James Poy Wong 黃培正

"I am fond of seeing ships appearing at the horizon. Is it not true that when we are in a difficult time, seeing these war ships will invariably place our hope of victory on them?"

"Sara Is Back" - 1946

沙拉回来了

我曾踏过沙拉的甲板，抚过她那坚实的躯干，在她受伤回来的时候，也曾给她一点修理。 记得约是两年多前的旁晚，站在船坞的码头，我是其中的一个，指着说 “沙拉又回来了。”

沙拉从遥遥的港口模糊地出现，穿过屋仑大铁桥，向着我们慢慢地驶来， 是的，她又受伤了。 还不过是四五个月前，她穿着新的衣裳，在万民注视的敬礼中出海。 可是现在，她那件灰袍，染着乌烟的黑色，她乳峰两旁上的机关炮，长著红褐色的铁锈，在她停泊在岸上的那夜，我看着她喘息，我觉得她老了。

记不清楚了，两年来踏过这么多的破船，听过这么多的故事，总是那般可歌可泣的。 最初是为了好奇心，常常和那些水手们攀谈，自从日本的神风队出现后，我们要向海军筑船部，报告损伤的情形。 这种工作，海军船坞一沙拉向都有，但初时是不施行于私人船厂的。 这样，我为了工作的关系，就收听所有的故事———官方的报告和私人的谈话。

我还记得那艘驱逐舰上的砲手，红着眼睛，告诉我在中途岛决战之前，美国的海军还在逃跑当中，他们被追赶了三日三夜，不敢回港取供养，卒之油烧尽了。他们停在无倚的海中心，把五寸口径的大炮， 转上八十度角，来射击那架空中的日本飞机。 军火也没有了，他们只有默然底祈祷，想到那发出求救的电报，或者已经太迟了。 死神叱喝着他的声音，日机向着无反抗的他们俯冲下去，投了两枚炸弹，落在离他们二十多尺的左右两旁，激起两股大水花，把静止的他们荡了几荡，没有一点损伤。 日机在头上绕了两匝，失望地向东飞去，它没有炸弹了。 他们走了出来，面面相觑。

还有那艘受伤最严重的驱逐舰，神风队一员从右旁向驾驶室撞入，那枚大炸弹穿过烟突，向右边冲出，把船长和二十多个军官送上了天堂。 军官睡室，一室十二个人，只剩回一个。 那一个用震颤的声音对我说，他从梦中惊醒，看见一团漆黑，原来上面的甲板覆了下来把他盖着。 他知道事变，爬了出来，看见自己同室的战士，都死卧在那里，他同行的伴侣，连肠都露了出来。 他向上爬出，没有半点伤痕，赶着去救火，在船长室中，看见船长的头和身分离，他打了两年多仗，现在说起来还有点悽然。

我不是纪录功劳的人，我只是收听那不幸的故事，好的船不到我们这里来， 破坏的船才向我们访侯。

沙拉飞行甲板首部的木排焦了，木工们正给她换置，叮叮的声响，在数十只移动的木槌下响着。 她给日机俯冲下来，据一个水手说，当时曾毁了在升降机两旁十多只的飞机，我没有调查这故事的真确性。

平常一只船回来修整之后，总安置了新的雷达仪器才出海，因为雷达在那个时期还在发展中。 我们把沙拉送走之后，又经过一些时候，从此我没有听到她受伤的消息了。 这次为了原子弹试验的事，她曾回到湾区，然而我早已离开了船厂，再没有机会看到她了。

你可以看得，沉了一艘母舰和沉了一个废铁罐一样的平凡，没有什么值得可惜的事。 然而船对我总是一个梦，我自小就爱那蓝的水，蓝的天，白的云，和那白的船，因为它在一望无边的大海中，是唯一可倚的实物，在它回来的时候，像从远处带来许多希望。 我很喜欢见着她们从水平线上出现，不是么，当我们在困难中，看见这些战舰，不能不使我们把胜利的希望放在她们的身上。

许多人在沙拉中生活过，也有许多人在沙拉的身上葬身，所以一定有人会站立在码头，等候着这不会回来的船进港。 当他们掩上眼睛，使泪不致流出的旁晚时候，他们会听到海水 “沙拉， 沙拉” 地呼叫着。 而在他们迷茫的心港中，沙拉会浮现出来，响着船上的钟声，告诉他们说： 回来了！ (中华民国三十五年七月三十日）

Sara Is Back

I have trod on the deck of Sara and have caressed her solid body. When she returned after being wounded, I had also helped to repair her. I remember it was an evening two years ago. I stood at the wharf of a dry dock. I was one of many pointing and saying, “Sara is coming back again.”

