James Poy Wong 黃培正

赵主任

偶然遇到一个少年时代在某中学的一个同学。 闲谈了几句，不知怎样提起了赵主任来。 其实他并不是什么主任，只不过有一个时期被这样呼唤吧了。

当我初入学的时候，同学们都叫他做老赵。 他底是赵什么呢？ 却没有一个同学知道。 闻说他的学历很多，曾经在几间医学校肄过业，所以能够在学校中担任一席高等职员，就是一名配药师。 他是个大个子，相貌也颇为英俊，不过那副八字脚的步法却很不和他的高大躯干相配。 他永远穿着一套淡黄色的西装，在校三年多我没有见他换过。

学校对于卫生部是向来忽视的。 本来黄医生是那里的主任，但是他却在外面营业，工作太忙，故此也只能一个月一次回校收薪金。 卫生主任的招牌就给老赵借用挂在自己的房门了，这就是老赵第一次换名的起因。 每次我们走进卫生部的时候，都望了那个牌又互相望着会心的微笑。

但是他的名称有点和每日报纸的标题那样摩登时髦，随时都转变着。 赵主任的名称刚传遍了一千多个学生的时候，就已经没有人再这样呼唤他了。

教职员为了表现和学生一样刻苦起见， 故此和学生们一同用饭。 进饭堂的第一个人就是我们的赵主任了。 或者是因为卫生部和膳堂较近的原故，但是第一个起身盛饭的，又正是我们的赵主任，所以赵饭桶的名称就顿时风行了一时。 每次一发现他起立的时候，全个饭堂都立刻静得只有苍蝇的叫声。 几千只眼睛在笑着，人人的心中都说 “赵饭桶又装饭了”。 他很自然地驾着那副特有的八字脚向面前的大饭桶驶去，态度还有点得意似的。 本校从此又增加了一个笑话。 用膳时是摇手铃招集，学生教员从各方像狗争屎那般蠭涌进膳堂来，但是在铃声还没有停的时候，赵饭桶已经起身装第二碗饭了。

卫生部的建筑物是在孤零零的一角，被许多淡浓的绿树围盖着。 学校的那一隅是没有人喜欢走到的。 一天清早太阳懒得还没有起身，我看见卫生部前围了许多学生，这已经算奇了。 更奇怪的是人人都探头探脑，一声不发。我以为是那个同学害了大病，走过去想叫声那第一个被我发见的同学，但是还未开口他已经制止了我，又指一指窗，向我做了一个滑稽的鬼脸。 我为了好奇心的驱使，便伸长了脖子一看。 原来我们的赵饭桶正面对着墙壁演说。 他仿效着校长训话的姿势， 摆摆手，摇摇头，身体不停地幌动，看去倒像枝摇摇欲倒的旗杆。 他带着台山音在说广州话：“一个领袖：哑，唔，第一要有涵养，就是要忍耐。 哑，唔。 不怕别人讥笑，因为那些人是可怜的弱者，需要拯救。 哑。 我总理有云。 唔，哑， 要好像我这样才行。” 说到这里他做出一个非常自满的笑容来。

这段故事那天上午就已经传遍了全校。 下午有人开始叫他做赵校长了。 每个学生的叫换声都有点相像，但和平常的称呼又绝不同，唤完之后总带着一点笑容，无疑的这个笑容是穿着一件讥讽的衣裳的。 赵校长从来都不应学生的，总是钉人一眼，可是没有半点怒意，好像只是看看到底是谁似的。 这个称呼起时，他还保持着那种向来不理会的态度，但是日子久了，他反而露出满意的笑容来。 想来他一定以为很荣幸，以前的种种称呼都没有现在的那样文雅高尚，也许会以为学生对他的态度转好了吧。

赵校长是全校中最被我们注意的人物，就连在厕所里也有人知道他的踪迹。 一天旁晚，教职员和学生作排球比赛。 赵校长在教员中当一名二排右侧的击球大将。 他接连打了十几球，不是出了场，就是不过网。 所以在他跳起预备击球的时候， 一片笑声就起了。 忽然他击了一球居然能够落在对方的地上， 顿时四围观众不约而同地鼓起掌来。 在那球场上我从来没有听过有这样响和久的鼓掌声，掌声中杂着哗然的笑声和嘈杂声，大约我们的赵校长误会了这非善意的赞誉声。 在呼声之下，他张开两手，像个指挥官领导兵士作战一样。 接着弯开他的八字脚，作个猛虎擒羊的英姿。 这样一来笑声和掌声就更响了。

