Contributions繳納金的故事

派米·阿古達 熊鈺穎

We have been practicing esusu1 for a long time. Our mothers did it， our mothers’ mothers did it. And probably their own mothers， too. We’ve never had a problem of this substance before， nothing so significant until this woman showed up. Nothing we couldn’t fix， anyway.

This is how our system works： each woman has one month to contribute a certain amount of naira2. Our names are on a list， and when that month is over， whoever’s number one takes it all. Then the contributions begin again， and at the end of the second month， number two collects. The names are always in random order. We go down the list until the last person has collected， then reset. This works for us. We don’t need your banks; we don’t need your loans. We can take care of ourselves.

Things aren’t always smooth. There was the time Iya Ibeji wasted her collection on a trip to Dubai—camel rides and shopping—and then couldn’t make her contribution the next month. We had to seize her frozen-food store’s generator until she came up with the money. We are not wicked people， you must understand， but for this system to work， there has to be order. Another time， Mrs. B had to pay hospital bills for her son’s operation. If we show pity even once， our structure will collapse on itself， so we seized Mrs. B’s daughter. The daughter made meals for us， she carried our bags when we went to the market， relieving us of some burdens; she rubbed our feet and plaited our hair. When Mrs. B raised the money， we sent her daughter back home. We still have fond memories of the girl： her sweet smile， her spicy beef stew， the way she sprang， lightly， from foot to foot as if her bones were made of paper.

Ours is a small group. We must be， for trust， for reliability. Not just anyone will accept our terms of admittance， both lifelong and strict. We take what we can until your obligations are met， and for many， this is too much power， too much risk. We haven’t invited you here， we tell the ones who balk， their necks tilted at beseeching3 angles; go try your luck at the banks. We’ve worked too hard to allow any stupid leniency4 that could risk sending us back to the gutters. So when the new woman came sniffing at5 our meeting， with her crooked teeth and shuku， we warned her， we asked if she was certain. Yes， she said， she needed an alternative to the banks; yes， she said， she was sure. She was a cousin to one of our brothers’ best friends， so we said okay， even if we were hesitant—our hands fiddling with6 wrappers， our chests tight， we welcomed her.

At first， things went smoothly. Nonsense hardly ever shows itself immediately. She paid her contributions on time; she came to the meetings and drank Fanta and ate chin-chin7 with us. She weighed in on8 decisions like what color to wear to Sisi Oge’s daughter’s wedding （pink or burgundy）， and whether we should collectively stop patronizing Nature’s Way Spa because the owner elbowed one of us on the way to get communion at church. But by the fourth month—six away from her collection month—she started leaving texts on our phones， begging for more time.

Look， it doesn’t work this way.

We appraised her life， checking for what we could seize， what we could take from her so she would understand the gravity of this commitment. We found nothing except a husband and an old mother in the village.

We seized the husband.

Alas， he was useless around our homes. He sat with our husbands， his big beer belly and their big beer bellies all shuddering gelatinously in mirth at some distasteful joke. Her husband screamed at football games with ours， played table tennis in our gardens， whooping like a fool whenever the ball thwacked against the paddle in his hand. Sometimes he looked at us. He looked at us and reminded us of the expanse of our hips， the heft of our breasts; reminded us of the ways our bodies take up space.

We returned the husband， and still she couldn’t pay her contribution， so we seized her mother.

Her mother was no better. The old woman sat brooding9 in corners， her eyes bulging out at us as we pounded yam or sewed a button on. She blended in with the cobwebs， her skin acquiring a dark fuzz， a gleaming scaliness， exploiting the shifting shadows. And when she eventually turned into a frog and then a lizard and then a cat， our children squealed10 in delight. But when they tried to pet the cat， she scratched their hands， drawing blood， leaving scars in the shapes of a strange language. She leapt away from our punishing arms to perch high above our heads， and we strained our necks to look at her， envying the fluffy agility11， the way she could wrangle her body into a smaller， lighter version of itself， stealthy and wily and out of reach.

We sent the mother away and called the woman in. What else could she give us to hold onto， until she could make her contribution？ We sat her in the center of the group， so she could feel our eyes prick at her skin from every direction， feel the pressure of our disappointment.

Look， she said， will you take my arms？

Her arms were long and muscular and had known work. We accepted them.

They were useful in our kitchens， these arms， chopping ugu leaves here and stirring a pot of ewedu there， pounding yam， slicing apples. They were useful in the household， sweeping dust down the corridor and rocking a child to sleep. Sometimes the arms wrapped around us when our husbands were yelling， or when the children were crying again， or when the sky looked the wrong shade of blue.

But still， she couldn’t make her contributions， so we held on to her arms.

My legs？ she asked， when—the next month—she still couldn’t pay. She sat， armless， collapsed buba sleeves at her sides， in the middle of the circle， her head bowed so that her braids hid her face from our questioning eyes. We had never seen such ineptitude12 before， such resignation to giving away body parts. But her legs were sturdy， with firm calves that could kick a football with our sons， and strong knees that braced our daughters’ heads when we plaited their hair， and a lap that received our heads when we wept because the sky was still the wrong shade of blue and our eyes felt heavy in our heads.

