第三章: 祈祷吧，特雷弗 Trevor, Pray
I grew up in a world run by women. My father was loving and devoted, but I could only see him when and where apartheid allowed. My uncle Velile, my mom’s younger brother, lived with my grandmother, but he spent most of his time at the local tavern getting into fights.
我成长于一个由女性掌控的世界。我的父亲很爱我，但我只能在种族隔离允许的时间和地点与他相见。我妈妈的弟弟，也就是我舅舅维莱尔，倒是和我外婆一起住，但大多数时候，他都在当地的小酒馆打架。
The only semi-regular male figure in my life was my grandfather, my mother’s father, who was a force to be reckoned with. He was divorced from my grandmother and didn’t live with us, but he was around. His name was Temperance Noah, which was odd since he was not a man of moderation at all. He was boisterous and loud. His nickname in the neighborhood was “Tat Shisha,” which translates loosely to “the smokin’ hot grandpa.” And that’s exactly who he was. He loved the ladies, and the ladies loved him. He’d put on his best suit and stroll through the streets of Soweto on random afternoons, making everybody laugh and charming all the women he’d meet. He had a big, dazzling smile with bright white teeth — false teeth. At home, he’d take them out and I’d watch him do that thing where he looked like he was eating his own face.
我生命中唯一一个半正常的男性角色是我的外公，他是你不得不正视的一股力量。他和我外婆离了婚，不和我们一起住，但他时常还会回来。他的名字叫泰普雷斯[1]·诺亚，这很诡异，因为他一点儿也不温和。他很暴躁，爱大吼大叫。邻里之间都喊他“泰特·势煞”，可以意译为“火爆老爹”。他正是这样的人。他爱女人，女人也爱她。他会随便在某个下午穿上他最好的西装，走在索韦托的街道上，把人们逗得开怀大笑，把他遇见的所有女人迷得神魂颠倒。他有着灿烂而迷人的笑容，露着一口亮亮的大白牙——假牙。在家里，他会把假牙摘出来，我看着他摘假牙的样子，感觉就好像他在吃自己的脸。
When he was up you couldn’t stop him, but his mood swings were wild. In his youth he’d been a boxer, and one day he said I’d disrespected him and now he wanted to box me. He was in his eighties. I was twelve. He had his fists up, circling me. “Let’s go, Trevah! Come on! Put your fists up! Hit me! I’ll show you I’m still a man! Let’s go!” I couldn’t hit him because I wasn’t about to hit my elder. Plus I’d never been in a fight and I wasn’t going to have my first one be with an eighty-year-old man. I ran to my mom, and she got him to stop. The day after his pugilistic rage, he sat in his chair and didn’t move or say a word all day.
当他临时起意的时候，你没法阻止他，但是他的情绪波动特别大。年轻的时候他曾是一名拳击手，有一天他说我冒犯了他，所以他要和我打一场拳击。那时他八十多岁了，我十二岁。他举起拳头，在我身边转着圈。“开始吧，特雷弗！来！举起你的拳头！打我！我要告诉你我依然是个男人！开始吧！”我没法打他，因为我不能打长辈，而且我之前从来没打过架，我可不想我人生的第一架是和一个八十岁的老头子对打。我跑去找我妈，她来劝他收手。这之后的一整天，他都坐在椅子里一动不动，一个字也不说。
We found out much later in life that he was bipolar, but before that we just thought he was eccentric. One time he borrowed my mother’s car to go to the shop for milk and bread. He disappeared and didn’t come home until late that night when we were way past the point of needing the milk or the bread. Turned out he’d passed a young woman at the bus stop and, believing no beautiful woman should have to wait for a bus, he offered her a ride to where she lived — three hours away. My mom was furious with him because he’d cost us a whole tank of petrol, which was enough to get us to work and school for two weeks.
随后的生活里，我们发现他有躁郁症，在那之前我们只是以为他是个怪人。有一次他借了我妈的车去商店买面包牛奶，然后他就消失了，直到深夜才回来，那会儿早就过了我们需要面包牛奶的时间了。原来，他在巴士站遇到了一个年轻女人，他的逻辑是，漂亮女人是不该站在这儿等巴士的，他提出要直接送她回家——结果就开了三个小时的路程。我妈妈特别生气，因为他用掉了一整箱汽油，这些汽油足够我们开两周的车上班上学了。
In addition to my mom there was my aunt Sibongile; she and her first husband, Dinky, had two kids, my cousins Mlungisi and Bulelwa. Sibongile was a powerhouse, a strong woman in every sense, big-chested, the mother hen. Dinky, as his name implies, was dinky. He was a small man. He was abusive, but not really. It was more like he tried to be abusive, but he wasn’t very good at it. He was trying to live up to this image of what he thought a husband should be, dominant, controlling. I remember being told as a child, “If you don’t hit your woman, you don’t love her.” That was the talk you’d hear from men in bars and in the streets.
除了我妈之外，家里还有姨妈斯彭赫里，她和第一任丈夫丁奇有两个孩子，也就是我的表兄穆隆格斯和布勒瓦。斯彭赫里是个精力旺盛的人，在各种意义上都是个强大的女人，长着大胸，爱照顾人。丁奇，就像他的名字听上去那样，只有一丁点儿大。他是个矮小的男人，还爱家暴，不过也不是，应该说，他喜欢家暴，但是他不太擅长。他总是想活成他想象中的那种丈夫的样子，作为家里的统治者，掌控一切大权。我记得他曾对我说：“你不打老婆，就是不爱她。”这是酒吧里和街头的男人爱说的话。
“Okay, then why don’t I just pray to Jesus and Jesus will take the poison out of the food?”
“好吧，那我为什么不向耶稣祷告？耶稣能帮我把毒去掉吗？”
Temperance lived with his second family in the Meadowlands, and we visited them sparingly because my mom was always afraid of being poisoned. Which was a thing that would happen. The first family were the heirs, so there was always the chance they might get poisoned by the second family. It was like Game of Thrones with poor people. We’d go into that house and my mom would warn me.
泰普雷斯住在美多莱，和他组建的第二个家庭生活在一起。我们很少去那边看他，因为我妈妈和我外婆都害怕被下毒。这也是时有发生的情况。第一个家庭是法定继承者，所以很有可能会被第二个家庭下毒，好像穷人版《权力的游戏》。如果我们去那边，我妈妈会警告我：
“Trevor! Sun’qhela!”
