STUDY IN CHINA GLOBAL (SCG)作品原文
冰心 《从重庆到箱根》
从羽田机场进入东京已经是夜里。呈现在街灯下的街道一片冷落，看不见人影，比起人声嘈杂、车辆拥挤的上海完全成了两样。
我想这才是真正的夜。白天决不是这样寂静。我到东京的第三天，友人带着去了箱根。从东京到横滨的途中，印象最深的是无边的瓦砾、衣衫褴褛的妇女、形容枯槁的人群。但是道路很平坦光洁。快到箱根，森林渐渐深起来，红叶映着夕阳，弯曲的道路，更增添了一层秀媚。在山路大转弯的地方，富士山头顶雪冠、裹着紫云、真有一种难以形容的美。
比起欧美的一流旅馆，箱根的旅馆也不算差。从窗口望去，到处溢满东洋风味。山岭、房檐、石塔 、小桥等等，使人感到幽雅、舒适。
那一夜我怎么也不能入睡，各种各样的想法千头万绪，自己也说不清楚为什么有这样的感情。
第二天，天还没亮就起来，卷起窗帘，完全裹住了山峦的浓雾中隐约地露出青松的绿色。“啊！我的歌乐山！”突然间多么想这样叫一声——重庆的奇峰歌乐山是我的。
我必须在这里介绍那令人留恋的歌乐山。歌乐山比起箱根来要小得多，红叶也没有这样多。歌乐山被茂密的松林包裹着，一到春天，鲜红的杜鹃漫山盛开。
春夜里可以听到杜鹃那令人伤感的鸣叫，山上杜鹃花的红色据说就是杜鹃吐的血染的。
轰炸的日子，常常是晴空万里。
惊慌的尖叫的警报声中，带着食粮、饮水、蜡烛、毛毯、抱着孩子跑进阴冷的防空洞。
这里面，吓得发抖的妇人和孩子们，脸色变得发青。
我们没有声音，对着头上飞过的成群的飞机和轰轰的爆炸声、还有那猛烈摇动的狂风长长地叹息，然后好不容易爬上山顶，望着被滚滚白烟笼罩着的重庆，惦念着自己的亲人是否安全。
夜间轰炸一定是美丽的星月夜。在夜里我们不进入洞中。
让孩子们睡下之后，抱在膝上，等待在狭窄的洞口。
往下看萤火虫一样的光亮渐渐消失，很快街道被黑色完全包围，万籁俱静，只有远处传来的微弱的犬吠声。
嘉陵江犹如银白色的绢带。
淡淡的月光中看不见机影，只有爆炸声渐渐地传来，突然有几条按照灯光在天空中一扫而过。
“打中了！”“打中了！”九架、六架、三架，白蛾一样的飞机摇晃着冲向重庆，紧接着是震撼大地的爆炸声，火光冲上了天空。
就这样流走了五年的日日夜夜。歌乐山的五年，是在“好天良夜”中度过的。
可怕的、令人诅咒的战争。
战争结束我们懂得了怨。而且我们虽然体验了激烈的战争，也懂得了同情和爱。因此，我在歌乐山最后的两年中，听到东京遭受轰炸的时候，感到有种说不出来的痛苦之情。我想像得出无数东京的年轻女性担心着丈夫和亲人，背着柔弱的孩子在警报声中挤进防空壕那悲惨的样子。
看见了东京我想起了重庆，走在箱根感到是走在歌乐山。痛苦给了我们贵重的教训。最大的繁荣的安乐不能在侵略中得到，只有同情和互助的爱情才能有共存共荣。
今后永远再也不要使歌乐山和箱根成为疏散地，要让热爱山水的人们常常登上山顶享受美丽的风光，不能再从自然的美中挤进黑暗的防空壕。
作品译文
From Chongqing to Hakone
Bing Xin
It was already dark when I arrived in Tokyo desolate under the street lamps. Not a soul in sight. It was entirely different from Shanghai, which was noisy and choked with vehicles.
