何止是一本书

——写在自传《暴风雨中一羽毛》出版之际

巫一毛


“啊，一定是样书！”我在心里说，从信箱取出寄自美国蓝灯书屋的邮件。

一进门，我迫不及待地打开它。手，微微抖；心，怦怦跳。

米黄色的封皮。左上方，一枝含苞欲放的梅花。右侧，五岁时的我若隐若现，连衣裙，跳舞的姿势，小嘴轻抿。典雅的字体：《暴风雨中一羽毛——动乱中失去的童年》，巫一毛、Larry Engelmann （Feather in the Storm – A Childhood Lost in Chaos, Emily Wu and Larry Engelmann）。

三百三十六页，拿在手上，沉甸甸的。不是书太厚，而是我的童年、我的少女时代太重。

轻轻地，我翻看这本精装书，里面的十八张黑白照片，是无数次搬家、抄家、战乱的幸存者。它们以残缺的影像述说着那个畸形的时代。

1958年，大跃进，我在北京出世。呱呱落地前几个星期，父亲巫宁坤，翻译家、作家、教授，已经被打成“极右份子”，发配去北大荒劳改。几个月后，母亲、我和比我大二岁的哥哥，也被赶出首都，发配到安徽合肥市。直到我三岁生日那天，才第一次在劳改农场和病危的父亲见面。

本来应该是在父母怀里撒娇的年龄，却因父亲之“罪”而受到株连，全家人一起饱经磨难和迫害，开始了我没有童年的“童年”。

1966年，文革开始。

我被打骂、污辱、强奸。

父母被迫离开孩子们，关“牛棚”、搞运动。哥哥成了“小爸爸”，我成了“小妈妈”。带着五岁的弟弟，我们住进孤儿院一样的临时收容所。

在那里，我目睹小朋友的妈妈上吊自杀，自己也差点因病夭折。

一年多后，全家团聚，旋即又被下放到安徽一个穷困落后的村庄。在村里，我上完小学、初中，亲身经历各种迷信活动。

文革后期，父母上调到安徽芜湖市，我也随同进城上高中。毕业后，我又到深山老林里当知识青年，直到1977年考上大学。

1981年来美后，我开始断断续续地写自己的经历。几年前，我和美国作家Larry Engelmann合作，最终完稿。

这本书，是我的童年、我的少女时代，也是用一个小女孩的眼睛看动乱的中国。我尽量用平和的口吻，讲一个真实故事。主人公是在逆境中顽强地存活下来的女孩子。书中每一章节，都像一篇短篇小说，充满戏剧性和细节描述。

再过几天，2006年10月3日，《暴风雨中一羽毛》将正式发行。届时全美书店都可购买。目前可以在网上预购。

蓝灯书屋对此书非常重视，在各大报刊杂志上做广告，还安排了作者在华盛顿、纽约、芝加哥、洛杉矶、西雅图、旧金山等地巡回演讲，接受电视、电台、杂志、报纸采访等促销活动。

《暴风雨中一羽毛》的法文、德文和丹麦文的版权，已经分别出售给在法国、德国和丹麦的三家出版社，计划在2007年出版。中文版和其他语种尚在联系中。

封底上，是两位名作家对《暴风雨中一羽毛》的评价：

《上海生与死》的作者郑念女士说：“这是一个文化大革命期间成长的勇敢的少女感人肺腑的回忆录。它充分反映出毛泽东假借进步的名义所犯下的种种残暴无比的罪行。”

美国“国家图书奖”获得者哈金先生说：“《暴风雨中一羽毛》热情洋溢，真诚坦率，哀而不伤。它讲述一个少女在狂暴的，被革命摧毁的中国成长的故事。它揭示了人民惨痛的受难，其中许多人暴死，其它人苟活下来。这篇丰富多彩，自成一格，令人心碎的故事涵盖人的残忍，愚蠢和善良。归根结底，它是对百折不挠的人的坚韧和生命力的见证。”

