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豪3劣阪祷煤I億长江文艺出版社
 图书在版编目（C I P ）数据

2019年中国精短美文精选/王剑冰选编武汉：
长江文艺出版社，2020.1
（2019中国年选系列）
ISBN 978-7-5702-1391-7
I.①2…II.①王…III.①散文集一中国一当代
IV.①1267

中国版本图书馆CIP数据核字（2019）第259736号

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出版：7霍Gg阪嬉爆长江文艺出版社

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目杲

生命的写照/朱秀海 001

秋天去看孙犁先生/付秀莹 005

仰慕天柱山/韩小蕙 008

让沉默的河流说话/徐则臣 011

—剪梅红/李朝全 015

缙云访古/王必胜 019

驶向霞光的末班车/庞井君 023

空翠九峰图/杨方 026

三角洲/何立伟 029

环滁皆山水也/刘琼 033

—深切缅怀徐中玉先生/徐芳
难忘老师的笑容— 037

夜来风雨连清晓/王巨才 041

躲到海南过个冬/谭谈 045

里尔克：歌唱女神的祭司/艾云 048

诗酿的丹渠/李贯通 050

走进太清宫/梅洁 052
女作家的衣品/林那北 055

独自散步/黄亚洲 059

—人与长安都城的确立/张艳茜 061

前往武乡/肖克凡 065

舟行池杉湖/俞胜 068

告别一间房屋/廖华歌 071

笑娃/乔忠延 076

萨克斯的哀伤/叶浅韵 079

向着阳光生长/宓月 082

东夷小镇记/刘建春 084

爱石记/徐迅 087

陈子昂之死/陈鲁民 089

行走在节气里（节选）/周玉娴 092

汉阳造出的天地/王童 096

老船上岸/阿占 100

中国的"书神” /胡松涛 103

永远的西滩岛/葛道吉 106

闲暇时光里的僻静角落/王彪 108

春天来了，每一粒种子都饱含一个愿望/梁琴 110

苹果的味道/王怀宇 113

十万残荷/顾晓蕊 116

"仅仅听到风吹也是值得出生的” /逢金一 119

近乡情更怯/王艺桥 122

密林细雨茂兰路/张劲 125

楷树的光芒/蒋新 128
幽栖者/杨振零 133

遇到你是我的福分/李木生 138

古驿道上的灵潭村/陈惠琼 142

村庄来客/李光彪 144

甜蜜的语文课/秦湄耄 147

车站/连亭 149

飞起求生/赵主明 154

父亲/孙建萍 156

黄杭红/冯敏生 159

火纪的牛鞭/辛牧 162

饥荒/安宇影 166

向您敬礼！永不礼毕！ /聂虹影 170

芦花两岸雪/罗张琴 173

长岛观日/王维仁 176

王一贴与疗妒汤/袁占才 179

夜宿天竺111 /邹龙权 182

夜遇芒康/萧忆 185

—声妃子笑 古道几征尘/阚则思 188

瓜田喂曲/董华 191

望海/周莹 194

峰山小憩/杨景生 196

雨花台访梅/徐祯霞 198

在城市隧洞中穿行/孙善文 201

江边/华真一 204

乡村客车/刘星元 207
落日余晖/井国宁 210

家书•家教•家风/马骁 214

嫂娘/张岚 217

为一个村庄送行/张秀超 222

旧地址/张毅 227

父亲的石头宫殿/宋词 230

西行二题/任蒙 233
 生命的写照
朱秀海

当兵44年，仔细想来，刀刻般留在记忆中的军歌还真不少。但要说影响
最大、脱口就能唱的，至少有三首。
第一首当然是《三大纪律八项注意歌 》，说它是歌，其实是纪律条令。
它是我到新兵连后学会的第一首歌，你只要当过兵，都会终生难忘。
第二首歌就是《学习雷锋好榜样》了。新兵下连后指导员不在 ，我的老
连长姓麦，要给新兵上政治课，不知怎的听说新兵里头有一个我毛笔字还能
写两下子，就把我叫到连部，让我把这首歌抄到一张四整尺的白纸上挂起来,
找人教唱。他说我军宗旨都在里面，这首歌就是政治课，学会唱就知道该怎
么当兵了。学唱时就是大着嗓门吼，不求甚解。今天回头想来，老连长真是
懂政治，他的话没错，我们这些新兵入伍后首先要知道的当然是怎么当兵,
道理歌里面都有，简单地说就是要像雷锋一样忠于革命忠于党，爱憎分明，
立场坚定，艰苦朴素，做革命的螺丝钉，发扬集体主义精神 ，记住毛主席的
教导，全心全意为人民。这首歌和《三大纪律八项注意歌》一样天天唱，唱
着唱着，不懂也懂了。
除了它们，还有一支歌说天天唱都不准确、几乎是时时都在唱，它就是
《说打就打》。我当新兵是二十世纪的七十年代初。我所在的部队是四野的 6
纵17师，著名的“攻坚老虎”，我们团是师的第一团 ，自称“攻坚老虎头”，
从黑龙江打到海南岛 ，在海南战役中首创“木船打兵舰”的辉煌战例。那时
从早到晚都在喊打仗 ，除了执行营建任务，部队天天像歌词里写的那样练习
手中枪刺刀手榴弹。这首歌一直伴随着我当兵 、当班长，到师机关工作后又
回到连队当副指导员 。早上睁开眼出操时唱 ，上下训练场唱，行军拉练时唱，
开会时也唱，饭前列队时还唱，几乎到了一张嘴就是它的程度。
1978年12月，已经调到军区机关工作的我接到命令从驻地登上军列去
参战，马上又在另一支历史更加悠久 、战功更加显赫的兄弟部队—
—陆军第
—的每节车厢里，在到达集结地后的临时驻训地，在每一块
43军的127师—
战前应急训练场上，都听到了这首歌。可见那个年代全军都在唱这支歌。在
战争就要打响的日子里听这支歌真是热血沸腾啊，因为真的是说打就打了，
部队包括第一次参战的我天天练的仍然是手中枪刺刀手榴弹，而且像歌里唱
的一样，必须抓紧时间加油练，练好本领准备战。127师从井冈山一路打到
海南岛的天涯海角，从没打过败仗，这不打也罢了，真要打了，全师上下憋
着一口气打个样儿给对手看看 ，开战后果然势如破竹 ，四战四捷，临撤了还
打了敌人一个回马枪 ，那叫一个痛快淋漓！今天想起来，战前这首歌在部队
已经不是一首单纯的军旅歌曲，它成了每一名参战官兵向祖国和人民吼出来
的豪迈誓言。
二十世纪七八十年代，南部边境有过长达十年的战争。有的朋友知道我
两次上战场，问我在战场上大家唱什么歌 ，唱没唱过当时和战后那几首在全
国影响很大的歌，它们有一个共同特点就是初听激昂慷慨，仔细琢磨却又让
你柔肠寸断。我说没有，不但我，我的战友中也好像没人唱过，至少我没有
在战场上听人唱过。倒是有一首南斯拉夫电影《桥》的插曲《啊朋友再见》，
我在战场上听人唱过 ，自己也唱：

那一天早晨/从梦中醒来/啊朋友再见吧再见吧再见吧/ 一天早晨/从
梦中醒来/侵略者闯进我家乡/啊游击队呀/快带我走吧/啊朋友再见吧再
见吧再见吧/游击队呀/快带我走吧/我实在不能再忍受/啊如果我在/战斗
中牺牲/啊朋友再见吧/再见吧/再见吧/如果我在/战斗中牺牲/你一定把
我来埋葬……

所以会唱这首歌，首先是因为它的旋律非常俏皮，完全可以边行军边用
口哨来演奏。另一点就是同样上战场，这首歌表达的却是一种欢快的情绪,
不说兴高采烈吧，至少是高高兴兴，坦坦荡荡，志气高扬。没打过仗的人才
会以为人到战场上会哭呢。真到了战场上人们照样唱那些让人高兴的歌 ，不
会唱那些让人想哭的歌。
我们海军是个盛产优秀作曲家的军种 ，好听的海军歌曲不少。1993年夏
天，我有机会到了西沙群岛的金银岛。那时守岛官兵生活异常艰苦 ，岛际交
通只有一条炮艇，像金银岛这样远离西沙首府永兴岛的小岛，没有特殊情况
炮艇两个月才走一遭 ，给岛上带去大家盼望的信件和报纸，再将两个月来大
家写好的信件带回永兴岛，等待飞机和补给船运回大陆。那天我们出航时赶
上了台风，炮艇走了两天才到（中间不得不停靠到别的小岛上），电报早打
过去了，以至于炮艇还在海上，岛上小码头前就站满了望眼欲穿的守岛官兵。
我也是个老兵了，之前当过步兵和导弹兵，军区机关待过，上过战场，但是
—某守
到这么一座和祖国大陆远隔重洋的小岛还是头一回 。接待我的岛主—
—和我简单地寒暄了几句 ，就和他身边的官兵们一样扑向了那个
备营营长—
大大的邮件袋。它几乎刚刚从炮艇移上码头就被当场打开，邮件瞬间被抢光。
随后我就开始听到一个又一个延期欢乐和延期悲伤的故事 ：一名干部终于等
到了妻子的来信，知道生了儿子，这时距离儿子生下快三个月了； 一名新兵
看到家信后失声大哭 ，原来是祖母过世，三个月了，可想而知这个被延迟了
三个月的噩耗给他带来了多大的悲痛 。更多人接到的是平安家信 ，信里传递
的每一个信息都被他们反复咀嚼着，于是接下来的这个白天我在每一名官兵
表面的平静中都感觉到了他们每个人内心的波涛汹涌。岛主当然也感觉到了，
晚饭前让全体官兵列队，大声吼了一嗓子：“唱歌!”唱的就是那首在海军乃
至于全国脍炙人口的 《我爱这蓝色的海洋》。我这个老兵早就习惯了部队里
的吼歌，但是这一次，我还是被这群长年累月驻守在南海一座不为人知的孤
岛上被阳光晒得黨黑的汉子吼出来的歌声震撼了 ，他们又不像是在唱歌，而
像是面对那些他们看不到却又似乎一宜看得到的人们吼出自己的誓言了：

我爱这蓝色的海洋/祖国的海疆壮丽宽广/我爱海岸耸立的山峰/俯瞰
着海面像哨兵一样/啊/海军战士红心向党/严阵以待紧握钢枪/我守卫在
海防线上/保卫着祖国无上荣光！

晚上好像什么都过去了。我在岛上待了七天 ，天天听他们吼这首歌，也
在这七天里见识了金银岛和南海的美丽富饶 ，理解了这首歌在守岛官兵心中
的意义。那时金银岛完全没有开发 ，到礁盘上用只脸盆都能舀到斤把重的石
斑鱼。岛上一位年轻的副指导员领着我在礁盘上学潜水 ，在水下一一将西沙
特有的名贵的虎斑贝指给我，让我自己动手捉回去做纪念。我到过澳大利亚
的大堡礁，认为那里的珊瑚群比不上我当年在金银岛看到的珊瑚群。最让我
想不到的是，岛主居然是一位十几年前也和我一样上过战场的陆军战友，打
仗立功后读桂林步校 ，分配到海军，到这里守岛已经四年。至于还要守几年,
他说不知道。问到家里的情况，他笑笑说不说也罢，我也就没有多问。没什
么好问的，所有军人会遭遇的艰辛他同样会遭遇，但这一切并不会影响他和
他的兵像歌里唱的那样严阵以待紧握钢枪 ，守卫在祖国的海防线上，并在内
心深处真诚地为自己拥有这样一种天天都在牺牲的人生感到荣光 。话题回到
祖国的南海，他却像打开了话匣子，说个没完。他甚至提议为我晚上到礁盘
上搞一次钓鲨鱼活动 ，他说五月是鲨鱼到礁盘上交配的季节，也是岛上最热
闹的季节。你不亲眼去看看，就不知道什么叫“祖国的海疆壮丽宽广”。你
瞧，又说到了那首歌的歌词。
记不清是哪一年了，《军营文化天地》副主编江宛柳同志约我为他们写
一篇海军音乐大家吕远先生的专稿。吕远先生是海军艺术家中的常青树，从
二十世纪五十年代直到二十一世纪初 ，写出了大量优秀的音乐作品，我还在
上小学时就学唱他的 《克拉玛依之歌》《走上这高高的兴安岭》，后来他写的
一大批海军歌曲如《泉水叮咚响》等更是风靡全国。见到这位前辈我怀着一
腔真诚说：我真是听您的歌长大的，你的歌充满了感情。吕远先生同样非常
真诚地纠正我说：错了，你唱了我的歌，但抒发的是你自己的感情。吕远先
生是深得艺术真谛的大家，他说出了艺术作品和接受者的真正关系。我们从
穿上军装那天起就开始唱那些我们一定会唱的歌 ，感受着该感受的，经历着
该经历的，如果最后一定要总结一下，就不能不说在我们真正铭记的每一首
军旅歌曲里，都穿越般地回荡着在我们自己作为一名从军者的心声。它们不
是我们“自己的”歌曲，却是我们一生的心魂之所系，是我们生命的呐喊和
写照。

