<英文阅读>WANG LANG

Bangkok Days: A Sojourn in the Capital of Pleasure by Lawrence Osborne

WANG LANG（王朗，曼谷湄南河西岸的一个历史街区）

All lust is grief. —Buddhist proverb（佛教谚语："一切欲望皆苦"）

A few years ago I lived in a neighborhood called Wang Lang. From where I sit now, watching trains cross to Manhattan（曼哈顿，纽约市中心） on the Brooklyn Bridge（布鲁克林大桥）, my river balcony in Bangkok（曼谷） seems like a patch of paradise forever lost. Disassembled（拆解） and stowed away（藏匿） in a hopeless corner of the mind, where it's bound to rot（腐烂）. At this very hour, when New York seems filled with threatening drama（充满威胁的戏剧性） and artificial colors（人造的色彩）, the Chao Phraya River（昭披耶河，泰国主要河流） is filled with gentle monks（僧侣） bobbing（上下浮动） around on water taxis（水上出租车）. The two cities couldn't be more different. There, saffron（橘红色，佛教僧袍的颜色） is the color of dusk. The river brings peace. The monks got off at Wang Lang pier（码头） with their umbrellas and mala rosaries（佛珠）, which traditionally contain 108 beads（珠子） for the 108 passions（欲望） of men enumerated（列举） by Avalokiteshvara（观音菩萨，佛教中的慈悲象征）. They looked up at the farang（泰语：外国人，特指西方人） drinking his gin and tonic（金汤力，一种鸡尾酒） on the balcony, and that look contained both amusement（有趣） and distance（疏离） as it asked, “Is that a lonely man?” The look of Buddha as he extends protection with his left hand raised, abhaya（无畏印，佛教手势，象征保护和安抚）.

I preferred nights there. The days were too hot and I like heat only when there's no sun. I was a night walker（夜行者）. It is a loneliness which has been chosen and indeed calculated（刻意选择的孤独）. I spent the small hours（凌晨） on the streets, marauding（游荡） like a raccoon（浣熊）. I grew to like the atmosphere of stale basil（陈旧的罗勒叶气味） and exhausted marijuana（耗尽的大麻味） which Bangkok seemed to breathe out of invisible nostrils（无形的鼻孔）; I liked the girls who spin past you in the dark with the words “Bai nai?”（泰语："去哪里？”） like coins that have been flipped in a bar（像酒吧里抛掷的硬币）. I liked the furious rot（狂烈的腐朽）.

I woke up from a siesta（西班牙语：午睡） in a small white room in the apartment complex called Primrose Apartments（“报春花公寓”，虚构名称）. I didn’t keep much there. A cut-price Buddha（廉价佛像） from the Chatuchak market（扎都扎市场，曼谷著名周末市场）, a bookshelf. I had a carpet from India, too. When you are broke（身无分文）, life is simple. I made myself a gin and tonic（金汤力鸡尾酒） on the balcony and waved to the monks. The days were empty by design（刻意安排的空白）. I didn’t have a job; I was on the lam（俚语：逃亡）, as old American gangsters had it. A perfect phrase. The lam. It means “headlong flight（仓皇逃窜）,” according to my Webster’s dictionary（韦氏词典，美国权威词典）. Lamming, to run away.

Across the hallway lived an Englishman called McGinnis. I wondered if that was a real name, or whether it was a borrowed one（借用的假名）. He had an air of upper-class twittery（上流阶层的神经质气质）, with his polelike physique（竹竿般的身材） stripped of muscle and his linen whites（白色亚麻衣服） which had missed their era by a wide mark（与时代格格不入）. McGinnis sold air-conditioning systems（空调系统） to Bangkok conference centers and hotels, a profitable business in sweltering Bangkok（酷热的曼谷）, and after-hours（下班后） he said he was compiling an encyclopedia of bars（编纂酒吧百科全书） to enrich the lives of others. He looked like a dirty cat at that hour（那时像只脏猫）, and I’d see him sitting on his balcony, slowly drinking a Singha（胜狮啤酒，泰国品牌） mixed with some kind of fruit cordial（果味糖浆） and eating olives. He looked me in the eye and smiled, as if stroking a cat as well as being one（仿佛在抚摸猫，同时自己也是猫）. On the other side was a Spaniard called Helix. Helix—not Felix? I thought I’d heard him correctly. Helix the painter, who painted frescoes（湿壁画） behind bars（在酒吧背后） in Bangkok conference centers and hotels. They were typical of the profound, talented men you find in Bangkok（曼谷特有的深沉天才）.

