《唐狗与麻鹰》

剧本第一版

唐狗独白（以下简称“唐”）：

我在这间电器铺住了七年。

铺子有时生意好，有时几天也卖不出一样东西。

老板本来想改做手机，但他儿子又去当反水客。

对面冰室的阿花是我妹妹。

她很活泼，会过街来看我。

我不够胆，的士开得那么快，撞到怎么办？

我说，你不要过来了，想我了就隔着街叫我啊。

阿花说，那不是很吵吗？要斯文点。

可她出去玩一礼拜也不回家，寻她的告示贴满了三条街。

我晚上梦见她了，跟我说：“好好笑，贴张纸叫我唐狗女。”

她问了我一个问题：为什么叫我们唐狗，猫就不叫唐猫呢？”

这个问题太深奥。我答不出。

我的广东话没有阿花讲的好。

（出字幕《唐狗与麻鹰》）

唐：

后来我想透彻了，不走走看看，怎么学得好说话。

我跟着阿花行过一条街。

砖头被人撬起了一块，接着一块。

气氛同打了补丁一样紧张。

那些砖头落到地上有不可思议的巨响。

烟尘弥漫，是为了一粒鱼蛋诞生的一场激烈。

一颗鱼蛋滚到旁边，阿花摇摇尾巴叼了起来。

我看都没多看一眼就跑开了。

从前，我也喜欢吃鱼蛋。

咖喱很香。

直到有一次，铺头前的马路突然挤满了帐篷。

好多人露宿在这里，建立了堵塞的不夜城。

晚上我偷偷摸摸溜进去，有滚落了一地鱼蛋和染了咖喱汁的薯片。

我以为自己到了天堂，在那里待到了天亮。

帐篷一顶一顶被拆除，像接二连三被扎破的气球，那之后的几天我也没什么精神。

我学了一个成语，是兽医对我讲的，叫物极必伤。

其实有一盅糖水就很好了，绵密，鲜甜，一碗碗像白雪封顶，貌美出众。

我想我一辈子也不想吃鱼蛋了。

街边马杀鸡的店，走一段路有三五家，灯箱上的脚印看上去丰腴饱满。

几乎二十四小时亮起灯，灯箱前面停下的脚步，匆匆上楼，匆匆下楼。

干净纯粹的脚印，和笑容暧昧的脚印，混在一起成就了都市秘而不宣的传说。

阿花会去一家叫“美技”的服装店，价格美丽，款式多得难以置信。

但她从来不买，纯粹的eye shopping。

或者，她会贪婪地嗅闻那些经过人手的衣和裙，好似上瘾。

每件衣服有自己源远流长的气息，裹着一个个人情冷暖的故事。

你想得到的，你想不到的。

似编织袋这样密集的天桥底下，小路尽头，意外长出的公园。

大片绿，没有一朵花，注射器和抠掉了片剂的药板成了异样的养分。

蜷在通道角落的人，枯得只剩一层皮，随时可以被拎起来。

他的手勾成了一个贪渴的姿势，往幻象中的国度徒劳摸索。

我凑过去嗅了嗅他的衣服，酝酿了三五年的味道。

还是喜欢长洲的海味啊，我同阿花一起热烈地奔越到天末。

湿润的空气里可能随时会长出一大捧青苔。

海盗的宝藏却在人声中被冲蚀地日渐稀薄。

度假屋租一间好便宜，同一筐筐的碳一起，便宜到叫人绝望。

那些心中滋长着忧惧的人到了那里。

再也没有回来。

累了，放一个终生假期。

同我一样，终生都是假期。

我会不会在这间电器铺待一世？

我想我不会觉得厌烦。

我又不是没有脚的飞鸟。

何况一只狗，能有什么正经事呢？

麻鹰独白【女声】（以下简称“麻”）：

黑鸢的名字又诗性又拗口。

没人会这么说。

麻鹰又太随意。

真是苦恼。

天光明亮，远远看，游客常常认错我。

以为我是一段黑色的风筝，在很高的地方浮浮荡荡。

临风恣意，随时会跌重的样子，好危险。

这像一个小孩引起大人注意的游戏。

我飞得危险一些，动作出格一点，游客会多看我一眼。

这样的兴奋和猜测，显得精贵。

本港的人看到我再也兴奋不起来了。

楼一栋栋，越来越高，高到通天。

我飞着飞着，一转弯翅膀差点擦到新搭起的脚手架。

竹子的触感，凉凉的，比钢筋多一线生机。

人呢，能攀得越高，便想攀得越高。

对同一水平线上的他物，视若无睹。

反正我每年都在，每年都来，从不缺席。

紫荆同木棉一起，每年都开，开到艳绝。

还有，榕树的枝也挂得千姿百态。

但今年同去年比，有什么区别？

只不过这片港湾是温热磁铁，我只是一片片铁屑。

出走多久，都会恋恋地折回。

他们不认识我，我却看得到好多微末的东西。

飞得高，也看得远，所有的东西也变得微末。

夜色似黑幕般落下来。

高楼里的光鲜也为之褪色。

她们从一栋光鲜的高高的楼下来，回到一栋褪色的高高的楼里去。

回到价值不菲的角落，祭出所有，换回的蜂巢万千中的一小格。

偶尔手里拎着个袋，有心仪的美食美物。

只有美，不是一种需要。

美是一种快乐。

我在暖冬时迁徙。

来来回回地盘桓。

却不是受到爱的移民。

但也让人无憎厌。

窗前的女人穿着病号服，肚子搁到了窗台。

脸上是焦急而等待的颜色，盘算着日子。

眼下的，和以后的日子。

边上路过的护士凑过来跟她关切地说话，她一句也没有听懂。

只是难堪地，仓促地，微微摇头。

我都听到了，“这样吹风，会头痛。”

我突然之间明白，天空一如既往的放纵开阔，地面变得促狭，只因为落地的脚多了。如果云端可以驻扎，我会不会也被挤到边缘？

入不敷支的人，会住进好多用动物来命名的披着不同的颜色的唐楼里。

用并不咄咄逼人的租金，换取到无法转身的微缩的胶囊。

每个人都是胶囊里的粉末。

十三条街都是好名字，有龙凤，麟雁，奔马同金鹏。

总之，什么都有，富贵又吉祥。

当然，也有我的名字。

听到这件事，我的危机感降低了不少，

又觉得自己小人之心。

我看着那些在矮楼底下一间挨着一间的车行，是好多人的营生。

喷漆的呛味几乎兜头冲脑，慢慢螺旋地上升，几乎接触到我的鼻尖。

