1985年春，校園裡開始有週末舞會了。學生的舞會在河東食堂裡舉辦，我去過幾次在工會大禮堂舉辦的舞會，那裡基本上都是教職員工。第一次去時有一位嘉賓坐在工會安排的主要位置。他是剛出獄的老校友，應該是屬於被平反昭雪的那種。他的整個青春是在監獄中度過的，四五十歲的他，滿面笑容，像坐在「點將台」上一樣。如果看中了哪個女子，工作人員就會去找那個女子交談。我也「有幸」被點中。聽了工會阿姨的小聲介紹，我紅著臉低下頭略微搖了一下。
當時上海也有官方組織的第一家大齡青年婚姻介紹所——上海宛平居委婚姻介紹所於1982年2月正式開張。有朋友攛掇我也去報了名，介紹所有過一個回應，我去看了資料，沒感興趣，後來就不了了之了。
所裡的一位同事小Q是烈士遺孤，被某高幹領養。1985年他曾給我介紹過一位高幹子弟。小Q約了我在岳陽路、汾陽路和東平路交匯的三角街心花園與他們見面，小Q簡單將我們介紹認識後就離開了。我與那位在花園昏黃的路燈下、婆娑的樹蔭裡走了走。第二天從小Q那兒得到回應，說那人不想繼續下去，嫌我寡言少語。其實那人看上去不錯，五官端正，三十出頭，幹練中帶有些許的粗獷，像個男子漢。也許他喜歡那種熱情奔放的女子吧。不禁想起了19歲時看過的馮夢龍《警世通言》裡的一首歪詩：「二十去了廿一來，不做私情也是呆。有朝一日花容退，雙手招郎郎不來。」嗚呼哀哉！多年後卻慶幸命運沒有安排我嫁入「豪門」。
每當舞會上第一支舞曲響起時，人們都比較拘謹或是一種禮貌，等舞藝高超的率先出場，待第一對舞伴轉了大半個舞池了才紛紛湧入場子。眾目睽睽中被邀請跳第一支舞有些不好意思，但心裡也會有點小小的得意。外語系德高望重的B教授似乎是舞場上大家默認的第一位出場人物。他的舞姿舒展大氣，年紀大約六十上下，也許是教英語或是家庭背景生長環境的原因，深受西方文化的薰陶，確實舉止非凡。而且他的一隻眼睛還是上海人叫做「恰八眼」的，但是他的「恰八眼」反而增加了他的孤傲神情，令人想起八大山人朱耷筆下翻白眼的魚鳥。據說他年輕時是舞會王子，B教授的夫人跳得也很不錯。有幾次我被他邀請跳第一曲。只可惜我舞跳得不好，快三步轉上幾圈兒頭就暈了。
有一次當第一支舞曲響起，一位身著鐵灰色中山裝的高個兒青年從斜對面的人群中自信儒雅地穿過半個空曠的舞池，徑直走過來十分禮貌地邀我跳第一支舞。他動作瀟灑自如又帶有些許的漫不經心。跳完了第一曲微微欠身表示謝意後，就不見了。大概有三四次吧，都是這樣的不期而遇，邀我跳完開場的第一曲後就悄然離去。如此任性孤傲使得他離開後的舞會變得索然無趣，令人不由得心生悵惘，我便也早早退場。
後來有一天，我辦公室邊大會堂裡的一堂講座剛剛結束，同學們紛紛離場，當然他們都是走北邊的門出去的，我這邊比較清靜。突然看見一個人微笑著走了進來。正是那個在舞會上神秘出入的年輕人！他怎麼知道我在這兒？後來我也沒問過他是怎麼發現我的辦公室的。
原來，他是比我小九歲的在讀物理系大學生T！他有著與年齡不符的沉穩與低調、有著一張好看的長型臉、稜角分明的唇、挺括的鼻子和一雙帶著些許憂鬱感的大眼睛。按說一個大學生應該去在食堂舉辦的學生舞會才是。
他就這樣自信又霸氣地走進了我的生活。這注定是一場沒結局的姐弟戀，但卻讓我好好地體驗了什麼叫爾儂我儂、兩情相悅。我是滿族人，他便叫我格格，就是「姐姐」的意思。我叫他TT。他的同學跟他開玩笑說，我是他外婆。
1985年10月我去南京出差，到一所大學去借用一把日本進口的剝線鉗，為安裝多媒體教室使用。當時國內還沒有賣這個的。那個大學從日本進口了一套教學設備，剝線鉗是作為安裝工具一起進口的。我們之前剝電線皮時都是用剪刀或是老虎鉗悠著勁兒剪的，用力大了就剪斷了，效率很低。剝線鉗的使用很方便，大大加快了工作進度。
我請TT也一起去了南京，他住他姨家，我住在一個破舊的小旅館裡。那時還沒有私營旅館，所有旅館都要出示結婚證男女才能一起入住。
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然而面對如此迷人的景色，TT似乎並沒有被感動，我們拌了兩句嘴後，我覺得快被氣炸了，便獨自往前奔跑了一段路後躲在了一叢蘆葦後面。但TT他，還是慢悠悠的並沒有馬上追上來。我覺得他缺少點兒什麼，也許此時的我期待著從他那裡得到一個奔放的擁吻。我們還去過南京古城城牆、總統府西花園——熙園、莫愁湖公園和明孝陵。
第一次看到白樺樹，那感覺就跟在廣州第一次看到棕櫚樹一樣，十分激動。以前都只是在小說裡讀到過，引起過無限的遐想。於是馬上跑過去靠在一棵「大眼睛樹」上，興奮地對TT說：「忒我拍一張看上去老傷心樣子搿照片。」
在此之前我提議一起騎車春遊去南翔古猗園的，也確實去了。那該是多麼浪漫的郊遊啊，但是除了一張我保留下來的旅遊介紹外，我沒有那次去南翔的記憶。我們也去過上海的老城隍廟，遊了豫園。發覺他似乎對遊玩不感興趣，發覺他缺乏些許的少年狂，對寄情山水融入自然缺乏激情，太老成持重了。
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| 我保留下來的旅遊介紹 |
漸漸的我那本就該涼下來的心，確實涼了下來，也就是理智戰勝了情感。當然我一直知道我們的年齡之差是不能逾越的，我也不忍心的。
我開始了尋找「留爺處」。時至1986初，我去過學校舉辦的留學生舞會兩次，第二次遇到了兩位伊朗留學生，約好了在1月或是2月的某個星期六晚上見面。
我也跟TT說過此事。但那個星期六，TT執意要帶我回家見他父母。他父親很熱情，晚飯很豐盛，他父親做的一手好菜，我早就品嘗過的。（之前TT每個星期六從家裡回來都會帶滿滿一飯盒的美食，他父親做的菜絕對是美味佳餚。TT都會滿眼柔情地看我吃，當然我們是一起吃的。）但我還是感覺到了他母親的冷淡。年齡擺在那裡呢，哪個母親也不會希望她疼愛的大兒子娶個大9歲的媳婦。
我告辭時，TT一再挽留，他知道我有個約會。所以那天我趕回學校，已經遲到了……
TT送給我一本《芥子園畫傳》，如果我從那時起就努力按照書裡教的畫，現在一定是畫得不錯了。唉，我這人沒常性。
TT能大段大段默寫泰戈爾以及朦朧詩人的詩，也有些是他自己寫的。那些憂鬱的詩很動人。比如：
「佇足槐花飄飛的七月，每天每天，我都在等待，等待著你的腳步聲，穿過這片空曠的荒漠地帶，你沒有來。」
