Chapter 8 Memories are as long as railroad tracks

I spent my middle school years in the countryside of Sichuan.At the time of the Anti-Japanese War, Sichuan, known as the land of abundance, did not have an inch of railroad tracks.I don't know why, when I was young, surrounded by thousands of mountains and mountains, I always liked to look at foreign maps and yearn to travel far away, and I felt that the most romantic way to travel was by train.Every time I see a train running in the wilderness on the calendar, dragging long smoke, my heart drifts with the smoke, fascinated leisurely, imagining that I am sitting in a window of the row of long windows, the endless scenery unfolds for me, the purpose As for the land, it is waiting for me thousands of miles away, preferably never arriving, so that I will never get out of the car.The parallel double tracks shot from the sky all the way, like hands stretched out from afar, trying to take me to the unknown; if you don't look at it for a long time, you will be hypnotized by it.

Rural teenagers are so fascinated by the train, probably because it is majestic and slender. The magnificent front of the train screams, and the carriages follow each other.As for the corresponding rhythm of the wheels and rails hitting the sleepers, it is sonorous and generous at the beginning, and then monotonous and hypnotic, with a different charm.Overlooking the deep valley when crossing the bridge, it is as if there is no ground, walking on tiptoe, and staying in the air with one heart.The darkness came head-on, and under the hood, there was no preparation at all, it was a cave.Still in shock, the echoes from the two walls are rumbling, and you have sunk deeper and deeper into the cecum of the mountain.The light greets you from the other side of the mountain, first there is a gloomy twilight, hesitating, then suddenly the sky brightens, and the black hole spits you back to the day.This series of experiences, from surprise to joy, was filled with uneasiness and mystery. Although it lasted for a short time, it left a deep impression on me.

My earliest memory of riding a train is when I was ten years old.It was in the second year of the Anti-Japanese War that my mother took me by boat from Shanghai to Annan, and then went north to Kunming by train.The Yunnan-Vietnam Railway runs parallel to the Fuliang River, following the momentum of the Hengduan Mountains, the river rolls south and the wheels clang north.I don't know how many bridges I have crossed and how many caves I have passed through.I leaned against the window and watched the peach blossoms reflected in the water for hundreds of miles. I was really jealous and dazzled.

After entering Sichuan, the rigid railway track can only call me from afar outside the mountain.I have to wait for the victory to return to the capital, and only after entering Jinling University can I have the pleasure of speeding on the Beijing-Shanghai road.It was the summer vacation of freshman year, and I went back to her hometown Wujin with my mother. The endless railroad tracks stretched into the gentle water village in the south of the Yangtze River, and Liusi cleared the sky and gently caressed the wheat waves.But half a year later, I took the Jinghu Road bus to go east, but I no longer got off the bus halfway, but went straight to Shanghai.That was the most memorable train journey: On the eve of the red flag crossing the river, we left Beijing in a hurry, and we were still traveling with mother and son. Fortunately, my son had grown up and was able to take care of the luggage.The carriage is packed like a box full of matches, but the limbs of the passengers cannot be arranged evenly like the matches, but crossed arms and legs, shoulders and arms staggered, complementing the virtual and the real.Mother still has a seat.As for me, I only have one foot half-stepped on the coffee table, and the other is in the air, not suspended in the air, but half-framed and half-pressed obliquely between the various limbs of various people.To maintain the "balance of power" in this way, changing legs is of course not possible, and going to the toilet is even more delusional.When you arrive in Shanghai, you have to fight to get out of the window, otherwise you will be caught in the middle of the new returning passengers and take you back to Nanjing.

After coming to Taiwan, I have more fate with the train.All the fast trains and slow trains, the mountain line and the sea line are all destined to be appreciated on the double track, but the east-west round trip on the former Beijing-Shanghai Road has now become the north-south round trip on the longitudinal line.On the rolling wind and fire thousand wheels, the mood of modern Nezha is sometimes the excitement of departure, sometimes the laziness of the return journey, sometimes the daydream of the afternoon sun, and sometimes the loneliness of the night rain.The large glass windows attract the magnificent mountains and rivers, the cities and villages near and far;Especially on long distances, the end station is still far away, and neither end can match reality. This is a transitional period when everything is passive for you, and you can think about your thoughts absolutely freely and let your consciousness flow freely.

When I was hungry, I bought a box of bento for lunch. Although it was only a piece of pork ribs and a few pieces of pickled melon, it looked particularly delicious under the high-speed dynamics of the scenery.When we arrived at Taichung Station, the front of the car took a heavy breath, and vendors with snack platters around their necks rushed forward.The temptation of sun cakes and pineapple cakes is always hard to refuse.As usual, I bought a box of boxes on the car, not necessarily for the deliciousness, but for the sweet nostalgia after chewing, and for many years, alas, since I was young, I have entered the station on this line , Exiting the station, passing the station, the first trip, revisiting, saying goodbye, overlapping memories.

