6、GG-AD ...
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1952年9月26日，
阿不思——
在我考虑了所有不堪入耳的言词后——不，我还是要以一个简单的谢谢作为信的开头。令人迷醉的生闷气，你可真他妈会说。我已经很久没这样大笑过了。
不过关于麻瓜文学？阿不思，说实话。寄给我一本不让人反感的物品摘要吧——那样我会控制自己不生闷气。这个叫做伍尔夫的女人——非常怪异。
摄神取念？不要动我脑子的主意，离它远点儿。不过的确，日子变得漫长了，好似那年暑假你经常吮吸的太妃糖，在我们意犹未尽地聊天时，你总是把它在你的唇齿与指间缓缓拉长，无穷又无尽。那让我完全分了心。我的羽毛笔不止一次地从羊皮纸上滑落。但是当我们对它施展魔法时，它竟令人愉快地炸掉了，记得吗？绿色的烟雾？
你仍旧完全不会求人。还记得我用魔法将你的腿悬吊在床架上并让你等待的那次吗？可怜至极，你简直都没法维持你惯有的风度了。我当时因不能打败你而气急败坏。
至于我的生活，皆是拜你所赐。如今只剩太妃糖般的日子及回忆伴我左右了。
清晨：守卫造访，检查我所有的纸张是否有危险的算术占卜的痕迹。他们经常粗暴地对待我，初来这儿的时候，没有咒语的折磨，只有拳头的殴打。还有一个女人——你杀了我的丈夫，她尖叫着，你杀了我的丈夫。为此我总是报以嘲笑，从而过了几年他们就不这样了。阿不思，在才高气傲妄自尊大方面，我和你有着同等的天赋。即使牙齿被打落，被迫跪在石头地上，浑身上下伤痕累累，哪怕要用破碎的牙齿、血丝连连的喉咙，也要对那些折磨自己的人回以大笑。这样的天赋在监狱中远胜于才智与魔法。
食物尝起来犹如灰土，我已掉了不少体重。这扇窗户太破旧，玻璃也充满划痕，我不能从中清晰地看见我的影子，但是我想我大概形如骨架。很难想象曾经我也和一位英国天才在岸边肆意过，对吗？
在如太妃糖一般漫长的日子里，我会读书读到眼睛模糊，停止，再读，之后做笔记。可能我应该遗赠给你我的图书馆——但是算了，你一定会厌烦的。我的魔法依旧充满黑暗，即使我已不能再练习它。我穿过古老的传说以及一些陈旧的经历，漫无目的却又仔细翻找着答案。告诉我，老朋友，你是否找到了圣器？没有我，你是否也完成了我们的梦想？在你摆脱了你的同伴，将其抛于卑贱的牢狱后，你是否成为了死神的主人？
呀，我记得在徳姆斯特朗时我也曾这样写过文章，像一个老人那样步履蹒跚，一只眼盯着纸张另一只眼读着《强力药剂》，稍不留神就将我的羽毛笔浸蘸上了蝾螈血。
我在狭小的囚室里轻轻漫步，墙角的镣架上悬着三只被我抓到的老鼠——当它们从我面前跑过时我一脚踩住了它们的尾巴，之后折断了它们的脖颈，又用牙剥掉了它们的皮。它们花了很多年才慢慢腐烂。这好比杀鸡给猴看——从此以后再没有老鼠来惹我心烦了。时间久了竟会讶异于可以忍受并习惯这样的腥臭。
黄昏——确切的说，是在冬季的那几个月里，我能从狭窄的窗缝看到外面的落日，冷黄的冬日夕阳碎裂于暗淡的冰山之后。我想聚集那散于风中的灰色魔法，从云端洒下几点血滴，像游魂般自由飞行，直击苍穹。飞跃，飞跃，像我过去常做的那样，甚至在这之后我仍会乖乖地回到我的牢房。就像我从老格里戈维奇房子里拿走“它”时那样的飞跃，意气风发不可一世。我好似回忆起那个与你共舞的房间，那时我正在一部古老的黑魔法书中畅游。而飞翔是黑魔王必不可少的技能，虽然看上去挺可怕，但是也——同样迷人。
夜晚，窗玻璃结了层冰霜，月亮于浑浊的黑云后翻滚。我爱这北境以北。在至高的塔楼内耗尽余生，与广袤荒凉的土地为伴，俯视着窗外的悬崖峭壁，也比呆在英格兰那少得不能再少的绿地中蓦然度日好过得多。只是过去，我曾用魔杖在你赤*裸的背上描绘伏尔加河的蜿蜒曲径，并在你的肌肤上结成冰晶。它们如同繁花盛开，边缘处又同羽毛般柔软，它们汇聚成珠，沿着你的脊柱一倾而下，你会随之发出温柔的轻声低吟。
当我用炽热的手掌触摸结冰的玻璃时，霜花融化成水，那感觉似曾相识，只是悄无声息。没有丝毫人的声音，丝毫都无。
阿不思，太妃糖样的时日。是你将我扔进并紧锁在这方囚室里。留我一人，同你的纳威和金妮友好相处，重复着寂静无声的日子。
你的生闷气的
盖勒特·格林德沃
＊＊＊＊原文＊＊＊＊
September 26th, 1952
Albus--
After all the scatological ways I've considered--no, I'll have to start this letter with a simple thank you. My charming sulks, you horrid arse. I haven't laughed that hard in weeks.
