Girl at Dawn 黎明女 （6）听声音能做诊断吗？（中英对照）

3

HEARING HER ILLNESS FROM HER VOICE

MUST GET ALONG—BE TIGER VIRGIN

Walking in the alley, my feet are light and my steps quick. Occasionally I pause to admire the qiangwei roses, both yellow and pink, climbing over the brick wall from inside the residents’ courtyards. It is hot in the narrow alley; the tree branches peering over the wall provide only occasional shades. 

It is the weekend after the exam, I come home to stay with VeVe. As soon as I walk into the house, she emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She grabs both my hands, her palms still wet, and looks me up and down. “You’re home. You’re home,” she mutters, relief in her voice. “How did the exam go?”

“I passed and made the cut for the class.” I expect my good news will please her.

“Oh,” she says. She doesn’t even congratulate me. “What did he say?” she asks instead.

“Who?”

“The American.”

“He just asked questions, and I answered well. Some were difficult.”

“What kind of questions?” she asks, her eyes searching my face.

“All kinds, why?”

She’s never shown such intense interest in any of my exams before.

“Did he ask about your family?” she asks.

Strange that Luke did ask me about my family. Stranger that she has guessed it.

“Yes,” I reply.

“What did he ask?”

“Just who my family members are.”

The kettle hisses from the kitchen, but she ignores it.

“What is his name?”

“Luke.”

“Luke what?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did he tell you why he came to China?”

“No. He didn’t talk about himself. Why do you ask?”

“Oh. Nothing.” She nods, then shakes her head, unsatisfied.

“I’m very hungry,” I say, eager to end the questions. “I missed your cooking.”

She looks at me for a second. “Go eat, then.”

I hurry to the kitchen to eat—scavenging for food is the first thing I do after I come home from campus. The kitchen is tiny. The round table can barely seat three people—a larger one won’t fit. A free-standing cupboard nearly as tall as the ceiling and a coal-burning stove take up most of the room. The stove pipe adds to the crowdedness as it zigzags upwards before it goes out through a hole in the roof.

In the cupboard, besides a bowl of rice, I find a plate of cabbage with tofu and take it to the table. I like tofu. When there’s no meat, it is a good substitute. I take a few quick bites, but it tastes bland, lacking the richness and spiciness usually present in VeVe’s cooking. I notice that her secret ingredient, dried baby shrimp, are missing. She must have forgotten to add them, which is unusual. VeVe never forgets anything. 

 

L

 

On Sunday morning, people visit VeVe to obtain herbal recipes.

There are two kinds of recipe seekers: those who don’t believe in Western medicine and come to our home for traditional Chinese remedies, and those who seek recipes that they hope to cure the ailments that their doctors cannot. They are acquaintances, residents in the neighborhood alley, and those who have heard about VeVe at the fabric store, the fish market, or at the vegetable stands.

VeVe has been reclining in bed for hours on a pile of pillows nursing a bowl of gao fang, an herbal remedy that my grandfather prescribed for her when she was a child, to “boost” her health. She’s been taking it all her life. Gao fang, VeVe says, contains rare nutrients extracted from deer antlers and swallows’ nests. Gao fang is not meant to cure illness, but to strengthen one’s health and boost one’s chi. Whenever she drinks it, she looks dreamy, as if she’s taking opium puffs. She savors the bitter liquid before she swallows it—the same way she drinks her she jiu, snake liquor.

When the school teacher and his little girl—no more than eight-years old—show up at the door, VeVe emerges from the haze that shrouds her and instantly slips into another persona, animated and exuberant.

“Please sit,” she says to her guests in a soft but cheerful voice. “You are very pretty,” she smiles at the little girl.

“Not at all, Aunt.” The girl blushes. Her voice sounds like Widow Zhang in the alley whose vocal cords have been ravaged by cigarette smoking.

“Lizi’s voice has been hoarse for a week,” the father says. “She doesn’t have a cold or a fever. The doctor gave her pang da hai, but it did nothing.”

VeVe asks the girl to sit next to her. She points at her own blouse.  “Can Lizi tell me what material this is?” 

Her question sounds weird, but I know VeVe has a purpose in anything she asks her patients.

“Of course I know,” Lizi says, “It’s silk.” The “s” sound in “silk” sounds off, as if she said ‘hilk.”

“That’s a smart girl,” VeVe smiles. “Do you like eating silk melon?”

