《中央公園旁的旅館小費、大胖子們的煎餅早餐與格林威治村的七把鎖》

紐約初履

告別了J的父母我們去了紐約市。那是我第一次去紐約市。在中央公園邊的一家旅館住了三天，總共三百多美金。這筆費用是J父母給的禮物。入住登記後，年輕的服務生拉了行李車帶着我們上了樓。車上有我們的一隻手提旅行箱和一個放了幾件替換內衣的皮質旅行袋。

找到房間、開門、進屋、把東西拿進來後，J給了他三塊錢小費。不料那服務生看着手中的三塊錢，十分不樂意，嘟囔了一句什麼，很不高興的走了出去。我剛從社會主義社會跨入資本主義社會，不知小費要付多少。J大部分時間在國外，也算是周遊過世界的老旅行家了，不知為何犯了這個錯誤。那一時刻我倆都很尷尬，臉紅到了脖子根。二〇〇九年，時隔二十多年我上網查過，谷歌搜索當時就回答一件行李給一到兩美金，和二〇二四年的AI回答是一樣的。莫非我們當年住的旅館比較高級，要付更多的小費？

2024年12月16日上網查詢

2013年10月23日J家南陽台上的小皮箱

這是那隻小皮箱二〇一三年的樣子，躺在J家南陽台上吹風透氣，看着已經熟透了、累壞了的模樣。箱子還有形，只是箱蓋軟榻榻的了。以前箱子上掛滿了許多不同航空公司的行李標籤根。J喜歡留着那些用鬆緊帶吊着的行李標籤根，這讓他感到驕傲。

1988年尤金·奧尼爾劇院

回頭再說一九八八年在紐約，當晚J帶我去百老匯尤金·奧尼爾劇院看了《蝴蝶君》，將情緒調整了過來。看戲之前我們去了小意大利區的一家餐館。那個餐館環境優雅，一進屋子看到好多人拿着酒杯在門口過道這邊等座位。正猶豫是否離開，服務員就端上來兩大杯葡萄酒遞給我們，弄得我們不好意思再換別家了。那酒還不錯。我們便在門口等。為了美食等一會兒是值得的。

第二天一早去一家餐廳吃早點。食客們的早餐或是早中餐的量大、甜、油、膩。不用盯着看，那些食物就自動擠進視野。有的食客面前的大盤子裏，是摞得高高的流着黃油和楓蜜的藍莓煎餅。有一大盤裝得滿滿的，是兩個太陽煎雞蛋、三四根早餐腸、五六條培根、一大堆油炸土豆碎塊，和幾片加黃油的烤麵包。有的大盤盛的，是幾個夾了雞蛋、煙肉、奶酪的羊角麵包。有的盤子裏放的是大號煎蛋卷。滿盤滿盞。還有各種酸奶、牛奶、果汁等飲料。

食客們有的在喝牛奶、有的在飲果汁，有的在割肉、有的在切水果，有的正往嘴裏送食物、有的還用餐刀往培果上抹厚厚的奶油乳酪，有的邊吃着早餐邊看着晨報、有的邊吃邊交談。

我要了一杯熱牛奶，看到周圍的人吃那麼多東西我反而沒了食欲。J的早點也吃得很少。看到這個食量，就能理解為什麼美國的街上走着那麼多大胖子了。腦海裏立馬就顯現出了八月十六日這次度假的頭一天，也是我第一次踏入美國疆土的那一天，我在夏威夷機場看到的兩位黑胖大嬸。她倆把胖子這兩個字在我頭腦中幾十年形成的概念，徹底否定了。

1988年8月 在紐約街頭請路人給拍的
On the streets of New York, August 1988

下午約好了去J的發小W的住處見面。W是個圖書出版商，住在紐約格林威治村。看時間還早，我們就在格林威治村附近轉轉。在一家門面不大的服裝店裏看到一條我很中意的淺米色、坦領、無袖、全麻質地的長裙，就買了下來。

1989年8月放學回來在日本的家門前過道遇到J端著相機

W的那套公寓，是在一幢典型的聯邦式風格連棟磚房的二樓。窗外緊挨着一間平房的店家，那碩大平整的房頂正好成了W的露台。W是一個有風度、重修養的人，並不聚衆喧嘩，所以樓下店主也很通融。W在露台靠近自家窗子的一角安置了一套室外桌椅和大遮陽傘。

我們端着酒杯拿着食物，跨過窗子來到露台上，邊品嘗着荷蘭奶酪和干紅葡萄酒，邊聊着天。

桌椅近旁還有幾盆花草，纖細的枝葉在微風中輕輕搖曳。環顧四周，牆角邊栽種在大缸裏的幾株一人多高的常青樹郁郁蔥蔥。

露台南側是街面馬路，比較開闊。其他三面都被老舊的長滿了爬牆虎的紅磚樓房圍着。東邊捱着的樓矮，大約有三層。西面是W住的樓的東側山牆。北面隔開一小塊茂密的綠地也是一棟五六層的樓房。

爬牆虎那淺褐色紐帶似的藤蔓牢牢地扒着磚牆縫隙。藤蔓上的綠葉襯托着紅磚舊牆。之字形捱着磚牆架着的、連着各層人家的消防鐵梯子銹跡斑斑。一切在午後陽光裏顯得慵懶，給人以時光倒錯之感。神情恍惚中，忘掉了這是在紐約大都市。

過了新鮮勁兒，才意識到樓房上有許多個窗子，不由得產生了一種在眾目睽睽之下的不安。下意識地往大遮陽傘底下挪了挪椅子，自以為這樣就可以擋住了別人的視線。

這才又端起酒杯，將深紅寶石色的美酒緩緩汲進口中，細細地品味着酒和奶酪交織混合而成的、絲質般的柔滑、濃郁、醇厚，與水果、堅果的馨香。

在繁忙的紐約大都市，此處還真算是一個鬧中取靜的悠閒所在。

太陽轉到了西頭，露台上有了涼意，我們進了屋。W已經預定了晚餐，出門時才注意到他家的門框上一遛安了七把鎖，還有一根金屬頂門棍。看到我們驚愕的目光，幽默、瀟灑、帥氣的W聳了聳肩，攤開一隻手，小幅度地朝上一揚，說了一聲：「Hey! This is New York City！」

晚飯是在曼哈頓的一家私人俱樂部裏吃的。那家俱樂部在外表看起來很低調，一扇黑色帶一個小窺視窗的木門緊關着。通報了姓名後進屋，裏面卻是另外一番景象。露天院子裏和周圍一圈半開放的房間都有餐桌食客，燈光幽暗，樹影婆娑，環境十分幽雅。

吃完飯我們又去了藍調爵士樂俱樂部，欣賞美國著名的爵士小號手邁爾斯·戴維斯的表演。酒吧裏人多擁擠，我要踮起腳來才能一睹大師的風采。實際上是他背部的風采，因為大師的表演时用背對着觀眾吹小號。此後意猶未盡的我們又去了另外一家酒吧。

 

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Of Hostelry Gratuities by Central Park, the Opy-Opulent Pancake Breakfasts of Vast Persons, and the Seven Locks of Greenwich Village

