本則是轉載村上春樹對他所喜愛的波士頓馬拉松發生事件後的發文（中英文譯本各一）

2013年5月3日，刊載在The New Yorker上

BOSTON, FROM ONE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD WHO CALLSHIMSELF A RUNNER

英文翻譯是Philip Gabriel

連結如下

http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2013/05/murakami-running-boston-marathon-bombing.html

文章如下

BOSTON,FROM ONE CITIZEN OF THE WORLD WHO CALLS HIMSELF A RUNNER

POSTEDBY HARUKIMURAKAMI

In the past thirty years, I’ve runthirty-three full marathons. I’ve run marathons all over the world, butwhenever someone asks me which is my favorite, I never hesitate to answer: theBoston Marathon, which I have run six times. What’s so wonderful about theBoston Marathon? It’s simple: it’s the oldest race of its kind; the course isbeautiful; and—here’s the most important point—everything about the race isnatural, free. The Boston Marathon is not a top-down but a bottom-up kind ofevent; it was steadily, thoughtfully crafted by the citizens of Bostonthemselves, over a considerable period of time. Every time I run the race, thefeelings of the people who created it over the years are on display for all toappreciate, and I’m enveloped in a warm glow, a sense of being back in a place Imissed. It’s magical. Other marathons are amazing, too—the New York CityMarathon, the Honolulu Marathon, the Athens Marathon. Boston, however (myapologies to the organizers of those other races), is unique.

What’s great about marathons in generalis the lack of competitiveness. For world-class runners, they can be anoccasion of fierce rivalry, sure. But for a runner like me (and I imagine thisis true for the vast majority of runners), an ordinary runner whose times arenothing special, a marathon is never a competition. You enter the race to enjoythe experience of running twenty-six miles, and you do enjoy it, as you goalong. Then it starts to get a little painful, then it becomes seriouslypainful, and in the end it’s that pain that you start to enjoy. And part of theenjoyment is in sharing this tangled process with the runners around you. Tryrunning twenty-six miles alone and you’ll have three, four, or five hours ofsheer torture. I’ve done it before, and I hope never to repeat the experience.But running the same distance alongside other runners makes it feel lessgrueling. It’s tough physically, of course—how could it not be?—but there’s afeeling of solidarity and unity that carries you all the way to the finishline. If a marathon is a battle, it’s one you wage against yourself.

Running the Boston Marathon, when youturn the corner at Hereford Street onto Boylston, and see, at the end of thatstraight, broad road, the banner at Copley Square, the excitement and reliefyou experience are indescribable. You have made it on your own, but at the sametime it was those around you who kept you going. The unpaid volunteers who tookthe day off to help out, the people lining the road to cheer you on, the runnersin front of you, the runners behind. Without their encouragement and support,you might not have finished the race. As you take the final sprint downBoylston, all kinds of emotions rise up in your heart. You grimace with thestrain, but you smile as well.

* * * 

I lived for three years on the outskirtsof Boston. I was a visiting scholar at Tufts for two years, and then, after ashort break, I was at Harvard for a year. During that time, I jogged along thebanks of the Charles River every morning. I understand how important the BostonMarathon is to the people of Boston, what a source of pride it is to the cityand its citizens. Many of my friends regularly run the race and serve asvolunteers. So, even from far away, I can imagine how devastated and discouragedthe people of Boston feel about the tragedy of this year’s race. Many peoplewere physically injured at the site of the explosions, but even more must havebeen wounded in other ways. Something that should have been pure has beensullied, and I, too—as a citizen of the world, who calls himself a runner—havebeen wounded.

This combination of sadness,disappointment, anger, and despair is not easy to dissipate. I understood thiswhen I was researching my book “Underground,” about the 1995 gas attack on theTokyo subway, and interviewing survivors of the attack and family members ofthose who died. You can overcome the hurt enough to live a “normal” life. But,internally, you’re still bleeding. Some of the pain goes away over time, butthe passage of time also gives rise to new types of pain. You have to sort itall out, organize it, understand it, and accept it. You have to build a newlife on top of the pain.

* * * 

Surely the best-known section of theBoston Marathon is Heartbreak Hill, one in a series of slopes that lasts forfour miles near the end of the race. It’s on Heartbreak Hill that runnersostensibly feel the most exhausted. In the hundred-and-seventeen-year historyof the race, all sorts of legends have grown up around this hill. But, when youactually run it, you realize that it’s not as harsh and unforgiving as peoplehave made it out to be. Most runners make it up Heartbreak Hill more easilythan they expected to. “Hey,” they tell themselves, “that wasn’t so bad afterall.” Mentally prepare yourself for the long slope that is waiting for you nearthe end, save up enough energy to tackle it, and somehow you’re able to getpast it.

