Book One
Dear Sugitani Akihito sensei,
It has been nearly a month since we said goodbye, but I can relive virtually every moment of our timetogether in my hometown as if it were yesterday. With no concern for age or physical frailties, youcrossed land and sea to come to this out-of-the-way spot and engage in literary conversations withme and with local fans of literature; we were deeply moved. On the second morning of the year, youfavoured us with a presentation in the county guesthouse auditorium that you called ‘Literature andLife’. With your permission, we would like to publish a transcription of the taped lecture in the localpublication Frog Calls, so as to make available to those who were unable to attend in person achance to appreciate and learn from your use of language.
On the morning of the first day of the year I accompanied you on a visit to my aunt, an obstetricianfor more than fifty years, and though she spoke too quickly in her accented Chinese for you to graspeverything she said, I am sure she left a deep impression on you. In your talk the next morning youcited her often in support of your views of literature. You said you came away with an image of adoctor racing across a frozen river on a bicycle; another of her with a medical kit slung over herback and an open umbrella in one hand, trouser cuffs rolled up, as she forces her way through amass of croaking frogs; yet another of a doctor laughing joyfully as she holds a newborn infant in herhands, her sleeves spattered with blood; and finally one of a doctor with a care-laden face, acigarette dangling from her lips, clothing rumpled . . . you said that all these mental picturessometimes come together into a single image and at other times split into discrete fragments, like aseries of carvings. You urged local literature fans to create poignant works of art out of my aunt’slife, either in fiction, in verse, or in drama. Sensei, your encouragement has produced a creativepassion in many of us. An associate at the county cultural centre has already begun a novel about avillage obstetrician, and though my understanding of what my aunt accomplished is much greaterthan his, I do not want to enter into a competition and will leave the writing of a novel to him. What Iwant to do, sensei, is write a play about my aunt’s life. On the night of the second, when we weretalking as we sat on the kang at my house, I experienced an epiphany thanks to your high praise anddetailed analyses, as well as your unique insights into the plays of the Frenchman, Sartre. I want towrite, I feel I must write librettos as fine as The Flies and Dirty Hands, with the audacious goal ofbecoming a great playwright. With your instruction as a guide, I will proceed slowly, without forcingthe issue, as patient as a frog on a lily pad waiting for insects to come its way. But when I put pen topaper, it will be with the speed of a frog jumping up to snatch an insect out of the air.
When I was seeing you off at the Qingdao airport, you asked me to send you in letters the story ofmy aunt’s life. Although she is still alive and well, I could describe her life using such potentmetaphors as ‘surging forth magnificently’ and ‘rife with twists and turns’. There are so manystories, and I don’t know how long this letter ought to be, so with your indulgence, I will put mymeagre talents to use by simply writing until the time has come to stop. In this age of computers,writing a letter with pen and paper has become a luxury, but a pleasurable one, and I hope that asyou read this, you enjoy a taste of olden times.
While I’m at it, I want to tell you that my father phoned to say that on the lunar twenty-fifth, redblossoms burst onto the tree in our yard, the one whose unique shape prompted you to call it a‘talented’ old plum. Many people came to witness our blooming plum, including my aunt. My fathersaid that a feathery snow fell that day, saturated with a redolence of plum blossoms that cleared thehead of anyone who smelled it.
Your student, Tadpole
21 March 2002, in Beijing
 
第1章
第1章
尊敬的杉谷义人先生：
分别近月，但与您在我的故乡朝夕相处的情景，历历如在眼前。您不顾年迈体弱，跨海越国，到这落后、偏远的地方来与我和我故乡的文学爱好者畅谈文学，让我们深受感动。大年初二上午，在县招待所礼堂，您为我们作的题为《文学与生命》的长篇报告，已经根据录音整理成文字，如蒙允准，我们想在县文联的内部刊物《蛙鸣》上发表，使那天未能听您演讲的人们，也能领略您的语言风采并从中受到教益。
大年初一上午，我陪同您去拜访了我的当了五十多年妇科医生的姑姑。虽然因为她的语速太快和乡音浓重，使您没有完全听明白她说的话，但相信她一定给您留下了深刻的印象。
您在初二上午的演讲中多次以我姑姑为例，来阐发您的文学观念。您说您的脑海里已经有了一个骑着自行车在结了冰的大河上疾驰的女医生形象，一个背着药箱、撑着雨伞、挽着裤脚、与成群结队的青蛙搏斗着前进的女医生的形象，一个手托婴儿、满袖血污、朗声大笑的女医生形象，一个口叼香烟、愁容满面、衣衫不整的女医生形象……您说这些形象时而合为一体，时而又各自分开，仿佛是一个人的一组雕像。您鼓励我们县的文学爱好者们能以我姑姑为素材写出感人的作品：小说、诗歌、戏剧。先生，创作的热情被您鼓动起来了，很多人跃跃欲试。县文化馆一位文友，已经动笔写作一部乡村妇科医生题材的小说。我不愿与他撞车，尽管我对姑姑的事迹了解得远比他多，但我还是把小说让给他写。先生，我想写一部以姑姑的一生为素材的话剧。初二日晚上在我家炕头上促膝倾谈时，您对法国作家萨特的话剧的高度评价和细致入微、眼光独到的分析，使我如醍醐灌顶、茅塞顿开！我要写，写出像《苍蝇》、《脏手》那样的优秀剧本，向伟大剧作家的目标勇猛奋进。我遵循着您的教导：
不着急，慢慢来，像青蛙稳坐莲叶等待昆虫那样耐心；想好了下笔，像青蛙跃起捕虫那样迅疾。
在青岛机场，送您上飞机之前，您对我说，希望我用写信的方式，把姑姑的故事告诉您。姑姑的一生，虽然还没结束，但已经可以用“波澜壮阔”、“跌宕起伏”等大词儿来形容了。她的故事太多，我不知道这封信要写多长，那就请您原谅，请您允许，我信笔涂鸦，写到哪里算哪里，能写多长就写多长吧。在电脑时代，用纸、笔写信已经成为一种奢侈，当然也是乐趣，但愿您读我的信时，也能感受到一种古旧的乐趣。
顺便告诉您，我父亲打电话告诉我：正月二十五日那天，我家院子里那株因树形奇特而被您喻为“才华横溢”的老梅，绽放了红色的花朵。好多人都到我家去赏梅，我姑姑也去了。
我父亲说那天下着毛茸茸的大雪，梅花的香气弥漫在雪花中，嗅之令人头脑清醒。
您的学生 蝌蚪
二〇〇二年三月二十一日 北京
 
Book One 1
1Sensei, an old custom in my hometown dictated that a newborn child is given the name of a body partor organ. Nose Chen, for instance, Eyes Zhao, Colon Wu, Shoulder Sun?.?.?.?I haven’t looked into theorigin of this custom, but I imagine it embodied the outlook of ‘those who are badly named livelong’. Either that or it evolved from a mother’s thoughts that a child represented a piece of her body.
The custom is no longer followed, as young parents have no interest in naming their children in suchan unusual way. Local children these days are endowed with elegant and distinctive names of TVcharacters in dramas from Hong Kong, Taiwan, even Japan and Korea. Most of those who werenamed the earlier way have adopted more conventional names, most but not all. We still have ChenEr (Ears) and Chen Mei (Brow).
Chen Er and Chen Mei were the daughters of Chen Bi (Nose), my classmate and my friend. Weentered Great Sheep’s Pen Elementary School in the fall of 1960. That was during the famine, andnearly all my strongest memories of the time deal with food. I’ve told the story of eating coal. Mostpeople think I made that up, but I swear on my aunt’s good name it’s true.
The coal was part of a ton of high-grade ore from the Longkou Coal Mine, so glossy I could seemy face in it. I’ve never seen the likes of it since. Wang Jiao (Foot), the owner of a horse cart,transported the coal over from the county seat. Wang, a man with a square head, a thick neck and abad stammer, had a bright look in his eyes when he spoke, his face flushed from the effort. He had ason, Wang Gan (Liver), and a daughter named Wang Dan (Gallbladder). They were twins, and bothwere my classmates. Wang Gan was tall and well built, while his sister never grew to full size andremained a tiny thing - to be unkind, a dwarf. Everyone said she was so small because her brotherhad sucked up all the nutrition in their mother’s womb. After school was out, we ran over with ourbackpacks to watch Wang Jiao shovel the coal to the ground, where it landed crisply on a growingpile. He stopped to wipe his sweaty neck with a blue cloth he’d wrapped around his waist, and whenhe saw his son and daughter, he shouted: Go home and mow the grass.
