一、荒唐又浪漫的青春
1974年在漁業隊，我們宿舍裡住著四個20歲左右的姑娘。我建議取各人名字中的一個字，串起來作為宿舍的名字：「艷蘭芬紅別墅」，還寫在了紙上貼在門楣上。我們以為那是情趣。可沒多久就被老支書一把撕了。那時候的我們單純得近乎透明，甚至連這名字背後的曖昧都讀不出來。
二、 兩種生活，一種都招架不住呢
老刁的性格內斂平時話少不常見。他的哥們兒都是其它連隊的，偶爾見到覺得他們都很帥氣清高。一次他們來到隊裡，居然在宿舍前的空地上給我們講起了故事。都是那年月地下流傳的手抄本小說：《梅花黨》、《一隻繡花鞋》、《綠色的屍體》、《第二次握手》等。夜幕降臨後故事還接著講，只是從露天搬到了女生宿舍。
昏暗的屋子裡特意只點了一根蠟燭，忽忽悠悠飄搖不定的燭光，給浪漫的故事平添了幾分溫馨，也為驚險的故事生出些許的寒意。
恐怖的故事使緊張感暴增，突然間会有人尖叫，惹得大家渾身起雞皮疙瘩，聽的人不斷往圈裡挪動凳子，圈子越縮越小。
記得其中一位講故事的人開口就說：「人的一生有兩種生活，一是日常生活，另一種是性生活。」
我注意到有個姑娘目光興奮地一閃，嘴角隨之往上翹起，有的垂下眼簾。而我卻還瞪著無知的大眼，腦子裡一頭霧水。納悶兒，干活領工資一種生活都招架不住呢，幹嘛還要有兩種？
第三部分：那條長圍巾與流言
當時我有一條心愛的全羊毛加長圍巾。加長圍巾是最新款式，過去店裡賣的都是短的。市面上剛出現時我就買了，15元一條，幾乎花了我一個月的工資，當時工資是18塊錢。隊裡有個姑娘看見我新買了一條黑色加長純羊毛圍巾，借去拍照。還我時不但沒跟我提起圍巾有一處的毛線被刮抽線了，她還把那根拽出的長毛線給剪了。好好的圍巾不只一個洞，邊上還有一條被抽緊的痕跡，當時很心疼。幾天後正趕上隊裡放假，大家都坐上了回城的長途汽車，聽到我與女生們說起那條圍巾被弄破了的事，老刁說他能找人織補，我就把圍巾給了他。其實老刁並不姓刁，只是因為他性格內向、平時深沉話少，朋友們覺得他有點像當時風靡全國的京劇《沙家浜》裡的刁參謀長，於是便給他起了這個外號。幾天後他來我家將織補好的圍巾還給了我，當時就我一人在家看書，也想不出什麼話說，他坐了一杯茶的功夫就走了，這便是我與老刁所有的私下往來。後來就有流言蜚語說我是他的女朋友。
我心中有個洞房花燭金榜題名的情結，便給自己築起了一道柵欄。我刻意地避開他，甚至後來在他病重時，也因為害怕誤會，硬著心腸沒去探望。隊裡的小青年都去過幾次了。他們回隊後，有一位男生對我說，是時候去探望一下老刁了，他已經說不出話了，每次他們去，老刁虛弱地掃視他們幾個一眼，因為沒有見到我，然後就流露出深深的失望。當他還沒失去說話能力時，他們去探望老刁，老刁曾問過他們，芬怎麼不來。
直到他母親從上海過來，找到漁業隊，打聽一個叫芬的姑娘。她拉著我的手，流著淚，求我去看看他的兒子。隊裡准了我2天假。當時他住在離醫院近的親戚家。病床上的老刁半身癱瘓，卻焦急地撥開正在用毛巾擦拭他嘴角的口水而暫時擋住了他視線的母親。目不轉睛地盯著我。我很局促，只坐了十分鐘就離開了。當我告辭時，他將頭往另一側轉了過去，再轉回來時，眼角的淚水就控制不住地流了下來。我答應他明天回農場前再來探望。
下午約了紙袋廠的好友蓉蓉一起去逛了淮海路，還去了她上海父母的家。當晚我回到家，看到老刁母親已經來找過，並留下一張字條：「芬，請你馬上來醫院，求求你了。」我心驚膽戰地趕到華山醫院，病床上躺著的老刁渾身插滿管子。他母親說，我一離開他就昏迷了，即刻被送進醫院，一直沒醒來。在醫院我呆了二十分鐘，跟他母親說，明天早上再來。可早上再去時，床位已空。他是在我離開後的那個午夜走掉的，那年他十九歲。
三、 尾声
後來我總在想，他是不是一直在苦苦等著見我那最後一面，流下一行淚後才肯離去？如果當時我能少顧及一點自己的感受，握一下那隻尚存知覺的手，對他和他的母親，會不會是最後的一點點安慰？
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The Last Glimpse: He Passed Away Quietly That Night, Aged 19
I. A Ridiculous Yet Romantic Youth
In 1974, at the fishery team, four girls in their early twenties—including myself—shared a dormitory. I suggested taking one character from each of our names to name our room: "The Yan-Lan-Fen-Hong Villa." We even wrote it on a piece of paper and pasted it above the door. To us, it was romantic and poetic. But before long, the old Party Secretary tore it down. Back then, we were so innocent we were almost transparent; we couldn't even detect the "indecent" connotations others might project onto such a name.
