​​May 12, 1950

 

I followed the trail of horses and carts, taking a horse-drawn carriage from Xiamen to Zhangzhou, and then followed the sound of gunfire and the smoke of gunpowder that hadn't yet been dispersed by the clear sky to this small island.

 

If I count carefully, today is already two years since I lost contact with him. I can't quite remember the date of his last letter, but it was last year. At that time, the People's Liberation Army was about to capture Quanzhou. How could I have been so naive, so foolish, to think the Nationalist Army would simply retreat? I really didn't expect it, I never would have thought. We had just gotten off the car heading home, and he was walking ahead. I loved holding his hand, but I hated him walking ahead and dragging me along, and I hated the tearing feeling of having my hand pulled. So I temporarily let go of his hand, never expecting that by letting go, I might never see him again...

 

Just as I was about to hurry to catch up, he was pulled into an oncoming truck by people. It was pouring rain. I chased the truck down the small road, chasing it again and again, but it kept heading southwest, accelerating. The road went from dry to muddy, then full of puddles. I was less than half a meter away from the truck. Just as I tried to grab it for the first time, the rain seemed to be trying to separate us. My hand slipped from the handlebars. I quickly sped up and tried to grab it again, but someone in military uniform suddenly appeared and kicked me away. I immediately fell backward. Before I hit the ground, I finally made out the words on the truck.

 

"Republic of China National Army"

 

No, I can't dwell on it anymore. This notebook is expensive, and I can't let it get wet.

 

I didn't sleep well last night. The sound of gunfire continued until midnight. I was worried about him. I hoped he was on Dongshan Island last night, but I also hoped he wasn't. But where else in the southwest could he be? I could only hope he wasn't in western Yunnan. The island was much larger than I'd imagined. The clouds dissipated as soon as I arrived, bringing the air to life with the scorching heat of a May South China summer. It hadn't cleared up in ages. A white sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky, its scorching rays casting a faint tinge of gunpowder. The old houses in the village bore dozens of bullet holes and door thresholds crushed by tracks. The paths were streaked with blood and weeds, and the flags had been replaced with the Communist Party's five-star red flag. Strangely, I didn't see many PLA patrols. Some simply stood quietly smoking on the sidewalks, their victorious demeanor long gone. Perhaps it was exhaustion from the fierce battle, but as I looked at them, I felt a surge of hatred within me.

 

A deep, murderous hatred.

 

Because I knew that if he had truly died in battle, each of them could have been one of his killers. But he, too, had been forced to hold the knife, one of the executioners who murdered other people's loved ones. What difference did different armies and different positions make? I saw it with my own eyes. I might, in the future, become one of those small perpetrators who, intentionally or even unintentionally, killed my loved ones. I must repent for this in advance.

I searched the island for a while but saw no one. I spoke poor Hokkien, and it was difficult for me to understand the Mandarin spoken by my grandparents. But I kept calling out his name, hoping he might still be on Dongshan Island, having escaped from the team. I kept praying to God in my heart that he was still alive. Even if he could never return to me, it didn't matter. As long as he was alive, as long as he was safe. I clutched the thin letter I had written for him, thinking this.

It was already late, and a silvery drizzle began to form in the air. The sea breeze from the east gently stirred it. I had to get up and find someone to stay overnight. I hoped to hear where he had gone tomorrow, and even more so, that he, wherever he might be, could spend the night safely. I clutched the half of jade he left me before he let me go, hoping to find the other half, and my other half.

 

Yours,

 

(burn marks)

 

(torn pages)

​

​

1950年5月12日​

​

我順著車馬和小推車的痕跡，坐著馬車，從廈門尋到到了漳州，再跟著槍炮聲和還沒被晴天打散的硝煙到了這個小島。

仔細算下來，今天已經是我失去和他聯繫的第二年了，他上一次給我寄信的時候也記不太清日期了，但也是去年的事情了。那時候解放軍快攻下泉州了，我怎麼會如此的天真，如此的愚蠢，以為國軍只會撤退而已，我真的沒想到，沒想到。跟他剛下回家的車，他走在前頭 ，我很愛和他牽手，但唯獨不喜歡他走在前面拖著我，更不喜歡那種手被拉扯著的撕裂感覺，於是我暫時放開了他的手，我根本沒想到沒想到這一放確可能再也見不到他了…

我剛準備快步追上，他就被迎面開來的一輛卡車上的人扯到了車裏。天上下起了瓢潑大雨，我順著小路追，追啊追，可是車一路向西南，越來愈快，路面也從乾燥到泥濘再到水坑遍地。我離卡車也只有半米不到了，第一次剛要抓住車，似乎是雨水想分開我們，我的手從車桿上滑了下來，我立刻再加速嘗試再抓，可被一個突然出現的穿著軍服的人一腳踹走，我的身子立刻向後倒，在我的身體著地前，我終於看清了車上的字。

“中華民國國軍”

不行，不能再想過去了，本子很貴，可不能弄濕了。

昨晚我一夜沒睡好，槍砲聲一直響到半夜，我很擔心他。既希望他昨夜在東山島，又希望他不在。可是西南的地方又還有哪裡呢？我只能寄希望於他不在滇西。

整個島比我想像的大的多，剛上島烏雲就散去了，很有5月華南夏日的炎熱氣息，但已經許久沒有放晴了，白色的太陽在無雲的藍天上掛著，滾燙的陽光灑下來，略微減輕了點硝煙的餘味，村里的古厝也都有好幾十個彈孔和被履帶壓壞的門檻，走過的小路布滿血跡和野草，旗子都也換成了共產黨的五星紅旗，很奇怪的是路上卻看不到太多巡邏的解放軍，有的也只是站在街旁靜靜地抽著煙，早已沒有幾年前的那般勝者的神氣，可能是由於惡戰後的疲憊，我看著他們，不知為何內心裡冒出一股恨意。

一股夾雜著殺氣的，及其濃厚的恨意。

因為我知道，如果他如果真的戰死了，他們每一個都有可能是殺死他的兇手之一。

可他也是被強行握上刀的，殺死別人的親人和愛人的劊子手之一啊，不同軍隊不同立場又有什麼區別，而我的眼睛也看到了，我未来或也將不幸成為有意甚至無意殺死親人和骨肉的其中一個小小的加害者，我不得不提前为此懺悔。

在島上找了半圈，沒見到什麼人，我說不好閩南話，也很難聽懂阿公阿嬤說的國語。但我一直重複著呼喚著他的名字，希望他還有可能在東山島上，從隊裡逃出來了。我不斷在內心裡像老天祈願，他還活著就好，就算他再也沒辦法回我到我的身邊也沒事，只要還活著，只要還平安。我緊握著我寫給他薄薄的信這樣想著。

天色已經很晚了，空中也開始冒起銀絲般的微雨，來自東方的海風輕柔地撩動它們，我也得站起來去找人家借宿過夜了，希望明天能聽到他的去向，更希望可能在任何地方的他也能平安度過這一夜。我緊抓著他放手前留給我的半塊玉，希望能找玉的另一半和我的另一半。

 

你的，

（燒掉的痕跡）

 

（被撕掉的幾頁）