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译/甄春亮
今天是中国的除夕。德国大雪飘飘，一片冷清，寥寥无几的行人冻得板着脸，脚步匆匆。车辆夹着雪花，开得逃一样地快。完全没有一点过春节的气氛。除了我坐在暖洋洋的屋里，给远方的亲朋好友打简短的电话拜年，七拜八拜，被那边的热闹气氛感染了，声音也大了，放鞭炮一样的热闹。
放下电话心就空了，浮起的乡愁其实是嫉妒，嫉妒他们大家都在大吃大喝，我这里却冷锅冷灶。于是决定冒雪出去，看看能不能变出顿年夜饭来犒劳自己。为此我十分发愁！我好像总是为吃的发愁，在家乡选择太多，发愁吃什么才好？在德国，我还是发愁吃什么才好，原因是觉得根本没什么可吃。
在德国生活的日子里，语言要学是当然的，生活习惯虽然是邻居间关了门，互不干扰不用认真学习，可是入乡随俗，饮食习惯还是给德国人同化了不少。在旋风一样的忙碌里，大清早灌下一杯香浓咖啡以醒瞌睡，时间不够，抓来表面硬如石头的面包，一通撕咬充饥是常事。要添加维生素，对着一盘完全不需要厨艺的生菜胡萝卜，还是可以吃出一点兔子家族的表情来。这种吃法，仅仅是为了活命，完全没有文化和享受，所以常常吃过了东西，肚子饱了，还是瞪着一双饿得发绿的眼睛，发愁和想家的感觉会在这种时候升腾到极至。
今天是中国的除夕！到底还是该操心一下年夜饭。在超级市场看着琳琅满目的东西，我依然心灰意冷，黄瓜抓上去是软的，大白菜发蔫，三棵一把的小青葱也是低头弯腰在默哀，直到看到了一批大白萝卜，我才高兴起来。论个卖的大白萝卜，无论大小都是一个价！冬天的萝卜沉甸甸的，一定很新鲜！我毕竟比较有买菜的经验，当然挑了一个最庞大的买下。德国人不仅是人高马大，就连德国的萝卜也快有我的大腿粗，手臂那么长。一心熬一锅萝卜汤当年夜饭，总不能过个斋年吧，所以还冒险买了一盒包装好了的猪肉碎骨头。
电话在手里攥得热乎乎的，不晓得在这个时刻，能够给哪一个仍然醒着或已经熟睡的人拨过去。
电脑里的信箱空空的，怎么这个时候没有人写信了呢？只有网上聊天室，有几个符号魂一样地在游荡。也染了萝卜味儿的指头疯了一样在敲键盘…… 春节好！外面好大的雪，只缺了爆竹的声音。今天是中国春节的除夕，我已经给爸爸妈妈还有朋友拜了年好开心，可现在过了午夜没有热闹的声音我睡不着，不知道要干什么好，我很寂寞……
一个陌生的鬼魂给我关进小房间……你几岁了？你是男的还是女的？我现在特别需要一个女人？我也很寂寞
另一个陌生的符号敲过来一个笑脸，接着一行德文……嗨！你也是个异乡人吗？不管你是谁，祝你春节快乐，猴年走运！……后面还附了一串暖洋洋的红色的小鞭炮。
我轻轻笑一笑，打着萝卜嗝儿敲过去……同胞，也祝你春节快乐……就关了机。得马上开开窗，散一散这满屋的萝卜味儿。
窗外有细密的雪由天空筛下来，空气清新凛冽。记起一部拍的很漂亮的MTV，上面也是一个大雪天，一闪一闪的雪花里，有人身上长了好大的两片白色的翅膀在飞，我多想也飞啊！我拒绝承认顽强坚硬的心，会在午夜时刻一点一点融化，由喉咙流进胃里的，是湿润的雨珠。
一沓枕边的照片扁扁的，触摸上面生命中的每一个人的脸，都是那样温柔，却不说话。你们，春节可好呀？■
Today is the eve of China’s Spring Festival. Snow is falling heavily in Germany. Streets are almost deserted except a few pedestrians walking fast, their faces numbed with cold. Cars are running frantically as if getting away from the whirling snowflakes. The strange land, cold and cheerless, is completely short of festive air. I sit in a cozy room calling relatives and friends in the distant homeland and wishing each of them a happy Spring Festival.Little by little infected by the cheerful atmosphere on the other end of the line, I raise my voice and the brief conversation becomes as lively as the bangs of firecrackers.