Wang Dan turned and headed for home, struggling to keep her balance as she ran, like an infantlearning how to walk; a lovely sight. Wang Gan backed up but did not run. He was proud of hisfather’s occupation. Children these days, even those whose fathers are airline pilots, are not as proudof theirs as he was of his. Wang drove a horse cart whose wheels threw up dust as it rumbled along;an old branded warhorse said to have distinguished itself by once towing an artillery piece wasbetween the shafts, while a bad-tempered mule was up front in a harness, a mean animal known tokick and bite. That aside, it was astonishingly powerful and could run like the wind. No one butWang Jiao could control it. Though many villagers admired his line of work, they kept their distancefrom the mule, which had already bitten two youngsters: Yuan Sai (Cheek), son of Yuan Lian (Face);and Wang Dan, who had been bitten and picked up by the head while playing in front of the house.
We were in awe of Wang Jiao, who stood over six-two, with broad shoulders, and the strength of anox. He could lift a stoneroller weighing two hundred jin over his head. But what really wowed us washis skill with a whip. That time the crazy mule bit Yuan Sai, Wang pulled back the brake and, withone foot on each of the shafts, brought the tip of his whip down on the animal’s rump with a crackthat drew blood. The mule reacted by kicking out, but then began to quake as its forelegs buckled andits head hit the ground, mouth in the dirt, rump raised ready for another hit. It was Yuan Sai’s father,Yuan Lian, who came to its rescue. It’s okay, Old Wang, he said, sparing the animal further anguish.
Yuan was our village’s ranking official, the Party secretary. Not heeding his word was not an optionfor Wang Jiao. After the crazy mule bit Wang Dan, we eagerly awaited another good show, butinstead of striking out with his whip, Wang Jiao scooped up a handful of roadside lime and pressed itagainst the girl’s head as he carried her inside. The mule did not taste his whip this time, but his wifedid, just before Wang kicked his son.
That crazy mule was one of our favourite topics of conversation. Skinny as a rail, the indentationsabove both eyes were so deep they could accommodate hen’s eggs. Its eyes emitted a sorrowful gaze,as if it were about to howl. How a skinny animal like that could exert such strength was a mystery.
We were talking about that as we drew up to the mule. Wang Jiao stopped shovelling coal and glaredmenacingly, backing us up terrified. The pile in front of the school kitchen grew higher and higher,the load of coal on the cart kept getting smaller. We sniffed in unison at the strange aroma in the air, abit like burning pine or roasting potatoes. Our sense of smell drew our gaze to the pile of glisteningcoal as Wang Jiao flicked the reins and drove his cart out of the schoolyard. This time we didn’tchase it out of the yard, as we usually did, even risking the bite of Wang’s whip when we tried toclimb aboard to satisfy our desire for a ride. No, we kept our eyes glued to the pile of coal as weshuffled forward. Old Wang, the school cook, wobbled over with two buckets of water on hisshoulder pole. His daughter, Renmei, was also a classmate who, much later, would become my wife.
She was one of the rare children not burdened with the name of a body part, and that was because herfather had attended school. As the one-time head of a commune animal-husbandry station, a carelesscomment had cost him his job and sent him back to his village. He observed us with a wary eye. Didhe think we were planning to raid his kitchen? Go on, you little shits, get out of here! There’s nothinghere for you to eat. Go home and suck your mothers’ teats. We heard him, of course, and evenconsidered what he’d said. But he was just mouthing off. Already seven or eight years old, we wereway past nursing at our mothers’ breasts. Even if we hadn’t been, our half-starved mothers, with theirflattened chests, had nothing to give us. But we weren’t interested in arguing with Old Wang. Instead,we stood in front of the pile of coal, heads down and bent at the waist like geologists who havediscovered an unusual rock formation. We sniffed the air like dogs searching for food in a rubbishpile. At this point I need to first thank Chen Bi and then Wang Dan. It was Chen who first picked up achunk of coal and sniffed it, crinkling his brow as if pondering a weighty question. His big, high-bridged nose was a source of laughter for us. After a thoughtful pause, he smashed the coal in hishand against a much larger piece, like shattering glass, releasing a strong aroma into the air. Both heand Wang Dan picked up shards. He licked his to taste it and rolled his eyes as he looked our way.
She copied him by tasting hers and looking our way. They exchanged a glance, smiled, and as if oncue, cautiously took small bites; they chewed briefly before taking bigger bites and chewing likecrazy. Excited looks burst onto their faces. Chen Bi’s big nose turned red and was beaded with sweat.
Wang Dan’s little nose turned black with coal dust. We were entranced by the sound of coal beingchewed and shocked when they swallowed it. They’d actually swallowed coal! It’s good, guys, hesaid softly. Eat up, big brother! she cried out shrilly. Wang Gan picked up another piece and reallystarted to chew, while she grabbed a large chunk and handed it to him. So we followed their lead,smashing the coal into smaller chunks and nibbling it at first to see how it tasted. Though it was sortof gritty, it wasn’t half bad. Chen Bi picked up a large chunk. Eat this kind, guys, he said helpfully, ittastes the best. He pointed to some slightly transparent, amber-like pale yellow coal. That was thesource of the pine aroma. From our nature study class we’d learned that coal formed over millenniafrom buried forests. Our teacher for that class was our principal, Wu Jinbang. We hadn’t believedhim or what the textbook said. How could green forests turn into black coal? We’d thought he andthe textbooks were lying. But the smell of pine trees changed our minds. Our principal and thetextbook were telling the truth. All thirty-five students in our class, except for a few absent girls,picked up chunks of coal and started chewing, crunching away, slightly mysterious looks ofexcitement on our faces. It was like improvisational theatre or a strange game. Xiao Xiachun (LowerLip) turned a piece of coal over and over in his hand, but chose not to eat it, a superior look on hisface. He didn’t eat it because he wasn’t hungry, he said, and that was because his father was thecommune granary watchman.
Old Wang the cook came out, his hands flour-dusted, and was stunned by what he saw. (My god,that’s flour on his hands! In those days, the only people who ate in the kitchen were the principal, ourpolitical instructor, and two locally stationed commune cadres.) What are you kids doing? Old Wangcried out in alarm. Are you?.?.?.?eating coal? Who does that? Wang Dan picked up a piece and, in atiny voice, said, It’s delicious. Here, Uncle, try it. Old Wang shook his head. Wang Dan, he said, whyis a nice little girl like you acting like these wild kids? She took a bite. It really is delicious, Uncle,she said. A red evening sun was setting in the west. The two privileged commune cadres rode up ontheir bicycles. We got their attention, as Old Wang tried to shoo us away with his shoulder pole. Thefellow named Yan - I think he was the assistant director - stopped him. With a disdainful wave of hishand and a sour look on his face, Old Wang stormed back into the kitchen.
The next day in school we nibbled on coal while listening to Teacher Yu’s lesson, our mouthssmeared black, coal crumbs in the corners. The boys weren’t the only ones either. Wang Dan taughteven the girls who’d been absent the day before how to eat it. Old Wang’s daughter, my future wife,Renmei, enjoyed it more than anyone. Now that I think about it, she probably had a gum disease,since her mouth bled as she chewed. After writing several lines on the blackboard, Teacher Yu turnedback to the class and asked her son, Li Shou (Hand): What are you kids eating? It’s coal, Ma. Wantsome, Teacher Yu? called out Wang Dan, who sat in the front row, a lump of coal in her hand. Hervoice was like that of a kitten. Teacher Yu stepped down from the podium and took the lump fromWang Dan, holding it up to her nose either to smell it or get a closer look. She didn’t say anything fora moment then handed it back. Today we’re on lesson six, class, ‘The Fox and the Crow’. The crowfound a piece of meat and was proud of herself, perched high up in a tree. From under the tree, thefox said, Crow, you have such a beautiful singing voice you put all the other birds to shame.
Swooning over the flattery, the crow opened her beak to sing and, ha, the meat fell right into the fox’smouth. The teacher led us in reading the story aloud, which we did with our black-as-crow mouths.
Teacher Yu was an educated, out-of-towner who followed the local custom by giving her son thename Shou (Hand), using his father’s surname, Li. Li Shou did well enough in the exams to beadmitted to medical school. After graduation he returned to the county health centre as a surgeon.
When Chen Bi lost four fingers while cutting hay, Doctor Li was able to reattach three of them.