There were others. On the ground floor lived another expat（外籍人士）, an older Scot called Farlo who ran a holiday lodge（经营度假小屋） which he had built himself for adventurous types（冒险者）, in Cambodia. He was a former British Army paratrooper（英国陆军伞兵） from Dundee（邓迪，苏格兰城市）, and he wore a beret（贝雷帽） on the side of his head. Inside that head was lodged a piece of shrapnel（弹片） from the war in Angola（安哥拉战争）. Cuban shrapnel（古巴的弹片）. You didn’t want to cross him drunk（醉酒时招惹他） in the corridor at night. He’d grab your arm and say, “It’s time for a wank（俚语： 打手枪）, son.”

At six every night I went down to the street, feeling very much like John Wilmot, earl of Rochester（约翰·威尔莫特，罗切斯特伯爵，17世纪英国浪荡诗人）, perfumed from a cold shower. The Primrose（"报春花"，可能指某家店名或象征性名称） opened directly into the street, the way that an elevator opens directly into a penthouse（顶层公寓）.

Wang Lang is a pandemonious（混乱喧闹的） place in a pandemonious city. Its main drag（俚语：主要街道） is so narrow you can feel both sides of it brushing against your hips as you walk through it. As I went sweating between the open kitchens, I was followed by children jeering, “Yak farang, yak farang!”（泰语："外国巨人！外国巨人！"）. I was the largest human there, a phenomenon（奇观） in their eyes, and perhaps worse than that, a genetic accident（基因异常） which couldn't be reversed.

It was a hospitable（好客的） place for a man who has done nothing, and who will probably never do anything. For someone with no career, with no prospects（前途）, permanently broke（永远身无分文）, it was the perfect asylum（避难所）. Its gold-tinted eggs（金色鸡蛋，可能指泰式腌蛋） and its bags of oolong tea（乌龙茶） were virtually free. One could graze（随意进食） continuously on delicacies（美食） one had never heard of and still be in pocket（不花钱）. It was well suited to a lazy cunt（俚语：懒鬼，粗俗表达）, in other words, and a natural habitat（栖息地） for a man on the lam（俚语：逃亡中） who had no objective in his day-to-day life but an inquisitive loitering（好奇的闲逛）, a selfless promenading（无私的漫步） for its own sake. A man who has turned into a ruminant（反刍动物）, a goat.

In Wang Lang I perfected that Thai style of eating on the run called khong kin len（泰语：边走边吃，一种将食物堆在香蕉叶上边走边食用的方式）, where you pile different ingredients onto a banana leaf（香蕉叶） as you sail along, walking and pondering（沉思） at the same time, never losing balance. The streets are cul-de-sacs（死胡同）, so there is no point in having a direction. They all end in little theaters and cafés by the water.

And so I found myself walking up and down, eating those gilded eggs（金黄色的煮蛋） and bits of dried squid（鱿鱼干）, and as night fell the air went ash-gray（灰烬般的灰色） and the nostrils opened to greet something indefinable（难以名状的）, the pungency（辛辣味） of “mouse shit” chilies（俚语：指极辣的小辣椒） being tossed in hot oil and tamarind paste（罗望子酱）, and I began to sink like a stone into my own well（比喻：深陷自我封闭的状态）. The city is nothing more than a protocol（规则） for this sinking. Because Bangkok is where some people go when they feel that they can no longer be loved, when they give up（放弃）.

It was also true of the other tenants（租客）. Broken, disappointed, rejected, they had headed east（向东迁徙，隐喻逃离过去）. During my first nights in Wang Lang I played chess with them in the common room（公共休息室）, interested by their dazed, suntanned faces（恍惚的、晒黑的面孔）. My most favored, however, was McGinnis. He was a man with no past, a character in a Simenon novel（西默农小说，法国犯罪小说家笔下的典型角色） who walks out of his house one day, gets on a train, and kills someone in a distant city. He was from Newhaven（纽黑文，英国港口城市）. “There’s nothing in Newhaven,” McGinnis would say, “except sea fortifications（海防工事）,” and his face was like that of a pleasant hoodlum（流氓） who has just shot down a kite（风筝）. Sea fortifications, I would think: but that’s a lot. His head was shaved like a soldier’s, like Farlo’s（虚构人名，可能指某个军人形象）, but he was nothing of the sort, with his willowy, elongated frame（修长柔韧的身形）. He was an engineer with a degree in air-conditioning（空调工程）. It’s a subject you can get a degree in. He had acquired his in Sheffield（谢菲尔德，英国工业城市）.

McGinnis was six foot seven（六英尺七英寸，约2米）. He towered（高耸） in doorways, in hotel lobbies（酒店大堂）, in the light of streetlamps（路灯）. There was something wonderfully sinister（阴森的，令人不安却迷人的） there, and I love sinister men. A sinister man doesn’t just walk down a street, he rolls down it like a superior ball bearing（像优质滚珠轴承般滚动——比喻举止从容而危险）. A sinister man cannot be amiable（和蔼的）, but he can be good company（好伙伴）. Despite his association with the science of air-conditioning（空调工程）, McGinnis was also subtly aristocratic（贵族气质的） and refined（优雅的）, while doing nothing better with his life than selling mass-produced cooling units（批量生产的制冷设备）. It was okay with him. There are aristocrats of the spirit（精神贵族） who are mundane（平凡的） in their daily lives. Everything about him was happily self-contained（自足）, replete（充实的）. Is this what made him sinister?

