“没有，你呢？”我问，配合着她努力打破难堪的沉默。请别，我内心自语，请别对我说你的儿女已经长大成人，甚至你还来不及向他们的婴儿服道别。触着喉部不再绷紧的皮肤及同样的眼神，别对我说时光过得有多快。当你走进这间休息室，看着我坐在这间高级的西式旅馆时，你曾经留给我的形象，当我还是穷学生住在你母亲出租房时你的形象，过了四分之一世纪后，我一直期盼的，曾认为你将永远是我脑中兴奋点的形象，不复再存。
“没有，”她答，“我第一次怀孕流产后便不能生育了。”
她穿着两件套的夏装，我注意到其颜色正是时髦的俗艳。那天下午，在汉城的街上，我已见过许多那样着装的人：微坠的肩上托着肩垫，胸前缀着小而亮的圆扣，及膝的裙。她轻拍裙子的前摆，好似要熨平皱折似的。
“我没有孩子。”
我感到必须改变话题。“你的母亲好么？”我问道。
“她几年前去世了。中风。”
我向一位微笑的侍者示意，要了杜松子酒和香味饮料。“房子怎样？你还出租它们吗？”
“没有，我们不得不卖了它们来还看病的费用。我现在住的地方离那很远，我已有十年没到那里去了。”
突然，那些因各自度过的岁月形成的困扰在我们之间粉碎了。我们谈起了曾经的“房子”，好像现在还是我们的似的。我们谈起了在门旁一到春天便怒放的连翘，谈起了埋在后院的泡菜陶缸。我忆起，在路的转弯处转弯，便可达一幢老式的大房子。一棵大栗树从房后伸出来，遮盖了板石瓦房顶的一部分。穿过房子的大门，一束阳光突然闪现，晃住我的双眼，一位女孩梦幻般的形象慢慢地从阳光中显现。那个形象在我突然发烧的脑中旋转，像幻影般抖动着。她站在前院中央的水井边，白衬衫的袖子卷着，细长的脖子，一束黑色的马尾辫垂在背后，胳膊露在抽水机口撒出来的水下，湿湿的皮肤在耀眼的光线下闪闪发亮。我如何能够让自己忘掉这个形象，即使我能做到？
“很抱歉，”她现在微笑着说，“你的房间在门厅的最后一间，就靠着厨房，我和母亲每天早上弄了那么多的噪声，烧水啦、煨汤啦、移动瓢盆啦，虽然我们尽力减少噪声。”
“我不介意，”我说，道出了真话。
“你记得吗……”
“我记得，”我答道，然后从软垫椅起身。“我们走吧，”我说着，看着她仍然大大的眼睛里含着惊讶，“去那房子。”
出租车内，她思绪万千，一语不发。而我惊讶于自己还记得房子的地址。我们找不到它，虽然我们确定是站在正确的街角。陌生！现代的砖式建筑簇立在原先散乱分布的老房子的地方，孩子们在巷子里跑来跑去，夕阳照在他们背上，他们叫喊着其他孩子的名字，这些曾经熟悉的名字引起了我的一丝共鸣：“印寿——呀！董哲——啊！”一切都已被连根拨起又填平，我们已不能找到曾经荫护房子的栗木了。我们站在路的转弯处，过去卖豆奶的小贩常将人力车停在那里，然后拿起松松地绕在脖颈上的毛巾，擦去额头上的汗水。我们盯着地面，好像要挖掘出埋葬在水泥地面下的足迹。她转身，开始走开。面对天空因暮色的逼近而流淌着的红晕，我闭上双眼，听到她那双廉价的高跟鞋敲打着水泥地面的清脆声，像那很久以前脚步声的回响。但当我惊奇地张开双眼，却看到她那裹在艳俗的外套里臃肿的腰，看到了岁月在她的体形上烙下的痕迹，看到了她短发上不自然的粗糙卷曲。我重又闭上眼，看到了曾经滋生我那荒谬的爱的房子呈现在眼前，先是连翘，然后是渐渐掘起的房子。
后来，她带路，我们去了街边的一家小旅馆，那里浓装女人围着满是污迹的围裙，给我们上了鸡肫和一瓶韩国白酒。我点了支她递给我的烟。突然记忆便从嘴中滔滔而出。我谈起了美国，谈起离开留在脑中的形象的她后的那些年。从厨房的电波传来悲伤的老曲调，透过女歌手如泣如诉的歌声，我得出男人总是离开女人的结论。男人，男人啊，所有的男人都是一样的，啊——，啊——哈。她开始跟着唱，哭泣着。我告诉她我妻子无趣的事实，话一出口，我便感到难堪。我们俩都醉了，不仅仅因这那瓶韩国白酒。
“当我第一次见到我的妻子，她身上的一些东西使我想起了你，”我说道。
“你对我一点都不了解，”她说道。
坐在这里看着她的鼻孔呼出长长的羽毛状的烟雾，将她同妻子对照，想找回原先的失落，我想这多奇怪啊。
“如果你了解我，你就不会说你的妻子使你想起了我。你知道我从来没有小产吗？当那个住在你隔壁的家伙让我怀孕并拒绝娶我时，我母亲叫我做了流产。”她直率地看着我，期望看到我惊讶。我记起了那个家伙令我厌恶的粗厚易动的大唇，惹眼的二头肌及他常自吹大学入学考试的三次落第。他靠他母亲送来的从微薄的收入中挤出的每月津贴生活，所有的寄膳者都讨厌他。她脚步声停止后不久，他突然搬出。我曾看见他们在空寂的房间里，陷在一起，像对在令人昏昏欲睡的夏天午时粘在苍蝇纸上的苍蝇，紧张地听着他们自己挣扎时的喘息。于是我明白了。
她的幻影一直徘徊在我梦幻到奇妙的颜色的那些早晨，但不在我门旁。
我是不是以她为模来爱妻，拒绝对妻付出超过我认为可以给脑中的形象更多的爱？我爱她那纯洁的幻影，是不是因为我从没接触她，从没允许自己真实的双手来拨开那层雾呢？我意识到自己根本不了解她，那个躲在皱纹、廉价服装和电烫头发下的她。我恨自己背叛了长久以来让自己一直记得的幻影，那光彩斑斓、迷离双眼无法分辨的、巧妙地混合的、无法想象有多少故事的幻影。二十五年后，我不知道是否还想听新的故事。《男人啊男人》，这首歌以所有的男人都是一样的具体结论结尾。她的烟灰落在她裙子的前摆，但她不想费心去将它们抖落。随之而来的沉默中，我发觉她很少言语，径自让我盯着桌子，即便那首歌曲已结束。她的黑色的睫毛覆在乌云般的双眼上，留下污渍，不再娴静，也许它们从不曾有过，但我心中的隐痛--如爱情故事的“爱”中一样无趣--令我惊讶。我被自己不再回忆感动了。
“你不了解我，”她突然说道，好象在安慰她自己。
“为什么你不告诉我？”我问她，睁着双眼斜躺在塑料椅上，等待着心醉的故事再一次开始。
A Chance of a lifetime
生命的机遇
"This is a chance of a life time，" I declared to my friend Stacy as I locked the door of my office and left the restaurant I managed. "It"s every twenty-seven-year-old woman"s dream to live in New York City， and in a few months I"ll know if I get the transfer."
I watched the moonlight glisten on the waters of Laguna Beach. "I"ll miss it here， but living in the Big Apple is everything I"ve ever wanted - a dream come true."
