MOUNTAINS BEYOND MTNS--DELUXE(ISBN=9780812980554) 电子书 pdf 百度云 下载 epub 2025 免费 mobi 在线

　　This compelling and inspiring book, now in a deluxe paperback

edition, shows how one person can work wonders. In Mountains Beyond

Mountains, Pulitzer Prize—winning author Tracy Kidder tells the

true story of a gifted man who loves the world and has set out to

do all he can to cure it.

In medical school, Paul Farmer found his life’s calling: to cure

infectious diseases and to bring the lifesaving tools of modern

medicine to those who need them most. Kidder’s magnificent account

takes us from Harvard to Haiti, Peru, Cuba, and Russia as Farmer

changes minds and practices through his dedication to the

philosophy that “the only real nation is humanity.” At the heart of

this book is the example of a life based on hope and on an

understanding of the truth of the Haitian proverb “Beyond mountains

there are mountains”–as you solve one problem, another problem

presents itself, and so you go on and try to solve that one

too.

“Mountains Beyond Mountains unfolds with a force of gathering

revelation,” says Annie Dillard, and Jonathan Harr notes, “[Paul

Farmer] wants to change the world. Certainly this luminous and

powerful book will change the way you see it.”

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　　Tracy Kidder graduated from Harvard and studied at the

University of Iowa. He has won the Pulitzer Prize, the National

Book Award, the Robert F. Kennedy Award, and many other literary

prizes. The author of Mountains Beyond Mountains, My

Detachment, Home Town, Old Friends, Among Schoolchildren,

House, and The Soul of a New Machine, Kidder lives in

Massachusetts and Maine.

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　　Chapter 1

　　Six years after the fact, Dr. Paul Edward Farmer reminded me, “We

met because of a beheading, of all things.”

　　It was two weeks before Christmas 1994, in a market town in the

central plateau of Haiti, a patch of paved road called Mirebalais.

Near the center of town there was a Haitian army outpost–a concrete

wall enclosing a weedy parade field, a jail, and a mustard-colored

barracks. I was sitting with an American Special Forces captain,

named Jon Carroll, on the building’s second-story balcony. Evening

was coming on, the town’s best hour, when the air changed from hot

to balmy and the music from the radios in the rum shops and the

horns of the tap-taps passing through town grew loud and bright and

the general filth and poverty began to be obscured, the open sewers

and the ragged clothing and the looks on the faces of malnourished

children and the extended hands of elderly beggars plaintively

saying, “Grangou,” which means “hungry” in Creole.

　　I was in Haiti to report on American soldiers. Twenty thousand of

them had been sent to reinstate the country’s democratically

elected government, and to strip away power from the military junta

that had deposed it and ruled with great cruelty for three years.

Captain Carroll had only eight men, and they were temporarily in

charge of keeping the peace among 150,000 Haitians, spread across

about one thousand square miles of rural Haiti. A seemingly

impossible job, and yet, out here in the central plateau, political

violence had all but ended. In the past month, there had been only

one murder. Then again, it had been spectacularly grisly. A few

weeks back, Captain Carroll’s men had fished the headless corpse of

the assistant mayor of Mirebalais out of the Artibonite River. He

was one of the elected officials being restored to power. Suspicion

for his murder had fallen on one of the junta’s local

functionaries, a rural sheriff named Nerva Juste, a frightening

figure to most people in the region. Captain Carroll and his men

had brought Juste in for questioning, but they hadn’t found any

physical evidence or witnesses. So they had released him.

　　The captain was twenty-nine years old, a devout Baptist from

Alabama. I liked him. From what I’d seen, he and his men had been

trying earnestly to make improvements in this piece of Haiti, but

Washington, which had decreed that this mission would not include

“nation-building,” had given them virtually no tools for that job.

On one occasion, the captain had ordered a U.S. Army medevac flight

for a pregnant Haitian woman in distress, and his commanders had

reprimanded him for his pains. Up on the balcony of the barracks

now, Captain Carroll was fuming about his latest frustration when

someone said there was an American out at the gate who wanted to

see him.

