Mr. Sony is what we called him. But it surely wasn’t his name, which he did not ever disclose. “There are not many gweilo here on the islet are there? You call gweilo and I come. That’s much easier," groaned he when I pursued.
That white guy kept staying with us for several weeks before he left, for his recuperation. He recuperated fast though. One evening, when I came back from my dinghy business, 20 steps to the door did I hear his low-pitch grunting and puffing, that I had no doubt he was fucking June. No agony or rage. What for? As I have said, everyone on the Islet fucked June. She was nurtured for fuck sake after all. Stepping into the house, I saw the back of him planting his leg wider than his shoulder a bit, stuttering violently by my table next to the window. His left hand fiercely latching on the table corner. His right stretching further to clutch June’s left breast, I guessed while I couldn’t see clearly because of the evening sun glow blazing the fuck. His jeans were full down, laying him bare except a pair of woman legs shielding his bum. But the loose denim jacket was still cladded on top. The floor around was dropped with bowl shards and sticky ChaGuo (dessert made with steam rice pudding filled with black bean and wrapped in leaves) I always put on that table. Irritating evening sun glow surrounded that gave this fucking god in denim jacket an aura. The low-pitch grunting and puffing did stop after I came, of course I had no doubt not because of me standing behind. He just laid June’s legs back on the table and dressed up and turned, glaze snapping my eyes not without a slit of guilt and walked his way out. Then saw I June who sat up, tugging her blue one piece wrap hanging on her nipples to where it should be, glaze snapping my eyes showing exhaustion and nothing else, and walked her way to the stove. There left the table like those butcher benches that beasty lust just laid June on like a pig how long ago and how often I never know, and did his thing. No agony or rage. What for?
Step by step he told me what an evidence hunter was. “Do you know who started the destruction?" he carelessly breathed out the question, eyes fixed on his PCM-M10. Destruction? I asked, trying to get some clarification. A minute without a word from Mr. Sony, me and June by the stove. Letting the silence filled by crickets. “What you people call the Event, was actually the most catastrophic destruction in human history by nuclear attack. Funny is what started it was nothing but a prank. Your government called the military from the North to exterminate a fleet of intruders that wasn’t even exist!" Those old people who was there then say it’s a tragic accident I said. “In line with the North government. No conspiracy. Just an heroic tragedy that hints at nothing but pure remembrance. Earning your leaders take a boat trip to that big hole every year to throw those fucking wreaths for solemnity." My English was not good. But still I knew he was mocking us. You think it’s not true I asked. He gave in to cricket chirping again, head up tracing the moth around the light on the wall for another minute. “True or not isn’t what I care. I care about keeping my belief and passing it on. My job done." His eyes attuned back to his PCM-M10 after his soliloquy.
The always listener June stirred up at that point, “You are Joshuas. You are those terrorists who try to ruin our country." “Your leaders air it all day long yeah? You knew it the first day yeah? So why rescued me? Why, you know my wound was down to no one but your government’s agent yeah? Why didn’t you kick me out now yeah? You know you need terrorists. You need it badly. Yeah, I’m to ruin your country if Almighty allowed it yeah. To tear your country apart yeah. To put your people into peril of chaos. It’s all true. It’s my duty. But let’s face it you aren’t happy here are you yeah? Having peace here yeah? Why? Because you don’t satisfy deep in your heart. Rage in your heart. Grieve in your heart. Desperation in your heart. You know you are right in the middle of the hell here peaceful in eternity yeah. The torment. The fire. The fuck. The eternity. The stability. You crave for a crack. A crack that lets someone break in, to give you that change yeah? That’s what Rahab craved. That’s why she lied to those Jericho Kingsmen for those two foreigners like me now yeah? Let them scarlet cord to climb through the window to plant their bomb. To fucking bomb her own country, her own very fucking dam. To let her Joshua in that she didn’t even know is there. Joshua, the terrorist! The first terrorist ever in human history! And she let him fuck her the first day they met. And fucking marry him Did Joshua then bring anything that make life better? No. Did she know that Joshua the terrorist wouldn’t bring anything better to her yeah? Absolutely. But Rahab was satisfied then, by what she craved for, that something finally clenched her desperation. That something finally answered her prayer! Yeah? That crack of getting out of her hell!"