「你很忙，是啊你很忙，你總是匆匆而來，匆匆而往，從來不想，從來不想，讀懂我眼睛裡的惆悵。」
「啊～往事不可再來，昨日啊不再來，我打撈著昨天，無望地打撈昨天。」
「不再敢以這樣的勇氣，輕叩昨日的門扉。不再敢以這樣的勇氣，試叩昨日的門扉。」
「等待著戈多，等待著木乃伊風化，我，去流浪。」
「佇足槐花飄飛的七月，每天每天，我都在等待，等待著你的腳步聲，穿過這片空曠的荒漠地帶，你沒有來。」
「你很忙，是啊你很忙，你總是匆匆而來，匆匆而往，從來不想，從來不想，讀懂我眼睛裡的惆悵。」
「啊～往事不可再來，昨日啊不再來，我打撈著昨天，無望地打撈昨天。」
「不再敢以這樣的勇氣，輕叩昨日的門扉。不再敢以這樣的勇氣，試叩昨日的門扉。」
「等待著戈多，等待著木乃伊風化，我，去流浪。」
那些句子不知是摘抄還是寫給我的，但是這張確實是寫給我的：
「格格：請你不要胡思亂想。Couse one thing is true. That is I LOVE YOU! I just want to call to say this. 我簡直想大喊 'I LOVE YOU!'」擔心我看不懂英語，他在 call 字下面註解「呼」「喊」。
後來回想TT為什麼對遊玩不感興趣，原因是他還是個學生，手頭拮據呀，雖然他從不說。雖然去南京是我請他去的，好像是我買的車票。但是遊玩一定會有花費，去南翔吃小籠包子等都要花錢的啊。我們去老城隍廟時，我還沒心沒肺地說要吃遍那裡的小吃點心呢。如今回頭看看，我年輕時的那兩次「徒勞的愛」——第一次是我對N兄，第二次是小W對我——雖然都有過逛公園、壓馬路的經歷，但現實中竟然真的連一起吃喝過一次都沒有。戆伐？
陶陶雖然浪漫，骨子裡卻缺乏些許少年狂，對寄情山水、融入自然缺乏激情。這讓我不禁聯想起前一年與我同去廣州出差的小Z，他在華南植物園裡面對美景會由衷地感嘆：「啊～這麼美的景色，要是能與愛人一起欣賞該有多好啊！」那種情懷，才是真正投入到了大自然中。
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Chronicles of Youth, 1985–1986: Opening Dances in the Grand Hall, the Melancholic Poems of TT, and the Prelude to the International Student Balls
In the spring of 1985, weekend dances began popping up across campus. Student dances were hosted in the Hedong Cafeteria, but I attended a few dances held in the Labor Union’s Grand Auditorium, which were primarily filled with faculty and staff. The first time I went, a special guest sat in the primary seat arranged by the union. He was an older alumnus who had recently been released from prison—evidently one of those who had been politically rehabilitated. His entire youth had been spent behind bars; now in his late forties or early fifties, he was beaming with smiles, sitting there as if perched upon a "commander's reviewing stand." If he took a liking to any woman, the staff would go over to speak with her. I, too, had the "good fortune" of being singled out. Upon hearing the quiet introduction from the union auntie, my face flushed crimson; I lowered my head and gave a slight shake.
At that time, Shanghai's very first officially organized marriage bureau for older singles—the Shanghai Wanping Neighborhood Marriage Bureau—had officially opened in February 1982. Egged on by a friend, I registered my name. The bureau sent one response; I went to look through the files, found nothing of interest, and the matter eventually fizzled out.
