阿諾

Nelson Mandela was always uncomfortable talking about his own death. But not because he was afraid or in doubt. He was uncomfortable because he understood that people wanted him to offer homilies2） about death and he had none to give. He was an utterly unsentimental man. I once asked him about his mortality while we were out walking one morning in the Transkei3） ， the remote area of South Africa where he was born. He looked around at the green and tranquil landscape and said something about how he would be joining his “ancestors.” “Men come and men go，” he later said. “I have come and I will go when my time comes.” And he seemed satisfied by that. I never once heard him mention God or heaven or any kind of afterlife. Nelson Mandela believed in justice in this lifetime.

It was January 1993， and I was working with him on his autobiography. We had set out that morning from the home near Qunu， the village of his father， that Mandela had built after he was let out of prison. He had once said to me that every man should have a house in sight of4） where he was born. Much of Mandelas belief system came from his youth in the Xhosa5） tribe and being raised by a local Thembu King after his own father died. As a boy， he lived in a rondavel6）—a grass hut—with a dirt floor. He learned to be a shepherd. He fetched water from the spring. He excelled at stick fighting with the other boys. He sat at the feet of old men who told him stories of the brave African princes who ruled South Africa before the coming of the white man. The first time he shook the hand of a white man was when he went off to boarding school. Eventually， little Rolihlahla Mandela would become Nelson Mandela and get a proper Methodist7） education， but for all8） his worldliness and his legal training， much of his wisdom and common sense—and joy—came from what he had learned as a young boy in the Transkei.

Mandela might have been a more sentimental man if so much had not been taken away from him. His freedom. His ability to choose the path of his life. His eldest son. Two great-grandchildren. Nothing in his life was permanent except the oppression he and his people were under. And everything he might have had he sacrificed to achieve the freedom of his people. But all the crude jailers， tiny cells and bumptious9） white apartheid10） leaders could not take away his pride， his dignity and his sense of justice. Even when he had to strip and be hosed down when he first entered Robben Island11）， he stood straight and did not complain. He refused to be intimidated in any circumstance. I remember interviewing Eddie Daniels， a 5-ft. 3-in. mixed-race freedom fighter who was in cell block B with Mandela on the island； Eddie recalled how anytime he felt demoralized12）， he would just have to see the 6-ft. 2-in. Mandela walking tall through the courtyard and he would feel revived. Eddie wept as he told me how when he fell ill， Mandela—“Nelson Mandela， my leader！”—came into his cell and crouched down to wash out his pail13） of vomit and blood and excrement14）.

I always thought that in a free and nonracial South Africa， Mandela would have been a small-town lawyer， content to be a local grandee15）. This great， historic revolutionary was in many ways a natural conservative. He did not believe in change for changes sake. But one thing turned him into a revolutionary， and that was the pernicious16） system of racial oppression he experienced as a young man in Johannesburg. When people spat on him in buses， when shopkeepers turned him away， when whites treated him as if he could not read or write， that changed him irrevocably. For deep in his bones was a basic sense of fairness： he simply could not abide17） injustice. If he， Nelson Mandela， the son of a chief， tall， handsome and educated， could be treated as subhuman， then what about the millions who had nothing like his advantages？ “That is not right，” he would sometimes say to me about something as mundane as a plane flights being canceled or as large as a world leaders policies， but that simple phrase—that is not right—underlay everything he did， everything he sacrificed for and everything he accomplished.

I saw him a handful of times over the past few years. He was much diminished. The extraordinary memory that could recall a particular dish at a dinner 60 years before was now such that he often did not recognize people he had known almost that long. But his pride and his regal18） bearing never left him. When he “retired from his retirement” （as he put it in 2004）， I thought it was simply because he couldnt bear not remembering familiar things and he could not bear people seeing him in a way that did not live up to their expectations. He wanted people to see Nelson Mandela， and he was no longer the Nelson Mandela they wanted to see.

In many ways， the image of Nelson Mandela has become a kind of fairy tale： he is the last noble man， a figure of heroic achievement. Indeed， his life has followed the narrative of the archetypal19） hero， of great suffering followed by redemption. But as he said to me and to many others over the years， “I am not a saint.” And he wasnt. As a young revolutionary， he was fiery and rowdy20）. He originally wanted to exclude Indians and communists from the freedom struggle. He was the founder of Umkhonto we Sizwe （Spear of the Nation）， the military wing of the African National Congress21）， and was considered South Africas No. 1 terrorist in the 1950s. He admired Gandhi， who started his own freedom struggle in South Africa in the 1890s， but as he explained to me， he regarded nonviolence as a tactic， not a principle. If it was the most successful means to the freedom of his people， he would embrace it. If it was not， he would abandon it. And he did. But like Gandhi， like Lincoln， like Churchill， he was doggedly， obstinately22） right about one overarching23） thing， and he never lost sight of that.