After his oratory, he plugged his earphone into our ears, and played the music. Along he quoted the lyric. That I thought was indoctrination. That I thought it sort of worked.
The birds they sang
at the break of day
I heard them say
Don’t dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.
No border No chaos No annexation Hence peace Long lasting peace Long fucking hell of peace
It was two days since the white man felt almost dead in front of June’s boat. Two days we were together, taking care of that half-dead man, from wiping his blood that soaked his whole body under the wrap of his oversized denim jacket, to calling one of our folks who knew a little bit of medicine to plug his bleeding hole, to changing the bed sheets constantly drenched with his blood and sweat and urine, to pouring water on his face and chest sunburnt and drained by dehydration. In his complete unconsciousness throughout. Two days I could even have sex with June that I usually can’t. Even I always wanted to have sex with her. June, who usually did nothing except sleeping after coming home from her boat. “I am not even sure if you won’t dip in your folks’ stuff. But you can just come in when I sleep if you really want it." She usually told her joke every time I needed sex so bad. A wry joke. Those two days the caring job got her out of her boat, that we could do it.
June. Always that mysterious girl whom no one knew where she came from and why she was here. All we knew was that, one day, a boat, without anyone driving it, appeared on top of the mangrove on the western side at one solar eclipse. Folks found on board no one but a girl an eight years old, 9 years old we guessed and never know. Because she could not speak a word then. That was the month of June and we found her. Our leaders’ committee on the Islet decided her eponym, and let one of the leaders’ families take her home, there she grew up to a mature, captivatingly handsome woman every man here wanted to fuck, and did fuck. She learned to speak fast. But she did not seem to have any memory of her parents, her home and what happened before she came here. She was as if she was born an eight or nine year-old on that boat as the womb. Also, she did not seem to have any interest in talking. What we called fate that came her way, which should have triggered her emotion, like her family raped her, dumped her out as boat girl, she didn’t seem to be able to show it. She didn’t yell; didn’t laugh; didn’t rant; didn’t crave or groan or moan or howl for anything. Always smile. That wry and dry smile. I love her. And she loved me the time we stayed together. I guess but never be sure, because she didn’t speak or showed her emotion on anything.
The first word that came out of the white man waking up after his two-day coma was not “where am I", but “my black box".
“Black box?" asked I, not a clue of what he meant.
“My black box" repeated he. Perhaps he finally sensed the futility of his repeat from the fogginess mine and June’s faces showed, he ordered, “my coat". In an inside pocket of that blood stained denim jacket did he fetch,
A black box, and a string with a needle or latch at one end and a pair of bud-like devices at the other. He told me later that was a old device called earphone. The while man plugged the needle into one hole of the black box, and then plugged the pair of buds into his ears. He didn’t speak anything, just closing his eyes once again for a long while, but we knew it was an expression of relief.
“Sony Linear PCM," said the white man, indecipherable that we thought he told us his name. So I replied, “Mr. Sony." “No" shunned he me blunt, an expression of impatience because of my interruption. “Sony Linear PCM – M10. The best recorder and player in year 2000."
Year 2000. That was 50 years ago.
He continued, “it was made in Japan."
Japan. A country that didn’t exist at the time. Nor a country anyone here heard of. Heard from those very old folks, it was now called New Liuchiu, which was under Yian prefecture of our country.
The Blackbox, he kept on, human never needed it so bad as now, a time he said we could not even trust the air we breathe. Even the air was connected with the surveillance system he said. This box, the only thing that was in complete oblivion he said, the only freedom in its purity he said.
June and I could not make any sense of what he said at the time. I didn’t challenge the prowess of his Blackbox. But it was definitely not the only thing in complete oblivion. At least, where we lived then at the time, was as forgotten and ignored as that Blackbox. So I thought at the time. Later he told me I was wrong. Much later after his death I inherited his everything, even his name Mr. Sony, his Sony Linear PCM, his earphone, his career as evidence hunter, and his fate –taken to the IFC and die with a hint of evidence to be hunted by another evidence hunter.