二O—九年五月六日
《解放军报》2019. 5. 16
 秋天去看孙犁先生
付秀莹

早想去孙犁故里看看的。
大约，不单是因为孙犁先生的文采 、人品和声名，也不单是为着，我也
是河北人，燕赵大地的慷慨悲歌，溥沱河水的日夜流淌，都在我的魂里梦里
了。然而，这心愿却是早就种下了的，埋藏了多年。丁酉年秋初，终于去了
孙遥城村。
一路上，过藁城，经深泽，往安平。只觉得故乡辽阔，山河浩荡。想起
少年时代的很多往事 ，如在昨日。而今，竟忽然走到了人生的中途。那些曾
共一段岁月的人，不知都去了哪里。
盛夏已逝，秋天降临了。天空高远，苍茫。天底下，是大片的田野，色
彩浓郁，质感粗栃，宛如颜料任性泼在画布上。田野里的庄稼成熟了，等待
着收割。空气里流荡着秋的气息，饱满的，丰盛的，甘美的，仿佛是一个孕
妇，安静而满足，带着沉甸甸的欢喜 ，还有微微的幸福的倦怠。有几块闲云，
悠悠地飞过来，飞过去。这是北中国的秋光呀。
村子不大，有一种日常的悠长的散淡和静谧。三五村人在自家门口坐着 ，
说闲话。见一干人来，竟然态度自如。人家院墙上写着几个大字，孙犁故里。
不知道谁家的花生已经收获了，在街边晾晒着，湿漉漉的，沾着新鲜的泥巴 。
我们顺手抓一把，剥开壳子就吃。也没有人管。新花生的滋味，仿佛这新秋,
丰美的，芬芳的，饱含着汁液，不是多么热烈，有一种羞涩的柔情在里面 。
走着走着，迎面便是一座青砖院落，看上去，是二十世纪三十年代北方民居
的风味，黑的大门，门楣上书几个大字，孙犁故居，是莫言的手迹。进得门
来，迎面是一个影壁，影壁前面种着一丛荷花。这个时节，荷花已经谢了，
那荷叶倒是高高下下 ，青翠宜人，亭亭的，在风中微微摇曳着。叫人不由得
想起那荷花淀上的盛景来，还有孙犁先生的名篇《荷花淀》里，那些纯朴勇
毅的乡村女子们，有侠骨亦有柔肠，到底是燕赵大地哺育的女儿。
房子的格局是外院套着内院 。外院有牲口房，磨房，门房，大车棚，还
有孙犁先生的著作碑林。进了二门，便是内院了。内院有正房三间两跨，东
西厢房，是极具中国风味的庭院 。院子里种着两棵树 ，一棵石榴树，一棵枣
树。屋门旁立着一只大瓮，是北方乡村常见的那种 ，黑色，有点笨拙，多用
来盛水，也有人家用来盛粮食。这样的院落，这样的树，这样的青砖瓦房,
秋风吹过，一院子树影光影摇曳，恍惚间好像是回到了我的芳村。中国北方
的乡村里，有多少这样的院落呢。那么亲切，那么熟悉，一股温情的潮水袭
来，又甜蜜，又酸楚。我不知道，这亲爱的乡村院落，是不是会感受到 ，一
个乡村游子内心里剧烈的摇晃。
北屋正房，迎门的条案上摆着孙犁先生的半身铜像。墙上是一幅中堂花
鸟，一只五彩斑斓的雄鸡，单足着地，抖着火红的鸡冠子，回首凝视。两旁
贴着对联，荆树有花兄弟乐，砚田无税子孙耕。
卧室在里屋。炕是那种北方乡村特有的土炕，铺着家织的粗布炕单，蓝
白相间的格子，朴素而明快。炕上摆着一张小炕桌，上炕的人须得盘腿而坐。
炕柜上放着几床被子 ，叠得整齐清爽。也是蓝白格子粗布被面 ，白被头。也
不知道，这被子是不是就是主人当年的旧物。这种家织的粗布，我是熟悉的。
那时候，乡下的女子，谁不会纺棉花织布呢。我很记得，母亲就有一双织布
的巧手。那种古老的织布机上，牛角梭哗哗哗哗飞来飞去 ，是那种民间劳作
的欢腾和热闹。布匹下了机子，还要染色。这种蓝白格子，是最经典的图案 。
几年前，我从老家带来一块，一直放在北京家中的衣橱里。那是母亲在世时
亲手织的，带着她的手泽，还有流年的消息。我常常拿出来，看一番，念一
番。北方的乡村女性，虽说是荆钗布裙，却细腻幽微。一颗蕙心一腔柔肠，
怕是都在这飞针走线的经纬之间了。难怪孙犁先生笔下有那么多好女子，叫
人心心念念难忘。炕旁边的桌子上，是一面老式镜子，底座上雕着花纹，同
我家当年的一样。窗子是那种老式的格子窗 ，糊着粉连纸。阳光透过窗子照
进来，落在炕上，落在对面墙上的镜框里。镜框里是一些老照片。孙犁先生
不同年代，跟家人的合影。那些好时光，都被定格在滔滔岁月里的某一瞬,
没有色彩，没有声响，只留下黑与白的刹那，刹那便成了永恒。照片下面的
柜子里，是孙犁先生的一些旧物，穿过的棉袄，戴过的帽子，那副著名的套
袖，蓝色的旧套袖，铁凝曾在一篇文章里写到过。而今，它们安静地在这老
屋里守候着，仿佛是在等待着有一天，旧主人风尘仆仆归来。
窗前的花池里种着一大丛花，灼灼的开得正盛，却叫不上名字。石榴树
上结满了果子。累累垂下来，把那枝条都坠弯了，只好用几根竹竿支撑着。
枣树上也结了很多枣 ，繁星一般，在枝叶里闪闪发亮。河北乡下有句话，七
月十五红半圈儿，八月十五枣落竿儿。那枣们虽刚红了半圈儿，却又甜又脆,
十分馋人。微风吹过，有熟透的枣落下来，噗的一声。
树犹在，而人已远行了。满树的繁华一院子的秋色，叫人莫名的惆怅,
莫名的伤怀。
秋风浩荡，吹过村庄，吹过田野，吹过这简朴的农家小院。中国有多少
这样的村庄呀。多少小民百姓在村庄里 ，世代更替。永世的悲欢，隐秘的心
事，都终被秋风吹散。散了，再也寻不到了。而文学，是抒发，是想象，是
铭记。是我们曾来过这人世一遭 、不容篡改的凭据。这普通的北方乡村的院
落，简朴，恬淡，沉默，然而，它注定是要留在中国文学史的书页间了。
想起来书房里，孙犁先生手书的那块匾额 ，大道低回。

《南方周末》2019. 5. 30
仰慕天柱山
韩小蕙

题记

安徽省有潜山市，古称“舒州”，乃古皖之源。其地面矗立天柱山，
巨峰开石花，傲世而独绝。自有人类活动的五千年来 ，女织男耕，钓叟
莲娃，日出而作，生生不息。只眼观其境，一派山清、水秀、人勤、地
丰的淡雅日常，不嗽蚁于闹世，避嚣嚣之争锋。仔细走进去，认真品味，
乃一块低调奢华的沃土……

仰慕天柱山，首先是仰慕天柱山的尊严。这是亘古洪荒的大自然杰作 ，
有世上最大一簇石峰花，雄武地绽开在天柱山顶。石峰花呈爆发式怒放状,
不知是在哪个春天，不知是被哪一夜忽然吹来的春风吹醒，于是在一阵天崩
地裂之后，便留下了永恒。唯有牡丹真国色，九州最美天柱花，伟哉，幸哉，
大自然格外施恩天柱山！
仰慕天柱山，是仰慕天柱山的内涵。群峰莽莽，奔腾而来，山浪峰滔，
岩呼石啸。一座又一座嵯峦腾起，一块又一块巨石发功，将满山的深绿、浅
绿、苍绿、翠绿、春华绿、夏荫绿、秋水绿、冬雪绿、青春绿、盛壮绿、苍
劲绿、天堂绿、意念绿、激情绿、曲折绿、坚强绿……高高举起，与天地人
同辉，和日月星竞耀，共真善美歌泣。
仰慕天柱山，是仰慕天柱山的厚度 。李白一步一回头，留下“待吾还丹
成，投迹归此地”的心愿。苏东坡游兴高飙之际，挥毫写下“青山只在古城
隅，万里归来卜筑居”。王安石虽累累被官场羁绊，内心却一直思念着 “水
泠泠而北出，山靡靡而旁围。欲穷源而不得，竟怅望而空归”的天柱山。黄
庭坚来得最是时候，石牛古洞前巧遇大画家李公麟 ，请他给自己画像之后 ，
迅即趴在石牛旁的大石上，神采飞扬地写下一首七言诗：“郁郁窈窈天官宅,
诸峰排霄帝不隔……石盆之中有甘露，青牛驾我山谷路。”
仰慕天柱山，是仰慕天柱山的坚贞。“孔雀东南飞，五里一徘徊”。徘徊
何以故？徘徊寻觅谁？原来，美丽的孔雀是在呼唤焦仲卿与刘兰芝，想探究
他俩是真的去了天堂，还是仍隐居在天柱山的某一座山峰里，绵绵不绝地演
绎着死生与共的爱情剧，这是中华民族文明史上罕有的男女平等情感剧啊。
仰慕天柱山，是仰慕天柱山的刚宜 。南宋末年（1265）,潜山人义兵长
刘源率领义军万余，在天柱山抗击元军，一直坚持战斗18年，直到牺牲于
此，留下名垂千秋的英名。其后，太平军将领陈玉成率部活动在天柱山区，
与清兵相持多年。再其后，抗日战争和解放战争中 ，中国共产党领导的红色
游击队，亦一直在艰苦卓绝的情况下，坚持战斗在天柱山的莽莽群山中。
仰慕天柱山，也是仰慕天柱山下的日常。一栋栋皖式徽派民居，粉墙，
黛瓦，马头墙高翘。墙面是白雪公主一般的洁白，青砖是七个小矮人似的玲
珑，错落有致地站在透明得发亮的山水里，把住在里面的男男女女 ，变幻成
下凡的神仙。
仰慕天柱山，也是仰慕天柱山的奋发。一代代才人辈岀，一家家儿郎脱
颖，一位位美女绰约。三国时候有大乔、小乔；东吴出了兼文学家、科学家、
数学家于一身的才子王藩 ；晚唐有诗词名家曹松；宋朝出了宰相王珪，还有
画出《五马图》的李公麟；明末有登第状元刘若宰，完成了《金瓶梅》的修
订；清初又涌现出桐城派代表作家 、皖江文化首创者朱书；晚清有京剧鼻祖
程长庚，率领徽班进京，创立了京剧这一国粹 ；后来的潜山徽派还涌现出余
三胜、程继仙、余叔岩等艺术名家；晚清又出了黄梅戏早期整编者洪海波,
对黄梅戏的兴起和发展做出奠基之功。中华人民共和国成立之后，又出了杂
技皇后夏菊花，黄梅戏表演艺术家韩再芬……而我个人最感念的 ，当然是著
名作家张恨水，不仅是小说圣手 ，还是一位杰出报人、渊博学者、丹青画家、
谦谦君子，留下3000万字著作，至今，《啼笑因缘》《金粉世家》等作品，
依然吸引着广大观众和读者……
仰慕天柱山，也是仰慕天柱山的传承。今天，就在我们身边，还在源源
不断地涌现出俊杰人物。一代宗师刘少斌，在天柱山的怀抱中长大 ，自创
“天柱山养生功”，某年随访战斗民族，甫一亮相即惊艳全场，以致一个又一
个洋弟子追随而来，甚至在山脚下建起“俄罗斯学艺村”，穿着对襟练功服,
终日浸淫在天柱山的纯净里。
仰慕天柱山，也是仰慕天柱山的基因。试看今日中国文坛，潜山籍作家
已有名声：简宁有诗歌、散文、影视剧等作品。徐迅以散文创作登上文坛,
已获全国煤炭乌金奖、老舍奖等多种文学奖项。汪惠仁聪慧俊杰，一举考上
南开中文系，现已主政百花文艺出版社，还写得一手童子功好书法……
最后，仰慕天柱山，是当年从余秋雨文章《寂寞天柱山》开始的。余先
生独辟蹊径的“安家”角度，卓尔不群的“寂寞”见识，点石成金的历史追
溯，滔滔不绝的宏大叙事 ，丰赡深厚的文化素养……无不震撼着我，使一座
陌生的天柱山，从此在心中深扎。正如一个人要有知音的理解，一座山也需
要经典的解读，否则，它就真的会寂寞、会被遗忘，直到地老天荒。
可惜我非古圣人 ，没有他们那种能把他乡当吾乡的气魄。不过，我也有
—仰慕天柱山，就常常来看看它。年年岁岁来拜谒，歌一曲，浮
能做的—
大白！

