我們住在神奈川縣伊勢原市一個叫笠窪片野的地方。窗前遠眺能看到大山（Oyama）的山巔，附近的鶴卷溫泉以富含鈣質聞名。也許我生長在鬧市，對大自然充滿了幻想。笠窪、片野這幾個字對我來說也是富有詩意的。這些地名足以令人產生遐想，閉上眼睛彷彿就能看到遠古洪荒時代，這片草長鶯飛、溫泉滋潤的沃土上，有成群的仙鶴在築巢、繁衍、翱翔~~
鎮上的小巷深處有幾家幽雅的溫泉旅館，庭院深深的，很神祕。據說那裡溫泉含鈣量相當豐富，可與牛乳相比。偶爾去那兒的餐館享受一下美食，穿過幽靜的小路，透過朦朧的月光，會瞥見幾間隱掩在樹叢裡的溫泉雅室，地面上空開一截的小竹門下，露出擺放整齊的大小兩雙木屐……
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| 1998年2月23日鶴卷溫泉站（途徑日本回上海） |
從鶴卷溫泉站往北走十來分鐘到家。每天傍晚5點鐘，窗外會傳來一段報時音樂，似乎在親切地提醒在外玩耍的孩子們該回家了，主婦們該做晚飯了。1992年離開日本後，直到2003年2月27日，當我獨自在倫敦泰晤士河邊漫步時，突然聽到矗立在威斯特敏斯特橋邊的大本鐘裡傳出了動聽的鐘聲。「叮咚、叮咚」，那鐘聲是如此地耳熟，但似乎又是那麼地遙遠。
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| 2003年2月27日大本鐘 |
啊～！想起來了，那不是當年我生活在日本時，每天晚上5點鐘的報時音樂嗎？！好溫馨哦。我駐足靜聽，這動聽的鐘聲似乎帶來了些許的鄉愁。2026年2月從 Gemini AI 那兒得知，這段音樂就是大本鐘著名的報時旋律（威斯特敏斯特鐘聲）。它實際上起源於1793年英國劍橋的聖瑪麗大教堂，之後於1859年被威斯特敏斯特採用。
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| 1998年2月23日重訪鶴卷溫泉（往前走大約十分鐘到家） |
回頭說日本。在超市進入之前，我們那裡都是小店小生意。肉店男主人認真勤懇、樸實無華，菜鋪子裡結實、勤快而和善的「歐巴桑」一直都蹲在地上忙活。一家水產店，一家小藥局，一家小電器店，一家小服飾棉被店，三兩家居酒屋，四五家小飯館，一家中華料理店，還有一家パチンコ（扒金宮）。
超市的進入給小店主們造成了很大的精神與生活壓力。菜鋪關了，肉店慌了。J 還是一如既往地去小店購物，從不去超市。正如我之前寫過他對「商業大鯊魚」的厭惡，他寧可多花幾塊錢，也不願看著這些各具風格、富有人情味的小街坊被整齊劃一的連鎖模式給吞噬。在美國也是如此，他盡著綿薄之力照顧著街邊小生意，固執地守護著那點日漸消失的人情味。
跟J一起外食，如果不是吃西餐，為了不使用一次性木筷子，我們都會帶上兩雙家裡的筷子。有時我揶揄地想，如今超市連鎖店發展的趨勢如此迅猛，J的做法是不是「螳螂擋車」？！
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| 1986年10月18日廚房窗前遠眺Oyama山巔 A view toward the summit of Mount Oyama from the kitchen window |
J 經常騎自行車鍛鍊身體，週末我們會去爬大山（Oyama）。大山就像是我們的後院兒，一有空就去爬。Oyama 大山有兩條道上山，一條險峻一些，我走過一次，後來便堅決不走，而 J 偏偏喜歡有挑戰性的。我們也常去 YMCA 活動中心游泳，他還教我潛水。說到潛水，J 還喜歡去水肺式潛水（Scuba diving），那我是堅決不敢去的。看著他拿著潛水面鏡等裝備出門，我是一次也沒跟著去過。你說我這人慫不慫？掃不掃興？！騎輕便摩托車（scooter）出門遇到陡坡就不肯上，連在湖裡游泳都不敢游出警戒線外去……
J 經常去書店消磨時光。我也曾經在新華書店開架書櫥前徘徊，但到了有好幾層樓的新宿紀伊國屋書店，我便成了文盲，英文的、日文的，各種書名在我眼睛裡只是單個字母的排列組合，卻怎麼也成不了句子。他在那裡可以忘了時間，而我穿著高跟兒鞋在那裡站得腳疼，如果我也入迷地看書，絕不會想到鞋尖兒夾腳。J 買了世界名著的英語簡寫本回來給我閱讀，買了英語語法、常用句等練習書籍給我學。
這是1989年1月20日我們在附近遠足的照片。天還比較涼，我們帶著一個暖水壺，在林間小道穿行，腳下是厚厚的落葉，踏上去沙沙作響。走著走著，眼前出現了一片開闊的、長滿了長草的斜坡。但眼前的草坡像是大海的波浪，一波一波的，還留著大風吹過的痕跡。似乎是在一夜之間，那一坡茂盛的、齊腰高的長草都被狂風吹倒。冬季黃黃的長草裡夾雜著早春的嫩綠，見了這片草坡就想在上面打滾，不願離開。
