有些傷口永遠癒合不了

第二次劍刺來的時候我迎了上去，讓它對準第一次的傷口。

那是我的痛處，曾經鮮血淋淋，你用愛包紮了它。

你給我療傷時我就預感還會受傷，命中注定，我不打算逃了。

愛情魔藥嗎？我從沒喝過。你喝了嗎？

我們的故事太簡單了，我替別人為你決鬥卻贏得了你。不可思議，後人都這麼說，是呀，可我們本意並非如此。

潮濕的愛爾蘭，晨霧迷失了我的心。

我殺了你的情人，戰場上我是贏家。我贏了卻也受到重創，受了只有愛情才能癒合的傷。失去愛情，傷口就會流血，就像現在一樣，鋸齒般的傷口，鮮血淋漓，浸濕了床。

我不在乎死，可你出於憐憫收留了我，因為你不知道我的名字。我告訴你我叫坦特里斯，你愛上了坦特里斯。

「假如我是特里斯坦你會怎麼樣？」我有一天這樣問你，你的臉色蒼白，拿起了一把匕首。你完全有權利殺我，我迎向匕首，深吸一口氣，在閉上眼睛之前我笑了。

等我睜開眼睛時，你已放下匕首握住了我的手。我覺得自己像個孩子，不是英雄，不是勇士，也不是情人，只是躺在大床上的小孩兒，世界圍著他轉，如夢如幻，悠悠蕩蕩。

房間很高，藍色。鈷藍色。有橘黃的爐火，你碧綠的眼睛。愛情的顏色讓人目眩神迷無法忘懷，現在，躺在這裡，血已把床單浸成褐色，而我滿眼卻是鈷藍、橘黃、碧綠、一個躺在大床上的小男孩兒。

你在哪裡?

沉默。你在我旁邊坐下。這會兒你是強者，我雙膝無力。你輕輕撫摩我的手，似乎在觸摸我的靈魂。在那之前，一回回戰役，一次次負傷，都讓我更清楚我是誰，我是特里斯坦。現在，我的名字消失了，我自己也消失了，只有一個失魂落魄的男人。

在起錨返回康沃爾時，你出來了，站在一塊窄窄的岩石上，我們望著彼此，漸行漸遠，遠到只有我們才能分辨哪裡是岩石哪裡是船哪裡是人。

海茫茫，天到了盡頭。

後來馬克王派我來迎你成親。

你說你要殺死我。

我再一次迎向匕首，你再一次丟下匕首。

你的侍女端來飲料，我知道你想毒死我。康沃爾的峭壁下，馬克王在船上等候我們的到來，我一飲而盡，等待命運的安排。侍女給的是水。你喝了卻倒下了，我奔過去抱住你，這時水手們落下了錨船傾向一側，我第一次把你抱在懷裡，你喚我的名字：「特里斯坦。」

我應了：「伊索爾德」

伊索爾德。那時起我的世界只有你了。

我們在夜晚才活過來，你窗口的火燭是我的信號，點燃時我藏秘，熄滅時我就來找你——穿過隱秘的門、幽暗的走廊、禁行的樓梯，不顧恐懼和操守，我進入了你，你包容了我。在床上我們可以昏睡可以做夢，侍女的哀哭也只是小鳥和小狗在叫。我從不願醒來。白天我是死的，陽光不能給我溫暖。只有在這裡，沒有太陽，沒有時間，我們才是自由的，囚禁在彼此的身體裡，我們自由了。

我的朋友梅洛特設下圈套時，我想我是知道的。我盼望死神，正如我的身體渴望愛情。讓死神走近我正如你走近我。你滲入我的傷口循著我的血液回遊到我的心臟，你在我的身體裡流動，讓我在你臂彎中像處子一樣赧然羞紅，你在我的心跳里，在我的體液里，在我的骨肉里，如果我割開自己，傷口裡流出來的是你，只要血還在流，你又會重回我的心裡。

那場混戰中，馬克王發現了我們，我死守住門口讓你逃走。之後，我和梅洛特拔劍相向，那是我的朋友，我信任的朋友，我扔下劍，撲向他的劍鋒，劍從肋骨下穿入還未癒合的傷口，撕裂了。

我醒來後發現我在這裡，隔著大海，在我自己的城堡里，是僕人護衛我來的。他說已派人去接你，海上該有船帆了吧？它該像愛一樣疾馳不是嗎？僕人爬到了瞭望塔上，海上沒有船帆。