《人民日报》2019.7. 10
 让沉默的河流说话
在德黑兰国际书展上谈长篇小说 《北上》

徐则臣

2500年前，正值春秋时期，军阀割据，小国林立，地处南方的吴国的国
君夫差想北上征讨中原，于是开凿了一条名叫祁沟的运河，以此沟通长江与
淮河，运输兵士和粮草。这一段只有197公里。过了一千年，一个名叫隋的
王朝在中国西北的长安定都。第二代皇帝就是著名的隋炀帝杨广，此人在民
间被认为是个穷兵鞋武、骄奢淫逸、不务正业的君王，因为他执政的大部分
时间里都不在长安皇宫的办公室里 ，而是来回穿行在东都洛阳和南方的城市
扬州之间。为了更方便去扬州，他决定挖一条河，这样就可以从长安 、洛阳
坐船一直到达扬州。他要去扬州看琼花和美女。当然真实情况不是这样，他
是一个抱负高远、有雄才大略的皇帝，他在规划天下的时候，像诗人和作家
一样有丰沛的想象力,否则不可能设想出要在邢沟的基础上挖一条大河连通
大半个中国。当然他运气很不好，这条被后世称作隋唐大运河的人工河流，
成了 “亡隋之波”，杨广死了，但大运河留了下来。
到元代，蒙古人铁骑统一中国，定都大都，就是今天的北京 。也是意大
利人马可•波罗到中国的时期。那时候的北京风沙肆虐 ，物产贫薄，王公大
臣和无数的戍边将士的吃穿用度都跟不上，怎么办？南方富庶，苏湖熟，天
下足，必须把那里的好东西运过来 。怎么运？忽必烈皇帝决定不再绕路 ，把
隋唐运河疏通好，再裁弯取宜，水直接引到北京来，这样装满粮食和布匹的
船只就可以从鱼米之乡一路运将过来 。就是今天的京杭大运河 ，从杭州到北
京，1797公里，比原来少走了 900公里。这条河被用来运粮食，所以叫漕
河。漕者，以水转谷也。
我的长篇小说《北上》，写的就是这条河。
如果把这条河仅仅理解为舟楫之利 ，就是来来回回运运粮食和蔬菜 ，那
就错了。中国有五大水系，从南到北依次是钱塘江、长江、淮河、黄河、海
河，这五条大水都是东西走向 ，把中国的版图分割成了六块 ，这种分割导致
各部分之间政治、经济、文化、物产、气候等都有巨大的差异。水的力量人
类永远不能低估。这五大水系影响有多大？中国有个成语，南橘北枳，说的
是淮河以南产的橘子 ，到了淮河以北就变成了枳 ，一河之隔，水土不服，就
变成了另外一个东西。河这边的方言到了对岸 ，那边的人可能就听不懂 。这
个时候，又有一条大河，它从南到北把东西走向的五大水系贯穿了在一起,
就像人的大动脉从头到脚把身体里的各个血管支流连通起来一样 ，这条河,
就是京杭大运河。
我的长篇小说《北上》，写的就是这条河。
的确，京杭大运河自元朝开始，就不仅仅是一条南北走兵运粮之河，它
还是政治经济文化物候等诸方面交流融会的最重要的通道 。从秦始皇统一六
国开始，中国就开始进入大一统的政治模式 。隋唐以降，尤其元明以后，大
一统是中国政治的常态。很大程度上得益于这条大河，上行下达，上行下效,
帝国的权威可以通过一条河迅速地贯穿整个中华大地 ，国家与民族的认同感
与向心力，借助这条河。经济更不必说。中国有句老话：要想富，先修路。
京杭大运河就是那个时代的交通大动脉 ，名副其实的高速公路，漕运时代最
繁华的城市，几乎都分布在运河沿线。正因为物流通顺，商贸和交易才畅达,
南北融通相互补济，才可能成就后来的康乾盛世。
要想富先修路，这话也适用于文化。文化之“富”，也需要交通便利。
写《北上》时看过一则史料：清代苏州人汪琬在京城做官，某日一群同僚聚
众聊天，相互夸耀自己故乡多有特色，特产如何丰富。轮到汪琬，他谦虚地
说，敝乡“特产绝少”，但有一样。同僚问，哪一样？汪琬说，状元。一众
达官显贵不吭声了。汪琬的这做派，用今天的话说，叫“低调的奢华”。状
元在那时候，算是“文化之最” 了吧。他的底气从哪里来？列一个数据：有
清一代，自顺治三年(1646)开科取士，到光绪三十二年(1906)废止科
举，两百六十年间一共出了一百一十四位状元，苏州一地有二十六位 ，占了
近四分之一。为什么苏州文脉如此发达，源远流长？因为京杭运河经行苏州，
这里是交通要道。
中国古典文学中有四部著名的长篇小说，合称“四大名著”，可能早已
经都翻译成了波斯文 ：《红楼梦》《西游记》《水浒传》《三国演义》。没有京
杭大运河，可能这四大名著都不一定有问世的机会。曹雪芹的祖父曹寅，当
年康熙皇帝的红人，一度受命在扬州刊刻《全唐诗》，每次康熙皇帝沿运河
下江南，曹寅都负责接待。运河边的经历影响过曹寅 ，肯定也影响到了后来
的曹雪芹。在《红楼梦》中，林黛玉进北京，就是坐船走的运河，在北运河
的大码头、通州的张家湾上的岸。《西游记》作者据考是吴承恩 。吴承恩生
长在淮安河下古镇，该镇是京杭大运河沿线的重镇，曾是清朝特派盐运使驻
地。这个小小的镇子，明清两代出过67名进士、123名举人、12名翰林。没
有运河就不会有河下镇，没有河下镇就没有吴承恩 ，没有吴承恩也就不会有
今天我们读到的《西游记》。从吴承恩故乡沿里运河南下，很快就到了《水
浒传》作者施耐庵的老家，江苏兴化。只有对水边生活极为熟悉的人，才可
能把水泊梁山的聚义生活写得如此地道，而小说中的梁山 ，也地处运河边上。
《三国演义》的作者颇多争议，一说罗贯中，一说施耐庵，一说施耐庵与罗
贯中合著，不管哪一种说法更接近真相，都与运河有关，因为罗贯中据说是
施耐庵的弟子。老师生活在运河边上，弟子料想也不会跟运河绝无瓜葛。此
四大名著之外，中国古典文学中还有一部“奇书”《金瓶梅》，小说的故事背
景地清河县实为山东临清还是远在淮安的清河 ，跟运河都断不了关系。没有
这条大河，也断不会有《金瓶梅》。
由此，我们可以理宜气壮地说，这一条大河，不惟繁忙地转运了粮草,
也不仅是政治权威贯彻的通道，还是一条融会文化乃至催生新的文化与文明
的要道。如此评价这条河依然不够，因为深究下去，中国人的思维方式和内
陆文化的形成，都可以在这条浩荡的大水中部分地找到源头。有学者认为:
中国文明的讲述，说到底就是讲清楚两件事 ，一个是横着的长城 ，一个是竖
着的大运河，两件事弄妥了，中国的过去和现在就都明白了 。鄙人才疏学浅,
不敢妄断这结论是否一定科学 ，但以我对这条河的理解 ，此言非虚也。这也
正是我决定以《北上》写这条大河的理由之一。
但我是个小说家，不管你的书写和探讨的对象如何高深、伟大，你都要
以小说的方式去呈现。小说靠什么？人物，故事，细节，结构，语言，如同
一座宏伟的建筑，你必须从一块砖 、一片瓦开始，沉着笃定地一点点垒起。
所以，我虚构了一个意大利人，他在1901年春天的某一天，沿着京杭大运河
北上，去寻找他的入侵中国的弟弟，另一个意大利人。他在北上的途中与随
行几个中国人，翻译、保镖、脚夫、水手，建立了生死与共的关系 。在抵达
大河尽头时，他不幸离开了这个世界，但那些中国人，那个潜藏在中国的弟
弟，他们以及他们的后人 ，从此与这条河结下不解之缘。：1901年，作为漕运
的大运河结束了自己的历史使命；2014年，那些与大运河怀抱不解之缘的后
人们，在这条大河边再次相聚。于是，汤汤大水成了一面镜子，映鉴出一百
多年来中国曲折复杂的历史，和几代人深重纠结的命运。一条河流的历史,
是几代人的历史 ，也是一个民族的历史 ，只是，这一种家国历史是以个人的、
隐秘的、日常的、细节的方式呈现出来。
小说还需要什么？激情与爱。我从小生活在水边，在这条大河边也曾生
活过多年，这条绵延近两千公里的长河成为我认识和想象这个世界的最重要
的方法和尺度。它是我生活的沉默的背景，写《北上》，我要做的就是让沉
默者开始言说，把多少年来我听懂的这条河的故事，以文字的形式讲述出来。

