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“没有您，哪有我们” | 读书声
2016-01-06 迟小宝 哈牛堂
8:06
Without you, there is no us
来自哈牛堂
六十多年前，一条线划开一个国；一场战争分离骨肉亲人。
2011年，韩裔美国记者Suki Kim （金素姬）伪装成传教士，申请到了朝鲜唯一的一所非官办大学——平壤科技大学的访问教职，潜入到这个神秘国家，借由向一群出身于朝鲜精英阶层的大学生教授英语之名，记录报道了她所见的朝鲜。
金素姬13岁与家人远渡重洋去了美国。作为一个移民，虽然接受了美国的文化和理念，却无法真正把美国当成故乡。2002年，第一次访问朝鲜时，她甚至觉得这里比她自己住了几十年的美国更加亲切。于是，她决定有朝一日要来真正深入了解这个国家。
她的愿望在某种程度上实现了，然而在更大程度上落空了。
作为平壤科技大学的教师，她和一群朝鲜大学生朝夕相处了六个月，了解了他们美好纯真的那一面，也看到他们在特定环境下成长，人性缺失的那一面。
平壤科技大学的封闭式校园
平壤科技大学是专为平壤的权贵子弟开设的大学。在这里，精英子弟的特权是可以有限度的接触外面的世界。但即使是面向这群学生，教师的教学计划也要受到严格的审查，每堂课都有官方委派的朝鲜人员坐在教室后面，对上课的内容进行监控、录音。学生们之间也可能相互告密——他们不能显示出对外面世界的任何兴趣和了解，否则可能会被检举。
除去生活在这个被严密管控的国家以外，这群青春洋溢的大男孩也跟世界上任何其他地方的年轻人没什么两样——他们也热爱运动，他们也谈论心仪的姑娘，他们也有年轻人的热情和求知欲。只是，他们的青春在很大程度上被压抑扭曲了。比如，说谎对于他们来说是家常便饭；比如，除了对伟大领袖的热爱以外，他们不能显示出对其他人的“过度”热爱，即使是自己的家人。
金素姬在平壤科技大学教授英语
学生运动会
本书出版后，在引起了巨大反响的同时，也遭到了许多质疑。平壤科技大学的校长说，金素姬背弃承诺，将她在学校的经历出版的行为将使许多学生和老师面临巨大危险，也将使得学校将来引进外籍教师更加困难。更有甚者，攻击其双手“沾满了鲜血”。
金素姬说，她尽其所能保护了她的报道对象。她不但在书中没有用到任何人的真名，还故意模糊了每个人的特征，即使这样就无法刻画出鲜活、可爱的个体。她还认为，沾满鲜血的并不是她，而是那些藏在伪善的道德后面，一味等待批准，不敢暴露真实情况的记者。
平壤市容
书中有很多精彩的片段，但左思右想，我决定读一段作者的家庭悲剧。这个悲剧是个体的，但更是集体的——这样的经历，在当时的南北朝鲜有过，在二战时期的欧洲有过，在战后的柏林有过，在太平轮承载的中国历史上，也有过。
金素姬的外婆曾经生过九个孩子，前四个都死在襁褓之中。第五个孩子，也就是金素姬从未见过面的大舅舅，是外婆的幸运星——在他之后，所有的孩子都活下来了。
学校午餐——即使是高干子弟上的学校，肉汤也很罕见
1950年6月25日，在那个分离千万个骨肉家庭的夜晚，外婆带着五个孩子，从首尔向南逃去，希望能够躲避随处而来的炸弹。所有的火车票都已经卖光了，他们幸运的在一辆卡车上找到了容身之地。外婆刚刚松了一口气，然而，就在车子即将开动的瞬间，另一家人赶到车前，祈求车上的青壮年能起身给病弱的妇儿让出位子。
那时的大舅舅是一个十七岁的血性少年。他果断的站起身来，跳下车去，把自己的位置让给了别人。他转过身，向母亲保证说，他很快可以找到另外一辆车，很快就能跟大家汇合。
平壤科技大学的学生观看被悉心甄选过的外国电影
从此一别，再无相见。
失去了长子的外婆疯了。逃难的时候连一张照片都来不及拿走，大舅舅那张年轻的脸，就只能在外婆日渐模糊的记忆中反复擦拭了。
清醒的间隙，外婆唯一做的一件事就是去算命，问的只有一件事，我的儿子在哪里，还活着吗。
也许是见过了太多人间至痛，算命的都不忍伤害一个老妇人的心，他们的答案出奇的一致——他活着，在平壤，活得好好的。
【本文所有图片均来自与作者金素姬网站：
http://www.sukikim.com】
Again the mind does a loop, and all roads converge on a single moment on June 25, 1950. For those of her generation who lost somebody, life is forever divided between before that day and after.
