《箱根的小路與草帽歌：1990年五哥的日本之旅》

1990年秋，我請J幫我五哥辦了擔保來日本看看。五哥到日本的那天，我去成田機場接他，到家後他居然變戲法兒一樣，從背包裡取出一串鮮活生猛的大閘蟹來。當時的海關出入境管得也夠鬆的，居然大活螃蟹會從上海帶到日本上了我們的餐桌。那頓清蒸大閘蟹味道好極了。

在家時我和我五哥關係比較近，有點同命相連的感覺。他是因為性格內向不聲不響我母親不太待見。而我是個女的，母親管得太嚴還有那麼一點重男輕女。所以一機會我就想到讓五哥出來走走。

我五哥從一落地就蔫聲不響，用他自己的話說：「我是在五四二廠出生的，當時一出生就沒有聲音，護士說我是死嬰，就給我扔在一邊。是咱媽不相信，一定要看，才發現我是活的，這才撿回了一條命。」

說來神奇，就在我動筆寫下這段文字的前一天晚上（2026年10月31日），我竟然做了一個奇特的預知夢。

我夢見母親開車，我坐在副駕駛座上。母親開得極快，窗外的風景像拉道道的狂風一樣飛速倒退。我時時緊張地提醒她注意危險，但每次她都能在毫不減速的情況下，精準地繞過路上的所有障礙——有拋錨的小車，還有從大車上掉落的、像水泥攪拌機大小的沉重金屬圓桶。後來我們在一家旅店住了一晚，發現五哥居然也住在這家旅店。隔天起來準備出發，母親悉心整理著行裝，帶上了滿滿一臉盆新鮮的青菜和大白菜。我打算去上廁所，邊上小店的人卻說「裡面有人，暫時不能用」，我便醒了。

現實生活中，我母親生前根本不會開車，連自行車都沒騎過。但這個夢的心理學隱喻卻極深：那飛馳的快車與驚險的重重障礙，不正是我們家幾十年來在動盪時代裡「命運沉浮」的真實寫照嗎？抄家、反革命、下鄉、飢餓，時代的巨輪接連砸下，而母親就是那個頂著風暴、開著快車，帶著全家化險為夷的人。她「不相信、一定要看」的執著，把五哥從死神手裡搶了回來；她夢裡帶上的那一盆大白菜，則是那個匱乏年代裡最讓人心安的母愛保護色。我的大腦，竟然在我的手敲下文字之前，就已經在後台悄悄開工，為這段歷史做了一次充滿靈氣的「神祕排練」。

說起來也怪，我的哥哥們除了五哥，從未在我的夢裡出現過，唯獨五哥，這幾十年來曾四次入夢。1998年，我夢見和父親、五哥一同待在一座華麗的城堡裡；2011年，夢見宇宙飛船墜落涼台，我驚慌地拉著五哥用皮質手機摸索著撥打911求救；2017年，又夢見五哥推門回來，急切地對我說：「媽病了住醫院裡」，我說：「你要帶我去探望她」。再到如今2026年出發前的旅店相遇。或許，正因為當年在老家，他因性格內向不被待見，我因重男輕女被嚴格管束，這種「同命相連」的靈魂磁場，讓我們成了幾十年時空也隔不斷的、潛意識裡最深的牽掛。

他還回憶說：「58年是大建設的年份，家庭婦女都出去工作了，家裡的小孩子沒人管了，就把我們這些年紀差不多的小孩，弄去讀書了。所以我是67屆的比同屆的同學小一二歲。」

四哥說：「他太幸運了，早一年畢業，就進了上海工廠工作。68年分配是上山下鄉一片紅，全要到外地插隊落戶的，這就是命運！」我六哥也早一年畢業，他是讀了當時人人羨慕的五年制小學，但他卻一頭撞上了69屆上山下鄉一片紅，去了西雙版納深山老林裡割膠。當時就68和69兩屆畢業生是一片紅的。五哥躲掉了，六哥踩進去了。點這裡閱讀：《一家七兄妹的命運沉浮》

1973年9月五哥又被廠裡保送進了上海交大電機系讀書。那時候高考制度還沒恢復，想讀大學是難上加難。看來好事兒都讓他給碰上了。

1990年11月29日我和五哥去了崎玉縣探望我華師大的兩位老朋友，是1985年夏華師大工會組織的黃山旅遊時認識的。

在黃山 In Huangshan 1985

1990年12月23日我和五哥一起去了箱根。在路上五哥說多年前看日本電影《人證》時，那首如泣如訴的影片主題曲「草帽歌」，以及那片草長鶯飛的山谷中奔跑的孩子與飄飛的草帽，給他留下了深刻的印象。成了他心中朦朧的、遙不可及的向往、心中的夢。現在可是真的踏上了箱根的小路，心中有無限感慨。

那天的能見度還可以，我們看到了富士山。位於箱根山脈火山口的大涌谷的空氣中彌漫著硫磺的氣味。大湧谷是三千年前箱根火山最後一次爆發造成的。

既然來了，出一次國不容易，我的同學就幫我五哥介紹了打零工的機會。先是在一個用注塑機做玩具的老闆家裡打工，又在洗衣廠打過工。最後是在一家汽車製造廠（好像是豐田車）的油漆車間打工十個月。

這是1991年1月5日，我在家請客，來了四位東海大學的同學，有兩位我還不認識。人來的多，我去跟二樓第一家鄰居借了餐桌，也請他來一起熱鬧熱鬧。他們中的一位幫五哥介紹到一家汽車製造廠工作的。

記得他第一次領到工資時，就馬上去店裡給老婆買了一隻戒指，是歐泊的。

其實這背後還有一段故事。2024年我想寫這段往事時，因為許多細節記不清了，便發郵件向姪女（五哥的女兒）打聽，當時五哥又出去旅遊了，我說：「哈哈，五哥現在好逍遙！我記得他在日本時第一次拿了工資就馬上去給你媽買了一個戒指。我那時還挺羨慕的，真是個好丈夫啊。讓我看看照片吧，好像是藍寶石的？如果五哥能回憶起當年打工的細節和日期就太好了。」姪女便把戒指的照片拍了發給我。

結果，這張照片和我的讚美，反而引出了姪女對她老爸的「吐槽」。她回信說：「我記得我爸去日本是90年代初……他買的戒指是歐泊的，如果當時買的藍寶石的話，現在應該升值很多了。這好像是他買給我媽的第一個也是唯一一個戒指。今年流行復古，所以這個戒指我平時戴戴😃。我也覺得我爸是好福氣的人，找到我媽這樣賢惠又任勞任怨的老婆。」

看到這兒，我便回她說：「哈哈，我懂得『任勞任怨』這四個字的分量，感同身受。一般女人任勞任怨，基本上丈夫是不太體貼型的。」

有一次我去看五哥，他在宿舍裡，說肝區有點疼，我馬上出去找了一家日本小藥店，買了一瓶藥，據說能緩和肝臟的不舒服。結果拿回來一看，藥已經過期了，又去退了。

五哥在日本大約掙了一百萬日元。1991年時，一百萬日元大約折合近四萬元人民幣。在那個年代的上海，這無疑是一筆名副其實的天文數字和大錢，相當於國內普通職工不吃不喝攢上十幾年的工資總和。所以說，時代所有罕見的好事，全都讓五哥一個人給碰上了。

記得我那時還曾問過六哥，想不想也來日本看看？當時六哥已經回到上海了，在電視台開車。結果，六哥說：「去美國還可以，日本就算了。」

其實回頭想想，我那時候最應該幫助的是四哥。他的經濟條件在我們兄妹中是最差的，但他偏偏又是人最老實、幹家務是母親最得力的助手。因為當年母親被打成反革命，四哥受的打擊最大，從此一蹶不振。我心裡一直有些後悔，總想著等到自己以後有錢了，一定要好好接濟接濟四哥。可生活總有那麼多陰差陽錯，直到目前，這在我的心裡還依然只是一個未能實現的願望。

回國時，五哥說要到日本出入境管理局去投案自首，寫個簡單的經歷，就可以了。因為他滯留時間超過了。

其實，回國那天在機場還發生了一場驚心動魄的意外。2025年4月14日，姪女在郵件裡幫五哥補充了這段驚險的記憶：「那時候以為沒事了，結果因為他們發的臨時身份證沒有上交，在飛機場被扣押到飛機起飛前才讓登機。當時那張卡已經放在行李中託運了，無法拿出來了。」

原來，五哥自首後拿到了日本政府發的臨時身份證，本該在出海關時上交銷案，他卻稀裡糊塗地把卡放進大行李箱直接託運了。到了成田機場出境口，他拿不出證件，驚動了日本海關，被當場扣留盤問。眼看著飛機就要起飛，貨艙裡的行李也根本不可能翻出來。好在最後關頭，日本海關終於網開一面，在飛機起飛前的最後一剎那，才放行讓他登機。這才算有驚無險地回到了上海。

