博文
2009年5月15日星期五
2009年5月2日星期六
2007年十月到2009年三月的诗合集
最近学期要告一段落，也觉得自己的生命应当多些系统。于是在整理之前所零零碎碎写的诗作的时候凑成了这个合集。只觉得将好的坏的旧的新的往日的如今的一起并列，便端的是规整，又透出一种生命的黏稠来。记得小时候爬上书架看到苏童的那句话，“我知道少年血是粘稠而富有文学意味的,我知道少年血在混乱无序的年月里如何流淌. 凡是流淌的事物必有它的轨迹”。
我们的生活，早已过于不混乱，早已过于按部就班。基本上每个方向都已经有前人的探索，而所谓真正的新和奇，也是由我们，作为已知历史的产物，去实现。这原来是尼采的上帝死了的源头吧。我们耽于安乐，而我不禁疑问，那种流淌，那种努力留下自己痕迹的狰狞的欲望和愤怒，从何而来？而一切的评价，当历史不再起作用，所遗留下的唯一的光辉，是否就是痕迹，和努力留下痕迹的热诚。
2007年
过客
我只是个过客，
囊中羞涩裹着质地的粗糙；
我只是个过客，
步履蹒跚踩着鞋底的肮脏；
我只是个过客，
轰鸣声中听着秋风的瓦蓝；
我只是个过客，
绿草香中忘了树叶老年满庭院枯黄；
我只是个过客，
行囊里有磨破了边浸满汗水的地图册，
我只是个过客，
地图册上远方还不是家，家已经是远方。
过客一路上要带刀这我知道，
在上海广州芝加哥波士顿纽约的机场，
一把藏刀，
在安检的屏幕上，
并不慌张。
2007年10月12日写于Kenyon
荒原上的呼喊没有回音
你在井里
和石头结婚；
青苔是你的历史，
蝼蚁是你的英雄；
你饮光井中的水，
咽下湿沼；
子嗣奔跑于三尺见方，
你在消耗。
你饥饿，
你去吃荒原上的父母，
那对攥着你手前行的人；
他们老了，
匍匐在荒原上，五体投地，
被你捕获；
你想吃，
便已吃了，
便已饱了；
如露如电如是观，
盲井成了饿塔，
你成了孤独。
写于2007年11月28日于Kenyon SMA Building
翻腾的齐阁原
泥土是飞翔的，
越冬的马群离家，
母亲的乐师锁着，
荒芜的牧场。
你看那对岸的牧马人，
在水一方，
你忘却这方灯火，
便已忘记这河流
2007年12月04日 Kenyon
我叫幸福暖暖
我叫幸福暖暖，
蜿蜒出璀璨的花纹。
白骨龟裂，一腔丝竹的锦缎。
困倦于蓝田玉上。
候鸟的叫声箭镞般
攥上游离的肉身。
蛇状的弦瞬间绷紧，
绞碎愚鲁的灵魂。
逆水而上的夸父，
惊走南下的马群，
踢踏声迸碎渐融的新雪。
我叫幸福暖暖，
她却没有回音。
2007年12月10日于Kenyon
2008年
狮语时
狮子恒然铸就的对称，
让石头张口，舌头柔软，玉体横呈。
你奔跑中带肌肉的张力，
看羚羊被天使追赶。
上帝用他子嗣的血肉
祀你异教徒的纯洁。
PS:威廉。布莱克的 老虎。
2008-01-09
密沃基/纽约 一段难忘的日子吧
母亲田
乐师张紧的弦喑哑歌者的喉咙，
腥红舞鞋不停顿地黏合静谧，
无翼鸟的鸣叫在虚空中绽放。
流水撵上落英，
呼吸阻塞呼吸；
宁静摧毁宁静，
轰鸣闭合轰鸣。
白骨于坛上锋利地亲吻刀斧，
痛觉俯身在豁开的伤口上，
饮下子宫里源出的泉。
死亡死得如此贪婪，
威压四野众生匍匐。
猎人提起长矛，
在种满母亲的田中，
找一朵分娩的乳房，
是中，软玉温香。
Ps: 今早熬夜熬到四点很不爽，想家想睡觉。于是写了这首诗。
改到最后的版本，不全是我改的。
母亲田
乐手屠僇歌者的從容；
舞鞋黏合静谧的猩红；
满天缤纷，
无翼绽放于虚空。
流水撵上落英，
呼吸阻塞呼吸；
宁静摧毁宁静，
轰鸣闭合轰鸣。
白骨冰凉刀斧的亲吻，
痛觉缠绵在豁开的伤，
吮吸源出子宫的泉。
死亡死得如此贪婪，
哀鸣四野众生匍匐。
孩子攥紧长矛，
在种满母亲的田中，
找一朵分娩的乳房，
摩挲那软玉温香。
2008年1月23日于老槛
[古诗]忆夏(三个版本）
夏若青蒿人样好，
一言一笑尽销魂；
高楼晨露似有泪，
亭台归燕却无心。
放在现代诗歌里面，委屈下吧。。。
第一次写古体诗。查了下，应该勉强能算绝句。
希望大家努力挑错指教下呢 。。。学习中。。。
改完平仄和押韵之后的版本：
夏若青蒿人面好，
嬉言笑闹尽痴情；
雨惹秋风遮不住，
亭台归燕了无心。
上课又改了一版，这次是工于技巧失了真实了。
忆夏
夏若青蒿人面好，
嬉言笑闹尽秋晴；
梦醒高楼霜似泪，
春归亭台燕无心。
2008年2月4日
离人舟组诗—写在这个离人的节日
香象河
把婴儿的丧钟敲响
为理想洗礼，
南方在荆棘路上向南方匍匐，
模糊边界的虚空弥合母亲莲花开口，
一张一合，
一呼一吸，
命悬一线，什么时候你停止呼吸，
什么时候你停在呼吸的脚步上，
香象截河，半渡而溺。
灰思考
尼采借六芒星嘶吼，
南无本师圣耶路撒冷城！
