Tuesday, April 28, 2009

牛津随笔(三)Oxford








图一、二:伯恩-琼斯设计的彩色玻璃窗——基督教会学院教堂 Burne-Jones Stained Glass, Christ Church College
图三:某学院教堂和墓地 ? College Chaple and graveyard
图四:牛津街景 Oxford street
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该去一个叫作莫里斯的会客室报到了。“莫里斯”?哪个莫里斯?我心里嘀咕着。进屋签了到,客套完,留意到墙壁上挂着几幅画。有油画,铅笔速写,还有两幅不太大的织毯画。又是它!似曾相识的画风!主人已经善解人意地在解释屋名的来由了。竟是威廉-莫里斯 William Morris!一个在十九世纪后半叶掀起一场影响欧美两大陆装饰工艺美术运动的、参与拉菲尔前派活动的大名鼎鼎的工艺美术设计家和诗人!莫非这挂毯就是他的作品?走近再一细看,另一个鼎鼎大名也赫然跃至眼前:爱德华-伯恩-琼斯 Edward Burne-Jones!拉菲尔前派的后期代表画家!

是他们,正是他们!终于对上号了。

这就是牛津。一不留神就坠入历史的长河,刚一迈脚又踏进艺术的海洋,随便张嘴问问便会引出大段大段的故事。平平常常一所学院,初来乍到,还没摸着东南西北,就已被闪闪发光的作品和铮铮作响的文学家艺术家大名撞击得头晕眼花了。

原来,艾克赛特学院正巧是这两位艺术家的母校。十九世纪中叶,他们同时在这里求学。伯恩-琼斯主修神学,莫里斯专攻教堂建筑。他们俩一见如故,结为好友;不仅经常一起讨论神学、研究教堂建筑艺术、写诗作画等等,而且喜欢一块儿出去旅行和考察各地建筑。英国独特的自然风景和中古生活情调培养了他们敏感而特殊的欣赏趣味;而一次从北欧大陆游历回来后,他们完全彻底迷上了哥特式建筑、绘画、诗歌,并且义无反顾地决定献身艺术了。传为佳话的是,两位好友终生精诚合作,创作了很多高质量的艺术品。这墙上的挂毯画和教堂里的大壁毯就是他俩合作的结果:伯恩琼斯负责原稿绘制,莫里斯负责总体设计和织毯的监制。

莫里斯是个集文学、艺术、社会理想和实践于一身的天才艺术家。在艺术领域,绘画、建筑设计、装饰、诗歌、散文、小说,他样样手到擒来,件件是精品;在社会活动方面,他领导新艺术思潮、办艺术企业、参与社会主义运动等等,又几乎样样都产生效应和影响。他领导的十九世纪那场影响欧美两大陆的装饰工艺美术运动,奉行把贵族式的高雅艺术普及到大众百姓中去的宗旨,坚持高质量高品位的原则,不仅为全社会提供了享受高雅艺术的机会,而且在艺术概念上改变和提高了装饰工艺美术的地位、打破了工匠艺术和贵族艺术之间的界限。

莫里斯办艺术装璜公司、陶艺厂、出版社,亲自设计和生产了无数包括彩色玻璃窗、挂毯、地毯、家具、餐具、瓷砖、墙纸、印花布、书籍装帧及插图等等在内的装饰艺术品,实实在在地把精雅上乘的艺术和审美趣味带进了大众生活。他自制的宝石红、黄、蓝、绿的色彩颜料用于彩色玻璃制品,效果极为独特美观。美国的蒂佛尼(Tiffany)公司在当时是受到很大影响的美国公司之一。该公司的玻璃制品,尤其是玻璃灯罩一类小物品,在艺术古董拍卖市场上经久不衰。

我喜欢莫里斯灵性十足的设计图案。他的设计母题大多取自自然界中的花草植物和小动物。这些物品在他的手中被编排组合得丰富有趣、变化多端,甚至婀娜多姿,充满情感和情调。哪怕是经济实用的糊墙纸,他都把它设计得奢华富丽、超凡脱俗,洋溢着庆典式的慷慨和大气。他对小细节的处理仔细考究、趣味盎然,色彩搭配独到。有一幅叫作“偷草莓的小偷”的印花图案,天真无邪的小鸟出现在草莓丛中,嘴里叼着草莓,四处张望,生动有趣,令人感动。不夸张地说,不看他的作品就不知道无限重复的平面设计还能够如此美妙,美妙到让人动情。

莫里斯还是个热情实干的理想社会主义者。这不只是反映在他把高高在上的艺术服务于社会大众,而且还写在了他的乌托邦式小说《乌有乡的消息》(News from Nowhere) 以及长诗集《人间乐园》 (The Earthly Paradise) 等文学作品中。他还直接参与了英国最早的社会主义运动。他在恩格斯的引见下同马克思的女儿爱琳娜共同组织了社会主义者同盟,并担任过该组织的机关报主编。他的几部文学作品一出版即获得成功。不仅是其中的理想主义思想内容,其文学价值也在英国文学史上牢牢地占据了一席位置。

与莫里斯相比,伯恩-琼斯的主要造诣在人物绘画方面,尤其是大型的玻璃窗、织毯和油画中的人物。他绘制的人物大多身材优美细长,头颈微偏,朦胧的眼神带着一丝忧愁,充满神秘和象征意味。女性人物更有着娇美纤柔、温润如玉的体貌,让人爱怜、爱恋甚至迷惑;有如他画过多次的那个有名的希腊神话:一位曾发誓不爱女人的雕塑家雕刻出美丽动人的淑女像,以至自己深深地陷入了对她的爱情而不能自已,最后祈求爱神艾佛偌黛悌(维纳斯)赐予雕像以生命,用以奉献自己的爱。在我的印象里,众多表现这一主题的艺术作品,唯独伯恩-琼斯画的这个大理石 “冷美人” 最具浪漫色彩和女性的诱惑。

这样两位艺术家合作,不说别的,仅是那些彩色玻璃窗中优雅纯洁的天使圣徒和圣母圣婴,和繁盛贵丽的伊甸园般的背景,已经创造了非天国莫属的景色。

我在无意中闯进了他俩的母校,看见了他俩合作的、送给母校的杰作 - 实谓有幸。

从莫里斯会客室再次回到教堂。圣坛旁边多了一架钢琴;一位身穿黑色礼服、脸庞消瘦俊俏的男青年正在聚精会神地练琴。晚上这里有音乐会。我在那幅《三王朝圣》挂毯对面的长椅上坐下来静听。听不出他弹的是什么曲子,应该是一首赞美曲。那忽而清脆欢快、忽而庄严凝重、忽而悠扬抒情的音符,舞蹈般地在光华彩耀的空气中穿腾跳跃。我已不再激动得头脑发晕,只有心中一片宁静。我在想象,今天晚上,当那一组几乎占据半面墙壁的管风琴奏响巴赫的管风琴曲,当合唱团和声高歌亨德尔的《弥赛亚》颂歌,当他那被誉为天国的国歌“哈利路亚”欢唱声在圣像、彩窗、穹隆天顶间回荡,当全体观众不由自主起立景仰时,那将是一幅何等神圣、何等崇高、何等完美的景象!

音乐会的票已在两星期前购完。我没有觉得特别遗憾。进牛津仅半日就已经历了几次震撼;这座教堂两次完完全全地由我一人霸占独享。满足了,太满足了。如果再加上管风琴的伴奏和合唱团的天籁之音,我的天,那连上帝都要嫉妒死我了。

牛津随笔(二)Oxford




















图一:牛津郊外 Outskirt Oxford
图二:新学院 New College (?)
图三、四:艾克赛特学院花园 Exeter College Garden

牛津大学的建制比较独特,由近四十所相对独立的学院组成。这些学院不是按专业设立,诸如人文学院、工程学院、商学院,等等,而是由私人或私人团体资助建立并命名的,主要负责招生并为学生提供吃住及自习的宿舍、食堂、图书馆等。各学院的学生在大学统一设置的各专业系中选择专业和导师,主要在导师的指导下自学,同时也参加大学提供的很多不定期的专题讲座。

从很早开始,牛津的学院就以四合院的形式为基本模式;一个学院往往有两、三进四合院不规则地连接在一起,并有一至两个花园。建筑物以学生宿舍为主,但每所学院都必有一个教堂和学生餐厅。教堂是每个学院的精神所在,而餐厅则是学院聚会和学生用餐的地方。

我开会暂居的学院叫艾克赛特(Exeter College)学院,是牛津按年龄排行第四的学院;由两个四合院组成,还有大小两处花园。

从小教堂出来,照着学院的简图,穿过宿舍楼一个窄小的楼道找到了大花园。一出楼门,顿觉豁然开朗。绿茵茵的草地,恬淡温柔的各色小花。右边一溜茂盛的树木倚靠在斑驳脱落的砖石院墙旁边。左手边是学院图书馆 - 一幢精致的哥特式小楼,门边窗口簇拥着花丛和藤蔓,尖拱形的窗户被层层花草巧妙地隐蔽起来,露出依稀的诗意和浪漫。我一下想到了罗密欧与朱丽叶幽会的窗口和花园。和图书馆相连的一幢建筑有着高大的玻璃窗,几乎占满全部墙面,窗户上的木格条细长而有韵律。我隔着玻璃窥视了一下:里面好像是个很大很大的大厅,朦胧而神秘。想进去看看,无奈却找不见入口处。花园的尽头是个小山坡,长有几棵枝叶浓密的大树。有石阶可以上去。我漫步登上高坡,却猛然发现自己竟站在了牛津的心脏部位。我情不自禁地惊呼起来。

一座巨大的穹窿顶圆形建筑近在咫尺:顶天立地,气派非凡。赭石色的建筑在阳光的照耀下发射出金色耀眼的光芒。这圆形建筑有着明显的意大利文艺复兴风格:米开朗基罗为罗马圣彼得大教堂设计的穹隆顶式的穹隆顶,布拉曼特 (Bramante) 的圆型主体,一圈花篮柱头的圆柱,圆拱门上加山墙式装饰;稳重而有理性,庄严而又崇高。它的斜背后,一座教堂的大尖塔高耸入云。另一边,一排古堡式的石墙,圆拱大门,墙头上一排尖塔式的装饰;背后又有参差起伏的大大小小尖尖圆圆的塔顶。再一边,一所学院教堂的暗黑色玻璃窗破开单一色的石墙,排列出一组抽象图案。建筑与建筑之间,有卵石铺就的小路,草坪和花圃。一幅梦幻般的图景。

是赭黄灼热的色彩?是圆、方、三角形有节奏有变化的式样?是清一色厚重的石墙石壁?是巨型?是气魄?是古老的年龄?是如此之多的建筑风格密集在一起?是几个历史时代的巧妙组合?不知道是哪一个、也许是全部加起来的效果,冲击了我。我被钉在那里,再也不能离开。

在充满长方体和尖锥形哥特式建筑的牛津城,那座圆顶建筑当仁不让地占据了中心的权威位置。我当天便迫不急待地冲到那里探查,原来这座建筑是牛津最大的图书馆伯德利安图书馆(Bodleian Library)的瑞德克里夫阅览室( Radcliffe Camera),主要供本科生在那里学习阅读,一般不对游客开放。

只是一个阅览室?不可思议。这样一个宏伟神圣的殿堂,独占学府中心,居高临下,俯瞰全城,却即不是神殿、教堂,也不是王宫、市政厅,更不是校长室、贵宾楼之类的,只是一个让青年学生自由阅读、饱览知识的地方。什么叫知识神圣?这就叫知识神圣!这就是牛津大学的宗旨和信念。知识高于一切。想想看,坐在这样一个知识殿堂里看书学习,将是怎样的一种奢侈,又是如何的高尚和荣耀。

我坐在花园的木椅上,被艺术和知识笼罩着... 真希望永久地这样坐下去。这哪里是神学院学生和修道士禁欲修行的地方,简直就是一个培养精神贵族的乐园!

