浴火鸟

Sergey Festisov

黑棘与玫瑰，微笑与泪滴，

共生共长，相近相依。

——Apollon Maykov

夜幕降临，灵魂被无休无止的记忆折磨着。这些记忆慢慢地，几乎是极不情愿地，趁着暮色的第一口呼吸，潜入了房间。它们躲藏在安静的角落里，直到暗夜笼罩。当你刚一躺下来，希望能舒舒服服睡个好觉时，它们就开始向你袭来，似乎是恣意报复着长久以来的耐心与克制。不管你是多么努力地说服自己该睡觉了、一切早都过去了、早该遗忘了，一长串的面孔、人物、命运、境遇，还是在你眼前匆匆闪过，接二连三，纷纷扰扰。突然间，纷扰的画面平静下来了，你的记忆紧紧地锁定了一张面孔，这才是你真正的渴望，正是他引出了这一连串回想。我曾经读到过，人类的记忆不该像个老太婆，总是贪婪地把她碰见的一切东西都往挎篮里装。它是有选择性的，更像一位智慧的老先生，细心地检查、掂量着每一小片经历，然后才决定保留哪个。就这点而言，在我踏上这段漫长而痛苦的记忆之路前，我仍然不知道我该留下什么，舍弃什么。这段记忆关乎一个男人——他不经意间闯入我的生命，将永远成为我的一部分。我不确定故事将以怎样的形式呈现。日记还是单独的片段合集？亦或是简短的情感切片？我不知道它最终会变成什么样子。如果非得强行用某种体裁框住故事，我将毁掉记忆唤活的一切。

他是和一群年轻的中尉一起来到军营的，在此不久之前，他们还只是训练生。他的相貌立马就吸引了所有人的的关注。他是一个蓝眼睛的巨人，近2米高，长满一头乌黑的卷发，很容易涨红的脸、孩子气的酒窝、下巴颏上的分界纹，不但没有破坏他的长相，反而增添了一种男子汉气概。卫戍部队的几名女士公开仰慕他，甚至丝毫不掩饰她们充满渴望与激情的表情。这种不必要的关注让他的脸更红了。他的嘴角会露出尴尬的微笑，这让那些看着他的人更着迷了。他总是会仓促地逃离——他运动员体魄让他很轻易就跑开了。女士们开始称他是“老正经”，并且总是会寻找机会来验证她们的想法是否正确。但她们永远无法达成目标。当飞行测试开始后，很快就证明他正成长为一名领袖，事实上更快。

但为什么我……也许是因为害怕……记住一些无关紧要的细节总是更容易些，但一头扎进水里更让人害怕。另一方面，温暖愉悦的感觉传遍我的全身，让我的记忆维持着燃烧。我的心仍然越跳越快。没必要检查脉搏，心跳会舒缓，共鸣着各种回响，但它们永远无法企及我们的感受。不久前我们还是陌生人，然后我们就找到了彼此。罗曼！你还记得这些吗？如果记得，就让这段往事成为我们的告白，献给正在经历爱恋的人。如果在读完本书后，人们并没有谴责我们，而是选择踏上一条追寻彼此的险路，那么我们就没有白活一场，罗玛。我们的爱就没有徒劳。感谢上帝，我们不用向任何人证明任何事。我们只是坚信，自然之母在赋予我们的这种爱时，不会弄错的。罗玛，让我握住你的手，一起出发吧。帮助我追忆，帮助我放手，我们所经历的一切。帮助我讲述这个故事，来纪念过往，纪念你，我唯一的真爱。你从不害怕什么，你告诉过我，人可以有两次新生，但不能死两次。也许现在会有人嘲笑我们，他们和我们当初一样年轻，他们更愿意相信金钱的召唤而非两颗同频共振的心。但我无所畏惧，我也不责备他们。他们属于他们的青春年华。至于我们，也交给时间来评价吧！

Black thorns and roses, smiles and tears, They're sown together and grow so near.

——Apollon Maykov

As the evening falls, the soul is relentlessly tormented by memories. They slowly, almost unwillingly, creep into the room with the first breath of twilight. They hide in quiet nooks and corners waiting until darkness settles, and then, just as you lay your head on the pillow wishing for comforting sleep, they viciously attack to reward themselves for their long patience and restraint. And no matter how hard you try to convince yourself that it's time to sleep, that it's all in the past and long forgotten, a long procession of faces, characters, destinies, and situations are hurriedly moving in front of your eyes, nervously bumping into one another. And then, all of a sudden, the barrage of images stills. Your memory latches onto the face that is the true object of your longing, the one that caused this chain of recollections. I once read that human memory should never be perceived as an old lady who greedily fills her basket with whatever she happens to come across. It is in its selectiveness rather like an old wise man who carefully examines every single morsel of ex-perience, weighs it in his palms, and then decides what to take with him. At this point I still don't know what I will take with me and what I will leave behind as I embark on this long and painful road of memories about a man who entered my life unexpectedly and will remain a part of me forever. And I am not sure what form this story will take. Will it consist of diary entries? Will it be a collection of separate fragments? Maybe brief flashes of emotions? I cannot tell how it will turn out in the end. If I forcefully try to keep my storywithin a framework of a certain genre, I will destroy everything that my memories have brought to life.

He arrived at the army base with a group of young lieutenants who not that long ago were still trainees. His looks immediately drew everyone's attention to him: he was a blue-eyed giant, almost two metres tall, with dark and wavy hair, cheeks that would easily blush bright scarlet, childlike dimples, and a cleft chin that, instead of spoiling his looks, added to his features a more masculine touch. The few ladies of the garrison openly admired him and didn't even try to hide their longing, impassioned looks. This unwanted attention made his blush even brighter. An embarrassed smile would appear on his lips, enchanting those who were watching him, and he would hurriedly leave—a feat that his athletic build made easy to accomplish. The ladies started calling him the Prude and always sought an opportunity to check whether they were, in fact, right. However, they never managed to achieve what they wanted. Once the test flights started (oh!), it quickly became clear that he was on the way to becoming a leader, and it indeed happened soon enough.

But why do I...I guess I'm afraid...it's always easier to remember the unimportant details, but it's scary to dive headfirst into the water. On the other hand, a pleasant feeling of warmth is spreading throughout my body, and it keeps the memories burning. My heart is beating faster and faster still. There is no point in checking the pulse; the heartbeats may soften or resonate with an all-encompass-ing echo, but they could never catch up with what we were feeling.Not that long ago we were strangers, and then we found each other.Roman! Do you remember all this? If you do, let this story become our confession for those who are yet to experience love. And if, after reading this, they won't curse us but will choose to embark on their own treacherous path of getting to know one other, then we have not lived in vain, Roma. Then we have not loved in vain. Thank God, we never had to prove anything to anyone. We just believed that Mother Nature was not mistaken in giving us this love. Roma, give me your hand! Let's go! Help me remember and once again relive everything that we experienced. Help me tell this story to commemorate the past, to commemorate you, my only true love. You were never afraid of anything. You told me that there can be two lives, but you can't die twice. Probably those who are now as young as we once were and believe in the call of money rather than the sound of two hearts beating as one will laugh at me. But I am not afraid, and I don't blame them.They are the children of their time. Let time be our judge.