迎接金婚

【编者按】著名翻译家沙博理著有英文自传My China： The Metamorphosis of a Country and a Man（《情系中华五十年》，新世界出版社，1997）。下面的英文部分取自该书，笔触平实，感情真挚，翔实、细腻地讲述了沙博理与其妻凤子的婚姻恋爱史，是一篇极为难得的佳作。英译文并非和中文原文（凤子自述）逐字对应，而是将一些中文细节信息省略，使译文更为简练。因中文原文独立成篇，而英文译文是自传中的部分章节，故而标题也并不一致。

一九四七年四月一日，我居住的上海虹口区万岁馆二楼，一间约八平米大小的房间里。突然响起了“笃笃笃”的敲门声，大约是上午十时光景。我连喊几声：“请进！”门未见推开，只好起身去开门。

只见门外站着一位碧眼黄发的青年，操着异样口音的中国话说：“我找凤子女士！”

他就是一直到今天和我共同生活了四十五年的老伴沙博理。

面对这位陌生的外国青年，我才突然想起老友杨云慧从美国耶鲁大学寄来的信，说她的一位美国同学沙博理准备到中国继续学中文，介绍他来找我，因为我曾计划去美国，可以和他练习会话。

“您是密斯特Shapiro？”

“我是沙博理！”

他不用英语，固执地用他异样口音的中国话说出自己的汉文姓名，一边迈步跨进我的斗室。

我奇怪这位黄发、碧眼来自太平洋彼岸的美国青年，为什么这个时候要到中国来。日本投降后的上海，经过国民党官员们的大肆劫收，在美国支持下，正用美军飞机运送物资、武器到东北，继续支持国民党打内战，妄图实现他们未逞的“剿共”迷梦。这时候的上海，物资匮乏，国库空虚，法币贬值，物价一日数涨，人民怨声载道，民不聊生，饿殍倒毙街头，盗贼横行，昔日中外冒险家的乐园，如今却真正成了鬼蜮横行的世界。

由于语言隔阂，我对这位美国青年的疑问，是经过了相当长一段的时间才逐渐了解的。

我从未接待过外国人，正值吃午饭时间，我不便留他在我这间狭窄的屋子里共食我的简单的饭菜，于是请他到附近的西餐馆，叫了两客客饭，所谓公司菜，有汤、有冷盘、有一盘炸肉排，最后是咖啡、甜点。我以为这就是所谓的正规西餐了。谁知他只吃了一点，有的竟不动刀叉。

我奇怪地问他：“你吃过饭了么？”

“没有。”他回答。

这个疑问一直在我心里，直到若干年后，应该说三十多年后，我和他一块去美国探亲，住在纽约他妹妹家，才多少了解了点不同民族、不同国家，具体地说美国人的生活习惯。饮食上，他们是以肉食为主食，一般就一盘烧或煎的猪、牛肉或肉排，配以少许素菜，不一定有汤，饭后喝咖啡或茶。特别是中午那餐饭，只随便吃两片面包夹起士，或者就是头天晚上的剩余食品。因为他们没有睡午觉的习惯，写字间工作的人中午只有一小时的时间休息，大多到街上买一个“热狗”或“三明治”就行。晚饭全家人都回来了，才正经烧个菜，有时也有汤，有水果。

难怪外国朋友来中国，到中国朋友家吃饭，都为满桌丰盛的菜肴吃惊。有人问：“你们每顿饭都是这么吃的吗？”他们难以理解。当然，好客是中国人的美德。据说我们的国宴，曾有明令：四菜一汤。实际上，加上冷盘、点心等等，最后仍然剩下不少菜肴。还有所谓公费请客，名义是接待一位专家、学者或重要客户，可是每顿要花几百上千元，因为主人加陪客绝不止一人！往往宴席也绝不止一桌！

