My great-uncle died in January. He was eighty-nine. He was my grandfather's half-brother, and I called him Meng Gong.
我叔公一月去世了，享年八十九。他是我祖父同父异母的弟弟，我叫他蒙公。
I last saw him a year ago, during the Qingming Festival. He was the oldest living member of the clan. In past years, he led the procession, knowing the location and rank of every grave by heart. Lately, he had trouble moving and had gone deaf; when he saw people, he would just smile and say nothing. He died without pain, a leaf falling naturally to its roots.
上次见他，是去年的清明。他是家族在世的人之中，辈分最高的一位。往年清明他带队，十几个坟头，每个坟头的位置、辈分，一清二楚。近几年已经不方便活动，而且有些耳背，见了人总会笑而不语。死时没有病痛折磨，自然落叶归根。
I didn't know his life well, and neither did my aunt. But his death unlocked her memory. She began to speak in the car, peeling back layers of the past involving my grandfather and that era. I drove, listened, and hit record.
我不了解叔公的人生，我小姑也不了解。不过，这件事勾起她过往的记忆，包括我祖父以及那个时代。于是，她拉开了架势，在车上一件一件地回忆。我一边开着车，一边听，还不忘记打开录音软件去记：
My grandfather lived from 1928 to 2008. For a long time, I couldn't remember his name, only the sound of it in the Leizhou dialect. It was Zhang Changrui. A graceful name for a life that wasn't.
我的祖父生于1928，死于2008。很长一段时间我记不起他的名字，只知道雷州方言的读音。后来才回忆起，他叫张昌瑞。挺好听的名字，不过他的一生没有如名字那般。
The Japanese invaded the Northeast in 1931. By 1935, they were moving near the southern Leizhou Peninsula. That was the year their swords took my great-grandfather and his father.
1931年，日本开始入侵东北。1935年，侵略军已经在南方雷州半岛附近有所举动。那一年，我祖父的爸爸和爷爷，也就是我曾祖父和高祖父，就死在日本军刀下。
My high ancestor, Zhang Dehong, was from Fujian. He spoke a dialect that barely survives in my generation and will likely die with the next. In the first half of the twentieth century, they moved from Fujian to the coast of Guangdong. I suspect they had their own merchant ships, traveling by water, rounding the strait to settle in the north, where my home is now.
我高祖叫张德宏，清末年间人，原籍福建，操着一口福建话。直到我这第五代，还能说一些，再往下一代应该就断掉了。二十世纪上半叶，他们从福建迁移至广东的西部沿海。我猜测他们那时拥有自己的商船，走水路，沿着广东海岸线西行，绕过琼州海峡，往北落脚北部湾，也就是我故乡所在。
They were landlords with hundreds of acres and baskets of silver. They had a large estate. Father and son were smart and bold, but they were also righteous. It was that righteousness that ruined the family.
曾祖和高祖是地主，几百亩的田产，银元用箩筐一堆堆地挑回来，有一条大宅院。父子俩颇有经商头脑，有胆有识，也为人仗义，但恰恰这份仗义断送了这个家族的前程。
A kinsman couldn't make a living, so they lent him a ship. But the man was a gambler. He lost his money and mortgaged the borrowed ship.
当时，族中有同辈的兄弟，看其一年到头没能赚几个钱，于是将自家的船借了一条给他谋生。然而此人嗜赌，输了钱，把借来的船抵押出去。
When they heard the news, father and son gathered a crew and took a boat to chase him down. Instead, they ran into a Japanese patrol. The ship was seized, and the men were killed and thrown into the sea. This is why there are no graves. My grandfather was seven years old. Whenever he spoke of it, he was filled with rage.
听闻此消息，父子二人连忙召集人马，开船去追。不料，途中遇上侵扰的日本军队。船被掳走，人就地杀死扔海里。这也就是为什么没有曾祖和高祖的坟墓。那年我祖父七岁，每每提及到这事，他都非常愤怒。
My great-grandfather had two wives. The first bore a daughter and three sons; my grandfather was the youngest. The second wife had a son and a daughter; that son was my great-uncle Meng. The eldest daughter was more than ten years older than my grandfather. She married a teacher in Guangzhou—likely a strategic marriage between landlord families. I think I saw her once, but the memory is gone.
我曾祖有两个老婆，大房生了一个女儿和三个儿子，我祖父就是最小的儿子。小房有一儿一女，儿子就是我蒙公。大女儿年长我爷爷十多岁，年轻时嫁给广州一名老师，估计是地主家的联姻。这位姑婆我似乎见过一次，已完全没有印象。
After the murders, the family declined. The details are lost, but history suggests that after the founding of the PRC, any remaining landlord assets were stripped away.
