Peels for Salt橘皮换食盐

A Note from Russell Leong： As a writer myself， I am often intrigued with other people’s lives because they show other ways of living beyond my own. Luo Xuanmin has an interesting life， beyond his activities as a scholar and work as a teacher and translator. He is simply a natural-born storyteller. Whether it is in a Japanese restaurant in Beijing （where King-Kok Cheung and I first heard this story） or in a Persian café in Los Angeles （where he told another story）， Xuanmin tells stories the way they should be told： pithy， with empathy， and with remarkable detail. So I asked Xuanmin to share one of his stories with readers， and due to our urging， this is the first story he has written in English. 拉塞爾·利昂评注：我本人是一位作家，常常爱关注别人的生活，因为它们呈现出有别于我本人的生活方式。罗选民先生在他学术、教学和翻译生活之外，还有着有趣的人生经历。他简直就是一位天生的故事讲述者，在北京的日本餐馆，张敬珏和我第一次听到了这个故事，而在洛杉矶的波斯咖啡馆，我们又聆听到他讲的另一个故事。在选民的讲述中，任何一个故事都那么逼真、细致，它们是那么生动出神。于是，我请他与读者分享一个他所讲过的故事。在我们的催促声中，他写下了第一篇英文故事。

When I was young， my family was very poor. Life was far from a bed of roses to us. When mum went out for work in the early morning， she always left me the same instruction： “My dear son， when you go to school， lock the door; when you return home， shut the door. Take care of your brothers and sister， and finish your homework. Don’t let a thief lift the quilts away.” To us， quilts were the most useful and precious possessions， the shelter and safety for the cold winter1. It is very hard for today’s young people to understand this phenomenon; so I bet they will assume my following story about peels2 for salt to be fiction. However， it is a true story.

The story took place in a small Chinese provincial city in the late 1960s.

After my graduation from primary school came the “Cultural Revolution.” I was then only twelve years old. Since all the schools were shut down， kids had to stay at home. I admired those middle school students who could join the Red Guard Organizations. Wearing army uniforms with red armbands， they looked very smart. They sang and danced on the stages in the open to show their loyalty to Chairman Mao. They undertook long marches to Jinggang Mountains in Jiangxi， the cradle of Chinese revolution， and to Yan’an in Shannxi， the holy place for the Red Army during the War of Resistance Against Japanese Invasion， expressing their determination to carry out the revolution to the end. The years of passion！ How I dreamed I could someday be one of them！

A dream was after all a dream. I could never have been a Red Guard because I was born into a so-called landlord family and was treated as a “dog-kid3.” Mother later lost her job and father was the only breadwinner. Life was extremely hard for us. There were times when we were unable to buy salt or cooking oil right before the time for meals. Every penny was carefully planned and logistically spent.

In order to help father， I took my brothers to get orange peels on the street， though our earning could barely help the family.

During the “Cultural Revolution”， everything was at a mess. There were not many trashcans along the street in the small city. The most common fruit then was oranges， which were local products. It was common for people to eat fruits while walking on the pavements. The peels would be thrown on the ground. My main battlefield was Liberation Road， the largest and longest street in the city. The street was crowded with shops on both sides. Like a detective， I was on alert noticing passengers coming and going with oranges in their hands. You could be humiliated if you asked for the peels directly because the owner might reject you and treat you as a beggar， though you were always dressed neatly and cleanly. There were such people on earth who would rather throw away peels than put them in your bag.

In most cases， I picked the peels from the ground. When one was discovered， I would pick it up quickly without being noticed. After all， I was an adolescent then.

To pick up the peels by hands was not bad， you felt fulfilled in the performance. While bending repeatedly for peels， your backbone became even more flexible. A few decades later， when I met Japanese scholars on various occasions， I did excellent jobs of exchanging bows and gratitude.

The most tedious thing in collecting peels was “suspense.” I had such an experience. I found someone eating an orange， I followed him. The content was almost finished when the passenger suddenly stopped nibbling4. A further pursuit seemed unwise， but to give up would be even more stupid. It took another one hundred meters for the passenger to finish his dear orange. What a peel！ It was the most challenging and energy consuming peel I had ever collected.

To bend down for peels on the ground was not efficient work. I finally thought of a method to get peels in an elegant manner. I made a stick with an old bent-up metal rod the end of which had been sharpened into a point. Holding this stick， I seemed to be a Chaplin working in Broadway. I picked up discarded orange peels and later surreptitiously slid them into an old army bag， which was fastened on my left shoulder.

