平靜表面下的情感激流—短篇小說《初秋》賞析
《初秋》(Early Autumn)是美國黑人作家蘭斯頓?休斯一篇膾炙人口的短篇小說。作者以樸素而高超的寫作手法，通過短短的445個詞，一氣呵成，向我們展示了一幅平靜而又波瀾壯闊的感情畫面，讀來回味無窮，心情久久不得平靜。
要想平靜而深刻地理解和接受作者那種“無動于衷”的純記述口吻，就需要對文學創(chuàng)作中的“自然主義”寫作方法有個大概的了解。自然主義文學的基調(diào)是記實性的，自然主義作家有意采用明白通俗、樸素無華的日常語言，堆積起大量瑣碎的細節(jié)，從而準確地再現(xiàn)社會生活的面貌、特征，乃至時代氣息，而在這種記實性的外觀之下，則潛伏著一股濃厚的悲觀情緒。在自然主義作家的小說中，生活畫面是悲慘的，令人沮喪的。人物總是漫無目的地四處漂蕩，總是失敗，或陷于受壓迫的苦境而不能自拔。《初秋》呈現(xiàn)的就是這樣一種聽憑命運擺布的哀怨情景。故事以一對昔日的戀人若干年后不期而遇這一生活瑣事為題材，通過兩人極為普通的日常對話，輔以一定的情景襯托，生動而細膩地顯現(xiàn)了兩種截然不同的心態(tài)，尤其是女主人公Mary那起伏跌宕的感情波瀾。下面就請欣賞這篇曠世佳作。
Early Autumn
初秋
When Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.
Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.
“Bill Walker,” she said.
He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.
“Mary! Where did you come from?”
Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.
“I live in New York now,” she said.
“Oh,—Smiling politely, then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.
“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”
“I’m a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.”
“Married yet?”
“Sure. Two kids.”
“Oh,” she said.
A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.
“And your husband?” he asked her.
“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.”
“You are looking very…” (he wanted to say old) “…well,” he said.
She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.
“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”
“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”
The leaves fell slowly from the tree in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.
“We’d love it,” she answered.
“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.
Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.
“There’s my bus,” she said.
He held out his hand. “Goodbye.”
“When…”, she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.
Suddenly she shrieked very loudly, “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.
The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address—or to ask him for his—or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill, too.
