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"那些旅客，"小王子发表感慨说，"一头扎进了快车的车厢，却并不知道自己要去追寻什么。于是，就躁动不安，转来转去，在原地兜圈子……” 接着，他又加上一句："他们这么奔波，根本就不值得……” 我们找到的那口水井，不像是撒哈拉沙漠里的井。沙漠里的井通常是在沙土中挖掘而成的，只是一个简单的坑坑。那口井倒像是村庄里的井，但是在这个地区并没有任何村落呀，我真以为是在做梦。 "真奇怪，"我对小王子说，"器械全都齐备，辘轳、水桶，还有绳子，应有尽有……” 小王子笑了，他摸摸绳子，把辘轳转动起来，辘轳发出吱呀声，就像一个老掉牙的风信标在清风静止时发出来的哀叹。 "你听，"小王子说，"我们唤醒了这口井，它开始歌唱了……” 我不愿意让他出力费劲。 "让我来吧，"我对他说，"这活对你来说太重了。" 我慢慢地把水桶拉到井台上，端端正正放在那儿。 辘轳的歌声还缭绕在我耳际，从水桶里仍在微微晃动的水中，我看到太阳也在晃动。 "我口渴，很想喝这水，"小王子说，"请给我喝吧……” 我明白了他一直想要追求的东西是什么！我把水桶举起来，凑到他的唇边。他闭着眼睛， 喝了起来，显得美滋滋的，像是在过节。这水可与一般的食物很不相同，它是我们在星光下长途跋涉之后得来的，是在辘轳的歌声中，靠我的双臂提上来的。这水就像一件嘉奖的礼品，它滋润着我们的心田。在我从前还是个小男孩的岁月里，也曾尝到同样的快乐，每当我得到圣诞礼物时，圣诞树上的烛光、午夜弥撒的音乐声、亲人们温馨的微笑，就使得那礼物更显得光彩夺目。 "你们地球人，"小王子发表评论说，"能够在同一个花园里，培植出五千株玫瑰……但是却找不到自己所要追求的东西……” "他们确实没有找到……”我答道。 "其实，他们所要追求的东西，很可能就藏在一朵孤零零的玫瑰花中，或者在少许一点水里……” "的确如此。"我答道。 小王子又补充了一句："不过，肉眼往往视而不见，必须靠心灵去寻找。" 我喝完了水，感到呼吸也舒畅多了。在清晨的阳光照耀下，沙漠的景色好像是一盘蜂蜜，这蜂蜜般的景色也使我感到欣慰，我为什么要去发愁着急呢…… "你可得遵守你的诺言呀！"小王子温柔地对我说， 他又坐在了我的身边。 "什么诺言？” "你知道的…… 你说过要给我的绵羊画上一个嘴套……我有责任保护我那朵花儿！” 我立即从我的口袋掏出我画的那些草图，小王子见了笑着说："你的猴面包树画成什么样子了呀……简直就有点像卷心菜。” "哦! 我还一直为自己画的猴面包树而扬扬得意哩！” "你画的狐狸……瞧它的耳朵，像两只角，画得太长啦！”他还在笑个不停。 "你不公平，我本来就只会画蟒蛇的整体图与剖面图，别的什么都不会画。" "咳，不碍事，"他说，"孩子们都看得懂。" 我按他的要求，用铅笔画了一个嘴套，递给他时， 我因为有某种预感而心里难受，对他说："你一定有些什么没让我知道，还瞒着我……” 但他没有答理我这个话茬，对我说："你知道吗？我降落在地球上……到明天就是一周年啦。” 沉默片刻后，他又接着说："我降落的地点就在这附近……”说完，他有点脸红不好意思。 这时，不知什么原因，我又感到一种不可名状的悲凉向我袭来，但我却想到另一个问题： "这么说，八天之前那个早晨，你我相遇并不是偶然凑巧了，其实你独自一人在离地球人很远很远的地方游荡，最后你才回到你降落的地点来的，是吗？” 小王子不好意思，仍然面红耳赤。我犹豫着加上一句："也许，是因为到了一周年？” 小王子再一次脸红了。他从不正面回答别人的问话，但只要他一脸红，那就意味着他的答案是肯定的，不是吗？ 我又对他说："说实话吧，我是害怕……” 但他避开问题，对我说："现在你该去干活儿啦，该回到你的发动机那里去。我在这儿等着你，明天晚上你再来……” 听了他这话，我心里仍很不踏实。我想起了小王子与狐狸的离别。如果你跟对方有了交情，碰到现在这种情况，真忍不住要哭…… "Men," said the little prince, "set out on their way in express trains, but they do not know what they are looking for. Then they rush about, and get excited, and turn round and round..." And he added: "It is not worth the trouble..." The well that we had come to was not like the wells of the Sahara. The wells of the Sahara were mere holes dug in the sand. This one was like a well in a village. But there was no village here, and I thought I must be dreaming... "It is strange," I said to the little prince. "Everything is ready for use: the pulley, the bucket, the rope..." He laughed, touched the rope, and set the pulley to working. And the pulley moaned, like an old weathervane which the wind has long since forgotten. "Do you hear?" said the little prince. "We have wakened the well, and it is singing..." I did not want him to tire himself with the rope. "Leave it to me," I said. "It is too heavy for you." I hoisted the bucket slowly to the edge of the well and set it there— happy, tired as I was, over my achievement. The song of the pulley was still in my ears, and I could see the sunlight shimmer in the still trembling water. "I am thirsty for this water," said the little prince. "Give me some of it to drink..." And I understood what he had been looking for. I raised the bucket to his