未來知道
也許是因為爸媽吵架，吵爸沒問過媽就在台北郊外買的那塊地……也或許是因為天安門廣場，那些學生抗議者和坦克人，他們用民主的熱情和愛國的慾望佔據了我們年輕的心……又或許是因為 White Jade Jade 的女兒被綁架了。好幾個星期，全台灣都在追這位知名歌手女兒的搜救消息，她十二歲，跟我一樣。她跟我們的年紀那麼接近——我妹妹 Lili 十歲，Fenfung 十四歲——我們覺得好像是我們自己走失了。不管原因是什麼，沒有人——不是我，不是我的姊妹，更不是忙著打他們自己那場冷戰的爸媽——注意到那麼多年前，我那種奇特又短命的能力第一次顯現出來。焦慮四處亂竄，我們之中沒有人察覺到發生了什麼事：那是我第一次提早聞到一種氣味，第一次，我真的、字面上的，聞到了未來。
它像一顆臭雞蛋一樣擊中我。
靠！我說。誰放屁？
Hua，爸說，注意你的用詞。
快到晚餐時間了，我們在客廳，電視開著警方的記者會。那是在勒贖信出現之前，在我們確定那個女孩被綁架之前。Lili 和我趴在地上，在一張台灣地圖上插紅旗，標出那個女孩可能被目擊的地方。爸在我拜託他為失蹤女孩做的傳單上寫書法。媽在餐桌旁撕四季豆的筋，而 Fenfung 攤在藤沙發上，吃力地寫信給她在美國的筆友。
那股硫磺般的臭味揮之不去。我把厚厚的眼鏡框往鼻樑上推，掃視房間找嫌疑犯。
不是我，爸說。
我什麼都沒聞到，Lili 說，一邊嗅著。
媽沒說話，只是望著窗外，手裡那根四季豆一動也沒動。她身上還穿著粉紅色的護理服——爸堅持要她穿，雖然她在他的眼科診所只是接電話。我知道她在想爸買的那塊地，如果我非常用力地瞇眼，幾乎可以看到它就在松樹林的另一頭。
是 Fenfung，我說。她都沒否認。
Hua 在幻想，Fenfung 一邊說，一邊用立可白塗掉信裡一整個句子。爸，民主怎麼拼？
味道散了，我也就不追究了。我回我們的房間把地圖掛到牆上，但當我出來到爸的文具抽屜拿更多膠帶時，傳來一聲清清楚楚的放屁聲。
抓到了吧，爸！我說。
叫你爸別再一直啃那些地瓜，媽說，好像我是她的私人信鴿，好像爸不就在旁邊。
別再一直啃那些地瓜了，我說，順手把他那塊拿過來自己吃。
人的心智是很容易受暗示的，爸說，歪著頭進入他的深思模式，毛筆停在半空中。
除了媽，我們全都笑了。我們之中沒有人注意到，我在那個屁發生之前就聞到它了——這是我後來才意識到的。還有另一件事：當我聽到它的時候，我其實什麼都沒聞到。
然後，隔天下午，它又發生了。（未完……）
（節錄自 Colorado Review 第 49.2 期）
（中文譯自英文原文）
English original
Maybe it was because of the fights between Mom and Dad, about the land he bought outside Taipei without asking her…Or it could have been because of Tiananmen Square, the student protestors and the Tank Man, who occupied our young hearts with democratic fervor and patriotic lust…Or maybe it was because of the kidnapping of the daughter of White Jade Jade. For weeks, everyone in Taiwan followed the search for the famous singer’s daughter, who was twelve, same as me. So close was she to our age—my sister Lili was ten and Fenfung, fourteen—that we felt as if we ourselves were lost. Whatever the reason, no one—not me, not my sisters, and certainly not my parents distracted by their own cold war—noticed the first time my peculiar and short-lived power manifested itself so many years ago. None of us, with anxiety running in all directions, realized what was happening the first time I smelled an odor ahead of time, the first time I, literally, smelled the future.
It hit me like a rotten egg.
Damn! I said. Who farted?
Hua, Dad said, watch your language.
It was almost dinnertime, and we were in the living room with the TV tuned to a police news briefing. This was before the ransom letter, before we knew for sure that the girl had been kidnapped. Lili and I were on the floor pinning red flags on a map of Taiwan, marking the locations where the girl might have been sighted. Dad was writing calligraphy on the flyers I asked him to make for the missing girl. Mom was de-stringing green beans at the dining table, and Fenfung, sprawled out on the rattan sofa, labored over a letter to her pen pal in the United States.
The sulfurous stink lingered. I pushed the thick rim of my glasses up my nose and scanned the room for suspects.
Not me, Dad said.
I smell nothing, Lili said, sniffing.
Mom kept quiet, just stared out of the window doing nothing to the piece of green bean in her hand. She was still wearing her pink nurse scrubs, which Dad insisted she wear even though she only answered phones at his optometry clinic. I knew she was thinking about the land Dad bought, which I could almost see beyond the pine forest if I squinted really hard.
It’s Fenfung, I said. She’s not denying it.
Hua is hallucinating, Fenfung said as she erased a whole sentence from her letter with Wite-Out. Pa, how do you spell democracy?
The smell went away and I let the matter drop. I went to our bedroom to hang the map on the wall, but when I came out to get more tape from Dad’s stationery drawer, there was an unmistakable sound of someone passing gas.
Gotcha, Pa! I said.
Tell your father to stop munching on those sweet potatoes, Mom said, as if I were her personal messenger pigeon, as if Dad weren’t right there.
Stop munching on those sweet potatoes, I said and took his piece for myself.
The human mind is very suggestible, Dad said, tilting his head in his deep-thought mode, his calligraphy pen paused in midair.
We all laughed except Mom. None of us noticed that I smelled the fart before it happened—I realized later. And something else: when I heard it, I actually smelled nothing.
Then it happened again the next afternoon. (Continued…)
(Excerpted from Colorado Review, Vol. 49.2)