“特雷弗！萨柯拉！”
So I only saw my grandfather now and then, and when he was gone the house was in the hands of women.
所以我只能偶尔见到外公，他不在的时候，整个家都在女人的掌控之中。
“But I’m starving.”
“可是我饿。”
“No. They might poison us.”
“不行，他们会给我们下毒。”
“Trevor, don’t eat the food.”
“特雷弗，不要吃那儿的东西。”
Dinky was trying to masquerade as this patriarch that he wasn’t. He’d slap my aunt and hit her and she’d take it and take it, and then eventually she’d snap and smack him down and put him back in his place. Dinky would always walk around like, “I control my woman.” And you’d want to say, “Dinky, first of all, you don’t. Second of all, you don’t need to. Because she loves you.” I can remember one day my aunt had really had enough. I was in the yard and Dinky came running out of the house screaming bloody murder. Sibongile was right behind him with a pot of boiling water, cursing at him and threatening to douse him with it. In Soweto you were always hearing about men getting doused with pots of boiling water — often a woman’s only recourse. And men were lucky if it was water. Some women used hot cooking oil. Water was if the woman wanted to teach her man a lesson. Oil meant she wanted to end it.
丁奇总是试图假扮家里的老大，但事实上他不是。他会掌掴我姨妈、揍她，她会忍耐再忍耐，直到有一天实在忍不了了，才会反手扇回去，把他打回他应该待的位置。丁奇总是在家里摆出一副这样的架势：“我管着我的女人。”你就很想告诉他：“丁奇呀，首先呢，你管不到你的女人。其次，你也不需要管着她，因为她爱你。”我记得有一天，姨妈实在忍不了了。我在院子里，看着丁奇尖叫着冲出房子，嘴里喊着杀人了。斯彭赫里在他后面紧追不舍，手上端着一壶滚烫的热水，一边骂他，一边威胁要把这热水浇在他头上。在索韦托，你会经常听说男人被泼热水——这往往是女人唯一的反击手段。而如果只是热水的话，这个男人还算走运。有的女人会用滚烫的热油。如果她用的是水，说明这个女人只是想教训她男人一顿。而用油的话，说明她想结束这一切。
My grandmother Frances Noah was the family matriarch. She ran the house, looked after the kids, did the cooking and the cleaning. She’s barely five feet tall, hunched over from years in the factory, but rock hard and still to this day very active and very much alive. Where my grandfather was big and boisterous, my grandmother was calm, calculating, with a mind as sharp as anything. If you need to know anything in the family history, going back to the 1930s, she can tell you what day it happened, where it happened, and why it happened. She remembers it all.
我的外婆弗朗西斯·诺亚，是家里的大家长。她把家管理得井井有条，照顾孩子、做饭、扫除。她身高不到一米五，在工厂的工作让她的背驼得很厉害，但是她很坚强，直到今天都还特别有活力。我的外公那么暴躁，而我的外婆却如此冷静、准确、思路清晰。如果你想知道这个家的历史，哪怕是20世纪30年代的事，她都能告诉你那件事发生在哪一天的哪个地方以及前因后果。她什么都记得。
My great-grandmother lived with us as well. We called her Koko. She was super old, well into her nineties, stooped and frail, completely blind. Her eyes had gone white, clouded over by cataracts. She couldn’t walk without someone holding her up. She’d sit in the kitchen next to the coal stove, bundled up in long skirts and head scarves, blankets over her shoulders. The coal stove was always on. It was for cooking, heating the house, heating water for baths. We put her there because it was the warmest spot in the house. In the morning someone would wake her and bring her to sit in the kitchen. At night someone would come take her to bed. That’s all she did, all day, every day. Sit by the stove. She was fantastic and fully with it. She just couldn’t see and didn’t move.
我的曾外婆也和我们住在一起。我们叫她可可。她年纪很大，差不多九十来岁了，弯腰驼背，身体虚弱，眼睛全瞎。没人搀扶的话，她就没法行走。她常常坐在厨房的煤炉旁边，套着长长的裙子，头上裹着头巾，肩头盖着毯子。因为家里要做饭、供暖、烧洗澡水，所以煤炉总是燃着。我们让她坐在那儿，因为那是家里最暖和的地方。早上有人会叫醒她，搀着她到厨房，坐好。到了晚上，有人再将她搀到床上。这就是她每天要做的事，坐在炉子边，坐一整天。她为此感到满足。只是她看不见，也动不了。
Koko and my gran would sit and have long conversations, but as a five-year-old I didn’t think of Koko as a real person. Since her body didn’t move, she was like a brain with a mouth. Our relationship was nothing but command prompts and replies, like talking to a computer.
可可和我的外婆会坐在一起长谈。但当时只有五岁的我，并不觉得可可是个真人。因为她的身体不能动，她更像是一个长着嘴巴的大脑。我们的关系仅限于输入指令和获得回复，好像和电脑交谈一样。
“Good morning, Trevor.”
“早上好，特雷弗。”
“Good morning, Koko.”
“早上好，可可。”
“Koko, did you eat?”
“可可，您吃饭了吗？”
“Koko, I’m going out.”
“可可，我出去了。”
“Yes, Trevor.”
“吃过了，特雷弗。”
“Okay, be careful.”
“好的，路上小心。”
“Bye, Koko.”
“再见，可可。”
“Bye, Trevor.”
“再见，特雷弗。”
The fact that I grew up in a world run by women was no accident. Apartheid kept me away from my father because he was white, but for almost all the kids I knew on my grandmother’s block in Soweto, apartheid had taken away their fathers as well, just for different reasons. Their fathers were off working in a mine somewhere, able to come home only during the holidays. Their fathers had been sent to prison. Their fathers were in exile, fighting for the cause. Women held the community together. “Wathint’Abafazi Wathint’imbokodo!” was the chant they would rally to during the freedom struggle. “When you strike a woman, you strike a rock.” As a nation, we recognized the power of women, but in the home they were expected to submit and obey.