It was hotter than usual around Christmastime（圣诞节期间，西方节日，泰国因多元文化而庆祝）. In the supermarkets, choirs of girls in red velvet dresses（穿红丝绒裙的合唱队） swung brass bells（铜铃） in fur-trimmed hats（毛边帽子） and chimed out the words to “Silent Night”（《平安夜》，圣诞颂歌） and “Jingle Bells”（《铃儿响叮当》，圣诞歌曲）. The tofu bars（豆腐摊） had sprigs of plastic holly（塑料冬青枝，圣诞装饰） on them and yuletide slogans（圣诞节标语） crisscrossed（交错） the steaming skyscrapers（摩天大楼） of a Buddhist city（佛教城市，指曼谷）. The days were wind-less（无风的）, our river surged past the Primrose（虚构地名或船名）, sloppy（浑浊的） and violent（汹涌的）, the color of pea soup（豌豆汤色） into which a baby has puked（呕吐）. Its surface was thickened by strands of aquatic weed（水草）, and on the far bank（对岸） the city temples rose like huge stalagmites（石笋，钟乳石洞中的沉积物）, or legumes（豆科植物） with bristling skins（粗糙表皮）. Somerset Maugham（毛姆，英国作家）, one of the few Western writers to describe Bangkok in detail, says somewhere that one should be grateful that “something so fantastical（奇幻的） exists.”

Something stirred within me whenever I took my coffee on the balcony in the morning and inhaled the river stench（河水的恶臭） of gasoline and mud. As if a dead leaf on the floor of me（比喻：内心死寂的部分） were suddenly being lifted and flipped with a small sound, a scratching of dead matter coming to life again（死物复活的窸窣声）. A pricking（刺痛感） of the inner lining of the gut（肠道内壁）. I watched the rice barges（运米驳船） crashing toward Klong Tuey port（空堤港，曼谷码头）, the gossiping monks（闲聊的僧侣） with their umbrellas and briefcases ferrying back and forth from those same temples strung out along the river. And behind them the four gold towers of the Royal Palace（大皇宫，曼谷地标） and, more distantly, Wat Arun（郑王庙，曼谷著名佛塔） sparkling with reflections from a million fragments of glass and ceramic rosebuds（陶瓷玫瑰花瓣）, with the sugary ornament（甜美的装饰） of the Italian craftsmen who fashioned them two and a half centuries ago. Monks and schoolchildren in navy blazers（海军蓝校服）, and the men operating the boats blowing ear-splitting whistles（刺耳的哨声） as they swept up to the pier. As the tires slung along the boat（船侧的轮胎） struck the rotting wood（腐朽的木头）, there was a delicious sound: phuck（拟声词，撞击声）.

From here I saw McGinnis doing yoga on his balcony in a jumpsuit（连体服）, his body elongated（伸展） to its full length and a trickle of Khmer music（高棉音乐，柬埔寨传统音乐） coming out of the sliding doors. It was impossible to avoid the other renters（租客） at the Primrose（虚构公寓名） because we were always thrust together（被迫挤在一起） by the lack of space. He stayed in his yoga position and called over, in his long-exiled accent（长期流亡的口音）, “I hear a Spanish guy moved in downstairs the same time as you. He says his name’s Helix. Not Felix, Helix（螺旋，双关人名）.” And he laughed scornfully（轻蔑地笑）.

Before long, McGinnis was taking me downriver（顺流而下） on the water taxis（水上出租车） to the Oriental Hotel（东方文华酒店，曼谷历史悠久的豪华酒店）. He dressed up（盛装打扮） for these river rides, a straw hat（草帽） and two-tone Loake shoes（英国Loake品牌双色皮鞋） with steel caps（钢头）. The Death in Venice（《魂断威尼斯》，电影中的颓废美学） look. He spoke to schoolgirls in appalling, salacious Thai（粗俗下流的泰语）. The hotel has its own pier（私人码头）, and we jumped off there with all the fat tourists（肥胖的游客）.

“I can understand,” he said, “you not having a salary and all（没有薪水之类的）.”

One sometimes starts explaining oneself immediately to someone one has just met. I seem to have the knack（天赋） for triggering this reaction（引发这种反应）. I started coming to Bangkok, I said, in order to get dental care（牙科治疗）, because I couldn’t afford the insurance（保险） in New York. It was as simple as that. Fourteen cavities（龋齿） and a root canal（根管治疗） cost me $450 in Bangkok, which was a fraction（一小部分） of my yearly insurance premium（保险费）. Even with the airfare（机票） and a month's rent at the Primrose（樱草公寓，前文虚构公寓名）, I was in pocket（净赚，有盈余）. My whole rationale（理由） for being there, in fact, was financial（经济上的）. It was money that governed my temporary exile（临时流放）, for the math（账目） was clear-cut: the West was now far too expensive. With time, I was coming closer to the idea that I might have to find somewhere like this to live on a permanent basis（永久地）. In Thailand, I was in pocket（有盈余） most of the time.

