子昊

In 2009， the New Yorker featured Eric Drookers drawing “The Iron Worker & The Stranger” on its cover. The image depicts a WPA1）-style lone beam-rat2）straddling an I-beam on an incomplete building rising so high above the rest of Manhattan. The iron worker looks more bronze sculpture than man， not caught in the hurried pace of construction， but lost in a moment， gazing up at a yellow butterfly that somehow has found its way to the top of the metropolis on the trade-winds of New York City.

My cubicle is near a window overlooking those same lower Manhattan canyons. Twenty-eight stories up： the highest Ive ever been in a building in my life. I keep Drookers cover in a frame in the corner of my window. Had my ancestors lived in New York， its possible they would have ascended this high， if not higher， on the Manhattan skyline—but they would have done it in Levis3） and steel-toed boots， not Florsheims4） and a suit.

Im waiting on our corporate travel agent to let me know whether hes going to have my passport finalized5） by the end of the day. At the last minute， the passport office sent me a letter requesting additional documentation to prove that I am who I say I am. Still， I stare at that painting in my window， and my passport seems like that butterfly： Its probably within grasp， but it could， at any moment， drift out of view， leaving me with nothing to do but get back to work.

The notion of upward mobility is something slippery6）， something I dont understand. Yet its also something tangible. Things change as you ascend. You start removing words from your vocabulary and incorporating new ones. You walk differently. When you go to the airport， you no longer have to listen to what the TSA7） agent is saying at the security gate. Youve been there. Youve done that.

The things you need to carry in your wallet start to change. I realized this just yesterday while rifling through my own wallet. My union card， my student ID， a health insurance card under my mothers plan： When I took my new job， I took them out. Now theyre in a box somewhere， no longer necessary extensions of my identity， but tokens of my past lives.

Whats replaced them？ My building access card， my own health-insurance card， a dozen receipts that I need to itemize and submit for reimbursement8）， and 600 U.A.E. dirhams9） for the trip I may or may not be taking on Saturday.

But these changes are all superficial. I still make less money than either of my parents. I still struggle to cover my bills and pursue my artistic ambitions. I still have to call my mother when things are hard and I dont know what to do. So what part of me is upwardly mobile？ To where am I ascending？

I have a friend who， like me， was raised by a single mother. But his upbringing， until he moved to Ventura， Calif.， and transferred to my high school， was more metropolitan than mine. And while my mother only had a high school education （and my father， even less than that）， our families struggled to raise their children in very different ways. My mother worked two jobs to make enough money to pay the rent; his mother struggled as she tried to raise two kids while attending graduate school and starting out as a professor. My friend tries to explain to people that while he knows what its like to belong to a lower economic class， hes never known what its like to belong to a lower social class.

This is not to discount his struggles， or his mothers successes. And my mothers success was measured in the fact that she raised five children on her own. But a professor of mine once illustrated the difference between the worlds in which mine and my friends mother struggled when he told our class， “As a student of the liberal arts， a lot of what youre learning is just stuff for you to say at cocktail parties.”

When he said that， a lot of people in the classroom scoffed. But then， a lot of those people had grown up in homes where their parents hosted cocktail parties， parties to which the children might have been invited， asked to wear little suits or polo shirts or dresses to match their mothers， and recited poems in front of the group. In college， a lot of these students were performing dry runs10） as young socialites11） in their dorm rooms with boxed wine andjoints12）， talking about obscure pop music， professorial scandals， and Jacques Derrida13）.

No one in my family knows who Derrida is. When my mom or dad had company over， they would drink Coronas and pre-mixed margaritas14） and ask me to take out the guitar and sing Cocaine Blues and Friends in Low Places.

I sincerely believe that both of these types of upbringing have value， though I wouldnt trade mine for any other. But it leaves me in a strange place on this path of upward mobility. Every time I call home， the gap has increased between my sisters experiences and my own. We read different news， watch different television shows， not because of intelligence but circumstance. We have come to know the world in a different way.

My younger sister called me， after she heard about my trip， and said， “Bubba， I heard youre moving to Africa.” After I told her where Abu Dhabi was， she explained to me that a relative had told her that I was moving to Africa and would be taking a job as a reporter in Palestine. I told her that I wished my life were that exciting.

