大黄蜂 The Bumblebee and the Window (cn | en)

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作者：小羊冰冰 | Bing Bing Weidemann

我正在专心致志地工作，呼地从窗外飞来一只大黄蜂。它在办公室的上方飞了两圈，停在了左侧的玻璃窗上。这只黄蜂身躯庞大，精力充沛，力大无穷，它停在那里，扬起头，转动着两根头须，不断地打量周围的环境。

我赶紧走近前去，伸手打开了右侧对开的玻璃窗，希望它能再飞出去。黄蜂休息了一阵子，开始在左边的玻璃窗上搜寻出口。只见它在窗的这边开始，一路探寻尝试，一直走到窗的那边，碰到高高的窗框就返回，继续向另一边搜寻。如此反复不停。

我看到这里，笑道：“那里没有出路。”

黄蜂停下脚步，抬头看了看我，仿佛听懂了我的话。

我说：“朋友，你要绕过那窗框，到另一扇窗户那里，就可以飞出去了。我已经为你打开了那扇窗。”

突然从窗户那边传来声音：“朋友，我不劳你费心了。”

我吓了一跳，问道：“天哪，你会说话！你听得懂人类的语言?”

黄蜂翕动着鼻翼上的绒毛，说：“当然。我可以听到几十万种声音，分辨最细微的音节和节奏的变化。相比之下，人类的声音太简单了。”

“什么?”

“朋友，你能听到地下冰雪消融的乐章吗? 你能听到蚁群作战的鼓声吗? 你能听到蝴蝶扇动翅膀的声音吗? 你能凭着蜜蜂双腿搓蜜的声音而辨别花的种类吗? ”

天哪，我不由地惊叹。

“好吧，朋友。我想你现在的问题是怎么飞出这个房间，回到你的自由世界。”

“没问题。我在这又平又滑的物体上看到了希望，那是阳光在向我招手。对，我要找到一条通向阳光的出路。”

“但是，那里并没有出路啊。你必须离开那里，越过窗框，才能找到出路。”

“你是说那高高硬硬的窗框?”

我点点头。

“那里不可能有出路，一点希望都没有。”

“不一定吧。你继续前行，大约七个你身长的距离，就找到出路了。”

“我怎么能在不可能的里面寻找出路呢? 那是浪费时间，死路一条。”

我愕然。

“我习惯于在比较可能的里面寻找答案。如果我坚持不懈，总会找到答案的。”

黄蜂继续爬行。

“但是，你嗅得出风的痕迹吗?”

它头也不回地说：“那是当然。我常常追随着风的痕迹飞行，靠着风里的花粉味道寻找食物，靠着风的方向返回家园。”

“那你可以感受到从右边窗户吹进来的风吗? 你只要逆着风来的方向飞，就可以重获自由。”

黄蜂继续爬行。

“让我来帮帮你，我可以用这根棍子送你到自由的出口。”

我起身想靠近黄蜂。

“朋友，停了吧。否则我会飞快地到抓住你的额头，在你的眉心扎一针。”

黄蜂抬起头，它那肥胖的腹部鼓鼓地，一道寒光从它的尾部闪过。

我吃了一惊，赶紧坐下。我试图静下心来工作，但是那黄蜂的影子一直在眼前晃动。我起身，走出了办公室。

等我再回来的时候，我几乎忘记了黄蜂。工作了半晌时间，猛然间记起来，赶紧侧身查看，那黄蜂已经不知去向。

也许，它听了我的忠告，逆风飞行，重获新生了。

（2022年10月31日初稿）

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英文翻译版：

The Bumblebee and the Window

Author: Bing Bing Weidemann

I was working with full concentration when suddenly, through the open window, a large bumblebee flew in. It circled twice above my desk and came to rest on the left-hand windowpane. The bumblebee was robust, full of vigor and strength. It stood there, head raised, its two antennae turning restlessly as it surveyed its unfamiliar surroundings.

I hurried over and pushed open the right-hand window, hoping it would find its way out. After resting for a while, the bumblebee began to search along the glass for an exit. I watched as it explored from one edge of the window to the other, testing each corner with persistence, only to bump against the tall window frame and turn back again. It repeated this pattern tirelessly.

I couldn’t help but smile. “There’s no way out over there,” I said.

The bumblebee paused, lifted its head, and seemed to glance at me as if it had understood.

I spoke again, “My friend, you need to go past that frame, over to the other window. I’ve opened it for you. There’s freedom waiting there.”

Then, from the window, came a voice: “My friend, you needn’t trouble yourself on my account.”

Startled, I cried, “Good heavens! You can talk? You understand human speech?”

The bumblebee twitched the tiny hairs on its antennae. “Of course. I can hear hundreds of thousands of sounds and tell apart the slightest shift in tone and rhythm. Compared with that, human speech is child’s play.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Can you hear,” it said, “the symphony of melting ice beneath the earth? Can you hear the drums of the battling ants? Can you hear the flutter of a butterfly’s wings? Can you tell, by the hum of a bee’s legs as it gathers nectar, the kind of flower it has found?”

I was speechless with awe.

“Well then, my friend,” I said after a moment, “your problem now is how to leave this room and return to your free world.”

“No problem at all,” the bumblebee replied. “On this smooth, shining surface I see hope—the sunlight beckoning to me. I’ll find a way toward the light.”

“But there’s no way out there,” I said gently. “You have to move away from that spot, cross the frame, and only then will you find the open air.”

“You mean that high, hard ridge?”

I nodded.

“There’s no way beyond it,” it said. “Not a chance.”

“Perhaps there is,” I urged. “Keep going—just seven body lengths more—and you’ll be free.”

“How can one look for a way out where there is none?” it replied calmly. “That would be a waste of time—a dead end.”

I was taken aback.

“I prefer to seek answers where there seems to be a chance,” it continued. “If I persist, I’ll find it eventually.”

The bumblebee resumed its crawling.

“But can you sense the trace of the wind?” I asked.

“Of course,” it said without turning. “I often follow the wind’s scent through the fields, find food by the fragrance it carries, and return home by its direction.”

“Then can’t you feel the breeze blowing in from the right-hand window? Just fly against it—and you’ll find freedom again.”

The bumblebee kept crawling.

“Let me help you,” I offered. “I can guide you to the open window with this stick.”

I rose to fetch it.

“Stop right there, my friend,” the bumblebee warned. “Otherwise I’ll dart at your forehead and sting you between the brows.”

It lifted its head, and its swollen abdomen gleamed with a flash of cold light.

Startled, I sat back down. I tried to return to my work, but the shadow of that bumblebee hovered before my eyes. Eventually, I left the office to calm myself.

When I returned some time later, I had almost forgotten about it. As I turned to look, the bumblebee was gone.

Perhaps, I thought, it had finally heeded my advice—
flown against the wind, and found its freedom once more.

(October 31, 2022)