[美]安布罗斯·比尔斯/Ambrose Bierce

安布罗斯·比尔斯（Ambrose Bierce，1842-1914），美国恐怖、灵异小说家，生于俄亥俄州梅格斯县的一个贫苦农民家庭。参加过南北战争，这段不平凡的经历为他后来的文学创作打下了坚实的基础。战争结束后，他开始了一个编辑兼作家的忙碌生涯。他早期的作品主要是随笔和讽刺性短诗，也包括一些小说，人生观比较悲观，被人们称为“辛辣比尔斯”。

“我这个人不像你们有些医生那么迷信，有些医生既喜欢玩弄‘科学人士’的头衔，又迷信那些非科学的东西。”霍弗振振有词地说着，好像在反驳控告自己的人，其实根本没有人控告他，“坦白地说，在你们医生中间，确实有一些人——确切地说，是极少数的人相信人的灵魂不会在这个世界上消失，相信那些被你们随便地叫做‘鬼怪’的幽灵。在这一点上，我和你们不一样。但是，我十分相信，活着的人有时候可以在他根本没有出现的地方被人们看见。当然，这个人肯定曾经在这个地方居住过。可能是由于他在那个地方居住了好长一段时间，也可能是他对周围的影响太强烈，因此，周围的万事万物都留下了他的印记。说实在的，我知道一个人的性格和品质能够对他所处的环境产生极大的影响。如果有人长期受他的影响，那么一段时间之后，这个受他影响的人的眼里就会浮现出他的身影。毋庸置疑，这种能影响周围环境的性格和品质必须是恰当的、正确的；能够浮现他的身影的眼睛也不是随便某个人的眼睛，必须是恰当的人的眼睛——比如说，我的眼睛。”

“哈哈，不错，必须是恰当的眼睛，这样的眼睛能把感觉传送到不恰当的大脑。”弗雷利大夫笑着说。

“谢谢，您这话说得还算客气。当然了，人们总喜欢说那些使对方满意的话。”

“请原谅我的冒昧，不过，刚才你说你确实知道这种事情。这听起来像话中有话，不是吗？如果你不介意，不妨给大家讲一讲你是怎么知道的。”

“我知道你们会把它叫作幻觉，”霍弗说道，“不过也没关系。”紧接着，他开始讲述他经历的那个故事。

“你们都知道，去年夏天，我曾到一个名叫梅里迪安的小镇避暑度假。我原本打算借宿在一个亲戚家里，可是不巧的是，这个亲戚突然生病了，所以，我不得不重新寻觅其他的住所。克服了种种困难之后，我终于找到了一套闲置的寓所，于是租了下来。这套寓所曾住着一个古怪的医生，名叫曼纳林。几年前，他突然离家外出，从此便失去了消息，连这寓所的代理人也不知道他的下落。这套房子是那个医生自己建造的，他与一个老仆人一起住在里面，一住就是十年。但是来找他看病的人一直寥寥无几，所以，没过几年他就彻底放弃了医生这个行当。不仅如此，他几乎从社会中消失了，过着与世隔绝的生活，成了一个名副其实的隐士。我从一个乡村医生那里获得了一些关于他的情况——这个乡村医生大概是唯一与曼纳林有过联系的人。他告诉我，曼纳林在隐退期间，曾致力于一系列非同寻常的研究。后来，他把这些研究成果写成了一本书。但可惜的是，这本书没有获得同行专家的认可。究其本质原因，是那些同行专家认为曼纳林的精神有些不正常。我没有看过那本书，现在也记不起它的书名了。不过，我倒是听说那本书详细说明了一个令人震惊的理论。曼纳林坚持认为，许多人的死亡日期可以在他们的身体还健康的情况下进行准确预测。一般来说，预测的时间可能比真正死亡的时间要早几个月。不过，我想，最多也不会超过十八个月。当地有传言，说他曾经进行过数例死亡预测，或者按你们的说法叫做死亡诊断。奇怪的是，凡被曼纳林预测过死亡日期的人，都在曼纳林告诫他们的日期突然死去，并且死因不明。不过，话又说回来，所有这些都与我真正要说的无关，所以，你们就把它当作医生的笑谈吧。

“寓所经过布置，与曼纳林居住时一模一样。但是这种环境，对于一个既非隐士又非搞学问的人来说，显得过于阴郁了。而且，我觉得这种环境特征已经感染了我，或者更确切地说，这间屋子之前的居住者的某些特征感染了我。因为，我觉得我总是处在一种前所未有的忧郁情绪之中，而我的天性并非如此。我想，这种状态肯定不是孤独造成的。在这套寓所里，没有什么仆人和我一起居住。不过，我也习惯了，因为在我自己的家里，本来就没有仆人和我同住。你们也知道，我一贯喜欢拥有自己的一片天地，虽然不是为了做什么研究，但是，我的确沉迷于读书的生活。不管是什么原因，反正寓所里的那种氛围令人失落，你甚至会觉得有种邪恶的东西正在向你逼近。尤其是当我待在曼纳林的书房里时，这种感觉最为强烈。事实上，那间书房是整个寓所中最敞亮、最通风的一个房间。书房里挂着一张曼纳林真人大小的画像，而书房里的一切似乎也全在这幅画像的控制之下。不过除此之外，这张画像也没有什么特别之处。画像里的曼纳林气质非凡，五官端正，五十岁左右的样子，头发灰白，脸颊滋润，眼睛中透着阴郁和严肃。画像中一直有某种东西在吸引我的注意力，我对这个人的形象也越来越熟悉，久而久之，他就像鬼魂一样缠着我，在脑海中挥之不去。