The most vivid memories are not on this line, in Alishan and the east coast.Worshiping Alishan God was twelve years ago.The small scarlet narrow-gauge train circled up in the silence of the prehistoric desolation, sometimes advancing and retreating, sometimes crawling on the cliffs, sometimes hiding in the caves, and suddenly let out a cry, the echo bouncing back and forth between the cliffs.A ray of charming red is dragging among the green bushes, and even the ancient mountain face can't hold back. The Poseidon worshiping the east coast was almost three years ago, and I took the electrified train with me to go south on the Northern Circuit Line.The vast Pacific Ocean, where the sun and the moon come out, and where the stars are born, is not comparable to the strait after all. Looking east, it is a desperate blue water world. The undulating salty waves shake how many ports in the distance There are so many boats, you can't touch the edge, you can't explore the bottom, and the sea god's mind is hard to see even with a long anchor.Along the way, strange walls obstruct the sky, and strange rock towns are carved into the ugliest and most beautiful appearance by the wind and waves through the ages. They are listed on the shore like hundreds of miles of open-air art galleries. The knife marks are strong, and each piece is carved with time. Signature is the best way to satisfy the madman's "stone addiction".Not only are there rocky shores, but there are also many islands in the sea.When the train passed by, each island was unwilling to be lonely, and started to race with it.After all, they are all prisoners of the sea. The small ones can only run for three or two minutes, while the big ones, like Guishan Island, can only be chased for more than ten minutes before giving up.

In Saroyan's novel, there is a lonely wild child who always excitedly chases after a train passing by.Forty years ago, in the mountains of Sichuan, he was so lonely looking at the world map. He was just in front of his door, and the train didn't even pass by.Later, when I went to foreign countries and crossed oceans and seas, I often took planes instead of trains.Although airplanes can be thought of as Zhuangzi's leisurely journey or Liezi's journey against the wind, they fly among the clouds, parade in the void, and there are not many changes, and the windows are too narrow, which is not very attractive after a long time.It's not like the long distance of the train, the hypnotic rhythm, and the changing scenery. Looking out from the wide window, it seems to be in the world, and it seems to be out of the world.So when traveling overseas, wherever the double-tracks can go, I always stand on the platform—a veritable "long pavilion"—waiting for the masculine beauty of the train to rumble into the station. , come and take me to a distant place.

In the years in the United States, I took the train many times. When I was studying in Iowa City, I often took the train to Chicago to see Liu Liu and Sun Lu.The United States is a kingdom of cars, and trains are not particular.The old-fashioned train to Chicago has a relic of the 19th century. It is really uncomfortable to sit on, but the scenery along the way is tireless.Especially in autumn, there is a nice faint burnt smell in the field, the sun bakes all the ripe things more mature, the yellow maple leaves are mixed with the ocher oak leaves, burning all the way to the sky, who has seen such a beautiful What about "fire"?Crossing the Mississippi River, there was an empty clang on the iron bridge, and the shadow of the bridge was like a net, with abstract and beautiful lines, and suddenly it had kicked across a vast expanse of smoke.When dusk fell on the window and the lights of Zhicheng gradually dimmed, the old black driver shouted out the name of the station in a throaty voice: Tanglewood!

Once, I took a train from Chicago back to Iowa City.It was just after the Christmas holiday, and the car was full of students returning to school, most of them were still carrying their bags, making it even more crowded.Several American students and I squeezed between two carriages, standing on the joints of an old train. We were cold and thirsty, and the paper cups for drinking water were passed from the toilet to us all the way in the hands of everyone.A more serious problem is not being able to go to the toilet, because even that is full of people standing there.The train was already delayed, and we had already been stuck for three or four hours at the Zhicheng terminus, which was full of wind and fog, and the bladders were most likely to fill up in mid-winter.I finally "returned with a full load" and went all the way to the dormitory of Ai University.After the diarrhea, I suddenly felt that my body was as light as a fairy, and my center of gravity was completely lost.