《人民日报》（海外版）2019. 6. 26
 一剪梅红
李朝全

其实我早就听说东方梅园吴晓红的大名，2013年参观过他创办的古木博
物馆。这座博物馆位于湖州市太湖之滨，展出的古木千奇百怪 ，各具神采,
为我前所未见，因此那时就对古木博物馆的主人感到好奇。时隔数年的早春,
我终于有缘见到他。
他身材中等，衣着非常简单朴素。但就是这样一个人，居然做成两桩常
人难以想象的事业 ：一是把青梅树嫁接成红梅树，在全国各地搞起红梅产业;
再一个是在湖州等地创建古木博物馆和关于古木的研究体系，使散落于自然
界的枯木变成古木产业 。当然，令我印象尤深的，还是他“青梅嫁接红梅”
的传奇故事。
早在二十世纪八十年代，江南青梅种植兴盛。青梅大多可做梅酒、蜜饯、
梅精，在食品、药品和饮料行业中用途广泛。全国青梅产地中，长兴青梅栽
培有一千多年历史，素有“青梅之乡”的美誉。县内林城、小浦、泗安、二
界岭等乡镇均有大规模的种植基地，到2001年底，青梅种植面积达到五万
余亩。
青梅树于春寒料峭时开白色花 ，绵延数十里，惊蛰花谢结青梅，于清明
即可采摘。在青梅种植兴盛时，许多青梅树由于树龄老化 ，结果的数量和质
量不断下降。由于树不结果，当地农民的做法通常是将树砍去，再种下新的
树苗。青梅树生长数十载，树干虬枝屈伸，造型极佳，这对于视“树卜头”
（干枯的树根和树干）为珍宝的吴晓红来说 ，很是心疼。
吴晓红年轻时是一名出色的木匠 ，他做木头物件不循常理 ，不遵老套,
总是千方百计想着如何创新，所以年纪轻轻已练就一身好手艺。
平时一空闲下来，他就往山上跑，带个饭团就能在山上待一整天。捣鼓
着挖树根，找“树卜头”，每次下山时往往裤脚都被撕得不成样子，且满手
满脚的泥土，让妻子又心疼又无奈。但因得了形态各异 、不同树种的“树卜
头”，吴晓红就狂喜，一回家就一心扎入盆景造型中。他拥有一个盆景园，
其中百余株盆景树秀石润，令人赏心悦目。
从出色的木匠到盆景师 ，吴晓红天生对木充满亲切的感觉。中年时期，
吴晓红又独辟蹊径，执着地收集各种古木，松花江的浪木、四川盆地的乌
木……各个古木系列的艺术品一应俱全。
吴晓红知道，这些古木看似“木头”，其实却是遗落在自然界的杰作,
随时间的推移、环境的破坏会越来越稀少。他把它们聚集在一起，不但可以
研究每一棵植物的生长和变迁过程 ，还可以让下一代读懂这些木头身上的历
史和故事。这不仅是对环境的保护，更是对社会的责任。
1998年，视木为宝的吴晓红开始关注到长兴因不结果而被砍伐掉的青梅
树。他想，一株株青梅树沐风雨、汲天地之灵气数十载，风姿已成，不仅具
有丰富的艺术观赏价值，亦是不可多得的造景奇材。假使对青梅树进行造景,
那就得嫁接红梅枝条。
红梅树干生长缓慢，宜径都较细，如果二者能成功结合在一起 ，将相得
益彰，定能有全新的视觉效果。他有了大胆的设想，尝试运用现代园艺育苗
技术，将原先开白花的青梅嫁接成开红花的观赏红梅，这样便可以挽救这些
濒临砍伐的青梅树桩。
他想，小小梅桩盆景都能通过嫁接开出梅花，那么在老的青梅树根树桩
上能否进行嫁接，让这个能挂果的青梅树变成会开花的梅树呢？他遐想，最
好这个青梅老树开的是红花，开的是红梅，在腊月初春的季节，红梅怒放一
定是一道亮丽的风景 ，而且也能带来喜庆吉祥的气氛。
正好他的盆景园中就有一株红梅小盆景，花开犹如朱砂，颜色艳丽，吴
晓红就想拿来试一试。他切下一小根枝条 ，将它嫁接到院落里一株老青梅
树上。
2001年初春，嫁接的小红梅在寒风中努力地绽放出一粒小小的花苞，露
出一点点红色。吴晓红心里“咯噎” 一下，惊喜地跑到梅树旁仔细地察看,
果真，那枝新嫁接的红梅已经开出娇弱的小花。
他的脑子里立刻闪现出一个新的念头，他要将更多的青梅老树进行嫁接 ,
通过嫁接变成红梅 ，这有可能会带来一个新的产业。
就在这一年春天，长兴青梅大获丰收 ，却卖不上价钱，原先一公斤四元
钱，现在只能卖四角钱，还不够成本。许多果农伤心不已，拿起斧头就准备
砍掉青梅树，而砍下的果树也只能当柴火烧，或有烧不完的柴火，就只能按
照一百斤三四元的廉价卖掉……
吴晓红得知这个消息后，赶紧到林城镇去。他看到那些被砍下的青梅老
树，知道自己来晚了，心疼不已。他对梅农们说：“不要再砍了！我们总有
办法的。”
梅农反问他：“青梅卖不出价钱，你又能怎么样呢？你能把这些梅子都
收去吗?”
他回答：“梅子可以不要，但树不能砍。”
“梅子都不要了，那你还要树干吗呢?”
“我要把它们嫁接成红梅。”
“嫁接成红梅，那又有什么用呢?”梅农们很纳闷，百思不得其解。
他们继续抡起手里的斧头。
“不要再砍了！我把你们这些梅树都买下来 ，你们看卖多少钱合适?”吴
晓红大声地喊道。
“你要买树?”梅农们不约而同地停下了手中的活，仿佛不相信自己的
耳朵。
“你买它们干啥呢？能当饭吃吗?”他们反问道。
其实，那个时候吴晓红自己心里也没有底，但是，他决心要把这些老树
买下来，把它们嫁接成红梅。这可都是活了几十年的老树 ，一棵棵树就是一
个个活生生的生命啊 ！
他以一棵树五元钱的价格买下了本来将被砍做柴火的老树。
除了买青梅树，他还把那些种青梅树的土地承包下来。租了一千多亩地,
一亩地一年租金四百多元。
他和梅农们签下一张张合同,一笔笔钱款打到村民们的手中。
梅农们又惊又喜。他们高兴的是，老吴帮他们解决了自家的大难题 ；担
忧的是，老吴买了青梅树不会亏本吗？
全县的青梅地有数万亩，光林城地区就有两万余亩。一下子要购得那么
多的树和土地，资金哪里来？吴晓红想到家里的房子。
这时，一直默默支持着他的妻子忧心忡忡，欲言又止，最后轻轻地说:
“晓红，我知道你喜欢和木头打交道 ，你以前买那么多古木我也没拦着，现
在你也退休了，当兴趣爱好不可以吗，你还要把家里的房子卖掉 ，你真的有
把握在青梅树上把红梅种活? ”
吴晓红心里不由又“咯嗜” 一下，红梅嫁接只在家中的盆景上试验成
功，但在大棵的梅树上还缺乏实际的操作经验 。然而箭在弦上，不得不发，
他看着相濡以沫的妻子，用坚定的语气回答 ：“你放心，一定行!”
就这样，五十八岁的吴晓红花了三百多万元，把青梅树和土地一起承包。
谁也看不懂他想干什么。
把青梅树买下，把地租下来后，老吴开始对青梅进行高位嫁接。
 他笑着对我说，他喜欢一心一意做事的感觉，而且做的事当时都是大家
不能理解和接受的。
的确如此，怎么来形容当时的情形？没有学习和借鉴的范例，没有退路,
没有迂回，更没有办法后悔，他唯一能想到的，只有一头扎进去，一心一意，
摒弃所有的杂念，把“红梅”种好。
别人看到他用高位嫁接法都感到很惊奇 。北京有一位花木学博士 ，认为
在青梅上嫁接红梅是不可能的，但是吴晓红硬是把它嫁接上去。
通常，嫁接都是在砧木顶部进行，但是，如果嫁接在砧木树冠的顶端,
风一吹就会把那个嫁接上去的芽折断，新苗长不牢。
吴晓红想出一个新招 ，他将嫁接的枝条往下移一点，在树干上进行嫁接，
再用绳子把它绑好 ，等过一两年长好以后就不再怕风吹雨打，这时再对上面
的树冠进行修剪。他不仅能够在树干上嫁接，还会“腹接”，在树的任何部
位上嫁接都可以。以前他当农民时，给桑树、桃树都这么嫁接过，这方面很
有经验。当他把那些嫁接桑树桃树的经验应用到青梅树上时 ，实际上还是冒
了点风险的，但是结果却成功了。
第二年春天，第一批青梅基地上嫁接的三千余棵青梅树上，红梅枝条的
存活率达到了百分之九十。这一株株“红梅树”均已有十几二十几年的生长
期，树干造型遒劲有力，姿态各异，龟裂的树皮写尽岁月的沧桑 ，而枝头绽
放的红梅又烂漫无比 ，真是老树新梅，阳刚柔美，锦上添花。这奇特的糅合
与创意，流泻出自然造物的神奇和生命的力度。
中国的梅花可以入画入诗。以前的梅树往往是娇小的，没想到吴晓红居
然能嫁接岀这么大株的红梅，于是全国各地的人纷纷前来学习长兴红梅的嫁
接技术。
吴晓红的红梅嫁接成功了。他向周边的农民赠送了十万株红梅枝条 ，并
且帮助他们嫁接 ，带动大家一起来发展长兴的红梅事业。一剪梅红美如斯,
恰是吴晓红奋斗创新的生命写照。