我心里又是一热。郑念女士已有九十多高龄，哈金先生在百忙之中，两位我尊敬的作家看了我的书稿，写下了感想。如此的关心和鼓励，让我感激不尽。

将书紧紧地抱在胸口，泪水涌了出来。动笔的时候，我是外国留学生，打黑工，读大学。如今，儿子也是那所大学的学生。

愿读者通过《暴风雨中一羽毛》来解读人性，通过一个女孩、一个家庭的命运来了解那段惨痛的历史，记住那些在动乱中失去童年乃至生命的孩子们。

十几万字，怎么可能容得下那个荒诞的大时代。但大时代中的小人物，也有过辛酸，见过残暴，亲历过黑色幽默般的荒谬，看过用大红包裹的纯黑。

这是我的第一本书，但又何止是一本书。

2006年9月28日星期四 于加州家中

文革的时候我剛出生. 父亲让"敌对方"造反派抓走了. 母亲把襁褓中的我放在箩筐里, 挑着我走了几十里地到乡下娘家躲避.  不堪回首的岁月.

衷心祝福你...

敬礼！

芦花，
你家的经历写出来也一定动人。祝福你和你父母。你母亲太了不起了。

无言， 不敢当呢，谢谢你。

Burns，
谢谢。 卖书的网站上都有。输入我的英文名字Emily Wu 就可以找到书。

:

祝贺一毛的"心血"出版!!!

我一直等着买这本书.

你能否把此书的第一章贴在伊甸.

是介绍,也是广告呀.

Burns,
谢谢。

相片说明：

第一幅：家父在为他的自传《一滴泪》举办的演讲会上。 （1993年）

第二幅：家父在母校芝加哥大学。 （大概在1949年)

为力，
谢谢你。到家了吗？看你玩得很开心，好羡慕。

我回头把第一章贴出来。

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
In the fourth winter of the famine I was returned to my family. It was the final week of January, a few days before the Lunar New Year. I was three and a half years old.

We lived in a large house in Tianjin. I slept beside my grandmother in a bedroom on the first floor. My mother, father and three sisters slept in an adjoining room. On the floors above us lived the families of three uncles and aunts. Nine adults and twelve children shared the house.

On my last morning in the house I was awakened before dawn by a gentle touch. Papa stood beside the bed, his finger to his lips to indicate that he did not want me to disturb Grandma. He carried me from the room and put me down on a stool in the corridor and then he gathered some of my clothing and my only toy-a doll-and put them in a bag. He helped me into my winter coat, tied my wool cap under my chin and wrapped a scarf around my neck. Finally, he helped me pull on my mittens and winter shoes. He put on his coat, picked up the bag of clothing and took my mittened hand in his. With hardly a sound, he unlatched the door, opened it just enough for us to squeeze through, and closed and locked it behind us.

The morning was cold and quiet. The air was filled with snowflakes. The courtyard was buried beneath a blanket of new snow. When Papa noticed it was difficult for me to get a footing on the slippery cobblestones, he stooped and lifted me in his arms. As he straightened up, a light came on in the bedroom where I'd been sleeping with Grandma. There was a muffled cry-"Maomao!"

I twisted in Papa's arms and was about to shout, "I'm here, Grandma." But Papa whispered, "Be quiet!" He hurried through the gate and out onto Happiness Lane. The anxious voice continued to call, "Maomao! Where are you?"

Papa rushed down the lane. Two blocks from the house he stopped to catch his breath. I wrapped my arms around his neck and laid my head on his shoulder.

We waited on the corner until a bus stopped for us. We rode silently through the sleeping city to the train station.

After buying our tickets Papa carried me into a crowded concourse. I pulled his ear and asked, "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home," he replied.

"But we are home, Papa."

He raised his finger to his lips.

An abrupt restlessness in the crowd startled me. Several shrill blasts from a whistle were followed by commands to begin boarding. We were carried along as the bustling mass of people moved toward the platform.

Papa held me tightly. When the crowd thinned he ran along the line of waiting cars watching in the windows for empty seats. After passing a dozen packed cars he bolted up the stairs into a car and hurried toward a single empty seat. A woman struggling with two big bags in one arm and a child in the other approached from the far end of the aisle. She snagged her bags on the back of a seat and stopped to pull them loose. Papa dropped into the vacant seat a few steps ahead of her. She looked around anxiously. A crowd converged on her from either end of the car and made an exit impossible.

