—— Rico
作者简介：葛瑞格·摩顿森，美国人，在1993年因救援同伴攀登乔戈里峰失败，后被巴尔蒂人救起，从此与当地人结下深厚感情。为兑现给巴基斯坦的穷困村庄建学校的承诺，他辛苦奔走，历时12年。现时他是中亚协会的负责人。
大卫·奥利佛·瑞林，游历世界的专栏作家，作品获奖无数。 “I tried to be a tough but fair taskmaster[工头],” Mortenson says. “I spent all day at the construction site, from sunrise to sunset, using my level[水平仪] to make sure the walls were even and my plumb line[铅垂线] to check that they were standing straight. I always had my notebook in my hand, and kept my eyes on everyone, anxious to account for every rupee[卢比]. I didn’t want to disappoint Jean Hoerni, so I drove people hard.”
One clear afternoon at the beginning of August, Haji Ali tapped Mortenson on the shoulder at the construction
site and asked him to take a walk. The old man led the former climber uphill for an hour, on legs still strong enough to humble the much younger man. Mortenson felt precious[宝贵的] time slipping away, and by the time Haji Ali halted[停住] on a narrow ledge high above the village, Mortenson was panting[喘气], as much from the thought of all the tasks he was failing to supervise as from his exertion[努力].
Haji Ali waited until Mortenson caught his breath, then instructed him to look at the view. The air had the fresh-scrubbed[擦] clarity that only comes with
altitude[高度]. Beyond Korphe K2注1, the ice peaks of the inner Karakoram knifed relentlessly[残酷地] into a
defenseless blue sky. A thousand feet below, Korphe, green with ripening barley fields, looked small and
vulnerable[脆弱的], a life raft adrift[漂浮的] on a sea of stone.
Haji Ali reached up and laid his hand on Mortenson’s
shoulder. “These mountains have been here a long time,” he said. “And so have we.” He reached for his rich brown lambswool[羔羊毛] topi注2, the only symbol of
authority Korphe’s nurmadhar ever wore, and centered it on his silver hair. “You can’t tell the mountains what to do,” he said, with an air of gravity[庄严] that transfixed[使呆住]
Mortenson as much as the view. “You must learn to
listen to them. So now I am asking you to listen to me. By the mercy of Almighty Allah, you have done much for my people, and we appreciate it. But now you must do one more thing for me.”
“Anything,” Mortenson said.
“Sit down. And shut your mouth,” Haji Ali said. “You’re
making everyone crazy.”
“Then he reached out and took my plumb line, and my level and my account book, and he walked back down to Korphe,” Mortenson says. “I followed him all the way to his house, worrying about what he was doing. He took the key he always kept around his neck on a leather thong[皮带], opened a cabinet decorated with faded Buddhist wood carvings, and locked my things in there, alongside a shank[柄] of curing[腌制]
ibex[野生山羊], his prayer beads, and his old British musket[滑膛枪] gun. Then he asked Sakina to bring us tea.”
Mortenson waited nervously for half an hour while Sakina brewed the paiyu cha. Haji Ali ran his fingers along the text of the Koran that he cherished above all his
belongings, turning pages randomly and mouthing almost silent Arabic prayer as he stared out into inward space.
When the porcelain[瓷] bowls of scalding[滚烫的] butter tea steamed in their hands, Haji Ali spoke. “If you want to thrive in Baltistan注3, you must respect our ways,” Haji Ali said, blowing on his bowl. “The first time you share tea with a Balti, you are a stranger. The second time you take tea, you are an honored guest. The third time you share a cup of tea, you become family, and for our family,
we are prepared to do anything, even die,” he said,
laying his hand warmly on Mortenson’s own. “Doctor Greg, you must make time to share three cups of tea. We may be uneducated. But we are not stupid. We have lived and survived here for a long time.”
“That day, Haji Ali taught me the most important lesson I’ve ever learned in my life,” Mortenson says. “We Americans think you have to accomplish everything quickly. We’re the country of thirty-minute power lunches and two-minute football drills[操练]. Haji Ali taught me to share three cups of tea, to slow down and make building relationships as important as building projects. He taught me that I had more to learn from the people I work with than I could ever hope to teach them.”