“Is that what you say? In pocket?（你管这叫‘有盈余’？）”

He laughed.

“Did you have your teeth done this time?”

“I am waiting for a check（支票，或指牙科检查，此处双关）.”

“Oh, you're waiting for a check!”

McGinnis took me to the Bamboo Bar（竹吧，曼谷东方文华酒店内的经典酒吧）. He took out a mechanical toy（机械玩具） and placed it on the bar. It was a Brazilian tree frog made of wood（巴西木制树蛙）, and it chattered（发出咔嗒声） on a spring（弹簧） if you pushed a button. He left it there. “Sooner or later,” he said, “some beautiful woman always comes up and asks me what the frog is. And then I tell her.”

“What is it?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

The decor（装饰） of the Bamboo is rattan and lacquer（藤编与漆器，东南亚殖民风格元素）, for the word “colonial（殖民风格，在亚洲语境中现多含正面意涵）” has nothing but positive connotations（正面含义） in Asia these days, and everything colonial is deemed handsome, stylish. The Bamboo Bar is the most touristy bar（游客聚集的酒吧） in the city, so touristy that it seems to wink at itself（自我调侃）, so it is also the most colonial. But since everything is touristy anyway why not direct yourself to the wellhead of the poison（毒药源头，比喻极致体验） and enjoy?

When I came here with McGinnis we were always surrounded by commotion（喧闹）. People came up to him and kissed him, shook my hand, and announced themselves as members of the professions that dominate Bangkok（曼谷主流行业）: fashion, design, finance, and food. When I came alone, however, the place always seemed to be empty and I passed hours watching farang（外国人） women doing laps（来回游泳） in the swimming pool.

When I was alone, I wandered the hotel. There was usually a string quartet（弦乐四重奏） in a lobby that was animated without being animate（热闹却无生气）. Too many of the rich, scurrying about（匆忙奔走） with their hands full, too many bellhops（行李员）, too many Japanese matrons（贵妇） in white gloves playing cards.

I took the underground corridors（地下走廊） deep inside the hotel where you could see streams bubbling over beds of pebbles（卵石河床）, past the windows of Burberry（博柏利，英国奢侈品牌）. In the Authors Wing（作家之翼，酒店区域名） there was a white summerhouse atrium（玻璃顶中庭） and a staircase leading up to the suites named after the writers that all Asian hotel suites are named after: Conrad（约瑟夫·康拉德，英国作家）, Maugham（毛姆）, Agatha Christie（阿加莎·克里斯蒂，侦探小说家）.

There was no Jeffrey Archer suite（杰弗里·阿切尔套房，英国作家） yet, but in the library there was a portrait of the great novelist as Lord of Weston-super-Mare（韦斯顿-超级马雷勋爵，英国贵族头衔与地名）. I sat by the grandfather clock（落地钟） and read Evelyn Waugh（伊夫林·沃，英国作家）'s A Tourist in Africa（《非洲游客》）. “No one ever made a servant of a Masai（马赛人，东非游牧民族）,” Waugh wrote of his journey through Kenya in 1959. It's a mysterious sentence. To walk for the sake of walking—the most aimless（无目的的） thing of all—reminds us why the Masai cannot be servants: they are nomads（游牧者）.

McGinnis stopped his chattering frog（咔嗒作响的青蛙玩具） and said, “Long before you came here I was in the same predicament（困境）. I wanted a place I could wander about in and where nothing would add up（有逻辑）. European cities were too familiar. American cities were too like European ones. I wanted a city with no streets. A script（文字，比喻文化符号） I couldn't read. Total oblivion（彻底的遗忘）.”

One night recently, he said, he had heard a curious sound coming from the Spaniard's apartment（西班牙人的公寓）. When he turned off the radio and went down the stairs to investigate（查看）, he could tell that it was the Spaniard's voice. It repeated a single word over and over, and it was almost in a scream.

“He was shouting mierda, mierda!（西班牙语：‘屎，屎！’）”

“What do you make of that?”

He went to the window of the Spaniard's apartment, which wasn't in the least curtained or shuttered（挂窗帘或百叶窗的）. You could look right in.