Prison was the crucible24） that formed the Mandela we know. The man who went into prison in 1962 was hotheaded and easily stung. The man who walked out into the sunshine of the mall in Cape Town 27 years later was measured， even serene25）. It was a hard-won moderation. In prison， he learned to control his anger. He had no choice. And he came to understand that if he was ever to achieve that free and nonracial South Africa of his dreams， he would have to come to terms with26） his oppressors. He would have to forgive them. After I asked him many times during our weeks and months of conversation what was different about the man who came out of prison compared with the man who went in， he finally sighed and then said simply， “I came out mature.”

His greatest achievement is surely the creation of a democratic， nonracial South Africa and preventing that beautiful country from falling into a terrible， bloody civil war. Several years after I finished working with him on Long Walk to Freedom， he told me that he wanted to write another book， about how close South Africa had been to a race war. I was with him when he got the news that black South African leader Chris Hani was assassinated， probably the closest the country came to going to war. He was preternaturally27） calm， and after making plans to go to Johannesburg to speak to the nation， he methodically28） finished eating his breakfast. To prevent that civil war， he had to use all the skills in his head and his heart： he had to demonstrate rocklike strength to the Afrikaner29） leaders with whom he was negotiating but also show that he was not out for revenge. And he had to show his people that he was not compromising with the enemy. This was an incredibly delicate line to walk—and from the outside， he seemed to do it with grace. But it took its toll30）.

And because he was not a saint， he had his share of bitterness. He famously said， “The struggle is my life，” but his life was also a struggle. This man who loved children spent 27 years without holding a baby. Before he went to prison， he lived underground and was unable to be the father and the husband he wanted to be. I remember his telling me that when he was being pursued by thousands of police， he secretly went to tuck his son into bed. His son asked why he couldnt be with him every night， and Mandela told him that millions of other South African children needed him too. So many people have said to me over the years， “Its amazing that he was not bitter.” Ive always smiled at that. With enormous self-control， he learned to hide his bitterness.

And then， after he forged this new South Africa， won the first democratic election in the countrys history and began to redress the wrongs done to his people， he walked away from it. He became the rarest thing in African history， a one-term President who chose not to run for office again. Like George Washington， he understood that every step he made would be a template31） for others to follow. He could have been President for life， but he knew that for democracy to rule， he could not. Two democratic elections have followed his presidency， and if the men who have succeeded him have not been his equal， well， that too is democracy. He was a large man in every way. His legacy is that he expanded human freedom. He was tolerant of everything but intolerance. He deserves to rest in peace.

納爾遜·曼德拉在談到自己的死亡時(shí)總會(huì)感到不安，但這并不是因?yàn)樗麑λ劳霰в锌謶只驊岩伞Ｋ械讲话彩且驗(yàn)樗廊藗兿Ｍ軓乃抢锫牭疥P(guān)于死亡的教諭，而他卻無以奉告。他完全不是一個(gè)多愁善感的人。一天早晨，當(dāng)我們在他的出生地——南非邊遠(yuǎn)的特蘭斯凱地區(qū)一起外出散步的時(shí)候，我曾向他問起關(guān)于死亡的問題。他環(huán)顧著四周蔥翠寧靜的景色，談到了自己將如何與“祖先們”相聚?！吧谑篱g來了又去，”他后來說，“我已來到這個(gè)世上，當(dāng)我的大限到來時(shí)我就會(huì)離去?！睂Υ怂坪醺械叫臐M意足。我一次都沒有聽他提起過上帝、天堂或任何有關(guān)來世的話。納爾遜·曼德拉相信的是現(xiàn)世的公正。

