安東尼·多伊爾（Anthony Doerr， 1973—）是美國小說家，因其第二本小說《看不見的光》而獲得廣泛認(rèn)同。這本小說是多伊爾花了十年時間寫成的，故事構(gòu)思巧妙，敘事引人入勝，獲得了2015年的普利策小說獎。

《看不見的光》的故事背景發(fā)生在二戰(zhàn)時期的法國，男女主人公分別是為了逃離當(dāng)?shù)V工的命運，學(xué)習(xí)他所熱愛的科學(xué)知識而考進噩夢般的納粹軍校，成為了一名德國士兵的男孩沃納，以及由于巴黎淪陷，與父親逃到了其伯祖父所在的圣馬洛，在戰(zhàn)爭中掙扎求生的法國盲女瑪麗勞爾，小說講述了二人截然不同卻又互有交集的人生經(jīng)歷。在閱讀這本小說的過程中，不知在哪一刻就明白了書名的含義，那些我們看不見的“光”指的大抵就是像沃納和瑪麗勞爾這樣在黑暗的戰(zhàn)爭中依然懷抱著希望，努力活下來的平凡人。本期節(jié)選了小編覺得寫得最美的一部分，男女主人公第一次相遇，也是最后一次見面，唯一一次的交集……

He is a ghost. He is from some other world. He is Papa， Madame Manec， Etinenne; he is everyone who has left her finally coming back. Through the panel he calls， “I am not killing you. I am hearing you. On radio. Is why I come.” He pauses， fumbling to translate. “ The song， light of the moon？” She almost smiles.

Marie-Laure slides to open the wardrobe. Werner takes her hand and helps her out. Her feet find the floor of her grandfathers room.

“Mes souliers，” she says. “I have not been able to find my shoes.”

The girl sits very still in the corner and wraps her coat around her knees. The way she tucks her ankles up against her bottom. The way her fingers flutter through the space around her. Each a thing he hopes never to forget.

Guns boom to the east; the citadel being bombarded again， the citadel bombarding back.

Exhaustion breaks over him. In French he says， “There will be a—a Waffenruhe. Stopping in the fighting. At noon. So people can get out of the city. I can get you out.”

“And you know this is true？”

“No，” he says. “I do not know it is true.” Quiet now. He examines his trousers， his dusty coat. The uniform makes him an accomplice in everything this girl hates. “There is water，” he says， and crosses to the other sixth-floor room and does not look at von Rumpels body in her bed and retrieves the second bucket. Her whole head disappears inside its mouth， and her sticklike arms hug its sides as she gulps.

He says， “You are very brave.”

She lowers the bucket. “What is your name？”

He tells her. She says， “When I lost my sight. Werner， people said I was brave. When my father left， people said I was brave. But it is not bravery; I have no choice. I wake up and live my life. Dont you do the same？”

He says. “Not in years. But today. Today maybe I did.”

Her glasses are gone， and her pupils look like they are full of milk， but strangely they do not unnerve him. He remembers a phrase of Frau Elenas： belle laide. Beautiful ugly.

“What day is it？”

He looks around. Scorched curtains and soot fanned across the ceiling and cardboard peeling off the window and the very first pale light of predawn leaking through. “I dont know. Its morning.”

A shell screams over the house. He thinks： I only want to sit here with her for a thousand hours. But the shell detonates somewhere and the house creaks and Werner says， “There was a man who used that transmitter you have. Who broadcast lessons about science. When I was a boy. I used to listen to them with my sister.”

“That was the voice of my grandfather. You heard him？”

“Many times. We loved them.”

The window glows. The slow sandy light of dawn permeates the room. Everything transient and aching; everything tentative. To be here， in this room， high in this house， out of the cellar， with her： it is like medicine.

“I could eat bacon，” she says.“What？”

“I could eat a whole pig.”

He smiles. “I could eat a whole cow.”

“The woman who used to live here， the housekeeper， she made the most wonderful omelets in this world.”

“When I was little，” he says， “we used to pick berries by the Ruhr. My sister and me. Wed find berries as big as our thumbs.”

The girl crawls into the wardrobe and climbs a ladder and comes back down cluthing a dented tin can. “Can you see what this is？”

“Theres no label.”

“I didnt think there was.”

“Is it food？”

“Lets open it and find out.”

With one stroke from the brick， he punctures the can with the tip of the knife. Immediately he can smell it： the perfume is so sweet， so outrageously sweet， that he nearly faints.

The girl leans forward; the freckles seem to bloom across her cheeks as she inhales. “ We will share，” she says. “For what you did.”

He hammers the knife in a second time， saws away at the metal， and bends up the lid.“Careful，” he says， and passes it to her. She dips in two fingers， and digs up a wet， soft， slippery thing. Then he does the same. That first peach slithers down his throat like a rapture. A sunrise in his mouth.

They eat. They drink the syrup. They run their fingers around the inside of the can.

What wonders in this house！ She shows him the transmitter in the attic： its double battery， its old-fashioned electrophone， the hand-machined antenna that can be raised and lowered along the chimney by an ingenious system of levers.