欢喜玛丽亚的处子雪肤凝乳，
挂着麦加的挂毯，
罗素新雕灵魂一座，等着思考着黏土凝结着，
送入天地，炼一炉金刚乘，
茧出蝴蝶做二元的黄粱梦，
缘数列微积蹞步，
穷至千里，壮心已已，
我们灰色地思考，渣滓佩戴上意义，
大悲长哀，浩然当哭。
内凶卦
元始太初，
我们缘始太初，
我们在场，父母最初的一次交合，
拿父精母血种在十月的土壤；
我活着的那一刻，
父母的孩子降生的那一刹那，
父母“的”孩子死亡的那一倏忽，
“我”死在我生前；
那对抵死缠绵的人儿共浴他们的情欲，
子宫钻出热望本源高声叩首，
擎脐带写下离字
一点一横，轮回方圆。
胡杨樵
撕裂，
暴虐温躏胸膛的苍白，
心泵渴饮馨香体液一阵慷懒，
会阴督脉醒转劫前空响一片，
滚雷惊原上青锋饮血生寝皮死抱骨此仇不共天，
是男人的交合；
温柔红床薄纱帐暖烟销金兽摩挲褶皱烂石滩上，
是男女的厮杀；
稚童伸手索要，
无始劫来，天上地下，
所有蜜糖，
一滴一滴，
这样走到欲望的尽头去，
老童樵夫，
伐那棵枯木胡杨，
不老三千，不腐三万。
磐石海
光追逐光，
循依宪章，
国王不能给自己加冕，
且停一停我的亲吻，
舌头失去女子，
我失去善良；
刨去羽毛的狼，
婴鸟空鸣，苍鹰入海，
徘徊清影映月霜暖夏寒枯润两极颠倒，
缤纷璀璨云长天远秋冬对换人我无碍，
星斗乱离，磐石在意识之海中泳潮，
淹死，
这世界还活着，
物转星移，如一如一。
离人舟
所以小舟现在才为你做好，
离姓旅人，
粗糙迟钝做壳，
精进不退做桨，
肉身八苦做帆，
盲聋喑哑做舵，
你就去吧，
新年伊始，
但放离人舟入业海，
捧
一掬
滤去杂质
纯然天青的江河。
后记：
早上突有所感，再把以前一些琐碎的想法联系起来，尽管有考试和作业，还是写了出来。用了约莫一个小时，一气呵成，写得真他妈爽！我知道自己又上了一层！！！
大家，新年快乐！
2008年2月7日农历新年于老槛
墙纸
我把黑色的善良从墙上揭下来，
贴在脸上，
镜子里的皱纹对着我笑，
你忘了把眼睛挡住了。
一痕漆黑的白色
在我头顶盘恒数日，
他们走了，
把孩子留下了。
从眉骨凹陷的地方，
溢出来一朵幽兰，
回响在脑腔里，
声音空空的，
像一个私塾先生。
他教我认几个字，
恶是有心的，
邪长着牙齿，
怕的心生得狭窄，
善却生在嘴上。
心的弯钩好难写，
我练了好久，好久，
一直盯着心看，
看到我都不认识了，
先生催促着我说，
快写，
写好了，裱起来，
挂到墙上去。
2008年2月14日写于Kenyon
把刀敲响
把黑夜刻在刀刃上，
把太阳悬在刀柄上。
把刀的阴面取火割肉炙烤，
把刀的阳面跪拜长头祈祷，
把刀背留作盾牌。
把刀攥得紧紧的，
把手指长进木头里。
把雪夜涅没了，
把昙花的笑语浸入青铜海。
把最后一束光掐灭，
把藤蔓丛割开，
把刀敲响，
婴儿的哭声铿锵，
一把刀
把我生下来。
2008年2月20日于Kenyon
你们，睡了
你们轻轻的睡了，
芳香的泥土阖上你的眼眸，
如野草绿了那片冻原，
记得往天湖方向的路上，声声长头的跪姿所撼动的
土地，原来这样拾起倦怠，
拉着你们一同睡了。
你们睡着了像绵羊一样，
你们梦到绵羊长着梦的羽毛，
你们麦浪般起伏的呼吸流淌在梦里，
你们的梦里阳光满溢，
都沁着紧紧裹着你们的瓦砾。
普国同哀的摇篮曲，
会在每一个母亲的眼泪里响很久。
而且那曲子安静，
和你们端坐着认真听课时的神态
一样安静，
直到催你睡着的笛声传来。
2008年5月13日 于密沃基 汶川大地震后
出城记
一座好客的城堡锁住了我的好奇心，
一尊国王要出去，
去一片坚硬的土地，
梆！梆！
一声声震得脚板生疼。
约5月16日写于Appleton 松鼠处。松鼠正在床上睡觉。
九歌
我峰临万仞品尝百尺星辰凭娲石贯日月唱犁天歌
我颤抖在心尖种青草于勃朗峰凌一苇叶吟情思歌
我麻木慈悲赴忘生崖拾骸骨为稚嫩婴嫒孕摇篮歌
我泪水决堤于在铜铸魔鬼初恋的月牙湾吻离别歌
我擎雷云断人肢体遍九州造天葬坛由此降安详歌
我驰骋于银月光华的流质攥住宇内空响弃真实歌
我狰狞出微笑垒幸福成罪恶微言大义中见磐石歌
我锻打井中糜烂的铁斧抚摸尸腐的馨香赠迷乱歌
我顿首匍匐用世界的母音穷尽树的枝桠传 歌
由此是为九歌。
2008年05月31日
写于加州工作中
夏夏妮
夏夏妮是有魔法的词汇，
她的发音，让天和夜借海风黏合，
针脚细薄，就把黄昏淡漠。
让夏天的一瞬如海一般绵延的漫长，
白沙堆砌起你和夏夏妮坐着的形状，
小妮子化成黑暗的边缘
伺服在你的呼吸上，
滚烫成静谧，
静谧着滚烫。
就等着你呼吸的一个飘忽，
夏夏妮就要离开，
你只能留下她的漫长，
把有关她的词汇放回原野上。
后话：
想把夏天描写成一个飘忽的女子，琢磨不透的样子。
大家觉得呢。
