"An Ordinary Story"
我将怎样开始来告诉你这个故事呢？ 它是如此平凡，如此常见，它没有惊人的发展，也没有新奇的趣味。 这样的事情天天继续在这个社会中演下去，而且是大多数人的共同病症。 谁怜谁惜？ 反正自己的遭遇不会比较好些，随时自己都可以面临这好像是注定了的命运，所以这个故事就来得更加平凡了。
事由头始，那么我还是从头说起吧。
年幼时离开这个不曾熟习的华侨社会的我，在新环境中对于过去的印象很快就消失了，然而他却使我永远不能忘记。 他虽然是一个上了年纪的人，但是好像还有点幼稚气，我常常闹着和他在一起玩。 除了父母之外，他就是和我有特别好感的人。 更因为他常常给我糖果之类甜蜜的东西，我有时竟把他看得比父母还重要。 我记得他第一次教我放风筝，放得丈多高。 我在小朋友中真高傲极了。 他还教我把手指相交，做成姜的形状，诸如此类的小玩意儿。
当我十七岁独自回来这里的时候，就寄住在他和几个同姓兄弟同租的房中。 房中有一个小阁，我就和他相对而睡。 房中只有一个光线递不进的窗，却睡上五个人。 火炉也简陋地设在房的一角。 箱柜则在床下。 所以是厨房，客厅，寝室， 和贮藏室的混合地。 他每晚放工回来后，很早就爬进阁上的床去。 我也因为房中的转动地方狭小，故此也很早就坐在床上看书。 但是一伸直了腰，头顶就触到天花板，很不舒服，所以很快就躺了下来。 于是就和他倾谈了。
但是现在的谈话和儿时不同了。 他以长者的地位来时刻教训我，劝导我，希望我成为一个比他更吃得苦，更勤勉的人。 每晚他都向我传授他的人生哲学， 不外是勤俭，耐劳，忠诚，和强制私欲。 他会很明白地指出某某人堕落，某某人游手好闲，流浪二十年，还是归不得故乡。
日子久了，他也谈到自己的私事上来，因此我对他更能了解。 原来他每晚早睡不是因为需要，事实上非过半夜他是不能熟睡的。 他早眠的理由是想避免打麻将，因为他认为这种消遣劳神伤财。 我知道他从未想到娱乐两个字来，常常以年老或没有兴趣为托词，希望杀灭了自己的欲望。 然而他爱儿童，现在虽然年纪更老了，没有以前的热烈，但是还不时牵着儿童问他们的年龄。 我知道他自己有好些儿女，也有好些专靠食的亲属。 他就是为了他们而牛马一生。 每次他由祖国回来后，责任又加重了些，他的年龄也增加了些。
不上一年，我抱着更大的希望，逃出了那像是监狱的场所，并把那耐苦勤俭的教训抛到脑后。
两年前有一次我在街上碰到他，觉得他老得很可怜了。 他见了我立即执着我的手，用战抖的声音说，“你要多寄点钱回家才好，家中的情形不得了，迟点就完全饿死了。 要顾家才好，生活真难呀。” 我望着他那泪汪汪的眼睛，给他的恳切激动的发不出声音来。 他继续说： “还是搬回房中，节俭点，现在一个仙在中国都很紧要的。 你还是搬回来一同住吧。”
过后我得悉他有两个儿子在战时中饿死。 一个获得了自由的我，到底没有满足他的愿望。
直至三天前，我得闻他病了而特别去见他。
我将房门推开，正看见他坐在靠台的椅上，低着头，两手设法拉合衣上滑炼， 然而手指战抖着，失却作用。 我上前给他拉上后，随说： “闻说你病了。”
他抬起头来凝望我一会，他的眼睛满盈泪水，鼻涕也垂垂欲坠， “就死了，” 他好像是疾呼，然而声音却又是那么微弱，不清。 一个阴影盖上我的心头， 我好像看见他真的死了。
“听说你还返工，还是休息的好，不返两日工也得吧？”
他把口张开，震动了一会，才有声音发出来： “不行，工还是要做的。 我不做谁做？ 我休息一会就行了。” 他急速地呼吸了一会，继续说： “现在看见风就怕，真是怕得很。”
我在沉默中看着他战抖，看着身穿上七八件衣服的他在和疲倦挣扎着。 我看着他受苦，却不能给与一点帮助，也不能给与一点安慰。 房中的灯光好像也暗了起来。
“病不得，病不得！” 他接连说了两句： “与其病毋宁死。”
这根本不是无病呻吟。 我给他的号叫引起无限的悲哀来。 华侨是病不得的。 病就是华侨最苦的事，病比死还可怕千万倍。 病的人声音变了，病就是失了自己。 我想把自己和他带进较为乐观的一面，然而事实到底是实事。 灰色的问题充满了我的脑海，唯有逃避才能排除这些不如意的事，然而逃避却又永远于问题无补的。 这生活的方式太残忍了，生命不过是为别人而牛马以至死亡吗？
而今，他可以休息了，永远地休息了。 然而他一生为自己的微小愿望仍不能达到，不能死在故乡。
How do I begin telling you this story? It is so ordinary, so often seen, and it has no surprising development nor fresh ploy. These kinds of events continue to be put on show daily in this society. It is moreso a common illness among most of us. Who would feel pity or sorry for whom? In any case, my own encounter is not any better, as I would myself face such seemingly predestined fate at any time. Therefore, this story is becoming even more ordinary. All events start at the beginning, so let me talk about it from the beginning.
