台英雙語散文
行這種棋我攏會輸。逐擺若行到欲輸的坎站,我就會真不服將規盤棋子拊拊咧,嘴唇刁故意翹甲抵天講:「無愛閣耍啊啦!」
「妳就是按呢,心狂躁熱,個性若是毋改,後擺會做無代誌。」阿爸誠正經咧講,一支手共棋子重排予好勢一支手咧摸縛佇頭殼頂的hoo5-tai2。抑我是目屎澹目墘,掠準窮佇欲袂當閣聽著阿爸的教示矣。
「老阿伯!你人有較爽快無?」病房外口有人行入來。
「阿爸!這位是送你來病院的王先生,你敢會記得?」
「袂記得矣。我人好好,為啥物愛蹛病院?」
「阿爸!你閣袂記得矣,昨昏你予車挵著,頭殼閣紩六七針咧。」
伊摸一下仔頭殼,吐一口喟講:「唉!運途誠歹。」
阿爸彼年 80歲,出車禍晉前記持就無界好。即馬逐件代誌佮伊講無一分鐘久又閣袂記得矣,予人真煩惱。走去問醫生,伊講,已經過2工矣,無吐是好現象,毋過需要閣觀察幾工仔,才會當確定是毋是有腦震盪。
每一擺黃昏若到,阿爸就開始揣伊掛佇身軀的鎖匙、目鏡、帽仔準備轉去厝裡睏。無論按怎騙,過一、兩分鐘又閣咧揣伊的物件。只有参伊行這種棋才會當安搭伊不安的情緒。
但是我攏行袂贏伊。伊真得意講,位做囡仔就開始耍矣,這毋是三、五冬的功夫爾爾。看伊予笑意加深的皺紋,雄雄驚覺著,皺紋是值得呵咾的記號。這種棋叫做啥物?阿爸講是「行直的」「行趴的」。伊定定騎鐵馬去愛河邊市政府的涼亭仔看人耍,有時家己參一腳,這是伊唯一的消遣。
這種棋會當勾出伊做囡仔的記持,彼段佮阿媽相依為命的艱苦日子。我突然閣發覺阿爸對以早的記持真深刻,毋過發生車禍以後的代誌,伊總是定定袂記得矣。
「阿爸有按怎無?」我一面開門入去阿爸的病房,一面對目睭仁攏牽紅血絲的尪婿安呢問,看伊遮呢悿,料想會到昨暝阿爸的情形無界四序。
「過一分鐘就想欲放尿,毋過攏放袂出來。」
「有共醫生講無?」
「三更半暝那會好意思共人齪嘈,醫生講咱家屬濟,意見嘛濟。」
好好人都忍受袂牢,莫講是阿爸的頭殼閣受傷?聽著予人真想欲發脾氣,但是尪婿已經連續三暝無睏,日時閣愛上班,火氣只好吞落來。熱人是日頭赤炎炎,就算早起時,空氣翕甲強欲袂喘氣。
我趕到病院的時,看誠實無一分鐘,阿爸又閣衝位便所去,根本無法度坐落來,更加免講躺落來歇睏。互痛苦折磨加深的皺紋,即馬看來是遐呢仔使人心碎。四兄講:
「昨昏欲暗仔妳轉去厝了後,阿爸就開始按呢矣。」
「敢會是伊閣袂記得家己有放過尿咧。」
阿爸兩支跤腫甲足食力,面色比佇手術台頂面閣較臭老。我毋管醫生是毋是咧歇睏,家己一个人傱入去in的房間請救兵。
醫生目頭結規丸,伊只是主治腦部的外科醫生爾爾,叫阮愛隨轉到設備齊全的公立病院。現此時阿爸攝護腺脹大,閣有糖尿病,受傷的皮膚嘛咧發炎,真費氣。阮一直煩惱阿爸的頭殼,按怎敢會倘堪得閣烏白咧生枝生葉咧?
聽講欲轉病院,阿爸煞顛倒反常,無吵無鬧欲轉去厝,一个合作、聽話、閣無奈的款,靜靜等待阮發落。自本伊就是厝裡的皇帝,伊的話就是聖旨,連阿母在生的時嘛驚伊三分。啥物時陣開始伊的權威已經退色矣?同事共我講,阿爸吵欲轉去嘛咧哭,無吵嘛哭,目屎有夠濟。
花謝、花落是大自然的現象,嘛是殘酷無情的。20冬前失去阿母的傷痕到旦猶未堅疕。現此時的每一刻我親像咧驚啥物,捌有人講過:「人若袂死,是有偌濟人會拍拼去愛?」即馬我無心情去分析,我干單知影父囝親情予我太濟的溫暖佮快樂,所以愈驚失去上尾仔所賰落來的情份。「手夯孝杖,才知苦哀。」是一件痛苦的代誌。
蘇格拉底有一句話:「快樂是一項奇妙的物件,時常佮痛苦有割袂斷的關係。」快樂佮痛苦註定是雙生仔,年歲沓沓仔大,這層微妙的關連,體會濟矣。我竟然希望阿爸莫予我傷濟,等到這个所謂的「自然現象」若發生,我才會當有藉口得著一寡平衡。
阿爸蹛院三禮拜,尪婿講伊欲向丈人爸仔領全勤獎,逐暗爭欲踮病院顧老大人。四兄講阿爸平常時攏蹛佇三兄in兜,難得有機會佮阿爸做夥,伊嘛搶欲顧阿爸。三兄三嫂四界求名醫,四嫂送飯,規家口仔攏總出動。
謝天謝地,醫生認為麻煩的老人病,即馬阿爸竟然出現奇蹟好起來矣。但是阮猶原袂當無細膩。醫生講「愛」有時會當治百病,敢誠實的?其實嘛毋是阮予阿爸的愛,事實是阮咧享受有老父的幸福。
若有閑阿爸真佮意揣我行棋。
現此時我行這種棋攏贏,阿爸感覺真滿意講:
「嗯!這箍死查某鬼仔閣有淡薄仔頭殼。」
「赫!看是佇人的查某囝啊。」我小可腮奶用巴結的話來應伊。
我知影阿爸的彼蕊心花佮查某囝的這蕊心花,互相牽纏做一坵金光閃閃的花園。啊!有老父,就是有花的世界。
Blooms in My Forest Grove by Lee Hsiu
Father and I enjoyed playing chess together. I always lost. Seeing a check-mate approaching, I would purposely dump the board.
