By Jamie Ford

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet 是美國(guó)作家Jamie Ford（杰米·福特）寫的第一本小說，使他一舉成名。這本書被翻譯成35種語(yǔ)言，在全球各地都受到了好評(píng)。Jamie 其他的作品還有Songs of Willow Frost和 Love and Other Consolation Prizes等。

在本書的開頭，美籍華裔男孩Henry在Panama Hotel里找到了當(dāng)年居住在那里的日本人的遺物。為了紀(jì)念自己跟Keiko的那段凄美的感情，Henry試圖尋找并保留Keiko家的物品。其中最重要的一件物品是Jazz Band的唱片，小學(xué)時(shí)Henry曾邀請(qǐng)Keiko與他一起聽過一場(chǎng)爵士音樂會(huì)。他們從黑人薩克斯手Sheldon那里拿到了一張唱片，Henry堅(jiān)持讓Keiko保留這張唱片。后來Henry發(fā)現(xiàn)唱片還很新，說明Keiko非常珍惜這件物品。本篇節(jié)選中Henry的兒子Marty在知道父親和Keiko這段情感的來龍去脈后，說服Henry去找Keiko。最后Henry在紐約城找到了Keiko，還意外地在她家里看到了她在Minidoka集中營(yíng)時(shí)畫的一張他們兩人的肖像畫。故事以Henry從好友Sheldon那里學(xué)來的一句日語(yǔ)結(jié)束：“Oai deki te ureshii desu.”（你今天怎么樣？）

Henry walked home. It was probably more than two miles， up South King and around toward Beacon Hill， overlooking the International District. It would have been much easier to drive， even with the traffic， but he just felt like walking. Hed spent his childhood canvassing（仔細(xì)查看）this neighborhood， and with each step he tried to recall what used to be. As he walked， he crossed over to South Jackson， looking at the buildings that used to be home to the Ubangi Club， the Rocking Chair， even the Black Elks Club. Holding that broken record at his side， now looking at generic storefronts for Seafirst Bank and All West Travel， he tried to remember the song hed once played over and over in his head.

It was all but gone. He could remember a bit of the chorus（副歌）， but its melody had escaped. Yet he couldnt forget her， couldnt forget Keiko. And how hed once told her hed wait for a life time. Every summer hed thought of her but never spoke of her to anyone， not even Ethel（Henry的妻子）. And of course， telling Marty had been out of the question. So when his impetuous（魯莽的）son had wanted so badly to go to the Puyallup Fair each year， and Henry had said no， there was a reason. A painful reason. One that Henry shared with almost no one but Sheldon， on the rare occasion when his old friend would bring it up. And now Sheldon would be gone soon too. Another former resident of a small community in Seattle that no one remembered anymore. Like ghosts haunting a vacant lot（空地）because the building had long since vanished.

At home， exhausted from the long walk along the dirty， littered streets， Henry hung up his jacket， went to the kitchen for a glass of iced tea， and drifted to the bedroom hed once shared with Ethel.

To his surprise， on his bed was his best suit. Set out like it had been all those years ago. His old black leather dress shoes had been polished and placed on the floor next to an old suitcase of his. For a moment， Henry felt fifteen again， in that old Canton Alley apartment hed shared with his parents. Looking at the tools of a traveler bound for ports unknown. A future far away.

Mystified（困惑的）， Henry felt the hair on the back of his neck prick up（豎起）as he turned back the lapel（西服上的翻領(lǐng)）of his suitcoat and saw， like a mirage（幻想）， a ticket jacket（票夾）in his breast pocket. Sitting on the edge of the bed， he pulled it out and opened it up. Inside was a round-trip ticket to New York City. It wasnt to Canton but to another faraway land. A place hed never been.

“I guess you found my little present.” Marty stood in the doorway， holding his fathers hat， the one with the threadbare brim（磨破的帽檐）.

“Most children just send their aged parents to a nursing home， youre sending me to the other side of the country，”Henry said.

“More than that， Pops， Im sending you back in time.”

Henry looked at the suit， thinking about his own father. He knew only one person who had ever talked about New York， and shed never come back. Shed left a long time ago. Back in another lifetime.

“You sending me back to the war years？” Henry asked.

“Im sending you back to find whats missing. Sending you back to find what you let go. Im proud of you， Pops， and Im grateful for everything， especially for the way you cared for Mom. Youve done everything for me， and now its my turn to do something for you.”

Henry looked at the ticket.

“I found her， Pops. I know you were always loyal to Mom， and that youd never do this for yourself. So I did it for you. Pack your suitcase. Im taking you to the airport； youre leaving for New York City…”

“When？” Henry asked.

“Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever. You got someplace else you gotta be？”

Henry drew out a tarnished（生銹的）silver pocket watch. It kept poor time and required frequent winding（上發(fā)條）. He flipped（打開）it open， sighed heavily， then snapped it shut.

The last time someone had laid out a suit and a pair of dress shoes with a ticket purchased for a faraway place， Henry had refused to go.

This time， Henry refused to stay.

New York（1986）

Henry had never been to New York City. Oh， sure， maybe once or twice in a dream. But in full， waking reality， it was a place hed thought of often over the years but never allowed himself to visit. It seemed a world away. Not just across the country or on another coast， but someplace beyond the horizon， lost in another time.

In the forty-dollar cab ride from La Guardia Airport， Henry held the complete Oscar Holden（西雅圖爵士樂創(chuàng)始人之一）record on his lap. It had been played at Sheldons funeral. The same one he had hand-carried on the plane from Seattle—his one piece of carry-luggage， a conversation piece everywhere he went.