In a blur Sara appears from the far away harbor, passing through the Oakland steel bridge and coming slowly towards us. Yes, she is wounded again. It was just four, five months ago when she went out to sea in a new set of clothing and under the tributes and viewing of ten of thousands of people. But now her new gray gown is stained with a smoky black color, and the cannon on both sides of her bosom have grown rusted in red-brown. On the night she moors to the shore, I see her gasping for breath. I thought she had grown old.

I can’t remember clearly anymore. I have trod on so many damaged ships and heard so many stories in the last two years. They were all so heroic that they could move us to tears while being worthy of praise. Out of curiosity at first, I often chatted with sailors. Since the Japanese Kamikaze entered into battle, we have to report the damages to the Navy Ship Building Department. This kind of work has always belonged to the naval dry docks and not to the private shipyards at the beginning of the war. So while doing my job, I listen to all their stories – official reports and private chats.

I still remember the bloodshot-eyed gunner of a destroyer telling me that before the decisive battle at Midway Island, the American navy was on the run. They were being chased for three days and three nights, and they didn’t dare to return to the base for supplies. At the end all the oil was used up. They stopped in the middle of the wide open sea, turned their cannons with five-inches caliber at 80 degrees angle and shot at the Japanese airplane in the sky. The ammunition was also all used up and they could only silently pray. They thought that the telegram they sent out beseeching for rescue may have been too late already. Like the sound of shouting by the god of death, the Japanese airplane dived at the defenseless destroyer and dropped two bombs. They fell more than twenty feet away on each side of the ship, sparging up two columns of water splash that rocked the quiet ship a few times, but causing no damage. The Japanese plane overhead circled a couple times, disappointed, and flew eastward. It had no more bombs. The sailors came out from cover and looked at each other in blank dismay.

There was also a destroyer that was the most severely wounded. A suicide bomber smashed into the control room from the right side. The big bomb went through the chimney and darted out to the right side, sending the Captain and twenty officers to heaven. On the deck of the officer’s quarter, the minister’s room located at the end was the only one that survived. The deck below in the seamen’s quarter had 12 people, and there was only one that survived. He told me in his trembling voice that he was woken from his dream. What he saw was a mass of pitch-black because the deck above collapsed and covered him. He knew it was an emergency, so he crawled out and saw all his roommate soldiers were all lying dead. His close buddy even spilled out his guts. Climbing out in an upward direction, he had no wound on him, so he rushed to put out the fire. In the captain's cabinet he saw the captain’s head was separated from the body. He had fought in the war for more than two years, and he still feels mournful when he talks about it now.

I was not a recorder of meritorious service; I only listened and collected these unfortunate stories. The ships in good condition would not come to us, only the broken ones came to visit us.

The front part of the wooden surface of Sara’s plane landing deck was burned, and the carpenters are placing new ones for her now, with dozens of moving hammers making ‘ding, ding’ sounds. She was damaged by the diving Japanese plane. According to one sailor, at the time more than ten planes at the sides of the elevator were destroyed. I didn’t investigate the accuracy of the story.

Usually when a ship returns for repair, it will be equipped with new radar before going back to sea because radar is still being developed in that period. After we sent Sara away and some time passed, I never heard of the news of her being wounded any more.

This time for the experimental testing of the atomic blast, she had returned to the Bay Area, but I no longer work at the shipyard and don’t have any more opportunity to see her again.

You may consider that sinking an aircraft carrier and sinking a wasted tin can is just as ordinary, and that it is not much worthy of our pity. But ship to me is always a dream. Since I was a child I have loved that blue water, blue sky, white clouds, and the white ship. I feel so because in the boundless stretch of the ocean, it is the only reliable material object. At the time of its return, it seems to bring many hopes from afar. I am fond of seeing ships appearing at the horizon. Is it not true that when we are in a difficult time, seeing these war ships will invariably place our hope of victory on them?

Many people have lived on Sara and many people were buried in her body, so there would definitely be people standing on the wharf, waiting for the ship that will never return to enter into the harbor. In the evening when they close their eyes to stop their tears from rolling out, they will hear the sea water calling “Sara, Sara.” And in the obscured harbors of their hearts, Sara will appear before their eyes, ringing the ship’s bell and telling them: I am back! (July, 30 1946)