As soon as I hang the receiver, I feel a touch of emptiness. In fact my homesickness stems from my envy towards those relatives and friends, each of whom is enjoying a wonderful dinner while I have nothing edible. To reward myself, I decide to go out in spite of the snowstorm and try to buy something with which I can prepare a dinner. One thing that has been worrying me is that I always don’t know what to eat. At home I found it very troublesome to make a good choice out of a variety of delicacies. But now I feel it equally troublesome to decide what to eat because there is practically nothing eatable in Germany.
Certainly I have to learn German in order to live in Germany. But I do not have to eagerly learn some of their ways of life because the Germans in the neighborhood and I never visit each other after I come home, closing the door behind me. Now that I am in Germany I must do as Germans do, and naturally I have acquired some of their eating and drinking habits. Because I am short of time, and as busy as a beaver, I often gulp down a cup of savory coffee to wake up myself early in the morning and gobble up( to eat very quickly , and sometimes noisily) a loaf of bread whose crust is as hard as rock to appease my hunger.To get more vitamin, I can nibble at fresh romaine lettuce and carrot in a plate placed before me with an appetite good as a rabbit’s. However eating such an entirely uncivilized food I never enjoy is only to keep myself alive. Whenever I am filled with raw vegetables and still starved to death, I feel extremely sorrowful and homesick.
After all today is the eve of China’s Spring Festival. I must think what materials I’ll use to prepare a dinner. But a sight of the vegetables handsomely displayed on the shelves of a supermarket depresses me. Cucumbers are soft, the edges of Chinese cabbages begin to curl and green onions, three tied into a bundle, also look sorry like men standing in silent tribute with their heads lowered. I feel disappointed until I see some white turnips sold by piece. Every turnip, no matter how big or small it is, sells at the same price! Produced in winter, each turnip weighs heavily and it must be fresh! As I am quite experienced in buying vegetables, I, of course, make a good choice and take the biggest one. Not only are the Germans tall and sturdy, but also the turnips produced here are nearly as thick as a leg and as long as an arm. Thinking at least I cannot eat a vegetable meal on the eve of the lunar New Year I venture some money on buying a package of pork rib, with which I plan to cook a pot of turnip soup.
The phone I hold tightly in my hand feels warm. I have no idea about whom I should call at this moment for I do not know who is still awake and who has already fallen asleep.
There is no letter in the e-mail box. Why doesn’t anybody write me a letter? A few ghostly signs appear in the chat room. The fingers that also have the smell of turnip rapidly run and rush on the keyboard and a message is flashed up on the screen: A happy Spring Festival! Outside snow is falling heavily, but there is no rumble of firecrackers. Today is the New Year’s Eve by old calendar. I am pleased to have paid New Year calls to my parents and friends, but after midnight, I still cannot sleep without hearing the ceaseless explosion of fireworks. I don’t know what to do and I feel very lonely...
A stranger enters the chat room and asks, “How old are you? Are you male or female? Now I am in bad need of a woman? I feel lonely too...”
A sign entirely unknown to me sends me a smiling face and a line of words in German, “Hi! Are you a man in a foreign land? Wish you a happy New Year and have a stroke of luck in the coming year even though I don’t know who you are!” Attached to the words is a string of red joyful firecrackers.
I smile a faint smile. Giving a loud belch that smells of turnip, I leave him a message: “ Fellow countryman, wish you a happy Spring Festival too...” and then I turn off my computer. I must open the window and air the room, where the strong smell of turnip is pervading.
Snow is falling heavily outside the window. The air is fresh and piercingly cold. I remember a scene of a beautifully shot MTV: A man with huge white wings is flying in a flurry of glistening snowflakes. How I wish I could fly! I refuse to admit firm resolve has gradually weakened at midnight, however what I am swallowing down are bitter tears.
A stack of photos lies beside my pillow. The face of each person in the photos, when touched, is so gentle but each one is silent. I wish them a happy Spring Festival!
