Zhou Jianing 周嘉宁 was born in Shanghai in 1982, and is the author of the full-length novels Barren City and In the Dense Groves, and the short story collections How I Ruined My Life, One Step At A Time and Essential Beauty. Zhou has translated works by Alice Munro, Flannery O’Connor, Joyce Carol Oates, and F. Scott Fitzgerald.
(周嘉宁，1982年生于上海，作家，英语文学翻译。曾出版长篇小说《荒芜城》《密林中》，短篇小说集《我是如何一步步毁掉我的生活的》,《基本美》等。翻译Alice Munro, Flannery O’Connor, Joyce Carol Oates, F. Scott Fitzgerald等人作品)
There, there…
As soon as I turned through the airport luggage lobby door, I saw my younger cousin jogging over from the distance. He stood to attention before me like this was a rehearsal, plucked the sunglasses from the bridge of his nose and put his hands in his pockets.
“Well, hello!”
His hair had flushed out into a light blond. He wore grey-green contacts, and his face – once a pinkish white – had thinned to show sharp cheekbones. At a rough glance, he didn’t look Chinese, or really much like the young white guys in the area. Fortunately he didn’t make any note of my reservations, but instead shook his shoulders and held out a hand, taking the chance to haul up my suitcase and rucksack, then snatch my satchel and clamp it under his lower arm.
“Tired?” he asked hurriedly.
“I’m fine. The firm booked business class.”
“You’ve come at the right time. It rained all last week. Only stopped yesterday.” When he spoke he was already making big strides towards the exit, so I rushed to catch up. He was wearing a shoddy pair of skintight jeans, buckled leather shoes with pointed, stretched-out ends, and a black jacket with a glinting zipper. When he turned away, I saw the half-faded skull tattoo on the hood. He put on his shades the moment we left the arrivals hall, although it was gloomy and sunless outside. All his clothes were cheap goods he’d purchased from a wholesale market one time when he went back to China, but he never saw it as a problem. He actually delighted in his bum-like aesthetic.
“Did you lose weight?” I asked, forcing conversation en route to the carpark.
“Slimmed down just recently. First we agreed I’d take a trip home next month, then my mother said she didn’t want me to.”
“Oh…” I hesitated. Neither of us said another word.
The wind tipped people to one side of the open-air carpark in the gloomy weather. We walked for a while, then stopped before a decrepit Pick-up truck. Only a small part of the windshield was clean, and the open back was covered with a thick tarpaulin, to defend against the rain. There was a thick odor of fish and rotten vegetables. I was standing there, not knowing what to think, when I saw that my cousin had opened the door, and was nimbly placing the suitcase and bags inside. He slammed the door.
“It’s the restaurant’s loading car,” he explained. “I had a run down to the harbor this morning.”
“Oh…” I climbed in.
He looked for the parking ticket in a pile of receipts and leaflets. There was an ashtray packed full with cigarette butts. The CD-player started playing a song by Adele. As I rolled down the truck window, I couldn’t help but feel in my pocket for a cigarette, but then pulled my hand back.
“So where do you want to go?” he asked.
“You’re the boss.” I turned my head away and looked out of the window.
“The beach? Oh, no…” he paused, then added, “I’ve got an interview tomorrow, so I need to go to the city to buy an actual suit in the afternoon. We’ll go to the beach tomorrow, and I’ll take you to eat some fresh-hauled oysters.”
“I… already booked a plane ticket for tomorrow,” I muttered.
“Huh?” he said, disappointed. “But I asked three day’s break from the boss-lady.”
“I was always just going to be here for the meeting. Your mother…” The words stuck in my throat, so I had to switch tracks. “…. The family’s worried, so they helped out and brought you some good stuff. It’s all food.”
“The ocean’s at its most beautiful right now,” he said, like he hadn’t registered what I’d said, like he’d answered some other question.
We fell silent for a moment. We drove along the airport motorway for the whole journey, seeing no people – only enormous foreign-language billboards, and crowds of gulls circulating in the sky, emitting baby-like calls. It was strikingly bleak.
“What’s your interview for?” I asked him.
“A five-star hotel. The chefs in our restaurant were chatting, and mentioned that they were looking for helpers. I talked it over with the boss-lady – getting my work cut down by half. I didn’t say I wanted a whole other job. I just said I wanted to take English lessons.”
“Well, is there enough time to do two jobs?” I asked.
“There is, if I sleep a little less. What does sleep matter?”
We drove into a crowded tunnel. The truck budged forward a couple of feet, and we finally stopped. All around us were fumes, pumped out of the cars, and it became aggravatingly hot. Somewhat awkwardly, he told me that the air-con was broken. We could only roll down the windows. The temperature inside lurched upwards. Adele’s voice on the CD-player went hysterical, and I was close to choking. Even so, it remained very quiet outside. Nobody honked their horn. People reached their hands out of their cars and lit cigarettes.
My cousin was living temporarily at his boss’s house. I say temporarily, but really he’d been living there for two years. She wasn’t around now. My cousin took a sack of dogfood from the kitchen, then fetched a to-go plastic box from the back of the truck. It was packed with leftover braised chicken from the restaurant. He mixed the stuff together with fluid familiarity.
“Hardy!” he called. “Hardy!”
An old dog popped out from somewhere, had a sniff, and lazily retreated. He had no interest in strangers. He didn’t even lift an eyelid. I went to have a closer look at him. All of his fur had fallen out, grown over with scabies. He was dribbling hot, putrid, sweaty blood.
“The boss-lady’s dog,” my cousin said. “He’s almost done for.”
He led me to his room.