And that story is not a dig on my sister. At 22， she spends her time dealing with the complications that come with raising two daughters who have no father around to speak of. It makes no difference to her where Abu Dhabi is. The exact geographical coordinates15） of the Palestinian territories dont matter. But what does matter to her is where I am. And I get to be this portal16） to the world for my family and friends back home. I get to send them pictures from the places Ive been， and to tell them stories from places outside Ventura. And I think what matters most to me is that my nieces and nephews （I have something around 10 of them） can see me as one person in the family who did something a little different， and see in me another model for life， in addition to the hard-working， blue-collar examples they have back home.

What I dont tell them is that I often feel as distant from the people here in New York as I do from them. The friend I mentioned earlier came to New York to visit me for a weekend. We went for a walk on the promenade17） in Brooklyn Heights， where you can look out on the Manhattan skyline. It was night， and the buildings were lit up in that miraculous way that almost makes up for the fact that you cant see a single goddamn star any more. We both thought it was beautiful， but when I asked my friend which building was his favorite， he said， “Its just a bunch of corporate phalluses to me.”

I couldnt figure out why his comment bothered me. But then something clicked. When we both looked at the skyline， he was thinking about the people who lived and worked in those multi-million-dollar condos and offices， while I was thinking about the people who built them. I imagined the past and present men who risked their lives every day to feed their families. The Irish and the Italian and the Mohawks18） and the Puerto Ricans and the man on the New Yorker cover： everyone who climbed， day after day， higher and higher， to create the skyline that now dwarfs the image of Lazaruss “New Colossus19）.”

That poem was written when the tired， poor， huddled masses came to America by boat， and they looked up at the Statue of Liberty as an ideal： grandiose20）in its scale but human in its depiction. Now the vast majority of immigrants from overseas fly into the United States with passports that they often had to go through immense hurdles to get. As I wait for mine， I can walk to one end of my office and look out at One World Trade Center， and on the other side I can see the ferry that shuttles people from Manhattan to Staten Island21）. It floats past the Statue of Liberty， a green toy， distant and beneath me.

The travel agent comes through the door and hands me my passport. I call my mother to let her know that Ill be making the trip. I try to hide that Im choked up.

通過努力打拼，我從小地方來到紐約這座大都市扎根，經(jīng)濟條件好轉(zhuǎn)，社會地位有所提升。但“人往高處走”帶來的變化卻讓我處于一種尷尬的境地：環(huán)境的差異讓我的生活和思想與故鄉(xiāng)的親人們漸行漸遠，而受童年成長經(jīng)歷影響的我終究也不能像土生土長的大都市人那樣看待周遭的一切……

Good Reading

2009年，一期《紐約客》雜志使用了畫家埃里克·德魯克名為《鋼結(jié)構(gòu)安裝工人和陌生人》的畫作作為封面。這幅畫描繪了一個與公共事業(yè)振興署的宣傳畫風(fēng)格相似的建筑工人正孤零零地跨坐在一座在建高樓的工字梁上。這座樓高聳入云，俯瞰曼哈頓的其他建筑。那個建筑工人看起來不像是人，更像是一尊青銅塑像，畫中的他不是在匆忙地施工，而是一時出神地凝視著一只不知怎么借著吹過紐約的信風(fēng)飛到了城市之巔的黃色蝴蝶。

我辦公的小隔間挨著窗，可以俯瞰與畫中相同的下曼哈頓如峽谷般的街道。28層——這是我這輩子待過的最高樓層。我把德魯克畫的封面裝在相框里，擺在窗臺的一角。如果我的先輩生活在紐約，他們可能也會登上如此的高度——如果不是更高的話——到達曼哈頓的天際線，不過他們上來時穿的是李維斯工裝褲和鋼頭靴，而不是西裝革履。

我正在等待公司的旅行社代理人給我消息，確定是否能在下班前把我的護照辦好。直到最后關(guān)頭，護照管理處才來信要求我提供額外的文件以證明“我就是我聲稱的我”。此刻，我凝視著窗臺上的那幅畫，我的護照就仿如那只蝴蝶：它也許唾手可得，但也可能隨時從眼前溜走，讓我除了回去工作外別無他法。

“地位上升”是種不易把握的概念，我并不理解。但它同時又是能切實感知得到的。當你的社會地位提升，很多事會發(fā)生變化。你開始從日常詞匯中去掉某些詞，同時加進新詞。你走路的姿勢會不一樣。去機場時，你不必再在安檢口聽美國運輸安全管理局的人所說的話。你見識過、經(jīng)歷過了。

你的錢包里需要裝的東西開始改變。我是在昨天翻看自己的錢包時才意識到這一點的。會員卡、學(xué)生證、登記在我母親名下的健康保險卡——我找到新工作后把這些東西全都拿了出來。如今它們放在一只盒子里，不知被塞到哪兒去了。它們不再是我身份的必要延伸，而只代表我過去的生活。

