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杨绛 《孟婆茶:胡思乱想》
我登上一列露天的火车，但不是车，因为不在地上走；像筏，却又不在水上行；像飞机，却没有机舱，而且是一长列；看来像一条自动化的传送带，很长很长，两侧设有栏杆，载满乘客，在云海里驰行。我随着队伍上去的时候，随手领到一个对号入座的牌子，可是牌上的字码几经擦改，看不清楚了。我按着模糊的号码前后找去：一处是教师座，都满了，没我的位子；一处是作家座，也满了，没我的位子；一处是翻译者的座，标着英、法、德、日、西等国名，我找了几处，都没有我的位子。传送带上有好多穿灰色制服的管事员。一个管事员就来问我是不是“尾巴”上的，“尾巴”上没有定座。可是我手里却拿着个座牌呢。他要去查对簿子。另一个管事员说，算了，一会儿就到了。他们在传送带的横侧放下一只凳子，请我坐下。
我找座的时候碰到些熟人，可是正忙着对号，传送带又不停的运转，行动不便，没来得及交谈。我坐定了才看到四周秩序井然，不敢再乱跑找人。往前看去，只见灰蒙蒙一片昏黑。后面云雾里隐隐半轮红日，好像刚从东方升起，又好像正向西方下沉，可是升又不升，落也不落，老是昏腾腾一团红晕。管事员对着手拿的扩音器只顾喊“往前看！往前看！”他们大多凭栏站在传送带两侧。
我悄悄向近旁一个穿灰制服的请教：我们是在什么地方。他笑说：“老太太翻了一个大跟头，还没醒呢！这是西方路上。”他向后指点说：“那边是红尘世界，咱们正往西去。”说罢也喊“往前看！往前看！”因为好些乘客频频回头，频频拭泪。
我又问：“咱们是往哪儿去呀？”
他不理睬，只用扩音器向乘客广播：“乘客们做好准备，前一站是孟婆店；孟婆店快到了。请做好准备！”
前前后后传来纷纷议论。
“哦，上孟婆店喝茶去！”
“孟婆茶可喝不得呀！喝一杯，什么事都忘得一干二净了。”
“嗐！喝它一杯孟婆茶，一了百了！”
“我可不喝！多大的浪费啊！一杯茶冲掉了一辈子的经验，一辈子不都是白活了？”
“你还想抱住你那套宝贵的经验，再活一辈子吗？”
“反正我不喝！”
“反正也由不得你！”
管事员大概听惯这类议论。有一个就用扩音器耐心介绍孟婆店。
“‘孟婆店’是习惯的名称，现在叫‘孟大姐茶楼’。孟大姐是最民主的，喝茶决不勉强。孟大姐茶楼是一座现代化大楼。楼下茶座只供清茶；清茶也许苦些。不爱喝清茶，可以上楼。楼上有各种茶：牛奶红茶，柠檬红茶，薄荷凉茶，玫瑰茄凉茶，应有尽有；还备有各色茶食，可以随意取用。哪位对过去一生有什么意见、什么问题、什么要求、什么建议，上楼去，可分别向各负责部门提出，一一登记。那儿还有电视室，指头一按，就能看自己过去的一辈子──各位不必顾虑，电视室是隔离的，不是公演。”
这话激起哄然笑声。
“平生不作亏心事，我的一生，不妨公演。”这是豪言壮语。
“得有观众欣赏呀！除了你自己，还得有别人爱看啊！”这是个冷冷的声音。
扩音器里继续在讲解：
“茶楼不是娱乐场，看电视是请喝茶的意思。因为不等看完，就渴不及待，急着要喝茶了。”
我悄悄问近旁那个穿制服的：“为什么？”
他微微一笑说：“你自己瞧瞧去。”
我说，我喝清茶，不上楼。
他诧怪说：“谁都上楼，看看热闹也好啊。”
“看完了可以再下楼喝茶吗？”
“不用，楼上现成有茶，清茶也有，上去就不再下楼了──只上，不下。”
我忙问：“上楼往哪儿去？不上楼又哪儿去？”
他鼻子里哼了一声说：“我只随着这道带子转，不知到哪里去。你不上楼，得早作准备。楼下只停一忽儿，错过就上楼了。”
“准备什么？”
“得轻装，不准夹带私货。”
我前后扫了一眼说：“谁还带行李吗？”
他说：“行李当然带不了，可是，身上、头里、心里、肚里都不准夹带私货。上楼去的呢，提意见啊，提问题啊，提要求啊，提完了，撩不开的也都撩下了。你是想不上楼去呀。”
我笑说：“喝一杯清茶，不都化了吗？”
他说：“这儿的茶，只管忘记，不管化。上楼的不用检查。楼下，喝完茶就离站了，夹带着私货过不了关。”
他话犹未了，传送带已开进孟婆店。楼下阴沉沉、冷清清；楼上却灯光明亮，热闹非常。那道传送带好像就要往上开去。我赶忙跨出栏杆，往下就跳。只觉头重脚轻，一跳，头落在枕上，睁眼一看，原来安然躺在床上，耳朵里还能听到“夹带私货过不了关”。
好吧，我夹带着好些私货呢，得及早清理。
作品译文
Oblivion Tea: Some Foolish Thoughts
I boarded an open-top train, but it was not a train, for it was not moving on land; it looked like a raft, but it was not sailing on water; it looked like an aero-plane, but it did not have a cabin—besides, it had a long row of compartments. It appeared to be a very long automated conveyor belt with railings on both sides, and it was fully loaded with passengers, speeding along in a sea of clouds. As I followed the line of people to get onto the vehicle, I was given a numbered card for a reserved seat. However, the number, having altered several times, did not read clearly. I looked for my seat up and down the aisle only to find that one area was for teachers, all seats occupied, none of them mine; in another area there