“The Spaniard was in his underpants（内裤） in front of a large canvas（画布） slathered with glue（涂满胶水）. He held a dead pigeon（死鸽子） in one hand, which he appeared to be in the act of hurling（投掷） at the canvas. I noticed at once that there were other dead pigeons already pinned（钉住） to its surface. I realized then that he must have collected them from the streets nearby, which, as I am sure you have noticed, are fairly awash with（充斥着） dead birds of all descriptions（种类）. Pigeons, macaws（金刚鹦鹉）, crows（乌鸦）. I have even seen the occasional parrot（鹦鹉）. In any case, he had decided to make art out of every-day life（日常生活）.”

“Isn’t that the definition of mierda（西班牙语：‘屎’）?”

“Yes. And it would be better not to make anything at all. To just go walking.”

“I walk at night,” I reminded him. “I go everywhere.”

“I’ll bet you haven’t been to the Woodlands Inn（林地旅馆，曼谷廉价旅馆）.”

When a foreigner moves into a city he doesn’t understand, he prides himself on acquiring an esoteric knowledge（秘而不宣的知识） of its hidden crannies（隐秘角落）. He thinks he is the only one to know a certain tiny bar or an ancient mango tree standing by a canal hidden behind a laundry. Why do these things matter so much to him? Does he really think he is the only one who has noticed them?

Next to the Oriental（东方文华酒店） runs the oldest road in Bangkok, Charung Krung（查隆恭路，泰语意为“新路”，实为曼谷最古老街道）, which of course means “New Road” in Thai. It used to be an elephant track（大象行走的土路） running parallel to the river, but for McGinnis, it was a horizontal greased rope（涂油的绳索） along which he could slither（滑行） after twenty drinks at the Bamboo Bar. There were no whores（妓女）, no massage parlors（按摩店）, but there was a disreputable motel（声名狼藉的汽车旅馆） frequented by Indian doctors（印度医生） where we could get a Cambodian brandy（柬埔寨白兰地）, and they had a Ping-Pong table（乒乓球桌）.

Woodlands Inn was on Charung Soi 32（查隆恭32巷，“Soi”泰语意为小巷）, with 300-baht-an-hour rooms（每小时300泰铢的房间） and an Indian restaurant full of cow-eyed crooks（眼神无辜的骗子）. It smelled of condoms（避孕套） and ghee（印度酥油）. And who, I wondered, ran the Dr. Manoj Clinic（马诺吉医生诊所） and the Memon Clinic（梅蒙诊所） next to it, all those dingy abortion clinics（昏暗的堕胎诊所） assembled inside the same courtyard as the Woodlands? Who used this corner of a city of ten million, darting in and out of its cubicles（隔间）? The Indians were all playing backgammon（双陆棋，一种棋盘游戏）. There was no Cambodian brandy.

“But I had it last time!” the Englishman shouted.

“It is not existing. Royal Stag Indian whiskey（皇家雄鹿印度威士忌） we are having.”

They began to play some sad Calcutta music（加尔各答音乐，印度东部传统风格）, and the old men sang along, their eyes croony and wet（湿润而迷离）. It was a mood. We sat outside on a bench, surrounded by the hollow music of cicadas（蝉鸣） hanging from the telephone cables（电话线）, and McGinnis said, “Those cables. Have you noticed that every street has these masses of tangled cables? It’s because the telephone company never replaces or takes down cables that have ceased functioning. They simply add new ones, ad nauseam（拉丁语：无休止地，令人厌烦）. Eventually the cables will take over the city. I think of them as a life-form（生命体）, possibly predatory（掠夺性的）.”

At the corner of Charung Krung（查隆恭路）, the cables were bunched into ancient clusters that were beginning to droop downward to head level, like an infestation of metal wisteria（金属紫藤的泛滥，比喻电缆的杂乱缠绕）. The city’s infuriating topography（恼人的城市布局） isn’t a rational system at all, it isn’t European, it isn’t anything one can seize. Near Soi 32（32巷，“soi”泰语意为小巷）—Chinese jewelers and antiquarians（中国珠宝商和古董商） sweltered below the cables, Yoo Lim（虚构店名） and Thong Thai（虚构店名）, and after them came landmarks（地标） that my eye had learned to pick out after seeing them a couple of times: the slim neoclassical building（新古典主义建筑） housing the Express Light company（虚构公司名） with its sooted Corinthian capitals（熏黑的科林斯柱头，古希腊建筑风格）, a bright sign for A.A. Philatelic（虚构集邮公司）. But it was all flattened in the eye（视觉上平淡无奇）.

McGinnis got up. His immense size（魁梧身形） caused the Indians to fall silent. The heat made his face glisten（油光发亮） and his hair stuck up in greasy tufts（油腻的簇状）. His Gulati suit（古拉提西装，可能为虚构品牌） was now wrinkled and he said he wanted to show me something beautiful, “something beautiful,” as he said, “in an ugly city.”

