2. Khì Cheng-sîn-pēⁿ Tiong-sim
Chi̍t-ê kim-sio̍k siaⁿ kiò i:
"Khiā tiām. Khiā tī lí hia! Mài tín-tāng!"
I thêng lo̍h-lâi.
"Siang-chhiú gia̍h khí-lâi!"
"M̄-koh..." i kóng.
"Chhiú gia̍h koân! Nā bô, goán ē khui-chhèng!"
Tong-jiân, he sī kéng-chhat, m̄-koh iáu-sī chin hán-kiàn, lân-tit ê tāi-chì; tī chit-ê 300-bān lâng ê siâⁿ-chhī, kan-ta chhun chi̍t-tâi kéng-chhat chhia, kám m̄-sī án-ne? Chū-chiông chi̍t-nî chêng, its 2052, soán-kí nî, kéng-le̍k í-keng iû 3-tâi chhia kiám kàu chhun chi̍t-tâi. Hoān-chōe teh kiám-chió; taⁿ í-keng bô su-iàu kéng-chhat, kan-ta chit-tâi ko͘-to̍k ê chhia tī khang so-so ê ke-lō͘ sô lâi sô khì.
"Lí kiò siáⁿ miâ?" kéng-chhia kō͘ chi̍t-ê kim-sio̍k siaⁿ khin-khin mn̄g. In-ūi ba̍k-chiu chhiō tio̍h kng, i khòaⁿ bē-tio̍h chhia-lāi ê lâng.
"Leonard Mead," i kóng.
"Khah tōa siaⁿ leh!"
"Leonard Mead!"
"Hâng-gia̍p a̍h chit-gia̍p sī siáⁿ?"
"Góa siūⁿ, lí ē kóng góa sī chok-ka."
"Bô-gia̍p," kéng-chhat chhia kóng, ká-ná sī tùi ka-tī kóng. Teng-kng kā i kò͘-tēng tio̍h, ná-chhiūⁿ phok-bu̍t-koán ê piau-pún, chiam chhak thàng i ê heng-khám.
"Lí ē-sái án-ne kóng," Mead Ss án-ne kóng. Í-keng kúi-ā nî i bô siá siáⁿ ah. Cha̍p-chì a̍h chheh í-keng bô lâng bé ah. Taⁿ ê sū-sū lóng tī àm-sî tī hiah-ê ná bōng-á ê chhù nih chìn-hêng, i án-ne siūⁿ, án-ne kè-sio̍k i ê khang-siūⁿ. Tī kan-ta ū tiān-sī kng ê bōng-á nih, lâng-lâng ná sí-lâng án-ne chē leh, phú-sek a̍h chhái-sek ê kng chiò tio̍h in ê bīn, m̄-koh chiò bē-tio̍h in ê sim.
"Bô chit-gia̍p," lâu-siaⁿ-ki ê siaⁿ án-ne kóng, hoat-chhut ssh-ssh ê siaⁿ. "Lí tī gōa-kháu chhòng-siáⁿ?"
"Sàn-pō͘," Leonard Mead kóng.
"Sàn-pō͘!"
"Kan-ta sàn-pō͘," i kán-té kóng, m̄-koh i ê bīn kám-kak chin léng.
"Sàn-pō͘, kan-ta sàn-pō͘, sàn-pō͘?"
"Sī lah, Sian-siⁿ."
"Sàn-pō͘ khì toh? Ūi siáⁿ-mi̍h?"
"Sàn-pō͘ suh khong-khì. Sàn-pō͘ koan-khòaⁿ."
"Lí ê tē-chí!"
"Lâm Saint James Ke 11-hō."
"Jî-chhiáⁿ lín tau ū khong-khì, ū khong-tiâu-ki, Mead Ss?"
"Sī."
"Lín tau mā ū koan-khòaⁿ-bō͘ thang-hó khòaⁿ?"
"Bô."
"Bô?" Ū chi̍t-khùn ê ap-pek tiām-chēng, he pún-sin sī chi̍t-chióng chí-chek.
"Lí kiat-hun bô, Mead Ss?"
"Bô."
"Bô kiat-hun," âng-sek teng-kng āu-bīn ê kéng-chhat siaⁿ án-ne kóng. Goe̍h-niû chheng-chheng, koân-koân kòa tī chiòng-chheⁿ tiong-kan, ē-bīn ê chhù lóng phú-phú, an-chēng.
"Bô-lâng ài góa," Leonard Mead kóng, bīn chhiò-chhiò.
"Lí tiām-tiām, tî-hui ū tùi lí kóng-ōe!"
Leonard Mead tī chheⁿ-léng ê àm-mê tán-thāi.
"Kan-ta sàn-pō͘ sioh, Mead Ss?"
"Sī."
