Soaⁿ-me̍h lâm-pêng ê tē-it ê sió tìn, tī chia khai-sí chin-chiàⁿ ê liû-lōng seng-oa̍h khai-sí, góa só͘ ài ê seng-oa̍h, bô kò͘-tēng hong-hiòng ê liû-lōng, chū-iû chū-chāi tī ji̍t-kng ni̍h, oân-choân chū-iû ê lōng-chú seng-oa̍h. Góa chīn-liōng khò phāiⁿ-pau seng-oa̍h, hō͘ góa ê tn̂g-khò͘ kiâⁿ-kah bôa-phòa.
Tī hoe-hn̂g lim pô-tô-chiú ê sî, góa hut-jiân kì-khí Ferruccio Busoni bat kǎ kóng ê ōe. Bô gōa kú í-chêng, goán tī Zurich sio-tú, i keng-thé góa, kóng, "lí khòaⁿ khí-lâi chiâⁿ sông." Andrea tú-chiah chí-hui chi̍t-tiûⁿ Mahler ê im-ga̍k-hōe, goán tâng-chê chē tī chhiâng-chāi khì ê chhan-thiaⁿ, góa chiâⁿ hoaⁿ-hí koh khòaⁿ tio̍h Busoni pe̍h-pe̍h, cheng-sîn pá-móa ê bīn, hoaⁿ-hí góan chit ê ài lia̍h-pau lâng sông ê pêng-iú ê thê-chhéⁿ. -- Sī án-chóaⁿ góa siūⁿ-khí che neh?
Góa chai! Góa siūⁿ tio̍h ê m̄-sī Busoni, a̍h Zurich, a̍h Mahler. Che lóng sī bô sóng-khoài ê kì-tî ê kâu-lāng; hō͘ bô-iàu-kín ê tāi-chì seng phû-tī sim-lāi. Taⁿ góa chai ah! Tâng-chē chē tī chhan-thiaⁿ, iáu ū chi̍t-ê kim thâu-mo͘ ê ko͘-niû, hiáⁿ-ba̍k, bīn-sek kng-iām, góa lóng bô kap i kóng-ōe. Thiⁿ-sài ah! Góa ài chò ê kan-ta sī khòaⁿ lí, che sī siū-khó͘, che mā sī khoài-lo̍k, oh, góa kui-tiám-cheng lóng teh ài lí! Góa koh-chài sī cha̍p-peh hòe ah.
Hut-jiân kan, ta̍k-hāng lóng chheng-chhó ah. Bí-lē, thâu-mo͘ kim-sih-sih ê khoài-lo̍k ko͘-niû! Góa soah bē-kì-tit lí ê miâ. Hit sî-chūn góa ài lí, koh ū, kin-á-ji̍t tī chit-ê soaⁿ-siâⁿ ê ji̍t-kng ke-lō͘, góa koh ài lí chi̍t tiám-cheng. Put-koán siáng bat ài-kòe lí, i bô pí góa koh-khah ài lí, bô-lâng bat hō͘ lí hiah tōa ê khoân-ui, choa̍t-tùi ê khoân-ui. M̄-koh, góa kai-sí, góa bô láu-si̍t. Góa sī hong tiong ê siaⁿ-im, góa bô ài cha-bó͘, góa kan-ta ài ài-chêng.
Só͘-ū góan chiah-ê lōng-chú lóng sī án-ne. Goán liû-lōng kap lī-ke ê chi̍t tōa pō͘-hūn sī ūi tio̍h ài-chêng kap chêng-io̍k. Liû-lōng ê lōng-bān, siōng chió ū chi̍t-pòaⁿ m̄-sī pa̍t-hāng, kan-ta sī boeh mō͘-hiám ê ǹg-bāng. Lēng-gōa chi̍t-pòaⁿ sī pa̍t-hāng ê ǹg-bāng -- chi̍t-chióng bô ì-sek ê tui-kiû choán-piàn kap kái-koat chêng-io̍k. Goán lōng-chú lóng chin kan-khiáu -- goán hoat-tián chhut chi̍t-kóa bô-hoat-tō͘ si̍t-hiān ê kám-kak; si̍t-chè sio̍k tī cha-bó͘-lâng ê ài, goán chhìn-chhái tō kā pàng hō͘ sió-siâⁿ, soaⁿ, ô͘ kap soaⁿ-kok, lō͘-piⁿ ê gín-á, kiô-téng ê khit-chia̍h, chháu-goân ê gû-bó, chiáu-á kap ia̍h-á. Goán hun-khui ài kap ài ê mi̍h-kiāⁿ, kan-ta ài, goán tō ū-kàu ah, kāng-khoán ê, tī liû-lōng ê sî, góan bô tui-kiû boeh khì tó-ūi, goán kan-ta tui-kiû liû-lōng ê khoài-lo̍k, kan-ta liû-lōng pún-sin.