First Impressions of the Metropolis

Having taken our leave of J.’s parents, we departed for New York City, marking my foremost encounter with that grand metropolis. There, by the verdant expanse of Central Park, we lodged for three nights at an inn costing upwards of three hundred dollars in total for our sojourn, a bounty bestowed upon us as a parting gift from his mother and father. Upon our registry, a youthful porter conveyed our effects upstairs on a luggage barrow; our worldly possessions for the journey consisted merely of a solitary suitcase and a leathern valise containing a meager change of linen. Once the chamber was secured, the latch flung open, and our parcels brought within, J. tendered unto him a gratuity of three dollars. To our astonishment, the youth regarded the script in his palm with manifest displeasure, muttered some low grievance, and took his departure in a sullen humor. Having but recently crossed from a socialist society into the capitalist realm, I remained ignorant of the proper measure of such fees. Yet J., who had traversed the globe and might be accounted a veteran traveler, had inexplicably stumbled in this elementary courtesy. For a brief season, we both stood enveloped in a profound mortification, the crimson tide rising to our very throats. In the year two thousand and nine, more than a score of years having elapsed since that day, I straightway queried the matter upon the Google search engine, which then declared a single dollar or two sufficed for each parcel—a testimony identical to the counsel rendered by the modern engines of artificial intelligence in the year two thousand and twenty-four. Perchance the hostelry of our choosing was of an elevated order, demanding a more princely tribute.

This depicts the very aspect of that small leathern valise in the year two thousand and thirteen, reposing upon the southern balcony of J.’s dwelling to catch the ambient air. It bore the semblance of an object thoroughly seasoned and spent with toil, yet it maintained its proper form, save for the lid, which had grown quite soft and yielding. In former days, the valise was thickly hung with the stubs of luggage labels from sundry and diverse airways; J. took a singular pleasure in preserving those tokens, suspended as they were by elastic bands, for they were to him a source of honest pride.

To return, however, to our sojourn in New York in the year nineteen hundred and eighty-eight: that selfsame evening, J. escorted me to the Eugene O'Neill Theatre on Broadway to witness a performance of M. Butterfly, whereby our spirits were restored. Prior to the drama, we repaired to an establishment in Little Italy. The tavern possessed a singular elegance, yet upon our entrance, we discovered a multitude thronging the threshold, wine-cups in hand, awaiting their tables. As we wavered, undecided whether to retreat, a drawer appeared bearing two brimming goblets of vintage, which he pressed into our hands. Bound by this sudden hospitality, we could scarcely depart with any grace; the wine being of commendable quality, we submitted to the delay. Truly, a brief forbearance is a trivial price for the pleasures of the palate.

On the morrow, we sought an ordinary for our morning repast, only to find the portions served to the assembly—be it breakfast or brunch—of such magnitude, sweetness, and oily opulence as to confound the senses. One could not avert the eyes; the dishes obtruded themselves upon the vision unbidden. Before one diner sat a towering pyramid of blueberry pancakes, dripping with butter and the sweet syrup of the maple tree. Another charger was heaped high with a pair of eggs fried sunny-side up, three or four breakfast sausages, a sundry of bacon rashers, a mountain of fried potato fritters, and sundry slices of buttered toast. Others partook of great crescent rolls stuffed with eggs, bacon, and cheese, or expansive omelets folded heavy upon the plate. All was abundance, accompanied by diverse flagons of yogurt, milk, and the pressed juice of fruits.

The company sat variously engaged: some imbibing milk, others partaking of fruit waters; some carving flesh, others paring fruit. One would be conveying a morsel to his lips, while his neighbor, with a common case-knife, smeared an immoderate layer of cream cheese upon a bagel. Sundry gentlemen perused the morning journals amidst their eating, while others maintained an animated discourse.

I contenting myself with a goblet of warm milk, found my appetite quite extinguished by the spectacle of such prodigal consumption. J., too, broke his fast but lightly. Beholding such capacity, it becomes readily apparent why the public ways of America are trodden by so many persons of vast bulk.

Forthwith, my memory reverted to the sixteenth day of August—the inaugural day of our holiday, when my feet first pressed American soil. At the Hawaiian aerodrome, I had observed two black matrons of immense stature, who carried themselves with an easy assurance and serene confidence. The sight of them utterly dissolved the notions of corpulence that had resided in my mind for decades.

In the afternoon, we had an appointment to visit W., a companion of J.’s youth, who followed the trade of a book publisher in Greenwich Village. Finding the hour yet early, we strolled the environs of the Village. In a select and modest boutique, my eye caught a gown of pale beige linen, fashioned with an open collar and devoid of sleeves, which piece of apparel I straightway purchased.

W.’s quarters occupied the second storey of a brick tenement built in the classical Federal style. Without his window lay the flat, expansive roof of an adjacent low shop, which, by private circumstance, served him as a terrace. W., being a gentleman of refined parts and polite breeding, eschewed all riotous assembly, wherefore the shopkeeper below granted him this indulgence. In a corner nigh the casement, W. had disposed a set of garden chairs beneath a great parasol.

Bearing our goblets and sweetmeats, we stepped across the window-frame onto the terrace, there to converse while savoring the cheeses of Holland and a vintage of Cabernet Sauvignon.

Hard by our seats stood sundry vessels of flora, their slender fronds swaying gently in the rising breeze. Casting my eyes about, I observed several evergreen trees, taller than a man, flourishing in great tubs at the angles of the wall.

To the south, the terrace looked upon a wide and open thoroughfare; upon the remaining three sides, it was hemmed in by ancient red-brick structures o'erlaid with ivy. The building adjacent to the east was low, rising some three storeys; to the west rose the gable-end of W.’s own dwelling; while to the north, across a small plot of dense shrubbery, stood a tenement of five or six storeys.

The ivy, with its pale brown, sinewy tendrils resembling ancient cords, gripped the fissures of the masonry with remarkable tenacity, its abundant green foliage contrasting with the weathered red brick. Zigzagging against the walls were the iron fire-escapes that linked the several storeys, now marred by rust. The whole scene, bathed in the golden warmth of the afternoon sun, possessed a quiet, indolent charm, inducing a strange suspension of time. In that dreamy state, one quite forgot the proximity of the bustling New York metropolis.

Yet, when the novelty subsided, I became aware of the multitude of windows looking down upon us, and a sudden unease took possession of me at the thought of being beneath so many watching eyes. Instantly, I drew my chair further beneath the shadow of the great parasol, fondly imagining myself shielded from scrutiny.

Thus comforted, I raised my glass once more, permitting the deep ruby liquor to pass slowly over my palate, lingering upon the silken smooth, rich, and full-bodied marriage of wine and cheese, interspersed with the delicate fragrances of fruit and nut.

In the heart of that tumultuous city, this spot was a haven of tranquility.

As the sun veered toward the west, a coolness descended upon the terrace, and we retreated indoors. W. had already secured a table for our evening meal. Upon our egress, I observed with astonishment a row of seven distinct locks affixed to his door-frame, supplemented by a stout iron bar to brace the portal. Noting our bewildered expressions, W.—who was a man of parts, handsome and full of dry humor—shrugged his shoulders, extended a palm with a slight upward gesture, and exclaimed, “Hey! This is New York City!”

Our supper was taken within a private club in Manhattan. From the highway, the establishment presented a most modest aspect, its black wooden door closed fast and pierced only by a small peephole. Our names having been announced, we entered to find a scene wholly transformed. In an open courtyard and within a circle of semi-enclosed chambers, tables were set with diners; the light was dim, the shadows of the trees flickered in the evening air, and the surroundings were exceedingly polite.