Even a phonograph record that she says contains her grandfathers voice， lessons in science for children. And the books！ The lower floors are blanketed with them—Becquerel， Lavoisier， Fischer—a lifetime of reading. What it would be like to spend ten years in this tall narrow house， shuttered from the world， studying its secrets and reading its volumes and looking at this girl.

“Do you think，” he asks， “that Captain Nemo survived the whirlpool？”

Marie-Laure sits on the fifth-floor landing in her oversize coat as though waiting for a train. “No，” she says. “Yes. I dont know. I suppose that is the point， no？ To make us wonder？” She cocks her head. “He was a madman. And yet I didnt want him to die.”

In the corner of her great-uncles study， amid a tumult of books， he finds a copy of Birds of America. A reprint， not nearly as large as the one he saw in Fredericks living room， but dazzling nonetheless： four hundred and thirty-five engravings. He carries it out to the landing.“Has your uncle shown you this？”

“What is it？”

“Birds. Bird after bird after bird.”

Outside， shells fly back and forth. “We must get lower in the house，” she says. But for a moment they do not move.

California Partridge.

Common Gannet.

Frigate Pelican.

Werner can still see Frederick kneeling at his window， nose to the glass. Little gray bird hopping about in the boughs. Doesnt look like much， does it？

“Could I keep a page from this？”

“Why not. We will leave soon， no？ When it is safe？

“At noon.”

“How will we know it is time？”

“When they stop shooting.”

Airplanes come. Dozens and dozens of them. Werner shivers uncontrollably. Marie-Laure leads him to the first floor， where ash and soot lie a half inch deep over everything， and he pushes capsized furniture out of the way and hauls open the cellar door and they climb down. Somewhere above， thirty bombers let fly their payloads and Werner and Marie-Laure feel the bedrock shake， hear the detonations across the river.

Could he， by some miracle， keep this going？ Could they hide here until the war ends？ Until the armies finish marching back and forth above their heads， until all they have to do is push open the door and shift some stones aside and the house has become a ruin beside the sea？ Until he can hold her fingers in his palms and lead her out into sunshine？ He would walk anywhere to make it happen， bear anything; in a year or three years or ten， France and Germany would not mean what they meant now; they could leave the house and walk to a tourists restaurant and order a simple meal together and eat in silence， the comfortable kind of silence lovers are supposed to share.

他是一個幽靈。他來自另一個世界。他是爸爸，瑪妮可夫人，艾蒂安;他是所有那些離開了她，最后又終于回來的人。他透過門板叫道：“我不是來殺你的。我聽到了你說的話，在廣播上。這就是我來到這里的原因?！彼Ａ讼聛?，磕磕絆絆地翻譯著?！澳鞘赘?，《月光》？”她幾乎要露出微笑。

瑪麗勞爾推開衣櫥。沃納拉著她的手，扶著她走出來。她站在了她爺爺房間的地板上。

“我的鞋子，”她說道。“我找不到我的鞋子?！?/p>

女孩靜靜地坐在角落里，把外套裹著膝蓋。她用腳踝抵著臀部的樣子、她用手指摸索著周圍的樣子，他希望永遠都不會忘記這些畫面。

炮火擊向東邊;大本營又受到了轟擊，大本營炮轟反擊。

他感到筋疲力盡。他用法語說道：“會——會?；鸬?。在中午的時候。那時，人們就可以逃出這個城市。我可以帶你出去。”

“你確定這是真的嗎？”

“不，”他說道?！拔也淮_定?！?現(xiàn)在周圍安靜了下來。他檢查了褲子和布滿灰塵的外套。這套制服讓他成為了這個女孩所憎恨的一切的幫兇?！斑@里有水，”他說道，并穿過六樓的另一間房取回了另一桶水，他沒有看向她床上萬倫坡的尸體。她把整個頭都埋進水桶里，她用骨瘦如柴的手臂抱著水桶的邊沿，大口地喝著水。

他說：“你很勇敢?！?/p>

她把水桶放了下來?！澳憬惺裁疵?？”

他告訴了她。她說：“沃納，當(dāng)我失明時，大家都說我很勇敢。當(dāng)我爸爸離開時，大家都說我很勇敢。但這并不是勇敢。我別無選擇。我只是一覺醒來，然后繼續(xù)我的生活。難道你不是這樣做的嗎？”

他說?！耙呀?jīng)好多年沒有這樣做了。但今天，今天我也許會這樣做?！?/p>

她的眼鏡弄丟了，雙瞳像是裝滿了牛奶一般，但奇怪的是，這并沒有使他感到害怕。他想起了艾琳娜夫人說過的一句：belle laide——美麗的丑陋。

“今天是星期幾？”

他向四周望去。燒焦的窗簾，吹到天花板上的煙灰，窗戶上剝落的紙板，黎明前第一絲微弱的光亮照了進來?！拔也恢?，現(xiàn)在是早上。”

一顆炮彈從房子上轟鳴而過。他想：我只想和她一直坐在這里。但那顆炮彈炸到了某個地方，房子吱吱作響。沃納說：“有位先生曾用你的發(fā)射機廣播關(guān)于科學(xué)的課程。小時候，我曾經(jīng)和妹妹一起聽過這些課程。