2008年9月15日 于DC
记得那个lab晚上人很多。自己那个学期有两个月没有电脑，都是去lab。折磨。
老了
我曾经信马由缰，
如今我只想回家。
回家的路，对我，
不具有空间上的遥远，
只具有时间上的漫长。
2008年12月1日 写于DC 状态最低潮期
2009年
一些一句话的诗
作为一名婴儿，
我总是不能沉迷。
雪原把灯熄了，
她给你温暖的哲学。
那些爬着跑来的人们，
总是追不上灵魂。
无聊，
是无花果的勤勉。
我很不喜欢四这个数字，
因此这是第五首。
2009年1月29日于Kenyon
水手
这水手曾经走过每方大海，
用朗姆酒的骄傲，
饱满高挑的桅杆。
丰收在海的方言里，
唇音瓦蓝。
这水手每朵头发的每丝皱纹，
丑陋，阳光蜿蜒，
他倾听每条鱼的心事，
怀念一对对洋流的家乡。
蚌贝的花期，
濡出他的时节。
这水手没有他的船长，
他的罗盘，日志和返航，
和红舞鞋，和港口，
一样一样一样地不属于他，
这些词汇在蔚蓝里退潮，
抑或从未离岸登船。
这水手移动，
在每片帆影里，兴趣索然地，
以眺望的姿势，
把好奇心钉做船首像，
他四处乞讨，
讨要礁石，年龄，
和迷迭香。
岸上晕白的好时光，
一点闲帆，曳不动整船的香，
桅杆挂着他的荣耀，
他挂着降不下的远方。
2009年2月24日写于Kenyon
六首临屏快打
她
[2:18:27] alexzhao2016 说： 你的饮泣
[2:18:41] alexzhao2016 说： 横跨八百四千三百里的江河
[2:18:50] alexzhao2016 说： 把母亲的快乐
[2:18:58] alexzhao2016 说： 和父亲的烟
[2:19:12] alexzhao2016 说： 一同化作太平洋上的漂泊
[2:19:31] alexzhao2016 说： 包裹着自由的牧场
[2:19:43] alexzhao2016 说： 锁着水洗过的灵魂
[2:20:02] alexzhao2016 说： 你带着白羽之翼
[2:20:18] alexzhao2016 说： 主告诉你如何飞翔
[2:20:32] alexzhao2016 说： 梦里的呓语
[2:20:40] alexzhao2016 说： 已经真实如同虚构
[2:20:45] alexzhao2016 说： 你的表情
[2:21:18] alexzhao2016 说： 洁白如同最圆的祈祷
[2:21:29] alexzhao2016 说： 最方正的顺从
[2:22:01] alexzhao2016 说： 一串串珍珠化成清晨的第一次呼吸
[2:22:09] alexzhao2016 说： 你知道
[2:22:14] alexzhao2016 说： 你没有父亲
[2:22:44] alexzhao2016 说： 如同你没有本源的舞蹈
[2:23:00] alexzhao2016 说： 阿门是怎样的句子
[2:23:13] alexzhao2016 说： 从咸海的侧面
[2:23:24] alexzhao2016 说： 链接到胡同的巷口
[2:23:34] alexzhao2016 说： 总是有不同的旅人
[2:23:40] alexzhao2016 说： 告诉我同样的真实
Los Angeles
[2:40:58] alexzhao2016 说： 弯曲的棕榈
[2:41:08] alexzhao2016 说： 熟悉不了我的悲哀
[2:41:14] alexzhao2016 说： 阳光洗不去的
[2:41:20] alexzhao2016 说： 冰雪也撑不起来
[2:41:51] alexzhao2016 说： 一串一串玉龙明驹的马蹄
[2:42:07] alexzhao2016 说： 你已经忘了Santa Monica了吧
[2:42:09] alexzhao2016 说： 哈哈
[2:42:31] alexzhao2016 说： 你觉得香港台湾和La有什么样的不同
[2:42:50] alexzhao2016 说： 除了灵魂寄存的quarters你要付
[2:43:17] alexzhao2016 说： 明亮的疑问配上dressed up
[2:43:34] alexzhao2016 说：你知道周四是Lady's Night么？
[2:43:51] alexzhao2016 说： 那个蜿蜒在花朵下的房子
[2:43:58] alexzhao2016 说： 一层的蝼蚁
[2:44:04] alexzhao2016 说： 果然很容易快乐
[2:44:10] alexzhao2016 说： 除了天使
[2:44:20] alexzhao2016 说： 这里还剩下虚无.
