓名。小说里的每个人，都没出现姓名。这个老人就是战争中的“男人、女人和孩子们”以及所有人的一个代表，战争让所有的人都没了姓名。这就跟老人曾经照料的动物都只是叫着“山羊”“猫”“鸽子”一样，“人”就是他们的共名。战争，让他们所有人都失去了身份。

②眼镜的外形恰似摄影镜头，可以定格老人的神情；“钢丝”又如一道监狱的栏杆，隔绝了内心世界与外界的联系。虽然“我”与老人有过不少对话，“我”对老人有着同情和关心，“老人”也把自己的担心、忧虑说了出来，那又怎样？“我”对老人“看管动物”的话语并不能完全听懂，老人最后不再“对着我讲”只能自言自语……“我”能改变老人的命运吗？“老人”可以依靠“我”吗？两个人在桥边的交流，只不过是两条直线的一次交叉，之后桥归桥路归路，各自保命、自求多福。

薄薄的眼镜，深重的苦难。

这句话里还有一个词值得我们注意——“尘土”（dust）。后文还有“齐到脚踝的尘土”“满是灰尘（dusty）的黑衣服、尽是尘土的灰色面孔”“终于又在路旁的尘土中坐了下去”。为什么多次强调“尘土？”

①从实际意义来看，“尘土”是战争来临时民众大逃亡的必然产物。（不仅民众逃亡会有尘土，发起战争也会有，君不闻“耶娘妻子走相送，尘埃不见咸阳桥”？一颗颗的尘埃，就是一滴滴的眼泪！）逃亡的人多，步履匆匆；逃亡的车多，车轮滚滚，路上堆积的灰尘“齐到脚踝”，衣服上当然“尽是尘土”。为什么不掸掉？没力气，路都走不动了命都不逃了，还操心尘土沾衣？没必要，人流滚滚灰土漫天，掸干净马上又脏掉。没心思，不知道自己要去哪里，不知道动物会怎么样。

②从抽象含义来说，“尘土”是战争背景下人们身份地位的象征。命若微尘，在社会历史的风云突变中身不由己。“遗民泪尽胡尘里”“零落成泥辗作尘”“九州胡马闇尘埃”……尘埃是极细碎极微小极卑贱的东西，人遇上战争，就不再有“人”的尊严“人”的自主“人”的意志，只剩下那一颗颗随风飘散的尘埃。文末老人“终于又在路旁的尘土中坐了下去”，他被这尘埃包围着，他被这尘埃同化了。“尘归尘，土归土”，这似乎也预示着老人凶多吉少的未来。

小小的尘土，大大的悲哀。

河上搭着一座浮桥（用船或者浮箱代替桥墩，浮在水面的桥。侧面写出搭建之仓促，撤退之突然，从而写出战争威胁之大。当然，也有可能这座桥早已有之，本身就是选用了浮桥的形式，简单省事），大车、卡车、男人、女人和孩子们在涌过桥去。骡车从桥边蹒跚地（因为负重，所以迟缓，行进艰难）爬上陡坡，一些士兵（这些士兵是来守土的还是去逃亡的？是向素不相识的人们伸出援手还是为“战略转移”的长官尽忠效力？海明威没有说，他只是客观地看着）帮着推动轮辐。卡车嘎嘎地驶上斜坡就开远了，把一切（包括曾经的生活、战争的威胁，也包括要留下来面对战争的士兵们和这些没有车只能靠双腿的人们）抛在后面，而农夫们还在齐到脚踝的尘土中（这里有点奇怪，尘土为什么会齐到脚踝？惜字如金的海明威特意写到这一不合常理之处，在暗示什么？先卖个关子，后面再说。）踯躅（原文plodded，指沉重缓慢地走）着。但那个老人却坐在那里，一动也不动。他太累，走不动了。

这段中还有一句话里有两个地方要挑出来说一说，都与海明威的语言运用方式有关。

一处是“大车、卡车、男人、女人和孩子们”。以海明威简洁凝练不赘余的叙述风格，为什么不直接写“车与人”或者“车流和人潮”，而要不厌其烦地把车和人分开一样样写？因为这样写有既视感。分开叙述，让我们仿佛身临其境，更能突出从浮桥上争相逃离时混乱拥挤的场面。