My torso？ she offered.

My head？ she contributed.

Her voice got airier13 with each new part given.

And what use were these breasts， this stomach， this heavy head filled with skull？ But we took and we took and we took.

It wasn’t until we had all her body parts that we saw what she had done.

Had we， too， not always wanted to shed our parts， be lighter， be nothing， be free？

Would we also not give anything to have our bodies no longer belong to us？

Now， we do not speak about it because we are too ashamed to acknowledge how she deceived us into carrying her， bearing her weight forever， her sinew and bones and teeth and muscle and breath and blood. We avoid each other’s eyes as we discuss contributions and collections. When we shuffle out of meetings， our shoulders hunch14， our treads drag from the burden of her， from carrying what we have taken.

我們很早就采用輪轉基金來存錢了。媽媽用過，外婆用過，外婆的媽媽可能也用過。在這個女人出現之前，我們的基金從沒出過問題，沒出過這么嚴重的問題。無論啥事我們都能搞定。

我們的基金運轉機制是這樣的：每個女人按月繳納一定數額的奈拉，繳納人的名字都列在一份名單上;第一個月結束時，無論是誰，排在名單上第一位的，就把所有錢拿走;到第二個月結束時，排在第二的人拿錢，依此類推;名字是隨機編排的，按名單依次拿錢直到最后一位，然后從頭再來。這種模式很適合我們。我們不需要什么銀行，也不需要什么貸款，我們自己干就成。

可是也有不順的時候。有一次，伊亞·伊貝吉拿到錢后去迪拜旅游，大肆揮霍，又是騎駱駝，又是買東西，結果到下個月繳不出錢了。于是，我們只得把她家冷凍食品店里的發電機搬走，直到她拿出錢來。你要明白，我們并不是壞人，但為了讓這個機制正常運轉，就得按規矩來。還有一次，B太太兒子做手術，她把錢都付給醫院了。哪怕我們就憐憫這一次，我們的系統也會崩潰，因此我們扣下了她的女兒。這姑娘給我們做飯;去集市時幫我們提包，這樣我們就輕松點兒;還給我們揉腳，為我們扎辮子。后來，B太太籌到錢，我們就把她女兒送回了家。直到現在我們還對這姑娘印象不錯：笑起來甜甜的，燉牛肉辣辣的，輕盈地一蹦一跳時好像身子骨是紙片做的。

我們的團體很小，也必須小，小團體才可靠，才相互信任。我們的準入條件不僅嚴格，還得一輩子遵守，不是所有人都能接受。你要是沒有履行義務，我們就拿走你的東西，能拿什么拿什么，等你履行完再還給你——對很多人來說，這太暴力，風險也太大。有些人猶豫不決，扭著脖子做哀求狀，對這樣的人，我們會說，我們可沒邀請你來，你還是去銀行碰碰運氣吧。我們如此盡心盡力，絕不容許傻傻地一時心軟，那可能把我們送回窮困潦倒的境地。因此，當一個從未見過的女人來找我們表示有興趣加入時，我們提醒她，問她是不是考慮清楚了。是，她說，她不想去銀行了;是，她說，她考慮清楚了。這女人一口牙歪歪扭扭的，一頭發辮在頭頂盤成駝峰狀。她與我們一位弟兄的好朋友是表親，所以我們同意了，雖然我們還是有些拿不定主意——我們手上撥弄著包裝紙，心里在打鼓，但還是表示歡迎她加入。

起初，一切都很順利。不過壞事都是慢慢才暴露的。她按時支付繳納金，按時來參加聚會，和我們一起喝芬達、吃親親。她還時不時發表見解，比如：參加斯斯·奧格女兒的婚禮該穿什么衣服，粉色還是酒紅色;我們是否應該集體抵制純天然水療中心，因為該中心老板在教堂領圣餐時用肘推了我們中的一位。但是，到第四個月，也就是離她拿錢還有六個月時，她開始給我們發短信，懇求多給她點時間繳錢。

哎，這恐怕不成。

我們評估了這個女人的生活狀況，看看可以拿走什么，只有這樣，她才會明白違約的嚴重性。結果，我們發現，這個女人除了村里的丈夫和老母親外，一無所有。

于是，我們帶走了她丈夫。

哎，這個男人在我們各家百無一用。他和我們的丈夫坐在一塊兒，開著惡俗的玩笑，他們碩大的啤酒肚像凝膠一樣歡快地抖個不停。他和我們丈夫一起，看足球比賽時大聲尖叫，還在花園打乒乓球，每當球撞到手里的球拍時，就像傻子一樣呼喊。有時候，他盯著我們看。他盯著我們，讓我們意識到自己的屁股多么肥、胸脯多么重;讓我們意識到自己的身體占了多大地方。