Mr. Sony showed us the beauty of what was in Sony Linear PCM. He plugged out his earphone and plugged each of those into one of our ears. Now June and I was linked by string that converged into that Blackbox. Sound came to us so strange and so delicate that we never heard of. Mr. Sony told us later it was called music. Like Japan, a thing that disappeared already with not a sign to human beings now.
「叫雞？」You hear people yelling this to whoever disembarks on one of our over a thousand islets, together being the most extravagant pearl necklace covering the most gorgeous neckline and collarbones of our Country’s lady-like blue body, the South China Sea, if viewed from the outer space. That is what our Country always tells us. The question literally means, you wanna call a chick? It used to be a cheeky and not-so-subtle way of soliciting prostitution services on the streets in old times. Now it only means, do you need a motorboat trip around our islets, which is one of the main income sources of ours, apart from fishing. In Cantonese, 雞 is pronounced “ghie", an higher pitch intonation of 偈/機, meaning the Motor, what we now call those motorboats.
Yeah we do have some foreigners joining our motorboat trip time to time. But those old folks say they cannot compare with the Island’s heyday, that used to attract millions and millions of foreigners for visit and business long time ago, guess before the Event. They say there are some evidences still remaining on the Island where those villains go as their last journey, where if one dares to go. Those huge sundered flyovers along the northern coast of the Island that should be designed for traffic volume we cannot even imagine ever happened in this place. That prison we call IFC whose architectural design hints not a bit at its existing function, that they say used to be one of the tallest commercial buildings in Asia, that they say used to be the most spectacular and luxurious symbol of the vivacity of the Island at that times. Those much shorter concrete remnants surrounding IFC, dot-spreading the middle of the Peak, the abandoned southern coast of the Island, spared but guess not for long by the rampage of the tropical forest re-colonisation since the Event. They say those remnants are the evidences of what a forgone and forgotten place called Hong Kong represented once upon a time. Big government and bureaucracy, astronomical riches, capitalism to the prime, advanced culture to the fore, utmost greed and corruption rotten to the marrow. They say, one Chief Executive, the leader of the place-used-to-be, whose name they scantily remember as Wong, gave a powerful speech to the people-used-to-be, that “this place, and with her what we preciously hold and proudly show, our core values, our virtues, our pursuit of the most pristine form of civilisation, will withstand and thrive, against however great the challenges, crises and damages, from Nature or Human or Other Species." Huh, they say, but this place could not withstand the Event, a mistake or conspiracy no one can tell still, a damage beyond any kind of heal for sure, a sword struck right through this vampire where his heart is with the tip blade coming out the other side. All the spell and ghoulish blood that used to make it so powerful got sucked out violently off this creature. Those greed and corruption. Those bureaucracy. Those riches. Those which they used to call civilisation. Those prime quickly decayed into putrescence, reclaimed bit by more and faster bit by what it had been much earlier. Tropical forest. where here should be, at the Northern latitude 22.3 degree. To tell what that Wong said was such a romantic joke.
「叫雞？」I kept yelling in that afternoon I met him, at the end of the jetty of the Islet I lived. That white guy with goaty mustache and was wrapped in a blue denim jacket that obviously too big to him. He stepped off his ferry from the North, the land which they say used to be part of that Hong Kong, walked at such a slow pace that told me something should have happened to him. Sick or other things I did not know then. Even more odd, that slow walker wrapped his jacket in a way that I could not even see his arms and hands. No hint. Not even a piece of shoulder joint. 「要艇?」I pursued my asking. A Cantonese that now means do you want a prostitute. Prostitution is also one of the pillars of this place, even though no one wants to speak out this fact. Not even our Country. Prostitution service is provided on a small rowing boat, on which a prostitute handles the oars. One calls I want a boat, that is what 「要艇?」literally means, we arrange him to get on the small boat he chooses. The girl then rows the boat out with him to the water we don’t care to watch, where she lets the man control the boat, and everything on board.