王朗

一切欲望皆苦。 ——佛教谚语

几年前，我住在王朗街区。此刻我坐在这里，看着布鲁克林大桥上的列车驶向曼哈顿，曼谷河畔的阳台仿佛是一块永远失去的天堂碎片。它被拆解，藏匿在脑海中无望的角落，注定腐朽。此刻的纽约充斥着威胁般的戏剧性和人造的色彩，而昭披耶河上却漂着温和的僧侣，乘着水上出租车起伏前行。两座城市截然不同。在那里，橘红色是黄昏的颜色。河流带来宁静。僧侣们在王朗码头下船，带着伞和108颗佛珠——这数字源自观音菩萨所列举的人类108种欲望。他们抬头看着阳台上喝金汤力的西方人，那目光混杂着有趣与疏离，仿佛在问：“那是个孤独的人吗？”如同佛陀举起左手结无畏印时的神情，既施予保护，又超然物外。

我偏爱那里的夜晚。白昼太热，而我只有在无阳光时才喜欢炎热。我是个夜行者。这是一种被刻意选择、甚至精心计算的孤独。我凌晨在街头游荡，像浣熊般觅食。我逐渐爱上了曼谷从无形鼻孔中呼出的陈旧罗勒叶和耗尽大麻的气息；我喜欢黑暗中掠过你身边的女孩，抛出一句“去哪里？”，像酒吧里抛掷的硬币。我爱这狂烈的腐朽。

我从午睡中醒来，身处“报春花公寓”的一间白色小房间里。那儿没多少家当——一尊从扎都扎市场买的廉价佛像，一个书架，还有条印度地毯。身无分文时，生活反而简单。我在阳台上调了杯金汤力，朝僧侣们挥手。日子被我刻意放空。我没有工作；用美国老派黑帮的话说，我在“逃亡”。多妙的词——“逃亡”。韦氏词典里解释为“仓皇逃窜”。

走廊对面住着个叫麦金尼斯的英国人。我总怀疑这名字是真是假。他带着上流社会的神经质气质，瘦如竹竿，肌肉全无，白色亚麻衣服与时代格格不入。麦金尼斯向曼谷的会议中心和酒店推销空调系统，这在酷热的曼谷是门赚钱生意。下班后，他说自己在编纂一本“酒吧百科全书”以造福世人。那时的他像只脏猫，我常看见他坐在阳台上，慢悠悠喝着加了果味糖浆的胜狮啤酒，嚼着橄榄。他与我四目相对时微笑，仿佛在抚摸猫，而他自己也是只猫。另一侧住着个西班牙人，叫赫利克斯——不是费利克斯？我确定没听错。画家赫利克斯，专在曼谷会议中心和酒店的酒吧背后画湿壁画。他们是曼谷特有的那种深沉天才。

还有其他人。一楼住着另一个外籍老苏格兰人法洛，他在柬埔寨为自己建的度假小屋接待冒险者。他曾是英国陆军伞兵，来自邓迪，总歪戴贝雷帽。他脑袋里嵌着一块安哥拉战争留下的弹片——古巴的弹片。你可不想在深夜走廊里撞见醉酒的他。他会抓住你的胳膊说：“小子，该打手枪了。”

每晚六点，我走下街道，感觉自己活像冲完冷水澡后浑身散发香气的约翰·威尔莫特——那位罗切斯特伯爵。“报春花”直通街道，犹如电梯直抵顶层公寓。

王朗是座喧嚣都市中的喧嚣之地。它的主街狭窄到行走时能感到两侧擦过胯骨。我汗流浃背地穿过露天厨房时，总有一群孩子追着喊“外国巨人！外国巨人！”。我是那里最高大的人类，他们眼中的奇观，甚至更糟——一个无法逆转的基因怪胎。

这里对一事无成、可能永远一事无成的人来说堪称乐土。对无业、无望、永远穷困的人而言，这是完美的避难所。金灿灿的腌蛋和袋装乌龙茶近乎免费。你可以尽情品尝闻所未闻的美食，却分文不花。简而言之，这里是懒鬼的天堂，也是逃亡者的天然栖息地——这类人终日无所事事，只为好奇地游荡，无私地漫步。一个活成反刍动物的人，一只山羊。

在王朗，我练就了泰国式的“边走边吃”，将各种食材堆在香蕉叶上，边行走边沉思，却始终不失平衡。这里的街道是死胡同，因此无需方向感。它们最终都通向水边的小剧院和咖啡馆。

于是我漫无目的地来回踱步，吃着金黄色的煮蛋和鱿鱼干。夜幕降临，空气染上灰烬般的色调，鼻腔被一种难以名状的气味占据——极辣的“老鼠屎”辣椒在热油中翻炒，混合罗望子酱的辛辣。我像石头坠入井底般陷入自我封闭。曼谷不过是这种沉沦的规则。因为当人们感到不再被爱、选择放弃时，就会来到这里。

