1987年5月9日，是個悲傷的日子。以下是四哥的原話：「那天我正好休息在家，下午老爸說要去廠裡洗個澡。我現在說起這事兒，眼前就出現父親出門時的情景，看到他關上腰門時的樣子。到了下午四點多鐘，忽然有陌生人急敲咱們的腰門。我開門後那人說：『你父親正在普陀醫院急診室裡搶救呢。』我謝過那人後，就往醫院趕。我在急診室轉了一圈，沒有找到父親，剛轉身就看見父親躺在一個擔架上，被好幾個人從二樓抬下來。父親一隻手下垂著，身邊沒有親人，我的心突然一陣酸痛。這些好心人看到老爸落難出手相救，有的還是從出事現場跟來的。他們又是掛號，又抬擔架上二樓拍片，還有人到咱們家送口信。感謝這群陌生好心人。當時家裡只有我一個人在，老媽在鄰居家打麻將，小H還沒有下班。」
那個年月家裡還沒有浴缸或淋浴間，都得去外面公共浴池洗澡。爸爸那天正好要去領取退休工資，便順便去廠裡的大浴池裡舒舒服服地泡個澡。
那天發生了一件事，讓我至今無比後悔。正因為這件事，我回家晚了。
那天下午，在蘇州河中山北路橋附近的鐵路橋邊，我和小W在絕交後第一次相遇。那是一條通火車的鋼架橋，橋面東側有一條窄窄的小道供行人通過，上上下下的人挺多的。兩個推自行車的人交錯時，其中一人必須停下來往邊上靠一靠，才能讓對方過去。如果此時有火車轟隆隆地通過，會感覺整個橋身都在震盪，蠻嚇人的。隨著火車（好像我見到過的都是貨車）「擦身而過」時帶出的勁風捲著塵土，迎頭撲面而來，每次我都要轉過身子，摀住鼻子和嘴巴屏住呼吸。
我看到小W正在橋上的人流中推著車往橋北端走來。與我同行的一位女友，比我小兩歲，性格開朗、純真、亮麗，人稱「嗲妹妹」。她與小W都住在校園一村，互相也很熟。等小W將車子推下橋北端的三四級鐵階梯，嗲妹妹便將他叫住，一把拽住小W的車龍頭，圓睜著美麗的大眼睛，嘟著嘴，嬌嗔地操著一口校園國語，勸我們和解，一笑泯恩仇。
「嗨，小W！好久不見。停下，快停下，我想跟你說話。」她帶著微笑說道。
「嗨。」他輕聲回應並停了下來。
「嗨。」他輕聲回應並停了下來。
小W和我就這樣尷尬地交換了一下眼神，臉上帶著一絲局促的微笑。
「我知道你們倆都想和對方說說話。哎呀，算了吧，你們心裡想的對不對？」嗲妹妹的話有些調皮。
「我讓你們兩個好好聊，我還有別的事要做，拜拜！」她跨上自行車就離開了。
「我們要不要找個地方談談？」小W禮貌地問。
「我讓你們兩個好好聊，我還有別的事要做，拜拜！」她跨上自行車就離開了。
「我們要不要找個地方談談？」小W禮貌地問。
我們騎車來到徐家匯一條叫肇嘉浜路的大馬路。在馬路中間寬闊的綠色隔離帶裡，我們在長條板凳上坐了很久。我們挨得很近，互相傾訴、嘆息，把積壓多年的滿腔委屈一股腦兒全倒了出來，直到夜幕降臨。也正因為這場未曾預料的重逢與長談，耽誤了時間，導致我回家晚了。
我晚上十點左右回到家，屋裡空無一人。五桶櫃上留著一張字條：「芬，你一到家，馬上來醫院，爸爸出事了。大嫂。」
看到字條，我趕緊跑到醫院。在簡陋、擠滿了病人和家屬的急診室大廳裡，我看到爸爸臉色蒼白，躺在牆角的一張病床上，鼻子上插著氧氣管，呼吸困難。邊上圍著悲傷的媽媽、哥哥和嫂嫂們。他們告訴我，爸爸去廠裡洗澡領退休工資，回家上公交車時被人推倒了，從車上摔了下來，摔斷了脖子。幾個陌生人攔住一輛小型貨車，把我爸送到了醫院。父親昏迷了幾個小時，醒來後，他脖子以下就沒了知覺。爸爸一個小時前還能說話，此時看到他想說卻發不出聲音的樣子，我的心都碎了。可憐的父親，他是我認識的最善良、最誠實、最勤奮的人，他從不大聲說話，我們小時候也從來沒挨過他的打。天哪！為什麼我親愛的爸爸要遭受這樣的痛苦？！我責怪自己沒有早點回家。
第二天早上，我去了父親出事的那個車站。車站附近有一排小商店，我找到了不少目擊者，很快得知了事發經過。公交車到站時，都是先下後上的。我父親等到擁擠的公交車上沒人下了，才上了車。但他還沒站穩，突然有三個農村婦女慌忙從裡面擠出來要下車。我爸就被她們撞倒，從車上重重地摔了下去，後腦勺著地，脖子磕到了馬路牙子。那三個女人隨後被目擊者送到了派出所。我們找到派出所，希望那三個女人能來探望我那奄奄一息的父親，向他道個歉。但是警察早就放走了她們，並對我們說：「她們第一次來上海不熟悉。你父親是個老人，洗了澡後可能很虛弱，他有高血壓嗎？」我爸爸沒有高血壓的。在這件事情上，我父親沒有得到法律的保護。