Three weeks later, with Mortenson demoted[使降职]
from foreman[工头] to spectator[旁观者], the walls of the school had risen higher than the American’s head and all that remained was putting on the roof.
“我努力当好一个公正严明的工头，”摩顿森说。“我整天待在工地，从日出到日落，用水平仪确保墙砌得平整，用铅垂线量它们够不够直。我手里一直拿着笔记本，眼睛盯着每个人，紧张地计算每一个卢比。我不想让
吉恩·霍尔尼失望，所以我把大家逼得很紧。”
八月初一个晴朗的午后，哈吉·阿里在工地拍了拍摩顿森的肩膀，邀他一起散步。老人带着摩顿森往山上走了一个小时，脚劲好得让比他年轻几十岁的美国人自叹弗如。摩顿森觉得宝贵的时间正在一点一滴地流逝。当哈吉·阿里终于在狭窄的岩架上停下来时，错过监工的想法和体力下降已经让摩顿森气喘
吁吁。
等摩顿森缓过气之后，哈吉·阿里
让他看看眼前的景色。空气是高山上特有的清新，远在“科尔飞乔戈里峰”之外，喀喇昆仑山脉内层的冰峰直刺蓝天。千米之下的科尔飞，逐渐成熟的麦田一片翠绿，但看起来那么渺小脆弱，仿佛一直漂浮在岩石海洋中的生命
之舟。
哈吉·阿里伸手放在摩顿森的肩上。“这些山在这里已经很久了，”他说。“我们也一样。”说着，他拿出象征村长权威的棕色羊毛“托比帽”，戴在银白的头发上。“你不能对山说它应该做什么。”他语调中的严肃把摩顿森震慑住了，一如眼前的景色。“你必须学会聆听。所以现在我也请你听听我的意见。因为全能安拉的慈悲，你为我的村民做了很多，我们很感激。但是现在你得再为我做一件事。”
“我愿意做任何事，”摩顿森说。
“坐下来，不要说话。”哈吉·阿里说。“你快把大家逼疯了。”
“然后他伸手把我的铅垂线、水平仪和账簿全都拿走了，走回科尔飞，”摩顿森说道。“我跟着他走回屋里，不知道他到底要做什么。他脖子上一直戴着一个皮串，上头穿了一把钥匙。他用钥匙打开一个褪色的佛教木雕柜子，把我的东西全锁在里头。柜子里面还有腌山羊肉、他的祷告珠，以及他那把旧式英国滑膛枪。然后他叫莎奇娜备茶。”
在莎奇娜煮“白玉茶”的半个小时里，摩顿森坐立不安地等待着，哈吉·阿里则随手翻着他最宝贝的《古兰经》，沉浸在内心世界里，默念着阿拉伯语祷词。
装着滚烫黄油奶茶的瓷碗在他们手中冒着热气，哈吉·阿里终于开了口。“如果你想在巴尔蒂斯坦取得成功，你就得尊重我们的生活方式，”哈吉·阿里边说边吹着他的碗。“当你第一次跟巴尔蒂人喝茶的时候，你是个陌生人；第二次喝茶，你就是我们的贵客；第三次再和我们一起喝茶，你就已经是我们的家人了；而为了家人，我们会无怨无悔地做任何事，甚至不惜牺牲，”他把温暖的手搭在摩顿森的手上说。“葛瑞格医生，你必须花时间去喝这三杯茶。我们虽然没受过教育，但是我们并不笨，我们已经在这里生存居住
很久了。”
“那一天，哈吉·阿里教会我一生中最重要的一堂课，”摩顿森说。“我们美国人认为你必须尽快把事情做完。我们是个三十分钟解决午餐、两分钟完成橄榄球训练的国家。哈吉·阿里则教我花时间喝上三杯茶，把速度放慢，像重视盖学校一样重视和他人的关系。他让我意识到从一起工作的人身上，我还有很多东西要学，而不应该自以为可以教给他们什么。”
三个星期后，当摩顿森从工头降级为旁观者时，学校的墙已经砌得比他的头还高，只差把屋顶盖上去了。