迷迭香
[2:58:36] alexzhao2016 说： 一只晚年不败的香
[2:58:50] alexzhao2016 说： 没有人疑问谁去点燃
[2:58:58] alexzhao2016 说： 牡丹是破碎的
[2:59:11] alexzhao2016 说： 康乃馨天堂鸟君子兰
[2:59:33] alexzhao2016 说： 凌冽的名字垒起了困窘
[2:59:48] alexzhao2016 说： 同样你也倦怠了幸福
[3:00:02] alexzhao2016 说： 需要前提的爱
[3:00:11] alexzhao2016 说： 不是也是需要祭祀的救赎
[3:00:16] alexzhao2016 说： 除了牧师
[3:00:28] alexzhao2016 说： 谁需要这样的花朵
[3:00:39] alexzhao2016 说： 谁不爱他的梵高
男人
[3:06:55] alexzhao2016 说： 粉红色的男人融不进瓦蓝
[3:07:21] alexzhao2016 说： 天青色的男人数不清弥红
[3:08:25] alexzhao2016 说： 墨绿色的嫉妒不属于一种雄性的刚直
[3:08:41] alexzhao2016 说： 遗忘的画作舞步凌乱
[3:08:51] alexzhao2016 说： 背影猖狂
[3:09:11] alexzhao2016 说： 当世界只剩下一个男人和女人的
[3:09:15] alexzhao2016 说： 黄金时代
[3:09:26] alexzhao2016 说： 上帝想起那些青铜时代的
[3:09:37] alexzhao2016 说： 背叛的迷惘
[3:10:12] alexzhao2016 说： 改用深红色结尾的哑剧
[3:10:33] alexzhao2016 说： 没有棕色的性别
[3:11:23] alexzhao2016 说： 乱了臣纲，黄了秋月，洗了紫薇星显的踉跄
[3:11:47] alexzhao2016 说： 男人改了色谱
[3:11:58] alexzhao2016 说： 女人于是变盲
Gum
[3:18:07] alexzhao2016 说： 聚散离合的酮
[3:18:26] alexzhao2016 说： 影子舍不得的雨
[3:18:47] alexzhao2016 说： 一尾酋长的告别
[3:19:19] alexzhao2016 说： 他们是不盥洗的族群
[3:19:26] alexzhao2016 说： 你需要什么呢？
[3:19:54] alexzhao2016 说： 咬合肌所传递的爱情
[3:20:07] alexzhao2016 说： 除了食指不堪比拟
[3:20:31] alexzhao2016 说： 外婆 不曾试过的口香糖
[3:20:57] alexzhao2016 说： 蹙眉，成了座椅角落处的肮脏和遗忘
[3:21:40] alexzhao2016 说： 黏合不到一切的月下姻缘如同
[3:21:58] alexzhao2016 说： 山麓上并生的松树
[3:22:23] alexzhao2016 说： 我离故乡和归属
[3:22:55] alexzhao2016 说： 只是一盏袍泽的旧谊
[3:23:46] alexzhao2016 说： 苍老闲叙的家常，
[3:24:17] alexzhao2016 说： 反刍的口香糖
[3:24:25] alexzhao2016 说： 会否和岁月一样
[3:25:07] alexzhao2016 说： 趋向无味和敝帚自珍。
纠结
[3:32:18] alexzhao2016 说： 回音清凉 四野空旷 连藤蔓都是梳理清楚的
[3:32:23] alexzhao2016 说： 形状
[3:33:10] alexzhao2016 说： 庖丁点熟的生铁，智慧缠绵
[3:34:38] alexzhao2016 说： 未来的纯棉的清纯的交织的堆砌
[3:35:01] alexzhao2016 说： 你在那分岔的荒芜
[3:35:13] alexzhao2016 说： 却想处处横生枝节
[3:35:23] alexzhao2016 说： 想念台风的日子
[3:35:35] alexzhao2016 说： 想念朴素的扑簌，
[3:35:39] alexzhao2016 说： 粉末
[3:36:06] alexzhao2016 说： 从没有交集的命运身上飘落
[3:36:38] alexzhao2016 说： 一宅如墨的海潮
[3:36:57] alexzhao2016 说： 一滩未曾蒙面的亮白
[3:37:08] alexzhao2016 说： 纠结
[3:37:21] alexzhao2016 说： 原来是一种清凉的嗓音 回音
[3:37:30] alexzhao2016 说： 绵延不绝
2009年2月28日于Kenyon酒后草就。
一朵阳光滑过天际
一觚瓦罐
羔羊般仰首。
趁阳光连绵如蜜糖，
闪族语爬越平原，呼天盖地，
如野蕺菜扑面而来。
让
干裂的玉米
混合着牲血，腥甜。
一种疼痛剖开疼痛，
夯土战兢着幸福。
2009年3月24日写于Kenyon
Twins
"[This] story focuses on post-Tiananmen Square political life....The brothers' relationship, their love and antagonism, is subtly and finely drawn"-Professor McAdams, English Department of Kenyon College, in her nomination for Franklin Miller Award of Kenyon College, which is granted in April 2009.
On the fifth day of the hunger strike, the hot weather in middle May enveloped Beijing. Li Xin sat among the crowds on Tiananmen Square. At the age of twenty, he was tall and thin. His squared jaw implied resolution and his hunger failed to overshadow the heated pursuit reflected through his eyes. He idled, watching people passing by and suddenly caught sight of his twin brother who was born five minutes earlier than him, Li Xiang, coming. Li Xin first thought it was an illusion from days without food. Yet his brother, who looked very much like Li Xin, approached, stopped, and bent down to pat Li Xin on his shoulders, which made him realize that his brother was actually there.
“Brother, how did you find your way here?” Li Xin asked, wondering if Li Xiang had changed his mind and decided to join the effort.