　　There were five visitors actually, four of them Haitians. They

stood in the gathering shadows in front of the barracks, while

their American friend came forward. He told Captain Carroll that

his name was Paul Farmer, that he was a doctor, and that he worked

in a hospital here, some miles north of Mirebalais.

　　I remember thinking that Captain Carroll and Dr. Farmer made a

mismatched pair, and that Farmer suffered in the comparison. The

captain stood about six foot two, tanned and muscular. As usual, a

wad of snuff enlarged his lower lip. Now and then he turned his

head aside and spat. Farmer was about the same age but much more

delicate-looking. He had short black hair and a high waist and long

thin arms, and his nose came almost to a point. Next to the

soldier, he looked skinny and pale, and for all of that he struck

me as bold, indeed downright cocky.

　　He asked the captain if his team had any medical problems. The

captain said they had some sick prisoners whom the local hospital

had refused to treat. “I ended up buyin’ the medicine

myself.”

　　Farmer flashed a smile. “You’ll spend less time in Purgatory.”

Then he asked, “Who cut off the head of the assistant mayor?”

　　“I don’t know for sure,” said the captain.

　　“It’s very hard to live in Haiti and not know who cut off

someone’s head,” said Farmer.

　　A circuitous argument followed. Farmer made it plain he didn’t

like the American government’s plan for fixing Haiti’s economy, a

plan that would aid business interests but do nothing, in his view,

to relieve the suffering of the average Haitian. He clearly

believed that the United States had helped to foster the coup–for

one thing, by having trained a high official of the junta at the

U.S. Army’s School of the Americas. Two clear sides existed in

Haiti, Farmer said–the forces of repression and the Haitian poor,

the vast majority. Farmer was on the side of the poor. But, he told

the captain, “it still seems fuzzy which side the American soldiers

are on.” Locally, part of the fuzziness came from the fact that the

captain had released the hated Nerva Juste.

　　I sensed that Farmer knew Haiti far better than the captain, and

that he was trying to impart some important information. The people

in this region were losing confidence in the captain, Farmer seemed

to be saying, and this was a serious matter, obviously, for a team

of nine soldiers trying to govern 150,000 people.

　　But the warning wasn’t entirely plain, and the captain got a

little riled up at Farmer’s denunciation of the School of the

Americas. As for Nerva Juste, he said, “Look, that guy is a bad

guy. When I do have him and the evidence, I’ll slam him.” He

slapped a fist into his hand. “But I’m not gonna stoop to the level

of these guys and make summary arrests.”

　　Farmer replied, in effect, that it made no sense for the captain

to apply principles of constitutional law in a country that at the

moment had no functioning legal system. Juste was a menace and

should be locked up.

　　So they reached a strange impasse. The captain, who described

himself as “a redneck,” arguing for due process, and Farmer, who

clearly considered himself a champion of human rights, arguing for

preventive detention. Eventually, the captain said, “You’d be

surprised how many decisions about what I can do here get made in

Washington.”

　　And Farmer said, “I understand you’re constrained. Sorry if I’ve

been haranguing.”

　　It had grown dark. The two men stood in a square of light from

the open barracks door. They shook hands. As the young doctor

disappeared into the shadows, I heard him speaking Creole to his

Haitian friends.

　　I stayed with the soldiers for several weeks. I didn’t think much

about Farmer. In spite of his closing words, I didn’t think he

understood or cared to sympathize with the captain’s

problems.

　　Then by chance I ran into him again, on my way home, on the plane

to Miami. He was sitting in first-class. He explained that the

flight attendants put him there because he often flew this route

and on occasion dealt with medical emergencies on board. The

attendants let me sit with him for a while. I had dozens of

questions about Haiti, including one about the assistant mayor’s

murder. The soldiers thought that Voodoo beliefs conferred a

special, weird terror on decapitation. “Does cutting off the

victim’s head have some basis in the history of Voodoo?” I

asked.

　　“It has some basis in the history of brutality,” Farmer answered.

He frowned, and then he touched my arm, as if to say that we all

ask stupid questions sometimes.