我們每天至少兩個人，輪流守在父親的床邊。5月10號我陪了一夜，11號回家睡覺。下午三點半左右，大哥的二閨女氣喘吁籲地衝進來，叫醒我們說父親病危。我們跳起來跑到醫院，大約花了十分鐘，但是晚了，父親已在下午3:22分去世。父親被抬走時，六哥悲痛地說:「咱爸的身體還是熱的！」在人們把他抬往太平間的路上，我俯下身子，在父親還溫熱的臉上吻了一下。這是我這輩子唯一的一次吻我的父親。不知道我小時候是否得到過父母的親吻，過去的人不善於表達感情。
我三哥和三嫂收到電報後，立即從貴陽趕來。我姑姑也從北京趕來，她是我父親這一代唯一還活著的直系親屬，比父親小四歲。準備葬禮的一周很忙，很多朋友和鄰居來弔唁，都會送一條絲綢被面。不知道是什麼時候開始的習俗，大家送被面而不是送花圈。五顏六色的絲綢被面和挽聯掛滿了屋子。我給J寫了一封信，告訴了他這裡發生的事情。5月21日，J從日本發來表達慰問的唁電，22日，家裡為父親舉行了葬禮。
我們以為醫院裡存放遺體的箱子一定是冰箱，這樣可以保持遺體新鮮。但我們錯了。我們太天真，太愚蠢，太無知了。我父親的遺體沒有被低溫保存下來，我們當時並不知道。我父親的遺體躺在那裡腐爛，而我們卻在外面奔走，想為可憐的父親伸張正義。我們沒有成功，因為我們什麼都不是。我們隨後被醫院告知，必須儘快將我父親的遺體火化。我們失去了見他最後一面的機會。到葬禮時，我們只能圍著他的骨灰盒……
1987年5月24日，星期天，全家人去了長風公園。這是一場沒有父親在場的家庭聚會。天氣很好，春光明媚。
第二天，我姑姑回了北京。這是她唯一一次來上海。
隨後，J又給我發了一封電報，讓我給他回電話。我沒辦法在學校打國際長途，是到上海電話總局去打的。當時的電話費很貴，J讓我打了對方付款的國際長途。
1987年5月27日，我給我的堂兄寫過一封信。他是我父親大哥最小的兒子，當時在北京的政府部門任職。我想他可能會幫我為父親討回公道。中國有句老話：「朝廷有人好辦事。」我堂哥當時在「朝廷」，我想試試他的小權力。我給他寫了一封長信，解釋了他叔叔死於事故的原因，寫下了那些證人以及我父親失去說話能力前的親口記錄。他被從公交車上推倒在路邊，雖然不是故意的，但我們需要一個道歉。我們對那些警察處理這個案件的草率態度感到不滿，案件甚至還沒有開始調查就結案了。我父親死得不公平。我告訴我的堂哥：「你不必借助某些重要人物的力量，只要用官方信紙寫一封信，這足以讓當地警察對待這件事有所敬畏。」
果然，兩周後，我大哥和三哥被叫到當地政府辦公室，他們得到了道歉。公交公司也給了200元（約合54.13美元）的賠償費。我父親生前的退休金是每月100元左右。就這樣，案子永遠了結了。據說人來到世上都背著許多債，吃苦就是還債，但願爸爸這次把他在人世間輪迴中所累積的債都還清了。
爸爸在我的夢中總共才出現過四、五次。
早在他出事前的十天，也就是1987年4月29日，我就做了一個極其反常的夢，夢見父親在公共浴室裡溺水。那是我這輩子頭一次夢見父母。
第二次的夢境是一個秋夜，風很大，爸爸躺在一道矮坡頂上唯一的一條公園長椅上，晚風呼嘯、夜幕淒涼，周圍很空曠，覺得他很冷。後來爸爸就向遠方隱去了。我當時在美國雪城大學（SU）讀書，專業是計算機圖形學，正在學習用電腦作畫。這便是我後來用Alice三維應用程序做的那張椅子。
第三次是2007年12月3日，我看到爸爸在一棟廢墟樓的二層，靠牆坐著，顯得孤單。我問他是否要去我那裡。他問我：「你過得好嗎？」其實他也知道我過得不咋樣。然後他就隱去了。這是他對這片曾經工作過的地方——江西蓮花縣的國營712廠遺址留戀而回訪嗎？這真是片夢魂繚繞的地方，我的夢，他的魂。
第四次夢裡，是他有家了，房屋乾淨簡潔，爸爸的臉上還帶著笑容。
第五次是2011年9月29日：在我們家朝北的後涼台上，父親正在低頭忙活著瑣事。我們住在底樓。忽然看到天上有兩道不斷翻滾著的、濃濃的白色雲柱，急匆匆地從右上方俯衝下來。前面是兩個小黑點，各自拖著長長的一綹密集得像花菜一樣的、略微擴散的雲尾巴。不好，像是宇宙飛船出事！「爸爸您看，快看！出事兒了！」父親還沒來得及抬頭，那兩個小黑點已經劃過天際，在遠處的左下方著陸，並發出沉悶的爆炸聲。
天色有點昏暗，馬上就看到有兩個圓形、暗色的大降落傘先後迅速由小變大朝我們這兒飄過來，在頭頂上空飛速越過樓頂。第三個飛過來的是一個沒有降落傘的宇航員，他身上有一個三四寸厚的充氣橡皮墊子。只聽到「砰！」的一聲，他就撞到了涼台內。我迅速跑過去，口中卻對父親說：「別碰他，別碰他，我去打救急電話。」一怕動了他反而造成或加重骨傷，二是擔心他身上帶有來自外太空需要專人處理的物質。