当夕阳开始把头钻进被窝去时的一个晚上，我慢慢地从操场走进卫生部。 本来在这时候是不应该骚扰我们的赵校长的，但是因为赛球不小心擦伤了膝盖的皮肤，也只得硬着头皮 “唔好意思” 一次。 进门后， 我发现赵校长正伏在窗前捕捉着漏进来的微弱阳光，很用心地看着一本线装小册。 我走到他的身旁， “赵校长”，我实在有点不愿意赶走他那用功的精神。

“ 。 。 。 。。 。 。 ”

他回过头来， 惊容从心中涌上脸来。 我见到他手上的小册子面上是手抄的正楷字： “赵氏医学秘方”。 当他复回常态后，又慌张地忙着把书收藏起来。 我像通晓世故地笑了一笑，便走过去坐下。

“擦伤 。 。 。 ” 我厌恶地把脚抬起。

赵校长拿了一个小箱过来。 他身上还是那套不变的淡黄色西装，而脚上却穿着一对木屐，走起路来的的地响，冲破了卫生室中特有的沉寂。 他开始洗我膝上的伤痕。 我觉得室中的沉寂有点凶相，就忍不住用台山话开口了。

“赵校长还是每天早晨练习演讲的吗？”

他钉了我一眼，却不回答我的问话，沉思了一刻后， 反向我问：

“你是叫做哑 。。。。。 哑。。。。”

“我叫做识进。 我们是同乡的。”

“哦， 原来。。是。。。哦！”

我知道我们的赵校长永远是记不起人名，这大概是他自认的弱点，也就是他不能实行他的领袖思想的原因。 经我一提醒后，他似乎和我亲密了起来，不停地告诉我许多他生平认为得意的事。 他兴奋得口吃更多，告诉我也曾在县政府办过事，而且还建立过许多功劳在一次大政变中。 他曾出卖了两个秘密的共产朋友，因此得了新县长的奖状。 说到这里，他怕我不相信，就走去拿出那张奖状来，很郑重地坦在我的目前。 其实这并非是什么革命奖状，谁也看得出是张县中学的平常奖状。 但是我没有道破他的秘密，反而满口称赞他的计谋一番。 走出卫生部来时，对面的那座宿舍已成为一团模糊的黑影了。

这是一个夏夜。 同学们都睡去了，我还留恋在操场的石凳上。 浴着夏夜特有的月光。 一个长长的黑影，在远处的卫生部向着操场移近。 我知道这一定是赵校长，故此也不惊扰他，静静地看他又要演什么戏。 他走到旗杆下的训话台前踏上那三级石级，他向着广场上的草深深地行了一个鞠躬礼。 我立刻明白是什么一回事。 当他兴奋地举起右手的时候，我在他的背后无情地说：

“赵校长，开始训话了吗？”

他回过头来， 深深地钉了我一眼。 在明朗的月光下， 我依然觉得他的眼光没有一点怒意，像掩饰地，他把在天空中的右手抚弄着身旁的尺长直径的石旗杆， 手慢慢地沿着旗杆爬起，他这样做出一个非常自然的姿势。 我狰狞地笑了出来，笑声在黑夜的广原上起了无数的回音，传进自己的耳朵来，也觉得有点过于尖锐残忍了。

记得一天晚上上自修堂，先生有事离了课室，我也灵敏地 ‘溜个大吉’。 经过校长室的时候，看见玻璃门上印着两个黑影。 我当时认出那个摇幌着身体和摆舞着手的那个黑影正是我们的赵校长。 而另一个矮胖的影子就是我们真正的校长，他倒活像个菩萨， 一动也不动。 一高一低，相影成趣。 那个长影子摇动了许久，一时鞠躬，一时作揖，一时几乎跪倒下来。 但是忽然那个菩萨向门举手一指， 我当时吓得溜走了。