《人民日报》2019. 3. 25
 缙云访古
王必胜

人间四月天，缙云好风日。
清晨，在浙南缙云县的好溪旁，听溪水潺潺，闻小鸟碉啾。有农家夏种
的忙碌身影，也有垂钓者怡然闲情。“漠漠水田飞白鹭，阴阴夏木唏黄莺。”
云淡风轻，只是流水与偶尔来往的电动车，留下一些动静。
这是一条平缓清澈的溪流，也是缙云县AAAA级仙都风景区的起点。长
桥卧波间，田畴阡陌，墟烟依依中，水岸葱茏，粗壮的香樟，挺拔蔵蕤，繁
茂的榕树，曲虬纷披，又有紫藤缭绕，绿苔森森，夏花娇艳，水的世界也是
绿色天地。
十数公里的步行绿道，依溪而建，是当地政府近来提升大众健康指标的
惠民举措。沿道而行，牵连起一个个景点和故事。缙云，自周以来就有建制 ，
凡一千三百多年。而好溪，旧时因水害严重，叫恶溪，后经历代疏浚，变水
害为水利，其名也改恶为好 ，近处一座小山也附带名为好山。山水以好名之,
简直，好记，实为鲜见。
好溪发源于邻县磐安 ，流入瓯江，在缙云县境四十多公里 ，因不同地段
又有不同的别称。好溪与新建溪、永安溪一道，是缙云七镇八乡的母亲河。
行走在这条健身步道上，确切地说，是走在古老的好溪边上 ，目迷风景，
次第转换，仿佛走入长长的历史通道。新时代，新追求，社会发展、振兴乡
村建设，风云际会，从古老的历史与现代风情的交汇中，人们见识了缙云大
地这方山水的风华。
往事越千年。唐代天宝七年某日，月夜下的缙云山 ，鼎湖峰，鸾翔凤集，
而黄帝祠、朱潭山、好溪等山水景致 ，缥缈空灵，祥瑞之气如仪，松风樟影
之声如仙乐飘响，喜得当年的苗姓知县颇为兴奋，立马上报朝廷说，鸾凤祥
集，好兆头，难得人间仙景，于是，唐玄宗赐“仙都”二字，改缙云山为仙
都山。为此，这仙都之名，在历代有关文字中出现 ，也有书家刻字悬于摩崖
高台。山为仙都，景点也以此冠名。
 仙都，一个诗意、有来历的名字。缙云，又是传说中黄帝的名号。当年
的黄帝夏官的名头就是缙云，于是，这就有了与华夏人文始祖轩辕帝的因缘。
仙都风景区之北 ，步虚山半坡处，绿树掩映中有一幢三进的院落黄帝祠
堂，又名轩辕殿。始建于东晋，传为轩辕帝东巡行宫，与陇西黄帝陵并称为
“北陵南祠”，成为香火旺盛的南方祭拜黄帝的重地 。缙云祭祀黄帝历史悠
久，可追溯到西汉时期，汉郭宪《洞冥记》曾有记载。公祭黄帝典礼，于
2011年入选国家非物质文化遗产名录。原殿几经毁损又几次修复，华堂大
轩，黛瓦赭墙，匾牌高悬，塑像威仪。缙云的“黄帝文化”研究为近年来学
术盛事，早在2000年、2004年，先后举办了 “国际黄帝文化研讨会”，出版
论文，纵深开掘，着力研究“黄帝文化”在南方的意义。
轩辕殿右首，一尊巨石，拔地而起，高耸天穹。它高约一百七十米 、宽
二十多米，底部面积2400米，长形，独峰，像石柱、石峰、石笋、石壁，没
有名称。或者是你心中的那个想象 。惟鬼斧神工，天地造化才可解释。据考
证，巨石为“火山喷溢堆积的流纹岩台地 ”，亿万斯年，风化、淬炼，形成
了如此的高度和体量 ，誉为“华夏奇峰”。从飞机上拍摄的照片看，石顶有
数百平方大小的凹坑 ，草木萋萋，形如鼎状，于是有了鼎湖峰之说。石壁主
体，风雨剥蚀，经年累月，仍可见簇簇绿苔，或悬挂几株小树。巨石脚下水
面开阔，是好溪的支流练溪，时有山泉浸入，清澈平缓，一条长长的可步石
桥，连通东西。115米长、75节徹的“单梁凝灰岩石板梁桥”，是清代的遗
物，既可通行，也是一道景观。走上桥墩，鞋可及水，亲水近绿，颇受胆大
者们喜爱。远看，独峰伟岸，高接云天，恰如宋代王桎的《缙云县仙都山黄
帝祠宇》诗中所写，“庙前仙石表今古 ，屹立霄壤争雄尊 ”的景象。山妩水
媚的缙云横空出一尤物，雄奇挺拔，惊艳世人。因此，当地人敬为“石头大
神”，与毗邻的黄帝祠宇一道，护佑了仙都山水的安宁与华美的。
缙云的历史浸润在这些老物件中，一条古溪，一个祠堂，一棵老树，一
方石峰，足可骄人。然而，浙南的山水名胜 ，也是古来诗家文人流连之所,
华章词句为千百年所传诵。晋代谢灵运在《归途赋》中写了在缙云的见闻：
搜缙云之遗迹，漾百里之澄潭，见千仞之孤石。南北朝的陶弘景，唐代李白、
白居易，宋、明的王十朋、朱熹、汤显祖，清代朱彝尊、袁枚等人，都留下
了墨迹或诗文。
缙云为苍括山一脉，属丘陵地貌，丹霞地、火山岩、花岗石等为其特色。
仙都山有几处幽深洞穴 ，最大的倪翁洞，为时任知县的唐代大书法家李阳冰
所题名，圆润结实的篆体朱笔 ，嵌在山坡石头上，格外醒目。倪翁洞是当年
范蠡的老师计倪因避难，周游浙南，隐姓埋名，驻足此洞讲学读书的地方。
后人纪念计倪取名为倪翁洞。幽深的洞中，留有一些后人镌刻，赞颂他的行
为操守。李阳冰为李白的族叔，他为缙云县令时，喜好收集崖壁题字，他擅
长篆体，誉为“篆圣”，他题的“黄帝祠宇”的碑刻等，弥足珍贵。据统计,
缙云石刻最早为唐朝，最多的在宋代。唐朝至清代共达99件。有关缙云的诗
文辞章中，记录山川形胜，咏怀述史，最早的是南北朝的田园诗人谢灵运,
白居易的一首《咏鼎湖峰》诗，“黄帝旌旗去不回，片云孤石独崔巍。有时
风激鼎湖浪，散作晴天雨点来”，流传久远。清代袁枚自永嘉西行到缙云,
写有《游仙都峰记》，记叙了当时差点与仙都风景失之交臂的趣事，传诵
一时。
与倪翁洞相近的独峰书院，面朝好溪，背依好山。四合小院，曲径通幽，
苔痕苍翠。这是当年朱熹的讲学地。宋淳熙九年，因被指派出外巡察、政事
烦扰，又因浙东学派包括永嘉、金华、永康学派的兴起，他从江西辗转于浙
东南再前行八闽讲学交友，在数地盘桓后，来到好溪边的好山脚下。这里的
读书风气让他停下了脚步 。他举办学堂，交友访学，“于此藏修为宜”，自嘲
“解鞍磅礴忘归去，碧涧修竹似故山”。多年后，陈氏兄弟等为纪念老师，在
讲学处设纪念堂，到了南宋绍定元年，重建为独峰书院。再后重修已是近来
的事了。我们来时，清明节刚过不久，细细小雨少见人迹，空落的院子，只
闻松涛水声。或许，这个修竹茂林的僻静地 ，远离尘嚣，应和自然天籁，是
读书问学的本真。学术与学问本是哲人的面壁修行，需要静养寂默之功。院
中有一棵已逾八百年的银杏，超过了书院年龄，老树长有一大树瘻 ，长约一
米，像只小动物依偎于母体，听说还在生长。奇异顽强的自然生命，对人文
精神有一种呼应，抑或是默默地承续。
浙南丽水一带有不少古村落，保持完好，形制也特别，成为相当规模的
最美古村的样板。众多的古迹中，缙云千年古村落河阳民居 ，恰似一颗偌大
的活化石，熠熠生辉。
公元932年，原吴越国钱武肃王掌书记朱清源兄弟，为避五季之乱迁徙
于此，河阳成为一个以宗族为纽带 、聚族而居的村落。这里，有十大宗族庄
园式的古民居建筑群，十五座明清的古祠堂，一千五百间古民房 。宋代古刹
福昌寺，元代的“八士门”，明太祖御赐的石“稀罕”，清代的公济桥，以及
艮国的欧式建筑 。题在白墙上的古诗、挂在门楣上的古匾额，驮着屋梁的木
雕砖刻，贴在窗台的而今仍葆有生气的河阳剪纸，是见证河阳历史文化脉动
的精彩华章。
最为壮观的是高低起伏、气势恢宏的马头墙 。答樵路的马头墙群，是河
阳古建筑宏大艺术群雕中的翘楚。它建于清道光年间，沿街面不同的屋宇整
体相连，开成32个体态不一的“马头”骑墙，绵延90米，错落有致，黑白
相间，给人一种明丽素雅和层次分明的韵律美感，远远看去好似32匹骏马奔
腾齐飞，一往无前。
河阳村多为朱姓人氏 ，世代重学崇文，其地名和牌楼的取名也与此有关,
像“八士门”，因宋元时期村里屡有士子荣登进士 ，族中建楼门以志纪念 。
尤其是崇尚礼教、耕读传家，一些巷子、祠堂取名为“廉让之间”“耕凿蹦
遗风” “义田公所” “公济桥”“循规”等。悠悠文脉，千年传承，除了 8位
进士外，另有24位诗人，形成了影响一方的“义阳诗派”，著有八卷本《义
阳诗派》诗集，是浙南近代民间文学的收获。
行走在千年古村，苍老的青石路，古朴的石雕砖雕，围屋似的院落，历
史的气味让人感受到旧日时光的氤氤，所谓乡愁，就是从这些显见的文化遗
存中浸出，然而，那些悠闲与忙碌的生活节奏，也同时在这古旧村落呈现。
走出村口，看见不少人家门前，泛青的门石上，有各种鲜艳的花盆，尤其是
一种叫不出名字的花 ，形似灯笼，黄红的条纹，明丽灿然，鸡蛋大小，在青
瓦白墙反衬下，格外艳丽、喜兴。

《人民日报》2019. 6. 5
 驶向霞光的末班车
庞井君

三十年前冬至傍晚的那一抹霞光 ，似乎一直照到今天 ，现在回想起来还

是那么耀眼夺目。
那一年我还在承德北部大山里当中学老师 ，想报考中央党校哲学专业的
研究生。研究生报名结束前一天的下午，我从100多里外的荒地乡中学带了
两瓶当地名酒玉宴琼浆，赶到表姐家。考研究生表姐夫是不支持我的，他说:
“你是一个连高中和大学都没上过的'小中专 ’毕业生，怎么可能考上北京
名牌大学的研究生呢？你要是考上，我在县城整条街上给你摆酒席!”表姐
在县电影院工作 ，是个文化人，比较同情我。表姐夫禁不住她的嗔怪和唠叨，
答应去教育局找人帮忙。
第二天早晨，表姐夫提着我那两瓶酒出去了，快到中午时，空着手回来,
不耐烦地告诉我说，酒送给了那个副局长 ，他做不了主，答应下午帮着去问
局长。中午吃过饭，他叫我在家里等 ，他去教育局问。没多大工夫，表姐夫
提着两瓶酒回来了，冷冷地告诉我：“局长说你这是痴心妄想要跳槽，全县
3000多教师都去考研究生，谁来教学？你就死了这条心吧!”我感觉自尊心
受到伤害，一肚子怨气没处撒，就大声说：“不用你管，我自己去找!”说
完，像牛一样，头也不回，宜奔教育局，气得表姐夫在后面一阵乱吼。
到了教育局那个小灰楼，还没到上班时间，办公室门全关着，楼上楼下
转了好几圈，一个人也没碰到。正在二楼最东头的楼梯口徘徊时，一个老大
爷提着大铝壶走过来，他在给办公室送开水 ，一个一个地轻轻敲门，笑呵呵
地进去，点着头，弯着腰，慢慢地退出来。他从我身边经过两回 ，看出我焦
躁不安的样子，就问我找谁，我说找局长，有急事。他问我约好了没有 。我
说刚刚从乡下赶过来 ，没来得及约。他便给我递了个眼色。我明白他的意思，
就跟在他的后面，沿着二楼逼仄的楼道一直往西走，快到尽头的时候，他朝
靠南边的一间没有门牌的办公室努努嘴，又凑近我的耳边低低地叮嘱：“千
万别说是我告诉你的!”说完，便提着大壶向楼道东边走去。一缕冬日暖阳
从楼道西边那扇斑驳迷蒙的窗户斜斜地射进来，把他的影子拉得很长很长 ，
从壶嘴里冒出的水汽随着他蹒跚的脚步 ，缓缓地漾在阳光映射的空气里 ，使
那些散乱飘浮的尘埃显出淡淡的温润和色泽。
我转过身来，站在局长办公室门前，定了定神，鼓了鼓勇气，轻轻地敲
了一下门，仔细听了听，没动静，又鼓足了勇气，再敲了一下，还是一点反
应都没有，门里面是一团沉沉厚厚的沉默 ，那种沉默叫人越发紧张。我不知
屋里有没有人，又鼓起了最大的勇气去推门，没想到门居然很容易就推开了。
猛然映入眼帘的正是传说中的局长 ，我在一次大会上远远地看到过他。他坐
在靠窗子的办公桌后边，见我突然闯进来，很不高兴。先是射过来一道凌厉
阴冷的目光，接着就是一串夹杂着权势的训斥。我争辩说，国家有政策，鼓
励教师学习深造。他问有文件吗？我掏出几个月前从中央党校要来的招生简
章,递给他说，“这个算不算?”那时候中央党校理论部招研究生的计划是和
其他主体班次列在同一个招生简章上的，并且是和中组部、中宣部联合发文。
他用眼角在中组部、中宣部的两个红红的大章子上瞟了一眼，没有说话，而
是静静地看招生条件那一块 ，突然大声地说：“你看看，你看看，堂堂的中
央党校，文件上居然有错别字，怎么能把学历写成学力，真是笑话!”我战
战兢兢地说：“局长，同等学力的'力 ’就是力量的力。”我话音未落，他便
勃然大怒，啪的一声把文件摔在桌子上，站起来大声说：“我一个堂堂的教
育局局长，在高中教了那么多年语文，难道连这个还不知道吗？你一个从小
中专刚毕业的乡下老师有什么资格教育我? ”我吓得连连赔不是，并一个劲
地说是中央文件搞错了。他稍稍平息了一下怒气，接着问：“你说你具备大
学本科同等学力，怎么证明?”我把报名表拿出来，上边列满了我自己填的
大学哲学课程和哲学书目。他轻蔑地翻了一下，接着说：“这不行，这都是
你自己填的，我怎么知道你学过，怎么知道你有这个水平?”接着又是两声
加重的反问的“嗯？嗯?”，后一声比前一声更重，像要把两颗钉子钉在我的
心口上。我说，那你可以考考我嘛。他于是打电话把招生办主任叫来。招生
办主任是个五十多岁面容和善的老头 ，听完局长对我的训斥，又把材料看了
一遍，面带难色地说：“局长，我没搞过研究生招生，那是地区招办管的事 ，
他列这些书籍和课程我都不懂，他到底有没有大学哲学本科水平，我考不
了。”局长见状，又把声音提高了一大截，嚷着说：“不管怎么说，就是不让
你报，符合条件也不能报!”我想起兜里揣着的从中学和乡政府开出的报考
证明，直愣愣地说：“那要是我自己宜接到地区招生办去报呢? ”他似乎又被
激怒了，腾地一下从座位上站起来，用手点着我的鼻子尖说：“没有我教育
局人事处的证明，地区招生办不可能给你报，就是报上了你也考不上 ，就是
考上了，我也会以组织的名义给中央党校写信，把你取消!”接下来就是连
推带赶把我轰出了办公室。
当局长砰的一声把门关上的一刹那，我感觉被永远地关在了另一个世界
的外面。一切希望都破灭了，一切往前的路都堵死了 ，我的心径直朝无底的
深渊坠落，想挣扎，却抓不住任何东西，只有沉陷，湮灭。
出了教育局的楼，往哪里去呢？表姐夫家是无颜再回去了 ，住下来再找
门路也无指望，还得花十几块钱住宿费。表姐夫那句话在我的耳畔不断响起,
“还是回荒地老老实实教你的中学吧! ”
塞外冬天的日头很短，已经快到傍晚了，太阳一点一点往西边落 ，坝上
吹来的寒风一阵紧似一阵，光秃秃的树枝上蹲了几只麻雀 ，好像在看着我，
却一声也不叫。我失魂落魄地走到长途汽车站。那年月，长途客运刚刚放开,
通往各个乡镇的私营客车都有，很多中巴正在不停地拉客，叫喊声响成一片。
我站在那里看着车一辆一辆地开出县城，任由售票员询问召唤，一语不答,
心绪却如江河汇流，激荡盘旋，任意西东。时间在一分一秒地消失，已经是
末班车了，“承德，承德!”“荒地，荒地!”两辆车的售票员都冲着我大声叫
喊着，催促着。一阵冷风吹进脖颈，像一瓢凉水灌了进来 ，我拉了拉领子角，
向风来的方向看了一眼，蓦然发现灰茫的天空中泛起了一抹浅浅淡淡的霞光，
冬日的暖阳隐隐地传送着无声的温情和爱怜。我知道承德就在那个方向 ，地
区招生办就在那个方向，去承德的末班车也已缓缓地朝那个方向启动了 。
“向着有霞光的方向去!”“承德!”这两个字咔嚓一声在我心里落下 ，如石坠
谷，我一步跨上了去承德的冬至的末班车 ，和她一起沐浴在越来越灿烂的晚
霞中。
后来听地区招生办公室给我报名的马老师说 ，我是那年承德地区最后一
个报名者，也是那年整个地区唯一一个考上的研究生。