今天是中国的除夕。德国大雪飘飘，一片冷清，寥寥无几的行人冻得板着脸，脚步匆匆。车辆夹着雪花，开得逃一样地快。完全没有一点过春节的气氛。除了我坐在暖洋洋的屋里，给远方的亲朋好友打简短的电话拜年，七拜八拜，被那边的热闹气氛感染了，声音也大了，放鞭炮一样的热闹。
放下电话心就空了，浮起的乡愁其实是嫉妒，嫉妒他们大家都在大吃大喝，我这里却冷锅冷灶。于是决定冒雪出去，看看能不能变出顿年夜饭来犒劳自己。为此我十分发愁！我好像总是为吃的发愁，在家乡选择太多，发愁吃什么才好？在德国，我还是发愁吃什么才好，原因是觉得根本没什么可吃。
在德国生活的日子里，语言要学是当然的，生活习惯虽然是邻居间关了门，互不干扰不用认真学习，可是入乡随俗，饮食习惯还是给德国人同化了不少。在旋风一样的忙碌里，大清早灌下一杯香浓咖啡以醒瞌睡，时间不够，抓来表面硬如石头的面包，一通撕咬充饥是常事。要添加维生素，对着一盘完全不需要厨艺的生菜胡萝卜，还是可以吃出一点兔子家族的表情来。这种吃法，仅仅是为了活命，完全没有文化和享受，所以常常吃过了东西，肚子饱了，还是瞪着一双饿得发绿的眼睛，发愁和想家的感觉会在这种时候升腾到极至。
今天是中国的除夕！到底还是该操心一下年夜饭。在超级市场看着琳琅满目的东西，我依然心灰意冷，黄瓜抓上去是软的，大白菜发蔫，三棵一把的小青葱也是低头弯腰在默哀，直到看到了一批大白萝卜，我才高兴起来。论个卖的大白萝卜，无论大小都是一个价！冬天的萝卜沉甸甸的，一定很新鲜！我毕竟比较有买菜的经验，当然挑了一个最庞大的买下。德国人不仅是人高马大，就连德国的萝卜也快有我的大腿粗，手臂那么长。一心熬一锅萝卜汤当年夜饭，总不能过个斋年吧，所以还冒险买了一盒包装好了的猪肉碎骨头。
电话在手里攥得热乎乎的，不晓得在这个时刻，能够给哪一个仍然醒着或已经熟睡的人拨过去。
电脑里的信箱空空的，怎么这个时候没有人写信了呢？只有网上聊天室，有几个符号魂一样地在游荡。也染了萝卜味儿的指头疯了一样在敲键盘…… 春节好！外面好大的雪，只缺了爆竹的声音。今天是中国春节的除夕，我已经给爸爸妈妈还有朋友拜了年好开心，可现在过了午夜没有热闹的声音我睡不着，不知道要干什么好，我很寂寞……
一个陌生的鬼魂给我关进小房间……你几岁了？你是男的还是女的？我现在特别需要一个女人？我也很寂寞
另一个陌生的符号敲过来一个笑脸，接着一行德文……嗨！你也是个异乡人吗？不管你是谁，祝你春节快乐，猴年走运！……后面还附了一串暖洋洋的红色的小鞭炮。
我轻轻笑一笑，打着萝卜嗝儿敲过去……同胞，也祝你春节快乐……就关了机。得马上开开窗，散一散这满屋的萝卜味儿。
窗外有细密的雪由天空筛下来，空气清新凛冽。记起一部拍的很漂亮的MTV，上面也是一个大雪天，一闪一闪的雪花里，有人身上长了好大的两片白色的翅膀在飞，我多想也飞啊！我拒绝承认顽强坚硬的心，会在午夜时刻一点一点融化，由喉咙流进胃里的，是湿润的雨珠。
一沓枕边的照片扁扁的，触摸上面生命中的每一个人的脸，都是那样温柔，却不说话。你们，春节可好呀？■
Today is the eve of China’s Spring Festival. Snow is falling heavily in Germany. Streets are almost deserted except a few pedestrians walking fast, their faces numbed with cold. Cars are running frantically as if getting away from the whirling snowflakes. The strange land, cold and cheerless, is completely short of festive air. I sit in a cozy room calling relatives and friends in the distant homeland and wishing each of them a happy Spring Festival.Little by little infected by the cheerful atmosphere on the other end of the line, I raise my voice and the brief conversation becomes as lively as the bangs of firecrackers.