“Yes.” Lizi nods.

“Say ‘silk melon’ for me,” VeVe gently coaxes.

Lizi says “hilk melon.”

“Don’t worry,” VeVe says. “I have a magic recipe just for you.”

VeVe tells me to fetch some boiled water chestnuts from the kitchen. She takes a handful from the wooden bowl and puts them in Lizi’s hand. VeVe’s face looks bright, with that expression she typically has when she is about to tell a story. She always tells a story to the recipe seekers before she sells them the herbs. She seems to have a story for every remedy. I cannot tell whether it is a story she knows or just something she makes up in the moment. Talking is important, she says, and the curing power is as much in the herbalist’s mouth as in her recipes. She tells tales about the herbal medicine that will cure them, just as it magically cured a famous actor or a certain emperor of a certain dynasty. By the time she puts the package of herbs in the patients’ hands, their illnesses may have already been half cured.

“Want to hear a story about the magic recipe I am going to give you?” VeVe asks Lizi, who carefully bites the purple skin of a water chestnut and nods.

 

L

 

“Before both you and I were born, there was a traditional medicine doctor named Smooth Boat.” VeVe has Lizi sit beside her on the sofa and begins. “Every morning as soon as the sun rose, Smooth Boat would sit behind his redwood table seeing patients. He placed the patient’s wrist on an herb-scented mini-pillow and took his or her pulse. He had a cat, with long white fur, one eye blue and the other green. The white cat always curled up at his feet when he worked.

“One day, a beautiful young woman came to see Smooth Boat. She was the ping tan singer at the teahouse, known by her art name, Willow. Smooth Boat felt her pulse and told her that there was nothing wrong with her. Willow said, in a sweet Shanghai dialect, that she would like Smooth Boat to make her voice sound brighter and sweeter.

‘That would be beyond my ability,’ Smooth Boat replied, ‘but I could give you something to soothe your throat after you sing.’ He wrote out a prescription for her. His writing was so scrupulous it left no ink spots on the page—besides being a good doctor, he was an expert calligrapher; the prescription he handed to his patients was also a work of art.

“Willow took the remedy and in no time her voice indeed sounded brighter and sweeter. The crowd at the teahouse grew larger and stayed longer. Willow asked Smooth Boat to come to the tea house to hear her sing—she had fallen in love with him.

“One night, on stage, Willow saw Smooth Boat scribbling something on a piece of paper. She thought he was writing a love note to her, since he was too shy to profess his love in person. When the teahouse closed, he handed her a folded note and left. It wasn’t a love letter at all; it was a prescription. Willow went home, distraught. At midnight, she fell ill and ran a fever of 39⁰C. Where would she find a doctor at such an hour? Then she remembered Smooth Boat’s prescription. She took it out and noticed a brief note on the back: Go to Fa-Gen’s drugstore around the corner. You have to bang on the door to wake him and tell him that Smooth Boat has sent you. Miss Willow will be better in the morning.

“Smooth Boat had heard Willow’s illness in her voice as she sang at the teahouse that night. Everything that happened afterwards was exactly as Smooth Boat had written in the note—Willow’s temperature came down by morning.”

 “That’s magical,” Lizi says. “What happened next?”

“Until then Smooth Boat had only come to the teahouse once. One day Willow invited herself to Smooth Boat’s clinic, sat down on his bench with the pipa placed on her crossed leg, and started to sing: There are only vines climbing trees. Who has seen trees climbing vines?” VeVe sings, her voice vibrating slightly.

“Smooth Boat realized that Willow was using the song to hint that he should pursue her. From then on, he started going to the teahouse to hear her sing more often. Whenever Willow spotted him at the tea table, she would sing Fan of the Peach Blossom, a song from a classic tragedy. It was Willow’s signature song that she sang only on special occasions. With her fingers dancing on the strings of the pipa, she sang from her heart, and at the last note she would often faint.”

VeVe pauses, her eyes glassy. It is hard to tell whether or not she has finished the story, but clearly she doesn’t want to tell any more. She turns her gaze to my grandparents’ photograph on the wall, the only one hung in the living room.

Grandfather Smooth Boat is good looking with bright eyes. He was only forty-six-years old when he starved himself to death in the labor camp during Wenge. My grandmother, Willow, killed herself—VeVe never told me how. They have become two ghosts living in our house, looking straight at me from the wall no matter from what angle I approach it, as though they are trying to catch my attention and tell me something.