第一章 1
一
先生，我们那地方，曾有一个古老的风气，生下孩子，好以身体部位和人体器官命名。
譬如陈鼻、赵眼、吴大肠、孙肩……这风气因何而生，我没有研究，大约是那种以为“贱名者长生”的心理使然，抑或是母亲认为孩子是自己身上一块肉的心理演变。这风气如今已不流行，年轻的父母们，都不愿意以那样古怪的名字来称谓自己的孩子。我们那地方的孩子，如今也大都拥有了与香港台湾、甚至与日本韩国的电视连续剧中人物一样优雅而别致的名字。
那些曾以人体器官或身体部位命名的孩子，也大都改成雅名，当然也有没改的，譬如陈耳，譬如陈眉。
陈耳和陈眉之父就是陈鼻，他是我的小学同学，也是我少年时的朋友。我们是1960年秋季进入大羊栏小学的。那是饥饿的年代，留在我记忆中最深刻的事件，大都与吃有关。譬如我曾讲过的吃煤的故事。许多人以为是我胡乱编造，我以我姑姑的名义起誓：这不是胡编乱造，而是确凿的事实。
那是龙口煤矿生产的优质煤块，亮晶晶的，断面处能照清人影。我后来再也没见过那么亮的煤。村里的车把式王脚，赶着马车，把那吨煤从县城运回。王脚方头、粗颈、口吃，讲话时，目放精光，脸憋得通红。他儿子王肝，女儿王胆，都是我的同学。王肝与王胆是异卵双胎。王肝身体高大，但王胆却是个永远长不大的袖珍姑娘——说得难听点吧，是个侏儒。
大家都说，在娘肚子里时，王肝把营养霸光了，所以王胆长得小。卸煤时正逢下午放学，大家都背着书包，围看热闹。王脚用一柄大铁锹，从车上往下铲煤。煤块落在煤块上，哗哗响。王脚脖子上有汗，解下腰间那块蓝布擦拭。擦汗时看到儿子王肝和女儿王胆，便大声呵斥：回家割草去！王胆转头就跑——她跑起来身体摇摇摆摆，重心不稳，像个初学走路的婴孩，很是可爱——王肝往后缩缩，但不走。王肝为父亲的职业感到荣耀。现在的小学生，即便父亲是开飞机的，也体会不到王肝那时的荣耀。大马车啊，轰轰隆隆，跑起来双轮卷起尘土的大马车啊。驾辕的是匹退役军马，曾在军队里驮过炮弹，据说立过战功，屁股上烫着烙印。拉长套的是匹脾气暴躁的公骡，能飞蹄伤人，好张嘴咬人。这骡子虽然脾气不好，但气力惊人，速度极快。能够驾驭这头疯骡的也只有王脚。村子里有很多人羡慕这职业，但都望骡却步。这骡子已经咬伤过两个儿童：第一个是袁脸的儿子袁腮，第二个是王胆。马车停在她家门前时，她到骡前去玩，被骡子咬着脑袋叼起来。我们都很敬畏王脚。他身高一米九，双肩宽阔，力大如牛，二百斤重的石碌碡，双手抓起，胳膊一挺，便举过头顶。尤其让我们敬佩的，是他的神鞭。疯骡咬破袁腮头颅那次，他拉上车闸，双腿叉开，站在车辕两边，挥舞鞭子，抽打疯骡屁股。那真是一鞭一道血痕，一鞭一声脆响。疯骡起初还尥蹶子，但一会儿工夫便浑身颤抖，前腿跪在地上，脑袋低垂，嘴巴啃着泥土，撅着屁股承揍。后来还是袁腮的爹袁脸说，老王，饶了它吧！王脚才悻悻地罢休。袁脸是党支部书记，村里最大的官。
他的话王脚不敢不听。疯骡把王胆咬伤后，我们都期待着再看一场好戏，但王脚一鞭也没打。他从路边石灰堆上抓起一把石灰，掩在王胆头上，把她提回家去。他没打骡子，却抽了老婆一鞭，踢了王肝一脚。我们指指点点地议论着那头棕色的疯骡。它瘦骨伶仃，眼睛上方有两个深得可放进一枚鸡卵的凹陷。它的目光忧伤，似乎随时都会放声大哭。我们无法想象这样一匹瘦骡子怎会爆发出那样大的力量。当我们一边议论一边向那骡子靠近时，王脚便停止铲煤，用凌厉的目光逼视我们，吓得我们连连倒退。堆在学校伙房前的煤堆渐渐高起来，车上的煤渐渐少了。我们不约而同地抽鼻子，因为我们嗅到了一种奇异的香味。仿佛是燃烧松香的味儿，又仿佛是烧烤土豆的味儿。我们的嗅觉把我们的目光吸引到那一堆亮晶晶的煤块上。王脚拢马驱骡，马车离开校园。我们并没像往常那样，去追赶马车，并冒着被鞭子抽头的危险跳上去过瘾。我们目不转睛，慢慢地向煤堆移动。伙夫老王，挑着两桶水，摇摇摆摆地走过来。他的女儿王仁美，也是我们的同学，后来成为我的妻子。她是当时少有的没用器官命名的孩子，因为伙夫老王，是个有文化的人。他原本是公社畜牧站的站长，后因说话不当犯了错误，被开除公职遣返回乡。老王狐疑地看着我们。他以为我们要冲进伙房哄抢食物吧？所以他说，滚，小兔崽子们！这里没有你们吃的，回家吃你们娘的奶头去吧。我们自然听到了他的话，我们甚至也考虑了他的建议，但他的建议无异于骂人。我们都是七八岁的孩子，怎么还可能吃奶？即便我们还吃奶，但我们的母亲，都饿得半死，乳房紧贴在肋骨上，哪里有奶可吃？但没人去跟老王理论。我们站在煤堆前，低头弯腰，像地质爱好者发现了奇异矿石；我们抽动鼻子，像从废墟中寻找食物的狗。说到这里，首先要感谢陈鼻，其次要感谢王胆。是陈鼻首先捡起一块煤，放在鼻边嗅，皱着眉，仿佛在思索什么重大问题。他的鼻子又高又大，是我们取笑的对象。思索了一会儿，他将手中那块煤，猛地砸在一块大煤上。煤块应声而碎，那股香气猛地散发出来。他拣起一小块，王胆也拣起一小块；他用舌头舔舔，品咂着，眼睛转着圈儿，看看我们；她也跟着学样儿，舔煤，看我们。后来，他们俩互相看看，微微笑笑，不约而同地，小心翼翼地，用门牙啃下一点煤，咀嚼着，然后又咬下一块，猛烈地咀嚼着。兴奋的表情，在他们脸上洋溢。陈鼻的大鼻子发红，上边布满汗珠。
王胆的小鼻子发黑，上面沾满煤灰。我们痴迷地听着他们咀嚼煤块时发出的声音。我们惊讶地看到他们吞咽。他们竟然把煤咽下去了。他压低声音说：伙计们，好吃！她尖声喊叫：哥呀，快来吃啊！他又抓起一块煤，更猛地咀嚼起来。她用小手拣起一块大煤，递给王肝。我们学着他们的样子，把煤块砸碎，捡起来，用门牙先啃下一点，品尝滋味，虽有些牙碜，但滋味不错。陈鼻大公无私，举起一块煤告诉我们：伙计们，吃这样的，这样的好吃。他指着煤块中那半透明的、浅黄色的、像琥珀一样的东西说，这种带松香的好吃。我们已经上过自然课，知道煤是许多世纪前，埋在地壳中的森林变成的。给我们上自然课的是我们的校长吴金榜。我们不相信校长的话，我们也不相信课本上的话。森林是绿色的，怎么可能变成黑色的煤炭？我们以为校长和课本都是在胡说八道。发现了煤块中的松香，才明白校长没有骗我们，课本也没有骗我们。我们班三十五个学生，除了几个女生不在，其余都在。我们每人攥着一块煤，咯咯崩崩地啃，咯咯嚓嚓地嚼，每个人的脸上，都带着兴奋的、神秘的表情。我们仿佛在进行一场即兴表演，我们仿佛在玩一种古怪游戏。肖下唇拿着一块煤，翻来覆去地看，不吃，脸上带着蔑视的神情。他不吃煤因为他不饿，他不饿因为他爹是公社粮库保管员。伙夫老王惊呆了。他手上沾着面粉跑出来。天哪，他手上沾着面粉！当时在学校伙房就餐的除了我们的校长和我们的教导主任之外，还有两个在乡下驻点的公社干部。老王惊呼：
孩子们，你们干什么？你们……吃煤？煤也能吃？王胆用小小的手举着一块大煤，细声细气地说：大叔，太好吃了，给你一块尝尝。老王摇着头，道：王胆，你这小女孩，也跟着这帮野小子胡闹。王胆咬了一口煤，说：真的好吃耶，大叔。这时已是傍晚，红日西沉。那两个在这里搭伙就餐的公社干部骑着车子来了。他们也被我们吸引住了。老王挥舞着扁担轰赶我们。那个姓严的公社干部——好像是个副主任——制止了老王。他的脸色很难看，挥了一下手，转身钻进了伙房。
第二天我们在课堂上一边听于老师讲课一边吃煤。我们满嘴乌黑，嘴角上沾着煤末子。
不但男生吃，那些头天没参加吃煤盛宴的女生在王胆的引导下也跟着吃。伙夫老王的女儿——我的第一任妻子——王仁美吃得最欢。现在想起来她大概患有牙周炎，因为吃煤时她满嘴都是血。于老师在黑板上写了几行字便回头注视我们。她首先质问她的儿子、我们的同学李手：手，你们吃什么？妈，我们吃煤。老师我们吃煤，您要不要尝尝？王胆在前排座位上举煤大喊——她的大喊也像小猫叫唤——于老师走下讲台，从王胆的手里接过那块煤，放在鼻子底下，既像看又像嗅。好久，她一言没发，将煤还给王胆。于老师说：同学们，我们今天上第六课，《乌鸦和狐狸》。乌鸦得到一块肉，非常得意，站在树梢上。狐狸在树下，对乌鸦说，乌鸦太太，您的歌声太美妙了，您一歌唱，全世界的鸟儿都得闭嘴了。乌鸦被狐狸的马屁拍昏了头，一张嘴，哇，肉就落在狐狸口中了。于老师带领我们诵读课文。我们满嘴乌黑，跟着朗读。
我们于老师是有文化的人，竟然也入乡随俗地给她的儿子起名为李手。李手后来以优异成绩考入医学院，毕业后到县医院当了外科大夫。陈鼻铡草时铡断了四根手指，李手给他接活了三根。
Book One 2
2Why did Chen Bi have a big nose that was so different from everyone else’s? Probably only hismother can answer that question.