路邊這是一家叫「車屋」的小餐館，門口掛著一條大河豚魚乾，不知是否是真魚製作的標本，估計裡面可以吃到河豚魚刺身。J 帶我吃過一次河豚刺身，五千多日圓一盤。魚片切得如紙薄，粉嫩透光，在盤子裡薄薄地碼了一圈，結果我根本沒吃出什麼不尋常來。
第一次知道河豚魚，是我在杭州灣五四農場漁業隊的時候。有一天，我得到中港收購站站長的允許，一個人跟著一條船出了海。當時我們隊裡好幾個女生吵著要跟船出海，站長說：「你們誰如果在原地轉幾個圈頭不暈的就行。」結果姑娘們都轉得七葷八素、東倒西歪，只有我被同意跟船。其實，我當時也轉暈了。船上的五六個青壯年是真正的東海漁民，不屬於我們農場，而我們漁業隊的漁船只能在內河河道裡開，出不了海。那天，他們在波濤滾滾的海裡撒了網。收網時，我也跟著一起將沉甸甸的魚網拽上船。我還看見他們在清理河豚魚，這才第一次知道那是毒魚。他們說：「不吃河豚魚，就不知道東海洋的滋味！」但我到底還是差了點膽子，沒敢吃。
從照相簿裡看，1989年1月20日我們在附近遠足的那一天，我們還去了鐮倉。在冬日慘淡的陽光裡，我們去了有七百多年歷史的光明寺。J 的照片捕捉到了鐮倉那種古老而深邃的寧靜。
在日本似乎很難丟失東西。有一次J下電車時，忘了取放在架子上的、從機場免稅店裡買的兩瓶洋酒和自己脫下的一件皮夾克。到家後給電車服務處打電話，一問果然東西已在總站的失物招領處了。
有一回我在鶴卷溫泉站後面的巴士總站上車時，發現了一隻皮夾子。立刻交給了駕駛員，他問我姓名和聯絡方式，我心裡湧動著自豪，告訴他我是中國人，沒想給他聯絡方式。但他例行公事，堅持要聯絡方式。無奈，我只能給了他。兩三個月後，忽然接到電話，要我去失物招領處領取四千日元。原來按規定，失物在一定時間內無人認領，他們就通知拾獲失物的人去領取財物。那錢包裡有四千元，我沒去。
打小養成的習慣，比如每天早上刷牙洗臉，過去條件不允許天天洗澡，那麼睡覺前都會洗臉、洗屁股、洗腳。到了日本後，家裡有浴室了，咱也就馬上跟上，天天洗澡了。過去洗身子上下分明，要有三塊毛巾：洗臉的、洗屁股的、洗腳的。哎～怎麼這外國人就一條大浴巾能從頭擦到腳呢？慢慢地我也學會了這樣用，也開始一天刷兩次牙了。好習慣咱就趕緊學。J 還有一點，就是出門前總要洗個澡，收拾得乾乾淨淨的，其實他早上已經洗過一次了。但我認為的壞習慣我就不學了，比如喝酒。
新生活的日子很溫馨。每天早上 J 都會對我說：“Good morning! Did you sleep well?” 晚上說一聲 “Sleep tight” 或 “Sweet dreams.” 真沒想到婚後的生活是這樣的甜美。
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The Ripples of Kasakubo-Katano: From the Foot of Mount Oyama to the Chimes of the Thames
We lived in a place called Kasakubo-Katano in Isehara City, Kanagawa Prefecture. From our window, we could gaze out at the distant summit of Mount Oyama, and nearby was Tsurumaki Onsen, renowned for its calcium-rich waters. Perhaps because I grew up in the bustling city, my heart was always filled with fantasies about nature. Even the names Kasakubo and Katano sounded poetic to me. These place names alone were enough to spark reveries; closing my eyes, I could almost see this fertile land in primeval times—lush with vibrant greenery, nurtured by warm springs, with flocks of sacred cranes nesting, breeding, and soaring through the sky.