第二日早操后，校长报告说我们的赵校长投军从戎，呈请辞职，业已批准。 该职则由校长的内弟担任。

在这个战时，教职员每个学期中都有几个新的进来和几个旧的出去。 所以我们对于赵校长投军的消息，也不觉得奇怪。 入夜的时候，赵校长提了一个藤笈，穿着那套淡黄色的西装，向着校门踏起他的八字脚方步。 我看出他的精神有点不对，像个战败的兵士一样。 我便走上去打趣地问。

“赵校长。 从军了吗？”

他没有回答我，只钉了我一眼。 我却更进一步用台山话气他说：“ 有个旅长的职位等着你去做啦！” （台山人称厕所谐音为屎粪旅）。

我大声笑了。 他头也不回就给校门吞去·。

赵校长从军后，同学们立刻就把他忘记了。 不过在膳堂中有时还有人对新同学说起赵校长的笑话来。 新同学到底没有机会遇过赵校长，故此印象自然没有我们的深。 但是那夜在校长室所看的一副活人影片我还没有忘记，故此常常怀疑着赵校长从军的事实。

赵校长走后第二年暑假，我回到台山去拜见我的父母。 到达台城车站的时候，天刚黎明。 我便雇了一辆黄色车把我拖回家。 突然一阵屎尿的气味刺激了我的嗅觉神经。 我沿着方向看去，见到一个高大汉子担着一担天然肥料。 他向我瞄了一眼，就把头垂得像断了胫骨那样。 他的身上那件褴褛的淡黄色西装，裤子却变成了不中不西的怪样子了。 那副熟习的八字脚步伐在我脑海中翻来覆去地找寻伴侣。 突然我觉悟地笑了，心里低声地说， “赵旅长！”

Supervisor Zhao

By chance I ran into a classmate from high school when I was a teenager. We chatted for a while and somehow brought up Supervisor Zhao. In reality, he was not whatever supervisor; he was just being called by this title during a certain period.

When I first enrolled in high school, the students called him Old Zhao, but what was his first name nobody knew. I heard he had many formal records of schooling. He had studied in several medical schools, so he could obtain a position as a high ranking staff in our school, that is a pharmacist. He had a large body frame and was not bad looking, but the footsteps of his ”eight-character feet”¹ don’t coordinate with his large body. He always wore that tan colored western suit, and during the three years in school, I hadn’t seen him change once.

The school had always neglected the Health Department. Originally it was Doctor Huang who was the Supervisor here, but he had a clinic outside the school and was too busy, so he only came to school once a month to collect his salary. So the sign of the Health Department was then lent to Old Zhao and he hung it on the door of his own room. This is the origin of how Old Zhao changed his name. When we went to the Health Department, we saw that door sign and we exchanged a look with each other with an understanding smile.

But his name was as fashionable as the headline of tomorrow’s newspaper, as it could change at any time. Just when the name Supervisor Zhao had spread to over one thousand students, no one called him Supervisor Zhao any more.

In order to show that teachers and school staff were as modest and frugal as the students, they would eat with the students. The first one entering the dining hall was our Supervisor Zhao, perhaps because the Health Department was close to the dining hall. The first one to get up to refill the rice bowl was none other than our Supervisor Zhao, so the name Rice Bucket Zhao immediately became popular for a short time. Every time when he was found standing up, the entire dining hall immediately turned so quiet that you could hear the flies buzzing. Thousands of eyes were laughing, while they all said in their heads “Rice Bucket Zhao is filling his bowl of rice again.” Instinctively in his unique eight-character feet he walked towards the large rice barrel; there was even a slight expression of proudness in him. Since then our school has gained another joke. When the handbell was rung to assemble everyone for a meal, students, teachers and staff from everywhere rushed into the dining hall like dogs fighting for manure. But before the ringing ended, Rice Bucket Zhao had already gone up to get his second bowl of rice.

