6. Cha̍p-chì pian-chi̍p bē-kì-tit ka-tī ê miâ
Tī tńg-chhù ê hóe-chhia téng, góa tī sim-lāi kā kâu-san kă kóng ê it-chhè koh siūⁿ chi̍t-piàn. Góa chīn-liōng kā kì ē-tiâu ê só͘-ū sè-chiat lóng kì tī kang-chok só͘ iōng ê pit-kì-phō͘, siūⁿ kóng tńg kàu Tokyo góa boeh kā kui-ê tāi-chì ùi thâu kàu bóe kā siá chhut-lâi.
Jû-kó kau-san chin-chiàⁿ chûn-chāi -- chāi góa khòaⁿ tiāⁿ-tio̍h sī án-ne -- góa oân-choân bô khak-tēng, góa tio̍h chiap-siū gōa-chē i tī lim bihlù ê sî kă kóng ê tāi-chì. Chin oh tùi i ê kò͘-sū chò kong-chèng ê phòaⁿ-toàn. Kám chin-chiàⁿ ū khó-lêng thau cha-bó͘ lâng ê miâ koh kā piàn-sêng ka-tī ê? Che kám-sī Shinagawa Kâu chiah ū ê châi-lêng? Hoān-sè hit-chiah kâu sī pēⁿ-thài ê pe̍h-chha̍t. Siáng chai neh? Tong-jiân, góa m̄-bat thiaⁿ lâng kóng kòe ài kóng sian-kó͘ ê kâu-san, m̄-koh, kâu nā ū hoat-tō͘ chhiūⁿ i hiah gâu kóng lâng-ōe, i mā ū khó-lêng sī chi̍t-ê si̍p-koàn-sèng ê pe̍h-chha̍t, che mā m̄-sī bô khó-lêng.
Ūi tio̍h khang-khòe, góa bat chhái-hóng chē-chē lâng, mā í-keng put-chí-á gâu phīⁿ chhut siáng ē-sìn-tit, siáng bē. Chi̍t-ê lâng kóng chi̍t-khùn ê ōe, lí tō ē-tàng lia̍h tio̍h bó͘-chióng bî-miāu ê àm-sī kap sìn-hō, tit-tio̍h chi̍t-ê ti̍t-kak, chai-iáⁿ chit-lâng sī-m̄-sī ē-sìn-tit. Iá góa oân-choân bô kám-kak, Shinagawa Kâu kă kóng ê tāi-chì sī chi̍t-ê pian-chō ê kò͘-sū. I ê ba̍k-sîn, i ê piáu-chêng, i put-sî thêng-khùn su-khó būn-tê ê hong-sek, i ê tòng-tiām, i ê chhiú-sè, i kóng ōe tùn-teⁿ ê khoán -- chāi-chāi lóng bô sêng sī ké-pâu a̍h bián-kióng ê. Jî-chhiáⁿ, siōng tiōng-iàu ê, i ê thán-pe̍h ū oân-choân, sīm-chì thòng-khó͘ ê chin-si̍t.
Góa khin-sang ê tan-to̍k lí-hêng kiat-sok ah, koh tńg-lâi kàu siâⁿ-chhī ê lin-long se̍h ê seng-oa̍h. Sui-jiân bô siáⁿ-mih kap khang-khòe iú-koan ê tōa jīm-bū, m̄-koh, in-ūi nî-hòe ê koan-hē, góa hoat-hiān ka-tī pí kòe-khì koh-khah bô-êng. Sî-kan khòaⁿ tio̍h ná lú lâi lú kín. Lo̍h-bóe, góa bô kā jīm-hô lâng kóng khí Shinagawa Kâu ê tāi-chì, mā bô siá chhut jīm-hô iú-koan i ê mi̍h-kiāⁿ. Nā bô-lâng ē sìn, góa ná tio̍h án-ne chò? Tî-hui góa ū chèng-kì -- its* hit-chiah kâu khak-si̍t chûn-chāi ê chèng-bêng -- nā bô, lâng tō ē kóng, góa "iū teh pian kò͘-sū." Jî-chhiáⁿ, góa nā kā siá chò sió-soat, kò͘-sū mā bô bêng-khak ê tiong-sim a̍h tiōng-tiám. Góa siūⁿ ē-kàu, góa ê pian-chi̍p bīn tài giâu-gî kóng, "góa pháiⁿ-sè án-ne mn̄g, in-ūi lí sī chok-chiá, chit-ê kò͘-sū ê chú-tê tàu-té sī siáⁿ-mih?" [* its = iā-tō-sī, 也就是]
Chú-tê? Ká-ná bô neh. Che put-kò sī kóng ū chi̍t-chiah lāu-kâu ē-hiáu kóng-ōe, tī Gunma Koān chi̍t-ê un-chôaⁿ sió tìn, tī hia ūi lâng-kheh lù kha-chiah-phiaⁿ, i kah-ì lim peng bihlù, ài tio̍h jîn-lūi ê cha-bó͘, koh thau-the̍h yin ê miâ. Án-ne ū siáⁿ chú-tê? A̍h-sī kóng, ū siáⁿ gū-ì?