The real pain begins only after you’ve conquered Heartbreak Hill, rundownhill, and arrived at the flat part of the course, in the city streets.You’re through the worst, and you can head straight for the finish line—andsuddenly your body starts to scream. Your muscles cramp, and your legs feellike lead. At least that’s what I’ve experienced every time I’ve run the BostonMarathon.

Emotional scars may be similar. In asense, the real pain begins only after some time has passed, after you’veovercome the initial shock and things have begun to settle. Only once you’veclimbed the steep slope and emerged onto level ground do you begin to feel howmuch you’ve been hurting up till then. The bombing in Boston may very well haveleft this kind of long-term mental anguish behind.

Why? I can’t help asking. Why did ahappy, peaceful occasion like the marathon have to be trampled on in such anawful, bloody way? Although the perpetrators have been identified, the answerto that question is still unclear. But their hatred and depravity have mangledour hearts and our minds. Even if we were to get an answer, it likely wouldn’t help.

To overcome this kind of trauma takestime, time during which we need to look ahead positively. Hiding the wounds, orsearching for a dramatic cure, won’t lead to any real solution. Seeking revengewon’t bring relief, either. We need to remember the wounds, never turn our gazeaway from the pain, and—honestly, conscientiously, quietly—accumulate our ownhistories. It may take time, but time is our ally.

For me, it’s through running, runningevery single day, that I grieve for those whose lives were lost and for thosewho were injured on Boylston Street. This is the only personal message I cansend them. I know it’s not much, but I hope that my voice gets through. I hope,too, that the Boston Marathon will recover from its wounds, and that thosetwenty-six miles will again seem beautiful, natural, free.

Translated, from the Japanese, by Philip Gabriel.

Haruki Murakami’s most recent book to appear in English is“IQ84.” His latest novel has just been published in Japan.

Illustration by Ed Nacional.

網上也出現中文譯本了，轉載如下

波士頓，一位以跑者自居的世界公民——村上春樹

英譯／PhilipGabriel
中譯／Encore

 

在過去的三十年間，我跑了三十三次馬拉松。我的足跡遍布世界各地。但若有人問起哪裡才是我的最愛，我會毫不猶豫地回答：波士頓！我曾經在那裡參加了六次比賽。波士頓馬拉松為何會如此美好呢？答案很簡單：它是此類賽事中歷史最悠久的；路線周圍的景緻也十分美麗；另外——也是最為重要的——關於比賽的一切都是自然而然，沒有約束的。波士頓馬拉松並不是自上而下由政府牽頭，而是恰恰相反：在相當長的一段時間裡，它是在波士頓市民親切的擁護和周到的安排下平穩開展的。每當來到這兒，當初創設這個比賽的人們那時的心緒和氣息好像就浮現在我眼前，像是被籠罩在一層溫暖的光暈中，瞬間回到了魂牽夢縈的故地。這簡直就是魔法。其它的馬拉松固然也令人印象深刻，比如紐約城市馬拉松賽，火奴魯魯馬拉松賽，雅典馬拉松賽。然而，波士頓（對那些其它比賽的組織者們深感抱歉）馬拉松是獨一無二的。

總歸來說，馬拉松賽的優點在於競爭性的缺乏。對於世界級的跑者，他們之間的競爭當然會非常激烈。但是對於像我這樣（我相信對於絕大多數的跑者亦是如此）成績平平的普通參賽者而言，馬拉松絕不是一場競技。參加比賽無非是為了享受26英里的長跑體驗，而且行進途中你也的確樂在其中。慢慢地你開始感到一絲痛苦，這種痛苦逐漸加深加重，而最後正是這樣的痛苦讓你開始享受其中的樂趣。另外一部分樂趣則來自與你周圍的跑者共同分享這個糾結的過程。嘗試26英里的獨自跋涉，你就能體會到三小時，或者四小時、五小時純粹的折磨。這樣的折磨我曾經嘗試過，而且期望同樣的事情永遠也不要重演。但是，和其他跑者完成相同的距離這一點多多少少讓人覺得不再那麼備受煎熬。對於軀體而言這是艱苦的，那是當然的——怎麼能不是這樣呢？——但由此產生的團結一致的感覺會一路伴隨你通往終點。假如說馬拉松賽程是一場戰爭，那麼這是一場自身與自身之間的較量。