我成长于一个女性掌控的世界里，这并非偶然。种族隔离制度将我和我父亲分开，因为他是白人，但其实我在索韦托认识的几乎所有孩子，也都和他们的父亲分开了，只不过分开的原因不一样。他们的父亲有些会在远方某个矿场工作，只在放假的时候回来。有些父亲在蹲监狱。有些父亲因为打架而被流放。女人们扛起了生活的重担。在自由抗争时期，她们会唱这样的歌——“Wathint’ Abafazi Wathint’ imbokodo！”，意思是“当你击打一个女人，你就是在击打一块顽石”。从国家的角度，我们尊重女性的力量，但是在家中，女性被认为是要顺从丈夫的。
In Soweto, religion filled the void left by absent men. I used to ask my mom if it was hard for her to raise me alone without a husband. She’d reply, “Just because I live without a man doesn’t mean I’ve never had a husband. God is my husband.” For my mom, my aunt, my grandmother, and all the other women on our street, life centered on faith. Prayer meetings would rotate houses up and down the block based on the day. These groups were women and children only. My mom would always ask my uncle Velile to join, and he’d say, “I would join if there were more men, but I can’t be the only one here.” Then the singing and praying would start, and that was his cue to leave.
在索韦托，丈夫不在而带来的空虚感，是由宗教填补的。我曾经问我妈妈，没有丈夫，她一个人拉扯我长大是不是很辛苦。她很自信地回答：“我不和男人住一起，并不意味着我没有丈夫。上帝就是我的丈夫。”对我妈妈、姨妈、外婆以及街上任何一个家庭来说，生活的中心都是信仰。街上的每个家庭会轮流举办祈祷会。这种聚会只有妇女和小孩参加。有一次我妈邀请我的舅舅参加，他说：“要是多点儿男人在场我就参加，我可不能是那里唯一的男人。”结果唱歌和祷告一开始，我舅舅就溜走了。
For these prayer meetings, we’d jam ourselves into the tiny living area of the host family’s house and form a circle. Then we would go around the circle offering prayers. The grannies would talk about what was happening in their lives. “I’m happy to be here. I had a good week at work. I got a raise and I wanted to say thank you and praise Jesus.” Sometimes they’d pull out their Bible and say, “This scripture spoke to me and maybe it will help you.” Then there would be a bit of song. There was a leather pad called “the beat” that you’d strap to your palm, like a percussion instrument. Someone would clap along on that, keeping time while everyone sang, “Masango vulekani singene eJerusalema. Masango vulekani singene eJerusalema.”
在那些祈祷会上，我们会挤在主人家狭小的客厅里，围成一圈。每个人按照位置顺着圆圈开始祷告。奶奶们通常会讲她们的生活琐事。“很高兴来到这里，我这周工作很顺利。我升职了，感谢耶稣，为你祈祷。”有时候她们会拿出《圣经》，说：“我对这一节很有感触，希望对你们也有用。”然后，大家会唱一会儿赞美诗。有一种可以缠在手上的皮垫，叫作“节拍”，就好像打击乐器一样。有人会戴着它击掌，在人们唱赞美诗的时候打节拍。人们会唱：“Masango vulekani singene eJerusalema. Masango vulekani singene eJerusalema。”
That’s how it would go. Pray, sing, pray. Sing, pray, sing. Sing, sing, sing. Pray, pray, pray. Sometimes it would last for hours, always ending with an “amen,” and they could keep that “amen” going on for five minutes at least. “Ah-men. Ah-ah-ah-men. Ah-ah-ah-ah-men. Ahhhhhhhhahhhhhhhhhhhahhhhhahhhhhhahhhhhmen. Meni-meni-meni. Men-men-men. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmennnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.” Then everyone would say goodbye and go home. Next night, different house, same thing.
这就是整套程序。祈祷，唱歌，祈祷。唱歌，祈祷，唱歌。唱歌，唱歌，唱歌。祈祷，祈祷，祈祷。有时候会持续几个小时，最后以“阿门”结束，不过他们会把这句“阿门”说上至少五分钟：“阿门。阿阿阿门。阿阿阿阿门。阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿门。门恩门恩门恩。门门门。阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿阿末末末末末门门门门恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩恩。”然后，大家相互道别，各回各家，第二晚再去另一家，重复一遍这套流程。
Tuesday nights, the prayer meeting came to my grandmother’s house, and I was always excited, for two reasons. One, I got to clap along on the beat for the singing. And two, I loved to pray. My grandmother always told me that she loved my prayers. She believed my prayers were more powerful, because I prayed in English. Everyone knows that Jesus, who’s white, speaks English. The Bible is in English. Yes, the Bible was not written in English, but the Bible came to South Africa in English so to us it’s in English. Which made my prayers the best prayers because English prayers get answered first. How do we know this? Look at white people. Clearly they’re getting through to the right person. Add to that Matthew 19:14. “Suffer little children to come unto me,” Jesus said, “for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” So if a child is praying in English? To White Jesus? That’s a powerful combination right there. Whenever I prayed, my grandmother would say, “That prayer is going to get answered. I can feel it.”
礼拜二，祈祷会在我外婆家办，我总是很兴奋。原因有两点：一是唱歌的时候，我可以带着皮垫打节拍；二是我喜欢祷告。外婆总是说，她喜欢我的祷告。她相信我的祈祷更有力量，因为我是用英文祷告的。所有人都知道，耶稣是个白人，说英语。《圣经》也是用英语写的。好吧，《圣经》最开始不是用英语写的，可《圣经》传到南非来时是英语版本，对我们来说，它就是用英语写的。这样，我的祷告就变成了最棒的，因为用英语祷告可以最先得到回应。我们是怎么知道这个秘密的？看看那些白人就行了。很显然，他们的祷告是有人听的。再加上《马太福音》19章14节。“让小孩到我这里来，不要禁止他们。”耶稣说，“因为在神国的，正是这样的人。”所以，让一个小孩用英文祷告？而且是向白人耶稣祷告？这简直是强强联合啊。每次我祷告的时候，我的外婆都会说：“这次的祷告将有应答。我能感觉到。”
Women in the township always had something to pray for — money problems, a son who’d been arrested, a daughter who was sick, a husband who drank. Whenever the prayer meetings were at our house, because my prayers were so good, my grandmother would want me to pray for everyone. She would turn to me and say, “Trevor, pray.” And I’d pray. I loved doing it. My grandmother had convinced me that my prayers got answered. I felt like I was helping people.