门房走来。我进住学院登记时就是他接待的,便自然聊起来。他建议我到花园的小高坡上俯视牛津:这是城中心秘密的制高点,一般人不知道这儿,也不容易进来;又告诉我紧连着图书馆的那座有整面大玻璃窗的大厅是神学院,属于伯德利安图书馆,只能从学院外边绕进去,大厅用来拍过 Harry Potter (哈利波特) 电影里的镜头。“噢”,他突然想起来,“你知道 Tolkien (托尔金) 吗?J. R. R. Tolkien?” 我盯着他,慢慢回忆着、遗憾地摇摇头。“就是那个写 The Lord of the Rings 的作家!” 《魔戒之王》,这我知道。我想起女儿曾嚷嚷着要去看这部电影,我自己也曾买了这部书送给邻居家的男孩作生日礼物。不过从来没记过作者姓名。“他是我们这个学院的毕业生!那部电影里有我们学院大餐厅里的镜头。” 一直彬彬有礼温文尔雅的门房突然激动起来,“还有 Philip Pullman (普尔曼),也是我们学院的,他写的《他的黑色物质》的第一集《北极光》拍成电影叫《黄金罗盘》,就是在这里拍的。拍这个电影时直升飞机就在我们学院上空盘旋,照了好多这个花园的镜头!”

这后一个作家的书及电影我就不知道了。后来回到家里跟女儿提起,她大叫:你怎么连Golden Compass都不知道!一副我给她丢人现眼了的神情。我立刻去买了这部电影的DVD回来,她也给我抱了一摞三大本书来。果然,影片里不断出现学院的教堂、花园、院墙外小巷的镜头,而更多的是从花园高坡上看过去的镜头,正是我连续几天多次观赏牛津的位置。

这里一切都是现成的场景道具。变化多端的建筑,精致浪漫的花园,曲径通幽的石板路、高深莫测的小巷,五彩斑斓的玻璃窗,狰狞可怕的墙头怪物雕塑,森严壁垒的古堡,寂寞伤感的墓地;宏伟的、庄严的、诡秘的、怪诞的、滑稽的、朦胧的、恐怖的、凄凉的、冷漠的、温情的 ... 应有尽有。实际上,不是导演们发现了理想的外景,而是这些实物实景本来就是很多故事的发源地。

身临其境,就感觉出神幻气氛。《爱丽丝梦境历险记》的奇异艳丽花园,《魔戒之王》光怪陆离的“地心世界”,《狮子,女巫,魔衣柜》(《纳尼亚传奇》之第一部)神秘陈旧的教授楼和衣柜,《黄金罗盘》里阴暗窒息的约旦学院和恐怖的小巷,等等,等等,都可以在这里一一对应。几部脍炙人口的经典童话传奇小说均出自牛津人之手,实非偶然。牛津浓厚的中世神秘气氛和浪漫情调给了文学艺术家无穷无尽的灵感和源泉。

乃至莎士比亚。不知为什么,牛津各处的建筑花园和情调都会让我联想起他的戏剧故事场景。《罗密欧与朱丽叶》、《仲夏夜之梦》,甚至《哈姆雷特》 ......。莎士比亚一定到过牛津。他的老家离牛津只有一个多小时的汽车路程。而且,确有人提出过莎士比亚剧本的原作者可能是同时代的牛津伯爵。原因之一是剧作者对乡村贵族生活的情和景几乎了如指掌,并且剧中描述的情和景又几乎是牛津情景的再现。

牛津随笔(一)Oxford



























图一:艾克赛特学院四合院 Exeter College
图二:小教堂 Exeter College Chapel
图三:莫里斯设计织毯 Tapestry by William Morris  

一踏进牛津城便无可救药地爱上了它。大片大块的赭石色建筑物扑面而来;成簇成林的圆顶尖塔目不暇接;哥特式教堂、学院、修道院前呼后拥,争相媲美。满墙满壁满街道的历史文化艺术;满天满地满氛围的庄严神圣和美。

我突然有些惊慌失措。面对如此丰厚的文化盛宴,竟乱了思维,忘了礼规。我自以为是做好了准备才来的 – 心里有底。蕴积了多年的胃口,就是要来美美地饱餐一顿。没想到这一切却来得如此猛烈、如此浓艳!犹如进了阿里巴巴的藏金洞 – 无从下手。

下榻在中世纪的学生兼修道士的简陋而整洁的宿舍 - 已经带了几分怀古幽思。窗外,上百年的老树倾撒着绿荫;窗下,久经踩踏的石板路伸向幽深的院落和街巷。另外一侧的窗户一推开,闯入眼帘的是教堂顶上灰绿色的尖塔。钟声正巧响了,报着钟点。塔下的教堂连同对面的宿舍楼,一式的石建筑,沐浴在灿烂的阳光下,反射出一片温暖的金黄色。

楼门对着一个四方形的院子,中央是绿草坪,方方正正,简简单单,没有任何装饰和附加物,干净空旷得出人意料。只有在草坪四周和建筑物之间的人行道上摆着一、两条长木椅。院子的一边是学院的教堂,另一边是大餐厅,还有两边是三至四层的宿舍楼。宿舍楼墙壁上攀登着浓密的藤蔓,偎依在一个个窗口四周。

我住的楼门洞窄小无奇,挤在四合院的一个角上。贴着墙根的地方,有一丛花树,开着淡淡的紫花,枝叶不经意地伸到门前。楼门紧挨着教堂的入口,仅一步之遥。教堂门虚掩着,我犹豫地推开门进去,前厅无人。通往大厅的精美的铁栅门也半开着,似不拒绝来人。我不再犹豫。一步跨了进去。

顿时,眼前一片光芒四射,美轮美奂。我屏住了呼吸、停住了脚步。瀑布般自天而降的彩色玻璃挂满墙面,热烈而神秘的光彩闪烁于空中;拔地而起的墙柱和壁饰直线向上、向上,接上拱顶的脊架,继续向上,直达穹顶。窗框、门柱、拱梁、墙壁,都不再是桎梏;铅条、木板、石块,也不再是藩篱。物质皈依了精神。这是另一个世界,和门外截然不同的世界。进入这里,俗念消失,心灵净化;进入这里,肉体消融,精神升华。这就是天堂,是至善至美的精神和艺术的境域。我迷醉了。

教堂无人,我独自在这美妙绝伦的艺术天国里尽享。

彩色玻璃上的画像在热情激昂地叙说着感人动听的圣经故事 - 从创世记到基督受难;壁画里的圣徒和悬挂在墙上的骑士徽旗庄严骄傲地回忆着圣教的历史 - 坚贞、忠诚、荣誉、牺牲;门楣柱头上精雕细刻的装饰图案自豪地展示着教徒们的虔诚和艺术家的真挚 ...

我不由自主地手捂心口,由衷赞叹:上帝,我感受到了你的存在和伟大;艺术,你让我体验到了精神的崇高和壮美。在这个天国里,不管你是不是教徒,只要置身其中,你就一定会变成信徒 -- 上帝的、或者,艺术的信徒。

圣坛旁边的墙上有一幅引人注目的大挂毯。挂毯内容丰富、色彩华贵,看上去很眼熟。毯面上织的是“三王朝圣”的情景。故事说的是耶稣基督诞生的那一夜,东方有三位先知在神的指引下找到并拜访了出生在马厩里的圣婴,预示这个婴儿将要成为人类的救世主。画面里有好几个人物:身着白色衣袍、双手捧着烛光的天使站在中间稍后的位置,细长的脚尖轻轻地点着地面,背后的翅膀忽隐忽现,轻盈飘逸得好像随时都会飞向天空;他微微偏着头,平静安详地注视着圣婴;穿红色长袍的两位先知和另一位佩戴盔甲的先知,每人手捧一件礼物,带着淡淡的忧伤,低头向圣母手中的婴儿默默致意;年青美丽的圣母玛丽亚,头戴蓝色头巾,身穿蓝色长袍,坐在草棚里的草垫上,两手紧紧地搂抱着婴儿;她目光凝视、却视而不见,似乎在用心静听上帝的旨意及赋予她的使命;幼小可爱的耶稣,有预感似地偏着脑袋,看着三位先知;在圣母子的背后,站立着穿戴绛红色衣袍、略微弓着腰、忠诚老实的樵夫约瑟夫。背景里草木繁多,鲜花盛开,围绕在人物的前前后后,像是在欢呼庆祝这上帝之子诞生的伟大时刻。画面有情有景,人物醒目,图案设计清晰巧妙,色彩搭配考究雅致,装饰性很强,令人留连忘返,百看不厌。

挂毯是中世纪盛行的教堂及宫廷装饰。可是,这幅挂毯是中世纪的作品吗?除了那幅著名的记载着诺曼威廉大帝征服英伦的绣毯和纽约大都会那组“独角兽Unicorn”织毯,我对其它挂毯并不熟悉,怎么会看着眼熟呢?

同样是夸张修长的身体,同样使用大块的红、蓝色,中世纪人物简单生硬,甚至笨拙呆板,注重精神表达,忽略人物的实体感和自然美;而这幅挂毯画给人的感觉却是优美高雅,线条自然流畅,光暗合理,有立体感又有透视空间,夸张里带有明确而成熟的风格追求。特别是它的背景和衣物设计,那充满了艺术匠心和美学品味的花花草草及服饰图案、漂亮的色彩,似乎超出了中世纪的审美范畴。还有那淡雅的忧愁。是谁的呢?

Thursday, April 23, 2009

The Prodigal Son

Tian Shan is my childhood friend. His name copies the name of the famous mountains in Xinjiang Autonomous Region, in the northwest of China. It means heavenly mountains. His father’s name is Qi Lian Shan, also that of a well-known mountain, one in Gansu province. So Qi Lian Shan gave all three of his children mountain names. The older sister is called Lin Shan, meaning forest mountain; and the younger brother is Xiao Shan, small mountain.

Tian Shan’s father was Editor-in-Chief of a local newspaper where both of my parents worked as an artist and a reporter. Tian Shan’s mother was a correspondent for the same newspaper. When my parents had been assigned to work for the newspaper, it was Tian Shan’s father who went to pick them up in the capital city. It took them ten days in a canvas-covered truck to go across the Tian Shan Mountains and Taklamakan Desert and got to the little town called Hetian (Khotan), a historically famous site on the Silk Road. We all lived in the newspaper agency’s compound. Our apartment houses were face to face, only 10-15 meters apart across a small yard with grape arbor and trellis. Whenever Tian Shan’s mother was out on assignment, the three children would be in my mother’s charge. And whenever my mother was on a business trip, my brother and I would be their mother's responsibility. We were just like a big family. Tian Shan’s sister is the oldest among us children. Tian Shan and my brother are the same age, two years younger; and his younger brother and I are the same age. We children played together, went to school together, and did homework together either at our house or theirs. We grew up together.

Tian Shan was very energetic and naughty. He often led us to pick up tomatoes and cucumbers in the field, or apricots, peaches, apples, etc. from the trees in the garden that belonged to the agency. He did not like me to follow them though, because I was a girl, too cowardly. Each time we were caught, my parents would urge my brother and I write an apology, but his mom or dad would spank them hard. And he never minded. He liked swimming. But there was no swimming pool except a reservoir far away which took two hours bicycling to reach. So, one day, Tian Shan swam in the small pond where all the residents of the newspaper got their daily drinking water. The maintenance person saw him but could not catch him, only angrily waved his fists and yelled: “I’ll tell your father!” Once, when his mother was on a business trip, he escaped from the noon nap and swam in a small narrow irrigation ditch in the grape arbor. Naked and splashing water with loud noise, neighbors complained. My mother, with a flyswatter in hand, warned him out, but only found it hopeless to get him out.

Tian Shan was good looking with big bright eyes and high straight nose like his mother. He also had a good voice and liked acting. Very often, after our homework or during the homework, he would act for us, either pretended to be somebody or making up his own characters. His favorite act was to recite some heroic poems, or to sing solos. Once he recited some poems from The Red Rocks (a novel about the Chinese Communist heroes in the prisons fighting against Guomindang – the National Party) so solemnly and touchingly that we were all moved. The poems read:

The door for man is shut tight
That for dog is open wide
Loudly shouts a voice:
Crawl out, freedom is thine!
I’m thirsty for freedom
Yet I know down deep
How can a man of honor
Crawl out like a dog
……

……
Today, we are put in jail
So what’s a big deal
To prevent suffering for our children
I will
I will sit in the cell through it all
……

Once I also heard him singing almost professionally with a recently turned man's thick voice a song called The Yili River. But this time, he was singing in his house, and I was hearing him through the windows of my house. Our two families had stopped visiting and even talking to each other for sometime. It was during the Great Cultural Revolution. Our parents had different opinions about the Revolution, and stood on different sides. The two sides soon became enemies. My parents' side took the position of supporting the old leaders. His parents' side agreed to overthrow "the leaders who follow the capitalist road". Both sides claimed that they fought for Chairman Mao. We children did not understand a thing. I was ten years old, and Tian Shan twelve, when all this started (1966). Ironically, Tian Shan's father himself was overthrown by the Red Guards for “following the capitalist road”. At one public meeting, they beat him so hard they broke one of his legs. By this time, schools and factories were paralyzed. Students went to school only to do revolutionary activities. Middle school and high school students joined Red Guard, and elementary school kids joined Little Red Guard. We studied Chairman Mao's theories and criticized our teachers' “Revisionist Attitude”. Because of his father's political problem, Tian Shan was not accepted to Little Red Guard. He was classified as the child of the "Five Black Types" (landlord, capitalist, counter-revolutionary, counter-party person, leaders who lead on capitalist road.) Those children of the "Five Black types" naturally gathered in groups.