【後記：2025年的跨時空連線】

一晃三十多年過去了。2025年，我因為寫這些回憶錄再次與姪女聯繫，也得知了家裡的近況。姪女在信裡對我說：「孃孃、很不好意思，是我疏於回覆。這兩年我的工作內容有點變化，著實比之前更忙了。加上這兩年國內經濟不好，原本還要為我招人的也被擱淺了。國內又延長了退休延齡，還要再幹十幾年才能退休。我爸昨天又出去旅遊了，這次好像要半個月才回，真的很羨慕他，退休工資又高，又有時間。我們退休了還不知道能拿多少。」

我便回信感嘆道：「哈哈，你老爸是我們兄妹中活得最自在逍遙的。在外面多跑跑對身心健康都有益。」

姪女回信說：「哈哈，他真的是瀟灑。我也時常跟他講，因為有我媽這樣任勞任怨的老婆和我這樣不需要啃老的女兒，才能造就了他現在瀟灑的狀態。」

其實，我們姑姪倆在夢境裡也早有感應。就在2025年6月25日，姪女在給我的郵件裡寫道：

「孃孃，昨晚我夢見你了。夢裡我還是孩童的樣子，你還是年輕時候的樣子。夢到你回國了，現在具體有點忘記說了什麼，但是依稀記得由於長久的分別，我們喜極而泣，抱頭痛哭。」

1991年12月我回上海探親，倆可愛的小姪女
Me with my two nieces, Shanghai, December 1991

看到這兒，我的眼眶也泛潮了，隨即給她回信道：「太好了，雖然咱們好久沒見了，但夢裡能相見！而且是還原到我們當年的樣子。想起你在武寧路住的時候，一天我去玩兒，一進屋就看見你坐在窗前桌子的左側，立馬跑過來喊我孃孃，很可愛的一個乖乖女。你叫孃孃時聲音很脆亮好聽，你母親做了一桌美食，難忘的記憶還有好多呢。你的夢讓我眼眶泛潮了，謝謝！美好的記憶，美好的親情。」

看著她字裡行間的依戀，心裡暖洋洋的。當年那個在箱根小路上回味著《草帽歌》感慨萬千、在日本車廠油漆車間辛苦幹活到肝痛的五哥，如今終於熬成了最瀟灑、活得最自在逍遙的人。而當年的小女孩也長大了，卻依然在夢裡抱著年輕時的姑姑痛哭。這或許就是命運給予一個善良、內向、曾歷經時代坎坷的家族，最溫柔的補償吧。

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The Road to Hakone and the Straw Hat Song: My Fifth Brother’s Journey to Japan in 1990

In the autumn of 1990, I asked J to help sponsor a visa for my fifth brother so he could come and see Japan. On the day he arrived, I went to Narita Airport to pick him up. Once we got home, as if performing a magic trick, he pulled a string of live, feisty hairy crabs out of his backpack. Customs and border control back then must have been quite lax for live crabs to travel all the way from Shanghai to Japan and end up on our dinner table. That meal of steamed hairy crabs tasted absolutely divine.

At home, my fifth brother and I had always been quite close, sharing a sense of kindred vulnerability. Because he was introverted and quiet, our mother didn't care for him much. As for me, being a girl, our mother controlled me very strictly and held a slight preference for sons over daughters. So, the moment an opportunity arose, I wanted to help my brother get out and see the world.

From the moment he landed, my fifth brother was quiet and subdued. In his own words: "I was born in Factory 542. When I came out, I didn't make a sound. The nurse thought I was a stillborn and tossed me aside. It was our mother who refused to believe it; she insisted on looking, only to discover I was alive, which snatched my life back from the brink." 

Strangely enough, out of all my brothers, none have ever appeared in my dreams except for my fifth brother, who has entered my sleep four times over the decades. In 1998, I dreamed of staying with my father and him inside a magnificent castle. In 2011, I dreamed of a spaceship crashing onto our balcony, and me frantically grabbing a leather-cased phone, fumbling to find the keys as I yelled at him to dial 911. In 2017, I dreamed of him opening the door and telling me urgently, "Mother is sick in the hospital," to which I replied, "You need to take me to visit her." And now, in 2026, we meet again at an inn before setting out. Perhaps back in our hometown days, because he was introverted and overlooked while I was strictly controlled as a daughter, this kindred vulnerability forged a soul connection that decades of time and space could never sever—making him the deepest, subconscious longing of my heart.

He also recalled, "The year 1958 was a time of massive construction. Homemakers all went out to work, leaving no one to look after the young children at home. So, they put all of us kids around the same age into school early. That's why I belonged to the Class of '67, making me one or two years younger than my classmates." Click here to read：The Upbringing of Our Seven Siblings: The Deep Imprints of an Era

My fourth brother once remarked, "He was so lucky. Graduating just a year earlier meant he could enter a Shanghai factory to work. By 1968, job assignments meant the 'Up to the Mountains and Down to the Villages' movement was in full swing—everyone was forced to settle down in rural areas. That was destiny!" My sixth brother also graduated a year earlier after attending the five-year primary school that everyone envied back then. Yet, he crashed headfirst into the Class of '69's mandatory rural relocation, ending up in the forests of Xishuangbanna to tap rubber. At that time, only the graduating classes of '68 and '69 faced that absolute sweep. Our fifth brother evaded it, while our sixth brother stepped right into it.

In September 1973, my fifth brother was recommended by his factory to study in the Electrical Engineering Department at Shanghai Jiao Tong University. Back then, the college entrance examination system had not yet been reinstated, making entering a university incredibly difficult. It seemed every stroke of good fortune had come his way.

On November 29, 1990, my fifth brother and I traveled to Saitama Prefecture to visit two of my old friends from East China Normal University. We had originally met during a trip to the Yellow Mountains organized by the university's labor union in the summer of 1985.

On December 23, 1990, my fifth brother and I went to Hakone together. Along the way, he mentioned that many years ago, when he watched the Japanese movie Proof of the Man, the hauntingly sorrowful theme song, "Straw Hat Song," as well as the scene of a child running through a lush, wild valley with a straw hat drifting in the wind, had left a profound impression on him. It became a hazy, unreachable yearning—a dream in his heart. Now that his feet were truly stepping onto the small paths of Hakone, his heart was filled with boundless emotion.

The visibility that day was decent, and we caught a view of Mount Fuji. At Owakudani, located in the volcanic crater of the Hakone Mountains, the air was thick with the scent of sulfur. Owakudani was formed by the final eruption of the Hakone volcano three thousand years ago.

Since he had made the rare journey abroad, my classmate helped introduce my fifth brother to some odd job opportunities. First, he worked at the home of a boss who manufactured toys using injection molding machines, and later he worked at a laundry plant. Finally, he spent ten months working in the paint workshop of an automobile manufacturing plant (I believe it was Toyota). On January 5, 1991, I hosted a gathering at my house, which was attended by four classmates from Tokai University, two of whom I hadn't met before. Since so many people came over, I went to borrow a dining table from my neighbor living in the first apartment on the second floor, and invited him to join the lively gathering as well. It was one of those classmates who helped introduce my brother to the job at the auto plant. I remember that the first time he received his wages, he went straight to a shop to buy his wife an opal ring. 

There is actually a backstory to this. In 2024, when I wanted to write down these memories, many details had become hazy, so I emailed my niece to ask for clarification. Since my brother was away traveling again, I wrote to her: "Haha, your dad is living such a carefree life now! I remember back in Japan, the very first time he got paid, he rushed straight to a shop to buy a ring for your mom. I quite envied her at the time—what a great husband! Let me have a look at it; I recall it being a sapphire? It would be wonderful if your dad could recall some of those specific dates and details from his part-time working days." My niece snapped a photo of the ring and emailed it to me first.

As it turned out, this photograph and my praise inadvertently triggered some playful "complaints" from my niece about her father. She replied: "I remember my dad went to Japan in the early '90s... The ring he bought was actually an opal; if he had bought a sapphire back then, it probably would have appreciated a lot in value by now. This seems to be the very first and only ring he ever bought for my mom. Vintage styles are trendy this year, so I wear this ring casually nowadays 😃. I also think my dad is a very blessed man to have found a wife like my mom, who is so virtuous, bearing all the burdens and hard work without a single complaint."

Seeing her words, I wrote back to her: "Haha, I know exactly the weight behind that phrase 'bearing all burdens without complaint'—I feel it deeply myself. Generally speaking, when a woman is described that way, it usually means her husband isn't the most considerate type."

Another time when I went to visit my fifth brother at his dormitory, he mentioned feeling some pain in his liver area. I immediately went out to find a small pharmacy and bought a bottle of medicine that was supposed to soothe liver discomfort. However, when I brought it back, I realized the medicine had already expired, so I went back to return it.

