伶人與我

伶人與我

幾年前在敦煌，偶然聽了一場(chǎng)戲。演出場(chǎng)地頗為簡(jiǎn)陋，只有一個(gè)舞臺(tái)外加幾張粗陋桌臺(tái)。最初，我誤以為是 KTV 會(huì)所。驀地，臺(tái)上唱腔嘹亮的女演員將我牢牢吸引。

我的眼里、心里只剩她那令人動(dòng)容的歌喉和凝視我的雙眸。

她不會(huì)知道，自己恰是我小說(shuō)里的女主角原型。那是一個(gè)關(guān)于某中國(guó)戲團(tuán)到澳洲淘金地巡回演出的故事。女主角的表演令淘金者神魂顛倒，她正是他所求的金子。但他們無(wú)法相守，次日她便要隨團(tuán)離開。

逃不開她的眼睛，又不能離去，我須得付出金錢，方能回報(bào)她的歌聲與凝視。

她忽地從裙上撈起一把錢沖我揮舞，激我回應(yīng)。

觀眾引頸而望，一場(chǎng)別樣的戲曲開場(chǎng)，她與我一齊上演。她再次揮舞錢幣，不容回絕。我的目光微微融化，唇邊浮上笑意。打開錢包，我將一張紙幣扔向她。眾人哄然，有人叫道，“再來(lái)！”我便又扔一次。觀眾相互擊背，似在打賭。女歌手似笑非笑，手勢(shì)卻如匕首。

表演落幕，人們魚貫而出，我卻未起身。

一束光暈照來(lái)，我仿佛不再身處舞臺(tái)之外。

OPERA SINGER

Text by Danny Gardner Illustration by Zhang Yajun Translation by Emma Xu

Dunhuang in Gansu is a tourist hot spot famous for its cave-art site close by. On a visit to the town several years ago I came across an opera in a café. It was a room with rough tables and a stage where a local company apparently put on no frills operas. At first I thought it was a karaoke club. Suddenly I was magnetized, transfixed by the singing female on stage.

Soon all I could see or feel was that keening voice and the woman's stare - directed at me specifically - as the careless newcomer who must learn his place in this tableau.

She could not have known it but this woman wasthe prototype for a novel I'd once planned to write. It concerned a Chinese opera company touring the Victorian goldfields in Australia in the 1860s. Just like the protagonist in my novel this woman swallowed the attention of the hero - a miner down on his luck. She was the gold he had found on the fields - but they could never get to know each other. The next day she and the rest of her troupe would pack up and leave, swept on by the momentum of their tour.

Unable to escape the singer's eyes and leave I waved away someone's offer of a cigarette. I ignored also the offer of a cup of swamp tea with its remnants of fruits and nuts. I had been welcomed in but this red-haired woman with her shrill song would not be satisfied unless I did what I was supposed to do - honor her performance with money. Our wills were locked together, our destinies joined, at that intense moment.

In a surprise move the singer drew from her dress some money, which she brandished at me, prompting me to respond. It was very hot now in that room with all the spectators pressing in close. A different opera was being played out where this woman and I, the Westerner, were the only participants. Again the singer brandished money - her face hovering on the point of apparent devastation. Despite my resolve my stare melted a little…A smile crept across my lips. Opening my wallet I took out a 10 Yuan note and threw it towards the lady. A great cheer rang out, which echoed around the room. The waiter shouted∶ 'shi yuan duo!' (more!) and again I flourished a note. The place was in an uproar now, people slapping each other on the back as though a bet had just been settled. The singer now seemed to have the beginnings of a smirk on her mouth. Her hand was frozen in the shape of a dagger. The opera was over.

I was sitting at a table. People began filing out, exhilarated, looking at me as if to ask∶ 'Did you understand any of that?'

I felt a strange glow now, a warmness; as if I was now a part of this strange tableau.

COLUMNIST'S PROFILE Danny Gardner is a Sydney-based freelance writer specialising in travel, art and sport. His collection of travel pieces: ‘Brains in My Feet’ (Ginninderra Press) was released in 2014.

Danny Gardner， 悉 尼自 由 作 家，2014 年 出 版‘Brains in My Feet’一書。