《文艺报》2019. 5. 15
空翠九峰图
杨方

下了九峰山，便不能再回头。一回头，心就留在了山上。踩着石级下山
的，是一具肉身。

这具下了九峰山的肉身，几日后去了爱琴海地中海 ，后来是小亚细亚和
波斯湾。无论走多远，无论眼前的地貌，流水，气候，风向，植物，与九峰
山多么的不相同，九峰山都会在某些时候突然在脑子里冒出来。那交错起伏
的九座山峰，山峰中世界凹坑般静谧的九峰寺，仿佛永远可以看见，又永远
不能到达。
九峰山并非意念里一座虚空的山，它在地球上确实存在 ，并且被许多人
所知道。关于九峰山地理位置，准确的描述应该是这样的 ：位于浙江中部,
坐落在汤溪镇内，距金华28公里。九峰山上的九峰禅寺建于南朝天监年间 ，
有一千五百余年的历史。寺庙依山傍洞，传说为达摩始祖圆寂之地。
资料里没有九峰山在地球上确切出现的时间 。四海八荒之时，山还不是
山的样子，水也不是水的形状。万物的名字还没有确定下来。人是后来才出
现的，他们往地里种毛芋，种土豆，种甘蔗，种藕种姜。有时候也种石头,
石头从大地上长出来 ，下面有很深的根，上面长出九座峰。九峰寺是人出现
很多年之后再出现的。可以肯定，在九峰寺出现之前，九峰山只是一座石头
的山，冥顽，坚硬，未曾开化。达摩来到九峰山，打坐在最高的山峰上，一
千多年的修炼，让一座山通了灵性，山上的树木皆长出肌肤的纹理，草类长
出合掌的叶片，流水从石缝里滴落下来，发出木鱼的声音，飞鸟从不飞到别
的地方去，它们只在九峰山飞，洞穴里的小兽，在山崖上伸长了脖子朝人间
张望，它们用悲悯的眼神看着比自己更小的苍生 。就连山的面容，也日渐长
成了芙蓉的样子 ，牛头的样子，佛祖的样子。