After catching his breath Papa rose and hoisted our bag onto an overhead shelf. Then he sat down and pulled me onto his knee. The woman next to us held a girl about my age. The girl's face was flushed and her nose was running. Her watery eyes remained fixed on me.

An explosion of shouting and whistles sent people racing frantically back and forth across the platform. The cars shuddered and banged on their couplings. Those people standing in the aisles grabbed for overhead grips or the backs of seats as they tumbled against one another. Protests and cursing rose from one end of the car to the other. As we picked up speed the grumbling of disgruntled passengers faded to a low, steady hum of conversation.

The train made many stops. At each new station people crowded the platform. Most were peasants making their way to the cities to sell goods on the black market. They clutched baskets or carried nets and crates of live animals. They pushed past those trying to leave the car, filling every vacant space while further compressing unfortunate passengers remaining in the aisles.

At each stop the air was infused anew with a stench of soot, tobacco and animals. People shouted, scolded children and complained while climbing over one another. To this was added the noise of chickens and piglets. I watched the confusion of commerce and discomfort from my perch on Papa's lap.

Before long hunger pangs reminded me that I hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch. "Papa," I said, "I'm hungry."

He reached into his pocket and withdrew an old newspaper page tied with a string. Inside were two hard-boiled eggs. He handed me one and returned the other to his pocket. I pulled off my mittens and peeled the egg, letting the shell fragments fall to the floor. A whine sounded beside me. The girl in her mother's arms was reaching out, begging for my egg. I paused before taking a bite. The girl screamed. Several people in the aisle, emaciated and hungry-looking, watched me.

I cupped the egg in my hands. The girl's mother whispered in her ear and she quieted. I decided not to eat but, rather, to sleep.

I awakened later and became aware of the quiet around me. I opened my cupped hands and found . . . nothing. No egg! I searched on the floor and found bits of eggshell. I looked up at the little girl. She was asleep. On her chin I noticed a tiny speck of egg yolk.

I whispered to Papa that I was still hungry. He handed me the remaining egg. I quickly peeled it and gulped it down.

I asked Papa to get my doll from our bag. I told her all about our trip and how crowded the cars were and how hungry I had been. I promised I'd give her an egg when we got home.

"Do you like her?" Papa asked.

"Yes."

"She is a gift from your mama."

"No, she is not," I said.

Papa was about to add something but stopped himself and turned to stare out the window.

I remembered receiving the doll months earlier. A woman had come to our house accompanied by a boy. She spoke with Grandma and Papa. Early one morning she took me with her, and we traveled on the train to a place filled with very scary people. I cried and hid behind a bench and screamed that I wanted to go home.

Before she left with the boy, the woman gave me the doll and told me it was a birthday present.

The doll was little more than rags stitched together and stuffed with cotton. It was without a face or clothing. Papa, however, made her beautiful for me. He found a piece of plastic and cut it to fit the front of the head. He painted wide black eyes, rosy cheeks, and red lips on it. I watched him work as he brought her face to life. Grandma made a dress and slippers of matching material and presented the completed doll to me.

I played with her so much that her painted face chipped and faded. I examined her and noticed cracks in her face and a tear in one corner where the stitching had come undone. I told her I'd have Papa give her a new face when we got home.

2

Our journey ended shortly after daybreak the next morning. A voice on the loudspeaker announced that we had arrived in Hefei.

"You are almost home now, Maomao," Papa said. He pulled our bag from the rack, grasped me tightly and asked, "Are you ready?"

"Yes," I replied. Yet I had no idea what I was supposed to be ready for, except to see Grandma and Mama and my sisters.

Papa had me lock my arms around his neck as he pushed his way out of the car, through the station and onto the street.

In the brisk winter wind, I felt a cold draft on my feet. I suddenly remembered removing my shoes during the night and letting them fall to the floor. I'd forgotten them there.

I pulled Papa's collar and told him, "My shoes are on the train."

"What?" he asked in disbelief and looked at my bare feet. He glanced at the crowded station and sighed. "We'll just have to get you new ones." He undid a button on his jacket and had me stick my feet inside to keep them warm.