My fifth brother earned about one million yen during his time in Japan. In 1991, one million yen was equivalent to nearly 40,000 RMB. In Shanghai at that time, this was undoubtedly a literal astronomical sum of big money, equal to the total combined wages of an ordinary domestic worker saving for over a decade without eating or drinking. It really seemed that every rare stroke of good fortune belonging to that era had been captured by my fifth brother alone.

I remember asking my sixth brother if he wanted to come to Japan as well. By then, my sixth brother had already returned to Shanghai and was working as a driver for the television station. In the end, he refused, saying, "Going to the United States would be alright, but forget about Japan."

In hindsight, however, the one I truly should have helped was my fourth brother. His financial situation was the absolute worst among all my siblings, yet he happened to be the most honest and kind-hearted soul, and our mother’s most reliable helper around the house. Because of our mother being branded a counter-revolutionary back then, my fourth brother took the heaviest blow and lost his drive entirely from then on. I have always felt a lingering regret in my heart, always thinking that once I made enough money in the future, I would definitely support my fourth brother. Yet, life is full of so many unpredictable turns; up until this very moment, this remains nothing more than an unfulfilled wish in my heart.

When it was time to return to China, my fifth brother said he had to turn himself in to the Japanese Immigration Bureau and write a brief summary of his experience, which would suffice, since he had overstayed his visa.

As it turned out, a heart-stopping incident occurred at the airport on the day of his departure. On April 14, 2025, my niece helped supplement this thrilling memory in her email: "Back then, he thought everything was sorted out. However, because he forgot to hand back the temporary ID card they had issued him, he was detained at the airport and was only allowed to board right before the plane took off. By then, that card had already been packed into his checked luggage and could not be retrieved."

Apparently, after turning himself in, my brother had been issued a temporary identification card by the Japanese authorities, which was supposed to be surrendered at customs upon departure. In a muddle, however, he had packed it away in his large suitcase and checked it in. When he reached the airport exit gates without the document, it alarmed the Japanese customs officials, and he was detained for interrogation on the spot. With the plane about to leave and his luggage buried deep in the cargo hold, it was impossible to fish it out. Fortunately, at the absolute final hurdle, the Japanese customs officials finally decided to cut him some slack, permitting him to board at the very split second before takeoff. Only then did he make it back to Shanghai safe and sound.

[Epilogue: A Connection Across Time in 2025]

More than thirty years flew by in a flash. In 2025, while compiling these memoirs, I connected with my niece (my fifth brother's daughter) again and caught up on the family's recent updates. In her email, she wrote: "Auntie, I am so sorry for the delayed response. My job responsibilities changed a bit over the past two years, making me significantly busier than before. On top of that, the domestic economy hasn't been great lately; they were originally going to hire someone to assist me, but that plan got shelved. The retirement age here was also extended, so I still have to grind for over a decade before I can retire. My dad went out traveling again yesterday—this time he'll be gone for about half a month. I truly envy him; his pension is high, and he has so much free time. We don't even know how much pension we'll get when we eventually retire."

I replied with a sigh of admiration: "Haha, your dad is living the most carefree and comfortable life among all of us siblings. Traveling around a lot is wonderful for both physical and mental health."

My niece laughed and wrote back: "Haha, he truly is living a carefree life. I often tell him that it's precisely because he has a wife like my mom who bears all the burdens without complaint, and a daughter like me who doesn't depend on his money, that he is able to enjoy his current state of absolute freedom."

In fact, the two of us have long shared a deep, mysterious connection in our dreams. Back in an email sent on June 25, 2025, my niece wrote to me with such tenderness:

"Auntie, I dreamed of you last night. In the dream, I was still a child, and you were still as young as you used to be. I dreamed that you came back to China. I’ve forgotten the exact words we said, but I vaguely remember that because of our long separation, we wept with joy and held each other, crying our eyes out."

Reading her words, my own eyes welled up with tears, and I immediately replied to her: "This is beautiful. Even though we haven't seen each other in so long, we can still meet in our dreams! And we even reverted to how we looked back then. It reminds me of when you were living on Wuning Road. One day I went over to visit, and the moment I stepped inside, I saw you sitting on the left side of the table by the window. You immediately ran over and called out 'Auntie!' to me—such a cute, sweet little girl. Your voice was so crisp, bright, and lovely when you called me Auntie. Your mother prepared a whole table of delicious food. There are still so many unforgettable memories. Your dream brought tears to my eyes, thank you! Such beautiful memories, such precious family bonds."

Looking at the affection flowing between our words, my heart felt incredibly warm. Back then, my fifth brother had stood on the small paths of Hakone,  deeply reflecting on the "Straw Hat Song" with boundless emotion, and had labored in the paint shop of a Japanese auto plant until his liver ached. Today, he has finally become the most carefree and beautifully content person, while the little girl has grown up, yet still runs toward her young aunt in her dreams. Perhaps this is destiny's gentlest compensation for a kind, introverted family that once weathered the heavy storms of its era.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第四百四十一篇

《東窗外的雨，與三十年前的宣紙》

1985年冬天朋友送了我一本《芥子園畫傳》，如獲至寶，依葫蘆畫瓢，畫幾筆居然覺得還有點兒神似。

從小就喜歡畫畫，但苦於沒處學，學校裏沒有繪畫課，任何純粹為了「審美、興趣、抒發個人情感」的繪畫課，在當時都會被批判為「資產階級情調」。社會上也沒有個人在家開班授徒、收取學費的私教，那是非法的行為，會被扣上「走資本主義道路」「非法經營」甚至「腐蝕青少年」的罪名。哪怕不收錢，只是因為私交好，私下裏跟著某位老藝術家學畫，也是極其危險的。因為在文革中，絕大數有水平的畫家、美術教師都被打成了「反動學術權威」或「牛鬼蛇神」，他們都已經自身難保。

1968年我三哥教我們還有鄰家的幾個小男孩兒學畫畫，他教我們先把將要臨摹的畫面打上小格子，橫豎標上編號，再在白紙上畫同樣比例的小格子寫上編號。然後就是找到對應的格子畫同樣的線條。當時除了政治宣傳畫，就沒有見過其他的畫。於是我們就畫馬恩列斯毛的畫像。

曹楊二中有個「紅畫筆」興趣小組，由潘老師指導，很難加入。初二那年的暑假，我拿了自己畫的毛主席像去找潘老師。那天潘老師在校門房兒裏看了我的畫，同意我加入紅畫筆。據說潘老師也曾是右派，很有才華，校園裏的宣傳字畫、毛主席的巨幅畫像等都出自他的手。那天門房裏還有一位看上去跟潘老師關係很不錯的年輕教工，看了我的畫說：「畫得很不錯，就是臉畫胖了一點兒。」說著，抄起一支鉛筆就在主席臉上「欻、欻、欻」隨手改了幾下。我當時心裏一驚，一般人是不敢隨手在主席畫像的臉上畫道道的。後來聽說他哥也曾是二中的教師，文革初挨批鬥跳進了學校邊上的那條河自盡了，他是頂替他哥進校的。我心想，他在我畫的主席像的臉上「欻、欻、欻」幾筆，那一定是帶有怨氣，泄私憤的成分的。

潘老師給我們上了一堂怎樣寫美術字的課。他教我們寫美術字的要點是上緊下松，左窄右寬。從此便讓我們在校園裏拎著個鉛桶拿把鐵絲刷子，小鏟刀和抹布清除刷洗牆壁上的舊標語。

我們紅畫筆小組裏只有兩個女生。另外一個女生姓蘇，高我一年級，聰慧開朗，穿著收腰合體的衣服，襯托出她妙曼的身姿。潘老師對她很寬容，她很少來參加我們的活動，也沒有跟我們一起洗洗刷刷。有一天，我倆一起回家，她問：「芬，你的血型是不是AB型噠？」得到肯定的答覆後，她又說：「我哥哥和我爸爸都是畫家，我們都是AB型的，藝術家大多數是AB型的。」這就解釋了潘老師為什麼對她網開一面，估計她的哥哥和父親是能夠讓至少潘老師佩服的。

那是我第一次知道AB血型還有這一層含義。那個年代被稱為什麼什麼家的都屬於反動學術權威。但是從小蘇身上並沒有體現出那種「應有」的消沉與沮喪，有的卻是抑制不住的優越感。在不愛紅妝愛武裝的年代她卻穿收腰身的衣服。估計她父母對她比較寵愛，沒有將負面的因素傳到她身上。幾年後我們在路上又遇到過一次，她好像被分配去了崇明農場。

再說初二那個大夏天的，在紅畫筆潘老師只給我們上了一節知識課，便天天洗洗刷刷，再也學不到東西，正好有幾天我發燒40度生病了，也就沒堅持在紅畫筆呆下去。多年後在校園裏遇到潘老師，他說：「芬，你可惜了，沒堅持下去，那個誰誰誰當時跟你也差不多的，現在他已經是小有名氣的畫家了。」估計潘老師是利用讓我們幹活的表現，看能不能、值不值得培養。那是師傅在挑選徒弟呢，我沒達標。