“Looks like he’s in real pain,” I said.
“He’s gone blind in one eye. Needs ointment rubbed on it every day.”
“Hmm-hmm…” I murmured, unable to think of anything sympathetic to say.
My cousin lived in a garage on the side of the courtyard. It was split into two rooms, with dry goods and tools stacked in the outer room, and his things in the other. It was roomy enough.
“You can sleep in my bed tonight,” he said, taking a big clump of bedsheets and covers from the closet.
“Actually, I’ll be fine finding a hotel,” I said, with a slight hesitation.
“Don’t do that. I’ve talked it all over with the boss-lady already. She’ll help me get a foldable mattress from the store in the evening, and I’ll sleep outside.” As he spoke, he opened the fridge but saw that it was empty. “I’ll head out and get something to drink. Why don’t you have a rest?”
“I’m fine, and time’s really tight. I’ll go with you.”
So he waited while I changed my clothes, and we went out together. It was a Chinese district, so once you turned the corner onto main-street, you saw Chinese character placards everywhere you looked, small clusters of Chinese talking in a verity of dialects, standing outside the little shops, or chatting on street corners. A few times, people coming our way slowed down and said hi to my cousin, who was wearing his sunglasses and had both hands tucked into his pockets, displaying a cool self-assuredness that had been absent until now.
“Someone’s got a lovely girlfriend!” the boss-lady of a milk-tea stand called to my cousin.
“She’s a friend,” he answered, without expression, like reciting some passage from a book. I gave him a look.
“Oh. No…” he went on. “This is my big sister, on a business trip, out to see me.” His face went red and his words came out in a jumble.
“Take two milk-teas!” the boss-lady said, leaning out from the booth, already sealing the cups with the packaging machine. My cousin just stood there. Then they got chatting in Cantonese. I couldn’t understand, so was forced to be a spectator. A moment later he forced a cup of warm and steaming milk-tea into my hands.
“Without the boba!” he said.
“When did you learn Cantonese?” I asked, after we’d walked a little while.
“My boss-lady’s from Guangdong, and both the cooks came with her. Plenty of Cantonese and Fukienese around her. There’s another Chinese community a few stations away, but they’re all from the Northeast there. You couldn’t take the garlicky smell.”
“You know a lot of people,” I said.
“Er, no,” he shrugged and smiled.
Eventually we stopped at a Cantonese restaurant that had a dragon painted across the entrance. It wasn’t time for lunch, and it didn’t look ready for business inside. However, my cousin pushed the door open. “This is our restaurant. Sit down, and I’ll get them to make you something tasty.”
The floorboards were sticky. A girl sat on a barstool, doodling on her phone. She lifted her head lazily when she saw my cousin. They went straight into a hushed chat in Cantonese. The girl gave me a look, titled her head oddly to one side, and then reverted her gaze. I wasn’t sure if that counted as saying hi. She had covered her face with thick powder, which made her look a little tubby, as she was very young. They huddled close and giggled at something on their phones. She took his milk-tea, not drinking from it, but nibbling on the straw.
Soon after, my cousin went into the kitchen, gave some orders, and came out carrying a flask of tea on a tray. He sat down with me. That girl had vanished.
“Girlfriend?” I asked him quietly.
“Oh, no,” he said, making that same lackadaisical expression, and continuing: “Boss-lady’s daughter.”
“You must have a girlfriend though.”
“I’ll be working two jobs soon,” he said sternly. “Where would I have the time?”
“True.”
“And don’t talk nonsense with my mother when you get back. You know –” he paused abruptly, blowing on the piping-hot tea in the flask, but didn’t carry on. I didn’t push him.
The girl came out from the back and served up a variety of steaming dishes. She took a few trips back and forth, and soon the table was fully laid. Just as I was thinking about stopping her and saying it was too much, she brought another dish – a bowl of buttered fried prawns with black pepper. My weary stomach had traveled far, but all this oily food wasn’t bringing it back to life. Disgust rose up in me instead. I called the girl to sit down and eat with us, but she answered, in the thickest accent, that she was on a diet. Her tone with me contained a mannered iciness. I couldn’t read a single expression on her face. It was the exact opposite of a moment before.
I rallied my energies and took two bites of the food, but my cousin barely moved his chopsticks. Outside, the sun had shown its face, which made the inside of the restaurant seem darker and deeper. The table itself was greasy, and the venerated Guanyin in the corner was surrounded by permanently flickering electric candles. It was like we were back in the crumbling, narrow-laned second-tier city where the two of us had spent our childhood. The light was the same back then, and everything was greasy to the touch.
The restaurant needed the Pick-up in the afternoon, so my cousin and I took the train to the city center. He sprinted to the upper-deck out of habit, and picked a window seat at the back row. They were wider than the other seats. Without speaking, he put his feet up on the seat opposite, folded his arms, and went off into his thoughts, turned towards the window. Along the way we passed some older industrial areas where the brick walls on the riverside were fully pasted with graffiti. At times we passed through residential zones with spacious supermarkets and corner churches. Other times we passed the ocean, concealed at the back of buildings, its surface revealed in white glitters between the gaps.
“Have you traveled to many places?” he suddenly asked me.
“I have.”
“Do you like it here?”
We looked out of the window together.
“It’s not bad. It’s a wonderful thing for a city to have some ocean.”
“I don’t feel anything,” he said, pouting, “I can’t stand it here. I’m bored to death.”
“But don’t you have plenty of friends?”
“They’re all customers at the restaurant. What’s can to talk about?”
“Right.”
After a moment’s thought he carried on: “But this grand hotel’s right by the ocean, in a wealthy district.”
