不要問我從哪里來
文／劉大衛
“不要問我從哪裡來，我的故鄉在遠方……”
唱這首《橄欖樹》的時候，我還小，連家門都很少離開，當然不知道“遠方”究竟是什麼內涵。只是在略帶感傷的歌聲裡輕飄飄地陶醉著，並隱隱約約地對“遠方”產生了一種莫名的憧憬。將近20年過去，驀然回首，才發現自己人在天涯，故鄉已被遺忘在遙遠的那一邊……
有人說，人本無故鄉與異鄉，所謂故鄉，不過是先祖們漂泊的最後一站。我們也必將成為先祖，我們漂泊的最後一站在何方？
我生長在華北平原的一個小城。你知道什麼叫大平原嗎？我告訴你，從我們的小城向北不到200公里就到北京，在這个區間內，連個像樣的土坡都看不見！這種平坦與遼闊，有利於平視、直視和遠視，卻使人缺少仰望與俯視的能力。你一定讀過“金黃的麥浪”之類的描述，是我們司空見慣的風景。春天的麥子還是綠油油的，高及腳踝，南風吹來，麥子便瘋長起來，不知不覺中已高及膝蓋，又沒及腰部。直到某一個清晨，綠色的麥子全部變成金黃，微風徐來，麥浪翻滾，那便是麥收時節了。金黃色的麥子，洋溢著生命歡樂的色調！
不幸的是，我們常常處於飢餓的邊緣。我曾經因營養不良進過醫院。麥子呢？為了實現全人類最美好的目標而被徵集了。大家被教育說：飢餓是實現人類最高目標所必須的。
荒謬告一段落時，我迎來了人生中第一次重大轉机——上大學。我選擇了上海。我決意要去尋找那歌聲中的“遠方”。沒想到，這就是與家鄉長久的分別。以後，縱使偶回故鄉，也是來去匆匆，那種叫做“近鄉情怯”的情緒一次次地把我與家鄉隔離開來……
大學果然是一個新世界，“黃海之濱，浦江之畔，聳立著巍巍的復旦名園……”那裡留下了我夜讀的身影，意氣風發的歌聲；那裡記錄著我青春的夢想，也留下了我年輕的遺憾。許多北方人往往對上海及上海人有一種深深的偏見。我卻常常對他們說：不，如果你作為一個成員在那裡生活過，你曾經與上海的脈膊共同跳躍過；如果你曾經欣賞過丁香花園的消夏音樂會；如果你曾經漫步在汾陽路的林蔭道，聽過上海音樂學院飄出的鋼琴聲，你就會意識到，上海有著那麼深厚的文化底蘊。
離開上海，來到廣東，心中既充滿青春的衝動，又交織著對未來的迷惘。五年中，我了解了社會等級，目睹了笑貧不笑娼，見慣了一擲千金，体驗了口是心非，同時也尋見了在喧囂的都市裡默默寫詩的人和靜靜讀書的人。當我剛剛熟悉了它的文化和語言，上帝又一次把我帶向更遠的遠方——日本。
從踏上異國的那一刻起，故鄉，在心裡便放大成了一個抽象的概念，一個巨大的卻模糊的混合体。故鄉，毋寧說是故國更為貼切。她在海那邊，在我身後，喧囂著或沉寂著，悲哀著或愉快著。這時的我，反而像一個局外人一樣，靜靜地關心著她，遙望著她，並一次次地為她祝福。
太多的消息傳來，我以自己的能力來判斷這些消息的真實性。當日本人問我什麼時候回去，我只有苦笑：不知道。對故國的懷念，終於幻化為與故國友人之間的一種精神寄托。去年春天賞櫻時節，我對故國的朋友說：
初春不意聞雷聲，忽傳已是櫻花紅。
檢點殘酒興還往，櫻花不似昨年濃。
一般歡笑倚人醉，別樣鄉愁入夢縈。
醒來回眸故園處，應有桃花依舊紅。
其實，故鄉的桃園已經無聲無息地消失了，我回鄉探親時，那裡早已是大片的民房。麥地也在急劇地縮小，兒時戲水的小河已變成了臭水溝。倒是當年魯迅先生描述過的上野的櫻花，一年盛似一年。日本在一百年裡，已從一個落後的島國一躍變成了全世界屈指可數的富強之國，而我的故國，卻反復不斷地体驗著可怕的夢靨。當多數留學生為了“中國將成為廿一世紀的中心”而沾沾自喜時，我卻在一旁冷冷地問自己：中國，還有多少闰土？還有多少華老栓……
狭隘的“民族主義”，說到底是一種流氓無產者的無賴伎倆。它妨礙我們正確地評價別人和正確地對待自己。對別人的成就，它會以一種“我老子先前比你闊多啦”的阿Q式的自我滿足感來嗤之以鼻；對自己的落後，又往往歸咎於別人對自己的侵略和壓迫，而拒絕從自身發掘真正的原因。它讓愚昧的民眾對統治者的荒謬容忍寬恕，而對任何別國的舉措分外敏感。正是基於這樣的心理，在接管香港之夜，竟有人虛張聲勢地宣告：這是正義事業的偉大勝利……對於這種宣言，你難道不感到啼笑皆非嗎？
故國的強大，是我們每一個人的夢。然而，實現這個夢，卻不能靠類似《中國可以說不》的心態。
人，常常會這樣：身處其中時不知其可貴，一旦分離又無限回味。故國，我的每一支祝福的歌都願為你而唱。故國，如果有一葉和平的風帆向你駛來，那就是我，那就是我……
不要問我從哪裡來，我的故鄉在遠方……
1997/8
日本，船橋
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Don't Ask Me Where I Am From
by Liu Da-wei
Don't ask me where I came from; my hometown is far away...