were writers’ seats, also fully occupied, with no vacancy for me; in yet another part were seats for translators, with signs saying “English”, “French”, “German”, “Japanese”, “Spanish”, etc. I checked a number of these sections but none had a place reserved for me. Along the conveyor, there were many attendants in grey uniforms. One of them came up to ask me whether I belonged in the “tail” part where there was open seating. However, what I was holding was unmistakably a card with a seat number. That attendant wanted to check the registration book, but another one said that I might as well give up the idea of finding the assigned seat: we were arriving soon anyway. They put a stool at one side of the conveyor for me to sit in.
While I was looking for my seat, I came across several old acquaintances, but since I was busy checking my number and I could not move around easily because the conveyor belt was running all the time, I was hardly able to speak to them. Now that I had settle down I realized that everything around me was in such a good order that I dared not run back and forth to look for anyone any more. Gazing ahead, all one could see was a dull grayish gloom. Looking back, half a red sun was dimly visible in the haze as if it was just rising in the east, or setting in the west. Or rather, it was neither rising nor setting; it just remained static, a bleary red halo. The attendants, mostly standing by the railings on both sides of the conveyor, were intent on shouting into the megaphones they were holding, “Look to the front! Look to the front!”
In a low voice, I ventured to ask the one in grey uniform next to me where we were. He laughed, “Granny, you don’t seem to have quite collected your wits after turning a big somersault. This is the road to the West.” Pointing backwards, he continued, “That way is the world of mortals. We’re now heading for the West.” Having said this, he also shouted, “Look to the front! Look to the front!” That was because quite a number of the passengers kept turning their heads and wiping away their tears.
I queried once more. “But where are we going to?”
He ignored me and went on announcing to the passengers through his megaphone, “Attention! Next stop is Granny Meng’s Tea Shop! We’ll soon be arriving at Granny Meng’s Tea Shop. Please get ready!”
Commotion broke out among the passengers.
“Let’s go and have a cup of tea at Granny Meng’s.”
“No, you mustn’t drink Granny Meng’s tea! One cup and you’ll forget everything.”
“Fine. A cup of her tea will put an end to all our troubles.”