His father, Chen E (Forehead), with the style name Tianting (Middle of the Forehead), was theonly man in the village with two wives. A well-educated man, he came from a family that had farmeda hundred acres of prime land, run a distillery, and owned a business in Harbin before theestablishment of the People’s Republic. Chen’s first wife, a local, had borne him four daughters. Hefled north just before Liberation, but was brought back from the northeast in the custody of YuanLian and a pair of militiamen around 1951. He had fled alone, leaving his wife and daughters at homein the village, but brought another woman back with him. This woman, who had brown hair and blueeyes and looked to be in her early thirties, was called Ailian. She carried in her arms a spotted dog,and since she and Chen E had married before Liberation, it was perfectly legal for him to have twowives. Poor, unmarried village men were upset that Chen had two wives and half jokingly asked himif they could share one of them. Chen could only grin in response, a look somewhere betweenlaughing and crying. The two Chen wives lived in the same house at first, but since they fought likecats and dogs, Chen received permission to put his junior wife up in two rooms next to the school,given that the school buildings had once housed his family’s distillery, which meant that the tworooms counted as his property. He reached an agreement with the women that he’d divide his timebetween them. The dog the light-haired woman had brought with her was tormented to death byvillage mongrels, and not long after Ailian buried it she gave birth to Chen Bi. People liked to saythat he was a reincarnation of the spotted dog, which might explain his ultra keen sense of smell. Bythat time, my aunt had returned from the county seat, where she’d gone to learn the newest methodsof midwifery. She became the first professional midwife in the entire township. That was in 1953.
In 1953, villagers were adamantly opposed to new midwifery methods, thanks to rumours spreadby old midwives, who said that children born through these methods were prone to be arthritic. Whywould they spread such rumours? Because once the new methods caught on, they’d be out of work.
Delivering a baby at the mother’s home meant a free meal, a pair of towels, and a dozen eggs.
Whenever these women entered the conversation, my aunt - Gugu - ground her teeth in anger. Shecould not begin to calculate how many infants and pregnant women had died at those old witches’
hands. Her descriptions of their methods were chilling: they grew long fingernails, their eyes emittedgreen will-o’-the-wisp-like glimmers, and their breath stank. She said they pressed down on themother’s belly with rolling pins and stuffed rags in their mouths to keep the foetuses from coming outthere. They knew nothing about anatomy and were totally ignorant of a woman’s biological make-up.
When they encountered a difficult birth, according to Gugu, they crammed their hands up the birthcanal and pulled with all their might, sometimes actually wrenching the womb out along with thefoetus. For the longest time, if I’d been asked to compile a list of people most deserving to be linedup and shot, I’d unhesitatingly say: the old midwives. Gradually I came to understand why Gugu wasso prejudiced against them. Crude, ignorant old midwives certainly did exist, but experienced oldmidwives who, through their own experience, had a keen grasp of the secrets of a woman’s body,existed as well. Truth be told, my grandmother was one of those midwives, one who advocated apolicy of interfering as little as possible into the process. Her approach could be characterised as ‘themelon will fall when it is ripe’. In her view, the best midwives simply offered encouragement as theywaited for the foetus to emerge, then cut the umbilical cord, sprinkled on some lime, wrapped thechild, and that was that. But she was not a popular old midwife, considered by some to be lazy. Thosepeople seemed to prefer women whose hands were constantly busy, who kept running in and out ofthe room, shouting and carrying on; those old midwives perspired as much as the woman in labour.
My aunt was the daughter of my great-uncle, who had served as a doctor in the Eighth RouteArmy. He’d entered the army as a specialist in traditional Chinese medicine, but then had been taughtWestern medicine by the Canadian Norman Bethune, whose subsequent death from blood poisoninghit him so hard he fell desperately ill. He told his superior he wanted to see his mother before he died,a request that was granted so he could recuperate. Gugu’s grandmother was still alive at the time, andthe minute he walked through the door he was greeted by the familiar smell of mung bean soup. Hismother had washed the pot and started a fire to make the soup, and when her daughter-in-law cameup to help, she pushed her away with her cane. My great-uncle sat in the doorway waitingimpatiently. Gugu said she was old enough then to remember such things, and when she was told togreet her father, she ran behind her mother to peek at him from there. She’d often heard her motherand grandmother talk about her father, whom she was now meeting for the first time, and to her hewas a stranger. She told us how he sat in the doorway, sallow-faced, his hair long, fleas crawling uphis neck, tufts of cotton wadding peeking out through tears in his tattered lined coat. Gugu’sgrandmother - my great-grandmother - was in tears as she worked at the stove. When the soup wasfinally ready, Great-Uncle eagerly picked up a bowl and began slurping, despite the mouth-burningheat. Son, his mother said, slow down. There’s more in the pot. Gugu said his hands were shaking.
He ate a second bowl, and his hands stopped shaking. Sweat ran down the sides of his face. Signs oflife showed in his eyes as the colour returned to his face. Gugu said she could hear his stomachrumble, the sound of a millstone turning. An hour or two later, Gugu said, her father went to theouthouse, where he emptied his bowels, almost taking his intestines along with the loose mixture.
That’s when his recovery began, and within two months he was his old, vigorous self again.
I told Gugu I’d read something like that in The Scholars. The what? she asked. I told her it was afamous classical novel. She glared at me. If things like that happen even in classical novels, thatproves it was true.
Now that he was fully recovered, my great-uncle made preparations to rejoin his troops on MountTaihang. Son, his mother said, I can’t live much longer. Wait to go till after my funeral. And therewas another matter his wife found hard to bring up, that was left to Gugu. Father, she said, Motherdoesn’t mind if you go, but she’d like you to leave me a little brother before you do.
Soldiers from the eastern Shandong military district of the Eighth Route Army showed up at Great-Uncle’s house to recruit him, as a follower of Norman Bethune, reminding him of his fine reputation.
I already belong to the Shanxi-Chaha’er-Hebei arm, he said. But we’re Communists, just like theyare, the Shandong representative said. It doesn’t matter where you work. We really need someonelike you, Old Wan, and we’ll do whatever is necessary to keep you here. Commander Xu said if aneight-man sedan chair won’t do the trick, he’d hogtie him and take him under escort to a banquet inhis honour. That is how Great-Uncle wound up staying home in Shandong, where he founded theXihai Underground Hospital.
The hospital had underground passages that linked the wards and other rooms, including asterilisation room, a treatment room, an operating theatre, and a recovery room, all of which remainin Zhu Family Village, which is part of Yutong Township in the Laizhou Municipal area, and are stillwell maintained. An old woman of eighty-eight, Wang Xiulan by name, who was Great-Uncle’snurse back then, is still alive and well. Several of the recovery rooms lead directly to a well. One dayback then, a young woman went to the well for water, and was surprised when her bucket stoppedbefore reaching the bottom. She looked down, and there in a hollow in a wall, a young, woundedEighth Route soldier looked up and made a face at her.
Talk of Great-Uncle’s superb medical skills quickly made the rounds. It was he who removed theshrapnel lodged near Commander Xu’s scapula. He also managed to save both Political CommissarLi’s wife and her child during a difficult birth. Word had even spread to Pingdu city, which wasunder the command of an officer named Sugitani, whose warhorse had stepped on a land mine duringa mop-up operation. He had taken off on foot, leaving the horse behind. Great-Uncle performedsurgery on the horse, and after it recovered it became the mount for Regimental Commander Xia. Butbefore long, the horse was so homesick it bit through its tether and ran back to Pingdu. Sugitani wasso happy to see his horse again, with its wounds healed, he told his Chinese collaborators to find outwhat had happened. He learned that the Eighth Route Army had established a hospital right under hisnose, and that the medical skills of its director, Wan Liufu, were responsible for saving the life of hishorse. Commander Sugitani, who himself had received medical training, was impressed by Great-Uncle’s skills and summoned him to surrender. To do so, Sugitani adopted a scheme from theclassical novel Three Kingdoms, which was to secretly infiltrate our hometown to kidnap my great-grandmother, my great-aunt, and my aunt, and take them back to Pingdu, where he sent a letter toGreat-Uncle, telling him they were being held hostage.