镇上的女人们总有要祈祷的事——钱的问题啊，儿子被抓了啊，生病的女儿啊，酗酒的丈夫啊。每次祈祷会在我们家举办的时候，因为我的祷告特别棒，外婆总是让我替所有人祈祷。她会转向我，说：“特雷弗，祈祷吧。”我就祈祷。我喜欢做这件事。外婆让我坚信，我的祈祷总会有应答，我感觉我这是在帮助大家。
The most common were the spaza shops and the shebeens. The spaza shops were informal grocery stores. People would build a kiosk in their garage, buy wholesale bread and eggs, and then resell them piecemeal. Everyone in the township bought things in minute quantities because nobody had any money. You couldn’t afford to buy a dozen eggs at a time, but you could buy two eggs because that’s all you needed that morning. You could buy a quarter loaf of bread, a cup of sugar. The shebeens were unlawful bars in the back of someone’s house. They’d put chairs in their backyard and hang out an awning and run a speakeasy. The shebeens were where men would go to drink after work and during prayer meetings and most any other time of day as well.
最常见的生意是小卖铺和小酒馆。小卖铺就是非正规的百货商店，人们从别处批发来面包和鸡蛋，再在自家车库里面支个摊，把它们一点一点地卖出去。镇上的人买东西都只买一点点，因为大家都没钱。你可能一次买不起一打鸡蛋，那太多了。但是你可以买两个，因为你那天早上就需要两个。你也可以买四分之一条面包和一小杯糖。小酒馆是开在别人家后院的非法酒吧，在后院放上椅子，支起遮阳篷，酒吧就开起来了。那是男人们最爱去的地方，下班了去，女人开祈祷会的时候去，或干脆在那儿泡一整天。
There is something magical about Soweto. Yes, it was a prison designed by our oppressors, but it also gave us a sense of self-determination and control. Soweto was ours. It had an aspirational quality that you don’t find elsewhere. In America the dream is to make it out of the ghetto. In Soweto, because there was no leaving the ghetto, the dream was to transform the ghetto.
索韦托总有些奇妙之处。没错，这是殖民者用来囚禁我们的地方，但同时，这地方给了我们一种自主掌控的感觉。索韦托是属于我们的，它有一种自立自强的气息，是你在别的地方找不到的。如果说美国梦就是努力奋斗离开贫民窟的话，那么在索韦托，因为没法离开它，所以这里的梦想就是改变这个贫民窟。
For the million people who lived in Soweto, there were no stores, no bars, no restaurants. There were no paved roads, minimal electricity, inadequate sewerage. But when you put one million people together in one place, they find a way to make a life for themselves. A black-market economy rose up, with every type of business being run out of someone’s house: auto mechanics, day care, guys selling refurbished tires.
索韦托有上百万人口，却没有任何商店、酒吧、餐厅。没有铺出来的道路，供电量极小，下水道也不完善。但当你把一百万人放在一处，他们自会有解决方法。黑市经济系统崛起，人们在自家后院做着各种各样的小生意：修汽车、开托儿所、卖翻新轮胎。
My grandmother lived in Orlando East. She had a two-room house. Not a two-bedroom house. A two-room house. There was a bedroom, and then there was basically a living room/kitchen/everything-else room. Some might say we lived like poor people. I prefer “open plan.” My mom and I would stay there during school holidays. My aunt and cousins would be there whenever she was on the outs with Dinky. We all slept on the floor in one room, my mom and me, my aunt and my cousins, my uncle and my grandmother and my great-grandmother. The adults each had their own foam mattresses, and there was one big one that we’d roll out into the middle, and the kids slept on that.
我外婆住在奥兰多东部。她有座两室的房子，不是两个卧室，而是总共就两室。一个是卧室，另一个是起居室加厨房加包含其他各种功能的房间。有人可能会说我们住得像穷人，但我更喜欢说我们“住得很有开放性”。学校放假的时候，我妈会和我住在那里。我的姨妈和丁奇吵架之后，也会和表兄一起搬过来住。我们所有人都睡在同一个房间的地板上，我妈妈和我，我姨妈和我的表兄，我的舅舅和外婆以及曾外婆。每个大人都有一个独立的海绵床垫，房间中间会放一个超大的海绵床垫，所有的小孩都睡在上面。
People built homes the way they bought eggs: a little at a time. Every family in the township was allocated a piece of land by the government. You’d first build a shanty on your plot, a makeshift structure of plywood and corrugated iron. Over time, you’d save up money and build a brick wall. One wall. Then you’d save up and build another wall. Then, years later, a third wall and eventually a fourth. Now you had a room, one room for everyone in your family to sleep, eat, do everything. Then you’d save up for a roof. Then windows. Then you’d plaster the thing. Then your daughter would start a family. There was nowhere for them to go, so they’d move in with you. You’d add another corrugated-iron structure onto your brick room and slowly, over years, turn that into a proper room for them as well. Now your house had two rooms. Then three. Maybe four. Slowly, over generations, you’d keep trying to get to the point where you had a home.
人们盖房子的方式和买鸡蛋一样：一次只盖一点儿。政府给每个家庭分配了一块儿地。你先在你的地块上建个棚子，用胶合板和波状钢条搭出一个临时的棚架结构。慢慢地，你攒了一点儿钱，就再修个砖墙。就修一面墙。等你再攒够钱了，再修第二面墙。过了几年，你修了第三面墙，终于有一天，第四面墙也起来了。这样你就有了一个房间，整个家庭就可以在这个房间里睡觉、吃饭、干活。然后你再攒钱盖个屋顶。然后是窗户。然后再给整个房子抹上水泥。这时候，你的女儿也要结婚了。他们没地方住，所以要和你住一起。你得再盖一个棚子，慢慢地，把它变成一个可以住人的房子。现在你的家就有两个房间了。然后变成三个。或者四个。一代又一代，你们努力地给自己造出了一个家。
Sadly, no matter how fancy you made your house, there was one thing you could never aspire to improve: your toilet. There was no indoor running water, just one communal outdoor tap and one outdoor toilet shared by six or seven houses. Our toilet was in a corrugated-iron outhouse shared among the adjoining houses. Inside, there was a concrete slab with a hole in it and a plastic toilet seat on top; there had been a lid at some point, but it had broken and disappeared long ago. We couldn’t afford toilet paper, so on the wall next to the seat was a wire hanger with old newspaper on it for you to wipe. The newspaper was uncomfortable, but at least I stayed informed while I handled my business.