Deep within the town's narrow alleys hid a few elegant hot-spring inns, radiating a mysterious charm with their deeply secluded courtyards. It was said that the calcium content of the springs there was so rich it could compare to milk. Occasionally, we would visit their restaurants to enjoy a fine meal. Walking along the quiet paths under the hazy moonlight, one could catch a glimpse of the private hot-spring rooms nestled among the thickets. Beneath the small bamboo gates, which hung a short distance above the ground, two pairs of wooden clogs—one large, one small—would be neatly arranged side by side...
It was about a ten-minute walk north from Tsurumaki Onsen Station to our home. Every evening at five o’clock, a time-chime melody would drift through the window, sounding like a tender reminder that the children playing outside should head home, and that it was time for the housewives to prepare dinner. After leaving Japan in 1992, it wasn’t until February 27, 2003, while strolling alone along the River Thames in London, that I suddenly heard the beautiful chimes of Big Ben standing by Westminster Bridge. "Ding-dong, ding-dong"—the sound was so incredibly familiar, yet it felt so distant. Ah! I remembered. Wasn't that the very same five o'clock chime from my days in Japan? It felt so heartwarming. I paused to listen closely, the cozy chimes carrying a faint, bittersweet touch of nostalgia. Later, in February 2026, I learned from Gemini AI that this melody was the famous Westminster Quarters. It actually originated in 1793 at Great St Mary's Church in Cambridge, England, and was later adopted by Westminster in 1859.
Back to Japan—before the supermarkets moved in, our neighborhood was entirely made up of small shops and local businesses. The master of the meat shop was diligent, earnest, and simple; the sturdy, quick, and amiable Obasan at the vegetable stall was always squatting on the ground, busily working away. There was a fishmonger, a small pharmacy, a tiny appliance shop, a little bedding and clothing store, two or three izakayas, four or five small diners, a Chinese restaurant, and a pachinko parlor.
The arrival of the supermarket brought immense mental and livelihood pressure to these small shop owners. The vegetable stall closed down; the butcher grew anxious.
Yet, J continued to shop at the small stores just as he always had, completely bypassing the supermarket. As I have shared before, he harbored a deep distaste for those corporate "big sharks"; he would rather pay a little more than watch these distinctive, warm-hearted neighborhood shops be swallowed by a boring, cookie-cutter commercial model. It was the exact same when we lived in the United States—he quietly did his part to sustain local businesses, stubbornly holding onto the vanishing human warmth and regional culture.
When dining out with J, unless we were having Western food, we would always bring two pairs of chopsticks from home to avoid using disposable wooden ones. Sometimes I would think to myself with a touch of irony: with supermarkets and chain stores expanding at such a ferocious pace nowadays, wasn't J’s approach like a lone preying mantis trying to stop a runaway cart?
J often rode his bicycle for exercise, and on weekends, we would hike up Mount Oyama. The mountain felt almost like our own backyard; whenever we had a spare moment, up we went. There are two paths leading up Mount Oyama—one is significantly steeper and more treacherous. I tackled it once and firmly resolved never to set foot on it again, though J always relished a good challenge. We also frequented the YMCA activity center to swim, and he even taught me how to skin-dive. Speaking of diving, J was also keen on scuba diving, an endeavor I absolutely refused to touch. Watching him pack up his diving mask and gear to head out, I never once tagged along. Tell me, wasn't I just a complete coward? A total party pooper?! Even on a scooter, the moment I encountered a steep incline, I'd stubbornly refuse to go up, and when swimming in a lake, I’d never dare venture past the safety buoy line...
J used to spend hours losing himself in bookstores. I, too, had once spent time lingering in front of the open shelves of the Xinhua Bookstore back home, but upon stepping into the massive, multi-story Kinokuniya Bookstore in Shinjuku, I was instantly rendered illiterate. Whether in English or Japanese, the various book titles appeared to my eyes as mere random sequences of individual letters, stubbornly refusing to form sentences. He could lose all track of time there, while I stood till my feet ached in my high heels; had I been as captivated by the books as he was, I suppose I wouldn't have given a single thought to how tightly the toes of my shoes pinched. J also bought simplified versions of English literary classics for me to read, along with textbooks on grammar and common expressions for my studies.
