But while Govinda with astonishment, and yet drawn by great love and expectation, obeyed his words, bent down closely to him and touched his forehead with his lips, something miraculous happened to him. While his thoughts were still dwelling on Siddhartha's wondrous words, while he was still struggling in vain and with reluctance to think away time, to imagine Nirvana and Sansara as one, while even a certain contempt for the words of his friend was fighting in him against an immense love and veneration, this happened to him: 戈文达很吃惊，但还是出于爱慕之情听从了席特哈尔塔的吩咐，弯腰凑近他，用嘴唇亲了亲他的额头，这时，忽然发生了不可思议的事。当他的思想还在琢磨席特哈尔塔的奇怪言论，他还在徒劳无益地极力抛开时间观念，把涅槃和轮回想象为一体，甚至心里对朋友的话怀着某种轻蔑，因而与一种深深的爱慕和敬重发生了冲突时，却发生了这样的事： He no longer saw the face of his friend Siddhartha, instead he saw other faces, many, a long sequence, a flowing river of faces, of hundreds, of thousands, which all came and disappeared, and yet all seemed to be there simultaneously, which all constantly changed and renewed themselves, and which were still all Siddhartha. He saw the face of a fish, a carp, with an infinitely painfully opened mouth, the face of a dying fish, with fading eyes--he saw the face of a new-born child, red and full of wrinkles, distorted from crying--he saw the face of a murderer, he saw him plunging a knife into the body of another person--he saw, in the same second, this criminal in bondage, kneeling and his head being chopped off by the executioner with one blow of his sword--he saw the bodies of men and women, naked in positions and cramps of frenzied love--he saw corpses stretched out, motionless, cold, void-- he saw the heads of animals, of boars, of crocodiles, of elephants, of bulls, of birds--he saw gods, saw Krishna, saw Agni--he saw all of these figures and faces in a thousand relationships with one another, each one helping the other, loving it, hating it, destroying it, giving re-birth to it, each one was a will to die, a passionately painful confession of transitoriness, and yet none of them died, each one only transformed, was always re-born, received evermore a new face, without any time having passed between the one and the other face--and all of these figures and faces rested, flowed, generated themselves, floated along and merged with each other, and they were all constantly covered by something thin, without individuality of its own, but yet existing, like a thin glass or ice, like a transparent skin, a shell or mold or mask of water, and this mask was smiling, and this mask was Siddhartha's smiling face, which he, Govinda, in this very same moment touched with his lips. And, Govinda saw it like this, this smile of the mask, this smile of oneness above the flowing forms, this smile of simultaneousness above the thousand births and deaths, this smile of Siddhartha was precisely the same, was precisely of the same kind as the quiet, delicate, impenetrable, perhaps benevolent, perhaps mocking, wise, thousand-fold smile of Gotama, the Buddha, as he had seen it himself with great respect a hundred times. Like this, Govinda knew, the perfected ones are smiling. 他看不见他的朋友席特哈尔塔的脸了，却见到了别人的脸，许许多多，长长的一串，就像一条奔流不息的河，成百上千张脸，全都来了又去了，又似乎同时出现，全都在不停地变化和更新，然而又全都是席特哈尔塔。他看到一条鱼的脸，一条鲤鱼的脸，极其痛苦地咧开嘴，是一条垂死的鱼，眼睛已经翻白——他看到一个新生婴儿的脸，红红的，满是皱褶，哭得变了形——他看到一个杀人凶手的脸，看见他将一把刀捅进了一个人的身体——就在这同一瞬间，他又看到这个罪犯被捆绑着跪在地上，他的头被刽子手一刀砍了下来——他看到男男女女都光着身子，作出疯狂作爱的姿势——他看到直挺挺的尸体，无声、冰冷和空虚——他看到动物的头，有公猪的、鳄鱼的、大象的、公牛的、鸟儿的——他看到神灵，看到克利什那神，看到阿耆尼神——他看到所有这些形体和脸庞，以上千种方式联系在一起，每一个都帮助另一个，爱它恨它，消灭它又让它新生，每一个都是一种死的愿望，是一种对短暂性的热烈而痛苦的忏悔，可是又没一个死去，每一个都只是变样了，不断地新生，不断地得到一张新脸，而在一张脸与另一张脸之间并没有时间差距——所有这些形态和脸庞都静止、流动、产生、模糊和相互融合，上面始终笼罩着某种薄薄的、没有实体可是又确实存在的东西，就好像蒙了一层薄玻璃或薄冰，就好像一层透明的皮肤，一个由水形成的外壳、模型或面具，这面具微笑着，这面具正是席特哈尔塔含笑的脸，正是戈文达刚才用嘴唇亲吻过的那张脸。戈文达看到，面具的这种笑，超越了涌现出来的形象的这种统一性的笑，超越了千千万万生老与死者的这种同时性的笑，席特哈尔塔的这种笑，正是戈塔马的那种平静的、文雅的、令人捉摸不透的、也许善意也许嘲讽的、聪明的、千变万化的笑，就像他满怀崇敬地千百次目睹过的那样。戈文达知道，这正是完人的笑容。 Not knowing any more whether time existed, whether the vision had lasted a second or a hundred years, not knowing any more whether there existed a Siddhartha, a Gotama, a me and a you, feeling in his innermost self as if he had been wounded by a divine arrow, the injury of which tasted sweet, being enchanted and dissolved in his innermost self, Govinda still stood for a little while bent over Siddhartha's quiet face, which he had just kissed, which had just been the scene of all manifestations, all transformations, all existence. The face was unchanged, after under its surface the depth of the thousandfoldness had closed up again, he smiled silently, smiled quietly and softly, perhaps very benevolently, perhaps very mockingly, precisely as he used to smile, the exalted one. 戈文达不再知道是否有时间，这情景到底是持续了一秒钟还是一百年，不再知道是否有一个席特哈尔塔，是否有一个戈塔马，是否有我和你，内心深处好像被一支神箭射中了，而伤处却是甜甜的味道，内心深处感到像着了魔似的，六神无主。他又站了一会儿，俯身望着那张他刚才亲吻过的席特哈尔塔的平静的脸，那张刚才还是一切形象、一切未来、一切存在的活动舞台的脸。这张脸没有变化，在外表下面深处的千变万化已重新封闭之后，他平静地笑着，轻柔地笑着，也许是好意，也许是讽刺挖苦，跟活佛的笑一模一样。 Deeply, Govinda bowed; tears he knew nothing of, ran down his old face; like a fire burnt the feeling of the most intimate love, the humblest veneration in his heart. Deeply, he bowed, touching the ground, before him who was sitting motionlessly, whose smile reminded him of everything he had ever loved in his life, what had ever been valuable and holy to him in his life. 戈文达深鞠一躬，泪水情不自禁地淌下他那苍老的脸庞，而他却浑然不知，就像有一把火在他心中点燃了最亲密之爱与最谦恭之敬的情感。他深深地鞠躬，一躬到地，向端坐不动的席特哈尔塔敬礼，席特哈尔塔的笑容让他忆起了自己一生中曾经爱过的一切，忆起了自己一生中认为宝贵和神圣的一切。