Chapter 65

I spent hours trying to decipher the lines in the survival manual on navigation. Plain and simple explanations on living off the sea were given in abundance, but a basic knowledge of seafaring was assumed by the author of the manual. The castaway was to his mind an experienced sailor who, compass, chart and sextant in hand, knew how he found his way into trouble, if not how he would get out of it. The result was advice such as "Remember, time is distance. Don't forget to wind your watch,"

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or "Latitude can be measured with the fingers, if need be." I had a watch, but it was now at the bottom of the Pacific. I lost it when the Tsimtsum sank. As for latitude and longitude, my marine knowledge was strictly limited to what lived in the sea and did not extend to what cruised on top of it. Winds and currents were a mystery to me. The stars meant nothing to me. I couldn't name a single constellation. My family lived by one star alone: the sun. We were early to bed and early to rise. I had in my life looked at a number of beautiful starry nights, where with just two colours and the simplest of styles nature draws the grandest of pictures, and I felt the feelings of wonder and smallness that we all feel, and I got a clear sense of direction from the spectacle, most definitely, but I mean that in a spiritual sense, not in a geographic one. I hadn't the faintest idea how the night sky might serve as a road map. How could the stars, sparkle as they might, help me find my way if they kept moving?

I gave up trying to find out. Any knowledge I might gain was useless. I had no means of controlling where I was going- no rudder, no sails, no motor, some oars but insufficient brawn. What was the point of plotting a course if I could not act on it? And even if I could, how should I know where to go? West, back to where we came from? East, to America? North, to Asia? South, to where the shipping lanes were? Each seemed a good and bad course in equal measure.

So I drifted. Winds and currents decided where I went. Time became distance for me in the way it is for all mortals - I travelled down the road of life - and I did other things with my fingers than try to measure latitude. I found out later that I travelled a narrow road, the Pacific equatorial counter-current.

第六十五章

    我花了好几个小时试图弄明白求生指 南上关于航海的那几行是什么意思。指南里有大量关于如何靠大海生活的简单明白的解释，但是指南作者却理所当然地认为没有必要解释基本的航海知识。在他心 里，乘船失事的人是一个经验丰富的海员，手上有了指南针、海图和六分仪，就会知道自己是怎么陷入困境的，就算他不知道该如何走出困境。结果便是指南里只有 一些建议，例如“记住，时间就是距离。别忘了给手表上发条”，或是“如果需要，可以用手指测量纬度”。我有一只手表，但它现在已经在太平洋底了。“齐姆楚 姆”号沉没的时候我把它弄丢了。至于纬度和经度，我的海洋知识仅仅局限于生活在海里面的东西，而没有扩展到在海上面肮行的东西。风和潮流对我都是谜。星星 对我没有任何意义。我连一个星座的名字都叫不出来。我的家庭只在一颗星星下面生活，那就是太阳。我们睡得早起得早。我一生看过许多美丽的星空，在那上面， 大自然只用两种颜色和最简单的方式画出了最壮丽的图画，我和所有人一样，感到自然的神奇和自己的渺小，而且，毫无疑问，这景象给我指明了方向，但我是说精 神上的方向，而不是地理方向。我一点儿都不清楚怎么能把夜空当做一张地图。尽管星星可能闪烁光芒，可是如果它们不停地运动，又怎么能帮助我找到路呢？

    我 放弃了寻找答案的努力。我可能获得的任何知识都是没有用的。我无法控制自己往哪里去——我没有舵，没有帆，没有发动机，有几支船桨，但没有足够的臂力。设 计一条路线有什么意义呢，如果我不能按照路线航行？即使能够按照路线航行，我怎么知道该往哪里去？向西，回到我们来的地方？向东，到美洲去？向北，到亚洲 去？向南，到大洋航线上去？每一条路线似乎都很好，又都很糟。

    于是我随波漂流。风和潮流决定了我往哪里去。对于我，就像对于所有凡人一样，时间的确成了距离。我沿着生命之路旅行，而且我也用手指做很多事情，除了测量纬度。后来我发现自己在沿着一条狭窄的道路走，沿着太平洋赤道逆流。