跑波士頓馬拉松時，當你轉過赫里福德街與博伊斯頓街交接處的拐角，一眼望向這條筆直而又寬闊的大街盡頭，科普利廣場上旗幟飄揚，這時你所能感到的興奮與慰藉是難以形容的。你即將依靠自身的力量完成比賽，但與此同時又是周圍的人們讓你不斷前行。志願者們抽出一天的時間義務向你伸出援手，路邊站立的人群為你加油鼓勁，你的前方與身後，參賽者們不懈地努力向前。沒有他們的鼓勵和支持，或許你無法完成比賽。沿著博伊斯頓街做最後的衝刺時，你百感交集，思緒萬千。你扭曲著臉頰揮灑汗水，但同時卻也在微笑。

* * *

我在波士頓市郊住過三年，其中在塔夫茨大學做了兩年訪問學者，短暫的休息後又在哈佛待了一年。在那期間，我每天早晨沿著查爾斯河的河岸慢跑。所以我了解馬拉松賽對波士頓市民的重要性，這座城市和在此居住的市民都以此為驕傲。我的許多朋友也都會定期參加比賽或擔任志願者的工作。所以即使相隔萬里，我仍然能夠想像得到波士頓人民對今年賽事發生的悲劇感到的痛心和沮喪。許多人在事發現場遭受了現實的物理性傷害，但更多的傷害則來自其他的形式。純潔的事物就此被玷污。而我，作為一個自稱跑者的世界公民，也因此受到了傷害。

悲傷，失望，憤怒，絕望混合交雜的情緒不會輕易消散。當我為《地下》這本紀實文學奔走調查，採訪1995年東京地鐵沙林事件的倖存者以及遇難者家屬的時候，我明白了這一點。你或許可以克服傷痛以至於過上「正常」的生活。但是，內心深處，你仍然在滴血。有些痛苦會隨著時間漸漸消失，但時間的流淌又會催生出新的痛苦。你不得不將它們分門別類，歸檔整理，然後理解它們，接受它們。你不得不在痛苦之上構建自己新的生活。

* * *

當然，波士頓馬拉松最廣為人知的路段就是心碎坡了。那是臨近終點處綿延4英里的一系列坡道。表面上看，心碎坡是最能讓參賽者感到筋疲力盡的地方。在波士頓馬拉松賽一百七十年的歷史中，各種各樣的傳奇都誕生在這裡。但你若真試上一試，你會了解那並不像人們之前描述的那樣嚴苛和無情。大多數參賽者爬上心碎坡都比預想中的要輕鬆一些。「嘿」，他們自言自語道，「其實也沒那麼糟糕嘛。」只要你為前方等待著你的，終點不遠處長長的坡道紮實做好心理準備，並儲存好足夠的能量以便臨場應對，從某種程度上來說，你就能夠順利過關。

然而事實上，只有當你征服心碎坡，跑下坡道，抵達城市街區的平坦地帶時，真正的痛苦才會來臨。你完成了最艱難的路段，似乎可以向著終點直線進發——這時，你的身體開始悲鳴，肌肉開始痙攣，腿像灌了鉛一樣沉重。至少，這是我每次參加波士頓馬拉松賽親身的體會。

精神的傷疤都是相似的。在某種意義上，只有過去一段時間，當你克服了最初的打擊，風浪開始平息的時候，真正的痛苦才會到來。只有當你爬上最陡的斜坡踏上平整的路面時，你才會感覺到當初上坡時所受的傷害。波士頓的爆炸很可能就會留下這樣長期的精神創傷。

為什麼？我不禁要問。為什麼一個像馬拉松這樣安寧的令人愉悅的場合非得以如此可怕和血腥的方式被踐踏呢？儘管嫌疑人的身份已得到驗證，問題的答案卻依舊尚付闕如。但我們的心卻已經被他們的憎恨與惡意割開。哪怕最終我們得到了答案，那恐怕也不會有所幫助。

克服這樣的創傷需要時間，在這期間我們要做的是樂觀地向前看。隱藏傷口，或者希求靈丹妙藥，問題並不會因此得到解決。復仇同樣也不能讓心靈得到慰藉。我們要做的是牢記傷口，凝視痛苦，不要移開視線，然後，真誠地，一絲不苟地，平穩地積澱我們的歷史。這或許需要時間，但時間是我們的盟友。

對我而言，我通過跑步，通過每天堅持不懈地跑步，來藉此哀悼遇難者們以及在博伊斯頓街受傷的人們。這是我所能傳達給他們的僅有的個人訊息。我知道這是微不足道的，但我希望我的聲音可以穿越時空，抵達彼岸。同樣，我也希望波士頓馬拉松賽能從傷痛中恢復過來，希望那26英里的路途看起來依然那麼美麗，自然，無拘無束。