I was very little when I learned to sing this folk song The Olive Tree. I hardly had a chance to travel anywhere and naturally did not know what far away meant. So the best I did was to be obsessed in the melancholy mood of the song while seemingly putting up a mysterious yearning for far away. Almost twenty years have passed since then and I suddenly find myself in a foreign country and my hometown has long been forgotten at the far side of the far away...
A theory goes that the distinction between home and non-home is not clear at all. The so-called hometown is merely the last stop our ancestors made in their nomadic life. We will eventually become ancestors too, but where is the last stop of our own nomadic life?
I grew up in a little town in the great plain of Northern China. Do you know what great plain means? Let me tell you that. Beijing is about 150 kilometers north of our little town. And in this 150 kilometer expanse of land, not a single hill can be found! The vast and extensive plain encourages horizontal, straight and forward looking, but people there lack the capability of vertical viewing. You must have read literary descriptions like the golden wave of wheat, and such a scene is very common to us. In the spring wheat field looks pretty green and it barely reaches your ankles. When wind starts to blow from the south, wheat starts to grow like crazy and, before you notice it, it reaches you knees and then covers your waists. Finally the green field of wheat turns to light brown and produces golden waves dancing in the breeze. Then we know it is time for harvest. The golden wheat is permeated with joy of life!
Unfortunately we often lived in poverty. Once I was hospitalized for malnutrition. So where was the wheat? It was collected for the sake of achieving the most beautiful goal of mankind. Everybody was told that hunger was necessary while we strove to reach the ultimate goal of mankind.
At the end of a chapter of stupidity, I embraced my first major turning point in life-going to college. I picked the City of Shanghai. I was determined to search for the far away in the song. To my surprise, far away turned out to be permanent departure from my hometown. Even though I had a few chances later on to go back there, they were very short trips in which I was often intimidated by my own self consciousness. As a result, these trips sent me further away from my hometown...
College promised to be a new world indeed. The most famous Fu Dan University, situated by the Huang Pu River close to the East Sea, seemed to have remembered my image of night study and my enthusiastic songs. It seemed to have recorded the dream of my youth as well as sorrow. A lot of northerners often carried a deep prejudice against Shanghai and its people. I disagreed. I often told them that if they had given themselves a chance to be part of it and a chance to feel its heartbeat, if they had attended its summer music concert in the Rose Garden, and if they had promenaded along the Fenyang Boulevard, enjoying the piano music that leaked out from the Shanghai Music Institute, then they would have known that Shanghai was actually enriched with its own profound culture.
Departing from Shanghai, I came to Guangdong. My youthful energy was mixed with a bit of confusion for the future. During the five years I was there, I got to know various social classes and various people, people who laughed at poverty rather than prostitution, people who spent money like crazy, and people who lacked trust. I also encountered people who quietly wrote poems or read books among the noisy metropolitan area. As I got used to its culture and language, the Divine Being sent me to yet another far away: Japan.
The moment I set my feet on the soil of a foreign country, the idea of hometown immediately turned into an abstract concept, a huge and yet confusing mixture. Hometown, now better known as home country. She laid at the other side of the sea, far beyond my reach, sometimes clamorous and sometimes tranquil, at times melancholy and at times joyous. And I, on the other hand, became a complete outsider, silently caring for her, watching her and repeatedly praying for her.
Too much news came in and I had to use my own judgment to filter out rumors. When Japanese people asked me when I planned to go back to China, I could only put up a forced smile: no idea. My remembrance of home country had finally transformed itself into a kind of spiritual sustenance between my friends in China and myself. Last spring I wrote poem to my friends in China:
Early spring surprises me when thunders shed,
Before I know but cherry trees all wear their red.
The banquet is over and our mood is still high,
Though cherry trees are not as red as last year.
The same kind of party I indulge myself in;
But different settings put me into dream of home.
My sight lands on where my hometown should be,
I seem to see peach trees which are forever red.
Actually the peach garden in my hometown has silently disappeared. Last time I visited my hometown, I saw lots of new houses covering where the peach garden was. Wheat field also shrank quite a bit. The little river where I used to swim was turned into a muddy puddle. In contrast, Japan's cherry trees that Mr. Lu Xun had written about still blossoms year after year. Within a hundred years, Japan has transformed itself from a poor island country to one of the richest nations in the world, whereas my home country has spent of most of its time experiencing nightmares. While most of the overseas Chinese students get excited when they are told that China is going to become the center stage of the 21st century, I indifferently step aside and can't help asking myself: China? How much land is still left out there? How much patriotism...
The narrow-minded patriotism is actually a kind of lumpen-proletariat's shameless act that prevents us from objectively evaluating other people while realistically measuring ourselves. We maintain our dignity by showing contempt to other people's achievement in the way Ah Q used to do: I was much better off than you in the past. We attribute our own backwardness to aggressions and oppressions we long ago suffered from other countries and yet we refuse to find the true cause of poverty from ourselves. We readily tolerate the stupidity of our rulers while we are extremely defensive just about anything other countries do to us. Because of this kind of psychology, some of us proclaimed in the night Hong Kong came back to China that such was the great victory of a just cause... Don't you feel ridiculous about this kind of proclamation?
It is everybody's dream that our home country be a strong country. Nevertheless, the realization of this dream does not allow us to act like a superpower before we become a superpower.
We are all alike. We don't treasure it when we are in it, but we think about it day after day once we depart from it. Oh my home country! I am willing to dedicate to you every song I sing. Oh my home country! If there is a sail of peace coming toward you, that must be me, that must be me...
Don't ask me where I came from; my hometown is far away...
1997.8
日本/船橋
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