在美過寒假期間 J 還教了我幾次開車。感覺是真不能跟一位不太有耐心的老公學開車。一會兒「accelerate！accelerate（加速）！」一會兒「stop！stop（停車）！」左拐、右拐、前進、倒退，「打燈！打燈！」弄得人心裡發慌、手腳冰涼、頭腦發漲；他還嫌你膽兒太小、反應太慢。搞得我們倆都真的是 nerve-wracking。
一天我們在一所中學操場上練習開車，正值寒假期間而且天快黑了，我們的車在空曠的操場上一會兒停、一會兒動的，引起了巡邏警察的注意。「嗚～嗚～」打亮刺眼的紅藍警燈，一閃一閃地就過來了。
我停了車，打開窗忐忑地等著警察過來。高大威武的警察走過來一看，是丈夫在教妻子學車，他聳了聳肩，對我們做了一個幽默的表情——J 可以理解為是同情他，我也可以理解成是同情我。
J 回日本前，在報紙上給我找了一家 40 美金一小時、在 20 英里以外塞內卡湖（Seneca）邊日內瓦小鎮（Geneva）的私人駕校。電話約了並送我去學開車。約了下午四點，估計教開車是老師的第二份工作，他要下班後才能有空。
說是私人學校，當時只有我一個學生。教練車頂上有個黃色的「Student Driver」（新手學車）字樣的警告頂燈，提醒路人「離我遠點兒」，副駕座側老師的腳底下也有煞車控制踏板。我這才體會到為什麼 J 會顯得那麼緊張了，因為自家車的副駕座沒有控制裝置，遇到我這既膽兒小又毛手毛腳的主兒，他能不 nerve-wracking 嗎？！
大致了解了我所掌握的開車技巧後，老師跟我過了一遍基本注意事項，就讓我開他的車直接上了路，我還尋思著哪兒是練車場呢。
湖濱小鎮相對繁忙些，路上車水馬龍的。岸邊有一所私立大學（霍巴特與威廉史密斯學院），那段日子 J 還帶我拿著自己畫的中國畫去他們藝術系打聽過，我還送了接待我們的女教授一張 16 開宣紙大小的臨摹菊花畫。不過他們系裡當時走的是「抽象派」路子，跟我的畫風不太對胃口。
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| 類似這幅畫，當時送她的是兩朵菊花 Similar to this, I gave her a painting of two chrysanthemums. |
第二天 J 就回了日本，是 J 的大姐開車送我去的駕校。本來第三天還要繼續去的，不料天有不測風雲，第二天晚上大雪就鋪天蓋地地下了個不停，這一下就是兩個多月。三月中旬雪才停住，我就再也沒去找那專業老師學開車。J 的大姐坐在副駕駛座位上，我們在鄉村的路上轉悠，我也就學會了開車。
接著就是參加筆試，考了兩次才通過。路試也不順利，第一次四月底，考官一坐進車，就發覺 J 大姐車副駕駛座位的安全帶有問題，他一步跨下了車，提出要求把保險帶子修好了再來。盼到五月中旬，考試那天又由於平行停車失敗。
那次平行停車，要求並不高。考官要我把車泊在路邊停著的一輛小卡車後面，不是在兩輛車之間的空隙中泊車，後面就根本沒車。我卻蹭到了小卡車後邊的保險槓！考官驚詫得雙眼圓睜，我羞愧得兩頰通紅。
1992年6月15日終於通過了路試。但是在高速公路上開車還是比較慌，尤其是超大型集裝箱貨車時心裡總是要念叨：「你走你的陽關道，我走我的獨木橋。」才能慌慌張張地超過去。
回頭再說四個月前 J 還在紐約時，每週兩晚都要開車接送我去上 FLCC 社區大學提供的免費英語課。那地方也在日內瓦小鎮。班上有十幾個同學，來自不同國家。有五六個是大陸來的，大多是在康奈爾大學農業試驗站進修的訪問學者，或是讀研學生的家屬，另外還有一位是日內瓦中國餐館老闆的年輕太太。有法國人、德國人。一對老年夫婦是西班牙裔，好像是從南美洲過來的，J 跟他們聊天兒中得知那位老先生在本國曾是一位報刊主編或是 owner，曾受到當局打壓的異議人士。他們的女兒在美國定居，於是老兩口就來了住在女兒家。好巧不巧，他們跟我們是鄰居，兩家只隔了兩棟房子。於是 J 回日本前跟他們商量好，我就搭他們的車去上課。每次我都給他們 5 塊錢，善良的老兩口不肯收，我執意要給。他們也只好收下，每次都會先在附近的加油站停一下，將我給的那 5 塊錢加了油。學期結束了，5月30日大家帶著自己做的食物聚餐。
聚餐抓拍裡恰巧沒拍到中國同學，這張是一位外國同學好玩抱起一位中國小男孩——他爸爸在康奈爾農業試驗站讀研，那天他是跟著媽媽一起來的。
Since no Chinese classmates happened to be in the other potluck snapshots, here is a classmate playfully holding a little Chinese boy—his father was a graduate student at Cornell's Agricultural Experiment Station, and he had come along with his mother that day.