　　I found out more about him. For one thing, he didn’t dislike

soldiers. “I grew up in a trailer park, and I know which economic

class joins the American military.” He told me, speaking of Captain

Carroll, “You meet these twenty-nine-year-old soldiers, and you

realize, Come on, they’re not the ones making the bad policies.” He

confirmed my impression, that he’d visited the captain to warn him.

Many of Farmer’s patients and Haitian friends had complained about

the release of Nerva Juste, saying it proved the Americans hadn’t

really come to help them. Farmer told me he was driving through

Mireba- lais and his Haitian friends were teasing him, saying he

didn’t dare stop and talk to the American soldiers about the murder

case, and then the truck got a flat tire right outside the army

compound, and he said to his friends, “Aha, you have to listen to

messages from angels.”

　　I got Farmer to tell me a little about his life. He was

thirty-five. He had graduated from Harvard Medical School and also

had a Ph.D. in anthropology from Harvard. He worked in Boston four

months of the year, living in a church rectory in a slum. The rest

of the year he worked without pay in Haiti, mainly doctoring

peasants who had lost their land to a hydroelectric dam. He had

been expelled from Haiti during the time of the junta but had

sneaked back to his hospital. “After the payment,” he said, “of an

insultingly small bribe.”

　　I looked for him after the plane landed. We talked some more in a

coffee shop, and I nearly missed my connecting flight. A few weeks

later, I took him to dinner in Boston, hoping he could help make

sense of what I was trying to write about Haiti, which he seemed

glad to do. He clarified some of the history for me but left me

wondering about him. He had described himself as “a poor people’s

doctor,” but he didn’t quite fit my preconception of such a person.

He clearly liked the fancy restaurant, the heavy cloth napkins, the

good bottle of wine. What struck me that evening was how happy he

seemed with his life. Obviously, a young man with his advantages

could have been doing good works as a doctor while commuting

between Boston and a pleasant suburb–not between a room in what I

imagined must be a grubby church rectory and the w...

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Looking back at this first year of living in Haiti, Farmer would speak of the feeling that many things in his mind coalesced into a vision of his life's proper work. But, he'd insist, this happened in stages, not all at once. 'For me, it was a process, not an event. A slow awakening as opposed to an epiphany.'

"Do you know what appropriate technology means? It means good things for rich people and shit for the poor," the priest growled...Farmer got hold of a pamphlet about how to equip labs in third world places published by the World Health Organization. It made modest recommendations. You could make do with only one sink. If it wasn't easy to arrange for electricity, you could rely on solar power. A homemade solar-powered microscope would serve for most purposes. He threw the booklet away. The first microscope in Cange was a real one, which he stole from Harvard Medical School. "Redistributive justice," he'd later say. "We were just helping them not go to hell"

古巴是一个穷国，他们之所以那么穷，美国长期实施禁运难辞其咎。不过苏联瓦解，使古巴失去背后的金主及大部分对外贸易之际，当局听从其流行病学家的警告，增加了公共卫生方面的开支。以美国的标准来说，古巴医生的设备根本就不足，而他们的待遇就算以古巴的标准来说也很差，但是他们一般都受过良好的训练，而且古巴人口平均的医生数，高于世界任何一个国家，甚至是美国的两倍。人人皆可使用医疗服务，就算要动心脏手术也没问题。根据世界卫生组织做的一项研究，古巴拥有全球分配最平均的医药。犹有甚者，古巴以前出口佣兵，意图改变世界，现在似乎也放弃了这个计划。如今他们出口的是医生，把许多医生送到贫穷国家，现在就约有五百位医生在海地免费工作——不过效果不彰，因为设备不足。然而就算只是装装样子，对法默来说也意义十足。

有一次他与几个哈佛的教授朋友辩论，他们说北欧国家是公共卫生卓越和政治自由的最佳典范。法默说，他们谈的是管理财富，他说的则是管理贫穷。海地是管理贫穷的不良示范，古巴则是好的范例。