Our repast concluded, we repaired to the Blue Note Jazz Club to witness the extraordinary virtuosity of Miles Davis, the celebrated American trumpeter. The tavern was so densely thronged that I was constrained to stand upon my tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the master; in truth, it was his back that I chiefly beheld, for it was his custom to perform with his back turned upon the assembly. Thereafter, our curiosity being yet unsatisfied, we sought out another tavern before the night was spent.

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.

第四百二十八篇

《手指湖的小白樓、谷倉紅的老倉房與數學碩士的牛奶棚》

1988年8月，我離開住房擁擠的上海才剛滿一個月。那時我還在為那寬敞的神奈川日本新居而心生竊喜，轉眼就跟著 J 跨過大洋，來到了 J 父母的家——位於紐約上州五指湖區（Finger Lakes）的庫卡湖（Keuka）附近，那裡丘陵起伏，風景宜人。一個月前，我曾接到 J 母親寄來的祝福信，信中說她家的房子雖然有些年頭了，但十分舒適，歡迎我來。

記得1988年8月16日，我第一次踏上美國疆土。在夏威夷機場入境轉機時，我驚恐地發現，兩個黑人中年婦女竟然是那麼的胖！豐滿的胸脯、渾厚的肩膀、粗壯的腰圍與翹盈盈的臀，正袒胸露臂、卻十分從容自信地坐在機場咖啡廳前吃喝交談。她倆的出現，把「胖子」這兩個字在我頭腦中原有形成的概念，徹徹底底地給否定了。心想，跟這兩位胖大嬸兒相比，我過去在國內見過的所有胖子，都不能再被稱為「胖子」了。

當我們飛抵紐約羅切斯特機場時，是 J 的父母親自開車來接的。看到兩位健朗的老人，我當時心裡感到一陣吃驚——他們都已經八十多歲了，怎麼竟然還能自己開車。以往在我的固有概念中，老人都是些行動遲緩、需要被特殊照顧的對象，在家庭中也往往是不再挑大梁、退居二線、甚至容易被小輩忽略的人了。這是我來到美國後受到的第二個驚詫。

J 父母的小白樓有一百多年的歷史了，上下大小一共有十來間屋子。包括後院在內，當時整整佔地3英畝。這裡平時就只住著 J 的父母、一隻叫 Miji 的小貓，和一條叫 Lady 的小狗。這在當時的我眼中，簡直是太奢侈了！僅僅一個多月的時間，我的住房條件就經歷了「三級跳」式的巨大變化，令我一時半會兒愣不過神來。想想一個月前在上海時的居住環境，我當時覺得這個世界簡直太不公平了。

1988年的小白樓

小白樓正面左起第一根白柱子前，種著一棵齊腰高的柏樹。那是我和 J 一起去鄉間的苗圃，花了42塊美金買回來栽種的。原先那個位置長著一棵和右邊第一根白柱子前一模一樣的松樹，不知為什麼，J 非要砍掉左邊的那棵，換上一棵柏樹。不過，柏樹看起來確實比松樹要顯得更豐富一些。西方人沒有什麼忌諱，松樹和柏樹就這麼直接種在自家的院子裡。而在老北京的四合院兒裡，則是非常忌諱栽種松柏的。

1988年小白樓東側

1988年小白樓東側

1989年在東陽台會客

1988年在東陽台抱著狗狗喝咖啡

J 的母親在東側陽台的木柵欄上放了幾個長方形的花盆，裡面種著纖柔的矮牽牛花（Petunia）。這種花的花期很長，一朵朵像小喇叭似的盛開著。每當陽光明媚的晌午，抑或是細雨濛濛的日子，坐在陽台上，手捧一張報紙或一本書，端著一杯熱咖啡或一杯清茶，無論是享受獨處，還是與家人閒聊、與小貓小狗戲耍，日子都過得無比慵懶悠閒。

1988年東陽台上

我1990年畫的東陽台的花
The petunias grown by J’s mother—I painted them in 1990.

1988年東陽台上

後院里拉著晾衣服的繩子。雖然家裡備有烘乾機，但他們依然習慣在室外將衣服直接晾曬在陽光下，透著一種古樸與自在。這裡是自家的後院兒，不必擔心有礙觀瞻。這讓我想起在上海弄堂裏晾曬的衣服，就在川流不息的行人頭頂上掛着。若是新村的樓房，晾曬被子時還要當心樓上會突然將滴水的衣服掛出來。樓房的窗子上下對齊，家家戶戶的窗前都有一個晾衣服架子，幾乎也是上下對齊的。樓上的人家若不體諒下面，樓下的便會遭殃。我們小時候一遇到大晴天，就會早早地去「占位子」，將晾衣服繩子綁在兩棵大樹之間曬被子晾衣服。晚去了還占不到。有的樹就長在人們行走的路邊，若晾衣服的繩子沒辦法只能橫着綁在行人必經的路上，便將衣服被子分開一點掛着，讓人們從晾曬的衣服被子夾縫中穿過去。

1988年在後陽台上，我右手挎著晾衣服的繩子
In 1988, on the back balcony, I had my right arm draped over the clothesline.

在小白樓的左後側，大約相隔十五米遠的地方，是一間兩層樓高的倉房，谷倉紅色，但那種紅是經過歲月磨損後的淡紅，呈現出一種讓人看上去很舒服、飽經風霜的色調。這一前一後、一白一紅兩棟樓房互相陪襯著，共同經歷了百年的滄桑，也默默見證了一個世紀的人間冷暖。

2007年

1992年J在修車

老倉房裡停著一輛看上去很氣派的1960年款黑色捷豹（Jaguar）轎車。為了保持通風，車裡放了一個小風扇，常年累月地開著。車內的皮革椅子等物件都保存得相當完好。四個車輪早已被 J 的父親卸了下來，單獨掛在牆上，整個車身由幾隻千斤頂穩穩地頂著。此外，倉房裡還堆滿了各式各樣的工具：台虎鉗、鐵鍬、鐵鎬、鐵耙、鋤頭、鐮刀、自動噴水器、手扶耕地機，所有能想到的中小型農具，在這裡可謂應有盡有。

2002年5月

2002年7月倉房北側長著核桃樹和楓樹

倉房的東山牆邊長著一大片迎春花叢。早春時節，在那些蓬蓬的褐色枝條上，會率先開出一大片明亮鮮嫩的小黃花，而翠綠的葉子要等將近一個月後才會慢慢長出來。

1984年J的父親在打理菜園子
J's father was tending the vegetable garden in 1984.