取而代之的是什么呢？我所住大樓的門禁卡、我自己名下的健康保險卡、我需要逐項填報并提交報銷的一打收據(jù)，以及600阿聯(lián)酋迪拉姆。這些外幣是為周六這趟可能走得成也可能走不成的旅行而準備的。

但這些都是表面上的變化。我依然比父母掙得都要少。我依然在費勁地支付自己的開支，追逐自己的藝術(shù)夢想。每當遇到困難，不知該如何是好時，我依然得打電話向母親求助。所以說，我在哪方面向上提升了呢？又在升往何處呢？

我有個朋友跟我一樣，也是由單身母親撫養(yǎng)長大的。但相對于我的成長環(huán)境，他在搬到加州文圖拉并轉(zhuǎn)到我就讀的高中之前，是在大都市環(huán)境里長大的。我們兩人所在的家庭都艱難地養(yǎng)育子女，但由于我母親只有高中學(xué)歷（我父親的學(xué)歷比這還低），兩家的養(yǎng)育方式極為不同。我母親做兩份工作，以賺足夠的錢支付房租;他的母親也竭盡全力，因為她要一邊讀研究生，開始教授生涯，一邊還要努力撫養(yǎng)兩個孩子。我的朋友試圖向別人解釋，雖然他知道經(jīng)濟困難是什么滋味，卻從未嘗過生活在社會底層的滋味。

這不是要貶低他的努力或者他母親的成就。我母親的成就在于她獨自拉扯大了五個孩子。但是我的一位教授在課堂上的一句話點出了我母親和我朋友的母親分別奮斗的兩個世界的區(qū)別，他說：“作為文科生，你們現(xiàn)在所學(xué)的很多東西只是供你們在雞尾酒會上當做談資罷了?！?/p>

當他說這番話的時候，教室里很多人都對此嗤之以鼻。然而，他們中的很多人正是在這樣的家庭長大，他們的父母會舉辦雞尾酒會，孩子們可能會收到邀請，被要求穿著與母親的著裝相配的小西裝、馬球衫或小禮服，在眾人面前背誦詩歌。在大學(xué)里，很多這樣的學(xué)生在宿舍里演練如何做一個年輕的社交名流，他們一邊喝著盒裝葡萄酒，抽著大麻煙卷，一邊談?wù)撝r有人知的流行音樂、教授們的丑聞和雅克·德里達。

我家里沒有一個人知道德里達是誰。父母有客人來時，他們會喝科羅娜啤酒和預(yù)先調(diào)好的瑪格麗塔雞尾酒，還會叫我拿出吉他彈唱《可卡因藍調(diào)》和《底層的朋友》。

我真心相信這兩種成長背景各有其價值，雖然我不會拿自己的成長經(jīng)歷跟任何人交換。然而，在這條地位上升的道路上，它將我置于一個尷尬的境地。每次我給家里打電話，都發(fā)現(xiàn)我和我的姐妹們在生活經(jīng)歷方面的差距在拉大。我們讀不同的新聞，看不同的電視節(jié)目。這并非源于智商的差距，而是環(huán)境的差異。我們對世界的認知已變得不同。

在聽說我要出國旅行后，妹妹給我打電話說：“老兄，聽說你要去非洲了啊。”當我告訴她阿布扎比在哪兒之后，她解釋說，有一個親戚告訴她我要搬去非洲，還會在巴勒斯坦從事記者工作。我回答她說，但愿我的生活能有那么精彩。

畫作（鋼結(jié)構(gòu)安裝工人和陌生人）

講這件事不是要挖苦我妹妹。22歲的她要養(yǎng)育兩個女兒，孩子的父親又不在身邊，應(yīng)對這些生活上的難處就占滿了她的時間。阿布扎比位于哪里對她來說沒有任何意義。巴勒斯坦領(lǐng)土的確切地理坐標對她而言也無關(guān)緊要。但是與她密切相關(guān)的是我在哪兒。我成了故鄉(xiāng)的家人和朋友通往世界的一個窗口。我給他們寄我去過的地方的照片，給他們講文圖拉以外的地方的故事。我想對我而言最重要的是，我的外甥、外甥女們（我大約有10個外甥、外甥女）可以看到家里有我這樣一個人做著和其他人不太一樣的事，可以從我身上看到另一種生活模式，而不僅僅是他們在故鄉(xiāng)見到的勤奮工作的藍領(lǐng)生活。