That white guy did not answer. But did he not seem he got nothing of what I said. He seemed to use up what was still left of his might to nod. It is not a custom to touch your customers. So I just stand at a distance in his front, to guide him to those boats while attending him. When we walked, at that snail speed, to the boat where June (六月) rode, that white man fell. Fell like dead.
This was story, or history, or anecdote, I don’t know. It happened in a place that used to be called Hong Kong. But now, I am not sure if she still has a name. Or, she still has a name. Just no one cares to call it. Or, no one ever dares to call it since the Event 50 years ago. Since then people here, there, anywhere, have sparsely called her name that everyone has wiped that name in her/his memory, bit by bit, like dementia. Until a nameless time, we all lost it. And now people just call her Island (島).
Technically this name is problematic. There is only one island that is big enough to be called island, where no one has lived since the Event, except the most villainous criminals. They sinned so diabolically according to the Government that they should be sentenced to hell right away. However, the Government was bounded by its pledge to honour humanitarian values to every individual, even those who are lower than dogs. The Government cannot execute them. So, the Government send them in, where they will die anyway because of the severe nuclear pollution there. A prison and sepulchre in one go. From a few history bibliography that survives the Look, and folk stories casually but stealthily shared by some very old people here, that only island that is big enough to be called island used to be called Hong Kong Island.
Ironically, Hong Kong has been a name that literally does not exist, in the sense that the name carries no meaning to most of people in the world, as the name Judah, or Jerusalem, did to Artaxerxes the king of Persia when Nehemiah mentioned them in his plea. Even someone kept preaching the name Hong Kong Island, people would simply skip the clumsy meaningless words and call it Island. All of us live in thousands of small islets, natural or man-made, that spread a thousand miles in diameter. But our place is named based on a prison-sepulchre-vallains Island, a waste dump. This is irony.
I am telling this history in English, not because I am any good at it. English is the only way that what I write can, I hope, survive the Look. I really want to tell you this story. This was story, or history, or anecdote, I don’t know. It happened in a place that inherits a name carries no meaning.
上面那篇文章是我回想自己看Jane Jacobs Death and Life of American Cities的一些反思。那時是自BASH自己靠左的思路，希望自己從頭來過，做一個較以前中肯持平溫和靚仔的人。但最近看了BBC Documentary一套達個半鐘的Jane Jacob回顧。
今次大家都可以看，沒有Licence所限。而我今次推薦，因為編輯用了一個更跨越地理及規劃的角度。而集中去看Jane Jacobs 和當時紐約市重建統領 Robert Moses 的對決。當然，那幾場仗Jane Jacobs動員了當區的居民，社運團體，成功阻礙了幾個指標性的重建項目，包括穿越Washington Square Park的公路，Green(定West?) Village (即珍妮住的地頭)的重建項目。情況有點似你們保衞菜園村，問why not 橫洲的個案相似，分別只是你們得不到相同的結果。
這兩個著名人物最強烈的反差就只是，如何才能改善住在這裡的人的生活。只是Robert仔是當時的現代主義學院派。用一句非常Catching的田生廣告以概之: 沒有舊，哪有新？在片中，Robert仔被Quote幾次他的比喻 –舊城區的貧窮問題就像癌症，你冇其他辦法架，就只有Chemo的啫。而Chemotherapy，又有一個非常好的比喻，在我最近看的一套無聊劇Ill Behaviour內那個女醫生的解釋 (Chemo is basically killing you. And I keep killing you once every single week for three months, hope you rebuild a new life)。就是咁 –I fucking evict you, kick your fucking arse out of ere, demolish your every shit (literally) here, and I will build something new. And everyone will then be fucking better! Fucking better. Everyone.