After reading Sugitani’s letter, my great-uncle, a dedicated Communist, wadded it up and threw itaway. The hospital commissar retrieved the letter and delivered it to district headquarters.
Commander Xu and Commissar Li wrote a joint letter to Sugitani, denouncing him as a petty manand threatening to throw the entire weight of the Shandong Eighth Route Army against him if heharmed a hair of any of the three members of Wan Liufu’s family.
Gugu said that she and her mother and grandmother were well treated during the three months theyspent in Pingdu. According to her, Sugitani was a fair-skinned young man who wore white-framedglasses and had a moustache. Quiet and bookish, he spoke fluent Chinese. He called my great-grandmother Aunt, called my grandmother Sister-in-law, and called Gugu Niece. She did not have abad opinion of him. Of course, she only said that privately to members of the family. To others shesaid that all three were victims of Japanese brutality, subjected to coercion and bribery, though theyremained steadfast.
Sensei, I could talk about my great-uncle for three days and nights and never exhaust the subject.
We’ll continue this some other day, but I must tell you about how he died. Gugu said he was gassedwhile performing surgery in the underground hospital. That is how his death is listed in historicaldocuments prepared by the county consultative congress, but a private source claimed that he rode hismule into Pingdu with eight hand grenades on his belt, determined to single-handedly rescue his wife,his daughter and his ageing mother, but unfortunately struck a land mine placed by the Zhao FamilyTrench militiamen. The source of this account was Xiao Shangchun (Upper Lip), a stretcher-bearerfor the Xihai Hospital. A quirky individual, Xiao served as the commune granary watchman after1949, where he invented a pesticide that was a potent rat poison, for which he was extolled in thelocal newspaper, which changed his name from the chun that meant ‘lip’ to the one that meant‘purity’. Later it was discovered that the main ingredient of his rat poison was a banned highly toxicpesticide. He and Gugu were bitter enemies, which makes his account highly unreliable. He once saidto me that my great-uncle disobeyed orders by neglecting his patients in favour of playing the hero,and that he’d fortified himself before setting out by drinking two jin of potato liquor, winding up sodrunk that he stumbled on one of their own land mines. A gloating Xiao Shangchun flashed a yellow-toothed grin as he continued: Your great-uncle and the mule he was riding were blown to bits, bothcarried back to the hospital in boxes, bones and hooves all mixed up, and dumped into a coffin. Not abad coffin, though, one confiscated from a wealthy family in Lan Village.
When I repeated his story to Gugu, her eyes grew wide and she gnashed her silver teeth. One ofthese days, she said, I’m going to cut that bastard’s balls off!
Boy, she said staunchly, you can forget about everything else, but the one thing you must believe isthat your great-uncle was a hero of the resistance and a revolutionary martyr! His body rests in amausoleum on Martyrs Hill, his scalpel and leather shoes are part of the display in Martyrs Hall.
They are English shoes, bequeathed to him by Norman Bethune on his deathbed.
第一章 2
二
陈鼻为什么生了一只与众不同的大鼻子呢？这事儿大概只有他母亲能说清楚。
陈鼻的父亲陈额，字天庭，是我们村里唯一拥有两个老婆的人。陈额识字很多，解放前家有良田百亩，开着烧酒作坊，在哈尔滨还有买卖。他的大婆是本村人，为他生了四个女儿。解放前陈额跑了；解放后，大概是1951年，袁脸带着两个民兵，去东北把他押了回来。
他逃亡时是单身一个，把大婆和女儿们撇在家里，回来时却带着一个女人。那女人黄头发蓝眼珠，看上去有三十出头年纪，姓艾名莲。艾莲怀里，抱着一条浑身生满斑点的狗。因为这女人在解放前就跟陈额结了婚，所以他就合法地拥有了两个老婆。村里有几个赤贫光棍汉，对陈额一人双妻极为不满，曾半是戏说半是认真地要陈额让出一个老婆给他们用。陈额咧着嘴，脸上的表情哭笑难分。陈额的两个老婆起初住在一个院里，后来因为打架，闹得鸡犬不宁，经袁脸同意，将小老婆安置在学校旁边的两间厢房里。学校的房子原来是陈额家的烧酒作坊，那两间厢房也是他家的房产。陈额与两个女人达成了协议，两边轮换着住。黄毛女人从哈尔滨抱回来的那条狗，被村里的土狗欺负死了。艾莲挺着大肚子葬狗不久后，生了陈鼻，所以有人说陈鼻是那条斑点狗投胎转世。他嗅觉灵敏，也许与此有关吧。那时候我姑姑已经去县城学习了新法接生，成为乡里的专职接生员。那是1953年。
1953年，村民们对新法接生还很抗拒，原因是那些“老娘婆”背后造谣。她们说新法接生出来的孩子会得风症。“老娘婆”为什么造谣？因为一旦新法接生推广开，就断了她们的财路。她们接生一个孩子，可以在产妇家饱餐一顿并能得到两条毛巾、十个鸡蛋的酬劳。提起这些“老娘婆”，姑姑就恨得咬牙切齿。姑姑说不知道有多少婴儿、产妇死在这些老妖婆的手里。姑姑的描绘给我们留下恐怖的印象。那些“老娘婆”似乎都留着长长的指甲，眼睛里闪烁着鬼火般的绿光，嘴巴里喷着臭气。姑姑说她们用擀面杖挤压产妇的肚子。她们还用破布堵住产妇的嘴巴，仿佛孩子会从嘴巴里钻出来一样。姑姑说她们一点解剖学知识都没有，根本不了解妇女的生理结构。姑姑说碰上难产她们就会把手伸进产道死拉硬拽，她们甚至把胎儿和子宫一起从产道里拖出来。在很长一段时间里，如果让我选择一批最可恨的人拉出去枪毙，我都会毫不犹豫地说：“老娘婆”。后来，我慢慢地明白了姑姑的偏激。那种野蛮的、愚昧的“老娘婆”肯定是存在的，但有经验的、靠自身经验体悟到了女性身体秘密的“老娘婆”也是肯定存在的。其实我奶奶就是一个“老娘婆”。我奶奶是一个主张无为而治的“老娘婆”，她认为瓜熟自落，她认为一个好的“老娘婆”就是多给产妇鼓励，等孩子生下来，用剪刀剪断脐带，敷上生石灰，包扎起来即可。但我奶奶是一个不受欢迎的“老娘婆”，人们都说她懒。人们似乎更喜欢那种手忙脚乱、里外乱窜、大喊大叫、与产妇一样汗流浃背的“老娘婆”。
我姑姑是我大爷爷的女儿。我大爷爷是八路军的医生。他先是学中医的，参军后，跟着诺尔曼.白求恩，学会了西医。白求恩牺牲后，大爷爷心中难过，生了一场大病，眼见着不行了，说想家想娘了。组织上批准他回家养病。他回到老家时，我老奶奶还活着。他一进家门就闻到一股熬绿豆汤的香气。老奶奶赶紧涮锅点火熬绿豆汤，儿媳妇想帮忙，被她用拐棒拨拉到一边。我大爷爷坐在门槛上，焦急地等待着。姑姑对我们说那时她已经记事了，让她叫“大”她不叫，躲在娘背后偷着看。姑姑说从小就听娘和奶奶唠叨爹的事，终于见到了，却觉得好陌生。姑姑说大爷爷坐在门槛上，脸色蜡黄，头发长长，虱子在脖子上爬。穿着一件破棉袄，棉絮都露了出来。姑姑说她的奶奶也就是我们的老奶奶一边烧火一边流泪。绿豆汤熬出来了。大爷爷急不可耐，不顾汤热烫嘴，捧着碗急喝。老奶奶叨叨着：儿啊，不用急，锅里还有呢！姑姑说大爷爷双手哆嗦。喝了一碗，又添了一碗。喝完第二碗后他就不哆嗦了。汗水沿着他的鬓角流下来。眼珠渐渐地活泛了，脸上有了血色。姑姑说她听到大爷爷肚子里呼噜呼噜响，好像推磨一样。一个时辰后，姑姑说大爷爷到厕所里去，拉了个稀里哗啦，似乎连肠子都拉了出来。然后就慢慢地好起来，两个月后就精神健旺生龙活虎了。
我对姑姑说，曾在《儒林外史》上看到过类似的故事。姑姑问我：《儒林外史》是什么？我说是古典文学名著。姑姑瞪我一眼，说：连古典文学名著上都有，你还怀疑什么？！
大爷爷病愈之后，就要回太行山找部队。老奶奶说：儿啊，我没几天活头了，给我送了终你再走。大奶奶自己不好说，就让姑姑说。姑姑说：爹，俺娘说了，你要走也行，但要给俺留下个弟弟再走。
这时，八路军胶东军区的人找上门来，动员大爷爷加入。大爷爷是诺尔曼.白求恩的弟子，名气很大。大爷爷说，我是晋察冀军区的人。胶东军区的人说，都是共产党的人，在哪里干不一样啊？我们这里正缺您这样的人，老万，无论如何我们也要把您留下。许司令说了，用八人大轿抬不来，就用绳子给老子捆来，先兵后礼，老子摆大宴请他！就这样，大爷爷留在了胶东，成了八路军西海地下医院的创始人。
这地下医院真在地下呢。地道连着房间，房间通向地道，有消毒室、治疗间、手术室、休养室，这些遗迹至今保存完好。在莱州市于疃镇祝家村，一个八十八岁的老太太，王秀兰，当年跟着大爷爷当过护士，她还健在。有好几间休养室的出口通向水井。当年，一个年轻姑娘去井里打水，水桶莫名其妙地被扯住了，低头往里一看，井壁侧洞里，一个年轻的八路军伤员正对着她扮鬼脸呢。
大爷爷的高超医术很快在胶东传开。许司令肩胛缝里那块弹片就是他取出来的，黎政委爱人难产，也是大爷爷手术，保了母子平安。连平度城里的日军司令杉谷也知道爷爷的大名，他率兵下来扫荡，坐骑大洋马被地雷炸翻。他弃马逃走。大爷爷为这匹马动了手术，治愈后，成了夏团长的坐骑。后来此马恋旧，咬断缰绳逃回平度城。杉谷见宝马复归，惊喜万分，让汉奸秘密探访，得知八路军在他眼皮底下建了一座医院，医院院长就是把死马医活的神医万六府。杉谷司令是学医出身，惺惺相惜，总想把大爷爷招降过去。为此，杉谷从《三国演义》里学了诡计，派人秘密潜入吾乡，把我老奶奶、我大奶奶、我姑姑绑架到平度城中，扣作人质，然后派人送信给我大爷爷。
我大爷爷是意志坚定的共产党人，看完杉谷的信，揉巴揉巴就扔了。医院门政委将这信捡起来送到军区。许司令和黎政委联名写信给杉谷，怒斥他是个小人。信中说如果他敢伤万六府三位亲人一根毫毛，胶东军区将集合全部兵力攻打平度城。