"M̄-koh lí bô kái-soeh, sī ūi siáⁿ bo̍k-tek?"
"Góa ū kái-soeh; ūi-tio̍h suh khong-khì, ūi-tio̍h koan-khòaⁿ, mā kan-ta ūi-tio̍h sàn-pō͘."
"Lí chhiâng-chāi án-ne chò sioh?"
"Ta̍k-àm án-ne, í-keng kúi-ā nî ah."
Kéng-chhat chhia thêng tī ke-lō͘ tiong-ng, i ê bô-sòaⁿ-tiān nâ-âu hoat-chhut khin-khin hiⁿ ê siaⁿ.
"Hó ah, Mead Ss," he kóng.
"Án-ne hó ah sioh?" i hó-lé kā mn̄g.
"Sī," hit-ê siaⁿ kóng. "Chia." Chi̍t-ê thó͘-khùi siaⁿ, chi̍t-ê pok siaⁿ. Kéng-chhat chhia ê āu-mn̂g hut-leh tôaⁿ khui. "Ji̍p-lâi."
"Sió tán leh, góa siáⁿ to bô chò neh!"
"Ji̍p-lâi."
"Góa khòng-gī!"
"Mead Ss."
I ná-chhiūⁿ hut-jiân chiú-chùi ê lâng án-ne kiâⁿ. Keng-kòe chhia ê thâu-chêng thang-á ê sî, i khòaⁿ ji̍p-khì. Tō ná i só͘ liāu, thâu-chêng ūi bô lâng, chhia-lāi kin-pún to bô lâng.
"Ji̍p-lâi."
I chhun-chhiú hōaⁿ mn̂g, thàm khòaⁿ āu-chō, he sī chi̍t-ê sió keh-keng, sī chi̍t-ê ū lân-kan ê sió-sió o͘ kaⁿ-lô. He ū liú-chiap pe̍h-thih ê khì-bī. He ū chha̍k-phīⁿ hông-hú-che ê khì-bī; he phīⁿ tio̍h siuⁿ chheng-khì, siuⁿ tēng, siuⁿ kim-sio̍k. Hia bô chi̍t-sut-á jiû-nńg ê mi̍h.
"Taⁿ, chún-kóng lí ū chi̍t-ê bó͘ thang chèng-bêng lí bô chāi-tiûⁿ," hit-ê thih ê siaⁿ-im kóng. "M̄-koh..."
"Lí boeh chhōa góa khì tó-ūi?"
Chhia tiû-tû chi̍t-ē, a̍h sī kóng, sū-si̍t sī hoat chi̍t-ê khin-khin ê khia̍k-khia̍k siaⁿ, ná-chhiūⁿ sī sìn-sit, tī bó͘ chi̍t-ê só͘-chāi, tī tiān-gán-ē, tng-teh chi̍t-tiuⁿ chi̍t-tiuⁿ lak lo̍h phah-khang ê khah-phìⁿ. "Khì Gián-kiù Tò-thè Kheng-hiòng ê Cheng-sîn-pēⁿ Tiong-sim."
I chhiūⁿ chhia. Mn̂g khin-khin chi̍t-siaⁿ koaiⁿ khí-lâi. Kéng-chhat-chhia kiâⁿ kòe àm-mê ê tōa-lō͘, thâu-chêng siám-sih tio̍h àm-bong ê teng-kng.
Chi̍t-khùn liáu-āu, in keng-kòe chi̍t-tiâu ke-lō͘ piⁿ ê chi̍t-tòng chhù, tī kui-ê siâⁿ-chhī ê chhù lóng àm-àm tang-tiong, chit-tòng te̍k-pia̍t ê chhù ê ta̍k-pha tiān-hóe lóng tiám kah kng iāⁿ-iāⁿ, ta̍k-sìⁿ thang-á lóng sī hiáng-liāng ê n̂g-sek chiò-bêng, tī léng-chheng ê o͘-àm tang-tiong hián-tit sì-chiàⁿ koh un-loán.
"He sī goán tau," Leonard Mead kóng.
Bô lâng kā i ìn.
Chhia iân he ná khang-khang khe-té ê ke-lō͘ kiâⁿ loeh, lī-khui jîn-hêng-tō khang-khang ê khang ke-lō͘, kui-ê kî-thaⁿ 11-goe̍h léng ki-ki ê àm-mê, lóng bô siaⁿ, mā bô tōng-chēng.
(Soah)
--
2. 去精神病中心
一个金屬聲叫伊:
"徛恬. 徛 tī 你遐! 莫振動!"
伊停落來.
"雙手攑起來!"
"毋過..." 伊講.
"手攑懸! 若無, 阮會開銃!"