他在莱奥干的圣十字医院担任义工时，认识了一位年轻的美国医生。“他爱海地人，”法默说，“是个很为别人着想的人。”这个人已经在海地工作了一年左右，数日后就要回美国。“我听他讲话时，明白自己的想法已经改变。”法默说，“我不是要批评他。他觉得他可以离开海地，把海地抛诸脑后”……

“你离开不会很难过吗？”他问那个年轻医生。

“你在说笑？我简直迫不及待。这里连电也没有，根本是蛮荒之地。”

“可以你难道不担心忘不了这里的一切吗？这里有这么多人生病。”

“不会，”那个医生说，“我是美国人，所以我要回国了。”

他那天一直在想两人的对话，到了晚上还在想“我是美国人”那句话是什么意思？人是怎么为自己归类的？……

那天晚上，一个身怀六甲并感染疟疾的年轻妇女来到医院。“她的血液寄生虫浓度非常高，”法默记得，“是严重疟疾。她陷入昏迷，需要输血。她姐姐也在医院，医院没有血，医生就叫她姐姐去太子港取血来，但这些血要用钱买。我身上没有钱，在医院到处凑，勉强凑出十五美元，但这笔钱根本不够坐车和买血。病人开始出现呼吸窘迫综合征，开始吐血。护士都说：‘没救了。’其他人则说：‘我们现在该做剖腹产。’她姐姐已经忍不住在旁边哭了起来。这个妇人有五个孩子。她姐姐说：‘太过分了，穷人连输血的权利都没有。我们都一样是人哪。’”

这句话——我们都一样是人，像是他思索了一天的问题的解答。身为美国人就可以自成一体，置身事外吗？“那句话她说了又说，”他回忆道，“我们都一样是人。”

哈佛和海地在法默身上形成了一种新的观念。他数年后告诉我：“宗教信仰对哈佛来说是不屑一顾的事，但对穷人来说却异常重要（不只是海地，其他地方也一样），这一点更使我相信有信仰是好事。”

如果在肯吉没有私有土地的农民需要相信有一个无所不知的神在执掌功过簿的话，法默觉得自己就有相信这种事的必要。套句农民的话，“命不该绝却死亡，就是枉死”，这种事他见多了。“难道冥冥之中真有人在目睹这场可怕的演出吗？”他对自己说，“我知道这种好像麻醉作用，需要借着信仰来减轻痛苦的说法听起来肤浅无知，但是感觉上并非如此。它比我所知道的其他观念深奥，使我深受吸引。在一个表面上无神论、崇拜金钱与权力，或是讲究个人效率和升迁的世界（像杜克和哈佛），上帝的存在仍然有迹可循，可从穷人受的苦难中寻找。你们想谈背负十字架吗？我会让你们知道什么叫背负十字架。”

他采取的立场坚不可摧，但我仍觉得这个立场未免太好用。他优先选择穷人，因此对他做的任何抨击，都是对已经遭受打压的人发动攻击。可是我知道他不是在装腔作势。我对他已有几分了解，因此我后来是这么对自己说的：他说病人第一，囚犯第二，学生第三，但这样的优先顺序没有漏掉任何人。每一个生病的人都可能成为法默的病人，每一个健康人也有可能成为学生。在他的心中，他无时不刻不在对抗贫穷，这个努力的过程荆棘密布，而且难免失败。对他来说，报酬就是内心清明如镜，代价则是对这个世界永远感到愤然，或者最多是对这个世界感到不舒服；而他来到世上的目的不是要使任何人觉得舒服。

编辑推荐

　　Review

　　“In this excellent work, Pulitzer Prize—winner Kidder immerses

himself in and beautifully explores the rich drama that exists in

the life of Dr. Paul Farmer…Throughout, Kidder captures the almost

saintly effect Farmer has on those whom he treats.”

　　-Publisher’s Weekly, starred review

　　“[A] Skilled and graceful exploration of the soul of an

astonishing human being.”

　　-Kirkus Reviews, starred review

　　“A fine writer and his extraordinary subject: Tracy Kidder, in

giving us Paul Farmer, lifts up an image of hope–and challenge–that

the world urgently needs. Simply put, this is an important book.”