2005年小溪流

花叢的東邊有一片由 J 父親親自打理的菜園子，菜園子的東側，還有一條緩緩流淌的小溪。倉房後面的西側有一溜高大的樹木與灌木叢，東側一直到小溪的則是一片開闊的草坪，那溜大樹一直向後延伸，連著草坪後面的一大片林子。

谷歌地圖中的那一長溜當年是屬於他家的

1988年後院的林子

J 的父親平時沒事的時候，就喜歡拿著一把長柄除草刀，在後院裡四處溜達。一旦看見有一種開著紫花的野草（Burdock），他就會立刻揮刀砍掉。因為那種草的花球球上長滿了毛刺，極易黏在人的褲腿上，或者沾在小貓小狗的身上。他還指給我看倉房後面的幾棵高大的核桃樹，地上四處散落著從樹上掉下來的青皮核桃，有的表面都已經發黑了。他說，這裡有些樹是他當年親手栽種的，那兩棵大柳樹則是12年前栽下的。核桃樹的邊上還長著幾棵楓樹，秋天種子隨風飄落時，就像空中有許多精巧的小螺旋槳在旋轉著降落。他還教我辨認小溪邊草叢裡生長的野藍莓。

很多年後我上網查詢才知道，那種被 J 父親嫌棄的 Burdock 野草，在國內原來叫牛蒡，又稱「東洋參」，既是中藥也是蔬菜，營養價值極高。1988年那會兒還沒有互聯網，要是早知道這牛蒡渾身是寶，其根、莖、葉都能食用，我當時一定會採來吃，至少也要嘗嘗味道。不過話說回來，那紫色的花確實挺漂亮的，只是那毛刺刺的球球黏在褲腿和小動物身上時比較麻煩，很難摘掉。

估計西方人過去不太了解這是一種寶貝。據說在太平洋戰爭期間，日本因糧食短缺，曾給英美戰俘吃牛蒡。而戰俘們不知道這是一種食物，以為日本人逼迫他們吃樹根，誤認為自己受到了虐待。這件事後來甚至被他們告到了國際法庭。

再說那野藍莓，也是許多年後我才知道它富含花青素，是個好東西。心裡不免有些後悔，當時以及後來在那兒住了幾年，竟然都沒想著摘點兒來吃。否則的話，如今自己也不會老得這麼快了。

J 的母親對院子裡所有的樹木、花草、飛鳥以及地上跑的小動物，都能順口說出牠們的名稱與種類。有一種鳥的叫聲聽起來像是「chick-a-dee-dee-dee」。後院的小溪邊，經常會有野火雞、野兔、野鴨子、狸貓和鹿等小動物出沒。

那年夏天，J 的姑姑和姑父大老遠地開了5個小時的車，專程從匹茲堡趕過來與我們見面。剛進門時，高大的姑父便張開雙臂，熱情地想要給我一個擁抱。我心裡明明知道這是西方的正常禮節，可我的身體硬是不聽使喚，在關鍵時刻硬是偏過了身子，只伸出一隻手去想跟他握手。老人當場就被我弄蒙了，雙臂尷尬地僵在了半空中。J 見狀笑著向他們解釋道：「東方的習俗不同，芬太害羞了。」隨後，我們六人一起去了塞尼卡（Seneca）湖邊、有一百多年歷史的貝爾赫斯特城堡（Belhurst Castle）用餐。

1994年攝影課作業

那是一座羅馬復興風格的古堡，曾經是私人財產，後來被改建成了餐廳俱樂部。又過了幾天，9月4日，正值姑姑退休，我們還去參加了他們慶賀退休的家庭聚會。

1988年9月4日J的姑姑家的自助餐

後排左起 J 的姑父，J 的父親，我和 J
前排姑姑姑父的女兒，姑姑，和 J 的母親

1988年8月20日，J 帶著我去了他大學時代的好友 T 家。T 當年在威斯康辛大學讀的是數學碩士，如今卻在鄉下當起了一個地地道道的農場主。我當時心裡還十分納悶，一個讀數學的研究生，怎麼就跑來務農了。T 有三個可愛的孩子，大女兒那年8歲，性格很文靜；小男孩和小女兒則相當活潑調皮。

他們一共擁有170英畝的土地，其中100英畝栽種著有機玉米和黃豆，30英畝種著草料，還有40幾英畝是一片茂密的林子。家裡養了十來頭牛、好幾隻貓、一隻狗和一匹馬。他告訴我們，在美國養一頭乳牛，平均需要3到4英畝的草料供應。

T 每天必須給牛擠兩次奶，如果沒有按時去擠或者不小心忘了，牛奶的產量就會減少。為了保證能源源不斷地產出牛奶，母牛就必須處於不斷懷孕的狀態，聽說似乎全都是人工授精的。如此看來，奶牛這一輩子過得也滿辛苦的，幾乎老是無法休息。

T 極其勤勞。犁地、下種、除草、施肥、收割、入倉、打包、銷售、養牛、餵食、擠奶，每天起早摸黑地幹，忙得不亦樂乎。儘管他對這些工作已經熟悉到了他自己說：「閉著眼睛都能幹好」的地步，從不浪費一份力氣，但他家依然算不上富裕。

他們家的小女孩順手就能抓過一隻可愛的貓，一臉燦爛地將貓提溜到我面前，像是在展示她的戰利品一般。她那稚嫩的話語顯得有些不連貫，上氣不接下氣地朝我大聲介紹著那些不同的貓的種類、特徵與習性。而那些貓們，似乎也只能無奈地接受了這個小女孩看似魯莽的愛撫。

牛棚裡剛剛擠出來的熱牛奶，T 順手就倒出了半盆。剎那間，周圍的那些貓全都有感應似的呼呼地竄了過去，擁擠在一起爭先恐後地舔舐著盆裡的鮮奶。

他們一家的生活過得極其儉樸。T 的太太人很溫和，日常十分操勞，她也是他們的大學同學。她一個人既要帶三個孩子，又要打理自家吃菜的菜園子，整天忙忙碌碌的，根本顧不上收拾屋子。所以他們家裡顯得比較凌亂，沙發上、地上四處都堆著一堆一堆的衣服，也分不清到底是洗過的還是沒洗的。

很多年以後，我曾問過 T 有關牛奶的脂肪含量對人體健康的影響。T 對我說：「我們很窮，窮得家裡就只剩下牛奶了。我的孩子們全都是喝這種牛奶長大的，但你看，我們每個人都很健康。」我估計他們當年喝的就是未經加工的全脂鮮奶。但最關鍵的原因是，他們每個人平時都在進行大量的運動。孩子們整天忙著跑動，不需要刻意去鍛煉就很健康；而 T 作為農莊主，每天幹的都是重體力活，所以身體自然很好。

小村鎮裏一共也沒有幾條馬路，街上看不見行人。主街兩側的草坪大樹間，一棟棟有歷史底蘊的洋房別墅，各自風格獨特，不單調也不重複，而又渾然一體融於自然。遠處教堂的尖頂直入雲霄，天極藍，雲極純，透着一派寧靜與祥和。

這其實還僅僅是美國普通中產家庭退休後的住房條件。據說一般的美國人退休之後，都會選擇搬到這種偏遠、清靜、且物價相對便宜一些的地區來安度晚年，這裡確實是個理想的場所。

1992年

村子裡的生活節奏十分緩慢，偶爾會有騎馬的人從家門口慢悠悠地路過。每逢週末，便能看到幾輛門諾派教徒（Mennonite）和阿米希人（Amish）的馬車，顛兒、顛兒地從路上駛過。這一帶居住著大量的門諾派與阿米希人，他們的宗教信仰、單純質樸以及與世無爭的日常生活習性，使得這片地區美麗的原生態風貌被完整地保存了下來。