當然, 彼是警察, 毋過猶是真罕見, 難得 ê 代誌; tī 這个 300 萬人 ê 城市, 干焦賰一台警察車, 敢毋是 án-ne? 自從一年前, its 2052, 選舉年, 警力已經由 3 台車減到賰一台. 犯罪 teh 減少; 今已經無需要警察, 干焦這台孤獨 ê 車 tī 空 so-so ê 街路趖來趖去.
"你叫啥名?" 警車 kō͘ 一个金屬聲輕輕問. 因為目睭炤著光, 伊看袂著車內 ê 人.
"Leonard Mead," 伊講.
"較大聲 leh!"
"Leonard Mead!"
"行業 a̍h 職業是啥?"
"我想, 你會講我是作家."
"無業," 警察車講, ká-ná 是對家治講. 燈光 kā 伊固定著, ná 像博物館 ê 標本, 尖鑿迵伊 ê 胸坎.
"你會使 án-ne 講," Mead Ss án-ne 講. 已經幾若年伊無寫啥 ah. 雜誌 a̍h 冊已經無人買 ah. 今 ê 事事攏 tī 暗時 tī hiah-ê ná 墓仔 ê 厝 nih 進行, 伊 án-ne 想, án-ne 繼續伊 ê 空想. Tī 干焦有電視光 ê 墓仔 nih, 人人 ná 死人 án-ne 坐 leh, 殕色 a̍h 彩色 ê 光照著 in ê 面, 毋過照袂著 in ê 心.
"無職業," 留聲機 ê 聲 án-ne 講, 發出 ssh-ssh ê 聲. "你 tī 外口創啥?"
"散步," Leonard Mead 講.
"散步!"
"干焦散步," 伊簡短講, 毋過伊 ê 面感覺真冷.
"散步, 干焦散步, 散步?"
"是 lah, 先生."
"散步去佗? 為啥物?"
"散步欶空氣. 散步觀看."
"你 ê 地址!"
"南 Saint James 街 11 號."
"而且恁兜有空氣, 有空調機, Mead Ss?"
"是."
"恁兜 mā 有觀看幕通好看?"
"無."
"無?" 有一睏 ê 壓迫恬靜, 彼本身是一種指責.
"你結婚無, Mead Ss?"
"無."
"無結婚," 紅色燈光後面 ê 警察聲 án-ne 講. 月娘清清, 懸懸掛 tī 眾星中間, 下面 ê 厝攏殕殕, 安靜.
"無人愛我," Leonard Mead 講, 面笑笑.
"你恬恬, 除非有對你講話!"
Leonard Mead tī 生冷 ê 暗暝等待.
"干焦散步 sioh, Mead Ss?"
"是."
"毋過你無解說, 是為啥目的?"
"我有解說; 為著欶空氣, 為著觀看, mā 干焦為著散步."
"你常在 án-ne 做 sioh?"
"逐暗 án-ne, 已經幾若年 ah."
警察車停 tī 街路中央, 伊 ê 無線電嚨喉發出輕輕 hiⁿ ê 聲.
"好 ah, Mead Ss," 彼講.
"Án-ne 好 ah sioh?" 伊好禮 kā 問.
"是," 彼个聲講. "遮." 一个吐氣聲, 一个 pok 聲. 警察車 ê 後門 hut-leh 彈開. "入來."
"小等 leh, 我啥 to 無做 neh!"
"入來."
"我抗議!"
"Mead Ss."
伊 ná 像忽然酒醉 ê 人 án-ne 行. 經過車 ê 頭前窗仔 ê 時, 伊看入去. Tō ná 伊所料, 頭前位無人, 車內根本 to 無人.
"入來."
伊伸手扞門, 探看後座, 彼是一个小隔間, 是一个有欄杆 ê 小小烏監牢. 彼有 liú 接白鐵 ê 氣味. 彼有鑿鼻防腐劑 ê 氣味; 彼鼻著 siuⁿ 清氣, siuⁿ tēng, siuⁿ 金屬. 遐無一屑仔柔軟 ê 物.
"今, 準講你有一个某通證明你無在場," 彼个鐵 ê 聲音講. "毋過..."
"你欲 chhōa 我去佗位?"
車躊躇一下, a̍h 是講, 事實是發一个輕輕 ê khia̍k-khia̍k 聲, ná 像是信息, tī 某一个所在, tī 電眼下, tng-teh 一張一張 lak 落拍空 ê 卡片. "去研究倒退傾向 ê 精神病中心."
伊上車. 門輕輕一聲關起來. 警察車行過暗暝 ê 大路, 頭前閃爍著暗摸 ê 燈光.
一睏了後, in 經過一條街路邊 ê 一棟厝, tī 規个城市 ê 厝攏暗暗當中, 這棟特別 ê 厝 ê 逐葩電火攏點甲光 iāⁿ-iāⁿ, 逐扇窗仔攏是響亮 ê 黃色照明, tī 冷清 ê 烏暗當中顯得四正 koh 溫暖.
