见书思乡
方壶斋
我在读一本关于当代中国的人类学著作。书的标题是《平凡与特别：对中国改革的人类学研究》。作者是牛津大学的佛朗克-N-皮埃克，出版于1996年。这本书很好，值得翻译成中文，哪怕不是作为人类学著作来翻。我的意思是可以把前面的理论部分省去，这样更适合普罗大众阅读。
我很喜欢这本书的装祯。书是精装的，鲜红色。标题是黄色的，典型的革命风格，很适合书的内容。封皮纸的设计也很好。那种红颜色里，暗暗地有一种布纹，给颜色以深重感。封皮上前后面印着北京天安门广场的轮廓图，包括了中山公园，劳动人民文化宫，人民大会堂，前门箭楼和革命博物馆。地图的印法好像是底片，街道是黑的，字是白的，建筑物是透明的灰色。看起来有点象卫星照片。看这张地图的人会觉得他是在看一张退了色的老地图。
我花了点时间研究这张地图。我看了每一个角落，力图回想起过去我曾经在哪些地方见到过什么。我曾经骑车从这些街道至少每个星期走一次。每次从东郊往城里骑的时候，我或者沿着长安街走，或者在东单往南拐，进入崇文门大街，再往西拐到前三门大街上。到了前门就往南拐进前门大街。然后，我会往右拐进珠市口北街，然后经过珠市口，菜市口回家。过前门大街的时候，常常会在箭楼前头，火车售票处那块儿碰到堵车的情况。
奇怪的是我很少走东交民巷。那是条僻静的街，街两边的房子什么样我到现在还不清楚。我也很少走纪念堂西边的背街。我走的都是繁忙的大街。
现在，看着中山公园的地图，我认识到我已经多年没有看到五色土了。实际上，出国前的几年里，我跑文化宫远比进中山公园的次数多，尽管中山公园可看的东西多一些。这也许是因为文化宫里有个人才交流中心的缘故。那里每年也办两次书市。我想，现在中山公园一进门往西去那湾儿可能已经没有金鱼了吧。我小时候那可是有好些缸金鱼呢。我长大以后，也很少去看兰亭碑了，同样地，陶然亭的石评梅墓也很少去凭吊了。
说来也怪，一个人长大以后，就很少去看小时候常去的地方。就我来说，也许是因为我没有带小孩到我小时候玩过的地方去的必要。这样，童年的记忆就变得模糊起来，注意的焦点也离开纯真年代，渐行渐远。
另外一个原因是作为北京的市民，我总是把那些好去处看成是自己家后院里的东西，想什么时候看就什么时候看。这种心理常常导致一种长年累月的拖延，以至于有一天会发现想去看也不是那么容易就去了，就像我现在这样。比如说，我没法子下决心明天就上西单去吃豆花庄。即使我特别想去，我也得订一张机票，还不是马上就拿得到。
我在另外一本书里看到过1900前不久拍的一张箭楼的照片。我注意到那个时候，地面上有井栏一样的东西。我不知道那是什么。照片里的人当然是旧时打扮，可是那个时候穿得已经相当现代了。在我看来，照片里的房屋街道很新，怪怪的。在这张照片里，一百年的历史奇怪地消失了。
我想，北京的老城就是一个历史和现在奇怪地交织在一块的地方。人走在老城，能够感到自己属于历史。他的存在因此变得及其充实。
那就是为什么我常常骑车在宣武区我过去上学走的小胡同里穿行。我是在回味我的历史，也许还有我的历史的“现在”部分。虽然时间改变着这些胡同和街道的面貌，但是只要那里还有一块旧砖，记忆就会不断地延续。
我对校场口胡同的最为温馨的回忆是那个小窄胡同里的澡堂子。你走进澡堂，买一个牌子，来到洗澡的地方。服务员走过来跟你打招呼，把你领到一张没人的床边。要是床都占着，他就拉过来一个大筐，说：“先脱筐。”然后你走进热气腾腾的洗澡间。那里头有一个大池子，隔成几个水温各异的小池子。最小的是给孩子的，水温适中。最远的一个是最烫的，只有不要命的才敢下去。大部分人都呆在中间的池子里。蒸汽让人看不清彼此的面貌，但是碍不着听声儿。你总是能听到有人唱戏。还有的人冷不丁大叫一声。池子里的水当然是不干净的，但是管它呢！很多北京人的乐趣之一就是泡澡。
洗完澡出来以后，你在门口盖着盖子的桶里拎出来一条热得烫手的毛巾。毛巾是热得你都拿不住，得把它在两只手中来回倒腾。这条毛巾是给你擦脸擦身的。你也拿一条大浴巾，围在身上，象傣族妇女的筒裙。
然后你就到自己的床那儿去，但是去之前，你可能想来一杯茶。茶和茶杯都是现成儿的。不要钱。那茶的味道不错，很有喝头。
你在床上半躺着，一边喝茶，一边注意到时候还早，你还不慌着走，便躺下来，没多会儿你就睡着了。不管澡堂子生意多忙，没有人会来麻烦你。找不着床的主，筐有的是。
北京的现代化速度很快，但是澡堂子还没有完全成为过去。成为过去了的是澡堂子的魂儿，是澡堂子文化里的那份殷勤，那份客气，那份闲适。
现在我每天都有条件洗澡，但是我并不每天都洗。舒服和方便到了手边的的时候，反而容易不往心里去。生活就是这样。另一个原因是没人一块洗。
1997年8月18日英文稿
2005年2月28日翻译
2024年校对
I am reading an anthropological study of contemporary China. The title is “The Ordinary and the Extraordinary, an anthropological
study of Chinese Reform.” It is written by Frank N. Pieke of the
Oxford University and published in 1996. It is a very good book that