“有一天晚上，我拿着一盏油灯（曼纳林的寓所还没有煤气灯）回卧室，途中经过这间书房。跟往常一样，我在画像前停了下来。在灯光下，画像仿佛呈现出一种前所未有的表情，那种表情真是难以用语言来形容。当时我非但没有觉得害怕，反而对它产生了兴趣。于是，我把油灯从画像的一侧移到另一侧，想看一下光线的变化会给画像表情带来何种影响。就在观察画像的时候，我突然有一种想回头看的冲动。当我回头看时，只见一个男人穿过房间径直向我走来！他的身体越来越近，当与油灯近在咫尺时，我借着灯光定睛一看，原来他正是曼纳林本人。当时的情景让我感觉仿佛是整幅画像在地面移动一样。

“‘对不起’，我当时有点儿不高兴，冷冷地对那个男人说，‘我好像没有听见你敲门。’

“他从离我一臂远的地方走过去，并且举起右手食指，做了个告诫的手势，然后一句话没说，又走出了房间。但是，我没有看清楚他到底是怎么出去的，就像我没弄明白他是怎么进来的一样。

“当然，不用我告诉你们，你们肯定会说这就是所谓的那种‘幻觉’，而我称之为‘幽灵’。因为那个书房仅有两扇门，其中的一扇门紧锁着，另一扇门则通往卧室，但卧室并没有出口啊。不过，我意识到这一点后的感受与整件事并没有太多的联系，所以我也就不赘述了。

“毫无疑问，在你们看来，这似乎只是很普通的‘鬼故事’，一个根据传统艺术大师创立的常规思维模式编造的‘鬼故事’。如果情况真的如此，即便他编造的故事是真的，我也不会在这里多费口舌讲这些了。可是，事实是另外一个样子，曼纳林还活着。因为，今天我还在联邦大街上和他碰过面，他在人群中与我擦肩而过。”

霍弗终于讲完了自己经历的故事，然后，两个人都陷入了沉默，弗雷利大夫漫不经心地用手指敲打着桌子。

“今天你看见他的时候，他说了些什么吗？”弗雷利大夫问道，“也就是一些能够让你确定他还没有死的话？”

霍弗的眼睛瞪得很大，没有回答弗雷利大夫的问题。

“也许他做了什么手势，摆出了什么姿态？”弗雷利大夫继续问道，“比如说举起一根手指，做个告诫的动作什么的。他不是曾经就这样做过吗？——这是他在说一些严肃问题时的习惯性动作。——譬如，要宣布一个诊断结论什么的。”

“没错，他的确做了个手势，就像他的幽灵在书房里做的那个一样。可是，天哪，难道你认识他？”显然霍弗紧张起来了。

“是的，我认识他，我曾经读过他写的书，而且，将来每个医生都要读他的书。这本书也是本世纪医学领域最突出、最重要的著作之一。你的猜测没错，我确实认识他，因为三年前我曾经找他看过病。不过，他早已经死了。”

霍弗一下子从椅子上跳了起来，一副惊慌失措的样子。他在房间里踱着大步，然后走向自己的朋友，颤抖着问道：“弗雷利大夫，你是不是有什么话想对我说——从一个医生的角度？”

“我没什么要说的，霍弗先生。不用担心，你是我见过的最健康的人了。作为你的朋友，我劝你还是回家去吧。你的小提琴拉得那么好，就像是个天使，回家拉几首轻松活泼的曲子，忘掉这件该死的事情吧。”

就在第二天，人们发现霍弗死在了自己的房间里。死的时候，小提琴还搭在他的脖子上，琴弓搭在弦上，他的面前摆着肖邦《葬礼进行曲》的谱子……

"I am not so superstitious as some of your physicians-men of science， as you are pleased to be called，"said Hawver， replying to an accusation that had not been made."Some of you-only a few， I confess-believe in the immortality of the soul， and in apparitions which you have not the honesty to call ghosts. I go no further than a conviction that the living are sometimes seen where they are not， but have been-where they have lived so long， perhaps so intensely， as to have left their impress on everything about them.I know， indeed， that one's environment may be so affected by one's personality as to yield， long afterward， an image of one's self to the eyes of another.Doubtless the impressing personality has to be the right kind of personality as the perceiving eyes have to be the right kind of eyes-mine， for example."