-James Carroll, author of Constantine's Sword

　　“The central character of this marvelous book is one of the most

provocative, brilliant, funny, unsettling, endlessly energetic,

irksome, and charming characters ever to spring to life on the

page. He has embarked on an epic struggle that will take you from

the halls of Harvard Medical School to a sun-scorched plateau in

Haiti, from the slums of Peru to the cold gray prisons of Moscow.

He wants to change the world. Certainly this luminous and powerful

book will change the way you see it.”—Jonathan Harr, author of A

Civil Action

　　“A profoundly inspiring and important book about one of the truly

great men of our time.” —Ethan Canin, author of Carry Me Across the

Water

　　“Here is a genuine hero alive in our times. Mountains Beyond

Mountains unfolds with the force of gathering revelation. Like all

of Tracy Kidder’s books, it is as hard to put down as any good and

true story.”—Annie Dillard, author of The Writing Life

　　“Mountains Beyond Mountains is the only book I’ve read in years

that made me feel like cheering. It left me uncomfortable, guilty,

and exhausted—but it also inspired me, kept me up all night, and

moved me to tears. Some readers will find their lives changed

forever; everyone else will emerge, at the very least, with an

unexpectedly revised set of values. Tracy Kidder has given us not

only an unforgettable book but an unignorable life lesson. Hurrah!”

—Anne Fadiman, author of The Spirit Catches You and You Fall

Down

　　“Rarely has idealism fared so well on the planet as in Tracy

Kidder’s eloquently reported Mountains Beyond Mountains. One is

tempted to call Paul Farmer’s passionate sensibilities and loving

ambitions otherworldly, but only in sadness that there are too few

of him in the world. Kidder has provided us all, as the Farmerites

say, with a road map to decency, and such an endowment is beyond

measure.” —Bob Shacochis, author of Easy in the Islands

　　"Is there anything Tracy Kidder can't do? This is a beautiful

book, and a masterful one. Even better, Mountains Beyond Mountains

is a page-turner that will crack your conscience open." -Stacey

Schiff, author of Vera

　　“An incredible story about an incredible man told by an

incredible writer. Mountains Beyond Mountains is the sort of book

that makes you want to buy a hundred copies and pass them out like

a street corner evangelist. It's the sort of book that will affect

your life in a profound way. In a good way.” -Thom Jones, author of

The Pugilist at Rest

　　“Saints are notoriously difficult people, but who knew one could

be so funny, so utterly charming, and finally so deft in

accomplishing that most impossible of all job

de*ions--changing the world? Tracy Kidder's spellbinding story

presents us with an unlikely saint and finally, with inspiration so

compelling it makes the usual cynicism about global change seem

indulgent foolishness.”

　　-Patricia Hampl, author of A Romantic Education

　　From the Hardcover edition.

媒体评论

　　“[A] masterpiece.”—USA Today

　　“Inspiring, disturbing, daring and completely absorbing.”—New

York Times Book Review

　　“Stunning. Mountains Beyond Mountains will move you, restore your

faith in the ability of one person to make a difference in these

increasingly maddening, dispiriting times. [Kidder has] held his

writer’s mirror up to an astonishing comet of a man whose

reflection flatters us all for what it says about our capacity for

mercy and healing.”—San Diego Union-Tribune

　　“Easily the most fascinating, most entertaining and, yes, most

inspiring work of non-fiction I’ve read this year.”—San Jose

Mercury News

　　“It’ll fill you equally with wonder and hope.”—People

　　“If I ever go on a retreat again, this is the kind of book I’d

like to take for spiritual reading. . . . [Kidder] knows it is

impossible to live like Farmer, but the impossibility is the very

thing that can somehow give us life.”—Washington Post Book

World

　　“In this excellent work, Pulitzer Prize—winner Kidder immerses

himself in and beautifully explores the rich drama that exists in

the life of Dr. Paul Farmer…Throughout, Kidder captures the almost

saintly effect Farmer has on those whom he treats.”—Publishers

Weekly, starred review

　　“[A] Skilled and graceful exploration of the soul of an

astonishing human being.”—Kirkus Reviews, starred review

　　“A fine writer and his extraordinary subject: Tracy Kidder, in

giving us Paul Farmer, lifts up an image of hope–and challenge–that

the world urgently needs. Simply put, this is an important book.”