Sió ko͘-niû, chheng-chhun ê bīn-iông, góa bô boeh chai-iáⁿ lí ê miâ. Góa bô boeh pó-sioh a̍h-sī cheng-ka góa tùi lí ê ài. Lí m̄-sī góa ài ê chiong-tiám, lí kiò-chhéⁿ góa ê ài, hō͘ ài khai-sí. Góa kā che ài pàng-khui, hō͘ lō͘-piⁿ ê hoe, hō͘ góa chiú-poe téng teh sih ê ji̍t-kng, hō͘ kàu-tn̂g koân-thah ê âng-sek chhang-thâu. Sī lí hō͘ góa ē-tàng ài chit-ê sè-kài.
Ah, góa kóng siáⁿ gōng-ōe ah! Cha-mê tī góa ê soaⁿ-liâu-á ni̍h góa bāng kìⁿ hit-ê kim thâu-mo͘ ê ko͘-niû. Góa choân-sim choân-ì ài i, kam-goān hòng-khì góa chhun ê sèⁿ-miā, pau-hâm liû-lōng ê khoài-lo̍k, chí-iàu i lâu tī góa sin-piⁿ. Kin-á-ji̍t góa koh siūⁿ i kui-ji̍t. In-ūi i, góa chiah lim pô-tô chiú, chiah chia̍h pháng. In-ūi i, góa tī góa ê phō͘-á ni̍h ōe chit-ê sió-tìn kap kàu-tn̂g ê thah. In-ūi i, góa kám-siā Sîn -- i oa̍h tio̍h, góa tit-tio̍h ki-hōe thang kìⁿ i. In-ūi i, góa boeh siá chi̍t-siú koa, koh lim che âng-chiú lim-kah chùi.
Góa chin khak-tēng: tī an-chēng ê lâm-hong, góa ê sim tit-tio̍h an-lêng, sī in-ūi góa hoâi-liām tī soaⁿ hit-pêng ê chi̍t-ê kng-iām ê kim thâu-mo͘ ê ko͘-niû. Hiah-nī súi, i chheng-chhun ê chhùi. Hiah-nī súi, hiah-nī gōng, hiah-nī kî-miāu -- khó-liân ê sèⁿ-miā ah.
--
山脈南爿 ê 第一个小鎮, tī 遮開始真正 ê 流浪生活, 我所愛 ê 生活, 無固定方向 ê 流浪, 自由自在 tī 日光 ni̍h, 完全自由 ê 浪子生活. 我盡量靠揹包生活, 予我 ê 長褲行甲磨破.
Tī 花園啉葡萄酒 ê 時, 我忽然記起 Ferruccio Busoni bat kǎ 講 ê 話. 無偌久以前, 阮 tī Zurich 相拄, 伊 keng 體我, 講, "你看起來誠 sông." Andrea 拄才指揮一場 Mahler ê 音樂會, 阮同齊坐 tī 常在去 ê 餐廳, 我誠歡喜 koh 看著 Busoni 白白, 精神飽滿 ê 面, 歡喜阮這个愛掠包人 sông ê 朋友 ê 提醒. -- 是按怎我想起這 neh?
我知! 我想著 ê 毋是 Busoni, 抑 Zurich, 抑 Mahler. 這攏是無爽快 ê 記持 ê 猴弄; 予無要緊 ê 代誌先浮 tī 心內. 今我知 ah! 同齊坐 tī 餐廳, 猶有一个金頭毛 ê 姑娘, 顯目, 面色光艷, 我攏無 kap 伊講話. 天使 ah! 我愛做 ê 干焦是看你, 這是受苦, 這 mā 是快樂, oh, 我規點鐘攏 teh 愛你! 我閣再是十八歲 ah.
忽然間, 逐項攏清楚 ah. 美麗, 頭毛金爍爍 ê 快樂姑娘! 我煞袂記得你 ê 名. 彼時陣我愛你, koh 有, 今仔日 tī 這个山城 ê 日光街路, 我 koh 愛你一點鐘. 不管 siáng bat 愛過你, 伊無比我閣較愛你, 無人 bat 予你 hiah 大 ê 權威, 絕對 ê 權威. 毋過, 我該死, 我無老實. 我是風中 ê 聲音, 我無愛查某, 我干焦愛愛情.
所有阮 chiah-ê 浪子攏是 án-ne. 阮流浪 kap 離家 ê 一大部份是為著愛情 kap 情慾. 流浪 ê 浪漫, 上少有一半毋是別項, 干焦是欲冒險 ê ǹg 望. 另外一半是別項 ê ǹg 望 -- 一種無意識 ê 追求轉變 kap 解決情慾. 阮浪子攏真奸巧 -- 阮發展出一寡無法度實現 ê 感覺; 實際屬 tī 查某人 ê 愛, 阮凊彩 tō kā 放予小城, 山, 湖 kap 山谷, 路邊 ê 囡仔, 橋頂 ê 乞食, 草原 ê 牛母, 鳥仔 kap 蝶仔. 阮分開愛 kap 愛 ê 物件, 干焦愛, 阮 tō 有夠 ah, 仝款 ê, tī 流浪 ê 時, 阮無追求欲去 tó 位, 阮干焦追求流浪 ê 快樂, 干焦流浪本身.