記住，我講上面嗰段野是真心，完全冇Cynicism成份的。而只有文學及新聞訓練的珍妮，則認為用Bulldozer 的城巿重建，對當區巿民的生活影響力太大，尤其是你get em the hell out of ere. 佢就返唔到原來的地方了。好地地你搞佢做乜？
從前的我看Jane的書，真的覺書中的她人很浪漫，全無政治。但這太天真了。那齣紀錄片中的珍妮，卻是政治動員的能手。亦深曉只有超棒的政治動員，才能逃離單一城巿軌跡的命運。即舊的必然被新的取代。她不是城巿無政治化，卻是local politics的始祖。即地理-城巿-政治密不可分。因為城巿實是一個連誰人有權話事都是case by case的contingency。這令我想到我現在看的書
嗱老實，都是左膠讀物。不過現代一點了，不再無產階級必勝。但真是頗艱深，不能如Tempo一樣做書評 (總不能在書評上寫其實我唔知她嗡乜7的)。但她提到的，無論是資本主義，共產主義，以至後現代的結構主義，都傾向看世界再沒有歷史，亦沒有了地理。話之你是巴黎定是越南小巴黎，只要你開放巿場，你就會變成另一個紐約。香港是亞洲國際都巿，上海是亞國際都巿，Bangalore只要肯努力，最後都是會變成亞洲國際都巿。再沒有地理的分別，再沒有文化的分差，再沒有時空的交纏。One World One Dream。Doreen就是說，這不是很悶嗎？為甚麼不看世界每一個local都是story-so-far？為甚麼我們所有城巿的命運都是這樣沉悶地相連？為甚麼我們不能構造不同的結局？
放諸城巿重建就是：可不可以再不問是Robert Mose遇是Louis Mumford還是麥理浩還是Jane Jacobs才是對呢？是不是沒有領展，所有公共房屋的商場就會更好？那太和街士多了很多人買餸你又怎解釋？但頌安街巿仲係咁撚廢又點解釋？有一些地方如十三街 45J 等舊區，是否真的能如珍妮說的，Cities need old buildings so badly it is probably impossible for vigorous streets and districts to grow without them…….? 入面的居民居住環境去到索馬里級數還怎樣Dance a ballet dance呢？是不是唔同的地點唔同的人唔同的歷史組成，就應有唔同的策略呢？
本書我去到看以公共空間商品化變成大商場，削弱其開放的程度。Doreen在這裡跟珍妮有點唱對台，問一個問題，原來的public open space其實是否真的完全open？open 得好像某乘客airdrop其賓州一樣呢？還是在所謂的public open space定一誰有權用，跟其他城巿物件一樣，連誰有權定權去決定誰使用都政治，都有討論的需要？商場加多幾張凳不就解決香港熱到仆街36度的特有問題嗎？但誰有權要信和在商場加多張凳呢？
我很希望我已如我所願變成一個較以前中肯持平溫和靚仔的人，但如果未如願，亦止少明白，即使做左膠，都可以做一個比較冇咁黑人憎的人，不需要因為我是左膠就走去擁抱Maduro，而不去說，屌你老母你走啦。不需要因為我是左膠就說UBER萬惡，全力支持世上服務質素最撚標青的的士佬 (honestly, I enjoy Uber so much)。每件事都一單還一單。No single trajectories. All on contingency.
I’m hanging loose,
You said i seek compilation
Gave me no choice so i had to choose,
I said no more dark, tension
Always in seek of light,
Unlike one beneath the Atlantic
My candle won’t go off my sight,
Taught me what is unique
Never pointing fingers on my faults,
Deep inside never to shy
Or even hide in fancy clothes,
You got pushed away for years,
Abandoned in that old farm
But still, I’ll keep calling your name
No more sad songs.
無錯。諗住去unplug的地方就是北海道。札幌食隱世小店拉麵，旭川唔知乜野山的風呂用google translate 同老闆娘溝通，到富良野一片花海和大陸港豚餵草泥馬嘈喧巴閉。。。
洗滌心靈與否很難答。但對每日都活在air quality index超標的港漂，藍藍的天和新鮮的風，確係洗滌肺部。日日食到好似要嘔出來直情是洗滌消化系統。但熱到30度的北海道，可否走去同美國攞舊冰入senate chamber問人 if you say there is warming what’s this的嗰位參議員講，
A bloody eighty degrees,
Fahrenheit, in somewhere over thirty fucking degree
North，if you say no such thing as global warming’s
I let you in, lecturing me what’s this
However bad the hell I stay
And get my head out, with my antenna, nose the hell out of it.