闻久了，是人的痕迹。

今年我不想走了，我想能看得更多一些。

每个人，在那样密集的丛林里。

行走，寻找。

有光。

Mongrel and Kite:

First Draft of Script

Mongrel’s Monologue:

I’ve lived in this electronics shop for seven years.

Sometimes the business is good, and sometimes nothing sells for days.

The boss wanted to switch to cell phones, but his son ran off to do grey market imports.

Ah-Hua, the girl in the drink shop across the way, is my little sister.

She’s full of energy. She’ll run right across the street to see me.

I don’t have the guts for that. The taxis drive so fast. What if they hit her?

I told her, don’t come over. If you miss me, call at me across the street.

She said, wouldn’t that be too loud? We should be more civil.

But she once went out for fun and didn’t come back for a week. I had missing posters up on three streets.

I dreamed about her at night, saying, “The poster called me the mongrel girl.”

She asked me, “Why do they call us mongrels, and not something like alley cats?”

This is a very deep question. I couldn’t answer her.

My Cantonese isn’t as good as Ah-Hua’s.

(Mongrel and Kite)

Mongrel:

Then I realized, I would never learn it unless I started going out.

I went down a street with Ah-Hua.

Someone pried up a brick, and then another.

The atmosphere was tense.

You can’t imagine the sounds the bricks made when they landed.

Smoke and dust was everywhere, a frenzy for the birth of a fish ball.

A fish ball rolled to our side, and Ah-Hua lapped it up, her tail wagging.

I ran away without another glance.

I used to like eating fish balls.

The curry smells great.

Then, one day, the street in front of the shop suddenly filled with tents.

A lot of people were camping here, making a cramped, lively city.

I snuck into the camp, and there were fish balls and curry chips everywhere.

I thought I was in heaven. I stayed until morning.

The tents were taken down one by one, like so many balloons popping. I didn’t have any energy for days after.

I learned a local idiom from the vet. “Anything in excess will hurt.”

A tray of tong sui would be great. Spongy, sweet, white like snow on top. It would be beautiful.

I don’t think I’ll ever want another fish ball as long as I live.

There are massage parlors all over the place. The feet on their signs look big and plump.