回忆再一次回转，所有的画面都定格在1950年6月25日。对于像她这样失去了至亲的一代人而言，生命以那一天为界，从此再不相同。
It takes the six of them several hours to reach Seoul Station because the streets are packed with people fleeing. The older children take hold, protectively, of the hands of the younger ones. The walk is about two and a half miles, but my grandmother is alone with five children, carrying as much as she can on her back. My seventeen-year-old uncle must have led the group.
他们六个人走了好几个小时才到达首尔车站，因为路上挤满了逃亡的人。大一点的孩子紧拉着小一点的孩子，保护着他们。路程只有差不多2.5英里，我外婆独自一人领着5个孩子，背上背着尽可能多的东西。当时17岁舅舅，想必是领路的那一个。
“It was a miracle that we made it to the station before nightfall. We were lucky … at first.”
我们能在午夜之前赶到车站真是奇迹。我们运气很好﹒﹒﹒但只是开始运气好。
After fighting her way through the jam-packed station, my grandmother learns that all tickets on all southbound trains are sold out. She sees people climbing onto the roofs of departing trains in desperation.
车站人满为患，在拼尽全力挤到售票口后，我外婆才发现所有南行的火车票都卖光了。火车即将出发，她看着人们在绝望中爬上正在开出的列车车顶。
After waiting there for hours, she hears about some trucks giving rides to families with young children. So she and the children run, small fists tightly folded over the smaller ones.
在等待了几个小时之后，她听说有卡车愿意载有小孩的家庭向南逃亡，于是她和孩子们跑过去，小小的拳头紧紧地拽着另外更小的拳头。
And, miraculously, there is a dusty truck with people in back but with room for more, and they hop on, and my grandmother, soaked in sweat, makes sure that all five children are there, including the baby girl in her arms, my mother, placed there by her eldest son.
他们奇迹般的找到一辆脏兮兮的卡车，车后已经坐了些人，但是还有些空间。于是，他们跳上车，已经浑身被汗水浸湿的外婆确保她的五个孩子都在车上，包括她手上抱着的女婴，我的母亲。
These are good children, good eggs, the ones who survived against all odds.
这些都是好孩子，历尽艰险活下来的健康的胚胎。
She plops down, leaning against the tailgate, and takes a deep breath, her tremendous breasts heaving, these breasts that fed nine infants, although she has only five to show for it.
她一屁股坐下，靠在卡车后挡板上，深呼一口气，厚实的胸膛上下起伏，这个胸膛曾经哺育了九个婴儿，但现在只有五个了。
She is forty-five years old, but she looks and feels older, and she realizes she is tired, exhausted in fact, not the optimal emotion to feel at the dawn of a war, although she is not yet sure if it really is war.
她只有45岁，但看起来要比这老，她觉得累了，事实上是精疲力尽了。在战争爆发的前夕，精疲力尽可不是好主意，尽管她目前也不确定这是不是真的战争。
All she knows is that they are on a vehicle, away from the bombs, and that somehow, without her husband, she has managed to get all of them here. She feels smug for a moment and wants to congratulate herself for this accomplishment, but instead casts a lingering glance at her oldest, the son, the one who survived.
她只知道他们在车上，远离炸弹，没有丈夫的帮忙，她成功的把整个家带到了这里。她甚至有些得意，想祝贺自己一下，但她没有。她只是久久地看着她的大儿子，这个活下来的孩子。
He is her lucky charm. It is with him that the tide turned. He lived, and each successive baby lived, as though with him came this beautiful gift of life; and look at him now, all grown and handsome at seventeen. She can barely contain the overwhelming love in her heart and tries to pull away her gaze although she is incapable of doing so, and it is then that a shout is heard from somewhere.
他是她的幸运星。她的厄运是从他而改变的。他活了下来，在他以后的所有孩子都活了下来，就像是他带来了生命这份大礼。看看他，17岁的他长大了，已经是个英俊青年。她几乎抑制不住内心的爱，想把目光转移开，尽管她知道做不到。就在这个时候，一句叫喊声不知从何处传来。
As my mother tells it, no one could clearly remember that moment afterward. Suddenly dirty faces are peering in, and people are clutching the side of the truck in a desperate attempt to board this ark that will take them away from the coming flood of violence; the only way to flee the bombs, away from Seoul, the mountainous, sprawling capital that has housed Korean royals for centuries, the epitome of every Korean’s desires, but in this moment, all at once, everyone wants to chuck it into the nearest trash can and run.
我母亲说后来没有人能清楚地记得那个时刻。突然，一些脏脏的脸伸进来，很多人孤注一掷，尝试爬上这个诺亚方舟，载着他们逃离战火，逃离首尔，逃离这个坐落山间的庞大的、朝鲜王朝坐拥了几个世纪的首都。这里曾是每一个朝鲜人欲望的缩影，但是此时此刻，每一个人都想把它扔进垃圾桶然后拼命逃离。
If only it had pulled out right then and there …
要是当时卡车开动就好了⋯⋯
There it is again, the mantra “if only.”