Put-jî-kò, tòe sî-kan ê keng-kòe, góa tùi hit-ê un-chôaⁿ tìn ê kì-tî mā khai-sí po̍h khì. M̄-koán kì-tî goân-pún gōa chhiⁿ-chhioh, in chóng-sī chiàn bē iâⁿ sî-kan.
M̄-koh, gō͘ nî āu ê kin-á-ji̍t, góa koat-tēng boeh kin-kì tong-chho͘ ló-chhó kì lo̍h-lâi ê pit-kì, kā siá chhut-lâi. Hō͘ góa án-ne siūⁿ, lóng sī in-ūi chòe-kīn hoat-seng ê tāi-chì. Nā m̄-sī in-ūi hit-ê tāi-chì, góa khó-lêng mā bē siá chit-phiⁿ kò͘-sū.
Góa tī Akasaka (赤坂) chi̍t-keng hotel ê kapi thiaⁿ ū chi̍t-ê hām khang-khòe iú-koan ê biān-tâm. Góa iok kìⁿ ê lâng sī chi̍t-ê lí-hêng cha̍p-chì pian-chi̍p. Chi̍t-ê chin bê-lâng ê cha-bó͘, tāi-iok saⁿ-cha̍p hòe, sió-lia̍p-chí, tn̂g thâu-mo͘, phôe-hu iù-mī-mī, ba̍k-chiu tōa koh ū-sîn. Yi sī chi̍t-ê khiàng-kha pian-chi̍p. Iáu koh tan-sin. Goán í-keng ha̍p-chok kúi-ā pái, chò-tīn liáu bē-bái. Kang-chok oân-sêng liáu, goán chē lo̍h-lâi ná lim kapi ná khai-káng chi̍t-khùn.
Yi ê chhiú-ki-á hiáng, yi pháiⁿ-sè pháiⁿ-sè lia̍h góa khòaⁿ chi̍t-ē. Góa piáu-sī kóng, yi ē-sái chiap tiān-ōe. Yi khòaⁿ lâi-tiān ê hō-bé, tō kā chiap. He ká-ná sī iú-koan yi ê tēng-ūi ê tāi-chì. Khó-lêng sī chhan-thiaⁿ, a̍h lí-koán, a̍h hâng-pan. Tō-sī hit-lūi ê tāi-chì. Yi kóng chi̍t-khùn, ná kiám-cha yi ê chhiú-chí phō͘-á, jiân-āu hut-jiân kō͘ chi̍t-ê put-an ê gán-sîn khòaⁿ góa.
"Chin pháiⁿ-sè," yi sè-sè siaⁿ tùi góa kóng, chhiú kā tiān-ōe cha̍h tio̍h. "Góa chai, che sī koài būn-tê, m̄-koh chhiáⁿ mn̄g, góa kiò siáⁿ-mih miâ?"
Góa suh chi̍t-ē khùi, m̄-koh góa chīn-liōng kek kah chin sù-siông, kóng chhut yi ê choân-miâ. Yi tìm-thâu, jiân-āu kā hit-ê sìn-si̍t kóng hō͘ tiān-ōe hit-thâu ê lâng. Jiân-āu, yi kòa tiāu tiān-ōe, koh kā góa hōe sit-lé.
"Góa tú-chiah chiâⁿ pháiⁿ-sè. Hiông-hiông góa soah bē-kì-tit ka-tī ê miâ. Góa ū kàu kiàn-siàu."
"Pêng-sî kám mā ē án-ne?" góa mn̄g.
Yi sió-khóa tiû-tû chi̍t-ē, m̄-koh iáu-sī tìm-thâu. "Tio̍h, kīn-lâi chhiâng-chāi án-ne. Góa hut-leh tō bē-kì-tit ka-tī ê miâ. Tō ná-chhiūⁿ hut-leh hūn-khì a̍h án-nóa."
