《紙袋廠的愚園路舊夢、變老的蓉蓉與命運的轉身》

2022年1月2日：

清晨，來到了一個兩三層、類似宿舍樓一樣的地方。在比较開闊的走廊拐角處，我一眼看見了桂蓉。她依然像四五十年前那樣青春靚麗、氣質雅致。

我走上前去，拉了她的手：「桂蓉，桂蓉，是你嗎？」我們真的已經太久太久沒有見面了，整整四五十年，沒想到她竟然一點兒都沒有變。她聽見我的聲音，有些羞澀地扭過頭來，靦腆地笑道：「我不認識你呀。」

就在我納悶的時候，從拐角另外一頭的走廊裡，走過來一個老年婦女。她化了裝，妝容顯得有些俗氣，可仔細一看，原來，這才是真正的、被歲月雕刻過的桂蓉，而我剛剛拉著的那個青春靚麗的女孩，竟然是她的閨女。天底下怎麼會有長得如此相像的母女！

此時的老桂蓉對我的態度顯得有些不冷不熱的，似乎還有什麼要緊的事情，沒說兩句話就離開了。在夢裡得知，她後來嫁給了一個小地產商。看著她離去的背影，突然間，有一股強大而神祕的力量將我整個人猛地帶離了現場，瞬間，我便從夢中醒了過來。

【珍貴的現實注腳】

蓉蓉是我當年在紙袋廠工作時最要好的小姐妹。後來我去了漁業隊，偶爾還會抽空回工廠探望她。每逢深夜，我便和她擠在她那張八人集體宿舍的單人床上，兩個人頭挨著頭，在黑暗中說著悄悄話。我也曾去過她在上海愚園路弄堂裡的家。

後來，大約是在1978年前後，知青子女頂替父母進城的政策出台，她便顶替母親進了上海閥門廠。幾年後的一個下午，在上海戲劇用品商店裡，隔著兩個透明的玻璃櫃檯，我一眼看見了她和她的母親。我們隔著櫃檯，目光交匯，靜靜地注視了幾秒。

可那一刻，我終究沒有上前去打招呼的勇氣。那個時代的人實在是太靦腆了。一個轉身，錯過就是永遠。此後很長一段時間裡她常出现在我的梦中。

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The Paper-Bag Factory Lane Dream, a Glimpse of an Aging Rongrong, and the Final Turn

Early this morning, I found myself in a two- or three-story building that resembled a communal dormitory. Standing at the corner of a wide, open corridor, I caught sight of Gui Rong. She looked exactly as she did forty or fifty years ago—radiantly youthful, elegant, and refined.

Overjoyed, I rushed forward and caught her hands in mine, calling out, "Gui Rong, Gui Rong, is that really you?" It had been so long—nearly half a century—and yet she hadn’t aged a single day. Hearing my voice, she turned her head with a shy, timid smile and whispered, "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

As confusion washed over me, an elderly woman rounded the far end of the corridor. She was wearing makeup that looked a bit garish, yet as I looked closer, her features were undeniably Gui Rong's. It dawned on me then: this was the true Gui Rong, weathered by the passage of time, while the beautiful girl I was holding was her daughter. I couldn't believe how two generations could look so uncannily identical.

The aging Gui Rong treated me with a certain emotional distance, acting somewhat aloof. Looking preoccupied with errands, she left after a brief exchange. In the dream, I learned she had gone on to marry a minor real estate developer. As I watched her walk away, a sudden, invisible force swept me out of the scene, and I instantly woke up.

[A Precious Reality Footnote]

Rongrong was my dearest companion back when I worked at the paper-bag factory. Even after I left to join the fishery team, I would occasionally return to the factory to visit her. At night, I would squeeze onto her tiny single bed in an eight-person shared dormitory room, our heads resting close together as we whispered our deepest girlish secrets into the dark. I had even visited her family home nestled in the old alleys of Yuyuan Road in Shanghai.

Later, around 1978, when the policy allowed sent-down youth to return to the cities to take over their parents' jobs, she replaced her mother at the Shanghai Valve Factory. A few years passed, and on a random afternoon inside the bustling Shanghai Theatrical Supply Store, our paths crossed. Separated by two glass display counters, my eyes locked with hers and her mother's. We stood there, staring silently at one another for several seconds.

Yet, in that crucial moment, I lacked the courage to step forward and say hello. People of that era were simply too bashful. One turn of the shoulder, and a brief hesitation becomes a parting for eternity. In all the long decades since that day, she has remained a frequent traveler through my dreams.

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.

第四百十三篇