“I asked people along the way. Also your friends at the department thought I was you again, and brought me here.” Ever since birth, the two looked exactly the same, except for the scar on Li Xiang’s upper forehead. He received it at the age of seven from falling down the stairs, when he and Li Xin were chased by the old gatekeeper of the orchard nearby, where the cherries looked so delicious that the little twins sneaked in and picked as many as they could. When they were fourteen, they took a hiking trip to Mount Tai and a fortune-teller commented on his mark. “A scar on your forehead shall twist your destiny before you can wear an adult’s hat.” Overcautious and introverted as he was, Li Xiang feared it be true, while Li Xin sniffed, “Bro, that’s totally nonsense.” That marked another difference between the two: Li Xin was more confident and self-assertive. They were both bright young students and got into Peking University together at the age of eighteen.
Today Li Xiang’s outfit was very clean—not new, but nice enough to set him apart from the rest of the students on the Square. Many of them, especially those who came from other cities, had camped there ever since early May. They only had a handful of clothes to choose from, all of which smelled and had grown dirty. Had there been no one to lead him through the crowd, Li Xiang would not have made it to the group formed by students from Peking University.
Weeks of demonstrations had worn Li Xin out, making him look much sloppier than Li Xiang. Strands of hairs stuck to his forehead from weeks without showering. On seeing this, Li Xiang attempted to tidy up Li Xin’s hair. Li Xin moved his head to avoid the hand. What Li Xiang said bothered him even more: “Mom is worried about you very much. She asked me to bring you home.”
Li Xin dropped his head, looking down at his shirt, and wondered how his mother could ever understand the slogans on it, such as “Freedom” and “Equality.” “Bro, haven’t I told you that I won’t not go back? Try to explain to her what I’m doing again.”
Li Xiang smirked, “She wouldn’t take that as an answer. She worries about you, like she worried about dad then.” Their father was beaten to death during the Cultural Revolution, and the widow had made admirable efforts to bring up the twins who were then only two years old. Li Xin could even picture her sitting alone on the Soviet Union-style green-cloth-made sofa, hands on her knees, turning her body slightly just to hear the sound from the hallway, waiting for her sons to be back. For one moment, he wanted to go back with Li Xiang and walked up the stairs. She would recognize his footsteps and be relieved. Her smile when both of the twins were at home during weekends would reappear.
But if he walked away like this, what would his friends—now his “comrades”—and his girlfriend Wang Jing think of him? He was known among his peers for his determination and passion. His cassette business at Delta pond of Peking University during the summer before the college, and the Contemporary Art Club he organized were all ideas he came up with one day and put into practice the next.
It was because of this that Wang Jing had approached him. He remembered those short rides around the campus during the freshman year with the Fege bike he bought with the money made over the summer. Wang Jing sat on the back seat and chit-chatted with him. Their eyes met frequently as the talk flowed at its own pace, and her admiration for him was unhidden. A little ashamed, he felt that Wang Jing had persuaded him to go to the march and not the other way around. The furious promise Wang Jing made to Li Xin in her elegant voice, “Xin, may you be a Decembrist and I your wife!” was fresh in his mind. He stayed with her to take on some responsibilities that only real revolutionists were qualified for, while Li Xiang left for home.
“Your brother is not revolutionary,” Wang Jing had declared, meaning that Li Xiang was a coward. Recalling this, Li Xin made up his mind, “Brother, seriously, I cannot turn back. I have to do something for my country. Otherwise, what would Wang Jing think of me?”
Li Xiang got tired of standing. He moved in to sit with Li Xin, “Speaking of her, where is she at?”
Li Xin made some space for the two to stretch out their legs, “She went to Wangfujing to use the bathroom. She can’t stand the toilet on the Square.”
“Aren’t you guys in a hunger strike?” Li Xiang was confused.
Li Xin grasped what Li Xiang was referring to, but avoided the question. “She wants a clean toilet, a very clean one.”
Li Xiang let it go. They two sat shoulder by shoulder in a short period of silence before Li Xiang started talking again, “Xin, I don’t think whatever you are doing now is doing any good.”
“What do you mean?” Li Xin’s tone sharpened.
“I mean, do you really know what you want? I’m not saying that what you’re doing is wrong, I’m just saying that it seems no good to do it like this.”
“Well, we want…” Li Xin began than paused. What did they really want? Democracy? Freedom? General election and popular vote? Anti-corruption? And anti-official-rent-seeking? Those terms had been quoted and used frequently in discussions on campus. Now, after a month of blasting the government with such terms and preaching both to the nation and to his peers, Li Xin knew these terms as well as he knew the cuts and scars on his hands from wood-curving or sculpting at the Club. Yet, a weird feeling of alienation grew from the familiarity as he had experienced before with calligraphy. When he was a kid small enough to be forced to practice on some “hobbies” that he did not enjoy at all, he had to stay in every afternoon to finish three pages of handwriting practice. At the sunset when it was still too early to turn on the lights, the apartment filled with denser and denser darkness, and it required almost pure instinct to write every stroke. One of the scariest moment was when he found that he could no longer recognize the combinations of those strokes, be it a “Solemn (Zheng),” “Harmony (He),” or “Elegance (Ya).” His mind was empty then, and so was it now. He had trouble coming up with a rebuttal to his brother, as he had difficulty making sense out of these terms even to himself.
“Remember Plato’s metaphor about knowledge? We should be born with it, Because we aren't, we have to learn it just like to find an antique vase that we didn’t know what it looked like. How could we find it then? Similarly, do you know you…”
“Even so, it is far better than doing nothing and pursuing nothing.” It was a typical Li Xin reply.
“Yeah, you’re right,. But what I’m afraid of is that you break the vase reaching for it, and hurt everyone of us.”