沒辦法，心血來潮時就胡亂畫幾筆，這是1980年8月14日星期四下午，屋外下著雨，雨點兒敲在東窗前的小石塊兒路上滴答作響，梧桐樹下有一灘灘淺淺的水塘，從樹葉尖兒滴下的水珠掉到水塘裏濺起一個個隨即消失的小水泡泡。在這個可稱為我的文學啟蒙之窗前，用鋼筆記錄著窗外的景致，靜靜地我畫了很久，正應了那句「梧桐更兼細雨，到黃昏、點點滴滴」。

那扇窗之所以被我稱之為「文學啟蒙之窗」？因為大約是1974年間，幾十本當時還被視為「毒草」禁書的世界名著，通過這扇窗，被遞進遞出，那些書開闊了我的視野，極大地豐富了我的內心世界。

這是1981年5月24日星期天黃昏，我站在家裏的五屜櫃旁，背對著東窗臨摹的一幅《德伯家的苔絲》小說插圖。那時的我用鋼筆一道一劃地消磨了大把大把的青春年華。

直到1989年6月27日，在日本東海大學的日語班課間閒聊時，驚喜地得知王桑是大陸某知名美院畢業的。我和另一位感興趣的女生便向他請教。

他用鉛筆在我帶去的畫畫練習本子上畫了一朵繡球花，他一邊畫，一邊解說先畫最近的一瓣，然後一點一點往後畫。在本子裏先畫在第二張紙上，然後把第一張空白紙蓋上再描一邊，描的時候注意線條的輕重緩急，要有留白，要「線斷意連」。哇，從此我就迷上了畫畫。花花草草的畫了不少。

王桑還送了我一張他老師季世長先生在乙丑年畫的國色天香。還給我介紹了一位他的美院同學Y教我畫畫，2000日元一個小時，每次去他家學畫2小時。當時在日本打工，一般每小時的工資是500～600日元，在パチンコ（彈珠機賭場）打工是800日元。去學了大約七八次繪畫，之後我就離開了日本。

在日本時，就在這張桌子上畫畫，後來彩色的畫也都是在這兒畫的。多數是照著實物畫的，也有一些臨摹。

那時自己沒有印章，正好J有一個，也不知是他在中國時哪一位朋友給刻的，我就拿來往畫紙上摁。

後來我哥給我從上海寄來了幾本畫譜，我照著臨。發覺我不善於臨摹，不可能照著樣本畫出很像的東西。寫生的時候心情很專注，也很勤奮、但臨摹時就心不在焉。

這卷兒舊一點的宣紙是我哥從上海給我寄到日本的，沒用過幾張，也沒好好擺放，有破損了。那小竹簾和氈墊也是我哥給我寄去日本的，沒用過，怕弄髒了。白一點的那卷兒是我北京的一位堂兄，我大伯的小兒子，1995年或96年來美國開會時從北京給我帶來的，當時我在SU讀書，功課忙也沒請個假去新澤西跟他見個面，他就把這紙卷從新澤西給我寄來了。為拍照片，第一次將外面的牛皮紙徹底打開。

1989年暑假在紐約J的父母家，前前後後院子裏花草樹木繁盛，東邊的小溪潺潺，正好給又一次迷上畫畫的我提供了天然素材。J的母親對院子裏的所有樹木、花草、飛鳥、以及地上跑的小動物都能順口說出它們的名稱、種類。我幾乎每張寫生都請她把那些植物的英文名字給寫下來。這次繪畫「發燒」持續了一段時間，一共也只畫了兩本練習簿，我這人沒常性，沒常性的人與成功、成才不會沾邊兒。

**********************************

The Rain Outside the East Window, and Xuan Paper from Thirty Years Ago

In the winter of 1985, a friend gave me a copy of The Mustard Seed Garden Painting Manual. I treasured it like a priceless possession. Following it stroke by stroke, I drew a few lines and, to my surprise, felt they actually captured a bit of the spirit.

I had loved drawing since childhood, but I suffered from having nowhere to learn. There were no art classes at school. At that time, any art class purely for the sake of "aesthetics, interest, or expressing personal emotions" would be criticized as "bourgeois sentimentality." There were no private tutors running classes at home and charging tuition either; that was an illegal activity and would be labeled as "taking the capitalist road," "illegal business operations," or even "corrupting the youth." Even if no money was exchanged and one simply studied privately under an old artist out of personal friendship, it was extremely dangerous. During the Cultural Revolution, the vast majority of skilled painters and art teachers had been labeled as "reactionary academic authorities" or "monsters and demons," and they could barely protect themselves.

In 1968, my third older brother taught us, along with a few young boys from the neighborhood, how to draw. He taught us to first draw small grids over the picture we wanted to copy and number them horizontally and vertically. Then, we would draw grids of the same proportion on blank paper and number them as well. After that, it was a matter of finding the corresponding grid and drawing the exact same lines. Back then, we had never seen any art other than political propaganda posters. So, we drew portraits of Marx, Engels, Lenin, Stalin, and Mao.

At Caoyang No. 2 High School, there was an interest group called "Red Paintbrush," guided by Teacher Pan. It was very difficult to join. During the summer vacation of my second year in junior high, I took a portrait of Chairman Mao that I had drawn myself to find Teacher Pan. That day, Teacher Pan looked at my drawing in the school gatehouse and agreed to let me join the Red Paintbrush. It was said that Teacher Pan had also been a Rightist; he was very talented, and the promotional calligraphy, paintings, and giant portraits of Chairman Mao on campus all came from his hands. There was also a young staff member in the gatehouse that day who seemed to have a very good relationship with Teacher Pan. Looking at my drawing, he said, "It’s very well drawn, but the face is a bit too fat." As he spoke, he picked up a pencil and made a few quick, casual strokes—"chua, chua, chua"—directly on the Chairman's face to alter it. My heart skipped a beat; ordinary people would never dare to casually draw lines on the face of a portrait of Chairman Mao. Later, I heard that his older brother had also been a teacher at No. 2 High School, but at the beginning of the Cultural Revolution, he had been persecuted and drowned himself by jumping into the river next to the school. This young man had taken his brother's place at the school. I thought to myself that those quick "chua, chua, chua" strokes on the Chairman's portrait I drew must have carried resentment, a way of venting personal grievances.

Teacher Pan gave us a lesson on how to write artistic characters. The key point he taught us was "tight at the top, loose at the bottom; narrow on the left, wide on the right." From then on, he had us carry lead buckets, wire brushes, small scrapers, and rags around the campus to clear and wash away old slogans on the walls.

There were only two girls in our Red Paintbrush group. The other girl’s surname was Su. She was one grade above me, intelligent and cheerful, and she wore tailored, fitted clothes that accentuated her graceful figure. Teacher Pan was very lenient with her; she rarely participated in our activities and never joined us in the washing and scrubbing. One day, when the two of us were walking home together, she asked, "Fen, is your blood type AB?" After receiving an affirmative answer, she said, "My brother and my father are both painters, and we are all type AB. Most artists are type AB." This explained why Teacher Pan cut her some slack; presumably, her brother and father were people Teacher Pan at least admired.

That was the first time I learned that type AB blood carried such a meaning. In that era, anyone called an "artist" or "expert" belonged to the category of reactionary academic authorities. Yet, Xiao Su showed none of the despondency or dejection that was "expected." Instead, she possessed an irrepressible sense of superiority. In an era that "loved military uniforms rather than makeup," she wore form-fitting clothes. I assumed her parents doted on her and did not pass their negative circumstances down to her. We ran into each other on the road again a few years later; it seemed she had been assigned to the Chongming Agricultural Farm.

Returning to that scorching summer of my second year in junior high, Teacher Pan only gave us that one knowledge-based lesson in the Red Paintbrush. After that, it was daily washing and scrubbing, and we couldn't learn anything else. Just then, I fell ill with a 40-degree fever for a few days, so I didn't stick with the Red Paintbrush group. Years later, I ran into Teacher Pan on campus. He said, "Fen, what a pity you didn't persist. So-and-so was at about the same level as you back then, and now he is quite a well-known painter." I suppose Teacher Pan was using our performance during the chores to see if we were capable or worth cultivating. Back then, the master was choosing apprentices, and I didn't meet the standard.

With no other choice, I would just draw a few strokes whenever the whim struck. This was the afternoon of Thursday, August 14, 1980. It was raining outside. The raindrops tapped on the small stone path in front of the east window, making a ticking sound. Under the planet trees, there were shallow puddles; water droplets falling from the tips of the leaves hit the puddles, creating small bubbles that instantly vanished. In front of this window, which I could call my window of literary enlightenment, I used a fountain pen to record the scenery outside. Quietly, I drew for a long time, perfectly matching the line: "The planet trees are accompanied by fine rain, and at dusk, it drips and drops." Why did I call that window the "window of literary enlightenment"? Because around 1974, dozens of world masterpieces—which were considered banned "poisonous weeds" at the time—were passed in and out through this window. Those books broadened my horizons and immensely enriched my inner world.

