亨利和山田圭子

By+Jamie+Ford

《悲喜邊緣的旅館》（Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet）是美國著名華裔作家杰米·福特（Jamie Ford）于2009年創(chuàng)作的第一本小說，也是獲得最多好評的小說。

華裔男孩亨利·李（Henry Lee）和其日裔女孩山田圭子（Keiko）是雷尼爾學(xué)校僅有的兩名非白人學(xué)生，于是他們很快結(jié)識并成為知心好友。但Henry的父親反對他們交往，導(dǎo)致兩人失去了聯(lián)系。這個故事襯托出戰(zhàn)爭對個體命運(yùn)，尤其是生活在異國他鄉(xiāng)的移民的影響。面對歷史大背景，個體是多么的無助無奈和卑微。Keiko一家對美國人和中國人并沒有敵意，但因日本跟美國和中國交戰(zhàn)，Henry的爸爸不惜用斷絕父子關(guān)系來阻止兩人的交往。小說的背景是1986年步入中年的Henry回憶他與Keiko之間那段難以忘懷的情感經(jīng)歷。

這篇節(jié)選里講述了圭子與她的父母邀請亨利與他們共進(jìn)午餐。在談話時，圭子媽媽注意到了亨利的大紅色別針——上面寫著“我是中國人”。因珍珠港事件，在美國的日本人受到排擠，亨利爸爸一直要求亨利隨時隨地佩戴這枚別針以避免被別人誤認(rèn)為是日本人。作者通過在此章的開頭和結(jié)尾都描寫這個別針來強(qiáng)調(diào)二戰(zhàn)時期對于中國人這個身份的認(rèn)知。

Within a week， the evacuation（疏散，撤離）of Bainbridge Island was already old news—within a month it was almost forgotten， on the surface， anyway—everyone was doing their best to go about business as usual. Even Henry felt the restless calm as he and Keiko made plans for lunch on Saturday. She had surprised him by calling his home. Henrys father had answered the phone. As soon as she spoke in English， he handed the receiver to Henry. His father didnt ask who it was， just asked if it was a girl—knowing full well the answer.

I guess he just wanted to hear it from my lips， thought Henry. “Yes， its a girl” was all he offered. The words came out in meaningless English， but he nodded and explained， “Shes my friend.” His father looked confused， yet seemingly resigned to the fact that his son was practically in his teens. Back in China， the Old Country， marriages happened as early as thirteen or fourteen. Sometimes they were arranged at birth， but only for the very poor or the very rich.

His father would probably be more concerned if he knew the purpose of the call—to meet Keikos family. No， Henry realized， concerned was too gentle a word， his father would be livid（怒不可遏的）.

Henry， on the other hand， was less worried until he realized that lunch might qualify as a date—a thought that made his stomach churn（翻滾）and his palms sweat. He reassured himself that it was nothing fancy， just lunch with the Okabes（Keiko的父母）.

At school， things seemed abnormally normal—so restrained（受約束的）and peaceful that he and Keiko didnt know what to think. The other children， and even the teachers， seemed unaware of the Japanese exodus（大批的離去）from Bainbridge Island. The day had come and gone in relative quiet. Almost like it never happened. Lost in the news of the war—that the U.S. and Filipino（菲律賓的）troops were losing at Bataan（巴丹半島）and that a Japanese submarine had shelled（轟炸）an oil refinery（煉油廠）somewhere in California.

Henrys father had become more adamant（固執(zhí)的）than ever that Henry wear his button（圓形小徽章）. “On the outside—wear it on the outside， where everyone can see it！” his father demanded in Cantonese as Henry was heading out the door.endprint

Henry unzipped his coat and left it open so the button was plainly visible， slumping（耷拉著）his shoulders， awaiting his fathers stern approval. He had never seen his father so serious before. His parents even went one step further， each wearing an identical button. Some sort of collective effort， Henry reasoned. He understood his parents concern for his own wellbeing， but there was no way that theyd be mistaken for Japanese—because they rarely left Chinatown. And if they did， there were simply too many people to round up in Seattle. Thousands.

Henry and Keikos plan was to meet in front of the Panama Hotel. It had been built thirty year earlier by Sabro Ozasa—some architect that Henrys father had mentioned once or twice. Japanese， but of some renown（名望）， according to Henrys father anyway， who rarely acknowledged anything in Japanese community in a positive light. This being the rare exception.

The hotel was the most impressive building in Nihonmachi（日本街）， or the entire district for that matter. Standing as a sentinel（哨兵）between two district communities， it provided a comfortable home for people fresh off the boats（剛從國外回來的）， rooming by the week， or the month， or as long as it took to find a job， to save a little money， and to become an American. Henry wondered how many immigrants had rested their weary heads at the Panama Hotel， dreaming of a new life that began the day they stepped off the steamship from Canton（廣州）or Okinawa（沖繩）， counting the days until they could send for their families. Days that usually turned to years.

Now the hotel stood as a run-down（破舊的）shell of its former glory. Immigrants， fishermen， and cannery（罐頭廠）workers who werent allowed to bring their families with them from the Old Country used it as a permanent bachelor hotel.

Henry had always wanted to go down to the lower level. To see the two marble bathhouses， the sento（公共澡堂）， Keiko called them. They were supposedly the largest and most luxurious on the West Coast. But he was too scared.

Almost as scared as he was to tell his parent he was meeting Keiko. Hed hinted to his mother—in English no less—that he had a Japanese friend， and she had immediately shot him her stink-eye（白眼）， a look of shock so profound（深厚的）he immediately dropped the subject. Most Chinese parents were indifferent to the Japanese， or the Filipinos who were arriving daily， fleeing the war or seeking better fortunes in America. Some Chinese harbored（懷有）ill feelings， but most simply kept to themselves. His parents were different—they checked his shirt for an “I am Chinese” button every time he walked out the door. Fathers nationalistic（民族主義的）pride， his banner of protection， just kept swelling.endprint