But Muggle literature Honestly, Albus. Send me the Compendium of Inoffensive Things--then I might refrain from a sulk. This Woolf woman--very strange.
And Legilimency Don't bother. Stay out of my head. The days stretch, oh yes, like that furlough-string taffy you used to suck on as we talked, stringing it endlessly between your fingers and your teeth.
Downright distracting, that. Made my pen slip on the parchment more than once. But it did explode so delightfully when we hexed it, remember Green and smoking
You were always absolute rubbish at begging. Remember when I hexed your legs to the bedstead and made you wait Utterly pathetic, you couldn't even manage to be polite. I was in such a snit I could've beaten you bloody...
And my life. This life you reduced me to. Taffy days and memories.
Morning: the guards come round, scan all my papers for dangerous Arithmancy. They used to rough me up, sometimes, when I was first here, no spells, just fists. There was one woman--you killed my husband, she would scream, you killed my husband. They stopped after a few years because I would always laugh at them. I take as much idiotic, endless pride in my talents as you, Albus. The talent of laughing through broken teeth while kneeling on a stone floor clutching your bruised gut, laughing with blood down your throat at people who want to torture you A good talent to have in prison. Worth far more than wits or magic.
The food tastes like dirt. I've lost a good bit of weight. The window's old and wavery glass, and I can't see my reflection clearly, but I'd imagine I look rather like a skeleton. Hard to imagine a handsome British genius once made love to me on riverbanks, eh
Taffy days. I read until my eyes blur, stop, re-read, make notes. Perhaps I should bequeath you my library--but no, you would be disgusted, no doubt. My magic is still Dark, even if I cannot practice it. I rummage aimless through old lore. Tell me, old friend, did you ever find the Hallows Did you achieve our dream without me Will you master Death, now that you've shucked your partner off to ignobility and prison
Ah. I remember writing essays at Durmstrang like this, rambling on like an old dodderer, writing with half an eye on the page and half an eye in Moste Potente Potions. Dipping my pen in the newt blood by mistake.
I wear smooth spots on the floor where I pace. Three rats I caught hang from shackle brackets in the corners--I stamped on their tails as they ran past, snapped their necks, and skinned them with my teeth. They've rotted slowly and horrible over the years. A sacrifice, to discourage the others--no rats have bothered me since. And you'd be amazed what stenches you can get used to.
Evening--certain months of the winter I can see the sun go down out my narrow window. Cold yellow winter sun splintering pale over the icy mountains. I want to gather the gray magic of the wind and sprinkle three dots of blood over the clouds and fly free like a banshee up to the summit. Just fly, like I used to. I'd even come quietly back to my cell after. Fly like I did from old Gregorovitch's house with It in my hand, laughing, joyous. I seem to recall dancing about the room with you when I scared up that spell from the old Dark tomes. Essential tool for the Dark Lord, really, to wing about looking intimidating. But also--joyous.
Night, and the windowpane is icy, and the moon rolls behind roiling dark clouds. I love the North. Better to live out my life here in the highest tower, looking down over the rocky crags and the wild land, then somewhere in the potted fields of England. Once I traced the path of the Volga with my wand on your bare back, drawing in ice crystals on your skin. They would bloom, feather, soften at the edges, bead, slide down along your spine, and you would moan, so soft.
The same on my windowpane when my warm hand touches it, the melting, but silent. No other human voice. Not ever.
Taffy days, Albus. You threw me over and locked me up in here. Now leave me in peace with your Neville and your Jinny.
Sulkingly yours,
Gellert Grindelwald
作者有话说
第6章 GG-AD