This was the dusk of Sunday, May 24, 1981. I was standing beside the five-drawer chest at home, facing away from the east window, copying an illustration from the novel Tess of the d'Urbervilles. Back then, stroke by stroke with my fountain pen, I passed a vast amount of my youth.

It wasn't until June 27, 1989, during a break in our Japanese class at Tokai University in Japan, that I was pleasantly surprised to learn Wang-san had graduated from a well-known art academy in mainland China. Another interested girl and I asked him for guidance. Using a pencil, he drew a hydrangea in the drawing sketchbook I had brought. As he drew, he explained that one should draw the closest petal first, and then gradually move backward. He drew it on the second page of the book first, then covered it with the first blank page and traced it again. He noted that while tracing, one must pay attention to the weight and pace of the lines, leave blank spaces, and keep the "lines broken but the meaning connected."

Wow, from then on, I became obsessed with drawing. I drew quite a few flowers and plants. Wang-san also gave me a painting of peonies titled "National Grace and Heavenly Fragrance," painted by his teacher, Mr. Ji Shichang, in the Yichou year. He also introduced me to his art academy classmate, Y, to teach me drawing for 2,000 yen an hour, with each lesson lasting two hours at his home. At that time, when working part-time in Japan, the average hourly wage was 500 to 600 yen, and working in a Pachinko parlor paid 800 yen. I went to about seven or eight drawing lessons, and after that, I left Japan.

When I was in Japan, I drew on this very table, and the colored paintings later on were all done here as well. Most of them were drawn from real objects, though there were also some copies. At that time, I didn't have a seal of my own. It just so happened that J had one—I don't know which friend in China had carved it for him—so I took it and pressed it onto my drawing paper.

Later, my brother sent me several painting manuals from Shanghai, and I copied from them. I discovered that I am not good at copying; it is impossible for me to draw something that looks exactly like the sample. When sketching from life, my mind is very focused and I am very diligent, but when copying, I am absent-minded.

This somewhat older roll of Xuan paper was sent to me in Japan by my brother from Shanghai. I haven't used many sheets, and because it wasn't stored properly, it has some damage. The small bamboo mat and the felt pad were also sent to me in Japan by my brother; I never used them, fearing they would get dirty. The whiter roll was brought to me from Beijing by a cousin of mine—my oldest uncle's youngest son—when he came to the United States for a conference in 1995 or 1996. At that time, I was studying at SU, and my schoolwork was so busy that I couldn't even take time off to meet him in New Jersey. So, he mailed this paper roll to me from New Jersey. To take these photos, I completely opened the outer brown wrapping paper for the very first time.

During the summer vacation of 1989, at the home of J's parents in New York, the front and back yards were lush with flowers, plants, and trees, and a small creek babbled to the east. This provided perfect natural material for me, as I had once again fallen in love with drawing. J's mother could effortlessly name the species and types of all the trees, plants, birds, and small animals running on the ground in the yard. For almost every sketch I did, I asked her to write down the English names of those plants. This drawing "fever" lasted for a period of time, but in total, I only filled two sketchbooks. I am someone who lacks perseverance, and people who lack perseverance will never have anything to do with success or making something of themselves in the conventional sense.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第四百四十篇

《紅木圓桌與公寓大樓：一場關於命運逆襲的清晨夢境》

夢見中學同學桂芳發財了，買了房子。那是在一棟五、六層大樓的二、三層上，雖然還沒有裝修，但空間蠻大的。我在她家上下兩層的公寓房裡轉了轉，不見人影，便下了樓。

在現實生活裡，她當年就住在我們同一棟樓的隔壁門牌號。她的家庭條件算是全班最差的了：父親是精神病患者，母親長期住院一兩年後病逝。桂芳每天都要去醫院照顧母親，回家又要做飯做家務照顧家人，又當爹又當媽地帶大了一個弟弟和一個妹妹。因為命運的重壓，她根本沒有時間學習，成績自然很不好。

但是她還挺要面子的。記得有一次遇到她，她手捋著有些潮濕油亮的辮梢，掩飾著說：「今天吃飯時不小心，頭髮梢落進了碗裡，弄油了。」那時的油是憑票購買的，一人一個月只有四兩，一般窮人家裡炒菜是少有油星的。那時同學們私下裡猜想，她或許是故意往辮梢上抹了點油，好來跟同學證明她的生活過得還不差，家裡也是有油水的。還有一回，她路過我家窗前，小便急得都等不及跑回家尿，見我正好在，便喊道：「啊呀，我小便急死了，能進來用一下廁所嗎？」也許是因為憋得太久，撒尿的聲音非常大。我母親聽到了，在屋裡說：「聽聽聽聽，多蠢啊，女孩子尿尿聲音那麼大，跟馬撒尿似的。」中學畢業時，政策規定長子長女很少能留在上海，除非有特殊原因，她便是因為要照顧這個破碎的家才得以留下的。

畢業後，我只見過她一次。她帶我去了她自己的家，那時她的父母都已經去世，她也結了婚。我看到她把家裡整理得乾乾淨淨，尤其是屋子中間那張帶有漂亮雕刻的紅木大圓桌，十分醒目。她說那是她丈夫早先花了一百塊錢買的抄家物資。文革期間，資產階級的生活方式是被唾棄的，居家生活提倡勤儉，一般人家的家具都只要實用，跟奢侈完全掛不上邊。文革初期，抄家物資中的高檔紅木家具被廉價出售都沒人敢買。她丈夫卻有膽量、有遠見。我當時看到那張桌子的時候，它大約已經值上千元人民幣了。

後來大概是80年代末，聽我四嫂說，桂芳不得了，發財了。一天她們在樓前遇到，桂芳還特意問起芬的境況怎樣了，說她現在的工作是跟期貨行業有關。那時候，我根本不知道啥是金融、啥是期貨。

這裡還有一個小插曲。1973年我們下鄉學農，住在同一家農民家的同一個通鋪上，她睡在我的右側。有一天，我躺著把右腿朝上伸直了，估計只是舒展筋骨的隨意動作，那時的人們根本沒有運動鍛鍊的意識。她躺在邊上，看著我的腿說：「芬，你的腿好漂亮。」我當時的心裡根本沒有腿漂亮與否的概念。我只知道自己腳大不好看，卻不知道我一米七的個子（母親曾經揶揄我是「長了個接駱駝糞的個兒」），腳自然而然就會大。

其實在夢裡還有一個朋友，便是已經成了大明星的小陳，雖然夢裡還是年輕美貌，沒有一點明星的大架子。夢裡我沒見到桂芳，但是見到了小陳，夢裡她們倆竟然是好朋友。真是奇怪了，現實生活中小陳是我在五四農場紙袋廠裡認識的，跟隔壁門牌號的桂芳應該是完全不搭界的。

這裡還有一個關於小陳的小插曲。那時上海電影製片廠的導演常來農場挑演員，我們紙袋廠的小陳後來真的成了電影明星。一天大家聽說廠裡來了位「頂特勒」，便都跑去看，果然她皮膚白皙，大眼靈動。一天傍晚，我和小陳還有幾個姑娘在馬路上散步，大家用口哨吹出此起彼伏的花樣，我卻拙嘴笨舌只會發出「噓噓」聲，她便熱心地教我怎麼捲舌頭。歡笑著回到廠門口時，食堂一位面目清秀、靦腆如書生的72屆男生小Z走過來，紅著臉說自己不會縫拆洗過的被子，想請我幫忙。這時，小陳扭過頭來，睁著漂亮的大眼睛朝上轉了大半個圈兒，彷彿畫了個大問號。而在此之前，我其實只在食堂的買飯窗口見過他。

那時候食堂的牆面上就開著兩個一尺多高的小窗口。一到飯點兒，人們就排著兩條長隊等著買飯。那窗口開得低，每個人買飯時都得稍微低下頭，弓著腰，才能跟裡面的工作人員說清楚，今天想要買什麼菜，打幾兩飯。

就是這位在食堂工作的小Z，在1974年的下半年，突然給我打過一次電話，不過那次不是為了他自己，而是替他的一位朋友當傳話筒，約我見面。

任誰也不會想到，三十多年後的2011年，才聯繫到的老同學中，在上海高等教育局工作的老班長提到，他高教局裡的一位同事，聽說了我的名字後，便說他認識我。您猜怎麼著，這位竟然就是當年在食堂工作的小Z！他是在77年高考恢復前，就被保送回上海讀大學的。《时代的齿轮：1978年的两记闷棍，与那些散落世间的奇妙重逢》

在夢裡，她們倆成了好朋友，或許是因為在我的記憶深處，她們都代表了那段最純真、最終迎來華麗蜕變的青春歲月。

**********************************

The Mahogany Round Table and the Apartment: A Morning Dream of Destiny's Revenge

In the quiet hours of morning, a dream unfurled: my junior high classmate, Guifang, had come into immense fortune and purchased a spacious apartment. It occupied the second and third floors of a five- or six-story building. Though still bare concrete and yet to be renovated, the space was grand. I wandered through the two-story duplex, but finding no soul within, I turned and made my descent downstairs.