A colleague of mine at the institute, Little Q, was an orphan of a revolutionary martyr who had been adopted by a high-ranking official. In 1985, he introduced me to the son of another high-ranking cadre. Little Q arranged for us to meet at the small triangular street garden where Yueyang Road, Fenyang Road, and Dongping Road intersect, and departed shortly after a brief introduction. Under the dim streetlamps and beneath the swaying shadows of the trees, that man and I took a short stroll. The next day, I received feedback through Little Q: the man did not wish to pursue things further, complaining that I was too quiet and laconic. In truth, he seemed quite decent—handsome, in his early thirties, carrying a certain ruggedness within his capable demeanor, a real man. Perhaps he favored women who were passionate and uninhibited.
I couldn't help but recall a doggerel stanza from Feng Menglong’s Stories to Caution the World (Jingshi Tongyan), which I had read back when I was nineteen:
"Twenty has gone and twenty-one stays,
to pass on secret love is to waste one's days.
Should a day arrive when the beautiful bloom dies,
no lover will come though both hands arise."
Alas! Yet many years later, I felt entirely fortunate that destiny never arranged for me to marry into a "powerful clan."
"Twenty has gone and twenty-one stays,
to pass on secret love is to waste one's days.
Should a day arrive when the beautiful bloom dies,
no lover will come though both hands arise."
Alas! Yet many years later, I felt entirely fortunate that destiny never arranged for me to marry into a "powerful clan."
Whenever the first piece of music struck up at a dance, people were generally reserved, out of a sense of propriety. They would wait for those with superb dancing skills to take the lead; only after the first couple had spun across the greater part of the floor would the crowd pour in. Being invited to dance the opening number under the scrutiny of a packed room left one slightly self-conscious, yet it also brought a tiny ripple of secret vanity. Professor B, a highly revered figure from the Foreign Language Department, seemed to be the universally acknowledged opener of the floor. His movements were sweeping and magnificent. Around sixty years of age, perhaps due to teaching English or his family upbringing, he was deeply steeped in Western culture, exuding a truly extraordinary presence. Furthermore, one of his eyes was what Shanghainese call a Qia-ba-yan (a turned or white-rolling eye); yet this trait only enhanced his aloof, detached expression, invoking the white-eyed fish and birds painted by Bada Shanren. Rumor had it that he was a prince of the ballroom in his youth, and his wife danced remarkably well too. On several occasions, he invited me for the opening dance. Regretfully, I was a poor dancer; a few spins of the fast waltz would leave my head completely spinning.