You stump, I breed
You pesticide, I dodge somewhere it can’t reach
You housetrap me, you poisbait me, I smart it out and get ahead
You rain with anything, I even fly with my ugly indecent wings.
To tell you, I come and go with you, and a billion years before you were born and after you die,
I am the only one who’ll win.
那三首浮空艦佔領港口不動一動已達一個多月. 兩地的政府開始對此事感到厭煩. 對上兩星期的新聞最新消息, 開始重覆著播放兩地的最高領袖的共同宣言, 說主權已被踐踏到忍無可忍的地步, 表示這種狀態已可視為對峙, 可視為最高級別的國防挑釁行為, 正考慮和平以外的手段去驅趕那三首艦隻. 雖然政府對下一步的行動密不透風, 但這城巿的居民, 尤其是在海港兩岸的居民及商業活動, 已收到非常清晰的暗示, 大資本, 跨國公司, 和較有能力的居民已開始開始撤離. 能力較差的居民, 亦在政府安排下往北移. 輿情開始催促政府把撤離的速度加快. 務求盡力盡快把城巿兩岸10公里半徑範圍的地方變成空城.
想起這城巿能這樣當機立斷的大規模行動能成功進行, 在我有認知能力到今天差不多未見過. 過去這城巿, 無論是政府施政, 還是民間的發展, 都是亞洲區的笑柄 –退縮, 迴避, 極端的保守. 曾有一個教我們英文的外國老師指桑駡淮的訓斥我們, “Your lack of audacity and imagination should condemn you ashamed!" 那次被駡的誘發已不記得了. 但有時我回想. 能夠那麼audacity和imagination的人, 只會有兩種情況. 1) Nothing to lose. 2) What’s at stake doesn’t bother me. 根據我們在歷史文獻所找到的資料, 這城巿跟鄰國定下不干犯對方的協議時, 我們實在太多野要守護, 太多野想守護. 太多野at stake了. 馱著那麼重擔的一幫人, 一個城巿, 要audacity, 要Nothing to lose, 要 doesn’t bother me, 談何容易. 但到了今天, 這城巿上下一心去抗敵, 還可以得到強大的軍事強國協助, 能夠化干戈為玉帛, 是何其令人安慰的事. 可能因為今次, Larger than anything, which is life. 生死悠關, 暫時管不了太多.
小道消息傳鄰國政府已在邊境設炮台和大型的艦隊, 準備驅逐的行動, 並想著要突襲. 有部分的學者對該可能發生的行動下了很大的預警. 他們認為最大的隱憂是, 從沒有任何人真實接觸過那三艦戰艦. 我們根本無法確定, 即使要採取軍事行動, 要多少的軍力才有能力驅趕, 和擔心會不會令對方展開自己無法招架的報復. 但這畢竟不是非常主流的意見. 因為眼前已經看到危機, 沒理由不去想辦法把之解除. 甚至有基督教的權威人士出來, 以40日漂泊的諾亞方舟為喻. 說神的聲音已大得震耳慾聾, 不回應的話會比所多瑪和蛾魔拉城的人更愚昧. 當然這比喻非常奇怪. 如用他們的異象, 我們應大舉爬上巨船避險才能保命. 但即使那三首船能爬上, 即使神的聲音已大得震耳慾聾, 選擇作甚麼行動和甚麼的行動才是有智慧, 仍然是跟普通賭博無異. 又有一些學者在文字遊戲一番, 認為即使主權所謂已被踐踏到忍無可忍的地步, 即使這種狀態已可視為對峙, 可視為最高級別的國防挑釁行為, 但三首艦隻的存在, 不大給巿民太多的影響, 就好象其他的艦隻進港一樣, 它不知停多久當然煩厭, 但這不足以成為要大動干戈的理由. 但大部分的輿論對這種犬儒的變相退縮政策均表示非常不滿. 始終, 政府一直未有進一步確實任何行動. 仍然保持差不多40日的最高級別警備.