其他租客也是如此。破碎、失望、被拒绝的他们向东逃离。在王朗的头几晚，我和他们在公共休息室下棋，着迷于他们恍惚又晒黑的面孔。但最让我在意的是麦金尼斯。他是个没有过去的人，像西默农小说里的角色——某天走出家门，搭上火车，在远方城市杀人。他来自纽黑文。“那里除了海防工事什么也没有。”麦金尼斯说这话时，神情像刚击落风筝的愉快流氓。海防工事——我心想：那可不少。他的头剃得像士兵，像法洛，但身形修长柔韧，毫无军人气质。他是空调工程专业的工程师，在谢菲尔德拿的学位。这学科竟也能拿学位。

麦金尼斯身高六英尺七英寸（约2米）。他在门廊下、酒店大堂里、路灯的光晕中显得格外高大。他身上有种迷人的阴森感，而我偏爱这样的阴森之人。阴森的人不会只是行走，而是像一颗优质滚珠轴承般从容滚动。他们或许不和蔼，却能成为好伙伴。尽管从事空调工程，麦金尼斯却暗藏贵族气质与优雅，一生只卖着批量生产的制冷设备。他对此毫不在意。有些精神贵族过着平凡生活。他的一切都自足而充实。正是这点让他显得阴森吗？

圣诞期间异常炎热。超市里，穿着红丝绒裙的女孩们戴着毛边帽子，摇晃铜铃，唱着《平安夜》和《铃儿响叮当》。豆腐摊装饰着塑料冬青枝，圣诞标语交错悬挂在这座佛教城市蒸腾的摩天楼间。无风的日子里，浑浊汹涌的河水冲过“樱草号”，颜色像婴儿吐过的豌豆汤。水面被水草淤塞，对岸的寺庙如巨型石笋或表皮粗糙的豆荚般耸立。毛姆——少数详细描写曼谷的西方作家之一——曾说：“人们该庆幸如此奇幻之物存在。”

清晨在阳台喝咖啡时，我吸入河水中汽油与淤泥的腐臭，内心总有些东西蠢蠢欲动。仿佛心底的一片枯叶被突然掀起，发出细微声响——死物复活的窸窣。肠道内壁的刺痛。我望着运米驳船冲向空堤港，僧侣们带着伞和公文包，在沿岸寺庙间往返。他们身后是大皇宫的四座金塔，更远处是郑王庙——数百万片玻璃与陶瓷玫瑰花瓣折射着微光，两个半世纪前意大利匠人留下的甜美装饰。穿海军蓝校服的学生与僧侣同行，船夫靠岸时吹响刺耳哨声。船侧轮胎撞上腐朽木桩，发出美妙的“砰”声。

从这儿望去，麦金尼斯穿着连体服在阳台做瑜伽，身体舒展到极致，推拉门内飘出高棉音乐。在“樱草公寓”无法避开其他租客——空间狭小，我们总是被迫挤作一团。他保持瑜伽姿势，用流亡者般的口音喊道：“听说有个西班牙人和你同时搬来楼下。他说自己叫‘螺旋’，不是菲利克斯，是‘螺旋’。”说完轻蔑一笑。

不久后，麦金尼斯带我乘水上出租船顺流而下，前往东方文华酒店。他为这趟河上之旅盛装打扮：草帽、钢头双色皮鞋，一副《魂断威尼斯》的派头。他用粗俗泰语搭讪女学生。酒店有私人码头，我们与肥胖游客一同跳下船。

“我理解，”他说，“你没薪水什么的。”

人有时会刚认识就急着解释自己。我似乎天生擅长引发这种反应。我说，我来曼谷是为了看牙，因为纽约的保险我负担不起。就这么简单。在曼谷补了14颗蛀牙、做了一次根管治疗，只花了450美元，不到我一年保费的一小部分。即便算上机票和在“樱草公寓”一个月的租金，我仍有盈余。事实上，我待在这里完全出于经济考量。是钱驱使我暂时流亡，因为账目一目了然：西方如今太贵了。渐渐地，我开始考虑或许该找个这样的地方永久定居。在泰国，我大部分时间都手头宽裕。

“你说这叫‘有盈余’？”

他大笑。

“这次你整牙了吗？”

“我在等一张支票（或检查）。”

“哦，你在等支票啊！”

麦金尼斯带我去“竹吧”。他掏出一个机械玩具放在吧台上——那是一只巴西木制树蛙，按下按钮，弹簧会带动它咔嗒作响。他把它留在那里。“迟早会有美女过来问这青蛙是什么，”他说，“然后我就告诉她。”

“到底是什么？”

“以后再告诉你。”

竹吧的装饰是藤编与漆器，如今在亚洲，“殖民风格”只剩正面含义，一切殖民元素都被视为优雅时髦。这里是全城最游客扎堆的酒吧，扎堆到它仿佛在自我调侃，也因此最“殖民”。但既然一切都游客化，何不直奔毒药源头，纵情享受？