從宇航員身邊急速走過，我進了屋子。五哥正靠在床上看書，「快快快！打911電話！」我說著拿起像皮質鑰匙包一樣的手機，翻開兩側，但找不著裡面的按鍵。五哥撥的電話通了，我聽到裡面的錄音：「因為這裡是免費電話，打的人多，請稍等……」
我急忙抓起被子，衝出門去想給宇航員蓋上。來到後面，看到已經有一個西方女人躺在宇航員旁邊給他保溫取暖，父親也躺在地上，隔著那個西方女人，也試著用自己的身體再加一層體溫。好像宇航員沒有受致命傷，見他抬起手，說了句什麼，我沒聽清。但我蓋到他身上的卻是一條浴巾，不夠，我馬上折回屋子去取那床藍色厚被子。那西方女人嫌我慢，大叫道：「Action！」（行動！）
醒來時，時間是早上5:55 AM。
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Chronicles of Youth: May 9, 1987—My Father's Stretcher and the Astronaut in My Dreams
May 9, 1987, was a day of sorrow. The following are my fourth brother’s exact words:
"That day happened to be my day off, and I was at home. In the afternoon, my father said he was going to the factory to take a bath. Even now as I speak of this, the scene of my father leaving the house appears before my eyes, the way he closed the waist gate. Around four in the afternoon, a stranger suddenly knocked hard on our gate. I opened it, and the man said, 'Your father is in the emergency room at Putuo Hospital being resuscitated.' I thanked the man and rushed to the hospital. I walked through the emergency room but could not find my father. As I turned around, I saw him lying on a stretcher, being carried down from the second floor by several people. One of his arms was hanging down, and no relatives were by his side. A sudden ache hit my heart. These kind strangers saw my father in distress and stepped in to help; some had even followed him from the scene of the accident. They registered him, carried the stretcher to the second floor for X-rays, and someone even came to our house to deliver the message. My gratitude goes to this group of anonymous, kind people. At the time, I was the only one at home; our mother was playing mahjong at a neighbor's house, and Little H had not finished work yet."