饮食文化，中国有悠久的传统，云贵川等省以辣出名，闽粤吃蛇、烤乳猪，北京当然数烤鸭了。中国是多民族国家，各民族风尚又各自不同，饮食文化自然各异。沙博理为走访水陆两条丝绸之路，到过新疆，他奇怪手抓羊肉怎么一点也不腻，味也不膻。他特别爱吃维吾尔族的油炸馓子。

入乡随俗，可几十年的生活经历，他儿时养成的饮食习惯到老也难改变。如他不喜欢过于油腻的东西和水煮的吃食。如饺子，他不爱吃，可他吃锅贴。可是有些中国人的老习惯，如喝茶，他特别喜爱，而且独爱清茶。出国探亲，一定要带上茶叶。

他来中国时刚三十岁出头，在中国生活了四十多年，将到八十岁了，生活习惯也多少中国化了。如他爱着布鞋，冬天穿对襟短丝绵袄，为了舒适，也很实用。特别是语言模仿能力，由于我们家往来的朋友演员多，大家说的比较標准的普通话，又在北京住了四十多年，他的中国话听来比南方生长的朋友们说得地道。他常笑我是生长在长江边上的人，L、N的发音不分，我就挑他说话语调上的毛病。

一个单身妇女的日子是不好过的，和谁往来总会被人议论。当时我正忙于写作，写小说、写散文，编辑出版了抗战时期写的散文集《八年》《舞台漫步》和两本小说;同时，我也想出国，换个生活环境，可又想等着解放的一天到来，可以投入一个崭新的生活。

沙博理突然闯进我的生活圈子，犹如平静的湖面被击下一石，起了一圈又一圈的浪花，我想改变一下生活，可我难啊！

这就是我的婚姻恋爱史，似乎复杂，结合离散也那么自然。同时，这个美国青年的确吸引了我，他不像一般的美国人给人印象那么粗野，他很英俊，也很潇洒，待人接物彬彬有礼。特别对中国的一切，似是好奇，却是怀着深厚的感情。我们大多数中国人是以美国电影上出现的形象来看美国人的。现在通过这个活生生的美国人，我逐渐对美国、美国人有所了解。

为了装修姚主教路我们的新居，沙博理把律师收入的积蓄不知花了多少，对如何装修更是十分认真，其实不过两间房，实际是一大间，客厅和卧室是用布幔隔开的。墙壁一定要浅蓝色，显得幽雅、宁静。我对这一切不大注意，看他那么认真，看他对即将建立的这个家所怀的感情，是那样的真挚、深厚，也不禁为之感动。

In April 1947 I was living in a small flat in the Hongkou section of Shanghai. Suddenly I heard “knock， knock， knock” on the door. It was about ten in the morning. “Come in，” I shouted. Nobody entered， though I called several times， so I got up and opened the door. Standing there was a “blue-eyed， golden-haired” young man. （A common aphorism. To many Chinese foreigners looked outlandish.）

“I’m looking for Miss Phoenix，” he said， in heavily accented Chinese.

He was Sha Boli， the man I have been living with as husband and wife for the past 45 years.

My friend Nancy Yang had written that an American who had been a student with her at Yale was coming and wanted to continue studying Chinese. She knew I was planning to go to America and suggested that I teach him， in exchange for him helping me learn some English.

“Are you Mr. Shapiro？” I asked.

“I am Sha Boli.”

He didn’t use English， but insisted on speaking his broken Chinese as he strode into my flat.

I was surprised. Why should this young American from the opposite side of the Pacific choose to come to China at this time？ It was with American support that the Kuomintang had plundered Shanghai after the Japanese surrendered. American military transport planes had flown arms and supplies to the northeast to help the Kuomintang continue the civil war in its dream to “exterminate the Communists.” Shanghai was short of everything， the national treasury was empty， prices were soaring， the newly issued “gold yuan” could not save the collapsing economy. The people were protesting， they could barely survive. There were corpses on every corner， crime was rampant. Shanghai had become a paradise for Chinese and foreign speculators， it was indeed a world of devils.