Tian Shan became the leader of a gang, the most rebellious of all against everybody, everything. He and his gang members disturbed classes by breaking desks and chairs. They beat everyone in their way. Teachers were their main targets. They broke one teacher's leg, another teacher's arm. Almost once a week, he and his "brothers" would make a sensational event. Once they were making trouble in the class next door to mine. All my class went out to watch. One of my classmates who used to be a gang brother of theirs was found in the crowd. One of the "brothers", without saying a word, punched this classmate of mine and hit his nose so hard it was bleeding. Nobody dared to say a word. When I got there, the teacher in that class was trying to reason with them. Tian Shan went up to the front and fiercely slapped on the teacher's face. Immediately I saw five clear fingerprints on her face. I was so angry. Without fearing anything I yelled his name to stop him: "Tian Shan!" Everybody was shocked. The teacher tried to protect me despite her swelling face, the fellow students were afraid I would be beaten next. I looked straight into Tian Shan’s eyes, shaking with anger. Inside, I was hurting. I could not believe that it was he, my dear friend, who had become this bad. I always had a beautiful memory of his pure and sacred expression when he recited those heroic poems only three years earlier. This slap thoroughly destroyed my admiration and friendship for him. To everybody’s surprise, Tian Shan, avoiding my eyes, waved his gang to leave. Many years later, he confessed to me that he was afraid of my innocent eyes. He said he had actually managed to avoid my presence all the time. That day he did not realize I was so nearby.

When the real fights between the two opposite sides began, military weapons were used. Each side occupied a territory and built up fortresses. Everyday one could hear gunshots, and every night one could see signal flares. School closed. Stores closed. Work stopped. Daily routines no longer existed. One night, several people came to my house and talked with my parents in very low voices. I could not hear them, only saw that my mother looked worried. My father went out with the men and came back very late. He shook his head, and my mother sighed and worried even more. Early next morning, both mother and father went out. Around noon, they came back. Mother told me in a low and heavy voice that Tian Shan's mother had gone to her side's territory looking for her daughter who had been there with her Red Guard fighters. People of this side saw her getting into and leaving the fortress, but now she could not be found anywhere. People in the newspaper agency looked for her everywhere. The next day, the bad news came: she was dead. I saw Tian Shan's father, who had been in jail for his “political problems” and was just temporarily released to claim his wife’s body, with his crippled leg, pushing a flat board cart out to somewhere, and not long after coming back with the body covered with a white sheet. People helped to put the body in an office room. That afternoon when I passed by the office, through the open window, I saw Tian Shan, with tears and with one tight fist waving, swear loudly to his mother that he would seek revenge for her. That night, my mother cried for a long time. She asked me to go to see Tian Shan's mother for her when I had a chance, because she could not go. If she did, she would be criticized by her side as a traitor. In fact she was already criticized for shedding “worthless dog’s urine” (tears) for the opposition. So, the next day, when there was only one woman in the office, who was also our neighbor, I went in. The body was laid on two put-together desks. The woman uncovered and turned the body for me. It was naked. The hair looked dull and messy. The face had become so shrunken. One cheek was fallen in due to the broken bone. On the hips were a big piece of flipped skin and some large bruises. I was told that she had been raped many times by a group of guys who afterwards filled her vagina with stone pebbles. She was tortured to death. I suddenly felt sick and could not stand anymore, so I quickly ran away. I was too young to face such brutal reality. She was still a young and happy aunt to me. Tian Shan's mother and my mother were the only two career women in the newspaper agency. They got along with each other so well that we children always felt we were the same family. I asked my parents many times why such a thing could have happened. But nobody during that time could give me an answer. Months later I saw forty bodies who had been buried alive.

After his mother's death, Tian Shan’s father was sent back to prison. Tian Shan almost disappeared. Nobody knew where he was or how he lived. Occasionally we heard from here and there that he and his gang had robbed a store, or stolen from somebody's house, or had had a big fight with another gang, etc. Whenever he needed money, he came home to ask his sister and brother. His sister and brother tried to persuade him to stay home and refused to give him money. They did not have much, sixteen yuan (two US dollars) for each for a month from the agency. Often he beat them to get the things he wanted. When that happened, the sister and brother would helplessly hold their mother's photo and cry. Once my mother could not bear the situation anymore and went up to talk to him. He yelled at my mother: "It’s none of your business. Get out!" I noticed that whenever the sister and brother held their mother's picture and cried, Tian Shan would turn away his head and leave quickly. When he got to sixteen, he and several other gang members were sent to juvenile labor camp far away. We did not see or hear him after that.

Ten years later, when I was already studying in the university in the capital city of the Region, one weekend day I was walking down the street to visit my mother who happened to be in the city working on an art project. Suddenly, someone called my name. In no time, a guy in a black leather jacket riding on a bicycle halted in front of me. I faced a handsome young man. “Tian Shan!” I cried with surprise and joy. I wondered how, after ten years and in such crowded commercial street and on a racing bike, he could recognize me, and I could recognize him right away too. We both were so excited that neither could find a word at first. Then suddenly both burst out at the same time greeting each other. We acted like children, talking loudly and happily, like old friends back in the old days feeling so close to each other as if nothing had happened. He held my hands in his so tightly and for so long as if he would lose me forever if he loosed them. Suddenly, we stopped talking. We looked at each other and smiled at each other. What big changes we both had had! He looked handsome and mature, and still energetic.

“Let’s go somewhere. I have a lot to tell you”. “What? Your mom, my aunt is here in the city? Let’s go to her place then”. So we went to my mother’s temporary apartment. Before we went in, he said to me “Wait inside, I’ll be right back”, and disappeared. My mother was not home yet. So I waited. When he came back, he took out a bag full of lollipops and fruits. “Why lollipops? We are not kids any more.” I wondered. “You forgot!” he cried. “We liked them. We used to lick them when we played. And I often grabbed yours”. He unwrapped one for me and almost ordered: “Take one! It's sweet.” We talked and laughed, laughed and talked, recalling the silly and naughty things we had done together. I was amazed that he could remember so many little details, more than I could. When I mentioned it to him, he became quiet and serious: “You can’t understand. Those are the only beautiful things in my memory. Our childhood together is the best time in my life. I can never forget these things”. Then, he told me how often those playful and happy moments had appeared in his dreams when he worked in a coal mine at labor camp, and how he longed to have the normal life he had used to have. He told me how much he had missed our two families together, and how much he regretted the bad things and damage he had done. Not until now did I begin to ask about his life in those dark days, at the camp, and what he had become now. He told me that at first he had not felt treated fairly by the entire society, so he kept destroying things, making trouble with fierce energy. Until one day when he had a big fight with a local gang at the coal mine, and he beat two guys so severely that one mother came to kneel in front of him, begging him to stop. For the injuries he caused to the two fellows, he received severe punishment from the camp. He was sent to the lowest level in the mine to do the hardest work, and his salary was lowered two degrees. He was also separated in an isolation cell during the night. By chance, he was given some books to read in the cell, and one of them was a novel titled Mother written by a Russian author Maxim Gorky. “Mother has changed my life”, he said to me. He had read the book many times, thinking of his own mother, and the mother of the boy he had injured. He did not imagine Mother could be this powerful. He did change. A year later, he was dismissed from the camp. Now he was working in an electrical plant. He was once even awarded “Model Worker” of the plant.

“In those days I was not afraid of anything but one. Can you guess what it was?” he asked me with cunning smile. “No, I can’t” I answered honestly. “Your big beautiful but angry eyes!” He continued: “they were so innocent and sharp that I felt they could see through me. I dared not to face them. But later, I really missed them.”

“You owe me something, and I will never forgive you for it” he suddenly said to me. I was surprised. “What is it?” “My mother had treated you like a daughter, but you didn't even go to see her when she died.” “But I did. I went to say goodbye to her especially for my family.” So I explained to him how I went to see his mother on that day. He jumped in front of me, hands on my shoulders, shook me vehemently. “Is it true? Say it again! You did? Why didn’t you tell me before?” He almost shook me into his arms. I saw tears in his eyes. “I am sorry. I didn’t know you had done that. It was the only thing I couldn’t understand about you. I could not forgive you for that. Do you know, I've loved you all these years, since we were little?!” Realizing what he had just said and that he was still holding me so closely, he dropped his hands and stepped back and sat, shaking. I was shocked.

When my mother came back, she was so happy to see how much Tian Shan had changed. To her, he was like a prodigal son coming home. We talked and laughed again just like in old days. After that day, he joined my mother and me every weekend like a family. And when my mother left for home, he visited me at school every weekend.

I did not know how to tell him that I had found my love already. He had been hurt so deeply and so much. I could not hurt him again. A childhood scene constantly appeared in my memory. Once my mother took me to a wedding, on the way I asked mother what marriage meant, she said that if a man and a woman loved each other so much and would like to live together forever they got married. Then I asked: “Can I marry Tian Shan someday?” Mother laughed. Now I felt I had abandoned him, and indeed I had given up on him. One day he said to me: "You do not tell me everything. Is it that you have a boy friend already?" I nodded. "Is he good? Does he really love you?" I nodded again. He did not say a word for a long time. My heart was crying, and I knew his heart was bleeding. I wanted to shout to him that it was he who had destroyed our friendship and childhood love, although I knew it was not his fault. As if he read my mind, he said: "It's my fault. It's too late now. I cannot bring our childhood back. But don't worry. I won't bother you. I will always be your brother." I cried. He hugged me gently like a big brother. I realized he had become really mature and tough. His image of acting on the hero in The Red Rocks appeared in my mind again.

After I graduated from the university, I went to graduate school in Beijing. And after that I came to the States for further studies. Another ten years passed. Last time I visited my parents, I also visited Tian Shan's father and brother. They told me that Tian Shan had married and migrated to Australia. They showed me his family's photos. His wife looked pretty. They had had two beautiful daughters too. I called him from the States. We talked for a short while. He kept saying that he regretted that he had wasted his golden time without studying anything. He wished for me that I realize my highest goal and have a happy life. I also wished him a happy life.