We met a group of our friends at a local cafe， and I jabbered on about the possibility of my move. Laughter erupted from a nearby table. I watched as a handsome man captured the attention of his friends with his engaging story. His broad， warm smile and air of confidence held me in a trance. Stacy nudged me. "You"re staring，
Michelle， and about to drool." "Wow，" I whispered. I watched the gorgeous guy push up the sleeves of his bulky sweater. Everyone at his table had their eyes fixed on him. "That"s the man I want to marry." "Yeah， right，" Stacy droned. "Tell us more about where you"d like to live in New York， because we all plan to visit you there when you land this job. " As I spoke my gaze drifted back to the debonair man.
Three months later my friends and I gathered at the same restaurant. "To life in the Big Apple！" they cheered as we tapped our glasses together. "My chance of a lifetime！" We talked for hours. I told them of my plan to save money by moving out of my beach cottage and renting a room for the few remaining months. Our friend offered， "I have a fellow South African friend who is considering renting one of the four bedrooms in his house. His name is Barry. A great guy." He scribbled on a napkin. "This is his number. He"s a forty-two-year-old confirmed bachelor. Says he"s much too busy being a single dad to be a husband."
I made an appointment to see the room the same day. I approached the entrance of the spacious house， and the door opened. "You must be Michelle，" he said. He pushed up the sleeves of his bulky sweater and flashed his handsome smile. It was the man from the restaurant months before --- the man I wanted to marry.
I stood staring， my mouth gaping， hoping I wasn"t drooling.
"You are Michelle， aren"t you？ " he said， coaxing me out of my trance." Would you like to see the room？"
I followed him through a tour of the house， then accepted when he offered me a cup of tea. Barry had a sophisticated kindness about him and listened attentively as I chattered nervously about myself. His silver-rimmed glasses accented a few gray streaks in his dark hair. Soon， his warm， inviting smile put me at ease， and we spent the next two hours talking casually. Ultimately， I decided not to take the room and reluctantly bade him good-bye.
The months went by quickly while I busied myself with preparation for the move. I thought of Bany often， but couldn"t consider calling him.
"I"m moving to New York in three weeks， "I said to Stacy as we walked out of my office and into the dining area. "As much as I"d like to see him again， it would only complicate my life.
"Well， brace yourself for complications，" Stacy muttered， then nodded toward the door. Barry， with his big blue eyes and engaging smile， walked into my restaurant.
"Hello，" he said softly. "Do you have time to join me for a cup of coffee？"
"Of course." I tried not to gasp.