我當時對 J 說：「這裡估計就像天堂一樣。」

1988年 Keuka 湖

那段日子裡，我們還去湖裡游了幾次泳。這裡的州立公園和公共游泳水域，給那些不直接住在湖邊的人們，提供了平等享受大自然神奇與美麗的機會。湖水裡有戲水的，沙灘上有曬日光浴的，大樹下有燒烤的。

1988年夏

五指湖區有大片大片綿延的葡萄園、高爾夫球場、露宿營地、遊艇俱樂部、風味餐館、環境幽雅的旅店，以及有錢人家的夏季別墅等。這裡還有許多度假房專門出租，供夏季的旅遊者前來使用。

許多前來度假的人們，開著休閒房車（RV），拖家帶口，後面還拉著小車、馱著自行車，成群結隊地來到湖邊的營地度假。

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

The White House of the Finger Lakes, the Barn-Red Shed, and the Mathematician's Milk Barn

In August 1988, it had been barely a month since I departed from the cramped, overcrowded housing conditions of Shanghai. While I was still secretly rejoicing over the spaciousness of my new residence in Kanagawa, Japan, I found myself traveling across the ocean with J to the rolling hills and picturesque landscape of Upstate New York's Finger Lakes region . This was J’s parents’ home near Keuka Lake. A month prior, I had received a welcoming letter from J’s mother, in which she noted that while her house possessed considerable age, it was exceedingly comfortable, and she warmly anticipated my arrival.

I distinctly recall August 16, 1988, the very first time I stepped onto American soil. While passing through immigration and transferring flights at the Hawaii airport, I was astonished to observe two middle-aged Black women who were remarkably heavy. Possessing full busts, thick shoulders, broad waistlines, and prominent hips, they sat at an airport café entrance, completely at ease and filled with self-confidence, dressed in clothing that left their arms and necklines bare as they ate, drank, and conversed. Their presence utterly demolished the preconceived notions of the word "fat" that had long existed in my mind. I reasoned that compared to these two women, none of the heavy individuals I had previously encountered in China could ever be termed "fat" again.

When we arrived at the Rochester airport in New York, J’s parents drove out in person to receive us. Observing the robust elders, I was struck by a wave of surprise—both were already in their eighties, yet they were fully capable of driving an automobile on their own. In my past experience, elderly individuals were invariably slow-moving, dependent figures requiring constant care—individuals who no longer held authority, had retreated to the background, or were easily overlooked by the younger generations. This constituted my second great astonishment upon arriving in America.

The white frame house belonging to J’s parents possessed over a century of history, containing roughly ten rooms upstairs and down. Including the backyard, the property encompassed a full three acres. At the time, the entire estate was occupied solely by J’s parents, a small cat named Miji, and a little dog named Lady. In my eyes back then, this was nothing short of extraordinary luxury. In the span of a single month, my domestic housing conditions had leaped through a dramatic "triple jump," leaving me completely dazed for days. Reflecting on the crowded spaces of Shanghai just a month prior, I felt that the world was remarkably inequitable.

In front of the first white pillar on the left side of the house stood a waist-high cypress tree. J and I had driven out to a rural nursery and purchased it together for 42 dollars. Originally, that spot had been occupied by a pine tree identical to the one standing before the first white pillar on the right; for reasons unknown, J insisted on cutting down the left pine and replacing it with a cypress. However, the cypress did seem to possess a richer texture than the pine. Westerners harbored no superstitions regarding such matters, planting pines and cypresses directly within their residential yards. In contrast, planting pine and cypress trees within traditional courtyard homes of old Beijing was strictly taboo.

On the wooden railing of the eastern balcony, J’s mother had arranged several rectangular flower boxes planted with delicate petunias. These flowers boasted an incredibly long blooming season, opening wide like clusters of miniature trumpets. On bright, sunny noons or during misty, drizzling days, one could sit upon the balcony with a newspaper or a book, a cup of hot coffee or clear tea, enjoying solitude, conversing with family, or playing with the cat and dog as the days drifted by in a lazy, unhurried fashion.

The backyard was outfitted with a traditional clothesline. Though the household was equipped with an electric dryer, they maintained the habit of hanging their laundry outside to dry directly under the open sun, projecting an air of archaic simplicity and freedom. This was their own backyard, so naturally, there’s no need to worry about it being an eyesore. This recalled to my mind the apparel hung out to dry within the narrow alleyways of Shanghai, suspended directly o'er the heads of the ceaseless torrent of wayfarers. In the multi-storeyed tenements of the newer villages, when exposing one's quilts to the sun, a constant vigilance was demanded lest the inhabitants above should abruptly display their own dripping linen. For the casements of these dwellings were aligned precisely one beneath the other, and before every window was fixed a drying frame, likewise in vertical alignment; should the dwellers on the upper storey fail in consideration for those below, the latter straightway suffered the grievance. In the days of our youth, upon the dawning of a fair and cloudless morn, we would repair early to the grounds to secure a station, binding our cords between two great trees whereon to sun our quilts and dry our garments; he who arrived late found no place remaining. Sundry of these trees grew hard by the common paths, and if, by sheer constraint of space, the cord must needs be fastened transversely across the highway trodden by all, we had no remedy but to part the garments and quilts a little space asunder, permitting the folk to pass through the very clefts of the drying array.

Roughly fifteen meters to the rear-left of the main white house stood a two-story barn. It was finished in a classic barn-red hue, though it was a faded red worn thin by decades of weather—a comfortable, weathered tone that rested easy on the eyes. Standing together, one white and one red, these two centuries-old structures complemented one another, enduring a hundred years of changing seasons and bearing silent witness to a century of human life.

Sheltered within the old barn was a remarkably grand 1960 black Jaguar sedan. To maintain ventilation, a small electric fan inside the cabin ran continuously year-round. The leather seating and interior appointments remained in immaculate condition. J’s father had long since removed the four wheels, hanging them separately upon the wall, leaving the chassis securely elevated atop several mechanical jacks. Furthermore, the shed was packed with an array of manual tools: bench vises, iron shovels, pickaxes, rakes, hoes, scythes, automatic sprinklers, and a pedestrian rototiller—virtually every variety of small-scale agricultural implement was present.

Against the eastern wall of the barn grew a massive thicket of winter jasmine. In the early days of spring, amidst the dense, brown branches, a profusion of bright, tender yellow blossoms would burst forth first, while the deep green foliage would tarry for nearly a month before unfolding. To the east of the thicket lay a vegetable garden cultivated by J’s father, flanked on its eastern boundary by a gently murmuring creek. To the rear-west of the barn stood a row of mature trees and wild brambles, bordering a wide lawn that stretches all the way to the stream; that line of ancient trees stretched straight back into a forest.

When J’s father had leisure, he was fond of walking about the backyard carrying a long-handled weed slasher. The moment his eyes caught sight of burdock—a weed that put forth purple blossoms—he would instantly strike it down. The seed heads of the burdock were covered in stiff burrs that clung stubbornly to trouser legs and the fur of the cat and dog. He pointed out several towering walnut trees situated behind the barn, where the ground was littered with green-hulled walnuts dropped from the canopy, some already turning black with decay. He remarked that several of these trees had been planted by his own hands, and the two great willows had been set down twelve years prior. Beside the walnuts stood a few maples; when their seeds drifted down upon the autumn winds, they descended through the air like countless spinning miniature propellers. He also instructed me on how to identify wild blueberries growing among the grasses bordering the creek.