"Lí mā ē bē-kì-tit kî-thaⁿ ê mi̍h-kiāⁿ bô? Chhin-chhiūⁿ kóng, bē-kì-tit lí ê seⁿ-ji̍t, tiān-ōe hō-bé, a̍h bi̍t-bé?"
Yi chin khéng-tēng iô chi̍t-ē thâu. "Bē, lóng bē. Góa ê kì-sèng it-hiòng bē-bái. Góa tùi só͘-ū goán pêng-iú ê seⁿ-ji̍t lóng kì ē-tiâu. Góa m̄-bat bē-kì-tit pa̍t-lâng ê miâ, sīm-chì chi̍t-pái mā m̄-bat. M̄-koh, ū-sî soah ē bē-kì-tit ka-tī ê miâ. Góa siūⁿ bô, ná ē án-ne. Kòe kúi hun-cheng liáu-āu, góa iū koh ē-kì-tit, m̄-koh hit kúi hun-cheng si̍t-chāi chin liáu-jiân, hō͘ góa khí chheⁿ-kiaⁿ. He tō ná góa piàn-chò m̄-sī góa ka-tī. Lí siūⁿ, che kám sī Alzheimer chèng-thâu ê sian-tiāu?"
Góa thò͘ chi̍t-ē khùi. "I-ha̍k-siōng, góa m̄-chai neh, m̄-koh, chū tang-sî khai-sí, lí hut-jiân bē-kì-tit lí ê miâ?"
Yi ba̍k-chiu bui-bui siūⁿ chi̍t-ē. "Góa siūⁿ, tāi-khài pòaⁿ-nî chêng. Góa siūⁿ sī tī góa khì khòaⁿ sakura hit-sî. He sī tē-it kái."
"Mn̄g lí chi̍t-ê ká-ná kî-koài ê būn-tê, hit-sî lí kám ū phah-m̄-kìⁿ siáⁿ mi̍h-kiāⁿ? Bó͘-chióng sin-hūn ê chèng-kiāⁿ, chhiūⁿ kóng kà-sú chip-chiàu, hō͘-chiàu, pó-hiám khah?"
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6. 雜誌編輯袂記得家己 ê 名
Tī 轉厝 ê 火車頂, 我 tī 心內 kā 猴山 kă 講 ê 一切 koh 想一遍. 我盡量 kā 記會牢 ê 所有細節攏記 tī 工作所用 ê 筆記簿, 想講轉到 Tokyo 我欲 kā 規个代誌 ùi 頭到尾 kā 寫出來.
如果猴山真正存在 -- 在我看定著是 án-ne -- 我完全無確定, 我著接受偌濟伊 tī 啉 bihlù ê 時 kă 講 ê 代誌. 真僫對伊 ê 故事做公正 ê 判斷. 敢真正有可能偷查某人 ê 名 koh kā 變成家己 ê? 這敢是 Shinagawa 猴才有 ê 才能? 凡勢彼隻猴是病態 ê 白賊. Siáng 知 neh? 當然, 我毋捌聽人講過愛講仙古 ê 猴山, 毋過, 猴若有法度像伊 hiah gâu 講人話, 伊 mā 有可能是一个習慣性 ê 白賊, 這 mā 毋是無可能.
為著工課, 我捌採訪濟濟人, mā 已經不止仔 gâu 鼻出 siáng 會信得, siáng 袂. 一个人講一睏 ê 話, 你 tō 會當掠著某種微妙 ê 暗示 kap 信號, 得著一个直覺, 知影這人是毋是會信得. 也我完全無感覺, Shinagawa 猴 kă 講 ê 代誌是一个編造 ê 故事. 伊 ê 目神, 伊 ê 表情, 伊不時停睏思考問題 ê 方式, 伊 ê 擋恬, 伊 ê 手勢, 伊講話頓蹬 ê 款 -- 在在攏無成是假包 a̍h 勉強 ê. 而且, 上重要 ê, 伊 ê 坦白有完全, 甚至痛苦 ê 真實.
