高贵的请先死去
张小跳在一个叫做coffee Bean & Tea Leaf的地方喝了一杯东西。很甜，她没有冲到洗手间就吐了。
咖啡店里一直在放Nico的歌，张小跳是去洗手间那会儿才记起来。Nico，张小跳记得肖复兴在他的
音乐笔记上写到Nico的时候这样说，一个女人无论是单纯拥有美貌或者单纯拥有才华，都会是幸运
的，可是一个女人如果既拥有美貌又拥有才华，就注定要不幸。张小跳非常同意这句话，不过这还
是不能改变她从小到大要做一个才貌双全的姑娘的梦想。这样说来，她一直在为做一个厄运人而奋斗。
她的手上带着4个烟烧的窟窿。这已经是她第多少次提到她的窟窿了？她变得像祥林嫂一般，不断
地对人说起她的窟窿，因为这是她第一次付诸行动的自残，在此之前她都不能下定决心这么做，她
爱美，也怕疼。不过她现在确实这么干了。四个窟窿，她在网上碰到人就说，我烧了四个窟窿。
Bosnia说，妈的，会留下疤的。张小跳心里惶惶的，不过她说，嘿嘿。
张小跳打算等下在这里喝完东西之后再换一间继续喝。不过她忘记了今天是Public Holiday，其实
很多漂亮的地方都关门了，只有7-11便利店持续地开着门卖生活的必需品，面包和避孕套。今天
是复活节，不过说到这个词张小跳已经不感动了，她有四个周没有去教堂了。连那个颀长的好姑
娘洗礼，她也没有去参加。她前些天做了个梦，她梦见自己去参加洗礼，结果从顶楼的洗礼水池前，
在众目睽睽下，就这么跳了下来。是啊，蒙受了恩典的她就从高处纵身一跳，结束了圣灵充满着的
生命。她还记得她跳的时候旁边有人嘀咕(也可能是天使)：自杀是不能上天堂的！张小跳还是心里
惶惶的，不过她还是说，嘿嘿。
当然那是个梦，张小跳最近不会自杀，因为她刚刚发现写诗很好玩，她想努力努力，成为一个蹩
脚的女诗人，站在雄伟的朗诵台子上，在众多男诗人的追捧下，朗诵一首有关马戏团的诗(张小跳
的初级诗歌都是有关马戏团的，因为她迷恋猴子和火圈，从小时候打游戏机的时候就已经迷恋上
啦)。那个时候再跳下来也不迟，从高高的朗诵台子上，反正大家都是疯子，自己的死也不会给他
们带来任何刺激，而教堂里的教徒们可不同，如果她跳下来了，她们会受很大的刺激，会哭泣得很
伤心，然后围起圈子来为她祈祷。啊，多罗嗦啊，张小跳就喜欢啪的一声，就死去，像关灯一样。
张小跳吐完了从洗手间回来，发现那个肥胖的黑衣女侍应生收走了她那杯比蜜还甜的Mocha。她的
心情就变得更加不好了——虽然她觉得那东西很难喝，可是她还没有喝完那个人凭什么拿走呢。那
是她的她付了钱的，凭什么把它抢走呢？“我要离开这里。”张小跳再次绝望地想。她想离开S 国。
这个在地图上还没有她脸上的泪痣大的国家。都10月末了，这个国家连一个合理的秋天都没有让她
过上。她就像一个饥饿的幼儿园小孩，过了开饭的时间还没有人理睬，她就一个人拿着汤匙孤单地
敲着空空的饭盆。张小跳是不能没有秋天的，她没有秋天就会浮躁和喋喋不休。如果再没有人听她
倾诉，她就会考虑消失掉，比如从高处向下跳。
那天张小跳烫伤自己的时候，是面对着N的(N是个正宗的女诗人，不过她对男诗人围绕以及站在雄
伟的高台子上趾高气扬地念诗丝毫不感兴趣)，可是她嘴上叫着的却是她妈妈。这是完全可以理解的，
在过去上的一堂当代文学课上，张小跳学到，人在绝望的时候会回归最本初的形态，对母亲的呼唤
是完全出于本能的。举例：在曹禹先生根据巴金先生的《家》改编的同名剧本中，当在新婚之夜，
发现觉新并不爱她，也不碰她，她难过地呼唤着：妈妈！是的，张小跳在拿着烟头，正冲着皮肤摁
下去的时候，她叫出了声音：妈妈。
妈妈，我要回家！他们都不爱我，他们都不懂得如何疼爱我。
张小跳打算现在就关掉这个文档，收起电脑，离开咖啡店。她心里有很多关于马戏团的诗不知道要
念给谁听。她心心念念的那猴子，也还在钻火圈，一个，两个三四个。烧着了屁股就哇哇大叫起来。
小可怜，张小跳说。猴子的腰还缠在火圈上，对着看热闹的张小跳说，下一个就轮到你了！张小跳
心里又惶惶了，不过你知道的，她还是照旧说了，嘿嘿。
The highbrow, please die first
{Translator's Note: This story, in Zhang Yueran's distinctive genie, paints the picture of a young woman
in state of desperate search for something dependably real in her life; as she still searches, the
desperation is not yet final. Zhang Xiaotiao happens to be a web ID which the author used in the
last couple of years; however, it should not be concluded from this the author actually committed
the acts mentioned in the story: as far as I can see, she carries no burn scars. There is also some
confusion about the time, as Easter and late October were both mentioned; the intention behind this
discrepancy, if any, is unclear.