我把手伸進傷口裡，她的名字從我指間滴落：伊索爾德，你在哪裡？



特里斯坦，我也沒有喝那東西。沒有什麼愛情魔藥，只有愛，我喝下的是你。

特里斯坦，醒一醒，別死。讓我們分享完黑夜，明早再一起死。

他的目光已經空洞，他的呼吸已經停止。我最初看見他的時候，他就是這樣平靜，蒼白。我用吻給他注入生命，他永遠不會知道了。

特里斯坦，這世界的存在只是讓我們找到彼此，世界正在消失，海潮吞沒陸地，我的脈搏隨著你一起衰竭，死亡會把我們從分離的折磨中解救出來，我不能和你分開，我就是你。

這世界空無一物，是愛造就了它。

當世界煙消雲散。

只有愛還在。

______________

以上是Jeanette Winterson寫的Some wounds never heal，我已經盡力了，但原文那種悲傷和絕望的味道還是沒翻出來。

Tristan & Isolde的傳說起源於中世紀，頭一個版本是蘇格蘭國王Talorc的兒子Drust從海盜手裡救的一位公主，父子同時愛上她。

故事傳到威爾斯，Drust變成了Drystan，愛上了他的叔叔March國王（March的意思是屁股的耳朵，反正他身體有殘疾就對了）的王后Essyllt。

十三世紀，一個英國作家讓Tristan加入了圓桌騎士，他自幼被送往法蘭西，在戰鬥中中了矛毒前往愛爾蘭救治，在那裡得到安格西Iseult公主的治療，他教她彈豎琴，後因種種原因被驅逐。之後他替舅父瑪爾克王向Iseult求婚，為安格西王打敗敵人，甚至連安格西王也希望他娶自己的女兒，但那個傻瓜為了遵守諾言而將她帶回與舅父結婚。之後他憑藉自己的勇猛獲得了許多榮譽，引起瑪爾克王的妒恨和陷害，這對情人的關係也歷經磨難，Tristan被迫結婚，不過他始終忠於Iseult，對妻子守之以禮。後來Tristan誤會Iseult變心以致癲狂在曠野遊盪，她以為他已死而差點自刎……最後他終於帶她去了英格蘭，可以執手偕老了，卻在聆聽愛人彈豎琴的時候，被情敵謀殺。一個有趣的事情是，那時的人顯然相信愛情必須藉助魔力來催發，所以Iseult的陪嫁就是有愛情魔藥，他們倆為誤飲付出了一生。

這種愛情模式也套在亞瑟王身上，就是著名的Lancelot和Guinevere的愛情，在早期的版本中這兩人挺清白，後不斷流傳中才添了桃色，甚至紅過了Tristan和Iseult，到19世紀，它被德國劇作家Richard Wagner改編成歌劇Tristan and Isolde。

有興趣的可以去這裡看整個故事隨時代的演繹：
http://www.timelessmyths.com/arthurian/tristan.html

Tristan & Isolde悽美哀婉，它感動過很多同病相憐的藝術家，Wagner肯定是一個，Jeanette Winterson也應該是吧（反正看她的文章，就覺得她經歷過的坎坷肯定不止一次），還有好萊塢大導演Ridley Scott，當年，當兩個劇本擺在他面前的時候，他選擇了《異形》，功成名就。

20多年後，大約一直午夜夢迴唸唸不能忘，終於把這個中世紀愛情故事搬上了螢幕。

這部片子讓人想起First Knight，又名: 第一武士 / 劍俠風流 / 第一騎士 / 劍俠柔情，Sean Connery和Richard Gere這兩個好萊塢不同年代第一小生聯手演繹Lancelot和Guinevere的故事，也非常好看，不輸這部。
http://www.douban.com/subject/1299363/

先看評論再看電影完全左右了我的心情，詹姆士 Franco確實一副很少出太陽的憂鬱表情，和很早逝的詹姆士 Dean一個模子，詹姆士 Dean我只看過一部，他真的從頭到尾一個表情，居然火得不行。巧合的是詹姆士 Franco還出演過詹姆士 Dean。
http://www.douban.com/subject/1866354/


附守望燈塔原文，有興趣可以看看，別忘了準備面巾紙。

Some wounds never heal

Jeanette Winterson

The second time the sword went in, I aimed it at the place of the first.
I am weak there─the place where I had been found out before. My weakness was skinned over by your love.
I knew when you healed me that the wound would open again. I knew it like destiny, and at the same time, I knew it as choice.
The love-potion? I never drank it. Did you?