我輕鬆 ê 單獨旅行結束 ah, koh 轉來到城市 ê lin-long 踅 ê 生活. 雖然無啥物 kap 工課有關 ê 大任務, 毋過, 因為年歲 ê 關係, 我發現家己比過去閣較無閒. 時間看著 ná lú 來 lú 緊. 落尾, 我無 kā 任何人講起 Shinagawa 猴 ê 代誌, mā 無寫出任何有關伊 ê 物件. 若無人會信, 我那著 án-ne 做? 除非我有證據 -- its* 彼隻猴確實存在 ê 證明 -- 若無, 人 tō 會講, 我 "又 teh 編故事." 而且, 我若 kā 寫做小說, 故事 mā 無明確 ê 中心 a̍h 重點. 我想會到, 我 ê 編輯面帶憢疑講, "我歹勢 án-ne 問, 因為你是作者, 這个故事 ê 主題到底是啥物?" [* its = iā-tō-sī, 也就是]
主題? 敢若無 neh. 這不過是講有一隻老猴會曉講話, tī Gunma 縣一个溫泉小鎮, tī 遐為人客鑢尻脊骿, 伊佮意啉冰 bihlù, 愛著人類 ê 查某, koh 偷提姻 ê 名. Án-ne 有啥主題? 抑是講, 有啥寓意?
不而過, 綴時間 ê 經過, 我對彼个溫泉鎮 ê 記持 mā 開始薄去. 毋管記持原本偌鮮沢, in 總是戰袂贏時間.
毋過, 五年後 ê 今仔日, 我決定欲根據當初潦草記落來 ê 筆記, kā 寫出來. 予我 án-ne 想, 攏是因為最近發生 ê 代誌. 若毋是因為彼个代誌, 我可能 mā 袂寫這篇故事.
我 tī Akasaka (赤坂) 一間 hotel ê kapi 廳有一个和工課有關 ê 面談. 我約見 ê 人是一个旅行雜誌編輯. 一个真迷人 ê 查某, 大約三十歲, 小粒子, 長頭毛, 皮膚幼麵麵, 目睭大 koh 有神. 她是一个勥跤編輯. 猶閣單身. 阮已經合作幾若擺, 做陣了袂䆀. 工作完成了, 阮坐落來 ná 啉 kapi ná 開講一睏.
她 ê 手機仔響, 她歹勢歹勢掠我看一下. 我表示講, 她會使接電話. 她看來電 ê 號碼, tō kā 接. 彼敢若是有關她 ê 訂位 ê 代誌. 可能是餐廳, a̍h 旅館, a̍h 航班. 就是彼類 ê 代誌. 她講一睏, ná 檢查她 ê 手摺簿仔, 然後忽然 kō͘ 一个不安 ê 眼神看我.
"真歹勢," 她細細聲對我講, 手 kā 電話閘著. "我知, 這是怪問題, 毋過請問, 我叫啥物名?"
我欶一下氣, 毋過我盡量激甲真四常, 講出她 ê 全名. 她頕頭, 然後 kā 彼个信息講予電話彼頭 ê 人. 然後, 她掛掉電話, koh kā 我會失禮.
"我拄才誠歹勢. 雄雄我煞袂記得家己 ê 名. 我有夠見笑."
"平時敢 mā 會 án-ne?" 我問.
她小可躊躇一下, 毋過猶是頕頭. "著, 近來常在 án-ne. 我 hut-leh tō 袂記得家己 ê 名. Tō 若像 hut-leh 昏去 a̍h 按怎."
"你 mā 會袂記得其他 ê 物件無? 親像講, 袂記得你 ê 生日, 電話號碼, a̍h 密碼?"
她真肯定搖一下頭. "袂, 攏袂. 我 ê 記性一向袂䆀. 我對所有阮朋友 ê 生日攏記會牢. 我毋捌袂記得別人 ê 名, 甚至一擺 mā 毋捌. 毋過, 有時煞會袂記得家己 ê 名. 我想無, 那會 án-ne. 過幾分鐘了後, 我又閣會記得, 毋過彼幾分鐘實在真了然, 予我起青驚. 彼 tō ná 我變做毋是我家己. 你想, 這敢是 Alzheimer 症頭 ê 先兆?"
我吐一下氣. "醫學上, 我毋知 neh, 毋過, 自當時開始, 你忽然袂記得你 ê 名?"
她目睭 bui-bui 想一下. "我想, 大概半年前. 我想是 tī 我去看 sakura 彼時. 彼是第一改."
"問你一个敢若奇怪 ê 問題, 彼時你敢有拍毋見啥物件? 某種身份 ê 證件, 像講駕駛執照, 護照, 保險卡?"
