Dining on the grass

　　"EVEN a prairie fire it survives; at a zephyr's breath it revives" -- such is the resilience of life in grass that I came to appreciate when reading poetry in my youth.

　　Now, I enjoy a scene of little children in the twilight chasing and romping around on a neat and smooth lawn like a super-size carpet. Soft, supple and genial, it supports the kids' lively movements and cushions their falls. Our happy children do belong to an era of tender grass.

　　Only decades ago, their fathers had to live amid weeds and thistles. The wild, prickly bushes they moved about and through made them itch all over. The sharp grass blades would leave scars on their hands, feet and face if they scratched themselves. Yet nothing mattered in those days when people weeded their fields with a hoe or by bare hand before planting cassava. Incidentally, some of the unwanted grass went to the kitchen to make drinks in the hot weather.

　　It was on a farm in the United States later that I enjoyed for the first time a picnic on the grass in the setting sun and then a concert in the moonlight. Some of the audience -- lovers of propriety -- had booked regular seats. Others who preferred to move about during the performance had paid for places on the grassy slope. We dined on the grass.

　　Dine while you can, I told myself, for the grass would be dining on you some day instead! The musical on the stage was too far-off for my sight or hearing. Among people covering the large slope, either reclining, sitting, or squatting on the grass in twos and threes, I intoned lines by Jacques Prevert the French poet.

　　My homeland came to mind. Given that land-scarce island, I doubt whether we can ever possibly repay Nature's kindness by allowing the grass to dine on us buried beneath. (Translated by Allen Zhuang)

　　草餐

　　金雨田

　　野火燒不盡，春風(fēng)吹又生——草。年少時(shí)從文字里領(lǐng)略到的，是生命的韌力。

　　黃昏時(shí)看孩子們?cè)诓輬?chǎng)上追逐、翻滾，草，平整，像是一大張毛毯，包容著活潑的軀體。跌倒，草，承擔(dān)著，免他們受傷。草的柔柔、軟軟、暖暖——而嬉耍其上的孩童的確屬于嫩草世代。

　　只不過推前一步，他們老爸，卻屬于雜草環(huán)抱的前代。鉆進(jìn)，穿出，草野得似火團(tuán)，把身體炙得癢癢;爬爬，草還會(huì)在手腳甚至臉上留痕。那什么都不算一回事的年月，鋤草、種木薯、拔草;而茅草根還能成為家中鍋里的涼水呢。

　　真正地享受草地上夕陽下野餐，月照下看戲，是某次在美國的農(nóng)村劇場(chǎng)。愛正襟危坐的，可買座位券，喜徜徉隨觀的，則購草坡票。

　　在草上進(jìn)餐，快吃吧!有一天，草會(huì)在你上面進(jìn)餐。遠(yuǎn)遠(yuǎn)舞臺(tái)上的音樂劇，不甚了了，但處在滿山坡或躺或坐或蹲的三三兩兩的觀眾群中，我念著雅克·卜列維的詩。

　　我想，處在這個(gè)地少人多的國度，恐怕我們都難有機(jī)會(huì)對(duì)草回報(bào)，讓草在我們身上進(jìn)餐了吧!