"彼是阮兜," Leonard Mead 講.
無人 kā 伊應.
車沿 he ná 空空溪底 ê 街路行 loeh, 離開人行道空空 ê 空街路, 規个其他 11 月冷 ki-ki ê 暗暝, 攏無聲, mā 無動靜.
(煞)
--
2.
A metallic voice called to him:
"Stand still. Stay where you are! Don't move!"
He halted.
"Put up your hands!"
"But-" he said.
"Your hands up! Or we'll Shoot!"
The police, of course, but what a rare, incredible thing; in a city of three million, there was only one police car left, wasn't that correct? Ever since a year ago, 2052, the election year, the force had been cut down from three cars to one. Crime was ebbing; there was no need now for the police, save for this one lone car wandering and wandering the empty streets.
"Your name?" said the police car in a metallic whisper. He couldn't see the men in it for the bright light in his eyes.
"Leonard Mead," he said.
"Speak up!"
"Leonard Mead!"
"Business or profession?"
"I guess you'd call me a writer."
"No profession," said the police car, as if talking to itself. The light held him fixed, like a museum specimen, needle thrust through chest.
"You might say that, " said Mr. Mead. He hadn't written in years. Magazines and books didn't sell any more. Everything went on in the tomblike houses at night now, he thought, continuing his fancy. The tombs, ill-lit by television light, where the people sat like the dead, the gray or multicolored lights touching their faces, but never really touching them.
"No profession," said the phonograph voice, hissing. "What are you doing out?"
"Walking," said Leonard Mead.
"Walking!"
"Just walking," he said simply, but his face felt cold.
"Walking, just walking, walking?"
"Yes, sir."
"Walking where? For what?"
"Walking for air. Walking to see."
"Your address!"
"Eleven South Saint James Street."
"And there is air in your house, you have an air conditioner, Mr. Mead?"
"Yes."
"And you have a viewing screen in your house to see with?"
"No."
"No?" There was a crackling quiet that in itself was an accusation.
"Are you married, Mr. Mead?"
"No."
"Not married," said the police voice behind the fiery beam. The moon was high and clear among the stars and the houses were gray and silent.
"Nobody wanted me," said Leonard Mead with a smile.
"Don't speak unless you're spoken to!"
Leonard Mead waited in the cold night.
"Just walking, Mr. Mead?"
"Yes."
"But you haven't explained for what purpose."
"I explained; for air, and to see, and just to walk."
"Have you done this often?"
"Every night for years."
The police car sat in the center of the street with its radio throat faintly humming.
"Well, Mr. Mead," it said.
"Is that all?" he asked politely.
"Yes," said the voice. "Here." There was a sigh, a pop. The back door of the police car sprang wide. "Get in."
"Wait a minute, I haven't done anything!"
"Get in."
"I protest!"
"Mr. Mead."
He walked like a man suddenly drunk. As he passed the front window of the car he looked in. As he had expected, there was no one in the front seat, no one in the car at all.
"Get in."
He put his hand to the door and peered into the back seat, which was a little cell, a little black jail with bars. It smelled of riveted steel. It smelled of harsh antiseptic; it smelled too clean and hard and metallic. There was nothing soft there.
"Now if you had a wife to give you an alibi," said the iron voice. "But-"
"Where are you taking me?"
The car hesitated, or rather gave a faint whirring click, as if information, somewhere, was dropping card by punch-slotted card under electric eyes. "To the Psychiatric Center for Research on Regressive Tendencies."
He got in. The door shut with a soft thud. The police car rolled through the night avenues, flashing its dim lights ahead.
They passed one house on one street a moment later, one house in an entire city of houses that were dark, but this one particular house had all of its electric lights brightly lit, every window a loud yellow illumination, square and warm in the cool darkness.
"That's my house," said Leonard Mead.
No one answered him.
The car moved down the empty river-bed streets and off away, leaving the empty streets with the empty side-walks, and no sound and no motion all the rest of the chill November night.
--
// 2022-3-27
Bradbury, Ray (1920- ), is an American author best known for his fantasy stories and science fiction. Bradbury's best writing effectively combines a lively imagination with a poetic style.
Collections of Bradbury's stories include The Martian Chronicles (1950), The Illustrated Man (1951), The October Country (1955), I Sing the Body Electric! (1969), Quicker Than the Eye (1996), and One More for the Road (2002). His novel Fahrenheit 451 (1953) describes a society that bans the ownership of books. His other novels include Dandelion Wine (1957), a poetic story of a boy's summer in an Illinois town in 1928; and Something Wicked This Way Comes (1962), a suspenseful fantasy about a black magic carnival that comes to a small Midwestern town. He has also written poetry, screenplays, and stage plays.
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