俗話說“江山易改、本性難移”，盡管我有父母親的諄諄教導，但我并沒有改掉我喜歡說話的天性，這使得我的名字“莫言”，很像對自己的諷刺。

A popular saying goes “It is easier to change the course of a river than a person’s nature.” Despite my parents’ tireless guidance, my natural desire to talk never went away, and that is what makes my name – Mo Yan, or “don’t speak” – an ironic expression of self-mockery.

我小學未畢業即輟學，因為年幼體弱，干不了重活，只好到荒草灘上去放牧牛羊。當我牽著牛羊從學校門前路過，看到昔日的同學在校園里打打鬧鬧，我心中充滿悲涼，深深地體會到一個人，哪怕是一個孩子，離開群體后的痛苦。

After dropping out of elementary school, I was too small for heavy labor, so I became a cattle- and sheep-herder on a nearby grassy riverbank. The sight of my former schoolmates playing in the schoolyard when I drove my animals past the gate always saddened me and made me aware of how tough it is for anyone – even a child – to leave the group.

到了荒灘上，我把牛羊放開，讓它們自己吃草。藍天如海，草地一望無際，周圍看不到一個人影，沒有人的聲音，只有鳥兒在天上鳴叫。我感到很孤獨，很寂寞，心里空空蕩蕩。有時候，我躺在草地上，望著天上懶洋洋地飄動著的白云，腦海里便浮現出許多莫名其妙的幻象。我們那地方流傳著許多狐貍變成美女的故事，我幻想著能有一個狐貍變成美女與我來作伴放牛，但她始終沒有出現。但有一次，一只火紅色的狐貍從我面前的草叢中跳出來時，我被嚇得一屁股蹲在地上。狐貍跑沒了蹤影，我還在那里顫抖。有時候我會蹲在牛的身旁，看著湛藍的牛眼和牛眼中的我的倒影。有時候我會模仿著鳥兒的叫聲試圖與天上的鳥兒對話，有時候我會對一棵樹訴說心聲。但鳥兒不理我，樹也不理我。許多年后，當我成為一個小說家，當年的許多幻想，都被我寫進了小說。很多人夸我想象力豐富，有一些文學愛好者，希望我能告訴他們培養想象力的秘訣，對此，我只能報以苦笑。

I turned the animals loose on the riverbank to graze beneath a sky as blue as the ocean and grass-carpeted land as far as the eye could see – not another person in sight, no human sounds, nothing but bird calls above me. I was all by myself and terribly lonely; my heart felt empty. Sometimes I lay in the grass and watched clouds float lazily by, which gave rise to all sorts of fanciful images. That part of the country is known for its tales of foxes in the form of beautiful young women, and I would fantasize a fox-turned-beautiful girl coming to tend animals with me. She never did come. Once, however, a fiery red fox bounded out of the brush in front of me, scaring my legs right out from under me. I was still sitting there trembling long after the fox had vanished. Sometimes I’d crouch down beside the cows and gaze into their deep blue eyes, eyes that captured my reflection. At times I’d have a dialogue with birds in the sky, mimicking their cries, while at other times I’d divulge my hopes and desires to a tree. But the birds ignored me, and so did the trees. Years later, after I’d become a novelist, I wrote some of those fantasies into my novels and stories. People frequently bombard me with compliments on my vivid imagination, and lovers of literature often ask me to divulge my secret to developing a rich imagination. My only response is a wan smile.

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