The contents were carefully dried over a stove at home and then put in a large bag before being peddled to the local herb shop. When the contents were being weighed by the shopkeeper behind his thick glasses， I was standing on my toes watching the steelyard5 hook， pretending to be able to read. “Fifty-five cents！” I heard the man shouted behind the counter. Though I was very disappointed at the pay， I had to accept it. It was better than nothing. At least， the pittance could be used to buy salt.

我小时候，家里很穷。那时的生活不那么称心如意。母亲大清早就出去工作了，临走时，她总会嘱托我：“孩子，出门上学时，要锁好家门;放学回家后，要把门关好。看好弟弟妹妹，完成家庭作业。千万别让小偷掀走被褥。”那时，被褥是我们最有用、最贵重的家当，寒冬就靠它避寒保暖，安稳度过了。今天的年轻人很难理解这种现象。因此，敢保证他们会认为我接下来要讲的这个故事纯属虚构，但它确实是真的。

故事发生在20世纪60年代末中国的一个地方小镇。

我小学刚毕业就赶上了“文革”。那时，我只有12岁。所有学校都被迫关门，孩子们只能待在家里。我羡慕那些参加红卫兵的中学生。他们军服上系着红袖标，看起来很神气，在露天舞台上又唱又跳，用来表达对毛主席的无限忠诚。他们长途跋涉前往中国革命摇篮——江西省井冈山和抗日战争圣地——陕西省延安，以显示将革命进行到底的决心。那真是激情燃烧的岁月！我多么想有一天能加入他们的行列！

梦终究是梦。我永远都当不上红卫兵，因为我出生在一个所谓的地主家庭，被当作“狗崽子”。后来，母亲丢了工作。父亲成了唯一养家糊口的人。家里的生活实在困难，常常缺盐少油。真是每一分钱都得精心计划、谨慎使用。

为了帮父亲一把，我带着弟弟们到街上捡橘皮，虽然我带着弟弟们到街上捡橘皮卖钱，不过我们赚的这点儿钱基本帮不上家里太大忙。

“文革”期间，到处乱糟糟的。在这座小城里，街上的垃圾箱不多。那时，最常吃的是当地特产——橘子。经常看见人们在路上边走边吃水果。皮儿会被顺手扔到地上。我的主要战场是这座城最宽最长的街——解放路。街道两旁挤满了商店。我就像一名密探紧盯着手拿橘子的过路人。要是直接和他们要橘皮，就会受到一番侮辱，吃橘子的人会把你当成乞丐来拒绝你，不论你穿得多干净、整洁。有很多人，他们宁愿把橘皮扔掉，也不愿意放到你包里。

大多數时候，我从地上捡橘皮。发现一片，我就会行动迅速地捡起来，免得被人看见。毕竟，那时我还是个青少年。

用手捡橘皮不是一件坏事，我从中受益匪浅。不停地弯腰捡橘皮会让你的脊柱灵活。几十年后，在许多场合碰到日本学者，我能轻松地弯下腰去与他们相互鞠躬致谢。

捡橘皮时最烦心的就是遇到有人“悬着”。我有过这样的经历。看到一位行人正在吃橘子，就尾随其后。不料，快要吃完时，他突然不吃了。继续跟着吧，觉得不明智，而放弃却又好似更傻。于是，还得再跟上百米左右，等他把手中的宝贝橘子吃完。好一块橘子皮！这是我捡橘皮中最难、最费劲儿的一次。

弯腰到地上捡橘皮很费事。后来，我想到了一种体面的捡法。把一根末端弯曲并磨尖的旧金属杆做成棍子。手握这根棍儿，我就像是在百老汇街表演的卓别林，捡起被扔掉的橘子皮，偷偷摸摸地把它放进挎在左肩上的一个破旧的军包里。

回家后，我们把捡来的橘皮小心翼翼地放在火炉上烤干，装到一个大包里，攒多了就卖给当地草药铺。药铺老板戴着一副高度老花镜秤橘皮的时候，我踮着脚尖儿瞅秤杆儿，假装会看秤。“五毛五！”柜台后的那个人提高嗓门喊着。我对得到的钱数很失望，可我只能接受，总比连一分都得不到要强。至少这一点儿钱可以用来买盐。