那是1993年1月，我正在與他合作撰寫他的自傳。那天早上，我們從他位于庫奴附近的家出發(fā)——庫奴是他父親生活過的村莊，出獄后他建起了這所房子。他有一次對我說，每個(gè)人都應(yīng)該在看得到自己出生地的地方有一座房子。曼德拉的很多信念都來源于年少時(shí)在科薩部落的生活，以及在父親過世后被當(dāng)?shù)氐尿v布王撫養(yǎng)長大的經(jīng)歷。小時(shí)候，他住的是圓頂茅草屋，腳下就是土地。他學(xué)會(huì)了放牧，會(huì)從泉中取水。男孩子們在一起用棍棒較量時(shí)，他是常勝將軍。他曾坐在老人們的腳邊，聽他們講在白人到來前統(tǒng)治著南非大地的英勇的非洲領(lǐng)袖的故事。他第一次和白人握手是在他離家去寄宿學(xué)校讀書時(shí)。最終，小羅利赫拉赫拉·曼德拉會(huì)成為納爾遜·曼德拉，會(huì)接受正統(tǒng)的基督教循道宗的教會(huì)教育；但盡管他修習(xí)過法律，也飽經(jīng)世故，他的很多智慧和常識(shí)——以及快樂——都來自于童年時(shí)期在特蘭斯凱所學(xué)到的一切。

如果不是因?yàn)槿松杏刑嗟臇|西被奪走，曼德拉也許會(huì)是個(gè)更為感性的人。他失去了自由，也失去了選擇自己人生道路的能力。他的長子和兩個(gè)曾孫也先他而去。生活中恒定不變的只有他和同胞們所遭受的壓迫。他犧牲了自己原本可以擁有的一切，投身到了為民眾爭取自由的事業(yè)中。但是，無論是粗暴的獄警、狹小的牢房，還是實(shí)行種族隔離政策的傲慢的白人統(tǒng)治者，都無法奪走他的傲骨、他的尊嚴(yán)和他的正義感。即使在初次進(jìn)入羅本島監(jiān)獄時(shí)他被迫脫光衣服、任由獄警用水管沖洗他的身體，他依然站得筆直，沒有叫苦。無論在任何情況下他都不會(huì)害怕。我還記得訪問自由斗士埃迪·丹尼爾斯時(shí)的情景，這位身高五英尺三英寸的混血種人曾和曼德拉一起被關(guān)押在羅本島監(jiān)獄的B區(qū)。埃迪回憶說，每當(dāng)他感覺意志消沉?xí)r，只要看到身高六英尺二英寸的曼德拉從監(jiān)獄的院子里昂首走過，他就會(huì)再次充滿斗志。埃迪流著淚向我講述了在他生病時(shí)，曼德拉——“納爾遜·曼德拉，我的領(lǐng)袖！”——如何來到他的牢房，蹲在地上為他清洗混雜著嘔吐物、血和排泄物的臟桶。

我一直認(rèn)為，如果南非是一個(gè)沒有種族隔離的自由之地，曼德拉也許會(huì)成為一名小鎮(zhèn)律師，滿足于做一個(gè)地方上的顯貴。這位具有歷史意義的偉大革命者其實(shí)在很多方面是個(gè)天生的保守派。他不贊同為了改變而改變，但有一個(gè)原因促使他變成了一名革命者，那就是他年輕時(shí)在約翰內(nèi)斯堡經(jīng)歷過的毒害社會(huì)的種族壓迫制度。當(dāng)別人在公車上向他吐口水，當(dāng)商店店主拒絕他入內(nèi)，當(dāng)白人把他當(dāng)文盲一樣對待時(shí)，他被永遠(yuǎn)地改變了。因?yàn)樗墓亲永镉幸环N基本的公平感：他就是無法忍受不公。如果連他——納爾遜·曼德拉，一位酋長的兒子，高大、英俊又有學(xué)問——都會(huì)被視為低人一等，那么成百上千萬不具備他這樣優(yōu)越條件的人又會(huì)怎樣呢？“那是不對的?！痹谡?wù)撔〉胶桨嗳∠⒋蟮侥硞€(gè)世界級(jí)領(lǐng)袖制定的政策等話題時(shí)，他有時(shí)會(huì)這樣對我說。而這句簡短的話語——那是不對的——是他一切行動(dòng)、一切犧牲和一切成就背后的原因。

在過去這幾年，我見過他幾次。他的身體狀況已大不如前。他的記憶力曾經(jīng)好到可以記起60年前某次晚餐中的一道菜，現(xiàn)在卻經(jīng)常連認(rèn)識(shí)了近60年的人都認(rèn)不出來。但是，他從未失去過自己的尊嚴(yán)和王者般的氣度。當(dāng)他“從退而不休的狀態(tài)中徹底隱退”（他在2004年這樣說過）時(shí)，我想那只是因?yàn)樗麩o法忍受自己記不起原本熟悉的事物，無法忍受讓人們看到一個(gè)有負(fù)眾人期待的自己。他希望人們看到的是納爾遜·曼德拉，而他已經(jīng)不再是人們期望看到的那個(gè)納爾遜·曼德拉了。