"I don't want to play this boring game anymore." I was a spoiled child.
"Why do you get upset and angry? If you don't mend your ways, you will go nowhere. Remember, never do things halfway." Father was very concerned about me.
He set up the chess pieces, pausing briefly to touch the bandage on his head ever so lightly. My eyes filled with tears of gratitude: he was still alive, still trying to help me improve.
A man appeared at father's bedside.
"Uncle, are you feeling better?"
"Dad, this man brought you to the hospital yesterday," I explained.
"I'm okay, I guess. Why am I here?"
"You were hit by a car and received some serious head injuries. The doctors had to sew you up."
"Boy, why am I so unlucky?" He put his hand on the back of his head and sighed with despair.
Father had turned eighty. His memory was already getting worse before the accident. But after the accident, he couldn't recall anything that happened more than one minute before. We were all very worried. I decided I should speak to the doctor.
"It's been two or three days since the accident and he hasn't been vomiting," the doctor said. "He should be out of the woods. But because he had a concussion, he requires several days of observation."
As evening approached, Father demanded his keys, glasses and hat. He seemed to be in a panic to go home. We tried in vain to calm him down. Then I remembered the chessboard would calm him down.
"How about a little game of chess?” I asked. He gladly agreed. I made sure that he won every game. Playing chess seemed to bring back some of the memories of his early days with Grandma.
"You are still beating me," I told him.
"Well, you know, I have been playing chess since I was a child" he said. "I know the game inside out." He glowed with pride. As he laughed, his wrinkles got even deeper. I noticed the tree branches swaying outside and pondered the pleasure of joyful wrinkles.
Father instructed me how to move the chess pieces: "Move the horse straight", "Move the army across". He used to ride his bicycle to the public park to play chess with an old friend.
"How is Father doing?” I asked my tired husband as I quietly opened the door and walked into Father’s hospital room.
"He is always going to the toilet, but he can't seem to urinate."
"Did you ask for the doctor's help?"
"I didn't want to bother him in the middle of the night. The doctor was complaining that we all want different things. Maybe we shouldn't be so demanding."
For three days and three nights father couldn't sleep. This would be very difficult for a healthy person. How did my sick father manage to do it? I became very angry with my husband for not insisting that something be done. Noticing my husband's exhaustion, I recalled that he hadn't slept for three days either. I calmed down.
I went to the hospital where my fourth brother told me, “Last night, after you went home, Dad became more and more agitated.”
I asked him if Father had forgotten that he had already gone to the bathroom. I saw that Papa’s feet were swollen and his face looked much older then when he was brought to the hospital.
Darkness settled in around me. It was like a grey cloud that enveloped my father and me. He was continually agitated. Nothing, no one, could settle him down. Like a child woken by a clap of thunder in the middle of the night, I was shocked into action. I woke up the doctor and demanded action.
"This hospital only specializes in acute brain trauma. We suspect that he has problems due to his prostate, diabetes and skin allergies. You must transfer him to the general hospital."
We dreaded introducing more changes intoFather's life.
"Dad, we need to move you to another place," I said tearfully.
"Whatever you say, my dear. Please don't cry." His hand caressed my head.
We were amazed how cooperative he was. Just like an obedient child. He didn't even ask to go home. He had always been the family anchor. Now he needed us.
Friends asked me how many tears I cried. "First you cried because he wanted to go home; now you cry because he doesn't," they said.
Father! The years have turned your hair white. Hard work has robbed you of your youth. Autumn has passed. Winter is here. Twenty years ago, Mother died. I have always dreaded losing you too. I treasure every precious moment with you.
Death belongs to life as birth does. It means happiness and suffering co-exist.
It was impossible for me to grasp these things. I could barely conceive that everything I was or hoped to be was a gift from my dear parents. Every fiber of my being wanted both parents to live long lives so that they could be with me as long as possible.
Father stayed in the general hospital for another three weeks. During that time, family members visited faithfully. My husband never missed a day; my brothers competed with each other to be with Father; my sisters-in-law looked after every helpful detail. When you want something with all your heart, your will joins with that of the universe and becomes a positive force.
"It was a miracle, but he has recovered despite many complications. The only explanation is your love," the doctor said and then he added, “Probably your level of love could heal many illnesses.”
I thought it was not just a matter of Father enjoying our love, but, in fact, we gratefully enjoyed still having our father.
Indeed, a leaf can become a flower if it is loved. A flower turns into a fruit when it is worshiped.
Once again, father invites me over to play chess. He now loses, every time.
"My girl is quick-witted," my father says.
"Like father, like daughter," I reply.
Morning will come. Darkness will vanish. Father's health will bloom in my forest grove.
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