一处是“涌”。“涌”的本义是水由下向上冒出来，这里当然是一种比喻，非常形象生动。你看，水之所以会从地下冒出来，是因为受到了压力才能克服重力；车流人潮上浮桥前相对分散，过浮桥必定要紧紧挤在一起——加压了，所以在桥的另一头压力突然释放，就“涌”出来了。这个动词用的好不好，秒不秒？

若是学生用了这个动词，我一定会说用得好，用得秒。 放到海明威身上，我觉得就有问题了。

宏观地看，海明威文笔清新自然不做作，追求文章的自然美，因此在写作过程中很少用浮华的字眼去点缀描写。具体到本文，开头的白描客观展示了故事背景，没有任何修饰性词汇和修辞手法。那这里突然冒出一个“涌”字，就令人生疑了。这次会不会是翻译的锅？看看原文：“carts, trucks, and men, women and children were crossing it.”

An old man with steel rimmed spectacles and very dusty clothes sat by the side of the road. There was a pontoon bridge across the river and carts, trucks, and men, women and children were crossing it. The mule-drawn carts staggered up the steep bank from the bridge with soldiers helping push against the spokes of the wheels. The trucks ground up and away heading out of it all and the peasants plodded along in the ankle deep dust. But the old man sat there without moving. He was too tired to go any farther.
It was my business to cross the bridge, explore the bridgehead beyond and find out to what point the enemy had advanced. I did this and returned over the bridge. There were not so many carts now and very few people on foot, but the old man was still there.

"Where do you come from?" I asked him.
"From San Carlos," he said, and smiled.

That was his native town and so it gave him pleasure to mention it and he smiled.

"I was taking care of animals," he explained.
"Oh," I said, not quite understanding.
"Yes," he said, "I stayed, you see, taking care of animals. I was the last one to leave the town of San Carlos."

He did not look like a shepherd nor a herdsman and I looked at his black dusty clothes and his gray dusty face and his steel rimmed spectacles and said, "What animals were they?"
"Various animals," he said, and shook his head. "I had to leave them."

I was watching the bridge and the African looking country of the Ebro Delta and wondering how long now it would be before we would see the enemy, and listening all the while for the first noises that would signal that ever mysterious event called contact, and the old man still sat there.

"What animals were they?" I asked.
"There were three animals altogether," he explained. "There were two goats and a cat and then there were four pairs of pigeons."
And you had to leave them?" I asked.
"Yes. Because of the artillery. The captain told me to go because of the artillery."
"And you have no family?" I asked, watching the far end of the bridge where a few last carts were hurrying down the slope of the bank.
"No," he said, "only the animals I stated. The cat, of course, will be all right. A cat can look out for itself, but I cannot think what will become of the others."
"What politics have you?" I asked.
"I am without politics," he said. "I am seventy-six years old. I have come twelve kilometers now and I think now I can go no further."
"This is not a good place to stop," I said. "If you can make it, there are trucks up the road where it forks for Tortosa."
"I will wait a while," he said, " and then I will go. Where do the trucks go?"
"Towards Barcelona," I told him.
"I know no one in that direction," he said, "but thank you very much. Thank you again very much."

He looked at me very blankly and tiredly, and then said, having to share his worry with someone, "The cat will be all right, I am sure. There is no need to be unquiet about the cat. But the others. Now what do you think about the others?"
"Why they'll probably come through it all right."
"You think so?"
"Why not," I said, watching the far bank where now there were no carts.
"But what will they do under the artillery when I was told to leave because of the artillery?"
"Did you leave the dove cage unlocked?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Then they'll fly."
"Yes, certainly they'll fly. But the others. It's better not to think about the others," he said.
"If you are rested I would go," I urged. "Get up and try to walk now."
"Thank you," he said and got to his feet, swayed from side to side and then sat down backwards in the dust.
"I was taking care of animals," he said dully, but no longer to me. "I was only taking care of animals."

There was nothing to do about him. It was Easter Sunday and the Fascists were advancing toward the Ebro. It was a gray overcast day with a low ceiling so their planes were not up. That and the fact that cats know how to look after themselves was all the good luck that old man would ever have.