Our story is so simple. I went to bring you back for someone else, and won you for myself. Magic, they all said later, and it was, but not the kind that can be brewed.

We were in Ireland. Was there ever a country so damp? I had to write out my mind to think clearly. I was a morning mist of confusion.
You had a lover. I killed him. It was war and your man was on the losing side. As I killed him, he fatally wounded me; that is, he gave me the wound that only love could repair. Love lost, and the wound would be as bloody as ever. As bloody as now,

bed-soaked and jagged.

I didn't care about dying. But you took me in out of pity because you didn't know my name. I told you it was Tantrist, and as Tantrist you loved me.
'What if I was Tristan?' I asked you one day, and I watched you grow pale, and take a dagger. You had every right to kill me.

I turned my throat to you, Adam's apple twitching slightly, but before I closed my eyes, I smiled.

When I opened them again, you had put down the dagger and you were holding my hand. I felt like a little child, not a hero, not a warrior, not a lover, only a boy in a big bed, the day turning round him, dreamy and slow.
The room was high and blue. Cobalt blue. There was an orange fire. Your eyes were green. Lost in the colours of our love I never forgot them, and now, lying here, where the sheets are brown with my blood, it is blue and orange and green I remember.

A little boy in a big bed.
Where are you?

We said nothing. You sat beside me. You were the strong one. I couldn't stand up. Holding my hand, and stroking it gently with your finger and thumb, you touched in me another world. Until then, through wounds and wreck, I had been sure of myself.

I was Tristan. Now, my name gone backwards, I went backwards myself, unraveling into strands of feeling. This stranded man.
When it was time for me to sail back to Cornwall, you came out and stood on a narrow rock, and we watched each other so far that only we two knew what was rock or boat or human.
The sea was empty. The sky was shut.

Then King Marke sent me to fetch you to be his wife.
You said you wanted to kill me.
Again I opened my body to you. Again you dropped the blade.

When your servant brought the drink I knew you intended to poison me. Under the cliffs of Cornwall, the King in his boat ready to meet us, I drank the water, because that's what it was. Your servant had given me water. You drank too, and fell to the floor, and I went to catch you and hold you as the men dropped anchor and the ship lurched. You were in my arms for the first time, and you said my name, 'Tristan.'
I answered you: 'Isolde.'
Isolde. The world became a word.

We lived for the night. The torch in your window was my signal. When it was lit, I stayed away. When you extinguished it, I came to you─secret doors, dark corridors, forbidden stairs, brushing aside fear and propriety like cobwebs. I was inside you. You contained me. Together, in bed, we could sleep, we could dream, and if we heard your servant's mournful cry, we called it a bird or a dog. I never wanted to wake. I had no use for the day. The light was a lie. Only here, the sun killed,
and time's hands bound, were we free. Imprisoned in each other, we were free.

When my friend Melot set the trap, I think I knew it. I turned to death full face, as I had turned to love with my whole body.?I would let death enter me as you had entered me. You had crept along my blood vessels through the wound, and the blood that circulates returns to the heart. You circulated me, you made me blush like a girl in the hoop of your hands. You were in my arteries and my lymph, you were the colour just under my skin, and if I cut myself, it was you I bled. Red Isolde, alive on my fingers, and always the force of blood pushing you back to my heart.

In the fight when Marke found us, I fought at the door until you escaped. Then I face Melot at last, my friend, my trusted friend, and I held my sword at him, red with blood. As he lifted his sword against me, I threw mine down and ran his through my body, at the bottom of my ribs. The skin, still shy of healing, opened at once.
When I woke, I was here, in my own castle, across the sea, carried and guarded by my servant. He told me he had sent for you, yes surely there was a sail? I could see it swift as love. He climbed into the watchtower, but there was no sail.
I put my hand into the bloody gap at the bottom of my ribs. Her name drips through my fingers: Isolde.
Where are you?





Tristan, I didn't drink it either. There was no love-potion, only love. It was you I drank.
Tristan, wake up. Don't die of the wound. Divide the night with me, and die together in the morning.
His eye is pale, his breathing is still. When I first saw him, he was still and pale, and I kissed him into life, though he never knew that was the art I used.
Tristan, the world was made so that we could find each other in it. Already the world is fading, returning to the sea. My pulse ebbs with yours. Death frees us from the torment of parting. I cannot part with you. I am you.
The world is nothing. Love formed it.
The world vanishes without trace.
What is left is love.