我們把她丈夫還了回去，可她還是付不起繳納金，所以我們又帶走了她的老母親。

她母親也好不了多少。這老婦人陰森森地坐在角落，我們搗木薯或縫紐扣時，她就那么瞪著我們，仿佛眼珠子都要掉出來了。她整個人融進了蜘蛛網，皮膚長出黑漆漆的絨毛，像發光的鱗片，在不斷變換的陰影中閃爍。最終她變成了動物——從青蛙到蜥蜴，再到貓——孩子們看到后興奮地尖叫。可當他們試著想撫摸這只貓時，她卻抓傷了他們的手，鮮血直流，留下的傷疤形似一種古怪的語言。我們伸出胳膊想懲罰她，她一躍而起躲開了，高踞我們頭頂上方的某處，我們只能伸長脖子看著她。她身體松軟而敏捷，稍稍蜷縮便可變得更小、更輕盈，不聲不響、不露聲色就可以逃得遠遠的——這一切讓我們羨慕不已。

我們把老母親送回去，把女人叫了來。問她在能付清繳納金前，還有什么可以讓我們拿走抵押？我們將她圍坐在中央，讓她感受我們的目光從四面八方刺向她的肌膚，讓她感受我們的失望帶給她的重壓。

好，她說，你們拿走我的手臂，成嗎？

她手臂很長、很壯，一看就很會干活。我們收下了她的雙臂。

她的雙臂在廚房派上了用場，一會兒切槽紋南瓜葉，一會兒攪麻苡湯，搗木薯，切蘋果。在家務方面，它們也大有用處，例如掃走廊上的灰，搖孩子入睡。當丈夫沖我們吼叫，孩子們再次哭鬧，我們看什么都不順眼的時候，這雙手臂有時還會緊緊抱著我們給予安慰。

然而，她還是付不出繳納金，所以我們就繼續占用她的雙臂。

次月到了，她依舊拿不出錢。我的腿如何？女人問道。我們圍成一圈，她坐在中央，沒了雙臂，布芭裙空蕩蕩的袖管耷拉著。她垂著頭，發辮遮住臉，擋住了我們盤問的目光。我們從未見過有人這樣的無能，這樣自愿放棄自己的身體器官。然而，她的腿非常有力，小腿結實得可以和我們的兒子一起踢足球，膝蓋強壯得可以在我們給女兒梳辮子時撐住她們的頭，大腿則可以在我們不順心而哭泣時或眼皮發沉時托住我們的頭。

我的軀干？她提議。

我的頭？她主動獻出。

每多獻出一個部位，她的聲音就變得輕松一分。

她的乳房、她的胃，以及全是頭蓋骨的重重的頭，這些都有什么用？但我們還是拿了又拿、拿了又拿。

直到拿走了她身體的所有部位，我們才明白了她的意圖。

難道我們自己不也一直希望卸下所有零件，變得更輕盈、無牽無掛、自由自在嗎？

難道我們自己不是也愿意付出任何代價，只為蛻去這身皮囊嗎？

現在，我們不再提這件事，因為我們不好意思承認這個女人欺騙了我們，讓我們扛著她，永遠承受她的重量——她的肌腱、骨骼、牙齒、肌肉、呼吸和血液。討論繳錢和取錢這些事情時，我們都會避開彼此的眼睛。當我們尷尬地開完會，聳著肩離開，步履沉重，因為背負她的身體，因為扛著從她那里拿來的一切。

（譯者單位：江西師范大學外國語學院）

1 esusu（尼日利亞的）輪轉基金。輪轉基金是金融中介中最簡單的形式：一些人成立一個團體，然后定期支付約定的錢數;每次會面時籌集資金，每次輪轉都會把錢給予一個成員，最后一個成員收到一次性付款后，團體可以選擇開始新的循環或者解散。世界上很多發展中國家都存在輪轉基金，只是名稱各不相同，除了尼日利亞的esusu，還有merry-go-rounds（肯尼亞）、tandas（墨西哥）、tontines（西非）、chit fund（印度）、kibati（坦桑尼亞）、stockvel（南非）等。? 2 naira奈拉（尼日利亞的貨幣單位）。

3 beseeching哀求的。

4 leniency憐憫。? 5 sniff at sth對某事感興趣。? 6 fiddle with撥弄，擺弄。? 7 chin-chin親親，西非國家一種廣受歡迎的油炸面點，通常外表酥脆、內里松軟，在尼日利亞尤其盛行，形狀通常為方形（像魚豆腐），口感松脆（像油炸的甜甜圈），有多種口味（香草和肉豆蔻口味最為常見）。? 8 weigh in on就……發表見解;權衡。

9 brooding森然的;幽怨的。? 10 squeal尖叫。? 11 agility敏捷。

12 ineptitude無能;笨拙。? 13 airy無憂無慮的。

14 hunch聳肩。

2625501186237