In those years, our home had no bathtub or shower; everyone had to go to external public bathhouses to bathe. My father was heading out to collect his retirement pension that afternoon, and planned to take a comfortable soak in the factory’s large bathhouse along the way.
Something occurred that day which I regret deeply to this very day; it was because of this event that I returned home late.
That afternoon, near the railway bridge close to the Zhongshan North Road Bridge over the Suzhou Creek, I encountered Little W for the first time since our break-up. It was a steel-framed bridge built for trains, with a narrow path on the eastern side for pedestrians. People constantly moved up and down the span; if two pedestrians pushing bicycles crossed paths, one had to stop and lean against the edge to let the other pass. If a train roared through at that moment, the entire bridge structure vibrated, which was quite frightening. As the trains—mostly cargo trains from what I recall—brushed past, the powerful wind they generated whirled dust directly into our faces. Every time, I had to turn my body away, cover my nose and mouth, and hold my breath.
I spotted Little W amid the crowd on the bridge, pushing his bicycle toward the north bank. A female friend traveling with me, two years my junior, was cheerful, innocent, and bright; people called her "Dia Meimei" (the sweet-talking girl). She lived in the same Campus No. 1 Village as Little W, and they knew each other well. Once Little W pushed his bicycle down the three or four iron steps at the north end of the bridge, Dia Meimei called out to stop him. She grabbed the handlebars of his bicycle, widened her eyes, pouted, and spoke in a playful, coaxing school Mandarin, urging us to reconcile and let bygones be bygones.
"Hi, Little W! Long time no see. Stop, stop right there, I want to talk to you," she said with a smile.
"Hi," he responded quietly and came to a halt.
Little W and I exchanged an awkward glance, small, uneasy smiles appearing on our faces.
"I know both of you want to talk to each other. Oh, come on, let it go. That’s what you both want inside, right?" Dia Meimei said mischievously.
"I’ll leave the two of you to have a good talk. I have other things to do, bye!" She mounted her bicycle and rode away.
"Should we find a place to talk?" Little W asked politely.
"Hi," he responded quietly and came to a halt.
Little W and I exchanged an awkward glance, small, uneasy smiles appearing on our faces.
"I know both of you want to talk to each other. Oh, come on, let it go. That’s what you both want inside, right?" Dia Meimei said mischievously.
"I’ll leave the two of you to have a good talk. I have other things to do, bye!" She mounted her bicycle and rode away.
"Should we find a place to talk?" Little W asked politely.
We bicycled over to a major thoroughfare in Xujiahui named Zhaojiabang Road. Sitting on a long wooden bench inside the wide green median strip of the road, we remained for a long time. We sat close together, confiding in one another and sighing, pouring out all the years of grievances completely until darkness fell. It was precisely this unexpected encounter and long conversation that delayed me, causing me to return home late.
I returned home around ten that evening to find the house completely empty. On top of the five-drawer chest lay a note: "Fen, as soon as you get home, come to the hospital immediately. Something happened to Father. Eldest Sister-in-Law."
Seeing the note, I ran to the hospital. Inside the primitive emergency room lobby, packed with patients and families, I saw my father. His face was pale, and he lay on a hospital bed in a corner, an oxygen tube inserted into his nose, breathing with difficulty. Surrounded by my mother, brothers, and sisters-in-law, they told me that my father had gone to the factory to take a bath and collect his pension. While boarding the bus to return home, he was pushed, fell from the vehicle, and broke his neck. A few strangers intercepted a small cargo truck and transported my father to the hospital. He remained unconscious for several hours; upon waking, he lost all sensation below his neck. He could still speak an hour before, and seeing him try to speak but fail to emit a sound, my heart broke. My poor father—the kindest, most honest, and most hardworking man I have ever known. He never raised his voice, and we were never once struck by him when we were children. Oh God! Why must my dear father suffer like this? I blame myself for not coming home sooner.