However, I presumed the city would never be so still in the daytime. On the third day after my arrival, a friend of mine showed me around Hakone. On the way from Tokyo to Yohohama, what struck me most were the endless sights of debris, shabbily-dressed women and haggard crowds. But the roads were level and clean. The nearer we got to Hakone, the more luxuriant the forests. The red autumn leaves in the evening glow plus the zigzag paths added greatly to the enchanting beauty of the landscape. Around a corner of the mountain path, we suddenly came in sight of the indescribable beauty of snow-capped Mount Fuji wrapped in purplish clouds.
Hotels of Hakone compare well with first-class hotels of Western countries. Our window opened on a scene rich in Oriental flavor. Mountain ridges, eaves, stone pagodas, small bridges, etc. all were so quiet, elegant and pleasing.
That night I just couldn’t fall asleep. I didn’t know why I had so many thoughts surging in my mind.
The next day got out of before daybreak. As I lifted the window curtain, green pines were dimly visible through a thick mist enveloping the mountains. Suddenly I was on the verge of exclaiming, “Ah, my Gele Mountain, the fantastic Gele Mountain of Chongqing!”
Now I feel obliged to say a few words about the unforgettable Gele Mountain. It is much smaller than Hakone with not so many red autumn leaves. Its slopes are covered with dense pine forests. Red azaleas are in full bloom all over the place in spring.
And cuckoos are heard crying plaintively on spring evenings. It is said that azaleas on the mountain have been dyed red with the blood spit up by cuckoos.
Bombing raids usually happened in fair weather.
At the hideous, penetrating sound of the air-raid siren, people would dash for dear life into dark and cold air-raid dugouts, carrying food, drinking water, candles, blankets and their kids.
Fear was written large on the ashen faces of trembling women and children.
While Japanese aircraft were sweeping past overhead amidst terrible bomb blasts and a violent gust of wind, we could do nothing but sigh a deep sigh. Then we somehow managed to climb up to the mountaintop where we stood watching the city of Chongqing shrouded in billowing gray smoke and worrying about the safety of our dear ones.
Bombing raids usually took place on a beautiful starry night. So we chose to stay outside the air-aid shelter.
We sat at the narrow entrance of the tunnel holding our sleeping babies in our laps.
Then, when the distant fires, flickering like fireflies, gradually died out, the streets became pitch dark and silence reigned everywhere except for the faint barking of far-off dogs.
The Jialing River looked like a silvery white ribbon.
Aircraft were hardly visible in the pale moonlight. Only distant explosions were heard now and then. Suddenly several searchlights swept across the dark sky.
“We got them! We got them!” Nine, six, three Japanese aircraft tottered like white moths and plunged headlong into the city, and then followed the earth-shaking explosions and leaping flames.
Days and nights went on like this for five years. I spent five years in the Gele Mountain witnessing every bombing holocaust.
It was a horrible and abominable war.
At the end of the war, we understood what was to blame. In spite of the ravages of war we had gone through, we felt sympathy and love for the common people. During the last two years of my stay in the Gele Mountain, it gave me a feeling of unutterable pain to learn of the bombing raids on Tokyo. I visualized the tragic picture of countless Tokyo young women trying desperately at the air alarm to squeeze into air-raid shelters with little babies on their backs and meanwhile worrying about husbands and relatives.
Now Tokyo reminds me of Chongqing. Here in Hakone, I feel as if I were in the Gele Mountain. We have learned a valuable lesson from sufferings. No prosperity or happiness will come of acts of aggression. Without mutual sympathy and love, there would be no co-existence and co-prosperity at all.
Never again will the Gele Mountain or Hakone be a place for sheltering evacuees. They should be a place for sightseers to feast their eyes on the beautiful scenery at the mountaintop. Never again will gloomy air-raid dugouts tarnish a place of natural beauty.