从这样一座山上下来 ，真的不能随便回头。一回头就看见那座像极了达
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Some day you’ll brace up and go back to the other world—the one
you come from. A man can do that whenever he likes, and you’ll do
it. And then you’d be tied to a——”
“Don’t say it,” he interrupted quickly. “What you are saying only
makes me more determined. I shall get a license in the morning, and
to-morrow afternoon I shall expect you to be ready to go with me.”
He threw a handful of gold coins on the bed. “There is money to
square you with Madam Blanche, and to pay for whatever you want
to buy. Let me have my coat.”
For a moment, while he was struggling into his coat, he thought she
had acquiesced. She sat on the bed with her hands tightly clasped
and would not look up at him. Dimly he sensed that there was a
struggle of some sort making the tapering shapely fingers grip until
they were bloodless. Then....
When he won out to the open air of the street his brow was wet and
his hands were trembling. There had been a fierce battle in the
upper room, and he had come out of it a victor, though only in the
strength of a glimpse into the heart of a woman—a glimpse
vouchsafed to him in the thick of the struggle. With every wile and
weapon she possessed she had fought to make him stay; and but for
the saving glimpse which had shown him what her real object was,
he might have yielded.
“Poor little lost soul!” he muttered, as he turned his steps toward the
better-lighted cross street. “Reddick didn’t strain the truth when he
said she had heroine stuff in her. She knew if she could make me
stay, there would be no more talk of marriage; and it was for me that
she wanted to kill that chance—not for herself. What a hell of a world
this is, anyway!”
 XXV
It was in the forenoon following the Englishman’s staging of an
imitative attempt to “shoot up the town” that Reddick spent an
earnest hour trying to find Bromley, and finally ran across him as he
was coming out of the Colorado National Bank.
“Been hunting high and low for you,” said the redheaded one. “There
is the devil to pay and no pitch hot. Have you seen Phil this
morning?”
“No,” said the play-boy.
“Well, I have. One of our county officials is sending his family east,
and I went up to the court house this morning to take him the tickets.
While I was there, Phil came in and went through some sort of
business at the counter. He didn’t see me; and after he was gone, I
was curious enough to go and pry. He is taking the big jump, Harry—
the one that will smother him for life! His business at the court house
was to take out a marriage license for himself and ‘Little Irish’
Connaghey!”
“And who is the Connaghey?”
“She is a girl in Madam Blanche’s. Phil was asking me about her the
other day. I told him the truth; that she was one of the straightest of
the lot—for whatever that was worth. I thought he might be wanting
to help her in some way, but I hadn’t the remotest idea he was
thinking of making a complete fool of himself.”
“Where did Phil go after he left the court house?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t seen him since. It’s up to you to hustle, Harry.
If this thing goes through, it is the end of Phil Trask. You know that
as well as I do.”
“I do, indeed. Thank you for putting me on. I’ll find Phil, if I have to
take out a search warrant for him.”
Losing no time, Bromley went first to the Alamo Building, and in the
upper corridor he met a Jew second-hand furniture dealer coming
out of Philip’s rooms and his heart sank. This meant that Philip was
already disposing of his effects and preparing for flight. In the sitting-
room he found Philip packing a trunk.
“Quit that, Phil, for a minute or so and talk to me,” he began abruptly.
Then: “We’ll skip the preliminaries; I know all about it—what you’ve
done, and what you are intending to do. Don’t you know that it is
preposterously impossible?”
“No, I don’t,” was the firm denial. “It isn’t impossible. Jim Garth did it,
and nothing but good came of it. He would be a different man to-day
if the woman he rescued and married hadn’t died. But that is beside
the mark, Harry. You know what I have done: I have spoiled my life,
and I am no better than the woman I am going to marry; not half as
good in some respects.”
“She isn’t too good to let you ruin yourself, world without end, by
marrying her!” retorted the play-boy.
“You are mistaken again,” was the mild dissent. “She proved to me,
no longer ago than last night, that she was capable of sacrificing
herself utterly to break my determination. I have come around to
your point of view, Harry. There is no poor wretch on earth too low
down to answer the appeal if one only knows how to make it. It has
cost me pretty much everything I value, or used to value, to learn
this, but I have learned it, at last.”
“But, good heavens—you can’t love this woman!”
“Who said anything about love? Don’t make another mistake, Harry;
it isn’t an infatuation. I am merely giving this girl a chance to become
what God intended her to be—a one-man woman; and the obligation
this will impose will keep me from sinking any deeper in the mud—or
I hope it may.”
For a fervid half-hour the play-boy argued and pleaded, all to no
purpose. It was quite in vain that, argument and persuasion failing,
he plied the whip, refusing to credit the altruistic motive, and
accusing Philip of making the final and fatal sacrifice to his own
swollen ego; not, indeed, that he believed this to be wholly true, but
only that he hoped there might be enough of the steel of truth in it to
strike fire upon the hard flint of Philip’s desperate resolution.
“If that is your motive—a monkish idea that by punishing yourself you
can wipe the slate of whatever things you’ve been writing on it since
you let yourself go—it’s a gross fallacy, Phil, and you know it. You
may fool yourself, but you can’t fool the God you still believe in.”
“You’ve got me all wrong, Harry,” was the placatory answer to this. “I
am still enough of a Christian to believe that there is only one
sacrifice for sin. That isn’t it at all. I’m not trying to atone; I am merely
trying to give another human being, to whose plane I have sunk
myself, a chance for the only redemption that can ever come to her
—in this life. I wish I could make you understand that I am not
playing to my own gallery—not consciously, at least. The ego you
speak of is very dead, these days. God knows, it needed to die. It
wasn’t fit to live.”
It was in sheer desperation that Bromley fired his final shot.
“You told me once, Phil, that you had never said or done anything to
let Jean know that you were in love with her, or to win her love. That
was not true.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean just this: that you did win her love, whether you meant to or
not.”
“I don’t believe it, Harry; but if it were true, it applied only to the Philip
Trask she knew—or thought she knew—and not at all to the man
who is going to marry Mona Connaghey. Surely you can see that?”
“I can see that you don’t yet know any more about women than a
new-born baby!” was the fierce retort. “I have been living in the same
house with Jean Dabney all summer, and——”
“Hold on,” Philip interposed; “let’s get this thing straight, while we are
about it. I love Jean Dabney; I never knew how much I loved her until
after I had made it a shame to think of her in the same breath with
myself. But I have done just that, Harry. Whatever else I have gained
or lost in the past few months, I haven’t lost the sense of the fitness
of things. If Jean knew ... but probably she does know ... that is the
bitterest drop in the cup for me ... to know that she’d feel she’d be
obliged to cross the street to avoid meeting me. But what is done is
done, and can’t be undone.”
“Then there is nothing I can say or do that will keep you from taking
this last long jump into the depths?” said the play-boy, disheartened
at last.
“Nothing at all. It is no sudden impulse. I have considered it well in all
its bearings. We shall go away from Denver, of course; the farther
the better. If I don’t see you again——”
A lump came into Bromley’s throat as he grasped the hand of leave-
taking, and the fierceness of what he said was only a mask for the
emotion that was shaking him.
“You are a hideous fool, Phil, and if I did what I ought to, I’d break a
chair over your head to bring you to your senses. Since I can’t do
that—well, I hope the time may never come when you’d sell your
soul to undo what you are planning to do to-day. Good-by.”
In the street the play-boy hesitated, but only for a moment. He knew,
none better, what a blow this last irrevocable plunge of Philip’s would
be to the woman who had loved him—who still loved him—and his
one thought, born of manly pity and sympathy, was to soften the
blow for her, if that could be done.
A few minutes later he was leaning upon the counter in Madame
Marchande’s millinery shop and making his plea to the ample-bodied
Frenchwoman into whose good graces he had long since won his
way.
“Ah, Monsieur; I think you will make marry with this preetty Mees
Jean wan day, is it not? Then I shall lose my bes’ hat-trimmer. How
you goin’ pay me for dat, eh? You say you’ll wan’ take her for buggy
ride? Eh bien; she can go w’en you come for her.”
Bromley ate his luncheon alone. What he had to say to Jean could
not be said across a restaurant table. Moreover, he knew she had
carried her luncheon to the shop, as usual. As soon as he thought he
had given her time to eat it, he called for her, with the little white
mare of the livery string between the shafts of the light side-bar
buggy.
“How did you know that I was tired enough to fairly long for a half-
holiday?” she asked, as the little mare whisked them over the long
Platte River bridge in a direction they had once before driven, toward
the Highlands.
“How does anybody know anything?” he returned, smiling and
adding: “I flatter myself that there is not much about you that I don’t
know, Jeanie, dear.”
“I wonder?” she said soberly; then: “You have been a good brother to
me this summer, Harry.”
“I hope I have been something more than a brother. Brothers are not
exactly my idea of a hilariously good time. Shall we drive on up to
our little lake?”
“Anywhere you please. It is such a joy to be out of the shop and
outdoors on a day like this that places don’t matter in the least.”
Accordingly, he repeated the programme of the former excursion,
hitching the mare among the cottonwoods on the shore of the tiny
highland lake, and spreading the lap-robe on the hillside where they
had sat once before to revel in the glorious view of sky-pitched
mountains and swelling plain. For a time they spoke of nothing but
the view; but that was only because Bromley was waiting for his
opening. It came when Jean said:
“The other time we sat here it was to talk about Philip. Do you see
much of him now?”
“Not very much.” Then he took his courage firmly in hand: “I am
afraid we shall have to forget Philip, in a way, Jean. Do you think you
can do that?”
“Why should we forget him?”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“You can’t always forget people just because you might want—
because it might be best to forget them.”
“But—what if they deliberately walk out of the picture?”
She looked up quickly, and in the pools of the dark eyes there was
the shock of a fear realized.
“Philip has done that?” she asked.
He nodded sorrowfully.
“That is what it amounts to. You remember what you once said: that
he might do the irrevocable thing that would cut him off from us for
good and all?”
“I remember.”
“Well, it is done; or the same as done.”
She drew a quick breath. “Tell me, Harry.”
“I will, but only because you’d have to know it anyhow, a little later.
This morning he took out a marriage license for himself and a—a—I
can’t name the woman for you, Jean. I suppose they are married by
this time. Will you believe me when I say that I did everything I could
think of to prevent it?”
There was no answer to this, and when he looked aside at her again
he saw that she was crying quietly, and his heart grew hot.
“Don’t cry,” he broke out almost roughly. “He isn’t worth it, Jean.”
“Yes, he is,” she faltered. “You don’t know him as I do, Harry; though
you have been more to him and closer to him than I ever could be. I
know why he has done this.”
“Well, I guess I do, too,” he admitted grudgingly. “I must talk plainly to
you this once, Jean, if I never do again. The woman is—oh, well,
we’ll say she is pretty nearly everything she ought not to be; and
Philip thinks and says that he can go no lower than he has already
gone. What he said to me when I wrestled with him was this: ‘I’m
merely trying to give another human being, to whose plane I have
sunk myself, a chance for the only redemption that can ever come to
her—in this life.’ And I’ll do him this much justice: he didn’t know—
because I couldn’t tell him—how much it was going to hurt you.”
A cool breeze swept across the plain from the mountain rampart in
the west, and the yellow leaves of the cottonwoods sifted down upon
them in a golden shower. Over in the Clear Creek valley a freight
train inched its way along toward Denver like a monstrous caterpillar.
In the transparent atmosphere of the perfect autumn day Long’s
Peak stood out as clearly as if its vast bulk rose from just behind the
nearest swelling of the foot-hills. When the silence grew over-long,
the play-boy spoke again.
“Philip didn’t know—doesn’t know; but I have known all along. You
love him, Jean. It is nothing to be ashamed of,” he hastened to add.
“It is just something to be sorry for, now. I know well enough you can
never give another man what you have given him ... but I want the
right to stand by you—to comfort you. I’m asking you to marry me,
Jean, dear.”
The shock of a fear realized had gone out of her eyes when she
turned to him, and in its place there was something almost like
adoration.
“You’d make sacrifices, too, wouldn’t you?” she said, very gently.
Then: “Are you forgetting Miss Follansbee?”
“Oh, no; Eugie is going to marry Stephen Drew. I meant to have told
you. It is to be next month, I believe.”
Another speechless moment while a second shower of the yellow
leaves came circling down. Then she spoke again, still more gently.
“I think you are one of God’s gentlemen, Harry; I shall always think
so. But there are two good reasons why we can’t marry. One is——”
“I know what you are going to say,” he interrupted: “that I don’t love
you at all—in a marrying way; that I am only sorry for you. But let
that go. Suppose there isn’t any marrying love on either side. You
remember what you said the evening when I told you about Eugie;
that people might marry and be a comfort to each other without that
kind of love. Besides, when you come right down to it, what is
marrying love, anyway?”
She got up and shook the fallen leaves from her lap.
“You have given one of the reasons, Harry; and some day, when you
are not expecting it, I may hold a looking-glass before you and show
you the other. You ask me what marrying love is: it is what I have
seen, more than once, in your eyes ... and you were not looking at
me. Let us get in and drive somewhere else. I don’t believe I shall
ever want to come back to this place again.”
As it chanced, it was at the precise moment when Bromley was
putting his companion into the buggy preparatory to continuing the
afternoon drive, that Philip was descending from a hired hack before
a door that was seldom opened for callers in the daytime. It was
Madam Blanche herself, a woman who still retained much of what
had once been the beauty and charm of a riant, joyous girlhood, who
admitted him. He stated his errand briefly.
“I have come for Mona—the girl you call ‘Little Irish.’ Is she ready to
go with me?”
“Ready? Why, she’s gone!”
“Gone?—gone where?”
“She wouldn’t tell me where she was going; wouldn’t give me even a
hint. But I guess she took one of the morning trains. She left early
enough to catch any one of ’em. She said you’d given her the money
to go with.”
“No,” he denied soberly; “I gave her money so that she could pay
you whatever she might be owing you, and get ready to marry me.”
The woman collapsed into the nearest chair.
“Marry you? Why, my dear man! What do you think she’s made of?
She’s too good a girl to do anything like that!”
“Too good?” he queried vaguely.
“Sure! She’d know too well what it would do to you on the day you’d
want to turn your back on the sporting life. She cried when she went,
but she wouldn’t tell me what for: she said I’d know some time to-
day. And I do know now. She went to keep you from doing the
craziest thing a man of your kind ever does. Some day maybe you’ll
know what she’s done for you, and what it cost the poor little soul to
do it.”
Philip found his hat and moved toward the door.
“I think I know it now,” he returned half absently; and after he had
paid and dismissed the hackman, he went in search of the Jew
second-hand man to stop the dismantling of his rooms which had
already begun, tearing a small legal document, which he took from
his pocket, into tiny squares and scattering them in the street as he
hurried along.
Two days later, Reddick, who had dropped into the Curtis Street