We alighted at Central Station, bang on midday break. There were busy, bustling people all over the streets. My cousin led me on a shortcut through a public park, where groups of people were sunbathing on the edges of the grass, drinking beer. The sky was clearer and brighter than before. I stopped by a chain coffee shop, and thought I’d buy a cup. I asked if he wanted to sit together and have one, but he said no. My spirits were soothed a little by the familiar warmth inside the coffee shop – the sugar-frosted donuts spread on the counter, and warm buzz of soft conversation all around. A smoke would have made things even better. I felt my way to a wrinkled cigarette in a side-compartment in my purse, but hesitated, then pulled my hand back out. My cousin was standing by the door with his back to me, hands still in pockets, one leg sticking sideways out the door, shoulders subtly raised. A short gust blew up outside. The hem of his jacket rustled, shaking straight up in the wind, and he looked uncomfortably cold.
I wanted to visit the biggest department store, but my cousin said his friend had recommended another place, which had year-round discounts. I tagged along as we ran circles around the counters in menswear. He had to make his purchases from the tie counter and then shirts, then trousers and then shoes, so it must have looked like chaos. We swung about between two floors like a pair of headless flies. He quickly lost his usual tolerance, betraying his anxiety and misery.
“Wearing a Western suit is totally dumb,” he suddenly declared
“I like a guy in a suit,” I shrugged.
“You talk like an old lady,” he said.
“Screw you.”
“It’s the truth! Only the elderly actually like Western suits.”
“You’re so naïve.”
In the end we got it all sorted at some practically anonymous store in some corner. We were exhausted. It turned into a rushed job. I waited for him by the changing-room entrance. At one point, he stuck his head out (half of his shirt-buttons fastened) and asked if I could switch it for a size up. The polite, dark-skinned assistant had been waiting on us from the other end of the counter all this time. She passed me the shirt then turned her head silently in another direction.
He took a long time to emerge from the changing-room, shoelaces untied, wearing that suit – yes – but maintaining the stoop he wore with his jacket. He had both hands in his pockets, which made the trousers pull tight over his thighs. He stood in front of the mirror, highly embarrassed, eyes flittering from side to side, unsure where to look.
“The trousers are a little tight,” he whispered to me.
“Yes. Want to swap for the next size up?” I asked.
“Yeah. They really are a little tight…” he mumbled, looking at me, and then the assistant. When she came over to us, I realized that my cousin’s face was red all over, like he was furious at something. He took a few steps back. Meanwhile the assistant had already come up to us with the same rigid and mannered smile, giving my cousin a vacant once over, and saying, in the heavily inflected English of the place: “No’ bad at all, sir.”
“Could you help us find a larger size?” I asked. “They’re a bit tight.” I looked at my cousin. His shoulders were raised in sheer vexation, and he still hadn’t taken his hands from his pockets. It truly felt that the blame for the wrong trousers was on me.
“Of course.” Patiently, the assistant turned, and went to collect the item from the stockroom, which left the two of us stood there like lemons. My cousin took advantage of the situation to loosen one shirt button and then a second. It gave him even less association with the clothing. The mall had turned on the central-heating some time earlier, so he took of his jacket and draped it over his arm, with sweat all over the back of his neck.
He sat down next to me. “I’m a complete moron, aren’t I”
“You’re not,” I said, trying my best to console him.
“Your English is perfect.”
“Thanks…” I murmured, a little put-out. I didn’t go on.
“If the interview’s in the English, I’m a goner.”
“Did they say it would be?”
“No. But a kid got taken on last year who couldn’t do anything.”
“Just see how it goes. You’ve never had bad luck.”
“Things would be great if I could speak English.”
“Didn’t you study at a language college?”
“That wasn’t a place for study,” he said. “Pissing about in Chinatown all day, the only language I could speak was Cantonese.”
I lifted my head and scanned the room. The assistant still wasn’t back, and I was worn out. Two guys pushed open the door to the fire-exit staircase next to us, popping out for a smoke, I guessed. I could practically here the clack-click of the lighters. At times like these, I really couldn’t think what else could be done apart from going for a cigarette.
We had nothing to do, once we’d left the mall, so we casually strolled the streets. My cousin’s mood had dropped to the depths of hell. He swore like a trooper, as if the bags in his hands were dismantling his confidence. But he calmed down again after we’d conquered a stretch of road, and went on ahead in large steps and silence. I knew he was weighed down by worries – but who isn’t?
After a long time thinking, he finally opened up:
“We’ll go somewhere nice.”
“Where?”
“A casino.”
“What?”
“A gambling hall. They’re really famous here.”
“But I can’t even play cards.”
“You’re so lame. Just see it as keeping me company.” He thought a while before adding: “I have to earn back the cash from buying these clothes just now.”
I didn’t fancy going – not at all – but I didn’t want to be a sop on his mood either. So I followed him, hopping onto a bus that was stopped at the terminal station.
“Do you… go there often?” I asked.
“There was a time I did. I was so bored, there were times I didn’t want to go back to that garage once I got off work at the restaurant.”
“You must get lucky breaks, by the sound of it.”
“It’s not bad most of the time. But when I’d just got here, I lost a half-year’s tuition.”
“What did you do?”
“Held it in for a week, then just couldn’t wait any more, so I called my family and lied to them.”
“Oh …”
We fell to silence again. After a while, he spoke:
“I’ve got a bit of money now. I want to buy an LV bag for my mother,” he stumbled on, trying to keep the topic rolling, like he’d made up his mind about something. “The boss-lady’s got a load of LV bags, and they look great.”