我沒有告訴他們的是，我常常感到自己與紐約人有疏離感，就像和他們有疏離感一樣。前面我提到的那個朋友有一次周末來紐約看我。我們?nèi)チ瞬剪斂肆指叩氐暮I步道散步，從那里可以看到曼哈頓的天際線。當時是晚上，一座座高樓大廈亮起了璀璨華燈，令人感到不可思議，幾乎能夠彌補天上再也看不到一顆星星的遺憾。我們都覺得那景色很美，但是當我問朋友最喜歡哪座大廈時，他回答說：“在我眼里，這不過是一堆公司的陽具而已?！?/p>

我不明白他的這個評論為什么會讓我耿耿于懷，但后來我突然想明白了。當我們一起凝望天際線時，他想到的是在那些價值數(shù)百萬美元的公寓和辦公室里生活和工作的人，而我想到的是建造它們的人。我想到了以前和現(xiàn)在那些每天冒著生命危險掙錢養(yǎng)家的人。那些愛爾蘭人、意大利人、莫霍克印第安人、波多黎各人以及《紐約客》雜志封面上的那個人：每一個日復(fù)一日、越爬越高、建造起令拉扎勒斯的詩歌《新的巨像》中的形象都相形見絀的天際線的人。

那首詩的創(chuàng)作時間正值那些疲憊、窮困的人們擁擠著坐船來到美國時，他們將自由女神像視作理想的象征：規(guī)模宏偉莊嚴，但形象飽含人的溫情。如今，大多數(shù)來自海外的移民都飛往美國，為了得到所持的護照往往要費盡周折。在等我的護照時，我可以走到辦公室的一側(cè)，向外眺望新世貿(mào)中心一號樓。而從辦公室的另一側(cè)，我可以看到往返于曼哈頓和斯塔騰島之間的渡輪。渡輪駛過自由女神像，那雕像好似一件綠色的玩具，立在我腳下很遠的地方。

旅行社代理人從門外進來，把我的護照遞給我。我打電話告訴母親，我這次旅行可以成行了。我強忍著，不讓她聽出我在哽咽。

1. WPA：公共事業(yè)振興署（Works Progress Administration），經(jīng)濟大蕭條時期美國前總統(tǒng)羅斯福實施新政時建立的一個政府機構(gòu)（1935～1943），是興辦救濟和公共工程的政府機構(gòu)之一。

2. beam-rat：指常在高空作業(yè)的建筑工人。

3. Levis：李維斯，著名的牛仔褲與時裝品牌，始建于1873年。

4. Florsheim：富樂紳，聞名全球的正裝皮鞋高端品牌，始建于1892年。

5. finalize [?fa?n?la?z] vt. 完成，最后定下

6. slippery [?sl?p?ri] adj. 模棱兩可的，模糊的

7. TSA：美國運輸安全管理局（Transportation Security Administration）

8. reimbursement [?ri??m?b??（r）sm?nt] n. 償還，賠償

9. U.A.E. dirham：阿聯(lián)酋（The United Arab Emirates）的貨幣單位迪拉姆

10. dry run：演習(xí)，排練

11. socialite [?s????la?t] n. 社交界名人

12. joint [d???nt] n. 〈口〉大麻煙卷

13. Jacques Derrida：雅克·德里達（1930～2004），20世紀下半期最重要的法國思想家與哲學(xué)家，西方解構(gòu)主義的代表人物

14. margarita [?mɑ?（r）ɡ??ri?t?] n. （由墨西哥龍舌蘭酒、酸橙或檸檬汁以及橙味酒混合調(diào)制而成的）瑪格麗塔酒

15. coordinate [k?????（r）d?n?t] n. 〈地〉坐標，坐標值

16. portal [?p??（r）t（?）l] n. 〈喻〉門，入口

17. promenade [?pr?m??nɑ?d] n. 海濱人行道

18. Mohawk：莫霍克人（居住在美國紐約州和加拿大的北美印第安人）

19. New Colossus：《新的巨像》，由猶太詩人艾瑪·拉扎勒斯（Emma Lazarus， 1849～1903）于1883年為自由女神像而寫的詩作，該詩被認為是美國自由精神的象征。

20. grandiose [?ɡr?ndi??s] adj. 莊嚴的，壯觀的

21. Staten Island：斯塔騰島，美國紐約市的一個島嶼與自治區(qū)，位于曼哈頓以南的紐約港內(nèi)。