"Yes， the right kind of eyes， conveying sensations to the wrong kind of brains，"said Dr Frayley， smiling.

"Thank you， one likes to have an expectation gratified；that is about the reply that I supposed you would have the civility to make."

"Pardon me. But you say that you know.That is a good deal to say， don't you think？Perhaps you will not mind the trouble of saying how you learned."

"You will call it an hallucination，"Hawver said，"but that does not matter."And he told the story.

"Last summer I went， as you know， to pass the hot weather term in the town of Meridian. The relative at whose house I had intended to stay was ill， so I sought other quarters.After some difficulty I succeeded in renting a vacant dwelling that had been occupied by an eccentric doctor with the name of Mannering， who had gone away years before， no one knew where， not even his agent.He had built the house himself and had lived in it with an old servant for about ten years.His practice， never very extensive， had after a few years been given up entirely.Not only so， but he had withdrawn himself almost altogether from social life and become a recluse.I was told by the village doctor， about the only person with whom he held any relations， that during his retirement he had devoted himself to a single line of study， the result of which he had expounded in a book that did not commend itself to the approval of his professional brethren， who， indeed， considered him not entirely sane.I have not seen the book and cannot now recall the title of it， but I am told that it expounded a rather startling theory.He held that it was possible in the case of many a person in good health to forecast his death with precision， several months in advance of the event.The limit， I think， was eighteen months.There were local tales of his having exerted his powers of prognosis， or perhaps you would say diagnosis；and it was said that in every instance the person whose friends he had warned had died suddenly at the appointed time， and from no assignable cause.All this， however， has nothing to do with what I have to tell；I thought it might amuse a physician.

"The house was furnished， just as he had lived in it. It was a rather gloomy dwelling for one who was neither a recluse nor a student， and I think it gave something of its character to me-perhaps some of its former occupant's character；for always I felt in it a certain melancholy that was not in my natural disposition， nor， I think， due to loneliness.I had no servants that slept in the house， but I have always been， as you know， rather fond of my own society， being much addicted to reading， though little to study.Whatever was the cause， the effect was dejection and a sense of impending evil；this was especially so in Dr Mannering's study， although that room was the lightest and most airy in the house.The doctor's life-size portrait in oil hung in that room， and seemed completely to dominate it.There was nothing unusual in the picture；the man was evidently rather good looking， about fifty years old， with iron-grey hair， a smooth-shaven face and dark， serious eyes.Something in the picture always drew and held my attention.The man's appearance became familiar to me， and rather"haunted"me.

"One evening I was passing through this room to my bedroom， with a lamp-there is no gas in Meridian. I stopped as usual before the portrait， which seemed in the lamplight to have a new expression， not easily named， but distinctly uncanny.It interested but did not disturb me.I moved the lamp from one side to the other and observed the effects of the altered light.While so engaged I felt an impulse to turn round.As I did so I saw a man moving across the room directly toward me！As soon as he came near enough for the lamplight to illuminate the face I saw that it was Dr Mannering himself；it was as if the portrait were walking！

"'I beg your pardon，'I said， somewhat coldly，'but if you knocked I did not hear.'

"He passed me， within an arm's length， lifted his right forefinger， as in warning， and without a word went on out of the room， though I observed his exit no more than I had observed his entrance.

"Of course， I need not tell you that this was what you will call a hallucination and I call an apparition. That room had only two doors， of which one was locked；the other led into a bedroom， from which there was no exit.My feeling on realizing this is not an important part of the incident.

"Doubtless this seems to you a very commonplace'ghost story'-one constructed on the regular lines laid down by the old masters of the art. If that were so I should not have related it， even if it were true.The man was not dead；I met him today in Union Street.He passed me in a crowd."

Hawver had finished his story and both men were silent. Dr Frayley absently drummed on the table with his fingers.

"Did he say anything today？"he asked，"anything from which you inferred that he was not dead？"

Hawver stared and did not reply.

"Perhaps，"continued Frayley，"he made a sign， a gesture-lifted a finger， as in warning. It's a trick he had-a habit when saying something serious-announcing the result of a diagnosis， for example."

"Yes， he did-just as his apparition had done. But， good God！did you ever know him？"

Hawver was apparently growing nervous.

"I knew him. I have read his book， as will every physician some day.It is one of the most striking and important of the century's contributions to medical science.Yes， I knew him；I attended him in an illness three years ago.He died."

Hawver sprang from his chair， manifestly disturbed. He strode forward and back across the room；then approached his friend， and in a voice not altogether steady， said："Doctor， have you anything to say to me-as a physician？"

"No， Hawver， you are the healthiest man I ever knew. As a friend I advise you to go to your room.You play the violin like an angel.Play it， play something light and lively.Get this cursed bad business off your mind."

The next day Hawver was found dead in his room， the violin at his neck， the bow upon the string， his music open before him at Chopin's Funeral March.