英语学习网站An Ugly Rock
Jia Pingwa
Tr. 崽哥
In front of our house lay an ugly piece of stone, dark and ox-like, and to our eyes it was a repulsive existence. Nobody could tell when it first landed, and it seemed that nobody heeded it either. Except at the harvest of wheat. “Better move it away,” my grandma would complain, “this ugly thing, taking so much ground.” And that was when the front yard was covered with wheat grains to be dried.
My uncle had thought of incorporating it into a gable when he was building his own house, but the trouble was that it was extremely irregular, without any definite edge or plane. To chisel this rock open would make hard work of it, because from the river beach, which was not far, one could fetch whatever boulder he liked and it couldn’t be inferior. When his house had been finished, evidently my uncle didn’t consider this rock good enough for the flight of steps. One year there came a mason, who was invited to make a stone mill for us. “Use this rock,” my grandma suggested, “to save the trouble of moving one from another place.” The man gave it a look but shook his head, declining the suggestion on the grounds of its fine texture.
Yet not as fine as white marble, so words or patterns could be inscribed in it. Not as smooth as blue stone either; otherwise one could use it as a pad stone for fiber washing or beetling. There, in the yard, it lay silently. The pagoda tree did not project its shade onto it. And the flowers kept away from it. Weeds came up and then thrived. Tendrils straggled up. And over time the rock got stained with moss and black spots. We kids began to find it odious and once tried to dislodge it, but our combined might proved not equal to this task. We cursed it. We resented it. But there was nothing we could do about it other than leaving it as it was.
As if for compensation, on the top of the rock there was a depression, of a moderate size, which collected rainwater. Two or three days after rain, when the ground was already dry, the depression would remain watery and for quenching their thirst chickens would come and visit it. On the fifteenth day of each lunar month, we would clamber onto the rock in the evening, looking into the horizon and expecting the first appearance of the full moon. At this, Grandma would always give us a scolding, for she feared that we might fall from it. Indeed it happened one time, which was not a surprise, that I injured my knee falling off this rock.
We all despised it as an ungraceful thing. Really it was as unsightly as a rock could be.
One day our village was visited by an astronomer, who, while passing by our house, stopped when he spotted the rock, his eyes riveted on this abominable thing. He did not leave the village. A few days later, another party of visitors came, who concluded that the rock was a rarity – the remnant of a meteorite, which had fallen from the sky two or three centuries back. Soon there arrived a truck and with much care this uncomely thing was hauled away.
We were all amazed! This rock, so ugly and so odd, should have come from the sky! It might be what remained of a boulder once the goddess used to patch up the holes in the heavens. It had given off heat, and light too, in the atmosphere, and our ancestors might have noticed it high in the sky – it had given them light, dreams, and hope. After landing, it lay motionless in the dirt – and in the weeds, for hundreds of years at a time.
“Would you believe it!” my grandma exclaimed. “It’s so singular, but should be unfit as a stepping-stone or as building material for walls?”
“It’s painfully uncomely,” the astronomer said.
“Yes, a real eyesore.”
“But that’s what makes it a thing of beauty,” he said. “That’s its way of being beautiful, to look ugly.”
“To look ugly to be beautiful?”
“Quite,” the astronomer confirmed. “Ugliness, when taken to extremes, is beauty. It is a good-for-nothing rock, but unlike no other one. It is not created to be used as building material for walls or steps or be used as carving stone or as beetling stone. Not cut out for all such menial jobs. That’s why it could rarely avoid being ridiculed by the commonalty.”
Grandma reddened with embarrassment. So did I.
Now I was conscious of my shame as I was aware of the greatness of this stone. I even came to resent the patience with which it had endured all it had been through all the years. But in a flash I saw the greatness in its refusal to surrender itself to misunderstanding and loneliness. (827 words)
丑 石
贾平凹
我常常遗憾我家门前的那块丑石呢：它黑黝黝地卧在那里，牛似的模样；谁也不知道是什么时候留在这里的，谁也不去理会它。只是麦收时节，门前摊了麦子，奶奶总是要说：这块丑石，多碍地面哟，多时把它搬走吧。
于是，伯父家盖房，想以它垒山墙，但苦于它极不规则，没棱角儿，也没平面儿；用錾破开吧，又懒得花那么大气力，因为河滩并不甚远，随便去掮一块回来，哪一块也比它强。房盖起来，压铺台阶，伯父也没有看上它。有一年，来了一个石匠，为我家洗一台石蘑，奶奶又说：用这块丑石吧，省得从远处搬动。石匠看了看，摇着头，嫌它石质太细，也不采用。
它不像汉白玉那样的细腻，可以凿下刻字雕花，也不像大青石那样的光滑，可以供来浣纱捶布；它静静地卧在那里，院边的槐荫没有庇覆它，花儿也不再在它身边生长。荒草便繁衍出来，枝蔓上下，慢慢地，竟锈上了绿苔、黑斑。我们这些做孩子的，也讨厌起它来，曾合伙要搬走它，但力气又不足；虽时时咒骂它，嫌弃它，也无可奈何，只好任它留在那里去了。
稍稍能安慰我们的，是在那石上有一个不大不小的坑凹儿，雨天就盛满了水。常常雨过三天了，地上已经干燥，那石凹里水儿还有，鸡儿便去那里渴饮。每每到了十五的夜晚，我们盼着满月出来，就爬到其上，翘望天边；奶奶总是要骂的，害怕我们摔下来。果然那一次就摔了下来，磕破了我的膝盖呢。
人都骂它是丑石，它真是丑得不能再丑的丑石了。
终有一日，村子里来了一个天文学家。他在我家门前路过，突然发现了这块石头，眼光立即就拉直了。他再没有走去，就住了下来；以后又来了好些人，说这是一块陨石，从天上落下来已经有二三百年了，是一件了不起的东西。不久便来了车，小心翼翼地将它运走了。
这使我们都很惊奇！这又怪又丑的石头，原来是天上的呢！它补过天，在天上发过热，闪过光，我们的先祖或许仰望过它，它给了他们光明，向往，憧憬；而它落下来了，在污土里，荒草里，一躺就是几百年了？！
奶奶说：“真看不出！它那么不一般，却怎么连墙也垒不成，台阶也垒不成呢？”
“它是太丑了。”天文学家说。
“真的，是太丑了。”
“可这正是它的美！”天文学家说，“它是以丑为美的。”
“以丑为美？”
“是的，丑到极处，便是美到极处。正因为它不是一般的顽石，当然不能去做墙，做台阶，不能去雕刻，捶布。它不是做这些顽意儿的，所以常常就遭到一般世俗的讥讽。”
奶奶脸红了，我也脸红了。
我感到自己的可耻，也感到了丑石的伟大；我甚至怨恨它这么多年竟会默默地忍受着这一切？而我又立即深深地感到它那种不屈于误解、寂寞的生存的伟大。（1,032字）