“No!...no way… it’s not like that…” Li Xin cringed, muttering. For weeks he and his peers protested and sent messages to the government again and again. Their messages to the government were condemned as threats and thus never answered. However, some high-profile advisors to officials visited them to persuade them to cease the demonstration and go back to school. Students were assured that the government had felt their concern. But why was their call to remove the official mark of this movement as “a malicious revolt” ignored? The news from the west were all in favor of the students. In a flood of all this news, good and bad, some students left and returned, but some stayed, insisting that they would never move out of the Square unless all were solved. Even those who stayed, including him, had only a vague idea of what they were calling for. But that was not their fault. The language of democracy, freedom and equality was new and strange to them, but what else could they do? People like his brother did not dare to participate, how come they had the right to ask people like Li Xin to reconsider their decisions and hint that they would screw things up?
“Brother, stop giving me those metaphors that make no sense in real life. There are so many of us here for so many days,” Li Xin leaned forward to stand up, continuing, “We had our common will for a better future for the country; how can it mean nothing, how can it be bad and wrong, and how can we blow things up?” He tried to yell but had no strength because of his empty stomach. The world in his vision shivered and his mind felt like a fishing boat floating on the vast ocean under a storm, his favorite scene in the old man’s sail, on page 125 of the collection of Hemingway’s work. He collapsed.
When he woke up again, he was lying in Li Xiang’s embrace.
“Xin, please, for the sake of your life, go back with me. You are hurting yourself so bad,” Li Xiang begged.
Li Xin searched for Li Xiang’s left hand, held it tight, and made his resolution word by word. “Brother, I must not go under any circumstances. Once I go beyond the limits of my body, I don’t feel hungry anymore. My body is fine, but if I leave now, I will look down on myself for my whole life.” Li Xiang knew Li Xin all too well that he said nothing more. In silence, he stared at the Tiananmen, the Archaic building functioning both as a gate and a palace, behind which one ruler after another lived for centuries.
The crowd burst out in noise. Li Xiang looked around and saw the clouds filling the sky. The scorching, stringy humidity had cooled down. Blasts of cold watery winds blew through the Square. The national flags both on the Tiananmen and those on the Square, with its five golden stars on a red background standing for the sacrifice the pioneers had made, billowed in the wind of their own volition. A heavy shower spread from the south end of the Square to the north, stirring up the exclamations from the crowds.
Li Xiang took off his coat to shelter them from the rain. Judging that a coat could do nothing to keep them from getting wet, Li Xin shook up his brother’s attempt, “Stop, stop, forget about it, brother. Look at how heavy the rain is! How could we even avoid it? Just take it together.”
***
Eighteen years later, Li Xiang met with his younger brother Li Xin at the newly built Terminal 3 of Beijing International Airport. He was walking towards the exit, dragging his luggage, when he saw a man in his forties trying to get his attention. The man raised his right elbow high, and waved with enthusiasm. Li Xin yelled out, “Hello, brother!” Li Xiang waved back and picked up his paces.
It was difficult to walk fast amongst all the people. Li Xiang felt crowded the second he stepped on Chinese soil, the first time to be back since he fled for the United States through Hong Kong. Being in exile because of the Tiananmen Square protest, he had not applied for a re-entry visa to China until a year ago. To his surprise, the visa was granted after a three-month background check. Returning to his home country appeared strange to him after years of teaching philosophy in a small college. Fully accustomed and attached to the placid lifestyle at a college town, Li Xiang could not walk among the others hustling off to the exits. Li Xin stepped back and waited aside, looking at his watch with one hand resting on his waist, a pose unfamiliar to Li Xiang.
“Things have changed.” Earlier, two hours away from Beijing, Li Xiang had gone the lavatory to tidy himself up. His hairline had withdrawn from his forehead, so that his hair did not cover the scar anymore. Li Xiang had found some of his sideburns white, and wrinkles around his eyes, which made him look wise and solemn. Staring at himself in the squared mirror, he had wondered what his twin brother looked like after years.
Li Xiang drew up to Li Xin. Li Xin had a beer belly that he couldn't have hidden if he'd tried, which he hadn't. His short hair appeared black on first glance, but Li Xiang found the roots of many hairs white. Maybe Li Xin had it dyed at a salon. He wore a Crocodile polo shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants. Dark brown Buddhist rosary beads on his right wrist complemented his Pierre Cardin shoes in color. Li Xin’s welcoming greeting, “Brother, I missed you so much!” resonated with the brotherhood hibernating inside Li Xiang’s heart for years. Li Xiang laughed and patted Li Xin’s shoulder.
Li Xin led Li Xiang to a dark-gray BMW 5 series in the parking lot and opened the trunk for him, when Li Xin’s phone rang. Li Xin stepped aside to answer the call and signaled to Li Xiang to put the luggage into the car. Li Xiang did so and sat in the passenger seat. He looked around admiring the fine finish the interior was equipped with, which made him feel more or less out of place. It reminded him of the summer after high school when Li Xin sold cassettes of Taiwanese pop music and bought a bicycle with all the money he made. He sometimes rode the bicycle around campus with his girlfriend on the back seat, which made Li Xiang feel jealous. Of course, it was not good to feel jealous of his brother, either twenty years ago or now, so he tried to push the thought from his mind.
Li Xin jumped into the driver seat and started the car, while he was speaking, “Brother, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. The municipal government just called me about a project, so it took a while. You must be tired after the trip. I have booked you a room in Ritz-Carlton in Xi Cheng District. Let’s check in there and we can go have dinner. You cool with the plan?”
“Yeah.” Li Xiang asked, “How is mom?”
“She’s fine. She misses you a lot though, because she lives by herself now. Why don’t you call her? She is expecting your call.”
Li Xiang took the phone Li Xin handed to him, selected the number from the contacts, and dialed it. It rang only once before it was answered.
Li Xiang heard an old hesitant voice, “Xiang?”. He was about to say “Mom” but his words got caught in his throat.