American trains are notorious for being late.When I made up my mind to learn to drive a car in the United States, I was completely inspired by the classic train.There is nothing romantic about a train being delayed, or stopped halfway and waiting until the end of time, or even going backwards for some obscure reason.After several delays, in a fit of rage, I decided to hold the steering wheel in my own hands, and I could drive immediately regardless of the distance.As soon as I got the license, I parted ways with the train, and from then on I rode my highway and it knocked on its double rails.However, on the side of the expressway, I occasionally see winding trains speeding in the same direction. The slender and burly body, the steady and aggressive demeanor, especially in the west where the sky is high and the clouds are far away, still make my heart beat.I can't help but speed up to catch up, excited like a robber on horseback in a western movie, until I chase it into a cave. When I went to England in 1976, Zhou Yurui took me and Peng Ge to Cambridge.We were waiting on the platform of Victoria Station. The crowds rushing to and fro reminded people of the looks and moods of the characters in many famous novels who were involved in and out of this "vortex of life".The train left the city, and it was not going fast all the way. I couldn't see the clothes drying in the backyard and the bright and moving gardening between the red brick hedges.There was a severe drought in Western Europe that year, but the dry roses were unrestrainedly red.But it's the end of August, and the UK gives me the feeling that it has passed the late autumn of mature focus. Although it is late, it is still a beauty.The drizzle in Cambridge added a misty softness to the neat and clean medieval colleges.After all, the scenery that has been polished by the humanistic tradition has a more subdued and elegant charm, which is not comparable to the gleaming new buildings.In the illusory rain, we held black umbrellas and walked across the stone cave arch bridge on the Jianhe River. What lingered in our hearts were the iambic sentences in Milton's pastoral songs, not the Jiangnan local accent of the Xiashi genius.Red bricks and green vines can prove that half of the history of English literature is just the echo of this river.The rain finally turned into twilight, and we bid farewell to the brightly lit Cambridge station.Often, the most flavorful part of a big journey is this one-day "sidetrip". Two years later, I went to Sweden for a meeting. On the way back, I visited Denmark and Germany. I specially exchanged the ticket from Stockholm to Copenhagen for a beautiful train ticket with green letters on a yellow background.This journey would take one hour if flying directly on the clouds, but it took a full eight hours to travel on the railroad tracks from 8:30 am to 4:30 pm.The journey on the clouds, the sea and the sky are the same color, so beautiful that it is abstract.Eight hours of gliding on Hot Wheels took me deep into the four provinces of southern Sweden, crossing the green wheat fields and yellow mustard fields, climbing the mountains covered by silver birches and firs and cypresses, and crossing the mountains in the throat of Northern Europe. The Ruishengde Strait sails into Denmark in the fragrant sunset.Sweden is a kingdom of forests. All the doors, windows and chairs on the train are made of wood, giving people a warm and amiable feeling.The lunch served on the car is toasted bread sandwiched with fresh shrimps, poured with sweet Carlsberg beer, which suits my taste best.The southern tip of Sweden and the northern part of Denmark have many lakes on land and many islands in the sea. I once said in my poem that this area is "the country of the dragon slaying hero, the hometown of the mad prince". I don't know how gloomy and mysterious it is in my imagination.In fact, it was the turn of spring and summer at that time, and the days were long and the nights were short in northern Europe with high latitudes. On the soft blue strait, the twilight sky refused to end for a long time.I visited the night market of Copenhagen alone in the extended dusk, looking for the true and unreal legends in the fragrance of lights and flowers in the mermaid port. During my trip to Germany, I also took the train from Dusseldorf to Cologne.The carriages in Germany are similar to those in Sweden, with narrow aisles on one side and square compartments on the other. The decoration is simple and friendly, reminiscent of old world movies.There were few passengers, and I had a room all to myself, and suitcases and bags were randomly piled up on the benches.The silver-gray and orange-red train is going down the Rhine River, looking at the river view, and the ticket inspector said that Cologne has arrived.Just as I was about to carry my luggage up the corridor, I turned around abruptly, and suddenly caught a glimpse of two black spikes rising abruptly from the street house of the beehive and ant nest. The instant feeling was extremely abrupt and shocking.When you calm down, the train has already approached the pair of monsters. Under the steep steeple, there are many small towers neatly surrounding them. They are sharp and sharp, and they are guarded into a fortified atmosphere, so lofty and mysterious, with the awe-inspiring medieval Gothic style. The appearance of the gods towers in the air, and is unknown to the trivial sounds of the lower world.It turned out to be Cologne's cathedral, standing on the banks of the Rhine for more than 700 years.The train is turning.I don't know if it's because of the slight side, but I feel that the pair of giant towers are also tilted steeply, which is surprising.I don't know what the scene will be when the plane returns to land, but at least the scene of the train entering the city is very spectacular. Three years ago, I went to Lyon to attend the annual meeting of the International PEN. From Paris to Lyon, of course, I took the train. In order to go deep into the idyllic poetry of eastern France, I saw cows of various colors, whether yellow or black, or white with