Their lights are on almost 24 hours a day. People stop in front of the signs, and rush in and out.

Pure, clean feet, and feet with dubious smiles mix together to make a secret legend of the city.

Ah-Hua goes to a clothing store called “Mey-Jee.” The prices are pretty, and you wouldn’t believe the stuff they have.

But she never buys anything. She only shops with her eyes.

Or she will sniff voraciously at the clothes that have been handled. It’s like an addiction.

Each piece of clothing has a long atmosphere to it, a story of people’s emotions.

Some of is imaginable, but some of it isn’t.

Under a dense array of overpasses, at the end of the road, there grows an unexpected park.

It is a great expanse of green, without a single flower. The local flora consists of hypodermic needles and empty pill boxes.

The person curled up in the passage was worn down to just one layer of skin. You could pick him right up.

His hand was hooked into a greedy pose, groping around for a land of fantasy.

I went over and smelled his clothes. The smell had been brewing for years.

I prefer the smell of the sea at Cheung Chau. Ah-Hua and I would romp around all day.

In that humid air, moss could sprout at any minute.

Pirate’s treasure is hidden in human voices and being eaten away by the day.

It is really cheap to rent a vacation bungalow, like a bucket of charcoal. It is so cheap as to be dispiriting.

Those people with worry growing in their hearts went there.

They never came back.

They got tired, and went on permanent vacation.

They’re just like me, on vacation forever.

Will I be in this electronics shop for the rest of my life?

I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of it.

It’s not like I am a bird with no feet.

What else can a dog do?

Black Kite’s Monologue (female voice):

“Milvus migrans” is a poetic, but somewhat awkward name.

No one talks like that.

“Black kite,” on the other hand, is too simple.

It’s really annoying.

On a clear day, the tourists often mistake me.

They think I’m an actual kite flying high up in the sky

I follow the wind and can fall at any moment. It’s quite dangerous.

It’s like a game where the kids try to get their parents’ attention.

If I fly more dangerously, with better moves, the tourists notice me more.

This excitement and guessing feel so precious.

The locals don’t get excited anymore when they see me.

All these buildings are coming up higher and higher.

As I fly around, I make a turn and barely miss a new scaffold.

Bamboo feels cool, more alive than steel scaffolding.

The higher people can climb, the higher they want to climb.

They look down on everything else on their same level.

As for me, I’m here every year. I come every year. I’m never missing.

The bauhinias and the kapoks bloom every year, bright and colorful.

And the banyan branches strike countless poses.

But what is different about this year from the last?

This harbor is like a hot magnet, and I am a piece of iron.

No matter how long I leave, I yearn to return.

They do not know me, but I can see all kinds of little things.

The higher I fly, the farther I can see, and everything starts to look small.

The dark of night falls like a curtain.

The bright lights of the tower begin to fade.

They come down from one brightly lit tower, and file into a faded one.

They return to lowly corners, sacrificing everything for one little cell in the hive.

Sometimes, they hold a bag in their hands, some tasty food or beautiful object.

Beauty is the only thing that is not essential.

Beauty is something to enjoy.

I migrate in the warm winter.

I circle around back and forth.

But I am not a beloved immigrant.

Though people don’t hate me either.

The girl at the window wears a hospital gown, her belly resting on the sill.

Her face has a look of anxiety and expectation as she counts the days.

The days ahead, and the ones to follow.

The nurse comes and speaks earnestly with her, but she understands nothing.

She just shakes her head shyly, quickly, almost imperceptibly.

I heard her: “this breeze will give you a headache.”

I suddenly realized that the sky was just as vast as always, but the land had become cramped, simply because there were more feet walking on it. If the clouds could be stopped, would I be squeezed out to the edge too?

The countless people will take up residence in buildings of different colors, named after so many animals.

They will struggle to pay rent for spaces you can’t turn around in.

Everyone is powder in a gel cap.

The 13 Streets all have nice names: dragon and phoenix, kylin, eagle, running horse and golden roc.

It has everything precious and auspicious.

Of course, it also has my name.

When I heard this, my crisis level dropped quite a bit.

But I also felt petty.

I saw all the car shops lined up one after the other under the low buildings, the livelihood of so many people.

The smell of spray paint seems to seep into the brain. It slowly wafts up to almost touch my nose.

Smell it long enough, and it leaves the mark of people.

I don’t want to leave this year. I want to see more.

Each person in that dense forest.

Walking, seeking.

There is light.