“那是我爺爺?shù)穆曇?。你聽過他說話？”

“很多次。我們喜歡這些課程。”

窗戶發(fā)出光芒。黎明時分，柔和的淡黃色光芒撒滿整個房間。一切轉(zhuǎn)瞬即逝;一切令人痛苦;一切前途未卜。在這里，這間房里，這間屋子的高處，地窖外面，和她一起：這就像是藥效一般。

“我可以吃下培根，”她說。

“什么？”

“我可以吃下整頭豬?！?/p>

他微笑道：“我可以吃下整頭牛?！?/p>

“以前住在這里的女士，這里的女管家，能做出這個世界上最美味的煎蛋卷。”

“我小時候，”他說，“我們曾經(jīng)在魯爾河邊摘漿果。妹妹和我。我們能找到像拇指那么大的漿果。

女孩爬進了衣櫥，爬上一架梯子，回來時手里拿著凹陷的罐頭?！澳隳芸吹竭@是什么嗎？”

“上面沒有標(biāo)簽?！?/p>

“我想本來就沒有?！?/p>

“這是食物嗎？”

“讓我們打開來看看。”

他用磚頭敲了一下，然后用刀尖劃開。他立馬就聞到了一股香甜的芬芳，馥郁的香氣讓他幾乎昏倒。

女孩向前傾身，她吸了一口氣，臉頰上的雀斑似乎要綻放開來?！拔覀円黄鸱窒?，”她說道?！拌b于你所做的。”

他再次把刀敲進罐內(nèi)，鋸開金屬，把蓋子撬開?！靶⌒模彼f道，并把罐頭遞給她。她把兩根手指伸了進去，夾出一塊濕潤、柔軟、粘滑的東西。然后他也這么做了。第一塊桃子歡喜地沖進他的喉嚨。他嘴里升起了日出。

他們吃著桃子，喝著糖漿，把手指伸進罐頭里刮來刮去。

這間屋子多奇妙啊！她帶他去看閣樓里的發(fā)射機：兩個電池，老式的受送話器，通過精妙的控制桿裝置可沿著煙囪上升及下降的手動機械天線。 她說的一張留聲機唱片甚至記錄著她爺爺?shù)穆曇?，給孩子聽的科學(xué)課堂。還有那些書！樓下的幾層樓都裝滿了書——貝克勒爾的、拉瓦錫的、費舍爾的——能讀一生的書。在這座高聳狹窄的房子里住上十年，與世隔絕，探尋這座房子的秘密，閱讀這里的書本，看著這個女孩，會是怎樣一番光景？

“你覺得，”他問道，“尼摩船長能從漩渦中生還嗎？”

瑪麗勞爾裹著大衣坐在五樓的樓梯平臺上，仿佛在等待火車?！安荒埽彼f?！澳堋Ｎ也恢?。我想這就是意義所在，不是嗎？勾起我們的好奇心？” 她抬起頭?！八莻€瘋子。但就算這樣我也不想他死。”

在她伯祖父的書房的角落里，他在一堆混亂的書中找到一本《美國鳥類》。這是一本重印本，沒有他在弗雷德里克的客廳看到過的那本大，但卻一樣地光彩奪目：435頁的雕版圖。他把這本書拿到了樓梯平臺上?！澳悴娓附o你看過這個嗎？”

“這是什么？”

“鳥。全是鳥?！?/p>

屋外，炮彈飛來飛去?！拔覀儽仨毻鶚窍伦?，”她說道。但好一會兒，他們誰也沒有動。

加利福尼亞鵪鶉。

普通塘鵝。

軍艦鳥。

沃納依然能想起弗雷德里克跪在窗子上，鼻子抵著玻璃的樣子?；疑男▲B在樹枝上跳來跳去。很像，不是嗎？

“我可以拿走一頁嗎？”

“可以。我們很快就要離開了，不是嗎？什么時候會安全？”

“中午的時候?！?/p>

“我們怎么知道時間？”

“他們?；鸬臅r候。”

飛機過來了。幾十架又幾十架地飛過來。沃納不由自主地顫抖起來?，旣悇跔柊阉麕У揭粯?，那里所有的東西都積了半英寸厚的煙灰。他把倒在路上的家具推開，拉開地窖的門。然后他們爬了下去。上空某處，三十架轟炸機投下炮彈。沃納和瑪麗勞爾感到地基在震動，聽到河的那邊響起了接二連三的爆炸聲。

會不會有任何奇跡出現(xiàn)，讓他可以這樣繼續(xù)下去？他們可不可以一直藏在這里直到戰(zhàn)爭結(jié)束？直到軍隊不再在他們頭頂上走來走去，直到他們只需推開門，搬開石頭，而房子已經(jīng)變成海邊的廢墟？直到他可以牽著她的手，把她帶到陽光下？為了實現(xiàn)這一切，他愿意走到任何地方，忍受任何痛苦;哪怕花上一年、三年、十年的時間，等到法國和德國不再是如今的模樣;他們可以離開房子，散步到觀光餐館，點一份簡單的食物，靜靜地一起吃，享受著愛人間那種舒服的沉默。