姑姑说她与大奶奶老奶奶在平度城里住了三个月，有吃有喝，没受罪。姑姑说那杉谷司令是个白脸青年，戴一副白边眼镜，留着小八字胡，文质彬彬，讲一口流利中文。他称老奶奶为伯母，称大奶奶为嫂夫人，称姑姑为贤侄。姑姑说她对杉谷没有坏印象。当然这是姑姑私下里对我们自家人说的，对外她不这样说。对外她说，她与大奶奶老奶奶受尽了日本人的严刑拷打，威逼利诱，但坚决不动摇。
先生，我大爷爷的故事三天三夜也说不完，咱们得空再聊。但大爷爷牺牲的事必须说说。姑姑说大爷爷是在地道里为伤员做手术时，被敌人的毒瓦斯熏死的。县政协编的文史资料上也是这样说的。但也有人私下里说大爷爷腰里缠着八颗手榴弹，骑着骡子，一人独闯平度城，想以孤胆英雄的方式去营救妻子、女儿与老母，但不幸误踩了赵家沟民兵的连环雷。
传播这消息的人姓肖名上唇，曾在西海医院当过担架员。此人阴阳怪气，解放后在公社粮库当保管员，曾因发明了一种特效灭鼠药而名噪一时，名字中的“唇”字，见报时也改为“纯”字。后来被揭露，他的特效鼠药的主要成分是国家已经严禁使用的剧毒农药。此人与姑姑有仇，因此他的话不可信。他对我说：你大爷爷不听组织命令，撇下医院的伤病员，耍个人英雄主义，行前为了壮胆，喝了两斤地瓜烧酒，喝得醉三麻四，结果糊里糊涂踩了自己人的地雷。肖上唇龇着焦黄的大牙，简直是幸灾乐祸地对我说：你大爷爷和那匹骡子都被炸碎了，是用两只筐子抬回来的。筐子里有人胳膊，也有骡蹄子，后来就那么乱七八糟地倒进了一个棺材。棺材倒是不错，是从兰村一个大户人家强征来的。我把他的话向姑姑转述后，姑姑杏眼圆睁，银牙顿挫地说：总有一天，我要亲手劁了这个杂种！
姑姑坚定地对我说：孩子，你什么都可以不相信，但一定要相信，你大爷爷是抗日英雄，革命烈士！英灵山上，有他的陵墓，烈士纪念馆里，展览着他用过的手术刀和他穿过的皮鞋。那是双英国皮鞋，是诺尔曼.白求恩大夫临死前赠送给他的。
Book One 3
3Sensei, I rushed through the story of my great-uncle so I could take my time telling Gugu’s story.
She was born on 13 June 1937, the fifth day of the fifth lunar month, which is Duanyang, the dayof the Dragon Boat Festival. They called her Duanyang until she started school, and was then calledWan Xin (Heart). Great-Uncle named her, showing respect for local tradition while investing hername with a message. Not long after Great-Uncle’s death, his mother died of natural causes inChengdu. Members of the Shandong military district launched a large-scale rescue mission to freeGugu and her mother from their captivity, and once they were in the liberated zone, Gugu wasenrolled in the Resistance elementary school and her mother was sent to a factory to make soles forcloth shoes. After Liberation, the future for descendants of martyrs like Gugu could not have beenbrighter, but her mother hated the idea of leaving her hometown and Gugu hated the idea of leavingher. Officials at the county level asked her what she would like to do; when she said she’d like tocarry on her father’s work, she was admitted to the prefectural medical school. She graduated at theage of sixteen and was assigned to the township health centre, where she undertook a training coursefor modern birthing methods organised by the county health bureau. Gugu forged an unbreakablebond with the sacred work of obstetrics. According to her calculations, from the fourth day of thefourth month of 1953, when she attended her first birth, till the spring of last year, she deliveredaround ten thousand babies, counting two as one when working with someone else. She told you thisin person. I assumed she’d inflated the number somewhat, but there had to have been seven or eightthousand at least. She had seven interns, one of whom she called ‘Little Lion’, a young womanwhose hair was never combed, who had a flat nose, a square mouth, and a face full of zits. She was sodevoted to Gugu that if she’d been told to kill someone, she’d have picked up a knife and done itwithout asking why.
We’ve already seen how, in the spring of 1953, women in my hometown resisted modern birthingmethods, including the old midwives, who spread all sorts of rumours. Gugu was only seventeen atthe time, but with her unconventional experience and privileged background, she was already aninfluential young woman who was held in high esteem. Admittedly, her good looks played a role inthat. Putting aside head, face, nose, and eyes, her teeth alone are worth mention. Our water was soheavily fluoridated that everyone, young and old, had black teeth. But after spending her youth in theliberated areas of eastern Shandong and drinking spring water, not to mention being taught to brushher teeth by Eighth Route soldiers, Gugu’s teeth were spared of that noxious effect. Hers were theenvy of all, especially the girls.
Chen Bi was the first baby Gugu delivered, a fact that caused her a lifetime of regret - her firstought to have been the son or daughter of a revolutionary, not a landlord’s mongrel. But at the time,the necessity to start something new and do away with old birthing methods would not allow her totake such issues into consideration.
When Gugu learned that Ailian had gone into labour, she jumped on her bicycle (a rarity at thetime), a medical kit over her back, and rushed home, covering the ten li from the health centre to ourvillage in ten minutes. Village secretary Yuan Lian’s wife, who was washing clothes on the bank ofthe Jiao River, watched her race across the narrow stone bridge, so scaring a puppy playing on thebridge it fell into the river.
Medical kit in hand, Gugu burst into Ailian’s room, only to find that the old midwife Tian Guihuawas already attending to her. The old woman, with her pointed mouth and sunken cheeks, was in hersixties; by now, thankfully, this torchbearer for the obstructionists is feeding worms. When Guguentered, Tian was straddling Ailian and pushing down on her bulging belly with all her might. AsTian was suffering from chronic bronchitis, the sound of her laboured breathing merged with the hog-butchering screams of her pregnant victim, producing a tragically heroic aura in the room. Chen E,the landlord, was in the corner on his knees, banging his head in supplication on the floor, over andover, and mumbling incoherently.
As a frequent visitor to Chen’s house, I knew its floor plan well. Two cramped rooms with hangingeaves faced west. The first thing you encountered after entering was the stove, which was backed bya two-foot-high wall. The sleeping platform, the kang, was behind that low wall. So Gugu witnessedthe scene the moment she walked in, and was livid with anger; in her own words, ‘the flames werethirty feet high’. She dropped her medical kit, ran up and, with her left hand on the old woman’s leftarm and her right hand on her right shoulder, yanked her off the kang. The old woman’s head bangedinto the bedpan, splashing its contents all over the floor and filling the air with the smell of urine.