-James Carroll, author of Constantine's Sword

　　“The central character of this marvelous book is one of the most

provocative, brilliant, funny, unsettling, endlessly energetic,

irksome, and charming characters ever to spring to life on the

page. He has embarked on an epic struggle that will take you from

the halls of Harvard Medical School to a sun-scorched plateau in

Haiti, from the slums of Peru to the cold gray prisons of Moscow.

He wants to change the world. Certainly this luminous and powerful

book will change the way you see it.”—Jonathan Harr, author of A

Civil Action

　　“A profoundly inspiring and important book about one of the truly

great men of our time.” —Ethan Canin, author of Carry Me Across the

Water

　　“Here is a genuine hero alive in our times. Mountains Beyond

Mountains unfolds with the force of gathering revelation. Like all

of Tracy Kidder’s books, it is as hard to put down as any good and

true story.”—Annie Dillard, author of The Writing Life

　　“Mountains Beyond Mountains is the only book I’ve read in years

that made me feel like cheering. It left me uncomfortable, guilty,

and exhausted—but it also inspired me, kept me up all night, and

moved me to tears. Some readers will find their lives changed

forever; everyone else will emerge, at the very least, with an

unexpectedly revised set of values. Tracy Kidder has given us not

only an unforgettable book but an unignorable life lesson. Hurrah!”

—Anne Fadiman, author of The Spirit Catches You and You Fall

Down

　　“Rarely has idealism fared so well on the planet as in Tracy

Kidder’s eloquently reported Mountains Beyond Mountains. One is

tempted to call Paul Farmer’s passionate sensibilities and loving

ambitions otherworldly, but only in sadness that there are too few

of him in the world. Kidder has provided us all, as the Farmerites

say, with a road map to decency, and such an endowment is beyond

measure.” —Bob Shacochis, author of Easy in the Islands

　　"Is there anything Tracy Kidder can't do? This is a beautiful

book, and a masterful one. Even better, Mountains Beyond Mountains

is a page-turner that will crack your conscience open." -Stacey

Schiff, author of Vera

　　“An incredible story about an incredible man told by an

incredible writer. Mountains Beyond Mountains is the sort of book

that makes you want to buy a hundred copies and pass them out like

a street corner evangelist. It's the sort of book that will affect

your life in a profound way. In a good way.” -Thom Jones, author of

The Pugilist at Rest

　　“Saints are notoriously difficult people, but who knew one could

be so funny, so utterly charming, and finally so deft in

accomplishing that most impossible of all job de*ions—changing

the world? Tracy Kidder's spellbinding story presents us with an

unlikely saint and finally, with inspiration so compelling it makes

the usual cynicism about global change seem indulgent

foolishness.”—Patricia Hampl, author of A Romantic Education

书籍介绍

This compelling and inspiring book, now in a deluxe paperback edition, shows how one person can work wonders. In Mountains Beyond Mountains , Pulitzer Prize—winning author Tracy Kidder tells the true story of a gifted man who loves the world and has set out to do all he can to cure it.

In medical school, Paul Farmer found his life’s calling: to cure infectious diseases and to bring the lifesaving tools of modern medicine to those who need them most. Kidder’s magnificent account takes us from Harvard to Haiti, Peru, Cuba, and Russia as Farmer changes minds and practices through his dedication to the philosophy that “the only real nation is humanity.” At the heart of this book is the example of a life based on hope and on an understanding of the truth of the Haitian proverb “Beyond mountains there are mountains”–as you solve one problem, another problem presents itself, and so you go on and try to solve that one too.

“ Mountains Beyond Mountains unfolds with a force of gathering revelation,” says Annie Dillard, and Jonathan Harr notes, “[Paul Farmer] wants to change the world. Certainly this luminous and powerful book will change the way you see it.”