曾祖和高祖死后，家道开始中落。至于中落的细节，没有人说得清楚，结合当时的历史来看，大概到建国以后，地主性质的家产就被拆解了。
My great-grandmothers were still alive then. The elder one cried until she went blind; the children just called her the Blind Crone. The younger one we simply called Granny.
那时我大小曾祖母还在。大曾祖母常年悲恸，哭瞎了眼睛。姑姑们小时并不知道那是谁，只知道她瞎了眼，便称其为瞎眼婆婆。小曾祖母年轻一些，大家叫她奶婆。
When my grandfather came of age, the household split. His "house" was just a patch of dirt. He built walls from sun-dried mud, used sticks for beams, and thatched the roof with sugarcane leaves.
我祖父成年后，就分了家。所谓的家，就是找了一块地方。再在田里晒一些黄泥块，堆砌成墙，搭上一些木棍做房梁，铺上甘蔗枯叶，就是屋顶。
The years between 1935 and 1970 are a blur. I know he married my grandmother. Or perhaps, in those times, marriage just meant you started living together.
从1935-1970这三十五年之间，祖父做了什么事情我并不清楚。只知道他结婚，娶了我祖母。也许那个时候无所谓的嫁娶，只是人过来，就住在一起生活。
My grandmother had a hard life. That is not an exaggeration. She was from Lianjiang, and in her teens, she was sold as a servant to a landlord in the old town of Anpu.
我祖母啊，说来辛酸。说她劳苦了一辈子，这不为过。她是湛江廉江人，十来岁时被卖到古镇安铺给地主家当仆人。
My grandfather was tall, about 1.75 meters. My grandmother was tiny, barely 1.5 meters. I don't know if she married him or was sold to him. They had five children. The second child died of suffocation while strapped to the eldest's back.
我祖父在年轻时，应该有一米七五，而我祖母，小小只，大概只有一米五几。祖母成年后，是嫁给我祖父还是卖给他，不得而知。他们有五个孩子，老二幼年时，被老大背在身后没留意窒息而死。
The eldest was Aunt Yang. The third was my father. The fourth and fifth were aunts Xiu-ying and Xiu-mei. They shared the character "Xiu" from my grandmother's name, Wu Xiu.
老大是养姑，老三就是我老爹，老四就是秀英姑，老五是秀梅姑。她们都有一个秀字，祖母其实就叫，伍秀。
Grandfather was a master plowman until a plague swept the village. His brother died. He survived, but it left him bent and broken.
祖父乃犁田的高手，后来得了一场重病，据说瘟疫横扫村庄。他哥死于那场瘟疫，他有幸存活，不过留有严重的后遗症，就是开始佝偻起来。
Too crippled for the fields, he wove nets and bamboo baskets for work points and raised hundreds of white ducks. When they laid eggs, he sold them. This must have been the 60s or 70s. My grandmother did the heavy labor. Every so often, she walked thirty kilometers to buy feed.
他没法下田，只好在生产队里负责织鱼网、编竹篓来赚工分，还养起了鸭子，上百只白晃晃一片，有了鸭蛋就拿去卖。此时应该在60/70年期间，我祖母下地干活，每隔一段时间还要去三十公里外的买稻稗，作为鸭群的饲料。
She would start at five in the morning, barefoot or in straw sandals, carrying baskets of eggs. Another old woman from the village went with her. I once walked twenty kilometers at night and couldn't move my legs the next day. I know that pain. But she did thirty kilometers, carrying a heavy load, and walked back the same day. I cannot imagine it.
她通常五点多起床，踩着草鞋，挑起箩筐，装着鸭蛋就出发了，同行的还有村里的另一位老奶。我十来岁时，曾经从夜晚十点徒步二十多公里，直至凌晨五点。第二天双腿完全瘫痪，我了解这种艰辛。单程三十多公里，并且当天往返，还挑着重担。这种痛苦，我已经完全无法想象了。
She would visit her old master in Anpu. Sometimes she took my little aunt, slowing down so the child could keep up. The landlord wept when he saw her. His son had been beaten to death in Beijing during the Cultural Revolution.
她会去探望以前在安铺古镇的地主。有时会带上小姑姑，姑姑还小走得慢，她就走放缓一点。安铺地主见到她嚎啕大哭，她儿子在北京被活活打死，那时候应该是文化大革命后期。
During festivals, if she had duck eggs, she gave them to the village widows—the women whose husbands had died at sea with my great-grandfather. They were alone. When they saw my grandmother, they cried.