Dark blood oozed from a head wound. It wasn’t a serious injury, but you wouldn’t have known thatby her shrieks of agony. Most people, hearing such pitiful wails, would go dumb from fright. Butthey had no effect on Gugu, who had seen a thing or two in her life.
She took her place next to the kang, donned rubber gloves, and spoke sternly to Ailian: No morecrying, no more screaming, since neither of those is helpful. Listen to me if you want to come out ofthis alive. Do exactly as I say. That had the desired effect on Ailian, who knew all about Gugu’sbackground and her uncommon experiences. You are a little old to be having a child, Gugu told her,and the position of the foetus is wrong. Babies are supposed to come out headfirst, but yours wants tocome out hand first, his head still inside. In years to come, Gugu often teased Chen Bi by saying hewanted to emerge with an outstretched hand to ask the world for something. To which, Chen alwaysremarked: I was begging for food.
It was her first case, and yet she was calm and composed, not a hint of panic, someone whosetechniques produced better than expected results. Gugu was a natural genius as a woman’s doctor.
What her instincts told her, her hands put into practice. Women who witnessed her at work or thosewho were her patients absolutely revered and admired her. My mother said to me more than once:
Your aunt’s hands are different than other people’s. Most people’s hands are cold some of the time,hot at other times, sometimes stiff, and sometimes sweaty. But your aunt’s hands were always thesame, whether in the cold of winter or the heat of summer: soft and cool, not spongy soft, morelike?.?.?.?How can I describe them? My educated elder brother said: Like a needle tucked into cotton,supple yet firm? That’s it, Mother said. And the coolness of her hands was never icy. I can’t find thewords?.?.?.?Again my brother came to her aid: Can we call it outer heat and inner coolness, like coolsilk or fine jade? That’s it, Mother said, that’s it exactly. All she had to do was lay her hands on a sickperson for that illness to retreat at least 70 per cent. Gugu came close to being deified by the womenin our township.
Ailian was a lucky woman; she’d been a smart one to begin with. As soon as Gugu’s handstouched her belly, she felt a sort of vigour. She often told people she met afterward that Gugu had thebearing of a general. Compared to her, the woman lying on the floor in a puddle of piss was a clown.
In the inspiration and power derived from her scientific approach and dignified demeanour, Ailiansaw brightness and gained the courage to deliver; her gut-wrenching screams and pain were greatlyreduced. She stopped crying and did as Gugu said, working in concert with Gugu’s movements tobring Chen Bi safely into the world.
Chen wasn’t breathing when he emerged, so Gugu held him by his feet and smacked him on theback and chest until he produced a kitten-like cry. How is it the little imp has such a big nose? Guguwondered. He looks like one of those Americans. She was as happy as she could be, like an artisanwho has just completed the first project. And a smile spread across the face of the exhausted mother.
Though Gugu was imbued with strong class-consciousness, class and class struggle were completelyforgotten as she helped the infant emerge from the birth canal. Her elation constituted the pureessence of happiness.
When he heard that it was a boy, Chen E stood up. Feeling helpless, he threaded his way back andforth in the narrow space behind the stove, strings of tears dripping like honey from his dried-upeyes. He was incapable of describing the joy he felt. (There were terms like male heir and patriarchalclan, but from a man like him they would have been offensive.)The boy has such a big nose, Gugu said, why don’t you just call him Chen Bi - Nose Chen?
She was just teasing, but Chen E nodded and bowed to her, taking her words as if they constitutedan imperial edict: I thank Gugu for favouring him with a name, he said. Nose it is. We’ll call himChen Bi.
Swathed in Chen E’s insistent thanks and Ailian’s tears of joy, Gugu packed up her kit and was onher way out when she spotted Tian Guihua sitting in the corner against the wall, the broken bedpanon the floor in front of her. She actually appeared to be asleep. Gugu could not say when thistransformation had taken place or when her hair-raising shrieks had stopped. She thought the womanmight be dead, but light in her cat-like eyes proved her wrong. Waves of anger surged through hermind. What are you hanging around for? she said. I did half the work, the woman said, and you didthe other half. By rights I should get one towel and five eggs, but my head is injured, thanks to you.
For the sake of your mother, I won’t report you to the authorities, but you have to give me your towelto wrap the wound and your five eggs for my health.
That reminded Gugu that the old midwives always demanded a fee, and the thought disgusted her.
Shame on you! she said through clenched teeth. Shame, shame on you! What do you mean, you didhalf the work? If I’d let you finish, there would be two corpses lying on that kang. You witch, youthink a woman’s birth canal is like a hen’s rectum, that all you have to do is squeeze for an egg topop out. You call that a delivery? What it is is murder. And you want to report me? Gugu aimed aflying kick on the woman’s chin. You want a towel? And eggs? Another kick followed, this one onthe woman’s backside. She then grabbed her medical kit with one hand and the tight bun of hair onthe woman’s head and dragged her out into the yard. Chen E followed them out, wanting to makepeace. Get your arse back in there! Gugu demanded angrily, and take care of your wife!
It was, Gugu told me later, the first time she’d ever struck anyone. She’d never thought herselfcapable of such a thing. But she kicked her again. The old woman rolled over and sat up, poundingthe ground with both hands. Help! she shrieked. She’s trying to kill me?.?.?.?Wan Liufu’s banditdaughter is trying to kill me!
Evening is when that occurred. The setting sun, a colourful western sky, light breezes. Most of thevillagers were taking their dinner out in the streets, rice bowls in hand, and they came trotting over tosee what all the commotion was about. The village Party secretary, Yuan Lian, and BrigadeCommander Lü Ya (Tooth) was among them. Tian Guihua was a distant aunt of Lü Ya, close enoughto be considered family. Wan Xin, he said to Gugu, aren’t you ashamed to hit an old woman?
Who did Lü Ya think he was, scolding me like that, a creep who battered his wife to make hercrawl around the house?
Old woman? Gugu said. Old witch is more like it. A demon! Ask her what she was doing here.
I don’t know how many people have died at your hand, but if a woman like me had a gun, she’dhappily put a bullet in your head. Gugu pointed her finger at the old woman’s head. She was all ofseventeen at the time. The crowd tittered at her use of ‘a woman like me’.
There was more Lü Ya wanted to say in Tian Guihua’s defence, but he was cut short by YuanLian: Doctor Wan did nothing wrong. Old witches who play games with people’s lives deserve to beseverely punished. Tian Guihua, stop the phoney act. You got off lightly with only being struck. Youought to be sent to prison! From now on, Doctor Wan is to be called when any woman is about tohave a child. Tian Guihua, if you ever again show up to do what you do, I’ll rip those dog fingersright off your hands!
Gugu said that Yuan Lian was not an educated man, but he could see which way tides ran andknew the importance of justice. He was a good cadre.