In the physical world of our youth, she lived just behind the neighboring door in our very same apartment building. Her family’s circumstances were perhaps the most wretched of all. Her father suffered from a severe mental illness, and her mother, following a protracted stay in the hospital, passed away after a year or two. Every single day, Guifang would journey to the hospital to tend to her ailing mother. Upon returning, she would immediately lose herself in cooking, cleaning, and managing the household chores. She acted as both father and mother, single-handedly raising her younger brother and sister. Bound by the heavy shackles of fate, she had no time to spare for her studies, and her marks at school were naturally quite poor.

Yet, she clung fiercely to her dignity. I remember encountering her once; she was running her hand down the damp, oily tips of her long braids, murmuring in polite self-defense, "I was a bit careless during lunch today—the ends of my hair fell into the bowl and got all greasy." In those rationed times, cooking oil was limited to four liang per person monthly, leaving impoverished households with virtually no grease in their meals. Classmates privately suspected she might have intentionally put oil on her braids to project an image of a comfortable home life with plenty of sustenance. On another occasion, she hurried past my window, pressed by an urgency of the bladder so acute that she could not bear the run back to her own door. Spotting me at the sill, she cried out, "Oh, Fen! I am simply bursting! Might I come in and use your water closet?" Perhaps because she had held it in for far too long, the sound of her relief was exceedingly loud. My mother, overhearing this from inside the room, smacked her lips and scoffed, "Listen to that. How uncouth! For a young maid to make such a thunderous racket—it sounds for all the world like a mare relieving itself." Upon our graduation from junior high, the prevailing policies rarely permitted the eldest child to remain in Shanghai. Only those with extraordinary exceptions were spared, and she was granted stay solely because she had to anchor that broken home.

After our graduation, I cross paths with her only once. She brought me to her own home. By then, both of her parents had departed this world, and she had entered into matrimony. I observed that she kept her house meticulously neat and clean. Most striking of all was a grand mahogany round table situated right in the center of the room, adorned with exquisite carvings. She revealed that her husband had acquired it for a mere one hundred yuan during the early days of the Cultural Revolution, when it was sold off as confiscated property. In those turbulent years, any bourgeois way of life was utterly despised; domestic life championed austerity and thrift. The furniture of ordinary households was meant to be purely utilitarian, completely divorced from luxury. During the opening acts of the Revolution, high-end mahogany furniture from confiscated estates was sold for a pittance, yet scarcely anyone possessed the daring to purchase it. Her husband, however, possessed rare courage and foresight. By the time I beheld that table, it was already worth well over a thousand yuan.

Later, around the twilight of the 1980s, I learned from my fourth sister-in-law that Guifang had struck it incredibly rich. One day, they chanced upon each other in front of the building. Guifang even inquired after me, asking how Fen was faring, and mentioned that her current enterprise was intertwined with the futures industry. In those days, I had absolute no conception of what finance or futures even meant.

There remains a brief interlude to this chronicle. In the summer of 1973, we were sent down to the countryside to learn agricultural work, sharing the very same communal platform bed (Tong Pu) in a peasant’s cottage. She chanced to sleep directly to my right. One afternoon, as I lay there, I extended my right leg straight up toward the ceiling—a casual movement merely to stretch my weary limbs after grueling labor, for in those times, we possessed no notion of modern exercise or fitness. Lying beside me, she gazed at my silhouette and remarked softly, "Fen, your legs are truly beautiful." At that tender age, the concept of beauty regarding one's limbs had never once crossed my mind. I only harbored the secret shame that my feet were too large and unseemly, utterly unaware that with my stature of one meter seven—a height my mother frequently ridiculed by saying I had 'grown a frame just to catch camel dung'—my feet would naturally be large as a matter of course.

The dream featured Little Chen, who had become a major star without losing her youthful beauty or humility. Surprisingly, she was close friends with Guifang, even though in real life Little Chen was from the Wusi Farm paper bag factory and Guifang was from a neighboring apartment building, two completely separate worlds.

Here is another interlude about Little Chen. Back when Shanghai Film Studio directors frequented the farm to scout actors, Little Chen from our paper bag factory truly became a movie star. When word spread that a "Ding-Te-Le" (the absolute finest) had arrived at the factory, everyone rushed to see her fair skin and lively large eyes. One evening, while walking with Little Chen and other girls who whistled fancy tunes, I could only awkwardly make a "xu-xu" sound, and she enthusiastically taught me how to curl my tongue.

Returning to the factory gates amid laughter, Little Z—a shy, scholarly-looking cafeteria boy from the class of '72—approached, blushing as he asked me for help sewing his washed quilt. At this moment, Little Chen turned and rolled her gorgeous eyes in a half-circle like a giant question mark. Prior to this, I had only seen him at the cafeteria window.

It was this very Little Z, working in the cafeteria, who out of the blue placed a phone call to me in the latter half of 1974. However, that call was not on his own behalf; rather, he was acting as a megaphone for one of his companions, arranging a time for us to meet.

No soul could have ever foreseen that in 2011, more than thirty years later, among the old classmates with whom I had finally reestablished contact, our old class monitor—who worked at the Shanghai Higher Education Bureau—would mention a curious incident. He recounted that a colleague of his at the Bureau, upon catching wind of my name, remarked immediately that he knew me. And wouldn't you guess? That very colleague turned out to be none other than the Little Z who had worked in the cafeteria all those decades ago! He had actually been recommended and exempted from examinations to return to Shanghai for university, just before the college entrance examinations were officially reinstated in 1977. The Gears of Time: Two Heavy Blows in 1978, and the Magical Echoes of a Small World

In the dream, they became good friends, as both represent the most innocent youth that ultimately underwent a magnificent transformation.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第四百三十九篇

《從原始森林到浮木：一場與洪荒萬古的撞見》

1990年7月我們從西雅圖機場入境。先在J的大姐家住了兩天。從她家乘渡輪不用一小時就可以到西雅圖市區。西雅圖市中心的派克農貿市場(Pike Place Market)裡，有一家魚市很有特色，一條條新鮮的大魚擺攤上架、包裝銷售，都要被興高采烈的、身系圍裙足蹬黑膠長靴的魚販帥哥們，攤前台後地掄拋接送，他們一邊空中飛魚，一邊插科打諢詼諧逗樂，令遊客駐足。

出了農貿市場往海灣走，我們在遊客如織的艾略特灣(Elliott Bay)找了一個傍水的露天餐桌，在暖洋洋、慵懶的氛圍裡，我們美美的吃了一頓海鮮。用辣椒醬（Tabasco）和新鮮檸檬汁調味，清蒸蛤蜊味道好極了，一點也不輸於用蔥姜蒜爆炒的。

幾隻海鷗在水邊掠過，有的在分搶食客們丟給它們的薯條，有的停在木樁上單腿獨立閉目打盹兒。

遛噠著，我們就拐進了54號碼頭附近的一家老古董店(Ye Olde Curiosity Shop)。門口豎著的幾根色彩斑斕、神秘古怪、承傳著印第安人幾千年文化信息的木質圖騰柱，柱上的獸鳥魚蛙都睜著眼睛默默地注視著行人，向過客無聲地訴說著令人費解的古老的傳說與寓意。

店內的擺設有些顯得擁擠隨意，掛靠攤放雜亂無章，有印第安和愛斯基摩(Eskimo)藝術品、有俄羅斯套娃(matreshka)、有神秘怪異的面具圖騰，有鐘錶珠寶收藏、有土著的陶器編織，以及華盛頓州和西雅圖地域紀念品。

無意間一轉身，冷不防的可怕的但保存完好的木乃伊就站在了身邊的玻璃櫥窗裡，雙手抱在胸前張大了嘴朝你無聲吶喊著，令人汗毛倒豎，不敢與之對視。更為令人驚愕加恐懼的是，在陳舊的櫥櫃裡居然看到了幾個小小的表情可怖的毛髮俱全風乾了的真人頭！當時的感覺是既噁心又好奇，既想立馬逃離又想看個究竟。一時還納悶兒，這幾個人頭怎麼會這麼小，難道世界上還真有小人國？怎麼店裡會有這些東西？不犯法嗎？