令人难过的是，不论你家大门或私人车道有多华丽，总还有一个东西你怎么也改善不了：厕所。我们没有室内的自来水，只有一个公用的户外水龙头和一个铁皮搭的公共厕所，几家共用。里面有个混凝土板，板上有个洞，洞上放了一个塑料马桶坐垫，据说以前曾有盖子，但是后来坏了，就不知道哪儿去了。我们买不起厕纸，坐垫旁边的墙上有一个衣架，上面挂了一叠旧报纸，就用那个擦。报纸不舒服，但起码在上厕所的时候，能看看新闻。
We had two shanties in the backyard that my grandmother would rent out to migrants and seasonal workers. We had a small peach tree in a tiny patch on one side of the house and on the other side my grandmother had a driveway. I never understood why my grandmother had a driveway. She didn’t have a car. She didn’t know how to drive. Yet she had a driveway. All of our neighbors had driveways, some with fancy, cast-iron gates. None of them had cars, either. There was no future in which most of these families would ever have cars. There was maybe one car for every thousand people, yet almost everyone had a driveway. It was almost like building the driveway was a way of willing the car to happen. The story of Soweto is the story of the driveways. It’s a hopeful place.
后院有两个棚屋，我外婆会把它们租给移民和季节工。房子的一侧种着一棵小桃树，另一侧是我外婆的私人车道。我一直不理解为什么我外婆会要一个私人车道。她又没有车。她都不会开车。但她有个私人车道。我们所有的邻居家里都有私人车道，有些甚至还装了华丽的铸铁门。可是他们全都没有车。可能索韦托每一千人里大概会有一辆车，但是几乎所有人都有车道。好像修一个车道，就能祈愿到一辆车。索韦托的故事就是车道的故事。这是个充满希望的地方。
One afternoon, when I was around five years old, my gran left me at home for a few hours to go run errands. I was lying on the floor in the bedroom, reading. I needed to go, but it was pouring down rain. I was dreading going outside to use the toilet, getting drenched running out there, water dripping on me from the leaky ceiling, wet newspaper, the flies attacking me from below. Then I had an idea. Why bother with the outhouse at all? Why not put some newspaper on the floor and do my business like a puppy? That seemed like a fantastic idea. So that’s what I did. I took the newspaper, laid it out on the kitchen floor, pulled down my pants, and squatted and got to it.
我五岁那年的一个下午，外婆要出去办事，就把我独自留在家里。我躺在卧室的地板上看了会儿书之后，想上厕所，但外面正在下暴雨。我很抵触出去上厕所这件事，想象一下，跑过去这一路会全身淋湿，进到厕所里，雨水还会从头顶上的铁皮棚裂缝里滴下来，旧报纸湿透了，屁股下面还会受到苍蝇军团的袭击。我突然灵光一闪。为什么要出去上厕所啊？我可以在地上铺张报纸，像小狗那样在家里解决啊！于是，我就这么做了。我拿了些报纸，铺在厨房地上，脱下裤子，蹲好，开始。
When you shit, as you first sit down, you’re not fully in the experience yet. You are not yet a shitting person. You’re transitioning from a person about to shit to a person who is shitting. You don’t whip out your smartphone or a newspaper right away. It takes a minute to get the first shit out of the way and get in the zone and get comfortable. Once you reach that moment, that’s when it gets really nice.
拉屎时，就是刚刚坐下的时候，你还不会完全进入状态，还不是一个正在拉屎的人，而是要从一个即将拉屎的人，转变成一个正在拉屎的人。你不会立刻拿出手机或报纸。大概要花一分钟的时间，你才会开始拉，然后就会进入舒适期。当你到达那个时刻，一切都会变得很美好。
The thing that I couldn’t handle about the outhouse was the flies. It was a long drop to the bottom, and they were always down there, eating on the pile, and I had an irrational, all-consuming fear that they were going to fly up and into my bum.
我对这个厕所还有一个受不了的地方，就是苍蝇。大便会掉落到深深的底部，而上面落满了苍蝇。我对此一直怀有一种不够理性但极其强烈的恐惧——它们会飞上来，飞进我的屁股里。
It’s a powerful experience, shitting. There’s something magical about it, profound even. I think God made humans shit in the way we do because it brings us back down to earth and gives us humility. I don’t care who you are, we all shit the same. Beyoncé shits. The pope shits. The Queen of England shits. When we shit we forget our airs and our graces, we forget how famous or how rich we are. All of that goes away.
拉屎是一种非凡的体验，能让你有一种奇妙的感觉，甚至可以说意义深远。我觉得上帝让人类这样拉屎，是想让我们知道脚踏实地，让我们学会谦卑。不论你是谁，我们都一样要拉屎。碧昂丝要拉屎。教皇要拉屎。英国女王也拉屎。拉屎的时候，我们都得放下架子和优雅，忘记自己有多出名或多富有。所有那些都不重要了。
You are never more yourself than when you’re taking a shit. You have that moment where you realize, This is me. This is who I am. You can pee without giving it a second thought, but not so with shitting. Have you ever looked in a baby’s eyes when it’s shitting? It’s having a moment of pure self-awareness. The outhouse ruins that for you. The rain, the flies, you are robbed of your moment, and nobody should be robbed of that. Squatting and shitting on the kitchen floor that day, I was like, Wow. There are no flies. There’s no stress. This is really great. I’m really enjoying this. I knew I’d made an excellent choice, and I was very proud of myself for making it. I’d reached that moment where I could relax and be with myself. Then I casually looked around the room and I glanced to my left and there, just a few feet away, right next to the coal stove, was Koko.
