English Original
In August 1992, I vacationed on the Greek island of Corfu for about a month. I rented a motorcycle and headed into the island's interior in search of isolated trails and sleepy villages. I rode for hours along dirt paths flanked by bright yellow wildflowers, over steep and rugged hills, and past wide fields where farmers struggled to grow anything in the barren, rocky soil. I had to watch the gas gauge closely, as the only station was back in the village where I'd rented the bike. At half a tank, I had no choice but to turn back.
The needle had just hit halfway when I noticed an old cemetery in the distance, far from any sign of habitation. I decided to stretch my legs before the long ride back. I rode to the gate, killed the engine, and laid the bike down. Passing through the creaky, wrought iron gate, I was struck by the profound silence. I whistled to reassure myself I hadn't gone deaf. Only a few hours of daylight remained, and a strong wind stirred the overgrown grass that partially obscured the scattered tombstones.
In Greece, the deceased are often not buried underground. They are usually laid to rest in above-ground marble tombs with lids that can be lifted or slid aside. This tugged at my heart more than anything—to see their faces as they were in life, with warm smiles and kind eyes. I spent a long time wandering, kneeling in the grass beside graves, talking to those lying there and wondering about their lives.
At the rear edge of the cemetery, an unusual sight caught my eye: a tomb twice as large as any other. Looking inside its cabinet, I understood why. There was a photograph of a young couple, arms around each other, laughing. The dates of death etched in the stone were identical. Apparently, they were married and had died together in an accident. They had been laid in each other's arms inside the tomb. I cannot fully describe my feelings upon seeing that picture—their youthful energy, eager smiles full of excitement and anticipation for their life together.
A line from Andrew Marvell's poem came to mind: "The grave's a fine and private place, / But none, I think, do there embrace." I hoped it wasn't true.
A white marble cross marking their grave had been broken off at the base—perhaps by vandals or lightning—and lay on the ground at the head of the tomb. Small, orange wildflowers grew around it. This would not have been so unusual except that they were the only flowers growing anywhere in the cemetery. The contrast between these symbols of life and springtime beside a symbol of death was so striking that I decided to photograph it.
I took my camera from my backpack and searched for a good angle but couldn't find one. The best view would be from atop the tomb, looking straight down at the cross, but I felt standing on it would be disrespectful. After taking a few unsatisfying shots from other angles, I addressed the young couple buried there: "Excuse me. I mean no disrespect, but I'd like to stand on your tomb for just a second to take a picture of your flowers. I hope you don't mind."
Hoping for their approval, I stood on the lid and took the photo from the desired angle. I recall no sudden cold sensations or chills beyond those already riddled by my overactive imagination. I stepped down, said thank you, and before leaving, picked up their cross and fitted it back into place. The break was clean, and it settled like a puzzle piece.
The sun was setting fast, and I worried about finding my way back in the dark, so I decided to head home. I walked through the creaky old gate again and kick-started the motorcycle. After being immersed in such profound silence for so long, the engine's noise seemed louder than ever.
中文翻译
1992年8月，我在希腊的科孚岛度假约一个月。我租了一辆摩托车，驶向岛屿深处，寻找与世隔绝的小径和沉睡的村庄。我沿着土路骑行了数小时，路旁是明黄色的野花，翻越陡峭崎岖的山丘，经过广阔的田野——农民们费力地在贫瘠多石的土壤里种植任何能扎根的作物。我必须密切关注油表，因为唯一的加油站在我租车的村子里。油量过半时，我别无选择，只能折返。
指针刚指到一半，我正准备掉头返回，却注意到远处有一座古老的墓地，远离任何村庄或人居迹象。我决定在长途返回前活动一下腿脚。我骑到大门前，熄了火，放下摩托车。穿过吱呀作响的锻铁大门，我被那极致的寂静所震撼。我吹了声口哨，以确信自己没有失聪。白昼仅剩几小时，强风吹动着疯长的野草，这些草部分遮掩了散落的墓碑。
在希腊，逝者通常并不土葬。他们通常被安放在地面上的大理石墓穴中，墓盖可以轻易抬起或滑开。这比其他任何事情都更牵动我的心——看到他们生前的面容，带着温暖的微笑和慈祥的眼神。我徘徊了许久，跪在墓旁的草丛中，与长眠于此的人们交谈，想象他们曾经的生活。
在墓地的后缘，一个不寻常的景象吸引了我的目光：一个比其他墓穴大一倍的坟墓。看向墓内的相框，我明白了原因。里面有一张年轻夫妇的照片，他们互相搂着，开怀大笑。石刻的死亡日期完全相同。显然，他们已婚，并在某次事故中一同去世。他们被安放在墓中，彼此相拥。我无法完全描述看到那张照片时的感受——他们洋溢着青春活力，热切的笑容充满了对共同生活的兴奋与期待。
安德鲁·马维尔的一句诗浮现在脑海：“坟墓是个幽静的好地方，但我想，没人会在那里相拥。”我希望这不是真的。
标记他们坟墓的白色大理石十字架从底部折断了——也许是破坏者或闪电所致——倒在墓首的地上。小小的橙色野花在周围生长。这本不稀奇，但它们是整个墓地中唯一生长着的花。这些生命与春天的象征紧邻着死亡的象征，对比如此鲜明，我决定拍下这一幕。
我从背包中取出相机，寻找一个好的角度，但未能找到。最佳视角是从坟墓顶部垂直向下拍摄十字架，但我觉得站上去是对逝者的不敬。从其他角度拍了几张不满意的照片后，我对埋葬于此的年轻夫妇说道：“打扰了。我无意冒犯，但我想在你们的墓上站一会儿，给这些花拍张照片。希望你们不介意。”
期望得到他们的许可，我站上墓盖，从想要的角度拍下了照片。除了我那过度活跃的想象力早已带来的不安，我不记得有任何突如其来的寒意或恐惧。我走下来，道了谢。离开前，我拾起他们的十字架，将它放回原处。断口整齐，它像拼图一样严丝合缝地归位了。
太阳迅速西沉，我担心在黑暗中找不到回去的路，于是决定返程。我再次穿过吱呀作响的旧门，踹响了摩托车。在如此深沉的寂静中沉浸了这么久之后，发动机的噪音似乎比以往任何时候都更加震耳。