我撞上了秋天

　　今夏漫长的炎热里，凌晨那段时间大概最舒服。就养成习惯，天一亮，铁定是早上四点半左右，就该我起床，或者入睡了。

　　这是我的生活规律。

　　但是昨晚睡得早，十一点左右。醒来一看，天还没亮，正想继续睡去，突然觉得蚊子的嗡嗡和空气的流动有些特别，不像是浓酽的午夜，一看表，果不其然，已经五点了。

　　爬起来，把自个儿撸撸干净了，走出我那烟熏火燎的房间，刚刚步出楼道，我就让秋天狠狠撞了个斤斗。

　　先是一阵风，施施然袭来，像一幅硕大无朋的裙裾，不由分说就把我从头到脚挤了一遍，挤牙膏似的，立马我的心情就畅快无比。我在夏天总没冬天那么活力洋溢，就是一个脑子清醒的问题。秋天要先来给我解决一下，何乐不为。

　　压迫整整一夏的天空突然变得很高，抬头望去——无数烂银也似的小白云整整齐齐排列在纯蓝天幕上，越看越调皮，越看越像长在我心中的那些可爱的灵气，我恨不得把它们轻轻抱下来吃上两口。我在天空上看到一张脸。想起这首很久以前写的歌，心境已经大不相同了，人也已经老了许多——人老了么?我就一直站在那里看，看个没完没了，我要看得它慢慢消失，慢慢而坚固地存放在我这里。

　　来来往往的人开始多了，有人像我一样看，那是比较浪漫的，我祝福他们;有人奇怪地看我一眼，快步离去，我也祝福他们，因为他们在为了什么忙碌。生命就是这样，你总要做些什么，或者感受些什么，这两种过程都值得尊敬，不能怠慢。就如同我，要坚守阵地，如同一只苍老的羚羊，冷静地厮守在我的网络，那些坛子的钢丝边缘上。六点钟就很好了，园门口就有汁多味美的鲜肉大包子，厚厚一层红亮辣油翠绿香菜，还星星般点缀着熏干大头菜的豆腐脑，还有如同猫一样热情的油条，如同美丽娴静女友般的豆浆，还有知心好友一样外焦里嫩熨贴心肺的大葱烫面油饼。

　　这里这些鳞次栉比的房屋，每个窗户后面都有故事，或者在我这里发生过，或者是现在我想听的。每个梦游的男人都和我一样不肯消停，每个睡裙的女人都被爱过或者正在爱着，每个老人都很丰富，每个孩子都很新鲜。每条小狗都很生动，每只鸽子都很乖巧。每个早晨都要这样，虽然我已经不同以往，总是幻想奇遇，总是渴望付出烈火般的激情，又总是被乖戾的现实玩耍，被今天这难得的天气从狂热中唤醒。我已经不孤单了，是吧。

　　就是这个孤单，像一床棉被，盖在很高的高空，随着我房间人数的变化，或低落，或俯冲，或紧缠，或飘扬。美倒是美，狠了点儿，我知道。

　　噫吁戏，我的北京，昨天交通管制的北京，今年全国夏季气温最高的北京，用这样清丽的秋天撞击我神经的北京，把我的生活彻底弄乱，把我的故事彻底展开，把我仔细地铺成一张再造白纸的北京啊。

　　I Have Run Head-on into Autumn

　　Yu Dafu

　　Because early morning is the most pleasant time of the day in this long, hot summer, I have developed a habit of getting up or going to bed at daybreak, which is around four thirty, for sure.

　　That is the pattern of my life.

　　But last night, I went to bed earlier, at about eleven o’clock. When I wake up, it is still dark outside. I am about to go back to sleep when I suddenly become aware of the unusualness in the buzz of mosquitoes and the flow of the air. They don’t seem to be happening during the thick darkness of midnight! Looking at my watch, I find it already five o’clock, as I have expected.

　　After rolling out of bed and rushing through my morning routine, I walk out of my room, which is as hot and smoky as a kitchen. No sooner have I stepped out of the halfway than I run head-on into autumn, almost to be knocked back!

　　First comes the wind, slowly, like a huge fluttering skirt, caressing me from head to toe. Like toothpaste being squeezed, I feel an immediate, thorough relief in my heart. I am not as energetic in the summer as I am in the winter, mainly due to the lucidness of my mind. Now, an earlier autumn has come to resolve my problem. Why not go with it?

　　The sky that has borne me down throughout the whole summer has suddenly lifted. Looking up, I see numerous small-sized clouds, as white as sterling silver, neatly lined up in the limpidly blue sky. The more I gaze at them, the more they look naughty and resemble my innate inspirations. How I wish I could bring them down and take a few bites at them! I now remember a song I wrote quite a while ago, I See a Face in the Sky, but now my mood is quite different from what it was then, and I am also much older –am I? So I stand there looking at those clouds. I want to continue looking at them – until they slowly disappear and are firmly implanted in my mind.

　　There are more and more passers-by. Some of them look up into the sky, like me – those are romantic types and I bless them; some of them give me a weird look and then hurry away – those are people whom I bless too, because they have a purpose to be busy. This is what life should be like: you have to do something or feel something. Each of these two choices is respectable and cannot be taken lightly. This is just like me at the moment: I now stand my ground. Like an old antelope, I have to be cool-headed in holding myself in my own territory, next to the earthen wares and the wire fences. Everything will be alright by six o’clock, when by the park gate, there will be vendors selling delicious and succulent minced pork dumplings, to go with jellied tofu soup thickly dressed with fresh green parsley over brightly red chili oil and loosely dotted with chopped, smoked turnips. And there will also be deep-fried dough sticks as hot-tempered as felines, soybean milk as demure as a lovely girlfriend, and crispy-crusted, tender-hearted, green-onion-flavored pancakes as intimate as a bosom friend.

　　Of all the houses tightly lined up here, every window has behind it a story that I have also experienced or that I am interested in hearing; every sleepwalking man cannot help fidgeting like me and every woman in pajamas has been loved or is now in love; every old man is rich with experiences and every child fresh; every dog is animated and every pigeon keen. Every morning I do the same thing, although I am now different from before, always dreaming of unusual encounters and always wishing to inspire fervent passions, yet always being fooled by peevish reality and awakened from fanatical visions by such unusual weather, like today. I am now no longer lonely. Right?

　　This loneliness is like a padded cotton quilt, spread out high in the sky. It can be depressing, descending, entwining, or uplifting, depending on the change in the number of people who share my room. Beautiful, isn’t it? Yes, but a little cruel, I know.

　　Wow, my Beijing, the one that just had a traffic control yesterday, the one that has had the highest temperature in the country this summer, the one that has revitalized my nerves with a fresh autumn, and the one that has thoroughly disordered my life, completely unfolded my story, and carefully turned me into a new paper to write the story on!

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