Many years later, when I researched the matter online, I discovered that the troublesome burdock weed was actually known as Niubang in China—also termed "Oriental Ginseng"—a highly nutritious plant utilized both as a herbal medicine and a vegetable. Back in 1988, the Internet did not exist; had I known that the burdock was entirely edible—its roots, stalks, and leaves all serving as sustenance—I would certainly have harvested it to cook, or at least sampled its flavor. Yet, looking back, those purple blossoms were genuinely beautiful, even if the burrs clinging to clothing and animal fur were a tedious nuisance to remove.

It seems Westerners in the past were largely unaware of its value. It is recorded that during the Pacific War, due to severe food shortages, the Japanese military fed burdock roots to British and American prisoners of war. Unaware that it was an edible plant, the prisoners believed they were being forced to consume tree roots and concluded they were being subjected to cruel mistreatment—an incident that they subsequently brought before an international tribunal.

As for the wild blueberries, it was similarly decades later that I learned they were packed with anthocyanins and held great health value. I felt a minor pang of regret that during my years residing there, I had never thought to gather them for food; otherwise, perhaps I would not have aged quite so rapidly now.

J’s mother could identify every tree, flower, wild bird, and animal traversing the grounds by its specific name and genus. There was a particular bird whose call sounded precisely like "chick-a-dee-dee-dee." Along the banks of the backyard creek, wild turkeys, rabbits, ducks, raccoons, and deer frequently emerged from the woods.

That summer, J’s aunt and uncle drove a full five hours from Pittsburgh specifically to meet us. Upon crossing the threshold, the towering uncle opened his arms wide, preparing to offer me a warm, Western-style embrace. Though I fully comprehended that this was standard custom in the West, my body simply refused to comply; at the critical second, I ducked my torso sideways and merely extended a hand to initiate a handshake. The old gentleman was entirely nonplussed, his arms freezing awkwardly in mid-air. Observing the encounter, J laughed and explained, "Eastern customs are different; Fen is simply too bashful." Afterward, the six of us dined at Belhurst Castle along the shore of Seneca Lake—a century-old Romanesque Revival structure that had transitioned from a private estate into a restaurant and club. A few days later, on September 4, to mark the aunt’s retirement, we attended a celebratory family gathering. In this photograph, the four individuals in the back row from the left are J’s uncle, J’s father, myself, and J. In the front row are his uncle and aunt’s daughter, his aunt, and J’s mother.

On August 20, 1988, J took me to visit T, his close companion from his university days. T had earned a Master’s degree in mathematics from the University of Wisconsin, yet he had chosen to settle in the countryside as a common farmer. At the time, I found it highly perplexing that a graduate student of mathematics would devote himself to agriculture. T was blessed with three lovely children: the eldest daughter was eight that year and possessed a serene demeanor, while the young boy and the youngest daughter were remarkably spirited and mischievous.

They owned a total of 170 acres of land, of which 100 acres were cultivated with organic corn and soybeans, 30 acres were set aside for hay, and over 40 acres comprised a dense woodland. Their livestock included a dozen cattle, several cats, a dog, and a single horse. He informed us that in America, maintaining a single dairy cow required an average supply of three to four acres of pastureland.

T was required to milk the herd twice daily without fail; if he delayed or forgot, the milk yield would immediately dwindle. To ensure a continuous supply of milk, the cows had to be kept in a perpetual state of pregnancy, achieved entirely through artificial insemination. Viewed thus, the life of a dairy cow was remarkably arduous, spent in a state of nearly unremitting labor.

T was an exceptionally industrious man. Plowing, sowing, weeding, fertilizing, harvesting, storing, packing, marketing, tending the herd, feeding, and milking—he labored from dawn until dusk, finding immense fulfillment in his toil. Though he was so thoroughly acquainted with these chores that he could execute them "with his eyes closed," never wasting an ounce of energy, his household remained modest rather than wealthy.

Their young daughter could casually scoop up a cat and march over to me with a radiant smile, hoisting the creature like a trophy of war. Her childish speech was breathless and disjointed as she boisterously explained the distinct breeds, traits, and temperaments of the various felines. The cats, for their part, appeared to have resigned themselves to the girl’s rough caresses.

From the fresh milk just drawn in the barn, T would casually pour out half a basin. In an instant, the farm cats would rush over from all quarters, crowding and jostling one another to lap up the warm milk.

The family’s domestic life was exceedingly frugal. T’s wife was a gentle, hardworking woman who had been their university classmate. Managing three children while tending a vegetable garden for the household’s sustenance kept her continuously occupied, leaving her with no leisure to tidy the residence. Consequently, the interior was somewhat disordered, with mounds of laundry scattered across the sofas and floors, making it impossible to discern which garments were clean and which were soiled.

Many years later, I questioned T regarding the impact of milk fat content on human health. T replied, "We are poor—so poor that we have nothing left in the house but milk. My children were raised entirely on this milk, yet as you can see, every one of us is in excellent health." I surmise that the milk they consumed back then was raw, unprocessed whole milk straight from the barn. However, the critical factor was that every member of the family engaged in rigorous physical activity. The children were constantly running about, requiring no conscious exercise to maintain health, while T, as a farmer, performed heavy manual labor daily, ensuring excellent physical conditioning.

Within this small settlement there lay in all but a few highways, and the streets were notably destitute of wayfarers. Between the expansive lawns and great trees bordering the main thoroughfare, sundry villas and dwellings of venerable style arose, each possessing a singular aspect, neither monotonous nor redundant, yet all harmoniously conjoined with the surrounding nature. Afar off, the slender steeple of a church pierced the very heavens; the sky was of a wondrous azure, the clouds of an absolute purity, and the whole scene breathed a spirit of profound tranquility and peace.

This constituted the typical housing standard for an ordinary American middle-class family in retirement. It is said that average Americans, upon retiring, frequently relocate to these remote, quiet, and economically advantageous regions to spend their twilight years; this area was indeed an ideal haven.

The pace of life in the village was remarkably measured; occasionally, someone on horseback would pass leisurely by the front door. On weekends, one could observe several horse-drawn buggies belonging to the Mennonites and Amish trotting along the roadway. This region was home to a large population of Mennonites and Amish, whose religious faith, simplicity, and unpretentious lifestyles ensured that the beautiful, pristine ecosystem of the area remained fully preserved.

I remarked to J at the time, "This place feels precisely like heaven."

During those summer days, we also went swimming in the lake on several occasions. The state parks and public swimming waters granted individuals who did not reside directly along the shoreline an equal opportunity to enjoy the beauty of nature. The waters were filled with people splashing about, sunbathers reclined upon the sand, and families gathered beneath the shade of mature trees to grill food.

Gazing along the expansive shoreline, the eye met vast, sweeping vineyards, golf courses, campgrounds, yacht clubs, local restaurants, elegant inns, and the summer homes of affluent families. Numerous vacation properties were available for rent, catering to the influx of summer tourists.

Many of these seasonal travelers arrived driving massive recreational vehicles (RVs), bringing their entire families along with towed utility trailers and bicycles mounted to the frames, converging upon the lakeside campgrounds to enjoy their summer holidays.

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.