“Ok…” I nodded, and wouldn’t say anything else. I didn’t want to look at him either. I’d gone completely soft. I had to avert my gaze beyond the window. This is how cities look almost everywhere. Gigantic billboards, and all the hotel chains you know on sight. Only here there were pigeons everywhere, and a small stretch of ocean-front in the distance. Some people were playing beach volleyball.
We got off the bus with barely a word, and I followed him. A batch of tour buses were parked by the casino, and Chinese tourists were taking group photos by the entrance. In a low voice, my cousin pointed out which ones were the northeasterners, which ones were Fukienese, and which ones were the guys from Taiwan. But as we approached the entrance he stopped abruptly right next to a pair of bouncers, turned to me, and asked anxiously, “Did you bring your passport?”
“I didn’t!” I felt my pockets, and then my back, flustered. “It’s at yours.”
“Shit… You can’t get in without your passport.” He held his forehead in his hands, with a world’s-end expression.
“Um…” All I could do was look at him.
“Forget it. Forget it. Looks like our luck’s not so great today.” He was talking to himself, but comforting me as well. The suit bag was already wrinkled, and the string had snapped as well. What a fucked-up day, I thought inside myself – and it’s far from over.
Neither of us had any energy left for walking around. I saw a fish-and-chip shop by the side of the road, so I stopped and bought us two portions and two large cokes. The young lady asked, keenly, if we wanted a supersize upgrade for free, and I said great, but the result was that the two cokes were a forearm’s length, with rainbow straws. Holding onto the comical cups like we were at a festival, we wound round to the harbor behind the casino and sat down, overlooking a bunch of brand new buildings on the other shore. We had the ocean in front of us, but it wasn’t ocean-blue. Some parts were grey, and some were dark-green. Colossal boats passed slowly before us, noiselessly.
“You like this stuff?” he asked, chewing on a chip. Somehow his tone sounded like my dad’s.
“It’s alright. I’m used to junk food,” I said, the liquid in my coke cup dripping down my arm.
“I’ve never liked it.”
“Then what do you like?”
“The cold poached chicken my mother makes. Well, old boss-lady doesn’t cook half-bad either, but she’s always playing mahjong nowadays. She rarely cooks. And there’s nothing that special, actually, about the way the chefs in the restaurant cook. They throw in too much soy sauce, and too much starch.”
“Your boss-lady really likes you.”
“A lot of customers think I’m her son.”
“Well, you always were very likeable.”
“Her daughter says I look like – ” He said a name. I didn’t catch it.
“Who?” I asked.
He repeated the name, but it still didn’t register. He was forced to take out his phone, which had a display photo of a guy with his head lowered. Probably a Korean – some celebrity I didn’t know, but obviously my cousin’s idol, since he started playing me some music on his phone. It was raucous, with a monotone rhythm going on and on. My cousin shook his knees just a little, along with the tune, then turned it off.
“Have you never heard it?” he asked.
I shook my head.
When the music stopped, the silence became harder to bear.
“I’ve got to smoke…” I said awkwardly, and pulled out the wrinkled cigarette from my purse pocket. But I couldn’t feel my way to the lighter, and I didn’t know where to search. My cousin leaned in and looked right at me. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in, and roared with laughter.
I shoved him. “What’s so funny?”
“You should’ve said earlier! I’ve been holding out forever,” he said, taking out a pack of hard-filter 555s from his pocket. He used the moment to light mine as well. There was a strong wind, so we huddled together, getting close to the seed of the flame. The lighter called out in the wind – clack-click, clack-click. I breathed in a mouthful. My hands shook a little. Once I’d spat the mouthful out I finally felt a little calmer.
“Family not on your case?” he asked me.
“They don’t know,” I told him.
“The boss-lady’s daughter smokes as well, and her family are in the dark about it, too. Sometimes we take a walk outside after dinner, and chain-smoke a fair few. Then we wind round the park at the back and take a big lap, which scatters every trace of the smell. You need two laps once the winter comes,” he said, finishing a cigarette in huge mouthfuls and lighting up another.
“Your mother…” I stabbed out a cigarette at just the right time. There wasn’t a better chance than now.
“It’d be the end of her if she knew. And, as you know, the way the situation is now, I can’t hurt her.”
“What?” My heart was thumping.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing.”
Death-like silence returned.
“Your mother’s sick…” My throat had gone dry. If I missed this moment of silence I’d never get around to saying it.
“Moron! I knew that ages ago.”
“What did you know?” I asked, scared.
“That she’s sick,” he said. “I knew that ages ago. If she wasn’t, why did she force me not to come back? And then,” he carried on, not looking my way, “Then you come here on this special mission, to scout out my situation.”
“But…” I wanted to argue back, but no words came.
“Whatever I do, it’s wrong now – if I go back, and if I don’t go back… Fuck!”
“Yeah…” Right on the money, I thought.
“Is she going to die?” he asked, quite suddenly.
I shrugged. “I really don’t know. They say she’ll live many more years, if luck is on her side. But nobody can say for sure.”
“Does she know what she’s facing? Is she still hoping for a green card?” he asked, the suit bag slumped to one side at his feet. A trash-eating seagull was giving us the death-stare, eyeing our chips, which had long gone cold. We were sitting there motionless.
An enormous yacht was leaning against the harbor entrance far ahead. Now and then you could see people walking starboard.
“Look…” he said.
I followed the direction of his pointed finger to the forest of skyscrapers standing opposite. The sun had fallen back behind them by now, so we could catch the fake reflections between the glass. There were seagulls too – tiny ones, occasionally soaring across our line of sight, then gone in the blink of an eye.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That’s the big hotel I’m interviewing at tomorrow – there. That’s the rich district. They say the private beach there’s absolutely stunning, and the girls all sunbathe naked.”