This memory stems from January 20, 1989, during one of our hikes nearby. The weather was still quite brisk, and we carried a thermos of warm water as we threaded through the woodland paths. Beneath our feet was a thick carpet of fallen leaves that rustled softly with every step. As we walked on, an open slope covered in tall grass suddenly unfolded before our eyes. But this grassy slope resembled the waves of the sea, rolling wave after wave, still bearing the distinct marks of a powerful wind. It seemed as though overnight, the entire slope of lush, waist-high grass had been swept flat by a gale. The yellowed grass of winter was interspersed with the tender green of early spring; seeing that slope made me want to roll around on it and never leave.
The garage in this photo is barely over a meter high, with a depth of about a meter as well. This two-story residential house stands right by the road, a mere two meters away from the pavement. When the owner parks, only the nose of the car tucks into that tiny garage; two-thirds of the vehicle remains entirely exposed to the elements, with the rear just clearing the roadway. It is a masterful display of craftsmanship—truly a masterclass in space utilization within the tightest of bounds.
By the roadside sits a tiny restaurant named Kurumaya (The Car House). Hanging at the entrance is a large, dried pufferfish. I cannot tell if it is a real taxidermy specimen, but I imagine one could order blowfish sashimi inside. J once took me to try blowfish sashimi. It cost over five thousand yen a plate. The fish was sliced paper-thin, a translucent, delicate pink, arranged in a subtle ring across the dish. In the end, however, my palate could discern nothing extraordinary about it.
My very first encounter with pufferfish dates back to my days with the fishery team at the Wusi Farm along Hangzhou Bay. One day, with the permission of the head of the Zhonggang Procurement Station, I alone was allowed to board a vessel and head out to sea. At the time, several girls from our team were clamoring to go. The station chief declared, "Whoever can spin around in circles on the spot without getting dizzy can come." The girls spun themselves into a state of utter disorientation, swaying and tumbling every which way. Only I was approved to go—though truth be told, I had spun myself dizzy as well. The five or six sturdy young men on board were genuine East China Sea fishermen, not part of our farm; our own fishery team’s boats were confined to inland canals and could never venture into the open ocean. That day, they cast their nets into the rolling, churning waves. When it came time to haul them in, I joined them, pulling the heavy, sodden nets onto the deck. It was then that I watched them cleaning pufferfish and realized for the first time that these were venomous creatures. They told me, "If you haven't tasted blowfish, you will never truly know the flavor of the East China Sea!" Yet, when all was said and done, my courage fell just a bit short, and I dared not take a bite.
Looking through the photo album, on that very day of our hike on January 20, 1989, we also visited Kamakura. Beneath the pale, somber winter sunlight, we wandered into Komyoji Temple, a sanctuary with over seven hundred years of history. J’s photographs beautifully captured the ancient, profound tranquility of Kamakura.
It seemed almost impossible to lose things in Japan. Once, when J was getting off the train, he forgot to take two bottles of liquor bought from the airport duty-free shop and a leather jacket he had taken off, both left on the overhead rack. After arriving home, we called the train service office, and sure enough, the items were already at the lost-and-found at the terminal station. Another time, as I was boarding a bus at the terminal behind Tsurumaki Onsen Station, I spotted a wallet on a chair. I immediately handed it to the driver. When he asked for my name and contact details, a surge of pride welled up inside me, and I told him I was Chinese, with no intention of leaving my contact info. However, he was just doing his duty and insisted on having it. Left with no choice, I gave it to him. Two or three months later, I suddenly received a phone call asking me to come to the lost-and-found to claim 4,000 yen. It turned out that by regulation, if lost property remains unclaimed for a certain period, they notify the finder to collect the money or items. There were 4,000 yen in that wallet, but I never went to pick it up.
There were habits ingrained since childhood, like brushing my teeth and washing my face every morning. Back then, circumstances didn't allow for daily baths, so before bed, it was a strict routine of washing my face, my backside, and my feet. Once we moved to Japan and had a proper bathroom of our own, I caught on quickly and started bathing every single day. In the past, washing oneself required a strict separation of upper and lower anatomy, meaning three distinct towels: one for the face, one for the backside, and one for the feet. Yet—lo and behold—how on earth could these Westerners use just one large bath towel to dry themselves from head to toe? Gradually, I learned to adopt their way, and I began brushing my teeth twice a day as well. Good habits are worth learning quickly. J had another quirk: he always insisted on taking a bath before heading out to present himself impeccably clean, even though he had already bathed first thing in the morning. However, if I deemed something a bad habit, I refused to pick it up—drinking, for instance.
Life in our new home was incredibly tender. Every morning, J would greet me with, "Good morning! Did you sleep well?" and in the evening, he would whisper, "Sleep tight," or "Sweet dreams." I truly never imagined that married life could be this sweet.
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.
第四百三十一篇