The Health Department building was located in a far away lonely corner of the campus that was surrounded and covered by many light and dark green trees. It was a corner nobody liked to go to. One early morning when the sun was too lazy to get up, I saw many students gathered around the front of the Health Department office. This was rather odd, but what was more bizarre was that students were popping their heads in probing around, but not a word came out of them. I thought maybe a certain student got severely ill, so I went over to call on the first classmate I saw, but before I opened my mouth he stopped me and pointed to the window and made a funny grimace. For my curiosity I stretched out my neck to look in, and what I saw was our Rice Bucket Zhao facing the wall giving a speech. Waving his hands, shaking his head, and endlessly rocking his body just like a swaying flagpole ready to fall, he imitated the gesture of our Principal who regularly lectured us on our conducts. He spoke in Cantonese with a Taishanese accent: “A leader, Ah, Um, first you must know how to exercise self-cultivation, that is to have patience … Ah … Um …. Don’t be afraid of people laughing at you because they are the pitiful weaklings in need to be saved …. Ah, our Premier had said …Um … Ah … you must be just like me.” When he got to this point he broke out a fully self-satisfied smile.

This news had spread all over the campus before noon, and by afternoon some people had started to address him as Principal Zhao. The tone of every student addressing him seemed to be the same, but it was certainly different from their usual way of address. After they addressed him there was always a slight smile on their faces. Without doubt this smile indeed wore a satirical wardrobe. Principal Zhao never answered students; he always gave them a quick stare without any bit of anger, as if he just wanted to see who was the caller. At the beginning when this title was given to him, he would maintain his usual disregardful attitude, but after a while he inversely expressed a smile of fulfillment. I guess he must have felt very honored, since the past addresses were not as elegant and noble as this one, or perhaps he thought students’ attitudes towards him had changed to positive.

Principal Zhao was the personage who received the most attention in our school; people would know where he was even in the toilet. In one afternoon the teachers and the students were competing in the game of volleyball, and Principal Zhao was the right side striker in the second row. He struck over ten times and the ball either landed outside the court or not over the net, so everytime he jumped up and was ready to strike, a wave of laughter broke out. But suddenly, a ball he struck landed on the ground of the opposite team. Instantly the audience clapped their hands in unison. I had never heard this loud and prolonged applause before on this court , and the clapping sound was mixed with wowing laughsters. Our Principal Zhou had probably misunderstood this unfavorable praising sound, and amidst students’ roaring he extended both of his arms like a commanding official leading the soldiers to fight. Then he bent down his eight-character legs and made a heroic posture of a tiger capturing a goat. With that the laughing and clapping grew even louder.

One evening when the sun began to sink its head into its bedding, I walked slowly from the athletic field to the Health Department. I really shouldn’t bother our Principal Zhao at this time, but I was not careful and skinned my knee while competing in a game; so I just have to toughen my scalp to say “I’m sorry to bother you” this time. I entered the door and discovered that Principal Zhao was bending over the window to snap the soft sunlight seeping through. He was intently reading a thread-bound booklet. I walked to his side: “Principal Zhao,” I really didn’t want to dispel his studious spirit.

“……………”

He looked back with a complexion showing a startled mind. I saw the cover of the little booklet in his hands was a hand copy in the regular script of Zhao’s Secret Medical Formulas. When he regained his normal self, he nervously put away his booklet. I smiled in a seemingly worldly-wise way and walked over to sit down.

“I’ve bruised ….” I raised my feet in disgust.

Principal Zhou carried out a small box. He was still wearing the same tan western suit, but he had on a pair of clogs on his feet that made clattering sounds as he walked, which broke through the uncommon silence in the Health Department. He started to clean the wound on my knee. I felt the stillness in the room had a little ferocious feel to it, so I couldn’t help but open my mouth and said in Taishan dialect:

“Principal Zhou, are you still practicing making speeches every morning?”

He quickly gave me a pointed glance but did not answer my question. He thought for a moment and asked me instead:

“You are called Ah … Ah …”

“My name is Sikdzoen. We came from the same district.”²

“Oh, so you … are … oh!”