Once, right as the opening track began, a tall young man clad in an iron-grey Zhongshan suit stepped gracefully and confidently from the opposing crowd. He cut directly across half of the vacant dance floor, walking straight toward me to politely request the first dance. His movements were fluid and natural, tinged with a slight air of nonchalance. After finishing the opening number, he offered a slight bow of gratitude and vanished. This happened perhaps three or four times—always a chance encounter, inviting me for the opening piece, only to quietly disappear afterward. Such willful aloofness left the remainder of the dance entirely dull and uninspiring after his departure. Overwhelmed by a sudden wistfulness, I would leave the hall early as well.
Then one day, a lecture inside the grand auditorium adjacent to my office had just concluded. Students were dispersing, naturally exiting through the northern doors, leaving my side exceptionally quiet. Suddenly, a figure walked in with a smile—it was that exact mysterious young man from the dances! How did he know I was here? I never did ask him how he managed to discover my office.
As it turned out, he was T, an undergraduate physics student who was nine years younger than me! He possessed a composure and low profile entirely unbefitting his age, a handsome, elongated face, sharply contoured lips, a prominent nose, and a pair of large eyes touched with a certain melancholy. By all accounts, an undergraduate should have been attending the student dances held in the cafeterias.
Yet, just like that, he strode into my life with absolute confidence and authority. This was destined to be a May-December romance without a sequel, yet it allowed me to fully experience the depths of mutual infatuation and shared devotion. Since I am of Manchu heritage, he beautifully utilized this double meaning to call me Gege (signifying both "sister" and "princess"), while I called him TT. His classmates used to tease him, joking that I was his grandmother.
In October 1985, I went on a business trip to Nanjing to borrow a pair of imported Japanese wire strippers from a university there, to use for installing the multimedia classroom. At the time, these weren't sold anywhere domestically. That university had imported a set of educational equipment from Japan, and the wire strippers had been included as part of the installation toolset. Previously, when we stripped wire casing, we had to use scissors or pliers, applying just enough tentative pressure; if you squeezed too hard, the wire snapped, making it highly inefficient. The wire strippers were incredibly easy to use, greatly accelerating our work progress.
I invited TT to join me in Nanjing. He stayed at his aunt's home, while I lodged in a dilapidated little guest house. In those days, private hotels did not yet exist; all lodgings required the presentation of a marriage certificate before a man and a woman could check into a room together.
When we reached Xuanwu Lake, a fine, misty drizzle was falling, making the lake surface appear even more infinitely vast. Walking along the five-kilometer causeway, not a single tourist was in sight. Willows draped low along the bank and reeds swayed; one could not spot a single trace of human carving or artificial intervention, leaving us with a feeling of absolute isolation from the world. Standing there in focused silence, it felt as though one could faintly catch the echoing sounds of "Hei—Ha—" drifting across the water—the sounds of Sun Quan training the Eastern Wu navy during the Three Kingdoms era.
Yet, in the face of such enchanting scenery, TT seemed entirely unmoved. After we bickered a few words, I felt ready to burst with anger; I bolted forward alone for a distance and hid behind a thick patch of reeds. Yet TT simply sauntered along, failing to chase after me immediately. I felt he lacked something—perhaps in that moment, I was longing for a passionate, uninhibited embrace and kiss from him. We also visited the Ancient Nanjing City Wall, the West Garden of the Presidential Palace (Xiyuan), Mochou Lake Park, and the Ming Xiaoling Mausoleum.
Seeing a silver birch tree for the very first time brought a rush of immense excitement, matching exactly how I felt when I encountered my first palm tree in Guangzhou. Previously, I had only ever read about them in novels, which had sparked endless daydreams in my mind. Consequently, I immediately dashed over and leaned against one of those "big-eyed trees," calling out to TT with wild excitement: "Take a picture of me looking super sorrowful."
Prior to this, I had suggested a spring bicycle excursion to the ancient Guyi Garden in Nanxiang, and we did indeed go. It should have been such a romantic outing, yet aside from a travel brochure I preserved, I possess absolutely no memory of that trip to Nanxiang. We also visited the old City God Temple in Shanghai and toured Yuyuan Garden. I noticed he seemed entirely uninterested in sightseeing; he lacked that slight touch of youthful wildness, completely wanting in any passion for finding solace in the mountains and immersing himself in nature—he was simply far too mature and grave.
Gradually, my heart, which should have cooled down in the first place, did indeed grow cold—reason ultimately triumphed over emotion. Of course, I had always known that the gap in our ages was an insurmountable barrier, and I couldn't bear to cross it.