deserves to be translated into Chinese even though not as an
anthropological work ( I mean, the theoretical part at the beginning
can be omitted if the translation is meant to be read by the general
public).
What I like about the book is the binding. The hard cover is of the
color of bright red and the title is yellow, the
typical revolutionary color that fit the content of the book very
well. The dust jacket is well designed. Also of the red color, there
is an underlying texture similar to the texture of woven cloth or
wood. This texture gives some feeling of depth to the red color.
Overlaid on this red jacket, on both the front and the back, are two
versions of the same map of the Tiananmen Square that includes most
of the Zhongshan Park and the Working People’s Cultural Palace on the
north, the Great People’s Conference Hall on the west , the Arrow
Tower on the south and the Museums of the Chinese Revolution and
History on the east. The map is printed in such a way they it look
like the negatives of a photograph: the streets are black, the
characters are white, the buildings are transparently grey. It
resembles the product of satellite imaging. The overall feeling that
one gets by reading the map is that he seems to be reading an old
map whose color has faded.
I spent sometime examining the map. I looked at every street and
try to recall what I used to be able to see there. I used to drive my
bike through these streets at least once a week. When I was coming
home from the east suburb, I used to drive either along the Chang’an
Street or turn south at Dongdan to the Chongwenmen Street, then turn west into the Qiansanmen Street. When I arrived at Qianmen the Arrow Tower, I would turn south into the Qianmen Street. When I was going along the Qianmen Street, I would often make a right turn
into the Zhushikou North Street and go home by way of Zhushikou and
Caishikou. As I pass the Arrow Tower, I could often see crowds of
people causing traffic jam at that corner where there is still I
believe the train ticket station.
Strange enough I seldom took Dongjiao Minxiang, a quiet street
whose buildings on either sides I am still unfamiliar with. Nor do I
often take the back streets to the west of the Chairman Mao’s
Mausoleum. I always took the busy streets.
