in memory of the old Hualien house, burned down

——寫於花蓮老厝火燒後

Whenever fog arrives, I remember

每逢起霧就想起

the old Hualien house on Chongqing Street,

那棟老厝，在花蓮

so cloaked in white smoke it disappeared

重慶街，浸在火焚的煙霧裡

but for the roofline,

看不清楚，像曝光的照片只露出

like an overexposed photo.

一列屋瓦

How I’d sit there, three years old,

三歲的我坐在霧動的屋瓦上

as fog at dawn crept across the rooftiles,

霧在花蓮的清晨裡

muffling the mountain train

迷濛的眼睛看不到火車，從山巒

that snaked down the rails,

蜿蜒而來的鐵路，只隱隱感到震動

invisible, the sky both near and far

自遠而近，自天外而來

faintly trembling.

河，似乎也從天外來

Rivers flow from heaven

暴雨的流勢湍急，皮娃他潛入波中

and return. This one too,

藏住頭，久久不出來

rain-swollen when Piwa dove in,

河又向天外流去，於是

went under, and didn’t come up.

哥哥那班人拾起他的衣褲，大聲哭了

His friends and brother gathered his clothes,

排著隊從花崗山的方向走回來

walked weeping single file up Huagang mountain,

一個挨一個

each entering the past’s

走入時間的負片，家的盡頭

undeveloped film.

走入一扇扇關起的門

On the rooftop where fog shifts,

坐在霧動的屋瓦上

the door to one image opens on another.

曝了光

Like a lightning flash that never fades,

像遲遲不褪的閃電那場火

the house burns till daybreak,

黑夜開始，怒衝的火苗使花崗山也曝了光

its flames bright against Huagang Mountain.

天亮，四十歲的我拎著一具四十年前的

At forty, alone one February afternoon

老相機，獨自在二月的下午

with my forty year old camera,

孤零零走回去

I walk Chongqing Street

在重慶街，門前鋪了蓋的河面上

where the river used to flow.

走過來走過去

Far off, the whine of the sawmill,

聽遠處鋸木廠的電鋸聲，火車空隆隆響

the grumbling train.

火舌在鏡頭裡突突向高空衝

Through the camera

有人著慌地吼：六號，是六號嗎……

leaping teeth of flame,

其實，四周安安靜靜什麼聲音也沒有

a frantic shout: number six, is it six?

下午，陽光斜照在馬路右側按摩院

Then silence,

and across the road

我想著那棟消失的老厝

slant sunlight

屬於清晨霧中的那顆心，便又坐上

on a massage parlor.

曝光後竄起濃煙的

一列屋瓦

My heart possessed by dawn fog

rises like smoke from the rooftop

of a house that is no more.