chop house for a midday bite, found himself seated opposite
Bromley.
“Well,” he observed, “it proved to be a false alarm, after all, didn’t it?”
“I suppose it was, if you say so,” replied the play-boy with his good-
tempered grin; “only I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You don’t? Haven’t you seen Phil?”
“Not since day before yesterday when I bade him good-by.”
“Gosh! Then it’s all new to you, is it? He is still here—in his old
diggings in the Alamo. It was a flash in the pan—that marriage of his.
The girl saved his bacon by skipping out.”
“Um,” said Bromley curiously. “She must have hated him good and
hard to run away from half a gold mine.”
“Hate nothing! It was exactly the other way around. She thought too
much of him to let him ruin himself for life. Madam Blanche was in
the office yesterday, and she told me about it. A mighty fine thing for
the little outcast to do, it strikes me. This is a queer old round world,
and you can’t most always sometimes tell what’s going to happen in
it next.”
“Amen,” chanted the play-boy; and his appetite, which had been
capricious for a pair of days, began to return with gratifying zest.
During the afternoon, which dragged interminably, he changed his
mind a dozen times as to the advisability of telling Jean the newest
news. On one hand, it seemed to be a plain duty; but there was also
something to be said in rebuttal. Jean had already been given the
deepest wound she could suffer, and he hoped it was beginning to
heal—a little. Was it any part of kindness to reopen it? True, she
might learn any day for herself that Philip had not left Denver; but
every day’s delay was something gained for the healing process.
About the time when, still undetermined as to which course to
pursue, he was on his way to Madame Marchande’s to walk home
with Jean, he suddenly remembered that he had a dinner
engagement with the Follansbees. Telling himself that this postponed
the decision for the time, at least, he hailed a passing hack, made a
swift change to dinner clothes in his West Denver room, and kept his
engagement at the house in Champa Street.
It was three hours later when he had himself driven home from the
rather dull dinner and its still duller aftermath. Entering the cottage
living-room, he found Jean in hat and coat, as if she had just come in
or was just going out, and there was a napkin-covered basket on the
table beside her.
“I was hoping you would come before it got too late,” she said. “Are
you too tired to walk a few blocks with me?”
“Never too tired when I can be of any use to you—you know that,” he
answered cheerfully. “Where to?”
“You remember the poor old lady who had the room next to ours in
the Whittle Building, don’t you?”
“Old Mrs. Grantham?—sure!”
“I found a note from her when I came home this evening. She is sick
and she wants me to come and see her. It is late, but I think I ought
to go. She is all alone, you know; no relatives or friends. That is the
pitiful thing about so many people here in Denver.”
“I know. Let’s toddle along. I have been to a pretty stodgy dinner and
the walk will do me good. No you don’t—I’ll carry that basket of
goodies, if you please. What else am I good for, I’d like to know?”
All the way down Eleventh Street to Larimer, and over the Cherry
Creek bridge to the cross street leading to the dubious district
centered by the Corinthian varieties and gambling rooms, Bromley
was trying once more to decide whether or not to say the word
which, as he made sure, would reopen the grievous wound in the
sore heart of his companion.
But when at last he took her arm to help her up the dark stair in the
disreputable tenement opposite the Corinthian, the word was still
unspoken. And the thing he was hoping for most devoutly was that
they might be permitted to do their charitable errand and win back to
better breathing air without running afoul of the man who, as he had
ample reason to know, was now no stranger to the purlieus below
Larimer Street.
 XXVI
After he had rued his bargain with the Jew second-hand man—
paying a stiff forfeit for the privilege—and had reëstablished himself
in his rooms in the Alamo, Philip slipped back into the drifting current
which had been only momentarily arrested by the Mona Connaghey
episode, turning day into night and night into day, gambling a little,
drinking a little, assiduously avoiding the few daylight friends he had
made, and adding nightly to a different and more numerous
collection, some of whom were grateful for the largesse he scattered,
while others regarded him only as a soft-hearted fool to be played
upon and cozened out of his money as occasion might offer.
It was at this time that Middleton, the fat-faced railroad clerk,
appealed to him for help, and Philip heard the appeal with the
tolerant, half-amused smile which aptly mirrored his changed point of
view. A younger brother of Middleton’s had recently joined the rush
to the golden West, and Middleton had secured him a railroad
clerkship in the freight station. So far, so good; but almost
immediately, it seemed, the boy had been caught in the wide-
spreading net of dissipation and was in a fair way to be ruined.
“It is only gambling, for a beginning; but since he is in the cashier’s
office, handling company money, that is bad enough,” Middleton
said. “It won’t take him very long to find out that his salary won’t be a
drop in the bucket when it comes to going up against the skin
games.”
“Well, why don’t you take him in hand?” Philip asked, the thin-lipped
smile accentuating itself.
Middleton flushed uncomfortably.
“I was expecting you’d say that. But you know how a kid bucks at
taking anything from an older brother. Besides, I can’t say that I’ve
been setting him any too good an example.”
“No; I guess you haven’t. But what makes you think I might set him a
better one?”
“I don’t. Just the same, he’d take a jacking-up from you as coming
from a—er—a sort of case-hardened rounder, you know. That’s what
you’ve got the name of being, now, Philly—if you don’t mind my
saying so.”
“No, I don’t mind. If I come across your brother, I’ll try to choke him
off.”
This conditional promise was made in the afternoon of the second
day after he had agreed to the costly compromise with the Jew
furniture man; and late in the evening of that day he caught a
glimpse of young Jack Middleton, hands buried in pockets and head
down, turning a corner and hurrying toward the Corinthian. As Philip
chanced to know, it was the railroad pay-day, and it was a fair
assumption that the boy had his month’s salary in his pocket.
Entering the game room of the Corinthian a few steps behind young
Middleton, Philip waited only long enough to see the boy plunge into
play with all the crass ignorance and recklessness of a beginner,
before he intervened. Standing at the youth’s elbow while he was
staking and losing five-dollar gold pieces in swift succession at one
of the roulette wheels, he said, in a tone audible only to the ear it
was intended for: “Whose money is that you’re losing, Jackie?”
The boy jumped as if he had been shot. Then he saw who it was
who had spoken to him and began to beg:
“You—you mustn’t stop me, Mr. Trask! I’ve got to win—I tell you, I’ve
just got to!”
Philip drew him aside.
“Just how bad is it, Jack?” he asked. “I mean, how much are you
short in the office?”
“Oh, my God!—how did you know?” gasped the boy.
“Never mind about that. How much is it?”
“It’s—it’s over a hundred dollars.”
“Well, don’t you know you haven’t a dog’s chance of getting it back in
a place like this?”
“But some of them win,” was the desperate plea.
“Yes, and a great many more of them lose. When did you take the
money from the office?”
“L-last week.”
“You called it borrowing, I suppose. But when you got your pay to-
day, why didn’t you put it back?”
“I don’t get enough; they’re only paying me seventy-five a month. I
lost the money here, and I had to come and try to get it back. The
travelling auditor will be at the office in the morning to check us up,
and then——”
“I see. Jackie, there is nothing in this dizzy whirl for you or for
anybody; I know, because I’m in it myself. I’ll make a bargain with
you. How much did you say you are short?”
“I—I took six twenties.”
Philip drew a handful of yellow coins from his pocket.
“This is the bargain, Jack. I’ll lend you the six twenties if you will
promise me to quit this business for good and all. How about it? Is it
a go?”
The boy’s gratitude was almost dog-like in its frantic extravagance.
“Will I promise? My God, if you only knew how I’ve suffered! I didn’t
sleep a wink last night. And I’ll never forget this, the longest day I
live, Mr. Trask! I didn’t mean to be a thief, but—”
Philip saw Sheeny Mike, one of the game room spotter hawks,
watching them narrowly.
“Chase your feet out of this, Jack, and remember your promise,” he
said; but the hawk had seen the passing of the gold pieces and he
started in pursuit of the boy. Philip detained him with a hand on his
shoulder.
“Not this time, Mike; the kid is a friend of mine.”
“To hell with you! That don’t get the house anything!”
“Maybe not; just the same, it goes as it lies. You ought to know me
by this time. Keep your hands where I can see them—it’s safer,
because I can always beat you to the draw. Now listen: if you had
the brain of a louse, Sheeny—which you haven’t—you’d know that I
am worth more to the house in a month than a little one-horse
railroad clerk would be in a year.” And to show his good will, he
turned to the nearest roulette wheel and took his place in the circle of
players.
It was something like an hour later, and after he had consistently and
painstakingly lost considerably more than the sum he had given
young Middleton, that he drifted aimlessly out of the game room and
across the stair-head landing into the open space serving as the
back gallery of the varieties theater. A dancing girl in chalk-white
tights had just finished her turn, and men in the crowded lower part
of the theater were pitching silver dollars onto the stage in lieu of
bouquets, stamping their applause with booted feet. Philip, looking
down upon the scene in a saddened reverie from the gallery height,
saw the beginning of a drunken fight in the pit. Two shirt-sleeved
men from the third row of seats in the orchestra struggled up, went
into a fierce clinch and stumbled into the aisle in a pummelling
wrestle. Before any of the aproned bar-servers could drop their trays
and intervene, the wrestlers fell apart and there was the sharp report
of a pistol to dominate the clamor of stamping feet—the crack of a
pistol and a woman’s scream.
The gurgling scream came from one of the gallery boxes on the left,
and Philip whipped out of his sober reverie with a bound and ran.
Half-way down the passageway behind the row of cell-like boxes he
collided with a red-faced man racing to escape. “They’ve shot the
woman!” he gasped, struggling to free himself from Philip’s detaining
grasp. “Lemme get out of here—I ain’t in it!”
Philip let the craven go and hurried on. In the box of tragedy the
curtain had been drawn and two women were kneeling over a third
who was lying on the floor. One of the women sprang to her feet as
he entered and her eyes were blazing.
“That pie-eyed —— —— —— down there shot at nothin’ and got
Lola!” she raged. “Don’t let her die in this hell-hole! Get help to carry
her over to her room! It’s just across the street.”
In a trice Philip had captured two of the gallery drink servers, and the
victim of the wild shot was quickly carried out and down the stairs
and across to the darkened building opposite, the two women
following. At the foot of the unlighted stairway where Jean Dabney
had more than once turned him back, Philip found himself in the
clutch of the woman with the blazing eyes.
“Wait,” she panted. “There’s enough of ’em to carry her up and to run
for a doctor and her man. What she’s needin’ is a priest, but she ain’t
a Catholic, and none o’ the others’d dirty their hands with the likes of
us.”
“You are mistaken,” said Philip evenly. “I know of one, at least, who
will go where he is needed.”
“Then get him quick, for God’s sake! She’s dyin’; the bullet went
clean through and come out at her back!”
“Go on and keep her alive if you can,” Philip urged. “I’ll hurry.”
Luckily, he found an idle two-horse hack standing in front of the
American House, and he sprang in and gave his order, bidding high
for haste. After a reckless race of a dozen blocks the hack halted in
front of a house yarded in the same enclosure with a small brick
church carrying a gilt cross on its gable; and Philip was relieved to
see that, late as it was, there was still a light burning in the minister’s
study. A heavy-set, fair-haired young man with the face of a wise and
compassionate saint answered his ring.
“I have come again, Father Goodwin,” he began hurriedly. “It’s a
tragedy, this time. A woman has just been accidentally shot in the
Corinthian theater, and I think she is dying. Can you come?”
“She is not a Catholic?”
“No.”
“I’ll be with you in a moment.”
On the galloping race to the appointed destination the young
clergyman put an arm across Philip’s shoulders in the darkness of
the hack’s interior.
“Tell me, Philip: how long are you going to go on throwing yourself
away? The other time you came to me from a woman dying in a
brothel; and this time you come from the Corinthian. Doesn’t your life
mean anything more to you than a wallowing in the mud?”
“It did, once,” was the low-toned response. “But I have found out that
it is one thing to knock the barriers down, and another to try to build
them up again. As long as I hadn’t wallowed, it was easy not to. But
one night the props went out all at once, and—well, I can’t seem to
set them back again.”
“They were not the right kind of props, Philip; you may be sure of
that. Won’t you come and talk to me like a man, some time?”
“Maybe,” said Philip; and then the hack was pulled up at the doorway
of the darkened stairway.
Philip led the way up the stairs and around the gallery-like upper
corridor to a lighted room with an open door. The scene that
revealed itself as he entered and stood aside to make way for the
clergyman stunned him. The bed upon which the victim of the
drunken miner’s chance bullet lay had been drawn out from the wall,
and on one side of it a doctor, with Jean Dabney standing by to help
as she could, was trying to determine the seriousness of the wound.
On the other side of the bed knelt a man with graying hair, cold eyes
and a hard-lined face which was now drawn and pinched and
haggard as he stared at the still figure over which the doctor was
working. Bromley caught Philip’s arm and took him apart from the
others.
“Jean knows, and I know,” he explained in a low whisper. “We had
come down to see the sick old lady on the other side of the building.
When they told me who this woman was, I went after your father.
Don’t do anything to make it harder for him, Phil.”
For a long minute Philip stood looking down at the face of the
woman who had supplanted his mother. It was the wreck of a face
that had once been attractive, perhaps even beautiful with a wild,
gypsy allure. While he looked, the dark eyelids fluttered and opened,
and the carmined lips framed a single word, “John!”
The doctor straightened up and drew Jean away, shaking his head to
signal that the end had come. The clergyman knelt beside the dying
woman and began to speak in low tones. Bromley followed the
doctor and Jean into the corridor, and at the door he looked back. He
saw Philip hesitate, somber-eyed, but only for an instant. Then the
son went to kneel, with bowed head, beside his father.
 XXVII
“I saw what you saw as we were leaving the room—yes. But what
did Philip do afterward?” Jean asked, looking up from her seat in the
low wicker rocking-chair.
After taking Jean home on the night of the tragedy, Bromley had
gone back to the tenement building to stand by as a loyal partner
should, and for the three succeeding days his room in the West
Denver cottage had remained unoccupied. Late the third evening he
had returned to find Jean sitting up, sewing, with the two younger
girls poring over their school books in the rear half of the double
sitting-room.
“Phil did his full duty,” was his answer to the low-voiced question.
“Took everything upon his own shoulders—funeral arrangements,
and all that; acted just as if there had been no breach between his
father and himself—a thing he wouldn’t have done six months ago,
not if the heavens had fallen.”
“And you have been helping?”
“Naturally, I did what I could—which wasn’t much beyond backing
Phil up and running errands. He seemed glad to have me to lean
upon, so I stayed with him. It was the least I could do.”
“Of course. Where is his father now?”
“Vanished into thin air, right after the funeral; wouldn’t tell Phil where
he was going; wouldn’t take any of Phil’s money; wouldn’t talk,
except to say that he wouldn’t get in Philip’s way again—not if he
had to take the other side of the world for his.”
“And Philip—where is he?”
“He left on to-night’s train for New Hampshire. He is going back to
square the—er—the matter with the bank—so far as a return of the
money can do it.”