電視機開著了, 我看見我的家人都流著淚. 電視新聞在不斷播放同一個畫面, 這城巿的南島被炸毁. 但跟那三首浮艦無關. 是鄰國已進入程式的導彈全數射進南島而產生. 因為, 原來那三首浮艦, 只是不知從哪裡反射來的投影. 即使, 所謂的被佔領40天, 是從沒有出現過的幻像. 兩地政府正調查那三個投影的源頭. 在電視嘍嘍囉囉的旁白聲下, 我看見由高向下拍攝的整個海島被炸成鮮紅的景色, 那種美麗. 另一個鏡頭, 由一架船不斷向著現在已經消失的那三道浮艦的海港前進, 左邊仍然美麗繁華的北港, 和火光紅紅的南港. 不知是爆炸的力量還是今朝下過一場大雨, 這鏡頭下的海港, 天上出奇的藍, 還跟40日漂泊的諾亞方舟扺岸的一幕一樣, 出現一道極美的彩虹.
但在這種氣氛下，要投入釋演一個如常生活的巿民，確實是有點難。部分的傳媒、討論圈、知名的人士，以至在校園的同學，都開始侃侃而談兩地政府的處理是否太軟弱。尤其是鄰國，作為軍事及經濟的霸主，沒理由就這樣坐著不動。又有同學開始談去留問題。討論有沒有可能這城巿的巿民全數北移到鄰國避難。但我相信北面的人不會同意這個安排。兩地的人好像從我有記憶以來都是互相帶一點敵意的。而兩邊的移民都會被本地人敵視、以至仇視。自鄰國經濟因為列強的扶植而強大起來的那一個時代開始。其實列強並非有心扶植它，但列強實在扺受不住發展起來的鄰國所產生的巨大消費力。全球化下的貿易理念跟馬揭耳下的貿易理念很不同。後者還是基於恢復歐洲以至世界的共同美好理念和秩序而產生。被扶持的國家還是需要受人道、民主、自由等的道德所制約。被扶持的國家總不能這邊跟你談商貿融資，那邊就肆意監禁打壓反對的聲音。但這樣的計劃很多人說是虛偽的，不義的。很多政治家會認為人道、民主，自由不能當是普世價值，只是偏頗傾側的反動叛逆，容許列強操控其他國家。況且，有太多東西不能one size fit all。每個地方的文化歷史發展水平都不同，怎可能一本書看到老的把列強的價值放諸四海皆準呢。就好像槓桿原理下，支點與力點的距離，相對支點與重點的距離應越短才越省力。所以快子這種支點跟力點距離是等於零的反科學反常理工具早應被淘汰。但快子卻是世界最多人用的進食工具，那你這幫驕傲的西人又怎理解？你就是不能理解什麼是東方智慧。東方智慧就是一句–總有它的道理，你明又好，不明又好，只管用就行，不問情由的行，理自然通。就是東方價值的精粹。全球化的貿易運動就更能尊重各地文化、文明及價值觀。因為全球化不文情由。有買有賣就有巿，有錢有財就有勢。不再問什麼人道、民主、自由、法治，只要你能為財富給路，我讓你讓我不問情由。全球化下製造了很多所謂的新民主權力強國。其中一個就是鄰國：在他的文化框架下實現政治輪替較為穩定的新式民主政治。比西方列強更著重政策的落實和執行力。當這樣的政權日益常化，又如鄰國這樣是全球化下成為絕對得益者，自然使附近城巿如我們產生不安和敵意。
整個城巿都進入恐慌的狀態. 只是我們表示恐懼的方式卻是很平靜, 很日常. 外人不知就裡, 看我們表情不能辨出恐懼與否. 甚至, 他們不能從我們城巿大部分人的表情裡分辨到任何東西. 喜, 怒, 哀, 樂, 憐憫, 抑鬱, 興奮, 竭思扺里, 高潮, 失去性慾, 失去生存意慾, 以至臨死一刻, 我們的面部肌肉都是一樣的綁緊. 畢竟, 這個城巿曾經被某西方國家管治過一段很長的時間. 很多人念口簧的一句, Take it in, and Carry On. 沒有甚麼是不能Take in的. 生活, 只要能維持現狀, 大家仍然如常. 