人再没有比在拉屎时更真诚的时刻了。那个时候你会意识到，我是我。这就是我。你尿尿的时候可能不会想什么，但是拉屎的时候不一样。你有没有在一个婴儿拉屎的时候直视过他的眼睛？他在那时会到达自我觉醒的一瞬间。而去外面上那个公共厕所，会毁掉这一切。下雨啊，苍蝇啊，属于你的那一瞬会被夺走。没人该被夺走那宝贵的一瞬。那天蹲在厨房地板上拉屎的时候，我的感觉是，哇哦，没有苍蝇，没有压力，感觉太棒了，我真的很喜欢这样的感觉。我当下就明白自己做了个很棒的决定，我为自己的智慧感到骄傲。而且，我获得了属于我的一瞬，放松做自己的感觉可真好。但接着，我随意地四处张望了下之后，发现在我左边几米之外的煤炉旁边，坐着可可。
“Who’s there? Hallo? Hallo?!”
“谁在那儿？哈喽？哈喽？！”
I panicked. I was mid-shit. All you can do when you’re mid-shit is finish shitting. My only option was to finish as quietly and as slowly as I could, so that’s what I decided to do. Then: the softest plop of a little-boy turd on the newspaper. Koko’s head snapped toward the sound.
我开始慌了，因为才刚拉到一半。可拉到一半的时候，你唯一能做的就是拉完。我唯一的选择，便是尽量安静而缓慢地拉干净。我决定就这么办。可接着，一小坨便便轻柔地跌落到了报纸上。可可立刻转头朝着声音的方向。
I froze. I held my breath and waited.
我僵在那儿。屏住呼吸，等待着。
“Who’s there?! Hallo?!”
“谁在那儿？！哈喽？！”
She started calling out the whole family. “Nombuyiselo? Sibongile? Mlungisi? Bulelwa? Who’s there? What’s happening?”
她开始呼唤家里所有人的名字。“努拜伊赛罗？斯彭赫里？穆隆格斯？布勒瓦？谁在那儿？发生了什么？”
It was like the scene in Jurassic Park when the children turn and the T. rex is right there. Her eyes were wide open, cloudy white and darting around the room. I knew she couldn’t see me, but her nose was starting to crinkle — she could sense that something was wrong.
随后发生的事，就好像是侏罗纪公园里的场景：孩子们转过头，发现不远处站着一只霸王龙。可可把眼睛睁得大大的，透过上面那层雾蒙蒙的白色，四下张望着。我知道她看不见我，但是她的鼻子皱了起来——她能感觉到有什么东西不对劲儿。
“Is somebody there?! Trevor, is that you?! Frances? Hallo? Hallo?”
“有人在那儿吗？！特雷弗，是你吗？！弗朗西斯？哈喽？哈喽？”
I kept quiet, waited, then started again.
我保持安静，等待着，然后继续拉。
It was like a game, like I was trying to hide and a blind woman was trying to find me using sonar. Every time she called out, I froze. There would be complete silence. “Who’s there?! Hallo?!” I’d pause, wait for her to settle back in her chair, and then I’d start up again.
就好像一场游戏。好像我在躲迷藏，而一个瞎子女人试图用声纳搜寻我的位置。每次她一叫唤，我就僵住不动。这时会是绝对的安静。“谁在那儿？！哈喽？！”我就暂停，等着她缩回椅子，然后重新开始。
“Frances! Thank God you’re here. There’s something in the house.”
“弗朗西斯！谢天谢地你回来了！房子里有东西。”
Finally, after what felt like forever, I finished. I stood up, took the newspaper — which is not the quietest thing — and I slowwwwwly folded it over. It crinkled. “Who’s there?” Again I paused, waited. Then I folded it over some more, walked over to the rubbish bin, placed my sin at the bottom, and gingerly covered it with the rest of the trash. Then I tiptoed back to the other room, curled up on the mattress on the floor, and pretended to be asleep. The shit was done, no outhouse involved, and Koko was none the wiser.
终于，好像经历了一场永恒，我拉完了。我站起来，捡起报纸——这东西太容易发出声响了——缓缓地叠起来。报纸发出窸窸窣窣的声音。“谁在那儿？”我又暂停，等待。然后继续叠，走到垃圾桶前，把它轻轻地放在最下面，再轻轻地用别的垃圾盖在上面。然后踮着脚尖走到另一个房间，蜷缩到床垫上，假装睡着了。我拉完了，没有去外面的厕所，可可也没发现。
Mission accomplished.
大功告成。
“What was it?”
“有什么？”
“I don’t know, but I could hear it, and there was a smell.”
“我不知道，但我听到了，而且有股味道。”
My gran started sniffing the air. “Dear Lord! Yes, I can smell it, too. Is it a rat? Did something die? It’s definitely in the house.”
我的外婆开始嗅空气里的味道。“老天！对，我也闻见了！是老鼠吗？还是什么东西死了？肯定还在这房子里。”
An hour later the rain had stopped. My grandmother came home. The second she walked in, Koko called out to her.
一个小时之后，雨停了，外婆也回来了。她一踏进房门，可可就冲她大声叫着。
They went back and forth about it, quite concerned, and then, as it was getting dark, my mother came home from work. The second she walked in, my gran called out to her.
她们反复讨论着，非常紧张。天快黑时，我妈妈也下班了。她一进门，可可就冲她大嚷。
Koko told her the story, the sounds, the smells.
可可给她讲了一遍，那些声音，那个味道。
My mother gasped. “We’ve been bewitched! It’s a demon!”
我妈妈倒吸一口冷气：“我们被下咒了！有魔鬼！”
“Look!”
“看！”
“What’s going on?!” she cried. “What’s going on?! Did you find it?!”
“发生什么了？！”她大叫道，“发生什么了？！你找到了吗？！”
“Yes. I called out to everyone. Nobody came.”
“是啊，我叫了所有人的名字，没人来。”
Koko, still blind, still stuck in her chair, was dying to know what was happening.
可可，依旧看不见，依旧卡在她的椅子里，急迫地想知道到底发生了什么。
For my mother, this was the logical conclusion. Because that’s how witchcraft works. If someone has put a curse on you or your home, there is always the talisman or totem, a tuft of hair or the head of a cat, the physical manifestation of the spiritual thing, proof of the demon’s presence.
对我妈来说，这是一个很有逻辑的结论。因为巫术就是这样做的。如果有人对你或你家下咒，肯定会用到某个物件，譬如一小撮头发或一只猫头，用这些实在的物体来承载灵体，彰显魔鬼的存在。
“It’s shit,” Mom said. “There’s shit in the bottom of the dustbin.”