“Xiang, my son, it is so good to have you back. How are you doing? Did you have a good flight? Are you tired?” Mom was always talkative.
“Mom, it’s good, no worry, I’m in Beijing now, about to come home in a few hours. How about you? Have you eaten and slept well recently?” Li Xiang asked.
“Everything is fine. I couldn’t fall asleep last night knowing that you were on your way here. I thought about something, and though I wanted to tell you later, I can’t help but tell you now. I...I’m sorry, Xiang. I’m sorry that I preferred your brother to stay. I feel so...so guilty about it...I knew this was something we never really talked about, but I feel compelled to tell you this now. Xiang...mom is so...sorry.” She broke down and sobbed, which reminded Li Xiang of the time when he left Li Xin and their mother. Li Xin finally got home after the crackdown on June the 4th, 1988, with dirt, and scratches on his face and body and blood on his shirt. A sudden and severed fever struck him down and kept him in bed for days. Lan Kwan from Hong Kong, who introduced himself as Li Xin's friend from the protest, visited and offered Li Xiang and their mother to take Li Xin to US through Hong Kong as the government was hunting down the protestors. The escape could be dangerous and there was no guarantee. Li Xin was in a coma and too sick to even walk. Amazed by how much Li Xiang looked like Li Xin, Lan Kwan suggested that Li Xiang left with him and Li Xin could pretend to be the mother’s elder obedient son and stay with her. Hearing the suggestion, their mother sat there sobbing, while darting one or two looks at Li Xiang, Her pose was engrained in Li Xiang's mind. Motivated by a mixed feeling of bitter and self-sacrifice, Li Xiang left with Lan Kwan and had never returned until now.
These unpleasant memories entwined Li Xiang like snakes from Zeus hunted down Laocoon. He had no idea how to react. He muttered something like, “Mom, it’s OK, I never thought of it, it’s OK.” But he failed to calm her down and Li Xin could even hear their mother’s crying.
Li Xin reached his right arm to pat Li Xiang on his shoulder, “Brother, it’s okay. Mom was just too excited. It’s good to have you back. We will meet tonight.” He took the phone and said, “Mom, everything is fine, alright? Brother is with me and we will be at home in several hours. I’m about to get on the highway. Let’s talk when we meet tonight.” He hung up.
Li Xiang took a deep breath, sat back and looked outside the window, where cranes on the construction field caught his attention. “Wow, there are a lot of construction projects going on now.”
“Yes, the timing is quite right. Construction is surely a good business. Where there are projects, there are profits. Every single main road has been upgraded…for the Olympics” A ring interrupted his lecture. Li Xin looked at his phone screen and answered it impatiently.
“What on earth do you want this time? Didn’t I tell you not to bother me? What? Tang needs some money? Go find Accountant Zhang and wire some over. Hurry up! The bank will close soon. I need to show my brother around tonight so I won’t be home…Alright, that’s it.” He cut off the conversation even though apparently the other person had some more to ask.
“Your wife?”
“Yeah.” He sighed.
“The one who always went after you in college?” Li Xiang remembered a short-hair girl, Feng Miao, back in college and asked with a smile.
“Yes. I agreed to marry her after graduation. Her dad was an official at the city council and used his connections to get me a job.” Li Xin stuck out his right hand to find a CD of Buddhist Mantras. The rhythmic Buddhist blessings soon bounced around the car.
“And what happened with Wang Jing, have you ever seen her again?” Li Xiang recalled another girl. On many sunny spring days of the freshman year, she sat at the backseat of Li Xin’s bike with a collection of Shelley’s poetry in her hands. Her skirt waved along with the up and down of the road. And then the early summer came, and an expression of the sacred faith which inspired and burdened these young men to act for the sake of the country replaced the shy look on her face. Students started marching outside of the campus. One day when Li Xiang was about to pack up his stuff and head home, Wang Jing came to get Li Xin to do the demonstration with her. The beauty on Wang Jing’s face came from a pure passion for this nation’s future. Li Xiang knew then Li Xin would not go home with him. He left alone, always remembering her last line, “Xin, may you be a Decembrist and I your wife!” That hot summer pierced through the time and remained fresh in Li Xiang’s memory.
“Wang Jing, yeah, she is doing corporate financing in Hangzhou now. Damn it! Last time I asked her to raise some funds for the project at Hangzhou bay, and guess what? She asked me two percent more for commission! Let me tell you, those women… ”
This chunk of information flooded into Li Xiang’s ears much faster than he could pick it up. As soon as he figured out what was going on between his brother and Wang Jing, Li Xin broke it off. He lowered the window, stuck his head out and spat obnoxiously. The air on the highway flooded into the car. The loud noise dwarfed the Buddhist music sound.
“…Are so much greedier than men!” Li Xin sat back and made a final judgment on women of Wang Jing’s type. All those feelings of nostalgia about the old days were negated by this claim, and Li Xiang could do nothing but force a smile.
“Bro, don’t just ask about me. Tell me more about yourself. Remind me again how did you meet your wife?” Li Xin’s question broke the temporary silence.
“Lin Yi? She came to the US to study in 1993. And we got to know each other at school. Right then she wanted to get a status to stay. We were together first only to get her the greencard, but as time went by, the bond became real.”
“Interesting. Why didn’t you bring her and your kids back?”
“Nah, I came back first in case I faced any trouble with the customs.”
“Come on, bro. Don’t even worry about it. Nobody cares about that any more. Even if they stop you, you can just simply sign a form of disapproval to close the case. You are a US citizen; they pretty much can't touch you. And you didn’t participate anyway.”
Li Xiang found that after years of doing business, Li Xin became so eloquent with his speech that Li Xiang could not keep up. Searching for a new topic, he caught sight of the small golden Vajra hanging on the rearview mirror and asked, “You believe in Buddhism now?”