VeVe awakens from her reverie. “I am going to give you the recipe that brightened Willow’s voice,” she tells Lizi.

Lizi claps her hands. VeVe walks to my grandfather’s medicine cabinet. It stands as tall as she does, and it’s made of burled walnut in a dark brown color with intricate carvings of trees and animals. The cabinet has a total of sixty mini-drawers containing various ingredients of traditional medicine, from herbs to barks to dried cicadas, beetles, and scorpions. The drawers are not labeled; VeVe has memorized each one’s contents.

To fill Lizi’s recipe, VeVe opens seven drawers. She weights each ingredient carefully on a hand-held mini scale and pours it into a brown paper bag. “I will add something special to make your skin fairer than it already is,” she tells the girl.

Lizi looks at her father with a big smile on her face. VeVe’s own smooth skin and clear complexion—and mine for that matter—are a testament to the wonder of her herbs. She opens another drawer, takes three pinches of herbs from it without weighing them, and adds them to the bag. She ties the bag with a piece of twine and hands it to Lizi’s father. Then, with a fountain pen, she writes the directions for taking the medicine on a sheet of white paper from a note pad.

“Take this for five days and you will sing like Miss Willow.” She folds the piece of paper into a bird and hands it to Lizi.

“What happened to Smooth Boat and Miss Willow afterwards, Aunt?” Lizi asks.

“They married like other people who fall in love,” VeVe replies. “And they had a happy life together with their daughter.”

VeVe and I exchange a look.

Satisfied, Lizi takes out the pomegranates from the basket they have brought and lays them on the table. VeVe is willing to accept anything for payment. Those who can’t afford cash bring her gifts, such as fresh fruit from their own trees, eggs from their hens, or a few yards of fabric. Those who know her better bring her sticky rice—originally a Southerner, she prefers rice to bread, and sticky rice is hard to come by in the North. For those government officials who are healthy but want gao fang boosters, she charges them extravagantly. The more she charges, the more valuable they believe their gao fangs are.

“Thank you for the pomegranates, so ripe they burst open,” VeVe says. “My daughter and I can’t eat enough of them.”

Lizi’s father walks up to VeVe. “Thank you for curing Lizi’s throat.”  He bows slightly. 

“The illness is not in Lizi’s throat,” VeVe lowers her voice. “It’s in her lungs.”

           

第三章

听声音做诊断

做一个虎处女

 

走在小巷里，我心情舒畅。脚下步子轻快我不时停下来观赏蔷薇花，有黄色的，粉红色的从人家的院子里爬到墙外。窄窄的小巷里很热，只有墙内探出的树枝下才有一点阴凉。

这是英文考试后的第一个周末，我回家和微微过。我一走进家，微

就从厨房里走出来，一边在她的围裙上擦手。她上下打量着我，然后抓住我的两只手，她的手还是湿的。“你回来了，你回来了，”她不听地重复着，好像见到我，突然放下心来。“给我讲一讲你的英文考试，有什么情况吗？”

“我考过了，进了零班，” 我高兴地对她说。

“是吗，” 她淡淡地说，一点没显出高兴的样子。又问，“都说了什么？”

“谁说了什么？”

“那个美国人。”

“他问了我好多问题，有些挺难的，但是我回答的都很好。”

“都是什么问题呀，”微微问，它她的眼睛好像在我脸上搜索什么。“什么问题都问了，你问这干嘛？”

她从来没对我的考试这么感兴趣。

“他问没问你家庭情况？” 微微问。

奇怪的是Luke的确问了我的家庭情况，更奇怪的是微微猜到了。

“问了。”

“问了什么？”

“就是家里有什么成员。”

厨房里水壶开了，传出响声，但微微好像没听见。

“他叫什么名字？”

“Luke. ”

“Luke 什么? ”

“他没说。”

“他说没说为什么来到中国？”

“他没有谈自己。你问这干什么？”

“没什么，” 微微摇摇头，显然不满意。

“我肚子饿了，” 我说，不想再继续说下去。 “在学校里我一直在想你做的饭。”

她看了我一眼说，“去吃吧，去吃点东西。”