“Where?”
“There,” he pointed, excitedly, half his body leaning forward. “There…”
Slightly confused, I began to pick apart the crowd of towers opposite – the enormous English lettering on the rooftops, the semi-transparent lounge bridges that ran between the buildings. Which one was he pointing at?
“Forget it,” he muttered, dropping his hand wearily.
“Is it that one?” I asked, determined to keep the topic away from his mother.
“Forget it. Don’t bother looking. There’s nothing there really,” he said with an odd earnestness.
“Right,” I drew myself in again, and nodded.
The seagull had been there around all this time, patiently walking around by our side, waiting.
“Another cigarette?” my cousin asked.
“Alright.”
So we each pulled one out. The wind was too strong. We pressed together, closely. The lighter kept up its sound, all in vain: clack-click, clack-click.
~
那儿，那儿
周嘉宁
才拐出机场行李大厅的门，就看到表弟从远处一路小跑过来。他像排练过一样在我面前站定，把墨镜从鼻梁上摘下来，双手插兜。“哟嗬。”他的头发漂成了浅金色，戴着灰绿色的隐形眼镜，面容原本就有一种粉白，现在因为更瘦削了而从面颊上呈现出两三笔有棱有角的线条。粗略的一眼，既不像是中国人，也不像当地的白人小青年。所幸他根本没有注意到我的拘谨，打完招呼便耸耸肩又把手伸出来，顺势揽过我的行李箱和双肩包，再把挎包也一把抓过去夹在胳膊底下。
“累吗？”他短促地问我。
“还行。公司订了公务舱。”
“你来的时间正好，上星期一直下雨，昨天才停。”他说着已经大步向出口迈去，我连忙跟上。他穿着条紧绷绷的破洞牛仔裤，一双鞋头又尖又长的搭扣皮鞋，一件黑色夹克衫，拉链闪闪发光。转过身去，背后印了个掉了一半色的骷髅。一走出接客大厅，他立刻戴上墨镜，其实天气阴沉沉的，也没有太阳。他的衣服都是之前回国时从批发市场买来的便宜货，但是他从没把这当回事，反而对自己糟糕低劣的审美有种沾沾自喜。
“你瘦了很多？”在去往停车场的路上我没话找话地问他。
“这段时间刚瘦下来的。本来说好下个月要回趟家，结果我妈不肯。”
“唔。”我犹豫了一会儿，我们俩都没有没再说话。
外面阴沉沉的，露天停车场的风把人刮得往一边倒去。我们走了一段路，停在辆破破烂烂的皮卡跟前。挡风玻璃上只有一小块地方是干净的，后面敞开的部分盖了块厚实的挡雨布，有股浓重的鱼腥味以及腐烂的菜叶子味。我还懵在原地，却见表弟已经打开后门，手脚利索地把箱子和包放上去，又砰得甩上车门。
“这是店里装货的车，早上我刚跑了一次码头。”他对我解释。
“唔。”我爬上车。他从座位旁的一堆票据和广告传单里找停车票，烟灰缸里塞满烟头，CD机里播放着阿黛尔的歌。我把车窗摇下来，不由去摸口袋里的烟，但手指又缩了回来。
“一会儿想去哪儿？”他说。
“听你的。”我把头扭向窗外。
“你想去海边吗？”他顿了顿又说，“不行，我明天有个面试，下午得去城里买套像样的西装。我们明天去海边吧，我带你去吃刚捞上来的生蚝！”
“我已经定好明天的机票了。”我小声说。
“哦？”他听起来有些失落，“我还跟老板娘请了三天假。”
“本来就是来墨尔本开会的，你妈妈……”我有些语塞，又改口说，“家里人惦记着帮你带了好些东西，都是吃的。”
“这会儿的海是最美的。”他像是没听到我的话，答非所问地说。
我们沉默了一会儿，这儿的冬天还没有来。我们始终开在机场高速上，看不见人，只有巨大陌生的广告牌，空中盘旋着很多海鸥，发出婴儿般的叫声，因此有种强烈的萧瑟感。
“你要去面试什么？”我问他。
“一个五星级的大酒店。我们餐馆的厨师闲聊的时候说起他们在招帮工。我跟现在的老板娘谈了谈把工作时间减半了，也没告诉她我想再做一份工，就说是要去上英文课。”