又来了，这个魔咒“要是⋯⋯就好了”又来了。
Shouts are coming from somewhere. Somebody, some panicked mother or father, a desperate voice pleading with young men to give up their spaces to women and children.
叫喊声从某处传来，从某个些惊慌失措的母亲或者父亲那里传来，这个绝望的声音乞求年轻人让出他们的位置给妇女和孩子。
Before the shouts register, before my grandmother has a moment to ponder the words or protest, the seventeen-year-old rises.“I’ll go,” he says, then reassures her: “I’ll find another ride, Mother. Don’tworry.” Then, just as quickly, he is out of sight, followed by the sound of the engine.
在话音落地之前，在外婆有时间思考这个词语或抗议之前，这个17岁的孩子站起来了，“我让”，他说道。然后向他母亲保证“我会找到其他车的，妈妈，不要担心”。很快地他就消失在视野之外，只听到马达的声音。
It all happens in a blink, and my grandmother, bewildered by this unexpected twist, turns frantically in the direction where her son has gone, and the truck is moving suddenly, too fast for her to think clearly. There she is, my grandmother, dumbstruck on a speeding truck, without her oldest child. The baby that lived.
这个过程发生在眨眼之间，外婆被眼前这意想不到的一幕搞糊涂了，发狂似的转向她儿子消失的方向，卡车开得太突然了，太快了，害她都没来得及想清楚。外婆瘫在高速飞驰的车上，没有了她的大儿子，那个活下来的宝贝，她无法言语。
Seoul was captured three days later.
首尔在三天之后被占领。
My mother’s family stops in the city of Suwon to wait for my uncle, but he never arrives. Some days later, they run into neighbors who report seeing him dragged away by North Korean soldiers. His hands were tied behind him with a rope, they say. The road back to Seoul is blocked now, and my grandmother waits in vain.
我母亲一家在水原等我舅舅，但是他最终没有来。几天后，他们遇到了原来的邻居，邻居说看到他被北朝鲜的士兵抓走。邻居说他双手被绳子绑在背后。去首尔的路已经封锁了，我的外婆还是徒劳无功的等着。
How long did you wait? I ask.
你们等了多久？我问。
How long is long enough?
多久才算够久呢？
My mother is not sure. She was only four years old, after all. What my mother recalls is the image of her mother, half-crazed and wailing, wearing her skirt over her head as though it were a scarf and roaming the neighborhood in the evenings.
我的母亲不确定。她当时只有4岁。我的母亲只记得她母亲当时的样子，半疯的状态、不停的恸哭，把裙子套在头上当作披巾，晚上在家附近大喊大叫。
Every evening the older children would go out in search of her, and she would inevitably say that she had been looking for her son. This behavior never stops.
每天晚上，大一点的孩子都要出去找她，而每次她都会说她出去找儿子。外婆就这样一直疯癫了下去。
Growing up, this story was repeated to me often, and each time, I wished for a different ending. A different plot. I came to see it was also a sort of therapy, the way my mother kept on telling it over and over, as her mother had done for years.
长大的过程中，这个故事我听了许多次，每一次我都希望有一个不一样的结局，不一样的情节。我认为这也是一种疗愈，我母亲一遍又一遍的诉说着伤痛，就像她的母亲一样。
And the storytelling continues as I type these words here in New York, in a language alien to those who lived through the division, a language that shields me from the worst of my grief.
当我在纽约写下这些文字的时候，这个故事依然在被倾诉着。英语这个语言对这些经历生离死别的人而言是陌生的。于我，用英语写作将我和最深的痛楚隔离开来。
Years after the war was over, the only thing my grandmother liked to do was visit shamans. The eerily accurate shaman of Inwangsan (MountInwang), the baby girl shaman famed for locating the bones of the neighbor’s missing child, the virgin shaman, the old maid shaman, the fat matron shaman—she went to see them all.
战争结束很多年之后，外婆唯一喜欢做的事情是就是求问萨满。神秘准确的阴王山萨满，以找寻邻居失踪孩子的骨头出名的女婴萨满，处女萨满以及老处女萨满，胖妇萨满等，她全都去求问过。
They all said the same thing: Yes, he’s alive. He’s up north. He’s in Pyongyang. I would like to believe this is true, as she must have.
他们的回答全都一样：是的，他还活着。他在北方。他在平壤。我也愿意相信这是真的，就像我奶奶相信一样。
Their assurances kept her going, though by the time I was born, she had suffered a stroke and spent her days in bed. She was sixty-five. I would say that the stroke took her soul away, but by everyone’s testimony, her soul was already long gone.
他们的回答是她活下去的动力，尽管我出生的时候，她已经中风卧病在床了。她当时65岁。我认为中风使她失了魂智，但是在所有人看来，她的灵魂早就逝去了。