I knew our Principal Zhao never remembered people’s names. This was probably what he self regarded as his weak trait, and it was the reason he was unable to realize the ideas of his leadership. After my reminder of our affiliation, he seemed to be more personal with me and kept telling me about many events that he was proud of in his life. In excitement he stuttered even more. He said he had worked for the county government and had established many meritorious services. In one political turmoil he betrayed two secret communist friends, and thus got the certificate of merit from the new county head. At this point in his talk he was afraid I didn't believe him, so he went and took out that certificate and solemnly opened it up in front of me. In reality, it wasn’t any certificate of revolution. Anyone could recognize that it was just an ordinary high school certificate of merit. But I didn’t reveal his secret; on the contrary, I fully praised him for his scheme. When I walked out of the Health Department, the dormitory across had already become a mass of dark shadow.

That was a summer night. The students had all gone to sleep and I still lingered on the stone bench in the athletic field, bathing in the rare moonlight of summer nights. From the far away Health Department an elongated black shadow moved toward the athletic field. I knew it must be Principal Zhao, so I didn’t disturb him and quietly watched what kind of drama he would perform again. He walked to the lecture platform under the flagpole and set foot on the three stone steps. He gave a full bow to the grass in the athletic field. I immediately realized what it was all about. When he excitedly raised his right hand, I callously said behind his back:

“Principal Zhao, are you starting to give a lecture?”

He turned his head around and gave me an intense stare, but I still felt his vision didn’t contain any bit of anger, but rather more like a disguise. He lowered his right hand in the air and touched the foot-wide stone flagpole near him, while his head following his eyes slowly climbed up along the flagpole. All these were done through very natural gestures. I laughed hideously. The sound of the laughter echoed a few times in the open field of the dark night. When it reached my own ears, I too felt it was a little too shrill and cruel.

I remembered one evening during a class period of self-study, the teacher left the classroom to attend to some matters, and I too agilely sneaked out. As I passed by the Principal’s office I saw the glass door was stamped with two black shadows. I recognized that the long shadow with a swaying body and waving hand was indeed our Principal Zhao. The short and fat shadow was our real principal, who was motionless like a Buddha. One tall and one short shadow set each other off and formed a delightful contrast. The long silhouette had been swaying for a long time: bowing at times, nodding with hands clasped at times, and nearly kneeling down at one time. But suddenly the Buddha raised his hand and pointed to the door; at that moment I got so scared I slipped away.

The next day after morning exercise, the Principal announced that our Principal Zhao is going to join the army and his resignation request had been approved. His position would be filled by the Principal’s brother-in-law.

During the war period, every semester there were a few new teachers and staff entering and old ones exiting the school, so we didn’t feel odd hearing the news that Principal Zhao was joining the army. When night came, Principal Zhao carried a rattan suitcase, wore his tan western suit, and trotted toward the front gate of the school in his eight-character footsteps. I could tell he was not in good spirit, like a defeated soldier, so I walked up to him and jokingly asked:

“Principal Zhao, joining the army?”

He didn’t answer me and just gave me a sharp glance. I advanced with another step and used the Taishan dialect to tease him: “There is a Brigade Commander position waiting for you to fill.³

I laughed loudly. He didn’t look back and was soon devoured by the front gate. After Principal Zhao joined the army, the students immediately forgot about him, but sometimes in the dining hall, there would still be someone telling the joke of Principal Zhao to the new students. The new students didn’t have the opportunity to meet Principal Zhao after all, so their impressions were not as strong as ours. But I have not forgotten that scene of a motion picture by the door of the Principal’s office that night, so I often doubted the fact of Principal Zhao joining the army.

In the summer two years after Principal Zhao left, I returned to Taishan to visit my parents. When I arrived at the train station in the county seat of Taishan, it was just dawn. I hired a yellow rickshaw to drag me home. Suddenly a gust of manure odor irritated my scent, and I looked towards the direction of its source. I saw a tall and big fellow carrying two buckets of natural fertilizer with the carrying pole on his shoulders. He glanced at me and dropped his head like his neck bones were broken. He was wearing a tan colored ragged western suit with pants that looked bizarrely neither western nor Chinese. I was flipping through my mind to find a match for that familiar eight-character footsteps. Suddenly, it dawned on me and I laughed. I quietly said in my head, “Brigade Commander Zhao.”