Fan Jinghua: Ship of Fools

　　　Ship of Fools
That is a long boat, shoveling into the still turbulence of craving
With paddles of arms, poles of legs, snuggling
Along the water of time, bodyful of surrender
Some nights, your bunk bed also sails like an ark for two
Carrying on the upper bunk cargoes of cartons and suitcases
In which folded solitude, maple leaves
Fish and birds faintly breathe memories
Every time you take them out, you stretch your arms, putting them against the light
To examine their shape and shade
Outside the window, spring scents and autumn colors hurt your senses
Repeatedly

Mornings, you’d walk from the hilltop dorm
At the enormous whistles of steam hammers from the valley
To your desk that is surrounded by soaring file cabinets
Mornings, noon dozes, afternoons, tomorrows
Therefore, the time before you step out of your dorm is always too long
And you often have no time to dress up
Not because of being “too halfhearted to please any eyes”
But in your imagination you allow me to follow you
You stop before a foodstand, asking for a cup of soybean milk and a sticky rice bun
The warmth makes you absent-minded
And at this moment the image I sent you last night reaches your mind

A spread-out pelt with four limbs so flatten that a cross of olive twigs
Would send me flying like a kite in the wind
You suddenly feel a terror at heart, the plastic cup distorted in your hand
The white milk almost dropped on the ground
Why the naked warmth of the morning sun injects such an acute desperation
So early into you and catches you so unprepared
You are too ashamed to let me wobble in the sky or to look at my exaggerated smile
The pain has nothing to do with the size and strength of the thread
But the need of constant dragging that keeps me unfallen

In the archives, no one compares life with you
You live like them and compare them in muteness
On the shelves, in the cabinets, the boxes and folders, lives are abundantly lived
Some are thick, some thin
Some long dead, some more living outside the containers
And only those who are recently dead are visited by notices to change their lives
You sit behind the windowpanes that keep your body
From sunbathing in the corridor where so seldom feet pass by
That it cannot be called deserted by anyone
Except the sunrays which drop like some liquid before it falls into the night
What on earth are the differences between a small carton and a big concrete box
If fantasies are never recorded and registered, the fantasies
That are beyond the regulations of reality and stir sweet shames and guilt in everyone
You bring to your mind a demure woman from the square mirror
Behind the half-closed door
Who occasionally pat on her cheeks
And behind her shoulder is a lake blue background
Of a mosquito net and the hooks are dangling like tassels
Never lifted it up, never pulled it open

In a few more seconds you’d see yourself as a catamaran
That has drifted out of an unloved night into the bustling wet market
Where I’d follow you diligently like a sailor-husband on leave
From a farmer’s to a butcher’s, answering all your flat-toned what-do-you-like
With a whatever-will-do which only invites your flat-toned complaints
But the asking and answering carries on throughout the vocation
We’d never imagine what would happen if the asking-and-answering
Stops at you or me
The same as no one scares themselves with the vision
Of a ship wrecked on an ocean that suddenly dries up
And every passenger has to keep each other alive with the expendable flesh
Like fishes with saliva

No one asks about the multiplication in the Ark before the flood recedes
And no prophet speaks on his way to his usual corner where he sunbathes
He who sits full on his own bottoms can pronounce
Things of significance
Such as there are broken yarns at the edge of sky
And he sees that once the sky is ripped apart it will be
A shroud for every walking dead under the sun

You live on a hilltop
With three other young women, in four coffin-like bunk beds,
And your face is like an apple which I have touched my lips, not once
With suppressed breaths
I am not a prince, not at all, and not even a hunter good at arrows or spears
Therefore you cannot be a sleeping beauty
And you will not wake up, eyes sweetly astonished with boldness
Your breath is so calm that every sound will stir up the others
And once woken up, they would bite and tear our shadows from behind
So you have to let your back freeze from the spine upward
And anyone who dares to stick out their tongues will be stuck to the ice
While you take up jogging, faster and faster, your breasts
Billowy and buoyant, and your jogging strains all their necks
Now your hair is charged with electric warmth, the chillness retrogresses
To your tailbone. Take my advice, dear
You should not wear trousers for you swim like a medusa
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 9, 2008
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 17, 2008
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Nov. 24, 2008 (revised)