第四百二十七篇

《鑑真號的遠航、大佛的夢境預言與一塊像工農肥皂的起司》

1988年7月16日，我乘坐「鑑真號」輪船第一次離開故土去了日本。J 租了一輛小車，在18日中午抵達大阪碼頭來接我。回程的車中，我高歌一曲《妹妹你大膽地往前走》，就此開啟了我的海外生涯。

從大阪到位於神奈川縣伊勢原市的新家，如今用網上地圖一查，才五六個小時的車程。但當時的我並不知道，一切都是那麼的新鮮。J 不懂日語，全憑看著地圖開車，途中經常會遇到單行道，難免有些沮喪地嘟嘟囔囔。當晚我們在日本民宿住了一夜，途中 J 還帶著我轉了幾個地方。那時我人生地不熟，一個具體的地名也沒記住，只知道照片中的那尊大佛是鐮倉的。

多年後有了互聯網，上網一查才知道，鐮倉大佛距我拜訪的日子倒推700多年就開始建造了。大佛最初是木質結構，花了六年時間完成，三年後被颱風毀壞。1253年開始重鑄銅製坐佛像，供奉於大佛殿之內。而200多年後，大佛殿被海水倒灌沖毀，自此鐮倉大佛就成了露天大佛。我站在大佛像前時，大佛已經露天遮風擋雨將近500年了。這是多麼驚心動魄的歷程。難怪我那年元旦第一天就做了夢，夢見大地震，海水把一艘大船直接沖到了家門口。原來那是歷史通過夢的形式，小試牛刀演繹給我看一眼。

終於到家了。J 拿著鑰匙開了門，我剛要跨進去，J 說了一聲：「等等。」說著，他彎腰順勢抄起我的雙腿，將我整個橫抱起來走了進去。西方的這一習俗好溫馨。

屋子裡井然有序。放下行李，打開窗戶透氣，我們的小日子就開始了。

到家的第二天，J 給了我20萬日元。我當時全然不知道這筆錢是給我幹嘛用的，也許是讓我負擔起日常的開銷，我也沒問。但是平時出門買菜什麼的，他還會另外給我錢，我也就糊里糊塗地拿著。到了第二個月，他便沒有一下子再給我這麼多錢了，我同樣沒問。我腦子裡少了一根要「掌控」的弦，根本沒想過要當家、掌握經濟大權，本來這錢就不是我掙的。

抵達日本後的第五天，J 帶我去與他的朋友們見面。他們經常在附近的一家酒屋裡喝酒，裡面有日本教授，也有西方外教，都是東海大學的。一進門，媽媽桑就熱情地為我送上了鮮花和禮物。大家開開心心地聚集在一起分享美食、聊天，這還真是我頭一回被眾人如此「關注」，心裡有些不好意思。

從北窗望去，遠處最高的山峰是Oyama大山

接下來的幾天我們就在附近轉了轉。我們去爬了大山（Oyama），又去了古都鐮倉。

那時我發覺，結了婚的第一個好處是：再也不用偷偷摸摸的了。過去無論是愛誰還是被誰愛，心裡都覺得是一件見不得人的事。原因是我當年愛著的人，後來得知他早已經有了對象，所以我們在公園裡散步都是一前一後地保持著距離。或者是那個我不愛、但他偏偏愛我的人，因為害怕得罪他有權有勢的爸爸，我不得不一次次跟著他出去，嘴裡重複著說「我們就做朋友吧」。當然，我更不願意讓別人看到我和他走在一起。再後來的姐弟戀，也是同樣見不得光的。

J 在歐洲待了幾年，有點「崇歐媚外」，總覺得什麼優格、起司、麵包、香腸、酒等等都是歐洲的最好。他自己也會做一手美味的意大利和法國料理。

他做的青醬意大利麵（Pesto Spaghetti）非常好吃，做法也簡單：用新鮮羅勒葉、烤松子、現磨碎的 Parmesan 奶酪、大蒜、現擠的檸檬汁和橄欖油。說到帕爾馬干酪（Parmesan），這裡還有一個小插曲。

剛到日本的某一天，我正在水池邊洗菜。J 從後面伸過手來，將一塊黃兮兮的東西送到我嘴邊。我把頭讓開了一點，想看清那到底是什麼。那東西看上去就像一小塊過去用的「工農肥皂」。不容我多問，J 臉上帶著神秘的微笑，將那塊「肥皂」塞進了我的嘴裡。我頓時驚呼：「Soap！Soap！」然而第二聲「Soap」還沒喊完，一股無法言喻的美味便在嘴裡漾了開來。原來，那是一塊意大利的 Parmesan 起司。這是我這輩子第一次吃起司。

J 還做過另外一種意大利面，同樣好吃且做法簡單。用大蒜、辣椒、番茄、黑橄欖（Black Olives）、刺山柑（Capers）、鹹魚（Anchovies）和橄欖油。J 說這道麵有一個特殊的名字，叫「Whore Spaghetti」，也就是「妓女麵」。據說是因為過去的妓女接客太忙了，為了節省時間才做這種麵。但我後來記錯了，這些年裡，我一直把那道「青醬意大利麵」誤記成了妓女面。

說到美食，J 是比較講究的。他自己精通意大利和法國美食的烹飪，下館子必須要吃精緻美食（Gourmet Foods），從不吃任何快餐。到東方餐館吃飯，J 總是帶著自己的筷子，以避免使用一次性筷子。他也從不去超市或大型連鎖店，買東西一定要去照顧街邊那些誠實本分、產品質量極高的小實體店生意，哪怕價格貴一點也無妨。他不忍心看那些小店主的失落，不願意看著各具風格、富有人情味的小商業被（按J的話）「大鯊魚」（big shark）吞併，從而變成整齊劃一、千篇一律的（按J的話）「乏味無趣」（boring）商業模式；他反對這樣的壟斷行為。在大型購物中心與連鎖超級市場迅速擴張、吞噬著傳統街區的年代裡，他的這種堅持，雖然微弱，卻始終固執。

喝酒方面 J 同樣有講究。儘管我們兩人在家吃飯時不喝開胃酒和餐後酒，但佐餐酒是必不可少的。吃海鮮必須配乾白葡萄酒，吃肉類則喝乾紅葡萄酒，普通的日常菜餚喝啤酒。到了睡覺前，在悠然輕鬆的背景音樂中，J 還喜歡喝上一點威士忌或白蘭地。

而過去只有在節假日才喝一點像甜水兒一樣的紅葡萄酒的我，一時間根本無法適應這種生活方式。為此 J 特意給我買了愛爾蘭百利甜（Baileys Irish Cream）和法國的金萬利（Grand Marnier）。我當時心裡還有些嫌他喝得太多。你想啊，我那時剛剛從一個貧窮、節儉的生活環境中走出來，哪裡見過這種架勢。沒見過家裡備有酒櫥，沒見過櫥裡擺著那麼多種類的酒，更沒見過天天都要喝酒的人。

那時的我根本沒有意識到這其實是一種中產階級（Bourgeois lifestyle）的生活方式和享受，反而認為這些都是不好的壞習慣。所以我是能不喝就儘量不喝。現在想想，是不是顯得有些大煞風景？確實是。我簡直是有福不享，生在福中不知福。

但是，到頭來生活了許多年後才知道，原來滴酒不沾才是最健康的。

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

The Voyage of the Jianzhen, the Prophecy of the Great Buddha, and a Cheese update like Peasant Soap

On July 16, 1988, I boarded the liner Jianzhen and departed from my homeland for Japan for the very first time. Renting a small vehicle, J arrived at the Osaka pier at noon on July 18 to receive me. On our return drive, I sang aloud the song "Sister, Boldly March Forward," thus initiating my life overseas.

