Keeping One’s True Identity

By Mo Xiaomi

It was snowing in Hangzhou City on New Year’s Day.Some were wild with joy amongst their circle of friends while others could barely make ends meet.

Our housekeeper’s husband opened a small automotive repair shop in the suburbs.To make it easier for their kids to go to school, they rent a small apartment in the downtown area, so the man has to go to the repair shop every day, riding an e-bike for more than an hour to get there even in good weather.Today, it was quite dangerous to ride on the freezing road, and the man’s hands were chapped by the frigid air.His wife advised him not to go.He agreed, thinking of taking the opportunity to rest for a day or two before a busy year.

The other day a huge snowstorm hit the area.However, at dawn, he already got up and went to the repair shop because a couple of familiar customers called him, saying that another repair shop nearby took advantage of the snowy weather and overcharged them.They hoped that he could be back because he offers a fair price and reliable services.

The man didn’t arrive home until 10 pm that day.Walking many blocks and streets, he had to push his e-bike from time to time.His family members were longing for him to return for supper.Despite the slow day at work, the man was pleased for a simple reason: The clients were all his acquaintances, so if he didn’t go, what would they do in the face of the car problems?

A sense of duty or responsibility does not only belong to great men or the socalled professionals; it can belong to ordinary men as well.People with this sense of duty and responsibility are worthy of others’ trust and respect.

Residents living in Xiaoshan District of Hangzhou will immediately know that the Spring Festival is coming because they can smell a fishy smell and see the fish and shrimp arrays from afar at the market.

One man in particular, probably in his fifties, stands out at making dried fish.Herrings were piling up in his stall, each weighing roughly ten pounds.In the cold wind, he quickly fillets one fish at a time, digging out its gills in two or three steps.He cuts from the tail along the fin ridge upward, splits its head forcibly, divides the body into two halves joined by its belly, and then removes the guts.He cleans each fish in less than a minute—his hands moving like f loating clouds and f lowing water.

After gutting the fish, he pickles them on the spot, sprinkling a handful of salt, then spreading another layer of fish and sprinkling another handful of salt.Salt sprinkling is the most important process in making dried fish.Others use a scale while he makes an accurate measurement in his hand.He marinates the fish for two days and two nights, rinses and cleans the fillets with water, and hangs them up to dry for three or four days.

He busies himself since the celebration on New Year’s Day, as he’ll need to make 5,000 dried fish in total before the coming of the Spring Festival to satisfy his customers.

This local man’s family has made a living fishing from generation to generation.In recent years though, making a living on fishing has become more and more difficult, so he has switched to making fish-based snacks.His skill of making dried fish has been well known for more than twenty years now.

Both of his daughters have grown up watching their father dedicate himself fully year after year.He has to be on duty at night when he dries the fish, and set up a shed and cover the fish with plastic cloth when it rains.They both advise him to retire and enjoy life.He said, “Every winter we get calls from restaurants and regular customers, saying that after a year of hankering, they want to taste my dried fish again.Others say that if they can’t eat my dried fish, they will have a crappy New Year.That’s not something I can push away.”

This is truly a sense of duty.

(FromRomantic Generation—Youth, Issue 11, 2018.Translation: Qing Run)

使命感

文/莫小米

新年，杭城飄雪，朋友圈開始狂歡的同時，有人生計卻很艱難。

我家保潔阿姨的丈夫在城鄉接合部租個小門面開修車鋪，為了上學的兒女讀書方便，租住在市中心，男人每天都要去修車鋪，天氣好也得騎一個多小時電動車才能到達。路上結冰有危險，男人的手凍得開裂。妻子勸他不要去了，全年無休，就趁機歇一兩日吧。

休息一日，第二天雪更大，他摸黑起來，說今天一定要去修車鋪，因為昨天有幾個老顧客打電話來，說那附近另有個修車鋪借著大雪天氣亂收費，因為他價格公道，技術也一流，大家都希望他能過去。

男人這天到晚上10點才回家，很多路段都是推著電動車走，全家等他回來才一起吃飯。雖然沒幾單生意，但男人很開心：都是熟人，我不去，他們怎么辦呢？

使命感不只是大人物和所謂神圣職業者的專利，普通勞動者、小人物也被人需要，讓人惦記，他們對得起別人的信任和等待，就是一種使命感。

住在杭州蕭山一帶的人，老遠聞見魚腥香，看見壯觀的魚陣，就知道春節將至。

做魚干的是一位50來歲的大伯。剛剛運到的青魚堆成小山，每條都有10斤左右。寒風瑟瑟中，大伯麻利地扯過來一條，三兩下挖去魚鰓，一把快刀從尾部沿著魚脊往上切開，到魚頭處用力一劈，剖成魚腹相連的兩半，再挖去內臟，不到一分鐘就處理一條，如行云流水。

殺完魚，大伯就地腌制。鋪一層魚，撒一把鹽，再鋪一層，再撒一把。撒鹽是做魚干最關鍵的一道工序，沒把握的人用秤來稱，他一抓一個準。腌個兩天兩夜，用水沖洗干凈，用一截小竹片將魚身撐開，掛起來晾曬三四天，便成了。

元旦過后就開始忙活，一直做到春節前，總共要做5000條才夠。

大伯祖上三代以捕魚為生，到他這代，捕魚掙錢越來越難，就改行做水產生意。曬魚干這門手藝，他做了二十多年，遠近聞名。

兩個女兒都大了，看老爸年年辛苦，曬魚干夜間要值班，遇到下雨天還要搭棚、蓋塑料布，都勸他不要做了。他說：“每年一入冬，就有飯店和老顧客打來電話，說饞了一年，又想嘗魚干的味道了。還有人說吃不到我做的魚干，年都過不好的，我哪好意思不做啊。”

這不是使命感是什么？

（摘自《風流一代·青春》2018年第11期）