As soon as I hang the receiver, I feel a touch of emptiness. In fact my homesickness stems from my envy towards those relatives and friends, each of whom is enjoying a wonderful dinner while I have nothing edible. To reward myself, I decide to go out in spite of the snowstorm and try to buy something with which I can prepare a dinner. One thing that has been worrying me is that I always don’t know what to eat. At home I found it very troublesome to make a good choice out of a variety of delicacies. But now I feel it equally troublesome to decide what to eat because there is practically nothing eatable in Germany.
Certainly I have to learn German in order to live in Germany. But I do not have to eagerly learn some of their ways of life because the Germans in the neighborhood and I never visit each other after I come home, closing the door behind me. Now that I am in Germany I must do as Germans do, and naturally I have acquired some of their eating and drinking habits. Because I am short of time, and as busy as a beaver, I often gulp down a cup of savory coffee to wake up myself early in the morning and gobble up( to eat very quickly , and sometimes noisily) a loaf of bread whose crust is as hard as rock to appease my hunger.To get more vitamin, I can nibble at fresh romaine lettuce and carrot in a plate placed before me with an appetite good as a rabbit’s. However eating such an entirely uncivilized food I never enjoy is only to keep myself alive. Whenever I am filled with raw vegetables and still starved to death, I feel extremely sorrowful and homesick.
After all today is the eve of China’s Spring Festival. I must think what materials I’ll use to prepare a dinner. But a sight of the vegetables handsomely displayed on the shelves of a supermarket depresses me. Cucumbers are soft, the edges of Chinese cabbages begin to curl and green onions, three tied into a bundle, also look sorry like men standing in silent tribute with their heads lowered. I feel disappointed until I see some white turnips sold by piece. Every turnip, no matter how big or small it is, sells at the same price! Produced in winter, each turnip weighs heavily and it must be fresh! As I am quite experienced in buying vegetables, I, of course, make a good choice and take the biggest one. Not only are the Germans tall and sturdy, but also the turnips produced here are nearly as thick as a leg and as long as an arm. Thinking at least I cannot eat a vegetable meal on the eve of the lunar New Year I venture some money on buying a package of pork rib, with which I plan to cook a pot of turnip soup.
The phone I hold tightly in my hand feels warm. I have no idea about whom I should call at this moment for I do not know who is still awake and who has already fallen asleep.
There is no letter in the e-mail box. Why doesn’t anybody write me a letter? A few ghostly signs appear in the chat room. The fingers that also have the smell of turnip rapidly run and rush on the keyboard and a message is flashed up on the screen: A happy Spring Festival! Outside snow is falling heavily, but there is no rumble of firecrackers. Today is the New Year’s Eve by old calendar. I am pleased to have paid New Year calls to my parents and friends, but after midnight, I still cannot sleep without hearing the ceaseless explosion of fireworks. I don’t know what to do and I feel very lonely...
A stranger enters the chat room and asks, “How old are you? Are you male or female? Now I am in bad need of a woman? I feel lonely too...”
A sign entirely unknown to me sends me a smiling face and a line of words in German, “Hi! Are you a man in a foreign land? Wish you a happy New Year and have a stroke of luck in the coming year even though I don’t know who you are!” Attached to the words is a string of red joyful firecrackers.
I smile a faint smile. Giving a loud belch that smells of turnip, I leave him a message: “ Fellow countryman, wish you a happy Spring Festival too...” and then I turn off my computer. I must open the window and air the room, where the strong smell of turnip is pervading.
Snow is falling heavily outside the window. The air is fresh and piercingly cold. I remember a scene of a beautifully shot MTV: A man with huge white wings is flying in a flurry of glistening snowflakes. How I wish I could fly! I refuse to admit firm resolve has gradually weakened at midnight, however what I am swallowing down are bitter tears.
A stack of photos lies beside my pillow. The face of each person in the photos, when touched, is so gentle but each one is silent. I wish them a happy Spring Festival!