小姑娘, 青春 ê 面容, 我無欲知影你 ê 名. 我無欲寶惜抑是增加我對你 ê 愛. 你毋是我愛 ê 終點, 你叫醒我 ê 愛, 予愛開始. 我 kā 這愛放開, 予路邊 ê 花, 予我酒杯頂 teh 爍 ê 日光, 予教堂懸塔 ê 紅色蔥頭. 是你予我會當愛這个世界.
Ah, 我講啥戇話 ah! 昨暝 tī 我 ê 山寮仔 ni̍h 我夢見彼个金頭毛 ê 姑娘. 我全心全意愛伊, 甘願放棄我賰 ê 性命, 包含流浪 ê 快樂, 只要伊留 tī 我身邊. 今仔日我 koh 想伊規日. 因為伊, 我才啉葡萄酒, 才食 pháng. 因為伊, 我 tī 我 ê 簿仔 ni̍h 畫這个小鎮 kap 教堂 ê 塔. 因為伊, 我感謝神 -- 伊活著, 我得著機會通見伊. 因為伊, 我欲寫一首歌, koh 啉這紅酒啉甲醉.
我真確定: tī 安靜 ê 南方, 我 ê 心得著安寧, 是因為我懷念 tī 山彼爿 ê 一个光艷 ê 金頭毛 ê 姑娘. Hiah-nī 媠, 伊青春 ê 喙. Hiah-nī 媠, hiah-nī 戇, hiah-nī 奇妙 -- 可憐 ê 性命 ah.
--
5. Small Town
The first small town on the southern side of the mountains. Here the true life of wandering begins, the life I love, wandering without any special direction, taking it easy in sunlight, the life of a vagabond wholly free. I am much inclined to live from my rucksack, and let my trousers fray as they like.
While I was having a drink of wine in a garden, I suddenly remembered something Ferruccio Busoni once said to me. "You look so rustic," that dear man said to me with a touch of irony the last time we saw each other -- in Zurich not so long ago. Andrea had directed a Mahler concert, we sat together in our usual restaurant, I was delighted once again at Busoni's bright pale spiritual face, at the alertness of the most glittering enemy of philistines we still have with us. -- Why does this memory come back?
I know! It's not Busoni I remember, or Zurich, or Mahler. They are just the usual tricks of memory when it comes to uncomfortable things; then harmless images thrust too easily into the front of the mind. I know now! With us in that restaurant sat a blond girl, shining, her cheeks glowing, and I never said a word to her. Angel! All I had to do was look at you, and it was suffering, it was all delight, oh how I loved you for that whole hour! I was eighteen years old again.
Suddenly everything is clear. Beautiful, brilliantly blond, happy woman! I don't even remember your name. For a whole hour I was in love with you, and today, on the sunny street in this muntain town, I love you again for a whole hour. No mater who has ever loved you, he never loved you more than I do, no man ever granted you more power over himself, unqualified power. But I'm condemned to be untrue. I belong to those windy voices, who don't love women, who love only love.
All of us wanderers are made like this. A good part of our wandering and homelessness is love, eroticism. The romanticism of wandering, at least half of it, is nothing else but a kind of eagerness for adventure. But the other half is another eagerness -- an unconscious drive to transfigure and dissolve the erotic. We wanderers are very cunning -- we develop those feelings which are impossible to fulfill; and the love which acturally should belong to a woman, we lightly scatter among small towns and mountains, lakes and valleys, children by the side of the road, beggars on the bridge, cows in the pasture, birds and butterflies. We separate love from its object, love alone is enough for us, in the same way that, in wandering, we don't look for a goal, we only look for the happiness of wandering, only the wondering.
Young woman, fresh face, I don't want to know your name. I don't want to cherish and fatten my love for you. You aren't the end of my love, but its awakening, its beginning. I give this love away, to the flowers along the path, to the glitter of sunlight in my wine glass, to the red onion of the church tower. You make it possible for me to love the world.
Ah, what silly chatter! Last night in my mountain hut I dreamed about that blond girl. I was out of my mind in love with her, and would have given up all I have left of life, together with the joys of wandering, only to have her beside me. I have been thinking about her all day today. For her sake I drink my wine and eat my bread. For her sake, in my little book I make my sketches of the small town and the church tower. For her sake, I thank God -- she is alive, and I got my chance to see her. For her sake, I'm going to write a song, and then get drunk on this red wine.
And sure enough: my first peace of heart in the serene south belongs to my yearning for a luminously blond woman on the other side of the mountains. How beautiful, her fresh mouth! How beautiful, how silly, how magical -- this poor life.
--