When he explained where the record came from， its unique history， and the circumstances of life at the time， people always gushed（夸張地表現(xiàn)）their amazement. Even the young blond woman sitting next to him on the plane， who was flying to New York on business， couldnt believe he was hand-carrying the only remaining playable copy. Shed forgotten how horribly cruel the Japanese internment（拘留）was. She was in awe of the Panama Hotels survival. A place of personal belongings， cherished memories， forgotten treasures.

“First time to the city？” the cabdriver asked. Hed been eyeing Henry in the rearview mirror（后視鏡）， but his passenger was lost in thought， staring out the window at the brick-and-mortar（實(shí)體的，這里指真實(shí)的）landscape that rolled by. A nonstop ebb and flow（起伏）of yellow taxis， sleek limousines（造型優(yōu)美的豪華轎車）， and pedestrians（行人）who swarmed the sidewalks.

“First time” was all Henry could manage to say. Marty and Samantha had wanted him to call first. To call ahead. But he couldnt bring himself to pick up the phone. He was too nervous. Like now.

“This is it， twelve hundred block of Waverly Place，” the driver called out； his arm， which hung out the open window， pointed to a small apartment building.

“This is Greenwich Village？”

“Youre looking at it， pal.”

Henry paid the driver an additional thirty dollars to take his bags one mile over to the Marriott， where hed drop them off with the bellman（接待服務(wù)員）. A strange thought， trusting someone in the big city， Henry noted to himself. But that was what this trip was really about， wasnt it？ Blind faith. And besides， he had nothing to lose. What were some luggage and a change of clothes compared with finding and fixing a broken heart？

The apartment building looked old and modest， but a flat there still probably cost a fortune compared with the simple home Henry had occupied in Seattle for the past forty years.

Looking at the address Marty had given to him， Henry went inside and found himself on the eighth floor， a Chinese lucky number. Standing in the hallway， he stared at the door of Kay Hatsune， a widow of three years. Henry didnt know what had happened to her husband. If Marty knew， he hadnt said.

Just that Kay was indeed…Keiko.

Henry looked at the record in his hand. When he took it partway out of the sleeve， the vinyl（唱片）looked impossibly new. She must have taken impeccable（無可挑剔的）care of it over the years.

Putting the record away， Henry straightened the line of the old twopiece suit his son had set out for him， checked his hair and the shine of his shoes.

He touched his face where hed shaved on the plane.

Then he knocked.

Twice， before he heard the shuffled steps of someone inside. A shadow fell across the eyepiece（目鏡，這里指貓眼） in the door， then he heard the tumble（滾動(dòng)）of locks.

As the door opened， Henry felt the warmth from the inside windows shining through， illuminating the darkened hallway. Standing in front of him was a woman in her fifties， her hair shorter than he remembered， with an occasional streak of gray. She was slender， and held the door with trim fingers and manicured（修剪整齊的）nails. Her chestnut brown（栗褐色）eyes， despite the lifetime she wore in the lovely lines of her face， shone as clear and fluid（流暢的）as ever.

The same eyes that had looked inside him all those years ago. Hopeful eyes.

She paused momentarily， not completely recognizing him； then her hands cupped her mouth—then touched her cheeks in surprise. Keiko sighed， a confession in her smile.“Id…almost given up on you…” She opened the door wide for Henry to come in.

Inside her tiny apartment hung an assortment of watercolors（水彩畫）and oils（油畫）. Of cherry blossoms and ume trees（梅樹）. Of lonesome prairie（大草原）and barbed wire（有刺鐵絲網(wǎng)）. Henry knew the paintings were all Keikos. They had the same touch， only a grown-up version of the way shed expressed herself as a girl. The way she remembered things.

“Can I get you something， some iced tea？”

“Thatd be nice， thank you，” Henry answered. Amazed that he was having this conversation， and that it sounded so normal， like a natural extension—a follow-up to where theyd left off forty years earlier， as if they hadnt each lived a lifetime apart.

While she disappeared into the kitchen， Henry was drawn to the photos on her mantel（壁爐架）， of her and her husband， her family. He touched a framed photo of her father， in an army uniform， a member of the framed 442nd（美軍第442步兵團(tuán)）1. He and a group of Japanese American soldiers were standing in the snow， smiling， proudly holding a captured German flag—written on it were the words “Go for Broke?。ㄈσ愿埃。?Henry found a tiny silver frame nearby. He picked it up and wiped a thin coat of dust from the glass. It was a black-and-white sketch of him and Keiko from Camp Minidoka. He had a peaceful， contented grin. She was sticking her tongue out.

Minidoka was gone now. Long gone. But she had kept the drawing.

Near a window， an old stereo caught his eye. Next to it sat a small collection of Seattle jazz recordings—vinyl 78s（每分鐘78轉(zhuǎn)）of Palmer Johnson， Wanda Brown， and Leon Vaughn. Henry carefully removed the record hes been carrying and gently placed it on the turntable（唱機(jī)上的轉(zhuǎn)盤）. He turned the old dial（轉(zhuǎn)盤）， watching the label begin to spin as he delicately set the needle in the outside groove（凹槽）. In his heart music began to play—Sheldons record. His and Keikos song. Complete with bumps and scratches.

It was old， and hollow sounding， imperfect.

But it was enough.

When he turned around， Keiko was standing there. The grown-up woman Keiko had become—a mother， a widow， an artist—handing him a glass of iced green tea， with ginger and honey from the taste of it.

They stood there， smiling at each other， like they had done all those years ago， standing—on either side of that fence.

“Oai deki te…” She paused.

“Ureshii desu，”2 Henry said， softly.

1. The 442 Regimental Combat Team，第442步兵團(tuán)，是二戰(zhàn)時(shí)期美軍的一個(gè)幾乎全部由第二代日裔美國(guó)人組成的作戰(zhàn)單位。

2. Oai deki te ureshii desu是日語(yǔ)里“How are you today， beautiful”的意思。