和麦金尼斯同来时，我们总被喧闹包围。人们亲吻他，与我握手，自称来自曼谷主流行业：时尚、设计、金融、餐饮。独自前来时，这里却空无一人，我只能花几小时看外国女人在泳池来回游动。

独处时，我漫游酒店。大堂常有弦乐四重奏，热闹却无生气。太多富人双手拎满东西匆忙奔走，太多行李员，太多戴白手套打牌的日本贵妇。

我穿过酒店深处的地下走廊，卵石河床上溪水汩汩流过，经过博柏利的橱窗。在“作家之翼”，白色玻璃中庭的楼梯通向以作家命名的套房——亚洲酒店套房总爱用的名字：康拉德、毛姆、阿加莎·克里斯蒂。

酒店尚未设立“杰弗里·阿切尔套房”，但图书馆里挂着这位大作家扮作“韦斯顿-超级马雷勋爵”的肖像。我坐在落地钟旁读伊夫林·沃的《非洲游客》。“没人能让马赛人当仆人，”沃在书中写他1959年的肯尼亚之旅。这句话充满玄机。为行走而行走——这最无目的之事——提醒我们为何马赛人无法成为仆人：他们是游牧者。

麦金尼斯停下咔嗒作响的青蛙玩具，说道：“你来之前很久，我也处于同样困境。我想要一个能闲逛且毫无逻辑的地方。欧洲城市太熟悉，美国城市又太像欧洲。我想要一座没有街道的城市，一本读不懂的文字，彻底的遗忘。”

他说最近某晚，听见西班牙人公寓传来怪声。关掉收音机下楼查看时，他听出是西班牙人的声音。那人反复尖叫着一个词。

“他喊着‘屎！屎！’（mierda）！”

“你觉得这是怎么回事？”

他走到西班牙人公寓窗前——那里毫无遮挡，可以直视屋内。

“西班牙人只穿内裤站在涂满胶水的大画布前，手握一只死鸽子，正要将它甩向画布。我立刻注意到画布上已钉着其他死鸽。我这才明白，他定是从附近街道收集的——你也注意到了，街上到处是各类死鸟：鸽子、金刚鹦鹉、乌鸦，甚至偶尔有鹦鹉。总之，他决定从日常生活里创造艺术。”

“这不就是‘屎’的定义吗？”

“没错。最好什么也别做，只管走路。”

“我每晚都走，”我提醒他，“哪儿都去。”

“我打赌你没去过‘林地旅馆’。”

当一个外国人迁入一座陌生的城市，他会以掌握其隐秘角落的冷知识为傲。他以为自己是唯一知道某家小酒吧或藏在洗衣店后运河边的古芒果树的人。为何这些对他如此重要？他真以为别人都没注意到？

东方文华酒店旁是曼谷最老的街道——查隆恭路（泰语“新路”），曾是沿河的象道。但对麦金尼斯来说，它是涂了油的绳索——在竹吧灌下二十杯酒后，他能顺着它滑行。这里没有妓女或按摩店，只有印度医生常去的破旅馆，能买到柬埔寨白兰地，还有张乒乓球桌。

“林地旅馆”位于查隆恭32巷，房间每小时300泰铢，印度餐厅里挤满眼神无辜的骗子，空气中飘着避孕套和印度酥油的气味。是谁经营着隔壁的马诺吉诊所和梅蒙诊所？这些昏暗堕胎诊所与旅馆同处一院。千万人口的城市里，谁在隔间中匆匆进出？印度人全在玩双陆棋，没有柬埔寨白兰地。

“我上次明明喝到了！”英国人吼道。

“没有那东西。我们只有皇家雄鹿印度威士忌。”

他们开始演奏哀伤的加尔各答音乐，老人们跟着哼唱，双眼湿润迷离。氛围如此。我们坐在外面的长椅上，被电话线上的蝉鸣空洞包围。麦金尼斯说：“那些电话线。你注意到每条街都缠满线缆了吗？因为电话公司从不替换或拆除废弃线路，只会无休止地新增。最终线缆会吞噬整座城。我觉得它们是生命体，可能是掠夺性的。”

在查隆恭路转角，电缆结成古老的簇团，垂落到头顶高度，像金属紫藤的泛滥。曼谷恼人的城市布局毫无理性，既不欧式，也难捉摸。32巷附近——中国珠宝商和古董商在线缆下汗流浃背，店名“裕林”与“通泰”之后，是我多次路过才记住的地标：纤瘦的新古典主义建筑里是“速光公司”，熏黑的科林斯柱头；还有“A.A.集邮”的鲜艳招牌。但这一切在眼中仍显平淡。

麦金尼斯起身。他的魁梧身形让印度人瞬间沉默。高温令他脸上油光发亮，头发油腻成簇。古拉提西装已皱巴巴，他说要给我看“丑陋城市里的美”。