“是屎，”我妈说，“垃圾桶底下有坨屎。”
“But how?!” Koko said. “There was no one here!”
“怎么会？！”可可说，“可是这儿一直没人啊！”
“What?! How did it get there?!”
“什么？！它怎么会出现在这儿？！”
“What?! What do you mean?”
“什么？！你这什么意思？”
Then my mom, who has a keen sense of smell, started going around the kitchen, sniffing. “Yes, I can smell it. I can find it… I can find it…” She went to the rubbish bin. “It’s in here.” She lifted out the rubbish, pulled out the folded newspaper underneath, and opened it up, and there was my little turd. She showed it to gran.
我妈妈对气味很敏感，她开始在厨房走来走去，嗅着。“是的，我闻到了。我可以找到它…我可以找到…”她走到垃圾桶前面，“在这儿。”她把垃圾掏出来，拎出最底部折叠好的那团报纸，打开后，我的那坨便便就在那儿。她拿给外婆看。
“Are you sure there was no one here?”
“你确定一直没人吗？”
“Oh, Nombuyiselo! Nombuyiselo! There’s something in the house!”
“哎哟，努拜伊赛罗！努拜伊赛罗！房子里有东西！”
“What?!” I said, playing dumb. “What’s going on?!”
“怎么了？！”我说，假装睡眼惺忪的样子，“发生什么了？！”
“Trevor! Trevor! Wake up!”
“特雷弗！特雷弗！醒醒！”
“Come! There’s a demon in the house!”
“快过来！屋里有魔鬼！”
She took my hand and dragged me out of bed. It was all hands on deck, time for action. The first thing we had to do was go outside and burn the shit. That’s what you do with witchcraft; the only way to destroy it is to burn the physical thing. We went out to the yard, and my mom put the newspaper with my little turd on the driveway, lit a match, and set it on fire. Then my mom and my gran stood around the burning shit, praying and singing songs of praise.
她抓着我的手，把我从床上拖下来。所有人紧急集合，开始行动。我们首先要出门把那坨便便烧掉。这是对待巫术的正确方法，唯一的销毁方式就是把这个咒语的承载实体烧掉。我们来到后院，我妈把那坨包着便便的报纸放在车道上，划了根火柴，将它点着，然后妈妈和外婆围在燃烧的便便旁边，开始祈祷、唱赞美诗。
The commotion didn’t stop there because when there’s a demon around, the whole community has to join together to drive it out. If you’re not part of the prayer, the demon might leave our house and go to your house and curse you. So we needed everyone. The alarm was raised. The call went out. My tiny old gran was out the gate, going up and down the block, calling to all the other old grannies for an emergency prayer meeting. “Come! We’ve been bewitched!”
这场闹剧并没有就这样轻易结束。因为如果有魔鬼出现，整个社区都会过来，大家齐心合力将其逐出。因为如果你没有来参加祷告，魔鬼可能离开我家之后，径直就去你家咒你了，所以每个人都要来参加。警报已经拉响，大家奔走呼号。我那位矮小的老外婆在家大门口外来回踱步，向每一个路过的老太太传播消息，我们家要开一个紧急祈祷会：“快来！我们被下咒了！”
Once my mom found the turd, all hell broke loose. This was serious. They had evidence. She came into the bedroom.
我妈发现了那坨便便后，天崩地裂。这很严重，她们有证据了。她来到我的卧室。
I stood there, my shit burning in the driveway, my poor aged grandmother tottering up and down the street in a panic, and I didn’t know what to do. I knew there was no demon, but there was no way I could come clean. The hiding I would have to endure? Good Lord. Honesty was never the best policy when it came to a hiding. I kept quiet.
我就站在原地，我的便便正在车道上燃烧，我可怜的老外婆迈着颤颤巍巍的步子，急得在街上团团乱转，我不知道该怎么办。我知道没有所谓的魔鬼，但是承认这一点之后，我也没办法脱身。想想等着我的那场暴揍？老天。如果会被揍，那诚实肯定不是最佳的解决方案。我决定什么也不说。
“Yes!” my mother said. “Help us! Pray, Trevor. Pray to God to kill the demon!”
“对！”我妈妈说道。“帮助我们！祈祷吧，特雷弗。祈求上帝帮我们杀死魔鬼！”
Moments later the grannies came streaming in with their Bibles, through the gate and up the driveway, a dozen or more at least. Everyone went inside. The house was packed. This was by far the biggest prayer meeting we’d ever had — the biggest thing that had ever happened in the history of our home, period. Everyone sat in the circle, praying and praying, and the prayers were strong. The grannies were chanting and murmuring and swaying back and forth, speaking in tongues. I was doing my best to keep my head low and stay out of it. Then my grandmother reached back and grabbed me, pulled me into the middle of the circle, and looked into my eyes.
过了一会儿，拿着《圣经》的老奶奶们从我家大门鱼贯而入，至少有十几个人。她们进到屋里后，把整个房子塞得满满当当。这是我们举办过的最大规模的祈祷会——比这房子里办过的任何一场祈祷会都要声势浩大。所有人围成一圈开始祷告，非常投入。奶奶们开始吟唱，喃喃自语，前后摆动，说方言。我尽量把头低着，希望能够置身其外。但外婆一把揪住后排的我，将我拎到圆圈的中心，看着我的眼睛说。
“Trevor, pray.”
“特雷弗，祈祷。”
I was terrified. I believed in the power of prayer. I knew that my prayers worked. So if I prayed to God to kill the thing that left the shit, and the thing that left the shit was me, then God was going to kill me. I froze. I didn’t know what to do. But all the grannies were looking at me, waiting for me to pray, so I prayed, stumbling through as best I could.