“打两份工时间够不够。”我问。
“睡得少些就够，睡觉算什么。”
这会儿我们开进了一条拥堵的隧道，车子挪动了几步终于停了下来。四周都是汽车排出的废气，变得非常燥热。他有些为难地说空调坏了。我们只好把车窗摇起来，而车厢里的温度在急剧升高，CD机里阿黛尔的声音都变得有些歇斯底里，我快要透不过气来。尽管如此，外面却很安静，没有人按喇叭，只有人把手伸到车窗外面，点起了烟。
表弟暂住在老板娘家里，说是暂住，其实也已经住了两年。这会儿老板娘不在，表弟从厨房里拿出一袋狗粮，又从车后座拿出一个打包的塑料盒，里面装着从店里带回来吃剩下的烧鸡。他手脚熟练地把这些东西混在一起。
“哈迪，哈迪。”一只老狗从不知哪里走出来，鼻子稍微嗅了嗅，就又懒洋洋地走了回去。它对生人毫无兴趣，眼睛都不抬一下。走近看，它的毛都秃了，长了疥疮，臭烘烘的往外淌着血水。
“老板娘的狗，快不行了。”他带我去他的房间。
“看起来很疼。”
“它的一只眼睛瞎了，每天都要涂药膏。”
“嗯。”我支支吾吾的，也说不出什么同情的话。
表弟住在院子旁的车库里，车库被隔成两间，外面一间堆着各种干货和工具，里面是他住的地方，算得上宽敞。
“晚上你就睡我的床。”他说着从衣橱里抱出一大摞被子和床单。
“其实我去附近找间酒店睡也行。”我有些犹豫地说。
“可别。我都已经跟老板娘说好了，晚上她会帮我从店里搬张折叠床回来。我睡在外面。”他说着想从冰箱里去取些饮料，可是冰箱是空的。“我去外面买些喝的回来，你可以先歇会儿。”
“没事，时间特别紧，我跟你四处走走。”我说。
于是他等我换了身衣服，我们一起走出门去。这儿是个华人社区，拐上大街以后到处都能看到中文标牌，操各种口音的中国人小簇小簇地站在铺子前面或者路口聊天。不时有迎面走过的人停下来与表弟打招呼，他始终戴着墨镜，双手擦在兜里，显出一股先前没有的潇洒自在劲儿。
“女朋友好靚。”一间奶茶铺的老板娘招呼他。
“是朋友。”他不动声色背书似地回答，我看了他一眼。
“哦，不是，是阿姐出差来看我。”他脸一红，语无伦次起来。
“带两杯茶走啊。”她大半个身体谈在外面，已经开始用塑封机给两杯奶茶封口，于是表弟只好站定下来。然后他们开始用广东话交谈起来，我听不懂，只好站在一边看着他们。不一会儿他把一杯暖烘烘的奶茶塞到我手里。
“没有放珍珠哦。”他说。
“什么时候学的广东话？”走开一段路以后我问他。
“我们老板娘是广东人，两个厨子也都是她带来的。这儿附近广东福建人多，隔开几站火车有另外一个华人社会，那儿都是东北人。你可受不了那股大蒜味儿。”
“你认识的人真多。”我说。
“小意思。”他朝我咧嘴笑笑。
我们继续往前走，在一间门口绘着龙的广东菜馆前停下来。这会儿还没有到午饭时间，里面也并不像是已经开始营业的样子，表弟一边推门进去一边说，“这是我们饭店，你坐一会儿，我叫他们给你做顿好吃的。”
地板踩上去黏糊糊的，有个女孩坐在高脚凳上玩手机，见到我表弟就懒洋洋地抬起头来，直接用广东话轻声交谈起来。女孩看了我一眼，脑袋往侧面歪了一歪，又收回目光，也不知道算不算是打招呼。她涂着很厚的粉，因为非常年轻而显得有些胖。这会儿他们对着手机嬉笑，俩人凑得很近，她把他的奶茶拿过去，也不喝，咬着吸管。
过了一会儿，表弟去厨房里吩咐了些什么，端了壶茶出来陪我坐下，那个女孩也不见了。
“女朋友？”我小声问他。
“不是。”他又摆出那副吊儿郎当的表情，继而说，“老板娘的女儿。”
“一定在交女朋友吧？”
“接下来要打两份工，哪有时间。”他严肃地说。
“嗯。”
“回去别跟我妈乱说，你知道……”他突然停下来，吹了吹杯子里的烫茶。于是我也没再说什么。很快女孩就从后面端出来各种热气腾腾的菜，来回几次，放满一桌。我正想要阻止表弟说菜实在太多了，就又端上来一盆用黑胡椒和黄油炒的龙虾。我长途飞行之后疲惫的胃并没有被这些油腻腻的食物唤醒知觉，却泛起恶心来。我招呼女孩一起坐下来吃，她用口音很重的普通话说她正在减肥。她在面对我的时候语气里有种彬彬有礼的冷漠，脸上看不出表情，与刚才完全不同。
我勉强打起精神来吃了两口，而表弟也几乎没有动筷子。外面出了会儿太阳，这儿却显得更加幽深。桌子也是油腻腻的，角落里敬着的观音旁边放着永不会熄灭的电子蜡烛。像是回到了我俩童年时一起待过的那个狭隘又破旧的二线城市，也是这样的光线，四处都是油腻腻的触觉。
下午店里要用车，我与表弟坐火车去市中心。他习惯性地跑到火车的上层，挑了最后一排靠窗的位置，比其他位置都宽敞，他把脚搁在对面的座位上，也没有说话，抱着胳膊，对着窗户外面发呆。一路经过些陈旧的工业区，河边的砖楼上涂满涂鸦、有时经过一些居民区，有开阔的超市，拐角的教堂。有时也经过海，藏在房屋的后面，在间隙里露出白晃晃的海面。
“你去过很多地方吧？”他突然问我。
“嗯。”
“你喜欢这儿吗？”他说，我们一起看看窗外。
“还行，城市里就有海真好啊。”我说。
“没感觉。”他撇撇嘴说，“我一点不喜欢这里，无聊得要命。”