I began searching for a place that would keep me. By the beginning of 1986, I had attended the international student dances hosted by the university twice. During the second dance, I encountered two international students from Iran, and we agreed to meet on a certain Saturday evening in January or February.
I had mentioned this matter to TT as well. Yet on that specific Saturday, TT insisted on taking me home to meet his parents. His father was highly welcoming, and the dinner was immensely lavish; I had already tasted his father's superb cooking before. (Previously, whenever TT returned from home on Saturdays, he would bring a lunchbox packed to the brim with delicacies; his father's cooking was an absolute culinary masterpiece. TT would watch me eat with eyes full of tender affection—though, of course, we ate together.) Yet I still sensed the coldness from his mother. The age gap was right there; no mother would ever wish for her cherished eldest son to marry a woman nine years his senior.
When I took my leave, TT repeatedly begged me to stay. He knew I had an appointment. Consequently, by the time I rushed back to campus that night, I was already late...
TT gifted me a copy of The Mustard Seed Garden Painting Guide (Jieziyuan Huachuan). If I had exerted myself from that moment onward to paint according to its instructions, I would undoubtedly be quite skilled by now. Alas, I simply lack perseverance.
TT could memorize and recite vast passages of poetry by Tagore and the Misty Poets; some pieces he wrote himself. Those melancholic poems were incredibly moving. For instance:
Lingering in July as the locust blossoms drift and fly,
day after day, I wait,
waiting for the sound of your footsteps
to cross this vast, deserted wasteland;
you did not come."
day after day, I wait,
waiting for the sound of your footsteps
to cross this vast, deserted wasteland;
you did not come."
"You are busy, yes, you are so busy,
always hurrying here and hurrying there,
never wishing, never wishing to read
the deep melancholy inside my eyes."
always hurrying here and hurrying there,
never wishing, never wishing to read
the deep melancholy inside my eyes."
"Ah, the past cannot return, yesterday returns no more,
I dredge through yesterday, fruitlessly dredging through yesterday."
I dredge through yesterday, fruitlessly dredging through yesterday."
"No longer daring with such courage
to tap lightly upon the door of yesterday.
No longer daring with such courage
to try knocking upon the door of yesterday."
to tap lightly upon the door of yesterday.
No longer daring with such courage
to try knocking upon the door of yesterday."
"Waiting for Godot, waiting for the mummy to turn to dust,
I depart, to wander.
I depart, to wander.
I knew not whether those lines were transcribed or written specifically for me, but this note was unmistakably addressed to me:
"Gege: Please do not overthink. Cause one thing is true. That is I LOVE YOU! I just want to call to say this. I practically want to shout 'I LOVE YOU!'" At that time, my English was at an absolute zero level. Fearing I wouldn't understand, he annotated the word "call" below with the words "yell" and "shout," and wrote "=because" right beneath the word "Cause."
"Gege: Please do not overthink. Cause one thing is true. That is I LOVE YOU! I just want to call to say this. I practically want to shout 'I LOVE YOU!'" At that time, my English was at an absolute zero level. Fearing I wouldn't understand, he annotated the word "call" below with the words "yell" and "shout," and wrote "=because" right beneath the word "Cause."
Looking back later on why TT displayed such a lack of interest in sightseeing, the reason was clear—he was still a student, and his pockets were tightly restricted, even though he never spoke of it. Although I had invited him to Nanjing and presumably purchased the train tickets, sightseeing invariably involved expenditures; eating soup dumplings (xiaolongbao) in Nanxiang all required money. Yet when we visited the old City God Temple back then, I had thoughtlessly declared that I wanted to eat every single snack and pastry in the place. Looking back today, it strikes me that during those two separate chapters of "futile love" in my youth—the first being my futile love for Brother Ni, and the second being Xiao Wan's futile love for me—though we spent endless hours strolling through parks and roaming the city streets, we had never once shared a proper meal or a single drink in public. Silly, isn't it?
And though TT was romantic in his own way, he fundamentally lacked that slight touch of youthful wildness, completely wanting in any passion for finding solace in the mountains and immersing himself in nature. This involuntarily made me think back to Little Z, who had traveled with me to Guangzhou the year before; when faced with the breathtaking scenery of the South China Botanical Garden, he had exclaimed from the bottom of his heart: "Ah~ such beautiful scenery! How wonderful it would be if I could be here with my beloved to enjoy it!" That kind of sentiment was what it truly meant to be thoroughly immersed in the embrace of nature.
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.
第三百七十七篇
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