　　　愚人船

一支长船，插入水，像渴望一样穿过静静的奔涌
桨的手，篙的腿，服帖
在时间的水上，如同瘫软了整个身体，放弃于黑夜
你挂着床帏的架子床，上铺无人，摆放着皮箱和大纸盒
孤独与艳遇还有想象寄居其中，有风筝与红叶
还有鱼和鸟呼吸着记忆
你每次拿出来，便生出亲吻远方的欲望
所以你尽量伸出手，对着光，看厚薄，看明暗
窗外，春天带着甜味秋天颜色薰人
一次又一次刺伤你的感觉

你已不记得早晨应该有鸟叫了，按时的是巨大的汽锤声
然后你要从小山上下来
去坐在高高的拥挤的文件柜下，上午，午间的盹，然后下午，然后明天
因此你走出宿舍门口之前的那段时间
似乎很长，以至于你总是没有足够的时间描眉
倒不是因为没有可以愉悦的眼睛
你在想象中一直让我尾随
走过小吃摊，要了一杯豆浆和一只糯米团
那温暖令你心不在焉
而我在昨夜度给你的想象此刻终于低调地抵达

一张毛皮，甚至铺开的四肢也很平坦
只需一个橄榄枝一样细的十字支架就能将它送上天飘飞
而你突然一阵心慌，手中的小塑料杯捏得变了形，差点挤出淡黄的白豆浆
为何裸脸的朝阳这么早就将一剂急性绝望注射进了你的细润与洁白
这么毫无警告
你无法将我扑倒被蠹空的样子当作风筝放进风中
不忍看我在天空夸张地咧嘴而笑
令你疼痛的
不是细线会勒手或者粗线会很累
而是一种从未有过的羞耻
是你不能时不时地拉紧或者抖动绳子才能令我的毛皮不至于坠落

档案室内，没有人与你比较人生，你生活得和他们一样
架子、夹子、盒子、柜子，堆放着的都是，不过有厚有薄
有些人早已死了，更多人活在这间房子之外
只有那些刚死不久的，被一纸通知永久地改变了人生
你坐在窗玻璃下的桌前，身体无法出去
这走廊总是没有脚步，不可说是被人抛弃，只有阳光
如一种液体垂顾，然后渗进了黑夜
如果幻想从不被记录在案
小纸盒与混凝土房间封闭起来的岁月又有何不同
与现实无关的幻想，令人为之亢奋和愧疚，闷闷地快乐
而你看到的自己是半掩着门时那只方镜子里的端庄女人
偶尔用手轻轻拍一拍自己的脸颊
背景上有一片湖蓝色的蚊帐
带流苏的帐钩吊着，帐门从未撩起，从未敞开

往往只需要数秒钟你就能将自己凝视成一条双体船
从无人爱你的黑夜航向忙乱的菜市场
我亦步亦趋地跟着你，看你低头看菜、说话而不转头
像大多数女人一样似乎不露温情地问"想吃什么"
而我总是回答"随便"，如此你便有机会毫无愠色地抱怨
就这样，这样的问答继续了整个假期
我们甚至从不想象一个人不问另一个人不答
那会怎样
犹如没有人在船只停泊之前想象海水枯干，所有旅客都得相濡以沫
犹如方舟里的岁月不存在繁衍
预言大师从不在走向他通常晒太阳的角落之前
开口，他以沉默按住了自己
直到他的双股坐得踏实，才会宣布重要幻象
例如，他看到几根纱线断了
天空的白棉布将从那儿撕裂，裹住天下所有的行尸走肉

住在小山上的你和她们各自把守着棺材一样的架子床
你脸色如苹果，我曾俯身其上，不止一次呼吸急促
而压抑，因为我
不是王子，不是王子，甚至不是猎人
既不善射箭、也不善投枪，所以你不可以是睡美人
你永远不会醒来，眼睛永远不会有甜蜜的惊慌与大胆
但你呼吸基本匀称，而一点声响都能
惊动她们在我们的背后一块块地撕咬我们的影子
所以你就让后背结冰，越来越向上蔓延，胆敢伸出来的舌头将被粘住
而你开始喜欢上了快走，胸前的跳跃越来越欢，她们全都扭了头
如今你满怀温暖，发稍带着静电
凉气又退化到了你的尾骨
听我的忠告，亲爱的
你不适合穿裤子，因为你像水母一样善游
　　　　　　　　　　2008年11月24日