Because of the language barrier， it was a long time before I could gradually get the answers to my questions from the young American.

I had never entertained a foreigner before. It was nearly lunch time. I couldn’t ask him to share my simple fare in my cramped little flat， so I invited him to a nearby foreign restaurant. I ordered two orders of soup， cold cuts， steak， coffee and dessert. I assumed this was a typical Western meal. But he ate very little. Some things he didn’t even touch. I was surprised.

“Have you already eaten？” I asked.

“No，” he replied.

It was a question that puzzled me for a long time—for more than 30 years， to be exact. I went with him to America and visited his sister in New York. That was when I finally began to realize a bit about the differences in racial and national customs， particularly about the way Americans lived. Meat are the main courses at American meals， either cooked or grilled， either pork， or beef， or lamb chops， with a few vegetables on the side. They don’t necessarily have soup at the end of their meals， but finish with coffee or fruit. For lunch they may have only a sandwich， or left-overs from the night before. They don’t take midday naps. Since office workers have only an hour for lunch they may eat just a hot dog. Only at night， when the whole family is home for dinner， do have a substantial meal， perhaps with soup， or fruit.

Foreign friends are always amazed when they eat in Chinese homes at the tables laden with half a dozen dishes. “Do you eat like this all the time？” they ask. They don’t understand that lavish hospitality is considered a virtue in China. The rule now is that official banquets must be limited to four dishes and a soup. Actually， that doesn’t include the cold-cuts and the dessert. There are always a lot of expensive， rare viands left at the end of the meal. Especially wasteful are the official banquets given in honor of some famous expert or scholar. The cost runs into thousands of yuan. The host is sure to be accompanied by his entourage， who frequently fill several tables.

Culinary culture has a long tradition in China. In Yunnan， Guizhou and Sichuan people like their food spicy. In Guangdong and Fujian they eat snakes and roast suckling pigs. The favorite in Beijing is， of course， roast duck. China is a multi-racial country， and each ethnic minority has its own specialties. Sha Boli， while doing research along the Old Silk Road， was surprised to find when he got to Xinjiang that the mutton you eat with your hands was not greasy， and the taste not a bit gamy. He particularly enjoyed the crisp oil fritters of the Uygur people.

In a different land， follow the local customs. Over the decades Sha Boli certainly has done that where food is concerned.

And he became Sinicised in other ways as well. He prefers cloth shoes and silk-padded jackets because they are comfortable and practical. He has an excellent ear for languages. Many of my friends are actors and actresses who speak the purest Chinese， and from them be picked up the proper intonations. After over 40 years in Beijing his pronunciation is better than that of many friends from the southern part of the country. He laughs at me because as someone born and raised on the banks of the Yangtze I can’t distinguish between the L and N sounds. I twit him with his errors in cadence.

It was difficult for a single woman. People talked if she spent time with any man. I was busy writing—novels， short stories， essays. I was preparing a collection of pieces about the War of Resistance Against Japan period for publication. And I was hoping to go abroad， find a different environment. Yet I wanted to wait for the day of liberation， when I could plunge into a new life.

Sha Boli’s sudden appearance was like a stone cast into a placid pool， spreading circles of ripples. How hard it was for me to change！

Still， combining and separating my ways of life during our years of marriage and love seemed natural enough. The young man certainly attracted me. Most Americans gave me the impression of being crude. But he was very handsome and intelligent， very relaxed， generous， courteous. Everything about China aroused his curiosity. He was very fond of things Chinese. He wasn’t a bit like the Americans we saw in the movies. Through him I came to understand Americans and America much better.

I don’t know how much money he spent fixing up our new flat. He was very meticulous. Aside from the kitchen and the bathroom， the so-called two-room flat was actually only one large room， with a curtain in the middle separating the bedroom from the parlor. He had the walls painted a pale blue， giving the flat an air of elegance and quiet. I didn’t care much about such things， but I was moved to see the care and feeling he devoted to building our home.