從許多方面來說，納爾遜·曼德拉的形象已經(jīng)成為了一種神話：他是世間最后一位高尚的人，是取得了英雄般壯舉的人。的確，他的人生就像經(jīng)典英雄故事里所描述的那樣，在歷盡苦難之后迎來了救贖。但正如他多年間對我和其他許多人所說，“我不是圣人”。他并非圣人。當(dāng)他還是個(gè)年輕的革命者時(shí)，他脾氣火爆、愛與人爭吵。他起初曾想把印度人和共產(chǎn)黨人排除在爭取自由的斗爭之外。他還創(chuàng)建了非洲人國民大會(huì)的軍事組織“民族之矛”，并被視為20世紀(jì)50年代南非的頭號(hào)恐怖分子。他欽佩在19世紀(jì)90年代的南非開展自由斗爭的甘地，不過他向我解釋說，他把非暴力運(yùn)動(dòng)看做一種策略，而非一項(xiàng)原則。如果這種策略是給南非人民帶來自由的最好方式，他會(huì)欣然采用。如果不是，他會(huì)放棄。他確實(shí)這樣做了。但就像甘地、林肯和丘吉爾一樣，他在一件最重要的事情上始終頑固地堅(jiān)守著正確的立場，并且從未忘記過這一點(diǎn)。

監(jiān)獄這個(gè)熔爐塑造了我們所熟知的曼德拉。1962年入獄時(shí)，他是一個(gè)暴躁易怒的人。27年后，當(dāng)他從監(jiān)獄走出，走上陽光照耀的開普敦街頭時(shí)，他已經(jīng)變成了一個(gè)沉穩(wěn)從容，甚至近乎安詳?shù)娜?。這樣溫和的態(tài)度來之不易。在獄中，他學(xué)會(huì)了控制怒火，因?yàn)樗麆e無選擇。他也開始明白，如果真的想把南非建成他夢想中那個(gè)自由而沒有種族歧視的國家，他就必須與壓迫自己的人達(dá)成和解，他就必須原諒他們。在長達(dá)數(shù)月的交談中，我曾經(jīng)多次問他，和入獄前相比，出獄后的他有什么變化。最后他嘆息一聲，然后簡短地回答道：“出獄時(shí)我成熟了?！?/p>

他最重要的成就無疑是建立了一個(gè)民主的、沒有種族偏見的新南非，并且阻止了這個(gè)美麗的國家陷入可怕、血腥的內(nèi)戰(zhàn)之中。在我結(jié)束與他合作《漫漫自由路》的幾年之后，他告訴我說他想再寫一本書，講述南非曾經(jīng)怎樣處在種族戰(zhàn)爭一觸即發(fā)的境地。當(dāng)他得知南非黑人領(lǐng)袖克里斯·哈尼被刺殺的消息時(shí)，我就在他身邊。那或許是南非最接近戰(zhàn)爭邊緣的時(shí)刻。他表現(xiàn)得異常鎮(zhèn)定，在做出前往約翰內(nèi)斯堡向國民發(fā)表講話的安排之后，他有條不紊地吃完了早餐。為了避免內(nèi)戰(zhàn)爆發(fā)，他不得不使出渾身解數(shù)：在與南非白人領(lǐng)袖談判的過程中，他必須一邊展現(xiàn)出磐石般的強(qiáng)硬，一邊表明不會(huì)尋求報(bào)復(fù)的立場；同時(shí)，他必須向黑人同胞表明，他這樣做不是在向敵人妥協(xié)。這件事處理起來需要如履薄冰——而在外人看來，他似乎應(yīng)對裕如。但這個(gè)過程中仍然造成了一些傷亡。

因?yàn)樗皇鞘ト耍砸矔?huì)有凡人都有的痛苦。他曾說過一句名言：“斗爭是我的生命?！倍娜松彩且粓龆窢?。他愛孩子，卻有27年的時(shí)間沒有抱過孩子。在被捕入獄前，他過著地下工作者的生活，無法像他希望的那樣盡到一個(gè)父親和丈夫的職責(zé)。記得他曾經(jīng)對我說過，當(dāng)數(shù)以千計(jì)的警察追捕他時(shí)，他悄悄回到家中，照顧兒子上床睡覺。兒子問他為什么不能每晚都陪在他身邊，曼德拉回答說，因?yàn)檫€有千百萬個(gè)南非兒童同樣需要他。這么多年以來，許多人對我說過：“他不覺得痛苦，真是了不起。”我總是報(bào)之以一笑。憑借著強(qiáng)大的自制力，他學(xué)會(huì)了把痛苦隱藏起來。

