The following passage is an extract from The Lost Heart of Asia by British travel writer Colin Thubron. In this book, Thubron travels through the countries of Central Asia shortly after the collapse of the Soviet Union. In thi* **tract, Thubron describes his first evening in the city of Mari, in Turkmenistan.
下面这段文章选自英国游记作家科林·萨布伦撰写的《亚西亚失落的心》一书。本书描述了萨布伦在苏联解体后不久游历中亚诸国的经历。在这个节选片段中，萨布伦叙述了他在土库曼斯坦马雷市度过的第一晚的见闻。
Eastward from Ashkhabad my train lumbered across a region of oases where rivers dropped out of Iran to die in the Turcoman desert. In one window the Kopet Dagh mountains lurched darkly out of haze, and repeated themselves in thinning colours far into the sky. Beyond the other rolled a grey-green savannah, gashed with poppies. Over this immensity the sky curved like a frescoed ceiling, where flotillas of white and grey clouds floated on separate winds.
我乘坐的列车由阿什哈巴德驶出，一路向东，在土库曼沙漠中的绿洲地区中缓慢行驶，源自伊朗的数条河流便在这里汇集。透过一扇车窗，可以看到考匹特塔克山脉在黑色的迷雾中蜿蜒前行，若隐若现，其颜色随着山势的增高而变得模糊起来。另一扇车窗中，灰绿色草原绵延不绝，四处是凌乱的罂粟。天空在无垠的大地上盘旋曲折，仿佛是一个刻有壁画的天花板，密集的白云和灰云在空中随着阵风飘移。
Once or twice under the foothills I glimpsed the mound of a kurgan, broken open like the lips of a volcano – the burial-place of a tribal chief, perhaps, or the milestone of some lost nomad advance. Along this narrow littoral, a century ago, the Tekke Turcomans had grazed their camels and tough Argamak horses, and tilled the soil around forty-three earthen fortresses. Now the Karakum canal ran down from the Oxus through villages with old, despairing names such as 'Dead-End' and 'Cursed-by-God', and fed collective farms of wheat and cotton.
在山麓小丘之下，我瞥见了一两个坟头，坟头已经裂开，样子与火山口相仿——也许，它是部落首领的埋葬之地，或者就是某个迷失的游牧开拓者的一座里程碑。一个世纪之前，在这个滨海地区的沿岸，提基亚土库曼人用泥土建立起43个堡垒，他们在周围放牧骆驼和凶悍的阿葛马克马，并耕种土地。如今，卡拉库姆运河自阿姆河顺流而下，穿过那些以“死角”和“天谴”等古老、绝望的名字来命名的村子，灌溉着那些种有小麦与棉花的集体农场。
The train was like a town on the move. In its cubicles the close-tiered bunks were stacked with Russian factory workers and gangs of gossiping Turcomans. Grimy windows soured the world outside with their own fog, and a stench of urine rose from the washrooms. But a boisterous ******* was in the air. Everyone was in passage, lightly uprooted. They gobbled salads and tore at scraggy chicken, played cards raucously together and pampered each other's children, until the afternoon lunch-break lulled them into sleep. Then the stained railway mattresses were deployed over the bunks, and the corridor became a tangle of arms and projecting feet in frayed socks. From a tundra of sheets poked the beards of Turcoman farmers, and the weathered heads of soldiers resting on their caps. Matriarchs on their way to visit relatives in the next oasis lay mounded under blankets or quilted coats, and young women curled up with their children in their arms and their scarves swept over thei* **ces.
这列火车就像一个移动的城镇。车厢单间内，上下铺位间的空间狭窄，上面全都挤满了俄罗斯工人和成群唧喳不停的土库曼人。污秽的车窗布满了雾气，使外面的景色模糊不清，洗手间更是飘来了小便后的恶臭。但空气中弥漫着放纵喧闹的气氛。人们全都是在旅行，似乎有点漂泊在外的味道。他们大口吞咽着沙拉，撕啃着骨多肉少的鸡，一起大声吆喝着玩着扑克，互相哄弄着彼此的小孩，直到下午，午休时间才使他们安静下来，开始睡觉。之后，铺位上纷纷铺起污迹斑斑的列车床垫，走廊里顿时到处都是胳膊和露在外面、穿着破袜子的脚丫子。所有被单仿佛就是一片苔原，土库曼农民把他们的胡子露在了被单外面，而枕着帽子的士兵则把他们那饱受风霜之苦的脑袋露了出来。去下一个绿洲地区看亲戚的老妇人们躺在毛毯里或棉大衣中，好似一座座小山丘，而年轻的妇人则蜷着身子，怀里抱着孩子，并用她们的头巾盖住了自己的脸。
Two hundred miles east of Ashkhabad, where the soil shelved into ridges of scrub-speckled sand, a harsh wind sprang up. It whined against our windows and liquefied the plain and sky to a single, yellowed light. Suddenly ploughed tracts and irrigation channels appeared, and the glisten of flooded rice-fields; and cranes preceded the suburbs of Mari. I had time for a spy's glimpse into backyards – a view of cherished private plots and straggling geese – before we jolted to a halt.
在阿什哈巴德以东200英里处，土地变成了长有稀松灌木的梯形沙地，狂风即时而起。风沙击打着车窗，把平原和天空融合成一道昏黄的光线。刹那间，犁耕田和灌溉渠出现了，水稻田也在闪闪发亮；到达马雷市郊区之前还看到了一些起重机。在我们的列车摇晃着停下来之前，我还来得及迅速瞥一眼居民的后院——看到的是妥善照料的自耕地和乱窜的鹅。