2001
Note: My dear friend Foster helped edit the writing. I give her my thanks.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

“插队”塔克拉玛干


















我下乡接受再教育是自己吵着闹着要去的。

当时已有政策,父母身边可以留一个子女在城里。我家子女就我和哥哥,他已先我两年去了农村,我理所当然可以不去了。但是,我总觉得不下乡是一种耻辱。在城里贪图享乐、苟且偷生,太丢人。不但如此,我还硬拉着一帮志同道合的同学要去最艰苦、最边远的地方。

我们要去的地方是阿里,在西藏的西北部。阿里地区与印度、巴基斯坦、克什米尔、以及新疆南部接壤。由于地理地形关系,去那里从新疆走更便捷。一九四九年新中国成立前夕,那里还没有任何国家管辖。周边几个国家,谁先到达那里,那里就属于谁的。解放军进军新疆时,大部队还在兰州集结待命,毛泽东和朱德就已命令小部队从敦煌插入南疆,又从那里抄近路,最先抢达到阿里。后来,阿里地区一直由新疆代管。

去那里插队落户的申请书递交上去后,还没有得到自治区知青办的回话,倒先招来了我们的爸爸妈妈们的“围攻”。我妈妈说,南疆已经是远在天边了,这里的戈壁沙漠也已经艰苦得不能比这更艰苦了;我们同意你下农村已经很民主、很尊重你自己的意愿,但你们不能太激进、太不现实了。一个男同学的爸爸是部队政委,警告我们阿里地区海拔5000米以上,说,你们上去什么还都干不成就得趴下了,还得连累别人,简直是瞎胡闹。一个女同学的妈妈、县委书记的夫人,不顾身份和斯文,到我家二话不说,从门背后抄起一根扁担就要揍她的女儿。

我们何尝不知道阿里的情况?那里常年冰雪封山,每年只有一个月的时间下山的路是通的;山上饭煮不熟都是小事,仅是因高原反应死在上面的战士就不少。我后来的公公婆婆当初就是去 “抢占”阿里的,公公还做过那里的什么“长”,可是婆婆没待多久就被用担架抬下了山。后来生的他们哥儿几个都是先天性心脏病。也难怪,我们的父辈们已经牺牲和放弃得太多太多,而我们却不知深浅执意要继续牺牲,只是为了那个天真浪漫不着边际的口号,作父母的当然不能让我们“得逞”。

但是,我们不就是“哪里需要哪里去,哪里艰苦哪安家”吗?知青办公室好像知道用条件艰苦的理由说服不了我们,就下了一道军事命令似的回复:边境地区,不下放知青。没辙,“上山”不成,只有“下乡”。我们最后各自去了父母单位的知青点。

我去的知青点是离家三百公里的幸福公社幸福农场,坐落在塔里木盆地塔克拉玛干大沙漠南部一个很小的绿洲上。公社所在地原先叫藏桂,是个很小的镇子。农场是公社的下属单位,相当于一个生产大队。这社办农场跟兵团的国营农场不同:国营农场发生活津贴,而社办农场要自己挣工分。场里有两个小队,一个维族小队,一个汉族小队。我们也分成维、汉两组,插入两个小队。汉族队只有二十来户人家,全是外来户,绝大多数来自甘肃,是五十年代末、六十年代初自然灾害时被安置在这里的。我们去了之后单另盖了一排土坯房子住,没有住在老乡家里。

在农场,我们每天的工作是开荒种地。原先的耕地有限,一下来了几十号人口,必须要开辟新的耕地。塔里木盆地沙漠里土质其实很肥沃,沙丘两、三米下面有着很厚的腐殖质层,只要有水,什么都可以生长,新开荒的生地能连续几年出产粮食。农场旁边有一条很小的季节河,是桑珠河的一个分支,只有春夏有水。平日浇灌田地和日常用水都来自这条河。我们来后,洪水季节时,上游大坝就给小河多放下一些水。乘这个季节,村民也把水引进涝坝 - 一种人工挖凿的蓄水池,一冬天的用水也就都靠它了。

开荒是件非常繁重辛苦的劳动。要把一个个连绵起伏的一两米、两三米高的大沙包挖平,把沙包下扎根七、八米深的红柳根、胡杨根挖出来搬走,再把腐殖质翻上来;不是挖就是背,完完全全的体力活。我们用的工具是“坎土曼”,维语名称,我们叫它“砍头慢”,一种象镢头、但比镢头大的挖掘工具;再就是铁锨和麻袋。麻袋用来背沙土、背肥料。扁担筐子只有几副,小独轮推车也只有两个,大家轮换着用。我一直在跟同学们嘀咕:中国这么大的农业古国,种地也种了有五千年之久(实际更久),这生产工具和劳动工具怎么就没有改进呢?扁担挑就比背麻袋要省劲得多,独轮车当然更先进,为什么不鼓励农民用效率高的工具?真是想不明白。后来我们好多同学从自己家带来扁担干活。我们也想自己造小推车,无奈农场根本没有这方面的经费。

老乡对我们很热情友好,特别是那些小孩子,整天跟在我们屁股后面跑来跑去的。农场没有学校,据说过去断断续续地有过民办教师,但是都呆不了多久就走了。我们当然很快就义不容辞地恢复起了小学校,几个知青轮换当老师。这里村民绝大多数都是文盲,只有一个小队会计识点儿字,算盘也打得不错。这位李会计瘦小精明,他的老婆却又高又大,粗犷能干;他们有五、六个孩子,村民们开玩笑说他老婆晚上挨个提溜几个孩子起来撒尿,一不留神就把他也揪起来了。他们一家在村民里日子算是过得比较殷实的。

农民们的生活状况让人惊讶。贫穷不说,由于缺乏教育和教养,时常会出现一些暴力行为。村里有个叫王丛丛的年轻媳妇,相貌较丑,性格又倔,经常受丈夫的打骂;丈夫一次在打瞎了她的一只眼睛后逃之夭夭,不知去向。她不仅眼睛失明,而且眼珠半突出在外,眼皮也被撕破,看上去很可怕,村里人也不爱多和她来往。在田里干农活时,她常常默默地教我帮我,我也很同情她,就成了朋友。她有个独家小院,有一间放农具和杂物的屋子,一间厨房,和一间少大点儿的住房。住房内空荡荡的,炕上只有一张席子和两床被子,厨房里有一口锅,几个又破又脏的碗。第一次去她家时,我吓得差点逃跑。她的两儿子,一个五、六岁,一个七、八岁,赤条条一丝不挂地跑过来迎我,她本人也是只穿着一条裤子,上身赤裸着,出房门来迎我进屋,丝毫没有掩饰之意。后来我才注意到,村里很多人都是这样,因为没有钱买衣服,他们回到家里就尽量不穿衣服。也许是对我的同情的感激,丛丛一直对我很好。我上大学走后,她还曾托人给我家捎去了一小袋自己地里种的绿豆。

由于贫困,村里的年轻人、尤其是年轻姑娘都想着法子进城、弄个城市户口。有个叫什么“花”的姑娘,二十来岁还没有出嫁,于是成为村子里唠闲话的热点。大家有事没事都要议论她。她身材瘦高,两条大长辫子;相貌不算漂亮,但也说得过去。她的穿戴打扮是村里年轻人中最入时的:戴一顶黄军帽,两条辫子盘起来塞在帽子里,蓝灰色上衣,黄军裤,进城时还会肩挎一个黄军挎包;据说她的军帽军裤是她的前任对象、一个当兵的,送给他的。为了能够离开农场,她妈妈经常去县城给她相对象,非城市户口不嫁。看她那副已经过了时的城里红卫兵的打扮,不伦不类,我对她是又看不起,又同情。人穷嘛,就要穷得有志气,应该凭自己的能力改变自己的命运。但是,在这样边远穷困的地方,一个姑娘家又能怎样呢?我们即便看不起她,也会尽力帮她离开的。不知道她最终嫁了个什么人。

冬天农闲时,各个公社大队都要派人去整修上游的水库大坝和清理水渠。我们周围几个公社的水都来自桑珠河,水利工地自然就在桑珠河上。桑珠河源于昆仑山;桑珠乡就在昆仑山脚下。这里山上有个山口,直通藏北阿里和克什米尔,是过去丝绸之路上的一条要道和捷径。

我们是赶着牛车去的。那是一年的十一月份,大家都穿着棉大衣和羊皮大衣,带着行李卷儿,还有炊具、工具。总共只有两、三架牛车。把行李和杂七杂八的东西一放,就没几个人能坐上去了。我们大多数人都跟着牛车在没有明确道路的沙滩上一深一浅地晃悠着走。老牛拉着破车,我们拖着沉重的腿脚。我那天正好感冒发烧,几个知青劝我坐上牛车去。看着一头老牛拉着堆成小山一样高的木轮车,我还有些不忍心给它增加重量,况且车上也的确再没有插足之地。后来一位男生主动让出地方,我才坐上去,并且很快就睡着了。但没过多久,我便开始晕车呕吐。原来是没有坐牛车的福。就这样坐坐走走地折腾了七八个小时总算磨蹭到了工地。

桑株水利工程在地区七个县很有名。宽大的水渠和大坝非常壮观。水渠的一边是山,一边是戈壁沙滩。大坝跟前儿有一、两间小砖房,再就没有任何其它的建筑物了。各公社去的民工们都就地风餐露宿,我们知青当然也不例外。天黑之前男女同学分开各自找稍微可以避风的沙包背后,铺开行李,只把大衣脱了便钻进了被窝。因为是第一次在如此天高地广的戈壁滩上露宿,大家都有一种兴奋的新鲜感。我是做好打算要把天上的星星数个够的。不幸的是,这样一点小小的愿望也没得到满足。晚上虽然风不大,但是无数的小细风却不停地吹起一缕缕的小沙柱,就在头边飞来移去的。人还没有躺稳当就已经满嘴噌着沙子了。纱巾包着头也没用。只有把头全部塞进被窝里。就这样,第二天早上起来还是各个都成了土猴;大家互相取笑,很是开心。本来我们计划是要在工地上干一个星期的,但不知是不是因为老乡同情我们,只干了两天就硬是让我们回农场了。

农场的生活很单调,除了繁重的体力活,几乎没有娱乐活动。刚去时,还有同学在宿舍前硬点儿的地上打打篮球,但很快就放弃了。原因很简单:这里到处都是虚软的沙土地,要每天泼水才能整出一片可以让球弹起来的地,吃的水都缺乏,那里还有泼地的水?再说,下工回来人人都累得有气无力,没有劲再做别的事了。周末时偶尔有人吹吹笛子、拉拉二胡的;夏天也会有人去小河里游泳、洗衣服。去公社逛集、买东西的人极少,路途实在太遥远,又没有交通工具。队里只有两套毛驴车,一般不会让我们用它赶集的。冬闲时,男生会结伴出去打野猪,但打到的时候很少。

不知为什么,我没有把我的小提琴带去。也许是觉得这种洋玩艺儿与那里的生活太不协调了吧;也许是怕别人说我是“小资”。我是一门心思要和“贫下中农”打成一片,虚心接受他们的再教育的。不过,偶尔我还是会从水渠边或地埂边摘下几棵蒲公英或红柳枝摆在炕头上的。

我的业余时间都用来当“赤脚医生”了。

农场的医疗条件很差,根本没有个医务所或卫生员什么的;农民看病要去十几、二十公里外的公社卫生院;碰上紧急情况连个电话都没有。我们知青都自带简单的药品,还有备用的保健箱,小毛病可以自己处理,大病就回家、去城里医院。可是农民就苦了。除了要命的病非去县医院不可,其他小病、慢性病就都拖着、熬着;即没条件、也没钱去看病。我曾经在学校停课期间学过针灸,还跟一个解放军医疗队去农村巡回医疗过,在医学方面算是有点知识和实践经验。见到农场如此落后,便自告奋勇地当上了“赤脚医生”。

说是当赤脚医生,其实不需要任何人任命或者承认。农场不存在这样的编制,也根本没有人管,更不要说行医执照之类的东西了;听都没听说过。自己能干、想干,义务去干就是了。即没人给你额外的时间,也没人付你工分。我那会儿充满理想和干劲,虽然大田里干完活回来已是精疲力竭,但还主动去找病人,上门给人扎针治病。当时我全部的家当是:两本象毛主席语录那样大小、用红色塑料皮包装的简易针灸手册、一把针、和一瓶酒精棉球。

最先来找我的病人是个七、八岁的男孩,队里李会计的孩子,患有严重的风湿性关节炎。他的膝关节已经变了形,犯病时两腿肿痛得路都走不成。这孩子聪明机灵,是后来我当老师时学生中最优秀的一个。他有时会因为腿疼而缺课,有时会让他哥哥背着他来。为了能象正常的孩子一样,他不仅让我给他扎针,而且从来不喊疼。我也不知道是针灸真地起了作用,还是这种病有周期性,还是他们为了安慰我,反正两、三个月后,这孩子说他的腿感觉好多了,而且还跑出去跟其他孩子们一起玩儿了。我仔细观察了一下,膝关节处的肿的确消了一些。我一直坚持给他扎针,直到离开农场。这期间他实际上总是时好时坏的。我心里明白,他的病远远超出了我的能力范围。

有个经常一块儿干活的小媳妇听说我会扎针,就告诉我她闭经几个月了,问我能不能扎针治疗。我当时对妇科所有的知识就是要问清楚病人有没有怀孕;有孕,则不能用针。她跟我保证说她没有怀孕,我就给她扎了针。两个疗程后,她突然跟我说有反应了,我俩都很兴奋。针灸好像对妇科比较灵,后来又有两个患子宫下垂(这是农村妇女的常见病)的妇女找我扎针,都不同程度地有所反应。对她们来说,这种不大不小、又说不出口的病总算可以治一治了;对我来说,我感觉到了自己生活的价值和意义,也得到了心理满足:总算没有白白地下到农村来。

就我这样半瓶子咣当的水平、自封的赤脚医生,居然还带了个徒弟。是那个患风湿性关节炎的孩子的哥哥,当时也就十三岁。穷人的孩子早当家。这个孩子稚气中含有成熟,憨厚懂事;每次我给他弟弟扎针时,他都默默地跟在旁边,用心在记。后来他爸爸妈妈郑重其事地求我收他作徒弟。在那样的地方、那样的条件、那样的期盼下,我无法推辞,就答应了。答应了就得教人家呀!怎么教?我给他两根针,一长一短,就在我身上练。什么足三里、内关、外关、合谷这些不会要人命的穴位,就让他往里扎。农家孩子,小小的年龄就长了一双粗大的手,拿着细小的银针,直发抖;常常是刺在肉皮表层扎不进去,疼得我呲牙咧嘴,还要连声说:没关系,使劲扎。你就想像吧!我的手上腿上不是青一块就是紫一块;扎破毛细血管后的皮下淤血一两个星期都化不掉。有我以身作则,他后来也敢在自己身上练了。

我完全没有想到,去年,在阔别三十年之后重返幸福农场,听说这个孩子,我当年的小徒弟,已经是县医院X-光医师了。可惜我已离开县城,没有时间返回去见他了。

回想插队时的生活,虽然艰苦单调,但是充满了年轻人的活力和理想主义。我为自己有过这样一段生活经历而感到庆幸和自豪。无怨无悔。
2008

Sunday, April 19, 2009

In That Faraway Place ...