The next morning, I went to the station where the accident occurred. There was a row of small shops nearby, and I located several eyewitnesses to learn exactly what had happened. When the bus arrived at the station, passengers were supposed to exit before others boarded. My father waited until no one else was disembarking from the crowded bus before he stepped on. But before he could steady his footing, three women from the countryside suddenly squeezed out from inside to disembark. My father was knocked down by them, falling heavily from the bus, the back of his head striking the ground, and his neck hitting the stone curb of the road. Those three women were later taken to the police station by eyewitness. We went to the station, hoping they would visit my dying father and offer an apology. But the police had already released them, telling us: "It was their first time in Shanghai and they were unfamiliar with the city. Your father is an old man and might have been weak after his bath; did he have high blood pressure?" My father did not have high blood pressure. In this matter, my father received no protection from the law.
At least two of us took turns watching by my father’s bedside every day. On May 10, I stayed through the night, returning home on the 11th to sleep. Around three-thirty in the afternoon, my eldest brother’s second daughter rushed in out of breath, waking us to say father was critical. We jumped up and ran to the hospital, taking about ten minutes, but it was too late; father had passed away at 3:22 PM. As his body was moved, my sixth brother said sorrowfully, "Father’s body is still warm!" On the way they carried him to the mortuary, I leaned down and kissed his warm face. It was the only time in my life I ever kissed my father. I do not know if I ever received a kiss from my parents during my childhood; people of that generation were not accustomed to expressing their emotions.
Upon receiving the telegram, my third brother and his wife came immediately from Guiyang. My aunt also arrived from Beijing; she was the sole surviving immediate relative of my father’s generation and was four years his junior. The week preparing for the funeral was busy. Many friends and neighbors came to offer condolences, and they brought silk quilt covers. I do not know when the custom began, but people brought quilt covers instead of wreaths. Brightly colored silk quilt covers and funeral couplets hung all over the room. I wrote a letter to J, telling him what had occurred. On May 21, J sent a condolence telegram from Japan, and on the 22nd, the funeral was held.
We assumed the storage units for bodies in the hospital were refrigeration units to keep the remains fresh. But we were wrong. We were naive, foolish, and ignorant. My father’s body was not preserved under low temperatures, and we did not know. His body lay there decaying while we were outside exerting our efforts to seek justice for him. We did not succeed because we were nothing. We were subsequently informed by the hospital that we had to cremate his remains immediately. We lost the chance to view him one last time. By the time of the funeral, we could only gather around his urn...
On Sunday, May 24, 1987, the entire family went to Changfeng Park. It was a family gathering without my father present. The weather was fine and the spring sunshine was bright. The next day, my aunt returned to Beijing. This was her only visit to Shanghai.
Later, J sent another telegram, asking me to call him back. I could not make international long-distance calls from the university, so I went to the public telephone office. Phone rates were expensive back then, and J instructed me to make a collect call.
On May 27, 1987, I wrote a letter to my cousin. He was the youngest son of my father’s older brother, serving within a government department in Beijing at the time. I thought he might assist me in seeking justice for my father. An old Chinese proverb states: "Having someone in the court makes matters easy." My cousin was now in the administration, so I wanted to try his official influence. I wrote him a long letter explaining the cause of his uncle's death, listing the witnesses and the firsthand accounts my father gave before losing his ability to speak. He was pushed from the bus onto the roadside; though it was unintentional, we required an apology. We were dissatisfied with the careless attitude of the police handling the case; it was closed before an investigation even commenced. My father died unjustly. I told my cousin: "You do not need to rely on some grand figures there; simply write a letter on official stationery. That will be enough to make the local police treat this matter with proper respect."
Sure enough, two weeks later, my eldest brother and third brother were summoned to the local government office, and they received an apology. The bus company also provided 200 RMB (approximately 54.13 USD) in compensation. My father’s pension before his death was around 100 RMB per month. With that, the case was permanently closed. It is said that when people come into this world, they all carry a heavy burden of debt, and to suffer is to repay that debt. I only hope that this time, my father has completely settled all the debts accumulated through his rounds of worldly reincarnation.