mottling. On the gentle slopes of the grassland, there are luxuriant grasses that reach far to the end of the world.Unfamiliar towns, changing stop signs like roll call.The small village is even more fleeting, and there are always poplars or green maples lining the country roads, covering the cottages with white walls and red roofs, and lining up with the thin steeple of the church, so gracefully pointing to the distant sky.Xi Sili, Pissarro, are you playing the reed flute in the early autumn wind?That year, France just launched the electric express train on the southeast line, called Le TGV (Train a Grande Vitesse), with a speed of 380 kilometers per hour, and it was widely publicized in the newspapers.On the return journey, French Pen will entertain us on this delicate red electric eel.Because the seats were facing each other, I actually rode the long eel backwards all the way into Paris.In the car, I don't think it's "fast and fast", but I feel that it's nothing more than that.In the early summer of this year, Ji Gang, Wang Lan, Jian Zhao, and Yang Mu and their party took a bullet train from Tokyo to Kyoto, and they only felt that it was "steady".Halfway in the car, the sky was getting dark, and I was eating a Japanese bento with eel and rice, and swallowing bitter Sapporo beer, when there was a commotion in the car, and I was amazed.Under the guidance of the neighbors, I was surprised to see the snow-capped Mount Fuji white in the night sky. I knew it was real, but it was only a shadow, like a strange illusion.The driving was extremely fast, and within three to five minutes, the pale shadow had already been covered by the nearby hills.Such a rapid change, dare to say that the artist of Ukiyo-e, the samurai wearing a hat and holding a sword, have never seen it. Universities in central and southern Taiwan often invite professors from Taipei to give lectures, and many friends inevitably go south to Taichung, Tainan or Kaohsiung every week.In the past, Gong Dingan traveled between Beijing and Hangzhou. Liu Yazi said that he "drives north and south to Baitou".These friends travel north and south on the island, and it seems that they will go to the end, but now they are on the double track, not riding a boat.I often laugh at them as actors.In fact, in the past ten years, I have been between Taipei and Hong Kong, so why not?In Taipei, I have called Xiamen Street my home for thirty years.The current Tingzhou Street was a narrow-gauge railway 20 years ago, and the small train can pass through the new store.At that time, when I was young, I used to step on the gravel beside the track at night, walking home with the sound of shoes, and sometimes I simply walked on the track, stepping on the sleepers to form a long flat ladder.Often in the middle of the winter night, halfway through the poem, you are facing the sky and the earth alone, and the whistle of the chills will be heard along the alley. There is a gentleness in the desolation, as if to say: All Taipei is sleeping Okay, I'm going back to the station too, you, do you still have to support this tilted world alone?When the bell rang to the passenger ship in the middle of the night, it was Zhang Ji.And I always have a whistle. In Hong Kong, my downstairs is the mountain, which is the middle of the Kowloon-Canton Railway.From dawn to late at night, there were at least a hundred passenger cars and trucks rolling under the balcony.When I first came here, almost every time I heard a train passing by, I couldn't help but think of the piece of land on the other side of the railroad track, which is like ten fingers connected to a heart.Over the past ten years, I have gotten used to that kind of beat, and it has long since become the background music in the great silence, combining with the mountain wind and sea tide to form a seamless sound of nature.The sound of the grinding of the wheels and rails, mournful in the distance, and heroic in the near, wakes me up in the morning and shakes me to sleep in the middle of the night. It has sneaked into my pulse and communicated with my breath.When I return to Taiwan in the future, what I am most uncomfortable with is the lack of this metal rhythm, and that is the real loneliness.Maybe it should be taped, on the most sensitive machines, for future nostalgia.There is a railway nearby, which seems to hold the artery of the world, and it is always affectionate. After the electrification of the trains in Hong Kong, everyone sat in the compartment as calm as a refrigerator, and suddenly felt nostalgic for the old days, and faintly felt that the black-headed old trains of the past, the kind that dragged soot and sighed heavily, were old-fashioned and stubborn. the taste of.In the old car, there were always hawkers running through the aisles, selling vegetarian food and "phoenix feet", not to mention newspaper vendors.In ordinary-ticket carriages, men, women, young and old, regardless of class, sit together in a promiscuous manner. Some read newspapers silently, some stare blankly at the sea, some doze off, some gnaw chicken feet, and some chat leisurely. , Some spoke passionately about state affairs, but the housewife next to them ignored them and only cared about scolding their children.If you want a sample of Hong Kong society, here it is.On the extra bus on weekends, more returnees from Guangzhou picked up all the big bags and small cages with a shoulder pole.This situation always reminds me of Honore Daumier's famous painting "On the Third Class Car".It's a pity that Hong Kong didn't have its own dumiye, and the sweaty and rustic passengers in the electrified carriages seem to have disappeared all of a sudden, and the peddlers have also disappeared from the platforms.I deeply miss the era of shoulder to elbow.Standing on the tidy platform with the yellow line drawn today, I always feel that something is missing, until I remember the siren whistle in the past. There are many poems about trains, and I have written quite a few of them myself.I have even translated several poems like this, but I like this one by the Turkish poet Cahit Sitki Taranci the most: Many things happened.