“可是你有很多朋友，不是吗？”
“都是店里的客人，又有什么可聊的呢。”
“嗯。”
“不过那个大酒店在海边上，那儿是富人区。”他想了想说。
我们在中央车站下车，正是中午休息的时间，马路上到处都是匆匆忙忙的人。表弟带着我往公园里抄近路，草坪边上很多人在晒太阳，喝啤酒，天色与刚刚比起来更清澈明亮了些。我在一间连锁咖啡馆前停下来，想买杯咖啡。我问他要不要一起坐下来喝一杯，他说不要。咖啡馆里熟悉温暖的味道，柜台里盖着糖霜的面包圈以及周围低沉交谈的嗡嗡声让我的精神稍微缓过来一些。这会儿能抽根烟会更好些，我摸到钱包旁边一包皱巴巴的香烟，犹豫了一会儿，又把手缩了回去。表弟背对着站在门口等我，他还是双手插在口袋里，一条腿斜斜地伸在外面，肩膀微微耸起来。外面起了会儿风，他夹克衫的下摆被吹得簌簌直抖，显得缩手缩脚的。
我想去那间最大的百货公司，但是表弟说他朋友推荐给他另一间常年都在打折的。我陪着他在男装部的各个柜台间兜转，由于从领带到衬衫再到裤子和鞋子都需要购买，我们显得有些失序，没头苍蝇般地在两个楼层间打转，他很快就失去了平日的好耐心，露出焦躁和沮丧来。
“穿西装特别傻逼。”他突然说。
“我喜欢男人穿西装。”我反驳他。
“你说话像个老女人。”他说。
“去你的。”
“可不是嘛，上了年纪的人才喜欢西装。”
“幼稚。”
最后我们在角落里一间不知名的铺面配齐了所有的衣物，因为已经筋疲力尽了，所以就有些凑数，像是急着要完成任务。我在试衣间门口等他，过了一会儿他扣了一半的扣子探出半个身体来问我能不能帮他换大一号的。客客气气的黑人服务员始终在柜台的另一端等待着，递给我衬衫以后，又把脸沉默地扭向另一个方向。
他花了很长的时间从试衣间里走出来，鞋带松着，虽然穿着西装，身形却保持着穿夹克衫时的轻微佝偻，双手插在口袋里，显得裤子大腿处非常紧绷。他非常不好意思地站在镜子跟前，眼睛犹豫着不知道该往哪里看。
“裤子有些紧。”他轻声对我说。
“嗯。要不要也换大一号？”我问他。
“唔。真的有些紧。”他支吾地看看我，再看看服务员。服务员朝我们走过来，我才发现表弟满脸通红，像是在生气，几乎要往后退两步。而服务员已经走到了我们跟前，依旧是一副僵硬而礼貌的笑容，心不在焉地上下打量了一番以后，用当地口音浓重的英文说，“先生，真不错。”
“能帮他再换大一号嘛，有点儿绷。”我看看表弟，他气恼地耸耸肩，手依然没有从口袋拿出来，倒好像是要把裤子选错了号全怪在别人头上。
“当然。”服务员有耐心地转身去仓库里拿，剩下我俩僵硬地站在那儿。表弟顺势松开衬衫的扣子，一粒，两粒。这样一来，他显得跟这身衣服更没有关系。而商场里已经提前开起了暖气，他把西装脱下来耷拉在胳膊上，脖子后面全湿了。
“我特别傻逼吧。”他在我身边坐下。
“没有。”我想说句什么安慰的话。
“你英文真好。”他说。
“唔。”我支支吾吾的，有些尴尬。
“如果面试也用英文的话，我就完了。”
“他们怎么说的？”
“他们也不知道。但去年有个小子被录用了，他什么都不会。”
“看运气吧，你运气向来不错。”
“如果我能说好英文就好了。”
“不是念过语言学校吗？”
“那又不是念书的地方。成天在唐人街混着，只会说说广东话。”他说。我抬头四处张望，服务员久久都没有出现，而我觉得特别累。有两个人推开我们身边防火楼梯的门走出去，我想他们是去抽烟了，几乎都能够听到打火机的咔嗒声。这种时候，除了抽根烟，我实在不知道还能干嘛。
离开商场以后，因为无所事事，我们便在马路上随便走走。表弟的情绪一落千丈，他骂骂咧咧的，手里拎着的两三个纸袋像是在摧毁他的信心。但是走出一段路，他又平静下来，沉默不语地大步往前走。我知道他心事重重，可谁不是呢。
“我们去个好地方。”他思索了半天以后终于开口。
“哪里？”我问。
“卡西诺。”他说。
“什么？”
“赌场，这儿的赌场可有名了。”
“我连打牌都不会。”
“你真没劲，就当陪我去吧。”他想了想说，“我得把刚刚买衣服的钱都给挣回来。”我一点都不想去，可是也不想扫了他的兴致，于是就随他跳上了一辆停在枢纽站的巴士。
“你常去吗？”我问他。
“有段时间常常去，如果晚上饭店下班后不想回车库的话，会特别无聊。”
“看样子手气不错。”
“大部分时候还不错。不过刚来那会儿把语言学校半年的学费都输了。”
“那怎么办？”
“捱了一星期，捱不下去了。就打电话骗了家里人。”
“哦。哦。”我们说到这儿，又都停下来。
“我现在有点钱了，我想给我妈妈买个LV的包。”他磕磕绊绊着想把话题继续下去，像是下了个决心，“老板娘有好几个LV包，我觉得还挺好看的。”
“唔。”我点点头，不想再说话，也不想看到他。我软弱极了，只好把视线移向窗外。哪里的大城市都差不多是这样的，巨型的广告牌，各种眼熟的连锁商店。只不过这儿四处都是鸽子，我们远远地经过一小片海滩，有人在那儿打沙滩排球。