Now when I look at the interior of the Zhongshan Park, I realize
that it has been a long time since I visited the Five Colored Earth
Terrace. Actually in the past few years I have been frequenting the
Working People’s Cultural Palace more than I do the Zhongshan Park,
despite that Zhongshan Park has more to offer. This may be because
the Beijing Talents Exchange Center is located there and there are
twice a year a big book fair. I do not think there are gold fish to
watch nowadays before the Siyixuan in the Zhongshan Park. There used
to be when I was a kid. The tablet of the Orchid Pavilion has been a
neglected place for me in my grown up years, just as the tomb of Shi
Pingmei in the Taoranting Park has been forgotten.
It is strange that when one grows up, he tends to overlook many
places that he used to visit in childhood. In my case, I think maybe
it is because I do not have children and there is no need for me to
take my kids to the places I used to visit as a child. In this way,
the child‑time memories gradually become faint and the point of
attention shifts far away from the years of innocence.
Another reason may be that as a resident of Beijing I tend to
regard all the good places as my own backyard that I can visit
anytime I want. This psychology often leads to a prolonged
procrastination until one day you find that you are physically unable
to go to these places, like I am in my current situation. For
example, I cannot make up my mind to go Xidan to eat at
Douhuazhuang tomorrow because even if I want to go there very much, I
have to order an air ticket that cannot be available right away.
In another book I saw a picture of the Arrow Tower taken shortly
before 1900. I noticed that on the ground there used to be something
resembling the rails surrounding a well in the countryside. I have
no idea what that was. The people in the streets were dressed in the
old way of course, but dressing at that time was already approaching
modern style. The building and the streets appeared oddly new to me.
One hundred years’ history simply disappeared in this picture.
I think the old quarters of Beijing is just such a place where
history and here and now mixes up strangely.
Walking in these quarters, one feels that he belongs to history and
his existence is highly substantialized.
That is why I used to drive my bike in the small lanes in the
Xuanwu district that I used to take when going to school. I savored
my past and made my “xianzai” part of my history. Although time
changes the appearance of these lanes and streets, as long as there
is one old brick the memory will linger on and on.
The dearest memory of one lane, Jiaochangkou, is the public bath
house in a narrow hutong. You walk into the bath house, buy a “paizi”
(a wooden or metal plate) and go into the bathing place proper. You
are greeted by a waiter, who shows you to an unoccupied bed, or
if there is no free bed, pulls a big basket over, saying “xian
tuokuang” (undress [and put your stuff in ] the basket first). Then you go into
the bath tub room full of hot steam. There is a big bath tub divided
into small ones with water of different temperatures. The smallest
one is for children and the water temperature is mild. The one to the
farthest end is the hottest one that only the devils can get
into. Most people stay in the middle. Steam blurs the sight of people
but you can hear well and there is always someone singing or even
uttering a big cry all of a sudden. The bath water is of course not
clean but no one cares. Paozao (soaking) used to be a favourite
pastime for many Beijingers.
As you finish bathing, you walk out of the room and take a hot
towel from a pail covered with a lid. The towel is very hot, so hot
that when you take it out, you can hardly hold it long. You have to
change your hands from time to time for a few minutes. This towel is
for drying yourself. You also take a big towel and put it around your
waist, like a Dai women wearing a tube skirt.
You then walk to your bed, but before doing so, you may want to
have a cup of tea. The tea and the cups are there for your use. It is
free. The tea is usually good.
Lying on your bed, sipping your tea, you notice that time is early
and you are not in a hurry to go, so you lie down and presently fall
asleep. No matter how busy the bath house is, no waiter will come to
bother you. There are enough baskets for those who cannot find a bed.
Bath houses are not totally things past, despite the speed of
modernization in Beijing. What may have been the past may be the”
bath house spirit”, the courtesy, politeness and casualty of the
bath house culture. I do not know.
Now I can take a bath everyday, but I do not make it an everyday
practice to even wash my face and my feet before going to
bed. When some comfort and privilege is at hand, you tend to ignore
it. That is life. Another reason may be that there are no other
people bathing together with me.