出了門，在盛夏當午溫暖的陽光裡我的脊樑還直滲寒氣。J說這是一家不收入場券的具有博物館性質的老古玩店。

原來，這種人頭叫萎縮人頭(Shrunken Heads)，通過複雜的工序剔除了頭骨做成的，以此而著名的南美印第安土著舒阿爾(Shuar)人稱萎縮人頭為Tsantsa。

前哥倫布(pre-columbian)時期，萎縮人頭的製作在南美洲的安第斯地區(Andean area)很普遍。厄瓜多爾海岸的印第安土著人，將殺死的敵人頭顱割下製成萎縮人頭作為戰利品，提高自己的榮譽、知名度與威嚴，並用以祭祀祖先。擁有萎縮人頭就像戰士獲得榮譽勳章。

他們認為不僅是要殺死敵人的肉體，更重要的是要佔有、征服和摧毀死者的靈魂，不讓鬼魂再來侵害陰陽兩界已故的、在世的、以及未出生的家族成員，製作萎縮人頭便是達到這個目的的手段。

萎縮人頭不僅對死者本人，而且也是對死者的整個部落意味著一種致命的侮辱。

19世紀末20世紀初，西方人購買萎縮人頭的需求，導致土著人之間的殺戮劇增，用一把獵槍就能交換一個萎縮人頭，1930年代一個萎縮頭只賣25美金。後來經秘魯和厄瓜多爾政府共同努力，終於取締了這項交易。自1940年代以來，萎縮人頭進口到美國已屬非法。

第二天，J開車帶我來到了華盛頓州的瑞尼爾山國家公園(Mt. Rainier National Park)，去體驗一下什麼是洪荒遠古。

公園佔地近一千平方公里，四千多米高，頂部終年積雪的華盛頓州最高峰瑞尼爾山，被數條大冰川覆蓋著，貌似寧靜地處於公園正中間。它是一座活火山，誕生於290萬年到84萬年前，最近的噴發在100多年前。

我們在瑞尼爾山南邊的天堂谷(Paradise Valley)附近轉悠，尼斯闊利冰川(Nisqually Glacier)在天堂谷左邊。

站在冰河大橋上眺望尼斯闊利冰河，頓感物我兩忘。從瑞尼爾山的源頭流到這裡大約有125公里，不敢想像如今安然躺在冰川谷底裡的每一顆碎石砂礫曾經有過怎樣的驚險經歷。

站在尼斯闊利冰川的邊緣凝固了的凹凸不平灰白相揉的積雪上，在炎熱的夏天裡踏著古老的冰川，令人恍惚沉醉不辨古今。附近一個工作站的木屋裡走出一位科研工作者告訴我們，等到我們下次再來時，腳下踏的很可能就不再是冰川了，因為這冰川在過去的一百年中經歷了大量的退縮，並將緩慢持續地退縮著。夏季的高氣溫及冬季的降雪量低都會加速冰川萎縮速度。

J在喝啤酒，看到我舉起相機對著他，他立刻做了一個較為誇張的動作，將酒瓶的商標朝前拿在胸前，似乎在給Rainier Beer做廣告。遠山近林、藍天白雲作為背景，配合他的表情，這張照片真的不輸於啤酒廠精心製作的廣告。

J caught me raising the camera while he was drinking and instantly struck a playful pose, holding his Rainier Beer with the label facing forward like a pro. With the mountains, forests, and blue skies in the background, his expression made this look just like a real, professionally shot brewery ad.

那一刻，彷彿置身於人間仙境 Lost in a living fairytale.

圍繞著這座火山，順著山林地勢，彎彎曲曲、上上下下、Zigzag(之字形)，有一條奇境步道(Wonderland trails)，每逢深溝大河有吊橋索橋銜接，遇小溪淺灘便由粗樹幹木樁子搭的簡易獨木小橋相連，一切順其自然融於造化。

這座跨越尼斯闊利河(Nisqually River)的小木橋算是相當精緻的了。沿著步道遠足轉大山一圈大約150公里。

高約60米的那拉達瀑布(Narada Falls)位於天堂谷西南方向不到5公里處。瀑布的嘩嘩水聲似乎能淨化身心。

位於天堂谷南邊5~6公里處有片倒影湖，我們去的那天雲山霧罩雪山之顛時隱時現倒映在寧靜的湖面上，顯得神秘朦朧。能見度好的時候藍天下的雪山倒映在寧靜的湖水之中分外端莊清麗。喜歡坐在這無人之境，什麼也不想……

離去前的一個回眸，雪山腳下的農莊依然美不勝收。

離開了瑞尼爾雪山後我們還去了位於美國西北角的奧林匹克國家公園（Olympic National Park），在溫帶雨林的苔蘚殿堂（Hall of Mosses）穿行。那是賀伊溫帶雨林中的一小塊相對平緩的林地，那裡古木參天、蕨類叢生、鬱鬱蔥蔥；一條不到一英里的步道迂回環繞其間。絕大多數的古木都有百年樹齡，有的依然挺立、有的老態龍鍾；環顧四周，滿目的枝干穿插、藤蔓纏繞、盤根錯節。然而，棵棵樹幹都附生著厚厚的苔蘚或地衣，條條樹枝簾幕似的垂掛著長長的絲須青苔。走在期間令人感覺有點兒夢幻又有點陰森怪異。尤其是幾乎沒有幾個遊人。

走出林子來到海灘，濤聲拍岸陽光明媚，感覺身心一下子舒展開了，一掃剛剛苔蘚殿堂帶給人的陰森詭異。長長的海岸線上，散佈著許多被風浪雕琢的奇岩怪石，一個遊人都不見。

沙灘上到處是被海水衝上岸的浮木。從一棵樹變成一根浮木要經過多少歲月、漂泊多少裡水路？我挑了幾塊浮木準備帶回去。

2013年在Lake Erie湖边捡的浮木
Driftwood found on the shore of Lake Erie in 2013

2013年家中的龍舌蘭與漂流木
Agave and driftwood at home, 2013

幸運的是每次旅行，包括在國內時參加所裡的攝制組去深山老林名山大川，我都只是跟著走，事先根本不看資料了解一下所要去的地方。當然那時信息缺乏還沒有互聯網。因而一路上的所見所聞，我都覺得好新鮮、好神奇、好壯觀。這次繼西雅圖之行也是耳目一新，還踏上了古老的冰川。

這張吹蒲公英球球的照片，快門搶在了吹氣前的一剎那，每次看到這張照片，心裡都會想：多麼想把這棵蒲公英的花絮吹得紛紛揚揚~~

第二天我們在離開公園的US-101國道上令人痛心地看到國家公園以外的原始森林裡有被大肆砍伐過的荒山禿嶺。據資料，1988年公園將近96%被列為荒野不准任何形式的開發。

1990年的那個夏天，我們還去了美國東北部與加拿大安大略省交界處的尼亞加拉大瀑布(Niagara Falls)。源於伊利湖(Lake Erie)的尼亞加拉河水，彎彎曲曲千里迢迢，款款流經至此，在河道90度的急轉彎處遇到了落差50多米的斷崖，陡然之間，河水飛流直下、霧氣彌漫騰空、響聲震撼如雷。

想像那些幸運的見過大自然原始狀態的古人，沒有現代設施與大樓的視覺干擾，放眼荒古感受天地，那將是怎樣的震撼啊~~那時候，大瀑布的氣勢遠比現在要磅礴壯觀得多。美加兩國為了保護這裡的生態環境，降低陡崖岩石被溶蝕強度、減緩瀑布向上游方向的後退，做了大量的河水分流、崖壁加固等努力。

馬蹄形瀑布後面的斷崖中有兩條延伸40多米長的隧道，隧道盡頭有個窗戶大小的開口，瀑布如同厚重的簾幕一樣在洞前不捨晝夜地飛墜著。

水珠加著細雨撲面而來，濕寒裹著陰森滲人脊背，在威力無比的大自然面前所有的只是敬畏。

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From Primeval Forests to Driftwood: An Encounter with Ancient Antiquity

In July 1990, we entered the United States through Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. We spent our first two days staying at J’s eldest sister’s house. From her place, a ferry ride of less than an hour would take us right into downtown Seattle. In the heart of the city lies the Pike Place Market, where there is a very unique fish market. Fresh, massive fish are displayed on stands and packaged for sale, all while being flung, tossed, caught, and passed back and forth across the counters by cheerful, handsome fishmongers sporting aprons and black rubber boots. As they fly fish through the air, they exchange witty banter and cracks, drawing crowds of captivated tourists.

Leaving the market, we walked toward the bay and found a waterfront outdoor table at the bustling Elliott Bay. Immersed in the warm, lazy atmosphere, we treated ourselves to a wonderful seafood meal. Seasoned with just Tabasco sauce and fresh lemon juice, the steamed clams tasted absolutely divine—not a single bit inferior to those stir-fried with scallions, ginger, and garlic.