We boarded a bus and stood in the aisle for half an hour before getting off near a cluster of buildings. We approached one of them.

Papa read a number over the entrance and said, "Your mama and papa live here with your brother. You will live here, too."

I was frightened by his words. "No," I said. "They don't. I know where Mama and Papa live."

"Let's go meet them," he replied.

"I want to go home," I said in a tremulous voice. "Take me to Grandma."

"Maomao," he said, "listen to me. Don't call me Papa anymore. I am not your papa. I am your second uncle."

I searched his eyes, confused. I waited for him to say this was a game.

"From now on you must call me Second Uncle," he said.

Tears spilled down my face. I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. "No," I cried. "Don't give me away, Papa. I'll be a good girl. I won't say I'm hungry again. No . . . no . . . no."

I clung to him, sobbing. He patted my back and said, "It's okay, Maomao. It's okay."

Papa carried me up the stairs to the second floor and knocked on a door. It swung open and a boy stood before us. Papa gave his name, and a moment later there was a flurry of footsteps and a man and a woman appeared at the door. The woman gasped, "What a surprise!...

书的封皮

一毛：Papa carried me up the stairs to the second floor and knocked on a
door. It swung open and a boy stood before us. Papa gave his name, and a
moment later there was a flurry of footsteps and a man and a woman appeared
at the door. The woman gasped, "What a surprise!...

土干：一毛会吊胃口啊。猜，爸爸妈妈去牛棚了，一毛被寄养在合肥亲戚家了。

土干：再卖个关子：没猜对。

第一本书，但又何止是一本书。

《暴風雨中一羽毛——動亂中失去的童年》各地活动，欢迎大家参加：　

Tuesday, October 10 -- Menlo Park, CA.
7:30 PM Kepler’s reading and booksigning. 1010 El Camino Real, Menlo Park, CA.

Thursday, October 12—Portland

7:30 pm -- Annie Bloom’s Books reading and booksigning. 7834 SW Capitol Hwy, Portland, OR 97219.

Friday, October 13—Seattle

7:00 pm-- University Bookstore reading/discussion and booksigning.
4326 University Way, NE, Seattle, WA 98105.

Tuesday, October 17—Pleasanton, CA
7:00 pm -- Towne Center Books/Pleasanton Library reading and booksigning.
Location: Pleasanton Public Library, 400 Old Bernal Avenue, Pleasanton, CA 94566

Wednesday, October 18—Berkeley, CA
7:00 pm -- Cody’s Books reading and booksigning. 1730 Fourth Street, Berkeley, CA 94710.

Thursday, October 19 — Capitola, CA
7:30 pm -- Capitola Book Café reading and booksigning. 1475 41st Avenue, Capitola, CA 95010.

Sunday, October 22—Washington, DC
Luncheon sponsored by WCLS and NACWA. (See Chinese announcement)

Monday, October 23—Washington, DC
VOA interview, TV and Radio

Tuesday, October 24—Washington, DC
7:00 pm -- Reading and booksigning.
Politics and Prose
445 11th Street, Washington, DC 20004.

Wednesday, October 25—New York

7:00 pm -- Borders Columbus Circle reading and booksigning. 10 Columbus Circle, NY, NY 10019.


Saturday, October 28—San Jose, CA

2:00 pm --Chinese American Woman Authors Book Talk (sponsored by the Cultural Heritage Center and the San Jose State University Library and the Chinese American Librarians Association). Dr. MLK, Jr. Library, 2nd floor, Rm. 225/229, 150 East San Fernando Street.San Jose, CA

Wednesday, November 8—St. Louis
Time tk -- Asian Center/St. Louis County Library.

Wednesday, November 29—San Jose
San Jose State University event

个人建议，在媒体互动栏单独发一条消息，最好能置顶。

看来毛毛得忙一阵了！

注意休息和睡觉，一切都会“最好”的。

等你忙过了，咱俩“换书”。

我的没有你的“棒”，再加本外国名著一同寄去，补吧。

又，你长得真象你老爸。祝他一切安好！