More than thirty years ago, in that faraway place I started my long journey to a university. Everything then is still vivid in my mind … …


In the middle of nowhere, at some point of a paved road along the rim of the world second largest desert Taklamakan Desert in Xinjiang Uygur Autonomous Region, China, several of us “Re-educated Youths”, a few boys and girls, aging from 17 to 22, were hitch-hiking to catch a ride to the County seat for the National Entrance Examination to the universities. It was a major road in the region, but rarely could one see any vehicle passing. Both ends of it disappeared into the horizon. Behind us, there were waving sand dunes. In front of us, the flat endless gobi desert far reaching into the sky. There were no buildings, no trees, not even a grass in sight. It was December 1977.

The sun was warm, the only pleasant thing that cheered us a little. But the wind was not merciful. With sand and little rock particles it blew hard like knives cutting into our faces. The boys and two girls were hiding themselves behind the sand hills, not from the wind but from the drivers who would give us a lift. It is such a classic game, I believe, everywhere in the world that girls are put to the front to get a ride. I and another girl were the chosen ones. We put our blanket bundles on the road and sat on them, waiting.

I really did not care that they had put me up there as a shield, if it was good for all of us. We were all desperate to get a ride to get to the County town in time. The examination was scheduled the next day. It was the first official entrance examination open after ten years of “Great Cultural Revolution” when all the schools were paralyzed. We must catch it. Nobody knew what kind of political wind would blow the next year, i.e. if there would still be an examination – a chance for us to go to a university. Even in the normal time, such national examination would be held only once a year, so we could not afford to miss it - the opportunity that would not only send us to the colleges but more importantly also get us city kids out of the farm where we had been sent to get the peasants’ re-education for three years by now.

We waited and waited, nothing coming. Those hiding were lying on the ground, pillowing the bundles, a couple smoking, the others dozing. We two up here called their attention constantly not to fall asleep. It was easy to get “twisted face” (paralyzed facial muscles) sleeping in the openness in the weather like this, especially after last night’s long fatigue marching from our farm to the commune headquarters.

Not until last night, we were allowed to leave the farm, and by then we had been given only half of each day for a week for preparation for the exam. At the supper, each of us was given two extra wheat-flour-made buns for the trip – s special treat. We had been eating only corn bread, corn porridge, and corn soup, without anything else. Already, we felt lucky. It was nearly dark when we were about to leave. We each carried a big heavy quilt on the back, a bag with books on one shoulder, and another bag with food and water on the other shoulder. We had to bring our own sleeping mats and quilts for the next few days. It was winter. We wore very thick clothes and an extra long warm coat on top. With a big bundle on, we all looked like a ball, clumsy and funny, and could hardly stand still. Finally we started our journey, with “goodbyes” and “good lucks” from our buddies.

We had to walk about 15 miles to the headquarters of the Commune, and from there, hopefully to find a ride to the County for the exam. Between the farm and the headquarters, there was no road, except a trail of people and animals’ footsteps lying serpentine among the sand dunes.

At first, we were extremely excited. Like some caged birds set free, we were singing and screaming at the top of our lungs, happily. Whether we could pass the examination was not the concern at the moment. Just a few-day freedom from the routine daily labor work was enough a treat to make us go wild. We sang all the songs we knew, talked about everything we could think of. But before long we all got exhausted. We had passed no more than two miles, yet. It was hard to walk in the soft sand, especially with heavy load. Someone suddenly had a splendid idea: why don’t we throw it on the ground and drag it! So each of us tied a long rope to the buddle and made the other end into a loop and put it on the shoulder, began to drag.

The night sky in the desert was extraordinarily high and clear. Its color was always deeply blue like lapis lazuli; the moon was forever bright; the stars twinkled tirelessly. It was beautiful and tranquil. We stopped talking, overwhelmed by this vast universe and its eternity. In a place and time like this, one could be easily moved – by its poetic nature, its grandeur and beauty. We were also moved by our own spirit and efforts. Someone started humming: “Raising the head to look at the Big Dipper Stars, we miss our great leader Mao Zedong …” (how ironic it seems today), one revolution song that had a little nostalgia tune. The North Stars point to the directions and symbolize hope. We were walking step by step towards hope.

Our little farm village was located at the southwest side of the famous Taklamakan Desert, with about 20-30 families. Deep in the desert, the farm had very limited water source distributed by the local government through irrigation system. The farmers were mostly migrants from Gansu and Shanxi provinces who had fled from the big famine in early 1960s in China. When we, high and middle school graduates, were sent there, we became the Commune farm members. We lived and worked like other farmers, earning our own food from working in the fields, but with a little government subsidies. By the end of the year, the best of us could earn a hundred yuan (less than fifteen US dollars) cash besides enough bags of corn flour for the year. The farm was so poor that everything was done manually. It did not have a tractor or any machinery. The method of farming was still the most primitive. The farm was under the administration of Commune, named Happiness Commune, and so our farm was also called Happiness Farm.

Now we were heading to the Happiness Commune headquarters, where we hoped to get a lift to the County town. We dragged luggage and ourselves all night through the desert. A couple of hours before dawn, we arrived. The secretary of the commune had known that we were coming so he had a meeting room left open for us. The room was empty except for a few chairs. No light, no heat. Luckily the moon was full that night, so we could see our trail without getting lost, and now could see a little bit of the room, thanks to two windows. The ground was brick paved which made it look clean. We were too tired to pick a spot, and too exhausted to bother opening the quilts. All collapsed at each one’s most convenient spot, leaned against the luggage and fell asleep.

Early in the morning, the secretary came and led two of us out looking for a lift. Nobody seemed to leave for anywhere that day. We began to worry. It was impossible for us to walk to the County. It was thirteen kilometers from the headquarters to the main “express way”, plus four hours of normal car-drive to get to the town. Two hours passed, no good news. We decided to walk to the main road and wait for our chance. Again we dragged the luggage and started our next long journey. Under many curious eyes, we filed out in the dirty street of this little town, pretty much like a mob of desperate war refugees. We were lucky. Twenty minutes after our start, a small tractor came up. The driver agreed to take us to the main road. From there he was going to the opposite direction. Better than walking another several hours! We jumped into his small trailer.

And now here we were, on the side of the road, still waiting.

A car was coming to the opposite direction. It must be VIP’s. Only the chiefs of the County could have a car. Two of us in the middle of the road had to move our luggage to let the car pass. A military jeep and a truck full of loads passed. We felt hopeless. It was almost noon. Some of us took out the frozen bread to eat. Some hopped and jumped to get warm. Nobody wanted to talk, no spirit, no energy for it.

We were at the age of dreaming, but tragically, none of us could have a wild dream. We were so bound in the desert that we lost our imagination and became extremely realistic, and so limited by the harsh reality that the only dream most of us had was to get out that farm by any means.

I went to the farm whole-heartedly to learn the peasants’ life and help them improve poor living conditions, believing that together, we could make a better society where there would be sufficient material supplies for everybody, and where there would be no difference between the poor and rich, between the city and countryside. For a couple of years of real life there, even the loyalist people to the noble idea like me realized that having sent millions of young people to the countryside did not accomplish any main goals, but negative effects. Now, the whole country decided to change from the 10-year chaos, so did we, the “Re-educated Youths”.

“Look, a truck!” Someone excitedly cried. We jumped up. Something appeared in one end of the horizon. Small like a bug, slow like a turtle. Finally it came closer. To our much disappointment, it was only a tractor, but with an empty trailer. We couldn’t wait anymore. All of us went up the road, blocking the way and waving. It stopped. Immediately we threw our luggage and selves into the trailer fearing that if we were not fast enough it would move away. The driver told us that he did not go to the county seat, but could drop us at the road to the town. There was about 8 kilometers from the main road to the city. It was our last chance. “Ok, let’s go!”

Luckily the trailer was big enough for us to make ourselves comfortable. We huddled ourselves closed to each other to keep warm. Relieved and exhausted, we soon fell asleep.
Six hours later, the driver woke us. We found ourselves frozen. Our lips could barely move to talk, the limbs refused to stretch out. The driver couldn’t wait. He urged us to get off immediately. We elbowed and kneeled ourselves up. With frozen hands, we rolled the luggage on top of each other and rolled it down. We also rolled and tumbled ourselves out of the trailer. Fortunately we had heavy coats on so we did not break our bones. For the next eight kilometers, we dragged our bundles once again on the road. Only this time, the road was better paved with little pebbles. But still, half way to the final destination, most of our luggage got worn out. We were too exhausted to care.

The County seat was actually a very small town. It was dark already when we got there. We were led to an elementary school where we would stay for next three to four nights. A guy from the County Education Department took us to two classrooms for resting, one for boys, one for girls. Before we could ask about anything, the guy had a man give each of us a baked corn bread nang, as hard as stone, for supper, apologizing the situation and quickly left. We were left alone.

Stores were closed. Nowhere could we find a cup of hot water or a candle, not mentioning a fire. A couple of us had hand flashlight, we quickly viewed the room trying to find a spot to put the sleeping mat. To our surprise, the rooms were absolutely empty. Not until now did we realize there were all together five or six rooms for the school. Each room had four windows, but none had glass on. They looked like black holes swallowing us into the darkness. The walls were made of adobe, neither inside nor outside painted. The ground was not paved, very uneven. We wondered where did the desks and benches go and how the children could have classes in the room like these. But we had to put away all our wonders and pick up a space before the light went out. We quickly snug ourselves in the quilts with the most clothes on except the heavy coats, which were needed to put on top of the quilts.

We could not sleep. At last, we were here. Tomorrow we would face a more serious test. We needed to gather ourselves together, to forget all hardship we had been through and to ignore every difficult situation we were having now. To pass the exam or not would decide our each one’s future. We must concentrate on it now. We could not read or write. So, in the pitch darkness, we studied together by asking each other questions, repeating answers, memorizing formula, recited ancient poems and essays …

The next morning, we woke up early from the coldness. Without washing – no water or any facility for it, we were again given a dry and hard bread and a cup of hot water, and led to a middle school next door to this elementary school, where the exam would be held. Here we met a lot more students from the county and other “re-education” units. Those who lived in the county town looked refreshed and comfortable, but we poor “re-educated youths” were hungry, cold and dirty. Although many of us had come originally from a bigger town, Hetian (Khotan), the headquarters of the higher administration district that was responsible for seven counties, including this one, we were not allowed to go back to our hometown to take the exam since our personal files and records were kept here in the county. However, we felt fortunate enough to have the opportunity.

In a confusing and messy situation, I finally found my classroom. It was a similar adobe room, only better with glassed windows, desks, and benches. The desks and benches were the simplest furniture in the world. The desk was made of two or three wooden boards, roughly smoothed; somewhere the tree bark was still visible. The boards were not trimmed so the spaces between the pieces allowed a pencil or even a book to slip through. The bench was a simple one-piece board with four legs. Two students shared a desk and bench. On the two top corners of each desk there were numbers assigned to the students. I was checked with ID at the door and pointed to the seat. I sat down and looked around. Two exam assistants and a couple of students were busy setting a fire in an iron stove in the center of the room. The firewood was too long and irregularly shaped. They could not get it in the stove. There was no any kind of tools for them to use to cut the wood short. The firewood was also still wet and tough. Two guys tried hard to break it with their feet, but failed. Finally they had to let the long wood sticking out of the stove. At one time, they tried too hard to get a piece of zigzagging wood in the stove that the chimney pipe fell. It caused a little panic. And then they put the pipe back. The disaster was made already. The smoke immediately filled up the room. Those who sat beside windows quickly opened the windows.