lips. He drank, his eyes closed. It was as sweet as some special festival treat. This water was indeed a different thing from ordinary nourishment. Its sweetness was bom of the walk under the stars, the song of the pulley, the effort of my arms. It was good for the heart, like a present. When I was a little boy, the lights of the Christmas tree, the music of the Midnight Mass, the tenderness of smiling faces, used to make up, so, the radiance of the gifts I received. "The men where you live," said the little prince, "raise five thousand roses in the same garden—and they do not find in it what they are looking for." "They do not find it," I replied. "And yet what they are looking for could be found in one single rose, or in a little water." "Yes, that is true," I said. And the little prince added: "But the eyes are blind. One must look with the heart..." I had drunk the water. I breathed easily. At sunrise the sand was the color of honey. And that honey color was making me happy, too. What brought me, then, this sense of grief? "You must keep your promise," said the little prince, softly, as he sat down beside me once more. "What promise?" "You know—a muzzle for my sheep... I am responsible for this flower..." I took my rough drafts of drawings out of my pocket. The little prince looked them over, and laughed as he said: "Your baobabs—they look a little like cabbages." "Oh!" I had been so proud of my baobabs! "Your fox—his ears look a little like horns; and they are too long." And he laughed again. "You are not fair, little prince," I said. "I don't know how to draw anything except boa constrictors from the outside and boa constrictors from the inside." "Oh, that will be all right," he said, "children understand." So then I made a pencil sketch of a muzzle. And as 1 gave it to him, my heart was torn. "You have plans that I do not know about," I said. But he did not answer me. He said to me, instead: "You know—my descent to the earth... Tomorrow will be its anniversary." Then, after a silence, he went on: "I came down very near here." And he flushed. And once again, without understanding why, I had a queer sense of sorrow. One question, however, occurred to me: "Then it was not by chance that on the morning when I first met you—a week ago—you were strolling along like that, all alone, a thousand miles from any inhabited region? You were on the your back to the place where you landed?" The little prince flushed again. And 1 added, with some hesitancy: "Perhaps it was because of the anniversary?" The little prince flushed once more. He never answered questions— but when one flushes does that not mean "Yes"? "Ah," I said to him, "I am a little frightened—" But he interrupted me. "Now you must work. You must return to your engine. I will be waiting for you here. Come back tomorrow evening..." But I was not reassured. I remembered the fox. One runs the risk of weeping a little, if one lets himself be tamed... |