逢年过节，有了鸭蛋也要转上几篮子，给村里的几个五保户挨个去送。这些独居的老人，是当年随我曾祖出海的长工遗孀，有的无儿无女，见到我祖母也是泪如雨下。
My grandmother worked until the end. She was always up at five to cook porridge. Even in her sixties, she hauled all the water for bathing and cooking. I remember following her to collect firewood.
我祖母很勤劳，从小勤劳，劳苦至死。在我印象里，她从来五点多起床。早早下米煮粥，风雨无阻。以前在老屋，她还挑水，洗澡、做饭的水，全是她一个人挑，即便到了六十来岁的年纪。平日里，会去捡柴火，印象中我曾经跟她出过几次。
She lived from 1930 to 2008. In her final years, a stroke took her speech. She could only make sounds like "da-da-da." It must have been incredibly lonely.
祖母1930年出生，死于2008年。在她人生的最后几年，有一天醒来，说出来的话难成句子，只有哒哒哒哒哒。她中风了，这病折磨她所剩无几的晚年。说出来的话，没人听得懂，我想得多孤独。
Grandfather died on New Year's Eve. I added wood to his fire that night. He was lying on his side. I called him, but he didn't answer. I thought he was asleep, but he was gone.
祖父在大年三十去世。最后一个晚上的柴火我给他添加，那会他侧躺着身子朝里。我叫了他，没回应，想必已经睡着了，没想到是永远睡去。
Grandfather's death broke her. They fought constantly when he was alive, but on the morning of his funeral, her eyes were swollen shut from crying. Her body couldn't support the weight of her grief. She followed him less than a month later.
祖父死后，祖母很伤心。他们俩常常拌嘴吵架，鸡犬不宁。出殡的早上，祖母哭肿的眼睛一五一十出卖了她。她实在太伤心，身体的衰老无法支撑巨大的哀伤。之后不到一个月，她也去世了。
The last time I saw her, my father had tied her to his back to ride the motorcycle into the night. She was already unconscious. We tried to save her in the ICU, but she was too weak.
我见她最后一面，老爹把她绑在身后，骑着摩托带她出门，永远消失在黑夜里。那时她已经昏迷不醒，转至医院又继续再转，在ICU抢救了一小段时间。秀英姑姑说，无论花多大代价，都要把她救回来，可惜她太虚弱了。
Her eldest daughter arrived just as she was slipping away. She couldn't open her eyes, but a tear leaked out. The memory still hurts, as if I am standing there right now.
她大女儿去相见，正处在她最后弥留之际，双眼已经完全睁不开。大家告诉她，大女儿回来看她了。她眼角，慢慢溢出来了泪眼。每当想起这点，我就难以抑制生离死别的悲伤，仿佛我就在现场。
I was at school when she passed. We scattered their ashes in the sea, dust to dust.
她走的时候，我还在学校上课。两个老人的骨灰，遵从基督教的教义，“尘归尘土归土”，扬在海里。
She always told me not to be lazy. I remember her photo: short silver hair, broad forehead, eyes looking down, refusing the camera.
她在世时，常常提醒我不要偷懒。很多次她喊了我，我才飞奔上屋顶收稻谷和花生。我喜欢我祖母，她很和蔼。姑姑家里有她的照片，短银发向后梳，别在耳根后，额头饱满，垂眉低眼不看镜头。
I was too young then to care about human hearts. Now that I have the capacity to understand them, they are gone.
以前我还小，对世界缺乏认知，对人的内心缺乏好奇。先人留给我的记忆本来就不多，现在也越来越模糊。
I was their favorite grandson. But now that I can finally "see" them, they are far away.
如今，我具备了理解事物的能力，也有着想探到人心深处的渴望，而他们都不在了。就以我祖父和祖母来说，我是他们最小又最得意的孙子，他们对我厚爱有加。当我能“看见“他们时，他们早已远去。
Things usually end in death. But first, there is life. In this cold, joking universe, human emotion stretches across time—sincere, loud, and moving.
通常，事物的结束都是死亡。但首先会有生命，潜藏在这个或那个之中。在这玩笑般、寂静、略带阴冷的游戏宇宙里，情感，在这个与那个之间交织，于时间轴上拉伸、扯断，透着真挚、喧嚣、令人动容的美。
That is enough looking back.
就追忆到这吧。
Goodnight.
晚安。