我匆忙来到厨房。厨子里找到一碗米饭，一盘白菜吨豆腐。没有肉的时候，有豆腐吃就很好。吃饭的小圆桌，只能坐三个人。大一点的也乘不下。大部分的空间被一个很高的碗柜和和炉子占用了。弯弯曲曲的烟囱，使房间显得更拥挤。 我坐下来迫不及待的吃了几口，没设么味道。奇怪，微微做的饭经常味道很浓啊。也许是因为她这次忘了放虾皮。微微可是从来不忘事的啊。

 

周日早晨，有人来向微微讨药方。一般有两种人来找她。一种人不相信西医，到我们家来要中医药方。另一种人是看过医生后没治好的。来他们有的是相识的人，街坊邻居，和在菜场，鱼市场，布店听说过微微的人。

微微倚着一大堆枕头，靠在床上。手里捧着一碗热腾腾的中药方汤。是她小的时候姥爷转为她开的一个中药方，给她养生健身的膏方。但她从没有停止喝过。微微说，膏方里含有从鹿茸里提取的珍贵成分。膏方不治病，只是强体补气。每次喝膏方她都显得醉梦迷迷的，好像在抽鸦片。她先把苦药在嘴里含一会儿在咽下去。好像要尝一尝它的苦味。她喝蛇酒的时候也是这样。

客人来了。一个老师和她的女儿，七八岁的样子。微微马上从她的朦胧中显示现出来，变成了另外一个人，灵动，昂奋的样子。

“请坐吧，” 她用柔和的声音说。她微笑地看着小女孩，“你很秀气啊。”

“不秀气，阿姨，”女孩红着脸说。 她的声音出乎意料的地又粗有亚，使我想起想小巷里那个常吸烟把喉咙熏坏了的张寡妇。

“丽子的嗓子突然哑了有三天了。不感冒也不发烧” 她爸爸说。“医生给了她胖大海，但是没管用。”

微微把丽子拉到她身边坐下。她指了指自己的褂子问丽子，“知道这是什么布料吗？”她的问题显得挺奇怪，但是我知道微微是有用意的。

丽子不加思索地说，“当然知道，是丝绸。” 但是“丝”听起来很含糊。

“真聪明，” 微微说，“你喜欢吃丝瓜吗?”

 丽子点点头。

“说‘丝瓜，’”

丽子张嘴说“丝瓜，” 但是听起来像“黑瓜。”

“不要担心，” 微微说，“我有一个妙方专门给你的。”

微微要我到厨房里拿一些煮好了的荸荠。她从木板碗里抓了一小把，放在丽子的手里。微微的脸突然一亮，换了一种马上就要讲故事的特殊的表情。在卖给人中药之前，她总是要讲一个故事。好像每一个药方都有一个故事。有时候我真看不出她到底真的有一个故事，还是临时即兴自己编写的。说很重要，微微告诉我，药效不光在药理还在药剂师的嘴里。她总是告诉病人。这个药方曾经治好了。著名演员或者某某朝代的皇帝。难道会治不好你吗。等她把中药包稳稳地放在病人的手里，他们的病已基本好了一半儿了。

“阿姨要给你的妙方有一个故事，你想不想听?” 微微问你丽子。

丽子正在小心地用牙齿咬掉荸荠的紫皮。”想听啊。”

“那时你还没有生呢，其实我还没有生，有一个著名的中医，名叫平舟，” 微微开始讲，每天早晨平舟坐在他的红木桌前看病人。号脉时，他让病人的手腕放在一个塞满草药的小枕头上。有一只白色的波斯猫，一只眼睛蓝，一只眼睛绿，蜷缩在他的脚边。”

“有一天，一个很美丽的女人来到平舟的诊所。她是茶馆里唱评弹的歌手，艺名叫杨柳。平舟给他她号脉之后说，你的身体很好，没有病。杨柳说，那就请平舟先生给我开一幅药，让我的嗓音更亮更甜吧。杨柳有一个很甜的上海口音。我可没有那个本事，平舟说。但是我可以给你杨柳小姐一个方子来滋润她的喉咙。他边说边写处方。他的自字很工整，很漂亮。一个好中医往往是一个好的书法家。他给病人的处方也会是一件艺术品。”