第一章 3
三
先生，匆匆忙忙讲述大爷爷的故事，是为了从容不迫地讲述姑姑的故事。
姑姑生于公历1937年6月13日，农历五月初五，乳名端阳，学名万心。她的名字是大爷爷所起，既尊重了本地习俗，又显得寓意深远。大爷爷牺牲之后，老奶奶在平度城里因病去世。胶东军区通过内线大力营救，将大奶奶和姑姑救出牢笼。大奶奶和姑姑被接到解放区，姑姑在那里念抗日小学，大奶奶在被服厂纳鞋底子。解放后，像姑姑这样的烈士后代，有许多机会可以远走高飞，但大奶奶热土难离，姑姑舍不得离开大奶奶。县里领导问姑姑想干什么，姑姑说要继承父业，于是就进了专区卫生学校。姑姑从卫生学校毕业时才十六岁，在镇卫生所行医。县卫生局开办新法接生培训班，派姑姑去学习。姑姑从此便与这项神圣的工作结下了不解之缘。从1953年四月初四接下第一个孩子，到去年春节，姑姑说她一共接生了一万个孩子，与别人合作的，两个算一个。这话她也亲口对您说过。我估计，一万个孩子，大概是夸张了些，但七八千个孩子总是有的。姑姑带过七个徒弟，其中一个外号“小狮子”的，头发蓬松，塌鼻方口，脸上有粉刺，是姑姑的崇拜者，姑姑让她去杀人，她立马就会持刀前往，根本不问青红皂白。
前面我们说过，1953年春天时，我们那儿的妇女对新法接生颇多抵触。那些“老娘婆”又在私下里造谣诋毁，姑姑那时虽然只有十七岁，但因为从小经历不凡，又加上一个黄金般璀璨的出身，已经成为我们高密东北乡影响巨大、众人仰慕而视的重要人物。当然，姑姑的容貌也是出类拔萃的。不说头，不说脸，不说鼻子不说眼，就说牙。我们那地方是高氟区，老老少少，都龇着一嘴黑牙。姑姑小时在胶东解放区生活过很长时间，喝过山里的清泉，并跟着八路军学会了刷牙，也许就是这原因，她的牙齿没受毒害。我姑姑拥有一口令我们、尤其是令姑娘们羡慕的白牙。
姑姑接生的第一个孩子是陈鼻。为此姑姑曾表示过遗憾。她说她接生的第一个孩子本应该是革命的后代，没想到却接生了一个地主的狗崽子。但当时为了打开局面，为了革掉旧法接生的命，姑姑没来得及考虑这个问题。
姑姑得到艾莲即将生产的消息，骑着那时还很罕见的自行车，背着药箱子，飞一般蹿回来。从乡卫生所到我们村十里路，姑姑只用了十分钟。当时村支书袁脸的老婆正在胶河边洗衣裳，她亲眼看到姑姑从那座狭窄的小石桥上飞驰而过。一条正在小桥上玩耍的狗惊慌失措，一头栽到了河里。
姑姑手提药箱冲进艾莲居住的那两间厢房时，村里的“老娘婆”田桂花已经在那里了。这是个尖嘴缩腮的老女人，当时已经六十多岁，现在早已化为泥土，阿弥陀佛！田桂花属积极干预一派，姑姑进门后，看到她正骑跨在艾莲身上，卖力地挤压艾莲高高隆起的腹部。这老婆子患有慢性气管炎，她咻咻的喘息声与产妇杀猪般的嚎叫声混杂在一起，制造出一种英勇悲壮的氛围。地主陈额，跪在墙角，脑袋像磕头虫般一下一下地碰撞着墙壁，嘴里念叨着一些含混不清的话语。
我多次去过陈鼻的家，熟知他家的结构。那是两间朝西开门的厢房，房檐低矮，房间狭小。一进门就是锅灶，锅灶后是一堵二尺高的间壁墙，墙后就是土炕。姑姑一进门就可看到了炕上的情景。姑姑看到炕上的情景就感到怒不可遏，用她自己的话说，叫作“火冒三丈”。
她扔下药箱，一个箭步冲上去，左手抓住那老婆子的左臂，右手抓住老婆子的右肩，用力往右后方一别，就把老婆子甩在了炕下。老婆子头碰在尿罐上，尿流满地，屋子里弥漫着臊气。老婆子头破了，流出了暗黑的血。其实她的伤也没有多重，但她尖声嚎叫，十分夸张。
一般人听到这样的哭声就会吓晕，但姑姑不怕，姑姑是见过大世面的人。
姑姑站在炕前，戴上橡胶手套，严肃地对艾莲说：你不要哭，也不要嚎，因为哭嚎无济于事。你如果想活，就听我的命令，我让你怎么着，你就怎么着。艾莲被姑姑震住了，她当然知道姑姑的光荣出身和传奇经历。姑姑说：你是高龄产妇，胎位不正。人家的孩子，都是先出头，你这孩子，先伸出一只手，脑袋窝在里边。姑姑后来多次开陈鼻的玩笑，说他头还没出来就先把手伸出去，似乎要向这个世界讨要什么。陈鼻总是回答：讨饭吃呗！
姑姑虽是初次接生，但她头脑冷静，遇事不慌，五分的技艺，能发挥出十分的水平。姑姑是天才的妇产科医生，她干这行儿脑子里有灵感，手上有感觉。见过她接生的女人或被她接生过的女人，都佩服得五体投地。我母亲生前多次对我们说：你姑姑的手跟别人不一样。
常人手有时凉，有时热，有时发僵，有时流汗，但你姑姑的手五冬六夏都一样，是软的，凉的，不是那种松垮的软，是那种……怎么说呢……有文化的哥哥说：是不是像绵里藏针、柔中带刚？母亲道：正是。她的手那凉也不是像冰块一样的凉，是那种……有文化的哥哥又替母亲补充：是内热外凉，像丝绸一样的，宝玉样的凉。母亲道：正是正是，只要她的手在病人身上一摸，十分病就去了七分。姑姑差不多被乡里的女人们神化了。
艾莲是个幸运的女人，当然她首先是个聪明的女人。姑姑的手在她肚皮上一摸，她就感受到了一种力量。她后来逢人便说姑姑有大将风度。与姑姑相比，那个趴在尿罐边嚎哭的女人简直是个小丑。在姑姑的科学态度和威严风度的感召与震撼下，产妇艾莲看到了光明，产生了勇气，那撕肝裂肺的痛疼似乎也减轻了许多。她停止了哭泣，听着姑姑命令，配合着姑姑的动作，把这个大鼻子婴儿生了出来。
陈鼻刚出生时没有呼吸，姑姑将他倒提起来，拍打他的后背前胸，终于使他发出了猫叫般的哭声。姑姑说：这个小家伙，鼻子怎么这么大呢？像个美国佬一样呢！姑姑这时心中充满了喜悦，就像一个工匠完成了自己的第一件作品。产妇疲惫的脸上绽开了灿烂的笑容。姑姑是个阶级观念很强的人，但她将婴儿从产道中拖出来那一刻会忘记阶级和阶级斗争，她体会到的喜悦是一种纯洁、纯粹的人的感情。
听说小老婆娩出的是个男婴，陈额从墙角爬起来。他手足无措，在灶台狭窄的空间转着圈儿。两行蜂蜜般的泪水，从他枯干的眼窝里流出来。他心里的狂喜无法用语言形容。许多话他想说但不敢出口，什么香火啦，宗族啦，对他这种人，说出口就是罪过。
姑姑对陈额说：这孩子生了这么个大鼻子，干脆就叫陈鼻吧！
姑姑是一句戏言，但那陈额，竟如领了圣旨一般，点头哈腰地说：感谢心姑赐名！感谢心姑赐名。陈鼻好，就叫陈鼻！
姑姑在陈额的千恩万谢中，在艾莲的婆娑泪珠中，收拾好药箱，准备回去。姑姑看到，田桂花背靠着墙壁，面对着破尿罐，坐在那里，仿佛睡着了一样。姑姑不知道她何时改成了这样的姿态，也记不清她那种令人毛骨悚然的嚎哭是何时停止的。姑姑说还以为她死了呢，但看到她的眼睛在幽暗中像猫眼一样放出绿光后，才知道她活着。姑姑的心中涌起愤怒的波涛。姑姑问：你怎么还不走？！那老婆子竟然说：这活儿我干了一半，你干了一半；按说我只要一条毛巾，五个鸡蛋，但你把我的头打破了，看在你娘的面子上，我不去政府控告你了，但你必须把你那条毛巾给我包扎伤口，把你那五个鸡蛋给我补养身体。姑姑这才想起，这些“老娘婆”是要跟产妇家索要财物的，她心中充满了厌恶。可耻啊，太可耻了！姑姑咬着牙根说：什么这活儿你干了一半？如果让你全干完，现在炕上就是两具尸体！你这个老妖婆子，你以为女人的阴道像老母鸡的屁股一样，用力一挤，鸡蛋就会蹦出来？你这是接生吗？
不，你这是杀人！你还想去告我？姑姑飞起一脚踢中了老婆子的下巴。你还要毛巾、鸡蛋！
姑姑又是一脚，踢在老婆子屁股上，然后，一手拎着药箱，一手揪着老婆子脑后的发髻，拖拖拉拉，到了院子里。陈额跟出来劝和，姑姑怒斥：滚回去！照顾你老婆去！
姑姑说这是她平生第一次打人。姑姑说想不到我这么会打人。姑姑对准老太婆的屁股又踢了一脚。老太婆翻了一个滚，爬起来，坐在地上双手拍打着地面，呼天抢地：救命啊！打死人了……我被万六府的强盗女儿打死了……
正是傍晚时分，夕阳、晚霞、微风，村里人多半捧着大碗站在街边吃饭，听到这边喧闹，便小跑着汇聚过来。村支书袁脸和大队长吕牙也来了。田桂花是吕牙的远房婶子，沾亲三分向，吕牙就说：万心，你一个年轻姑娘，打一个老人，不感到臊得慌吗？
姑姑对我们说：他吕牙什么东西？打得他老婆满地爬的畜生，竟敢教训我？
姑姑说：什么老人？老妖怪，害人精！你问问她自己，她干了些什么事？
多少人死在你的手里，老娘手里有枪，立马儿就崩了你！姑姑伸出右手食指，指着老太太的头。姑姑当时是个十七岁的大姑娘，竟然自称“老娘”，把很多人逗笑了。
吕牙还想为田桂花争理，支书袁脸道：万医生没错，对这种拿着人命开玩笑的巫婆，就该严加惩治！田桂花，别耍死狗了，打你算轻的，应该送你进班房！从今后，家里有生孩子的，都去找万医生！田桂花，你要再敢给人接生，就把你的狗爪子剁了去！
姑姑说，袁脸这人，虽说没文化，但能看清潮流，能主持公道，是个好干部。