The sharp observation and humour displayed in the story gave me optimism about her future
development, but it did not turned out that way; perhaps due to her new circle after settling full time
in Beijing, she became rather, shall we say, decadent; for much the same reason, I got out of touch
with her, both socially and literally. }
Zhang Xiaotiao was having a coffee at a place called Coffee Bean & Tea Leave, but it was too sweet,
and she vomited before she reached the washroom.
The coffeeshop was playing the songs of Nico, as Xiaotiao recalled when moving towards the toilet.
Nico; she recalled something Xiao Fuxing said in his musical jottings: a woman, if she possesses
beauty alone or talent alone, is blessed, but if a woman has both beauty and talent, then she is
destined for misfortune. Zhang Xiaotiao agrees wholeheartedly with this, but it has not changed her
dream since childhood of becoming a girl with both look and talent. In other words, she has always
struggled to become a person of misfortune.
Her hand had four cigarette burn holes. How many times had she mentioned those marks? She had
become like Aunt Xianglin as she keeps telling people about her burn marks, because it was the first
act of self immolation she actually put into action. Until then she could not make up her mind to do it,
because she cares for her looks and fears pain. Then she actually did it. Four holes, she kept telling
anyone encountered on the web, I burnt four holes. Bosnia said, shit, this could leave behind scars.
Xiaotiao felt a little panicky, but she said, hehheh.
She was planning to finish her drink here and then have another one in a different place. But she f
orgot this was a public holiday, and many nice places were closed. Just the 7-11 convenient stores
were open all hours selling necessities of life like bread and condoms. Today is Easter, but mentioning
this no longer touches Xiaotiao. She has not gone to the church for four weeks, and did not even go to
the baptism of that tall girl. A few days ago she had a dream, that she went to her own baptism, and
jumped down from the top floor in front of the baptial pool, jumped right there with everyone looking on.
Right, after being touched by grace, she would jump from the high point to end a life filled with the holy
spirit. She even remembers that as she jumped somebody (or some angel) standing by saying
"suicides do not go to heaven." Xiaotiao was still feeling panicky, but she said all the same, hehheh.
Of course that was only a dream. Zhang Xiaotiao was not about to commit suicide just yet, because
she just discovered that writing poetry was fun. She wants to try to try, to become a third grade poet,
standing on the grand recital stage, admired by numerous male poets, reading a poem about
circuses. (Xiaotiao's elementary poems were all about circuses, because she was charmed by
monkeys and fire rings, an addiction ever since she was a kid playing video games.) It is not too l
ate to wait till then to jump, down from that recital stage. Since everyone there is a bit insane, her
death would not stir up anything among them, whereas the worshipers in the church would be quite
different. If she jumped, they would be greatly shocked, would cry in sorrow, and would form a circle
to pray for her. Shucks, so troublesome. Zhang Xiaotiao prefers to die like a lamp being turn off,
with just a clicking sound.
After she finished vomiting and returned from the washroom, she found that dark uniformed fat
waitress had taken away her cup of mocha, which was as sweet as honey. Her mood became
even worse. Though she found the stuff too nasty to drink, what right did that girl have to take it
away before she finished it? She paid for it, and taking it away was almost like robbery. "I want
to get out of here" Xiaotiao thought to herself with despair. She wanted to leave S republic, a dot
on the map smaller than the wart under her eye. Almost end of October, and this place has not
even given her a decent autumn. She felt like a hungry child in kindergarten, there by herself holding
a spoon looking at the empty meal tray. Zhang Xiaotiao cannot manage without autumns; if she does
not get an autumn she turns agitated and talkative. If nobody turns up to hear her complaint, she would
consider disappearing, like jumping from a high place.
The day Xiaotiao put the burn marks on herself, she was with N# (N is a real poet, but she was not
at all interested in being surrounded by male poets and standing on a grand high stage proudly
reading her poems), but the cry she made was for her mother. This is completely understandable.
In one of the modern literature classes she took, Xiaotiao learnt that when a human is in the greatest
despair he/she returns to his/her earliest primitive stage; crying out for mother is instinctive. For
example, in the play "Family" Zhao Yu wrote based on the novel of the same name by Ba Jin, on
the wedding night the bride discovered that her husband Jue Xin did not love her and would not t
ouch her, she called out in misery "mother!" Indeed, when Xiaotiao held the cigarette and pushed i
t down on her skin, she cried out "mother".
Mom, I want to go home. They dont love me. They dont know how to take care of me.
Zhang Xiaotiao wanted to close the file, fold up the laptop and leave the coffeeshop. In her mind
there are many poems about circuses she had no one to recite to. She was thinking of the monkeys,
still jumping through fire rings, one, two, three, four, screaming loudly when the fire cinged their
bottoms. Poor things, Xiaotiao said; one monkey's waist getting tangled on the fire ring, telling
Xiaotiao as she looked on: it is your turn next. In her mind she got panicky again, but, as you know,
she still said like before, hehheh.
#N Nude is the pseudonym of another student in our Department， who writes modern Chinese
poems.