“杨柳喝了平舟的药，果然他她的声音变得又亮又甜。茶馆的客人也越来越多，呆逗留的地时间也越长。杨柳邀请平洲舟到茶馆听她演唱，其实她已经爱上他了。一天晚上杨柳唱歌的时候，在台上看到平舟在一张纸上写着什么。她猜想他大概是给她写一封情书吧。他很羞涩，从来没有当面向他她表示什么。茶馆关门的时候，平舟递给他一张纸条就走了。杨柳打开一看，挺失望。哪里情书，是一个处方。杨柳有点伤心的回家了。半夜她忽然发起烧来，39度。这个时候到哪里去找医生啊。然后她想起平舟的处方。他她把它打开，在背面上面写着: 去法跟根的药店，一拐弯就到了。你要敲他的门把它他闹醒，告诉他是平舟送你去的。他知道会怎么做。杨柳小姐早晨就会好的。”

“原来杨柳在茶馆里唱歌的时候，平舟从她的嗓音里听出来她已经病了。结果真如平舟所说料，杨柳早晨起来就好了。” 说到这微微停顿了一会。

“太神奇了，” 丽子说，“那我的声音也会像杨柳小姐的那样变得又亮又甜了？”

“是啊，” 微微边说边揪了一下丽子的小辫儿。

“再后来呢，” 丽子问，“后来又发生了什么事情？”

“那是平舟去茶馆的第一次，” 微微接着说。“有一天，杨柳忽然来到平洲舟的诊所，坐下来，把琵琶放在腿上，开始唱起来: 世上只有藤缠树，有谁见过树缠藤？” 微微轻轻地唱着，声音有点颤，婉转入耳。

“从歌词里，平舟明白了杨柳是在暗示他应该去追求杨柳。从那以后，他经常去茶馆听她唱歌。每次杨柳看见他就会唱桃花扇，一个古典悲剧里的歌，也是杨柳的保留歌曲，只在特殊时候才唱。她纤细的手指在琵琶弦上飞舞着。她是用自己的心在唱，往往唱到最后一个音符，她会晕倒。”微微停住，眼睛有些迷离。

看不出她是否已经讲完了故事，但她显然不想继续讲下去了。她转向墙上，对着姥爷的照片久久地凝视着。照片里老爷平洲舟很英俊，眼睛很亮。他死的时候只有46岁，是在狱中绝食而死。我姥姥杨柳也相继自尽_微微没有告诉我她怎样自尽的。姥爷和姥姥就像我们家的两个鬼魂，在照片上看着我，不管我从哪个角度看，他们都在盯着我，好像在吸引我的注意力，好像要告诉我什么。

微微渐渐从她的沉思中醒过来，对丽子说，“我给你的妙方就是杨柳用的方子。”

丽子拍手叫好。

微微走到姥爷的药柜边，药柜和她差不多高，是核桃木做的，上面刻有花鸟树木的花纹。药柜里有60个小抽屉装着各种各样的中草药。还有干的知了猴，甲壳虫，和蝎子。抽屉上没有标记，微微知道每个抽屉里装的什么。给丽子配方微微打开了七个小抽屉。她拿着一个玲珑的小秤，每一样成分称好，倒进一个牛皮纸包里。

“我再加进去一个特殊成分，让你的皮肤更细腻，” 她跟丽子说。

丽子高兴地对她爸爸笑了笑。微微自己脸上白皙的皮肤_我的也一样_是对她的中药最好的证明。她打开最后一个抽屉，捏了一小把，没有撑秤，撒进口袋里。她把口袋用草绳系好递给丽子的爸爸。然后她在一张白纸上用一只水笔写下了怎样吃药的方法。她把白纸折成一个小鸟的形状，塞进丽子手里， 说，“喝五天，你的声音就会像杨柳的一样又亮又甜。”

“阿姨，平舟和杨柳在再后来的故事呢？”丽子问。

“再后来像其他相爱的人一样，他们结婚了，然后有了一个女儿。”微微和我交换了一个眼色。

丽子满意了，从他们带来的篮子里拿出几个石榴放在桌子上。微微愿意接受任何东西做药费。那些出不起钱的，就给她东西，比如自己家种的水果，自己养的鸡下的蛋。有些了解她的人会给他她糯米，知道她是南方人，喜欢吃米，不喜欢吃面，糯米在北方又很难得到。对于那些来向她讨膏方的干部们，她会要价很高。她要的越高，那些人觉得他们的膏方越珍贵。

“这些石榴多好啊，熟的咧嘴了，”微微高兴的说，“我女儿和我最喜欢吃石榴了。”

丽子的爸爸走进微微，说，“谢谢给丽子治好嗓子。”

“丽子的嗓子不是问题，”微微低声说，“病在她的肺部。”