II. Two Lives—I Could Barely Manage One
Lao Diao was introverted and rarely seen. His friends from other units always seemed handsome and aloof. One day, they came to our team and began telling stories in the open space before our dorm. These were the "underground" hand-copied novels circulating at the time: The Plum Blossom Party, A Pair of Embroidered Shoes, The Green Corpse, and The Second Handshake.
As night fell, the storytelling moved into our dormitory. We lit a single candle. The flickering, unsteady light added warmth to the romantic tales and a chilling shiver to the thrillers. I remember one storyteller began with: "A person’s life consists of two kinds of existence: the daily life, and the sexual life."
I noticed one girl’s eyes flash with excitement, her lips curling into a smile. Others lowered their gaze. But I just stared with wide, ignorant eyes, completely bewildered. I thought to myself: "Between working and earning a wage, I can barely handle one kind of life. Why on earth do we need two?"
III. The Long Scarf and the Rumors
At the time, I owned a long, pure wool scarf that I absolutely cherished. Long scarves were a brand-new fashion trend back then; the shops had only ever sold short ones before. I bought it the moment it first hit the market for 15 yuan. It cost me nearly a whole month’s wages, which was only 18 yuan at the time. A girl in our production team saw my newly purchased black scarf and asked to borrow it to take a photo. When she returned it, not only did she fail to mention that the yarn had been snagged and pulled out, but she had actually taken scissors and cut the loose thread off. My beautiful scarf was left with a gaping hole and a tightly puckered ruin along the edge. I was utterly heartbroken.
A few days later, our team was granted some time off, and we all boarded the long-distance bus heading back to the city. While on the bus, Lao Diao overheard me talking to the other girls about how my scarf had been ruined. He told me he knew someone who could reweave and mend it, so I handed the scarf over to him. In truth, his real surname was not Diao; because he was incredibly introverted and rarely spoke, his friends felt his deeply reserved temperament shared a striking resemblance to Chief of Staff Diao from Shajiabang—a Peking opera that was sweeping the nation at the time—and so they affectionately nicknamed him "Lao Diao." A few days later, he came to my house to return the beautifully mended scarf. I was home alone reading a book at the time, and being terribly awkward, I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He stayed just long enough to finish a single cup of tea and then left. That brief afternoon was the entire extent of our private interaction. Yet, soon after, rumors began to fly that I was his girlfriend.
In my heart, I carried a deeply traditional ideal of marriage and academic success, and so, to protect myself, I built a high fence around my heart. I deliberately avoided him. Even later on, when he fell gravely ill, I hardened my heart and refused to visit him out of a paralyzing fear of causing further misunderstanding. The other young people from our team had gone to see him several times. When they returned to the team, one of the young men in our team said to me, "It's time to go visit Lao Diao. He can't even speak anymore." They told me that every time they walked in, Lao Diao would weakly scan their faces, and upon realizing I wasn't with them, a profound look of disappointment would wash over him. Back when he could still speak, during their earlier visits, Lao Diao had even asked them bluntly, "Why hasn't Fen come?"
This continued until his mother traveled all the way from Shanghai to find our fishery team, desperately asking around for a girl named Fen. Holding my hand with tears streaming down her face, she begged me to go see her son. The team granted me two days of leave. At the time, he was staying at a relative's house near the hospital. Lying on the sickbed, Lao Diao was half-paralyzed, yet he anxiously pushed away his mother's hand—she had been wiping the saliva from the corner of his mouth and was temporarily blocking his view. He stared at me, his eyes locked onto mine without blinking. I felt incredibly stifled and awkward; I sat there for a mere ten minutes before getting up to leave. As I said my goodbyes, he turned his head all the way to the other side. When he turned back, the tears at the corners of his eyes could no longer be contained, spilling down his face. I promised him I would visit one more time the next day before heading back to the farm.
That afternoon, I met up with my close friend Rongrong from the paper bag factory. We went shopping along Huaihai Road and visited her parents' home in Shanghai. When I finally returned home that evening, I found that Lao Diao's mother had already been looking for me. She had left a frantic note: "Fen, please come to the hospital immediately. I beg of you." Terrified, I rushed to Huashan Hospital, only to find Lao Diao lying on the bed, covered in a maze of tubes. A circle of close friends and relatives was gathered all around his bedside. His mother wept, telling me that the moment I left him earlier that day, he fell into a coma, was rushed to the hospital, and had not woken up since. I stayed in the hospital room for twenty minutes, telling his mother I would return first thing in the morning. But when I went back the next morning, the bed was already empty. He had slipped away at midnight, right after I left. He was only nineteen years old.
Epilogue
In the years since, I have often wondered: was he desperately waiting just to see me one last time, refusing to let go until that final tear fell? If I had worried less about my own reputation back then, if I had simply held that hand which still possessed sensation... would it have offered a final shred of comfort to him and his mother?
Special thanks to Gemini AI for providing the spirited translation and text refinement.
第三百四十三篇
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