With tears and running noses from the smoke, cold, coats and gloves on, we started our life-deciding national exam.

Three days later, after five sections of the exam, two subjects a day, we took the bus directly home. We would be waiting for our results in our hometown. About two weeks later, some unofficial news came out that I got the highest score in the field of Humanities (it was confirmed later as true). That year, about 20,000 students participated the examination in the District. With the highest score, nobody would doubt that I go to the best university in the country.

I felt relaxed and waited for the admission letter.

My old classmates, friends, fellow re-educated youths, one by one, got their admissions, and left. My parents felt something wrong. Meanwhile there were kinds of rumors floating around. So they went to see the person in charge of the Commission of grading and admission. What they had found out was that I was barred with my “Political Evaluation” issued from the Commune and County, which, we much later learned, evaluated me as pretending to be sick to gain time from field work for the examination (which was untrue of course), and as an influential leader of the re-educated youths in the region whose leaving would shake the spirit of the remaining youths (I had never seen my influence that great, and how contradictory of the two reasons!); therefore, the youth in question was not recommended.

In that same year, my brother also took the exam in a different county and too, got very good grade, and too, was not recommended by “Political Evaluation” simply for being from an intellectual Bourgeoisie family. My brother had been a “Re-educated Youth” himself for about five years, and just got a job in a few-men weather station far deep in the desert in Endre. He had been interested in astronomy since childhood and now wanted very much to study astron-physics. His dream was ended then and there.

So that was it! I went back to the farm. One mail-delivery day, I got a letter from my parents telling me that a few of my close friends had left for the universities in the major cities throughout the country. I hid myself under the quilt that night – did not cry, but read books with the hand-torch light till the battery completely exhausted, till the morning light came out. …

The end of the story is this: because two other top students from that examination were also rejected for the same political reasons, one because of her uncle being an high official in Taiwan, and another for her mother’s ex-husband’s being in Taiwan, our school teachers and university professors who graded the exams protested against the local governments decisions; the parents also pleaded; my father even wrote a complaining letter to Deng Xiaoping. Eventually, three of us were given an opportunity to choose one of the only three colleges in Xinjiang Autonomous Region. So, about two months after all schools had started, I finally sat in a university classroom.

2007

在那遥远的地方 ...

三十年前,我参加了文革十年后的那场高考,是在那遥远的地方 ...

在塔克拉玛干的沙漠深处,在茫茫戈壁和滔滔瀚海之间,在一条两头无限地伸 向天边的公路旁,我们七、八个来自幸福公社幸福农场的知青疲惫不堪地依靠在行李卷儿上,望眼欲穿地盯着路的一头,等待着搭乘过路的命运之车。明天就要高考了,我们无论如何都得想法搭上车去县城赶考。

昨天傍晚,吃过晚饭后,炊事班给我们几个赶考的人每人发了两个白面馍馍, 是路上的干粮。这是对我们的照顾。平时不是吃包谷面窝头就是包谷面发糕,再不然就是包谷面糊糊或搅团。和不赶考的人比起来,我们已经很幸运了。整整一个星期,我们每天只需要出半天工,剩下的时间复习功课。

几乎所有的人都出来送我们。我们的样子很滑稽:穿着厚厚的棉衣和大衣,后 背背着行李,两肩一边跨着装满复习材料的书包,另一边跨着馒头和水壶,站都站不稳;在夥伴们羡慕和祝愿的再见声中,上路了。我们要步行去公社,从那里再想法搭便车去县城。农场只有两辆牛车,都已派了其它用场。领导非常抱歉不能用牛车送我们。从农场到公社差不多有二十公里的路程。说是路,实际上只是平时毛驴和牛车压出来的印子。我们顺着这些痕迹,深一脚浅一脚地开始了考大学的跋涉。

农场在塔克拉玛干西南部的沙漠腹地一个小得不能再小的绿洲上。周围是连绵 起伏的沙丘(我们叫沙包)。再往里一点儿,就进入沙漠禁区了。其实没人禁你,但你要进去,恐怕就再也出不来了。“塔克拉玛干” 的词义就是“进去出不来”。 有一次我 们出去砍骆驼刺沤肥(这是冬天的农活),稀稀落落的的草丛把大家散的远远的,谁都看不见谁。我贪多,不知不觉地砍进了“禁区”,差点儿“塔克拉玛干” 了。当我突然 感到周围一片异样的寂静时,才发现只剩自己一人了。爬到眼前最高的一个沙包上一看,四面八方竟全是一个模样。我顿时瘫跪下来。不是形容,也不是夸张。我也是到这会儿才知道什么叫“瘫” 。我跪在沙包顶上,全身发抖,想喊喊不出, 想动动不 了。平时听说的“进去出不来”的故事象走马灯似地一幕一幕地在脑海里川流不息。什么谁谁谁何年何月失踪了,若干年后有人发现了此人的“木乃依”(干尸) ; 什么 某某司机晚上停车休息后,头一夜的沙包原封不动地被风挪到了路的另一边,第二天竟毫无察觉地掉转车头走向了另一方向,从此再也没见此人;等等。谁都知道,误在里面不是件好玩儿的事。碰上这样的情况,首先要保持头脑清醒。我在发呆发瘫了一、二十分钟后,生的愿望终于战胜了恐怖。几乎是滚下沙包,趴在地下开始寻找脚印。任何印迹。不知爬了多远、转了多少圈。就在彻底绝望的时刻,突然看见几粒羊粪蛋,我的心差点儿跳出来,紧盯着它们,生怕它们又突然不见了。这是生的希望。又看见几蹶驴粪。很快就又看到了驴蹄子印。就这样,我跟着这些牲畜的蹄印走出了死亡之地,而且还没忘了把比我自己还重的一捆骆驼刺也背了回来。朋友们都说我傻。

农场的存在全因了一条小小的季节性河流。小河里的水平时用于日常的吃喝 和大田里的庄稼,几乎没有剩余种蔬菜。除了种一点耐干旱的恰麻古(蔓菁) , 我们一年四季吃的都是家里带来的咸菜。记得刚下乡头几个月,大家都被每天的老三顿 - 发糕糊糊、锅贴糊糊、搅团窝头(全是包谷面) 和一点点舍不得吃的咸菜吃得 胃酸胃痛、脸面浮肿的时候,男生们不知怎么地逮住了一条野猪,让我们大大地丰盛了一顿。比过年还过瘾。还有一次,炊事班的同学弄来了一麻袋黄萝卜,用水一煮,给每人发了一大茶缸,有六、七根吧,大家“一吃一个不言传” 。我从小挑食,向 来不吃炒熟的黄萝卜,更别提煮的了。看大家都吃得很香,就捏着鼻子尝了一口。一尝竟发现天下还有如此好吃的东西。王母娘娘的蟠桃恐怕也不过如此罢。从此以后,再不挑食。

光冲吃和到县城闲逛逛,借口出来考大学也都值了。还别说其它诸多诸多的 原因了。我们象一群刚被放出笼的小鸟,兴奋地又唱又叫。可没唱两、三首就开始气喘吁吁了。你想,背着几十斤重的行李,走在走一步来退半步的沙子里,如果不是仗着年轻,一句歌可能都唱不出来。不知是哪一个聪明的男生,干脆把行李扔到地上,拖着走,一下省了好多劲儿。大家自然全部仿效。拖,也并非是件轻松事。我们把绳子一会儿拉在手上,一会儿跨在肩上,一会儿又套在脖子上,反正是越拖越重,越走越累。当我们把所有会唱的歌都唱了一遍之后,就再也唱不动了。而我们的路走了二十分之一还不到。

沙漠中的夜晚,天永远是绽蓝的,月亮永远是明亮的,星星永远是铺天盖地、 笼盖四野的。置身于其中,你永远都会有一种莫名的感动。大家默默地走着,被充满诗意的夜空感动着,被恒寂远宏的沙漠感动着,被自己坚韧不拔的跋涉感动着。有人低声哼起“抬头望见北斗星,心中想念毛泽东 ...” 。在没有其它歌曲可以替代的 年代,这首歌恐怕是最能表达此时此刻的感情了。你不觉得吗?北斗星永远标志着希望。我们脚下正在一步步走向希望。

整整走了一夜。凌晨五、六点钟,精疲力尽的我们终于到了公社。事先有人已 经给我们留了一间会议室。进去借着月光一看,空荡荡的只有三、四把椅子。管不了那么多了,我们已经没有打开行李的力气。靠墙一坐,枕着行李卷就睡过去了。只睡了一个多小时,大家又分头去找进县城的便车。十几分钟后一碰头,知道今天没希望了。只剩一条路:到十几公里外的公路上去档车。这意味着我们还要走一天。如果天黑之前能走到公路,还有可能挡到车、半夜到达县城。没有什么好犹豫的。我们又打起精神出发了。算我们幸运,走出去一里路的样子,有辆手扶拖拉机经过。我们不管三七二十一地一哄而上。没等人家答应就把行李扔上了拖斗,人也跳了上去。不到中午,我们便到了公路旁。手扶拖拉机去了相反的方向。

这会儿,已经下午了。我们还在等。男生们躺在路基下,有的在抽烟,有的 在睡觉,有的在啃冻得硬棒棒的馍馍。女生们轮流坐在公路当中挡车。戈壁滩上冬天的太阳很是暖洋洋地,也照得我们懒洋洋地。虽然风沙不留情地割划着我们的脸面。过来过去的车都很少。偶尔来一辆,不是装满东西的货车,就是没用的小车。四处望去,一片沙黄,连一颗小草都没有。坐在路面上的女生目不转睛地盯着路的尽头。看着看着眼就花了。想要知道什么是海市蜃楼吗?到这儿来看看就知道了。不知是气化作用还是幻觉,总之,我们总看到远处有个黑点儿向我们移近,越来越大,可是一会儿就不知不觉地消失了。终于,又看到了一个黑点儿,越来越大。还听到了声音。所有人都支愣起来,全部冲上了路面。车到了跟前才看出原来是个胶轮拖拉机,带着个敞篷车斗。空的!这是我们的最后机会。大夥儿一涌而上。司机一再说他不去县城,我们说拉哪儿算哪儿。后来达成协议,他把我们拉到去县城的路口上。谢天谢地,我们有希望了。从路口再到县城只剩三公里,对我们来说已经不在话下。

上车后,大家总算放下了心。一个挤着一个,靠着行李卷,在呼啸的风沙中睡 过去了。三、四个小时后,司机叫醒了我们。我们却动不了了。原来都冻僵了。我们硬挣扎着伸展四肢,连滚带翻地把行李滚下去,再把自己滚下去。反正僵得已经没有了知觉。好在棉衣棉裤外加大衣还起了点儿保护作用。

还是老办法:拖着行李走。等进了县城,天已经完全黑下来。所有的商店、 饭馆都关了门。我们又饥又渴。找到县招生办时,工作人员给我们一人发了一个很大的包谷囊(nang,一种当地维族老乡烤的饼)。没有喝的水,也没有洗漱的水。我们被领到住宿的地方,是一个小学校,总共有两排土坯盖的教室,每排有三、四间。所有的教室都只有一个简陋的木板门和两个有洞没有玻璃的窗户。里面空荡荡。看来孩子们都是坐在地上上课的。当然就不要提电灯了。我们曾经为修建水利工程在戈壁沙漠中风餐露宿过,这儿毕竟有几面挡风的墙,已经相当不错了。啃着干囊,和衣钻在被窝里,打着手电筒,大家抓紧最后一、两个小时背复习题。

第二天一清早,有人又给我们发了一个白面囊,还有一杯开水,然后带我们 去考场。考场在小学旁边的一所中学里。考生不老少。本县的,各知青点来的。我找到自己的教室和座位。教室里弥漫着青烟。教室中间的铁皮洋炉点着火,两根粗大的、将近一米半长的红柳根直戳戳地插在炉子中间,一小截在里面,大半截在外面。炉子摇摇晃晃不说,里面只见冒烟,不见有火。大家七嘴八舌的建议把柴火砍短一些。有人试着用脚剁,红柳根是湿的,根本剁不动。又有人试着把炉子里两根长的换成短的,不但没成,反而把烟筒捅倒了。你可以想象当时的情景多热闹。这一下,满屋子都是浓烟,只好把所有的门窗都打开。课桌是老苏联式的:桌椅连在一起。没有油漆。我的桌面由两大块木板拼成,中间的缝隙可以漏下去一只铅笔。椅子是一长条木板,边上的树皮还在。