接着，我俩相对无言地下车，我继续跟着他往前走。赌场的门口停着好几辆旅游大巴，中国游客在门口合影留念。他小声指给我看哪些是东北人，哪些是福建人，哪些是台湾人。但是快要走到门口的时候，他突然在两个穿着制服的保镖前停下来，扭头急切地问我说，“你护照带在身上吧。”
“没有啊。”我慌张地摸摸口袋，又摸摸包，“放你家了。”
“太糟了。没有护照不让进的。”他用手捂住额头，一副天塌了的神情。
“呃。”我只好看着他。
“算了，算了。今天的运气看着也不像是会特别好。”他自言自语的，又反过来安慰我。他手上装着西装的纸袋已经皱了，还断了根绳子。我心想，这真是糟糕的一天，而且还远远没有结束。
我们都没有力气再继续走路了，我在路边看到有卖炸鱼和薯条的铺子就停下来买了两份，和两大杯冰可乐。小姑娘热情地问说要不要免费升级成大杯的，我说好，结果那两个可乐杯足有一小截手臂那么长，吸管是彩虹颜色的。我们像过节一样捧着滑稽的可乐杯，绕到赌场背后的码头旁边坐下，对岸有很多崭新的高楼。面前就是海，不过不是蓝色的，有些地方发灰，有些地方则是墨绿的。有些庞大的船缓慢地行驶在上面，无声无息。
“你觉得这玩意儿好吃吗？”他嚼着一根薯条问我，他说话的口吻竟然像我的爸爸。
“不错。我习惯垃圾食品了。”我说，可乐杯子上的水不断沿着我的胳膊往下淌。
“我从来没有喜欢过这些。”他说。
“那你喜欢什么？”
“我妈做的白斩鸡啊。其实老板娘做饭也不错，但她现在总是在打麻将，很少自己做了。店里那两个师傅倒是真做得不怎么样，放太多酱油，太多淀粉。”
“老板娘挺喜欢你的。”
“很多客人还以为我是她儿子。”
“不错。你一直讨人喜欢。”
“她女儿说我像……”他说了一个人名。
“谁？”我没听清。他又说了一遍，我还是没听清。于是他只好把手机拿出来，他的手机屏幕上是个男人低着头的照片。大概是韩国人，我从来没见过的明星，却显然是他的偶像，因为他立刻就打开了手机的一段音乐给我听。是一段非常吵闹的音乐，重复着一个单调的节奏。他随着音乐小幅度地晃动了一会儿膝盖，把音乐关掉了。
“你没有听过吗？”他问我。我摇摇头。这会儿没有了音乐以后，沉默变得更加叫人难以忍受。
“我得抽根烟。”我为难地说，终于从包里掏出那包皱巴巴的香烟来，却摸不到打火机，眼睛也不知道该看哪里好。而他侧过身体看着我，终于忍不住迸出一阵大笑。
“笑什么？”我推了他一把。
“早说啊。我忍半天了。” 他说着也从夹克衫的口袋里掏出一包硬壳的三五牌，又顺势为我点了火。风很大，我们挨着火苗凑在一起，打火机在风里咔嗒咔嗒地响。我抽了一口，手有些发抖，等到吐出一口烟，才觉得平静了些。
“家里人不管你？”他问我。
“他们不知道。”我告诉他。
“老板娘的女儿也抽烟，她家里人也不知道。有时候吃过晚饭我们一起在外面散个步，我们连着抽几根烟，然后绕着后面的草地走一大圈，才能把身上的烟味彻底散尽，到了天冷的时候，得走上两圈。”他说着，大口地抽完一根，又点了一根。
“你妈妈……”我恰灭一根烟头，没有比现在更好的时机了。”
“她如果知道会伤心死的，你知道，现在这种情况，我不能让她伤心。”
“什么？”我心里咯噔一下。
“没什么。”他耸耸肩膀，死一样的沉默又回来了。
“你妈妈生病了。”我喉咙发干，如果再错过这段沉默，我就永远也说不出来了。
“白痴，我早就知道了。”他说。
“你知道什么？”我吓了一跳。
“她生病了，我早就知道，不然她干嘛不让我回家去，还要你特意跑一次打探我的情况。”他继续说，也不看我。
“她…”我想要争辩两句。
“我现在回去或者不回去都是不对的。”他说，“操。”
“嗯。”我想他说得没错。
“她会死吗？”他突然问我。
我摇摇头，我真的不知道，他们说运气好的话能再活上几年，不过谁都说不准。
“她现在知道了吗，她还想要这儿的身份吗？”他说，脚边装着西装的袋子歪在一旁，一只吃垃圾的海鸟死死地盯着我们手中盛着薯条的盒子。我们一动不动地坐着，薯条和炸鱼都已经冷了。
远处的港口靠着一艘庞大的游轮，偶尔能在船舷上看到走动的人。
“你看那儿。”我顺着他手指的方向看过去，对面是林立的高楼，这会儿太阳落到了它们的背后，能看到玻璃间不真实的反光。也有海鸥，非常小，不时飞入视线，又转瞬消失。
“什么？”我问他。
“明天要去面试的大酒店，就在那儿。那儿是富人区，他们说那边的私人海滩特别美，女人在那儿晒太阳都不穿衣服。”
“哪儿？”
“那儿，那儿。”他奋力指着，半个身体倾在外面。我有些茫然地辨别着对面的楼群，楼顶巨大的英文字母，还有贯穿其间半透明的廊桥。但是他到底指着的是哪幢楼。
“算了。”过了一会儿，他累了，垂下手来。
“是那幢吗？”我不想停下来回到刚刚的话题里去。
“算了，别看了。”他认真地说，“那儿其实什么都没有。”
“嗯。”我也重新收拢起身体，点点头。那只海鸟始终没有离去，它在我们旁边耐心踱着步子，等待着。
“再来根烟？”他问我。
“好啊。”我说。
于是我们又各自掏出一根烟来，风太大了，我们紧紧挨着，打火机继续徒劳地发出咔嗒咔嗒声。