我還唱了一首台灣校園歌曲：「阿門阿前一棵葡萄樹，阿嫩阿嫩綠它剛發芽，蝸牛背著那重重的殼呀，一步一步地往上爬，阿樹阿上兩隻黃鸝鳥，阿嘻阿嘻哈哈在笑它，葡萄成熟還早得很哪，現在上來幹什麼，阿黃阿黃鸝兒不要笑，等我爬上它就成熟了……」
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Chronicles of Upstate New York in 1992: Driving Lessons, an Examiner's Wide Eyes, and Free English Classes in Geneva
During our winter break in the U.S., J tried teaching me how to drive a few times. I learned that you really shouldn't try to learn how to drive from a husband who lacks patience. It was a constant stream of "Accelerate! Accelerate!" followed by "Stop! Stop!"—left turns, right turns, going forward, reversing, "Turn on your blinker! Turn on your blinker!" It left me flustered, with cold hands and feet and my head spinning, while he still complained that I was too timid and my reactions were too slow. The whole experience was truly nerve-wracking for both of us.
One day, we were practicing in a middle school parking lot. It was during the winter break, and dusk was already falling. Our car, stopping and starting repeatedly in the empty lot, caught the attention of a patrolling police officer. With a wail of the siren and flashing red and blue lights, the patrol car pulled up. I stopped the car, rolled down the window, and waited anxiously. A tall, imposing officer walked over, took one look, and realized a husband was teaching his wife how to drive. He simply shrugged and gave us a humorous look—a gesture J could take as sympathy for him, while I could just as easily take as sympathy for me.
Before J returned to Japan, he found a private driving school for me—advertised in the newspaper—located in the town of Geneva, by Seneca Lake, about 20 miles away. He made the arrangements by phone and drove me there for my lesson. We had an appointment for 4:00 PM; I suspect that teaching driving was the instructor’s side job, as he was only available after finishing his primary work.
Although it was called a "private school," I was the only student at the time. The instructor’s car was equipped with a yellow "Student Driver" sign on the roof—a warning to others to "keep their distance"—and, on the passenger side, there was an auxiliary brake pedal for the instructor to use. It finally dawned on me why J had been so anxious: our own car lacked such controls. Given that I was both timid and clumsy behind the wheel, it’s no wonder he found the experience so nerve-wracking!
After briefly assessing my existing driving skills and running through the essential safety points, the instructor had me take the wheel and head straight out onto the road—leaving me wondering, "Wait, where’s the practice lot?"
The lakeside town was relatively busy, with heavy traffic on the roads. A private university (Hobart and William Smith Colleges) stood by the shore. Around that time, J even took me to their art department with some of my traditional Chinese paintings to make inquiries, and I gave the female professor who received us a copied painting of chrysanthemums on a roughly letter-sized sheet of Xuan paper. However, their department leaned heavily toward the abstract back then, which didn't quite suit my style. The tree-lined streets near the campus—running alongside the lake—were packed with cars parked bumper-to-bumper. In the depths of winter, darkness fell early. The constant flow of vehicles and the glaring headlights made me incredibly nervous; I was a bundle of frayed nerves. My instructor put me at ease with a single piece of advice: "Stay in your lane, and you'll be fine." He added, "Don't drive on the lane markings, and don't change lanes without a good reason."
The next day, J returned to Japan, and it was J’s oldest sister who drove me to the driving school. I had planned to continue my lessons on the third day, but the weather had other ideas—a massive, relentless snowstorm began that evening and didn't let up for over two months. The snow finally stopped in mid-March, but I never went back to that professional instructor. Instead, with J’s oldest sister in the passenger seat, I practiced driving along country roads and eventually learned how to drive.
Next came the written test, which I only passed on my second attempt. The road test didn't go smoothly either; the first time, in late April, the examiner noticed an issue with the seatbelt on the passenger side the moment he sat down. He stepped right back out of the car and told me to come back only after the seatbelt had been repaired. When the day for my next attempt finally arrived in mid-May, I failed again—this time because I couldn't manage the parallel parking.
The parallel parking task that time wasn’t even particularly demanding. The examiner asked me to park behind a small truck already stopped on the side of the road—it wasn’t a tight spot between two vehicles; there was simply nothing behind the truck. Yet, I still managed to scrape its rear bumper! The examiner’s eyes went wide with shock, and my cheeks burned with shame.
I finally passed my road test on June 15, 1992. Even then, driving on the highway remained a nerve-wracking experience—especially when overtaking massive semi-trucks. I would always have to mutter to myself, "You go your way, and I’ll go mine," just to summon the courage to make a frantic pass.
Looking back four months earlier, when J was still in New York, he would drive me to and from free English classes offered by Finger Lakes Community College (FLCC) twice a week. The classes were held in the town of Geneva. There were over a dozen students in the class from various countries; five or six were from mainland China—mostly visiting scholars or the spouses of graduate students at Cornell's New York State Agricultural Experiment Station, along with the young wife of a local Chinese restaurant owner in Geneva. There were also students from France and Germany. One elderly couple was Hispanic—likely from South America—and J learned through conversation that the husband had once been a newspaper editor-in-chief (or perhaps the owner) back in his home country, having faced persecution as a dissident. Their daughter had settled in the U.S., so the couple had moved over to live with her. As it turned out, they were our neighbors—our houses were only two doors apart. Before J returned to Japan, he arranged for me to catch a ride with them to class. I would offer them five dollars each time; the kind-hearted couple would try to refuse, but I insisted. Eventually, they would accept it, though they always made a point of stopping at a nearby gas station to put that five dollars toward fuel.
When the semester ended on May 30, we held a potluck where everyone brought dishes they had prepared themselves. I also sang a Taiwanese campus song: "In front of the house stands a grapevine, its tender green shoots just beginning to sprout. A snail, carrying its heavy shell upon its back, inches its way upward, step by step. High up in the vine, two orioles look down and laugh—'Hee-hee, ha-ha!'—at the snail. 'The grapes are still a long way from ripening; why on earth are you climbing up now?' 'Oh orioles, oh orioles, don't you laugh—by the time I climb all the way up, they'll be ripe!'"
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.
第四百四十九篇
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