时间到了。几乎每个人都鼻涕眼泪唏哩哗啦地开始了答卷。烟还冒着,门窗还 开着。大家穿着大衣、戴着手套,手指冻得僵硬,歪歪扭扭地在考卷上划拉着。

我现在留下的印象只有作文。题目是:“每当我想起周总理” 。内容都写了些什么已经忘了,只记得不断地提醒自己:文章的主角是你自己,而不是周总理,千万别跑远了。后来才知道,绝大多数人都果然是跑了题,全去写周总理了。

三天后,我们坐上长途公共汽车直接回地区城里家中了。我的感觉不错。这一年规定不公布分数。但总有小道消息传出来。很快,听说我考了全地区七个县文科第一名(后来也证实确是如此) 。但也很快有了不祥之兆。有朋友从农场捎信来,非常隐晦地说了几句话。我完全没在意。爸爸妈妈却隐约感觉到什么事。当他俩从地委回来说话吞吞吐吐的时候,我才意识到事情的严重性。他们让我要冷静,做好思想准备。我大叫起来“到底咋回事儿?”原来爸爸妈妈去地区招生办和地委了解到,公社有人作梗,我的政审没过关,材料根本就没有报到地区来;当找到地委书记反映情况时,地委书记说:“共产党的干部不会作这种事。放心等等好了。”

后来得知,他们的理由是:一,此人装病在家复习考试(当然是无中生有);二,此考生在知青中颇有影响,如果放走,将会引起知青军心浮动,扰乱上山下乡的国家大计。意见:不予推荐。

我的同学陆陆续续接到录取通知走了。我回到了幸福农场。

爸爸居然比我还天真幼稚,执意要给邓小平写信,全然忘了他自己当初是怎么 被发配到这天涯地角的。他和妈妈的愤然太能理解了。我没过,哥哥也没过。哥哥远在沙漠腹地的一个小小气象站,一心想学天体物理,考试成绩不错,政审却没过。理由是:出身知识分子家庭,小资产阶级思想严重。爸爸的信自然是被大家挡住了。谁都知道没有用。在这天高皇帝远的地方,土皇上们巴不得找个机会施展一下自己的威力的。

我是扎扎实实地上了一堂“社会学”课。我发誓从今往后再也不能相信“共产党 的干部不会干这种事”的谎言了。得知我的几个好朋友都去大学报到的消息那天晚上,我躺在土炕上,捂在被窝里,没有哭,打着手电读了一夜的书,直到电池耗尽,直到天亮。

正义毕竟还是有的。批卷的老师们不干了。不光是我和我哥哥,理科的第一名和第二名也没走成。第一名是因为叔叔在台湾任高官;第二名是因为她妈妈的前夫解放时去了台湾。各大学开学两个月后,在舆论的压力下,地委通告批评了这种“极左”做法,同意让我们几个还是知青的考生在自治区内的大学走读。我进了自治区唯一一所在全国排名老末的重点大学。

三十年后的今天,坐在美国全国考试中心的一所大学里批改着美国学生的高考试 卷,回想自己的经历,心情难以描述。在那遥远的地方,我那些曾经教过一段时间的农民孩子是否还在幸福农场?是否都找到了“幸福”?我永远不能忘的是,有一次在乘他们做习题的空档,我为自己准备高考在黑板边缘练习着写了几个英文单词,一回身才发现所有的孩子都停下笔来好奇地盯着那些字母。我给他们解释那是英文;世界很大,有很多国家,有一个国家叫英国;还有法国、德国、美国 ... 。他们各个眼 睛都睁得大大地。这是他们第一次听说中国之外还有别的国家,第一次知道还有外国话。今天,他们的模样都已经非常遥远模糊了,但是那些大睁着的眼睛却留在了我的记忆中。

他们的孩子有的也该高考了。是否还在那遥远的地方?

二零零七年

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

和田玉 Khotan Jade











和田出美玉。

《穆天子传》记载:周穆王西巡至昆仑山,有人献白玉。

“天子升于昆仑之丘,以观黄帝之宫。”
“天子北征,舍于珠泽,… , 乃献白玉。”

《山海经》也多次提到昆仑山的玉。

“昆仑之虚,方八百里,高万仞。上有木禾 …,面有九井,以玉为槛”。

昆仑山,位于新疆塔克拉玛干大沙漠的南缘、和田地区的南部。

和田,古于阗也。

实际上,早在周穆王之前,和田玉已经进贡至商王宫室。殷王武丁之妃妇好墓出土的玉器即可证明。周之后,春秋战国、汉唐期间的各种正史外传也频频赞扬和田 “山多美玉”。元代时的意大利商人马可波罗也没忘了在游记里谈及和田的玉。再后来,文字记载和实物就更是多得数不胜数。

我有幸在玉都生活长大。

认识和田玉是从和田街头一位维吾尔族卖玉人开始的。

小时候,每逢“巴扎天”,爸爸都要带我去赶巴扎,买菜买水果。那时和田城很小,只有一条主要街道和一个十字路口标志着市中心。汉族人入乡随俗,跟着当地维族老乡把这个十字路口叫作“古鲁巴克”。巴扎就在古鲁巴克下面一点。这个卖玉人总是在古鲁巴克的一角摆个小地摊,而且永远都是默默地跪坐在那里。每次经过,爸爸都要拉着我在这个小玉摊前看半天。说是小摊,实际上只有一尺见方大点儿。地上铺块儿小方巾,方巾上摆着一两个高脚酒盅、三四个香烟嘴儿、两小排印章料,几个镯子和戒指,偶尔还会有几块散玉:青玉、黄玉、白玉,也有羊脂玉。我特别喜欢那些碧绿的小酒盅,又好看又好玩儿。

好像是和这些璀璨夺目的美玉做对比似的,这位卖玉人形骸残缺,衣衫褴褛,可能是患过小儿麻痹症,两条萎缩细弱的腿永远跪坐着,遮挡在一件长长的恰袢(维语长袍)下。我不知道这些玉器是不是他雕凿的,但我宁愿把他认作艺人。卖玉艺人长年累月地坐在古鲁巴克街头,一年四季穿一身黑色的旧恰袢,戴一顶黑色的旧帽子。不管街上如何熙熙攘攘,有时过往行人几乎要把他踩倒在脚底下,他却总是跪对一堆宝玉,不叫卖也不张扬,甚至一动不动,象是一个虔诚忠实的卫士,又象是一尊永恒的雕塑。

我不记得有别人在他那儿停留过。爸爸是极少的欣赏者之一。我老想让爸爸买他一两件东西,但爸爸好象只买过两枚印章料。现在想起来,真觉得对不起那位艺人,也对不起和田玉。文革期间武斗开始,古鲁巴克成为两派对峙的无人区,卖玉艺人也从此消失了。我不记得文革后他是否又出现在街头,不知道他现在是否还活着。但是他和他的玉却永远地留在了我的记忆中。

就是在这个手帕大小的玉摊上,爸爸指点着各色各样的玉石,给我讲述了和田玉的来龙去脉。

和田南部的昆仑山上蕴藏着丰富多样的玉石,有白玉、青玉、青白玉、黄玉、墨玉,还有世界上独一无二的羊脂玉。和田玉属于软玉类。软玉中的白玉在全世界只有三个产区:昆仑山脉,高加索山脉,和新西兰岛屿。和田白玉为三者之冠:质量最佳、蕴藏量最高,开采和使用历史也最悠久。

羊脂玉又是白玉中的极品,只在和田玉中才有。羊脂玉,顾名思义,看上去像是羊脂,细腻油润,乳白透明,“白如截脂”。它的珍贵和可爱处在于它的光洁温柔,优雅含蓄,因此也最为文人雅士们所推崇。

不仅是质地优良,和田玉有名的地方还在于它独特的产出方式。虽然自古以来就有山产和水产两种,但更多的还是水中捡捞。山产是劈山开矿获得山料,水产是踩踏河水捞取水料。水料又分山流水和子玉。每年春季冰雪融化山洪暴发时,各种山石会随着洪水冲下河流。洪水过后,河床上时常会留有冲下的玉石。有些处于原始状态,被包在杂石里面,叫山流水;有些经过常年滚磨和冲刷,变成光滑的各种型状,往往不需要人工打磨便自然成趣。这样自然状态的、光滑如卵的玉便是子玉。

流经和田的两条主要河流玉龙喀什河和喀喇喀什河就因饱含这样的美玉而享有盛名。

世界上恐怕再难找出第二个地方在一、二百公里的距离内出现两条自天而降的出产玉石的河流;更奇妙的是,玉龙喀什河专出白玉,喀喇喀什河特产墨玉。它们也因此而得名:“白玉河”和“墨玉河”。

两条玉河同起源于昆仑山,自南向北纵穿和田绿洲。玉龙喀什河流经和田东边,汉语意思即是白玉河,出产各种白玉、青玉、羊脂玉。喀喇喀什河在西边,汉语意为墨玉河,出产以墨绿色为主的各色墨玉、绿玉、和黄玉。两条河在和田的北面汇合成为和田河,然后逐渐渗入塔克拉玛干大沙漠,复出后汇入塔里木河。过去的捡玉人常年在退水以后的河床上来回寻觅。他们往往从下游往上游走,然后走到山里人烟稀少的地方,甚至到达冰川尽头的冰舌下。冰舌下可捡到大块儿的山流水;下游则是捡拾子玉的好地方。

在和田经常能听到各种捡玉拾玉的故事,人人好象都有找玉的机会和经验。每年洪水下来之前,各单位都要轮流去玉龙喀什河筑堤防洪,学校当然也不例外。工作就是把河床里的石头挖出来、装进铁丝网袋、再堆到堤坝上,修补和提高堤坝。这个工作就象是给每人一个专门挖玉的机会,每个人都埋头苦干,眼睛紧盯着铁锹头,生怕漏掉宝贝。而每次去都会听到有人挖到玉的例子。但是,不言而喻,幸运的人只是极个别的。试想连续一两个月每天有几百甚至上千人去河里挖石头,能有多少玉石让人挖呢?

也有捡到宝玉不识货的。一次一个维族老乡赶了几头毛驴、驮着几垛柴禾进城赶巴扎。走到玉龙喀什河大桥时,一垛柴禾因两面重量不一样从驴背上掉了下来。老乡跑到桥下捡了一块几公斤重的大卵石、压在柴垛的一边来保持平衡。到了巴扎,碰巧一个玉石厂的鉴定师傅在那儿闲逛,一眼发现这块石头不一般,立刻买下了全部柴禾连同石头驮回家(当然是收购给国家的。那会儿的人还没有那么自私。)。到家细细一看,原来是一块多年不见的大块上等子玉。师傅是爸爸的朋友,马上叫了爸爸一起去欣赏。此后,爸爸把这个故事重复了无数遍。在和田,类似的故事几乎每人都能讲出一两个。

爸爸也是个见了玉石就会发痴的人。家里叽里旮旯的到处塞着、摆着石头块儿。妈妈嫌家里乱,时常会抱怨,而且往外扔。离开和田搬家时,除了一个大书架,没有任何家具,占分量的全是爸爸的“石头瓦块”。他们的朋友来家里串门时总会看见门背后乱扔着青玉模样的石头,偶尔还会被地下的石头绊着脚,于是就会说:“到底是和田人呵,连垫脚石都是玉。”

充满神奇传说的玉龙河就象两条名符其实的玉龙,天长地久地流淌着琼浆玉液,养育滋润着和田人,保佑美化着和田城,还把和田美名扬遍天下。不幸的是,近些年来,天赐的玉龙却在现代人的贪婪面前失去了老天的保佑。汹涌的商业大潮几乎在一夜间把玉龙纯洁秀丽的玉体践踏得支离破碎。疯狂的商人们动用大型挖土机,把玉河挖地三尺、翻了个底朝天。哀哉!不知道这些贪得无厌的人是否还要杀鸡取蛋,连昆仑山都炸平?