When I was young and left this unfamiliar overseas Chinese society and went to a new environment, my memory of the past quickly disappeared. But he is someone I can never forget. Although he was an older man, he seemed to have retained some childishness. I often bothered him to play with me. Besides my father and mother, he was one whom I had a favorable impression of. It was also because he often gave me candies and other sweets. Sometimes I actually considered him more important than my parents. I remember one time he taught me how to fly a kite. It went up over ten feet, and I was so proud among my friends. He also taught me how to join the fingers to make a ginger-shaped figure. He taught me many of such kinds of little games.
When I was seventeen and returned to here alone, I stayed in the rented room that he shared with several fraternal brothers of the same surname. The room had a small platform over two beds, and I shared the platform and slept opposite him. The room only had a window that shed no light into the space, while five people slept in it. A simple cooking burner was set in the corner of the room, and the suitcases were put under the bed. So the room was a space combining a kitchen, living room, bed room, and storage. Every night when he finished work and returned to the room, he quickly climbed up to his bed on the platform. Due to the small space that does not allow for much movement, I also frequently sat on the bed to read in the early evening. But as soon as I straightened my back, my head would hit the ceiling. It was a very uncomfortable feeling, so I lay down and chatted with him.
But the talk now is not the same as when I was a child. As an elder he constantly lectured and encouraged me, hoping that I would become a person who can withstand hardship while being more assiduous than he was. Every evening he imparted to me his philosophy of life. These were nothing beyond being hardworking and thrifty, withstanding hardship, being faithful, and restraining from vices. He could clearly point out such and such had sunk into vice, and such and such was an idle vagabond wandering for twenty years and still couldn’t go back to his homeland.
After some time he also talked about his private life which allowed me to understand more of him. In reality, his going to bed early every night was not due to his needs. He, in fact, could never sleep until after midnight. The reason he went to bed early was because he wanted to avoid playing Mahjong, as he considered it a trouble to the mind and a waste of money. I knew he never thought of entertainment, and he often took old age or lack of interest as excuses, hoping to eliminate his desires. Yet he loved little kids. Even though he was older now and lacked the zeal he had in the past, he still often held on to children and asked for their ages. I knew he himself had quite a few children, and also many relatives who relied on him for a living. It was for them that he enslaved his whole life like a horse and an ox. Every time he returned from the old country, his responsibility would have increased some more, and so was his age.
Not quite a year ago, with greater hope I escaped from this hell-like place and got rid from my brain all those teachings about enduring hardship, embracing hard work and thriftiness.
Two years ago I ran into him on the street and felt pity for how much he had aged. He saw me and immediately held up my hand, spoke to me in a shuddered voice, “You ought to send more money home as the situation is very bad. At any later time they will all die of hunger. You have to take care of your family. Life is really difficult.” I looked at his eyes full of tears and became speechless by his sincere eagerness. He continued, “It is still better for you to move back to the room to save a little money. Now, even a penny is very critical in China. You should move back and live with us.” Later, I learned that two of his sons had died of starvation during the war. I who have gained freedom did not have the will, after all, to satisfy his wish.
Until three days ago I learned that he was sick, so I made a special trip to see him. I pushed the door open and saw him sitting on a chair next to the table. He lowered his head trying to zip up his clothes, but he failed with his trembling fingers. I walked up and pulled up the zipper and said,” I heard that you are sick.”
He raised his head and stared at me for a while. His eyes were full of tears, and his nasal mucus was on the verge of dropping. “I'll die soon.” He seemed to be shouting, but his voice was weak and unclear. A shadow covered over my heart and it seemed like I had seen him already dead.
“I heard that you are still working. You better take a rest. Not working for a day or two shouldn’t matter, right?” He opened his mouth, shaken for a moment before a sound came through, “No can do. There is work that needs to be done. If I don’t, who will do it? After I rest for a while, I will be alright.” He rapidly inhaled for a while and continued, “Now I am scared of wind. I am really scared.”
In silence, I looked at him shivering, as he struggled against fatigue in seven or eight pieces of clothing on his body. I looked at him suffering while I could neither give him any help nor any bit of comfort. The light in the room seemed to have darkened.
“I can’t get sick. I can’t get sick.” He continued repeating these two lines. “I would rather die than be ill.” This certainly was not a sight of moaning and groaning without real illness. His moaning cry brought endless sorrow to me. Overseas Chinese could not afford to be ill. Illness was the most painful for them, as much as ten thousand times more terrified than death. The voice of the ill person changed, as one lost oneself in illness. I wanted to bring him and myself into a more optimistic state, but the fact was the reality. As these dark thoughts filled my mind, escape from it was the only way to eliminate such grievous events. Yet, still, escape to a problem was never a solution . This way of life was too cruel. Was life merely about living to labor for others until one’s death? And now, he could finally rest and rest eternally. Yet he did not achieve the only little wish that he had for himself: he could not die in his homeland.