“None for me, thanks. What a terrible waste it would be. One cup of tea and all the experience you have accumulated will be washed away. Wouldn’t that be denying your whole life?”
“You don’t mean to hold on to that precious experience of your and live your life over again, do you?”
“Whatever you say, I won’t drink it.”
“Whatever you say, it’s not up to you to decide.”
The attendants must have got used to such disputes. In response, one of them began to explain patiently what Granny Meng’s Tea Shop was all about through his megaphone.
“Granny Meng’s Tea Shop is the name in traditional use. It’s now called Sister Meng’s Tea House. Sister Meng is most democratic; she never forces anyone to drink her tea. The tea house is now in a modern building: on its ground floor only plain tea is available, which may taste a bit bitter. Those who don’t like plain tea may go upstairs, where different kinds of flavored tea are served: milk tea, lemon tea, peppermint tea, rose tea, etc., etc. Apart from that, there are assorted refreshments which you’re welcome to have with your tea. And whoever has any complaints, questions, requests, or suggestions regarding his past life may, once he is upstairs, put them forward to the respective departments which will put them on record item by item. Up there are also TV rooms. With a single press of the TV button, you can see your whole life on the screen. But you don’t have to worry: the TV rooms are partitioned off from the rest of the premises, and the show is not open to the public.”
This gave rise to a roar of laughter.
“I’ve never done anything to be ashamed of. I’ve nothing against my past being shown to the public.” That was a proud and heroic utterance.
“But you’ll need an audience to appreciate it. Apart from yourself there must be others who’d like to watch it.” That was a cold voice.
Over the megaphone the attendant was continuing with his explanation:
“The tea house is not an amusement parlor. The idea of watching TV is to invite you to tea. Because before you’ve finished watching, you’ll feel so thirsty that you’ll be impatient to have tea.”
In a hushed voice I ventured to ask the attendant close to me, “But why?”
He answered with a grin, “You just go and see for yourself.”
I said I’d have plain tea; I wouldn’t go upstairs.
He was surprised, saying, “Everybody goes upstairs: it’s worth it just to see all the goings-on.”
“May I come down again for tea after the show then?”
“There’d be no need to. All sorts of tea are served upstairs, including plain tea. Once you’re up, you won’t come down—only up, no down.”
I hastened to ask, “Where do we get to if we’re up? And where to, if not?”
He gave a snort, saying, “I only go around with this belt. I wouldn’t know where you’re headed. If you don’t want to be up, you’d better prepare yourself in advance. We’ll only stay on the ground floor for a very short while. If you miss the chance to get off, you’ll have to go upstairs.”
“How am I going to prepare?”
“You should travel light. Nothing is to be smuggled in.”
I swept my eyes across the conveyor. “Could anyone possibly be carrying any luggage?”
“It goes without saying that luggage cannot be taken,” he said, “but apart from that, no smuggling is allowed, no hiding anything about your person, in your head, heart or belly. For anyone who goes upstairs, no matter what opinions, questions or requests you may put forward, once they are finished with, even the things you can’t get off your chest are left behind for good. It seems that you don’t want to go upstairs, do you?”
I smiled and said, “one cup of plain tea and everything dissolves. Is that not so?”
He said, “The tea here enables you to forget; it doesn’t dissolve anything. Those who go upstairs don’t have to be checked. Those who remain downstairs will leave the station as soon as they’ve finished the tea. But whoever carries contraband cannot pass.”
Scarcely had he finished when the conveyor belt ran into Granny Meng’s Tea Shop. The rooms downstairs were gloomy and deserted whereas those upstairs were brightly lit and full of gaiety and excitement. The conveyor seemed about to rush up any minute. Hurriedly I put my leg over the railing and down I jumped. A feeling of top-heaviness swept over me as I jumped and my head fell into a pillow. I opened my eyes to find that I was lying in bed safe and sound, but ears were still buzzing with the words “Whoever carries contraband cannot pass”.
Well, I am carrying quite a bit of contraband; I had better dispose of it as quickly as possible.