我吓坏了。我是相信祈祷的力量的。我知道我的祷告是有用的。如果我祈求上帝杀死那个丢便便的家伙，而那个家伙是我，然后上帝就会杀了我。我僵在那儿，不知道怎么办。但是所有的奶奶们都在望着我，等着我祷告。所以我祈祷了，尽我所能，磕磕巴巴地说：
“Dear Lord, please protect us, um, you know, from whoever did this but, like, we don’t know what happened exactly and maybe it was a big misunderstanding and, you know, maybe we shouldn’t be quick to judge when we don’t know the whole story and, I mean, of course you know best, Heavenly Father, but maybe this time it wasn’t actually a demon, because who can say for certain, so maybe cut whoever it was a break…”
“亲爱的上帝，请保护我们，呃，你知道，将干了这事的人…可是，我们也不明白到底发生了什么，也许是个大大的误会，您知道，当我们不了解事情真相的时候，不应该随意下结论，我的意思是，您肯定是知晓一切的，天父，但是也许这次并不是魔鬼干的，因为谁能说得清呢，所以也许您也不必惩罚他…”
It was not my best performance. Eventually I wrapped it up and sat back down. The praying continued. It went on for some time. Pray, sing, pray. Sing, pray, sing. Sing, sing, sing. Pray, pray, pray. Then everyone finally felt that the demon was gone and life could continue, and we had the big “amen” and everyone said good night and went home.
这不是我表现最好的一次，反正我稀里糊涂地说完就坐下了。祈祷会还在继续，持续了很长一段时间。祈祷，唱歌，祈祷。唱歌，祈祷，唱歌。唱歌，唱歌，唱歌。祈祷，祈祷，祈祷。折腾很久之后，所有人终于觉得恶魔已经离开了，生活可以继续了，我们才说完那个长长的“阿门”，大家互道晚安，各自回了家。
********************
********************
That night I felt terrible. Before bed, I quietly prayed, “God, I am so sorry for all of this. I know this was not cool.” Because I knew: God answers your prayers. God is your father. He’s the man who’s there for you, the man who takes care of you. When you pray, He stops and He takes His time and He listens, and I had subjected Him to two hours of old grannies praying when I knew that with all the pain and suffering in the world He had more important things to deal with than my shit.
那天晚上，我感觉糟透了。上床睡觉前，我自己安静地祈祷了一下。“上帝，我真的很抱歉，我知道这不对。”因为我明白，上帝对祷告有应答。上帝是天父，他是在天上看着你、照顾你的那个人。你祷告的时候，他会停下来倾听，而且我知道，这个世界上有很多的痛苦和灾难需要他去解决，但是我却让他听了两个小时老奶奶们的碎碎念，而且还是关于我的便便。
When I was growing up we used to get American TV shows rebroadcast on our stations: Doogie Howser, M. D.; Murder, She Wrote; Rescue 911 with William Shatner. Most of them were dubbed into African languages. ALF was in Afrikaans. Transformers was in Sotho. But if you wanted to watch them in English, the original American audio would be simulcast on the radio. You could mute your TV and listen to that. Watching those shows, I realized that whenever black people were on-screen speaking in African languages, they felt familiar to me. They sounded like they were supposed to sound. Then I’d listen to them in simulcast on the radio, and they would all have black American accents. My perception of them changed. They didn’t feel familiar. They felt like foreigners.
小的时候，电视里会播美国电视剧，譬如《天才小医生》《女作家与谋杀案》，还有威廉·夏特纳出演的《火线救援》。这些电视剧都配过音。《家有阿福》是南非荷兰语的。《变形金刚》是梭托语的。不过如果你想看英语原版的，广播里会同时播放英文的原声道。你只要把电视调成静音，同时打开收音机就可以了。我注意到，电视上的黑人都说非洲话，感觉很亲切。他们说话的方式就好像本该如此。但我听到广播里的原声道后，才发现原来他们都带有美国黑人口音。我对他们的理解发生了变化。他们不再令我感到亲切，好像成了外国人。
The great thing about language is that you can just as easily use it to do the opposite: convince people that they are the same. Racism teaches us that we are different because of the color of our skin. But because racism is stupid, it’s easily tricked. If you’re racist and you meet someone who doesn’t look like you, the fact that he can’t speak like you reinforces your racist preconceptions: He’s different, less intelligent. A brilliant scientist can come over the border from Mexico to live in America, but if he speaks in broken English, people say, “Eh, I don’t trust this guy.”
不过反过来说，语言也可以让人们相信彼此是一样的。种族主义说我们因为肤色的不同而不同。但种族主义者很蠢，很容易被骗。如果你是个种族主义者，你遇到一个和你长得不一样的人，恰巧他说话的方式和你也不一样，这只会加深你的种族偏见：他和我不一样，智商低。假设一个很厉害的科学家从墨西哥移民到美国，但他的英文说得磕磕巴巴，人们会说：“呃，我不相信他。”
Language brings with it an identity and a culture, or at least the perception of it. A shared language says “We’re the same.” A language barrier says “We’re different.” The architects of apartheid understood this. Part of the effort to divide black people was to make sure we were separated not just physically but by language as well. In the Bantu schools, children were only taught in their home language. Zulu kids learned in Zulu. Tswana kids learned in Tswana. Because of this, we’d fall into the trap the government had set for us and fight among ourselves, believing that we were different.
语言中蕴含着你的身份和文化背景，或至少感觉上是这样的。如果我们说一样的语言，那么“我们就是一样的”。如果说不一样的语言，“那么我们就是不同的”。种族隔离制度的设计者深谙此道。为了将黑人区隔开，光是从物理空间上分开不够，还要用语言来区分。班图人的学校只教孩子们说班图语。祖鲁孩子们学祖鲁语。茨瓦纳孩子们学茨瓦纳语。就这样，我们掉进了政府的圈套之中，彼此攻击，开始认为我们是不同的人。
“But he’s a scientist.”
“可是他是科学家啊。”
“In Mexican science, maybe. I don’t trust him.”
“墨西哥科学吧，我不相信他。”
However, if the person who doesn’t look like you speaks like you, your brain short-circuits because your racism program has none of those instructions in the code. “Wait, wait,” your mind says, “the racism code says if he doesn’t look like me he isn’t like me, but the language code says if he speaks like me he… is like me? Something is off here. I can’t figure this out.”
但是，如果这个人和你长得不同，但是说话方式一样，你那植入了种族主义程序的大脑就会短路，不知道该如何处理此类代码。“等等，”你的大脑说，“种族主义的代码说，如果他长得不像我，那么他和我不同，但是语言代码又说他和我说一样的语言…所以他和我一样？什么地方不太对啊。我想不明白了。”
0 条评论