My father appeared in my dreams only four or five times in total.
Ten days before his accident, on April 29, 1987, I experienced a highly unusual dream, dreaming that my father was drowning in a public bathhouse. That was the first time in my life I had ever dreamed of my parents.
The second dream occurred on an autumn night. The wind was fierce, and Father was lying on the only park bench atop a low slope in an open, empty space. I felt he was cold. Later, he receded into the distance. I was studying at Syracuse University (SU) at the time, majoring in computer graphics, learning to paint via computers. This was the bench I subsequently modeled using the Alice 3D application.
The third time was on December 3, 2007. I saw my father on the second floor of a ruined building, sitting against a wall, appearing lonely. I asked if he wanted to come to my place. He asked me, "Are you doing well?" In truth, he knew I was not doing well. Then he receded. Was this a return visit out of nostalgia for the place where he once worked—the site of the State-Run 712 Factory in Lianhua County, Jiangxi Province? This is a place that haunts my dreams; my dream, his soul.
In the fourth dream, he had a home; the rooms were clean and simple, and there was a smile on his face.
The fifth dream occurred on September 29, 2011:
On the north-facing rear balcony of our home, my father was leaning down, busy with small chores. We lived on the ground floor.
Suddenly, I saw two thick, rolling columns of white cloud rushing down from the upper right of the sky. In front of them were two small black dots, each trailing a long, dense plume of cloud that looked slightly expanded, like cauliflower. Something was wrong; it looked like a spaceship accident! "Father look, look quickly! An accident!" Before my father could look up, the two small black dots swept across the sky, landing in the distance to the lower left, emitting a dull explosion.
On the north-facing rear balcony of our home, my father was leaning down, busy with small chores. We lived on the ground floor.
Suddenly, I saw two thick, rolling columns of white cloud rushing down from the upper right of the sky. In front of them were two small black dots, each trailing a long, dense plume of cloud that looked slightly expanded, like cauliflower. Something was wrong; it looked like a spaceship accident! "Father look, look quickly! An accident!" Before my father could look up, the two small black dots swept across the sky, landing in the distance to the lower left, emitting a dull explosion.
The sky turned dim, and soon two large, dark, circular parachutes expanded rapidly from small dots, floating toward us and swiftly passing over our roof.
The third to fly over was an astronaut without a parachute, wearing an inflatable rubber cushion about three or four inches thick. With a sudden loud "bang," he crashed onto our balcony. I ran over quickly, but said to my father, "Don't touch him, don't touch him, I am going to call for emergency help." First, I feared moving him might cause or worsen bone injuries; second, I worried he might carry substances from outer space that required specialist handling.
The third to fly over was an astronaut without a parachute, wearing an inflatable rubber cushion about three or four inches thick. With a sudden loud "bang," he crashed onto our balcony. I ran over quickly, but said to my father, "Don't touch him, don't touch him, I am going to call for emergency help." First, I feared moving him might cause or worsen bone injuries; second, I worried he might carry substances from outer space that required specialist handling.
Walking rapidly past the astronaut, I entered the house. My fifth brother was leaning on the bed reading a book. "Quick, quick, quick! Dial 911!" As I spoke, I picked up my cell phone, which resembled a leather key case, flipping open both sides, but could not find the keypad inside. The phone my fifth brother dialed went through, and I heard a recorded message inside: "Because this is a toll-free number, lines are busy, please hold..."
I hurriedly grabbed a blanket and rushed outside, intending to cover the astronaut. Arriving at the back, I saw a Western woman already lying beside him to keep him warm with her body heat. My father was also lying on the ground, on the other side of the Western woman, attempting to add another layer of body warmth. The astronaut did not appear fatally injured; I saw him raise his hand and mutter something, though I could not hear it clearly. But what I threw over him was only a bath towel, which was insufficient, so I immediately turned back inside to fetch that thick blue blanket. The Western woman grew frustrated with my slowness and shouted loudly, "Action!"
Upon waking, the time was 5:55 AM.
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.
第三百八十四篇
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