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6.
On the train ride home, I mentally replayed everything the monkey had told me. I jotted down all the details, as best as I could remember them, in a notebook that I used for work, thinking that when I got back to Tokyo I’d write the whole thing out from start to finish.
If the monkey really did exist—and that was the only way I could see it—I wasn’t at all sure how much I should accept of what he had told me over beer. It was hard to judge his story fairly. Was it really possible to steal women’s names and possess them yourself? Was this some unique ability that only the Shinagawa Monkey had been given? Maybe the monkey was a pathological liar. Who could say? Naturally, I’d never heard of a monkey with mythomania before, but, if a monkey could speak a human language as skillfully as he did, it wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility for him to also be a habitual liar.
I’d interviewed numerous people as part of my work, and had become pretty good at sniffing out who could be believed and who couldn’t. When someone talks for a while, you can pick up certain subtle hints and signals and get an intuitive sense of whether or not the person is believable. And I just didn’t get the feeling that what the Shinagawa Monkey had told me was a made-up story. The look in his eyes and his expression, the way he pondered things every once in a while, his pauses, gestures, the way he’d get stuck for words—nothing about it seemed artificial or forced. And, above all, there was the total, even painful honesty of his confession.
My relaxed solo journey over, I returned to the whirlwind routine of the city. Even when I don’t have any major work-related assignments, somehow, as I get older, I find myself busier than ever. And time seems to steadily speed up. In the end I never told anyone about the Shinagawa Monkey, or wrote anything about him. Why try if no one would believe me? Unless I could provide proof—proof, that is, that the monkey actually existed—people would just say that I was “making stuff up again.” And if I wrote about him as fiction the story would lack a clear focus or point. I could well imagine my editor looking puzzled and saying, “I hesitate to ask, since you’re the author, but what is the theme of this story supposed to be?”
Theme? Can’t say there is one. It’s just about an old monkey who speaks human language, who scrubs guests’ backs in the hot springs in a tiny town in Gunma Prefecture, who enjoys cold beer, falls in love with human women, and steals their names. Where’s the theme in that? Or the moral?
And, as time passed, the memory of that hot-springs town began to fade. No matter how vivid memories may be, they can’t conquer time.
But now, five years later, I’ve decided to write about it, based on the notes I scribbled down back then. All because something happened recently that got me thinking. If that incident hadn’t taken place, I might well not be writing this.
I had a work-related appointment in the coffee lounge of a hotel in Akasaka. The person I was meeting was the editor of a travel magazine. A very attractive woman, thirty or so, petite, with long hair, a lovely complexion, and large, fetching eyes. She was an able editor. And still single. We’d worked together quite a few times, and got along well. After we’d taken care of work, we sat back and chatted over coffee for a while.
Her cell phone rang and she looked at me apologetically. I motioned to her to take the call. She checked the incoming number and answered it. It seemed to be about some reservation she’d made. At a restaurant, maybe, or a hotel, or a flight. Something along those lines. She talked for a while, checking her pocket planner, and then shot me a troubled look.
“I’m very sorry,” she said to me in a small voice, her hand covering the phone. “This is a weird question, I know, but what’s my name?”
I gasped, but, as casually as I could, I told her her full name. She nodded and relayed the information to the person on the other end of the line. Then she hung up and apologized to me again.
“I’m so sorry about that. All of a sudden I just couldn’t remember my name. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Does that happen sometimes?” I asked.
She seemed to hesitate, but finally nodded. “Yes, it’s happening a lot these days. I just can’t recall my name. It’s like I’ve blacked out or something.”
“Do you forget other things, too? Like you can’t remember your birthday or your telephone number or a pin number?”
She shook her head decisively. “No, not at all. I’ve always had a good memory. I know all my friends’ birthdays by heart. I haven’t forgotten anyone else’s name, not even once. But, still, sometimes I can’t remember my own name. I can’t figure it out. After a couple of minutes, my memory comes back, but that couple of minutes is totally inconvenient, and I panic. It’s like I’m not myself anymore. Do you think it’s a sign of early-onset Alzheimer’s?”
I sighed. “Medically, I don’t know, but when did it start, you suddenly forgetting your name?”
She squinted and thought about it. “About half a year ago, I think. I remember it was when I went to enjoy the cherry blossoms. That was the first time.”
“This might be an odd thing to ask, but did you lose anything at that time? Some sort of I.D., like a driver’s license, a passport, an insurance card?”
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