A few seagulls swept across the water's edge; some scrambled for French fries tossed by diners, while others perched on wooden pilings, dozing off on a single leg with their eyes closed.

Strolling along, we ducked into Ye Olde Curiosity Shop near Pier 54. Standing by the entrance were several colorful, mysterious, and bizarre wooden totem poles that carried thousands of years of Native American cultural heritage. The beasts, birds, fish, and frogs carved onto the pillars stared silently at passersby, wordlessly telling cryptic, ancient legends and allegories to those who walked past.

Inside, the displays felt crowded and casual, arranged in a chaotic yet fascinating clutter. There were Native American and Eskimo handicrafts, Russian nesting dolls (matreshka), eerie and exotic ceremonial masks, collections of clocks and jewelry, indigenous pottery and weaving, as well as souvenirs of Washington State and the Seattle region.

Turning around inadvertently, I was caught completely off guard by a frightening yet well-preserved mummy standing inside a glass display case right next to me. Its hands were crossed over its chest, and its mouth was wide open in a silent scream. It made my hair stand on end, and I didn't dare to look it in the eye. Even more shocking and terrifying was a nearby weathered cabinet containing several tiny, horrifying, dry human heads, complete with all their hair! At that moment, I felt a mix of disgust and curiosity—desperate to flee instantly, yet compelled to take a closer look. For a moment, I wondered how these human heads could be so small. Did a "Land of Lilliput" actually exist in the world? How could a shop carry such things? Wasn't it illegal?

Stepping back outside into the warm, mid-summer afternoon sun, a chill still lingered down my spine. J explained that this was an admission-free antique shop with the character of a museum.

As it turned out, these artifacts are known as Shrunken Heads. They were made through a complex process that involved removing the skull. The Shuar people, an indigenous South American tribe famous for this practice, called these shrunken heads Tsantsa.

During the pre-Columbian era, the practice of shrinking heads was widespread in the Andean area of South America. Indigenous tribes along the Ecuadorian coast would sever the heads of slain enemies and shrink them into trophies to enhance their own honor, prestige, and authority, as well as to worship their ancestors. Possessing a shrunken head was much like a warrior receiving a medal of honor.

They believed that it was not enough to merely destroy an enemy’s physical body; it was vital to capture, conquer, and subdue the soul of the deceased. This prevented the ghost from returning to harm family members—whether deceased, living, or yet unborn—across both worlds. Making a shrunken head was the means to achieve this end.

A shrunken head represented a fatal insult, not only to the deceased individual but to their entire tribe.

Between the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Western demand for purchasing shrunken heads led to a sharp surge in warfare and killing among indigenous peoples. A single shotgun could be traded for a shrunken head, and by the 1930s, one sold for just 25 USD. Eventually, through the joint efforts of the Peruvian and Ecuadorian governments, the trade was banned. Since the 1940s, importing shrunken heads into the United States has been illegal.

The next day, J drove me to Mt. Rainier National Park in Washington State to experience the raw grandeur of primeval antiquity. The park spans nearly a thousand square kilometers. Towering at over 4,000 meters, Mt. Rainier—the highest peak in Washington State with its summit capped in year-round snow—sits squarely in the center of the park, seemingly at peace. It is an active volcano that formed between 2.9 million and 840,000 years ago, with its most recent eruption occurring just over a century ago.

We wandered near Paradise Valley on the south side of Mt. Rainier. The Nisqually Glacier sits to the left of the valley. Standing on the glacier bridge and looking out at the Nisqually Glacier, I instantly felt a sense of losing myself in the vastness of nature. Flowing roughly 125 kilometers from its source on Mt. Rainier to this point, it was impossible to imagine what kind of perilous adventures each piece of gravel and sand, now resting peacefully at the bottom of the glacial valley, had once endured.

Standing on the edge of the Nisqually Glacier, surrounded by frozen, rugged, ash-blended snow, stepping onto an ancient glacier in the heat of summer left me in a daze, losing all track of time. A researcher stepping out of a nearby workstation cabin told us that by the time we visit next, what we step on might no longer be a glacier. This glacier has experienced significant retreat over the past century and will continue to retreat slowly but steadily. High summer temperatures and low winter snowfall both accelerate the pace of glacial shrinkage.

Circling the volcano and following the contours of the mountain forests, winding up and down in a zig-zag pattern, runs the Wonderland Trail. Whenever it encounters deep gorges or roaring rivers, suspension bridges and cable bridges bridge the gap; when meeting small streams or shallow shoals, simple log bridges made of thick tree trunks and wooden stakes provide a crossing. Everything blends naturally into the landscape. This small wooden bridge crossing the Nisqually River was considered quite exquisite. Hiking the entire trail around the great mountain spans about 150 kilometers.

Narada Falls, standing about 60 meters high, is located less than 5 kilometers southwest of Paradise Valley. The roaring sound of the waterfall seemed to cleanse both mind and body.

About 5 to 6 kilometers south of Paradise Valley lies Reflection Lake. On the day we visited, the mountains were shrouded in clouds and mist, and the snow-capped summit appeared and vanished fitfully, reflected on the tranquil surface of the lake, looking mysterious and ethereal. When visibility is clear, the snow-capped mountain under the blue sky reflects in the peaceful waters with striking elegance and purity. I love sitting in this realm of absolute solitude, thinking of nothing at all...

Glancing back one last time before leaving, the farmlands at the foot of the snow-capped mountain remained breathtakingly beautiful.

After leaving Mt. Rainier, we also headed to Olympic National Park, situated in the northwestern corner of the United States, to walk through the Hall of Mosses in the temperate rainforest. It is a relatively level patch of woodland within the Hoh Rain Forest, where ancient trees reach for the sky, ferns grow in abundance, and lush greenery abounds. A trail of less than a mile loops through it. Most of the ancient trees are centuries old—some still standing tall, others showing their great age. Looking around, the view is filled with intersecting branches, twisting vines, and gnarled, tangled roots. Yet, every single trunk is blanketed in thick moss or lichen, and long, wispy curtains of green moss hang from the branches like veils. Walking through it feels a bit dreamlike, yet also somewhat eerie and exotic—especially since there were hardly any other tourists around.

Stepping out of the forest and onto the beach, the sound of waves crashed against the shore under the bright sunshine. My body and mind felt instantly liberated, sweeping away the eerie gloom left by the Hall of Mosses just moments before. Along the endless coastline lay scattered, strange rock formations sculpted by the wind and waves, without a single tourist in sight. The sandy beach was strewn everywhere with driftwood washed ashore by the sea. How many years, and through how many miles of drifting across waterways, does it take for a tree to become a piece of driftwood? I picked out a few pieces of driftwood, planning to take them back with me.

Fortunately, on every trip—including back in China when I joined the institute’s filming crew to venture into deep forests and famous mountains—I always just followed along without reading any background material beforehand to learn about our destinations. Of course, information was scarce back then, and the internet did not exist yet. As a result, everything I saw and heard along the way felt incredibly fresh, magical, and spectacular. This journey following Seattle was an eye-opener as well, even allowing me to set foot on an ancient glacier.

This photograph of me blowing a dandelion ball caught the shutter just a split second before the breath left my mouth. Every time I look at this picture, I can't help but think: How I long to blow the seeds of this dandelion, sending them scattering far and wide...

The next day, on US Route 101 as we left the park, it was heartbreaking to see barren hills and bald ridges that had been heavily logged in the old-growth forests just outside the national park boundaries. According to records, nearly 96% of the park was designated as wilderness in 1988, prohibiting any form of development.

In that summer of 1990, we also visited Niagara Falls, located on the border between the northeastern United States and Ontario, Canada. Originating from Lake Erie, the waters of the Niagara River wind their way over great distances, flowing gently to this point. At a sharp 90-degree turn in the riverbed, they encounter a cliff with a drop of over 50 meters. Suddenly, the river plunges straight down, mist fills the air soaring into the sky, and the sound thunders with earth-shaking power.

I imagine those fortunate ancients who witnessed nature in its pristine state, free from the visual clutter of modern facilities and high-rises—looking out at the primeval wilderness to feel heaven and earth, what a profound shock that must have been! Back then, the momentum of the great falls was far more grand and majestic than it is today. To protect the ecological environment here, reduce the erosion intensity of the cliff rocks, and slow the retreat of the falls upstream, both the U.S. and Canadian governments have made extensive efforts, including river diversion and cliff reinforcement.

Deep within the cliffs behind the Horseshoe Falls lie two tunnels extending over 40 meters long. At the end of the tunnels is a window-sized opening, where the waterfall plunges relentlessly before the cave day and night like a heavy curtain.

Water droplets mixed with fine mist sprayed over my face, and a damp chill laced with an eerie cold seeped into my spine. In the presence of such almighty nature, nothing remains but pure awe.

特別感謝 Gemini AI 提供充滿活力的翻譯和文本潤色。

Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.

第四百三十八篇