The distance from Osaka to our new home in Isehara City, Kanagawa Prefecture, is merely a five-to-six-hour drive by modern online maps, though I had no inkling of this at the time; everything felt entirely novel. J understood no Japanese and navigated strictly by consulting paper maps; encounters with one-way streets were frequent, causing him to mutter with frustration. We lodged at a Japanese guesthouse for the night, and J guided me to see several locations along the way. Being completely unfamiliar with the country, I failed to record a single specific place name, knowing only that the giant Buddha in our photograph belonged to Kamakura.

Years later, with the advent of the Internet, I researched online and discovered that construction on the Great Buddha of Kamakura had commenced over 700 years prior to my visit. Initially a wooden structure, it required six years to complete, only to be demolished by a typhoon three years later. In 1253, casting began on the bronze seated statue, which was housed within a grand temple hall. However, over two centuries later, the hall was entirely swept away by a catastrophic tsunami, leaving the Great Buddha exposed to the elements ever since. By the time I stood before the statue, it had already weathered the sun and rain in the open air for nearly 500 years. What a breathtakingly monumental history. No wonder on the very first day of that New Year, I had a dream—dreaming of a massive earthquake where the surging sea pushed a grand vessel straight to our doorstep. It was history utilizing the architecture of sleep to grant me a brief preview of its power.

Upon arriving at our destination, J produced the key and opened the door. Just as I prepared to step across the threshold, J interjected, "Wait." Bending down, he caught both my legs in his arms, lifted me entirely into a bridal carry, and walked inside. This Western custom felt remarkably warm and welcoming.

The interior of the house was in immaculate order. We dropped our luggage and opened the windows to air out the space; our daily life together had begun.

On the morning following my arrival, J handed me 200,000 Yen. I had absolutely no conception of what this fund was intended for; perhaps it was meant for me to manage our daily expenses, though I never questioned him. However, he would still provide additional money whenever we went out for groceries, and I simply accepted it blindly. By the second month, he ceased giving me such a large sum all at once, and again, I asked no questions. The desire for "control" was entirely missing from my nature; it never crossed my mind to manage the household finances or seize economic authority—after all, the money was not earned by me.

On our fifth day in Japan, J took me to meet his companions. They regularly gathered for drinks at a local pub nearby; among them were Japanese professors and Western foreign language instructors, all belonging to Tokai University. The moment we entered, the proprietress (Mama-san) warmly presented me with fresh flowers and gifts. Everyone joyfully shared fine delicacies and chatted together; it was truly the first time in my life that I had been the focus of such attention, leaving me somewhat bashful.

Over the succeeding days, we toured the immediate vicinity, scaling the heights of Mount Oyama and visiting the historic ancient capital of Kamakura.

I quickly realized that the first true benefit of marriage was that there was no longer any need for secrecy. In the past, whether loving someone or being loved by another, it always felt like a shameful affair to be hidden from sight. The reason was that the man I loved was later revealed to already have a partner, meaning we walked through the park strictly with one behind the other, keeping our distance. Or, in the case of those I did not love but who loved me, out of fear of offending his powerful and influential father, I was forced to accompany him out time and again, repeating, "Let us simply be friends." Naturally, I was utterly unwilling to let anyone witness me walking beside him. The later relationship with a younger man was similarly barred from the light of day.

Having resided in Europe for several years, J possessed a certain penchant for Western imports, firmly believing that yogurt, cheese, bread, sausage, and wine were always superior if they came from Europe. He was highly skilled at preparing delicious Italian and French cuisine. His Pesto Spaghetti was exceptionally savory and simple to make: using fresh basil leaves, toasted pine nuts, freshly grated Parmesan cheese, garlic, freshly squeezed lemon juice, and olive oil. Regarding Parmesan, there remains a brief anecdote.

On a certain day shortly after my arrival, I was washing vegetables by the sink. J reached his hand out from behind me, bringing a yellowish wedge directly to my lips. I drew my head back slightly to discern what it was. The object resembled a small block of the crude "peasant soap" issued by factories in China back in the old days. Before I could question him, J wore a mysterious smile and popped the "soap" straight into my mouth. I instantly shrieked, "Soap! Soap!" Yet before the second cry could escape my lips, a wave of pure deliciousness rippled across my palate. It turned out to be a piece of Italian Parmesan cheese—the very first time in my life I had tasted cheese.

J also prepared another variety of pasta that was equally delicious and simple. It utilized garlic, chili peppers, tomatoes, black olives, capers, anchovies, and olive oil. J mentioned that this pasta bore a peculiar name called "Whore Spaghetti" (Pasta alla Puttanesca), explaining that prostitutes in the old days were far too busy receiving clients and prepared this dish simply to save time. However, my memory failed me later; for all these decades since, I had mistakenly remembered the Pesto Spaghetti as the "Whore Spaghetti."

When it came to culinary tastes, J was remarkably particular. He was an expert in cooking Italian and French delicacies; dining out required Gourmet Foods, and he never touched fast food of any kind. When dining at Asian restaurants, J always brought his own chopsticks to avoid using disposable ones. He similarly avoided supermarkets and massive retail chains, insisting instead on patronizing small brick-and-mortar storefronts along the street because they were honest, decent, and offered exceptional quality—even if the prices were slightly higher. He could not bear to witness the despair of small shopkeepers, nor did he want to see unique, deeply human local businesses swallowed up by what he called the "big sharks"—only to be replaced by standardized, cookie-cutter commercial models that he described as utterly "boring." He was staunchly opposed to such monopolies. In an era when massive shopping malls and supermarket chains were rapidly expanding and carving up traditional neighborhoods, his quiet persistence remained fiercely stubborn.

J was equally particular regarding alcohol. Though the two of us never consumed aperitifs or digestifs when dining at home, a table wine was mandatory. Seafood was strictly paired with dry white wine, meats required dry red wine, and ordinary daily dishes were accompanied by beer. Before retiring for the night, amidst a backdrop of serene and relaxing music, J also liked to savor a glass of whiskey or brandy.

Yet for someone like me, who in the past had only consumed sweet, juice-like red wine exclusively during festive holidays, I simply could not adapt to this way of living. For my sake, J specifically purchased Baileys Irish Cream and French Grand Marnier. Internally, I harbored a slight resentment that he drank so excessively. Consider it: I had only just emerged from a destitute, frugal environment and had never witnessed such a grand display. I had never seen a home outfitted with a liquor cabinet, never seen a cabinet packed with such a vast assortment of spirits, and certainly had never encountered a person who drank every single day.

At the time, I entirely failed to recognize that this was actually a Bourgeois lifestyle—a form of enjoyment; instead, I judged these practices as inherently bad habits. Consequently, I avoided drinking whenever possible. Reflecting on it now, did I not act as a total wet blanket? Indeed, I did. I was blessed with good fortune yet utterly failed to recognize it, living in comfort without realizing its value.

Yet, after living through it all to the very end, one finally learns that remaining entirely teetotal is the only true way to health.

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.

第四百二十六篇