临川的荷花该开了吧
文&英译 / 红韵
双语诵读/花仙子
那一年的荷塘边，
老父亲举着手机拍个不停。
我们姐妹扶着他的胳膊，
让夕阳刚好落在镜头中央——
几个孙辈追着一只红蜻蜓，
蜻蜓忽然停在弟弟挽着的老母亲的肩上。
风撒着荷香，
黄昏跌进池塘。
回家的路上，
我们偶遇父亲的旧友汤翁*。
他瘦削的身影走在前面，
像《牡丹亭》里走出来的一页残笺。
我们烫一壶老酒，备几碟小菜，
邀他围炉同坐。
他聊起杜丽娘和柳梦梅——
说死不过是一瓣荷落进水里，
梦游一圈，又回到枝头。
我们说，远隔重洋，
同时代有人也这样写过——
两个年轻人把世仇点成蜡烛，
抱着彼此烧成灰，
灰还抱着灰。
汤翁颔首，
又饮一碗。
我们畅谈至深夜——
醉倒了梦湖的月色，
点亮了抚河的星子。
汤翁饮尽最后一碗，起身离去，
月光先他一步跨过门槛。
醒来，枕上有水。
故乡愈远，
它的心跳愈近——
像一片荷叶，
兜住了另一片荷叶落下的雨。
Linchuan’s Lotus Should Be Blooming by Now
By Hongyun
That year beside the lotus pond,
Father kept lifting his phone, snapping picture after picture.
My sisters and I steadied his arm,
so the sunset would fall perfectly into the center of the frame—
several grandchildren chased a red dragonfly,
which suddenly landed on Mother’s shoulder
as she leaned on my younger brother’s arm.
The wind scattered the lotus fragrance,
and dusk slipped into the pond.
On the way home,
we met Father’s old friend, Master Tang.
His thin figure walked ahead,
like a weathered page drifting along the old streets by the Fu River.
We warmed a pot of old wine, prepared a few small dishes,
and invited him to sit with us around the brazier.
He spoke of Du Liniang and Liu Mengmei—
saying death is nothing more
than a lotus petal falling into water,
dream-wandering once,
then returning to the branch again.
We told him that across the distant oceans,
someone contemporary had written of this too—
two young lovers who turned their families’ feud into candles,
held each other as they burned to ash,
and even the ashes still embraced.
Master Tang nodded
and drank another bowl.
We talked deep into the night—
Our voices drunk enough to tip the moonlight into Dream Lake,
bright enough to kindle the stars above the Fu River.
Master Tang drained the last bowl, rose to leave,
and the moonlight crossed the threshold
one step ahead of him.
Upon waking,
there was water on my pillow.
The farther the homeland drifts,
the closer its heartbeat comes—
like one lotus leaf
gently catching the rain
that slips from another.
