伶人与我

伶人与我

几年前在敦煌，偶然听了一场戏。演出场地颇为简陋，只有一个舞台外加几张粗陋桌台。最初，我误以为是 KTV 会所。蓦地，台上唱腔嘹亮的女演员将我牢牢吸引。

我的眼里、心里只剩她那令人动容的歌喉和凝视我的双眸。

她不会知道，自己恰是我小说里的女主角原型。那是一个关于某中国戏团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颠倒，她正是他所求的金子。但他们无法相守，次日她便要随团离开。

逃不开她的眼睛，又不能离去，我须得付出金钱，方能回报她的歌声与凝视。

她忽地从裙上捞起一把钱冲我挥舞，激我回应。

观众引颈而望，一场别样的戏曲开场，她与我一齐上演。她再次挥舞钱币，不容回绝。我的目光微微融化，唇边浮上笑意。打开钱包，我将一张纸币扔向她。众人哄然，有人叫道，“再来！”我便又扔一次。观众相互击背，似在打赌。女歌手似笑非笑，手势却如匕首。

表演落幕，人们鱼贯而出，我却未起身。

一束光晕照来，我仿佛不再身处舞台之外。

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’一书。