然后，就在他締造了這個(gè)面貌一新的南非、贏得了南非歷史上首次民主選舉并開始著手糾正對黑人的不公正待遇之后，他選擇了功成身退。只擔(dān)任了一屆總統(tǒng)就選擇不再尋求連任，他成為非洲歷史上絕無僅有的異類。和喬治·華盛頓一樣，他知道自己邁出的每一步都會(huì)成為后來者效仿的榜樣。他原本可以成為終身總統(tǒng)，但是他明白，為了建立起民主制度，他不能那么做。在他的總統(tǒng)任期結(jié)束之后，南非已經(jīng)舉行過兩次民主選舉。如果他的繼任者沒有他優(yōu)秀，不管怎樣，那也是民主。從各個(gè)方面來說，他都是一個(gè)了不起的人。他留下的遺產(chǎn)是他拓展了人類自由的疆界。除了褊狹的思想，他什么都可以寬容。他理應(yīng)得以安息。

1. Richard Stengel：理查德·施滕格爾（1955～），美國記者、作家、編輯，曾任《時(shí)代周刊》（Time）總編輯，與曼德拉一起完成了曼德拉的自傳《漫漫自由路》（Long Walk to Freedom）。

2. homily [?h?m?li] n. 說教，訓(xùn)誡

3. Transkei：特蘭斯凱，南非東開普省的一個(gè)地區(qū)，也是種族隔離政策時(shí)期四個(gè)獨(dú)立的黑人家園之一，1994年重返南非。

4. in sight of：在看得見……的地方

5. Xhosa [?k??s?] n. 科薩人（居住在南非開普省的牧民）

6. rondavel [r?n?dɑ?v（?）l] n. 有圓錐形房頂?shù)膱A形茅屋

7. Methodist [?meθ?d?st] adj. （基督教）循道宗的

8. for all：雖然，盡管

9. bumptious [?b?mp??s] adj. 自負(fù)的，傲慢的

10. apartheid [??pɑ?（r）t?he?t] n. （尤指南非當(dāng)局對黑人及其他有色人種曾實(shí)行的）種族隔離（制）

11. Robben Island：羅本島，位于南非西開普省桌灣中。1964年6月，曼德拉被當(dāng)時(shí)的南非白人政府判處終身監(jiān)禁，開始在羅本島服刑，直至1982年才被轉(zhuǎn)移到波爾斯穆爾監(jiān)獄。

12. demoralize [d??m?r?la?z] vt. 使無斗志，削弱……的士氣

13. pail [pe?l] n. 桶

14. excrement [?ekskr?m?nt] n. 排泄物，糞便

15. grandee [?ɡr?n?di?] n. 顯貴，要人

16. pernicious [p?（r）?n???s] adj. 有害的，惡毒的

17. abide [??ba?d] vt. 屈從于，默默接受

18. regal [?ri?ɡ（?）l] adj. 帝王的，王者的

19. archetypal [?ɑ?（r）k??ta?p（?）l] adj. 典型的

20. rowdy [?ra?di] adj. 粗暴的，愛爭吵的

21. African National Congress：南非非洲人國民大會(huì)，現(xiàn)為南非執(zhí)政黨，是南非最大的黑人民族主義政黨，1960年被南非當(dāng)局宣布為非法，1961年決定開展武裝斗爭，并成立“民族之矛”軍事組織，由曼德拉任司令員。

22. obstinately [??bst?n?tli] adv. 固執(zhí)地，頑固地

23. overarching [???v?r?ɑ?（r）t???] adj. 首要的，至關(guān)重要的

24. crucible [?kru?s?b（?）l] n. 熔爐；嚴(yán)峻的考驗(yàn)

25. serene [s??ri?n] adj. 平靜的，安詳?shù)?/p>

26. come to terms with：與……達(dá)成協(xié)議

27. preternaturally [?pri?t?（r）?n?t?（?）r?li] adv. 異常地；不可思議地

28. methodically [m??θ?d?kli] adv. 有條不紊地

29. Afrikaner [??fr??kɑ?n?（r）] adj. 南非白人的

30. take its toll：造成損失（或傷亡等）

31. template [?tem?ple?t] n. 樣板，模板