“I sure do. Nowadays in Beijing, people with money or power all believe in this. You heard about Yonghe Palace? On January the first, I went to burn the eighteenth incense of the year. Guess how much it cost? A hundred and eighty-eight grand! But it's worth it. All the projects I've been part of this year have gone so well. Bodhisattva does bless me.” Li Xin took his left hand off the wheel, closed both palms together and made a worship gesture.
Li Xiang could not stop thinking about the young Li Xin who wore a white shirt and a white headband, and who climbed up the base of the Memorial on the Square to wave a red flag. Who, when Li Xiang went to see him, fainted and fell into his embrace. Li Xin’s face had turned pale but he held Li Xiang’s hand tight. He spoke In a low and stern voice. “Once I go beyond the limits of my body, I don’t feel hungry anymore.” That was when Li Xin was thin but full of passion which only the youth of the 1980’s were entitled to. He used to only believe and value the rights men were born with, looking down on the gods and Buddha with contempt.
“I still have several Buddhist rosary beads blessed by monks. If you want, I can give some to you.” Li Xin’s cell rang for the third time. He glanced at the number, turned down the volume of the music, and cleared his throat before he spoke.
“Hey, sweetie…Of course I miss you so bad. Tonight? Yeah, I’m free. I was just about to call you to go out for dinner. My older brother just came back. My real brother, the assistant dean of Harvard University. So let’s meet at five, where I picked you up last time. Alright, I will call you when I get there…Yeah, me too…ehhh…hmmm…Bye.” Li Xin lowered his voice at the end of the conversation. After the call, for the first time he looked embarrassed.
Li Xiang was familiar with that look. In ninth grade, Li Xin wore a pair of Li Xiang’s new jeans to go to his first date without asking permission. On the way back he got into a fight with some boys and ruined the jeans. Li Xin had had the exact same look while explaining what had happened to his older brother. Thinking back to the middle school days, Li Xiang found it amusing, but he shook his head and said nothing.
Li Xin's embarrassment passed quickly and he started talking again, “Oh, bro, what are you exactly teaching at school? Tell me something about it, so I don't say something wrong about you when we meet her.”
“I teach Existentialism, and I personally do research on Sartre.”
“Sa…what? Who is that?”
“Sartre, the one who wrote books at prison camp. How could you forget about him?”
Li Xiang was surprised. Learning philosophy became very popular during their freshman year. They checked out L'Être et le néant from the library and read it together over the next two days. After finishing the reading, they went to have dinner. They were obsessed with the new way in which they perceived the world. Li Xin said something about how rice in a bowl could be interpreted as its existence—being in the dining bowl, which preceded its essence—being the food. A direct consequence of being a dinner philosopher was that they forgot the book at the hall. They had to pay the library five yuan, and they joked about how they had paid their dues to become Existentialists.
The car went off the highway and stopped at the traffic lights. Many people walked at a brisk pace across the road, while a woman pushing her bike lagged behind. She kept looking back as she was walking forward, as if she had lost something on the road.
“Hey, that was twenty years ago. We were simply fooling around back then. Speaking of being, I finally understand what it means to exist.” Li Xin blew the car horn to hurry the woman. She threw a frightened glance at Li Xin and scurried away.
“Did you see that? It is because I’m here, I toot my horn to drive her away, I therefore exist and she feels my existence. Look at those dudes hanging around the road shoulder. Who would notice them?” Li Xin stretched his arm to point at several men from the countryside who came to the city to make a living, mostly by working on the construction sites. The Buddhist rosary on his arm stuck in front of Li Xiang’s face, blocking his sight. Li Xiang lost the urge to continue the conversation as he felt an invisible wall separating him from Li Xin after eighteen years apart.
Li Xiang sat back, gazing out the window at what passed by. The car merged into the second ring road, passed the Lotus Pond and Fuxing Gate, and arrived at Muxidi Bridge. This was where the troops entered the city on June 4th. Li Xiang recalled the summer night when the entire nation drowned in the sadness. He saw beyond the modern skyscrapers the ashes of what had taken place in this now brand new business district. The gunshots, the people’s cries, the flames of the fire as it engulfed a bus and the marching troops all emerged from the shadows of his memory. At this moment, Li Xin said quietly, “Brother, thank you what you did for me.”
Li Xiang waited for Li Xin to elaborate. Even though he knew what that gratitude referred to, it wasn’t the sort of favor where he could simply say “you are welcome” in return. That was a decision he made in the night of June 5th of 1989, a single decision to put himself in exile in order to let his little brother stay with their mother. That was the boldest thing he had ever done. He felt he deserved to know more about the reality, about whether his sacrifice was worthwhile.
“Bro, I mean, you are the only one...I have never ever met people other than you, would make such a sacrifice for me. I mean, I know it, I know how much it meant to you.” Li Xin looked straight ahead, as if it were the only way he could let the genuine part of himself be exposed. “But I just couldn’t make up your loss, like you don’t really need money, I guess.”
Li Xiang’s heart twisted with those edgy feelings, jealousy, disappointment, sadness, weakness, and nostalgia, all in bits as small as the buckwheat skins inside the pillow he had at home in Beijing as a kid. At his last try, he turned his sight away from the window, stared at Li Xin, and dug deeper to uncover the answer that had been buried beneath the reality for so long. “If you had a choice, would you have fled yourself?”
“I...would. Once out, I would have gotten a green card and gone to Harvard. The economy was booming in 1990’s. I could have done much better than I’m doing now.” Li Xin holding the wheel tight with both hands, answered the question after a second of hesitation, yet without a glance at Li Xiang. That answer silenced Li Xiang for the rest of the drive.
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