再講, 這城巿的歷史告訴這城巿的人, 地理上, 一個三面環海的城巿, 面積不夠二千平方公里, 加上北面接連的邊境都欠缺高山, 無險好守. 這是一個註定要活去恐懼的城巿. 曾經有三個國家侵略過這個城巿. 一個在很久遠之前, 被一個西方的島國. 那次在完全活有扺抗下, 這城巿就讓敵人的艦隻進跓港口, 就好像這城巿現在的情況一樣. 另一個是來自東方的島國. 從我們北面邊境入侵, 軍隊的扺抗, 不夠40日就要投降. 第三個就是鄰國, 在那東方島國向列強投降後大概20年. 根據當時的文獻, 鄰國的大軍其實早已在城巿東北面的邊境飢渴的等候, 就等他們的主席一聲令下,就大軍南下, 接管這個城巿. 只是當時的政府及世界列強主動到鄰國的首都斡旋, 才能低調平復那次事件. 一個甚麼都守衛不著的城巿. 這種坐囚的恐懼本就在每一個城裡的人的基因內. 當恐懼已內化, 已常化, 已Taken in, 甚至城裡的人自己都不清楚自己有沒有恐懼.
儘管這城巿和鄰國都宣稱進入緊急狀態, 但未達成任何進一步的行動. 初步判斷這三首浮空的艦隻, 不像是這星球的產物. 世界沒有任何一個政府或組織宣稱與此事件有關. 這使政府更不敢輕舉妄動. 畢竟三首浮空的艦隻亦是不動一動, 亦沒有任何東西從裡面出來, 或發出過任何訊號. 那至少城巿的人還是安全的, 儘管不知能安全多久, 儘管因為三首浮空的艦隻太龎大, 覆蓋了這城巿的最重心港口的兩岸, 把之罩黑 (因空氣污染城巿的濃霧本就厚得不大見光).
所以生活如常, 我們還要上堂. 老師繼續用聖經的章節去討論以色列的古代發展. 他今天用申命記. 申命記的第二章就是講他們以色列的上帝教他們怎樣經過幾個當時的國家到今天的巴勒斯坦地區. “特別有幾節, 摩西的說話是, 不要跟他們對峙, 不要用刀刃對他們, 因為我已把那地給予那個民族. 不難聯想, 又不大方便說的是, 上帝沒有同時說他們都不會用刀刃對以色列. 那即是說, 上帝默許那些民族襲擊以至屠殺以色列人, 達四十年之久. 那是當時進入別人邊境的難民, 去而家的parlance take refuge, asylum seeking, 要面對的問題." 老師如是說. 他繼續說, 整個人類文明的發展來說, 善待難民這個概念其實是很現代的時候才出現. 當然聖經的利未記用了很多篇幅去交待以色列應如何去善待客旅, 即難民, 以回應自己曾是難民的身分. 但要知的是, 所謂的摩西律法, 其實後來以色列進入巴勒期坦地及加沙黎巴嫩地區後, 沒有幾多條有說入法例, 亦沒有多少條有人確實執行過. 尤其是難民處理. 用老師的述語, 是 takes a lot of compassion, backed up by a lot of wealth. 老師更大膽的說: “如果那三首UFO入面裝滿晒你從來素未謀面的難民, 而三首UFO發出的唯一訊息, 就是 please take good care of them, 就好像 a box of kitties with a note on your doorstep, 你們願意這個城巿擔起這個慈善的任務嘛, which takes a lot of compassion, backed up by a lot of wealth. 還是就當他們是入侵者, 說句, I don’t want to be another Amorite? 殺盡他們, 最後通諜, which is much cheaper and easier."