在我的心目中,和田玉不只具有光洁柔润、晶莹剔透、坚硬细密的上等质地,它还蕴涵着纯朴无瑕、温和谦逊、高贵优雅的品格。无论赏玉者、佩玉者,还是采玉者和买卖玉器者,实在都应具备一些玉的品质。

早在两千多年前,我们的老祖宗孔夫子就以玉比德了。和田玉的温润而泽、缜密以栗、以及瑕不掩瑜、瑜不掩瑕等特征正好对应了他最重视的仁、知、忠等德性。我离开和田时,爸爸请苏州书法家费新我老先生为我写一幅字,老人家挥笔写道:“内怀冰清,外涵玉润” 。前辈们鼓励我做人要象和田玉一样,温润谦和,纯洁清明。

我自然也带走了两块和田玉:一枚爸爸送的羊脂玉小玉坠,一只哥哥送的白玉镯。这只玉镯是哥哥的维族朋友从家里院子的桃树下藏玉处挖出来送给他的。玉石埋在地下并非为了防盗。玉是天地山川之精灵,要靠大地的滋润;而它佩带在人身上,又会把天地之精华传递到人的身体和心灵中。

玉佩在身,人得其清凉而自省,得其光明而自鉴,得其品质而纯清高雅。沾上它,人会变的。

去年回和田,老同学聚会,筵席上发现一个跟我小学中学都同班的同学不在场,一问,马上有人回应说,叫不叫,我有他的电话,他肯定在河边。原来,这位同学如今已经是和田地区有名的玉石收藏家。他爱玉收玉的嗜好成癖,每天不去玉龙喀什河边上走一遭,日子就过不好。看老同学三十多年不见的份上,他破例把我带到家里,从银行保险柜里取回他最好的宝贝,让我一一把玩,真让我大饱眼福手福。几公斤的“黑如纯漆”的墨玉,十多公斤的深绿色碧玉,形状各异的羊脂玉,枣皮色、虎皮色的子玉,等等。虽在和田长大,我却也是第一次见到这么多不同种类、不同颜色、上上等级、货真价实的玉石。看着这堆宝玉,我觉得总算不枉作一个和田人了。

就是这个同学,小时候调皮捣蛋、打架闹事出了名。初中毕业后,因家庭出身不好,学校不推荐他上高中,就下了乡,后来回城当了银行职员。这次见面,听他文绉绉地给我讲解山料、子玉、皮子、花色、料型,还有他给宝贝们起的略带诗意的名字,什么“一线天”,“头顶鸿运”,令我不得不对他刮目相看。难怪老夫子和文人墨客们自古以来就以玉比喻人的秉性和情操,这玉真是熏陶滋润了我们和田人。不知为什么,我忽然感到很欣慰,和田玉终究还是和田人的挚爱,和田人最终最懂得欣赏和田玉。

美哉!和田玉!

桑蚕公主 Silk Princess

















上图:东国公主传桑蚕至于阗。木板画局部。唐代。斯坦因发掘于策勒县丹丹乌里克遗址。现藏大英博物馆。
下图:现代蚕丝小公主们。和田 2007

Up: Silk Princess from East Kingom. Painting (detail) on wooden board. Tang Dynasty. Discovered by A. Stein, now in British Museum

Down: Modern Silk Princesses. Khotan 2007


Thursday, April 9, 2009

巴海古丽


上初中时,班里有个维族女同学,叫巴海古丽,“春天的花”的意思。她告诉了我维族姑娘无数条小辫子的秘密。其实不是无数条,而是长几岁梳几根。一般梳不到二十条姑娘就该出嫁了。出嫁以后就永久性地梳两条辫子。她还告诉我,那么多小辫儿其实也不用天天梳。精心梳一次以后在头发上抹上桃树胶,等胶干了以后再揉一揉,发辫就会油光发亮,整齐不乱。这样可以保持很多天。巴海比我大两、三岁,初中毕业后就结婚了。辫子好象只梳到十六、七根。

突然有一天,巴海也成了妈妈的画中人。

说来话长。唐僧玄奘西天取经时路过和田(于阗),听说并记录了一段美丽的“桑蚕公主”的故事:

于阗国以前没有桑蚕,而东国有。但东国“秘而不赐,严敕关防”,不准桑、蚕种子出关。于是,于阗王向东国公主求婚,得到东国国王同意。迎娶公主时,于阗国使者特意暗示公主:于阗素无桑蚕丝绵,公主可自带一些。公主深知敕令,便把桑、蚕种子藏在发辫帽饰里,安全地带出了关口。

二十世纪初,斯坦因在和田挖出了一块唐代的木版画,上面也描画着桑蚕公主的故事。

原来,和田很久以来就是丝绸之路西域段上的丝都了。新中国成立后,为了继续巩固发展和田的丝织业,和田建立了国营丝绸厂;不仅从江南丝绸古都苏州和无锡调来大量技术人员,而且送和田的工人去江南学习。巴海古丽的妈妈和其他几十个和田姑娘就这样成了东去取经的桑蚕姑娘。虽然巴海的妈妈当时已经怀有身孕,为了不影响去学习,就瞒过了组织。后来在苏州生下了巴海。由于工作学习的紧张和水土不服,巴海的妈妈没有奶水喂她。车间里的一位汉族师傅正好也生过孩子不久,就把巴海抱来一块儿喂养,直到巴海和妈妈离开苏州。

若干年后,师傅的一个儿子去新疆支边,碰巧来到了和田。师傅没忘让儿子打听一下巴海。但是巴海的妈妈早已离开和田丝厂去了喀什,没有留下地址。又过了若干年,报社一位记者听说了这件事,邀了我妈妈一起做调查报导。在他们的百般努力下,终于找到了巴海的妈妈和巴海。原来巴海没有跟她妈妈去喀什,而是留在了和田的姥姥家。

当记者和我妈妈在学校我们班上找到巴海时,妈妈嗔怪地说:“怎么搞的,这小姑娘老来我家,就在眼皮儿底下转,还害得我们天南海北地跑了个遍。” 其实巴海也完全不知道自己还有这样一段苏州情缘。巴海和苏州哥哥见面时,都很激动、又都很拘谨,俩人都不知该说什么。可以想象,这样真实动人又曲折巧合的故事,自然成为妈妈长篇连环画的素材。

帕夏汗


妈妈发表作品时喜欢用笔名“帕夏汗”,曾害得自治区美协主席满新疆到处打听这个从未听说过的“维族女画家”。我们全家是因爸爸的“右派言论”被发配去南疆的。作为艺术家,能被发配到这样具有浓郁异乡情调的地方也算是因祸得福。他们的眼睛立刻抓住了和田的美。

到和田不久,妈妈就创作了一幅“葡萄架下” 的工笔年画。画面中有和田随处可见的葡萄架,架上垂吊着翡翠红玉般的葡萄;葡萄架下,一块典型的和田地毯上,一个头戴小花帽、身穿艾得莱斯花裙、梳着很多条小辫儿的维族小姑娘在跳舞;周围围了一圈幼儿园的小巴郎。记得为画那块地毯,妈妈下了不少工夫。一会儿去维族邻居家看地毯,一会儿又把人家的毯子借来。那些复杂细密的图案,要用细细的毛笔一笔一笔地画出来,真跟织一块毯子费的工夫差不多。相反,画葡萄架却几乎象是擒手拿来。单位机关办公室和住房前都种有葡萄藤和搭着葡萄架。春天,绿色的葡萄叶传递着春的信息;夏天,浓密的葡萄架下大人们乘凉、孩子们唱歌跳舞玩耍;秋天,满架紫红的圆葡萄、翠绿的长葡萄、乳黄的马奶子、珍珠般的无核白,颗颗汁满欲绽、令人垂涎。房门一开,伸手就可摘到。妈妈坐在家门口,便观察到了葡萄的一切。

妈妈经常拿我作模特。我就象她画中的小姑娘,在葡萄架下度过了无忧无虑的童年。可惜我从来没有穿过金丝绒小坎肩和艾得莱斯花裙,也没有梳过很多条小辫子。我一直不明白,为什么汉族人就不能穿那种漂亮的衣裙?

蚕桑趣事

小时候,我们都养过蚕玩儿。总有同学不知从哪里搞来的看似脏兮兮的桑皮纸跟大家分享。每人撕下一、两寸长皱皱巴巴的纸头,纸头上面粘着一些铅笔头大小的小黑点,这是蚕卵;拿回家里若干天后,突然有一天就会发现纸头上爬满小蚕蚁;这时候要拿一根毛笔把蚕蚁刷到一个纸盒子里,开始喂桑叶。采桑叶是件很开心的事。每天放学后,几个同学会结伴到城外去采桑叶。城外的林荫大道旁大多是白杨树和桑树间种,走在林荫大道上,我们常常是边摘桑叶边吃桑子,玩到很晚才回家。

桑子,学名桑椹,很好吃。和田有黑桑子、白桑子、黑紫色的药桑子,各个有大拇指那么大,看着就要流口水。我们学校后墙外有几棵桑树,那些调皮捣蛋的孩子常常乘着大人们午睡的时候去爬树偷桑子吃。吃了白桑子还好,若是吃了黑色或紫色的桑子,不只是满脸满手的红紫色会出卖他们,下午上课准保都得打瞌睡。倒不是因为没有午睡,而是黑桑子是有镇静安神作用的,专治不睡觉的毛病。

桑叶带回家后要洗干净、晾干,方才可以施用,否则蚕宝宝就会生病。蚕宝宝们吃起桑叶来很专注,在夜深人静时可以听到它们沙沙沙的咀嚼声,像音乐一样地好听、有节奏。宝宝们要吃吃睡睡二十多天、脱四次皮;最后长得白白胖胖,就开始吐丝作茧了。

我们最拿手的把戏是不让蚕结茧,而是让它们把丝织成一张平整的丝布。所有的机关就在于要把它们放在一张平板光洁的木板或桌面上,不留一点拐角或粗糙的地方。蚕会爬来爬去均匀地把丝吐满板面。不过,这样吐丝的蚕一般就不会化成蛹再化成蛾了。我们把丝绢折叠成小方块,放在写大字用的墨盒里,充当舔笔的丝绵。

蚕还会吐出不同的自然颜色的丝。我养过吐粉红色丝的蚕;哥哥养过吐金色丝和淡绿色丝的蚕。我们把彩色丝绢挂在墙上作装饰。

人们喜欢用唐代诗人李商隐的千古名句赞美“春蚕到死丝方尽”,比喻爱情的坚贞和生命的奉献,却很少有人知道,除了丝和生命以外,蚕还奉献它的躯体和残剩物 - 蚕蛹和蚕沙。

在缫丝厂,蚕茧在蛹还未变成蛾之前就要煮在开水里抽丝了。一旦蛾子把茧咬破,丝断了,也就没有价值了。抽完丝后,厂房里会有堆积如山的被煮熟的蚕蛹;你知道它被拿去干什么吗?恐怕打死你也猜不出来:- 分给职工油炸着吃!绝对的高级营养品。同学中爸爸妈妈在丝厂工作的不少,经常拿给我们吃。我对这种食品永远是敬而远之。你想想,吃虫子是什么感觉!更有甚者,蚕的粪便,蚕沙,小小的黑色颗粒,也是被收购入药的。我们还用蚕沙做枕头芯;清凉、解暑,还略微散发出一点儿桑叶的清香。

桑树皮制作的桑皮纸也是和田一绝。这种纸结实耐用、吸水性强,作包装纸和手纸非常好。家里过去都是一刀一刀地买。去年听说最后一位维族造纸师傅已年近古稀,没人接班;上千年的手工艺可能就要失传了。

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Poems about Silkworms 蚕诗

李商隐 (812-858)

《无题》
相见时难别亦难,东风无力百花残。
春蚕到死丝方尽,蜡炬成灰泪始干。
晓镜但愁云鬓改,夜吟应觉月光寒。
蓬山此去无多路,青鸟殷勤为探看。

Li Shangyin (812-858)

Untitled
It's difficult for us to meet and hard to part,
The east wind is too week to revive flowers dead.
The silkworm till its death spins silk,
The candle only when burned has no tears to shed.
......
(Omitted and modified from X.Y.Z. 许渊冲 1988)


刘基(1311-1375)

《春蚕》
可笑春蚕独苦辛,为谁成茧却焚身。
不如无用蜘蛛网,网尽蜚虫不畏人。

潘桀兹 (1900?现代画家)

《春蚕颂》
春蚕化生,蕞而微虫,春蚕何取,一桑始终,春蚕春蚕,万世可风。


I will translate them into English when I get time.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Congradulations to Silkworms!

Dear My Silkworms Blog:

Spring is just a beautiul time to star a new cycle of life. In this new home, I will post my notes of thoughts and personal narratives in both English and Chinese. Hope my friends and visitors will like it.